Author's Note: Damn it. How does this always happen to me? When I first got the idea for this fic, it was going to be largely humor and hurt/comfort. Then I actually started writing it, and this happened. Why do all of my stories end up either really depressing, or really funny? Maker's breath, I can't even read this without getting choked up, and I wrote the damn thing.

Gah. Anyway, this story is largely Fenris/Hawke with undertones of one-sided Anders/Hawke. Both are male/male relationships. If that's not your thing, you have been warned. Also, just so you know, Hawke is a warrior, Carver died in the beginning, and Bethany is a Grey Warden. I'm kind of ignoring Justice/Vengeance because he's an asshole, so there will be mentions of him, but you won't be seeing his thoughts. Just Anders, as this is in his point of view. Also, this takes place in early Act III.

On with the story ^_^

Humanity

"Fenris! Hey, Fenris! Guess what? I'm wounded."

"Yes, I can see that."

"I'm wounded. On the 'Wounded Coast.' Get it? Wounded. That's ironic, so it's funny."

Anders shook his head as he continued to wrap bandages around Garrett Hawke's middle, terror giving way to amused exasperation for a moment or two. His friend never failed to deliver a well-placed sarcastic remark, no matter the circumstances. Whether that was a vice or virtue, he could never quite figure out. It was charming as well as an occasional annoyance, to be sure of nothing else.

In the long run though, he supposed it didn't matter. If he didn't pull a miracle straight out of Andraste's arse, they could lose him altogether. A world without Hawke? The thought was too horrible to imagine.

Never again would Anders hear another wise-crack. Those sinful, velvet lips would never utter his name. He would never laugh. Never cry. Never smile. Oh Maker, that smile…that gorgeous, infuriating, reckless little grin. The one that made his heart beat faster. The one that helped him forget all about Justice, and the Wardens, and this damn fool revolution. Never. Never again. The Champion of Kirkwall would cease to exist.

His felt himself visibly blanch at the thought. Suddenly, he had half a mind to curl up into a ball and start sobbing like a child.

"Maker's Breath, he's out of it," he opted to say instead, dragging a hand through his hair to keep it out of his way before he set his sights on a more manageable gash. He had already done as much as he could through use of low-grade magic, but with Hawke so dangerously weak, he didn't dare risk higher level spells. This would have to suffice, and for the most part, it had on the surface. Outwardly, his flesh had mended well enough (though Anders thought it might scar). Internally was an entirely different story. His charge couldn't go two minutes now without coughing up blood, and that was worrisome. Not to mention, if he moved the wrong way, those wounds would split open again, and that was just what they needed, wasn't it?

"I am, aren't I? Ouch, ouch, this really hurts. Anders? Anders, hey, do that, uh…glowy…thing. It didn't hurt so much then. I feel like I'm dying and dying is bad. You don't want me to die, do you? Make it stop." His voice was thick with pain and nearly child-like sincerity. So much so, all three men shared a quick look of distress. Fenris muttered a few choice curses in Tevinter; anyone could tell simply from the savage look on his face that he was going mad with fear. And, yes, loath as he was to admit it, even Anders could see the love in those mysterious green eyes.

Hawke was clinging desperately to the elf's hand; he was clearly confused, words slurred and almost wholly incoherent, but he was still scared. And that, perhaps, was worse than everything else combined.

Varric's frown deepened further, which was disturbing under the circumstances. Such an expression on the normally lively dwarf's face could sober one up in an instant. "Couldn't we just knock him out or something? Poor guy."

"He might have a slight concussion. We can't take that risk," Anders murmured in an undertone. Then, in a stronger voice:

"I'm doing all I can right now, Hawke. We just need you to stay awake, okay? Keep talking. Tell me about Lothering. What was it like living there?"

His words had the effect Anders had been hoping for. Hawke's fever-bright eyes looked much more focused now, and a little less frightened too. "Oh, it was wonderful. Truly. No one had a whole lot of money, but we all knew and helped one another, so that was all right. There were no slaves like here, and many didn't even care about mages, so apostates found it easier to hide in spite of the Chantry and the Templars. Mother and Father were happy because they could be free to love each other, and we were happy too. There were rough patches, but we were happy. We had each other. That was what mattered."

"Looking back, the place was pretty poverty stricken I suppose. Travelers made up a majority of the people in the village, so sometimes it was more a ghost town than anything else, but we had plenty to occupy ourselves with as we grew. Bethany and Carver would get themselves into whole messes of trouble. I was always the one who had to go pull them out of it, too. They would get so mad at me. 'But Garrett, it was your idea!' Not that our parents had to know that, of course. I remember Beth got stuck under the bridge once. Honestly, I didn't expect her to literally jump off of it."

He paused for a moment and chuckled, flashing a tremulous grin. Anders could almost pretend all was well.

His hopes were as shaky as Garrett's smile.

"As I said, no one had money, so naturally there were also bandits, thieves and the like, along with those good people we knew. The streets were chaotic, and you could often find someone up to mischief in them. Drunkards singing songs, a few whores looking to make a copper or two; but, if you waited 'til it was dark and everyone was abed, all was quiet and still, and you could just sit forever and watch the stars. I know the perfect spot…on a hill right by the river. Sometimes I would fall asleep there and father would find me in the morning. It used to scare him a bit, my sneaking out in such a way, but after a while he'd just smile."

"It was by no means perfect, but it was perfect to me. In spite of its flaws or even because of them; couldn't really tell you which. You guys would have loved it there. No other place like it in the world, but then the darkspawn swooped in and destroyed everything. Swooping is bad, you know," Hawke declared with a watery chuckle. Then a few tears escaped from those big brown eyes, and Anders' heart shattered all the more. "I miss Lothering. I want to go home. Can't I, Anders? Can't I go home now?"

His invincible leader dissolved into broken sobs, for no matter how mixed-up he was, they both knew the home he loved so much didn't exist anymore. And as Fenris melted and pulled his head into his lap, Varric turning away, face crumpled in defeat, Anders somehow felt numb inside. He didn't even have the tears to cry anymore. All he could do was grab another poultice and set to work again, hands shaking despite himself, vision blurring as he moved (okay, so perhaps he had plenty tears more).

Hours came and went. Gradually as time moved on, Hawke began to drift in and out of consciousness, much to the mage's dismay. Anders would wait as long as he could, then he would try healing Garrett just a little bit more. Slowly; carefully. It didn't seem to do any harm if he set a pace to follow, but it was frustrating not being able to move faster.

Varric left periodically to go on patrols by himself, just to be sure there were no stragglers left behind from the battle earlier. Seemed like so long ago, the mage could hardly remember who they'd been attacked by or how he and his comrades had come to this. One moment they were just ambling along, talking. The next, bandits were on them, Hawke was down, and the world had come crashing on top of his head. It seemed impossible. Their untouchable leader, felled in an instant; taken by surprise. Anders had almost forgotten that the Champion of Kirkwall was capable of being killed. The prospect wasn't real before this. It hadn't even been a footnote on his list of possible scenarios.

For the longest time, Hawke was like a god to Anders. He was an all-mighty deity; one that his pitiful self could never hope to touch. Now, he was shaken to find that that wasn't so. This man was mortal like everyone else. Vulnerable, like everyone else. Bleed the same, die the same. Just like everyone else. And he, the abomination, had forgotten about someone else's humanity. As if he could claim to know anything about being one of them anymore. Garrett would approve of this joke. It was so ironic, it was almost funny.

Except that it wasn't funny at all.

Humanity. What was that, anyway? Everyone he came into contact with used that word to describe those who were imperfect, regardless of race. Okay, he could accept that. But if humanity was the sense of being flawed, then why were they so flawed? Why? No matter how far he came, no matter how hard he tried to understand, he always fell just short of grasping the knowledge for himself. And why not? It did make a disgusting sort of sense. How was he to understand the world if the world couldn't understand him? How was he to understand people, if he couldn't even manage to understand himself?

Before Justice, he'd thought he had it all figured out. He was Anders, damn it. No one and he meant no one, was going to tell him what he could or could not do with his life. Greagoir could take a sodding leap from the top of the tower before he would submit quietly and live in the Circle as a good little mage. The world was 'this' way and people were 'that' way, and Anders knew it all. He'd known everything.

Then he merged with Justice, and just how little he knew became clearer to him than he could possibly imagine. He still liked to pretend, of course, and in a way, he felt even more strongly now than he had while in the Circle. He still believed mages should be free. He still intended to make an example of Kirkwall in order to change things. He was still the master of his own fate, and he was still determined to do whatever he bloody well pleased with his life, Justice or no. But at the same time, there was always that secret part of him that was never there before. The part that made him lie awake night, after night, after night. The part that whispered, "What if you're wrong? What if you shouldn't do this? What if you think you understand, when in the end, you understand nothing?"

Which brought him back to his original question. If people were 'human,' and humans were flawed, then why were they flawed? If they'd all been created in the Maker's image, why weren't they like him? Why couldn't people just all be the same, joined together in eternal harmony? What purpose did being different serve? Was it all some sort of a sick joke? Watch the mortals slaughter each other, was that it?

Andraste's blood, but he was talking in circles. None of this mattered, not right now. He was not going to make this about himself; not when he had work to do. He just wanted the man he…no, he couldn't say that. It hurt more if you said it.

…oh, sod it. Anders just wanted the man he loved to be safe.

The night was long but the weather was fine, if a bit on the chilly side. Thus far, Anders had been forced to pull Hawke back to consciousness whenever the young Champion started to drift too far, using whatever means he had to; a poke here, a weak jolt of lightning there. Never enough to hurt him, of course. They just needed to keep him conscious. He felt badly for it, but the threat of permanent coma was far too real to risk. Eventually, he thought it safe enough to let his friend sleep soundly, and so he allowed him to fall into a restless slumber at long last. Even considering how tired he was, however, he would wake every hour or two, disoriented, confused, and sometimes even violent. At least until Fenris would take his hand to calm him down again.

At dawn's first light he stirred for what was perhaps the third or fourth time; though his eyes were still clouded with fatigue, he didn't seem frightened now. He didn't scream, didn't cry. Didn't bolt upright or launch into fits of panic. Instead, he snuggled deeper into Fenris' arms, the elf shifting to shield him from some of the wind as he pulled the swaddling of blankets more snugly around his shivering form.

Anders tried not to be jealous. He tried so hard.

"Sing to me, Fenris. Like you did that night at The Hanged Man," Garrett murmured, huddling closer still to the warmth Fenris' body provided. His voice was scarcely above a whisper; his tone exhausted, and thick with agony.

The elf scowled in half-hearted annoyance, a light blush visible on his cheeks even in the dim morning light. Tenderly, he brushed a strand of dark hair from his lover's face, and the way he looked at the man that lay in his arms could have melted even Meredith's heart.

"I told you never to speak of that again. We were so drunk I'm surprised either one of us remembers it at all."

"Please?"

For a moment or two, Fenris said nothing. Anders thought he might deny him again, but instead he just sighed, settled Hawke more comfortably in his lap…and left the mage promptly speechless. Maker's Breath, he was singing…and the beauty of those harmonious notes sent shivers down his spine. As far as he could tell, it was a lullaby. The language was unclear, but he thought it sounded Dalish.

The scarred Tevinter slave; this soulless, ruthless mage-killer, had the voice of an angel. And damn it anyway, Anders couldn't tell himself to hate him. The son-of-a-bitch had a good heart and he loved Garrett Hawke with every bit of it. That much was clear.

Anders wanted Hawke to be happy, as stupid and cliché' as that might sound to some. If happiness meant Fenris, then he would step back willingly. No matter how much it hurt. No matter how much he himself might suffer for seeing them together.

Vengeance balked at the thought.

Anders ignored him.

Smiling blissfully, Garrett closed his eyes. He had some trouble at first, but Fenris seemed content to continue for as long as his lover needed him to. The minutes stretched on and still he sang, without a single word of complaint or even a second's pause. Before long, the beauteous notes lulled him into a welcome state of calm; exhaustion coupled with sweet serenity sent him over the edge, and Hawke relaxed in the elf's embrace. Within seconds, the wounded warrior was fast asleep.

For a long time afterward, silence ensued. His friend was stable at long last, so Anders finally had a moment to take a breath and collect himself for the first time all night. As nice as that was, Varric hadn't returned from his latest patrol yet, so that left he and Fenris. Alone. As in, just the two of them. Together. Naturally, that was awkward at best; downright torturous at worst. They currently had a silent agreement of sorts, so they would not argue, but that didn't mean they had to pretend to like each other. What exactly were they supposed to talk about? Blood mages? It was the only subject they even remotely agreed upon.

To his surprise, Anders needn't have worried. The elf was the first to break it, if a little hesitantly.

"Thank you," he murmured. Short and simple, that was Fenris' way. Nevertheless, there was unmistakable gratitude in his tone. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and he couldn't help but think that this was already the most civil conversation they'd had with each other to date. It even bordered on…dare he say it; friendly.

"I didn't do it for you," Anders replied. Not being rude, exactly. Just truthful. Luckily, the elf seemed to understand this. He merely nodded, nonplussed.

"I know, but…still. Your skills saved him, mage. For the first time in my life, I find myself grateful for magic." He sounded so baffled when he said 'grateful for magic,' Anders almost laughed out loud. However, the moment passed, and his answer was solemn when he spoke.

"You're welcome. Just take care of him. Okay? He needs you a whole hell of a lot more than he needs me."

Fenris' voice was almost sympathetic in his reply. "Always. You need not ask me such a thing. But you're wrong. He needs you too. If he didn't, I would have killed you a long time ago." Anders saw the earnest truth in the elf's eyes, but that was just fine with him. Fenris would also have been on the top of his list of people to do away with, if not for Hawke. They both knew that. Perhaps they were more alike than Anders had realized before.

They lapsed into silence once more, but it wasn't uncomfortable this time. It was almost companionable, as hard as that was to believe. For once they understood each other quite well, and it showed in the way they acted. When Varric returned an hour later he raised an eyebrow, as if he'd expected a whole lot of carnage or at least an argument by the time he'd returned. Instead, he came back to find them getting along. Sort of.

However, he didn't have a chance to comment. He was too busy trying to explain their surprise visitor. The person who sprinted up to their campsite behind Varric was the last one Anders had expected to see, especially here. Varric hurriedly explained that he'd found her on patrol with a few other Wardens not far from there, and she'd come running instantly the moment he told her what happened.

"Garrett!" Bethany Hawke was in hysterics by the time she reached her brother's side, reaching out a tentative hand to stroke his sweaty brow. "Is he all right? He's going to be all right, isn't he? Tell me, Anders! Please, I can't lose him too. I was so harsh with him before! I have to apologize. I want to tell him I love him. He can't die now. He can't leave me alone…I can't…"

Anders crept forward and placed a hand on her shoulder, turning her to face him as he spoke in a voice he hoped was comforting. "Be calm, Bethany. He scared us to death for a while there and he isn't out of the woods yet, but he's stable. With time, I believe he'll be just fine. I have every confidence that he will recover."

By now, all of the fuss had roused Garrett from his slumber. Brown eyes drifted open, hazy and muddled with sleep. "What's it? What's going on?"

"Garrett? Garrett, it's me. It's Bethany," she crooned, her voice still hoarse from crying. Even now, tears were streaming down her cheeks, unrestrained. She'd turned back to him the moment she heard his voice, and Fenris respectfully moved to stand with Varric so she could take his place at her brother's side.

The way his face lit up when he saw her was easily one of the most beautiful things Anders had ever beheld. He would never forget the joyful tears in Hawke's eyes in that moment. He would never forget the angelic smile that spread across his face. He would never, ever, ever forget the sound of his voice as he whispered: "Beth? Does this mean you don't hate me anymore?"

Her reply was choked out between sobs as she hugged him tight, leaning over him because he still couldn't move. "No, no, brother I never hated you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

And as she crooned to him, told him she loved him, held him as he cried with her and drifted off to sleep, there wasn't a dry eye to be found around their camp fire. Anders himself was bawling like baby, and he wouldn't deny that for the entire world.

That was when it hit him. The answer to his question. Really hit him, as it never had before. People were all the same. Even the dwarf, who sniffled and hurriedly wiped his tears with his sleeve. Even the elf, who turned away and tried to hide the fact that, yes, he was crying with the rest of them. They were all the same in the fact that they were flawed; human, as it were. That was what gave a person their character. Of course…he saw it now. People weren't 'perfect' because perfect wasn't perfect. Oh, Anders doubted that made sense to anyone but himself, but it lifted a whole collection of burdens from his shoulders without a doubt.

If everyone had the same traits and personalities, what kind of world would they live in? Flaws made them whole. Defined and shaped who they were. Helped them find their calling in life; their place in the universe. Couldn't that then, be called perfection? Everything was perfect in the way Lothering was perfect to Hawke. Everything was perfect in the way the planets moved around the sun, or how the stars looked as they fell from the night sky.

Bethany turned to Anders, flashing him a smile through her tears, and as he felt his lips turn upward in answer, he could truly say he was happy to be alive. Well, then. If this was humanity, then perhaps if he was lucky, Anders just might be one of them after all.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The main purpose of this piece was to bring everyone back down to Earth with the rest of us mortals, if you will. Often they are all portrayed as these invincible, impossible warriors that no one can touch, particularly in Hawke's case. Obviously that isn't true at all, and I wanted to show that he had his vulnerable side too. However, as I went along, the story also turned into an exploration of Anders. I think I learned a lot about him as I wrote this.

Anyway, thanks so much for taking the time to read this. If you see anything that could use improvement, by all means, don't be shy. I hope you enjoyed the story, or at least come out of it feeling a bit more enlightened than before. Reviews are lovely if you have the time ^_^

As a parting gift, remember, everyone; swooping is bad ;). Now I'm off to chain Alistair to a bed and have my way with him. I mean, um…cheese? *sweatdrop* Maker be with you! *darts out*