Posts Tagged 'hawkquisition'



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.”

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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!

image

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.”

Warriors Such As: Chapter 18

rannadylin:

We’re finally getting out of that fortress! Also, I finally get to use Fenris’ lines upon confronting the magister that I have been wanting to for several chapters now. Hope you like them as much as I do!

Word count: 2999
Rating: PG for canon-typical combat
Fenris/F!Hawke
Summary: Thayer and team take the fight to the magister at last! And Hawke finally hears back from her Fenris.

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 18
Wherein we depart Ath
Velanis

Thayer came up with a plan as they hurried back to the dungeons,
where they found the Fog Warriors who had entered the fortress with them still
searching through the prisoners’ belongings in the antechamber, though they
informed the Inquisitor that Aeris had departed with Nubis. By the time they
all returned to the hallway near Licinius’ laboratory, the flames from the
grenade had died down. “Wonder if the Tranquil’s told him anything yet,” Varric
mused. “Or if he’ll notice the smoke billowing from his beloved lyrium stash.”

“He’ll believe what he wants to believe,” Thayer insisted. “As
long as we make it believable. Now, what shall we do with these – ugh, Fenris,
did you have to snatch their hearts out through the armor? What a mess.”

“Might want to mop up some of that blood first,” Varric chuckled.
“After all, Inquisitor, it’s all about making it believable.”

~*~

The laboratory was in disarray. Either the brazier had overturned and
the Tranquil had let the fire get out of hand (odd, Licinius thought, that the
man was not there; he left his post only to eat and sleep and those only at
times dictated by his routine), or the intruders had sought to sabotage his
work. Licinius fumed inwardly as he summoned ice to put out the lingering
flames, then hurried with his entourage down the hall in search of the room
where his test subjects had been stored after the interruption to the ritual.

To his relief, the two Venatori guards that he had left in charge
of the elves were still at their posts. “The subjects must be relocated,
quickly,” Licinius announced as he approached. “Intruders are loose in the
fortress, and before I deal with them, we must be sure these two are secure.”
He motioned to the mages accompanying him, and the five Venatori and three of
his red-marked warriors they had gathered en route, to wait outside the room.

The guards at the door nodded, inclining their helmeted heads only
briefly before one guard turned to the door and unlocked it. Within, Licinius
saw the two bedraggled elves, slumped against a wall with their hands still
bound behind their backs, lift their heads. Danarius’ pet tensed as if
preparing to cause trouble, but his expression changed to one of worry when the
guards pulled the older elf to his feet. The gardener cried out as his marked
arm was jostled, but looked at the younger elf with a shake of his head,
warning him off from interfering. Glancing from helmet to helmet of the guards
who now held both subjects in firm grips, and noting as well the red warriors
and mages waiting with Licinius in the hallway, the little wolf finally nodded
back. The guards guided their charges from the room without incident.

“They’ll be safest in my chambers,” Licinius informed the guard
bearing a greatsword on his back, the one who had unlocked the door. “The wards
will not easily be broken. Come along.”

He turned on his heel to march towards his tower, failing to
notice the look the two guards exchanged.

Keep reading

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.

Warriors Such As: Chapter 18

We’re finally getting out of that fortress! Also, I finally get to use Fenris’ lines upon confronting the magister that I have been wanting to for several chapters now. Hope you like them as much as I do!

Word count: 2999
Rating: PG for canon-typical combat
Fenris/F!Hawke
Summary: Thayer and team take the fight to the magister at last! And Hawke finally hears back from her Fenris.

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 18
Wherein we depart Ath
Velanis

Thayer came up with a plan as they hurried back to the dungeons,
where they found the Fog Warriors who had entered the fortress with them still
searching through the prisoners’ belongings in the antechamber, though they
informed the Inquisitor that Aeris had departed with Nubis. By the time they
all returned to the hallway near Licinius’ laboratory, the flames from the
grenade had died down. “Wonder if the Tranquil’s told him anything yet,” Varric
mused. “Or if he’ll notice the smoke billowing from his beloved lyrium stash.”

“He’ll believe what he wants to believe,” Thayer insisted. “As
long as we make it believable. Now, what shall we do with these – ugh, Fenris,
did you have to snatch their hearts out through the armor? What a mess.”

“Might want to mop up some of that blood first,” Varric chuckled.
“After all, Inquisitor, it’s all about making it believable.”

~*~

The laboratory was in disarray. Either the brazier had overturned and
the Tranquil had let the fire get out of hand (odd, Licinius thought, that the
man was not there; he left his post only to eat and sleep and those only at
times dictated by his routine), or the intruders had sought to sabotage his
work. Licinius fumed inwardly as he summoned ice to put out the lingering
flames, then hurried with his entourage down the hall in search of the room
where his test subjects had been stored after the interruption to the ritual.

To his relief, the two Venatori guards that he had left in charge
of the elves were still at their posts. “The subjects must be relocated,
quickly,” Licinius announced as he approached. “Intruders are loose in the
fortress, and before I deal with them, we must be sure these two are secure.”
He motioned to the mages accompanying him, and the five Venatori and three of
his red-marked warriors they had gathered en route, to wait outside the room.

The guards at the door nodded, inclining their helmeted heads only
briefly before one guard turned to the door and unlocked it. Within, Licinius
saw the two bedraggled elves, slumped against a wall with their hands still
bound behind their backs, lift their heads. Danarius’ pet tensed as if
preparing to cause trouble, but his expression changed to one of worry when the
guards pulled the older elf to his feet. The gardener cried out as his marked
arm was jostled, but looked at the younger elf with a shake of his head,
warning him off from interfering. Glancing from helmet to helmet of the guards
who now held both subjects in firm grips, and noting as well the red warriors
and mages waiting with Licinius in the hallway, the little wolf finally nodded
back. The guards guided their charges from the room without incident.

“They’ll be safest in my chambers,” Licinius informed the guard
bearing a greatsword on his back, the one who had unlocked the door. “The wards
will not easily be broken. Come along.”

He turned on his heel to march towards his tower, failing to
notice the look the two guards exchanged.

~*~

Varric leaned around the corner, noting which way Licinius was
taking his prisoners, and then looked back to the Fog Warriors stationed with
him. “All right, it’s plan B. Fall in behind, and don’t let them hear you or
see you. Quiet as the fog, right?”

“We can be quiet,” the nearest warrior said, cocking an eyebrow.
“What about you?”

“I’ll have you know dwarves can move very silently when we have a
mind to,” Varric huffed. “It’s a center of gravity thing.”

The Fog Warrior gave him a dubious but otherwise blessedly silent
look before leading his teammates around the corner, their white war paint
blending into the stone of the fortress nearly as well as it did in their
spooky fog. Varric followed last, keeping an eye out for Venatori behind them
and muttering to Bianca, “You just had to go with plan B, Thayer.
Shoving the magister into the storage room himself would have been so much
quicker, even if he did bring backup.”

~*~

Fenris glanced around the tower room as they followed Licinius in.
Surprisingly sparse, for a mage of Licinius’ standing and supposed wealth, but
his markings tingled in response to magic in the air. Wards on the floor, he
saw, and implements of blood magic. A slave chained to the far wall looked up
at their entry and paled. Several more sets of chains lined the same wall, and
Licinius waved the guards toward these.

“Now,” the magister was saying, “as soon as they’re secure, I’ll
set the wards and then we can deal with the intruders.”

Even as Licinius spoke, Fenris felt the cold press of a knife at
his wrists, bare of armor, as the guard leading him cut his ropes. At a glance,
he saw Metis’ guard doing likewise. His father met his eyes and winked, slowly
reaching for his belt pouch.

Licinius seemed to realize something was wrong even as Thayer
reached up to remove the bucket-like Venatori helmet concealing his face. “Why
haven’t you chained them yet?” the magister was saying. “Hurry up and –” His
eyes went wide as the Inquisitor emerged from disguise and grinned, tossing the
helmet his way before drawing Fenris’ greatsword from his back and handing it
over to the elf.

“Or you could deal with us now,” Thayer shrugged, sliding his
daggers from the gauntlets of his Venatori armor. “We’d hate to inconvenience
you any longer than necessary.”

“You!” Licinius bellowed, then took three steps toward the door,
yelling, “Venatori! To me! The intruders –” But even as one of his mages and a
lone Venatori Marksman made it through the door, a wall of red light sprang up
on the threshold, cutting off the rest who were running to the magister’s aid.

“Turns out,” said Thayer, “the Fog Warriors have mages who know
something about wards, too.” He nodded to the other supposed guard, now setting
his helmet aside and shaking out dark hair. “Well done, Algor.” He turned back
to Licinius. “Our friends will deal with your backup out there, and we can have
a nice chat.”

“Fool,” Licinius spat, beginning to move his staff in arcane
patterns. “Do not think you have rendered me helpless. Target the Inquisitor,”
he shouted to his mage and marksman, “but by no means kill the elves. I’m not
finished with them.”

“You will be,” Fenris growled, rushing forward to deal with the
spare Venatori mage even as Thayer ducked an arrow and Algor raised his hands
to cast a spell.

Then with a roar not unlike the sound of the laboratory going up
in flames, Licinius was joined by a trio of demons boiling up from the floor.
Fenris willed his lyrium to light, darting forward to engage the new threat.

~*~

Outside the freshly warded doorway, the remaining Venatori and red
warriors watched the mage caught on their side summon mana to bring down the
ward. He raised his staff, gestured to the door, and –

Fell to the floor with a thump as a crossbow bolt sprouted
from his back.

They turned to see a dwarf at the top of the stairs leading up to
the tower rooms, gesturing to the Fog Warriors who now came quickly up behind
him.

“That’s our cue, Whitey,” the dwarf said, hoisting his crossbow
again as he addressed none of the Fog Warriors in particular as far as the
Venatori could tell. “Oh, and no more need to be quiet.”

~*~

Metis, meanwhile, pressed himself against the wall, watching and
gritting his teeth against a feeling of uselessness. Thinking of all the ways
he could be helping right now, if the red lyrium weren’t drowning out his
magic, didn’t help. A bolt of ice would do wonders against that rage demon; and
his vines could have kept Licinius from casting in the first place; and when
the Inquisitor finally failed to dodge that archer’s shots, as it was looking
more and more likely he would, it would be awfully nice if Metis could send
some healing his way. Fenris’ lack of his armor, left in the storage room where
they had found it when they were first locked in there, lest his wearing it should
alert Licinius that the elves were no longer the prisoners they seemed to be,
made Metis itch to throw up a barrier around him. He watched Algor’s spells
with envy but also a measure of professional assessment: the lad’s fire spells
were dazzling if not terribly hard-hitting, but he did have some skill with
wards, locking two of the demons in place long enough for the Inquisitor and
Fenris to deal with the Venatori mage and marksman. Metis strained to feel his
own magic, but the lyrium sang as plaintively as ever, demanding his attention.
Gripping the flask in his good hand tighter, he edged along the wall, trying to
draw nearer to Licinius without being noticed. If this was the only way left
for him to help, he wasn’t about to waste it on a poor throw from too far away.
Fenris needed the use of his markings, and it was best to keep Algor in control
of his magic too. The potion had to target Licinius alone.

Then one of the demons reared up before him. Metis gasped and
backed away, still clutching his potion tight even as he glanced around for any
sort of weapon. Fighting in the magister’s chambers proved fortuitous; a rack
across the room held a variety of staves, none quite like the one the Venatori
had confiscated from him before subjecting him to their ritual, but without his
magic he just needed something to hit with and any staff would do.

He feinted toward the demon and then made a dash for it on the
other side, clutching his marked arm to his chest and grimacing against the
pain. He could feel the wrongness of the creature, pursuing him all the
way to the rack, where he fumbled for the staff nearest to hand, almost
dropping the potion when he forgot he was carrying it, shifting it to his
bandaged hand as well as he could before grasping at the staff again even as
demon claws grasped at his shoulder –

And then with a roar the thing fell away from him, blue lyrium
light gleaming through a hole in what passed for its chest. The demon slumped
and finally melted away into the floor as Fenris stood there panting, eyes wide
and wild as he reached out to Metis.

“You’re all right?”

“Excellent timing,” Metis said, summoning the weakest of smiles
while gasping for breath; he was in no condition for such sprinting, especially
after the day’s events.

Fenris looked around at the battle. “One of them left,” he nodded
at the remaining demon. Metis saw fabric puddled on the floor that he took to
be Licinius’ assistant mage, and a bow cast aside suggested that the marksman
had been dealt with as well. “We will see to the demon.” He gripped Metis’
shoulder before he turned away. “Don’t let him summon any more.”

Which was, presumably, what Licinius had in mind as he again
started moving his staff through its patterns. The magister’s eyes were on
Thayer as the Inquisitor played tag with the last demon, darting in to slash at
it from one side, then the other, while Algor stood nearby flinging ice at it.
Suddenly the demon broke away from the Inquisitor to charge at Algor, knocking
the mage aside to slam into a wall while Fenris ran up from behind, ready to
slice the demon in two.

And while that drama played out, Metis crept up as near Licinius
as he dared, uncorked the bottle, and hurled it. The magister saw it coming
just in time and turned, bringing up a hand to bat it away, but the open bottle
spun and splattered him with its contents before sailing away to shatter
against the wall.

Metis, feeling an odd shock to his marked arm, looked down at his
bandages. Drops of red stained the white fabric. Blood? He frowned as he raised
his hand, recognizing the scent of magebane. The spray of the potion had
reached all the way back to him, then, a tiny trace of it splattering his left
arm even as most of it landed on Licinius.

The magister stood fuming, waving his hands, shaking his staff,
trying to bring his magic forth again, but enough magebane had reached him to
nullify every attempt. At that moment, Fenris ran the demon through even while
Thayer ran a blade along its throat, and the thing shriveled back into the
Fade. Licinius snarled and turned his staff around, advancing on Metis with the
bladed end.

“No!” Fenris shouted as Metis slowly backed away from the
magister, nearly tripping over the marksman’s corpse before Fenris interposed
himself and his sword between the mages. Licinius hissed in frustration,
swinging his staff against the elf’s blade. Reinforced with metal along the
shaft, it met the blow with only the slightest shudder, and then the magister
was wielding its blade like a polearm against Fenris with surprising skill.

Metis took note of Thayer just before the Inquisitor vanished into
the shadows again, looking, he supposed, for an angle from which to creep up on
the magister and – well, not slit his throat, Metis guessed; he had
been so determined to take the man alive, but surely if Fenris was in danger…

There was a tingling in his left arm. Metis looked at it in
wonder, unwinding the bandages. The skin revealed was still red and tender, but
there were patches, he thought, where the lyrium lines themselves had grown
darker. Quieter. Quieter. The lyrium-quieting potion. He realized
in that moment, the song in the back of his mind was quieting too. Still there,
but no longer demanding his attention, not drowning everything else out as it
had before. So little of the potion had actually reached him, he realized:
enough to quiet the lyrium’s song, but what effect would the same potion have
on his magic now that he wasn’t distracted by the lyrium? Frowning, he raised
the staff he had snatched from the rack, adding his left hand carefully to his
grip on it, and began to weave a familiar pattern in the air. It seemed to take
an eternity, and all the while Fenris and the magister wove a pattern of their
own, blade to blade, and what Thayer was up to was yet to be seen.

And then the vines came. Slowly at first; his magic was there, but
not entirely unaffected by the magebane, and he was a bit rusty after hours
sundered from his mana, but finally the vines came. He called them from the
ceiling, above where Licinius stood, or had been standing before his duel with
Fenris carried them halfway across the tower chamber. Metis bit at his lip,
coaxing, encouraging, convincing the vines to twine further that way,
no, then back this way again, keep growing, reach for it, reach for the wrists,
he needs his hands to cast…

At last, with a shriek of outrage, Licinius was hauled up into the
air by strong vines binding each wrist and shrinking back to stretch them over
his head, leaving the magister dangling from the ceiling, kicking out at Fenris
as his staff fell from his hands.

Fenris dodged the kick easily and swung back around to face the
magister. With a fierce smile he lit his lyrium and plunged his bare hand in to
grasp the magister’s beating heart.

For half a minute, they stood eye to eye, or nearly so, since the
magister had a few extra inches on Fenris with his feet swinging above the
floor. But the swinging had become barely a tremble as Licinius went as still
as possible, eyes bulging as Fenris squeezed.

Thayer, emerging from the shadows at last, approached with a
polite cough. Fenris narrowed his eyes as they met the magister’s, fire in the
elf’s matching fear in the mage’s, and finally he nodded, easing his grip on
Licinius’ heart.

“You took my father away from me once, before I was even born,”
Fenris growled at last, stretching up on his toes to glare more directly into
the magister’s eyes. “You very nearly took him away from me again today. Be
glad the Inquisitor came when he did, for if Metis had died here there would be
no mercy.”

~*~

Hawke,

It is done. With joy I write to tell you that we are finished with
this place. Thayer has the magister who was behind these experiments in custody
on the ship. The rest of the Venatori and their red warriors are dead or in the
Fog Warriors’ hands, which they may find the less desirable fate.

The fight has taken its toll on us all, but we are alive. Thayer
and Varric are well. Metis…well, I shall write more in the morning, perhaps,
before the ships bear us away from this cursed shore, but for now he and I both
need rest. But we live, and you will see him soon enough, for he must return
with us to Skyhold.

I see the ravens have brought your letters while I was within Ath
Velanis. Their scent, your scent, consoles me but I wait till morning to read
them, as well, for I am truly wearier than I can remember being in years, and
that includes the nights Malcolm kept us both up with his demands.

I will read your news and send you more of mine tomorrow, but for
now the raven bears you this promise: tomorrow the ships bring us home.

Yours, always,

Fenris

Warriors Such As: Chapter 17

rannadylin:

I would have liked to make this a longer chapter buuuut it’s the end of a grading period and if I wait until the rest of the chapter is written it’ll be longer than I want before anything gets posted. So here’s…something! I’ll get them out of that fortress yet, but not today it seems!

Word count: 3413
Rating: PG for blood magic?
Fenris/F!Hawke
Summary: Reunions! Thayer gets the team back together and Caligo discovers someone she hadn’t expected to see again.

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

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 17
Wherein Fenris gets his
sword back

“Well, Shiny,” chuckled Varric as they stepped out of the
dungeons, “looks like we can check another objective off that list.”

At the far end of the hall, that objective glanced up from where
he was nudging a fallen Venatori with his toe, scowling as he reached for the
long axe pinned beneath the body. Fenris’ ears perked up at the dwarf’s voice
and his eyes widened at the sight of the Inquisitor and Varric at the dungeon
door.

Behind him, Metis, leaning against the wall, brightened and said,
“Inquisitor. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“No less are you two,” Thayer replied, bursting into a grin and
hurrying forward to pull Fenris into an impetuous hug, at which the elf
stiffened only slightly. Then he looked over the Inquisitor’s shoulder and
arched an eyebrow.

“Thayer,” Fenris asked, “since when do you carry a greatsword?”

“Since we came this way looking for you and found only your
weapon,” Thayer grinned. “It’s about time you showed up to claim it. Probably
would’ve overbalanced me if I’d had to fight my way to you.” He withdrew the
sword from its temporary sheath at his back and handed it over to Fenris with a
flourish. “Honestly, it’s a wonder anyone can walk straight carrying a weapon
like that.”

While Fenris reverently received the weapon and returned it to his
own back, Thayer turned to greet Metis with a hug as well, but the older elf
sucked in a pained breath at the pressure to his arm. Thayer stepped back,
chagrined at the sight of the bandages. “What happened to you?” he asked.

Keep reading


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