A Candle in the Darkness (A Dragon Age: Inquisition fanfiction)

What We're Afraid Of

24 Firstfall, 9:41

Antonia poked a finger at the ground above her head. Below her head? She wasn't entirely sure. Around her, the others came into view, several of them walking on what looked like walls or ceilings. She got her legs under her and tried to orient herself properly.

"Well, shit," Varric said from behind her. "Hawke, we're in the Fade again."

"Can't say I enjoyed that last time, Varric."

"Me, either."

Antonia's first thought was for how they were going to get out of there; her second thought was for Cullen. He would be going out of his mind with worry when she found out. She couldn't stop seeing his face in that last moment in Haven, picturing him looking like that again, imagining—Stop it, she told herself sternly. That wasn't going to help.

She looked around her for something familiar and solid to hold on to, and latched on to Dorian, who looked annoyed instead of discomfited, unlike the rest of them.

"My trips to the Fade usually look rather different than this," he said. His grey eyes searched her face. "Are you all right?"

"I'm okay ... I think. I just keep thinking of how we're going to get back home, and—" She didn't want to say it out loud, but Dorian nodded, following her train of thought.

"And that's not going to help."

"No. Will you—stick close, Dorian, and slap me or something if I start going off the rails?"

"Absolutely." He patted her shoulder.

Wandering through the Fade, Antonia found herself regaining all the memories she had lost from the Conclave and from her first experience in the Fade ... and it was more comforting to know the truth than she would have expected. It was a relief to be certain, finally, once and for all, that her presence, the mark on her hand, the way she had become involved in the Inquisition, were all accidents. She felt infinitely more confident in her ability to live up to her role knowing that there was no divinity involved. She didn't know if anyone else would feel that way, but in the long run, it was her task to find a way to do the job as best she could, and she would rather be Antonia Trevelyan, fumbling her way in the dark, than Antonia Trevelyan, bearer of all the hopes of Andraste.

"How are you holding up?" Hawke asked, falling into step next to her. The Champion of Kirkwall was the taller by several inches, and Antonia felt rather small next to her. She was grateful that Hawke seemed willing to follow her lead, rather than, as the more experienced campaigner, taking charge herself, but knowing that the other woman was so much more used to these strange experiences, it was hard to feel confident.

"A little nervous," she admitted.

"Me, too. I'm looking forward to getting out of here and getting home."

"What's Broody up to right now, Hawke?" Varric asked on the other side.

"Babysitting." She looked at Antonia. "Our daughter Bianca; she's two. Fenris thinks I'm in Ferelden for a few weeks to deal with issues related to our old home in Lothering. He'd be furious if he knew I was putting myself in danger without him. So I don't tell him."

Varric chuckled. "There's a healthy relationship for you."

"Yes, well, it works for us." Hawke looked down at her feet. "I wish he was here, though," she said softly, shivering. "Too much like the Deep Roads for me."

"How do you do it?" Antonia asked.

"Do what?"

"This. Still. I guess, really, why do you do it?"

"Good question, Herald. I remember hearing her say 'as soon as I get out of Kirkwall, I'm never lifting a blade again' quite a few times." Varric smiled at his friend.

"I lie a lot."

"That's my line!"

"It's a good one, too."

They laughed together with the easiness of long friendship.

It was the last laugh any of them would share for quite some time; the closer they got to the breach in the sky that would take them home, the harder it was to move. Their fears were weighing them down.

Antonia couldn't help picturing Cullen's worried face, wondering if he was holding up; wondering if they were ever going to get out of here. Next to her, Hawke appeared white-faced and drawn, no doubt thinking of her husband and child. Perhaps it was easier, Antonia thought, given how new things were between herself and Cullen ... but perhaps not. Would they ever have the chance to be together again?

"Keep your chin up," Dorian whispered to her. "It's not as dark as it seems."

"How are you doing?"

He shrugged. "I've been in the Fade before; and I fear things, but nothing as earth-shaking as how much I want to get out of here."

Notably, Blackwall appeared to be as little affected as Dorian, striding stolidly along without talking. Stroud, the other Grey Warden, was similarly taciturn.

"Why doesn't everyone say what we're afraid of," Hawke suggested. "If we say it out loud, maybe it's less scary."

"You first," Varric said.

"All right, then. Losing Fenris. It's the real reason why I don't tell him about these things—if he's at home safe, then I can get through something like this; I can't watch him in danger any longer. Varric?"

"Ruining my boots." The dwarf grinned up at Hawke, who rolled her eyes.

"Riiight. Blackwall?"

Blackwall grunted, refusing to be drawn in, and on being appealed to, Stroud merely shook his head and concentrated on putting one foot in front of another.

"Fine, then. Dorian?"

"Have you met my mother?" the mage asked, but Antonia was sure that wasn't it. Not that his parents sounded like a picnic, but that wasn't what was at the heart of Dorian's fears.

Hawke looked at her next, and she considered making a flip answer the way Varric and Dorian had, but decided against it. It was the truth, and if expressing it could make this easier, she was all for it. "I'm afraid everyone's going to know that I don't know what I'm doing, and the Inquisition will fail because I couldn't lead it."

To Antonia's surprise, Hawke snorted. "Let me let you in on a secret, Inquisitor. Or a couple. First, you're never going to know what you're doing. Second, no one else cares. All they care about is that you're doing it, so they don't have to." She shook her head, her eyes bleak. "An entire city stood by and wrung its hands while the Arishok prepared for mass slaughter. They made me Champion when I killed him, but I could have just as easily been Viscount, and all because I'd been willing to pick up a sword and they hadn't. So don't worry about everyone knowing—they never will, because they're not looking to see if you know what you're doing. They're looking to see if you fail." She shrugged. "So it's simple—never fail."

"But no pressure," Varric said.

Actually, it was comforting. Trying to give the impression that she knew how to be the Inquisitor was ridiculous—no one knew how to be the Inquisitor. Except her, because she was it. "Let's do this, then. People are waiting for us." She and Hawke looked at one another and nodded; they were ready to go.