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Sometimes Hawke felt a pang of jealousy whenever he hears the banter between Adaar and the crude elf, Sera. The rogue was always around her—be it in the same breathing space, or at least within a ten metre radius. The pair would bicker about almost anything—sometimes it was playful and teasing, other times they’d fight about being less reckless in battle or other smaller disagreements.This time, Sera fussed about the shoulder wound that Adaar had sustained earlier that morning. The camp was attacked by stray darkspawn that crawled their way out of the Abyssal Rift as they neared Adamant Fortress. The archer was focused on a kill-shot to rid Cassandra of the darkspawn on her rear and the Tal-Vashoth used her own body to shield her partner from an incoming arrow. The smaller woman insisted that Adaar use her healing magic to close the wound, but the saarebas refused knowing how much magic bothered her. Besides, once this heals, I get a cool new scar to show off to people and I can tell them that I got it from defending my girlfriend.It reminded Hawke of Fenris—a name that made his heart ache, and the Champion drowned his emotions in the sole comfort of a bottle whenever he thought about what happened to him.There was not much Hawke could recall during the first two months he set out alone—there was quiet, traveling, and a whole lot of nothingness in-between. The man stuck to a routine of sleeping, walking, hunting, and eating. He would wash himself on two occasions: when there was a nearby body of water, or when Hawke couldn’t stand his own stench any longer. He traveled alone with no direction, spoke to almost no one, and most times even turned a blind eye on the helpless. The mage-templar war across the lands left a lot of bodies to rot, and a lot times those corpses held a coin or two. Hawke carried no staves with him, nor was he with any form of armour—having left his mantle of the Champion by the fire with his companions. Here was a man who had lost the will to live, and wandered Thedas in search of a way to die.But he wasn’t about to die by some nobody’s hand. ･ﾟﾟ･ . ･ﾟﾟ･ . ･ﾟﾟ･ .Say goodbye to Varric for me. Those were his last words to Adaar. He’d passed the baton of Inquisitor to her so easily because he knew she had it in her to deliver the final blow against Corypheus. He’d had his chance in the Vimmark Mountains and apparently, it only made things worst. He didn’t deserve the title of Champion, what more Inquisitor? Adaar was the best of them. She was the one who made the strong decisions when no one else wanted to. She was the one with the silver tongue when it came to recruiting agents into the Inquisition. She was the one with the will to live her best life and save the fucking world.The least he could do was give her a chance.The decision came to him without a second thought. To him, this was his only chance. This monstrosity of a demon could probably do what all those bandits, mercenaries, and Templars couldn’t do. Hell, even Meredith couldn’t kill him. Hawke wasn’t afraid to die—he’d been trying all these years, an apostate mage alone on the road. The man got drunk in taverns, picked fights with suspicious looking fellows, and even caused a ruckus to help a family flee once, making his magic known to rile up nearby Templars in hopes that they’d kill him or render him tranquil. None prevailed. No one stood a chance against the former Champion of Kirkwall, even when he was at his lowest.Grabbing hold of some of the disgusting tentacles and coiling it round his arm, Hawke yanked hard with all the strength he could muster and the demon let out an ear-splitting shriek. With his free hand, he sliced through its face with the blade of his staff, spewing out fluids onto him. In retaliation, the Nightmare’s pet spider-demon sank one of its talons clean through his shoulder and the mage unleashed a flurry of inferno spells that rained on the demon. It threw Hawke against a rock wall, then thrashed and screeched until it finally curled up in a charred ball, dead. Using his staff, Hawke tried to stand but as he did so he felt the poison rush through his bloodstream. The pain that shot through his whole body was numbing, and the weakened Champion buckled under his weight almost immediately. His mantle scraped against the debris and rocks when he tried to shift himself, and Hawke only managed to rest on his side by the time the numbness crept to his limbs. Why did Varric even keep this armour? Why did I even bother putting it on? Questions that would be left unanswered as Hawke’s life slowly drained away in the ghastly place. It was ironic—the Fade seemed much scarier during his Harrowing with his father. Demons posed as his parents, his siblings—loved ones dear to his heart.Now that everyone he ever loved was dead, the Fade was just another place to him. ‘Hawke?’ a voice echoed. It was a voice he knew by heart. It was a song that healed the hole in his heart. It was every emotion he had ever felt.