He was blathering, wasn't he? Even with the sense of selflessness that came with being a proud martyr, he still knew that waffling along like a crazy person was never going to help people take him seriously. He never could help his slight spells of anger, and things hadn't exactly been standing on stable ground since the Commander had left him at the Keep for the last time - feeling far beyond heated and incredibly inept.
Hawke was cringing at him and his words, and the little she seemed to sympathise made it harder for him to contain his ramblings. Her sweetened eyes, filled with an exhausted understanding, watched his cues closely – scarred fingers pushing the dark red hair from her face that had whipped free with his burst of energy.
"You're glowing again." She grimaced, standing straight and prominent regardless of her sister's small retreat behind her. "You should calm down."
"I—" He began, folding beneath the moist fear in the younger Hawke's eyes – any ounce of fire in his voice smothered by the wet blanket of sharp shame. "I guess I should, considering you're the only people here, and I shouldn't be trying to rip your heads off."
"Good idea." Hawke grinned, taking a step back to take her leave. "Thank you for your help today, Anders." Shifting the crumbling leather pack on her shoulders, Hawke brushed away that persistent curl of red before shooting him a friendly look. "Would you like to come to the Hanged Man tonight? We're all getting together for some drinks."
He licked his sore lips and glanced off to the scratched walls, his boots scuffing the rolls of dirt beneath their soles.
"Thank you, but I may stay in tonight." As much as he would have liked to go, it would have been tiresome to watch them all get drunk together while he sat like a sad sack in the corner – drowning out their happy talk with the remembrance of his times of 'freedom' in Ferelden. Besides, Justice never was one for getting drunk – what use did spirits have for cheap swill and sore heads? "Thank you." He repeated, to not seem so ungrateful.
"Well, you'll know where we'll be if you change your mind."
And she left him there in his clinic, the sun setting through the patchy windows that let all the muck in. He had never liked being alone all that much – his whole life had been packed with people, but when the doors for the clinic shut for the night, he found that the silence was not as nice as he had always imagined. Freedom in Kirkwall was not like freedom in Ferelden. Not that it was ever freedom across the seas, more like a lengthened leash that snapped back harsher than the one held by the Circle.
It seemed odd enough having Hawke as his first 'real' friend of 'freedom'. The Commander and her companions had all been roped in together, be it by conscription or the dire need to save humanity. There was a common cause mixed in with their companionship, but Hawke seemed to visit him because of what? Friendship? It was all very strange, this 'no-strings-attached' strain of friendship that told him that she actually maybe visited him because she liked him – not because she needed his healings, or because they were all trapped in the same damned tower, or even because the darkspawn were talking now and he needed to get out of bed early on their rest day because another farm had been flattened down south…
Hawke was using her freedom to visit him in her spare time – a rather lovely compliment considering the young woman was very busy and very sought-after on a quiet day. The children who darted through their parent's legs during family visits to the clinic often whispered of Lady Hawke and her adventures, and the moments where the redhead actually turned up gave them reason to cling to her pant legs and compare stories and rumours with pitched voices that rang with excitement.
Anders thought about taking her up on the offer of a warm pub and happy chatters, but he had been staring at the doors for longer than he had realised. The sun had left Kirkwall and had taken its kind lights along with it, leaving the softening blues behind to leak in through his dreary windows.
He let out an annoyed sound, lighting the candles in the sconces with his aching fingertips as he wandered around his filthy home. Even though he was weighed-down with what felt like three years of fatigue, he could feel the buzzing of Justice in the back of his head – his kindred spirit finding no concept of time and wanting to rush forth into the night to plan his iconoclasm. But Anders was tired, and even if his dreams were filled with strange whispers and dripping with taint, he knew he had to drift off sooner or later.
Rolling up an abandoned scrap of vellum, he dipped the fold into an orange flame and unlocked his front door – leaning out into the darkness to light the lanterns that swung above his dirty blond head. As the fire took to the wicks, he wondered if Hawke was still thinking about him – if she missed his company at the table like his Commander used to.
But it wasn't as if he was the same Anders he used to be. In fact, he had been missing the laughter and keen looks from everyone ever since he stepped foot on that damn boat. He hadn't made Hawke laugh, which was almost an insult to his good-standing name – and that was honestly saying so much about how miserable it made him feel, because he had even made the good Queen of Ferelden laugh so hard that she was dribbling ale from her nose for the rest of the night.
Shaking the flame free and watching the faint coil of smoke, he returned to his sanctuary and locked the doors, eying off the chunky broom in the corner of the clinic. He made a silent deal with himself, well aware of the possibility that he would obviously fail in keeping his word, and made a dull promise that if he could get through his usual night of tidying and still wanted to go out by the end of it, he would make his way to the pub in Lowtown.
And even if he didn't make it—which he knew he surely wouldn't—having the knowledge that he had thought about it made him happier than he had been in months. And that was more than enough for the meantime.
A/N: Here I am, publishing a DA2 story when Inquisition is so close to us. I've been umm-ing and ahh-ing about releasing this thing, but I grew some balls and decided to just do it - as it may push me to write more often. Title may change along the line, as well as the rating, as I intend to ramp things up a bit as the story progresses. Give me a while to shake the cobwebs off my sad brain, guys.
Other than that, I'm keeping both twins alive, as I have a soft spot for Carver and it's not too much of a task to remove some of Mama Hawke's angst. It will keep things lighter, for now. Also a few little changes, like scenery and such - to add a little more depth to scenes. Nothing really spectacular or out of place.
I have a few chapters already written, so hopefully this damn story will get somewhere. Thanks for reading!