#au based

[Confession: I made a BBU au where it’s a mix of Amanda the Adventurer where Billie has all the power while everyone else experiences the episodes and adventures with her for a taste of their own medicine (except for anyone who was close friends with her or a relative)

Varric woke to chaos.

“He’s missing! The Inquisitor is missing!” - Variants on that were spouted by dozens of unfamiliar voices.

Sparkler was calm when he finally picked up on the mage’s voice among so many others. The man bitched like a spoiled prince but his acting was right on up there with Nightingale’s. It was doubtless that he’d been just as shaken up as everyone else who’d been in the Fade. Let alone everything at Adamant in general. So far he hadn’t had any kind of major breakdown.

Curly and the Seeker were ordering people around like there was no tomorrow. Which, without the Inquisitor, was probably a lot closer to the truth than anyone wanted to actually admit out loud. Varric certainly wouldn’t want to.

Which made it stranger and stranger the longer he was left alone in his tent. Everyone else was up and moving but no one was coming to get him. He opted not to dwell on just why they most likely weren’t and dragged himself up to join the fray instead. Following the irate snapping of the Seeker’s voice, he tracked her down to ask how long they’d known about his absence.

Dawn, which it still was, and his bedroll had been completely cold. The tent had no damage nor was the bedroll strewn about in any way that suggested anything other than him getting up and leaving on his own. Whether or not that was an actual relief remained to be seen. They were still way behind the man, wherever he’d gone.

Uninjured soldiers combed the area, picking through sparse shrubbery, dunes, outcroppings, and any mines or caves nearby for any signs of the man. It seemed like slow going work but that could have just as easily been the impatient atmosphere.

The sun was still cresting the horizon when people started getting quiet. A static-y sort of quiet that reminded Varric of the aftermath of Haven. When the Seeker picked out where the muted mood was coming from, she shoved a open path more than wide enough for Varric to follow in the wake of. And what he saw…. His mouth was drier than all of the Western Expanse.

Hawke. Stained with blood and covered in repulsive bruises but alive and very much not in the Fade. He was leaning on two of the party of three who’d managed to find him. As soon as he was near one of the fires in the large camp, he lowered himself to the ground and sprawled happily by its warmth.

The third soldier was carrying the Inquisitor. Unconscious but equally alive. Sparkler broke from the crowd first, taking the little elf from the other man’s arms.

“Was he- Is he hurt? What happened?”

“No, he is not hurt at all. The Champion of Kirkwall must have healed him though, he is pale see? Not enough blood. I think he will be okay though.” The Orlesian did their best to soothe the frightened Tevinter, even guiding him towards the healers tents for good measure. Most of their friends went with him but Varric had heard enough for now. His attention, and feet, went straight to Hawke.

“You bastard. You are never allowed to die on me like that again.”

Hawke nodded slowly, “Promise. …I’m getting too old for this shit Varric. …I’m gonna take the girls and go home and leave this saving the world crap to the next generation of stupid people.”

“You very nearly didn’t have a choice in the matter.” He sat down next to the human man with a groan. “…What were you thinking Hawke?”

“…I was thinking… This shit is all on me. The Mage-Templar war. Probably Corypheus. …And the Inquisitor was there. Thedas needs him, and I’m willing to die if it means there’ll still be a world for my family to live in. …Fenris would understand, eventually.”

“Broody is a lot of things Hawke, but understanding still isn’t one of them.” Varric wasn’t entirely surprised when he didn’t get an answer back from the human. When the snoring started up, the dwarf pushed a hand through mostly grey hair. The slight stickiness he encountered was just another reminder of how close they’d been. He was glad he wouldn’t need to look at his hands for a bit.

He never should have asked Hawke to come to Adamant.

Maybe the Seeker would have bitched and moaned but Glowy would have understood.

Dorian was sparking as he paced. Eyes on his feet as he fought the urge to grind his teeth, or to scream, or to find something to burn into nothingness.

How dare the Inquisitor go back to the Fade! How dare he leave camp alone! And without warning anyone! How dare he come back with all the warmth gone from his skin, limp like a corpse…

“Hey, ‘Vint.”

Didn’t he know what happened the last time people went into the Fade? And now, with next to no plausible denial, he’d done it again?! Once was bad enough! Didn’t he realize what this would start?

“Dorian!”

His head snapped towards Cassandra’s voice, “What?! What do you want?!”

“If you do not calm down, you will electrocute someone.” Her eyes narrowed at him, lips pulled thin. The way she had her arms folded reminded Dorian of a rather grouchy nanny he’d had growing up. He could feel his shoulders pulling together even tighter.

“Fine,” he snarled, “it’s not like the Inquisitor just needlessly put his life at risk again after a venture that nearly killed him.”

“Dorian darling, that attitude isn’t necessary,” Vivienne tutted. “Unnecessary though it was, it’s one less life lost. And a rather important life no less, depending on who you ask. Frankly, I don’t think that’s the part of this that most badly needs discussion.”

The male mage sneered at her, “Oh, and what pray tell do you think needs to be discussed so badly?”

“The cause of our Inquisitor’s injuries. And not here. Cullen, perhaps your tent would best serve in this situation. If, that is, you can get us privacy?”

“That can be arranged. …The doctors haven’t found anything yet though? Shouldn’t we let the healers have their turn before we assume anything?”

Iron Bull grunted, “No. No we shouldn’t. The boss isn’t dying.”

“You saw him! He looked dull and he wasn’t as warm as he should have been! How can you know that he’s not-”

“Trust me ‘Vint. He’s fine.”

If Dorian got any more ruffled, he’d probably explode. It was truly magical that it didn’t happen when the Qunari grabbed him by the arm and dragged him along to the Commander’s headquarters.

For as big as the tent was, it was definitely not meant to have this many people in it. Dorian shot Cassandra a very dirty look when he realized she’d silenced his magic. After all, the disrespectful lummox pressed up against his back probably deserved the shock.

Cassandra didn’t even look back at him, “So… Iron Bull and Vivienne seem to know what’s going on. Is there anyone else so well informed?”

“I am Seeker,” Solas said softly. “Though I question the use of telling those who are not as aware.”

“He’d never hurt us. He wants to help. He only hid it because that’s what they made him think was right.”

Dorian looked to the spirit with interest, remembering the taunting of The Nightmare. It had said his amatus was hiding something. …Something he thought would make most of them hate him. “Hid what Cole?”

All Dorian could see of the spirit’s face was his lips under the brow of his hat. “Arulin dhru, len or ladaral. Lin'thanelan. Tel'las sul lanaste melahn tel'dialem.”

Solas frowned deeply at Cole’s words. No one else seemed to have a clue. Predictably.

“So… It’s elfy bullcrap?”

“No.” Solas bit the word out, glaring at the woman.

“Will someone just spit it out?!” Dorian’s hands were in fists at his side, and he all but just resisted the urge to stomp his foot like a toddler.

Vivienne rolled her eyes, “Honestly dear, I’m surprised you didn’t notice. But perhaps that’s prejudiced of me.”

“Blood magic 'Vint. Why else would he have bled all over his arm and nowhere else but lose that much blood? The stains were flowing down from the underside of his arm too.” The Qunari grunted, lip curling the same way it had when he’d been told about The Nightmare.

“He’d never use it to hurt us. He’s a healer, just like his father showed him how.” Cole fussed with his sleeves, looking where Hanhari was lying despite the canvas blocking his view. His hat bent against the heavier leather.

“Vishante kaffas! He can’t be!”

“Yeah,” Sera chimed in, “he’s not crazy! This is stupid. You’re all stupid!” She stuck her tongue out at them all before she ducked down to crawl under the legs of those blocking her exit.

Solas’ face scrunched like he’d a large mouthful of tea as he watched her depart. “Blood magic is not inherently evil. It no more requires the summoning of demons than any other sort of magic.”

“Of course you’d approve,” Vivienne frowned at the elvhen apostate then looked to Cassandra and Cullen. “So, what’s to be done? Cover it up for now and make him tranquil later?”

“Venhedis! We will do no such thing! This is…. No!”

Vivienne gave him a dull look, “Deny it all you’d like dear, but the adults are talking now.”

Dorian spat a threat at her in Tevene and Iron Bull grabbed at his shoulder.

“…I need to discuss this with Leliana.” Cullen’s voice was barely audible as he pushed his face into his hands. “Having some time to think about it will… Well, maybe calmer heads will prevail. For now, we do nothing. There’s nothing we can do out here and as Vivienne so… delicately pointed out, we still need him for now.”

Dorian hissed, “He is not some object to be used as you see fit!” He muttered in Tevene as he pushed his way out of the tent, cursing the south and it’s unspeakable barbarism. He went back to the medical tent where his amatus still lie. …They’d… need to talk about this. But Dorian refused to let the man live out whatever lied ahead of him alone.

…It was a little ironic. The Tevinter and the all-but-divine Herald and yet… Of course, it’d always been ironic, even before this unpleasant little realization.

Dorian got settled for the day by his amatus’ side, holding his hand in silence. For one reason or another, or perhaps several, he’d be left alone.

Falon'Din halani, ame teldirthalelan.

Not even a day had passed, but he was here. Walking the Fade again (this time alone), tempting far more than just fate in an attempt to fix a decision he’d made in a distressed heartbeat.

It’d been quiet however. Eerie and dead without The Nightmare’s smothering presence. Hanhari was a little surprised by just how much of a difference the demon’s departure had made. The Fade bent to his will, if not directly under his will even with the demon gone. Rocks, or what seemed to be rocks, rose up before him like a path. Or perhaps more accurately a bridge, taking him high above to the floating islands steadily. He had his staff in hand, grip tight as the gentle tah tah tah of it striking the stone beneath him helping to keep things feeling solid. Particularly when one of the stones under him shifted or shivered. He couldn’t stop if he didn’t outright lose his balance. Slow, hesitant steps also helped as he felt his way up the ‘stairs.’

The sheer lack of demons was distressing, but Hanhari tried to look at it as a blessing. It meant he’d have more energy for Hawke.

If he was even still here.

If he was even still alive.

Where’s Hawke?

Hanhari had never heard such mesilde aven. Despite having command over several languages, nothing quite covered the agony he’d heard in Varric’s voice right then.

And imagining Hawke’s children when they got back to Skyhold without him?

Mythal'enaste i amal Fenris. Hanhari couldn’t stomach any of the images he’d been able to conjure of Hawke’s bonded on hearing the news.

He’d just… trusted the other man. Something about him made it hard to even consider the equally willing Grey Warden at his other side. Hawke was strong and sure and… onharonun.

This was not an acceptable end to that man’s journey.

The Fade around him… It had rahnras inanshos. The higher he went (and Creators help him resist the urge to look down) the further out Hanhari could see. Hazy green horizon, the Black City itself to his left, grey seas and stone in sharp shapes and soft ones and sometimes melting away into what looked like smoke. In the distance (or was it actually under the Black City?), long past where he’d ever be able to reach it, was what surely had to be a mirage of a swamp. This was bellanaris.

…He really shouldn’t be here. No living person belonged here.

Hanhari couldn’t really appreciate the parts of the view that didn’t seem to be actively mocking him, even with the stiff peace. His eyes mostly scanned ahead, searching for anything that would tell him where he was heading. The little sleep he’d gotten had been filled with the undeniable feeling that Hawke was still recoverable in some sense, but it was laced with equal amounts of dread. No demons. In fact, it was the first dream Hanhari had had since the Breach had first opened up. Not that he’d breathed a word about the disquieting absence. Nor would he now admit that he’d probably been strengthening the enemy all this time.

If The Nightmare was dead, then surely…?

The mage tried to ignore the fact that it seemed like he was heading away from where he’d left Hawke. Not just up but… Was that blood?

Hanhari hurried forward at the splatter of red along the side of the floating island, breaking into a run when he spotted a glint of armor. The closer he got, the more he could actually see. The arm was clearly broken. The gauntlet on it had dug into the rock it was contorted around, leaving disturbing claw marks in the side of it. The fingers were still dug in and keeping the hand in place despite the body horror.

The rest of Hawke didn’t really look much better.

Bloodied and battered, most of his iconic armor was in tatters. The bevor was smashed in, but seemed to have done it’s job ultimately. Hawke’s right shoulder had not fared as well. His left arm also looked broken but not nearly as destroyed as it’s twin. One leg had been stripped of the heavy armor that had been there, leaving his foot exposed and possibly twisted but relatively unharmed for how little that meant. The other was less lucky, the armor smashed in. Even his chest looked a little misshapen.

Enastal enal'o telamun, he was still breathing. Somehow neither bled out or rendered lifeless upon whatever horrific impacts he’d suffered. But time was likely not on his side. Hanhari moved as quickly as he could, freeing Hawke’s hand and pulling the big human man onto his shoulders. Again, his desires changed the face of the Fade and he found himself back where he started far faster than he had found Hawke. Likely for the best, he wouldn’t be able to keep carrying such weight.

Tumbling out into solid ground again, Hanhari closed the rift he’d made practically on instinct and refocused on Hawke. Firstly getting the damaged armor off of him. He should have been bringing the man back to camp for help but… No. The healers there were already too busy dealing with the aftermath of Adamant. Hanhari could heal the Champion.

No matter what his methods would mean he’d be losing. Leliana would dutifully cover it up until he’d killed Corypheus at least. Nisel thanathe than, tu isa ghilanas. Tel'sael melava.

Forcing the blood still in the man’s body to stay there, Hanhari grabbed his own knife and carved down his left arm. He knew exactly what to do, despite a lack of personal practice.

Too many times watching his father nearly kill himself doing just this probably.

Bones first, loose blood and thick muscle forcing them into the proper places before fusing them enough to hold. Then damaged muscles and sinew and organs. Mercifully few of the latter, thank the Maker. Lastly, most draining of them all, restoring blood and hopefully consciousness.

His vision steadily got darker as he worked despite the fact the sun was likely approaching the horizon. His absence would soon be found, if it hadn’t already.

Garrett woke feeling like the Fade had chewed him up and spat him out.

Wait…. No that was definitely what had happened.

Had Fenris found him?

Hadn’t he been dying?

Or was he already dead and the Maker was still being an asshole in his afterlife? That wouldn’t surprise him at all.

Hawke looked up as he realized the weight on his chest was warm. He felt so heavy. His shoulders were pulled up by his wobbly arms before he could whip his head up.

Short hair and pointed ears. Hair was… red? Still too dark to be sure. It was a man. He was still alive. Small guy.

…Why the fuck wasn’t he in the…

Well shit.

Hawke squirmed to his feet, pulling the limp but light body up with him. It was only then that he realized the Inquisitor was bleeding profusely from his left arm. And those cuts were sickeningly clean.

Blood mage.

Of course the Herald of Andraste would be a blood mage. He was way too perfect otherwise.

Still, the younger mage had been nothing but kind and helpful in the time that Hawke had known him. Mustering up what magic he could, the human sealed the cuts with some difficulty. What they’d been for wasn’t really clear. It couldn’t have been to get into the Fade. He had the Anchor for that. The lack of dead bodies around them said it wasn’t for combat most likely.

…Could blood magic heal? Hawke remembered being a lot more fucked up than this.

Seemed ridiculous, but the man supposed stranger things had happened to him in the past.

Following the closest thing to a trail of small feet as he could discern in the sand with the early morning darkness around him, Garrett headed where he hoped he’d find other people.