[ maybe. maybe maybe maybe. things don't always have to be so hard.
but without all of those layers of flesh on bone, without the politics, without the chantry, without the mages, without kirkwall, without a lifetime of violence and fury, without knives and heat and justice, is he anything at all? a healer who can no longer heal, a mind that can never stay still for long enough to settle, a bad joke or two. A fondness for cats. a coward's heart. That's about it. certainly whatever is left after all of that is not worthy of love.
(he had always called hawke the one bright light in kirkwall. but hawke was not the one who had a lit lantern above a healer's door in a place called darktown.)
hawke is done for. whoever is left in this body, the victor's, is alone. if he had any feelings at all, it's that he misses justice. they had promised each other that neither of them would ever be alone again. maybe that's what true love is.
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holyspirits) wrote2025-03-09 04:46 pm
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but without all of those layers of flesh on bone, without the politics, without the chantry, without the mages, without kirkwall, without a lifetime of violence and fury, without knives and heat and justice, is he anything at all? a healer who can no longer heal, a mind that can never stay still for long enough to settle, a bad joke or two. A fondness for cats. a coward's heart. That's about it. certainly whatever is left after all of that is not worthy of love.
(he had always called hawke the one bright light in kirkwall. but hawke was not the one who had a lit lantern above a healer's door in a place called darktown.)
hawke is done for. whoever is left in this body, the victor's, is alone. if he had any feelings at all, it's that he misses justice. they had promised each other that neither of them would ever be alone again. maybe that's what true love is.
he turns around to head back to the car. ]