A/N: This is a gift fic for the lovely AnnabelleHawke022812 for being a wonderful friend and a constant reviewer of my works! Thank you, my dear! It is Fenders. It is a lot of smut. And it is delicious. Enjoy!

All Your Fault.

One step forward was all Fenris took, before freezing on the spot. The Arishok's blade was still cutting through the air, blood dripping from the tip, a smug smile spreading on his face at the sight of his opponent. Hawke. Those bright eyes of his found Fenris', white with fear, real fear. His hand clutched at his neck, uselessly as blood sprayed past his fingers. Those wide eyes of his moved to the mage at Fenris' side, pleading, begging, scared. The rogue fell to his knees and the mage finally found his feet, running forward with hands aglow just as Hawke slumped to the ground.

Noise faded, blocked out by the buzzing in his ears; the rush of blood. His eyes were fixed on the body on the ground, a fierce blue glow surrounding him as the mage tried, desperately, to heal Luca's slit neck. Lightning arced out of the mage's fingers; Hawke's body arched off of the ground, only to slump back down, still lifeless.

Fenris' feet were moving again, only stopping when they reached the blood soaked carpet at Luca's side. His life's blood was already cold under his feet. Hawke's body arched again as lightning coursed across his body; the mage was sweating, gritting his teeth, but Hawke remained unmoving, unbreathing.

Hawke was dead, he realised with perfect clarity.

He dropped to his knees, just as Hawke had, and stared at those glazed over tawny eyes of his. It was wrong. Those eyes were usually so full of life and mischief, now they were – now they were dull, cold, dead.

He couldn't be dead, Hawke couldn't die.

Not Hawke. He always had a way out, something up his sleeve or a dirty trick. He had been so eager to do this duel, Fenris had been so sure. Ice had settled in Fenris' heart and it laced through his chest with every shallow breath he took, stabbing him. He had been the one to suggest the duel. He had thought –

No. He couldn't be gone. His eyes snapped up to the mage, the abomination. Angry words left his mouth, telling him to do whatever was necessary. Amber eyes flared blue and words were shot back at him, the demon adding a deep timbre to the mage's voice. And then the voice was cracking, the glow was gone and the abomination was sobbing over Luca's corpse, clutching blood soaked armour.

He watched, almost as if time had slowed, as Isabela was dragged out of the room by the Qunari, kicking and screaming. Tears fell from her eyes as she tried to reach Hawke's side, dusky fingers reaching out toward the lifeless corpse of the man she had betrayed, of the man who had fought for her, died for her. Fenris clenched his fists and then Isabela's wails were cut off by a blow to her head. Before she could flop to the ground a Qunari scooped her up and swung her over his shoulder before leaving the Keep with the rest.

Varric was on his hands and knees, Bianca discarded on the ground in front of him as he sobbed. The blood mage hugged his back, openly crying, her lip split from some blow she had taken to the face. Aveline's voice rang out, shaky orders leaving her quivering lips.

A shriek pierced the room, sharp and painful over the blood still rushing through his ears. Bethany. Her steps faltered, a trembling hand over her mouth. Her head shook, the word 'no' like a chant on her lips. She rushed forward, falling to her knees at her brother's side. She gripped Luca's cold hand with both of hers, sobs, pleas, cries, leaving her mouth. The abomination wrapped an arm around her and pulled her into his chest; she struggled and screamed against him, before letting her sobs free as she cried into his chest.

Fenris stared down at Luca, at the clean cut straight across his neck, deep, almost enough to sever his head from his body. One blood soaked hand was on his chest where his sister had dropped it, the other at his side, resting on the blood soaked ground. So much blood. Red was Hawke's favourite colour and now he was painted in it. Fenris gripped the red piece of fabric around his wrist, fingering the soft material as sharp pain cut through his chest once again.

He needed to get away.

Hawke was dead.

The man he loved, was dead.

He ran.

0o0

He clung to the sobbing mage, barely holding it together himself. His eyes were locked on Luca's dead amber ones. He couldn't bear to look at them a moment longer, seeing them so lifeless, so emotionless. He reached out with a trembling arm and closed his eyes, squeezing his own shut as he pulled Bethany a little closer, desperate to feel her warmth, he was so very cold.

Hawke had been right there, just moments ago, smiling smugly as his dagger nicked the Arishok's side. And then he hadn't stepped back enough, had misjudged, mistimed. The blood, oh Maker, there had been so much, too much and then –

Those eyes. Those eyes had been so shocked, so scared. They had turned in his direction and pleaded with him, begged him for healing as blood spurted out of his neck. And Hawke had realised. Had known. He was dead. He had lost. He had failed all of these people. And there was nothing Anders could do to save him. He was gone before he hit the ground.

So why did he feel like it was his fault?

He had all of this power, he had a Fade spirit at his disposal, but it wasn't enough.

Gauntleted hands suddenly gripped the mage in his arms, pulling her off of him. She wailed, struggled in their grip. Templars. Justice raged inside of him, burning bright enough that he was sure his skin was nearly cracking and then there was a steely hand gripping his own shoulder. Aveline. A stern look, a warning. Not now. Not here. Justice subsided, and Cullen gave him a small sympathetic nod before his men dragged Bethany's crying form away.

For the briefest of seconds he realised they should be dragging him away too. Then Varric was at his side, ushering him out of the Keep. Merrill was with them, hands clasped nervously at her front. Her face, dusty and caked in blood from battle, had clean lines down her cheeks from her tears. She sniffed, glancing at him briefly before looking back at the ground, lip trembling.

He didn't pay attention to the panicked people on the streets, or the fires still burning, filling the air with smoke, he ignored the corpses littering the ground too. Merrill left, returning to her home, and then they were at the Hanged Man, sat at a table, a drink in his hand with a blanket draped over his shoulders.

Varric sat at his desk, journal open, quill in hand. The dwarf looked over at him, eyes red and puffy. "Hawke would want me to tell this story – his story. But for once I'm at a loss for words, Blondie."

Anders fought back more tears, taking a few moments to swallow the lump in his throat. "Tell the truth," he finally replied, his voice raw. "Just this one time, tell the truth, Varric."

Varric let out a long exhale and nodded. "I can't believe he's gone. Legends don't die, that's why they're legends… this just doesn't seem real."

Anders stared at the flames flickering away in front of him; he felt no warmth from them, only a twisted kind of sadness. The flames were the colour of Hawke's eyes. "I failed him," he mumbled. "I was his healer. He looked to me, pleaded with me," the words spilled from his mouth, laced with anger and bitterness. "He expected me to save him…" his voice failed him and the tears fell down his face once more.

Varric sighed heavily and swivelled in his seat to face him. "It wasn't your fault, Blondie. It was those damn horn-heads and Rivaini…" He squeezed the bridge of his nose. "They just took her, knocked her out and dragged her away." He swallowed thickly. "What do you think they'll do to her?"

Anders stared at the ground, shivering despite the fire. "I don't know, Varric. I just don't know."

Varric leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face. "What do we do now?" he asked, clearly defeated and lost.

Anders shook his head, but then felt an overwhelming need to do something. Perhaps it was Justice influencing his thoughts, perhaps he just needed the distraction. "I'm going to the clinic," he said as he rose to his feet, shrugging off the blanket around his shoulders.

"Whoa, is that wise, Blondie? The nobles saw you use magic, the Templars…"

"And they didn't drag me to the Gallows," Anders said, cutting him off. "If they were going to they would have by now." He looked at the dwarf. "I have to do something, Varric. I have to help something, save someone, anyone."

"You've done enough today… you should rest."

"I won't sleep, Varric, not after today."

He left the dwarf and the Hanged Man and rushed through the streets of Lowtown. This time he did notice the panicked people, the still-burning fires and the corpses piled up along the edges of the streets, covered with odd pieces of fabric, broken boards of wood…whatever people could find to give them some semblance of respect.

There was so much destruction, so much death, and yet, somehow, all of that paled in comparison to one man. Hawke had been… Hawke was… Luca was unique. There was no other word for him. He was selfless, caring beyond belief and so full of life. It took a lot to wipe that grin off of his face, to dim the light in his eyes… He touched so many lives, changed so many lives. He had become the glue holding so many pieces together, without him…

Anders shuddered and pressed forward through Darktown, through the crowds of desperate people crying out for help.

He didn't make it to his clinic for a long time; too many people stopped him on his way there, recognising him as the healer. By the time he did reach the clinic, and dealt with the endless queues of patients, he was dead on his feet. He managed to make it to the cot at the back of his clinic before collapsing, and finally let the Fade take him, grateful that he would at least find some sort of sleep.

0o0

The bottle smashed into the wall, glass shattering, and the deep red wine sprayed outward, it looked like blood. His favourite wine had no taste without Hawke to share it with. His mansion was colder without Hawke's smile to warm it. Everything seemed greyer now without Hawke's joyfulness to cheer it.

It was all just bland.

He had seen countless deaths in his life; he had caused countless deaths too. But this, this was beyond anything he had felt before. His body ached like his own life force was slowly being drained from him. There seemed little point in fighting it either, he wanted it to slowly ebb away until there was nothing left of him. Already he felt like a shell of his former self, not that there had been much substance to him before. Hatred. Cowardice. Fear. Hawke had made him better, a better man. But Hawke was gone.

He couldn't quite see what the point of anything was anymore.

What would they all do now? Hawke had been their connection, the only reason anybody in their group were friends, the only reason they had all stuck together. Without him…

He threw another bottle.

Venhedis!

He couldn't be dead. Not Hawke.

Hawke never failed to find a way out, to figure something out. And if he didn't then he always got healed. His hands clenched at his sides. The abomination… he was supposed to protect him, he was supposed to heal him, he was supposed to save him!

This was his fault. He could have done more but he was too concerned about being taken away by the Templars, too afraid they would see what he really was. He didn't call upon that demon of his, didn't use everything at his disposal to bring Hawke back.

He was at the steps to Lowtown before he even realised he had left the mansion. Everything was a little fuzzy from the alcohol he had consumed but the one clear thing in his mind was the abomination… he would suffer.

0o0

Anders watched the runny liquid swirling endlessly around the small jar as he stirred it for the… he didn't even know how many times he had stirred it now. He couldn't seem to stop though, he needed to make sure it was right; lives depended upon it.

He couldn't fail again.

"It was not your—"

"Don't," he said, cutting the spirit off. "Just don't," he sighed.

"You were not the one to suggest the duel," Justice reminded him.

Anders ceased his stirring and began to frown. The spirit was right…it was that elf. He had suggested it, pushed for it, encouraged it even. Luca would never have turned down something like that; he was too proud, too arrogant, and ever since Leandra's death Hawke had done whatever the elf had wanted, always keeping him at his side.

Anders' fists clenched on the table. This was all that blasted elf's fault!

He rose to his feet in a rush and charged toward the door; he wasn't sure what he was going to do, but he needed to take action, he needed that elf to know what he had done, he needed that elf to hurt the way Anders was hurting now.

He swung his clinic door open and gasped as Fenris came to an abrupt halt just a foot away. They both stared at each other for a moment, eyes narrowed, jaws clenched.

"It's your fault!" they both roared in unison, anger rolling off of them in droves.

"My fault?" they both cried. "How is it my fault?" they both hissed before growling, glaring daggers at each other. They both folded and then immediately unfolded their arms. Instead Fenris kept his clenched at his side and Anders placed his on his hips.

"It was you who suggested the duel in the first place!" Anders sniped.

"The Arishok would have suggested such a thing anyway! You're the healer!" Fenris snarled at him, advancing on the abomination, "You were supposed to save him!"

"I couldn't. That blade damn near took his head clean off! He was dead before he hit the ground. I tried bringing him back but he had lost too much blood. There was nothing I could have done," Anders spat back.

"You could have used that demon of –"

Anders slapped him hard across the face and the elf's head whipped back, white hair swaying with it. Anders' hand remained fixed mid-air, just as shocked as the elf at his rash action.

"He is not a demon," Anders growled.

Slowly the elf's head returned to face him, his lips curled in disgust. Fenris took a hostile step forward and another, forcing Anders to back up into his clinic. "Whatever! It could have been used to save Hawke," Fenris replied in a harsh whisper. The elf turned and closed the door, bolting it before turning his attention back to Anders. "You did not do everything you could have. You did not try hard enough. Hawke was counting on you and it was you who failed him."

Anders held his ground, refusing to back up any further. "You knew Hawke would accept that duel, you also knew he was injured and exhausted from the day's fighting. I tried to stop him from doing it but you shut me up, told me he could handle it. We could have battled the Qunari together, there may have been other deaths but Hawke might still be with us! You are the only one to blame here, Fenris!"

"He would never have allowed such a thing! It doesn't change the fact that your demon didn't help you save him. Or did you hold him back because you didn't want all of those nobles to see what you really are?"

"How dare you! I did everything I could to save Hawke! I would have died for him I love—" He slammed his lips shut and frowned.

Fenris snarled at him. "You think you are the only one who cared for Luca, abomination?"

Anders glared at him. "Don't call me that."

Fenris let out a bitter laugh. "Or what, abomination?"

Anders let out a scream as he tackled the elf to the ground, surprising both of them. He landed one solid blow to the elf's lip before the elf grabbed his fist, stopping it connecting a second time, and suddenly flipped him onto his back. Anders hit the ground with a grunt and the elf pinned him in place.

They were both panting hard, both hot and sweaty and exhausted. Fenris stared down at him, those huge green eyes of his narrowed and boring into him, framed by long snowy hair and those dark brows knitted together into a frown. Their hands were still locked together; Anders' fist caged by Fenris' metallic talons.

Something changed in the atmosphere between them, Anders was suddenly very aware of how hot the elf felt, how hard the muscled limbs straddling him were, how dark those green eyes of his were getting. Anders could feel the elf's heart pounding away, even through the metal of his chest plate where Anders' hand was resting; it matched the thrumming in his own chest.

Anders' fist unclenched and his fingers entwined with Fenris' long dusky, lyrium lined digits. The elf watched in mute fascination as Anders began to run his thumb along a brand of his lyrium; it ignited immediately, making Anders' skin tingle and Fenris snarl from the contact.

Fenris' lip curled into a sneer as he leaned down, their faces almost touching, their panted breaths mixing. "You are as helpless now as you were in that Keep," he hissed through his teeth. "You are nothing but a coward. Always afraid of capture. You could do nothing for the man you claim to love," he scoffed. "Look at you, a mighty mage whose powers are to be feared," he mocked. "You are weak, you have always been we—"

Anders grabbed the elf's snowy hair and yanked him down into a scorching kiss; his tongue pushed past all of the elf's defences to delve deep into his mouth. Fenris tasted of that rich, fruity wine he favoured, and his lips were surprisingly soft. Anders took advantage of the elf's startled confusion and dug his leg between the elf's and forced his body off of him, dumping the warrior face down onto the dirt ground. He straddled the elf, sitting on the backs of his thighs, holding him in place.

Anders leaned over the elf, pressing his chest flat against the elf's back. He breathed against the elf's pointed ear and Fenris squirmed under him. "I'll show you why mages are feared," he hissed, making Fenris shudder.

- Oh did I say there was smut? Terribly sorry, FF . net don't like the scary smut, so you will be able to find the rest of this fic on my AO3, I'll post the next chapter soon. Link is in my profile! -