A/N: Okay, here is the conclusion (should I pull it into a full blown story?) of Watching The Sun :D


DISCLAIMER: These be Bioware's nouns, and my adjectives.

It wasn't the shout or the horrible, grinding, cracking noise or the thunderous BOOM that shuddered through the earth beneath her that woke Hawke. It was the fact that everything was suddenly as light as though it were day.

She opened her eyes just a little, and was blinded immediately by a harsh blue-white light. She shut them again, and sat up, fighting against nausea and the bone-deep ache that seemed to have settled into every inch of her body. She stood, swaying slightly, reaching her hands out to steady herself, taking in the strange lightness that meant she wasn't wearing any armor. She felt around blindly, finding the edges of the tent around her and shuffling her bare feet forward until she came upon the opening.

She pushed her way through, and couldn't help gasping at the cold that met her outside the warmth of the tent. He feet went numb in what felt like snow, and she stumbled forward, catching herself with one hand on what felt like a spit. Over a fire. A very hot spit. She shrieked and let the metal go, hopping away from the flames, pressing the burnt had into the snow on the ground.

Alright, I'm done with this blind nonsense. Light or no light, I'm opening my eyes.

She forced her eyelids up, and blinked until her vision cleared. She was still on the battlefield, but it had been transformed by glittering flurries of pure, new snow. Behind her, there was a large tent, and to her left was a dancing fire. Everything was lit with a strange, impossibly bright light that eliminated shadows entirely. She turned, trying to find its source, and was met with a face-full of fur and plaid cloth, with some blonde hair thrown into the mix.

"Anders!" Hawke shouted in surprise, before she landed in a snowdrift with the mage on top of her. "Wh-What in the name of Andraste are you – mmf!" he'd covered her mouth with one big, soft hand.

"Be quiet, Ellora!" He hissed into her ear, his warm breath tickling against her neck, "I have no idea what he'll do when he wakes up." He sounded strained, frustrated or frightened, she couldn't tell which. They lay there for a moment, the snow soaking through the back of her tunic, his breath warming her neck, until she decided she was too curious and too cold and felt too awkward to allow the situation to continue.

She bit his hand.

"Ow! What was that for?" he let her go, jerking back, and she pushed past him, leaving the mage blinking confusedly in the snowdrift.

She ran towards the source of the light: a gigantic blue-white pillar that seemed to shimmer and writhe with strange, twisting vines that looked strange and ethereal. Hawke made it to the edge of the pillar, and had to shield her eyes for a moment while they adjusted again. Anders shouted at her not to touch the light, to back up and close her eyes, but Hawke knelt in the snow and tried to see into the center of the strange phenomenon.

The longer she looked at it, the more details she noticed. Glowing cracks in the earth spiderweb-ed along the ground around the light, and the clouds it touched far above were veined with blue. There was a deep, resonant humming noise that came from it, and the wind it stirred up blew her hair back from her face.

As she squinted, she began to notice the outline of a being in the light, one that seemed to stand rigid as though in pain. She began to pick out a leg, an arm, the tip of a pointed ear.

Hawke screwed up her eyes, trying to see through the blinding light, trying desperately to identify the person. It seemed to be made of the same ghostly mist as the vines, almost fluid. She saw long fingers, bare feet, could tell that it was tall. That it had pale hair that fluttered gently, like feathers.

"Who are you?" she breathed, standing reaching a hand tentatively towards the light. The creature stirred slightly, turning towards her with elven grace. Its eyes were shut, and its lips were parted slightly. The broad shoulders, and the flat expanse of its torso led her to decide its gender. A man. There was an elven man in the light. The silvery blue-white light.

The lyrium-colored light.

Hawke drew a sharp breath, eyes widening, heart beating like a drum in her stomach, in her chest, in her throat.

"Fenris?" she said, in a clear voice full of wonder and confusion.

The elven man opened his huge, glittering green eyes.

She felt the wind die down, the humming quiet slightly, the cracks in the earth had stopped spreading and Anders had gone silent. She felt herself lurch forward, felt gentle warmth envelope her body as she stepped into the light. Felt the strange smoothness of Fenris's skin, saw him waver as though he weren't entirely real, saw that he was without markings or scars entirely.

He gazed at her as though she were completely alien to him, with the eyes of a child. She touched his face. He opened his mouth, a strange over-brightness flickering in his eyes. He reached out one hand and brushed a strand of orange hair from her cheek.


They stood there for a second, a second of peace and tranquility and wholeness. Entirely healed.

Then, with a resounding crack, the light fractured, and she was thrown from it into the cold snow.

Anders was shouting again, but she couldn't hear him over Fenris's screaming. The light seemed to be being pulled into him piece by piece, leaving long, jagged spires extended into the sky. Hawke watched, appalled, as vines of lyrium-light crawled up Fenris's body, carving themselves into the familiar brands on his skin. He arched his back in pain, eye wide and glowing blue, and Hawke forced herself up from the ground.

She fought her way through the waves of power that emanated from the elf, pushed herself closer and closer until she could reach him, as the last of his brands dragged themselves up his throat, onto his chin, and then went dark.

The light stopped, the sound stopped, the wind stopped. He fell, but she caught him.

He was frozen, shaking, naked, skin still occasionally shocking her with magic, but he was alive. She held him, in the dark and the cold, with snow gathering on their hair and shoulders. His body was wracked with silent sobs, but her eyes were dry.

"Thank the Maker." she managed in a hoarse whisper, "You're safe."

Then she cried.