When the man first strode into the Hanged Man, looking all uncomfortable and unhappy the way he did, Anders thought he'd seen a ghost. He looked just the same as Anders remembered: shoulder length, dark hair, tied away from his face with braids on either side, the same bow strapped to his back, that silly bit of hair he still kept above his chin.

Anders never expected to see Nathaniel Howe - his long ago companion, friend, lover - again after leaving the Wardens. But now, here he was, standing awkwardly by the doorway of the Hanged Man and glancing around the place with a look that blended curiosity and revulsion.

"And just what is that tall, handsome thing doing in this dump?" Isabela's voice purred behind him, and Anders realized she was talking about Nathaniel.

He turned to her and with a wry smile told her, "He's off limits."

Isabela said something pouty, but Anders had already turned back to watch Nathaniel, and blocked out everything she said. He took a long drink from his mug, tried to ignore the turmoil in his head that alcohol caused, and eyed his former companion warily.

His first impulse had of course been to stand tall and call the man over, to catch up over mugs of cheap, bitter ale and pretend that all the things that kept them apart these long years had never happened. But a voice in the back of his head warned that perhaps Nathaniel was here to bring him back, to face the long-avoided punishment for his crimes. Perhaps there were other Wardens waiting outside to help with his apprehension. Perhaps they had just planned to kill him.

But, this was Nate, one of his oldest friends. He wouldn't be involved in something like that, would he?

Anders watched closely as Nathaniel approached the bar and demanded the bartender's attention. Corff assessed the warden warily, but took his coin and handed him a mug. Nathaniel took it and regarded it with that same look of curiosity and disgust, then threw his head back and took a long swig.

Damn it all to the Void, Anders finally thought, and followed suit. He slammed his empty mug on the table, ignored the questions of Varric, Merrill, Isabela, and Hawke, and strode over to the bar. Halfway there, Nathaniel looked up in his direction. Under the intensity of that stare, Anders had a sudden urge to melt himself through the floor, but kept walking, and put on his most convincing air of confidence, even sparing a coy grin as he neared the other man.

He leaned his elbow against the bar and put on his best seductive face. Nathaniel raised an eyebrow at him over his mug. Anders smiled at himself, then cut to the point. "What are you doing here, Nate?" The other man put down his glass very slowly, never taking his eyes off the mage.

"Stroud told me he'd seen you here and I just," Nathaniel paused and took a deep breath. "I had to see you for myself."

Anders regarded him carefully, then broke into a wide grin. "You missed me you bloody bastard, admit it!"

Nathaniel shook his head and allowed a small smile. "It hasn't been the same since you... left." There was an awkward pause, and the playful mood from only a moment before was shattered. Both men knew what had really happened, and it hadn't been as simple as Anders just leaving.

"Well," Anders said, laughing a bit uncomfortably. "That's because none of the new recruits were as pretty or talented as me."

"Of course," came Nathaniel's smooth reply, and just like that, the moment had passed.

"Do you want to grab a table, move somewhere a bit quieter?" Anders asked, jerking his head towards an empty spot in the corner.

Nathaniel took another drink, dropped his empty mug on the bar, and called the bartender over for a refill. He looked questioningly at Anders, but the mage waved a hand. He didn't need another drink. Nathaniel nodded, and tipped his now full mug in the direction of the lone table by the fireplace.

Anders happily followed, and may or may not have glanced back at the table of companions who were shamelessly staring, and may or may not have given a wave and a smile to Isabela. He also may or may not have pointed out this particular table to Nathaniel because it was the only one in the room that was out of sight of Hawke's merry band of misfits.

He took a seat across from Nate, who was slouched in his chair, looking misunderstood and tortured. Anders leaned in close, and asked quietly, "You're not here to take me back, are you?"

Nathaniel looked straight into his eyes and shook his head, and took another drink. Anders let out a heavy breath he didn't know he was holding.

"So why are you really here then?"

Nathaniel wrinkled his brows at the mage. "Is it so strange that I discovered an old friend was not dead as I'd believed, and that I then had to see him for myself?" Anders raised an eyebrow, and Nathaniel frowned. "I'm hurt."

"The always-do-good noble Warden is surprised that the dangerous, wanted apostate is questioning why he showed up out of the blue after all these years?"

"I did not come all the way to Kirkwall for you. The Wardens have business here." He raised a hand to call over the tavern girl and get another mug. He gave Anders another look, and this time the mage shrugged.

"Why not?" he sighed, and in a moment Norah was back with two drinks.

"I can't tell you about that, with you not being a Warden anymore and all." He paused and raised his mug to drink. "But I can tell you, that the reason I'm in this stinking pit of a tavern, drinking this foul, cheap ale, is because I wanted to see you."

Anders couldn't stop the grin from spreading across his face. "You really did miss me."

Nathaniel conceded a smile. "That's what I said."

And all at once the tension that had been hovering in the air around Anders since Nathaniel had first walked through the door had dissipated. Anders believed him. His worries were for naught. There was no conspiracy, no ambush. He reached over and clapped his friend on the shoulder, and suddenly there was too much to talk about, too much to catch up on. It had been so long since they'd last spoken, Anders wasn't even sure where to start.

"Did Surana ever come back?" Anders finally asked, genuinely curious.

Nathaniel shook his head. "No. No, I haven't seen her since, well..."

"Since she left us to fend for ourselves while she chased after true love across the sea?"

"She deserved it, after everything she'd done," Nathaniel said simply. "There's only so much a person can give, and she gave a lot."

Anders nodded in agreement. He never begrudged the commander for leaving when she did, but he couldn't help but feel a bit resentful. His life with the Wardens had gone to nug shit after she left.

As if Nathaniel could read his thoughts, he was suddenly leaning over the table, and the look on his face was so pained, if Anders hadn't known Nate so well he might've been worried the man would start sobbing all over the scratched wood of the table. Or maybe he was worried about that anyway.

"I'm so sorry, Anders," he whispered, and his voice sounded so broken Anders ached to listen to him. "About what happened with Rolan, about everything with Rolan, I never wanted - I never agreed with - I tried to argue but -"

"Nate," Anders urged softly, "I never blamed you." But Nathaniel was looking hard at the table now, and the knuckles wrapped around his mug were white.

He let out a long breath, and sat up straight again. "I'm sorry for," he waved his hand and sighed again, "that, just now. I'd been holding that in so long I guess I couldn't stop it all from pouring out."

"Blame it on the drink and forget it ever happened," Anders said with a smile, trying very hard to forget that Nathaniel Howe had just dropped all his emotional guards on the table in front of him. This was not the way he'd thought this conversation would go.

Thankfully, however, right at that very moment, some drunken fool on the other side of the tavern began playing a fiddle. Well, the fool was either drunk or very bad, or maybe both, but the rest of the room didn't seem to mind, and soon there was drumming on the tables and out of tune singing, and it was a right big party in the Hanged Man. Just what the healer ordered.

Anders stood before the archer, waved his arms in an exaggerated bow, and folded one arm behind his back while extending the other to the seated man before him. "Ser?" he asked seductively, a mischievous grin plastered on his face.

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow in reply. Anders tried to pout, but he couldn't suppress his smile.

"Come on, dance with me, Nate! You probably haven't let yourself have any fun since I left, have you?" The look Nathaniel gave him answered that question, and Anders was not going to let this man leave his presence without loosening up, especially after all these awkward moments between them.

With a heavy sigh and another deep swig of ale, Nathaniel took his hand and stood with him. The music was bright and lively, and people were already clearing a space and beginning to dance. Anders tugged him out into the middle of the floor, then dropped his hand and began to dance.

He kicked his feet up and clapped his hands to the rhythm of the song, and spun circles around his reluctant friend. Nathaniel watched him with a smile, and Anders could tell he was trying very hard to look annoyed.

"Live a little!" he told his friend as he slipped his arm around Nate's and locked their elbows together. Anders kept moving and dancing, and Nathaniel had no choice but to join in.

The noble took his steps slowly and precisely at first, but Anders was having none of that. He moved quicker, keeping tight hold of Nathaniel's arm and forcing him to speed up to keep pace. But Nathaniel was far more interested in his dance partner than in the dance itself. He kept his eyes on Anders, watching how the mage moved his feet and his hips, and all sorts of familiar feelings were stirring deep in his gut.

And then all at once, the music changed. The song was gentle and slow, and a few couples were gluing themselves together to glide around the dance floor in pairs, although rather clumsily, since most of them were drunk and not very good dancers. Anders shot a look to the corner of the room where Hawke and company were seated, and the grin and thumbs up that Hawke gave him let him know that she definitely had everything to do with this. Ah well, might as well enjoy it.

He took a step towards Nathaniel, and he felt a flutter in his stomach when the other man looked at him that he never thought he'd feel again. Anders wrapped one arm around Nathaniel's shoulder, and took the archer's hand in his. Nathaniel arched a brow, but conceded, and placed his other hand on Anders' hip. The mage then proceeded to waltz around the room, towing Nate along for the ride, in an exaggerated version of what he assumed was what fancy noble ball dancing was like.

Nathaniel gave him an incredulous look. "Anders, what are you doing?"

"Would you believe me if I told you I don't actually know how to dance?"

Nathaniel sighed. "Just, follow my lead. Step when I step, and put your feet - yes, like that."

He gracefully guided the couple around their small corner of the room. His grip on Anders' shoulders tightened when the mage tried moving in the wrong direction, and Nate pushed gently against Anders when he failed to move in the right direction.

"I think I'm getting the hang of this," Anders beamed at his dancing partner, and Nathaniel rolled his eyes and tried to stifle a grin.

It was almost surreal, Anders thought. To have gone so long without any kind of contact, and now to be dancing together, holding each other again, in a seedy Lowtown bar. Once, Anders had been closer to this man in his arms than anyone else. Once, he had thought himself in love with the man. But that was long ago, and he'd never thought to feel those things again. But here, among these crowds of dancing, singing strangers, happy sounds and distractions and too much drink, he could almost pretend all those years apart had never happened. He could almost pretend he was still the man he'd been so long ago.

He pulled Nathaniel closer to him, and lowered his head to rest against the other man's shoulder. Nathaniel leaned into his embrace, and rested his cheek against the top of the mage's head. Anders relaxed against Nathaniel's body and breathed in deep, inhaling the man's familiar scent. He smelled just the same as Anders remembered, like salt and wind and leather.

The fluttering in Anders' stomach sank lower in his gut, and morphed into a slow burn. He clutched Nathaniel closer to him and exhaled a shaky breath. "Would you like to get a room?"

He could feel Nathaniel smile against the top of his head. "In what world would I not?"