The irrevocable truth of the matter was that Anders rarely sought out trouble.
Trouble usually found him first.
Most problems he attributed to The Circle of Magi and the Templars, especially the Templars. Had the Templars actually been competent enough to stay alive at Vigil's Keep, he would never been issued the Right of Conscription from the Warden-Commander Lilith Cousland. He never would have merged with Justice, never would have ventured to the damned City of Chains, never would have met Thalia Hawke.
Stubborn, glory seeking, wisecracking Hawke was trouble incarnate. Really, who in their right mind would charm him from the get-go on his "sexy, tortured look"? Who would willingly keep bloodmages, pirates, and former slaves as company? Who would stubbornly oppose crazy Meredith right to her face?
Any person of sane mind would know better. But Anders was not the slightest bit sane.
When trouble found him, he always stayed.
Staying still was a different story.
"Abomination, you're doing her no favors by interfering," Fenris growled, seeing sparks of electric blue magic fly from his fingers as Thalia evaded every near-hit of the Arishok's blades.
"The only thing we can do now is pray to the Maker; it's in His hands now," Sebastian advised, but the glower in his eyes was clear – should Justice come out and potentially endanger Hawke, so, too, would Sebastian's bow, aimed right at his heart.
Around his fingertips, the magic dissipated, and Justice all but retreated to the deeper layers of his consciousness. For now.
The fear still remained.
For once, he wanted to run headlong into trouble. Hawke was always his hero, her daggers flying the moment she suspected he was in danger. She had always wanted to keep him safe, keep Kirkwall safe, and keep everyone she cared free from harm. Intrinsically it was a part of her – playing the hero. But Anders wanted a shot at heroism, too. Not for the glory or the accolades, but for his love.
His love, who was currently fighting what looked to be a losing battle.
Thalia was doing more running than attacking, and that was the hard part. Every time she tried to close in on the Arishok, he would slam her against the wall. One of his blades successfully sliced through her armour, and the wound was dripping blood as she dodged the next hit. Miasma flasks had no effect. She strongly regretted not taking Sebastian up on his offer of archery lessons, because close combat was a do or die situation.
As soon as she was a safe distance away, she readied her stance into one of a charge, positioning her blades, Jarvia's Shank and Beraht's Revenge, on either side of her. She would have to be fast, fast enough to catch him off guard. Breaking out into a dash, she held her weapons firmly in place until she was arm's length away. With enough force, she thrust her daggers into his chest.
The Arishok groaned in pain, but it was not enough to knock him down. As soon as Hawke pulled out her blades, she attempted to jump backwards, but wasn't fast enough. A leg swept under her and she fell, backwards.
"Ow. Ow. Heard something crack." With a deep, painful breath, she clambered up, readying her swords for the next possible attack. "Is that the best you got? My drunken uncle can do better than –"
Her next few words were cut short when his axe cut through the air to cut her arm, but this time Thalia brought her daggers up in time to block the attack. She pushed forward on her bent leg to throw him off, to no avail. The axe was getting dangerously close to her head, and the only way to escape was a slice to her shoulder. With a shift of her head, she glanced forward and saw an opening at the Arishok's side. If she could just sprint forward, she could maim his side and prepare for another attack.
The Arishok was having plans of his own. When Thalia broke her defense, shifting so that the axe only scrapped her shoulder, and began to duck under the Arishok, she had forgotten to take into account his sword.
The sword pierced straight through her stomach, and all onlookers gasped. Merill covered her eyes and Sebastian had to turn away. The rest of the group stood in silence as their leader was raised up, impaled on a sword, like a nug led to the slaughter.
Anders was losing it. He was clenching his fists so tightly that his palms were starting to bleed. He couldn't stand by and watch her die. He would rather this damned city burn to the ground before she fall.
That was it. He'll end this before Hawke succumbs to even more blood loss. His mind was whirling with ideas. He brought his hands up, pinpointed them at the Arishok, and felt the magic come alive in his palms, poised to kill.
Varric brought his hand to rest on Anders's coat sleeve. "Blondie, whatever you have planned, don't. You. Dare."
"How can all of you just stand by and do nothing? How?" He glared at the dwarf, who was looking tense as well. "You're her best friend and you're just watching her die? What kind of friend are you?"
"The kind that knows his place," Varric snapped. "Hawke chose this dance. She knows the steps very well. "
"She's dancing with death!" Anders all but screamed. "I won't let the woman I love die because she's too stupid to listen to reason."
It was Isabela who brought in a quiet afterthought, "If Hawke is willing to face the Arishok to save me, she'll go to Hell and back for you, Anders. Count those blessings while you can. You might not have them for much longer."
It was getting awfully difficult for Thalia to concentrate on the battle at hand. Life was ebbing from her as she was dangled in the air. Blood from her abdomen was also pooling down the hilt of the sword, coating the blade in red. The battle wasn't going to last much longer if she couldn't win it soon. In the midst of her dizziness, she faintly heard Anders arguing with her friends for her sake, and tears began to form. "Damnit, Anders. Damnit all." She couldn't leave him, of all people alone. She couldn't imagine being without him. She just had to survive. Had to…
Finally, she was thrown to the floor, the blade disappearing from her stomach. The air began to smell strongly of blood as more of it dripped down her armour. Weakly, she made her way up, clutching her stomach and her blade tightly.
Voices began to blur together. Her friends were chanting her name.
Her lover's voice, however, was the one that stood out, "Thalia Hawke, don't you dare die on me!"
She just had to survive.
Had to survive.
Survive…
Her attacks were relentless after that. Sloppy and ill-formed, but relentless. She just had to keep hitting, had to keep lowering his health. With every fall of his blade or axe, she would disappear to his backside and aim a poorly drawn slash there.
The Arishok cried out at every successful hit. When she entered the battle, Thalia Hawke sought to evade death. But now she ran along its precipice, jumping backwards only to crouch and charge again with more fervor.
It was Anders spurring her on, not with his healing hands, but with his words. Love, come back to me. Please…
It had come down to a standstill, the two enemies circling each other carefully, waiting for an attack. Both were bleeding from various wounds on their bodies, but Hawke more so. One of them would fall soon enough. She just had to make sure it wasn't her.
"I was right in having picked you as an opponent," the Arishok coughed out, his eyes boring into Hawke's. "A worthy basalit-an."
"Normally I would ask for a translation. But today isn't a normal day, is it?" Hawke shot back, clutching at the gaping hole in her stomach. "City burning, viscount dead, lover worrying. It's usually the other way around, the last one. I hate making Anders worry." She dropped her hand from her wound and concentrated hard on not shaking, bringing one dagger to her side, and the other right in front of her. "That is why I'm ending this now." She mustered all the strength in her legs for a final assault, pushing them as far as they would go. The Arishok didn't bother bracing for impact, and instead charged on his own accord, readying his axe for a critical swing. His sword was ready just in case she feigned to the side.
Thalia Hawke knew better this time around. Just as the axe swung out, she jumped back, and his sword attempted to follow, only to fall flat. With his front now open, she sprung forward, piercing Jarvia's Shank into his heart. The Arishok's eyes locked with hers, and in them, she could almost see him conceding victory to her. Hawke, a mere bas.
If anyone were to ask Hawke what happened following the battle, she would faintly recall. Something about being the Champion of Kirkwall? Something about saving the city from destruction?
It all seemed inconsequential. Anders rushed to her as soon as she dropped her blades, and every little pain seemed to drift away in his hands.
For all the trouble Hawke may be, he felt a strong sense of relief taking his love away from further harm.