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they'll rip you apart, i swear that they will.
[ by the time the shadows have lengthened across the ground outside the double doors, hanging open on their hinges from the last grateful family to leave, the clinic has all but been emptied out. it's a strange sight, only tempered by the image of people huddled in ragged clothes not far outside the dooryard. if darktown ever stopped harboring masses of refugees, or smelling of mildew and effluent, he'd have to — well, pick up and move shop elsewhere. it would be quieter, but no-one needs a clinic where there are no people.
anders doesn't nudge the doors shut when he walks back from leaning out of them. the lanterns are enough to write by, but the cast of the sunlight across the bare floors could almost make him believe that there isn't miles of rock situated threateningly above his head. maybe if he squints.
he can't forget where he is, or what it is he's doing. it's a stake stuck in the soft earth inside of him, in the heart of him. the heart is just another part of the body. physically, he knows what he is, who this flesh and blood and bone belong to. the rest, he's not so certain. but they share a common goal, one they might — must — achieve. a basin of lukewarm water is resting on the floor beside anders' desk. he kneels to heat it with his fingertips just breaking the surface, and scrubs his hands clean after with a stiff cloth. he leaves the cloth to dry over the rim and wipes his face with his damp, pink hands, rough stubble scraping his palms, before he pats them dry against his trousers. a message, an idea, can't be destroyed as easily as a body. nor can a spirit. but they've reconciled their differences.
tucked in the back is a clean cot, and he eyes it after he draws himself up from the floor, but somehow the chair tucked under the desk with its hard wooden back ends up presenting itself as the more inviting choice. so he sits, bent forward, and doesn't write, thumbing the pages of an unfinished manifesto, plucking at the feathered end of a worn, ink-stained quill. ]
anders doesn't nudge the doors shut when he walks back from leaning out of them. the lanterns are enough to write by, but the cast of the sunlight across the bare floors could almost make him believe that there isn't miles of rock situated threateningly above his head. maybe if he squints.
he can't forget where he is, or what it is he's doing. it's a stake stuck in the soft earth inside of him, in the heart of him. the heart is just another part of the body. physically, he knows what he is, who this flesh and blood and bone belong to. the rest, he's not so certain. but they share a common goal, one they might — must — achieve. a basin of lukewarm water is resting on the floor beside anders' desk. he kneels to heat it with his fingertips just breaking the surface, and scrubs his hands clean after with a stiff cloth. he leaves the cloth to dry over the rim and wipes his face with his damp, pink hands, rough stubble scraping his palms, before he pats them dry against his trousers. a message, an idea, can't be destroyed as easily as a body. nor can a spirit. but they've reconciled their differences.
tucked in the back is a clean cot, and he eyes it after he draws himself up from the floor, but somehow the chair tucked under the desk with its hard wooden back ends up presenting itself as the more inviting choice. so he sits, bent forward, and doesn't write, thumbing the pages of an unfinished manifesto, plucking at the feathered end of a worn, ink-stained quill. ]
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[ his throat works dryly. maybe it's the air, or maybe it's just him. he's done this to him, put them in this place between wanting and not being able to have. when reaching out isn't enough. he shouldn't have said yes in the clinic, he's understanding that now. it would have been easier with a clean break; those always bend better than shattered bone, especially when the soft, wet parts of the body get tangled up in it too; like musculature, like the heart.
anders cross his arms over his chest, squeezing his arms under his hands to feel his muscles move. his gaze drops like he can't look at hawke this way, but it isn't hawke's fault, so it doesn't seem fair to avoid him. he swallows a second time and looks up, brow wrinkled, mouth tight. like if he just let it go he could say anything, everything, to make this better.
but he couldn't mean it. it's the truth that holds him. it isn't setting him free at all, what a crock. ]
I'm trying to warn you. Don't you see?
A relationship doesn't work if there's only one person.
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[ the question comes out soft, a little desperate. they've come to that nebulous point where asking the question outright is less painful than continuing to dance around it indirectly. they're never going to get anywhere if hawke isn't willing to directly confront anders about it.
he doesn't like confrontation. and he doesn't know that anders deserves to have his convictions tugged at. more than anyone, hawke wants to stand beside anders as an ally. he's seen what he's lost personally, to say nothing of what the mages in the gallows stand to lose. this has nothing to do with the political machinations in kirkwall -- as far as he knows it's an entirely personal argument. but it makes him feel like a bit of a bastard for arguing with anders at all, when he already has so much to deal with.
he should have just taken him at his word. but it's too late for that now.
hawke glances into the fireplace, feeling warmed but not particularly comforted. ]
You can trust me.
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[ his voice breaks on the last word. it's funny — probably only to him — because up until now he's been more or less put-together. desperate, maybe, and emotional, definitely, but he's stood strong and uncrumbled. maybe hawke is finally breaking him down. what will happen if he does tell him? the problem is that he trusts hawke more than he trusts himself; but he also trusts hawke to be a good person, and to do what's best for the good of all. the greater good. he's never claimed to be fighting on that side, and he's never thought of himself as particularly good, personally. maybe for a while he was scraping close to something similar when he was traveling with the wardens, his old friends, but that's all gone now. he'll never be a hero.
that's for other people. people like garrett hawke.
if he tells hawke, and hawke doesn't try to stop what he's done, then he's involved himself, hasn't he? it'd be another secret they have to keep, except he knows that hawke doesn't care to keep secrets about the nature of the things he's done. if he stood beside him, he'd do it with his spine straight and his mouth grim, or maybe quirked into a little smile. it makes his heart clench to think of such things.
anders loosens his arms from around his ribcage, lifting his hands and touching his fingers to hawke's cheeks after he's stepped carefully through the light and the distance bisecting them, the fireplace casting contorted shadows with their bodies. ]
I do. But it doesn't change anything. I'm sorry.
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his life's always been messy. there's no falling into place to be had. but that doesn't stop him from hoping.
he doesn't know whether that makes him brave or foolhardy. he knows what carver would say. and he even thinks he knows what his mother would've said. the others -- his friends -- are a mixed bag based upon their own perceptions rather than what's reflected about hawke. which is fine, of course. everyone has their own barometer for personal behaviors. he can't expect anyone else to know him as well as his own family.
some part of him wants that from anders. maybe that's where he's getting tripped up. ]
I promise you can.
[ but that doesn't really mean much if anders has already decided for whatever reason that he can't. more than anything, hawke hates feeling helpless. if there's any one defining reason he has for getting into trouble as often as he does, it would be that anything is better than the crawling, too-hot feeling he gets under his skin when he's doing nothing. ]
Anders...
[ hawke does approach him then, holding him under his elbows where his arms are crossed, using that to pull him forward. ]
I want to be with you. There isn't anything that's going to change that.
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they're beholden to making the sacrifices other people won't. isn't that always the way of these things? a person has to decide it will happen before it does. then, eventually, someone gets there. someone climbs that high. it makes no difference if they end up in the ground after they've completed the journey.
his arms aren't crossed, but he hangs his head. ]
If something terrible were going to happen, you would have to stop it, wouldn't you? At any cost?
[ anders' eyes are dark in this light, and dull as a copper, but he's not unreadable. yet, when he says it, it means both ways.
things have gone too far, but there are too few who don't turn their heads from the gallows, who don't avert their eyes and look at the dirty ground. or at the sky, like the maker is going to save them if they pray enough. no one is going to rescue them from their tower. the proverbial tower he's still locked inside, he's always scaling, only to find himself isolated in confinement again once he reaches the forgiving ground. that's a personal failing. or it's a nightmare. if it were up to him, he'd take the kind that feature the archdemon's toothy, drooling maw.
but some things end and others never do. the archdemon's dead, and people like him are being hung in the gallows. ]
You couldn't know and do nothing.
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he's never argued with anders before. ]
Anders...
[ he's trying to reassure him, even if right now that seems impossible. he doesn't know what he wants to hear because he doesn't know the truth of what's bothering him. every time he seems to get close he can feel it flit away from him again, like a silvery fish in the river. it's not frustrating, exactly, but it makes him feel anxious. like he's running out of time. it'll slip through his fingers altogether at this rate. ]
You say that like my rate of success is all that effective.
[ plenty of terrible things happen in kirkwall every day, and hawke is powerless to stop them. he's trying to discern the source of anders's particular pique. does he know something is happening? it isn't about the mages. he's never coy about that, in particular. ]
What do you know?
[ he's not accusing him of anything, but at the same time, he's not going to get anywhere if he isn't direct. that's the sense he's getting, anyway. ]
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People look up to you. Mages look up to you, and they need you now more than they ever have. Someone to stand up for them, stand by them while Meredith continues on this mad crusade of hers.
[ anders shakes his head, but he closes his eyes and presses his cheek to hawke's knuckles instead of turning away. they're too close, and it makes it too hard for him to back off, whether that might be with his body and hands or with the things that he feels that are eating away at him from the inside like hot, burning coals. he'd do anything to keep hawke safe. he'd tear down this whole city with his own two hands. but like he's said already, it isn't about that anymore. that's only a part of what's holding him back.
of course, in this moment (hawke holding him close, tender, warm in a way the fire that's flickering and throwing light into the room could never be) it's the bigger issue. he's made himself a danger. it's not like he was ever a safe person to be around to begin with, but now...
his life is about to become forfeit. his fingers curl into uneasy fists, fingernails digging into the soft flesh of his palms. ]
I've heard talk in the Gallows, whispers that name the Rite of Annulment. It doesn't matter if she receives the Divine's approval or not. She won't stop until we're all dead or made tranquil. You know that, don't you? We're worth less than the blighted rats in this city.
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especially when they both know how each other feels. ]
I'll help you.
[ he's aware that anders hasn't asked him to do anything, but he knows he has a ready ally in hawke. over the years, he's seen just how mages are treated in kirkwall's circle. his sister and father could have been suffering in the same way, all these years. he doesn't need the personal touch to feel the suffering of the mages, though. what kind of a man would he be if he couldn't sympathize with an oppressed people?
it's horrible to think how out of control they've gotten. hawke would have taken the viscount's seat in a heartbeat if he thought his authority would've superseded the chantry's. but they're everywhere, insidious, and their roots go deep.
he always thought he was struggling for reform, but when he thinks about how even his cousin had to vacate the city after they were discovered to have magic, well... maybe it's always been like this. and maybe there's no saving kirkwall at all. ]
Whatever you're talking about. I'll take a stand.
[ he thought he'd been doing that all along, but if anders thinks the city needs a stronger message, then hawke can provide that too. he's more than willing. ]
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his hand fits over hawke's wrist, fingers stilling when they find him. maybe he was going to try to pull him away, but his intentions don't mean anything if it never happens. the best intentions build a garden for the worst evils to be planted in. and he knows that. ]
I know that you will.
[ anders rubs his hand over hawke's, slots their fingers together, holding him near instead of prying him away. like he's trying to savor one last taste of something that he isn't meant to have. they would have had him believe that was his freedom, the chantry. the scars on his back tell that story in clear enough words. and hawke's read them. ]
Everything is going to change soon.
Can you imagine what it would take to do that?
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he doesn't know what it is about him that says casual fling, but apparently that's what he's good for these days. that doesn't seem entirely fair -- he knows the evidence isn't exactly compiled in the same way, but the end result leaves him feeling the same. he's trying to tell himself that it isn't about his feelings
he wishes anders would just come out with it, already. he has to have a reason for being so certain that he won't be around much longer. ]
Are you...
[ hawke rests his forehead against anders's feeling warm where they're touching. ]
I can imagine it would have to be something big.
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and he's still here. swimming in heat with hawke pressed up against him.
he wants to say that everything will be all right. that they'll find a way out of this. he could make up anything, just to see the relief on hawke's face. but he wants it to be real. nothing else is good enough. ]
If I tell you what I've done, you'll already be involved in it. You can't know what that means.
People know you. They'll view it as a betrayal. It has to be on me, there's just no other way.
I have no choice.
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he's still not willing to term it a fight, exactly. he can still salvage this. ]
I can't know because you won't tell me.
[ that much, at least, seems self-evident. hawke feels like a brute for even pushing him this far, but he can't just let it go. not for anders. not when his mental well-being is at stake. he's made it clear that he's deteriorating around the edges of some big decision. it's killing him not to be involved. anders has always asked him for help in his troubles before.
it makes him feel oddly isolated to be kept out after they've known one another so long.
hawke squeezes anders under the elbow, sliding his hand from his arm to the small of his back. ]
I know that you feel like you have no choice. And I believe you. I'm not trying to argue, I just...
I wish you'd believe I'm here for you.
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it's impossible not to long for that. he used to spend time at the pub. he used to spend time with hawke. he used to talk to his friends, and laugh at their jokes, and he doesn't know if he would say he was happy, but it was something better than he'd had for a long time. now it's hollowed out; sucked dry, like marrow from a bone. there's not enough left of him for something like that. he's given it all to something else.
he doesn't want to put hawke in this position, but he has. that's the truth, isn't it? ]
If you believe me, then...
[ why are you still trying to fight it? it doesn't stick in his throat so much as dissolve on his tongue, something secret and never-said, like the names people call each other behind their backs. he's never thought of hawke that way. even when they're like this, all he wants is...
hawke's hand is heavy at the center of his back. he wants him closer. ]
I can't ask this of you.
But... If it's that important for you to hear it...
[ his heart is beating so hard against the inside of his chest he begins to worry that he might faint. his face is flushed, but his fingers are cold. ]
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hawke's own feelings shouldn't make a difference. he knows it's wrong to act as if they do.
mostly he just feels numb, like he knows he's in the wrong here but it's too late to go back. he came this far for a reason. he knows that in the back of his mind, even if it doesn't make him feel particularly good. not that feeling good always has to coincide with doing the right thing. but he was selfish enough to hope that he might get to be with anders at the end of all this, and it's looking like that might not be the case after all.
he doesn't know. it's all the not knowing that's getting to him. it lodges under his skin like a burr and sticks there. ]
Come here.
[ he pulls anders forward gently, backing up until they hit the edge of hawke's bed. he gets the sense that they'd do better sitting down, although he's got no real reason to back that up. not yet, anyway. ]
You can ask me anything, Anders. I promise.
I won't let you down.
[ he'd ask when has he ever, but he's a little afraid of the answer. ]
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but it's like he's said — he had no other choice.
anders looks at the carpeted floor, at the shut doors. no-one is going to overhear them. he has a half a mind to tell hawke he has to promise him not to try to talk him out of it, once he knows, but it doesn't matter. either he will or he won't, and what he says doesn't make any difference. hawke is as strong in his convictions as any of them. the difference, he supposes, is that hawke listens to other people.
he doesn't have the luxury. ]
Sometimes I think you're too good, Hawke. That's why... I...
[ it doesn't matter, does it? ]
I spoke to the Grand Cleric. I thought I could make her see things from our side, but I only found that she's all too content to arbitrate on the behalf of a peace that doesn't exist. I kept trying to think of ways to change her mind, and in doing so I realized something else.
That as long as the illusion of peace is being presented, no one will act.
So I sought to destroy that illusion.
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he wants a life with anders. he doesn't think that's so selfish.
he drops his hands to hold anders's again. they feel cold, even though they were just standing by the fire. he's almost certain that he's not too good, although there's no telling any of his friends that. he rubs his thumb against the inside of anders's palm while he talks, swallowing when he invokes the grand cleric.
he still can't say that he knows exactly what anders is referring to, but it doesn't leave a lot to the imagination. if the illusion of peace is removed, then he's talking about doing something that will force a retaliation. anything that would set the powder keg of kirkwall's mages and templars off would have to be big.
he feels a little guilty that it wasn't him to see the need and create a solution for it himself. but that's always been anders. he gives himself over willingly to the plight of the mages without a second thought. sometimes hawke just wants to make sure he leaves something over for himself. ]
I know you've tried. We both have. Elthina won't listen.
Whatever you've done...
I know you've exhausted every other option.
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[ right isn't the word. they'll say it was wrong of him to do, and they'll cast him as the villain — the chantry will, there's no doubting that — but if the ends justify the means, then what? it's easy for people who've never been in a position with so many lives weighing on them to say it doesn't always pay to shell out the cost, but what do they know of suffering? a thousand years of it have passed them by and dumped them here, and this is what it's led to. they should've seen it coming. he's just another product of their treatment, everything good little mages fear they'll become.
but maybe they wouldn't have to fear so much if they were just given a chance.
anders sighs, watching hawke take his hand from his lap, touching him like he fears that if he doesn't maintain contact something he says could spook him into another fit. it wasn't even a proper fight. and he's had rows before. ]
Maybe you should wait to give me your support until after you've heard what it is. Just because it's necessary doesn't mean I'm proud of it.
I've...
[ saying it to hawke now, sitting on his bed, in his plush, hot bedroom, it doesn't seem real. when his mouth moves and the words come out, it could be someone else talking, someone other than him or justice. his voice is flat. devoid of emotion. because there's no other choice, is there? he's not just making a sacrifice out of himself. ]
I've planted explosives inside the Chantry. I'm going to eliminate the chance for compromise.
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there's a part of him, the absent part, that imagines what it'd be like to get up and leave the room right now. he could go... but that's about as far as he gets. there's nowhere he wants to go. there's no one he wants to tell. he holds no love for grand cleric elthina. more than that, he can't even fathom telling aveline over preserving anders's confidence.
he's never thought about categorizing his friends like that for obvious reasons, so it surprises him as much as anything to find that anders has risen to the top of his esteem. the idea of betraying him to anyone is laughable.
or it would be, if it didn't make him feel sick in the pit of his stomach. ]
I never once imagined it was something you were proud of.
[ if it was, he wouldn't be so reluctant to talk about it properly. hawke lifts one of anders's hands to his mouth, kissing his knuckles. there's no right thing to say here. it makes him anxious to know that anders has confided him him and he doesn't have the exact thing to make it all ok. he can't assume that just being here with him is enough.
he wants it to be, though. ]
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not enough to stop her, naturally. she'd have to turn on them before they acted. but he never imagined the templar order really cared about the well-being of their so-called charges.
hawke's mouth against his knuckles forces him to stop scowling at the floor. three years ago, this wouldn't have been happening. three years ago... what was he doing?
anders hangs his head and pulls his fingers from hawke's grip so he can stand, facing away from him. ]
No.
There's no way to contain the damages. And the damage will be great.
I only ask that you wait until it's been done to see justice through.
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what it comes right down to is that it doesn't feel right to act. if something has to happen, then it's the mages who deserve a chance. no one else is going to speak for them. he's the champion of kirkwall. but the mages need an advocate more than anything.
hawke lets out a sigh when anders pulls free. it's not quite enough to be a whimper, but he's trying to hold onto his limited avenues of expression here. committing to one means eliminating all his other options. he's trying to reserve any strong reaction until anders is finished.
because he gets this sense that he's not finished yet. the tension hasn't lessened in the room. if anything it's still dragging on, pulling both hawke and anders toward some point of unfinished discontent. ]
Anders...
[ hawke doesn't reach for him, as much as he wants to. he's made it clear that he needs to be alone right now, for better or worse. so he turns his attention toward the inevitable fallout, what will be needed once anders's strike blows through the city. ]
We'll need to protect the mages, once it's happened. Meredith will take it as an attack.
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You're right; she'll retaliate. And the circle has no real defense. But if they rally themselves, they might see it through.
[ it feels like a weak rationale, but he would rather wake them all than give the templars free reign to go in slit their throats peacefully in their sleep. at least they'll have the dignity of facing their oppressors, and with hope he doesn't have, he thinks that perhaps some of them will even make it through to see reform in the city, or fight to escape to freedom. whichever path they choose, it's a choice being given. not all will take it, he knows that too. there's a chance there'll be no choice to stay, but he can't offer anything to those mages but pity. their uneventful lives come at a greater cost than they ever think to imagine.
anders fastens his coat loop-by-loop over his loose-hanging chemise, fixing his belt like he's readying himself for the walk back to darktown. it's late, but he won't ask hawke for his escort. he's already asked far, far too much from him already. ]
I'm sorry to leave you with this.
But... There's no way you can let me go unpunished. It's an attack upon the city. Even if it means my life, I'll gladly pay.
Just know that I know you have no choice. No more than I.
[ somehow the words leave him without any hesitation, without any catch in his throat, more smoothly than what he's already been said; namely, his initial admittance to the crime. perhaps because it's its own penance, bending his neck to the executioner's axe. his insides still feel strangely light, and uncharacteristically hollow, as though he's only waiting for each separate word he's said to accumulate until they're overflowing from inside of him, giving some weight to all these things he's been saying. ]
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he rubs his hands on his knees, pulling his boots off one at a time to give himself something to do. he's not ignoring the way anders is doing the opposite, dressing himself like he's changed his mind about saying. the sight of it makes hawke's heart ache, but he doesn't feel like he has a right to argue with him.
he's done so much of that tonight. but he's started this, and he owes it to anders to see it to the end. ]
I'm not going to punish you.
[ he's horrified by the prospect. it takes him a second to work it through in his head, how he intervened with the arishoke when he tore the city apart. but that was on the viscount's behalf. hawke only got involved at his behest. it wasn't his own decision. things got out of control after that, but he never really thought of himself as a heroic figure. he fell into it.
but he can't wrap his head around doing anything to anders. he's one of his friends. he's more than that. he'd take responsibility -- but anders isn't asking him to do that either. what he's talking about is something far more direct, and hawke's not interested in letting anders be in harm's way after taking such an extreme stance.
he'll need to be protected. but so will their mages. ]
We'll figure something out, after it happens. You and me together.
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beyond the chantry, he has no plans. none of his own, none for the mages. it's up to them what they do with the chance that he's trying to give them.
he's no leader. that's not him. it's never been him. ]
You're... Not?
[ anders' voice wavers with the fear that his answer will change.
but his fear doesn't keep him from turning his head aside, following through with the movement to look over his bowed shoulder, back bent with miserable weight. whatever conviction he'd found speaking aloud his machinations, it's all lost to him now. ]
But you can't do that. You're the city's Champion, no one would allow that to stand.
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him sharing the truth behind his plans feels like a breakthrough, at least.
hawke wonders whether he should feel something, anything, about being lied to. but they're beyond that. he understands that anders's cause comes before anything else. he's done what he thought he had to. that's still what he's doing now.
it's not so impossible to understand. hawke gets to his feet, because it feels disrespectful to go on sitting at the end of the bed as if nothing;s happening. ]
I'd like to see anyone stop me.
[ it sounds like bravado, and there's an element of that in there. but underneath there's just the truth. hawke's not about to let anyone else have a say in this. the only other authorities in the city are ones he no longer feels comfortable trusting. he certainly would never allow them to judge anders. as much help as hawke's given to orsino over the years, he doesn't trust his judgement with the people he loves either. ]
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[ anders turns toward hawke so they're standing face-to-face. the sky's dark outside, and the fire's flames are leaping lower, casting shorter shadows. he's looking at hawke with his mouth carefully parted like they're having that first meeting again, while he stands tall and self-assured, always honest in a way he wishes he could have been. he's never had to lie about what he's wanted.
and this is him. now hawke knows he's willing to throw away what made them what they were to each other. he can't imagine why he'd want to protect someone like that. he wrings his hands, then wipes them on his coat. ]
After all of this?
[ the dreams he has about hawke are never appropriate, so this can't be a dream. at least that he knows. but the knowledge doesn't do anything to make his heart beat slower, or his throat loosen. he needs to dig in and find the end of the rope, slip the knot free, but his fingers are frozen. he doesn't know what to do with his hands. he doesn't know what to say. how could he?
how could he? ]
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