#i wonder if the story is ever going to address the elf extinction... it makes me really sad to think about

[celiaelise]

Just watched the newest Frieren! The first half was so sweet!!! 🥰🥰🥰

also it's so funny whenever Fern gets mad at Frieren, cause it's supposed to be like a teenage girl arguing with her mom, but I can't help but imagine it's, like, baby version. Frieren does not get riled up, and Fern gets frustrated the same way a toddler does... like, you know they're not REALLY saying anything hurtful.

Serie makes me SO mad!!! She's so rude for NO REASON!!! Maybe it goes back to what she and Flamme discussed in an earlier ep, that Serie is a product of wartime, and thus values ruthlessness most? But I think it's also just some personal issue with her... like, can you just be nice? Have you ever had an actual friend? When's the last time you laughed out of pure joy? Don't you get bored of just being the best and reminding people that you're the best, every day?? MAYBE if you weren't such a jerk all the time, you would realize what other people see in this whole "getting to know each other" thing!

I guess she's meant to be a foil to Frieren in this way? But something about her specific brand of disregard for others irks me in such a way that it's difficult to consider narrative context.

It's not even about her failing everyone! I mean, that did seem pointless, but I guess it's her magical classification agency, so she can do that if she wants. It does seem pretty ridiculous to fail Frieren though, given that everyone knows she's more powerful than everyone except Serie herself. You'd think that might call the institution's credibility into question. Also, especially ridiculous to do it just because of their personal history. Like, she only judged Frieren that way because of the knowledge she had of her past; if they'd never met before, she probably would've passed her.

Anyway, hashtag Serie Be Nice Challenge 🙄

Oh, i did notice that Serie seems to be on the shorter side, similar to Frieren. I wonder if that's a quality of elves in this universe? Interesting, if so!

[pikapeppa]

Fenris/f!Hawke and the Inquisition: Disagree

Chapter 24 of Lovers In A Dangerous Time (i.e. Fenris the Inquisitor) is up on AO3!

In which the crew finally heads out to the Western Approach, disagreements are had, and Iron Bull gets to kill a dragon. 

Read here on AO3; ~9400 words.

*********************

“Nope,” Varric panted. “Not gonna happen.”

“Oh come on,” Hawke wheedled. “If you learned to ride, then you wouldn’t have to tromp through the desert like this.” She shot a pointed look at Varric’s feet, which he was dragging effortfully through the endless sand of the Western Approach.

He shook his head and continued to slog his way up the dune. “I’m not learning to ride one of those giant nugs, Hawke. There’s no way.”

“Why not?” she complained. “They’re the perfect mount for you! They look friendly, but they’re vicious as hell when you provoke them. Just like you.” She batted her eyelashes at him.

Fenris frowned at her. “How would you know that the nuggalopes are vicious?”

She jerked a thumb at Blackwall. “He didn’t take enough sugar to the stables for all of them. Pickles knocked him down because she was jealous. Barely took her any effort.”

Blackwall harrumphed. “Now hang on there. I wasn’t expecting the damned battle nug to–”

“‘Pickles’?” Varric interrupted incredulously. “Is that… You named the giant nugs?”

“Of course,” Hawke said in surprise. “Dennet said I could.”

Varric raised his eyebrows, then chuckled and shook his head. “Of course he did.”

Hawke grinned and punched his shoulder. “What do you mean by that?”

Varric shot her a smirk. “That horsemaster is crotchety about the names of his horses. Then the Champion of Kirkwall walks into the stables, and he just lets you start naming the mounts?”

She widened her eyes and blinked. “I really don’t know what you mean.”

Fenris chuckled at her beguiling expression. “I suspect that is the exact face you wore when you asked to name the giant nugs.” He pinched her waist.

She squeaked with laughter and slapped his hand away. “All right, fine, there may have been some sweet-talking. But he was just going to give them boring alphabetical names! Albert, Bernard, Christopher… blech. I couldn’t let that stand.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “But your own mabari’s name is hardly original.”

Carver sighed. “Oh, here we go…”

Hawke gasped. “Have I never told you how Toby got his name?”

“I don’t think so, no,” Fenris said in surprise.

Hawke clapped her hands. “Oh! Well, this was back in Lothering. I was in the yard doing some fool thing when I heard yelping in the woods across the stream. It sounded like a dog in pain, so I went to find out what the fuss was about, and what do I find but this precious mabari puppy–”

“He was already at least twenty pounds, Rynne,” Carver interjected.

Hawke shot him a dirty look. “...this precious mabari puppy crying and trying to fend off a bunch of bees that were attacking him. It looked like he romped right into a bee’s nest. So I cleared off all the bees with a little magic and I healed all his stings, and Carver carried him home–”

“Even though he was perfectly fine by that time,” Carver muttered.

Hawke elbowed him. “And when we got home, that’s when I realized that I got stung too. Right on my big toe.” She looked up at Carver with a grin. “It was about the size of a grapefruit, right?”

He snorted. “More like a plum, but yes. It wasn’t pretty.”

“It was disgusting,” Hawke said with relish. “Father got the sting out and healed it up right away, but I thought it was funny.” She stopped talking and smiled at Fenris and the others.

Varric raised an eyebrow. “So… wait. That’s… that’s the end of your story?”

“Yep,” Hawke said pertly.

Blackwall scratched his beard. “I don’t understand.”

Carver sighed loudly. “Toby. Toe-bee. That’s the point of the stupid story.”

Blackwall’s eyebrows rose, and Varric snorted. “Seriously, Hawke?”

She shrugged and tucked her hands in her pockets. “It’s a real name, isn’t it? But only those who are clever enough to ask about it get to know the whole story.” She bumped her shoulder against Fenris’s and smiled fondly at him.

“Lucky them,” Carver muttered.

She linked her arm with her brother’s. “Hey now, don’t be like that. Toby loves you just as much as he loves me.”

Carver grunted. “Oh, sure. That’s why he slept on your bed almost every night.”

“Not true!” Hawke protested. “He only got to sleep on my bed for two months. Then I kicked him off for hogging the blankets.”

“Whatever. Your carpet, then,” Carver retorted.

“It’s all right, Junior,” Varric said soothingly. “You still have time to get a pet. How about a fennec?”

Carver scowled. “A fennec?”

“That’s a great idea!” Hawke chirped. “I’d love a fennec in the family! They’re so cute. A perfect match for you, Carv.” She smiled winningly up at her brawny brother.

Varric snorted, and Carver’s scowl deepened, and Fenris rubbed his mouth to hide a smile. Then Solas spoke up. “I must admit, I am curious about the nuggalopes. They are a very… unusual breed. Where did they come from?”

“Lady Josephine said they were a gift,” Blackwall said. “From some Orlesian noble, I think.”

Varric smirked. “Actually, I have it on good authority that they were meant to be a courting gift for Curly.”

Hawke’s jaw dropped in delight. “You’re kidding.”  

Solas smiled faintly. “Ah. That explains the Commander’s recent… mood.”

“Yep,” Varric said. “I heard him saying something to Josephine about ‘setting the damned beasts free in the mountains for all I care’.”

Hawke gasped. “He wouldn’t.”

“Not to worry,” Fenris said to her. “He can’t very well release them now that they have been named.”

She grinned at him. “Damned right.”

Fenris enjoyed her carefree smile for a moment. Then Blackwall addressed him. “Fenris, you don’t ride, do you?”

Fenris shook his head. “No. When would I have learned? Certainly not in Tevinter. Hence our travels being on foot.” He shot Blackwall a slightly apologetic look. “You’re free to ride ahead if you wish. You do not need to stay with us.”

Blackwall hastily waved him off. “No, no, that’s not why I… well, I was thinking. If you wanted, I could teach you to ride. If you’re interested.”

Fenris was quiet as he considered the offer. In truth, he had been thinking that he should learn to ride, given the extensive travelling they did. But there was something about the idea of being on horseback that struck him as… presumptuous, somehow, or perhaps smug.

The ability to ride horseback was common among humans; back in Tevinter, soporati warriors of affluent Tevinter houses and spoiled magisters’ sons were often seen on fine warhorses or even on dracolisks. In Ferelden, it was more noteworthy if one didn’t know how to ride than if one did, and being able to ride was an obvious requirement for Orlesian Chevaliers.

But Fenris was no human lord or chevalier. He couldn’t recall ever seeing an elf on horseback during his time in Tevinter. Here in the south, the situation was better, but not by much; he could probably count on one hand the number of times he’d seen a mounted elf, and they were always affluent merchants. It had never occurred to Fenris to learn how to ride until very recently – until he’d joined the Inquisition, in fact. But despite the obvious practicality of riding, something about the idea of acquiring this particular skill made him instinctively balk.

He pensively nibbled the inside of his cheek, then bowed his head to Blackwall. “I appreciate the offer. I will… consider it.”

Blackwall nodded in return. “Anytime, Your Wor- er, Fenris. You let me know what you decide.”

Fenris nodded again in thanks. Then Hawke sidled up to Blackwall and looped her hand through his elbow. “You know what be amazing? If griffons were still around. I could absolutely imagine you riding a griffon.”

Blackwall chuckled. “You flatter me, my lady.”

“Not at all!” Hawke said warmly. “And who knows? They thought dragons were going extinct, and they’re doing quite well nowadays. A little too well, really. It’s always possible that griffons could make a comeback, too.”

Blackwall smiled wistfully at her. Solas thoughtfully rubbed his jaw. “I have wondered about that myself,” he said. “The resurgence of dragons is a rather curious phenomenon. I must wonder if the instability of the Veil in certain areas has played a role.”

Hawke teasingly poked his shoulder. “Of course you’ve wondered that. But you have a point; dragons are inherently magical creatures.”

“Precisely,” Solas said, with growing enthusiasm. “Imagine the implications if magic were playing a role in the breeding and growth patterns of the creatures of this world.”

Blackwall grimaced. “I don’t know, Solas. Dangerous creatures getting more dangerous? It sounds like trouble to me.”

Solas widened his eyes. “But if we understood the process by which the impact of the Fade…”

Fenris smiled faintly as Solas and Blackwall and Hawke continued their lively discussion of creatures and magic. Then he heard Varric’s quiet huff of amusement.

Fenris looked down at him. “Is something amusing?”

Varric raised an eyebrow. “We’re about to meet Stroud to find out what the Wardens have been getting up to. That’s some pretty ominous shit. You’re in a surprisingly good mood, all things considered.”

“I was going to say the same thing,” Carver added. “You’re being cheerful. It’s kind of weird. Not bad,” he said hastily when Fenris frowned. “Just, um, different.”

Fenris sighed. “I am… making an effort,” he admitted quietly. “Taking a page from Hawke’s book, as it were. My customary, er…”

“Brooding,” Varric supplied helpfully.

Fenris rolled his eyes. “Fine, if you insist.” He lowered his voice further. “I do not want to worry her more than I have already done. And the… ruminating is not particularly helpful to me. I am trying something different.” He had been mulling over the thoughts that Cole had plucked from Hawke’s head with her permission: the fears that haunted her mind, and the fact that Fenris’s laughter kept her fears at bay. If it cheered Hawke up to hear Fenris laughing, it was worth the attempt at levity.

Varric patted his elbow. “Just admit it, elf,” he said cheerfully. “You’re covered in newlywed dust, and it hasn’t worn off yet. We can probably expect His Broodiness back in, oh, another week or so.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “And how do you have such sage marital advice to share?” he drawled. “Do you have a wife stashed away somewhere that we don’t know about?”

Carver snickered, and Varric smiled indulgently. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“A cagey response, dwarf,” Fenris said. “I shall conclude that it is a secret mistress instead of a wife, then.”

Varric smiled enigmatically, and Fenris chuckled at his mysterious demeanour.

Then Hawke turned around to face them. “Fenris,” she said.

Her tone was businesslike. Fenris looked up, and his gaze instantly darted over her shoulder. A rift was twisting and warping in the air about fifty paces away, and there was a small group of demons seething in the sand below.

He nodded sharply at her. With no further instructions, their party ran toward the rift.

They’d all been working together for long enough by now that closing the average rift took little more than a few minutes of concentrated effort and combat. The demons here in the Western Approach were rather larger and more tenacious than in some of the other places they’d been, but Hawke and Solas strategically used their fire and ice attacks to weaken the largest demons for Carver, Blackwall and Varric’s swords and bolts. Carver’s Templar abilities came in handy, too; with a little push of concentration, he was able to stem the flow of demons from the rift while Fenris focused on closing it.

The rift disappeared into his palm with the usual thwomp of pressure. Fenris idly shook out his hand, then pointed to the west. “There,” he said. About a kilometre away, he could see the characteristic jagged peaks of Tevinter architecture.

“That is the meeting place that Stroud indicated,” he said. “The ancient Tevinter ritual site.”

Hawke nodded. Her face was very serious. “Let’s go find him, then,” she said. “It’s been far too long since I enjoyed the sight of that enormous mustache of his.”

Their little group quietly jogged toward the ritual site. When they were almost there, Fenris spotted a lone human figure standing in the shadows of an ancient crumbling dolmen.

It was Stroud. The Grey Warden looked as stern as ever as he stepped forward to greet them. “Fenris, Hawke. Master Tethras, it is good to see you again.” A quick round of introductions was made for the others, then Stroud turned back to Fenris and Hawke with his usual worried frown.

“I’m glad you made it,” he said. “I fear they’ve already started the ritual.”

“They have already started?” Fenris said sharply. “Blood magic is underway right now?”

Stroud nodded sadly. “I believe so.”

Fenris scowled. “Then there is no time to waste. Are there guards posted? Should we approach with stealth?”

“Or can we storm right in and break up their party?” Hawke asked.

“We can approach directly, I believe,” Stroud said. “I have seen no guards in the surrounding area, and I have been observing for the past two days. Magic is certainly at play, but it seems to be a small force of Wardens; I have seen no more than a dozen people.”

“Dozen bad guys? We can deal with that,” Varric said. “Especially with Broody and the Beefcake Twins on our side.” He jerked his thumb at Carver and Blackwall.

Carver straightened up and nodded officiously at Fenris and Stroud. “Just tell us what to do,” he said.

Fenris gave his instructions as they approached the ritual site. “We will watch and listen at first,” he said. “We must know their plans if we are going to stop them. Then, if there is blood magic going on…” He trailed off and scowled.

Hawke grimaced and didn’t speak, but Solas did. “I suspect it is too much to hope that the Grey Wardens’ plan is premised on facts rather than assumptions for once.”

Fenris frowned curiously. He’d heard Solas making pointed comments about the Grey Wardens even before this blood magic issue had arisen, but he didn’t fully understand Solas’s problem.

They stepped onto the short paved bridge that led to the ritual site proper, and Blackwall frowned as well. “Solas, I’ve never understood your disregard for the Wardens. Don’t you think it’s a good cause to fight the Blight?”

“Certainly, if done correctly and with the proper forethought,” Solas said.

Blackwall’s frown deepened further, and Hawke laughed lightly. “I love a good philosophical debate as much as the next person, but how about you boys pick up this friendly discussion a little later?”

“Yeah, that would be good,” Varric said quietly. “Because I see trouble ahead.”

Fenris and the others all looked up, just in time to see one Grey Warden plunge a dagger into another Warden’s gut.

There was a general outcry of dismay from the  group. “Maker’s mercy,” Carver blurted.

“Shit,” Hawke and Varric said together.

Fenris didn’t waste his breath. He took off at a run with the others close at his heels, but they were not fast enough. As they watched, a rage demon burst from a green fissure in the air, almost like a misbegotten calf being born from the glowing rift in the sky.

They reached the platform just in time to see a man in Tevinter clothing delivering instructions to the bloody-handed Warden mage. “Now bind it, just as I showed you,” the Tevinter man said.

“Stop,” Fenris barked, but it was too late; the murderous Warden mage was already muttering and holding his hand toward the writhing demon. A moment later, the Warden and the demon both grew still.

“Fuck. More demon-binding?” Hawke panted.

“So it would seem,” Fenris snarled. He glared at the Warden mage as he and his demon pet fell in line with a handful of other mages and demons who were standing at attention on the platform.

The Tevinter man looked up at them with an oily smile. “Inquisitor. It’s Fenris, isn’t it?” he said. His eyes lingered on Fenris’s chin and neck. “What an unexpected pleasure. I had heard tales of Danarius’s masterpiece back in Tevinter, before all of this. A shame he didn’t live to see how things ended up for you.”

Hawke took a threatening step forward. “How about you bite my–”

Fenris held up a hand to stop her and narrowed his eyes. This man might know of him, but Fenris had never seen him before. “Who are you?” he demanded.  

The Tevinter bowed with an elaborate flourish. “Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium, at your service.”

“You are no Warden,” Stroud said accusingly.

“But you are,” Erimond said. He gave Stroud a condescending look. “You’re the one Clarel let slip. And you found the Inquisitor and came to stop me.” He raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Shall we see how that goes?”

Hawke made a disgusted noise and turned to Varric. “Is it just me, or is this fellow the greasiest man you’ve ever seen?” she said loudly. “I feel like I’m going to break out in spots just from looking at him.”

Erimond’s smile slipped slightly. Then he clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace slowly on the platform. “Your timing is exquisite. Now you can witness my masterpieces at work.” He stopped pacing and faced the Wardens. “Wardens, hands up!”

In perfect unison, the Warden mages raised their hands, and Fenris watched in horror as they lowered their hands as well on Erimond’s command.  

Stroud was staring at his compatriots with equal dismay. “Corypheus has taken their minds,” he lamented.

Erimond shot him another unpleasant smile. “They did this to themselves,” he said. “You see, the Calling had the Wardens terrified. They looked everywhere for help. Even Tevinter.”

“Oh fuck,” Hawke complained. “Not this again.”

Indeed, Fenris thought waspishly. It was rather telling that yet another group of mages was so eager to offer themselves to Tevinter. But Erimond was talking still – not just talking, but sharing his entire plan, it seemed.

Erimond smugly folded his arms. “Since it was my master who put the Calling into their little heads, we in the Venatori were prepared.” He shot Fenris an insincere smile. “I went to Clarel full of sympathy, and together we came up with a plan: raise a demon army, march into the deep roads, and kill the Old Gods before they wake up.”

“Fenedhis,” Solas hissed. “These fools…”

“Sadly for the Wardens, the binding ritual I taught the mages has a side effect,” Erimond continued. “They’re now my master’s slaves. Once the rest of the Wardens complete the ritual, the demon army will conquer Thedas, with the Wardens at their side.”

Hawke folded her arms. She looked just as irate as Solas. “You fucking slimy, treacherous–”

“Kill the Old Gods?” Fenris interrupted. “For what purpose?”

Erimond continued to swagger around the platform, and Fenris got the distinct impression that he was enjoying his audience. “A Blight happens when darkspawn find an Old God and corrupt it into an archdemon,” he said. “If someone fought through the deep roads and killed the Old Gods before they could be corrupted…” He gestured ostentatiously with his hand. “Poof! No more Blights, ever. The Wardens sacrifice their lives and save the world.” He tilted his head in a mockingly thoughtful expression. “Though I fear history will remember them a little differently now.”

“That’s madness,” Solas burst out. “For all we know, killing the Old Gods could make things even worse.”

Hawke glanced at him in confusion, but Erimond’s reply was glib. “Well then, it’s a good thing I’m taking this demon army off their hands.”

“And you think you could control an entire army of demons?” Hawke said. Her voice was positively dripping with skepticism. “And what about the Blight? You and your Venatori friends would just say, ‘oh good, the Blight is continuing on. Let the darkspawn join the demon party, the more the merrier’?”

Erimond scoffed. “The Elder One commands the Blight. He is not commanded by it, like the mindless darkspawn.” He continued to pace officiously on the platform. “The Blight is not unstoppable or uncontrollable. It is simply a tool.”

Hawke frowned at this, and Varric huffed. “Well, someone’s definitely a tool.”

Then Stroud spoke. “The Calling. That terrible song in every Warden’s mind. That was Corypheus’s influence?”

“Correct,” Erimond said. “Clever, wasn’t it? But we can’t take all the credit. Your very own colleagues made the choice to do all this.” He waved grandly at the dead Wardens scattered on the ground. “Everything you see here – the blood sacrifices to bind the demons: the Wardens did it of their own free will. Fear is a very good motivator, and they were very afraid.”

Blackwall took an angry step forward. “That’s a lie,” he exclaimed. “The Grey Wardens are heroes. They would never do this willingly.”

Erimond raised an eyebrow. “The Grey Wardens care about nothing save stopping Blights,” he said. “They will do anything to accomplish that.” He chuckled and shook his head. “You should have seen Clarel agonize over the decision. Burdens of command, I suppose.”

“Good,” Fenris said.

Everyone looked at him. Stroud and Blackwall frowned, and Erimond looked slightly surprised. “‘Good’?” he said.

“Yes,” Fenris said. He sneered at the magister. “You are so desperate for recognition that you told us everything. Now that your value has been tapped, I can tear your beating heart from your miserable corpse.” He clenched his fist and brought his lyrium marks to life.

Erimond flung a glowing red hand in Fenris’s direction, and Fenris stumbled to his knees as his left hand was inexorably drawn toward Erimond’s magic.

“Fenris!” Hawke cried out.

Fenris clenched his jaw. His left palm was glowing and vibrating viciously like it had when Corypheus had tried to take the anchor back, and Erimond was grinning more smugly than ever.

“The Elder One showed me how to deal with you, in the event you were foolish enough to interfere again,” Erimond said. “That mark you bear? The anchor that lets you pass safely through the Veil? You stole that from my master.”

Fenris ignored him. He was not going to let the restless bubbling feeling in his hand get the better of him this time. He focused all his attention on his palm, drawing carefully from Erimond’s magic instead of trying to resist it.

Erimond was still talking. “The Elder One has been forced to seek other ways to access the Fade. When I bring him your head, his gratitude will be–”

Fenris shoved himself to his feet and thrust his left hand in Erimond’s direction. A burst of pure rift magic flared from his palm in the magister’s direction, blasting the magister off of his feet and setting the demons to squalling.

“Maker’s balls,” Hawke gasped.

Fenris lowered his hand and glared at Erimond. The magister was unfortunately alive, but there was a satisfying look of fear on his face.

“Kill them!” Erimond squawked at the Wardens. Then he started dragging himself away.

Fenris snarled, but before he could move to pursue Erimond, the demons and Wardens were upon them.

The fight was rushed but vicious; Fenris was furious about the blood magic and Erimond’s disgusting ploy for power, and he held nothing back as he lashed out at the demons and the enchanted Wardens alike with his lyrium scars and his sword. The others fought with equal ferocity, and by the time the skirmish was done, the platform was slick with blood and demon ichor.

Hawke racked her staff on her back and strode over to Fenris. “Are you all right? Is your hand all right?” she demanded.

He allowed her to stroked his left palm, which had returned to its usual faint glow. “I am fine,” he assured her. He turned to Stroud with a scowl. “So the mages of your Order has fallen to blood magic and demon-summoning.”

Stroud bowed his head sadly. “This is so. And through their actions, they have become slaves to Corypheus.”

“It must be the Warden warriors’s blood that’s powering all of this, then,” Hawke said. She grimaced. “I suppose it’s not real blood magic until someone gets sacrificed.”

Carver tutted loudly. “Are you really joking about this, Rynne?” he demanded. “Acts like this are why the Templars exist. It’s our duty to stop things like this from happening!” He frowned at Stroud. “Aren’t there any Templar-trained Wardens? Why isn’t that a thing?”

Stroud bowed slightly to Carver. “The Wardens were wrong, Ser Carver, but they had their reasons.”

“Blood mages always have their reasons, don’t they?” Carver retorted. He turned to Rynne. “Orsino probably told you that he had good reasons, even though he kept telling Meredith that he was anti-blood magic all along.”

Hawke rolled her eyes. “Carv, let’s not talk about Orsino or Meredith right now, all right? We just had lunch. Thinking about them makes me want to vomit.”

“Carver is right,” Fenris said. “Fear and ignorance are no excuse. There is never a sufficient excuse for this kind of abhorrent blood magic. And don’t bring up what you had to do in Corypheus’s prison,” he said sharply to Hawke when she opened her mouth. “It was not the same.”

She held up her hands in protest. “I wasn’t going to! I was just going to ask what we’re doing next. Clearly the Wardens need help, right? Corypheus is manipulating them, so we should help set them free.”

There was a general uproar at this. Stroud and Blackwall nodded, and Carver threw up his hands in frustration while Solas folded his arms and scowled. Varric grimaced and tugged one of his earrings, and Fenris took a step closer to her.

“The Wardens do not need to be helped,” he said. “They need to be stopped.”

Hawke lifted her chin. “They’re being held as slaves to Corypheus’s will. It’s like Redcliffe Village all over again. Haven’t you noticed how it’s always the mages who are being targeted for his bullshit?”

Fenris curled his lip and waved angrily at the bloodied platform. “That is because the mages are–” He stopped and clamped his lips together before saying something he would regret.

Hawke raised her eyebrows. “Yes?” she said archly. “Please, go on. Don’t mince your words for my sake.”

Fenris shook his head and looked away. He was not going to have this fight with her, especially when she wasn’t the one fault.

Carver, however, didn’t have Fenris’s self-restraint. “The mages are weak,” he said bluntly. “They’re naturally susceptible to this kind of mind control. That’s why Corypheus keeps going after them.”

“Ah, shit,” Varric muttered.

Hawke burst out a bitter-sounding laugh. “Are you fucking serious?” she said. “Is that what you think of me, then? That I’m some weak and feeble-minded sitting duck just waiting to be taken over by Corypheus?”

“Maker’s bloody mercy, Rynne, everything is not always about you,” Carver yelled.

Hawke took a deep breath, and Stroud stepped forward. “Forgive me, Hawke, if I may…” He looked at Fenris. “I believe I know where the Wardens have gone. Erimond fled in that direction.” He pointed toward the west. “There’s an abandoned Warden fortress that way called Adamant. I will scout the fortress and confirm whether the other Wardens are there.”

Fenris nodded. “We will make camp near here. Find us when you have confirmed their presence.”

Stroud nodded sharply, then bowed slightly to Hawke. “Your understanding is undeserved, Hawke, but I am grateful all the same.”

She squeezed Stroud’s arm. “Don’t get me wrong, Stroud, your mages made a big mistake. But, well… everyone makes mistakes.” She quickly kissed his cheek. “Stay safe, all right? I’d hate if something bad happened to that mustache of yours.”

“I shall,” he said. He bowed to them and strode away.

Carver glared at Hawke. “‘Everyone makes mistakes’? That’s your takeaway from all this?”

Fenris also gazed at her in frustration. “Do you really see something redeemable in this?” He gestured roughly at the corpses littering the platform. “This is equitable to the monstrosities that Orsino committed!”

Hawke sighed and shrugged. She seemed exhausted now. “I just… Look, the blood magic part is disgusting. And horrible. And yes, it’s as bad as Orsino.” She shifted her weight to one hip and tapped her chin. “Although Orsino’s whole monster-slug-creature-thing was by far the most hideous–”

“Hawke,” Fenris complained.

She tutted. “All right, all right. It’s bad, okay? I know it’s bad. But the slave part – the mages being Corypheus’s slaves…” She looked pleadingly at Fenris. “That is exactly like what happened to Fiona’s people. Corypheus manipulated the situation to make them vulnerable and scared, then he swooped in and forced them into slavery! They didn’t know–”

“The Warden mages chose blood magic,” he hissed. “They knew enough to make that evil choice.”

To Fenris’s surprise, Solas backed him up. “They knew enough to bind their demons, yet not enough to know whether their plan would work,” he said angrily to Hawke. “Seeking to end the Old Gods deliberately in some bizarre attempt to preempt the Blight?”

Hawke recoiled slightly. “That’s what you’re objecting to?”

“Yes,” Solas snapped. “Would it have worked? Do you know? Did they? The fools who first unleashed the Blight upon this world thought they were unlocking ultimate power. To seek the Old Gods again…” He shook his head. “Responsibility is not expertise. Action is not inherently superior to inaction.”  

Hawke was eyeing him cautiously now. “All right,” she said slowly. “But… you do think we should act, right?”

“Of course,” Solas said. “We must stop the Wardens from carrying out this insane plan.”

Carver gestured at Solas emphatically. “Thank you. A voice of reason.”

“I agree,” Fenris said.

“Well, so do I, obviously!” Hawke exclaimed. “I’m not condoning the blood magic bullshit. We obviously have to stop them. I’m just…” She trailed off and shrugged. “I’m thinking about after, I guess. If we save the Wardens from Corytits, maybe they could join the Inquisition.” She looked at Blackwall. “Do you think they would?”

Fenris scowled at her. He was strongly opposed to the idea of blood mages joining their ranks.

Blackwall shrugged sadly. “I’m not certain, my lady. The Wardens have their duties–”

Solas laughed nastily. “Duty. Mindless, unthinking duty, perhaps, but duty nonetheless.”

Hawke shot him a wide-eyed look. “Maker’s balls, Solas, keep it in your pants.”

Solas glared at her, but Blackwall sighed. “I… I like to think they would help our cause. But this…” He shook his head. “I can’t believe what they’re doing. I thought I understood the Order.”

He sounded oddly defeated. Hawke frowned slightly and squeezed his armoured arm, then turned to Fenris. “You know what? I don’t know why everyone cares what I think, anyway. What we do next is up to you.”

Everyone turned to look at Fenris, and for once, he was glad that the decision was his to make. “Our focus is on stopping the Wardens,” he announced. “We will thwart their plans, even if it means their deaths. And we will worry about delivering the consequences later.”

He eyed Hawke as he spoke. She was frowning, but once Fenris had delivered his verdict, she simply nodded her head.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Let us find a place to make camp,” he said. “With any luck, Stroud’s reconnaissance will not take too long.”

They left the blood- and ichor-stained platform and made their way back to the desert, then headed southwest in the direction that Leliana’s scouts had marked as a good place to camp. Blackwall was quiet and pensive as trudged across the dunes, and Hawke sidled up to Solas and fell into a quiet but heated discussion with him.

Carver and Varric fell into step beside Fenris. “Thanks, Fenris,” Carver said.

“For what?” Fenris said.

“For… uh, being reasonable, I suppose,” he said.

Varric chuckled. “He means for not taking Hawke’s side.”

Carver frowned at Varric. “Shut up,” he muttered.

Fenris gave Carver a flat look. “I do not mindlessly do everything your sister says, you know,” he said. “I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions.”

“I know,” Carver said hurriedly. “I didn’t say you can’t.” He shot Varric another resentful look, and they walked in silence for some time.

Then Carver spoke again. “Why did you follow her in Kirkwall, then? I know you disagreed with almost everything she did.”

“The same reason that she follows me now, despite disagreeing with my choice,” Fenris said.

Carver frowned slightly, and Fenris gave him a frank look. “It is possible to disagree with someone and still respect them,” he said. He glanced at Hawke’s back. She was talking with Solas still, and from what Fenris could hear, their conversation sounded quite calm and measured now.

He looked at Carver once more. “It is possible to disagree with someone and still love them. It is even possible to disagree with someone and still be kind to them, difficult though it may be,” he said quietly. “It took years for me to learn this. Too many years. Do not make the same mistakes as me.”

Carver dropped his gaze without replying, and Fenris looked away to watch Hawke’s swaying hips once more. After a moment of somewhat awkward silence, Carver spoke again.

“I do love my sister,” he said. “You know that, right? I don’t hate her. She just… drives me nuts sometimes. Most of the time. I mean – argh…” He ran a hand through his hair.

“I know you do,” Fenris said calmly. “Whether Rynne knows, however…” He shrugged.

Carver nibbled the inside of his cheek in silence. Then he shrugged awkwardly and drifted away.

Varric looked up at Fenris. “So,” he said casually. “That magic-blasty thing you did was a neat trick.” He nodded at Fenris’s left palm. ”How long have you been able to do that?”

Fenris glanced at his hand, then closed his fist. “I have only done it once before, after Corypheus attacked Haven. He… did something to my hand, or tried to. And shortly after, I… expelled magic from this cursed mark.” He shrugged. “I have not attempted to do it since.”

“Mm,” Varric acknowledged. “More weird shit to deal with, I guess.”

Fenris huffed. “You are correct about that.” He sighed. “I suppose I will have to ask Solas about it.”

Varric chuckled softly. “No need to sound so thrilled.”

Fenris shrugged again. He hadn’t told anyone except Hawke about his origins as a mage, or that Solas had been the one to reveal his ignominious background to him. Varric probably thought he was being rather churlish, but there was nothing to be done about that.

He smirked at Varric to hide his unease. “Truthfully? I would prefer to battle a dragon than to enter into another magical discussion with Solas. It would be far less tiring.”

Varric laughed again. “Poor Chuckles. He has a way with words, that’s for sure.” He tapped his chin. “He does have some interesting stories, though. I should collaborate with him on something.”

Fenris snorted. “I beg you, don’t. It would be even less successful than Swords and Shields.”

Varric scoffed. “Ouch. That hurts. And you wonder why I prefer hanging out with Hawke over you.”

Fenris smirked more widely. “I don’t wonder. I know why. You prefer sycophants over sincerity.”

Varric chuckled. Then Hawke glanced over her shoulder. “Hey,” she said. “I heard that.” She fell back beside them with a smile. “I’m no sycophant, all right? I just know genius when I see it.” She bumped Varric playfully with her hip.

Varric patted her elbow. “I’m glad I have you, Hawke. At least someone appreciates me.”

Fenris shook his head mock-ruefully. “I was unaware that the definition of ‘genius’ had become so relaxed. But if you insist…”

Varric snickered, and Hawke laughed brightly, and Fenris admired her genuine smile. There was nothing amusing about the situation they were in, and Fenris suspected things would steadily get worse over the following few days. But for now, he would allow himself to enjoy the sparkling joy of her laughter.

************************

Later that night, Cassandra and the rest of the group joined them at their camp, and they exchanged news and decided on their courses of action. Cassandra and Blackwall would take the bulk of their crew and clear the northern end of the Approach, including an ancient Grey Warden fortress called the Griffon’s Keep. Meanwhile, Fenris and Hawke and a few of the others would remain in the southern end to await Stroud’s news and to eradicate any foes that lingered nearby.

Fenris and his companions spent the following days eradicating the various bandits and Venatori in the area. Many of the bandits were harbouring crates of research equipment, and it wasn’t long before they discovered who the equipment was intended for: a very enthusiastic draconologist named Frederic who seemed to require a great many things to progress with his research, and whom Hawke – predictably – was unable to refuse. She claimed that Frederic’s numerous requests were ‘a fantastic lark’, and Fenris and Varric watched with fond exasperation as she and a surprisingly enthusiastic Bull ran around the nearby area searching for dragon signs and hunting creatures for Frederic’s dragon bait.

Two days after the incident with Erimond, Stroud showed up at their camp carrying very dire news: Wardens from all over Orlais were flooding toward Adamant Fortress. He spent a full hour debriefing them, sharing everything from his estimates of numbers to the layout of the fortress, and by the time his report was complete, Fenris knew what had to be done: a full siege on Adamant Fortress, supported by the might of the Inquisition’s army.

He immediately had ravens sent to Skyhold to advise the advisors of the situation. Then it was just a matter of waiting until the army showed up.

It would be approximately ten days before Cullen and the army arrived at the Western Approach. Thankfully – or unfortunately, depending on how one looked at it – there was much to be done in the intervening time. Darkspawn were emerging from somewhere in the northeast end of the Approach, and Blackwall was only too pleased to investigate the issue with Cole, Sera, and a (mildly complaining) Dorian at his side. Fenris, Hawke, Bull and Solas investigated an old Tevinter ruin containing some rather nasty time-stopping magic while Cassandra, Varric and Carver managed matters at the Griffon’s Keep, and all of them killed more bandits and raiders than they could count on two hands.

Notably, they took down their first high dragon since joining the Inquisition. Frederic’s bait recipe was effective, and when Fenris, Hawke, Varric and Bull returned to the draconologist with news of the dragon’s death, Fenris couldn’t decide if Frederic or Bull was more delighted with the day’s events.

Later that night as they sat around the campfire, Bull made his excitement clear by offering them all a large bottle from his travel pack. “Drinks!” he announced. “Come on, let’s see your cups. We’ve all earned a little maraas-lok today.”

Fenris allowed Bull to pour a generous measure of pungent liquor into his tin camping cup. “This is a mistake,” he said. He had never had maraas-lok, but he’d heard qunari speaking of it during his time in Seheron, and never exactly in a favourable way.

“Why?” Hawke asked. “What’s maraas-lok?” She sniffed from her cup, then instantly recoiled. “Woah. It smells like–”

“Axle grease and molasses,” Varric drawled. “That’s what it smells like.

Bull poured a cup for himself and plopped down on the log beside Fenris. “Ah, be brave. Take a risk. Drink!” He raised his cup. “To killing a high dragon like warriors of legend!” he proclaimed, then gulped the contents of his cup in three big swallows.

Fenris shook his head wryly, then lifted his cup. “Benefaris,” he said, and he only hesitated for a moment before gulping the liquor down.

Fenris, Varric, and Hawke all burst out coughing after swallowing, and Bull chortled heartily at their collective reactions. “I know, right?” he drawled. “Put some chest on your chest.” He leaned over and poured more liquor into their cups without asking. “That little gurgle right before it breathed lightning at us? And that roar. What I wouldn’t give to roar like that.” He smiled wistfully up at the star-sprinkled sky. “The way the ground shook when it landed, and the smell of the rocks burning… taarsidath an-halsam.” He sighed happily, then gulped down his second drink.

“What’s that mean?” Hawke asked. “Taarsi… thing. You said it during the fight, too. Is it a victory call or something?”

“Oh, taarsidaath an-halsam?” Bull said. He smirked and jerked a thumb at Fenris. “Maybe your man here can tell you, since he knows my language.”

“I don’t know that phrase, in fact,” Fenris said mildly. Bull’s tone was as jovial as ever, but Fenris got the impression that Bull was trying to suss him out.

“No, huh?” Bull said. He turned to Hawke, who was lifting her cup to her lips. “Closest translation would be, ‘I will bring myself sexual pleasure later, while thinking about this with great respect’.

She choked on her drink and instantly started spluttering, and Varric chuckled and patted her back. Once she caught her breath, she beamed at Bull. “That’s incredible. I absolutely adore it,” she announced. “I’m going to start saying it too.”

“Please don’t,” Fenris drawled.

Bull laughed. “A woman after my own heart.” He poured more liquor for her, then jerked his chin at Fenris’s cup. “Drink up, boss. There’s more where that came from.” He bolted down his third drink.

Fenris reluctantly took another sip of his pungent drink, and Bull smiled at them all. “You know the qunari hold dragons sacred? Well, as much as we hold anything sacred. “Atashi: ‘the glorious ones’. That’s our word for them.” He sighed happily and closed his eyes. “Ataaaaashiiiii.”

Hawke chuckled fuzzily. “Atashi. What a cute word.”

Bull snorted. “Not cute, Hawke. Fierce. Powerful. But you’re right: it is fun to say.” He and Hawke snickered together.

Fenris shrewdly studied him. As partial as Bull was to his booze, Fenris had never really seen him drunk before. Perhaps there was a reason Bull was getting openly drunk now.

Varric leaned his elbows on his knees. “Dragons are sacred to you guys, huh? Is it the horns?”

“Maybe,” Bull said. “We kinda look more dragon-y than most people. But a few of the Ben-Hassrath have this crazy old theory.” He leaned forward on his elbows as well. “See, the tamassrans control who we breed with. They breed us for jobs like you breed dogs or horses. What if they mixed in some dragon blood a long time ago? Maybe drinking the blood, maybe magic…? I don’t know.” He shrugged and leaned back. “But something in that dragon we killed… spoke to me.” He poured a fourth measure of maraas-lok for himself, then drank it down.

Hawke held out her cup for more. “So does that mean we killed a qunari god or something?”

“Nah,” Bull reassured her. “One of Tevinter’s gods, maybe. They worshipped dragons, right? The Vint pretty-boy is more likely to be offended than me.” He chuckled, but his expression grew slightly serious as he rolled his cup between his enormous palms.

“Dragons are the embodiment of raw power,” he said. “But it’s all uncontrolled, savage. So they need to be destroyed. Taming the wild, order out of chaos… here, boss, have another drink.” He poured more maraas-lok into Fenris’s half-full cup.

Fenris nodded his thanks and took a tiny sip, then lowered his cup and looked up at Bull. “Did you encounter many dragons during your time in Seheron?”

Bull glanced at him – the briefest sideways glance – then swallowed another mouthful of maraas-lok before replying. “Nah,” he said casually. “Good thing, too. More than enough savagery there without dragons in the mix.”

“Savagery from all sides, yes,”  Fenris said. He turned his eyes to the fire. “Your people fighting Tevinters, Tevinters fighting the Tal-Vashoth, Tal-Vashoth fighting you…”

“And the fog warriors,” Bull put in. “Don’t forget your contribution. Sneaky bastards, you were.”

Fenris nodded in acknowledgement. “I could never forget,” he said quietly.

Hawke and Varric were silent, and Fenris glanced at them. Hawke was leaning against Varric’s shoulder – likely for support, given how much maraas-lok she’d had – but they were both watching him and Bull with wide eyes.

He took another sip from his cup and glanced up at the qunari. “Bull, when did you arrive in Seheron?”

Bull rumbled a low laugh. “Just cutting straight to the quick, eh boss? I like that about you.” He rested his palms on his knees. “I was in Seheron for years. Was first stationed there in 9:23. Stayed until 9:31.”

“Ah,” Fenris said. “We were there at the same time, then.”

Bull huffed and scratched his chin. “We were, huh? When were you there?”

“In 9:28,” Fenris said. “A mere few months, but… it was enough.”

Bull chuckled. “You can say that again.” He gave Fenris an appraising look. “I don’t remember you. Not that I remember every guy I fight, but I feel like I’d have remembered you if we scrapped.”

Fenris smiled faintly. “If you do not remember me, that means I was successful.”

Bull chortled again and shook his horned head. “Vashedan. I guess you’re right.” He poured himself another drink and shot Fenris a sideways glance. “You only stayed a few months, eh? Damned lucky that you got out so soon. Seheron was an ugly place.”

Fenris exhaled slowly, then took a slightly larger sip from his cup. “I would have stayed,” he said. “But… circumstances required that I leave.”

“Stayed longer?” Bull said in surprise. “What the hell for?”

Fenris shrugged and stared into his cup. “I was happy there. For the first time that I could remember, I was… happy. But my former master came, and…” He trailed off, then looked up and met Hawke’s eyes.

Her face was serious and her eyes were soft. She smiled at him, and Fenris took comfort from the flickering of the flames in her copper eyes.

He looked up at Bull. “Danarius commanded me to kill the fog warriors who sheltered me, so I did.”

Bull raised his eyebrows slightly, and Fenris answered his unasked question. “I believed I had no choice. Once the deed was done, however…” He exhaled slowly. “That was the moment I knew I could no longer be Danarius’s mindless thrall.” He looked at the fire once more. “I left Seheron that same night. I headed south, to Kirkwall. The rest is history, as they say.” He smiled faintly at Hawke, who was smiling at him in turn.

“Hm. Seheron is good for that, it seems,” Bull said thoughtfully. “Life-changing epiphanies.” He gulped from his cup again.

Fenris nodded. “That seems so, yes, if that is where you were when you asked to be reassigned.”

Bull huffed a little laugh. “I didn’t ask for a reassignment. I asked to be re-educated.”

Fenris froze, then stared up at him incredulously. “You were willingly re-educated?”

“Oh fuck,” Hawke blurted. “Seriously? You never mentioned that, Bull.”

Bull shrugged casually. “You didn’t ask.” He looked Fenris once more. “One day I woke up and couldn’t think of a damned reason to keep doing my job. Turned myself in to the re-educators.”

“But… but the re-educators sound awful,” Hawke protested. “You told me they torture people. Potions, sleep deprivation, brainwashing and all that…”

“Yep,” Bull said. “And it did the trick. They fixed me up and sent me to Orlais, ostensibly as a Tal-Vashoth, to work undercover. And the rest, as they say, is history.” He smirked at Fenris and poured a little more maraas-lok into his cup, then took a hearty gulp straight from the bottle.

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “You do not seem re-educated.”

Bull lowered the bottle and chuckled. “You’ve met many re-educated qunari to compare me to, then?”

“I will rephrase that,” Fenris said. “You do not seem very qunari.”

Bull smiled. “Heh. And you’d know this from a few months’ observation in Seheron?”

“And in Kirkwall,” Hawke put in. “The qunari lived in Kirkwall for years. We visited their compound a bunch of times.” She elbowed Varric. “I still think the Arishok had a thing for Fenris. And for me. But more for Fenris.”

Varric patted her hand indulgently. “Sure, Hawke, whatever you say.”

Fenris ignored their banter. “A few months of covert observation is not insignificant,” he said to Bull. “You seem…” He trailed off as he tried to formulate his thoughts; the maraas-lok seemed to be catching up to him, although he hadn’t had much.

“You seem like… like a person, Bull,” he finally said. “And I would not say that was a bad thing.”

Bull chuckled. “Ah, think what you like. But I know what I am. I’m a tool of destruction.” He rose to his feet and planted his hands on his waist. “I’ll prove it to you. Show me something to break – anything, rock or tree or whatever, and I’ll destroy it.”

Fenris studied him in silence. He saw this diversion for exactly what it was: a convenient change of subject, and an attempt to deflect. But if Bull no longer wished to speak of this, Fenris wasn’t going to press him.

He waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t need to see it. I believe it.”

“So do I, but I’ll still play,” Hawke chirped. She hopped up from her log, then stumbled slightly.

Fenris hastily rose and grabbed her waist for support. “Careful, Hawke,” he said gently.

“Thanks, handsome,” she slurred. “But I want to see Bull breaking things.” She pointed at a nearby boulder that was twice Bull’s size. “How about that?”

Bull laughed loudly. “All right, you got me. Something a tiny bit smaller, maybe.” He picked up his enormous war hammer. “Come on, Hawke. Lemme show you how gravel is made.” He wandered away and started swinging his hammer experimentally.

Fenris waited until he was out of earshot, then raised an eyebrow at Hawke. “You really want to do this?” he murmured.

She patted his cheek clumsily. “Sure I do,” she said. “Besides, he needs it. Break some stuff, easy way to feel better. For some people, at least.”

Fenris blinked at her drunken thoughtfulness, then carefully released her arm. “All right,” he said.

She winked at him, then tottered over to Bull’s side and plopped down in the sand. Fenris shook his head in fond exasperation and sat beside Varric, and they watched for a while as Hawke pointed to various rocks and bricks and dead logs for Bull to break.

“I didn’t see that coming,” Varric said quietly. “The re-education thing.”

“Nor did I,” Fenris said. “It still strikes me as strange.” Bull was probably the most dichotomous person Fenris knew. If not for his horns and his height, it would be easy to forget much of the time that Bull was qunari at all. But the things he would say sometimes – things like ‘taming the wild’ and ‘order out of chaos’...

It wasn’t a sentiment Fenris disagreed with. Unfettered power and unfettered rage were dangerous if improperly controlled. But when Bull said it, it seemed out of character, somehow — not like he disbelieved his own words, but like there was something more to them than just the teachings of the Qun.

Fenris tapped his knees thoughtfully. He got the sense that he and Bull were not so different: they’d both seen monstrosities in Seheron, and the things they’d seen – and in Fenris’s case, things he had done – had changed both of their lives. But while Fenris’s experience had forced him to break free, it seemed that the hardships had only reconfirmed Bull’s conformity to the Qun.

He watched Bull joking around with Hawke. Bull’s laughter was easy and warm, and very unlike any qunari Fenris had ever known.

Fenris narrowed his eyes. It seemed there was a piece of Bull’s past that was still missing from the puzzle. Perhaps Leliana should assign someone to find out what it was. Bull was a Ben-Hassrath agent, after all, and knowing more about him wouldn’t go amiss. Bull probably wouldn’t even mind being spied on, given his openness about his own status as a spy.

Fenris mulled the issue over for a while, then shrugged to himself. He would discuss it with Leliana when they returned to Skyhold. For now, there was no harm done in continuing their daily tasks as they had done so far.

Fenris just hoped that Bull’s behaviour would continue to be benign. If not…

His eyes drifted to Hawke, who was laughing uproariously at something Bull had said. If Bull showed any signs of becoming a danger, then Fenris would be the first in line to put him down.

***********************

“Inquisitor?”

Fenris cracked open his eyes. The inside of the tent was bathed in warm orange light as the morning sun bled through the canvas, and the scout’s voice was calling to him from just outside the tent flap.

He cleared his throat and sat up on one elbow. “What is it?”

“A letter from Cullen, Your Worship,” the scout replied. “I’m sorry to wake you, but I thought you should see…”

Fenris pushed himself upright, fully awakened by the news. “Thank you,” he said. “I will be right out.”

“Ser,” the scout said. Then her sand-muffled footsteps moved away.

Hawke groaned as Fenris slipped out of the bedroll. “Balls,” she whimpered. “My head. I’m never drinking that fucking maraas-lok again.”

Fenris dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder. “I will bring you some elfroot,” he murmured. He hastily hauled on some clothes and crawled out of the tent.

The scout saluted him and handed him the letter, and Fenris read it as quickly as he could. By the time he’d finished it, Hawke was poking her dark-haired head out of the tent.

She squinted painfully at the bright morning sun and shielded her eyes as she crawled out to join him. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

“No,” Fenris said. He held the letter out to her. “Cullen and the army are due to arrive tonight at the Griffon’s Keep. They say the trebuchets from Jader will be in place by morning.”

Hawke took the letter and met his gaze with wide eyes. “Oh. That’s good.”

“Yes,” Fenris said. He studied her expression; it was serious and worried.

She wasn’t wrong; the arrival of the army was a good thing. The sooner they moved on the Wardens, the better. But a battle was still a battle, and a siege attack always represented a huge risk for the offensive force. Given how well-defended Adamant Fortress was, the people of the Inquisition were likely to suffer a high casualty rate.  

Hawke stroked his arm. “We’d better head to the Griffon’s Keep so we can meet them, then.”

“Yes,” Fenris said. “We should get moving as soon as we can, so we can rest well tonight.” He inhaled deeply and looked to the northwest. “Tomorrow, we will be marching on Adamant Fortress.”

“Together,” Hawke said firmly.

Her fingers were tight on his arm. He gently brushed a tuft of unruly dark hair from her eyes. “Always,” he said.