Anders ran. His breath came in ragged, desperate pants and gasps, his lungs burning for air he couldn't drag in quick enough. Still he ran. He pushed himself, his adrenaline pumping, driving him to go faster, to escape. But to where? He had nothing, nowhere to go and nobody who could help him now. Well, that wasn't true. He had friends, like Hawke, but he couldn't go to her. He wouldn't bring yet more mess to her doorstep. So he ran, deeper into Darktown, where anyone could hide themselves, if they just knew how.

Anders.

Anders pushed himself harder, trying to outrun his own cowardice, his own naivety. What was supposed to have been a grand gesture, an attempt to save his friend, had become his most misguided attempt to help anyone he had ever construed. He was a healer, and his own desire to help someone in need, had condemned him. He stumbled, and landed hard on the unforgiving ground. He grunted and hurriedly scrambled to his feet, his robes tearing in his haste as he stepped on the hem, but he didn't care. He leaned briefly against the wall, panting heavily as he wiped his fingers across his stinging chin, a trail of red staining them as he withdrew them and held them before his eyes. He moved to heal himself, and then paused, gulping in huge drags of air as fast as he could. He dropped his hand, pushed away from the wall, and instead began to run again. He did not stop until he reached his clinic, in the deepest reaches of Darktown. He wasn't stupid, he knew he wasn't entirely beyond the reach of the Templars here, that it was only at Hawke and Varric's insistence that the Templars left him alone as much as they did, but it was all he had. Another grand gesture gone wrong. He hurried inside and shut the door behind himself, trying to stifle his heavy breathing in his robes sleeve so he didn't disturb the patients he had sleeping within.

Anders.

Anders raced through the clinic, rushing past sleeping men, women and children who were non the wiser about their 'heroic healer.' He almost snorted in disgust. Hero, he was no hero. He knew heroes. The Hero of Ferelden, the friend whom he had betrayed by faking his own death to escape the rogue Templars who had infiltrated her Grey Warden ranks to execute him on the orders of an already dead mad woman. Hawke, a hero herself. Fenris was more a hero than Anders was, at least he didn't endanger those he fought to save. He shook his head as he reached his small chambers at the back of his clinic. He slid inside quickly, opening the door only enough to slip through before he shut it behind him. With a whisper and a twitch of his fingers, a small glow infused the tiny room. The room was cramped, a small desk, barely bigger than a miniature coffee table, fit only when touching at least two walls, and it was cluttered with numerous books and scrolls. Healing recipes, magics of old. He eyed the stack dubiously, and grabbed three books from the top of the pile. He tucked the books under his arm, and stepped around his tiny cot-like bed into the corner of the room, gently tracing an old elven rune onto the wall opposite the door he entered through. With a small hiss, the wall began to turn translucent. A doorway, hidden to all but himself. His heart was still racing, his breath still not yet recovered from his frantic pace to get here.

Anders... You're being-

Shut. Up.

He swallowed thickly, and walked through the doorway, the soft glow of his whispered spell immediately vanishing and he gasped, as he fell to his knees. He clenched his eyes shut, as his body jerked and shuddered, the jagged knife of pain slicing through him everywhere at once. His soul seemed detached from his body, and his mind could barely tell his lungs to keep pulling in the air he so desperately needed to live. He cried out in pain, as everything that he had ever known fled from his body. Magic had been with him since he could remember, and the loss of it was like losing the blood from his veins. He pounded the floor with his fist, growling and gasping weakly at the ground as he slowly forced his eyes to open once more.

The violent pain slowly ebbed, and he was finally able to gain some semblance of sanity and control again. He took slow and deliberate, though still shaky breaths, forcing himself to work through the loss. When it no longer felt as though he were being freshly knawed on by a darkspawn, he forced himself to kneel. He stared emptily into the darkness around him, feeling the aching loss of his magic. He fought against the impulse to crawl his way back out into his small chambers, clenching his hands into balls on his knees as he forced himself to remain still until the worst of the impulse had ebbed to a manageable level. When the worst of his tremors and the desire to flee had eased, he slowly leaned forward, reaching out with one hand to find the wall. When his hand was flat against the surface, he crawled slowly forward, easing his hand higher up the wall with slow and gentle movements. His fingers connected with cold metal, and he softly unhooked the small lantern he kept secured there. He reached into his pocket with his free hand, while the other gently set the lantern on the ground, opening the catch with the ease of gestures well memorized.

Anders slowly drew a candle from his pocket, keeping it firmly in his hand as he brought it to his other hand in the all consuming darkness. His process was almost coordinated now, from the many times he had completed this very ritual. He reached into the small lantern and drew out a pack of matches, swapping it for the new candle. He sat the matches in the palm of his hand, and slowly, gently pushed the small tray out of the box. With the surprisingly nimble fingers of a healer, he selected a match, and gripped it tightly between his fingers as he snapped the box shut with his palm. He struck just the match against the wall, wincing at the sudden harsh light from the naked flame. With a hand that shook wearily, he lit the lamp, and set it back on its small hook on the wall, just above and beside his head. He leaned his head back against the wall and sighed in disappointment, feeling drained and weak and perhaps just a little sorry for himself.

With his head still back against the wall, he glanced down at the books he had dropped upon entering the room, examining them disinterestedly. He sighed, as he forced his head to leave the comfort of the wall, leaning forward as he slowly picked up the books, his quivering hands fumbling stupidly in his weakened state. Once he had all three books safely piled beside his crossed legs, he slumped back against the wall, drawing a deep breath which he shakily released moments later with a groan at the aching he felt all over his body, as well as his very soul.

There was an increasing need to come here now, and Anders didn't want to think of what might happen if he didn't make it here fast enough one day. He stared up at the ceiling, wondering if perhaps it was even worth all the effort anymore. He could count on one hand the friends he had now, the people he had who still foolishly believed in him. He was weak, and growing weaker by the day. With a heavy sigh, he finally forced himself to look down. For a long moment, he just continued to stare emptily at the books, seeing them but not having the energy to be bothered about them. It took an extreme force of willpower to make himself grab the top most book from the pile, though it was with little enthusiasm that he opened it, as he just stared uncomprehendingly at the first page.

"You've sat in a warded room plenty often enough at the Circle, it shouldn't be such a shock to you..." He muttered to himself, shaking his head as his voice trembled even in his own ears. He was pleased nobody else would see him like this, he wouldn't be able to stand the humiliating way they would look at him. He imagined Fenris, sneering at him with disdain, his eyes burning with disgust, and he felt his irritation build.

Stubborn bloody elf. He thought, grinding his teeth together. He didn't allow his thoughts to linger, instead using the ire they inspired to fuel his intent. He adjusted his position, leaning his back against the wall but forcing his head up straight, and looked down at the book in his lap. I need to hurry... He thought, and brought the book slightly closer to his face. And so, curled into the corner of his secret warded room, Anders searched for a way which might separate him from Justice.

A/N:~ Ok... so... there was gonna be loads more to this, buuuuuuuuuuut... well, this seems a good spot to pause and let you decide if you wanna see anymore of it.

I wanted to try and show that Anders is desperate, that he's afraid, but still have you wondering what it is happening that he would go to such extremes.

So, this is a FenDers; it WILL be Fenris and Anders doin' the dirty dance and probably a walk or two of shame ;) At some point anyway XD I recently watched a youtube video; Anders & Fenris - 1, 2, 3 - Dragon Age 2 ( www. youtube watch?v= eIbGqfZM1Zw - remove the spaces...) and it has been STUCK IN MY SOUL ever since. I have had plans to write Fenders stories before, but I just wasn't ever brave enough to do it, perhaps because I love the Fandom SOOOOO much, and I thought I couldn't do it Justice... (see what I did there? XD) Anyway, I hope you enjoy this; think of it more as a prologue, an aperitif, a taste/promise of things to come. Think of it as you like; I just felt I had to share this now. I couldn't wait anymore...

So! Anyway... I have little else to say now tbh - review and let me know what you think, please please pretty please :)

x My love to you all x