its_likealchemy | feels like we're given so little time ❧ rp for dramatic

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feels like we're given so little time ❧ rp for dramatic_timing

As far as beginnings go, its starts innocuously enough.

Two-thirds of the way up the mountain on their trek to the Temple of Sacred Ashes to join the Conclave, Hawke stops, turns and squints into the treeline that frames the road behind them. He stops, too, plants one foot on a rock at the edge of the cobble, pushing up onto his toes, and follows her gaze. When he sees nothing of interest, he looks up at her, frowning as she does. "Why do I feel like I'm missing the punchline of a really bad joke?"

"Well, they do usually go over your head," she responds absently, still staring, fingers twitching at her side as if she means to reach for her dagger. She stops, they both do, when Cassandra calls for them somewhere further down the road.

Letting out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding, Varric glances back at her before nudging Hawke's elbow with his. She looks back at him, if only for an instant, before turning her attentions back to the woods. He tries again, this time without the prodding -- it helps that, just before he starts, Cassandra bellows for them again. "I don't know if you heard our illustrious slave driver, but we might want to think about catching up before she starts getting stab happy again."

She looks back at him, plants one hand on the top of his head and twists lightly, as if to turn him around, back to Cassandra. Despite how short he is, it doesn't really work, but he gets the meaning all the same. "You'd best be off, then."

"I'm pretty sure she called for both of us."

"I'll catch up," she counters. "Tell her -- tell her I had to make a detour to the little rogue's privy."

Varric just continues to frown at her. "Should I even ask what your elven eyes see out there?"

"Probably nothing." She shrugs, reaches again for her dagger, this time pulling it free of its sheath on her back and takes a handful of steps back the way they came.

Stepping down off his perch, he turns but makes no motion to follow her. He trusts Hawke to take care of herself, knows that, if she does see something shady, she'll be able to get to it and stop it more effectively, more quietly without him and Bianca, but, "You get that those are kind of famous last words, right?"

"Oh, relax, Varric. What's the worst that could happen?"

Running into a horde of angry Templars springs to mind. As does the thought of blood mages, demons and / or the errant hungry bear, considering how far out of the city, any city they are, right now. He doesn't get to spout any of that off, however, if only because she's gone in all but the blink of an eye, disappearing off into the tress in only the briefest flashes of red and black. He exhales heavily, shakes his head and turns himself, already trying to decide what he's going to tell Cassandra when he catches up with her. He hopes Hawke realizes how much he loves her, considering how absolutely shitless the Seeker scares him.

---

What scares him more is what happens next.

They're almost to the camp just outside the Temple when the whole thing goes up in flames, green flames that knock him and Cassandra both square on their asses and suck all the air right out of the mountains, if only for an instant. When he gets his breath back and as he's staggering to his feet, he swears he hears a scream echo over their heads and a weird sort of dread settles over him. The fact that there's a giant hole in the sky, now, or the fact that he's pretty sure no one could have survived that probably doesn't help, but -- but in that instant, he thinks of Hawke.

She still hasn't caught up with them. What if whoever or whatever she was following got to the Temple before they did? What if she was at ground zero for whatever the hell that was? What if.

He glances to Cassandra, back on her feet now and one hand on her sword like its a medallion of Andraste, like it will somehow save her, and she looks back, her face pale, eyes haunted. He knows, somewhere in the pit of his stomach, that on top of everything else, she's had the same thought. He can see it on her face. He wishes he hadn't.

Dropping his eyes, turning his head, he stares off to one side for a long moment, his breathing heavy, hard, the Siege of Kirkwall reenacting itself in his chest. It takes him a moment to catch his breath and not lose his very bland, very beerless breakfast all over his boots, but when he does, he mutters a prayer to the Maker under his breath, steels his jaw and starts towards the Temple otherwise wordless. His distantly aware of Cassandra falling into step behind him. They don't talk but the memory of screaming rings in his ears.

---

"He says he can help."

"Songbird, unless he's the Maker Himself, I don't think a little bit of healing's going to fix this."

The words taste like poison on his lips, with Hawke's unconscious head bowed on his knees, he can't help but think this is it. The fact that she doesn't seem bruised or broken or bleeding helps; the fact that he can't get her to wake up even with the salts he's pulled out of his belt pouch, the fact that her breathing is shallow and broken, and her hand's glowing like a fucking torchlight, like the hole in the sky doesn't. He reaches for her fingers carefully and he, a dwarf, normally immune to such things, can feel it burning under her gloves before he even laces their fingers together. He gives up on the gesture, clencing his eyes shut tightly, a ward against the stinging there.

"If you would just let him -- " Leliana starts again. She stops when he shoots her a sudden, murderous look. Or when the elf steps forward. He's not really sure which it is and, quite honestly, he doesn't really care.

"Master Tethras, is it?" Baldy starts. He's a little hard pressed to come up with a better nickname, right now, not with his heart dying in his lap. He grunts in response, regardless, his attentions still set on Hawke. "Master Tethras, please. I have studied the old magics of the Fade in painful detail, so if anyone here is any position to help her, it would likely be me. At very least, it cannot hurt to try and I will not hurt her in doing so. You have my word."

"If she dies ... " If she dies, he'll bribe or threaten or -- whatever whoever he needs to to make sure the elf ends up on the wrong end of a headsman's axe. If him trying to help only kills her faster, he'll put a dozen explosive arrows through his head himself and watch him blow up like a bird grown fat on rice. The look he gives him when he finally raises his eyes reflects that and the elf doesn't falter. Instead, he just holds his gaze for a moment, nodding almost imperceptibly, and then lowers himself to Hawke's side.

He lets him take her, pushing shakily to his feet. He wants to be here, be at her side, for better or worse, as the elf works on her, but his feet carry him away of their own volition.

"I need some air," he grumbles to no one in particular. Never mind the fact that they're already outside. Cassandra and her men, ringing the space around them, part to let him pass.

---

"If I were to tell you she was completely out of the woods, I would be lying," Solas starts from behind him. He actually thought to ask the mage's name at some point, last night, after they'd moved Hawke back to the Chantry at Haven. "But she is stable and, I would think, gaining strength. She dreams, now, no longer merely unconscious, and her breathing has righted itself."

"Does Cassandra have any idea who did this, yet?" he asks lowly, as if raising his voice might wake Hawke up. Even if Solas' assessment bringing him some measure of hope, he doubts it. She may not be completely out of it, anymore, but she still hasn't woken up for anything. Just thrashed around a lot, worryingly, for what he's seen so far.

"No, but we may have more immediate concerns. What Seeker Pentagast and her associates have named the Breach -- "

"Can wait until I find out who did this and put an arrow in his eye."

Solas falls silent at that, apparently contenting himself to watching the both of them.

---

On the morning of the third day, an angry mob, pitchforks and all, show up at the doors of the Chantry, where Varric has been sitting, dismissed from Hawke's side by Solas while he furthers his attempts at bringing her around. Sons and daughters of the men and women lost at the Conclave, they hold Hawke responsible, the "Champion" of Kirkwall behind another act of terrorism, and demand retribution. He pulls Bianca from his lap, where she's been resting as he cleaned her gears idly, picks up a bolt and with a casual flourish, loads it in.

He fires a single shot at the feet of the horde, a challenge, a dare. They disperse in an instant, flailing in all directions, not having expected any actual resistance. They don't come back.

---

That night, as the day sinks into felfire-green twilight and fires begin to spring up around the camp, Cassandra finds him. He's half-expecting tables to be flipped, books to be skewered, something, anything, in response to him having all but openly attacked the locals. Much to his surprise, however, she simply sits down across the doorway from him and pulls her knees up to her chest so she can rest her elbows on them.

She's silent for a long time, albeit not uncomfortably so, before, "Solas tells me Hawke will be awake by tomorrow."

Less than a dozen words, and he feels all the anger he's been carrying around, all the terror, unravel, the knot that's been winding around and around in his heart and head both gone in an instant. He closes his eyes, fingers steepling in front of his mouth in a gesture of prayer as he silently thanks the Maker. He lets out a shuddering, half-frozen breath between them before he drops his hands. "Guess I should stop sitting out here on my ass, then, huh?"

"I do not think she would be terribly happy with me if I allowed her dwarf to freeze to death," she says by way of agreement.

He exhales a hysterical sigh of a laugh, relief, albeit cautious relief, making him giddy. "So you do have a sense of humor."

"On occasion." She flashes him a brief, thin smile, watching him get to his feet before she begins again. "There will be many questions she will have to answer, when she wakes up, and much for us to do beyond, but Varric, I wanted to say ... " He looks to her, expectantly, and she falters for an instant as she tries to untangle her words. "For your sake, I am glad she will be alright."

"So am I, Seeker," he breathes, turning to head inside. "So am I."

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Varric does, if only with a grunt. After that, however, and as ordered, he lapses into relative silence (relative, discounting the song he seems to be half-mumbling, half-humming under his breath) and focuses on killing demons. If he strafes a little closer to Hawke, when he notices the issues she's having and as he's firing into the swarm, he'd deny it, and it's over fast enough after that, anyway.

"Are we good to chit-chat now, Seeker, or are Chuckles and I still banished to opposite corners?"

Cassandra's only response is a disgusted noise as she re-sheaths her sword.

"A moment, Master Tethras, and I'll be glad to have that chat. We still have other concerns," Solas offers as he returns his staff to its place on his back and turns toward Hawke. "Lady Hawke," he begins, only for Hawke to wave a hand at him, impatiently.

"Hawke. Just Hawke."

"Hawke, then," he agrees. "We stand under one of the tears into the Fade allowing demons through into our world. I believe the mark on your hand may serve as a tool to close them. If I might..." he says, holding out a hand for hers.

Hawke hesitates a moment before she shakes herself a little and holds her left hand out to him. "I don't guess you can make anything worse."

Either the demons or the pain still creeping up her arm.

Solas takes another step closer to wrap his fingers around her wrist and then turns, holding her hand, palm up, toward the crystals overhead. For a moment, nothing happens - and then the mark pulses, green light shooting from Hawke's hand to the tear in the sky above them. Though it only takes a few seconds, it feels much longer before there's another burst of light and the crystals shatter, the shards dissipating before they can reach Hawke and Solas.

"Well, that was -- " Varric starts, stops, after the rift is closed. If he seems at a loss for words, it's probably because he is. Mark the day on your calendar, kids. "Not that I'm not grateful we're not going to spend the rest of the day ass-deep in demons, but ... "

Shit, he really doesn't understand this magic crap.

Hawke will as soon as she gets over it, because that was weird. She's not supposed to be able to do shit like that. That's way more Bethany or her father's territory. "Just when I thought this all couldn't get any weirder," she says by way of agreeing with Varric. Because that was weird.

Also it seems to have eased the pain from the mark like a hot bath will do for cramped muscles. It's still sore, and she's still aware of it, but it's better if only for now.

Solas just looks faintly amused as he turns to face Varric. "As you were saying?" he prompts.

"Right, yeah," Varric starts, shaking his head as if to clear it. It doesn't work as well as he was hoping, which probably explains why it takes him a beat to continue. "That thing kept kind of -- going off, after she woke up. It wasn't pretty."

That thing obviously being the mark.

"It still reacts to the breach," Solas returns, "and will continue to do so while the breach remains open. Closing the rift at the ruins of the Temple may stabilize it for a time."

Hawke sighs, closing her hand and reopening it gingerly. "So I suppose I'm stuck with my own personal light show, then?"

"Unfortunately," he returns, dryly, "but I will do what I can for its effects on you." He glances at Varric, briefly, the promise for him as much as for Hawke.

Varric recognizes that that promise is as much for him as it is Hawke and he nods, appreciative. A moment of silence follows, in which he lets out a breath and glances in the direction of the Temple, and then, "Well, we should probably get moving, in that case."

"That was where we were heading," Cassandra puts in with a nod.

Hawke follows his glance toward the Temple and then looks back at Cassandra, expecting her to start leading the way up the mountain. "What's the rest of the situation like up here?"

"I wish I could tell you," Cassandra answers, making a face. A moment of pause follows, and then yes, she moves to take point leading the way up the mountain even as she continues, "We know that everyone who attended the Conclave is dead, everyone except you, and that there are demons abound, but not much else. Commander Cullen and Leliana have set up a camp further along the path, and both have sent their people to bring back reports, but last I spoke to either of them, neither had anything useful yet. It is -- chaos."

"We're good at chaos," Hawke offers in response as a token comment - though it doesn't quite have the levity she means for it to. She's possibly still too tired and sore for it, really, as much as she's trying to ignore it. That she was the only one to survive is another matter, too - it isn't the first time she survived when she felt like others deserved it more. "I assume this one and the rift at the Temple aren't the only ones."

"According to what reports that have been sent back, no." She doesn't particularly consider that useful, however. Good to know, maybe, to see how far-reaching this whole mess is, but it's just another problem on top of the stack of them they already have and, at the moment, the least of their worries. She's far more concerned about the giant hole in the sky -- and maybe if they get rid of that, the smaller tears won't be a problem. Maybe they'll seal themselves, since the Breach was what caused them in the first place.

"Tears are appearing all over Fereldan and Orlais. Nevarra, Antiva and Rivain so far seem to be unaffected, but that may change if we cannot seal the source of it all." She gestures to the sky, as if it isn't obvious what she's talking about.

Hawke's mostly trying to gather information - and to distract herself from her more personal issues. It's how she deals - she needs to keep moving, find out what she can do next, where she should go next. The instant she stops is when she starts freaking out.

Which is why Cassandra has all her attention as she follows the group up the path. "If there's a way to shut that thing down, we'll do it," she promises.

"Seeing as how that thing on your hand managed to close the first one, I think we actually might have a chance of a snowball in Tevinter," Varric puts in. A beat and then he adds, "Never mind the fact that those are pretty famous last words."

"The mark is still our best option to close the rifts," Solas puts in from behind them. "Though tempting the fates may want to wait until after we've gotten back to the Temple."

Yes, that's a joke. No one pass out.

No. No, hold on a second. "Was that an honest attempt at a joke, Chuckles?"

Solas's voice is still as even as ever. "I can't let you do all the work in bringing some measure of levity to our situation, Master Tethras."

Jokes can happen. Especially when he knows what Varric's state of mind has been like the last few days - and how Hawke is likely still feeling.

"And ruined it," Varric answers, breathing out a sigh with a shake of his head. "You were supposed to keep going."

Despite his protests, he does, however, appreciate what Solas is trying to do.

"I was," Solas complains, and Hawke snorts.

"Tough crowd," she suggests - and whether it's meant for Solas or Varric, she's not even sure.

"Needs a little work, in that case."

"If the three of you would contain yourselves for a moment," Cassandra starts, glancing back at them, "we are almost there." True to her word and just across the bridge they've started over, Leliana and a man dressed in Chantry robes are leaned over a table arguing. Cassandra can only imagine what about. Chancellor Roderick is a disagreeable little man from what little she knows of him.

Hawke sobers - and then wrinkles her nose at the sight of the chancellor. "Oh, this is going to go well," she offers dryly, in case anyone forgot how much of a grudge most of the Chantry had against her before this whole thing started.

Not that they didn't have reason, but.

"Worse, I would imagine, than you may expect," Cassandra says, slowing her step a little so she can issue a warning before they get there. "Roderick is leading the charge of those demanding your head on a plate. He holds you responsible for what happened at the Conclave and Varric and perhaps even myself as an accessory for protecting you while you were unconscious. I would have a care what you say to him. He would certainly love more fuel for the fire."

"Well, this just keeps getting better and better," Varric breathes, shaking his head.

"Must be Tuesday," Hawke returns brightly - and then, before Cassandra can so much as work up another scowl, promises, "I will try not to make anything worse." She doesn't exactly have high hopes that it won't get worse, but there's nothing like the power of a little positive thinking.

Looking perhaps a touch more sour than before, Cassandra nods all the same, and picks up the pace again, leading them into the camp. Leliana spots them first, holds up a hand to silence Roderick and whatever tirade he's in the middle of, now, and then summons up a smile for Hawke. "It's good to see you back on your feet."

She pauses, turning to the Chancellor. "Chancellor Roderick, this is -- "

"I know who she is." He points to Cassandra. "As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I order you to take this criminal to Val Royeux for execution." Apparently Cassandra wasn't kidding about him wanting her head on a plate.

Hawke returns Leliana's smile, starting to actually respond - and then cutting herself off when Roderick interrupts. "You're not the top of the list for people who would prefer my head to be separated from the rest of me, but it might be best if we wait until we deal with that." She gestures vaguely in the direction of the breach.

"For all we yet know, you caused that," the Chancellor spits. Cassandra makes a frustrated noise and glances back at Solas. She figures he can (and would probably like to) tell him just how wrong he is.

feels like we're given so little time ❧ rp for dramatic_timing

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