The lyruim infused elf rushed to her side. In a matter of seconds he went from one side of the room to the other. She had pulled the arishok's qunari great-sword from her abdomen, hands covered in her own blood. The elf caught her, just before her head hit the ground. Pain flashed behind her piercing blue eyes as he settled her into his lap. She fumbled for his hand.
She looked up into his emerald-green eyes, a half-hearted smile upon her lips. He held her hand. His free one gently brushing hair away from her face as her caressed her cheek. "It's my fault, if I hadn't-"
"No, Fenris..." she choked out. "I preferred it this way..." She reached up to brush a strand of shock white hair from his handsome face.
Her breathing slowed. "Hawke?" a look of fear crossed his elven face. A look none had ever seen him wear.
She smiled softly, "I'm here, Fenris..." Her eyelids fluttered, struggling to stay open.
"Stay with me Hawke..." His thumb gently tracing the tattoo on her cheekbone. "Don't leave me," he whispered...
Her eyes were open, but only just. Her hand on top of his grew limp... She was descending into unconsciousness. Her companions had gathered round, forming a tightly knit circle, save two.
Aveline, being the protector she was, had rushed to Darktown to find the healer. Anders obsessed with her as he was, dropped everything and ran with the guard-captain to the Keep... to find the object of his infatuation in the arms of that hypocritical intolerable magic-hating narrow-minded broody elf!
Just as the door opened he saw the elf plant a small gentle kiss on the woman's lips. Fury burned inside him, justice flashing behind his eyes. Whispering words of vengeance in his ear. The elf had left her! treated her like a common whore! Left her broken and alone!But she still loved him, still waited for him.
Anders had watched on their many journeys the way the elf stared at her, a look of longing and sadness in his eye, only to be pushed aside, replaced by a cold expressionless blank stare when she bothered to look back at him. He'd watch as she half-smile at the elf, turning as her smile fell giving way to a moment of disappointment. She had flirted with him once upon a time, took notice of him and listened whole-heartedly to him without always full on agreeing with his methods. She would listen and debate, teach him control. He learned from her, slowly gaining the upper hand on his demons. Then that blighted elf came, never leaving her side. Her visits became less often, their talks shorter and less sweet.
Anders met the elf's steely glare, his eyes moving to the motionless Hawke that lay his arms. She was breathing. The slow but steady rise and fall of her chest the only sign that she was alive. The mage's attention was drawn to the bloody mess of her stomach. Blood stained her clothing as well as the elf's.
Fenris glared at the mage, his grip on Hawke tightening ever so slightly. He never liked the way the abomination looked at her. Eyes hiding a deeper emotion that only Fenris seemed to catch, the others caught up in his serious charade of righteousness. Lust, the mage wanted Hawke. For everything she was... Fenris didn't like that. He watched when Hawke looked at him, an easy smile upon her face as she talked to him, brushing off his words as 'friendly', not seeing the deeper meaning.
The blonde mage fell to his knees in front of the two. Immediately examining her wound. "Move your arm," he told Fenris, who obeyed with a low growl that only the mage heard. The threat was clear. Ander's eyes flickered to the piece of cloth around his wrist... Hawke's emblem. Blood soaked at it was, he wore it with revered importance. Like a trophy, Anders thought, for conquering the most beautiful woman in the free marches. For crushing her spirit, for stealing her affections. For taking her love.
Fenris looked down at the woman in his arms. Her personality was once enough to fill a room, this room however felt dreadfully empty, like the hole inside of him, that somehow felt non-existant when she was near.
"Hold this here," the mage instructed. The elf hesitantly obliged holding the cloth to her wound. Anders looked at him, "More pressure, we need to stop the bleeding enough for me to close the wound..."
The hum of magic filled the air as a soft glow escaped from the mages hand. His magic was wrong, Fenris knew. Twisted and warped by that thing inside him. Bethany's was different. Hawke's sister, the one she had protected so fiercely, had different magic... It was good, the only word that came to mind. He wondered how many mages there were like her... maybe Hawke was right, maybe there were mages who deserved freedom. Who deserved to live free, not to have the constant threat of captivity raised above them. But for every mage like that, there had to be ten like Anders and Merril, who fell prey to curiosity and desire. Vengeance and Hate. They could not be free... but they were still people. Hawke had once said they deserved to feel the rain on their skin, the wind in their hair. Fenris, knew what she meant by that...
They deserved freedom, but ev she knew the dangers, she knew they needed a watch, a guard, just in case, because she knew there were those who were not strong enough... Fenris could sympathize. He understood, he wasn't sure if he agreed, but he understood her direction...
But now was not the time for petty squables, Hawke was dying! Dying in his arms! Just barely breathing, holding onto life for all it was worth. Because she was worth so much. To him, and the world.
"There," the mage said, sitting up.
Fenris glared, opening his mouth to argue. The mage continued, "She's... well, she's sleeping. Her body went through so much trauma that it put her to sleep. She should wake up."
"Should?" the elf growled.
"Down boy," Isabella said, trying to lighten the atmosphere. Truth was she felt this was her fault. She never would've forgiven herself had Hawke died. Fenris shot daggers in a look. She backed down, letting him go. Letting the elf go back to glaring down his nemesis. At one time, she had though Hawke would be fun in bed, but she grew to respect the woman too much, still making the notions and dirty jokes. The elf she had found attractive from the very being, but she saw the way he looked at the other woman. She saw the way Hawke looked back at him. They loved each other... but they were both to stubborn, and afraid of being hurt that they ignored it, waiting for the other.
Varric was watching everyone closely, spinning another one of his wild tales... The elf and Hawke... The mage and Hawke... he knew whose eyes were on who, but there was only so much Hawke to go around. And what romance there was, was sad and broken, limping along like a three-legged dog. It wasn't the passion-filled stuff of stories, and certainly not the love of a Hawke that was larger than life. The public didn't know of the sad broken-hearted woman, whose eyes refused to shed tears at her sister's blight infected body. Of the shocked, stoic Hawke who bore her mother's blame. Of the Hawke behind sad little smiles and sarcastic comments meant to throw you off track. They didn't deserve that Hawke, they'd crush her. They much preferred the witty rouge with a smart-mouth and loyal companions who backed up her every move. The Hawke who killed an ogre with her bare-hands.
For what it was worth, Varric preferred the woman herself. The Hawke with a sassy grin always up for game of Wicked Grace. His friend. He looked over at her broken body. The elf pulled her close, standing. He watched as the elf, muttered some incomprehensible words into her ear. He watched at the mage sent them an envying glare. Broody had him, beat. Broody was the king of glares in his book, only Hawke had ever bested him.
Aveline watched as well. Why Hawke had fallen for the Tevinter-fugitive she had no idea, but in her book it was as plain as day. He loved her, and he was just as bad as herself in conveying it. His eyes always following he every move, now fixated on her unblinking eyes. Aveline sighed, for they made each other happy... but also just as miserable. They were slowly killing each other, neither willing to say the words. Neither making the move. And Anders, the (beep), Aveline thought. He had her attentions and threw them away. Then, when she found someone else, he got jealous, insulting and rude, doing everything in his power to stop them. Aveline sighed.
Merril was down-right confused, why couldn't they just be happy? They loved each other, that much was obvious. Merril had sen the slow the slow progression from stranger, to friend, to much-much closer friend, to something more. Then something had happened. She didn't know what. But they stopped, avoiding each others eyes, but staring once they'd looked away. Fenris with the sad puppy eyes and Hawke, poor Hawke, with the 'Should I? Should I not?' internal fight. Her eyes torn. Merril was depressed by the sadness of it all.
She watched at the abnormally tall elf carried Hawke away, cradling her in his arms. Gentle, as is she were about to break.
Merril had seen them kiss once, the elf with a power that scared her. He had slammed Hawke against the wall, but she had only smirked, bringing her lips down upon his, wrapping her legs around his slender waist and running her finger through his hair. She was saddened by the memory. The strong, tough, invincible Hawke, reduced to a fragile figure, lying in the arms of the tattooed elf with muscular arms and shock white hair.
"Wake up, Hawke," he whispered. "Wake up... I- I need you..."
Her eyes fluttered open, "Don't leave me," she whispered, her voice hollow and haunted.
"Never again," he whispered back. A smile forming on her face.
"I love you."
"And I you"
And they kissed. A sweet gentle, loving kiss, that formed the way, a beginning, and a promise for many more of the same and more... intense levels.
She smiled, and he smiled back, happy she was alive, and at last... his.
