That which cannot be forsworn

Obviously, I do not own anything related to Dragon Age.

This is my first Dragon Age-fic. Please review and let me know what you think.

SPOILER WARNING: This story contains spoilers for Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Awakenings, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age II: Legacy and Dragon Age II: Mark of the Assassin, as well as the two novels The Stolen Throne and The Calling. Just so you know.

Chapter One

HAWKE

It was winter in Ferelden.

The air was cold and damp and smelled of snow, the ground was frozen solid. Every tree and bush was bare and brown, the dead leaves a thick, rustling blanket on the earth. Grey clouds hung low in the sky, like an oppressive mass of steel and granite. The stretch of rocky beach was deserted, not a human dwelling in sight, and all was still but for their footsteps and the unceasing lapping of the waves against the shore.

In the distance, the merchant ship was shrinking further away as the winds bore her back out towards open waters, her crew undoubtedly glad to be rid of their passengers. The ship was a heavy, cumbersome vessel and the voyage from Kirkwall had been painfully slow, despite the favourable winds on the Waking Sea. It had taken some careful persuasion and more than half of Hawke's coin purse to convince the captain to make a detour and set them ashore in Ferelden between Highever and Amaranthine before continuing on to Ostwick.

As they trudged up the slope and towards the narrow footpath, the cold air reached for every inch of exposed skin with eager clammy fingers.

Hawke hoisted his and Bethany's meagre pack higher on his back and kept walking, once more the undisputed leader of the little group. A hundred times and more they had walked like this, chasing down bandits on the Wounded Coast, tracking slavers through subterranean tunnels or hunting conspirators on the night-time streets of Kirkwall. Never before, though, had the silence between them felt this uncomfortable. He felt Bethany's glares like daggers, burying themselves further between his shoulder blades with each step, and the weight of Anders' misery hung around his neck like a millstone, weighing him down.

The road curved further inland, leading them away from the shore and past an expanse of empty fields, dotted here and there with clumps of trees. Once, they saw smoke coming from beyond a hill, but Hawke led them away from it and the other two followed in unspoken agreement. He was not ready yet to be among people and start pretending that everything was alright, that he and his companions were not from Kirkwall, no sir, and there was not enough blood and death in their past to drown a nation...

His thoughts kept coming back to that fateful moment in Kirkwall, when Anders' staff had struck the ground, once, twice... then the explosion, the screams everywhere and Sebastian's anguished outcry. He still could not wrap his head around it, after seven days in the damp, smelly hold of the merchant ship, seven days in which thinking had been his sole occupation, what with both his companions keeping a wall of icy silence around themselves. Of all the dangerous, reckless things Anders had ever done in the name of mage freedom and rebellion, nothing had ever made so little sense to Hawke. Nothing had ever seemed to much like the work of a madman.

The stopped shortly before night fell, settling down in the crumbling ruin of a small watchtower. The moss-covered walls and mouldy remnants of the rafters would provide at least some form of protection from the elements, even though they were lacking a proper roof.

Bethany took it upon herself to get a small fire going and Anders dug food and blankets out their packs. Strips of dried meat, some bread and a little cheese did not provide for much of a meal, but it was enough to clam rumbling stomachs.

Right after finishing her food, Bethany dragged her bedroll as far away from them as possible, wrapped herself in her blanket and settled down to sleep. She had yet to say more than three consecutive words to either of them since leaving Kirkwall... although leaving was probably the wrong word. Hawke had shared his plan with Varric only, realizing that time was of the essence. Knight-Captain Cullen had pulled his men back, allowing them to leave the Gallows courtyard, but for how long?

Varric had not liked the plan, it had been plain as day.

Hawke, you just want to run, blindly? Lets stick together, at least for now...

We can't, Varric. Half of bloody Kirkwall is out for our blood already, and the rest will be, once they realise who it is they have to blame.

That's Blondie, Hawke. Not you.

Can't have one without the other, Varric. I knew what I was getting into with him.

Had he really? He had dragged Bethany along, too selfish to let her go with Aveline and Donnic, too worried to leave her with Merrill and Varric. He had ignored her yells of protest, had ignored it when she'd spat the words "murderer" and "abomination" at Anders. He had ignored how his lover had flinched every time, as if those accusations were barbs piercing his skin. Did that mean that he agreed with her? No, he decided. Anders had once told him that he'd drown Kirkwall in blood to keep him safe, and he knew that he'd have done much worse to protect Anders, would have done so, even if Anders had blown up the entire city. Still...

Hawke settled down in front of the fire, long legs folded beneath him and his daggers by his side, within easy reach.

Guarding the camp... yeah, right. After staring into the fire like that for longer than a minute, he knew he'd be all but blind if something were to come at them out of the dark. Oh well.

His thoughts trailed back to Kirkwall once more. Hopefully, Bodhan, Sandal and Orana had come through the turmoil unharmed. Had Darry stayed with Aveline, as he'd been ordered to, or would the loyal mabari be sniffing around among the debris in Kirkwall even now, looking for his master? The thought was a painful one and Hawke felt his insides clench. He had left so much behind... countless memories that were simply irreplaceable.

After a short while, he felt Anders settle down next to him, but did not look up. The fire crackled merrily, and the warmth slowly seeped into his skin, dispelling some of the tension in his muscles.

"Why Ferelden?"

Anders' quiet question jolted him out of the almost-reverie.

"It's not exactly a small country," he replied without turning around, "besides, we are Fereldans. It should be easier to blend in here than, say, Antiva."

"Hm."

Silence fell once more, draping itself over the campsite like a wet blanket, heavy and suffocating. Hawke felt Anders' presence beside him like and open flame and his hands clenched into fists with the effort it took not to acknowledge him.

"Are you ever going to look at me?"

No! he wanted to shout. No, I won't look at you, because one look into those eyes of yours is all it will take, one look a those lips that I've kissed countless times, and I'll forgive you! Maker's breath, your voice is almost enough!

"Haven't decided," was what he did say. The silence was fraught with all those words he'd left unsaid. "Fereldans aren't all that happy with Marchers, either, what with how they treated refugees. We can lay low here for a bit and then figure out how to... go on."

He felt the mage shift a little closer. The familiar scent of soap, candle smoke and elfroot crept over him, reaching for him with soft promises of past pleasure.

Anders' voice was nothing but a low, husky murmur. "You don't want to leave again, do you? You came back here because Ferelden is your home."

The tension coiled and snapped in Hawke's stomach and he knew that he was about to scream. Everything he'd kept bottled up inside since Kirkwall was about to come to the surface with that one mention of "home"... He didn't want to wake Bethany, but the effort of keeping his mouth shut was making his jaw hurt, so he rose to his feet in one graceful movement, grabbing the unsuspecting mage's arm and dragging him along, out of the ruin and out of immediate earshot of his sleeping sister. Anders stumbled along behind him, almost falling flat on his face twice, with only Hawke's vice-lice grip on his arm holding him upright.

The cold wind assaulted them mercilessly, away from both fire and shelter, and Anders wrapped his arms around himself as soon as Hawke let go of him. His eyes were full of questions, mixed with a good deal of anxiety and trepidation. Fear was an understandable reaction. Hawke imagined he looked livid, his fists clenching and unclenching, lips pressed into one thin line.

"You lied to me, Anders," he finally ground out, deep voice shaking with any number of suppressed emotions. "You took advantage of the fact that I'd do anything for you and made me an accessory to murder." He was marching up and down as he spoke. His breath hung in the air in milky white plumes, but he did not even feel the cold just then. "You told me you could free yourself from Justice and instead..."

He faltered, finally, coming to a standstill before the mage. His shoulders slumped, his expression helpless for once, and he stared at him.

"If you really loved me, Anders, then... how could you? How could what we had be just another means to an end?"

Anders was staring at the ground, barely visible in the almost complete darkness. He was the very picture of misery, his bony frame almost disappearing in the overly large coat they had purchased from the merchant, blond hair hanging around his face unkempt in snarls and tangles.

"It wasn't," he whispered. "Not in the way you think. I'd... like to say it wasn't me that did this, but that would be both too simple and untrue. I never wanted to hurt you, but... he won't let me give it up. Not when there is something to be done, something to be tried in order to make a difference. Some duties, some burdens... you can't just shuck them off. There are some things you can't go back on." He looked up then, amber eyes full of pain and self-loathing. "But you and me... that was truer than anything in my life. I swear it. You should have killed me, love. Spared yourself... this."

Hawke grabbed his shoulders, fingers digging through the woollen coat.

"I once swore I wouldn't lose you, to the Templars or Justice, and Maker's breath, I won't lose you now, after everything!"

"Ilan..."

"No! You think Ferelden is my home, well, it's not! It's not Kirkwall, it's not even Bethany... it's you, Anders. You're the one thing I just... cannot lose!"

It was true, he realised. He was still mad, furious, about what Anders had done, but being without him was just not an option. He might as well cut off his own head. His grip softened a little and he continued in a more gentle tone, "I love you, you sod."

He couldn't say who made the first move, but suddenly, Anders was in his arms, their lips meeting in a hungry kiss. It was the first time they had shared more than a cursory touch in a week, and the familiar ache of arousal flared up between them. Anders' hands laced through Hawke's hair, fisting in the glossy black curls, and Hawke breathed him in, revelling in the feeling of once again just being close to him in more than just proximity. Their bodies were pressed together, the heat between them dispelling the coldness of the night. Finally they pulled apart to breathe, and Hawke dipped his head to nip at Anders' neck instead, tongue darting out to that one spot beneath his ear that always had the mage's breath catch in his chest...

Not today, apparently, for Anders put his hands on Hawke's shoulders and pushed him resolutely away. An annoyed frown creased the rogues forehead.

"What now?" he started to complain, when slender fingers on his lips silenced him along with the expression of sudden apprehension on Anders' face. He was scanning the darkness around them intently, worry clouding his amber eyes.

Hawke pulled the hand from his mouth. "What is it, Anders?" he asked, in a quite different sort of voice. Whatever it was, it was serious.

"Something's close, Ilan... Something tainted."

"You mean...?"

"Darkspawn."

And there it is... the first chapter. Chapter lengths may vary, content quality will improve... I hope. ;) Please be so kind as to leave a review. Thank you for reading.