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There was a pull, an invisible hook stuck in the meat of Garret’s middle connected to a similarly transparent line, taut like the rope on an anchor trying to pull a storm-swept ship back from the open sea.
At first, he barely noticed it, despite the discomfort. In the Fade, everything, including emotion, had become somehow muddled, less tangible. He had escaped the fear demon and at least hunger and thirst did not seem to be an issue for him here for reasons he could only guess at, but it was not a place meant for beings of solid shape and consequently, he’d bugan to wear thin at the edges as time he couldn’t measure passed and passed. Soon, he feared he would he would dissipate and become one of the faceless beings lost here: an echo in a broken statue, a thought on a discarded piece of paper, or an empty suit of iron armour walking the shifting perimeters for the rest of eternity.
But what was the alternative? He was not a mage, he was a warrior, a man called on to stand true with a shield in one hand and a sword in the other, a wall in front of his friends. There was no use for him when he was all alone, and despite his other adventures beyond the borders of the solid world, he had never known enough about the Fade to control it, find or create another way out.
The pull became stronger, though, and perhaps because it was the only definite thing Garrett had felt in so long, he followed. He had a distinct feeling it would lead him straight into the arms of a demon, but at this point, he could not bring himself to care anymore – he just hoped he wouldn’t get possessed, just torn asunder. A clean death would be preferable to this slow withering.
He would have liked to see his sister again before he died, his friends, Varric. However, he didn’t think he could see enough of any of them to be truly alright with dying, so maybe it didn’t matter that he couldn’t, since it would not lift the regret. Most of all, of course, he was not alright with them eventually dying and him not being around to prevent it. Varric especially had really put himself in the middle of it this time. While he trusted the Inquisitor, and he knew Varric was a formidable fighter in his own right, he could not help but worry.
I should have never let Varric leave to the Conclave. I shouldn’t have let him talk to Pentaghast. I should have at least been there and joined up with the Inquisition, no matter what they’d have said about it.
And he should have told Varric how he felt something like eight years ago or so. I’m a fool.
Was it some wayward spirit of sadness causing all these thoughts or was impending death making him melancholy? It felt odd, anyway, to consider that the fragments of his mind would likely end up scattered all over the Fade one way or another, to be picked up by some lost wanderer of dreams or maybe a mage on their Harrowing. He tried to think of something helpful to say for them. Don’t wait until it’s too late. You think you know how much time you have, but you don’t. Not very original, but people couldn’t hear it often enough, he supposed. He apparently hadn’t.
The pull continued. It was powerful and clear in its direction, but it mostly led him through empty lands. The Black City hovered always at the corner of his eye and see-through shades and curious spirits watched him trudge along.
And then something tore in front of him, like two hands had gripped both sides of this feeble reality and parted it like a threadbare mantle. He stumbled a step forward, and another, and the first thing he noticed was a rush of real air in his face, cool and fresh, blowing down from the snow-covered mountains that he saw behind high castle walls reaching into an ice blue sky in front of him.
“Hawke?”
Garrett dropped his gaze. Not two steps away from him, Varric stood in front of a stone bench, a book he might have balanced on his lap before laying in the grass by his feet.
Garrett grabbed him by the arm and then pulled him into an embrace. He was solid and smelled like ink and the oil he used to clean his crossbow, the details too right to be some desire demon’s fabrication.
Garrett was back.
-
“I think I know what happened,” the apostate called Solas said, as he dropped his blue-glowing hand. “Hawke, you said you felt that you were pulled out of the Fade?”
“Yes. It was like there was a beacon of some sort beckoning me to follow.”
Solas nodded his head with small smile.
“That’s what I expected.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “I think it’s a soulbond. Varric, you must have initiated it. Magic cannot so easily reach out of the Fade if not called upon, but it can reach in, and in rare cases even weaken the walls so far as to let living beings pass.”
“A soulbond?” Varric echoed, looking between Garrett and the large form of the Inquisitor on her throne, then back to Solas. “How would I have done that sort – any sort – of magic trick? I don’t know if you’ve noticed from up there, but I’m a dwarf.”
“A good question I don’t have a precise answer to. However, it is a very old ‘magic trick’ – from long before the arts that are being taught today had been written down. I’m sure a storyteller like you is aware you’re not the first dwarf with a soulbond.”
“Though not all of us more classically trained mages are completely untouched by such knowledge either, my dear Solas,” the Orlesian mage reminded Solas, holding her head high. “Soulbonds are a matter of innate, natural magic, like lyrium. This is why soulbonds can be formed with dwarves, and, as has been speculated, even by them. Besides, you have visited the Fade several times, which is very unusual for dwarves. I would wager it has left traces in you.”
“There’s a comforting thought,” Varric muttered.
Garrett glanced down at Varric. True, Varric was the storyteller between them, but soulbonds were a matter of many tales. There were friends who formed them and family members, too, but from the colour on Varric’s cheeks and the way he refused to meet Garrett’s eyes, Garrett felt his heart thump harder, wondering if this wasn’t the most popular type of soulbond tale, after all – the romance.
“Shit,” Varric muttered after a moment. “I mean, I wanted Hawke to come back. I don’t think I’ll surprise anyone by saying I wanted it a lot. Didn’t know wishing would do anything, though.” He took a deep breath. “At least Hawke returned whole, though, right? I didn’t accidentally leave part of him in the Fade or something? I haven’t made a hole in reality before, you know...”
“No, he seems quite complete,” Solas said with a twitch at the corner of his mouth. “As much as any human would be after this much time in the Fade. You should rest before you move on, Hawke.”
“You’re welcome here, of course,” the Inquisitor said, nodding her horned head. “We’re glad to have you back.”
“Thank you,” Garrett answered. “I think I have some business here, anyway.”
-
“I don’t think ‘I’m sorry’ covers this,” Varric said, when they finally stood alone in the hallway before Madame Montilyet’s office.
“Varric, you pulled me out of the Fade. I thought I would die there,” Garrett said, raising his brows at him. “I should be thanking you.”
He still couldn’t believe that he was feeling the real warmth of fire on his skin again, saw bright, vibrant colours and smelled cooking from the kitchens, instead of contemplating these sensations in the memories of lost ghosts. He couldn’t believe he was looking at Varric, either.
“I’m not sorry you’re here, but I wish I could have done it without leashing you against your will.” Varric rubbed his forehead. “Don’t worry. We’ve got Solas here and Vivienne, a whole bunch of tower mages, and Dorian likes to joke around, but he’s actually very smart, too. Someone here has to be able to set you free.”
The genuine concern in his voice made Garrett realise talking wouldn’t do much here. He walked over to him and waited for Varric to look up before he leaned down, one hand on Varric’s shoulder, and kissed him. His heart was in his throat, but he managed to keep his grip steady like he was clutching his sword.
“I wanted to do that the whole time I was in the Fade. If I’d ended my life there, future visitors would have found my regrets about never doing it before scratched into the walls,” Garrett said quietly. “Maybe that’s why your soulbond could take hold?”
Varric stood motionless for a moment before his arms finally went around Garrett’s neck. His face was hidden against Garrett’s shoulder too quickly for Garrett to check if he’d actually seen tears in his eyes.
“I missed you, Waffles,” Varric said, choked.
Garrett laughed quietly at the old, silly nickname that seemed to come from a time when life hadn’t been so complicated yet, and lifted Varric off his feet as he pulled him into his arms. For a moment, he did feel as light as he had in those early years in Kirkwall and that was really when he should have done this – but he’d gotten one more chance, and he was not going to waste it.