Alright. My first attempt at Dragon Age fanfic. I absolutely love all the games and have been obsessed with Handers (more than usual) as of late. This is really based off of events after Into the Abyss where we have an Inquisitor who left Hawke in the Fade. Takes on the perspective of Anders/Justice not being able to cope and how they both work together and try to reunite with their lover.
Hope you enjoy!
Sweat finally begins to break across the warrior's brow. The perspiration does not hesitate, it does not permeate in small bursts; nerves, fear and adrenaline instead rush in to add to its fervor causing the tip of his nose to grow oily with the removal of a smeared red paint. His breath catches up with him as he swings his blade across the beast's legs. Blood and sweat now mix as both rain down upon him.
His body is fluid, moving in a manner that is oh-so familiar to him. Few thoughts penetrate his silent demeanor as he slashes through the overbearing monster, though they do manage to nag. All he can think of, all he knows... the fog of the Fade laps up onto his legs and almost seems to bind him into a solid fighting stance.
The demonic spider screeches with a piercing howl as its third leg is dismembered from the rest of the bone. Our hero is restless, time quickly revealing every scar, crack and wrinkle on his skin. His opponent staggers giving him one silent moment of rest as he reaches for his weapon once more.
But this time the focus is gone. With the creature's cries, his aching muscles, the eerie quiet of the void, all drive in him seems to have flooded into nothingness. The spider lunges for him and he has only the sense to move from its calculated assault, not to draw the blade once more.
Anger fills him as most emotions do when they wish to take root. It consumes him, pushes him for one more strike, one more assault on the creature. He will not leave without a fight, he must convince himself there is life remaining for him. There are people awaiting his return, praying. What would they do if they found out him dead? Was he acting the coward right now? Trying to leave the pain and past behind?
Memories flash before him, they are quick to be distractions in the Fade. Warm hands feel real as they wrap around him, so many people. His eyes are sinking back into their sockets, the man is ready to fall out of fatigue. Only hope and the pain of the reality that lies beyond guide him through this... there's no loving mage behind him, no sarcastic dwarf, no feisty elf. He is alone.
This is the Champion of Kirkwall's fate.
He will die, he will be forgotten. Friends, life-long comrades come to his mind in the final hour. Would the Inquisitor have the heart to inform Varric? Can Varric find the words to keep Anders at bay if the worst should happen? The man must continuously reassure himself, remind himself that this is the right choice – that he should be here. That he should be the one to die.
In his momentary diversion a fang perforates down upon the Champion, blooding his shoulder and rendering it useless – his sword arm, no less. He cries out in pain, loudly with no shame for the demons and spirits surrounding him in the Fade, his dark bead twists with the curses spitting out of it.
Blood from a wound above his left temple is now trickling down into his eye, pooling in it and fogging his vision. Darkness is before him. The pain seems to be numbing the world surrounding him. And yet as the pain flees with this numbing sensation he finds no satisfaction. No happiness. No joy in the Maker welcoming him into his arms.
Tears are what find the man as he falls to the ground. As the Champion falls. The rocks of the Fade cut into his hands and burn, clearly unnatural. He crawls backwards on them, away from the sputtering beast that continues to stalk its prey. The Champion cries, not out of fear for his life but rather the regrets he leaves it with.
He should have stayed with him... he should have listened. He had begged the Champion not to go, cried in their kisses of departure. And what had the Champion done, but to go and make a promise only meant to be broken. One of an impractical nature.
Anders, you know I'll be at your side soon. And then we'll be together, everyone will forgive you... We'll be together. I swear it to you, my love.
The memories flood the man and tug at his emotions, turning his slight sniffing into a wail as he pictures his lover alone. Without anyone to pull him away from Justice and Vengeance. Without anyone to hold. To love. He has failed him.
His cries stream. Now blood, sweat and tears pool together in a hateful mix that smears down the Champion's face as if a murky mud. His shoulder is useless, impossible to move as it falls over stone, and yet he continues to push backwards. The Champion's breathing has slowed, he is resigning... his fate is sealing.
He closes his eyes, one last moment, one last picture. Maker please, let me feel him one last time, in my arms. Something warm does enter his lap though it is more the searing pain from his wounds manifesting than a merciful embrace. He leans on a rock, an odd smirk now piercing his lips.
Champion of Kirkwall. The spider pauses a moment, perhaps out of pity for the man who never wished to be a hero, though its body repositions for the final blow.
"Anders," the Champion's voice is barely even a whisper, "please be safe."
Everything goes silent for the Champion. Water can still be heard rushing in a nearby river of green, his own grunting still loud, the spider's skittering yet noticeable. But to him the world is quiet, at peace. He shuts everything out, the fight, the fear, the hope. It's finally over.
A scream capable of tearing down an entire mountain and deafening whole villages resonates before the Champion as the spider's legs give out. Its body begins to crack, a red, blinding light clustering within and popping through the holes in the creature. The monster convulses as it fights the internal cancer. The Champion's eyes are hardly open, their heavy lids pressing the man into a more peaceful state. He watches the creature die before him, but either from lack of care or lack of blood he doesn't bat even an eye.
The Nightmare is gone, but his fate still remains.
"Well, well... what do we have here?"
Feel free to comment and leave suggestions... always appreciated thanks! :)