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Tales of Hawke, Rydian Hawke	By : Darbracken Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 2554 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Fenris or Dragonage II. Rydian Hawke is my character in Dragonage. I have not and will not make any profit from this fic.

Chapter List
- 1-Empty House
- 2-Missing Links
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I’m so sorry this has taken so long to write, it’s been sat around in my folder for months awaiting some love. So this is the second chapter of Rydian Hawke’s story, the first chapter of course was Fenris centric. This is a little bit of Rydian’s background so we get to see what makes him tick. I wrote this before the legacy DLC came out so I have no idea if this will even fit in with the Hawke storyline but as Rydian is –my- Hawke this is how it happened for him. Next chapter hopefully won’t take as long and will be mild Anders x Rydian. I love getting comments and reviews so please feel free to drop them in.
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“Get away Rydian!” Aghast he watched his father running the blade along his wrist, ribbons of vitae bursting forth to consume the first Templar. “Blood mage!” Arms wrapped around him, pulling him away without much strength, his mother weeping even as she tried to pry him away from the man she loved. Horror had consumed him, watching his men – those whom he commanded - thrown like ragdolls away from the apostate. Where had it all gone so wrong? His father wasn’t this man. This depraved dog that snarled and lashed out viciously, rending limb from limb. Carver pushed the heavy doors together, Bethany pale and terrified forcing a broom handle through metal to jam them shut.
He should go out there, face down the blood mage, any Templar worth their salt would have. “Please Rydian, please.” Broken sobs stilled him, his mother utterly inconsolable, unable to bear the thought of her eldest son clashing with his father, tearing into one another as though bitter rivals. In the end he had been unable, unwilling to leave her. They huddled together, shuddering as the howls of the crazed mage rang through their estate, the stench of death thick in the air. Many had died that day but they had survived, albeit shamefully.
“I should have you executed, coward.” The snarling knight commander held all the venom and bile towards him that his father had towards those who had tried to compel him to join the circle. The only difference was it was tightly leashed, buried beneath the unyielding metal of his armour. “Worthless wretch, you allowed your men to die at the hands of an abomination.” Faces were inches apart, the spittle flecking his countenance. “You are dismissed Hawke. Go and fuck some of those mages you love so much.” Shame and anger flared as one, but the man’s word was law and there was no place for him left in their halls. Not a man or women met his gaze as he gathered together his belongings and left. They all knew; the word if not on their lips firmly seared into their minds. “Traitor!”
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Breath choked him, panic suddenly swelling as his surroundings blurred and swirled at the edges of his vision. Perspiration had slicked fine robes to his pale flesh, twisted tightly around limbs with each thrash he’d made in the hold of the nightmare. Swiftly he sat up, heart hammering as platinum eyes fixed on the most distant wall, trying to make sense of the familiar but alien stone work. Very slowly he began to calm, the vision of bestial amber eyes fading from the forefront of his imagination. A shaky hand lofted and pressed to his damp face, realising that tears had blurred with sweat in the course of the dream.
Why now? That had been years ago, when he was young, vulnerable… before he had crafted himself an exquisite mask of humour that rode the dangerous edge between insulting and endearing. It had taken years for him to crawl slowly from taint his father had left on him, even now deep down he resented him; though it wasn’t something he ever spoke of or alluded to. Breathing finally settled he laid back into bed, the lack of luminance through his window informing him that it was still in the small hours of the morning. Fitfully he drifted back to sleep, sheets curled tightly in his fists.
Morning found Rydian settled at his writing desk, thumbing through correspondence. Without much interest he sorted the envelopes into some sort of order, from the tedious to those with promise. Arun’s head lifted, soft brown eyes looking up at his Master as a letter was twirled over and over in his grasp. A faint grunt from the Mabari brought his attention back to the present, focusing his gaze on the letter in his grasp. For a few days he had been reluctant to even open it but now he steeled himself and slipped the letter opener into the envelope and cut it open in one smooth motion. How alike it was to slitting a throat.
Unravelling the parchment he saw the familiar curves of his sister’s writing sprawled across it. “Dearest Rydian” it began, a wry tug of his lips given, he did not feel dear, he had in fact failed her. “The circle is not so bad, it is warm here and there is plenty of food, even the beds are comfortable.” Unlike the scorn he knew the Templars would show towards each and every mage; that was never comfortable. They could be inhumane. Digits tightened their grasp about the paper, wishing he had been there, been able to prevent Bethany being seized. Guilt seized him, feeling somehow he could have prevented her being hauled away to the circle. She was not a blood mage but then his father hadn’t been one either until… “Sometimes I teach the children.” Realising he had failed to registered several sentences Hawke reached up, scrubbing tired eyes with his thumb and index finger.
Anders. If there was anyone he could confide his confusion and pro-mage sentiments to it would be the apostate. Even if he longed to see Fenris the man would never understand his deep seated unease towards his sister’s incarceration. Mages were dangerous, to be locked away or better yet killed in the elf’s eyes. In his turmoil he couldn’t bear to see disdainful emerald eyes watching him, so instead he tucked the half read parchment into his pocket and made his mind up to visit Dark Town. Just as he was about to step through the door the grubby figure of his uncle appeared, darkening his horizon. “Maker, of all the rats I didn’t wish to see why did that one have to scuttle in from the cellar?”
Lips pressed together, attempting to smile as his uncle pushed passed him. Though he was often fond of baiting the man, he found this morning the jovial façade he wore had a number of hairline cracks. “Well if it isn’t my favourite family member. Oh that’s right; you’re my only family member not dead, incarcerated or my mother. Hello uncle, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” A displeased sneer marred the man’s face as he looked up at his nephew; on some level resenting his new found comfort, though mostly because he seemed to be the only member of the family that saw him for what he was. “Have you seen your Mother, boy?”
Come to think of it Rydian hadn’t in fact seen her for a few hours but his patience was thin and he just wanted to speak to someone who didn’t think slitting the throat of every mage was acceptable. “I haven’t maybe she’s out somewhere or she’s found herself a love interest, she’s a lady of leisure now, since we moved out of your home.” Disintegrating into a scowl it seemed the man was incapable of taking the hint and instead loitered, still watching Rydian. “She received a bouquet of white roses earlier.” Somewhere in the recesses of the rogue’s mind something flickered, a deep primal sensation of unease, but it was quickly snuffed out as he brushed passed his relative. “Well isn’t that lovely, like I said she’s probably just out courting and I am far too busy to run around after her. She’s more than capable of looking after herself.” With that Rydian stepped out onto the street, letting the door close in the face of his uncle who looked rather like he was chewing upon a wasp.
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Tales of Hawke, Rydian Hawke