defaulthawke | Open Post

The Fade was never easy to navigate, even at the best of times. Shaped by a Dreamer -- well. That was even more unique. The demons warred over this section and he could feel it from the moment that they'd crossed the veil. They wanted this section because of the boy who moulded it into the shape and form he desired, consciously or subconsciously.

Subconsciously, he'd chosen a mockery of the Gallows. Leirreth hadn't been inside, but from what he'd heard - and what he trusted - this wasn't an exact replica. This was even more of a prison. A child's nightmare given form. And yet...

When they opened one door, they had found a Pride demon there, wearing Marethari's face, something that rang oddly true to Leirreth for all he didn't like the idea of defaming the Keeper that way. He was praised for his magic and told he would guide the Elves back to greatness. Leirreth... knew better. He had attacked both the Pride demon and the Sloth demon - whom he had executed with a special sort of prejudice - before they'd opened a door to find Feynriel and--

"That's his father," Leirreth murmured, right before he disappeared, Hawke being left alone to face the demon that had taken a familial face.

Leirreth, Anders, and Aveline vanished, leaving Hawke with the demon who - yes, Leirreth, he knew that already - was wearing Vincento's face. Garrett wondered at it, because the Pride demon hadn't isolated Leirreth quite like that. It had isolated the both of them, putting them in the visages of Meredith and Orsino. This demon apparently had different plans.

Unknown to him, Leirreth and the others could still see and hear both him and the demon. Garrett and Feynriel were the only ones cut off. Even as he undermined the demon's work, his heart went out to Feynriel. If given the chance to see his own missing loved ones again? Ah, well.

Maybe that was why the demon didn't attack. When its ruse fell and Feynriel ran, the vision of Feynriel's home didn't melt away to the Gallows, as the Pride demon's vision had. His companions didn't return to his side. This creature didn't round on him with bored claws. No, it turned to him and sort of- flickered. Flickered, and looked saddened, and asked why he did that. Countered Garrett's smartass response with an explanation that no- it wasn't a desire demon at all. Demons aren't the only ones attracted to a Dreamer's power.

Then something changed. Vincento's form melted away into that of Leandra Hawke- Mother as she was in that last horrible moment. A patchwork horror in white, but moving with the unnatural liquidity of a spirit.

"I'm a spirit. I find myself most drawn to the strong bonds you mortals have- and crave, and lose. These bonds define you. Feynriel's absence of 'father' defined him."

Garrett only took in about half of what the thing said, because it was speaking in Leandra's voice. It even did air quotes in the same delicate way she used to, and tucked her hair behind her ear just like Mother. The loss was still fresh enough to bring a sharp sting to his eyes just looking at it. A sharp sting, and a low rumble of anger.

"It was a bad choice, using her face. Should I explain it with my blade? It's very informative."

"So strong," it chided, sounding so like Mother it hurt. "No, listen a spell. I can see what torments you- the loss of this woman. Or this man." Then the thing became Carver, and Garrett sucked in a breath. "Or this one." Then it was Bethany, blighted in Warden armor, a Tranquil brand on her forehead. An amalgam of all his fears for her in one visage. The not-Bethany advanced on him, brown eyes wide and earnest. "You mourn them even as you blame yourself."

It became Leirreth. Bloodied, bruised, ears mutilated at the tips. Blood ran in rivulets down his thighs, from his mouth, matted his hair. It dripped from his bloodied fingers where the nails were torn off. Bruises everywhere, including some at his hips shaped like clenching fingers.

"You couldn't protect them."

Garrett stepped back. It was only a vision, a spirit or a demon looking to toy with him, but it hardly stopped the rising of his gorge at the terrible sight.

A blink, and the thing was Bethany again. "That was too far, I see. Forgive me."

"I think we might be past the forgiving and hugging-it-out stage," he managed, voice strangled.

"The fear you feel is unnecessary," it continued, undeterred. Not-Bethany came close enough to be intimate, like the sharing of secrets between siblings. "Spirits and demons are Fade creatures. We exist outside of mortal space- outside of mortal time. Your lover spoke true when he said you couldn't have stopped the Templar. You had no way to foresee what was to come. I could help you."

Garrett shook his head way from the spirit's advancing hand, but it still came to rest at his cheek. Caressing him gently, like Leirreth sometimes does. Like Mother did. Like he did to Bethany when she was sad. He shut his eyes against the thing's voice. He knew better. He knew better.

But every word snaked into his ears and wound itself inextricably around his mind, closing him in a gentle suffocation. There she was, his Bethany, his sweet beloved sister. Doomed now to die in the Deep Roads, because Garrett couldn't protect her. His mother, tortured and mutilated, because he failed to solve a murder three years ago. Carver- dead. Father- dead. Leirreth- oh, his sweet Leirreth, and even as Bethany spoke he could hear Leirreth's voice layered over it, and Mother's voice beneath. Carver. Like all his loved ones were speaking to him at once, imploring him to do better next time, to fix this, to DO something for once in his life.

"Let me help you. Let me help you keep those you love, rather than losing them to yet another failure."

That did it. At that last word Garrett opened his eyes, responding to the scathing ire that came from his own mind. It mirrored how he saw himself, in his dark moments, and was the final nail in the coffin. He looked into the spirit's eyes, into Bethany's warm brown eyes, and the noose closed round him. How could he stand a chance, alone in a vision-world of the spirit's own creation?

The hands that cupped his face and brought him close were Leirreth's, and Garrett made an almost pained sound as the 'elf' touched their foreheads together. "I can help you, amor, but only if I can go with you."

Garrett's arms went around the slight figure immediately. "Anything. Maker, anything you ask. I'm yours."

He didn't see the way it smirked then. "More demons are coming, attracted to Feynriel's power. Your companions have already moved on to help the Dreamer, but these demons have taken their form. Don't be taken in no matter what they say- you can't trust anything here."

It sounded urgent. It must have known how furious the blood mage on the other side of its illusion was growing. Must have known what was coming. Garrett nodded in assent, helpless to resist the demon's hold on his mind, eyes taking on an eerie red cast.

There were rage demons pressing in at the edges of the Fade here, all of them roaring and hissing with the desire to sweep in, to take the small elf mage, to make him theirs and share his power. The very edges of the room began to glow with their heat, yet Leirreth's eyes had gone past the fire of rage to the ice of fury. Before Garrett could change directions and swing his sword at them, Leirreth felt the bite of a spell, felt himself bleeding at the same time as Aveline's eyes went fatefully blank and she faced him and Anders alike, shield raised, blade bared.

But one mistake had been made. While he could feel the wounds caused by the demon's spell, that was exactly what he needed. "Oh, you poor, foolish thing," he hissed as he twisted the power in his own blood against it. "I killed an Archdemon. Do you really think you're a threat?"

The hisses of the demons of rage were joined by the roars of pride, but Leirreth paid them no mind, a cage of energy appearing around his doppelganger. It was a mockery of him, how it stood, how it shouted, caught in the crushing magic he'd cast. It screamed at the same time as he felt the wave of energy from Anders, knocking Aveline back, but not far. Not far enough. The swing of her shield had Leirreth off his feet, his barrier shattering from the force of it.

"Damnation, I don't want to kill you," he growled as he stood, "but you're forcing my hand."

A twirl of his staff and a new wound opened on his arm, the energy racing through the room at the same time as Anders' flames. It twined around the three, seeping into their skin, into their blood, where it seemed to turn acidic and burn from the inside.

Hawke watched in horror, despite his own agony, as Leirreth screamed and wailed inside the magical cage closing in on him. The sight tore at his heart, pouring white-hot into the memories of Colva and his own nightmares. He couldn't watch. He couldn't stand by and do nothing again while someone hurt his Leirreth.

He couldn't.

With an almighty roar Garrett broke free from the magic chaining him in place, powering through the burning in his blood to come at Justice like a charging bull. He bowled past Aveline and drove his greatsword through the spirit's head, where he knew even Justice couldn't heal from.

The gory sight of Justice and Anders collapsing in a screaming pile of blood and Fade... something pulled at Garrett deep in his bones. Next to him, Aveline gave a confused, "What- what?" Then she set upon the demon with a furious growl.

He turned to the thing posing as Leirreth, hatred in his burning red eyes.

Aveline, at least, he was safe from. The demon... He wasn't sure. He didn't care. Aveline was on it. He threw a swift regeneration spell on her without taking his eyes off of Garrett because he was becoming certain of one thing.

He was going to have to kill him. In the Fade, but still. He was going to have to--

"Oh hell."

Around them, there was a painful dichotomy. While rage burned and pride roared, now there was the slow encroaching of cold, frost wilting the ridiculous plants at the room's edge, a pool of water forming on the floor, alternately bubbling and frosting from the war between Despair and Rage.

Because there was a way.

And he didn't have time to think.

He set his jaw and pulled on the blood of Anders' dead form. It was enough. More than enough. And he didn't even think an apology as he shoved his magic onto Garrett, fought to subsume the damned demon's control with his own. He did not want to kill them, either of them. But if this didn't work, he was going to have to go deeper into his bag of tricks.

Blood magic raged into his mind, coming up hard against the leash already tight around his throat. The clash rang him like a bell and he dropped his sword with a shout of pain. He could feel it, two influences, two iron wills vying for dominance inside him. The sound that left him was entirely embarrassing, undignified- a yell as his hands knotted in his own hair, pressing hard against his temples as if he could squeeze the hurting out.

He looked up, confused at first, as if searching for the monster doing this to him. The only thing before him was a familiar figure with an upraised fist. His brows knitted together.

"Leirreth?"

This, he was sure, was his only chance. He clenched his fist, held his control with all he could - the demon was strong, but it was distracted with Aveline fighting it--

He tossed another quick regeneration spell on her with the same easy finesse he'd gained through a year of hard battle in Ferelden.

"Garrett - you need to snap out of it. The demon was controlling you, and Aveline has it on its back foot. You killed Anders. If I let you go, you're going to kill me unless you snap out of it." Behind him, the wall seemed to waver with the heat it radiated, seeming to glow orange with the weight of the rage demons pressing in. Pride seemed to have abated in the face of certainty, but the stones were sweating with the clash of lava and ice. "I'll apologise for casting this on you later, but if you don't stop," Leirreth half-shouted, "the demon wins!"

Garrett sucked in a breath, shocked and sharp. Anders. He killed Anders. This couldn't go on. It was a nightmare, it was horror. With an almighty effort he brought his hands down from his head, took a great shuddering breath, and straightened to look at the demon - no, no, at Leirreth - more directly.

"Leirreth," he managed. It was more of a reminder than anything: yes, this was Leirreth, his love, he had to stop. With a huge mustering of strength he took a step towards - towards Leirreth (it was him, yes, he had to remember), then another, and another. Until he was in Leirreth's space, reaching out with a trembling hand, to touch his love's cheek.

"It's- it's- I'm sorry."

"No time for apologising now, Hawke!" As much as he wanted to enjoy the hand on his cheek, now was not the time. Anders' death had given him the strength to hold it, but just barely. Just barely against the force of an angry demon, and now Garrett was so close that...

Shit, this wasn't going to end well, was it. His hand tightened on his staff.

"Snap out of it. Fight the demon, not us!"

But then everything -

Everything... fell. He glanced at his feet and he saw it glowing and immediately he almost threw up because he knew that sight too well. He knew what it meant. He'd stood on one for days, chained to a post that didn't let him move out of its influence. He knew what that damned glyph meant, not just by sight but by feel because suddenly, everything, every spell he'd cast (except for the regeneration, which was thankfully still working away), faded.

And Garrett was too close for him to move off of it.

Behind him, the wall's heated glow started to fade in favour of ice forming from the condensation on its surface, rage ebbing in the face of despair.

Garrett was too lost in his own mind to realize what had happened. How the demon, panicking at its loss of an enthralled host, laid down a glyph of neutralization under Leirreth's feet. It dispelled everything Leirreth cast, including the blood control over Garrett. Without it, there was only the demon's influence over Hawke's mind.

He blinked, shook his head, grunted once- then opened his eyes, red and bloodshot once more. His hand, tenderly at Leirreth's cheek, moved down, while his other moved up. They closed tightly around Leirreth's throat, and Garrett gritted his teeth as he choked the life out of his love.

It wasn't the first time he'd had a hand around his throat. This one just... hurt the most.

He'd shifted his grip on his staff. He'd known, had felt, that this was close. That this was coming. It had been too easy. For a moment, it had seemed possible. And his life didn't work that way.

And that was why, with hands closed around his neck, he turned his staff and drove the blade under Garrett's ribs.

Edited 2018-08-04 00:52 (UTC)

The blade was formidable: at least a foot and a half long. It drove under his ribs, puncturing his lungs, grazing his heart. He coughed and gagged, gasping for air as he started to drown in his own blood. His hands fell away weakly, blood bubbled from his mouth, and he collapsed in a heap at Leirreth's feet.

Garrett Hawke awoke in Arianni's hovel, sitting up straight with a horrified shout. All present jumped in their skins: Marethari, Arianni, Merrill, Varric, and-

"Anders?!" He staggered to his feet, still struggling to throw off the chains of sleep, and made his way to the mage with a kind of horrified relief. "Anders, are you okay? I thought- Marethari said dying in the Fade would make you Tranqui, and I-"

"That is only for Dreamers, Hawke," the Keeper said calmly. "And even so, your friend's spirit would shield him from such a fate."

After their reunion, after Garrett's heartfelt apologies, after his urging that Justice know his remorse as well, there was nothing left to do. Hawke sat down in one of the chairs, staring at (or past, or through) Leirreth with his elbows braced on his knees, deep in thought. He had to stay. After what he did (and almost did), it was his responsibility to stay and make sure that everybody woke up. To see Leirreth safe.

Shit.

It took time. Time for the demon to be killed. For Feynriel to be spoken to and gently guided to Tevinter, where magic was known and understood.

And then...

Then it was Aveline who woke next.

Leirreth stood in a Fade replica of the Gallows, warped and wrongly laid out. Where the walls were frosted with despair, where Hawke's blood was on his hands and on his robes. Where there were bruises around his throat. Where he'd watched Garrett give in to a desire demon that had wrapped him around its fingers while wearing his face.

His eyes closed. And he woke up.

He cast a look around the room and saw everyone there and intact.

And then he stood up, holding his staff, and he left. There was no dramatic exit. He just walked away with calm, measured steps.

After Leirreth left, every eye in the room turned to Garrett. He could only stare at the closed door in despair, ice closing around his heart.

Aveline relayed what happened to Marethari and Arianni, as she was the only other person to witness it. The two elves talked out Feynriel's fate and that was fine, but Garrett had no mind for it. Varric came and sat down next to him, asking him hesitantly if he was okay, and before they knew it they were in the Hanged Man, getting extremely drunk.

The night went pretty well. He won two hands of cards, lost seven, and wound up in a cell for pummeling an off-duty Templar and fighting three guards. All in all, a fairly out-of-character display.

Somehow, life went on. He kept pushing at the Viscount and the Gallows about Ser Colva; tensions built in the streets. His noble neighbors showed open resentment and even hostility towards him for bringing more unrest on the behalf of a Fereldan. Now and again, he could be seen having shouting matches in the Gallows with none other than the Knight-Commander, who was helpless to so much as touch him, now that the Viscount was on his side.

Leirreth had left town. He had walked north, to Sundermount, and then inside. None of the Dalish disturbed him. The undead fell when he set them on fire. And then he found a nook within the warren of Sundermount's caves and he sat there. He waited there for a few days, letting the Varterral act as security. He hunted. And after a few days, he walked down from Sundermount and into Kirkwall.

His feet almost took him to Hawke's mansion. He caught himself before going past Lowtown. He went, instead, to Lirene. There were bunks there, and that was where he slept. He augmented Anders' healing for those who didn't want to go to Darktown. He told the archdemon story again and again. He accepted a few drinks. And the time passed before he even realised.

But with that time came calm. And with that calm came the will to walk up the stairs to Hightown, to knock at the door of Hawke's mansion. He looked a little worse for wear, but he still stood there. And he waited, wondering if it would be Bodahn, Orana or Hawke.

It was neither.

Sandal flung open the door with a joyous cry of, “enchantment!” and threw himself at Leirreth in a possibly bruising hug. Bodahn came up behind him, apologizing that he hadn’t stopped his son from getting the door, and explaining that Sandal had been worried sick at his absence after- then Bodahn fell silent, but they all knew he meant after last time.

Once inside, Orana was in the sitting room, having come to see what all the fuss was about. At the sight of the elf she peeled up, approaching to take his cloak. “Are you coming home now, Master Surana? Master- I mean, Messere Hawke will be so happy.”

Leirreth dropped to his knees and hugged Sandal back, ruffling the boy's hair. "I'm sorry, Sandal," he said, genuine to the core. "I didn't mean to scare you. See, all in one piece, I promise." But he handed Orana his cloak, his staff placed off to the side for the sake of keeping it out of the way. "I'm not sure if I'm here for good, but I'm... here to talk, at least."

That was as much as he could offer. As much as he could promise. He was almost sure it'd be enough, but... the talk would decide for sure.

"Is he home?"

“No, messere, not just now,” Bodahn answered. “Popped out to the shops for a bit. ‘Course, last three times he did that he came back a bit.. worse for wear....”

Bodahn trailed off, looking awkward, before clearing his throat. “Well! Look at my manners. Can I offer you something to drink?”

Somewhere, the kettle whistled. Orana had already started on some tea.

Edited 2018-08-04 22:05 (UTC)

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