Sometimes, Hawke didn't want to wake up.
Not simply from her deepest slumber and tumble about in the Fade where she could recall so much easier all the faces and smells and smiles of those she had lost, but when she fell in battle a small piece of her went 'no, no, no, don't do it, Anders, please let me just sleep forever. Imsotired.'
Still, she woke. Sometimes in her bed, sometimes in Anders' bed, sometimes in the Hanged Man.
Always alone.
Sometimes alone in the most literal sense – no warm body beside her to act as a temporary comfort; everyone busy chatting and trading stories and point of views on how wondrous that battle had been and how Hawke could duel an Arishok and win, but sometimes a bandit got the best of her and how it was funny and terrifying at the same time.
If anyone directed it towards her, she'd laugh and joke saying "it's easier to fight when you guys keep the bandits off of me. I can't really do the whole close combat thing that well, you know."
And it was true, but it wasn't true because she'd bested dragons and Arishoks and darkspawn and she knew it was her pride that said she couldn't let herself die to a bandit.
Sometimes Hawke didn't want to wake up. Sometimes, Hawke wanted to die.
But that was sometimes. Not all the time. Never would she go to actively seek her end; usually trouble came to her anyway and it was always worse that the trouble before and never could she rest because how could she die when she had to protect all those people from themselves?
Except she knew she couldn't.
"...I can't save everyone." Mumbled after a tumble and she frowned, naked chest heaving and forehead sweaty and it was gross and beautiful all at the same time.
"No, you can't." Came the reply, but it was soft, not gruff and his eyes stared at her because he must have known, how could he not know?
Hawke was glad she wasn't alone tonight, but by all rights, she should be. Fenris never should have come back – she wasn't prepared for it.
But she was glad all the same.