Ya’aburnee(Arabic): “You bury me.” It’s a declaration of one’s hope that they’ll die before another person, because of how difficult it would be to live without them.
The online dictionary that lists this word calls it “morbid and beautiful.” It’s the “How Could I Live Without You?” slickly insincere cliché of dating, polished into a more earnest, poetic term.
I will write about this, Varric thinks, and no one will ever believe me.
Anders, always a little too raw-boned for beauty, looking worn and heartbreakingly old, hunched on the crate. Hawke standing in front of him, huge and bulky in his Champion armor, the ridiculous hodgepodge that he had cobbled together in the years since the Arishok. For once he isn’t making it work, for once it looks like what it is; junk, held together by wire and wishes.
“No,” says Hawke. “No.”
“It’s justice.” Anders wraps his arms around himself. “It’s fair. It’s what should happen.”
“Hawke, do it!” Sebastian, red faced and shaking. “He’s a murderer! If it had been me in there, would you -“
“Shut the fuck up!” Hawke roars and the prince flinches backward.
“No,” says Hawke, wheeling back at Anders. “No. I don’t care. You fucking liar.”
Anders makes a noise and his face twists, grief as ugly as a wound and Varric cannot look anymore, it is too real, too naked, he loves these people too much.
“You’re not allowed,” says Hawke. “Damn you. How could you think - how could you have - you planned for me to kill you.”
“I didn’t want it to be one of them,” Anders says, fragile as a cracked vase. “I didn’t want the brand.”
A flat crack, flesh hitting flesh. Varric looks up to see them grappling, Hawke hauling Anders bodily to his feet. “Don’t do that,” Hawke gasps. “Don’t you give up now.” He shakes the other man, snarling like a mabari.
“Let - let go!”
“Fight,” says Hawke. His voice is unrecognizable with tears and rage. “Fight me.”
Light flares in Anders’ eyes, between his fingers. “Let -!”
Hawke kisses him. Anders struggles, frees his mouth briefly before Hawke pulls him in, muttering something low and desperate in between kisses. Die, Varric hears and, not without you, and cannot ask me and then Anders is kissing back, and they are both weeping and somehow, just this once, Hawke has fixed it.