Title: Soothe
Author: SnowChaser
Pairing(s): Hawke x Anders
Author's Note: Short little ficlet, not nearly as long as 'Comfort'. Also, these are in no particular order.
Summary: The urge to soothe was always too strong for him to resist…
She'd changed her lot in Kirkwall.
No longer a refugee, she was also no longer homeless, nor penniless. The sprawling estate she'd bought with the proceeds from the Deep Roads was as elegant as it was beautiful, and well suited to both the young apostate and her mother. It just… *looked* like them. It was a place of sanctuary and shelter, as well as a place of love- not just for the small family, but for all of them as well. They were welcomed there without question, nor protest.
So far, though, he was by far the one who was there most often, and he liked to think, most welcome as well. The pretty brunette lit up whenever he entered the room, no matter what topic he happened to have on his mind, or, for that matter, where they were. Often times, like now, they found themselves cloistered in her room, perched on the feather mattress, simply talking. The proximity, the very scent of her, drove him utterly mad, but he was powerless to leave the situation. Because, you see, she would touch him occasionally- a gentle hand on his bicep, or a chaste kiss on the cheek, and those light, teasing touches were enough to keep him coming back like a cat to cream.
Currently, she was half-sprawled across her bed horizontally, hair a messy fall of silk around her heart-shaped face, close enough for him to feel her body heat, but not quite touching. The relaxed pose, and the silky tresses fanned out on the red velvet coverlet made him want to stretch out beside her and bury himself in her- hands in her hair, lips on hers… but he restrained. He knew better than to behave in that manner around *his* Hawke.
"So…" she glanced up at him, propping herself on one elbow and snagging a gold stemmed goblet out of his hand, sipping deeply at the wine, and studying him over the rim. "This manifesto of yours…" her sea-green gaze encompassed a scrawled page on her writing desk, which he glanced at.
"What about it?" He cocked his head in feline fashion, one brow raised, as if curious.
"How does it keep finding its way into my bedroom?" She giggled when he froze. He could feel heat flooding his cheeks, and ducked his head slightly, as if it would somehow stop the blushing. "Maker, you're adorable when you blush."
"You're drunk." He attempted dignity, casting her a speculative glance. He missed being able to get drunk, sometimes. Hawke was one way he could live vicariously. She giggled harder, shaking her head, sending her hair in a cascade of brown and gold.
"Am not. Tipsy, not drunk."
"Like there's a difference, Temmi." He reached out to caress her hair, his touch causing her to go utterly limp against her mattress.
"Is." She sat up then, her face seeking the soft feathers on his shoulder, which she promptly burrowed into, muffling her next words. "I feel queasy."
"That's what you get for drinking at one in the afternoon," he chided as she nuzzled into him adorably.
"Mother… she drove me to it. She was mourning Bethany." She sniffed. "I'm not the daughter she wishes survived the Blight. I've never been the sweet one, or the brave one."
"Oh, sweetheart…" The urge to soothe was almost a compulsion to the Healer, and it overrode any sense of propriety he had. He lifted her easily into his lap, enveloping her in his arms and warmth. Her cheek rested on his shoulder now, and she sighed in contentment as he kissed her forehead. "You *are* both of those things, and more. You know this to be true. I'd be lost without you, dear one." He caressed her shoulder as she inhaled his calming scent.
"I should have saved my sister." She whispered it. "She was the sun to my mother, and I was moon, the lesser light. She was bright, and eager, and sweet. Beautiful, too. She got Mothers' looks." She sighed. "Spells were so easy for her. She could watch Father cast a spell, and then duplicate it. Father said he'd never seen anything like it, not even in the Circle."
"It is a rare talent," he murmured it across the crown of her head, his voice pitched to be soothing. He knew she didn't often speak of her sister. He knew, of course, that Bethany had been a mage like the beauty sitting in his lap, but precious little otherwise. He also knew that keeping things bottled up was never a wise decision, and that she was talking to him was a minor miracle. "She was a Healer, then?"
"Hmmm?" She frowned as she toyed with a tuft of feathers on the shoulder she wasn't snuggled against. "No. She was elemental, like our father. He taught her so much… so many things I couldn't learn. I got a knack for healing, but he didn't know many healing spells." A sigh. "He taught me basics, of course- it was enough of a foundation for me to keep myself hidden as an apostate."
"He loved you, Temmi. Never doubt that." He kissed her brow. "You at least had someone to help you learn on your own, who protected you from the Tower."
"He loved her more.." Her voice was soft. "This is awfully sweet, you know." She lifted her head and shifted in his lap to press her forehead to his. "You don't have to stay and listen to me bitch."
"Don't have to stay…" he actually blinked. "This isn't pity, Artemis. I'm fairly certain we've passed the 'acquaintence' phase and moved into 'friendship' by now. Friends listen to one another." His time with Kizira had, at least, taught him a great deal about friendship. His Commander… Maker bless her wherever she happened to be… had taught the selfish mage the meaning of loyalty, and friendship.
"We *are* friends." She almost whined it. "I'm queasy, and I have a headache. It makes me cranky."
"I know, sweetheart." His left hand feathered gently across her temple, leaving a trail of healing magic in its wake, before repeating the process across her abdomen. Every trace of unease, every minute ache, disappeared as he whispered against her ear, "better?"
"Mmm-hmm." She nuzzled into his neck, inhaling the patchouli, elfroot and lavender scent that was wholly Anders as if it, too, comforted her. Slender, but strong arms wrapped around his neck, and she kissed the hollow of his throat affectionately. She was utterly crazy about him, and she thought he might be for her, too, as his hands wandered. He loved when she was this close- and one large palm nearly claimed her backside before he caught himself.
"I… should go. Back to the clinic, I mean." His voice was quivering, and he was jumpy as hell. She could feel his pulse racing under her fingertips, and her gift was already trying to soothe.
"You don't have to leave." She whispered it. "Stay. I'll get off your lap and we can just talk." She shifted off him, but he stood.
"No. Temmi, I can't." He caressed her cheek. "I'll see you soon, I promise. But I can't trust myself with you right now."
"Will you be at the Hanged Man later?" She nodded. He was always running, but then, that shouldn't have been a surprise. Anders was built for speed, not stamina. He had a cagey energy, always moving, never able to stop.
"Yes."
"Then I'll see you tonight." She rose, pecked him on the cheek. And he walked out, mentally kicking himself for acting like a gentleman.
