Second Chances

Disclaimer: Dragon Age and all assorted characters/places/etc belong to Bioware, not me.

She watched with weary eyes as they built up her pyre, slave after slave throwing more wood on the pile. Her end would not be long now, and that knowledge was almost a relief after everything she had been through. She took comfort in the fact that although her husband may have betrayed her cause—though she supposed he would argue that she betrayed him first—her lover would not fail her and would fight to his last breath to end the hold that the blood mages of Tevinter had over Thedas.

Finally enough wood and kindling had been brought to the stage, and she knew her time had come. A pair of guards roughly tied her to the stake, making sure that the knots cut into her wrists and ankles. She felt like laughing; it was as though they still feared her and her magic despite subjecting her to constant mana drains for days. A small argument broke out amongst the archon and his magisters while her husband listened in. Undoubtedly they were arguing just who should have the honor of lighting the fire.

In the end, she was not surprised to see that it was her husband who approached her, burning torch in hand. There was no love left in those bright blue eyes of his, only bitterness and hatred, but she knew that she deserved it for despite the vows she had made, she had given her heart to another.

He paused as he reached her, looking her over with a flick of his cold eyes. Then he bent his head towards hers. His lips brushed up against her ear and he said, "There was one last rescue attempt earlier, a single mad elf." Her heart sank as she knew what Maferath would say next. "But don't worry, my love, I cut your elf down like the rabid dog he is."

A sharp cry escaped her lips, the first since she was captured, as her husband stepped back and then tossed the torch at her pyre. The wood immediately lit up, sending up tongues of flame that enveloped her. She welcomed the flame, her final friend, knowing it would take her away from this heartbreak of a life and with any luck back to her love again.

"Whoa there, Hawke." Varric patted his head and then his chest, making sure everything was in place. "You almost took off my eyebrows there. I'm lucky I wasn't singed."

Hawke examined the crater her fireball had made before turning to give the dwarf a cocky grin. "Oh none of us were ever in any danger," she told him. "Don't you know fire is my best friend?"

Varric raised one of his thankfully still intact eyebrows. "Huh. If that's your best friend, then you really don't need enemies, Hawke."

"No, she doesn't," Carver sourly agreed. "But try convincing her of that."

The mage gave an airy toss of her head. "What can I say? Trouble always seems to find me so why bother trying to avoid it. Now let's go see Anso about this trap he led us into." With that, she led her small group up the alienage's stairs.

An army of slaves has no chance against the might of the Tevinter Imperium in the long run. He knows this to be true and hates it. He had roused his fellow slaves to take up what arms they had available to them and fight against their oppressors. He had spoken with an eloquence he had not known he had and thus had been able to convince them that freedom—from tyranny, from fear, from everything the Imperium represented—was worth risking their miserable lives.

They had lost many kin in the uprising but somehow they had won. He himself had struck the final blow to the cruel magister the Archon had appointed to rule over their province. However ill winds were blowing now, and rumors had arisen of three legions being sent to their region. The Archon, it seemed, would not stand for the insult that was a slave's rebellion and he had given his armies orders to put them all down.

Armed poorly as they were, he knew that he and his elves had no chance against the well-oiled machine that was the Imperial Army. Their only hope was to find allies, and so he had reached out to the barbarians who had inspired his own uprising. Thankfully the barbarians had been receptive to his proposal, and now he was set to meet none other than the barbarian's witch queen, who had fled slavery herself only to return to imperial lands with an army at her back. Many had heard of the witch called Andraste but few had met her. The witch was supposed to be at least ten feet tall and capable of breathing fire. Her magic was so strong that she was able to dismiss the strongest demons raised by the magisters with a mere wave of her hand.

This small woman before him simply could not be the barbarian witch queen he had heard about. Pale of skin and dark of hair, she was simply too small and too fragile to be the woman who had expunged the Imperium from the south. She was all but dwarfed by the large barbarian guards who stood to either side of her, and if he stood by her, she would barely come up to his chin despite the fact that she was a human and he was an elf. She carried a staff on her back, indicating that she was a witch, but given her frame, he doubted that she could cast any spell of significance.

"You must be Shartan," she said, lifting her chin up to meet his gaze straight on. "Well met, elf. We have a lot to discuss and many details to work out regarding our alliance but before we do, I am afraid I have some bad news to deliver."

He glowered at her but she remained unfazed. "And what bad news would that be?" he all but growled.

"News of our meeting has reached the Imperium's ear, and my scouts have reported that we have been followed. Undoubtedly there is a traitor in either my camp or yours…but we'll have time to figure that out later." The woman tossed her head back and turned to the side. "Why don't you come out, magister?" she called out tauntingly. "There is no point in hiding. Don't you know I can sniff out blood magic a mile away?"

The air shimmered and then parted, revealing a band of legionnaires headed by a magister that Shartan knew only too well. "Augustus," he bit out, cursing fluently. Augustus had been the province's prior governor. Shartan and his people had all celebrated when that magister had been called back to serve in Minrathous for his cruelty had known no bounds.

"I see you still recognize your betters, slave," the magister noted with a wicked smirk on his face. "Perhaps I won't have to put you all down after all." He glanced back at the witch. "I am afraid I cannot say the same for you, my dear. Such a pity," he drawled, his eyes traveling the length of the witch's small frame. Then he snapped his fingers and a demon appeared, snarling and fierce. The magister waved his hand and sent first the demon and then the legionnaires charging towards them.

Shartan reached over his back for his makeshift bow. With steady hands, he pulled an arrow from his quiver and took aim. Demons did not have many weak points, he knew, but they could still be defeated, though not without a few deaths from his own side. Hopefully the witch and her guards would prove to be of some use in facing the magister's forces down.

Then a peal of rich, golden laughter erupted into the air. From the corner of his eye, Shartan could see that the witch was laughing, and he had to bite his tongue to refrain from cursing. The witch must have lost it after seeing the demon, and that meant that the odds were even more against them.

However, rather than run, the witch cupped her hands to her chest, a faint light arising from them. "Valor! Justice!" she cried out. "Come to mine aid and return this demon from whence he came!" She spread her hands out, which were now overflowing with light, and suddenly before her stood two giants, clad in armor and shining bright. They nodded at her once. Then they drew their swords and rushed to meet the demon, engaging the monster in battle and keeping it away from both the witch's forces and the elves.

The witch now unslung her staff and threw Shartan a smile. "If the magisters choose to fight with demons of lust and pride, then I'll counter them with spirits who have not turned from the light. Together I think we can handle the rest."

Fenris nervously pulled his gauntlets on to his hands, shaking all the while. He glanced back over to Hawke, who lay slumbering unaware of the turmoil he was facing. Truly he must be going mad. When he and Hawke had kissed, when they had made love—the sheer joy he had felt had been overwhelming in its intensity. As they had drifted off to sleep with Hawke curled up in his arms, Fenris had been certain of only one thing and that was he never wanted to let this woman go.

The sleep that had taken him, however, had not been so kind. He had dreamed of a life with Hawke, fighting by her side against the full might of the Tevinter Imperium. He had not called her Hawke but rather—

Fenris shook his head violently. He needed to clear it of such thoughts, of such madness. For that was what the dreams had been, madness and nothing else. Maybe he and Hawke had been together in a past life. He had heard of stranger things. However, there was no way the two of them could have possibly been—

"Was it that bad?" a soft voice called from the bed. Fenris turned to see that Hawke had awoken. He gulped nervously. He couldn't deal with this now. There was something seriously wrong with him, though he didn't know what, but he wasn't ready to admit as much to Hawke. She wouldn't understand it but he knew that the best thing for him to do was to break things off until he figured out how to put an end to the source of his insanity.

One last stop, and she would be done with her rounds. She would then be free to return to her tent and relax for the rest of the evening. It was sad that she needed such encouragement to muster up the courage to visit her last patient.

As the most skilled healer amongst their entire army, Andraste took it upon herself to personally heal those suffering from the most challenging of injuries. Many of her patients were initially skeptical of her for they had seen firsthand the atrocities magic could wreak. Over time, however, most of them grew to trust her as they learned all the good that magic could do. There was one noticeable exception to the rule though, and that was the elf.

Andraste frowned to herself. Her last patient had a name—one that she suspected translated into stubborn, pigheaded idiot—and she supposed she should stop referring to him as the elf one of these days, given how many elves were now amongst their number. For her, however, he would always be the elf.

Shartan was the epitome of elven bitterness, turned sour from long years spent toiling as a slave for Tevinter's magisters. She had readily agreed to his demands for an elven homeland in exchange for his army's support. That had only seemed right and just to her for she knew that out of all the peoples enslaved by Tevinter, the elves had lost the most. He still didn't trust her despite the promises she so easily made. Sometimes she thought that he didn't trust her because she had made those promises so easily, as though he expected her to turn on him.

She paused outside his tent. Standing next to the entrance, she announced loudly, "I'm coming in." Then she pushed aside the flap and stepped inside.

A pair of dark olive green eyes bore into her from the elf's spot on the bed. As always, she was struck by the intensity, the passion that lay behind them. Andraste stared back at him, her eyes trailing admiringly over the crisp, clean lines of his face from the edge of his jaw to the sharpness of his nose. While the elf and his constant suspicion was annoying to say the least, even she couldn't deny that he was the epitome of masculinity with all his power and grace.

It was just as well that he was an elf and hated her because otherwise she would be in real trouble then.

"I had hoped," the elf said in prickly tones from his spot on his bed, "that the last session would indeed be the last."

Her hands twitched slightly, and she prayed for patience. It was just like the elf to toss her words back in her face. "I believe I said that with any luck that would be the last time you would need my healing magic for your injury. Unfortunately for you, luck isn't something you're known for."

He harrumphed and crossed his arms, not deigning to respond to that remark. She pulled a stool up next to his bed and sat down. Andraste closed her eyes, finding her center before calling upon Compassion to help her heal the stubborn elf before her.

As Andraste worked her healing magic on him, the elf kept his eyes firmly on the wall of his tent. She carefully probed his right arm with her magic, seeking out the last traces of infection so that she could banish them. "There," she said when she had finished. "That should do it."

That earned her a snort of disbelief from the elf. "Dare I hope you mean it this time?"

"With your luck, no," she replied. "Though you shouldn't snap at me. It's your own fault that the wound festered like it did. If you had let me attend to it in the first place, it would have never—"

"Silence witch!" he cried. "Tell me, do you prescribe a round of fierce nagging for all your patients? Does that actually help with the healing process?"

"With current injuries, no. I do find that nagging is the best way to convince idiots not to repeat the same mistakes though," was her pointed response.

"Ah yes. I will have to remember that in the future. The next time I see you in danger in the battlefield, rather than coming to your aid, I will sit back and let you take the brunt of—"

Andraste couldn't really be blamed for what happened next. It was a long day, and she was tired from several sessions of healing, and she really wasn't up to listening to one of his rants because once the elf got started, it was ages before he stopped. Besides the elf was really too handsome for his own good.

She kissed him.

"So you'll be here? Bright and early first thing tomorrow morning?" Merrill looked up at Hawke hopefully.

"Yes, Merrill," Hawke replied wearily. "First thing tomorrow, I'll get a small group together and we'll go to Sundermount."

"Brilliant! I knew I could count on you, Hawke."

"That's me. Always dependable," said Hawke with a self-deprecating smile. Maker help her, how did she get herself into such situations? Merrill was a sweet girl, to be sure, but also a terribly naïve and foolish one. Most blood mages knew the sort of dangers that their branch of magic possessed but were proud enough to believe that they could maintain complete control over the demons they summoned. Merrill, on the other hand, genuinely believed that her demon was harmless and was just trying to help her restore a piece of her people's past.

There was no way Merrill's story was going to end well, and the saddest thing was that the elf was the only one who didn't know that. All Hawke could do was to stick close to the elven mage so that she could put an end to things before they got too out of hand.

As Hawke left the small cottage Merrill called home, she mentally ran through her list of companions to see who would be best to take along. Varric was a lock of course. Not only was he terribly useful when it came to spot traps and picking locks, she also liked having an archer around for long range support. Sebastian simply wasn't an option in this instance given the task, but that was probably just as well. Hawke suspected her dwarven friend was sweet on Merrill though he would never admit as much while Bianca was in earshot.

As for their other companion…well Hawke wanted to take along Fenris. She could always use a warrior out in front protecting her from direct attacks, and no one could deny that the elf's skill with a blade was second to none. However, Hawke didn't know how to approach him. Things had been difficult between the two ever since he had left her that evening with nary an explanation. While he insisted that the fault lay with him, she couldn't help but feel that she had done something wrong.

She sighed heavily, blowing her fringe up and off of her face. She wished that Fenris would talk to her, to let her know what she had done. She hated this. She felt as though she needed to apologize to him but she didn't know what for. Their relationship had become strained, and she desperately wished she could find a way to fix it. Being with him that evening had been absolutely incredible but it wasn't worth the price of their friendship. If she had to do it all over again, she would have never slept with him. She would rather have Fenris as her friend instead of a one-time lover.

A small barrel caught Hawke's eye as she approached the stairs leading away from the alienage. There seemed to be something atop of it, and so she trotted over to take a look. There was a large book sitting on the barrel. Being the incorrigible bibliophile that she was, Hawke automatically picked it up and began flipping through it.

The book was a history of Shartan, who had led an army of former slaves to aid Andraste in her campaign against Tevinter. A smile crossed Hawke's face. This book would be the perfect gift for Fenris and a way to bridge the divide that had risen between them.

There was a bounce to her step as she left the alienage and made her way to the Hightown estates. She stopped to knock on her door. "Fenris! I'm coming in," she announced loudly. It would never do to sneak up on Fenris for he had the most wicked reflexes when he was startled. She and Varric had found out about that the hard way.

Hawke found Fenris in the small room in the back of the mansion that he seemed to prefer. As was his wont, there was an open bottle of wine before him while several empty ones had already been smashed on a nearby wall. His eyes widened with an emotion Hawke couldn't name as she entered. It was a cross between sorrow and longing, and it only served to confuse her more.

"I have something for you," she told him, deciding it was best to give him the gift before asking him if he would agree to accompany her tomorrow. She handed over the book to him. "I thought you might like to read it," she said. She nervously toed the floor in front of her, watching his response from the corner of her eye.

Fenris was less than enthusiastic about her gift. "Thank you," he said slowly. He eyed the book dubiously. From his demeanor, he appeared reluctant to open it.

Hawke bit her lip. Apparently she had managed to offend her favorite elf yet again. It seemed to have become a hobby of hers. "The book is about the life of Shartan. I thought you might be interested in the subject," she said.

He gave her a sharp look. Once again she couldn't translate the emotions brimming beneath his deep green eyes. Somehow Fenris managed to look confused and hopeful at the same time. An awkward silence stretched between them. "Thank you," he said finally. "It is a…thoughtful gift."

Fenris put the book down and reached for his wine, causing Hawke to frown. "You don't like it? And here I thought you would enjoy reading it." She silently cursed her lack of ability when it came to choosing gifts for friends. Next time she would consult with Varric before giving anyone a present.

"I…it's…." Fenris paused and cleared his throat. "Do you really think that they teach slaves to read in Tevinter?" he asked.

Hawke was flabbergasted. It had never occurred to her that Fenris couldn't read. It made perfect sense though. Refusing their slaves a basic education was yet another way for the magisters to extend their control over them. "I never thought about it to be honest," she told Fenris. Then she summoned up all her courage and said, "It's never too late to learn, Fenris. I could teach you if you like."

She waited with bated breath for his answer, hoping against hope that she hadn't screwed up again. When he said yes, Hawke felt like leaping for joy. Teaching Fenris would be the perfect chance for her to make amends. Hopefully with time, he would agree to be her friend once more.

Though he had heard her speak many times before, Shartan never failed to be impressed by the sheer eloquence his love wielded so effortlessly. He didn't know how she did it especially as Andraste never bothered to plan what she would say beforehand.

"However, the worst offense of the magisters of Tevinter is the way they have perverted their gift," Andraste intoned from her spot in front of the crowd. "Magic exists to serve man, not to rule over him. Magic is a gift meant to provide warmth when we are cold, to heal us when we are sick, and to bring us light when we are surrounded by the dark. It is not meant to bind our minds in chains, leaving us unable to exercise our own free will."

"The blood magic used by the magisters is twisted and foul," the witch continued. "It is entirely repugnant to the natural order. It is only reasonable for men to dread encountering it. However do not let your hearts fill with fear. Though the magisters may come at us with demons of lust and rage, pride and envy, we shall counter them with spirits of light."

"Mercy and Compassion, Valor and Justice, these spirits and more are those that will fight on our side." Andraste flung her hands out dramatically and suddenly a bevy of spirits stood before her, clad in armor so bright that it almost hurt to look at them. "The unnatural forces of Tevinter are no match for our combined strength!" she cried.

Shartan snorted as the rest of the crowd began to cheer. "Show off," he muttered under his breath. "Always willing to prove that she's much more than your average witch." He ignored the way his aides looked at him askance as he stalked off to the tents. While his love was indeed the most brilliant speaker he had ever met, he had an appearance to maintain.

He didn't get any time alone with her until late in the evening and only then because he claimed he needed to argue about troop deployments with her so that he could insist that his elves were put in a position where they could be of the most use. His prickly reputation helped him there as he was known for always pointing out the problems in people's plans, both large and small. Besides his excuse wasn't manufactured out of whole cloth. He did want to discuss troop deployments with Andraste, if only to ensure she wasn't placing herself in any more danger than absolutely necessary.

He entered her tent without bothering to announce his arrival, knowing that she would be alone since her husband was not currently with the main army. His love greeted him with equal ceremony. "If you are thinking about trying to convince me not to be on the front lines, you will just be wasting your breath. There is nothing you can say that will make me rethink that."

Shartan rolled his eyes. "Of course not. I should have known better than to hope that you might act sensibly."

"If I was sensible," she said, her voice dropping to a low whisper, "I would have known better than to fall in love with you." Then she spread out her arms and beckoned her to him, a summons that he had been long waiting for. Two, long strides were all he needed to cross the space between them. He swept her into his arms and pressed his lips against hers, relishing at having her so close to him once again.

He knew time was against them. He knew that all too soon they would be interrupted by either her duty or his, and what was worse was that he knew that this romance of theirs was fated not to last. Right now, however, he had his love in his arms and he was determined not to waste a single second.

The most surprising thing about having gone completely and irrevocably mad was the fact that none of his companions seemed to have noticed the fact. Fenris was more than a little put out about that, despite his dread about inevitably being discovered. He would have thought that Hawke at least would have known him well enough to realize that something was seriously wrong with him.

He paced back and forth, his thoughts racing, in the small room he inhabited in the abandoned Hightown mansion. Ever since that night with Hawke, his dreams had been haunted by those false memories where he was a former slave leading armies against the might of the Imperium while Hawke was the most famous and beloved figure in all of Thedas. The dreams were wrong on so many levels, not the least of which was the sacrilegious idea of Andraste being a mage, but he could not shake the feeling that they were true.

His hopes had been raised briefly when Hawke had presented him with the book about Shartan. When Hawke had announced the book's subject, Fenris' heart had leapt. He had thought that perhaps Hawke was sending him a message with such a fateful gift or even trying to prod his memories awake by reading it with him. The moment he had met her eyes, however, he had known that was not the case. Hawke's eyes were too lucid, too clear for her mind to be clouded by the same lunacy as his. His mood had deflated almost immediately. Insanity wouldn't be that bad if he had Hawke to share it with, but alas that was not the case.

Fenris stopped his pacing and ran a hand through his hair, lifting his fringe out of his eyes. Stewing all alone in his mansion was not helping matters. He couldn't talk to anyone because there was no one he could trust with his secret aside from Hawke, and she was off limits because the elf didn't want to disappoint her any more than he already had. However maybe there was a way he could help himself. Maybe all he needed was a solid reminder of who Andraste actually was and what she stood for in order for him to shake the fool notion that Hawke was somehow the legend's reincarnation.

So it was that Fenris trundled himself off to the Chantry despite the late hour. He shivered slightly in the crisp air, his armor feeling as though it would be too thin for the coming winter. He snuck in just as its great doors were closing. Sticking to the shadows, he quietly threaded his way to where the statute of Andraste was located in the center of the Chantry.

As he stared silently up at the statue, he mentally ticked off in his head all the ways in which the statute was wrong. For one, it was much too tall. Andraste had been on the short side. Even taking into account that humans were shorter then, Andraste was more petite than the average woman. Then there was the stern expression on her face. It wasn't that Andraste couldn't be stern—indeed the witch often had been quite strict with patients who didn't follow her orders—but rather that one was much more likely to catch her with a smile on her face.

However, the most glaring inaccuracy was the fact that the statute did not have a staff. Andraste always kept her staff with her. It was always on her person. The rumors in the army's camp had been that she had even slept beside the thing. He had spent enough time in her bed to know that rumor to be false; Andraste preferred to keep her staff on the side of her bed within arm's reach in case she should need it during the night.

"Why Fenris!" cried out a voice softly behind him, reminding the elf where he was. "Whatever are you doing here so late at night?"

Fenris didn't need to turn around to know who was speaking to him; he would have recognized the lilting accent of his friend anywhere. He checked a sigh. That he continued to confuse his dreams with reality even within the Chantry was more proof that he had gone mad.

"Hello Sebastian," Fenris replied. He glanced up at the statute and sternly reminded himself that his dreams were just that and Andraste was most certainly not a mage. "I just…I needed a quiet place to think this evening," he explained rather lamely.

Sebastian didn't question his excuse. "I see. The quiet of the Chantry does lend itself to contemplation, I find," the brother said, his blue eyes shining brightly. "Though I am surprised to find you here, seeing how the Chantry's doors are closed for the evening."

"I might have snuck in," Fenris admitted. He smiled slyly at his friends. "I've been hanging around sneaky rogues more often, and so I've picked up a few tricks."

"Hiding in the shadows is hardly a trick," Sebastian replied.

"But it worked," the elf pointed out.

"It still doesn't make it a trick. Besides of course it worked. The templars guarding the doors don't have much peripheral vision, not with the helms they wear," said Sebastian. He took several steps forward until he was next to Fenris. The lay brother look upwards at the statute of Andraste, devotion and adoration writ large across his face. "I can understand the need to come here though. Looking upon the face of the Maker's bride…that alone is enough to set my heart at ease."

There were times when Fenris couldn't understand his friend, and this was one of them. He couldn't comprehend how Sebastian could be so devoted to a woman who had died so long before any of them were born. What was more was that his friend blindly accepted the precepts of the Chantry without questioning whether Andraste herself would have supported them.

Fenris shook his head violently at that thought. That wasn't right. It wasn't the Chantry's vision of Andraste that was wrong but rather his. He needed to remember that before he gave himself away. After all, the Chantry had mountains and mountains of sacred texts and artifacts to corroborate their version while he had nothing. While he supposed such things could be faked, there was no one around who could corroborate his dreams. Unless of course—

"I need to go," Fenris announced.

Sebastian was taken aback. "What? Just like that? But I thought that—"

"It is late, and I fear that I have overstayed my welcome," Fenris said gruffly, interrupting his friend's questions.

"No, that could never be, not while I'm here," the former prince protested.

"You pointed out yourself that the Chantry is closed for the evening. I wouldn't want to get you in trouble for making an exception for me."

Sebastian didn't need any time to consider his response. "Better to risk that than to turn my back on a friend, especially one in need," he said.

Fenris shook his head ruefully. "You are a good man. Too good to be friends with the likes of me."

"You only say that because you don't know your own worth, Fenris." Sebastian shook his head sadly. "But I shall not keep you if you would rather leave. Just know that if you need someone to talk to, someone to share your worries with, that I am always here."

"Thank you," said Fenris. It was a generous offer, one that he truly appreciated but unfortunately one he could not accept. Though Sebastian was one of his closest friends—indeed only Hawke was closer—he did not want to share the content of his dreams with the man so devoted to the Chantry and its teachings.

He left the Chantry with little ceremony and immediately set out for Darktown. He was troubled only by a pair of footpads, who thought a single, unarmed elf was an easy mark. It didn't take long for Fenris to teach the fools that he had no need of a weapon, not when he was one. Fenris entered the clinic in a rush. He was in luck for no one was there except for the abomination, who had his hands full making poultices.

"What are you doing here, elf?" the mage sneered, his lip curling back. "Come to drag me off to the templars when Hawke's not around?"

Fenris ignored the barb tossed his way. It wasn't the mage he wanted to talk to after all, but rather the mage's pet demon. "You were there," he said accusingly, stalking forward. "You were there, beside her when she called, weren't you?"

The abomination drew himself up to his full height and looked down his nose at Fenris. "Are you talking about Hawke? Of course, I was there for her. Hawke needs all the friends she can get, especially seeing how a certain mad wolf all but tore out her heart." Then a smirk twisted Anders' lips. "You're a fool, you know, but I'm not complaining. She's too good for you, and I'll convince her that there are better options out there before you know it."

It hit Fenris then that the abomination was speaking of his awkward attempts to court Hawke. He clenched his fists at his side, unreasonably angered by that reminder. He knew that he had no claim on Hawke, but if she were to move on to someone else, he hoped it would be to someone who deserved her and not someone as pathetic as the mage before him.

He bit his tongue, holding back the insults he wanted to fling at the other man. He couldn't allow himself to get sidetracked. Fenris needed some sort of confirmation, whether it be that his dreams were true or that he was insane. "I wasn't talking to you!" he told the mage sharply.

That caused Anders to raise an eyebrow. "Oh really? Who else is—" Then his eyes went blank then blue. The hairs on the back of Fenris' neck went up, and he could feel the otherworldly presence inhabiting the body of the mage.

"Yes, I was there, elf," Justice answered in clear, ringing tones. "I was amongst the first of my siblings to answer her call. There were those of us who did not need to be convinced that justice was not served by allowing demons free reign over this realm."

Fenris' face went white. If Justice had been there fighting beside Andraste, then all of it must be true. "So the dreams? They're real?" he said half to himself. "She and I were…."

"Indeed. The lady loved you. I never understood how she could stand to be with such a grumpy, bitter creature but Compassion and Mercy always claimed there was more to you." The spirit looked at Fenris critically. "I find it curious that you remember who you were while she sleeps undisturbed."

Fenris didn't really care about that. It was probably best for Hawke not to know. If Fenris thought he was going mad with his dreams of being Shartan, he didn't want to think about Hawke would feel about remembering her life as Andraste. That reminded him that there was something else he wanted to ask the spirit. "Andraste…in my dreams, she was a mage. Is that true?"

"Yes. It is." The spirit's countenance became stormy. "She fought for all of their freedom and look how she was repaid. Those sheep she died for turned around and enslaved her own kind, confining them to Circles and the tender mercies of templars and all in her name. They claim to elevate her but they despise those who share her gifts. It is not right. It is not just. I will not rest until it is set to rights!"

"And you plan on dragging Hawke into that fight," Fenris noted. "That's why you always have Anders at her ear, trying to convince her to join you."

The spirit visibly deflated. "No, that is not so. The mage pursues her for his own reasons, and I have tried in vain to stop him. She has…done enough. She died bravely for the cause back then. She has earned the right to a life full of peace and happiness now."

Justice narrowed his eyes at Fenris. "I would say that you have earned that right as well, but it does not seem that you want to be happy. You are a fool, elf, twice over. You were never willing to fight to remain by her side back then, and I see that you have not changed. It is…disappointing. You lost her once but were lucky enough to find her in this life. If you had any sense, you would hold on to her before you lose her again."

The spirit's words weighed on Fenris' heart. They had an oddly precognizant quality to them. The elf gulped nervously. Though he now knew that he wasn't going mad and that his dreams were truly of the past, Fenris wasn't sure what he was going to do with such knowledge. He longed to go back to Hawke, to beg her forgiveness for leaving her so, but he didn't know how.

"I'll take that under advisement," Fenris finally settled on telling the spirit.

"I hope you do. Only the Maker knows why her heart settled on you, but just like back then, she doesn't know how to be happy without you. You're wasting time, elf, and time is something that you can never get back."

If she could, she would have held off the dawn, insisting that it wait for another day. She didn't want the sun to rise, not when it meant that in a few short hours, her love would be riding off and leaving her far behind. Reflexively she tightened her arms around her elf, and she snuggled closer into his chest.

"We're going to have to get up some time," he told her groggily, his chest rumbling against her head with each word.

"Yes," she sadly, "but that doesn't mean we have to do so right now. We can stay here a little while longer."

"Just for a little," he agreed. A smile was the only warning she received before he shifted suddenly and rolled so that she was directly under him. Andraste had no chance to protest, however, not when he fused their mouths together in a scorching kiss while lifting up her legs so that he was positioned between them. No, if anything, if she still had the ability to speak, she would have only been encouraging him. They came together in a heated rush, limbs tangled together, each of them knowing that this might very well be the last time they had together.

A mere hour later, Shartan was ready to leave her tent so that he could prepare his elves for their next campaign. Fear gripped her heart, and its cold, icy fingers filled her with dread. "Are you positive that you won't reconsider?" she asked him softly, eyes downcast.

He stopped in his tracks. "I wish I could," he said, his voice husky with emotion, "but you know, as well as I do, that this is necessary. The Imperium's army is too large for us to face them on the open battlefield, and so we needs must trap them. This is a good plan that we have come up with together."

Andraste's head shot up, and she shook it furiously. "Not together. I would have let Arden and his army act as bait, not you and yours. You volunteered though, and I—" She bit her lip and turned her face to the side. When Shartan had volunteered for his dangerous mission, she had wanted to pull rank and overrule him. However, Maferath had been there and had been watching.

Her husband, who she admired greatly, was no fool. It had been many months since she last lain with him. Andraste knew that she should have done so if only to maintain appearances but it didn't feel right to be with anyone else when she loved Shartan with everything that she was. Andraste suspected that her husband had his doubts about her relationship with the elf, especially with how careless she had been with her smiles. Maferath knew her better than anyone else in her army. He was the most likely to figure out just with whom her affections lied.

Thus when Shartan had stood up and demanded that his elves be given this dangerous task, there was nothing she could do. Even if she had risked exposing their affair, it would have all been for naught. The elven general had that glint in his eyes, and it was clear that he was not about to take no for an answer.

A hand cupped her face and gently tilted it around so she could see the dark olive eyes that were staring at her devotedly. "It will be fine. You'll see. My elves are better-trained than even you suspect. Both of us will get through this upcoming battle successfully, and then it will all be over."

That was exactly what she was afraid of. One day, they would win and then it would all be over. It was funny. When Andraste first started her campaign against Tevinter, the only thing she wanted was to see the Imperium toppled. She had even been willing to buy that victory with her life if needed. However, after meeting the elf, she found that she wanted more. She wanted him and her together, with no worries weighing them down or duties tearing them apart.

It would never happen though. At best, they would win and as Shartan predicted, the two of them would be alive to see that day. Then he would take his elves and leave, setting off for the homeland that she had promised them. She knew very well that he loved her, but if he had to choose between her and his people, he would choose his people every single time without pausing to consider his response.

It was heartbreaking and sad, but Andraste was not about to cry. If this was the last moment that they were to share, then she was determined that his memory of her would be as a strong and brave woman, not a weak and clinging one.

"Let us hope that we win," she told him. She stood on her toes and graced his lips with one last kiss. "Please remember though, my love, that only the living know victory."

Kirkwall was burning. Acrid smoke billowed around and stung the eyes while the bitter tang of spilt blood assaulted the nose. Death stalked its streets, and terror ruled the air. Kirkwall was burning, but its leaders did not care.

Hawke hadn't seen such a sight since Lothering. Lothering had been a hopeless case, abandoned by all its protectors in face of the darkspawn horde. There had been nothing she could do then, but she wasn't about to fail once more.

"That's enough," she snapped at the bickering knight commander and first enchanter. "Clearly no one here is big on getting things done, and so I'll take charge."

She ignored the templar's protests and instead turned to face the keep, eyes narrowing as she took in its new guard. "It seems as though you were right, Fenris," she muttered. "The qunari have indeed attacked the keep first."

"You thought I was wrong?" There was a note of hurt in the elven warrior's voice, one that she longed to soothe away but she knew that he would not welcome such comfort from her. So she relied on words instead of reaching out a hand to caress him.

"No, I didn't think you were wrong. But you can't blame a girl for hoping that the qunari wouldn't immediately grab control of the most defensible spot in the city proper," she replied. "I don't suppose anyone has any bright ideas about how we're going to break through? And before you speak, Varric, we're not about to crash the castle gates. It would make for a great tale, I'm sure, but I'd like to be around to appreciate the story."

As things played out, both the first enchanter and the contingent of templars turned out to be of some use. Orsino distracted the guards, long enough for Hawke and her party to sneak past while the templars spread out to deal with reinforcements trying to reach the keep.

The smell of blood was almost stifling inside the keep, and the corpses that laid strewn across its hallways made for a morbid sight. As soon as Hawke started for the throne room, they were attacked by a large contingent of qunari, including a pair of mages. The party made short work of this set of qunari guards, taking no prisoners. Hawke noticed that Varric was particularly vicious, and more than one qunari fell with several crossbow bolts lodged inside of him. Her favorite dwarf, it seemed, was more affected by the pillaging of his hometown than his demeanor would imply.

Hawke led her companions through the keep and towards the throne room. Periodically they would stumble across small groups of qunari, but those fared as well as the rest of their brethren. She pushed open the large doors to the throne room and stepped inside, determined to put an end to the senseless bloodshed.

What she saw inside, however, was nothing short of utter madness. The Arishok stalked across the dais, wielding an impossibly large ax in a single hand, and with a single stroke, separated Viscount Dumar's head from the rest of his body. The assembled nobles gasped in horror, and not a few of the ladies shrieked. Hawke had no time to think of their comfort though. Hawke focused her attention on the Arishok. When his gaze turned to her direction, she wanted to cry at what she saw.

The Arishok had gone mad.

His eyes were red, and his teeth were clenched. This was not the patient leader she had met all those years ago. No, he had lost all patience and all semblance of reason. Being confined to the city for so long had undone him. He was ill-suited to the chaos that personified life in Kirkwall, accustomed as he was to the order decreed by the Qun. The lost of the tome of Koslun had been the last straw. Hawke mourned the Arishok for what he once was, but she resigned herself to putting him down. In seeking to impose order on Kirkwall, the Arishok had commanded the slaughter of innocents. That was something which Hawke could never forgive.

So there was only one answer Hawke could give when the Arishok insisted on a duel even after Isabela had showed up to return that wretched holy text of theirs. The mage tilted her head to one side and grinned cockily up at the qunari's leader, twirling her staff in one hand. "Let's dance," she said, and then she met her fate head on.

He should have never left her side.

The trap their forces had tried to set had gone wretchedly wrong. The army led by Andraste had been ambushed. While the bulk of her army had lived to fight another day, it was not without severe losses, the worst of which was the capture of Andraste herself. A small group of her most trusted generals had set out the next day to try and free her. They wound up failing miserably, their heads posted upon pikes as a grisly warning against following their example. Yet Andraste had inspired such devotion amongst her followers that rescue parties set out again and again only to receive the same results.

By the time Shartan had led the remnants of his army to the main army's camp, Andraste's husband had issued a standing order. No one else was to try to rescue his wife for he claimed that she would not want them to shed their blood needlessly. Naturally Shartan ignored such orders. As far as he was concerned, Maferath was a shell of a man to abandon his wife to the cruel mercies of the Tevinter Imperium. The elf had only stopped to see his men settled before stealing a horse and setting off again. He would lay down his life to rescue his love if it came to it; his life had no meaning without her.

Shartan bent down, whispering words of encouragement to his horse in the hopes of spurring his steed to run faster. Focused as he was, he did not spot the stretch of rope lying in their path nor it being lifted up to trip them. His horse stumbled violently upon the rope. Shartan was sent flying through the air, his head cracking against the ground as he landed.

Though his vision was blurry, Shartan still recognized the figure walking towards him. The elf struggled to sit up. Though he was injured, he was not about to go without a fight. Andraste needed him, and he would not fail her. He reached for his bow only to find that it was broken. Shartan silently cursed his choice of weapons. A broken bow was useless against a warrior. For the first time, he wished that he had chosen to fight with a sword because that was what he needed to face Maferath's wrath.

Bright blue eyes filled with hatred glared down at the elf as the man lifted up a greatsword above his head. "I should have killed you when I first saw you, elf," swore Maferath. The rising sun lit his auburn hair from behind, setting it aflame with light and making him resemble one of the spirits Andraste called upon. "I will remedy that mistake now. Andraste swore that she would love and honor me above all others, and if I cannot have her, I will make sure that no one can."

Then he swung his sword down, ending the elf's life only a few hours before Andraste was set upon her pyre.

Fenris sat on the small chair next to Hawke's bed, his shoulders hunched over, as he ignored Varric's pleading for him to try and get some rest. Sleep was the last thing the elf wanted now. No, he needed to stay awake and watch and make sure that Hawke wasn't about to leave him for her next life.

His heart had been in his throat during the entire time Hawke had dueled the Arishok. The qunari had been massive, towering over Hawke by several feet. Fenris had always known that Hawke was on the small side—indeed she only came up to his chin—but she had looked positively frail as she dodged behind pillars in order to avoid the sweep of the Arishok's blades.

Hawke had found a way to win though not without injuries, which thankfully the abomination had been able to heal. Fenris supposed he shouldn't be surprised at that result. Andraste had always been like that, finding a way to win against incredible odds. It had taken a betrayal of the worst kind to topple her, and even then, he liked to believe that he could have saved her if only he had been better prepared.

The elven warrior shook his head, trying to clear it of such memories. The memories weren't important. What was important was that Hawke still lived and breathed. What was important was that he still had a chance to set things right and remain by her side. It seemed as though things always went horrifyingly wrong when he left, and Fenris didn't want to make that mistake again.

Fenris sat and watched vigilantly over Hawke as the hours passed. The elven maid Hawke had rescued from the slavers' caverns stopped by once, depositing a small tray that had a plate of sandwiches and a glass of water. He bypassed the sandwiches, feeling that it would not be right to eat while Hawke slumbered, but he did take a draught of the water. Though his limbs ached with weariness, he was determined not to leave Hawke's side ever again. Sleep was a foe he couldn't hold off entirely, however, and he dozed off as the night gave off to day.

He was roused from his slumber by a soft chuckle. "You look like you've seen better days," Hawke told him hoarsely.

"Hawke!" he cried. Then he left his seat and was kneeling by her bed, his head bent down as he sought for the right words to say. He knew that he needed to apologize. He knew that his behavior had hurt her and that he needed to beg for her forgiveness, but mere words seemed inadequate in the face of his actions.

"Fenris? Are you crying?" Hawke asked. She winced as she scooted closer to the elf so that she could lift up his head. "There's no need to cry," she told him. "I'm all right, and the city is saved."

"I thought you were going to die!" he confessed. "And I couldn't bear it…the thought of failing you again."

She shook her head sadly. "You've never failed me, Fenris."

"But I have…I left you alone and let you think that—"

"That's all in the past though I won't deny your leaving stung. You're here now though, and that's what matters." She chewed her lip nervously before asking "Stay?"

"Always," he swore. It took little coaxing for her to convince him to join her in bed. He peppered her face with soft kisses, happy to be with her once more, bringing a lazy smile to her lips. Fenris longed for more, especially after being apart from her for so long, but he knew that there would be time enough for that later after Hawke had fully recovered from her wounds.

He was empty inside.

He had thought that killing the elf would have ended the pain he suffered ever since learning of his wife's betrayal. That hadn't soothed his wounded heart at all though and so his thoughts had turned to revenge. He had been vicious and cruel when revealing to his wife that her elven lover was dead all in the hopes that he could hurt her as much as she had hurt him in the moments before her death. He had hoped that would help ease his suffering but somehow it had only gotten worse.

Indeed the only thing more painful than dealing with the fact that Andraste was no longer amongst the living was knowing that her death was all his fault.

Maferath cursed himself for a fool. He had thought that it would be better once his wife could no longer cuckold him with that blasted elf. It had not. Instead it felt as though he had been swallowed by the Void. Everything he once had had slipped through his grasp, leaving him with nothing, not even hope. He had learned too late that without Andraste there was no light or love in his life.

Without her, he did not want to live.

Sebastian woke with a start, shaken out of a solid sleep by a nightmare. He sat up in his bed. He was practically dripping with sweat, and his heart was racing. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down.

It was only a dream, he told himself. Though it was a terrible dream in which he had betrayed Andraste to the Imperium, it was still only a dream. It wasn't real. Besides it was ridiculous to think that Sebastian would ever do such a thing, not when he was one of the most devoted of her followers. He had sworn that he would take no bride but Andraste and that he would honor her above all others. There was simply no way that he would ever betray her in real life. He repeated these facts again and again until the dream faded away just like all the others.

Sleep proved to be elusive even after he calmed down however. Shrugging his shoulders, Sebastian got out of bed. An early round of target practice sounded like just the thing.

Author's note: This is another kmeme fill of mine that's finished for now. I've posted the original prompt below. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading it, and I'd love to know what you think.

Original prompt: Based on the theory that Andraste was a mage and Shartan was her lover, give me F!Hawke/Fenris as Andraste/Shartan reborn, with this life a second chance for them. Maybe they finish dismantling the Tevinter Imperium, maybe they find a real solution to the mage/templar mess, or maybe it's just enough for them to really be together this time around.