For The Day

by MsBarrows

Written for the Sugar'n'Spice Valentines Exchange on the People of Thedas DW community, as a gift for the morningstar616. Nathaniel Howe realized he is being pursued by Anders.

The Vigil had changed a lot since he'd been sent off for fostering in the Free Marches. As had he. As had everything else in his life – everything he'd thought he'd known about his father. Everything he'd ever thought about what his life would be like once he returned home.

Home. A bitter word, now. Home was an arling that no longer belonged to the Howe family. Home was a keep that had been given to the Grey Wardens. Home was a place that no longer existed save in memory, when he had been younger, and innocent of what politics was, or expediency, or, worst of all, the true nature of his father's unbridled ambition.

The Howe name had a long history in Ferelden. Not always an honourable one; his own grandfather had collaborated with the Orlesians, until a then-young Rendon Howe threw in on the side of an equally young Maric Theirin, taking the Howes over to what was ultimately the winning side. Though not a side that had made any significant efforts to reward young Rendon for what he'd done, which was, by what the Warden-Commander and his own sister had both told him, why his father had, in the end, turned on his life-long friend Bryce Cousland, slaughtering him, his wife, his daughter-in-law and grandson, along with most of the guards and servants and other common-born inhabitants of Highever Castle. Nor had he stopped with naming himself Teryn of Highever by right of conquest once his perfidy was made public; he had gone on to seize the Arling of Denerim as well, bringing almost a full third of the country under his sway. And then reached even further, abducting Teryn Loghain's daughter Anora, possibly meaning to wed the widowed Queen and make himself King of Ferelden.

He had reached too far; his fall had been abrupt, and lethal. And had stained the Howe name past all redemption, in the eyes of many. It made Nathaniel almost glad that his younger brother Thomas had died at Ostagar, had not lived to see what had become of their once-proud family. His sister, Delilah, was happy to retreat into obscurity, marrying a man far below her station, though at least she had assured him that she loved her husband and was well-treated by him.

Which left Nathaniel on his own, as the sole remaining Howe of any stature in all of Ferelden, to bear the brunt of the hatred his father had earned. The last Howe there likely ever would be, given that he was now a Grey Warden – unlikely to marry, and by what he'd been told of the effects of the taint, unlikely to ever father a child even if he did.

"Brooding again, Nate?" an overly cheerful voice asked from behind him.

Nathaniel scowled over his shoulder at the mage standing leaning in the open doorway behind him. "I am not brooding. And my name is Nathaniel, not Nate," he said sharply.

Anders shrugged, and walked the few steps forward to stand near him, looking out at the view Nathaniel had been – yes, blast it, brooding over before the mage's arrival – and studied it for a long moment. "It's a beautiful land," he said, and leaned his folded arms on top of the merlon in front of him, resting his chin on top of them. "I love being able to see so far."

Nathaniel gave him a look of mild surprise. "Aren't you from the Fereldan Circle of Magi? I've heard Kinloch Hold can be seen for miles... far taller than this."

Anders snorted, and turned his head to look at Nathaniel. "Perhaps the Templars have a view, somewhere up in their quarters, but in the areas the mages frequent the windows are all filled in and sealed, except for a tiny bit way up at the very top, far too high to reach. The only view we ever have is of a bit of sky. Well, except in the Harrowing Chamber, there's a bit of a view from there, but we're only ever brought there once in our life, and sightseeing is not exactly allowed at the time. Besides the windows there are mostly filled in with stained glass, anyway, so it doesn't really have a view either."

"Oh," Nathaniel said, and looked away, surprised by the mage's friendly verbosity. Few here at the Keep were willing to talk to him. Of those few who remained here from when it had been the home keep of the Howe family, most had sour memories of his father's rule here. Arl Rendon, never the easiest of masters, had turned cruel and given to harsh reprisals for even the tiniest of misdemeanours in his final years here. Few were those who had not seen a relative or friend punished, imprisoned, or even killed outright for some minor thing that Nathaniel's father had chosen to view as treachery. Even Seneschal Varel, once his father's right-hand man, had only narrowly escaped death for daring to question his father's policies; he'd been found starving in the jailhouse when the first group of Orlesian Grey Wardens arrived to take over the Keep.

And wasn't that the feather in the cap for this whole mess – Orlesians in his father's Keep! Where none had been since his grandfather's time. He could just imagine what Teryn Loghain, had he lived, would have had to say about Orlesians being welcomed onto Ferelden soil and gifted an entire fort. At least the Warden-Commander himself was Fereldan – was in fact the younger Cousland, the very same man his father had failed to kill during the betrayal at Highever. He'd known the older Cousland better; he and Fergus had been good friends, in their youth, until Fergus had married and Nathaniel had been sent off to stay with relatives of his mother's in the Free Marches to be fostered, and exposed to the politics of foreign courts. At the time he'd thought it was just his father wishing to curry favour with Mother's side of the family; now he wondered if, even then, his father had been planning ahead to a day when he'd want to have knowledge of other courts.

Yet how could his father have foreseen the disappearance of Maric, and the resultant turmoil in Ferelden, ended only when Teryn Loghain and Teryn Bryce both stood firm in support behind Cailan's rule? The inexperienced Prince was swiftly married off to Loghain's daughter, Anora – granted the marriage had been arranged since their childhood, many had considered it a blatant grab for power on the part of the common-born Loghain Mac Tir. His father had certainly made no bones about his dislike of the arrangement in one of his infrequent letters to Nathaniel.

And yet... he didn't like to think of it, but the last Ferelden port that King Maric had been in, before setting out on the leg of his voyage which saw him lost at sea, had been the Howe's port city of Amaranthine. No, really not a thought he wished to consider any further or deeper than that. Nor ever mention to his Commander, if the man hadn't thought of it for himself; Ewan had a full tithe of both his father's intelligence and his mother's political acumen. Doubtless he had thought of it himself already.

"Are you sure you're not brooding?" Anders asked. Nathaniel started; he'd forgotten the mage was even there, as lost in thought as he'd been.

"Just... thinking," he admitted.

"About anything in particular?" Anders asked.

He answered; he wasn't sure why. Except, maybe, that Anders was the first person to show any interest in talking to him, more, in actually listening to whatever his reply might be. "The past. My father. This," he said, waving one hand at the landscape spread out before them, the Keep and village at their feet.

"How once upon a time, all this was going to be yours?" Anders asked, one eyebrow arching high.

"Something like that," he agreed, softly, turning to look out over the land again. "I think I'd have made a good Arl. I... love this land. I missed it, all the time I was away, being fostered."

"That was in the Free Marches somewhere, right?" Anders asked curiously, moving to one side and stepping up into the embrasure, hands resting on the merlons to either side. Knowing just how far a fall it was to the courtyard below, Nathaniel felt an uncomfortable tightening in his stomach and had to resist the urge to reach out and yank the man back from the edge.

"Yes," he said. "In Ansburg, on the Minanter River, though I travelled a fair bit with the Lord I was squiring; most of the way up the Minanter and then to Orlais, once, with stops in Starkhaven, Tantervale, Nevarra City and Cumberland along the way."

"Cumberland? Really?" Anders asked, sounding even more interested. He turned in the embrasure, leaning back against one merlon, seeming oblivious to the drop to one side. "That's where the College of Magi is, you know," he said, sounding almost wistful. "They have a library there that's the envy of every other Circle in Thedas; even the Circle in Val Royeaux itself doesn't have one as good – in part because of all the volumes the chantry had ordered destroyed over the years," he added, mouth twisting briefly into a sour smile. "With relations between Orlais and Nevarra having been bad for as long as they've been, the Nevarran templars aren't quite as thorough about supervising book-burnings as the Orlesian chantry might wish. But I suppose that's not a topic you'd have any interest in," he said abruptly, looking away.

"Perhaps not," Nathaniel agreed. "Though I do like reading. We had a rather good library here when I was a boy," he added, almost wistfully. "I used to spend hours there, reading, when I wasn't off learning more martial pursuits."

"Your father approved of literacy then?"

"No. Not more than what was needed to run the Arling, anyway," Nathaniel responded, and found himself smiling in memory. "It was the one place I could retreat to and be fairly sure I wouldn't be bothered by anyone for hours. Except my sister Delilah, occasionally; she also liked reading. Romances and the occasional history, mainly. And Brother Genetivi's travelogues."

Anders grinned. "Is there anyone who hasn't read those things? We had a near-complete set at the Circle Tower. Except, unsurprisingly enough, for the volume he wrote about Tevinter. For some reason they never stock that one in Circle libraries."

Nathaniel snorted, and found himself smiling at the mage. "Odd, that. I can't imagine why they wouldn't. We had a copy here."

Anders grinned, then straightened. "Did you now? Well, I wonder if it's still here – I know most of the library is, though it's all packed away in crates."

Nathaniel blinked, surprised. "It is?"

"Yes. The Orlesian wardens packed up most of your family's belongings; the buildings and furnishings may have been granted to the Wardens, but that didn't include personal belongings, and apparently things like the books in the library were deemed 'personal'. Rather lucky, that, Orlesian Grey Wardens are only a few steps removed from Orlesian chevaliers and templars and they'd likely have torched the lot otherwise, just in case it contained heretical materials," Anders said, and stepped down out of the embrasure. "Come on, I'll show you where it's all been stored."

Nathaniel snorted, sure that Anders' comparison of the wardens with the chevaliers and templars was an exaggeration. Perhaps not too big of one, given Orlesian attitudes, but still...

"So how come you know where all of these things are stored, when I hadn't even heard any of it had been kept?" Nathaniel asked, as he followed Anders back down the stairs inside the tower.

Anders glanced back over his shoulder and gave him a grin that could only be described as cheeky. "Because I make a habit of exploring my environment – learning all the boltholes, the potential hiding places, the escape routes. Just in case I have to duck an attempt by the templars to reclaim me for the Circle. Or manage to get our beloved Commander enraged at me again."

"Enraged at you? Why?"

"Long story. Anyway, I didn't do it, I was never there, and it wasn't my fault. Turn left here," Anders added, and ducked out of the stairwell and into a hallway. He led Nathaniel a twisting route down through the keep, one that adroitly managed to avoid encountering anyone, eventually bringing them out in a disused back hallway on the second level, rooms that had been used for lesser relatives when the Howe family had been more numerous, and for the servants of important guests – or minor guests themselves – during Nathaniel's youth.

"These have all been converted to storage," Anders said, waving a hand at the doors they passed as they walked down the hallway. "All full of whatever detritus of your family that wasn't claimed by the wardens."

Nathaniel looked at the closed doors, and wondered what family belongings might linger behind them, crated and locked away. The furnishings of his childhood bedroom? His sister's old toys... the fancy suite of imported Orlesian furniture from his mother's bedchamber? He'd have to find time to poke around and see, he supposed. And maybe approach Ewan to find out what, if any, plans the wardens had for dealing with all of it. He supposed most of it, if not all of it, was technically his now. Delilah might find some of it of use, furniture especially, to make her own home more comfortable. Though best he offer discretely, he supposed – he wouldn't want to step on her husband's pride.

Anders abruptly stopped. "This is the one," he said, and to Nathaniel's surprise produced a key for the door.

"Where did you..." he began to ask, and broke off, frowning.

Anders grinned at him. "Stole it. Shhh, Varel doesn't know I have it. If you ask nicely I'll loan it to you."

Nathaniel snorted again. "I'm a rogue," he pointed out. "I don't need a key."

"True," Anders admitted cheerfully, and stepped into the room, waving for Nathaniel to follow him.

He stopped just inside the door, taking a deep breath of the air. It smelled of books – leather bindings, old paper, vellum – and the fresher cut-wood scent of the wooden crates that lined the walls in stacks four deep. Anders had continued further into the room, over to one of the windows, where he pulled open shutters, flooding the room with a surprising amount of light. And revealing that this was a place he'd made a habit of visiting; there was a comfortably overstuffed armchair pulled up near the window, a quilt hiding most of the deficiencies of its worn upholstery, a faded and worn rug under it. And a small table, that Nathaniel vaguely recognized as having stood in an upstairs hall for years with a large vase of flowers on it, the flowers changed once a week, and replaced with seasonal greenery in winter. Here it stood covered in stacks of books, additional books heaped on the floor under it.

"I see you've made yourself at home," he said dryly.

Anders leaned against the windowsill, arms crossing over his chest, smiled, and shrugged easily. "I like books. And privacy. Both of which I can have here."

Nathaniel snorted. "And yet you've shown this place to me. This little hideout of yours."

Anders gave him a wide smile. "I don't want privacy all the time, or from all people," he said. "Ewan knows about this place too – I had to tell him, he gets quite cross with me if he can't find me when he needs a healer for something. Anyway, technically I suppose this is all yours now," he said, waving one hand broadly to indicate both the contents of the room and the other rooms nearby. "I should probably have asked your permission before delving into it. But you know the old saying, sometimes it's easier to ask forgiveness than beg permission."

"Are you? Asking for forgiveness?" Nathaniel asked curiously.

"Actually, no," Anders said, and smiled crookedly. "I'm afraid after my life in the tower, I don't care a diseased rat's arse for anyone's forgiveness or permission but my own. The only freedom a mage gets is the one they reach out and take for themselves, and even that for only so long as they can manage to hold onto it. And I've already given myself permission to enjoy these books," he explained, and smiled charmingly at Nathaniel. "You can try and prevent me if you wish, but I should warn you I'm a very stubborn man."

Nathaniel found himself smiling back, much to his surprise. "So I've heard. How many escapes was it... Six? Seven?"

"Seven," Anders confirmed. "And if templars showed up tomorrow and succeeded in dragging me away, I'd start work on planning number eight before we were even out the gate."

"Even if it means your death?"

Anders shrugged, smiled again. "As far as the chantry is concerned, I'm under sentence of death already. Seven escapes used up any leniency my being a talented healer has ever earned me... not to mention the little incident in Amaranthine last month with Rylock. The Chantry takes a dim view of mages who kill templars. A very dim view, and they won't particularly care about anything Ewan might say about extenuating circumstances, it being his responsibility, or my being a Warden and therefor beyond their control. As far as the chantry is concerned, no mage is beyond their control. If they get their hands on me, they'll kill me. End of story."

Nathaniel gave him a puzzled look. "You seem... very sanguine about the possibility," he said tentatively.

Anders shrugged again. "Since my very first escape I've lived with the knowledge that they might kill me for it. Or worse."

"Worse? What could be worth than death?"

Anders looked suddenly sober, his smile vanished. "Tranquillity," he said sharply, then turned away, picking up one of the books on the table. "Your family's collection of books was rather eclectic. I keep finding the oddest things whenever I go poking among them."

Nathaniel smiled, recognizing that the mage was changing the subject, but willing to go along with it. "Well, the Howe family has been amassing them for a number of generations; it's hardly surprising that their interests have been rather varied."

"Yes, but... the mating habits of Seheron birds of paradise? A compendium of all known Orlesian varieties of Brassica? And a complete genealogy of one hundred and forty two generations of mabari warhounds from the Royal Kennels of Ferelden..."

Nathaniel laughed. "All very prettily bound, yes?"

Anders frowned, and looked at the covers. "Lots of beautifully dyed leather, tooling, and gilt, yes."

Nathaniel snorted, and walked over to peer at one of the opened crates that Anders had clearly been exploring in recently. "Decoration. Some of my ancestors cared no more about reading than they did for the day-to-day lives of their peasants. But they'd still want to have the appearance of being well-read. So they'd order in books by the foot to fill the shelves in their study or sitting room. Bound to match the decor, of course. Dark green leather would have been my great-granduncle Bartholomew. Anything in lavender or white was likely my grandmother Dorelea. Keep an eye out for the very sober-looking ones in plain black leather bindings, rather elderly and edge worn – they have uniformly boring titles, but the middle of each has been replaced with some rather racy writings and woodcuts. Collection of a long-deceased great-great-something-or-other."

Anders blinked at him, then grinned. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, then looked around the room, and frowned. "I suppose digging through all of this in hopes of finding a single specific volume of the travelogues is a bit overly ambitious. I guess I'll just keep looking through them the way I have been already, and just hope it turns up eventually. Anyway, it's almost time for dinner, we should probably head back."

Nathaniel grunted, putting the book he'd been looking at back in the crate, and looked around the room a final time as Anders closed the shutters again. "For what it's worth, if anyone complains about you being in here, you have my permission to be."

Anders grinned. "Not that I asked for it, or would have stopped coming here even if you'd denied it. But thank you anyway."

Nathaniel smiled back, more amused than offended by Anders' attitude. "You're welcome."

---

He didn't think much about it when Anders sought him out after breakfast the next day, drawing him into conversation for a while before the mage was dragged off by Ewan to explore a suspected smuggler's cove on the shores of the large bay off to the east of the keep. Nor when Anders found him on the ramparts again the day after that, and they spent a couple of hours in conversation about the lands of Amaranthine and what was to be found in the various areas. When Anders joined him at table at lunch the next day, and started yet another conversation, before dragging him off to spend a couple of hours rooting through the boxes in the storage rooms in search of some keepsakes of his family that Nathaniel wished he had... well, by then he'd started to realize it wasn't just coincidence that had the mage appearing regularly in his vicinity.

"You're following me," he said flatly the next evening, when the mage wandered into the baths where Nathaniel was soaking out sore muscles in the heated tub.

Anders flashed him a surprisingly affable smile. "I won't deny it," the mage said, and began stripping off his robe, nearly folding each piece as he took them off, stacking them on the wide shelf along one wall that was meant for the purpose, beside the neatly folded stack of Nathaniel's own clothing. Mantle, sash, over-robe and underrobe, his smalls...

"Why?" Nathaniel asked, when the silence had stretched out too long, watching the mage through half-closed eyes, surprised at the muscular leanness revealed by the removal of his voluminous robes. He'd have expected the mage to be soft... soft and perhaps even a little flabby. Instead he was lean and trim, every muscle well-defined, verging almost on gaunt, an impression his height contributed to. Only his hands and face were tanned, the tan fading out on neck and wrists to pale skin everywhere else, dusted with fine red-gold hairs and a smattering of freckles on his shoulders. And his chest as well, Nathaniel saw as the mage turned to face him. His eyes could not help flicking briefly downward, taking in Anders' nearly hairless chest and flat stomach, the thin trail of darker reddish hair leading downwards from his navel to the nest of thicker hairs at his groin. He turned his eyes to the side, feeling self-conscious at having been caught looking.

"Why not?" Anders asked, as he walked over to the tap in the end wall, and started a bucket filling.

"Why not...?" Nathaniel said, surprised, and frowned.

"Yes... why not?" Anders said. "You're intelligent, an interesting conversationalist when not busy brooding, handsome..." he broke off to turn off the tap and pick up the now-filled bucket and pour it over himself, rinsing himself off.

Nathaniel stared at him for a moment. Handsome? Him? It was not a word he'd ever imagined hearing applied to himself. He'd inherited his father's long face and craggy nose. Horse-faced, he'd heard his father referred to as, more than once. Face like a horse's arse from someone less kindly inclined to the senior Howe. That face, along with his adolescent gawkiness and lateness in growth had been a special kind of torture for him, surrounded as he was by far more handsome and taller young men. Prince Cailan, the spitting image of his golden father. Fergus, Ewan, even the younger boys like Oswyn and his own brother Thomas, who'd inherited their mother's more classically beautiful features, had all cast him in the shade as far as looks went.

He'd at least lost the gawkiness when he was off in the Free Marches, finally put on a few more inches of height, learned the grace that came from carrying himself well, from honing his martial skills with his body as much as he'd worked on those with bow or daggers. He was almost equally dangerous armed or unarmed, his body responsive to his will, childhood clumsiness erased, though the memory of being the short awkward one would likely never leave him, he was sure.

But... handsome? No. Ewan was handsome. Anders, too, he couldn't help but think as the man walked over and stepped down into the tub, sinking down to sit on the seat that ran around the edge of the communal tub. But he himself... he knew what he looked like. Features that might be described as craggy at best, black hair as thick and coarse as a horse's mane and almost as unruly, including a thick pelt of it over much of his body. He'd been teased about that, in the Free Marches, about how his countrymen must grow fur coats to protect them from the cold. Or were part-mabari themselves, as much hound as man. A tease that crept uncomfortably close to the ancient Fereldan belief that many of them were, in fact, descendants of Hafter, son of a werewolf, which was in part why the people of Ferelden had for so long held dogs of all kinds in such high regard; the early Fereldans had held that dogs and wolves were their distant cousins.

His one good feature were his eyes, dark-ringed pale grey that most people found striking. Or disconcerting. Not handsome. And certainly his body was no match for Ewan's muscular physique, or Anders' lean beauty. He knew he was oddly proportioned, almost carrot-shaped, between his muscular archer's arms and his thin hips and lean legs.

He snorted, dismissing Anders' assertion. "Why are you following me?" he asked again.

Anders shrugged. "Because I like you. You're interesting to talk with, you laugh – or at least smile – at most of my jokes. You're easy on the eyes. And you're not frightened of me," he added, sounding a touch melancholy at the end, though he'd started out lightly enough.

Nathaniel snorted again. "You're hardly the sort of man who inspires fright. Now, someone like Ewan, especially when he's in a foul mood and looking all thunderous, and winding up that damned big sword of his..."

Anders grinned. "Yes. Rather terrifying, isn't he? But I'm a mage, I could be a crotchety white-haired bent-backed grandfatherly looking type, and most people would still be frightened of me," he said, an edge of bitterness in his voice. "Of this," he added, and lifted his right hand well above the surface of the water, then opened it, like a flower unfolding. Green light filled it, green light with a brighter core of yellow-white. The light lifted away from his hand, rising in a slow spiral to circle over his head, before drifting off, moving around the stone-tiled room as if exploring it.

"That's beautiful," Nathaniel said, unable to keep a note of awe out of his own voice. "What is it?"

"Spell wisp," Anders said, sinking back down in the tub, eyes following the lazy flight of the ball of energy around the room. "Technically it's a very tiny being brought through from the fade – a very weak spirit, or possibly a demon, depending on which school of thought you follow on the creatures of the fade."

That made Nathaniel give the glowing light a second look. "A spirit or demon? It's intelligent then?"

Anders wrinkled his nose. "Sort of. They're not very bright, actually. Slightly more intelligent that a dog but much stupider than a mabari hound, more or less. You can get them to do very simple tasks, if you phrase it carefully and it seems 'fun' to the spirit, but they're easily distracted. Usually by the oddest things – bits of trash and so on."

They fell silent, watching the wisp's progress around the room; hovering near a crack in one stone tile, slowly spiralling across the room to circle for a while around a bit of soap on a ledge, eventually darting back to circle above Anders' head again. He made a gesture, and the wisp of light faded away, whatever had made it gone back to the Fade.

Anders stretched, and smiled at Nathaniel. "So. Long day?"

"Yes," Nathaniel agreed, and sighed. "Ewan dragged me out of bed first thing this morning to head off to Amaranthine with him and look into some disturbing rumours he'd heard from a traveller that came through last night. Didn't find anything, and then on the way back we encountered problems. Twice. Some ex-smugglers near the city itself, who were less than pleased about their business having been shut down by Ewan last month, and then a group of bandits when we were most of the way back to the keep. Mix of desperate refugees from the south and decommissioned soldiers with no home to return to anymore, judging by how they were equipped and how poorly half of them fought."

"What did Ewan do with them?" Anders asked, fascinated.

Nathaniel frowned. "Killed enough of them to convince the rest that giving up and surrendering was in their best interest. Sent the lot of them off west to Highever with word that they might find a place there as farmers or men-at-arms, but that if he ever caught them thieving again on Amaranthine soil he'd kill them on sight."

Anders nodded. Ewan was usually willing to give most people a second chance – as long as whatever crime they'd been caught committing was relatively minor – but he didn't give third chances. Nathaniel knew the mage owed his own life to Ewan's policy of second chances, him having been discovered in what appeared to be a very compromising situation when the younger Cousland and the mage had first encountered each other during the darkspawn attack on the keep that had seen the Orlesian wardens all killed or dragged off into the depths.

"I wonder why it's always disturbing rumours," Anders suddenly said, head cocking to one side, a thoughtful look on his face. "Why do we so rarely hear reassuring rumours."

Nathaniel smiled slightly. "In the last two years Ferelden has seen a major disaster of a battle at Ostagar at which she lost her King and half the army and all but the two junior-most Grey Wardens... seen one of the two Teryn's fall to treachery and the other attempt to become a tyrant... had what came damned close to civil war breaking out, seen the Circle of Magi almost fall to blood magic, and had the capital city laid waste by an Archdemon and an army of darkspawn that left a trail of destruction and blighted lands from the Korcari Wilds all the way north and east to the city. And is still recovering from the aftereffects of all of the above. What sort of reassuring rumours were you thinking we might hear?"

Anders smiled crookedly. "Do you have to be so pessimistic? We also saw the darkspawn driven back and defeated by a coalition of unexpected allies, gained a new king, have seen the Cousland family restored to their Terynir, and Loghain sacrifice himself to save the country he reportedly loved above all else. As to reassuring rumours, I'd imagine it wouldn't hurt to occasionally hear about things like how the rebuilding in Denerim is going, or if King Alistair has found himself a Queen yet."

Nathaniel found himself smiling back. "I suppose you're right – but bad news always travels faster than good, it seems. And at least if we're hearing disturbing rumours it means we might hear about something potentially nasty in time to have a chance to investigate and do something about it before it becomes actual bad news."

"True," Anders agreed, then frowned at Nathaniel. "What have you done to your shoulder?" he asked.

Nathaniel glanced to his left, grimacing slightly at the dark bruise lapping over the top of it from his back. "That's thanks to one of those ex-farmer refugees – managed to get in behind me during the fight and tried to lay open my skull with a good stout stick. I ducked in time to keep my head in one piece, obviously enough, but not soon enough to dodge the actual blow. Nothing broken, just a pretty ugly bruise. The farmer got worse than that – Oghren got him before he could try a second blow."

Anders made a face – he'd seen the results of someone having fatal encounters with the dwarf's axe more than once already. "Let me take a look at that," he said, rising and wading across the tub to sit down at Nathaniel's left.

Nathaniel frowned slightly. "It's fine," he said, but still turned to his right a little to give the mage a better view, certain the healer was stubborn enough to not take 'no' for an answer.

Anders hissed through his teeth. "Ugly... you're lucky you dodged the worst of that. Would have stove in your ribs if you hadn't been moving the right direction when it hit. Or your head, as you say he was aiming for."

Nathaniel grunted in acknowledgement, then hissed himself when the mage's hands probed at the bruise. The heat of the bath had soothed away a lot of the pain of it, but having it touched re-awoke the bone-deep ache.

"Might be some cracked ribs anyway," Anders said, and then warmth flooded Nathaniel's back, spreading outwards from where the mage's hands touched him. The ache faded, and when he craned his head around to look, he could see the bruise fading as well. It was still there when the mage finally lifted his hands away, but looking much older – blooms of green and yellow under the skin, instead of the nearly black shade it had been before.

"Many thanks," he said, a little stiffly, feeling uncomfortable with the other man's closeness. Even more uncomfortable when Anders touched him again, one finger tracing down and over his right shoulder-blade.

"That's a nasty scar," the mage said quietly. "What's it from?"

He had to think a moment to remember. "Sword. Sparring accident," he explained. "Up in the Free Marches."

Except it had been no accident. That Orlesian peacock had done it on purpose, offended that a mud-footed Fereldan dog-lord would dare to best his betters in archery. His betters apparently being anyone not from Ferelden.

"And this one?" Anders asked, touching a spot lower down on his back, under the water.

He shifted uncomfortably, moving away from Anders' hand. "Dagger cut. Someone tried to mug me."

"You've had an adventurous life," Anders said softly, close enough behind Nathaniel that he could feel the warmth of the man's breath on the back of his neck. "At least judging by how many scars you have."

"And you?" Nathaniel asked.

Anders laughed, very softly. "Most of my scars don't show. Except these," he said, and moved away on the bench, turning his back to Nathaniel.

Nathaniel hissed again, as he took in the lines of faint scarring all up and down the mage's narrow back. Too faint to have been seen from very far away, on the mage's pale untanned skin, but with the skin reddened from the heat of the water they stood out starkly, a criss-crossed web of thin white lines. Whipping scars. He reached out and touched them without considering the action first, finding it hard to believe they were really there. "What..." he said, stunned, and broke off.

"Punishment," Anders said, voice almost unnaturally calm. "For the fourth and fifth escapes."

"Why didn't you heal them?"

"Couldn't, not when I had no power – I was silenced beforehand. And then kept in solitary, fed magebane daily. One month for the fourth escape. Three for the fifth."

And his seventh had ended with him here, a Grey Warden, so... "What about the sixth escape?" Nathaniel asked softly, staring at the mage, fingers still pressed against the scarred back, stomach knotting.

Anders was silent long enough he didn't think the mage was going to answer. Then he rose, moving away from Nathaniel's hand, stepping up onto the bench seat and out of the tub, water sheeting down off of him. "A year in solitary," Anders said, voice emotionless and flat. "And other things. I... prefer not to talk of that," he said, walking away to fetch a towel from the pile nearby.

"All right," Nathaniel said, very softly. "Sorry."

Anders paused in wrapping a towel around his wait, shot Nathaniel a look. "Nothing you need to be sorry for," he said, then forced a smile, tucking in the end of the towel and picking up a second one to begin drying himself with. "You're going to turn into a prune if you stay in there much longer," he pointed out, smiling cheerily.

Nathaniel snorted, and smiled crookedly at the mage. "Well, seeing as the injury I was soaking away the pain of is now healed, I suppose I might as well get out," he agreed, and rose to his feet, feeling self-conscious as he climbed out of the tub and walked over to get towels for himself. He felt all-too-aware of how damnably hairy he appeared in comparison to the mage. Not to mentioned short; he might have inherited his father's looks, but he'd inherited his mother's stature. Anders, on the other hand, was on the tall side; standing side by side like this, Nathaniel couldn't help but notice that he barely came up to the other man's shoulder. It didn't help at all to have the other man frankly studying him as he wrapped a towel around his own waist, as it made him feel all the more self-conscious about his appearance.

He picked up a second towel and turned away from Anders, towelling himself roughly dry, then twisting his hair in the towel to squeeze out as much water as he could, before draping the towel over his shoulders and walking over to the bench to fetch his clothes. He considered putting on at least the shirt, then grimaced at the thought of the dirty clothing on clean skin. He was decent enough as he was to walk to his room. He picked up the stack of clothing, as Anders came up beside him and shook out his over-robe, draping it over his shoulders – to hide his scarred back, Nathaniel realized – and bundled the rest of his clothing up on his arms before giving Nathaniel a crooked smile and leaving.

Nathaniel followed him, out of the bathing chamber and up the spiral stairs to the upper floor where the Wardens' rooms were. He felt like a dog trotting along at the taller man's heels; like a mabari. He even had the massive shoulders and hairy pelt for it, he found himself thinking, and smiled crookedly, amused at the thought.

They stayed silent until they reached their rooms; Anders' door first, the mage giving Nathaniel a jerky little nod before opening his door and disappearing into his quarters, closing the door behind him. Nathaniel continued down the hallway to his own room, only really relaxing again once the door was closed behind him. He tossed the bundled clothing aside to sort out later, and walked over to the fireplace, fetching the tinderbox from the mantel and quickly lighting the small fire laid ready in it. He stood before the fire, finishing off drying himself, before pulling on a pair of loose breeches and a night shirt.

He sat down in the chair before the fire – a comfortable chair covered in well-worn leather – and picked up his comb from the tray on a low table beside it, and set to working the tangles out of his hair. He had it combed smooth, and was about to work back in the thin braids that helped to keep it out of his face when there was a knock at the door.

"Who is it?" he called, certain of what the answer would be even before he heard Anders' voice in reply.

"Just me. Mind if I come in?"

He sighed, and rested his hands on his knees. "Come on in," he called back.

The door clicked open, and Anders stepped in, dressed much as he was, through in long loose leggings rather than short breeches. The mage had a squat ceramic jar in one hand, which he held up and nodded toward. "Salve. Good for sore muscles. If your shoulder still hurts?"

"Oh. Thanks," Nathaniel said, feeling mildly surprised. "That was thoughtful of you."

Anders nodded, and walked over, setting it hesitantly down on the tray with the collection of Nathaniel's toiletries, then glanced interestedly around the room. "Nice," he said. "Very, err... sparse..."

Nathaniel found himself smiling at the mage's obvious effort to try and find something complimentary to say. He rose to his own feet, tossing the comb aside on the tray, and stepped to the fireplace to add another log. "I may have been raised in moderately opulent style – Mother did have standards to maintain, as she insisted – but in the Free Marches I was just the older son of a minor backwoods noble, and started out in a dormitory with the other squires and ended in a barracks with the other men-at-arms – both groups being much the same people, just older and better trained. Anyway. I have little desire for ostentation or decoration, especially as the Howe's are no longer any form of noble," he added, a touch sourly.

Anders nodded. "Understandable," he said. "I'm sort of the opposite, I suppose. I had so little in the tower that was truly mine – now I have a room of my own, wardrobe space, I can have things... every time we go to Amaranthine I find something else I want to buy in the marketplace – clothing, or books, or little knick-knacks. It's wonderful."

Nathaniel nodded. A silence fell. Anders looked around the room again, nervously, then glanced at the rogue.

"So. Uhh... could you use some help? With the salve, I mean? Putting it on?" Anders asked, sounding surprisingly... shy. Even anxious.

Nathaniel gave him a look. The mage was looking away from him, head bent a little, looking more nervous than the rogue had ever yet seen him. "Anders... are you flirting with me?" Nathaniel blurted out.

Anders flushed. "That would depend," he said, and darted a faintly worried at Nathaniel before looking away again. "On whether or not it would... bother you. Offend you."

It took a minute for Nathaniel to formulate a response, as shocked as he was by the realization. It was only when the mage started to turn away, shoulders slumping, that he realized he'd left a response too long. "I'm not offended," he said hurriedly. "Surprised, mainly. I mean... why me!"

Anders laughed. "Why do you keep asking that?" he said, and turned to give Nathaniel a puzzled look. "Everything I said before still applies. Intelligent, enjoyable to talk with, good-looking, you appreciate my sense of humour – did I say handsome?"

Nathaniel scowled and turned away. "I'm not handsome," he said flatly.

Now it was Anders who snorted, his puzzled look deepening as he tilted his head and gave Nathaniel a questioning look. "Have you not looked in a mirror lately? Or maybe you've only looked in a distorting glass... you're very attractive."

Nathaniel shook his head. "No. Ewan is attractive. King Alistair – drop-dead gorgeous, almost the spitting image of his half-brother and his father in fact. You're handsome. I'm... homely. At best," he said, and turned away.

"Well, at least you think I'm handsome," Anders said, sounding amused. "That's a start. But believe me, you're far better than merely homely. Oh, you're not classically handsome, but you're... well, striking might perhaps be a better word. Distinctive. Anyway, that's only part of the package; the fact you don't treat me like I have the wasting would score you major points even if you looked like the arse end of an ogre. That you actually listen when I talk and get my jokes is good too. But believe me when I say you're also very easy on the eyes."

Nathaniel shook his head in denial, and walked back over, picking up the container of salve and holding it out. "Here," he said, almost brusquely. "You can help put it on, but... look, just forget the rest for now."

Anders nodded, and accepted the jar. He glanced around the room, and frowned. "Um... this will be easier if we sit down..." he suggested, and trailed off. There were only two places to sit in the room; the chair by the fire, and the bed. Three, if you counted the floor, but as it was bare stone save for a small sheepskin beside the bed, it was not exactly conducive to sitting.

Nathaniel nodded, and walked over to the bed. He stripped off his nightshirt, draping it over the foot of the bed, then sat down on the edge of the bed, turning to his right as much as he could. Anders sat down to his left, and carefully worked the cork out of the wide-mouth jar, then put it down on the bed and scooped out some of the salve on his fingertips. He rubbed his hands together briefly, before he shifted forward and started massaging Nathaniel's back, not just the bruised area, but both sides of the rogue's back and shoulders, as evenly as he could manage.

He worked in silence, neither of them, it seemed, feeling comfortable with further conversation at the moment. Nathaniel felt very aware of his touch, given the direction of their conversation beforehand, and was glad that Anders was keeping the massage carefully impersonal. He even felt himself relaxing into it after a while, the tension in his back and shoulders and the last lingering soreness fading away beneath the other man's expert hands.

He did wonder why Anders felt the need to flatter him. Or even why the mage had expressed an interest n him. Apart from the fact that he seemed to express an interest in pretty much anyone, male or female. Well, except Oghren, who he teased sometimes but never actually flirted outright with. But then Oghren was a married man, and perhaps that was a line the mage wasn't willing to cross. Or perhaps it was just that the dwarf was so obviously uninterested in men.

Nathaniel, on the other hand... he wasn't exactly interested, but he couldn't say he was uninterested either. He'd had men and women before – both, one particularly memorable, drunken night in Tantervale – and he liked either just fine. But between his mother's prudery, his father's strict upbringing – which included the notion that one did not father little Howe bastards if it could at all be avoided – and how he'd been regarded as barely a step above a Chasind barbarian in much of the Free Marches, not to mention his own personal reserve... Well, between all of those things, he had to admit his experience of sex was rather less than that of most of his peers.

Still, he had to admit that of all the people in the Keep he might potentially have as a lover, if he'd thought about it much – which he hadn't – and made a list of some kind – which he also hadn't – that maybe, just possibly, someone like Anders would have been pretty high up on that hypothetical list. Someone who wasn't possessive, who treated relationships casually, more a friend than a lover. Thoughtful, and intelligent, and, yes, him being very good-looking didn't hurt either. Oh, he wasn't perfect, he was a little manic at times, withdrawn at others, and clearly had some issues around his past in the mage tower... but who didn't have issues? Nathaniel himself included.

So why, he wondered, wasn't he jumping at the casually expressed interest?

"There, that should do it," Anders said cheerfully, and moved away again, re-sealing the jar and putting it aside on the night table by the bed. "I should head off to bed... see you tomorrow."

"Yes. Thank you," Nathaniel said, already reaching for his own night shirt. He paused for a moment, watching Anders walking away, almost called out when he reached the door – but didn't. The mage left, closing the door behind him without once glancing back. Nathaniel slowly pulled on his nightshirt, then crawled into bed. As relaxed as he was feeling after the massage, he fell asleep very quickly.

---

Anders continued popping up around Nathaniel at least once each day, at least on those days where one or both of them weren't being dragged around odd corners of Amaranthine by the Warden-Commander. Anders also continued his subtle – and sometimes not-so-subtle – flirting with Nathaniel. Though at least he stopped the flattery, once he realized how uncomfortable it made the rogue feel.

Nathaniel found himself going looking for the mage himself for the first time after returning from one such lengthy expedition with Ewan. He found Anders in the third place he thought to look – the storage room with the crated books. The mage looked up in startlement when he opened the door and walked in, the startled look quickly changing to a welcoming smile. "Nathaniel! You're back – how was the trip? Anyone injured?" he asked, already putting aside the book he'd been reading and looking concerned.

"Everyone is fine," Nathaniel quickly reassured him."Surprisingly fine, considering what we found out there," he said, and walked over to sit down on the carpeted floor near Anders, back against the wall. He sighed in relief at being off his feet for the first time since they'd broke camp that morning. "It's a mess out there. Great big crack in the earth, just like those hunters told us. Broke open where the Deep Roads are running pretty close to the surface, from back when the dwarves used to mine under the hills, I suppose. Ewan dragged us down to explore, and we found darkspawn. And a dwarf, one of those Legion of the Dead ones he's talked about."

Nathaniel ran his hand through his hair, leaning back tiredly against the wall. "Anyway. We rescued her, and then went into the Deep Roads with her to see if any others of her group were still alive. Found one survivor, but... well, even if you'd been there I don't think we could have saved him. He told us enough before he died to let us know that Sigrun – that's the dwarf we did rescue – was likely the sole survivor. We poked around some more, enough for Ewan to decide he needs a better-prepared party before heading any further into the place. So we've come back to rest and resupply before heading back again."

Anders grimaced. "Let me guess. Ewan is including 'healer' on his list of what to take along when he returns."

Nathaniel grinned at the mage. "Yup. But it won't be all bad. He's planning to take both the dwarf and I along too. And she's a vicious little fighter. Another rogue. You'll like her."

Anders sighed. "Well, that's something – at least the two of you will be more likely to be dodging attacks than bouncing around making yourself a target for them."

Nathaniel nodded. "I prefer to leave that to the real warriors, like Ewan. Anyway, as late as we got back here, it likely won't be until the day after tomorrow before we head out again; we could all use a rest. It was... pretty nasty, down there in the Deep Roads. I just want to have a good meal and a hot bath and fall into bed, though not necessarily in that particular order."

Anders nodded, then gave Nathaniel a puzzled look. "So why are you here, instead of falling into a hot bath?"

Nathaniel shrugged, and smiled at the mage. "Felt like talking to you first, I guess. And asking if you would mind giving me a hand with more of that salve, later. I don't recommend sleeping on a cold stone floor for two nights running as being a good way to rest or relax. Between that and all the fighting my back feels like one big knot."

Anders smiled warmly at Nathaniel. "Sure, I can help with that. If you asked nicely I'll even join you in the bath and start with a massage there to work out the worst of it. You have to tell me more about this trip and what happened though, so I have some idea of what Ewan is dragging me off into for once."

Nathaniel nodded. "Deal," he agreed.

"You want to eat first? Or later?"

"Later. I'll stop by the kitchens on the way down and have something sent up to my rooms. You might as well join me. Unless you have other plans?" he asked.

Anders shook his head, and smiled slightly. "No. No other plans."

Nathaniel nodded. "Well. I'd better go drop my armour and things off in my room – I'll meet you down in the baths. Say, in about half an hour?"

Anders nodded. "I'll be there," he said. "And you might as well have the food sent to my room, unless you've gotten in more furniture since I was last in yours. I've at least got a proper table and enough chairs for guests."

"Good point," Nathaniel agreed. "All right, your room it is."

---

Everyone else who'd been along on the expedition had already bathed by the time Nathaniel made it downstairs to the baths. Bathed, and left, except Oghren, who was just drying off.

"I don't think I've ever seen you without your braids, Oghren," Nathaniel observed as he started stripping off his own clothes.

Oghren grunted, glancing around at the rogue before returning to towelling his hair dry. "They had stuff in them. Needed a good washing. Besides, I plan to see if Felsi is talking to me again yet tonight. More likely to let me in the door if I ain't smelling of darkspawn guts." He draped a towel around his shoulders, picked up his clothing, nodded in parting at Nathaniel, and headed off.

Nathaniel finished stripping, rinsed off, scrubbed himself down with soap, and rinsed again, before stepping into the tub. He was just starting to wonder if he'd been early or Anders was running late when the mage hurried into the room.

"Sorry," Anders called as he began stripping off his own clothes. "Bumped into Oghren on the stairs and he wanted to tell me all about his latest experiment in brewing. Managed to fend him off eventually with news of a recent shipment of ale from Amaranthine."

Anders joined him in the tub a few minutes later, having taken a hurried wash as well. "So tell me more about what happened," Anders said, even as he moved to where he could reach Nathaniel's back and shoulders.

Nathaniel nodded, and started in on the lengthy story of their trip to the west and back. The story lasted through the massage and hot soak, and their walk back upstairs, where they parted ways long enough for both of them to dress.

It was only as he was changing that he found himself thinking about how odd it actually was that his first action on returning to the Keep had been to seek out the other man. He'd missed him, he realized, in the days away – missed talking to him, missed his sense of humour. Missed his company. His friendship. Him. He paused for a while, then stripped off the worn, comfortable old shirt he'd first put on, and picking on a nicer one instead, taking the time to comb out and neatly rebraid his hair, shave his cheeks, and trim his nails before putting it on, trying not to think too hard about why he was taking his time to make sure he looked his best.

Finally he forced himself to go back down the hallway, and knock at Anders' door. The mage answered almost immediately, making it obvious he'd been hovering, waiting for Nathaniel to arrive. He smiled warmed at the rogue. "I was beginning to think you'd fallen asleep or something," he said lightly, and gave Nathaniel an appreciative once-over as the rogue entered the room.

Nathaniel, for his part, was too busy with staring around at the furnishings and decor to notice that, like he, Anders was neatly dressed and freshly shaved. The room was pretty much as far from the almost monastic decor of Nathaniel's room as it was possible to get. The floor was layered in rugs and carpets, several of which Nathaniel vaguely recognized as having belonged elsewhere in the keep before Anders had seemingly appropriated them. The walls were covered in colourful draperies and tapestries, where they could be seen at all between the bookcases lined up around the room, their line broken only by the bed, the fireplace, and a pair of large windows in the outer wall. The floor space was eaten up by the huge bed, and a pair of comfortable overstuffed armchairs near the fire, with a small round table pulled up between them. There were also smaller tables in front of each window, their tops buried under piles of drying herbs, glass bottles and vials, ceramic jars, and the like. A mortar and pestle stood in the middle of the main table like an eccentric centrepiece, flanked by a pair of covered plates, a decanter of red wine, and a couple of goblets.

"Sorry about the mess," Anders said as he walked over to the table and took a seat. "I've been busy restocking potions the last few days while you were all out and about."

Nathaniel nodded, and moved to sit down across from Anders, eyes still exploring the crowded room. "I see you found the travelogues," he said, nodding his head toward one nearby bookcase, two of its shelves filled with slim volumes bound in matching burgundy leather.

Anders grinned. "Yes. Including the volume on Tevinter. And a few other things of interest, including two of the black-bound books you said I should watch out for."

Nathaniel laughed, and removed the cover from his plate, then picked up the bottle of wine and filled their goblets. Their conversation turned to books for a while, before he returned to the story of the foray into the Deep Roads. That took the rest of the meal; they had cleaned their plates by the time it he was done, Anders frowning in concern over his description of things like the golems and childer grubs they'd encountered while scouting the ruins of Kal'Hirol.

"I am not looking forward in the least to being dragged off into the Deep Roads to see such things for myself," Anders said dubiously, then brightened. "Still, that's not until the day after tomorrow, is it? And in the meantime I have a treat for us, and then I owe you another massage, as I recall."

"A treat?" Nathaniel asked as the mage rose to his feet and walked over to the fireplace.

Anders dug around among the knick-knacks there, and produced a dusty, squat bottle of a glass so dark it seemed more black than brown, then turned to Nathaniel with a pleased smile. "Port. Very old port. The workers clearing the collapsed part of the cellars uncovered the entrance to a small wine-cellar, hidden behind a smashed rack in the main cellar. The seneschal hadn't even known of it; he and Mistress Woolsey figured out from the few dated bottles found that the contents of the room had likely been laid down over a hundred years ago. They've got it locked up tight now, but a few choice bottles seem to have gone missing first. Including this one," Anders said, all innocence.

Nathaniel laughed. "I wonder if I should claim the rest as personal belongings of the Howe family," he said. "Well, let's try it first and see if it's improved with age."

Anders nodded, and carefully opened the bottle, producing a pair of clean glasses from among the clutter to pour some out into.

It was very good, Nathaniel found himself thinking, as he sampled his glass. Sweet and thick and richly flavoured. Anders turned up a quantity of nuts from a canister on one of the bookshelves, which they used the pestle to crack, for lack of anything more appropriate, tossing the broken shells into the mortar. It was an enjoyable dessert, the two men sipping their way through rather more port than Nathaniel would normally have allowed himself to consume, and talking of wine and food and memorable meals they'd had.

"I still miss working at the Pearl sometimes," Anders sighed. "The food was nothing special but they had an excellent bar. And the best bartender in all of Denerim."

"That being yourself, of course?"

"Yes. And the perks were all right too," Anders said, with a meaningful wink. "I learned a few interesting tricks there. Showed off a few as well," he added, then sighed. "Which is, of course, how I ended up being found out. Used a favourite little trick of mine on the wrong person. Next thing I know I'm silenced, tied up in a not-at-all-fun way, and being hauled back to the tower yet again," he finished glumly.

"What trick?" Nathaniel asked before he could stop himself.

Anders grinned. "Easier to show than to tell. Some other time perhaps," he said, and laughed suddenly. "Come on. I still owe you a massage, and I'd better get to that before we get any drunker."

Nathaniel nodded. They rose and moved over to the bed, where Anders started rooting around among the jars on the table before the closest window, looking for another jar of salve, while Nathaniel took off his shirt. Anders turned around and pretty much froze for a moment, staring at Nathaniel, then shook his head before walking over to join him.

"What?" Nathaniel said uneasily, looking up at the taller man.

Anders snorted, and gave him a look. "I still can't believe that you don't believe you're attractive."

Nathaniel flushed. "I'm not," he insisted. "I'm short, and hairy, and oddly proportioned, and..."

Anders shook his head, and reached out, fingers touching Nathaniel's lips in a silencing motion. "I happen to like men who are hairy," he said. "And you're perfectly proportioned... nice broad shoulders... lovely narrow hips... just the perfect height..." he said, softly, and leaned down slowly, fingers trailing away from Nathaniel's mouth, caressing his jawline and down his neck, while he lifted his other hand and cupped it around the back of Nathaniel's neck.

Nathaniel considering pulling away, but instead found himself standing very still, head tilting back as Anders leaned down. The mage paused for just the briefest moment, a small gap still remaining between them, then exhaled slightly, breath gusting warm against Nathaniel's skin as he closed the final bit of distance between them.

His lips were warm and soft, and Nathaniel realized pretty quickly that the mage was, unsurprisingly, a very experienced kisser. His eyes closed as he gave himself up to the kiss, to enjoying the brush of lips against his. He sighed in pleasure, mouth dropping open a little, and Anders' tongue licked in and teased at the tip of his own, tasting of port and walnuts. The mage's hands moved again, shifting to cup either side of Nathaniel's head, his long fingers burying themselves in the hair back of Nathaniels' ears, thumbs caressing at the skin just in front of them. Nathaniel finally moved as well, one hand coming to rest against Anders' hip, the other reaching up to touch fingertips to Anders' chin.

The mage made an approving sound, then finally broke the kiss, gasping slightly. "You're beautiful," he whispered softly. "Why don't you see it? If you could see yourself through my eyes..."

Nathaniel opened his mouth to respond, to deny the mage's words, but found himself silenced by the look in the other man's eyes. He felt his cheeks heating, and swallowed nervously.

"Show me," he said, instead.

Anders smiled approvingly at him, and lowered his head a second time.

---

There was a massage when the kisses ended. Anders insisted, and by then Nathaniel was feeling uncertain enough again to give in without protest. Though Anders also insisted on him taking off a lot more than just his shirt; he was wearing just his smallclothes as he stretched out face-down on Anders' bed, forehead resting on crossed wrists.

He felt very vulnerable, being unclothed like that when Anders was still fully clothed. Though at least the mage still being clothed made the whole situation feel a little less... fraught. Until Anders, instead of kneeling beside him for the massage, as he'd thought he would, moved to straddle him instead. At least the mage kept his weight up off of Nathaniel, but the rogue was still very aware of the warmth of Anders knees and shins pressing into the mattress to either side of his hips, and knew he was blushing, his face heating.

Anders, thankfully, made no comment, if he noticed anything at all, and instead merely began administering the promised massage, as impersonally as the previous ones had been. It took a while, but Nathaniel finally managed to relax again, between the pleasant pummelling and the lingering effects of the port they'd shared. He started to drift a little, not even noticing at first when the massage slowed down, the motions of Anders' hands becoming long caressing touches, his hands sliding in long strokes up Nathaniel's back, out across his shoulders and down his arms. Then Anders paused, and he heard the slithering of fabric, saw a fluttering out of the corner of his eyes as Anders tossed his own shirt to the floor. He made an inquisitive sound.

"Too warm," Anders said softly, and then went back to massaging Nathaniel, until the rogue felt completely relaxed and comfortably limp, drifting on the edge of sleep.

"Turn over," the mage murmured after a while, moving off of the bed and out of Nathaniel's way. Nathaniel obeyed, and lay on his back, watching mutely as Anders stood by the bed, stripping off his own remaining clothes; leggings, stockings, undershirt, leaving him clad in nothing but smallclothes as well.

"You're so beautiful," Nathaniel said quietly, almost mournfully, wondering again how the mage could call him handsome.

Anders grinned at him, then skinned out of his smallclothes, dropping them to the floor with the rest of his clothing. Nathaniel drew in a long slow breath, studying the mage from head to foot, feeling his own cock give a twitch as he took in Anders' own partially erect state.

"Your turn," the mage said, and sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching out to hook his fingers in the waistband of Nathaniel's smallclothes. Nathaniel said nothing, but co-operated silently, lifting first his hips and then his legs so that the mage could pull them off. He lay silently afterwards, watching Anders' face as the mage looked him over as frankly in turn as he had.

"I take it back. You are oddly proportioned after all," Anders said. "Maker's balls, Nathaniel... with a cock like that you should be at least half a foot taller."

Nathaniel laughed, surprised, and... for once... letting himself feel at least a little flattered. "Liar," he growled.

Anders grinned at him, tossing his smallclothes casually aside. "Not much of one, actually," he said, then leaned down and kissed it, drawing a startled yelp from the rogue and another twitch from his cock. "Mmmm," the mage hummed, and kissed it again, then lifted it a little in one hand, and licked it, from base to tip along the underside. That got much more than just a twitch out of Nathaniel, and the mage gave him a very distinctly naughty look before lowering his head again and doing some increasingly interesting things with lips, tongue, and mouth. Nathaniel was soon fully erect, fingers digging into the bedding, gasping and flushed.

Anders smiled as he sat up again. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to see you this way..." he all but purred, as he raked a heated look over the rogue, from head to toes. Then moved to straddle him again, as he had when massaging him. He even scooped up more of the salve – but rather than spreading it on his hands, he spread some on first Nathaniel's erection, then on his own. Nathaniel felt his mouth going dry as he watched him. Once they were both well-oiled, the mage leaned down and kissed him again, supporting his weight on one hand while his other reached between them, exploring Nathaniel's chest.

Nathaniel hesitantly lifted one of his own hands, touching Anders' side, then sliding it inwards and upwards across Anders' chest, stopping to caress a nipple. Anders growled in approval, his kiss becoming more heated, his hand seeking out one of Nathaniel's nipples in turn. He pinched it lightly, drawing a startled yip from the rogue, then slid his hand in a caressing motion down Nathaniel's chest and then up again, against the grain of his chest hair. His hand stilled for a moment, fingers toying with the coarse black hairs, then moved downwards again, further this time, caressing down Nathaniel's stomach, and lower yet.

Nathaniel's own hands were equally busy, exploring Anders' chest and sides, feeling the movement of the muscles in his arms, reaching up to cup his shoulders, to lightly touch his face, to strip out the tie in the mage's hair so it cascaded down around both their faces.

Finally Anders sat back again, grinning happily. He tossed his head to get his hair out of his eyes, one hand reaching up to tuck some back behind the ear where his single gold hoop glinted. "Enjoying yourself so far?" he asked, one eyebrow arching high while the fingers of one hand came to rest on Nathaniel's erection, fingers fitting lightly around the top curve, pad of his thumb stroking tantalizingly along the bottom.

"Yes," Nathaniel managed to gasp out, his hips jerking once as he fought back the urge to thrust into the mage's encircling hand.

"Good," Anders said, smiling warmly at him, then released his grip and shifted position, nudging Nathaniel's legs further apart and moving to kneel between them. Anders leaned down over him again, bracing one hand beside the rogue's head, his other hand reaching between them, wrapping around both their erections at once in a firm grip, drawing a gasp from Nathaniel. Anders grinned at him again. "You'll like this," he assured the rogue, then slowly rolled his hips, his erection sliding back and forth against Nathaniel's within the confines of his hand.

"Shit!" Nathaniel exclaimed, head falling back and eyes squeezing shut at the sensation. His reaction drew a low laugh from the mage. Then Anders leaned a little further down, flicking his tongue along the arched curve of Nathaniel's neck.

Nathaniel laughed, a little giddily, and raised his head to meet Anders' mouth, the two exchanging a lingering kiss as the mage continued to slowly roll his hips. "Feel free to lend a hand," Anders said against his mouth, then kissed him again. Nathaniel grinned and reached between them, adding his hand over top of Anders', bringing more of them into contact, and squeezed lightly the next time Anders thrust forward. By the way the mage moaned into his mouth, Nathaniel presumed he approved.

They soon developed a good rhythm, bodies thrusting not quite in step, their erections sliding back and forth within their encircling hands. They alternated periods of kissing with periods of just simply gasping for breath, foreheads pressed together. Both of them were soon coated with sweat as they kept up the constant rolling movements, gentle and slow when they started, the pace and force gradually increasing, growing more frantic.

Nathaniel came first, heels digging into the sheets and hips thrusting sharply up, crying out as his seed spurted onto his stomach between them. Anders took a few more ragged thrusts, then he, too, cried out and came. After the last few weak thrusts ended Anders released his grip from around both of them and went limp, draping himself heavily over Nathaniel.

Nathaniel didn't mind. He slipped his own hand out from between them, ignoring the mess on his stomach – smeared on Anders' stomach now too from their close contact – and simply wrapped his arms around the other mage and held him tightly, beyond words to express how he was currently feeling.

After a few minutes Anders gently pushed himself free, and fetched a cloth to wipe them clean with, climbing back into bed again afterwards, stretching out on his side beside Nathaniel, leaning on one elbow and smiling down at the thoroughly relaxed rogue. "Do you like snuggling?" he asked, sounding hopeful. "I do."

Nathaniel laughed. "I don't know. I haven't tried it before," he admitted, feeling compelled to honesty with the other man.

Anders just laughed in turn, softly, and smiled at him, then leaned down and kissed him, more a gentle nuzzling than anything else. "Let's find out," he said, then scrambled around, getting the sheets pulled down and both of them moved into the middle of the bed before pulling them up again. Nathaniel found himself lying partially on his back, partially curled up on his side, the mage's longer legs entangled with his and Anders' head resting on his shoulder, the mage's hand resting on his chest. Anders sighed out, his breath stirring the hair on Nathaniel's chest. His long fingers played with the hairs there. It should have been uncomfortable, and doubtless if they stayed like that for very long it would become so, but right now it just felt... right. Comfortable and comforting. Nathaniel took and released a deep breath himself, then turned his head to nuzzle into Anders' hair.

"You confuse me," he said after a while, quietly.

"Oh? Why?" the mage asked.

"I don't know. Just... I guess I still don't understand... why me. Why this. Even if you really do think I'm... attractive."

Anders snorted, and craned his head around to smile up at Nathaniel. "Devastatingly handsome. I still can't believe you aren't aware of it. Those eyes... that nose," he said, and lifted himself up enough to lean forward and kiss the relevant body part, drawing a startled laugh from the rogue. Anders smiled, and lowered his head again. "And you're all so nicely put-together, too. Maker, Nate, your upper arms are bigger around than my thighs."

Nathaniel snorted. "Not Nate. I hate that name. Archer's arms... but they make me all out of proportion, like a carrot..."

"Lies! You have very nice proportions, as I told you earlier. Broad shoulders and narrow hips are among my favourite things. Along with this delightful little groove," he said, running a fingertip along the cut-line between Nathaniel's hip and stomach, drawing a minor yip and flinch from man. "Oh-ho! Ticklish, are you? I'll have to remember that in future," Anders exclaimed, waggling his eyebrows up and down, earning another laugh from the rogue.

"All right, even if we assume I'm more attractive than I think I am, and at least not a total loss when it comes to intelligence, conversation, or humour... I'm still nothing special. Not that I think you're necessarily looking for anything special, I know that... that you have several, um, lovers..." he trailed off, uncomfortable again.

Anders snorted again, softly, and snuggled his head against Nathaniel's shoulder. "Special enough," he said softly. "Did I ever tell you about what it's like in the tower, for lovers?"

"No," Nathaniel said. "Why?" he asked, with some trepidation.

Anders sighed, and lay very still for a little while. When he resumed speaking, much of the emotion had gone out of his voice, leaving it sounding cool – almost detached. "Having a relationship is dangerous, in the Tower. For several reasons. In some towers physical relationships are banned entirely, and punished if discovered. Ferelden is fairly liberal in that regard; relationships are frowned upon, but not forbidden, and as long as certain lines aren't crossed most people look the other way."

He frowned, then continued. "But the templars have a history of using bonds of affection to control or punish the mages involved, so most people try to avoid having anything more than a casual relationship. Sex, but not love. And some people avoid having any relationships at all, since what they don't have can't be used against them, or taken away. And some of us... well, a few people end up falling in love anyway. Sometimes it's even mutual. And then they basically have three choices. End the relationship themselves. Continue it and try to keep it hidden, perhaps by still jumping in and out of a lot of other people's beds as well and hope the one special relationship gets missed. Or live for the day, and enjoy the relationship as intensely as you can, for as long as it's allowed to last."

"Were you ever in love? In the Tower?" Nathaniel asked.

There was a very long silence, Anders motionless except for his hand, fingers still toying with Nathaniel's chest hairs. "Just once," he finally said. "Another man, older than myself. He'd stayed mostly out of relationships, and was very discrete the rare time he did have one. I was the sort who slept with anyone who'd have me. But with him it was always... special. Making love, not just having sex. I'd thought we'd been careful enough, that no one had realized that we had..." he trailed off, face looking saddened.

"But...?"

"When they brought me back from the sixth escape. Before they locked me away for a year. They told me he was gone. Sent away. They did it to punish me. Because he'd dared to love me," he said, voice low and hoarse.

Nathaniel hugged him close, felt Anders holding tightly onto him in turn. He thought the mage might be crying, and then he was sure he was, though it was mainly a silent thing – the way he quivered a little, his face buried against Nathaniel's chest. Very few actual tears, just a couple of deep sniffs at the end before he finally relaxed again.

"Sorry," the mage whispered against his skin.

"I'm the one that should be sorry. For asking in the first place. And sorry that... that he was taken away from you like that."

Anders nodded. They lay together in silence for a while. Nathaniel thought the mage had fallen to sleep, and then he spoke again, voice little more than a whisper. "He got word to me, eventually. Of where he'd been sent. Kirkwall," Anders said, voice bleak.

Nathaniel shivered. The reputation of the Gallows in Kirkwall as an especially harsh place was widespread.

"Is that where you were planning on going?" Nathaniel asked. "Was that why you were in Amaranthine?"

"Yes and no," Anders said, and snuggled a little closer to Nathaniel, a little of the tension seeping out of him. "He's made a new life for himself there now. New friends. We still care for each other, but... we're not the same two people any more. Even if there was some way for me to get him out," he trailed off, and shrugged, before turning his head to look at Nathaniel. "He writes to me though, when he can. He still cares about me. I actually came to Amaranthine in search of my phylactery, though that turned out to be a trap set for me by Rylock. Which I've evaded twice now, thanks to Ewan's intervention. And Rylock is no more. There's someone whose death I'll shed no tears over," he said, darkly. "Anyway. Enough dark thoughts. Let's sleep."

Nathaniel nodded. They both fell silent and, as exhausted as he was from the long day just finished, Nathaniel dropped off to sleep very quickly.

---

The warmth of the other man's skin against his was one of the first things Nathaniel was aware of when he woke the next morning, lying curled on one side, the taller mage spooned up against his back and curled around him, one arm draped over him. He could feel Anders' breath gusting softly though the fine hairs at the back of his neck, a slightly ticklish but mainly comforting feeling. Then felt the other man stir slightly, and lips brush against the nape of his neck, even as Anders' hand sought out his and laced their fingers together.

"You're awake now, I can tell," Anders murmured into his hair.

Nathaniel smiled. "I am," he admitted.

"So. Now do you know if you like cuddling?"

Nathaniel laughed. "I think I do," he said. "This is nice."

"Good," Anders said, sounding a little smug, and drew him closer in a one-armed hug. "So. Do you have anything to get done this morning, or shall I demonstrate to you again just how attractive I think you are?"

That made Nathaniel laugh again. "Feel free to demonstrate," he said, managing to turn over enough within Anders' grasp to see the mage's face.

Anders smiled warmly at him, and moved closer, lowering his head to lip at the skin along Nathaniel's collarbone. Which wasn't quite what Nathaniel had been expecting, nor anything he could recall any previous lover ever doing, but was very pleasant nonetheless. He laughed, when Anders nuzzled against him and their stubble rasped loudly together. Anders drew back enough to give him a look. "You're easily amused this morning," he observed, and reached out to rub the his fingers against the grain of the stubble on the rogue's chin. "Though perhaps we are both in need of a fresh shave. And another bath. Among other things."

"It can wait," Nathaniel assured him, and ran one hand suggestively down the mage's side, ending with it cupped over his buttock. "If we're going to get all sweaty again anyway, we might as well wait to bathe until after that."

"Very logical," Anders said in an approving tone, and lowered his head again, turning it sideways on Nathaniel's chest. He captured the rogue's right hand, and drew it up to where he could look more closely at it. "You have callused fingertips," he observed.

"I'm an archer," Nathaniel reminded him. "It happens."

Anders grinned. "I like it. I'll be able to tell your hands from anyone else's, even in the dark."

That drew a slight frown from Nathaniel. He knew that Anders slept with a lot of people. He'd known, when he'd given in and accepted the mage's offer the night before, that he would just be another among many. But this morning... this morning, he more than half-wished that it would just be him that Anders would sleep with. Would care about.

"Do you have anyone special, here in the Keep?" he found himself asking, and wished he could take back the question as soon as it had left his lips.

Anders went very still, then resumed examining his hand. "I might. There's this one person I rather like."

"Oh," Nathaniel said softly.

Anders released his hand, and crawled up on top of him, his weight pressing Nathaniel back into the mattress. The mage's hands moved to cup either side of Nathaniel's face. Anders smiled. "He's rather nice. Intelligent. Good conversationalist. Convinced – wrongly – that he's unattractive, but I hope to change that in time," he said, and lowered his head to give Nathaniel a long kiss.

"Laughs at your jokes?" Nathaniel asked when it ended, voice a little shaky.

Anders smiled again. "That's the one," he agreed, then lay his head down on Nathaniel's chest, his arms slipping around the rogue's shoulders and neck. Nathaniel wrapped his own around Anders' waist, holding him close.

"I don't know how long it would last for. Or even if it would last. But I think he and I would be very good for each other, for however long it does last. If he can learn to put aside the past, and let the future unfold as it will, and just... live for the day. Enjoy it, for as long as he and I can."

Nathaniel swallowed, and hugged Anders tightly. "I... think I can do that, actually," he managed to say, voice a little hoarse.

Anders raised his head, and turned a brilliant smile on him. "Good," he said, voice warm, and kissed him again, a very long and deep kiss that left them both short of breath.

"So," Nathaniel said, hands sliding slowly up and down Anders' back, exploring the fit of bone and muscles there. "I seem to remember you mentioning a trick that was 'easier to show than to tell' – feel like demonstrating what you were talking about?" he asked, one eyebrow crooking.

Anders grinned. "What an excellent suggestion," he said. "Yes."

The mage was right, Nathaniel found himself thinking as they curled up together again some while afterwards, both pleasantly sated by their morning's activities. He couldn't change the past – not his father's actions, nor what that had done to the Howe reputation and fortune. The future would unroll as fate or choice dictated, and might last until he heard his calling, or end with a slip in the bath later today. Tomorrow would almost certainly involve the beginning of another lengthy, dangerous expedition, with darkness and Deep Roads and darkspawn. But he could choose to put aside the past, and let the future worry about itself, and just enjoy the now. Live for the day, and enjoy what time he could with Anders, for however long it lasted.

The mage was right. They would be good for each other. And that... would have to be enough. For however long it lasted. For as long as it was allowed to last.