Chapter 8

Flight

The next thing he heard was that the Amell estate was being renovated. The ivy was being stripped from the facades, the insides scrubbed, the furniture replaced, the stonework cleaned of dirt and the glass washed until sparkling. The name Hawke was on everyone's lips, from the Viscount to the nobles to the templars. Even in Darktown, while spoken of with envy, Anders couldn't get away from him.

"Seriously William, if you go on about it one more time I'm going to cast a silence spell on you," Anders said tightly.

He handed the little girl sitting his chair a hot mixture of panacea. She took it and blew on it loudly before taking a messy sip. William was scowling at him when he looked over.

"But it's just so..! And anyway he's your friend," William said with a put out expression, "thought you'd be happy for him."

"I am," Anders said, only half listening as he checked on the male elf who had come in a couple of hours ago with a lacerated arm; it seemed to be healing well.

"Could have fooled me," William said, "anyways, I can't hang about today. Got a job to do, gonna take a while."

"Alright," Anders said, nodding to him, half relieved that William was leaving so he wouldn't have to put up with his pestering.

Neither he nor Hawke had said anything of that night, for which Anders was glad. For the first few of days, whenever he'd seen Hawke, there had always been an underlying threat of discovery, that he would be found out and then have to explain himself. After a couple of weeks the feeling of panic began to die away. Anders started to get used to Hawke's unexplained sullen turns, his silences, and also Varric's odd glances that looked too interested to be ignored. The dwarf was too nosy sometimes, but Anders knew how to deal with that. He just did as he always did and avoided it.

There were more important things to worry about anyway. Like the steadily increasing amount of Tranquil that were showing up in the Gallows lately. Anders felt himself pulling the bandage too tightly around the old man's arm at the thought and apologised. It never failed to make him furious. Just yesterday Sabine had told him at the meeting about Harriet. Harriet De Mauche was a healer, just like him, very proficient in creation magic. She'd lived in the Circle all her life and had never once tried to escape as far as he knew. Sabine said she'd taken the dangerous trip to the Gallows to see what goods Soilivtus had for sale when she'd seen her. She said she'd even started to call out to her before she noticed the mark. Sabine had looked a little pale as she told him about it, a mixture of grief and fear; grief for a friend lost and fear for her own safety. Harriet had passed her harrowing years and years ago. It was against Chantry law to turn a mage who had passed their harrowing. The templars were taking the rules into their own hands now. This had to stop.

It made him remember something, a conversation he'd had a long time ago. Justice had been asking him questions. The spirit had wanted to learn everything he could and unfortunately he'd seemed to think that Anders was the best person to pester. He'd taken a keen interest in the oppression of the mages. Being called Justice, Anders could entirely believe that it was something he'd pick up on but, back then, he'd merely thought it irritating.

"I understand that you...struggle against your oppression mage," Justice's opaque eyes didn't meet his as they walked back towards Vigil's Keep in the rain.

"I avoid my oppression," Anders said sarcastically, "that's not quite the same thing, is it."

"Why do you not strike a blow against your oppressors?" Justice finally looked at him, his face stern, "Ensure they can do this to no one else?"

"Because it sounds difficult?" Anders said back blithely.

"Apathy is a weakness," Justice said back so reasonably that Anders would have throttled him if he'd thought it would make any difference.

"So is death," Anders sing-songed, "I'm just saying!"

There were times he couldn't believe that he'd ever thought that way, and others when he wished things could go back to that carefree time when all he had to worry about was himself. Now he felt like he was living for half the city, every decision he made was life changing, everything he denied himself was becoming harder and harder to let go of. Especially when it turned up with presents. Despite how much he and Hawke had distanced themselves from each other the man had still turned up at the clinic often. Sometimes it was with supplies that he said he didn't need, or even just with coin. The children loved him because he always had sweets on him, the adults resented him because he always had money; even with his charity the resentment of what you couldn't have was rife in Darktown. Not that Anders could truly blame them.

One day Hawke had turned up with a rug strapped to his back and Anders just had to ask. He knew the man liked to show generosity but it had seemed a little random.

"What? You had a spare rug lying around?" Anders asked disbelievingly as he washed his hands, "And decided it would look wonderful in my rat infested, hole of a clinic?"

"Well now you're just being ungrateful," Hawke had said, pulling the rug from his back and unrolling it with a swish of fabric, "and dense. Do you really think I'd bring you a rug for your birthday?"

Anders wasn't sure what had shocked him more that day, that Hawke had remembered his birthday or that Anders had forgotten it. Or that Hawke had hidden his present inside a rug. The staff was an odd creation. It was a hybrid, made from what looked like mahogany wood, still with the roots twisting from its tip, headed by a long, slim but dangerous looking blade. There were charms tied into the rope which was knoted across the roots along with strips of blood red cloth. Intricate runes lined the wood where it joined to the metal, trailing down its length. Anders had been speechless for a little while after Hawke handed it to him.

"Didn't think it would be wise to run around the city with that in plain sight," Hawke had said with an amused grin, "the templars might not be so amused."

"It's..." Anders couldn't think of anything appropriate to say, "...it's beautiful. Thank you Hawke."

"No need," Hawke had smiled genuinely, then looked away, frowning slightly, "thought I'd better find something suitably good to repay you for my birthday present."

"What, going out to the pub with you and getting blind drunk?" Anders said with a laugh, still keeping up the lie, the words sticking in his throat, "I'll do it more often if it gets me gifts like this."

"Right," Hawke said, smile tight, "anyway, I have to get back, check no one's slacking off at the mansion. You've no idea the amount those renovators charge, it's extortionate."

Anders never let the thing out of his sight. He had no idea how much Hawke paid for it but, considering the amount of coin the man threw around, Anders could only imagine. He kept it strapped to his belt at all times except when working in the clinic and sleeping. He had to be careful of the blade, which he wasn't used to and had already cut himself on more than once when practicing with it. He'd seen a few of the rougher types that frequented his clinic eyeing it up from time to time but, even after seeing what happened when he left the clinic unprotected, Anders doubted anyone would be stupid or brazen enough to steal when he was actually there watching them.

"Now, keep that covered and come back in a couple of days so I can..." Anders was saying to the elf when he heard the running footsteps.

He looked towards the door instinctively, tensing as it was thrown open. He relaxed on seeing the familiar young boy panting in the doorway, doubled over as he tried to catch his breath. Cricket was one of William's friends, a nice lad if a bit shy. Anders opened his mouth to ask him what was wrong but was stopped short by one word.

"Templars!" Cricket finally managed to shout between pants, "Headed this way!"

"Shit," Anders said, his mind racing; he didn't hesitate, there was no time to, "everyone out!"

One thing Anders was forever thankful for was the ability of the inhabitants of Darktown to scatter at a moment's notice. Anders grabbed his staff and strapped it to his belt before rushing over to help the old man stand up; quickly he found he was too frail to run. Anders felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to find the elf whose arm he'd healed taking the old man by the other hand.

"You go Healer," the elf said urgently, "I'll get him somewhere safe."

"Thank you," was all Anders could spare before he ran.

Cricket was already down the stairs and running up the next set, the others pretending to lounge against the railings or running to the derelict buildings surrounding the landing. He ran after Cricket, his feet hardly touching the ground as he jumped down the stairs and took the next set three at a time. He was rushing through escape plans in his head. He needed to get to the sewers as quickly as possible, he could lose them down there. He saw Cricket turn right at the intersection, his young face stark with determination as he shouted back.

"I'll distract 'em!" before he ran full pelt up the street.

"No wait!" Anders shouted after him.

But it was all too late. As Anders shouted after Cricket he saw the light reflected off of bright chainmail as the compliment of templars rounded the corner. Anders froze when he saw the man at their head. He heard Cricket call out to him but didn't catch the boy's words. He knew that face. His eyes flashed white with rage before he forced it down. There wasn't a mage in Kirkwall that didn't know of Ser Alrik.

"That's him!" Ser Alrik was shouting, his cold blue eyes trained on Anders, "That's the apostate!"

Anders kicked himself into gear. There were at least twelve, not counting Alrik, far too many to fight. He ran, straight for the sewers entrance, his feet flying over the well trodden path. He could hear the tramping of heavy metal boots, the rustle of armour jostling armour as the templars gave chase. There was no time; he didn't bother with the ladder and jumped instead into the dark hole. He hit the ground awkwardly and cried out as his ankle twisted painfully. Well that was fucking clever, Anders thought desperately as he grit his teeth and reached out and cast a quick healing spell over his ankle. It barely covered the pain but he had no time to waste, forcing himself to scramble to his feet. The light above him was already being blotted out as the templars began to descend the ladder. He ran down the stairs and cast a look about. He would have taken time to plan a route but that was before the arrow imbedded itself in his shoulder. With an agonised cry he stumbled forwards and didn't even bother to look back. He ran up the stairs before him and slammed through the door, throwing it shut behind him. Reaching up while still running, he broke the arrow through the shaft. The pain seared down his left side as the metal tip moved inside his flesh but Anders ignored it as best he could and hurried forwards.

Who had given him up? No, he shouldn't think like that, it may not have even been anyone. He just wasn't careful enough, too free with his services, too involved in the underground. It was only a matter of time before the templars tracked him down. In all honesty Anders was surprised they hadn't managed it before now. For a long time Anders had been wondering if the templars in Kirkwall were really as fierce as their reputation depicted. Now it seemed he was going to find out.

They were still too close, why couldn't he lose them? Anders thought as he shot another bolt of lightning behind him into the murky darkness. He heard a cry as one of the templars fell but, just as one went down, there was another to replace him. Anders cursed as the pain in his ankle began to seep back, the quick spell he'd cast beginning to wear off. Alrik was suddenly at their head once more as Anders ran through the next door and slammed it shut behind him. He took the time to freeze this one shut with a sheet of ice before half running half limping forwards, trying to remember which way would take him to Lowtown. He could hear the solid shields bashing into the other side of the door and made a snap decision. He went left.

"After him, I want this one alive!" he heard Alrik cry, his voice nothing but a harsh, cold sneer, "Oh we're going to make an example of you mage!"

Anders pushed himself up over the pipes lining the passage he'd found himself in, ignoring Alrik's taunt. There would be other times. He and Alrik were destined to meet at some point but right now, outnumbered and injured, he didn't stand a chance against him. Anders pushed Justice down as he fought to rise to the bait. Definitely no time for that either, he thought in a rush as he heard another arrow whip past his head to thunk into the doorframe before him. So much for taking me alive, Anders thought wryly. He hauled it open and ran, throwing a look over his shoulder to check how much leeway he had.

Which was the only reason he managed to avoid the spiked mace of the templar that had, moments before, been where his head was. Anders rolled to the ground and scrambled up, pulling his staff out in front of him and casting a flare of flame at the templar. For a moment he thought he'd killed the man but, just as he got ready to run again he heard the tell tale puff of a smoke bomb. Anders turned as quickly as he could, finding the templar behind him, looming. A fucking hunter, Anders thought ruefully, just what he needed. He brought the blade end of his staff before him and parried the blow but, with his ankle, he couldn't stop the momentum as he fell back. The templar was on him in a second and Anders reacted instinctually. He brought the staff up and aimed as best he could, watching with a dark satisfaction as the slim blade on his staff slid straight through the slit in the templars helmet. The man's arms twitched as he let out a gurgling scream and the sword fell from his limp hands, bright red blood spurting down the bladed end of Anders' staff. Anders stood up as quickly as he could and kicked him off awkwardly, turning to run as he heard the rest of the troop catch up.

He had no idea where he was, Anders realised with panic as he found himself in a large room filled with huge pipes and areas cordoned off with railings; thick, murky water lay below him, under the walkways, rushing noisily. Anders looked around him for an exit as he limped forwards.

"Lieutenant, take your men around and flank this bastard!" Alrik's voice echoed off the walls.

He had to get out of here, the further he went the more he was simply trapping himself. He hurried along the walkway and was never more relieved than when he found a ladder leading upwards. No matter where it went it had to be better than here. He attached his staff to his belt and grabbed onto the ladder, hopping up and using his arms to pull him faster. He could hear the templars behind him, so close he could hear them panting under the weight of their armour. The ladder seemed to go on forever and his arms began to tire. Anders held on for dear life and continued up the narrow passage, aiming for the small, round patches of light far above him.

How he had managed to run this far he would never know but, as he pushed the heavy sewer plate out of the way, it now made sense to him why he didn't recognise the sewer area he had found himself in. He had never had any need to go to the sewers beneath Hightown after all. One thing he would do after this, Anders thought optimistically, was map out the entire of the sewers so that this kind of mess could never happen again. He stared around himself, the night air cold compared to the heat of the sewers. That was when he realised exactly where he was. The steps leading to the Viscounts Keep sprawled away to his right; he turned on his good foot and sent another blast of thick ice over the sewer hole he'd just exited, listening with dread as the templar below instantly started hammering against the fragile surface. He didn't have much time.

The newly renovated building shone before him in the moonlight. Anders didn't think, he just acted. He didn't have time to think; if he did that he might be dead soon. Or, knowing Alrik's reputation, worse than dead. He stumbled into the alcove and pounded on the doorway. He could hear the shattering of ice behind him and his heart leapt into his throat. Come on, he thought savagely, come on someone! He pounded again, his head beginning to feel light from the pain. The sound of booted feet on the stone echoed around the small courtyard. He nearly fell through the doorway when he tried to knock again and found the door open in front of him.

"Maker's..." Hawke's voice was lost into the night air as he stared wide eyed at the man before him.

Then he shook himself out of his stupor and simply grabbed Anders and dragged him inside, closing the door behind him. Anders found himself pulled along a richly carpeted hallway, stumbling over his bad ankle and dropping his staff from his now numb hand. Hawke didn't miss a beat, pulling Anders' good arm up over his shoulders and practically running them into the main room.

"Garret what's going on..oh!" Anders looked up to find Leandra half way down the staircase; she had her hand to her mouth in shock.

That was when the knocking started, the very insistent knocking at the front door. Hawke continued to pull him towards a doorway that led off to the left past a set of tables along the wall. Anders looked round to find a dwarf scurrying into the room; he thought he recognised him but couldn't find the presence of mind to care.

"Bodahn, get Anders' staff, hide it, now!" Hawke ordered, "Mother, answer the door and don't tell them anything."

Then they were through the doorway and Hawke kicked it closed behind them. Anders looked around him; it looked like a library but his vision was going a little blurry so it was hard to tell. Hawke leaned Anders against the wall and ran to a nearby bookshelf, quickly counting the books on the fifth shelf up before tipping one out. There was an audible click and the wall swung outwards enough for Hawke to get his hand behind it and pull open the newly revealed secret door. Without another word he hauled Anders from the wall and bundled him into the small alcove behind it.

"Don't make any noise," Hawke said as the sound of templar voices in the hallway became ever more apparent.

Then he closed the door, leaving Anders in darkness. The mage slid down the wall and tried not to pass out. He could hear the heavy tread of templars filing past his hiding place, above his head as they searched upstairs. He wished he could cast a healing spell on his wounds but was too afraid that they would hear or see the glow through the cracks in the bookcase. The last thing he wanted to do now was be caught. If he was found here it wouldn't just be himself he'd be damning, it would be Hawke and his mother too. It was a hangable offence to hide an apostate in Kirkwall these days. Anders shuddered and stayed put, shaking in the corner, until the sounds of pursuit slowly died away. He was beginning to feel cold by the time he heard the click again and light poured in on him.

"Can you stand?" Hawke asked as he leaned down to help Anders to his feet.

"Sort of," Anders said, leaning heavily on Hawke as he helped him back out into the library.

He led him back out into the living room where Leandra was pacing back and forth before the fire. She sent him a dark look, pulling her arms up to wrap them around herself protectively.

"How could you," she said, her voice filled with emotion, "how could you bring the templars into my house!"

"Mother enough!" Hawke said sternly.

"With my Bethany in the Gallows," Leandra ignored her son, "if there are any repercussions from this..!"

"I said enough!" Hawke shouted before checking his tone to a more reasonable level, "Nothing is going to happen, alright? You heard them, everything will be fine."

Leandra turned away with what sounded like a choked sob. Anders felt the guilt like a physical thing. He hadn't meant to cause trouble, he'd just needed to...he'd needed to...

"Come on," Hawke was saying to him, "there's a room upstairs. Can you manage?"

He didn't answer, just nodded his head. Hawke helped him up the stairs one by one until they were on the landing above. He opened a door on the wall facing them and Anders hobbled inside. Hawke took Anders' arm from around his shoulders so he could double back to close the door and Anders experimentally tried to walk on his own. It wasn't the smartest thing he'd ever done, Anders would admit, and his leg crumpled from under him on the first try. He fell to his knees on the hearth rug before the roaring fire.

"Anders! Are you alright?" Hawke sounded worried out of his wits.

"I'll be okay," Anders said faintly, "Just need to..."

He reached down and cast another healing spell on his ankle. The relief was enough to give him another bout of light-headedness, although whether it was from the adrenaline rush or his fading mana reserves he wasn't sure. He felt Hawke behind him, heard him kneel down and felt him place his hands on his left shoulder.

"Fucking hell, you've been shot," he said tersely, "those bastards! Just...just hold still, this is going to hurt."

Anders would have braced himself if he'd had the energy to. Instead he simply hissed in pain as Hawke pulled at the stump of wood which was all that was visible of the arrow deep in his flesh. He cried out as Hawke pulled again, harder, unable to stop himself as the pain flared. Hawke stopped, seeming unwilling to try another time.

"I'm going to have to cut it out," Hawke said.

Anders just nodded vaugely. Hawke was careful in removing his pauldrons first, lifting them over the shard of arrow slowly. He walked round and knelt down once more in front of him to undo his coat. Anders watched him with a dazed expression.

"I'm sorry," he choked out as Hawke pulled his uninjured arm out through his sleeve, "I didn't know where else to..."

"Be quiet," Hawke said tenderly, lifting his hand to press his fingers over Anders' mouth, "just, be quiet for now."

Anders didn't say another word. Even as Hawke cut into his shoulder with one of his daggers he tried his best to bite down on the scream threatening to escape. He could feel the blood running down his back, the pull of flesh as Hawke extracted the arrow head. The warm blood rushed out as the only thing that was stopping the it was finally removed. Anders tried to cast another healing spell to stop the bleeding at least but found he just couldn't, he had no energy, there was nothing left. Thankfully Hawke wasn't as useless a healer as he always said he was. All that visiting the clinic must have done some good then, Anders thought with desperate humour as he felt Hawke wiping away the blood on his back before placing a thick cloth over the wound and wrapping a bandage tightly around it. He placed a steadying hand on Anders' abdomen as he unraveled the bandage in a swathe around and around his chest, holding the cloth in place. Anders tried to mask the pain by focusing on Hawke's touch. There was silence between them as Hawke worked, the heat of the fire a comforting thing against Anders' naked flesh. Hawke let go of Anders to tie off the bandage and then stood up once more. Hawke put his arms under his armpits and Anders found himself lifted gently onto his feet before being walked over to the previously ignored four poster bed. Hawke pulled back the covers.

"Sit down," he said and Anders obeyed without a word.

The sheets were soft and cool against his skin. Hawke undid the trappings on his boots before pulling them off and placing them beside the bedside cabinet. Then the rogue reached up and pushed Anders gently back, helping him to lie down. Anders felt like he was in a dream as Hawke pulled the thick blankets up over him, the pain of his shoulder a constant throbbing ache and his ankle twinging every time he moved his leg. He felt the bed dip as Hawke climbed onto the other side. Anders rolled his head to the left to look at him; Hawke was laying on top of the covers, staring at Anders, his eyes unreadable. Anders opened his mouth to speak but Hawke beat him to it.

"Get some sleep," he said, "you need it. We'll talk in the morning, alright?"

"...Alright," Anders replied, nothing but a whisper of breath against the pillow.

He closed his eyes and tried to relax. He was safe here. Safe. After a few minutes he managed to steady his breathing and felt sleep reach up to claim him.


It was the sunlight that woke him. He felt warm and heavy and the pain was slow to make itself apparent. Anders took a deep breath and cracked open his eyes, blinking into the bright sun. He tried to sit up but felt the wound in his shoulder complain at the movement and lay back, rolling his head to the left to avoid the glare. He was surprised to find Hawke was still there, still asleep, lying on his right side his head pillowed against one folded arm while the other lay stretched out before him, fingers curled around nothing. Anders watched him for a few moments. There was a taught numbness that had settled over his mind, pushing away the thoughts of the previous night. Instead he decided to focus on the simple enjoyment of waking up next to someone, despite the circumstances. It was a true novelty in his case; even before, when he'd allowed himself the pleasure of a nights company, either he'd never stuck around long enough or they hadn't and trysts in the dark corners of the tower didn't give much chance for cuddling afterwards. Hawke stirred a little, a small frown marring his forehead before it disappeared with a sigh. He shifted a little before his breathing evened out once more and he continued to sleep. Anders smiled and shook his head.

He managed to free his good hand from, with a little difficulty, from under the heavy blankets. His mana reserves were still depleted but had been slowly replenishing as he slept. Enough to cast a healing spell on his shoulder at least. Anders grimaced slightly as he felt the spell pull at the already healing flesh and clotted blood but it felt much better almost instantly. He used his magic to make sure he couldn't feel any infection but the wound seemed surprisingly clean. He'd half expected the templars to have started using poison arrows, what with their sudden lack of ethics. Now that he had time to think about it they could have killed him with that shot if it had been a little to the right, if it had gone into his spine. Perhaps that's what the fuckers were aiming for, Anders thought angrily. Was this the new templar policy, kill first and don't even bother asking any questions? Just tell the Knight Commander that the apostate attacked first and tried to flee and you'll have all your sins washed away by the Chantry? Anders ground his teeth and rubbed at his face, trying to calm down as he felt Justice stirring under his skin.

"Are you feeling better?" Hawke's voice was unexpected and sleepy.

Anders looked round and blinked at him, shading the sunlight that had now moved to once again be in his eyes. Hawke was staring at him, blinking slowly before reaching up to cover a yawn. The younger man shivered a little as he sat up, rubbing at his arms. Anders felt a little guilty considering, if he hadn't been here, Hawke would have had a warm, comfortable night's sleep instead of lying awkwardly on his bed in the cold.

"Anders?" Hawke prodded when the mage didn't reply.

"Yes," Anders said, not sure what else to say.

"Good," Hawke said, sliding off the bed and heading in a sleepy shuffle towards the door, "I'll get us something to eat. Just stay put."

Anders would have complied but the longer he lay there the more antsy he became, especially since he was feeling much better now. He sat up and shivered as the cold air touched his bare skin, sliding out from under the heavy covers. He found his shirt folded neatly on the bedside cabinet, pulling it on and ignoring the large, bloody rip where the arrow had cut through. Looking down to his ankle he noted the swelling with a sigh of defeat. If only he'd had enough time to deal with it properly last night this never would have happened. Now he'd be hobbling around for days waiting for the swelling to go down. His coat was hanging on the back of a chair beside a writing desk. He slid it on carefully, trying not to exacerbate the wound in his shoulder, before limping over to the dying fire. He knelt down and grabbed a few logs from the scuttle, leaning forwards to place them on top of the embers. A quick blast of flame was easy to conjure, even with his low reserves, and soon the hearth was bright and warm again. He felt the goosebumps rise on his arms as he soaked up the heat and closed his eyes. He was still so tired.

"I thought I told you to stay put," Hawke said, jerking Anders from his daze.

"Sorry I..." Anders didn't have an excuse so he stopped trying to make one.

Hawke was balancing a large plate in his hands as he pushed the door shut behind him. There was the distinct smell of eggs and cured meat. Anders' stomach rumbled in appreciation. Hawke walked over and knelt down beside him, placing the plate on the floor before the fire. Anders swallowed and wished he could just ignore Hawke and eat his impromptu breakfast but he could feel the man's eyes on him. He looked up to find Hawke's expression had turned from its unreadable state to one of worry and concern.

"What happened?" was all he asked.

So Anders told him. It wasn't much of a story anyway, he thought as he told it, just one he'd lived a hundred times over already. The templars had found him and he had run from them. That was it, story of his life. Luckily this time he'd managed to get away with his freedom, and his life, intact. He watched with curiosity as Hawke stayed quiet throughout the whole tale, glaring into the fire. His fingers curled into fists any time Alrik's name was mentioned. There was a heavy silence once Anders finished his tale. one that he was not wiling to break.

"I have business at the Gallows today," Hawke said eventually, his voice tight and hard, "Meredith can't ignore me in the way she used to love doing, not with the status I have now. She's finally granted me leave for a short visit with Bethany in the Circle."

"That's wonderful," Anders said, glad to finally hear some good news for once.

"I'll have a few words with Cullen when I'm there," Hawke said coldly, "about this Ser Alrik."

"No," Anders shook his head and blanched a little when Hawke's dangerous eyes snapped up to focus on him, "it isn't worth it Hawke, the templars protect their own. Anyway it would seem awfully suspicious, don't you think, for you to be ranting at the Knight Captain about a templar who only the night before was chasing a dangerous apostate through the sewers?"

Hawke let out a small sound of disgust and leaned on his right arm, letting his legs splay out beside him.

"That's not the point! He barged his way into my house and searched every room!" Hawke growled angrily, "And he shot at you without prior warning or necessity!"

"And how are you going to explain how you know that," Anders said back tightly, "don't be foolish Hawke, not now."

"Well I wouldn't have said it like that, obviously," Hawke said, once more staring into the flames, "it's just...for Maker's sake, he can't get away with this!"

Anders couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his lips. Hawke was so...young sometimes. It was endearing but he could see the naivety there every now and then. He shook his head and let it hang down, closing his eyes. He blinked them back open quickly enough when he felt Hawke's fingers clasping his chin, bringing his face back up to look into emerald green eyes.

"Don't you ever do this again, understand?" Hawke said sternly, "I mean it Anders."

"I'm sorry," the mage said, face falling, "I didn't mean to drag you into this Hawke I...""

"I don't mean about coming here," Hawke said, shaking his head vehemently, "I mean about making yourself such an ovious bloody target. You can't keep putting yourself out so openly, you can't keep up this pretence that you won't be found..!"

"And I can't stop either," Anders interrupted firmly, trying to ignore Hawke's hand as it slid from his chin to cup his cheek, "don't you understand? That's just what they want! They want to drive me to thinking there's no way out!"

"What they want is to see you dead, or Tranquil!" Hawke said, face twisted in anger, "And you're making it easy for them!"

Anders pulled away and turned to face the fire. He could feel Hawke's frustration as the man took his hand back, picking up a piece of dry ham but not eating it.

"I won't stop Hawke," Anders said evenly, "I don't care if Meredith herself starts hunting me personally. I didn't come here to cower in the undercity like some frightened fugitive, I came here to change things."

"Well this has surely changed that," Hawke said, sounding like he was trying to at least be reasonable, "you can't go back to the clinic now."

"No, you're right," Anders frowned, ignoring the light in Hawke's eyes as the man thought he'd made progress, "I'll have to move. Shame really, I was getting used to that place."

Hawke threw the meat he held into the fire in sheer frustration. He sat up straight and looked at Anders with a mix of worry and anger.

"Anders for Maker's sake!" Hawke burst out, "You're just being a stubborn fool now!"

"And you aren't seeing the bigger picture," Anders said calmly in the face of Hawke's sheer aggravation, "I can't and I won't back down. No matter what they throw at me."

"Well it'll be easy for you to back down when you're dead," Hawke said, glaring at the mage, "won't it."

"I made a mistake, it won't happen again," Anders said flatly, "I got complacent, that's all."

"That's all," Hawke said, shaking his head, "Anders they nearly killed you!"

Hawke opened his mouth to say more but stopped short. It was as if he'd just realised what he'd said and it seemed to affect him enough that he found it difficult to speak. Anders looked at Hawke as the man rubbed at his face and sighed. He didn't look at Anders as sighed and continued to speak.

"At least lay low for a little while," he said, "you can stay here."

"Hawke it's too dangerous for you to..." Anders started but was cut off.

"Don't start with trying to tell me what I can and can't do," Hawke said commandingly, "if I want to put myself in danger I'll bloody well do it."

"And what about your mother?" Anders said soberly.

Hawke looked up at that, his eyes slightly accusing. Anders just looked back, waiting for an answer.

"Mother will understand," Hawke said after a moment's pause, "she was just upset last night, that's all. It was a shock, to be reminded of the night they took Bethany."

"I'm sorry..." Anders started.

"Please stop apologising Anders," Hawke said, taking a deep breath.

Anders stopped apologising. Hawke stayed silent. The fire crackled merrily away to itself, oblivious to the hushed tension in the room. Eventually Hawke stood, hesitating for a moment before he walked over to stand behind Anders, reaching down to run his fingers through the mage's hair. Anders stiffened under the touch but Hawke didn't seem to notice.

"So, do I have to lock you in?" Hawke said, his voice laced with forced humour.

"...No," Anders said after a pause, "I'll...I'll stay, if it will make you feel better."

"It'll make me feel a lot better," Hawke said, sounding relieved, "I need to go out and get some things before I go to the Gallows but I'll be back later, alright? Help yourself to anything, if you need something you can ask Bodahn."

Anders watched Hawke leave, the other man giving him a warm smile as he closed the door, unsure what to feel.


Hawke managed to stretch a few days into a week. Anders was usually more strong willed than this but found that he couldn't help but accommodate him, especially when the man used his new found technique. Whenever he made a request of Anders Hawke found a means to subtly touch him in some way, whether it was his hair, the back of his hand or even just bumping Anders' shoulder with his own. The mage found it entirely distracting and, on more than one occasion, agreed to stay an extra few days just to have Hawke remove himself from his presence. Anders was beginning to worry that he was completely losing his sense of willpower around Hawke, especially when the man was being so attentive to him.

Anders biggest fear had, once again, been Hawke's mother but thankfully that hadn't lasted long. She'd apologised the morning Hawke had convinced him to stay, still rather stiff in her demeanour but at least she wasn't raging at him to get out of her house and never darken her door again. Anders would take what he could get. It also hadn't taken him much longer to recognise the finely dressed dwarf who had apparently allocated himself as Hawke's manservant. He had been the one to misinform him of Hawke's alleged death all those months ago. When they both figured it out Bodahn didn't stop apologising for days. He seemed stricken to have caused such worry and grief, even though it had been short lived and so long ago. Anders was getting a little tired of the dwarf's constant apologising but, mercifully, he seemed to have stopped.

It wasn't long until the trouble Anders had promised Hawke turned up. Thankfully it was in the form of a friend, of sorts anyway. A few days after the incident with Alrik Anders had been hobbling around the library looking for something worth reading when he'd heard the sound of an argument from the living room. He'd felt awkward at first, convinced that it was Hawke and his mother quarrelling about him staying in the house, and had peeked out of the door to find Aveline Vallen standing in the middle of the room, her arms crossed. Hawke was in a similar position only he was standing in front of the fire, staring at his friend with a hard expression. Unfortunately, before Anders could duck back into the library, Aveline looked over and spotted him.

"You," she'd said, eyes hardening, turning back to Hawke, "I want to talk to him."

"Leave him alone Aveline," Hawke said, giving Anders a disapproving look as he limped out of the library and approached them, "Anders just leave it."

"Talk to me about what?" Anders said, ignoring Hawke as he leaned against a pillar for support; like I don't know what, Anders thought.

"You know what," Aveline said tightly, confirming his suspicions, "we've had a report from the Knight Captain of two templars killed in the sewers not far from Darktown."

"That's nice," Anders said cheerfully, "I won't be sending flowers if that's what you were going to ask."

Aveline's eyes were like shards of glass. If possible her demeanour became even frostier. Hawke walked over to place himself nearby the mage, just in case. He also gave Anders a look to tell him that his glib manner wasn't helping. Anders ignored him. If Aveline wanted to talk then they would talk.

"Dead templars," Anders said, narrowing his eyes, "that isn't a guard matter is it?"

"Murder is a City Guard matter," Aveline said back.

"Oh good, then I have some to report," Anders said, crossing his arms, "Harriet De Mauche for one."

Aveline frowned at him, looking confused. He heard Hawke sigh behind him.

"The Tranquil merchant in the Gallows? She isn't even dead!" Aveline said.

"She might as well be," Anders said darkly, "did you talk to the Knight Captain about her while you were having your cosy chat about his dead templars?"

"Why would I? That's templar business..." Aveline started.

"Oh I see," Anders said, "that's templar business, how convenient."

"Stop changing the subject," Aveline said tightly, "there are two men dead and I think that you are responsible."

"...Prove it," Anders had said, dead pan.

He'd stared a challenge at Aveline even as the Guard Captain fumed and Hawke shifted uneasily on his feet. Aveline had left in a tightly controlled rage and Hawke had berated him for making more trouble out of the trouble he'd already made. Anders couldn't help not feeling guilty at what he'd said. The woman had deserved it as far as he was concerned. Aveline had her head so far in the rule book it made Anders wonder if she actually had freckles at all or if it was just castoff ink from the pages. He bet if he joined them up it would spell out all the laws of the City Guard. Everything was so black and white for her, no grey area even existed; and unfortunately it seemed like mage's rights were entirely grey.

It had only taken three days for Anders' ankle to return fully to normal. When Hawke was out on the third day, meeting Varric at the Hanged Man, Anders had sneaked out to Darktown. He'd found William, who was beside himself on finding Anders alive, and asked him to let everyone know that he was alright. The clinic was a complete loss; the templars had turned it over and wrecked everything. Although, even if it had been salvagable, it was now known to the templars and therefore Anders knew he would have to move. He could never come back here. Anders hadn't really cared too much, his clinic was only as useful as the good he could do in it, it didn't matter to him where he was. So he hadn't really been too broken up about it...until he saw they'd smashed open his chest and spilled its contents. At first he'd panicked, thinking it gone when he found the small wooden case lying empty in the dirt. Then, from under a pile of cloth, Anders saw it and thanked the Maker that it didn't look important. The little pillow was covered in mud on one side and the stitching was coming out at one corner but Anders didn't care. He stuffed it into his pouch and instantly felt better. It also turned out the templars weren't quite as thorough as they thought; Anders opened the secret hollow under the floorboards at the back of the clinic to find his Tevinter book still there and intact.

He and William sorted through the wreckage together, recovered anything worth keeping and then left. Anders asked William to let him know if he heard of anywhere that might be a good place to set up shop again, anywhere abandoned and out of the way. The young man had said he'd keep an ear out and let him know; then he'd grinned and asked him what it was like living in a Hightown mansion.

"Won't be wanting to come back after that," William had joked a little sadly.

Anders didn't have the heart to tell him that it wasn't the mansion that was keeping him there. Hawke could have been living in the dankest hovel in the city and he would still be able to convince Anders to stay with just a look and a soft touch of his hand. Of course the wonderful food and the satin pyjamas Hawke had lent him didn't hurt, but still.

Hawke wouldn't have ever known he'd slipped out if he hadn't found him washing the little pillow the kitchen sink. He'd asked Anders what it was and, even though he could have come up with something, Anders didn't have it in him to lie to Hawke any more. Hawke's eyes had been incredulous when he told him he'd been back to the clinic.

"Why do I even bother talking to you?" had been the outcome of that argument, with Hawke stalking off to slam his bedroom door behind him.

Hawke's bedroom was the only other issue he'd had. Hawke had made up the spare room for Anders while he was staying, a smaller but no less lavish room off to the right of the landing. The bed was unbelievably comfortable and soft, the windows held a beautiful stained glass mural of a flaxen haired girl sitting amidst a sea of flowers and there was real crystal in the gas lamps. It was perfect, yet Anders hadn't been moved in there on the first night. The night after he'd agreed to stay, Hawke had convinced him that the room wasn't ready yet and that Anders could easily sleep with him again. However, he hadn't, as on the first night, stayed gentlemanly on top of the covers. Anders had fallen asleep a respectable three feet away from Hawke with his back turned; then he'd woken up wrapped in Hawke's arms, his head pillowed against the man's shoulder. Anders had made sure that the guest room was ready by the next night. He didn't think he could handle another temptation like that.

It was another few days until Anders became fed up enough to sit down at the writing desk in the guest room and flip through the Tevinter book he'd rescued from his clinic. He'd never quite gotten to the end of it, something always distracted him, and even the bits he'd looked over were merely skimmed. He wasn't sure what he was looking for in the dusty, foreign pages, but he was sure he'd know it when he saw it. He wasn't very well versed in Arcanum but he knew enough to scrape by. The writing was in a flourished hand, tall and spidery and embellished with ornate, colourful plates and stylised borders. They were mainly common spells, or common to Anders anyway, and he had yet to find anything he couldn't have found in the restricted section of the library in the Circle.

That was until he found the bomb.