Okay, I'm new to the site, and my very first fanfic is this one. Enjoy, reviews are much appreciated, and all that good stuff.
Usual disclaimers: I do not own any of the characters, nor do I own the Dragon Age universe, it belongs to Bioware. Lucky dogs, I'm jealous.
She knew she had to do it. He was a murderer, and the catalyst of a war that would not end without needless slaughter on both sides. His back was to her, and she could not believe that he didn't even have the gall to meet her tear-filled eyes. His voice was sad, "For what its worth, I'm glad its you." Her hand trembled on the hilt of the dagger poised above him. The cruel metal cast back a stark reflection of her face, made her watch her own heart break in her eyes. The dagger dropped to the ground with a cold music, clean of the crimson that was destined to mar its surface. Anders turned to face her in surprise, but Hawke cut him off.
"Leave, now. If you ever harbored any love for me as you claimed, don't make me do this. Curse it all, I love you too much to kill you. Just leave." Her voice was flat but he could detect the undercurrent of emotion in her voice, the slight thickness added from holding back tears. His warm brown eyes met her bright green, surprise and regret his forefront emotions.
"For what its worth, I do love you. So much." Then Vengeance took over and forced him to flee, forced him to survive above all else. She watched his back as he ran, holding that last image of his warm brown eyes, before they had begun to shine azure.
She blinked to clear away the tears, then looked back at her few remaining companions, her last friends. "If I'm not mistaken, we have a hopeless war to fight. Let's go." They all took off toward the gallows. The Chantry courtyard stood deserted and oddly peaceful despite the tragedy of what had just occurred. The abandoned daggers metal gleamed cold and sad. It had been adorned not with the blood for which it was destined, but instead with the tears for what had been lost. It lay and dreamt of a time it could fulfill its destiny and return to Anders, be it in his hand or in his back.
The battle was over, and Hawke still lived. She was waiting in the Chantry Courtyard for her companions to gather their things and come to her. The grief of what had happened here dogged Hawke's every step like lingering taint as she strolled the courtyard and prepared herself to leave. She remembered those words she's said to her mother, Carver, and Aveline when Kirkwall had been nothing more than a hope for a life.
"No more running for our lives unless we really have to."
Looking around, tears slipped from Hawke's eyes. Kirkwall had become her home. She had lost her sister to come here, her brother had left to the Templars when a good life was just becoming possible, and her mother had been lost to nothing but the evils that lived under the skin of this place. She'd fallen in love, been betrayed, seized a throne, dueled an Arishok to the death, forged everlasting friendships, and became a Champion and hero of stories that would be told for years to come. She's been a refugee, dragon slayer, apostate, noble, an icon, and the start of a revolution. So many that she loved had died, and she could count her remaining family on one hand. And now she had to leave it all behind. But curse it all, she didn't want to.
Her foot collided with something, and she knelt to pick it up. It was the daggers Anders had given her, the one that she had been ready to kill him with. She could feel the magic hum in it, though she did not know the enchantment he'd laid on it before he'd gifted it to her. A quickly repressed sob burst through her lips. When she looked into that cold, cruel metal all she saw were her loves warm brown eyes staring back at her, that accursed smile that had been her downfall. She hated herself for it, but she desperately wished she had told him to stay with her. Whatever the consequences, she wished he was still with her.
She was whispering to the dagger, the last connection she had to Anders. "Why'd you do it? You could have trusted me with this." Her voice started escalating. "You said you loved me. So why didn't you tell me, why didn't you trust me? I would have helped you. Maker, Anders. I wish you'd stayed with me." Crystalline tears decorated the dagger's surface.
Hawke felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up, foolish hope raising her heart and shining in her eyes. But it wasn't Anders. It was Fenris. "We must go, Hawke." He paused, then softened his voice. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry. I know what its like to not be with the one you…"
"You're right, Fenris. Let's go…" Hawke entertained the thought of leaving the dagger, and by extension Anders, behind. Then she tucked it into her belt with a sigh, knowing they both had a job they were bound by love and blood to do.
Months passed, and then years. The Champion was now alone, various matters calling her companions from her side. Varric had tried to convince her to settle down and relax, but to no avail. She had a job to do. She had to find Anders. Varric said he'd tell her story. She was glad, but she still went. Every story needed a happy ending, and it was best to leave them all thinking there would be one. Now it was only her story, but this time there would be no Varric to tell it to the masses later.
The ending had finally found her as she was walking through a small town in the Anderfels. Fitting, that the country so closely related to his name should be the place for this story to finally meet its end. It was cold and barren here, and one of the last few towns with a standing Chantry.
It was in front of said Chantry that she saw a flash of blonde hair, a glimpse of a profile that was so achingly familiar. She followed it into the Chantry, a hope that she'd never been able to abandon quickening her steps.
He was standing there, right there, at the altar facing her.
It's him. Oh Maker, I've finally found him.
"Anders!" In that cry she heard ringing true all her love, and all her anger, grief. She dashed to the altar, faster than she ever would have thought possible. She crashed into him and wrapped her arms around him, holding onto him as if that would make the last few years disappear, to make up for all the lost time.
But his arms didn't enclose her. "Hello, Hawke."
She stiffened. There was something wrong with his voice. She stepped back, horrified when she saw what was wrong with his face. "Anders, what did they do to you?" Her voice came out in a horrified almost-whisper, an wellspring of disbelief and denial coming uncapped. "Please, tell me they didn't…."
His tone was flat, emotionless. "They did. I was reckless, emotional and reckless when I left you. The Templars came, brought me to a Circle. There they made me Tranquil. It is truly much better this way. The spirit of Justice I made the mistake of letting in is gone now, too. I now have much better control of myself…"
Hawke slapped his face, hoping to bring him to his senses. It can't be. Not my Anders. They can't have…
She thought of what he'd said all those years ago, on the first night she'd met him.
Anders was distraught upon seeing his friend made Tranquil. Hawke, trying to be helpful, said 'There must be some way to cure him.'
And Anders replied, 'Can you cure a beheading?'
Hawke's heart was ripped in two seeing those warm brown eyes, the eyes that had the power to melt into a helpless puddle, so cold, flat, empty. Looking into them was like staring into an abyss, cold and empty.
Karl was terrified. 'You can't understand it. All the light, color, music in the world, just gone.'
Tears spilled out of her eyes. She was sick of crying over this. "I'm sorry, Anders."
'You can't kill him,' Hawke said.
Anders replying with all the conviction of truth, 'If I was ever made Tranquil, I'd want a friend compassionate enough to end me.
The dagger, that faithful dagger, found its way into Ander's body, the place it had been destined to be since its forging. Hawke embraced him for the last time as he slumped, guiding him to the ground where she could hold him in his arms as he died. "I'm sorry, so sorry…"
After his last breath a whisper came to her on the wings of the Fade. "Thank you, love."
His words when she'd said she loved him, that she wanted to stay with him. His joy as he said, 'Someday, someone like me will fall in love with someone like you, and there won't be any Templars to keep them apart. Because of you, love.'
Hawke sat on the ground for what seemed like hours, holding the body of her beloved in her arms. Tears fell unhindered to his face. Armored boots approached behind her, stopping a discreet distance away. Hawke gently brushed one last kiss on her lover's lips. "I'll see you again someday, my love." The dagger seemed to sing from Ander's chest, pleased that it was at last allowed its destiny. Hawke gently laid Anders' body on the floor, closing his lids. Then she stood, turning from the peaceful figure in front of her to the silent one behind.
"You're an apostate," the warrior woman said matter-of-factly. "Not that it truly matters anymore, from what the two of you started, Champion."
"Who are you?" Hawke's inquiry was tired. Friend or enemy, she no longer cared.
"My name is Telandra Amell, and I've been searching for you, Evelett Hawke." The Hero of Fereldan looked at her old friend Ander's with sadness in her eyes, then turned back to her cousin. "I need you to come with me."
Hawke glanced one last time at her lover's body, memories welling up within her. Then she turned and nodded to her cousin, following her into the night, ending one adventure to begin another.
Maker only knows what they found out there.