Were there pocket-size Tal-Vashoth, I would be in a position to hunt them. But to my knowledge, they do not exist.
When Hawke dies, Fenris buries her. Anders gets older and sicker and grows a beard. Fenris smokes because weed is lighter than wine bottles when on the run, a handrolled fag permanently hanging from the lowest corner of his scowl. Turns out neither of them can haggle when it comes to food or accommodation, having very little idea as to what this thing money is, so they always get fleeced and never find home. Fenris acts as a bodyguard because that’s all he knows how to do to, Anders foreswears ever using his magic again, then uses it again, then hates himself for long periods of time. Everything is very sad and pathetic. And there go the years again, where Fenris follows Anders around with the vague intention of watching him, because someone has to, because there is no Hawke with her eyes and her heart, they both think and never say. Fenris gets saggy and hunched and the lyrium is killing him, Anders gets heavily creased and mutters constantly because there are too many voices and not enough ears and only one mouth. The sex is terrible and needed and over in moments. There is no shame.
Heartbreaking doesn’t even begin to describe this fic.
You didn’t happen to make it conditional at all did you? Like…
“Oh, sure Anders, we’ll get a cat the day a giant beam of pink laser fire comes down from the heavens and blasts the Chantry to smithereens. Never gonna happen!”
BRB amending the deal
CAN WE GET AN ORLESIAN BLUE, HAWKE? CAN WE CAN WE CAN WE???
You know I have allergies.
Hawke should have set a more impossible task. Like peace and equality in all of Thedas or something.