Recently, I was cleaning out folders on my computer and found this unpublished story that I had written years ago. After reading through it I found the idea intriguing and worth revisiting. This was written before DA3 had been released so it is not canon and is an AU. I am my own worst editor so please forgive the typos and grammatical errors. Hopefully they aren't too bad.
She
May be the face I can't forget
A trace of pleasure or regret
May be my treasure or the price I have to pay
She may be the song that summer sings
May be the chill that autumn brings
May be a hundred different things
Within the measure of a day.
She
May be the beauty or the beast
May be the famine or the feast
May turn each day into a heaven or a hell
She may be the mirror of my dreams
A smile reflected in a stream
She may not be what she may seem
Inside her shell
She, Elvis Costello
Running was second nature to Anders. First, he ran from the Circle and Templars. Then he fled from the Warderns. Now from all of Thedas. Every one of them would be pleased to see his head on a pike. He imagined them carrying it from city to city. Placing it on display in front of every Chantry from Ferleden to the Teventar so that all can cheer, curse and spit on the murderous mage who killed all those innocent people including the grand cleric and incited a worldwide rebellion.
He never imagined the long reaching ramification that his little act of rebellion would have. It had started out as a simple plan to draw attention to the plight of the mages. He had wanted to stop the injustices, but as the spirit of Justice became more and more corrupt by his own growing hatred his mission changed from one of shining a light on the problem to one of destroying the problem. However, even then he never envisioned a full-blown rebellion. Dreamed of it, yes, but thought the mages of the Circles would stand up against the Templars. Oh how wrong he had been.
The mages rebelled, Templars died and the circles fell. He had changed the world. In the eyes of some for the worse, but most were starting to accept this brave new world they were living in. Humans were beginning to see mages as actual human beings. Despite this shift in beliefs, they still hunted the man that had started it all. So he ran. First to Nevarra then to Tevinter Imperium before making his way to Anderfels. However, the running was wearing him down both physically and mentally. Twenty years had passed. He was no longer the young man that wooed the skirts off fair maidens and charmed his way into the Champion's bed. Many would find unrecognizable. This was a good thing when on the lamb.
At first, Anders thought Hawke had done him a kindness by letting him live. Now he knew it was the Champion's way of making him suffer. Justice was gone, nothing left, but Vengeance and his own guilt. Both ate at what was left of his soul. He had tried to kill himself, many, many times, but to no avail. Vengeance stopped him every time. His punishment for his crimes was not a quick death to end his suffering, but one that forced him to live with his mistakes. One that doomed him to be on the run, to live as a recluse, surviving on little and longing for a different life if he had just made different choices.
His mind often wandered to her. She was an integral part of the equation.
She crawled on top of him, naked, warm and soft, smelling like a miracle that had saved him from a lifetime of loneliness. She had believed in him. She had given him purpose. She had made him a part of something bigger. She had loved him.
She was the dream that he had to let go of when he agreed to take in Justice, but he fantasized frequently of what could have been. Life with her would not have been easy. It would have required living a life with the Wardens, but it would have been a willing sacrifice to be with her.
Choices. They define our lives. One choice at a time. That fateful night he made a choice. Love or justice. He chose justice. He left her. He had betrayed her. His choice irreversible changing the course of his life.
In a dark tavern, he sipped his ale in the shadows of a back corner, dark thoughts once again taking over his mind. The place was full of Wardens. His blood hummed and itched, memories of another life overwhelming him. He had expected his taint to react in such a manner being so close to Weisshaupt. What he did not expect was what he had overheard.
In hushed, reverent tones, they spoke of the Hero of Ferelden and that her calling had begun. In that instant he knew, it was time to head back to the only family he had ever known.
Anders had thought maybe someday, somehow he might see her again and beg for her forgiveness. He knew she had to hate him for what he had done. He hated himself for what he done to her. Despite the fact that she had told him numerous times that she loved him, he had never told her his true feelings for her. He had faked his death and deserted not just the Wardens, but her. Now, however, she deserved to know the truth.
More importantly, he would not let her take her calling alone. He owed her everything including his life. He would make sure that she received the death she deserved - a Warden's death.
Anders stood near the bow of the great ship as it docked. The wind blustered around him. Throughout his travels, the sharp smell of the sea had become familiar to him. The sway of the ship was like the welcoming embrace of an old lover.
The Port of Amaranthine was a welcome sight. Memories flooded his mind. He had been happy here with her. Happy with his fellow Wardens who had become like family to him. He was not thrilled with the darkspawn, the deep roads or the smell of wet dogs that never came out of his robes, but her, he would have stayed. If only he had said no.
Once he had disembarked, Anders fished around for information about her at the Crown and Lion. For all he knew she could be anywhere. Hell, she could be back with that good-for-nothing king she had put on the throne. Rumors about the Hero of Ferelden swirled around the tavern like stale pipe weed. He was relieved to learn that she was still at Vigil's Keep. She was still the hero of the land she loved. The local gossip was that the Commander of the Grey was in poor health. That made sense. Failing health would be a good reason for her sudden disappearance.
Stopping at a small stable just outside the city he bought the cheapest mount he could afford. Anders was never fond of riding, but would much rather ride there on a slow mount than make the three-day walk. She was not the only one feeling the ravages of time.
Anders thanked the old man then hoisted himself into the saddle. The ragged old mare whinnied. He stroked her neck as he cast a rejuvenation spell. The horse's tail swished enthusiastically before trotting out of the stable towards the Keep.
It was a known fact that the Coastlands harbored pirates and raiders. He smiled and wondered if he would even live to see the morning. Part of him prayed he would die before seeing the pain in her eyes. Part of him prayed that he would see her face one last time.
Despite the horse's age, they made excellent time. Just as the sun began to set, Anders dismounting in the Vigil's courtyard. He stood quietly as the guard had scurried away to announce his presence. Absentmindedly he stroked the horse's velvet soft nose, and she nuzzled into the palm of his hand. He had grown rather fond of the old nag during their short travel and wondered what would become of the old girl once he was gone. He turned his attention to the grunts and groans that filled the courtyard. In the center of the sparring ring, an elf ran the newest members through training exercises.
Memories evaded his mind as he recalled those first few weeks at the Keep. The Commander was under the firm belief that since magic could be dispelled every mage needed to know how to defend themselves. She had taken a personal interest in his training, practicing with him several times a week.
She was a magnificent fighter so quick and agile. He had often wondered how he could manipulate her flexible body in other ways. That line of thinking frequently ended with him landing on his back staring up at the end of her blade. She would grin down at him, tap his head and snicker, "You're dead. Now, on your feet Warden and let's do it again."
Every time he had to fight the urge to grab her, pull her down on top of him and claim those pouty lips of hers.
The sound of shouting snapped him back from his thoughts. He blanched at the tall, muscular figure that marched stiffly towards him.
"Nathaniel," he croaked as his once old and dear friend came to a stop in front of him. They had been brothers in arms -fighting side by side, but the noble turned Warden had been so much more. He had been the friend and confidant that Anders had never had.
The years had not been kind to the Warden. His once black hair was now a mane of white. A large jagged scar ran down his cheek and along the side of his neck. A wound like that should have ended his life. A mage must have saved him. That turned the corners of Anders' lips upward.
The man's hazel eyes bore down upon him causing the mage to shift uneasily.
"What are you doing here Anders?" he growled. His hand rested purposefully on the dagger at his side. Anders was now almost completely sure that he wouldn't make it out of here alive. The sad thing was he would not even put up a fight if it came to that. He would much rather have his death be at the hands of an old friend than a screaming mob, or at the end of a Templar's sword.
"I've come to see her," he replied softly.
"What makes you think she wants to see you?" Nathaniel snapped. His grip tightened on the hilt of the dagger.
"I know that it's her time Nathaniel... I want to see her, to explain..."
"Explain what?" He interrupted. "Explain how you betrayed her? How you broke her heart? Or maybe how you thought it would be a good idea to blow up a chantry? Better yet, you could explain how you were the orchestrator of the mage rebellion that swept throughout all of Thedas? What exactly are you here to explain, Anders?"
Moving quicker then Anders believed possible from the old Warden, he grabbed Anders by the front of his old ragged robes and pulled him close so that their faces almost touching. "I should just kill you now and be done with it."
Anders did not struggle, but his heart was now racing, his eyes wide fully prepared to die, but he remained calm as he spoke.
"If you do she might be put off that you took the honor of my death away from her." He tried to sound light hearted but the tremble in his voice on the word her gave him away.
Nathaniel's glare softened. The heated that had rage across his face only moments before turned into hurt. He released his grasp then stepped back. "You've come back here to die, haven't you?"
"I owe her my life, what she does with it is her choice," he said attempting to straighten his robes.
Without another word, Nathaniel turned away from him and walked briskly up the steps of the Keep. Anders sighed taking one quick glance back at the old mare that was being lead by a stable hand. He realized how much he felt like that timeworn horse. Although he was old, he could still serve his purpose.
He climbed the stairs behind Nathaniel. His life had come full circle and it was once again in the hands of the Commander. If given the opportunity, he would now give what he had left to the only person who had given a damn about him.
He followed Nathaniel through the Keep to the backstairs that led to the Commander's personal chambers. Anders knew the way well. He had visited her bed frequently during his tenure here. Now that he was the precipice of this reunion, he tried to imagine what he was going to say. The rogue's questions ran through his mind and he really didn't know what he could possibly say to her that would make it right.
Nathaniel tapped at the open door.
"What is it, Nate?"
The rouge cautiously stepped across the threshold. "Commander...uhmm, there is someone here to see you."
She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Commander? Why so formal?"
Nathaniel stepped aside revealing the man that stood behind him. Anders heart stopped as his eyes met hers. Those hypnotic emerald eyes that had completely captivated him all those years ago. Her eyes widened briefly with shock before she reigned in her emotions. So typical of her.
She stood and gave Nathaniel a dismissive nod. Her second in command hesitated for a moment before leaving the two of them alone.
Anders quickly surveyed her. The tunic she wore hung loosely around her shrinking frame...she was thin much too thin, but there was still a grace about her as she walked towards him. Her dark raven tresses were pulled up, but a few gray strands fell loosely around her face - the only real sign of her age. Her face was still as beautiful as he remembered - the youthful glow that she had once possessed had given way to a mature, yet elegant beauty. He carried her face every night into the fade despite Justice's ranting in his head.
At the sight of her an ache that he long ago buried and forgotten began to bloom. Justice...Vengeance had so consumed him for so long that he had nearly forgotten what this precious woman had once meant to him. How had he ever allowed his own hatred to pull him from her side? That was the real question and in all these years, he still didn't have a real answer.
"Anders…" She paused to clear her voice. "What are you doing here?"
Now, wasn't that the million sovereign question?