Chapter 7

Birthday

Anders didn't dream any more, not in the way that other mages dreamed. Slipping from consciousness to consciousness, out of reality and into the Fade. He'd used to enjoy it; apart from the whispering of demons the Fade was somewhere he'd always appreciated. Magic wasn't persecuted there, it was freedom. The intangibility of the endless dream, always welcoming, always new, always dangerous. Justice took care of that now. It was one of the few things he'd truly regretted losing after joining with the spirit. His connection to the Fade wasn't lost, not severed in the way the Tranquil were, but simply controlled. Justice roamed the Fade while he slept, keeping the demons at bay and the dreams nothing but a cool, lambent light and the occasionally distant sound of lapping waves and howling winds.

The nightmares were different. The connection to the darkspawn was a little like a pale imitation of the shared consciousness of the Fade. He could feel the darkspawn crawling around him as if constantly just out of sight, yet they were aware of his presence, howling out to him through the shared, black blood that flowed in his veins. Anders had always resented exchanging one set of demons for another but somehow he found the tainted nightmares harder to deal with. In the Fade he'd always had control, in the taint he felt like he was being hunted with no way to defend himself. Cousland had once compared it to being naked in the dark surrounded by hungry wolves and, despite the crudeness of the image, he'd felt inclined to agree.

The sound of the door opening pulled him gently from his slumber but he didn't open his eyes. If he was still where he remembered being before he fell asleep then he'd rather not move. He was warm and comfortable and could still feel Hawke's arm lying over his waist. For the first time in a long time he'd actually slept soundly for the entire night, not a stir of nightmare through the taint, no starting awake trying to figure out if the screams were his own or merely inside his skull. The relief in his body was tangible; his muscles were relaxed, the twinge in his back was gone and he felt...safe. It had been a long time since he'd felt safe, whether it was from templars, the Coterie or the inside of his own head.

There was a gentle sound of feet creeping over floorboards before he heard a soft exclamation of delight. He finally cracked open one eye to see Merrill standing above him, her eyes twinkling in the lantern light.

"You two," she said clasping her hands, "are just adorable."

"Merrill be quiet, he's still asleep," Anders said softly as he sat up.

"Mmm?" Hawke grumbled sleepily.

Well, so much for that, Anders thought. He could feel the cold seeping back into his body, Hawke's warmth gone, the fire burnt out. All he could think of, even as Merrill smiled and Hawke blinked open his eyes, was that he needed to get back to the clinic. It was Justice; he could tell when the spirit was influencing him even if it was sometimes difficult to distinguish their thoughts. Some things are hard, it said, some things aren't easy but I can't just ignore my duty. I have things I need to do, Anders thought, and lying around here isn't one of them, not when there are people I can help. The thought made him feel tight in his own skin.

"What time is it?" Hawke asked, interrupting his thoughts.

"It's half past nine," Merrill said, "thought I'd give you two a lie in, considering last night and all."

"Half nine?" Hawke said, groaning, "Varric's going to kill me, I said I'd meet him half an hour ago."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Merrill said looking guilty, "only you were both so tired and..."

"It's alright Merrill, it isn't your fault," Hawke said, pulling his hand from around Anders' waist before getting up a little unsteadily; he stretched, grimacing as his joints cracked back into place.

Anders stood up and walked back through to the main room. He looked down to find he was wearing the jumper he'd forgotten Hawke had put on him the night before. He started automatically looking for his shirt and his staff. It was then that he remembered that his staff was still at the clinic. He rubbed his arms, feeling a little exposed without it nearby.

"Are you alright?" Hawke asked, walking up behind him as Merrill started folding up the bedding she'd borrowed.

"I'm fine," Anders said distractedly, looking around for his shirt.

"Which means you're not fine then," Hawke said, nodding and looking at him critically.

"I don't appreciate you analysing me Hawke," Anders said with a frown as he found his shirt and quickly folded it into a small bundle.

"And I don't appreciate being lied to," Hawke shrugged, unconcerned tone belying his annoyance, "but if you're just trying to avoid me then I suppose I shouldn't force the issue."

"I'm not..!" Anders took a deep breath and refused to allow himself to become angry; he knew what he needed to say, even if he didn't want to say it, "I'm sorry if...if I was out of sorts last time we spoke."

"That's a very polite version of events," Hawke said raising his eyebrows, "I distinctly remember you implying I was the sort to encourage hatred against mages, associating with evil people who undermine your cause; practically a templar myself if I remember rightly."

"Well that's a slight exaggeration," Anders said dryly, swallowing down the remorse.

"Yes, slight being the operative word," Hawke muttered, turning to Merrill as she walked into the room with the blanket and sheet, "I'll take them Merrill, I'm going past home on the way to the Hanged Man anyway."

"Too right you will," Merrill said looking at Hawke with a knowing smile, making the other man blink in confusion, "sending me out last night to get bedding from your mother. Can't think of a better way to get some alone time can you?"

Anders had only seen Hawke blush once before, when his mother called him by his given name, but he'd be the first to admit that it never lost its appeal. Hawke glared at Merrill who just looked back at him with her hands on her hips. Anders sighed and wished Merrill wasn't so very blunt all the time. Hawke looked like he wished he could think of something clever to say that would cover up the fact that his motives had been nothing of the sort but simply snorted and shook his head.

"Honestly Merrill, you need to stop reading those awful romance novels of Varric's," he said, eyeing her, "they're tainting your sense of reality."

"Oh, well, maybe I'm just seeing things then," Merrill said airily but obviously not changing her mind.

Hawke and Anders left together. The Alienage was already awake and bustling with elves going about their morning routines. Nyssa waved to Anders as he passed the stall; Hawke stayed strangely quiet. Anders wasn't sure he was really in the state of mind to deal with Hawke at the moment. He had to get back to the clinic and deal with the body and the mess and then start work again. He'd taken more than enough time away already from the people who needed him. He enjoyed Hawke's company but the man tended to bring out the worst in him sometimes. He hadn't meant to shout at him but he just got so...angry. He knew that Hawke felt as he did about mages but, in truth, he knew that Hawke would never truly understand. There were few who could understand him or the fervour of his plight. Hawke thought he knew but didn't realise that his insistence that he understood only made Anders distance himself further. He appreciated Hawke's support more than anything else but it made him feel responsible, as if he were dragging Hawke into his own dangerous world where flight wasn't possible anymore; the only option was to clash head on. Living in Kirkwall Anders sometimes felt he was simply waiting for the spark to hit the powder keg.

"Have you heard from Bethany?" Anders asked as they rounded the corner into the slums.

"...She writes," Hawke answered after a moment's pause, "although it doesn't seem the templars are any more likable inside the Gallows than outside it."

Anders could believe that. Karl's letters had always been filled with undisclosed dread of his templar jailors. Anders had always presumed the contempt and violence of the templars would be only heightened behind closed doors. Out in the open it could only be questioned.

"Orsino seems like a good man," Hawke continued, as if trying to find something positive to say, "as far as Bethany's concerned anyway. She's always been a better judge of character than I am."

"Well, if passive aggression makes a good man," Anders said sarcastically, "First Enchanter Orsino must be up for citizen of the year."

"Bethany says he's very judicious," Hawke said diplomatically.

"That's a nice way of putting it," Anders said before noting Hawke's silence.

Good Anders, he thought in annoyance, just start irritating the man you managed to scare away for months last time you fought. He tried to force thoughts of Bethany and mages and Justice from his mind for just a second and focus on what he really wanted to say. If it was just him, if he were just Anders and Hawke was just Hawke for five minutes what would he want? Well, he knew what he would want but what could he actually get? Hawke started to climb the stairs and Anders took his last chance to stop him.

"What are you..." Anders said, sighing as he tried not to think about the doubt he was feeling in himself at his actions, "I mean, are you doing anything later on?"

"Well, actually," Hawke said as he turned around on the stairs, looking unsure for a moment, "we're all headed up to the Shield tonight, if you want to come."

"The Shield and Eagle? In Hightown?" Anders asked, "Nice if you've got the coin. Special occasion?"

"It's my birthday," Hawke said frankly.

"Oh," Anders said, suddenly feeling at a loss, "you didn't say anything."

"Well there hasn't been much of a chance has there?" Hawke said, followed by an awkward pause where neither knew what to say, "So, around eight?"

"Right," Anders nodded, "eight."

"I'll see you later on then," Hawke smiled, not taking his eyes off him as he walked backwards up the stairs.


Anders was just glad that there wasn't that much in the clinic worth stealing. He pushed at the open door and shook his head, wishing that Merrill or Hawke had thought to lock it behind them the night before. The food William had brought was long gone as were the potions from the cabinet, the cloths, the bandages and poultices. Anders would have been angry if he didn't understand that the people who'd taken his supplies probably needed them. Still, it wasn't as if they couldn't just come and ask. That was what he was there for after all, and he knew how to use the supplies better than they ever would.

Yes, he wouldn't have been angry, until he noticed something else was missing. Anders searched the room twice before believing it was actually gone. He'd left his staff leaning against the back wall with his coat. The coat was still there, feathered pauldrons lying on the floor, but the staff was long gone. Anders ground his teeth and rubbed at his face, breathing deeply. Fuck, he thought savagely. It wasn't that he was without a weapon, it wasn't even that someone had stolen something they surely didn't need probably to sell it for coin at the nearest black market vendor, it was the fact that he'd had that staff for years and it wasn't replaceable. He'd made it himself not long after his fifth, and longest not including the seventh, escape from the Circle. He'd made it to the outskirts of Denerim where he'd become friends with a wood carver who allowed him to stay with her in return for work. She had taught him how to fashion heartwood. He could clearly remember her telling him how it was sometimes the best part of the tree to manipulate; dark, strong and resistant to decay. He'd made the staff from a maple tree that fell in a storm that month. Now he'd probably be lucky to ever see it again.

Yet, despite his frustration, the theft didn't give him much time to pause. Anders found himself busy from the moment he arrived back home until long into the night. William had cleaned the blood from the doorway and landing, but the clinic itself was still a mess. He took Elena's body to the back, out onto a small, abandoned area overlooking the cliffs, and burned it. No family to inform, no words, just ashes and wind. It was nine o'clock by the time Anders managed to even think about getting away from the clinic. Those that had turned up the night before and found the place deserted had returned the next, doubling his usual amount of patients. By the time he blew out the lantern and tried to think straight it was already half past. Trust Hawke to choose Hightown, Anders thought ruefully, at least Lowtown was close. It took him a good half hour to walk up to the Shield and Eagle. He felt jittery without the weight of his staff at his back, jumping at shadows. Another reason he didn't appreciate Hightown was its increased population of templars. Not that he saw any, but just knowing they were there somewhere was enough.

One thing Hightown did have going for it was that its establishments were much cleaner and more refined than those of Lowtown. The Shield and Eagle was lit by crystal gas lamps and your feet didn't stick to different parts of the floor with varying degrees of tackiness as was prevalent in the Hanged Man. The clientele were richly dressed and there was much more wine flowing than ale. Yet it somehow lacked the friendly ambience that Lowtown was infamous for. Or perhaps it did have friendly ambience and Anders just didn't feel it, what with instantly disliking ninety percent of the people in the pub. He knew he was getting looks for his scruffy clothing, his unshaven face, but he really couldn't care less. However, it still put his back up.

"And then what?"

He heard Hawke before he saw him. Looking around he found him, a table away, hidden behind a group of men hanging around the bar. Anders saw Varric and Merrill at the bar waiting to be served, talking amongst themselves. As the men moved around Anders saw who Hawke was talking to and felt like turning around and walking out, but he knew that would only be avoiding the issue rather than dealing with it. Fenris was scowling at Hawke who was simply looking back at him patiently. Curiosity started to take over quite quickly. Anders found himself doing something he never would have thought he would normally do. He slipped closer, trying not to be seen.

"This is pointless," the elf almost growled.

"It's not pointless," Hawke said tolerantly, "come on, it's the same as I showed you earlier. The more you practice the easier it'll become."

"Well I think I've had enough practicing for today," Fenris said, pushing what looked like a sheet of paper at Hawke who, determinedly, pushed it back.

"Just read it," he said a little sternly, "it's only a few lines."

"I'll show you what you can do with your few lines in a minute..." Fenris started darkly.

"Fine," Hawke said, "but when Varric comes back and asks what you think of his idea for his new book I'm not covering for you when you can't answer."

Fenris glared balefully at the seemingly unaffected man across from him. Eventually he sighed harshly and looked back down to the paper in his hands, eyes hard with concentration. Anders stayed out of sight and wondered what on earth they were talking about. It was only as the elf began to read that Anders finally understood.

"The fearles...fearless man who sh...stood at note...noth..." Fenris managed before giving up, tossing the piece of paper back onto the table in disgust,
"I've had enough. I'll just tell Varric it sounds awful, I'm sure he won't doubt my assessment."

"Well that's the right attitude," Hawke said with a frown, "you were doing fine, you just need some patience."

"Which is what I am quickly losing with you," Fenris bit out.

"Oi, you aren't allowed to be mean to me tonight," Hawke said pointing at the elf, smiling as Fenris blinked, "it's my birthday."

"That's the fifth time you've used that maxim this evening to get out of arguments," Fenris said, seemingly unable to resist Hawke's smile as he returned it, "I can't wait until midnight when it becomes obsolete."

"Ha, well, I'll just have to make the most of it while it's still valid then," Hawke said, his eyes becoming distinctly flirtatious, "do I get to ask for anything?"

"Don't push it," Fenris said, smiling into his drink.

Anders decided that joining Varric and Merrill was probably the best idea. If he had to listen to any more of that he might have to leave. Or maim someone. He walked round the tables towards the bar and thought about what he had just discovered. So Fenris couldn't read? He could hardly gloat, it made perfect sense in a way. Anders doubted that slaves were permitted to read, too much power was held in the written word, too many ideas of freedom. It was an age old technique of oppression. Still, it was odd; despite how much he disliked the elf he had to admit Fenris spoke very eloquently, and yet he couldn't understand a simple written sentence. Why couldn't the elf come to his senses and see that the oppression of mages here was practically the same as that of the slaves in Tevinter? He should sympathise with them, not hate them. Anders shook his head as he headed to the bar; no, he wasn't thinking about this tonight. Just one night for himself.

"Oh you made it!" Merrill said when Anders tapped her on the shoulder, "We were wondering where you were. I was getting a bit worried you know."

"And I told you there was no need to worry," Varric said with a dismissive wave of his hand, "Blondie always shows up eventually."

"Nice to know I'm predictable," Anders said with a shake of his head, "get me something strong would you Varric?"

"And waste good alcohol on the only man in Kirkwall who can't get drunk?" Varric said as the barmaid set about putting his order onto a silver tray.

"I'm going to try very, very hard," Anders said with a note of defeat in his voice.

"Well that doesn't sound so good," Varric said with a frown, "are you alright?"

"Never better," Anders lied, his smile not reaching his eyes, "don't ask me that now. I'll tell you another time."

"Fair enough," Varric said, letting it slide, before turning to the barmaid, "and a glass of your strongest."

"Strongest what?" she asked frowning.

"Just whatever's strongest," Varric said, "Trust me."

She shrugged and fetched a dusty bottle from the far right of the bar, pouring a generous helping into a hexagonal tumbler. Varric forked over an obscene amount of coin for a single round and then the three wound their way through the crowded pub back to the table. Hawke and Fenris didn't pay much attention to them, too busy continuing whatever they were saying, until they'd all sat down. Hawke reached over for his drink and looked up in surprise. Anders gave him a tired smile in greeting which Hawke returned, reaching out to clink his glass. Fenris was back to his original plan of simply ignoring him. Anders felt that was probably wise.

"I was beginning to think you weren't coming," Hawke said.

"Sorry, busy night," Anders said tiredly.

"Was everything alright after, well..." Merrill stopped, looking a little lost for what to say.

"Yes, everything's fine," Anders lied; of course it wasn't fine, but then there wasn't much that was.

"You look like you could use that drink," Hawke said with a raise of an eyebrow as Anders lifted the tumbler to his lips and drained the large measure in one, long swallow; he gave a cough to clear the burning sensation in his throat and placed the glass back on the table, "fancy another?"

"Shouldn't I be buying you one?" Anders said, trying to gauge if it was having any affect.

"Not necessary," Hawke said, taking a swig from his pint before standing up, "just you being here is enough of a present."

Anders shook his head and laughed softly. Hawke could probably charm the faith out of a templar if he tried hard enough.

"Same again?" Hawke was saying to Fenris.

"I'll come with you," the elf said, voice toneless as usual.

"Alright," Hawke said, winding his way to the bar with Fenris at his side.

Anders found it hard to stop the resentment as he watched them, mixing with the exhaustion, confusing itself in his head until it became that same old hatred again. He shouldn't be here. None of these people were of any use, they were just distractions. He was being irresponsible, undutiful, losing his focus. Anders frowned and rubbed at his eyes. Where had..? He smirked wryly as his thoughts wavered. Oh Justice was not amused, not at all. He never usually pushed that hard, hard enough that Anders couldn't tell where the thought had even come from. Well it was just tough, he thought as he stared at the table and waited for Hawke to bring him another glass of the strongest alcohol in the house. Let's see how long Justice can stand up to this, Anders thought bitterly.

"It's alright, he isn't even listening," Merrill was saying when he finally took notice of the conversation.

"Not listening to what?" Anders asked.

"Oh I was just saying how obvious it is that you're totally taken with Hawke," Merrill shrugged, taking a tiny sip of what looked like water.

Anders probably would have spat out his drink if he'd had one. Instead he just shook his head and played with the empty tumbler in his hand. He was about to deny it when Merrill simply continued.

"You know I found them this morning, all curled together like two little nugs," she said, starry eyed once more, "cutest thing you've ever seen."

"Merrill," Anders said despairingly, "please."

"Oh, is that right?" Varric said with a raise of his eyebrows and a cunning grin, "Finally confess your undying love did you?"

"I did nothing of the sort," Anders sighed and rolled his eyes, "it was cold, that was all."

"Nice excuse," Varric said sounding unconvinced, "you know if you keep holding off with this bizarre abstinence of yours he might get snatched out from under your nose."

"What?" Merrill looked a little scandalised by the idea, seemingly now entirely convinced Anders and Hawke were meant for each other, "By whom?"

"You really are blind sometimes Daisy," Varric shook his head and took a drink.

Anders didn't need to be told by whom. As far as he was concerned Fenris had made his intentions entirely clear where Hawke was concerned, although he also hadn't yet made any sort of definite move on the man as far as he knew. Anders didn't enjoy being in this ludicrous situation any more than he was sure Fenris did but Varric was right. Fenris was much more direct than he was and he was sure that the elf would either pluck up the courage or get drunk enough at some point to let something slip. Anders wasn't sure if he was jealous or relieved at the idea. He shook his head, trying his best to sort his thoughts and Justice's from each other. It was becoming a little too difficult. Perhaps the alcohol is stronger than I thought, Anders thought happily.


All Anders could say was that the alcohol, whatever the hell it was, most definitely worked. After the first two glasses Hawke had changed tack and just given the barmaid a sovereign for the whole bottle. Anders wasn't sure whether to thank him or hate him. He was now, much to Justice's disgust, very drunk.

And it felt wonderful.

"He wasn't my first cat," Anders said, watching the amber liquid swill about in his glass, "there was another, in the Circle. Good old Mr Wiggums."

"Where do you get these names?" Hawke said as if to himself, shaking his head in amusement.

"Why didn't you take him with you when you left?" Merrill asked.

"Well he wasn't mine, strictly speaking," Anders said, thinking back to that little stripy, round face and its mean streak a mile wide, "just a mouser that hung around the tower. Vicious little tabby. You know there were some days that stupid cat was the only person I saw. Except that it wasn't strictly a person. Poor Mr. Wiggums."

"Why? What happened to him?" Merrill asked.

"Oh he was possessed by a rage demon," Anders said offhandedly, "took down three templars before they manage to finish him off. I was never more proud."

There was a moment's silence. Anders looked up into the blank faces around him and took a large gulp of his drink.

"What?" he asked innocently.

"Are you being serious?" Varric asked.

"One hundred percent serious!" Anders said, licking his lips and noting they were numb, "He ripped out one of their throats. Literally."

"Holy shit," Varric said through a laugh, "it's all fun and games in the Ferelden Circle, isn't it."

"Not quite fun," Anders said as if he were thinking about it, "but there were a lot of games. Actually Cullen was our favourite for that."

He was drunk yes, but he didn't miss Hawke's eyes hardening. Perhaps it was because he'd been looking for it, he thought, waiting for his reaction. Anders noticed he was staring and looked away.

"He was such a pushover when he first started," Anders said, "we used to wind him up something awful. Have to admit he was good at what he did though, he did find me terribly quickly when I ran away the fourth time. Well it took him a fortnight. Not bad really."

"Do you always wear the robes?" Fenris asked, looking at him quizzically from the other end of the table.

"Not when I'm naked I don't," he said suggestively, making the elf look at him like he had two heads.

Hawke choked on his drink. Fenris had hardly spoken all night, well to him anyway, and Anders was so very fuzzy around the edges that he'd almost forgotten he disliked him.

"I was thinking more along the lines of the fact that they make you easier to spot," Fenris said coldly, "as a mage."

"So does the big 'I'm a mage' sign I wear around my neck," Anders laughed humourlessly and took another drink, "ah, I like to make it easy for the templars."

"You're mental," Merrill said, shaking her head and giggling.

"Thank you Merrill," he said genuinely, "that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me, and probably the most accurate."

"Is this what you were talking about when you said 'funny drunk'?" Merrill asked Varric.

"Not quite," Varric said uncertainly, shaking his head as Anders started to hum.

Merrill looked confused and Anders smothered a laugh behind his hand. He felt absurdly happy for no reason. Now he remembered why he'd missed getting drunk so much. Hawke was watching him with a small, rather confusing smile. Anders frowned at him.

"Do I have something on my face?" he asked, "What?"

"Were you really a Grey Warden?" Hawke said, as if the very thought was inconceivable.

"Oh we're not all sombre, stick-in-the-muds running around raining down damnation on darkspawn and slaying archdemons you know," Anders said as he unsteadily poured himself another drink.

"What, like the Hero of Ferelden?" Hawke asked, looking and sounding entirely genuine.

Anders couldn't help but burst out laughing. The table stared at him in amazement. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered if it was because they'd never truly heard him laugh before, not properly, not like this. The thought was a little depressing. He used to laugh all the time. He wiped his eyes and focused back on Hawke's question.

"Why does everyone think that?" Anders asked, still laughing.

"The man knows how to make himself a reputation," Varric shrugged, "that much is for sure."

"The man is a complete basket case," Anders said, "there isn't much sombre or noble about him, other than being noble born. His poor mother must have been constantly disappointed I think. Let's not forget this was the man who purportedly said to Knight commander Greigor, just after he tried to evoke the right of annulment no less, 'do you really not feel even a little, teeny bit guilty about wanting to slaughter everything?'."

"Sounds like my kind of man," Hawke said with a snort of laughter.

Anders wondered about that. probably not, he thought blearily. There was something about Hawke that reminded him of his old Commander. They were surprisingly similar in a lot of ways and Anders was sure that they would probably get on each others nerves rather quickly.

"How did you meet?" Merrill asked, sitting forward in her chair.

"Oh being attacked by darkspawn no less," Anders shrugged, "I was being escorted back to the Circle by a lovely group of templars who were very unfortunately slaughtered by a lovely group of hurlocks when we reached Vigil's Keep, just in time for yours truly to be found in amongst all the carnage. He was nice enough to believe it wasn't me. He was also nice enough to save me from King Alastair's nasty templar escort. She'd have had me going back in a box. Well, if you can call joining the Wardens being saved."

"Wait, you've met the King of Ferelden?" Hawke looked utterly amazed by all this information; Varric just shrugged, he'd heard it all before anyway.

"Oh yes, lovely man," Anders said casually, "That templar cow he had with him was awfully persistent, kept banging on about murder and hanging. Thankfully he allowed Cousland to conscript me. He seemed to have a sense of humour, quite good looking. I could see why the Commander was so smitten with him."

"Wait, wait," Varric was straight in there before Anders had even realised what he'd said, "I distinctly remember asking you for juicy gossip before and you never mentioned that."

"Oh, didn't I? Mention what?" Anders tried to backtrack unsuccessfully.

"Oh no you don't," Varric shook his head.

"...Well it could have something to do with him saying that if I ever told anyone that he would personally hunt me down and disembowel me," Anders said, remembering the glint of desperate bloodshed in Cousland's eye the night he had told Anders the truth about his relationship with Alistair, which had also been fuelled entirely by alcohol, "so if I wake up dead I'll know it was one of you bastards that ratted me out."

Hawke was shaking his head, as he tended to do at some point in the night when Anders ranted on. Anders was starting to think he was giving the man a complex, what with constantly messing with his sense of reality. A bell rang loudly in the background and the gas lights dimmed momentarily before coming back on.

"Time!" the barmaid shouted.

"Bloody hell," Anders said, quickly downing the measure in his glass, blinking away the room as it began to spin and emptying the last of the bottle into the now empty glass until it was half full.

"Slow down Anders," Hawke said concernedly, "we still have fifteen minutes or so."

"Mmm," Anders said through another mouthful of spirit before swallowing with a grimace, "so I need to finish this so I can get some more in before they stop serving."

"You don't need any more," Hawke said, trying to be reasonable.

"That's what you think," Anders said, fishing in his pocket for his coin purse, "but if I'm going to stay like this I'll need more and I refuse to be sober until tomorrow."

"Maker's breath," Varric said, watching in something that resembled awe as Anders swallowed the rest of the glass he'd just poured as if it were nothing but water.

Anders stood up and tried his very best to ignore the shift in balance that threatened to tip him over. He actually managed a fairly straight line towards the bar before a hand closed around his arm and he was suddenly being pulled to the side of the room. There was a distinctly odd feeling of everything tipping to the left. Anders was spun around to face Hawke and did his very best not to fall over.

"Oh no you don't," Hawke was saying, his face seeming overly close to Anders' warped sense of distance.

"Don't you oh no what?" Anders said back as he tried to comprehend Hawke's words, totally confused.

"Exactly," Hawke said, leaning him against the wall so he wouldn't move, "you've had enough, you're going home, come on."

"Hypocrite," Anders scowled, "I don't stop you when you drink too much."

"Well maybe you should," Hawke said.

"Well maybe I will," Anders said childishly.

"Although he is much more fun when he's drunk, isn't he?" Merrill said with a laugh as she, Varric and Fenris joined them.

"See, I'm more fun," Anders said, pointing at Merrill.

"And more free with his information," Varric said.

"And more free," Anders said, moving his finger to Varric.

"He's almost bearable," Fenris said, cocking his head to the side, "almost."

"And almost...hey watch it!" Anders scowled at Fenris who simply ignored him.

"Don't encourage him," Hawke said to them all despairingly.

Hawke escorted him outside, followed by his companions. Merrill and Varric wished Hawke happy birthday again and said their goodbyes before walking together down towards Lowtown. When Anders turned around he saw Hawke a little way off talking to Fenris in a low enough voice that he couldn't hear any of it. He blinked and drew the cool night air into his lungs, trying not to let it sober him up at all. There was a nagging feeling in the back of his head that he should be worrying about something but he couldn't for the life of him think what it was. He looked up at the stars and enjoyed watching as they swayed back and forth over the dark blanket of the sky, looking like shooting stars. He lifted up his hand and splayed his fingers, laughing to himself as he was forced to take a few steps back to maintain balance.

"I need to take him home," he heard Hawke say, suddenly loud enough to hear now that he had stumbled closer, "you don't have to come with me just to walk all the way back up to Hightown again."

"...Fine," Fenris said back after a pause, "just be careful, you know how dangerous Darktown is at this time of night."

"I will," Hawke said, smiling and patting Fenris on the arm, "goodnight Fenris."

"Goodnight Hawke," Fenris said with a nod, sending a cold look Anders way as he walked off towards his mansion.

Anders stuck his tongue out at him as soon as his back was turned. He heard Hawke sigh.

"You're such a child sometimes," Hawke said but he was smiling as he did.

"Better than being an old man," Anders shrugged, "how old are you now anyway?"

"Twenty three," Hawke said, steering him towards the steps that led down into the lower city.

"Is that all? Blimey," Anders said, shaking his head.

"Why, how old are you?" Hawke asked, frowning.

"How old do you think I am?" Anders asked with a sly smile.

"Uh," Hawke looked unnerved, "twenty six?"

"Flatterer," Anders said with a sigh, "I'm thirty in three months. Maker that's depressing."

"It's hardly the end of the world," Hawke shook his head.

"You can say that because you're only twenty three," Anders said, tripping over a cobblestone and catching himself on Hawke's arm, "wait, where are we
going?"

"I'm taking you home," Hawke said patiently.

"Oh no, I don't want to go back there," Anders said, not caring that he sounded like a whiny child, "not tonight. I'll just sober up, that's all that will happen."

"No bad thing I think," Hawke said.

"You don't understand," Anders said, sounding as serious as he could, "I don't want to go back there."

"Well where else are you going to go?" Hawke asked in frustration.

"Can't I stay with you? Just for tonight?" Anders said, wondering why his brain was yelling at him about what a bad idea this was.

Hawke stopped walking and it took Anders a few steps before he realised that he was stumbling on alone. He turned slowly to look at Hawke who was watching him with an unreadable expression. Anders suddenly realised that Hawke wasn't anywhere near as drunk as he usually got on these excursions; what with it being his birthday Anders had expected him to be completely shit faced. The silence was unnerving. Anders frowned worriedly.

"Oh come on," Anders said, "I'd let you stay at my house if you needed somewhere to go."

"Not that I'd want to," Hawke said after a pause in which he seemed to have satisfied whatever he was trying to figure out, "what with the mouldy smell and the rats."

"The rats are part of the charm," Anders said as Hawke caught up to him and they continued walking together, "it just isn't the same without them."

"You know I'm finding it harder and harder to tell when you're messing with my head," Hawke mumbled.

Anders didn't reply. He wasn't sure whether he was supposed to have heard it or not.


"I didn't bring you here just so you could drink my alcohol," Hawke said disapprovingly.

Anders had remembered Hawke's hiding place at the bottom of the bookshelf and had, as sneakily as possible, fished it out when Hawke's back was turned. He'd had an odd sensation of déjà vu walking through the door of the house and it was making him think of sad things, things that happy, drunk people didn't think about; he'd half expected Bethany to be there. He actually missed her a little, she was a good foil for her brother. Anders wondered if Hawke did the same thing, expect his sister to appear around the next doorway, smiling. I need more alcohol, Anders had thought quickly which had led to the hunt for the whiskey.

"And I didn't come here to sober up," Anders shrugged, pulling at the cork.

Hawke watched him for a moment before taking hold of his arm and steering him into his bedroom. Anders stumbled after him, still fighting with the bottle.

"At least keep it down," he said with a sigh, "mother'll be asleep."

"Oops," Anders said, leaning against the wall as Hawke closed the door quietly, "sorry."

Hawke gave him a look that said 'no you aren't and I know it' before lighting the candles on the table. The room illuminated slowly into a flickering of shadows. Anders finally managed to pull the cork from the bottle and lifted it to take a long swig. It was rough and didn't taste anywhere as near as refined as whatever he'd been drinking at the Shield, but then he wasn't drinking it for the taste. He coughed a little, looking at the bottle with a frown.

"Where did you get this stuff?" he asked Hawke, "Make it yourself?"

"And now you're complaining about the free drinks," Hawke shook his head as he slipped his jacket off and hung it over the back of his chair.

"Not complaining," Anders said, shrugging, "just curious. It tastes like it was made in a bath."

"It probably was," Hawke laughed.

Anders took another drink anyway. No matter what it tasted of it worked just as well. He pushed up from the wall unsteadily, managing to stumble over to the table to put the whiskey down. He was still amazed he'd managed to get this drunk. It must have helped that he'd hardly eaten anything all day before filling himself with lots of very strong spirits over a very short space of time. Justice could obviously only deal with so much of the physiological effects before his system was simply too saturated with poison that he couldn't not feel the result.

"And I think that's enough to keep you going for a while," Hawke said, putting the cork back in the bottle and moving it out of Anders' reach.

"You're no fun," Anders said superciliously.

"Well I don't know about you," Hawke said, ignoring him, "but I'm going to bed."

"And it's your birthday," Anders said with a roll of his eyes, "people would think it was mine to look at us."

"Good thing there's no one here then, isn't it," Hawke said, pulling off his boots.

Anders looked around the room as if only just only just noticing the empty bed in the corner. He put his hands unsteadily on his hips and looked back to Hawke.

"Where is your charming uncle?" Anders asked.

"Oh probably still out getting drunk," Hawke shrugged, "or at the Rose again, who knows with him."

"Your mum must be champing at the bit to get out of here," Anders said, "can't blame her really."

"Well hopefully it won't be much longer," Hawke said, "mother's petition has already been seen, she's just waiting for approval. Hopefully I'll have enough soon to cover whatever extortionate amount they want for it. Needs a lot of work done too, no one's lived there properly for years."

"So you'll be up living with the nobles and that better-than-thou elf, forgetting about all us commoners down under your feet soon, hmm?" Anders said.

"Hardly," Hawke said, "and please don't talk about my friends like that Anders."

"Oh he's a prick," Anders scowled, "and I'm sure he says things about me behind my back all the time so I may as well do the same."

"You're so paranoid," Hawke shook his head.

He watched Hawke remove his daggers from the belt around his waist and then look around the room. Hawke suddenly looked to Anders with concern.

"Where's your staff?" he said with a hint of annoyance, "Don't tell me we've left it somewhere at the Shield, how could you be so irresponsible? If anyone saw you with it Anders! I'm not going all the way back up there..."

"No," Anders interrupted, hating having to remember anything dire at this point in his high of happiness, "no I don't have it anymore."

"Don't have it? What on earth do you..?" Hawke started.

"Some little bastard stole it," Anders said tightly, "come on, don't make me think about bad things just now, I'm trying to be happy."

Anders stepped away from the table and tripped over the edge of the bed on the floor. Hawke reached out and caught him. Anders laughed, finding his feet again, holding on to Hawke for balance. When he looked up Hawke was very close...and his eyes were very green. Anders stared, for once not really caring if Hawke noticed or not. In fact he couldn't remember why he'd ever cared in the first place. Before all of this, Justice and his grand plans, Anders would never have stopped himself. If he saw a chance of having fun, at being happy, he had always reached out and grabbed it with both hands as quickly as possible, and why shouldn't he? For mages, apostates, the chances were few and far between and usually fleeting. That was when Anders noticed that Hawke was staring back.

"Why are you here Anders?" he asked him, his breath warm against Anders' face.

"Well I never gave you your birthday present, did I?" Anders said with a devious smile, the whiskey fuelling his recklessness.

Why are you doing this to yourself? A part of him asked. This is pointless, you can't have this, not anymore. Yet Anders had always wanted what he couldn't have. Freedom, love, a family. Everyone else got to have it, he'd always thought logically, why shouldn't he? There was a time, what seemed like a lifetime ago now, when that had been all he'd ever wanted.

"I already told you..." Hawke started.

"Yes, yes I know," Anders said, smiling genuinely, "it's enough just that I'm here, apparently."

And the thought made him feel something he'd never thought he'd dare to again. He leaned forwards and pressed his mouth firmly over Hawke's, arms slipping around his shoulders. The younger man went rigid in his grasp and, for a moment, even through the thick haze of alcohol, Anders wondered if he'd made a grave mistake. That was before he was suddenly and roughly shoved up against the wall, a tongue down his throat and a leg pressed firmly between his thighs. Anders groaned into the kiss, shifting his head to a more comfortable angle as Hawke pressed him against the coarse wall firmly and continued to ravage his mouth. Hips pressed against hips, chest against chest, panted breaths. Maker this felt good, was all he could think, and right, it felt good and right. He shifted one hand up to curl into Hawke's soft, black hair, twisting the shortish strands around his fingers. Hawke slid his hands inside Anders' coat and ran them down his sides, sending a shiver of sensation up his spine. Anders broke the kiss, gasping.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this," Hawke said as he kissed his way up Anders' jaw, his eyes positively feral.

"Oh, I might have some sort of idea," Anders managed to say, tightening his hold on Hawke's hair and humming encouragingly as he continued.

Hawke growled domineeringly and hauled Anders away from the wall, turning to walk him backwards across the room, kissing him all the while. Anders tried not to stumble, even as Hawke fumbled with the fastenings on his coat, slipping them open too easily, damn those deft rogues' fingers, and shoving the garment roughly off his shoulders. Anders tripped and fell when his feet hit the bed again, ending up splayed out on the mattress. His head spun with the sudden movement and he felt a little nauseous. What on earth was he doing? Hawke knelt down and slowly crawled over him, leaning in to kiss at his neck. Anders couldn't help but revel in the warmth surrounding him, the feel of Hawke's strong hands pulling his shirt from his trousers, teasing fingertips against his abdomen. He felt safe and warm and fuzzy all over. He was never sure whether he was unbelievably relieved or would never forgive himself for blanking out at that moment.


Anders jolted awake with a scream on his lips. The room was dark and, for one horrible moment, he didn't know where he was or how he got there. He looked around in a panic, stopping only when the headache made itself apparent. When the darkness began to spin in front of his eyes he simply flopped back against the bed and lay there, trying to remember something useful.

The door opened cautiously, letting in a stab of bright light. Anders' headache told him it would be a good idea to avoid that, so he did. He grabbed the blanket and pulled it up over his head.

"Are you awake?" he heard a familiar voice ask.

"Mmm," Anders answered in a groan, "no need to shout."

"I'm not shouting," Hawke said, lowering his voice.

Then everything flooded back and Anders went cold. The birthday, the alcohol, the things he'd said, tripping up, the kiss and then nothing...oh Andraste's holy hell, he thought. Anders felt like he was going to throw up but there was nowhere to do it. He didn't think Hawke would ever forgive him if he vomited in his bed now. Slowly, very slowly he pulled the blanket down past his eyes and squinted at Hawke, still standing in the doorway. The light wasn't quite as bright as he'd first thought. Hawke was watching him closely. Anders felt his stomach roll over.

"Hawke?" he decided to say.

"Who were you expecting?" Hawke said, "Knight Commander Meredith?"

"I don't think she'd have much trouble with me today," Anders said moodily, sitting up very slowly and carefully.

"If you get up and come through there's breakfast," Hawke said with a tempting smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"Ugh please don't talk about food," Anders said as his empty stomach swilled unsteadily, "I really don't think I could."

"Well tea then, at least," Hawke compromised, "it'll settle your stomach. Merrill gave me some herbs last week. She found wild mint in the Viscount's garden and managed to pinch some before she was thrown out."

"What on earth was she doing there?" Anders asked, rubbing slow circles on his temples.

"Well...she said she didn't realise it wasn't open to the public," Hawke said with a short laugh, "but sometimes I just can't tell with her. Anyway, get up and get dressed and I'll make you some."

Hawke smiled at him and closed the door. What he'd suggested was totally normal after last night but it was the last thing Anders wanted to happen. What he wanted now, more than anything, was to get home as quickly as possible and pretend none of this had ever happened. He'd never drink again, Justice won, he'd submit, he was obviously a complete and utter idiot, an irresponsible idiot. How could he do this to himself? He though, cupping his fragile head in his hands and trying to will away the ache between his ears. How could he give in so easily to something he'd managed to resist for months, something he'd decided would just have to be a sacrifice. The cause came first, it came before everything else, including himself. Now he was lying here, hung-over, as if it were simply a normal day for a normal man. Only he wasn't normal anymore. He couldn't act like this, he couldn't pull Hawke into this, he couldn't allow himself to be distracted he couldn't...

Justice and Anders. For a long time he'd wondered where one ended and the other began. He'd looked at it like that for so long that, in a way, he'd hid himself from the truth of it. There was no real divide anymore. He was simply fighting against accepting the other half of himself, against something he had already become without noticing. He was Justice, Justice was him. There was no real distinction anymore, not really. He just wanted there to be because, without a divide, he didn't know who he was anymore. Also because he couldn't find a good excuse, he couldn't find someone to blame, when he did something that he didn't like. Like this.

"Ah so you are alive," Hawke said as Anders shuffled out into the main room, shielding his eyes from the daylight filtering in through the high window.

"Barely," Anders said quietly, "I don't even want to know what it was I drank last night. I might be tempted to do it again. Or track down and destroy every last bottle."

"Don't worry," Hawke said with a quiet laugh, "by the looks of it that bottle was the last. It didn't even have a label on it. Maker knows what was actually in there."

Anders lowered himself into a seat at the table and sighed. He heard Hawke walking towards him but didn't look up. Then a hand, holding a cup, appeared in his view of the table top. It smelled wonderful. Anders was actually grateful to Hawke, right up to the point where his hand carded through Anders loose hair and down the back of his neck, gently rubbing a slow circle at the top of his spine. It felt amazing but, for Anders, all it did was confirm that Hawke hadn't forgotten what had happened between them. Why did things have to be so bloody difficult? Why couldn't Hawke have been drunk too, like he always was? Why couldn't Anders have listened to Justice for once and not been his usual, rebellious self? When had that ever worked anyway?

"Drink it," Hawke said warmly, "it'll help I promise."

"Thanks," Anders said weakly.

The hand removed itself, leaving Anders staring at the slightly greenish, steaming liquid in the cup before him. He lifted it with both hands and took a small sip. It was still too hot but it tasted fantastic. He blew on it, watching the water ripple, and tried to think about what he was going to do. Although, truth be told, he already knew what he was going to do. He was going to do what he always did, what he'd always lived by before he and Justice became one. He was going to run away from his problems and pretend they'd never happened in the first place.

"So," Anders said, hating every word as it left his mouth, "did I have a good time last night then, at least, to warrant all this pain?"

"What?" Hawke asked a little confusedly as he returned from the other room, "You can tell me that, I think."

"I would if I could remember half of it," Anders said moodily, this time actually being half truthful, he couldn't remember everything after all, "nearly gave me a heart attack waking up this morning. Why didn't I go home?"

When Hawke didn't answer Anders looked round cautiously to see his reaction. Hawke was facing away from him, tending to a pot that was sitting over the fire. His silence gave Anders the chance to continue with his facade. He couldn't help but feel the guilt stabbing at him with every word. Coward, he though mercilessly, you're such a coward. You could have had this, all of this, and you're throwing it away for your own bloody pride. Don't pretend you're doing this for the cause, you could have him at your side, you could do this together, you're just scared, Anders thought harshly, you're just a coward.

"Oh Maker, what did I do?" Anders said when Hake continued his silence, "I didn't pass out in the street or something did I? Or get into a fight? Please tell me I didn't get into a fight."

"No you didn't, I mean...you really don't remember anything?" Hawke asked cautiously.

"I remember the pub," Anders lied believably, "barely. Maker Hawke, please tell me I didn't cause a scene..."

"No," Hawke interrupted him, his voice a little flat, "you were just...very, very drunk."

"Oh," Anders said, trying his best to sound confused, "well, that doesn't sound so bad. Sorry you had to look after me, it was your birthday after all."

"I don't mind," Hawke said, finally turning around to look at him; if Anders truly hadn't remembered anything he would never have suspected Hawke was even trying to hide behind his smile. The rogue swallowed and looked away once more, his shoulders rigid and his voice quiet, "you're a lot of fun when you're drunk you know."

"Oh I'm sure," Anders said sourly, "did I insult any templars when I was in Hightown? That's what I used to do when I got drunk. In fact I think I was out of my face the first time they took me back to the tower. May have got myself caught that time."

"I can believe that," Hawke said as he stirred the pot mechanically.

Don't let yourself become distracted, Anders thought grimly as he looked away from Hawke and stared back into the cup. This is the way it needs to be. Hurt him now, hurt him to save him from the pain. You can't lose what you don't have.


AN: Sorry but it just never seemed possible to me that Anders would ever have been able to last three years without doing something at least. That was the only part of DA2 that seemed improbable to me. I mean three years? Also I've been replaying Awakenings and re-found some of my favourite Anders conversations, especially the 'robes' and 'Mr Wiggum's', and just had to put it in there.

Best line ever:

www youtube com/watch?v=Dxn6VahafJ4&feature=feedf

*Sigh* back when Anders was fun.

Also thanks to everyone for the reviews/favs/alerts! I will reply to reviews soon, promise!