Title: What Have You Done
Author: SnowChaser
Pairing(s): Anders x Hawke
Author's Note: I was not intending to write anything for DA. Nope, not at all. But Anders, in all his cute little nuances, has forced me to do this. This is a one-shot using my Force mage, Kiya in place of Artemis, who I have written a few fics with (and will duly post). This is not fluffy. Also, I know that my version of what happens after the Chantry is not strictly cannon, but, you know what? It should have been more like this (or something equally harsh). The man you've been shacking up with, who is your husband in all but the eyes of the Chantry, betrays you? Trust me, I'd be mad as hell.

Might have just enough to turn into a two-shot, if anyone is so inclined to know what I assume would eventually happen. Also, the tone shifts reflect what the codex says about Anders and his wild, unpredictable mood swings. So before people start getting bent out of shape (but Anders is so gentle, and he'd never hurt Hawke intentionally, etc), people who love each other can often hurt one another without realizing why, or how. And, yes, I did play off of his obsession with her a bit, especially towards the end. Why? Because I've noticed a precious few fics which actually acknowledge that he has such an obsession.

Long Author's Note- sorry for that.
Disclaimer: I do not own Anders, Hawke, or anything else which is otherwise mentioned (though I *do* have a rather dashing, long-haired renegade who happened to make me his wife, so…). Breaks/lyrics belong solely to Within Temptation.

I. "I know I should stop believing,
 I know that there's no retrieving
 It's over now, what have you done?"

It took all her willpower not to cringe when she looked at him now.

Gone was the dashing apostate with the nice eyes and the killer smile, replaced by something she could not readily identify. The light in his eyes had faded into hardened resolve over the years- the gentle, tender healer replaced by a warmonger, in his own right. More than once, she'd caught the cruel edge of his smile as they passed a Templar- the malice in his laugh whenever someone cracked a bad Templar joke. And his hands, once so capable of throwing her into passion were no longer as soft, or tender, when they touched her. They were never cruel- not towards her, anyway, but they were firm and occasionally rough, especially when they had a "bad" day.

Those days had become more and more frequent.

Until last week, that is.

He'd been surprisingly tender with her as she brought him a crate of supplies, meeting him in the clinic. While he lived with her, and openly at that, she knew he felt safer here. These were *his* wards, *his* enchantments, not hers. And, while he loved her (and she had no doubt that he did, indeed, love her in his own slightly-obsessive way), she knew he didn't trust her magic as he did his. He'd been a lone enchanter, after all. Never the type to put his faith in others- even in her. So, really, she wasn't all that surprised to find that, here, he was comfortable. Being comfortable meant he was at least partially-relaxed, and as such, he was nearly back to normal (or as normal as a possessed mage ever truly got).

"Darling!" He swung her off her feet, kissing her firmly, much to the amusement of his patients. "I was just thinking about you." She laughed as he set her down, blushing as an elderly woman broke into applause.

"If I knew being a pack mule would get these results, I'd have tried it sooner," she muttered, so soft he could barely hear it. And she watched his expression change- eyes softened, a frown pulling at the corner of sensual, full lips… only to be replaced by a hard glint as he shook it off. "Anyway, you said you wanted to speak with me?"

"Yes." He gestured to the semi-private alcove he used as a bedroom whenever he was staying the night (which had become increasingly frequent), and waited for her to enter before following- and opening the screen to its full extension- making the cozy little alcove into a cozy little room. She heard a match flare as he lit a candle, followed by a second one, bathing the room in light. "I've been doing some research into possession."

"Oh?" She quirked a brow.

"Yes. And I think I've found a way to separate myself from Justice, without harming either one of us." He looked hopefully at her, like a puppy who'd been kicked and wanted comfort. She couldn't deny him that, one hand squeezing one of his as her expression lit up.

"Really?"

"Yes. It's old Tevinter magic, though. But there's no sacrifice involved," he hastily added, seeing her expression. "I promise, no blood magic." Still she shifted uneasily, blue eyes boring into his as if trying to ascertain whether this was a joke, or indeed truth. Seemingly satisfied, she nodded.

"What do you need me to do?"

Just like that. It was simple- and it surprised him, she realized. His eyes flickered from surprise to gratitude, and the hard edge softened a bit as he conjured a smile for her benefit.

"I could use some help collecting ingredients, actually. I have *most* of what we -I- need, but there are a few… interesting ingredients. Drakestone, which we can find in that lovely business venture you have with Hubert quite easily. The other, I'm afraid, is Sela Petrae, which can be found in the sewers."

"What is…" she trailed off. "Never mind, I don't want to know, do I?"

"No, love…" he chuckled, kissing her forehead. "You really don't." Then he sobered. "You know I love you, more than my own life, don't you, Kiya?"

"Anders…" she reached for his face, drawing his gaze to hers. "Love, whatever's the matter? What brought *this* on?"

"Ki…" he sighed. "I *love* you. But some things… they're more important than love. Than you, or me, or our life together."

"You lie." She held his face there, when he would have pulled away. "You've seen the lengths people will go to for love." Her voice was pointed, as if it would somehow force him to remember the blood mage who had loved… and murdered… her mother. "You and I both know *nothing* is more important than love."

He'd merely smiled- a thin, tight-lipped façade of a real one- and taken her by the hand to lead her back out into the clinic.

She still helped him. Of course she did. She even went with him to the Chantry of all places, where she'd spoken to Elthina- and been told, in no uncertain terms, that to fight for the mages, to pick a side, was utter madness. But if this madness was what it took to keep him by her side, Hawke knew she would never, ever wish to be deemed sane again.

He was here, now, with her again. Whatever had been wrong, her assistance had helped fix it, for Anders had not spent a night away from her since they'd returned from the Chantry- and, despite the somber tones he was now wearing, he was attentive and charming again; a devoted lover who knew exactly where to touch her, when to touch her, and how to throw her into an earth-shattering release.

No longer were his eyes dead and cold- they faintly glowed with fire as he looked at her.

II. "Would you mind if I killed you?
 Would you mind if I tried to
 'Cause you have turned into my worst enemy,
 You carry hate that I feel- what have you done?"

She watched the explosion rend the skies as if she were in a dream- or perhaps a nightmare. As if she could simply wake up, and everything would be normal again. Hell, maybe she'd wake in Lothering, with her mother and father, and find that the Blight, the Arishok, and now, the destruction of the Chantry, was all just a cruel dream, and in reality she was only sixteen-

And that would have been too much for her to even hope for.

Slowly, awareness returned as a tattered, burning piece of parchment landed at her feet. Crystal-blue iris' looked down, watching the flame dance and flicker as though she were under a spell, before she lifted her head, defiantly meeting the fire in the blue eyes of the Knight-Commander and the fear in the green eyes of the First Enchanter. Like two little lost kittens, she thought, warring over a piece of string, and failing to notice the large ball of twine on the floor beside them. Really, it was almost comical.

She must have been going mad, really.

The shocked sounds of her companions were beginning to creep in, now- Aveline being the loudest and most hypocritical. Sometimes her love and admiration for the redheaded Guard Captain was overruled by her irritation and anger that the woman had always failed to see that, while the Circle had some valid points, it was broken and in dire need of restructuring. Merrill, the sweet thing, was not approving- but nor was she disapproving, as was Isabella. Fenris was not being loud, but she could actually *feel* the anger and tension rolling off the lyrium-branded elf (but, of course, it *was* Fenris. When was he *not* angry/upset/pissed off at something Hawke or her companions did?). Varric, shell-shocked, seemed to have actually been stunned to silence. And, as for Anders?

Well, she could have glanced his way, but she was afraid that if she did, she would strike him with one of her most powerful spells, and all that would be left of the blonde healer would be a charred spot on the ground where he'd stood. The daft fool! He was forcing her to take sides on the issue now- there was no getting out of this.

But her heart, foolishly, was rebelling against the logic that it would be safer to side with Meredith- it screamed that she side with the mages. With Anders, though she couldn't be so sure of that. Not when he'd neatly destroyed any semblance of trust and respect that anyone had ever had for her. He'd lived with her for years. They'd loved, fought, danced, laughed. All openly, right beneath the Templars noses. He'd lived with her.

She had to have known, right?

At least, that was what would spread through the gossip mill like wildfire. Still, Orsino looked at her, Meredith glared, and she sighed. "I will not abandon you to be condemned for a crime you did not commit. I will stand with the mages." She rose her chin proudly, eyes fixed on Meredith's face. "And I will not regret it."

"Thank the Maker." Orsino sighed.

And they fought together, as they always had. Varric, Isabella, Aveline, Fenris, Merrill… only Anders remained absent, as if he were unsure of himself right now. Thankfully, Orsino decided to pitch in, or Hawke may have become a mage-kabob, impaled on the sword of one of the Templars. Still, she didn't feel it- her body felt numb, as if she were in a waking dream.

Oh, she *felt* what she was doing- a Maker's Fury here, a Fireball there, with a few Gravitic Rings thrown in for good measure. But, in her heart, in her body, all she felt was numb, filled with shock. Abruptly, Orsino's hand clamped down on her shoulder, green eyes searching her face.

"Champion?" His voice was firm. "Mistress Hawke?"

"Hawke… c'mon, kiddo." Varric's voice sounded from what seemed a great distance.

"She's going into shock." Aveline's voice. "Maker's breath, Hawke, don't you *dare* do this. Not here. Not now."

The world swam into focus again as cooling energy poured into her, healing tendrils which buried deep, but failed to touch her shattered soul. It was precise but cold, lacking any warmth- and *wrong*. It was not the spell which was wrong, it was the magic itself, as if it rebelled from being used this way. Clearly, Orsino was not much of a healer. Or, at least, he wasn't accustomed to being a healer.

She sputtered and coughed, eyes rolling to the right in time to see Anders leaning in, eyes full of concern. For an instant, the pain didn't matter. Neither did his betrayal of her trust- or her, period. All that mattered was the open, caring expression on his face as he sought to get a better look at her- the worry in his eyes, and the way his hand extended towards her. And then the heartache came back on in full force; her chest clutched in pain, breathing labored. One hand flew to her heart, over the aching organ as if she could stop it, before she shook her head.

"I'm alright." She smiled graciously at Orsino. "Thank you, First Enchanter." Then she reached for Varric, who weakly chuckled and hugged her.

"Andraste's flaming tits, Hawke! Don't you ever scare me like that again!" Large brown eyes sought her blue ones.

"I'm sorry, Varric." She sighed.

"Bianca was worried about you, too." He pouted lightly, and she laughed outright now at the absurdity of the situation. Here they were on the verge of open war, and Varric was still able to pull her out of her funk.

"I'm sorry, Bianca." Then she giggled again, just for the hell of it. Sometimes she really did wonder if she wasn't heading for a breakdown.

"She accepts your apology," he released her then. "Now… you and Blondie need to talk."

"No. No, we don't."

"Hawke…" He sighed. "Look, I know I tried to talk you out of it. But… kiddo, you have a good thing there. He loves you enough to start a war so you can be free to be together. Don't you *dare* throw that in his face."

"Varric…"

"Don't, Hawke. When you have something like that, you take it by the horns and tell the world to kiss your flaming ass." That being said, he shoved her towards Anders. "Now, go talk to him." Her shaking knees hardly supported her as he shoved her again, harder this time- and only Anders warm hands, which shot out to catch her reflexively, kept her from falling in an inelegant sprawl at his feet. She looked up- again, the years faded and his concerned gaze all but cocooned her in its warmth- and she froze him out as she straightened, eyes hard. His darkened too, almost as a defense.

"There's nothing you can say that I haven't already said to myself." His voice was dark now, with an edge which told her Justice, no, Vengance, was close to the surface in him.

"You could have trusted me, Anders." Her voice betrayed her by refusing to be firm, even as her eyes watered. Some Champion she was- crying like a sniveling little girl over a man who had put his revolution before her- but she reigned the tears in. Only one droplet slid down her cheek, creating a clean line through the ash which coated her skin. "If you'd only told me, I would have understood."

"What if you'd tried to stop me?" He countered, panic in his eyes. He looked ready to run, all wild eyed like an enraged, possibly rabid rabbit. "Or, worse, what if you'd wanted to help? I couldn't let you take the blame for this- it's on my head alone."

"Stopped you?" She scoffed. "Maker's flaming breath, Anders, you've lived with me for how long? Yet you obviously don't know me at all." She crossed her arms. "I would *never* have stopped you."

"The choice was mine. I made my choice- and if I pay for it with my life then I pay." He shrugged, as if resigned to the fact that his life was over. It was this display, this open acceptance, which enraged Hawke further. She could, eventually, learn to accept that he'd blown up the Chantry, even forgive him for it. But she would not allow him to become a martyr- for it was so obviously what he wanted. The man infuriated her, frustrated her- and she couldn't deal with it. He would, she knew, find a way to make himself a martyr for the cause.

"You're so willing to throw your life away?" Blue eyes flashed. "So willing to push me aside?" Her fingers tightened around her staff, which she now clung to like a link to sanity.

"I told you I would only break your heart, but you wouldn't listen." His voice was matter-of-fact, devoid of emotion, and flat. The voice of a Tranquil- not of her hard-headed, fiery Andres. "You insisted."

"Oh, suck on a fireball," she spat, circling him now like a wolf who had scented an in jured calf, and was now moving in for the kill. "You used me to plant that bomb." She held up a hand when his mouth opened, preventing him from speaking. "To be fair, I agreed to help you without asking questions. I accept equal responsibility for that. But you betrayed my trust, and *that* is the one thing I cannot so easily forgive."

"You knew I was trouble, Hawke." He was back to using her surname, again, instead of 'Kiya' or the private, intimate nickname of 'Ki'. "Yet you still stayed." Now, for the first time, his voice began to waver, as his certainty began to be doubted. Abruptly, he sighed. "It doesn't matter." He raised his chin, exposing the smooth skin of his throat. "Make it quick, Hawke. I won't be able to keep Justice in if you drag it out." Honey-colored eyes closed, as if in anticipation of the blow. And that- the sight of him with his throat bared, waiting for death enraged her, and emboldened her. She found herself drawing her dagger, twirling it. Studying the reflections in its shining surface.

"I want to know one thing," she murmured it as she touched the blade to his skin, a faint whisper of contact. "One last thing."

"Ask." His voice was softer now, as if he were afraid.

"Did you ever, even for a moment, truly love me? Or was I just the means to your end?" She waited a beat- when he made no response, she choked back a sob. No. That silence was a no. Her life was shattering again; every time she picked up the pieces, they fragmented into tinier shards. This time, however, it was not her life, but her world, which came apart. He was her heart, her soul, her world. Without Anders, she'd have gone to the grave in grief when her mother died. This… this act which he made appear like mercy, would surely kill her, as if he had wrapped his hands around her throat, and gently squeezed until she could draw no more breath. She inhaled sharply, then, hands steadying…

"Yes." The killing stroke was already underway when that single word, filled with raw emotion, reached her through the haze of pain and anger. Instantly, he hand released all pressure- the thin, shallow cut seeping blood- and the imperceptible line proved he would, indeed, live. Her hands shook as he began to weep, softly. "I *love* you, Kiya. I always have. I didn't want to- didn't want you. But then, as time went on, I found that all I wanted *was* you." The words, stripped down by the torment in his voice, slowly began to heal her battered and bruised heart. "You need to understand. I *need* you to understand, Kiya."

"Tell me, then." She whispered as she sank to the ground before him, shaking knees refusing to support her. Eyes searched his face and neck- already the wound was healed, but still visible. It was unspoken- no mater the outcome here, he would wear the thin scar for the rest of his natural life, a silent reminder of what was important in his world. "Help me to understand, Anders." One large palm cupped her cheek, thumb gently caressing over the tear track on her cheek. It neatly took away another layer of hurt.

"Oh, Kiya." He shivered. "I'm sorry. So, so sorry." He watched her eyes fill, tears flowing freely this time. "I wanted to tell you." He dashed away a tear with his thumb. "A hundred times I wanted to tell you. But what if you'd interfered? I couldn't risk it." Eyes closed again as he lowered his chin. "I'm not sorry for what I've done- just for hurting you in the process."

"I trusted you." She nearly sobbed it. "And I loved you." She wanted, suddenly, to crawl into his lap and be held- and hold him. But she couldn't tell him she still loved him; not yet.

"I know." He opened his eyes. "And I took advantage of you, like a daft fool. Worse, I played you for one as well." He sighed.

"You did. You abused my emotions."

"And your trust. I know." Another sigh- this one cut off as she all but crawled into his lap, lips finding the newly-healed scar and kissing it almost reverently. His arms wound around her, albeit hesitantly, as if he were afraid to touch. Her response was to nuzzle her face against his, mingling their tears. "Kiya…" he nearly whined it as his palms itched, lips tingled, body ached. He was, he knew, completely addicted to the lithe Force mage in his in his arms. Like any drug, being apart from her had withdrawals; the need to touch and soothe, and his own inability to do so driving him mad.

"Hold me." Her voice begged. "I'm so cold." He tightened his arms, tucking her face against his neck as he inhaled her scent like a lifeline.

"Shhhh, Kiya." He whispered it, softly, against her ear. "I'm here. I've got you safe, now." The same words he'd whispered as he carried her out of the crime-ridden Foundries the night her mother had died. For an instant, all the pain went away as she felt the soothing, warm touch of his healing magic flow into her, nipping away at yet another layer of anger with the same precision he displayed with a scalpel. Because, if there was one thing that he wasn't doubting right now, it was his ability to comfort and soothe.

"You promised." Her voice was full of anguish, now. "You promised you'd stay with me, always." A whisper against his skin.

"Stay with you?" His brow furrowed as she looked up. Those blue iris', the one thing he knew would forever haunt his dreams about her, looked up into his darker eyes with something akin to hope, and something which he couldn't readily identify.

"You started this, Anders." Her voice was hardened now, as was her resolve. If he thought she was going to give him the release he sought, then he was wrong, dead wrong. Because love really was the strongest force in the universe, even if he didn't see it yet. She would show him, though. She would show him. "Now it's time to finish it. Fight with us."

Now his face actually looked so comical, it nearly made her laugh. It was cautiously optimistic, the light in his eyes akin to a child.

"You mean, stay with you?" The words were said so simply, as if he couldn't quite wrap his head around them. "I didn't think you'd let me. But if you do… I'll fight the Templars. Damn right I will." His resolve was back, his confidence creeping to the fore once again. Suddenly his arms tightened around her, his lips descending on hers with a vengeance, as if he couldn't touch enough, taste enough. The move startled her, but she found herself responding, her body seeming a traitor as, with lips alone, he brought her to passion pitch- only to leave her lips and bury his nose in her neck. "Mine."

The word conjured all sorts of memories for her, but never had it been said so unequivocally, so certainly. Before she could respond, before she had time to think, his eyes found hers. "Mine. Say it." One hand imprisoned her delicate wrist, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.

"Yours." She whispered it, watching Vengeance fade as he found her eyes again, this time liquid and full of love. The fingers on her wrist gentled, the pain fading as his magic ghosted along her skin, even as his lips ghosted over hers. She rose, then, one hand reaching for one of his. "We need to get to the Gallows."

Simple. There was no further talk of Templars, or demons, or pain. They had a responsibility, and he'd be damned if he would just let her walk away. Slowly, the wild-eyed, constantly-running apostate made his choice to stand, and it would be squarely behind her for the rest of his natural life.