disclaimer: Dragon Age belongs to Bioware.

a/n: This story isn't going to just focus on Anders and Hawke's relationship but rather take a look into some of Anders's past so be prepared for lots of flashbacks. Please excuse my rusty writing, as I haven't written in at least five years. I hope you enjoy it regardless.


The Scars that Made Me

Chapter 1

No! No! It was all wrong! Anders struck the quill across the parchment, crossing out all that he'd written. A puff of air expelled from his lungs as he slumped his forehead against the cool wood of the desk. Why couldn't the words come? He'd so much to say! Anders snapped his head up and stared at the taunting blank pages. How could this be? He'd ranted to almost everyone he could, trying to get anyone who'd offer him an ear to listen to the message he tried so hard to convey. Poetry had spilt from his mouth before! So why couldn't he just make sense of it all now? Why couldn't he just write down that passion? Anders crumpled the top page and struck it against the wall and watched it pathetically drip to the floor. Perhaps... it just mattered too much. Lives rode on those words.

Anders swung to a stand, flinging his chair back. He ripped a hand through his hair, banishing the tie and held his head as he paced back and forth through what he thought was his empty clinic. He didn't even notice the man hovering in the doorway until Anders tossed the stack of papers straight up into the air.

"Perhaps I'm not in the right place." the man spoke and turned to walk away.

Anders dragged the hand on his forehead down his face as the pieces of his manifesto floated to the floor, trying to smooth away the mortification. Yes that's right... today had been far too uneventful that he almost entirely forgot the lanterns outside were still lit.

"Wait!" Anders called, scrambling to gather the mess, finding himself with an armful of papers, "I apologize! Sometimes my work carries me away. Can I help you?" he fumbled the words and plastered on a smile.

The man turned around and the welcoming charm melted off the healer's face. Anders spun, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to conceal the flash of blue. No...He sucked in a breath. He froze. No he had to keep it together. Breathe. He kept his back to the man and cranked his elbows forward, placing the document onto a cot. He tapped the papers straight and swallowed. His mind must be playing tricks on him, surely.

Anders faced the man once again. No trick. The mask of old age upon him did little to lead Anders's memory astray. He clearly remembered that same beard that outlined the bottom half of his face and the way he parted his long blond hair. Familiar amber eyes stared back into his. Would he recognize him? No... how foolish. It'd been too much time since then, and he'd been far too young.

"This is the clinic?" the elder questioned, venturing forward and glanced around the little hovel. "The name's Sabin. Messere Hawke sent me. Said ye could patch me up."

"I can," he affirmed, folding his arms across his chest, yet took no step forward to to do so. Just how did he know Hawke? Regardless, with luck he could simply heal the man and watch him walk right out the door and back out of his life for good. No need to cause any unnecessary drama. Anders snorted. Funny to see this one coming to a mage though. He wondered if he knew the Healer of Darktown utilized accursed magic.

"I don't have much money-"

Anders held a hand up. "No need. Its free. The only catch is that it's magic." He tried his best not to spit the next sentence. "Is that okay with someone like you?"

Confusion peppered across the man's brow and it was then Anders noticed the bruising across his cheekbone. Had he been in a fight? He'd a mind to punch him in the face himself. His fingers twitched.

"Don't think I can really refuse," he replied, "Messere Hawke insisted I come here and I ain't really in a position to disobey her orders right now."

"Just stay still," Anders instructed, snatching away the gap between them and hovered his hands over the swelling. Within a few seconds the hot glow of his powers emancipated from him, mending and resculpting the tissue and muscles.

"Good as new," the mage announced flatly when finished and stared upon the man's face. Just what would he say?

"Thank you," the patient mumbled as tired eyes traced the doctor's clenched jaw and stoney expression.

Anders exhaled his lungs. Perhaps he shouldn't have expected a confrontation. Perhaps he should not have expected anything at all. He stood blankly, watching him leave and close the door as if nothing were any different at all. And well nothing had been. He glanced down picking up the few donated coppers, toying with the feel of the smooth metal between his fingers and took a seat at his desk. So why was it that it bothered him so much. Why did he want to be recognized?

Perhaps a small part of him wasn't over everything that had happened like he'd thought. Maybe it did still bother him; that no matter how hard he tried to push it from his mind he just couldn't get over what he did...and the fear in the man's eyes... all of the fear from all their damned accusing eyes.

Anders shifted uncomfortably in his chair as he twisted the quill between his fingers over the ever empty parchment. No... he wasn't over it. He wasn't over it at all.

"Don't tell me you're about to write me a nasty complaint letter," Hawke quipped, slipping in the doorway. Her bright smile continued to shine, melting away some of his gloomy atmosphere. "I want to apologize for sending you trouble. Hubert was a little too enthusiastic questioning the workers over missing shipment and I just wanted to make sure I didn't send my men home any worse for wear."

"No problem. Always happy to help. Although perhaps I should be jealous. It seems I'm not the only one you're too good to," Anders commented as she provided him with a loaf of bread and a container of stew that staked it's claim upon the desk. He obediently took the spoon she offered and his fingers pressed onto the sides of the still warm container as he opened it. He'd long relinquished defeat to her charity and looked forward to her regular visits to his clinic. Driving her away didn't seem an option, whether it was her stubborn will or the fact he took secret pleasure in the way she smiled as he hungrily dived his spoon into whatever she'd offer.

He'd devour anything of hers.

Pink adorned her cheeks just as readily as if he said the words. Maker forgive him he needed it. Her fingers fidgeted in her lap as she adverted her gaze and Anders wondered what it was that his eyes spoke of that he could not.

"It's nothing special. You know they're only leftovers."

"Sweetheart, you could feed me dog food and I'd be a happy man," he declared with a smirk and popped the spoon in his mouth. His eyes closed, savoring the taste.

His hair trickled forward, nearly dipping into the stew and Anders's breath hitched at the feel of her fingers caressing the strands away. The bare digits traced the back of his ear as she tucked the tresses into place, eliciting a shudder down his spine that pooled deep in his stomach. Hawke's skin against his skin...her touching him... it was all too much yet so not enough. He dared not make eye contact and shifted, feeling his pants tighten around him, cursing the fact that he was getting excited over something so simplistic. He really needed to compose himself and struggled to swallow the potato lodged in his throat.

"I know something's bothering you, Anders," she began and sat down on the chair nearby. "What's wrong? Is it the manifesto?"

Silence seized the air between them and he peered down at his meal, contemplating using the excuse she so readily offered. It's not like it'd be a total lie. There wasn't really a point to pursue the matter any further. The man he healed was just another patient like everyone else. It was best he kept it that way. So why couldn't he help the question from spilling from his mouth? "The one you sent here earlier, is he from Ferelden?"

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "Aren't they all?"

"Heh. I..."

"Do you know him? Please don't tell me this is another former lover. I'm starting to think you have a thing for beards and that'd be an awful shame if I had to grow one."

Anders chuckled as he set the food aside upon the desk and shuffled his chair to face in her direction. "And what if I did? How'd you go about getting one?"

"Well I could strap a cat to my face. You like those too don't you?"

"It'd be my two favorite things combined." Anders smiled, leaned forward, and rested his arms on his legs, closing the gap between them.

"Kittens and beards?" she questioned, tilting her head as he wondered the innocence of her actions. He could feel her breath tickling...tempting...

"No. Kittens and Hawkes." He corrected with a wink.

Blue eyes clutched amber. Neither no longer smiled. Her gaze flitted to his mouth and him to hers. He stared down upon those gorgeous lips that parted just so delicately and he clenched his jaw trying to fight back the urge to crush himself against her and thrust his tongue inside of her to finally taste the sweet wine of Hawke. He would smother his hands all over her... thrash her down upon one of the cots and tear open her top to drink in the lovely sight he was sure he'd find underneath all that cloth and armor and claim it all only for himself. He'd own her pleasure and impel her to tattoo his name across those lips that right now begged him ever so exquisitely to be kissed.

He quivered a sigh. Maker help him.

Anders slammed his back against his chair enough to sting which he very much intended and tore his gaze from her. Thoughts of his savage possession taunted him across closed eyes as he strained against his pants, thankful for at least the bulky fabric of his jacket that concealed his desires. He scraped his hand on his face and settled the appendage upon his forehead. What was he doing? His heart twisted, catching sight of her between the mask of his fingers, watching her wince as she clutched the fabric of her trousers. He needed to stop this. Wishing to drown himself in her, just for a moment to ease his own pains, did not justify causing hers. He'd hoped she'd have grow tired of him by now...move on. He was no special prize. Not like her. He could never offer what she so rightfully deserved. She could have a normal life. He'd only bring her misery and pain. He'd do well to get that through to her as well as himself.

"I'm sorry... I-" he struggled to fetch the words.

"It's okay Anders," she soothed, but he knew it wasn't. He needed to stop torturing them both. "Should I go?"

"No! Please! Please don't leave!" It scared him that he nearly said 'me' and he couldn't help but be utterly disgusted by the desperation in his voice. It was just another mixed signal. Stop it.

"Alright," she exhaled and rested back against the seat. "But you can at least tell me what went on with you and Sabin. I can't imagine he'd do something awful to you."

Anders snorted. "You're right. Something awful doesn't even begin to cover it." Hawke raised an eyebrow amidst the quiet and watched him twist the feather tip of the quill. He sighed. "That man is my father."

Hawke's lips parted. "What? Are you sure? I thought you were from The Anderfels."

"Originally yes," he affirmed, "I was born just right outside of Weisshaupt, but we moved to Lothering..." His brows knit together. "after..."

"After...?" she echoed.

Anders shifted in his chair and raked a hand through his hair, causing it to tumble forward again, once the fingers withdrew. He fiddled with the loose string on the hem of his shirt, contemplating telling her about everything that had happened to him. Maker knew he had bottled it all up inside him and only uttered a few instances to Karl when he was first hauled off to the Circle. But any mage had the same story. He was no different.

Anders kept his gaze turned away and clutched his hand over Hawke's. "Do you have some time?" he questioned. His grip tightened in the silence. He couldn't bring himself to make the eye contact even as he felt her gaze upon him. If anything, it made him wish to look away more. He was being shameful and he knew it. Selfish. But he just needed someone... her... Hawke... to hear him. That wasn't so awful of him, was it? This was something friends did right? And she could at least be allowed to be his friend if nothing more.

"I've got time, Anders." Hawke assured.

He released his grip from her, hesitating, hovering his hand just above. He curled his fingers into a fist and lingered for just a moment as his eyes shut and he retracted the limb along with himself back to the chair.

"Thank you," he breathed. "Although, I suppose you can probably already guess it has to do with magic."


Mother had told him to stay inside. If only he had listened...

Anders crouched down in the bushes, eyeing the soldiers that occupied the village between snow drenched leaves. Normally, only one or two passed through the main roads. None of them ever actually stayed. He couldn't understand their sudden interest and flitted his eyes between the group of men and strained to figure out what one pointed to. He could barely make out the silhouette of his neighbor's house only a foot past them in the blighted thick fog. The boy stretched out his legs, holding his breath against the cold that leaked into the thin cloth and fumbled to reach down into his pockets, wishing he snuck his coat and mittens.

The lead of the group signaled to move out and all but two followed. The remaining took their places in front of the entrances of the two houses and Anders snatched the moment to dash behind the stables. He flattened his back along the stone and stalked towards the edge, hoping he wouldn't lose sight of where they headed before the fog swallowed them.

The boy groaned. Too late.

With a huff, he tightened the tie of his ponytail and sprinted into the mist, trying to catch a glimmer of silver. Cold air chaffed his lungs at each inhale, yielding him to diminish his pace, but curiosity continued to coax him forward. Snow dropped from endless gray, and Anders slowed his pace as puffs of vapor expelled from his mouth. He glanced around, turning his body in all directions. Where did they go? Where did anything go? The boy's heart clenched, wondering what direction he'd come from and tried to at least find his own footsteps in the endless white. He heaved, realizing the fresh snow had fallen far too quickly and that the steppe did little to offer any significant landmark.

What was he going to do? The boy leaned forward and clutched his thighs. Wait. Anders hovered a hand above his brow to shield the flakes from clinging to his eyelashes and fixed his gaze upon the movement a few feet ahead. He could make out a silhouette of a man. Was that a shield he held? It must have been one of the soldiers from before! Anders sprung towards him, as his aching muscles yelped with each foot dredging through the thickening snow.

Anders slapped against the ground. The white fluff did little to cushion his fall as it shot into the air, only to float back down upon him when he struggled to regain his stolen breath. Stupid rock. His ankle screamed its certainty of injury and the boy gritted his teeth trying to blur out the pain. At least the soldier could help him now, he thought as an armored boot sunk into the flurries an inch before him. Anders straightened his arms, plucking the upper half of his body from the dirt and swung his gaze to his onlooker. His face blanched. Darkspawn.


to be continued...

a/n: For those that are curious, yes Sabin is an actual character. It's not a fact that he's Anders's father of course but I figured there's so many characters in DA, why make one up when I could just borrow one since he does look somewhat like him. Anyways, stay tuned to find out more about what happens in Anders's past and how it effects the present. I hope you've enjoyed this. Please remember to review and share your thoughts. Thank you for reading.