I haven't written in god knows how long, but here we go! A short one shot that is supposed to take place the night before Anders goes and blows up the chantry. I didn't want to write about the act itself or when Hawke has to make the decision for him to live or die or even fleeing and becoming a fugitive with everyone's favorite mage. I couldn't imagine living with Anders was always sunshine, rainbows, and butterflies especially after that distract the Grand Cleric crap, where he pulls the "Do this or you don't love me :UUUU!111" thing. So imagine this the day after distracting Grand Cleric and the day before blowing up the Chantry. Oh, and my Hawke is named Daria and a mage (probably didn't see that coming D:) Hope you enjoy.
Will I ever be the most important thing in your life? The words that dripped of hurt and disgust flooded Anders thoughts. He found himself accidentally writing his beloved's name on his manifesto. His quill works quickly to recopy the sheet. No. He thinks to himself. "You probably never will," his words are muffled, for his face is buried in his hands to stifle his whimpers. The scratching of the quill had long ceased and the silence of the night held no comfort, nor did it mask faint sobs from either party. Anders sat at the desk, his only companion a flickering candle. But that is no companion, and he is alone.
He forces himself to raise, hands press against the wood surface for support. He can hear her hiccup and mumble his name; he feels weak and sits again. He begins to writes, hoping to make sense of everything in his head. But all that is scribble down is nothing more than a letter to the person he has dared to fall in love with. It is filled with simple apologies and explanations and more "I love you's" than a person can count. "It's been far too long, and I've let myself sit idle as the tension between mages and templars escalated," his voice is trembling as he speaks the written words aloud to himself. He casts the mess of papers into the fireplace and sets them ablaze. There is no reason to apologize for this. It's all for her, for she too is a mage! This mantle of freedom he has taken once again is nothing to spout words of regret for. One day she'll be free to live without fear. He blinks away tears and lets out a cough. The blond is sorry for one thing, for allowing their relationship to blossom. "I said I would end up hurting her."
He makes his way out of the study and up the stairs. He hesitates at her—their bedroom door. Magic does not permit the ability to see through walls, but he is fully aware of what's on the other side. She had cried herself to sleep, ruining and tainting the happy image he had of her. Her blue eyes, the color of sapphires, would be sown tightly shut and swollen all around. Her makeup would be staining her pillow. Her luscious pink lips would be trembling and mumbling incomprehensible things other than "Anders". Her body, a marvel to gaze upon, soft from lack of combat expertise, but so subtly toned from gallivanting through Kirkwall, would be draped in the same robes she wore during the day. And her faithful mabari would be waiting, teeth barred, for Anders was not welcome.
It didn't matter what the beast did, he needed to be with her, if only for another night. If only for a moment before she had him take a room at the Hanged Man. He pulled the door open with his rough and calloused hands. His feet carried him to the bed where she slept. His weight caused the mattress to shift. His feather adorned coat found its way to the floor. His eyes, the bronze or brown that they were, tried desperately to focus on her face and not on the tears that had stained it. Her crying face burned into his memories. The memories of all the times she let herself go. When Carver was taken by the Grey Wardens. When Leandra had been taken from the world to join the Maker. When she remembered only she and Gamlen remained. When she talked about children and he declined. When she realized that his pursuit of freedom for all mages would always, always be greater than his love for her. "You said… That I was the most important thing in your life," he was surprised to hear her speak. Her voice sounded tired if not groggy, but… it carried the same presence, the same strength that it always has. He bit into his bottom lip remembering that he had said those words only a few days before. She gave out a small laugh, bitter and calculating, and buried her face back into the pillow, "But you also said that some things matter more than your life." There is a pain that strikes through both their chests
"I told you these things from the beginning, sweetheart," he too chosen words meant to inflict wounds that may never heal. "I'm sorry you had to become involved with a fugitive like me, my love."
"I'm sorry that I did too." Another ache.
"Do you regret it?"
"I only regret that I couldn't make you love me."
"I love you. I really do."
"Then I regret I couldn't make you love me more than changing the world."
"What are you trying to do by staying in Kirkwall! Are you not changing the world!" A pause.
"How am I changing the world?"
"The Champion of Kirkwall is an apostate, a known apostate, you are giving hope to mages everywhere."
"I don't see how that happens at all."
"You're free to walk around town without looking over your shoulder, free the stand inside the chantry without fear of being made tranquil. You are free."
"I have never been free! I am allowed to live in fear of uprising! What life is that? What freedom is that, Anders? I look over my shoulder every day. It may not be templars at every corner, but look at all the people who want to see me dead. I can only wish for freedom." She rose up and looked down at the man she would give her life for. He was nothing like the memories she held close. There was no crooked smile and squinted eyes. No fancy magic tricks to lighten the mood. No jokes about Meredith and templars. Only a hardened face, aged by the years that have come and go. Only dark circles around his once beautiful eyes from the lack of rest. Only a tight jaw to hold back his tongue. Only greased blond hair, because at times bathing wasn't as important as trying to start a revolution. Looks weren't at the top of his priority list as he once told Varric.
Anders shielded his face from her burning gaze. "Don't look at me like I am a person you never knew! You knew very well how far I'd go for our freedom! You can't keep saying you want the same thing but do nothing."
"Whatever you're planning, I doubt it will do any good. What good can come from extremist ideals?"
"Daria," he uttered her name in a faint whisper, like it was painful to say. It was only painful to keep from losing control. He could feel the blue light seeping from his cracking skin. But he forced the spirit down.
Anders focused back at the task at hand, back to trying to hold onto the last of his relationship. He could hear the rustling as she dug through her armoire scavenging for her "Champion Armor", as she liked to call it. His arm still protected his face from reality. She was leaving tonight, perhaps to Fenris's home or maybe to have a night at the Hanged Man or Blooming Rose for all he knew. "When should I leave?" he asked with a heavy heart, this was it.
The shuffling stopped and he slowly lowered his arm, almost afraid to see her. She stood still. Her face read hurt, upset, and sad. Her bow lips parted gently, but no sound came. Her head bowed down, just barely, to keep her black locks in her face, he couldn't help remember all the times she cursed the impracticalities of beautiful hair that always got in the way. There was a small part of him that hoped she would tell him to leave right now, to never look back. But she didn't allow that small part to be satisfied, she stopped him. "Don't leave me. Please."
"Then don't leave me."
She found herself being swept up by the renegade. In a hug that spoke volumes. Yelling "I need you!" and "Be with me forever!" There was warmth she hadn't felt in a long time. But the pain didn't really subside. There was a small part of her mind that knew that happiness would only be a word to them. But he wouldn't allow that small part of her to be satisfied, he will show her happiness, even for just a moment.
There was no deep longing that had been unleashed. They had stripped down only to dress into something suitable for the night. They spoke quietly about the things they longed for. He brought up children, wondering if they'd inherit his dashing good looks or just settle for hers. She laughed and kissed his cheek softly, telling him, "You mean they'd inherit my good looks." He laughed, "We both know who the pretty one is, love." He spoke of how he hoped for many children so they would never feel lonely. He told stories that may never happen, like how their oldest child would come home with a ball of fire in his hands and a grin that rivaled his fathers and would proudly announce, "Look what I made!" A few tears welled up in Hawke's sapphire eyes; the smiled never faded. He couldn't remember the last time he saw the special look in her eyes. "You're so beautiful."
When she yawned, Anders thought it was more adorable than any kitten. She curled into a ball as she grew more and more tired. He asked if she was ready to sleep. She hastily denied and said she'd stay awake until the sun rose. But the more he spoke of their future together the more quiet she grew, the more frequent the yawns. Her face buried deep into his chest. "Has the great Champion of Kirkwall finally met her match: bedtime?"
An incoherent mumble.
"Sleep, love."
Another yawn and a muffled "fine." She looked up at her love one last time, there was a fear in her eyes. The fear that she may never see her darling again. That she'd never wake up. That their fantasies wouldn't come true. "Don't worry, sweetheart, I'll be here when you wake," he whispered softly. He held her closer, tighter. She fussed a little more, struggling to stay awake if only for a moment longer.
"Busy day tomorrow..!" she hoped talking would keep the drowsiness at bay.
"Oh?" he was amused to say the least how she fought so hard for something as trivial as staying awake. Her brilliant blues slowly closed as she opened her mouth to speak again. "Mhm. Orsino wants the Champion of Kirkwall to go to the Gallows to help him confron…" Half the words she spoke were messy slurs until she drifted to sleep. He felt his chest tighten when she mention Orsino. There had been rumors of Orsino's threats against Meredith to bring the mages plight to the Grand Cleric. He thought that was no solution. If Elthina did not do anything, then she would, worse, force a compromise. There is no compromise. His gaze fell upon the woman that slept soundly in his arms.
He could feel the tears welling up. His body wrought with sadness and regret. He felt guilt for riddling her head with the promise of children and normalcy. News of tomorrow's events did nothing but fuel his drive for a revolution. Tomorrow would be a day of change. Tomorrow his guilt will come from the look of betrayal on her face. His lips pressed against her head of black hair, and the tears fell from his eyes. His heart broke for her. "Know that I love you, Daria." I'm so sorry. You are my precious love, but I cannot hold you above my duty. Above justice.
I didn't feel exactly comfortable with how I ended this little oneshot. I think I've always been better at starting things than finishing them. Feel free to write a review. :D
Went back in to fix a few errors :I