After finishing up my epilogue "Fallen", I wanted to go back and look at some of the things that led up to the plot points in that story. In particular, I wanted to explore the relationship between Hawke and Cullen and a certain secret. In my "Aenora Hawke" series, this story takes place about a year before "Always" and directly after the events of Dissent in-game. However, I would read "Always" and "Fallen" before this one, if you want to be surprised by those stories. I also intend to write this story in shorter chunks than my previous ones, so there probably be quite a few chapters. As always, I hope you enjoy it and I love reading you guys' thoughts on the story. :) Oh, and I've rated this one T, because I anticipate some "adult themes" later on. Because you can't write a Hawke-Cullen fic without tension and steaminess popping up sooner or later, can you?
How do you fight something you can't see? This was the question that Aenora Hawke sifted through her mind as she emerged from the claustrophobic gloom of Darktown and made her way back to the light and air of her Hightown manor. Dawn was starting to creep across the City of Chains, painting a pale and anemic glow over the cliffs and houses. The city could be beautiful sometimes in its own austere way, but she had too much else on her mind this morning to notice.
Last night's sortie had turned out to be more of an ordeal than she had anticipated when she had agreed to help Anders. There had always been the chance that they would encounter trouble…and, really, was there ever not trouble where her friends were concerned? She had not expected to encounter the man himself, though, caught in the very act they were there to investigate. It wasn't remorse that gnawed at her now, however. Alrik was as much a monster as any darkspawn she had fought. More so, even, because he had a choice and a will, because he had used his sacred vows to mask his warped and sadistic urges. It sickened and enraged her, and she was not sorry to have dealt him the fatal blow. It was the collateral damage that hammered at her heart now.
How do you fight something you can't see? It had been years by now that she had known Anders. She had had her doubts at first, after the first uncontrolled upsurge of Justice during that ill-fated rescue attempt at the Chantry, but there had been no second event and he had become a useful ally, as well as a friend. And more than a friend now, she admitted painfully to herself as she turned onto her road. The first time, she could understand. There were limits to what any man could bear, and the target of Justice's ire had been appropriate, considering the circumstances. But last night…last night changed everything.
She unlocked her front door and stepped into the cool foyer. Bodahn would only just be stirring now, and she was glad of that. She was not in the mood for cheerful greetings this morning. Quickly scribbling a note for the steward that she was not to be disturbed until noon at the earliest, she hauled herself up the stairs and started to shuck off her plate armor and mail. It was in desperate need of cleaning, still splattered with the gore of battle, but it could wait. The questions that roiled through her mind, however, would not wait.
What on Thedas was she going to do about Anders? She did not have the wisdom or education to understand the particulars of what was happening between him and Justice, perhaps no one did, but it was clearly getting worse. To strike out at an innocent…that was not the Anders she thought she knew, nor was it in keeping with what she would have expected of a spirit of justice. Anders had mentioned that the merging had changed both of them, but she had not understood what he meant at the time. This was far more disturbing than anything she had previously imagined.
If he had not come back to himself in time, if he had actually made a move to harm the girl, she would have killed him. As much as the thought hurt her, a sword of pain through her own chest, she would have done it without hesitating. Afterwards, as she made her way back to the clinic to find him, she had grimly prepared herself to carry out the task anyway if it turned out the break had been permanent. But the horror and revulsion in his eyes and his voice were enough to stay her hand, for the moment. It did not remove the danger, though.
Why do I always get involved with troubled men?, she thought, wearily. Stripped of her clothes and with the worst of the grime washed from her skin, she stretched out on the bed. Clearly she had not learned her lesson the first time. But the wounds from that particular mistake had not yet scarred over enough to bear the weight of her heavy thoughts, so she turned them back to Anders. How do you fight something you can't see?
Justice was the problem, or rather the problem was the twisted melding of Justice and Anders that Anders sometimes called Vengeance, but they were inseparable. In order to act on one, she would have to act on the other. It was an impossible situation, and one that she was not in the least prepared to deal with. This had been her father's and Bethany's realm. Her realm was one where you could face your enemies eye to eye and sword to sword.
I don't want to be his executioner, she thought, cold dread clenching sickeningly in her throat. Nor could she turn him over to the templars. That would be a death sentence as surely as if she had plunged the sword into him herself, and she knew she could not live with that betrayal on her conscience. Bad enough, at this stage of things, to imagine him dead at all, the yawning hole that would be left in her heart once more after she had begun to make a place for him there. She had never so much as kissed him, but there was no denying that he lived there, in her heart, all the same, despite his protests. I've already been hurt, she thought, wryly, at least let me have the benefit of it. Whatever was to come of that, she could not just stand by and wait for the inevitable disaster to strike either, though. This was too large a problem for her alone. She needed help, guidance, but who would even understand what she was facing? Merrill? She might understand the problem, but the elf girl's apparently tenuous grasp of proportion and danger had always made Nora nervous where magic was concerned.
A preposterous idea struck her, then, and she tried to pushed it away. No, not him. And yet…and yet if anyone would know what to do to disarm an abomination, it would be Cullen. He was a templar, after all, that was part of what they were for. The idea had caught fire in her mind and burned unquenchably, consuming her thoughts. If she were to carry out this fool plan, she would have to lie about the exact circumstances of her troubles or the wary sufferance of Anders' freedom Cullen had maintained out of friendship to her and respect for the Grey Warden title would evaporate instantly. But he would help her, if he could, if she was careful not to step across the rigid lines of his vows. Even discounting the debt of honor owed for her occasional assistance with the Order's work, he was her friend, a good one, and there were few people in Kirkwall she would trust with a secret more. She disliked the necessary deception, but she would rather atone for that than for Anders' death and whoever he might take with him.
Wincing from the needle-pricks of bruises and sore muscles, she rolled over and slipped under the coverlet. The heavy drapes would keep the light and sounds of the world outside at bay for a little while. Then, after she had had a few hours of sleep, a bath, and a hot meal, she would pay an exploratory visit to the Knight-Captain and decide what was to be done.