She wakes to find him not in the room. This is not a new occurrence – perhaps he's slipped out during the night, back to his clinic. It has happened before, many times since they began living together, and so she does not worry. At least, not until she realizes that it is still dark and not until she hears the sound of someone's voice from outside her room.
It takes her a moment to realize that it is Anders' voice and a moment more to realize that he is speaking to himself, and that makes her worry. He does not do that often, and she has found that when he does, when he speaks out loud as though he is talking to the spirit that inhabits him, it is in times of stress and confusion, sometimes only moments before Justice will take over.
She pads out of her room, through the door that he must have left open, to find him pacing again, feet bare against the cold stone of the floor. Even as she watches he stops, fingers catching at the blinds and pulls them open a crack, looking out the window.
"Anders," she says softly and he stills, the curtains falling back into place. "What's wrong?" There are no glowing lines tracing his skin, but she knows that the danger hasn't passed. It never truly has, and all she can do is learn what to do and what not to do to keep from drawing Justice out.
"There are Templars outside," he says, and that, at least, explains why Justice is so close to the surface tonight.
She moves to stand beside him, pulling back the curtains and looking out herself. It's what she expects to see; there are Templars where there should be guardsmen, illuminated in the dim light of the moon. There are more Templars out in the city every day now. She fights down the familiar panic that rises at the sight of them and turns away from the window to look at Anders.
He looks so tired, half dressed as he is, hair loose around his face and deep circles under his eyes. He doesn't sleep as much as he should, forgets to eat more often than not. He was not like this when they first met, not so close to the breaking point all the time, but it has gotten worse over the years. Still, they are safer in her home than they are anywhere else.
"They're not here for us," she says, as calmly as she can, raising a hand and tracing her fingers over his cheek. His eyes flutter shut for a moment and all she can think is that he looks so worn and frayed.
"How can you know that?" he asks her, eyes opening, searching hers. "How can you know they're not here to drag us to the Gallows?"
Hawke is quiet for a moment, smoothing her thumb over his cheekbone, brushing long strands of hair out of his eyes. "Well, I can't say they aren't here to watch me," she says, trying to keep some lightness in her voice but failing. "Meredith knows I'm here, after all."
A shudder runs through Anders and he pulls away from her. "That just means they could take you at any time," he says, a frantic edge to his voice. "You're not safe here. They're going to take you-"
She catches his hand and he stills again. Part of her wonders how long it will be before her voice and her touch will no longer be able to reach him. "They are not going to take me," she says. "Anders, look at me. They're not going to take me."
"How can you know that?" he asks desperately. "How can you possibly know that?"
"Because," she begins, uncertain of how to say this, of how he will react, of how Justice will react, "Meredith knows that if she moves against me she will lose the support of the majority of the city."
His fingers tighten around hers. "She's already lost the support of most of the city."
"Then the nobles," she says, not sure how much she should say. "If she turns on me, she will lose the support of a good portion of the nobles. Most all of them owe me their lives. They're all in debt to me." She gives a bitter laugh. "I suppose that's the good that comes out of what the qunari did."
"But that doesn't mean-"
"She told me." She is not looking at Anders now, eyes cast down to the ground, looking anywhere but at his face. "If I do not move against her, she will not make a move against me. And as long as I don't, you are safe."
Anders has gone completely still, his fingers gripping her hand so tightly that it hurts. "What?"
And how can she say this? That Meredith knows – has known about them all, about him and Merrill and herself and could drag all of them to the Gallows, could have them turned tranquil without a second thought – and that she also can recognize Hawke's position of power in the city. That she has the connections - but not the actual power - to oppose Meredith. That she knows too many of Hawke's allies who are in vulnerable positions, too many of the people that she cares for, that she loves. That she cannot lose anyone else, that it would break her if she did.
When did she get so frightened that anything she says to him will bring out Justice?
"She knows about you," is all she can say. "And Merrill. And as long as she does not touch either of you...or anyone else who I've helped, or know, or...or care about..."
She glances up at him finally. His eyes are blank and that scares her almost more than anything else.
"You've...spoken to her about this."
Hawke looks down again, shakes her head, gives a nervous little laugh and flexes her fingers that are caught within his. "Anders, let go of my hand. You're holding on a little too tightly."
He lets her hand drop and turns back to the window, gazing out past the curtains again to the Templars below. "Of course they know you're here," he says, voice deceptively calm. He's silent then, and she sees his fingers tightening in the heavy fabric of the curtains. "Could you actually do anything about this?" he asks her, and there are so many things unspoken there – could she do anything about the city, about the Templars, about the mages.
"No," she says, and it is the truth. "Not yet. I need...I need a title, I need support, I need...there are so many things I need before I can bring her down. If I were the Grand Cleric..." She gives another bitter little laugh, because there is so much she could do – could fix – if she was the Grand Cleric, but she can't, because even though she's the Champion of Kirkwall there really isn't much meaning behind that. "So I'm going to keep those I care about safe until I have that sort of power."
He looks at her then, eyes wide, the blank look gone. "You're going to try to become Viscount," he says, and this isn't something they've talked about, not yet.
She nods. "Maybe, if I gain that sort of power, I can fix things. But I can't...I can't just take the title, I can't just walk over to Seneschal Bran and tell him I'm the Viscount now." She swallows, hard, and bludgeons on ahead. "And until I can actually do something about this, I can't risk putting the people I love in harms way, I just can't. Not after...not after..." She ducks her head, squeezing her eyes shut to try to rid herself of the urge to cry. "I can't be like you and give up everything for a cause," she says, very quietly. "I'm selfish, and I can't...I can't lose you."
"You're trying to do this without shedding blood." He does not look away from the window, does not look away from the Templars lining the street. "I...understand. I do. But it can't..." He pauses and she sees him shake his head like he is riding himself of some stray thought. "You have always supported me," he says, finally looking back to her. He reaches out and gently brushes her hair from her face, and a little bit of the tension that has been running through her eases at the touch. "So I will support you as much as I can."
She leans into his touch, breathing out in relief when she looks at him and sees the telltale signs that Justice is nearing the surface fade – after knowing him for so long, she can sometimes tell, even when there is no glowing involved.
"Justice disapproves, doesn't he," she says, and there is more humor in her voice now and she steps forward and wraps her arms around Anders' thin form. He's too skinny again – she'll have to make certain he eats enough.
Anders laughs into her hair, arms tight around her. "Justice always disapproves," he says, which tells her nothing at all.