Private Character Introduction: Anders
Aug. 2nd, 2015 07:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thecryoftheseagulls posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
fadewalkKirkwall burned behind them. Again. And yet somehow Anders still breathed. It was inconceivable, unfathomable, utterly beyond him. In all his careful plans, there had never been a future where he still lived after what he had done. He had dreamed of it, Hawke's dagger in his back, perhaps Meredith's blade in his chest. That was what had been supposed to happen.
Instead, and perhaps most incomprehensible of all, Hawke had dragged him away from the crowd and thrust him against the wall of an alley and kissed him and railed at him and...told him she loved him? Perhaps he had dreamed that part. She was not a woman of many words when it came to such things. They had been together for over three years, and still she had never told him that.
When Hawke joined him at the prow and laced her fingers with his, he knew it had been real, the way she'd held him with the wreck of the Chantry just beyond them and kissed him and cried.
"Justice isn't going to throw you over the rail in some fit of pique to provide justice for all those dead Sisters, is he?" She asked, tilting her head and looking up at him with furrowed brows.
Anders laughed, a broken sound. "No. He seems to have decided we are better off continuing to help, thanks to you."
"Good," she said. She pressed against his side and turned to gaze back out across the water, to the city they were leaving behind.
Strong arms wrapped themselves around Anders' waist, a sharp chin resting on his shoulder.
"Foolish mage," Fenris's voice rumbled in his ear, warm, even if frustrated still.
Anders still didn't know what he did to get the Maker to spare him thus, but with Fenris at his back and Hawke at his side, he felt true hope for the first time in a long time. He looked back, too, at Kirkwall, City of Chains, and had only time to hope that perhaps some were broken, now, before the ship rocked violently, nearly pitching him over the side. A rushing noise filled his ears, like all the air around him being drawn elsewhere, and then a loud crack rent the air and a brilliant green light blinded him before everything went black.
When he reeled forward again, sure he was going to fall over the ship's rail again, he barely managed to catch himself. Except the material he founds under his palms was hard stone, not wood, and he was alone, no bodies pressed against him. He appeared to be...on the edge of some battlement? This was a stronghold he did not recognize, and in the garden below him was a great contraption of metal whose like he had never seen. It felt familiar, like the Fade, even had that strange green quality to the air, but he knew immediately that it was not the Fade, not quite. For one, he was still in control of his body. Justice shuddered violently in his mind and declared wherever they had found themselves WRONG WRONG WRONG.
There was a peculiar leather bound book, like a journal, in his palm. Anders glanced at it.
Instead, and perhaps most incomprehensible of all, Hawke had dragged him away from the crowd and thrust him against the wall of an alley and kissed him and railed at him and...told him she loved him? Perhaps he had dreamed that part. She was not a woman of many words when it came to such things. They had been together for over three years, and still she had never told him that.
When Hawke joined him at the prow and laced her fingers with his, he knew it had been real, the way she'd held him with the wreck of the Chantry just beyond them and kissed him and cried.
"Justice isn't going to throw you over the rail in some fit of pique to provide justice for all those dead Sisters, is he?" She asked, tilting her head and looking up at him with furrowed brows.
Anders laughed, a broken sound. "No. He seems to have decided we are better off continuing to help, thanks to you."
"Good," she said. She pressed against his side and turned to gaze back out across the water, to the city they were leaving behind.
Strong arms wrapped themselves around Anders' waist, a sharp chin resting on his shoulder.
"Foolish mage," Fenris's voice rumbled in his ear, warm, even if frustrated still.
Anders still didn't know what he did to get the Maker to spare him thus, but with Fenris at his back and Hawke at his side, he felt true hope for the first time in a long time. He looked back, too, at Kirkwall, City of Chains, and had only time to hope that perhaps some were broken, now, before the ship rocked violently, nearly pitching him over the side. A rushing noise filled his ears, like all the air around him being drawn elsewhere, and then a loud crack rent the air and a brilliant green light blinded him before everything went black.
When he reeled forward again, sure he was going to fall over the ship's rail again, he barely managed to catch himself. Except the material he founds under his palms was hard stone, not wood, and he was alone, no bodies pressed against him. He appeared to be...on the edge of some battlement? This was a stronghold he did not recognize, and in the garden below him was a great contraption of metal whose like he had never seen. It felt familiar, like the Fade, even had that strange green quality to the air, but he knew immediately that it was not the Fade, not quite. For one, he was still in control of his body. Justice shuddered violently in his mind and declared wherever they had found themselves WRONG WRONG WRONG.
There was a peculiar leather bound book, like a journal, in his palm. Anders glanced at it.
