How many years had it been since she first met Anders? Six? Seven? Life moved in a blur – periods of boredom punctuated by islands of terror in the river of passing time.
There were islands she would love to go back and visit in that river, though – first smiles, first kisses, the first night spent in his arms. If she let herself she could still feel the first whisper of his magic along her skin when he raised his hand to caress her cheek.
He said he loved her, but that was a different man – a man whose secrets had made him sad, but not cruel.
She stared into Anders' eyes and saw the lies in them when she confronted him about the drakestone and sela petrae.
And the potion.
The lies cut her like a knife. Cut her more deeply than the Arishok's sword in her gut.
And she, the Champion of Kirkwall, gave Anders the victory without even putting up a fight.
Lie to me, she thought, feeling something inside her pull tight and then snap. Lie to me, I promise I'll believe, but please don't leave.