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It hurts more than he'd been expecting.
In retrospect, he supposes it should have been rather obvious, but such minor physical concerns had seemed irrelevant in the face of the larger plan, the raw, coursing power of Justice eclipsing all thought of pain. Nor is it anything particular unbearable - others, certainly, have suffered far more tonight in the name of justice, ones who hadn't walked into it with eyes wide open, and Anders has no intention of pretending otherwise.
Still, his back aches, every step like the wound’s been torn open again, and he hasn't the strength to do much about it now. Anders could almost laugh at the irony, that it is Justice’s same power that had kept him alive that is now preventing him from healing fully. There's a certain state to calling compassion wisps, after all, one he can't manage while Justice maintains so much of a hold over their shared body, and any healing magic without that is too weak to close such a deep wound all at once.
He can heal it with time, he knows. But still. It hurts more than he'd thought it would.
“Anders.” There's no mistaking Hawke's voice - never has been, the other man's baritone resonating distinctly through the chill air. He watches, carefully, as the man enters from the treeline, eyes hard, singed and bloody and still so, so determined through his obvious exhaustion. And this, too, is worse than Anders had expected, the almost frantic resolve as Hawke moves towards him, the gloved, bloodied hand cupping his face, the brief flicker of utter relief before that same hard look returns, Hawke grabbing Anders’ arm, turning him insistently.
“Let me see.”
“Hawke-” Anders begins, wound twinging again at the movement, but Hawke won't be swayed, half dragging him across the clearing into the light.
“Let me see,” he says, and Anders can only relent as he feels cautious fingers pull bloodied fabric free of skin, hear the sharp hiss of his lover’s breath through his teeth. “Maker.”
“It looks worse than it is,” Anders says, oddly self conscious as he pulls himself free and turns to face Hawke. The man is staring at him with hollow eyes, and Anders feels a pang in his chest not to do with any knife.
“I thought it had gone wrong…” Hawke says quietly.
“I'm fine.”
“It thought I'd killed you,”Hawke says, and this time it’s Anders who raises a hand to his face, pulling him close. “Anders…”
“I’m alive,” he says, “Love. I'm here. I'm fine.”
All at once, Hawke leans in, lips pressing desperately to Anders’. It's enough to break them both, Hawke's distant, dead-eyed look giving way to equal measures pain and relief, and the pair fall to the ground, clinging tightly to the other.
“Maker,” Hawke breathes into his neck. “The way you fell over… I didn’t give you enough credit. You're too good of an actor.”
“I'm fine. Justice protected me. It worked just like it was supposed to.” He winds his fingers in Hawke’s, smelling smoke and sweat and copper, and he never wants to let go. “I've had worse, believe me. A templar put his sword through my chest the first time Justice and I merged. This was nothing.”
“Mm.” Hawke pulls him closer, and for all that the motion sends fire across his back Anders hardly minds. “I should never have agreed to it. You should have come with us.”
“It's better this way,” Anders insists, and it's funny now, that it's all been done for hours and they're still having the same argument. “Your hands will be clean of it. The stories will favor you. The mages have run, the ‘lone mad apostate’ who did the deed is dead, and the Champion has killed the Knight-Commander.” He pauses. “Meredith is dead, right?”
Hawke lets out a half snort. “Not that it was easy, thank you, but yes. And I could have used your back-up on it.”
“It's better this way,” Anders repeats. “Did you tell any of the others?”
“No,” Hawke said. “I don't know if Varric would ever forgive me if I did. You know how he is. He loves Kirkwall.”
“So do you,” Anders replies quietly.
“I knew what had to be done,” Hawke says shortly. They say no more for a while after that, before finally, Hawke shifts in Anders’ arms. “I might tell Merrill. She was very broken up about it.”
Anders looks down in surprise. “Really?”
“You heard her - earlier, didn't you?” He frowns. “She's got a good heart, you know. Better than you give her credit for.”
He doesn't really have it in him to argue that. They fall back into silence, and it feels like a full hour at the least before Hawke stands, pulling Anders up with him. “So.” Anders feels a squeeze on his hand. “I've said my farewells. It’s all done. Where to now?”
“Mm, well…” Anders looks out through the forest, mountains stretching high into the distance. The air is thick with smoke, still, the skies grey over Kirkwall, worse than he'd expected, and his back aches with every breath, but there's a hand in his, holding tight, and there's a hope in his chest like he hasn't felt in years. “Anywhere we want.”