Hawke, Anders, Justice: j: "When words aren't enough".
The flight from Kirkwall is
eerily silent, scattered conversations in low voices and soon trailing off, and
Hawke wishes Varric would complain about being dragged into the outdoors, or
the slope of the mountain path, or the cave they finally decide to stop in for
the night, what little night is left. They split into groups to check for
spiders or other potential rude awakenings, and though Hawke’s about ready to fall over, Anders shows no sign of flagging, striking out down a passage alone. Hawke has to scramble to keep up.
Anders pulls a wisp out of the air to light the path, and the wavering light is comfortingly familiar. Late nights sitting up reading under that light, the quiet thrill of finally feeling free to use magic openly in his own home; magic as something small and casual. Harmless.
The wisp widens its circle to include Hawke, dancing in
front of his eyes, and he waves it out of the way, sends it veering wildly
across the dead end cavern. No sign of anything more threatening than some
And Anders finally turns to look at him as the wisp clumsily makes its way back to its summoner, and under that faint light he’s pale and fragile and all Hawke can think is, You thought you were going to die. All this time, you thought you were going to die, and I didn’t know.