Hawke woke to the sound of someone tapping on the bedroom window.
It was a light sound, one that would normally have been barely audible to the human ear, but Hawke was a light sleeper, and as such it took very little to wake her. Since the birth of her children, she had developed a seemingly superhuman hearing ability, as she needed to be on the alert at the slightest sign that something might be amiss with either of her little ones. The tapping at the window continued as she quietly coaxed herself up out of bed, padding across the chilly wooden floor of the shared bedroom, careful not to wake her sleeping husband. The previous night had been a long one for both of them, using a combination of magic and practical means to seal up every cack and crevice in the makeshift little house's foundation where the cold night wind might seep through. Easing open the window as quietly as she could manage, Hawke took a surprised step back as a large, black crow came flapping through, letting out a loud, unceremonious caw before coming to land heavily in the middle of their bed.
"Wretched bird," Hawke sighed, moving over to the bed and sitting down beside the crow, which was now preening its rumpled black feathers self-satisfactorily. It was a fat old crow, dishevelled, but with the confidence of a much younger and sleeker crow than itself. Picking up the bird, Hawke moved it into her lap, ignoring its caws of protest as she detached the rolled-up letter tied neatly to its leg, before letting it go to wander back across the bed again. Ever since their flight from Kirkwall following Anders' destruction of the Chantry tower and Hawke's terrifying faceoff against the maddened Knight Commander Meredith, the couple had been very careful to keep as few people as possible in the know of their current whereabouts. At the moment, the only ones who knew how to get in contact with them were Bodan and Sandal, who had stayed behind in Kirkwall to tend to the family estate. That meant that this note had to be from them, and was likely something urgent, as Bodan was nothing but careful when it came to sending correspondence to Hawke and Anders.
Despite his amicable nature, Bodan was a shrewd man, and he knew only too well the direness of the consequences should any of their correspondence be intercepted and the couple's hideaway exposed.
As Hawke unrolled the letter, reading its contents, the crow waddled over to where Anders slept, hopping up onto his arm and peering down curiously into his face. Anders moaned, sleepily brushing the unexpected weight off his arm, causing the crow to jump back with a surprised caw of protest. It cocked its head, affronted, before jumping back up onto his arm again, but this time, rather than just observing, it bent down, taking hold of a lock of his hair in its beak and giving a sharp tug. "Stop that," he murmured, brushing the crow away again, but this time, the crow reacted quickly, giving the hand reaching up to push it off a sharp peck, causing Anders to sit straight up in bed, startled and clutching his hand. When he saw what had so rudely woken him from his sleep, he gave a frustrated grumble, picking up the pillow his head had been resting on and tossing it at the bird, who cawed loudly in protest, flapping its ragged wings as it moved backwards on the bed out of the line of fire.
"Blasted bird," he swore, bringing his hand up to his mouth to suck on the sore spot irritatedly. Then, turning his attention towards Hawke, he craned his neck, trying to get a better look at what she was staring at so intently. "What's that?" he asked, interested. "Another report on your uncle? How is Gamlen faring these days?"
"Fine… I think," Hawke returned, distracted. "I'm not sure. I haven't… heard about him in a while…"
Sensing something wrong, Anders pulled himself across the bed, coming to sit on the edge of the mattress beside his wife as she stared down at the slip of parchment between her hands. "Let me see that," he offered, prying the message out of her numb fingers. Conjuring a small, soft orb of magelight, he held it up to the message, squinting down at the parchment, barely able to decipher the words in the dim light of the rising dawn. The writing on the note was messy and cramped, but he still managed to make out the gist of it: 'Thedas in trouble. Hawke needed immediately. Will give more details on arrival.' The message was short but concise, and it left a sick, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as Anders extinguished the magelight, looking up at Hawke again as she took the small letter back from his hands, staring down at the message forlornly. He had never seen her look this way before, almost as if every light in her eyes had gone out. She stared down disbelievingly at the letter between her fingers, running the pads of her thumbs distractedly over the parchment, as if expecting it to disappear at any moment and for all of this to simply have been a bad dream.
"What will you do?" Anders asked her, quietly.
Hawke hesitated, uncertain, staring silently down at the damning note in her hands. Then, taking a deep, steadying breath, she shrugged. "Head to where I'm needed, I suppose," she answered, fairly. "I'm not sure what else I can do. It's not like I can just say no."
"Why not?" Anders argued, evenly. "You don't owe them anything, Hawke. You never have. If you say no, if you don't go back… what will they do? What can they do? Banish us again?"
"Kill us," Hawke suggested, her voice eerily deadpan, her eyes never leaving the parchment. "Harm our children. Harm our families."
"Your family," Anders corrected. "I haven't any family left but you."
"Now is not the time to argue semantics, Anders," Hawke told him, turning to look at him, frustrated. Though she had grown used to his quirks, her husband could still get to be infuriatingly self-righteous from time to time. Letting out another tired, put-upon sigh, she turned her attention back to the note in her hands, frowning down at the chickenscratch handwriting before folding the message in half and setting it aside on the nightstand, not wanting to look at it any longer. "The children are going to be up soon," she said, pushing herself up from the bed to start towards the door of the bedroom. "I need to start getting breakfast ready. You know how grouchy Madeline gets if she doesn't get fed first thing when she wakes up."
"I can't really say that I blame her," Anders answered, honestly, trying to hold back a broad, puckish smirk at the sentiment. "If I got to put my mouth on your breasts every morning I'd be pretty excited about it, too."
At this, Hawke stopped short, turning to look at him again, her eyes wide, one hand pressed up against the door, as if in an attempt to shield their children's innocent ears. "You… are terrible," she told him, giving a soft, disbelieving laugh at his boldness. Then, moving away from the door again, she crawled back up into the bed, slowly, seductively, before moving over to where he sat and pushing him back into the pillows again, much to his delight. "The children can wait just a little bit longer," she told him, smiling as she unfastened the first few buttons of her top, letting it slide down her shoulders to expose her bare chest, perky in the chill forest air wafting in from the still-open bedroom window.
"I knew there was a reason I fell in love with you," Anders told her, unable to keep a satisfied grin from his face. As he leaned in, pressing his lips to the pale line of her neck, beginning to kiss his way down to her bare breasts, the moment was suddenly interrupted by the sound of a loud, raucous caw, causing them both to look up at the noise, startled. The raggedy crow sat on the edge of the bed, staring at them intently, creeping in towards them until it stood too close for comfort, watching them with beady, interested eyes. Hawke quickly covered up as Anders reached forward, grabbing hold of the bird, causing it to give a loud caw of protest. Then, getting up angrily from the bed, he crossed to the bedroom window, depositing the bird unceremoniously outside and shutting the window before the bird could even regain its equilibrium to begin flying again. Satisfied with a job well done, Anders turned back towards his wife, who still sat awkwardly at the edge of the bed, holding her shirt together.
"Shall we continue?" he asked, hopefully, moving forward towards the bed again.
Hawke hesitated, making a face, before finally shaking her head and beginning to button up her shirt again. "I should really go look after the children," she said. "Alastair will be wondering where his breakfast is, and I shouldn't make Madeline wait any longer, either." Running a hand back through her short hair in an effort to tame it, she stood up from the bed again, making her way back towards the door of the bedroom and opening it, before pausing to look back towards him again over her shoulder. "Maybe we can do this some other time," she suggested, helpfully.
"What other time?" Anders asked, disappointed, but his only answer was the sound of the door closing behind her as she left to make breakfast. Letting out a heavy, frustrated sigh, he turned, glaring over towards the bedroom window again. "Bloody bird," he muttered, before getting out of bed as well and following Hawke out the door and into the house beyond.
"Eggs again?"
Alastair frowned, dropping himself down at the cobbled wooden table and staring down forlornly at the food on his plate. Beneath their feet, the family chicken clucked contentedly, bobbing its head as it wandered around, searching for any bugs that might have crawled in through the holes in the house's foundation while looking for shelter from the cold Arlathan Forest outside. Anders sat down beside his son, watching as Hawke set the last of the plates down on the table in front of them before joining them at the table, herself. She set Madeline cheerfully down in her lap, causing the little girl to clap her hands gleefully before letting out a squeal of approval at the breakfast laid out before her. "Eggs," Madeline announced, reaching out to grab hers off her plate, only to be stopped by Hawke gently taking hold of her hand and unclenching it, causing the eggs to drop back into place. Taking up a small mouthful on the edge of her flat, spoon-like wooden implement, Hawke guided the morsel over to Madeline's mouth, holding a hand securely under her chin in case she spilled any, and let her eagerly take the bite, humming happily as she chewed contentedly on the finely-scrambled eggs.
Anders smiled at the heart-warming sight, unable to help himself, before taking up his own utensil and starting in on his breakfast as well. Only Alastair did not seem interested in eating, instead staring despondently down at the plate of eggs in front of him as if it had done him some grievous wrong. "Madeline likes eggs," Anders informed him, speaking around a bite of his own.
At this observation, Alastair made a face, grudgingly spearing the eggs in his plate with his makeshift wooden fork. "Madeline like everything," he countered, dragging the eggs morosely around his plate, actively avoiding eating them. "She's too dumb to know the difference."
"Alastair," Anders scolded, frowning as he leaned his elbows on the table, looking over towards his eldest child. "That's not very nice of you to say at all. Apologize to your sister."
"Sorry, Madeline," Alastair mumbled, keeping his eyes down as he spoke, too humiliated at having been scolded to make eye contact. Madeline giggled in return, showing off her tiny, sparse teeth as she reached forward, grabbing a handful of eggs from her plate, and stuffed them into her mouth, chewing noisily as half the eggs tumbled down her chin and into her lap. Hawke instantly reached forward, retrieving the messy morsels and returning them to the little girl's plate, where she simply reached forward, grabbing them again and stuffing them back into her mouth, only to have more fall into her lap and onto the floor.
"She eats like you do, Anders," Hawke observed, wryly, causing Anders to look up, choking on his eggs in surprise.
"I don't—" he started to argue, but was cut off by a large chunk of scrambled eggs falling off his fork and into his lap, effectively silencing him. Hawke covered her mouth with her free hand, letting out an unladylike snort of laughter as Anders blushed bright, hot pink, picking up the bite of eggs from his lap and returning it dutifully to his mouth. "She's a little like me," he admitted, sheepishly.
"Like father, like daughter," Hawke agreed, before bringing another spoonful of eggs to Madeline's mouth and watching her chew and swallow.
Having finished their breakfast, it was time to begin research on where would be the safest place for Anders to take the children while Hawke was fighting on the forefront. Alastair had been given a handful of chores to do to keep him from asking questions, while Madeline, still hungry after only a few successful bites of scrambled eggs, rested contentedly in a sling across her mother's chest, drinking her morning milk. One of Hawke's hands held her eighteen-month-old's head in place, allowing her to suckle, while the other traced thoughtfully over the lines of rivers and roads that wound across the faded map of Thedas they had spread out over the kitchen table. They had researched long through the morning and on into the afternoon, poring over maps by the dim, misty light filtering in through the front-room windows, talking every so often in hushed voices, not wanting to wake their sleeping infant. The intensive conversation was broken only by the occasional platitude, fleeting whispers of affection, a gentle kiss on Anders' stubbled cheek, before they inevitably returned to their integral planning, neither wanting to come to a conclusion, but both also knowing it was inescapable.
It was only after a long, sombre discussion, with every potential hideout on the map marked by eating utensils taken away one by one as they were eliminated by logic, that they finally decided on the Frostback Mountains as a suitable place for the family to hide out until the worst of the conflict blew over. Both Anders and Hawke had heard tell that Gherlen's Pass was said to be safe for travel year-round, making the journey into the mountains at least feasible, while the hardy Avvar people who lived up in the mountains were said to have built holdings out of stone so well fortified that outsiders hardly ever even bothered trying to seek conflicts with them. Further logic dictated that the mountain's many treacherous mountain passes would keep them safe from the Darkspawn until Hawke could return and find them to take them home again, and if Anders' old friend Oghren's name still carried any weight in the dwarven city of Orzammar, it meant they had the possibility of getting supplies and other necessities for the time they would spend in hiding.
With their course of action decided, Hawke had retired Madeline to her crib, careful not to wake the infant as she moved her from her sling, before the couple had quietly returned to the bedroom to allow Hawke to change into her long-retired armour and finish packing her knapsack for the journey ahead. The chest where her armour was being kept creaked with disuse, and Hawke waved a hand in front of her face to dispel the thin cloud of dust that had wafted upwards at its opening. Dragging her lightweight armour out of the trunk, she laid it out tenderly on the bed, staring over it with a look of almost detached nostalgia. Coming up behind her, Anders rested his thin, calloused hands on her shoulders, taking in a long, deep breath as he stared down at the familiar leather armour as well.
"I remember the first time I saw you," he told her, speaking in a low, intimate voice in her ear. "I wanted you so badly, then and there. But you were interested in someone else, do you remember?"
"Isabela," Hawke returned, her voice distant. "I was with Isabela when I met you."
"Right, Isabela," Anders agreed, moving his hand to press a gentle kiss against the curve of her shoulder. "Isabela the pirate queen. I didn't think I stood a chance against that. And realistically… I shouldn't have." He laid another kiss on her shoulder, this time inching ever so slightly closer to her neck. "Whatever made you want to be with a man like me when you had a woman like her?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper in her ear.
"To be fair, it wasn't my first choice," Hawke informed him, a wry, puckish smile beginning to creep across her face as she spoke. "I only really went with you because Sebastian Vael wouldn't have sex with me."
"You're such a liar," Anders chuckled, the sound a low, carnal purr in his throat. "You love what I can do." Sliding his hands down her shoulders, he pressed a soft kiss to the base of her neck, his gentle lips trailing their way up its length before moving around to her ear, kissing all the way up and around the edge. Guiding one hand around her slender waist, he slid the other one down into the front of her trousers, his slim, agile fingers quickly finding their way down past the lining of her underwear. Hawke sucked in a short, quiet breath, trying her hardest to stay discreet so as not to disturb the children, before sliding an arm back around his neck, letting him continue for a moment, before turning around to face him, allowing him to guide her down onto the bed. Once she was lying down, he let his hand slide the rest of the way forward, until she could feel his middle and ring fingers pressing in on her, slowly, before finally slipping inside her up to the second joint.
Hawke bit her lip, stifling a quiet whimper of surprised pleasure as a shock ran up the length of her spine. Anders worked slowly, pushing in in rhythmic intervals as he kissed his way up her neck, lingering eagerly at her jawline, then the spot behind her ear. Hawke pulled his face in to hers, needing him, kissing him hungrily as he began to push deeper, now to the knuckles, causing her to give a soft, high-pitched cry of ecstasy. Her teeth dragged across his bottom lip, tugging back gently as he tried to pull away from the kiss, coaxing him in for another. Retrieving his hand at last, Anders turned his attention instead towards the fastening of Hawke's pants, starting to untie the cord holding the waistline in place. Once it was sufficiently loosened, he eagerly pried it apart, taking special care not to pop the delicate seams as he dragged her pants and underwear down to her knees.
He started with kisses, but quickly changed tactic, gaining enthusiasm as he began first to run his tongue up the length of the split, and then to suck. Hawke let out a moan, reaching down a hand to run her fingers fervently through his straw-red hair, her other hand clenching into a fist around the freshly-made bedcovers as she felt a shudder of pleasure vibrate down her thighs. Letting out another stifled cry, she moved her hand to his, entwining her fingers with his as he continued to work between her legs, feeling the cool, reassuring weight of his wedding ring against the skin of her fingers. With one last, finishing, tantalizing play of his tongue, he moved up over her again, wiping his wet, pink lips with the back of his hand as he leaned down to kiss her neck, before finding himself pulled back to her lips again.
Her fingers gripped hungrily at the hair at the back of his neck as she kissed him, deeply, before finally pulling away from his lips, out of breath. "Miss me already?" she whispered, pressing her forehead to his, their noses touching as she gave a soft, adoring chuckle, her eyes quickly becoming lost in his.
"More than you know," he answered, before moving in to give her another long, needing kiss.
She returned the kiss, allowing it to go on for as long as it could, before finally pulling his face away again, staring into his eyes, solemnly. "I have to go," she told him, her voice suddenly more solemn than before. The smile had faded from her face now, replaced with a weariness, a sadness he was unused to seeing there. He knew why she looked that way, but it did not make it any less painful to see her so unhappy.
"I know," he said, nodding understandingly. He paused, staring into her eyes, before finally letting out a soft, low sigh. "I don't want you to," he told her, quietly.
"I know," she told him, lifting a hand to run it gently along the line of his stubble-ridden face. Just then, the soft sound of Madeline babbling wafted in past the closed door of the bedroom, causing them both to look up again, pulled out of the moment. It had been so easy to forget about everything else but each other, about all their responsibilities, but they quickly found themselves drawn back into reality as Anders moved aside, allowing Hawke to sit up, pulling her trousers back up to her waist and securing them in place again. "Help me get this on," she told him, indicating towards the leather armour still sitting on the bed. He was quick to comply, getting up and moving around to where the armour sat, picking up the first piece and helping her slip it on over her head before securing it snugly into place around her back. The breastpiece fit more tightly than before, and Hawke gave a noise of protest as it jerked against her tender breasts, but gave no other indication of discomfort, not wanting to upset her husband any more than necessary.
"Be sure to bring the chicken with you," she reminded him as he slipped one armguard onto her forearm, lacing it securely, before pulling on the other armguard and lacing it tightly in place as well. "She'll provide you with eggs, and, if all else fails, meat, though I'd prefer for that not to be the case, if at all possible. As little as he'd admit it, I think Alastair has grown quite fond of that chicken."
"I don't doubt that's true," Anders agreed, half-jokingly, pulling a stiff leather calf-guard up her leg and lacing it firmly into place. "It's the only one of us around here he isn't rude to on a regular basis."
"He's six," Hawke reminded him, giving a soft, patient laugh. "And besides, I seem to remember someone else who could be quite abrasive when he didn't get his way."
"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about," Anders told her, lacing the second calf-guard into place with a soft grunt of effort.
"Is that Andraste's face you've got shoved between your legs, there?" Hawke mimicked, her impression of her husband sorely lacking but still oddly recognizable. "How can you support the plight of slaves but disavow the plight of oppressed mages, you hypocritical heathen? Did your dead husband enjoy playing dirty games in the bedro—"
"Stop, please, you've made your point," Anders laughed, embarrassedly, standing up to press his lips to hers and silence her playful tirade. "Your husband is a world class bastard. Have you any other astute observations to make while we're on the subject of kicking the mage while he's down?"
"Who, me?" Hawke asked, pressing a cheeky hand to her chest, acting surprised. "Never. And besides, who am I to complain?" Framing his face with her hands, she brought him in for another gentle kiss, smiling up at him as she pressed their noses together again. "My husband may be a world class bastard," she told him, "but he makes some damn fine children."
"One of whom is currently needing feeding, I think," Anders informed her as Madeline's burbling reached their ears again. "Or changing. I'm not sure which, honestly. It all sounds the same to me."
"My boots are in the corner," Hawke told him, pointing towards them across the room. "That's all I still need. Then I'll be ready for battle." Her tone was light, but her words were heavy, almost too heavy for either of them to stand. Swallowing hard to hold back the lump in her throat, Hawke watched with detached interest as Anders dutifully retrieved her boots from the far corner of the room, returning moments later to finish helping her into her armour. "Once we pack my satchel, I'll head out on foot," she told him, rationally. "You and the children can take the horse. It will be much easier than having to carry them whenever they get tired. You should reach the Mountains in half the time on horseback."
"It's too dangerous," Anders answered, shaking his head as he slipped one boot tenderly onto her foot. "I don't want to draw attention to us, if at all possible. What with this war going on, there's too many frighteningly desperate people out there just looking for travellers on horseback to rob." Sliding her other boot on, he gave it a short, sharp tug, making sure it was secured snugly on her foot. "I don't want to take that chance," he told her, getting up from the floor to sit back down on the bed beside her again. "Not when I've got the children. Besides, my cloaking spells can't cover me, two children, and a horse. I'm lucky if I can sustain it to cover just my staff in public. Anything more than that would drain me quicker than I can afford." Reaching over, he rested his hand reassuringly against her thigh, offering her a tired, encouraging smile. "You go ahead and take it," he urged her, earnestly. "You'll likely be needing it for… whatever it is you're doing out there on the forefront. Riding into battle or what have you."
"Oh, nothing too dangerous, I don't think," Hawke answered, good-naturedly, returning the soft, heartening smile as her hand moved down to cover his, her fingers curling reassuringly around the edge of his palm. "Just battling a few Darkspawn, perhaps. Maybe a few demons. An ogre or two, if I'm really lucky."
"You're going to be the death of me," Anders told her, laughing softly, before leaning over to kiss her gently on the cheek. Madeline's burbling reached their ears again, and this time, they both stood up from the bed, ready to attend to their child's needs. Making her way to the smaller side bedroom, Hawke retrieved the infant from her crib, cooing reassuringly as she laid her out on the low chest at the foot of Alastair's tiny, makeshift bed, beginning to change her soiled linens as Anders looked on, intrigued.
"You're going to have to learn this skill while I'm away," Hawke told him, seriously. "She's probably going to need changing every couple of hours, so be prepared to stop every little while to do that. And bring plenty of clean cloths when you go, so you don't have to depend on sources of water to wash the same one to reuse. You won't always have somewhere to clean your clothes, and you don't want to have to depend on that to avoid situations like these." Tying the dirty cloth up with a neat knot, Hawke set it aside before pulling a clean cloth from one of her pockets and beginning to tie it securely around her daughter's waist and bottom. "She's old enough that she doesn't need milk, but make sure she gets enough to eat otherwise," she continued on, picking up Madeline under the arms before resting her securely against her hip. "And water. Make sure she drinks plenty of water. And—don't give her anything she can't easily chew. If it's not soft enough for you to easily push your fingers through it, it's probably too tough for her to eat, and I don't want her choking on somethi—"
"Hawke," Anders told her, resting his hands reassuringly on her shoulders, stopping her in her tracks. "It's all right. We're going to be all right."
Hawke nodded, wetting her lips, understanding, taking in a deep, shuddering breath. Then, suddenly, unable to hold it in any longer, her face crumpled into a look of despair, and she let out a soft, unhappy sob of breath. "I don't want to lose any of you," she told him, her voice shaking as a single tear skated down her cheek. "I don't want to do this, Anders. I don't want to go. I know I have to do it, I know I have to go, but…" Shaking her head, she bit her lip, looking down at her daughter, who stared up at her with wide, curious auburn eyes, her hand stuffed thoughtfully into her mouth all the way up to the knuckles. Sniffing, Hawke pried Madeline's hand away from her mouth, coaxing it back to her side, before leaning in to press a gentle, loving kiss against the little girl's forehead. "Be good for Daddy, okay Madeline?" she asked, sniffing, trying to keep more tears at bay.
"Why Mommy crying?" Madeline asked, kicking her plump little legs through the air as she stared intently up at her mother, worriedly. Hawke swallowed back a lump in her throat, taking another deep, shaky breath, before using her one free hand to quickly wipe the tears away from her eyes, forcing a hopeful smile to her face as she looked down at her baby girl.
"Mommy's not crying, baby, see?" she said, sniffing and shaking her head. "Mommy's just happy because you, Daddy, and Alastair are getting to go on holiday for a while! You all were in need of a vacation, don't you think? Somewhere scenic. Lovely mountain view."
"It's only for a little while," Anders added, hopefully, causing Madeline to look his way now. "We'll all be back together before you know it. You, me, Mommy, and Alastair. All one happy family on holiday in Ferelden." Then, turning his attention back towards Hawke, he indicated over his shoulder with his thumb towards the front-room of the tiny ersatz house. "I'll go ahead and start packing your knapsack," he told her, his voice lower as Madeline turned her attention back towards her mother, intrigued. "Give you two a bit of time."
"Call Alastair inside as well, would you?" Hawke asked, readjusting the redheaded toddler on her hip. "I want to be sure to see him as well before I go. Don't want him thinking I left without saying goodbye."
"Of course," Anders agreed, understandingly, before leaving her to her own devices, hearing the gentle sound of her sobbing following him all the way to the door.
The satchel Anders had packed for Hawke sat ready to go on the kitchen table. A small, warming fire flickered dimly in the fireplace, throwing soft shadows across the kitchen despite the misty sunlight still peering in through the tiny windows. Picking up her pack, Hawke hoisted it onto her shoulder, allowing Anders to check one last time to ensure that the buckle in the front was securely fastened so nothing would fall out along her journey. Then, satisfied the pack was secure, Anders had followed Hawke out the front door of the house and around back to the tiny, fenced-in paddock, where their single black horse stood tied underneath a small overhanging, grazing peacefully on the last remaining dregs of what had once been a bushel of hay. Lifting the heavy leather saddle from where it sat draped over the side of the enclosure, Hawke placed it over the back of the horse, warranting a soft, surprised neigh, before she set to securing the straps around his stomach, making sure the saddle was tight enough that it would not slip while she was riding.
"You don't have to do this, you know," Anders implored her, quietly. He watched as she strapped her heavy satchel onto the side of the saddle, yanking the fastenings twice to make sure they were securely attached. Then, finished securing the pack in place, Hawke shook her head, letting out a short, hard huff of breath as she stared at the ground, stolidly refusing to meet his gaze.
"Yes, I do," she told him, slowly and solemnly. "You know I do. Everyone is depending on me, Anders. Thedas, its people… they need me. They all need me." Crossing to the railing again, she unhooked the cobbled-together bridle from around the fencepost, before bringing it back to the horse and slipping it securely over his face.
"And what about your children's needs, Hawke?" Anders asked, pointedly, causing her to stop short. "Do they need you as much as Alastair and Madeline need you? What has Thedas – what has their government ever done for you that you're now willing to give up your life for them?" Here, he scoffed, taking a step forward towards her, now beginning to get righteously angry for the first time since the arrival of the fated note earlier that morning. "Made a fugitive out of you and your entire family?" he continued on, indignantly. "And now they have the absolute gall to call you back into action? To ask you to risk your very life for a cause you don't even believe in?"
"Anders…" Hawke shook her head, turning away from the horse to face her husband again. Her expression was earnest, pleading, almost desperate as she took a few steps forward towards him, taking his slender hands in hers and bringing them up to her face. "What do you think will happen if Thedas is not protected, Anders?" she asked him, quietly, pressing her cheek imploringly into his palm. "If the call to arms goes unanswered, if the enemy armies go undefeated? If I don't go, who's to say there will be a Thedas left for all of you once all of this is done? For all of us?"
Anders opened his mouth, prepared to answer, but then, realizing he had nothing to say, he simply closed it again, letting out a soft, worried sigh. "I just don't want something to happen to you out there, Hawke," he finally told her, quietly, stroking her cheek tenderly with the pad of his thumb. "Where I'm not there to help you. Where I can't reach you. I don't want to live without you. I can't live without you. None of us can." Passing his thumb under her eye, he wiped away a stray eyelash, still clinging to her face despite her tears from earlier having long been dried. "We need you to stay safe, Hawke," he told her, earnestly, holding her gaze firmly with his. "We need you to come back home. Promise me you'll come back home."
This time, it was Hawke's turn to falter before realizing she had nothing to say in return. Coaxing his hands away from her face, she turned, stepping up into the stirrup of the saddle, and from there onto the back of the horse, before pulling back once on the reigns and looking down at her husband one last time. "I have to go," she told him, solemnly. "Keep them safe. I'm counting on you. I'll meet you in the Frostback Mountains when this is all over." Biting her lip then, she paused, her eyes growing suddenly distant as she stared down at him, as if realizing for the first time just how long it would be before she would get to see him or her children again. "…I love you, Anders," she told him, barely above a whisper. Then, turning her horse away from the house, she kicked her heels into his flanks, coaxing him into a steady trot as she made her way into the thick, hazy forest towards the edge of the woods, heading for the nearest port town. Anders watched, unmoving, as her receding form became smaller and smaller, until it finally vanished into the mist, swallowed up by the denseness of the Arlathan Forest.
"I love you, too, Hawke," he whispered back, too late for her to hear.