On the long trip to Amaranthine she had wondered if it would be worth it. Ferelden was safer than the Free Marches, but not by much. Not when traveling with the most wanted man in Thedas, but still she had dragged him onto the ship and nursed him through the voyage.
It had been hard, getting him to eat, getting him to even acknowledge her. The fire in his eyes seemed to have burned itself out along with the embers of Kirkwall's chantry, but still she cared for Anders, keeping him alive, talking to him, telling him stories that had nothing to do with mages and templars, blood or war.
She held out hope that he would learn to live again, and that she would learn to trust him again.
Now she draws the hood up over his head when they disembark in Amaranthine. He lets her lead him out into the city that is still rebuilding after the darkspawn siege of years before.
She has a name, one he mentioned once in passing and likely never imagined she would remember. She leaves him to wait while she asks directions of guardsmen, keeping her voice down so he does not hear, and when she has her directions, she takes his arm again and draws him deeper into the city until she can knock on a door, wait for an answer.
The woman who answers the door is suspicious until she sees his face, then her expression warms and she lets Hawke bring Anders inside, settle him in a chair, and wait…
Hawke watches him closely when Delilah Howe returns with a tabby cat in her arms, and she nearly weeps to see Anders' expression flicker into life, his eyes growing wide and shiny when the cat leaps from Delilah's arms into his lap.
When he smiles, Hawke does cry.
It's magic. Just a different kind.