"Safe & Sound"
Inspired by the lyrics of Safe and Sound by Taylor Swift (feat. The Civil Wars)
Summary: Takes place late Act II, through Act III. Hawke runs to Ander's arms after Fenris leaves her but she never really forgets him.
Pairing: Hawke/Anders, Hawke/Fenris
Rating: T for sexual references and masturbation. Some serious Ander's angst!
Genre: Hurt/Romance/Angst
Disclaimer: Dragon Age belongs to Bioware.
His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly, Hawke's fingers pressing to his cheeks. Anders loomed over her by several inches, his own hands knotting at her waist, twisting in her hair, eyes fluttering closed. He didn't want her to come to him like this, but he had longed for Hawke for such a time that when she finally did find home in his arms it ached and he could never say no.
Pressing kisses against her hair, he apologized; mumbled on bated breath, hitching in his throat when her hands trailed down his body and he shuddered. Anders was always much freer with his words than he was, and when he said he loved her against her bare shoulder, she didn't need to wonder if it was true. But the way her eyes looked away burned his heart worse than never hearing the words returned ever could, water falling from her eyes unchecked. His thumbs skimmed her cheeks, brushing away her tears, and pressed into her skin, shoving away her thoughts, and when heat blazed between them swollen and bruised, he pressed his body to hers to forget that it was not his name on her lips.
Embarrassment ripe for plucking, he rolled away to lift himself from her bed. Her hand caught his wrist, and when she asked for him to stay, he promised her forever.
Anders did not sleep that night.
Tonight was just like that one, yet instead he was on his own cot in the clinic. His fingers hastily unlaced the ties at his hips as his breath sighed from an exasperated, tired mouth. When he touched himself, he imagined her legs clenching around him, ankles hooking at the small of his back, hot whines against his cheek, calloused fingers skimming his chest. He does not imagine her eyes, the distressed expression on her face, the disgust when she realizes that it is he that she wakes beside and not…
The break of dawn and Anders was the one who broke his promise. After a week of suffering, fighting, pleading, he could not deal with one more hard stare from her blue eyes. She did not ask him to return after that day, when she had to wake alone. Several days later, she visited the clinic and warmly asked him to accompany her to the Wounded Coast. And yet… the broken glass of her eyes never smiled as sure as her lips did. He could never say no.
As months passed, it became easier to face Hawke's fake bliss. He came to her one brisk evening, seeking respite from the rain dripping through the holes in the clinic's roof. Gracious as always, his bird allowed him to sleep in one of her guest rooms, in the evenings sitting next to him in front of the hearth and, with one hand on her Mabari and the other on his knee, shared the secrets plaguing her heart.
Even as she found restless peace against him under the blinking stars, Anders knew her heart only forgave so much. Eventually, she would lift herself from her doze and retire to her room, the click of a lock sliding in place behind her leaving the echo of distrust ringing loud in the air. Anders stayed, not really knowing why, like a moth to a flame only to burn and die. Heart fluttering in his chest, he reached up towards a forbidden love he knew he could only dream of, practically fainting to sleep on a borrowed mattress.
When the dawn broke and the hearth's fire withered, he stayed, not willing to leave until Hawke kicked him out. And so they continued this way, sleeping in separate rooms, he perusing her library and leaving copies of his manifesto everywhere, ignoring when others came and gone, leaving questions littered about like leaves scattered in the wind.
Things in Kirkwall just kept getting worse and worse. One day it was raining and the next there was a typhoon. Meredith and Orsino hand their hands out, flexing towards each other's neck and the Divine Mother had no intention of attempting to help settle things between them. As both of their paranoia swelled, the before nonexistent relationship with the Arishok turned into a full-fledged Hawke-only responsibility. The Viscount didn't have the balls to even approach the problem until his own son was murdered by a Chantry sister. Fanatics, all of them. Hawke would come home and glance in his direction, eyes tired and annoyed and suspicious, and Anders found himself avoiding her home for his clinic once more.
He didn't want to tell her, but he had been there when the man brought her Mother white lilies. Even though he had went with her to track down several leads regarding the kidnapped women, he was so preoccupied with his own angst to notice. And then, only days later, she had found her mother used as a terrible experiment in order to piece together a grieving man's dead wife. Both Carver and Gamlen came home to berate her – he overheard them driving nails into her bones and rip apart soft tissue and while they were blaming her, hurting her, he only sat and listened and she only sat and apologized. She had never sounded so weak and he had never felt so ashamed. He came to her that night, to comfort her, Anders fleeing out into the rain when he heard the door to her room click and lock.
When Hawke single handedly felled the Arishok and her small body collapsed beside him, his hands rose and he lurched forward to heal her. Anders realized that she never needed him after all, tan skin and white hair and those damned swirls of lyrium tracing down slender arms that swooped in to hold her. He took a potion from his side and held it to her lips with a hand wrapped in red cloth and neither took a glance towards "the abomination". His heart was breaking and she couldn't even hear it. Anders prayed she would remember their tangled embraces those nights with the earnest that he did if only sometimes.
Pain shot through Ander's head when he heard his voice, his name on her lips. His work became his sole focus, planning and pressing and preening for the mage rebellion. Hawke continued to be a distant support and when he told her he wanted to find the ingredients to make a potion to expel Justice from his soul he came with them. She whispered with him excitedly with the possibility, great irritation growing from the inside. There was nothing he could do to help things now.
The time between their meetings stretched from weeks to months and she stopped seeking him out. Just as well, he thought, no reason to get her wrapped up in the danger of his plans now. There was no way that she understood the plight of the mages, no matter how much she vowed to stand beside him or behind him. Their relationship had dissolved so much from what it was when they first met, maybe that was his fault, maybe it was because he cared so much and she cared so little… No, he shook his head bitterly, she never cared less, she simply had other things to care for. Anders would by no means take away her happiness when it seemed she had finally found it again.
When the day came that it was only a matter of time that the end would come, he took her hands in his during a rare visit to his clinic. I will miss you, he said, what are you saying? she said. I only want to keep you safe, he responds. She does not understand but her arms embrace him and she does not ask for his secrets and finally he prefers it this way. In the Circle, as a Grey Warden, he had always been alone – but here his solidarity could serve a purpose. And as his eyes closed and he pressed his nose to her hair and his hands splayed across her back, he relaxed for the first time in seven years. She tensed, and he hushed her, and she sensed the imminence of his decisions even if she didn't know why.
"Don't worry, Hawke, we'll rest soon."
