Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Spiders. Of all the Void-damned creatures Garrett Hawke would lose his life to, why did it have to be spiders?

Maybe the Maker really did have a sense of humour. A twisted one, perhaps, but one all the same.

He suppressed a shudder as he twirled his stave in front of him, trying to find the most comfortable grip to begin casting.

He might be dying today, but he wasn't going to go down without a fight. And Void take him if he failed to do the one thing he promised the Inquisitor and the Warden that he'd do: distract Nightmare long enough for them to escape.

His heart contracted as he turned his thoughts to the friends and family he'd leave behind: Fenris, already pissed at him for heading to Skyhold without him, would tear the world apart trying to find him, he knew; Varric, who would be cross with the Inquisitor, but would ultimately understand Garrett needing to make the Corypheus situation right; and Carver. His breath caught as his mind's eye conjured up his brother's face, disapproving sneer covering up the intense loneliness he knew he had felt ever since Bethany's death.

He cursed as one of Nightmare's ridiculously large legs came way too close to his face for his liking.

"Ew, ew, ew," he muttered as he jumped back a few paces. He took a deep breath. Now was not the time to dwell on things he couldn't change. Now was the time to focus.

He cleared his mind of all excess thoughts and let himself fall into that battle-honed rhythm he had unfortunately become accustomed to throughout his time in Kirkwall and beyond. He let himself act without thinking, shooting off spell after spell to attract Nightmare's attention. Anything to keep it off of the Inquisitor and the Warden, anything to say hey, Ugly, look at me!

His efforts paid off. He almost sagged with relief when he saw the ambient green light that was the portal out of the Fade disappear, telling him that they had made it out, and the Inquisitor was able to close the rift.

He had succeeded. He could rest.

A part of him wanted to keep fighting, but a larger part of him knew it was a losing battle. There was no way he'd be able to defeat Nightmare. It was a demon almost as ancient as life itself. He'd be a fool to think he could single-handedly defeat such a creature.

He still threw out the occasional spell though, his body seemingly not having caught up with his mind, determined to still fight.

He wondered what it would be like to die in the Fade. No teachings had covered such a thing, mainly because no one thought it would be possible to physically inhabit the space. The last time someone had managed it, darkspawn happened. And those magisters didn't die in the Fade as much as they were corrupted by it…

Could one die in the Fade? He knew if one's spirit was killed while lucid in the Fade, the body would die, too. But he had no body left in the physical world. Would he be corrupted instead, then? Would he end up like Corypheus?

He didn't know, and that thought, more than anything, spurred him to keep fighting.

He had stayed in the Fade to prevent a problem, not to become one, and he'd be damned if he allowed himself to turn into something horrific.

No. He couldn't die and risk it. His only hope was to escape.

But how could he? This was Nightmare's domain, and the demon was too powerful. Its will overpowered anything that he could try to do.

He sighed as he threw off another volley of spells. He was Void-bound if he did, and Void-bound if he didn't.

He was stuck.

Trying not to give into despair, he forced himself to keep fighting. To keep moving. He knew he'd fall eventually, but maybe, just maybe, another solution would present itself before then.

As long as he kept standing, he had hope.

Garrett didn't know how long he had been fighting Nightmare. Time passed differently in the Fade, he knew. What he hadn't known originally was that his energy reserves would respond differently, too. After an indefinite period of time in battle, he still didn't feel like he was tiring, didn't feel hunger or thirst. When he recognized his magic was lagging, small lyrium veins appeared, and he was able to absorb their aura and become completely revitalized.

It was strange as fuck, but he wasn't going to look a gift lyrium vein in the mouth.

No, he'd take every advantage he could get and not feel the least bit bad about it, because he was fighting the Nightmare. Nothing he'd use to help him would be considered cheating as far as he was concerned.

A small voice in the back of his head told him the presence of the lyrium veins meant something, but he didn't have the capacity to think on it any more. He was doing all he could to stay upright and keep moving. The moment he stood still, he knew he would die.

So on and on it went, he and Nightmare locked in a seemingly endless battle. Was this to be his future, then? Unable to be granted the sweet release of death, instead resigned to keep fighting forever more?

He could always lay down his staff, but whenever that thought crossed his mind, his body seemed to have a physical reaction to it, like it had desires of its own.

This being the Fade, Garrett wasn't going to discount anything.

"Enough," a deep voice called, startling him out of his thoughts. It took him too long to recognize the sound as Nightmare, deigning to talk to him, he supposed.

It was strange enough to stay his hand, and Garrett stopped moving, straightening and not letting himself think about how not-winded and not-sore he was.

"Finally wish to talk?" he asked, feigning a bravado he didn't feel.

"This ceaseless battle is getting irksome," Nightmare said, not bothering to answer Garrett's question, though he didn't think it would.

"So just kill me," he offered, dropping the hand holding his stave by his side, in the universal signal of I surrender.

Garrett was prepared; he agreed with Nightmare that the battle was getting frustrating. He almost would prefer death to the constant motion the fight required.

But no killing blow came. In fact, nothing happened. Nightmare remained silent.

"You can't kill me," he breathed, the realization coming to him so suddenly it almost made him gasp. "Can you?"

He didn't know how he knew, but he felt Nightmare's frustration thicken the air around him.

"Fears do not kill," the demon intoned. "They paralyse, they inhibit. They stay one's hand and make one come to the wrong conclusion. But they, themselves, do not cause death."

Garrett considered its words. It wasn't wrong (and why would it be? This was its domain, after all). Fear itself never killed anybody. It just helped mould the environment to perhaps put people in precarious situations.

But it also saved people's lives. How many times did someone not walk down a dark alley for fear of attack, only to have avoided that very thing? Or not eat something that had turned poisonous, because the scent made them fear digestive upset?

Fear was healthy just as much as it was concerning, and Nightmare was just one part of that. Yes, the fears were psychologically damaging, but they weren't lethal.

Huh.

Did that mean they could have all gotten out of there unscathed? That it was only the fear of them failing that made them actually not succeed?

His head hurt. He didn't want to think about that anymore.

"So…" Garrett began, more to keep himself from spiraling about what if? "I face my fears, and I can just … get out of here?"

He didn't expect Nightmare to answer, but, to his utter shock, it did.

"My domain holds no sway over you. You refuse to lay down. You refuse to stop fighting. And I grow weary of devoting part of my focus to you. Either succumb, or move on."

Move on. He'd love to. Except there was no way out. The Fade was constantly changing, he knew, but Nightmare's realm seemed to be quite stagnant. Aside from Erimond's rift, there was no —

But there was. A fissure in the rock appeared ahead of him, leading further into the depths of the Fade.

Did the Fade even have depths? He didn't know.

He also didn't know where that path would lead, but he had to trust that it would take him away from there. Nightmare didn't want him around anymore, so maybe it allowed such a path to exist?

Maker, he hated the Fade. It gave him headaches in the best of times. Now? He couldn't even begin to process it.

He did know, though, that it'd do well for him to be as far away from Nightmare as possible, and that meant taking whatever path was available to him. So down into the depths he'd go.

Not bothering to spare another look at the demon who had irrevocably changed the course of his life, Garrett began the journey to Maker-only knew where.

He hoped, at least, that it'd be better than where he was leaving.

As he continued to walk, he began to ponder his situation. He did not know how physically being in the Fade was going to affect him, but, as he hadn't yet turned into a corrupted monstrosity and/or a darkspawn, he was taking that as a win.

Maybe it was the act of breaching the Golden City that had turned the magisters? Maybe the Maker had put some sort of protection spell around the area? Or maybe Inquisitor Nyna Lavellan really was Maker-blessed, and them being the one to bring them into the Fade sort of … protected them from said corruption?

He sighed. He didn't know, and it probably wouldn't do to fret about it. Either he was going to turn into a darkspawn or he wasn't. There wasn't much he could do about it now.

Except not breach the Black City. Yeah, he'd probably do well to avoid that place like the plague.

He chuckled at his joke. Damn. He'd miss people laughing at his impeccable humour.

Was he really going to be stuck there for the rest of his life? There were other rifts in Thedas, weren't there? Shouldn't he be able to find one and go through it? True, he wasn't a demon or spirit or whatever, but they had sort of fallen into the Fade through one; couldn't he fall out of it using one, too?

Of course, that would mean he'd have to find a rift first. And while they were prevalent throughout the Inquisitor's travels, there didn't seem to be any in his near vicinity.

But Garrett knew how the Fade worked; he knew the paths shifted and changed depending on the dreamer's intentions. Maybe he had to intend to find the rifts, and then he would?

With that sort of decided, his thoughts drifted to the next order of business: food and shelter. He very much wasn't hungry, or thirsty, and he thought he had been fighting for long enough that he should be. But those lyrium veins had really helped perk him up. He didn't feel like he was malnourished, or dehydrated.

Did the Fade … freeze his bodily functions? After all, he'd only figuratively shit himself when he'd faced Nightmare. He had no idea how long he was actually fighting, but it had to have been long enough that he would have had to relieve himself, hadn't it?

But he hadn't.

He knew spirits didn't have to deal with such base things, but shouldn't he have to, being a physical body, even though he was in the Fade, too?

He sighed. There were so many questions, and very few answers. If he did survive his encounter there, he'd be compelled to write down his findings.

He shuddered. Scholarly pursuits. Not his forte. But it'd probably be worthwhile to jot down his observations, regardless.

An object appeared in the middle of the pathway, floating directly in his line of sight. When he got closer, Garrett realized it was a journal, complete with quill that had somehow bound itself to the book's spine.

"Really?" he muttered. He didn't know who he was talking to, but someone must have been listening to his musings. Did the Fade itself want him to write down his experiences?

Did the Fade want to be … known?

"Perish the thought," he told himself. The Fade was unknowable. That was its thing. It was mutable and ever-changing, and mages had devoted their entire lives to trying to map out the place, driving themselves to the brink of insanity when they found they couldn't achieve their goals.

Was the fact that he was physically there the difference? Or was this just his subconscious taking over, telling him that he had a responsibility to greater magekind to record as much of his understanding as possible?

That almost stopped him short. Since when did he care about the good of magekind? He shook his head. Anders had really rubbed off on him, and not in the good way.

He smirked, but then his smile slid off of his face as he was yet again reminded that he was alone.

Without even intending to, his thoughts drifted to Fenris. He hadn't let consideration of his lover sway his mind when he had made the decision to stay, had known that, no matter what he did, he'd be betraying his closest confidant. But he had to. He just had to.

He'd understand. Or if he didn't, he'd talk to Varric, and he'd make him see the light.

Void take him. He wasn't supposed to survive. He wasn't supposed to have to deal with the consequences of his actions.

What kind of bullshit was that?

He shook his head. He just had to face it, as he did every other shitty thing that had happened in his life.

Besides, he'd been in worse situations before. He couldn't, at that moment, recall any specific times when he'd had to overcome worse odds, but he was sure he'd had to.

He just had to find a rift. Then he'd deal with everything else.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been walking. Too long, if he was attempting to keep any sort of time. He had felt when he had passed the edge of Nightmare's domain, the air sort of … lightening, almost as if the Fade itself had breathed a sigh of relief as he left the realm of fears.

But that had been a while ago, if his method of keeping time was any indication.

Not that he could rely on it being accurate at all. He just counted his steps, not so much to measure distance, but to measure the amount of energy he was expending.

He hadn't needed to eat. Or sleep. Or even just … rest for that matter. There was nothing to help him mark what he assumed would be the passage of time, so he did what he could with what little he had.

As he continued his exploration of the Fade, he began to recognize that there were periods of time where the air felt a bit more … alive, than others. That led him to believe that was nighttime, when people were dreaming, and thus, the Fade was busier, more suffused with energy. So he began to mark those occasions in his little notebook that the Fade had so helpfully provided him, with a self-inking quill, he had discovered.

The Fade had given him a way to take notes, but no damn exit.

That wasn't the only thing that was … well, not frustrating him, per se, but was at least remarkable to him. In his entire time in the Fade so far (three days if his timekeeping could ever been considered accurate), he had yet to encounter another.

No spirit, no dreamer, no Fade-walker.

Nothing.

It was almost as if the Fade's denizens were avoiding him.

Which, if he thought about it closely, made sense. He was an anomaly. Something that shouldn't exist. He was wrong and he didn't quite blame the spirits for giving him a wide berth.

Part of him had expected that he'd have to defend himself constantly. That the Fade would see his presence as a sort of infection, and send spirits and/or demons to remove him. Surely he was an affront to the very nature of the Fade.

But no attack came. He was still completely alone.

He wasn't sure if he should be offended or thankful.

He'd counted seven of those energy-intensifying cycles before he forced himself to sit down and rest. He still didn't feel the need to, but constantly being on the move was fucking with him mentally, and he figured he owed it to himself to just … be for a moment, perhaps giving his mind a chance to settle.

He hadn't yet found a rift, and while that was frustrating to him, he also knew he had to be patient. He couldn't expect to find one so quickly.

His life had never been that easy.

No, he just had to take it one bit at a time and hope, eventually, the Maker, or spirits, or fate, or whoever, would take pity on him and finally give him something good.

But of course, he wasn't that lucky. He should have known better, truly, but he had just thought…

The Inquisition had reported sightings of numerous rifts around Thedas. There was no way the Inquisitor had closed them all. Unless he was just walking around in circles, and they had dealt with all the ones near Adamant.

That was, he hated to admit, entirely possible.

And so on his life went (if he could even call it that). Wandering the Fade like some weird hermit, never having to stop unless he chose to, constantly on the lookout for some hint of disturbance that might indicate a rift was nearby.

It took him 20 more cycles before a glimpse in the distance gave him a prick of hope. That couldn't be … could it?

Trying not to rush, not knowing if the Fade would be cruel enough to tease him with possible escape, only to take it away from him at the last moment, Garrett made his way toward the rift.

He kept his eyes trained on it, barely letting himself blink, certain if he looked away for just a moment, it would disappear.

But much to his relief, it remained, steadfastly taunting him as it grew bigger and bigger.

Was this it? Would he be able to leave the Fade? Get his life back?

His hope was quickly dashed when he finally got close enough to observe it. While the ones he had heard described by the Inquisitor were big enough for entire Pride demons to break through, what he was now standing in front of was no more than the length and width of his arm. There was no way he'd be able to fit into that … could he?

Well, he was certainly going to try.

He slowly approached the fissure, wondering if perhaps it was a perspective issue, and he'd be able force his way through it.

He reached out a hand, embarrassed to see that it was shaking, but this was it. This was the moment he had been waiting for.

He touched the rift and, to his immense relief, he felt himself pass through it, the cool breeze caressing over his fingers an immediate and surprising reminder that there was no atmosphere in the Fade, no wind or weather that could affect him. No, the Fade was just as stagnant as it was mutable, and he had to stifle a sob when he felt the air grace his skin.

That was where his relief stopped, however. Although he kept pushing, trying to widen the crack between the two realms, he couldn't make it any bigger. All he could manage was shoving his arm through up to his elbow, but there was nothing on the other side that he could grasp onto, nobody he could call for aid.

Though he had found a rift, he was still stuck.

The devastation that swept through him was sudden and acute.

Garrett wondered, then, if the rift would not perhaps grow over time. If they started as these small fissures and then got bigger as the magic of the Fade found its way through the cracks and crevices, much like a trickle of water would wear away solid rock. Could the Fade's energy eventually cause the hole to widen? Or did he just happen upon a small one?

Or, the voice in his head that was the most negative said, were the rifts always this size, and it was only the malleable form of spirits and demons that let them fit through the small space, shrinking themselves down as they went through them and then increasing in size once on the other side?

Was his immutable shape, his solid, physical form, his restriction? Was the fact that he was an actual human being going to be a limiting factor on any effort to go through a rift?

It wasn't for the Inquisitor and their friends, but not only did the Inquisitor have the Anchor, which could manipulate Fade rifts, they also went through the portal Erimond had created. That one was supposed to be big enough to allow Nightmare through and was not naturally occurring, so there was a high chance it was larger than average.

He sat down heavily, despondency coursing through him. Did that mean he was stuck then? Forever?

He didn't know how long he allowed himself to stay there, staring up at the rift like he could will it to get wider. If the Fade was so changeable, shouldn't he be able to guide it to become bigger?

But the rift wasn't a part of the Fade. Wasn't that the whole point of them? That they were rips in the fabric of the Veil, allowing those from the Fade to cross over without being pulled through by magic?

Even if he could use his thoughts to change the Fade around the rift, it wouldn't alter the rift itself. So the question was: Would adjusting the positive space allow the negative to fill in?

He didn't know, but he wasn't opposed to trying. What else did he have to do, anyway?

With a sigh, he settled down to do one of the least favorite things his father had ever tried to teach him: meditate.

Chapter Text

His father would have been proud of him. He'd meditated more successfully than he'd ever done before, clearing his mind, focusing only on what was important, letting his subconscious take over and direct his will into the Fade, coaxing it to mould to his wants, his needs, his utmost desires. Let the rift grow bigger, and let his unwelcome presence disappear from their realm.

And it worked. The Fade changed to what he willed it, morphing into a variety of shapes and paths and leaving the area around the rift clear of anything else. But the rift itself didn't grow. It stayed, as solid as he was, unwilling or unable to increase to match the space he had created for it. After what felt like hours of trying (though it could have actually been days) he sighed in resignation.

The rifts were no more part of the Fade than he was, and just as he couldn't be affected by a dreamer's interpretation of the realm, so, too, did the rift's size remain stagnant. It wasn't a part of the Fade, it was not-Fade, and thus didn't follow the same rules.

Garrett couldn't say he was surprised by the outcome of his efforts, but he was still disappointed. He had allowed a tiny spark of hope to develop, one small part of him to hold on to the thought that his plan might work.

And when that ember dimmed, he fell into a catatonic state.

He didn't know what to do.

So there he sat, content to just let the Fade exist around him, time passing — or not — as he gazed at the rift, wondering if the Inquisitor would come along and close it. A brief flicker of an idea floated past him, that if he noticed the rift growing smaller, he could attempt to call out to the Inquisitor, but he had no idea if that would work. Could sound travel through the tears? He didn't know.

He resolved to attempt communication of some form if such an occurrence presented itself. His eyes flicked to the journal that he had sat down beside him some time ago, thinking that if he couldn't speak, maybe he could write a note.

A bit of energy suffused him then as a thought forced itself to the forefront of his mind.

A note. He had paper. He could write a message, slip it through the rift, and hope some kind passerby would find it. He'd instruct said person to contact the Inquisition, and then maybe the Inquisitor could do what they did at Adamant, making the rift bigger and allowing him to come through.

After all, it's not like they had to punch a brand new hole in the Veil. It was already torn; they just had to use the Anchor to widen it.

Would Fade paper exist outside of it? That small voice taunted him. He wasn't sure, but what did it hurt to try? He was in the Fade, he had infinite ink and paper if he required it. Using a bit of it to try and pass a note wasn't the worst idea.

He took a deep breath as he opened the journal to a blank page, trying to think of something to say that wouldn't a) make someone think he was a demon trying to manipulate his way out of the Fade and b) make someone think they'd found the writings of a raving lunatic.

The odds of him succeeding were extraordinarily low, so he settled on a sanitized version of the truth. That he was a member of the Inquisition who had fought with the forces at Adamant, and that an accident had caused him to go through a rift. He was caught on the other side, the Inquisitor having closed the particular rift he had fallen through, but he was able to find this one, and he'd be ever-so-thankful if the kind soul who found this missive would find the nearest Inquisition soldier and pass on his call for aid.

He debated for a moment on how he would end the letter, but eventually he decided to sign it simply Hawke. His name wasn't known throughout greater Thedas, and Maker help him if he'd stumbled upon a rift that existed in Nevarra, or Orlais, or Rivain, but, thanks to Varric, he knew he was infamous enough that his name might cause someone to pause and consider his words as genuine.

He could hope.

He had no — right. A shallow bowl with already melted wax appeared next to him, just waiting for him to use it.

"You know," he muttered aloud, just to hear the sound of a voice as he pulled at the chain around his neck to retrieve the Hawke family ring that he kept there on a day-to-day basis, "one could get used to an environment that provides whatever they want all the time."

Well, he amended, almost all that I want.

Slipping the ring onto his finger, he was hit with a large burst of nostalgia. He'd had it commissioned the moment he was able to repurchase the Amell estate, approved by the Viscount and everything. He was so nervous to show it to his mother, wondering if she would be put off by him erasing the Amell name, but she had only looked at it with tears in her eyes and couldn't stop gushing about how proud she was of him. Finally, their family was able to retake their place amongst society, given the respect and deference they had more than earned through their hard work that had been wiped away because of just a bit of magic.

It was right, his mother had said, and she had only wished Bethany and Father were around to see it.

He let out his breath in a rush of air, not even realizing he had been holding it. It had been a long time since he had thought about his family in such a melancholic way. His time in the Fade must have been getting to him.

Pressing the ring into the wax that he'd used to seal the note, he groaned as he stood. He was getting too old for this. Both the physical toll of fighting and the emotional toll of, well, life.

"Here goes nothing," he murmured as he slipped the note through the crack of the Fade rift. Somewhat to his surprise, it disappeared quickly, there one moment and gone the next.

Now he had to leave it in the Maker's hands. He'd done all he could.

But that note meant that he couldn't leave the area anymore. No more wandering, no more looking for a potentially bigger rift. For better or worse, he'd chosen his path. If someone did manage to pick up the missive, believe what he'd written, and found an Inquisition soldier (all very big ifs), he'd need to stay nearby. The Inquisitor would be coming to this rift, not any other. And with the ever-changing pathways of the Fade, if he wandered too far, there'd be no guarantee he'd be able to find that particular rift again. Void, he wouldn't even be able to mark the rift, for there'd be no guarantee that any marker he'd leave would remain after the Fade shifted, either.

No, he was stuck right where he was.

Not that it was a bad spot, if he was being honest. Its current iteration was actually quite … cozy. He wasn't sure how long it would remain that way, but he'd take advantage of it while he could.

Settling himself against the fairly comfortable rock and moss wall, he closed his eyes, intending to meditate some more to pass the time.

After all, he had nothing better to do. So he might as well.

The sound of scratching woke him (if what he was doing could even be classified as sleep), the noise so notable because it occurred in the otherwise silent Fade.

It had been a long time since he'd heard a sound made by something other than himself, so he was instantly alert. Did a spirit finally come to him? Or perhaps his letter had been answered!

He was again reminded of the fact that he had no idea if time functioned the same in the Fade as it did out of it, so he had no way of knowing if enough time had passed that it would even be feasible to think the Inquisitor could have made their way to him.

When he sat up, though, he noticed it wasn't the Inquisitor forcing the rift to widen that was making that sound; no, it was actually a cat sniffing around it, clawing at it as if it wanted to go through the tear, too.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he called. He didn't know why, but something he'd overheard while traveling with the Inquisition was niggling at the back of his head.

Didn't that Fade expert say that demons usually formed from the trauma of going through the rift? Or that the intense emotions they felt without the Fade to temper them caused the more delicate spirits to become corrupted, unable to withstand the onslaught of feeling they were newly exposed to?

Something something he had to go to the Fade to commune with spirits because they wouldn't survive outside of it?

Yeah, he thought that was it.

Maybe.

Regardless, the fact that it was mostly demons that came through rifts had to mean something, didn't it? Either the act corrupted them or only demons survived the journey. As he was fairly certain that wasn't a demon currently staring at him with unblinking eyes, he figured it'd be better to be safe than sorry.

Why risk it?

"It's called a rift," he explained, not sure if the spirits had the same names for things as they did, but knowing that there wasn't a better way to explain it. He thought his father had said once that spirits could pick up on a mage's intentions while in the Fade, even if they never actually voiced them. He hoped that was true, and the spirit would be able to understand what he was talking about.

"You know of it?" the cat asked, gaze still unblinking as it swiveled between his own eyes and the rift.

"I do."

"Is it of your making, then?"

"No," Garrett explained. "Do you see the hole in the sky?" He gestured upward, to where the Breach had steadfastly remained, ever swirling, ever above him, no matter what direction he'd attempted to walk in.

The cat hissed. "It hurts."

Garrett nodded. He'd heard the Inquisitor mention a sort of pain from the mark on their hand. He imagined the mixing of Fade and not-Fade was an eddy of energies that was unpleasant to anybody, spirit or flesh and blood.

"We call it the Breach where I come from," he continued, and the cat's body language relaxed a little. "And the rift, just there," he pointed to the tear, "is a result of the Breach. A small version of it, sort of. It allows you to cross over, but I think it's an unpleasant experience. At least no spirit has successfully made it through one. That I've seen anyway."

The cat inclined its head. "They are dangerous. But we still would like to know them. We had hoped, with this one being so small, it would be less painful to examine."

"We?" Garrett asked, looking around for other spirits but not finding any.

Suddenly, the small cat in front of him grew in size, becoming almost as large as a dwarf but as lithe as an elf, its grey colouring turning darker until it became an almost jet black, its lime green eyes glowing even more brightly in the haze of the Fade.

In the span of a breath, four more cats — of equal shape and size but variable colouring — stepped out from it, separating like one would peel the rind of a banana.

"My brothers and I," the lead cat continued. "For I am Curiosity, and this is Inquisitiveness, Yearning, Enthusiasm, and Wonder. Part of a whole or whole of a part, depending."

"Nice to meet you," Garrett said, all lessons he'd been taught about interacting with spirits in the Fade rushing through his mind.

The cats began to move as one, both in unison and individually, as if they were part of the same body, but were each their own, too.

They approached where he was sitting on the ground, and before he had the chance to stand up, they began to circle him, walking around him over and over again, as if they were wearing a path in the ground to mark their territory.

"You are different," the pure white one said. It had piercing blue eyes that reminded him of ice. "Not of here."

Wonder, a voice that wasn't his spoke to him. He wanted to question it more but didn't dare take his eyes off the display currently happening around him.

"I'm not," he agreed, twisting to try to keep that one in his vision, though, if they were part of the whole, he wasn't sure how necessary it was. Would it be considered rude to just talk at them all?

"You smell different," a yellow and black one with deep brown eyes said, nose twitching as if scenting the air to prove his point.

Yearning.

"I'm from the other side."

If that information shocked the spirits, they didn't let it show, and their march continued on.

"Why are you here?" The cat that had just spoken was silver with grey eyes and almost shone in the relative low light of the Fade. He tilted his head as he spoke, in that way only cats can.

Inquisitiveness.

"I got trapped here, by accident," he explained, and he felt, more than saw, the shudder go through them.

"Was the ordeal terrible?" a brown dappled one prodded, and his amber eyes shone with —

Enthusiasm.

"It wasn't pleasant, no," Garrett admitted, and the cats all hummed at once.

"How … curious," the black cat, obviously Curiosity, stated, and suddenly, they all came to a stop, halting as one, sitting down on their haunches, front legs perched in front of them, tails wrapped around their paws.

"Would you care to tell us the tale?"

He thought through Curiosity's ask, trying to figure out if he'd risk anything by telling them. But he didn't think so. In fact, they had said they had been studying the rifts. Maybe they could help him, give him some insight into the phenomena that could help him escape.

Or maybe they had a better knowledge of the Fade and could lead him to a bigger rift, one that could fit him.

Trying to temper the excitement that thought elicited in him, he began to tell them everything that had happened as he understood it, from the moment the Conclave exploded to falling through the rift at Adamant and sacrificing himself to Nightmare to let his friends escape.

For their part, the spirits remained quiet throughout his retelling, listening attentively and only interjecting a bit here and there, mainly Inquisitiveness asking how he felt throughout it and Wonder offering exclamations of, well, wonder.

When he got to the part where he escaped Nightmare's domain, all five of the cats seemed to perk up.

"That was very wise of you," Curiosity said. "Not many know that fear itself cannot kill."

"I didn't know, not at first," he began.

"Yet you sacrificed yourself all the same?" Enthusiasm interjected.

"It was the right thing to do."

"You longed to right an ancient wrong," Yearning observed.

"With hope buried deep in your chest," Wonder added.

"Unsure of what would happen, but willing to try," Curiosity stated.

"Indeed," Garrett said.

"And now you are stuck here. Unique without partner. Hope for rescue at the forefront of your mind," the black cat continued.

"I do hope to escape from here. I don't even know if I can truly die in the Fade, our understanding of it is so limited."

All five of them tilted their heads almost 90 degrees, moving in such unison Garrett was sure they had to have one mind, one epicenter controlling their actions.

"You are curious if you can live," Wonder said.

"Would you like to test your theory?" Enthusiasm asked.

"No! No, I'm good. At least for now. Maybe come check on me in a hundred years or so," he said, not quite sure if he was joking or not.

The cats, for their part, seemed to take him seriously, for they nodded in unison, too.

"We will do that, one of none," Curiosity told him. Then, one by one, each cat jumped into the black one's body, the color of his coat shifting each time a new spirit merged with it, until it had settled again to that grey hue.

"Until we meet again," the spirit told him, and then it disappeared, as if it had never existed in the first place.

Garrett blinked, wondering if that had really just happened, or if the isolation of the Fade was finally getting to him.

"You are still as perfectly sane as you ever were," a voice — the same one who had provided the names of the other spirits, he recognized — came to him from out of the ether. He tried to find its owner, but he was unsuccessful.

"Considering I wasn't the most sane prior to entering the Fade, I'm not quite sure that's saying much," he joked, and he felt the air around him come alive with amusement.

"You are very self-observant," the voice told him, and he chuckled.

"Consequences of trying to survive as a mage in Kirkwall," he said, and he felt the air stutter slightly.

"So much suffering," it murmured, and he could swear it was feeling immense amounts of pain. "Tried to help, but it was overwhelming. Fighting a losing battle. But still, soldiered on."

"You tried to help the mages in Kirkwall?" Garrett sat up a bit straighter.

"As much as I could. The Veil is thin there, so it allowed me to slip through in certain places. But there was always more suffering than I could relieve. And I couldn't stay for long. Too much time there, and I became … ineffectual."

He nodded. "Thank you for the help you were able to give. I'm sure you did more good than any of us know."

A soft glow appeared in his periphery, but when he turned to look at it, it disappeared.

"Apologies," the voice murmured. "I am not used to being perceived."

"That's all right," he assured it. "Being perceived is overrated anyway. I won't look for you."

A hum emanated through the air, but the spirit remained silent, as if it was testing his claim.

After a few quiet moments had passed, it said, "You were kind to Curiosity."

"So they were real," he muttered, almost to himself, though he knew the spirit would hear him.

It tittered. "Of course. Or, as real as anything could be in a space like this to someone like you."

That made his head hurt, so he decided to just bypass it for the moment, resolving to answer its previous observation. "I was kind to Curiosity because I didn't see any need not to be?"

"You prevented it from hurting itself."

He shrugged. "It was the right thing to do."

The spirit hummed. "You are an interesting creature. I think I shall observe you for a while."

"Right," he said, forcing himself to not look around to try and locate it. "Well, I'm sure I'll be exceedingly boring, but you're welcome to stay."

"Thank you," it told him.

Not knowing what else to do, he settled back again and attempted to meditate, focusing on the rift and encouraging someone to find the note he had sent through.

He could hope, couldn't he?

In truth, that was all he had.

Chapter Text

And so time passed (he hoped). Nothing about his situation had changed in the 10 cycles he had marked. No more activity at the rift, no more visits from spirits, no more comments from the one observing him, though he was fairly certain he still felt its presence. It was there, keeping silent vigil.

He wasn't sure if that made him feel more secure or just a bit threatened.

He craved stimulation. He was desperate for interaction, distraction, escapism. Something to take his mind off his situation, to help him focus as he waited for something to happen.

He never was content with sitting still.

So he began, much to his utter horror, working out. He didn't dare think about his brother as he did so, how he would always try to coerce him into mastering his martial skills. He was a mage. He didn't need to know how to wield a sword.

His time in Kirkwall had disavowed him of that notion, though, so he had begun to train with weapons other than the staff he was no longer permitted to carry out in the open.

That, mixed with the sheer effort of walking the city and its surrounding countryside, had whipped him into some semblance of shape.

He had continued his conditioning after the Kirkwall Chantry's demise, his travels with Fenris ensuring that he kept up his fitness.

But he had grown complacent these past few … months? Weeks? in the Fade. He knew he'd be disappointing his trainers — his friends — by letting himself get so lazy.

Though without need to eat, he wouldn't be in danger of growing fat as well.

A thought occurred to him then: if his body was essentially frozen in time, would his conditioning stay? Or if he continued to train, would he see no results, due to the immutable state of his form?

He suddenly felt along his face, the back of his neck, glanced down at his nails. Nothing had continued to grow. He was as he appeared when he first fell into the Fade.

Fascinating.

So if he wasn't in danger of losing his skills due to disuse, should he even consider training?

The answer, of course, was yes. Not only did he have to keep up the mental focus — his mind needed to easily recall his skills, which wasn't easy to do if he let it atrophy — he needed to do something. Being idle wasn't suiting him.

One key advantage to working out in the Fade, he soon found out, was that he didn't sweat. His muscles didn't fatigue, he didn't need to rehydrate or refill his nutrients.

He was probably not achieving anything, but it at least gave him some … purpose, aside from waiting for something to happen.

He desperately wished, more than anything, that something would happen.

He should have learned long ago that he needed to be careful what he wished for.

It was during one of his torture conditioning sessions that it happened.

The Fade shook, like the ground was coming apart at the seams, and he had to drop to the ground to keep from falling over.

The entire space around him shivered and shimmered, pulsing and undulating like nothing he'd ever felt before.

He was reminded, slightly, of what it had been like in the hold of the ship that had taken him and his family from Ferelden to Kirkwall, the same loss of balance and control making him almost hyperventilate.

But he wasn't in the bottom of a ship that was taking him from the only home he had ever known.

No, he was in the Fade, and if it was reacting like that, something big was happening.

His gaze flicked upward and he had to do a double take. The Breach seemed to be getting … bigger.

How was that even possible? Did that mean the Inquisition had been defeated? Was Corypheus actually succeeding?

It was incomprehensible.

He stood, not knowing what he was going to do about it, but knowing he had to do something —

The ground roiled again, and, to his utter astonishment, he watched as the Breach reversed its growth, not just no longer expanding, but instead rapidly decreasing in size. It kept shrinking until suddenly it closed, a shockwave emanating from it that forced him back a step or two.

But then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.

And the hole in the sky was gone.

In a panic, his eyes cut over to the rift, certain that because the Breach was gone, the rifts would have all disappeared, too.

But — no. Much to his immense relief, the rift was still there.

Well, that sucked for the Inquisitor, but it was wonderful for him. And with the Breach closed and Corypheus ostensibly defeated, that meant the Inquisitor could focus more on closing said rifts. There was a much larger chance now that he'd be found — or at least his note would be — sooner rather than later.

A flicker of hope coursed through him, and he let himself gaze up at the scarred sky as his thoughts filtered through all the potential ways the Inquisitor could find him.

And although he didn't deserve to feel it, a large weight seemed to have been lifted from his shoulders.

Corypheus was gone.

The Breach was closed.

The legacy that had taunted his family since his father was forced to imprison the magister for the Grey Wardens was finally complete.

He sagged with relief. He'd done nothing to warrant such an emotion, but he was almost proud of the Inquisitor for their effort. It wasn't their mess to fix, and yet they did it anyway, with an aplomb and grace that had far exceeded his own, when he had attempted — and failed — to save Kirkwall.

He sighed. He was one colossal fuck up. He steeled his resolve against such thoughts though. Being so despondent wouldn't serve him well in the Fade, and he had no idea how the closing of the Breach would affect the spirits and demons that called it home. Would they be more riled after they felt that shockwave? Or perhaps they'd be shier, stealing away to whatever small corner of the Fade they'd carved out for themselves, waiting to see what would happen next?

He had no idea, but he did know it wouldn't be wise for him to dwell on such negative thoughts.

That would just be inviting in trouble, and he didn't want anything to happen that could potentially bring him away from the rift he was currently staring at.

No, he'd stay right there, and he'd wait for the Inquisitor to come find him, a possibility that he felt more confident in now that the Breach was closed. He knew they'd take the time to rest, to recover a bit, potentially mourn whatever forces they'd lost as they defeated Corypheus, but then they'd go about finishing what they'd started.

After all, with their Anchor, they were the only one who would be able to close them. And, knowing what he did about them, Garrett understood that the Inquisitor wouldn't be able to just leave the rifts untended to. No, they'd find a way to deal with them all.

And Garrett would be waiting right there for them when they did.

He knew it'd take a while for the Inquisitor to find him, so he forced himself to meditate more, to calm himself as he attempted to be patient.

It was never his strong suit, but Void take him, he'd find a way to manage. If it was between losing patience or spending his entire life in the Fade … well.

He knew which one he'd prefer.

So he waited, focus trained on the rift, willing the Inquisitor to come, willing it to shift and change size so he knew someone was on the other side.

He must have meditated too strongly, though, for the next thing he knew, he was coming out of a deep trance, unaware of the world around him.

There was something happening, though. Some reason why his body told him to wake up.

Blinking slowly as his vision came back into focus, he audibly gasped when he saw the rift in front of him shrinking.

He scrambled to his feet, almost tripping over his damn robes as he did so, and lunged toward the hole that was soon no longer going to be a hole.

No.

He couldn't —

"Wait! Stop!" he shouted, trying to get the Inquisitor's attention, hoping that his voice would be able to carry through the rift.

He had no idea if they'd be able to hear him, but he had to try Void take him.

"Inquisitor!" he attempted, thinking maybe their title would catch their attention. At least convince them that he was more than just a demon trying to clamber its way out of the Fade.

"I'm here!"

He reached the edge of the rift, but it was barely even there anymore. It was a mere shadow of what it once was, an echo of an opportunity that he saw literally slipping through his fingers.

"Inquisitor, it's me! Hawke! I'm alive!"

He bent down to try and project his voice through the rapidly shrinking tear.

"I'm here! Don't leave me! Please."

He dropped to his knees in front of it, a supplication to … someone, though he wasn't sure who. The Maker? Andraste? The Inquisitor themself?

And he began to beg, to plead for his literal life as he watched the rift close before his eyes.

He couldn't believe he was seeing his salvation evaporate before him.

It was like the damn Chantry explosion again. He was helpless to do anything but sit back and watch the world decide his future for him.

The rift was silent as it closed, a permanent brand on his soul that couldn't even be bothered to make itself known to anyone but him.

The final nail in his coffin wasn't so much a thrust of iron as it was a soft brush of breeze across his skin.

That was it. He had failed.

He collapsed, chest heaving with unexpressed sobs, his eyes burning as he tried to hold back the tears and panic that were threatening to overwhelm him.

His one chance, snuffed out like a flame of a candle.

But … wait.

Something his father had once told him niggled at the back of his mind. Something that he knew he knew…

The Fade was location based. That meant the Inquisitor was nearby. If he could chase them down, find the next rift…

Before he could even finish that line of thinking, he stumbled up and into a run, not knowing where he was going, but knowing he had to go somewhere. He couldn't stay there anymore, couldn't look at the space where the rift had once been, mocking him with his incapability, another reminder of just how useless of a human he was, how useless of a mage.

If he was a better person, more well-trained, maybe he wouldn't have found himself in this situation. Maybe he would have been able to find another way out, or would have been able to contact the Inquisitor successfully.

He would have been able to see through Nightmare's illusions, would have been able to know that all of them could have escaped.

He was so.

Damn.

Stupid.

But maybe, just maybe, if he ran hard enough, he'd be able to catch up to the Inquisitor at another rift, find them before they moved on.

After all, the Fade was a realm of intention. It should bend to his will, bring him where he wanted to go.

It'd do what he wanted, even if he had to force it.

That thought was all he could cling to as he continued his search, his hope dwindling with every step that he took. But he knew there was nothing more he could do but move forward.

It was either that, or give up, and he wasn't ready to do that yet.

And as he didn't tire, there was nothing preventing him from going on indefinitely.

"You're gonna wear yourself out, Sport."

Garrett wasn't sure how long he had been searching for the next rift, how much time had passed as he traversed the intersecting pathways of the Fade, begging it to acquiesce to his wants, for once, his eyes straining to make sense of the various — often incomprehensible — things he was seeing, but he knew enough to realize that he shouldn't be hearing that voice speaking to him.

He was so emotionally exhausted, though, that the logical part of his brain was pushed to the back of his mind, and he stopped his efforts, coming to a standstill in the middle of some unremarkable Fade pathway that he'd either passed a hundred times before or had never seen in his life.

It wasn't him.

It couldn't be him.

And yet … the mere thought that it could be had him turning to face one of the few people who he had wished would find him.

Maybe … maybe with the Breach closed, and the Veil being so thin in places, his intentionality had manipulated the Fade in such a way that he was allowed to come through?

There was only one way to find out.

"Varric?" he asked.

He forced himself to relax, to keep his anxiousness at bay as he held his breath, waiting for the other man to speak again.

"How ya doin'?"

The question was so simple, so … him, it caused the air to escape him in a rush.

"I've been better." He attempted to crack a smile, but emotion was making it difficult for him to control his expressions.

"Yeah, I can see that."

"What're you doing here?" He stumbled toward the other man, as if he wanted to touch him, but Varric wasn't much of a hugger, and he wasn't sure if his embrace would be welcomed, so he forced himself to keep his arms by his sides.

"I'm here for you," Varric told him.

"The rift," Garrett said, and for some reason he was beginning to hyperventilate, like the pure idea of saying the words out loud was too much. "I tried —"

"I know," Varric reassured him. "But you had to know it was never going to work."

That made his spiraling thoughts come to a sudden halt.

"What do you mean?"

"C'mon, Sport, you're better than that. You know you'd never be able to escape the Fade like spirits do."

He felt any sort of potential hope evaporate out of him, like a drop of water on armour that had been sitting out in the sun too long.

Varric was right. He did know better. Who was he to think he could manipulate the Fade, get it to treat him like he was a part of it, when he was nothing but an outsider, a pebble in a shoe that couldn't be gotten rid of fast enough?

He was an idiot, that's who he was.

Varric nodded, as if he'd said those words aloud.

Maybe he had. The Fade operated in strange ways sometimes.

"Serves you right, you know," his best friend told him.

He blinked, not sure he'd heard Varric correctly.

"I'm sorry?"

"Are you?"

He shook his head. "I'm really not sure what we're talking about here."

"Are you sorry that you left us?"

A wave of guilt crashed through him then, and he almost physically took a step back.

"Where were you?" Varric closed the gap between them that had formed, and it seemed almost as if he grew in size, or, maybe he was floating?

"We needed the Champion to help us get out of the shit his family started. It was your fuck up that released Corypheus in the first place, your damn bloodline that caused him to have to be freed. If it wasn't for you, we'd never have even been in this mess. It was on you to fix, and you left us."

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"We needed you, but you were nowhere to be found when the end came. Instead, you were cozied up here in the Fade, minding your own business, not a care in the world."

That wasn't right. Garrett knew it wasn't right, and yet, for some reason, the words hit home. He had shirked his duties, his responsibilities to the Hawke family name.

Corypheus was his problem, and what did he do about it? Got caught in the Fade, leaving the Inquisitor to fight his battle for him.

"The Inquisitor … they're all right, right?" he asked, suddenly needing to know.

"They are," Varric nodded, but his expression had turned stony, cold. A look he hadn't seen directed at him before.

Ever.

"No thanks to you."

He felt it then, the open hole in his chest where his heart used to be.

"Varric…"

"Save it," he told him. "You're a disgrace, Hawke. You know what? Don't bother trying to come back. It's better for us all if you don't."

He was wrong before. There wasn't a hole where his heart should be. His heart was very much still there, but now it was bleeding, a gaping wound in it, as if Varric had taken Bianca and shot him point blank in the chest.

"You're a selfish bastard, I hope you know that," Varric told him, then he disappeared from view.

He stared at where Varric had just been.

What … had just happened? He blinked, and it was like his mind was swimming up out of the depths of the murkiest lake.

Had that really been Varric?

It couldn't have been.

While most of what he'd said had been true, the fact that he'd just disappeared like that…

"It was a demon of despair," a voice he hadn't heard in ages but that he'd recognize anywhere told him. That same voice that had provided the names of Curiosity and his brothers all that time ago.

"Where have you been?" Garrett asked, emotion making his voice hoarse.

"Apologies, I was called away, and when I returned to our spot, I realized that the rift had gone, and you were gone with it. I had assumed … but your presence is like a beacon to those who know where to look for it. And I found yours here. I am sorry your plan didn't work out."

The spirit's words took a while to sink in, but they eventually did.

"A despair demon?" he choked out, and he felt a warm energy suffuse him, chasing away the cold he didn't even know he was feeling.

"Yes, and a fairly powerful one at that. You've wandered close to the borders of its realm, though you haven't quite crossed over yet. You did well to repel it."

"I did nothing," he managed to say, but that warmth surrounding him increased.

"You did much. It could have latched on to you, but it found you too slippery to control."

He didn't know what to think about that.

A despair demon. That he'd been able to keep from hurting him?

Well, mostly.

Another thought brought him up short then.

Did that mean Varric's assertion that his plan of escaping through the rift was idiotic wasn't real, and that he could potentially still manage to find one and leave the Fade through it?

He didn't know.

But he guessed he should still put effort into it.

What else could he do?

He did know, however, that he had to keep moving. If the spirit was right, and he really was close to the domain of a fairly strong despair demon, he didn't want to stick around longer than he had to, giving it another chance to fuck with him.

He'd do anything to keep from facing down a demon-as-Varric again.

Shuddering at that thought, he forced his legs to carry him away from that place, keeping one eye out for a potential rift, and trying to order his thoughts so his will wouldn't be used against him.

But it was hard, and he was getting tired.

Emotionally, anyway. He still hadn't managed to find the limit of his physical exertions.

His mind was racing. Even though the spirit had told him it was a demon of despair, and not his best friend, who had taunted and tormented him, he couldn't get the words out of his head.

Selfish bastard.

Was he actually? He had sacrificed himself to save others; in what way did that make him selfish?

The Wardens needed Stroud. They had no leadership, no direction. Their ranks had been riddled with holes from what Corypheus and Erimond had done to them. They needed someone they could trust to rebuild.

And — Corypheus was his fault. He had thought staying behind was the right thing — the least selfish thing — he could have done.

Yeah, he was a bastard. Anyone who knew him knew that. But selfish?

Another thought sort of brought him up short. Yes, it was a despair demon, but did it know something he didn't? Was that … was that what his best friend actually thought of him? Varric wasn't in the Fade with them when they had fought Nightmare, he didn't see it in its entirety. Maybe … maybe the Inquisitor wasn't able to convey the necessity of him staying well enough.

Or maybe Varric didn't believe them.

But then did that mean he believed that Garrett could be that selfish? Was the resentment stirring in him all these years, and he'd just refused to say anything about it because he'd needed Hawke to clean up his brother's mess?

Maker his head hurt. But worse than that, his heart hurt.

And he'd been in the Fade too long.

Part of him told him to keep going, to push through and search for another rift. He knew they were out there, he just had to find one.

But a bigger part of him just wanted to stop trying.

He'd been trying for so long. Maybe it was time for him to finally just give up, to no longer fight.

To resign himself to his fate.

Would that be better than the constant tugging on the almost non-existent thread of hope that had been guiding him these past … however long he'd been in the Fade?

He didn't know.

What he did know was that with hope came the possibility of disappointment, of … despair, and he wasn't sure he could handle that again.

A sudden wave of lethargy washed over him, and he had the insistent desire to just … stop moving.

To lay down, and not get up again, at least not for a long time.

Sloth, the voice in his head told him, but he didn't much care.

He'd rest, just for a bit, and then he'd continue his search.

All he'd need to do was close his eyes, and then…

Chapter Text

He woke to the sensation of warmth surrounding him, and he smiled into the comfort it provided.

The feeling of a soft feather mattress and a cozy quilt differentiated themselves from the general warmth, and he snuggled further down into it, content to just bask in it and ignore any sense of his responsibilities, at least for a little while longer.

The bed was so nice, and he was happy to allow himself to be a little indulgent that morning.

A shift to his left told him that he wasn't alone, and the gentle stroke of a touch on his arm elicited a smile and a sigh of contentment from him.

"Are you awake, amatus?" a deep voice that he'd recognize anywhere rolled over him in pleasurable waves.

"No," he groaned, turning his face away from him. "The sun's not even up yet. Why are you?"

"The sun's been up for at least two marks. You're going to be late." The gentle touches continued, but this time they reached his shoulder, and Fenris gave him a little shake.

But his lover's words caused his brow to furrow and he blinked, turning his bleary gaze onto the other man.

"Late? For what?"

Fenris narrowed his eyes. "For your meeting with Maevaris? Something about assisting with the revolution in Tevinter? I'm not sure. I was meant to come along, but you apparently decided I'd be too noticeable."

The familiar bitterness with which Fenris always spoke about his markings entered his voice, and Garrett sat up, pushing back against the mattress so he could look at the other man more clearly.

"Fenris —"

But he was interrupted by his lover pressing a firm but swift kiss to his lips. "It's all right, amatus. I know we discussed all of this last night. When you feel the time is right, you'll invite me in. It's not like you're planning the whole revolution without me. I know my strengths, and I'll be there when you need me."

Tension that Garrett didn't even realize he was holding released from his shoulders. "You are always too good to me," he murmured, pressing a kiss of his own to Fenris' forehead before swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

He really was going to be late, and it wouldn't do to keep the magister waiting.

"You're too good to me," Fenris insisted, laying back down and throwing his arm behind his head, exposing the expanse of his chest in a way that made him look utterly delectable and almost made Garrett want to forgo the meeting to spend all day in bed with him instead.

He frowned slightly. When was the last time they'd lain together? Certainly it couldn't have been that long ago. He was never one to deny himself and Fenris had always been a willing partner.

After that initial three year gap, of course.

But the way he was feeling … it was as if he'd been separated from the man for months, and he couldn't wait to feel his body press against his.

That couldn't be possible though.

Could it?

They'd been inseparable since they'd left Kirkwall, never more than a few hours' ride from each other at all times. They were a team, and they were stronger together. They both knew that.

So in what world would he have been separated long enough from Fenris to have such a force of desire coursing through him?

He shook his head. He didn't have time to think about that at the moment. He needed to focus. Maevaris and the meeting now, Fenris later. He wasn't an untested youth. He could wait.

Besides, a little delay in gratification never hurt anybody. In fact, sometimes it made it feel that much better.

Satisfied with his plan, he made his way to the bathing chamber, eager to start his day.

If only so he could end it in the arms of his lover.

He blinked, and he was walking back into their home, Fenris sitting at the table with a steaming bowl of stew waiting for him, along with a glass of wine.

"How'd the meeting go?"

Garrett frowned. He had no specific recollection of the meeting, but…

"It went well," he told the other man. Somehow, he knew that was true, even if he couldn't remember the details. "We made a lot of progress. Nothing concrete, yet, but all steps are good steps. Maevaris seems to think she's gotten a few leads into the thought processes of some of the other magisters, can maybe swing a few of them onto our side. It's a long shot, but it might be worth it."

"Good," Fenris said, offering him a small smile. "Now come, let us eat. I made one of your favourites."

"Thank you," Garrett said, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. The taste of him was … intoxicating, though, and Garrett was finding that he didn't want to let him go. He wound an arm around the small of his back and pulled the other man toward him, slanting his mouth over his again, pressing his tongue against him, moistening his lips and hoping to get a deeper, better taste.

Fenris acquiesced with a soft moan, easily giving in and opening up for him, allowing Garrett's tongue to sweep in and twine with his, satisfaction coursing through him as he got a hint of what he wanted.

He threaded his other hand into Fenris' hair at the base of his skull, angling his head in just that perfect way, allowing him to claim the other man thoroughly, slowly savouring the sensation of Fenris matching his own efforts stroke for stroke.

As soon as Garrett pulled him flush against his body, though, Fenris deftly stepped out of his grip.

Garrett reluctantly let him go.

"Eat, amatus. You'll need your stamina."

He groaned softly but knew Fenris was right. So with a sigh, he sat down at the table and pulled the bowl toward him.

"Thank you for making this for me."

Fenris grabbed his own bowl and then sat down next to Garrett, taking his hand in his and running his thumb against the inside of his wrist.

"I know how stressful dealing with magisters can be, even one as friendly as Maevaris. It's the least I can do."

Garrett gave him a grateful smile and took a bite. The explosion of flavours on his tongue almost made him groan again. "Fuck, love, this is good."

He would have burned down the world to always see the smile Fenris gave him right then.

"What?" Fenris asked after a few minutes of silence passed, in which they had continued holding hands but had also dug into their food.

"I'm not sure," he said. He thought for a moment. "It's just … well. I don't think I've ever remembered feeling this … happy."

Fenris grinned at him and leaned forward to give him another kiss. "It's taken a long time for us to get here. Me, more than you."

"For good reason," Garrett interrupted.

"Maybe so. But still. I know loving me has not always been easy. And I know the life we have chosen to pursue together, of assisting the slaves in Tevinter, of trying to rewrite the Magisterium's laws, hasn't been easy, either. I just want you to know that I'm grateful for you, amatus. Every day."

"C'mere," Garrett murmured and pulled Fenris' hand to get him to settle on his lap.

"Amatus…" he warned, but Garrett just held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"I know, I know, we need to eat. And we will. But who's to say you can't use me as a chair while doing so?"

Fenris grinned then. "You're too tempting," he protested mildly, but Garrett just reached over and handed him his bowl, and Fenris reluctantly agreed to continue eating that way.

"I missed you," Garrett said by way of explanation.

"You weren't gone that long."

"I know. But for some reason … I can't explain it, but I feel like I've been away for ages."

Fenris cupped his cheek and tilted his face so that he could meet Garrett's eyes. "I'd never let you leave me." The sincerity in his tone and expression almost made him pause.

Something about that claim seemed out of place to Garrett, but he just pushed the thought to the back of his mind. It was what they had promised each other all those years ago when they were to face down Meredith and her crazy templars. He knew it was right for Fenris to say.

Still, something about it…

He shook his head. It must have just been a symptom of his long day. He'd clearly overworked himself so much that he couldn't even recall specific memories.

He needed a break.

Luckily, he had a willing distraction sitting on his lap at that moment, who would do wonders for taking his mind off of things.

But he also knew Fenris would be cross with him if he didn't finish all of his dinner, so he made himself behave as they enjoyed the rest of the meal together.

It was a challenge in self-control, but it would be worth it.

Much to his frustration — and a bit of his mortification — Fenris insisted on cleaning up the dishes as well.

"You cooked, it should only be fair that I clean," Garrett tried to protest, but his lover was having none of it.

"You did a lot of work today," Fenris told him. "Let me do this for you." He refilled his wine glass. "Why don't you go slip into something more comfortable, and then we can read together before bed?"

That didn't fail to bring a smile to his face. Although reticent to learn at first, Fenris had become a voracious reader, scooping up any tome he could find, from the most boring history books to the trashiest, most pulpy romance and action-adventure novels.

There was one that Isabela had turned him on to, which he in turn started to read aloud to Garrett. The plot was practically non-existent, and the explanations for the occurrences in the book didn't make sense at all, but it had captured Fenris' attention, and his enthusiasm in sharing it had made Garrett all the more willing to sit and listen through the drivel.

Maker's breath, he'd probably be willing to sit and listen to Fenris read expense reports from Viscount's Keep, if he was being truthful. The accomplishment alone … it made Garrett proud, and he was more than willing to share in the other man's successes.

He smiled when he caught sight of the book's rather lewd cover on the nightstand by Fenris' side of the bed. Overly oiled abs stared him in the face, long hair blowing in a breeze that he had no idea where it would have come from in the story, but that didn't matter.

Half-naked people seemed to sell the most, if Varric was to be believed, and he couldn't blame the authors. Who didn't want to see the world's buffest people draped all over each other, even if it didn't have anything to do with the plot?

He chuckled to himself as he untied his robes and removed his shoes. Pulling a pair of loose linen pants out of the armoire, he wondered, not for the first time, how he had gotten there — how they had gotten there. His life wasn't that much different from what it was before the Blight had driven him and his family from their home, but in some ways — in all the ways that counted, really — it had completely changed.

He was still an apostate on the run, still had people chasing him throughout Thedas, but the shape of his family was no longer the same. Gone were his parents and, ostensibly, both of his siblings, replaced with an elven lover and a dwarven best friend.

Not to mention a group of friends who, while not within his immediate vicinity, would certainly drop everything to help him at a moment's notice, should he have need of it.

A far cry from his quiet life in Lothering, but not one he'd change for the world.

"Copper for your thoughts?" Fenris' voice made him jump slightly, and Garrett turned to see the other man in tight trousers, shirtless, casually leaning against the door frame, arms crossed loosely and one ankle propped over the other.

"You scared me," Garrett lightly admonished him, and Fenris chuckled. "Guess I really was down deep."

"What has you so melancholy?"

"Not melancholy, just … introspective, I guess." He shrugged. "I dunno, really. Just being here, with you, knowing what's ahead of us … it makes one reflect. On where we've been, what we've overcome to get here."

"What's brought this on?" Fenris crossed the space between them so they were within touching distance, and the concern on his face made Garrett's heart clench.

"I'm not sure," he admitted, threading their fingers together. "I just can't get over this feeling like I've been missing you. A lot."

"I'm right here," he murmured, and Garrett tapped his forehead against his. "I haven't gone anywhere."

"I know," he breathed, then he closed the distance between them again, pressing their lips together.

It was a gentle kiss, almost kind, as they brushed their mouths together.

"Shall we get to reading?" Garrett asked, but Fenris just gave him a sly smile and shook his head.

"I think there's something else we can do that's much better than reading."

"Oh? And what's that?"

Fenris' smile turned into a smirk as he tugged on their joined hands, walking backward as he led Garrett to the bed.

"I think you know."

"Mm," he said, with a small smirk of his own. "I do. But I do so like hearing you say it."

"Make love to me, amatus."

That was all he needed to hear.

He took Fenris' face between his hands and pressed their mouths together, darting out his tongue to moisten his lips and ask for entrance, which Fenris immediately gave. With a soft groan he swept his tongue in, tasting Fenris deeply and thoroughly, ensuring no part of his mouth was neglected.

Fenris sat down on the edge of the mattress, pulling Garrett with him, then shifted back so he was situated more fully in the center of the bed.

No matter how familiar he had gotten with Fenris' body, he still enjoyed taking his time, running his hands over the expanse of his chest, tweaking his nipples in just the way he knew the other man liked, and grasping on to his narrow waist, running his thumbs below the waistband of his trousers, eliciting a rough gasp from his lover as he swept his touch near the crease of his hips.

Garrett knew all of Fenris' most sensitive spots, and he was going to map them all, first with his fingers, and then with his tongue.

He began to pepper kisses down his neck, careful not to apply too much pressure against his markings. Though the pain had subsided as the years had gone on, they still weren't the most comfortable for him, Garrett knew, so he did his best not to aggravate them too much.

Fenris had told him once that they now felt like an old injury; they didn't always flare up to hurt him, but when they did, it bordered now more on discomfort than pain.

Garrett was thankful his lover was no longer being tortured, the reminder of his past life still mentally scarring no matter what, but at least the physical had begun to harm him less.

He felt a soft pressure on his cheek as Fenris' hand cupped him. "Hey," he murmured. "Where'd you go?"

He shook his head. "Too much running through my mind, I guess."

Fenris frowned slightly. "I must not be doing a very good job of distracting you then."

Garrett's protests died on his lips when he felt himself being flipped over, and he was briefly reminded of just how strong his lover was. He straddled him, pressing his back against the soft mattress, hands running over his shoulders and biceps, coming to rest on his chest, one placed just above his heart.

"Let me take care of you, mm?" Fenris asked, and Garrett couldn't help but nod.

"I'm yours to do with as you please."

"Be careful what you promise," he warned him, pinching his nipples before he ran his hands down his flat stomach and toyed with the tie of his trousers. "I could take full advantage of that."

"Don't hold back on my account," Garrett told him, and with a soft growl, Fenris seemed to take those words to heart. He almost attacked Garrett with a fierce need, tongue, lips, and teeth running over every expanse of skin he could find, marking him in a way that made his blood heat and his trousers tighten.

"Fenris," he groaned as his lover tugged on the skin where his neck met his shoulder, pulling so much he was sure it was going to bruise.

He reached to run his hands over his back, but Fenris stopped him, pinning his wrists above his head.

The sheer power of it made him groan.

"No touching," he ordered him. "Not yet anyway. Remember, this is me taking care of you."

"But I want —"

Fenris cut him off with a searing kiss. "Not. Yet."

"All right," he whispered, and the heat in his lover's gaze was enough to make his hips cant with need.

"Something I can help you with, amatus?"

"Yes," he hissed as Fenris' fingertips brushed over his lower abdomen, and he wanted so badly. "Touch me. Please."

"No need to beg," he assured him and pulled on his trousers' tie, loosening them enough that he could slide his hand into them, running his palm over his half-hard cock.

"Already?" he murmured, and Garrett gasped as he ghosted his touch over his cockhead.

"I told you, I've been needing you all day."

He hummed appreciatively. "Then I shall not make you wait any longer."

Fenris yanked down his trousers and smalls and took his cock in hand before engulfing it in his mouth in one go.

The pure heat of him made him groan in simultaneous relief and need.

"Maker, Fenris, that feels so good."

He only hummed around his length, which made the pleasure ramp up even more, then took him down to the base, deepthroating him in that way only he could.

"Fuck yes," he groaned, tossing his head back against the pillows. "Just like that."

Fenris redoubled his efforts, hollowing out his cheeks in just the right way, flicking his tongue over his slit, running it along the sensitive underside, and shooting tendrils of delight shivering through his muscles.

He tried to control his breathing, to keep himself from bucking up into his mouth and gagging him, but it was very difficult to do when Fenris knew exactly what pressure to create and where.

Soon his entire focus was on the air entering his lungs and the wet warmth engulfing his cock.

"Amatus," Fenris panted after some length of time. He was stroking him slowly, keeping him rock hard as he spoke.

"Yes, love?" he asked, and he could have sworn Fenris preened at the term of endearment.

"I'm ready for you."

Garrett blinked. He must have been more worked up than he thought, because he didn't even remember Fenris reaching into the drawer for the oil, nor did he feel him remove his trousers and smalls, or work himself open.

Just how long had he blacked out for?

He was distracted from that troubling question by the sensation of a slicked up hand working itself over him, paying significant attention to the blunt head.

"When did you —" he began to ask, but Fenris squeezed and twisted him just so and his entire mind went blank.

"Yes," he moaned, loving the slippery sensation that was now running over his cock. "Let me fuck you. I need to be inside you."

"Of course, amatus," Fenris said, and shifted his weight so he was hovered right over his hips. He grasped the base of Garrett's cock and lined himself up, tapping his loosened hole with his cockhead, causing both men to groan.

With a gasp, Fenris lowered himself down on to him, and it was so perfect, so right —

Except it wasn't.

There was something … something off.

Fenris was still impaling himself on his cock, rocking his hips as he did so, pushing and pulling himself to drag along that perfect spot inside of him, but it didn't feel right.

It wasn't how it was supposed to be. There was a sense of wrongness that was permeating him as Fenris continued to move, starting to lift and lower himself on to him in a way that should have made him extremely content, but it was doing the opposite.

"Fenris," he gasped as the other man bottomed out. "Fenris, wait, stop —"

"What's wrong, amatus?" Fenris asked, but that was no longer concern in his eyes.

No, he was grinning, and were — were his eyes glowing? Sometimes Fenris glowed when they made love, but never anything like that…

"Fenris, stop."

But he wouldn't. The other man — was he even a man? — kept riding him, kept thrusting himself on top of him, driving onto him over and over again.

And it wasn't right, it wasn't what he wanted, but Maker did it feel good.

It was Fenris talking to him, urging him on, groaning and tightening around his cock in a way that felt incredible.

But he also knew that it wasn't Fenris. It wasn't.

The mere fact that he had asked to stop, and Fenris didn't…

He would never do something like that.

He went to grasp on to his hips, to throw him off, but "Fenris" held on to his wrists again, pinning them above his head.

He tsked. "What did I say about touching, amatus?" he asked, but Garrett struggled against the hold, trying to dislodge him.

"I'm not your amatus," he growled through clenched teeth, trying to keep his body from reacting to the pure pleasure that "Fenris" was eliciting through his moves.

Whoever was fucking him, they certainly knew what they were doing.

"Oh, but you are," he told him, grinning again. "You're my amatus, my lover. The way you stretch me, so perfect, so good … I've never had anyone like you, and I can't wait for you to fill me with your spend."

"Not. Happening," he gritted out, but then "Fenris" swiveled his hips and clenched his muscles in such a way that it had him seeing stars, no matter how much he wanted to fight against it.

"Fuck," he hissed as he felt the telltale sign of his sac tightening, which told him that "Fenris" might be getting what he wanted after all.

"That's it, amatus," he murmured, and he couldn't help it, he groaned as he spilled into him.

"Fenris" kept rocking his hips, bouncing on him in a way that made his orgasm seem to last forever.

He gasped as he twitched inside him, spurting his cum over and over, not wanting to, but not seeing a choice, as "Fenris'" thighs clamped around his hips and held him inside him as he continued releasing.

"Fuck!" he shouted as his pleasure was turning into overstimulation.

"That's it, who's a good boy?" he murmured and Garrett felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as he continued pumping into him.

Whatever situation he was in was making him last a lot longer than usual, and it was too much, too much —

Suddenly, "Fenris" pulled off of him, and his cock jerked as gobs of his spend dripped out of the other man and down onto him.

It would have been sort of enticing, if it wasn't so horrific.

"Fuck," he gasped again, but "Fenris" just grinned at him again as he flipped him over, his stomach pressed against the mattress.

"You think I'm done with you?" he asked, and Garrett let out the most pathetic sob.

It was mortifying, but he didn't care; it was how he felt at that moment.

He felt something hot and hard poke at his entrance and he squeezed his eyes shut as he realized "Fenris" hadn't released. He was perfectly capable of fucking him, and fucking him hard.

"Open up for me, amatus," "Fenris" murmured, and Garrett wanted to fight, he wanted to get away, but where could he go? He had no real memory of where he was or what he was doing; everything he knew was told to him by this creature that was now trying to work him open with a slicked up finger.

And, Void take it all, it felt good.

What in the Maker's name was wrong with him?

He let out a strangled moan as he felt a slim digit penetrate him. He'd given himself to his lover many times before, but this wasn't the same, and he didn't want it.

Tears streamed down his face as he felt himself loosen, his body accepting the insertion without any input from his mind, it seemed.

Why was this happening to him? What was going on?

He felt another finger being added, and "Fenris" started crooning sweet nothings to him, telling him how good he felt and how pretty he looked taking him in.

He had to bide his time, he had to just wait it out as he tried to determine a way to remove himself from the situation. He didn't know what he was going to do, but he did know he just had to endure for the moment. Maybe "Fenris" would get tired and fall asleep, and then he could pack a bag and leave.

Anywhere would be better than where he was.

He forced himself to relax, knowing that "Fenris" would force himself in anyway, and wanting to just get it over with.

The other thing let out a moan dripping with satisfaction as he felt Garrett willingly accept him.

"That's it, show me how good you can take me, show me how much you want me."

He cried out softly as "Fenris'" words were affecting him, ramping up his pleasure.

"Maker, you're gorgeous, I bet you'll feel so good wrapped around me. Are you ready to take me, amatus? Are you ready to show me just how much of a good boy you are?"

He wanted to say no. He even shook his head. But he didn't struggle as "Fenris" pulled up his hips, propping him up on his knees and pushing his thighs apart so he could get better access.

"So good," he murmured, and then he felt a nudge at his entrance, and before he could even process what was happening, he felt himself being split open.

Andraste's tits, he thought this creature's cock was even bigger than the real Fenris'.

He felt impossibly full, and he didn't know how he wouldn't feel pain when he began moving in earnest.

"Maker, amatus, that's it, take me just like that."

He gasped as "Fenris" pulled out almost all the way, then thrust into him, so intently that it almost pushed him further on the mattress.

"Fenris" grasped onto his hips, holding him so tightly Garrett was certain there were going to be bruises there in the next few hours.

He anchored them to each other as he began thrusting into him in a quick rhythm, pushing and pulling against him in such a way that it got Garrett's own cock hard again.

"Fuck," he gasped as the force made his cockhead drag against the rough cotton of the quilt, causing shivers of ecstasy to rush through his blood.

"Yes," "Fenris" grunted out. "Don't hold back. Tell me how good I make you feel."

"You. Don't," he managed to get out, but his body was betraying him, and he moaned as "Fenris" angled his hips in such a way that caused him to hit that perfect spot inside of him.

Shocks rippled through him and he couldn't stand it any more. He had to move, had to meet the other creature's thrusts movement for movement, had to drive himself back against him so "Fenris" went as deep as possible.

"Maker, yes," "Fenris" groaned, and Garrett felt him stutter, and he knew that meant he was close.

He began pushing back more aggressively and clenching his muscles rhythmically, thinking the sooner he could get it over with, the better.

After a few more moments of intense thrusting, "Fenris" spilled himself with a roar, pulling their hips flush to one another as he unloaded himself over and over.

And, much as it had been with Garrett's own release, it seemed to go on for a lot longer than what would be considered natural, or that he had ever experienced with the real Fenris before.

After what felt like an eternity, "Fenris" stilled, a deep groan emanating from him and causing vibrations to rush along his spine, making his own cock leak.

With a start, he realized sometime during the whole encounter he had cum again, his spend now smeared across the bed.

What was happening to him?

"Fenris" had partially collapsed on top of him, draping himself over his back, pressing light kisses against his spine.

It made him shiver, but whether in delight or revulsion, even he couldn't tell.

"You were wonderful, amatus. Thank you."

For some reason, his gratitude made him feel a hundred times worse, and he wanted to simultaneously throw up, cry, and punch him.

But he didn't do any of those things, because, before he could even decide what to do, "Fenris" ran a cool hand over the back of his head, tugging a bit on the hair at the base of his skull, and said, "Now, sleep."

And, as if by magic, he fell into darkness.

Chapter Text

He woke to the sensation of someone nuzzling against the nape of his neck.

"Amatus," Fenris' voice murmured. "We have a visitor."

That caused him to wake up a bit more fully, though his mind was still a bit muddled with sleep.

"A visitor?" he asked, voice rough with disuse. "Were we expecting someone?"

"No, but this is an intrusion I think you'll welcome. Well, I hope you will, anyway."

He turned over so he could look at Fenris more fully. "Who's here?"

Fenris was watching him closely. "Your brother."

That caused him to sit up, so fast his lover had to quickly move back so as not to get hit.

"Carver's here? Is everything all right? What's going on? How'd he find us?"

The other man tilted his head as if he was appraising him. "What do you mean, how'd he find us? We've been in constant contact with him ever since the Templar Order imploded. You told him where we were, invited him to stay, should he need a place to lie low for a while."

"I-I did?"

Fenris looked at him closely. "Amatus, are you feeling all right?"

He assessed himself. He certainly was feeling physically fine; it was his mind that was giving him trouble. Or, more specifically, his memory.

"I think I am? I must have forgotten that I invited Carver here."

His lover's brow furrowed. "I think maybe the stress of everything has been getting to you. We should give you a break soon."

"Only after everything's been settled." He swung his legs off the side of the bed, keen to not keep his brother waiting for longer than he already had.

Fenris chuckled. "You should know better than to say something like that. Things are never settled in our world."

Garrett gave the other man a sardonic smile as he pulled a fresh set of robes out of his armoire. "True enough. Maybe that's why I'm suffering memory problems."

The smile slid right off Fenris' face and he closed the distance between them. "Don't say things like that, amatus. Losing one's memory … it's never the consequence of something good."

His heart contracted as he remembered Fenris' own struggles with his memories, and how they had been practically wiped away due to the trauma he'd experienced when he received his lyrium tattoos.

"I know," he said, pressing a swift kiss to the other man's forehead. "It's not something I'm altogether pleased about, that's for certain. I'll work on taking some time out for myself in the coming days."

"That's all I ask," Fenris said, returning the kiss, but this time pressing his mouth to Garrett's own. "Now, hurry up." He swatted him lightly on the ass. "You know how much your brother just adores waiting."

He huffed a laugh. "If that isn't the understatement of the Age. I'll be right out."

"And I'll try to distract him while you dress," Fenris said, and he slipped out of the bedroom door.

The smile on Garrett's face was immediately replaced with an expression of concern as he began his ablutions. It wasn't like him to forget something as important as correspondence with his brother. Carver was the only family he had left — well, aside from Fenris, of course, but even that wasn't official — so any invitation to come visit should have been on the forefront of his mind.

For him to forget something as important to him as that … something bigger must have been going on with him.

The frightening part was that he had no idea what it could possibly be. He didn't remember feeling particularly stressed, he hadn't recently been hit on the head. He didn't think he had a logical explanation for why he was being so forgetful.

He half considered reaching out to Anders to have him come take a look at him. Maybe he could determine what was happening to him.

It wasn't right, and he needed to figure it out, for both his and Fenris' sake.

But he wasn't going to be able to do that at that moment. No, he had to deal with what was immediately presented to him, and that was a conversation with his brother.

Carver.

He couldn't even remember how long it had been since they had seen each other. Years, at least.

An uncharacteristic flutter entered his stomach, and, if he didn't know any better, Garrett would say he was nervous about seeing his brother again after such a length of time.

Would he be the same? Would he hate him? Would he be indifferent to him? Did he even think about him at all?

Did Garrett even care?

He scoffed. He definitely knew the answer to that question. He absolutely cared what his brother thought of him.

Tying his robes together with what felt like a knot of finality, Garrett took a deep breath.

Maker preserve me, and give me the strength to face my brother, whatever may come, he prayed silently.

Fenris and Carver were talking in low voices at the kitchen table when he joined them quietly, not wanting to interrupt their conversation.

But his lover had seen him and had fallen silent, causing Carver to look over his shoulder and spot him.

He stood up then and offered him a small smile.

"Brother," he said, reaching out to grasp his arm. Garrett took it gratefully, somehow nervous about how Carver would react to seeing him.

"Carver," he said warmly. "You're early."

"We have a lot to discuss."

"Oh?" he asked, those nerves making themselves known in his stomach again. "Is everything well?"

"You know it isn't," his brother said, and the stern look on his face was almost enough to cause him to take a step back.

"What's going on?" he asked, but Carver just gestured to the table, inviting him to sit in his own home. It rankled him, but not enough to say anything and derail their conversation before it had even started.

So he held his tongue as he took a seat at his own table, Carver joining him.

Folding his hands over his roiling stomach, he cast an eye over his younger sibling. He had filled out ever since joining the Templar Order, and he no longer looked like a young boy playing at soldier.

No, he was a full and proper man now, and it always threw Garrett for a loop when he remembered that.

Carver nodded once they had all settled back at the table. "The situation is getting more dire."

Garrett cut his eyes over to Fenris. He didn't know what situation they were talking about, not really, and he hoped his lover would fill in any of the blanks he was missing.

"How can we help?" he asked, and Carver looked at him more sharply.

"Oh, now you want to help?"

The change in his tone took Garrett by surprise.

"What are you talking about?"

"Come now, don't act like you don't know."

He looked at Fenris again, but his lover seemed content to let him flounder for a bit. He wondered what he'd done to deserve that lack of action.

"I … don't?"

Carver scoffed, turning his back on him like it hurt him to look at him.

Garrett's confusion only deepened.

"What's wrong?"

His brother turned back to him so quickly it was almost painful to watch.

"What's wrong? What's wrong?" He laughed, but there was no mirth behind the sound. "You left us, that's what's wrong!"

He shook his head, certain he was missing something, that they were talking about something besides whatever brought Carver to their door.

"You mean after Kirkwall?"

"No, not after Kirkwall!" he stood up abruptly and began pacing, as if his agitation was too much for him to deal with. "After everything. We needed you, and you left us."

"Carver —"

"No." His brother cut him off with just that one word. The pure malice behind it gave him pause.

Carver turned toward Fenris. "He hasn't learned yet, has he?"

His lover shook his head, and Garrett had the sinking feeling that there was something more going on.

But he had no idea what it could be.

"What's happening?"

"You left us. You were a selfish bastard and you left us. How could you?"

That phrase … it triggered something in him.

Selfish bastard…

It was like he had heard it before, but he couldn't for the life of him place where.

"Carver."

His brother got up in his face. "You left us," he practically spit at him. "You left us, and I had to pick up the pieces. As I always have done."

No, that wasn't right —

"I had to take care of you all. Me, the lone normal person in a family full of freaks."

Garrett flinched at that.

"Mother was normal … well, sort of. Of course, she had to go and squander every advantage she was ever given by falling in love with a mage of all people."

"You shut your mouth," Garrett breathed, but Carver was on a roll it seemed.

"I will not. She was an Amell. She was nobility, practically royalty, and what did she do? She threw it all away, left her inheritance to our idiotic uncle, who did nothing but lose it. We could have been somebody, Brother. Instead, we grew up practically penniless, nomads beholden to your ability to keep your magic concealed."

"It wasn't my fault," he protested weakly, and Carver smirked.

"No, it wasn't all your fault. It was Father's fault, and Bethany's, too. Unfortunately, they're not here right now, so it's all down to you."

"That's not fair —"

"Fair?" His brother laughed. "You want to talk to me about fair? I was born into a family of mages, forced to live on the run, with absolutely nothing to my name, no land to inherit, no job to apprentice at. I was nobody. I couldn't even be in charge of our estate. Because, even though you were a mage, you were the Champion. You were the one who had recovered our wealth. The estate belonged to you, and fuck me, right? Fuck your little brother, who had always done his best to protect you. Fuck me, and leave me out of everything, right?"

"You had already gone to the templars!" Garrett stood up then, too, unable to sit back and take his brother's verbal lashing anymore.

He didn't even know why Carver was so upset, but he figured it was something that had to be talked about eventually, so they might as well get it over with.

"Yeah, the only people who seemed to give a damn about me!"

"Wait just a moment," Garrett said, taking a step back to try and get some air. He was finding it hard to breathe. "You know that's not true. You know Mother loved you. I … I love you, Carver."

"Yeah," he scoffed. "Loved me so much to leave me behind while you gallivanted about the Deep Roads, securing our fortune and our family name. For yourself."

"No," Garrett said, shaking his head. "No. Mother needed protecting. You knew that. She was strong, but still … besides, so close after Bethany's death, I didn't want her to be alone. What if something had happened? What if we had both died? Did you want to leave her completely childless?"

"Of course not. But I didn't get a choice. I never got a choice with you. So while you were gone, I finally took control of my life."

Garrett laughed, though the sound was incredibly bitter, even to his ears. "By giving yourself over to the Order? You gained a moment of freedom for a lifetime of servitude."

"It's a good cause."

He raised his eyebrow. "You still believe that? After everything that's happened?"

"You wouldn't understand. You never understand."

"Then help me to."

Carver stared at him for so long, he wondered if his brother might finally open up.

But it was never that easy with him.

Instead he just sighed and turned away, putting some space between them. "Forget it," he murmured. "It's done. But what isn't done is this situation. Regardless of what happened almost a decade ago, that doesn't excuse what you're doing now. You've left us. Again."

"I did not," he countered, but Fenris cleared his throat gently.

Garrett turned to him and raised an eyebrow, silently urging him to say whatever was on his mind.

"Amatus," he began gently, and that was never a good sign.

All the fight went out of him almost immediately.

He furrowed his brow and looked between his brother and his lover.

"Did I?"

Maker's breath he hated having these holes in his memory.

Fenris nodded solemnly. "You did."

He sat down heavily against the hard wood of the kitchen chair.

"I don't remember," he breathed.

Carver scoffed. "Convenient, that."

"I swear, on the souls of our dead family, that something's going on with me," Garrett pleaded. "Something … something I can't explain. I don't know what's happening, but I — I can't seem to remember things. Important things, like what in the Void's name we're doing here, or why we've been corresponding. There's something wrong with me, Carver. And I don't know what to do."

The two other men in the room exchanged concerned glances, and Fenris stood up to walk around the table, so he was standing right next to him.

"It's all right, amatus, everything's going to be all right."

"How can it be?" Garrett asked, panic beginning to threaten to overtake him. "I don't know what's going on, I can't remember anything, and I swear I'm going crazy —"

"You're not," Fenris assured him, the smooth baritone of his voice almost soothing him. "Everything is just as it should be."

Then he felt a pressure on the back of his neck, and blackness swallowed him up once more.

He woke to the sound of voices, talking in urgent whispers, as if each was trying to convince the other of the validity of their point.

"It's too soon," a deep voice said, and he could have sworn that was the voice of Fenris.

But that didn't make sense.

Why would Fenris be arguing with someone in their bedchamber?

Better yet, who would he be arguing with?

He could count on one hand the number of people Fenris would feel comfortable enough letting into their private space.

"It's not," the other voice insisted, and Garrett was certain he'd heard wrong, because that sounded like Carver's voice, but there was no way his brother would be there.

He was with the templars, and he very much doubted he'd been given leave to visit them.

Especially because he wasn't even sure Carver knew where they were.

But — no, that was unmistakably his brother's voice. Even though it had been years since they'd seen each other, he grew up with him. He'd know that voice anywhere.

He tried to focus back in on their conversation, but their voices had lowered to mere murmurs, almost as if they were worried about waking him.

Well, he was already up, so he might as well make that fact known to them so he could figure out what was going on.

"Love?" he asked, his voice not as strong as he'd like. He cleared his throat as he opened his eyes and tried to sit up to face them more fully.

But he couldn't.

He looked around him and noticed his arms and legs had been tied to the bed.

"Fenris?" he asked, craning his neck so he could see his lover. He walked over to him, coming into his line of sight in such a way that he didn't have to lift his head anymore. "What's the meaning of this? What's going on?"

"Amatus," Fenris murmured, running a soft hand through his hair. It was a gentle enough touch that Garrett leaned into it, almost groaning in pleasure, until he remembered that his brother was in the room with them.

"Why am I tied up?" he asked instead, meeting his lover's eyes. But his expression gave nothing away. "Has something happened?"

"I told you it wasn't too soon," Carver said, and Garrett's brow furrowed.

"What's not too soon?"

Fenris ignored him, though, and sighed, looking over his shoulder presumably to where his brother was standing.

"I suppose you're right. I had wanted to play a little longer, though."

"We can still play," Carver assured him, his voice growing a bit louder as he seemed to take a step closer. "And perhaps it will be more fun this way."

"Mm, maybe," Fenris said, turning back to look at Garrett. "Would you like to play, amatus?"

"Play? I'm not sure what you mean," he said, gazing around to try and find his brother. "And you still haven't answered my question about why I'm tied up?"

"That was my suggestion," Carver told him, and he finally came into view.

Garrett almost did a double-take. He looked exactly like his brother, but he also didn't? He couldn't place his finger on it, but he could just feel something … off about him.

Maybe it was the lyrium running through his veins, or maybe the years had finally caught up to him, but he could have sworn that wasn't his brother looking back at him.

"What's wrong, Brother?"

"Who are you?" Garrett whispered, and he saw Carver and Fenris glance at each other.

"Are you all right? It's me, Carver. Your brother?"

He shook his head. "You're not."

Carver tilted his head, but didn't seem too put out by his assertion.

"Am I not? News to me. But it'll make this next part quite a bit easier."

Before Garrett could ask what he meant, the bedclothes were stripped off him, and, much to his horror, he saw that he was naked.

What?

"Fenris!" he shouted, but his lover just shushed him.

"Quiet now. Don't make me get the gag."

He blinked. They'd never engaged in such things in the bedchamber before — and especially not with a third person in the room.

But it wasn't just a third person.

It was his brother.

"Carver —" he began, but his brother cut him off.

"Oh come now, don't be shy. It's nothing I haven't seen before."

And while he wasn't wrong, it had been a long time since they'd been naked together. Not since they were fleeing from the darkspawn. Even then, they gave each other some sense of privacy, however flimsy it was.

They were never so blatantly bare in front of each other.

Carver made a sound of disappointment, and he was mortified to see his brother gazing down at him, unabashedly taking in his body.

There was a frown gracing his features.

"I'd thought there'd be more of you, Brother."

He felt himself quail at the judgment in his tone.

"Oh, come now, he's plenty satisfying," Fenris countered, and Garrett felt his face burn with mortification. "After all, isn't it more about how you use it than how big it is?"

"I wouldn't know," Carver smirked, and Garrett begged to burst into flames.

Fenris hummed, as if he was considering. "That might be interesting to see one day."

Garrett gaped at his lover. "What the fuck?" he exclaimed, at a loss for any words more eloquent than those.

But he just shrugged. "Why not? It might be fun to have the both of you."

"I … what? N-no! Why would you ever think I'd be okay with something like that?"

"Hush now," Fenris told him, and he began removing his clothes.

Garrett's eyes swung rapidly between the two other men in the room.

"What's going on?" he demanded again. "Why are you stripping? Why am I naked? Answer me, Void take you all."

"Is he always this excitable?" Carver asked, eyes roving over him again in an appraising way.

"No," Fenris smirked. "Seems like you have that affect on him."

He turned toward Garrett. "I'm taking off my clothes because we're going to make love, amatus."

"The fuck we are," Garrett spat. "Maferath's balls, I'm not doing anything like that with my brother in the room."

"Interesting," Carver mused. "I thought I wasn't your brother."

Garrett tossed his head back in frustration. "I don't care if you are or you aren't. You look like my brother, and you sound like my brother. That's enough for me to know that I don't want to fuck Fenris in front of you."

"Oh amatus," Fenris crooned, cupping his cheek and turning his head so he was looking the other man straight in the eye. "We do so much more than fuck. It hurts me to hear you speak about our love-making that way."

"Fenris," he begged, trying to ignore his brother's — or not-brother's — presence. "Please. I'm not comfortable with this. Please untie me. Please let me go, and we can talk about this."

He tsked. "But where would the fun be in that?"

And then he reached down and began to stroke him, oil that he had somehow gotten in his hand making the sensation so much better than it should have been, given the circumstance.

"Fenris —" he gasped, but the other man just smiled at him and began whispering.

"Show me how much you want me. Show me what a good boy you are."

Fenris knew his body so well, it was impossible for him not to get hard.

Even though his brother was in the room.

He didn't know what that said about him, but he knew it wasn't normal.

But before he could get a handle on the situation, Fenris was climbing on top of him, and spreading his legs, and impaling himself on his cock, and it was so wrong, but it felt so good, and he couldn't help but groan in pleasure.

"That's it, amatus," Fenris told him. "Show your brother how good you fuck me."

And that should have made him wilt, but it didn't, not with Fenris swiveling his hips just right, and squeezing his muscles so his cock felt engulfed in the best way possible, and Maker he shouldn't want to, he didn't want to, but his body had a mind of its own, it seemed.

Soon he found himself responding, thrusting up into Fenris with an energy that was driving them both crazy, if his lover's gasps were any indication.

But then Carver began to speak.

"Is that really all you can do?" he taunted, and Garrett growled. "I can fuck you so much better, Fenris."

"Can you?" the elf panted, and Garrett's gaze whipped to him, certain he'd heard incorrectly. There was no way that he'd just said that.

Not while actively fucking him.

Could he have?

"Mhm," Carver confirmed. "Want me to show you?"

Then he began taking off his clothes.

What. The. Fuck.

He didn't know who he should be more angry at: Carver, for offering, or Fenris, for accepting the offer.

And as his brother was undressing, his lover was still bouncing up and down on his cock, groaning like those characters in the books the Randy Dowager reviewed, mewling and gasping and —

This couldn't be happening.

But then Carver was naked, and Garrett watched Fenris as his lover's gaze took in his brother's form, appreciation written all over his features.

He clenched around Garrett so hard, it was almost painful.

"Maker's breath, Carver, but you are beautiful."

No.

This wasn't happening.

Fenris was still impaled on his cock, but he was looking at his brother, and that was so fucking far from all right —

He felt a tingle begin to suffuse his limbs, and he gritted his teeth.

But — it was different than the feeling that typically ran through him when he succumbed to pleasure.

No, that was his magic making itself known.

Fuck.

He needed to control himself. He needed to not give in to the power coursing through his veins.

Maker, it felt like he was young again, with no control over any of his body's responses — magical or physical.

No, he told himself. I'm better than this.

He was.

He knew he was.

But then Fenris did that thing he did so well with his hips, rolling them just right, and Garrett was starting to see stars…

His lover reached to run his nails over his chest at the same moment he reached out with his other hand to stroke Carver's, and — though it mortified him — he felt the telltale tightening of his sac indicating that his body was giving in to Fenris' talents.

He couldn't though.

He wouldn't.

Then Carver grasped Fenris and pulled him in for a kiss, and that was too far.

He could see their tongues entwining, and Fenris twisted his nipple and he couldn't help it.

He exploded.

Chapter Text

When he came to, it took him a moment to remember where he was and what had happened.

But after a blink or two, the memories came rushing back.

Carver, somehow in his bedchamber, naked and offering to fuck —

Fenris.

And Fenris agreeing.

Had that just been a terrible nightmare?

It couldn't have been real.

Could it have?

The stench of ash and burned wood permeated the fog of his mind, and he looked around to find he was in a bed, but there were scorch marks around him, the posters black with char and the remnants of what looked like cloth.

What had happened?

He glanced down at himself and saw he was naked. Strange. He didn't usually sleep in the nude.

Did the nightmare perhaps make him flare out in his sleep and he burnt off all his clothes? It wouldn't have been the first time that had happened to him, but he hadn't done something like that since he was a child.

Nothing was more dangerous to a mage on the run than spontaneous magic, so his father had taught him from a very young age how to suppress his more overt talents.

As he pondered his situation, another scent wafted to his nose, one that was insistent, and something in his instincts told him he should know what it was.

It took him way too long to place it.

What he was smelling was the unmistakable acridity of burned flesh.

He took stock of his body again, but there were no marks on him. It was almost impossible for a mage to hurt themselves with their own magic, but it wouldn't do any harm to double check.

It seemed like there were a lot of improbable things happening at that moment.

He swung his legs off the bed, thinking he should maybe try to find Fenris, when he felt something wet and sticky under his sole.

Glancing down, he noticed a puddle of suspiciously red liquid pooled near his bed. Raising his gaze a bit more, he followed the rivulets until he landed upon a body, splayed out at an odd angle, white hair darkened with soot and skin half melted off, the white of pus and tendon and the red of blood mixing with the black of burned and brittle skin.

No.

He stumbled out of bed, nearly tripping over the sheet as he dropped to his knees.

"No, no, no," he murmured, eyes quickly scanning the body, looking for any indication that this was someone else, that someone else had come into their bedchamber, and someone else was lying before him, burned and bloody and —

He acted without thinking, blue-tinged magic coming quickly to his hands, and he held them over the body, willing the spirits to help him, willing his magic to do something good for once.

But — just like with Mother — it was useless.

After all, as Anders liked to remind him, you can't heal what is already gone.

A choked sob escaped him, but he pushed it down.

He stood and looked around the room, trying to find evidence of a break-in, an indication that someone else had done this, but his eyes caught on another bloody, singed, and sooty body in the corner.

What?

The attacker?

He lurched over to them, but a closer look told him that wasn't the corpse of the attacker at all.

No, that smoking lump was still in a shape unmistakable to him.

With vain hope he called to his magic again, but it was just like with Fenris, just like with Mother and Bethany.

Nothing.

He was so.

Damn.

Useless.

He had failed his whole family.

"What good are you?" he shouted, staring at his hands.

Anger instead of grief, rage instead of tears.

That's what he needed to lean in to.

And he might not be able to do much, but he could do one thing.

He could avenge them.

Blinking away the blurriness that had entered his vision as he stared at the bloody mess that was once his younger brother, he got to his feet, determined to do something, anything, to, well, not to make it right, but to get some form of justice.

He could think of nothing but revenge.

Stumbling to the door, he yanked it open, belatedly realizing that he didn't have a stitch of clothing on.

Instead of finding the corridor, though, a swirling bluish-grey mass of … something … met him.

Before he could figure out what was happening, he felt himself getting dragged forward, toward the eddy.

And though he wanted to fight it, a bigger part of him just wanted to surrender to whatever was going to come.

He had nothing to live for anyway.

With a sigh of resignation, he closed his eyes and let himself be dragged into the doorway.

A cool sensation, like silk caressing overheated skin, flowed over him, before —

Darkness.

Chapter Text

Tiny pinpricks of heat cascaded over his body.

It wasn't painful, though. It was … comforting, almost as if someone was running a soft touch over his scalp, his back, his limbs.

He hurt. He hurt everywhere.

He groaned, slowly coming back into himself.

He had somehow ended up lying prone, but somewhere soft, like he had bedded down in a forest, on top of the cushiest and spongiest moss.

But he didn't smell decaying plant life, nor did he hear the rustle of leaves, or the buzz of insects, or even the scurrying of small animals that one would typically find in a forest.

In fact, he didn't hear anything at all. Didn't smell anything, or feel anything, aside from the constant presence of the heat running up and down his body.

There was a soft blue light that bled through his eyelids, though, so he blinked, trying to determine its source.

He almost started when he saw what was causing it, but he tensed at the last minute and held himself still, so as not to disturb it.

Because the source of the blue light — and the heat, he assumed — was a handful of orbs that had settled along his skin like a blanket.

He had no idea what they were, but they didn't feel dangerous, and the heat was helping calm his heart, which was racing for some reason.

What had happened?

How had he ended up there?

And then it all came rushing back.

Corypheus.

Adamant.

The Wardens.

The Fade.

Nightmare.

The Breach.

The rift.

Varric.

Not Varric, he reminded himself. Despair.

And then —

Sloth.

Everything that had happened in the sloth demon's realm returned to him at once, and he almost cried out at the emotional upheaval it caused.

Fenris.

His lover had — he couldn't even put it into words, couldn't even think it. And then his brother…

He vomited.

Or rather, he tried to. But as he had been in the Fade, with no need for food or water, there was nothing in his stomach to vacate.

So he just dry-heaved instead, his body aching to get rid of whatever was causing him to feel so distressed, but there was nothing it could do, no poison to get rid of, except the one embedded deep in his mind.

It wasn't real, but it had felt so real, and he couldn't —

He heaved again.

The warmth emanating from the blue orbs increased, and he could tell they were trying to comfort him, to ease some of his pain.

Or maybe they weren't. Maybe he was just projecting his vain hopes onto them, and they were nothing more than Fade dust mites, clinging to him because he had been in the same position for Maker knew how long.

No. Regardless of what those orbs were, the fact was, they weren't what he needed.

He was alone.

And unless something drastic happened, that was how he would remain. For the rest of his life.

However long that'd be.

Chapter Text

Garrett didn't move, barely breathed, barely acknowledged the warm blue orbs that were still laying over his body. As time perhaps passed, more came, covering greater parts of him, but still, he stayed as he was. There was no use doing anything else.

What was the point?

He belatedly recognized that maybe he had fallen into what he had heard the qunari once refer to as the "asala-taar," though he seemed to recall that the term usually referred to soldiers coming back from the front.

No, that probably wasn't right. This sickness he was feeling wasn't battle-related. It was more like he was … wrong in the mind.

In the soul.

If he still had one of those.

Maybe the Maker would favour him and end his suffering.

But then, did the Maker even exist in the Fade? Hadn't He left them behind when Corypheus and his magister brethren breached the Golden City?

Did that mean he was doomed to this half-existence for all eternity?

That thought almost made him get up and do something, but he couldn't be arsed. Any movement — any effort at all, really — was beyond his capability.

No, he would lay there until someone or something decided he was worth dealing with.

Because he, himself, was past caring.

Closing his eyes as exhaustion washed over him, his last thought was that he hoped he'd never open them again.

Chapter Text

He wasn't even sure he slept, not really. After all, sleeping in the realm of dreams was impossible.

Wasn't it?

He didn't know. But he didn't think much about it, either — doing so required too much focus — so he just assumed that sleeping without the aid of a sloth demon wasn't something he could do.

So when he slipped away, he just sort of … stayed suspended in something like a trance, no thoughts plaguing his mind, no rest coming to his body.

Just.

Stillness.

Because when he did try to think about something, the futility of his situation made itself known to him. If not that, images of what he had experienced while under the control of the sloth demon forced their way to the front of his mind, and he very much didn't want to think about that.

Every time his thoughts brushed against the wall of fire he had constructed around those experiences, his body would want to scream and thrash and throw up and force him to get away from it all.

But that also required energy that he didn't have, effort that he didn't want to give.

It was so much better to not do anything at all.

So he laid there, still hoping for an end that he was beginning to think would never come.

Chapter Text

Eventually, enough time had maybe passed that he felt the need to at least shift, a slight restless feeling coming back into his limbs.

He didn't want to disturb the orbs, for he had begun to find their presence sort of comforting, but it was getting to the point where he could no longer put off moving.

So with great effort, he flipped himself over so he was lying on his other side. It zapped him of all his energy, but at least his hip was no longer complaining.

To his surprise, the blue orbs didn't scatter. Rather they just resettled on his body, two more appearing and resting on his wrists.

He felt silent tears track down his cheeks.

He thought the orbs were going to leave him. Just like everybody else in his life had.

Certain they, too, would find him unworthy. Irredeemable. Unable to be around.

Worthless.

But when he disturbed them, they didn't run away.

They stayed.

For some reason, that knowledge seemed to cause a crack to grow in his heart, and more wetness escaped from the corners of his eyes.

He didn't cry. Not really. Crying required too much energy.

But some release of emotion occurred, some acknowledgment that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't entirely broken.

That there was perhaps some part of him worth loving.

Maybe he didn't need to be tossed away like the refuse found in the dankest of Darktown's sewers.

Maybe something cared about him after all.

Maybe.

Chapter Text

Every time he closed his eyes, he always thought the orbs would leave him, that they would be gone when he opened them again.

But they remained, steadfastly providing him with a bit of warmth, a bit of comfort, and some form of stability and familiarity in the ever-shifting environment that was the Fade.

He was grateful for them, even if he couldn't figure out how to let them know.

But he had some inkling that they understood anyway.

The Fade was like that sometimes.

"There you are."

At first, Garrett thought he had imagined the voice, so long had he been without any form of communication.

But he felt the presence grow, something that was both foreign and familiar, and he knew he wasn't imagining it.

It had returned.

After so long, it had come back to him.

He wanted to acknowledge it, but that required too much work.

So instead, he just laid there.

That was all he was good for anyway.

He felt the warmth grow nearer, and a bright golden glow settled down beside him.

If he wanted to, he could probably perceive the spirit with how close it was, but he couldn't be bothered to even do that.

"I've been looking for you," it told him, and, if he didn't know any better, he thought the voice had taken on an almost feminine quality.

He let out a soft grunt, but didn't have the energy to say anything else.

"I'm sorry I was gone so long. The spirits tell me you escaped the sloth demon some time ago."

Again, he said nothing. He didn't think there was a need to acknowledge what both of them already knew.

"But I had lost my way. The Fade … it's changing."

That should have caught his attention.

But concentrating was so far beyond him, he could do nothing more except continue to lie there, blue orbs covering him, the golden presence nearby.

When he didn't respond, he felt the spirit shift, and it seemed as if it was lying down next to him. Not touching, but close enough that he could feel the heat emanating from it.

The blue orbs seemed to get excited when it did that, and they shuffled around, slightly agitated, but eventually settled again.

And that was how they remained.

He felt tears begin to coat his cheeks again, but he wasn't embarrassed to cry in front of the spirit. He let the emotion come, and wash over him, comforting him in a strange way.

Chapter Text

It took too long for his mind to begin functioning again.

The spirit stayed with him, for what should have been way too long, if time had any meaning.

But it didn't, and he didn't know if the spirit's actions were strange or normal, so he refrained from commenting on it.

But he came to find its presence reassuring and comforting, a greater relief than that of the orbs, though when one had shifted on him, he felt the completely irrational fear that it would leave him.

Thankfully, it was just changing position, and the rest of the orbs grew warmer, almost as if they could sense his discomfort and then relief.

They probably could.

He really needed to stop trying to figure out how the Fade worked.

The spirit remained quiet for a while, seemingly content to just lay beside him, saying nothing, but offering a steady presence all the same.

It seemed to know that he didn't want useless platitudes, or for it to try and fill the silence.

Then again, it had observed him quietly for Maker knew how long while he was waiting for the rift to be dealt with. Maybe it was a spirit of patience. Or maybe it just didn't have a lot to say.

Or maybe it found him unworthy to speak to.

A small voice in the back of his mind told him that wasn't true, and a memory seemed to tug at him, trying to make itself known.

It took too much effort, but he finally recalled the words the spirit had said when it had first come to him there.

I've been looking for you.

Did the spirit … care about him? That didn't seem possible.

And yet…

It had said it was looking for him.

He wondered why, but still didn't have the energy to form words. Maybe one day he'd find the desire to speak again, but not any time soon, he knew.

He just hoped that, when that time did finally come, the spirit would still be around to ask.

Chapter Text

Some time later, another memory niggled the back of his mind.

It seemed important, like something he needed to know, but he couldn't for the life of him remember what it was.

He should think about it, but that also required energy, and he found himself tiring out very quickly. He could barely manage to breathe, let alone think or speak.

Thank the Maker he didn't have to feed himself or relieve himself. He didn't think he'd be capable.

But lying there, next to the spirit?

That was something he could do.

Chapter Text

The soft sound of purring brought him out of his stupor, and there was a slight vibration by his shoulder.

At first he thought something was happening with the orbs, but — no. They were content as always.

As was the golden spirit at his side. It hadn't yet moved, nor had it made any indication that it was going to.

It remained, and so did he.

Suddenly, a familiar face popped into his line of sight.

He knew that creature…

It stared at him with its unblinking, bright green eyes, then tilted its head, giving a small twitch of its nose.

Then it walked itself around in a small circle, before plopping down beside him, the length of its body pressed against his torso, its head on its crossed paws resting on his shoulder.

He thought it would just stare at him forever — and he wasn't quite sure how he felt about that — but it just closed its eyes, seemingly content to rest, its ears shifting softly as if it was constantly listening for something.

With warmth now on both of his sides, Garrett felt himself relax more than he had in a long time, and he slipped into unconsciousness yet again.

Though this time, he was less melancholy as he drifted off.

Chapter Text

He regained awareness to the low sound of murmuring voices.

"Where is it now?" the more feminine one asked.

"Inquisitiveness is keeping an eye on it," Curiosity answered. "But it hasn't moved. Hasn't done much of … anything, really."

"And it's been there this whole time?"

"As far as we can tell. With all the changes that occurred, its presence wasn't immediately noticed. Perhaps this one was blocking it."

"Perhaps," the feminine voice mused. "This one's strength of character does seem to overwhelm those around him."

There was a pause, and Garrett could have sworn he felt the brush of fur against his hand.

"Should we be concerned? It would be ever so boring if he just … remained this way."

"Our presence is helping. Those of flesh and blood are fragile, and they often take longer than we would like to come back from experiences like the one he had."

"The other one's much the same."

"Hmm," the feminine voice hummed.

"What do you think would happen if we brought them together?" Curiosity asked.

"That, I do not know."

"Do you think it'd be helpful?"

"I think we should ask."

"Ask me what?" Garrett had finally found the energy to speak.

The golden glow he could see from his periphery grew stronger.

"I did not know you were back with us," the spirit told him, and Garrett felt a flicker of shame rush through him.

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop," he began, but the blue orbs settled more firmly on him, and the golden spirit shone more brightly.

"Do not worry yourself with that," it said. "I merely was expressing surprise at you returning to us so soon. When you have previously slipped away, it has taken you much longer to regain consciousness."

"Really?" Garrett managed to open his eyes.

"Indeed," it told him. "It is … encouraging to see."

His lips twitched at that.

"What did you want to ask me?"

Curiosity padded over to his line of sight, and sat down on his haunches, his tail flicking back and forth across the ground behind him.

"Curiosity? What are you doing here?"

"We wanted to see if you would succumb."

He furrowed his brow. "Succumb? To what?"

"To nothingness."

His furrow deepened, but before he could ask anything more, the golden spirit spoke again.

"There is … someone else in the Fade. Someone like you," it began, speaking slowly and clearly.

But despite its careful speech, Garrett felt his heartbeat quicken.

"Like me?"

"Yes. A being of flesh and blood —"

His melancholy all but forgotten, he pushed himself up into a sitting position. Blood rushed from his head, causing him to feel a bit dizzy, but that didn't matter.

There was someone else like him? There, in the Fade?

Who could it be? Was it the Inquisitor? Had they found a way back? Were they looking for him? How long had they been there?

"Almost immediately after the giant hole had closed."

Garrett hadn't realized he'd spoken his questions aloud.

But, wait —

"Since the Breach closed? They've been here for that long? The entire time I was —" He cut himself off. He still wasn't able to verbalise what had happened to him. Not even to a spirit.

"Where are they? What have they been doing? Why didn't you tell me?"

"They are much like you," Curiosity answered him. "As in, they do nothing. They sit and stare at the Fade, but they don't even play with it. They just let it exist around them. They're really quite boring."

Garrett furrowed his brow again. That didn't sound like somebody who was looking for him.

But if it wasn't the Inquisitor … who could it be?

"What do they look like?" Garrett asked, but Curiosity just flicked his tail.

"How do I know? All flesh and blood looks the same."

He refrained from rolling his eyes. "Can you take me to them, then? Is it possible to find your way back to where they are? And can I follow you?"

Curiosity nodded. "We have left Inquisitiveness behind. We feel them, even now, and can close the distance between us easily. He has been watching the flesh and blood for us, ever since we detected its presence. It will be easy to make our way to them."

"Then let's go." He stood up, and he was only mildly surprised to discover he had no adverse effects from being sedentary for so long.

The Fade truly was fascinating in some ways.

He took a step toward Curiosity, then hesitated.

Half turning toward the golden spirit that was still hovering in his periphery, he asked, "Will you be here when we return? Will I even be able to find you again?"

"I will follow you," the spirit told him. "I admit, I am curious about the new creature myself. But I did not want to leave you."

A wave of guilt crashed through him. "I'm sorry," he began.

"Do not apologise. It was my own choice to stay. Leaving you before has not turned out well. I was sorry to discover you had experienced such a harrowing time in the sloth demon's realm. If I had been there…"

"It's not your fault," Garrett whispered, and the blue orbs gathered around him.

"I know. Still, I feel a sort of responsibility toward you. And I would not like to see you in that situation again. So I shall follow you, and I shall have my curiosity about the new creature sated. It is a situation benefiting us both."

"We can never be sated," Curiosity said haughtily, turning his back to them as he began walking.

The golden spirit tittered. "Indeed, what was I thinking? Momentarily satisfied, then."

Curiosity huffed, but didn't say anything more as he trotted down the path.

In practically no time at all, they came upon a sort of clearing, where the Fade was calm and almost stagnant.

"Brother," Curiosity called, and Inquisitiveness seemed to appear out of thin air, though, upon closer inspection, Garrett realized the grey cat had just blended in with the rock that dotted the area.

"Brother," he said, inclining his head. Then it swiveled to him, his eyes boring into him. "You're here."

"I am," Garrett answered.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better, though not completely," he told him, and Garrett knew it was the truth.

Inquisitiveness seemed to take that information in stride. "I am glad to see you. I have been dying to know more about this creature."

"Where are they?" he asked, and the cat spirit gazed across the sort of clearing, to where a person was sitting, propped up against a twisted and gnarled Fade tree.

They remained so immobile, it was no wonder Garrett hadn't seen them at first.

"Have you tried approaching them?" he asked.

"No." Inquisitiveness shuddered. "There's something … odd about them. We wanted to get closer, but Fellowship warned us away."

"Fellowship?"

"Ah, so now I am known," the golden spirit's voice came to him.

"Had you not been?" Inquisitiveness asked, and the golden spirit — Fellowship — sighed softly.

"I had not been. But it is of no consequence. It would have happened eventually."

"I apologize for my brother's blunder," Curiosity said, but the blue orbs surrounded him, settling softly on his fur.

"Do not fret. I am not cross with you. It is my fault for not mentioning he didn't know."

"Fellowship," Garrett murmured, and a golden figure, with a feminine form, coalesced in front of him.

"Now you know my name, I see no reason to hide my form from you. Thank you for respecting my wishes."

"Thank you for being there for me."

Fellowship's glow dimmed slightly. "I could have done more."

"You did enough."

"Hmm," it said.

"Do you know who that is?" Garrett asked, nodding to the person in the distance and trying to move past the sort of awkward moment.

"I do not," it told him. "And it has refused all offers of my assistance. I was hopeful that, once you were feeling more yourself again, you might be able to reassure them of my good intentions?"

Hope ran through his body, and Garrett knew it was Fellowship's feelings that he was experiencing, not his own.

It desperately wanted to help.

"Are they hurt?"

"Not in the physical sense," Fellowship said. "But in the way we know of things? Yes. They are grievously injured."

"I'll see what I can do," he assured it.

"Thank you."

He began to step toward the other creature, but hesitated. He wasn't quite sure how he was going to convince them that he wasn't a spirit or demon come to toy with their mind.

Maybe the fact that he didn't know anything about them at all would help?

Shrugging to himself, he decided he'd cross that bridge when he got to it, and closed the distance between them.

"Hello there," he called tentatively, when he was close enough to not have to shout, but far enough away to not startle them.

The creature — the man, Garrett realised with a start — looked up then, and he was surprised to see a face he didn't know. For some reason, Garrett was certain he'd find a member of the Inquisition there, waiting for him.

But, no. This man was no one he knew.

And he was dressed strangely, too. Complex robes that were tattered, torn, and stained, but were once made of rich cloth and featured intricate designs, he could tell.

They still held an air of wealth, even if they were basically destroyed.

And they were draped over a man not much older than himself, long black hair falling in front of his face, which was slightly gaunt, but not battered or bruised.

But his eyes … when their eyes met, Garrett knew they held a soul that was much older than the image the body was portraying.

"Who are you?" he whispered, though he didn't intend to speak aloud. He wanted to ease the man into conversation, but, alas.

He never was able to abide by his best intentions.

The other man just stared at him.

"I'm Garrett," he continued. "May I join you?"

A high-backed, cushioned chair that was intricately designed with a pattern Garrett'd never seen before appeared just in front of him.

Either the Fade was acting on its own again, or the man conjured it up for him, because Garrett knew he'd never create something like that out of his own imagination.

Taking it as a sign that he was allowed to stay, he settled himself into the chair.

"Thank you," he said.

Another few moments of silence passed, yet the other man still didn't speak.

"I'm told you've been here for quite a while," he started. "That must have been difficult, being here on your own."

"It is no less than I deserve."

That admission startled Garrett. He didn't expect those words to be the first the other man spoke.

Just who was he?

"Why do you deserve to be on your own?"

"Punishment."

Garrett tensed, just slightly.

"You are not like them," the other man continued.

"Like who?"

"The other denizens of this place. You are not spirit, nor demon. Are you Him then? Come to finally judge me, after so long?"

He furrowed his brow. "Him, who?"

The other man laughed, though the sound was bitter. "Of course not. I did not deserve His attention in life; why would I deserve it in death?"

"You're not dead," Garrett said.

He met his eyes once more, and, again, Garrett was taken aback by the depths of them. "Am I not? Is this not the Fade?"

"It is," he began slowly. "But, from what I can tell, and what other spirits have told me, you are much like I am. Not a soul, or a spirit, but a creature of flesh and blood. If we were dead, we would not be here, like this."

The other man looked at him with wide eyes. "I am truly not dead?"

"Not unless I am, and I can assure you, I'm not."

"I am not dead." He laughed again, and again, it was mirthless. "I am not dead." He rested his head against the trunk of the tree. "I am not dead. Of course I am not dead."

He looked down at himself. "I had thought, since I looked like this…" he trailed off.

"Is this not your usual appearance?" Garrett asked.

"Not for a long, long time," he murmured.

His heartbeat picked up speed. It was like his body was trying to tell him something that his brain didn't yet know.

"Who are you?" Garrett asked again.

"My name is Sethius Amladaris," he answered. "High Priest of Dumat."

Chapter Text

Garrett leapt up from his chair and stumbled backward.

"Corypheus," he breathed, and he reached behind him for his staff.

"That is what I called myself, yes. A nomen bellum to protect my identity from the other Magisters Sidereal, who would take the throne for themselves if they had the chance. You know of me then?"

"Why aren't you trying to kill me?"

Corypheus paused, as if he was actually considering Garrett's question.

"I spent my life fighting," he began, speaking slowly. "Every moment, I worked for the betterment of the Imperium. And what did it get me? Nothing. In the end, I died all the same. Well, sort of died."

Garrett wanted to kill him, wanted to make him suffer for all the evil he had brought into the world. But he still didn't know how to kill someone in the Fade, what would happen if he struck down a creature of flesh and blood there.

And he wasn't quite sure he wanted to find out.

So instead, he asked, "What happened? How did you get here?"

Corypheus laughed bitterly. "The usurper won out in the end. Every attempt I had to regain my power, to re-enter the Fade, was foiled by their … luck. It was just. Luck. I threw everything I had at them. But it was not enough. I was not enough."

He looked around and laughed again. "But you say we are in the Fade? Truly? Is the irony so immense that, by failing, I actually achieved what I wanted? To be back in the Fade as flesh and blood?"

Garrett gripped his staff harder. "It appears that way, yes."

Corypheus shook his head. "The Maker might not exist, but someone, somewhere, truly has a sense of humour."

Garrett stared at him, and Corypheus stared back, and it seemed they were at an impasse.

"I should kill you," Garrett said, and the magister laughed again.

"You should. I have done terrible things. Things I will not apologise for. Things I do not think were wrong. But I acknowledge they were terrible all the same. I would do most of it again, were I given the chance to live my life over. I have almost no remorse. If you believe I am in the wrong for thinking thus, then it is your right to kill me."

His small speech gave Garrett pause. "You won't fight back?"

"Oh I will. At least in the beginning. What fun would it be to make it easy for you? But I am exhausted. The Throne of the Maker sits empty, and I have been found wanting. I see no reason to prolong this life."

Garrett furrowed his brow. "But you've achieved your goal. You've returned to the Fade, as was your plan all along. Why not continue your path, return to the Black City?"

"It is true, I have finally made it back to the Fade. But I have arrived here powerless. The Maker's throne is just a chair. It, in and of itself, holds no sway, no influence. I tried to create my army, and I was thwarted by the usurper at every turn. My advisors have scattered to the winds, or have been killed. So, yes, the greatest irony of all is that I have finally arrived, only to have no power with which to actually do anything. Besides, the Black City is far from here, and the Fade is endless. It might be impossible to reach. It is therefore better to die now, than to exert more effort, only to be disappointed, yet again. We killed … I killed … so many. And it was still not enough."

Something about Corypheus' words rang true in Garrett's mind. There was a sense of defeat, yes, but also of resigned understanding. That everything he had ever done was not enough.

And while he hated to admit it, that sentiment resonated within him, that feeling of hopelessness, of … failure. Hadn't he previously lamented that he was never good enough, that everything he had ever done had been tainted by his own shortcomings?

He didn't want to empathise with Corypheus … but he found himself doing so all the same.

He gasped softly as he felt a familiar presence behind him.

"Your doing then?" he murmured to Fellowship, and he felt it brush the nape of his neck.

"No. Your understanding drew me here."

Garrett bowed his head as that realisation crashed through him.

He understood Corypheus.

Did that make him a traitor to all the people who had been hurt or killed by him?

"No," Fellowship said again. "It makes you the better man."

He scoffed. He was never the better man. He was always the root of the problem, the colossal fuck up. In no way was he ever the good one. That was Bethany's job.

"You are better than you think," Fellowship murmured, then he felt it move away again.

He swallowed the lump of emotion that threatened to close his throat.

"I won't kill you," he told Corypheus after a moment.

He hooked his staff back onto his robes.

"You won't?" The surprise was clear on the other man's face.

"No."

"But I deserve to die, to be exacted vengeance upon."

"And that is why you'll live. It'll be greater punishment for you to survive, knowing your failures, knowing you ultimately succeeded but can't do anything about it. Killing you would be a small act of revenge that wouldn't be nearly as satisfying."

Corypheus stared at him. "You are wiser than you appear."

Garrett smirked. "So I've been told."

"So that is the end, then? You decide I live, and then we will never disturb each other again? How do you know I will not attempt to kill you?"

"Why would you?" he countered. "What would be the point of that?"

Corypheus thought for a moment. "Again, your wisdom prevails. There would be no purpose in your death, other than to say that I did it. And even then, I feel, it would be a hollow victory, for with whom could I share my success? Indeed, there would be no point in facilitating your demise."

"Good," Garrett said with a decisive nod. "Now that we've established that we won't kill each other … I suppose, yes. I'll just let you on your own."

"Alone?"

And something about the tone of Corypheus' voice stirred his heart. He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't force himself to not.

"I guess, if you wanted, you could pass the time with me?"

He felt a pleased sensation rush through him, and he knew, without asking, that Fellowship approved of his offer.

"Pass the time with you? Whyever would I do that? What would we even do?" Corypheus narrowed his eyes. "How long have you been here?"

"Longer than you," Garrett answered.

"And what have you been doing all this time?"

He considered not telling him, but then, maybe Corypheus knew something he didn't about how to get home. He'd already made it into the Fade once. And this time, he had even reverted from his darkspawn form. Maybe … maybe there was some power he had, some knowledge he could use?

Garrett knew he wouldn't, but no stone left unturned and all that, yeah?

"I've been trying to locate a rift to get home. But then the Breach closed, and I've been sort of making my peace with living out my life here."

"The Breach," Corypheus scoffed. "What a colossal error."

"On that, we can agree."

"If I were to spend time with you, how would it pass?"

"Exploring the Fade, potentially still looking for a way out," he answered.

"Reaching the Black City?"

Garrett narrowed his eyes. "Why would you want to go there?"

Corypheus' gaze drifted past Garrett, and he knew the magister was looking up at the Fade sky, to where the Black City was always visible.

"I think, I'd like to merely see if I could."

Garrett tilted his head as he considered Corypheus' words. "I don't suppose we have anything better to do."

The other man chuckled. "No, I don't suppose we do."

And then Garrett did something he never thought he'd do in his life: he reached out his hand, and offered it to Corypheus.

The magister looked at it for a moment, then grasped it, allowing Garrett to pull him to his feet.

"Welcome to the Fade, Sethius."

Corypheus' — Sethius' — eyes closed briefly. "It has been a long time since I've heard that name spoken aloud by another."

"Should I call you another name?"

"No," Sethius told him. "No. It is my name, and I should embrace it. It's indicative of a life long thought lost, but one I'd like to find again, if at all possible."

Garrett inclined his head. "To new beginnings, then," he offered.

"And to creating a life worth living."

Chapter Text

Garrett would never admit it, but he found he was quite thankful for Sethius' presence. He hadn't realized how lonely he was until he had someone else to talk to.

Sure, the spirits were there, but they were so … unique. It was hard to hold a normal conversation with them. Especially the ones that he couldn't even really see.

But with Sethius … with Sethius he had someone just like him to converse with, and it was more helpful for assuaging his melancholy than he had thought it'd be.

Well, as much as a magister from Ancient Tevinter who had breached the Golden City and had turned into a darkspawn who was then suspended in a Warden prison for Ages could be like him.

But just the fact that Sethius knew of Thedasian conventions, could marvel at the wonder of the Fade and lament about the lack of certain objects of comfort … it was better than he could have hoped.

Truly.

Never mind that the man standing before him had killed thousands and almost single-handedly destroyed some of Thedas' strongest institutions.

Garrett hadn't wanted to discuss Sethius' time as Corypheus, had wanted to move on and focus on their future instead of the past, but his good intentions never managed to pan out, and he found himself questioning the magister on their long journey attempting to reach the Black City.

"Answer me this," Garrett had asked him once, and Sethius had just rolled his eyes but gave him that small smile that told him his inquiry was welcome.

"I killed you," he stated.

Sethius glanced at him before deftly picking his way over some random Fade detritus.

"That is not a question."

"True."

They continued on for a few more moments.

"Were you going to ask me what you really wanted to know?"

"Do you remember it?" Garrett blurted out, before he could think about it too much and chicken out. "Do you remember me, remember me killing you?"

Sethius paused as he seemingly considered Garrett's question. That was one thing Garrett always appreciated about him. That he seemed measured, thoughtful in his approach to things. He always took the time to ponder whatever answer he'd give.

It was something Garrett'd do to absorb into his own personality.

Though it was already probably too late for him.

Not that anyone'd be privy to his personality switch anyway, aside from the occasional spirit.

And Sethius, of course.

"I did not know you were the one who attempted to kill me," the magister answered quietly after a few more minutes' silence. "I was … quite disoriented when I awoke. I admittedly acted first and thought things through afterward. I … apologise, if my actions caused you harm."

That caused Garrett to stop in his tracks. It took Sethius a breath more to realize that he'd stopped moving, and he paused as well, turning to look at him.

"Garrett?"

He blinked, trying to rid himself of the stupor Sethius' words had elicited in him. "Sorry. I just … didn't think I'd ever get an apology from you."

The other man's cheeks reddened, and Garrett was even more taken aback by the fact that he was blushing.

What was happening?

Had he entered into some random demon's realm that was manipulating things?

But — no. The Fade was the way it had always been (as much as it could be relied upon to give him any sort of orientation), and the blue orbs that had comforted him for so long after his experience with the sloth demon were still around. Fellowship had told him they had taken a liking to him, and wanted to follow him.

Strange, but not unwelcome.

"Ser — and I quote — 'I have done terrible things. Things I will not apologise for. Things I do not think were wrong' is apologising to me?"

Sethius' blush deepened. "I still hold to that thought. But I also seem to recall that I told you I had almost no remorse. I am not above admitting that adding attempting to kill you to that short list is proper."

"Maker's tits, I'm impressed," he said. "But I'm the one who tried to kill you. Why are you the one apologising?"

"I might have been disoriented, but I do remember what happened. Almost to the finest detail. I woke up, unsteady and unaware of so many things. I was … so angry. I lashed out. If I do recall correctly, I started the fight."

"Besides," he continued, talking over Garrett, who had opened his mouth to offer a counter argument, "you did not succeed in killing me. So, truly, no harm done. To answer your question, yes, I remember the battle that occurred upon my waking. But as I survived, I do not hold any contempt against you for it. In the end, it did not matter."

"True," Garrett acquiesced. "Thank you, for not holding a grudge about that."

Sethius inclined his head, and they continued walking.

After some time, Sethius broke the silence.

"You have decided to not limit your questions about my past anymore, then?"

Garrett sighed. "That, in particular, was weighing on me," he admitted. "As for everything else … I'm torn. I don't know if I want to know or not. On the one hand, I'm desperate to find out what happened, how the Inquisition managed to best you. On the other, I'm not really keen on making you relive something that might be painful, and it doesn't really make any difference, does it? I'm perhaps spending the rest of my life with you. I don't really want to have any sort of awkwardness between us, you know?"

Sethius nodded. "I appreciate that. The usurper…" he shuddered. "I know they were a friend of yours. But I detest them. Though, to be entirely truthful, they ended up helping me achieve my goal anyway. It was their mark, after all, that sent me into the Fade."

Garrett tilted his head as he appraised the other man.

"What?" the magister asked.

"You used the Inquisitor's proper pronouns," he murmured. "At first, I thought maybe you just didn't care to know of them, so you just called them 'them' and that was it. But … no. You do know of them, don't you, and how they view themself?"

Sethius scoffed. "What of it? Why is it of any importance?"

Garrett raised his eyebrows. "If I'm not mistaken, didn't you call Inquisitor Lavellan 'rattus' and threaten to wear their ears as a necklace? And yet, you respect them by addressing them as they want to be?"

Sethius matched his expression. "Is it a sign of respect? Is it so important to modern society that using such language is worthy of comment?"

Garrett couldn't help it: he laughed. Head thrown back and everything, and Maker but it had been ages since he had done that, and he couldn't even recall what it felt like, not really, but it was wonderful, and lovely, and —

Nice.

It was really nice.

What was wrong with him?

"What?" Sethius asked again, searching his face with such a look of confusion it caused Garrett's laughter to increase. "Why are you so amused?"

"It's a huge sign of respect," Garrett explained, trying to control his breathing to limit his mirth. "People still have issues with the concept."

It was Sethius' turn to laugh. "Truly? Our gods were dragons. Why would such a small thing be of any importance to us? We call people what they want, and that is enough."

He paused. "Though if I had known it was of such consequence, maybe I would have changed how I addressed them."

Garrett smiled. The use of them, there, was enough to tell Garrett all he needed to know.

"No, you wouldn't have."

"Maybe not," Sethius acquiesced. "It truly is not important."

"Fair enough," Garrett said, and then they spoke of it no more.

Chapter Text

The Fade might have been ever-changing, but as time maybe passed, their experiences were fairly stagnant.

Their day-to-day — if it could even be called that — consisted of nothing more than walking among the paths, ostensibly finding their way to the Black City, though it never appeared any closer, no matter how far they traveled.

They occasionally took breaks, resting their minds, if not their bodies, and they ended up talking about nothing and everything.

Garrett learned more than he ever wanted to about the Tevinter Imperium, and the "plight" of the magisters, and the Old Gods, and what led the Magisters Sidereal to attempt to conquer the Golden City.

In turn, he told Sethius about all that had transpired since his imprisonment, including the subsequent Blights and the formation of Thedas as it stood at that moment.

It was a strange exchange of information, and Garrett learned more than he'd ever wanted — albeit from the skewed perspective of the High Priest of Dumat — but it was something to pass the time, and that was all that truly mattered.

"Do you ever think about how your life would have gone, how Thedas — or the Imperium — would have developed, if you and the other magisters hadn't entered the Golden City?" he asked as they were traversing a quite hilly part of the Fade.

His legs were burning, and he needed something to take his mind off the physical exertion. Even if he could no longer build muscle, his body still let his effort be known, much to his irritation.

"No," Sethius told him, and the bastard wasn't even winded.

"Not at all?" Garrett asked, and he had to admit, he was a bit surprised. He had thought that at least a small part of him would have regretted being blighted.

"No," he said again, glancing over at him. "I am grateful I was able to discover the truth when I did."

"Even if it led to your mutation, and eventual imprisionment?"

"There is a reason for everything, and I do not regret my actions. Because they have led me to this moment."

"To returning physically to the Fade?" Garrett asked.

"That, as well."

"Do you find it strange?' Sethius asked him once. "That we are sort of … collecting spirits?"

The magister wasn't wrong. As they continued on their travels, more spirits than just the blue orbs started … well, not altogether following them, but keeping track of their progress? That was the best way Garrett could think to describe what was happening.

"I guess?" Garrett told him with a shrug. "Though I've sort of always had spirits around me, after that initial time when I was escaping Nightmare. Fellowship said something, once, that my presence was like a beacon of sorts? That it allowed spirits to know where we were fairly easily. Curiosity said something similar about you, when you arrived. I imagine most of them are just … interested in seeing what all the fuss is about."

"Hmm," Sethius hummed, but said no more about the subject. Instead, he just reached out his hand. One of the orbs settled upon it, like a bird being called to feed.

"I do not think I mind them," he admitted after a moment or two.

"Good," Garrett told him. "Because I don't think they're going anywhere."

The hills were getting steeper, much to Garrett's annoyance, but that wasn't nearly as annoying to him as the physical toll such a climb was taking on him.

He didn't think it fair, that the Fade would tax him in such a way.

Just when he was about to ask Sethius for a respite, a lyrium vein appeared behind a Fade bush, and Garrett almost sobbed with relief.

"Oh, thank the Maker. I haven't seen one of these in ages. I almost thought I had imagined them," he said, refraining from sprinting over to it.

Truthfully, he was too tired to put in the effort.

"What is it?" Sethius asked, eyeing the pulsing blue crystal warily.

"It's a lyrium vein," he said with a sigh of relief as he touched it. Immediately, he felt revitalized, the pain in his limbs retreating, the bounce in his step returning.

"A lyrium vein? What are they for?"

"Get closer, and find out."

The other man approached slowly, reaching his hand out in a way much more tentative than Garrett would have thought for someone who had conducted a massive blood magic spell to physically enter the Fade.

He gingerly touched the crystal, but, even with that gentle touch, he gasped as the enervating energy rushed through him.

His eyes fluttered shut and the most obscene groan emanated from his lips.

Garrett was transfixed.

But then Sethius' knees buckled, and Garrett had to rush to close the space between them, catching him about the waist before he could collapse.

"Whoa there," he murmured, as he pulled Sethius' body closer against his to try and steady him.

The magister's head lolled to the side, but a slow grin spread across his face as he blinked, trying to focus his gaze, it seemed.

"That was … more than I expected," Sethius murmured, and Garrett wasn't sure if he was talking about the boost from the lyrium vein, or Garrett catching him.

"What, did you think I'd let you fall?"

Sethius' eyes roved across his face. "I wouldn't blame you if you did."

Garrett chuckled. "Maybe I would have, before I got to know you. But it's you and me against the Fade, Sethius. We need to work together. Being antagonistic toward one another serves neither of us."

"Sethius," he breathed, as he reached up a hand to cup Garrett's cheek. He stilled as the magister brushed his thumb — just the lightest of touches — across his bottom lip. "I so crave hearing you say that name."

Their eyes met, and the air between them shifted.

Garrett's breathing stuttered. He wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to do, what he should do.

You should let him go, he told himself.

He should. He really, really should.

But a part of him — the part that craved interaction, that was starving for touch, for connection, did not want to. It was like a dam had been broken inside him, and he could no longer hold back what he'd been so desparately needing since he'd arrived in the Fade.

"Sethius," Garrett whispered, and the magister's eyes widened, just slightly.

Like he, too, felt that burning need to do more.

"You're high off the lyrium," Garrett said, clearing his throat in an attempt to dispell his fogged thoughts. "You're not used to it."

Because he practised magic using the blood of slaves, that rational voice in the back of his mind said.

It should have doused the fire inside him, should have brought him back into reality.

But hadn't he been a different person, once, too? The man who had begged entrance to Kirkwall, fleeing the Fifth Blight, no longer existed. That man had a family to protect, and templars to run from.

Who he was now was a far cry from the one who had needed to spend a year scraping together 50 sovereigns to help fund an ill-fated expedition into the Deep Roads.

He was older, yes, but wiser, too. More experienced. Decisions he'd made then — like keeping his brother from coming with them — wouldn't be what he made now. If he had changed, matured, hadn't Sethius?

Wasn't the fact that his name was Sethius, and not Corypheus, indicative of that change?

Should one always be judged by their past deeds?

When those deeds killed thousands, yes, that voice said.

Maybe.

But who was he to be the one to do that? He had made his fair share of mistakes, had tried to atone for them, had potentially made an even greater one in that attempt.

He was no paragon of goodness, and he did not want to hold others to a standard he did not hold himself to.

After all, if it wasn't for him, Corypheus would have never been released.

Wasn't he just as much to blame?

All right, maybe not just as much, but the despair demon who had paraded around as Varric wasn't wrong.

Part of the whole situation was his fault. He wasn't entirely blameless.

"Garrett?" Sethius murmured, and he realized he was still holding the other man close to his chest.

And Sethius still had his hand on his cheek.

"If you truly think my actions are being affected by the lyrium, should you not let me go?"

"I should," Garrett said, nodding. "But … I'm finding myself not wanting to," he admitted with a small wince.

"Then don't," Sethius breathed.

"A better man would let you go," Garrett countered, a small part of his mind still rebelling against the whole situation.

"But you are not a good man."

It was a statement, not a question, but he answered anyway.

"No, I'm not."

"Neither am I," Sethius whispered, before he increased the pressure on Garrett's cheek, drawing his face closer to his.

"You don't want this," Garrett murmured.

"Oh, but I do," Sethius said with a grin, then closed the distance between them, pressing their lips together in the softest of touches.

But then he pulled back, searching Garrett's face, almost as if was looking for approval.

The space between them triggered an almost feral response in Garrett. He dove after Sethius' lips, chasing them like he was a drowning man finally finding water. He grasped the back of Sethius' head, threading his fingers through his long strands and twisting them in his fingers, tugging him exactly where he wanted him to go as his lips devoured the other man's mouth.

It was so very different from his experience kissing while he was ensnared by the sloth demon; it was almost enough to not remind him of it.

Almost.

He broke the kiss with a gasp, searching around him, almost certain he'd find —

"Garrett?" Sethius asked, his grip on his cheek tightening, but in comfort, not in control. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head, but he still took a step back, putting some space between them, and finally letting Sethius go. The magister dropped his hand from his face.

"Did you —"

"I said it's nothing," Garrett spat, turning away from him. The blue orbs, who were their constant companions, scattered slightly.

Garrett couldn't bring himself to care.

"Is it someone you have left behind?" Sethius asked gently, and Garrett closed his eyes, horrified that the version of Fenris he'd thought of wasn't the one of flesh and blood, but rather the one who had assaulted him in the sloth demon's realm.

"Sort of," he admitted, though that was all he was going to say about the subject. "Apologies. I shouldn't … I shouldn't have done that."

"Done what?"

"Any of it!" he shouted, turning back around to face the magister.

He took a deep breath. He reminded himself he was in the Fade; intense emotions were never good to have. He had to keep himself as even-tempered as possible, no matter how angry he was at himself.

"You regret it then?"

And Sethius' face was so calm, so devoid of any emotion at all … either the magister was more practised at this Fade stuff than he was — a true possibility — or he had been playing politics too long.

Another quite reasonable explanation.

"I don't know," he admitted, and he knew it was the truth. Sethius just nodded. "I don't regret that it was with you, if that's what you're thinking," he added. "It's just … yes. There's someone I left behind. And my feelings around him are … complicated."

"It is only natural to mourn what has been lost."

Garrett closed his eyes as a stabbing pain entered his heart.

Lost.

He hadn't let himself think it, but that's what Fenris was, wasn't he? Lost. Living his life out there, somewhere. Perhaps mourning him, but living all the same.

After all, didn't Sethius' presence tell him that time was indeed passing on the other side of the Veil? It was marching on, and Fenris was there, and he was here, and there was nothing he could do about it.

It was heartbreaking, but it was the truth.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, and Sethius tilted his head.

"Whatever for?"

"For my reaction. It was uncalled for."

He shook his head. "Nothing to apologise for, amici. You did nothing wrong."

And Garrett didn't really know what to say to that, so he just asked, "Amici? I don't know that one."

Sethius smiled at him softly. "It means 'friend.'"

Chapter Text

Friend.

That was what they had become. There was no getting around it. And Garrett found he didn't even really mind calling Sethius one. Hadn't he told the magister that it was them against the Fade? There was no use dancing around what they were.

But they were also slowly becoming more than that, and Garrett wasn't sure he even minded, if he was being completely truthful with himself.

He still had hangups over the physical stuff, leftover from whatever the sloth demon had put him through, but Sethius — whether he knew specifically or just thought he was skittish — was allowing him to take his time, progressing things at his own pace.

Because that dam that had burst open when they had kissed? There was no chance of it being repaired.

He had felt someone's warm skin against his, and — like the most potent poppy — he couldn't stop seeking it out.

So even though nothing romantic progressed between them, they still touched more than they ever had before. From small brushes of their arms, to sitting shoulder to shoulder when they took their breaks, to holding hands during some of the more narrow paths.

He liked being touched, he had missed it, and he wasn't going to apologise for it.

And as time went on, as he got more used to touching another again, he found he wanted to do more.

He still wasn't sure how far he wanted to go, and Sethius — to his credit — was fine going at his own pace. But what had started as small kisses soon turned into marathon make-out sessions that left Garrett breathless and aching for relief, even with everything that had happened to him.

"Do you not find it strange?" Sethius murmured against his neck one time they had stopped to enjoy each other.

After all, they had nowhere to be, no schedule to adhere to.

It was liberating, sort of, to be beholden to nothing and no one, merely to their whims.

He sort of understood spirits' way of life, then. Something that should have frightened him, but actually made him more relaxed.

"Find what strange?" He was finding it hard to think, but wanted to engage the other man in conversation. 

Maybe that would help him control his raging hard on.

"That the Fade affects the natural processes of our bodies, so much so that we don't have to eat, or relieve ourselves, or even sleep, for that matter. But," he nipped at Garrett's jaw and gently breathed over his earlobe, "we can still produce massive, painfully hard erections."

Garrett groaned and shifted as his attention was drawn to his predicament.

"Maybe because it is a part of us, not something that needs to be ingested, that makes us so? So it can still function in the Fade?"

He really was trying to focus, but Sethius was doing well distracting him.

"Perhaps," Sethius said, and his hand drifted lower, skimming over his chest and abdomen before resting lightly on his thigh. "Have you ever tested what happens with it? Have you ever stroked yourself to completion?"

Garrett swallowed as emotion threatened to close his throat.

But he was determined to get through it, determined not to let the sloth demon ruin him for the rest of his life.

"Not of my own accord," he admitted, and it hurt him to say such a thing.

Sethius paused his teasing movements and lifted his head to look at him more fully.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"I am … sorry, such a thing happened to you."

And he didn't expect it, but a weight was lifted from his chest that he hadn't even realised was there. He hadn't known it, but he had felt a sort of … shame, over what had happened to him.

He should have been a better mage — a stronger mage — able to resist the sloth demon's attack. He should have fought harder. He should have —

His thoughts stopped abruptly when he felt the warmth of a hand cover his.

He hadn't recognised how cold he'd gotten.

"I am sorry," Sethius said again, more firmly.

He felt wetness gather in his eyes, and he took a moment to compose himself.

"Thank you," he managed. "But I can't help but feel like such a failure."

"You are not."

"How do you know?" Garrett asked, turning a pleading gaze onto the magister. "I failed to stop the demon. Does that not make me a failure?"

"I succeeded in entering the Fade, only to find the Golden City empty, blackened and corrupted. Exposure to such a place blighted me, drove me mad with longing for Dumat's voice. I fought and killed and corrupted, raging at the world. And in my anger, I became sloppy. I found myself at the mercy of the Grey Wardens, thrown into a prison so deep I never thought I'd see sunlight again. And when I was given the chance to do it all over, I was thwarted. By a rattus of all people.

"So yes, I understand failure. But failure in action pales in comparison to failure of spirit. And, amici, from all that I've seen, you succeed me greatly in that regard."

"Sethius —"

"Come, let us rest. It does both of us no good to discuss things we do not wish to. The past will haunt us. 'Tis all we can do to try and live with what we have done."

He stood up then, and began to walk away.

"Where are you going?" Garrett called, suddenly irrationally afraid the magister'd leave him alone.

"I just need a moment to gather my thoughts. I'll return soon." He looked over his shoulder. "I promise."

And for some reason, Garrett believed him.

"He's been gone for quite a while," Garrett told Fellowship when it arrived some time later.

He had attempted to meditate, to no avail, but his efforts must have drawn Fellowship to him, for soon after he decided to abandon his attempt, the spirit appeared.

It flitted in and out of their lives, probably keeping an eye on the rest of the world, continuing on with its duties, while simultaenously monitoring their progress.

He didn't know what he'd done to keep its attention, but he was glad for it.

"He'll be all right," the spirit told him.

"I shouldn't have pushed him."

Fellowship tilted its head as it appraised him. "You didn't. Sethius is trying to reconcile much about his life. It can lead to complicated and complex feelings. I do not envy the path he has to walk."

"I suppose suddenly waking up after a thousand years of sleep will do that to you."

"It's more than that," Fellowship said, and it settled itself next to him. "It is trying to rectify who he is with who he wants to be."

Garrett hummed. "I know a bit about that."

Fellowship's aura brightened slightly. "I know. It is why I knew you two would be fast friends. Or, well, I hoped. There is much kinship between you. And more than that, if I'm understanding correctly."

"Maybe," he hedged, not quite wanting to admit aloud what his heart already knew.

"There is much for you to consider, too."

"Does it ever get any easier?" Garrett asked, and, to his utter shock, Fellowship laughed. Not the twinkling titter it usually did, but a full on laugh.

"Oh, my dear, no. Not at all. But if it did, life would be boring, would it not?"

Garrett found himself smiling, too. "Yeah, I suppose it would be."

Chapter Text

Much to Garrett's relief, Fellowship's assertion that Sethius would come back came true. The magister returned not too long after the spirit had disappeared from view, though Garrett was certain it was still observing them.

He didn't know what to say, and it seemed Sethius wasn't keen on talking, either, so they just kept quietly to themselves as they continued on their way.

It was almost … comforting, to know that the other man was still there, despite their differences, and their pasts, and whatever conflict could arise between them.

Knowing there was someone in his corner, or at least who wouldn't immediately leave him when things got hard, reassured him more than he had thought possible.

He hadn't realised how much fear he had harboured that he would be left alone.

Again.

It wasn't anyone's fault, not really, but people leaving him had just sort of been a pattern, and he was always shocked when someone broke it.

Of course, he was to blame for this most recent case of being left alone. If he hadn't —

The blue orbs who had been following them suddenly chittered excitedly.

"Calm yourself," Sethius murmured to him, and he placed his hand lightly on his shoulder. "You are attracting demons."

Garrett closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He attempted to ease his mind, focusing instead on the warmth of the magister's hand, the closeness of his body.

As he felt himself relax, the blue orbs settled down, too.

The danger, it seemed, had passed.

"Thank you," Garrett murmured, chancing a glance over at Sethius' face.

He almost did a double-take as he saw not the blankness that he had expected, but compassion and empathy.

"It must be difficult," Sethius began, "to deal with such volatile emotions in a place such as this. That you haven't succumbed to demonic influence speaks to your strength of character."

Garrett swallowed thickly. He could count on one hand the amount of times he'd been given praise in his life. It was always "too much, Garrett," "hold yourself back, Garrett," "control yourself, Garrett." It wasn't like his father was a bad person, per se, but when one is driven by fear, one tends to be more punitive than nurturing.

And as the eldest, expectations were placed on him that weren't ever put on Bethany. He held no ill-will toward his sister, but he was always expected to manage her, to ensure she could keep herself in line, should they ever encounter templars, or enter an unfamiliar place. And when he succeeded in assuaging her fears, her anxieties, when he had kept them safe … nobody ever told him "Good job" or even thanked him. It was expected, demanded of him.

There was never any acknowledgement of just how much he'd done to secure them.

And he hadn't ever realized how much he had missed out on that praise, until he had received it.

From a Tevinter magister of all people.

His life really had taken such a strange turn.

"Thank you," he said again. "That … means more than you could know."

"I think I have some idea."

When Garrett raised his eyebrows in inquiry, he continued. "Dumat was not the kindest master."

And there was such darkness in his tone, Garrett decided he had best leave it be.

That was it though, wasn't it? What Fellowship had seen in the two of them, all that time ago, when it had led him to the magister.

They were both battered, bruised, victims of forces well beyond their control. They had made mistakes — Maker knew how many — and their actions had resulted in the deaths of thousands. Garrett, because he didn't act fast enough, or see clearly enough, to stop the Arishok from attacking, or to prevent Anders from feeling desperate enough that he determined he had no other course of action.

Sethius — Corypheus — because he was misled and then forsaken by his god.

Losing that sense of faith … Garrett wasn't sure he could survive it.

But Sethius did survive it.

That was the point.

They might be down, but they weren't out.

They were survivors.

He was a survivor.

And he'd be damned if he let any of his past experiences ruin him.

With a newfound sense of resolve, Garrett opened his mouth to speak, but the Fade suddenly shifted around them.

It wasn't a major change, but it was enough to be noticeable.

"What —" he began, but his question about what was happening was answered before he could even finish his thought.

In a clearing right next to where they had stopped, the Fade had disappeared, then recoalesced.

And where there had once been nothing but rock and random Fade debris, there now stood a large, four-poster bed.

Was that … his doing? Or was the Fade acting on its own again?

It certainly wasn't Sethius' doing … was it?

"Garrett?" He chanced a look over his shoulder, and the shock apparent on the magister's face confirmed what he knew: the bed wasn't his creation.

Garrett felt a slow grin spread across his features, and that shocked look turned from the bed to Garrett, himself.

"I thought we should perhaps be a bit more comfortable."

Sethius stared at him. "What are you saying?" he asked slowly.

His grin grew. The expression felt so good. "I'm saying, I'm tired of waiting. Tired of holding myself back. Tired of being so Void-sent scared all the time. That's not living. And what we're doing here might not be living, in the traditional sense, but I'm still alive, for Andraste's sake. I'm still here, and I still feel, and I'm so. Fucking. Tired, of denying myself. I deserve something nice, for once. We deserve something nice."

"I don't —"

But Garrett cut him off by closing the distance between them and cupping his cheek, forcing Sethius' gaze to match his own.

"Yes," he said, firmly. "You do."

He stayed in that position until he saw the light flicker to life in Sethius' eyes.

Garrett offered him a small smile before taking a step back.

"You do," he repeated. "I do. We do. I feel confident in saying we both have been punishing ourselves for our failures for far too long. Our failures are our own, yes, but they're not just ours. They're our circumstances', society's, the gods', for Andraste's sake. We did the best with what we had, and if we fell short, we have to reconcile with that. We have to take some of the blame, yes, but not all of the blame.

"Besides," he added, when he could tell Sethius didn't quite believe him yet. "For all we know, we're going to be immortal; are you going to spend the rest of your long, long life atoning? Who are you atoning for? There's no bringing back the people you killed. No making amends to their family members, or even working to better the Thedas that we left behind. We're here. Alone. Just the two of us. What harm does it do for us to engage in a bit of fun? In something beyond melancholy and punishment."

"There he is," a voice from somewhere else murmured.

A voice that suspiciously sounded like Varric.

He whirled in place, looking for the existence of a despair demon, something taking the form of the red-headed dwarf that had come to torture him yet again.

But no one was there.

"Garrett?" Sethius had stepped closer to him.

"Did you hear something?" he asked, keeping his voice low as he strained to hear Varric's again.

"Just you, giving me the dressing down of my life."

That drew Garrett's attention back to the magister. "Sethius —" he began, but the other man closed the distance between them even more, so they were almost pressed chest to chest.

"It is no less than I deserved," he murmured, and cupped Garrett's face, causing him to shut his mouth that he had opened to protest that statement. "No, not like that. You merely voiced what I needed to hear. For you are correct. I am punishing myself. For so many things. And I think I shall always do so, for punishment is necessary, in some aspects. But it does not have to be our whole life. And I will gladly have you. If you will have me."

Garrett didn't bother to give him a response. He merely closed the distance between their lips, capturing Sethius' mouth in the most incredible of kisses. For even though they had kissed before, there was an urgency behind this one that drove their feelings even higher.

It seemed that, once they had determined that it was all right for them to allow themselves to feel pleasure, they couldn't stop.

Garrett pulled at Sethius' robes, which were still the tattered and torn ones he had arrived in.

"We need to get you better clothes," he murmured against the other man's neck as he worked the ties open. "I can't believe these have lasted as long as they have."

"Nothing to affect them, I suppose," Sethius said, groaning as he tilted his head back to give Garrett more access. "Yours, for example, look as fresh as if they have just returned from the launders'."

And Garrett spared a moment to look down at his own robes and recognized that the magister was, indeed, correct.

"Fair enough," he said, before attacking the other man's robes again. With one final tug, they fell open, and Garrett took a step back, allowing his eyes to rove over his body.

"Beautiful," he murmured, and Sethius blushed again.

"You are just saying that."

"No," Garrett smiled, and stepped closer so he could run his hands over the wide, unblemished skin of Sethius' chest and stomach. "Truly, you are as if carved from marble."

And it was true. He was pale, skin like it had never seen the sun. Which — Garrett realised with a start — it probably hadn't.

"You are too kind," Sethius murmured, then it was his turn to remove Garrett's robes. "Just as I imagined," he smiled, when the final piece of cloth fell away.

"You've imagined this?"

"More than I probably should have," Sethius told him, taking in his body with a long, searching look. "But my mind's image is nothing compared to the real thing."

It was Garrett's turn to blush, but he refused to quail away from the other man's gaze. His body was nice, if he did say so himself, and he was thankful to have someone there who could appreciate it.

"C'mere," he said softly, reaching out for him. Sethius walked into his arms, and Garrett was overcome with a feeling of rightness.

And when their lips met again, it was less urgent than it had been before, but somehow deeper and more intense.

They also kissed like they had all the time in the world, which, he conceded, they did.

But Garrett didn't want to wait.

He began walking backward, leading Sethius to the bed.

"How do you like it?" he asked, meeting the other man's gaze. He felt his cock twitch at the look of pure want that was on his face.

"It has … obviously been quite a while for me," he admitted, and Garrett chuckled.

"Of course. How did you usually manage such things?"

"In whatever way suited my fancy. As high priest, I was … serviced quite frequently."

Garrett didn't let that statement — and its implications — ruin the moment.

"Then let me service you," he offered, reaching down to stroke Sethius' cock, which was already jutting out proudly from his hips.

"No," Sethius growled. "I do not wish to be serviced. Or worshipped. I want you as an equal."

"Then how do you feel about taking turns?" Garrett asked.

A slow smile appeared on Sethius' face. "That, amos, sounds absolutely wonderful."

Garrett pulled him in for another kiss, sitting down on the bed, which was surprisingly soft and supportive.

He had a good imagination, if he did say so himself.

He pushed himself more into the center, and Sethius smiled.

"Let me?" he asked.

"By all means," Garrett said. "I —"

But then he forgot what he was going to say as the magister's hot mouth engulfed him, taking him down in one go.

"Fuck, Sethius. I thought you said you were out of practise?"

"I did not say that," he said, pulling off of him with a sensation that caused Garrett's hips to shift. Maker he was talented. He grasped Garrett's cock and began stroking it slowly. "I said it had been a long time. But just because I have been long without practise, does not mean that I do not remember what I am doing."

And then he swallowed Garrett down in one go again, and it was all he could do to keep present.

In almost no time, he felt the telltale tightening of his abodomen, and he grasped Sethius' hair to stop him.

"Please," he gasped, as the magister twisted his wrist in just that right way. "I don't want to spill yet. I want you inside me. Show me what those skills can do."

"With pleasure."

A vial of oil materialised next to them, and Garrett couldn't help but chuckle. "I guess the Fade provides," he said, and Sethius hummed his agreement.

He poured some of the liquid onto his hand, then drizzled some over his entrance, before massaging him open, taking the time to make sure he was fully relaxed before he inserted one of his fingers.

Garrett groaned at the feeling. But — it was more than just the act that was turning him on. There was something … inherently intimate about the way he was being handled.

Like Sethius didn't want to hurt him.

It was a care he didn't think the magister had in him.

"All right?" Sethius murmured, and Garrett nodded.

"Yes, yes I can take more."

So Sethius pressed in his second finger, and it was all Garrett could do to not shout his pleasure to the sky. He loved the feeling of his fingers inside of him, loved being split open, loved the quiet attention he was receiving.

He started when he realised Sethius was staring at him intently. Maybe watching to see if there was any sign of his discomfort?

Maker, that was more than he could handle.

"More," he demanded, and Sethius grinned.

"Yes, ser," he said, drizzling some more oil onto his hand before pushing in a third finger.

"Yes," he gasped, as he began to cant his hips against the intrusion. "Yes, fuck me, Sethius, show me how good you can make me feel."

"Oh, Garrett, I hope you know what you are asking for," Sethius told him, before he grasped him by the hips and flipped them over, Sethius lying on his back and Garrett straddling him.

It took a moment for his muddled mind to catch up to what happened, but Sethius' thumbs stroked his hipbones, and his cock began to twitch more fully.

"Take me, amos," he whispered.

Garrett didn't know if it was because he was in the Fade, or if it was some magic Sethius was weaving, but he could swear he could feel the magister's intentions.

And those intentions were to give Garrett control, to let him retrieve what his nightmare in the sloth demon's realm had taken from him.

If his heart hadn't been close to bursting before … it was then.

Fuck.

He was in trouble.

Sethius grabbed his hand and poured some of the oil into it, rubbing his thumb over Garrett's palm, and making him shiver in pleasure.

"Prepare me as you need," he told him. "Then use me as you see fit. I am yours, Garrett."

A small voice in the back of his mind, the one that was his most negative, released tension he didn't even know he had been experiencing at that moment.

And it told him, in its subtle way, that this was real. That this was no demon's realm, or even a very realistic dream.

It was his life, for better or for worse.

When he tried to examine how he knew that, that small voice told him: his name.

The demons in the nightmare had never managed to use his name.

But Sethius had.

Twice.

With a groan that was more based upon that realisation, and not quite upon the thick, perfect cock that was about to breach him, he grasped its base and guided it to his entrance.

And when Sethius finally entered him, when he felt that intense burn that quickly transformed into pleasure, he couldn't help the tears that tracked down his face. He tried to wipe them away, but the magister was too quick in his observation.

He stilled Garrett's progression with a tight grip on his hips. "Am I hurting you, amos?" he asked, eyes roving over his face, as if looking for some sign that it was, indeed, what was happening.

"No," Garrett said, covering the magister's hands with his own, and squeezing his fingers gently. "No. I'm just … thank you. For this. For … everything. This is … exactly what I needed. I didn't even know I needed it. But you did? How?"

He shifted his hips slightly, trying to quell his desire to move, knowing this answer was more important than the physical connection between them.

Sethius' smile was more genuine than any he had seen the magister give him before. "I was a powerful man in a society that prided itself on being able to knock those in power to the ground. One could only maintain their position if one kept a strong grip on it. But keeping power by force was never my way. No. I learned, early on, to observe. To understand the meanings behind the words, the small breaths or the flick of an eye. I am a wonderful judge of someone's actions, for they often tell more of someone's intent than their words ever will."

He stroked his fingers across Garrett's hipbones again. "I am sorry if you feel like I have misled you, or taken advantage, while —"

Garrett cut him off with a kiss. "Don't apologise. It's exactly what I needed. And I'm so, so thankful you have been here with me, helping me make it through this journey."

"Of course, amos," Sethius murmured, and the look in his eyes was enough to tell Garrett exactly what that word meant, even though he wasn't certain of its meaning.

"Make love to me, Sethius," Garrett breathed, and his eyes brightened as the understanding passed between them.

"With pleasure."

And then he flipped them over again, so he was on top and Garrett underneath, his legs thrown over the magister's shoulders, but he didn't feel constricted, or trapped. He felt … safe. Comforted. Taken care of.

As Sethius kept moving in him at a leisurely pace, it was all Garrett could do to keep present, to not float away in the pleasure he was eliciting in him, to not just give himself over to the other man's ministrations.

But then Sethius met his gaze, and it was too much. He begged to be taken, to be pounded into, and Sethius readily agreed, proving his stamina and virility in a way that made Garrett see stars.

"Fuck," he groaned, as he had to grip onto the coverlet to keep from being pushed off the bed by Sethius' snapping hips. "Yes, just like that. Oh, Maker, oh my goodness, I'm going to — Sethius I think I'm going to — I can't hold back —"

"Spill yourself for me, Garrett," Sethius murmured, and he groaned as he let himself go. He felt Sethius follow him over, pulsing inside him, moaning his name…

But —

Something was off.

The heat that usually filled him wasn't there. He swore Sethius had found completion though, as had he, and yet…

There was no evidence of him doing such on his stomach. And when Sethius gingerly withdrew from him, there was nothing aside from the oil that leaked out of him.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Didn't you —" he asked Sethius, and the magister nodded.

"I did. And you did, too, did you not?"

Garrett also nodded. "Yeah. And yet…"

"There is no evidence of such a thing."

"Well," Garrett said, and his raised eyebrow turned mischievous as he smirked. "That's convenient."

"Indeed," Sethius said, nuzzling Garrett's cheek. "And that answers my question from that day, I suppose. That though blood flow might engorge our cocks, we do not form any spend."

"Fascinating…" Garrett said, groaning as Sethius began nipping at his jaw and the side of his neck.

"'Tis just so, is it not?" he murmured, placing soft kisses on the space right behind his ear.

"Now that our curiosity has been satisfied, amos, I believe it is my turn to see what you can do with that lovely cock of yours. Do you feel capable of doing such a thing?"

Garrett's cock shifted as it began to reharden, and Sethius laughed, a low sound that settled deep into his chest.

"I will take that as a 'yes,'" Sethius said, and Garrett grinned as he flipped them once more.

"You should take that as a fuck yes," he said, before diving back into his mouth, determined to devour him and show him just how capable a lover he could be.

Chapter Text

"We could stay," Garrett found himself murmuring against Sethius' shoulder as they laid together in bed after their marathon coupling session.

Truly, Garrett had no idea how long they had spent in each other's arms, with both of them finding completion multiple times. With no real refractory period in the Fade — and no real mess to clean up — Garrett found himself willing to go much longer than he normally would.

It was wonderful, but it was also strange.

Garrett currently found himself lying against Sethius' chest, the magister's arm around his shoulders, and the other man had pulled him in tightly when he had spoken.

"Stay?" he asked, placing a kiss on his forehead. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Instead of ceaselessly wandering, trying to reach the Black City — a feat that we both know is impossible — we could … pick some place, and just stay," he offered tentatively. He wasn't sure how Sethius would take the suggestion. "This is the Fade. We could make ourselves a damn palace if we wanted."

He was quiet for so long that Garrett was sure he had upset him. But finally he sighed and rested his cheek against the top of Garrett's head.

"I think I would very much like that. To start over. Wipe away the transgressions of our pasts, and just … be. Together."

Garrett grinned. "I'll start on the design of our palace straight away. And the best part about it, is it's the Fade. If we don't like something, we can always change it. Or, I bet if we can't agree on something, the Fade will change its style depending on who's in the room? Oh wouldn't that be fascinating? We should test that theory —"

He was cut off by the sound of Sethius laughing.

"What?" he asked, shifting so he could see his face. "Are you laughing at me?"

"Not at all," he assured him, leaning down to brush a kiss against his lips. "I am just pleased to see you so excited about something. I have never seen such energy from you … and it is lovely to behold."

Indeed, the spirits around them, who had formed a sort of perimeter — with the bed at the center — while they had enjoyed each other in the carnal sense, had seemed energised as well, like they were absorbing Garrett's excitement.

"What can I say? You bring out the best in me."

Sethius' cheeks were dusted with pink then, and Garrett's grin grew. He loved making the magister blush.

"We do not need a palace," Sethius murmured, trying to brush over the moment, it seemed. "A small house will suffice."

Garrett opened his mouth to counter that statement with the argument that they were both used to a certain standard of living in their past, but then he realised what they had agreed upon: to put that part behind them, and to forge something new, together. They didn't need to worry about what they were used to from their previous stations; instead they could focus on building their future.

But still, he wanted to press his antics a bit further, so he pouted. "But I'm used to such fine things," he sighed dramatically.

Sethius' brows contracted, and he looked like he was going to say something, but Garrett laughed, giving away his joke.

The magister instead just rolled his eyes.

"In all seriousness, though," Garrett said, sitting up a bit taller. "I will give up the large and grandiose house, if you promise me one thing."

"Oh?" Sethius asked, turning to face him more fully. "And what would you have of me?"

"That you get rid of those terrible robes and craft something else."

Sethius paused, and for a moment Garrett wondered if he would deny his request. But then he nodded, albeit slowly.

"Those robes mean a lot to me," he started. "They represent who I was, my entire ambitions and my successes. But they also represent my failures. A part of me will be sad to see them go, but another part of me understands that I will not be able to move on until I do rid myself of them. Still," he added, and he leveled a stare at Garrett. "If I am to do this, so, too, must you."

"Get rid of my robes?" Garrett asked, eyebrows raised in surprise. "But they're perfectly serviceable."

"Certainly. But they represent your ties to your past, as well. If we are truly to put that period of our lives behind us, then we must do so completely. And that means severing every tie."

Garrett considered the other man's request. He knew, on an intellectual level, that he was right. That if he was asking Sethius to give up what he once was, then he needed to do the same.

Those robes had served him for so long, though. They were the ones he had been gifted after besting the Arishok, and they had suited his needs, for eight long years.

Then again, who knew how long Sethius had the robes he was asking him to give up? In the grand scheme of things, eight years was nothing.

No, it was more what the robes represented. His becoming the Champion of Kirkwall.

His failure to use that title to stop the confilct between the mages and the templars.

His failure to prevent an all-out war from erupting after Anders took his desperate and drastic action.

His life with Fenris.

He felt a pang in his chest, and he knew that what Sethius had requested was the right thing to do.

If they truly were going to accept their situation, to settle down and attempt to make a life together in the Fade, then they needed to let everything go.

Even the robes.

After all, they were just a thing. He still had the memories to hold on to, to remind him of who he was, what had transpired to form his sense of self, if he needed them.

Sethius had waited patiently as Garrett thought through his request, and Garrett gave him a grateful smile, then.

"I agree to your terms," he stated, sealing the deal with a swift kiss on his lips. "Let us rid ourselves of them." Then he moved to get up off the bed.

"Now?" Sethius asked, sitting up as well, but not yet rising fully. "You wish to get rid of them right this moment?"

"We've both agreed, and no time like the present, right?" he asked. He paused when he saw the look on the other man's face. "Unless you think it's too fast. If you want some time with them, to say goodbye, then we can wait a bit."

He knew the statement was absurd, but he also knew he understood what Sethius might be feeling, being faced with the actual prospect of giving them up.

They may have just been robes, but they were indicative of so much more.

"No," the magister said, shaking his head. "No, let us get on with it. There is no use delaying it any further. We have both decided."

"Seriously, love, we don't have to right now. There is no rush. If you'd like to take more time, take more time. We needn't force something if you aren't ready."

Sethius grinned at him.

"What?" Garrett asked. "Did I say something funny?"

"You called me 'love.'"

Garrett blushed slightly and cleared his throat. He hadn't even realised he'd used the endearment, though he wasn't put off by it, either.

"So I did," he said, chancing meeting Sethius' eyes. He saw nothing but care and love shining in them. "Is that all right?"

"More than," he murmured, getting off the bed so he could pull Garrett into a deep kiss. He melted into his chest. "You already know I call you my own version of that word," he murmured against his lips.

"I hadn't known, not truly," Garrett told him. "I had suspected, but I hadn't known." He pressed another kiss to Sethius' mouth. "Thank you for confirming it for me, though."

The smile Sethius gave him then was more shy. "Is it odd? To use such terms with each other, so relatively quickly after meeting one another?"

"We've spent every day together for Maker knows how long, literally every moment of our lives. We've interacted with spirits and traversed some of the strangest parts of the Fade. I don't think it's that out of the ordinary to develop feelings for one another. Besides, if we're truly to spend the rest of our lives together, I suppose it's only natural that such a relationship develop."

"So you are only with me because I am your only option?" Sethius asked, and Garrett was about to protest that question, but he stopped when he saw the glint in Sethius' gaze.

"Are you teasing me, love?" Garrett asked, sure his face was showing a comical form of shock at that moment.

Sethius laughed and grasped him around the waist, drawing him nearer, before placing a swift kiss on his mouth. "I was attempting such a thing, yes," he said, searching his face for Garrett's response. "I believe I have succeeded? Your expression is priceless."

"Oh ho ho," Garrett chortled. "You have no idea what you've just started."

"Do I not?" Sethius murmured, and Garrett's smile was so wide it nearly split his face. "I am looking forward to your next volley, amos."

Without giving him the chance to step away, Garrett pulled Sethius back down onto the bed, laughing as he peppered his face with kisses, knowing that he was going to ride that man until neither of them could feel their bones.

He was lucky. So damned lucky. And he wasn't going to waste another moment of what was in front of him.

"Ready?" Garrett asked some amount of time later. They had fallen into each other's arms again, making love to one another until neither of them had felt they could move, at which point a lyrium vein had appeared and revitalized them both.

If Garrett didn't know any better, he'd say the Fade had a bit of a voyeurism quirk.

But instead of taking advantage of their new energy in that carnal way, Garrett insisted that they gather their robes to finally deal with them.

He figured they'd give them a proper send off; with everything they represented, it was only right.

"So how should we get rid of them?" Garrett asked, securing the ties on his new robes. He had asked the Fade to make something for him, and it had provided ones that were fairly banal in nature — though made of the softest material, softer than anything he had owned before, not silk, but not cotton, either — but featured the Hawke family crest on its breast.

He was disappointed, at first, and was going to ask the Fade to make him something else, but Sethius seemed to pick up on his discomfort and had asked him what was wrong.

When he had explained about the family crest, Sethius just gave him a slightly sad smile, though Garrett had the feeling his expression was more about his reticience than the existence of the crest itself.

"Amos," he began, taking Garrett's hand in his. "You should not purge yourself of your identity. Releasing the robes erases your past, but it does not erase you. You are more than your actions, more than what you have done. And I would hate to see you think you had to erase Garrett Hawke from existence to make a life with me."

He tightened his grip slightly. "I fell in love with Garrett Hawke, he is who I would like to spend the rest of my life with. I do not wish to see you forsake him."

And Garrett couldn't disagree when Sethius said things like that, so he accepted the robes the Fade had crafted, excited to have something that was truly his.

He didn't recognise the robes the Fade had made Sethius, but when tears came to his eyes when he first gazed upon them, he figured they suited him just fine.

"Shall we burn them?" Sethius asked, bringing Garrett back to their present. "That was how we mourned in my time. Do you do something different?"

"No, we burn our dead, too, though each country has their own slightly different version of it. Ferelden held public pyres, whereas in Kirkwall the dead went into chambers, and the ash was returned to the family after. What did Tevinter do, in your time?"

"The Imperium conducted pyres as well, though for high bloods, members of the Magisterium, or the priesthood, we held sailings."

"Sailings?"

"Minrathous is a port city. Its location was part of what gave the Imperium such power. So those of any importance were placed on a boat and released into the Nocen Sea. Then a mage would volley a fireball at it, setting it ablaze as the boat made its journey to the edge of the world."

Garrett had never heard of such a custom, but he thought it seemed fitting for their current circumstance.

"You have much more experience with the sea than I do," Garrett told him, "so, please, do the honours. I'll provide the flame."

Sethius smiled at him as a boat — a design he had never seen before — materialised in the air right off the path they were standing on, like a ship pulled up on the ground.

It was more intricate than Garrett would have thought it would be, with a motif he immediately recognised as Tevene from his time in Kirkwall, but was more involved than any art he'd spied while in the citystate.

"Impressive," he told Sethius, and the magister seemed to preen at his compliment.

"It is an old design, one used by my family," he explained softly. "But see that, there?" He pointed to a silhouetted bird in flight. "That is yours."

And as Garrett stared at the boat more closely, he saw that the bird — a hawk — was crossing paths with a dragon.

The inclusion was so simple, yet it made him choke on emotion.

He cleared his throat. "Thank you," he managed.

"It was of little consequence. Truly," Sethius said, gesturing and expanding the ship a bit, as if to prove his point.

Garrett chuckled. "Fair. But still, you didn't have to."

"I know."

Garrett cleared his throat again, then bent down and gathered the bundle of robes they had folded together. Gently, he set them in the boat's bottom, before stepping back.

Sethius summoned a small burst of air, and the ship began to sail along the currents of the Fade.

When it had reached a distance that was almost to the peak of his capabilities regarding distance, Garrett popped a fireball in his hand, then threw it, as hard as he could.

It made a perfect arc, then landed in the center of the ship, the wood immediately catching fire.

It continued to travel as it burned, and the fire hadn't yet gone out when they lost sight of it.

As they watched it disappear, Garrett reached over and took Sethius' hand. The magister didn't look at him — didn't take his eyes off the flames — but he did squeeze Garrett's hand.

And when it finally slipped over the edge of whatever Fade cliff they'd never be able to learn about, Garrett breathed a sigh. It was melancholic, but it was also a bit relieved. Whatever pressure he had felt as the Champion of Kirkwall, the responsibilities that were foisted upon him, were no longer there. He didn't have a constant reminder of everything he was expected to be, and everything he had failed to live up to.

It was a bittersweet feeling, really, because a part of him felt like he had just given up. But he knew that was only the negative part of him talking. Logically, there was no way out of his current situation. It wouldn't make sense for him to attempt to become something he so clearly was not.

"All right?" Sethius asked him softly, and Garrett turned to look at him, squeezing his hand as he did so.

"Yeah, yeah I think I am." He smiled slightly. "Are you?"

"As all right as I can be, given the circumstances."

Garrett hummed in agreement. "Well, I hope to soon be able to improve those circumstances."

Sethius raised an eyebrow.

"Our house!" Garrett practically exclaimed. "I already have so many ideas; I think you're going to love them. I want to play with the physics of the Fade, really want to push how far I think I can make things go. I might break my mind in the process, but I think it'll be worth it."

Sethius laughed, and the light inside Garrett grew brighter. "Be careful, amos. I do not want to lose you as soon as I found you."

Garrett rose up on his tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. "You won't. I promise."

Chapter Text

In the end, the house they had settled upon was more traditional than any of the fantastic Fade creations Garrett had originally pictured. He had attempted a few of those designs, but he found that he very much benefitted from having one up and one down; swapping such concepts between rooms was too headache-inducing. Besides, he didn't relish bumping heads with Sethius when he was on a vertical wall and Garrett was on the ceiling.

The size of their dwelling was modest, which was Sethius' desire, but it was also garish in colour, which was Garrett's. The design elements clashed wonderfully, and Mother would have been horrified to see what he had come up with.

He was really quite proud of himself.

As they had no need for the more basic parts of a house, they ended up with an ecclectic collection of rooms that was laid out in a sort of circular fashion. In the center was a sparring ring, where he and Sethius could do their exercises and challenge each other, a way to pass the time more than anything.

At the top section was their bedchamber, which featured an exact replica of the bed he had first conjured when he had decided he wanted to finally cross that last physical barrier with Sethius. Or maybe it was the exact same bed. Being in the Fade, it was a distinct possibility that he had just brought the bed from one location to the next.

On the left of the circle, if one kept the bedchamber at the top, was a sort of library. Sethius, it turned out, was a voracious reader, and he was able to pull books of any and every kind to him. Garrett had insisted that he keep them in some semblance of organisation, so the magister had conjured a library that was bigger than any Garrett had ever seen. And it kept growing. Garrett had the distinct impression the library was soon going to be the largest part of their house, by far.

And he didn't quite hate that.

Off the sides of the library were studies for each of them. Sethius' was a lot bigger than his, but Garrett did use the desk there, if only to mark his observations of the Fade. He had continued doing such a thing ever since the Fade had provided him with the self-inking quill and journal, and he found he didn't really want to stop writing things down.

Across the circle, or on the right side of it, keeping the bedchamber at the top, was Garrett's workshop. He wasn't ever one for magical study, really, but he enjoyed tinkering with things every now and then, and it was another way to pass the time, especially when Sethius would get invovled in some tome or another, not emerging from the library for what felt like days at a time. He envied the man's ability to sit still for so long, but he also didn't mind getting to play with his magic in the Fade. It was exhilirating, if a bit dangerous.

Thankfully, he had a constant collection of spirits accompanying him at all times, so if something truly bad were to happen to him, one of the spirits would be able to alert Sethius.

At the front of the circle was a garden of sorts. Plants — in the traditional sense — didn't grow in the Fade, but there was a variety of Fade-specific plant that did? He wasn't sure. It wasn't his doing, nor was it Sethius'. One day, the garden just … appeared. It was a popular place for their spirit friends to gather, so Garrett had a sneaking suspicion one of them made it. As long as he didn't have to maintain it, he was content.

That was it. Their little homestead, an almost perfect set up for them and their friends. It was far from how he expected his life would go, but it was his.

And he was happy.

For the first time, in a long time, he could truly say he was happy, and mean it.

Of course, getting laid regularly was a large contributor to his overall satisfaction. There was something to be said about having one's lover be a thousand-year old magister. Though he was asleep for most of that time, he was still incredibly skilled, and Garrett never found any reason to complain about anything that they did together.

Sethius constantly surprised him and left him satisfied, and Garrett spent every not-day thankful for his companionship.

He often succeeded in pulling Garrett out of any thought spirals he had, like at that moment, when he inserted his tongue into his entrance in just that right way that it made Garrett's mind empty of all thoughts except the ones focused just on Sethius' mouth doing the most sinful things to him.

"Maker, Sethius, but you are talented," he moaned when he felt himself getting breached by his tongue.

"Oh, darling, I have only just begun," he murmured against his thigh, before diving back into driving Garrett closer and closer to the edge.

Suddenly, the Fade shook, a tremor that Garrett at first attributed to the pleasure Sethius was eliciting in him.

But — no. There it was again.

Stronger that time.

Sethius lifted his head.

"Did you feel that?" he asked, sitting up more fully.

"I did," Garrett said, reaching for his robes. There was only one other time he had felt the Fade react like it was currently doing, and that was when the Breach was closed.

Was such a tear happening again?

Almost as if by instinct, he looked up — they didn't bother to have a roof over their little abode, there was no point when there was no weather in the Fade — but there wasn't a tear appearing in the sky again. No, so far everything seemed normal, except…

Except for the massive tremors that kept shaking the entirey of the Fade.

The sound of chittering met his ears, and he looked over to their garden where he saw the spirits more agitated than he had ever known them to be. They were popping in and out of view, changing forms on a whim, and moving locations in the blink of an eye.

Something was very wrong.

Fellowship suddenly appeared before them, but it was wrong, too, its edges blurry, as if its golden light was bleeding out into the air surrounding it, or like its aura was dissolving into thin air.

"What's going on?" he asked it, and it shivered, flickering in and out of view.

Garrett had the irrational fear that it was dying.

"I'm not sure," it told him. "Something … is happening. Something I haven't felt in a long, long time. Not since this wasn't the way of things."

He didn't know what that meant. He turned to Sethius to see if the magister had any idea, but Fellowship continued speaking.

"Before even his time. This is … I am not sure what this is." It looked between him and Sethius. "It is good, that you two are together."

"Is this the end?" Sethius asked, and Garrett whipped his gaze to the other man.

The end? The end of what? Their lives?

"I do not know," Fellowship answered. "But it does not feel like things will be the same after it is done."

Small fissures began to appear in the air around them, then, like Fade rifts but … different. It was like a more intense version of what Sethius had done.

"Is it the same?" Garrett asked the magister, and he looked around, his eyes wide as he tried to take in all that was happening, it seemed.

"Not exactly. But … yes. The principle seems the same. This feels more like it is trying less to pierce a hole, and more like it is trying to shred."

Garrett nodded; that was indeed what it felt like.

"What can we do?"

Sethius met his eyes. "Nothing."

Nothing? That wasn't going to fly with him. Nothing wasn't an answer he was used to accepting.

He shook his head. "That can't be right, there has to be something we can do."

Sethius' stare was grave, his face a mix of stoicism and a small helping of empathy. "Could you do anything about the Breach from here?"

Garrett's righteous anger deflated. He was right. He couldn't do anything about the Breach. He had been ineffective against it from the Fade.

But the Breach was one massive hole in the sky that was unreachable by him in the normal sense.

These were tiny rifts appearing everywhere. He could see them. He could, ostensibly, manipulate them.

He couldn't just sit back and do nothing as he watched the Fade tear itself apart.

But he had no idea what he was up against. Was this the Maker Himself coming back to finally grant them the retribution they deserved?

And, if so, how the fuck was he supposed to go against a god?

Then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.

He and Sethius looked at each other warily. Even Fellowship seemed to have dimmed a bit.

The shaking had stopped, but the rifts remained.

They seemed … different than the ones he had dealt with before, and when Fellowship approached one, it blinked back to their side, flickering in and out of existence for a terrible heartbeat, before it stabilised.

Curiosity popped into view, and he was about to approach one of them when Fellowship spoke.

"Don't," it commanded, and he paused, looking back over his shoulder at it. "Tell everyone, all your brothers, and their siblings. These new tears should be avoided at all costs. They will rip us apart if we get too close, and the younger spirits will not survive." It nodded at the blue orbs, which had gathered around it. "Take the wisps. Spread the word as far as you can. Go."

With a nod, Curiosity shot off into the distance, the — wisps, did Fellowship call the blue orbs? — following close behind.

"They're that bad?" Garrett asked, tearing his gaze away from the spirits' journey to look at Fellowship.

"Worse," it murmured. "But it wouldn't do to scare the little ones. These rifts … they are unlike anything I have experienced before. It didn't even feel like this when the Veil was created."

Garrett was mildly surprised to find out Fellowship was that old, but, then again, he supposed, if spirits were indeed the Maker's first children, it would make sense that it had been around since the beginning of creation.

"What can we do?" he asked, determined to do something, anything to try and solve this.

He didn't want to see his friends get hurt.

Not again.

"There's nothing you can do," Fellowship told him, and the anguish and sadness in its voice was too much.

He couldn't bear to see the spirit in so much pain.

"Well, I'm going to see what I can find out," Garrett said, turning to grab his stave from where he had left it by the bed.

His movement was impeded by a hand on his shoulder.

"Wait," Sethius said, and there was also anguish in his voice.

"What?" he asked, but not unkindly. He wasn't sure what Sethius was feeling at that moment, and he was trying his hardest not to make the situation worse.

"What do you think you are doing?"

"I'm going to go see what I can find out," Garrett told him, keeping his voice even, measured.

"You have no idea what the source of such an interruption could be. You have no inkling about its origin. You do not even know where to begin looking, do you?"

Garrett paused. He wasn't wrong. But…

"I can't sit back and do nothing. Please understand that." Garrett was pleading with his eyes, he knew.

"I know," Sethius murmured. "I just…" he trailed off, looking around at the home they had made together, gaze lingering on the little touches they had added that made it not only theirs, but lived in. A true showcase of their time there.

He gave Garrett a sad smile. "I am just going to miss this place."

Garrett's heart swelled with love and appreciation, and Fellowship glowed more brightly.

"You're coming with me?" he asked.

"Of course," Sethius said, releasing Garrett's shoulder to pick up the orb and knife he had once conjured for himself during one of their sparring sessions. Their usage by a mage was unfamiliar to Garrett, but Sethius had explained that it was the way of the Imperium, and had begun instructing Garrett in their usage.

It didn't fit his own fighting style, but he could appreciate the versatility such weapons offered.

"You don't have to," Garrett finally said, coming out of his surprised stupor at Sethius wanting to tag along.

"I know," Sethius said. "But what have we said? It is the two of us, against the Fade. I would be remiss to go back on that sentiment now, of all times."

Garrett almost sagged with relief. He hadn't realised how much he had wanted Sethius to want to come with him, until the offer had been made.

"We could come back here," Garrett offered, as he secured his stave on his back. "This doesn't have to be goodbye."

"We could," Sethius relented, but Garrett knew the other man didn't believe the words he had just spoken.

And, for some reason, Garrett didn't, either.

Their little entourage — spirits included — began the trek to find out what had caused the Fade tears to appear. They were following the general direction the spirits gave them, Fellowship's wisps proving to be adept at navigation, as well as comforting a distressed creature of flesh and blood.

The travel was treacherous. He and Sethius could easily traverse the terrain, but the spirits' trek was more dangerous. They couldn't even get near the tears that had appeared, and the Fade wasn't manipulating as easily as it once did.

Something was clearly very wrong.

Garrett had learned to trust the wisps' suggestions; going where they pointed to often provided the easier path, even if it wasn't apparent at the time. So when they began flitting about, zooming around like a jar of bees that had been released after being cooped up for far too long, Garrett knew he had to pay attention.

'What's wrong?" he asked Fellowship, but it was shaking, and Garrett wasn't sure it had even heard him.

He and Sethius glanced at each other, and stepped into the mass of wisps that was coalescing near one particular cliff edge.

"Is there something there?" Sethius asked, trying to peer through the group of orbs.

"I'm not sure," he answered.

Then the Fade released a massive groaning sound, like it was wood that had been under strain for far too long, and the ground underneath them collapsed.

And Garrett was falling.

Into nothingness.

Chapter Text

He felt like he was falling for what felt like ages. It wasn't a graceful tumble, either. He was head over heels spinning through space, nothing around to grab on to for him to even attempt to stop his fall.

Garrett was truly fucked.

He supposed, if it was indeed the end, he'd lived a decent enough life.

He still didn't want to die, but he was oddly at peace with it.

With a sudden stop, he came to hover over the grey slate rock of a floating island. Whatever forces had been guiding him dropped him gently onto the ground, similar to how he had entered the Fade in the first place, when he fell from Adamant Fortress, and the Inquisitor had saved them all.

"Thank you," he muttered, groaning as he stood up. He was getting too old for this.

He looked around and determined that — unless the world had changed drastically since he'd been in the Fade — he was still on the other side of the Veil. The rocks were floating in a sea of air, and there were stairs that went nowhere.

"Great," he said aloud, sighing as he took in his surroundings. Feeling behind him, he realized with relief that he still had his stave. That was good.

What wasn't good was that he was alone.

No spirits.

No Fellowship.

No Sethius.

He spared a thought for his lover, hoping he was all right.

He had no idea if the magister was facing the same situation, just in a different part of the Fade. They had been together when the ground had disappeared. Unless he was in another demon's realm — which his surroundings really made him doubt — Sethius should be nearby.

He eyed the staircases warily. Did he really want to start traversing paths in the Fade that went Maker-knew where?

Did he have a choice?

The answer, of course, was no.

When had he ever?

Pushing that thought from his mind, he chose one of the set of stairs at random, and began climbing.

It was then that the strangest things started to happen, which, truly, was saying a lot, considering what he had already experienced in the Fade.

As he mounted the steps, massive statues materialised on either side of the staircase, taking the shape of none other than his mother.

He did a double-take when he first saw them, certain that he was maybe seeing something that wasn't quite there ... but no. There she was, showcased in various forms that were captured in relief so realistic, he was having a hard time not believing she was actually there.

Except for the fact that the statues were as big as the ones in the Gallows in Kirkwall, which was to say, they were huge.

Each version was staring at him, though, and it was a little off-putting.

He neared a landing of sorts, at which point he saw a single, life-sized version of one of the statues.

He approached it cautiously, not quite sure what to expect.

"Garrett," his mother's voice came to him, and he somehow knew it was the human-sized statue that was talking to him. "Oh, Garrett, I can't believe you're here."

And she sounded so sad, that for a second he thought he really had died, and this was his version of the afterlife.

Perhaps he had been sent to the Void after all.

"Mother," he said trepidatiously. "Is that really you?"

"Garrett, how could you let him get me? How could you not listen to Emeric? How could you let the city guard dismiss his concerns like that? You were supposed to protect me."

He fell to his knees.

"Mother," he said, emotion choking his throat. "Mother, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I tried —"

"Did you?" she interrupted him. "Did you truly?"

"You know I did. I tried everything —" he stopped himself. "Wait. You understood it was your choice. You told me, before you died, to not blame myself. You told me you were proud of me. That's the version of my mother I want to remember. That's who you were. You weren't perfect, and Maker knows neither was I, but we tried our best with what we had. And that's all anyone could ask of anyone."

The statue glowed blue, and the expression shifted to one of serenity. "You do not regret what happened."

Garrett shook his head as he regained his feet. "No. I'm sad about it, I wish you were still alive, but also a part of me is glad you weren't around to see what became of Kirkwall. What Anders did, because of me … I miss you, fiercely, Mother. But I do not regret not being able to save you. Not anymore."

He felt a warmth suffuse his veins, and then a staircase that hadn't been there before appeared on the opposite side of the landing.

He tilted his head. Was this some kind of test, then? Was he indeed in some sort of demon's realm?

He didn't know, but he supposed the only thing to do was continue forward.

So he mounted the second set of stairs, wary about what he'd find next, but determined to see it through.

As he began climbing, he wasn't shocked to see the gigantic statues take on the form of Anders.

Yeah, that made sense.

He swallowed away the dryness in his throat as he approached the second landing, a statue of Anders that was so detailed it made him think for a moment that the real person was waiting for him in the middle of it.

"Anders," he called, wanting to be the first one to start the conversation, in the slim hope he might control their interaction.

"Hawke," Anders said, and his voice made his heart lurch. He had missed the bastard. They had a complicated relationship, but he was still his friend.

"I have made my peace with what I did to the Chantry in Kirkwall; have you?" it asked him.

"Have I?" Garrett raised his eyebrow, his anger coming to the surface much quicker than it usually did. "No. I will never come to terms with what you did. There were so many other ways that we could have gone about it, if only you had listened to me. If only you had trusted me. I had done nothing to warrant your distrust. I helped you, every single time you asked. I rescued mages with you. I helped with the underground. I managed Knight-Captain Cullen so the Order was kept out of your business, Carver put his career on the line to try and deflect suspicion, from me, yes, but you benefitted from his efforts.

"So, no, Anders. I have not made peace with what you have done. I have not forgiven you. We could have done so much good together. If only you had trusted me."

He felt tears trickle down his cheeks, and he realised, then, what his anger — which he apparently hadn't dealt with after all — had been masking.

Regret. Regret that he wasn't good enough. That — after everything he had done — he hadn't managed to prove himself as a trustworthy ally. He had literally put his life, and the lives of his friends, into Anders' hands, and it still wasn't enough.

He understood Anders had kept him in the dark under some misguided notion that it would give him plausible deniability, that he was trying to protect him, but at the end of the day, the fact, plain and simple, was that Anders hadn't trusted him.

And that hurt more than he could say.

"I was never going to be good enough for you, was I?" he asked the statue.

"No," Anders said. "But not in the way you think."

At Garrett's silence, the statue continued, "What did I need most?"

"You needed me to have clean hands," Garrett said slowly, as things he hadn't let himself think about before trickled to the forefront of his mind.

"You needed me to be able to walk away, to survive." He began to pace. "You told me, once, didn't you, though not in so many words. You thought I was so much better than you. If someone was going to take the fall, you wanted it to be you, and you wanted me as far away from you as possible."

He stopped moving and faced the statue again. "That's why you started limiting your association with us as time went on, wasn't it? You had seen the writing on the wall, and you knew you were going to die. You were ready to die, and you had tapped me as the next leader of the mage revolution. You had no intention of getting out of Kirkwall alive, did you?"

He swallowed away the emotion that was threatening to close his throat.

"It wasn't me," he murmured. "It wasn't up to me. There was nothing I could have done to sway you at that point, was there? Your mind had already been made up."

The same blue light flashed across Anders' statue, and his face had morphed into a smile. "It is not your responsibility to account for everyone's actions, even your friends'. And sometimes their choices are simply a reflection of who they are, and are not an indictment of who you are as a person."

Warmth rushed over him again, and a staircase materialised on the other side of the landing.

Guess he passed that one, too.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to prepare himself for the person who he knew would be presented to him next.

There really was only one other person who he had thought he had wronged.

As if on cue, as he placed his foot on the first step of the staircase, enormous statues of Fenris came into existence.

He sighed. He really didn't want to face him, but he supposed that was the point of all this.

Taking as much time as he could, he slowly climbed the stairs, trying not to look at the disapproving stares of his lover, focusing instead on just putting one foot in front of the other.

When he reached the landing, he squared his shoulders, like he was about to go into battle.

It wasn't going to be that bad, he knew, but he also didn't think he was altogether wrong in his assessment.

"Amatus," Fenris called, and Garrett winced.

Well, so much for being prepared.

"Fenris, my love," Garrett replied, and Fenris scoffed.

"Am I?" he asked. "Your love? Haven't you replaced me with another?"

"No," Garrett said, and fresh tears spilled over his eyes. "No, I didn't replace you. Nothing could replace you."

"But you found another," he said, and there wasn't even anger in his tone, rather, it was … sadness, and that did more to break his heart than anything else that could have been done to him.

"I was alone," Garrett countered, though he knew his voice was small. "So alone. And I had been desperate for some form of connection … something to wipe away what had happened. It was horrific," he whispered, voicing his feelings for the first time. "It tore me to shreds. My soul was in pieces, amatus. I was a shell of who I was. And he … he brought some light, back into me. He was the gentle touch I needed, the listening ear. I needed to be healed, and he helped.

"But he never replaced you. Not in here," he tapped the side of his head, "nor in here." He placed his hand over his chest. "I have room for both of you, my love. And though I do care for him, I do love him, in some way, he will never replace you."

And Garrett realised with a sudden surge of clarity that he didn't regret replacing Fenris — for he knew that wasn't what he did — he regretted what had transpired to make such a relationship with Sethius a possibility.

"I'm sorry I left," he whispered. "I'm sorry I insisted you not come to Skyhold, that I convinced you that your work freeing slaves was more important than what was going on with the Inquisition. I'm so, so sorry we weren't together."

He tapped his forehead against the statue's own. "I promise, I love you still. And if there is any way I can get back to you, I will. I got lost, for a little bit. But I think, if I proposed trying to get home to Sethius, he'd agree. And if I explained about you, he'd be okay with that, too. Maybe you'll find it in your heart to love him, too. Or if not that, then you won't begrudge me the love I hold for both of you."

That flash of blue permeated his eyelids, and he felt a pressure against his cheek. Opening his eyes with a gasp, he saw the statue had cupped his face, its eyes closed now, as well, as if it, too, was tapping its forehead against Garrett's.

And the warmth that rushed through him was so acute, it almost made him cry out.

It was as if the fissures in his heart were being filled in.

"You did good, Sport."

Garrett whirled, and the statue of Fenris vanished, leaving him alone on the stone circle.

But he wasn't alone. Varric was walking toward him.

This Varric was different, though. His hair was longer, streaked with grey, and his face had wrinkles that it had never had before.

There was also a nasty scar bisecting his eyebrow, crossed over his forehead.

What had happened?

"Varric?" he breathed, eyes roving over him, trying to take in everything about him. He was in casual attire he didn't recognise, and Bianca was nowhere to be found.

What was going on?

His best friend gave him a sad smile. "It's me."

"What happened to you?"

Varric laughed. "Leave it to you to not beat around the bush." He gestured down to encompass his whole self. "Time. Time is what happened to me." He looked at him. "Something which seems to have not affected you."

"Time?" Garrett asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

A stone bench materialised between them.

"Take a seat, Sport. This tale's gonna be a long one."

Chapter Text

Ten years. It had been ten years since he had entered the Fade.

Garrett couldn't wrap his head around that.

He knew it had been long. Knew he had spent considerable time there, knew how long it'd been, relatively speaking, since the Breach had closed. Knew the time that had elapsed between Sethius' arrival and when they now were.

But there was no way it could have been ten years.

"Time passes differently in the Fade, you know that," Varric told him gently.

He did. But he didn't think the difference would have been quite so significant.

"Are you all right, then?" Garrett asked, wondering at that moment who he was actually talking to. This Varric looked different from the one the despair demon had portrayed. Obviously, the despair demon had pulled the image of Varric from his own mind, which would not be the current version, but the one he had remembered.

This Varric, though, with his appearance and knowledge about what had transpired, clearly wasn't from his imagination.

"How are you here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Varric said, "but I don't think we have time for that. Things are progressing … poorly. The gods are winning. Rook needs your help."

Garrett shook his head. He still couldn't believe the elven gods were real. That Solas was one of them. That it was his orb Sethius had used to try and reenter the Fade.

He chuckled. Just wait until he hears that. That his beloved plan was actually facilitated by a rattus god.

A pang ran through him then, and he looked around, wondering where Sethius had gone.

"He's all right," Varric reassured him. "He'll be here soon."

And Garrett had no idea how Varric knew that, but they had so many more pressing things to consider.

"You say the South is destroyed?" Garrett asked, still not quite able to wrap his mind around everything Varric had told him.

"Not completely, but it's fractured, for sure. The Inquisitor's doing a decent enough job holding things together, their advisors by their side, Curly and Seeker, mainly. Ruffles is doing what she can from Antiva, from what I've heard. Nightingale's running her spy network from the White Spire, and doing her best to muster what remains of the Templar Order and the Seekers. King Alistair and Queen Florika have done what they can in Ferelden. They didn't want to evacuate, but clearer heads prevailed in the end, so they're currently holded up in Skyhold as well, doing their best to launch a counter attack. Aveline and Choir Boy are holding the fort down in the Free Marches, launching their own attacks from Starkhaven. And get this, Blondie is with them."

Garrett's eyebrows shot so high, he was sure they were almost off of his forehead.

"I know. Somehow, he managed to make things up with Choir Boy. Suppose I should call him Prince Choir Boy now." He chuckled. "Somehow Blondie got himself a nice little princely pardon, in exchange for serving in his court. Don't ask me, I don't know. If it wasn't Blondie, I'd say maybe blood magic was involved. I still haven't ruled it out. So, yeah, things are progressing as best they can, given the circumstances."

Garrett's heart was in his throat as the true impact of everything was beginning to settle in his mind.

"Carver?" he asked tentatively. "Fenris?"

"I'm sorry," he said. "I've lost track of Junior." Garrett's heart contracted. "But Broody's okay. Well, he was, last I had eyes on him. He's been in Tevinter, working with Sparkler and the Shadow Dragons."

Garrett didn't really know what that meant, but he was just thankful he was all right.

That knowledge also strengthened his resolve to do whatever it was Varric wanted of him.

"You said Rook needs my help? How can I possibly help them?" He gestured around them. "I'm sort of … stuck."

Varric chuckled. "She'll be here soon. She doesn't know it yet, but she's about to find out some information that's going to really shock her, and she'll need someone to sort of walk her through it. You aren't exactly that person, but your skills will be useful to her."

"I haven't fought in a long time, Varric. Ten years, if what you say is true."

Varric gave him a small smile. "It is true. And those aren't the skills I'm talking about."

Garrett was confused, but he knew better than to press. "You say Rook'll be here soon? Where even is 'here'?"

"We're in a prison." Garrett gave Varric a surprised look, and he huffed a laugh. "Yeah, I know. Where Leandra said we'd always end up one day. But it's not really that type of prison. It's a regret prison." That made Garrett's experiences make sense. "One of Chuckles' wonderful creations. In truth, it was where he trapped the Evanuris for all those years."

"That story about the Dread Wolf that the Dalish tell is true?"

"In the most basic of senses, yeah. There's a lot that has been manipulated or lost over the years, but the principles are the same."

"Fascinating," Garrett murmured.

"Isn't it just?" Varric sighed. "Anyway, don't worry about getting out. Rook and her team will manage that. You'll just have to present yourself when the time is right."

"And Sethius?"

"If he wants, he can come, too. I won't stop him. He might not want to, though."

"Wait," Garrett said, eyes widening as realisation dawned on him. "You're not just talking about escaping the prison, are you? You think we can escape the Fade?"

"Yes," Varric said simply, and a sob escaped his lips. Varric smiled at him and squeezed his shoulder. "It's time you rejoined the world on the other side, Sport."

Garrett was still crying when a portal appeared next to where they were sitting. Through it walked Sethius, who was striding forward with a purpose Garrett hadn't seen in him since he was Corypheus. A beautiful young woman and a small boy, who couldn't have been more than 10 years old, were standing on the other side, watching him go.

The boy seemed like he wanted to run after him, but the portal closed before he could get close enough.

And Garrett didn't need Sethius to tell them who they were. He had a very good idea, considering his own experiences.

When the portal finally disappeared, Sethius' face crumpled, great sobs wracking his body.

Garrett rushed over to him, gathering him in his arms. "I'm here, Sethius, I'm here. Shh it's all right. You're all right. You managed, and we're here."

"Garrett?" he gasped, looking up at him with the most forlorn expression. "Garrett, is that really you?"

"It's me, love," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. Sethius let out another sob.

"Oh, amos, I did not think I would ever see you again."

"I know. I had the same fear. But it's all right. We both made it through. We're together now," Garrett tried to soothe him.

A throat cleared from behind them.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but she's going to be here soon. As much as I want to give you guys the time to reconnect, you'll only get one chance at this."

Sethius immediately stopped crying and looked over Garrett's shoulder, to where he knew Varric was.

"Who is that?" the magister asked.

Garrett gave him an empathetic look. "There's no time," he said apologetically. "Just know he's a good friend. Do you trust me?"

"Of course," Sethius said, and that made Garrett's heart swell with affection.

"Then follow my lead."

Sethius nodded, wiping the tears from his cheeks as he stepped out of Garrett's embrace.

"I will be ready for whatever you need of me."

"And if I said following me would get us out of here — not just here, in particular — but out of the Fade, what would you say to that?" 

Sethius' eyes widened. "I would say I do not believe you. But I do trust you, so if that is what you are claiming to be able to do ... then I say let us try." 

Garrett's smile was bigger than it probably should have been as he stepped back toward Varric.

"Ya know, if I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes, I woulda never believed that was the magister who had tried to destroy the world."

"Varric —" he began, but his best friend just held up his hand.

"I know. Like I said, I saw it. Don't gotta explain anything to me."

And that statement confused Garrett, but he didn't have time to ask questions about it, for at that moment, another portal appeared, a set of stairs visible through it.

"I'm gonna need you two to not do or say anything until I tell you to, all right? Just stay right here until I say so."

Garrett nodded, and Sethius said he would, and then a woman appeared at the top of the stairs, looking as distraught as Sethius had, and gazing behind her, like she didn't want to leave whoever was there.

She was so young. The elven woman couldn't have been more than 25, and that was Garrett being generous. True, he was younger than that when they had left Ferelden — he was 23 — but the majority of the challenges he had faced hadn't occurred until years later. To be facing down gods — your own gods — at such an age … it was unfathomable to him.

She was so small, too, more Varric's height than his own.

He had no idea how she was managing.

And suddenly, Garrett had an inkling about just what kind of help Varric wanted him to provide.

His best friend stepped toward her then, and it was almost as if he had stepped through a sort of transformational spell. As he closed the distance between them, his entire image shifted. Gone were his casual clothes; instead he was wearing what looked to be a set of armour. His hair was unbound, but — most notably — Bianca was strapped to his back.

Dread gnawed at his insides, and he knew he was about to be told a truth he didn't want to face.

Their location shifted, too. They weren't on the circular stone platform anymore. They had moved to what looked to be elven ruins, crumbling stone archways and statues of the elven gods materialising in front of them.

"Hey, kid." Varric's voice grew softer, and it was the tone he had always adopted when talking to that spirit kid in Skyhold.

Cole, was that his name?

"You died, back at the ritual site," Rook said, not even turning to look at him.

Garrett started, but Varric waved his hand low, telling him to wait.

He died?!

His best friend? Dead? It couldn't be.

"You've been dead all along," she continued, and Garrett's legs gave out. Thankfully, Sethius was there to catch him.

Not Varric. He stifled a sob. Not Varric.

"— because you're dead," he heard her say over the rushing of blood in his ears.

"Yeah. Sorry about that," he told her, stepping up next to her and staring at something on the ground that had seemed to catch her attention, too.

Garrett looked closer, and he saw a body, splayed out at an awkward angle.

He wanted to throw up.

He couldn't look away.

"I'm sorry, Varric," she said, and Garrett sunk to the ground, despite Sethius' attempts to keep him upright.

"For what?" his best friend asked, and Garrett couldn't. He couldn't.

"For not saving you," she said, and Garrett's heart broke. It wasn't her fault. She had to know that.

"Shit," Varric said, taking a few steps from her. "Didn't you learn anything from this place? I made the choice. To talk to him. To try to reach him. Even knowing the risks. Because he was my friend."

Silent tears began tracing down Garrett's cheeks, and he tried his hardest not to make a noise. He didn't know if he was successful, though, because Varric flicked his eyes over Rook's shoulder, meeting his gaze.

The compassion and regret in them was too much for him.

He had to look away.

But he swallowed his anguish, and forced himself to pay attention to what was happening in front of him.

If Varric indeed had died because of this … he had to do his best to honour his memory.

"My decision. My sacrifice. And you don't get to take that from me." And Garrett had the feeling he was talking to him just as much as he was to Rook.

"But —" Rook began, but Varric interrupted her.

"Every story's got an ending," he told them both. "This one just … came a little earlier than I planned." He turned his back on Rook, and met Garrett's gaze again, giving him a small nod.

His tears intensified.

A bright white portal came into existence at the top of a set of stairs.

"What happens now? To you?" she asked him.

"I'll be where I've always been," he said with a smile. She looked at him.

"Hey, before you go. I have one last gift for you."

"Oh?" she raised her eyebrow. "Still finding ways to help from beyond the grave?"

"Always," he said with a grin.

He gestured, then, and Garrett cleared his throat, trying to pull himself together.

They stepped forward, and he felt a warm tingle wash over him as he entered Rook's vision.

"Rook, meet Garrett Hawke, the famed Champion of Kirkwall." Varric gave him a smile. "Though he's so much more than that. And that's Sethius. His story's a complicated one, but just suffice it to say he's a friend. They're going to help you fight Elgar'nan, and maybe deal with Solas, though I'm not sure how much help they'll be for that second part."

"Hawke?" Rook asked him with a gasp, her eyes wide. They were glassy with unshed tears, and it was enough to force Garrett to put his own grief aside, at least for now.

Clearly, she had loved Varric, too, and for some reason she was just now realising he was dead.

Anybody who was a friend of Varric's was a friend of his.

And she seemed like she could really use his help.

So he mustered up as big of a smile as he could, and nodded. "That's me," he told her. "Ten years in the Fade later, but I am Garrett Hawke."

"I've heard stories," she began, but Varric cut her off.

"There'll be time to swap tales later. The window for getting outta here's closing, and you need to be on the other side of that portal, or else we're all fucked. Just know, Sport here's on your side, Rook. You'd do well to use him as you can."

She nodded. "I'm going to miss you, Varric."

"Gonna miss you, too, kid. But you've got your own story to finish. And I just know the ending's going to be killer."

Garrett found himself laughing.

That he could still do that was a good sign.

Varric grinned at him.

"A bit heavy-handed there, aren't you, Varric?" he asked.

"Hey, not all of 'em can be winners. And, given the circumstances, you'll cut me some slack, won't ya?"

Garrett nodded and pulled in his best friend for a hug. That he felt solid must have been due to whatever specific magic Solas had used to create the prison.

"I've mourned you once, to be honest," Garrett said, wiping away the tears that wouldn't seem to stop falling. "But there's something so wrong about me getting out of here, and you staying."

Varric squeezed him back, tightly. "Let me be the self-sacrificing hero for once, won't you?" he asked against Garrett's chest, and he laughed again.

"To get you back, just to lose you again, though?" He just couldn't let him go, it seemed.

"Hey, to be honest, you never had me. I died well before you had any hopes of getting out of here," Varric told him.

Garrett narrowed his eyes. "You know I hate it when you bring logic into things."

It was Varric's turn to laugh. "I know, Sport." He grabbed Garrett's arm and tugged him away a bit, so they could have some semblance of privacy.

"Take care of her, will you?" he asked.

Garrett nodded. "I will."

"She needs it more than you know. 'Cause it's not just me she's realising she lost recently."

Garrett raised an eyebrow, but Varric shook his head. "No time, I'm sorry. I know you'll do what you can to get her across the finish line."

"I will," he said again. "Thank you, by the way. For your help back there."

Varric grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. "That was all you, Sport. I just gave you some moral support. And Garrett?" Fresh tears sprung to his eyes when Varric used his name. "I'll always be here whenever you need me. That won't change."

"I know," he said, mirroring his actions and giving Varric's shoulder a squeeze. "I'll miss you, friend."

"And I'll miss you, too. But, really, get out of here. The window's about to close."

He turned to see that Rook and Sethius had made it to the top of the stairs. The magister was eyeing the elf warily, and Garrett briefly wondered if that'd be an issue he'd have to address, but then a cacophony of sound emanated from the portal, and Varric gave him a little push toward the stairs.

As he began walking, faster than he wanted, but slower than he probably should have, if he trusted Varric — which he did — Rook called out to his best friend.

"Any last words of wisdom about Solas?"

"You saw the memories," Varric told her. "You talked to Mythal. Solas wants to be a hero. That's who he is, deep down. But it's easier for him to play the villian. Because that means that he didn't fail. All the damage he's done, the people he's hurt, that becomes a choice. Remind him who he really is, he might just listen."

Garrett met Sethius' gaze over the distance. Those words hit far too close to home. For both of them.

When he finally reached the top of the stairs, he heard voices from the other side.

And it hit him then: he was really getting out.

He took a deep, shuddering breath.

He had to keep it together.

For just a little while longer.

"Don't forget to hold hands," Varric called. They grabbed onto each other, and then a hand reached out through the portal, moving around as if searching.

"That's your cue," Varric told them, and Garrett smiled through his tears.

"Bye, my friend," he called, and Varric saluted with two fingers.

"See ya around, Sport. And, kid," he said. Rook met his eyes. "Trust yourself. Trust your team. You got this."

With a decisive nod, she reached out and grabbed the hand that was flinging wildly through the air.

"Heave!" he heard someone shout, and then a white light blinded his vision, and he was free-falling once more.

Chapter Text

They collapsed into one giant heap, a mess of limbs and robes, and weapons and —

"Ow!" someone said.

"Get off of me," another voice complained.

"Your elbow is in my spleen," a third person claimed.

"Truly, this is most undignifed," a fourth voice said, and then Garrett was getting stepped on, so he wriggled his way out of the pile and gained his feet, trying to straighten his robes and brush off whatever dirt he had gotten on them.

He glanced around, and —

Wait.

What?

"We're still in the Fade," he murmured, trying to control his breathing so as not to hyperventilate. "Varric said we'd be getting out, but we're still in."

He saw Sethius and clasped his hand, helping him to his feet. "We're still in the Fade."

"What?" Sethius looked around, but he apparently saw how panicked Garrett was getting, so he said, "It is all right, amos, deep breaths. I am sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for why —"

"Rook," he demanded, and he belatedly realized he had raised his voice when everyone stopped talking to look at him.

"Who's this?" a qunari who didn't look like any qunari he had ever seen asked, hands drifting to the two axes strapped to her hips.

Rook was currently being embraced by her team, but she extricated herself from their arms.

"Hawke," Rook said, turning to face him.

"Wait," another voice said, and this one belonged to someone who was pushing their way forward from between two taller humans. And it was … vaguely familiar to him. "Did you say Hawke?"

A red-headed dwarf who Garrett had seen around Skyhold was now standing before him.

He wracked his brain for her name. "Scout … Harding, yeah?" he asked, and she narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously.

"Yeah…" she said. "You aren't … wait." She turned to Rook. "You found the Champion?"

He tried to not wince at the title.

"No," Rook told her with a sad smile. "He found me. Or, well, I think Varric found him? I'm not sure."

"Varric?" Harding asked, brows furrowed. "What do you mean, Varric? Varric's —"

"Dead. Yeah, I know that now," Rook said, and this was all too much.

"Please!" he shouted, and that got everyone's attention again. Sethius stepped closer, but didn't out their relationship by touching him.

A smart move, if he was being honest.

He was glad one of them was thinking clearly.

Though Varric said they could trust Rook and her team, if Harding was here … there was probably going to still be some misgivings about Sethius' history.

"Please," he said again, trying and failing to take a deep breath. "Rook. Varric said we'd be getting out of the Fade." He gestured around them. "But we are still clearly there."

She nodded. "We are. But we aren't stuck here," she assured him. "We have an eluvian — an entire network of them, to be honest — to help us navigate in and out of the Fade. We use the Fade, a place called the Lighthouse, particularly, as our home base. But, don't worry, you'll be on the other side soon enough."

"We're not stuck."

Harding's face shifted into something that he didn't want to name, and the qunari relaxed her hands, though they were still within easy reach of her axes, he noticed.

"No," Rook reassured him. "You're not."

He took a deep breath that was more stuttering that he'd hoped it would be, and he felt Sethius step even closer to him.

"So," Rook said, turning to the group at large. "This is everybody. Taash," she pointed to the qunari warrior, "Emmrich," a man who was clearly a mage and who was eyeing him with such interest it sort of scared him, "Lucanis," a man with two deadly looking daggers strapped to his back, "and Bellara," she indicated another elf, though that one had the markings of the Dalish. "You clearly know Harding."

He nodded. "Everyone, this is Garrett Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall. A really big deal in the South. And this is … I'm sorry. I don't remember your name. A lot happened." She blushed, and Garrett felt his heart go out to her. 

"I am called Sethius," he told her, attempting to smooth over the moment, and Garrett was pleased at his cordiality to the elf for the moment.

For her part, Rook just nodded, like his overly formal way of speaking made her treat him with a sense of respect. "I am —"

"A Tevinter magister," Garrett interrupted him. The last thing he needed was Sethius explaining his true history. "Who I encountered in the Fade."

Bellara's eyes widened, but it was the male mage who spoke. "Truly? There are two of you? Who were living in the Fade?"

"Yup," Garrett said.

The mage — Emmrich, if he remembered correcly — seemed to be thinking. "The Champion of Kirkwall," he murmured. "If I recall what I've read, and from what Harding has spoken about, you were lost in the Fade during the fight at Adamant Fortress during the time of the Inquisition."

"That's right," Harding said, hand propped on her hip and eyes narrowed on him. "That was ten years ago. And he looks like he did that day."

A ripple of mutters spread throughout the group.

"The Fade seems to have … halted any of my body's progression," Garrett told them, trying to meet as many of their eyes as possible. The looks he received back were a mixture of suspicion — from Taash and Lucanis — horror mixed with compassion — from Harding and Rook — and downright excitement from Bellara and Emmrich.

"Fascinating!" Emmrich said. "You say your body was suspended in time? The mere implications such a thing provides! Many of our theories may very well be disproved! If you don't mind, would you be willing to submit yourself to some tests? You too, Sethius, if you would be so kind. I imagine our findings will cause quite the stir amongst certain academic circles. And maybe even beyond!"

He smiled slightly. He couldn't help but be mildly amused by the mage's clear excitement about what had happened to him. He wondered, briefly, if he'd be able to summon his journal. He'd bet Emmrich would like that a lot.

"I'd be happy to answer every question you have … after we, you know, stop the world from succumbing to the whims of an evil elven god?" he offered.

Emmrich had the grace to look contrite. "Quite right," he said with a nod. "We have already lost too much time. Rook, so much has changed since you've been gone. We need to get you up to speed on everything that happened."

Rook opened her mouth to say something, but Taash interrupted her.

"So we're just … okay with these randos who wandered out of the Fade with Rook?"

"They're not randos," Harding countered. "Well, one of them isn't. But if Varric somehow vouched for them, then I'm willing to accept them."

Garrett raised his eyebrow. "You believe Rook?"

She gave him a small smile. "A lot's changed in these 10 years, but even more since we stopped Solas' ritual. I've started believing in things I can't see."

Garrett had to give her credit.

"Let's get back to the Lighthouse, and we can discuss everything there," Rook stated. "If what you say is true, if we've really lost that much time, we need to get moving."

"Exactly," Harding said, with a decisive nod, and Garrett was sort of pleased to see how much she'd grown into some semblance of a leadership position.

Rook looked around. "Anyone know where the nearest eluvian is?"

Her team laughed, which was always a good sign to Garrett, and Harding began leading the way, all of them falling into step behind her.

"This is … incredible," Garrett said to nobody in particular. Where they were … it was both the Fade, and not.

It was off-putting, yet intriguing all the same.

"Have you ever heard about a place like this in your studies?" he asked Sethius.

He shook his head.

"Not a place like this, in particular. There was … a rumour. That persisted. About the Fade having different … pockets? Sort of, that had different protections on them. We dismissed it as a fringe belief."

"Not so fringe," Bellara said, falling into step beside them, and Garrett watched Sethius closely. But if he was bothered by an elf talking to them, he didn't let it outwardly show. "We call this place the Crossroads, and Solas made it to house his own eluvian network."

Garrett shook his head, all thoughts about Sethius leaving it as his mind switched over to Merrill. He wondered what she would think about such a place.

With a pang in his heart, he realised he had no idea where she was, or if she had even survived everything that had happened.

"You are sad," Sethius murmured to him, and Bellara gave them a smile before moving away to give them some privacy.

She was very observant, that one.

"More like I still can't believe 10 years have passed. I'm thinking about my friends, my family, what happened to them. Varric … clearly, life continued on without me. And … I don't know how I feel about that. I don't know if I want to find them, or just let them keep on thinking that I died. But if I did that, would I be lying to them? But if they've all moved on without me … would they even want to know I was still alive?"

Sethius nodded. "It is quite strange to wake up one day and find that time has passed." He paused. "I am not sure if it is better or worse to have been gone for such a short period of time. I, myself, did not have such considerations. If presented with the same situation you are facing, I am not sure how I would react."

Garrett saw Lucanis' head tilt, just slightly. The move was so small that someone who hadn't been trained to monitor templars' every micromovement might have missed it.

But he had been, and it seemed his time in the Fade hadn't totally atrophied all of his skills.

"Your time in the Fade was quite different, yes," Garrett said, keeping his voice even, but nodding in Lucanis' direction.

All their time together must have served them well, for Sethius seemed to pick up on what Garrett was silently trying to tell him.

"Indeed." He paused. "If you decide to seek out your friends once this is over, I would be happy to join you."

Despite everything going on at that moment, the fact that Sethius was still willing to be with him, no matter what, was enough to lighten his steps.

And his heart.

Chapter Text

Well. They were really and truly fucked.

The Lighthouse was lovely, and a very nice base of operations, but as a whole?

Yeah.

Fucked.

"I apologise," Sethius said, hands steepled in front of him as they sat around a table in the Lighthouse's library. "Are you saying that Lusacan has taken over the Archon's Palace? And that he is not Lusacan at all, but an elven mage who goes by the name of Elgar'nan?"

"Yup," Taash said.

"It's a lot to take in, I know," Bellara said, and Sethius shivered slightly.

"Our gods … are elven gods."

"Are you all right?" Harding asked, looking at him in a way that Garrett didn't like.

"He's fine," Garrett said, placing a hand on Sethius' shoulder. "Like Bellara said, it's just a lot to take in."

Sethius nodded slowly. "And it explains … so much. But it also leaves me with so many more questions." He met Garrett's eyes. "Questions I am desperate to know the answers to."

"Well, maybe you can ask him when you see him," Rook said, and Garrett thought she might be joking.

Then again, she might not have been.

"As soon as we can get to him," Taash added. "There are a few things in the way."

"The Shadow Dragons are doing their best, but they're in triage mode," Harding told them. "Even with Solas' help, there's no way they can launch an attack on the palace."

"Of course not," Sethius said, shaking his head slightly. "I am surprised they have even managed to make it into Hightown. Minrathous was built to withstand sieges. The Archon's Palace is nigh unbreachable. Why else do you think he insisted it float?"

"What do you mean, 'he' insisted?" Harding asked. "You make it sound like you were there when it was built."

"I was," Sethius said.

Garrett smiled, though it was strained. "What he means to say is, we've had some … interesting experiences in the Fade. Spirits of wisdom and curiosity showed us a lot about … well, a lot of things."

"Truly?" Emmrich asked, raising his eyebrows. "How intriguing."

"Do you have information that can help us, then?" Rook asked.

Sethius nodded. "Unless things have been much changed by Lusacan, yes. I have information on how we can possibly sneak into Hightown. The Archon's Palace, on the other hand … there are strong magical enchantments surrounding it, and I doubt Lusacan has removed them. He has most likely strengthened them. And added some of his own, if he is as strong a mage as you claim him to be."

"Stronger," Taash muttered.

"About that…" Harding said. "We've gotten reports that Elgar'nan is using the blight as his main attack force. And it seems it's being concentrated in one place: where he is. Reportedly, there's a huge blight tendril extending from the palace to the Divine's Manor."

"That's it, then," Rook said, looking at them all. "That's our way in. We just fight our way to the Divine's Manor, climb the blight tendril, and take the fight to Elgar'nan. After we get the dagger from Solas and kill his archdemon, of course."

"We had a thought about the dagger," Emmrich said, and he produced a wicked-looking knife from his pocket, using magic to float it over to Rook.

Garrett tuned out as Rook and her team discussed what they were going to do with Solas. As Varric had said, that wasn't his problem. He was just going to focus on the blight and the angry elven god who was trying to remake the world.

It was … so much. He now realised why Varric had said Rook needed him.

"Are you all right?" he asked Sethius quietly.

"No," he replied, keeping his voice just as low. "But now is not the time."

"How about … the make up of the team?" he asked carefully. "I know you aren't as used to working with people of such … variety."

He was trying to speak in such a way that, if someone was eavesdropping on them, they wouldn't know exactly what he was talking about.

"It is not my favourite," Sethius admitted. "But I told you I would be ready for whatever need you had of me. And that I trusted you. I am willing to put aside such differences, for now. Defeating Lusacan … that is our top priority at the moment."

"Can you two fight, then?" Taash asked. They were staring at them. (Rook had corrected Garrett on their pronouns when she was giving him a quick and dirty tour of the Lighthouse. The way she had told him made it seem like she was ready to fight him on it. But he had just laughed and said he had worked with the Inquisitor, and that there was nothing to worry about. She had seemed sort of relieved, which made Garrett wonder if there was someone he was going to have to "talk" some sense into at some point).

Sethius chuckled. "I am a Tevinter magister. Of course I can fight."

Garrett had a feeling he was very much wishing he could say he was the High Priest of Dumat.

"And you're the Champion of Kirkwall," Taash said, their eyes focusing on him. "Yeah, I know. But you've been in the Fade for 10 years, and you've been in it…" they narrowed their eyes as they considered Sethius. "However long you've been in it. Which you won't tell us. So my question stands: can you fight?"

Garrett nodded, hoping to cut off this line of inquiry before it got too close to the truth. "We've kept up our skills while there. We sparred against one another, protected ourselves against demons. We're good."

They nodded. "Fair enough. It's just that if you're gonna be fighting with us, I don't want to have to worry about dead weight, y'know?"

"You won't have to worry about us," he assured them.

"Besides," Rook said, rejoining the conversation after finishing whatever discussion she was having with Emmrich and Bellara. "They're going to be with me."

"Rook?" Lucanis asked, eyebrows raised in what was clearly a I don't think this is a good idea gesture.

"I need them," she said and her tone was such that it brooked no argument.

Garrett briefly wondered if Varric had maybe told her more about them than she was letting on.

"And we need allies," she continued, as if she hadn't just made a controversial declaration. "As many as we can get. So put out the call. It's all or nothing. This is it, everybody. Either we stop Elgar'nan, or the world ends up blighted. Or worse."

"The Mourn Watch stands by your side," Emmrich told her. "I will reach out to Myrna and Vorgoth as soon as we are done here."

"You know the Veil Jumpers have your back," Bellara said. "No matter your history with them." She gave Rook a small smile. "I'll tell Strife and Irelin. They'll be here."

"The Crows have a contract to fulfill. We don't break them," Lucanis said with a wicked smile. "Besides, as First Talon, I can now order everybody around. Not that they'll need much incentive. I know Teia and Viago and all the other Crows are anxious to show their gratitude for helping save Treviso."

"The Wardens'll be there. I'll reach out to Evka and Antoine. I know they'll want to … they'll want to see this through," Harding said, though her voice had become choked with emotion.

He wondered what he was missing.

"Isabela's more than willing to lend her daggers to a righteous cause. After you've helped me with the Dragon King, ugh, I'm sure she'll help out. I'll tell her," Taash said.

Garrett grinned. He had nearly lost it when Varric had told him that Isabela had started a pirate group that was based on recovering stolen artifacts, but, then again, he supposed she had learned her lesson.

"Oh, this is gonna be fun," he murmured, and those nearest him — including Taash — looked at him.

"Oh? What's so fun about the admiral?" they asked.

"Does she have a big hat?" Garrett asked. "Please tell me she has a big hat."

Taash wrinkled their nose. "I mean, her hat is big enough, I guess?"

"Oh that's right!" Harding said, sitting up a bit taller. "It's been too long since I've read Tale of the Champion, I almost forgot. Isabela and Hawke are friends."

Taash raised their eyebrows.

"Like I said," Garrett said with a smirk that he knew drove most people insane with annoyance. "Fun."

"Right," Rook said, standing up and clapping her hands. "Go put out the calls, and we'll reconvene here in a few hours. I don't think I need to tell you that time is of the essence. Finish up any last minute business you have, prepare yourselves, and let's get ready to take down a god. Or two."

With a nod from her, everybody scattered.

Emmrich, however, hovered near Rook's shoulder.

"Whatcha need, Emmrich?"

The mage shook his head. "Nothing. I just wanted to express, personally, how very sorry I am for your loss. I know mourning without a body is difficult, but we will do what we can for him, when we can. Just let me know what you need, and I'll make my services as a Watcher available to you."

Garrett saw Rook's eyes fill with tears. "Thanks. I appreciate that. But I'm not naïve enough to think that he might be the only one we lose. So we'll talk about proper mourning once this is all done."

"Just so. But, Rook, I know he was more special to you than others. And I want you to know that we appreciate the gravity of the sacrifice. Both his, for making the jump, and yours, for your choice in sending him."

Oh.

Shit.

"You lost somebody?" Garrett asked.

Rook hastily wiped her eyes. "I did. Davrin. He was a Grey Warden. But … he was more than that, to me. I had so hoped … but it's not important. Not now."

"Not now," Garrett agreed, and there it was, clear as day. What Varric had known. "But soon. I know quite a bit about loss like that. We should talk, after everything."

She nodded. "I think I'd like that." She wiped her eyes again and straightened her shoulders. "Do you need anything? Any supplies? Are you ready to go?"

"I could use some potions, and maybe see what other accessories you have? The equipment I have hasn't degraded, but it is 10 years outdated. Maybe technology's improved since then?" he asked.

"Not just technology," Rook told him. "The Imperium has different ways of looking at things, and sometimes it leads to some really cool inventions. Come with me, I'll bring you to the Caretaker. It'll help get you set up."

That sounded … interesting. He looked around for Sethius, but didn't see him. He'd have to track him down, though, to visit this Caretaker as well.

But he supposed there was time for that later.

"Lead the way," he said, and Rook smiled at him.

She brought him outside, and Garrett was taken aback by how dark everything was, even in what he assumed was day.

He vaguely remembered Varric mentioning something about Elgar'nan moving the moon to cause an eclipse … frankly, he had been so overwhelmed by that point, much of what he said hadn't really sunk in.

But there it was, right in front of his eyes, and it was … yet another reason why they needed to kick that blighted god's ass.

Rook's gasp drew his attention from the sky, and he followed her gaze to what had caused her reaction.

He almost started as he saw Sethius, splayed out on the ground, Lucanis stradling him, a knife pressed to his throat with one hand, the other holding his arm out to the side, grasping his wrist, which would prevent him from casting anything of any significance, Garrett knew.

After sparring so much together, Garrett knew of almost every way to subdue the magister.

Taash was there, too, but Garrett couldn't tell if they were watching Lucanis' back, or were going to intervene on Sethius' behalf.

"Lucanis! What are you doing?" Rook asked, quickly closing the distance between them.

A figure that seemed … like an animated piece of armour was watching from behind a stone barrier.

"Spite doesn't like him," Lucanis said, as if that made sense. By the way Rook reacted, though, it, apparently, did.

"Why not?" she asked, keeping her voice calm and even, like this was something she had dealt with before.

Maybe she had.

"Not. Truthful!" a voice that was both Lucanis' but not gritted out.

"Who's not being truthful? Sethius?" Rook took a step closer to them. She didn't have any weapons on her that he could see, which wasn't great, in his opinion.

"Yes!" Lucanis cleared his throat, and his voice was back to normal. "It seems the magister has been keeping some things from us."

Garrett searched Sethius' face, but he had his eyes trained on the Crow, as if waiting for him to flinch.

But what had he said when they were discussing strategy? He was the First Talon? Garrett didn't know much about the Crows, but he was fairly certain that meant he was very skilled at what he did.

"Who's ever completely truthful?" he asked, arms out in front of him as he took a tentative step toward them.

Lucanis' grip tightened on the handle of his dagger. "I don't think I'd be talking, if I were you," he told him, not taking his eyes off of Sethius as well. "I don't really trust you, either. The only reason you aren't on the ground with him is because Harding and Rook vouch for you. And Spite says you're okay."

"Yes," Lucanis' voice changed into that hiss again. "Friend. To those like us."

Garrett furrowed his brow.

"It's a long story," Rook muttered to him. But she gave him a small smile. "I'm glad Spite thinks you're a friend, though."

"Who is —"

"Me," Lucanis said through gritted teeth, and his voice was no longer gravely.

Garrett's eyebrows raised in shock. "You're an abomination?"

"Not in the true sense of the word. I am not a mage."

He had so many questions, but those weren't important. He needed to get the situation under control.

And if Lucanis had a spirit inside of him, who could sense things … maybe hiding Sethius' identity was a mistake.

"All right," Garrett said, and he tried – and failed — to catch Sethius' eye again. "All right. We hid his true identity because we were afraid that it would cause more trouble than it was worth. But clearly that was an error in our judgment. If you promise to let him up, I'll tell you who he is."

"No," the voice that must have been Spite's said, and Lucanis added, "You must think I am a very bad assassin if you think I would agree to such a thing."

Garrett sighed. "Fine." He looked around. "Where's Harding? It'd probably be best if she heard this from me."

"I'll get her," Taash offered, apparently thinking the situation was under control with Rook there.

"Might as well get Emmrich and Bellara, too," Rook called after them. "Easier to tell everyone at once." She eyed Garrett, and he nodded.

After a few minutes, the group had gathered again, and Garrett took a deep breath.

It wasn't really his story to tell, but he also wasn't exactly sure Sethius would explain himself in a way that the others would understand, so he decided he'd be the one to spill the beans, so to speak.

He'd ask Sethius' forgiveness later.

"This is indeed Sethius. A magister from Tevinter. What we've been … withholding, is that Sethius is not the name he's known by in most instances. He's —"

"Corypheus," Harding breathed, and he was both relieved and annoyed that she had interrupted him.

Lucanis shifted his grip on his dagger, seemingly pressing it more firmly into Sethius' neck, though he hadn't yet drawn blood.

Rook's gaze bounced between Garrett and Harding. "Are you saying the man currently pinned down under Lucanis is the Tevinter magister who tried to take over Thedas and destroy the Veil?"

"Sort of," Garrett said, before Harding could respond. "It's true that this man — a version of him — created the Breach."

Harding rubbed her chest. "The Inquisitor killed you. I wasn't there, but I read the reports. Heard the stories. From they themself. They killed you."

"Not exactly," Garrett winced.

"They sent me to the Fade," Sethius said, and Harding's eyes widened.

"Do they know that?" she asked.

Sethius laughed, Lucanis narrowed his eyes, and Garrett shook his head, holding out a hand in front of him, hopeful to stave off the First Talon before he did something they'd both regret.

"No," Garrett said. "And I want to make it clear. While this is the same man, he's also changed."

"Yeah, he's no longer 8 feet tall!" Harding exclaimed, and Garrett chuckled.

"That's more important than you think," he told her.

"He's no longer blighted," he explained, when they all looked at him confused.

"Right. I heard about what the Inquisition did. We all did," Taash added. "I thought Corypheus was some big-ass darkspawn?"

"He was. When the Inquisitor sent him to the Fade … it somehow healed him. No longer blighted. No longer darkspawn."

"I no longer hear the pleas of Dumat," Sethius added in a quiet voice.

"Does this mean that you were actually around at the time of the gods?" Bellara asked.

"I am not that old," Sethius told her with a small smile.

"Oh," she said, and she looked so crestfallen, Garrett wanted to do something. "That would have been, like, really helpful right about now."

Sethius hummed. "Indeed. However, I did enter the Black City, which, from what I have recently gathered, was an entrance to the prison Fen'Harel constructed to keep back the Blight. I am … aware, of some of its more eccentric foibles. I may still be of use to you."

"Really?" Bellara asked, and her tone brightened. "Oh, I'd be so interested to hear some of your theories! We have a few, ourselves, of course, but…" she trailed off as her eyes landed on Lucanis still straddling him. "That is, if we're able to discuss such things. If Spite thinks you're safe."

Rook smiled. "Well, what about it, Spite? Do you think that was all the magister was lying about?"

He sniffed deeply. "No," Spite said, but Lucanis leaned back all the same, removing his hand from Sethius' wrist and the dagger from his throat. "But others aren't important. Not now."

Lucanis stood up then, and offered his hand to Sethius.

Much to Garrett's relief, the magister took what was offered, and allowed Lucanis to pull him up.

"No hard feelings I hope?" the First Talon asked, sheathing his dagger.

"Oh, none at all," Sethius told him. "I would have done the same, if I were in your position." He stared at the Crow. "Interesting development in demonic possession. I would love to discuss it more, if we have the chance."

"Seems like we all have academic pursuits we'd like to engage in," Emmrich said, relaxing his grip on his staff.

Garrett hadn't even seen that he'd had it out, just in case.

Maybe he was out of practice.

Or maybe he was just trying to process too much, and his mind could no longer absorb the information it was being given.

"But we must limit that to later," Emmrich added, and there was such disppointment in his tone, Garrett chuckled.

"Indeed," Sethius said with a nod.

"Right," Rook said, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet. "Now that that's all settled, let's get you two kitted out. Garrett and Sethius, meet the Caretaker."

Garrett raised his eyebrows as the Caretaker went through its entire catalogue, including —

"Holy shit," he breathed, as the words "Hawke Champion" floated by on the weird contraption the Caretaker had provided him to find what would best suit his needs.

"What?" Sethius asked, and Garrett just silently pointed to it. He flicked to the next Fade-page, and the words "Magister's Mantle" appeared.

"Are these … our robes?" Garrett asked.

The Caretaker bowed its head. "What serves one, serves all."

"Can I see them?"

And there, right in front of them, materialised their robes but … different.

Upgraded.

Better.

"Those are yours?" Rook asked, stepping up to examine them. "I never tried them on, because they're for mages, but they showed up one day, the Caretaker having added them to its collection. They're fine pieces."

"They are," Garrett said, reaching a hand out to rub his fingers over the soft material of the sleeve of the one called Hawke's Champion.

He glanced at Sethius. "What do you think?"

"I think we can run from the past no longer," he told him, a tinge of sadness in his voice.

"Yeah," Garrett said with a sigh. "I think you're right."

Then he grabbed the robes and continued his perusal for whatever could aid him in the battle to end all battles that they were about to face.

Chapter Text

It was so much worse than he could have ever possibly imagined.

Varric had told him.

Rook and her team had warned him.

But being faced with it was beyond anything in his worst nightmares.

And he'd faced down Nightmare.

The blight was … so different, than any he had faced before. The tendrils, the boils, the red-eyed darkspawn with growths similar to Corypehus' … yeah, he thought Sethius' assertion that he might be of some help regarding this changed blight might very well have been accurate.

And the Venatori. He'd faced down his fair share in his work with the Inquisition, but these were new and improved. God-gifted, one might say.

It was … horrific.

Literally. Horror, everywhere he looked.

And the juggernaut … he had a brief flashback to the final fight against Meredith, when she had used the red lyrium idol to bring the giant statues in the Gallows to life. The same magic coursing through them?

It seemed like it.

He was very glad Rook hadn't assigned him to deal with that thing, but he was also concerned for the Grey Wardens, the Mourn Watch, and Taash, who she had.

He didn't know these people, true, but he wasn't a trained soldier. He only did what he had to to survive.

He never liked watching people get sent to their death.

But they had to keep moving. Those sacrifices would mean nothing if they didn't manage to get into Hightown and the Archon's Palace.

He ran as hard as he ever had. Adrenaline did its job, but the chaos was making things almost impossible to keep track of. It was all he could do to keep his eyes trained on Rook's back, to protect her, Sethius, Emmrich, and Lucanis as best he could.

Magic was flying eveywhere, and he could hardly make out those who were firing at him, the air was so charged with spells.

They … well, he wouldn't necessarily call it winning, but they were holding their own, even pushing the enemy forces back behind the Hightown walls. Sethius was right; Minrathous was built to withstand siege.

But with his guidance, they were able to bypass some of the more intense defenses, and reach the gates of the inner walls.

He took stock of himself, then his companions, though he did a double-take when he saw Emmrich.

A skull stared back at him.

"What?" he began, and Emmrich inclined his head.

"Apologies for the appearance," he told him. "I find maintaining my glamour a distraction sometimes. In combat such as this, I need my full focus, so I drop it. I do hope I haven't shocked you."

"What are you?" he asked, but then he winced. "Sorry, I shouldn't have asked. That was rude."

"A bit," Emmrich said, "but such a response is to be expected. It is why we put up glamours to begin with."

"Are all Mourn Watchers like you?" he asked, and Emmrich shook his head.

"No. I am a lich. It is a great honour to become one, and involves a very involved path of study —"

His lecture was interrupted by Rook. "Barrier's down. Fight now, teach later," she told him, and Garrett could have sworn the skull was blushing.

"Right so. Onward, shall we?" he asked, and the group of them entered into Hightown, weapons gripped tightly, as they were unsure what they were going to find.

Turned out they found blight.

A shit ton of it.

And darkspawn.

And Venatori.

Fuck, what the fuck had the world turned into while he was gone?

"This is…"

"Appalling," Sethius murmured, and Garrett's heart reached out to him as they cautiously inched their way forward.

"I'm sorry," he offered. "I know this is probably not the homecoming you wanted."

He sighed. "Not at all. Though I know I have been gone for nearly the entire modern age, so things were inevitably going to be different. But this … this city was once the seat of innvoation, beauty, and culture. And now look at it."

"It still is," the skull that stated it was Emmrich said. "Or rather, it was. Minrathous was a gem of a city, filled with all sorts of magical wonders. It was a light that others looked to, filled with the best and the worst. Seeing it like this…"

"No one deserves to have this happen to their city," Lucanis said. "It's a travesty."

"We'll help them," Garrett said firmly. "After we succeed, we'll help with the rebuilding effort. Or, at least, I will."

"I will, too," Sethius said. "We will not let it suffer any more than it has."

And he gave his lover a grateful smile.

"Good plan," Rook said. "But first things first. We've got to find Solas."

"Agreed," Lucanis said.

"You know," the Crow added after a few minutes, as they continued to press forward, "Solas won't be happy to find that you've escaped his trap."

Rook gave him a grin that sent a shiver along Garrett's spine.

"I'm counting on it."

The next battles they encountered were difficult, but nothing they couldn't handle. They even managed to cross paths with Harding and one of the Crows … Teia, Lucanis had called her, who told them Solas had been spotted just ahead.

"Good," Rook said, and she continued to move on.

"This blight … it's not like it used to be?" Garrett asked as they pushed through a narrow passage made of the stuff.

"How do you mean?" Rook asked.

Garrett stared at the back of her head. "Blight used to be really dangerous. You got any of it on you, and it was practically a death sentence. Back at Ostegar, they told the warriors to keep their mouths shut under their helmets as they fought, lest any blood splatter get under their face shields, and we mages kept cloths over our nose and mouth to try and not breathe any of it in. I've seen mabari turn from ingesting too much of the blood, so we needed to put them down. If you got exposed to it, you either prayed a Warden was nearby, or you said your goodbyes. This … we're practically walking right through the blasted stuff, and we're fine. It doesn't make sense to me."

Rook stared at him.

"I didn't know it was that bad," she said after a moment. "I knew it was dangerous, but … the Wardens did mention that this particular blight … sounded different. Maybe that's what they meant? Maybe the different sound means that it doesn't affect people the same way."

"This blight is the version of the gods," Emmrich added. "The ones Thedas faced before were mere imitations of the real thing, only what escaped the tiny slice Sethius and his compatriots made into the prison when they entered the Golden City."

"The city was never golden," Sethius murmured, but nodded. "It feels different to that which corrupted me all those years ago, so I agree with the Grey Wardens' assessment that this blight is not the same. Perhaps the gods have meddled in its functionality for some as yet unknown purpose."

"They want to control and remake the world," Rook said, pushing through some more of the disgusting tendrils. "Perhaps the other version was too destructive. They couldn't control it the way they wanted."

"Maybe," Garrett agreed, sighing as more Venatori stepped into their path.

Why were cultists so … cult-like?

He laughed at his own joke as he began the dance of battle once more.

Chapter Text

"There's something big ahead," Emmrich said, shifting his grip on his staff as they continued on their journey throughout Hightown. "We should prepare ourselves."

"Agreed," Rook said, readjusting her own daggers. "Keep sharp."

As they reached the top of a small staircase, Rook had to jump back, a body flying in front of her almost taking her out.

"Shit!" she exclaimed. A man with a sword ran to check on the body, then started hacking away at some of the largest blight tendrils Garrett had ever seen.

Maker, they were so gross.

He thought Nightmare's spider legs were bad, but they had nothing on these blight … growths.

"Get out of my city!" the man with the sword shouted as he continued stabbing and slicing at them, but then the blight tendrils were lifted away, as if by…

Magic.

And there he was.

Solas.

He felt his fists clench as Varric's face popped into his mind.

"Stay here," Rook was telling them when he refocused on the conversation. "I need to talk to Solas. Alone."

"The fuck you will," Garrett said, and he had to take a deep breath. It wouldn't do to get angry at her. She wasn't the one he was mad at. "I'm coming with you."

When Rook looked like she was going to protest, he told her, lowly, "I owe him. For Varric. I promise I won't kill him. Not yet. I just … need to look the bastard in the face. Have him tell me why he did what he did."

She seemed to deflate at his words, and nodded.

"Sethius?" he asked, not caring that it wasn't his choice on who accompanied Rook.

Once a leader, always a leader, or something.

But the magister shook his head. "No. I am content staying here and watching your back."

When Garrett raised an eyebrow in surprise, he added, "I cannot make the same reassurances regarding Fen'Harel's survival of a conversation with me."

That surprised him, but maybe he had his own issues with the Dread Wolf that Garrett didn't know about, so he just nodded. "Be right back."

Sethius smiled at him, then turned to watch for any potential attack.

Garrett did not envy Solas' current position. He looked so small, faced with a series of thick blight tendrils that just kept coming at him.

It had to be exhausting work, but still, he was there, fighting to prevent the blight from extending any further.

He had to admit he could begrudgingly respect him for at least doing that much.

Solas was pushing and throwing them as hard as he could, it seemed, then he turned suddenly, and threw his hand out.

For a brief, crazed moment, he thought Solas was going to attack him, but then he felt the spell bypass him, and he turned to see it had latched onto a blight tendril that was close to attacking him and Rook.

A flash of surprise crossed Solas' face.

"You, are surprising as ever," he told Rook, and then his gaze landed on Garrett, and his eyes widened.

"Serah Hawke?"

"In the flesh," Garrett told him with a smirk.

"How?" Solas demanded. "We left you in the Fade. I saw the Inquisitor close the rift. It would be impossible for you to have survived for so long."

"Seems like you don't know everything," he said, and he itched to punch him in that smug face of his, but he had promised Rook that he wouldn't hurt him, so he refrained.

No, that voice in the back of his head said, that was now sounding suspiciously like Varric, you promised her that you wouldn't kill him.

True, but he didn't think Rook — or Solas — would really appreciate that distinction.

Then Solas did the one thing he'd never thought he'd see from him: he bowed his head in acknowledgement and said, "Indeed, it seems I do not. For I also had no idea that dear Rook would be able to escape the regret prison. Truly, Rook, you are an impressive specimen."

"She's not a specimen," Garrett spat, beginning to rethink that punching decision. "She's a damn person."

If Solas was surprised at his venom, he didn't show it.

"How did you manage it?" he asked Rook, and Garrett wasn't sure if he was mad or not that the elven god was ignoring him.

"I had help," she said, and her gaze cut to his.

Solas misinterpreted the gesture. "Him? Sure, he's a mage, but … wait." His attention shifted to Garrett. "You found your way into the regret prison? How? It was sealed shut. I made sure of it."

"Until it wasn't," Rook said. "Killing Ghilan'nain left it open. That you managed to shove me inside it should have told you that."

"Yes but I —"

Garrett didn't hear the rest of what Solas was saying, the roar in his ears had grown too loud.

Did Rook just say what he thought she had said? Did Solas put her in the prison?

That decided it.

He deserved to be punched.

He hadn't even realised he had drawn his arm back to do such a thing until he felt a small but strong hand on his bicep.

"Don't," Rook told him.

"What do you mean, don't?" he exclaimed. "He locked you in the Fade. Not just the Fade, a damn regret prison. He made you face the worst parts of yourself, and for what? He's supposed to be your ally in this, but as far I know, allies don't lock their other allies in prison."

"No, but they do let their allies blow up chantries, do they not?"

Forget the punch. He took his free hand and tossed a fireball right in his face.

The bastard, of course, immediately doused it.

Before it had even had the chance to touch him.

Asshole.

"Feel better?"

"Of course not," he muttered, and Solas chuckled.

Chuckles.

Varric's face appeared in his mind again, and his anger intensified once more.

"Stop it," Rook said, seemingly chastising them both. "This is getting us nowhere."

"He killed Varric," Garrett shot at her, and Solas had the good grace to wince.

"I find that action to be severely regrettable," he told them.

He faced Garrett. "I am … sorry I killed your friend." He closed his eyes, and a flicker of what looked like pain crossed his face.

If Garrett didn't know any better, he would have thought he was genuine in his remorse.

But the god of trickery was probably a damn good actor.

"Right," Garrett scoffed, turning away from him.

"I am," Solas insisted. "It brought me no pleasure. It brings me no pleasure to hurt those who I consider to be friends. But —"

"But the ends always justify the means. Yeah, I've heard that before," Garrett interrupted.

Solas paled slightly. "We are not the same."

"Keep telling yourself that." He turned to Rook. "I'm sorry, I find I can't actually hold myself to my promise to you, if I stay here any longer. So I'm gonna go back over there." He threw his thumb over his shoulder to where he knew Sethius and the rest of their team was waiting. "Good luck."

He didn't wait for either of them to respond before he walked over to the group.

"What happened?" Lucanis asked, staring at Rook's back like he could save her from where he was if Solas decided to try something.

"I left them to their business. Mine has concluded."

Sethius was eyeing him, and he knew he didn't believe a single word Garrett had said, but he also knew Sethius wouldn't call him out on it in front of the others.

"Are you truly all right?" he asked him quietly though, and Garrett shrugged.

"I will be. I don't think I was prepared for how mad I'd be when I saw him again. But to find out what he did to Rook on top of what he did to Varric … it was becoming too much."

Sethius' brow furrowed. "What did he do to Rook?"

"He locked her in the fucking regret prison."

Sethius let out a soft growl. "He will pay."

The conviction in his voice was enough to make Garrett pause. "Truly?"

"Of course. I know what it is like to not be in complete control of your circumstances. It is not something I would wish on anybody I would call friend. And though she, in particular, is not, she was friends with a good friend of yours. It is enough to convince me to give her a chance to prove herself. And so far, she is doing a decent job at it."

Sethius' declaration made Garrett almost throw caution to the wind and press his lips to the other man's, but he thought that wasn't the wisest course of action at the moment, even if they were in a lull of battle. Instead, he just reached over and squeezed his hand, an act that could be construed as friendship, if one was looking at them closely.

Not that he thought they were, but one could never be certain of anything, not with the damn First Talon of the Crows with them.

Who had a spirit inside of him.

It still sort of blew his mind.

"Thank you," he told Sethius.

If he was going to say anything more, it was interrupted by Rook returning to them, Solas in tow.

"Rook?" Lucanis asked, eyes trained on the Dread Wolf.

"Solas and I have come to an agreement," she told them, and with the way she said that, Garrett wasn't sure he wanted to be Solas at that moment. "We're going to work together to try and reach the Divine's Manor."

"I had the same thought as you," Solas explained. "But there seems to be some sort of intelligence guiding the tendrils. It has prevented me from getting closer."

His eyes flicked to Garrett. "You might not believe me, but right now, we need each other."

"For now," Sethius growled.

Solas' eyes widened when his gaze landed on the magister.

"Corypheus?" he breathed. "How in Elgar'nan's name are you alive? We killed you."

"I recovered from that," Sethius said, and Garrett looked at him, shock on his features, he knew.

"Did you just make a joke?" he asked his lover in an undertone.

"I believe you are rubbing off on me," Sethius answered in the same low voice.

"Only in the best ways," Garrett countered.

Solas shook his head. "I watched. I waited. I ensured. There is no way they failed."

"They didn't, not really," Garrett explained. The ground shook slightly. "Is now really the time?"

Solas sighed. "No, of course not. I wish…"

But he seemed unable to finish that sentence.

"Yeah, I think we all do," Garrett told him.

"C'mon," Rook said, nodding in the direction of the blight tendril. "We've got a god to kill."

"You had best survive this battle, Fen'Harel," Sethius cautioned him. "For we do indeed need to have words when this is through."

"Do you plan to kill me then?" he asked as they started working their way through the city again.

"Only if your answers are unsuitable," he said, and Garrett swore Solas' steps faltered, for just a moment.

Maker, he didn't think he could love Sethius even more, but there it was.

"Did you mean what you said then?" Rook asked, searching the magister's face. "That you want Solas to survive?"

"Of course," he said, inclining his head. "He has nothing to fear from me. I will not betray him. It would cause more harm to get rid of him now, and I, more than anyone here, probably, want to see Minrathous saved."

"Corypheus," Solas began.

"Sethius," Sethius corrected him. "My name is Sethius."

Solas nodded. "Sethius. You must know, I did not betray you. I was not even awake when my agents gave you the orb."

"But it was your orb. And they were your agents."

"I did not know —"

"What happened to later?" Rook called, palming her daggers as darkspawn started climbing out of blight boils.

"Right," Solas said, his eyes suddenly glowing blue. "Let us see if they have heard the legends of the Dread Wolf."

"Where are you going to take them?" Garrett asked him, and Rook spluttered out a laugh.

"You did not just say that," she tossed over her shoulder.

Garrett shrugged. "That's the only legend of the Dread Wolf I've heard," and her laughter grew louder.

"If you two are quite finished?" Solas asked, and Garrett grasped his stave harder.

"For now," he assured him, then he ran into the battle, shouts of the Dread Wolf taking them ringing in his ears.

Chapter Text

Garrett hated to admit it, but having Solas along for the fight was incredibly helpful. The elven god was either holding back when he was with the Inquisition, or he had grown in his powers in the 10 years since Garrett had entered the Fade.

He supposed it was the latter, but Andraste's tits if he didn't wish he'd had those powers back in the day.

If he had, maybe Garrett wouldn't have had to stay behind to distract Nightmare.

Or if he'd been a better mage. He could have —

He hissed as a curved Venatori knife caught him in the bicep, wielded by one of those assholes who used whatever enhancements the gods had given them to pop in and out of view, like a damn spirit.

"Watch yourself," Sethius warned, throwing his orb and parrying with his dagger like they were an extension of his arms.

"I know, got distracted," he said, when he felt the enervating hum of healing magic go through him. A look to his periphery told him that Emmrich had done the honours.

"Thanks, Emmrich," he called.

"My pleasure," he called back, then used some frankly terrifying necromatic magic to drive one of the other Venatori insane.

"Remind me not to get on his bad side," Garrett said, tossing off a fireball that seemed to work well with Solas' magic, causing a quite satisfying explosion.

"You have no idea," Rook said as she slid under the legs of what they told him was a hurlock (he couldn't believe it) and sliced at the insides of its thighs.

And on they went, slicing, dicing, stabbing, and magicking their way through the rest of Hightown, slowly but surely approaching the Divine's Manor.

When they finally stepped into a new area — a sign on the wall helpfully told him it was called Urthemiel Walk — he found it suddenly hard to breathe, like he was somehow back in Kirkwall in the height of August, where the air was more liquid than gas.

"Does anybody else feel that?" he asked, trying and failing to catch his breath.

"Yes," Solas said, the glow of his eyes dissipating. "Whatever intelligence Elgar'nan has set to direct the blight, we are not far from it. Beyond the blight there, perhaps." He indicated a large collection of blight boils.

It was all Garrett could do to not gag at the sight of them.

"As good a guess as any," Rook said, and took the bow off her back, nocking an arrow and shooting two in quick succession.

The boils … popped in the most disgusting sound Garrett had ever heard, and then Rook hooked her bow on her back before taking a deep breath and heading through the hole she had created.

"Do you feel it?" Solas asked, looking around as if he was trying to find something. "The blight reacts to my presence."

He took another few steps forward. "There." He indicated a writhing mass of blight tendrils. "That must be the source of whatever intelligence guides it. If you can destroy the mind guiding the blight, we may be able to reach the palace."

He let out a small hiss, and his brow was furrowed, as if he was concentrating very hard on … something. "I can accompany you no further," he concluded. "My presence will only draw the blight to you."

Rook narrowed her eyes as she looked toward the center of the writhing mass.

"Is that —"

"Neve! What did they do to her?" Lucanis shouted, starting to run toward her, but Rook shot out her hand to stop him.

"Wait," she said, as the tendrils that were wrapped around who he assumed was Neve withdrew futher into the blight.

But they couldn't even think about what to do about that, as, right then, the world's largest archdemon landed on one of the bridges nearby, causing it to crumble and them to have to dive out of the way of the debris.

"Fuck!" Garrett exclaimed, throwing his hands over his head as he rolled over and over.

He didn't know much about archdemons, had never had to face one himself, but he didn't think they were normally that big.

And if they were, he just gained a shit ton more respect for Queen Florika.

Solas ran in front of them and used his enhanced magic to literally throw the archdemon away from them.

Andraste's flaming knickers, he was strong.

"We are out of time!" Solas shouted, jogging over to them. He pulled a dagger that looked suspiciously similar to the one Emmrich had given Rook earlier out from his belt.

"I will defeat the archdemon," he said, holding the dagger out to her. "Once Elgar'nan is mortal, the final blow … must be yours. I can think of no one better to wield this."

"You need that dagger for your ritual. I'm supposed to believe you'd just give it to me?"

And Garrett had to give her credit for her scepticism. Solas was not to be trusted, and it seemed her experience being sent to the regret prison was enough for her to realise that.

"If you do not trust me to uphold my oath, that is all the more reason for the dagger to be out of my hands." She still didn't take it. "Please, Rook!"

Garrett almost gaped. He didn't think the Dread Wolf knew the meaning of the word.

She looked at Solas for a moment longer, then took the offered dagger.

Solas seemed to visibly relax. "Good luck. When next we meet, let us be standing over Elgar'nan's body." Then he turned from them and began to run toward the archdemon.

He wasn't going to…

No, of course.

He glowed blue again and shifted into a massive wolven form.

The Dread Wolf had risen.

And he launched himself at the archdemon, latching onto his neck and dragging it away from them, leaving them free to pursue Neve.

"Guess the Dread Wolf took it somewhere after all," Garrett quipped and Rook whirled on him, though a smile graced her features.

"You're impossible," she said, sheathing the dagger alongside her others.

"So I've been told," Garrett said, and Rook laughed.

"C'mon," she said, nodding toward the blight. "We've got a friend to rescue."

Chapter Text

Somehow, against literally all the odds, they had all made it to the Divine's Manor.

Including Neve, who was blighted, but still alive.

That meant it really must have been changed by the gods.

The whole situation was truly incredible.

They were able to take a break, rest and recover, which was needed after their harrowing fight to get there, but they couldn't take too long.

Solas — the Dread Wolf — was still out there, fighting the archdemon.

Of course, they could do nothing about Elgar'nan until Solas succeeded in killing it, so they could take a moment or two.

For the fallen.

Rook had done a great job running the Veilguard in Varric's absence, and he knew his best friend would be proud of the leader she had become.

She had managed to call numerous and disparate factions to her side, from the Grey Wardens, to the Antivan Crows, to the Mourn Watch of all people.

It was damn impressive, was what it was.

He gave her the time to make her rounds and decided to explore the manor a bit. Sethius had muttered something about some tome he was looking for, that had ostensibly been hidden in the manor a thousand years ago. Garrett had no clue how it could still be there, but he wasn't going to stop him from looking if he felt like he needed to.

He heard her before he saw her.

Isabela was standing in one of the many hallways of the manor, holding court, decked out in more gold and jewels than he had ever seen her wear.

And yes, Taash didn't lie to him.

She was sporting a large and impressive hat, with the most magnificent feather.

He couldn't help the grin that graced his features as he walked over to her.

"Lookin' good, there, stranger."

Her head whipped in his direction, her eyes as wide as saucer plates.

"Hawke?" she exclaimed, hands on her hips. "Damn, and I thought I knew how to make an entrance."

"You do," he said, closing the distance between them. "I learned from the best."

"Damn straight you did." She poked his shoulder.

"Ow, what the fuck," he chuckled, rubbing where she had pressed on him.

"I wanted to make sure you weren't a spirit. This is Minrathous, after all, and we are fighting elven gods. There's strange magic afoot."

"True," Garrett said. "But, nope. I'm here."

She grinned at him. "Garrett Hawke. Here in the flesh. After … damn how long's it been?"

"Ten years."

"Where've you been all that time?"

"In the Fade."

Her smile slid off her face. "That story was true, then? Varric wasn't just covering for you?"

His heart gave a lurch as she said his name, but he shook his head. "No. I really was lost in the Fade. Believe it or not, Varric's who got me out."

Isabela's brow furrowed. "What? How? Varric's —"

"Dead. I know." He gave her a sad smile. "It's a long story. Drinks after this is all over? It's a sordid tale that I'm sure you'd love to hear."

"The entire damn bar will be ours for the taking if we survive this," she said, as Rook tapped him on the shoulder as she approached them.

"Isabela," Rook acknowledged her with a nod. "Thanks for being here."

"Anything for a friend of Varric's," Isabela replied. "Though it seems that sentiment fits twice over." She nodded in Garrett's direction. "This one with you now?"

Rook smiled at him. "Yeah. I'm glad to have him. Speaking of, war council in the next room. Join me?"

"Absolutely," Garrett said.

"Hey, Rook," Isabela paused their retreat. Rook turned to her. "Don't get this one killed. We already lost him once. We lose him again, right after we get him back … well. It's not going to be good. For anybody."

Rook nodded and seemed to take her warning seriously, which, to be honest, slightly surprised him.

"I won't. As long as he doesn't do anything stupid."

"No promises," Garrett joked, and Isabela smirked at him.

"Go, we'll catch up after," she told him, and Garrett nodded.

"Can I give you a hug before I go?" he asked, and her smirk turned into a genuine smile.

"It really is you," she murmured, opening her arms in invitation. "Of course."

"It is," he said, grasping onto her tightly. "I'm so glad to see you Bela," he whispered into her hair.

"Same," she told him. "Now go. Don't keep them waiting."

With another small squeeze, he let her go, turning to follow Rook into the next room.

Where he was confronted by a few more familiar faces, not from his time in Kirkwall, but from his work with the Inquisition.

"Inquisitor," Rook called as she crossed the room toward where they and Dorian were waiting by their makeshift war table. "I have a surprise for you."

Garrett stepped out from behind her, and they literally gasped.

"What?" they exclaimed. "Am I seeing things? Is that … Hawke? Is that really you?"

"In the flesh," he said with a smile.

They let out a sob, and Dorian put his arm around them.

"You're really here," Dorian murmured.

"You have no idea how much your death — well, I guess your alleged death — has weighed on me. I have thought about that decision every. Damn. Day. I couldn't…" they covered their face as their sobs grew louder, and Dorian drew them in for a hug. He rubbed soothing circles across their back.

"Well, that's flattering," Garrett murmured. "And I'm sorry to be the cause of such stress. But — I'm okay. It wasn't the worst experience in the world, and, once this is all done, I'll owe everybody an explanation." He stepped closer to them. "I'm really okay. You did good, Inquisitor."

Their sobs grew louder and Dorian was murmuring soothing words to them that were too soft for him to hear.

After a few more awkward moments, they seemed to get their emotions under control. However, when they looked up from their hands, there was an anguished look on their face.

"Varric! Oh I'm so sorry, Varric —" they started, but Garrett cut them off with a shake of his head.

"It's all right," he reassured them. "I already know."

They wiped their cheeks. "Good. I'm so sorry," they repeated.

He closed the distance between them and held out his arms. The Inquisitor dove into them, hugging him so tightly he almost couldn't breathe.

He supposed they were dealing with a lot at that moment, so he didn't quite mind.

Though his ribs might.

"It's all right," he told them. "We're going to be all right. I don't blame you, you know. It wasn't your choice. It was mine. I convinced you to let me stay. I was happy to."

"I know," they said. "Still doesn't mean I don't feel guilty about letting you."

He chuckled and pulled back to look at them more clearly. "You didn't let me do anything. It was my choice. Trust me when I say there was nothing you could have done to stop me." He looked over the Inquisitor's shoulder to where Rook was leaning against the wall, tears in her eyes. "Just like there was no stopping Varric when he went to talk to Solas. That was his choice. The consequences of those actions aren't on you."

The Inquisitor took a shaky breath in. "You're going to kill him, aren't you?" they whispered.

"I know how important he is to you," he told them softly, so only Dorian could hear his words. "I won't do anything without thinking it through first."

They nodded, and a bit of tension went out of their shoulders. "I still think I can talk some sense into him."

"And we'll do everything in our power to give you that chance," Dorian assured them, glancing at Garrett, who nodded his agreement. "You just have to be prepared for the fact that he might be too far gone to listen."

"I know," they murmured. "Him killing Varric has made me think that he won't listen to any reason." They took another breath. "I still want to try, though."

Garrett had to admit he was impressed by the devotion they still showed him. If his lover had done what Solas had…

The word lover brought him up short.

Shit.

"Hey, listen," he began, speaking rapidly yet quietly. "I need to tell you something. And it's important. And I need you to keep a clear head about this, all right?"

They furrowed their brow, but nodded all the same.

"Corypheus isn't dead."

"What?!" they shouted, and Garrett winced. Rook looked over with a sympathetic glance, and he was certain she knew what they were talking about.

"He survived you sending him to the Fade … sort of. He's not Corypheus anymore, though. He goes by Sethius now, and he's … here. With me."

The Inquisitor looked like they were about to say something when the sound of a crashing door made them all look toward the entrance, trying to find the source of the disturbance.

Garrett's legs would have given out from beneath him if he didn't still have his arms around the Inquisitor.

As it was, they needed Dorian's quick thinking to keep him upright.

Because that disturbance?

Was Fenris crashing into the room.

Chapter Text

Fenris came to a stop when he saw the scene in front of him: Rook with her hands on her daggers, Garrett nearly fainting from his appearance, and the Inquisitor and Dorian trying to hold him up.

"Fenris," Garrett breathed, but he doubted the other man heard him.

Fenris slowly made his way across the room toward him, and it took all of his effort to keep himself standing long enough that the Inquisitor and Dorian felt he was steady enough to let go of. He started taking shaky steps, but nearly collapsed again. He waved the others away though, holding on to the makeshift war table.

He didn't want anybody between him and Fenris.

"Are you injured?" Fenris asked, and that voice.

That voice.

That voice that was only in his dreams — and his nightmares — for so long.

Garrett shook his head as Fenris continued to slowly close the distance between them.

He looked the same, yet different.

Older.

Which made sense, of course.

His white hair, which Garrett had been so fond of running his fingers through, was shorn close to his head, in a style that probably complemented the warmer climate of Tevinter.

His markings were as they ever were, and he still had a large-ass sword strapped to his back, which he was currently unbuckling the strap of.

He set it gently against the front side of the war table, movements steady, never taking his eyes off of him.

"You cut your hair," Garrett said, and he couldn't believe those were the first words out of his mouth, but there they were, and they caused Fenris to smirk, which meant everything to him.

That he could still make Fenris smile.

"You look exactly the same."

Garrett nodded.

"How?"

He let out a stuttering breath. "It's a long story."

And then Fenris was there, in his arms, and their lips were on each other's and everything in the world was all right.

At least for them.

He was warm.

He was right.

He was home.

He didn't know how long they had stayed embracing each other, but it was probably much longer than they should have, considering the circumstances they were about to face.

Someone coughed softly, and Garrett reluctantly broke away from Fenris, not wanting to let him go, but knowing he had to.

At least for the moment.

"As much as I love this touching reunion," the Inquisitor said, wiping their eyes, and a quick look around told him Dorian, Rook, Emmrich, and Bellara were doing the same, "we do have a death to plan."

"Right," Garrett said, clearing his throat. "I'm sorry."

The Inquisitor held up their hand. "No, don't apologise. I am quite thrilled to be able to see you together. Leaving you behind … Varric had explained, once, about the two of you. And it broke my heart to know I had something to do with you not being with each other. This is … healing. So thank you. Unfortunately, Elgar'nan won't wait."

Garrett stepped out of Fenris' arms, nodding.

"You're absolutely right. Go ahead," and he moved back from the table, content to listen to whatever plan they were going to come up with to take down the god.

He slipped his arm around Fenris' waist and drew him back with him, not wanting to be away from him for more than he had to be.

But he felt eyes burning into the back of his head, and he looked over Fenris' shoulder to find Sethius staring at him.

No, staring at the arm he had wrapped around Fenris' waist.

Fuck.

This was not how he wanted him to find out.

He pressed a kiss to the side of Fenris' head, then bent his head to murmur into his ear.

"I'll be right back. Fill me in on what I've missed?"

"What're you —" he began, but Garrett shook his head.

"Later," he breathed, then slipped out of his hold.

He saw Rook track his movements, but he also saw her notice Sethius in the corner. Her brows furrowed slightly, but he just shook his head again, and she nodded.

Sethius was his to deal with, and it seemed like she understood that.

Garrett approached the magister. He wanted to grab his hand and lead him outside, but he wasn't sure Sethius wanted to be touched at that moment, so he just nodded to the door, offering to give them a little privacy.

Sethius wordlessly opened it and Garrett followed him.

Shit, this wasn't going to be good.

As soon as the door closed, he opened his mouth to begin to apologise, but Sethius got there first.

"He was not lost," he said, and that statement made him swallow what he was going to say.

"No," he managed instead.

"He is an elf."

Garrett nodded. "Is that a problem?" He belatedly recognised that Sethius hadn't used the slur for the race that he usually did when it was just the two of them.

"Of course not," Sethius said. "Finding out Lusacan is Elgar'nan … obviously our treatment of elves needs to be reevaluated."

He raised his eyebrows. "That's … great to hear. But that doesn't mean that you'd be okay with me being in a relationship with one."

Sethius laughed, but it was like that laugh he had given when Garrett had first found him in the Fade.

Mirthless, and oddly self-deprecating.

"Why should my opinion about such a thing matter?"

Garrett felt as if a dagger had been driven into his heart.

Was he really going to regain one of his loves just to lose the other?

"I had thought…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "Never mind."

Sethius tilted his head as he appraised him. "You were with me because you were alone. You had thought that your love had been lost. Now that he has been returned to you … where does that leave me? Us? You have no need for me anymore."

"That's not true," Garrett said, and he reached out to cup his face.

That Sethius let him was a good sign. "Maker, that's the furthest thing from the truth I've heard in a while. And I've spent time with Solas recently. Sethius … you are the only one who knows what I've been through in the Fade. We experieniced things together that no one could possibly know. As far as I am concerned, that joins us, forever. And I don't find my feelings for you have changed. I might have regained Fenris, but I don't want to do that at the cost of us. I'd like … Void take it all, I'd like to be fucking selfish for once, and have both of you. If you'll have me. Of course, this is something I'm going to need to talk to Fenris about, but —"

Sethius cut him off with a kiss.

"Such an arrangement is not foreign to me. I would be most glad to be involved in such a thing with you. Provided your lover agrees. Obviously this is the least important thing we are dealing with at the moment, but thank you for recognising my need and addressing it with me. We both deserve whatever we can grab from this life. We are owed that. So yes, we will take whatever happiness we can, and if that involves your elven lover, then so be it."

Garrett's smile was probably so large it could be seen from the Archon's Palace.

"That is … so relieving to hear," Garrett murmured, pressing another kiss to his lips. "You're right, now is not the time. But when this is all over…"

"We will discuss whatever it is that we both need," he said.

He sighed. "Wonderful. Now let's get back inside and see how we're going to go about kicking Elgar'nan's blighted ass."

Chapter Text

"Everything all right?" Fenris murmured when Garrett returned to his side. The meeting had apparently been a quick one, for they had already broken up and Rook and the Inquisitor were talking in low voices with Dorian and Emmrich.

"Everything's fine. You and I have some things to discuss, but you obviously knew that. Let's just get through this, and then we can have a proper reunion." He wiggled his eyes suggestively, but Fenris didn't smile.

Rather, he looked deadly serious. More serious than Garrett could ever remember seeing him.

He stepped back from him slightly. "What's wrong?"

Fenris took a deep breath. "Amatus," he began, and Garrett's heart soared hearing the term of endearment from the real person again. "I've been thinking."

"That's never a good sign," he joked.

"I am being serious."

"I know, I'm sorry. Go on."

"I think you should sit this one out."

Garrett's eyebrows shot up so quickly he almost hurt his face. "I'm sorry?"

"It's just that I just got you back, and … and you might die. I do not know if I can take that chance."

"Fenris. Amatus. I love that you're concerned about me. But any of us can die. At any time. Keeping me on the ground isn't going to change that."

"It is going to keep you out of the direct line of fire," he countered and Garrett kissed him on the temple.

"I'm never one to stand by when others are in trouble. You know that. And neither are you. So while I appreciate the sentiment, I'm not sitting out this fight. Besides, I've already died once. And I came back from that."

Fenris frowned. "This would not be the same and you know it."

"I actually don't," Garrett said. "There's a lot of weird shit going on with the Veil and a strange lyrium dagger … there's a chance we'll all end up there."

"Garrett…" Fenris warned, and Garrett kissed him again, this time on the mouth.

"I love you, Fenris. And I love that you are worried about me. But I can't just do nothing while watching Rook and her team sacrifice themselves. Maybe … if I had been there with Varric…"

"That wasn't your fault," Fenris told him firmly.

"I know," Garrett acknowledged with a nod. "But I also know that I'll never forgive myself if I don't do everything in my power to help now."

Fenris sighed.

"There's no changing your mind, is there?" he asked, and Garrett didn't love the look of defeat in his eyes.

"No. But if it makes you feel better, I think Rook'll let you come with us. Hey, Rook!" he called, and Fenris rolled his eyes as Rook looked over to them. "Can Fenris and Sethius come with up the giant blight stalk to the Archon's Palace? They're both just dying to see what he's done with the place."

"Of course," Rook said, giving Fenris a soft smile. "The more the merrier. We need all the help we can get."

"See?" Garrett told him, and Sethius stepped back into the room. Garrett gave him a nod, and the magister nodded back.

He knew what was expected of him.

"Hope you're not afraid of heights," he told Sethius.

He just smirked.

"Together then?" Fenris murmured, and a lump formed in Garrett's throat, as he heard a word he never thought he'd hear from his lover again.

"Together," he confirmed.

And that was how they stayed, side-by-side, as Rook finished her final preparations and they gathered at the bottom of the blight tendril.

Despite the pain and the losses — everything he had been through, in the Fade and beyond it — he had managed to finally find his way back where he belonged.

If it truly was going to be the end of the world, he knew there was nowhere else he'd rather be.

It might have taken him 10 years too long, but he had finally made it back home.

And in the end, that was all that mattered.