Chapter Text
Looking back, it started with Malcolm Hawke.
He wouldn't know it, at the time. Malcolm was a good father - funny, supportive and he never raised his voice. And he tried to keep his kids happy, and safe.
When Bethany manifested magic, he knelt before his eldest and squeezed his shoulder.
"Look after her," he said, "She needs you, now."
He didn't expect Garrett to follow in her footsteps not a month later, or perhaps he would have put that burden on Carver. But the message had already sank into the boy's bones by the time he woke to burning bedsheets and nightmares of fleeing the mob in South Reach.
He had to look after his family. He had to look after his sister, because she was a mage, and her fear was almost palpable in those early days.
No one thought to pull young Hawke aside and tell him it was okay to need help too.
Bethany died in the Wilds, killed by an ogre as she fought to defend her mother from the darkspawn horde. Hawke watched it happened and saw only failure. So, unfortunately did Leandra.
He was quiet, when I met him. Polite, helpful, kind. He could crack a joke, occasionally, like the light shining through, but most of the time Garrett Hawke simply looked like most Ferelden refugees at the time - in a state of shock that simply wouldn't fade.
Even so, I don't think I ever knew how bad it was.
Varric Tethras, Tales from Kirkwall & The Qunari Invasion
Hawke lowered his staff and let out a shaky exhale.
"Maker's balls."
Varric snorted, Bianca still raised.
"We good, Hawke?"
"Define good," Hawke muttered, moving towards the body of Tarohne and turning the woman over.
It had been a very long day. A very long day that was far from over. There was still the unconscious Templar-Recruit to deal with, and the Knight-Captain up at the Gallows.
Hawke closed his eyes for a moment. Dead. The mage was dead.
Behind him, Carver started talking about dangerous magic and crossed lines. Fenris muttered about fools worshipping the Imperium.
A small part of him wanted to wave his hand and remind them of the mage in their midst. But what was the point? Neither of them were wrong. Magic was dangerous, and these mages hadn't so much crossed a line as obliterated it. Not just using blood magic, but forcing people into abominations? It was insane. And Garrett had seen enough of the miseries of slavery in his own ancestral home to know that whatever fantastical sanctuary the Imperium might offer desperate Circle Mages, it was built on the backs of the less fortunate. It was built on the corpses of elves, and slaves. The evidence of that was all over Kirkwall, if you bothered to look. And Hawke looked. He couldn't stop looking.
So, no, he shouldn't feel bad about killing these maleficar. As he shouldn't feel bad about breaking Idunna's compulsion over him at the Rose and sending Fenris to fetch the Knight-Captain.
And he didn't, not really. The ache in his chest was for himself. For yet another reminder of what he could become. One slip, one moment of weakness, and he'd be a monster.
Garrett Hawke knew what he was: a good mage. He also knew that that wasn't enough. Not in Kirkwall, not anywhere.
He didn't find anything on Tarohne that suggested there were more conspirators, a second base of operations. This was it. But there would be others, he knew. Maybe not forcing demons into Templars, but men like Decimus, out on the coast. Like Leech, at the Docks. Like Merrill, even.
"Hawke - can you do anything for the Recruit?"
Garrett made himself stand. Keran was up on his feet, blinking, but Hawke understood right away. He looked human, but…
Anything could be inside him. Wilmod had looked human too.
He looked about and scooped up a small chip of stone. Enough to hurt, but not to do any substantial damage. Hawke weighed it in his hand for a moment, remembering easier days of skimming stones into Lake Calenhad when they went to Redcliffe for feast days, and then hurled the stone at Keran's head.
It connected. No demon erupted. Keran staggered, and his hand flew up to his cheek. He'd have a bruise. But that was better than a demon inside him.
"He's clean," Hawke said, "A demon would have defended its host."
Keran glared at him, uncertainly, still holding his face.
Carver scowled.
"Could have warned him," he said.
"No," Hawke said flatly, "I couldn't have. Then the demon would have known not to respond."
His brother pulled a face, as if he didn't want to hear a lecture about magic. Varric frowned at the Recruit they'd rescued.
"Should we tell Cullen about this?"
"N-no, please," Keran said, eyes widening, "I need this job, I -"
He was looking around for an exit, but Hawke was standing before the obvious one and the scared Recruit clearly didn't want to get any closer to the apostate as necessary. Hawke didn't exactly blame him, right then.
"I won't mention it," he said heavily, "Go. We'll follow you up once we've made sure there's no one else."
Keran nodded and darted away, towards the stairs they'd come through.
Fenris frowned at Hawke.
"He might be compromised."
"He's not," Hawke said, stubbornly. "There's no demon in him, Fenris."
Varric considered Garrett for a moment.
"Should you be coming with us to speak to the Knight-Captain?"
Probably, definitely not. The Gallows was the last place in Kirkwall Garrett Hawke should ever step foot. Especially not to speak to the Knight-Captain, who had seen him cast and use magic earlier that day. Who had agreed to overlook his magic in exchange for this investigation, and who now had a permanent leash around Hawke's throat whenever he wanted an apostate at his beck and call.
Cullen should thank him for his services and drag him into the fortress. Perhaps he still would.
He didn't, though. Hawke stood blinking in the late afternoon sun, as the Knight-Captain spoke of mages as a constant threat.
Not every mage gives into temptation, but none are ever free of it. At any time, a mage could become a monster. They cannot be treated as people.
Garrett gave a tired smile.
"Well, at least you're honest about it, I suppose."
Cullen blinked, and seemed to remember who he spoke to. He did, at least, have the grace to look abashed. Hawke didn't look behind him to see if his brother was nodding. He'd been drinking with Ser Emeric, recently, in the Rose.
When the Knight-Captain turned to strip Keran of his position in the Order, Hawke hesitated. He shouldn't stick his neck out. It was none of his business.
But he'd slept hungry too many nights since coming to Kirkwall to hear Macha's cry of protest and not feel swayed.
"The boy is safe from demons." He said, "I checked."
Cullen frowned at him, suspiciously, and Garrett realised how they would probably sound. An apostate, knowing enough about demons and abominations? He raised his hands quickly.
"My father was a healer," he said, not explicitly naming either of them mages, "And was well trained. He knew a lot of things."
The Knight-Captain sighed, but then nodded.
"Fine, we will observe you, Keran. If we have no concerns, you may stay within the ranks."
Macha slumped with relief and for one horrifying moment, Hawke thought she might try to hug him. Which would have been uncomfortable, considering the blood drying on his clothes.
He walked away, hurriedly, before Cullen could decide he was too much of a threat that needed to be contained.
"Well," Varric said after a moment, "That could have gone worse."
Garrett snorted, and then closed his eyes. Maker, he was so tired.
"One blood mage arrested, a half-dozen dead, an abomination - I should bill the good Knight-Captain for my services."
Carver was frowning. Because of course Carver was frowning.
His brother did have the sense, at least, to wait until they were home to speak his mind.
"Every day in this damned city, it's another crazed mage on the warpath."
"We draw lots," Hawke muttered, sarcasm creeping through, "I'm sure I'll draw the short straw soon enough."
"Don't," Carver said, tightly, "Don't even joke."
Garrett bent down and fussed over Pumpkin, who was gnawing at a lamb bone.
"At least you think I'm people," he murmured to the dog, "Maybe I should take you out with me more."
"Oh go take your sad shtick and hang out with Anders, if you're going to be that upset with the Knight-Captain. He's a Templar, what did you expect?"
"Common human decency?" Hawke retorted, before realising his mother had stuck her head out of the bedroom. He tried to cover his hurt. "It's fine. We're nearly at the fifty sovereigns. It'll be worth it."
"Right," Carver said, scowling, "If you don't get -"
He stopped as he saw their mother. Then he sniffed in disapproval and stomped into the room the two brothers shared. Garrett patted Pumpkin absently.
Fifty sovereigns. A trip to the Deep Roads. And then he could be safe. Or safer, he supposed. He was a mage. He could never be safe - even alone, in his own head.