From these Ashes [for uhitwasntme]

[questionablewit]

It's nearly dawn by the time they're all on board, and the tide is turning. No doubt Varric would have something to say about both those lines if Hawke spoke them out loud, which she doesn't. She's said very little since walking out of the Gallows, and what little she's said has been to the purpose, with the purpose being getting the hell out of Kirkwall.

It's Hawke's strength, that she can keep moving even in the face of disaster. Her weakness too, because it's such an easy way to avoid actually having to think about said disasters. She keeps moving forward, keeps doing what needs to be done, and there's always something that needs to be done.

It occurs to her ruefully that she's made a tactical error in that respect by getting on a boat. There's nowhere to move forward to, on a boat. All she'll be able to do is run around in circles on the deck. Maybe someone will teach her how to be a pirate. She needs a new job, now that the Champion thing has exploded.

Even in her own mind, she winces at the word.

She can't think about that yet. She'll have to, she knows, sooner rather than later. He's here. She can't ignore how all this happened.

But not just yet.

It's noisy, on a boat. She'd forgotten that, in the years that have passed since she and her family came to Kirkwall from Ferelden. Chains clanking, sails flapping in the wind, oars splashing and voices, so many voices. That'll be welcome. Maybe if it's all loud enough, it will block out the memory of people calling for their Champion to help, explain what happened, make it better, make it right.

Sorry, Kirkwall. I tried.

Hawke looks back at the city instead of at the rising sun on the horizon. She owes that much to Kirkwall, at least, to watch it for as long as she can as she goes. There's still smoke rising in the air, and Maker only knows how much of the city is still on fire.

Comments

[uhitwasntme]

It's likely Hawke's strength that keeps most of them moving. After all, their tenuous bonds are only glued together by her- only ever have been. After all, they were so much a disaster waiting to happen half the time, it was impressive they had gotten anywhere. Much less as far as they had gotten and all they had obtained.

And it seemed so pointless, after what he'd done. The last few weeks had been a daze, Justice taking his mind more often than not- or was it Vengeance? He wondered, truly, if he had ever seen it coming to this. He couldn't fully stand by his decision, because it was not entirely his own. But it still was influenced by him, pushed by his thoughts and desires.

He couldn't remember the battling after Hawke had spared him, told him that he was to come with her and those that had stayed. Everything seemed to move and meld around him, the fight for the mages, the battle with Meredith- her insanity nearly bringing down the city about them. Was this what it took for change? For equality?

Now on the boat, Anders had found a place to sit, to think. His eyes seemed to be fixed on a crate that jostled occasionally. Just what was he to do now? Kirkwall was falling, and other cities, other Circles were hellbound to follow. He could not say this was not his intention, and yet... He felt strangely... Satisfied, in a small part of him. The part that felt this was the necessary path. And yet, the way Hawke looked at him- or avoided him and his eyes...

So, here, on the boat, he did not speak to anyone, remaining silent unless his spells were needed. So many died, and many other forced to become abominations. One could try to justify the Circle with that, but in reality, most mages did not resort to that unless pushed to it.

Andraste's March was not a peaceful affair. It probably did nothing for the Maker's bride to be compared to Anders, but at the same time, Anders stood by it. The mages must be free, others must know that the Circle was not effective. He... He would leave Hawke and the rest, let her be free from being associated with Anders. He hoped she would forgive him eventually, when mages were free and the strife of this behind them. If not, then all would be for naught.

[questionablewit]

It doesn't take that long for the city to shrink into the distance, really. There's a good wind, and Isabela knows that the most important direction to start with is away.

Away will only work for so long, though. Sooner or later, they'll come to Hawke asking 'What next?'

She has no idea what to tell them. Is that allowed, she wonders. Is she allowed to just plain not know what to do? The leader of the motley crew is tired. Maybe what's next can be sleeping for a week. It's not as though Isabela needs her to sail the boat. Maybe they can just stay on the boat forever, and never have to ask the difficult questions, never deal with what's happened, never a lot of things.

Her feet are already taking her towards the alcove where Anders sits, because Hawke's no good at running from reality, and whatever answers there are to find will start here.

She sits next to him, without meeting his eyes, and waits. If she's lucky, something to say will occur to her, or to him. Or else they'll just sit and watch the sky brighten. It's a nice morning. Funny, that.

[uhitwasntme]

Fatigue and remorse and the runoff of adrenaline have made him weary, pulling bags under his eyes and making his back ache from sitting in the same position. When Hawke sits next to him, he doesn't seem to notice at first, still lost in his thoughts as he was. When he finally seemed to recognize her presence, he looked to her once, then furtively looked away. He was a confident, outspoken man when he needed to be, but this...

He couldn't think of a word to say to her. Nothing felt appropriate to say to her. 'I'm sorry for ruining your life' seemed alarmingly rude, even if Hawke might not take it as such. His attention focused on his hands, calloused and dirtied as they were. He was wringing them, just trying to keep them busy and trying to keep his mind off the woman beside him. She had changed his life, admittedly- if not marginally- for the better, and here she was, having to go on the run because her home was destroyed again.

"... Do you think me an abomination?" His voice was strong, if anything, but his eyes remained on the sky, now. The question had plagued him for some time. Now that he'd done what he'd done, did Hawke agree with Fenris? If so, he truly wondered why she'd spared his life. He didn't want to hear the answer, but he needed to.

[questionablewit]

"No." Hawke's voice is low and tired, but untouched by doubt. Her knees are drawn up, and her arms rest loosely on them, hands dangling. No, she doesn't think he's an abomination. She knows how much thought and planning went into the acts of last night, how slowly and subtly the entire thing built up; she can see it, looking back on the past few months. Days and nights of watching Anders wrestling with indecision and frustration and purpose. An abomination wouldn't have hesitated. An abomination wouldn't have planned for his own death.

An abomination wouldn't have told her not to blame herself.

"No," she repeats, even more quietly. "It might be easier if I did."

[uhitwasntme]

Normally, he would have tried to joke about her never taking the easy way anyways. It caught in his throat and he hung his head, elbows bound to leave marks on his knees from how long they'd been resting there. A small sigh escaped him, one of relief he hadn't known he'd been holding. Her opinion of him, however biased for or against him it would ever be, meant more to him than he cared to admit. He found it cruelly amusing that the two people he had ever fallen for had had their lives ruined by him. Karl had been turned Tranquil to try to get to Anders, and now his and Justice's decision to ruin the Kirkwall Chantry. There were rules against mages falling in love, and he was seeing why in the worst way.

He suddenly remembered his time with the Warden Commander. Hero of Fereldan, she had been, and despite fighting The disgusting Mother and dealing with the Architect, they had seemed like the freest days. Yes, he had been trapped with the Wardens for a time, but they did not make a habit of locking him into solitary confinement, nor did the Warden Commander desire much of him aside from assistance. He could teach new mages there and work in peace. The worst was getting rid of Ser Pounce A Lot.

"Would you prefer it?" Would she prefer the easier way? Would she like to think of him as such? He wanted to ask what her plans were, where she intended to go, if she would like to travel with him, but it all felt too selfish.

Justice remained silent, as it had been since boarding the boat.

[questionablewit]

It'd be easier because if he were an abomination, only because her course would be clear: kill him, free him, mourn. Mourn forever, maybe, never forgive herself for doing it. But an uncomplicated sort of mourning, comparatively.

He's right. She never has taken the easier path.

"It'd be a lie. A way to pretend you were mindless and out of control and possessed when you did...everything you did. I know better." She still doesn't move. She doesn't really want to ever move again, she's that tired. Perhaps if she sits here long enough, she'll turn to stone. Isabela can sell her at the next port.

[uhitwasntme]

"I could not ever ask your forgiveness.." He wanted add on 'love', 'Hawk', 'Marian'. Anything to make it sound less impersonal than it did, but once again he just let his words hang in the air. He toyed with a hangnail, and became fixated on his hands. They were dirty, nails chipped and skin cracking. These hands had done so much bad that it was hard to think of any good they had ever done; healing, carrying, supporting, anything he could do for Hawke he considered good.

Maybe he was an abomination. Maybe he wasn't. He'd heard tales of Flemeth, a woman who was an abomination, but retained her mind (though some would disagree). He thought of when he'd merged with the spirit; killing Rolan and the others with his bare hands and realizing that there was no place for his kind, whatever his kind was.

He stood, feeling joints pop, and moved toward the edge of the boat to stand quietly. He spoke just loud enough for Marian to hear,

"All I can ask is that you understand that I've tried..." He paused to think. "I tried the peaceful ways. My manifestos, my words, my deeds, but..." How do you justify the actions that seemed to only make sense to you? He leaned heavily on the edge of the boat, feeling so tired. "Every time... There are more Karl's, more Ella's-" he winced at the girls' name. How close he'd come to... "More children ripped from their parents, never to see them again, and for what? Because... Because people fear us? I am to live my life in solitude and loneliness, hoping that some Templar doesn't find me and drag me to Tower because I was healing the forgotten people of Darktown?"

He stopped himself from going further. If Marian wanted to stop him, she could. He would understand.

[questionablewit]

"I didn't know you were living in solitude or loneliness, these past few years," Hawke says quietly. Yes, she knows what he means, and it's possibly a small thing for her to fix on in that litany. But at the same time it isn't, because it's something of a betrayal for him to have been so willing to sacrifice their life together. Their life, her integrity, his own life...

Two out of three managed; he's still alive. No thanks to his own efforts.

She runs a hand back through her hair, a habitual gesture when she's tired or looking for words. "You don't have to tell me your reasons. I've lived with them for years, I know them as well as you. What I don't understand is how you thought doing something as evil as what they do was going to make things better." Her voice is still much too calm. "How you could kill that many innocents and call it justice."

[uhitwasntme]

"Those killed in the Chantry could never number to how many innocent mages are killed frequently for nothing other than their birth, or wanting to speak out against the abuses they suffer-" his voice was filled with the passion that always seemed to swell up in terms of this subject. His hands clenched until his knuckles went white and Justice surged within him, wanting to fight against the one who questioned their judgement.

She does not understand. She will never understand. Anders put a hand to his forehead, sighing and calming himself and Justice. He still refused to look at her, knowing she would have that calm, unruffled expression she always held with in a debate. The one he couldn't read, couldn't guess as to her thoughts or opinions. The lack of expression sometimes frightened him, thinking that she might be ready to pounce on him and rip his throat out, so he kept his eyes on the water and watched it rush by.

He thought of Amaranthine, standing with the Warden Commander and asking that they stay and protect the city from The Children- that it would be worth it if one single innocent still remained. And yet, for all the ways Justice- or Vengeance- told him, he could only wonder if he'd killed someone in the Chantry that would grow up to change it, would grow up to turn the whole thing around peacefully.

And now Justice reminded him of Meredith, of Rolan, or all the times he'd been thrown into confinement, lashed and punished for wanting to breathe beyond high stone walls and a Tower filled with must and old men; wanting to love a young woman without feeling fear that he'd be found. The Spirit would remind him of Ella, and the Tranquil Solution that had almost passed, that the evil in that Hell far outweighed any innocence and Anders felt the dizzying burning sensation of Justice trying to rise up and cracking his skin with blue tendrils.

"If you disagree so much, why did you let me live? Why did you not cast me away and leave my fate to the Maker; let him decide if my actions were right or wrong." Justice had begun to fade again. And Anders eyes closed almost in silent thanks that the Spirit did not rise up to battle Hawke because that would not have ended well.

[questionablewit]

In this case, the lack of expression hides pain. There are signs to demonstrate as much, lines of tension in her body, the rigid way she holds herself carefully in check. It's the same thing she did after her mother's death, when she feared that if she broke down once she'd never be able to put herself back together.

"So because they're more evil, it doesn't matter if you do evil too. An eye for an eye until we're all dead. Of course." Why did she ask? She knew the answer. She rubs her eyes. "Seems a narrow sort of justice to me. No room for redemption or rebuilding in that. That's why I kept you alive. One reason, anyway." She takes a harsh breath. "There are a lot of reasons."

[uhitwasntme]

Anders remained silent for a bit, staring. There was not way to justify what he'd sacrificed, at least not to her. And yet, for all these years, it was her he wanted to understand the most. He'd loved her, and yet he knew that it would have never worked in the long run. She was understanding and patient where she needed, and harsh and firm where it was required. He knew he'd fallen for her and that was already dangerous enough. Just thinking about them had almost made it difficult to carry out his actions for the sake her his feelings for Hawke. But Justice had scolded him, reminding him that she was merely a distraction and that they were to change the lives of mages the world around. One woman should not have made him hesitate so.

"I will do as you need me to do." Travel if they needed, leave her if she needed, die if she eventually became fed up with him. He could not justify his actions; not in a way that would make as much sense to her as it did to him.

[questionablewit]

"I'm not your judge." The words sound ripped from her throat, they come out raw. "I wouldn't be your executioner and I won't be your blighted judge. I'm not going to tell you what you should do. You don't get to lie to me and use me and throw everything into the Void and then suddenly decide that you'll do whatever I need, as if I have any idea what that is."

She bites off the end, because there's all the emotion she's been hiding, the grief and hurt and anger. It's showing on her face, in the way her voice shakes, in the rigidness in her shoulders.

[uhitwasntme]

He said nothing at that, stung by the anger in her voice. He knew it would come eventually, bubbling over. She'd trusted him, and loved him, and he felt for her even more than he'd ever felt for anyone else. She was a woman on fire and he adored her passion, her fervor. But in the end, a possessed apostate was no match for a Champion. He finally looked back to her, meeting her gaze.

"I do not wish for you to be anything you don't want to be. In my heart, I still love you and wish to be by your side, but as it stands, I have wounded you enough; it is horribly selfish of me to think such a thing-" He almost smirks to himself but he can't stand to look at her anymore because he feels that she can see the doubts, feel the claws of fear that he'd done the wrong thing gripping at his heart. He tries to think of something more, something to say to ease the anger and hurt but his hands and magic cannot heal the mind, cannot repair damage that he has wrought.

"I did not do what I did without thinking of you, but what I... What I did was for something far bigger than myself, larger than even Justice." He thought of the pillow that was next to the crate Hawke sat on, sandwiched between the two wooden boxes and almost hidden away. The hand-embroidered thing that was so old and ratty now that it barely resembled the beauty it had once been. What would his mother think- his father as well- of what he had become? Would his father feel justified, his mother horrified? Or would they feel what she felt; angry and hurt.

Are you willing to pick this up again, maybe? *looks hopeful* Everything went kind of nuts, sorry!!

[questionablewit]

Hawke breaks their gaze before he does. "It's a bit late to ask me what I want, love, don't you think? You already made your choice. Your cause above everything, even your life, even mine. Certainly above us." She runs a hand back through her hair again, then rubs the back of her neck. It feels like there are iron bars connecting her head to her spine. She can't keep the bitterness from her voice. "Saying you want to be with me rings just a little hollow coming from someone who set up his death, back there."

I am!! Sorry it took forever to reply, new job and sudden injuries took me offline

[uhitwasntme]

The way she called him 'love'- it was painful and sweet. Bitter to the mind to hear her say such an affectionate word with such a tone. He knew why she did so, and the intended effect was there. He did well enough to keep his posture the same- drawn-in but participating- but the reaction slipped onto his face; a wince and hurt stepping into his eyes like brewing elfroot tea.

"I imagine much of what I say will sound that way, but I do mean it." He felt sappy, emotional, things Vengeance did not like him to feel. The Spirit never spoke to him directly, just gave him feelings; dismay, anger, impatience, a welling of hopelessness at it all, sometimes. He felt as though who he was and who Vengence wanted him to be were two different people, now. He had no less drive to save Mages as Vengeance did, but Anders used words and manifestos while Vengeance used violence. When he had met the Spirit in the Fade--

No... No time for reminiscing. His reverie broken and returning to the world of Hawke, he blinked a few times. It happened occasionally- far more often than he'd admit- that he'd break into these spells. These reveries took him by storm, especially when considering his cause.

He remained silent. He wasn't expecting to be alive now, much less with Hawke on a boat away from the mess. The idea of being dead by this point had so overtaken him that he didn't know what to do with himself. If he lived past the boat ride, that was. For once, words failed him and even though he knew it likely would only make Hawke more angry, he remained silent.

Hurrah! And not a problem. =) Hope you're doing better!

[questionablewit]

The 'love' was unintentional, in fact; habit. It's what he is, to her. Even now. He hasn't killed that, though it's a blighted near thing. But then, one of the first things anyone recognizes about Hawke is her loyalty to her friends. Once it's given, it's given. The same holds true for her heart.

Unfortunately, it doesn't mean she knows what to do. Loving Anders isn't the same as being able to forgive him.

Hawke sighs and runs a hand back through her hair, sending short black strands askew. "And if you do stay with me, how long until something like this happens again, hmm?" It's not unkindly said; if anything, it's resigned. "What can our life be, with you always frustrated because I won't go as far as you would for the cause, and me knowing that I'll always be second in your life?" She glances at him with a small, sad smile. "You're the healer, Anders. Do you really think we can heal this?"

I am now! I can at least keep busy now ^ ^;

[uhitwasntme]

Could he heal this? He wanted to know what kind of question that was, but that would seem inappropriate, and rude, especially given the circumstances. He wanted desperately to stay by her side. Before he had been so convinced of this idea of leaving her, but now it was all but forgotten. He didn't want to run around and hide constantly like he used to. In Darktown, no matter how bad it was, he had a place to return to, and even later he had Hawke's Manor to escape to.

Everything seemed second in his life. The only thing that came first was the Mage's cause. He wondered if there were others like him, others who would become martyrs to make others see.

He couldn't heal scorned hearts, he couldn't heal her anger; how much he wished he could. It would have been better if he had died, wouldn't it? She would have been done with this kind of thinking and fought out her anguish. Well, that was wishful thinking, anyways. He knew it was likely different, but... It was nice to think his plan and death would have solved everything.

He could feel Vengeance's resentment welling up again, the spirit's dislike of the woman feeling like indigestion. As they had grown closer, he had felt butterflies in his stomach waging war with contempt. Now it was just Vengeance venting frustration. Could they heal this...? He honestly didn't know, but that wasn't what Hawke wanted to hear and that wasn't what Anders wanted to tell her.

"I want with all my heart to have a clear answer for you... To have any answer..." He wished there was something he could say that would solve this, that would make her happy and allow them to be together somehow. But.. Life had never been that easy.

[questionablewit]

Hawke sighed. Nothing was easy, and she hadn't expected it to be. She'd never expected things to get this difficult, however. Never did choose the easy path, wouldn't recognize it if she saw it.

"Give me an answer to this, then. You were clearly planning your own death." It amazed her how easy that was to say, just words, just another fact. Planning to pick up some bread on the way home, planning to stop by the Hanged Man and talk to Varric, planning to be martyred for the mages. Sorry, love, I won't be home tonight as I intend to be dead, hope that's not too inconvenient...

"Was it just part of the price you had to pay, or was it what you wanted?" She drew in a long, ragged breath. "Is it what you want now? Maker blight it, Anders, you sat there on that damned box waiting for me to stab you in the back! Did you plan that?"

[uhitwasntme]

He'd expected it, really. It was an obvious outcome, like 2+2 or something simple. Just that he wouldn't live because of his deeds. He supposed he planned for it because part of him didn't like that choice. He fought with words and manifests, and this... It was... Well, it was necessary, wasn't it?

He supposed he could soliloquy about having been running all his life and that he wanted some time to rest and relax, but it would feel forced and unneeded. Hawke didn't need to listen to his sob story- like it would change anything.

So what was it that made him plan his own death? After completing the destruction, he'd felt tired, and sitting on the box was his best savior. Plus, looking at Hawke was... Difficult. To see the hurt and betrayal in her eyes had been excruciating. In that moment, he had felt bitterness towards his own actions, but still couldn't shake the feeling that it was a needed step. Things had been thrust to the boiling point with Meredith's insanity.

"I want what I've always wanted." Freedom. No tall stone towers, no lashes, no solitary confinement, no getting rid of his cat..

"I don't want to die, but if that's what's necessary, then I will face it." He thought back to Rolan again, annoyed that the Templar invaded his thoughts. The feeling of Rolan's blade ripping through his chest and being tickled by the notion of someone trying to kill him. Now.. Now he did not fear it but he could not laugh at it... Then again, dying... That would release Vengeance without Anders to keep him in check; though that might not be any difference given his most recent actions.

[questionablewit]

"That's something, I guess." She looked out across the boat. They were in an odd pocket of inactivity, with Isabela's crew and their own comrades clearly ignoring them. She felt distantly grateful for that. It might have been courtesy, it might have been prudence, it might have been outright fear of the Champion and the renegade mage. Regardless, she was glad for it just now.

"If you really will do as I need you to do, then," she said finally, "what I need is for you to stay alive. To see the damage you caused and everything that will follow. To not run away from that knowledge." She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "But also to heal what you can, where you can. That would be a better justice."

[uhitwasntme]

Hawke really was too kind. Anders would never understand her ability to help everyone and seem so calm about it. Occasionally, during trying emotional times, Anders would barely see the turmoil underneath. But she had this way of being open and not at the same time, tip-toeing the line between unflappable and uncontainable. Whether that was her upbringing or just that she was a quick learner in Kirkwall, Anders had never guessed.

But he respected her for it, and he did now more than he ever had. That wasn't to say he understood why, but he had no right to question her at this point. He wondered just what the others would think of her decision- though given how they usually responded, they would accept it but dislike it all the same. As for right now, he nodded to her solemnly.

"Then that is what I will do to the best of my ability." Justice didn't seem to mind that, but there was still that hint of contempt. No matter what the spirit felt, Anders would follow Hawke to the ends of Fereldan and back; past Thedas if she wished- if she would have him, of course.

[questionablewit]

Hawke didn't consider the demand kind at all. Dying was easy, and he'd been prepared for it; it would have been a sacrifice, sure, but also an escape. Living was hard. Living with consequences was even harder. This way, he couldn't run.

Well, he could, and would, and so would she. Together or apart, half the continent would be after both of them. But tht was a different sort of running. She wondered if there'd ever be a time when they'd be able to stop running--in that new world Anders was so sure would result from all the destruction he'd caused, maybe. She doubted it. Even if he was right and it came to pass, she couldn't imagine it happening in their lifetimes. She couldn't imagine it at all, just now. There was too much reality in the way.

"Good," was all she said. The sun was well up by now, and bright. She rubbed her forehead. Maybe there was a spare berth somewhere, since all the sailors were up and about. It felt like a thousand years since she'd slept.