Nothing was ever simple was it?
His breath lingers against the nape of her neck, loose strands of brown hair curl around a bony shoulder, she could feel the pulse of magic, both metaphorical and literal dancing in the air around her, waves that pressed down around her. She twitches in his grasp, and Anders' breath hitches, ever so slightly, like he's had the wind knocked out of him.
To say that something was simple would be to lie. If anything was ever simple, it was the sweat laced on the edge of her skin, or the uncertainty in her eyes, or maybe the quivering movement of his chest against her back. But even those weren't simple, were they? There was complexity in sweat, in uncertainty, in his quavering responses to her twitchy movements.
All Marian Hawke can think about was if she made the right decision.
Was it right? Was it wrong? Was there sense, purpose in helping Anders sneak into the Chantry? There's a feeling, in the bottom of her gut, like a hot coal inside a fireplace, that burns and burns. Isabela, if she'd been there, and Hawke's happy she's not, would've compared the thought, the issue, to a rash on the ass that'd never go away.
Hawke had lived her whole life running from the Chantry, with Father, and Bethany. Running from Templars and overzealous people. She'd grown to hate their abuses on principle. Nothing good could ever come from such a thing as that Chantry.
So why, why couldn't anything be simple? Why couldn't she just accept the fact that she'd helped Anders? Was it his… avoidance of the subject? That dodgy attitude he'd taken whenever she'd attempted to even broach the issue?
He was hiding something.
Hawke turned in her bed, facing Anders, fingers tracing small circles on his lean chest. There was a small moan in the back of his throat, and the hand on the back of her leg flinched slightly. The green-eyed Champion of Kirkwall pulled him closer, tucked her chin into the crook of his shoulder, and let out a small, contented sigh against his skin.
She was anything but content.
What could he have been hiding? What could he have possibly done, that would be so horrible as to drive her away? And, more importantly, how could he be so stupid as to think that he could drive her away? Hawke pulled back, looking at his outline, traced by the light cast by the moon. She tried to imagine Justice – no, Vengeance's – markings. The blue glimmer that shone on his skin, the flickering in his eyes…
Even those were too complex for her to imagine.
There was nothing simple, ever, in her life. The political front she was forced to put on for Meredith, her relationships with her allies, and Anders… all of it had a complexity that oppressed her. For once, she would have liked to go a day without worrying about ending up in the Gallows, with Orsino and the rest of the mages, to go a day without questioning her choices and the possible consequences…
Hawke blinked away the tears that blurred her vision, and nearly laughed. Crying herself to sleep?
Carver would have laughed.
The grip on her leg tightened, and Hawke shifted the bed sheets slightly, bringing them up to dab at her eyes. She hadn't cried in a while, not since Mother…
"Are you alright?" His breath, across her nose. Brown eyes stared at her.
"Why, worried?" She teased, lightly, as was her way. She could never take anything seriously. All of it had to be punctuated by a dab of sarcasm, a point of wry humor. "I'm fine. Go back to sleep, Anders."
He looked at her again, their eyes locked, and for a second, Marian Hawke swore she saw a touch of regret in those eyes of his. That regret, it too, was complex. She shifted, again, turning around, away from him, and welcomed the arms around her stomach, tentatively. Hawke stared out the window, welcoming the repetition of his breaths against her skin.
The feeling in her gut, the primal instinct that wavered in her veins… it never faded.
There was nothing in the world that was ever simple.
Actually, I haven't finished Dragon Age 2, but I've gotten to the beginning of Act 3. Y'know, where *SPOILER* blows *SPOILER* and Sebastian goes *SPOILER* (If you downloaded him. Which I DO NOT recommend, because he's an annoying twat.) and then *SPOILER*.
Yeah. So my weekend's being stocked with several replays of Dragon Age 2. I'm doing it for Anders. And Varric. And Merril.
By the way, did I mention I wrote this at 2 in the morning? No? Well now you know. Let me know if you spot any errors.
Feedback is appreciated!