Note to Disclaimers: I do not and never will own Dragon Age 2, etc. All characters are the property of BioWare, and this is NOT for profit.
A/N: I've never written a Dragon Age fic…and it's challenging since so many things with the main characters (Hawke/Hero of Ferelden) are not constant other than their main titles. However, I did my best. I left her appearance, more or less, ambiguous. There are a couple things to note though: this is a Hawke/Anders romance, she is a mage, Bethany dies and Carver becomes a Templar. In this story, Hawke chose the Mages, etc. And there is some Fenris/Hawke romance, and from the previous game the Hero of Ferelden was also a Mage. Other than that…yeah, do your best to try and fit your character in here if you wish it. I did not use a first name for Hawke though Marian is the generic one. I also played with the dialogue and scenes a bit, to give it a little more depth so forgive me if they are out of order in certain parts. Anders lives. Hope people like it. Thanks.
A/N Part II: I would also like to give credit to Alceriniel, whose story helped with Fenris. I really did not know how to portray him as I didn't have him in my game too much. Her work is inspirational. GO READ HER FIC!
'Thought' & Flashbacks
"Speaking"
Everything else
Praevāricātor
Dare to fall in love? No, Hawke didn't do love, much like her new companion in crime, Isabella, the pirate captain. The two had become what one would call fast friends, especially since both liked to fight, had sly, witty personalities and both could hold their own in the tavern. With them were usually Anders and Varric. The dwarf enjoyed the company of both Kirkwall's Champion and the Pirate Captain from afar, boasting that they were better drinking companions than most men in Kirkwall. As for Anders, he usually joined them, albeit spending most of his time saying strange things and drinking his ale without too much conversation. But Hawke would be lying if she said she didn't find these moments enticing. Since the beginning she'd had a deep interest in Anders, the Grey Warden mage she'd found in Darktown. As a healer, she thought he'd be calm, passionate about life and easy-going. And he was all of those things and much more, particularly more once she'd found out about his very close friend—Justice. It had intrigued her, from the very start, how gentle and comedic Anders himself was, though his darker side seemed to be consumed by his guest, though welcomed no longer.
Sighing, Hawke turned away as Isabella began teasing Aveline, who had joined them, albeit reluctantly, in a belated celebration of her promotion to Captain of the Kirkwall Guard. It had been years ago but they'd been so busy doing missions and cleaning up Kirkwall that finally, after dealing with Castillion, they were able to rest for a small amount of time. Having restored her estate and seen her brother Carver join her enemies, the infamous Templars, Hawke felt the depression of her lost family weighing heavily in the noisy tavern. She wanted nothing more than to be alone, alone to ponder and grieve over the deaths of Bethany and Leandra. It'd been years since Bethany had died, at least 6; and maybe a little more than 1 or 2 in regards to her mother. She felt empty. Everyone around her had lost things—family, friends, possessions that served as life buoys, homes, lands, etc. And on such a happy occasion where Aveline's face was graced with a true, genuine smile, since she'd lost her husband, Wesley, to the darkspawn shortly after their meeting, should've brought at least an ounce of joy to Hawke. Instead, she wanted to be swallowed up by the Blight like the rest of her family.
Ignoring the constant teasing not sent her way, Hawke finally stood and headed out of the private room reserved for Varric. She did not stop to greet anyone, choosing to walk straight through the door and did not stop until she'd left Lowtown and ended up on her front porch in Hightown. Fenris and Merrill had not joined them, stating they had important matters to attend to elsewhere, though Hawke suspected that this had everything to do with the fact that Fenris hated all mages, except for her. With Carver gone, Bethany and Leandra dead, it was just Hawke in her estate, big, vast and lonely. Her uncle Gamelin had not been allowed to move back into the estate with her as she'd forbidden it. While she loved her uncle, he being the only family she had left, she did not wish him to be near her. He was the reason, the real reason, all her family was gone. 'No…that isn't it…' she chided herself as she sat in her chair before the blazing fireplace, alone and destitute. However magnificent her estate was, it left little room for expansion on these thoughts; without someone to share it with made it worth absolutely nothing. Fighting back tears, she slowly, ritualistically, began to remove her mercenary armor. It was light but efficient, having been enchanted and imbued with all sorts of special gemstones suited to her needs as a mage. At this thought, right as she had stripped herself of the specially imbued gloves, her mind wandered back to the Dual Mage, as she now thought of him. Pausing mid way through unclothing herself, Hawke let her head fall against one of the four posters of her bed.
"I can't…" she murmured to herself. "It's…not good for me…I'm just fooling myself. He'll only hurt me."
"You've done well, remembering my words."
Shocked, Hawke startled a bit, dropping the gloves to the floor. Feeling her heart beat quicken at the voice, she turned away again, boots and leg armor still on in contrast to her top—a simple undershirt and her bare arms. "Oh…I did not hear you enter."
"Quite a strange thing for you, isn't it, Hawke? The Champion of Kirkwall, snuck upon by a random mage."
She chose to ignore this sarcasm, her mind feeling heavy and eyes burning. "What can I do for you?"
"In lieu of what you've just said…I can only image that…you were…thinking." Their eyes met briefly, his brown solemn against her bright pair. "About me…that is."
Picking up the gloves and throwing them harshly next to her light armor, she looked away again, the firelight shrouding her eyes. Her hair bounced a bit as she did so, also hiding her expression from the mage before her. "And what about it? It makes no difference what I think, Anders."
"Hawke…"
"What?" She snapped forcefully, instantly regretting it when he looked away. "I'm sorry." She signed again, falling to seat herself on the plush mattress of her four-poster. "I am very tired. And I am much…drained. Is there something I can do for you at this time?"
For a moment neither of them spoke, the silence hanging heavily around them as Hawke tried her hardest to act as though nothing had changed, as though nothing had transpired there in the quietness of her room. A couple more minutes ticked by in silence before Anders finally cleared his throat. "I will, you know."
"Break my heart?" She whispered in reply. "Yes…I know." Silence. "But I don't care. I've never felt this way about anyone, never. I lived in Lothering my whole life; but it doesn't mean that I was bound there. I did go out into the world. I did meet a lot of people, a lot of men—none who took my fancy. This isn't just some misconstrued "love affair" or some silly infatuation because of the Blight or whatever is happening here in Kirkwall." Hawke suddenly brought her eyes to his again, her own glistening with tears she would not let fall. "This is not some game, Anders, not for me."
He looked pained all of a sudden though he kept his distance from her. He didn't know what to say; or at least she had gathered as much judging by his expression. She looked away again just as he started speaking. "Hawke…it's more than that. Justice does not approve of my obsession with you; he believes you are a distraction. It is one of the few things on which he and I disagree."
"It looks like he's winning your battle," she said, her voice low but full of sorrow. "Please…excuse me."
"You can't tease me like this Hawke, and expect me to resist forever," Anders replied solemnly. "When I was in the Circle, love was only a game. It gave the Templars too much power if there was something you couldn't stand to lose. It would kill me to lose you."
"You aren't going to lose me," came her response.
"No mage I know has ever dared to fall in love. This is the rule I will most cherish breaking."
Hawke's eyes widened at his statement, whipping around to face him only to discover that he had very quietly closed the gap between them, his entire being scant inches away from her own. He was so close she could have reached out and touched him. Gasping, she back pedaled an inch or two of her own, surprise washing over her as she cautiously asked, "I…Anders…what are you…?"
He said nothing, instead closing the space between them, his lips crashing onto hers in a show of desperation for her essence. But she knew it was not desperation that drove him, but something else, as his lips demanded attention from her own stunned pair. Hawke felt his hands cupping her face, his breath hot and body pressed against hers so tight that had there not been armor between them, she surely would've felt like heaven had descended upon her. Allowing her hands to move for the first time, his surprise having paralyzed her for a moment, Hawke clutched his shoulder pauldrons so tight she thought her fingernails would sink through it. She couldn't let him go, wouldn't. Her arms felt taut against her own will, securing him in place lest he slip away from her when she was so close to him now. The tears from earlier pricked her eyelids as she drank him in through their joined lips, the feeling threatening to become her undoing as she tried, valiantly through her emotions, to remain strong. She was Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall, not a sobbing, lovesick woman. She'd come a long way to accomplish everything she had, with the help of all her companions. But it was amazing to her, even now, how one kiss from this man could dissolve her carefully built reputation and resolve. And for once in her whole time in Kirkwall, for once in her whole life in Lothering, Hawke did not care. If this is what love did to someone she was content in letting it rule her, no matter how foolish it seemed in the end. Without Anders, life was humdrum and not really worth living as it had once been.
The tears finally fell, one, two, thin rivulets as she continued to kiss him, feeling like fire was burning her veins. She didn't care if Justice remained between them; she didn't care if she couldn't have a normal life with him; she didn't care if they had to be fugitives and run away from the Chantry. Her whole life had been about obeying others, particularly those of the Chantry. She'd seen, first hand, what the Templars thought of Bethany even in their dire time of need. She hated her Phylactery, how it held her hostage, how it ruled her life—a life that, according to the Chantry belonged to the Templars, because of her ability to do magic. She was not an evil mage; neither was Anders, and neither were a lot of them. The blanket belief that all of them were evil mages hell bent on mind control and using Blood Magic for their personal gain was far from the truth for some of their kind. Another tear slid down her cheeks as Anders finally pulled away, smiling for a moment until he saw her tears.
"Hawke?" His fingers wiped the tears from her eyes. "I have…hurt you."
"No!" She replied quickly, turning away in shame. "It's just that I've…spent my whole life as an apostate, being hunted by Templars even when unity is more important. I do not want to…kill anymore people than I have to. But I can't stand here and let the mages be massacred. If not for the fact that it is injustice, then, for the mere fact that I am a mage, I must do this. And…it would honor Bethany's memory."
Anders' smile was genuine and kind, if not a little weary. "You'll be a fugitive."
"I don't care," Hawke answered quietly, staring into the blazing fire. "I won't do it…not without you."
A comfortable silence settled over them as Anders stood next to her, his fingers gently touching the tips of her own. Hawke felt peaceful for the first time in years since she'd come to Kirkwall. With no remaining family left—save Gamelin—she felt the need to fight for a good cause, one that would honor and protect innocents. Contrary to popular belief, many mages were innocents, not bloodthirsty mongrels in enchanted robes. Bringing her head to lean on Anders' shoulder, she began to ponder the next best defense. Now that she was done exploring the Deep roads, what else was there to fight for? She didn't want to stay in Kirkwall forever, estate or no estate. She'd lived beneath her current means for years. Hawke didn't feel the need to prove so much, even at such a young age—possibly because all she'd done in Kirkwall, a city of the Gallows, a prison run by the Templars.
"You…you will have me here, living with you? An apostate? Hawke…you've seen me for what I am; you saw what I almost did to that girl in the Gallows…how can you be so sure that I will not hurt you?"
"I'm not sure. I cannot predict how long you'll be able to stay in control of Justice. But as I've said, I am willing to stay here by your side. I'm willing to be hunted…as long as you're with me." The words sounded cheesy and foreign to her own ears as they left her lips but she could care less now. She loved this mage, this apostate who was cursed. Varric had warned her, and she appreciated such. Isabella had seemed slightly concerned; Aveline had said as much. As for the rest of her party, Merrill and Fenris had said little to comfort her; Fenris had completely opposed her in her choice. But she loved him and that was all there was to it. Sighing, she let a melancholy smile place her lips. She would go on despite the consequences.
"You'd rather die with me from being on the run for years to come…rather than stay here and live in your estate, with all your friends?"
"My friends…they will always be here, Anders. But love…is more important." Anders flinched at this and Hawke raised a brow. "Anders…you've been acting somewhat…strangely towards me since we rescued that girl. It makes me believe you do not want this."
"I do," he replied truly, his eyes downcast. "But I…I must help the mages. I'm going to…free them. From the Chantry. I cannot involve you in anything from here on. You're support has meant the world to me, Hawke."
"You don't trust me." She frowned to no one in particular, recalling the story of a certain famous Grey Warden who had loved their current King, but could not be with him because of politics. 'Screw politics…they ruin everything.' That Grey Warden had sacrificed herself to remain the new Commander of such an esteemed group, eventually sacrificing love for responsibility, honor, dedication—all which had left her lonely and cold, from what Hawke had heard. Even as the Champion of Kirkwall, she did not want to be like the infamous Hero of the Circle of Magi, Grey Warden Commander in Ferelden, of Vigil's Keep. "Anders…you will do what you must. I will not stand in your way…any longer. Please…excuse me."
She walked past him briskly, ignoring the longing look he sent her way even as his hand reached out to stop her. Brushing it aside she made her way past Sandal and into the study where, once seated, she proceeded to really cry, her heart breaking as she stifled her sobs. Being strong was a curse; being the oldest was a strain she no longer wished to bear. 'If only Bethany was here…or mother.' Her thoughts darkened and she slid against the desk, tears soaking her sleeves and body wincing when she heard the slam of a door, her front door to be exact. "Anders is…gone. I'm all…alone."
The tears flowed harder.
While the Champion of Kirkwall was a strong willed person, and a hard headed woman, one would not think that if they saw Hawke the next morning. Following her disappearance from The Hanged Man, Aveline and Isabella had been concerned—in their own ways, of course—and had decided on visiting her the next day. Aveline had wanted to rush after her friend right away but when Anders disappeared shortly after their Champion, Isabella had suggested they visit tomorrow because "Hawke might be getting some tonight." Aveline had made a face at this but slowly agreed; she understood, having been married before though the crudeness in which it was said, she could've done without. However, nothing could prepare them for what they say when Hawke answered the door. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy from crying, her hair was askew atop her head; her lipstick smeared so that she looked completely disheveled. Upon seeing them she whispered a quiet "Good morning."
"Morning? What in the bloody seas are you talking about? Hawke, it's the damned afternoon. We've been wondering where you've been at!" Isabella shouted.
Aveline glared at her lack of tact. "Good afternoon Hawke. Are you…alright?"
Hawke gave them a blank faced stare and shrugged. "I suppose so. Why do you ask?"
"Cause you look like hell, that's why."
"Varric! Andraste's knickers, where did you come from?" the pirate captain looked spooked.
"You're not supposed to hear me, remember?"
Rolling her eyes, Aveline ignored the ensuing argument between the two as she refocused her attention back on Hawke who looked all but interested. About to suggest if they could come inside, Hawke beat her too it. "Um…yes…would you all like to come in?"
Nodding, the Captain of the Guard proceeded inside, practically dragging an arguing Varric and Isabella with her. Fenris had agreed to come shortly; Merrill said she would be there soon. Anders was nowhere to be seen. 'Probably at his clinic, catching up on healing patients…not that I could blame him. Hawke must've rejected him.' Aveline thought as she took a seat while Varric and Isabella vanished into other parts of the mansion. Aveline knew that the Mage fancied their Champion, who also happened to be a mage. What better match than two mages who understood the intricacies of magic, abstaining from corruption and avoiding becoming an abomination? All in all, the captain thought it was a perfect match, taking Justice out of the equation. The power hungry, vengeance driven spirit did seem somewhat fitting to Anders' personality but not entirely. The seemingly righteous but gentle mage appeared a good match for their Champion; Hawke was headstrong and believed in doing what was right—past circumstances aside—even though when they first arrived, she'd had to accept a more twisted version of it to make ends meet. It didn't seem to differ from Justice himself, and what he'd done to be a part of Anders, with the exception that he was no longer quite so justified; more like vengeful.
'Anders!' Suddenly remembering why they came, Aveline reached out and placed a comforting hand on Hawke's. "Yes…Hawke…about—"
"Anders! Did you, he and Justice knock boots there, all saucy-like? I've been wondering what it's like to bump uglies with a spirit. Sailors get so boring after a while. One seamen, all seamen I say…" Varric and Aveline both glared at the woman. "What? Is it something I said?"
Hawke would've flinched had she not been so terribly aggravated with the entire situation, and the mention of the Mage's name. Shaking her head, she lied. "No…I was just…thinking about my mother again. I really do miss all of them."
"You really are a phenomenally bad liar, Hawke," Aveline chuckled in slight amusement. "I miss Wesley, too. I understand."
"But I thought she was lying about that!" Isabella didn't seem to be buying any of it. "I mean…I'm not trying to be insensitive; I know you miss your family, Hawke. But this…doesn't seem to be about them."
"Tact, Isabella, tact!" Varric whistled back at her. "You lack it…heavily."
"Amongst other things," Fenris said, walking in quickly and quietly. Merrill followed behind him looking nervous and jittery, though from what no one knew. Why Fenris ended up coming with Merrill was strange since he hated Mages, Merrill and Anders in particular. Fenris took a seat close to Hawke and gave her a look. "You've been crying."
"How observant of you, Fenris," Hawke said, offering him another of her small smiles, her tone dry. "Anything else you'd care to point out about my appearance?"
Merrill beat him to it. "My gosh Hawke, you look like you haven't slept. Did you have bad dreams?"
Fenris and Isabella sighed at the Elvin Mage's obvious naiveté. Merrill, for as sweet as she was, lacked worldly knowledge and overall perception when it came to a great deal of concepts, other than the usage of Blood Magic. Even Merrill's obsession with the Dalish Mirror she'd found was a source of naiveté. Hawke hadn't understood how the young woman didn't think dabbling with Demons would eventually get her killed. As a mage, Hawke knew never to deal with demons and now, spirits as well. Sighing, Hawke returned her attention back to Fenris as he gave her a hard stare as if he was trying to discern what had actually happened to her from the last time he saw her to now. This was proving less difficult when he realized that the Abomination wasn't present, which implied that it didn't take a genius to make the connection between the two. While it was true that Fenris had a spectacular knack for these things, it made his blood boil that such a sweet, resilient woman like Hawke could be taken by such a corrupted mage. The Abomination, as Fenris called him, may not have dabbled in Blood Magic like Merrill, but he might as well have—he was a monster, a creature of foul origins and such. It made him sick just thinking of the creature laying his hands on such a beautiful person like their leader. He tolerated the Mage out of respect for Hawke but that was where it ended. He did have some lingering attraction to her, whether it was physical or emotional seemingly irrelevant to him at this point. He would've gladly taken her away from this place, from…HIM. It wasn't necessarily that he praised Hawke, put her on a pedestal or even thought she was perfect. He'd spent many a night awake, struggling with the fact that she was a Mage, too. That there was a possibility that she could become and abomination, a shade, twisted and corrupted like so many other was a constant concern. He was aware that, at any given moment, she could become just like Denarius, or worse, like a blood mage or her "friend."
It just didn't seem to be in her personality to twist and warp her power for personal gain, like the mage he despised. He noticed her red-rimmed eyelids where tears had fallen over the creature. He hated that they fell for Anders, a name he wouldn't dare say. It wasn't even that he wished they'd fallen over him; he never wanted to make her cry. If he did, he knew he'd hate himself. This woman was special, someone to be kept as pure as possible. She was all that was good, all that was Just in the City of the Chains, the gallows. He didn't condone her dedication to the mages but he could not argue with the fact that she strove to bring peace as opposed to choosing sides. 'And for how long will you be able to do this, Hawke?' He glanced at her from underneath his white hair, watching her carefully as she smiled a fake grin for the others, though he knew only Merrill bought it. 'The Knight Commander and the Head Mage will push you to choose…and when that time comes, who will you choose?' He knew it was foolish to even venture into such a question. She was a mage. Anders aside he knew she would choose the mages. He had a bad feeling that something was about to burst, the pot of boiling water was going to boil over soon. He had been watching the Abomination closely, observing his every movement. They were all calculated, careful, painstakingly subversive. Whether this was because he was hiding something terrible or not didn't matter to Fenris, so long as the Mage kept Hawke out of it. He could care less if the monster ruined himself and his life. He only cared for Hawke.
Little beknownst to him, so did the Mage. So much in fact, that he was unaware just how far the mage would go to free her.
It felt too good to stop, and she would be damned if she did now, after everything they'd been through, after all this time. Hawke didn't care anymore, ignoring the small part of her conscience that told her Anders destroying the Chantry was probably not for the best. But another part of her, the Champion part of her, agreed with him. After all, she was a mage, Bethany was a mage, and her true loyalty lied with the mages. Aveline had told her that no matter what, they'd remain friends, that she wouldn't give up their location or any information about them. Hawke knew that was a lot for Aveline since she was the Captain of the Guard; but the woman informed her that her loyalty was to Hawke, after everything they'd been through. The same went for all her friends—Varric, Isabella, Merrill, and even Fenris, who she knew hated mages. All that said, after the Chantry was destroyed and Meredith was slain, she and Anders disappeared, leaving her estate to her friends to do with what they wished. Now she and Anders had escaped into the mountains outside of Free Marches, with Templars surely hot on their trail. Seeking a small reprieve, they'd made camp in a small cave when it started to snow.
She could see Anders standing by the mouth of the cave, shrouded underneath his armor, black feathers dancing in the wind. Outside the blizzard carried on, oblivious to them and her inner thoughts. He'd been pretty quiet as of the last few days following their escape from Kirkwall a year ago, and she began to wonder if he regretted it. 'What will I do if he does?' The thought of Anders regretting her, of thinking he shouldn't have brought her, made tears spring to her eyelids. Looking away, Hawke dug in her pack for something to eat as it had been at least a few hours since they'd last made camp. She didn't want to dwell on the fact that she'd given up everything to be with him, should he decide it was a bad decision. She was so engrossed in her weary thoughts that she didn't even hear him approach until she felt a hand rest on her shoulder. Immediately she sprang up, dagger at his neck. When he did not make a move, her eyes softened and she turned away.
"You startled me."
"It shouldn't be so easy to startle you…is something the matter?"
"No," she replied quickly, returning to digging through the pack of supplies they'd rationed. "I'm just…exhausted from the battle."
"As am I…but it was months ago. Surely…this is being caused by…something else. Is it something I can…heal?"
"No, I am fine," she replied again, this time with more firmness in her tone than she actually meant. "Is there something you need?"
"Why are you doing this, Hawke? I don't want to fight." He said simply.
"Fight? Who ever said anything about fighting? I answered your question. Is that not what I am supposed to do?" She continued to rummage through the pack as if she was actually looking for something, which she wasn't. Now, she knew she was just avoiding looking at his handsome face. "Would you like anything to eat?
"Hawke?"
"I think we have some left over jerky or something that I packed from my house."
"Hawke…"
"Or there are fruits and breads."
"Hawke…please."
"I have a first name, in case you've forgotten! Hawke is my family name!" She finally shouted, enraged even as the tears threatened her eyelids again. Silence followed her little outburst, tension thick around them as she stilled, no longer looking in the pack. "I am…very tired. I think I will go rest…if you don't mind." She finally turned to face him, fighting back the tears and biting her lip to stop everything from falling apart around her. "I've been on edge lately…and it's not your fault. I apologize for this…incident." He said nothing, only staring at her peculiarly. Somewhat perturbed by a lack of response in any aspect, she felt the tears burning now. "Let me know if you require something."
Before she could go more than a few steps Anders had grabbed her arms, whirling her back around in a most unromantic gesture as she crashed head on into his chest. She couldn't say anything as his lips covered hers so fiercely it left her dizzy. His lips were anything but cold, demanding attention from hers with a ferocity she hadn't seen since they'd first met Justice in the Chantry walls. It seemed to slip easily into her veins, cutting off circulation in a dizzying dance of sensual prowess and power that she'd never felt from him. It was true Justice radiated raw power but not of the sexual sort. She reached for him, hands sliding wildly underneath the top of his garments, pulling to remove them. She gasped when his lips left hers, choosing to travel down the exposed expanse of her neck while his fingers delved into the hooks of her vestments, digging through the soft cloth fabric in search of skin. Hawke couldn't get enough of him, her fingers crawling languidly into his shirt through the top of his shirt collar, her fingers finally having loosened his top part and thrown it clear off. By now he had backed her against a wall, the rough rock of the cavern prodding her back now that the lower half of her robes had been bunched up. Somehow, in the midst of their frantic touching Anders had managed to lift her up, one arm underneath her for support while the other caressed her breasts through the fabric of her top.
Her legs had tightened around his waist to help him support her while her own hands began undoing the straps of his tunic like top, itching to feel his skin against her own. It was mere moments before she was without her robes, the rest having been ripped straight off by his skilled, deft hands as they searched for any place on her he could touch. She moaned as he began sliding off the straps of her under shirt, kissing along her shoulders as he did so, his teeth nipping at her skin along the way. How bad had she wanted this? 'Too bad…for me to even…damn…' She couldn't think straight as his hands roamed her thighs, now free of their cover, leaving her in her underwear. She was sure the blizzard outside was colder than she could imagine; but this didn't seem important when all she could feel was trails of fire where Anders fingertips met her skin. By now his shirt was open but he was still, remarkably, clothed, which frustrated Hawke. Not one to be subservient, she suddenly pushed him back, catching him by surprise as she turned the tables, pinning him to the wall with all the strength she could muster. He didn't seem to object as his palms rested on her hips, bringing her flush against his body as his hips met hers. She hissed at the connection, heat pooling between her legs, fire alighting her midsection as she could feel Anders length pressing into her inner thighs. It seemed inevitable now—the last time they'd been alone they hadn't gone this far, opting to make out to ridiculous lengths like school children. During a mission so important, they couldn't get ahead of themselves. Not an overly chaste woman by any means, Hawke still felt a powerful blush overtake her as Anders' hands began to roam again, this time further down until they were resting comfortably underneath her bottom. She let out a small, surprised squeak when one of them snagged the hem of her underwear and pulled at it, all but ripping the thin garment then and there.
Balking, Hawke finally managed to bring her eyes to meet his, the blush on her cheeks deepening when she saw him staring at her, eyes hooded and ripe with lust. This gaze was short lived when he leaned forward, lips capturing hers again. And she could feel it; the guilt slipping through his lips to her, the justice and Vengeance, entwined with his love. It was all there, painfully bright and brilliant, heart wrenching and beautiful as it poured into her, the taste rich, tangy and sweet, smooth like velvet, rich like chocolate and hot like the desert sands. He would consume her; then there would be nothing left. And she now truly knew it.
But she didn't care anymore.
"Please…" she whispered when he finally broke from her, his lips and face resting in the crook of her neck.
"I should not have dragged you into this, I'm sorry," he mumbled, tone so low, so solemn.
"Anders…" she whispered again, this time luridly, her heart beating so fast and hard in her chest she thought it might burst. "Abomination or not…you're still a man. And I love you."
Those words seemed to cause him slight alarm and he brought his gaze back to hers, their breath intermingling as his frown lessened and turned to genuine awe and wonder. "I didn't…not even in Kirkwall…I didn't think you could ever love me this much, Hawke." She pressed a small, gentle kiss to his lips. Anders let his eyes close for a brief moment, reveling in the comfort her soul seemed to give, relishing in the soft lullaby it sang to his, quieting Justice's rage and need for vengeance. She was his, after all this time. After years of wishing for someone who could love him, despite Justice. After 3 long, arduous years of aching for her, and her alone. His hands on her skin tightened, eliciting a gasp from her, pleasure laced and sensual to his ears. She wanted to be his.
In Kirkwall, during their years and travels together he had denied himself her essence until the very end. He had let her be romanced by Fenris, had let the once enslaved elf court her in his own way. He had watched from the shadows, from the sidelines, silent and longingly as Hawke never accepted the Elf's advances; but she never refused them either. He had stood by her side, tormented by her very presence and how her body seemed to call out to him in sweet, alluring whispers that made him ache for her touch and hide from her, too. How her eyes alighted with true mirth at his companionship; how her fingers comforted him; how her sweet, soothing words calmed him. How she was forgiving but relentless. He had gone to great lengths to protect her from himself, even instigating fights with the Elf because he knew that as much as Fenris hated mages, he didn't hate Hawke. She was a pure Mage, one the Circle would have gladly accepted had she not chosen to remain an apostate. She had to constantly get between him and Fenris, always remaining fair to both sides as she considered them both friends. How many times had he refused her hospitality? How many times had he run away to the protection of his clinic, drowning himself in his Manifesto; working himself half to death with his patients; neglecting his well being? He knew he'd spent countless evenings debating on what to do about her, about the obsession he'd developed, before Justice decided to take matters into his own hands. So many nights he'd spent convincing the spirit that she would not ruin their plans, that she would not interfere, that she was a friend. His walls began to crumble, the carefully built fortress of protection he'd crafted began to fall away with each look, each touch, each comforting gesture she offered to the mages of Kirkwall—to him. Her friendship had been his downfall. And before he knew it, he'd fallen in love with her, Justice be damned.
Her endless understanding and compassion had captured him, and for once he wanted what he had always wanted before Justice, before the Warden's, before Vigil's Keep. He had finally felt like he could return to the days of Ser Pounce-a-lot, the days when all he wanted was a pretty lady, a cat, and the chance to shoot idiots, as he used to think. The days before the Blight in Ferelden was silenced by his fellow Grey Warden and their Hero, his friend. In Kirkwall, keeping the Templars off his doorstep had been his biggest, and only worry, for as long as he'd remembered. But when she came, everything changed. She protected him, offered him a place to stay. And loved him. She had been the one light through all of it, even with Justice demanding they ignore her. And after everything, she stayed. He wanted to rejoice in this but it only made him feel worse that she was so wonderful, so caring—and he was a murderer.
That thought stabbed through his lust and he stumbled away from her, turning to look back to the cave's mouth before pausing. How could he possibly think to destroy this beautifully crafted, innocent creature? She embodied everything he wanted his cause to, except that she wasn't the one trying to accomplish it. "I…you should get your rest Hawke. It's…you'll need it once we leave again."
"No…don't walk away from me. You said you should've trusted me," she muttered. When he did not say anything, nor did he make a move to apologize in any way, sudden anger coursed through her as she gathered her clothes. "You said you loved me. But I can see now that Vengeance has won this battle permanently. If you should require something, Ser Mage, I will be in my throw."
The cold manner in which she answered him, so broken and final, disconnected and harsh, told him that he had, perhaps, gone too far. He knew he was a fool. She had sacrificed everything for him and here he was, denying her, and him, what they both wanted. Hawke threw her stuff down on the side as she redressed herself and crawled into her sleeping throw, tears burning her eyelids but never falling, nor did she once look back at him. In spite of it all, she was alone again. She'd left Kirkwall, helped the Mages run rampant, stripped her title of Champion and destroyed the lives of some of her closest friends; she'd thrown away 7 years of her life—and for what? For a mage who couldn't even love her, who lied to her, who betrayed her trust? She hated herself more than anything now. And as she turned over, listening to the soft hum of Anders sorrow as it was carried by the wind, she loved him all the more.
One thing continued to spin through her head as she attempted to sleep away the disappointment, the fears, and the sorrows that plagued her. She hadn't actually heard the screams of the innocents, of the Grand Cleric Elthina but she felt as though she had, as though their screams were drumming in her ears like a poison in her veins that would never cease. He had poisoned her; Anders had cursed her just as he'd cursed himself. And she knew she had taken a great part in it by letting him fool her even when she knew he was lying. She had allowed him to change her, to convince her that destroying the Chantry was a necessary part of the battle. All the while she had let him live and aid her in a cause she knew was probably going to cause a war, all because she loved him more than anything. Justice aside, she hated herself for knowing that, given the chance, she'd do it all over again, in a heartbeat. Because as much as she loved the man, she knew the ideal to be true, the goal to be fair. However, it didn't mean she had to like his methods, extreme as they were. She would've done it all so differently. 'Wouldn't I?' she glanced back to the blizzard where Anders was still standing, resolute. 'No…I wouldn't have. Nothing would've changed. Meredith was determined to keep her power hungry ways, to destroy the mages—eventually me, Champion or not. And Orsino…he would've turned to blood magic, ultimately. None of this would've mattered. Anders wouldn't have doomed us all. We would've. He may have made this harder for us…but there was no Blood Magic involved, there were explosives—any human could've done the same.'
Somehow this justification didn't seem enough, though it was the truth. In the end, Anders had not resorted to Blood Magic to get his point across, to protect them, like Orsino had. True, he was an abomination, one that had killed innocents. He didn't seduce anyone; warp their minds to calm them, nothing of the sort. He'd placed bombs in the Chantry, powerful, strong, bombs. She caught herself at this thought. 'Bombs…made from Tevinter engineered magic…Maker help me, I'm a fool.' Anders may not have used blood magic but it didn't change the fact that he'd used some form of magic. He was exactly what he'd spoken of, a cornered mage, scared and at its last wits end. Justice, now Vengeance, only aided the process and made him cleverer, stronger, smarter—deadlier. Resisting the urge to vomit, she finally fell into a fitful slumber, the cold snow outside whistling in the wind as it blew. He hadn't changed her one bit; she'd only come to accept that they were more alike that she'd previously thought.
"I removed the chance of compromise because there is no compromise." He repeated after the Knight Commander's departure, followed shortly by Orsino's advisement that they needed to hurry and regroup.
"Bombs," she said simply. "You were collecting the Sela Petrae and Drakestone to make bombs. That's why you asked me to speak to the Grand Cleric. Not because of Justice. You never wanted to separate from him, did you?"
"There's nothing you can say that I haven't said to myself. I took a spirit into my soul and changed myself forever to achieve this. This is the justice all mages have awaited."
Furious and blushing with rage, Hawke stared at his back. "Did that spirit tell you do this?"
"No. When we merged he ceased to be. We are one now. I can no more ignore the injustice of the Circle than he could." He remained solemn, sitting on the crate before all his peers.
Hawke's frown deepened. "I might have understood, if you'd only told me."
"I wanted to tell you. But what if you stopped me? Or worse, what if you wanted to help me? I couldn't let you do that. The world needs to see this. Then we can stop pretending the Circle is a solution. And if I pay for it with my life…then I pay. Perhaps then Justice would at least be free."
"Opinions?" Hawke said. "Anyone care to share their thoughts?"
"Belief is no excuse. Sincerity does not justify…this." Aveline looked torn between the two, especially given everything she knew about Hawke and Anders, not to mention their relationship.
"He should come with us. Do what he can to put things right," Merrill answered instantly though she seemed nervous about giving her own opinion, even though it was asked for.
"I think I'm sick of Mages and Templars," Varric said hotly, not really caring anymore as long as he stuck with his friend.
"Whatever you do, just do it." Anders seemed resigned to his fate of death, not caring anymore. He wouldn't die without having been happy, if for a little while, with Hawke.
"Help me defend the mages."
He looked incredulous as he stood up to face her, as though it was a dream. "You mean…stay with you? I didn't think you'd let me. But if you do…I'll fight the Templars. Damned right I will."
When no one said anything further Anders turned to her again. "Thank you for my life. I'll try not to make such a mess of it this time."
Varric rolled his eyes as he turned to Hawke. "We'd best get to the Gallows, and quick. It's going to be quite a show."
"Only you would find this remotely comedic," Aveline answered.
Isabella, who had muttered little more than a sentence the whole time, chuckled. The saucy pirate had stuck with Hawke through in through, having been rescued by her from the Qunari and Castillion. "I'm ready. When do we fight?"
Fenris had left, the mage hating elf outraged that she'd chosen to save the mages. But what should he have expected from her? Hawke was a mage, and Bethany was too. Sure, Carver was now a templar but that was neither here nor there. Looking away from Anders for a moment, she started heading out. She could feel him following behind, the thick waves of guilt seeping from his pores, oozing out Vengeance's twisted ideals. In the fade, when saving Fenryiel, she had hated having Justice accompany her as Anders ceased to exist. But now, it was so much worse, the realization that Justice had been morphed into Vengeance by the very soul and ideals of Anders himself stinging like needles digging into her flesh. It was just all too much for her to handle anymore. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she continued on, her companions behind her, ignoring Anders.
Anders looked away, ashamed but determined as she walked ahead of all of them, the glares of Aveline not unnoticed; the comforting gesture of Merrill unwanted; the quips of Isabella lacking comedy; and Varric's disappointed gaze hitting him square in the face. When they reached the precipice of Lowtown Anders could only watch in horror as part of his plan backfired. The mages around them had been cornered, and he shut his eyes in pain as the one before them slit her wrist, the blood pouring out and abominations and shades erupting from the ground. What had he done?
Hawke awakened with a start, disoriented and groggy as she glanced around, taking in her surroundings as quickly as possible. It was still snowing outside, which she could see from the mouth of the cave, but Anders was nowhere in sight. She reached from her staff, illuminating the cavern with the soft glowing electricity as she looked around. Still no Anders. Despite her anger at him earlier, fear gripped her. Had they been found, after all the careful steps to conceal their trail? Had one of her old companions given away their secret? She quickly stood, throwing on her mage robes as she slowly, quietly made her way towards the opening. She could hear the howling wind now as the blizzard beat down harder on the entrance than before she'd fallen asleep. She couldn't see a thing out there, not even a tree was visible in the thick torrent of white sheets that fell from above. Tentatively, she reached to stick her hand out, crying out in pain when the snow stung her skin. Recoiling, she hissed.
"Anders?" When there was no response, she shouted again. "Anders!"
She couldn't see him through the thick snow, couldn't hear him over the merciless crashes of the hail-like storm, and couldn't feel him either. Everything told her he was gone, that he had left without her, his decision made—whether to save her or carry out this mission, she didn't care. Biting back tears, she whirled around and went back to her campout spot, sliding back into the covers when she realized she was shivering heavily. Her thoughts immediately drifted back to her dream-turned nightmare from the last year in Kirkwall. At the end of the battle Fenris had returned to her, claiming her friendship was worth more. She'd freed him from slavery, and whether he wanted to admit it to everyone or not, he had admitted to her that being a mage in the Circle was no different than being a slave to Denarius. She was right, and he would stand by her for it, for their friendship. How she wished she could hear his berating words, or Aveline's clear disagreement but support; Varric's stories full of embellishments about the Champion, or even Merrill's tentative, craze filled ideas about restoring and preserving Dalish history. In fact, she would've given a lot to hear Isabella's highly inappropriate chatter about sailors and sex. Anything to return to the normalcy she'd left behind. She missed them, all of them and their excellent companionship. She felt the urge to hit her head on a sharp rock.
She'd chosen Anders over them—a decision she, very secretly, did not regret one bit—and what did she have to show for it? The man wouldn't even look at her the way he did before they'd left Kirkwall; and now, he would no longer touch her the way he did moments ago. Sparing his life was surely the wrong thing to do, it was a mistake. So why couldn't she stop trying to convince herself of that exact reason? She knew, morally, what he'd done was wrong. He didn't need to murder all those innocent people in the Chantry; but Meredith didn't need to murder every innocent apostate in Kirkwall, either. No matter how she looked at it, Anders was wrong, but so was Meredith, and so was she. It bit into her, the justice, the injustice, all of it, right to the core. She felt like her being was cracking into pieces the more she thought about it. 'So what is sustaining me from dying, right here, and right now? What's keeping me from running out into that blizzard and letting it take my life? It's not worth much these days.' Suddenly Hawke wished she could meet the Hero of Ferelden, wished she could meet the woman who had withstood rejection and heartache to keep going. Anders had known her very well—they'd been Grey Warden's together. She wanted to ask her how she did it; how she had allowed Morrigan to save them and sleep with the man she loved. Hawke wanted to know how the Hero of Ferelden could allow their king Alistair to marry Anora, daughter of their enemy, and continue her post. It made Hawke sick to think about it because, despite everything that happened, she could not wrap her mind around the idea of Anders with another woman while she protected him. She'd given her heart to him those 5 years ago. He hadn't stolen it; he hadn't tried to. But when they first met she couldn't hide her interest. It had plagued her every night from their first meeting.
She felt like he was consuming her, filling her lungs and haunting her every movement without actually being dead. Although for him, he had mentioned feeling such a way. With him and Justice, now Vengeance, as one being who could never be separated, she suspected these were the consequences they'd both carry for the rest of their lives. She would forever remember what he'd done and forever remember that she'd chosen to let him live as a murderer rather than a martyr, that she'd chosen to continue loving him in spite of the entire extreme catastrophe he'd caused. And he would forever be that murderer, consumed by his hatred for the Templars and forever with a dangerous spirit in his soul, and a love that he seemed unable to fully accept. Hawke would've cried if she had any more tears left to do so but she was no longer able to, her head hurting and heart aching unlike it had in the past. Back then, when she, too, ached for Anders in ways she didn't quite understand, she simply brushed it off and spent her days flirting with Fenris, who seemed all too willing to oblige. The elf had been shy about it and hesitant at first but he had reciprocated and when Anders no longer spoke to her—silent until the night he destroyed the chantry—Hawke had considered returning Fenris' affections two-fold and leaving Anders behind. Yet her heart didn't allow it. It refused to budge from its perch in Anders unknowing hands, settling there and staying there like a bird in his grasp. She tried very hard to stay neutral in Kirkwall, mostly wanting to have a house for her mother, and to ignore Carver at any cost. Hawke didn't want to be a Champion, a hero, a catalyst. None of that was her intention. As a mage she had enough to worry about without all the other drama Kirkwall threw her way on a daily basis. Upon meeting all her companions as time passed she found that their adventures held a lot of fun, quips and witty banter. She'd made a small, intimate and trustworthy group of friends who she considered important to her, who she would do anything for while she lived.
At the thought of "trustworthy" she cringed, her mind slammed backwards by the thought of Anders and how he had lied straight to her face, and hadn't seemed phased by it. She wanted to believe he was doing it for her own good. When he had told her he thought she might offer to help him, she thought it was ludicrous. She would never help destroy the chantry—maybe Meredith. Just not the Chantry. Grand Cleric Elthina had seemed reasonable and powerful enough. But she knew, no matter how she looked at it—Chantry aside—that he was right. Meredith had to die, and Orsino had to be stopped. The Circle was a slave hold for mages; the Templars a force to be reckoned with, at least in Kirkwall. She couldn't say the same for all Templars and all the separate Circles. The Hero of Ferelden had been a mage from the Circle where First Enchanter Irving worked closely with Commander Gregor, whom she'd heard about plenty of times. And if Anders knew how King Alistair, who had sent them on their mission, felt about mages and the Circle, would he have done what he had? She began to delve deeper into the questioning of her beliefs, of what she'd been taught, when there was a rustling to her left. Grabbing her staff with lightning quick reflexes, she was out of her sleeping back so fast that she didn't realize who she was looking at until her staff was pointed at the person's neck.
"Hawke…I must say, even after all this time your reflexes are still quite sharp."
"Aveline!"
The former Captain of the Guard smiled at her through her heavy gear and snow covered hair. "How have you been? Everyone's been so worried."
"How did you find me?" Hawke answered, incredulous as she quickly set to making a fire. She was about to ask more when there was a crash followed by cursing right behind her fellow Ferelden.
"Sod it…Varric, you fool! It's not like I ever wear the warmest clothing. The least you could've done was warn me about a snowball fight!"
Hawke shook her head, doing her best to conceal the joy that wanted to burst from her. "Isabella, you never change. Perhaps you should wear some warmer clothes! This is a blizzard, you know."
"And surprisingly, we didn't get caught up in it. Though I have to say…" she glanced around, a devilish glint in her eyes. "It's the perfect time to knock boots…if you catch my drift."
Ignoring her, the dwarf story teller made his way over to where the fire had started to blaze. "Andraste's knickers it's cold in here Hawke. Are you alone?"
Hawke bit back a snappy comment and nodded. "Yes…it would seem so."
Everyone fell quiet for a moment. Aveline looked at her friend. "Where is Anders?"
"I don't know. He disappeared after I fell asleep, however long ago that may have been. I don't know." She whispered the reply. "How…how is everything back…in Kirkwall?"
"We've been staying in Lowtown. But Kirkwall is more or less destroyed. With the Circle gone, Templars prowling about, and the Chantry destroyed…it's chaotic. But…the chaos does protect us; and so do Varric's contacts. Guardsman Donnic has joined us as well. There's nothing left of the City Guard. They all fled elsewhere," Aveline said, her eyes unreadable. "Hawke…do you know why Anders left?"
"No," she responded briskly as she added more wood to the fire pit she'd fashioned out of rocks and dirt. "I can't honestly say I know why. Whatever the case…I will need to keep moving. Which reminds me…Aveline…have you been spying on me? How did you find me?"
Aveline looked guilty, and looked away. Isabella, however, saw this as a perfect opportunity to open her big mouth, which smelled slightly of a brewery. "I'll tell you. Your hunky turned rebellious mage had been leaving a trail, just for Aveline. We've known where you've been all along, Hawke."
Varric rolled his eyes. "As we've all said before, tact is not your strong point, pirate."
"Bugger off, dwarf," she said, smacking him lightly.
"What?" Hawke looked puzzled. "But…"
"I asked him, before we all parted ways after fleeing Kirkwall." Aveline looked pensive. "I asked him to ensure you're safety, and to ensure that I knew where my friend was, at all times. The truth is, Anders may be a murderer, and I do not and never will condone what he has done." Hawke flinched. "But he's not an idiot. I told him to leave me a trail only I would understand. He has done so, as promised. You cannot be angry with me for keeping an eye on you, my friend. Things are only going to get worse. You need all the allies you can get. And don't tell me you don't."
Hawke mumbled obscenities under her breath and nodded in agreement. "And what of Fenris…and Merrill?"
"They're still in Lowtown. Merrill has been afraid to leave the safe house and Fenris has decided to watch over her," Varric replied."Though I'm not sure it's fear keeping her there, or the mirror. Damned thing creeps me out."
"Fenris? Odd…I surely thought he hated Merrill."
Varric laughed, "He does. He only watches over her for your sake—and so Aveline won't slice him in two. Remember, he did side with you in the end, to save the mages."
Hawke smiled a little. "I suppose that should give me some comfort."
Aveline suddenly stood, pulling a cowl over her head followed by a heavy helm. "Stay put, Hawke. I'm going to look for Anders. Varric, you're coming with me. Isabella, keep an eye out for straggling Templars. Keep Hawke safe." Hawke raised a brow. "What? You didn't think we'd have no back up plan after all these years, did you?"
"Yes, Captain!" Isabella mock saluted, looking fully alert if not still smelling like a beer barrel.
Varric stood and followed Aveline. "Just like old times, eh, Hawke?"
"And then some," the mage replied, her eyes shining. "Be careful."
"We always are," the red head answered with a smile.
Watching them as they left, she ignored Isabella's rummaging through her pack in search of food. She was recalling all their adventures together when a memory struck her. 'Watch for the moment. And when it comes…do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly. Now the time has come for me to leave. You have my thanks…and my sympathy.' The Witch of the Wilds, she had been right. She had known what was going to happen, eerie as it sounded. She had said they were on the "precipice of change" and that they would have to leap. And they all had. Anders had forced it sooner than it should've but it happened nonetheless. 'And I leapt…we all did. And she knew I would make this choice…her sympathy…she knew.' Whether Flemeth knew she'd actually take a leap and choose Anders himself wasn't really of consequence anymore. It was the fact that she had known Hawke would do this. Sighing, she turned back to Isabella as the, for once, fully clad Pirate Captain waltzed back over to her with a selection of fruits. Trust Isabella to make every instance a funny, joyous occasion, one where it didn't seem like Templars could be knocking on her doorstep.
"Hawke, where do you get this stuff? I can't trade this on my bloody boat for anything. Food supplies are always bad in Lowtown, and they're always…lacking the exotic."
"I guess you bring that exotic flavor to Kirkwall, then." She rolled her eyes when the dark-skinned woman grinned, all teeth. "Isabella, just eat some of it."
"Don't have to tell me twice!" She began to eat the fruits before glancing over at her friend. "You know, Hawke…this fully clothed thing is the most interesting thing I've done yet. It's…confining. But comfortable."
"Isabella…we're in a BLIZZARD. What part of that didn't you understand?" Hawke quipped with genuine merriment, always amazed at how laid back her friend was, no matter what the situation. "Anyway…how have you been? Sailing the seas?"
"You'd think I would have after that sodding mess we got into in Kirkwall…but I grew fond of everyone. My ship is still at the docks, luckily untouched. Everyone seems to think we all disappeared, which we did, at first. We came back through an underground passage that Varric told us about. Kirkwall was…is our home, for now. As soon as we gather enough supplies…I'm sure we'll all move out." The pirate raised a brow at Hawke. "Do you…ever miss it?"
Looking away, she shook her head. "No, I don't. There was nothing left for me there. My home is wherever my friends are, now. And if you are here, then it is here in this stinking, putrid and cold cavern."
Isabella laughed heartily at this. "You are sulking. It's not becoming of your pretty face, Hawke. I like it more when you're witty and laughing, like we did before, or after some ale." Then, as if she'd discovered gold, she pulled out a leather-hide canteen. "And boy, did I bring some for this adventure! It's bleeding cold out there. How else does everyone think I've been keeping warm?"
Never surprised but always pleasantly welcomed to her antics, Hawke took a long swig of the Hanged Man's finest whiskey, which pretty much compared itself to pigs piss. The whiskey burned her throat and made her wish she'd taken a smaller drink. But she could careless anymore. Things were going to utter shit around her and if having a drink would help ease her, just for one night, who was she to refuse? The fire in the cavern had blazed brighter, and she didn't pay attention to anything more. Had she, she may have noticed that Anders' pack was still present in the cave. But Hawke was too miserable to care about anything anymore. Drunk off the liquor and in her witty friend's company, she dug her face into the confines of her hood cap, willing her eyes not to shed a tear over the man she was cursed to love.
Forever.
So...what did people think? I thought I'd give it a try. Yes, I'm still going to be finishing my other fics so no one get mad! I'm working on them after I post this. Let me know what you think. If you happened to do the Anders/Hawke romance...did anyone else think that the song after, "I'm not calling you a liar" by Florence and the Machine, was PERFECT? It seriously spoke to me of their romance, tortured and beautiful, after I beat the game. Total fangirl fantasy. Anyway, please R & R, if you want. Thanks.
~sadistickuanis
