Isabela was right. Lowtown was about as honest as it could get. Garrett Hawke had his purse snatched more than twice today, and when he tracked down both of the culprits, they had enough sense to at least admit that they had done it. Hell, they didn't even complain when Hawke slipped his dagger smoothly in between their ribs. Unfortunately, Hawke had absolutely no patience this particular day, and for once, he did not know why.
Realization and painstaking truth hit Hawke harder than any blow could that day.
It had started off slow as it usually did. Waking up in his familiar estate with the warmth of the fire near his bedside. The crackling made him almost drowsy, but it kept a pleasant heat in the room on the cold nights of Kirkwall. Other nights it was just bothersome. Sunlight streamed through the window, casting a vivid gold over the left side of his face.
The man pushed himself off the bed with a stiff groan. Today was the one day he had promised himself to not do anything. Nothing at all. He was going to stick to it too, for fear he might fall over dead without a little proper rest and recuperation. As planned, he would pay a few visits to his companions and just talk. They hardly ever did that anymore, and it was beginning to grate his nerves something terrible. The sinewy snaps of his muscles was proof enough.
Snaps turned to cracks of the bone itself as Hawke stood, stretching his hands high above his head despite the sharp jabs of discomfort it caused on his shoulder blades and peak of his spine. Walking itself wasn't an issue; he did it everyday. So that, at least, help speed up his morning a little faster with minimal pain. Garrett greeted his mother, Bodahn, Sandal, and strangely, Gamlen. Why the hell his bitch of an uncle was there was to remain unknown. Probably just for coin.
Garrett Hawke grabbed the hilt of his greatsword and hefted it over his shoulder with a grunt. It was a welcomed weight, seeing as he had hacked more darkspawn with this thing than a back alley whore got her kicks.
Taking the steps down by twos, Garrett rounded the corner just outside the estate and down the street towards Darktown. He had someone...he wanted to pay a visit to. He had neglected seeing Anders as much as he once did, and the more he postponed, the more Garrett could feel a tightness in his chest. Hawke's friends were everything to him. Anders was everything to him.
The dusky and foul stench of Darktown greeted Hawke's nostrils as he rode the large Spindelwood lift down to the depths of the Undercity. No one was ever expected to enjoy this place, for it smelled of death, strong herbs, and festering flesh. Yet urchins continued to flock here, knowing that there was one man who could tend to their wounds and cure their diseases. Hawke felt terribly unwelcome; as would anyone with high standing and enough money to have a full belly.
Bone chilling looks were cast Hawke's way as he followed the all too familiar path to Anders's clinic. He was panting now, half from the malodorous nature of the Undercity, and half from sprinting all the way here. When it came to Anders, Hawke constantly felt like a child waiting for his friend.
Something was oddly..strange as he approached the door. Not only did people crowed the small framed doorway, but soldiers as well. Meredith's pawns clad in imperial armor that nearly made Hawke retch. The screams from within could be barely heard about his own heart and the quickening breath Garrett expelled.
Shoving people out of the way, Hawke swallowed thickly, desperately trying to peer over the sea of shoulders and heads that were in his line of sight. "Out of my way!" Garrett shouted, shoving a woman off to her side, sending her crashing into one of the blood stained cots Ander's kept as refuse for the physically harmed.
What was far more important, though, was as to why Meredith was in Anders's clinic, and why people were screaming.
Meredith's scratchy, petulant voice could be heard now, along with the top of her head visible. Anxiety built up within Garrett's chest, and ultimately, a feeling of pure and utter hopelessness settled in his gut. Pushing the throng of people, Hawke finally-Thank the Maker- , finally got the front.
He all but dropped to his knees as red hot tears seared down his cheeks.
About five meters ahead, Anders stood stock still in front of the crowed, an intricate orange seal of the Chantry chaste across his forehead.
Hawke let out a stiff sob as realization crashed upon him like a wave. The muscles in his entirety gave out, and he just fell over. The sea of people began filing out; some sobbing, others cheering. This man was perhaps nothing to them, while others he was the one bright light in Kirkwall. Himand the Champion were their only hope. This loss was staggering.
"This man was an open apostate. He could not be allowed to practice his magic freely." Meredith all but sneered.
He couldn't hear her. His mind and body were both numb from shock. Knowing that he would never again see that sweet smile Anders had, or his utter care for all the free mages. Or how many lives were going to be lost without his medical help. To lose something that you loved so deeply so fast was a fate worse than death. Nobody deserved something so cruel. It broke the strongest of men. It always did.
Garrett Hawke was not sure how long he lay curled up in the grimy dust floor of Ander's clinic in the Undercity, but it was definitely more than a few hours. The sun was gone, leaving only a intimidating dark glow to peek through the outcropping. The Templars had not even had the courtesy to remove Anders. He had just stood their, blank, dead. Living, breathing, but emotionless. Those beautiful brown eyes were now glazed and unfocused. Unfeeling.
"A-Anders.." Hawke croaked, pushing himself dreadfully slowly to his feet. The bane of his existence seemed to be all but gone. Who would have ever understood how hard this was to go through unless they had experienced it themselves?
The man trembled as he shuffled to Anders reluctantly. A battle waged inside Hawke right then. On one side, a desire to turn and flee was prevalent. While on the other side, the strong Hawke just wanted to cling to Anders. Garrett reached out and curled his fingers into the fuzzy material of the man's pauldrons.
"I had to be made an example of. You will understand eventually."
Anders' monotone voice caused Hawke to only sob harder. Why was it going to be so hard to get over this? After every death Hawke had suffered through, he did not cry. Bethany's death was sorrowful, and he lay away at nights thinking that possibly there was, as his mother suggested, a way to prevent what happened. Carver's death was the same. Garrett felt sympathy for his dear brother; dying down under the depths of the earth was a horrible way to go. More so with the slow and painful death of the airborne blight. And finally, his mother. Leandra was part of a sick experiment from a magister. He never once shed tears, but the pain was crippling.
For an unknown reason, this was much more harder than anything he had ever and would ever endure.
Hawke placed a quivering kiss to Anders' cheek, trying to remain calm for the last time in front of the man he had loved. Yes...that was why. Love. A love so strong its wounding. "I-I love you. Please don't forget that."
Hawke turned on his heel, and ran.
Not even Varric retold this tale.