#tranquil hawke

[mrs-theirin]

Just when Varric thought he had caught his breath, it all rushed from him again. Did Meredith say what he thought she said? "It is this mage who will die. And it will be you who is made Tranquil.” Tranquil. Hawke, Tranquil. Eden Hawke… No. — The Tranquility of Eden Hawke, in three acts.

ACT I | ACT II | ACT III

[quillfulwriter]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chap. 8/9 | Rating: T

Cole wants to help. A mind metaphysically fractured is a bit more intense than his usual fare, but the choice isn't his to make either.

(The last chapter is complete already and will be posted probably tomorrow, lol.)

[spiders-scribbles]

(When you semi forget about dragonage day despite being super excited for it all year -_-)

I found some 'old' doodles of my Hawke I really like and dont think Ive shared with you guys

Enjoy! :)

[minwrathous]

Fictober Day 2 • Tranquil

It’s Day 3 now and I still haven’t done day 1. WHATEVER. I felt compelled to get this one done, and it’s dedicated to @xiz0r and @dreadwolfiscoming. This is what can happen if you make art that gives me FEELS.

“Hawke.”

His own name is the first thing he hears after the sundering. He had been left alone in the darkness, but now there is light and familiar faces. There are tears then. Shouts. A wail. Hawke hears it, but feels nothing. It’s too late. He was taken and broken.

It’s Fenris who leads their final charge through the Gallows that day. Hawke follows because there is no better way. None of the people he once called friends can bear to look at him. Hawke knows he makes them uncomfortable now. He knows, but does not care.

When it is over, they flee the Gallows. There, on the docks, there is a hurried talk of what they should do with Hawke now. It isn’t safe for any of them, especially not the Champion, broken as he is. When one suggests putting him to the knife, chaos erupts. Hawke watches and doesn’t flinch. He knows he once told them he’d rather die than become Tranquil. But now he does not feel that conviction.

Before the argument even ends, Fenris takes him by the hand and pulls him away.

“Where are you taking him?” Varric demands. His voice had been the loudest in speaking out against Hawke’s killing.

“Does it matter?” Fenris hisses. He had remained silent while the others fought. Now, his gauntlet is sticky with Templar blood and the tips dig into Hawke’s hand. “Do not follow us.”

- - - - -

Fenris takes him away from the docks then, back to Hightown and Hawke’s empty estate. Fenris packs quickly and snaps at Hawke to change his clothes. Hawke obeys. They soon leave the estate and are out of Kirkwall by nightfall.

They camp along the coast, and in the distance smoke rises from the City of Chains.

Hawke wakes that night to a pressure in his chest. The tent they’re sharing is lit by the cold blue glow of Fenris’s brands. The elf is straddling him and his hand is thrust into Hawke’s chest.

“You told me once to kill you if you were made Tranquil,” Fenris says. There are tears streaming down his cheeks. His eyes reflect the eerie light of his brands. “You made me promise.”

Hawke feels the pain as his heart is held in Fenris’s hand. It is abstract to him, merely his body’s way of telling him he is about to die. He would prefer not to be experiencing it. Fenris squeezes a little tighter and Hawke lets out a choked gasp.

“Say something,” Fenris demands. His voice is shaking.

“I do not wish to die,” Hawke replies.

Fenris wavers. He releases his hold on Hawke and pulls his hand out with a guttural cry. He breaks then. His body is wracked with sobs as he clings to Hawke, buries his face against the other man’s neck. Hawke lays there quietly. Breathes.

Fenris is silent the next morning. He does not look at Hawke as they both pick up the camp. “We’re going north,” Fenris eventually says as they set off together along the coast. Hawke does not care. He will follow wherever Fenris leads.

There is no love left there. No affection. But Hawke knows Fenris. He knows him and trusts him. There is a certainty that Fenris will keep Hawke safe. After all, it is easier to follow him than it is to be on his own.

- - - - -

Time passes and they make their way farther north into the Free Marches. Fenris has come around to looking at Hawke now. He speaks to Hawke cordially, and Hawke always speaks back. There are still nights when Hawke wakes up to that phantom hand around his heart. Hawke accepts this, and Fenris never follows through.

There is one night when Hawke wakes to the feeling of lips against his skin. Wetness. Tears and spit as Fenris desperately kisses him. After a moment, Fenris pulls away and apologizes. He puts distance between them again.

Hawke would allow more if Fenris wished it. Hawke would not mind or care. It would comfort Fenris, and not be unpleasant for himself. Once, Hawke would have been eager for it. Now, it would just be a function.

There are no more kisses after that.

- - - - -

They are being attacked by bandits when Hawke shows that he is capable of defending himself. While Fenris is engaged, Hawke takes a quarterstaff from a fallen bandit and uses it to dispatch another. From then on, Fenris trains him. Hawke no longer has magic, but he has his strength and reflexes.

More time passes and they are in Antiva. Hawke wears a hood to hide his brand while Fenris wears leather armor to hide his own. They’ve taken to raiding any slavers they come across. Hawke is proficient in combat now. He is focused. Efficient. Soon Fenris has them actively pursuing the slavers. Perhaps it would be safer for Hawke to settle in one place and quietly exist.

Hawke follows Fenris. It is what he knows.

- - - - -

They are in Rivain when the sky is torn open somewhere in Ferelden. Fenris ignores the news from the south; it doesn’t concern them.

Months later, they are back in Antiva when a letter somehow reaches them.

“How did he find us?” Fenris grumbles. Hawke doesn’t ask who. As Fenris reads the letter, his eyes widen in shock. Hawke watches him.

Hawke does not ask why they leave on a ship the following day.

- - - - -

Weeks later, they cross a bridge that leads into a castle called Skyhold. There, they find Varric Tethras, who still can’t quite look at Hawke.

“Is it true?” Fenris demands in lieu of a greeting. “There is a cure?”

“It’s true,” Varric nods. He finally looks at Hawke.

They wait while the preparation for the ritual is completed. The Inquisitor is a proficient spirit healer, but it takes time to find a spirit willing to help them. Fenris voiced his displeasure regarding the ritual’s methods, but grudgingly agreed. Hawke does not care either way.

- - - - -

Fenris and Hawke meet another Tranquil in the library while they are exploring. Fenris asks her why she has not gone through the ritual herself. She says that she declined the offer. She does not wish for the pain she will experience after its completion. She thinks that her life will overwhelm her. Fenris looks to Hawke, who is silently processing the answer.

The night before the ritual, Fenris pulls Hawke aside. “Do you want this?” he asks. He will not force this on Hawke, not if Hawke says no.

Hawke thinks about his past self. He understands how he used to think and feel. It’s abstract. Distorted. Like looking at something through a thick pane of glass, but being unable to touch it or fully see what it is. He knows that his past self would have said yes! without a second thought. He would have been willing to live with any consequences.

But is that how Hawke is now? What will the world be like when he can fully experience it again? Hawke does not deal in uncertainty now. And everything might hurt too much. But…

“I do not mind it,” Hawke finally answers. “I will manage afterward.”

That is enough for Fenris.

- - - - -

The next morning, they take Hawke to a dimly lit room. He sits in a chair next to a table that holds a stone bowl of lyrium. The rest of the room is sparse. Varric, Fenris, and the Seeker, Cassandra, are the only witnesses. The Inquisitor stands behind Hawke and magic begins to pour from his hands.

He reaches in and gently touches Hawke’s head. Hawke can feel the magic buzzing around him. He can...feel.

Something else is touching him now. Filling him. And for the first time in years, Hawke can feel the magic moving over his skin. He inhales and it’s like he’s taking his first breath.

The Inquisitor pulls away from Hawke now; it has taken him a mere number of minutes to unravel the past five years of Hawke’s life.

Everything rushes over Hawke. Flashes of life before his sundering. Flashes of life since. Everything blurs together, swirling and pulsing and threatening to overwhelm him. Every laugh. Every tear. Every kiss. Tears fall from his eyes and he begins to shake. He sags forward in the chair.

Strong arms suddenly embrace him and a familiar warmth settles between his legs. Fenris is kneeling on the floor in front of him, holding him up. Holding him close. Hawke clings to Fenris and lets out his first shuddering sob.

“Hawke,” Fenris croaks.

His name is the first things he hears after he is whole again.

[gaysparkler]

*gestures vaguely* Have this, I guess. I just read River Stone per @jawsandbones‘ suggestion and this happened

“No,” Fenris whispered at first. His eyes flicked to the scar on Hawke’s forehead, the raised skin, still not quite healed; an Andrastian sun. The mark of the Tranquil. Fenris could not breathe. He moved away from Hawke as if he had touched hot coals. He grabbed his hair, pulled it, pushed it away from his eyes, pulled it harder. He had wished that all mages be made Tranquil once, after he had been with the Fog Warriors and reunited with Danarius. He hated mages once. Hawke—Frederic taught him, showed him otherwise. There were good mages, good people. No one deserved to lose everything. He remembered Hawke telling him that being Tranquil was worse than death. “I don’t—”

“Fenris,” Hawke said. “You are upset.”

Fenris fell to his knees because of course he was upset, he did not understand why it had been Hawke, a healer, a man who cared more about others’ well-being than his own, a man who gave everything that he was to a city and—and what? That was how Kirkwall decided to reward their Champion? Fenris stood again, pacing the room in sadness, anger, confusion, rage, despair. Hawke only watched him. Fenris turned to him and looked in his eyes.

He was met with blue. Blue, blue, blue. He loved those eyes so much. He loved the man even more, loves the man even more. Reality hit Fenris again when he saw the bright red of the sun between those blue eyes. Eyes usually soft, compassionate, showing so much without any words that only a gaze was enough; now, they were empty.

Fenris felt the fight slowly slip away from him. The anger wore off, leaving only his misery. With shaking hands, he put them on either side of Hawke’s head.

“Hawke,” he said, louder than when he last spoke. “Hawke, my Hawke, Frederic.”

[gekroent]

“you are a threat”

[jawsandbones]

Fenhawke 20? :)

“If you had asked me to stay, I would’ve.”

Her hand fits perfectly in his.Fingertips trace the lines on his palm, all the little cracks and callouses.Her hands are rough and worn from years of wielding a staff, and all thoseyears before spent with knees in the dirt. They’re still the softest things he’sever known. He presses a kiss to her knuckles. She smiles as she stands, bedlighter with the sudden loss, and her hand slips from his. He wants to tell hernot to go. The sun shines through the cracks in his room, and the birds arebeginning to sing. He wants to tell her to stay with him, spend the day in thatbed.

He rolls over to lie on hisstomach, hugging the pillow beneath him. He watches as she dresses, still hazyfrom sleep, covering pale skin with robe and armor. A look she’s branded allher own, a look that marks her as Champion. She runs a hand through messy darklocks, tucks stray strands behind her ear. She puts one knee on the bed as sheleans over, a hand on Fenris’s back. She presses a kiss to his temple, rubs afond finger against his cheek. He closes his eyes after she leaves, falls backasleep, dreams of her.

He wakes a few hours later, whenthe sun has settled, when he can hear the noise of Hightown going about its business.He finds drink, fresh bread, in the kitchen. The mansion has become more livablenow that Hawke has come to stay more often. The floors are washed, there arecurtains over the windows. Cutlery shines with cleanliness, and there isn’t acobweb in sight. She’s brought him new furniture. No place to put it in the estate, she said, but I just liked it so much. She treats it like it’s an accident,this buying of furniture. She knows he would protest otherwise.

He curls up in a chair, pulls ablanket over his shoulders. He eats the last of the bedroll, opens the book tothe page he had marked. It’s more difficult to read without Hawke there. No oneto ask what a certain word is, letters he cannot put together. He manages thebest he can, but misses her anyway. It’s easy to lose track of a time as hefollows word after word, but he cannot miss the sudden loss of light when thesun begins to set. The worry knots in his chest as he rises, begins to lightcandles.

Sun gives way to moon, hangingheavy in the sky. He takes his sword with him when he leaves. He goes to theHanged Man first. Perhaps she had been caught up in drinks with the others? Hefinds the tavern lacking of her laughter, of her grin, of that raven hair. Hegoes to her estate next. Bodahn tells him that he has not seen her since sheleft for his mansion, a few days before. He goes to Aveline, working late,hunched over her desk. The two of them rouse the others. It’s Merrill who tellsthem she wanted to visit Carver at the Gallows.

Templars at the gate bar theirway. The hour for visitation has long since passed. Aveline argues hotly withwhoever she can find, turning her attentions to the next and the next and thenext. Fenris stands quietly next to her at the gate. He stands quietly for heis afraid that if he speaks, he will shout. He is afraid that if he moves, hewill fight. He forces himself to stillness, to wait. The Knight-Commandergreets them in the morning, a smile on her face.

An intruder. A mage intruder. Inthe barracks. Cannot be allowed. Aveline demands to see Carver. Meredithtells her he is no longer at the Gallows. Ferried elsewhere during the night,transferred to some other Circle. Meredith gestures at a Templar behind her.His hand is tightly wound around a woman’s arm, dragging her forward. Dressedin the diminutive robes of a Circle Mage. Hair cut and shaved tight against herhead. A fiery brand across her forehead. Blue eyes that look at him dully.

Distantly he can hear the othersyelling, screaming. Fenris rocks forward when the Templar lets her go. He runsto his Hawke, takes her face in his hands. She does not react to his touch,does not look him in the eye. His hands fall to hers. They used to fit so perfectlyin his. Now they do not seem to want to stay. Back to her cheeks, thumbsbrushing over the freckles he loves so dearly. His forehead presses againsthers, covers the brand. “Why?” He asks through gritted teeth, “Why did you go?”

“If you had asked me to stay, Iwould have,” she tells him plainly. He wraps her in his arms, holds her tightagainst him as he shakes.

[spiders-scribbles]

Hi! I really like you watercolor Hawke painting! Quick question for you...Is your Hawke tranquil???? Is there a backstory?? I was looking through your blog but couldn’t find one. Much love and respect!

Generally I tried out a playthrough of the game roleplaying as though she had been tranquil and it was alot of fun and I really enjoyed the idea so now I draw her with the mark and am currently trying to write out the backstory XD (click on the image for better quality, tumblr hates me)