AN: Written for LJ k!meme. Let the anon-failing for DA2 begin. Prompt: So I was going after both boys until Fenris left me and Anders finally started pursuing me. So I picked Anders. I'm so glad this is how it played out, because I love all of the banter between Anders and Fenris about my relationship with me.

So, I want a fic post game where Hawke killed Anders (totally not how I did it) and is just in agony over it and Fenris is the one to comfort her. Which turns to comfort sex but it's just angsty because while she killed Anders, she still loves him and it's killing her. Fenris knows he's being used, but if it helps Hawke, even for a moment... basically: Angst angst angst angst.

Marian felt disconnected. That battle had raged on about her, an exercise in the surreal. The hands holding her staff were not her own. The legs that ran as she weaved and dodged belonged to another. The women she was, the woman she thought she was to become was no more, gone within a stroke of betrayal, hers and his.

Fingers rubbed at a blood slicked hand. No amount of water would wash away the stain. He had made his choice and given her none. She had been simply too weak to let him live, to face the idea of seeing within the reflection of his gaze all he had done. The deception, the murders, the knowledge of it all crashed down upon her head in a single moment, forcing the pull of her knife from her belt, pushing the blade into his back and sealing both of their fates.

She'd ignored the signs. She pretended the change in him was nothing, merely Anders being in a mood. She loved him and could not conceive of anything so horrible in someone she loved. They understood one another, or so she thought.

Her forehead pressed against the cool stone of the cave she and others sought refuge in after their escape from Kirkwall. Tears cornered her eyes but were stamped down with a heavy exhale. There was no time for tears, no time to drown within the waters of her remorse.

Fingers curled along the line of her shoulder, tugging her into the present in surprise. She recognized the touch, an all too familiar brush of fingertips from the past. A single night they shared, drawn together in a moment of angered passion that faded almost as quickly as it was born. Attraction was not love and Marian loved Anders.

"I am sorry."

She turned, posture straightening, body pressing against the wall behind her, freeing her from his clutch. "For what Fenris? You did nothing."


"You tried to warn me."

"I did."

Regret lingered within the gaze that held hers, making her wonder how things would have been if she had chosen him rather than Anders. Would the pain be less? Would she have been able to remove herself from the guilt?

Shaky fingers rose, invading the space between them to brush against the line of Fenris' cheek. She had no right to touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin. It was an act of desperation, this hesitant plea to fill the heavy burden of too much pressing oppressive upon her shoulders. She did not want to think about Anders, did not want to remember him. They had escaped Kirkwall, figures running with urgency through the thick crowds of the confused. She needed to retreat further still, however, and hide from his specter and all she did not want to admit. The craving was there, to become overwhelmed by the avoidance of the sensation of something different, something new yet not, something free from the mottled shame bruising her.

Lips formed in sneer, hands gripping cruelly at shoulders as he pushed her roughly against the cave wall. "This is all your fault," he growled, blue anger flaring brightly. No chance was given for response. A despondent beg to forget was met in challenge. His mouth crashed into hers, demanding of her all those things she'd long withheld.

He had to know she was using him, seeking refuge at the first available opportunity. But if he cared, he did not show it. The weight of him pressed into her, pinning her in place and she could not help but think good. Whatever abuses Fenris wished to inflict upon her, she deserved.

Her mouth tugged from his, allowing the rake of her teeth to scrape down the line of his chin, only to be followed by the purposeful flick of a tongue along lyrium markings. A growl kissed moan edged his lips, fingers urgent in their clutch and tear, cloth and fur ripped along the upper portion of her robes.

A gauntlet fell to the ground, quickly shirked off to bare the hand that soon delved into the fresh opening in her robes. His touch was not Anders' and she reveled in the differences. Raw heat infused the rove of his hands, feasting upon flesh at an agonizing slow pace as if his fingertips might never let go and she found herself hoping they did not. Rough and unrelenting, there was nothing tender, nothing kind.

She relished in the surrender. Her body sung at his direction.

He turned her with little mercy or care, the exposed skin of her chest scraped against the wall of the stone. Robes were pooled about her waist, and she felt him there, a promise and tease that lasted only seconds before he took her from behind. Each thrust was met in kind, her body rocking back against his. She lost herself in the moment, nothing but the feel of metal and skin against skin filling her thoughts. Hot and cold melded together in an intoxicating ambrosia infused amnesia.

Teeth dug into her shoulder, a flash of pain that only caused the knots of desire coiling within her gut to further unravel, to loosen and send her closer over the precipice of her release. "Ego contemno vos." Husky words laced with venom and whispered within all too hungry ears were all it took to push her over the edge, to cause her to stiffen, writhe and pant as she crested.

His movements only increased in demand as she came, bucking harder, faster, more urgently. And just when she thought she could stand it no longer, Fenris trembled against her, his body quaking in final push.

He stayed like that, leaning against her for what seemed not long enough before she felt him withdraw, gentle hands softly nudging the fabric of her robes to fall in drape down her legs and backside. The tips of her fingers dug into the stone beneath them, anxious and uncertain. She was sure he would leave at that, walk away and never look back. She would not have blamed him. It was what she wished to do herself.

Fenris had been right. All of this was her fault. In the end, Anders was not the one there. In the end, he was the one to force her hand under the guise of martyrdom. And she had allowed it to all happen, blinded by rose tinted glasses and an unwillingness to recognize the truth before her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, turning in search of Fenris, half expecting him to already be walking away. But he was not. "I regret many things." If she had only listened. If she could only quiet the aching beat of her heart and her sense of loss. If she had only chosen differently.

Downcast eyes flitted upward, capturing blue within their stare. "As do I."