Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The last thing Cassandra Pentaghast expected to do today was meeting the Champion of Kirkwall at the top of the Skyhold's defensive walls.

Well, 'meeting' wasn't the best word to describe it. Maybe confronting? Or preventing a murder?

She'd hurried up the stairs at the sounds of terrible commotion, which involved spells, sword swinging and crushing stones. The Inquisitor was arguing with someone, loudly and quite passionately. Cassandra couldn't gather much from angrily shouted accusations without proper contex. She just kept running, cursing internally her own lack of speed - and an idiot who left their irreplaceable leader with some dangerous stranger.

Well, not really a stranger, but still dangerous, she corrected herself, recognizing the man immediately after spotting him on the stairs.

Black, unruly hair and beard. Heavy armor with characteristic spikes and red scarf across the chest. All in poor condition, with visible damage and stains of dried blood.

Somehow the man's body looked even more battered than the armor, especially a huge scar on the neck. Judging from the shape, it was spread through his entire chest, as if a dragon sat on him or something...

Hawke took few steps down, his every move slow and heavy, as if he was subconsciously channeling his inner Arishok. A ridiculously long and broad Qunari sword on his back only solidified this impression.

No, not only that. He seemed surrounded by an aura of something raw, uncontrollable. Just standing nearby felt unpleasant.

"Your precious savior is fine," he said, glancing at her bare blade, like it was nothing more than a child's toy. Frustration and anger in his voice made for an ugly mixture. "She just didn't get what she expected, as you probably heard. Seems none of us will be having that in the nearest future."

"Champion? You're..." Don't say: 'taller than I expected!' - Cassandra scolded herself mentally. She supposed to protect the Inquisitor, not indulge in private conversations of no importance. "...here to help?"

Hawke sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, where the famous red smear or scar, or whatever Varric meant, should have been.

"This is what I tried to explain to your Inquisitor. I do not resolve conflicts, I produce corpses. She did not understand. But you should, Seeker." Cassandra felt how her jaw clenched involuntarily under the weight of the Champion's gaze. Was it a hint of respect or admiration in his voice just now? Strange, considering that he was still towering over her, like an ominous shadow. "You know of dragon-blooded warriors more than anyone else here. You know what happens, when too much power is given to the foolish and weak-minded."

"Champion, are you telling me...?"

Hawke did not answer, just... looked at her and everything around turned red for a second. Bloodmist took shape of a winged, horned creature - powerful, enraged, ready to attack. There was a deep, unpleasant vibration, like a low growl of a wounded beast, resonating not on the surface, but from within Cassandra's own flesh and bones.

The Seeker instinctively grasped tighter her sword and raised the shield, slightly inclined near the eye level, to protect herself from fire that was not about to come. A natural reaction of any Nevarrian dragon slayer, something she couldn't really control, even though...

It felt so wrong.

The next look Hawke gave her was that of a very tired and very broken man. Almost as if an angry outburst from before opened up every old wound, irritated every single scar. The impression lasted only for a blink or two, before the Champion passed Cassandra by with a smirk, completely ignoring her defensive stance.

"I bid you good day, Seeker," he said, without even giving her a glance over his shoulder.

She did not dare to turn around either.

To Cassandra's surprise, after checking on the Inquisitor, she didn't have to run around the fortress in search for Varric. She would never expect this irritating dwarf to express guilt about anything, but that was the closest to it she would ever see from him.

"I'm amazed you're not beating the shit out of me right now," he said hesitantly, entering the room the Seeker stopped in to gather her thoughts.

"I wanted to. But, after meeting the Champion, I'm not sure who were you protecting - him or the Inquisition?"

"Maker's breath, was it that bad?"

The lack of an answer worked better than any answer. Cassandra sat down heavily. Varric relaxed a bit and leaned against the wall, but stayed close to the exit, in case the Seeker would decide to spontaneously crush him with a table.

"Why didn't you tell me the Champion is a reaver?"

"Oh, I don't know! Because drinking dragon blood is forbidden here and there and revealing this small detail sounded like a really bad idea? Just like screaming: 'Hello, I'm a blood mage!' at the doorstep of a templar fortress?"

It was hard to argue with such statement, so Cassandra remained silent, only cast at the dwarf a questioning - and utterly disappointed - look.

"Come on, Seeker. Even if I told you, would it change anything?"

"It would certainly explain some things."

"Perhaps." Admitting that must have been as hard for Varric as telling the truth for once. His bullshitting tone of voice was gone now, replaced by something sadder, usually reserved for digging up unpleasant memories. "Don't get it wrong, Seeker, Hawke is not a bad person. He lost himself in a frenzy, yes. A few times. But never turned on us, just scared everyone shitless." Varric sighed, helplessly rubbing his forehead. "A kind of person who would give a bag of gold to random urchins in Darktown, then turn into a back alley to slaughter some blood mages... and templars, who'd come to get them as well. How would that look in a book about heroic deeds of the Champion?"

"I was not interested, neither in your books nor in your lies, dwarf." Cassandra sounded more disheartened than angry, which made Varric wish she would throw stabbed things at him instead. "Are there any other matters of great importance you've forgotten to inform me about?"

"There's more, yes. You should ask Hawke, not me. But don't dwell too deep into it, Seeker." He retreated into the corridor and lowered his head, suddenly concerned about the condition of his own boots. "I didn't write that book to tell a story, but to honor a memory."

Deep inside Cassandra knew that beating an innocent training dummy with a sword would not solve her problems. Yet she just couldn't stop - an old habit she wasn't able to get rid of, no matter how hard she tried.

Why was she even angry now? Because she allowed herself to confuse fiction with reality? Because she believed in Varric's tales, let the dwarf charm her with heroic images and romantic struggles?

No, if it had been truly the reason of her rage, she would have been hitting Varric instead. The source of the problem hid much deeper.

The look on the Champion's face, when she raised the shield in defense... and her own feelings, after realizing what she'd done.

"Ugh!" She hit the pitiful dummy even harder. Small chunks of it, chopped off by accident, spattered in her face.

A meaningul coughing from behind brought Cassandra back to reality.

"Seeker." Hawke greeted her with a nod. They stared at each other for a while in a deep, uncomfortable silence, before the Champion handed Cassandra... a book. "Here, a little something for you."

"This is one of Varric's..." She automatically accepted the gift, completely baffled. "How...?"

"I asked around." Hawke shrugged; he looked pleased by her reaction. "Some people in the tavern were very eager to help."

Cassandra winced slightly at this explanation, remembering which peculiar individuals resided in the Herald's Rest and why she shouldn't be surprised.

"I've already read this one."

"Figured. That's why I prepared something special. The very first version. Has two more chapters and an alternative ending. I hoped you'd like it, Seeker."

"So you've read all of them? Really?" One of her brows arched in disbelief. How did he manage to read anything between jumping from one mess into another?

"Oh, you know how it is, Seeker. Adventuring is not half as funny as writers use to think. There's a lot of walking. And camping. Scraping off blood and guts of your equipment while beating yourself up over past mistakes. Usual stuff."

Cassandra couldn't stop herself from cracking a small smile in response. There was something warm in the Champion's voice this time, tiny sparkles in his eyes. Almost as if that charming and kind person Varric so fondly described was still there somewhere, burried under tons of garbage, stale blood and ashes from the Kirkwall foundries.

"Thank you. It's... an unexpected but welcomed gift."

"Glad you say so, Seeker. I don't think I made a good first impression, did I?" Hawke rubbed his chin, gathering thoughts. Or hiding embarrassment. Probably both. "I came here looking for Varric, only to find him dragged into a mess I'm partially responsible for. Much bigger mess than I expected, actually. So I decided to speak with the Inquisitor. She's a fierce woman, exactly the kind you need. I meant to warn her, not argue, but got a bit angry at my own hopelessness in the end."

"Being enraged by small things is a common issue among those using dragon blood, yes," Cassandra said with a distant echo of sarcasm ringing in her voice. Not very appropriate reaction, when she was holding tight the freshly accepted gift from the poor man. But she never could stop herself from saying harsh things right into someone's face, couldn't she? At least not when the situation demanded that.

"So I've heard." The Champion sighed painfully, looking like a kicked puppy for a moment. "I'm sorry. I suppose that offering my blade to the Inquisition wasn't such a good idea. But I do want to help, whatever it's worth. I expected you may have questions, Seeker. Or maybe it doesn't matter anymore."

Did it matter? An important question, indeed. In the darkest hour, the Maker sent them a hero, a leader more capable than anyone could have imagined.

But now the Maker sent them Hawke, too. For what purpose, exactly - as help or challenge?

The truth was, Cassandra wanted to know. As much for the Inquisitor's sake, as for her own.

"Some things need to be explained, especially if you want to join us."

"Into darkness, unafraid, eh?" There was no mocking in his words, rather some sort of admiration and Cassandra had no idea what to think about it. "Still a lot of trouble for one hired blade."

"I hope you're much more than that, Champion."

Too many emotions crossed Hawke's face at once to identify and name at least one, let alone the most important. Cassandra thought that she was never really as good at reading people as she should be; she would have never believed in Varric's lies otherwise.

"I think I've taken a liking to that tavern. I'll be there, at your disposal, Seeker," Hawke smoothly changed the topic. Before leaving, he smirked at the view of a training dummy massacred by Cassandra's sword. "Unless you'd like to hit something tougher. I never say no to a spar."

Chapter Text

Muffled sounds coming from the Herald's Rest made Cassandra question her decission of arriving at such late hour. Not that the tavern was particularly crowded, rather the general atmosphere inside did not seem proper for the serious conversation she intended to have with the Champion.

She took a deep breath, shaking off silly excuses. It was her job of a Seeker, as well as the Inquisitor's second in command. The sooner she'd get over with it, the better.

Hawke was waiting for her at the small table in the corner. His dreadful aura seemed somehow weakened by the gentle lights, music and cheerful toasts filling the place. But he was still wearing his battered Champion armor, although with the spiky parts removed.

"Not the most comfortable outfit for an evening here, I assume." Cassandra greeted him with a nod, while taking a seat.

"I... arrived in a hurry, leaving most of my belongings behind. Thought I would storm in, grab Varric and run." The Seeker sent him a frown, but he ignored it completely. "I'm glad Varric explained the situation to me before I started murdering the guards."

"Such attitude surely makes you popular, Champion." If those words sounded too sarcastic, she blamed it on Hawke, for constantly undermining and insulting the heroic figure from the dwarf's tale.

"It's better not to get attached." He shrugged, but Cassandra could tell he was hiding something behind that nonchalant pose. "I haven't done much socializing yet, for various reasons. Mostly because everyone here seems busy and I came to help, not to get in the way. Sadly, as you probably heard, Seeker, I have neither contacts nor knowledge the Inquisitor expected of me. Still can fight, though. Which puts me in the same category as your Qunari fellow."

"So you and the Iron Bull made an acquaintance?"

"Indeed. It wasn't hard to get along, really - you know, Seeker, similar fighting style, similar fondness towards wasting time in taverns - until he brought up the smell..."

"Smell?" Keeping up with Hawke's chain of thoughts was already giving Cassandra a headache. Not that Varric hadn't warned her. "Care to clarify, Champion?"

"He said that I smell... dragony. And it attracts the Qunari for some reason." Hawke thoughtfully rubbed his beard. "To think of it, that would explain a lot. Running like an errand boy between their compound and the viscount office, for example. Maker, there was even a Qunari delegate literally camping in front of my house for some time."

Cassandra nodded to herself at this detail. Evidently, she'd read Varric's book too many times already.

"I assume this is why you still use that strange weapon?"

"Ah, yes. 'Guard it or lose all honor', I've beeen told. Implied there was still some honor left. Simplicity of the Qun had some charm in Kirkwall's chaos, I must admit." Hawke reacted to Cassandra's frown with a small smirk, but dismissed her unspoken questions, as if the topic was not worth continuing. "I'm surprised Varric wrote down even small things like this one."

"Wait. You haven't read...?" The Seeker stared at him, shaken, like if he had just grown a pair of dragon horns out of thin air. "You know all his books except the one about you? Why?"

"I tried. But couldn't. It felt like dissecting my own rotting corpse."

I didn't write that book to tell a story, but to honor a memory. It did not make much sense to her back then. Now, however...

"Are you sure you're ready to answer my questions then? I suppose it would be worse than reading Varric's tale."

Hawke firmly shook his head.

"I do not need to be ready or feel comfortable about it. This conversation is necessary. I trust your ability to evaluate dangers, Seeker. Hiding behind lies and excuses won't fix or improve anything."

Something warm brightened Cassandra's face, relaxed a bit her tensed muscles. It was easy to tell that such open, brave declaration impressed her.

"How have you become a reaver?"

"It was... an accident." Hawke rubbed his forehead, embarassed by his own memories. "Or stupidity, depends on how to look at it. But I did not wake up one day, thinking: 'It would be great to drink some dragon blood!', no, even though I always found dragons awesome."

He paused and left the Seeker at the table for a moment, only to return with drinks and some previously ordered snacks. Cassandra accepted the courtesy, waiting patiently for the Champion to organize scattered thoughts. It was going to be a long conversation, after all.

"I don't remember many details, honestly. We were... travelling. Father stayed a bit behind, dealing with some troublemakers at the side of the road. I saw a strange shadow approaching and a moment later a hungry dragon landed in front of us. Not even a big one, just a scout. Probably decided we looked tasty.

I couldn't do much about it - a stupid kid, who barely finished first few training sessions with a wooden sword. But I knew, somehow, that father couldn't save us on time. And it's not like me to just stand by, doing nothing. I tried only to buy some time, figured one life in exchange for three was a good deal." Hawke slowly shook his head at the absurdity of his own tale. "Can't remember much after that, only screaming and never-ending fever. Father told me later how he had killed the drake, patched me up with healing spells, but something still was very wrong. The blood of that beast must have sunk into my wounds. Bet I swallowed some, too."

Hawke's hand landed at the bridge of his nose again. Cassandra noticed that weird, repetitive behavior yesterday, but couldn't yet guess the meaning behind it. She took a sip, without haste, sure that she would uncover the truth, sooner or later.

"Carver never forgave me." How do you think we felt, watching you being chewed up and then spat out by a blasted dragon? What are you, a dog's toy? How could you do this to Mother? A fond yet sad smile crossed Hawke's face; he didn't expect to ever miss his brother's scolding. "Kept yelling at me for reacting like an overprotective mabari, whenever anything larger than a squirrel came too close to our house. Told me I was a bigger problem than Bethany's magic could ever be. And he was right."

The Seeker nodded thoughtfully, mostly to show that she was listening.

"And this is how you mastered dragon blood?"

"Sadly, no. The sickness refused to go away. Father saved my petty life for a second time. He used his many contacts to arrange a proper ritual for me, hoping it would help."

"It didn't?"

"Well, I survived." Hawke shrugged. "The guy who prepared the concoction said I was far too young for this shit, meant to strengthen already powerful warriors. Fever was gone, at least, but other problems began. I needed to relearn many things, even simple ones. Got used to it eventually, but it... wasn't easy. I still feel awful for causing a whole lot of trouble, when our family was already in danger."

Cassandra was thinking about it for a while. From what she'd gathered already, the Champion was just a farm boy back then, without any training. Chances were he would remain like this for his entire life. Well, maybe not in Ferelden, he could join the army eventually. Or learned some oher skills to protect his mother and sister. But something like this... Not the nicest thing to say, but the Champion's brother was probably right.

No matter how hard I try, it never seems enough - that particular line from Varric's book crossed the Seeker's mind, gaining completely new meaning.

"Carver was determined to 'beat some discipline into my stupid ass'. Bethany couldn't stand watching my struggles either; said she won't have it, learned some healing spells to keep me in check. We were invincible together, even after that ogre..." Hawke took a deep breath, touching the same place on his nose again. "Until I selfishly dragged her into the Deep Roads."

The Seeker wanted to interrupt this confession to not cause unnecessary pain, but found herself taken aback by the tone of Hawke's voice. Not only that - his eyes, expression, everything, was so... empty.

It took Cassandra a moment to understand. The memory was like a very old scar, that ceased to hurt long ago but was still big enough you couldn't stop staring at it.

"From Varric's point of view it did not look like your condition was rapidly worsening after the expedition, Champion."

"Blood magic."

"Excuse me?"

Hawke took a slow sip; from what Cassandra had already learned about his facial expressions, he tried to suppress another burst of anger. With success.

"Merrill used blood magic on me. Two or three times, when things went really badly and out of control. That red smear across my nose was like a mark of sorts. Neither pleasant nor harmful, but worked. I don't even want to know how."

Something new appeared on Cassandra's face, an ugly twitch between her brows, at the mention of blood magic. Hawke expected that. To be honest, his reaction would be much worse.

"After what happened to Mother I refused to accept Merrill's help," he continued, not even trying to make excuses. It was his personal fault and failure, even though Merrill's practices were not meant to hurt anyone. "Blood magic felt wrong and unclean, even for someone like me."

"So you held a grudge against mages, I take it?"

"As far as I remember, I murdered people indiscriminately. Unlike some of my companions, I felt no particular sympathies towards any side of the conflict."

"But you ended up supporting the Knight Commander?"

"She wasn't scared of me. Rather sympathetic, actually. Maybe because that damn idol wrapped her mind already?" Hawke waved his hand, dismissing the thought as irrelevant for this interrogation. "All I needed back then was someone to point me in the general direction of dangerous maniacs to kill. And Meredith provided. But she eventually crossed the line with the Right of Annulment, even a maddened beast like me could see that. We really tried to save as many innocents as possible. With Cullen's help we also managed to spare those mages who'd surrendered. You know the situation was shitty, if you consider that a success."

Cassandra slightly lowered her head, battling her own thoughts, as if she felt responsible for that catastrophe in some mysterious way, but out loud said only:

"Varric stubbornly insists Kirkwall is not that bad."

"Of course, it's been always his home. But this city is quite unstable. Has every right to be, after centuries of slavery and abuse, from the Gallows to the Bone Pit. Not to mention demons in random caves or sewers, possessed books scattered all around the place... there was even a blasted demonville under Hightown. And people still seemed surprised at blood mages popping out from every corner." Hawke shook his head, as if he was both amazed and disappointed by such memories. "It felt like the entire city was in pain. No wonder I was unstoppable there. It fed me well."

"Is this why you refused to become a viscount and left Kirkwall?"

"I..." For a moment the Seeker thought that Hawke would admit to not care about that cursed city at all. Why would he, with his entire family dead, home destroyed and friends scattered because of it? "...needed a break. To stop this rage before it could consume me. Before it wouldn't matter for me whose blood stains my hands."

"I see."

Cassandra stared into her drink, thinking. All famous reavers of the Pentaghast family became insane in the end. She always thought it was their own doing, their desire for power, which pushed them further into madness.

The situation with the Champion seemed different. She saw no greed, rather a series of unfortunate events and overwhelming guilt. All of those could lead to terrible things as well. Hawke was aware of that, from what she'd seen already, but tried to change regardless.

Now, just like Cullen some time ago, he waited for her opinion. And, just like with Cullen, Cassandra could only admire his resolve.

"You're not there yet, Champion. You recognized your fault and put an end to destructive behaviors. No one is using magic on you and you're not covered in blood, right? Give yourself some credit for it." She paused, letting him digest those words. "Maybe you following the Inquisitor around is not the best idea for now, but you've must have noticed how dire the situation here is. We'll use all the help we can get."

Even if he just wanted to believe her, Hawke couldn't deny the professional meticulousness of her judgement. Cassandra wasn't lying to make him feel better or use him for the Inquisitor's sake. She just said what she was thinking, firm and honest. Hawke respected that, so he responded in kind.

"I will do my best then."

"Good. Commander Cullen will surely find a task for you. Tell him I sent you."