That damned elf was smiling again.
If he lived to be a thousand, Anders didn't ever think he would see that bastard, Fenris, smile. As he watched the two warriors face off in their nightly sparring session, however, amidst the clashing of metal and the rain of sparks, Anders watched the lyrium-infused elf's lips curl up in a genuine smile.
And she...
She was even more beautiful than ever.
By the Maker! What he would not give to turn back time, to go back and somehow stop himself from making the biggest bloody mistake of his existence. Even in the thrall of Vengeance, he'd known -at least, on some level- that what he was doing was horribly wrong. But Justice, no, Vengeance, hadn't cared at all about all the innocent lives directly in his path. When he had destroyed the Chantry and all inside it...
Pre- meditated murder of innocents was not something anyone with a scrap of morality could begin to tolerate, let alone forgive.
Anders pulled his golden gaze from the sight of Fenris sparring with his beloved Hawke. In the end, she hadn't killed him, which was far more lenient than Anders felt he deserved. She'd told him she understood it was Vengeance's doing... but it was his own anger and hatred that allowed Vengeance to go so far. She couldn't be with a man who would allow that.
Hawke had let him escape, a last tribute to the love she'd had for him.
Anders peeks out from his niche in the rock. Sword and axe had been discarded, and the two warriors were tangled together in the sand, engaged in an entirely different manner of sparring session.
Maker! She should have just killed him! It would have been more of a kindness.
Three years ago, Hawke had made the heart-rending decision to side with the Templars, in light of the growing instability inside the Circle. Looking back, Anders could now see it needed to be done; at the time, he had only seen oppression, not the attempt to quell a dangerous insurgance.
She'd seen, and she'd understood.
Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.
He was such a fool! Vengeance had blinded him to all else, eclipsing even his love for Hawke. How could he have possibly let it happen? He was a weak, weak excuse for a man!
"Viscount! You're... er... you're needed back at the Keep!"
A messenger boy, racing across the sands, broke the two lovers apart before their "sparring" session could become much more involved. Acknowledgement was given, and a blushing messenger dashed back toward the city walls while the couple re-attached loosened bits of armor and clothing.
Viscount! His Hawke had become Viscount! When had this happened? She had mentioned it once, in passing, but to think that such a notion had become a reality..
Anders sank back into the rocks as Fenris and Hawke sorted themselves to head back to the city. Oh, he'd known this was a fool's errand, coming back to Kirkwall. Bad enough he was a wanted man on all fronts; and apostate, a renegade Warden, a wanted murderer and terrorist... not to mention and Abomination..
Former Abomination.
That was, after all, why he ultimately decided to come back. He had to tell her. After so many years… he was finally free. Justice was no longer part of his being. While the methodology used might be questioned by some as not entirely above-board... Anders was, at last, his own man again.
He'd come back to tell her, in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, he could have another chance.
Anders dropped his head, feeling utterly defeated. He was such a fool.
Cold metal lifted his chin from his chest, and Anders found himself staring into the vividly blue eyes of the one woman he'd ever truly loved. "Hawke..."
"What are you doing here, Anders?" Hawke hissed, eyes narrowing angrily. "You shouldn't be anywhere in the Free Marches, let alone Kirkwall! I should gut you on the spot."
"I know," Anders agreed, staring down the length of a blade easily longer than he was tall. How did she carry that bloody thing? "You're-you're right, I shouldn't be here, but I, I had to see you again."
Hawke was silent, and Anders took the opportunity to press on. "He's gone, Hawke."
The blade beneath Anders' chin twitched ever so slightly, but Hawke's cold, angry facade remained intact. "He? What are you talking about?"
"Justice," Anders clarified. "Or... Vengeance. He's gone. Sent back to the Fade. I... I'm free."
A moment of silence.
"I don't believe you."
Anders' golden brows drew together in a frown. "Would you have been able to catch me unawares if he were still with me? Would I risk coming back here for a lie?"
Another tense moment, and the blade slid away from his neck. With precise, practiced movements, Hawke settled the massive weapon into its holster across her back. "Talk fast."
Anders hesitated, suddenly unsure of just how much he should tell Hawke. "There was a ritual. Arcane.. but legal," he hastily offered at her narrowed gaze, "performed by the Circle in Orlais. The magi were able to separate me from Justice and send him back to the Fade. I very nearly died. I think, I think I would have, but..."
"...'But?'" Hawke prompted, a bit harshly, when Anders seems reluctant to continue.
"But... I kept hearing your voice. You called me back from the Fade. When I thought I was utterly lost... you saved me. Again."
"Don't be ridiculous," Hawke scoffed. "I never called you from anywhere. You need to leave before I regret making the decision to spare your life."
"Hawke. I love you," Anders insisted, taking a step forward. "I -"
"Save your breath," Hawke barked. "Vengeance or not, you murdered dozens of innocent people. To satisfy your own twisted agenda! Anything we might have had vanished along with the Chantry, three years ago!" A muscle twitched furiously beneath Hawke's eye. "Get out of here."
Anders swallowed hard. "There's nothing, then? I know you loved me once, too. Is there really nothing of those feelings left, at all?"
Hawke's eyes slid shut, and she coldly turned her back. "No. Now leave."
"...I don't believe you."
His voice was directly behind her. His warm hand fell on her shoulder and for the first time, Hawke's evasive skills failed her, as Anders spun her around and crushed his lips to hers.
Her arms flew around his neck, and three years of history washed away with the tide.
"Auntie Hawke! Auntie Hawke!"
Hawke beat down the sharp flair of pain within her chest, and readily swooped up the little boy racing toward her, launching the laughing child into the air before giving him a bone-cracking hug and sending him back across the clearing to Bethany.
No one had questioned, some five years ago, why the Viscount of Kirkwall took an extended leave to deal with a personal family matter. She left the very capable Knight-Commander Aveline and Guard-Captain Donnic in charge while she was away, so there was little fear in light of the Viscount's extended absence. Good news travels fast.
Urgent news had arrived; her sister, Bethany, while enroute to visit a sister circle with a small group of fellow magi, had been attacked on the road. Hawke, herself, had led a rescue party, recovering the captured mages and killing the attackers, but the damage had already been done. Hawke had received special permission to take Bethany into the country to convalesce. Fenris had determined he would be of greater service remaining in Kirkwall was a Templar, rather than playing nursemaid to a mage.
It was perfect. No one would ever know.
Little Malcom Hawke had shown a startling aptitude for magic from the time he began to take his first steps. But... they couldn't possibly put him in the Circle. At least, not in Kirkwall.
Hawke smiled faintly as she watched her sister chase the little boy in circles around a vast sylvan tree, before tackling the lad on their blanket and tickling him into fits. His high-pitched giggle was a balm to Hawke's soul, as she watched the light glint off his almost-black hair. Little Malcom Hawke was a beautiful little boy, and Hawke would be willing to bet her title he would grow to be a heart-breakingly handsome man.
Just like his father.
As Bethany settled Malcom down to begin the day's lessons, Hawke let her gaze drift to the other side of the tree, where grasses and vines artfully obscured a simple marker they could not bear to remove. It was a grievous clue to the past, but Hawke could not fathom making Bethany get rid of it.. not when she owed her sister so much more than a simple stone marker reading Infant Carver Hawke.
A few months after Bethany's assault, Hawke was called back to Kirkwall, having received the heart-stopping news that Anders had turned himself in. It had broken her to pieces, but she set aside Hawke, the warrior who came up from nothing and developed a special friendship with the apostate mage. The Viscount of Kirkwall could not afford to show mercy to such a terrorist as Anders had made of himself.
Over the course of a decade, Hawke had bested Darkspawn, Qunari, mabari packs, the dregs of Kirkwall society, and a High Dragon…. But placing her signature on the order for Anders' execution was the single most difficult thing she had ever done in her life.
Afterward, she had promptly promoted Fenris to Knight-Commander, instated Aveline as Viscount, and vanished.
A second glimpse toward little Malcom, who grinned up at his "auntie", amber colored eyes sparkling in the sun, caused a sharp pain in the vicinity of Hawke's heart.
No one could ever know.