So, check me out huh. I have another chapter for you, because I love you all so much. That isn't really the reason, of course, I'm just inspired. But if you read and enjoy my story then I automatically love you, anyway. =)
So after some technical difficulties (starting an argument with the hash key because I couldn't find it) this chapter's ready, I'm not sure what I think of it, but as always I hope you like it.

The quotes in italics are taken straight from the game, of course.

Chapter 5 - Awakening

When Hawke awoke, it was not with a gentle opening of the eyes and a rushing of breath. It was with screams and cries of agony and a blur of motion as she was carried in someone's arms, rain splashing her face. As she drifted between restless, distorted dreams and the white hot pain of waking, she was laid down on a bed as strong arms held her firmly until the pain dimmed and she ceased her fevered struggling, falling against the mattress. Her confused mind half wondered if it would be easier just to let go, so the hurt, the fighting and the constant battles would finally be over. Event as she thought this, she was aware of arms cradling her, and a single voice in the dark.

"Please, no. You can't die. Please..."

Anders.

It was almost as if time slowed down as the arrows hit her. Anders heard himself shouting as though it were another man, as he fell onto his knees next to Hawke. Panic coursed through his veins as he held her, desperately calling sparks to his fingers. His magic took a moment to come, as though muted, staggered as he was by the utter shock of what had happened, and who lay before him. He could remember little after that apart from Hawke's screams of agony, which had created a sound that he would never forget for as long as he lived. Tibris had grabbed Anders roughly by the arm, and yelled at him to get moving. He had sprinted after the elf, Hawke in his arms. The others had trailed behind, protecting them until they were clear, he was unsure what had happened to them after that. The last thing he had seen was Fenris streaking off in the opposite direction, following a dark shadow in the trees.

"I wish I had good news for you, I'm sorry."

The words of the Keeper shook him from his dull revery, as the older man rested a hand on his shoulder. His mind was a blur, eyes set on his shaking hands. It had been three long hours, but still he had not stopped shaking. Dried blood covered his hands and arms to the elbow, Hawke's blood, and his body ached from running through the forrest, carrying her in his arms. None of this even seemed to register however, in comparison to the crippling dread which seemed to be holding his insides hostage, clutching at his throat. Anders slipped his head into his hands, so as to hide his stinging eyes. He was sat in a long elven tent, the Keeper's, and in the adjacent room Hawke lay alive but barely. Mayra, Tibris' wife and the keeper's daughter-in-law, was tending to her. It had been two long hours since they had forcibly removed Anders from her side, despite his staunch refusal. Ever since, he had remained slumped in that same chair in silence, his eyes never moving from the doorway for more than a minute. It pained him to think that she might awaken or that take a drastic turn for the worse and he was not there. It didn't matter to him that he was physically drained after having been keeping her alive with a constant stream of his own healing magic, or that due to this he was so weak that he had difficulty moving around without another's aid.

At Keeper Arthal's words he got to his feet, fixing his eyes on his face, "What can I do?"

On the other side of him Tibris gripped his shoulder tightly supporting him lest he fall.

The elf looked at him kindly, "You've done an excellent job so far, but that's as much as any of us can do I'm afraid. It's out of our hands now."

It was clear that the younger mage's dubious expression was not lost on him. The keeper glanced at Anders, his blue eyes so penetratingly intense it almost felt he was reading his mind, "What I mean to say is that her wounds are healed over, however she is very weak and has lost a lot of blood. I do suspect that if she's as tenacious as she was as a girl, then she'll pull through. We just have to trust in her strength, and in the meantime make sure she's as comfortable as possible."

Anders swallowed. That phrase struck him almost as hard as when the second arrow had hit her. Making someone comfortable had always been a sentence he had associated with death, to apply it to Hawke seemed unreal. She was so spirited, so headstrong that he couldn't imagine a life without her own personal brand of mischief stamped fiercely across it.

"Please, can I see her?" he asked, earnestly.

Arthal looked hesitant, "You need to get something down you, you need rest."

"How can I sleep? Or eat?" Anders replied, his face set with grim determination.

After surveying him for an inordinate amount of time, Arthal nodded and motioned from his son to help Anders into the next room. Bethany was sat at the foot of the bed, holding her older sister's hand tightly as Mayra sat close by. It was silent as they entered, as both women looked over at him. Bethany stood, carefully returning Hawke's pale hand to the covers. She turned to him and to his surprise tentatively put her arms around him, pulling him into an embrace. Far from it being awkward as he had expected, the small action was a comfort. Something about her scent reminded him of Hawke and it was as though the sisters shared the same aura of calm, even as he could feel the shuddering of Bethany's chest as she fiercely held in her emotions. He accepted her warmly, squeezing her gently with all the sincerity and energy he could muster. She drew away from him, smiling weakly and it was that same Hawke grin characteristic to the entire family. He marveled at how he had never noticed such striking similarities until now. It was the same as their mother's, the woman whom he had expected to hate him, but against all expectation had welcomed him into her home. Admittedly, this was only after Hawke had told her in no uncertain terms that she would not be marrying some upstart noble from Orlais, and accidentally unveiled the secret of their relationship in the process. The memory brought a brief lift to his spirits.

"Thank you for bringing my sister to safety."

To have a companion in his grief alleviated a pressure on his chest a little, though it did nothing to stay the guilt in his heart. He looked over at Bethany, determined to meet her eyes, "It's not like that, it was my fault... We were arguing, distracted, she told me to leave..."

"Hush now" Bethany rubbed his arm reassuringly. "You stayed, you saved her life."

"You're as wonderful as your sister" Anders ventured, grimacing slightly. "I meant that as a compliment, but it didn't come out right."

Bethany nodded, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him on the forehead affectionately. Tibris reached out to his wife, murmuring a few indecipherable words in her ear before taking her by the hand and leading her from the room. Bethany turned back to her unconscious sister, stroking a hand through her hair before following the others and closing the door softly behind her. He pulled the chair recently vacated by Mayra closer to the bed, sinking into it with relief. Though it had hardly been subtle, he appreciated their attempts to give him some time with Hawke alone. Cautiously, he slid his hands across the bed and clasped her exposed hand gently between his. She looked moderately better than when he had last seen her, though this wasn't much of a comfort. Mayra had cleaned her wounds and bandaged them, and if it weren't for the whiteness of Hawke's skin it would appear that nothing were amiss. Her chest shuddered as it rose and fell steadily, a relief given how close the arrow had come to puncturing her lung. Even in sleep, her wounds obviously pained her; the fingers of her loose hand dug rivets in the covers, and her face was set in a pained grimace. Every so often she would twitch as the fever racked her body, and pressing the back of his hand against her forehead, it was worryingly hot to the touch.

His shoulders still shaking uncontrollably, he spoke as he played with her limp fingers, "You once told me that I'd never lose you, and I hold you that. I am so sorry, love, if it takes the rest of my days to make things right I will. I promise." He raised her hand, pressing a kiss against every knuckle before resting his head against it, as he squeezed his eyes closed.

After spending some time in silence he licked his lips, which were salty with the taste of his tears, "I'm not sure why, but I was thinking about that fancy ball that the Count held, a fair few years ago now. You didn't want to go, but your mother was scolding you mercilessly about networking and find a respectable man to court. So you dragged us all with you, got absolutely smashed on mead and scared off every prospective suitor within a five mile radius" Anders snorted. "Then when you'd sobered up a bit, I can remember you stalking over to me, as clear as day, in that dress... You held out your hand and demanded that I dance with you. Admittedly, when you looked like that it was impossible to refuse, even though I do have two left feet and I kept tripping over my robes" Anders smiled, the memory bringing forth a bittersweet sensation, "I can remember everyone staring at us. They knew what I was of course, if it weren't for you I would have already been in Templar custody by that time, or worse. They were all gobsmacked that their Champion, Hawke, who could probably have any man she wanted, had chosen the penniless runaway mage instead. I shared their astonishment, our exchanges had always been overly familiar when we talked, I'd always resisted, for reasons you know all to well. But still you persevered. That was the day you told everyone in Kirkwall where your allegiance lay, it was possibly the bravest thing I ever seen, and I'm counting all your efforts on the battlefield too. I always had a thing for you, but that's the night I really fell in love with you, that you would do something like that for me, even if it had been a purely platonic gesture... I suppose it was a lot easier for me, I never had to make any kind of statement, never had to change..." Anders sighed, his breath catching in his throat, "I wish it were so simple to rid myself of Justice, but for you..." He hesitated, stroking the back of her hand wistfully, "I'm going to have to try, aren't I?"

Though Hawke's eyes were closed, she could hear every word. Her eyelids still felt too heavy to open, and her throat too hoarse to speak, but she curled her fingers around his in what she hoped was a reassuring motion. She lay there listening to him speak, enjoying every intonation of his voice, every time she could sense a smile in his words. It stirred dazed memories, bringing them the forefront of her mind, and she chose to focus on these rather the pain. She could remember very vividly the event Anders was talking about, and the expression on his face when she had asked him to dance; bewildered, hesitant and yet curious.

"Dancing with an apostate, of course no one will ask questions" he had replied, sarcastically.

Hawke raised an eyebrow and held it there, her eyes traveling over his handsome features before meeting his. She reached forward and took hold of one of his hands, firmly, "It wasn't a request, Anders."

In truth, she had been far more nervous than he had been. Hawke had visited him regularly at his clinic and dragged him to the Hanged Man for every game of Wicked Grace, anything which meant he was distracted from his manifesto for a few hours at least. Still, Anders had put down her every attempt by telling her he was too dangerous, that he would hurt her. It didn't matter how much she protested. Still, Hawke knew he had feelings for her, and there was a part of her that just couldn't let it go. Forcing him to dance with her really had been the last resort. Even then, after the night's merriment, nothing had happened. The next day she skulked round his clinic looking hopeful, however he barely looked up from his work.

Peering over at him whilst trying to position herself to make her ample breasts look as irresistible as possible, she finally gave up.

Folding her arms, she frowned, "Anders, can I talk to you?"

Anders didn't look up from his manifesto, "If this is about Emeric's inversigation, I will come with you to the DuPuis' estate, but I have a bad feeling about it. Be careful."

"Of course" Hawke sighed. "You really are all business aren't you?"

When he looked up Hawke had gone. In her usual maddening way, she had slipped out without even making so much as a floorboard squeak.

So as was a true Fereldan custom, Hawke proceed to drown her sorrows at the nearest available inn. What she hadn't banked on however was several of her friends being there, and in high spirits.. Hawke ended up sat on one of the benches in The Hanged Man with her arms folded and her face down on the table, frowning at the furrows in the wood.

"Oh come on, he's hardly worth your suffering. If he can't see how lucky he is to have a dynamite girl like you interested that he's not worth the time. Besides, he's so... Serious" Isabella reasoned, as she sat beside her. Both Isabella and Merrill seemed to have made it their mission to cheer her up. Hawke made a mental note to take a bottle of wine to bed next time, instead.

Hawke shook her head, he face still hidden, "So is Fenris, and you still like him."

"Mmmmm" Isabella licked her lips. "But he's also so brooding, and intense. Although I seem to remember you thought the same once."

"That was a year ago, he's so bloody obtuse, I swear trying to get him to talk him about it is about as useful as starting a conversation with a dustbin lid" Hawke shook her head. Though she was over it, the memory still had a certain sting. She generally avoided any wanton thoughts she still had about the stoic elf.

"And Anders isn't?" Isabella rasied an eyebrow.

"That's different. And I know he likes me, I know it."

"Don't we all? You should see the way he gazes at you when you're not looking, like some lovesick puppy. It's well, sickening..." Isabella wrinkled her nose.

"And they say romance is dead" Hawke grinned at her. "Argh, I bet it's so damn cute too."

Isabella arched an eyebrow, "If you say so, hon. Although if cute's what you're after, I'm sure we could find some blushing type at The Blooming Rose that could sort you right out."

Merrill frowned, "What do they do there then?"

"You've never been Kitten? Hmm, we could have a girl's night out..." Isabella mused.

"To a brothel? Maker, Isabella" Hawke shook her head, laughing. "Next you'll be saying we should invite Aveline too."

"The look on her face would be priceless" Isabella giggled. "But, my dear Hawke. You're hardly one to talk. I've got you all worked out. Your thing for Anders, it's just the split personality isn't it? Two at once? Very kinky."

"How am I still surprised that everything comes down to sex with you, Isabella?" Hawke shook her head, though thoroughly amused.

"She might have a point, Hawke. Maybe you should just jump his bones" Merrill shrugged.

Hawke was pretty sure the sound of her bottom jaw hitting the floor could have deafened all of Kirkwall. Little, innocent, sweet, naive Merrill making such a suggestion completely threw her for a second, and it was't often she was thrown.

"A brilliant suggestion, if you ask me!" Isabella was cackling with laughter.

"No, you need to stop spending so much with this one" Hawke pointed at Isabella.

"Having said that mages are absolutely delicious in bed, especially if they're inventive..." Isabella began and sensing a story, Hawke got to her feet. Whilst Merrill seemed all too eager to listen Hawke felt that though she was fairly drunk, she was still too sober to stomach the level of debauchery it was sure to contain. With a wave of her hand she moved towards the crowded bar, leaning against it and thrumming her fingers on the wooden counter impatiently.

"You alright there, darlin'?"

Hawke nodded evasively, with a scowl that usual deterred any unwanted attentions.

"Did it hurt?" he asked, plying her with the old pick up line as he looked her up and down. Hawke had seen the man at the inn many times, a perpetual drunkard and old enough to be her father.

"When I fell to the ground from the Maker's side? No. But I will hurt you, if you don't get out of my face" Hawke snarled, suddenly angrier than she expected or seemed reasonable.

"Why you little..." he raised his hand, but Hawke was far too quick for him. The resulting punch knocked him off his feet.

"I told you" she glowered at him as he looked up at her blearily. Three of what appeared to be his friends lurched forward, looking at her uneasily clearly tied between loyalty to their fallen comrade and not wanting to receive the same fate. The entire inn was staring at her now, even Bethany and Merrill were looking perplexed. Before they could intervene however, a hand took hold of hers and pulled her through the crowd, "Sorry, excuse me. Come along dear! She hasn't had her medicine today, poor thing doesn't know where she is..."

Once outside the Hanged Man, Anders dropped her hand and stared at her searchingly, "What was that all about?"

Hawke shrugged, "I tried to avoid it but the man simply fell into my fist, what is a girl to do?"

"It's not funny, you could have seriously injured that man. You're a skilled fighter, he's just a drunk. I'm glad I intervened when I did" Anders folded his arms crossly.

"No really, it happens a lot. People falling onto my blades and jumping onto my arrows. It's like the want to get killed" Hawke replied sarcastically. She looked at Anders roguishly, "But what are you doing here?"

Anders looked flushed for a moment, "I came to see Varric, things have been oddly quiet at the clinic lately. I think he's paying someone off."

With more confidence than she would have had sober, Hawke stepped closer, "Anders, you're a terrible liar. We both know Varric's out of the city seeing Bartrand."

"Alright sweetheart, you got me" Anders held his hands up in mock surrender. "I was coming to find you."

"And why were you doing that?" Hawke purred.

"I think I upset you earlier, I'm sorry. That wasn't my intention." Anders replied, looking down at her hesitantly.

"And what was your intention?" Hawke raised an eyebrow, impishly.

"Aha, you're not going to get me to give in that easily, my dear" Anders grinned, and it was such a rare sight that it made her insides do somersaults. "Particularly not when you smell like a brewery."

"I do not!" Hawke replied impetuously, before relenting. "Alright, I might have had more than a few drinks, but I still know what I want..."

"Is that so? Maybe I should take you home" Anders said, shaking his head though the smile did not leave his face.

"Now you're getting it!" Hawke said, laughingly.

"You know what I meant. I will walk you home, lest you do any damage to yourself or others" Anders said, motioning toward the steps to Hightown.

Hawke fell into step beside him, and suddenly serious asked, "It's nothing that I've done is it?"

Anders replied, though he did not look over at her, "Of course not. You drive me crazy, and last night was... The image of you in that dress... That's why I was so distant earlier. It was torture this afternoon, trying to keep myself away from you."

Neither of them spoke for a moment as they began to climb the dusty steps. After a few minutes Hawke reached out and grasped his hand tentatively, "Anders, I'm not intentionally trying to tease you... It's just. Well, you know."

Anders nodded and replied ruefully, "I do know."

Though they remained silent the entirety of the way home, he did not let go of Hawke's hand until they reached her doorway. As they made their goodbyes, they embraced, at which point it became increasingly difficult for Anders to leave. He did so however kissing her hand and leaving Hawke with a confused grin on her face. The very next day she marched down to his clinic, to find him putting out milk for the neighbourhood cats. Though her visit began quite chastely with Anders thanking her for aiding the mages, it ended with him pulling Hawke against him in a passionate kiss, and promising to visit her at her estate later in the evening, if she so desired.

"You can't tease me like this and expect me to resist forever."

"How long will it take until I drive you mad?"

The next time Hawke visited Isabella at The Hanged Man, it was with a wide, blissful grin on her face.

"You got laid didn't you?"

"Oh, Isabella. You must teach me your eloquent way of putting things."

Mind lost in reveries of happier times, Hawke fell into a fitful sleep. Whenever she awoke, Anders was at her side, fast asleep, but with his fingers intertwined with hers. Eventually, as the pain subsided somewhat, she drifted off into a deep, dreamless slumber.