"You have to pay for what you've done."

The world burned with ash and debris. Hawke blamed her watery eyes and lack of strength on them, but she was only fooling herself. She survived worse. She could handle worse. She wanted to handle worse.

She didn't want to handle this.

"I know," Anders replied, shoulders tensed. He didn't dare turn around to look at her. "For what it's worth, I'm glad it's you."

Don't be, the words constricted in her throat. Hawke squeezed her eyes shut and tried to take a deep breath, but inhaled smoke instead. She wasn't sure if that or her own emotions brought more unshed tears to her eyes.

"It was nice to be happy… for a while," he finished, shoulders sagging in defeat. Kill me.

Hawke faltered, and lurched over as she felt the bile rising in her throat. Her companions were on her immediately, offering support and protection as she felt her strength slip away. But she shook her head and pushed them away, despite their protests. She wouldn't dare stop here, she had to go on.

"I'll do it," she gasped, suddenly finding there to be too little oxygen in the air. "It has to be me. It has to be."

Because I'm the one who's failed you, Anders.

There was a dagger in her boot for any precarious situations she ever found herself in, but this was the last thing she imagined drawing it for. With a shaky breath, Hawke held the dagger with two hands, finding herself too weak to hold it with just one. Anders' broad back suddenly seemed too small, and herself too large. What if she missed?

"Hawke," Sebastian tried, placing a hand on her wrist and drawing her gaze to his blue. "I understand what this means to you…"

"No," she shook him off and inhaled once more, losing all sense of hesitation in her frame. All the years of lies and bluffs caught up to her again, creating the perfect mask. "I'll do it."

She couldn't even look at him as she lurched forward, dagger in hand, and pierced his heart.

I loved you.

Meredith fell, and Hawke let the surprise and relief wash over her like a soothing tide. Her buckled and she collapsed to the ground, and around her, her companions did the same. The nightmare was over. They had won. They did it.

We did it.

Meredith was on the floor in agony, her eyes and mouth glowing red, and stayed stock still. Hawke had half a mind to poke her, just to be sure, and the thought brought a small smile to her otherwise battered and dirty face. Instead of giving in to her whims, however, she turned and made a check on all of her companions.

"We did it!" she shouted. There was a loud whoop from everyone, and she smiled, genuinely, for the first time that year.

"Well Hawke, I guess I owe you a drink," Varric walked over and thumped her on the back. He then offered her a hand to get up.

"You owe me the entire Hanged Man," she grinned and took his hand.

He scoffed at her but made no objections. The dwarf walked over to Isabela, who groaned about some feeling in some part of her body that Hawke didn't even know existed. Hawke laughed and picked up her staff from the ground. At the moment, everything felt too much like a dream, yet at the same time, too real. She ran a hand through her tussled hair, slipped the band off, and let her long black hair cascade to her waist. It felt like she had not worn her hair down in years.

"We are going to get smashed," she announced.

But Sebastian looked horrified. She knew he was strongly against drinking of any kind, but she did not think that he would be horrified at her declaration. After all, they all deserved drinks after this whole fiasco. Surely Sebastian couldn't say no to that?

And then she noticed that he was not looking at her, but behind her.

The only thing behind her was…

"Hawke!" he shouted and she turned her head to face him so fast she was surprised she did not get whiplash.

"Sebas—"

"Run!"

In retrospect, she should have followed his advice. She should not have given him a questioning look and then turned around to see what was wrong. She should have run away as if the demons were on her heels.

Meredith's body was glowing red, and it began to crack. Hawke could only stare in shock, before her instincts told her to move, idiot, move. But it was too late, and the resulting blast threw her all the way across the courtyard. The wall was closing in fast, and Hawke closed her eyes to brace for the impact.

It never came.

The first thing she could smell was smoke. With a relieved groan, Hawke sat up and inhaled the scent. She was in some burning part of Kirkwall, probably. The smoke was strong, so maybe she was near the Chantry (the thought made her almost choke). Once her eyes cleared, she was able to see her surroundings.

A burning crater.

Definitely the Chantry.

Hawke slowly eased herself into a standing position, although she swayed slightly, still not fully recovered from the blast. Using her staff as a walking stick, the Champion began to make her way up the sides of the crater and back to flat ground.

Maker, that blast must have been powerful. From the Gallows to the Chantry? Varric would want to hear all about that one.

However, half-way up, Hawke stopped with a sudden realization. If she was near the Chantry, then why could she not see the Viscount's castle in the distance? Furthermore, Hightown was covered in stone walls that lived up to the city's namesake. She would surely have been able to see them from her position in the crater. She wasn't that far down. Brows furrowed, Hawke quickly made her way up to the edge and carefully pulled herself onto the surface.

There was grass around her feet.

Kirkwall doesn't have grass.

She frowned, and continued to look around. There seemed to be no civilization around for miles. There was only grass, sky, and the vast expanse of nothingness. It was an empty, green field that stretched on to forever.

The ones that Chimera liked to run around and chase rabbits in.

Her thoughts drifted back to her companions. Did the others survive the blast? Were they even hit by it? And if they were hit by it, where were they now? She only hoped they were near. Hawke closed her eyes and held her staff in front of her. She knew Merrill's magic signature like the back of her hand. The Dalish elf practically spewed it everywhere she went that it was hard not to notice.

Hawke took a deep breath and focused as she channeled her magic through the staff, which lit up red like a flame. Two seconds later, she fell to the grass gasping for air as she landed on her rear, the shock of her discovery too much.

Merrill… isn't alive?

But that couldn't be true. Hawke may not have liked the Dalish elf very much, but the last thing she wanted for her was to be dead. There was no response from Hawke's search for her signature. No response meant that Merrill did not exist. Hawke cursed under her breath. There were no other mages who she was acquainted with well enough to know their signatures.

There was Anders.

She choked back a sob. Oh Maker, Anders.

The images of their last act together suddenly swarmed her mind, and she lurched forward again, this time too heartbroken to hold in her bile. There was no one around to stop her as she puked on the grass and heaved as if her very life depended on it. A part of her was glad she cared enough to react so strongly, but frustrated too, because for her own sanity she needed to forget him.

Her fingers twitched, and then her hand shook, her wrist, her arm, and eventually her whole body shook and collapsed onto the grass. Hawke fell to her knees and let the staff roll from her grasp.

Anders. Mother. Carver. Bethany. Father.

Father, lost to sickness. Bethany, lost to the Blight. Carver, lost to the Wardens. Mother, lost to a madman. And Anders, lost to his ambitions and her sense of justice. Everyone she loved, and everyone she could possibly ever love, was dead.

Hawke looked around once more; there was no one around. She was alone.

She took a deep breath, and wailed as the weight of the world finally crashed down on her.

Author's Note

I am a horrible masochist.

I have three other stories ongoing right now, two of which demand at least 5000 words per chapter. And yet here I am, with this thing. (I can't even call it a story, dear lord. It's a plot bunny that I had when I went to sleep and then I wrote it down and I got bored when I got home from school and damn.)

Well the first chapter is short because if it wasn't it wouldn't catch your attention, right.

I should not be doing this, but oooh. This itch just asks for me to scratch it. Which would only make it even more irritating.

This file is appropriately named 'i'm such a masochist i cant even' on my computer.

(P.S. I am perfectly aware that hydrogen dioxide is the proper term. Let me have my fun.)