Guys, just to let you know that I have other fics planned for DA2 (not all humour, some dramas), and I've decided that I'll post them if people tell me it's worth my time. :) So, if you want more stories, please review - also, if you have a request, put it into your review. Thanks! :D

DISCLAIMER: As we are all aware, I do not own Bioware. However, if I did, MWAHAHA. I would create golden statues of Alistair, Anders, Fenris, Zev, Varr, EVERYBODY! All for my amusement. Fuuuuun times! XD

Head whipping up, Anders felt his eyes widen in surprise.

"What?"

Nonchalantly shaking a splattering of blood away from her sleeves, Hawke replied simply, "I thought it'd be nice, is all. Don't you?" Her nose scrunched up in disgust for a moment as a stray splash of gore whipped up into her mouth, and she spat it out immediately, groaning loudly before adding, "We don't really celebrate much. There's always something to do – last time someone had a birthday or anything like that, Aveline, I think it was her's, well, we had to go kill that dragon, didn't we? Bit of a bother. Nothing to do this time, so let's take advantage of it, eh?"

Wiping her mouth with her hastily cleaned hands, she smiled widely at him, "Ok? In two days, at the Hanged Man. Ten O'clock. Bring a present." With that, she wandered off to go and help Merrill, who was shouting for her help after tripping over and getting her head stuck in an exposed tree stump.

He continued to watch her absentmindedly as she pulled hard on Merrill for a few minutes, before giving up and finally pulling out her staff to explode the offending trunk. The young elf's hasty complaints to this spontaneous, monstrous idea were placated when Hawke explained easily that if it transpired that her head exploded as well, she would, 'Fix it with some bandages or something.' Ignoring the alarming sound which began to emanate from Hawke's colourfully painted and decorated oak staff, along with the unmistakable stench of burnt hair and Merrill's confused, mumbled inquiries as to why it was so hot, Anders sat on another collapsed tree nearby to the neatly stacked walking corpses that they had just 're-murdered', as Hawke put it, pondering to himself in silence.

With a quietness that no longer surprised Anders, Varric appeared next to him, grinning as always, and sat, tenderly cleaning his beloved crossbow, Bianca, of any mess. Seeing the almost psychotic amount of care Varric smothered the weapon with, Anders recalled, with nausea, a night at the Hanged Man which had very nearly almost resulted in Hawke betrothing Varric to his crossbow, drunkenly toppling off the table she had stood on as he entered, inquiring jollily, 'Do you want me to marry you to Bianca too, Anders?'

Anders went through all of the birthdays of every member of their group – even Dogmeat the Marbari, as Hawke always made certain everyone gave her adored pet a present annually – and quickly found that there was no birthday to be celebrated in two days time. The closest birthday they had was in three months from now, for Fenris – in what was assured to be a rather depressing venture, if previous years were anything to go by, with plenty of deprication from Hawke in some rather misguided, heavily drunken attempt to cheer him up and get him to have fun, '"Ooh, I was a slave, oh, no, so sad, can't have a birthday now, happiness makes me want to slit my wrists, ahhh, boo hoo hoo hoo…" Get a haircut, Fenris.'

He briefly considered the thought of one of the old Ferelden traditional holidays, then realised that Hawke was not one to dwell on the past, preferring to adopt the new Marcher traditions, and only celebrated the big holidays like Feast Day (for the presents, of course). Hence, exhausting all of his considerations, he was stumped.

Not as much as Merrill was, though.

Beside him, Varric spoke up, finally putting Bianca away with a heavy air of reluctance and one last long, painfully enamoured look, "What's up, Blondie?"

Narrowing his eyes in concentration, Anders replied, "Hey, Varric, you're good at remembering things, right?"

Varric's eyebrow rose, as he answered in a supremely patronizing fashion, "I'm alright at it, Blondie, yes. Have you forgotten something?"

"What's happening in two days from now?"

"Hawke's party."

"She told you she was throwing one already? ...When did she do that? She only just told me."

"She told me last night, when she was losing to me at Diamondback in her mansion. Had to give me her just-bought Orlesian sweet cake in exchange for my winnings. Told me it was gonna be in the Hanged Man, ten O'clock sharp – and to bring two presents."

"Two? She only told me to bring one."

"What?" Varric frowned, looking over at the lady in question as she desperately fanned at her friend's smoking head, reassuring her that, 'No, everything's fine, hon', really, someone's just having a barbeque downstream or something'. After a pause, he continued, "Huh. Never known Feather to disregard an extra free present." He flung a scrutinising look at Anders before continuing, "She must really like you, Blondie."

Rolling his eyes, Anders pressed again, "Well, who are the presents for, exactly? Are they all for Hawke? Maker, if this is another attempt of hers to start up a 'minor-toenail-growth-day' or 'no-wrinkles-in-shirt-today-day' celebration to get more presents-"

"No, no, not this time: this year's going to be the fifth anniversary of our group being together."

This gave Anders pause for thought. He was surprised. Had it really been five years? It felt like just yesterday that the bright-eyed Hawke waltzed in unceremoniously to his Darktown medical surgery, declaring that, if just someone happened to have Deep Road maps, there may just be a slice of cake for An—that person. Maybe.

As if sensing what subject his thoughts were stuck on, Varric spoke up, lazily dragging his gaze over to the lady on Anders' mind, grinning at her antics, "Astounded at how long Hawke's managed to imprison us all with her iron will?"

Lifting his head up, right hand resting under his chin, making him look the perfect epitomy of concentration, Anders replied, "Maker - I can't fathom it. Five years?" He paused, "It certainly didn't feel like that long."

Smirking, Varric yawned obnoxiously, stretching his arms above his head, eyes closing as he said, "Time flies when all you do is stare at Hawke's arse, huh?"

"Heyyyyy-!"

Anders' indignant but somewhat guilty cry was suddenly overpowered and silenced by an abrupt yelp of pain, and both he and Varric looked over with more than a hint of dread to where the two women were.

Merrill was now free of the much despised tree trunk, but, unfortunately (but not entirely unexpectedly), sporting a newly flaming head of hair. The screeching elf ran off into the woods – not the best idea, really, Anders thought to himself, as roaring fires from the depths of hell and dry leaves do not usually sum up in happiness – in the vague, panicked direction of the nearest river to dip her head in before it melted like Hawke's attempts at baking soufflé with her mother, closely followed by the lady in question, who shouted cries of 'It's really not that bad, really - not completely, somewhat, some conditioner and you'll be right as rai- Maybe I should summon rain?'

Sighing, Anders stood, slowly trailing after the stark trail of smoke leading into the trees, shadowed by Varric, whose loud chuckles rumbled through the clearing.

How'd you like it? :) Feel free to leave a note on your thoughts. :D

P.S. Varric has nicknames for everyone (my favourite being 'Broody' for Fenris XD), so I assumed for his most favourite peep, he would have one sorted quickly - hence, he sometimes calls Hawke by her nickname of 'Feather'. Do you...do you get it? Feather? As in...as in...Hawke? Like...like her name?...I AM A COMEDIC GEH-NEH-ASS. Hehe, 'ass'. :D

Review! :3