Anders might have been—no, scratch that, would have been disgusted by the elf eyeing Hawke so boldly and soulfully, but for the dark fear which ate at him—that he could not defeat the malignancy within her breast. All he had done so far was stop it from growing any larger; he had not shrunk it by a hair's breadth. In addition to that, because he had begun at the part of it nearest the surface, the tumor was growing deeper into the tissue, and if it began burrowing into her chest cavity underneath—not even removing the breast would stop it then. It was as if the thing were aware and trying to save itself by retreating to a bolt hole, but not intelligent enough to understand that if it killed Hawke, then it died too.
He was miserable, and he could tell no one. On the day they met he had 'fallen in love' with her. Compared to what he felt for now, close to three months later, now that he knew her, that was a shallow infatuation… He had never met anyone so brilliant, whose mind made so many connections, who never ceased wondering about everything. She wasn't the wisest person in the world, she did good in the world as much because she was angry as she was compassionate, she was sometimes so damn naïve—.
To fail, to lose her—as terrible as his own personal grief would be, the knowledge that Thedas would have lost the most remarkable mind of their time, someone who was meant to change the world, to make it better, and he was convinced that she was and that would—if she only lived. Losing her would impoverish the future, and no one would know except the few who knew her personally.
Such were his thoughts as Varric rejoined them and they passed from the morgue out into the cul-de-sac where they had left the porters with Hawke's palanquin. The palanquin was there; the porters weren't.
"Hold," Fenris said, holding up a hand. "Something is wrong." Advancing slowly, he drew his sword to pry open the palanquin door. The two porters were stuffed inside, an untidy jumble of limbs, their throats cut and dripping. "Venhedis!" Springing back, he narrowly avoided a lightning bolt.
There were five mages and about twenty others, at least a dozen of them warriors. Reaching for his staff, Anders stepped in front of Hawke and readied a fireball.
Aveline had warned them before they left that day, "Should you be attacked, watch out for Hawke. She really does need a bodyguard. Give her a moment to think, and she might be able to come up with something amazing—last time, she made all the metal our attackers had on them flake away into rust. That ended the battle straight away, when they found themselves without armor or weapons—some of them had on very amusing smallclothes. But like as not, she'll get confused and overwhelmed. By the time He got around to fighting instincts and combat skills, the Maker must have decided He'd given her enough gifts already. Protect her."
Now the moment had come. On the flanking side, Varric brought Bianca down off his shoulder. Fenris was already in the thick of it, hacking and slicing with his greatsword, lyrium markings glowing blue. Backed against the wall, Hawke was casting… what looked to be the same silencing spell she used to ensure privacy in her turret. This, it seemed, was going to be one of those times she got confused and overwhelmed, for she was casting it over and over again.
Yet as he let loose with a bolt from his staff, he noticed that many of the small army—great, more were dropping down from the rooftops—were disoriented, unnerved. Instead of closing on them, on Fenris as he sped among them like a knife blade in a whirlwind, they backed away, whipping their heads around wildly. Of course! They did not hear each other. Deprivation of that sense made them clumsy, led them to hit each other rather than Fenris. The mages among them could not cast spells that called for spoken words, as the Silence stole away their voices. As Hawke's spell was a passive one which did no damage, their shields did nothing to block it. And—was it possible their archers' arrows were slowing down as they passed into the zone of Silence?
