Title: Bolero
Author: SnowChaser
Pairing(s): Hawke x Anders
Author's Note: This is meant to be an end, of sorts, for one of my favorite Hawke's. Miranda was a Force Mage who also specialized in the Entropy school of magic. She was a rival-mance with Anders (lets face it, Anders is so much more fun as a rival) who, by the end of Act III, was nearly as passionate about the Mage's Plight as Anders. Since I've heard rumors that neither Hawke nor the Hero will be in DA:III, I'm ending Randi here, but keeping Artemis on the back burner just in case. First person, meant to be read as someone in the future finding this memoir of sorts. This is slightly AU- meaning that while the story shadows the game, certain events will be changed, certain conversations will be edited, and, over all, it will be very different than the game in some respects. Some chapters will be longer than others- the first two or three are barely more than a page, if that.
Summary: And so, my story begins…
Prologue: In the Dungeon
I never thought it would end here, waiting for the Brand, while my lover watches on with soulless eyes. It was supposed to end with my rescuing him, saving him. It was meant to end in the Deep Roads, fighting off Darkspawn until finally being overrun, not in some cold, dank dungeon surrounded by Templars.
They call this mercy- as does my former companion, and friend. He gloats over his victory over my lover- but he refuses to do so with me. He honestly believes it is merciful to sever a mage from the Fade- that it is a kindness to not put us to death. And nothing, not even I, can convince Sebastian that he is wrong to think such things. He will not hear, because he simply does not wish to hear.
These will be the last words I ever write.
It's strange to think that, in a few days, I will be but a pale imitation of myself. You would think I would be resentful, but I am not. You would think my last words would be to Carver, my only remaining kin- but no. I choose to spend my final hours telling my story, so that when I am gone, I may yet have my story be told, in my own words. Varric may believe he is a master storyteller, but he deals in fiction based upon half truths and whole lies. That is not an insult- it is why I chose him, over my other companions, to tell my story.
He would have you believe that I was swept off my feet in a world of intrigue and mystery- that I was innocent of what happened with the Chantry. And why not? To cast my lover as both victim and villain, while making me look like a lamb brought to the slaughter only helped our cause along. Our names were rallying cries amidst the blood and gore of the Revolution- our story passed along in legend and song until even I could not tell you where the truth and fiction lay, at times.
But I digress.
These last few hours will tell the true tale of Miranda Hawke, once Champion of Kirkwall, and that of her companions. It will tell the truth of Kirkwall, of the incident with the Chantry. But, most importantly, it will tell the story of the Revolution.
I pray that you will keep these words close to your heart. Not for my sake, dear reader- but for the sake of the Revolution, now that I am not around to see it to fruition. Take heed, and listen.
And so, my story begins….