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Hawke came home to an empty room. His house was never really empty, not with Bodahn and Sandal chatting in the hall and Orana dusting books in the study, nor with his friends popping in at all hours only to leave the strangest things behind. But the person Hawke wanted to see, the only person who ever brought him any peace in the chaos of Kirkwall, was nowhere to be found.
Not that it mattered these days. When Anders was home, he was never really there. Not since crawling around in the sewers, lying to Hawke all the while. Not since using him to distract the Grand Cleric while he did whatever it was that he wouldn’t admit.
Hawke stared at the lute. “Maybe I don’t want to know.”
For years, that lute sat by the fire, full of empty promises. Despite his eagerness to move in, it was months before Anders actually spent time in the estate. Some nights he only slept there, gone in the morning like a one night stand on repeat. Hawke had seen much more of the lute than Anders. He knew the grain of the wood and the curve of the instrument’s body, but to sit down and play the thing, well, Hawke wouldn’t know where to begin.
“Neither would Anders, for that matter.”
Anders is not a lute. You know him.
But that thought did nothing to soothe the tearing in his chest. Knowing Anders made his behavior all the more terrifying.
There was no doubt that Anders still cared for him, even as he claimed there was nothing inside him but the mages’ cause. Hawke saw it in sad smiles, or flashes of warmth before his eyes went cold. His words echoed in Hawke’s mind now, I would drown us in blood to keep you safe.
Those days were long gone. At the time, the declaration brought the rush of fire and passion that Hawke had once craved, but now that it seemed like it could actually come to pass, it only brought bile.
All the talk of the suffering and pain that Anders would bring into Hawke’s life rang hollow. He had never been a source of pain before. Anders hadn’t killed Bethany, nor had he killed his mother. He had saved Carver’s life.
And when lives weren’t immediately at stake, Anders would curl up against him to recount Ser Pounce-A-Lot’s favorite games or the Hero of Ferelden’s best comebacks. But it had been a long time since he felt those long fingers in his hair.
And what did Hawke bring to the relationship? The ability to stop Vengeance from killing children? To stop Vengeance from killing him? Those felt more like responsibilities, and his confidence sagged every time he had to fulfill them.
Anders was going to drown them in blood, but it wouldn’t be for Hawke.
Well, cheers to silver linings.
Varric might have called it foreshadowing, except he was too kind to rub it in Hawke’s face.
Scratch that. According to Varric, proper foreshadowing had some subtlety to it, and there was nothing subtle about Anders.
He sat down on the bed, gripping the blanket in tight fists. Anders always said the less Hawke knew about the movement, the better, but now he had no idea just what he was supporting.
How was he supposed to keep Anders from losing control without knowing what he was doing?
And I’ve done such a fine job of keeping everything else under control in Kirkwall.
Blood mages, corrupt templars, and bands of thieves and mercenaries roamed the streets day and night. Meredith had one foot over the edge, and Orsino was no better. Even the portrait of temperance that was Knight-Commander Cullen was on edge these days.
It wasn’t all Hawke’s fault. Despite its insistence to the contrary, the Chantry was falling apart. Foolish as the organization was, the Divine was right to be concerned. The fact that the Sister Nightingale had left Kirkwall without incident was cause for celebration.
Hawke had to admit that Anders had a point about the Grand Cleric. Her willful ignorance brought no peace, and prayer wasn’t going to make it better, no matter what Sebastian said. And with no Chantry support, Meredith and Orsino cleaved tighter to their shards of imagined control. But not Hawke.
Maybe it was time to let go. No matter how much he could lift, he couldn’t carry a whole city. He couldn’t even carry his little band of misfits, not when he had Aveline trying to keep order as Anders tried to tear it apart.
It was so tempting, to feel nothing and let the city burn.
But where did that leave Varric and the rest of his friends? Even Isabela had come to rely on him a little, though she’d never admit it. Faces and names floated through his mind, people he had already lost and people who relied on him now. There were so few left, but as long as there were people to protect in the city, he couldn’t leave. He couldn’t let Kirkwall go.
Anders, though…
He closed his eyes. Was there anything of Anders left in him? Was there anything but calculating, manipulating Vengeance, whose ends justified any means?
Conviction had turned into a single focus with no room for argument. The relationship had ceased being a partnership, or even a relationship at all. There was nothing but the cause, and while Hawke could support the cause, he couldn’t breathe it; he just couldn’t give himself to Vengeance. He had already lost Anders, and he couldn’t lose himself.
Relief flooded his tight shoulders and his eyes snapped open. If Anders was lost to him, maybe it was time to let go.
Pained eyes and a desperate cry flashed through his memory to douse the fleeting calm. To end it would surely break any thread holding Anders back from the edge, and Vengeance would take over with no remorse.
Then, Anders and Kirkwall would both be lost, and Hawke would not be able to bear it.
There would be nothing left of him.
Rustling downstairs shook him from his thoughts. The sound of heavy footfalls on the steps meant that Sandal had let Dog back in. By the time Hawke reached the door, the mabari was scratching and whining at the other side.
He welcomed Dog in with a pat before sitting back down on the bed. Dog pouted up at him and tilted his head, a strand of drool dripping from one side of his mouth. Hawke sighed; he could fool everyone else.
“Always with the puppy eyes. You and Anders have that in common, you know. I don’t know why you don’t get along better.”
Dog sneezed in protest and Hawke shook his head.
“Oh, come on up, you.”
The mabari panted happily before jumping on the bed and heaving his head and front paws into Hawke’s lap.
“You know, this used to be his signature move, too,” he went on, scratching behind Dog’s ears. “At least you won’t blackmail me.” The mabari only burrowed his head deeper against Hawke in response.
Dog didn’t need anything from him. Hawke and his household provided for him, but mabari were clever enough to find their own food. Dog stayed around out of the goodness of his slobbery heart.
Come to think of it, I could say the same for Isabela and Varric. Minus the slobber, for the most part.
Aveline could take care of herself as well. Only the Maker knew how many times Hawke had tested her friendship, but she remained at his side. Even Merrill and Fenris could have packed up and left, despite all he had done for them.
He lied back on the bed, prompting Dog to shuffle his massive feet around and curl up against his side.
“Not helping your case,” Hawke grunted, patting Dog’s solid back. “Though I’d wager you’ve got at least two stone on Anders.”
Dog huffed with pride and Hawke closed his eyes. Even in his bizarre, euphoric state of Vengeance, Anders wasn’t going to be thrilled to find Dog on the bed when he got home. But just as surely as Anders would forgive him, Hawke would take one look at his face and forget everything, at least for a little while.
Except Anders didn’t come home, not until morning. Not until Dog had pulled him out of bed and dragged him to see Aveline--Are you all right, Hawke? Donnic’s made breakfast, I’m sure there’s enough, if you’d join us. Not before he passed Varric, strolling through Hightown for research purposes because who knows how much longer Meredith and Orsino can play nice?
He saw Fenris and Isabela first, too, still drunk from the previous night because someone should be having fun (Hawke was inclined to agree). He even ran into Merrill, shopping for new flower pots--He tried to give me a discount, but I wouldn’t let him. He’ll need the money even more if he’s leaving Kirkwall.
No, it wasn’t until after he came home to Bodahn and Sandal’s cheerful greeting, warm and constant amid the chaos, and changed into his house clothes that Anders returned.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it home last night, love.” Anders was too breathless and blissful to mean it. “There’s so much to do now that the tide has finally turned in our favor.”
“If only you were cheating on me. At least I’d know you were in good hands.”
Anders turned to him, smile extinguished and eyes downcast. “What happens to me is insignificant. I only hate that it makes you worry.” Taking Hawke’s hand, determination swept over his face once more. “One day, you’ll understand that this is so much bigger than the two of us. Soon, all mages will be able to live in freedom, and you’ll see that it was worth it.”
Hawke sighed, biting back his protest. “Please, keep talking about that day as if you won’t be there to see it. You know how that gets me going.”
But Anders knew him better. He drew Hawke close in an unreturned embrace, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear.
“I know I ask too much of you, love. Just like everyone else. And yet you give us more than we deserve, without asking anything in return.” This was not new information, though it was nice to hear. Hawke focused on the fuzzy shape of the Tevinter amulet chain around Anders’s neck.
And on top of everything, my vision’s going south.
“Never forget that I love you, and always will.”
It was automatic. His heart stopped, just for a moment, and before he could remember to be upset with Anders, Hawke wrapped his arms around him. He smelled of Darktown, but that was nothing new.
Muffled by a mouthful of feathers, Hawke found a reply. “Fine, but I expect the same from you.”
“It is the only thing that has given me hope these past years. There isn’t an hour that passes when I don’t think of you.”
It wasn’t enough, and it wouldn't make a bit of difference in the end, but it was true, and that would have to do. They were still doomed to crash and burn, but falling into bed had a way of quieting his mind.
“You let Dog sleep in here last night, didn’t you?”
“Someone had to keep me warm. Honestly, with the way you smell, he should be offended I let you in here.”
"If you have a problem with the way I smell, perhaps you should do something about it."
“Perhaps I will.” The world was going to burn either way, and Isabela was right; someone should be having fun.