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Hawke wakes to an overwhelming emptiness in the pit of her gut. Eyes burning from the abundance of tears shed the night before, she staggers out of bed, nearly losing her balance in the process. The thought of a life with Fenris absent from her arms is unbearable . She feels as if she’s been thrown into a foreign land, a hostile place filled with uncertainty and danger. A place where ‘Hawke’ no longer exists, feeling much like the refugee that first stepped into the Free Marches, all sense of security and safety wiped out from under her.
The night Fenris left her alone in her bed … she’d understood. Hawke knew from the agony that bled through his voice and the burden that haunted his eyes that he could not stay. That he had to work through the loss of his memories on his own. When he walked away from her that night, she wept, salty tears rolling down the length of her cheeks. But even through her tears, Hawke believed this loss would not be permanent, not in the way the death of a sister is, nor a brother’s promise to the Grey Warden’s. She held on to hope that one day, Fenris would return to her arms.
But now it seemed she’d been quite the fool. Eleven months came and went, and Hawke grew apprehensive. Never speaking of that night together, she yearned to know where she stood with Fenris. He wore her family crest, as well as a piece of fabric torn from her bedsheets … a token of their night together. It had to mean something . But when she came to him that night, the question burning on her tongue, followed by a promise that she would still be his, that she would wait for him as long as it takes, the words that followed were cold and callous.
“Leave Hawke. There is nothing for you here.”
His words tore through her the way a blade sinks into tender flesh, harming her more than the Arishok’s weapon ever had. She ran from his manor, tears flowing freely, unable to hide them a moment longer. This wound would not cast any scars to her skin as the Arshok’s blade had. No. His words left invisible scars on her heart, the heart that beat just for him.
Although Kirkwall has her running ragged most days, today no urgent letters have come, no persistent knocking at the door from various nobles that would seek her aid. Hawke cannot stand the silence, so instead she finds herself at Anders’ clinic. The healer has always needed all the help he can get when it comes to running his clinic, so on uneventful days when she does not feel like lazing about like a plump housecat, Hawke extends her hand to her fellow mage. She is not the advanced healer like he, but she has her magic and knows basic healing spells.
It is a typical day in the clinic. Hawke throws herself into work, tending to the elderly with sore joints, the children with scraped knees and runny noses, the pregnant women who come to birth their babes. During the quiet moments, she and Anders clean the cots, restock the herb supply, and prepare potions together. By the time night falls and Anders closes up, she is utterly exhausted. Exhausted and starving.
“Would you like to have dinner at the estate with me?” she asks. Hawke knows whatever meager food supplies Anders usually has, he ends up giving away to the starving children who make their way to his door. Even under his thick patchy coat, she can see how thin he’s become in recent months, never stopping for a moment to catch his breath, never saying no to a patient in need.
“That is kind of you to offer, Hawke. But I don’t want to be a bother.”
“It’s no bother at all, really. Orana always prepares far too much food anyways. I think she’s making her vegetable stew tonight with chocolate pastries for dessert,” she says, perking her brow at the mage whom she knows has a weakness for sweets.
“Chocolate pastries you say?” he asks in return. “Alright, you don’t have to pull my arm.”
“I thought not,” she chuckles.
Three nights that week, she invites Anders over for dinner. On the days she cannot help him in his clinic, she sends correspondence to him, inviting him to her estate once he finishes up his work for the day. He provides a welcome distraction from the thoughts that pervade her mind during silent moments after dusk.
One evening, as she walks through the Hightown streets, she catches a glimpse of white hair and black armour, pale swirls of lyrium wrapping around defined arms. Hawke’s heart leaps into her throat at the sight of the Fenris browsing through the market, a loaf of bread tucked under his arm. Immediately, tears spring to her eyes once more. She swallows past the lump in her throat, eyes stinging, and turns on her heel. She doesn't want him to see her fall apart. In fact, she can’t take seeing him at all. Not yet. It is too soon, and it hurts too much. She has loved him in secret for years, and to have that love quashed like one would an ant in the food storage … it is nearly unbearable.
Stepping into her estate, she closes the heavy door, laying her staff against the wall. Hawke kicks off her boots, ready to retire to her bed for another sleepless night. But as she steps into the main room, she sees that Anders waits for her by the fire.
“I apologize for my unannounced arrival. The Templars were looming around Darktown today and I - “ Anders steps forward, amber eyes taking in her appearance. With skin as fair as hers, the redness of her eyes always give away when she’s been fighting tears. “What happened?” his voice carries the weight of his concern.
“Anders,” she says, her voice a low breath as she tries to regain a sense of calm amidst the swirling storm of emotions that brew from within. “The Templars are back? Are you safe?”
“I … think I will be fine if I lay low for a few days. The only place I could think of to hide was here. I hope I’m not intruding.”
“Nonsense. I have more than enough space for you. The guest bedroom is unoccupied. You are more than welcome to stay for the night, longer if need be.”
“Thank you, Hawke,” he says, a small smile gracing his face. He studies her then with eyes that she wishes would cease their search. “You’re a good friend. And if there’s anything I can do to help you - “
“Anders,” her tone is a clipped warning, her emotions too unsteady to stop the flood from breaking again if he were to press for more. Any form of kindness or comfort would be sure to break her. “I’m fine, really.”
“You don’t look fine, Hawke,” the mage reaches for her, as if to stroke her cheek, but decides against it, allowing his arm to fall back to his side. “If you tell me what happened, maybe I can help.”
“You can’t possibly help. Not unless you suddenly know how to heal a broken heart.” The words leave her mouth on their own accord, and she is helpless to stop them.
“So, you and Fenris? I thought the two of you had ended things.”
“Well, apparently I am a masochist who needed another dose of pain,” she shallowly laughs, the sound bitter on her lips.
“What did that beast do now?” he snaps
“I shouldn’t have said anything. Not with our … history.” The last thing she needs is a reprieve of last year. When she was, like now, nursing a broken heart. When she allowed the Darktown healer to kiss her in his clinic, a spur of the moment decision. At the time, she’d thought a tumble in the sheets would help distract her anguished mind, but when Anders showed up to her estate with a longing in his eyes, and a question about her relationship with Fenris on his lips, she couldn’t go through with it. A fling with Anders was a risk she hadn’t been able to take. Fenris barely tolerated Anders, and the knowledge that she had slept with the mage might have driven him away forever. She hadn’t been willing to close that door forever, not for something that was strictly physical and bore little meaning to her. But it would bear great meaning to Anders, of that there was no denying.
“He doesn’t deserve you Hawke.”
“You don’t know him. Not really,” she sighs.
“I know more than I need to. A man like that - he isn’t capable of anything other than hate. He will always see your magic before the person beneath it.”
His words sting, but Hawke wonders if they possess any truth to them. She closes her eyes, afraid of falling apart again. Suddenly, strong arms encase her in a warm embrace, and before she can stop herself, Hawke lets go, crying into his worn coat. Anders strokes her hair, silently comforting her. It isn’t who she wants support from, but comfort is exactly what she needs.
After a minute she pulls away, drying her eyes on her long sleeve. “I’m sorry. You didn’t come here to comfort me.”
“But I’m glad to anyways,” he says, his voice as warm as honey. “I hope one day, you will see that you deserve all the happiness in the world. But for now, I’m glad to be here for you. In whatever way you need me to.”
His words bring a sense of ease, and that night, she manages to sleep with the help of a sleeping aid he brews her. When she awakes at dawn, the pain begins anew, but somehow, she feels less alone with someone to share her burden with.
Another week passes, and Anders finally returns to his clinic, the Templars having moved topside for the moment. They leave together, Hawke once again finding the time to help Anders with his duties. At the end of a tiresome day, she tells him he is still welcome to take supper at her estate again, should he wish. This time, he needs no gentle prodding to accept her invitation. The duo arrive at the estate when dusk has fallen and her servants have retired. They eat in her dining room, pleasant conversation filling the air in between bites of delicious food.
“You know,” Anders says as Hawke takes a sip of her third glass of wine. “I could get used to having you around the clinic. It’s been smooth sailing ever since you stepped in to help.”
Hawke laughs. “I’ll do what I can. But you know me - it’s never long before the city needs my help again.”
“You mean Meredith ,” Anders says defensively and Hawke sighs..
“Yes. Most of my duties revolve around Meredith these days. It’s not as if I can ever say no to the woman. She knows of my magic.”
“You are a useful tool. One day, she may discard you.”
“I know.”
“I won’t allow her to throw you into the Circle, Hawke. The day she touches you is the day she dies. I will not let harm come to you.”
The conviction in his voice - Hawke knows he believes his words with every fiber of his being. A warmth spreads throughout her middle, and she doubts it’s from the wine. Being around Anders makes her feel good, she has realised this last week. Over the years, he has become something of a safe haven for her. He is one of the few people she can discuss her fear of the Templars with, someone who truly understands the dangers she faces with being a known apostate in Kirkwall.
“You really do care for me, don’t you?”
“You know I do.”
“Anders … “ Hawke sighs. “I know what you feel for me. What you’ve felt for years. I don’t want to risk our friendship again. It took months for you to even look at me again after last time.”
“I was an idiot then. I knew that you loved Fenris. I know you still do. I’m not asking you to fall in love with me, Hawke. But maybe … maybe you could give me a chance. Let me prove my worth to you.”
Hawke worries her lower lip with teeth. Granted, his presence in her life has been a blessed distraction. But could she truly open her heart up to another? So soon after it had been yanked from her very chest? Her eyes search Anders, the wine emboldening her tongue. “I can’t give you what you want. Not yet. But, what I need … “
“What do you need, Hawke?” he gently runs a hand up and down her arm, eliciting a shiver down her spine. Once, she feared that giving in to her physical desires with Anders would cause her to lose Fenris forever. But she had already lost him. There was no sense in fearing something she could not lose. Not when it didn’t belong to her in the first place.
“What I need is a distraction. I am so tired of my life falling to shambles. I don’t want love. Love is a curse.” Hawke pauses, allowing a breath to slip past her lips as she looks Anders in the eyes. “What I need is a casual fling. A few blessed moments of nothing but sexual gratification. But, I don’t want to hurt you. You need more from me than what I can offer.”
“And you think I would turn down any chance to please you?” he asks, a coy smile tugging on his lips. “I am still a man Hawke.”
She chuckles lightly, jabbing his side with her elbow. “You know what I mean. If anything were to happen between us, it would strictly be … physical. I’m not sure you can handle that.”
“You’ve heard of my time in the Circle, have you not?” he grins.
“Yes. You sounded quite the debauched little pervert,” she laughs.
“Well, that’s not exactly a stretch," he says. "In the Circle, we took comfort where we could find it. No one dared to form emotional attachments. It would give the Templar’s power to take something away. I am no stranger to platonic intimacy, sweetheart,” he says, his voice playful and inviting. “If that’s what you need, I am more than willing and capable.”
Time stands still as she ponders his words. This offer … she could not deny the allure of it. Something to take her mind off the chaos of her life. Someone to come home to after a gruelling day of blood mages and Templars, someone who could distract her for an hour or two. Maker, it’s exactly what she needs. And that it’s being offered by a trusted friend makes it all the more tempting. She couldn’t trust any man in Kirkwall with this - not when she was the “Champion” and had an image to maintain.
“If we do this … you won’t press for more?” she asks.
“I will respect your boundaries. Of course, if you were willing to give more - “
“Anders ... "
“I’m only teasing,” he says as he takes her hand in his, pulling them both to their feet. Only a few inches of distance remain between them, and his hand on her own provides a shadow of what he could offer. She can’t help but wonder how those hands would feel all over. “What do you need, Hawke?” he asks, his voice molten honey, eyes bearing into her own.
“You, Anders,” she gasps. “I need you.”
His lips crash into hers, fingers winding into her dark strands as he pulls her tight against him. Her body responds to the needy sighs her kiss brings forth. Anders is passionate in all things, and she wants him to unleash that passion upon her. Breaking away from the kiss, she tugs on his hand, leading him into her chambers where he makes good on his word. She comes apart under skillful fingers and an eager mouth, writhing against him as he sinks into her. For a blessed evening, she no longer thinks of green eyes and lyrium lined hands, of cold words and the dismissal of her affections. Tonight, all she knows is blond strands falling in her face, tender laughter when they accidentally knock heads, and soul shattering climax, again and again as Anders proves that a little experience goes a long way.
When they are finally sated Hawke thinks, even though Anders is not who her heart yearns for, he is good enough for now.
It is all too easy to welcome Anders into her bed night after night. Sometimes it is to distract her from the ache in her heart left from Fenris … that much is true. But she cannot deny the longing that begins to grow … the way she aches for the touch of the healer, how she yearns for the way her heart races as he looks upon her as if she’s the most cherished thing in the world. For a time, Hawke pretends he is just a distraction. But one day … she cannot pretend anymore. Instead of longing for the smell of leather and cloves, it is elfroot and sandalwood she craves. Rather than the faint taste of expensive wine on her tongue and deep rumbles of approval in her ears, she seeks the sound of soft, pleasured sighs and gentle hands caressing the fullness of her cheeks. Instead of stolen glances of longing and uncertainty of where she stands in his life, it is knowing she is adored, endlessly.
One night, after a tiresome day of running errands throughout the city, she finds herself yet again writhing among her sheets with Anders. As she sways above him, looking down into his adoring eyes, it becomes apparent to Hawke that no longer are they simply rutting, they are making love. She buries her face in the crook of his neck, allowing him to take over their movements. Together they find their climax, softly crying out each others name. It is in this wonderful moment that Hawke realises no longer is Anders simply good enough for now. He is adequately good enough.