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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Hawke would approve of his assessment anyway - but for now, she does as expected and falls in behind Cassandra. She does glance back as they head across the bridge, looking for Varric and Solas. "Another adventure," she offers dryly to the former, when she does find him.

"No offense, Hawke," Varric starts as he moves to catch up with him, "but I'm pretty sure I'm getting tired of the word adventure." He expects she'll start tossing synonyms at him just to be an ass. It's what he would do.

"'Escapade'?" Hawke supplies dutifully. "'Venture' is a bit close. Oh, 'undertaking'."

"Smart ass," Varric counters. "Wise-ass, though, that -- might be a little too similar, too." A beat. "Oh, oh, saucebox."

Ahead of them, Cassandra groans.

It's your own fault, Cassandra, just remember that. "'Saucebox'?" Hawke returns, raising her eyebrows at him. "Really?"

"I take it you don't approve?"

Look. Blame the thesaurus the narration used.

"Not your best effort," Hawke agrees, "though I'm lacking in any suggestions to replace it, so it'll do for now."

Hooray for being the best at pretending normalcy in the face of the world falling apart around them.

"I'll get back to you when I come up with something better," he promises.

And -- yeah, that's more or less what's going on here. In the face of the Breach and the fact that there might be a dragon up here somewhere, despite his thoughts to the contrary, and what happened to Hawke and the Conclave in the first place? He feels they all need it. Which might be why Cassandra really hasn't told them to shut up, yet, despite her internally regretting her entire life.

"Braggart?" Solas supplies from the back of their party, sounding a little like he might just be thinking aloud. "Though that implies more bravado."

Still, Hawke glances back over her shoulder at the mage, looking amused. "Also I feel as though I would need to be a pirate to use that one." Why it makes her think of Isabela, she's not entirely sure. Other than it being a good descriptor for the rogue.

"Considering the pirate we actually know, and the fact that, yes, that does, in fact, imply bravado -- " He glances back at Solas, amused, himself. " -- that's probably not too far off the mark."

Solas returns the amused look - he has read The Tale of the Champion, so yes, he knows.

"Do we have to actually call her 'Admiral' now, by the way? Because I don't want to encourage it if I don't have to," Hawke complains, though there's no actual heat behind it, and most of her attention is still on where she's putting her feet.

"I vote no," Varric answers, turning his own attention back to where he's going. He'll still keep up on his end of the conversation, of course, but he'd really rather not fall on his ass. Particularly not now, when the footing is starting to get precarious. He has visions of ending up a dwarf-sized snowball, and -- no.

"Seconded," Hawke adds. "And the motion carries."

To Cassandra, she directs, "Do you know how farther we need to go?"

She won't actually ask if they're there yet, but.

Varric hums, absently pleased, and then glances briefly to Cassandra. The Seeker sighs, taking the question as an are we there yet, and pauses briefly, if only to sight and gesture to a ladder hanging down off the mountain a few yards away. "Up there lies the remains of an old mining tunnel. Once we pass through it, it is only a short walk to the Temple."

A beat. "Assuming we are not eaten by the previously mentioned hypothetical dragon."

"Let's not give it any ideas by standing around," Hawke returns, pleased by the Seeker's response - she does have some kind of sense of humor, who'd've thought? -, and gestures toward the ladder, for the other woman to lead the way. She'll watch the ranged fighters' backs until they're at the top.

Cassandra snorts, shakes her head faintly and, as ordered, moves for the ladder. When she reaches the top of it, she takes a few steps away, so the others can join her up on the platform, and without looking back to make sure they will, peers into the cave. She swears she sees green light reflected on the walls, but it's hard to tell if that means anything -- it could just be light from the Breach shining in from one direction or the other.

Regardless, however, she draws her sword as she turns back to the group. "Stay on your guard."

Hawke follows suit, drawing her knives from their sheaths as Solas pulls his staff from its place on his back, magic already building along its length as Hawke moves up to join Cassandra. She peeks carefully around the corner, noticing the same light at the same time the anchor flares, and she turns her hand so the others can see it, to know there's a rift ahead without having to say anything.

Varric, too, mirrors them, pulling Bianca off of his back. He glances down her length almost absently, not aiming at anything just yet, simply going through the motions, and then glances to Hawke. It wouldn't take someone from the smith caste to realize what the light at her fingertips means, and he grimaces, bites back a exasperated sigh, and raises his crossbow again. This time, he might actually be trying to sight something down her, however.

Cassandra really doesn't blame him, frees her shield from her back, and -- well, it's not long before they spot the first of the demons. And they spot the group. Immediately, she moves to put herself between monsters and teammates.

Blue light flares as Cassandra and Hawke move forward to engage the first of the demons as Solas casts barriers around the party before he begins casting in earnest, tossing magic through gaps as he finds them.

Hawke darts between the demons, lashing out with her knives and keeping out of Cassandra's way. She's aware of the rift at her back, and she works her way toward it.

Varric circles the edges of the fight, putting arrows in anything that tries to creep up on any of them and, like Solas, anything else he can get a clear shot on between them. If they were fighting humans (or perhaps more accurately, anything other than demons, mindless and single-purposed), he'd be looking to shoot down anything or anyone that tried to escape the melee for whatever reason, but in this case, it's not a worry. He's not sure that makes him feel better, considering demons, but thankfully, he doesn't have much time to dwell on it.

Sooner rather than later, thankfully, the assault subsides, the demons dead, and Varric lowers Bianca just a hair. "Now might be a good time to close that thing, Hawke."

"You don't have to say it twice," Hawke returns, already returning one knife to its sheath to free her hand so she can hold it up to the rift, gritting her teeth a little as the connection is made, as green light again streams from her palm to the break above her. It doesn't take long before it closes with a whoomph, and she shakes her hand out a little as she sheaths her other knife and turns back to the group.

"Well. That was just as exciting as the others."

"Except now you don't look like you're going to die afterwards," Varric points out. He's not sure if that's worrying or a relief. Obviously, it's good that it doesn't seem to be keeping her in agony anymore, but.

"Something I'm personally a fan of," she returns, even as, yeah, she gets what Varric's not saying. She's not a mage, and as much as she has no problem with mages, suddenly having any kind of magic is weird, to say the least.

"You do seem to be adjusting to it," Solas puts in as he joins them. "We can see how it is affecting you more clearly after we return to Haven." He knows Varric would probably rather he do it now, but they do still need to get to the Temple.

"First, though, there is the matter of the Breach to deal with." Which is to say: let's move on, kids. Which they do. The scouts are found, not eaten by a dragon but detained by more demons, said demons are dealt with, and then they're at the Temple. The narration apologizes for fast-forwarding, but really, writing about fighting demons is bound to get really old, really quick. Just as Evelyn. Who is Lady Not Appearing in This Verse -- or at least not as Inquisitor.

Anyway.

Leliana is waiting for them, when they arrive, along with what parts of Cullen's forces who made it through the charge, and one of the scouts they rescued, come to bring her word of their survival. She turns away from him when she catches them out of the corners of her eyes, however, and lets out a breath, unabashedly relieved. "You made it." A beat. "And our friend here tells me you rescued our people."

"We ran into a couple more rifts, nearly got eaten by a few more demons, no big deal," Hawke deflects. "I'm worried about that, now." She turns to look at the breach and rift below it, abruptly unsure about their earlier plan.

"This rift was the first, and it is the key," Solas supplies as he turns back to the group. "Seal it, we may also seal the breach."

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

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