A Merekai/Caraenyl Dragon Age AU Short
Summary: Once Champion of Kirkwall, now Inquisitor, Merekai Hawke looks for the mage that got away.
Merekai belongs to the amazing @farseerdri
 “Where is he?!” Merekai Hawke growled, his Anchor-marked left hand wrapped tightly around the templar’s neck. He held the man aloft, green eyes sharp and free hand ready to conjure up flames to further persuade the templar to cooperate. The Champion, now also titled Inquisitor, slightly squeezed his captive, glare growing darker. “Tell me!”
The templar in his grasp choked, frightened eyes gazing at Merekai’s companions, finding no friendly gazes among them. He pointed toward a staircase that spiraled up the make-shift Circle Tower the fool rogue templars had occupied. “H-H-He’s at the top!”
Merekai tossed the templar aside, barely acknowledging the clang of his armor as he hit the stone wall. It didn’t matter to the Inquisitor, only he mattered and Merekai was already darting up the stairs, jumping two or three steps at a time. Of all the places to end up….
A letter had been left behind for Merekai. He read it carefully, felt guilt build up in his gut, and immediately asked Leliana to track the mage who had sneaked away. Not that she wasn’t already on his trail… his false trail. The mage apparently did not want to be followed and it ended up being Merekai’s mabari hound, Korveris, who picked up the mage’s scent.
He was not worthless; true, Anders had figured out how to cure the werewolf curse from not only Merekai but also the werewolves still hiding out in the Brecilion Forest. It was only because he had done so much research and made so many different alchemical concoctions that Anders had been able to see what was missing, with him being an expert at healing magic. He was still wanted within the Inquisition.
Tracking the mage had lead Merekai and his party to a very small town at the foot of the Frostbacks; once abandoned it was now inhabited by rogue templars. They had hunted many mages and brought them to their “Circle,” where the lucky ones were imprisoned or killed. The unlucky ones….
Merekai quickened his pace, the stairs leading to a small landing and a single door. There was no padlock and the Inquisitor’s heart raced as he pushed open the door and crossed the threshold. The room was fairly small with a single bedroll in a corner beneath the only window, a bucket in another corner (which Merekai could only guess was the chamber pot), and a table with various flasks and instruments used with alchemy. A redheaded individual sat at the table, his pointed ears holding back his long hair.
The individual stood, back to the suddenly silent Inquisitor; Merekai’s mouth had gone dry. He’s alive, was all he could think even as the mage turned to face him. His mouth, usually smiling brightly, was now in a neutral line, freckled cheeks were pale like the rest of him instead of flushed with color; his eyes, once golden, always sparkling with emotion, were now a light brown… and empty. And upon his brow the sunburst marking of the Chantry.
Merekai felt ice grip his chest. No….
“Hello, Inquisitor,” he said, voice hollow and words devoid of any emotion, not the voice Merekai remembered. “There are no demons here; why have you come?”
For you… Merekai choked on the words, his strength bleeding from him as despair gripped his heart and he fell to his knees. His vision blurred as tears burned his eyes and he whispered, “Caraenyl.” The redhead did not react, merely stood there, staring with unfeeling eyes as the Inquisitor crumbled at his feet.
