Author's note: Mainfestos Welcome! Theme: "Delirious."

Summary: Set right after the Deep Roads expedition. Gaelen Hawke returns from the Deep Roads only to find his sister Bethany taken by templars ands responds by getting hopelessly drunk. Anders decides to pick up the pieces.


Drowning Sorrows

"...and the only trace they found of the Nug Man was a black-bladed axe, buried in the wall," Varric finishes his tale. It leaves Gaelen Hawke more than a little bewildered. "He... turned into an axe?"

Isabela nearly splurts a mouthful of whiskey across the table, but settles for a laughing fit that brings tears to her eyes. Hawke's puzzled expression only makes it that much worse. Varric looks helplessly at Fenris and Anders. Watching Hawke drink himself silly is good entertainment, but the way he's knocking them back will either make him pass out or kill himself.

Poor Bethany. When they returned from the Deep Roads, filthy, hungry, thirsty and with Varric calling his brother every name in the book – his book, anyway; come to think of it, he may have to bring out a new volume for the occasion – they had a hearty meal and a bath and then sought out Bethany in Lowtown, to tell her the good news and invite her to celebrate.

When they got to Amell's hovel, it was crammed with templars. Bethany was wearing Circle robes and it had taken her brother less than a heartbeat to realize what was going on. Nevertheless he asked, and in no uncertain words. "Young mistress Hawke's cooperation is what spares you the punishment for harbouring an apostate," their commander replied sternly.

"You're not taking h- ow!"

"My apologies on behalf of messere Hawke, on whose toes I just inadvertently but heavily trod and just might again," Varric told the knight-captain, while Fenris' lyrium-tattooed hand closed around Hawke's wrist in a vicelike grip to prevent him from punching the nearest templar in the nose. After a tearful goodbye, Bethany left with them, and lady Leandra sank to the floor, sobbing. That new volume was just getting bigger and bigger.

After Hawke comforted his mother to the best of his ability and with half a glass of brandy, he followed the others to the Hanged Man where Norah and Corff are now giving him pointed looks.

"So what do we do with him?" Varric mouths quietly. "Can't deliver him home like this."

"He can stay at my place," Fenris shrugs. "But if they really want that estate back, it might not be such a good idea to have its heir dragged through Hightown drunk."

Isabela grins. "Well, I could..."

"No," the other three flinch in unison.

"I guess that settles it," Varric grumbles. "He stays here, though if I need to carry him he'll probably end up with a head injury. Blondie?"

With some effort, Anders hauls a protesting Hawke to his feet, drapes one of the other man's arms over his shoulders and leads him step by step to Varric's suite. Once inside Hawke collapses in front of the merrily crackling fireplace, dragging Anders down with him in a complicated heap of leather, tangled limbs and feathers.

"Mmph," Hawke groans. "Blondie. Is that you?"

"Yes."

"Is this me?"

"No..."

"Oh yeah," Varric remembers sheepishly. "I only have the one bed."

"This rug looks comfortable enough," Anders says, disentangling himself. "What did you kill for it, a long-haired bronto?"

Varric smirks. "Well, sure. Though I'm warning you, if he ruins it, you owe me a long-haired bronto."

"I'll have it delivered to your doorstep," Anders promises.

When Varric has retired to his bedroom, Hawke peers up at Anders and gives him small wave. "Still here? Din't they drag you 'way to some circle or square too?" His hand weakly trails one side of Anders' face. The sensation, however inappropriate, makes the mage bow his head and briefly close his eyes.

"Steal me too, see if they don't," Hawke mumbles. "Arseholes to the lot of 'em, I say, 'm no mage. See, no dress. Father was one." He furrows his brow. "Mage. Not dress. Mother's no mage. Family's lots of mages though. And dresses. And an uncle, unfortune'tly. Can go bugger a nug. Thinks father messed up my name jus' to spite him. Gamlen. Sounds like pork anyway."

He looks faintly pleased as Anders brushes back the hair from his forehead, tries to catch his hand and fails. "Thing is..." He pauses as he tries to think of a thing. There definitely was a thing, but his brain feels like it has gone on a Deep Roads expedition all of its own. "Anyway. You said I should think 'bout it in all the detail I fancy." He makes a face. "Can't see m'self being with men," he tries to clarify vaguely. "Can see m'self being with you though. Does that mean you're female?"

Anders cannot help but smile. " Last time I checked... no."

He waits patiently until Hawke's confused musings give way to soft snores. Because he can't resist – and because he wants to get back at Justice for not letting him get drunk anymore – he breaks his rule about the use of healing magic by letting a spark of it settle over Hawke's sleeping form before he steals back into Darktown. Grief is difficult to mend, but he can just about manage a hangover.