A/N: I combined what were previously chapters two and three into this one.

Disclaimer: Not mine.


There was no other man in the world like Anders; perhaps that was because of Justice, but I don't really know. All I know is that no one had ever, or has to this day, made me so love and so hate them all in the same moment, although Cullen came very close. He made me question myself, my beliefs, and everything around me. Between my mage and my templar, things happened to me that I was unaware could – especially to a sharp-faced, boy-bodied eldest daughter.

When I first met Anders in his clinic in Darktown, saw him bent over the poor ailing child, and that ethereal blue light... I was struck, immediately. I heard Bethany's gasp, knew what I was seeing. He was, by definition, an Abomination. No mage could do that on his own. But I didn't flinch. Instead, I stepped closer.

"I have made this place a sanctum of healing and salvation! Why do you threaten it?" he roared at us, taking up his staff and spinning towards us in one graceful movement. I had lifted my hands in a show of surrender, though my companions did the opposite.

"I wish you no harm," I started and glanced to my right and to my left, signaling to Varric, Aveline, and Bethany to hold back their attack. Aveline looked like a lioness, ready to step to my aid. Bethany, her fear of what this man was still evident on her features, gripped her staff with white knuckles.

Varric, however, pouted. "Oh, but Bianca is bored!"

"We'll find some riffraff on the way out, Varric. Everyone, calm down." I gave a sharp, though apologetic, look over the group before turning to look at the man in front of me. "Anders, correct?"

The blond mage pursed his lips but nodded; he did not replace his staff against the wall, though his grip relaxed just a little.

"Are you a-"

"Bethany, please do not alienate a friend we have yet to make. Stay your curiosity, sister," I sent a pleading looking to the youngest, last-surviving Hawke and turned a, hopefully, charming smile onto the healer.

"No," Anders answered the question that had not been completed, "I am not a maleficar. Yes, I am an apostate. No, I am not from Kirkwall."

"A Grey Warden from Ferelden, we heard," Varric chimed in.

Maker, if everyone would just let me talk...

"Yes."

"Weren't you at Vigil's Keep?" Aveline asked, excited by the idea of having worked alongside the Hero of Ferelden. They had met, only briefly, at Ostagar. At the time, neither had known that the youngest Cousland would some day have slain an Archdemon and come to rule (sort of) beside Maric's lost son.

"For a time, yes. A friend gifted me with a kitten, which the Wardens decided made me 'soft'. Said I had to be rid of him, Ser Pounce-a-Lot. I had to leave him with a friend in Amaranthine. Just...got sick of all the fighting and the Darkspawn after a while. With Ser Pounce-a-Lot and Elethyna-...err, the Queen-Commander gone, it was a whole lot of monotony. Came here to see what I could do for my fellow...Fereldens."

"You abandoned your post?"

"Aveline!" I snapped, turning an ungrateful eye on her before I looked back to Anders. "Please, forgive my companions.

"What was that light?" Bethany snuck in – Anders sighed a little, though looked less irritated than I had entirely expected.

"...My friend," he replied without much venom, though with a slight curtness. "Justice. Or, he was. It is a long story, for another time. I doubt you came through Darktown to get to know me, and none of you are injured. What is it that I can do for you?"

"We are trying to get into the Deep Roads on an expedition. Hawke here was hoping you might have some insider knowledge, what with having been a Grey Warden and all," Varric spoke up again and I wanted to make a very physical show of how irritated I was with the lot of them.

"So that's your name, then?" Anders responded, ignoring the suggestion.

"Oh, terribly sorry," I frowned – despite looking like a pre-pubescent (albeit not particularly short one) boy, I had the femininity to blush. "Marion Hawke. Most call me Hawke, however. It's a titch better than Mary," I smiled, attempting to get some sort of similar reaction from him. His lips twitched but the expression did not stick.

"It's a pleasure," he responded, and the tone of his voice betrayed that he might actually think it was. Almost. Given a different circumstance – the Hanged Man, perhaps. "Well. I have got a proposition for you."

"I'm not that sort of woman," I let out with a giggle, and he snorted as he tried to suppress a laugh. He looked like he sorely wanted to, but would not betray the persona he had tried so painstakingly to create thus far. "But, perhaps, we can come up with an exchange of services."

He didn't seem to have time for such banter as he pulled me aside and, with a sort of manic urgency, spoke of a mage that was to meet him at the Chantry that evening and would I come with him?

That seemed simple enough.

How wrong I was.

The mage we met was Karl – whom, I would come to find out, Anders had fancied himself in love with at some point. I do not mean to demean their relationship, though he did once tell me he had been playing at love then, now that he knew what it was. With me, he made sure I knew. With me, it was real.

What a lark.

The time did not pass well in the Chantry that evening, and Justice – or Vengeance, as I would come to know – came out to play. It was tragic, dramatic, and a serious issue. But, in the midst of the terror and fright, I felt awe. This man, this pained and bitter man, held so much power. The will that he had to keep the Fade spirit from destroying everything...the will he had to not decimate every templar with which he came into contact, that was something to behold. It wasn't necessarily the power of his magic enhanced by Justice that left me speechless as it was the mind that could keep such boundless knowledge in check. At least for the time being.


Months passed and he joined us with more frequency. He, Varric, and I would meet for a draft of ale occasionally – though, Anders insisted, Justice did not approve of his drinking so he rarely, if ever, imbibed. He offered to come with us on our Deep Roads expedition when the time came. I was relieved – I would not dare bring Bethany with us. Mother would never have forgiven me if she had succumbed to the Darkspawn. Then again, I doubt Mother ever forgave me for allowing the templars to take her, despite the fact that Bethany refused to let me fight for her. It was almost like she wanted to go, despite her later feelings towards me.

That night, the night they took my sister to the Gallows, was the night we returned from the Deep Roads. I was sore, caked in dirt, unspeakably angry, and dreadfully...well, sad. Mother wanted nothing to do with me; Uncle Gamlen all but bit my head off when I tried to return home. Instead of forcing the issue, I headed out for a walk. I was going in no direction in particular, just hoping for some trouble. I wanted to take that templar's head – Cullen. What a backwards ass he was. Bethany and I had saved his life, and this was how he repaid us? By not turning me in for 'harboring an apostate'. Piss on that, I say.

So, unable to bestow upon him some proper righteous fury, I opted for some unfortunate thieving scum.

It was no secret that few in Kirkwall appreciated the Fereldens that had come over because of the Blight, and despite my infamy (amongst unsavory characters, that is) I was not spared this loathing. It, perhaps, increased it. I should not have been surprised then, when nearing The Hanged Man tavern, I was set upon by a group of Coterie members.

Now, I am hardly a weakling and I can certainly hold my own. I challenge anyone, however, to take a dagger in the side and a fist to the chin and not be a little dazed.

Thankfully, there were only three of them. Their assault on me only fueled my anger and, despite gaining quite a few lovely new scars, I made it out alive. I cannot say the same for the men that attacked me.

"We Fereldens aren't so useless," I spat on the groaning man that had moments, most likely, to live before I stepped around him and then dragged myself into the tavern. I wanted to find a tall draft of ale. I needed a healing potion. I had four coppers on me. The ale won out.

"Oi, don't you go bleedin' on my chair, Ferelden," the barkeep narrowed his eyes at me as I slumped down with the mug.

I barked back something unintelligible before I took a long swig. The world swam as I put the mug down again. I knew it was not the alcohol.

Oh, what I fool I was.

"...Hawke?"

Blond hair, slightly tanned skin, and a mixture of dark colors for a body swam in front of me. What I thought I said was, "Anders! What are you doing here?"

He, I don't think, heard much of it. "Andraste's knicker weasels, Hawke..."

He scooped me up in his arms. I lifted my arms to fight him, but to no avail. The world was growing dark and my hearing was fading, but I did catch, "...don't you...Hawke, come...Marion, Marion..."


The world came back in a rush, my inhale sharp and painful. The brilliance of the light, which to anyone else would have been dull, hurt my eyes. I ached everywhere, and then nowhere. Wisps of blue light, bright white in the center, faded very slowly. Anders slumped back over me to the left. I suddenly felt the hardness of...wood? Beneath my back. Not a cot. A...table?

"...Anders?" I choked out, my voice nothing like its normal self. I cleared my throat, sat up. There was a gentle ache between my shoulder blades, where I had fallen back onto the table after my intake of air.

He was breathing heavily, hands on his knees as he staggered. Slowly, he straightened his spine, standing without the assistance of the wall, and shuffled his feet to come back to my side. With his palms on the table, he leaned near to me. "You're all right?"

"You saved my life." I blinked. Anders didn't. His honey-colored eyes remained on my face and it was almost too much.

"It isn't the first time, though it was the closest. You haven't got an ounce of sense in you, do you?"

"...there's no room for it, what with all the daring, wit, and brilliance," I snorted, shifting so that my hips were resolutely beneath my shoulders. I straightened my spine, set my shoulders back. I hissed out a breath, squeezing my eyes shut. With my inhale, I opened my eyes to find Anders. He stood up a little more, though remained close.

My next move was involuntary, my hand reaching out to touch the hand that remained near my thigh. "Thank you, Anders."

The words, which had been said a million times before, held more weight for me than I had intended. I was revealing more than I wanted to, and he was seeing it. His head lifted and turned and his fingers curled around mine, his eyes on the shape they made when intertwined. It was a moment before he pulled back, bringing his hands up to cross his arms and shaking his head.

I frowned a little unwittingly and made to move off of the table.

"What brought this on?" he asked, standing at a suitable distance.

"They took her."

There was no need to explain to him what I meant; the last he had known from earlier that day, I was rich. I had gone home to pass on the good news – we could buy the Amell Estate back. Our name could be a blessing, not a curse, once more. But the dark look, mixed with the flash of Justice, and I knew that he knew.

"My baby sister..." I clenched my jaw, making sure not to look at him. I was exhausted, physically as well as mentally. It would be too easy for me to cry. That would not do, not at all. "She let them, too. Wouldn't let me cut the head off of that rat bastard and save her from it."

He was at me in a moment, his hands on my shoulders. Justice – Vengence? I still couldn't tell the difference – glowed beneath the surface. His voice at first held the ethereal tone of the Fade. "Hawke, we-" He stopped, his jaw muscles clenching. He shook me a little with his hands on my shoulders, then moved his hands to my face and forced me to look at him. "Don't you dare, Mari-…Hawke... They would-"

"I know, Anders," I frowned.

"They'll do it for me, if they-"

"Hold your tongue," I stood fiercely. He didn't move back, which kept me trapped between him, his hands now on my shoulders again, and the edge of the table. "I will not lose you too, Anders." I felt as if I was glowing too, though it was certainly not with magic.

"What am I to you?" he spat, anger flaring as he turned away from me. "Nothing to risk your life over." He inhaled shakily, his tone changing as he turned to look at me with sorrow in his eyes. "The thought of the templars hurting you...It makes my blood boil. I couldn't let you get hurt because of me."

"You listen to me, you sodding fool," I followed him, putting my hand on his arm, "You've told me you can't do this, you'll break my heart. My heart breaks every day over the injustices done to people I should be able to help - Fereldens, the Qunari, mages. I fight to save them and sometimes I break other things. Those, you fix. Perhaps-"

"Marion," he started, his face and voice tense. He looked at me with resolution clouding his gaze.

I waited.

And waited.

He cleared his throat and straightened his spine. "...Hawke, I...should go."

And go he did. He left me standing there with all my pain, my confusion, and quite a bit of ale. I stayed in The Hanged Man that night and didn't speak to anyone for a week. Well, aside from merchants and messengers. I had an estate to purchase, a life to change. I swallowed my pride and my tears, stamped down thoughts of Bethany, thoughts of Anders, and tore the heads off of a few more seedy individuals with enough stupidity to attempt to jump me.

I was back, at least for now.