Anders and Fenris did not get along. Anyone with eyes could see that. (There was a glass eye joke in there somewhere, but why bother?) But these two men had one very important thing in common: William Hawke. Hawke was an adventurer of sorts, unafraid to get his hands dirty to help others, whether it led him to Darktown or the peaks of Sundermount. Or in this case, The Wounded Coast.
Hawke was daring, but he was far from stupid. He would never leave Kirkwall without at least a few companions to watch his back. These were the few times Fenris and Anders were forced to interact, excluding Wicked Grace at the Hanged Man, during which the two men sat at opposite ends of Varric's table and ignored each other. It was solely their concern for the strawberry blonde rogue that brought the two together. As much as they hated each other, they couldn't very well let Hawke brave the Wounded Coast alone; facing slavers, qunari, and who knows what else without back up.
Thus the two enemies found themselves in Hightown with Isabella, waiting for Hawke to finish with the merchants. William was selling off the trinkets they had stumbled across on the coast, attempting to trade them for a new dagger, as his previous one was broken by a Tel-Vashoth earlier that day. He wouldn't normally subject his friends to waiting while he shopped, but Hawke had grown much more cautious since his mother's murder: The idea of not being fully armed distressed the rogue, and after how many people had tried to murder him in the three years his companions had known him, they agreed he should seek out a replacement weapon as soon as possible. William was extremely picky when it came to knives, so who knew how long it would take him to settle on a new weapon?
Anders did not appreciate the wait. He wanted to get home as soon as possible, have some supper, and retire to the library to relax with his lover. The healer had really come to enjoy their leisure time since he moved into the Hawke estate. The two of them would nestle into one of the plush couches, Anders continuing work on his manifesto with Hawke stretched across his lap, nose buried in a book or plucking away at the strings of his lute. The two could remain like this for hours, sharing gentle kisses between pages and measures until one of two things happened: either the way Anders ran his fingers through the younger man's hair sent him dozing against the blonde's belly, or their kisses ceased to be gentle, and the men's hands began to wander to places much too inappropriate for such an open part of the mansion. Either way ended the same, with the two lovers retreating to their shared bedroom to participate in a much more active form of relaxation.
Anders' eyes began to trail down the assassin's body as the younger man continued to haggle with the swords master. The apostate never could have predicted he would be so blessed. Blessed with such a kind and considerate lover. A lover who would offer his mansion to the fugitive rather than let him continue to sleep in his filthy Darktown clinic. A lover that had almost belonged to the broody elf beside him.
"You were an idiot to leave Hawke." Anders said, not taking his eyes off of said man's back side.
"And you were fast enough to replace me." Fenris shot back.
The mage fixed his rival with a glare.
"I love him." He snarled. "You can't even imagine what that is."
Anders should have been aware of his volume, as several shoppers looked his way as the argument began to brew.
"Do not bear your heart to me, mage." Fenris rumbled, showing no more tact for the watching eyes than the other man. "Unless you would see me rip it out."
Anders clenched his jaw, ready to spit another seething retort.
"Oh would you two get over yourselves?" Isabella chimed in, sounding bored. "You're like two dogs around a bitch in heat."
The promiscuous pirate found two harsh gazes meeting her comment. As well as many more curious and amused ones.
"We were talking about Hawke!" Fenris snapped. "Not you."
This line changed the tone of the onlookers. This had been meant as a joke to call Bella a bitch, of course, but it had done something else as well: clarify who the conversation was about.
Several appraising gazes snapped to the most recent nobleman, Hawke looking wildly around and appearing rather sick. The groups of nobles began to whisper among themselves, some continuing to shoot looks at William with disgust, and making no attempt to hide their sniggering.
His companions stood, shocked, as Hawke bolted out of the market place, head bowed in hopes to hide his blushing cheeks under his hood.
Anders groaned, putting his face in his hands. He had really fucked up this time.
Anders knew Hawke was upset the moment he entered the estate. The tune drifting through the mansion was not the light, thoughtful plucks of a man composing new music, but the slow and confident strumming of a song played many times over. A song Anders had not heard since William's mother died.
Anders fallowed the sound into the library, and there he found his lover perched on the steps, strumming away at his lute. The choice of song shouldn't have rattled the mage as much it did. It was simply the tune Hawke knew best, and thus the song he naturally fell into when absent mindedly playing. But the connection to Hawke's mother gave it significance in Anders' mind, a significance that broke his heart every time he heard it. He simply could not let it continue.
"Will?" Anders called, stepping tentatively into the library.
William did not acknowledge the other man, only slipped into a different, more urgent sounding piece. One that spoke of anger.
Anders heart sank. What had he done to Hawke? His Hawke. The Hawke that had cared for him and stood by him, even when he was moody an unreasonable. The Hawke that opened up to him and showed the healer sides of himself he had never shown another. The Hawke that held him through the night when the nightmares threatened to drown him, and kissed his tears away when Justice's strain became too much. And he had just publicly embarrassed his Hawke in front of half of Hightown.
Anders eased himself down on the steps next to the rogue, though Hawke still refused to look at him. William kept his gaze tethered to his lute, brow furrowed and fingers working furiously, almost angrily, across the strings.
William was a rather self-conscious and reserved man, the kind who always had a smug grin and a laugh playing on his features, but became rather flustered when things became personal. If his friends noticed he was being evasive when he batted their questions aside with a joke, they did not acknowledge it. Sexuality was the worst, of course. Hawke was rather insecure about such things, despite his flirtatious nature. Flirting and kissing was one thing, but sex was a horse of an entirely different color. He had taken a very limited number of partners, one girl back in his teen years in Ferelden, and Fenris, who had broken his heart before Anders came along to help pick up the pieces. Anders, however, was rather promiscuous in his youth, having taken at least nine women and six men to bed with him, including several revolutionary mages, a hand full of his fellow Gray Wardens, (Nathaniel Howe and the women they call "the hero of Ferelden" among them) and even their companion Isabella. These numbers were staggering to the younger man, but even so, he did not wish the city to know he had bedded two of his companions. Two men fighting over him "like a bitch in heat" in the middle of the market was mortifying to William, and Anders should have known that.
Maker, had he fucked up. He had to make it up to him.
Anders wrapped his arms gently around William's shoulders. Hawke's fingers stilled, but he kept his lute held firmly in his grasp and still did not turn to look at the blonde.
"William… Love…" Anders began, voice heavy with guilt. "I don't know what came over me… I know how much you hate when I fight with Fenris, I should have… err… shouldn't have…"
"Anders." Hawke interrupted, voice low and powerful, "Had it occurred to you what the nobles will think? What they'll assume about me?" William pulled away from the other man and stood up before finally making eye contact.
The Warden became suddenly aware that this was no longer his Hawke, this was the hardened ex-solider the rest of Kirkwall saw in him. Anders must have truly angered and humiliated him to bring out this part of his lover.
"A lot of people in this town resent my positon, you know!" Hawke growled, beginning to pace back and forth in front of the fire place. "Being a successful Ferelden already put me on a lot of people's hit list! Not to mention nobles can't stand when people actually earn their wealth, some even question if our expedition happened at all!"
Anders raised a questioning eye brow. "You disappear underground for weeks and return with dwarven riches, and now three years later people are questioning the validity of the expedition?" he chuckled slightly. "Has Varric run out of good rumors?"
"This isn't funny!" Hawke snapped. "Most people with power don't trust Fereldens. They think I must have done something devious to earn my wealth, just because of my blighted accent! They think I… They…" Hawke sighed, and turned slowly away, gazing into the fire. "There are rumors that I worked my way into this estate by… warming beds."
Anders' jaw dropped in horror and astonishment. He was on his feet again, rushing to Hawke's side. He wrapped his arms tightly around the slightly shorter man, nuzzling into his neck.
"Oh dearest, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry…"
William pulled away and resumed his pacing. If he saw the hurt look in Anders' eyes, he ignored it.
"I lost so much for this place!" Hawke ranted, "The deep roads nearly killed us all! I lost my bloody eye down there! Bethany didn't even make it home!" He was practically storming about the room at this point. "Being a refugee doesn't mean I can't make honest coin! I've done honest work from the start! I'm certainly not proud of my time with the Red Iron, but my only other choice was smugglers. I'd rather earn my living gutting ass holes than smuggling lyrium to the blighted Templars! I just… I…" Hawke stopped abruptly, hands balled into fists. "I'm just sick and bloody tired of this xenophobic cesspool of a city."
Seeing Hawke had somewhat hit a wall, Anders approached him again, and wrapped his arms gently around the assassin's middle. This time, Hawke did not pull away.
"Fuck this Maker forsaken city," the smaller man murmured, leaning back against his lover for comfort, "Kirkwall won't be satisfied until it takes everything away from me. My achievements, my sister, my m-m-mother…"
These words struck just the right cord in William's heart. The wounds from his mother's loss had not yet fully healed, and the reminder of her absence made his heart ache. He turned about shamefully in his lover's arms, and buried his face in his soft robes with a whimper.
"I'm here, darling." Anders murmured, pulling his Hawke close to his chest. "I know Kirkwall is hard to bare… But we have each other. I only hope that's enough to ease the pain."
They migrated to their well-worn corner of the couch, Hawke curled against the Anders' chest while long, slender fingers stroked his hair. William hated to cry almost as much as he hated Knight-Commander Maredith. He hated nothing more than feeling that weak and vulnerable, and one could know they had really made it into Hawke's heart if they ever saw him cry. Anders knew all of this, of course. So when Hawke cuddled into his feathery pauldrons and let out occasional whimpers and hiccups, the circle mage pretended not to hear them. He simply pulled his lover closer and nuzzled into his soft, red hair.
"Don't-Don't leave me Andy." Hawke murmured in an almost broken voice, "I need you. I need you… You… You're all I have left."
"Shhhhhhhh…" Anders soothed, peppering William's hair with kisses. "I'm not going anywhere, dearest. I'll be right here by your side until the Void swallows us both."
And then Hawke did something that Anders did not expect. He crashed his mouth against the other man's, tangling his fingers in his blonde hair.
Anders did not hesitate to kiss back.