A/N: Hola guys, this is my first time on here so i'd love to hear your thoughts. Grammar, fluency, whether you like it or not... whatever - constructive criticism is always welcome.

This fic requires some prior knowledge about the game, as I will be referring to events that happened without introduction, and ditto with some characters. I will be messing around a lot with the time periods - having events happen earlier than they do in the game and etc... Also, I'll be skipping over events if they are irrelevant.

I should note that I swap to Anders' POV towards the end of the chapter.

Sorry if i'm ruining anyone's vision of Hawke by describing her with long hair.

CHAPTER 1

"HAWKE, WATCH OUT - BEHIND YOU!" yelled Varric from across the dank, dark room.

His warning was too late, and the force of the hit sent me flying. Suddenly I was crashing into a heap of dirt and god knows what else, and I heard a loud and distinct cracking sound as my leg suffered the brunt of the impact. Inexplicably, I didn't feel the pain until a few moments later, but shit, the pain. It shot from my leg straight through my entire body and I started screaming. I tried to inspect my leg but my vision had gone blurry as fuck.

I could faintly hear Carver, but I couldn't quite make out what he was saying. He could have been asking if I was okay or, more likely, swearing profanities at me. I looked up, tears blurring my vision, all I could see were lots of dark blobby shapes moving around the room, but I couldn't make out who the shapes were.

Suddenly, a big blob started moving at high speed towards me. At first I thought it was Carver come to yell at me for falling over, but as it drew nearer, I realised the figure was short in stature, probably a dwarf mercenary, and definitely wasn't friendly. I braced for impact, when suddenly the figure stopped in his tracks, clutched at his head and bobbled around on the spot, moaning in terror. Horror spell - Merrill's doing, no doubt.

By this stage the pain was so overwhelming that I thought I was going to either be sick or pass out. Turns out it was the latter. Everything around me faded from view, and I surrendered to total blackness.

I felt sore. And cold. And so, so tired. I fought my eyes open and couldn't make out a blighted thing. I had a major headache and I rubbed at the top of my head. The room was quite dark, but I could eventually make out my surroundings. I was in Anders' clinic.

This dingy old room is where Anders helps out the sick, the poor, and the injured. People who have nowhere else to go. He's always got his hands full thanks to the massive proportion of the underprivileged in Kirkwall. The large room had a soil floor - not particularly ideal for a hygienic healing environment, but then, why would philanthropic work be easy? The walls were decrepit but somehow still stood strong, and they were adorned with worn red fabric - presumably an attempt to brighten up the place. The furniture included a dozen or so cots, boxes of rags and medical supplies that were stacked in the far corner, and a large desk littered with piles and piles of pages of Anders' scrawled, hurried writings.

Anders was sitting at it now; body motionless and statuesque. Thinking. The room was windowless, with scattered oil lamps providing the only sources of light. The room was deserted, I realised. I was balancing in an old cot, covered with a thin, grey blanket which made a rustling noise when I moved my arm. Roused by the sound, Anders spun around.

"Hawke? Are you with me?" he said, grabbing a bottle of liquid and hurrying over to my cot. I sat up slightly, sticking my elbow behind me to support myself. I tried to say Yeah but what came out was a pitiful, throaty wheezing sound. I cleared my throat and tried again.

"Yeah," I said clearly. Anders knelt beside the cot and uncorked the bottle he was holding.

"Here, drink this. It's elfroot potion. It should help with the healing and pain," he said, pressing it to my lips. I opened my mouth and swallowed the liquid, which happened to taste like burnt stew.

"Ugh," I cried, "Not the tastiest of stuff."

"How are you feeling?" he asked, ignoring my complaint. His eyebrows were furrowed, his brown eyes were moving around my face and arms, scanning for injuries he'd missed. I waved my arms dismissively at him, trying to communicate that I was okay, and tried to get out of the cot.

"Hawke," chastised Anders, "Really, you shouldn't be-"

"I'm fine," I said, pushing his protesting arms away and shakily getting to my feet. Black spots danced across my eyes from standing up so quickly and I blinked them away. I felt a little woozy.

"So what happened, anyway? How long was I out?"

"A few hours. Apparently some mercenary mage hit you with a force spell and you went flying across the room. Merrill said you looked like a bird. How's the leg?" he asked.

"It's a little sore," I said, putting some weight on it, "But I think it's fine, actually." In fact, though it was slightly swollen and discoloured, my leg looked pretty good. Gotta love Anders and his healing powers.

"You know, Hawke, you have to be more careful. The bone was snapped in two and about five gallons of blood was pouring out of your head when you all came barging in here," he said.

I looked up suddenly, "Did anyone else get hurt?"

"Relax, Hawke. Everyone's fine," he said.

I nodded and bit my lip, trying to remember what happened. This was a familiar situation. Visiting Anders' clinic, that is. I liked to follow my instincts in battle, which usually works well for me; i'm a skilled fighter, but I have a tendency to go for the dangerous moves. And while they can be effective, they often result in me getting injured in the process.

"Hmm," I said, "You know, maybe I should learn how to heal."

Anders scoffed, "Well at least then I wouldn't be half so busy. You do realise that it is possible to fight and not get hurt every single time?" he said, echoing my thoughts.

I made a face at him, "Hey, if you're not sore afterwards, you're not doing it right," I said, smirking.

He rolled his eyes and a small smile crossed his lips before he crossed his arms and looked at me scoldingly, "Nevertheless, maybe you should be a little more careful. I'm not sure I'd be able to heal a broken neck, next time."

"Thank you, Anders," I said primly, "I'll take that into consideration." A wave of nausea washed over me and I shuddered.

"I think I'm going to be sick – BUCKET, BUCKET!" I said hurriedly. Anders tossed me a bucket from nearby and I promptly spewed the contents of my stomach into it. I hate vomiting - you feel like you can't breathe and you don't have any time to take a breath because you're too busy blighted vomiting. I continued retching for another good minute.

Anders handed me a pitcher of water and I washed my mouth out.

I sunk down on the cot and rubbed at my head in an attempt to soothe my still angrily blaring headache. Anders laughed at me. I must have been a pathetic - but apparently entertaining - sight.

"You okay?" he asked, smiling cheekily at me.

I looked sideways at him, "You know, Anders, I think you're supposed to be a little more empathetic to your patients," I said, and continued to rub my head.

This just made him laugh again, "Hey, come on Hawke," he said, pulling me down onto the cot, "Maybe you should get some rest now. You look a bit out of it."

"Quit man-handling me Anders I'm fine, really," I said, but I didn't resist. The cot was suddenly really comfy. My vision started to go black around the edges, and I descended into a deep, deep, sleep.

I was in the Fade. I was walking along a dusty, mountainous path.

"Marian?" called a soft, familiar voice. I spun around, looking for the source of the call. "Marian!" I ran down a path towards the sound. I was halfway up a small hill when I heard her scream in terror.

"MARIAN! HELP ME!" she shrieked. The ground started to shake, and I sprinted to the top of the hill to a clearing. A huge ogre was charging at Bethany. It was an ugly, greyish colour, and it had big, twisting horns on the crown of it's head. It's sharp teeth were bared and saliva was leaking out of it's open mouth. "Maker give me strength," I heard her whisper, before she attacked it with a fire spell, the only effect of which was to further enrage the beast.

"NO!" I screamed, and I tried to fire magic at the damn ogre, but nothing seemed to affect it. My magic wasn't working. I couldn't breathe. I started running over to them but with every step I took I seemed to move further and further away. Resignedly, I stopped running and just watched in horror as the ogre picked Bethany up with one arm and effortlessly smashed her against the hard ground, over and over again. I could hear her shrieking in pain every time she contacted the ground, and a crimson mark was forming there, getting brighter with every hit.

I heard Hawke sit up suddenly. I looked over at her - she was covered in sweat; breathing heavily. She looked terrified.

"Hawke?" I said, tentatively.

"Just a nightmare," she said, trying to calm her breathing, "I'm fine."

I knew there was more to it but I didn't press the matter.

"You feeling any better?" I asked.

"Much. Thank you, Anders," she said, smiling and baring her teeth. Hawke had pale skin, slightly coloured by the sun. She had bright, blue eyes, and full, red lips that were always sneering, smiling, or being chewed, as they were now. Her long, dark,wavy hair fell freely, which she now proceeded to flick behind her shoulders. But most notable of all was Hawke's presence. She was confident, and always seemed to know more than she let on; this had the effect of intimidating people and making them second-guess their own name.

"Let me check your leg to make sure it's healed properly," I said, walking over.

She nodded and poked her leg out.

I pressed down softly on her skin with my fingertips. It was warm to touch. I prodded the leg in certain areas; ensuring it wouldn't elicit any pain. Satisfied, I looked up at her and nodded.

"So I'm all good?" she asked, standing up and smoothing out her robes. They were a dark red colour, and she had formed long slits down the sides to allow easier movement. You could see most of her legs when she walked, "Not the most decent of attire," Hawke had once reflected to me, "But Maker, don't you think normal robes are just ridiculous to fight in?". I remember Isabela had agreed heartily, eagerly suggesting that, "We should all just fight naked. Oh, it's much easier, trust me."

"I think so," I replied, "Any soreness and bruising should disappear in a few days." She nodded, pulling on her boots.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! There was an impatient pounding on the door of the clinic.

"Open up, Magey!"