A/N: I do not own any of the characters, the world, anything in this fandom. It all belongs to the good people at Bioware.
Anders took a long, deep breath before he sent the lightning bolt zigzagging through the crowd of Templars. Hawke was outnumbered, alone, and no matter what she'd told him the last time they spoke, he couldn't let her face down those kinds of odds alone. Six Templars to one mage? Justice raged to even the odds and Anders was inclined to agree for once.
He couldn't help the way his heart leaped into his throat at the sight of her.
The first time he saw her, he thought she was a Grey Warden. She wore the Warden Commander's smirk; Amell's face ghosted over the stranger's in a way that left him both breathless and chilled with fear. Wardens be damned but he was never going back. They demanded too much in return for too little.
He missed Sir Pounce-a-lot.
But the strange woman wasn't the Warden Commander. She wasn't Solona Amell. Marian Hawke wasn't one to give him hope only to snatch it away. She followed her promises to the letter. So when she looked at him in the firelight of the ruined Chantry, with the wrath of Starkhaven mounting behind her, he knew she meant it when she told him to run.
With Justice still screaming for blood, he ran. He made it as far the Docks before he couldn't run any longer. This was his fight and she was fighting it for him. He'd seen what she was up against long before she accepted it. Whether she liked it or not, whether it was right or just a foolish dream, he had to help her.
When he found her in the Gallows, bloodied and gasping for breath, she didn't turn him away. The Templars weren't just killing mages. Everyone who had sheltered the Champion, everyone she'd helped, everyone they thought might have something to do with this, was suspect.
"For now, we are allies," she said, "But once I've sorted out this mess, I never want to see your face again, Anders."
Of course, she meant it. How could she not? No one else would look at him, the apostate, the abomination, the murderer. Even Varric looked away, and he was a man who could find the good in anyone. Not that Anders could blame him.
Orsino, a blood mage. Meredith, corrupted by the lyrium idol. When the battle ended, Cullen, of all people, was the last voice of reason. He looked the other way while the Champion led them out of Kirkwall. Even Anders was allowed to leave, to join them on Isabela's ship until they could find a safe port. It was then the weight of his actions hit him.
Hawke was lost to him. She wouldn't even grant him the death Justice craved. As it was, she'd barely let him touch her to heal her. If Merrill knew anything about creation magic, she would have turned to her instead. Regret is a bitter pill to swallow and he'd been swallowing it for six months now.
The last time he saw Marian Hawke, she was bound for greener pastures. They separated in Antiva. The last he heard of her she and Isabela had teamed up with some bird slaughtering golem, a Fereldan spirit healer, and an Antivan assassin with more cock than brains. There had been rumors Hawke was headed to Tevinter, others said she'd been killed on her way to Orlais.
Whatever the truth was, he never expected to find her alone and outnumbered, battling a band vigilante Templars and losing. Her trusty mabari lay in a heap nearby, unconscious but alive. From the looks of it, he'd taken a good blow to the head; with luck he'd be shaking it off in a second, rounding on the worst of Marian's attackers before they knew what hit them.
Anders couldn't wait for him to recover. Marian was weakening. She leaned heavily on her staff while her free hand pressed to a wound at her side. Blood oozed between her fingers as Anders made his decision.