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"Hawke?"
You couldn't get the image out of your head. The image of Mother like that. Turned into that abomination by Quentin.
"Hawke!"
I failed them. I failed mother. I failed Bethany. I failed Carver. I failed. I failed. I FAILED.
You didn't even realize how fast you were breathing, how harsh each gasp of air was being ripped from you. How your hands shook as you gripped the mantle of the fireplace. How your knuckles were white from how tightly your nails dug into the stone.
You almost didn't hear him. Fenris' voice cutting through the screaming in your head. How long had you been hiding here in your home? Did Varric send him?
Your head jerked up as he grabbed your shoulders, turning you away from the fire and forcing your eyes to meet his. Oh. You must be a sight. Unkept and unhinged as you were sure you seemed to him. The mighty Hawke, hero of Kirkwall… failure to their family.
"Hawke. Breathe. You must breathe." His words — they seemed to cut through the fog in your mind — and allowing you to finally take the first deep breath in you didn't know how long. Your body trembled as you looked up at him, a ragged gasp escaping you as you reached forward and gripped his arms. You felt unsteady, weak, as if you were being crushed. His brow furrowed, a small frown on his face as he slowly forced you to lower yourself onto the ground.
No words were exchanged between you, instead he simply held you. Held you as your shoulders shook and tears welled up in your eyes; despite his aversion to being touched he let you press your face into the crook of his neck. He didn't know what to say— what does one say to a hero who failed to protect those closest to them? But he was here. He would be right here for you. He would hold you through it.