The start of a war
'Too long I have travelled, soon I'll see her smiling,
The girl in Red Crossing I'm longing to see.
O, I know she is there, daisies in her hair,
Waiting by the Chantry to marry me.'
"Please tell me you're not actually reading me romantic poetry."
Anders huffed, putting the book down on his lap to glare at Fenris. Honestly he couldn't even feel guilty. After all their efforts to try to remain civilised with each other, Anders picked something this... sickeningly sweet? Granted, the mage arrived perhaps ten minutes ago to start this first reading lesson and they had, in fact, managed to be civil for longer than that in the past few weeks, but it still felt like an insult to their effort.
"And why, pray tell, should I not read romantic poetry?" Fenris just scowled at the mage, which expectedly set him off more. "The majority of poetry is romantic, Fenris. Love is an extremely popular theme in the arts, and this happens to be a important historic piece about a human and an elf and the Exalted March on the Dales. And I picked poetry in the hope the rhythm and the rhyme would allow you to spot the first hints in the writing."
"I see nothing. Your scribbles won't make sense until you teach them to me, not even if you read them to me first."
"Well if you prefer to be the teacher here, please do tell me what to do next. Because I will start every lesson with a piece of poetry to help you get a feel for the letters rather than making you chew on dry paper and ink!"
Fenris huffed again, sneering slightly at the book on the mage's lap. He made a dismissive gesture. "Fine. Have it your way. Just promise me this won't take too long."
He almost missed the mage rolling his eyes, but seeing the other pick up the book again to start over stopped him from commenting.
Insufferable mage with insufferably pleasant voice.
A romantic piece about a human and an elf? How inappropriate could this mage get?
...
'I've dreamed of the kiss I stole 'neath the arbor.
I've dreamed of the promise 'neath the old ash tree.
O, I know she is there, daisies in her hair,
Waiting by the Chantry to marry me.'
The blush was strangely attractive in its very own way, even if it made half of the mage's face bright pink and the rest blotches of red. By all means he should find it ridiculous and unattractive, but it was charming and rather adorable.
Not that Fenris would tell him that, if only because he knew even he was blushing hard enough for it to be visible.
The first stuttered sounds of confusion finally poured out of Anders' mouth and Fenris stood abruptly, starting to pace the room like a caged animal. He wanted to flee as much as he wanted to try again. Neither was an option.
"W-why did you-?"
"You were the one who told me to get a feel for the words!"
"Not that literally!"
Fenris shoved at a stack of old dusty books on a side table and they clattered to the floor noisily. Not very noisily. He decided immediately that bottles of wine made better stress relief.
"It wasn't working," he growled defensively, turning on the mage again to glare him down heatedly. Embarrassedly. "Don't blame me for trying to follow your badly worded instructions!"
"B-but you-"
"Shut up! Let's continue."
And continue they did. Fenris just didn't expect that would take the form of Anders' hand taking hold of his tunic and dragging him down for another kiss.
...
'One last stream to cross, one last hill to wander.
Until I reach the love I'm longing to see.
O, I know she is there, daisies in her hair,
Waiting by the Chantry to marry me.'
Fenris really wanted to deny it, but that was no longer possible; not with the way they brushed against each other each time they got even remotely close; not with the way his lips felt hot and bruised by the time they would pull back from a kiss nor with the way their limbs would catch in a tangle with the sheets, wrapping them up in a cocoon of warmth when they slept. The nightmares had fled his nights as if Anders guarded him, and in turn the mage rarely seemed to be startled awake from his own, even though Fenris knew for sure the other used to have nightmares more often than not.
It had become so peaceful, and it was confusing. He didn't want to admit it, because Anders was a mage. He had sworn... never again.
But one doesn't chose who one loves after all. No amount of anger or petty temper tantrums could stop him from loving Anders now – and he had tried; oh, he tried. Where it used to be the mage who started their arguments, it was Fenris who started each and every fight ever since that first kiss, just trying to push the mage away, or perhaps convince him to push Fenris away.
Yet every morning he would wake up in Anders' arms anyway, and he was happy.
So he stopped being petty about it. He gave up and accepted the happiness of a mage once more, curling up with him in front of the fire as they read together.
...
'Running through the streets, only silence follows.
Elven arrows sunk into the old ash tree.
O, I know she's there, daisies in her hair,
Waiting by the Chantry to marry me.'
Fenris shot upright at the loud noise, the book tumbling from his hands as he took two large steps to the window. Fire and rubble was raining down from the sky like it belonged there, and he took only a second to gape at it.
Anders.
He didn't stop to get his sword, simply snatching it from the ground as he sprinted from the room and down the stairs. Outside there was only screaming, fire and panic. Dust obscured his vision, but he could still clearly see where all this came from. Where the Chantry once stood proudly over the city, there was now an unnatural light beaming up into the sky, spreading all the fire and the rubble he had already seen. So much destruction, right in the heart of Hightown. It would ruin the whole city. If Hightown came tumbling down, it was going to be right on top of Lowtown.
He cursed under his breath, hurrying away to the closest entrance to Darktown. Even if it was clearly magic at fault here, his mage needed to be saved from this mess. No doubt Anders would disagree and argue this was his chance to finally get his point across, or that he would be necessary to take care of the wounded after all this.
Fenris couldn't care less.
He was willing to listen to Anders in many things, if not his catastrophic cause. What he would not listen to was any prattling on justices and injustices until he got himself killed. With the Chantry blowing into the air with magic, Anders would be hunted.
He had to save him.
...
'Ruby on the green, petals lost and drifting.
Take her to His side, Andraste hear my plea.
I found her lying there, daisies in her hair,
Waiting by the Chantry to marry me.'
His voice wasn't as pleasant anymore, and yet Fenris didn't regret he joined in. Watching Anders' lips move as he followed the poem they had read together so many times now. He didn't like the voice at all. He hated the eyes even more. He hated the whole sight.
Anders used to be beautiful in his very own way. Charming and sweet, passionate and ridiculous. So very obstinate when it came to his cause, but so fiery when it came to Fenris too.
And now... now there was nothing. His voice was flat and his eyes were empty. Carved out, they were. He hadn't expected Anders to join in, but clearly the words sparked a memory. Even if there was little emotion to it, it was more than before.
"Why did you do it, Anders?"
Fenris dropped the book, cupping the other's face in both hands. His thumbs slid over the deep cuts in the skin that left him mangled; over the needle marks of where his lips had been sewn together when Fenris found him. He gingerly touched the empty eyes, but he shied away from the mark on his forehead.
"It was the only way."
"You didn't have to. You could've asked Hawke. You could've done something else. Anything."
Anders merely nodded in agreement, and that only made him look all that more broken. They may agree on many things, but never this.
"Anders..."
The body before him sagged slightly, and Fenris could feel the heat on his cheeks. Not the pleasantly embarrassing heat of a blush, but the wet heat he would deny ever dripping down his face.
Anders made a small choked sound, followed with a small gurgle of blood as Fenris' hand sank into his already ruined chest, pushing past the already lethal wounds to take hold of an already barely beating heart.
And for a moment, he thought he could see his Tranquil lover's lips twitch into a smile when he died.