The young Templar stood in the Cousland's home.

He had expected it to be huge, as an ex-noble's mansion. It certainly had seemed bigger, when he had rushed in with the Order to arrest him. Now, with everyone gone and most everything cleared out, it seemed rather...humble.

There was a small porch leading up to the door, and a short hallway leading into the living room. From there the kitchen was just visible to his right, and stairs to his left that curved out of sight, probably up to the rogue's room. The trapdoor to the cellar was past the kitchen, which he had already explored, and there wasn't a separate dining room, just a large table and a few chairs pushed to the side in the corner by the stove.

The furnishings were nice, but not anything unattainable for a commoner. A blood-red rug lay underneath the couches and next to the fireplace. A few polished lamps carved from bone. An oak side-table, small, plain designs etched into the legs.

The only thing that was out of place and the only thing that marked him as wealthy was the gold-framed painting of the Cousland's deceased mother and father. And that was to be expected, that he would keep something to remember them by. A tragic event that caused him to be sympathetic to the rouge, even if he was their prisoner.

He shook off his wandering thoughts quickly and remembered what he'd come for. Staudt's instructions were recorded carefully in his mind.

"Hector- I want you to return to the Cousland's home and collect whatever evidence you can; look for letters, or diaries in particular."

Anything personal to the Cousland would, no doubt, be in his room. Hector ascended the stairs slowly, running his hand along the wooden railing that jutted out of the wall.

What would it have been like, to have housed mages here? He couldn't imagine himself doing anything of the sort. All of his friends were Templars; his father had been in the Order as well. He had liked Cullen and was loyal to Staudt, even if he was cautious to trust him. Helping mages would be the worst kind of betrayal imaginable, to everyone he knew.

But Hector was still curious. What kind of insanity drove someone to aid abominations and maleficar? Was it some kind of need to break and the law, to defy the armies whose leaders were higher than even the King? Truly, Staudt ruled these lands. Alistair had said it himself when he'd made Staudt the new Captain, that he now held the future of Ferelden in his hands.

"It's a burden and a responsibility," the King had warned. "Bear it well, and with an open mind. And remember to let the Maker guide you, and that Andraste will watch over you."

He had liked the King, liked how he'd spoken of the Maker as if he was speaking of a good friend. It was how Hector thought of it himself. After all, the Maker controlled all of Thedas, making decisions for the well-being of humanity: he was a friend. And Andraste, too- she gave Templars the will to carry out the necessary and important task of the extermination of apostates and dangerous mages, protecting Ferelden from evil-doers. The Order and the Maker went hand in hand. Everyone knew that.

The door to the rogue's room was open and unlocked. It seemed as though the Cousland had never even seen them coming, but the coolness in which he'd greeted them with suggested the opposite.

Why hadn't he run?

Hector was hesitant to call the rogue brave. Brave was another word for heroic and heroic was another word for justified, and a companion of maleficar was anything but. He settled for ignorant, instead.

Inside his room, Hector found the same simple furnishings that were set up on the first floor as well. A four poster bed was in the center of the room, with a large wardrobe in the corner and a bedside table to his right. A writing desk, complete with an ink set and a chair, was placed below the window; one, lone candle sat bleakly on the sill, the wick bent over with blackened wax.

Hector looked around.

"Look for letters, or diaries in particular," Staudt had ordered.

A letter would be easier to find. But a diary would hold secrets, personal thoughts, things that they wouldn't find in a parchment with the purpose of correspondence. But whichever object he was going to begin looking for, he doubted it would be a simple task to obtain either of them.

He crossed over to the writing desk, rolling up his sleeves in preparation of a long, exhausting search.

But then-

"Oh."

The journal was just sitting there, right on top of the desk, in plain sight. Waiting.

It was too easy. He stopped, his hand hovering just over the leather cover. It was a trap, it had to be; the rogue would have never left it lying around like this- almost as if he'd wanted someone to find it. He couldn't have thought that it would have gone undiscovered like this, after all.

Had the Cousland…planned it, this way?

No. He didn't want them to find the mage. This gave them a clearer trail to finding the cursed abomination, so why on earth wasn't it hidden?

The rogue was a fool if he believed that Hector wouldn't hand the journal over.

He sat down on the chair, opened the cover page.

I've left. Spoke with Justice. Agreed that finding the Cousland would be best. Our part in this revolution is far from over.

So his path to the Cousland had simply been a stop along the way for him, in his plot to free mages. Hector flipped through the book, skimming lists of items needed and explanations of how the sanctuary would be run. Everything inside of it was one step closer to finding him, held the key to tracking him down. With his personal thoughts, the Order could predict how he would react to a certain situation, could plan his next move themselves.

He smiled. Staudt would be pleased, and if Staudt was in a good mood, so was Hector. He enjoyed seeing his Captain in high spirits: especially in a dark time such as this, when dangerous mages were running riot.

He continued turning pages, panning through sections, and began to notice something changing.

Halfway through, the mage no longer talked about updates of the sanctuary. Instead, he focused more on his companion, on the Cousland. This was the second part to Staudt's orders, to find proof that the mage and the Cousland had been together.

"If we can find the reason of the mage's departure, we can use it in our extraction."

They could make it emotionally painful for the rouge, if they could find the source of the apostate's disloyalty.

"Relationships are dangerous. Most fail to realize exactly how until it's turned against them."

He scanned the entries more carefully now, surprised at the sudden shift of tone that the mage had succumbed to. Speaking of their progress and the troubles of the maleficar who came to their door had brought him out to seem dedicated, unwavering, focused on freedom and nothing else.

But when speaking of the Cousland...he was softer.

Today, I asked Gawain to stay up with me, to watch the sunset. It was beautiful, really; you can see it so well, here in the woods. A mix of pinks and oranges and other hues stirred together around the sun. Some of the apostates came up from the cellar to watch with us. One young girl said it was the prettiest thing she'd seen since she left the Circle.

How can people believe we're monsters? Do darkspawn sit around to gaze at the fading light in the sky? Do they feel the joy of life as the sun creeps down below the horizon? No. Of course not. We do, though.

Gawain and I sat side by side in the last couple minutes, when the sky was a burnt orange, like embers. I don't know what he thinks of me. Maybe all he sees me as is a dangerous abomination, a hunted criminal. But I'm reaching the conclusion that Ethel is right.

When we were traveling together as Wardens, I teased him continuously, with something alike to Isabela's humor- but much less dirty. He hated it- and I assumed it was because we were friends and only friends, nothing more.

But there's something about the way he shies away from me when I draw too close. He pulls back and pushes me away, physically and emotionally- but not before lingering there for a little while. As if...he wants to be close?

Sitting there on the porch, next to him, I think I've...realized something. That I...care for him, much more than I've previously thought.

I'm in love with Gawain Cousland.  

All right, there. I said it. Or wrote it, rather.

I'm an idiot.

And there it was- the proof they needed. But Hector was stuck.

The mage seemed normal, almost harmless, when read here. He'd asked how people could see him as a monster. It was obvious, wasn't it? He'd killed so many. Didn't it worry his conscious? Hector's body count was at a pitifully small pile of five. He kept careful track of it, and even though they had been maleficar and had to die for the protection of the people of Ferelden, he still remembered them each clearly, made sure to pray for their souls at least once a week.

Of course he saw the mage as a monster.

But then...there was this soft side. The side that he had seen in his mother's eyes when she kissed his father good-bye every time he was called to serve in the front of the Order, where the chance of combat was much more frequent as the casualties were higher.

It was disturbing to see this side of a mage. Hector didn't like it; he wouldn't read any more of the entries.

He stared at the journal in his hand, but couldn't bring himself to close it. The abomination had actually cared for the Cousland. So what was it that made him leave?

The Templar flipped to the end, began to read again. And he discovered what  he was looking for.

The sanctuary is running smoothly enough; Gawain will be able to run it by himself. Justice urges me to leave, and I agree wholeheartedly. I'll pack, now, and be gone before he wakes, hopefully. I have the feeling she'll be waiting for me there, in the Wilds. I cannot get there fast enough.

She.

He paged back carefully, noting that her name was never actually mentioned. There was no lead at all to who he had meant.

But- success! His location was known, now- the Wilds. Hector grinned, tucking the journal underneath his arm. They'd have the mage soon enough. And then he'd pay for what he'd done at Kirkwall, what he'd done to Ferelden.

The mage deserved what was coming to him. So why did Hector feel a nagging, irritating guilt?

I'm in love with Gawain Cousland.  

The abomination's social affairs were nothing to linger over. Who cared if he and the rogue had been lovers? All it gave them was another way to extract further information, knowing little details like that.

All right, there. I said it. Or wrote it, rather.

I'm an idiot.

He seemed so innocent. A normal, everyday citizen, who'd happened to fall in love. Was this really the man who murdered all those people at Kirkwall?

Yes, it was. Hector pushed the thought out of his mind. The Maker was testing him, seeing how far his sympathy would go for those who were worthy of none. And so far, Hector was doing a crummy job of resisting it.

The mage was a cold-blooded killer. One that needed to be eliminated. Sure, he'd had an intimate relationship that had meant something to him. But just because he could feel compassion didn't mean that his actions were justified. It had nothing to do with the Templars' purpose.

Hector closed the door to the rogue's room. He would go back to the jail, and he'd turn in the journal.

They would find the mage. And they would kill him for what he'd done.

He deserved it.

-------------------

The rogue was sitting against the wall, head tucked into his chest, when the scrape of a key in the lock announced Staudt's arrival. The door clanged open and he swept in, a small group of guards closing the door to wait in the hallway obediently.

"Morning," he said shortly. His polite demeanor had grown cold since Gawain's decision to protect the mage, to stay loyal to one who had already betrayed him.

Gawain gave no answer.

Staudt paced through the cell. It seemed to be a habit of his; he'd taken to walking a usual patterned route every time he came to visit the rogue. The ground was actually wearing away underneath his feet, he traced the path so often.

"We are growing impatient," he said finally, stopping in front of Gawain. "You don't seem to understand the urgency at hand, here."

Gawain stared at the ground wordlessly.

"You are not on the right side," the Captain warned. "You may not realize it now, but you and your mages are the ones who will tear this country apart. If you do succeed, and take over Ferelden, what do you think will happen? Who will lead, who will take the throne? Not Alistair, surely, not the ex-Templar? The mages will demand that he step down, to be replaced by one of their kind. And who will it be? A mage. And what kind of mage? A healer? A blood mage? Your own…lover?"

Gawain's head snapped up. When he spoke his voice was hoarse. "How do you-"

"Your servant told us. The elf."

"Oh," the rogue sighed. "I suppose you would have found out, sooner or later."

The Captain frowned. "You were right to say that he was not involved in the mage's plans. He's a rather dull creature; spoke only of your devotion to the apostate and your agony when he left you. But now that he's revealed all he knows...I'll keep our end of the bargain. As you asked and as I promised, the elf will not be harmed."

Gawain had asked for Fenris to be interrogated, questioned as fully as Staudt deemed necessary. In return, he was to remain untouched. Fenris had played dumb, like the rogue had meant for him to. And he'd done a good job of it, too, it seemed; the Captain was seemingly unconvinced that the elf knew anything else.

He probably has slaves of his own, Gawain thought bitterly. He must see Fenris as unintelligent, meek.

"So…you and the mage," Staudt continued, a smirk playing over his sharply chiseled features. "To tell the truth, I never would have thought it. I understood that you two were close, but how close…I obviously disregarded the fact. Yet…" the Captain studied Gawain with a newfound interest. "Yet he abandoned you. For what reasons? Or…for whom?"

The rogue clamped his mouth shut, clenched his jaw. His pale, green eyes flashed up dangerously at the Templar.

"Come, now. He deserted you, discarded you. Surely this would give him what he deserves. Think of it as your revenge."

But Gawain had already thought this through. The Captain was too late for this tactic.

"Revenge isn't necessary," he said quietly.

Staudt started, then threw back his head and laughed. "Oh, I know. You think he's going to come back for you! You think he'll rescue you, don't you?"

No. Of course he didn't. The hope was buried deep inside of him, rooted in the back of his soul. There were instances where he had slipped into daydreams in which Anders would break into his cell, blond hair windswept and golden eyes anxious, and take him away.

But he knew Anders would not return for him. Gawain doubted that he knew the trouble he was in. And even if he did, the rogue doubted that he would care, much.

"Listen, Cousland," the Captain said. "You have no options. There is no one to save you. And you cannot escape." His voice was impatient. "I don't want to have to take the next step, but I will if necessary. Please, just tell us."

Gawain shook his head.

Staudt sighed. "I…all right, then. Guards, please step inside."

There was the creak of wood, and then the door opened to reveal the guards outside and the contraption with them. They pushed it inside, the wheels on the bottom clattering on the stone floor, and Gawain felt the room shoot up almost immediately in temperature; a carefully contained oil fire was burning on the bottom of the cart.

"Come, Hector, join us." Staudt beckoned to a younger Templar hesitating in the hallway.

"Yes, sir," he said eagerly, bounding inside. "About the diary, sir-"

"Later, tell me later. Right now: explain to our prisoner what this is." He gestured at the contraption.

Hector glanced at the rogue and then looked back up at Staudt. "It's created from pure lyrium," he said, a hint of pride in his voice. "I made it."

"Explain what it's used for, Hector. Tell him what it does."

The Templar nodded dutifully. "I designed it for the blacksmith here in town. It's a safer and more effective way of heating a sword or any piece of metal; the lyrium reflects the heat of the flames and condenses it onto the metal set inside, raising its temperature to an extreme that no usual fire could bring it to."

He unsheathed his own sword and stepped forward, glancing at the Captain. "May I, sir?" When Staudt nodded, he tightened his grip and slid the sword into a horizontal opening along the side.

There was an instantaneous reaction. As the metal met the lyrium-charged flames, it burst into a bright, blinding white, sparks of red flickering along the edges. The air in the cell shimmered; heat waves crashed over Gawain and he flinched away.

"See how the metal glows like that?" Hector called over the crackle of the flames and the humming of the sword. "It's actually fusing with the lyrium. The effect lasts for about a month, but takes just a few minutes. Once the bonding is complete, the sword will not only be scorching hot, but also will impart more painful blows, given the magical qualities it'll possess."

"Hector is one of our brightest," Staudt noted, satisfied. "He not only trains in the Order, but also studies mages and behaviors of demons."

Hector beamed.

"Now," Staudt's eyes hardened. "We'll show our guest what else it can be used for."

He raised a hand; the other guards stepped forward.

The young Templar's brow creased, his smile faded. He looked down at the contraption and then back at his Captain. "What…what are we going to do with it?"

"Move out of the way, lad." One of the guards laid a firm hand on his shoulder and led him away.

"Staudt, sir! What're you going to do?" Hector struggled against the guard's hold, staring at his Captain with wide eyes.

The Captain was expressionless. "Just watch, Hector."

One of the guards took the hilt of the sword and drew it out; the white blade sparked and flashed in the darkness of the cell. A thin smoke trickled out of the slit, filling the cell with a gray haze.

The guard advanced towards Gawain slowly. The rogue shrank into the corner, trying to keep the terror out of his face.

"This is what happens when you refuse to work together with us," Staudt said, watching his prisoner carefully. "Anything else you'd like to tell us, Cousland?"

Two other guards  moved forward and stripped the shirt off his back. The sword shone with heat and lyrium.

"No," Gawain whispered, trembling.

And the blade came down.  

Hector stumbled back in surprise as the rogue screamed; it was an inhuman sound, torn out of the bottom of his lungs. Grasping the wall behind him for support, the Templar watched as the sword carved an unwavering path down the rogue's back. The skin and muscle parted around the blade, then fused back together under the heat, leaving it blackened and bloodless, with just the smell of cooked flesh and the awful scars behind.

Staudt's hand tightened around his shoulder and he jumped. The Captain smiled.

"We got the idea from the elf's tattoos," he said. "This, I'm sure, is just as painful. It will be effective, Hector. Thank you."

But this wasn't what he'd designed it for. Not torture. Not this.

The sword tip traced its way around the rogue's waist, up his chest. He thrashed beneath the white blade, his cries lessening as his strength weakened; the shimmer of lyrium drifted around his form and the skin around his burnt flesh began to redden, crack, and blister.

Staudt stepped forward, raised a hand. The guard lifted the blade immediately, turned to attention.

The Cousland shuddered on the cold floor, whimpering. His fingers dug into the edges of the stone blocks beneath him, as if he was trying to claw himself out. Tears spilled out and dripped onto his burnt skin; pain built up in his throat and was released as a soft wail. He began to retch from the intensity of the burns, red-stained vomit sliding up and out onto the floor.

"How about now, Cousland?" Staudt's voice was cold. "Anything to tell us? The location of a certain abomination, perhaps?"

Gawain's body was on fire with the pain; every little movement caused another cry to bubble forth. He raised his head, tears streaming forth with the effort. "...No," he gasped. "No."

Staudt looked down at him in disgust, spat on his mangled skin. "Unbelievable." He waved the guard forward again. "Continue. Call me again when he either goes unconscious or starts talking."

The Captain turned to Hector. "The diary I sent you to look for. You had something to tell me?"

Hector was frozen, staring down at the rogue's broken form, twitching with agony. The blade came down again, bringing forth another high-pitched scream.

All of this was for nothing. If Staudt had just listened to him, just heard him out before...

The rogue was suffering because of him. If he'd spoken up sooner-

Hector began to speak and then faltered, his words disappearing in his mouth.

Speak up. Save the rogue, kill the mage. He deserves it; besides, it's your duty.

The Cousland screamed again and again and again. Began coughing up blood from where his throat had gone raw.

Stay silent. Leave the rogue to the torture, save the mage. It's what the Cousland would want. You owe him, for this.

Huddled on the floor, his prisoner raised his tear-filled eyes to meet Hector's.

Please.

This was not the Maker's will. It couldn't be.

"Hector?" Staudt was peering down at him, concerned.

"I didn't find anything," he lied.

"Nothing? Not even a note, or anything?"

The Templar shrugged. "He must have known we were coming, and burned everything important. I found nothing of use."

"Huh." The Captain sighed. "Well, my thanks for looking. I'll head out, now. Will you join me, or would you rather stay and watch?"

"I think...I think I'll go back to the barracks, sir," Hector said faintly.

"Splendid idea. Get some rest, my boy." Staudt clapped him on the shoulder and left the cell. His boots clicked distantly in the prison halls.

Hector waited until his Captain was out of sight, then took off running in the opposite direction. He screeched to a halt at the Templar barracks, tore past the cots until he found his own, dug through his stack of belongings until he found what he was looking for.

He held the journal in his hands, his fingers brushing over the leather cover.

Leave the rogue to the torture, save the mage.

He crossed over to the fireplace, rested his forehead on the mantle.

It's what the Cousland would want.

He threw the journal inside. Flames licked around the leather hesitantly, then devoured it in a matter of seconds.

How can people believe we're monsters?

Hector dropped to his knees, and began to pray.

I'm sorry, Maker. Forgive me, Andraste.

Kaidan jumped out of the Normandy and onto the street below. The major had convinced Joker to let him out beside the hospital instead of going to a docking bay. He was hellbent on seeing John before he did anything else. He wasn't going to do anything else until he saw the Commander, regardless of what he was asked. Yes, he was an Alliance soldier to his core, but Shepard needed someone to be there for him. He had just saved the galaxy. The least that Kaidan could do was be there as he recovered. The others stayed on board and waited until Joker was granted permission to land. His eyes rested on the building that had the sign "Charing Cross Hospital" and he felt himself growing beyond anxious. 

Reflections

Pairing: Vlad Hawke (M!Hawke) / Fenris
Genre: Drama / Romance
Note: A fic written from vampy6667's contest.
Beware for the mention of blood and bad images! But nothing you guys can't handle, I'm sure of it. ^^

***

Pain... Everywhere. That was the first thing he felt when he woke up. It was like his whole body was on fire. Gritting his teeth, he tried to open his eyes to see where he was, but the place was mostly dark. There was still a dim light, coming from a fire at a few feet from him. At least, he thought it was probably a fire.
He couldn't see it... and he couldn't move either.

He was stuck. Half of his body was trapped under numerous stones boulders. He felt like his legs were being crushed... or maybe they were already broken.
The pain was strong. His whole body seriously hurt. He could feel hot liquid on his face. Probably blood. As he tried to move his head on the right, his forehead met a metal rod. It moved slightly and he hissed in pain as he felt like the flesh was being torn. A steel rod had went through his right shoulder, adding another serious injury.

But what had happened ? Where was he ?

« … Hawke ? » He heard a grunt near from him and immediately recognized the voice. It was Varric. « Hawke, can you... hear me ? »

« … yeah. » he said, weakly, turning his head on the other side. His friend was lying at a few feet from him, holding on his precious crossbow. He was injured too, but not as much as him. His leg seemed to be stuck under a shattered stone wall. He had a bleeding cut on his forehead and his clothes were torn in different places. But otherwise, he looked alright. « Varric... »

« Good... you're still alive. » the dwarf said with relief. Unlike Vlad, his voice was still as strong as before. « I was worried... »

« I think... death didn't want me... or something. » he tried to laugh but suddenly coughed and spit blood. He closed his eyes, feeling dizzy. « Maker... »

« Hey, don't go to sleep, Hawke. Open your eyes. Vlad Hawke, I'm ordering you to open your eyes. » Varric said firmly. Hawke smiled, tried to swallow and opened his eyes. Every bits of his body seemed to hurt. « Good. Stay awake. »

« It... hurt like hell. »

« Yes, I can guess that. You look like a broken bloody doll. » Varric looked down and tried to move his stuck leg. « I need to... argh! Free my leg and go get help... If help is not on the way already. I bet the explosion was loud enough to wake up the whole town. »

« What happened ? » Vlad asked, breathing slowly. « I... don't remember well. »

« Don't you remember? » The dwarf looked at him and smiled sadly. « We... I think it was a trap. »

« A trap... » Vlad repeated, hissing in a pain, and finally remembered.

*** Two hours ago ***

It seemed like a normal evening. With a simple task. To help his friend Aveline investigating an old building that was supposed to be a slaver basement. At first, it had been a rumor. But the different reports of suspicious coming back and forth of people during the night did bring the guard Captain's attention. She originally didn't want to ask Hawke for assistance, but the rogue had heard of the rumor and insisted on going with her... most to her distaste.
She enjoyed traveling and fighting beside her friend, but sometimes she wished he'd listen to her and stay away from trouble. Just for once.

« Come on, Aveline. » Vlad had replied with a charming smile « I always attract trouble, it must be my good looks ! »

« Right... I'd prefer if you actually attract good things, or use your good looks to stop Isabella from trying to make me read the stories she wrote on Donnic and I. » The warrior said, sighing.

« Oooh, Isabella wrote stories on you two ? She didn't even tell me ! Do you think she'll let me read them ? » Merrill asked with a smile. Aveline and Varric both cleared their throats, while Vlad sighed and shook his head at the elf's obviousness. « Oh... is it dirty ? »

« I don't think you'd enjoy them, Daisy. » said the dwarf « Trust me. I think you should stick to reading what I write. »

« Let's not talk about this now. We're here. » Aveline said as she stopped in front of a building.

Hawke looked up and nodded. The building was high and mostly made of old stones. It seemed abandoned for a long time, but that was probably not the truth. Trouble was probably waiting inside. The rogue would have normally brought Fenris along, but he already had planned to meet the elf later. The warrior sent him a letter this morning asking him to come over for serious talking. The rogue didn't know what to expect, but hoped it would be good news. Ever since Danarius was killed last week, the elf had refused to leave his mansion or talk to anyone. And the rogue missed him.
He shook his head, sighing softly. He should first concentrate on whatever could be waiting for them. It was probably not as empty as it seemed.

And he was right. Once inside, the group soon met slavers who immediately attacked them. The fight was long and tiring, but when the last man fell, the building was silent once again. They all decided to take a look around, but the search was useless. There was nothing on the ground floor.

« Well, seems like that was it. Only slavers, but no slave. » Aveline said, shaking her head as she turned around to leave the place. « I think we can leave, Hawke. »

« Yes, I guess so. Wait here, I'll be right back. » said Vlad as he walked up stairs leading to another floor. He expected to see nothing special but when he reached the top of the stairs, he saw an old-looking mage, probably a slaver, looking at him with wide dark eyes. And a mad grin. He started cackling, rubbing his hands. « Ah... looks like we nearly missed someone. »

The man was standing in front of several barrels. He kept on cackling madly, shaking. The rogue frowned, feeling something was very wrong.

« Death is here, death is here, and so are youuuu... » he said. He repeated this a few times, talking louder and louder.

« Hawke, what's going on ? » The rogue heard Aveline saying downstairs as she heard the mad chant. But Vlad didn't answer her, watching as the man turned around and raised his right hand. « What's upstairs ? »

« Dwarves, powder... fire for you! » the old man repeated as he created a ball of fire. Vlad felt the hair on the back of his neck raise up as he heard that. Dwarven powder? Like the barrels he saw in the Deep Roads, when he had gone looking for the Grey Warden Nathaniel.
Time to run.

« OUTSIDE !!! » He yelled down the stairs as he turned around. « NOW !! »

There was a violent explosion behind him. He felt being thrown in the air, hitting a wall.
And then, darkness.

*** Present Time ***

« Damn it... Dwarven explosives... » he said in a low voice. He didn't have enough strength to talk louder, but Varric was close enough to hear him properly. « And I thought... only that dwarf... Temmerin... had some. »

« Obviously not, but for now, it doesn't really matter, right ? » The dwarf said, sighing. « Part of the building collapsed. Half of it, I think. And we're stuck whoever knows where... »

Vlad nodded and slowly turned his head the other way, trying to take a better look at the place. The fire burning nearby gave enough light to a few feet ahead of them, but that was it. They couldn't see the sky and the roof, or what was left of it, was barely high enough for a grown man to stand full. They seemed to be in a wide room. There were boulders, bits of wood and metals scattered everywhere around them. The place was silent too, as if Varric and him were the only living souls trapped here... and that was probably true.

« Aveline ? Daisy ? » He heard Varric calling. But there was only silence, broken occasionally by the crackling of the burning fire nearby. « I hope they're alright... »

« Weren't you... with them ? » Vlad asked. But Varric shook his head.

« I was close to the stairs, but they were near the door when they heard this... mad chanting. Hopefully, they managed to leave the building. »

« I hope so... »

*** Outside ***

A big crowd of curious people wasn't what Fenris had expected to see when he arrived in Lowtown. Hawke was late for their meeting and when the elf had gone to his mansion, Bohdan had told him that Hawke was in Lowtown for some important business.
And important business usually meant troubles with Hawke. If he was right, then he trusted the man not to have gone killing some bandits or slavers alone. The rogue was a skilled fighter, but not foolish enough to simply start a fight without considering the odds.

But that was hours ago. It shouldn't have taken him so long. So, the warrior had decided to look for him. He couldn't keep the scowl off his face. He was already nervous, knowing he wanted to talk seriously to the man, and adding the worry made him grumpy.
But his anger soon faded into confusion as he saw many people talking among each other and guards shooting to stay back.

« Hey Fenris ! » The elf saw Isabella standing nearby, waving at him. « You're missing the fun. »

« Your kind of fun is never safe, Isabella. » he replied, joining her. The pirate shrugged and nodded to the crowd. « What's going on ? »

« I heard an explosion. » she said « Some building has collapsed. Or at least, half of it. It was old and abandoned, but it still awakened everyone. Didn't you hear it ? »

« No, I didn't. » Fenris answered, looking in the same direction. He could see a little hill made of broken stone and wood pillars and half of a building that looked like ready to collapse at any moment. Guards were trying to keep the curious people away, telling them to go back home. « Have you seen Hawke ? »

« No, I- »

« Please !!! My friends are still inside !!! » Isabella visibly froze as she heard the voice. Fenris frowned, recognizing it too. It was the blood mage. « Hurry !! »

« Kitten ! » The pirate called as she rushed and pushed away the men and women standing in her way. « Out of my way ! Move ! »

Fenris followed Isabella, still frowning. What was Merrill doing here ?
When he arrived, he saw  the pirate holding the small elf's head in both hands. Merrill had a few scratches on her face, her clothes torn apart on the arms, chest and legs. She didn't look seriously injured, but mostly  upset.
Aveline was here too, injured too but less than the small elf. She was barking orders to the guards, mostly to get enough materials to secure the place and make sure nothing collapsed.

« Hurry up ! » she yelled « They may still be alive. No time to waste ! »

« Yes, captain ! »

« Aveline ? » The red-haired woman turned to Fenris, looking serious. « What's going on ? »

« Fenris... » She sighed, frustrated, and looked at Merrill who was crying softly, hugged by Isabella who was trying to comfort her. « It's a matter of the City Guards, but... we're trying to save the lives of whoever may still be stuck inside and alive. I've no time to explain. »

« Where's Hawke ? » He asked. When met by silence, worry slowly filled his green eyes. He looked at the collapsed building, and back at the guard-captain, rising his voice. « Aveline, where is he ?! »

Before she could answer, Merrill let out a sob.

« He's inside ! With Varric ! They're stuck !!! »

*** Inside ***

« I think I almost made it... »

As the minutes passed, Vlad felt more and more light-headed. His lower body didn't hurt anymore... as he couldn't feel it at all. It was as if everything down his waist were gone. It was a horrible feeling and the rogue knew if he didn't get any assistance soon, the rest of his body would follow.

« Finally ! » Turning his head, Vlad saw Varric freeing his leg from the collapsed wall. He smiled at his friends, nodding in congratulation. « Now, your turn, Hawke. »

« I can't move... » he said « I... can't even feel... my legs... »

« Ah... that's not good. » the dwarf said, crawling to him. His leg was freed, but still injured. He couldn't possibly walk normally without being healed first. « Let me see... damn it ! »

The dwarf couldn't help cursing as he saw his friend's body. Half of it was stuck under hug stone walls and boulders, something impossible for the dwarf to remove by himself. There were bleeding wounds nearly everywhere he set his eyes, a metal rod had went through Hawke's right shoulder and his face was partly burned and covered in blood. The human's armor was ripped beyond repair and his right arm was twisted in an odd way.
The sight almost made him sick.

« That... bad, eh ? » his friend said with a small smile « I... knew already. »

« This isn't good Hawke. Hang on. » Varric took of his coat, leaving him bare-chested, and proceed to rip it to bits « I will tend your wounds first. »

« Didn't you... like that coat ? »

« Yes, well, you'll buy me a new one once we're out of this damn place. » Vlad chuckled and immediately winced and coughed, spitting blood in the process. « Stay still ! And don't try to laugh or make jokes ! I swear, when Fenris told me your joking way would get you killed one day, I didn't think he was actually serious ! »

« … Fenris... » As he wrapped a bit of cloth around his friend's left arm, the dwarf looked up and saw Vlad staring at the roof. « I... was supposed to... meet him tonight. »

« Well, I'm not sure how much time has passed since the explosion, but maybe he's actually outside, looking for you. »

« I want to... see him... » Vlad whispered. « We were supposed to... talk... »

« Yes, well, you will talk. Once you're out of here. » Varric said with half a smile. « Don't worry, you'll see Broody again. »

« Just one more time... » Vlad whispered as he closed his eyes. Quickly, Varric slapped him gently across the cheek. No need to add injury, but he had to keep the human awake. « That... hurt... »

« I'm sorry but you mustn't go to sleep. Not the right time for that. » As the minutes passed, Varric kept talking to Vlad to make sure he was still awaken. He had managed to make some cheap bandages for all the wounds he could see, but knew it was far from enough. Vlad was still bleeding. He wished Anders were here.

« Come on, Hawke. » he said « Help is on the way ! »

*** Outside ***

« One, two... THREE ! » All at once, three guards removed together an heavy wall that blocking an entry to the inside of the half-collapsed building. But as soon as they removed it, they realized that there were more boulders on the way. They cursed and turned to Aveline. « Captain, this way is blocked too ! »

« We have to go through this one. » she said firmly « The other way around is too unstable. Keep on moving ! »

As the guards kept working cleaning the way, each block after each block, Fenris was pacing back and forth the ravaged building, a deep frown on his face. He was worried. Very worried. After Merrill had said how the human was stuck inside with the dwarf, he had tried calling for him, with no success. Vlad either didn't hear, was unconscious... or even dead.
He shook his head, refusing to consider the last option. Hawke was a strong man. He'd make it through this. He had to.

« What's taking so long ?! » he growled at Aveline and the guards. The woman had refused to let the elf helping, saying his anger could make him be very reckless and put them all at risk if he hurried too much to find a way inside the ruins. « Hawke could be seriously wounded ! »

« And Varric too. » Aveline answered, reminding Fenris that Vlad wasn't the only one in danger. The elf just growled back, and went back on pacing. « Fenris, stay calm and wait. We'll find him. »

Merrill, who had stopped crying was looking back and forth Lowtown and the collapsed building. Isabella had left to go get Anders. For once, Fenris hadn't protested and had even approved. As much as he hated the mage, he knew he was also the only one who could save someone from death with his healing abilities.
Donnic, who just finished convincing some remaining curious people to leave, walked over, sighing.

« The guards can't go faster, Fenris. » he said calmly. « It's too dangerous, the building could collapse if we removed the wrong stone or anything that may support what's left of it. »

« I... I know. » Fenris sighed in frustration. The guards were doing their best, he knew it. But he was worried sick. He wouldn't stop worrying as long as he didn't see the man alive and well. « I apologize. But I- »

« Isabella ! Anders! » Hearing Merrill's shoot, the group saw the pirate running to them, the healer right behind her. The mage looked pale, and very worried.

« Did you find them ?! » he asked. « Hawke and Varric ! Where are they ?! »

« If I knew where Hawke was, I wouldn't be standing here, mage. » Fenris said, frowning. The mage glared back at him before looking at the building and gulping. The sight was making him extremely nervous.

« A corpse ! Over here ! » Freezing briefly, the group quickly ran to the guard who was waving. Fenris could feel his heart beating loudly. A corpse. Someone was dead. But it couldn't be Hawke. It just couldn't be him.
Just as they arrived, two city guards carefully pulled out the body out of the ruins. A man with gray hair in a ripped leather armor. The elf let out a sigh of relief. It wasn't him.

*** Inside the building ***

« And when he lost the last game, Anders had to take off his pants. The whole place was laughing at him ! And the best thing is that he actually did it, smiled and screamed « Enjoy the show ! » ! Haha! Ah, how I wish Blondie would do such things again. He's been so moody lately, it's annoying... »

As time passed, Varric kept on telling Vlad events that had happened at the Hanged Man when the human hadn't been here. The dwarf knew he had to keep the human awaken. If he ever fell asleep, he'd most likely not wake up again. And he wasn't going to let that happen.

« I... wish I were... here to... see that. » Vlad said. The bandages Varric had made were wet with blood and he had trouble breathing normally. He still had some strength to speak, but his voice was very low.

« That was fun. » Varric said, chuckling. « Once we're out of here, you can be sure that I'll force Blondie to play again and make sure he'll loose ! That won't be hard ! »

« Yes, you will... have fun. »

« WE, Hawke. You'll come too. »

« Don't think I... will be able... to. » Vlad said before coughing blood, making Varric wince. « I... don't think I... »

« You'll make it, Hawke. You always did, and that won't change ! »

« Bethany... » The dwarf raised an eyebrow, wondering why Hawke was mentioning his sister. « Varric... you'll write to her and... say that... I love her... right ? »

« No, I won't. » he said, frowning. « You will write this letter and tell her yourself ! »

« My... little princess... » he sighed. « I... used to... call her that when... she was a child. »

« Hawke, you- »

« And Fenris... Varric... » He turned his head to him. « I... Fenris... »

« No. » Varric said firmly, gently touching Vlad's arm where it didn't seem injured. « I won't tell the elf that you love him or whatever, you'll tell him yourself. I'd rather kiss my brother's ass than doing this ! And trust me, I'd be ready to brace the smell ! »

The dwarf got another laugh that was cut short as Vlad started coughing violently to the point having trouble to breath. Cursing himself, Varric tried to steady Hawke, telling him to stay calm and breathed calmly. After a few seconds, Vlad finally caught his breath again, but was wincing each time he tried to breath. It wasn't a good sign. Looking desperately around him, Varric started calling again, hoping someone would hear this time.

« HELLO ?! ANYBODY HEAR ME ?! » For a moment, there was no answer. Then he tried again. « HELLO!!! MY FRIEND IS DYING !!! »

« At least... you... admit that... I am dying... » Vlad said. The Champion of Kirkwall sighed softly, feeling his lungs burning. Was he really going to die and see his parents and Carver again ? He liked the idea of seeing them again, but he didn't want it to happen this way. He didn't want to leave Bethany behind. And Fenris... he wanted to see him one last time.

« HELLOOOO !!! I- »

« … hear.... voices ! »

The two rogues froze as they hear a new voice. It was unfamiliar, faint and distant, but they knew they didn't imagine it. Varric started calling again, trying to guide whoever was outside. He actually didn't care who it could be, as long as they could help. If it was a slaver that was lucky enough to escape, the dwarf could swear that life really liked to play sick games.

« … you.... hear us ? »

« WE HEAR YOU !! » Vlad was impressed that his friend could still screamed so loudly, even after being wounded. The dwarf would never cease to surprise him. « OVER HERE ! OVER HERE ! »

« This way ! » The voice was clearer and was joined by several others. Still a bit faint, but they had no trouble hearing them now. They were very close.
After a few minutes, some of the boulders near them started to move.  

« One, two... THREE ! » Aveline's voice. With a loud noise, the stones fell off the way and Varric and Vlad could see some light coming through. A city guard crawled inside. When he looked up, he immediately called. « They're here ! The Champion is here too ! »

« Hawke ! » A few voices called Vlad's family name. Someone threatened a guard to kill him if he didn't move and cursed in a foreign language before crawling inside. Vlad smiled faintly. It was Fenris.
Immediately, the elf looked up and crawled quickly to Vlad's side, ignoring Varric. His eyes were wide as he saw how badly the man was injured. Vlad could see Varric moving away and talking to someone who just crawled in the room. He focused his eyes on Fenris and could see the relief and worry on his face.

« Fenris... » he said softly. « Sorry... for being... late. »

But before the elf could say anything, he was roughly pushed aside by Anders.

« Maker's breath, Hawke ! » he said, looking at him « This is much more serious than I expected ! »

« Just hurry up and heal him, mage ! »

« Shut up and let me check his wounds first, elf ! » Vlad simply stared at them silently. His heart was filled with joy at the sight of them, but he stayed silent. He was so tired, he didn't think he could talk anymore. He couldn't see clearly too, but it wasn't important to him anymore. He knew he was safe, now. « Hawke, listen... I can't heal you in this state. »

« What ?! What are you- »

« Let me finish ! » Anders said roughly to the elf before turning back to the rogue. « First, we have to remove that rod from your shoulder. Then, the guards will remove these stones blocking your legs. It's going to hurt a lot, but I've no choice. Here, take this. »

Pulling a small cloth out his coat, Anders rolled it into a ball before making Vlad taking it in his mouth. Vlad just nodded, trusting the healer to know what was best for him. He watched as Anders mentioned for Fenris to remove the rod in one fast movement. He'd mend the wound after that. Growling, but knowing he had no choice but to obey, Fenris moved behind Vlad's head and took the rod firmly in his hand. The rogue gritted his teeth at the pain it brought up but nodded at him to do it.

Without any warning, the elf pulled the rod out. And knew that if Vlad didn't have the cloth to bite on, everyone outside would have probably heard his scream of pain.
Blood began to pour freely from the wound and Anders quickly put his hand above it and worked his magic to ease the pain and heal the rogue.

Meanwhile, outside, the guards were still trying to clear the way to allow more people to go inside to assist the Champion. Varric had managed to crawl out and joined Isabella and Merrill who welcomed him with a hug.

« I was so scared ! » said Merrill. Varric chuckled and winked.

« Come on, Daisy, nothing can possibly beat me. » He said before turning back to the building.

« My, my! Is the chest an eye candy for me? » Isabella asked, seeing Varric didn't have his coat anymore. The dwarf just chuckled and smiled.

« That's another story, Rivaini. Anyway, Hawke should be fine. »

« He's alive ? Oh, thanks the Creators ! Where is he ? »

« Still inside... But we- » A loud noise startled them as the ground started to shake again. As the group looked, they saw in horror that the rest of the building was starting to collapse.

***Inside the ruins***

The unstable walls were shaking too violently and started to fall around, interrupting Anders's spells. People started shooting as everything was slowly collapsing. The entrance the guards created to get to Varric and Vlad had damaged one of the foundation walls.

« Everyone out !! » Aveline screamed « Back away ! Anders ! Fenris ! »

Looking up, Anders saw the roof cracking and starting to fall on him. With a yelp, he quickly moved away and crawled outside, knowing he had no choice to or he would be crushed under the stones.
Hearing a brief grunt, Fenris looked down and saw Vlad had been knocked out by a piece of roof. He knew he couldn't possibly leave with the man, so he did the only thing he could think off : he covered Vlad's body with his own and shut his eyes. He felt stones falling on him, making him hiss in pain until he felt something something hitting him square on the head.

And everything went black.

***Outside***

After a few minutes that seemed to last for hours, the dust cloud from the building collapse slowly began to disappear. Aveline tried to look around for any wounded people, and managed to see her husband, Varric, Isabella and Merrill, coughing but all unhurt. The guards also seemed to be fine.
Hearing a few coughs behind her, she turned around and saw Anders limping toward her.

« Maker's breath... » he said, coughing « That was... close. »

« Pleased to see you escaped. » she said, nodding. « Where are Hawke and Fenris ? »

She saw Anders freezing and looking up at her with wide eyes.

« You... you didn't see them ? » Her eyes widening at his reply, she rushed to the ruins and looked around. Even if the whole building had collapsed, the ruins covered a large part of the field. Large enough to make the search difficult. Maybe even more than before.

« Damn it ! »

***Somewhere***

He wasn't sure how much time had passed but when Fenris opened his eyes, the first thing he realized was that he could barely moved, sharp stones and woods pressing against him and cutting his skin. Hissing softly in pain and blinking a few times, he managed to adjust his eyes to the darkness and saw that he was still half lying on top of Hawke. Moving slightly, he felt sharp pain on his back as he hit a wall that had fallen right above them, and pain on his head. Putting his hand on his forehead, he felt warm liquid on his palm. Blood.
Groaning, he looked back down as he felt some movement under him. Hawke was wakening up.

« Hawke... » he whispered. The rogue didn't answer right away and finally groaned again as he opened his eyes. « I'm here. »

« Fenris... » he stammered, before coughing. Blood landed on the Fenris's face, but the elf didn't care much, knowing the rogue was still seriously injured. « So... cold... »

That wasn't a good sign. Before the rest of the building collapsed, Anders had managed to heal the wound on the rogue's shoulder and partly the one on his head, but that was all. Even if he had managed to protect him by using his body as a shield, the rogue still needed urgent healing.
But they were trapped. Fenris could feel the weight of a wall on his back. It wasn't heavy enough to crush him, but even with his abilities, it still prevented him from moving at all. He tried to call for help, but he heard nothing in return.

« They'll come to us... » he whispered, looking at the rogue. Vlad swallowed, trying to breath properly and nodded. « And that stupid mage will get you back on your feet... I think he managed to leave in time.»

« I... hope so... » Vlad shivered violently for a few seconds before sightly relaxing. Fenris was doing his best not to crush him under his weight. He wasn't heavy for the human, but new he could make any internal wounds worse if he wasn't careful. « I... I'm sorry. »

« Why ? »

« I can't move... I can bare... barely feel... my arms... » he said, shivering « You may be... stuck here... for nothing. »

« Don't be foolish, Hawke. » the elf glared, even if he wasn't sure if Hawke could see him. « You'll make it through. »

« So... sleepy... »

« No ! » Moving a bit sharply, Fenris winced as he put his hand on Vlad's left cheek. « Stay awake. Do not fall asleep ! »

« You... don't make a nice... blanket for sure. » He heard the rogue saying. He could swear he was even smiling. « And... these stones don't... make a good bed. »

« Festis bei umo canavarum... » he groaned. Why should the rogue joke in such situation ?

« Wha... ah... let me guess... you're upset... again. »

« It means « You will be the death of me » ! » The elf replied. « And I'm not talking about our current situation ! »

« Then... what ? »

« Six years ago, I decided to stay with you, in part because I owned you. But I also thought you could help me. » Fenris wasn't sure why he was saying that now. But right now, he needed to get this out of his chest. And to have Hawke focused on him. Anything that would keep him awake. « And you did. Hadriana is dead. Danarius is dead... I am finally free. »

« … but ? »

« But... » The elf sighed and looked aside. « But none of it feels like it should. This freedom tastes like... ashes. »

« Right now... it tastes like... stone dust. » he heard Vlad chuckling before wincing in pain. « Ouch... strange... I always thought it... tastes like chicken. »

« Yes, go ahead. Laugh. Joke. That's your answer to everything, isn't it ? » Fenris groaned.

« Relax, Fenris... ugh... » Vlad winced and Fenris could feel he was trying to move his arm but failed to. He probably couldn't move anything else, partly because of their current situation but also because of his injuries. « Tell me... what were you... hoping for ? That's not... all, isn't it ? »

« Indeed... » Fenris sighed. He wanted to have a serious talk with him, and he was actually having it despite the serious situation they were both stuck in. And despite his usual sarcasm and the injuries, the human was still willing to listen. « I thought finding Varania would open up a new world, one that was lost forever. But it's gone, and I can't get it back. »

« Killing her would... have been a... mistake, Fenris. » Vlad said before taking a few big breaths. « Family is... sacred, but... you have it here. With us... In Kirkwall. »

« Kirkwall, my home ? » The elf said « I don't know... even if it's right, what do I do now, Hawke ? »

« Beside... being half on... top of me ? » The rogue answered before shivering sightly. « Change... change your clothes... join the ch-chantry... I don't know. »

« I don't think I'll go that far. » The elf couldn't help smiling a bit. However it didn't last long as he felt Hawke trying to move his arm again. It was twisted badly. After hesitating, he reached and took the rogue's hand, gently squeezing it. He felt a weak squeeze in return.

« Leave the... past. Fenris, look... at me. » He looked back at the rogue, feeling nervous at how weak the rogue's voice had become. « You... need to think... about your future. About your new... life... as a free man. I told you before... that... you should stop... living with your past. »

« I know... » the elf whispered, remembering their conversation after Hadriana's death. « And you're probably right... Maybe it is time to leave this hatred behind. It's poison, yet I continue to swallow it. There is no one left to blame... what I have done, I have done to myself. »

« That's... not true. I am here... Fenris... You don't... have to go... through this alone. »

« Don't I ? » The elf whispered sadly. He felt Vlad squeezing his hand in return. The rogue's hand was gently stroking his palm. A light touch, and yet it meant a lot. The rogue never stopped defending him, fought Danarius for him, for his freedom... always with these deep blue eyes that never stopped showing affection, after all these years.

It was time... how many times did he stop himself from going to Hawke's house and begged for forgiveness over abandoning him after that night ?
He heard Vlad coughing sightly and when he looked back, he saw the champion was fighting hard not to sleep. Feeling a knot in his throat, he took a deep breath and talked again.

« We... have never discussed what happened between us three years ago. » he stopped and waited for a reaction. He felt the thumb stopping to move for a few second before it went back on caressing his palm again.

« I... tried to... talk to you, but... you never... wanted to listen. » He heard Vlad saying. The sadness in the rogue's voice was painful to hear, but not surprising to the elf. « But... I waited as... You... didn't want to... talk about it. »

« I felt like a fool... I thought it better if you hated me... I deserved no less. »

« Fenris, you... you know how I... feel about you. » The elf closed his eyes and nodded, remembering the numerous times Vlad had tried to voice his feelings to him. But each time, Fenris had refused to listen. Each time, he had felt like ripping not only Vlad's heart, but his own heart as well. « I couldn't... »

« I know. I was still hoping you would... But you're right... it isn't better. That night... I remember your touch as if it were yesterday. » He said before looking back at the rogue. He never forgot all the touches, the kisses, the looks... everything that had made this night wonderful to the elf. « I should have asked for your forgiveness long ago... I know this isn't the best time for this, but... I hope you can forgive me now. »

« Before I... die ? »

« You're NOT going to die. » The elf said painfully, even if he knew it could still happen. The rogue was getting weaker and weaker. « I will not allow it ! »

« I... Fenris... » The rogue swallowed with difficulty, his voice low. « I need to... understand... why you left... Tell me why. »

« I... » The elf didn't have any answer. Despite asking himself the same question for the last three years. « I've thought about the answer a thousand times. The pain... the memories it brought up... it was too much. I was a coward. If I could go back, I wouldn't have left. I would have stayed, Hawke. You would have waken up to find me by your side... still in your arms. I would tell you how I felt. I would... »

« What would... you have said ? » The rogue's voice was barely a whisper. Fear gripped the elf's heart violently and he felt his eyes burning. The man he had fallen in love with was slowly falling asleep. And might not wake up again.
But he couldn't let that happening. Gently, he leaned down and pressed his lips against the human's forehead before looking at him again.

« Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you... » he said, hoping the other man would believe him. At first, he got no answer but a small smile slowly appeared. It was barely visible for the elf, but it meant a lot to him.

« Oh...  I don't know. » For a moment, he thought his heart was going to explode. Even if he would accept Hawke's rejection, the pain would still be agonizing. Then, he heard the man continuing to talk. « This... might be fun... to hold over... you... a while... longer. »

Sarcasm and humor... This human, Vlad Hawke, had always enjoyed playing with people's nerves. But Fenris smiled, knowing he did deserve it. He had barely heard the last words, but knew what it meant : Hawke was still here. Unlike him, he never left.

« I'm sorry... Fenris... » The elf's smile slowly disappeared, wondering what Vlad was apologizing for. Then, the elf realized he could barely feel his breath anymore. « ... »

« No... no, you're not. » The elf glared at him. « You won't die ! You'll be saved ! »

« I hear something ! » A voice above him startled him. He lift his eyes, listening more carefully « Over here ! »

« Donnic ! » The elf tried calling, recognizing Aveline's husband. « Donnic ! Hurry up ! Hawke ! »

« Hang on, Fenris ! We're right here! Give us a minute ! » Aveline.

« Broody ! I hope you managed to keep Hawke alive ! » Varric.

« Don't you dare dying, Hawke ! I'm here ! » The stupid mage, Anders.

The elf felt hope invading him. They had finally found them. He smiled and let out a small nervous laugh. The nightmare was almost over. He looked back at the rogue and saw that his eyes were closed. He leaned and kissed his forehead, still smiling even as he felt the sharp pain on his back slowly returning as the wall that had kept him down was slowly being lift by the city guards.

« Not the right time to sleep, Hawke. » he said. « We're almost safe now. »

But he got no answer. His smile disappearing, Fenris leaned and listened to the man's breath... but there was nothing.
Hawke wasn't breathing anymore...

***Ten days later***

Orana had rarely seen so many people in the mansion at once. Well, except for the master's friend's wedding, last year. It was a very happy event, something she had never seen before... but now, the air was thick with tension, even when she tried to offer something to eat or drink.
There was no celebration. Nobody was smiling, worry written on everyone's face.
But she understood, as she felt the same way.

Sighing softly, she entered the master's bedroom, a small basin of cold water with a clean white cloth in her hands. The mage, Anders, was standing beside where was sleeping Hawke. On the other side, Fenris was sitting on a chair, his eyes also firmly set on him. If she didn't know what had happened, she would say they were just watching him sleeping.
A nap that had been going on for days... ever since what had happened in Lowtown.

« Messere, I got what you needed. » she said, putting everything beside Anders. The mage smiled gently and nodded. « Is there anything I can do ? »

« No, it's alright. I didn't need anything else. » He said, wetting the cloth before gently washing Hawke's face with it. The man had the sheets up his waist and wasn't wearing any shirt. He wasn't as pale as when they brought him back to the mansion, but his skin still wasn't as tanned as before. « Thank you, Orana. »

She bowed and quietly left the room, leaving the two men alone. Downstairs, Bohdan was talking to his son.

«... And remember that when he will wake up, he will probably want something to eat. » the old dwarf said. Sandal smiled and clapped his hands in delight, which confused the young elf.

« But, Master Hawke is still asleep. » she said « Messere Anders and Messere Fenris are still at his side. »

« Orana, he's not wounded anymore. His friend is a very talented healer. » the old draw said gently « Now, he just need to rest. And that can take time. I've seen something like that happening to the Hero of Ferelden once. Poor lad had been seriously injured in a fight and only woke up three days after his friends had made sure he was safe. »

« But it's been more than three days... and a whole building fell on him... » The little elf said sadly. « Master Hawke is a good man. I don't want him to die... »

« Orana... » Bohdan took her hands, smiling gently. « He's one fine strong man. He will make it. »

« Do you really think so ? »

« No, I believe it. » he corrected. Sandal still had his smile and hold out a stone to Orana. A little green flower was carved into it. Hesitating at first, she took it and smiled, thanking him.

« Enchantment ! »

***Inside Vlad Hawke's bedroom***

Three men in a room, and yet none of them were making a sound. The fireplace was lightening the room and casting Anders's shadow over Hawke's sleeping form. The mage was done washing the rogue's face and nodded to himself. The burns had disappeared and the wound on his head was gone.
It had been hard work, and the rogue nearly died a few times, but now all the wounds were gone. Hawke just needed to rest.

« Are you done ? » And the elf needed to go and leave the room. With a mid-glare, Fenris was staring at Anders, visibly wishing the mage would stay away from Hawke. However, he hadn't moved or protested each time Anders had been working his magic or washing the rogue's face clean. He might hate the mage, but he was not stupid. He knew it was necessary to make sure the rogue would be safe.

« I'd be if you'd stay quiet. » Anders replied, glaring back. « And if you were elsewhere. »

« I told you already, mage. I am not leaving. »

« Neither I am. I am the only one who can provide him medical care, so deal with it. »

« I've been dealing with your presence for the past ten days. » The air was thick with tension as the two men kept on glaring at each other before turning their attention back to Hawke. The guards had found him and Fenris just as the elf had been calling for help, saying that the rogue wasn't breathing anymore. Anders had almost panicked at this, but had managed to stay calm and concentrate on reviving him. It had been very close, but the man had been saved just in time. A few more minutes, and it would have been too late.

The man's body had been severely damaged, with both legs and arms broken, head injuries and several internal wounds which could have been fatal to a mere human. But Hawke was different and strong. He had managed to survive long enough for Anders to act.

Fenris couldn't deny this. If the mage hadn't been here, Hawke would have died. Right after their talk. His own injuries hadn't been as serious, and healed only after Aveline threatened him to cut his head off if he kept on refusing to let Anders fixing his wounds. And the elf was certain she hadn't really been joking. The woman wasn't the kind to joke around. She wasn't Isabella.

The pirate had stayed a few hours after Hawke was brought back into his mansion, before going back with Varric and Merrill to Lowtown, saying she'd stay with the blood mage to make sure she was alright. That woman was very annoying, but he couldn't deny that she also had a big heart. Just like Hawke.
As for the dwarf, he came everyday for any news. But so far, nothing had changed. The man was still asleep. Anders had said countless times that there was nothing strange about it, but it didn't make the elf feel better.
So he had decided to stay at the mansion every day, leaving only at night before coming back in the morning. He was doing nothing but waiting for the human to wake up.

« Mmm... »  Both Fenris and Anders were brought out of their thoughts as they heard a noise. They looked at Hawke and saw the man was still asleep, but had sightly moved his head. The first move since he was brought back to the mansion. The two men couldn't help smiling a bit, knowing it was a good sign.

« Well... he will be fine. I guess we better leave and let him rest. » The mage said, nodding at Fenris. But the elf frowned and kept his eyes on Vlad.

« I'm not leaving until he wakes up. »

« He probably won't if you keep on hanging around, doing nothing but brooding all day. »

« I haven't asked for your opinion. »

« At least, I am REALLY taking care of him. » The elf glared, setting his gaze back on the mage. Anders simply glared back, crossing his arms. « Unlike you. »

« I am, by staying here and making sure the abomination you are doesn't do anything dangerous to him. »

« What ?! I'd never threaten him ! Unlike you, I really do care for Hawke ! »

« I do care, that's why I am here ! »

« And for how long ? Just one night, and then you'll leave him again with a broken heart ? »

« How dare you ! »

« Excuse-me... » A third voice spoke up and the men saw Bohdan coming into the room. « But we can hear you from downstairs. You two should go elsewhere, or you will wake him up. He needs to rest. »

« It's not necessary. I was going to leave anyway. » Anders said before turning to Fenris. « You better know what you're doing. Because if you make Hawke miserable again, I swear I will- »

« Just leave, mage. This is none of your business. » The two men glared at each other for a moment before Bohdan cleared his throat and got their attention.

« Messere, please... »

« Yes... I'm sorry. » Anders said, nodding at the dwarf, before looking at the elf. « You don't deserve him, Fenris. »

Bohdan left the room, with the mage in tow, and closed the door, leaving Fenris alone with the sleeping man. He shook his head and removed his gauntlets and chest armor before sitting on the bed, his eyes on the door.

« You don't either, mage. Don't you dare judging me... »

« You two... are so bloody annoying... » Though it sounded weak and sleepy, a new but very familiar voice spoke up and immediately caught the elf's attention. Looking down at Hawke, he saw the man moving his head again, slowly opening his eyes and turning his head to him. « Can never have... a simple talk. »

« Hawke ! » The elf said, frowning « But... for how long have you been awaken ? »

« Long enough to hear you two having another fight. » Back to his usual stupid answers, but Fenris didn't mind at all. The man's voice wasn't very strong, but still sounded much better than when they were stuck in the ruins. « You're alright, Fenris... »

« My wounds were meaningless, compared to yours. » He said.

« What about Varric ? Merrill and Aveline ? » Vlad sighed, still feeling a bit tired. « What happened ? »

« The mage healed his leg when we found you two, so he's fine. And Aveline and the blood mage managed to get out before the first collapse. » the elf answered « As Donnic's patrol was in Lowtown that night... the City Guards were fast enough to act. ». 

« But why were you in Lowtown ? » So many questions... Fenris understood them, but wished the man could stop talking and just relaxed. He smirked bitterly. Back in the ruins, he had to make sure Hawke didn't fall asleep, but now he wished it was the other way around. « And... what's wrong ? You look sad. »

« I am not... I'm just relieved. » Vlad lift his hand and tentatively touched the elf's cheek. In return, the elf held it in place and turn his head to kiss the palm. « I almost thought you weren't going to make it. »

« So did I... » The rogue said. He tried to sit up with the help of his other arm, but groaned and laid back down. His body was still too weak from his long sleep and the intense medical care he got from Anders. « Damn it... I've spent enough time on my back... »

« You still need to rest... » The elf said, letting go of his hand and staring at him for a moment. Just as the rogue was about to ask him what was on his mind, he laid down next to the man. For a moment he just watched him before slowly scooting closer until he had his arm wrapped around the rogue's chest, his top of his head touching Vlad's stubble-covered cheek. « Is this... alright ? »

« … More than alright. » And it was the truth. Vlad could almost feel his heart about to burst out of his chest, just like when Fenris had asked for forgiveness. « You... you won't leave again, right ? »

« I'm here to stay... Hawke... » The elf slowly lift himself up and bent down until his lips met Vlad's. The kiss was slow at first but quickly hardened as lips and tongues started a dance that was last played three years ago. The rogue wrapped his arms around him. His muscles were still sore but he still had some strength. Slowly, he turned them around until they were facing each other and broke the kiss.
The elf groaned faintly in protest, but when he opened his eyes, he saw the rogue smiling warmly in return before burying his head on the warrior's chest, holding the elf firmly close. « Hawke ? »

« I love you. »

« You... what ? » To hear Vlad saying that so bluntly shocked him briefly, but long enough to have the rogue looking up at him seriously. « Hawke... »

« Is it really a surprise to you ? » he asked before going back at nuzzling the elf's chest. « You already knew, Fenris... I may not have said it directly, but... I made it quite obvious these last years. »

« I... I know... » The elf thought bitterly at all the times the rogue had showed his affection for the elf, despite what happened the morning after their night of passion. More than once did he catch the man looking at him with longing eyes. More than once did Vlad try to tell Fenris how he felt about him... the last time being the night after Aveline's wedding at Hawke's estate. They had had an argument and Fenris had made it clear that he still didn't want to talk about their first night. He had told the rogue to move on, to find someone else... the elf shut his eyes and hold the man a bit tighter at the thought. « I'm sorry... for having been such a coward. »

« I already forgave you, Fenris... You needed time, and I accepted to give it to you. I was such a stubborn bastard. »

« You still are... and don't you dare changing that. » He heard Vlad chuckling at this, before sighing.

« Just don't move... for a while. » Vlad said. The elf just nodded and hold the man close before kissing the top of his head. They had been in this position once... but it was Hawke who had been holding him, against his chest not the other way around. « I... just want to make sure that I'm not going to wake up in those ruins... Or worse... »

« I'll be here when you wake up. » The elf said, gently stroking Vlad's black hair. He didn't want Vlad to think the nightmare wasn't over. « You'll open your eyes again, Hawke. And you will see me at your side. Today, and tomorrow... and the day after... If there is a future to be had... I will walk into it gladly at your side. »

He heard no answer, but Fenris didn't mind. He just kept on holding on the man. In one of the books Hawke had given him a few years ago, it had been written that a man who spent his life trying to protect people was actually one who needed protection the most. After what happened that night, seeing how everyone tried their best to save the rogue... Fenris couldn't disagree.
As he kissed once again the top of Vlad's head, he closed his eyes, knowing he'd provide the protection and love Hawke deserved.

Danarius' Designs Part 3:
Rating: PG-13 for violence and sexual references.
Pairing: Fenris/mHawke (but it's not particularly overt here) and other references.
Spoilers: This text contains Act III spoilers for the quest "Alone" and Act II spoilers for "A Bitter Pill." Generally speaking, it involves all Fenris content along the Friendship romance path.

---

A faint odor of sweat and sewage trailed Hawke and Fenris along their route to Hightown and thus their respective estates. Hawke, under normal circumstances (if anything in his life constituted "normal circumstances") would have gladly groused about his sodden state, but the unwelcome flavor tingeing his lips plus the tension of unpleasantly damp undergarments were a meager price for Danarius' destruction. That wasn't to suggest that Hawke was happy to pay, but he maintained a rudimentary check on his admittedly exaggerated sense of entitlement.

Fenris kept his eyes on the far depths of the adjacent alleyways, scrutinizing the darkness for any sign of danger—members of the Coterie who might not appreciate that day's personal significance. He took such routes brazenly when wandering alone, welcoming the opportunity to rid the streets of various predators, but Hawke's inclusion warranted atypical caution. Conveniently, the practice also kept his mind from lingering too long on events of the day. The mage had a strange effect on the nerve-wracked elf; safeguarding Hawke required care and composure, but his nearness had an effect Fenris did not dare to acknowledge and indeed found preferable to ignore.

Despite the rather mixed outcome, Hawke retained a calm smile—a subtle distortion of flesh that nevertheless spoke volumes. He kept his eyes on the path to watch for jagged stones or shards of broken glass, and from afar, he looked as though a penitent. He marveled at how much longer the journey felt without shoes. Hawke had no idea how Fenris managed it, every movement an unprotected step into a treacherous and unfamiliar dark. All that, Hawke thought, and Fenris too lacked footwear.

It wasn't long until the two of them stood afore the doorway of Hawke's sizable estate. Whether it was simple luck or rare sensibility on the part of the Coterie, neither Hawke nor Fenris had been subject to an interruption of their shared silence. Hawke was obliged to break it, but was saddened by the need. In a city like Kirkwall, there was no music like peace.

"I'm much obliged for your help, Fenris," Hawke said, nodding to his guide. "Despite my best efforts, Kirkwall remains a poor host once night falls."

Fenris ran a thumb against his opposite palm, rubbing at the markings which ached far more than the lyrium would warrant. "You don't have to thank me," he replied, his voice dimming to a near-murmur. "A night like this, I'd have done it even for Merrill."

"Even so." Hawke fiddled with his belt, withdrew a brass key, and inserted it into the lock. With a deft turn and a pronounced click, the bolt slid aside. Hawke returned the key to his person and laid his fingers upon the door's bulky handle. Like Hawke's hand, it had roughened with age, taking dents and scars despite regular maintenance. Hawke sighed lightly and pulled the door agape. "I'm sorry for this evening, Fenris."

"Don't be," Fenris asserted sharply. "I…. It's fine. He is gone… at last. I could not ask for more."

Hawke shook his head. "Not that—or at least, not only that." Despite his words, he kept his bearing tall: Hawke had a pride that never quite escaped his features. "Do you understand why I engaged in discourse and bade you speak?"

"I assume to gather information you would not get from me. Not voluntarily, anyway." The tone came flat, but bitter.

"I'm disappointed to find that is your perception of my character," Hawke replied, though he couldn't deny there was a substantial measure of accuracy to Fenris' assessment. "No, Fenris. It's a matter of doubt."

The tips of Fenris' ears began to burn in annoyance. "Did you somehow think I did not have enough?"

"Too much, of course," Hawke countered smoothly. He longed to offer a comforting hand, but knew better than to make the attempt. It was a mistake he'd made before. The door continued to enjoy his touch instead. "Most people, Fenris, spend their entire lives regretting things they've done, decisions they've made. They yearn for a chance to go back, to revise their strategies, to choose the better path. Today, you were given an opportunity, rare and precious, to reconsider the choice you once made."

Fenris clamped his teeth together. "You heard what Danarius said. He had no intention of honoring his so-called 'deal.'"

Hawke nodded. "True, but you believed that the offer was genuine."

In response, Fenris sighed openly, running his armored fingers through his roughly-cut hair. "Yes, I suppose I did. Unwise of me, I know." He tried to make the comment even, blasé, but his humiliation was obvious regardless. It was terrible to think that, despite everything, he had still been susceptible to Danarius' rhetoric.

"You are an honest man, and assume the same of others," Hawke replied. "Scarcely a failing on your part. Forgive your trust and listen, for my point was this: When you ran, you believed your fate was set. The moment you fled your master's grip, you thought you were gambling not just your freedom, but your life. You never had a reason to pause, to reflect on whether the fight was worthwhile, because it had stretched beyond values to survival."

"And I was satisfied with that, Hawke. If you recall."

Hawke blinked languorously. "Then you should be elated now."

Fenris' mouth bent into a subtle grimace. "Oh?"

"Yes, because as it happens, you were fighting for your happiness as well," Hawke explained, keeping his feet firmly planted on the stone that lay afore the ingress of his home. "For what you truly wanted. You were offered every temptation, and it still was not enough to turn you. Now you can be satisfied, always, that your decision was the correct one, not only in principle, but in practice. … Do you realize how valuable this was? The gift of certainty, of faith in your own judgment?"

That was enough to warrant a sarcastically raised eyebrow. "In my judgment? I… wouldn't go that far."

Hawke's lips were pressed into a thin line, his brow severe. "Some time, if you have the inclination, you should consider those to who m you speak. Did you ever hear how Aveline lost her first husband, the Templar Wesley? Were you listening when Anders gave his rationale for joining with the spirit of Justice? What about Merrill, who surrendered a life she cherished for a calling no one else supports? At times, Varric wonders why his brother betrayed him. Sebastian uses prayer to calm his own uncertainties—his obligations as a prince versus his devotion to his Maker. I once heard Isabela wax unusually poetic about the blood spilt over jobs she did for coin. I… have also speculated about choices I have made and price those close to me paid. You, conversely, can be content knowing that, even taking into account all you've learned since your time in Tevinter, you made the right decision from the start."

Fenris looked off to the side with uncertainty that bore its own frustration. "That, I fear, is rather easy for a lord and Champion to say." He couldn't bear to admit it, but Danarius' words had not fallen completely on deaf ears. Laganum. Pompam Leonum. The life of no accountability.

Hawke's grip on the door handle tightened considerably, causing his cold knuckles to whiten. "This—" he said, indicating the estate with a curt jerk of his head, "—is a rather empty home. A simple matter to forget, of course, so overwhelmed am I by my lust for material things. Bartrand and I are not so different, it seems, having traded our brothers for gold. Do you think, perhaps, that ever comes to mind while I am dining alone?"

"I'm sorry," Fenris said, his posture softening. "That isn't… what I meant." He wanted to clarify, but figured that Hawke would piece it together, and any additional phrasal clumsiness was probably going to end poorly.

A thin jet of warm air escaped Hawke's nose. Thankfully, it was a gesture of amusement. His smile came oddly. "Did you know, back when I lived with Gamlen, I considered asking to you to rent me a portion of the mansion? I couldn't bear the Lowtown tenements. Or Gamlen, for that matter. Upon reflection, I might actually be that insufferably shallow. An apology isn't necessary."

Fenris stared at Hawke in suppressed bafflement. "I know you aren't. We all know you aren't. If you were, you'd have… different friends. Or at least be better friends with Sebastian."

"Mm," came Hawke's succinct reply. His eyes passed over the still-ajar doorway. "Well, either way, I should retire for the night." He tilted his head slightly. "Promise me," he began softly, gently brushing a few flyaway hairs from Fenris' vision, "please, promise me that you won't do anything—"

"—Stupid."

"Rash." Hawke's face had regained its sobriety. "You are not stupid. Just take the time to think." With that, he pushed the door the rest of the way open and made his way inside.

"Hawke, wait—" Fenris interjected, tracing Hawke's footsteps. He placed a hand on the solid wood panel. "There's something I have to say—!"

Hawke turned around and gazed at the man standing on his front step. "No. Not tonight. Take the time to think." His breath came even, calm. That, unlike his chest, he could control. "I will come by tomorrow. Tell me then, if you still wish to speak it."

"I—what?"

"This day was a long time coming, but neither of us has had enough time to come to terms with it." Hawke considered that a generous statement, given that he thought that he was quite comfortable with how things had progressed. "I do not want you—in the spirit of the moment—to do anything you will regret. If the matter is not urgent, let it wait, that you might be surer of it."

Those words made Fenris' heart constrict. He caught Hawke's implication, and though it was not precisely welcome, he could scarcely argue the point. "T-tomorrow, then."

Hawke smiled and nodded once. "Tomorrow. And goodnight."

The door closed, separating the two. Fenris' hand was still lying on the wood, the metal claws scratching thin lines into the varnish. He bit his bottom lip nervously, visualizing himself throwing open the door, speaking his lines, and then…. But the dream was a foolish one, he knew, and unlikely to impress. He stood at the doorway regardless, just in case Hawke were to reconsider. It took some time for the finality of Hawke's gesture to permeate his hope. "Right…," he mused. "Tomorrow." He didn't relish the thought, alone with himself until sunrise. Danarius' death should have pleased him, but the deed felt… painful yet unreal. A challenge to face alone, unfortunately.

Hawke sucked on his lip pensively, staring at the stage-like overlook of his estate, the vantage from which he had once watched Fenris depart. The sight steeled him, legitimized his urge to prevent a repeat performance. His dick, on the other hand, seemed much more confused and unsatisfied by the result and vacillated between rallying to attention and wilting in despair. Hawke resented the desire and blamed it for his impulse to thrust open the door and call out for company he had dismissed only moments prior. He was, however, a grown man and knew hormones were not the excuse they'd been in years prior. He wrung his hands, still slick with grimy water, and glared at them in discontentment.

"Orana!" he called brusquely.

"Coming, master!" The return sound came from the kitchen, which was unsurprising. Orana divided her spare time evenly between the strove and the lute. True, she used Hawke's lessons in literacy to record tunes and recipes, but she was otherwise uninterested in most literature. (Isabela's novellas were the commonest exception, but Hawke did not see fit to inquire into the matter.) With professional speed, she skittered into the foyer, her bun somewhat disheveled and her fingers stained from berry juice.

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "Baking?"

"Tarts," she answered plainly. Her eyes were turned to Hawke's damp clothing, which was dripping brackish water onto a rug she'd cleaned a mere two days earlier.

"Tarts…." That warranted a smile. Hawke suffered a secret sweet-tooth. "Glad to hear it." He handed his mage's staff to Orana and began to unfasten his belt.

Orana planted the butt of the staff on the floor and leaned against it wearily. "Master."

"Hmm?"

Her glare was just shy of condemnatory.

Hawke pressed a hand to his chest defensively. "I was pushed in, Orana."

She looked to the side and sighed.

"And I will eat dinner before I touch the tarts. All right?"

Orana relaxed her posture slightly. "Master."

Hawke began cautiously unfastening the closures at the neck of his robe. As he did, he glanced at Orana critically. He had expended considerable effort to lessen her servile tendencies, but there were times he wondered whether that had been, strictly speaking, wise. "Would you be so kind as to prepare some hot water?" he asked, folding the shawl-like portion of his raiment and placing it in Orana's outstretched hand.

"Good thinking, master. I'll need to start the wash before they dry or else they'll discolor. It's no trouble. I'm happy to clean them, again."

Dipping his head slightly, Hawke broached, "Ehm, and for a bath as well, perhaps? I'd like to get some of this… off."

"I know. We don't want your sheets stained, either," she answered with a nod. "Any more than they already are. Master."

Hawke looked as though he'd just swallowed a live frog. "Mistakes are made in the absence of clean socks."

"Master."

"… Orana, please run the water."

---

Fenris walked a meandering path back to the mansion he called… well, not quite "home," but something of that nature. His bones ached, as if he bore a skeleton of wrought iron within, the joints afflicted with an ancient, painful rust. He shoved the door open with his shoulder, having lazily unfastened the latch with his opposite hand.  Inside, the estate smelled of mildew and decaying mortar. Things Fenris did not realize could degrade, such as wood and parchment, had turned gray and in some cases added their material to the growing mats of dust.

He knew, logically, that he hadn't been rejected. Hawke had been correct: impatience had not availed him well in the past and was unlikely to benefit him in the future. Fenris understood, and respected, Hawke's decision. That said, he wasn't above responding with the indulgence of self-pity. He made it all the way to the stairs before sloughing his sword from his back, settling roughly on the steps, and crossing his arms angrily. He ran his toes over the verge of the step, massaging his foot in an attempt to work away the soreness.

Fenris cursed under his breath, but the specific words—for want of an audience—weren't particularly important. It was just another indication of a displeasure that fed upon his shame. Unable to kill it, Fenris had made a point of burying it, masking it, clouding it, stifling it with his hate. Under normal circumstances, the strategy worked adequately well. In light of recent events, however, his methods buckled under the weight of his humiliation. Fenris had yearned to kill Danarius with a rage like thunder, but the magister's blood had not come cheap.

He could stand Aveline knowing more of his past, the expanded, more personal account. She was kind and levelheaded, the kind of person who could outclass him in every aspect, yet would regard him as an equal. Varric, for all his artful levity, was likewise sympathetic, and though not famed for his discretion, practiced it earnestly when warranted. Hawke, however…. The very concept made Fenris feel edgy, almost nauseous. It wasn't even what they'd shared, but how much he'd lied when they did.

And Hawke had called him an honest man. Not, Fenris thought, very likely.

Breath hissed from behind Fenris' teeth. "Gn'gh, Hawke, if you'd even known the half of it…." Fenris sighed disgustedly. Hawke had insisted that he wasn't stupid. Another mischaracterization, Fenris suspected. He shed his left gauntlet and set it on the step. When he went to remove the other, he his eye caught the thick band of red fabric, a gift that could not possibly have more value if it were made of gold brocade. Even in the darkness, it was unmistakable.

He closed his eyes as he removed the second gauntlet and set it adjacent to the other.
Fenris managed to ignore it for approximately ten successful seconds. Sadly, his eyes were given to wander, and its color had a particular allure. He bent over and tugged the piece loose, taking hold of it as a free flag of blazing crimson. A gift, Fenris wagered, given in ignorance. Undeserved.

Except, Fenris recalled, Hawke had not seemed surprised by anything Danarius had insinuated, or what comparatively little was stated outright. Varric's reaction, and Aveline's, had been similarly cool. There was no shock, no revelation. Embraced by the humid air of a summer's dark, Fenris slowly realized his silence and evasion had been pointless. The truth was obvious anyway, written into his skin beneath the whorls of lyrium. The thought should have been a comfort, but it wasn't, not in the slightest. They had coddled him, he thought, and he hadn't even noticed. His skin felt hot and his gut twisted. Mortifying. Mortifying, that they'd already known. Worse that their meeting had validated everything.

No wonder Hawke had told him to leave, to think, Fenris concluded. Much became clear that way, including past errors. "He would have helped you," Fenris seethed, if only to himself, "if you had just told him."  It was easier to imagine Hawke excusing foolishness than deceit, though even the former felt like an imposition on Hawke's magnanimous spirit.

"Dammit!" Fenris barked. "Dammit, dammit, dammit!"

He slumped over dramatically, laying his chest on the platform at the turn and gracelessly pressing his face into the resident dust. His legs trailed down over the descending steps. He wanted to vent his frustration somewhere, but it was far too dark, he was much too tired, and there was no point. Danarius' destruction should have marked the beginning of a new life—Fenris always believed it would—but he already longed for Kirkwall's yesterdays, the years where single-mindedness was an asset and he believed his secrets safe. … Wrongly, of course, but genuinely.

He could apologize, he knew—come clean and elucidate everything, rationalize it to a man who valued rationality. Unfortunately, an explanation would require far more background than Fenris had any inclination to give. Hawke knew the basics, not the details, but the details tasted like acid in Fenris' mouth.

He sneezed halfheartedly, sending a small puff of dust away from his nostrils. He considered dragging himself to the derelict frame he called a bed, but he was not cold enough to sufficiently mind the stone. Apathy overtook his want of comfort, and he slid into sleep in defiance of his heartache.   

---

To be continued.

         Night had fallen over the camp and the moon hung high in the sky. The fire was still crackling as it worked its way through the last of the fading embers. The only other sound was the occasional roaring belch or ripping flatulence from Oghren. The feisty dwarf had drunk himself into a coma and was curled up next to the fire, the location of his pants unknown.
         The Warden carefully stepped over his snoozing companion to tend to the dying fire, chucking a few more logs on. The rest of the camp had long turned in for the night but he found he himself could not sleep. His mind was too worried, too stressed; what had happened today still didn't sit well with him.
         Zevran.
         The fight.
         The Warden closed his eyes, sighing haggardly.
         The fire started to rumble back to life and he stepped back over Oghren and away from the camp. At the edge of the fire's light, he found a tree to lean against and here he paused, still trying to make sense of it all. He looked back over his shoulder to the camp; his gaze paused on the empty spot where Zevran's tent should have been.
         In an aching wave, the day's events came crashing back over him.
         Taliesen had come to finish what Zevran had not been able to. Taliesen followed in his former partner's footsteps; that is to say, he failed just as Zevran had to kill to Warden. Taliesen fought until his last breath and in his death, the elf finally found a chance for true freedom.
         And then Zevran left.
         The Warden sighed again at himself. It hadn't been that simple. Zevran hadn't just left, the Warden had told him to leave and now he regretted it more than anything else in his entire life. He was surprised at himself, how much he already missed him and hated himself all the more for how he had acted.
         Zevran had taken him aside to talk and the Warden said everything wrong. His lover had told him this was a great opportunity, he could go see the world, free of the Crows and safe from worry that they would ever come after him. They would all assume he had died with Taliesen at the hands of the fierce Grey Warden.
         The Warden had been hurt, angry, and terribly confused with how he felt about it. He was happy for Zevran to finally be free, but he cared about him; cared too much, he decided. It would be better for both of them to end it now, let them both be free. After all, Zevran hadn't said anything about wanting to stay and as much as it hurt him, the Warden told him to leave.
         And had hated himself every minute since, left only wishing he had done something differently.
         There was a sound, a rustle of the foliage a few yards away. The Warden snapped to attention, his hand going to the hilt of his sword, demanding of the darkness, "Who goes there! Identify yourself or meet my steel!"
          "It is… only I," a familiar voice said.
         The Warden squinted at the shadows, his eyes widening in surprise as he saw the slim figure of Zevran himself coming towards him. He let his guard down, a mix of emotions tackling him to see his lover again so soon; especially after how much he had been thinking about him.
         Zevran couldn't help but offer a tiny smile, even if it was tinged with sadness. He didn't know what he was doing here, not exactly. He hadn't made it very far before realizing he had left the Dalish gloves behind that the Warden had given to him a week earlier. He had been wracked with indecision about whether to go back and get them, such a fine gift could never be replaced or the sentiment they carried.
         Zevran had finally decided to come back to the camp but it was not only for the gloves; it was hoping to catch a glimpse of the man who had given them to him, the man whose bed he had shared for several moons, the man he thought he might actually…
          "I thought you were leaving," the Warden said sharply, interrupting Zev ran's thoughts. The Warden was trying to remain stoic but he could barely contain his happiness at seeing Zev again.
          "I am," Zevran snapped back haughtily, his smile vanishing at the Warden's harsh tone, "I just came back to get a few of my things." The elf was scowling and his hands set firmly on his hips in a defiant stance, adding, "Unless, of course, you wish me to leave so quickly?"
          "No," the Warden said, his voice softening. He moved aside to let Zevran pass, watching him head back into the camp. He watched the elf rummage around the empty space where his tent had been and retrieve a small sack. His eyes remained locked on his lover as he walked back towards him.
         Zevran held the sack close, tucking it into his belt as he approached. He tried to give another weak smile but couldn't bring himself to do it. He wanted to say a hundred things, tell the Warden he wasn't sure what he felt but that he wanted to keep feeling it even as much as it terrified him.
         Instead, he said nothing. It would be easier to leave if he kept all of his rampaging thoughts to himself. He only gave a small nod, starting to exit the camp back into the forest the way he came.
          "Why won't you stay?" the Warden suddenly demanded.
          "Why didn't you tell me to stay?" Zevran countered, stopping short.
          "You need my permission?" the Warden scoffed.
          "I don't know; do I need it now?"
          "This is ridiculous! It's a simple question!" the Warden growled, shoving his face into his hands.
          "Is it so?" Zevran sneered, his tone sickeningly sweet with venom. "As I recall, you're the one who told me to go!"
          "No," the Warden said slowly, trying to be patient. "I told you that you could if you wanted to. I relieved you of your oath. You said this was, this was a new freedom for you! With Taliesen dead, you were finally free from the Crows! What kind of man would I be to keep you chained to some stupid oath!"
          "It was not a stupid oath!" Zevran cried, gritting his teeth in his frustration. "It was an oath I meant to see through until the end!"
          "Then why in the Maker's name did you leave!" the Warden snarled.
          "Because you did not ask me to stay!" Zevran snapped, advancing on the other man quickly. "If you had wanted me to remain at your side, all you had to do was ask it of me. If you had wanted me to walk on hills of broken glass or drink poison or march with you into the very depths of the Fade, to be at your side as we laid siege to the fiends of the Black City, any of it, all of it, was yours for the asking!"
         The Warden reached out for Zevran, struck deeply by the tenderness of his words.
         Zevran jerked away from his hand, hissing, "But no! You did nothing of the sort. You told me to go when all you had to do was ask me to remain here with you! Your pride getting in the way? Worried about appearances in front of the others? Ha! Whatever the reason, what is done is done. I have always told you that whatever future we have together is yours to decide. Today, you decided."
          "No, today, I tried to give you something you never had before!" the Warden said, again reaching for Zevran and made his mark, grabbing his arm roughly. "I gave you a choice! A chance for you to decide what you wanted! No contracts, no obligations, no oaths to fulfill, I want you to do whatever it was Zevran wanted to do!"
         Zevran looked down at the Warden's iron grip on his arm. He was trying not to think about how those hands once felt running all over his body, how rough they could be when they would seize his hips but then how surprisingly gentle as they would be as they would race through his hair.
         Zevran cleared his throat as he fought off an involuntary shudder, saying quietly, "What I want is not so simple…"

Fenris stumbled into the room, taking heavy breaths and stabling himself on the door frame. He had ran all the way from the estate to the Gallows, only taking a rest on the boat- if you could call it rest with his nerves so shot.

"Garrett!" he called out to the robed man that stacked books carefully on a shelf along the wall. The glass eyed man turned to face him, forehead marked with that dreaded symbol.

It was his mage. His mage. Not the Templar's. Not the Circle's. But they had stolen him. Garrett had talked of it- knew the damage he had caused and had spoken in silence to Fenris of wishing for this fate. The elf did his best to get him to see the truth and Garrett had agreed to let it slip from mind.

Yet here he was. A mindless puppet doomed to forget who and what he was.

Fenris found it hard to concentrate through his glazed vision. "Garrett…" his voice shuddered out as he pushed himself to the mage's side. The look that once was held beneath those eyes, the love and the care… it was gone.

The magic that was once held in Garrett's heart disappeared with his ability to wield it.

"Fenris. What are you doing here? I must ask you to leave the premises, the public is not allowed here."

Fenris' head dipped to stare at the stone floor. He knew what had to be done- to spare Garrett and himself. He turned his gaze back up to the lifeless eyes of his love, gripping his chin in a gauntleted hand.

Their lips met in one final kiss; the passion Fenris held slipped into Garrett… just as his blade did.

Chapter 8


The two nations were speechless. In front of them, Arthur was holding out his hand in a gesture. That wasn't what caught them off guard though. It was what Arthur just said.
"Yes Arthur, we know you're English..." America slowly laughed, thinking the man just made a mistake. Arthur shook his head.
"No, you plonker. You're looking for England, yes? Well that's me," he insisted, still holding out his hand. America and France gave each other unsure glances.
"No, I don't think you understand... Arthur, we are nations of-"
"Yes, and I am the nation of Great Britain. What do you take me for? A wanker?" Arthur sighed, this time putting his hand away. America scratched his head. He didn't think about this part. How could they be sure England was England?

"France, how can we be sure he's really England?" America whispered into his comrade's ear. France just shrugged.
"Er, Arthur? I don't know if we can trust it's really you... I mean, it's a bit coincidental that you're England..." he coughed. Arthur rolled his eyes.
"Oh please. Do you see any other lunatics around here saying they're called 'England'? You gits better be grateful that someone actually wants to spend time around you," he scoffed. America muttered in consideration.
"Hey, didn't you say you're allowed in that giant mansion?" he suddenly piped up.
"Oh yes, I told you yes, didn't I? Yes, the Queen enjoys my presence dearly." France was a little surprised by what he said.
"Okay Arthur, we'll accept you as England. But you're not trying to pull one on us, are you?" he announced, urging America to stand up.
"You're dressed as a leather stripper. I must be off my trolley to consider being seen in public with you."

France gave America a sideways glance.
"Welcome to the Allied Forces, England!" France cried as he held out his hand. Arthur stared at it in disgust.
"Who said anything about joining some 'forces'?" he spat out. France was suddenly taken aback.
"Well that's why we're looking for England. You have great navy skills and we heard you were a former pirate. That's the kind of person we need for the Allies..." he argued back, his smile disappearing.
"Well you can forget it then. I didn't sign up to be part of some team," Arthur finished before turning on his heel.
"Hey! A-Arthur!" America yelled out after him. Arthur turned his head with a deadly scowl.
"What? I said 'no'!"
"Please! Can't you reconsider? It's all been one hell of a ride. I just can't give up here just because you won't join us!" America bellowed, secretly signalling to France behind his back. Arthur scoffed.
"No! What part of 'no' don't you get?!"
America sighed.
"Well I guess you leave us with only one choice. France, now!!"

In a flash, America leapt up in a quick blur and managed to swiftly pin Arthur to the ground. France appeared behind him and pulled out his stripper's whip from his waist and tied up Arthur hands together.
"Wait... a whip?" America asked as he gagged Arthur with a piece of cloth from his sleeve.
"Hey, what kind of stripper would I be if I didn't have a whip?" France replied with a smug look. America gave him a disturbed stare as he pulled out a rope from his pocket.
"Here, tie his legs together with this. I took it from his garage." As soon as France bent down, Arthur's foot shot up and hit its mark in France's nose.
"France! Hey, Arthur!!" America gasped. Arthur suddenly swerved his body weight to the side, slammed his foot down to stop him from falling and took off. America reacted rapidly by grabbing onto Arthur's leg but he only ended up being dragged behind him.

"Arthur!! S-stop running!" America shrieked as he tried to grab Arthur's other leg. Arthur spat out some muffled curses and continued sprinting. Out of the blue, France dashed past America, turned on his heel mid-leap and slammed both hands onto Arthur's chest. The trick did perfectly as Arthur fell backwards with France on top and America rolled out of the way.
"America! Tie his legs as I hold him down!" France breathlessly ordered as Arthur was squirming and struggling to get free. America retrieved the rope and managed to tie up Arthur's ankles.
"France, we'll use Arthur's car! Follow me!" he commanded as he found Arthur's car in the car park with France behind him as he carried Arthur on his shoulder.

America rummaged through his back pocket until he found a set of keys. Arthur mumbled a loud protest as the American opened the car door.
"He's gonna be shouting the whole way back to Portsmouth. France, can you shut him up?" Arthur gave another yell though his gag. France blankly stared at him. In a flash, he rammed Arthur's head into the car roof, instantly knocking him out.
"That enough..?" France mumbled, trying to hide his devious smirk.
"What do you mean 'enough'?! I think you killed him!!!"
"Well, at least he's shut up then, right?"

America ignited the engine as France dumped Arthur inside and crawled in.
"Alright, to Portsmouth!" America hooted, speeding out of the car park, "France, pass me the map."
"Why's everyone driving the wrong way....?" France muttered, passing his driver the map.
"They're British. Who knows?"

America stopped talking to France and concentrated on his driving. Arthur's car looked fairly vintage, nothing America has ever seen in his homeland. America grinned to himself. It was almost like he was on an adventure- sent off to a mysterious land... where he was forced to face trials, tribulations, and a fairly mad Englishman!

Chapter 1


"Never heard of her before in my life."
In a flash, the other three stared at the glutton in disbelief.
"That's shocking even for you- aru," the Asian country piped up. His hair was long and tied up, placed perfectly on his shoulder. He seemed to be fine sitting on the side, agreeing and making suggestions with the others.
"I agree with China."
The tallest one in the room made the second comment. Adorned with a scarf curled around his neck, he too was okay with watching the others talk but rarely spoke up. He was labelled as the gigantic nation, Russia.
"America, I am quite surprised considering you."
The last nation of the three finally jumped in. He had long, blonde hair with blue, handsome eyes and short stubble was visible on his chin. His French accent was a big giveaway- he, of course, was France.

The final person in the room sat in his chair with no idea what was going on. He had short, blonde hair with a clump of it sticking up (which represented Nantucket). His blue eyes, which were covered by his glasses, scanned the trio for a hint of a clue. This country was the last of the Allied Forces- America.
"Is she royalty or something?" he naively blurted out. A strong sense of despondency hung in the air above them.
"Haven't you ever looked at a map at all?" France sighed. America quickly dug his hand into his pocket and retrieved a piece of paper with a picture of the United States on it.
"No, I mean a world map..."

"Just off the coast of France is a nation that's completely surrounded by water- aru. We've had a few reports come in and say it's very wealthy and equipped with a powerful navy. Her name is England," China narrated as he pulled out his own map and pointed to a country floating on the water outside of France.
"And... why is this meeting about her then?" America continued. "We want her, saying it literally. With a nation that prevailing, how can we not resist the chance to make her an Ally? Those evil Axis Powers won't be able to touch us then!" China chuckled whilst Russia nodded in agreement.

At that point, a half-listening America picked up his meaty hamburger and took a mighty bite of it before progressing.
"Okay, I get it. You guys want the girl and want to make her one of us. That'll be cool but don't get jealous if she's all over me, okay?" America boasted with a mouthful of food.

"That's not the point- aru. This meeting is here to decide who's going on the mission of bringing her back. We have to think tactical here," China urged on.
"Really? In that case, don't send Russia. He'll scare the girl to death, haha!" America guffawed, almost choking on his meal.
"America, tu salaud!! He can hear you, you know!!" France screeched, instantly on the ball to curse the doubled-over American. Suddenly, an eerie sense of intimidation slowly crept over the pair's shoulders with no doubt it came from the Russian nation himself.

"Everyone calm down-aru! At this rate, not even the Germans would dare attack us because we're already busy killing each other, aiya!!" China yelled over the frantic mayhem.
After that, both America and France stopped their screaming and settled down at once.

"Okay then America, since you think you're the best and all, you can go- aru."
In a heartbeat America was back on his feet, protesting and arguing against the notion.
"Sit down!! As for you France, you can accompany him. It seems you've gotten onto my last nerve too..." China grumbled. France jumped up ready to object but at that moment Russia decided to share his thoughts.
"China has suggested a brilliant idea. Would you really want to go against the plan?" he added in. Even without looking, you could tell the amount of threat in his voice was enough to send a grown man running for the hills.
France and America both nodded with Russia, knowing that only death waited for them if they dared disagree now.

"Good then. I would like to have her here in two weeks, maximum-aru."
And with that, the pair crept out of the room in silence.

Tarot & The 21 Sacraments

by 11x20

Fair Warning: This work will have unmarked Spoilers for Silent Hill 4.

Table of Contents
01.―――Major Arcana & the 21 Sacraments: The Big List
02.―――Analysis I - The First Sign
03.―――Analysis II - The Second Sign
04.―――Analysis III - The Third Sign
05.―――Analysis IV - The Final Sign
06.―――Analysis V - The Fool Card?
07.―――Extra
08.―――Sources


Major Arcana & The 21 Sacraments: The Big List

01121: Jimmy Stone
└ 01. The Magician
└ Ten Hearts
02121: Bobby Randolph
└ 02. The High Priestess
└ Ten Hearts
03121: Sein Martin
└ 03. The Empress
└ Ten Hearts
04121: Steve Garland
└ 04. The Emperor
└ Ten Hearts
05121: Rick Albert
└ 05. The Hierophant
└ Ten Hearts
06121: George Rosten
└ 06. The Lovers
└ Ten Hearts
07121: Billy Locaine
└ 07 The Chariot
└ Ten Hearts
08121: Miriam Locaine
└ 08. Strength
└ Ten Hearts
09121: William Gregory
└ 09. The Hermit
└ Ten Hearts
10121: Eric Walsh
└ 10. The Wheel of Fortune
└ Ten Hearts
11121: Walter Sullivan
└ 11. Justice
└ Assumption
12121: Peter Walls
└ 12. The Hanged Man
└ Void
13121: Sharon Blake
└ 13. Death
└ Darkness
14121: Toby Archbolt
└ 14. Temperance
└ Gloom
15121: Joseph Schreiber
└ 15. The Devil
└ Despair
16121: Cynthia Velasquez
└ 16. The Tower
└ Temptation
17121: Jasper Gein
└ 17. The Star
└ Source
18121: Andrew DeSalvo
└ 18. The Moon
└ Watchfulness
19121: Richard Braintree
└ 19. The Sun
└ Chaos
20121: Eileen Galvin
└ 20. Judgment
└ Mother Reborn (Succubus?)
21121: Henry Townshend
└ 21. The World
└ Receiver of Wisdom

Analysis I - The First Sign
01121: Jimmy Stone / The Magician / Ten Hearts #1

- Manipulator
- Controller
- Creator (Molding the Fool into something greater)
- Divinity
- (Reversed) Confusion
- (Reversed) Wrong choices
- (Reversed) Giving up
- (Reversed) Crushed Dreams

The Ata-Tarot resource notes that Red and White are universal colors that correlate to the Magician.

Jimmy Stone, we know, was a cruel man and a head of the Valtiel Sect. His cruelty was enough to earn him the nickname, "The Red Devil" as members of the Valtiel Sect believed more in executions to be closer to god. He was a leader who manipulated and controlled, and was even one of the men who implanted Valtiel into Walter's mind (initiating the killings).

In a sense, if Walter is "the Fool" then Stone was the "Magician" who formed the Walter Sullivan we know. In Reversal, Jimmy Stone was killed by a gunshot to the back of the head, possibly not even knowing that his own pupil had been behind him with a gun. Perhaps it was a bad choice to crush the dreams of an already abused boy? Despite being the leader of the Valtiel Sect (which judging by Vincent's location, would be somewhere in a church in Silent Hill), he was found out in the woods in the basement of the Wish House (a center point of the Holy Mother Sect) with George Rosten.

02121: Bobby Randolph / The High Priestess / Ten Hearts #2

- Knowledge
- Secrets
- Mysticism
- Intuition
- (Reversed) Cutting off psychic energy
- (Reversed) False facts, repression of the truth, misconceptions
- (Reversed) Using secrets to another's disadvantage
- (Reversed) Loss of knowledge or secrets

Bobby Randolph was a boy in high school who loved the supernatural and paranormal. Perhaps mysticism and secrets run true to this boy's personality. His death came by violent strangulation with his friend Sein Martin after going to Pleasant River University where they heard a "devil" resided. They did, indeed, find a "devil".

We can probably argue that Walter wasn't too fond of the types who blindly followed occult information and knowledge without taking it seriously. Randolph was a fan of horror and the esoteric, but he didn't follow it religiously as Walter was raised to (remember, the Order is a cult that is known to use forms of divinations such as Gyromancy). Randolph and Martin both, being strangled, probably even saw the face of their killer, so one can easily digress that they had knowledge of who the killer of Jimmy Stone was (and subsequently their own murder) but in reversal, their knowledge went to waste.

They heard a secret about a "devil", the found the "devil" and gained the knowledge, but their knowledge was lost upon reversal through their deaths.

03121: Sein Martin / The Empress / Ten Hearts #3

- Security
- Femininity
- Stability
- Fertility
- Motherhood
- (Reversed) Poverty
- (Reversed) A mother (or mother figure) who neglects her children
- (Reversed) Neglecting something important (business, academics, the self)
- (Reversed) Unwanted Pregnancy

Poor Sein, he gets nailed with a particularly female card. ;D Sein Martin was a 'scrawny' boy who was friends with Randolph and like him, a fan of the occult. He was also a friend (potentially classmate even) of Jasper Gein. However, it was just the two of them (Martin and Randolph) who went on and snuck into the University Campus and sought out the "devil".

Now little is known about Sein to really try and argue that he correlates to this card. Perhaps the "neglect" theme in the card's reversal actually refers to his own overseers neglect to stop him? Perhaps it refers to his own neglect to take caution and simply -not- go chasing devils?

04121: Steve Garland / The Emperor / Ten Hearts #4

- Authority
- Control
- Rulership
- Benevolence
- "The Gentle King"
- (Reversed) The "Unworthy King", Loss of Control
- (Reversed) Collapse of power structure
- (Reversed) Indecision
- (Reversed) Immaturity

Garland was a pet store owner whom Walter came across as a child. The man had an important cat that was probably set to be adopted later in the day waiting out in a cage. Young Walter wanted to pet it, but when he tried, the cat freaked out and somehow came out, followed by the metal cage crashing down on it and killing it. As if witnessing a rather grisly death of an animal one simply wanted to cuddle wasn't traumatizing enough, Garland came out and lost his temper with the poor boy and began to yell at him angrily.

We know from the victim files that Garland disliked people and was easily angered with them. Little Walter was no exception. However, he was very kind to animals and took dear care of them. In that sense, he was no "emperor" toward people but rather to animals. He kept them happy out of his own love for them and was the benevolent ruler of his pet store. When Walter threw off the balance of power and injured one of the king's subjects he faced the wrath of Steve Garland.

In the end, Garland suffered a chaotic death that brought down the structure of his entire store. Shot multiple times with a submachine gun, Garland died riddled with bullets. However, Walter's rage didn't stop there. There was still a deep hatred for everything in that store after the trauma in his childhood. He began to shoot all of the animals and completely destroy the store with the submachine gun. In reversal, the emperor was brought down and his kingdom came crashing down with him.

05121: Rick Albert / The Hierophant / Ten Hearts #5

- Strong Work Ethic
- Authority
- Has "The Right Knowledge"
- Constructive Counselor
- Strong family values
- (Reversed) Deceit
- (Reversed) Bad Advice
- (Reversed) Withholding the truth
- (Reversed) Stubborn, unwilling to change one's mind

Rick Albert was the owner of the sport's store who was described as gentle and of small stature but strong nonetheless. Little more is given of his personality and he is said to have been killed by being beaten to death with a golf club, while looking for a volleyball. This is most likely right after Walter (the employee who came in with such knowledge of the murder details in Garland's pet store) came in and told him about Garland's murder. Thinking little more of, "Why exactly does Walter know all of this?" he probably turned around and went back to what he was doing before Walter suddenly began to beat him to death with a golf club.

In relation to the Hierophant, we can't really say if Albert was a hermit at all, or even a man who gave good advice. All we know was that he was kind. Perhaps he didn't want to believe that Walter was obviously the killer when he turned his back to the young employee and in the end the reversal of the card was played and he lost his life when unwilling to believe that his employee was the killer. This is a bit of a stretch, granted, but too little is given of Rick Albert's personality to truly match him up to the Hierophant in a way other than the Fifth Sacrament equating the Fifth Tarot Card.

06121: George Rosten / The Lovers / Ten Hearts #6

- Harmony between two
- Tests of faith and endurance
- Important Decisions
- Best of Beginnings meant only for poor endings
- (Reversed) Two was separated by divinity
- (Reversed) Procrastination in favor of a more pleasurable "now"
- (Reversed) Deception
- (Reversed) Decisions being made for the wrong reasons

George Rosten was the Right Hand Man of Jimmy Stone and the head of the Holy Mother Sect. The Lovers Card in association with George Rosten most likely refers to Rosten and Stone's decision upon Walter. They did it out of faith in their own religion and possibly (just like Dahlia) to descend the god and use it in their favor. They were making a decision quite literally for all the wrong reasons.

Walter on the other hand was being used by them and told that it would help him be with his mother. Whether or not he was willingly implanted with Valtiel is unknown. It is known that it happened before he was 18 and let loose on the world when the Order still had control over him, as it's likely that as soon as the Wish House could no longer legally control him, he took off as far as he could immediately get from it (homelessness in Ashfield, then eventually, Pleasant River University).

In the upright position, the card depicts two lovers reaching for each other (or in some illustrations, holding hands) while a heavenly figure (oft interpreted as a god or an angel varyingly) stands between them and mountains in the distance (still between them).

Using Raider-Waite's reversal of imagery, in the reversed position, the card depicts two lovers separated by the angel and falling. The angel no longer originates from heaven but from the earth and seeks to bring down the two who once followed their faith. The implication of the reversed card implies again that the two made their decisions based on earthly desires. In literal terms, the two "lovers" may represent Rosten and Stone (their union not being a romantic one, but a business-type partnership) who had once made their decision in the past being murdered together in the Wish House basement by the ill-willed "angel" they created.

07121: Billy Locaine / The Chariot / Ten Hearts #7

- Drive
- Guidance
- Direction in Life
- Victory
- (Reversed) Losing control in your life, letting others guide you
- (Reversed) Arrogance
- (Reversed) Loss of action/drive, no going anywhere, no leading anyone

Billy Locaine, we know little about other than that he had a "close relationship with his younger sister", Miriam. Perhaps in relation, he was the type of big brother who wanted to guide his little sister. What we know about his death was that it was on a nice day where his house was being painted that suddenly went sour with impending rain.

Billy's moment of death wasn't described, but his father did come out to bring him inside only to find his son lying dead in the bushes after being slashed horribly with an axe. The reversal of the Chariot card just may be referencing in this case, a young boy with the entire world ahead of him who had his life suddenly and abruptly cut short. Walter undoubtedly recognized this and it's even suggested that he felt guilt for the murders of the Locaine children. Perhaps this card's reversed meaning is a good explanation of how he viewed the 7th murder?

08121: Miriam Locaine / The Strength / Ten Hearts #8

- Optimism
- Energy
- Youth and Strength
- Love and Joy
- (Reversed) Misuse of power (Tyrant King Theme)
- (Reversed) Defeat
- (Reversed) Succumbing to impulses
- (Reversed) Loss of Self Control

Like her brother, Miriam Locaine doesn't have much going for her by way of story other than her final moments. She was a girl who enjoyed baking cookies and had a close relationship with her sibling, Billy. At first glance it seems rather difficult to relate the Eighth Sacrament to the Eighth Major Arcana.

However, the imagery paints an interesting picture. A maiden gently holding and even leading a lion. The maiden is a woman strong enough to subdue a lion, and at the same time, the lion is a symbol of strength. It's a happy picture, and may be similar to the relationship Billy and Miriam shared. Miriam was a happy girl, and probably even had her own strengths and was loved dearly by her family. She was the strong, optimistic, youthful lion. Guiding her was her older brother, who plays the role of the maiden-- another source of strength, guidance, and emotional support.

In reversal, the imagery becomes that of a maiden losing control and being overtaken by the lion. While in the upright position the lion, a beast that is not attacking the maiden can be seen as a reference to 'self control', reversing the image puts the lion over the maiden. This paints a disturbing image of Walter's attack on Miriam. We know that her body was mutilated far worse than Billy's-- her family didn't even find her entire body, only a part of it remained! By this we can guess that the reversal of the Strength card references Walter's own loss of self-control as he got "carried away" with killing little Miriam and succumbing to his own impulses.

09121: William Gregory / The Hermit / Ten Hearts #9

- Punctuality
- Organization
- Discretion
- Thinking about the consequences before taking action
- A wise person
- (Reversed) Misanthropy
- (Reversed) Isolation
- (Reversed) Immaturity
- (Reversed) "Foolish" behavior

William Gregory was a man with obsessive work habits, was always punctual, and well-known for his skills. He really was the embodiment of the things the Hermit card implies. He was killed with a screwdriver and found stabbed with a flat screwdriver (one of the many tools he used in his mechanical work) in the workroom of his watch store in Ashfield.

The Hermit card depicts an old man carrying a lantern in the darkness/night and holding a staff. This rings well with William Gregory who is said in the Victim Files as having a dream years before his own death that depicted many of the things Henry would later see during his trip through the building world. Metaphorically speaking, the lantern could be a reference to that premonition that William Gregory experienced. That knowledge was the light in the darkness of "the unknown / the future".

In the end, however, keeping him isolated and working hard in his shop, he was murdered by Walter with a flat screwdriver. Just like the hermit who in reversal will isolate himself and not take heed the warnings he finds illuminated by his lantern, William Gregory didn't take heed the cryptic premonition he had years ago. It's not to say that had he skipped town that particular week he would have survived... he may have just been fated to die at Walter's hand.

10121: Eric Walsh / The Wheel of Fortune / Ten Hearts #10

- Good luck, fortune
- Joy
- Success
- Good karma
- (Reversed) Bad luck
- (Reversed) Unexpected changes
- (Reversed) Bad surprises

Eric Walsh was an easy going bartender who was having a notably good day. It was his birthday, and he was closing up shop early after hearing about the recent murders and the killer still being on the loose. When he went home, he was greeted with a birthday cake set up, and expected to see his family around. However, he was met with a horrible surprise-- Walter shot him in the face before he could escape. What a fun way to spend a birthday, huh?

The Wheel card applies well to Eric's good luck, up until the end, anyway. He was well received among his peers, despite his personality being said to change when driving (chronic road rage from an otherwise easy going guy?). The card itself depicts a wheel of fortune surrounded by clouds (the heavens) and winged beings ("heavenly") as well as a majestic sphinx. Right side up, the card shows the Sphinx ruling high atop the wheel, holding a sword to depict its might.

However, ill-dignified, the card takes on the opposite image. The Sphinx is no longer atop the wheel, instead, a sneaky, slithering snake and the image of the Egyptian god of chaos, Set. So indeed, the card's reversal implies that climbing to the top of the wheel will leave one with a surprise; we know that it's not a pleasant surprise. Eric Walsh was the poor soul who unknowingly climbed a reversed Wheel of Fortune to be met with a sneaky god of chaos at the top-- happy birthday to him, huh?

Analysis II - The Second Sign
11121: Walter Sullivan / Justice / Assumption

- Balance
- Fairness
- Judgment
- Legal action
- (Reversed) Imbalance, inequality
- (Reversed) Abuse of power against the meek
- (Reversed) Depression and lack of foresight
- (Reversed) Corruption in those with authority

Walter Sullivan was the serial killer we all know (and love) who grew up in the Wish House after abandonment by his birthparents. After the ten hearts victims were murdered and he successfully took their hearts, he was taken in by the authorities and later committed suicide in his prison cell with a soup spoon to the carotid artery, dying a slow death by blood loss.

The references to legality and those who "judge" being in proximity kind of makes me think that perhaps there was a method to each death of the 21 Sacraments? Perhaps it wasn't simple "I snuck in and now I'm going to kill you" with Eric Walsh and that the 10th Sacrament was intended to be carried out though a "surprise kill" by theme of the Wheel of Fortune card, and that Walter was meant to have an 8th Sacrament he would lose his control over (Miriam) and initiate a murder out of the Conjurer's own loss of self-control? Going by this, perhaps Walter intended to be taken into custody by those in a judicial position and to die in their proximity to fulfill the more literal meaning of the 11th Tarot.

Another reference to the actual eleventh victim and the eleventh Tarot card is that Walter was frequently placed in positions where the people in power around him abused their power. He was lied to, brainwashed, abused, and in the end, used by those who should have been just and brought him up naturally. He later became the judge who would return years later and take the lives of those who did him wrong and find his own sense of justification in these grisly acts.

12121: Peter Walls / The Hanged Man / Void

- Reincarnation
- Growth
- Sacrifice
- Selflessness
- (Reversed) Inability to learn from experiences
- (Reversed) Selfishness
- (Reversed) Laziness
- (Reversed) Lack of assertion

Peter Walls was a high school student who frequently spent his days high on marijuana and is described as a "coward without marijuana". Tying in to another victim, he actually bought his drugs from Toby Archbolt, who would be punished for his own drug trafficking. When with his friends in an alley near a hotel, he saw a ladder and suggesting that he has more courage with marijuana, he climbed up while under the influence. When he got to the top, he exclaimed that he saw "God" and disappeared. His body was later found in a room of that very hotel, beaten to death.

It's interesting to note that many images of "God" and "Jesus" depict a white man with long hair (commonly bearded, but some artists omit that detail) so it's very likely that when he climbed up the ladder, Walter was waiting at the top and the high Peter exclaimed very honestly to his friends, (after asking, "What's up there?") "I see God!” The joint he carried with him was dropped to the alley below as he climbed up onto the hotel and disappeared from his friend's sight. Walter, having just completed the Ritual of Assumption, really was a new "god" of his own world and brought down "godly" judgment on the young stoner.

Wordplay aside, the card represents stagnancy, a lack of impetus, and overall "suspension". Walls spent most of his days doing drugs, to the point where he became "nothing" without marijuana. He was sacrificing his personality for a constant "high". In reversal, the man on the card goes from upside down to right side up, pointing to the sky/heaven, just as Peter Walls was climbing a ladder to "god". Like a hanged man who's ties were cut, he was indeed "falling", but in the reversed position he fell "up" (again, "toward god") until he disappeared and his friends never saw him again.

13121: Sharon Blake / Death / Darkness

- Great Changes
- Transformation
- A Chapter in life coming to an end
- The "releasing of an outdated way of thinking" (-IntuitiveTarot.com)
- (Reversed) Stubbornness to accept change
- (Reversed) Inability to "let go"
- (Reversed) Unpleasant Changes
- (Reversed) Fear of the unknown

Sharon Blake was an older woman who had family members that were part of the cult. She had undoubtedly heard rumors of the things the cult members were doing to the children at Wish House and turned the other cheek, preferring to live in darkness of that knowledge. It wasn't until it was too late that her family was abducted by the cult and she went to the Wish House to try and find them. Suddenly, the cult being a "friendly" group to her took a dark change as she read Schreiber's expose on the Wish House's cruelty.

It's a little harsh to say, but looking at the card itself, Sharon Blake, arguably the eldest of the twenty one sacraments was in Walter's eyes, "Death who rides in on a pale horse wielding the flag". In reversal, she finds herself suffering the consequences of turning a blind eye when she could have put a stop to the wrongdoings. Image-wise, the reversal shows death being tossed from the horse, the flag being dropped, and the dead rising against "death" itself. Perhaps this is in reference to Sharon marching in (a forest that had the cemetery strong in Walter's mind) and being "thrown off her horse" by the "dead" (Walter, freshly risen from his own grave), and subsequently drowned to death.

14121: Toby Archbolt / Temperance / Gloom

- Blending of opposites
- Cooperation
- Harmony amongst two
- Balance
- Creating something good and new from two
- (Reversed) Creating something worse from two
- (Reversed) Failing to merge two things harmoniously
- (Reversed) Running out of time before completion
- (Reversed) Imbalance

Toby Archbolt was a leader in the Holy Mother Sect who took reigns after George Rosten and Jimmy Stone died. He had already made a good deal of money from the two leaderless sects as well as his own drug trafficking (he actually sold Peter Walls the marijuana). He also reopened the Wish House and despite all of his wrong doings, was awarded a seat in the Silent Hill town council for "contributions to the city and people" (- Translated Memories).

In a sense, he does play out the role of the Temperance card. He takes elements and profits of the Valtiel and Holy Mother Sects and benefits from them. However, in reversal, he also creates something worse of the two. He gains a greater hold over children in the Wish House (a frightening fact considering he's noted to be a pedophile, or simply, "Liking underage girls") as well as a more toxic grasp on youth by example of Peter Walls and the drug trafficking. He creates horrible things by combining the money and efforts built up by the two sects and even benefits from it all up until his own end.

He realized that people around him were starting to die off and so he fled to Mexico hoping he would be able to escape. However, the restless spirit of Walter Sullivan was able to cause Archbolt's own death possibly in a "dream"-like fashion similar to what Cynthia experienced. He ran out of time before completing his "escape" and failed to merge anything harmoniously (despite his own profit). He was not exempt from Walter's judgment.

The Temperance Card depicts a red-winged angel pouring water into wine (diluting the wine) and creating something else. The angel also has one foot in the water (a realm of spirituality) and one foot on land (a realm of materialism). This works well for Archbolt who had one foot in the "spiritual" cult and another in the "worldly" town council. He had power to dilute anything from either side.

Flipping the Temperance Card, you get the angel "falling" from both the earth and the water (world/spirit), losing the tools to their dilution and failing to unite two things (the water and wine, and the land and sea). In literal terms, Toby Archbolt's attempt to escape while dabbling in the spiritual and political landed him a ticket off a random cliff in Mexico. He fell quite literally from the "real world" as well as his own "dream world" should his situation have been anything like Cynthia's.

15121: Joseph Schreiber / The Devil / Despair

- Materialism and Addictions
- Obsessions
- Lust and sexuality
- Indulgence and freedom (living on the "wild side")
- (Reversed) Confinement, bondage
- (Reversed) Becoming entangled in one's fear to where they no longer take risks
- (Reversed) Self inhibitions becoming dominant in one's personality
- (Reversed) Fear of the world

Joseph Schreiber was a well received and competent journalist who lived in Room 302 prior to Henry. He enjoyed reading and fishing and was the writer who revealed to the world the corruption of the Wish House. His fate is questionable, as he simply disappeared in Walter's world after becoming trapped in Room 302 (becoming the source of the Red Memos). He is seen in the end portions of the game in the form of a pseudo-wall-man type of monster... but rather, on the ceiling and unmoving, almost like a great obsidian statue.

In relation to the card, there is a theme of bondage and confinement with the depiction of the devil itself standing between two chained humans, a male and a female (implicative of Eileen and Henry?). Joseph was damned to confinement in Room 302 moving from the element of "Despair" (inhibition, becoming entangled in one's fear to where they no longer take risks) to the role of "Giver of Wisdom". During this time he fought desperately to communicate with Eileen (obsessively, even) boring a hole in his wall and never giving up until the last of his sanity was drained. Sexuality implied by the card, we know that he gave Mike of Room 301 a "rare" pornography magazine, so it’s questionable just what sort of "rarities" Joseph was into-- or it could just simply mean that it was a particular magazine with limited print. Nonetheless, being tied to a card that has sexual implications, the plot does make a nod to Schreiber's sexuality, as well as puts him in a voyeuristic position (Eileen) that makes one question how far this sexual implication goes.

The card here when reversed is a good example of a once-normal man who possibly took his fair share of risks for the stories he published being locked down in his room and subsequently meeting his fate. The reversal of imagery also implies the chains upon the man and woman being thrown off and the devil being thrown off his altar/throne. This rings very true in the end of the story when Schreiber tells the "chained man and woman", Henry and Eileen, the true way to kill Walter ("Follow the Crimson Tome"), and leading to the dethroning of the "devil", or the "mad god" of the twisted dream world.

Analysis III - The Third Sign
16121: Cynthia Velasquez / The Tower / Temptation

- Chaos, downfall, destruction, ruin
- Something great built on a surface lacking stability
- A damaged ego or sense of self
- Hard times, difficulties in life's path
- (Reversed) Success, magnificence built on a steady foundation
- (Reversed) Arrogance
- (Reversed) Abrupt change, but likely for the good
- (Reversed) A crisis, but things may come through well in the end

Cynthia Velasquez, we know is a girl who usually has "good dreams". She loves to party (and has been a party girl since perhaps before the age of thirteen, the first evidence we see of her sneaking into places "children" are not welcome, as implied in the "He and the Victims" files) and was seen by Walter as something beautiful and "magnificent", however, she lived a hard, "low" life of drinking and self-ruin. She was really something beautiful but built on an unstable upbringing, which lead her to be tempted by the "luxuries" and "pleasures" of the world and later be murdered within her dream as the embodiment of Walter's own "temptation".

In reference to the card itself, we see a lot of this applying to Cynthia, but we also see it applying to Walter as well. He had worked up the courage to approach her, and even still it was difficult (he actually stuttered in his nervousness) and in a sense sought something that could have been magnificent (a relationship with a beautiful girl) but wasn't built on sturdy ground (she had questionable morals and lived the "night life"-- the stark opposite of the "church-going", cruelly disciplined young Walter).

She turned him down harshly (the damage to the ego and sense of self) and went on about her business with her posse proclaiming she wanted to go to a party. Her friends mentioned that she could get in trouble if they find out how old she was, but she remarks, "They won't mind if it's me." All around, it's questionable just what occupation and leanings this "temptress" has, and while many dub her the potential "hooker", it's only fair to admit that while she may not be a practitioner of the "world's oldest profession", she is a party girl.

The damaged ego and self perception is often applied to girls like Cynthia. It's common that people suggest the more "risqué" type of girls who come from broken homes and poverty will have a poor sense of self esteem and seek sexuality and even drugs/alcohol as an outlet to their stress. We can't really say if this applies completely to Cynthia or not, since we know little about her upbringing. It is an interesting thing to note, however.

The card depicts a collapsing tower with many people falling out as it is struck by a bolt of lightning from the stormy skies. Perhaps Walter saw Cynthia as a "wreck", after having once been something magnificent, even arrogant or conceited (the tower is often depicted as topped with a broken crown-- a symbol of arrogance). No matter what direction the card is facing, there is only derelict ruin in the end; however, reversal implies a lesser degree of destruction due to the blocking of the card's energies.

In reversal, the people are no longer rushing away from the tower, but rushing toward it. The lighting no longer comes from the heavens but is being sent back from the crowned tower to the heavens (man's attack on god?) and implications that the tower was not built on faulty land. Cynthia may not be who the tower is referencing-- in fact, it may be the shattered ego of Walter coming back for revenge. Before, people rejected him, hell; he may have even suspected higher powers "rejected" him.

But now, he is turning things around, becoming the tower on sturdy land and striking out at those who wronged him and brought him down. The people coming back into the tower may represent his newly acquired godhood, or his strength by way of the victims he's killed. In a sense it may be, "You didn't want me when I was nothing, but now I'm god and I'll show you how a stab in the heart feels." Cynthia was, after all, stabbed repeatedly in various places and is in dire need of a moist towelette when we meet her for the final time.

17121: Jasper Gein / The Star / Source

- Inspiration, a sign, guidance
- Hope and spirituality, healing and aid
- Influence over others
- Serenity and trust, promises of a better tomorrow
- (Reversed) Hopelessness, delusion
- (Reversed) Darkness
- (Reversed) Lack of aid in times of need

Jasper was a bit on the nutty side, as we saw in the story. He actively sought out the occult "Mother Stone" hidden in the forest near Wish House and was a horror enthusiast. As we know from previous victims who were "horror/occult enthusiasts", Walter doesn't take kindly to people who don't take his religion seriously. Jasper was burned alive, screaming that he "saw the sign" while carving into his own chest, the numbers 17121.

The star itself is a card showing a water bearer pouring liquid (often a symbol of spirituality and wisdom/knowledge) onto the land and into a pool of water. The imagery can be interpreted as an oasis in the desert-- keep faith and the healing waters of the oasis will be found. However, it was this diehard faith Jasper held that brought about his own end.

Reversal of the star can imply that the luminary was blocked out by clouds (a source of rain-- the water in an ill-dignified Star card no longer rests in a pool but is now meant to "rain down", and these clouds are what cover up the star). It also implies that in a time of need, where healing is the most needed, it will not come. Jasper followed his faith until he was essentially cornered and deluded by his blind fanaticism (just as the clouds blinded the star).

18121: Andrew DeSalvo / The Moon / Watchfulness

- Dreams
- Unconscious thought
- Illusion
- Spirituality
- (Reversed) Deception
- (Reversed) Self Delusion to a point where it becomes problematic
- (Reversed) Avoidance of reality's strife, escapism
- (Reversed) A downward spiral into the chaotic "sun"

Andrew DeSalvo was a cruel watchman who abused Walter as a child, and was later drowned in the Panopticon Prison. He was said to have not been directly involved with the cult and their beliefs, but got his kicks abusing the kids. Anyone can tell that abusing helpless children is wrong, but DeSalvo successfully deluded himself into not even feeling guilt until later in his life when the restless, vengeful ghost of Walter Sullivan came back with judgment.

On the Moon card is a pool of water with a crab, two dogs howling, and two tombstones (sometimes interpreted as pillars). The two dogs can be easily interpreted as "watchdogs" which are basically what the guards were and looming high over the crab in the pool of water (its only home-- it’s confining "cell") is the moon, watching it eternally. This is all similar to how helpless young Walter was confined to his cell "the crab in the pool of water" to be watched by the big, looming moon (DeSalvo).

From the Elements of Victims 16-19 Hypothesis:
"The water is often linked to spirituality and subconscious thought in art and mythology. The water's link to subconscious and spirituality may reflect that the domain of the Panopticon Prison was a punishment placed upon young Walter for not being "spiritual" enough, or not completing his readings correctly, (even though we learn that the trips to the prison were scheduled and may not have always been punishment-- this is a cult that believes their god is formed from hate and pain, so perhaps they reflected this onto their youth). Perhaps DeSalvo's death in the water is a reference to the Moon card's pool of water. In fact, the crab in the water may refer to DeSalvo in the water as he was found at his time of death by Henry. In astrology, the crab/cancer is often seen as possessive, looming, a parental figure to youths-- perhaps Walter saw a bit of his own father's "cruelty" in DeSalvo and associated him with the crab/cancer in the pool of water.

Crab in the Water-- Again, reversal of roles, reversal of cards from positive to negative. Walter probably took the role of an all-seeing "moon" figure to loom over the terrified Andrew during his death. No longer was Walter the "crab in the water beneath the moon" but DeSalvo became the "crab in the water beneath the moon".

19121: Richard Braintree / The Sun / Chaos

- Energy and Clarity (Illumination)
- Inertia, Initiative
- Power, Enthusiasm, Happiness
- Reason and Youthfulness, Childhood
- (Reversed) Chaos and blindness, loss of clarity
- (Reversed) Misconceptions
- (Reversed) Immaturity, illogical and unclear actions
- (Reversed) Childish Ignorance

Richard Braintree was the hothead of the Apartments who harassed young Walter with cruel threats and even beat up the obsessive Mike and stripped him of his clothes. He was remembered as a source of fear for Walter, and in the end died a death by electrocution in Walter's chaotic and abstract Building World.

In the Sun Tarot card, the sun shines down on a child riding a white horse and carrying the red flag (often the red flag is a symbol of victory, rebirth, even blood). The Sun is a card representing power and in a sense, "wise, prosperous rulership", with the sun taking a metaphorical position of authority over the young child, who can be interpreted as the one who is lead-- one who is happy being lead by a wise authority figure. However, in relation to Walter and Richard, the sun (Richard) was an authoritarian who rained down on Walter (the child) with tyranny and fear.

In reversal, the child is thrown off the horse, and the sun is no longer shining down on "youth". Some say that the reversal represents childhood being stripped away by misuse of power, lack of clarity, or things becoming 'unclear'. In a sense, what was once serene and peaceful has become chaotic and the child is left to figure out why something once seen as a good thing is suddenly shadowed and in chaos. Logic and reason are thrown out the window by the Sun.

In the story, the reversal can also relate to Walter's own childhood being stripped away not just by the fear imposed on him by Richard, but all the other authority figures around him who abused him and brainwashed him. No longer is Walter the child thrown off the horse-- in the end, Walter became the sun who would come down on Richard with the full force of cynical adulthood, and the "immature/illogical" Richard took the place of the child, who was literally at the mercy of a chaotic sun. While in the past, Richard had been the source of chaos, in the end, Walter was the source of chaos (Abstract Building World, the grisly murders, even Richard's own death and subsequent afterlife as a twitchy, "chaotic" ghost, more powerful than the others).

Analysis IV - The Final Sign
20121: Eileen Galvin / Judgment / Mother Reborn (Succubus)

- Rebirth, casting off the bounds of a previous life
- Accomplishment
- Awakening, and heightened clarity both intellectually and spiritually
- Becoming a "new person"
- (Reversed) Taking on a new burden
- (Reversed) Inability to let go and move on, guilt
- (Reversed) Separation and losing something/someone precious
- (Reversed) Becoming overwhelmed by old problems

Eileen Galvin was the girl who lived next door to Henry (and previously, Joseph), who was simply getting ready to go to a party. Unbeknownst to her future protector, she actually has a history with the killer-- something she may not even remember, but something that Walter himself has never forgotten. When she was no more than four or five years old, she came across a teenage Walter, living homeless in the subway. Seeing that he was cold, she kindly gave him her doll "to keep him warm" even though her mother was telling her not to talk to him and trying to pull her away from him. Walter was so touched by her kindness that she was given a very special role in the 21 Sacraments-- the Mother Reborn.

As Walter viewed "Mother" (302) as the only source of joy, happiness, or kindness in his life, he associated Eileen with that one act of kindness as a child. Almost twenty years later, he returned to her (interestingly enough, she lived right next to Room 302-- the closest victim to "Mother" besides Henry and Joseph) and after a session of long thought and inner conflict on the stairs (trying to break his own emotional ties to her) he knew what he had to do for the ritual and attempted to beat her to death. He was unsuccessful, as the child Walter intervened and protected Eileen. The bloody and beaten Eileen, caring less for herself and more for the child, asked him, "Hey kid, did you find your mommy? You should get out of here... it's dangerous...", before falling unconscious.

She would later meet up with Henry in the dream world's hospital. After Henry takes her with him, Walter, who had once been a non-hostile force around Henry (Henry was able to be around him without worry that he would get attacked) takes a turn for hostility. ("I'm not done with her!! GTFO." XD) The kindness in Eileen's heart paves way for Walter to possess and control her. It isn't until she finds his sketchbook in the lobby of the apartments that the sympathy for him becomes great enough for her to consider leaving Henry to find Walter on her own.

When Henry finds the umbilical cord moments later in the Super's room, Eileen will leave regardless of her degree of possession (full possession shows her regressing to childlike fear and running to Room 302 saying, "I'll wake you up, mommy, I will!", half possession shows her suddenly bolting up, away from Henry and walking backwards toward Room 302, "Goodbye, Henry Townshend. I'm going to the room where Walter Sullivan is.", and no possession shows her simply leaving of her own will with, "We're the only ones who can save him, Henry. I'm going back. To the room where Walter is."). Yet still, she winds up in a possessed state during the final battle, walking to her death by the spiked armillary sphere at the center of the ritual room.

As the Mother Reborn, there are connections to the Judgment card's themes of rebirth, or casting off a previous life in favor of a new one. In a sense, Eileen becomes a "new person" by way of Walter's possession, and may imply the true nature of the "Mother Reborn", especially considering the mysterious "Mother Ending". Some theories suggest that Eileen was pregnant in the Mother ending and would return to Room 303, later becoming the birth mother to a reincarnated Walter Sullivan, (or even the god itself). The Judgment card does have themes associated with rebirth and reincarnation (however, they are much less literal than what the Mother Reborn role and the Mother ending may imply).

In reversal, the themes of separation and the loss of something dear run true to Walter's own separation from his mother, and the theme of being unable to move on or "let go" are understandably visible in Walter's personality and his actions.

The image on the card shows a winged angel in the heavens sounding a trumpet down to the world below, where corpses rise from the dead in praise. In the background are pointed mountains that act as the horizon, separating the angel in heaven from the bodies of the dead (judgment-- a difficult thing to cross, sometimes even painful). Reversed, the card shows less a scene of divine judgment, but a scene where the holy is being overwhelmed by the rising dead.

This plays very accurately in literal terms where Eileen the "Mother Reborn" (arguably a vessel for the "Holy Mother" in some theories, and definitely someone seen as "special" to Walter) becomes the lone figure of light surrounded by the bodies of the dead. In the final battle, she stands as the last sacrament before Henry surrounded by the corpses of the previous victims that line the ritual area. Figuratively, it plays well in that Eileen was a source of "good" in Walter's life, yet in reversal, he was the risen dead who came after her.

21121: Henry Townshend / The World / Receiver of Wisdom

- Completion, finality
- Travel, Final Growth, the fool who became the Wiseman
- A full cycle
- (Reversed) Fear of change, loss of faith, hesitation
- (Reversed) Premature cancellation to change or completion
- (Reversed) False Wisdom, Fooling Oneself, Complete and total self-delusion

Henry is a lone man who moved into Room 302 two years prior to the story and explains that he felt "drawn" to the room. Little is really known about his past other than he had a healthy, happy upbringing and a fine family. He enjoys photography and reading, doesn't smoke, is single, and keeps a bottle of wine in the fridge. He's presumably on the reclusive side, nonetheless, and stands as a stark opposite to Walter. Where Henry had the life Walter dreamed of, Henry chooses not to seek out joy and coops himself up in his apartment, having little to no friends. Walter would have loved a family that loved him and was proud of him, and even would have loved being in Room 302, (another thing Henry has that he does not).

The World card depicts a dancing figure within a completed wreath, representing the completion of "the fool's journey", the completion of knowledge and wisdom after hard efforts and travel. In reversal, the opposite occurs. The dancing figure is still, the world becomes stagnant, and travel does not occur. The fool does not make his journey, and agoraphobia becomes a theme of the reversed World card. It also implies a project that continues to draw on but may never see completion.

This all works well with Henry, who binds himself to his own home up like a hermit until the events of Silent Hill 4. Henry is forced to become the Receiver of Wisdom, and indeed, gains knowledge of Walter Sullivan and the victims prior to him and Eileen. However, once the "receiving" of wisdom is completed, Henry's "world" will stop upon his death at Walter's hands, unless he manages to get out alive.

Another interesting note is that the world is often represented with the moon and stars as armillary spheres, (similar to the one in the center of the ritual room, however, not covered in spikes). Look up an armillary sphere in Google-- you'll find that they have an eerie similarity to Walter's Eileen Juicer 9000. When the player is left with the 21 Sacraments ending, it’s implied that Henry, possessed looks over to the armillary sphere and possibly even walks to his own death just like Eileen. A fitting end in a machine similar to actual armillary spheres depicting "the world" for a victim who himself, represents "the world".

Analysis V - The Fool Card?
00121: Walter Sullivan / The Fool / The Child

- Having a naïve nature
- Beginnings
- Youth, childhood
- (Reversed) Becoming lost in dreams
- (Reversed) Overactive Imagination
- (Reversed) Refusal to accept reality
- (Reversed) Foolishness

While Walter as an adult and as a sacrament is the eleventh (Assumption / Justice), there is a 22nd card, or "Card Zero" that comes before all of the sacraments. There's never a "22nd" victim or person mentioned in the game that can correspond to the zero card, "The Fool". Looking at the meanings of the card, I began to wonder if maybe Walter as a child, or the idea of "his chance of living a normal life" or his "chance of moving on" was the actual "Sacrifice Zero".

After Dahlia told him that the 21 Sacraments could help him be with his mother in Ashfield, Walter believed what many could simply write off as a "fairy tale". He became lost in his own overactive imagination and desperation to be with anything he could call a "parent" or "family". As he grew older, he became less and less in tune with the world, ("refusal to accept reality") and more deluded by the fantasy of his mother being either in Room 302, or actually Room 302.

In a sense, Walter was the fool who made the journey through the 21 cards/sacraments who would (should the 21 Sacraments ending be attained) finally have all wisdom and realization, as well as the completion of his life long effort. With the already noted schism between Walter's adult self and his child self, it's not too big of a stretch to say that it was the "adult self" that was the eleventh and the "child self" who was the fool.

The image on the card is of a "fool" dressed for travel, followed by a dog (possibly trying to warn him?) walking toward the edge of a cliff. The fool can either continue walking in his blindness and plummet to his death, or he can heed the warning of the dog and continue his journey in another direction. The reverse of this would be the fool falling into the sky, losing all of the things binding him to the world (his belongings) and essentially getting lost with his "head in the clouds".

Extra:

"Five of Swords" - The Five Swords of Obedience
- Failure
- Defeat
- Humility
- Weakness
- Submission
- (Reversed) Depression
- (Reversed) Fear
- (Reversed) Suspicion
- (Reversed) Someone working against you, or you unknowingly working against yourself

All of these work well in application to what the Swords of Obedience truly do. When used on a ghost, the Sword of Obedience effectively pins the ghost down and they are at a point of submission to Henry (or whoever has the swords-- Joseph was the one who initially wrote about them and their power, so it's possible that he may have pinned a few himself at some point or another... we never do see all 19 Ghosts in Silent Hill 4).

"Eight of Wands" - The Eight Spears of the Holy Mother
- Hope
- Journeys
- Action
- (Reversed) Conflict
- (Reversed) Hard Work Gone to Waste
- (Reversed) Journeys coming to an untimely halt
- (Reversed) Recklessness

The Eight of Wands I connect to the Eight Spears of the Holy Mother. When Henry arrives in the ritual room beneath 302 at the core of Walter's world, he finds these eight spears pierced in the bodies of the victims around him. It's possible that in these positions, they were a part of the final sign of the ritual and acted in accordance to Walter's plan. They were figuratively in a position that would aid his plan in coming to fruition.

However, Henry takes these spears and stabs them into the pale "demon" figure (It is, in fact, Walter, and possibly what really happened to Walter's corpse) after using the umbilical cord. This works with the flipping of the card and changing of meanings. Especially in the "hard work gone to waste". Flipping the card essentially makes it mean 'you've come a long way, but it'll all be for nothing' or 'you came far, but you did it wrong'. 8 Is a number of journeys which can apply to the Eight of Wands and the Eight Spears. All pierced in the victims, the Eight Spears are kind of like the trophy to all of his work, and Henry pretty much takes them and sticks them in the monster-Walter, bringing his plan crashing to the ground (as if Eileen hadn't brought it spiraling down enough to begin with).

"Knight of Wands" - The Twelve Acquirable Golf Clubs
- Energy
- Action
- Initiative
- Enthusiasm
- Charisma
- (Reversed) Confrontations
- (Reversed) Discord
- (Reversed) Initiating Battles
- (Reversed) Spite

In total there are twelve golf clubs in the game. When one thinks about how the worlds are all formed from Walter's memories (both good and bad), it kind of makes you wonder if golf was one of the few things he enjoyed in life. XD Especially considering just how many clubs you see lying around. We do know he worked at Rick Albert's sports store part time, so one could just say that it's Rick Albert's memories and the things he enjoyed overlapping with Walter's memories.

In Translated Memories' "Victim Files", Rick Albert's file describes a certain "part time staff employee" who comes running in excitedly and talking about how the pet store owner, Steve Garland was killed brutally. In the employee's enthusiasm, he details how the pet store owner had numbers carved into his back and his heart cut out and sewed shut. Even Rick Albert wonders just how the employee knew so much about the murder. The grisly details given by the energetic employee disturbed him greatly.

Perhaps the Knight of Wands refers more to Walter? We know little about his life before he went "off his rocker" and killed everyone. What we do know is that he appeared trustworthy, is described in Silent Hill 2's memo on the murders of Billy and Miriam Locaine as, "a guy who doesn't look like he'd kill kids", all around "normal", and mostly shocked the people who knew him when they found out he was a killer. Perhaps he was charismatic by nature and good at hiding just how much spite he had for the world?

It's worth noting that very few (if any) victims walked into his world or traps (save for Jasper). He often went and sought out his battles. Initiator of battles/conflict.

"Two of Swords" - The Two Acquirable Spades
- Restoration of Peace
- Resolution
- Return to Balance
- (Reversed) Lies, Deceit
- (Reversed) Misguidance
- (Reversed) "Bad Advice"

In the game there are two spades you can get (Two of Swords equates the Two of Spades), and one is a weapon, the other is used to retrieve the Mother Stone in the forest. It's worth noting that it was in the "forest" (Wish House, to be exact) that Walter first learned of the 21 Sacraments and the knowledge Dahlia gave to him.

Some argue that Dahlia told him that his mother was in Room 302 to make him want to complete the 21 Sacraments. Some argue that Dahlia was doing this as an effort to postpone his success in descending God for his Sect of the Cult (Dahlia was in the Holy Woman/Saint Lady Sect, depending on your translation of choice, and Walter was in the Holy Mother Sect, which rivaled the Holy Woman/Saint Lady Sect). It's not out of character for Dahlia to try and ruin the opposing sect, as we all know from Silent Hill 1; she's kind of a crafty bitch.

Whether or not Walter believed her every word until his dying breath is actually questionable. As an adult, he knew that it was impossible for a Room to give birth to a Human. Its common birds and the bees. In fact, as a child he believed his mother was a resident of Room 302, until he later learned that someone else lived there, and as he got older and his mind became rather warped, that mindset became, "Mother -is- Room 302".

We see child Walter in the second round through the forest telling Henry that he has parents who left him as an infant. He recognizes he was orphaned by two very human people. But he also believes that he has a mom in Room 302. It can be guessed that sometime between then and his adulthood, he began to see Room 302 as a "Spiritual" mother. (Perhaps his mindset was, "There's a reason that I was left there, and that reason is for Room 302, 'God', to be my Mother.’God' chose me."? That's a bit of a pitch in the dark, however. There's really no telling just what went through his head.) We know for certain that the Holy Mother Sect believed that material objects can be 'God' or contain 'God'. Room 302 is a 'material object'. By that extent, Walter possibly saw himself as a Jesus figure, or a "Son of God" figure whose destiny it was to be tied so inseparably to Room 302.

It's also interesting that the location where Henry uses the Bloody Spade to dig up the Mother Stone is an area that's in a state of flux and cannot be traversed until certain requirements are met. After using the Bloody Spade, the location is restored to "peace" by the second round through the forest.

"Two of Coins" - The Two Acquirable Coins
- Monetary warnings (don't overindulge in your spending)
- Communications
- Materialism
- "Take caution in your projects"
- (Reversed) Not heeding warnings
- (Reversed) Debt
- (Reversed) Overindulgence in material pleasures or intoxication

The two coins we find in the game are the Lynch Street Line Coin from Cynthia and the Filthy Coin (also found in the Subway) which later becomes the 1& Coin which Henry uses to access the Murder Scene. It's worth noting off the bat that the Subway represented the worst of the world's material "pleasures" and "pains" to Walter. The girls (who may have possibly been hookers) who abused him as a child, Cynthia and her posse (whom we know liked to live the "night life" and drink heavily).

The first coin we get from Cynthia actually turns this card pretty accurately in her direction. She was a very materialistic, worldly girl. She loved to party and drink and she obviously wanted a man who could provide for her or at least provide her with material pleasures. ("Hey... you misunderstood me... you look handsome, but it doesn't mean I think you're attractive. Your clothes are filthy, and smell so bad... Do you think that's the kind of thing a girl like me is into? No way...") It might be going a little too far to just stamp her as "gold digger", but we know for a fact that she at least had a habit of drinking too much ("...I think ...I drank too much last night..."). "Worldly Pleasures" were "her thing".

The second coin we get is the Filthy Coin which later is washed and becomes the 1& Coin. Being a little boy, Walter probably meant it to be a $ sign, but got it a little wrong. He wants to give that coin to his mother in Room 302, hoping that giving gifts could possibly wake her up. It's a drive to please her and be given love in return. Perhaps he saw that the men in the subway were giving the "mean girls" money in a similar way and were given "love" in return. It's not to say that as a little boy he was seeking "action", but he probably didn't understand that the "affections" these men bought from the girls in the subway was of a different nature than the love he sought from his mother in Room 302. Perhaps he simply knew it was nice to be given a gift, and if he gave his mother a gift, she would be happy and wake up? Sometimes the simplest answer is the solution here, though it's nice fodder for thought. Just what sort of things could a young, impressionable child see in a rather dirty, questionable subway?

Sources:
• http://www.ata-tarot.com (Ata-Tarot.com by James Rioux)
• http://www.paranormality.com (Paranormality.com, by Karyn Easton)
• http://www.gamefaqs.com/console/ps2/file/919554/39042 (Silent Hill 4 Comprehensive FAQ by A l e x at Gamefaqs)
• http://www.gamefaqs.com/console/ps2/file/919554/31120 (Memo FAQ by Sunderland at Gamefaqs)
• http://www.translatedmemories.com/victimfiles.html (Translated Memories, by Konami and the Translated Memories.com Staff, alternatecoppa, excuse17, and jYubei)
• http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tarot (Wikipedia.org's Entry on Tarot, not a great source, but still has some decent data)
• http://www.intuitivetarot.com/ (Intuitive Tarot)
• http://www.gamefaqs.com/console/ps2/file/919554/31470 (Silent Hill 4 Script by Genlohim)

You must wonder…looking at my companions and me, what is it about me? I am a nobody compared to the rest of the group. A pirate queen, a Dalish elf, an escaped slave, a dwarven storyteller, an apostate possessed by a fade spirit…those are only the ones who are with me, the ones you can see. The others don't come to the Hanged Man much. Aveline is busy being a guard, Carver is off hunting mages and Sebastian is praying…a lot. But what is it that makes these amazing people follow me, seek out my presence? I honestly don't know why myself.

These individuals are vibrant and bright, making the world more exciting with only their presence. I pale in comparison…

These words are not spoken bitterly my friend, I am quite content to fade into the background, to sit and watch my dear comrades enjoy themselves. I love Isabela's laughter, Merrill's innocence, Anders' jokes, Varric's stories…I even adore the strength and protection that flows from Fenris as he sits in the corner chair and sips his wine.

Most often I am an invisible spectre, an outsider looking in upon this merry band of misfits. It's better this way…less embarrassing. Every time I talk I get tongue tied and flustered, it is better to keep silent. Watch and enjoy the excitement of others…soak in the merriment and celebration. It is enough for me.

I feel a warm hand touch my cheek, caressing my jaw before tilting my chin up. Suddenly my vision is filled with jade eyes…

"Join us please…" Ah Fenris…he saw me even when I was invisible, and refuses to let me fade into the background. He loves me…

I stand, smoothing the front of my robes before moving into his lap, nuzzling his neck before I nip at his ear. I don't say yes because I can't…silence is my defense mechanism, my protection…my last resort when things get bad and I can't let it go, but he accepts this…takes me as I am and just contents himself with having me so close. His hands move over me, caressing my arms and back as he murmurs Tevinter endearments softly in my ear.

I have been through immense tragedy, not as much as some of my friends…but enough to know what suffering is. My scars run deep and stretch on forever, wrapping around my heart…It has not been easy, nor will it ever be a simple life for me.

But this is my life…and I love it...warts and all.

. . .

Her glassy eyes stare up at me out of a face spattered with blood. There is a gaping hole in her chest…jagged ends of her ribcage poke out of the wound. Hadriana is dead.

I do not see this…don't really care. All I care about is the elf in front of me…he is hurting, and there is nothing I can do.

This does not stop me from trying as I place a hand on his shoulder. Fenris shrugs it off, hissing at me to leave him be. I knew it was coming but it still stings.

He growls as he whips around and storms out of the exit. I run after him, hearing Anders and Isabela call after me to not bother…that he is already gone. I still go…because if it were me I'd want to be chased…

He is gone…I'm left alone in the sand, staring out at the ocean as my friends catch up to me.

"Where the hell did he get to so fast Luna?" Varric asks.

"I do not know…but I know he doesn't want to be found." I say into the wind, turning to look at my dear friend, "Let us go home."

. . .

For one…one brief shining moment I am whole, complete. I feel safe and warm, protected. Like all moments of joy it is brief and as it leaves me I feel cold.

Fenris stares into the fireplace, agony etching into his features until my heart begins to crack. He cannot be with me…something happened, something wrong.

Words stick in my throat, choking me but refusing to be spoken. I gave you everything…all that I am…I love you…it's not enough is it? It's because of the magic…I lost control, lost myself to sensation and ecstasy and my power flooded the room. It wasn't unpleasant, and if Anders' stories are to be believed the sensation for the other person is quite enjoyable…but maybe this scared my elf…my Fenris. No…he's not mine anymore, he never really was was he?

He leaves, leaves me naked and ashamed. I stand there…allowing his absence to chill me to the bone until I'm standing in the middle of my room shivering like I'm waist deep in snow.

Tears flow, wash the heat of passion from my face…I move back to the bed, wrapping myself in a cocoon of blankets and let the agony put me to sleep.

. . .

I stumble into the hanged man, finding the people I was looking for. Isabela looks up from her cards, her smile bright before she catches the look on my face.

"Kitten?" It is this pet name…the one she has given to Merrill and I on account of our innocence that makes me lose it.

I fall to my knees and weep, Anders and Varric making concerned noises as Isabela leaps from her chair and comes to me, sinking to her knees before me and pulling me into her embrace. All I smell is her perfume…exotic and heady, intoxicating. I breathe it in deep as I shudder in her arms, my breath hitching with each sob.

She croons a sad song in my ear, kissing my forehead, nose, and cheeks before pecking me on the lips and tucking my head under her chin as she begins to rock me gently back and forth.

Anders knows what has happened…his eyes flash blue and he grips his staff, moving to find Fenris.

I reach out and grab his ankle, my touch is feather light but it stops him and he looks down at me in confusion.

"M-my fault…not his…" I choke out, before my tears consume me. His face falls, the blue fading as he sits beside me and Isabela. He grabs my hand and squeezes, kissing my knuckles as he leans his head on my shoulder.

I had thought my heart had completely shattered in the absence of Fenris…but here, surrounded by my friends…I feel the little pieces of my soul slowly crawl back to me. I'm nowhere near healed…but they are keeping me together enough to get through it. The expression blood is thicker than water…it is a lie. These people aren't of my own flesh and blood…but they are more family to me than any others.

. . .

Soulless eyes glare at me, the Arishok rising to unbelievable heights as he stands before me. I am barely as tall as Fenris…I am a speck of matter next to this giant.

My eyes seek out the jade ones I love…finding them wide in fear as I move to duel the Qunari leader. He is terrified, I find him shaking…Fenris never shakes…never shows fear. I want to run to him, wrap him in my arms and whisper assurances in his perfect, pointed ear.

I can't though; all I can do is smirk and give him a cocky wink. He honestly didn't think I'd let them take Isabela did he? Silly, handsome elf…

. . .

Everything is black…I can't see…I'm too injured for the spell to work, so on top of crippling pain I have to deal with the fear…the fear of never seeing the sun, never watching the colors of the sky reflected in the crystalline water of the ocean. Never see his smile, or admire the beautiful green of his eyes…

Anders is crying out for water and bandages, there are sounds of movement everywhere and it sounds like a mob is rushing through the clinic. Voices invade my thoughts and I realize everyone is here…even Carver.

Sounds of Merrill crying pierce the panic and make it erupt to near deafening volumes as Anders continues to shout with…is that Fenris? Maker…I've…I've NEVER heard him this angry.

"Heal her…HEAL HER NOW!"

"I'm doing the best I can!"

"THAT'S NOT GOOD ENOUGH!" It is a howl, filled with rage and anguish both. I hear a crash and flinch before screaming at the pain the action caused.

Silence…all that is left is the sounds of hoarse screams and pained whimpers, it takes me a moment to realize that they come from me…and soon I feel hands touch me…warm hands, the hands of my friends as they all surround me and comfort me.

"Hang in there Luna, he's almost finished…"

"Kitten don't you DARE die on me…I need you to heal so I can slap you silly for being so foolish."

"Wesley, Bethany, Leandra…I can't lose you too Hawke…"

"You're strong Lethallan, sooo strong, you can get through this, I believe in you!"

"Damn it Hawke, you just killed the Arishok…you need to live so you can brag about how you were healed by a handsome Grey Warden!" These words are punctuated with a flood of warmth to my belly, the sensation making my arms and legs tingle.

I hear Sebastian murmuring the chant of light…

The one reaction that speaks louder than all others is the sensation of lips on my forehead, calloused hands brushing through my short hair as those same lips move to my ear, "Don't leave me Imoen…please." It is a half choked plea and I realize that Fenris is crying.

And so I hang on…for him.

. . .

I feel myself begin to tremble as Cullen and his templars take the surviving mages into custody. I plead for them to be soft on the mage that saved Fenris…he did the right thing, even with Grace and Thrasks' insane ramblings.

As they leave I hear Fenris begin to stir. He was taken…abducted on one of his night walks through Hightown. I thought he had died…because of me…because of who I am.

I leap over the campfire, falling on top of him and kissing every part of his face I can get too. He coughs and yelps before beginning to laugh, cradling my face as he kisses me deeply, sitting up and pulling me into his lap. I don't realize I'm crying until his thumbs brush the tears away and he presses his forehead against mine, "Hey…I'm fine, you saved me…"

"Fenris…" I sob, kissing him again before pulling away, "I'm the damsel in distress, you're my knight in shining armor, and if you ever switch roles on me again I swear to the Maker I'll light you on fire." I growl.

His eyes widen before he crushes me to him. Our friends say nothing, slowly walking away to give us privacy…

. . .

My eyes burn…I've reread the same paragraph of this paper seven times in a row and I STILL don't know what it says…

This is a favor to Anders, as a fellow mage I've agreed to look over the rough drafts of his Manifesto. It is late, and I can't sleep…not until I finish this.
My head falls forward, my chin resting against my collarbone, soon though I feel my body being lifted, before lowered onto someone's lap.

"You need to sleep." Fenris's voice rumbles in my ear.

"I have to finish this…I've procrastinated long enough, Anders needs it back as soon as possible."

"Here…" He grabs the parchment from my hands, tucking my head under his chin as he reads.

"You…you can read it?"

"I admit his handwriting is barely legible, but you taught me well Imoen."

He smiles at me, "I promise to remain a neutral reader…you can skim the rest in the morning after breakfast."

I give him a glare that states he better remain neutral to this cause before my eyelids slam shut and the warmth of his arms soothes me to sleep.

. . .

"I don't get it…" Anders mutters as I help him brew potions.

"Get what?" I ask as I begin to hum while I work.

"You and Fenris…he hates mages…hates our kind."

"Indeed he does." I respond, focusing on the tasks at hand rather than Anders…this is a touchy subject for him and I hope he drops it.

"So why do you love him if he hates you?"

I stop what I'm doing and look at my friend, my brother, "He doesn't hate me Anders, he loves me."

"But-"

"Anders…he loves me despite what I am, I know he watches me closely, looking for any signs of corruption…but I know he loves me."

"That makes no sense…"

"It does if you're me…but you're not, nor are you my mother." He flinches at my tone, lowering his eyes back to his potions.

"Point taken…I'll keep my nose out of it."

I smile, giving him a hug, "It comforts me you know? Having someone I trust looking out for me that way…makes me relax more often."

"But it just sounds so grim…like he's waiting to kill you…"

"That's because you're looking at it from the mage rebellion's point of view, I'm quite comfortable with what I am…and I accepted Fenris' hate long ago…but Anders, have you noticed he doesn't pester you as much? Doesn't mock mages or even argue when I spare an apostate?"

Anders' eyes widen and he nods, realization sparking in his eyes.

I laugh and squeeze his waist, "You're welcome."

. . .

I have dealt with my condition all my life…the constant fear I'll wake up and find whatever spell allows me to see has stopped working and I'll be forced to live in darkness eternal forever…

This is nothing new…but sometimes…in the darkest moments of night, it gets a bit too much and I lose it.

This is one of those nights, I overworked myself against bandits along the wounded coast and so my vision has been flickering on and off all day. It is only now that I allow the fear to grip me, to wrench me from my pedestal. I curl into a ball atop the bed, wrapping my arms around myself and watch the flames jump and hiss in the fireplace.

I miss my mother…I miss Bethany…they didn't understand but they sympathized. They're gone now…and that loss cripples me almost as much as my blind eyes.

The rumors speak of a stone cold Champion, who's made of ice and has no emotions. That champion doesn't exist. This Champion cries…a lot now that I come to think of it. Things often get to be too much for her to handle and she breaks down, lets the darkness swallow her up.

A warm body presses against mine, hands resting on my abdomen as warm breath caresses my neck.

"I'm here…its okay Imoen…"

But the darkness doesn't swallow me up completely…Fenris won't allow it.

. . .

I am frail when my mana is drained…weak and lifeless.

"Balls!" Isabela swears as we duck behind cover. The Tal-Vashoth are relentless…and Anders and I are completely tapped out…

He drains a lyrium vial, handing one to me. I hate Lyrium…it tastes foul and leaves a bitter aftertaste.

"Drink it" Fenris orders me, his bitter tone barely hides his worry and I blush at his concern.

"Hawke!" Anders barks at me before his hand erupts in flames as he tosses a fireball around the corner.

"I hate this stuff though…" I whine, I know I'm being childish but the mana drain makes me kind of out of it…

"What else do we have Hawke? Drink it!" Anders growls.

"Wait…" I murmur, "I have an idea…" I look at Fenris, smirking as I stare at his skin. He gives me a curious glance before yelping as I jerk him towards me, giving the markings on his neck one big, long lick.

I release him and the look on his face is priceless, jade eyes as wide as dinner plates and his mouth hangs open. What's even better is that his cheeks have flushed red…his blush almost as bad as mine. I honestly cannot believe I just did that…again I blame the mana drain.

Isabela giggles as she leans towards me, "Did it work?"

I smile at Fenris, "Nope," I down the lyrium potion, "but he sure tasted better than this stuff…ugh" I grimace before standing and firing chain lightning at the nearest Qunari.

Fenris seems frozen in place, blush still flaring on his face before he stands and leaps into the fray.

. . .

This is too much…I can't choose…Maker please don't make me choose…

Orsino stares and Meredith glares…

Yes, they're going to make me choose.

I stare at Fenris, who is staring at the ground. I love him…more than words can say, more than my own life…

"I'm siding with the mages…" My heart shatters as the words leave my mouth. I look to the ground…

I hear Meredith sputter out her threats…and Orsino ordering his mages to get to the Gallows before she has time to regroup…

And as the battle rages around me I see a pair of lyrium marked bare feet come into view, just as a gauntleted hand tilts my chin up until I'm lost in his eyes again.

"This is a mistake," Fenris murmurs as his lips hover above mine, "but I will not abandon you." He then closes the distance and I have to say…it is the most delicious kiss we've ever shared.

. . .

"I can't…" I pant, "Can't go on…" Killing Meredith sapped me of all my strength and I can't keep up with the others as we run…run from the city…run from the carnage…

Anders is leading, to where I don't know…all I know is we all have to get far far away from the City of Chains…

"Come on!" Isabela cries as she passes me.

"I…I can't…" I whimper, falling to the ground…

Strong arms lift me, cradling me against a leather clad chest, "Then I shall carry you." Fenris whispers in my ear, picking up speed to catch up with everyone.

Maker but I love this elf.