Denial.
"No, she's fine," Anders said to himself. He continued fighting, fighting as hard as he could with as much power as he could muster. When he had a window of time, he threw some healing magic her way, just in case.
Anger.
"Dammit!" Fenris yelled, swiftly swinging his greatsword and decapitating two bandits. He had seen her fall, lifeless. He went after the mage. The fucking mage hit her with a spell. That's when she went down. It was no longer just because he was a mage. It became much, much more personal than that.
Barganing.
"Come on, Hawke!" Varric laughed, shooting an exploding arrow to the bandit archers, "Once we get out of here, I'll buy us drinks. We'll laugh about this!"
Depression.
"No!" Merrill screamed, shielding the body. She didn't want it to get hurt...that was her best friend. Gone. I could have shielded her before...
Acceptance.
The bandits were dead. Hawke was dead.
They let Carver carry her body. It seemed fitting. He cried. They buried her. It was over.
Anders went back to his clinic, unable to go to the estate.
Fenris went to his mansion, drinking.
Merrill busied herself with work. She didn't want to think about it.
Varric walked to the viscount's keep, going to the guard captain's quarters to tell Aveline. He would make Hawke the hero one last time.
It was over.
The bandits were dead.
Hawke was dead.
It was over.