Maeve:
Her first words were stated, not in a form of a statement, but of a question: "I am alive?" The sentence was laced with surprise and—did I imagine it?—sorrow; as if the mere thought of living was a burden. It took me a few seconds to realize that it was me who was repeating those words over and over. But did it matter? Did the 'me' really differ from the 'her'? I did not know myself. I woke up with no memories of the life I had led. And yet I did not feel the panic that usually overcomes such individuals in a situation like this. Rather, I feel...comforted, calm and odd sense of freedom. A question stirs within my soul and I feel despair. I feel pain as I ask myself:
What kind of life would I have led to not feel sorrow over lost memories?
And the answer comes to me as quickly as the question does and I am calm once more. A life not worth salvaging. I suddenly feel no need to question my past, no need to try and search for answers. The only way out is forward. I am oddly comforted by that fact. A word, a name, bubbles to my lips and it is the only piece of information from the past that I will ever need. "Maeve," I said out loud. "My name is Maeve," Oh, how good it felt to hear that name again! I get the feeling that I have not been called that in a long time! I laughed at this for it is a fitting name, a good name, one that I will wear proudly. I slip out of the bed that I am lying on and realize that I am wearing full battle regalia. I am wearing armour made out of smooth, pliable silk, I am holding a staff that is so well-cared for, it gleamed. I unconsciously smile as I behold that marvelous weapon and I know that it is the only friend I will ever need. And then I walk, not with the staggering gait of a woman who has lost her memory, but the confident march of a woman with a purpose. I do not know where such actions come from but I knew that straying from these actions would ensure terrible consequences. I realize what this meant in a second. I am given a mission, one that I must fulfil; repentance for whatever actions I have made in the life that I had forgotten and left behind. I see my hand stretch out before me, it is small and smooth and well-formed but it does not matter, things like that no longer matter. Why do I even think of it? I see my hand push open the only door in the room and I felt my body tense, though I do not know why. I feel the effects of war even before I hear it. The air seemed to shimmer with crimson vibrations and I realize it is blood, evaporating into mist and the words 'blood magic' float into my mind. Suddenly, I know what it is and what it can do. It is an evil that must be eradicated, a corruption that must be vanquished. And I am the one that must do it. I should have been scared, but I am not. I know that I will not fall; I know that I must prove my worth. Prove my worth to whom? I asked myself and unlike before, the answer does not come to me. It must be something that I will find out on my own. All around me, I see war. I see people fighting each other. The words templars and mages float in my head and I suddenly know what is happening. Mages have turned to blood magic and they plan to overtake the Circle of Magi. I remember only the information I need, nothing more, nothing less. I felt my stomach twist in disgust for both groups because they are animals and nothing more. And I am their shepherd. I step out and for a moment, the fighting ceases. Mage and templar alike turn their heads to look at me. I smell blood and I smell lyrium. The instruments of war. Whispers erupt all around me, I hear the words "Champion" and "Hawke"; these words are worthless. They mean nothing. I slam the butt of my staff upon the cold, hard concrete and the temperature of the room dropped dramatically. My breath comes out in white plumes. Beautifully patterned snowflakes fall from the ceiling. They fall upon the combatants and become blue wisps of smoke the moment they touch their skin. When the wisps disappear, they take the wounds with them and in a matter of minutes, every injury, every scar, every burn was gone. Who would have thought I could create something so beautiful? Not a whisper rose from the crowd. "Drop your weapons! All of you!" My voice resounded throughout the room, bouncing off the walls, magnifying it by a thousand times. As soon as the words slip from my mouth, mage and templar alike protested.
"Are you mad-?"
"We'll get killed!"
"Those bloody mages—,"
"Bastard templars—,"
"Join our cause! Fight for our kind!"
Noise. Useless noise was it all it was. "I take no sides!" I yelled. "Drop your weapons or die by mine!"
A man a templar, I think for he was wearing the armour that emphasized his kind, laughed at me. "You? You? C'mon, Hawke, don't be stupid..."
His next words are lost as I lift my free hand and made a twisting motion with it. His head followed the action of my hand, causing his neck to break. The templar fell to the floor instantly. Pandemonium erupted, everyone was clamouring for the exits. I slam my staff on the floor again, furious at their stupidity. Can't they see that I am trying to help? Do they love war so much that they would not accept my help? Or had they completely forgotten what it was like to obey, so soaked are they in their own mad desires? Lightning streaked from the ceiling and struck the floor, leaving a large, black burn mark on the floor. They fell silent and everyone was still.
"I am giving you two choices," I said calmly. "Fight me and die by my hand or help me put the broken pieces of this shattered country together. The choice is yours,"
A voice rose from the crowd, a mage this time. "But...Hawke, how could you do magic again...you're—you're Tranquil," Murmured assent rippled through the throng and I smile. "I am Hawke no longer. That life is far behind me. You shall no longer call me by that name,"
"Then what shall we call you?"
Again, I could hear the words rise to my lips and I know that what I am about to say is destined.
"Call me Maeve," I said to the silent mass. "Speaker of the Maker's Will. The Child of Andraste. The Warrior of the One True God,"
Anders:
I wake to the sound of the hammering rain and I think Hawke though she was not there. I roll over my side, hoping to find her sleeping peacefully beside me, her dark hair astray and dreams peaceful but of course, she was not there. Hawke, like all of my other companions had hated me. She was gone, but it was not her fault. My choices have been mine alone and I cannot change them, nor can I blame her if she hated me (though I pray to the Maker that it was not so) Even now, alone in the dark with nothing for company but the spirit that used to be my friend, I could still see her face. She was beautiful beyond words, those startlingly blue eyes that always seemed to be laughing, that slender body that seemed to fit so perfectly against mine and her lips, oh Maker, her lips. They were always curved into a teasing smile. I missed them, missed kissing them, missed being kissed by them. I missed her. From the moment I had asked her to help me gather the ingredients for the 'potion', I knew what I was setting her up for, knew what her reaction would be. At least I thought I knew it. It was more terrible than even I could have suspected. When the Chantry exploded, I expected Hawke to turn on me, I expected her to scream at me and tell me what a monster I am, I also thought (perhaps a bit selfishly) that maybe she would understand. Hawke had always understood. She had always stood beside me, even when she first found out about Justice. Hawke didn't run and scream like any sane person would, she did not tell me that I was an abomination. Unlike everyone else before her, Hawke did not abandon me. For ten years, she was the only constant in my life. Hawke was the one who was there for me when I myself didn't believe that I could go on. And I had betrayed her. When she realized what I had done, she didn't say anything. Hawke just stared at me, her expression frozen and her eyes were suddenly like chips of ice. She looked at me as if she barely knew me, as if I was not the man she had loved. That was the first time that I thought that maybe I wasn't. I had been so consumed by fighting for the imprisoned mages that I had forgotten to fight my own battles. Every time she had tried to help me, I hid behind Justice. I kept on using him as an excuse that I had begun to wonder if there's anything left of 'Anders' in me. Was there even a semblance of that kitten-loving, carefree mage that I once was? I truly do not know. I could feel Justice (or was it Vengeance?) stirring inside me. He does not like doubts. He does not like distractions. I can feel him struggling to push my memories of Hawke to the back of my mind, where they cannot hurt me. And I let him do it because I am a coward. Because memories of the woman I loved were too much to bear. I can hear my own voice (or was it Justice's? This never used to be so hard.) saying, "She's Tranquil. She can no longer feel for you. She is no longer the woman you love,"
"Because of me," I whisper softly, though there is no one else there. "She has been made Tranquil because she was the one who got blamed. Not me."
It was my fault. Memories really can break you. I let Justice push away these horrible recollections away. They are too much to bear. Alone in the dark, I could see Hawke's face fading. My one saving grace. And she was gone. I am now truly alone. I whisper the words "I'm sorry," to a woman who I know will never hear me. And yet why do I keep hoping that she'll reply?
I whisper again, "I'm sorry," But of course, she wasn't there.
