A/N: This is a story that's been rolling around in my brain for a couple of months now, and I finally decided to get it out on paper. It completely and totally ignores all of the events of DA2, and treats the endings in Awakening as being the true canon. I've always loved the dynamic between these two characters, and this is how I'd like to believe their story ends.

Just in case it's not wholly obvious by the summary, this fic contains Major Character Deaths! You have been warned.

5/8/12 This story now has art! I commissioned a piece from the amazingly talented Dragonreine, which can be found here (make sure to remove the spaces): http : / dragonreine . deviantart . com / art / Rest-300767523

The air was rancid with the smell of rotted flesh. All around him he could hear the screams of shrieks and the bellowing of ogres. The thick darkness was broken up only by a faint green glow emanating from the walls. Darkspawn corpses littered the ground around him.

He felt as if he had been down here his entire life, slaughtering one vile monstrosity after another with no end in sight. His hands and arms were covered with black patches of skin, his lips dry and cracked. And the sharp pains of hunger in his belly never abated, no matter how much darkspawn flesh he consumed.

Far off in the distance he could see the hulking shape of a dragon, its voice whispering deafeningly into his ear. The sweet song the Old God was singing clawed through his mind, beckoning him. The music was at once terrible and beautiful, and he knew he was powerless to resist its call.

A whimper sounded behind him and he whirled around to see a familiar shape sitting in the corner. His mage's robes were almost black with filth. His face was marred with the same dark bruises that adorned Nathaniel's body, and his hair was nearly gone. Darkspawn blood trickled from his lips as he began to speak.

"Please Nathaniel," the gruesome figure that was once his beloved rasped, "please…just kill me."

"NOOO!" Nate woke to find himself sitting up in bed, gasping, body soaked with sweat. His throat burned from the scream that had been ripped from him.

He felt movement on the bed beside him as Anders sat up. "Nate?" his lover's voice was laced with concern. "Nate, what's wrong?"

Still trembling violently, Nate shook his head. "Nothing. It's—it was just a bad dream, that's all."

He swung his legs over the bed, pausing to make sure they would support him before standing up. He walked over to the dresser on the other side of the room. Placing his hands flat along the top he stared into the basin of water that had been filled the night before. His own face, lined with the passing of years but unblemished by the taint, stared back up at him. He dipped a hand into the water and splashed some of the cool liquid onto his face.

He heard the padding of feet on the floor as Anders crossed the room to him, and a hand began gently massaging his back. "What happened?" Anders asked, softly.

Nate couldn't bring himself to look at the mage, didn't want his lover to see the terror that still lingered from his nightmare. "Just a darkspawn dream," he murmured.

Silence reigned for several long moments. "You dreamt about the Old Gods, didn't you," Anders said quietly. It wasn't a question. "Did you…" He sounded hesitant, "did you hear the song?"

Nate whipped his head up and looked sharply at Anders. "How did you—?"

Anders bit at his lower lip, an old habit Nate had given up trying to break him of years ago. "I've been hearing it too," he said quietly, "for about a week now."

Nate looked at him, shocked. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Anders raised an eyebrow. "If I hadn't woken up just now, would you have told me?"

Nathaniel looked away, unsure of the answer. Several long moments dragged out. "It's the Calling, isn't it?" his voice was barely above a whisper.

"I think so," Anders sighed.

"What are we going to do?"

Anders wrapped an arm around Nate's waist and kissed him on the shoulder. "We're going to go back to bed."

"Anders—"

"It's the middle of the night, Love, we can deal with this tomorrow." He tugged on Nate's hand, leading him back to the bed they had shared for thirty years. Nate buried his face in Anders' neck as the mage wrapped his arms around him. He tried to slow his breathing, to banish the terrible images from his mind. He heard Anders murmur soothing words into his ear, running his hand up and down the rogue's back. Finally, after what felt like hours, he drifted into a light, dreamless sleep.

oOoOo

When Nathaniel awoke the next morning, the bed was empty. He dressed carefully, fumbling a bit with the fastenings on his shirt. Years of using a bow had made his fingers slightly stiff, not enough to be a true impediment but enough to be irksome when trying to handle small things like buttons and needles.

Anders wasn't in the dining hall when Nate went downstairs for breakfast, and he wondered briefly if the mage was avoiding him. His morning was spent issuing orders and sorting through the massive amounts of paperwork that the Warden Commander had to deal with on a daily basis.

It wasn't until mid-afternoon that he finally managed to catch up with Anders. He was in the practice yard with three young mages that had just recently gone through their Joining. Nate couldn't remember any of their names off-hand, the Wardens' numbers were increasing faster than he could keep up with.

Anders' face lit up when he caught sight of his lover standing near the fence that skirted the training area. "Nate," he said warmly, wandering over to give him a quick kiss, "what are you doing, slumming down here with us commoners?"

Nate smiled. Even though he had been named Warden Commander—and subsequent Arl of Amaranthine—nearly two years ago, Anders never missed a chance to rib him about being nobility once again. "You should be careful what you say to your commanding officer, Mage," he smirked, "I could have you strung up on treason charges, you know."

Anders laughed at that remark, knowing it for the empty threat it was. "I'd like to see you try."

Nate's expression turned serious, and he lowered his voice so that no one nearby could hear him. "I thought we were going to talk today."

Anders' smile faded. "It's been one of those days," he answered, nervously, "you know how it is. So many things to do. Maybe we should just talk tomorrow…?"

Nate shook his head. "And you'll say the exact same thing tomorrow. We need to talk about this, Anders. The sooner the better."

Anders sighed resignedly. "Alright. But not right now, okay? Tonight, after dinner." He saw the look of skepticism on Nate's face. "I promise."

Nate nodded. "Tonight." He kissed Anders lightly on the cheek before letting the other man get back to his training.

It had been dark for hours by the time Anders finally returned to their bedchamber. Nate had been pacing back and forth across the room for the last hour and it was on the tip of his tongue to chastise the mage for his tardiness, but he changed his mind. This conversation was going to be difficult enough without starting it off on the wrong foot.

The nightmare—and the true meaning behind it—had been on his mind the entire day, unsurprisingly. They had so many plans to make: who would take over as Warden Commander; what they would do with their effects and the small amount of money they had accumulated; and, most importantly, when they would leave for the Deep Roads.

Nate didn't know how long it would take for the darkspawn taint to really set in, nor how long it would take for the call of the Old Gods to become impossible to resist. And he had no one else to discuss it with, really. Darrian Tabris, the Hero of Ferelden and Warden Commander of the Grey, had left for the Deep Roads with King Alistair two winters ago. Sigrun had disappeared years before that—but whether she had felt the Calling or had just decided to do her duty as one of the Legion of the Dead, no one ever knew. She had left in the middle of the night without a word to anyone. Oghren was still around, but he was not a man that invited heartfelt discussions of mortality.

Anders moved to the settee in front of the fireplace, and Nate sat down beside him. "We need to talk about something," Anders began.

"I know," Nate said, "that's what I've been telling you."

"No," Anders said, "it's not—there's something…" he trailed off.

Nate looked closely at his lover and was surprised to see how pale the mage looked."You weren't at breakfast. Or dinner. Have you eaten at all today?"

Anders shook his head silently.

Nate moved to get up from the settee. "I'll go get you something from the kitchen."

"No, it's alright," Anders caught at Nate's sleeve, "I don't think I could eat anything right now." He laughed shakily.

"Anders," Nate was starting to get worried, "what exactly is going on?"

"Look," Anders scrubbed at his face with a hand, "we've known since we took our Joining that this was going to happen. But seeing as how our impending deaths isn't a pleasant topic of conversation, we've never talked about it. But…there's something I need to tell you."

Nate looked at him questioningly.

Anders took a deep breath, then another. "I'm not going to the Deep Roads."

Nate was confused. "We don't have a choice, Anders. It's our Calling, it's not something we can avoid. The taint won't kill us, but it will turn us into—"

"I know," Anders cut him off, "but it's not just about the taint, and you know it. It's the song, the one the Old Gods—or Archdemons or whatever they are—sing. It'll destroy our minds long before our bodies succumb to the taint."

Anders frowned as he tried to explain himself. "You know I'm claustrophobic. Remember that time in Kal'Hirol?"

Nate nodded. Anders had completely frozen up when they had gone underground in that lost fortress near Amaranthine. Nate and the Commander had had to practically carry him out of there.

Anders continued. "I can't even go into the basement of the Keep without having nightmares for a week afterwards. Every time I'm in an enclosed space it reminds me of my time back in the Circle Tower, when they would put me in solitary confinement. Maker, that room was so tiny…and there were no windows. I spent a year in that cramped little room in the dark, completely alone. It got so bad I thought I was going crazy. And the thought of dying in the Deep Roads now…" he trailed off.

Nate shook his head. "There isn't any other way, Love. I wish there were."

Anders gave him a piercing look. "There is. We could…" he took a deep breath, "we could end it on our own terms."

Nate looked at him questioningly. "What do you mean?"

"You're a rogue, you—" Anders paused, swallowing, "you know…poisons."

Nate stared at him in shock. "Anders, you can't ask me to do that!"

Anders looked at him defiantly. "Is it better for us to die in the dark? To suffer down there for Maker knows how long—just because it's a tradition?" He stood up and began pacing around the room. "There's no law that says Grey Wardens have to die in the Deep Roads, is there?"

"It's what the Wardens have always done—"

"To hell with them!" Anders spat out angrily. "We don't even know how long it would take for us to die. A day? A week? A year? We could be down there in the darkness for ages—with the walls all around us, no sky, n-no…no a-air, no—" his words were choked off as he began gasping for breath, just the idea of going to the Deep Roads enough to make him panic.

Nate sprang up from the couch and crossed the room to his lover, taking the man into his arms. "Anders, hush, it's alright. It's alright." He held the mage tight until his trembling stopped.

"I can't do it, Nate," Anders whispered, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears. "Even if you're with me. I just…I can't. I can't."

Nate stood quietly for several minutes, arms curled around Anders protectively, thinking over everything the mage had said. "Alright," he finally said.

Anders pulled back to look at him. "Are you sure? Nate, you don't…you don't have to do it with me if you don't want to. You could go—"

"I told you once that I'd never leave you," Nate smiled at him affectionately, "I don't intend to break my promise after all these years. However we choose to end it, Love, we'll do it together."

Anders smiled at him, gratitude in his eyes. "Thank you," he whispered, as he hugged Nate tight.

Nate led them back over to the couch, and pulled Anders into his lap. "I haven't really worked with poisons for years. It may take me a bit to find one that won't be…painful."

Anders nodded, understanding.

"When will we do it?" Nate asked.

"It'll be the 18th next week" Anders replied, "you know what that is, right?"

Nate smiled fondly. "Our anniversary."

Anders gave him a sly look."Remember the honeymoon?"

"Of course. In Rialto—that tiny inn near the bay."

Anders grinned. "Three days, and I don't think we left the room once."

Nate laughed as he hugged Anders close. "I don't think we left the bed once."

Anders gave a low chuckle and took Nate's hand in his, twining their fingers so that the matching silver rings they wore were side by side. "That was the best day of my life," he said, a hint of sadness in his voice.

"Mine too," Nate replied softly. His eyes began to sting as he thought about how little time they had left together. He pulled Anders into a desperate kiss, not wanting to think about it anymore. If they didn't have much time left he wanted to spend as much of it as possible focusing on the good rather than the bad.

When they finally parted for breath, Anders looked at him with that familiar, playful, twinkle in his eye. "You know, one would think that after all these years the sex would have gotten old."

Nate smirked, playing along. "Hasn't it?"

Anders mock-glared at him. "Are you saying it has?"

"Not necessarily," Nate teased, "but…I think I might need a reminder." He cupped the back of Anders' head and pulled him in for another kiss, this one more passionate than despairing.

"Come on, Lover," Anders murmured, "Let me take you to bed."

Nate chuckled, "So eager."

Anders' eyes were dark with lust. "Always." He pulled Nate off the couch and led him over to the bed. They undressed each other slowly, both pausing frequently to kiss each other's necks and lips. Climbing up onto the bed Anders pulled Nate close to him, wrapping his arms around the rogue and nipping at ear.

Growling softly, Nate captured his lover's lips in a heated hiss, their tongues dueling each other. What felt like hours later he pulled back, both of them gasping for air. He ran his hands along Anders' chest. "Touch yourself," he rasped, voice gravelly with desire.

Anders grinned at him as he ran a hand across his stomach before trailing down to grasp his own length. Nate purred as he watched Anders stroking himself, pleasure playing across his features.

Nate pulled the mage down for a kiss, moaning as their erections brushed together. He tugged gently at Anders' lower lip before turning over onto his stomach. No, Nate thought, shivering as he felt kisses trailing down his spine, sex with Anders could never get old.

On his hands and knees, Nate moaned as he felt Anders slide into him after first gently stretching him. Their bodies moved in a harmony that was borne of familiarity. They knew each other's bodies better than their own—the perfect rhythm, the perfect pace and speed.

Nate lost himself in pleasure as he felt his lover thrusting into him over and over. He straightened up so their bodies were pressed back-to-front, moaning loudly as the new position allowed Ander to brush against that pleasurable spot deep inside him over and over. A wave of ecstasy washed over him as he climaxed, Anders stroking Nate's erection as he released deep inside of him at almost the exact same moment.

They lay in bed together afterwards, Anders cradled in Nate's arms. Nate ran his fingers through Anders' hair—once light blond, now nearly white. In truth, Anders had changed little over the years. Yes, his hair was greyer, as was Nate's. But Anders' frame was still lean, and he still had the same boyish, charming smile as he had had when Nate met him all those years ago.

He was still the handsomest man that Nathaniel had ever seen, and the lines on his face only served to enhance his good looks. The tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes came from all of the times that Anders had crinkled his eyes in laughter at one of Nate's attempts at humor. The lines at the edges of his mouth were from the thousands of smiles he had beamed upon Nate, and the creases on his forehead were from all of the times he had furrowed his brow with worry for his beloved.

Anders nuzzled at Nate's neck. "Do you remember our first night together?"

Nate smiled as he breathed in his lover's scent. "I remember."

The two men had been dancing around each other for months, each of them afraid to let themselves get close to someone else. Nathaniel bore the weight of his father's sins, and Anders struggled with the verbal abuse and resentment that was heaped on all mages.

And then came the darkspawn attack on Amaranthine. Nate and Anders had both stayed behind at Vigil's Keep while Darrian took a small group with him to defend the city. They had been caught off guard when the darkspawn horde descended upon the Keep, but Voldrik's upgrades to the buildings and the armor and weapons provided by Master Wade helped them win the long and bloody battle.

That night, after their victory, the two men had sat on the floor of the decimated main hall, sharing a bottle of Antivan brandy between them. They drank toast after toast together, celebrating their victory and mourning the loss of all the men and women that had given their lives to defend the Keep.

Nate, having been left in charge in the Commander's absence, carried the heavy weight of those losses on his shoulders—even thirty years later he still remembered the names of each and every soldier that had died.

And there, sitting amid the ruins of the hall, thinking on all they had lost and not knowing what had become of Darrian and the others, Nate's stoicism had finally broken. He had sat there cradled in Anders' arms and cried harder than he ever had in his life.

It was their grief that brought them together that night, their desperate need for comfort that had sent them tumbling into bed together. But it was Nathaniel's realization that he had finally found someone he could lower his guard with, that he could be himself with, that had caused him to fall in love with Anders. A love he had never expected—had never even dreamt of—but that he soon learned he could not live without.

Nate's arms tightened around his lover as he thought back to that time. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me," he whispered.

Anders tipped his head up and placed a kiss on Nate's lips. "Me too."

Nate sighed, sadly. "Anders, are you sure this is what you want?"

Anders nodded. "In my…nightmares, you're always there with me. But the taint's twisted you, made you into something…horrible. Grotesque."

Nate shivered at that, remembering his own nightmare. Blackened skin. Blood dripping from his lips.

Anders snuggled deeper into Nate's arms. "I want the last thing I see to be your perfect, handsome face."

"Handsome, huh?" Nate asked, teasingly.

Anders nodded. "Perfect." He reached up and traced his finger along the small scar that bisected one of Nate's eyebrows. He'd gotten it years ago when he and Darrian had gone to root out another group of smugglers that had infested Amaranthine. The bandit's blade had nearly cost Nate his eye.

Anders had been furious that he hadn't been allowed to accompany Nate and the Commander, and his anger had only increased when he saw that the rogue had gotten hurt. They had gotten into a huge argument about Nate taking stupid risks and always trying to be a hero. It wasn't until much later that Nate realized Anders had been terrified at the idea that his beloved could have died, and Anders hadn't been there to protect him.

Nate took up Anders' hand and kissed the back of it before bringing it to lay upon his chest.

"Love you," Anders murmured sleepily.

Nate smiled. "Love you too."

oOoOo

The coming days were busy as Nate and Anders worked to tie up the loose ends of their lives. They had agreed not to tell anyone of their plans, neither desiring to have to explain their decision to anyone. Nate would arrange it so that the Seneschal would find out what had happened only after the two men were already gone.

It was easier than Nate had thought to find a poison that would do the deed without causing them to suffer unduly, but they had agreed that their anniversary would be the day of reckoning. It was, as Anders pointed out, very fitting—both men were in agreement that the day they had been married by a ship captain in Antiva had been the day their lives had truly begun.

Neither of them had much interest in sleep so they often stayed up late, talking of days past. Their lives had been full and rewarding—on that both men agreed. There were hardships, to be sure, but their close bond had gotten them through even the toughest of times.

And when they did sleep—in the deepest blackness of the night—they clung tight to each other, taking what strength they could to face the hideous nightmares that plagued them.

They kept to themselves during the day, choosing to spend time with each other, and withdrawing more and more from the rest of the Wardens. Nathaniel's silence was normal of course, and if anyone noticed that the once-outgoing mage was more reserved and less talkative than usual, no one mentioned it.

The fated day came faster than Nathaniel would have believed. How was it that there were hours in his life that seemed to last for years, but a handful of days appeared to pass like minutes? There was a grassy hilltop less than a mile from the Keep that the two men often ventured to when they wanted to spend some time alone together. It was there that they decided they would make their end, at sunset.

Anders had packed a basket with a light meal of their favorite foods, along with a bottle of Antivan brandy. For the first time since becoming Grey Wardens, neither man had much of an appetite so they ate very little of the food. They did, however, share several glasses of the amber liquid—toasting all of the moments in their lives together.

They made love again—but rather than being heated and passionate, it was slow and gentle. Each man poured into it all of the love that they felt for the other, knowing that this would be the last time they would ever share such closeness. Nathaniel leaned over his lover, relishing the feeling of being inside him, trying to make it last as long as possible. He didn't even realize he was crying until Anders leaned up and kissed one of the tears from his cheek.

Afterwards, they dressed—Anders helping Nate with the buttons on his shirt as he had so many times before. Nate reached into the basket and picked out the two vials he had packed earlier. Holding them in his hand, he looked at his beloved.

"Are you ready?" he asked quietly.

Anders smiled at him and took one of the bottles from the rogue's hand. "Ready as I'll ever be." He uncorked the bottle and examined the deadly liquid inside. "Will it—will it hurt?"

Nathaniel shook his head. "No. It'll put us into a sleep, and then…" he trailed off.

"We won't wake up," Anders finished, softly.

Nate nodded. He unstoppered his own vial and raised it to his lips. Looking into Anders' soft brown eyes, he tipped the bottle up and drank its contents, Anders following suit a moment later. Nate lay down in the grass and Anders curled up beside him, his head resting on the rogue's shoulder.

Another tear trickled from the corner of his eye as he hugged his lover close to him. "I love you, Anders," he whispered, "and I always will."

Anders raised his head to look at Nathaniel. "I never, ever thought I could love someone as much as I love you, Nathaniel. Thank you…thank you for this life."

Nate cupped Anders' chin and pulled him in close for one last kiss. It was tender and passionate, full of love and gratitude—it was the best kiss he had ever had. When they pulled back they looked at each other, smiling.

Anders' eyes began to flutter and he rested his head on Nate's chest. Nate tightened his arms around the mage and closed his eyes. He felt the beating of Anders' heart through his shirt, felt his warmth. He listened to the crickets chirping, and the sound of the wind softly rustling the leaves of the nearby trees. His last thought before succumbing to sleep was that he couldn't have asked for a better life, or for a better person than Anders to have spent it with.

Time slowed.

Thoughts faded.

. . . .

. . .

. .

.

oOoOo

When the Seneschal arrived at Nathaniel's office the next morning for their daily meeting, he was surprised to find an envelope addressed to him laying on the desk. Inside was a note explaining where Anders and Nathaniel could be found, as well as instructions for the distribution of their effects and an official proclamation granting one of the senior Wardens the position of Warden Commander.

The tombs at Weisshaupt were reserved for those Grey Wardens who had defeated the Archdemons, but there was a small graveyard near the Fortress where Wardens that had performed exceptional deeds for the Order were buried.

As two of the Wardens that had helped put down the intelligent darkspawn invasion nearly thirty years before, Anders and Nathaniel Howe had earned their places among the other esteemed men and women.

As Nathaniel's nephew Byron Howe was the only surviving relative that either man had, he was called by the First Warden to preside over their funeral.

He was asked what sort of inscription should be placed on the two men's grave markers. The young man thought of all of his uncles' deeds; all of the things the two men had accomplished in their lives; all of the good traits they possessed. What few words could possibly be used to describe the whole of their lives and the important mark they had left on the world?

"Put…" he paused, thinking, "put…'Beloved Husband.'"

"On which one?" The Warden asked.

"Both," he responded, quietly.

He stood at their graves long after the funeral service was over. He reflected on the fact that the world would be a little darker for their passing—just as it had been a little brighter for their existence.

He was a devout Andrastian, and had always believed that when you died you would return to the Maker's side. But as he stood there looking at the two graves that had been placed side-by-side, he realized that it didn't really matter as much as he had once thought.

He knew that the love his uncles had shared with each other was something rare, perhaps only once in a hundred years did a love so pure and true exist. Wherever the two men were now, they were together—and really, that was all that mattered.

Another turning point

A fork stuck in the road

Time grabs you by the wrist

Directs you where to go

So make the best of this test

And don't ask why

It's not a question

But a lesson learned in time

It's something unpredictable

But in the end it's right

I hope you had the time of your life

Green Day—Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)