Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It wasn’t supposed to go like that. Malcolm Hawke prepared Bethany and Garrett both for what it meant to be an apostate. They respected the power of magic, but they didn’t fear it. More than that, Garrett knew he was supposed to do anything and everything to keep his little sister out of the Circle. She was clinging to her staff behind him. Tucked into the corner of an empty hut, abandoned for whatever reason people left behind what little they had, she tried to frown to hide her trembling lip.

“Be brave, Bethany,” he whispered, listening to the Templars stomping through the woods to find them.

If they split in different directions—there was no guarantee who they might follow. He was 12, so he was more practiced. More dangerous. But she wasn’t even 10, so the Templars might see her as more vulnerable to possession and prefer to get their armored talons into her instead. She nodded, oblivious to the tough calls that would have to come next. That’s how he preferred it.

“Stay here,” he told her, darting off before she could argue. And oh, she would argue. Bethany had no qualms about calmly, stubbornly standing her ground until the Maker himself would yield eventually.

Garrett burst out from the hut when the footsteps got close, spraying a blast of scattered ice in their direction before taking off from the makeshift shelter. It wasn’t the cold spikes he’d hoped for—but it was a little past his skill level at that point. Anything to keep their focus on him.

“There, the apostate!”

Heavy boots and clamoring armor followed after him, and Hawke grinned. He shouldn’t chuckle. But it was too funny, too easy, and what else could he do when the always-present danger was one step behind? The alternatives were to freeze up, fight, or fall down. He’d seen all three with other apostates caught by Templars or the like. None of those options usually turned out great.

Took five Templars, but they did eventually get Hawke. Two of them had been tangled up fighting a bear after he led him to a cave entrance, tossed a harmless flame into the den, and let them blunder into the angry beast. The other three seemed pretty cross about that, never mind the last two. Garrett sat in shackles and smiled despite his busted lip. Completely worth it.

Right up until he heard her shouting.

“Let me go! My brother is going to get you if you don’t!”

The Templar holding Bethany by the arm was wearing a helmet, so Garrett couldn’t see his face. He just knew the bastard was sneering.

“That your brother?”

“I… You were gone so long, I went to look for you.” Bethany bowed her head, shoulders falling even though the Templar kept a firm grip on her forearm. “I’m sorry I didn’t stay.”

“At least we’re together now, yeah?”

“We’re splitting you up.” The head of the group, whoever she was, had a ragged scar across her face and a mouth to match it. That woman had probably never smiled once. She sheathed her sword, walking through her knights to stand between Garrett and Bethany. “If mages are close, they’ll get possessed one right after another. You can’t stay together.”

“She’s just a kid! The only reason she had a staff was to copy her big brother.”

“Nice try,” another knight muttered before the head Templar shot him a glower. Even her own were scared of her, and that wasn’t a good sign. Getting away would be next to impossible with him and Behtany. Carver was helping Mother at the market earlier. Garrett didn’t even leave a note saying where they went. If those two could track them down after they returned, it’d be too late. Help wasn’t coming and he was fresh out of ideas.

“Your sister tossed some lightning our way. Nothing that hurt,” the Templar leader explained, as if he cared if she was harmed by Bethany or not. “But there’s no denying her magic. Say your goodbyes, and make it quick. We leave before nightfall.”

“What kind of sick monster takes a little girl from her only family—”

“You’re wasting time,” she snapped, grabbing Hawke by the shoulder and shoving him towards Bethany. At least his baby sister knew not to correct his lie. Carver might be off the hook, but their mother? She'd be a criminal in the eyes of the Chantry. They could just ignore her, or they could lock her up. It really depended on what sort of person got the report. The Templar looming over them scoffed. “Be thankful you’re getting anything, mage.”

His little sister looked up at him with watery eyes, the same ones that Carver had. Not that he cried much those days. He had something to prove to his big brother and the world. Maybe if he’d been the one caught, he wouldn’t look at Garrett like he should have all the answers. Like he could stop this from happening just by laughing it away.

“Be good, okay?”

“I don’t want to go, brother, no,” she cried harder, fat tears rolling down her soft face. Bethany tugged at the hand clasped around her arm. She wrenched her arm, shoving at that armored grip with uncalloused hands. “Don’t let them take me!”

“I wish I could, Bethany,” he said, hating his own tears. They didn’t even let him out of his shackles. Garrett got to his knees to be closer to her level and forced a smile. “But that’s how tag works. They caught us, and now we’re it. So, remember everything we learned, and—”

“Garrett, we have to stay together! We have to!”

He let his head drop, sniffling like a child. Some role model he was. Garrett looked up again and saw her reaching out with one arm. Mother had braided her hair that morning. The red bows at the ends were her favorite, even as Carver teased her for still having such ‘baby stuff’ around. Garrett leaned forward to meet her, and for some reason, none of the knights stopped him from letting her wrap that little arm around him in a half-hug.

“We’re family, Bethany. Wherever we are.”

A firm hand on the back of his shirt yanked him away, and Bethany started shouting again. Garrett heard almost none of it under his own screaming and cursing. All those years, all those warnings, and he failed when his family needed him the most.

Chapter Text

Garrett understood the Fade. Father explained it in detail, and he made sure both of his magically gifted kids knew not to deal with demons. Like the talk every parent had about avoiding strangers—but bigger. Creepy weirdos couldn’t turn your kid into a pile of ugly quite like a demon could.

So, when the Circle mages and Templars made a big fuss about putting Garrett into a pocket of the Fade to test his skill as a mage, he couldn’t help thinking it was a great, big waste of lyrium and theatrics. He walked down the worn, dirt paths winding out ahead of him and ignored the chattering spirits for the most part. The Fade looked like nowhere and a little bit of everywhere. Some of the woods they’d hidden in. That one mountain village that sheltered the Hawke family for the weekend, complete with heavy heaps of wet snow. That part was tough to walk through. But he knew Ferelden. He’d been walking that countryside since he took his first steps, and it wouldn’t slow Garrett down now. Even if it was upside down and backwards in a few places.

Father had been in the Circle once. When Garrett turned 10, he told him about what it was like and how to live in there—just in case.

You don’t need to win, son. You need to live.

“She is scared, but you help her to be brave,” a flickering image of a few different people interrupted his thoughts. Garrett stopped, looking the mystical resident over. Compassion, probably. It smiled, an uneven thing, since it couldn’t settle on any one of the kind strangers Garrett had met in his life. He didn’t listen as well to the stranger conversation from Mother as he possibly should’ve. “Bethany is not alone.”

“Thanks,” Garrett answered, waving as the spirit dissolved into flecks of light. Beings from the Fade tended to do abrupt goodbyes like that.

The path ahead was only too familiar. Garrett hadn’t been there long, of course. But an older brother remembers the place where his baby sister was taken away forever.

Manifesting in a warp of magical energy, the Pride demon thundered into the open field at the edge of the woods. It raised a horned head and snorted a huff of dry air. Many eyes glowered down at Garrett. He took his staff out with a little flourish, smirking.

“There you are,” the demon growled, flexing its hands as unnatural muscles writhed along its arms. “So arrogant. You thought you would save your sister, at least, but now you are both lost.”

“I know where I am,” Garrett answered. “I know where I plan to be. The middle bit usually sorts itself out.”

“You will fall here, smug little mage.” The Pride demon slammed its clawed fists into the earth and roared. Almost enough to knock him over, the force of it reverberated through Hawke even after the beast had finished the tantrum. “I will run free in your body until it rots!”

“You passed your Harrowing, Hawke,” Irving reminded Hawke three weeks later.

He was in a holding cell deep in the heart of Kinloch Hold, not even a sliver of natural light. Not that the rest of the Circle was much better. He saw arched windows on occasion, when Garrett was allowed out and about. They were blocked off with decorative stonework and metal, then trimmed in glass at the very top. Couldn’t let the mages witness the world or they might dream of freedom, he supposed.

The First Enchanter carried meals to the troublesome prisoner whenever he could, and Wynne brought them when he couldn’t. Both tried to talk sense into Garrett.

“I told you I’d be fine,” Hawke joked, swinging his feet off the modest shelf and layer of hay that was his bed. He’d be better off if he behaved. But when Templars shoved, Garrett shoved back. They dampened his magic only to find out he could bite, kick, and punch too.

“You would be better if you would let the Templars guide you,” Irving complained, passing over the tray of middling food. Pretty good for an apostate, though. The Hawke family made do with whatever they could get their hands on, so the First Enchanter still tended to look at him with concern with Garrett wolfed down whatever he was given.

“They don’t like being guided back,” Hawke said between bites. “What’s up with that?”

“Magic is made to serve man.”

“Not to rule him,” he muttered back, dipping bread into the thin gravy on the tray. He had something like that once with another apostate family during a feast of some kind or another. The tall lady was taken to the Circle a few months later, giving her elven girlfriend a chance to escape in the chaos. It was nice to have one last meal with people like them. Before things got worse. “I know the Chantry’s teachings.”

“And now you must follow them, or they will make you.”

“That sounds like a cult, sir.”

Hawke handed the empty tray back, and Irving took it back with a shake of his head. Could’ve sworn the old man had half a smile on, though. Garrett would take that as a win. Torchlight came through the barred door behind him as he stood. Carefully, slowly, like old men did when their bones ached. There was this ancient apostate they met on a stormy day near a swamp once, and he had enough stories to keep the twins and Hawke entertained until they barely noticed the thunder and lightning. Garrett helped him pack up his satchel when the sky cleared the next day, all while the man put the bindings back on his chest. He couldn’t sleep with them on, and he couldn’t walk without his staff as a cane. But damn, Hawke thought that man could do anything after spending just a night with him.

“It’s where we live, young man,” Irving explained. “They’ll let you out again tomorrow. Wynne sends her regards, and she hopes you’ll do us proud.”

Maker save Hawke from old men and women who knew better than him, but still gave enough of a damn to repeat themselves. His bruised face only ached a little when he smiled at the First Enchanter in the doorway. The magic would let him out, but not Garrett.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Chapter Text

He did figure out how to keep his half-promise to Wynne and Irving. Once he learned how to stop picking fights he could win, at great personal cost, the Circle realized Garrett was a very helpful mage to have around. Most Circle mages had all the practical training, but nothing too exploratory. They were discouraged to explore the depths and range of magic. Apostates typically had a random collection of knowledge, and it might or might include the Chantry fundamentals. Malcolm Hawke started as a Circle mage and became an apostate. He learned from both experiences, and he held his two mage kids to both standards.

Training under his father put Hawke leagues ahead of most captive mages. While that concerned some, it excited others.

A bald man approached him, wearing similarly posh robes like Wynne’s. The uniforms helped Templars and other Circle residents figure out who was important or not. He seemed like he aged decently. Wrinkles, but not a lot. Deep-set brown eyes to match thick eyebrows. The man could seem dignified to most. Garrett raised an eyebrow and put on a half-hearted smile.

“Hawke, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” he answered. Word of new people traveled fast in mage prison. Even faster when the new blood landed himself in solitary several times over. It wasn’t surprising that this man knew Garrett, but it was odd that he approached the troublesome young recruit. Garrett nodded at the stranger. “You?”

“Senior Enchanter Uldred of the Libertarian fraternity.” Like that meant much to Hawke. He realized there were political factions in the Circle. There was politics anywhere you went, really. But he didn’t pay much attention because he never expected to be here in the first place. The man leaned forward to examine Garrett. He stayed put for it, certain it was a test of some kind or another. One he seemed to pass when Uldred smirked. “You have a great many talents. I would hate to see them wasted in complacency, young mage.”

“I don’t think anyone will have to worry about that.”

“I hope not.” Uldred stood at his full height again, giving him the chance to look down on Hawke. That opportunity might disappear in a few more years. “If you wish to talk about your earlier aggression towards Chantry leadership, Irving and Wynne are not your only options for guidance.”

“Right,” Hawke acknowledged. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Probably not a coincidence that Wynne came over as Uldred left. Important types tended not to get along, even if Hawke preferred the wise and sassy old lady to the bizarre man that just implied—something or another. Garrett wasn’t sure, not yet. He had a feeling Uldred would come back around and lay on the hints much thicker. Wynne watched him walk away and hummed.

“Are you ready to join our lessons, Garrett?”

“Sure,” Hawke answered and shrugged. “As a student or instructor this time?”

“Knowing you, it will be a little of both,” Wynne teased, patting his shoulder while they turned toward the training area. “But it will be some time before you get Irving’s respect for hunting blood mages like Uldred. Stay humble, yes?”

Hawke made a noncommittal sound, and she chuckled.

It was fun, a little, having other mages to practice with out in the open. Lessons with Malcolm Hawke were serious. Life or death stuff. Playing around with little sparks of light to make Bethany laugh was reserved for when Father wasn’t around. Carver might’ve grumbled about it. But he wasn’t about to snitch, at least not on his twin sister. Learning magic with 10 other mages was fun. Templars standing guard over them couldn’t take that from Hawke.

The trick was showing that he knew more, but not showing everything he knew. An eventual escape would be easier if the hyper-vigilant knights didn’t have a complete study on Garrett Hawke.

Afterwards, the daily Chantry sermon and lessons about the Maker’s word, those took all the fun out of everything. Garrett could watch grass grow with more enthusiasm.

Chapter Text

Like that, Hawke joined the ranks. He was as polarizing as ever—but he at least half-belonged. If other mages happened to escape somewhere down the line, sharing his lessons with other magical folks, it wouldn’t bother Hawke at all.

But given the few years he needed to be at least as tall as Uldred, Garrett had real-life issues of his own to think about. And really only one person he thought he could talk to about it. Navigating the generally symmetrical hallways of Kinloch Hold, he found Wynne’s cozy office as a Senior Enchanter. It looked more like a small cottage with the rug, a kettle over the fire, and worn sofas near packed bookshelves. She glanced up before he even announced himself.

“Hawke!” She put down her quill and gestured to the seat across from her. “Come in and sit, dear boy.”

“When I first got here, I was a boy. Can’t I go by something else at 15?” Hawke teased her because she knew to expect that from him, but he sat in the plush chair anyway.

“I’m afraid you’re still a child to me.”

“A shame that’s not true for everyone,” Hawke muttered, hinting at what he wanted to talk about. His suspicions weren’t the kind folks just blurted out. Hard to walk them back after that, if they were received badly, and he knew better than to go around declaring truths in the Chantry’s shrine to repression.

Her smile dropped to something practiced. She stood the way old people did, almost gracefully with careful motion, and closed her door. Wynne took open-door policies seriously. Seeing it shut was rare. Usually, it meant some mage or another was in crisis, but even a place so hungry for gossip tended to keep a lid on it when Wynne was the confidante. Speculation was reserved for the truly unliked. Hawke made waves before, and sometimes still, but no one hated him that much. Wynne settled in at the desk again where the wall-mounted torches framed her. No windows unless you were about to endure your Harrowing. That’s when they broke out the stained glass affairs. Wynne clasped her hands on the table.

“Whatever you tell me, it stays between us if that is what you would like.”

“I don’t know what to do, actually. Templars are different around me now.” Hawke fought the urge to slouch, his mother’s lectures echoing in his head. He scooched forward in his seat to make it less tempting. “They watch me all the time, and not like usual. It’s—weird. Like they want something from me. One night, I woke up, and a Templar was in my room just watching me sleep. If he’d known I was awake, maybe he’d do whatever he came there for.”

“I can guess,” Wynne spoke with all the grave air of an elder mage, and that make Hawke feel worse than having that Templar at his back. This was serious. That meant he had to do something. He hated when he had to get involved, because it was never as simple as it looked. Garrett let himself slouch back in the seat to make up for it. “Mages often seek company of that nature with other mages, typically of their own age—or close to it. Templars have been another option for us. I had a child with one myself, while we are sharing in confidence.”

“You…?” She waved it off with a flick of her hand, and he left it there. Even if curiosity was eating him alive. He preferred her topic to the point she was making. Wynne leaned forward to emphasize that very same point. Garrett chewed at his cheek.

“But if you choose to take someone to your bed, it should be exactly that: a choice.”

“So, do I report the Templar in my room?”

“Do you have evidence? Anything to show his intentions?”

“Not really, he didn’t leave anything behind.” Hawke shrugged with one shoulder, staring off at one of her crowded bookshelves. She loaned them out to trustworthy mages sometimes. One at a time for the ones she wasn’t sure about, at least until they proved they would bring them back in good condition. She let him have a couple out at once. He shrugged again. “I think it was Leon.”

“Your word, sadly, will not be enough.” Shaking her head, Wynne let out a heavy breath. She usually seemed above things like time. Like she’d been born wrinkly and as endless as the seasons. Seeing how the firelight almost weighed on her like a physical thing… Hawke fought the unease clawing up his back. What good would that do? “The Circle is meant to provide mages a way to help the world. We earn our place by wielding magic responsibly, and others will not fear us. But as with any situation such as ours, some people take advantage.”

“We can’t leave, and people don’t believe us over Templars.”

“Very astute,” Wynne answered, remorse dragging the compliment down. Her gaze turned so intense that he felt too much like the kettle steaming in her fireplace. “You must be careful. Pretending to be asleep spared you then, and it kept you from being punished for defending yourself. That was wise.”

“You think it’s going to get worse.”

“And if that happens, you come to me or Irving.” Gesturing towards the Grand Enchanter’s office in a vague sense, Wynne gave him the next steps while Hawke was back on the first. Realistically, he knew things could get worse. But this was all-new territory for him. It’s not that no one ever creeped on anyone when you lived as an apostate. Usually, he wasn’t on his own. Garrett had a place to run to where he’d be safe, but there was no running from the Circle. They frowned upon that, actually. Wynne carried on while he stared at the steady mist coming from the kettle’s spout. “He protected me when I became pregnant, even though it was a risk to him. We have learned how the rules work and how to safeguard our own. We will take care of you.”

“After the fact, though.” He wasn’t a Circle veteran, but he knew enough for that much. Hawke faced her again and scowled. “When the worse bit has already happened.”

“I’m sorry. We have nothing else to report on, and we cannot monitor you without making our plans obvious. If you step forward with this allegation and no evidence, you will simply make enemies of the Order.” Wynne stood again, putting a hand on his shoulder. She would’ve been a decent mother if not for this awful place. What guardian let a teenager fend for himself? “Until we are certain we will succeed, we cannot make a move.”

“Sounds like you know this story.” He forced a grin and she took her hand away. “Deal with this often?”

“Hawke—”

“You said I’m just a child,” Hawke brushed off her hand, getting up. “I don’t feel like this is a child’s problem.”

“I am sorry, Hawke. I wish we had more to do.”

Garrett let himself out of her play-pretend cottage of an office. She was sensible enough not to follow, and part of him hated her for it.

So. Garrett wasn’t a special case, and he wasn’t getting help.

One truth was the same: Hawke knew a bad situation could always get worse. At least if he tried to escape, the downward spiral would be his own damn fault.

Anything was better than waiting for bad things to come and find him, or resorting to whatever it was Uldred was always hinting at. The man was in a place of relative power compared to most mages, despite how Wynne and others didn’t much like him. Rumors about him had no problems circulating. The modest power he held didn’t seem like enough for him. He wanted self-ruling Circles out from under the Chantry at any cost, and Hawke wanted to turn into a dragon to fly away from this horrible place. Both seemed equally likely.

His next chance came on an assignment for the Circle. They were supposed to be gathering supplies, harvesting herbs out in the wilderness to make potions because there weren’t enough people around to do it during the autumn festivals. A mage fell down a hidden ridge and got hurt. Templars and other mages flocked to her, and Garrett took his chance to duck into the nearby forest.

Better than the last forest escape, hopefully.

He took a winding, hidden path and cast small spells behind him to try and cover his path. Wind for leaves and water for mud. If the Templars had to double back and get his phylactery after doing a manual search, Garrett had that much more time. His lungs were burning from running and a little overcasting when he spotted a village tucked against a hillside. Risky during Ferelden thaws, when mud and water might run down the slope and crash into their homes. But some places just were too stubborn to be anywhere else.

The smell of roasting nuts and spiced cider pulled him in, and he almost forgot to hide his staff behind a cluster of bushes before waltzing into the village.

He explores the festival and watches people dancing around a big bonfire. At least, big for the size of the settlement. Performers entertained onlookers. Kids ate sweets as their grandparents told some tale or another. Teens danced with each other, all while their parents smiled or frowned.

Garrett would find his own family soon. He could put this right.

“You alone, son? I don’t recognize you,” a food vendor said, eyeing him suspiciously. She had a scar across her forehead that suggested she knew how to fight.

Outsiders. Right. He was one.

“Oh, yeah, just—” Traveling didn’t work. That wouldn’t explain the Circle robes either. He had nothing on him, not even a pack. Selling wares made even less sense. He came from the woods—if this merchant would notice that kind of thing—and it didn’t seem like this place had a tavern. All this woman had to do was ask around if anyone had someone renting a room in their house, and she’d know there was an apostate in their midst. Or a criminal, but that was less worrisome than an abomination to most strangers. Unfortunately.

“There you are!” A short elf called out to Garrett, and he tried not to look surprised when the man pulled him into a tight hug. “I told you to stay close! Thanks, Nadine, he really cannot be left alone.”

“Hmgh,” the dwarf seller grunted and went back to her work. Money to be made, and she was satisfied with a local stepping in. The strange teenager could be someone else’s problem.

Garrett, of course, wasn’t so quick to let that drop. Strangers weren’t always the best when they realized someone was in need. Desperation meant lowered standards—and he wasn’t looking to trade out Templar jailers for new ones.

“Thanks and all, but I don’t want to be a bother.”

“Oh, nonsense,” the elf said, patting his forearm. “I used to be First in my clan, studying under the Keeper. I know when to lend a hand.”

“The First,” he mumbled, getting tugged along by the surprisingly strong elf. “So you’re…?”

“Here to help, yes,” he paraphrased again. Keepers were mages, so to study under one, this man had to be one too. Unless he was lying. He stopped their journey at the edge of the festival with a human man sorting apples into different baskets. “My husband, Johannes, is less gifted with it. But he does his best.”

“Always for you, my darling Mircea,” the man answered and leaned down to kiss the elf. “Who are we taking in now?”

“He’s like our lost little one,” he said, and something else was behind that already tragic sentence. It wasn’t a code word for ‘let’s keep this apostate in our basement as a pet’ when it made Johannes look so gutted. “Give him your cloak, would you, dear?”

“Of course.”

He untied the simple wool garment and wrapped it around Hawke’s shoulders for him. Irrationally, Garrett got the silly impulse to cry a little. Johannes tied the cloak in place while Mircea pressed an apple into his hand.

“Why don’t we get you home, sweetheart? Seems like the festival tired you out.”

“Yeah,” Hawke agreed, biting into the fruit to avoid the stinging in his eyes. The married men walked on either side of him to guide him to their place. He swallowed, staring at the bitten apple. “Yeah.”

Chapter Text

It wasn’t a big home. Most places weren’t, unless he went and visited rich folks for some reason. Mircea and Johannes lived in a cottage that was one main room and two bedrooms off it. The common area was kitchen, living room, and storage alike. The fireplace kept the whole area warm enough to be better than the outdoors. Preserved food lined shelves by the hearth and sat in stacks on shelves on the opposite end of the cottage. Closed windows kept it dim until Mircea snapped the candles and torches to life. Decorations were few and far between, and the worn table in the middle of the room had some knit seat covers to make the space more inviting for any guests the couple might have. Having not one but two private bedrooms was a pretty big deal—especially considering Mircea was a mage. Apostates didn’t tend to put down roots.

Johannes pulled out a wooden chair for Hawke, and his husband drifted off to the kitchen.

“I’ll make tea,” Mircea explained as he walked over to the fireplace. He filled a well-maintained kettle with an indoor pump that Hawke wasn’t expecting to see there.

“Thank you,” Johannes answered, taking a seat next to Garrett. He wasn’t confident about what to do besides biting into the apple again. “You can borrow some of my clothes. Might be a little loose in the shoulders, but it’ll do.”

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful for your timely rescue, but… Why? Why help me?”

“Our little girl, Grace.” The man didn’t offer more for a few quiet moments, staring off at the storage shelves across the cottage. Hawke learned at some point when he should be quiet. He usually didn’t manage that, but for once, he pulled it off. Johannes came back from wherever he went in his mind to finish up the story. “She had a fit in the market as a toddler. Kids, they do that. They just don’t usually shoot little sparks when they do.”

“Oh,” Hawke mumbled. The apple was mostly core in his hands. “No, not really.”

“It wasn’t our village. No one would lie for us, and the Templars saw her besides.” Johannes absently held out a hand for the core, and Hawke put it in his palm. Mircea brought over a covered tin and lifted the lid for Johannes to add to the scraps. Probably good for farming. He went back to the kitchen area with a gentle squeeze of his husband’s shoulder. “We don’t even know where she is. Delivering her into the world nearly killed me, if not for Mircea’s magic, and they took her from me.”

Mircea returned with tea at the perfect time, kissing Johannes’ temple as he passed out cups. They were so much more tactile than he expected. Maybe the Hawke family wasn’t that into affection, and this is what families were typically like. Could be he should give Carver more hugs than headlocks. Garrett stared into the depths of his green tea to give them a little privacy. Pregnancy was always risky. Hawke helped deliver his own siblings, alongside a midwife that barked orders to keep Mother alive. Even Father had been part of it. Apostates didn’t have many choices when it came to medicine—it was all hands on deck, and they weren’t exactly expecting twins at the time.

Mother must’ve been heartbroken out there. Two children taken away, and she couldn’t find them. Perhaps she’d be comforted that Garrett was with someone who knew what that felt like.

“I wish you could stay,” Mircea admitted, settling into a chair with a warm cup of tea for himself. “But we can send you to another contact. People who help apostates escape the Chantry. Now that Nadine has seen you, she’ll be telling others. Mages draw attention, and someone will turn you in to protect the village.”

“But we can get you ready for the rest of your journey. We have time,” Johannes added, recovered a bit by holding Mircea’s hand under the table. They weren’t subtle about it, and Hawke smirked. “Enjoy the festival. No one will do anything before then.”

It’d been years since Garrett went to a festival. The first time, he grew out a patchy beard and threw his siblings in big cloaks. He shaved the day after and burned the cloaks. Before all that, it looked a lot like this. People were dancing in the town square, and there was some kind of contest around a barrel. Musicians kept up a tune. Shopkeepers like the one who spotted him earlier peddled wares. Garrett didn’t fight the smile as he ducked into the crowd. Johannes’ clothes were a little loose in the shoulders like he said, but he would live. The first stop was the barrel, where kids and other teens were dunking their own heads into water to bite at floating apples. The prize was the apple, which was good enough when Garrett got one on his third try.

He played with it like a ball between bites, and once it was done, Hawke was free to dance with all the folks he liked. Girls, guys, and anyone between. One beautiful dance partner shared their canteen with him, so Garrett turned in for the night smiling and feeling a little warm and fuzzy.

“Glad you had fun,” Johannes greeted him with a small laugh, and Mircea shuffled him off to bed. Garrett was drifting off when he thought, against all odds, maybe this network of theirs could tell him where Bethany was. Wouldn’t it be grand, coming home with his sister? He’d never show his face without her if he could help it.

The village was so quiet at night, even with townsfolk patrolling on occasion, that Hawke woke up when he heard the clinking metal. No one here could afford a suit of forged armor. Never mind several suits. The fog of sleep cleared fast, and Garrett was up on an elbow with one leg out of the bed when the front door shattered inward. Or that’s what it sounded like. Hawke should’ve jumped out the window, probably, left so the couple wouldn’t be caught with an apostate. One with a phylactery. But his stupid sense of heroism led Garrett right into the main area of the home. He brought this on Mircea and Johannes, and he couldn’t just abandon them.

They must’ve forgotten to ask him about the phylactery too—or maybe they expected him to have destroyed it before trying to run. Hawke should have. It was stupid that he didn’t, so stupid, and his father would’ve scolded the skin off his ears if he’d known Garrett had been that foolish.

And to double down on it, he walked right into a Templar. Her armored arms wrapped around him too tight, and he kicked as hard as he could. Mircea was held down by two Templars, and Johannes was on his knees pleading with the knights.

“They don’t know,” Garrett screamed, feeling the Templar holding him start to weaken her grip. “I just said I was lost!”

“He’s a boy, he’s only a kid,” Mircea insisted, wriggling under the Templars.

“Every mage is a danger.”

The captain came out, of all people, and Hawke should’ve felt special. She nodded her winged helmet to have him dragged out. Apparently, all of them. Mircea was hauled to his feet. Johannes got grabbed by the elbow and shuffled out to keep up with the knight bringing him outside.

“As are the people who protect them,” the captain finished her sentence. “Burn the place down.”

Mircea slumped when the Templars let him go, and Johannes was there to catch him. Whatever the couple said to each other, Garrett didn’t hear it. The Templars were bringing him back to Kinloch Hold. He could feel the heat of that couple’s home burning down at his back, and all Hawke could tell himself was that he’d never fuck up like this again. The next escape would have to be perfect. No matter how long it took.

Chapter Text

No one hated Hawke enough to gossip, but no one liked him enough to risk getting caught in the blast radius of his mistake. It landed him straight in the cells. Most rooms had no windows, given the way the tower was built. But the cells were made special for that. Darker than the shared rooms and halls of residential areas, it swallowed up most light. The torches were placed just so to keep it dark where prisoners stayed. Templars carried their own torch, but it wasn’t a relief to see them. Hawke preferred the shadows to sneering knights. Though there were small grates for draining water, it always seemed damp in the corners and along the chain-mounted board that was his bed. It hung in the air, thin but pervasive. He couldn’t hear anyone from the floors above, living life as if he didn’t exist, or below with storage for magical resources. It was just Hawke, that moldy smell, and a chill that burrowed into everything.

Guests were allowed. If they were influential enough. Wynne came around the most, and not just because Irving was probably busy. Hawke didn’t need to be told that The First Enchanter couldn’t let Templars think he was compassionate about attempted escapes.

“I told you to be careful, Hawke,” Wynne exhaled, settling in on a stool she apparently brought with her. The lantern she carried stretched light through his cell. He lifted a hand, blinking until his eyes adjusted. Once he lowered his hand, he realized she looked like he left her. Garrett was sure that same couldn’t be said of him. Not after the community beating the Templars gave him. There were three knights on him, and two keeping watch to make sure it didn’t get to the point where they needed a healer. Couldn’t be too careful when abusing your ward. Even the ones that could heal themselves, staff or not, once you weren’t looking.

Most things like that, prison guards were better off not knowing. He scooted forward to avoid having to stand and walk over with all the aches that healing couldn’t touch.

“This isn’t my fault,” Hawke snapped. “They wanted to hurt me, and you wanted me to wait until they did. I wasn’t just going to let them.”

He didn’t know how long he’d been down here, because they would never let him know. Garrett asked once. After the guard spit on him and kept walking, he figured that was his answer. Long enough that he only had bruises from his beatings. Left there so no one would ask questions or think someone else had helped Hawke. Maker forbid. Wynne leaned forward, the lantern clanking faintly against the bars.

“And now you’re here, being hurt worse by more than Leon.” Wynne passed wrapped food through the bars, smooth and cautious. “You’re vulnerable to other Templars who would harm you as well.”

“I’m to blame for that?!” Snatching the extra food, Hawke tried not to feel grateful for it. He deserved enough to eat regardless of what he was born with or where they kept him because of that. He turned it over in his hands, examining the fabric keeping the food together. Felt like bread and jerky. Garrett tucked it into a fold in his robes for safekeeping and kept his scowl just for Wynne. “They’re supposed to be guards. Why should I have to protect myself against the people meant to be protecting me?”

“This is where we live, and we must all make the best of it.” She took a deep breath, which was brave given that the chamber pot was on the opposite side from where they were sitting. Right by where Templars typically came in, so he might be caught in torchlight anytime he went to use it. Those little details made to humiliate were a free service in the Circle. Wynne rested a hand over her abdomen and smiled sadly. “The Templar Order leads us on behalf of the Chantry. When we must defend ourselves, we do so by their rules.”

“The ones that let me get hurt anyway while the adults all stand around doing nothing. Makes sense.”

“We could have helped you gather evidence. Once you brought your complaints before the Order, they would have to listen.” Everything Wynne said made sense in the way that most adults made sense. Hardly at all. They went with how things were, because that’s how they’d always been, and no one showed any backbone or creativity. Well. Some did. But those were the ones getting their bones broken while the rest watched on, lantern and sorrowful looks at the ready. If only the poor fool had just followed along like we do. Change was sure to come eventually, after most of us had died anyway. Wynne tried to catch his gaze, and he turned away. She reached through the bars to touch his shoulder. “We weren’t going to do nothing.”

“You might as well have,” Hawke insisted.

She exhaled through her nose and stood, collecting her stool with the careful motion of someone with weary joints. Her lantern made a circle of light that gradually disappeared into the dark stone halls.