After reading some of the other stories on this site, I feel like writing an epilogue to DAII should be a rite of passage or something. This story can be read as a continuation of the events in my first fic "Always". The POV switches between various characters, but it s mostly the story of Hawke and Anders and what came after The End. Feedback is welcome and savoured, as I'm probably going to turn this in as a creative writing project eventually. I have about five installments planned at the moment, but I'll continue writing until my inspiration runs out.

And so it was done. A city ripped apart. The Chantry, and all inside, annihilated as neatly as if the hand of the Maker had reached down and plucked it from the ground Himself. A Knight-Commander turned to stone by self-inflicted magical corruption in front of her own templars. The image of it was seared forever into Aenora Hawke's mind.

She felt so tired, so heavy suddenly, as if her bones had turned to lead. But she could not rest yet. There were still lives at stake, people who were depending on her. Cullen would delay the pursuit for as long as he could, if he could, but she knew it was temporary grace at best.

"We need to take ship." She heard herself say, though it sounded strange, as if it were someone else and not her at all speaking with her voice "The more miles we put between ourselves and Kirkwall, the better."

She did not look at the other's faces, but she could sense their agreement.

"We can be away within the hour." Isabella said, and Nora nodded. And so it was settled. No one spoke again until the creaking ferry landed at the docks and they hurried, carefully, towards Isabella's ship.

~~0~~

"Hawke…" Aveline said, hesitantly, stopping at the edge of the gang plank. She had wanted to say something sooner, but the time had not seemed right. Now was the last possible moment, and she was forced to take it. Hawke turned, and the look on her face broke Aveline's heart. In all the years she had known Hawke, through the hard, squalid first year in Kirkwall when both of them had had to do things they found distasteful in order to get by, through losing her sister to the Circle and her mother to an insane mage, through everything, Hawke had been a rock of endurance, able to keep her head even when the worst was going on around her. This was not the Hawke she had known and fought beside. She looked exhausted, unfocused. Everyone was tired and distracted after a battle, but the look on Hawke's face was deeper, and Aveline realized, painfully, what the difference was. She had never seen Hawke look beaten before.

It made what she had to say now even harder, but what else could she do? She faltered for a moment and opened her mouth to speak, but Hawke seemed to already have guessed what was coming.

"I know. Go find Donnic." She said, and then stepped back down the plank towards Aveline and clasped her arm the way that soldiers sometimes did, her tone softening, "Save who you can."

There seemed to be a double meaning in those words, but Aveline did not want to think about it now. She squeezed her old friend's arm in return.

"I will. I expect to hear from you when things have settled down some."

Hawke's smile did not seem to touch her eyes, but she pulled Aveline in and hugged her, the first time she had ever done so, and no doubt the last.

"I'll do my best." The Champion replied, as she drew back, adding before turning to start up onto the ship, "Go. Do what you can for Kirkwall. Have a passel of babies with your husband, and be happy."

"I will." She replied, and watched her friend disappear up the ramp, marking a moment she would remember for the rest of her life with silence. As she turned, hurrying back into the city, towards her husband and her duty to Kirkwall, she told herself that it would turn out alright. Hawke was the strongest person she knew. Hawke would come through this, and so would they all.

~~0~~

It had been a long time since Varric had been onboard a ship, and he wasn't sure he liked the way the deck was swaying under his feet. That was the least of his worries now, though. Isabella had taken charge as soon as they were onboard and her crew was in a frenzy of preparation. Anders had retreated to the stern where he would be out of the way and less noticeable for the moment. A smart move, considering that there was more than one person on the boat who would be happy to throw him over the side or hang him from the rigging right now. The others milled around disconcertedly, out of their element, trying to stay out of the way. It was Hawke he was worried about, though.

She was sitting on a bench that ran across the front of the poop where she had sunk down after coming onboard and had not moved since. The flurry of activity that was going around her seemed not to phase her in the least, as if she didn't notice, as if it was going on in a completely different world from the one she inhabited. Her eyes stared sightlessly at nothing in front of her, her gaze turned inward he guessed, her shoulders slumped. Blood had dried in barbaric patterns on her face, but she did not seem to notice. She looked…well, even he couldn't find words to describe it.

Varric would be the first to admit that he was not the leadership type, but his profession had taught him a good bit about how leadership worked. If they were going to have any chance of making it through what was to come, they were going to need Hawke. She was the only one that the entire group respected and would follow. If she crumbled now in front of everyone, there would be nothing left to hold them all together and they could not afford that right now.

Glancing around, he noted that their companions seemed not to have noticed Hawke's catatonic state yet, and so he sidled up to Bethany, who was talking softly to a small girl she had brought with them, a survivor of the slaughter at the Circle. He tugged the sleeve of her robe gently until she bent down low enough for him to whisper in her ear.

"We need to get Hawke below deck. Now." He told her, and she turned her gaze up towards her sister for a moment and then nodded.

As quickly and quietly as they could, they moved over to Hawke and Bethany whispered something in her ear. Between them, they helped her up and shuffled her down below and into one of the apparently empty bunks in the sailors' quarters. Isabella could work out the sleeping arrangements later. He helped Bethany strip off Hawke's blood-smeared armor, as it would have been too heavy for the mage by herself, and then excused himself. The less he saw of what was happening to his friend now the better, for Hawke's sake, when she recovered.

Until then, he thought, patting Bianca for reassurance as he made his way back up on deck, he would keep the restless natives at bay and try to think of what their next step should be. Just in case.

~~0~~

"No!" Nora cried, exploding from the sheets to sit bolt upright in bed, her face and hair drenched with sweat, panic written in her eyes. She had lain in a state of near-coma, unresponsive and un-waking, since they had brought her down below and put her into bed. When she had started to twitch and groan restlessly some hours earlier, Bethany had almost drug Anders down to see to her whether the others liked it or not, but she had decided to wait and see what happened.

"Shh, it's okay." Bethany said, moving quickly over to her sister, wrapping her arms around her trembling shoulders, "It was a dream. Just a dream."

It seemed to take a moment for Nora to understand what was happening, her eyes darting around the dim bunkroom in confusion, before her body sagged slightly and her breathing began to return to normal.

"Where are we?"

"Isabella's ship. It's alright, we're safe." She replied, as she stroked her sister's dark hair out of her face, and looked into her miserable eyes, "Are you alright?"

"I'm…" Nora replied, but did not finish the thought. She sighed heavily and pressed her hands to her forehead, "Have I been asleep long?"

She always did this, Bethany thought. She had never liked to talk about her own feelings, always preferring to move on to the next thing, to worry about other people's feelings and keep her own to herself. But that was for later.

"Almost two days." Bethany admitted, and added quickly, "You needed it, after what you've been through."

"The others…"

"…are fine. Sod them, Nora, I'm worried about you."

"Is that how they teach you to talk in the Circle?" her sister replied, with the faint specter of a smile, and Bethany grinned back.

"I've learned a thing or two since I've been away." She said, and then grew serious, "How are you really? How do you feel?"

Nora turned away and stared at the wall for a long time, as if the words had to travel upward from somewhere deep inside of her.

"Empty." She said, finally. Not sure of what to say, Bethany hugged her and felt her return the embrace. That was a good sign, at least, wasn't it? She pressed her sister gently back down onto the bed and lay down beside her like they had done when she was very young and Nora had been her protection against the monsters that lurked in the dark corners of their room. Only now, she supposed, she was the one who was protecting Nora and the monsters were inside her sister's head.

"Anders…"

"Fenris wanted to kill him, but Varric and Isabella broke it up. Merrill is sitting with him now. No one else will go near him."

Nora winced a little at the last statement and Bethany could only guess at what she was thinking.

"She always was sweet like that."

"What do you want to do now?"

"I don't know." Her sister replied, vaguely, without feeling.

"Varric says they're going to wait for you to make a decision."

"In case no one has noticed," Nora replied with a short, bitter laugh, "my decision-making skills are not at their finest right now."

"I wouldn't say that." Bethany replied, and at that moment, she noticed the tears that were starting to run down Nora's cheeks, her sister's expression wavering and crumpling with anguish. She had never seen her sister cry before, not even when they were children. It frightened her a little, but if anyone deserved to be able to cry right now, it was Nora.

"So many people…" her sister whispered, her voice thick with agony.

"No, Nora. You tried to stop it. Don't blame yourself."

"I'm still responsible. I didn't stop him, even when I began to suspect…" she broke off, and turned her face fiercely away, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You're human, you're not one of Varric's story-book heroes that never cry or make mistakes or get tired and fed up with it all."

"If I had done something different…if I had acted sooner or…"

"Stop it. You did your best. You didn't make Meredith crazy and you didn't make Anders possessed. You couldn't have known what was going to happen, and so you did your best. What else could you have done? What else can anyone do?"

"But I was their Champion." Nora replied, hollowly. Her tears had slowed now, her face set into a mask of regret, "I was supposed to protect them, and I failed. Nothing changes that."

Bethany was silent for a moment, in frustration. Nora seemed determined to take all the blame on herself. Another thing she was good at. How many times had Nora taken the punishment for something her younger siblings had done, so that she wouldn't have to snitch on them? And how many times had Mother placed the blame on her, the eldest, for not watching over Carver and Bethany well enough when something went wrong? It was natural, then, that Nora now felt like she had to absorb the responsibility for everything that had happened. But how could anyone live with that much guilt on their conscience?

"I don't care. You're my sister and I love you." She said, firmly, and felt Nora squeeze her hand, appreciatively, the tension in her body relaxing just slightly. And that was a start.

~~0~~

If there was a hell, Anders was in it. I've ruined everything, he thought, miserably, as he sat near edge of the quarterdeck, where Isabella could keep an eye on him, and stared out over the endless horizon. In the back of his mind, the part of him that was now indistinguishable from Justice told him that it had been justified…that without sacrifice, there can be no change, and that his actions now would save the lives of countless mages in the future and make way for a better Thedas. He had fully expected to be part of that sacrifice himself, had even welcomed it, but Nora had spared him. He hadn't expected her to do that. He still didn't exactly know why she did, but the reason he suspected made his heart leap with hope and made him want to throw himself over the side of the ship and hide in the muck at the bottom of the ocean at the same time.

He looked up briefly, noting that the cook was getting ready to dole out the noon meal and the sailors were congregating. Merrill had been good enough over the past few days to bring him food and talk to him, kindly, about meaningless things…the sky, the ocean, whether the cook's pet parrot could be taught Dalish or not. He was grateful, she really was a wonderful person, despite being a blood mage, but he couldn't really focus on what she was saying, and he could not bring himself to eat. Not while Nora was still down below somewhere, absent. Resting, her sister said, though he worried it was something worse. Fenris had nearly lost his composure entirely when he had offered to see if he could heal her, but Isabella had stepped in and demanded that there would not be any bloodshed on her ship that wasn't started by her, so it had come to nothing. He was beginning to worry that he had destroyed Nora, too, just as he had destroyed the Chantry and so many, many other lives. If that was the case, then he would do himself what each of the others wanted to do to him, whether they admitted it or not. He couldn't bear to live in a world that had him in it instead of Nora.

So, it was with a strange sensation buzzing in the back of his mind that he saw her emerge, a little shakily, from the hatch a moment or two later. Her sister helped her get her balance, it seemed she had not yet developed her sea-legs like the others, but she was standing on her own, walking, and that was a good indication that she was okay. She had taken a pounding in the last battle, and her face and arms were bruised and scratched, but his healer's eye did not detect signs of anything serious. The real damage, then, must all be inside.

The others approached her, hugged her, joked with her, relief evident on their faces. They loved her. How could you not? The question echo painfully in his chest, and he drew a sharp breath in, as if struck. He loved her, too. The only reason he had held off so long was because of her, because they were happy together in a way that he had never been before. But Justice had won out in the end…

No, that wasn't fair. He had agreed to the merging. He had agreed to Justice's urgings. Maker, he wanted her to look up at him, to see her face, know what she was thinking, but he was terrified of what he would see. He stayed where he was, both because he knew he did not deserve her attention and because he did not want to cause a scene. If she wanted to talk to him, she would, eventually.

He trained his gaze back on the horizon, so he would not have to see her. Even if he deserved every bit of it, he could not bear to inflict that torment on himself. He tried to think about what he would do now, if they didn't kill him after all. Would Nora…Hawke, he reminded himself, sharply. Her given name was a privilege that had been reserved only for her family and later for him and he no longer deserved it. Would Hawke turn him in? Maybe, and if so, he would go quietly. If she simply let him go…the Grey Wardens might take him back in, but he doubted it. No doubt every templar and Chantry cleric in Thedas would know his face soon enough, once the word spread, and his phylactery, if it had not been destroyed in the battle of Denerim, would be dug out and used to track him down. He was used to laying low, but there was nowhere he could go where the templars could not follow him now, except perhaps Tevinter and Justice would not agree to that. Even his tentative status as a Grey Warden would not protect him anymore.

A couple of hardtack biscuits and a twist of dried beef landed suddenly on the deck in front of him and he looked up, his heart shooting into his throat as he found himself staring into an achingly familiar pair of blue eyes. Hawke studied him for a moment, unmoving. She had always had a talent for sneaking up on him when he was lost in his own thoughts. It hurt to see how tired she looked still, how pale she seemed. Someone had cleaned and dressed her wounds, but he could see several on her arms and face that he knew she would bear as scars until her death. There was a look in her eyes that he recognized from his days with the Wardens; they called it the "thousand yard stare".

Hawke set a clay flask of what he guessed was water down beside the food and then returned her gaze to him.

"Eat." She said. It was the first word she had spoken to him since she had gone into that final battle, and he didn't know what to say. She watched him, unmoving, until he tentatively picked up one of the hard biscuits, broke off a piece and put it in his mouth. It tasted strongly of sawdust and salt, but his stomach clamored for it anyway, so he chewed. Apparently satisfied, she turned without a word and went back down to the main deck. He watched her go, stunned, wondering if he should have said something or if he should go to her now. No. It was enough to know she was still acknowledging his existence, that she still cared enough to look out for him as she looked out for everyone. If there was more to be said, it would be in her time, not his. He ate the rest of the food and felt a little better and dared to let himself begin to hope again. Maker help him.

~~0~~

Fenris was angry, but then that was hardly a change from how he had felt all the time over the last few days. Watching Hawke settle down to eat with Varric on one side and her sister and the child mage on the other, with Merrill fussing cheerfully around the edges, he struggled for control with a myriad of conflicting emotions.

On the one hand, he was relieved…no, that wasn't sufficient…he was immensely relieved that Hawke was fine after all. Even though he had walked out on her like a fool when she so improbably desired him, even though she had sought comfort in the one person it galled him most to see her with, he still cared for her deeply. If she had truly been damaged through all this, nothing Isabella could have said would have stopped him from killing Anders, as he had once promised he would do. It still wasn't too late for that, if he could talk some sense into Hawke or her other companions.

Back at the Gallows, he hadn't been able to believe she had spared the abomination's life. What did the mage have to do before Hawke understood how dangerous and evil he really was? He was well-aware of Hawke's feelings on mages…her sister and father had been mages, after all, and seemed to have been relatively well-defended against the wiles of demons, so he could understand her complacency to the danger somewhat. But this…no sane person could forgive this.

He glared hatefully up at where the mage-abomination was sitting away from the others, eating the food that Hawke had brought him. It tore at him to see her go back to him, despite everything, even if only for a moment. Could Anders have influenced Hawke's mind somehow? He had not thought that the mage would stoop to blood magic, but there was nothing now that Anders seemed incapable of doing. He would have to talk to Hawke, to Bethany…even Merrill, who, ironically, would know the most about it…to confirm whether this was a possibility. Perhaps he had kept his silence about this unnatural relationship of hers too long. She had always been a good enough friend to speak honestly with him, even when she thought he was wrong. He had kept his feelings to himself for so long because she was happy. Perhaps he should do for her now the same service she had done for him many times before, especially now that there was the greatest need and the best chance of breaking the mage's hold on her.

The opportunity presented itself sooner than Fenris had thought it would. After the meal, Hawke gently extricated herself from the others, saying she wanted to get some air and clear her head a bit, before heading up towards the forecastle of the ship alone. Varric was distracted by relating some tale or other to the women and Isabella was busy with the business of the ship, and so the way was clear.

When he found her, she was standing near the front of the forecastle, arms folded across her chest, eyes closed. She was not smiling, exactly, but the care-lines on her face had smoothed and she looked, if not at ease, then not troubled either. He suddenly felt guilty for disturbing her. Before he could leave, though, she turned and looked at him, and he stopped, transfixed.

"Did you want something, Fenris?" she asked. He stared at her for a moment, fighting with himself for something to say.

"Are you…alright?" he asked, lamely, hesitantly. That was a fairly innocuous opening line, wasn't it? Her expression did not change. Maker, he was bad at this kind of thing. He should have just let her be. It had been a very long time since he had been alone with her, and he was now keenly aware of it.

"No." she admitted, "But…I am more alright than I was. I have high hopes of working up to being just okay by month's end."

He smiled, despite himself. She was still capable of teasing him, at least. The Hawke he loved was still there.

"Hawke, I…" he started, reconsidered, and decided to press on, "I am concerned for you. What happened back in Kirkwall with Anders…"

"Don't do this." she said, looking away from him. Her tone was soft, but he had seen the way her face hardened. He had never seen Hawke shrink from anything before now, and it set something inside of him ablaze. Was she still going to defend her mage even now? He seethed, fighting for control.

"You had to know something like this would happen someday." He replied, with more force than he meant, and felt a pang in his chest as he watched her lean forward, her hands gripping the railing of the ship so hard he could see her knuckles go white from where he stood, her body curling as if she were in actual physical pain. He was hurting her. But if she would not see, he would have to make her see for her own good.

"What would you have me do?" she asked, quietly, at last. She sounded more tired than angry. That was a good sign. Perhaps she would listen to sense.

"Anders is dangerous. He must be stopped."

"You mean execution."

"Can you deny that he deserves it?"

Silence.

"No." she replied, and he felt the hurt in the word as it left her mouth.

"If you cannot do it," he said, stepping closer to her, the electric feeling of victory coursing through his nerves. She was listening to him, "then let me. I have less than you to regret."

She turned to him then, though without meeting his gaze, and his heart dropped.

"Anders crimes are also my own. Would you put me to the sword as well?"

For one strange moment, he thought it was a request, that she was asking for death. But, no, that could not be. He frowned, disturbed by the direction the conversation had taken.

"I would, Hawke, as much as I would hate doing it. If you were guilty. But you are not."

She nodded, as if this confirmed something she already suspected and moved towards him as if she were going to walk past, but instead laid a hand gently on his shoulder where she knew from experience it would not touch his marks and cause him pain.

"Then you are a better person than I am." She said, sadly, and she walked away from him without another word and without looking back.

~~0~~

"Hey-ho, it's a funny old life, isn't it?" Isabella sighed, later that evening, as she plunked a bottle of Antivan rum and two clay cups down on the table in front of Nora and took up a seat across from her at the map table in the captain's cabin, "At least I finally got you out on my ship, didn't it?"

"You know I don't drink." Nora replied, arching an eyebrow at her across the table. She loved all of her friends, but it was painful to see them walking on eggshells around her and worse still to see the many and different ways they were all suffering, too. Only Isabella seemed more like her old self, and Nora found that vaguely comforting.

"Well, then I think this is a fine time to start." The pirate captain replied, pouring out two shots, and tossing her own back as if it were water. Nora fingered hers, staring down at the dark amber-colored liquid, then sighed and raised it to her lips, downing it like her friend had.

"Andraste…" she gasped, coughing and spluttering as the liquid burned its way down her throat. Isabella's throaty laughter filled the cabin.

"Go easy, Hawke, you're an amateur." Isabella replied, amused, refilling both of their cups.

"So, what now?" Nora asked, still wincing from fiery after taste of the rum.

"I was going to ask you that very question."

"Where are we bound at the moment?"

"South. There are plenty of ports of call along the coast to choose from and I had been planning a cargo run to Denerim soon anyway."

Nora nodded and tried sipping the rum. It still burned, but in a pleasant, hazy way this time.

"I understand King Alistair is sympathetic to mages. Ferelden seems as good a destination as any."

"You don't have to go slogging off into smells-like-dog-land if you don't want to, you know." Isabella replied, and grinned at her, "I've always said I could use someone like you on my ship. Smart, capable, nicely shaped in all the right places…"

"Eyes up here, if you don't mind." Nora said, and found that she was smiling for the first time in days, "Anyway, I don't think you'd enjoy having a possessed apostate mage wanted by every templar in Thedas on your boat forever."

The captain cocked her head to the side, with an appraising look.

"You're going to stay with Anders, then?"

"I made it possible for him to do what he did. I'm responsible for him now." She replied and sighed, "Beyond that, I don't know."

"You want my advice?"

"Does it involve copious amounts of alcohol and sex acts I've never even heard of?"

"No, but I like where you're going. Continue."

"What's your advice?"

"If you love him, sweets, love him. To hell with what anyone else thinks." Isabella said, leaning over the table on her elbows, "But don't you ever trust him. Not ever. That's when they break your heart."

"I'll keep that in mind." Nora said, and then raised her cup, "To better days?"

"They'd have to be, wouldn't they?" the captain replied, raising her own glass, and tossing it back.

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