Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The Spoiled Princess was a rundown sort of tavern on the banks of Lake Calenhad.

With the docks to Kinloch Hold no longer busy, and just a small number of people willing to pass so close to the Circle during the rebellion, it was a surprise it managed to remain open at all. Garrett Hawke stepped inside and took in the empty common room, wondering if it was simply deserted.

“Hello?”

Swearing from outback, and a few moments later a woman stuck her head out, squinting at him suspiciously.

“If you want the ferryman, he’s retired.”

“No,” Hawke said, “I want a room.”

The woman sniffed then moved out of the kitchen.

“Three silvers,” she said, “Money up front. Can only offer stew for dinner. There ain’t much trade this way, these days.”

“That’s fine.” Garrett replied, sitting himself down at one of the tables, faintly aware of the dust on the surface. “Just need a rest stop before I carry on south.”

The woman paused, looking at him. Looking at the staff.

“You ain’t one of those -”

“No,” Garrett lied, “Just travelling through.”

The woman eyed him, then shrugged.

“I ain’t got no problem with mages.” She said, before barking a laugh. “Can’t do, what with them being so close for years. But I do have a problem with the murder and the chaos.”

“On that,” Hawke said dryly, “We are agreed.”

She poured him a pint that tasted watered-down, and left him to it whilst she went to serve up a portion of extra stew. Hawke set his pack down on the floor and rolled his ankle, wincing at the click and grind of bone. It had never been the same since that night.

Three years ago, he’d fled Kirkwall in the aftermath of Anders’ attack on the Chantry with little more thought than escaping out from under the thumb of the Templars in the city. The world had changed since then. He had changed since then.

He’d hobbled into Denerim, alone and with just enough coin to scrape by, determined to start again somewhere big enough to just be one more citizen. He didn’t want to be Champion - he didn’t even want to be Garrett Hawke. His first - and only - priority had been burying himself deep enough in the city that he was just another face in the crowd. He picked up work for the Blackstone Irregulars and passed himself off as Wesley Vallen if he ever had to introduce himself. No one looked twice at him, even as depictions of his face began to appear on Chantry boards. No one expected the Champion of Kirkwall to walk with a limp and have nothing in his pockets.

Between odd jobs for all manner of strange and shady people in Denerim, he’d made enough coin to fund a small hovel not far from the alienage. And slowly, as the whispers of Kirkwall faded to nothing, the threat of an Exalted March fizzling away, Hawke found a version of himself that he could live with. A life not too dissimilar to the one he’d had in the first few months of Kirkwall. And he had friends, of sorts. People he could drink with, who stiffed him at cards, and didn’t ask too many questions. It was enough. Or at least, he told himself it was enough. Getting closer to people was a risk he was rather unwilling to take after Kirkwall. A simple life where he could fade from memory - it had to be enough.

Until the White Spire, and the rumours of rebellion among the mages. In the aftermath of Meredith’s failed annulment, the College of Enchanters had ruled against such drastic action - but now, a few years on, things were different. Hawke listened in the taverns as stories began to circulate about a series of murders, about the possibility that Tranquility could be reversed. He thought of Bethany, in Montsimmard, and hoped she was not caught up in it all. By the time word reached Denerim of Andoral’s Reach and the annulment in Rivain, Hawke’s fears began to grow.

He hadn’t tried to reach her since fleeing Kirkwall, knowing that he was as unpopular among the mages as he was the Templars. In the aftermath of that night, Hawke had heard every possible argument and discussion about the Champion of Kirkwall and whether he’d been a hero, a villain or just a useful puppet for the Order. And whilst interest in him and his story had waned among the general population, he wasn’t under any illusion how he was viewed by those tied to the Circles. The Chantry blamed him for Anders, the Templars saw him as a rebellious maleficar, and the Mages saw him as a cowardly traitor. Bethany would not thank him if he tried to establish contact in Orlais.

All the same, when the rebellion had been declared, and the Templars walked away from the Nevarran Accord to handle the mage problem on their own terms, Hawke had written to Varric, across the sea. The dwarf had written back, suggesting that his contacts had spotted a woman matching Bethany’s description among the rebels heading to Redcliffe.

Hawke had considered, briefly, heading south to meet her. It had been nearly six years since he’d seen her at all, and much, much longer since he’d spent any reasonable time with his twin. But if mages in general would dislike him, he suspected the rebels would loathe him. He had, after all, helped the Order strangle the Mage Underground in Kirkwall - even if he’d baulked at the final order to exterminate them entirely. And at least Bethany was safe enough, surrounded by like-minded people. Sure, the Templars were hunting them, but Redcliffe offered security.

He’d talked himself out of acting when Varric’s next letter reached him. Not about Bethany - but about him.

The Right Hand of the Divine had landed in Kirkwall and started asking questions. It was only the fact that she’d questioned Cullen up at the half-empty Gallows first that meant Varric had time to dash off the few lines of warning. And then nothing, for over a fortnight, as Garrett waited with baited breath for a Seeker to kick down the door of his home.

When word came again, it came a circuitous route, rather than through formal channels. Whatever had happened, Varric had snuck a note to someone and it ended up in Hawke’s hands - a little late, but still valuable.

Being escorted to meet the Divine at the peace talks. Stay low - I’ll say hi to Bethany if I can.

Hawke had asked around that night, trying not to sound too eager, and discovered that the Divine was pushing for peace talks between both sides at the rediscovered Temple of Sacred Ashes, just outside Haven in the Frostbacks. Whilst it wasn’t guaranteed to be going ahead, the new leader of the Seekers seemed far more inclined to reconciliation than his predecessor. By rumours reckoning, Hawke had just under a fortnight to get to Haven and see what was happening.

That had been eleven days ago. He’d packed up what little he had and hit the road the next morning, leaning on his staff as a crutch when his foot ached.

He owed Varric enough to risk capture at the Conclave, and the possibility his sister might be there spurred him on further. Neither of Varric’s warnings had suggested why the Right Hand of the Divine was looking for him now, but it didn’t matter. She’d practically abducted Varric, and the last people who’d done that had ended up dead. Hawke didn’t plan to stroll up to the Peace Talks and attack an old woman - or her agents - but he did want to know what was happening, and why. The fact they’d been asking questions about him after so long concerned him, especially when the Chantry had bigger concerns than one missing apostate.

On stretches of the Imperial Highway used to foot traffic, he’d offered money for rides in the back of wagons, or on horses. When he’d turned south, towards Lake Calenhad, there were less people. No one wanted to get too close to Kinloch Hold.

The Circle stood abandoned, but its shadow was long - especially after what had happened during the Blight. More than one person Hawke had spoken with since leaving Denerim muttered about blood magic and demons, and there had been refugees heading north, away from Redcliffe.

If Hawke followed the road in the other direction, he would eventually come to Lothering. Perhaps on the journey back - if there was one - he could make the detour. As it was, he was already behind schedule. The talks had begun, and he was still days away from reaching the Hinterlands, let alone the Frostbacks.

He hoped he wasn’t going to be too late. That Varric was safe, and Bethany well. Sighing, he knocked back the rest of his ale and thanked the woman who brought him stew. A night’s rest in a tavern was something he could ill afford, but found was necessary. Not for the first time, he cursed his stubborn refusal to get his ankle seen to in those early days in Denerim, too worried about being noticed.

He was back on the road, early the next morning, when the sky ripped open.

Chapter Text

The Inquisition caught him near Redcliffe.

It had never been his intention to go near the place, but in the desperate days after the Breach and the explosion at the Conclave, Garrett had clung to the chance that Bethany hadn’t been there - that she’d been among those left behind in the village. His attempts to get close to the mountain path had been met with demons and rumours of some group calling themselves the Inquisition. He’d turned back, well aware from his studies of history that anyone using that moniker in this age would not be friendly to apostates. A group of Templars, perhaps, left over from the peace talks who were hoping to seize advantage of the situation to legitimise their reign of terror.

Hawke imagined he probably wasn’t the only one who breathed a sigh of relief when the Breach seemed to stop growing. It was still there hovering over the Frostbacks, a maelstrom of corrupted, demonic magic, but it wasn’t getting any bigger.

He focused on Redcliffe, trying not to think about Varric, hinging everything on the possibility that Bethany was still alive.

The Hinterlands had been dangerous even before the Conclave had ended so violently. A significant number of Templars had flooded into the region, hoping to crush the Mage Rebellion - just as a number of Rebel Mages, dissatisfied with Grand Enchanter Fiona’s choices, had left the relative safety of the village. The result seemed to be a blood bath, with hundreds of refugees caught between the two warring groups.

Nowhere was safe. Hawke camped the night near Lake Luthias, high up enough to witness the killing field below. But when he tried to skirt the edge of Calenhad’s Foothold, the ruined keep to his left, he’d found a strange green magic crackling in the air before him.

It was only his own magic that warned him that he was in danger, the Veil breaking open moments before the first demon clawed its way through into the physical world. And fuck, Hawke had fought demons closer to the Frostbacks, had seen them spilling from a rift there on the mountain path, but he hadn’t expected the echoes of the Breach to have done this much damage. He backed up, hurriedly, and got a barrier up over himself before sending fire hurling at the Shade.

There was nothing he could do about the rift. He tried to pour spirit magic into it, only for it to feel like his skin was going to tear off his bones. Snarling in pain, he used force magic to slam some of the stone of the broken keep into the Veil, which staggered the terror demon leaping through but dissolved before the rift itself as it was caught between realities. Hawke killed the terror demon before it could stun him with its awful, harrowing shriek, and then retreated, further and further away from the hole in the Veil.

Perhaps it had activated because he was a mage, and if he got far enough away it would go dormant again, no longer spewing demons into the Hinterlands.

He watched the rift, slowly backing up, as it crackled and glowed. And then something hit him like a sharp, stinging blow in his shoulder.

Cursing, Hawke tried to turn his head, and the world seemed to wobble and shift dangerously. Panic started rising in Garrett’s gut. He knew this sensation. It had been years, but he knew what it was - and what was about to happen.

Magebane. He looked about, frantically, and spotted a red-headed dwarf on the opposite side of the road with a bow. And then everything went dark.

He came round in a tent, half-naked and with his hands bound together, a rag shoved in his mouth that was sodden with magebane. His stomach twisted, sourly, both from the taste and the memory of coming round in Athenril’s clutches, similarly trapped and bound.

Hawke closed his eyes and made himself breathe. He was alive. That had to mean something. This close to Redcliffe, if the dwarf had been with the Templars, he would be dead. The Order wasn’t taking prisoners, in the circumstances, and he was not recognisable these days. Just a slightly scruffy, brunette apostate who walked with a slight limp.

He tried to roll his shoulder, to assess the damage, but it seemed that it had been healed. Clever, he thought - he could have been a maleficar. Plenty were, these days, especially around Redcliffe where the Mage-Templar was driving more and more mages to desperation. It would also explain why they’d removed his shirt and armour to be able to see the wound for themselves. And it also suggested that whoever had captured him had the resources to waste on a prisoner. Or a mage of their own, perhaps. He rather hoped it was that, in the circumstances.

Slowly, cautiously, he managed to haul himself upright.

There were voices outside the tent, and then the red-headed dwarf stuck her head in and spotted that he was awake.

“Ritts - he’s awake.”

Hawke heard cursing from outside.

“I swear I did the formula right, hold on.”

The dwarf kept looking right at him.

“It’s okay,” she said, addressing him, “We don’t want to hurt you, if we can help it. We’re with the Inquisition and -”

Hawke flinched, instinctively. The Inquisition. Fuck, he was in trouble. He didn’t believe for a moment that a group using that moniker would be friendly towards mages. The original Inquisition had started as a group of mage-hunters in the wake of Andraste’s rebellion, and that was quite the model to take to heart. And to be here, near Redcliffe? It could only reasonably be one thing, and it meant he didn’t believe the dwarf one bit when she said they didn’t want to hurt him. That, and she’d already put an arrow in his shoulder.

If they realised who he was, he suspected she’d change her tune.

He tried to speak around the rag. The dwarf sighed and leant forwards, tugging it free.

“Easy there, you’re alright.”

She seemed nice. Which was entirely at odds with the idea of being shot and captured by the Inquisition of all groups. Hawke swallowed a mouthful of bitter saliva and said.

“The Inquisition? Mage-hunters from Andraste’s time and you don’t plan to harm me?”

The dwarf sighed.

“I don’t know about all that. All I know is that the Herald wants to seal the Breach. And that we can do some good, here, in the Hinterlands.”

The Herald. Hawke tried to keep his face neutral. Of course there would be a religious figure in the centre of this. He mentally adjusted this new Inquisition from Templars to Templar Cultists.

“And what,” he asked slowly, “Has that got to do with me?”

From outside the tent, that second voice came.

“Shit, they’re here Harding. Stop chatting up the handsome prisoner and get out here.”

The dwarf’s eyes widened in surprise, a flush crossing her features. Hawke raised an eyebrow. Handsome?

“Sorry,” the dwarf muttered, before grabbing Hawke’s chin and shoving the mage-bane soaked rag back into his mouth, “Ritts is a pain in the ass. I’ll be back, just need to go greet the Herald. Don’t start kicking up a fuss, the Seeker’s with her, and she won’t hold for any nonsense.”

The Herald - and perhaps, more dangerously, a Seeker. Hawke watched, heart sinking, as the dwarf crawled back out of the tent and everything seemed to go quiet.

Could he try to escape? If he could get away from the camp, he could wait out the magebane and burn away the bindings. But the idea of it seemed unlikely. There were at least two of these Inquisition agents outside, and he suspected more were showing up alongside this Seeker and Herald. And he was absolutely helpless without his hands and without his magic.

From outside, he heard footsteps drawing closer, and the dwarf’s voice.

“- We also captured an apostate near one of the Rifts. He might be able to lead us to their hideout.”

Hawke breathed out slowly, nostrils flaring. Shit, they thought he was of the rebels who’d broken away from Fiona, and he doubted they’d believe the truth. He seriously doubted the dwarf’s reassurance of not hurting him now. They’d torture him for answers he did not have.

A male voice answered, almost disdainfully.

“I’m sure he will be willing to betray his fellow rebels.”

Garrett reached for the Fade, hoping that Ritts’ slip with the formula for magebane had been off enough that he could find something through the Veil. His stomach twisted and roiled and he came back with nothing. Shit.

Then another voice, and it took him a moment to realise that he knew it - that he more than knew it.

“We’ll question him together. He might be more likely to speak with two fellow apostates.”

He was still reeling, still trying to breathe through the rusk of relief and panic coursing through him at the same time when Bethany Hawke stuck her head into the tent.

Chapter Text

His sister was the Herald.

Hawke sat by the campfire, still fighting off the last of the magebane as he watched her move around the camp, talking to everyone.

“She’s real, Hawke.” Varric said next to him. “She’s not going to disappear if you look away.”

Varric. Maker, Varric was there. Bethany and Varric were both involved with this Inquisition.

Bethany heard him and looked over with a faint smile.

She’d all but dragged him out the tent, his own legs struggling to hold his weight, demanding that he be unbound, that they make up an antidote to the magebane. A woman in Seeker platemail had stared at him, as surprised as Bethany herself.

“Your brother?” She repeated, “The Champion?”

And, well, now everyone knew who he was. Which, he supposed, was better than being tortured for information about the rebels he did not have. Just.

With the antidote in his system and a sincere apology from the dwarf - Harding - he’d managed to establish a few facts. His sister had been at the Conclave, and had been the only survivor of the explosion. Whilst she had no memory of what had happened, she’d stepped through one of the rifts Hawke had seen, a mark embedded in her hand that seemed to be able to close them. Some had named her Herald as a consequence, although she herself looked faintly baffled by the implication.

The Seeker, Cassandra, had been the Right Hand of the Divine and was the one who’d dragged Varric south. She was, apparently, also the driving force behind the Inquisition rising from the ashes of the Conclave.

The other companion travelling with Bethany that Hawke didn’t know was an elven apostate called Solas, who had apparently saved her life by stabilising the magic in her hand. Garrett had already offered the elf his thanks and gratitude.

Those two alone made strange bedfellows for this Inquisition. But Varric added a whole new level.

“Are you for real?” Garrett asked, uncertain as he sat beside him. “Both of you? Helping this Inquisition?”

Varric shrugged, a little uneasily, as Cassandra scowled at him.

“They’re the only ones doing something about the Breach, Hawke.” He said. “There’s worse causes to follow, right now.”

Garrett sniffed and rubbed at his wrists where the bindings had been.

The problem was he didn’t think the dwarf was entirely wrong, even as he distrusted them with every fibre of his being. Fuck, if Bethany suggested that they head to Tevinter he’d follow her, right then and there. Maker, he might suggest it himself, to get her away from these lunatics who thought she must be religiously chosen.

“You don’t believe that, do you?” he’d asked, when she explained. Bethany had shrugged.

“I’m not sure I have any other explanation, brother.”

Bethany crossed over to sit beside him.

“How are you doing?” She asked, gently.

He shrugged.

“Asides from the magebane and being hit with an arrow? Probably the best I’ve been in a long, long while.”

It was weirdly true. For years he’d missed his sister, and more recently he hadn’t even had Varric at his side for company. And here they both were. The only way this could get better was if Isabela appeared. Or Fenris - if he’d changed his tune since their last bitter meeting.

He might be there you know, Isabela had said after that argument, When you’ve remembered who you really are.

He pushed that thought away. There was no need to make himself melancholy when Bethany was sitting next to him, looking happier and healthier than he’d imagined.

More than anything, Garrett wanted to take a walk with her, away from the eyes and ears of the Inquisition and make sure she was okay. That she really did want to help, that she really was reasonably okay with the title, and the pressure, and the expectation. After his own experiences in Kirkwall, he wouldn't believe a word she said about it until he’d gotten her alone. Even Varric could be a problem, after how Meredith had used Sebastian against him.

“We were heading down to the Crossroads,” Bethany said, “To try and find a Revered Mother among the refugees. Apparently she wants to speak to me.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow.

“Why?”

Bethany looked faintly uncomfortable.

“The Chantry has decreed that I am a fraud, and the Inquisition a blatant grab for power. I need to find allies who we can persuade to our side.”

Garrett couldn’t help himself.

“Is it not?”

Bethany looked pained, but Varric chipped in ahead of the Seeker, who was scowling at him.

“You’ve got more right to be suspicious than most, kid, but give them a chance. This isn’t like the Order in Kirkwall seizing advantage. You think I’d let them do that to Sunshine?”

Sunshine. Garrett swallowed the lump in his throat. Varric had never really found a good nickname for him - called him kid, or kiddo sometimes when he was doing his reasonable schtick - but Sunshine had stuck. He hadn’t heard it for years.

He looked at Bethany, then nodded.

“Do you - do you want me to come with you?”

After so long, he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d do if she said no. Even if the last of the magebane sat uneasily in his stomach, making him feel queasy.

The fact Bethany’s eyes slid to Cassandra didn’t exactly fill Garrett with confidence - not until he saw that the look was thoughtful, considering - not looking for permission, but tallying options. Not for the first time, he wondered how Bethany would have coped in his shoes in Kirkwall. He doubted she’d have capitulated like he had.

“Come,” Bethany said, reaching out and squeezing his hand. “Please. Just don’t push too hard, if we find ourselves in a fight.”

Garrett gave a small, weak smile.

“I’ll club anything to death that gets within reach, don’t worry.”

He’d leaned more on using his staff as a polearm in recent years than his magic. In Denerim, he’d tried to hide what he was with as much care as he had in those early days in Kirkwall.

The group started to head down the hill, the Seeker planting herself very firmly next to him as they walked. She didn’t speak, but her expression was severe. Garrett eyed her, trying to gauge what kind of person she was - what kind of Seeker.

“So,” he said at last, “I hear you were looking for me, in Kirkwall.”

Her lips thinned.

“It is a small world. How did you come to be here?”

Hawke figured he probably shouldn’t betray that Varric had written to him.

“I was worried for my sister,” he said, truthfully, “Rumour placed her in Redcliffe.”

Among the rebels. Cassandra nodded, slowly.

“She is a remarkable woman.” She said, lowering her voice just a little. “Determined, and measured. Thedas could do far worse than her.”

Garrett snorted. He couldn’t help it.

“You’re right,” he said, watching Bethany’s back as she walked ahead of them, “It could have me. Didn’t do Kirkwall any good at all.”

Cassandra eyed him.

“Some would argue that without you, it would have been worse.”

Garrett’s smile was sharp, and brittle.

“It couldn’t have gotten much worse, Seeker.”

The road opened out, into the crossroads. A cluster of small houses pointed to the fact that this had once been a way station between Redcliffe and the Bannorn, but right then several Inquisition soldiers were engaged with fighting several Templars.

Hawke hesitated, just a moment, but Bethany and her companions were drawing their weapons - even the Seeker. He planted himself on the road and reached for the Fade.

His stomach twisted, nausea rising, but the Fade was there. He pulled fire as Bethany sent an ice spell launching forwards. For a moment, no time had passed at all since they’d fought together, powers overlapping and complementary.

She had always been the better Force mage - the magic that had manifested when they were nine. Garrett slammed the Templar with the shield charging at Cassandra into the ground as Bethany slowed the two archers’ movements to the point that they could hardly raise their bows. Varric took advantage to show the superiority of Bianca, rather pointedly, into both of their throats.

Several apostates charged from where they’d been pinned down by one of the houses, but rather than help fight the Templars, they sent magic hurtling at the Inquisition soldiers. Solas tried to reason, but Bethany had to dispel an ice mine before it appeared under Cassandra’s feet.

“Don’t think they’re listening!” She called, before dropping her own spell at the offending apostate.

And Maker, no wonder the Inquisition had picked Hawke off, alone, hoping to get information on where the apostates were hiding. He hoped, vaguely, they would have done the same to a Templar alone. He doubted it, though - even with Bethany and Varric among them.

The Seeker swung her blade and decapitated the last of the apostates and they were standing in the road, breathing hard, waiting for the next attack.

“If your Revered Mother is here,” Garrett said to Bethany, “We best hope she’s still breathing.”

Bethany didn’t look best pleased.

Chapter Text

They were headed back to Haven when they finally got a moment alone.

On the road into the Frostbacks, there was slightly less chance of being jumped by rogue apostates or Templars at any given moment, and Garrett took the opportunity to wander off a little distance when they made camp. It didn’t take long for Bethany to join him.

Three days. Three days they’d been reunited, scouring the Hinterlands for enemies, rams, supplies and demons. Three days without truly being able to talk.

Bethany folded into his arms without a word. For a moment, they just stood there, between the trees, clinging to each other.

It had been years. They’d barely been adults when Athenril had ripped them apart, and now Garrett felt a thousand years old.

“Fuck I missed you,” he muttered into his twin’s hair.

She laughed, shakily, and pulled back.

“I missed you,” she said, “Maker, I was so worried. Varric said you were somewhere in Ferelden but…”

But for three years, Garrett Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, had been in the wind. His sister hadn’t known where he was, or even if he’d made it out of the city alive. Guilt twisted in his gut.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I was - I was going to come to Montsimmard, but I thought you would be safer if I stayed away. I can’t imagine I’m very popular among the Circle Mages.”

Bethany snorted.

“Montsimmard could hardly have cared less what was happening in Kirkwall,” she said, “Most of the Circle followed First-Enchanter Vivienne in remaining loyal to the Chantry.”

“But not you?” Garrett asked.

“I knew what the Templars had done to my brother,” Bethany said, eyes hard.

Of course. She wasn’t an idiot - had known from the start that her transfer to Orlais was suspiciously timed with his sudden change of heart about apostates and the Chantry. His letters had grown shorter and less frequent as Meredith turned the screws on the city, until he’d stopped writing all together. And any gaps she might have had, Varric would have been able to fill them in - mostly. How he’d been under house arrest unless they needed him, how more than one Templar had taken to physical punishment, how Meredith had turned on him the moment Anders had destroyed the Chantry.

He changed the topic - a little. Or at least, he focused on the thing that was worrying him the most.

“Right, but you’re still letting this Inquisition prop you up as Herald?” He asked. “When you know what happened to me?”

“The Inquisition isn’t a Templar organisation -”

“-They’re headed up by a Seeker, it seems, and -”

Bethany raised a finger, and Garrett fell silent, watching her.

“Garrett,” she said, patiently, “This is different. You were struggling before the Arishok challenged you to a duel, what with mother, and Fenris - and Athenril, even. Meredith took advantage of you. Maker, she took advantage of me.”

“And you’re doing so much better right now?” Garrett asked, raising an eyebrow. “How many friends did you lose at the Conclave?”

“Dozens,” Bethany said, flatly, “But nobody close. I haven’t allowed anyone to get that close to me in years.”

And that confession hurt Garrett almost as much as the mention of their mother, at Bethany’s clear-eyed assessment of how much he’d been struggling back then.

“So, what, you think because you’re tougher than I ever was, the Inquisition isn't using you?”

“Of course it’s using me.” Bethany replied, almost exasperatedly. “I’m the only one that can close the rifts, Garrett. Whether I’m the Herald of Andraste, or this was all just a terrible accident, they need me on their side. And quite frankly, I need them on my side or I’m just another rebel apostate.”

Garrett stared at her, heart sinking.

“You think they would hurt you?” He asked.

“I’m not about to give them a reason to consider it.” Bethany said. “Much easier for everyone if I play along. But rest assured, brother, I don’t think I have much choice about being here with them, but I am not planning to be their pawn.”

Whereas he’d agreed, from the start, to be Meredith’s puppet. Maker, there was something about his sister, standing there in a blend of Circle robes and leather armour that radiated strength. She was cool, calm, and collected. And he…

He managed a watery smile.

“Shit, Bethy. You should have been Champion. Meredith wouldn’t have been able to use you at all.”

For the first time, Bethany winced.

“I’m not so sure,” She admitted, “I learnt a lot, in Orlais. In the Gallows, we couldn’t do anything. There was no freedom. In Orlais - well, Madame de Fer was mistress to Duke Bastien de Ghislain, and got herself named Imperial Enchanter. If I had been free, and you had been in the Gallows…”

She trailed off, and Garrett made himself shrug.

“Let’s be honest, if I had been the one in the Gallows, I would have been dead before the Arishok attacked the city. She wouldn't have had the leverage she needed against you, Bethany.”

His sister sighed, but she did not argue. There had been a time Garrett had been cocky and rebellious. He would not have survived long, in the Circle. Not with Ser Alrik on the prowl.

Instead, Bethany said.

“I know you have no reason to trust the Inquisition, brother, but they are trying to do the right thing. I’ll take you up to the Temple, once we’re in Haven, so you can get close to the Breach. Maybe then you’ll agree with me that staying is the right idea."

Garrett shivered and looked up, involuntarily over her head towards the maelstrom of magic and the Fade swirled.

“You know… me coming with you to Haven might not be a good idea.” He admitted. “A good number of people blame me for what happened in Kirkwall.”

His presence at her side definitely wouldn't do her any favours in persuading the Grand Clerics to work with the Inquisition. At best, he’d failed Elthina in Kirkwall. Some would absolutely believe that he’d known of Anders’ plot.

“Would you leave me so soon?” Bethany asked, and Garrett winced.

“No I -” Then he realised she was smiling. “Shit, you’ve got me wrapped around your finger and it’s been what, three days?”

“And you were worried I couldn’t handle one grumpy Seeker,” Bethany teased, smiling.

“Cassandra?” Hawke asked. “Yeah, she scares the pants off me. I swear she’s just waiting to pronounce judgement and execute me.”

“She’s tough,” Bethany said, “But reasonable. And if you think she’s scary - you should probably know Sister Leliana is back in Haven.”

Garrett stared.

“Sister Leliana?” He repeated. “Shit, the last time I saw her I was… not in the best frame of mind.”

That was putting it mildly. She’d come to Kirkwall to investigate how bad the situation really was, and Hawke had found himself caught between Meredith’s desire for an Exalted March and Elthina’s desire to keep the peace. And the time before that had been Chateau Haine - the first time Hawke had really understood how badly he’d fucked up by agreeing to Meredith’s demands.

Bethany was watching his face in a way that made him feel wary.

“What?”

“Sister Leliana is the Inquisition’s spymaster,” Bethany said, her voice carefully composed. “There’s a lovely woman from Antiva, Josephine Montiylet, who is serving as the Inquisition ambassador. Horrible job, mostly dealing with the Chantry and some Orlesian noble who-”

“Bethany,” Hawke said, aware that his sister was rambling. “What aren’t you saying?”

It was, he thought, the first time he’d seen her look nervous. Even when facing down Templars in battle, she’d been composed. And her skills were still dangerous, still a wonderful complement of his own.

“The Inquisition needed a Commander,” Bethany said reluctantly, “When in Kirkwall, Cassandra asked Knight-Captain Cullen to leave the Order and join her.”

Hawke stared at his sister. It took effort to not turn and run.

Cullen. Cullen was in Haven. Meredith’s second-in-command. The man who’d shown more sympathy than most for Garrett in those final months, but had still followed his commanding officer right into those final moments, when Meredith had attacked.

A Templar who’d watched Garrett for three long years, becoming little more than a ghost. Who’d helped save Varric, that night, but had done nothing to stop the bruises that were forming on Hawke’s body, had watched him for signs of blood magic as if the idea was not laughable. A Templar who’d been at Kinloch Hold and believed the worst of mages.

The same Cullen who had broken his phylactery, so the others couldn’t give chase.

His hands were shaking, he realised. He curled them into fists.

“Well,” he said, trying to keep his tone falsely bright, “That’ll be a fun reunion. I’m sure that won’t be a problem at all.”

Maker, Leliana and Cullen. If it hadn’t been his sister, if it hadn’t been Varric, he would have put the Waking Sea between him and the Inquisition.

Bethany squeezed his hand.

“Whatever happens,” she said, “I won’t let them hurt you, Garrett.”

He couldn't help but laugh. Maker, it was far, far too late for that.

Chapter Text

Haven was a small Ferelden village, deep in the Frostbacks, that had clearly been unprepared for the number of people who'd take shelter there in the aftermath of the conclave. The palisade walls gave it some level of fortification - as did several trebuchets - but there was a sea of tents outside the gates, and the stables seemed to be primarily being used to house people, not horses.

All of which meant that the new recruits running drills were in the only space available - directly in front of the gates. And Hawke spotted the blonde-haired Commander resting with his hand on the hilt of his sword before he'd even stepped into Haven itself.

Cullen looked round at their approach, eyes sweeping across Bethany and Cassandra and settling right on Garrett.

“Please tell me you sent word ahead,” Hawke muttered to his sister as the man seemingly went pale - quite the achievement, considering his Ferelden colouring.

“I did,” Bethany said, “Although I doubt it would have helped much.”

Cullen nodded to the Templar standing next to him and approached, his eyes still on Hawke. Garrett rather wished he didn't have to have this reunion in front of the others - especially Bethany. He tried, and failed, to think of something charming to say.

What came out of his mouth was bitter.

“Oh, look - the only Templar in Kirkwall I could stand to see again. Isn't that lucky.”

The former Knight-Captain flinched.

“Champion," he said, too formally, "It's - good to see you.”

Hawke gave a sardonic grin.

“You don't have to lie, Cullen. I know the truth.”

The Commander of the Inquisition forces looked pained, and Bethany stepped in to save him.

“Play nice, Garrett.”

“This?” Garrett responded. “Is nice, after everything that happened.”

Cassandra frowned at him.

“As I heard it, you would not have remained free for long without the Commander's intervention.”

Which was true. If the Templars had had Hawke's phylactery, they would have hunted him down wherever he went, sovereignty of foreign soil be damned. But that rather overlooked how they'd come to that point. How they shouldn't have had that power over him in the first place.

“And I'm grateful for that,” Hawke said, sarcastically, “Just - not everything else that happened.”

“Hawke…” Cullen began, before swallowing and frowning. “We should speak privately, if... if possible.”

Well, at least he wasn't insisting. Hawke made himself nod.

“Not now.” He said. “You have troops to train, and I - I need a little time.”

“A drink, perhaps, in the tavern?” Varric offered. “Always used to help.”

A small recognition that before Hawke had been Meredith's lapdog, that he and Cullen had gotten along. A little forced, a little cautious - but Cullen had owed Garrett his life, and had been Hawke's main source of information about how Bethany was faring.

Hawke grunted in agreement before turning to his sister.

“Shall we get Leliana over with before I make myself entirely unpopular?”

The Left Hand of the Divine looked at Hawke with cool eyes as they approached her tent.

“Champion,” she said, “It is - good to see you well, after the circumstances of our last meeting.”

Hawke snorted.

“I would like to say you caught me at my lowest, but it would be a lie.”

Things had declined, sharply, after Leliana's questioning in the dead of night. Garrett wasn't sure if she was behind the fact the Divine hadn't followed through with the threat of an Exalted March, or if he'd managed to stave off that possibility by fleeing the city, but either way Leliana had seen the truth of the Champion of Kirkwall a little too closely. A scared, desperate man who'd been well under the thumb of a woman who had not only been mad, but being slowly poisoned by red lyrium.

Leliana looked to Bethany.

“Word of your brother's appearance will be all over the village by nightfall - and with the Chantry within days. Are you prepared for the backlash this will cause?”

Bethany raised an eyebrow.

“I was already a rebel mage, claiming to be the Herald of Andraste. How is my brother more controversial still?”

She had a point, but what had happened in Kirkwall still lingered in people's minds - and there were unfortunate parallels between what had happened to the Chantry and the Conclave. Parallels that their enemies would point to to sow dissent. That, Leliana explained, and Garrett himself was a polarising figure. Which he knew well, but it was rather hard to hear someone else talk about him as if he weren't there - as if he were a problem to solve. It reminded him all too much of Meredith, of how she spoke of him.

Bethany though, stood firm.

“If anyone in the Inquisition tries anything,” she said, “They will answer to me. And if the Chantry is so concerned, perhaps it could address the accusation that it stood by and allowed the situation in Kirkwall to reach crisis point and only deigned to care about people's lives when those lives were their own?”

Leliana's lips thinned a little, but she nodded.

“We should talk, Champion. I have some of the details of what happened but some first-hand statements will go a long way to revealing the truth.”

Hawke sighed. His first few days among the Inquisition were going to be utterly miserable, between Leliana's questions and Cullen's confrontation.

“Did Varric's book not do a good enough job of rehabilitating my image?”

That book had been a surprise when it had started proliferating through Denerim. Hawke had managed to source a copy and flicked through it, barely recognising himself from the pages. Varric' version of him had been wittier, stronger - and had been sympathetic when trapped between the Knight-Commander and protecting Bethany. His final stand at the Gallows had become a revelatory moment, the spark for rebellion, rather than a man acting out of desperation, backed up by better souls than he. Although, if he was entirely honest, he could have done without his mess of a love life being put out there for everyone to read about. At least Varric hadn't known the details of that final argument with Fenris.

“Varric is a consummate storyteller and known liar.” Leliana said, before smiling at the dwarf, “You would have made a fine bard, Master Tethras.”

“You,” Varric replied, “Have never heard me sing.”

Hawke snorted, despite himself. He'd heard Varric sing - if bad tavern songs counted as singing.

“So you want the truth?” He asked. “It may make me less sympathetic, you know.”

“That,” Leliana said, “Depends on the details.”

Hawke sighed. He was really going to hate her questions.

“Right, well I look forward to it.” He said, “But until then, I need a stiff drink.”

“The Singing Maiden should be quiet enough,” Varric said, “Come on, kid - first round's on me.”

“Not sure you can keep calling me kid, these days Varric.” Garrett said. “I'm pushing thirty.”

“You're still younger than me, Hawke. And would you prefer Champion?”

Hawke winced.

“Absolutely bloody not.”

In the tavern, Hawke found a clear table near the back, trying to look inconspicuous. Without his old war paint, and without his sister, he could have been anyone. He wondered how many of the Inquisition followers had come from Kirkwall - how many people might know him by sight.

Varric placed a tankard of ale before him and sat down.

“I still can't quite believe you're here,” he said, taking a drink.

“Me neither,” Hawke muttered, “Shit, it is good to see you, Varric. It's been too long.”

Three years since he'd fled Kirkwall, and a long time before that when they'd last sat down in a tavern to have a drink together. Sometimes, he wondered how well he would have stood up to Meredith if she hadn't so completely isolated him away from his friends - stopped him from even the simplest of pleasures in the name of improving his image.

“I was going to write to the others,” Varric said, “They deserve to hear your whereabouts from us, not from rumour. Did you ever catch Isabela whilst she was in Denerim?”

Hawke sipped at his drink, thinking about his friends.

“Once,” he admitted, “She all but hunted me down.”

He didn't know what he'd say to them - any of them. Merrill had been so kind when he'd all but abandoned her. Isabela had been a light so often he was ashamed of how he'd left. Aveline and Sebastian both were made complicated by Meredith, especially the Prince of Starkhaven. And Fenris...

“Do you even know where Fenris is to write?” He asked, curious.

“I send the occasional letter to a mutual friend,” Varric replied, “I don't get much in the way of a response. He's usually killing slavers, all over the north. I think he hunted down any relation to Danarius that he could find, at one point.”

Right, well, that sounded as if the elf had moved on. Or at least, that he was focused on doing something he was good at. Hawke swallowed another mouthful of ale.

“I'd like to write,” he said, making up his mind, “The bridges might be long burned but... I'd like to try.”

Chapter Text

With Leliana’s questions, Garrett was almost relieved when Bethany set out for Val Royeaux with him at her side.

It lasted as long as it took the Revered Mother preaching to the crowd to spot him next to Bethany.

“You claim to be Andraste’s prophet and yet you bring this criminal here?” She challenged, “He, who turned a blind eye to his friend’s evil and allowed him to murder the Grand-Cleric of Kirkwall?”

“I hadn’t seen Anders in three years, thanks to the Knight-Commander’s restrictions on me.” Hawke argued, “I think friend is a bit of a stretch, in the circumstances.”

But he was more than a little aware of the Val Royeaux City-Guards exchanging glances. Varric shifted next to him, clearly uncomfortable.

“We are here for the Breach,” Bethany said steadily. “This chaos harms us all, Mother, and the Inquisition seeks to unite everyone.”

The Templar Order, however, did not. And whilst Garrett didn’t particularly feel sorry for the woman when she was backhanded to the floor, he didn’t exactly feel good as the Lord Seeker stared down at him.

“Champion.” He said slowly, a sneer spreading across his face. “Now we see what kind of group this Inquisition is - that they would welcome him and preach of unity.”

He glanced at his sister, grimacing.

“Starting to get the feeling, Bethy, that you should have left me at home.”

Cassandra tried to intercede, but she was shut down, hard. When the Lord Seeker turned to go, he paused.

“The Templar Order alone stands against the Void. These fools have shown us nothing, their Herald, less than nothing.”

Bethany raised an eyebrow.

“How far the mighty Order has fallen,” she said, loudly enough for the crowd to hear, “That they would strike an elderly Mother and then run away like cowards with their tails between their legs.”

A ripple went around the assembled citizens. A ripple of agreement - of shocked support.

The Lord Seeker turned back, fury flashing in his eyes.

“You will regret that,” he growled, before raising his voice, “Templars, arrest the Champion. Let us see which of us is a coward, Herald.”

Hawke’s breath caught in his throat. There were a dozen Templars, and just the four of them. And a crowd of perhaps fifty citizens. If the Lord Seeker was serious…

He was. His eyes were as hard as stone as the moment hung in the air.

Garrett’s mind raced. They couldn’t fight - not without risking Bethany. And with two mages against a dozen Templars, the odds were not in their favour. They couldn’t run away without seeming cowardly, which would harm the Inquisition. And he doubted anyone could persuade the Lord Seeker not to follow through with that threat. Even the Templar who’d been uncertain in the face of the Herald had his hand on the hilt of his sword. Apparently, the Champion of Kirkwall was a reasonable target - even if his sister was not.

The words left him before he could think to temper them.

“Oh, so I’m to be a hostage to the Order again?” He said, trying to sound brave. “That went so well for Knight-Commander Meredith.”

The Lord Seeker’s thin smile did not reach his eyes.

“You think to threaten me, Champion? I am not afraid of you. You will be taken back to Therinfal Redoubt and charged with murder, apostasy and being a maleficar. If you are lucky, death will be swift. If you choose to resist...”

He trailed off, threateningly. Hawke suspected blinking would be taken as resistance, and that something far more painful than a public execution awaited him in the Templar fortress. Supposedly, they had a cure for Tranquility. Would the Order still try it, if they knew it could be reversed? Was that better than what else they might do to him?

“Oh great,” Varric muttered, looking unwell, “I’m sure that trial will be an entirely unbiased affair.”

“Consider yourself lucky, dwarf, that you are not arrested for your part in that night." Lucius warned.

“Varric is not a mage,” Hawke protested, instinctively, “You overreach.”

“Lord Seeker,” Cassandra began, her own voice furious, “This man -”

“Should have been arrested the moment he reappeared.” Lucius said, smugly. “Have you so abandoned your principles, Seeker? And you dare to lecture me?”

People were drawing back, terrified. For a moment, Hawke wondered if his reputation could bully the man into backing down. But the Lord Seeker couldn’t - not now, not without proving Bethany’s claim. And Bethany herself…

Her face was drawn tight. She knew as well as Garrett that they were stuck. They hadn’t bargained for the Order being here - for the Lord Seeker to be here, and to be so hard-lined. Lucius had, seemingly, been reasonable enough to extend the hand of peace for the Conclave. Clearly that had gone up in flames alongside the peace talks and the Divine. His presence here changed everything. Whatever alliance Bethany might have hoped to strike with the Chantry already lay in ashes. And now, the Inquisition could falter entirely if she said or did the wrong thing.

Well, if Hawke had ever needed a miracle, it was right then. If Bethany truly was the Herald…

Nothing happened. No thunderclap from the heavens to smite the Lord Seeker, no heroic intervention. Bethany let out a slow exhale.

“The Inquisition,” she said, “Would ally with you, Lord Seeker. We want the same thing - the breach sealed, and peace in Southern Thedas. Would you spit in the face of that? Would you prioritise one man, one singular hatred, over the peace and sanctuary of the people?”

There was a smatter of mutterings from the watching crowd, still ready to bolt if weapons were drawn. Someone near the back shouted shame.

Bethany spoke again, her voice carrying over the crowd.
“You speak of standing alone against the Void. If you do this, history will remember that when you could have stood with allies, you chose to not just to walk away, but to enact violence as you did so against those who came seeking aid.”

For a moment, Garrett thought it would work. That the crowd was on their side enough that the Lord Seeker would have to back down. But the man’s face remained impassive, unchanged. He did not care, Hawke realised with a sickening twist. He thought himself above them - believed that he alone could save the world. And saving the world started, apparently, with executing the Champion of Kirkwall.

Well, better him than her. His moment had been and gone, and ended in disaster. Bethany? Bethany could do something about the rifts. She could seal the breach.

An idea came to him - a terrible, awful one.

Lucius spoke, and Hawke knew he had no choice.

“We are the Templar Order,” he said, “We bring peace and sanctuary to the people by ensuring they remain safe from magic. We do not work with the enemy.”

“And if I submitted?” Hawke asked, not looking at Bethany, at Varric, “Your concern seems to be with me, not the Inquisition. If I let you -”

“- No.”

Varric’s outraged voice - not Bethany’s. Bethany was silent. Bethany was awfully, awfully silent. Hawke swallowed and kept talking. He could do this, he could twist this into something positive - for Thedas, if not for him. If not for his friends, and family.

“I’ll surrender. I won’t resist - but in return, you have to negotiate with the Inquisition about supporting them in sealing the Breach. Surely that’s better than blood in the streets?”

There. The crowd had gone utterly silent. If the Lord Seeker refused, he’d make himself deeply unpopular. Word of his refusal to compromise, to work with the Inquisition would spread far and wide, and only the most ardent of Templar supporters would be able to swallow it whilst the Breach dominated the sky. The already unpopular Order would only become more isolated, and the Inquisition could capitalise on that.

And if he agreed…

There would be time, at least. The Order wouldn’t kill him straight away whilst they thought he had value in those negotiations. Whilst they thought they could use him against Bethany. And he didn’t doubt that sympathy would swell the Inquisition numbers. Maker, it might even do them a favour for the Order to kill him - to paint Bethany as so dedicated to the cause she would work with her brother’s murderers. Thedas loved a martyr, after all.

There was a chance, he supposed, that Bethany and the Inquisition advisors could run rings around the Order, could make them bend the knee as he had, in Kirkwall. But he tried not to think about that. He tried not to think about the possibility of hope in all this. He just needed the Templars to let Bethany go without bloodshed, without the whole thing being a disaster for the Inquisition. And if that meant dying, he just hoped it would be quick, in the end.

The Lord Seeker’s eyes were inhuman as he nodded.

“Say your goodbyes to your dear sister, apostate.” He said. “Inquistion - you will be invited to Therinfal Redoubt to take part in negotiations. Let it not be said that I am unreasonable.”

Chapter Text

Garrett had thought he’d known what he was getting into when he’d submitted to the Templars. He’d been wrong.

The journey back to Therinfal Redoubt had been a mostly quiet affair - in so much that he’d been gagged the whole time, unless the Templars were pouring magebane down his throat, or allowing him to eat. The Lord Seeker had made it clear that he was not to be abused: that as long as he complied, he would be treated well. And so whilst he did everything whilst under constant watch, and found himself literally tied to his guards during the night, they didn’t take liberties.

It all went wrong back at the fortress.

Down in the cells, his guards were crueller, more vicious, more unforgiving. There was something off about them, a wrongness he could feel in his gut. Several looked haunted, with dark circles under their eyes and wasting skin. Hawke could have thought they were ill, if it weren’t for the strength they seemed to exert - not just with their lyrium abilities, but physically too. One broke his arm just by grabbing too hard, gauntlet squeezing Garrett’s forearm and fracturing bone. That, Hawke knew, even as he cursed through the pain, was not normal.

Still, he hadn’t expected the Lord Seeker to be a demon.

Lucius - or the Envy demon inside him - had come down two days after they’d arrived and smiled down at Hawke.

“I would know you, Champion.”

Hawke had blinked and found himself standing in the Korcari Wilds, watching Carver die. He looked around, wary, remembering how the darkspawn had swarmed, his mother’s scream, the crunch of bone.

Lucius’ voice reached him through the horror of the moment, the fear.

Is this who you are? A scared little boy, running from death?

“Demon,” Garrett growled. “Show yourself!”

How had a demon taken the Lord Seeker? Hawke remembered a plot, back in Kirkwall, to sow dissension among the Order’s ranks by forcing demons into hapless Templars. It seemed impossible that the head of the Seekers was an abomination.

Around him, the scene shifted and swirled, and Hawke was suddenly against a wall, hands bound above his head as something cut into his back. He didn’t need to look around at the dank Kirkwall cellar to know what this was, didn’t need the phantom pain for his body to react as if it were real.

Athenril’s laughter cut through the air as Garrett screamed.

A broken dog, neutered by a knife-ears’ knives?

This couldn’t be happening. Hawke gritted his teeth, eyes shut tight, and tried to remember that this wasn’t real, that something powerful was playing with his memories. A demon, and nothing more.

Envy kept on, picking over the ashes of Hawke’s life. His mother, the Arishok, Fenris - all of it, over and over. Until Val Royeaux, and the crowd, and the Seeker standing over him, ordering his arrest.

Garrett blinked, swaying, and found himself back in his cell, the envy demon staring down at him with curiosity. It took time for Hawke to sift through the panicked, pained chaos in his mind to understand that this was reality - that the throbbing ache in his forearm was real, that the flagstones were cold under his knees, that those were real tears on his face.

He looked up into a distorted version of his own face.

“Interesting,” Envy purred, “But not complete. Still, we have time before your sister arrives.”

“T-time?” Hawke repeated, stunned. The demon wearing his face grinned, and it was so wrong Garrett wanted to vomit.

“The Elder One has such plans for you, Champion.” Envy said. “And I? I will be at your sister’s side. Guiding the Inquisition.”

Hawke shivered at the idea of it, stomach twisting itself in knots. Shit, that was bad. If the Envy demon could learn to emulate him…

“I will kill you, demon.” He growled, although the possibility of that was so far-fetched as to be laughable. He was trapped in a Templar dungeon, runes suppressing his magic. He was collared and chained to the wall, with a broken arm and no weapons.
He watched his own face flicker and contort, before it slid back to the Lord Seeker’s.

“Brave, despite everything. Interesting.”

Hawke bit his tongue to stifle his groan. Everything he did, said, would give the demon a little more of the picture that was Garrett Hawke. And if it could sift through his memories it would learn everything about him, eventually. How long? How long before his sister arrived?

Maker, he’d done this, he realised with a wrench. He’d pushed for negotiation between the two sides. Bethany would walk into the trap that was the Redoubt and find the Envy demon wearing Garrett’s face. Would she know? Would she be able to tell?

The Lord Seeker left, laughing.

It came back, day after day, and Garrett relived every high and every low of his life, the tapestry that made him who he was. It was miserable to see how many more lows there had been after fleeing Lothering. Of how much his life had spiralled out of control.
Every day, the Envy Demon got the image of the Champion a little better, a little more accurate, a little less distorted.

On the fifth day, Hawke collapsed sobbing once the demon had left. It had narrowed in on Leandra, playing the day Garrett had lost his mother over and over, trying to find another angle, another glimpse of Hawke’s suffering. He’d been forced to watch his mother’s corpse twitch and jerk, stumbling towards him a hundred times before Envy was satisfied.

When Hawke opened his eyes, someone was in the cell with him. For a heartbeat, he saw wedding-white before he saw a wide brimmed hat and a young, pale man.

“Envy is toying with you. Mirrors on mirrors on memories. A face it can feel, but not fake. Not yet.”

Was he going mad? Or was this another demon trying to take advantage? Hawke scrubbed at his face with his one working arm. He couldn’t move the fingers on his right hand anymore, his forearm painfully swollen.

“Go away, demon.”

“Not a demon,” came the response. “I want to help. You, not Envy.”

Not a demon. But the boy had just appeared in Hawke’s cell. There had been no scrape in the lock, and the kid wasn’t a Templar, not dressed like that. Garrett licked dry lips.

“A… spirit?”

“Cole,” the boy said, “Your hurt called to me. I came. There is so much suffering here. The Templars - they’re so red.”

Hawke tried to think. A spirit called from the Fade, attune to suffering. Kindness? Compassion? And the Templars being red - anger, perhaps? Maker, but the Order had to be angry. But something else was happening to the Templars here, something far beyond anger.

“Cole,” Hawke said, “Can you - could you get a message to someone? Someone not here?”

The boy cocked his head.

“A bond,” he said quietly, “Blood, but more. Two halves. You came into the world together. She aches. Anger and guilt. I shouldn’t have taken him. I shouldn’t have let him go.”

Bethany. Maker, Hawke hoped this worked. She couldn’t walk into this not knowing.

“Can you find her? Tell her - tell her the Lord Seeker is a demon. That if she comes, she can’t trust me. It’s not me.”

Cole frowned.

“You are you.”

“I might not be.” Hawke countered, before letting out a fragile laugh. “I might not be, Cole.”

“It wears your face,” Cole said, “But it is not you. It cannot be the Champion - only you can.”

That was strangely comforting, which probably said more about how badly Hawke was doing than anything else. He gritted his teeth.

“Please, Cole. Tell Bethany that. From me.”

“The Lord Seeker is a demon.” Cole repeated. “That if she comes, she can’t trust me. It’s not me.”

Hawke opened his mouth to correct the spirit, but Cole was gone. He slumped, praying that Bethany would understand. That if she came here, looking for allies, she would not come unawares. That he hadn’t doomed them all by submitting, back in Val Royeaux.

The Envy Demon returned the next day, and the next, its face filling in the details of Garrett Hawke. Until it smiled, and Hawke felt sick not because it was wrong, but because he could have been looking in a mirror. When it spoke, it had the inflections right, the sarcasm and the biting, bitter anger.

“Just in time,” it said, as Hawke flinched. “Your sister comes - earlier than planned. It would be better if we could move you out of the fortress but no matter. When did Hawkes ever make it easy for anyone?”

It could have been a joke out of his own mouth.

“Don’t hurt her,” Hawke begged, “Please -”

Envy patted his head, like a damn dog. Hawke gritted his teeth, every instinct in him hating it, loathing this creature as much as he’d hated the Knight-Commander.

“There won’t be any need for that, if she co-operates.” It said, before turning to the cell door. “If the Inquisition comes down here, kill him. There will be no rescue. The Elder One would rather lose this opportunity than let the Champion go free.”

Hawke’s heart sank as his doppelganger strode out.

Chapter Text

The sounds of fighting reached Hawke in the cells and he tensed, heart hammering.

It had been quiet for too long. And now…

The door down to the cells opened and Hawke watched, mouth dry, as the Templar from Val Royeaux who’d been hesitant in the face of the Inquisition came down the stairs. There was blood on his armour, and he looked exhausted. For a moment, Hawke didn’t know if he was friend or foe - and neither did Hawke’s guards.

Then Hawke felt magic, even if he couldn’t touch the Fade, and both Templars standing watch over his cell dropped to the floor. The Templar crossed over and ran them both through as they lay unconscious.

Hawke stared, stunned, and then looked up as Bethany appeared in the doorway.

“He’s here, Herald.” The Templar said, “Alive.”

“Thank the Maker,” Bethany muttered, hurrying down to the cells as the Templar started searching for a key.

Hawke scrambled up from where he’d been slumped, waiting for the worst. His sister was here. Behind her, a familiar figure in a wide-brimmed hat peeked out at him. Cole.

“Bethany,” Hawke said, mouth dry. “Are you…?”

She frowned at him, and then used a trickle of force magic to flick his ear. Garrett started back, confused, before realising she was checking he wasn’t an abomination. He managed a wry grin as he held his ear with the hand of his not-broken arm.

“Not a demon.” He said. “Although if you’ve seen another version of me running around…”

“We did,” Bethany said, scowling, “The Envy demon is dead. I think I would have seen through it even without your warning, but… Maker, it was not pretty.”

Cole spoke.

“Demons aren’t pretty.” The boy said, wisely.

Hawke breathed out as the Templar found the key.

“His guards show signs of red lyrium, Herald.” The man said, frowning.

Garrett blinked, even as Bethany cursed.

“Did they… Maker, of course they hurt you. But this is important, Garrett. Did you come in contact with red lyrium at all?”

“R-red lyrium?” Hawke repeated, stunned, “Like in Kirkwall? No. Shit, is that why -”

He trailed off, stunned. Red lyrium. If the Templars had been ingesting it, no wonder all his guards had looked ill. No wonder they’d been aggressive and impossibly strong. He felt a little sick looking down at the two dead guards. A blade in their sleep was kinder than what the red lyrium would do to them. He pushed unwashed hair back from his forehead.

Red lyrium, and an Envy demon masquerading as the Lord Seeker. The Order was broken.

Bethany looked grim as the door to his cell opened.

“I came to make an alliance only for Cole to appear two days out from the Redoubt and warn me of what was happening here. Even so, I didn’t expect the red lyrium. Most of the senior members of the Order have been corrupted and are dead. Knight-Vigilent Trentwach was murdered by Knight-Captain Denam under the Envy demons orders. We have Denam in custody, and I have ordered the remains of the Order to serve the Inquisition so that we may close the Breach.” She paused, looking at her brother worriedly. “I’m not sure I should be grateful to you, brother, for accidentally stumbling into this plot or wring your neck for putting yourself in such danger.”

Hawke gave a weak smile.

“Please don’t wring my neck, everything hurts.”

Cole shifted, almost on the balls of his toes.

“Cold dread,” he whispered, “A knife in every breath. I can’t feel my fingers. I can’t stay warm, why is my arm so warm?”

Garrett flinched. He knew why his arm was warm. He knew what it meant, and what would have likely happened if Bethany hadn’t come early.

“Madame Vivienne,” Bethany called back up to the corridor above. “I require your assistance for a moment, if you please.”

It was a slightly odd change in tone - somewhere between respectful and exasperated. The name Vivienne rang a bell in Hawke’s mind. Hadn’t the First Enchanter in Montsimmard been called Vivienne?

A dark woman, impeccably dressed and pointedly ignoring the blood splattered up her white Orlesian robes swept down into the cells.

“Bethany, darling, you know you need only call me Vivienne. Is this your brother? Are we quite sure he’s not an abomination?”

Hawke stared for a moment, aware that he hardly looked his best and that this woman had opinions on all things Ferelden and dirty, from Bethany’s letters. She had also been the leader of the loyalist mages, Hawke was pretty sure. When had she found her way to Bethany’s side? And how was that going, considering Bethany had gone to the rebels?

“Pretty sure,” he said slowly. “First-Enchanter Vivienne, I presume?”

Vivienne regarded him, nose wrinkled a little. He had to smell, he supposed. He’d been down in the cells for weeks.

“Well, at least you have some manners.” She noted. “Come, sit on the stairs. That break looks nasty and may need re-setting.”

Bethany pulled a face behind the woman’s back - a look that both encapsulated a wince at the idea of breaking bone, and slight mockery of the woman’s grandeur. Garrett moved slowly to the stairs and sat down.

“Did - did you say the Order will serve the Inquisition?” He asked faintly.

Bethany nodded.

“I can’t imagine you’re thrilled at the idea of the Order in Haven, but I didn’t see any other option. The rebel mages in Redcliffe seem to have indentured themselves to Tevinter and -”

Vivienne took that specific moment as the right time to press down, hard, on Hawke’s swollen and abused forearm. Pain screamed through Hawke’s body, shuddering down to his core. For a moment, he thought he might pass out. Then it was gone in a wave of healing, and his snarl of agony became a whimper of relief.

Bethany frowned at Vivienne, who seemingly was still paying attention to Hawke’s forearm. Dimly, Garrett wondered how the woman would react if he vomited on her robes.

“Shit that - oww.”

“Language, dear,” Vivienne muttered, still healing him.

Hawke snorted despite himself. He looked at Bethany and spoke through gritted teeth.

“Tevinter? Are you serious?”

Bethany nodded glumly.

“I don’t know what Grand Enchanter Fiona was thinking,” she said glumly, “But with you here, and their new Masters apparently obsessed with me, the decision was made to work with the Templars. We didn’t expect - well, this.”

Hawke flexed his fingers for the first time in days, feeling the shreds of pain crawl up his muscles to his shoulder.

“Neither did I, when I surrendered. I just wanted to find a way out of that mess without the Inquisition losing face, and with you safe.”

“You managed that, at least.” Bethany said quietly, “We’ve had quite the bump in people travelling to Haven to join our ranks. Apparently, word of what happened spread. You might have been a controversial figure before, but now? Now some people think you’re a hero for risking your life like that.”

Hawke noticed that Vivienne was frowning. The First-Enchanter stood up and brushed off her robes.

“I imagine that’s angered the Chantry.” He said, as neutrally as he could.

“The Chantry is in shambles,” Bethany replied coolly, “They’d hoped the Order would return to them, and with what has happened here - it may take them a long time to recover.”

Garrett bit down on his instinct to respond sarcastically about that being a great shame. Instead he glanced at the Templar who was still standing by the cells, looking uncertain.

“So, the Order follows you now?” He asked Bethany. “Really?”

“In theory, they follow the Inquisition, not me.” Bethany replied slowly, “Knight-Captain Barris here is the most senior member of the Order left untouched by the red lyrium. There are a couple of Knight-Lieutenants as well. And an estimated one hundred and fifty Templars under their command. All of which will be coming to Haven with us from here.”

A hundred and fifty Templars. Hawke shuddered despite himself. Some of them might have come from the Gallows. Between them and Cullen…

“Am I safe?” He asked, trying to sound composed. He touched the arm that had been broken not moments before, feeling that the swelling and warmth had gone down.

“Garrett,” Bethany said, “If any Templar tries to lay a hand on you again, I will kill them then and there. I shouldn’t have let the Lord Seeker take you. I -”

“Herald,” Vivienne said, cutting in like a reprimanding teacher, “We’ve spoken on this. The Lord Seeker, technically, had every right to demand what he did, and your brother did well to ensure the Inquisition did not lose support.”
Hawke was rather surprised to find himself in vague agreement with the woman.

“We didn’t know the Templars would be there - it changed things. As did the Lord Seeker turning out to be an Envy demon.” He shifted, uncomfortably, aware that he still ached and hurt in ways that would not heal easily. “But Bethy? I don’t regret it. Shit, I regret a fair bit in my life, but that? My only fear was the demon using my face against you.”

Bethany sniffed.

“Even so,” she said, “If a Templar even looks at you wrong… If anyone looks at you wrong…”

Hawke managed a weak smile.

“They’ll have the Herald to answer to. I understand. Thank you.”

Chapter Text

The journey back to Haven was miserable, even with them travelling ahead of Ser Barris and the remaining Templars.

Hawke had been grateful for a few hours out of the cells to prepare himself for travel. Despite the state of the Redoubt, Bethany had found bathing chambers, clean clothes and food for him, and by the time they set out, Hawke was steadier on his feet and ready to put as much distance between him and the Templars as possible. An Orlesian noble by the name of Abernache saw them off, promising to work with Barris to get the Order to Haven. Barris did not seem pleased that the puffed up masked man was staying. Hawke did not blame him.

On the road, Hawke tried to keep up, tried to keep lingering aches at bay and tried not to think about the envy demon. But when they rested that night, a few hours out of the Redoubt, Vivienne eyed him warily.

“As an apostate, you do know the basic wards to protect your dreams, don’t you?”

Hawke swallowed back the flare of anger, reminding himself that this woman had mended his arm earlier that day.

“Our father threw us to the demons and let us sink or swim.” Garrett said. “Oh, no. Wait. That’s a Harrowing, isn’t it? Yes, I know the wards.”

When Vivienne sniffed, Bethany stepped in between them.

“My brother may not have the formal training I received in the Circle, Vivienne, but he is more than competent. He would not have survived Kirkwall if he wasn’t.”

Hawke snorted despite himself and stared into the campfire.

“Kirkwall would have broken anyone,” he muttered.

Vivienne, it turned out, was snobbish, cold and unapologetic about her stance on the Chantry and the Circles. Even as they rode away from the mess and chaos that had been the Order, her view - expressed regularly - was that magic was dangerous, and Templars were necessary. She argued with Garrett that Meredith’s faults had been down to the red lyrium, that if she hadn’t been corrupted by it she would have never annulled the Circle. That Anders held most of the blame for what happened that night. That a stern hand was needed to guide mages, and that sometimes that meant a loss of liberties.

“So when Ser Mettin beat me so badly his own peers intervened, was that a stern hand?” Garrett snapped back. “How is it that an abusive Templar is one bad apple, but one maleficar is enough to lock us all away?”

Bethany mediated, as much as she could. And when she couldn’t, she’d find a way to separate them. Cassandra occasionally lost patience and snapped at them both to shut up, and Varric tried to keep Garrett distracted, but Cole’s flickering, haunting presence did not help. Vivienne was certain the boy was a demon. The Hawke twins didn’t know what he was, but he had helped them both at the Redoubt, so his presence was accepted. Even when he had a habit of whispering Garrett’s hurts and fears to them all around the campfire. The night he’d plucked the heartbreak of Fenris and their final argument from Hawke’s mind, Garrett had retired early and not said a word to anyone for a full morning the next day.

It hurt to have Cole picking through his memories so soon after Envy. Hawke ached, physically and mentally as they travelled. He knew he was lucky, in some ways, that the Templars had not tortured him, that he had not been exposed to red lyrium. He was definitely lucky they had horses - after weeks in a cold cell, his ankle was stiff and even with Vivienne’s healing, his arm was weak and sore. If they’d been moving on foot, he would have been in constant pain. As it was, he slept in patches, lost himself in memories and limped around camp, quiet unless he was arguing with the others.

Haven was almost a relief when it came into view.

“Maker, I need a bath.”

Warmth was the main thing - soap was secondary.

Vivienne sniffed in a way that suggested she didn’t think that Fereldens knew how to bathe, but Bethany smiled at him.

“Use the facilities in my room,” she said, “I’ll be in the War Room for hours, I’m sure.”

“Bethany,” Vivienne chided, “You have your own tub and you did not tell me?”

Garrett grinned.

“Perks of being the Herald - and the Herald’s brother.”

Vivienne’s scowl was absolutely worth it.

Garrett diverted back to the room he’d very briefly been sharing with Varric to grab the essentials, including his shaving things, before heading to Bethany’s room in the Chantry. It must have belonged to the Revered Mother before she’d gone to the Conclave. Or was it a Revered Father, in Haven? He was sure he’d heard that tale from when the Hero of Ferelden had discovered the Urn of Sacred Ashes. It hadn’t made it into the Chantry version of the story, of course, but Varric had had all the details back in Kirkwall.

The bath was everything he needed. By the time he emerged and headed back to his room he felt a little more human, a little more composed.

Varric wasn’t there. For a moment, Garrett considered heading to the tavern to find him, before deciding he didn’t want to face the Inquisition particularly right then. There had been more people as they rode in - including a giant Qunari leading a mercenary crew, and Hawke wasn’t entirely ready for the focus on him. No longer just Bethany’s brother, the Champion of Kirkwall, but rescued from the bowels of Templar captivity. If rumours had reached Haven about the red lyrium and the demon, there would be no end to the questions.

He settled down on the bed and started reading one of the serials Varric collected. When there was a knock on the door a little while later, he assumed it was Bethany and called.

“Come in.”

It was Cullen. And Maker, if there was one person he didn’t want to see…

The wariness had to be readable on his face as the Commander of the Inquisition forces paused in the doorway.

“Sorry,” he said, “I just - ah, wanted to clear the air.”

Hawke managed a wry smile.

“Pretty sure you weren’t at Therinfal,” he said.

Cullen winced.

“Perhaps not. But I was in Kirkwall.”

Hawke sighed and stood up. They hadn’t spoken before Garrett had gone to Val Royeaux - had not taken the time to try and patch things up. It was necessary, he realised. If he was going to stay, he could not avoid Cullen. He could not be scared of the Commander and who he had been.

“A walk, perhaps?”

He didn’t particularly want to be trapped in a small room with the man, even if he’d never been one of those that had hurt him. Cullen seemed to understand and stood aside whilst Hawke pulled on his boots and found an extra layer.

Outside the gates of Haven, Cullen cleared his throat.

“The Herald - Bethany - filled us in about Therinfal. I can only apologise that you once again found yourself among the worst of the Order.”

“To be fair,” Garrett said, not looking at the man, “I don’t think an envy demon pretending to be the Lord Seeker counts as actually being a member of the Order.”

It was almost a joke - and almost a peace offering. The truth was that Hawke had quite liked Cullen, for all his faults. He was fairly certain things would have gotten much worse in Kirkwall without the Knight-Captain keeping an eye on him. Although that was generous considering how bad things had gotten.

Cullen frowned.

“Envy may have guided the Order to their destruction, but the Order followed.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow.

“And you’re not talking about Envy.”

They had ended up near the trebuchets as Cullen paused. Garrett watched as the man seemed to wrestle with himself.

“I can only apologise,” he said, stiffly, “I - I saw what Meredith was becoming, and did nothing. I watched you break under the strain and tried to convince myself that the Knight-Commander was right - that it was you, not us. I was wrong.”

Hawke made himself breathe out. Was it enough? Could it ever be enough?

He looked back at Haven.

“I wanted to die,” he said quietly. “That night - and so many nights leading up to it. The pressure, the way Meredith was just waiting for me to fall…”

He trailed off and steadied himself.

“If you want my forgiveness, Cullen, then do better. Not for me - it’s too late for me - but for Bethany. A hundred Templars are going to descend on this place. The Chantry has already decided she is a fraud. Do not let her fall. Do not let her -”

He choked, the words seizing in his throat. No, Bethany could not suffer as he had. He’d do anything to stop it. Eyes closed, Garrett forced the tears back.

Cullen, gently, laid a hand on Hawke’s shoulder.

“You have my word,” he said, “Whilst I am Commander of the Inquisition’s forces, I will protect her. As I should have protected you.”

Hawke hoped it would be enough.

Chapter Text

Garrett kept a low profile, as much as he could.

There were new faces surrounding Bethany. The Qunari near the gates of Haven turned out to be an actual Ben-Hassrath, masquerading as a mercenary leader. Garrett had almost baulked when Bethany introduced them. The Iron Bull, gently but firmly, suggested they get a drink and chat.

“I don’t have a problem with you,” Garrett admitted, half way through the first pint, “Everything went wrong after the Arishok.”

There had been times in the years that followed that he wished he hadn’t survived. But he wasn't about to tell a perfect stranger that, when it could get back to the Qunari leaders. Instead, he thought about Tallis for the first time in years.

“About Chateau Haine…”

Bull shrugged and took a swig of his drink.

“Tallis was operating outside of her orders,” he said, “We pulled the agents we couldn’t afford to lose and let Orlais think it was their victory.”

Hawke swallowed, thinking of that day. Standing beside Duke Prosper as the Orlesians killed Salit and took the list of names, of how angry Prosper had been. He finished his own drink.

Bull looked at him, his one eye sharp.

“We kept tabs on what was happening in Kirkwall,” he said slowly, “What was happening with you.”

Hawke’s smile turned bitter.

“I imagine the Qun approved. That the reports suggested if I had just been controlled more effectively, none of it would have happened.”

He knew how the Qunari handled their mages. If Meredith’s leash on him had been figurative, the Qun’s would have been literal. Nothing would have saved him.

“Pretty much.” Bull acknowledged. “But red lyrium? That changed things. The Order was out of control.”

“Well,” Hawke muttered after swallowing a mouthful of ale, “That’s something, I guess.”

There were others too, including a loud-mouthed blonde elf who didn’t seem to like him much. Garrett couldn’t work out if it was because he was a noble, a mage, or both. Bethany reassured him that Sera didn’t seem to like anyone all that much, although Hawke spotted her hanging out with Varric, Bull and the Chargers, which suggested it was probably at least a mage issue. In their only individual conversation, she’d referenced both the rebel mages and the Templars needing to have their arses kicked.

Hawke had raised an eyebrow at her.

“Both? Most people tend to swing one way, Sera.”

She’d howled at that, and it was only when he heard her making a joke about swords later with Varric that he understood why.

If Bull made Garrett anxious, and Sera was faintly baffling, at least Blackwall seemed steady, serious and quiet. Bethany introduced them, out by the blacksmith, and the Warden had frowned.

“Champion, eh?” He said, “I half expected to hear you’d made it to the Wardens, after what went down in Kirkwall.”

Hawke gave a thin smile.

“I considered it, briefly. But I figured even the Wardens couldn’t protect me from the Chantry. Better to just… disappear.”

He knew from Anders that the Templar Order did not always accept the convention that the Wardens took anyone, regardless of their past. Especially when it came to mages.

Blackwall nodded, as if he understood.

Hawke made his way down to the blacksmiths fairly often, avoiding both the Chantry and Bethany’s advisers as much as possible. Josephine was pleasant enough, but Garrett didn’t like the way Leliana considered him. And then there was Vivienne, somewhere between a mentor for Bethany and a rival. She certainly didn’t approve of Garrett hanging about, and nearly always tried to give him something trivial and menial to do as if he were an apprentice, not the Champion of Kirkwall.

“She’s a bitch,” Garrett said to his sister in her room one afternoon, “Was she always like that?”

Bethany licked her finger to turn the page of the book she was reading.

“Pretty much. The first thing she ever said to me was well, aren’t you provincial. As if I’d come from the fields, not the Gallows.”

Cole appeared, as if he’d always been in the room.

“Stomach twisting, heart aching. Don’t look back. Don’t let them see you cry. Will I ever see him again? Will he be okay?”

Bethany paused. She did not look up.

“Hello, Cole.”

Garrett tried to pretend he hadn’t just heard how Bethany had felt as she’d been taken away to the Gallows. He rather hoped his own desperation, the panic and misery wasn’t about to come spilling out of the boy’s mouth.

Cole tilted his head, listening. Then he frowned.

“I don’t understand. He’s sitting on your bed.”

Bethany sighed and finally closed her book. She looked at Cole, not her twin brother.

“He is,” she said, her voice steady, “But we are not the people we were then. And I miss that. I miss that simplicity.”

Garrett reached across the bed and squeezed her hand. She squeezed back.

They’d been inseparable since birth, had both manifested magic within weeks of each other. And then they’d fled Lothering and slowly everything had fallen apart.

Bethany, as the Herald, threw herself into finding a way to close the Breach. With Ser Barris and the Templars arriving at Haven, she withdrew into planning meetings and discussions. Sometimes Garrett joined her, but if he was honest he was out of his depth when it came to magical theory, and uncomfortable when the Templars spoke of suppressing the magic around the Temple. Eventually, he told Bethany to just tell him what to do when the time came and avoided going back to the War Room.

“Your sister is a brave woman,” Blackwall noted as he sharpened his sword and Hawke watched the Templars run drills, trying to get used to their presence. “Remarkable, really.”

“She was always the better twin.” Hawke joked.

Blackwall paused in what he was doing, looking at Garrett.

“You really believe that.” He said, and Garrett wished he wasn’t so observant.

“Only one of us is the Herald,” Hawke replied, before making a swift exit to go and find Varric.

Two days later, they all headed up to the Temple, Bethany at their head. Hawke had his orders, along with everyone else. Solas, walking with the Herald, would help guide. Vivienne and a handful of loyalist mages who’d come to Haven were in charge of wards to protect everyone from demons. The few rebels and apostates who’d made their way to the Inquisition would lend their power to Bethany. His job, and his only job, was to protect his sister if a demon made it through.

As they walked up to the Temple, Garrett knew he was not the only one who would die to protect Bethany that day. From the way Bethany looked back at him sometimes, she knew it too.

At the Temple, Hawke shivered at the presence of red lyrium - at the heat and whispers emanating from it. Next to him, Varric shook his head.

“Never thought I’d see it here - or anywhere but the Gallows.”

“We’ll find out what’s causing it,” Garrett said quietly, “And get rid of it.”

Varric shivered.

“Don’t stand so close.” He cautioned, before moving on.

Hawke moved away, and closer to Bethany. A unit of two dozen Templars filed down into the crater left by the Temple. Garrett managed to catch Bethany’s hand before she followed them.

“Please be careful.”

It wasn’t everything he wanted to say, but it was all they had time for. She managed a smile for him and replied.

“I was always the careful one, brother.”

When the Templars started to suppress the Breach, under the watchful eyes of both Cullen and Barris, Hawke felt faintly sick. He watched as Bethany’s hand cracked with power, green light flickering.

“Mages, focus!” Solas called out.

Hawke felt the Veil tearing nearby and sent a gout of flame hurling at the Shade that tore through the wound. Bull charged in, axe swinging. Bethany raised her hand to the sky, magic crackling as the Order poured lyrium-enhanced suppression towards the Breach.

It made Garrett’s teeth hurt, his skin crawl, but he focused as a rage demon threatened to pull its way into the Temple. He could hear another demon - desire perhaps - whispering to him, telling him that they could keep Bethany safe. The Inquisition couldn’t use her like he’d been used. If he struck the rage demon with more force than necessary, it only served to kill it faster. He made himself breathe, denying the voice calling to him. It was a lie - and he needed to stay alive, stay him, to keep her safe. He didn’t trust anyone else to do it.

The magic pouring through his sister was too much for one person to handle in normal circumstances. Hawke gritted his teeth, hoping, praying, she would be okay.

And then her hand glowed green, his vision filling with nothing but light. When he blinked, Bethany was standing, swaying, as above her head, the sky knitted closed and the Veil reformed, scarred but whole.

She’d done it, he realised. His sister had done the impossible.

Chapter Text

Garrett was well on his way to drunk when it all went wrong.

He’d been dancing with Varric, ignoring the throbbing in his ankle as for the first time in a long time, he relaxed. Bethany had done it. The future was still uncertain, he knew, but right then it looked brighter than it had in a long time. The Breach had been sealed, and he was reunited with Bethany. Whatever happened, right then he felt as if he could handle it.

Which of course had to be a universal sign to the Maker to really fuck things over.

It started with torches on the horizon, and Bethany hurrying to the gates alongside Cullen and a dozen others. A voice called out from the other side and they got the gates open to reveal a very handsome mage swaying from exertion after killing a half-dozen attackers.

The rebel mages and their Tevinter masters were marching on Haven.

Someone handed Cullen an eyeglass to get a better look and it was handed from him to Bethany to Garrett. Still, he wasn’t prepared for what he saw.

“Oh, shit.” He breathed.

Because that, standing on the path, was Corypheus - the blighted Magister Garrett had unwillingly freed back in Kirkwall. It was impossible. He was dead.

Hawke felt the panic rising in his chest, not just at the sight of the impossible figure but at the memories threatening to overwhelm him. That descent into the Warden prison had been some of the worst weeks of his life - and the beginning of the end in Kirkwall. He gripped the spyglass in his hands, stomach twisting.

No one else knew. His friends hadn’t been with him during that expedition, and he’d been surrounded by Templars the whole time. Varric knew that the Carta had been focused on him, but had no idea what had happened in those mountains. In his book, Hawke had killed the cult, who wanted the blood of the Champion to create a new kind of darkspawn - an editorial flourish to explain where he’d gone, and why. Only Garrett looked at that blighted creature leading the army and knew how much trouble they were in.

“Bethany,” he said, fighting to stay calm, to stop his knees from giving way, “I know who that is. We have to run.”

Because how could he explain that it had been the toughest fight of his life? That he was certain the creature had been dead, but here he was? And now he wasn’t alone - that was an army with him, an army of mages. Even with the remains of the Order on their side, they could not win.

Bethany - and the others - stared at him.

“You know this corrupted being?” Cassandra demanded.

Hawke winced.

“When the Carta attacked me - I faced this creature. His name is Corypheus and he’s a blighted Tevinter Magister, possibly one of the Magisters Sidereal. I don’t have time to explain but you need to know that we killed him. If he’s back … I don’t know how. And I don’t know how we can stop him.”

Bethany was staring at him, pale. Then she turned to Cullen.

“We need a plan,” she said, her voice far more confident and controlled than her brother’s.

Cullen’s plan to use the trebuchet was a good one - or at least, Garrett didn’t have any better ideas. He joined his sister, Cassandra and Varric at the first siege weapon as Cullen ordered the others to start manning other defences.

Hawke’s hands trembled, just a little, as he gripped his staff. The rebel mages had sold themselves to the Imperium, but Bethany would have pushed to secure their support if it hadn’t been for him being held by the Templars. Was this the price? And if she’d gone to them regardless, would they now be facing the corrupted Order? Would Bethany be facing him across the mountain, his mind and body no longer his own thanks to red lyrium? Or would it be Envy standing next to Corypheus, wearing his face?

He pushed those thoughts aside. He couldn’t think of them now, the what ifs and speculations. His life had been full of them over the years, and it never helped to consider how different things could have been.

“Garrett,” Varric said quietly, “You good?”

“I’m good.” He lied. Because how could he name the panic in his throat, his genuine fear that this was an enemy that literally couldn’t die?

They didn’t need to kill him, Hawke told himself. His army could die, could be driven back.

The fight went well, and Garrett was steadily growing more confident that this could work - that they could take enough of Corypheus’ army from him to force him into retreat - when they heard the dragon roar echo across the mountains.

“Back, back!” Bethany yelled, and Hawke had just enough time to see the blast, to throw himself to the side, hitting the ground and rolling as the trebuchet was struck.

“Back to the gates!” Cassandra called.

He scrambled up, wincing a little. His wrist ached, his ankle ached. He limped back towards Haven, making a mental note to practice wielding his staff with his left more often. He leant on it now, trying to move faster.

His sister slowed to his pace, and he made himself smile at her.

“It’s okay - go. You need to get to the Chantry. I’ll catch up.”

She didn’t leave his side, though, and together they made it to the gates, Cullen waving them through.

In the Chantry, the Tevinter mage who’d fled before the army to try and warn them was staunching the flow of blood from one of the Chantry brothers. When he heard Cullen’s suggestion to bury the army - and Haven - under the mountain, he bristled.

“I didn’t come all this way to die, Commander. For a Templar, you think like a blood mage.”

Hawke cut in, body aching and tired. He didn’t know this handsome Vint, or why he wasn’t working with the Venatori, but they were all still standing because of Cullen’s plan, Cullen’s defences.

“Bit harsh,” he said, trying and probably missing for light, “Coming from a Vint.”

Dorian eyed him, frowning, and then seemed to glance from Hawke to Bethany and back again, realisation filtering through. Hawke gave him a sharp-tooth, tired, grin. He watched the pretty man swallow, throat flexing.

“Enough,” Bethany said, looking tired, “Cullen - is it our only option?”

It wasn’t, but the alternative made Garrett’s stomach drop through the floor. A pilgrim’s path was one thing, offering escape to the Inquisition, but the idea of Bethany heading out to face Corypheus was another. He turned to her in a panic.

“You can’t - don’t do this, Bethany. Please.”

She smiled at him sadly.

“I don’t think anyone else can, brother.”

“Then I’ll come with you,” Garrett said, “Maybe I - Maybe I can distract him.”

He was free because of Garrett. Did he know that? Would he recognise him? Would it be enough to draw his ire from his sister, who’d interfered with his plans?

“No,” Bethany said firmly, “I want you safe, Garrett. Please - for me.”

Hawke swallowed, but made himself nod. He looked to Cullen, who nodded slowly.

“Help me get the citizens to safety.” He said.

Hawke did what he could as his sister hurried back out into the village flanked by his best friend, Cassandra and The Iron Bull. Varric had gone with her - and Bethany hadn’t tried to stop him. Garrett threw himself into helping Cullen organise the citizens, trying not to think of everything he was possibly about to lose. After having so little, for so long, the possibility that he could lose either of them was haunting - the very real probability he was about to lose both enough to paralyse him entirely.

He was helping the last of the civilians through when Cullen found him.

“If you want to wait…”

Hawke nodded.

“I can’t - I can’t leave her. Not again.”

Cullen gripped his shoulder.

“The Maker be with you. Both of you.”

At the entrance to the path, Hawke waited, heart hammering. Not long after, he heard the scream of the dragon and then footsteps.

Cassandra and The Iron Bull came running around the corner. The Qunari was carrying Varric, Cassandra Bianca. Hawke’s heart lurched. Bethany wasn’t with them. There was blood dripping from Varric’s scalp, and Garrett had to remind himself that head wounds always bled badly.

“Where’s Bethany?” Hawke demanded.

“She told us to run,” Cassandra said grimly, “And faced this Corypheus alone.”

“Is he -”

“He’ll be fine,” Bull reassured him, “We’ll get him to the healers.”

Around them, the mountain quaked. The avalanche. Hawke waved them through, grim faced, watching the path. She had to come. She had to. She had -

He stood alone, waiting for his sister, his heartbeat ringing in his ears as the Frostbacks groaned and shuddered.

And then she was there, running towards him as the snow and ice began to bury the village. He threw a barrier up, over her, and she threw herself forwards. Somehow, he managed to reach her hands and dragged her into the tunnel as the world went white.

Chapter Text

Garrett clawed his way out of the avalanche, the air around him misting as he used fire to warm himself. If he knew where Bethany was, he would have melted the whole damn lot.

“Bethy? Bethany!”

He heard a groan from somewhere to his left and looked, heart in his mouth.

She was lying in the snow, having clearly used the last of her strength to tunnel her own way to the surface. He stumbled over to her, feet sinking deep into the snow. His ankle ached in the cold. He couldn’t see her staff.

It didn’t matter. She was alive - and so was he. He could get them to the others. When she didn’t stir again, he lifted her over his shoulder before leaning his own weight partially into his staff.

“Shit,” he muttered, “When did you get heavy, Bethy?”

Or, maybe, when had he become weak? Old injuries lingering alongside newer ones, and whilst he’d always been tough for a mage, the years had stripped him of the easy strength of youth. He gritted his teeth and set off, using the staff to try and estimate how deep the snow drifts were, how treacherous underfoot.

He kept up a thin heat around him, keeping him and Bethany warm as he limped on, putting one foot in front of the other, ignoring the ache becoming a throb, becoming a snarling pain.

Against his shoulder, Bethany stirred. Garrett paused and called her name, but got no response. He took a moment to steady himself before setting off again.

“Come on,” he said, more to the air than to her, “If I carry you the whole way, someone will need to carry me tomorrow.”

They stumbled out into the mountain air from the passage and Garrett’s heart sank. The avalanche had shifted the snow and ice enough that he couldn’t see any obvious path - just a torch flickering high above.

He couldn’t risk yelling. Not with the mountains already unsettled. Grimly, he started the climb up towards that light.

He was barely aware of anything - just that torch, and the promise it offered. The world narrowed to the flickering light and the knowledge that he had to get Bethany to safety. One step. He could take one more step.

“There!”

Garrett blinked, staggering, and his leg finally gave out, pain screaming up his shin. He sank to the snow, hissing in pain. There was more than one light now. Was it the Inquisition, or was he -?

The next thing he knew someone was tugging him upright.

“Easy, Garrett,” came Cullen’s voice, “We’ve got you. We’ve got Bethany.”

“Is - is she…” Hawke trailed off, voice slurring a little. Maker he was exhausted. The kind of weariness that came from overdoing it, from running too low on magic and strength alike. The world was spinning as he tried to focus on the Commander.

“She’s okay,” Cullen said, and he sounded relieved, “You got her out.”

Hawke was shivering. When had he stopped warming himself and the air? When had he fallen? He couldn’t remember -

“C-cold.”

“I know,” Cullen said, “And I know you don’t want to hear this, but that’s good, Hawke. You need to tell me if that changes, okay? If you feel too warm.”

Warm? Hawke didn’t think he’d feel warm ever again. He practically collapsed into the arms of the Knight-Captain. No, Commander. This wasn’t Kirkwall. The man stiffened, then tried to help him to his feet.

The moment Hawke tried to put weight through his ankle, he ended up back in the snow, pain jarring through his whole body.

He ended up with his arm slung around Cullen’s shoulder on one side, an Inquisition scout on the other, wincing with every limping step. Behind him, Bethany was still unconscious and being carried by the Iron Bull. She looked very small in his arms.

The Inquisition - or what remained of it - were scattered over the path ahead. Several campfires were burning to try and keep the cold of the night away. Cullen helped Hawke to what appeared to be a makeshift infirmary. He slumped onto the tarp on the ground whilst Bethany was deposited, gently, onto a campbed. Vivienne strode up and immediately knelt to offer healing, leaving Hawke to Solas.

The elf frowned as he let creation magic wash through Garrett.

“Your ankle…”

Hawke winced.

“An old injury,” he said, deliberately lowering his voice, “It never really got treated.”

Solas looked disapproving, but Hawke’s gaze flicked past him to the Commander, who seemed intently not listening, as if giving the illusion of privacy. Or denial.

The elf started to remove his boot, and for a moment Garrett considered stopping him. There was nothing he could do. Whatever damage he had done to it, back at the Gallows, it was several years too late. When he opened his mouth, Solas shot him a cool look and continued. Hawke winced as his fingers probed burning, swollen flesh.

“You will keep this elevated,” Solas said, “And ride in the wagon tomorrow. When we are able, I will do what I can to fix this.”

“You don’t have to,” Hawke said, quietly, “I’ve learnt to live with it. Mostly.”

Cullen had moved away, and Garrett watched him for a moment before focusing back on the healer.

“I will not be able to do much,” Solas admitted, “But until the swelling is down it’s difficult to know what is permanent and what can be healed.”

Someone passed Garrett a blanket and he wrapped it around his shoulders. Solas found a small supply crate and propped his foot up. Hawke leant his head back against the edge of Bethany’s camp bed.

He was drifting asleep, despite the uncomfortable position and the presence of the Inquisition’s leaders arguing near the campfire, when he heard his name.

“Garrett.”

Bethany. She was awake.

He twisted, awkwardly, wincing a little at the pain in his leg. She blinked at him, before offering a tired smile.

“Hey, Bethy. Shit, you had me worried.”

“You and everyone else,” she said quietly. Beside her, Mother Giselle was fussing with herbs to make some kind of paste. The woman reached, almost absently, to squeeze his sister’s shoulder.

“You doing okay?” Garrett asked. “Just tired?”

Bethany winced, but nodded.

“No injuries,” she said, “Just overdid it. You want to tell me what that monster is?”

Garrett closed his eyes.

“Not right now. Tomorrow. Although, shit, it’s probably tomorrow already, isn’t it?”

It was late, and he was tired. He knew he’d have to explain himself over Corypheus - that the story would anger more than a few people. But he needed some strength back, first.

He heard Bethany sigh, and she tightened her grip on his hand.

“An enemy we can’t kill,” she said, “Maker, how do we handle this?”

“With faith in our hearts,” Mother Giselle said. Hawke crept open an eye to shoot her a look.

He had no time for the Chantry. After years of hiding behind false piety whilst Elthina did nothing, Garrett didn’t trust any of them. But Bethany used to sneak into Lothering Chantry, despite the risk of Templars, just to hear Leliana tell her stories. She seemed more inclined to listen.

The Revered Mother’s speech seemed sincere, but Hawke was sceptical. It wasn’t until half the damn camp was singing around him, voices lifted high, that he felt anything at all. And it wasn’t hope, or faith that filled him. It wasn’t belief that filled his eyes with unshed tears.

It was fear. Fear of how high they were raising Bethany, of how far she would have to fall. His grip on her hand was tight as he fought to keep his breathing even.

“Maker,” he muttered, trying to find the joke, “Maybe if they’d sung for me more often in Kirkwall…”

Bethany, sitting up, made a small noise, but it sounded pained rather than amused. For a moment, they sat in silence. Then Garrett rested his head against his sister’s knee.

“They will make you Inquisitor.”

He had to say it. It burned at him like bile. And Bethany was no fool, she had to know it was coming. She was the Herald - she had healed the Breach and faced their new, terrifying enemy. With Cassandra and the others not pushing for the title, there was only one choice.

He listened to Bethany exhale, slowly, hearing everything he hadn’t said. His terror for her after everything he’d been through. His anguish that the world once again relied on the Hawke twins and his certainty that it would end in heartbreak for them.

“I know,” she said, more steadily than he had managed, before faltering and dropping her voice to a whisper. “Maker, help me.”

Hawke was pretty damn sure the Maker wasn’t listening - but he was. And he wasn’t about to let Bethany make the same mistakes he had. If she was going to be Inquisitor, she wouldn’t be a puppet.

Solas approached, having kept his distance during the singing.

“Herald,” he said, “May I have a word?”

Chapter Text

The Inquisition moved through the mountains, led by Bethany and Solas.

Garrett limped along, near the back, taking advantage of the others moving through the snowdrifts to make his own path easier. He leant on his staff, more a crutch than a weapon, and tried to keep pace with the Chargers.

“You need a brace,” Bull noted, his own pace slowing as the hours went on.

“Doesn’t appear to be doing you much good.”

Bull laughed.

“I’m still moving, aren’t I?”

When they called it quits in the late afternoon, several hours before dark so they had time to set up camp, Hawke practically fell down besides the first campfire. But when he saw the Commander walking towards him, he braced himself for the worst.

“Garrett,” Cullen said, faintly awkward, “We should talk.”

If he was honest with himself, he’d expected this earlier. Bethany had been focused on leading the Inquisition to safety, but Cullen, Leliana and Cassandra would all have questions. He closed his eyes before nodding.

“You might need to help me back up.”

Cullen helped him back to his feet. Hawke winced and tested his weight through his ankle. It would hold. He limped a little way out of the camp that was forming, holding his cloak tight around him.

It was beautiful, he thought, looking around at the Frostbacks. If you could ignore how dangerous it was, how they didn’t have enough supplies.

“Go on then,” he said, not looking at Cullen. “How much trouble am I in?”

Bethany had said that anyone who tried to hurt him would pay for it. But that was before Garrett had admitted to knowing anything about the monster that had attacked the Inquisition and left it in tatters, reduced to this straggly band of survivors in the snow.

Cullen grunted and shifted next to Hawke, huddled a little against the cold.

“Why don’t you start at the beginning?” He asked.

Garrett wondered why it was Cullen here, nudging him for information, and not Leliana.

“Do you remember the Carta that attacked me?”

He’d mentioned the Carta, hadn’t he, back in Haven? What had Meredith told the Knight-Captain of Garrett’s trip to the Vinmark mountains? He’d come back under guard, and remained there until the night Anders’ blew up the Chantry. For his protection, she’d argued then. The last of his freedom torn away until he couldn’t even piss without the Order knowing.

“They had a hideout in the Vinmark Wastelands.” Cullen acknowledged, carefully. “You left with a retinue of Templars and not all of them made it back.”

Hawke swallowed.

“Varric didn’t know the truth,” he said, “So what was in the book was bullshit to fill the gap. The truth is that there was a Warden Prison there - buried deep underground.”

Slowly, cautiously, he told Cullen of that prison. Of how the tunnel had come down behind them, and then the barrier when they’d advanced further in. Of how they’d found the demon behind the seal, and Hawke had recognised his father’s voice from the first utterance. He did not mention his blind terror, the sudden, certain knowledge that his father had done terrible things down in the prison - and that Meredith would use it to destroy him. Instead he focused on Larius, mad from the taint, and the darkspawn. On how Malcolm had had no choice and how Knight-Lieutenant Janse had sided with Larius in the end.

“He was dead.” Garrett said, turning finally to look at Cullen. “Shit, Janse cut off his head. I don’t understand how he could have survived.”

Hawke had buried the exit, sick and exhausted and still wounded. He’d refused to sleep that first night, half-convinced that Janse would decide he was too dangerous to live. It wasn’t blood magic that had freed Corypheus, but it wouldn’t matter - not to the Order.

Cullen was frowning. He shook his head.

“A Magister from the First Blight,” he said, sounding stunned. “Maker’s breath.”

“A probably immortal Magister from the First Blight.” Hawke corrected. Then he gave a nervous chuckle. “Shit, in hindsight, I should have followed in my father’s footsteps.”

He would have died, he knew. At best, he would have made it back to the Gallows so the Order could make a spectacle out of it. But the seals would have held.

Cullen’s frown deepened.

“Breaking the seal wasn’t-?”

Hawke spoke, hurriedly.

“No. It would have worked if I wasn’t a mage. It was the blood that was necessary.” He faltered, frowning at the Commander. “Did Meredith not tell you this? Knight-Lieutenant Janse gave her the full report. I didn’t dare contradict anything she said.”

For a moment, Cullen seemed to be digesting that information. Then Cullen let out a shaky breath.

“Meredith’s version of that story - the justification for monitoring you so intently - it was different. At least, there was no mention of Corypheus. You found yourself trapped in an ancient Warden prison in the Deep Roads and cracked under the strain. Probably due to what you witnessed in Ferelden and the Blight. The Order had to save you from yourself.”

Garrett stared at Cullen. No Corypheus. Maker, not even a mention of his father.

“I cracked?” He repeated, before giving a shallow laugh, “Fuck. You thought the Order was watching me for my own protection.”

“And ours,” Cullen said quietly, “There are only so many ways a mage can crack, after all, and Meredith made it clear you were a threat.”

Hawke ran his fingers through his hair, picturing it. He’d been so scared, so isolated - it would have been so easy to look at him and think that he really was teetering on the edge. Maker, he had been - just not in the way the Order would have suspected. But why keep Corypheus a secret? Why not reveal Malcolm Hawke’s use of blood magic and point at the son? Meredith could have been rid of him easily. And Corypheus all but proved her twisted world-view that all magic was a threat.

He couldn’t help but ask.

“Why wouldn’t she use the truth to bury me? To condemn all mages?”

Cullen flinched, but considered his words.

“There were already tensions in the Order about her behaviour,” he admitted quietly, “If the official story was that the Champion had discovered one of the Magister’s Sidereal … a not insignificant number of Templars would have agreed that she was crazy.”

“She was crazy,” Hawke muttered, “But not about that.”

“No,” Cullen said with a sigh, “Apparently not. A pity - a pity that Janse is not among the survivors of the Order. It would be good to have her side of this story. Meredith must have ordered her and the others with you to remain silent.”

Hawke pulled a face. He hadn’t exactly got along with the woman, but he had descended into the Warden Prison and faced a nightmare alongside her. She’d held his life in her hands and acted with honour. For all his fears of being removed, of being murdered, or accused of being a maleficar, she had been honest and fair. It was more than most.

Garrett closed his eyes, but he could picture that final chamber, his blood on the seal, Corypheus’ tainted form. He shuddered, involuntarily.

“I freed him,” he said quietly, “I didn’t have much choice but… I did it. This is on me, Cullen. I - I won’t blame you if the Inquisition decides this is unforgivable.”

Bethany couldn’t protect him from this.

“Garrett -” Cullen began, before changing tact. “How much choice did you have?”

He thought back to that prison. To Janse leading the charge, to her cold fury with Janeka at the idea of using the darkspawn for good. To the woman handing him the knife and telling him to do it, or she’d do more than slit his palm.

“None,” he said quietly.

For a heartbeat, Cullen didn’t respond. Then he gave a long sigh.

“Maker’s breath, Garrett. The more I think about what happened to you in Kirkwall…”

Hawke managed a bitter, fragile smile.

“She turned on you, Cullen. If you’d realised what was happening earlier, she would have just turned on you earlier.”

“But I should have done something.” Cullen said, “Anything.”

“Yeah,” Hawke said, not looking at the Commander. “Me too.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Hawke kept his eyes on the mountains around them, the way his breath crystalised. The throb in his ankle.

Garrett should have fought harder. Cullen should not have been so blind to what was happening. Perhaps, together, they could have changed things. But it was too late for Kirkwall, for the world. Hawke clenched and unclenched his fist. Now, it seemed, it was on his sister to fix Garrett’s mess.

“When you make Bethany Inquisitor, Commander, remember this. Remember me. Don’t let it happen again.”

“It won’t,” Cullen said firmly.

He didn’t even deny what they were going to do. Garrett wished he could have taken that burden from Bethany. He wished he was strong enough to shoulder it himself.

Slowly, he limped back to the campfire.

Chapter Text

They named Bethany Inquisitor the day after they secured Skyhold. She stood on the steps of the Keep, holding the sword that Cassandra offered to her looking faintly amused. Down among the crowd, Garrett was finding it a little less funny. A sword. The world was so unprepared for a mage in this position that even the weapon was wrong.

But she did say all the right things - that she’d stand for mages and freedom. That Corypheus had to be stopped. And the cheers that rang out were genuine. Garrett just hoped - prayed - that the good will lasted.

She set out, a day later, to the Fallow Mire. Cassandra and Varric went with her, along with the Mage from Tevinter who’d attempted to warn them back at Haven. Dorian hadn’t looked best pleased at the mention of swamp, but he must have known it was a bit of a trial-run for his place among the Inquisition as he’d not complained. Garrett rather thought that might change when he reached the Mire. He was almost glad to not be going with them. Almost.

He wasn’t going with them because Leliana had further questions about Corypheus.

By the time she was done with him, he felt brittle and exposed. She wasn’t cruel, or even seemingly suspicious of him, his motives and what he’d done down there. But she was relentless, picking at things from different angles, getting him to repeat himself over and over until he thought she’d be able to tell the story as well as him.

Finally, she was done. She signalled for an agent, who disappeared somewhere, and she smiled at him.

“Tea, Garrett? I think we have some other things to discuss.”

Hawke blinked. Did they? He’d practically been avoiding the woman since he’d first arrived in Haven. Cullen was a little harder to avoid, but Leliana kept to the shadows at the best of times. He just … didn’t visit her.

“I don’t want to think about Kirkwall, Leliana.”

“Not that.” Leliana said with a smile. “I wanted to talk to you about Bethany.”

He stiffened instinctively.

“Oh.”

The spymaster eyed him, a soft smile playing across her features.

“Relax, Garrett,” she said gently, “This is not an interrogation, no? I just wanted to reassure you, a little.”

Hawke couldn’t exactly say he felt reassured about anything, but he didn’t say that. He swallowed and tried to work out exactly what he wanted to say.

“I don’t think there’s much you can say to convince me that Bethany is safe here.”

“And if I told you I knew her secret back in Lothering?”

Garrett stared.

Lothering was a long time ago. A lifetime ago. But Leliana had been there - a Chantry sister who’d told stories. Bethany had adored her. She’d sneak into the Chantry to listen, despite all the risks. It had been Carver who paced and fretted and ultimately gone to drag her out of there. Garrett hadn’t had any interest in the Chantry, even then. He was more likely to have been in the tavern, learning to cheat at cards, or discovering things about himself in the back of the barn.

“You should have turned her in.”

“I liked her,” Leliana said with a shrug, “And she was no harm to anyone. You however - you I did consider.”

Garrett realised his mouth hung open and shut it.

“I don’t believe you knew about us.” He said, almost stubbornly. They’d been so damn careful in Lothering. They’d had to be, especially after their father died. Their mother had been grieving for so long it would have broken her if either of them had been taken.

Leliana smiled.

“It wasn’t difficult to work out. A woman like Bethany should have been the centre of attention in a place like Lothering, but she was a wallflower. You lived just far enough outside of the village to remain distant, but your brother was practically territorial about the poor girl. And every time you got in trouble, Bethany’s fear was almost palpable.”

Hawke shifted on his seat. The agent Leliana had sent away reappeared with a tray of tea. No biscuits, this soon after arriving in Skyhold, but there were two slices of ferelden fruit cake. It travelled better.

“I didn’t get in that much trouble.”

“You once released a goose in the Chantry to distract the Templars who’d suddenly shown up. Don’t think I didn’t notice Bethany slipping out in the chaos, Garrett.”

Despite himself, Garrett smiled. He had done that.

“Okay, okay. You knew. And you didn’t betray us.” He said. “But times have changed and that doesn’t mean Bethany is safe here. You like her, great. But it’s not you I’m worried about Leliana. It’s everybody else - everything. I had friends and allies in Kirkwall, and it didn’t change a damn thing.”

“And who,” Leliana asked, pouring the tea, “Do you picture as Meredith in this situation, Garrett? Have you searched the halls of Skyhold for red lyrium?”

“I’ve already been held hostage by the Templars, Lelilana.” Garrett snapped. “Don’t pretend I’m just being paranoid.”

For a moment, Leliana considered him. Then she offered him the cup.

“I’m sorry,” she said, sounding sincere, “This must be hard. You have every reason to not trust the Order or the Chantry, in the circumstances.”

Hawke grunted, but he took the tea.

“I just - I just want her safe.” He said, before wincing. “I know she’s not me. I know this situation isn’t the same but… she is still a mage. And she’s my sister. If this all goes wrong, she’ll be a target. And even if it goes right…”

“Even if it goes right, she is still in danger.” Lelilana finished for him. “It is not fair. Your sister is a remarkable woman, but she will have to tread carefully - more carefully than someone else in the same position. But she has support, Garrett. Not least of all from you, but from all sides. No one wants her to fail.”

And that was the difference, wasn’t it? Meredith had never wanted Hawke to succeed. Even from the beginning, he’d been a thorn in her side, a problem to control. Bethany wasn’t that. Because if she failed, the whole world would suffer.

Bethany’s path would be full of danger - but only because of Corypheus. She didn’t have to watch her allies too.

Hawke sipped at the tea and found it sweetened. Odd - he hadn’t seen Leliana add any honey. He tried to think, to sort through the mess of emotions sitting in his gut.

“I know it’s not rational,” he said eventually, “But I will always worry about her.”

Leliana smiled faintly.

“I do not have siblings - let alone a twin. And it has been a very trying few years for you both. Worry is natural. But you cannot let your fear for her strangle you.”

“Wise words,” Hawke admitted, “But not exactly easy when I have been quite literally strangled by members of the Order.”

Back in Kirkwall, Mettin had nearly choked him to death. Hawke would have died under his hands if other Templars hadn’t intervened.

“Every Templar here knows that the mages are to be left alone. That any interference will be punished. Ser Barris has provided a list of those among his ranks that may require a firmer hand, and which he trusts implicitly. His own record is pristine, and he led the resistance at the Redoubt. Whilst I can make no promises I would reassure you, Hawke, that this is not Kirkwall. And the Order will be the ones kept on a tight leash.”

Hawke swallowed.

“I - I will speak with Ser Barris. After what happened at the Redoubt, it’s probably overdue.”

Leliana nodded.

“I’m sure you will find him reasonable. And how are you finding the Commander’s presence?”

The question caught Hawke off-guard for a moment.

“We’re - working through it.” He said. “Cullen believes he should have done more earlier. I don’t think it would have mattered much. I put my head in a bear trap the moment I let Meredith use Bethany against me, I shouldn’t be surprised that it hurt.”

The Inquisition’s Spymaster considered him for a while.

“You were a hero. She squeezed you because she feared what a popular free mage could mean for the city - for Thedas. Bethany now has a chance to right so much of what she did.”

“She shouldn’t have to.” Hawke said stubbornly. “Mages have been beaten down for centuries. It should be on the Chantry, on the Order, to reach across the divide and fix this.”

Leliana smiled and sipped at her tea.

“On that we are agreed, Garrett Hawke.”

He blinked, surprised. Leliana had been somewhat sympathetic to the mage cause in Kirkwall - had certainly sympathised with the state she found him in - but she had been the Left Hand of the Divine.

“You - you agree with me?”

Leliana’s smile broadened, just a little.

“I was at the White Spire - and Andoral’s Reach. Cassandra and I have dug into a hundred Templar crimes since taking our positions. Yes, maleficar are dangerous. Yes, abominations are dangerous. But what happened at Therinfal should prove without a doubt that the Order is dangerous too.”

Hawke breathed out slowly. He suddenly didn’t feel quite so alone.

Chapter Text

Bethany had a room off the main hall that looked out over the courtyard. Garrett stood on the balcony, watching the comings and goings of Skyhold.

“Does it bother you?” He asked. “Looking out of your window and seeing the Inquisition?”

He’d hated stepping out of his house in Hightown in those last few months. All that pressure. But behind him, Bethany snorted and came to stand beside him.

“It’s a much prettier view than the Gallows.” She said, “Montsimmard was pretty enough, I suppose, if you could bring yourself to forget why there were elven ruins everywhere.”

“I imagine Madame de Fer didn’t bother to spare them a glance.” Garrett muttered.

“On the contrary,” Bethany replied, before turning away from the balcony to lean against it instead, arms folded. “She made herself look. To remind herself of the price of failure.”

Garrett sighed. Of course Vivienne turned the fall of the Elves into fuel for her own ambitions. He was grateful to the woman for taking Bethany under her wing, but that didn’t make her particularly pleasant. Then again, the same could be said for Solas - who was aloof in a different way - or Sera, who seemed obnoxious. You didn’t have to be pleasant to have a place in the Inquisition. The presence of the Order proved that.

After his chat with Leliana, he’d found Ser Barris and tried to be friendly. The Knight-Captain clearly hadn’t expected it, and whilst the conversation had been awkward and stilted, neither man had resorted to barbed words or violence. It was a start.

There was a knock on the door and Bethany called for the visitor to enter. Varric stuck his head in, spotted them together and grinned.

“Look at you two, all reunited. The Inquisitor and the Champion.”

Hawke rolled his eyes.

“How much bad luck could hit one family, huh?”

Varric chuckled as Bethany nudged him, hard, in the ribs.

“Good to see you coming out of your shell.” The dwarf said. “It’s strange, seeing Sunshine as the chatty one.”

“He still talks all the time,” Bethany said, “He’s just less funny.”

“Ouch.” Garrett responded, with a wry smile. “Sorry if there’s not been much to be funny about, recently.”

“Well I’ve got some news,” Varric said, “Not sure if you’ll find any humour in it, though.”

He’d been working, apparently, with the Wardens to try and understand the red lyrium they’d brought out of the Deep Roads all those years ago. Even before it had started popping up all over Ferelden, it had been a cause for concern for what it had managed to do to Meredith. What it might have done to Hawke, even, sapping at his strength and courage whenever he faced her. Orzammar had refused to speak of it - had denied its existence, even with the evidence still fossilised to the Gallows courtyard. So Varric had turned to the Wardens, and through his extensive contacts came into contact with a man named Stroud.

“He stopped responding to my letters not long before the Seeker showed up in Kirkwall.” Varric continued. “I wouldn’t mention it, but with the rest of the Wardens gone… he managed to get a message to me just before you sealed the Breach, Inquisitor. Something is wrong, and he’s gone into hiding in Crestwood.”

“Crestwood?” Hawke said, frowning. “The village north of Lake Calenhad?”

Varric nodded.

“I don’t know what he’s doing there, but his letter suggested it was urgent.” He pulled out a crumpled scrap of paper and handed it to Bethany. “It took a bit of time to confirm it was genuine - but I think it’s a lead.”

Bethany took it, frowning, and then handed it on to Garrett. It was short and to the point.

Master Tethras, I fear we have bigger threats than red lyrium. I hear your Inquisition is looking for the Wardens. You may want to find them, considering what I know. Come to Crestwood, look for the Blind Men’s abandoned hideout and I will explain.

Garrett looked at Varric.

“Corypheus,” he said slowly, thinking it through, “He could manipulate the Wardens. Down in the prison, he had Janeka convinced that he could help fight the Blights.”

Bethany cursed, and both Garrett and Varric blinked at the sound.

“That,” she said, “Can’t be a coincidence. We should find Stroud sooner rather than later.”

“I don’t disagree,” Garrett replied, “It’s not too far from here. The sooner we can send scouts…”

“Varric,” Bethany said, “Would you mind sending runners to Leliana and Cullen? We should discuss this in the War Room.”

It didn’t take long for them to gather - and to decide a plan. Leliana headed out to dispatch scouts, and Cullen headed back to the training grounds. Josephine smiled apologetically at Bethany.

“Ah, before you go, Inquisitor…”

Hawke went to slip out of the room when he heard the name Sebastian. He paused in the doorway, hesitating.

The Prince of Starkhaven had returned to his home city after the disaster in Kirkwall and reclaimed his throne. Garrett was dimly aware that the pious, overbearing man who’d been both friend and spy during his time as Champion had made some surprising overtures since the Mage Rebellion began. He certainly wasn’t an ally, that much had been clear, but his statement that the Order had some things to answer for would have been unthinkable a couple of years before. Clearly, Meredith lumping him in as another loose-end to cull that night had rocked him as much as Anders’ actions.

“- planning to visit -”

Garrett made a choking noise and turned back to the ambassador.

“He wants to come here?” He asked, stunned. “Does he know I’m here?”

Josephine looked faintly embarrassed for a moment.

“He is aware, Champion. In fact he expressly desired to speak with you and said he’d written. Have you… not seen his letter?”

Hawke remembered, suddenly, that there had been a letter, sometime in the aftermath of the Redoubt. A couple, actually.

“I might have ignored them.”

Varric snorted and slapped Garrett on the back, as high as he could reach.

“That’s my boy,” he grinned, “Learning from the best.”

Josephine looked faintly scandalised at the idea that two of the Inquisition’s Inner Circle were straight-up ignoring letters from royalty. Garrett tried to smile apologetically.

“In my defence,” he said, “I didn’t think to pick them up that night in Haven.”

Bethany put a gentle hand on Jospehine’s arm.

“I’ll handle my idiot brother, Jospehine. Just let me know when to expect him.”

“Hey now,” Hawke protested, half-heartedly.

“And I’ll plan to be in the field,” Varric said, tugging on Garrett’s arm. “Come on, Garrett. They’ve got the tavern open at last, we can go grab a drink.”

It had been a priority in the first few days, alongside a makeshift field hospital and clearing rubble out of rooms that could be used as dormitories. Hawke let himself be dragged out of the hall, across the courtyard and to the mostly ready tavern. There was still a portion of the roof in disarray, and the inside was composed entirely of mismatched chairs and benches - but it was a tavern. The dwarf behind the bar even seemed to have four untapped kegs ready to go. It wouldn't last long, of course, but it was a start.

Varric got them a drink and Hawke found a seat away from the door.

“So, Choir Boy’s going to make an appearance.” Varric said. “You good with that?”

Hawke pulled a face and took a large gulp of his ale.

“Well he wouldn’t be my first choice of friend from Kirkwall to hang out with.” He said. “But I’ll get over it.”

“That’s because your first choice is already here,” Varric said with a grin. “I know, I know, I’ll always be your favourite.”

Garrett smirked. “I meant Isabela.”

“Rivaini?” Varric said, sounding wounded. “What does she have that I don’t? No, don’t answer that, I know what kind of things you two got up to. I had the misfortune of hearing half of them through the walls of the Hanged Man.”

Hawke laughed, and tried not to blush.

“You know you’re my favourite, Varric.” He teased. “Just not that kind of favourite.”

“And thank the Maker for that,” Varric said, smirking, “You know there’s only one for me, Garrett Hawke.”

He patted Bianca affectionately. Hawke sipped at his drink and got them back on track.

“Sebastian and I should probably talk and get it all out. If I can handle Cullen, I can handle him. He was as stuck as me, in some ways.”

“Right,” Varric said, in a tone that suggested he didn’t agree. “Did I tell you about heading to Starkhaven with King Alistair the year he reclaimed the throne?”

Hawke blinked.

“No? Wait - you know Alistair? Is that how you made contact with Stroud?”

Varric grinned and took a slow slip of his drink. Hawke recognised that the dwarf was readying himself to tell the kind of epic story he’d loved in Kirkwall. He settled back to listen.

He wasn’t sure he believed a word of it. Or at least, he didn’t until Dorian found them, seeking out wine, and verified that at least the Imperium bits were true.

Chapter Text

Crestwood was damp and miserable even before they attempted to drain the lake.

“Bethany, my dear, please tell me you didn’t live anywhere near as provincial when you were younger.” Vivienne said as they entered the village to find half the houses abandoned, and the few remaining villagers rightly wary of strangers.

Garrett pulled a face at the back of the Orlesian woman’s head as Cassandra sighed at the obvious slight towards the twins' heritage.

“Oh no,” Bethany said calmly, “Lothering had a tavern.”

“Less undead too,” Hawke supplied with a sharp grin. “Although we could have perhaps done with a few more Wardens.”

Not that it would have saved Lothering in the end. And the Hero of Ferelden had passed through in those final days.

Vivienne sniffed.

“Your father,” she said, disapprovingly, “Has a lot to answer for.”

Garrett rolled his eyes. Next to Hawke, Sera seemed to bounce on the balls of her feet.

“Better Ferelden than a knob.” Then she laughed hysterically at the word knob.

Not for the first time, Hawke wondered what had motivated his sister to bring Vivienne and Sera in the same party. Yes, Varric was already here, working with Harding and the Inquisition scouts to find Stroud whilst the Wardens in the area watched the Inquisitor and followed false trails in the wrong direction. He would have been her first choice of archer, but Sera? Why not leave Vivienne at home?

Then he heard the irritated sigh from the woman, and spotted the faintest of smirks on Bethany’s face and realised his sister was providing her own form of entertainment.

His amusement didn’t last long, faced with Caer Bronarch and the bandits. Vivienne, it turned out, was terrifying in a fight - as likely to wade in with a sword of spirit as she was to fling frost spells at the enemy. Even Sera whistled low as she killed another thug.

“Shame she’s a bitch,” Sera said to Garrett in a stage-whisper, “Scary, innit.”

“Thank you, Sera, I do believe that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me.”

“She reminds me of an ex,” Garrett replied dryly, “Makes my scars itch.”

Varric had, thankfully, left Athenril mostly out of his tale of the Champion. He certainly hadn’t gone into detail about that particular night. If he had, Vivienne might have stabbed him just to make the bloody point.

Garrett dried out a little in the fortress before they carried on the next morning. Across the bridge they found the dam controls in suspiciously working order considering the mayor’s story.

“Something stinks,” Sera muttered.

“Crestwood,” Hawke said with a sigh. “Crestwood stinks.”

It only got worse from there - the drowned buildings and citizens, the rift deep underground, and the confession upon arriving back in the new village that the mayor had orchestrated the mass murder of his own people.

Bethany lowered the confession and took a moment to compose herself.

“Maker,” she muttered, “How sad.”

Garrett watched her, and bit his tongue. Sera didn’t.

“We’re going to hunt him down, right?”

Bethany’s lips were thin.

“The victims deserve justice.” She said, “I will write to Leliana from Caer Bronarch.”

Further south of the village, they found Varric waiting for them at the forward camp.

“We managed to convince the Wardens searching that Stroud had moved on, towards Lake Calenhad. They wouldn’t say a damn word about why they thought he was a traitor.”

“Warden secrets,” Hawke said, sighing, “It could be anything.”

It turned out to be what he’d feared - the Wardens manipulated by Corypheus to believe that every one of them was hearing the Calling. Even the newest recruits could hear the taint in their blood, and knew it was the end.

“It’s a lie,” he protested, frowning at Stroud, “A trick.”

“It sounds real,” Stroud countered, “It feels real. And Warden-Commander Clarel believes it to be true. She is planning something, a way to end all Blights forever.”

“That,” Cassandra said slowly, “Does not fit with Corypheus' plans.”

“But it could be a convenient cover, Seeker.” Varric pointed out. “Or a way to remove the Wardens from play if it were to fail.”

Garrett felt faintly sick. He could remember the state of Larius, down in the Warden Prison, barely clinging to sanity. He looked at Stroud.

“Are you… are you alright?” He asked.

The Orlesian blinked, seemingly startled that someone would think to ask.

“I am fine,” he said in a tone that Garrett knew well. He didn’t pry further - he recognised a man hanging on by a thread. Stroud carried on, his voice carefully steady. “Wardens are gathering in the Western Approach. I suggest that I head there straight away to investigate and you join me as soon as possible, Inquisitor.”

Bethany nodded.

“Right. I can have scouts following behind you in a couple of days.”

Varric hesitated.

“You want company, Stroud?”

“I am used to hard travel and isolation, Master Tethras.” Stroud said. “I will look for your scouts, Inquisitor.”

Outside the caves, Bethany glanced sideways at her twin.

“So Corypheus cannot die, and he can manipulate the Wardens into doing his bidding. No offence, brother, but I do wish you hadn’t found his prison at all.”

Garrett snorted despite himself.

“So do I. Not that it would have helped - the seals were breaking. He would have gotten out eventually.”

It wasn’t as if his Templar escorts would have ever, ever let him use blood magic to strengthen the seals for another generation.

Cassandra grunted as if she agreed.

“Come,” she said, “We should return to Caer Bronarch and make our plans.”

Several days later, they arrived back in Skyhold, and Garrett was almost grateful for the weather - clear skies and the cutting chill. His ankle was stronger thanks to Solas’ skill, but there was only so much he could do for such an old break. Trekking around Crestwood, the mud and hills, hadn’t been easy.

Bethany informed him she expected to see him for dinner that night, and so he dutifully showed up in her room at the eighth bell. Servants had already brought up several plates that were laid out on the table.

“Please help me eat this,” she said, “It’s such a stupid amount of food.”

And well, Garrett always had an appetite. He sat down and started on a bowl of stew.

“So,” he said, conscious they’d had so little time alone since arriving in the ancient fortress. “Inquisitor, huh. How’s that feeling?”

“Easier than Champion,” Bethany replied sipping at her wine, “Ser Barris is certainly a more reasonable figure than Knight-Commander Meredith, and I have more advisers, official and unofficial, than I do problems.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow.

“That,” he said slowly, “Cannot be true.”

She smiled at him.

“No,” she conceded, “The problems are certainly mounting up. Did you know Uncle Gamlen has written to Josephine demanding access to the Inquisition’s resources? Back-payment, he claims, for housing us both for a year.”

Garrett almost choked on his stew.

“The money-grabbing, seedy -”

“Leliana has handled him,” Bethany said with a small smile, “He won’t dare ask again for a while. I would feel bad, considering he’s our last living relative but…”

But Gamlen had burned every bridge they’d had when he’d hurled abuse at Garrett in the aftermath of their mother’s death. It had been on shaky foundations even before then thanks to his threatening to tip the Templars off about their magic for coin. Family had only ever been skin deep between them.

“So Uncle wants money, Sebastian wants to visit - any other problems coming out of the Marches?”

Bethany chewed, determinedly, on her food.

“Problems? No. And everywhere else is giving me enough of those.” She paused, considering. “Par Vollen has reached out. They want an alliance.”

Garrett did choke on his stew.

“They - they don’t really do alliances, Bethy. They do conquering and calling it liberation.”

“I know, I don’t believe a word of it.” Bethany responded. “I was in Kirkwall at the time, brother. But they’re up to something, and knowing there’s a trap is the first step to avoiding it.”

Hawke shook his head.

“You’re a mage, Bethany. They’re not going to look past that.”

“For the Breach? They claim they will - for now. Their contact is waiting on the Storm Coast for me. They want me to bring Bull and his Chargers.”

Hawke frowned.

“That’s suspicious.”

“The Chargers? Yes, I thought so, and Leliana does too.”

He sighed.

“So, what, you’re going to go? And … anticipate the trap?”

She wouldn’t be telling him if she wasn’t planning to do something stupid. He thought of the Arishok, of his awful misadventure with Tallis. Could it be some kind of revenge strike, considering who her brother was? It was unlikely, he had to concede. Bull had had plenty of opportunities to kill him since joining the Inquisition.

“Yes. I’m taking Dorian and Varric. The Vint will have more experience with the Qun than anyone.”

“But not me.” Hawke said flatly. “You expect me to stay at home?”

Bethany sipped at her wine.

“Isabela is two days out,” she said, eyes sparkling with amusement, “You wouldn’t leave one of our dear friends here all alone, would you? I definitely can’t take her with me, after all.”

Oh fuck.

Chapter Text

The Queen of the Eastern Seas sailed into Skyhold with all the aplomb of a woman used to being the centre of attention. Unfortunately for her, Bethany had already left for the coast.

“She didn’t wait?” Isabela said, pouting, “But I’ve not seen her in years!”

“Sorry,” Garrett said with a shrug and a pained smile. “She’s uh - kind of busy?”

Isabela eyed him sharply.

“You’re not too busy though are you, sweet thing?” She said, and Cassandra actively snorted in disbelief. Garrett went rather pink. He was very grateful when Josephine took over introductions and made small talk as they headed into the fortress.

Isabela kept the charm up until Hawke led her to a guest room, at which point she thoroughly dropped the act.

“Maker’s balls, it’s cold all the way up here.” She said, before squinting at Garrett. “And you … don’t look great, it has to be said. Is everything okay? Do you need rescuing?”

“Why would I need rescuing?” Hawke asked, frowning. “Varric and Bethany are here.”

“Right, and we were all right there in Kirkwall and you kind of needed rescuing there, even if we didn’t bloody do it until far too late.” Isabela sat down on the bed and patted the spot next to her gently. “Seriously, Garrett. Yes, I came all this way to see your sister now she’s free and important and all that, but I came to check on you, too. This can’t be easy.”

Sometimes, Garrett Hawke hated Isabela for just how astute she was. Not even an hour in Skyhold and she’d seen straight through him. He slumped a little as he sat down next to her.

“Did you hear what happened?”

“Which bit?” Isabela asked, “I heard a lot of rumours about the Templars, you, and Haven going horribly wrong.”

Garrett managed a thin smile.

“I found myself held prisoner by Lord Seeker Lucius,” he said, trying to sound even about it, “Or at least, an envy demon impersonating him. And now everywhere I look, there are Templars.”

Isabela hummed in sympathy and then wrapped an arm around him, tugging him against her shoulder. She kissed his hair.

“You want to run away?” She asked. “It’s a little far from the sea, but I can get us to a ship and on our way to Rivain -”

“- I can’t leave Bethany.” Garrett said, closing his eyes. “Everyone keeps telling me that it’s going to be okay, that this isn’t Kirkwall, but…”

“...But they weren’t there.” Isabela finished for him. “They don’t know what it was like for you.”

Garrett nodded. Varric understood, but that was it - and Varric seemed genuinely convinced the Inquisition was a good thing, that Bethany was going to be okay.

Back in Kirkwall, Isabela had reappeared after two long years. There had been no long, slow slide into suffering for her, and she’d immediately caught on to how bad it was.

He wondered, suddenly, whether Bethany had planned this. Whether this was her way of giving him a way out - just disappear up the coast for a few days and let Isabela rescue him. It would be very like her to plan for this.

He squeezed Isabela’s leg.

“I missed you,” he said quietly, “And I’m sorry I stayed away. I just - it wasn’t pretty, for a long time. It’s still not, really.”

“You still look handsome enough, sweet thing.” Isabela said teasingly, before carrying on, “It’s got to be tough, but you’ve handled the Order before.”

Hawke snorted.

“I capitulated before. Shit, sometimes I think that if one of them just marches up to me and tells me to beg on my knees I’d just do it, without thinking. Like they ingrained it in me, or something.”

Isabela paused.

“You did always like being made to beg,” she said slowly, “And I imagine it’s been a long time.”

Garrett considered the offer. At least, he was pretty sure it was an offer - sitting on her bed, pressed against her, his hand on her leg. To pick up where they’d left off, years before. Something unserious and fun between good friends. No strings attached, no need for it to become more.

It probably wasn’t great that his longest relationship was this thing between them, when it couldn’t even be called a relationship.

He tried to think of himself on his knees for her, of how they’d used to play. It made his stomach twist now.

“I don’t - not any more.” He managed a dry laugh. “Think I got hurt just one too many times, Izzy. Kind of took the fun out of it.”

There hadn’t been anyone in Denerim. A couple of lonely nights at The Pearl, early on, before he figured out he was better off alone, better off not thinking about it.

Isabela did not push, and he loved her for that.

“And you never reached out to Fenris, I’m going to guess.”

Hawke winced.

“I did - once I got to Haven. Don’t know if it ever reached him, don’t know if he’d even care to read it but… I tried. Three years too late, but…”

“Hmm,” Isabela said thoughtfully. “And if he showed up? What would you do?”

Garrett snorted.

“Panic?”

She sighed and tugged him tighter against her.

“I’m sorry, Garrett. Kirkwall really did fuck you up, didn’t it?”

Hawke swallowed.

“A little.”

They sat in silence for a while, until Isabela said.

“Hey - I did hear a rumour. Is it true Cullen’s here? That he’s in charge?”

“Oh,” Garrett said, sitting up. He was starting to get a crick in his neck. “Yeah, he’s - he’s the Commander.”

Isabela raised an eyebrow.

“And how’s that going?”

Garrett pulled a face.

“Okay, actually. He feels as shit about what happened in Kirkwall as I do.”

Isabela looked at him for a moment, and then grinned.

“Fuck, I bet that’s fun,” she said, “Do you just go round and round in circles apologising to each other?”

“A little,” Hawke said, managing a smile, “You heard who we’re fighting, yeah? It turns out I’m the reason they’re free. Bit of a long story, but I thought I was done for, back in Haven. I haven’t really stopped apologising for that, yet.”

An incredulous crossed over Isabela’s face.

“You freed them?” She asked. “Wait, you can't just - we need a bottle of rum. Or something at least to drink. And then you’re telling me everything.”

Hawke chuckled.

“Alright, alright. Let me go find Josephine.”

Josephine had several appropriate bottles that she was willing to part with on the condition that Isabela came to a late lunch the next day to discuss the Felicisima Armada and its current movements. Garrett agreed a little too enthusiastically on Isabela’s behalf and almost asked for an invitation so he could witness the two women’s conversation. They’d either end up mortal enemies, or best friends, and he couldn’t quite work out which.

“Shall I have some food sent to her room as well, Garrett?”

“Please,” Hawke replied, “I’ve learnt the hard way not to drink with Isabela on an empty stomach.”

He certainly didn’t plan to try and keep up with her.

By the time the food arrived, they were both lying on Isabela’s bed as Hawke filled her in on the story of the Warden Prison, of Corypheus and the absolute certainty that Meredith was going to use it to kill him.

“Shit, Garrett, if she was still alive, I’d kill her all over again.”

“Not sure she’s dead, if I’m honest.” Hawke said as the servant placed a tray of food down on the side table. “Crystalised and impotent, yeah, but Varric reckons he’s seen her blink in that bloody mess.”

“Varric,” Isabela said, “Shouldn’t be getting that close to it after Bartrand.”

“He was investigating it with a Warden,” Hawke said, waving a hand to explain, “Another long story, but one you’ll hear if you’re staying for a while.” He paused and looked at her. “You are staying for a while, aren’t you?”

“For you and Sunshine? I’ll stay until it’s done, sweet thing. You got me out of shit in Kirkwall with the Qunari - we’ll both get Bethany out of this one. Although from everything I’ve heard, I don’t think she actually needs us.”

Hawke stared up at the ceiling.

“Probably not. She’s really quite scarily competent, Izzy. And her old mentor is here, a terrifying old bat named Vivienne. She’s a really big fan of Templars and fashion, and not much else as far as I can tell.”

“Ah, the fabled Madame de Fer.” Isabela replied. “The ice queen herself. I hear her parents were Rivaini, which must mean all the stuffed-up Orlesian nonsense is just a front.”

Hawke tried to picture Vivienne in Rivain - or how he pictured Rivain, at any rate. It didn’t work, not one bit.

“You’re more than welcome to try to loosen her up,” he said with a grin, “Just - be prepared to be eviscerated for your troubles.”

Isabela laughed, and Hawke followed suit. It was so damn good to have her back.

Chapter Text

It did not go well on the coast with the Qunari.

Bethany sent word ahead, and everyone who’d known that Bull was Ben-Hassrath was informed, quietly, so that no one could put their foot in it. Garrett didn’t entirely know how he felt about the situation. Well, no, that wasn’t true. He knew exactly how he felt about it - relieved that the Chargers were okay and relieved that there wasn’t a spy in their midst any more. The problem was that Bull would obviously be replaced by someone they didn’t know, and Bull himself would be struggling.

Except, once they got back to Skyhold, Bull was just - Bull. Nothing had changed. No madness, no despair.

“Was he just - so good at playing a Vashoth he forgot how to Qunari?” Hawke asked Varric.

“Kid, if you think Tiny’s not struggling, you’re not paying attention.”

Garrett frowned and glanced over across the tavern to where the Chargers were singing, loudly, and Bull had a barmaid on his lap.

“I mean, he looks okay…”

“And you looked fine most of the time.”

Hawke put his tankard back down, feeling a little sick suddenly.

“I wasn’t that good at hiding my feelings.”

“Not at the end.” Varric acknowledged. “But until then? You looked every part the dutiful, devout, blood-mage hunting Champion that Meredith wanted.”

“I was a mess,” Hawke protested.

“In private, kid. Does this tavern look private to you?”

Hawke didn’t finish his drink that night, the ale sitting sour in his stomach.

The Qunari sent a message to Bull in the form of two assassins, and Bethany force-blasted both of them off the battlements without hesitation.

“Your sister,” Bull said after he’d been sent to check his injuries with Vivienne, “is kind of scary, Champion.”

Hawke laughed weakly, watching Bull’s crew wrestle each other in the training ring.

“Tell me about it. She used to turn my bed to ice when we were younger if I’d pissed her off.”

“Two assassins!" Bull said cheerily. “Just bam, straight off the walls.”

Garrett nodded.

“She blasted a bully across the field when her magic manifested. He wouldn’t stop pulling her hair.”

Bull looked sideways at him.

“Was she first?”

Hawke grimaced.

“The locals turned on us and burnt our farmhouse down. I woke up three weeks later in a new village to nightmares of that night and burning bedsheets. Our mother nearly had a stroke then and there.”

Bull gave a wary laugh and clapped Hawke on the shoulder.

“Talking of burning bedsheets, what’s the story with the Raider?”

“Isabela?” Hawke said, startled by the change in conversation. “Nothing. Old friends. We had an arrangement for a while but I… I’m not that person any more. If you’re interested, I can pretty much guarantee she’d be keen.”

“Good, good. Didn’t want to step on any toes.”

“Just don’t flirt with Bethany.” Garrett warned. “She’ll blast you off the battlements too.”

Bull’s laughter rang out over the courtyard.

It was later that day that Hawke went to check in with Cullen, and narrowly avoided a box that was flung at the door he was half-way through opening.

The small wooden box hit the barrier that Hawke pulled up instinctively, and fell to the ground intact. Its contents fell out over the floor, and Garrett’s breath caught as he spotted the philter.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen cursed from behind his desk, “Garrett, I -”

Hawke lowered the barrier and crouched down, picking the thing up as if it might bite him. He tried to think of something funny to say. What he managed was a twist of his mouth into a bitter grin.

“Trying to re-traumatise me, Commander?”

Cullen groaned and sagged into the chair behind the desk, covering his face with his hands.

“Maker, Hawke, I’m sorry, I …” He paused, and Hawke watched as he visibly pulled himself together. “I was angry, and I did not realise you were there.”

“Angry, huh?” Hawke said, slowly setting the philter and the box back on the desk and then moving back, half a step. “I usually am around Templars so…”

Cullen shuddered, and Garrett stopped trying to be funny. It wasn’t working. He swallowed and wondered if he should go. Whatever had Cullen riled up wasn’t something he needed to know about.

But when Cullen lowered his hands, Hawke spotted the slight tremble there. And Maker, Cullen did not look well. His skin was pallid, rather than pale, and there were bags under his eyes that suggested he was not sleeping.

“Are you okay?” He asked before he could stop himself.

Cullen let out a dry bark of laughter, and it made Hawke’s skin crawl. He recognised that laugh - it was one he did often. When everything was so very far from okay the options were laughter or screaming.

“I no longer take lyrium.” The Commander said. “Some days are better than others. Today is not one of those days.”

Hawke stared at him.

“You… you no longer take lyrium?” He repeated, stunned.

Cullen grimaced.

“You sound so much like your sister.” He said, before straightening a little. “I told her back in Haven, after what happened with the Lord Seeker. I wanted to say something earlier, but the moment… This isn’t how I wanted you to find out.”

“Cullen,” Garrrett said, feeling vaguely faint, “I don’t think you should be worrying about me, right now.”

The Commander of the Inquisition wasn’t using lyrium. He’d said, before, that he didn’t see himself as a Templar, any more. But this was different. This was a long, slow suicide.

An awful thought occurred to Hawke.

“Please tell me this isn’t about me.”

Cullen flinched.

“Not - not exactly.” He said, rubbing his face. “How… how much do you know about what happened at Kinloch Hold?”

Garrett looked around and wished there was another seat. He didn’t like standing over Cullen like this, considering the circumstances. Cautiously, he perched himself on the edge of the desk.

“Enough,” he said, “Uldred seized control, resorted to blood magic and became an abomination. The whole place would have been annulled without the Hero of Ferelden.”

Cullen out a long, slow exhale.

“I was caught on the upper floors. I’d only been a full Templar for about a year.” He said, with a tone in his voice that sounded rehearsed. “They tortured me for days.”

Hawke winced.

“And then they sent you to Kirkwall,” he guessed, “Where… Kirkwall happened.”

Cullen snorted.

“The Knight-Commander wanted a lieutenant who wouldn’t question her hard line approach.” He said after a moment. “And I didn’t. Ever. Even when… even when she went far, far beyond hardline. And I - I don’t want to be that person, any more. I do not want them to have that hold on me, any more.”

He was staring at the philter like he was a drowning man, and it was rope.

Quietly, Garrett sat there, trying to wrap his head around it. It wasn’t about him, exactly, but he was tied up intrinsically with it. What Meredith had done to him, what Cullen had failed to stop.

“And then the Herald turned out to be Bethany.” He said, chewing at his lip, “And I showed up not long after."

Cullen nodded, eyes still on the philter - not Garrett.

“I cannot escape it,” he said, shoulders slumping. “Not with the Order here. I swore to your sister I would stay strong, but…”

But staying strong was impossible, sometimes.

On Garrett’s bad days, he dragged himself from his bed and made himself find Varric, or Bethany. Slowly, that circle was widening - with Isabela there, and Bull, and Dorian. Blackwall, even, down in the stables, offering quiet companionship. Cole, appearing in his rooms and bringing him food even as he couldn’t bring himself to rise.

On Cullen’s bad days, the lyrium would be clawing at his bones.

And both of them had to face the Templars, day after day.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Garrett said with a pained smile. “I’m going to take that box away, Cullen. Mostly to make sure you can’t throw it at anyone else. And on the bad days - on the days you don’t feel strong - send a message to me. And I’ll come and remind you of all the reasons you don’t want to be a Templar anymore.”

“I - I cannot ask that of you.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering.” Hawke said, before pausing. “It’s hardly altruistic of me, after all. One less Templar, and all that.”

Cullen huffed a laugh, and it almost sounded genuine. Then he closed his eyes.

“I - thank you, Garrett. And I am sorry I threw the philter at you.”

“Templars,” Hawke said, “Have done far worse to me.”

“Maker,” Cullen muttered, shoulders sinking a little. “I have done far worse to you.”

“Hey now,” Garrett replied, “None of that. Pretty sure I would have been dead a dozen times over in Kirkwall without you, Commander. Now - when did you last eat? Because no offence, you look terrible.”

Cullen frowned.

“What day is it?”

“Well that’s concerning,” Hawke said, trying to sound light hearted. “I am going to the kitchens to find you some food. Some good Ferelden sustenance, if I can manage it. Try not to throw the box at me again when I come back.”

Chapter Text

“I’m not sure what’s worse about this,” Garrett said as they trekked across the dunes. “The fact we’re in Orlais, or the sand.”

He was trying, desperately, to lighten the mood after what they’d witnessed at the old Warden Tower.

“Or the blood magic,” Varric offered. “Can’t forget that.”

“The demons, maybe? No, I suppose not. We get those everywhere, these days. It’s still the sand for me.”

Cassandra frowned at them both.

“This isn’t funny.”

Of course it wasn’t. Nothing about the situation was funny. But Garrett had to cling to something, or he thought he might start screaming.

They’d arrived in the Western Approach the day before, and made their way across the wasteland to the ruins, avoiding the dragon and the Keep to the north. Both things would have to be handled before they could leave the area, but Stroud had left a message with Harding for them to hurry, so they’d hurried.

Stroud had been right to urge them to action. The Wardens had already started when they caught up.

Their plan did explain where Corypheus’ demon army would come from, at least. The mages were sacrificing the warriors to bind demons - not realising that they in turn would be bound to Corypheus through Erimond. Erimond, who was a sanctimonious, arrogant prick even by Tevinter standards. He’d spotted Garrett among Bethany’s companions and smiled so smugly Hawke had wanted to force punch it off his face.

“Ah, the Champion. Of what, exactly?”

More concerningly, he’d had a way to neutralise Bethany’s mark - at least for a moment, before his sister worked out how to force it back upon him. At which point, Erimond had ordered his enthralled Wardens to attack.

Even after Vinmark Prison, it felt wrong to kill Wardens. But these weren’t Wardens, not any more. They were puppets. Garrett focused on the rage demon bound to the nearest mage before it could charge into Blackwall.

Isabela tore the throat out of the possessed mage, daggers glinting in the sun. The rage demon roared, but did not die. Garrett cursed and brought it slamming to the floor before Bethany recovered from the rift magic building in her hand to blast it with ice.

The rest died, leaving the Inquisition standing, breathing hard and reeling over what they’d seen. And now they were on their way back to camp, walking in tense silence.

Ahead, Stroud and Blackwall were talking in low voices about a place called Adamant. Cassandra walked along, keeping an eye out for danger. Bethany and Isabela were walking at the back, discussing the High Dragon they would have to deal with.

Varric glanced at Garrett.

“You holding up okay?”

It had, in all honesty, been grim. Blood magic was never Garrett’s favourite, after what had happened with Quentin and his mother. Abominations and demons reminded him too much of Kirkwall, of those he’d failed and those he’d hunted for Meredith. And the Wardens under Corypheus’ thrall was far, far too close to what he’d seen in the prison to be comfortable. Part of him was furious that Clarel thought this was a reasonable plan. Part of him knew that she was out of her mind thanks to Corypheus’ influence.

“Always am,” Hawke shot back, before conceding, “I’d like to kill a few more Venatori, though. That guy was a prick.”

At camp, Bethany wrote updates to Leliana and Cullen, trying to get the critical information across without too many words. Cassandra walked the perimeter, squinting towards the Keep.

“The Venatori hold it for now,” Lace Harding said, “Chances are it’s where this Magister Erimond fled to.”

“We should capture it,” Cassandra said, “Loosen their hold on the area.”

Garrett did not disagree.

“I’m sure Cullen would appreciate having an outpost,” he said, “Especially if we want to try and traverse those poison wells.”

“There are other ruins,” Harding said, “East of here, closer to the first camp. The Venatori have been sniffing around.”

Bethany sighed and looked up, towards the setting sun.

“Tomorrow.” She said, firmly. “We’ll handle the Venatori tomorrow. The dragon might have to wait, if we want to meet the Wardens at Adamant and stop Clarel from her mad plan.”

That absolutely had to take priority, but Garrett was a little sad to hear the dragon wasn’t on the cards.

Bethany sent her letters, and Isabela pulled out a deck of cards from somewhere. They played by the light of the fire for a while, before Garrett admitted to himself that he wasn’t up for it. He kept staring off, across the sand, towards the tower.

“I’m calling it a night,” he said eventually.

Sleep though was a long time coming, what with the revelations of the day, the blood and the death. Hawke tossed and turned under his blankets, the chill of the night in the desert starting to creep into the tent.

He’d assumed that his dreams would be full of his mother, of those dark days trapped underground, surrounded by Templars. It took a moment, when someone slipped into his tent, for him to realise that he was dreaming.

It took another moment when rough, callused hands touched his face and he made out the silhouette of a man to realise that he was dreaming of Cullen.

Cullen? The shock of it made him freeze, mind stumbling over the sudden rush of desire flooding through him at the sheer idea of the former Templar in his tent, of Cullen’s weight pressed against him. That calloused hand moved, slowly from his face to his throat - the gentlest threat of pressure. The promise of it.

A voice - not Cullen, Hawke thought desperately - whispered.

“I’m so cold, mage. Will you keep me warm?”

“D-demon,” Hawke managed, even as he body ached for it, “No.”

The hand tightened against his throat.

“You want it,” Desire whispered in his ear, “You want it to hurt. You want to submit. And he’d make it so good for you. Just say yes.”

It wouldn’t be Cullen if he did. Hawke gritted his teeth. He’d put wards up around the camp for his and Bethany’s dreams. They should have worked against demons. But more powerful ones could always find a way through - especially when their target was distressed.

“No,” he said again, stubborn as always. “No. I don’t want this.”

The demon wearing Cullen’s body ground against him, as if delighting in proving the lie.

“You’ll say yes for me,” it hissed, its own sultry voice bleeding through Cullen’s lower timbre. “You’ll scream it, Garrett. You’ll beg for it.”

Awake. Hawke needed to wake up. The wards hadn’t kept Desire away, and it knew him well enough to know what he wanted. Better to escape, to get away -

In the Fade, Hawke reached for magic. He wasn’t a Dreamer, to manipulate the fabric of the dream completely, but he had struggled against enough demons inside his head over the years. There was always one thing he could do.

Magic flooded him, and Hawke channelled fire. Desire screeched as it burned, immolating before Hawke’s eyes before disappearing in a snap as he woke to a cold, lonely tent.

Garrett shuddered, forcing his breathing under control.

Maker, Cullen? He was used, as much as one could be, to Desire shifting into Fenris, or Isabela - or even sometimes Athenril at his lowest. But Cullen?

Hawke sat up. It was dark outside the tent, the campfire burned low, but he didn’t want to risk falling back asleep alone. He could go to Bethany, of course, who’d understand more than anyone what nightmares and demons could do. But it felt wrong to go to his sister, considering what the Desire demon had offered him.

Cursing under his breath, he crawled out of the tent and squinted about. There. That was Izzy’s tent.

She stirred, of course, as he opened the flap.

“Piss off.”

“Bad dream,” Hawke said, rather not explaining why, or how. “Can I…?”

Isabela had slept alongside him before. She knew what dreams were bad, and what dreams were bad. She made a small, sleepy noise of protest and then responded.

“Get in here, Garrett. It’s cold.”

He crawled in, threw the blanket over both of them and slotted against her back. She huffed in faint amusement.

“I thought you said a bad dream?” She said, shifting just enough to make her point.

Hawke bit his lip to stop the sound from escaping him.

“Demons,” he said quietly, “Don’t care what you want.”

Isabela tensed. And then she pulled away, rolling over so they were face to face.

“Come here,” she said, more gently than he expected. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

He was - or at least, he was going to be, with her. He rolled over too, tucking in against her instead. She kept her hand wrapped around his chest.

“Sleep,” she said, “Any demons come, I’ll stab them.”

“That’s not how dreams work, Bela.”

“I’ll use that magic from Kirkwall. I’ve got everything I want, these days. Demons got nothing on me.”

Hawke snorted, despite himself, a surge of affection rushing through him for his friend. And somehow, he fell back asleep - dreamless, demon-free sleep.

Chapter Text

Stroud confirmed that the Wardens were gathering at Adamant, and Bethany made the solemn decision to bring the Inquisition’s army to their gates. Garrett stayed out of the war tent, uncertain what he could bring to the conversations. He fought off an invasion, but that had been in an urban environment and eventually had boiled down to a single duel - none of it had been anything like storming a fortress. The closest experience he had was the Gallows, and he’d never made it inside the building, meeting Meredith and the Templars in the courtyard. He was more than okay with leaving the strategy to others.

He stayed close to Varric and Isabela as the Inquisition moved through Orlais, keeping space at the campfire each night for his sister. She rarely joined them, and when she did she looked tired and worried. Isabela tugged her in for a hug, one night, and Bethany practically wilted against her for a moment in a way Hawke understood.

“She’ll be alright,” Varric said, when she left, “Stop looking so worried, Hawke.”

He was worried, though, of course he was. He watched Leliana and Cullen stride out of the marquee, Cullen looking stressed. The Commander passed by their campfire, and Hawke murmured an excuse to his two friends before following the former Templar.

“Are you doing okay?” He asked, falling into step with Cullen. The man sighed.

“As well as to be expected.”

“You know where I am.” Hawke offered. And then immediately remembered the Desire demon and was glad for the twilight to mask the colour rising to his face.

Bethany did not help when he returned to the campfire. She waited until Isabela and Varric had turned in for the night, and then looked at her brother.

“Did I see you wander off with Cullen, earlier?”

“I - I was checking he was okay.” Garrett admitted, quietly. “He told me about the lyrium before we left for the Approach.”

Bethany frowned slightly. She kept her voice neutral as she said.

“Ah, is that why you’ve been watching him around the camp.”

“I haven’t,” Hawke protested, “I’ve been watching you, Bethy. He just - happens to be where you are.”

It sounded weak, even to his own ears. He wondered if Bethany had worked out about the desire demon dream. She’d certainly been more than a little suspicious when Hawke had crawled out of Isabela’s tent the next morning and stubbornly told her that it wasn’t like that.

He changed the topic quickly.

“This fight - will I be at your side?”

Bethany pulled a face.

“I need someone I trust to take - and hold - the walls, whilst we fight our way through the front gates.”

Garrett did not like the idea of not being with her, but he nodded.

“Give me one of your warrior friends, and I’ll hold the battlements.” He said.

He was partnered with Cassandra, and the Inquisition soldiers seemed more confident for it as they waited in the shadows of the fortress for the signal. Hawke made himself breathe. Somewhere inside Adamant, the Wardens were using blood magic to bind demons. He was going to have to deal with that - deal with what would tear through the Veil.

He did not expect to have to deal with the physical Fade.

It was not easy to scale the walls. Above them, the Wardens fought to hold their positions, or did what they could to push the ladders away. Garrett twisted the Veil at the top of his own ladder, slowing the defenders to a crawl as he ascended as quickly as he could. Cassandra followed, barely slowed by her armour.

Garrett hauled himself up over the battlements and reached for the Fade. On the walls, a pride demon tore through, its cackle like static over Hawke’s skin.

Bethany reached him, with several Wardens beside Stroud trailing in her wake.

“Some of them will listen to reason,” she said, before sending a wave of force magic towards several Wardens who were still fighting, slamming into the floor. “We must reach Clarel, before it is too late.”

It almost was too late, Clarel’s long-time friend dead at her feet and an open rift there in the courtyard. But even that far gone, she paused in doubt at Bethany’s words - at the way a handful of Wardens supported her.

It went wrong after that - Corypheus’ dragon attacking, Clarel running off after Erimond, and then the walls of the fortress collapsing. Garrett had reached for magic, the world seeming to slow as his mind rushed for a solution, and his vision had been filled with green light.

He’d blinked, stunned, and found himself in the Fade.

“Shit,” he muttered, looking around. “At least Fenris and Izzy aren’t here, I guess.”

Varric, who’d been with Bethany, snorted.

“Silver linings.”

There was the Nightmare demon, though, and it knew exactly what to say to each and every one of them.

It mocked Bethany as a fraud, a false Herald who would inevitably fail. It mocked Cassandra for believing in her, Vivienne for her lost power and her age. With every step through the Fade, the group grew more and more strained, the tensions boiling over in the face of a spirit emulating the Divine who helped Bethany retrieve her memories of the conclave.

Garrett couldn’t, wouldn’t, believe it was the Divine. But he could snap at Stroud, brittle and uncertain, when it was revealed the Wardens had helped Corypheus kill the Divine.

“We wouldn't be this in position, Champion, without your actions in Kirkwall.” Stroud shot back.

It didn’t take long for the Nightmare demon breathing down their necks to pick at that wound.

You’re a failure, Garrett Hawke - a coward who kisses the boots of whoever threatens you, desperate to serve. You make such a loyal dog for the worst people. Kirkwall would have been better off without you.

Garrett’s footsteps faltered, the words a dead weight against his chest.

“Don’t listen to it,” Bethany said, her voice harsh. “Don’t listen to it, Garrett.”

The demon laughed, the sound clawing at Hawke’s spine.

You can’t save him from himself, Inquisitor. He will always find a way to make it hurt. He turns everything he touches to poison, including you.

“Stop it,” Bethany said, anger rising, and Garrett wasn’t entirely sure if she was addressing the Nightmare demon or him.

He opened his mouth to speak and couldn’t find a single damn thing to say.

Because the demon was right. He blamed himself, of course he did. How could he not? Kirkwall had descended into chaos because he hadn’t had the courage to stand up to the Templars. He’d freed Corypheus. They were standing in the physical Fade, desperate to find a way back because -

Someone slapped him on the lower back and Garrett was startled to find Varric standing beside him. He blinked, disorientated, mind spinning.

“Alright, enough wallowing.” The dwarf said. “Hawke - we’re going to kick this demon’s arse. Sunshine? He’s going to be okay.”

Hawke. Sunshine. Not Champion, not Inquisitor - not here, not like this. Varric was trying to reassure them both that it was going to be okay, and that wasn’t about titles. It was about the people suffocating underneath those words.

Which was when the demon spoke again.

He left Denerim for you, Varric. He got out, and you dragged him back in again. He’s in danger because of you.

Garrett had a sudden, visceral memory of the way his stomach had swooped, heart crashing through the floor, at the idea of Varric being captured by Thrask and Grace all those years ago. The panic and fear. On the edge of utter collapse, it had almost driven him mad.

His best friend. His sister. Their fears - big enough that the Nightmare demon used them as weapons - were about him. About him hurting. About him dying.

He thought of how his friends had rallied around him in Kirkwall when he’d planned to go to the Gallows to die. He thought of Cullen’s apologies for not intervening sooner, of Fenris’ fury that he’d refused to stand up for himself.

The Champion of Kirkwall very nearly laughed. How wrong the Nightmare had gotten it. It was like a balm, or finally setting down a weight. All those years and Garrett had felt alone. Alone, and unworthy. And all those years, his friends had been there. As afraid for him as he had been. They didn’t think he deserved to suffer, they didn’t think he was to blame. Bethany and Varric didn’t fear him failing - they feared him hurting.

They’d said, as much, at times. But it was different to hear a demon voice their greatest fears and to realise he was so loved.

Hawke swallowed and gripped his staff. He managed to meet his sister’s gaze - worried, angry, wary.

“We’re getting out of here,” he said, holding his voice steady, “All of us. Alive.”

Bethany smiled shakily as the Nightmare demon growled in fury..

“Damn right,” she said, “No more sacrifices.”

Varric slapped Hawke on the back again - as best he could. His voice couldn’t quite hide the edge of relief.

“Drinks on me, back at Skyhold.”

They’d make it out alive. They had to.

Chapter Text

The Nightmare demon didn’t make it easy, of course.

The Aspect that formed from it had far too many arms, but at least it didn’t look quite as spider-like as the hulking monster overhead. And he’d take fighting it over the fearlings that had marched towards him as Meredith, as Mettin, as every Templar in Kirkwall and Therinfal Redoubt who’d ever hurt him. Even Cullen had been in their ranks, and Garrett didn’t want to think about how his chest had felt like it was crushing inwards at the sight of him.

Bethany had eyed him after the first wave of fearlings and he’d made himself smile back at her.

“Let me guess,” he said, trying to be light-hearted. “Nanny the goat?”

There had been a mean-spirited, vicious goat for a few years in Lothering. It had hated Bethany with all the vindictiveness that farmyard animals could manage. Which was quite a lot.

“Darkspawn,” Bethany said, too quietly, “Like the one that killed Carver.”

For a moment, Hawke was painfully grateful he hadn’t seen his mother’s corpse shambling towards him. He’d take Cullen, any day. He tugged his sister in for a quick hug.

No, the Aspect was monstrous, but killable, and far, far easier to tolerate even as it shrieked and roared, the sound clawing at Garrett’s bones.

And Hawke fought, he really did. There was no hesitation, no momentary doubt. This was life and death, and he’d made a promise to Bethany that they were getting out of this. So when the leg of the Nightmare demon came down between them and the others, cutting off their escape route, Garrett did not hesitate.

Neither did Bethany. They had always been better together, their skills complementary and dangerous. This time, the blast of force magic that emanated from both their staffs slammed, hard, into the Nightmare demon. It staggered under their assault.

Fire and ice in tandem landed on their target, and the Nightmare screamed as it reared back.

Hawke didn’t waste a moment. He grabbed Bethany's hand and ran.

The Rift spat them out into the courtyard of Adamant, and Garrett turned, instinctively, to check that Bethany was okay. That they had, against the odds, come out unharmed.

She stood, breathing hard, but her eyes were full of tears. Garrett stood, faintly unnerved, as she flung herself into his arms.

“You idiot,” she muttered, “You stupid bloody - tell me. Tell me you don’t think like that. Tell me you did the best you could.”

“I - I did the best I could.” Hawke said, trying to make it sounded like the words didn’t stick in his throat. He tightened his arms around her. “And we’re not done here, before you give me another lecture.”

She pulled away, looking as if the lecture was coming anyway, but she was the Inquisitor, and they stood in the ruins of Adamant. At the bottom of the steps, Cullen seemed to have the remaining Wardens under control - weapons down, if not surrendered entirely.

Breathing out, Bethany closed the Rift. Several of the Wardens sank to their knees. A couple blinked and shook their heads, as if trying to clear something.

Garrett risked a glance at Varric, who gave a tight grin, teeth more gritted than they should have been. Vivienne was brushing dust off her fancy robes, trying and failing to look unbothered. Cassandra still had her sword drawn and seemed to be looking for a target. Stroud looked stunned - although that might have been the devastation around him. There were so many Warden dead.

Hawke, slowly, lowered himself to the steps. His legs felt a little too wobbly. He wasn’t sure if it was the difference between the Fade and reality, or everything they’d been through. But without the threat of the Nightmare demon hanging over them, he found himself drained. It had been a long, long night.

Bethany, more calmly than Garrett would have managed, offered an alliance out to the Wardens. She spoke of the Nightmare’s corrupting influence and the importance of a united front against future blights. Ferelden had exiled the Wardens before, and it had been weaker for it when the Fifth Blight had come. She would not make the same mistake.

On the steps, Garrett thought of the Warden Prison. Of what the Wardens had made their father do - of the noose it nearly placed around his own neck. He didn’t say a damn word.

Bethany was a better person than him. A bigger person than him.

Then everyone was moving, and a shadow fell across Hawke. He looked up, expecting Varric. Or Isabela, maybe.

He found Cullen offering him a hand.

“You look spent.”

Garrett could see a dozen of him, charging towards him with their swords drawn. He made himself look for the differences between the Cullen who’d been against him in Kirkwall, and this one. The thinner face, the tired eyes. The absence of any regalia of the Order.

Slowly, he took Cullen’s hand. He would not be scared. Not any more.

Maker, how many nightmares had the demon siphoned from him over the months and years? It could have grown fat on him alone.

“Bad night,” was all he said.

Bethany seemed to have found Isabela and was leaning against her. Garrett knew they needed to talk - that he should have words with Varric, too, but right then he didn’t have the energy. He felt wrung-out. The defiance in him in the face of the Nightmare was gone in the cold night air of Adamant, leaving just a chill.

“You got her back here,” Cullen said quietly, “All of you.”

Hawke swallowed and managed to nod.

“Thank the fucking Maker.” He said, weakly, before remembering that Cullen was quite a bit more religious than he was.

All the same, Cullen looked relieved to hear it. As if it were proof that he’d made it through in one piece. And fuck, Garrett hadn’t considered Cullen one of those who’d mourn him.

The Commander pulled his hand away and cleared his throat.

“Are you… Should I escort you to the field hospital?”

“No,” Hawke said, “I’m not hurt. Just - exhausted. Are we debriefing? We should…”

“Not tonight,” Cullen said, “We have this under control, Garrett. You should sleep.”

Hawke snorted. The Commander wasn’t wrong, but he wasn’t sure sleep was going to be on the cards for anyone who’d been in the Fade. Certainly not the mages, who might find themselves back there. Indeed, when Hawke glanced back to his sister, she’d pulled away from Isabela and had seemingly found Leliana. The two women were standing close together, talking quietly. Hawke remembered the spirit of the Divine had given them a message for the spymaster. Vivienne had disappeared entirely.

“Sleep - sleep might not be the best idea.” He admitted, quietly.

Cullen frowned, then frowned deeper when he understood.

“Right,” he said, a little more brusquely, “Come to the war tent.”

He turned and walked off, hand on the hilt of his sword. Confused, but uncertain what else to do, Garrett followed.

He almost stumbled when Leliana reached out and touched Bethany’s face.

The war tent, it turned out, was a hive of activity. Cullen all but instructed Hawke to sit, poured him a decent measure of Starkhaven Whiskey, and then started going through the reports. Hawke listened in as runners brought updates from the fortress, from the field hospital, from the Chargers. Sometimes, he could even form enough thoughts to join in the conversation. Most of the time he just sat in silence, staring into nothing.

Several members of Bethany’s Inner Circle appeared and disappeared on various tasks. Cole sat beside him a while, murmuring about someone - Bethany, presumably - feeling stronger, better, encouraged. A victory. The Iron Bull squeezed Hawke’s shoulder before he headed back out. It was faintly comforting. More friends, Hawke realised.

He did not want to sleep, but his body had other ideas. Exhausted and drained, he kept slipping, startling back awake. He rubbed at his face, his eyes feeling gritty.

Someone slipped a blanket around his shoulders, and Hawke tried to shrug it off, only to find it tucked under his head as a makeshift cushion as he discovered himself slumped over Cullen’s desk.

“Sorry,” he managed, before realising that Cullen’s fur-lined cloak was now wrapped around him. The Commander smiled faintly at him.

“Sleep, Garrett. You need it.”

“Wards,” Hawke mumbled. “Need -”

“- Solas saw to them,” Cullen said. “The tent is warded. You might be more comfortable, over there, on the actual bed Sera made for you, but also it’s Sera, I can’t guarantee there isn’t a trick to it.”

Hawke blinked stupidly. He didn’t remember either elf visiting. The light outside had changed.

“I … Yes.”

He stood up, and Cullen’s cloak slipped before he caught it. For a moment, Hawke knew he should give it back, but then he wrapped it around himself and shuffled to the bed that Sera had made. It was more of a nest than anything and Garrett only just about bothered to strip off his gauntlets and spikier pauldron before he collapsed into it.

Hawke fell asleep, Cullen’s cloak part blanket, part bundle clutched to his chest. It smelt like the Commander.

When Garrett awoke, hours later, he was very grateful to Solas’ wards.

Chapter Text

Garrett Hawke had friends. Not just a twin who needed him as their last surviving family, and not just people who accepted his presence or tolerated it, but actual, genuine friends.

The little voice in the back of his skull still tried to whisper that it was false, that he was poisonous to everything he touched, but it was easier to silence now with the sheer weight of evidence in front of him. The worst of all fear demons had all but proved that Bethany, Varric and the others cared about him.

On the ride back to Skyhold, Garrett made himself list all the things since he’d joined the Inquisition that proved he was welcome - that he belonged. Solas helping with his ankle, so that it was stronger and better than it had been in years, even if it would never be fully healed. Bull introducing him to each of the Chargers and inviting him into their drinking circle. Blackwall offering a space away from the hustle and bustle, away from the Templars: a place he could just be. Dorian bringing him a much better vintage of wine to share over a game of chess where they both cheated so terribly it was simply an exercise in bluffing.

The little voice in the back of his skull whispered that they just didn’t know him yet, that the reckoning would come. But there were enough people around who did know him - who’d known him for years, that Garrett tried to not let that thought take root.

His sister watched him, smiling occasionally, despite the pressure on her shoulders. Varric and Isabela fell back, swiftly, to teasing him as they had in Kirkwall. And Garrett didn’t clam up, didn’t wince and stumble over his replies.

“It’s weird,” he confessed to Isabela that night, “I’m probably the only one that came out of the Fade feeling lighter.”

Bethany especially, seemed strained by the revelation that the Anchor had indeed been an accident as Corypheus claimed, that Andraste hadn’t intervened. She seemed to spend a lot of time with Leliana and Cassandra, head down, talking. Garrett wondered if they were trying to strategise their approach with the Chantry, or discussing the theological repercussions. Leliana, at least, had truly believed that Bethany was chosen. Did this change things? How much did it change Bethany?

Garrett rode beside his sister as they made the final ascent towards Skyhold.

“You keep checking in on me,” he said, quietly, “But how are you holding up?”

Bethany managed a weak smile.

“I was only just getting comfortable about the idea of being Andraste’s chosen. I guess I have to get comfortable with being Divine Justinia’s chosen instead.”

“The faithful will believe what they want to believe,” Hawke said, “What can you live with, Bethy?”

She sighed as they rode through the gates.

“With making a difference,” she said, before dismounting and disappearing into the War Room with her advisers.

There was a lot to handle in the aftermath of Adamant. Bethany sat in judgement of Magister Erimond, taken alive, and a Grey Warden who couldn’t handle what she’d done under Corypheus’ sway. And then she disappeared to Val Royeaux for a fortnight, partially to secure an invitation to the Winter Ball and partially to follow up on a lead around the fortunes of their Ambassador. Garrett, who had no desire to return to the Orlesian capital after his last disastrous visit, stayed in Skyhold and distracted himself from the doubting voice in his head by discovering that the Seeker was a large fan of Swords and Shields.

“I didn’t have you down as the romantic type,” he grinned at Cassandra, who blushed even as she glared at him.

“Because as a warrior and a Seeker, I cannot dream of something beautiful?” She challenged back at him.

“Well, Aveline tried to woo Donnic with copper marigolds and a goat so…”

She made a noise of disgust and stormed away. Garrett made it up to her later by persuading Varric to write her a new chapter.

Bethany returned, and Garrett heard snatches of her conversation with Josephine as they walked back through the throne room - something about raising nobles and sourcing favours. He watched, curiously, as Bethany closed the door to Josephine’s office with a smile and then immediately turned to where Leliana had been standing in conversation with Lace Harding. The scout darted away and Bethany said a few words to the Spymaster who smiled and nodded in agreement.

They were walking together towards the door to the library and Leliana’s rookery when Mother Giselle stopped Bethany, and the smile dropped from her face.

Several hours later, Garrett rode out of the gates of Skyhold with Dorian, Bethany and Iron Bull. Dorian was still bitching about the contents of the letter, the audacity of his father and meddling nature of the Chantry Mother.

A family retainer supposedly waited for them in Redcliffe. None of them expected Halward Pavus himself - and none of them expected Dorian’s story.

“Blood magic?” Hawke asked. “On your own son?”

Dorian sniffed, a sneer on his face that Garrett knew was a mask - a safer expression than anything more vulnerable. Bull was leaning against the door, arms folded, looking every inch the terrifying bodyguard. There was no expression on his face at all.

Garrett was not so measured. Blood magic. He thought he might be sick at the idea of trying to change anyone that way.

“You lured us here under false intentions, Magister.” Bethany said, her tone as imperious and as haughty as Madame de Fer at her best. At that moment, she was more Inquisitor than she had been at Adamant. “Explain yourself and your actions, now.”

“I just wanted what was best for my son.” Halward said, which made Garrett snort in raging disbelief even as Dorian cut across him.

“You never cared what was best for me,” he said, voice growing more strained by the moment, “You just wanted to protect your legacy.”

Garrett had heard enough.

“Legacy?” He repeated. “Fuck that, that’s -”

“Ah, yes. The Champion of Kirkwall who let his legacy rot on the vine out of cowardice,” Halward sneered, “Please, do go on.”

Even a month ago, it would have left Hawke reeling. Now though, he snorted and stepped very, very close to the man.

“Funny,” he growled, “I’m not that man, any more.”

He didn’t go further though - not when Dorian begged him not to, that it wasn’t worth it. Together, the four of them left The Gull and Lantern, Bull’s hand on Dorian’s shoulder almost steadying him. They left Magister Pavus alone in the inn.

“You good, Vint?” Bull asked quietly, no malice in his tone.

Dorian sniffed.

“No.”

Behind him, Bethany reached out and squeezed Garrett’s hand. Garrett squeezed back.

Dorian disappeared into the library the moment they were back at Skyhold, and Garrett wondered if giving him space was the better call.

The Iron Bull watched Dorian go, and then suggested he and Garrett got a drink in the tavern. Frowning, Garrett followed.

“So,” Bull said, putting the tankard down in front of Garrett. “You’re not that man any more, huh?”

Garrett winced and took a sip.

“Trying not to be.” He muttered. “Might have been a little premature but…”

“No,” Bull said, “It’s good. Really good, Hawke.” Then he paused. “But you know it’s not cowardice to have just focused on surviving, right?”

Garrett closed his eyes. The voice in the back of his head whispered the word coward, again and again.

“Working on that bit.”

Bull was silent for a moment.

“Before I was The Iron Bull,” he said, “I spent a decade on Seheron…”

The Qunari was still talking around the topic of survival when Varric and Isabela joined them. Isabela winked at him.

“There you are, sweet thing. Josephine wanted to warn you that Sebastian will be here just before the Winter Ball.”

Hawke pulled a face and took a large drink, before frowning.

“Wait, why are you running messages for Josie?”

“Well, she was reading correspondence in bed and -”

Hawke choked on his ale. Bull threw his head back and laughed as Varric clapped Garrett on the back.

“You and the Ambassador, eh?” Bull said, grinning at Isabela, “Good job. I offered, once, to help her work out some of the stress of the job and she turned me down.”

“Have you made that offer to everyone, Bull?” Varric asked, curious. “I swear you did the same with the Seeker, and Cullen -”

“Cullen?” Garrett asked weakly, still struggling to breathe a little.

Bull attempted to wink at him. It didn’t work with only one eye.

“Don’t worry, Champion, he didn’t take me up on it. You’re still in with a shot, I reckon.”

Garrett groaned and took another, too large glug of his drink whilst Isabela cackled at him.

“Oh, what’s this? You and Cullen?”

“There’s nothing -” Hawke protested, before groaning. “Maker, just how bad would that be huh, with both of our fucking hang-ups.”

“Hawke,” Bull said, suddenly serious. “What did you just say to Dorian’s father in Redcliffe?”

“Dorian’s father was in Redcliffe?” Varric asked, before his attention went right back to Garrett. “And what did you say to him?”

Hawke buried his face in his rapidly emptying drink. Damn Isabela. Damn Bull. Damn Varric.

“That I wasn’t a coward any more.”

But he was, a little. About Cullen, at least.

Chapter Text

Garrett thought Sebastian was the only thing lingering on the horizon that might test his new found resolve.

He hadn't factored in a very specific white-haired elf sauntering into Skyhold one morning, a great-sword strapped to his back.

Fenris had not written. No one had heard from him. No one, really, had even known where he was. Varric had sent a letter from himself, and one from Garrett, to a friend of a friend long long enough ago that Hawke had all but forgotten it had happened. He certainly didn't expect to come out of the kitchens one morning after missing breakfast to find a hastily assembled gathering and Fenris in the middle of it.

Hawke slowly backed away, before ducking behind the corner and hurrying back to the kitchens. No one spotted him.

By the kitchen door, out of sight, he considered his options. One - eat in the kitchen as if nothing was wrong and hope no one found him before he was ready to face the elf. Two - abandon his food as a bit of a lost cause and get the reunion over with.

Old Garrett would have hidden. But he was trying so, so hard to not be weak.

And that was the problem, wasn't it? His hands shook a little as he ducked back into the kitchen and abandoned the tray with a mumbled apology to the cook, promising he'd be back for it when he could.

Fenris. Oh Maker, Fenris. Hawke had adored the elf for years in Kirkwall, fallen into bed with him and then had his heart broken. Three years later, Fenris had tried to kiss him in the aftermath of Danarius and he had been the one to run, on the edge of breaking entirely under Meredith's control. After their argument on board Isabela's ship, he'd truly not believed that Fenris would come all this way.

He had. Whether it was for Varric, or him, or even for Bethany, Hawke wasn't sure. But it meant everything. It changed everything.

He had to brave. He had to face him.

But why did it feel harder than offering himself to the Envy Demon to protect Bethany?

His hands shook as he headed back out the kitchen and around the corner.

There was a slightly bigger group, now. Isabela stood to one side, whilst Cullen had joined Bethany and Josephine. She spotted him first and gave him a wide-eyed look. He couldn't quite tell what she was trying to convey in that look - whether she was just as surprised as him about Fenris' arrival, or whether it was a warning.

It didn't matter either way - because Fenris had spotted him. Hawke watched the elf's frown deepen.

Bethany looked around and saw him too. Garrett managed a wan smile at her - even if he couldn't quite manage it at Fenris.

"Ah, there you are," Bethany said, sounding composed, "Varric went to find you. We assumed you were still in bed."

Garrett wrinkled his nose a little, wondering how that sounded to Fenris. He tried to think of something funny to say.

"I'd heard a rumour there was a fitting for the Winter Ball so I thought I'd ride out to the Hinterlands to avoid it."

Josephine looked for a moment like she believed him. Which - well, he'd apologise later. Once he'd gotten over the shock of the morning and presumably got away from this interaction with his heart literally and figuratively intact.

Bethany sniffed, not impressed, but seemingly recognising that it was a joke. She looked back at Fenris.

"We will leave you to talk," she said, a little too formally, "Welcome to Skyhold, Fenris. Try not to kill my brother, I will have you arrested."

Fenris blinked, then settled his eyes back on her.

"I will not kill him, Inquisitor." He said.

Hawke did not relax, even a hair. There was so much the elf could do to him that didn't involve death, after all.

Behind Fenris, Cullen's hand moved, just a little, to the hilt of his sword. Garrett's breath caught, momentarily.

Was Cullen looking to protect him? That was…

Too complicated to think about, right then. Because Fenris was walking towards him and it had been three years since they'd last spoken, and longer since they'd done anything but hurt each other.

Hawke swallowed.

"I ah - know a quiet spot?"

He took Fenris to the battlements, near the Templar tower. The view over the mountains was stunning, which helped with not having to make too much eye contact, and it was unlikely anyone would come near.

It helped, just a little, that the elf seemed as nervous as him.

Fenris spoke first.

"Your sister," he said, looking out over the view, "makes a formidable Inquisitor."

Hawke huffed a laugh, trying to not take Fenris' words to mean that he had been a bad Champion. It was a comment on Bethany, and only Bethany. They'd been closer than he and Fenris had been, at first. Before she'd been caught and taken to the Gallows.

"She does," he said, grateful at least to start the conversation with a topic he was comfortable with, "Montsimmard was good to her, it seems. She certainly knows how to handle the pressure."

That, possibly, got a little too close to the fact that he had not handled the pressure. He snuck a glance at the elf to find Fenris watching him.

There was a pause.

"So." Fenris said, slowly. "Corypheus. You - fought this creature before?"

Hawke pulled a face. It was a reasonable question, considering everyone now knew the name of the Inquisition's enemy. But Bethany must have mentioned Garrett's connection. He was pretty damn sure the Inquisition was keeping that as quiet as possible. The rumour was out there, but Leliana was good at her job and the last he'd heard it wasn't spreading with any speed or accuracy.

"Do you remember the Carta attacking me in Kirkwall? And… how everything got worse?"

Fenris nodded, something crossing his face at the memory. Garrett carried on, quickly.

"Turned out my father had done a favour for the Grey Wardens before I was born, sealing some ancient darkspawn from the First Blight away for another twenty-five years or so. He, ah, used blood magic. So anyway - the Carta wanted to use my blood to break their darkspawn overlord free. The Templars definitely wouldn't let me seal him for another twenty-five years because… well, blood magic. So we killed him." He paused for breath, and managed a weak laugh. "Turned out the reason the Wardens were sealing him away every few years was that he appears to be immortal."

Fenris was looking at him. Garrett braced for the inevitable snarling about blood magic.

"You withdrew, after that."

Hawke blinked.

"Oh. Yeah. Meredith… Meredith used the whole thing as an excuse to have me watched over, permanently. For my own safety, you understand."

Fenris sniffed and looked over his shoulder, down into Skyhold.

"And you… chose to stay here? Even with the Order…?"

Garrett gave a thin smile.

"I chose to stay here for Bethany. The Order mostly leave me alone after what happened at Therinfel Redoubt."

Fenris frowned.

"Where you submitted to the Order. Again."

The first flicker of frustration flared in Garrett. That was one way to interpret what had happened, sure, but it wasn't exactly fair. It roiled in his gut, making him uneasy.

"I did the only thing I could do to ensure the Inquisition wasn't massacred in the streets of Val Royeaux before it could make a damn difference."

Fenris looked at him. He looked wary. Hawke couldn't exactly blame him - it was what he'd done to protect Bethany in the aftermath of the Arishok. It was what he'd wanted to do after Anders blew up the Chantry, before his friends backed him. Before he understood the depths of Meredith's madness and how his life would not be enough to stop her rampage.

"You do seem… different." Fenris conceded after an age.

Hawke snorted.

"It's not perfect," he said truthfully, "But fuck, I'm trying Fenris. Not to blame myself, or guilt myself, or be a coward and - it's hard. Because my sister ended up at the conclave, should have died at the hands of the monster I accidentally helped free. But I - I'm trying. I'm really, really trying."

Fenris nodded, slowly.

"I understand, Hawke." He paused, before dropping his gaze. "I - should apologise. For before. You were still hurting, and I was angry…"

He trailed off as Garrett stared at him, faintly stunned. An apology? He'd not expected that.

He scrambled for something to say.

"Well, it wasn't as if there was any other opportunity for us to talk, really." He said with an awkward shrug. "And, well, I'm sorry too. For -"

He stopped himself before he said everything. He was trying, damn it.

"- For disappointing you."

The silence stretched. Garrett could feel his heart racing, couldn't quite meet Fenris' eyes any more. Maker's balls, he hadn't been ready for this reunion, at all. It was a miracle he wasn't sweating profusely.

"Okay," he blurted, no longer quite able to retain the anxiety bubbling in his system, "That's - that's probably enough for one morning. I'm going to go be sick somewhere."

Fenris didn't stop him as he walked away. Perhaps he'd reached a limit too.