Update 11. January 2017
I'm bringing this fic back, and will slowly be adding DA fics from the past three or so years that were originally posted to tumblr. I see no reason to actually delete the earlier chapters, but if you have no desire to slog through a bunch of old, sad writing that the author is no longer profoundly proud of, feel free to skip to chapter 17.

tl;dr the first 16 chapters are old and i like to think i've improved since then

A/N: Fanfiction is what I use to battle writer's block with my novels, so little prompts like this have become what I use to battle writer's block for my fanfics. I suppose it was inevitable.

Anyway, this will probably be updated every week or so, whenever I have one of these actually finished. The prompts will use both OCs and companions as the main character. I'll try to stick to one main Hawke/Warden, but I'll occasionally throw in a character from another fic. Or, in the case of this one, use a generic Hawke.

Feel free to give prompts/suggestions/ideas!

Prompt: The Candle in the Window

The little flame flickered and danced in the pale moonlight, casting a soft reflection in the glass of the window. The two flames waltzed with each other, mirroring the other's steps in flawless, erratic movements. A wispy tendril of smoke bled from the tip of the fire, twisting and writhing as Hawke's breath interrupted its rise. Her hazel eyes followed a drip of wax as it broke from the top of the candle and rolled down the side, slowly and deliberately, until it settled onto the windowsill with the rest of the escaped wax.

As if mimicking the candle, a warm tear broke from the corner of Hawke's eye, rolling down her already wet cheek and falling from the tip of her chin to sink into the soft fabric of her house robe, joining where the other tears had pooled into a little moist spot on the arm of her robe.

"Hawke?" Anders' voice drifted from their bedroom, tinged with concern.

Wiping her cheeks with the sleeve of her robe, Hawke did her best to keep her voice steady. "I'm out here." She kept her eyes trained on the flame, watching as her breath mangled the fire and sent it thrashing and squirming before settling back into its calm flicker.

"Can't sleep?"

She shook her head. "Nightmares."

Anders' voice was lighter when he spoke again. "Trust me, I know how that is."

Guilt spasmed through Hawke, transforming the ghostly ache in her chest into a throbbing, painful reminder that her nightmares would never be as terrible as Anders' were. "I'm sorry," she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut and biting down on her lip to keep more tears from escaping. "I'm so sorry, Anders." She stood and turned to face Anders, her heart dropping as she noticed the dark circles under his eyes. Between his nightmares and hers, he wasn't getting nearly enough sleep, and Hawke knew she was just making it worse.

"Don't be, love." He took her in his arms, holding her tightly as her tears dripped onto his bare chest.

"I have to be, Anders." Hawke's voice broke and she cringed at the sound of her own weakness. "It's been a year. A whole year." The tragedy remained unspoken, but the haunting memories filled the room regardless. Exactly one year ago, Hawke had ventured into the lair of a madman in hopes of saving her mother, but had left a broken woman.

More broken than when she'd lost her father, or Carver, or even sweet Bethany.

Because, when she'd lost her mother, she'd lost everything. Kirkwall had been Leandra's idea. The estate was Leandra's old home. The Amell prestige belonged to Leandra. The strength that Hawke had always prided herself on, the unwavering, unyielding resolve—that was Leandra's, too.

Even the damned dog had been Leandra's idea.

"Do you want to do something?"

Hawke titled her face up to Anders, confusion shining in her eyes.

"Do you want to do something?" he repeated, smiling down at her. "Go to the Chantry, or something. We could take a trip down to Lothering, even." His smile faded at Hawke's lack of response, but Anders kissed her forehead softly and insisted, "Whatever you want to do, I'll make it happen."

"You really mean that? You'd risk a trip to Lothering just to visit my father's grave?" she asked, her voice thick with emotion; she'd mentioned wanting to visit her old home, but that had been months ago, and she hadn't expected Anders to remember.

"Anything. I promise." Anders' smile returned. "But for now, you should try and get some sleep." He reached over and pinched out the flame of the little candle, returning the room to a serene equilibrium of moonlight and shadows.

When Hawke had lost her mother, she'd lost everything. Everything, it seemed, except Anders, and that was so much more than a broken woman like Hawke ever thought deserved.