Chapter Text
***
“Hawke,” Fenris calls from the entrance, his eyes zeroing on his former companion like there is nobody else in the crowded tavern.
“Fenris,” Hawke acknowledges with a raised hand. “Well, don’t just stand there. You came all this way, might as well take a couple more steps towards our humble table.”
The elf Esswar heard so much about has piercing green eyes and striking white hair that looks like it was cut with a dagger and without a mirror. He glides through the crowd without bumping into anybody and sits elegantly opposite of Hawke. His movements look naturally graceful. One of those people who look good even emptying their stomachs, no doubt. Esswar is a little bit envious.
He doesn’t want to call this feeling jealousy. No reason for that, now, is there?
A full tankard of ale that’s been waiting for Fenris stays untouched. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Hawke, just like Esswar of Fenris.
His slightly glowing lyrium markings could be mistaken for a vallaslin, but Esswar sees how the silver follows power lines along Fenris’s lithe frame. It is a work of magic, a thing of beauty and horror, as repulsive as it is captivating. Lyrium was never meant to enter a living body, let alone stay in it. It’s unnatural.
To a mage’s gaze, Fenris looks like something completely separate from the lyrium. Like lyrium carvings make a living creature, alive and real, seem moving behind the stained glass with Fenris’s murky portrait on it.
Prolonged contact from the inside has probably influenced Fenris’s state of mind. That, though, is a thought Esswar plans on keeping to himself until he has solid proof. Right now, Fenris seems sane, if thoroughly unpleasant.
“A mage,” Fenris says with contempt as soon as his gaze meets Esswar’s. “Fine company you keep, Hawke. Your sad affliction has already landed you in a heap of death, yet here you are, making questionable choices again.”
“You haven’t changed at all, I see. Still same old judging Fenris. Well, let me introduce you to His Worship, the Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste Esswar Trevelyan, who also happens to be a mage, among his other impressive accomplishments. Inquisitor, that’s my acquaintance from Kirkwall, Fenris. A fine master of a long sword and a hater of all mages and things magical.”
“Charmed,” Esswar says with a thin smile.
Varric was very reluctant to talk about Fenris when asked and advised to address Hawke himself on the matter. Hawke refuses to call this elf a friend after spending several years in his company and stays close-lipped otherwise. The reports from Kirkwall that Leliana compiled are very contradictory about his person. There is a story there, and not a pleasant one. Esswar might not like Hawke much, but he is a part of Esswar’s inner circle now, someone who Esswar is responsible for. People who hurt Hawke are not ones Esswar is inclined to treat kindly.
“I know who you are,” Fenris says. “Just another mage grabbing for more power. Don’t get me wrong, I think there’ll come a day when you are the one in Corypheus’s place. But don't worry, I’m not here to take your head.”
“I’m curious,” Esswar says, “If you think I’m just as dangerous, why not try to nip the problem in the bud and kill me when you have a chance?”
“First, Corypheus must be dealt with. You and your Inquisition are unfortunately the only considerable power opposing him right now. Then, we’ll see. I have a friend who happens to think you might prove me wrong. I won’t touch you if that turns out to be true.”
“I don’t believe it! Somebody was persuasive enough to get through that stubbornness of yours? You, admitting a mage can possibly resist becoming an evil magister?” Hawke snorts bitterly. “Do introduce me to this mysterious person, I long to celebrate such a feat with a drink.”
“I never said he can resist becoming an evil magister. In the end, all mages want more power to themselves. But you are here, and you pledged yourself to his cause. You must believe in him. We both know your judgement isn’t foolproof, but…”
Hawke looks gutted, turned inside out with those words, like a deep-water creature suddenly yanked to the surface, its intestines spilling out of its mouth.
“Don’t you dare,” Hawke says, rasp. “Don’t you fucking dare call me a friend, Fenris! Not after what you did in Kirkwall!”
“I never hid my intentions. You knew…”
“How noble of you, to tell me you’re going to fight against me right before switching sides!”
“You were protecting mages! When you knew what the abomination did!”
“Yeah, I knew! I also knew he did it alone! I was protecting people who were going to be slaughtered just because they shared a trait with one criminal!”
“Every mage…”
“A piece of advice, Fenris?” Esswar intercedes as smoothly as their almost-shouting with Hawke allows. “Don’t go pointing fingers at mages being inherently evil when you are surrounded by our kind.”
Esswar sips his ale casually while Fenris reels back as if struck. Looks like he really forgot where he is. Meanwhile, people around are starting to pay attention. There are mages at every table, or those who sympathise with their cause. Anybody who thinks differently doesn’t tend to stay in Skyhold long.
“We better forget this,” Fenris grits through his teeth. “I didn’t come here to argue.”
Fenris’s fingers worry at his belt, a coat of arms of some sort strapped to it. Hawke can’t seem to look there, keeps his eyes deliberately on Fenris’s face. Esswar regrets it’s not his place to ask, and literally not a place from where he can see the insignia well. He’d like to know.
It’s not just curiosity that fuels his want, but what is - Esswar can’t for the love of everything holy pinpoint.
“Why did you come, then? Surely not for me, if arguing isn’t your goal,” Hawke mocks. He’s thoroughly distressed, as much as Esswar can recognise in the straight set of his normally relaxed shoulders and unhappy lines around his eyes. The irises seem more charcoal grey than impossibly blue today. Esswar finds he does not care much for this color.
“I heard the Inquisition has someone who can remove a vallaslin in its ranks,” Fenris says. “I wanted to ask if he’d attempt to remove my lyrium carvings.”
“You heard right,” Esswar confirms. “Still, you’ll have to appeal to him yourself. That is, if Hawke doesn’t mind your presence, of course.”
“What?”
They ask it in unison, such perfect synch of timing and intonation that years of partnership shine brightly through grudges and estrangement.
It eggs Esswar, that Hawke would be surprised by his statement.
“One word from Hawke, and you are out of here, Fenris. He says he doesn’t want you in Skyhold - you’re gone,” Esswar explains calmly. “That being said, as long as he’s willing to tolerate your presence and as long as you behave otherwise, you’re as welcome here as any pilgrim.”
Esswar doesn’t believe Hawke would deny his former companion a chance at normalcy. Esswar’s words are a stern warning that should Hawke be harmed in any way - Fenris can kiss his wish goodbye.
Apparently, Hawke needed to hear that even more. His eyes are wells of something deep and twisted, but at Esswar's words they widen for a fracture of a second, naked emotion shining through. Esswar can't name what he sees, is afraid to name it, but he also can't deny that he likes this thing between them, and likes it viciously.
He… doesn’t want to dwell on it right now, so he looks at Hawke evenly, expectantly.
“I’ll introduce you to Solas tomorrow,” Hawke tells Fenris as a way of answering. “Meet me in the yard two hours after dawn. That all you came here for?”
“Yes,” Fenris confirms. It doesn’t sound like the whole truth, but Esswar can be mistaken. Guessing the degree of honesty in a complete stranger like Fenris is a job for Leliana and her spies, so let them do it.
“It settles that, then,” Esswar says and gets to his feet. “I’m afraid I must bid my farewell. Fenris.” Esswar waits for a bit, but Hawke shakes his head in a tiny motion to indicate that he's not leaving yet. Well, he is entitled to his secrets. Esswar wouldn't want to intrude. "Hawke," he says in the same even tone.
He leaves them to converse levelly, like diplomats more than like old acquaintances. He’d like to stay till the end to make sure Hawke is alright, but Esswar knows that Hawke stayed behind for a reason, and that Fenris would not utter another meaningful word in Esswar's presence. So he goes to his rooms and makes do with a hope that today’s evening will help Hawke get some much needed closure.
Judging by what transpired between him and Fenris, Hawke needs it. A lot.
***
Hawke wakes Esswar up with a loud announcement of, “Your security is shit!” in the dark of the night.
Esswar jumps from his Free Marches inspired bed, dagger in one hand, a lightning charge in the other, and curses under his breath.
“Vishante kaffas!”
“I see, Dorian’s been busy teaching you the essentials of Tevene.”
“How did you get in here?” Esswar grumbles. “The door’s locked and warded!”
His heart is still beating madly in what feels like his stomach, but as soon as recognition dawns and a dangerous intruder turns into Hawke - Esswar calms down. The reaction’s instant and instinctive, something only an open attack would probably overcome. They’ve been to enough fights together, back to back, that Esswar trusts Hawke implicitly. So he puts the dagger back under a massive goose-feathered pillow and waves his hand at the gaping maw of his fireplace to light the room a bit.
“Who needs doors when you have a balcony? Didn’t even need a mountaineer’s hook to climb up, just a rope with some weight. No protections on this side. Somebody wants you dead - you practically invite them in.”
The first rush of nerves melts into other sensations. Esswar’s bare feet are cold from the stone floors, his eyes are watery like they are every time right after waking up, and he probably looks ridiculous in his plain woolen night gown in front of Hawke clad in full lazurite armor.
“Have thought about killing me a lot, I see,” Esswar smiles, not at all joking, and receives a frown for his troubles.
“Have thought about others killing you, definitely. You die - and we might lose any chance of beating Corypheus.”
Cullen once said something similar. They didn’t know each other then, and so Esswar paid his words no mind. For some reason, hearing the same thought put so clinically by Hawke, after all they’ve been through, stings more than the thought of Hawke planning Esswar’s untimely demise. At least the latter would be personal.
“Don’t be foolish,” Esswar says. He rubs his eyes to chase away the last remnants of sleep. No point in ruminations. “I die - you pick up the banner and lead the Inquisition just like you were supposed to from the very beginning. Leliana and Cassandra did start it with you in mind. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Esswar goes to his personal wine barrel in the small storage room and pours two full cups. “Here. You look like you could use a drink.”
Hawke accepts the wine and downs it in one go. He does it three more times before he speaks again.
“We both know that people rallied around you. Nobody is going to follow me. Not after the events at Kirkwall.”
“Speaking of which… What did happen? Don’t get me wrong, I read the book, but it’s mostly fiction based on a couple of facts, right? And Varric holds his tongue like I’m a venatori spy every time I raise the question.”
“Don’t tell me you don’t know from other sources.”
“I read Leliana’s reports, if that’s what you’re asking. I also heard tales and rumors, of course. But I never got the whole story from anybody who was there.”
“You haven’t asked Cullen, then?”
“No. Didn’t seem fair, to any of you.”
“And asking me is fair?” Hawke laughs mirthlessly and then cringes, hard. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”
“No offense taken.” Esswar shakes his head slowly. “I don’t insist on an answer, Hawke. I’d like to hear the truth from you, of course, but you’re under no obligation to tell me anything.”
“Truth… Everybody has their own. Why interested in mine over everyone else’s?”
It’s a trick question, and one that can make or break their relationship for good. Esswar feels on the precipice of a glorious breakthrough - or on the edge of a firemountain crater. Voice a wrong reason - and Hawke walks away. From the Inquisition, from Esswar, even from Cullen.
Having no spare leader for the Inquisition would be bad, but it’s not why Esswar dreads this outcome. He’s man enough to admit that much, at least in the privacy of his seething mind.
“I want to understand you, Hawke,” Esswar says when the silence becomes too much to bear, crawls inside on razor-sharp spider legs to tear his madly beating heart into shreds. “That’s why I ask.”
It’s a right answer, he can immediately tell, one that lets him breathe and chases away tension. And a one Hawke didn’t expect. Hawke looks openly helpless for a second, then puts his cup on a windowsill and hops onto Esswar’s disheveled bed.
The sight of him, embraced by shadows, among Esswar’s pillows, makes something clench longingly in Esswar’s chest. Esswar backs to his desk and leans on it. His eyes never leave Hawke’s slumped form.
“Tell me about Kirkwall, Hawke.”
Hawke obliges. He starts with the very beginning, how he Blight forced them from their home. How he lost his sister and how he thought he lost his brother. How he met everybody, what they were like then… When the sun rises above the mountain peaks and duty calls them both, Hawke’s tale has barely begun. Yet Esswar is not worried that he won’t hear how it ends.
He knows Hawke will be back.
***
Turns out, Hawke didn’t warn Fenris about Solas being a mage.
The resulting commotion attracts a small crowd of servants and passers-by. By the time Esswar gets a report about it and arrives at the scene the issue is resolved and people start dispersing. Still, Esswar has a couple of professional questions for Solas. As Fenris leaves in a huff with Hawke reluctantly trailing behind him, Esswar takes this opportunity to ask, “How did you manage to calm Fenris down so quickly?”
“I simply reminded Hawke’s friend that his carvings are a work of magic, and magic is needed to remove them. He either accepts a mage’s help or lives the rest of his life with markings of a slave,” Solas says. “He was reasonable enough to choose the lesser evil.”
It’s hilarious to watch expressions shift on Solas’s face. Uneasiness flows into resignation and that, in turn, melts off to reveal concentration. Esswar’s not the only one with complicated feelings about Fenris. For Solas, he’s another thorn in his carefully nursed view of his people. Another elf who doesn’t care much about elven history and customs and hates magic in all its forms, but at the same time - a unique problem to solve. A fascinating challenge to Solas’s considerable abilities, both magical and intellectual.
“When are you going to do it?” Esswar asks.
“In two months, if no other pressing matters arise. A surgery that complicated requires extensive preparation.”
Esswar hesitates, then says, “What do you make of it? I have a theory that his prolonged exposure to raw lyrium has damaged his mind irrevocably. I doubt that removing the carvings will help him at this point. Frankly, I’m astounded he thought to remove them at all.”
“You might be right about his mental state. His hatred is concerning in its potency. Still, his circumstances are unique. We will never know if removing the lyrium helps, unless we try.”
“Any prognosys?”
“A lack of contact might lessen his madness. Will he stop hating mages so much or getting any other obsessive ideas? I doubt it. The hatred and paranoia are ingrained too deeply into his soul by now. Still, he might become amiable enough to question some of his more… extreme beliefs. Memory loss should also no longer be an issue from the moment of the surgery. That’s about it, though. I don’t expect miracles, Inquisitor. Neither should you.”
Memory loss? Like with old Templars? No wonder Fenris decided to remove the markings after all those years and was desperate enough to trust a mage with the task.
“Thank you for agreeing to help.”
“I wish I could do more. Alas, I will what I can.”
“If you need any assistance, I’m at your disposal.”
“I believe I have matters in hand, Inquisitor, but I thank you nonetheless.”
It’s a dismissal if Esswar ever heard one. He leaves Solas to work in peace.
***
Hawke keeps dropping by his rooms. Sometimes it’s right after dinner, sometimes - on the brink of dawn, always unexpected, yet always welcome. He ignores dragon-carved armchairs in front of the fireplace that Esswar ordered with their conversations in mind. As if on principle, Hawke climbs onto the windowsill, stretches on a thick bear pelt in the center of the room - another new addition to the interior that he inspired (and helped obtain) - or hops on the bed instead.
As long as Esswar gets to hear another enthralling piece of the puzzle by Hawke’s name he doesn’t mind.
Every detail revealed, every small thing paints Hawke in a different light. Calm and collected, efficient, goofy, sharply intelligent or making mistakes, cold or overwhelmed with feelings… It’s new, and raw, and precious.
When the mutual attraction became evident, Cullen started sharing memories with Esswar, even the most painful of them. Right now it’s ask and you shall be granted access into his past with Cullen, and it works both ways. Quite the opposite, Hawke’s been closed off… Until recently. His sudden honesty is unbidden. Whatever the reason, Esswar doesn’t ask. He just listens, and stores each piece of Hawke’s confession in the safest place of his memory.
For Hawke to talk so openly about his endeavors is a remarkable show of trust.
Esswar cherishes every word.
***
The security is tightened, though. Leliana’s agents litter the walls around Esswar’s balcony with traps, and there are two soldiers guarding his door at all times now. Esswar, too, takes some precautions. Hawke still manages to slip into his rooms unannounced from time to time “to keep Leliana on her toes”, but he doesn’t complain about it being easy anymore.
***
Hawke leaves a lot of stories out. “I do need some good ones in store, to tell when we are playing Wicked Grace!” he laughs.
He never skips the really important things.
“It was sarcasm then. You know, a jest. I called Cullen a friend, mocking him and myself. How could I honestly say so when he was talking things like ’mages are not people like you and me’? Turned out the joke was on me. My two companions who I sincerely held among my dearest friends betrayed me. And Cullen of all people stood by my side and defied his commander’s orders for me. All because I called him a friend.”
Esswar rarely interrupts Hawke with questions, but there are moments like this when a long silence calls for some sound filling it, and Esswar asks, “Two people? I know about Anders…”
“Justice. I doubt by the time it happened there was anything left of Anders, if I ever knew him at all. And yeah, the second was Fenris. Though I shouldn’t probably call it a betrayal. He didn’t stab me in the back or anything. When the fighting began he told me to my face he was not going to stand by my side if I am to support mages. Well, I made my choice knowing that. I suppose I should be grateful he didn’t attack me that same instance. You know what’s the cherry on top? We'd been lovers, before. For a long time, I thought that he’d come around… well. It’s for the best, really. We broke up way before the rebellion, it’s my fault I was expecting anything then. Him leaving is not even close to what An… Justice did. Why can’t I help myself? Why does it still feel like a betrayal?”
Fenris is holed in the tavern, mostly keeping to himself. Waiting for Solas to finish his preparations. Hawke endorsed it, it was his call. They are civil when their paths cross. On the surface Hawke is fine enough not to demand Fenris’s expulsion. Yet when he shares the truth about what happened, Esswar has to remind himself that it’s not his place to exact revenge, and neither would Hawke appreciate meddling in his affairs. All Esswar can do is ask for more details in hope that talking it through might bring some relief to the both of them.
“What did Anders, I mean, Justice do?” Esswar prods after a moment. “Besides the obvious blowing up the chantry.”
The question seems to catch Hawke by surprise.
“How do you know there was more?”
There’ll come a day when Hawke starts expecting compassion and understanding from Esswar. For now, Esswar does not raise the question, just shrugs.
“If Justice topped your former lover and close friend turning his back on you, it should have been something pretty ugly and personal.”
“Yeah… Yeah, it was. Let’s test your little theory, shall we? See if you can look me in the eye after this.” Hawke smiles bitterly and spreads his hands in a mocking imitation of somebody waiting for a hug. Looks more like opening up for a fatal blow. “The bomb that blew up the chantry? Anders had me gather the ingredients and distract the high cleric while he planted it.”
Now Esswar understands why Varric evaded all questions, why he wrote the book based on a few light-hearted adventures they had, why the main conflict was Isabela against the Kunari and not the rebellion. Why Hawke thought nobody would want to have anything to do with him after how things went in Kirkwall.
“You didn’t know what he was up to, did you?” Esswar asks, overcome with horror. Not of what Hawke is, or did, but of what was done to him.
Esswar contemplates giving him a hug. Hesitation costs him his chance. Before Esswar settles in his resolve, Hawke lowers his hands, no longer approachable.
“Why do you assume that?” Hawke asks, wary.
“You would not call it a betrayal otherwise.”
“Hah. A point most people fail to see.”
“Their fault. Not yours. Any of it.”
Esswar pours all earnesty he can muster into those words, all conviction. Hawke still doesn’t believe him, but at least he doesn’t deny him the attempt, even though he tries to counter it with gnawing doubt.
“You sound like Varric. What if it was my fault? If I’d turned Anders in like Fenris insisted I did… Fenris was right all along about abominations. Maybe my stubborn refusal to see the truth was what drove him away in the end.”
Fenris was probably not in his right mind even then, and that was the real reason behind his actions. Esswar avoids mentioning this to Hawke. What good can theories do without solid proof? Better wait for the surgery and observe the results. Maybe then Hawke will draw the same conclusion, or maybe Esswar will be forced to adjust his opinion. Maybe Fenris will turn out saner then they all.
For now, Esswar carefully words his objection.
“I don’t know everything. I wasn’t there. But Varric was. He says you’re not to blame? I’m going to trust him on that. Varric is smart.”
“Don’t I know it,” Hawke laughs. It’s subdued, but genuine. Esswar barely has time to enjoy it when Hawke tilts his head and says, “I… should not regret what happened with Fenris so much. Not fair to Cullen, or you.”
The admission steals Esswar’s breath away. He doesn’t know how to react. It sounds suspiciously like a confession, something he knows he can’t expect. So Esswar averts his eyes and searches for anything to break the moment.
The only thought that comes to mind should be voiced anyway, for it probably never occurred to Hawke, given how he expects everybody to know all sordid details from Kirkwall. Esswar clears his throat from a suspicious lump and speaks, “You should know that what you said today was news to me, and I had access to Leliana’s reports. At the very least, your full part in the events is not common knowledge. I’d go as far as to suggest nobody besides the choice few closest to you knows. Whatever your friends and companions think of you and your involvement, they didn’t spread rumors, Fenris included. So if it comes to that, people will follow you, Hawke.”
“I see,” Hawke says. He doesn’t sound convinced.
“Hey, for what it’s worth from me? Having regrets is normal. We all have a past. Some of us can’t overcome it. Some, like you or Cullen, can. He already proved it and keeps doing so every day. I believe you capable, too, Hawke.”
“But not yourself,” Hawke replies. Like the best hits, it strikes quick and true. Hawke’s dark blue eyes shine like a hound’s with a fresh trail.
“Apparently not,” Esswar agrees. No details, at least not today. Maybe next time Hawke appears in the middle of his room as if out of thin air. Hawke’s told his story, he’ll need a reason to keep returning. Let curiosity fill the gap.
“I see,” Hawke repeats.
He stops coming, after.