AN: Thought of this while trying to find sleep. Angst, some sadness... Just couldn't go without writing it. Do enjoy.

It was Diamondback night at the Hanged Man, and Hawke's merry band of misfits were currently in Varric's private suite, dueling with cards. The usually attentive and energetic Hawke seemed lost in thought, however, and soon she was out of the game. It was still long after Anders, however, and he was pretty sure that said something about his Diamondback skills. She quietly rose and walked out of the room, and no one seemed to notice aside from Varric when he followed her out.

At first, he didn't see her. He was fairly sure she was still there- he could still feel her magic thrumming close to him as if it were his very own. Then he spotted the red of her robe heading for the exit, and hastily caught up to her. She didn't even seem to notice his arrival at her side, but kept walking until they were in the cool streets of Lowtown.

"Are you all right, Hawke? If you're not feeling well, I could try and help…" She didn't say anything at first, didn't even look at him. Then, she let out a breath of air she had been holding and glanced at him before her gaze skittered away.

"I'm fine, thank you. No need to worry about me, you can go back to the game if you wish." Anders really hated when Hawke was in this kind of mood. It didn't happen often; he'd only seen it twice, and only after the departure of her brother to the Grey Wardens. So, he fell back on his usual attempt for comfort when she was like this; cheeky humor.

"And leave a pretty lady like you alone out here? Perish the thought! Some poor sod might come along and try to do something funny and we'd just be cleaning him off the streets the next morning." Usually his first attempt got him a sliver of a smile at least, and encouraged him to continue. But this time there was nothing. So he stood there, frozen with worry, as the noise of the Hanged Man carried out into the streets.

"I like to think, when Varric's telling all those grand tales about me, that I'm the hero in my own story. But I wonder, you know? If I'm the bad guy in someone else's." She couldn't possibly know how much those words struck something in him. He believed in his heart that he was the hero, fighting for mage freedom all around. But in his head, somehow, he knew he wasn't a hero of any sort. He might have been, before Justice, if he'd stayed with the Wardens. But now…

He knew he was the bad guy.

"I know how you feel, Hawke, but… But trust me when I say that you are in no way the bad guy. Any people that you've killed? They're the bad guys. And you only kill them because you know there's no other way to save the innocents they endanger. I know you well enough by now that if you could you'd try and save them, too. You may be the only hero left these days." She looked at him in surprise; she was used to him being serious, of course, but not over anything that didn't concern his plight. She must have seen something in his eyes then, because her expression softened and she crossed over to give him a light peck on the cheek as thanks before turning to go back inside.

He just stood there, one hand pressed to his cheek in awe, and wishing with all his might that he could at least be her hero.