Chapter 2 – Anders' Favour
I knew the moment that she walked into my clinic. I saw her from the corner of my eye, and knew that sweep of short black hair and piercingly blue eyes anywhere. My chest constricted of its own accord at the excitement of seeing Hawke for the barest of moments, and I forced back a smile. I did not turn to greet her.
I focus all of my attention back to the elf before me.
She was petite, as all of her kind was, but for the bulging of her stomach that my hands now rested upon. She had been a beggar that frequented the streets of Darktown. I had passed her almost everyday, tossing a coin or whatever food I had at hand in her direction without a backwards glance. She had come to thank me but a few weeks ago, my charity having helped her present herself well enough for a position in a Hightowner's service, and a place in the city's alienage.
Thus had started our weekly meetings. I would offer her the assurance that her child grew, strong and healthy, passing on herbs to help with her own vitality. She would offer me her idealistic presence, watching me quietly with eyes filled with awe. She worshiped me, without shame, and I came to find I needed to feel wanted. Needed to feel as if I were still doing the right thing. For the right reasons.
Conscious of Hawke's eyes on my back, as she sat silently on one of my cots, I offer the soon-to-be mother a smile of assurance. The child was healthy. She clasps my hand in her much smaller ones, delicate and gentle. Her eyes glisten as she smiles warmly up at me. Without glancing back to note Hawke's reaction to this raw show of emotion, I give a low cough, shrugging with a crooked smile. She thanks me warmly as she pulls her cloak's hood over her head to protect her from the curious eyes of those that might mean her harm at this time of night, before leaving.
My back still turned to Hawke; I stretch slowly, pretending that I wasn't unbearably curious to ask what had brought her to see me at this time of the night. The last I had seen of her, she had been at the Hanged Man enjoying the company of her other companions. I had barely received a response from her when I had retired early, distracted as she was with a rendition of the day's events to Merrill.
When I do finally turn, with a small smile on my lips, I notice that she was not even watching me, as I had initially suspected. She sits with her back against the dank wall of the clinic, legs hanging lifelessly off the side of the cot. Her eyes are shut, and she looks almost peaceful.
The sun may have set hours ago, but it was still early for the likes of Isabela and Varric. Why was she not still with them? Had she been injured? Another bar brawl, perhaps? She hadn't seemed rowdy when I'd left. In fact, she had seemed perfectly content talking to Merrill with a wry grin upon her face.
"Is everything okay, Hawke?"
I silently evaluate her motionless form, searching for traces of any recent injuries. She looks well enough.
Lazily, Hawke pries her eyes open, tilting her head ever so slightly. Her eyes are bloodshot, and her cheeks have a rosy tinge to them that was uncommon for her. It seemed she had not slowed down in her alcohol consumption after I had left the Hanged Man.
"Is it the scar?" Hawke asks me suddenly.
The mention of it brings my eyes to the offending scar in question. The colour had faded from it many years ago, and it is now just a jagged line that runs down the side of her face, before jarring across her lips, and disappearing beneath her collar, pinching her skin tight where it trails.
I frown, not really understanding the question. "Is what the scar, Hawke?" I ask softly.
"Is it that repulsive?"
I shake my head slowly; surprised that she would think such a thing about herself. All the years that I had known her, I had never once thought of the scar as repulsive. Intimidating to some; yes, but never repulsive. It was true that she would not fit in amongst the delicate lady's of court, but she has never had any desire to. It gave her something that was distinctively Hawke. Never before had she mentioned, nor hinted, that she was insecure about it. Not until now, I guess.
I walk slowly towards her, a small smile on my lips as I take in her beautiful blue eyes that watch me intently, one of her fingers gently touching the scar on the side of her face. Her hand suddenly drops, and she jumps off of the cot. There is a slight sway to her body as she lands, reminding me of her inebriation.
I am close enough now to see the thin sheen of sweat on her skin, and smell the alcohol on her breath. I reach out a hand to touch the scar.
But she is already pacing away from me, her previous concerns vanishing in favor of a new one as she tugs at her mage's robes.
"Are they not revealing enough? More leg maybe?" her head darts up to watch me, and the questioning tilt to her head is back. "Maybe if I get Orana to bring the waist in it might fit me nicer…"
Without meaning to, my eyes travel across her figure. I force my eyes to meet her own; frowning.
I feel a wry smile tug at my lips. "What makes you think that?" but before I can say anymore she is pacing again, pulling at her hair, as if willing it to gain more length.
"And I know it's not the most," she pauses, "feminine hair cut, but I thought it looked okay, at the very least. Better than having it ripped out by some ill-wisher; I always thought. Having a patchy head would be worse, yes?"
Again, I shake my head, my frown deepening. Her insecurities are for naught; it is all of these things that make her beautiful. I open my mouth to tell her this.
Instead, "You've had too much to drink," is all I say.
She does not seem to hear me, and her pacing continues, her cheeks reddening as her footsteps grow faster and heavier in her annoyance.
Her voice is erratic, as if she wants to un-pile everything that is on her mind at once. "I know my skin is pale, of course I've noticed, there's only so much sun in Ferelden. But I always thought he liked that," she's frowning now, her hands still pulling at her hair roughly. "Exotic, or some such nonsense."
My heart drops instantly as it all falls into place. He? There is no question about whom she is referring to. She is here about the elf. It is always going to be about Fenris.
"Hawke," I cut into her rant with an ill suppressed sigh.
Her name seems to break the spell, her eyes snapping up once more to meet mine. She is frozen to the spot. This time I do not reach out a hand to her. She is here about the elf. Her thoughts are only ever for the elf.
Her eyes search my own, waiting for me to say something.
Unbidden, from somewhere hidden in my mind, I toy with a tempting thought. Why is she here with me, then, and not with him?
I swallow back a lump in my throat, licking my dry lips self-consciously.
My anger at Fenris for stealing her from me, at Hawke for forgetting about me, and at myself, for not fighting for her, all rushes out of me in that one question that my actions have resigned me to.
"What has Fenris done this time?" I don't mean for it to sound so harsh, but I can't keep the spite from my voice.
It's my fault that we're here today. If only I had told her that she mattered more to me than anything, after that wonderful kiss. But then, I feel Justice's growing anger at that thought. If only it could be true. Then, perhaps, we would not be as we were today, speaking of that damnable elf.
"Who," she states with a humorless smirk.
I frown, about to ask her what she means by this. Then I realise; it is not a statement, but a correction to my previous question. Who did Fenris do this time?
"Oh," is all I manage, stunned into silence.
I had not liked Fenris from the start; his blatant disregard for the troubles mages face every day, and his obnoxious hypocrisy, but I find this new piece of information surprising. He may be many things, but disloyal wasn't one of them. It was obvious to all that Fenris had found himself enthralled by Hawke's charms, despite his greatest efforts. The evidence was tied tightly around his wrist. Even now, years prior to their brief relationship, if you could even call it such a thing; the small red favour had remained. It had angered me at first, the mere idea of the two of them, but, despite my jealousy, I had come to think of his loyalty to Hawke as his single redeeming feature. Not that I would ever tell the elf this. It was a hard enough thing to admit to myself.
Now, he had nothing.
I didn't know what to say that would help, but that didn't seem to stop me from speaking.
"Idiot," the insult came unbidden from my own lips.
Bringing a hand up and leaning her head against it, she shook her head roughly.
"That I am," she agreed through a deep sigh.
Eye widening I wave my hands before myself defensively.
"No," I almost shout. It's more forceful than I had intended. I try again, this time in a friendlier tone. "No. Not you, Hawke. He's the idiot."
She looks up at me again, an eyebrow raised. Backing up, she lifts herself back onto the cot.
"I'm not? Then why, Anders, did I just waste the last few years of my life waiting for somebody that, it turns out, wasn't interested in making things work?" she arches an eyebrow at me. "Turns out he was just interested in a one night stand. Figures." She chuckles. "Turns out Isabela and I are more alike than I'd thought."
"Hawke, I-" I still don't know what to say.
It was an ill kept secret that Fenris had left her after one brief night. It was also common knowledge amongst our circle that Hawke had forgiven him, patiently coaxing him back into the Hanged Man for casual drinks, and then, eventually, her home for reading lessons, of all things. To add insult to injury, Merrill had pointed out the new addition to his armour; the small Amell crest of her mother's lineage at his waist. At the time, I had wanted to beat him with the damn thing, thinking it a mockery of Hawke, a trophy that he had claimed for himself. Despite my boiling anger, I had not, upon noticing the look of lovesick hope in her strikingly blue eyes. The injustice of it all had left me angry with both Fenris for his selfishness, and Hawke for her ill-placed belief in the elf. For her, I had stayed my hand. I would be lying if I said it hadn't been easy to hold my tongue sometimes.
Now, all that anger came rushing back tenfold.
I wanted to tell her that I had warned her. That he had never cared for her, beyond what she could do for his selfish desires and needs. But Hawke did not need for me to tell her these things, she was already telling herself. She was already angry enough with herself.
Closing my eyes, I clenched my fists, releasing them slowly as I exhaled deeply. I open my eyes with a start at the sound of her suppressing a snort of laughter.
"What a great taste in men I have," she utters, shaking her head through a dry smile.
Her openness to the topic reminds me once more of all the alcohol she previously drank.
My face serious, I slowly approach her, crouching before her and placing a hand carefully atop her knee, gauging her for a response. She does not resist the contact. She does not even seem to take notice, still chuckling at her own joke.
With a mock sigh of wistfulness, she smiles. "Why isn't Varric interested in humans? I think we could make it work."
She tilts her head at me, as if waiting for my opinion on her and Varric. I can't help but smile. It is quick to disappear however, when she continues, her eyes leaving my own to evaluate the empty clinic.
"Instead, I go from a possessed Grey Warden who would never care about me more than the plight of mages, to an elf who, it turns out, was only interested in a one night stand. Not to mention he was probably subconsciously trying to replacing the gap Danarius had left in his life." She cringes as the words leave her mouth. She pauses for a moment, before rolling her eyes and continuing. "Again, great taste in men." Her arms wave through the air emphatically as she mutters through a thin lipped smile.
My throat is suddenly very tight and I cough in an attempt to clear it, very uncomfortable with the direction of this conversation. I loosen my surprisingly tight grip on her knee.
"Hawke," I start again.
I do care about you. More than you will ever know. That's why we could never be together.
She holds up a hand to silence me, the humorless smile still present.
"No, you don't need to say anything," she states, suddenly very sure of herself. "I think this is the kick in the arse that I needed. I can finally move on now that I know that I was just wasting my time. If I look hard enough, maybe I can find somebody in this damned city that doesn't glow. Yep, that's probably how I've been going about this the wrong way." She nods assuredly. "Somebody quiet. Somebody normal." I can't help but flinch at her words, but she does not seem to notice. She looks unabashedly into my eyes for the first time in a while. "Or is that being a little unrealistic when I live in Kirkwall?"
I suddenly, with a shock, realise that she is blinking rapidly, desperately trying to hold back the tears that threaten. For all her airs, and claims about moving on, I know that it will take her more than mere words to suddenly overcome the past few years that she had spent hoping.
She would, though. She was strong. The strongest person I knew. Far stronger than I could ever hope to be, I think bitterly as I look deep into her eyes.
Breathing through the tightness in my chest, I admit a small chuckle, squeezing her knee in reassurance.
"You're going to be fine, Hawke. You've got people who care about you," I reassure her. Eyes shining, she averts her gaze. "I care about you." With a small smile, I tilt her chin up so that I can look her in the eyes. "Even if I may not be normal, in the strictest sense."
She smiles at that, and it makes my chest constrict painfully. "Not in any sense, really," she whispers.
After a moment of silence she begins to shift uncomfortably, and I remove my hand from her knee. Without pause, she drops, none too gracefully, from the cot and absentmindedly dusts her leggings off. She offers me a hand to my feet, and I gratefully accept it, standing from my kneeling position.
Hastily, she drops her hand from my own, and I realise that I had been holding it tighter and longer than necessary.
"Sorry I bothered you, Anders," she suddenly states sheepishly, tilting her head back to observe the roof. "You're the last person I ever though I'd be talking to about guy troubles." She snorts.
Scratching at the back of my neck, I smirk. They were my sentiments exactly.
"Why did you come to me?" I tease. "Aren't you chummy with Isabela when it comes to these kinds of things?"
I remember the mocking words Isabela had spoken to me many years ago, hinting that she knew all about my reasons for not pursuing a relationship with our leader, straight from the horse's mouth. I had avoided the pirate and her mocking words for quite some time after that day. That woman held nothing back.
I huff, "Or is she a little too grotesque for this sort of thing?"
The smile fades from her lips and she shakes her head. "No," she offers flatly. "She was too busy to talk to me at the time."
That definitely sounds like Isabela.
"Had arrangements with a certain lithium infused elf, in fact." she finishes acidly.
My smile disappears in an instant; the previous humor of the situation dispersing far easier than it had been to obtain it moments before.
Of course…
Without another word I pull her in for a tight hug. She does not hug me back, rigid as she is, but she does not pull away, soon leaning against me for support. I place my hand on the back of her neck, and rest my chin on the top of her head, holding her tightly against me. She is warm, and for a brief instant I recall moments like this from almost a lifetime ago. Things had not been the same since I had told her that there would never be anything between us. That Justice would always demand the plight of the mages to come first. What had once been a regular occurrence, like this, did not happen anymore.
I almost wish she had not headed my warnings, however true they were. But then, I was a weak man.
I savor the moment, before feeling her tense once more. Ignoring the voice that tells me I am just picking at an old wound and I gently kiss the crown of her head.
She pulls away soon after, a determined look on her face.
The sudden loss of her body against mine hurts. Things should have been different. Things could have been different. But I had made my choice long ago. We had been doomed long before we had met, from the moment Justice and I had become one. I can no longer afford to be selfish. As much as I wish I could.
"Again, sorry to have bothered you, Anders, you've done me a huge favour," she offers after an uncomfortably long stretch of silence. Quietly, she adds, "Thank you."
And with that she turns to leave, the smile gone from her lips and a rigid set to her shoulders once more.
Finding my voice, I call to her desperately. "Where are you going, Hawke?" I push. She had never been one to truly think ahead when it came to her plans.
She does not falter, and does not face me as she answers.
"Fenris has something that belongs to me," she states simply. "And I intend to get it back. One way or another."
And then she is gone and I am alone once more.