sound the bells
by mswyrr
"I know you're angry," Anders said. "You're looking for someone to be angry at. If it helps, take it out on me."
At first the words didn't register. Hawke was focused on his kind expression, his warm hand grasping hers. It felt good. Her fingers were chilled, as if they still held her mother's cold body.
But then she really heard what he'd said. It slipping into her brain and it was like the room had titled off-kilter. Was he really offering to, what, be her punching bag for the night?
Hawke withdrew her hand. "Don't talk like that. I don't even want to know what you mean when you say something like that."
He opened his mouth, then shut it. Ducked his head. Confirming her suspicions of exactly what his oblique offer entailed.
She hadn't really been angry, but she was now. "Can't you just be here with me, do you have to…" be so crazy? she wanted to say, but instead sketched a hand through the air, not cruel enough to finish the sentence.
"I'm sorry," he said, instantly so contrite it was painful to look at him.
He reached for her hand, but she stood and paced across the room, out of his reach.
"Hawke…. please. However you want me to say it, I'm here for you, whatever you need. I'd do anything, give anything to help you."
Pausing in her steps by the window, Hawke took in the pretty courtyard all her work had bought, idyllic in the moonlight, and did not care a whit for it. She'd done all of this for her mother and now the house, without her, was as empty as her body had been, tainted by that monster's blood magic.
She felt Anders come to stand beside her, his fingers brushed her wrist. "Hawke…"
Turning her palm over, she gripped his arm, twisted it behind him in a practiced move and pushed him up against the wall. He didn't fight or make much noise, just let out a breath as he hit the wall.
"Is this what you meant?" she said, unmoved by it. It felt so empty and stupid.
"If it's what you need," he said. "Then yes."
She flipped him around to face her, gave him a shove. "Why would I want that? What good would that do me?" Another shove and she was so angry, but not the way he thought. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
He flinched, not from the shove but the words. She never talked to him like that. Long ago she had quietly decided to leave phrases like "are you crazy?" and "what's wrong with you?" out of her vocabulary. She knew that her lover wasn't, strictly speaking, all there. She decided it was just another type of injury, like a badly mended break that changed someone's gait. Just another part of life. Either you loved the person enough to walk slower when need be, or you didn't. If you did, there was no use mentioning it.
He tilted his head. "What's my line here, Hawke? What do you want me to say?" His lips quirked. "Do you want a list?"
She slapped him, open-palmed and light, like he was a child or an idiot. "When you came in here, that helped. I…" she paused, felt her throat burn hot, then pushed on, "I thought: thank the Maker, there's still someone who loves me. Mother's gone and… nothing means anything anymore, everything I've done, everything I am, all the blood I've shed, the pieces of myself I've sold for a fucking mansion with a pretty little courtyard — but if there's just someone who loves me, then maybe it'll be all right… but then, you just…" She smacked him again, even lighter than before, an insult rather than an injury. "Is this all I get now?" she bit out, wanting to scream it. "Is this all the love I get?"
He froze, staring at her. He seemed to finally get it; this wasn't what he had signed up for.
She had never seen him look so hurt.
"I see." He lifted his chin and stood up tall, straightening his clothes. "Time for bitter words, is it? I have a few I can share." He looked her in right in the eye. "You've lost something I've never had. Your mother looked at you, her mage daughter, and she saw a blessing. Do you know how rare that is, for people like us? She saw a blessing, not a curse, as the Chantry would have us believe. When the Templars came to take me away, I tried to run. My father dragged me out to them. He said I was a punishment for his sins." He frowned. "I was a boy. What kind of a Maker would do that to a child, make it a living punishment? What kind of monsters would believe in Him?"
Hawke bowed her head. "Anders, I—"
He raised a finger. "I'm not saying this for pity. Your guilt doesn't interest me. I just want you to know that you only hurt so much because you had so much. I would give anything for what you had. What you still have."
"But she's gone," Hawke said. Her voice broke on the last word. She sounded weak and teary to her own ears, pathetic. A little girl crying I want my mother.
How had he lived without that? Was Hawke ever really strong, or did she just have so much it made the other things bearable? If so, what happened to her now?
Anders sighed, rubbed the bridge of his nose. "We wouldn't be having this conversation if that were true. She gave you love, taught you something about love – there are plenty of other people who would have taken me up on my offer. Found some peace in beating me to my knees. Wouldn't have known anything better." He shrugged. "I can see how it was the wrong thing to offer, but I have to confess, even knowing that, I can't imagine what I should do or say instead."
Hawke stepped forward, extended her hand for him, giving him the option of not coming close. But he did, stepped into her embrace like she had done nothing wrong. "I'm not a very good example of her love. She was… kinder and warmer than I'll ever be."
His fingers were so gentle against her hair. She pulled him close and closed her eyes, letting him pet her like one of his stray cats. She wondered how he could accept her accusations about his love being inferior, when somehow, despite it all, he gave so much. Managed to be so kind. Sometimes it felt like all she did was take. "If you ever want to talk about her, I would love to listen," he said. "And maybe then part of her will live in me too." His words pushed something inside her that had been aching, waiting to burst. She sobbed, clutched at him, letting the tears come finally.
-end-
Looks like our writing on the wall
Is lorem ipsum after all
A higher tide will wash it all
Wash it all away
-Dessa, "Sound the Bells"