da_champion | On the Road

On the Road - For Unshod

The Storm Coast wasn’t much different from Crestwood. It rained almost constantly but there was a distinct lack of undead and the air had the smell of the ocean instead of rotting lake. But the rain was near constant. Endless. Driving Hawke insane even though he had on an oil slick cloak that kept him dry. One last gift from Inquisitor Lavellan before he left to head north to Wiessupt.

It didn't help him climb slick rock any but he wasn't soaked to the bone. Maybe he should have left from the desert but going back to Skyhold before he left to say goodbye to Varric and a quick resupply was better. Except for this miserable, Maker-foresaken weather.

When he heard the sounds of a fight a distance away on the beach he debated getting involved. It would slow him down and he was making slow progress already... but... he could take his bad mood out on whoever was causing trouble. A good fight would warm him up. The Inquisition had a presence here but they couldn’t be everywhere. Hawke would be doing them a favor by chipping in. He’d also get to throw a fireball which might actually warm him up a little.

He did not expect to see a familiar face cutting through Tevinter slavers. Hawke didn't even know there were slavers on this coast. There was no mistaking the distinctive flash of markings and the buzz of lyrium in the air. He could almost taste it in the back of his throat.

“Fenris!” Hawke shouted in greeting as he came quickly stumbling down the side of a not so steep cliff.

He reached the beach and threw his hand out ice lancing from his fingertips through a slaver. He made a gurgling sound before he fell dead. Spinning his staff around Hawke walked right into the fight. He was never one of those mages that stayed at a distance. He could throw a fireball but also run a man through with the bladed end of the staff.

Not that Fenris needed much help. He was perfectly capable of slaughtering slavers without any help even outnumbered five to one. They made short work of the slavers who seemed to be waiting for a ship to take them back to Tevinter with some kidnapped Dalish elves. Hawke kept back while Fenris freed them from their cages and shackles.

“Good to see you’re keeping busy,” he drawled when Fenris approached him.

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"Good," it was simple enough to say, it carried enough weight.

To think that people who were once friends were now fighting each other, were at odds with each other. All because Anders and his Vengeance-- He has much he could say on it, but doesn't. Hawke carries too much of that guilt when it was undeserved.

The silence is heavy with thought, but he makes no comment on it. Sometimes the mind was an overwhelming place, he understood that, knows what it is like to have a war with yourself. He doesn't know what is on the other man's mind, but he doesn't care to guess either.

The shack they find smells like fish and Fenris immediately curls his lip at it, a noise of disgust leaving him. His dislike of fish and the smell is no less than it used to be, though he still steps into the building to escape the rain. He knew better than to turn his nose up at it, he did not wish to sleep in this cursed rain.

"You think correctly," he looks around and sees a fire pit with some dry wood inside and nods while he takes off his cloak. "Let us start a fire and look for what supplies we can use for the night, it wouldn't do to catch our death to rain."

Hawke tosses some logs into the fire pit and then snaps his fingers. Flames spring to life between the logs and he feeds the fire with mana until it catches and burns naturally.

"Here." He drives his staff into the ground near the fire and then holds out a hand for Fenris' cloak. "Yours will dry better by the fire."

There's no oil treatment keeping the rain from soaking through Fenris' cloak like there is for Hawke's. He carefully drapes Fenris' cloak over his staff so it will be warmed by the fire and hopefully dry by tomorrow morning.

"I have some rations." The Inquisition tried to outfit him with supplies but it was difficult when there was no horse to carry it. Walking limited what he kept with him. "We can share those. Or I could go fishing?"

He's teasing, knowing full well Fenris doesn't like fish. Even though it's a simple matter of hurling lightning into the water to stun the fish to the surface.

Fenris doesn't hesitate to hand the soaked cloak to the other man when his hand is held out. It was strange to be around magic he trusted again, but it was incredibly convenient for starting a fire. It honestly brings a conflicted kind of softness to his face, before he turns away and digs through a chest.

"You can go fishing for yourself if you so desire, but I will not partake," he makes another disgusted noise. He would bear the smell since he knows food is not always easy to come by and should be partaken of when the chance strikes -- he would be unhappy, but he would deal.

Besides, it was almost nice to be teased once again. He forgotten what camaraderie felt like.

"I will partake of a ration -- here," he tosses an old musty blanket at Hawke, something that is beginning to become moth eaten but still fully functional. "It will do. There is little of else in here for us."

This place seems long without use, probably since the start of the war. The chest was mostly empty of anything of value or worth stealing, not that he intended to steal, but it did not escape his notice.

Hawke shakes out the blanket and it is indeed musty. None of his magical powers will help, unfortunately. He just has to endure the dusty old smell. It's the little things that make him miss having a home and a bed.

"Here." Hawke takes one of the ration packs from the small bag he carried under his cloak during the day. It had jerky, nuts, and a long lasting bread that would keep on the road well. "I'll go get some fish for myself. Though, maybe one the road we should hunt some things along the way."

He's not much of a hunter but that doesn't matter with magic. Hawke's eaten all sorts of creatures killed by magic. He's found his fire is good for pre-cooking and clearing off stubborn fur. Burning fur doesn't smell good though.

"I'll try and cook it outside for you."

Catching the ration one handed, he nods his thanks before returning to the fire to sit in front of it. He positions himself close, slowly taking off his gauntlets and letting them dry out by the soaked cloak, before warming his hands and feet by the fire.

"It will be nice to have your magic, faster in the hunt than I am," he wouldn't mind magically killed animals. Much faster than trapping or waiting to find something stupid enough to get close. Fenris had his speed and strength, but nothing long distance - most things that would be killed by him were predators, and they did not have the best meat.

He could appreciate Hawke's magic, even if he had a general distaste for the practice - he trusted the man and thus his magic as well.

"That would be appreciated, this place stinks bad enough as is," his lip curls in disgust. If it were anyone other than Hawke, he might tell them to eat it outside too, but this was Hawke. He can eat in the shack.

"It's not that bad. The Wounded Coast smelled worse." Hawke pats Fenris' shoulder on the way out. "If you hear me screaming 'it's a bear! it's a bear!" there's a bear."

Hawke goes outside towards the river a little ways away from the hut and waits to see shadows in the water before he launches a lightning bolt into the water. Then it's a bit of a scramble to collect the fish. He lays them out on the riverbank and simply roasts them with blasts of fire.

The riverbank is good because it doesn't catch while Hawke roasts the fish. They're probably overdone by the time he stops but it's good enough. He carries the hot fish back carefully, almost juggling them.

"Good news! No bears." Hawke grins at him as he shoulders his way inside.

"I wish you luck then," there's an amused note as he says it in parting. He would of course go out and help if that actually became the case, the bears around here can be dangerous and the smell of fish will likely draw them near, yet, he wasn't too worried. Hawke was capable of handling a bear long enough for him to join the fray.

While the man is out he shakes the excess water from his hair - it's longer than when they were last together in Kirkwall, he's thought about cutting it but never really has gotten around to it. He leaves it untied so that it dries faster while he picks at the ration he was given.

Fenris tucks some of the hair behind his long ear when the man returns with the stink of cooked fish, which is so much better than raw fish. Still his nose wrinkles as he takes a bite of jerky, chewing the dried meat.

"A surprise considering the feast you hold, surely they are lining up outside as we speak," there's teasing in his tone, though it's his normal dryness. "Come, the fire is warm," he wiggles his toes near the fire, letting them get nice and warm after being in the cold all day.

"May as well enjoy your meal while you shake off the damp."

Hawke puts his fish by the fire but he sheds a few layers of armor before he sits down. He's safe enough right now that he feels he can take them off. If they're attacked - by bears or otherwise - Fenris is there to help protect him. And damn if the armor doesn't get heavy after a whole day of walking around it it.

"What are your intentions in heading north?" he asks as he picks off pieces of fish to eat. "Getting closer to where you're wanted doesn't seem sensible."

Given that Hawke is wanted everywhere except Tevinter he could head that way except for the very real problem of wanting to kill every slaver he could find. He wouldn't remain un wanted in Tevinter for long.

He worries though about Fenris getting so close to the country that made him suffer so much. He doesn't want him captured and returned to chains either. Or executed. Hm. Maybe he might need to go with Fenris...

... but Carver...

Worrying about his friends is exhausting.

Fenris eats some nuts while he thinks about how to answer, because it was both complicated and simple and he wasn't sure how best to phrase it without causing concern. Was he going closer to danger? Yes, absolutely, but he didn't fear Tevinter - even if the idea of going closer to there again made his throat tight in a way he wouldn't admit. Made his markings ache like they could split open and bleed everywhere the closer he got.

Taking a breath he decides to answer as honestly as he will allow himself to admit. He's never been much of a liar.

"Perhaps not sensible, but necessary. They take advantage of refugees -- many flee north from the war, it makes sense then that I too should head that direction and cripple their slave trade at their doorstep," he stares into the fire as he speaks, disdain for Tevinter and their trade heavy on his tongue, but he looks at Hawke as he continues.

"I do not know how far north yet, only that I will go where my hunt leads," he should already know, should head towards Antiva, but part of him is hesitating.

All he can think about is how far it is from from Wiessupt.

Hawke hmphms. But Fenris is right. A lot of people are trying to escape the turmoil spreading across Thedas. The civil war in Orlais and the Mage-Templar business. Even the Breach and the Wardens. Everyone would flee somewhere and the North probably seemed safest. It wasn't. It never would be.

"The Inquisition offers some safety. They've made a few regions safe." Hawke flicks a few bits of fish bone into the fire. "And they've taken in many people. The Hinterlands is stable since they took control. But I can see Tevinter seizing any opportunity for more slave labor."

He sighs heavily. Fenris is right to go. His skills would be needed and he has the passion to make sure any slavers efforts are disrupted. It will be good work. It will be important.

"I'll make sure we get there then until it's time to go our separate ways."

Fenris thoughtfully chews on the hard bread, watching the bones that get flicked into the fire. "The inquisition has regions in hand, more of the south falls under their protection daily, but.. it is the north where their reach is weakest."

Crossing his legs, he thinks about how the nonsense with Starkhaven and Kirkwall likely scared people, caused enough chaos that people continued to move north. Not that Tevinter isn't constantly at war with the Qunari, but Antiva might be calm enough at this time. It was hard to tell. It felt like all of Thedas was up in arms and dealing with some world changing event or another.

Regardless, they will continue to pick off elves even if there wasn't a war and other events going on that make it easier. They have little fear of repercussions if they stay away from the Inquisition's reach, so Fenris would be their repercussion.

"And I too shall see you to the north until such time comes," something about splitting up again stung, but he doesn't examine it. But it bothered him enough that part of him considers offering to accompany him, but with how reluctant Hawke seemed.. he keeps the thought to himself.

"And what will you do after Wiessupt?"

The question is one Hawke's thought about himself here and there since he started on the road. What comes next?

"I don't know," he answers honestly. He smiles for a brief moment and then looks down into the fire. "I never was much for planning anything out in my life. I could go face the Chantry about what happened in Kirkwall. With the Inquisitor backing me I might get out of it alright."

Before now he's never had an ally as powerful as the Inquisitor. If he had shown up any time before now to try and explain to the Chantry what happened, the truth of it all, they wouldn't have listened and would have just executed him. Or publicly made him Tranquil. Now, he might have a chance.

"I could disappear." Hawke is thinking out loud now. "Just like before. Stay a fugitive and vanish into somewhere beyond Wiessupt. No matter how zealous the Templar they won't come looking that far north."

It's tempting. Hawke could be done with the world and all its problems. Let other people solve the mess he unintentionally helped make. "A hut like this. All the fish I can eat. What's not to love about the idea?"

Fenris immediately dislikes the first suggestion - as much as it might be safer now, they fled Kirkwall for a reason. It was too dangerous, especially for Hawke who would suffer the worst of it. There is a lot about the idea of Hawke made Tranquil that sits very very wrong with him, enough so that Fenris would not hesitate to take on the Chantry to protect the man.

His friend.

The second suggestion though.. Something about it also sits ill with him. It sounds lonely. Not for Fenris, not really since he imagines himself alone in his future, but.. For Hawke, a man who had been surrounded by people, who attracted friends with such ease of charisma, alone somewhere in a hut that smells like fish.

It seems almost unfathomable, though he does wish him the peace of no longer dealing with the Thedas' problems. Or being the blame for things that were beyond his control.

"You will need to do more than live in a fishing hovel if you wish me to visit you in your solitude," he folds up the waxed paper that was holding the ration, finished with his meal. "Unless your intention is to ward off visitors, which congratulations."

"Visitors wouldn't exactly be a good idea when I'm wanted by the Chantry," he feels the need to point out to Fenris. "I only helped the Inquisition because Varric asked."

And he would do anything his best friend asked. Hawke could not say no to Varric because he knew his friend would never take advantage of that. Unlike some other people in Hawke's life who took great advantage. Sure, helping the Inquisition was the right thing as well but if anyone else had asked Hawke would've focused on the Wardens and not the Inquisition.

"Carver would resent it if I stayed in Wiessupt too. He's grown up a lot with the Wardens but he doesn't need his older brother overshadowing him." Because that's always what happened when they were together. No one saw Carver when he stood in Hawke's shadow.

He tosses the last fish carcass in the fire and the blasts it with a white hot spout of fire to burn away everything so Fenris doesn't have to endure the stink. He shakes his hand out before tossing the remaining logs on the hot ashes. "It's a problem for another day, I think. Once I've solved this one. I can't make any decisions until I know what's become of Carver."

That was a fair fact, the man couldn't really know what he was doing after until he knew if his brother was safe. Were Carver not safe, if the worst had occurred.. Fenris can see it breaking Hawke to finally have the last of his family gone like that. He hoped it would not break him, that he might be able to hold the pieces together still, but what reason could the man have to hold it together?

It wasn't his business what Hawke did after. This wasn't his business either, they just happened to run into each other, happen to be going the same direction. It is hard to not feel sore over how the man would likely have sent him away yet again if it hadn't worked out. How he wants to disappear without any one to visit, without a trace. It feeds into the bitter part of himself that has made him more angry than sad, that vanished for an instant the second he saw Hawke again.

Fenris doesn't need companions, maybe this--

He shakes the thought from his head and watches the remains of the fish burn away in a fiery surge of magic. This was fine for now. It would be lying to himself to say he doesn't want to travel with Hawke as far as this takes him. For the other man's safety more than his own.

"Yes, we have a long way to travel yet before then," he stretches out his back before running his fingers through his still damp hair, trying to air it out so it will dry faster. "Hopefully with dryer weather."

"I think once we leave the accurately named Storm Coast we should be fine." Hawke inches back from the fire and props himself up against the back wall of the hut. He has a clear line of sight on the door and he moves his staff to be right at hand.

If anyone comes through for any reasons Hawke will have it ready with the bladed end pointed at them. It's been a long time since he traveled with companions though. Hawke still feels a little paranoia, a little fear when he closes his eyes to sleep but over the soft crackle of the small fire he can hear Fenris' breathing and it actually helps.

He's not alone. Maker, Hawke hates being alone. If he had any other choice... but he didn't. Not after what Anders did.

But for the first time since he left Skyhold's walls Hawke sleeps easily. He trusts that if someone does find him and come through that door Fenris will stop them as well. He doesn't have to fight alone and that makes all the difference in his usually restless and uneasy propped up sleep.

Even though in the Fade he can't help but search for Stroud with Guilt demons haunting him the whole time.

Fenris lets out a hum of agreement but says nothing else. The evening is growing late and rest should be had while they are able - who knows what awaits them in the night or morning. So, quietly he just watches Hawke set himself up for the night out of the corner of his eye. His own sword - a gift from Hawke that he's kept close ever since - is settled next to himself, at the ready to be picked up and used if the need arises.

But for now he silently rings some water from his cloak before settling with his own back to a wall, legs outstretched and toes near the fire's warmth. He's awake for a while yet, listening to the sound of rain pelting the top of the shack, to the soft pops and crackles of the fire, to the unfamiliar sound of breathing of Hawke nearby.

He's been relatively alone since he parted from his companions in Kirkwall, the tell-tale sounds of being in someone's company are almost foreign to him as they were when he first arrived in Kirkwall.

Yet, there is something soothing about Hawke's light sleep breathing, something that lulls him to sleep eventually as he listens to each soft intake and silent breath out. Honed training of being a bodyguard itch at him to stay awake yet--

Hawke is his friend, not his master.. So eventually he allows himself to be lulled alongside the man, getting some of the most restful sleep he's had since he killed Danarius.

Before the end Hawke was rather infamous for sleeping in as late as he could. It took his servants or one of his friends coming to make him get up before the middle of the day. That time feels like ages ago.

The sun isn't even up yet when Hawke wakes, his hand closing immediately around his staff as he gets his bearings. Right. Shack on the Storm Coast. Fenris traveling with him. He stares at his friend for a moment, unsure of how to feel with this mixture of relief and worry. If something happens to Fenris because they're traveling together....

He shakes his head as he gets to his feet. "Fenris," he says though he expects Fenris will wake quickly now that he's moving around.

"We've got a long way to walk, friend."

Fenris has always been a rather early riser, so he had figured to be the first up, but no, oddly it was Hawke wakes him. The sound of the man moving snaps him awake first, his only indication of being awake in how he goes even more still than he already was, taking in the sounds of what's going on around him as he catches his bearings. Why was someone so close by? How--

It's his name on Hawke's lips that remind him of the company he is in and that it is safe to blink open his eyes and relax from his stillness. Standing, he stretches his arms and legs carefully, working out the stiffness now for their walk ahead.

"Taken to rising early now? Never thought I'd see the day," he knows there is a long walk, one best started as early as possible, but for Hawke to wake even before him...

He checks his cloak before pulling on his gauntlets, it's almost completely dry, only the ends of it are damp. Though if the pelting rain on the roof is any indication he will be soaked soon enough regardless.

"It's been difficult to sleep these last few years," Hawke admits with a shrug. His oil slicked cloak is dry and what bits of his armor are still wet are tolerable. He'll live.

He hands Fenris another one of his ration packs and takes one for himself. With a wave of his hand he douses what is left of the bright coals in the fire. They can eat and walk.

And that is their routine as they walk north. They talk along the way. Hawke about the Inquisition and what he's done since Kirkwall. Fenris about Tevinter activity and what he knows about the city elf population. They rest in shelter when they can and sleep under the stars when they can't. Hawke is especially good at charming farmers into letting them sleep in barns.

The travel is good and relatively safe. Those bears do catch up to them eventually. And so does a group of Templars.

The smite catches Hawke off guard. He feels the second he can't reach his mana anymore and shouts in anger. Even being left with only his staff to fight with Hawke is formidable. An arrow catches him in the shoulder and then a slice across his side makes him stumble back. Oh, that's not good...

"Hawke!"

For someone who never shouts in battle, when he sees Hawke get struck with the smite he finds the man's name on his lips in a yell. Because even for all the ways Hawke's able to still hold his own, the man's power is immediately reduced. Fenris has never feared a Templar's smite as much as he does in this moment, not for himself but for his friend. Never known it as anything but a good way to stop rogue mages from doing more harm, but Hawke isn't a rogue mage - apostate yes, but - so to see his friend's magic locked away from him--

Fenris reacts to fear with anger most often - fear of magic, of mages, of slavery - so he lashes out at the Templar he's fighting, glowing lyrium bright and swinging his blade with much more force than necessary to cut this welp down.

And then he's moving towards Hawke to fight more defensively, cutting down each Templar that happens to be in his way - gaining his own cuts and bruises, but they are minor and ignorable. He detours to deal with the one fighting at long range, catching Hawke's stumble out of the corner of his eye and it fuels him further. They were in danger if Hawke fell before he could get to him.

He's wrist deep in the chest of the archer when he spots another going for Hawke. "Your left--"

For any other mage being cut off from his magic completely would be a death sentence. Other mages fought from the backlines and kept themselves out of the thick of it for very good reasons. Hawke is not a typical mage. Even bleeding and injured he turns to his left with his staff spinning around him.

To the Templar's great surprise Hawke closes the distance between them instead of running. He whips the staff around and slashes upwards to put the Templar off balance. It's easy enough when this one isn't used to a mage who fights like Hawke does. No mage fights like Hawke does. Probably because no one's ever been trained like Hawke.

He sweeps the jeweled end around, catches the Templar behind the calf and sends him to the ground with a physical shove at his chest. Hawke catches the man's sword across his upper arm for the move but the Templar's on his back at an incredible disadvantage. Hawke simply drives the bladed end of his staff through his unprotected throat and leaves him to bleed out in the dirt.

But he can't heal himself. His injuries are taking their toll. His shoulder burns with pain and the blood is hot under his armor. He tries to pull his mana to him to staunch the flow but nothing comes. The smite's block holds.

"Son of a..." he cruses as he brings his staff up again to keep fighting as long as he can.

It was one of the reasons he respected Hawke from the start despite the man being a mage was his ability to fight regardless of magic. He was a formidable foe with or without magic and yet still didn't give even the slightest inkling of being tempted by demons or blood magic. The man was truly what all mages should aspire to be.

The thoughts are fleeting as he crushes a man's heart in his fist and then throws the body at another who is pulling back an arrow at Hawke, making it fly off target. The Templars were barely doing more than trying to keep Fenris occupied while they focused on Hawke it seemed, but their inability to consider the threat that Fenris posed was their downfall. Because as the archer turns a stunned gaze on Fenris, the Elf had already closed the distance, bringing his sword down in a heavy strike on the man's head, cleaving into the helmet and making the Templar fall lifeless to the ground.

There was no mercy in his actions against the Templars, he's killed many at Hawke's side and would not hesitate to do so again, especially in defense of the man.

Running into the thinning fray, he phases through a sword swing as he brings his own sword in a swipe at the Templar's legs, knocking the man prone, but before the man can even connect with the ground, Fenris is bringing his great sword up and then back down to smash the man into the ground with a sickening crack.

Yet, as he turns his eyes to Hawke, he sees the man still bleeding, sees the lack of magic. "Damned.."

The scouting party of Templars didn't expect this much resistance. The remaining few started to flee back into the thick woods. Normally Hawke would be inclined to stop them with bolts of lightning. He couldn't let more Templars hear where he was last spotted but without his magic he couldn't put them down. He watches them run with a resigned satisfaction.

"Ow," he says once they're alone with the corpses. He leans a little on his staff as he moves from body to body searching the corpses for any useful information or supplies. Hawke's not above scavenging even when he hurts and really, he should do something about the bleeding first.

"Need to find shelter," he says with a grunt as he forces himself to his feet. "At least until this smite wears off."

He's never experienced one so powerful. He wonders if there's some red lyrium in these bastards. Always possible given the madness going on back south.

"Once it does, I'll heal myself and we'll push through the night. They might bring more friends." Hawke does not want to get caught by Templars right now. He's terribly busy and their vendetta against him can wait. He takes a few steps before he stumbles, catching himself with his staff, edges of his vision getting a little fuzzy.

"Damn it."

Fenris thinks to give chase, but Hawke is obviously still bleeding and injured and without magic - it would leave Hawke vulnerable and Fenris likely won't catch all of them anyway. It was the folly of him being a short ranged melee and Hawke without magic, all they could do was watch them run into the woods.

With a frown he sheathes his sword on his back and helps loot the corpses first and foremost, coin or supplies would go a long way to helping their journey. But once they have both looted the Templar corpses he looks at Hawke more closely - the amount of blood is concerning. The plan of action is good, makes sense, but as he sees the man stumble another more pressing worry comes to mind.

"We need to tend to your wounds, at least staunch the bleeding so that you're even conscious when the smite wears off," he's at Hawke's side, moving to support the man under his good arm.

Reaching into one of his side pouches, he pulls out a length of clean fabric - one that he's not yet had to use since traveling with Hawke - and presses it into the man's hand. "You're barely fit to stand, let alone walk in this state... Pressure on the worst one, I'll get us to shelter."

And with that, he doesn't even ask for permission before sweeping Hawke off his feet and into a bridal carry. It wasn't the easiest one, slinging him on his back for better weight distribution, but it would be harder for Hawke to tend his wounds while they walk. This way the man could keep pressure on the wound while not aggravating his other injuries.

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