7. The First Night
In which it's exactly what it says on the tin, guys.
Disclaimer: Don't own DA2.
His footsteps thud, slow and awkward, against the lush carpeting on the stairs. He's wearing old, muddy boots, haggled over with a menacing street vendor and beloved for being surprisingly waterproof. These are perfect Darktown boots. These are not boots for Hightown, and particularly not for Orlesian carpets. Hawke's mother will have a fit.
As a matter of fact, Hawke's mother would probably have a fit if anyone from Darktown strolled into her house, let alone a mud-tracking apostate there to spend the night. It'd really be a bit worrying, if Anders actually cared.
But he doesn't—doesn't mind that he clashes with everything else in her mansion, or Justice is beyond furious, or that no parent in their right mind has ever wanted him near their daughters. He's still stuck on the fact that he's here, in her house, walking up her stairs, and because Justice is still ranting in the back of his mind, he's almost certainly not dreaming, and he's at the top now, still no sign of her, except—
Except her door is open.
He begins to wake up in a bed far too comfortable to be his own, and he feels ludicrously happy even before he really wakes, a clear sign that something's just gone very right. This is unexpected, and not in a particularly bad way. For a moment he's almost scared to disturb it, this perfect silence; he's still half-asleep and all these thoughts seem to float on the top of his mind like oil on water, rainbow and senseless. Things usually get so much worse when he decides to wake up completely, and he's not willing to let it go just yet. He closes his eyes, breathes deep, tries not to remember.
He curls forward, pulling these thick, wonderful blankets closer around his shoulders, and his hands collide with something worth recalling.
Namely, Ariadne, who cracks open one hazel eyes and wonders, voice still thick with sleep, "Anders?"
It takes a second for words to happen. "Good morning," he says, finding his voice slow and drowsy. "This is certainly a good way to wake up."
Drowsy and candid. Nicely done, Anders. But a grin still finds its way clumsily onto her face. "Look who's all charming," she mumbles. "I wasn't sure you'd still be here."
He blinks, at last startled enough to wake up a little. "What? Why not?"
"Oh, you know." She rolls away onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. The look in her eyes isn't cold but still distant, her thoughts in places he can't really follow. "Just wondered."
"What were you wondering, though?" He shifts closer to her, onto his stomach, and reaches out tuck a wisp of hair behind her ear. It doesn't help much, since her hair's a mess right now, but that's not such a bad thing. Ariadne smiles gently, and he can't tell if it's reassured or guarded.
"It's not a little early for this?"
"It's not that early," he shrugs, trying to play it off. It's taking all his effort to pretend not to be worried. "Tell me."
A lopsided shrug, now, to accompany the smile. "Oh, I don't know. I thought you might decide you made a mistake. Not about the sex," she adds, in the same meandering tone as before, and if Anders was half-asleep before then he's awake now. "But, you know, the staying part. You're so busy giving up everything for the cause, right? I wasn't sure Justice would want you hanging around too."
Oh, shit, he thinks, so eloquent in the mornings, so composed. "That's ridiculous," he chuckles weakly, and it feels a heartbeat too late. "Justice and I are the same person, and I've decided that already."
"Sure," she agrees noncommittally, eyes still lingering on the ceiling above them. "You sound like you've reached a verdict."
"Hey." His hand catches the side of her face, thumb stuttering on her cheek, and she at last turns her gaze to him for more than a moment. "You know what my choice is," he murmurs. He's picking words with all the care in the word, desperate for her to believe him. He's lying and has been lying for four years now about Justice, and if she knows that then she's not trusting him with anything else. He needs her to believe him. Whatever Justice says, Anders means this as much as he's ever meant anything. "I won't choose my cause over everything else that matters too. That's what I've decided—to make sure I can have you in my life."
We. Have. Not. Decided. That.
I know you haven't, Anders retorts, knowing the silence was too good to last. It's too bad it's not your choice.
This is violating, spits Justice, and Anders feels his disgust coiling inside them. It's just as much my body, you know, and you didn't even ask. That was the single most scarring experience of my existence, and I possessed a corpse, Anders.
He's not ready to deal with this, not now. But it's almost nice to hear the spirit, to be just a little smug. Making a choice Justice doesn't approve of is fun just in itself. Justice, he answers, I don't know what you did last night, but scarring's definitely not the right word.
Anders, I know who you did last night, and I meant what I said.
You don't really understand humans at all, do you?
My greatest failing, Justice drawls, with sarcasm that Anders can just about taste.
Ariadne hesitates, tilting her head against his hand. "You really mean that?"
"With all my heart," he replies.
Your half of it, chips in Justice.
Shut up, says Anders, when Ariadne grins and leans in towards him. He tastes slightly like morning and so does she, but he could care so much less. He's still not over the fact that he's here, with her, and it's as natural as breathing. There's no way it can be this easy. Nothing comes easy to Anders; it's practically a running joke with him and the Maker by now. Certainly one of Varric's favorites, if nothing else—just short of 'Broody the Elf', which even Anders finds funny nowadays.
She curls up beside him, her head tucked against his; lazily, happily, her eyes move to the window. What is it, nine? Ten? And why the hell doesn't he sleep in until ten more often? "Should we get up?" she muses at last, even as she's already starting to sit up.
He watches a moment as she straightens, her spine unwinding along her back. "I wouldn't mind staying here," he shrugs, tugging almost hopefully on her hand, and she grins.
"I'll bet you wouldn't," she replies. "Before there's any question about it, love, we'll be doing nights at my place. I'm still not convinced there's room for one in your clinic."
He lets a hint of a frown show on his face, one part sulky and nine parts joking. "You mean I'm going to have to walk all the way to Hightown every time I want to see you?"
The smirk grows, and she leans forward a little bit, her hair tumbling from her shoulders. "I said, we're doing nights here," she replies, eyebrows tilting. "Everything else is wherever we feel like it. Now come on." She pulls back on his hand. "I'm getting out of bed before Mother decides to come see why I haven't gotten up."
The grimace that slides across his face now is only half-feigned. "Your mother?" he echoes, with apprehension, with the exact same apprehension that every single man has ever felt upon hearing that he is going to meet any woman's mother. He gestures vaguely to himself with his free hand. "Are you sure this is really the…?"
"The…?" She lifts an eyebrow. "Time? Place? Appropriate state of dress?" There's laughter in her voice now, and the battle's been lost before it was ever really fought, since there are three things Anders can't say no to—cats, spirits who want to take over his body, and girls with pretty smiles. "I'd go with yes, yes, and only if you really want to make an impression."
"Ariadne—"
"You're going to get up," she says firmly, "and we're going to get at least slightly dressed, and then we're going to go track down some breakfast. Okay?"
There isn't a soul in the world, he thinks, who would say no to that. "Your wish," he replies, a weary smile on his face, "is my command."
As he watches her climb out of bed, sheets trailing behind her, and tug on her robe, and as he goes to get at least slightly dressed, he's happy.
And as he follows her down the stairs in the same ancient boots and receives some very curious looks from Bodahn and Sandal, he's happy.
And as Ariadne reminds him where all the different rooms are and tells him he'd better start learning his way around, he's just about thrilled, even as she turns to Bodahn and asks if Leandra's still here. They notice the vase of flowers on the nearby table only when he points to it, and for a moment the silence is still perfect.
"White lilies," says Ariadne softly. "Where have I heard that before?"
So now that everyone knows (or at least ought to know... shame on you) what's coming next... happy Thanksgiving, and there'll be more soon. Reviews are always appreciated!
