Author's Note: This one-shot is a response to the "Happy" prompt from the old Anders thread in the Dragon Age: Origins/Awakening Bioware forums. To those faithfully following my Tabris/Loghain fanfic, do not fear. Chapter 9 just came out of beta and needs a few tweaks, but it should only be a week or so away from publishing. And I am working on the next chapter. That fic will be completed, no worries (aside from, you know, untimely death or anything... but my last physical checked out great!). But I felt moved to do this prompt and it will hopefully have quenched any desires to try and get mired down in any prolonged Anders/DA2 fanfic writing.

And since DA2 is still fresh, I will warn that spoilers are HEAVY (contrary to title name). You don't wanna be spoiled about Anders (or Hawke's life-changing events) in DA2, then you no read 'til you finished playthrough numero uno. Comprende?

Also, credit goes to SurelyForth for the "broody Fenris" bit in Act 1. Totally stole that idea nugget from her.

Act 1

"I insist!"

"No," Anders countered, "I don't want to hurt you."

"You're not going to hurt me," replied Hawke.

"This goes against all conventional wisdom and tradition."

"Seriously? That's what you're falling back on?"

"I don't think you're going to win this one, Blondie."

"Well... I... um..."

"That's what I thought," Hawke triumphantly concluded. "Besides, I'd rather do this than risk you slipping on a rock and going tumbling down the cliffside."

Anders sighed and slumped his shoulders in defeat. "Fair point."

Varric chuckled to himself. He knew from the onset of the argument that the mage - possessed or not - stood no chance against a protective Hawke. The three of them and Fenris had spent the entire day trekking across the Wounded Coast, hunting down Tal-Vashoth. The dwarf could tell the healer was completely spent by day's end. Anders had fallen to the back of their party and, once the rain had set in, Varric had watched him either fighting through the mud or slipping on the treacherous coastline. About the third time Hawke snagged the apostate's coat as he nearly tumbled down into the sea, she'd stopped everyone and insisted on carrying Anders... even if it came down to tossing his unwilling self over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Considering Hawke was a very strong and formidable warrior, more so than some men he'd known, the dwarf had no doubt she probably could.

That was where they found themselves now: several hours away from Kirkwall and waiting for Anders to swallow his male pride. Varric crossed his arms in front of his chest and watched in complete amusement, a smirk plastered on his face. Fenris stood beside him, awkwardly holding Hawke's two-handed sword. She had asked the elf politely enough that he couldn't really decline, but he looked damned uncomfortable doing it. Varric almost made a remark about him resembling a pack mule, but decided he probably shouldn't now that the former slave had two swords.

The two watched as Hawke kneeled down in front of Anders, her back facing him. The healer sighed heavily and bit his lower lip. Reluctantly, he put a foot on either side of her back and straddled her, then wrapped his arms around her neck. She grabbed his thighs and, in one quick motion, hefted him and herself up. Hawke took a moment to steady herself and make sure she had a comfortable grip on him. Then, she glanced back at Anders, whose face was beet red. He rolled his eyes at her.

"See?" she said. "I figured you wouldn't be too heavy."

"Gee, thanks."

"No, seriously, we need to put some meat on those bones! Say... Mother's cooking meatloaf tonight. You should stop by for dinner."

"I appreciate the offer, but, no, thanks."

"Come on..."

"No, really, I'm fine."

"I insist."

Anders sighed again. "I... really don't have a choice in this, do I?"

"You have the illusion of choice," quipped Hawke. "Does that count?"

Fenris glanced over at Varric and quietly remarked, "She's a rather strange one, isn't she?"

"You have no idea," the dwarf whispered back. "But I think that's part of her charm."

The rest of the walk back to town, Varric debated over whether or not he should add this turn of events to the story he was already weaving about Hawke. As tempting as it was, he ultimately decided against it, figuring the other three might have enough objections to it to warrant repercussions in some form. But that didn't make it any less of an amusing scene to watch. In front, Hawke carried Anders piggy-back. Occasionally, she would glance back over her shoulders at the healer, smiling. He'd finally gotten over his initial embarrassment and actually looked as if he were enjoying himself. Every now and then, Anders turned back and gave Fenris a smug look. The elf would smolder and curl up one side of his upper lip like a mad dog, re-adjusting Hawke's blade against his shoulder and glaring daggers at the apostate's back.

Anders chuckled, "You know, this is actually kind of fun. It's a bit like riding a dragon, I imagine."

"Really?" Hawke responded.

"Well, I'm sitting astride a creature that's both deadly and beautiful, dangerous and lovely, strong yet graceful..."

Fenris made a disgusted, wretching sound. "Spare me."

"What's the matter, Glow Boy?" Varric teased. "Jealous?"

"I think I preferred it when you called me 'elf'."

By the time they'd made it back to Darktown, Varric could have sworn Anders looked almost disappointed to be back at his clinic. Hawke gently set him down, then reminded him about dinner at her uncle's place. Fenris practically shoved her sword back into her arms and stormed back to his mansion without another word to anyone. Varric bid goodnight to the inevitable couple - he couldn't remember when both Hawke and Anders looked so damned happy - and made sure they knew they were welcome for drinks at the Hanged Man after dinner.

Act 2

"I wrote a song for you."

"Did you now?" replied Hawke, cocking her head to the side and smirking.

"Promise me you won't laugh at it?" Anders asked, looking a little embarrassed as he picked up the lute leaning against the fireplace.

Hawke chuckled, "Far be it from me! I have no musical talent whatsoever."

Anders smirked at her. "Neither do I, apparently, but I'm hard-headed and keep trying anyway."

The apostate sat down on the edge of their shared bed and started strumming. He looked rather self-conscious about it at first, but then he glanced over at Hawke once more. She sat cross-legged on the floor, watching him expectantly with a little smile on her face and a dreamy look in her eyes. As if drawing strength simply from looking at her, Anders strummed a bit more confidently and started to sing.

Hawke quickly realized he had been right - while Anders's voice was sweet enough to listen to, he wasn't exactly great at keeping pitch and the lute-playing was a rather beautiful disaster in its own right. But Hawke wouldn't have it any other way. It was enough for her to just sit there, watching her tender and devoted lover be so thoughtful as to compose a ballad for her.

She wasn't sure if she believed her mother when she'd always talked about her and Malcolm Hawke being soulmates. Leandra had talked about the spark that seemed to jump between them from the moment they first locked eyes. How everything just felt good and right as long as the other was around. How the love of the other made you feel conflicted, as if in one moment you are the strongest, most powerful person who has ever lived, capable of accomplishing anything and - in the next moment - you are the most fragile, precious object in the world, worthy of unending adoration and worship. It was that love, that trueness, Leandra once described, that made a life constantly on the run all worth it.

If such a thing as a soulmate truly existed, Hawke knew Anders was hers. Beyond the shadow of a doubt. For good or for ill. From the moment their eyes had met in his clinic, she'd been captivated by him. Hawke practically dragged him everywhere with her, to the point that he'd had to eventually tell her she was causing him to neglect his patients. Ask her if she cared! Having him by her side, watching her back and healing her the moment a bandit's blade found home, made her feel... oh, she couldn't even describe it! Like she could conquer the world as long as he was always there. No other man even existed in her eyes.

If he had lain awake at night for three years aching for her - as he had confessed once they'd finally made love for the very first time - she had spent just as many long days pining away for his affection. It was a terribly ironic thing, the way they had practically danced around their feelings for each other for so long. She half-expected Varric to tell one or the other to 'get a room already' at some point, so obvious they must have been to everyone else.

And once they finally had... oh, Maker! It was as if a hole inside her heart - one she'd never realized was even there - had been filled up. Anders completed her. And she got the feeling that she completed him as well. Prudence and taste be damned, she'd invited him to move in that very night and utterly kicked herself for honestly having not thought of it sooner. And once she'd finally had a taste of him, she couldn't get enough. Some days, she'd steal him out of his clinic right in the middle of the lunch hour. And there had been more than one occasion when Merrill asked if they were all right because they both were walking funny first thing in the morning.

Physical attraction aside, he simply had a personality that not only complemented hers, but inexorably drew her to him like a moth to an open flame. Anders was caring, kind, thoughtful, selfless, sincere... a bit mopey at times, sure, but it added to his charm. And he had a little snark and humor to him. He was a great counter-weight to her largely sarcastic, comical, and non-serious self. He was a grounding force for her at times. Likewise, whenever he sank into one of his depressed moods, she was often able to cheer him back up. In Hawke's not-so-humble opinion, they made a perfect team.

Additionally, they shared similar views. Hawke was the daughter of an apostate. Her younger sister was one, too. She'd grown up in a family constantly on the run from templars and, when no magical talents surfaced in her, she'd instead honed her skills towards the protection of apostates. So, she supposed it was only inevitable that she would fall in love with one. As Gamlen had once commented, Hawke was her mother's daughter. Thus, whenever Anders got onto a rant about freedom for mages, she was right on the same page of his manifesto with him. Honestly, she harbored a secret fantasy that, one day, she and Anders would find a way to bust Bethany out of the Gallows Circle.

That was another part of it, she supposed. Anders was the only thing Hawke had left that she could call family. Her father had died before the Blight. Her younger brother had fallen while fleeing from it. Bethany had been ripped from them as soon as she'd returned from the Deep Roads expedition. That had left her with only her mother, whom she loved dearly but did not always see eye-to-eye. Leandra had been broken after losing Bethany - especially so soon after Carver's death - and had only just started to emerge from her shell of grief when she'd been murdered. By that point, Hawke had lost everyone. And Anders had been there, loving and supporting her all the way, even letting her vent her frustrations on him without complaint. In all honesty, he was a large source of her happiness now.

Yes, that pretty much sealed the deal. Hawke would do more than be willing to tell Knight-Commander Meredith and the Grand Cleric that she loved an apostate and would stand with him. She'd do anything for Anders and cut down anyone she was forced to in order to keep him free and safe. The Qunari... a legion of templars... even an Archdemon itself. Didn't matter. They'd all fall before she would allow Anders to. As long as she drew breath, she would ensure his well-being. Always.

"I'm sorry," Anders apologized, having just wrapped up his song and shaking Hawke from her thoughts. "It was probably too heavy, what with 'You save my soul one day at a time' and all that nonsense."

Hawke smiled warmly at her apostate. "Try all you like, but you're still not too heavy for me." She winked.

Anders chuckled. "So..." he pressed, "you didn't hate it?"

"I loved it," she replied, getting up and sitting beside him on the bed.

"Now I know you're just trying to be nice."

Hawke cocked her head to the side once more. "Okay, I'll admit you could use some more practice," she said, pulling the lute from his fingers and setting it aside, "but I've just thought of something better you could be doing with your many talents."

With that, she draped her arms around Anders's neck and pulled him close for a hungry, passionate kiss. He happily obliged.

Act 3

"Hey, Hawke, come have a look at this, will you?"

Had Isabela's comment come three days prior, Anders might have been at least vaguely curious enough to turn around. He'd have still been inwardly nervous and distracted, as he had been for several weeks now, but he'd have still wondered what manner of event would warrant the swashbuckler's attention. However, it had been three days since he'd blown up the Kirkwall chantry. In light of that, Isabela's often inappropriate and incorrigible - yet amusing - observations simply held no interest for him anymore. Not even a fleeting one.

Anders sat on a crate near the railing, gazing gloomily out at the darkness of the Waking Sea, gentle waves rocking his body in rhythm with the ship. The sight had confused him at first. After Hawke had defeated Meredith and Knight-Captain Cullen had, surprisingly, allowed them to pass out of the Gallows, they'd run into a company of templars who'd not yet received word about the battle's end. The last thing Anders remembered was Justice taking control one more time, raining lightning down as Hawke rushed forward with her two-handed blade bared. Body completely used up and drained, he'd eventually fallen. The next thing he knew, he'd woken up aboard a ship.

Hawke had explained, in her unique and eccentric way, how Isabela commandeered a ship at the Gallows's docks. How they had all boarded and set out to sea, escaping Kirkwall. Varric, of course, added that Hawke had carried Anders's unconscious form with them. The dwarf appeared to always be endlessly amused by such details. But Anders couldn't complain about that - at the moment, Hawke and Varric were the only ones who'd said a word to him since the chantry. He couldn't blame them. What he'd done was polarizing. It was meant to be that way. Besides Hawke, Merrill - of all people - had been the only other companion actively wishing to spare his life. He supposed she was now avoiding him out of fear. Or perhaps she was the one he'd heard being repeatedly sick over the railing. The Dalish weren't exactly experienced sailors, after all.

What really surprised him was that they'd even come along at all. Fenris hated him, surely more now than ever. Bethany had actually enjoyed her brief stint at the Circle, according to her older sister. Aveline and Donnic had forsaken their duties. Anders figured she had probably gotten the worst of everything, considering how much she'd enjoyed being Captain of the Guard. Isabela had no interest in mages and templars, but was probably along just for the adventure. Varric had no stakes in this war either, but Anders supposed he followed because of Hawke. Actually, now that he thought about it, Hawke was most likely the main - if not only - reason the others were here. Of everyone, only Sebastian had left for good. The memory of Hawke's words to the prince as she'd defended Anders gave him goosebumps.

And then she had rounded on him. The hurt. The disappointment. The betrayal of trust. She had supported him every step of the way, had aided his cause whenever she could, even when his requests had turned suspicious. From the look in her eye, he'd known she smelled something wrong, but she pushed forward anyway. For him. And that hurt just as much as a dagger to the ribs. She was not even a mage herself, but she had believed in him and his cause almost as fully as he did. But there were things he'd had to do, places he'd had to go, that he hadn't dared drag her down with him. He'd tried so hard to distance himself from her. For her sake. For his sake. And it was utterly impossible, for she had become almost as much a part of him as Justice now. But at least the blood of the chantry wouldn't stain her hands. That would be his burden alone.

Anders had fully expected to die for that. For everything. Yet, unbelievably, not only had Hawke spared him, but she had agreed to stay by his side, come what may.

He did not deserve her or her love.

He lowered his head into his hands, elbows resting on his knees, as he bent over in agony. He had no idea where they were to go from here. He and Justice had been focused doggedly on one goal: become the catalyst for change. That thought had consumed Anders over the last three years. Now that the deed was done, Justice had gone quiet for the time being. Both of them had planned on Hawke being just. Counted on her releasing them both from their shared torment underneath the falling ashes of the chantry. There had been no plans beyond the bomb. Hawke, instead, had been merciful, selfish, and foolish. She had been free of any blame for his actions, only to turn around and determine to dirty her hands along with him.

Anders knew he wanted two things now: to earn back Hawke's trust and to fan the flames of rebellion. How he was to go about accomplishing either task was the real question. For so many years, he had been the one following Hawke. Now that the war had begun, she seemed to be looking to him for direction. It made sense, after all, as disconcerting as it was for him. He had been the one to fire the first shot, so she naturally assumed he had some sort of plan in mind. The frightening fact was that he didn't. He had no idea what to do first or where to go next. What was a martyr to do when he'd found himself still breathing?

With watery eyes, the apostate looked back out to sea and the pre-dawn sky. The railing on the side of the ship was not very high; it would be so easy to simply stand up, approach the edge, and allow himself to fall forward. The thought was tempting, but Anders pushed it out of mind. What would be the point? His death now would solve nothing. So, he simply stared ahead and hoped for an answer.

It was then that Anders suddenly felt warmth against his back. Two arms slid over his feathery shoulders and crossed in front of his neck. Then, tender lips kissed the top of his head before retreating. He sighed heavily, sitting up straight and leaning back against his lover. Hawke's hands moved up and gently caressed his cheeks, playfully scratching at his scruff before continuing upwards to run through his hair. Anders sighed again and tilted his head back. He opened his eyes and looked up at her miserably. Hawke gazed down and gave him her signature smirk.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"No," he continued, "no, I am. I've gone and dragged you into this and I don't even know what the next step is. I... didn't expect to be here right now. After that."

"Then we take small steps," she reassured. "Just keep putting one foot in front of the other until we get our bearings."

Anders closed his eyes tight, but too late to stop a few escaping tears. "I don't know if I'm strong enough for this."

"You are." Hawke gently brushed her fingers over his lips to quiet him, then cupped his face in her hands. "And whenever you don't feel strong enough to go on, that is when I'll carry you. You'll never be too heavy for me to bear."

That brought on the tears in full. Hawke kneeled down beside him. Anders turned and buried his face against her shoulder. She held him like that for a long time, occasionally rocking him back and forth. Several minutes later, she squeezed his shoulders and pushed him back again. "Come with me," she said, standing up and offering him her hand. "There's something I want you to see."

After a moment's hesitation, Anders took her hand and stood up. She led him across the ship to the opposite side and pointed at the distant horizon. He looked out across the railing and the sea, but couldn't see anything. Then, a short pause later, the sun began to majestically rise, filling the sky with hues of orange and painting the clouds pink.

Hawke turned and smiled at him. "This is only the beginning," she said, squeezing his hand.

Anders smiled for the first time in... he couldn't remember how long. He glanced over at Hawke as she inched closer, resting her head against the black feathers on his coat shoulder. In that instant, he determined that there was a third thing he wanted: to try and grasp more brief moments of happiness like this in the future.

Anyone familiar with my fanfic knows I am often inspired by music as I write. Here's what largely drove these three acts:

Act 1 - "Three Little Birds" by Bob Marley

Act 2 - "Unchained Melody" by the Righteous Brothers

Act 3 - "Dark Night of the Soul" by Loreena McKennitt