A charcoal colored sky had hung over Kirkwall for days, with pudgy clouds lazily sailing along gusts of bitter wind. They wafted about, puffs of grey mists gathering together, blotting out the sun and swallowing any hint of blue left in the sky. Their billowy forms brushed against the highest points of the city state—the tip of the Chantry tower, the heads of the Twins, and the peaks of the Vinmark Mountains—and were ripped open. From their bloated tufts fell sheets of flurries, covering the area with a layer of frost in an hour's time. Tiny crystals dwindled in the air, sparkling in clean brilliance against the smudgy grey backdrop. They piled on each other until the whole city-state was caked with white powder.

Were she not so preoccupied, Hawke might have thought it a lovely sight. In the furthest corner of her mind-in a place even the nosiest dwarf storyteller or the most intrusive pirate would never uncover-she thought this would have made for a lovely, peaceful stroll with a certain someone. But it would have to wait.

The Champion of Kirkwall slid across the grassy knoll, her armored boots slipping against the mud and snow. She regained her footing, the metal of her blade coated with crystals, her suit made slick as flakes melted on the plates. Her dark eyes squinted through the slit of her helmet, through curtains of haze and snow, and found the Revenant glowering at her.

The undead warrior, decked in dark angular armor, a helm crowned with bat-like wings, cut through the grey and white air with its unholy presence. With a wave of its sword, dark energies swirling around the neck of it, sallow hands were summoned from crags in the mountainside, invisible under the veils of falling snow. Rickety bones, with bits of blackened flesh clinging to kneecaps and spines, came shambling towards the warrior, their winding moans drifting against the iced winds.

"Varric!" Hawke cried, "whenever you're ready!"

"You got it, Hawke!" the dwarf marksman popped out of the dim background like a little red flame bouncing from rock to rock. He ran perpendicular to the Champion, until the end of his crossbow found a clear shot of her. As the risen skeletons began to scatter along the snowy field, he fired. The bolt's tip tapped against her armor and exploded, enveloping her in a fine mist that yanked the skeletons towards her by their hallowed eye sockets. The dwarf saw the glint of her sword, cutting through the haze, and he grinned as he kept running.

The Revenant and his small army fled to Hawke, chasing her around the field as if she were the only prey. She galloped in the other direction, snow crunching against her powerful steps, her sword slicing through any bones that approached her. The whistling of bolts and arrows and the pinging of their crash against armor whooshed past Hawke as she ran against the waves of rigid air.

The Revenant glided across the snow-coated earth, unaffected by the chunks of ice and mud on the ground, or the whips of wind against his helmet. He remained at the back of the chase, waiting for one misstep, for one bony finger to reach the Champion, before taking her in his grasp. Beneath his tattered battle garments, a pale green light was burned into the earth, searing through the snow. Runic patterns unfolded as the glyph expanded, melted crystals bubbling in its wake. The glow that emanated pulled at the Revenant's rotted flesh and crept under his armor until he was encased with the light, bound by the inscriptions. The undead soldier and some of the skeletons squirmed in the glyph's grip like fish caught in a tight, luminous net.

"Nice work, Blondie!" exclaimed Varric while he watched Anders work his magic, a tap of the staff against the earth and an outreached hand keeping the glyph in place. The mage was tucked away behind snow and rock, but the dwarf could distinguish his likeness, and his stare of concentration to hold the spell, even from a distance. The dwarf wasted no time, his stout legs pumping through the cold, only a thin layer of adrenaline keeping him warm. He closed in on the trapped Revenant and readied another bolt on Bianca's stock. With a hurried spring, and another, Varric pelted the unholy creature, its frozen body shuddering against enemy fire.

Cold breaths stripped Hawke's throat dry, and the whirls of snowy wind clouded her vision. The battle behind her became more muffled with the growing distance, with the howling of wind, and the sound of her own panting. Maker's breath, she thought, am I tired already? What's wrong with me today? Have I gone soft? Perhaps I'm not training hard enough.

The heel of her boot skidded across an oozing thicket of mud, slush, and grass. In one moment of recovering balance, hands of bare bone were upon her. She twisted herself around and made a wide arc with her sword, between her and the skeleton minions, collarbones and ribcages shattered against the sweep of her mighty blade. More skeletons approached, limping toward the Champion over the mounds of snow and fallen comrades.

Seeing the Revenant falter against the weight of Anders' glyph on one side of the field, and skeletons creeping from new chasms on the other, Varric darted to be at Hawke's side and help her push them back. "I trust you have my back!" he heard her say in a second wind, with newly vigorous breath. The dwarf marksman smirked, a witty response gathered in his lungs. But before the answer could fall from his silver tongue, another voice swept in.

"You'll have more than that!" cried that rolling baritone with a spark of confidence Varric hated, that irritating foreign inflection that twisted every hair on his body.

"Andraste's jiggle-stopping breast binding!" he cursed under his breath. "He beat me to it!"

Varric grumbled at the sight of it. Hawke was slashing through another wave of undead minions on one side, and Sebastian—near invisible in his alabaster armor, but his blue eyes cut through the snow like hot knives through cheap vellum—shooting arrows through skulls of the enemies on the other side. Fighting back to back, the two of them turned most of the oncoming hoard of walking corpses into piles of bones, left to be swallowed by snow. The dwarf shrugged and pointed his trusty crossbow at the Revenant, but he found the undead warrior snap free from his glowing prison. Bolts flew into its armor, but the creature remained unflinching as he outstretched a corroded arm and curled its gnarled fingers.

Hawke raised her sword to cut through another skeleton when she was yanked from her firm stance and dragged through the snow and mud on her back.

"Hawke!" both archers cried as their Champion was carried away from them by the Revenant's invisible strings of dark magic. They both raced to string back their weapons and fire their ammunition with furious succession.

Hawke veered across the field, over the fading glyph, her arms and legs jerking violently. When her body was still again, her fogged eyes found the point of a sword above her, falling from the sky and towards her face like a tiny comet. With a dry gasp, she pooled her strength into one side of her body and rolled as the sword pierced the slush. She saw the sword lifted from its snowy sheath and groaned, knowing she did not have enough time—and barely the strength—to throw herself onto her feet. Her muscles ached as she threw herself back and rolled again as the Revenant jammed its weapon where she once lay.

An exhausted breath escaped Hawke's lips, a puff of white air rolling out of her visor. The undead warrior, with arrows and bolts jammed in the slits of its armor, let out an angry guttural groan. The Champion clenched her fists, trying to squeeze out the willpower to get on her feet and counter, but her fingers twitched under the pressure, and her bones rattled. As she heaved in bitter air, her lungs tingled. The sensation crawled through the inside of her chest, up her neck, until…

"Ah… ah… achoo!" The Revenant paused, sword pointed downward, wavering in the air. Its helmed head twitched like a disoriented animal. "Maker," Hawke groaned between sniffles, "this is not my day."

An arrow sliced through the air and lodged itself in the opening of the Revenant's helmet. Hawke took the precious few seconds to make a hard swallow of cold air, reaching for her innermost reserves of energy. With a grunt, she leapt to her feet, swiped up her sword from off the ground, and slashed it across the Revenant's chest. Its rotted flesh turned to blackened smoke that seeped out of the armor, suspending it in the air for a moment before every piece collapsed, soft thuds against the snow.

Anders trudged over the mounds of snow and around the ice-filled creases, using his staff as a walking cane. He approached his companions with a crystalline scowl. Roots entwined the fingers of his free hand, with rusty red petals dangling from the ends. The mage's knuckles twitched, the frost that coated his skin were all that kept him from crushing what he held.

"All this trouble," he snarled, "for a blighted flower?"

"A blighted flower with healing properties," said Varric as he relieved the mage of the plant, "and more importantly, a blighted flower Sol is willing to pay a lot of money for."

"Hardly seems worth freezing my balls off."

"Yeah, well, seems they've been in a twist as of late, anyway."

Anders scoffed. "Excuse me? How am I even the only one complaining here? You're less covered up than I am!"

"What?" Varric grinned as he proudly gestured towards his exposed chest, weaved with wheat colored curls. "And hide this vista of manliness for a single moment? That'd be downright criminal!"

"Gentlemen, please," Hawke groaned as she inserted herself between the two. "That's enough. We still need to … to…"

"Hawke?" said Sebastian, gently placing his hand on the Champion's shoulder. "Are you all right? You seemed a little… off, during the fight."

"Not my best work, I admit, but I'm fine," she stated as she turned and began walking away, down the trail the four of them had crossed earlier up the mountain, though the path had long since been buried and she stumbled. "Come on, we still need to…"

The Champion's three companions made quick note of the wobble in her usually steadfast step, and the matching grog in her usually clarion voice. Varric and Anders exchanged uneasy shrugs. Sebastian began to follow her, hand outreached. "Hawke," he said again, with a firmer projection, "you're not well."

"I… am… completely normal," her words dripped out slowly, as if the words might fall out of place if she rushed an answer.

"Hawke…"

"Sebastian, please! I'm the… Champion of Kirkwall, I don't need to be cod… cod, to be co… ah…" Hawke's companions stared as she hunched over, fighting the rising phlegm in her throat as she continued to walk down the mountain. She had only managed a few steps when her neck jerked with a heavy sneeze. "Choo! …Coddled."

The brother sighed. "Hawke, take off your helmet."

"Absolutely not."

"I want to check if you have a fever. It'll only take a second. And besides, you're sneezing into the thing, that won't make it better."

"If I am sick—which I'm not—I'd increase the risk of getting you all sick by taking off my helmet. Now come on, we still need to…"

"Judith," Sebastian pleaded with a softened tone, the gentle tug of his voice succeeding in stopping Hawke where his firmer badgering had failed. "Please." Hawke only responded by rotating, facing the brother, and sighing in defeat. Sebastian held the helmet on each side and eased it off her head. Clouded brown eyes stared back at him. Frizzed strands of mud colored hair fell against a ghastly white face. "Oh Hawke, you're so pale!" he cried as he framed her face with his palms, as if to shield her cheeks from the bitter licks of wind. "Why do you do this to yourself?"

Varric immediately took notice of the brother's gesture and winced. "Err, this is suddenly uncomfortable."

"It was already uncomfortable," groaned Anders, "and wait a moment… Judith?"

"That's her name."

"I know that! But no one ever calls her by that. She's always just Hawke. It's… odd."

"Says the guy who goes by 'Anders'."

The mage shuddered in response. "So are we done here?"

"Indeed," said Sebastian, "I shall escort Hawke home."

"But," protested the Champion, "what about the Embrium?"

"Don't worry about it," said the dwarf, carefully handling the flower. "I'll take it to Sol and we'll split the money later."

"And that Qunari's lost swords…"

"I doubt anyone else is looking for them. It can wait one more day."

"Then the Bone Pit…"

"Nobody's working in a mine today. Come to think of it, Hawke, you're probably the only one in Kirkwall who insists on working in this weather."

"I was to speak with the Knight-Commander about…"

"Like it'd change anything," said Anders, more to himself than to the others.

"Even Champions get the sniffles," said Varric as he pat Hawke on the back, "well, I may have said somewhere you're immune to most known illnesses, but hey! That's why the Maker created qualifiers."

Sebastian propped Hawke's arm around his shoulder. "Come along now," he said as he led her down the mountain path with precise stepping.

Varric watched as his longtime friend was taken through the curtains of snow-swirled air with a prince-turned-priest he did not know for nearly as long or liked nearly as much. He looked up at Anders and shrugged. "Blondie, did their whole exchange strike you as a bit odd?"

"Everything that comes out of Sebastian's mouth is odd," replied Anders as he bunched himself up in his coat. "As for Hawke… I don't even know anymore."

The dwarf shook his head. "Not everything is about the mage's plight, believe it or not. I mean… I don't… are they… together? They can't be, I mean he's a… and she's… and I would have known by now if they were… right?"

"It makes no difference. If that's all for today, I'm going back to the clinic."

"Blondie, come on," pleaded the dwarf as he watched the mage lumber through the sheets of snow and icy mist. Left with only the flower as company, the dwarf shrugged. "Well, THAT was a fun outing. Maker's breath, I need a drink."

Hawke and Sebastian plodded through the obscured mountain trail, with planned steps over lumps of snow and camouflaged rocks. The brother kept his arm hooked over the Champion's hunched back, with one hand on her slumped shoulder, and the other holding her free hand.

Hawke kept her helmet hanging from the ends of her other hand, bobbing in the breeze like a flag of surrender. She mushed her lips together and wiggled her nose, but little snorts and sniffles poured out in her intervals of faltering willpower. She then felt her stiff fingers of her other hand bunch together against Sebastian's squeezing, and she gave a weak laugh. "I'm perfectly capable of walking home myself," she said, lacing pride in every word, "I've got a little cold, not a damn plague. But I suppose at this point there's little point in arguing with you."

"Correct," replied Sebastian with a grin.

"Since you are so painfully stubborn."

"As are you, dear."

"Hmph! I was aware I wasn't at my best, you know. There's just so much to do, there's no time to take sick leave."

"Hawke, no one is going to fault you for taking some time for your own health. There's a difference between having discipline and torturing yourself." The brother squinted through shrouds of snow and fog, until a faint, inky outline of towers emerged from the murky horizon. "We're nearly there. Just a bit… oh!" He stopped his steady escort when a stray tree's wily branches wandered into their path. He gently pried himself off Hawke to grab and twist them back. With his free hand, he made a curling gesture towards the newly cleared path. "After you, my lady."

Hawke remained still, mashing a scoff in her laugh. "I hope you don't expect me to curtsey."

"Now, now," Sebastian chuckled, a devilish smirk on his face. "You shouldn't wait too long, lest my arm grow tired and this branch hits your pretty face."

With a shrug and a roll of her eyes, Hawke walked through the path. She laughed again at the nudge of Sebastian's arm reattaching itself to her. "You know, back there, you almost gave us away."

"Are we ever planning on telling them?"

"I've tried," she answered with a groan, flicking back dampened strands of hair off her pasty face. The very thought of revealing her feelings and explaining herself was tiresome, amplified by the shivering ache in her voice. "Maker, have I tried. I just can't seem to get them to listen. They all have such a stern vision of me, they can't seem to accept anything else. I think Varric is currently pushing the idea that my ability with a sword is fueled by… 'purity'."

"Oh my. Well, surely, if anyone can appreciate irony, it's Varric."

"Or no, even better! Last thing I overheard him telling a bunch of people at the Hanged Man was that I'd vow only to marry the man who defeats me in single combat. Which would explain the occasional group of drunks lining up at my house with cheap swords. And sticks."

"Is that a fact? Looks like I'll need to keep my bow on me at all times…"

Sneering, Hawke gave the brother a playful shove with her free hand against his breastplate. "Come off with that, I don't like to be teased."

"But I'm serious! I love you, Judith Hawke. I don't want anyone else."

"That's good," she said matter-of-factly, "I'd hate to have to knock out every grabby-handed slattern and doe-eyed noble's daughter that bats one too many eyelashes at you."

Sebastian shook his head. "Seems we both need to work on our jealousies."

"Not if we stay together, we don't."

"A fair point. I'm… forgive me about earlier. I know you're very capable, even in such a state, you are a force to be reckoned with."

"Damn right I am."

"I just... still can't help but worry. I only have so many people I truly care about left, and I have plans for us."

"Do you now?" she said, brow raised. "Care to give me some detail?"

The brother reaffirmed his sly, curling smile. "I would prefer to surprise you."

"I don't like surprises," Hawke pouted.

"You may change your mind when the time comes. But perhaps I'll be more inclined to share one or two, if you promise to be more careful."

Hawke's full lips pursed, dark eyes focused. Her helmet thumped onto the snow as she raised both her hands. "Oh, I'll show you careful…"

Sebastian began to pedal backwards as she walked up to him, surprised and uncertain by the sudden intensity of her gaze. A shaking, "Hawke…?" escaped his lips just as her palms clapped against his chest and his back was slammed into the snow.

Hawke anchored her fingers in nearby piles of ice as she plunged for the brother's face. Her advances were swift, merciless, but efficient; every spot of exposed skin, from his slender neck to his highborn sculpted face, were thoroughly met with a pounce of her lips.

"Ha-Hawke, please!" he laughed as he tried to contain her sudden burst of energy. The tingle of her kisses pushed away the lingering discomfort of soaking underclothes. He ran his fingers through her hair and pushed her head downward to his level, so her mouth would meet his. The tip of her nose brushed against his as she adjusted her face and locked herself in, a shared moaned escaping through the brief gap between them. Both of their lips were clammy and chapped, but their clicks against each other warmed their faces like stones creating fire.

"Hawke?" Sebastian cooed as the woman above him reached for air.

"Mmm?" she moaned, bliss smeared over her pale face.

"…You're… crushing me."

"Oh!" she cried. Her face stiffened, eyes wide. She threw herself off of the brother, yanked him up by the wrist, and saw the deep indentation they left in the snow. Little strands of grass poked out from where they embraced. "I'm sorry, that was so, so very stupid. I completely forgot I was wearing heavy armor!"

"It's quite all right," he answered as he attempted to straighten his back, forcing a smile through pained grunts. "If you're so eager, we could always just swit… swi… ah…"

Hawke frowned. "Oh no."

"Ah… choo!" the brother's back arched, hands on his knees as wheezes dropped from his mouth.

"And I… also forgot that I was sick. Are you all right, dear?"

"Fine, fine. I must have been a little sick myself already."

"Well…" Hawke's eyes darted about, her voice heightened with a feigned innocence. "Long as you're infected, too, you may as well come back to the house with me. Wouldn't want to get all the sisters sick. And a woman of Elthina's age, why, even a simple cough could be life-threatening!"

"Why, Hawke," Sebastian laughed as he readjusted himself, dusting off snowflakes from his sleeves. "If I didn't know better, I would think you were trying to arrange for us to be alone together."

"Maybe," she said coyly.

"You are very transparent, you know."

She giggled. "I prefer 'candid'."

"All the same, it's a valid point. I wouldn't want to get anyone else sick, and we… that is, the two of us, haven't had much time to just… be together."

"Things have been hectic, yes," Hawke said as the humor slowly left her body and she continued walking down the trail, watching the city outline tear through the sheets of mist. She groaned as it expanded in front of her. "Figures I finally realize how important you are to me, and all these jobs and responsibilities spread out in front of me. Never seems to stop."

"I understand," said Sebastian as he put his hand on her shoulder, as though it had never left that spot. "Do I ever."

"I'm used to working all the time, don't get me wrong, but it's like the Maker doesn't want me to ever stop. Can't be selfish for one day."

"When you do the Maker's work, you're never alone," the brother planted a kiss on Hawke's cheek, reigniting her smile, and led her along the winding steps, caked with ice, into Kirkwall. "But I don't think he minds if we're selfish for a few hours. Come along, I have an idea to help that cold."