The following three days had a surreal edge to them, even as Hawke drank in every detail to remind himself that rescue and freedom were real. He'd spoken to Fenris and Isabela before they left; the thanks he owed them couldn't really be put into words but he'd tried anyway. He'd managed to find a smile for the tales Isabela had told him about Fenris' adjustments to life on board ship; the elf had even joined in dryly with her gentle mocking. They seemed good for one another.
He was reminded that for all Varric's grousing about the outdoors "that got around, like a plague rat" he actually did a damn good line in camp cooking fare. While Merrill's efforts…well he'd never tell her. The two of them seemed to be conspiring to feed him enough for three people every moment he wasn't actually asleep. It might have been like old times…except...
Anders was unfailing as a healer, keeping the pain eased at every hour of the day or night; Hawke had no idea when the man slept himself. Eased enough for him to be reasonably alert when awake, and for the short blocks of sleep his body allowed him to be nightmare-light and actually restful, if harder by day. The stone was a little too close to cell walls.
He hadn't batted an eyelid as Hawke had growled and cursed his way through three days of embarrassment at the realisation that wrecked hands meant solo trips to the privy weren't happening. The mage had a knack for knowing precisely when to turn up and what to ask; and how to leave the instant nothing explicitly required his presence as a healer.
Varric and Merrill had filled the waking periods with enough talk of inconsequentials to keep him from dwelling too much on darker thoughts. Except for the one that wound through his mind every time, increasingly frequently, his invalid status chafed; filling him with a desperate desire for the healing /at least the physical injuries/ to be over.
The thought that said: /and then what?/
/Wounds heal; becoming a warrior again, how long will that take. And where?/
Thoughts of Ferelden seemed laughable now, thoughts of …here…Anders…those weren't even thoughts. Just a wall the size of a ruined building; studded with the shards of betrayal, everything they'd said to each other. A wall both of them were avoiding.
-o-o-o-o-o-
She'd found more berries to go with the battalion-sized meal she brought in the late afternoon; that sort of living off the land she did have a talent for, as long as no cooking was required. Possibly they were meant as a sweetener for the conversation, as she sat cross-legged beside him.
"The night we rescued you we had to rope him to the horse, and to you, because he wouldn't rest, wouldn't let anything interrupt the healing" Merrill said quietly after a moment.
"For two days after that we all thought we were going to lose you; I don't know how he managed to draw so much energy without- he still loves you." Her lips thinned "And he can still be a complete bloody ben-adar ('without father', bastard)" Hawke blinked at the use of the term from her "with what he said to you. You're right about what the mages are doing in this war; it's worse away from the cities. And there are Templars, and soldiers, who have gone rogue and what they've done, not just to mages…but that doesn't make it right. Even Anders- and Justice- have started to see that."
Hawke couldn't prevent mirthless scoff of disbelief at that.
"Talk to him Hawke" Merrill pleaded "Lethallin I understand why you left and if you want to again, but…The last few months have changed well both of us, lots of people I suppose that's what happens in a war, I'm rambling again, but Anders is trying to see things a different way. We've found a few places where people are willing to build something where it doesn't matter if you're a mage or not. Not many and it's, he's, not easy but just talk before you decide; whatever you chose to do."
So; it was really going to be that easy?
/Coward. Stop running and make it that easy. How many times do you think the universe will offer this chance?/
"Varric said to make sure you finish that by the way" Merrill indicated his largely untouched food. "He's right; once he leaves you'll need to be stronger than you are now if all we're going to be living off is my cooking."
"That's not- who said- " she giggled at him, and he couldn't help but smile back. She had changed; the grief and guilt of the past year was still there but she had a sense of purpose. Naivety had burned away into hardness but also confidence. And underneath somehow she had still kept the ability to find joy and value in things others took for granted. Perhaps a glimpse at the Keeper she might have become if things had been different.
"I'll talk to him." Somehow. "You were wrong all those years ago when you said you'd make a terrible Keeper, that you were no good with people." He managed half a grin. "In case you haven't noticed, we're all slow learners about that round here."
-o-o-o-o-o-
/Just talk; Maker's arse, how- ?/ The silence stretched awkwardly between him and the mage poised between sitting and fleeing for the darkness now fallen outside.
"Where did you find- "
"How did you get- "
Both of them waiting on the other.
"How exactly did you find a noble with a spare seat in a pony cart?" Anders tried again, after a long pause, his tone studiously neutral.
"Lady Harriman. Although she did start with a carriage…"
Although it probably only just counted as talking 'to' rather than 'in the general vicinity of' one another it was easier than he'd feared; even if he spoke little of anything concerning Templars and nothing of Sebastian. After a while, in his pauses, Anders began to speak as well. The horrors sounded familiar, the lighter moments much rarer; a refugee community protected by perpetually stoned sylvans, the lyrium smuggling racket that had turned out to be a noble importing some bizarre hallucinogen-laced blue confetti from Antiva.
They'd narrowly fought their way out of a blood mage cult who'd decided that having the starter of the revolution as their personal thrall would be useful; Hawke mentioned the exception to the rule mage who'd been the unwitting prelude to disaster. The harder questions waited patiently, winding their way up the list until there was nothing else; bollocks.
"You killed Sebastian."
"Not enough." The darkness was back in Anders' voice. "I wish I'd been able to keep him for you to help."
"Regrets on that one myself; but...you came; to rescue me."
"I would have come for you no matter what it brought."
"What does Justice have to say about that?"
"What did Merrill tell you?" Confirming Hawke's suspicions that he wasn't the only one she'd been 'organising'.
"It doesn't matter; I want to hear it from you."
"Did she make it sound noble, well it's not. What's happened, with the war, the mages turning on everyone, that wasn't what we, I, wanted. But I suppose that's the price of what I did to start it; and it doesn't matter what I wanted. All I can do now is try and make something from it."
"So you finally decided Merrill knew something worth listening to."
"She's been...good; better than I deserved. I don't think we've made it easy on each other. Justice was...shocked as well; he doesn't understand why it went wrong, although he sees it as the mages becoming distracted from what their true target should be. But I've been trying to let go of, some, of my anger, and the control it has over me; and to gain some separation between Justice and I, to make the bond in some way what we thought it would be."
"Has it worked?"
"No; maybe; I don't know. Spirits don't adapt well to changes in themselves. Justice wasn't prepared for what it would be like in another mind; when we merged my anger caused a lot of damage to us both. Trying to reverse the damage is much harder, maybe impossible. He's more unpredictable, harder to control, when he does try to manifest. I could tell you that he's responsible for the worst part of me; but I'd be lying. If I don't control it- " Anders' mouth twisted bitterly. "Isn't that what being a mage is? Control; holding onto it one day at a time. I already failed at that once."
"Would it have changed what you did?"
He knew he'd hear the truth when he saw in Anders' eyes the acceptance of what the consequences of his answer might be.
"Would I have tried to cause the death of fewer uninvolved lives? Maybe. But beyond that...no. The way the world was needed to be recreated, not changed around the edges. I won't lie to you again. But I am sorry."
"For what?" /This time./
"I could say for everything; but for what I said before, that you might have betrayed any of us. I couldn't bear the thought that…we almost lost you because of what I'd done. I don't have any right to ask for your forgiveness for anything, but…all I'm asking is that you stay until you're fully healed. Let me offer you that."
He wasn't sure what answer he'd wanted, or expected. More? Less? Justifications? Guilt? At least this time they'd been honest with each other, and neither of them could change what had already happened. But Anders' words gave him hope, just; that if he was willing to take this second chance he could help make it that he wouldn't have to watch as the man he (still) loved lost himself completely.
"When I left" Hawke said eventually "I was so angry at what had happened, I didn't trust what I'd do if I tried to make a decision about you, or us. But...demon's teeth, every day I was afraid I'd hear your name on a list of dead, or worse; was afraid, in that place, that Sebastian's...promises would come true."
The war wasn't truly his cause, but then how many of them had been over the years, except because he'd chosen to involve himself at the time. He was willing to accept that on some level it would still matter more to Anders than anything else; at the end of the day his only real cause had been about trying to keep those he loved safe. It was a record scarred by failures; but maybe, just maybe this wouldn't be one of them.
"Anders...I'm not going to run again." Voicing the truth that he'd known since faced with the choice of how to respond to the accusations Sebastian had flung at him that first night in the cell. "I want...to stay with you, make it work between us; whatever that takes. If that's what you want. Can we just...take it one day at a time?"
"Yes" Anders whispered softly, hoarsely "I want that." There were unshed tears in his eyes as he reached out a hand carefully, hesitantly as if afraid to believe that this was real. His hand brushed featherlight over the wrappings covering Hawke's, and Hawke could have screamed in frustration around the tightness in his own throat that he couldn't return the touch properly.
"Then for the love of all that's holy tell me you can finish this bloody healing soon" his voice wasn't entirely steady. "If I have to stay in this bed one more damn day..."
/Injured, crippled, at someone else's mercy? Had enough for a lifetime./
Anders' eyes turned serious. "I can, and sooner would be better except for the fact that your system is only barely recovered from the last round. But...it's not going to be easy, and there'll still probably be some scarring. To give you full use back- especially your hands- I need to reverse any 'healing' that's already happened. Since there's only me I can't put you out and keep you there safely, and I won't be able to give you anything else stronger for the pain; I need to be able to accurately sense your body's reactions during the healing to make sure no potentially permanent damage gets missed. So it's going to hurt; I'm sorry."
More pain; wonderful. The fact that this time it was supposed to make things better, not worse, wasn't as much of a comfort as maybe it should have been. As for the scars; well it wasn't like he didn't already have them; and he knew he'd be carrying a set of lash weals from now on to match those that patterned Anders' back.
"Fine; let's just get it over with. Then I won't have to put up with the bloody tree root under this bed any longer." Complaining required less thinking about than anything else that had happened this evening.
"The floor is rock" Anders responded, apparently happy to take the distraction. "So healing, and imaginary tree roots, can wait until tomorrow; you'll want the extra rest. I'll be right outside; if you need anything."
He needed space, although Hawke doubted that sleep would be making an appearance any time tonight; almost as much as he needed to not let the mage out of his sight; have him stay, talk, be silent; anything. The reluctance was clear in Anders' eyes as he stood to leave; but at least tonight the doorway to the outside world held the whisper of possibilities, not dead ends.
-o-o-o-o-o-
Anders hadn't lied; tomorrow took too long to arrive, and then far too long to go away; even with Anders' efforts to dampen the pain where he could to injuries waiting in line. The sensation as the bones and tendons in his left hand, the worse of the two, shifted, were forced back into place one by one under fingers and magic had the bile rising in his throat. He fought until his muscles cramped not to thrash under the hands on his chest gentle but steady holding him down. Anders', another's; Merrill?
Hawke clenched his teeth until it felt as though they ground together even through the leather folded in his mouth, struggling to hold any air in his lungs around the rasping half-moan, half screams that scoured his throat as he tried to swallow them. He did not want to look, fighting to hold onto the fact that this was Anders, not an enemy; that the eyes meeting his when he couldn't keep them shut held compassion not cruelty; warm hazel not cold blue. It felt like an eternity before magic flowed soothingly across his hand one final time. One down; one to go.
The respite when Anders' magic eventually faded as he carefully released Hawke's rebound right hand was both a blessing and curse, reminding him of how much there was to go. The thought of waiting any longer with that knowledge hanging over him however, was worse. He was grateful for the water offered, easing his throat as his breath came in shuddering, panting gasps; trying to ignore whatever Anders was setting up for the next stage.
The bolt wounds, simpler but deeper, required more knife work along with the magic to repair the damage. His voice was hoarse within minutes, despite the coolness trickling from the water-soaked leather again between his teeth. At times the world faded in and out in brief flashes to a white haze, throughout it all Hawke clung to the anchor of Anders' voice, murmuring, gentle in his ears, that it would get better, that it would be over soon…soon…Liar. One down; five to go...
When the pain lessened and actually stayed that way he vaguely assumed that it was finished; he wasn't about to argue with whatever liquid thick and bittersweet was offered to his lips that sent everything sinking down into blackness.
-o-o-o-o-o-
When he next opened his eyes the bivouac was in darkness, the thin strip of outside at the doorway showing the hazy light of early dawn. He still felt wrung out, exhausted, the deep, slightly fuzzy ache in pretty much everywhere a familiar sensation from the last few days. As he shifted slightly the figure beside the bed stirred. Light flickered in one hand as Anders straightened awkwardly, with a brief frown at the saddle he'd been curled against as if unsure how it had gotten there before turning to him; looking about as rested as Hawke felt.
"Hey. How are you feeling?"
Like he could sleep for another three days; at this rate he'd sleep through the entire wretched war.
"How long was I out?"
"Since yesterday afternoon." Hawke wondered if Anders had gotten any sleep at all since then, or if Varric had simply put the saddle there before knocking the mage out; possibly literally.
"Great; so after everything's over you decided to bring out the good drugs?"
"That stuff wouldn't have helped with- quit that." Anders reached over to still Hawke's hands from pawing at their wrappings.
"One: they itch. Two: They're healed, and after yesterday you're not going to tell me that I have to wait another two days or however bloody long to get these things off." He was well experienced with the difference between the pain of things broken, and that of things getting reacquainted with being whole. He just needed to see this time; even if his fumbling provoked a sharp twinge that had him hiding a wince.
"Hold still," Anders reached out to deftly take over "and just try and be gentle with yourself for once. If you undo all my hard work…" His care belied his words.
They weren't that bad, really; Hawke told himself. The ragged wounds where the bolts had torn through the most obvious; now neat, smooth near-circles of new tissue surrounded by a scattered cross-hatching of thinner lines. Still pink and new, but time would fade them. Unimportant, as Hawke gingerly flexed them; stiff and weak, that could be fixed; but whole.
You can keep moving them, carefully, to start regaining the flexibility; the strength will need to wait for about a week" Anders said quietly, his tone practical as his hand rested gently on the back of Hawke's neck, his thumb tracing small circles. The touch sent a sudden warmth that had nothing to do with magic down Hawke's spine.
Practical things could wait as Hawke turned to face Anders; bringing one hand up to brush back tangled hair from the mage's face, caressing the lean cheek and jawline as stubble prickled against the new skin on his hands. Seeing the hope and uncertainty like looking in a mirror.
"Thank you" Hawke said softly.
"For what? Betraying you? Going insane? Starting a war that will probably tear the world apart? I- Gods, Rael, I thought I'd lost you; I deserved to you after everything I did."
/Maybe, but I changed my mind about losing you./
"We both lost ourselves for a while. And you know what for."
/And for making the one choice that gives me hope you don't want to stay lost./
"What a balls up we've made of this. I'm going back to that 'one day at a time' plan; the universe never liked my clever ones anyway."
He wasn't sure who had moved first, but he didn't give a damn about the awkwardness of the angle; because right then all that mattered was trying to return just as fiercely the hug as Anders' arms tightened around him, careful even through the desperate touch hunger. To hold and be held and let that be everything for a while; burying his head in the crook of Anders' neck, feeling the other's against his shoulder, everything the universe by a miracle had given back to him. This time he didn't care to wipe the tears away. As first days of second chances went, Hawke would take every moment of it.
A/N: Aaand, thus concludes the longest fic I've attempted- and finished; thanks for reading. Liked it, hated it, leave a comment! As someone said, if you can't feed a writer's wallet, feed a writer's ego, it is isatiable!
