Chapter Text
Hawke awoke bleary-eyed and sore. She was in…her room? No, that made no sense. She turned her head to get her bearings, but was halted by a shock of pain. Suddenly dizzy, her stomach churned with nausea and she whimpered.
Oh, that's pathetic, she thought, even through the pain. She didn't whimper . She screwed her eyes shut and tried weakly to turn onto her side. Instead, she found her movement quickly halted by hands on her shoulders.
"Hawke! Easy, love."
Hawke knew that voice, recognized the feel of those staff-calloused hands. She abandoned her attempt to turn over and opened her eyes.
"Oh, heart, you look terrible," she croaked. Ander's blonde hair fell haphazardly about his haggard face. He looked pale and exhausted, but his eyes lit up when she spoke. He made a sound caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and set a gentle hand against her cheek.
"You're one to talk, love, " he countered. Hawke chuckled, then winced as her head hammered and her ribs ached.
"Rude," she finally murmured with a smirk. She reached out her hand–the one that didn't hurt so much to move–and Anders quickly took it in his and squeezed gently. "Mind explaining how I got here?" she finally asked. She remembered the viscount's keep, the Arishok, Meredith, but didn't recall coming back to the estate.
"Very carefully, and only after I managed to put you back together." Anders shook his head. "How you managed to stay standing, to hold your head high and speak to Meredith…" His eyes were distant, haunted at the memory, but he quickly came back to himself with a smile. "You're a force of nature, love."
"Oh, I like that. Remember that nickname next time we're naked, hm?" Hawke caught herself before she laughed and settled for a lopsided grin instead. Broken ribs, then. Well, that accounted for the pain in her chest, but not her head, or her arm. "How bad was it?" she asked. As the words left her mouth she watched Ander's face darken. He breathed out a long, shaky sigh.
"A concussion. Your right arm was broken," Anders looked away, down at their intertwined hands. "Four of your ribs were shattered . They weren't just broken, Hawke, they were in pieces. One of your lungs collapsed. If I weren't a healer, if Varric hadn't been able to get the lyrium I needed –" It had been bad, Hawke realized: much worse than she knew, much worse than any of her previous injuries. But it's ok, love, I'm alive. I'm here. He'd succeed and she was here. She squeezed his hand tightly in hers.
"Hey," Hawke crooned.
Slowly Anders lifted his head to meet her gaze, and she smiled. "It's a good thing that I have the best healer in Kirkwall by my side, then." She waited for some of the tension to ebb from Ander's face before she added, "And it sounds like I'm going to be covering Varric's tab at the Hanged Man for quite a while."
His lips curved into a half smile at that. Hawke raised their joined hands and kissed his knuckles in reply. "There we are, heart. You can't go frowning at my sickbed, it's bad for my health." Hawke managed to get a proper smile from Anders with that, and the two settled into a comfortable silence. Hawke shut her eyes and felt herself begin to drift back into sleep. She felt lips press to her forehead, followed by the soft touch of Anders' fingers imbued with the cool tingle of healing magic.
"Hey, Anders," she murmured. Her words felt thick on her tongue as she teetered at the edge of dozing. "Tell everyone I'm ok?"
"I will."
"And ask Varric to visit?" she added, her words coming quieter.
"He's been by your bedside nearly as much as I have," Anders chuckled, "When he comes back I'll tell him that you asked for him." Hawke hummed drowsily in response.
"Anders?"
"Yes, love?"
"Get some sleep," she sighed, as she herself drifted back into healing darkness.