Dragon Age One Shots

Dragonfire, Anders/Hawke

"Look out!" Anders' voice echoed through the bone pit barely before the high dragon's breath lit the air beside him. He dived to the side, Varric quick on his heels.

The dragon roared, her foot shattering the ground clear up to the two range fighters. He lifted his head, prepared to roll, when smoke gushed from the dragon. Thick white plums coated the blood stained ground, hiding away all except for the massive shadow of the dragon.

Her grey visage raised up, the wings moving to stretch and take flight, when suddenly her body pitched to the side. The dragon weaved as if drunk, one leg slipped, and her carcass shattered to the ground. Anders held his breath, fearing she'd rise once more, but it seemed as if the beast was finally dead.

"Thank the Maker," he sputtered, digging a hand into the back of his neck. Something wet and sticky clung to his palm and he grimaced. Andraste only knew how many more cuts and wounds were on his body. At least he had his eyebrows, without those how could the elf tell when he got in a good one-liner?

Rising to his feet, Anders stretched his arms wide, his staff slicing through the still smokey air. "You sure know how to throw a party, Hawke," he laughed. "Good job on getting in the last blow."

Nothing save the whistle of wind through the bone pits crevices and the burning fire chewing through wood answered him. Anders' eyes slipped to the dwarf, who was patting his crossbow but bouncing up on his toes. She never took this long to answer back, to crow about every swing she took, ever masterful dodge. Hawke lived to replay her battles, often in violent metaphors and even more colorful language.

"Hawke?" Anders called, his voice staid even as his heart began to crumble.

No. She had to be all right.

She was the blighted Champion of Kirkwall. A legend.

They made a Maker damn statue for her.

With one hand raised, he parted through the smoke. The acrid fog bit into his eyes, tears springing in an instant as he called for her again. "Hawke, come on..."

Still, nothing save the giant corpse of the dragon loomed in the fog. "Please," Anders coughed out, his lungs aching and the words scraped raw with each step. "You cannot be...! Tell me you're okay!"

He froze in the fog, Varric and Aveline left behind to the mists, Anders nearly able to reach out and touch the warm scales of the dragon. There was no sign of her, no sign of a larger than life woman leaping from the dragon's back and braying about how amazing that fight was. He remembered a spray of fire, Hawke standing in the middle of it as she always did. As if she was fireproof, as if she could survive anything.

As if she really believed herself invulnerable.

"Damn it," Anders cried, "don't you do this. Don't you..."

"Maker's hairy nut sack!" a boisterous and proud voice cracked through the fog. He whipped to his right to find an immensely tall silhouette rising from near the dragon's back legs.

Anders' feet took off towards the woman waving a broadsword around as if it were a fan. Her smokey grey eyes lifted from the destruction to beam into his. "Next time I say we should kill a dragon, please--?"

Leaping forward, Anders wrapped a hand around the small of her back. His smoke-stained lips plummeted to hers, the taste of charcoal transforming to joy, the scent of dragon becoming her. With plumes of red-stained fog buffeting around them, Anders tipped Hawke back, his lips never once leaving hers. His heart never leaving hers.

Hawke hurled her dragon-slaying sword the ground, both of her unbreakable hands swooping around to pin herself tighter to his body. She melted into him, Anders pressing so tight his furious tears turned to joy dripped down her cheeks. Tossing his own staff aside, he cupped the back of her head, Hawke's lips playfully parting as if it was all a game.

As if he hadn't for a moment truly thought this impossible woman dead. As if he didn't fear what that loss would do to him forever.

"Never," he coughed, rising away from her greedy lips. His nose brushed against her brown cheek. "Never fight a dragon."

"None? What about the little ones?"

"Okay," he sighed, "dragonlings are fine."

"Those male ones, dicks?"

"Drakes," Anders replied, then laughed as he realized she knew exactly what they were called. "Okay, you can fight those. Provided I am always at your side."

Hawke smiled wide, "As if I'd fight anything without you."

Ravenous lips plunged back to hers, Hawke quicker to answer in kind. He kissed her because he couldn't tell her the truth. There'd come a time soon when she'd have to choose to keep him by her side or not, and Anders feared he knew what the answer would be. But right now he had her, and thedas' sunrise seemed so much brighter for it.