"I will leave your… friend for you to deal with."
Orsino had made it sound like the choice should be easy, especially with Sebastian there, outraged and demanding. Like the choice between keeping a litter of kittens or not. Of course, back in Lothering seven years ago, Maker, had it already been seven years?, cats were always in demand to keep rats and mice out of the grain stores. Hawke knew she was thinking in circles, not wanting to focus on what she had done. Her fingers were black with the blood of the Templars attacking them. At least, she hoped that's where the blood came from. Not for the first time that night, she nearly fumbled her staff as she remembered the feel of the blade sliding through Anders's ribs. The Templar that was attempting to take her down mis-stepped, giving her time to smash a Stonefist into his face and knock him cold.
Fenris caught the last Templar's blade with his own, sending them staggering back and then ended it with a quick slash to the gap between helmet and gorget. He turned to her, concern filling the olive eyes she loved so much. She had killed before. A dry, hysterical laugh escaped her as she choked on a breath of stale air filled with ash and Maker knew what else at that mental understatement. Marian Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, who on her own had a kill count higher than the local Coterie could boast collectively, and this single death was the one that pushed her over the edge. Another wheezing laugh escaped her and tears let loose, streaming down her cheeks. After years of holding them in, only allowing herself to weep in front of Fenris the night her mother died, she couldn't hold them anymore. Ten years of being strong for her family and friends, and seven of not being able to show any weakness lest she be crushed under Kirkwall's heel poured out of her.
Varric and Aveline looked at each other with concern, Merrill let out a cooing noise of comfort, and Carver shifted from foot to foot, looking like he'd rather be anywhere on Thedas but there at that moment. Sebastian patted Valor on his square head, taking the mabari to watch for more Templars. Marian almost fell to her knees, but Fenris was there to catch her from cracking her knees against the flagstones.
"I thought he was my friend for so many years, Fenris. He lied to me to get what he needed to kill all these people. People I was supposed to protect. I was their Champion." Her voice cracked against his neck as he turned and enfolded her in his arms. "But I don't hate him."
"Hawke-"
"He was suffering. And I was afraid. What if this was just the beginning? Anders couldn't control Vengeance anymore." Her fingers clutched at his breastplate as she choked out, "If the war that's coming didn't go exactly as Vengeance planned, what was next?"
Marian felt Fenris tense, understanding what she meant. She wondered if, in his mind, he was seeing what she had seen as she faced Anders's back with a dagger in her hand. The palace in Denerim going up as the Chantry had, the streets of Val Royeaux filled with bodies, rubble, and the smoke that made her eyes water and her lungs ache even now. And Anders, poor, lost, maddened Anders, being dragged from city to city by the twisted spirit in his head until he either dropped dead from Vengeance's neglect of his physical needs, or he was found by Templars and beaten to death. "Alive or dead, mages everywhere will suffer. With Anders dead by my hand, it was relatively painless, and the only mages that Vengeance could have possessed certainly didn't invite him in. This had to be enough."
"How bad do you think it is, Hawke? Surely with it being so late at night, there wouldn't have been that many people in the Chantry." Merrill flushed when Hawke's head came up from Fenris's shoulder. Reining in her temper so she didn't bite Merrill's head off, Hawke ground out, "The rubble from the explosion likely killed or injured plenty, Merrill. I imagine the Coterie and the other gangs in Lowtown will take the opportunity to cause all sorts of havoc as well."
Finding a clean spot on her sleeve, Hawke scrubbed at her cheeks and put herself back in order. "We need to get going. The mages can't hope to hold out against Meredith on their own for long."
As they regrouped, Fenris pulled a handkerchief from Maker-knew-where and gently wiped her cheek again. At her curious glance, his bronze cheeks darkened and he muttered, "A smear of ash, nothing more."
Marian gave him a shaky smile, cupping his cheek and momentarily admiring the contrast of her tawny skin against his bronze. Leaf green and olive eyes met through his silver bangs, and she whispered to him, "I am yours."
He smiled, just for her, and replied, "And I am yours."
Parting, Hawke hefted her father's staff and pointed it at Varric, "If you write about this in any of your books, I'm hanging you outside the Hanged Man by your chest hair."
