"There can be no peace."

Silence followed, and Anders's words hung in the air for a long moment. Heavy smoke blocked out the sky, and flames set by magic turned the sky purple and gold. The weight of what had just occurred passed slowly over all who were present, and one by one, they burst open in response.

He was aware of the words leaving his lips, of the turmoil errupting around him, but he felt like he was watching it all from a distance. He was focused on the man standing on the edge of the conflict, looking absently from person to person, as each voiced their thoughts in turn. Anders would have given anything to know Hawke's thoughts during these moments, but his lover's face was blank and unreadable. The First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander were arguing heatedly around him, but still Hawke gave no responses. He seemed distant, like he was somewhere else entirely.

Anders began to fume. How dare he stand there and act like he didn't care, with all that was going on? Anders had expected Hawke to be furious, to side against him and tell him he was wrong and to turn his back on everything Anders had tried to do. Anders had even expected Hawke to side with the Templars, but this, this complete lack of response, it was almost worse than that.

Then the Knight-Commander was demanding the Champion's aid in "restoring order" to Kirkwall, and everything changed. Hawke snapped to attention, his expression somewhere between anger and disgust.

"I will not help you murder these mages, Meredith," Hawke roared venemously, spitting her name as if it were vile on his tongue. Anders thought he had never seen such ferocity from Hawke before, and then his mind was spinning and trying to comprehend the purpose behind that statement. That couldn't mean what he thought it did, could it?

But then the Knight-Commander was screaming curses, and Templars were assembling for an attack. Hawke was drawing his blades and positioning himself for battle, and Anders realized in a sudden moment of amazement that Hawke - his Hawke, the one who had always come down on the side of the Templars and the Circle before - was now drawing weapons to fight for the mages, for this cause.

He watched in shock as Hawke skirted around the battlefield, putting his skills to good use, stabbing backs and slitting throats. Templar throats, he reminded himself, but though he could see for himself the blood on his lover's blades and the corpses dressed in Templar armor, he could hardly believe it.

Moments later, the battle was over, and Orsino had rushed over to speak to Hawke. Anders had wanted to do much the same, but settled for taking a seat on a crate nearby. He could wait.

"I will leave your... friend, for you to deal with," Anders heard the First Enchanter say finally. The click of his footsteps grew softer as he retreated, until they could no longer be heard over the sound of his own heartbeat.

Anders was sitting with his back to the group, rocking slightly back and forth. He didn't see Hawke stride purposefully toward him, and the rogue's light feet never made a sound. But Anders knew when Hawke was standing behind him. He could feel his lover's approach, as if they were entwined on a deeper level than they understood, as if their souls were connected, were one.

The thought made Anders's heart lurch so high in his throat he thought he would choke on it. Instead, he choked on a sob, forced it back, and tried to steady himself for what was coming. When Hawke didn't speak, Anders drew in a deep breath, and let the words he'd planned to say tumble out.

"There's nothing you can say that I haven't already said to myself," Anders began. He'd played this moment through in his mind so many times, he thought he knew exactly how it would go. Hawke may have surprised him by protecting the mages, but there was no way the rogue would let him live after his crimes. He waited for this moment of silence to pass, for the hatred to set in. He waited for Hawke to curse him, despise him, slip a knife between his shoulder blades or across the throat he'd kissed this morning. He waited for Hawke to tell him he hated him.

Instead, he said, "Help me defend the mages."

Anders leapt to his feet to face Hawke, reeling with confusion and... anger? He didn't know what to think. He knew he should be grateful, but the man before him - the prickly, short-tempered, hard-headed man - had never, not once, lifted a finger to help mages, and now he suddenly wanted to fight with them against the Templars? He would spare Anders's life, after what he'd just done? Anders didn't understand. Was this some kind of game to him? Was he played them all false? It didn't make any sense.

"Why are you doing this?" Anders asked, sounding harsher than he'd intended.

Hawke stared at him for a long moment, eyes burning with an intensity Anders had never seen. Finally, the rogue spoke, his voice steady and calm. "You once asked me if I was willing to tell the whole world that I loved an apostate. If I would stand by his side."

He looked away from Anders, at the column of black smoke and ash rising from the ruins of the Chantry. Anders realized he was holding his breath. And then those large, brown eyes focused on him again.

"I'm ready to tell the world, I stand with you."

"Do you mean that?" he asked, breathless and scared he had imagined Hawke's words.

Hawke scowled. "Of course I do."

Anders thought his heart was going to melt in his chest from the fire burning in it for this man. He pulled Hawke in for a searing kiss. One hand tangled in the rogue's hair while the other crushed their bodies together. Hawke returned the kiss just as violently, wrapping stong arms around Anders's back and pulling them so close, Anders wondered if they would be merged into one.

Finally, the kiss ended, and Anders pressed his forehead against Hawke's. He had never been more grateful for, more amazed with, or more proud of the man he held in his arms. His chest swelled with so much love and raw emotion, he wondered if it would burst.

Instead, he whispered against the other man's lips, "Thank you."