Hawke behind the mirror.
A/N: This may not be to everyone's tastes, alot of self evaluation and pity parties galore along with suicidal references and angst and swearing. You are warned now, if you don't like the theme of the story then please do not read.
Hawke was staring at herself in the mirror. It wasn't often that she did this preferring not to have to look at the sight that faced her, but she was staring at her face in the mirror.
Feeling horribly sorry for herself and it was unsurprisingly Isabela's fault yet again that she was questioning herself.
She turned her face to the side, tipping her head upwards to get a better view at the mess that was her nose and the messy scar that trailed from the top of her eyebrow to curve around the edge of her eye.
She frowned then widened her eyes, wincing at the sensation of tight skin being pulled taut.
Her nose had a large lump of cartilage sticking up from a head butt she'd received years ago which had shattered her nose, only to heal into the lumpy mess it was now.
The warrior turned her mouth down before pouting, thinking wistfully if only her lips were plump or at least didn't look like a drawn line across her face.
She turned her head the other way peering intently at her reflection as she silently counted out every flaw, every imperfection (of which there were many) and every scar that littered her body.
She tried to smile but it came out forced and a little weak as her upper lip pulled at the white scar tissue that cut down from the top of her lip until it trailed away under her jaw line.
She really couldn't fault Isabela for pointing out the obvious, which she did frequently and a little gleefully but tonight she was especially brutal in her observations of Hawke's person. Sighing, Hawke placed the hand mirror back inside the drawer on her desk and shut it firmly.
She scrubbed calloused and scarred hands across her face before leaning forward to stare at the floor in quiet contemplation.
It was true that Marian Hawke was not the most attractive person but she had at least hoped that her personality would possibly count for far more than her appearance. She'd always known as a child growing up on the run that she had priorities, her father and sister were her main concern then came her mother and lastly her brother.
She'd spent her entire life training her body, mastering a sword so she could protect the ones she loved and she felt helpless as one by one they seemed to be disappearing and it was all her fault.
The death of her beloved father, the one who would plait her hair when she was little and tell her stories of great adventures was the first to go, by a bandit of all things.
She squeezed her eyes tight, vowing herself not to cry.
If only she had paid more attention, hadn't let that little runt get her on the floor to then stamp on her arm and crushing the bone beneath his boot. She would have been able to cleave his head from his neck and not have to listen to the accusations and tones of hatred from her family.
Her brother was next because she wasn't quick enough to stop him charging an ogre, the bloody idiot that he was. To this day she still sees the disappointment and loathing in her mother's eyes because of his death. He was always her favourite after all.
Beautiful lovely Bethany, the only one other than her father that seemed to take notice of her was the next to go, another one taken by the darkspawn.
Her fists had clenched but she didn't mind, it helped her focus, helped keep the tears at bay.
It really wasn't Isabela's fault, she was just pointing out that it was such a shame that the pretty daughter had died instead of the brute that was Hawke. Her fingers were starting to cramp from how hard she was pressing her blunted nails into her palm, opening her eyes Hawke raised her gaze to stare blankly at the wall in front of her.
She felt thoroughly embarrassed and ashamed.
It wasn't often that she allowed herself to indulge a little but having to stand in front of her mother apologising for the deaths of her family was something she just couldn't bring herself to do again that night. The guilt of knowing she was a wretched daughter that couldn't look after her own was always there of course and she knew she'd never truly make it up to her mother but she just had to get away, for a few hours forget that she was Marian Hawke and a curse to her family.
Initially she had enjoyed the start of the night, listening attentively to the dwarf Varric spin tales, to Aveline and Fenris talk about strategic points on the battle field and even Merrill and Ander's banter about the plight of mages and elves galore. She was happy just sitting there being unnoticeable and drinking slowly from her cup until Isabela had sauntered over and plopped down in the seat opposite her.
She'd lowered her gaze the moment she realised she was being scrutinised by the pirate, hoping silently that she'd just keep her thoughts to herself, as usual she wasn't in luck.
"Have you slept with anyone? I mean anyone willing. Whores don't count." The Rivaini asked curiously and loud enough for every one on the table to know that she was starting her favourite game once again, ruthlessly taunting Hawke.
"That is none of your business." Hawke replied quietly hoping that she could just hide behind the curtain of muddy brown hair that she'd been growing out all year.
"I'll take that as a no then. So how much do you have to pay the whores then to look you in the face while they fuck you?" Isabela grinned as she jabbed a finger into a jagged line that curved from the lobe of Marian's ear to under her jaw.
Marian clenched her teeth and her fists which she had shoved firmly under the table in case she did something decidedly stupid.
"Sex isn't everything Isabela; I have to look after my family first and foremost." The warrior said in her quiet voice, she had learned long ago to speak as softly and quietly as possible when her mother had pointed out that she sounded like a braying sheep when she spoke normally.
"And a fat lot of good you've done there considering you only have your mother and that rat you call an uncle still alive." The pirate cackled as a sly smirk slithered on her face.
"Such a shame about sunshine too, Bethany was a looker and now we're all stuck with a horse face like you with out the eye candy that trails after you." The brown skinned woman spoke wistfully despite that insufferable smirk still plastered on her face.
"Fate knows why she put up with you for so long, such a sweet thing she was and now she's dead because you dragged her to the deep roads to die." She finished bluntly, the look of glee spreading rapidly over her features as she witnessed Marian's face fall and crumble.
'You bitch! You complete cow, how dare you speak about Bethany that way! She was the most cherished person I knew and you sully her name for your own amusement?'
Oh those words would have tumbled out if Hawke hadn't bitten the inside of her cheek so hard that she drew blood. Instead the warrior stood up rigidly and woodenly turned from her associates, it was sheer will that made her legs move into action.
Left, right, left, right and shove your shoulder into the door as it sticks some times and make sure you don't trip over that unfortunate fellow slumped in the doorway on your way out.
Varric being nearest to Hawke had silently watched yet another slaughter by Isabela unfold; Andraste's ass knew why Hawke never retaliated back to the Rivaini's remarks.
This time it was particularly brutal, it might have been three years since the fiasco in the deep roads but watching her sister die before her eyes had destroyed what ever happiness the fierce and quiet warrior might have held within herself.
Three years since Varric had heard the brunette laugh or seen that very rare small twist of her mouth that indicated she was smiling, even though he knew it pained her when she did.
He frowned at the curvaceous human that was sitting back smugly in her chair, booted feet resting comfortably upon the ale stained table.
"Really Rivaini?"
"What?" She asked innocently before indulging in taking a deep swallow from her cup.
"Was that necessary?" The blonde dwarf queried with a raised brow, he was not particularly impressed by her display. Especially after mentioning sunshine, he had liked the kid; she was perpetually happy and could have put a smile on any one's face including the broody elf's.
"I was not sitting in front of that all night; she had to go, simple really." Was his blithe reply, feeling nothing but disgust for the other rogue Varric stretched his arms and cracked a yawn from his mouth.
"Yeah well you owe Hawke, so take it easy next time you want to release your frustrations out on her." And with that he bade every one a good night who, were currently avoiding looking at the door where Marian Hawke had exited quietly and the Rivaini pirate.
And here she was now sitting in nothing but her small clothes poking and prodding at every raised clump of white shiny flesh and mentally berating her self for the pity party she was throwing in the comfort of her room. After all each scar was symbolic, that she was still alive and that she still had a duty to perform to her surviving family members. She was a diligent daughter even if her actions were unappreciated; she swore a promise to her father that she would look after her family until her last breath was spent. Fair enough she was a terrible daughter and sister considering her tendencies of being the cause of the death of her kin and causing her mother to refuse all attempts at eye contact with her, but if she had to endure twice as many markings upon her skin in the knowledge that the woman who had birthed her remained safe then that was all that mattered.
She dressed quickly after that, throwing a worn and thin tunic over her head and an equally thread bare pair of breeches on, now decent she left her small sanctuary of self loathing and headed downstairs safe in the knowledge that she was free to roam the ground floor.
Her mother would have retired to her own room hours ago and even if her dwarven servants were awake they were polite enough not to question her comings and goings.
She moved to the foyer quietly, her bare feet padding comfortably upon the plush carpet that weaved itself through her mother's home.
Coming to the front door she made sure that it was locked before taking up a seat on a bench, all these years later and still Marian Hawke had not managed to shake off her nightly routine of watching for templars, with a breathless sigh she brought her feet up onto the stone bench so she could rest her face upon her knees as she stared at the door, ears straining for an enemy she should no longer fear.
Marian sat staring in the dying flames long after her uncle had left, the glass of whisky forgotten in her hands. Gamlen's words were still echoing harshly around her skull, words of anger and blame and hurt that she was all too used to.
The corpse with her mother's face was lying under a sheet some where within the chantry, she had tried her best and yet it still wasn't enough.
It wasn't enough that her father was gone, her brother and his twin sister too but now her mother had been ripped away from her. The mother who had blamed each death solely at Hawke's feet, the mother who despite her loathing towards her eldest child had said such mind numbing words to Marian before she past from the realm of the living. Marian still loved her despite the bruising anger and resentment that Leandra always had for her, she was her mother how could she not care for her.
Marian Hawke felt empty, where was her purpose now? It was true she had failed the Hawke line by letting every last one slip away into death and her mother's words telling her of how proud she was of her and how she loved her was like a sword ripping into her gut.
Not once in all her years could she remember the woman who raised her tell her she was proud of her, that she loved and cherished her. No. Those words were always kept for her younger siblings; Marian brooded darkly over those words well into the night until the inky blackness of the sky turned to the pale light of day.
It was Aveline who had found her still sitting in that plush chair, staring blankly into the dead and empty fireplace early the next morning. She had brought a fine bottle of Antivan brandy –Maker bless that woman! - And settled herself in the seat opposite her, giving her condolences and sharing a drink with the distraught warrior.
Marian smiled wryly into the tumbler as she listened to the red head's words about her own father and her dead husband, she felt a sort of kinship to this woman.
This woman who had also lost her own family to the passages of time, this woman who had took matters in her own hands and rose up the ranks of the city guard to become its captain.
Marian supposed that Aveline was a friend to her along with Varric, those two out of the motley crew of people she knew were the closest to her the most. They listened to what she had to say and actually appreciated her input, she was glad that Aveline Vallen had come to visit and to give her sympathies to a woman she thought of as a surrogate mother but all too soon she was gone, begging her apologies but she had a city to look after and she would try and visit again as soon as she could.
But she did leave the bottle, Andraste bless her heart.
Marian idly wondered if she still would have been able to save her mother if she had never ran into Varric in Lowtown as she, in a mad panic made her way to Darktown.
She wondered if she had never enlisted the help of that idiot Orlesian blood mage and raced to find Anders afterwards, if her mother might have been found in time.
Maybe she had spent too much time rushing around in a flap instead of thinking rationally and going to that bloody foundry first, she knew. She absolutely knew that Leandra would be there, after all that was where it had all started to begin with.
There was no point on dwelling on it now, if she couldn't shed a tear for her father or siblings then she most certainly could not shed a tear for her mother. Instead her best course of action was going down into the cellar where the wine and spirits were kept, if she could rid herself of the memories then perhaps she wouldn't feel the guilt of never being able to mourn the passing of her loved ones.
Varric was getting worried, over a week had past since that fateful night when he had ran into Hawke near mad with worry. Over a week when they finally put an end to the culprit snatching unsuspecting women for his own perverse means. Over a week since they had found what remained of Leandra Hawke.
He hadn't heard a word from her; of course he knew she would want some space.
She was the last of the Hawkes, last of her line and Maker only knew how she would feel and yet he felt hurt that she had never come to him to talk about it.
He had gotten word via a runner that Aveline had at least visited her but that was nine days ago and Varric was getting very worried.
He was saved from his musings when Anders appeared in his suite, somewhat haggard and dirty but otherwise in good spirits, the refugees were beginning to thin out in Darktown (whether for good or bad was yet to be seen) and giving the warden mage a much needed respite.
By now every one in their crew knew of the death of Hawke's mother and it was met with different reactions, sorrow, pity, anger and indifference were the main culprits.
They sat for a few hours chatting, swapping stories and making jokes about the templars and what they would do when they finally found Varric's bastard of a brother but that niggling concern for Hawke squirmed violently in the dwarf's thoughts.
"Blondie do you think-"
He was cut off abruptly by Anders' hand which he thrust into his face.
"No, not just yet, give her some time and she'll show her face. Hawke's a strong woman she wouldn't appreciate it if we barge in on her in her moment of weakness."
The mage said in earnest and Varric relented, letting the matter drop for the time being.
It wasn't until another five days had passed and the dwarf was having a game of diamond back with the Rivaini pirate and the blonde mage when a worried looking dwarf hurried in through the door and drew the attention of the three at the table.
"Bodahn?" Anders asked curiously when the elder dwarf had spotted the trio.
"Ah Messeres I've been looking all over for you." he rushed out breathlessly as he came to the table wringing his hands.
"Sit down Bodahn, catch your breath, have a drink." varric offered as he placed his cards down on the table.
"I daren't Messere, it's mistress Hawke I'm awfully worried about her."
Varric gave a meaningful glance towards Anders that screamed I told you so.
Anders just frowned before turning his attention back to the dwarven servant. Isabela took the slight pause to scoff into her cards but kept her silence.
"She hasn't eaten in days Messere; she's locked herself in the study and only comes out to get another bottle from the basement."
Bodahn looked anguished as he fidgeted, his hands turning over themselves frantically.
"Please Messere mistress Hawke has always held you in high regard, if you could talk to her and try and get her out I'd be ever so grateful. She has been good to me and my boy, I worry for her." he finished off and looking expectantly at the other dwarf.
"Alright Serrah we'll go right now." varric soothed whilst elbowing the mage in the side.
"C'mon blondie we have a Hawke to sober up."
Anders stood up swinging a leg over the bench so he could reach out a give a comforting pat on Bodahn's shoulder.
To their surprise Isabela stood when the blonde haired dwarf did and immediately came under scrutiny.
"What? Horse face is my friend too."
"Really Isabela?" Anders frowned giving the pirate a stern look.
Varric joined Anders by folding his arms and staring crossly at the curvaceous woman.
"Oh alright, fine I'll stay. Spoil sports." the Rivaini huffed and with a petulant flop sat back down.
Varric and Anders shared a glance together as they watched Hawke's house servant make himself busy once they had reached the sanctum of the Amell estate.
With a shake of his head Anders walked to the study, rapping gently upon the door
"Hawke, can we come in?" his voice called soothingly through the door.
When there was no answer he tried the handle and glanced over to the blonde dwarf with a raised eyebrow.
Marian Hawke turned her head sluggishly towards the muffled noise from the entrance. She was slumped up against the wall, wedged between a bookshelf and the corner of the room.
Her hand was clutching loosely at a bottle of she didn't know what, but it hit certainly the spot well enough. It was taking a lot of effort now just to raise the green glass to her lips, she was vaguely aware of a commotion at the door but the high backed chairs placed in front of the fire place blocked her blurred vision.
Words and the shuffling of feet headed towards her until two figures, one tall the other short were in sight. She could hear exclaimed gasps of 'Maker!' and 'Hawke!' before a familiar stubbled face loomed in her vision.
A pair of amber eyes, much like her own widened in shock as she felt a large callused hand tenderly cup her face. His mouth was moving frantically as she felt a warmness begin to seep into her.
She opened her own mouth to tell the apostate that it was alright, that her duty was done, and her price of her failure was reasonable. Instead she just embarrassed herself by telling him of her own weakness.
"I love you." the scarred fighter mumbled out and causing Anders' eyes to drift up to her own. From the periphery of her vision she could see the blue glow of his healing spell.
"I'm sorry; I'm so sorry." she vaguely realised that there were streams of salty tears rolling down her cheeks as she blabbered.
"But you're so kind and giving and when you smile at me I feel normal." Her mind was screaming at her to cease her words but her mouth let them fall out in a slurred jumble.
"I-I kept it secret, buried away deep down. I didn't want to trouble you, having to know that some one like me cared for you..." She stumbled off frowning, giving her head a shake. Marian could feel the gaping slashes on her wrists close and knit themselves together and she ignored the sensation.
"No, no that wasn't it. I was scared, yes that's right. Terrified even that if I told you, I'd have to see the disgust in your eyes every day." The slurring was lessening in her speech and the edges of her vision weren't so blurred anymore.
"You-your so beautiful and I-I'm, well." she waved a blood covered hand at her face aimlessly. Her eyes narrowed as she looked up at a face she'd only allowed herself to dream about in the dark emptiness of her own room.
"You-your healing me aren't you?" she asked and was rewarded with a wry smile.
"No I did that some time ago, I'm just waiting for the sleep spell to kick in."
Her eyes widened.
"You bastard, you utter-fuck." She groaned out as her eyelids heavily shut and she succumbed to unconsciousness.
Anders watched calmly as the woman slumped before him in the pool of her own blood, her eyelids fluttering closed. That woman had an outstanding amount of will power.
"Shit." varric muttered behind him as the mage bent to pick up Hawke with a grunt.
"Blondie this is her will." varric had had his attention caught by his name written upon a folded parchment when they had entered the study.
Anders said nothing still mulling of Hawkes delirium induced declaration of love.
"She intended to leave nearly everything to charity for Fereldon refugees and a hefty some for you as well."
"Interesting." was all he replied with, his gut was clenching horribly about how close Hawke had came to death.
The woman was the strongest person he knew and to see her completely crumpled in a heap with her life's blood spilling out of her was an eye opener.
Marian Hawke bled and loved and cried like any other being, he felt strangely pleased about her words and yet he knew she would be mortified once she awoke.
It didn't take long to carry her up to her room and with some help from varric out of her blood stained rag of a tunic and frayed breeches.
Anders shook his head as he stared down at the sight of Hawke -now safely tucked in bed- looking so pale and small.
How much had she sacrificed in aid of her family, how much blood spilt and flesh
scarred, how much of her own happiness and health had she let go with out a moments hesitation for the welfare of her kin?
Anders was feeling furious at the mistreatment of her family towards her. He was glad they had passed otherwise he might just have regretted his actions.
He let himself sit down on the edge of the bed as he watched the fighter sleep; Varric had left some time ago but promised to return in the morning.
The blonde Mage brushed a surprisingly soft strand of chocolate hair from her face, a frown marring his features. He had noticed the scars, he knew they could have been avoided and he recognised a few too from their adventures.
Why would she hide her injuries from him?
Did she drag herself home to sew up her wounds or did she wait till everyone was asleep at camp?
He shook his head trying to shake away the ever rising tide of anger.
Instead he focused on her face and not her dangerously thin and scarred body.
She had the softest skin, he'd noticed that when he had pressed his hand to her face, it was smooth and silky and made his fingers twitch to touch it again. Her eye lashes were long and thick and curtained out against high cheek bones.
Idle fingers gently traced the curve of the scar that wrapped around her eye, trailing down her cheek. Maker was he glad that Isabela hadn't ventured with them, to see this woman who rarely asked for anything a broken mess. Releasing a sigh Anders brushed her cheek with the back of his hand tenderly before moving to the bed roll on the floor. As of now Marian Hawke was under observation and Maker be damned he was going to make her strong again.
Marian Hawke had a headache, rehash that. She had a horrible earth trembling hang over and she hadn't even opened her eyes yet. With a small moan the fighter rolled and shoved her head under a pillow, she realised that she was in her own bed. That was very strange as she had been sleeping on the floor of the study recently; she scrunched her eyes tighter as unbidden memories of waffling away to some one with the most prettiest shade of blonde hair entered her hazy memory.
Dawning horror enveloped her making her moan out weakly.
"Oh no."
"Oh yes." An all too familiar voice answered her and Marian felt the cold sharp daggers of pure fear stab sharply into her abdomen.
Why couldn't it have been a horrible dream? She though glumly to herself as she gently lifted a corner of the pillow up so she could peek out of it, she came eye to eye with the haggard apostate and he did not look impressed.
"Bollocks."
"Get up Hawke." Oh he really did not sound too happy at all, Marian decided she needed to play the denial card and let the pillow drop back onto her face.
"No, this is some strange part of the fade and I'm dead and being tortured by desire demons. Go away." She mumbled and was rewarded with her beloved pillow being ripped from her, and a furious Anders looming above her.
"You think this is funny? Andraste's arse you nearly died yesterday! You bloody stupid woman." He shouted down at her, his pent up frustrations from the night before boiling over.
Marian had the decency to look ashamed as she turned her face away from the raging mage beside her. Her stomach was roiling dangerously and she wasn't too certain if it was from the drink or the presence of the apostate in her room.
"What possessed you to even think of doing that?" He berated as he grabbed a bare shoulder, dragging her attention back to him.
Hawke glanced up once before pulling the blanket up around her body as she sat up, her gaze boring holes into the red cover.
"There was no one left. It was my entire fault; I figured it was only appropriate." She muttered uncomfortably.
"Only appropriate? Only bloody appropriate? Maker's breath Hawke killing yourself is not appropriate. Stop blaming your self, none of it was your fault."
That sparked her anger, turning fiery amber eyes up to the pale face leaning dangerously close to her.
Marian was thrown off slightly by how close the mage had gotten without her notice; he had trapped her with his arms on either side of her. Blazing honey eyes boring into her face, demanding answers from her.
"It was my duty to protect them and I let each and every one die because of my actions." She shot back the anger in her slowly slipping away as she felt herself begin to get swept away by those endless pools of molten gold.
Her words seemed to make him even angrier for he whirled away from her in a flurry, fingers raking roughly through unbound golden locks as he glared over his shoulder at her.
Marian finally took in his appearance which made her mouth dry, this was the first time she'd ever seen the mage with loose hair and not wearing his coat.
He looked magnificent as the sunlight streamed through the high windows, setting his locks ablaze. His tunic was a faded grey and was tucked neatly into a pair of form hugging breeches, she'd never realised how broad of shoulder he was or how his waist was slim and yet his chest was clearly toned and that his arms were strong and muscled.
'Weren't mages supposed to be thin and unhealthy?' The thought flitted briefly through her mind before Ander's voice broke that line of concentration.
"Oh I didn't know that you're responsible for other people's actions." He retorted before dragging his hands down from his hair and over his face in exasperation.
"For the welfare of my family then yes I was, I led them here. I'm responsible." Hawke said hotly, starting to feel annoyed and crossed her arms as she glared at the apostate.
Apparently her words did not appease him as he stalked back towards her and took up his position of looming of her once more, making Marian crane her neck upwards to look at him.
"It's like you've been brainwashed." He fumed, the passion in his eyes made his face glow with a healthy anger.
"Your bloody family used you as a body guard and when things went wrong you were to blame!"
Marian growled dangerously in warning but it went unheeded.
"Bethany was sweet, she was but even she used you as a human shield. Why can't you get it through your thick head that you've been manipulated for some one else's advantage?"
That was it; speaking ill of Bethany was his own fault Hawke decided furiously. He had no right to speak ill of her dead family and her fist was going to explain this.
She was not expecting a callused hand to grab her wrist so easily, nor when he pressed his face closer to hers, and another large and equally rough hand tenderly cupped her face, a thumb idly caressing her cheek.
"Why can't you see what's clearly in front of you Marian?" Murmured Anders, his voice soft and sweet and the anger from moments before suddenly gone.
"What are you talking about?" Marian retorted not ready to let her own anger dissipate despite the furious burning of her cheeks at the man's close proximity.
"That people care for you greatly, that we're all worried about you." He paused as he watched his thumb rub pale skin gently, thinking over his next words.
"We all care for you, some more so than others." His voice was distracting and alluring and Marian was trying so hard to remember why she was angry.
"I don't understand." She offered as she gazed into his intense stare, he seemed to have come to a decision as a determined look spread across his features causing the fighter to blush even redder.
"If you'd have only told me sooner then I would have never have found you half dead and drunk out of your mind, I'd have been there for you every step of the way."
"Wha-" She was cut off by a thumb pressing gently on her mouth, her eyes widened in shock but then winced at the painful tugging of scar tissue that curled around her eye. She was vaguely aware of her wrist being released and a hand cupping her other cheek and his angular face inching ever close to her own, bells were going off in her head and she tried to pull herself away from his grasp to no avail.
"Anders!"
"Hawke, shut up" was all he said before his mouth descended upon hers. Marian's eyes widened in shock before they fluttered shut and she revelled in the softness of his lips, the way they pressed firmly against her own and she was swept away by his passion. Her hands crept up to grip eagerly onto his bare forearms as she allowed the blonde haired mage to gently press her back against the bed.
He pulled away after a time to catch his breath and to allow Marian to inhale a large gulp of air, her chest was burning along with her face and she couldn't help the soft quirk of her lips when she felt a stubbled jaw along her cheek, warm lips kissing delicately against her skin before finally pulling away.
Peeping out under her lashes Hawke gazed up at the man atop her, his vibrant warm eyes studying her face intently and a small smirk curling his mouth.
"I, I've never done that before." She stumbled out blushing furiously before turning her head to the side to stare at the floor, eyes boring nervously into the plush carpet.
A rough thumb dragged it's self delicately around the corners of her bruised and abused mouth causing her to glance up at the apostate above her.
His gorgeous amber eyes were alight with an inner passion that took her breath away and if possible turned her a shade redder, she was dimly aware that she was still clutching onto his forearms for dear life and released her grip of them hurriedly.
Anders grinned down at the woman before him making her heart skip several beats.
"If you would have me, I'd be forever yours." He murmured as he watched his thumb drag against the pale skin of her face.
"What are you saying?" Marian breathed out, her hands clutching tightly at the mattress and silently willed her arms not to give out on her.
"Three years Marian, three years you have haunted my sleep and I can't resist you any more." He murmured as he let a hand to trail down her neck to rest on the curve of her shoulder.
"Anders." She whispered softly, and was slightly amazed as she watched her hand reach up to cup the side of the apostate's stubbled face.
"I love you, I've been holding back from saying that for so long, I regret that I never said it sooner." He continued on speaking softly as his thumb slid from her mouth to trail the curve of her face, fingers sinking into her hair.
Hawke was dumbfounded; no man had ever spoken those words to her. She was literally speechless, though what ever Anders found in her expression pleased him well enough as he dipped his head to once more render her senseless.
He pulled away causing the fighter to pout somewhat as she stared up at him through half lidded eyes.
"We have a problem." The mage stated casually catching Marian's attention.
"what is it?"
"I am wearing far too many layers." He grinned down as he watched the confusion on Hawke's face.
"Layers?" she frowned before turning a brilliant beetroot colour as Anders leaned back and began to pull off his shirt.
"What are you-oh!"
A/N:Just something that's been wizzing around my mind and it's been bugging me enough to stop me trying to finish off my course work.
Also on another note I'm fully aware I haven't updated a new chapter for of griffins and hawkes but again my apologies I'm trying to finish an assignment before the 4th of nov, if I can get it done by the end of next I promise to finish off writing the next chapter and post it up.
Yes yes I know I didn't really keep to the time line but well living purely off of mountain dew energy just doesn't let my mind function properly.
Also Bioware owns all.