Chapter Text
If someone told Garrett Hawke that his last moment would have him slaughtered by a giant-ass spider thing, he would have laughed and assumed it was just one of Carver’s fantasies.
And yet, here he was face to face before Nightmare: a giant-ass spider thing.
His fingers tightened around the grips of his daggers, he sliced away at the monstrous being, ignoring the sight of the open rift closing on him the moment the Inquisitor and Stroud hopped through.
Instead, he could only feel relief. Mostly everyone in the party came out alive. Even if he had to witness the conflict straining on Varric’s face before the others shoved him through the rift, he felt at ease knowing his closest friend would be alright… as selfish as the feeling was.
Here lies the Champion of Kirkwall, a bumbling idiot finally rightfully earning his title.
One of his daggers was flung aside by the demon, the other eventually joining it.
Where’s the rest of your team, Champion? Even Varric’s left you behind. No one is here to aid you now.
Nightmare’s taunting words had no effect on Hawke. If this one choice meant Corypheus could finally be defeated once and for all, he was more than okay with being slain by some stupid spider.
Nightmare hoisted him up, letting him come face to face with its multitude of beady eyes, and Hawke could have sworn the bastard was grinning.
You truly were a failure, Hawke.
“And you truly are ugly,” Hawke spat back out.
Flashes of blue blinded them both.
The momental distraction allowed Hawke to be let go from Nightmare’s grasp, causing him to collapse onto the ground with a loud groan. The bright flashes dazed the demon as it stumbled back.
It let out a guttural noise, with the sound of flesh being sliced following soon after.
As Nightmare stumbled back, it revealed an elven man wielding a greatsword, scowling at him with a defensive stance shielding the creature from Hawke.
All Hawke could do was gape.
The man looked ethereal, large green eyes with a sharp chin. His white hair was wrapped up in a loose ponytail. But the most outstanding feature of him were the vein-like blue lines glowing within his skin, covering his chin and travelling down his neck, wrapping all the way around his arms.
Questions flooded Hawke’s mind. How far did those marks go? Is this a spirit? A demon?
Who is this magnificent person I have been deprived of seeing until now?
“Back off, demon,” the elf hissed.
Nightmare let out a indignant roar, thrusting one of its tendrils towards the elf.
Fenris, the demon greeted, you have no right to be here.
Fenris, Hawke thought, what a beautiful name.
“Angry you cannot tempt me with your words?” Fenris threw back at him, raising his sword again. “Away with you. Your original target has left the Fade. You no longer have business with this man, and you will leave us now.”
Nightmare staggered forward, as if it wanted to say more, but all it did was hit the ground and sulked away without another word.
Fenris’s shoulders loosened immediately. He still kept his sword raised, squinting at the retreating figure as if it just might fake them out and resume attacking.
“I think it’s gone,” Hawke said uselessly, still on the ground.
Fenris darted his eyes toward him then immediately looked away, lowering his sword. The blue illuminating over his brown skin faded into a stark white. He turned on his heel to offer Hawke a hand. “Are you alright?” he asked.
Hawke just continued to gawk, which made Fenris scowl and grab his wrist, forcing him up.
“Fenris, is it?” Hawke said, albeit dreamily. “Are you a spirit? You’re very… glowy.”
Ignoring how stupid that last sentence sounded, Fenris dropped his gaze for a brief moment then narrowed his eyes at him.
“I am Fenris,” the elf confirmed, strapping his sword onto his back. “I come from Tevinter… so no.”
“Tevinter?”
Fenris looked over his shoulder and glanced over to Hawke. “We should not linger here. Best to find a safer place to talk.”
After the mage rebellion sparked into a raging whirlwind of flames at Kirkwall, Hawke found it difficult to go his separate ways with the rest of his friends after they fled the city.
Anders’s betrayal hit all of them hard. The logical decision would have been to slit his throat without hesitation, but Hawke couldn’t go through with it. He had killed so many others, and yet even though his friend threatened the wellbeing of not only Kirkwall’s Circle of Magi, but also the entire mage population in southern Thedas... he just couldn't bring himself to kill who he once considered a good friend. Hawke could tell from the looks on his teammates’ faces; while some of them believed he was better off alive, many of them remained doubtful that the apostate could ever redeem himself after what he did to the Chantry.
Sebastian was definitely not among the latter, denouncing his association with Garrett Hawke before making his voyage back to Starkhaven. The only one whose friendship with the Champion was not enough to get him to stay.
Garrett Hawke remained hidden from the public eye. To many, to their disappointment and dread, the Champion of Kirkwall was nowhere to be found within the smoldering wreck that was once his home.
To them, to the Inquisition, he was nowhere to be found anywhere.
Now it seemed like that was truly the case. He didn’t anticipate himself getting stuck in the Fade, not at all. He wasn’t even a mage, for Maker’s sake. He had dealt with enough killer mages to know he wanted nothing to do with anything that led to their corruption, and yet here he sat: in the source of their nightly temptations.
Fenris had made a small place for himself in the Fade. An isolated corner of land, where demons and spirits were less likely to wander to. His measly number of possessions sat against a craggy wall. No bed. No attempt to actually make physical shelter.
But it was as if he had been here a while.
Maybe he had been here for a while, and the idea of a mortal surviving that long in such a place both impressed and terrified Hawke.
“How… long have you been here, Fenris?” Hawke asked, while Fenris was digging through his things.
Fenris kept his back towards him, lifting his head in acknowledgement before lowering it again. “No more than a few days,” he said.
A few days? But— “Is there food here? Water?” Hawke searched around, trying to find such a source.
Fenris shrugged. “The more harmless spirits assured me the water in the Fade is safe. There are ponds here and there,” he said, pausing for a bit. “I have gone without meals for a time before. I am able to make do… fortunately.”
Hawke internally laid out his current demise. So he was stuck in the Fade, with at least one mortal companion… if Fenris would allow him to acknowledge him as such. There was enough water to be had here. But food was another story.
He was already starting to miss his manor in Hightown.
Hawke settled down next to Fenris, setting down his daggers. He kept his armor on, at least for now, just in case anything tried to ambush them.
“Nothing can reach us here,” Fenris said, still not looking at him in the eye.
Still, Hawke stayed as he was. Fenris could only sigh, slipping off his own armor, leaving himself in just his brown tunic and pants.
“You said you were from Tevinter?” Hawke said, trying to make conversation.
Something flickered in Fenris’s eyes—there was a brief eye twitch. “…Yes,” was all he could reply with.
Silence.
“I am not a magister,” Fenris clarified, though he sounded strained, “if that was not already obvious for you.”
“Oh, I assumed.” Hawke gestured towards the greatsword resting against the wall. “You know. Huge sword is quite telling.”
Fenris just nodded.
“So you’re…?”
Fenris took a deep breath. “I am a slave,” he said. “Danarius is my master. He is a Tevinter magister.”
Oh.
“I’m sorry,” Hawke immediately said. “I should not have pried—”
Fenris shook his head, frowning. “My master… I am waiting for him to retrieve him from the Fade.” He stuck out his arms to show off the white marks snaking around them. They went all the way down to his fingertips too. “Lyrium,” he explained. “These… markings are what got me here.”
“Lyrium? Not red lyrium, I’m assuming?” Hawke was incredulous. He had seen plenty of Red Templars to know the effects of the stuff. Red lyrium corrupted everything inside and out.
Fenris shook his head. “I do not know much of the process. My master has kept it quite secretive from many, you see. But I assure you, it is not red lyrium.” He fell silent for a moment. “I don’t think he’d risk losing his prized pet,” he muttered.
“But how did these—” Hawke gestured towards the markings. “—get you physically into the Fade? Maker, I only got stuck here by association. But you—”
“My master started his experiments long before Corypheus became an entity to impress,” Fenris explained, pursing his lips and furrowing his brows. “My memories are… were non-existent. But the Fade allowed me to recall.” He touched his forehead, his fingers pushing past his bangs, showing three white dots stuck front and center.
“Your memories?”
Fenris lowered his hand, turning towards the other man. “Garrett… Hawke is your name?” he asked, changing the subject. “What about you, Hawke? I would never have expected someone other than a mage to manage coming here.”
“Oh, do I have the story for you,” Hawke drawled before starting his explanation all the way back to Kirkwall’s rebellion.
Fenris listened with an intense focus, never interrupting, only letting out an occasional sound to indicate he was listening. He only spoke out when Hawke mentioned being transported into the Fade due to the Inquisitor’s abilities.
“My master was inspired by the Inquisitor’s unusual capability actually,” Fenris said.
Hawke stared at him. “Inspired?”
Fenris exhaled, closing his eyes. “When his initial experiment… putting these markings in me… was successful, he and I both assumed that would be all there was to it,” he mused. “But Corypheus’s rise to power sparked something in Danarius, it seemed. Danarius believed that if he pushed me further, he could find a way to get Corypheus back to the Fade. It would guarantee him immense political power, after all, especially if Corypheus was successful in his plan.”
He opened his eyes again, his nose wrinkling. “…Sorry. I would rather not go further into it. It does not matter how either of us ended up here anyway. What matters is that we need to find a way to come back,” he said. “Master must be figuring out how to allow me to return. But I don’t believe I should purely be waiting for him.”
“I agree,” Hawke said, smiling softly. “But if neither of us are mages, we probably have the slimmest chance of making it back, I’m afraid.”
Fenris faced him completely, but was quick to drop his gaze, avoiding any sort of eye contact. “My markings give me a connection to the Fade, even when outside of it.” With that statement, the white lines began to glow a faint blue again. “Before all this, they only allowed me to go through things essentially, as though I was a spirit.” His face tightened. “Master loved watching it. I could just reach in, grab someone’s heart, and rip it out without a moment’s hesitation.”
“That is fantastic,” Hawke found himself unconsciously saying, quick to shake his head upon seeing Fenris’s perplexed expression. “I-I mean, terrifying.”
Fenris just stayed silent for a while, then shook his head as well and continued. “These markings got me into the Fade. I am sure there is a way for them to get both of us out of it.” He lifted his head towards the dreary, green sky. “It is just a matter of figuring out what that way is.”