Disclaimer: I own nothing of Dragon Age or Dragon Age 2, only my own twisted little fantasies and what-ifs.

Note: This is a little scenario I cooked up in my "what if" state of mind. These events are fairly obviously not possible in the actual game. I personally love Anders' character and would never do this to him, because I like nice guys who are that way in spite of everything else they could more easily be. He's overall a nice (if shameless) guy who had the world stacked against him for no good reason and got in over his head when trying to help a friend. But that's a debate for another time.

Something had to be done about Anders.

He was driven, a fact one could respect, but he wasn't driven by his own, human means. It was painfully evident after he'd nearly attacked and killed a mage girl he was trying to save from vicious Templars, that this spirit he had invited into his soul had in effect become nothing more than a raging demon instead of a helpful friend. Anders was losing control of himself, and the danger hit too close to home. What if that fleeing mage had been her own sister? What if she hadn't been there to talk him down? It was only a matter of time before that electric blue rage loosed itself in his clinic, upon the people who came directly to him for his help.

She had never been one to let time make its decisions for her. She'd fought the Blight at Ostagar and gotten her family out of Lothering just before the swarm overtook her hometown. She hadn't just waited at the docks of the Gallows to be shipped back to Ferelden, and she hadn't waited to let her uncle's poverty consume her and the rest of her family in Lowtown.

So Hawke decided to do something about him.

The first thing she needed to do was get him out of Darktown. A few well-placed flirtatious remarks, and the haggard apostate was easy enough to lure into her bed. From Isabella's stories, Anders had once been a rather flamboyant, vivacious youth, quite keen on having as much fun with as many women as humanly possible, maybe all at once. Since the advent of Justice in his soul, however, the young mage couldn't bring himself to get drunk, much less frequent the brothel. In an academic sort of way, she could understand, then, the ferocity with which he attacked her mouth with his and declared his love. The passionate young man's throttled sex drive was more than enough to disarm his usual paranoia to the extent of trusting her for at least one night.

And the night had been good. She had almost forgotten how amazing it felt to take a lover into her arms, for in caring after her family the past four years, she hadn't set aside the time or energy for even casual pleasures of the sort. Not that her last dalliance with a man had been much more than tension-filled fumblings on the eve of battle, but . . . the blonde mage certainly lived up to and delightfully surpassed expectations.

She almost felt guilty as she mixed the drug into his tea. He had complained earlier about frequently lying awake at night, so she proclaimed she would make some soothing tea, a concoction her mother had made for them when they were sick, to help her children sleep. He protested weakly that he would have no problems being relaxed enough to sleep tonight, but could not dissuade her insistence that she should be able to take care of him for once.

Unbeknownst to him, poisons were her specialty. Supplying poisoned traps for old farmers in Lothering had been one of her jobs to help provide for her family since before her father had passed. She did have a grudging respect for his knowledge of herbs, but the masking spices she sprinkled into the tea only allowed the expected components of a sleeping draught to be detected. He winced at the bitterness, but noticed nothing amiss, especially after it was all gone and she let him curl around her as he drifted off to sleep. He would stay asleep for days, if needed.

With a ladylike blush of understanding, Mother was staying at Gamlen's house this night, and the dog was with her. With a wink and a knowing smile, Bodahn had taken Sandal and Orana out on some late-night errands. It would be hours before they got back.

It was then she called the Templars.

Shortly after, she was surprised to see Knight-Commander Meredith herself at her door, flanked by no less than six cloaked, but fully armed and armored Templars. Anders had apparently made himself quite the thorn in her side, if this reception was anything to judge. She had come to see for herself what sort of man could organize such an extensive underground movement as to pluck mages from under her very nose out of the heavily-fortified Gallows. Upon seeing the handsome, if underfed young man the years had not exactly been kind to curled up in the bed in nothing but his smallclothes, Meredith was not impressed, but she was grateful.

"He should be out for a few days, but I wouldn't be surprised if the drug is purged from his system sooner," Hawke supplied, as Meredith directed two of her aides to cover him up and drag him along, "He is a talented healer, after all. Whatever you plan on doing with him, for everyone's sake, make it quick." She deliberately had not, and did not, inform them about the mage's semi-possessed state.

"A pity," Meredith replied, "True healers are in short supply in Kirkwall." She offered Hawke a heavy-looking sack of sovereigns before she left, but she refused, stating that it was enough reward to have this dangerous man off the streets. As mercenary as she could be at times, she wasn't doing this for money.

Mother returned in the morning, delicately asking how her night went. She refused to answer. When Bodahn arrived with the mail, he set one down on the desk emblazoned with the seal of the Knight-Commander.

Dear Serrah Hawke,

It is with my sincerest condolences that I feel I must inform you that the wanted apostate Anders did not survive the Rite of Tranquility. It is troubling in the fact that the Rite does not normally affect the participant's cognition or analytical reasoning, but once the Rite was performed, Anders had neither left. Upon waking, he only stared blankly and would follow no commands, move, speak, or even show any amount of comprehension. Such a reaction has never before been witnessed or recorded by any Circle or Templar scholar. Since the Rite of Tranquility has before been successfully performed on drugged, unwilling participants, this reaction leads First Enchanter Orsino to believe that apostate Anders was more connected to the Fade than any mage on record who endured the Rite. With your admission that apostate Anders was a talented healer, it is unwise to dismiss the possibility that he was also a rare spirit healer. In such a case, the world is poorer for his loss, but rest assured that it is also safer, for he is no longer a dissenting voice to the Chant or a danger to those around him.

With that said, I thank you again for your vigilance and assistance in bringing such a dangerous criminal to justice.

Sincere regards,

Knight-Commander Meredith

Hawke numbly held the embossed letter up to the candle flame merrily flickering on her desk and consigned it to ash, dropping it in the waste bin by her writing desk and watching as it burned. Really, what had she expected? The Knight-Commander was certainly not known for her lenience, and it was foolish to think that after all those years of being on the run that she would simply permit Anders to live inside those prison walls without some way of ensuring he would remain under control. He was not like some good Mabari to roll over and play dead on command. If he was like any dog, it was the type who would chew its own leg off to escape a trap. A wolf. Perhaps a fox. If he had woken within those walls without being Tranquil, she had no illusions he would have slain everyone and everything in sight until they somehow managed to put him down for good.

It had been a hard decision, but life was full of hard decisions. It was for the best. Even so, she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep for a long time afterwards.

Three days later, Bodahn knocked on Hawke's bedroom door to no answer. Figuring she was still asleep, which was unlike her at this hour, he opened the bedroom curtains to spur her into wakefulness.

No stirring came from the bed.

The dwarven manservant called out to her and moved to the still form on the bed, a feeling of dread creeping over him. The reason for her silence became abruptly apparent as he saw one of her own daggers sticking out of her chest. The blood had pooled on her blankets and the carpet beneath the bed, staining them beyond all thought of recovery. Her face was peaceful. She hadn't felt a thing.

On the nightstand by the bed lay two items: a drained cup of bitter-smelling tea and a handwritten note he recognized as her sister's handwriting. It contained just one word:

Justice.