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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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.

It was difficult to apply pressure when he's being swept into Fenris' arms. It's a good reminder that his friend is incredibly strong, stronger than Hawke who was taller and had more muscles. More obvious muscles. Fenris clearly had his own given how easily he picked up Hawke's large frame.

"Yeah, shelter first. Somewhere to stay out of sight," he mutters, pressing the cloth to the cut across his side. The arrow kept his shoulder from bleeding badly but it would be a bastard to pull it out. He's not looking forward to that.

Whatever shelter Fenris finds Hawke puts his back to the wall and keeps his eyes on the entrance.

"They must have red lyrium," he mutters. "Smite shouldn't be this strong."

He strains as he reaches for his magic but the block is still there. He grunts in frustration and kicks his heel against the floor.

Carrying Hawke as he is, it's a slower walk than if he was without the weight, but faster than dragging his ailing friend. It doesn't take long for him to find an burnt out home just shortly in the opposite direction of where the Templars' fled - the roof swayed with decay but the walls still up, door still intact, sturdy. It will do well to keep them out of sight and hidden in the treeline, gave them a reprieve enough to wait out the smite, for Hawke to heal himself.

Setting the man on his feet, Fenris moves to shut the door, grabbing some debris of a fallen beam to make the door harder to open from the outside.

"To think the use of red lyrium has made it this far.." Fenris doesn't sound surprised but he does sound like he had hoped otherwise. Opening his pouch, he pulls out an injury kit and starts to take out salves and more cloth. Before traveling with Hawke, Fenris would just have to mend himself with normal first aid and potions. And while he's not had much reason for potions as of late, he still carries around basic first aid.

"Stopping the bleeding is paramount -- here, let me," his voice brooks no argument as he moves the man's hand from the injury and starts to unbuckle armour and straps, lifting the armour away from the wound on Hawke's side. He hides the wince of sympathy before he gets to work. Carefully, he spreads salve over the weeping wound, then takes the cloth and presses it firmly against it, trying to staunch the bleeding.

"The Inquisitor said a demon took control of the Templars but no one knows when. It could have been spreading since the Mage-Templar war broke out." Hawke hisses through his teeth as Fenris tugs his armor off and away from his injuries. It hurts but is necessary.

"They're disrupting the spread as much as they can." Hawke presses his hand over Fenris' against the wound, breathing slow and steady as he ignores the pain and tries his best to force his mana to come back even though there's a damn smite still holding it back.

He slumps a little more as the salve does its work. "I should've been more careful."

If he'd been paying better attention he could have stopped this from happening. He's certain of it. Yet, he hadn't been aware enough. He'd let himself get smited it felt like. Foolish and stupid but it's hard to be sensible when he's bleeding so much.

"We'll have to travel carefully from now on. More Templars will come." Hawke does not want to find out what red lyrium would do to Fenris' tattoos.

There is a stillness to Fenris when Hawke puts his hand over his own. No stiffness, nothing tense, just a stillness as he continues to put pressure on the wound. He cannot say why he feels the sudden need to not move unnecessarily and potentially dislodge the man's hand, but he wants to keep it there, touching his own.

With a blink he listens to Hawke's explanation, of what's happened to the Templars' where red lyrium is concerned. To think it's spread so far, that the Templars have gone to such extremes. Once he supported the Templars in many ways, but to see them so fallen he cannot help but find himself disgusted with their actions. To see what they have done to Hawke, he cannot help but find himself questioning--

These weren't thought for now, but for another time, for now he needs to stay vigilant to what is happening around them, listen for any rustling or foot steps while his companion is incapacitated.

"We did not anticipate their number or strength, but they did not anticipate me being with you... we will need to be more cautious, they will not be so caught off guard next time," they know now that Hawke doesn't travel alone. That enough was something to be cautious of, let alone everything else.

"We will push into the night for the next couple days, that should allow us to out pace them for the moment."

"We might risk a ship," Hawke suggests, frowning at his own idea. "Cross the Waking Sea into Nevarra and stay in Nevarran territory until we're in the Anderfels."

It's so much more risky than his walk through Orlais to the Anderfels which would keep him well clear of the Free Marches and Sebastian's damned war against Kirkwall. It skirted the border of the Tevinter Imperium where Fenris would be the most at risk. It also meant civilization and the risk of someone discovering him.

Hawke kicks the ground in frustration, his whole body straining for just a trickle of magic that he poured into healing the wound on his side. It slowed some of the bleeding but left Hawke exhausted.

There is a source nearby. Hawke can feel the pulse of lyrium under Fenris' skin. A source he could use but the very idea makes him sick. He would never use Fenris that way even with their hands pressed together and his innate sense reminding him of how he could have his magic back very quickly. Not even on death's door would he take that from Fenris.

"I've got a bit of coin from Varric and the Inquisitor," he pants. "Shave my beard and maybe trim my hair and it might be safe enough."

Fenris didn't like this idea at all, but he saw the merit in it. Saw that it could work in their favor if things went well, but it would be dangerous now and after. He frowns at Hawke's kicking, the staining cannot be helping the situation, even if he can feel the gentle pulse of magic under his hand - a hand that was still covered Hawke's.

"Still yourself, you do not want to aggravate your wounds trying to get your magic back," he moves to straddle the man's legs, sitting on them, to keep him still. He knows it must be hard for Hawke to be separated from his magic, but having a tantrum wouldn't make it come back any faster and Fenris was worried for the man's wellbeing. Exhaustion lined the man's handsome face.

"I have coin as well, not much, but if we pool together there will be enough to ferry us.. But it is a dangerous path, it will put us in the Free Marches and eyes on us both.. Even if you can mask your appearance, I cannot." His markings always show through, it was hard to hide who he is and that close to Tevinter is likely to have eyes on the look out for someone of his appearance.

Nor does he have absolute control over his markings, if they run into a bad situation, he will most definitely give himself away, especially in defense of Hawke.

"It's risky.. but if you think it best, I will follow your lead as always."

"This isn't the first time I've almost bled to death," he points out stubbornly. He could probably throw Fenris' weight off him exactly once if he managed to take his friend by surprise. Then Fenris would sit on him and stay on with that ridiculous strength of his. It's not worth the fight it would start. Hawke just wants his magic back.

Fenris shouldn't have to defend his useless self because he was stupid enough to get caught in a Templar's smite. He should be able to fight and defend himself on his own as he had done since leaving Kirkwall.

"The downside of Varric's book," he huffs out a breath, still straining slightly for his magic. He didn't kick out just tensed his muscles as he tried to break through the smite. "Neither of us expected I'd be a wanted fugitive at some point but maybe we should have thought ahead. I was always an apostate."

Ah, those carefree days in Kirkwall when he had felt protected by his Champion title and his fame. Hawke misses them now that the fame has turned into infamy instead.

"I don't know if it's best, Fenris. I've been making it up as I go."

"It is not, no but while I am here I won't allow you such a fate," yes Fenris could be thrown off once, because right now he was merely using his weight to weigh Hawke down, nothing more. Though, if he must he will pull out his strength to get the man to settle down and not start to bleed out again when he's only just got the bleeding to slow down.

He can still see the man still tensing, trying to break through the smite and heal himself. To watch him struggle so much is disconcerting, he never would want this for Hawke, no matter how he feels about mages, he finds himself wanting to kill the templar that did this to Hawke all over again.

"None but one could have anticipated how things would shift in an instant. No matter how much you both thought ahead, it seemed improbable that you would fall out of favor," he doesn't mention Ander's name, but they both know who that one person was. There's a bitter note to even mention him slightly, Fenris never liked the man, but he despises him for what he did, especially how he used Hawke. Fenris is a very loyal and honest elf, he cannot even fathom doing such to his friend.

"And have you not always been making it up as you go? I have followed you for a long time now, Hawke, your lack of foreplanning is not unknown to me."

"You didn't think I could have learned in the time since Kirkwall?"

Hawke has learned many things since Kirkwall. Most of them were about how to survive on the run and keep himself hidden. He hasn't exactly learned to be a careful and reasonable planner. He's learned to be careful. He's learned to be a touch paranoid. He's learned to be wary. Planning? That hasn't been a priority.

He takes a deep breath, then another. The key to spirit healing, as Anders had explained it years and years ago, was getting a spirit's help. He had to give up his offensive magics to attract the right kind. Hawke has no idea if he can reach a spirit when the smite is in place but he tries to settle himself.

Fenris' weight on his legs oddly helps. The weight and warmth of him helps anchor Hawke in the moment. It also reminds him he's safe. He has someone to watch his back as he tries to slip into the trance state.

He finds when he settles the smite is weakening and there's a little crack in it that he can slip through to reach the Fade. His whole body glows faintly light blue as he trickles the healing magic through that crack and start to stitch the wounds back together magically.

He just gives Hawke a raise eyebrow look that says really? have you? that speaks volumes. Because he knows full well there are some things you can learn, but the patience to be a careful planner is not really something he sees the man excelling at. He was always excellent at flying by the seat of his pants and it working out. Though, he has noticed growth in being careful, like an injured bear.

When Hawke starts to relax instead of throwing a panicked tantrum, Fenris finds himself relaxing too. It hadn't even been something he noticed, but he was tense from watching Hawke bleed out while panicking. It wasn't often that the man lost his cool, so to see it put Fenris on edge, but now that Hawke was relaxing to find his magic again, Fenris didn't feel like Templars were going to bust down the door any second.

Not that he didn't remain highly vigilant.

The blue glowing shows him when the magic comes back, so when he looks at the arrow still in the man's shoulder, he frowns. While it was useful to keep it in the wound earlier to keep from bleeding too much, it would be better if that was out for this..

"This will hurt," is the only warning he gives before he braces the man's shoulder back against the wall with one hand and yanks the arrow with the other.

The pain flares white hot in his shoulder. Hawke chokes on a scream and once again he bucks underneath Fenris' weight. The meditative state he was in vanishes in a puff of smoke like he never managed it in the first place.

He slumps forward, his other hand grabbing Fenris' shoulder to keep himself upright. The blood flows hot down his shoulder. He needs to heal it and he will in a minute. Just a minute while he gets his senses back together and doesn't throw up all over himself and Fenris. He's been shot by arrows before many times and removing them has never gotten easier for his body to handle.

It takes a few minutes before Hawke manages to enter a spirit healing trance but the crack in the smite that held his power back is wider now. The smite is failing. He heals himself faster and better than before. What's a few new scars to add to his collection? Doesn't matter.

"Andraste's swinging dick," he mutters, blinking back tears. "To the void with your 'this will hurt'."

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