Posts Tagged 'hawkquisition'

Hawkquisition 5 Preview: Ave Atque Vale

So I’m still in early planning stages for the next installment of the Hawkquisition series, but a week ago an idea for a scene that simply must occur sometime in that storyline struck me so strongly that I wanted to get it written out while it was yet fresh. Being wary of spoilers, I’ll just mention that part 5 will involve Varania, and at some point they’ll end up in Tevinter because…ah wait, the rest is spoilery (if you haven’t read Warriors Such As yet or don’t know who Metis actually is…) so here is a cut!

Yes, so, I wanted a chance for Metis to visit Mara’s grave – his wife, who along with Varania was sold into slavery separately from him while also pregnant with Leto. I like happy endings, you know, but there’s no way around the fact that Varania’s mother died before she reunited however briefly with Fenris in DA2, and that Metis hadn’t found any of his lost family by that point, so it will always be too late for him to find Mara again while she’s alive.

So we’re visiting her grave, because I wanted to give him a chance at closure.

This is a rough draft that will probably end up reworked to some extent once there’s a longfic to fit it into, but it made me cry and so I must share it now as is. 🙂 I would love to hear your thoughts on it!


“This is it?” Metis asked, glancing around at the small
collection of monuments outside the city limits. It wasn’t the Grand Cemetery
where the magisters buried their generations of too-powerful ancestors, but
even here the mausolea loomed to impress over their heads.

A snort of derision drew his attention back to Varania at
his side. “None of those. Did you think we could have afforded such nonsense?”

“I didn’t mean –” He looked back at one of the tombs,
shaped in concentric layers like an elaborate cake. The scrolls carved along
its edges resembled frosting as well. Perhaps it was the tomb of a particularly
well-off baker. “They are rather ridiculous, aren’t they?” he mused.

“This way,” Varania said, tugging him along by his elbow. He
followed his daughter to a doorway set into a building like the standing tombs
around them, but starkly plain in contrast. No filigreed carvings nor
ostentatious etched runes decorated its surface. Beside the door, a single
torch waited, unlit. Varania gestured and brought its flame to life. Metis
allowed himself a faint smile of pride in her magic, since she wasn’t looking.
Varania took the torch and led him down into the darkness.

It was as simple below as it was above, but it was vast. The
underground chamber stretched ahead of them and to both sides of the stairwell,
vanishing into darkness. He followed her, silent as their barefoot steps on the
dusty path, glancing aside to see the niches in the walls, one after another
till he lost count. Low as the passageway was, he counted six rows stacked from
floor to ceiling, the niches open and empty this near the entryway. As they
walked deeper into the catacomb, they passed more and more bricked-up niches,
with plaques bearing simple inscriptions. Nothing like the rows of letters
carved on the tombs aboveground. Surely, he thought, there was more to say of
each life gathered here than such small words could bear.

And then Varania was stopping, running her fingers over one
plaque low to the ground, kneeling to read it by the torchlight. “Here it is,”
she said after a moment, her voice catching. “Mother.”

He knelt beside her, brushing a finger over the roughly
carved plaque. Terracotta – they’d been able to afford something more permanent
than the wooden plaques he saw on some of the spaces, at least. Nothing down
here was marked with metal. In the flickering light he made out the words:

MARAE MATRI
CARISSIMAE

VARANIA F. FEC.

LIBERTAS VERA TE NUNC
TENET

“I thought I would join her here before long,” Varania said
after a moment, indicating an empty niche just beside Mara’s bricks. “I made
payments on that one. For the last of us.” She met his gaze, briefly, and he
wondered if in the torchlight his green eyes looked as golden as hers did now.
Probably. “When she died, I was the last of us, I thought,” Varania explained.

“I know,” he murmured, and for a moment her eyes narrowed.
Anger? He wouldn’t blame her. She had lost her father when she was barely old
enough to speak in full sentences, her brother to a bid for freedom that had
turned sour for them both. But he did
know. He had thought them all lost since the day the slavers came to Seheron.
Finding one another again after the decades had softened the memories was like
reopening old wounds, and all the more so, he guessed, for his little girl, no
longer so little.

She frowned, but before she could speak he asked, “Varania.
Give me a moment alone with her?”

“There’s only one torch,” she pointed out.

“There’s only one path,” he said, his mouth quirking into
half a smile. “I will find the stairs again when I am ready. Please. It has
been –” His breath caught as the numbers, the memories, rushed in on him. “It
has been years. There were things I…hoped to say to her, if I ever found her
again. Even if it’s too late, I still…” He swallowed. “I must.”

After a moment she nodded, but she did not immediately
depart. Shifting nearer to the wall, she bowed her head, resting her forehead
against the bricks, and in the flickering light he thought he saw her lips move
briefly. Then, raising her head, she gathered herself along with the torch,
nodded to him again, and stepped past him to make her way back down the
passage.

He watched her light until it disappeared, waited several
minutes more, carefully removing his spectacles and tucking them into a pocket
of his robe. Then in the devouring darkness Metis bowed his head too, not to
the bricks but all the way to the packed earth beneath his knees, and he wept.
Tears flowed till the ground became muddied with them, and he wept on, a flood
against the tide wall of his heart, dissolving barriers long erected against
the loneliness of his first years of slavery. It had not been safe to miss them as he did at first, so
he’d learned to be content with the happy memories. Memories of his young
family were precious things to be treasured like the odd little collection of
seeds and fruit-pits Varania had insisted on gathering when she was two as if
they were priceless gems, and cheerful memories of just that sort had been all he had allowed himself, content that Mara
and Varania, whether they had survived the raid to be sold as he was or not,
had existed once upon a time, his stars and his sun.

He had not let himself dream that he might ever see them
again, and by the time he had looked for them…it was too late. Bricks and a
plaque were all that was left of his wife, and a brittle, bitter liberati mage had replaced his imperious
and imaginative little girl. She spoke little of what they had gone through,
either before or after Fenris won their freedom against her wishes. His
imagination was all too helpful to fill in the gaps.

However long he wept there, at last the tears trickled to a
stop. With a hiccup he sat up again, drying his eyes with the back of his hand
and then resting a palm against the plaque. “Mara,” he said quietly, and then,
braver, “Mara. I’ve missed you so. And now…now, I miss you even more.”

His eyes stung with tears again, narrowing his throat. When
he had blinked them back, he took a breath and began again. “I am so sorry, my
love, that I return to you so late. That I was not there for you through all
those years. My proud, brave Mara; to think of your head bowed in servitude,
your bright spirit broken…” He swallowed and shook his head. “I couldn’t. I
never could imagine you a slave, even when it was clear the raiders had taken
you. You must have adapted, as did I, but in my memory you were always that
bold girl who would not let anyone else make a decision for her. And do you
know, Mara,” he smiled faintly, shifting from his knees to sit up against the
wall, leaning a shoulder to the plaque and his cheek to the bricks, “that was
the memory that carried me all those years. It’s funny, now, but those few
years we had together stand out more vividly to me than all the decades of
slavery and freedom that followed. You carried me, you know. Just thinking of
you, of the way things were before the raid, you kept me sane through the worst
years.” He closed his eyes with a sigh. “Perhaps I did the same for you. That
would be nice. Oh, but I wish I’d been with you, in person. And the children.
All these years I didn’t even know Varania had a brother, but suddenly, Maker,
here he is, all grown up. And here she is too, barely resembling the little
girl I remembered. Oh, Mara. All alone you had to raise them both. I should
have been there; I’m so sorry I wasn’t.”

Again he shifted, resting a hand against the bricks. “But
here I am now. It doesn’t change the past, but I promise you, I’ll look out for
them now. For Fenris, who doesn’t even remember you – and I think he can’t
hardly be the same Leto you knew him as, or at least Varania thinks not – I
shall give him what I can of my memories. He takes after you, you know, your
pride and your cleverness. As does Varania. I think she cannot have always been
this bitter – she lost so much, her father, her brother, her mother, even the
security of her master’s house – but she always was this stubborn.” He chuckled and then winced at a thought: “They
must have been impossible, raising two such bull-headed children at once. Even now
they bicker like –” He shook his head. “Well. There is trust growing there
again. I shall tend it as best I can. They’re strong, Mara, and they do you
credit despite all they’ve suffered.” He smiled then, straightening to face the
bricked niche. “Thank you. You were the brightest dream of my heart, Mara, and
more than I ever deserved. I will look after our children now, dearest. Rest
easy.”

He pressed a final kiss to the wall with a whisper of, “And
now, in aeternum, cor meum, ave atque
vale.
” Then, rising slowly and pausing to stretch joints weary from his
vigil, he turned to retrace his steps down the dark passage and out into the
light where Varania awaited.


Latin-as-Tevene interpretations:

MARAE MATRI
CARISSIMAE

VARANIA F. FEC.

LIBERTAS VERA TE NUNC
TENET

“Varania, her
daughter, made this for her dearest mother, Mara. True freedom holds you now.”

in aeternum, cor meum,
ave atque vale

“Forever, my heart, hail and farewell.” (with apologies and deep debt to Catullus)

lypreila:

rannadylin:

rannadylin:

(via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f0bMxsNc7I4)

I am in the mood for some Ecce Gratum because Spring Break has at last begun. 🙂

And oh, the list of creative productivity I’d like to tackle while there are no lessons to plan or papers to grade:

Keep reading

Updated (and therefore now behind a cut) with many progress reports and pictures. Spring Break has been fairly productive. 🙂

All that knitting 0_o. 

I am throughly impressed.  And also waiting with bated breath for Hawkequisition pt. 5. 

Well…at this point it has characters, it has setting, it sort of has some themes going; now if I could just decide on a plot, I might get started on part 5 😀

So a while ago, in Warriors Such As, there was a passage where Metis, ever the gardener or nature-mage or whatever we shall call it, distracts himself from the lyrium calling to him by mentally reciting an old nursery-rhyme of sorts, a catalog poem of herb-lore, plants and their properties. Rhyming lines about Thedosian plants may be one of the quirkiest things I’ve written yet for fanfic (um, or any project; this may be quirkier even than the chapters I wrote of Latin stories for my previous school’s curriculum which were sort of textbook fanfiction…), and I loved how the snippets of that poem turned out. So my new project, sneak peek of which you see above, is Metis’ Book of Herbs, a collection of sketches of the plants to go with the poem. I’m happy enough with these first two to post them, but the Dragonthorn one turned out a little wonky trying to fit its two lines of the poem into the picture so I’ll probably redo it when I am done with the rest of the plants.

Actually I may have to write more of the poem now and draw all the Dragon Age plants. Because it’s years since I did any proper sketching and getting the likeness of a plant right is much less intimidating than of a person. 🙂

broodywolf:

Another giveaway prize! Metis for @rannadylin.

If you don’t know who Metis is, I highly recommend you go read Ranna’s fic Warriors Such As at once! 🙂

Yay! *hugs the precious gardener nerd elf mage* I should go write more of him now…

Warriors Such As: Fic Masterpost

rannadylin:

image

This story in the Hawkquisition timeline is now complete! Thanks for sticking with me through such an adventure. 

Synopsis: 

Fenris was once told that even in the Imperium, warriors with markings of his sort were rare – with the implication that he is not unique. When the Inquisition hears of Venatori creating warriors marked like Fenris, but with red lyrium, Hawke may have to take her turn being the one left behind while Fenris travels into danger to help the Inquisitor investigate.

Read it on: AO3 | FF.net | DA

Or if you prefer to read it on Tumblr, here’s the chapter listing with titles and synopses:

  1. Wherein parenthood is hard

    Raising baby Malcolm is overwhelming and new parents Lisbet Hawke and Fenris are on edge.

  2. Wherein an expert is required

    Venatori in Seheron are experimenting with lyrium tattoos; Thayer Trevelyan’s advisors convene and send for Fenris.

  3. Wherein an agreement is reached

    Amantium irae amoris integratio est.

  4. Wherein farewells and firsts are spoken

    Hawke bids Fenris farewell as the Inquisition’s expedition to Seheron sets out.

  5. Wherein the ship sails

    En route to Seheron, letters are exchanged.

  6. Wherein Metis meets the Inquisition

    Seheron is not a very safe place for the Inquisitor and friends, but they do find one friend waiting for them.

  7. Wherein the forest is welcoming

    The trek through the jungle begins; meanwhile, interesting developments are occurring at Skyhold…

  8. Wherein Hawke’s worries are not ill-founded. 

    Fenris knows when things are fishy; saarebas are deadly; the jungle is a big place but Harding has lots of scouts looking for our heroes! Also Metis is kind of new to this combat thing.

  9. Wherein the weather interferes. 

    It’s a bad idea to wander around a jungle when you can’t see where you’re going.

  10. Wherein things become clearer

    Fenris’ past catches up with him, in more ways than one, and the Inquisition gains a formidable ally.

  11. Wherein we explore Ath Velanis. 

    Time to see what’s actually going on in that Venatori fortress, as soon as we find a way in through creepy tunnels! It’s all fun and games till someone slips and falls!

  12. Wherein plans change

    From opposite sides of the Ath Velanis gate, Thayer and Varric, Fenris and Metis reconsider their course of action.

  13. Wherein saboteurs are loose in Venatori territory

    Stranded in the fortress of Ath Velanis, Fenris and Metis make mischief for the Venatori.

  14. Wherein the magister refines his ritual

    Licinius intends to use Fenris’ markings as a template for his next red lyrium warrior…and so the ritual begins…

  15. Wherein Metis gets a tattoo

    Thayer and Varric return to Ath Velanis but Metis is already being prepared for lyrium markings…

  16. Wherein everyone is loose in Ath Velanis

    Licinius resorts to blood magic; Thayer searches for lost elves; and the lost elves discover side effects of the red lyrium ritual…

  17. Wherein Fenris gets his sword back. 

    Reunions! Thayer gets the team back together and Caligo discovers someone she hadn’t expected to see again.

  18. Wherein we depart Ath Velanis

    Thayer and team take the fight to the magister at last! And Hawke finally hears back from her Fenris.

  19. Wherein the ship sails. 

    Our heroes depart from Seheron, but there is still the matter of certain red lyrium tattoos to be dealt with.

  20. Wherein Hawke provides the hero’s welcome

    Hawke and Malcolm rush to Jader to meet Fenris straight off the ship.

  21. Wherein Merrill works a miracle

    This is it. The final chapter. Lyrium cleansing and birthday cake!

Warriors Such As: Chapter 21 (Final chapter!)

And so we have reached the end! *sniff* I’m going to miss this story…Now to go plan part 5 though 🙂

Word count: 2763
Rating: G
Fenris/F!Hawke
Summary: This is it. The final chapter. Lyrium cleansing and birthday cake!

Read it here or on:  DA  |  AO3  |  FF.net

Masterpost in case you need to catch up or start from the beginning!

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated! I love seeing what you think of each chapter, what parts you liked or want to respond to, or even just a note if you enjoyed it!

Hawkquisition
Part 4: Warriors Such As

Chapter 21
Wherein Merrill works a
miracle

The Champion of Kirkwall was certainly free with her affections.
Her claim on Fenris’ heart was evident from the never-broken flow of touches,
Metis thought as he watched them approach where he sat in the garden the
morning after their return to Skyhold. She walked at his side, close enough to
brush shoulders, and he leaned over to brush a kiss to her hair. She took his
hand, while he balanced Malcolm against his hip with the other, and he twined
his fingers with hers. When her arm slipped around his waist, his went to her
shoulder, drawing her in closer. To say that they could not keep their hands
off each other would imply the desperation of a younger relationship, still
working out the details. This seemed a union whose details were worked out to
the point that they fit so neatly into one another’s space as to seem
incomplete without those touches of reassurance: You’re still here? Good. So
am I
.

Hawke’s presence brought smiles to Fenris’ face more regularly
than at any time since Metis had met him. He lit up at her touch; sometimes,
even literally, his markings giving off a faint glow. Metis sighed as he looked
down at his own markings. They hurt, still; their song was an ever present
danger; they might just kill him, if they could not be cleansed soon. But to
see his son smile like this, he regretted none of it.

“Good morning!” he greeted them, as they joined him on his bench.
Malcolm slipped from his father’s lap to the ground but kept a hand on Fenris’
knee, the other fist in his mouth as he stood there, staring up at Metis. He
winked at the child, and Malcolm pulled back slightly, pressing himself against
Fenris’ leg, but a smile tugged at the boy’s face behind his fist.

“Sleep well?” Lisbet asked, brushing her fingers through Malcolm’s
curly hair from Fenris’ other side.

“As well as may be expected,” Metis answered. “It is…more
difficult, at night, ignoring the lyrium.”

Fenris looked aghast. “But you’ve been able to resist it so far.”

“Yes, but that’s easier to do in the daylight, with plenty of
distractions. Oh, don’t look at me like that, Fenris. I’ve managed; but I will
be glad if this friend of yours really can cleanse the lyrium and tame its
song.”

“She can,” Lisbet beamed. “I’m sure of it. Reasonably sure.
Emmen’s made a full recovery.”

“Metis’ markings are different from the red lyrium that infected
Emmen,” Fenris cautioned.

“It will still work, darling,” Lisbet insisted. “You know
how Dagna is when a project challenges her. And Merrill is…well, she’s
practically giddy at the chance to help. They’re ready to begin today, Metis,
if you wish.”

“No time like the present,” he smiled. “I am eager to see what
miracles they have prepared.”

~*~

The Undercroft was crowded already that morning when Metis arrived
with his family. The three of them (plus one toddler) emerged from the stairway
to find three elves already conferring with Dagna. Without their usual white
paint, it took Metis a moment to recognize the tiny woman, her arms crossed
over her chest instead of drawing a bow, peppering the cheerful dwarf Arcanist
with questions.

“Caligo!” he blurted, upon recalling the name of the archer who
had shown them the entrance to Ath Velanis. The Fog Warrior looked up, smiling
when she saw him. “I…did not expect to see you here,” Metis said.

“We came on the second ship,” she explained, nodding to her
companions. “These are my…” she glanced between them. “This is Aeris. And this
is Nubis. He…The Inquisitor offered help at Skyhold, so we decided to come.”

“Nubis,” Metis repeated, taking in the elf standing quietly at
Caligo’s side, with his dark hair and pale eyes. And the faint red lines, just
showing above the collar of his shirt. “Oh. Oh. You’re the one…”

“They tell me you,” said Nubis, nodding to Metis’ left hand
with its matching lines, “are the reason I didn’t have to go through more of…”

“Yes,” Metis quickly interposed. “We’re here for the same purpose,
then, I take it?”

“If,” Caligo said, turning the full force of her stare back on
Dagna again, “you really can cure him?”

“It’s not a cure,” Dagna said, with the air of one launching into
an oft-repeated speech. “It’s more of a cleansing process. Based on Fenris’
markings, we think the lyrium is a symbiote and to remove it entirely would
probably cause more problems than it would solve. But we should be able to
cleanse it and leave you with just the pure lyrium, stable enough to maintain
the symbiotic relationship for…”

“Oh hello!” said a voice bursting brightly in on them from the
stairs. They all turned to see Merrill scurrying in, fists full of leaves. “I’m
late, aren’t I? I’m so sorry. I know we meant to begin this morning but I
nearly forgot about the embrium. Oh, Malcolm! Hello, da’len,” she said, bending
down as the boy reached for her neck, chanting, “Up! Up, Mimi!”

“‘Mimi’?” Fenris arched an eyebrow wryly at the Dalish mage as she
somehow managed to heft the boy up in her arms without dropping any of her
fistfuls of embrium.

“He can’t say ‘Merrill’ yet,” Lisbet explained. “Considering that
he doesn’t say ‘Mum’ yet either, I’m a bit jealous that Merrill gets a baby
name.”

“He calls you Hawke,” Fenris smirked.

“Hah?” said Malcolm, glancing around at the sound of her name.

Lisbet sighed. “Come here, dumpling, and let Aunt Mimi get to
work, hm?”

~*~

It was not, by far, the work of a single morning. The procedure
that Merrill and Dagna had devised between them was slow and painstaking,
working at the red lyrium bit by bit to remove its taint and leave behind the
pure white lines. Avoiding blood magic, Merrill went through vast amounts of
lyrium to maintain the power required to banish the corruption. Most days,
Fenris stood a grim watch over the whole process, while Hawke kept Malcolm busy
far away from the Undercroft so as not to disturb Aunt Mimi’s work. Carver was
a constant visitor as well, bringing lyrium from the storerooms when Merrill’s
supply ran low and coaxing her to take a break when the empty lyrium bottles
piled up. Wary of the danger to a mage consuming so many lyrium potions in a
short time, they took the work slowly, a few cautious hours a day.

A month went by while Metis and Nubis took their turns under
Merrill’s ministrations, the red gradually fading from their brands, until one
day, as Metis sat down to dinner in the great hall alongside his son, small
fingers tugged at his left wrist and he looked down to see Malcolm’s curious
green eyes on him.

“Da?” the boy said, looking between the faded, nearly-all-white
markings on Metis’ hand and the similar patterns adorning Fenris beside him.

“Ah…no, little one,” Metis chuckled, opening his palm so that
Malcolm could trace the white lines on it. “I am your Da’s Da, though.”

Lisbet, across the table, giggled. “Malcolm, Metis is your grandfather.
He looks a little like your Da, see? Even apart from the markings.”

“And the markings are in no way a part of the family resemblance,”
Fenris rolled his eyes.

“Absolutely not,” nodded Lisbet, “so don’t go getting ideas about
running off to get a tattoo when you’re a few years older, pup.”

“Da!” Malcolm insisted, looking up at Metis again.

“He doesn’t know what to call you,” Lisbet chuckled.

“‘Grandfather’ is a burden for such a small tongue,” Metis nodded
solemnly down at the boy.

“Can you say ‘Grandpa’, Malcolm?” Lisbet asked.

“He can barely say ‘Hawke’,” Fenris pointed out.

“Not for lack of trying.” Lisbet wrinkled her nose at him and then
turned back to the boy. “Metis is your Grandpa, love. Grand. Pa.

Malcolm considered this for a long moment, squeezing at his
grandfather’s arm and pursing his lips, before he finally said, “Pa?”

“Close enough,” Fenris grinned.

“Pa!” Malcolm said again, reaching up with determination in his
eyes. “Pa, up!

So Metis swung his grandson up to his lap and spent the rest of
dinner making polite if somewhat nonsensical conversation in reply to Malcolm’s
constant half-comprehensible chatter, resting his chin on the boy’s head with a
smile.

~*~

Malcolm sat before the fireplace in Josephine’s office, surrounded
by friends and family and brightly wrapped packages, but the cake took priority
over all else. Metis chuckled as the boy crumbled a honey-drenched wafer in his
hands before cramming it all at once into his mouth. Then he took a bite of his
own cake and his eyes widened at the taste of anise beneath all the honey.

Fenris, beside him, froze at the taste himself and turned to Hawke
in wonder. “You remembered.”

“Of course I did,” said a very smug Lisbet, eyes closed in delight
as she polished off the last of her portion. “And I wrote to Orana to see if
she could provide her recipe to Skyhold’s cook. It seemed an appropriate
tradition to continue with Malcolm.”

“Indeed it is,” Fenris smiled slightly, savoring the next bite of
his cake. He glanced over at Metis and explained, “My mother used to make a
cake like this on my birthdays. I…remember little else from my childhood, but
Hawke’s…” he hesitated, glancing at his wife.

“Housekeeper,” Lisbet suggested, helping herself to another of the
little cakes. “And miracle-worker, where kitchens are concerned.”

“Housekeeper,” Fenris nodded, “Orana, the first time I tried her
anise cakes, I remembered that much.”

Metis took another bite, licking honey from his lyrium-lined
fingertips. They were quiet now, at last, every last trace of crimson finally
cleansed from the channels, leaving behind only the pale white lines, stark and
delicate against his skin. “A birthday tradition, was it?”

“As often as she could find the spices for it, at least,” Fenris
said.

“We used to trade plums for the anise on Seheron,” Metis recalled.
“There was a merchant who would travel through town every few months with the
best spices and a weakness for my plums. Maker, I haven’t had anything like
Mara’s anise cake in years.” He followed Lisbet’s lead, reaching for
another. “She put nuts in, sometimes. I never had as much success with nut
trees as with fruit, but one year we had pecans that ended up in everything
she baked.” He chuckled. “I may have stopped trying to grow nut trees
after that year.” He sighed with contentment. “It’s a good memory, Fenris, your
anise cakes?”

“Yes,” Fenris said without hesitation or elaboration, intent upon
the cake in his hand as he continued to slowly nibble at it as if to commit it
to memory anew.

“Good,” Metis said. “I’m glad you have some such.”

“Speaking of which,” said Lisbet, brushing crumbs from the newly
barely-visible swell of her belly and scooting closer to her father-in-law on
the rug, “we’ve something to ask of you, Metis.”

“Oh?” he raised an eyebrow, but did not withhold his grin as
Lisbet leaned into his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his elbow.

“Cole,” she announced, as Fenris, on his other side, looked up
with a sly smile, “has determined that baby number two is to be a girl.”

“We want,” said Fenris quietly, “to name her Mara. After my
mother.”

“Oh,” said Metis, dumbstruck as the last of his cake crumbled in
his fingers. “Oh, child.” He brushed a kiss, sticky with honey, first to
Lisbet’s head (she giggled) and then to Fenris’ (he scowled, not without
warmth, and squeezed his father’s hand, only making it stickier). “Are you
asking my permission?” Metis wondered, glancing between them.

“Your opinion, perhaps?” Fenris glanced away.

“In my opinion, then,” said Metis, “you honor her. I would be
delighted to call my granddaughter by your mother’s name.”

“Presents!” went up a shout from across the room. “Enough cake.
Let the kid open his presents!” They looked up to see Varric picking one of the
packages out of the piles surrounding the birthday boy.

“Varric,” said Hawke, eyeing the shape of the package with
suspicion, “if you’re giving my one-year-old son a weapon…”

“What?” Varric shrugged as Malcolm toddled up to him to poke at
the yellow fabric wrapping the gift. “It’s just a toy, Hawke. And he’s got to
start learning sooner or later. He’s a Hawke, after all.”

“Hah!” Malcolm confirmed, pulling at the fabric to reveal a tiny
bow and arrows.

“He can barely even stand at this point, Varric!” Hawke laughed.

“Then learning to shoot will be motivation to learn to walk, won’t
it?”

Hawke scoffed, but Malcolm, waving the bow around in one chubby
fist, seemed pleased enough with the gift. Varric tried to show him how to pull
the string, until the child, still preferring to wave the whole bow around,
whacked the dwarf in the ear with it. Conceding defeat, Varric distracted the boy
with another package.

The celebration continued until Malcolm, losing interest in the
remaining gifts, suddenly crawled over to climb up in Hawke’s lap. “Oh, hello
there, dumpling!” she cooed. “I thought you’d forgotten all about your Mum
since Da got home.”

“Haaaaah,” he objected, cuddling up against her chest with his
thumb in his mouth, looking out through half-lidded eyes at the friends
gathered there.

“Don’t wear that name out,” she said, tucking her chin to his
head. “Someday, it’ll be yours.”

Malcolm had nearly drifted off to sleep when, a few minutes later,
Varric came to sit beside her. “So, Hawke,” he said, “I thought you should
know. I’m heading back to Kirkwall in a few days.”

“What, really?” Hawke glanced up. “Finally got enough material for
your Inquisitor Trevelyan story, have you?”

Varric chuckled. “Things are quieting down around here. Thayer can
manage without me at this point. But I left Kirkwall a mess, and it’s high time
I did something about that.”

“From what I saw, you were one of the few people doing anything
about the mess.”

“And then I got dragged away to the Conclave,” he reminded her,
“leaving a lot of things undone.”

“And now it’s two years’ worth of things.”

“Aveline’s a force to be reckoned with, Hawke, but we’ve all left
her holding down the fort for too long. It’s time I went back.”

Hawke nodded, lips pressed thin in thought for a minute. Finally
she spoke, “You’re right about Thayer, I think. He can manage things here
without us.”

“Us?” Varric’s eyebrows rose, as Hawke glanced over at Fenris.

Arms crossed over his knees, Fenris shrugged and gave her his
half-smile. “I am with you, Hawke.”

“You’re sure you don’t have your heart set on a full time
Inquisition career, my brave hero?” she asked.

“Seheron,” he answered, “was enough of that for a lifetime.”

Hawke looked back at Varric. “It’d be nice to give birth in my own
home this time. Provided there are proper midwives in Kirkwall? Can you
guarantee that?”

“Hawke,” Varric laughed, “if I have to I’ll put out a Merchant’s
Guild contract and have the finest midwives brought in from wherever you want.”

“That’s settled, then,” she smiled. “Fenris, let’s go home. I
think Orana’s been missing us.”

“I have missed her cooking,” Fenris smirked. Then he turned to his
father. “Metis, if you…We would…Kirkwall is far from your Circle, I know,
but…”

“What he means,” Hawke came to his rescue, “is, will you come with
us? There’s room for you in the estate. For Malcolm and Mara to grow up with
their grandfather near….”

“It would mean the world to us,” Fenris murmured. “But if you must
return to Tevinter…You were acting on your magister’s behalf, after all,
and…”

“And Mae will understand,” Metis chuckled. “She is my patron, not
my master.”

“She’s also my cousin-in-law,” Varric reminded them, “and if I
know her, she’ll jump at the chance to have this agent of hers keeping
an eye on me.”

“Furthermore,” said Metis, “she can as easily ask my aid with a
letter to Kirkwall as to the Circle. After all these years, Fenris, nothing
would keep me from you.”

“Then it’s settled,” Fenris smiled.

“Paaaaa,” Malcolm agreed, suddenly leaning from Hawke’s lap to lie
half across Metis’ as well.

“That’s right, my dove,” said Hawke, brushing
the boy’s hair out of his eyes, “Pa is coming home with us.”

Do Lisbet and Carver ever come to a healthy place in their relationship?

Oh, definitely. I think the key to Carver’s relationship with Hawke always boils down to him finding a way out of the elder sibling’s shadow and standing on his own two feet. Of the in-game options for him, joining the Wardens probably helps more with both of those, but in Lisbet’s playthrough he became a Templar. Still, there was the “glad to call you sister” conversation before the final battle, and I think all that time doing his own thing in the Order did help him to grow up to that extent. 

They’re never going to be overly affectionate with each other, I’m sure (well, Lisbet might well try, but she’s also grown up enough to learn that such advances only push Carver away more), but by the time of Warriors, they do get along well enough. The intense sibling rivalry has mellowed to more typical but affectionate bickering. 

And as for Carver’s place in the world: Since Meredith’s fall, he’s left the Order and Kirkwall entirely to avoid the red lyrium, and he’s found a stauncher ally (and lover) in Merrill than he expected. Traveling with her and her refugee clan, he’s become someone her people all rely on, a shemlen they trust because Merrill does, and all of that has nothing to do with Lisbet Hawke. 

Pretty soon now, Lisbet and Fenris will head back to Kirkwall, but Carver and Merrill and their patchwork clan will stay at Skyhold as long as the Inquisition remains (will Thayer disband in Trespasser? stay tuned…I haven’t decided yet 🙂 ). Merrill’s pretty much the best friend Lisbet has after Varric, so for her to not rush off after Lisbet but to come to the decision, with Carver, that their place is with the new clan and the clan’s place is in the Inquisition, is confirmation to Carver of his independence, and that’s one of the healthiest things that could happen to his sibling relationship.

Also, it does help that he’s got a really cute nephew now. That’s an excellent reason for Carver to stay on Lisbet’s good side…

Warriors Such As: Chapter 20

I think this is the next to last chapter! Unless, of course, all the epilogue style scenes I have in mind prove too cumbersome for a Chapter 21 and demand equal time in a Chapter 22. Time will tell. But here is the beginning of the end, at least! Have some happy fluffy Fenhawke reunion time. Bonus: Hawke meets [redacted for spoilers if you still haven’t read through Chapter 10] Metis.

Word count: 3311
Rating: G
Fenris/F!Hawke
Summary: Hawke and Malcolm rush to Jader to meet Fenris straight off the ship.

Read it here or on:  DA  |  AO3  |  FF.net

Masterpost in case you need to catch up or start from the beginning!

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated! I love seeing what you think of each chapter, what parts you liked or want to respond to, or even just a note if you enjoyed it!

Hawkquisition
Part 4: Warriors Such As
Chapter 20
Wherein Hawke provides
the hero’s welcome

Jader’s docks buzzed with life. Lisbet Hawke clutched her son
tighter to her chest as she walked the wharves, watching the horizon. Malcolm
struggled in her arms, muttering, “Go,” and then, louder, “Go!”

“Uh-uh, little mister,” Hawke muttered back. “Not after the last
time. You stay put. No more exploring Jader without me.” She shifted her hold
on him, aiming for more secure with less constricting, and resumed her march
from pier to pier while Malcolm babbled to himself.

“Bo,” Malcolm said very solemnly after several minutes, twisting
to look out to sea.

“I know a pirate who’d send you off the plank for calling that a
boat and not a ship, dumpling,” she chuckled, but she followed the boy’s gaze
to peer at the incoming ship he’d spotted. It was barely a dot on the horizon
as yet, but as the first ship into the harbor this morning it held her
attention as well as her son’s.

Then the growing dot resolved itself into two dots, a second
closely following the first, and her heart seized. The flags. What flags were
they flying? She quickened her pace towards the furthest pier, straining to
see, and nearly jumped out of her skin when she bumped into a passerby in her
hurry. “Sorry,” she said, breathless, glancing aside to see the grizzled old
man she’d jostled smile and wave a dismissal of her apology. As she turned to
move on, she noticed the spyglass clipped to his belt.

“Wait,” she said, thinking of one like it that Isabela had once
shown her as they traveled along the Wounded Coast. “Is that – I mean, your
spyglass – could I – Oh, this must sound horribly odd, but would you mind if
I borrowed it for a moment? The ships coming in…I’m waiting for my husband,
you see.”

You’re babbling, Lisbet. She frowned and clapped
her mouth shut, but the stranger chuckled and held the spyglass up to her. “Be
my guest, lady.”

She thanked him in all sincerity, shifting Malcolm to her side so
she could extend the spyglass with a gentle flick of her wrist and bring it up
to one eye. Malcolm’s tiny hands, surprisingly strong and quick, made a grab
for the new toy, but she twisted him out of reach, focusing on the image in the
lens, scanning the distant waters until one of the ships filled her view. Even
with the spyglass’s aid it was small, and time seemed to stretch on as she
watched it draw closer, trying to see what flag flew from its mast.

“Bo?” Malcolm asked, grabbing for the spyglass again even as
Lisbet gasped in sudden relief.

“All right then, Mal,” she said, grinning as she held the lens up
for him to take a turn peering into. “Have a look at that boat. See the flags?
That’s Uncle Thayer’s boat. That’s your Da coming home.”

~*~

As the sailors lowered the gangplank into place, Metis adjusted
the staff at his back and tugged at the glove now concealing his left hand.
Weeks of fresh sea air had done much to heal the burned flesh and ease the
fresh pain of the markings, but weeks of instruction and practice had barely
begun to acclimate him to the sensation of sharing with the lyrium the space
that had been all his own for all his years. Its song persisted, but grew no
stronger over the days, and he had grown confident in his ability to guard his
thoughts from its siren call. Under Fenris’ watchful eye, he had managed at
last to bring the markings to life without succumbing to the sudden frenzy into
which their activation threw their song. Solid objects, primarily the spare
sails and wheels of cheese into which he had attempted to plunge his fingers,
continued to resist such intrusions, but Fenris said with solemn nods after
each attempt that the phasing would come in time and that his progress was
satisfactory.

And his magic, beneath the lyrium’s song, called to him as well,
its familiar presence persisting despite the distraction. They had experimented
with Licinius’ potion on a few occasions, quieting the lyrium just enough that
Metis could cast a chill over Thayer’s drink, or direct a healing pulse at
Varric when the dwarf was gripped with seasickness, or otherwise make himself
useful and keep in practice. Nothing came as easily as it should, between the
whisper still coming from the lyrium and the strain of the magebane upon his
mana, but it was a relief just to know he still could cast. There came a day,
nearly at the end of their voyage, when he even managed to summon leaves and a
single blossom from an oar without first applying the potion, though the effort
required to focus past the lyrium-song left him nearly passed out on the deck and
earned him no end of scolding from Fenris. He kept the blossom, nonetheless,
pressed into a book where he could look at it, and smile, and hope.

Hope filled him now, as Fenris hefted both their packs despite
Metis’ objections that he was fully capable of carrying his own. An arched
eyebrow was his son’s only response as he led the way down the gangplank. Metis
sighed and followed, gawking up at Jader’s dark roofs and narrow streets. For
the first Orlesian city he had ever seen, it seemed surprisingly ordinary from
here.

Fenris, glancing around and opening his mouth as if to speak,
froze suddenly when a shout of “Malcolm!” pierced through the crowd at
the docks. Metis saw his eyes go wide as he twisted in search of the sound.
Then Fenris gasped, and Metis followed his gaze to see a dark-haired woman
scrambling to catch a child toddling away from her. Squirming in her grasp, the
child pointed tiny fingers in Fenris’ direction before jamming them into his
mouth and looking back up at the woman.

She looked their way. The smile that lit her face when she saw
Fenris explained everything. When Fenris took a step forward and then suddenly
looked back at Metis, hesitating, Metis nudged him, stifling a grin of his own,
and said, “Go on. I won’t disappear.”

Fenris squeezed his arm and took off, swallowing the distance in
fewer steps than seemed physically possible and sweeping the lady and child
together up in an embrace. No longer stifling his grin, Metis followed at a
more leisurely pace, allowing their reunion the space that months apart would
crave. Between the two of them, the child’s curly head peeked up over Fenris’
shoulder, eying Metis with a familiar green gaze.

“Hawke,” he heard Fenris say as he caught up, “what are you doing
here?”

“Welcoming you home, obviously,” she laughed, pressing a kiss
against his jaw.

“This isn’t home,” Fenris teased. “This is Jader.”

“Fenris,” she said, drawing back to meet his gaze, “you’re
my home.”

“Ah,” he smiled. “Then perhaps I should be the one welcoming you,
Hawke.” Suiting actions to words, he leaned in for a kiss while Metis winked at
the child now pulling himself up Fenris’ arm, the better to stare over his
shoulder at the mage in his parents’ shadow.

“I feel very welcomed indeed,” Hawke smiled as the kiss ended.

“And I,” Fenris said, “am glad to be home. Though I was expecting
no such welcome before we reached Skyhold.”

“The Inquisition sent a caravan to bring everyone back there,” she
explained, glancing around at the soldiers and scouts in Inquisition livery now
disembarking. “So Mal and I tagged along. We’ve been here two days and I was
beginning to worry something had happened to you at sea.” Just then, she caught
sight of Metis waiting three steps away. Fenris followed her gaze and turned
with an embarrassed cough to say, “Metis. This…this is Hawke.”

“So I gathered,” he grinned, stepping forward.

“And Hawke,” Fenris said, his voice lowering, “this is my father.”

Hawke fixed him with a gaze that put him in mind of her namesake
predator. Metis stared back, studying the face of the woman who had claimed his
son’s heart as thoroughly, he judged, as Mara had ever claimed his own.
Somehow, for all Varric’s tales of the Champion and all the times Fenris had
spoken of her in Seheron, it had not occurred to Metis that she would be human.
Nearly as tall as Fenris, perhaps even the tiniest bit taller than Metis
himself, she wore her dark hair in a long braid over one shoulder, tied with a
red ribbon like the one Fenris had been so relieved to find among the pieces of
his armor in the storage room in Ath Velanis. Hawke met his stare with narrowed
eyes, human irises small but a deeper green than that which ran in his family.
Freckles dusted the small nose now wrinkling at him as her coral-pink lips
thinned. Maker, he thought, I’ve somehow offended her already.

Then Hawke appeared to come to a decision. Disentangling herself
from Fenris’ arms, she stepped back, leaving the boy Malcolm clinging to his
shoulder, and reached for one of the packs Fenris had dropped in his haste to
hold her.

“Hawke,” Fenris objected, turning to grab the second before she
had further ideas. “You don’t need to –”

“I’m going to,” Hawke insisted. “They don’t squirm like Malcolm
–” she leaned up suddenly to kiss the boy’s cheek, making him giggle and
wriggle away, burying his face in Fenris’ shoulder, “and he’s going to insist
on being carried by Da today. Meanwhile,” she turned suddenly, the pack slung over
one shoulder, and wrapped an arm around Metis’ elbow, “I want to talk to you,
she finished, pulling him along in her wake with a grin that turned his
stomach. He glanced back at Fenris, but his son was now caught up in an odd
sort of one-sided conversation with the baby.

“Bo?” Malcolm asked before launching into a string of less
discernible babble that ended again with, “Bo!”

“Ah…” Fenris hesitated, until Hawke glanced over her shoulder and
stage-whispered, “Boat.

“Ah, yes,” he said, nose to nose with the boy. “Yes, Malcolm. We
were on the boat.”

“Go!”

“Er, no. We will not go on the boat again.”

“Da? Go?”

“No, son. No more going away. I am going with you, back to
Skyhold.”

Their conversation faded as Hawke drew Metis farther ahead,
leading the way back to wherever the Inquisition’s caravan was stationed, he
assumed. “So,” she said at last, with a glance to the staff at his back,
“you’re a mage.”

“As are you, I’m told,” he nodded at her staff in turn.

“But you’re not a magister? I have been informed by reliable
sources that the two are not always the same thing in Tevinter.”

He laughed in surprise. “The last time an elf actually
entered the Magisterium was…well, to be honest, if it ever has
happened, they don’t bother to teach that quirk of history in the Circles. I
was curious about it myself once and tried to find some record of such a
person, but it seems they don’t like to remember it in books much either.”

“Hm,” she said. “But you’ve been trained, nonetheless. I take it
that’s not common?”

“I was fortunate,” he explained. “I saved a magister’s life and
earned her patronage – and my freedom. I suppose I was especially fortunate to
gain the favor of one of the few decent mages in the Magisterium.”

“That’s the thing,” Hawke nodded. “Fenris was…”

“Hawke,” came Fenris’ voice, and both of them stopped and turned
to look at him. But it was not Hawke herself he was speaking to. His mouth
quirked up at the side in a half smile as he repeated: “Hawke. That is your
mother’s name, Malcolm. Can you say ‘Hawke’?”

Malcolm regarded his father thoughtfully, chewing on his fist.

“Hawke?” Fenris repeated. “Come now, try it. Hawke.

“Hah!” Malcolm shouted gleefully.

Hawke snorted with laughter. “Oh, he thinks you’re so
funny, Fenris,” she teased, turning back to the path and once again dragging
Metis ahead with her.

A minute passed before she spoke again, while behind them Malcolm
continued shouting “Hah!” at his father’s encouragement. “I may have to change
my name,” she said, shaking her head. “Speaking of which, you’re welcome to
call me Lisbet if you prefer. No one much does, except Fenris on occasions, and
my brother calls me Liz. But it does seem odd for family to call me Hawke,
doesn’t it?”

He almost stumbled. “You consider me family, then.”

“Aren’t you?” she grinned, and then looked away, tightening her
grip on his arm. “Ah, but then I jump right in with the questions. I’m sorry if
I seem suspicious. It’s just that Fenris has had the worst luck with two
things: mages, and family, and here you pop up out of nowhere as both.”

“If I may,” he smiled, “aren’t you also both of those
things?”

She blinked at him and then laughed. “Fair enough. You and me,
founding members of the Mages Fenris Can Trust Club.”

“Gladly.”

“Welcome to the family, then, Metis.”

He glanced over to see her beaming at him, all trace of suspicion
gone. So he grinned and said, “As your father-in-law, shouldn’t that be my
line?”

She laughed, delighted. “I suppose it would have, but I got here
first!”

“I didn’t even know,” he told her, solemnity sweeping in again.
“For most of the years of his life, I didn’t know he existed. Mara was pregnant
when the slavers parted us. I only learned a few years ago, when I finally
managed to track her and Varania to Danarius’ household, that there was
a son. All these years…”

“It’s still not too late,” she said, leaning into his arm. “I can
tell from his letters that he likes you. Even if you are both family and
a mage.”

“Then I am overjoyed to be a part of this family, Hawke. Lisbet,”
he corrected, and she smiled.

“Does it…bother you,” she asked after a moment, “that I’m human?
That he didn’t marry an elf?”

“What?” Metis stared at her wide-eyed. “No. I saw how he longed
for you, Lisbet, how he came alive when he saw you here. There is a magic
between you that sets my heart at ease.” Metis reached to cover her hand on his
arm with his free hand, which happened to be the gloved hand; Hawke had
apparently known better than to grab him by his marked arm.

She looked down at the glove, pursing her lips. “Is this…?”

“Yes.”

She glanced up again, brows furrowed. “Would you mind if I…that
is…can I see them? Feel free to say no, if that’s too impertinent of me. But
Merrill and Dagna have been making plans ever since we got Fenris’ last letter,
and…”

He was already reaching to pull the glove free. He held out his
left hand ahead of them, letting the bruise-red of the markings catch the
rising sun’s light. She stretched out a finger, hesitating to look to him for
his nod of permission before she ran it gently over one line, frowning.

“Looks awful,” she finally decided. “They still hurt, I’m sure?”

“It’s getting better,” he assured her. “It was certainly not a pleasant
experience.”

“You did this to save his life.”

“I suspect you’d have done no less.”

“Probably,” she nodded, and then pulled closer to brush a kiss to
his cheek. “Thank you, Metis.”

~*~

It was late by the time the travelers returned to Skyhold. As far
as Fenris was concerned, the welcome Josephine had prepared for the group paled
in comparison to Hawke’s welcome on the docks. Yet the privilege of slowly
enjoying a dinner not prepared over a campfire, seated at the common table with
Metis to his left and Hawke to his right, Malcolm on his lap, made him smile
like a giddy fool no matter how relentlessly Malcolm squirmed and tried to bat
away the turnips his father fed him. Fenris sighed, and kissed the boy’s curly
head, and offered him baked apples instead, for life is short and turnips are
by no means one of the better parts of it.

He slept peacefully in Hawke’s arms for the first time in weeks –
actually, months now. The sun woke him early but only long enough to see that
she was still there, curled beneath his arm to fill a spot too long empty. He
shifted and, with a sigh, drifted off to sleep again.

It was the sound of retching that woke him next.

Disoriented from oversleeping, he looked around their chamber
groggily, squinting at Malcolm still sprawled in his crib, finally spotting
Hawke out of bed, bent over the chamberpot in obvious distress. In a moment he
was kneeling at her side, holding her hair back as she heaved the last of Josephine’s
celebratory dinner into the pot.

“Hawke,” he murmured, holding her gently as the heaves subsided.
“Your letters…you mentioned you were not feeling well, but…you seemed fine
yesterday.”

A low chuckle. “Oh. I’d forgot I wrote anything about that.”

“This is some new illness then? You didn’t drink too much last
night, did you? I did not notice…”

“I mostly drank tea last night,” she laughed. “I…um…Maker,
Fenris, this was not how I intended to break the news, and I wanted to tell you
in person, not in a letter, but yesterday was just so busy and I
didn’t really want to say anything until we were alone, at which point we were
both asleep within seconds, but…”

“Hawke. What is it? What’s wrong?”

She looked up at him with eyes shining. “Absolutely nothing. It’s
morning sickness, and it’s nearly run its course by now, I think.”

“Morning…” His eyes grew wide as he looked at her and took in her
meaning.

“We’re having another baby, Fenris!” she beamed at him.

He blinked and stammered, “How…? When…? How long…?”

“I’m sure you’ve worked out the how,” she teased, leaning
into his arm. “As to the timing: Well, it appears this was a sort of going-away
present the last time I saw you.”

“So you’ve been…” He frowned and took her face in his hands.
“Hawke, I’m so sorry.”

Her eyes narrowed and chin tilted up at him as her hands came to
rest on his knees. “Sorry? About having a baby?”

“Oh, no. Not at all. But that I left you here to bear this alone…”

“Ah.” She leaned up to kiss his nose. “Don’t be sorry about that,
love. You couldn’t have known, and I’ve managed just fine, thank you.”

“Ever capable,” he smiled at her. But the next thought tore at his
smile: “If something had happened to me, though…”

“Well, it didn’t,” she said, driving away the what-ifs with her
fingers running through his hair. “And if it had, I’d still have been
glad of both our children. As I think your mother was glad for both of
hers.”

He nodded finally, holding her close as a smile crept over his face.
“Do you know…er, does Cole know yet…boy or girl?”

“Apparently it’s too soon. And don’t think I haven’t asked him
every single day since I realized.”

“Does…anyone else know? I mean, not about that. Does
Skyhold know you’re pregnant?”

“Besides Cole? You’re the first, although Josie may have guessed.”

“And did you intend to keep this secret longer?”

“Or can you tell your father right away,” she smirked, “is that
what I’m hearing?”

“It…may have crossed my mind,” he blushed.

“Now that you’ve caught me in the act of pregnancy, Fenris, I’ve
no more secrets to keep,” she smiled, leaning in to wrap her arms around his
neck. “Tell the world today, if you wish.”

Warriors Such As: Fic Masterpost

rannadylin:

image

Let’s gather these chapters in a handy single post, shall we? Especially since, with Thanksgiving break over, I fear updates will slow down again…Here’s everything written thus far for my current Fenris/F!Hawke adventure!

Synopsis: 

Fenris was once told that even in the Imperium, warriors with markings of his sort were rare – with the implication that he is not unique. When the Inquisition hears of Venatori creating warriors marked like Fenris, but with red lyrium, Hawke may have to take her turn being the one left behind while Fenris travels into danger to help the Inquisitor investigate.

Read it on: AO3 | FF.net | DA

Or if you prefer to read it on Tumblr, here’s the chapter listing with titles and synopses:

  1. Wherein parenthood is hard

    Raising baby Malcolm is overwhelming and new parents Lisbet Hawke and Fenris are on edge.

  2. Wherein an expert is required

    Venatori in Seheron are experimenting with lyrium tattoos; Thayer Trevelyan’s advisors convene and send for Fenris.

  3. Wherein an agreement is reached

    Amantium irae amoris integratio est.

  4. Wherein farewells and firsts are spoken

    Hawke bids Fenris farewell as the Inquisition’s expedition to Seheron sets out.

  5. Wherein the ship sails

    En route to Seheron, letters are exchanged.

  6. Wherein Metis meets the Inquisition

    Seheron is not a very safe place for the Inquisitor and friends, but they do find one friend waiting for them.

  7. Wherein the forest is welcoming

    The trek through the jungle begins; meanwhile, interesting developments are occurring at Skyhold…

  8. Wherein Hawke’s worries are not ill-founded. 

    Fenris knows when things are fishy; saarebas are deadly; the jungle is a big place but Harding has lots of scouts looking for our heroes! Also Metis is kind of new to this combat thing.

  9. Wherein the weather interferes. 

    It’s a bad idea to wander around a jungle when you can’t see where you’re going.

  10. Wherein things become clearer

    Fenris’ past catches up with him, in more ways than one, and the Inquisition gains a formidable ally.

  11. Wherein we explore Ath Velanis. 

    Time to see what’s actually going on in that Venatori fortress, as soon as we find a way in through creepy tunnels! It’s all fun and games till someone slips and falls!

  12. Wherein plans change

    From opposite sides of the Ath Velanis gate, Thayer and Varric, Fenris and Metis reconsider their course of action.

  13. Wherein saboteurs are loose in Venatori territory

    Stranded in the fortress of Ath Velanis, Fenris and Metis make mischief for the Venatori.

  14. Wherein the magister refines his ritual

    Licinius intends to use Fenris’ markings as a template for his next red lyrium warrior…and so the ritual begins…

  15. Wherein Metis gets a tattoo

    Thayer and Varric return to Ath Velanis but Metis is already being prepared for lyrium markings…

  16. Wherein everyone is loose in Ath Velanis

    Licinius resorts to blood magic; Thayer searches for lost elves; and the lost elves discover side effects of the red lyrium ritual…

  17. Wherein Fenris gets his sword back. 

    Reunions! Thayer gets the team back together and Caligo discovers someone she hadn’t expected to see again.

  18. Wherein we depart Ath Velanis

    Thayer and team take the fight to the magister at last! And Hawke finally hears back from her Fenris.

  19. Wherein the ship sails. 

    Our heroes depart from Seheron, but there is still the matter of certain red lyrium tattoos to be dealt with.

Warriors Such As: Chapter 19

We are nearing the end! *gasp* I’m amazed how long this story has gotten. But still loving it. So here are a few scenes before the long awaited reunion with Hawke…

Word count: 3027
Rating: G
Fenris/F!Hawke
Summary: Our heroes depart from Seheron, but there is still the matter of certain red lyrium tattoos to be dealt with.

Read it here or on:  DA  |  AO3  |  FF.net

Masterpost in case you need to catch up or start from the beginning!

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated! I love seeing what you think of each chapter, what parts you liked or want to respond to, or even just a note if you enjoyed it!

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Hawkquisition
Part 4: Warriors Such As
Chapter 19
Wherein the ship sails

“You know, Varric,” Thayer Trevelyan said, gazing at Ath Velanis
looming in the distance as the sun rose over the jungle, “that fortress looks a
pleasanter place already.”

“No, Shiny,” the dwarf disagreed, shaking his head as he climbed
to the Inquisitor’s vantage point on a pile of rocks at the edge of their camp.
“Not possible. Not even if you redecorated and put in a bar and dancing girls.
Ath Velanis will never be pleasant.”

“Slightly less menacing, though?” Thayer suggested. “No longer a
haunt of Venatori desperate to relive their dead master’s glory days by
building him an invincible army running on red lyrium.”

“That did contribute a lot to the menacing air,” Varric admitted.

“Might as well go ahead and put that bar in, now that we have the
architect of their dastardly plan in custody.”

“For all the good he’s likely to do you,” Varric grunted. “Elias,
on the other hand, might be more reasonable.”

“Elias?” Thayer frowned, then his eyes widened. “Oh. Do you mean
you found the Tranquil? And learned his name?”

Varric nodded. “He was fairly receptive to the job offer, once he
saw the rest of the Venatori being marched off by the Fog Warriors. I’d wager
it’s been a lot for him to swallow, the last few months, going on with their
world domination plans even with Corypheus dead. Not much point in it, but
would Licinius listen if he explained why?”

“So he’s content to change sides?”

“I think all he wants is purpose and protection, and the Venatori
can’t give him that anymore. So yes, Inquisitor, agent acquired.”

Thayer smiled. “And hopefully he can do what we need of him?”

“Oh, he knows the formula, all right. He whipped up a batch of it
on the spot to prove it to me, even if he did have a lot to say about how we
could have saved him the trouble by not destroying all the potions along with
the laboratory in the first place.” Varric shrugged. “Either way, Metis will
have what he needs.”

“That’s a relief, I’m sure.”

“One more thing, Inquisitor,” Varric said, drawing a tightly
rolled scroll out of his jacket. Thayer raised an eyebrow as he carefully
unrolled the parchment and peered at words in a language he did not recognize.

Varric explained, “I found him in the magister’s chambers, going
through a stash of things he apparently considered worth saving. Talked him
into donating that one to the cause once I realized what it was.”

“Which is?”

“Just a few hundred words in what’s apparently an old dialect of
Tevene,” Varric smirked. “Unroll it the rest of the way though. Check out the
pictures.”

Thayer narrowed his eyes at the dwarf, weighing his words for a
trick, before complying. He unrolled, at last, a series of diagrams at the very
end of the document, distorted where the pages had crumpled from much
rerolling, but there was no mistaking what they depicted. Thayer gasped and
nearly dropped the scroll.

“So they’re a bit rough,” Varric continued, “and apparently
nowhere near the detail of Fenris’ markings, which would be why Licinius
thought he’d use him as a live template. But yeah, looks like these are the few
hundred words that started it all. Some sort of ancient treatise on how to fuse
lyrium to a man’s skin and give him magical fisting powers.”

“Magical – what?” Thayer stuttered, side-eying the dwarf.

“Never mind. Thought you might be interested in the scroll, that’s
all. Crack the code, maybe someone can learn something useful from it
about…well, about what to do for a guy who’s been put through an arm’s worth
of this stuff, right? Or at the least, you can destroy it and hope it’s the
last of its kind in the world, so no one gets ideas like this again.”

“Maker bless you, Varric,” Thayer breathed. “Ath Velanis looks much
pleasanter with this in hand.”

~*~

Hawke, long desired and dreamed of, soon to be seen,

I am up with the sun to read your letters and write to you again
before the ship sails. Though that will not be terribly early today, since
Thayer has sent Varric with the Fog Warriors back into the fortress to take
care of some things left undone in our haste.

…And even now a scout brings me a third letter. You must have
sent this one before receiving my note last night, for I do not think the
ravens could have already borne that to you and back again with this. I suppose
I would not be surprised if there were yet more of your letters winging their
way to us now. But we sail today, so by the time you receive this letter there
will be no more camp to send your replies to. Save your words up, sweet Hawke,
that I may listen the longer to them when I hold you again. Happily I will pass
the voyage imagining what you are preparing to say to me, so much so that when
I see you I shall be speechless myself, having prepared no words of my own.

All the more important, then, to fill this letter with my answers
to your letters while I still can.

Your concern about my sudden influx of family is kind of you,
Hawke. You will meet Metis soon and judge for yourself what manner of man my
father is, but suffice it to say that I have been pleasantly surprised to learn
that you are not the only mage in the world on whom I can rely. He offered
himself for the Venatori’s ritual to stop the magister from killing me, Hawke,
and I…in that moment I knew I could not bear to lose him again. It was a
foolish thing for him to do, but he bore the process bravely. The Inquisitor
intervened and so the ritual was not completed, but he received the markings on
one arm.

You write of Merrill’s success curing Emmen of the red lyrium. Do
you think her methods can be extended to the markings created by the Venatori
here? Please, ask her, earnestly on my behalf, to prepare for such an attempt.
We are bringing Metis with us back to Skyhold in hopes that the lyrium in his
markings can be cleansed. Markings such as mine can be borne and controlled, despite
the trouble they have brought me, but the red lyrium in Metis’ markings
threatens to overwhelm him. For now it has not spread beyond the channels
created for it, yet even so he hears it calling to him the way we have seen it
do with others before it broke their minds.

I cannot have this man’s mind broken, Hawke. I make it my task,
till we reach Skyhold again, to keep him in the present, keep him from slipping
away into its clutches, but I do not think anyone can forever resist that
corruption. We must find a way to cleanse his lyrium as soon as possible.

But that is only one reason I am eager to return to Skyhold, dear
wife. May the ships sail swiftly this time! If the winds are favorable, we will
be home in time for Malcolm’s birthday after all. He will, I hope, not have
forgotten me. And yes, his chatter (as you write of it) does make his Da smile.
Has he truly not yet decided what to call you? If he can say “Da” and “Po” and
“Boo” and all of that, surely it is not beyond infant capabilities to pronounce
“Hawke”. I shall make a point of practicing that with him if he has not learned
to say it (or “Ma” or whatever other ridiculous combination you have been
needlessly trying to teach him) by the time I return.

Be well, my Hawke. I hope you have recovered, or soon will, from
whatever ailed you in your recent letters. I wish you all health and safety and
happiness, and I will hurry back to you in case Skyhold alone cannot supply the
latter.

Yours,

Fenris

~*~

“What will you do with Ath Velanis?” Caligo asked the Inquisitor,
as the soldiers began ferrying the Inquisition’s equipment out to the ships
anchored near Ath Velanis’ broken gates.

“I was thinking of asking you that, as a matter of fact,”
Thayer replied.

“What?” the Fog Warrior turned to squint at him.

“I don’t intend to establish an Inquisition stronghold in
Seheron,” he explained. “Too far away to maintain, and we really have no need
to involve ourselves in northern politics. Also, I can attest that everyone on
this island except for your people would be tripping over themselves to
drive us out.”

“I can attest to that, too,” Caligo grinned.

“The Fog Warriors, however, have proven fine allies,” he said,
sketching a bow that drew a huff of amusement from her. “Also, I’d rather see
your people take this island back than either the Qunari or Vints overrun it.
Plus you’ve suffered a great deal from the Venatori in this fortress
yourselves; you bore the brunt of captives to fuel their experiments.” He
glanced over towards a cluster of Fog Warriors further back from the shore,
where one dark-haired elf was crouched down, animatedly drawing something in
the sand while another stood shaking his head. “Your friends,” he said, nodding
towards Aeris and Nubis, “were quite brave.”

“They were idiots to come here,” Caligo said, but the warmth in
her voice was more fond than angry. “I am relieved we found them alive.”

“As am I, having met them,” Thayer smiled. “So I have two
proposals for you, lady of the Fog Warriors.”

She glanced up at him, eyes narrowing. “I’m listening,
Inquisitor.”

“I’d like to bring Nubis back to Skyhold with us. We’ve heard from
those who remained behind that they’ve had some success there with a process to
cleanse red lyrium from a boy who was infected with it.”

Caligo’s eyes widened and she glanced from the Inquisitor back to
her friends. “You could…fix him?”

“We could help him, I hope.”

She frowned. “It would be very far from home. He…we missed him.
His family back at the camp…”

“I cannot promise that he will not lose his mind to the red lyrium
the same as those who were completely marked with it did, if something is not
done for him. And I cannot truly promise that my people at Skyhold will succeed
in curing him. But I would not ask you to send him alone. You’d be welcome to
come along. Aeris too. Anyone you think should go with him, in fact. It would
surely be easier for him to heal with friends nearby.”

She nodded slowly. “I…will think on it, Inquisitor. And I will
ask Nubis what he wishes.”

“Of course.”

“You said,” she reminded, jutting her chin up at him, “two
proposals?”

“Ah, yes,” Thayer smiled. “I propose that the Fog Warriors take
charge of Ath Velanis. Occupy it and make a stronghold from which to take back
the island, if you like. Or burn it down, if you prefer. I would be satisfied
knowing its fate is in your hands, either way, and no longer in the
Venatori’s.”

Her hand flew to her mouth. “You would give us the fortress?”

“A going-away present?” he grinned. “It’s not exactly a nice
place, either. Just ask Varric. I don’t think he’d let me keep it if I wanted
to. But you could make use of it.”

“I cannot accept for the clan,” she shook her head. “It is not my
place. But I will send word to the Fog Dancer of your proposal. And I think she
will be happy, at least, to decide its fate. I would not mind if she ordered it
burnt to the ground.”

“Well, tell her Happy Satinalia from me, then,” Thayer shrugged.
“A token of an alliance of mutual benefit, and a friendship I hope to see
continue between our people.”

~*~

The ships sailed from Seheron as the sun began to set, turning the
sea to fire. Metis stood at the railing, watching the fortress recede, running
through a long-ago memorized list of herbs in his mind to keep from listening
to lyrium-song. …Felandaris, the demon weed, grows where the Veil is thin.
Amrita Vein, strong roots in sand, bears water deep within. Wood from a tree of
Dragonthorn crafts bow whose shafts fly true. Its gentle leaves add fortitude
to many a mage’s brew. Honey-sweet, the Vandal Aria thrives in arid climes.
Bells of blue on Crystal Grace: do spirits hear them chime?…

“You are not wearing the bandages,” Fenris’ voice broke him out of
his mental recitation. Metis glanced back to see his son eying the red lines of
his hand with a frown as he joined him at the railing.

“They get itchy after a while,” Metis explained.

“You’re not scratching at them, I hope.”

“No, just enjoying a little fresh air before wrapping it up
again.” Metis grinned, narrowing his eyes at Fenris. “I do believe you’re mothering
me now. Are sons allowed to do that?”

“How would I know?” he huffed, but smiled back. “I am only
ensuring that you last long enough to have the markings cleansed.”

Metis stared at him, his eyes crinkling with a frown of
realization. “You’re worried,” he said finally. “That…you’ll lose me.”

Fenris bowed his head. “You should not have taken the markings.”

“Yet I did, and there’s no changing it now. The time for that
argument is past, truly,” said Metis, raising his unmarked hand to Fenris’
shoulder. “I’m not leaving, son. Not unless you want me to.”

Fenris looked up, eyes wide in shock. “Why would I wish that?”

“You’ve managed without me all these years. Maker, I wish I’d been
there to see you grow up, but you became a fine man all the same. You are no child,
Fenris. You don’t need me hovering.”

“I – no. Perhaps not. But perhaps…I would not mind. Having you
near.” He shook his head. “No, that is ridiculous. Metis, you are my family. I
have lost too much of that to not hold fast to you now.”

“Then consider me held,” Metis grinned.

“So long as my grip is stronger than the lyrium’s.” Fenris
frowned, leaning on the rail and looking down into the water.

“It will be,” Metis said, confidence buoying him up as lightly as
the ship in the waves. He dropped his gaze to the markings on his hand, eyes
dancing from line to line, studying their patterns. With Fenris near –
ironically inclined to hovering himself – it was easier to divert the
lyrium-song to the back of his mind, dam it up behind years’ worth of conversations
they would have to catch up on. Including one that, before yesterday, he would
never have expected to have with anyone, let alone his long-lost son. “Fenris,”
he asked, “you’ll show me how to use them, won’t you?”

Fenris gaped at him, starting to speak at least twice before
thinking better of it, his brow furrowing as he considered his words.
“You…want to use them?”

“As you do?”

“Forgive me if I find the image of you pulling hearts from
chests a little difficult to swallow.”

“I wasn’t thinking of the chest thing specifically. There are
surely other applications.”

“Oh, surely.” Fenris rolled his eyes. “I could show you a card
trick that quite impressed some of the Inquisitor’s people once.”

“I’m serious,” Metis said. “I mean, it’s unlikely your people at
Skyhold have a way to completely remove the markings, even if they manage to
cleanse them. If I’m stuck with them, they may as well make themselves useful.”

“I suppose…”

“Especially if they’re going to continue to stifle my magic,” he
said, all trace of jest vanishing from his voice.

Fenris glanced at him, eyebrows knit with concern. “It’s gone
again? You summoned vines against the magister.”

Metis nodded. “It seems the bit of potion that splattered me
nullified the lyrium enough that I could reach my mana for a time.”

“But there’s magebane in the potion.”

“I reached it. It wasn’t easy. But it was just enough of
the potion to quiet the lyrium without being enough magebane to completely shut
off my magic.” He pulled a small flask from a pouch at his belt. “Varric
convinced Licinius’ assistant to make a new batch.” He uncorked the flask,
showing Fenris the blood-red liquid within. “So that’s an option, if I need to
access my magic.”

“You cannot always be keeping yourself drugged with that,” Fenris
pointed out.

“I’m hoping the red can be cleansed at Skyhold and the lyrium left
behind will be…like yours,” Metis shrugged. “But in the meantime, I need to
learn to use it.”

“Even with the potion rendering them useless?”

Metis shook his head. “Saving the potion for emergencies. The
lyrium’s still singing up a storm, but I’m getting better at ignoring it. I
think it’s time I…started fighting back.”

“By using the markings? Metis, what if using them before they are
cleansed only opens you up to their song?“

Metis frowned in thought, nodding slowly. “You have a point. Here
– take this.” He handed over the potion flask. “Surely quieting the lyrium
would loose its hold on me, should that come to pass. I will not train with the
markings without you present, and I will trust you to use this if I come near
to losing myself.”

Fenris hesitated, then nodded, taking the flask and tucking it
away in his own pouch.

Metis smiled, then reached for Fenris’ hand, bringing his son’s
long fingers up to meet his own, palm to palm, crimson brands to white. “You
have control of your markings. Right now, mine are trying to control me.
I need to know how to do what you do. I will master this, lest I fall to
it.”

Fenris stared down at their hands, then nodded,
reaching with his free hand to clasp Metis’ marked wrist in a gentle grip. “I
will do what I can.”


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