As they near the end of their lives, Hawke and Anders look back on their lives at the decisions that brought them to this point. Set in the same universe as "Family Matters", but not intended to be a sequel. This can be considered only one of the potential outcomes to that story line.
I'm tired of writing angst…this is a story about hope and change. And the love that made it all possible.
Memory Unbound
Standing in the darkness, the two mages embraced. In their last moments together, they reflected on the choices that placed them in this very spot. A lifetime together could never be enough – and so they remembered.
It took almost four years for the last Circle to fall in Thedas. The revolution had for all intents and purposes been a success – if one could look past the death, destruction and mayhem that accompanied it. The holy war on mages had ended. The Chantry fell back and offered a truce; if only for the fact that they could no longer command their own warriors to fight. Freedom had been gained for the mages, and most were not willing to squander it by continuing to destroy the forces that had once opposed and imprisoned them.
Former enchanters of the Circles quickly came together, forming small groups willing to lead the wayward ex-Circle apprentices and mages. Across the land, real schools were being formed. Schools where those with arcane abilities could learn to wield them safely and defend themselves against the temptations inherent in being a mage. The reports of blood magic and demonic influence that ran rampant throughout Tfhedas as the insurgency took place were diminishing. Fear still existed; but other mages not able to teach formed delegations of ambassadors, intent on setting the record straight. Those who had survived the war would ensure that this would never happen again.
The catalysts for the revolution – the Champion of Kirkwall and the Darktown Healer – were proud of their efforts. The sacrifices made were worth it. Living on the run, figuratively razing Circle after Circle to the ground – the ends that were achieved more than justified the means. After four years of fighting for freedom, the two did not know what it meant to have a life of their own. When there were no more battles to be waged, they would look at each other, weary and withered, and wonder if there was a place for them somewhere. With no purpose, they were aimless. The revolt had driven them – given them reason to keep moving on. They didn't know what to do.
"We could always go back to Ferelden," Anders had mentioned to her once.
She pondered the thought for some time. A few days later, she looked up from her dinner and replied.
"I have been considering your suggestion," she said unexpectedly. He was puzzled, but waited to allow her to continue. "Ferelden might be a good place to return to."
"Ah," he replied. "I had wondered if my memory was starting to fade."
She smiled her smile at him – the one that made him weak every time he saw it.
"No," she said. "Your memory is just fine. It just took me some time to decide how to reply to the idea. It would seem to me that Ferelden might just be the only home we ever really knew."
He flinched briefly, recalling the time he spent in the Circle. He had not been born in Ferelden, but spent most of his childhood locked away there – making attempt after attempt to escape its proverbial chains. But he knew that she meant well with her comment. He had, after all, spent some good years with the Wardens before allowing the spirit to take up residence within him. He had found a family with the dwarves, elves and humans at Amaranthine. They were warriors, mages, scoundrels and renegades, but they united with a purpose to rebuild the order that had been decimated during the betrayal at Ostagar. So perhaps she wasn't far off with her observation.
"What could we do there?" he questioned. "I don't suppose too many people are willing to hire a couple of rebel apostates to do some gardening."
"Speak for yourself," she retorted. "I once had a hand in growing a prized pumpkin patch back in Lothering."
"A pumpkin patch is hardly a beautiful garden that would be cherished by the nobles who would have the ability to hire us on," he said, smiling weakly.
She placed a hand softly over his and traced her thumb along his.
"Why couldn't we go back to what we did in Kirkwall?"
"Killing and maiming for those with the highest payout?" he smirked.
"No," she replied softly, "healing. We could open another clinic. With our revolution at an end, we will be able to practice freely. There will be no need to hide. But there is always a need for healing, and Maker knows Ferelden is the place for it."
He nodded. Even ten years after the blight, refugees were still abroad, trying to get back home. Families were wounded by loss, and the poor filled the land. Disease, being the younger brother of poverty, was also a grave concern for the citizens of the country they had both once fled.
"Perhaps you're right," he replied. "Can we afford to?"
She sat for a moment before speaking; pondering what little resources they had left.
"It will be difficult," she said. "We have used up much of our coin, and we are low on supplies for ourselves, let alone to be able to offer some up for others. But, if I was correct in trusting Varric to look after a few trinkets I didn't want to lose to looters when we abandoned the estate, we can go back to Kirkwall. We can retrieve them from him, and sell them for profit to start over."
"Heirlooms, love?" Anders questioned, frowning. "The only memories you likely have of your family? I would prefer to whore myself out to the highest bidder to raise the coin."
"I certainly hope you're referring to your esoteric talents as opposed to your…other abilities," she said slyly. Her fingers traveled up to his chest and he smiled back at her. He clasped his hand over hers and pulled it to rest above his heart.
"My love," he responded sincerely, "I would rather live a desolate existence with you at my side than a thousand with all the riches in Orlais and whores in Rivain without you."
Without a word, she climbed out of her chair and on to his lap – facing him, legs slung on either side of him. Her hands found their way to his face, as his locked behind the small of her back. She leaned forward to lock her lips to his in a kiss, which he responded to eagerly. She could feel his weathered fingers on her exposed skin where her trousers pulled away from short tunic. Those hands that had killed so many yet healed just as much. He was a paradox; a healer bent on the destruction of his opposition; a womanizer who had been tamed by the love of a refugee from Lothering; an apostate who forever longed to stop running. Those hands pulled her deeper into embrace as they barely pulled apart for breath. His kisses migrated towards her cheek…her neck.
"I will always love you," he whispered into her ear, "until the day we die. And when we find each other in the beyond, I will love you for eternity."
His words melted her in his arms. She laced her fingers through his hair, finally beginning to grow long again. No longer needing to hide their identities from the templars and their Chantry enemies, the dark dye had also begun to fade. She missed running her fingers through the length of his hair, brushing through it as they lounged in bed at the estate in Kirkwall. He would tell her stories from his days in Amaranthine – stories of the Wardens and the fabled Hero of Ferelden who had vowed to rebuild the order as his Commander. Soon, she suspected his hair would return to the state in which he kept it back in the city of their exile. And the two would once again be able to lounge about; he telling stories, as she brushed through his hair. A simple freedom that so many others would take for granted. She felt him shiver slightly, and suspected he had thought about the fond memories as well. They were, after all, much happier times in their life, and they held on to those times to help them through the troubling periods.
His kisses stopped for a moment as they held each other tightly. His eyes opened to reveal the door to the room they were in had opened; a figure standing in the doorway.
"It would seem we have a guest," he said to her. She turned to look towards the door, but did not break her embrace. The figure stepped forward, into the dim light of the room. It was a young elven male; one of the first mages to travel with them from the Ostwick Circle.
"Pardon me, messeres," he said, voice wavering. "I did not mean to interrupt."
"Nonsense, dear boy," she responded, loosening her grip on Anders' hair and flipping one leg off of him to stand. "Please, come in. Have a seat."
He accepted her invitation and entered the room, sitting at one of the chairs at the table.
"Are you hungry, boy?" Anders asked. "We seem to have made a little too much dinner for ourselves."
The elf shook his head. She sat down on the chair next to Anders and looked across the table at the elf.
"What can we help you with…uh, Koehemar, was it?" she asked.
The elf's face brightened when his name was mentioned by the Champion.
"Messere Hawke, you honour me," he said, nodding at her. She and Anders exchanged a knowing glance, and allowed him to continue. "I bring word from Starkhaven. A missive was intercepted indicating Prince Vael has amassed his troops in response to the discovery of your whereabouts."
Anders looked at her, concern covering his face. "It would appear that we have overstayed our welcome here in Nevarra."
She frowned. They had only been in a small village northwest of Nevarra City for over a week, and already Sebastian's spies had been able to seek them out. As luck would have it, however, her own spies were able to counter to obtain the needed information in order to get them out before the Starkhaven army descended upon them. She thanked the Maker internally for her good fortune of keeping in touch with the Antivan assassin she had met back in her days in Kirkwall. Zevran had proven to be a more than capable ally in their struggle. She faced the elf, ready to issue instructions.
"Koehemar, inform any of the enchanters present here that we need to disperse…quickly. Any hanging about is ill-advised as it will likely end in bloodshed," she calmly explained to the elf. "I would also recommend that we do not stick together. It would be best to scatter to the winds."
The elf nodded, but lingered for a moment.
"Is there something else, my boy?" Anders asked.
"Messere Anders, I…I have traveled with you for many years. I do not wish to be forward in my request, but…" he stuttered. He looked at the two mages as they anticipated his words. Gulping, he continued. "But I would like to continue to travel with you. I have learned much from you these past years…more than I ever learned even at the Circle. I'm not sure where you're heading, but I would gladly go with you."
Anders looked at his companion and raised an eyebrow.
"You do realize this is a dangerous path you'd be choosing," he said to the elf, who nodded in response.
"And it will be a hard life," she interjected. "We do not have a lot of coin for our journey and will have to work hard to accomplish anything."
"Of course, messeres," Koehemar said excitedly. "I am more than capable of putting in a hard day's work."
"Well, we'll need more than one hard day's work," Anders joked. "But if you aren't afraid of a challenge, we'd be happy to have you along."
"Have you any companions or friends that you feel worthy of such a journey?" she questioned.
The elf's eyes widened.
"Oh, I do!" he replied. "Two very capable mages that have joined us in recent years. I would be upset to leave them behind."
"Then by all means," Anders continued, "please invite your friends to accompany us. We will discuss our plans at greater length this eve. For now, be prepared to leave by dusk."
"Thank you!" he graciously exclaimed.
The elf nodded and jumped up to run out the door of the room.
"Deliver the warning to the enchanters first!" she called after him. Her amused expression turned to worry as she looked back to Anders. "Sebastian. After all these years. I thought that we had provided him with enough incentive to back down when we marched on Starkhaven three years back."
"Bastard will never forgive you for letting me live," he replied.
She sighed. Rising to her feet, she took his hand and her lips curled up into a small smile. "But I could not have forgiven myself for doing otherwise. Come…we have much to prepare in the short hours before dusk."
Always on the run, she thought to herself. Will we ever be given respite to stay in one place ever again? She hoped the question could be answered within Ferelden's borders, and hurried off to prepare for her journey southward.