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It was a normal day as any other. For Hawke, anyhow. Well, there was no normalcy what’s so ever, really. But, again, for Hawke, it started OUT normal. Moving on, said heroine was just rising for the day. She put on her favorite armor, which she had remarkably attained from slaying a high dragon. She’d found it within the dragon’s treasure horde. The mage turned to view herself in the mirror of her dresser, and after checking that every buckle and snap was in place and secure, she brushed her auburn hair out, and braided it down her back. She took the staircase down two steps at a time. Bodahn greeted her with a hearty, “Good morning, Milady! You seem cheerful this morning!” This did the dwarfs soul good. After her mother’s death, she took the loss harder than anyone really knew. To the common citizen of Kirkwall, the Lady Hawke seemed charming, sharp-witted, strong, and fierce. In reality, her heart was kind and she cared for people. Always dropping her own plans in favor of helping the nearest person to grab her good will’s attention. And when her mother had died, she had shed her sarcastic, uncaring veneer in front of the dwarven manservant and uncle. She cried, like a child, in the lobby of her mansion. Falling to her knees, she had cried into her hands, sobs wracking her body. Her uncle had been there waiting for the lady and her mother to come home. When he saw her break down, he knew. Knew the worst had happened.
For the first time in the years Hawke had known her Gamlen, he proved he actually cared. Taking a knee, he put his arm over her shoulders in an attempt at a comforting embrace, and pulled her close. Looking on, he said nothing. Just stared at the wall, fighting the tears that threatened to overwhelm him. He might not have actually let a few of them slip, had Hawke not been displaying her own unusual emotional outburst. Bodahn watched in sadness, himself crying unabashedly. Even Sandal, not really understanding, but still sad all the same, grabbed his adoptive father’s hand with worried and nervous glances to the others.
That night, Fenris visited her. “I don’t know what to say, but I am here,” the elf murmurs, standing at the foot of her bed.
“Just say something, anything,” Hawke begs.
Walking over to where she sits on the bed, he takes a seat beside her, “They say death is only a journey. Does that help?” He says after pondering it for a moment, struggling to console her.
“I suppose they say you go back to The Maker when you die,” her voice struggles to remain level. Fenris places his hand atop hers resting on her thigh. It always left him slightly startled how she saved her kindest words and voice for him. Never being a smartass, like she was usually, save for when they joked.
Fenris nods, “I’ve heard that, too.” He looks up from his hand resting upon hers to look at Hawke’s sinking expression. She was staving tears, at this point. “To be honest, I see no point in filling these moments with empty talk.” He didn’t like the image of her tear streaked face, or the quiet sniffles that escaped her. It still haunted him to this day. To see such a strong person crumble. Something she never, ever did. He felt somewhat special. Being the only of her companions to see her in such a vulnerable state.
Three weeks went by in a dim, unfeeling haze. Hawke felt like she was living life underwater. Everything was a warbled, colorless version of before, and the saddest part? She didn’t care. She felt like every emotion was ripped from her. Nothing would ever be the same, and often visited Fenris’ mansion to get drunk with him. And he easily accepted her company. Liking to drink his own feelings away, often. She wasn’t really all that close to her mom, but she still loved her. All the sacrifices her mother gave for the family after her father had died. She was the rock of it all until Hawke came of an age old enough to take over. When Bethany had died, it was horrible. She had been so young. But, she’d gotten over it during her year of indentured servitude to the thieves guild. Toiling away any feelings she had into her work and providing for her family. Deflecting any asshole statement from Carver, or just ignoring it altogether. Finally, she felt a little bit of her life returning to a more cheery adventure when she’d met Varric. A handsome and savvy dwarf.
He and his brother Bartrand, were planning an exhibition to the Deep Roads. They had learned of an ancient and forgotten thaig, filled with loot and artifacts a’ plenty, if what they were expecting to be true. However, for Bartrand to agree to be partners, Varric told Hawke she’d need to get a hefty amount of coin and a safe way into the Deep Roads that wasn’t too infested with dark spawn.
“How am I supposed to find one of those?” Hawke had asked.
With a wink and tilt of his head bidding her to follow, he began to explain just how. And that’s how she met Anders, and helped him, well if you really called it helping, break into the Chantry at night to rescue a fellow mage. He was supposed to be turned Tranquil, and since Anders said the only way he’d give them maps to the Deep Roads was if they helped, she made it seem she had no choice. Though she would help a fellow mage anytime. So, after agreeing to help the runaway Grey Warden, they went to the Chantry. And to Anders’ horror, his friend was already gone. The Templars then ambushed them, only to be cut down quickly by Varric, Carver, Hawke, and a glowing blue Anders. They quickly questioned him on this, and to Hawke’s deep interest, Varric’s surprise, and Carver’s displeasure, found out he had bonded his spirit with a spirit of Justice.
Next, Hawke met a swash-buckling pirate named Isabela. She had a swagger in her walk, which made her full hips sway in grand way. Or so Hawke and Varric thought. Aveline, who had been with Hawke since escaping Ferelden, didn’t trust her, and Anders was too distracted by Hawke to notice. When Isabela asked for help, Hawke quickly agreed. (And not because of the way the pirate captain had winked at her with her sultry brown eyes.) After helping her out with some pesky business, Isabela decided to stay on with Hawke. “At least for a little while,” she’d told her.
Traveling to the Dalish camp just outside of Kirkwall, just near Sundermount. She was to deliver the famous Witch of the Wilds amulet to the Keeper there. After the Keeper directed her and her companions to go up the mountain a little ways, they were to meet a young Keeper-in-training named Merrill. And after completing whatever task was before them, they were to take her with them. Hawke agreed, feeling pity for how much her entire clan wanted her gone. Not long after that she slightly regretted her choice after discovering her new mage companion was a Blood Mage. Without hiding her contempt at the discovery, she responded to Merrill’s assurances that the demon merely wanted to help, with a sarcastic comment about how, “The demon will be more than pleased to help you to your death.” She didn’t say anything more, and after the quest was finished, with an even more surprising discovery that Flemeth had been within, they returned home- with Merrill, to Anders’ dismay, and Aveline’s grumbling. Varric thought she was cute, and coined her nickname: Daisy.
One early morning, Hawke was strolling leisurely by herself through Hightown. She had no work, for once, and had the day off. Her ears pricked at the sound of a pair arguing in front of the Chantry’s board. A woman, who she recognized as the Grand Cleric, was reprimanding a man in sleek white armor trimmed with gold. A bow and arrows were strapped to his back. Hawke guessed he was a brother of the Chantry, well, the Grand Cleric called him “brother”, so she assumed. Hawke moved closer to hear, making sure to act unassuming to the two. From the corner of her eye, she watched the two, inspecting the man even further. He had slicked back hair in a rich auburn, which juxtaposed pleasingly to his ocean blue eyes. Said gaze shot the Grand Cleric a piercing stare as she told him off about whatever they were discussing. Soon after, they both left, leading Hawke to inspect the board they were just in front of. She’d seen him post something to it, then saw the Grand Cleric try to tear it down, before the man had sent an arrow flying to firmly set it back. Upon inspection, she found that it was a bounty for some Flint Company thugs. They’d murdered his entire family. Without any delay, she set out to avenge the brother’s family. After wiping out the offenders, she returned to the Chantry to inform him. His name was Sebastian Vael, and he was the surviving prince of Starkhaven, even though he now served the Chantry. He was so moved by Hawke’s help, he later became part of his team after helping him unearth the truth to his family’s death.
The last to join her party was an elf named Fenris. He was an ex-slave on the run from his ex-master. Hawke met him after being sent on a wild goose chase of a job. One empty chest, and a small army of slavers slayed, and she was introduced to the elf after he’d literally ripped the heart out of some guy’s chest. Glowing white-blue tattoos covered his body, which he explained to be pure lyrium burned into his flesh against his will. Fenris requested she join him to chase down his ex-master, which he discovered may still be staying in a mansion in Hightown. “How can I say no to killing more slavers,” she’d responded, a snarky grin on her face. Which caused a aggressive smirk to grow on Fenris’ own. He liked the way Hawke thought. Too bad his previous master was nowhere to be found, even after slashing their way through several demons and shades. To make matters worse, when Hawke came outside to find Fenris after the battle, he was none too pleased to find she was a mage. However, Hawke, with her charming ways, was able to allay Fenris’ distrust, if only a bit. Even slipping a flirt in there. The elf had given a tense chuckle in response, blushing slightly. Which caused Anders to frown in discontentment, Isabela to cluck with laughter, and Carver to kick his sister in the back of her leg with an aggravated grunt.
And thus, Hawke’s merry band stood at seven very unique, and very close friends. Eight if you counted Carver. But she certainly didn’t after he joined the Templars, of all things! Each loved and respected her in their own ways. Although if the way Anders and Fenris glared at each other said anything, they loved her a bit differently than the rest. And, to be fair, Isabela also had a bit of an affinity with her, but that was for entirely different reasons than being in love with Hawke, if her stares said anything.
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After lunch, Hawke bid a farewell to Bodahn and Sandal from the front door. Saying she’d be back late, and to wrap her dinner up for when she returned. Her father’s staff on her back, Andraste’s form carved into the head in golden metal, she made her way to the Hanged Man, where she was to meet her group of friends for a drink and a game of cards.
Once she made it to the second floor where Varric’s palatial suite was, she found all of her friends talking amongst themselves. Everyone had ale ore wine except for Sebastian, who simply drank water. Isabela was the first to notice her, and patted the empty space between her and Varric. “Hey there, sweet thing. Come cop a seat,” and with a suggestive wink she added, “and feel free to cop a feel.” After sitting, Hawke simply shook her head with a roll of her brilliant peridot eyes.
Varric slapped her on the shoulder, “Good to see you, Hawke.” He held a deck of cards out to her, “Your turn to deal.”
Making quick work of shuffling the cards, as Fenris and Isabela watched closely to make sure she didn’t hide any cards, she dealt them out to each of her companions. “Alight, you all know the rules to Diamondback, and if I catch any of you cheating, Isabela, Varric, Merrill,” she called them out, “I’ll scorch you into a crisp.”
Isabela stuck her tongue out teasingly, Varric grumbled his assent, although she knew he’d find a way to cheat anyway, and Merrill pouted, crying, “I only did it that once after Isabela lied to me and told me that was how you win the game!”
“It is, kitten,” Isabela cooed.
Sebastian just shook his head, leaning over to Aveline and whispering, “How have we gotten ourselves wrapped up with these hooligans?” Although there was a warm glow to his eyes, and a smile playing the corner of his lips. Aveline simply shrugged, whispering something along the lines of, “I’ve been asking myself that for years,” back.
Varric won the first round, Hawke shouting about him cheating, because she would have won otherwise. After Isabela calmed her down, the next round started. Fenris one that one, then Varric again, Fenris pulled the next two, and Hawke finally one the most recent. Anders shuffled the cards, as they were about to set up another round. That was when Isabela, half drunk, asked Hawke a very, in retrospect, stupid question.
“Hey, hic, Hawke,” she slurred, “What’s the awesomest magic trick ya can do??”
With a raised brow, and an impish grin, she responded with, “You’d be surprised.”
Anders’ interest was peaked at this, as Isabela snickered to herself. “What would that be,” the renegade Warden inquired.
“Do I have a volunteer?” Hawke announced grandly.
To everyone’s intense disbelief, Fenris raised his hand, “I do.”
Everyone’s jaw was on the floor. All except Hawke who just looked at the tattooed elf with a grin that would put any of Isabela’s mischievous smirks to shame. “Very well,” Was all Hawke said.
Hawke stood, gesturing with a crook of her finger, for Fenris to follow her to the area between the table and door. He followed her instructions, as the others looked on with a mixture of curiosity, discomfort, and repugnance.
“You can still back out, Fenris,” Hawke warned.
Fenris gave her a confident simper, “I have no intention of bowing out like a coward.”
She shrugs, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
A warm golden mana begins to glow in shimmering and sparkling wisps in her hands, gathering in size. Sweat beads on the mage’s forehead as she exerts herself. With a glance over to the others, all on the edge of their seat, she whips the spell onto Fenris. The magic envelopes his body, the same golden aura covering her own. They both fall to the floor, limp for a few moments, until Hawke groans and brings a hand to her head. “Venhedis…” she swears in Tevene.
Just across the floor, Fenris sits up on his knees, groaning as well. “Well, that went better than expected. And I didn’t expect it to go at all.” Fenris said with an unusual lilt to his voice. At that same moment, a gasp was heard from Hawke. “What the hell!”
The elf sitting across from her simply snickered. It was familiar to…to tutting laugh. “What in Andraste’s ass have you done to me,” the mages eyes snap up to her elven companion.
“Simple really,” the ex-slave turned to his companions, “If you’re lost, we switched bodies.”
An eruption of laughs ripped from Isabela and Anders’ mouths at this revelation. Varric quickly joined them, choking on his own guffaws. Merrill looked at the two on the ground in awe, and Aveline and Sebastian stared in horror.
“Hawke” looked at them and then to “Fenris” with wide eyes. “You didn’t,” her voice uncharacteristically low.
A wicked grin spread on “Fenris’” face, “I warned you, didn’t I?”
“How long?!”
The elf’s head cocked to the side in question.
“How long ‘til it wears off!!” Her voice bellowed, rising to a volume none had ever heard the mages voice reach, while its owner used it.
He laughs, “Oh… About fifteen minutes, give or take.”
Isabela finally calms down enough to shout over to Fenris/Hawke, “You ought to get naked, Hawke, and see what his good bits look like!!”
If her grin a minute ago had been feral, this current one was absolutely savage. “Oh Isabela, you DO have the best ideas, my girl.”
“Don’t you dare, Hawke,” her own voice warned, with a livid glare. Biting his lip, “Fenris” reached down for his pants, about to take a peek. “Hawke!!” The real Fenris was having none of it, and reached out with Hawke’s hands to stop his own from pulling back the leather of his pants.
At that moment, the golden force engulfed the two again; they both collapsed, again; and Hawke awoke first, again. “Damn,” she swore, “it wore off at the worst time possible.” She pouted, as Isabela also gave a disappointed whine. Varric was still trying to catch his breath, laughing so hard he grabbed at his sides in pain. Sebastian and Aveline merely looked at her with cross expressions. Anders was none too happy, himself, at knowing Hawke wanted to see the elf’s “good bits”. And Merrill still had that look of amazement on her face.
Finally, Fenris rose from the ground, and stood immediately. “Hawke,” his gravelly timbre echoed with ferocity.
Looking up sheepishly from where she sat with her legs splayed out beneath her, she greeted him, “Yes, my dear, sweet Fenris?” She laid the sweetness on thick.
“You ought to start running,” he all but growled.
“Oh,” she chuckled nervously, before jumping up and grabbing her staff leaning against the wall near the room’s door, and making a mad dash out of the Hanged Man, Fenris hot on her heels.
“So,” Varric said, finally having regained his composure. He slicked back some stray strands of hair that had escaped his ponytail, “Whose game for another round of Diamondback?”