Hawke and Anders

Hawke lifted her head from the note as she passed the window, looking down into the tiny courtyard behind the estate. High walls shielding it from nosey neighbors kept the small garden in deep shadows for most of the day, but for a brief period in midday when it was warmed by the hot sun before the tall buildings of Hightown once more eclipsed its welcome rays. Anders was out there taking advantage of the opportunity for some exercise.

The heavy staves mages carried were useful in combat for more than just powering spells, and though many of the slender Circle bound magi never learned this particular trick, battle mages took full advantage of the deadly capabilities of spinning around a five and a half foot length of wood. Hawke knew full well that if combat drew out too long and a caster's spell reserves were drained, cloth robes weren't much in the way of protection and a smart mage had better have a backup plan. It took a great deal of physical strength to wield the heavy staff as a melee weapon. The sturdier fighter classes weren't always able to keep all attackers occupied and the source of powerful spells that shattered the battlefield were often highly valuable targets.

Leaning her hip against the stone embrasure, Hawke watched as Anders, stripped to the waist in a pair of leggings, spun his staff in slow graceful arcs, his muscles coated in a light sheen of sweat. After spending many years of his life as a Circle runaway, the healer had learned to fight against the Templares that inevitably came hunting for him and as a consequence was built more solidly than his more timid Circle compatriots.

At first, Anders kept his motions slow, graceful, running through forms like a type of meditation, his eyes closed, his brow furrowed with focus. Then, as Hawke watched unseen, the mage began to speed up until the staff was a spinning blur between his hands, the whistling as it cut through the air loud enough to raise the hair on the back of the Champion's neck. Anders moved like a snake, his hips twisting as he spun to deflect unseen enemies behind, then whipping back around to slam the staff into the ground in front of him. Had he been using his magic, the ground before him would have erupted with the force of a tiny earthquake, knocking attackers off their feet.

Hawke shivered as she watched, more in awe of the man than ever. She knew the man to be the most dedicated healer, giving of his skills freely to the poor refugees that flooded Darktown, and yet to see the fierce determination on his face now, one would never know he possessed the gentle soul to feed stray kittens or his plans to open a cat sanctuary. She loved him for that devotion, that desire to care for others so much that it consumed his entire life.

When they first met, she had not understood his determination to create a world for free mages, but as time had passed and she found herself making more excuses to spend time in the healer's company, she began to share his vision. She had never had to live within the Circle's confining walls like he had, but she and her family had spent most of her life on the run from Templares hunting apostates. She understood all too well how difficult it was for mages to live free of the chantry. Now, she was Anders' staunchest supporter, defending him and standing by him even when their own friends had thrown their hands up in disgust and proclaimed him a lost cause.

She realized Anders' motions were slowing down and the courtyard was pooling with shadows once more. Feeling almost guilty for spying on him, Hawke lifted the heavy folds of her robe and stood, discarding the troublesome letter on a nearby table for another time and hurrying down the stairs toward the back door. It swung open just as she reached it, forcing her to an abrupt halt. Anders froze in surprise at seeing her there, his chest heaving with hard breaths, his blonde hair darkened with sweat, and Hawke momentarily lost her tongue, just staring.

Anders recovered more quickly, turning to close the door and lean his staff against the wall, reaching for a towel to dry himself. "Is something wrong?" He asked. When he noted her eyes still staring, a slow grin spread across his face and he turned to face her. "Like what you see?"

Hawke felt a pang; her beloved mage smiled so rarely these days. She had heard once that Anders had, in his youth, been a charming, impudent scamp, quite popular with the ladies, but to see him now, the grim revolutionary, she sometimes found that hard to believe. Swallowing down the sadness she felt, she instead gave the man a tart response. "Yes there's something wrong. You're not in my bed."

His grin widened and for a moment, she saw a hint of the happier man he had once been. "Well then, I'd better do something about that." A dangerous glint in his eye was all the warning she had before he coiled the towel up and lashed it playfully at her like a whip. Yelping, she fled from him, both laughing as he raced her up the stairs.