Title: Lyrium Blush

Summary: Fenris's need to get a semi-conscious Anders to a healer threatens to destroy the careful secrecy they've built. Tongue-in-cheek Fenders fic. K!meme inspired.

Author's Notes: Fenders is a pairing I generally tend to avoid, but it turns out I'm getting practice with more than just the smut by hanging out on the kink meme. I'm getting to be creative in all sorts of different ways.

The prompt:

Wherein Anders falls injured during battle and Fenris has to carry him bridal style. IDK, I just want lots of embarrassment and awkwardness and teasing from Isabela.

And now the fill, told from Isabela's point of view. Reviews and comments are always welcome!

That poet really has no idea how lucky he is to have been saved by the distraction of such a racket at the door just now. Really, he was on the point of being on one of my points. Oh speak, indeed. My daggers are quite eloquent enough.

And what's this I see now? The broody elf is dragging the healer into the Hanged Man like they're a pair of Orlesian newlyweds, complete with Anders's arm slung round his neck. "When did this happen? And why was I not invited to the ceremony?"

Fenris doesn't look at all bothered by the weight he's carrying, though he does lean back against a pillar to stop moving for a moment. He does, however, appear to be quite flustered over my remark. "Of course you would think – it is no matter. Anders has been injured; I had thought Hawke would be here at this time of day."

"Well, she's not. What do you mean… oh." Anders turns his head then to look about the room, muttering something delirious about Hawke that I can't quite catch. That is a nasty gash above his brow. No wonder the poor thing is so out of it.

"Perhaps you will do him the favor of running for her while I take him to his clinic?"

"No chance there, sweet thing, but I will come with you to see more of this fabulous sight. Darktown's closed off from here after the collapse last week, remember?" I remind, seeing the aggravation that crosses the elf's face.

"Very well. If we are fortunate, she will be at home."

Now, I know there are those who would call me selfish. I might even be one of them. But some things just can't be kept quiet. "Varric!" I bellow up the stairs. "We'll need a hand down here!"

"I can manage. We should get on with this." Oh, how priceless. The elf actually flinched when I called out. Of course he can manage. That wasn't what I was after help with, anyway. If the dwarf is to give me any assistance at all on the friend fiction that will come of this – and it will come – he needs to see it first.

Varric doesn't seem to have any trouble interpreting the situation either, as he stops halfway down the stairs and shouts across the room. "You three get on with it. I just have to grab my parchm – erm, Bianca – and I'll catch you up."

"So." I glance casually at Fenris as I hold the door for his exit from the tavern. "Which one of you rides on top?"

I can't tell what causes him to stumble into me as he passed. Could be the shock of my question – this is Fenris, after all. Or it could be the delirious mumble from Anders that sounds, even above the ambient noise of the markets, like "He does."

I don't even try to stop the shiver. "Ooh, that is delicious. All that controlled fury letting loose. I may faint."

"I wish you would," he sounds so serious, as if he's speaking of life and death. Then again, he may actually be thinking of my death just now.

Varric catches up to us on the ascent to Hightown, just in time to see Anders shift his grip on the elf's neck to pull himself closer. I'm almost moved by such a sweet sight, but the moment passes. Where would the fun be in that sentiment? Although I'll have to thank Fenris later for shifting uncomfortably at the contact to remind me of my purpose here.

From the look upon Fenris's face, I think it hasn't escaped his notice that those around us are catching on to his predicament with varying degrees of amusement. What a lovely new game: let's see how long we can keep that color on his cheeks.

And it seems I wasn't the only one to notice any of this, either. I can see the short battle on Varric's face, what must be a war between observing silently and having his own fun. Propriety lost that battle before it even started, I'm sure, and he's laughing right along with me and offering his own barb. "I think I'm beginning to see why you like that whole 'practically a ghost' thing, there, Elf."

"Never mind that," I can't resist. "I want to know how that magical fisting thing translates. It seems almost gentle as compared to the rest of you, Fenris, but I can just imagine how it might be… applied."

"Why is this – this fantasy of yours so enthralling?" the elf demands, refusing to look round at either one of us.

Oh, this is glorious.

"I can't speak for her, Elf," Varric answers, struggling to keep up with the urgent pace Fenris is setting. What is it about him that makes that stubby shuffle so damned cute? "But I thought I remembered hearing something about Justice having a thing for lyrium. That's enough to make me wonder."

We've arrived at Hawke's home. Rather than waiting for someone to answer the knock, I fish out my pins and let us in. Hey, if Hawke didn't want me doing it, she'd have put in better locks. We find her in her sitting room, quite before I'm able to finish cackling over Orana's remarks that the pair make such a cute couple.

Hey, when she's right, she's right. Although Fenris does look as if he's regretting saving her from that cave the other day.

Anders, by this time, has completely lost consciousness, and it's almost adorable how alarmed Fenris is when that arm slides away from his neck to dangle about. The blush is still there, but he's too busy demanding Hawke's healing magic. Andraste's natty knickers, how did I not see this before?

Of course it takes Hawke no time to deal with the wound after he rests his burden over a bit of furniture, and Anders is sleeping like a baby, but she says it's likely there's infection. Fenris doesn't want to be the one to go digging through the clinic for the remedies she's called for, and even through the blush I can see the request in his eyes.

Sigh.

"Fine. I'll go on one condition." I glance at the healer, passed out now across the arms of one of Hawke's overstuffed chairs. "Tell me: has he shown you that fantastic electricity thing he does?"

Beautiful. He doesn't need to answer, not when his face is telling me so much more than his mouth ever could.