Dragon Age 2 is property of Bioware and EA. Its not mine, I just add extra creativity.
A/N: As a celebration for 2000 pages in the Anders Fan Thread over on BSN, I give you a look back on Angelica Hawke's life with Anders. Le-sigh. I hope you like it :)
Reflections
She wasn't sure who she was, this person staring back at her in the reflection of the water. Her blonde hair fell in soft waves around this pretty woman's face. Her blue eyes, the color of the sky behind her head, were full of unshod tears, limpid pools of Cerulean that held all of the worlds pain within them. The face was aged, not unflattering, just baring the wear of the years at the corners of those eyes and around the edges of otherwise perfectly supple, full lips. Those lips, the stories they could tell. Like the tale of being assaulted by a man crazed with his barely held passion for her, not this woman staring back at her from the wavering glass-like water.
Nothing could wash away the depth of knowledge in those broken blue eyes, the turn of time on the crows feet and laugh lines that seemed to do little more then show that this woman had once been happy, despite herself. Those pink cheeks and full, blushed lips begged to tell of a woman younger, naive, and forever lost. That soft, sand-and-gold hair that fell around it all shimmered in the sunlight, as beautiful and effortless as it had been in her younger years.
How she longed for the years to be rewound, for the world to return to her the wide-eyed innocence and her faith in, well, life. When life was a mad dash to keep your loved ones safe and comfortable. When life was laced with stale beer and laughing friends. When learning to wield twin blades was the highlight of the day, full of sweaty limbs and well earned bruises. When life was filled with squabbling siblings, the worried noises of a mother, and the warm and laughing warms of a doting father.
It was to much to bare, all of it. She moved away from that reflection. Away from the reminders that life was nothing more then the empty combination of every failure in stark contrast to your hopes and dreams. Hopes and dreams, shattered like a mirror that slipped from sweaty palms. Even clear, limped pools of nearly-still water held lies. Eventually that glass-like surface would become a dangerous, raging river. Anyone who trusted the lies of peace ended up dashed against the rocks when the rapids finally appeared around the bend.
She let herself rest heavy against the trunk of a sturdy tree. She swallowed hard, her eyes squeezed tight as the tears threatening to overwhelm her. Where had this solid tree been when she had needed it most? When her whole world was raining down around her head, burning away the illusions she'd built for herself. After everything her father had taught her, that nothing was permanent except for your love. What a fool she was, to have forsaken his teachings. Never stay in one place for to long, lest the place swallow you whole. No where was truly safe, and only your family mattered.
Except she'd lost her family. She hadn't done enough, hadn't been vigilant enough. She'd let her father down, broke the promise she had made him, Malcolm, on the very eve of his death. She'd sworn to keep them safe, keep them all safe.
Maker did she miss them...
-o-
"Sister..", Carver hissed between clenched teeth, holding his heavy sword at the ready, "give up, before I lob your head off. I'm just better then you!"
"Ha! Carver, you couldn't be better then me at being male. Let alone in battle!" she retorted, her twin fangs, daggers gifted to her by her father for her 8th name day, drawn and glistening.
"You'll eat those words, and then I'll eat your share of pie tonight!" he called as he charged forth, that rare true smile on his face. He only ever shared that smile when they sparred, as if he were born for fighting.
She jumped, removing herself from the spot she was standing just a breath previous. Carver rushed head long past where she should have been standing, reeled around, and charged again. He swung, and missed as she contorted, ducking beneath the heavy blade. The swing was real enough, even if the power behind it was a fraction of what Angie knew he could really produce. They weren't trying to kill each other, they were practicing. Preparing, lest the Templars catch wind of the apostates living in the small farm house just outside town.
"Always be prepared. Peace is a lie, and they will do everything, EVERYHING, to destroy us. There are so many things that are worse then death."
The words of her father echoed in her mind, and she nearly missed dodging the next swing. She shook her head once, clearing her thoughts. His taunting words assaulted her ears as a clip of her beautiful sand-and-gold curls fell to the ground. "Careful sister, or next time it wont be just a curl I lob off!"
"My hair! Carver, you're dead!" she shrieked at him. The only thing she treasured more then her family, was that beautiful hair. It was like fathers, where Carver and Bethy had mothers dark locks. Bethy looked like mother, with fathers eyes. Angie looked like father, with mothers eyes. Carver looked like mother and father had each given him a bit of their face. He had her eyes, and her hair color, but fathers wave, and his strong jaw, and his sturdy, thick build. The Hawke children; each an individual. They looked like each other, and yet nothing alike at all.
He laughed, that infuriating rumble of deep voice he'd come into in the last few years. The tone was a bit like fathers, but the accent was Ferelden. Father's accent was sometimes more Orlesian, sometimes more Marcher, and sometimes even more Tevinter. It depended on the day and mood. Mother and Father never would tell her where, exactly, Father had been from originally. The coloring suggested the Anderfels, and Father had once told them that his Grandfather had been a Warden.
But, Angie was done with this game of swords she and her brother played, infuriated that she'd lost concentration and suffered the loss of a lock of her beautiful hair. So, with the grace of a cat she slid away from the next swing, and flowed like water behind her brother. She had but a moment, and with a laugh that sounded like twinkling bells she flipped her fangs around, hilt down, and clocked her brother on the back of the head.
"Ow! Hey!"
"I win!" She sang, dancing away from him before he could get his hands, large things he'd almost managed to grow into, on her. Carver was like a puppy, who's paws were still bigger then the body they supported.
"You cheat!" he grumbled, though his tone was light, "Alright, I submit. Don't think I won't beat you some day though, sister..."
"The day you beat me, Carvy-warvy, is the day I cut off all my hair."
-o-
They'd been in Kirkwall for no more then a few months when she'd finally done it. Bethany huffed and cried and pleaded with her. "Angie don't do this! It took you years to get it that long! You love your hair!"
"I'm sorry Beth, but I have to. I swore it."
"But its stupid!"
"Look," Angie sighed, exasperated with her sister, "I promised father I'd take care of him, and I broke it. This is the very least I can do. I swore to him that the day he beat me..."
"Yes yes I know, Ang, but for Andraste's sake he didn't win. He died." Bethany ran her fingers through her own dark locks. Ever envious of those sun-and-moon pale curls her sister had been blessed with. Bethany couldn't understand, didn't understand. Angelica Hawke was nothing with out her word, and if she could hang on to at least one oath, by the Maker, she was going to sodding do it.
"I'm doing it."
"Aveline! Will you talk some sense into my sister, please?" Bethany pleaded to the bigger ginger-haired woman sharing the extra-tiny room.
"It's only hair, Bethany. Besides, you know what you're sisters like when she gets a fool notion in her head. Was your brother just as stubborn?"
"Twice as. My Father, too. Mother calls it the Hawke-wall. You can see it in their, her, eyes. Once they've made up their mind a wall slams down behind those eyes of theirs and absolutely noting can change their minds."
"Hmph. Not sure why mother always said we had Fathers eyes. You were the one blessed with the color." Angie grumbled as she tugged at a handful of hair. One of her Fangs trembled in her right hand as she brought the sharp thing to her ear, just above her ear. With a deep breath, and a squeak from her younger sister, she sliced.
Again, she gathered a bit of her hair, and sliced, and sliced, and sliced, till all of her shimmering, hip length curls lay in golden pools on the floor around her chair. Once she was finished, she let her Fang drop to the ground, landing softly in her hair. She pulled her knees to her chest, and then, she cried.
"You're wrong, Beth.." She replied through her knees and her tears, "He did win. He won the race to death."
"Oh, Angie.." Bethany breathed, and wrapped her arms around her crying sister. Aveline joined as well, an embrace linked by loss, and a new family created from death.
-o-
The darkness was crushing, the pressure of a thousand tons of rock and water and earth and death boring down on her, suffocating. The corruption of the Darkspawn crawled over everything, draping it in filth and sin and wrong. It didn't matter, none of it did, because her sister was dieing. She screamed, tears rolling down her face as she dragged along, carrying her sister with her. Anders had sensed the wardens close by, and promised that they could save her.
"Let us help you, Hawke." Varric's voice was but a whisper, "Let me carry Sunshine for a while."
"No"
".. but.."
"Varric I said no. She's my sister. Make sure we're going the right way."
A sigh from the dwarf, and he was gone, picking up pace to read the runes on the wall and ask Anders which direction they were headed, generally.
"Sister...?" Bethany stirred in her arms, the sickness apparent in her weak movement, her fragile voice.
"Shh, it'll be alright. We're almost there."
"...you'll tell mother that I'm sorry? For dieing.. "
"Shh, Bethy, you aren't going to die. We're going to make you a Grey Warden. Just like Great-Grand-Dad. Just rest now." Her voice hitched, and she bit her lip to keep herself from losing control. After a moment, she felt her sisters breath against her neck and knew that she'd drifted back off to sleep.
Anders had slowed, matching his stride with hers. He placed his hand on Bethany's forehead, letting the glow of healing magic soothe away what little he could. Then he did the same for her, sliding his hand against the nape of her neck. Had it been any other day, any other time, any other horrifying moment, she would have melted into his touch. Anders was, well, he was something. The only man Angie had put faith in since her father.
She felt the tension sin her shoulders slide away, and her strength increase. "We're almost there. Another bend, maybe two." He sighed, dipping his head, "Hawke. Angie, you know this wont be any kind of a cure, right? It'll just be prolonging the eventual inevitability. Either way, its a death sentence..."
"I know.. but I can't let her die. A longer life is a longer life. I promised." Angie breathed, looking down at her sister's pale face. She bit her lip, chewed it till it was bloody, and walked onward towards the end of the corridor.
Anders stopped, froze in mid-stride. His hand slid away from her neck, and she caught off guard of just how very long it had lingered there. She hadn't even noticed. "I think they're here... or it could just be darkspawn! Varric!"
Angie set her sister gently down, and pulled her Fangs from their sheaths on her back. "They will not have her.." she hissed, and as the fiends materialized from around the corner, she struck.
-o-
He had run away. The anger had seeped out of every pore, leaped out and tried to bite her. Not that she could really blame him. She'd be just as angry. It was something they shared in common, Fenris and her. The Anger. Although her Anger was always reserved for Templars, slavers, Darkspawn.. any who had, her whole life, threatened to, or succeeded in tearing away everything she had ever cherished.
Anders sighed, sliding an arm around her shoulder. A momentary laps of judgment on his part, she assumed, as he quickly removed it. Better they didn't touch, lest he forget all the reasons why he kept the blond rogue at arms length. "He'll be back. Even a half-trained dog knows where his food dish rests."
"Anders!" She hissed. The two had never seen eye-to-eye. That didn't mean Fenris was any less a friend. She respected and cared for the Ex-slave. Just because... well lets not entertain that thought, but she wasn't about to let Anders bash a man who'd just killed someone who'd been attempting to re-enslave him.
"Sorry," he muttered, clearly not sorry for his opinion, but sorry for upsetting her. "Lets go back to town."
"Don't worry, Hawke. He'll show up. He just needs some time." Varric said, patting her on the hand.
They left, and she had gone searching. Six hours later, and she was pacing the entrance way of her home. He hadn't been at the Hanged Man. He hadn't been at his mansion. He hadn't been to see Isabela at the Brothel. He hadn't gone to see Aveline. He hadn't come to her at the Estate. She knew better then bother looking in the clinic or the Alienage, because he'd never go there.
Fenris. She was so utterly worried about him. Sure, they didn't agree on everything, but he was a loyal friend. A great person to get besotted with when you needed a shoulder who wouldn't ask you to talk or think or cry or anything but sit and drink and enjoy the misery. Anything but deal with what ever problem was plaguing you. Not every solution was to deal. Sometimes, you just needed to forget.
Her Mabari, the one she'd lovingly named Carver, watched with big brown eyes and a wiggly rear-end, because his tail was much to small to properly wag and the effect of the effort had his whole hind-quarters wiggling. A sight to behold, surely. He watched her pace, back and forth, back and forth. And when the door swung open violently, he watched her jump and clutch her chest. He didn't move to kill the intruder, though, because he knew that sent. The sent of the elf-male. It was a safe sent.
"Hawke. I.. I have been thinking about what happened with Hadriana. You and I do not always see eye-to-eye, but that doesn't mean you deserved my anger. I owe you an apology."
Angie sighed, trying to still her heart, which at the moment was trying to escape from her chest via her throat. "I.. I had no idea where you went, Fenris. I was.. am, concerned."
"I needed to be alone."
She felt her anger rise, and she placed both hands on her hips. "You couldn't have just said that? I've been out looking everywhere for you!"
"I'm sorry. I..," He sighed, dipping his head, starting some pacing of his own, "When I was still a slave, Hadriana was a torment. She would ridicule me, deny my meals, hound my sleep. Because of her status, I was powerless to stop her.. and she knew it." He turned, his face contorted in anger, laid bare for her as he explained. "The thought of her slipping out of my grasp... I couldn't let her go."
He sighed, dropping his head to his chest, "I wanted to, but I couldn't."
She shook her head, "You need to let it go, Fenris. Your need for revenge is consuming you."
His tone turned angry, as did his stance, "What would you have me do? Hadriana came after me! I've never had the option to simply walk away. Am I supposed to forgive, no matter how many times they hunt me down? Am I supposed to forget all the things they did to me?"
"What, and you suppose I have? Pretty Hawke can just pick up and run away now that everyone but her mother is dead, gone, or waiting for the clock to tick down. Till time runs out? Did'jo think that because my apostate problem went away that I can just pick up and leave? Because you aren't the only one here with issues, Fenris. You wonder why you can't move on. Well guess what? This is it!" Her worry had officially melted away, replaced by anger.
He was furious now, throwing his hands up into the air. "Yes, this is it! Why can I not grasp something so simple? It's a sickness, this hate. This dark growth inside of me that I can never get rid of. And They put it there!"
She flinched away from him, if only but a moment's movement. Yet that simple act brought him back to earth, and he sighed, "This.. isn't why I came here." and as he spoke, he turned to leave.
Oh no, she wasn't going to just let him walk out, not now. "What, so you're just going to leave?" and she grabbed his arm. A wave of panic crashed through her as he turned, glowing, and shoved her against the wall. She trembled beneath his grip, and his eyes widened, horrified that he'd let himself lose control. Her heart pounded in her ears, and his breath was hot on her face, and she had no idea at all why, but suddenly she was rising up on her toes. Her lips met his, soft at first. His response was desperate, hungry, and she felt herself melt beneath him, her knees going weak.
She slid her arms around his neck, desperate to cling to the elf, the man, she was kissing. She wanted to show him that he was better then the hate, that he was worthy of being loved. So she continued to kiss him, sliding her fingers up his neck and through his hair. And, in return, he scooped her up into his arms, holding her close as he returned that passion. With a squeak from Bodahn, Fenris carried her through the threshold and straight up the staircase, never once removing his mouth from hers.
-o-
His words echoed inside her head, in her chest, to her toes. "A mistake," he'd said as he left, ran away one more time. She had slept with him, even if it hadn't been planned, and exposed raw feelings she hadn't even known were in her. She'd given of herself, and he'd called the whole thing wrong, a mistake, and left. She just couldn't lie there anymore. Three days... it was enough, and she needed a friend. Every part of her hurt as she walked.
Carver trotted beside her, his hackles raised as they navigated the choke damp, as if he knew she shouldn't be alone right now. A sane woman would have gone to visit a girlfriend, Merrill, Isabela, or Aveline. A smart woman would have gone to see Varric and have a drink. A pious woman would have gone to seen Sebastian and given confession for her sins. Angelica Hawke was none of those things.
The lanterns were out. It caused her to hesitate at the door. It was late, or very early. She didn't even know anymore. If he was asleep, she shouldn't wake him. Her fingertips lingered, pressed gently against the door as she silently debated. The answer came for her, when the door swung open, catching her completely off guard. She fell, the whole world dipping and tilting. Warm, strong arms caught her, and she buried her face into those down-soft feathers.
"Hawke, what are you doing here? What's the matter?" His voice so full of concern as she fell apart, right there. The flood of tears she'd been holding back as the nights events rolled through her mind finally broke free, and she shook in his arms.
"Hush.." he said as he lead her inside, setting the two of them down on the edge of his cot, not once removing his arms from her as she cried. He gave a string of soothing noises, running one hand up and down her back, letting her cry. She felt the tension in her shoulders slide away, and she finally pulled away, laughing bitterly through her tears.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here. I didn't mean to wake you." She wiped her face with the back of her hand hastily, separating herself a few inches from the apostate with a space that felt a million miles wide. "I just..."
"Needed a shoulder to cry on?" He smiled cheekily, "Well mine are certainly up for the challenge. Plus, they're fluffy, a bonus really."
She swatted at him, a natural reaction to Anders particular brand of cheek. He caught her hand. Turned it over, and ran a finger down her palm gently. The gentleness of the act sent a spark down her spine and lit a fire in her stomach. The reaction sent her mind reeling, and she quickly pulled her hand away.
".. I.."
"No, it's alright. You don't have to tell me anything, Angie..." He smiled, brushing a stray blond curl from her face. It had been almost four years since she'd cut off her hip length liquid gold hair, and it had since grown out to meet her shoulders.
"I'm an idiot. Who would ever love a woman like me?" She whispered, her voice hitching in her throat.
His brow furrowed, and he slid his hand to tilt her chin up. "Why would you.. ? Angelica, tell me.. what happened?"
She sat there, next to him, tight lipped. Her insides were raging. What was wrong with her? How could she feel so heartbroken over Fenris and yet want so very much for Anders to keep touching her?
"Angelica." Chiding, like a teacher ready to scold a child.
She tilted her blue eyes up to really look at him, startled by how much he reminded her of her father. So, that's what she said, "You remind me of him, you know."
"Of who?" he responded, ever patient. He seemed the only one who never got exasperated at her, well, herness. Even Varric had his limits, far reaching as they were.
"My Father. You look a bit like him too, which is less creepy then it sounds, honest." which prompted a chuckle from him.
"I look like your father? Not sure that's what I want to portray, exactly... or perhaps it's a good thing, hmm?" he teased. Her heavy-handed flirting had never seemed to so much as phase him. He had always, consistently, and heartrendingly warned her that he was a dangerous man. Someone who was better, safer, as a friend.
She chose to ignore the implied warning, and continued with her thought. Easier to talk about old hurts then new ones, "In the coloring. I think his father was from the Anderfels. I know his mother was Orlesian. He used to tell stories of what he remembered of her, always exaggerating the accent. Anyway, I.. you just remind me of him."
"So that's where the blond hair comes from? I'd always wondered, your mother has the darker coloring of a Marcher..." he smiled, tugging gently on the curl he'd tried to tame earlier. Blissfully, he seemed to have taken the hint at her sudden change of subject."I was given the impression that your father was a good man. You sure I remind you of him?"
She laughed, her mood lightening, and swatted at him again, "Yes." she spoke, but the rest of her sentence was cut off with the pressure of his lips against hers. He was kissing her, which even under the circumstances would have thrown her off guard. It had been something she'd wanted for so long that for the first few moments she wasn't even sure what to do. That didn't last long.
The passion behind those lips, the gentleness of his tongue as he tasted her mouth, it washed away the hurt. She felt herself sliding closer to him, closing the inches-were-miles gorge she'd made, wrapping her arms around his neck. His hands went around her middle, pulling her on to his lap. Her hands went into his hair, their lips parting only to breath, heavy pants of desperation as they drunk each other in.
It felt like moments, a million years, eternity, before they managed to detach themselves from each other. He pressed his forehead against hers gently, and she felt his trembling. She couldn't decide if it was from desire, or fear, "I've tried, maker knows I have... I don't want to hurt you. You know what I am, you saw what I almost did to that girl.." he breathed, his thumb rubbing gently across her cheek.
"Anders.."
He smiled, that wry, sad smile that always managed to break her heart and make her love him that much more, "This will be a disaster, but I can't live with out it, you, any longer."
"Anders.." her voice but a whisper.
"If you.. If we're together, we'll be hunted, hated." fear, then, for her safety. She brought her lips back to his, stopping him from continuing with his thoughts. He loved her, and she needed to be loved wholly. She needed someone who wouldn't call her a mistake.
Their lips broke again, his mouth moving down her chin, to her throat. She pushed at those fluffy shoulders, willing the latches on his coat to go away so she could touch him. She felt it shift under her hands, and his mouth on her throat, sending fire and sparks through out her body as he kissed. He shrugged out of his coat, pausing briefly in his crusade to taste her flesh to pull the shirt beneath over his head.
His mouth traveled downward still, pushing at the fabric of her cloth shirt so that his lips were brushing the tops of her breasts. Another break, full of desperation, as her own shirt came up over her head, before his hands were cupping them, and his mouth was on an erect nipple. Moments, breaths, and her bottoms had disappeared as well. His mouth was on hers again, his hardness against her thigh, inches from her heat.
Another pause, his eyes searching her face, as if looking for permission, or lack there of. Deep amber eyes full of lust and longing, and there was still enough of the man she loved within them, waiting for her to tell him to stop. She answered by shifting her hips into position, by kissing him with all her need. He responded by sliding inside of her.
It was desperate, lustful, with sweaty limbs, teeth, nails, and screams. Yet it was what she had been searching for, what she thought she'd gotten with Fenris, and what she was being utterly proven wrong. Love. He loved her, and showed it. They fit together as if they were made for each other. And in the morning, he remained, intertwined with her on that little cot in the depths of Darktown.
-o-
She sat on the edge of her mothers bed and cried. It always seemed that she was crying these days, crying for the things she lost. Innocence, family. The vow she'd made to her father. All of it was gone, dust. She'd held her mother in her arms as the life within her drained away. She'd killed the man who'd done that to her mother, had used her face to reconstruct a dead wife. She'd slit his throat from ear to ear, screamed in rage.
One more gone, destroyed by this horrible city. Carver and mother dead, Bethany's time running out...
She felt herself being lifted from her seat, and she opened her eyes. Anders was carying her, holding her close. She must have drifted off, but as he moved to set her down into her bed, she clung to him. Anders, the only family she had left.
"Don't leave me.." she whispered into those feathery shoulders. She felt his lips in her hair, and she just sobbed. She sobbed for what magic had taken from her, one more time. Maybe the chantry was right..
"Don't say that love. It's not magic's fault. It's mans. Come, take your anger out on me, instead.." he muttered, answering the question she hadn't been aware she asked out loud. He lay beside her, and she curled up into his chest, and sobbed. She sobbed, and he held her.
He had once told her that it would break his heart if he were to lose her, but the truth was, it would break hers.
-o-
Everything hurt. Her head throbbed, her muscles ached, her chest burned from trying to breath with broken ribs. Everything hurt.
"Stop squirming, love. You'll just make it worse." he chided, his voice wafted in from behind the dressing wall.
She groaned, having tried to turn towards his voice and immediately regretting it as a sharp pain tore through her abdomen. She let herself fall back to her back, gently enough to not make that particular pain resurface. She could hear him chuckle as he appeared, his lithe chest curiously absent of a shirt.
"Now that's just cruel and unusual punishment." she grumbled, and failed to throw a pillow farther then a few inches in his general direction. His laughter sent warm tingles down her spine, and she grumbled again. It had been three days since her duel with the Arishok over Isabela.
"What, me shirtless?" He asked playfully as he knelt beside the bed. "I'm skinny and pale, how in the black void is an eye full of white and bony cruel and unusual punishment, unless of course you mean because you're being blinded."
She sighed, the humor draining from her to match the puddle of energy that had managed to go with it. She tucked her fingers into his hand, bringing it to her mouth. Joke or no, the undercurrent of what he said was true. He didn't believe he deserved her. "You know I dig skinny and pale. Turns me on." she said with a waggle of her eyebrows, and then a groan. "Maker, even my EYEBROWS hurt."
He chuckled, running a hand along her abdomen with that pale green-and-white glow. "Well, that's what you get for dueling the Arishok. I certainly hope it was worth it."
"Of course I'm worth it." a formidable sultry voice wafted in, followed by its formidable sultry woman. She grinned cat-like and flopped as gracefully on to the bed. Tucking booted feet underneath her, Isabela purred down at the currently broken Angie and the currently glowering Anders.
"Isabela, don't do that!" Anders hissed, waving her off the bed. It did little except to give Anders the appearance of a buzzing bee. Least of all, get Isabela to get her muddy boots off the bed. She chuckled and leaned down to give Angie, who was wincing in pain from the movement, a kiss on the forehead.
"I'm... glad you're still here, Bela." she smiled up at the pirate queen. Well she tried to smile, any way, through the wincing and cringing as her sore muscles protested the wiggling of her bed.
"I wasn't about take off with out coming to say goodbye. Well at least not again."
"Hmm, and I'm glad you came back then, too."
Anders muttered, "I...'ll go see if Bodahn needs any help in the kitchen. The whole of Hightown has sent you food.". With a grunt he lifted himself off the floor and dipped a kiss to her forehead. He shot a warning glance at Isabela, then shuffled out of the door.
The playful air that usually came along with Isabela seemed to have all but evaporated, and the dusky pirate queen sighed deeply, worry creasing her otherwise perfect complexion. "You had me worried sick, Hawke. What in Andraste's tits made you come up with the fool notion to duel the Arisok."
"Bela.." Angie sighed, and winced. Maker she was going to murder the person who invented bruises. Anders had done his best to patch her up, but magic wasn't a cure-all, and some things you couldn't just will away. "I wasn't about to let mister, "no", cart you off to be brain washed. Fenris explained it to me when you ran off. If they'dve caught you, you would have been "re-purposed" to fit within the Qun."
Isabela's attempt at a half smile vanished all together. "Yes, he's said as much to me as well."
"You're to much.. well, to much Isabela for me to allow that to happen. The world would have been lessened with out you." She said, bumping the pirate with an elbow, which amazingly was probably the only place she wasn't bruised. It still hurt, but the pain was justified when Isabela chuckled.
"Besides, who else am I going to go shopping with? Merrill gets to excited and accidentally breaks things, and Aveline's horrid at anything that doesn't involve the Law." she teased, trying to keep the mood in the room light.
"Hmm, you make a good point, Hawke." That evasive half-smile was back. "I... I'm leaving."
"I figured as much." She responded calmly. "5 years is a long time for a pirate queen to be in one place. We'll see you soon?"
"..I can't promise.."
"Bela."
"Oh, alright." she sighed, extra-dramatically at that, throwing her hands up into the air. "I'll see you soon, Hawke."
Another kiss on the forehead from the formidably sultry woman, and then she was gone, sauntering out in the manner that only Isabela could.
-o-
"Hawke"
"What do you want, Fenris?" She stood, holding the door between manicured fingernails. Behind her a party raged, or at least raged as well as any party of nobles could. Which meant it was dreadfully dull and she was going out of her mind with boredom. She'd sent Anders to the Hanged Man to sup with Varric for the evening, under much protest.
She'd tried to explain to him that being in a room full of Nobles as an Apostate probably wasn't the greatest of ideas. He'd gone, but not before the huge argument. Another one, about how he felt she wasn't doing enough for the mages in the city. Another argument filled with checked off points on his manifesto. Another argument that had her scrambling to stop the tears before the nobles Bran had invited to her estate were to arrive.
She was in no mood for a Fenris brand argument. She had been forced to entertain these Hightown snobs in a bid to get herself placed as the new Viscount. Something she didn't exactly want, and definitely didn't need. Bran had insisted, as had the other nobles, and so here she was.
"We need to talk."
She sighed, utterly at her wits end for the evening. "So talk, or leave. I've had just about enough berating for one evening and I'm not entirely keen on your particular brand of it, right now."
Fenris started, staring endlessly at her with those emerald green eyes of his. "What, did your pet abomination bite your hand?" he threw, venomously.
She felt the anger well up inside of her, and it was all she could do not to slam the door in his face, "It's none of your sodding business. Now, what in Andraste's ass do you want, Fenris. Speak quickly before I get fed up."
He sighed, "Why must it always be this way with us. It was not my intention to anger you this evening, Hawke. I.. I need to discuss something with you. It's important. Please, come to my mansion once you're finished up here and we'll talk."
"You can't just tell me now?"
"No."
She sighed, "Fine. We'll go now."
"But what of your.."
"Bodahn?"
"Yes, Messere?" The dark haired dwarf ran up beside her, smiling.
"Bodahn, please apologize to Bran and the other nobles for me? An important message came to the door, and I am being called to my "Champion" duties. The nobles can stay, for a time, but I want them gone before 10, please."
"As you wish, Messere."
"Thank you, Bodahn. Tell Sandal I'll bring him home some salamanders." she said, tucking herself into her heavy leather coat. She slung her dagger-sheaths over her shoulders, and motioned towards the door. "Fenris, after you."
The two walked in silence towards the chantry. The cool night air was refreshing, and she regretted putting her coat on. She wouldn't have at all, except for the fact that Kirkwall was famous for having attackers jump out of dark corners, ready to steal your coin and your virtue.
Soon enough the dilapidated mansion rose to meet her vision. She never understood why he wanted to continue to squat in the broken, run down thing. All through the years she'd offered to help rebuild, offered to pay, something. He'd always refused. It was probably just one more mistake in his eyes, accepting her help...
She chided herself, for that particular thought. It had been almost three years since that incident, and Fenris had proven to be a good friend, despite his aversion to her choice of men and her particular cause. Besides, it was his fault she was with Anders, if one got very technical. Had he not run away, called the whole thing a mistake..
The door swung open and Fenris gestured for her to enter first. Gentlemanly as ever. It just made her more irritated. She tilted her head upwards, the urge to seem as utterly snotty as humanly possible burning through her chest, even as her mind yelled at her. Stop it, Angie. He's your friend.
She lead the way up the stairs, to his bedroom, the only room in the house with any chairs. It was the only room not dusty and broken, even if there was a gaping hole in the ceiling where the stone had fallen away. All the while, arguing with herself in her cold silence.
Finally, mercifully, she found the large leather chair that always sat by the fire. It was cracked, worn from age and water-stained, but it was comfortable. She chose to sit, sliding one leg over the other and folding her hands in her lap.
"Alright, we're here. Alone. What do you want?" her tone was cold, and she had to remind herself again that it wasn't Fenris who she was really mad at. She was mad at Anders for one more time shutting her out, instead of letting her in, letting her help. She was annoyed at Bran for making her host one more party. She was mat at herself, because even after all these years, some part of her wondered what would have become of them, had she not gone to visit Anders that night...
He was pacing in front of the fire. It was a comforting sight, to see him pace. She hadn't seen him pace like that in years. Hadn't been in his home in years. Hadn't made any effort to be as warm and receptive as she'd been in those early years. It made her feel guilty, horrid.
She watched him pace for a bit, let the silence of the room and the crackle of the fire be all the noise they needed. Let her mind rage at her, going over and over every scenario in her head. Did she truly doubt Anders love so much?
Finally, he spoke, "I.. I need your help. Do you remember what Hadriana said to me, that day, about my sister?"
It took her a moment to register the sound of his voice, but she nodded, "She said she was still alive, and not a slave.. right?"
"Yes. I.. I haven't told you, but I had Varric track her down. She's since moved back to Minrathos, and works for a tailor. I.. I've managed to contact her, sent her some coin. She's coming here, staying at the Hanged Man."
"I.. what? That's wonderful news, Fernis!" she felt her anger, bitterness at him melt away, being replaced with warmth. It was always nice to have family, and it really would be wonderful for him to know his.
"I.. I can not go alone to see her. I worry that it might be a trap, or perhaps she won't know me at all. Or.."
"You want me to go with you?" She asked, quietly, astonished.
"I.. I am not strong enough to do this alone, and I trust no one else. Please, Hawke... Angie..I.. I need your help." He turned those large green eyes on him, and she felt her insides betray her. His words, so soft. So full of fear and, perhaps longing? She didn't wish to dwell on it.
"Alright Fenris, I'll go with you. Not tonight though, yes?"
She watched as his features lit up, the regret and fear sliding off to replace a genuine, rare smile. It caused her heart to hitch, that smile that hadn't been directed at her in years. "Correct. She will be there all week. Just tell me what day is good for you."
"Tomorrow. We'll go tomorrow."
-0-
One more time. One more time in the last month she found herself with her hands on her hips, irritation lancing through her as she listened to him rave about the Templars and their abuses to mages. One more time, was she doing her very best not to scream at the top of her lungs, to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until his head fell off. One more time, all she wanted to do was take him into her arms and tell him that it didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore, except how much she loved him.
So, one more time she bit her tongue and let him rant. Because she did love him. Because its what a good woman, girlfriend, wife, what ever did. Her mother had taught her long ago that it takes a good woman to make a good man. Anders was a good man, with a good heart and grand expectations. She just wasn't sure that she could live up to them anymore.
She wasn't sure that she could continue to be the silent protagonist anymore. Her whole life was built to be around mages, protect mages, love mages. She hated the Templars as much as he did. His cause was her cause. Yet he would never let her in, never let her participate beyond the few times life had intervened. She would drag them all through hell if he'd let her. But, he wouldn't. Instead he sat writing his damned manifestos and ranting, disappeared for days at a time with out so much as a word beyond "Mages" and "freedom".
And, after it was all done, one more time, he'd come home. Home, to her, to slide his arms around her and whisper sweet words into her ear. To comfort her, to tell her that he was safe, and that he loved her. One more time. And she would eat it up. She was busy pretending to be some great champion, with parties and functions and statue dedications. While she did this, he would slip away again.
This time it was about what Meredith had asked them to do. Hunt down Apostates within the city. Apostates he had probably helped to free. She had threatened to throw Anders in the gallows, let it be known very plainly that the only reason he was free was because of her. It had sent him over the edge. Four hours later, and he was still ranting. Angie had finally had enough. A distraction was in order.
"It's hard to say, what it is I see in you." She muttered, sliding her arms around his middle, in an attempt to stop the rant.
He stopped, and smiled, "I feel the same way sometimes, love. What do you see in me? I wonder if I'll always be with you. Wonder if you'll get fed up and just leave.."
She slid her mouth over his. It was a good moment, to have made him stop in his rant about what Meredith had asked them to do. After a moment, she pulled her lips away and whispered, "My words can't say it, and I can't do enough to prove, it's all for you.", and led him gently towards her bed.
-0-
"Anders... what have you done?" her voice wavered.
"It can not continue this way. Something must give. I.. I am sorry love."
Above her, the building exploded, up and up in a wave of red. The Chantry had never been her favorite place, but as it disintegrated around them, a wave of horror washed over her. It wasn't just the chantry that was exploding. Her whole world was going up with it.
-o-
"Hawke, we've got to get moving." Varric's voice broke her stupor, and she looked up at him. At any other moment it would have caused her to laugh, the idea that she had to look up to a dwarf. Today though, this moment..
"Sweet thing, if we don't get a move on it soon Aveline won't be able to keep the Templars off our trail." Isabela's voice came next, followed by copious amounts of tanned flesh as she knelt before her to take both hands.
"Yes. Ser Cullen has opted to buy us some time. Smart man. I suggest we do not linger." Came Fenris' voice, and she found herself again surprised by his level of loyalty. All of them. Merrill fluttered behind the bunch, looking pale and fragile.
"Sister.. we have to go." Bethany came into view. Bethany, the only part of her family she had left. Her sister, in her Warden's uniform, extended a hand.
She looked from face to face, each one dirty, bloodied, broken.. but none as broken as she felt. The emptiness in her heart throbbed like the open wounds the Arishok had given her so many years ago. The one face she wanted, longed for, wasn't among the group. No.. because she'd put that light out, all on her own.
"I am glad it's you. It was nice, to be happy, to be loved."
She shut her eyes, the image of him sliding off of that box, the blood pouring out from between those lips. Those lips that had kissed her a thousand times with such passion. Those brown eyes losing the light within them, the light that had shone for so much good and right and.. and had shone for her.
That face would never be with her again. The face of Anders, of her love. He was gone, and it was her own fault. She felt her shoulders tremble Tears fell from her eyes for the first time, streaming down like the unrelenting rain that came to Kirkwall in the spring. As she stood, arms slid around her. Bethany's, Isabela's, Merrill.. strong arms, friendly. Not the arms she wanted.
"Will.." she hiccuped into the shoulders and arms holding on to her, her body falling apart when her mind still refused to, "Will Aveline be... will she.."
"She'll be alright, Sister. It'll be alright.."
" She won't be, if you don't get moving. Fenris, scoop her up and lets move. Andraste's ass, Hawke." Varric muttered, his own voice thick with emotion. He squeezed her hand, then moved aside so Fenris could do just that. She felt his arms around her, and after a moment was off the ground. She clung to his neck, and let herself sob, the last of her willpower shattering.
"... I'm sorry." she muttered, letting them lead her off, away from the tree, away from Kirkwall. Again, and again, she whispered it, like a prayer.