There was a stunned silence, broken only by an incoherent sound of denial from Hawke as he took a step towards Anders.
"Don't say that! Don't hurt yourself like that!" he pleaded.
"You are not a whore," said Fenris quietly.
Anders stared at the ashes, his body faintly trembling. "Yes I am," he said flatly. "Whore. Abomination. Thing," he spat over his shoulder at Hawke, who flinched. Anders' face contorted into an expression of grief. "Did you think I didn't know? That I couldn't hear?"
"Love, I didn't mean-"
"It doesn't matter what you meant," replied Anders, shaking his head and turning away. "Nothing matters anymore. Whether you meant it or not, it was in your thoughts, in your mind. It's what I am, after all. An abomination. A monster." He laughed bitterly. "Oh Maker, I am the biggest fool of all."
"No, you are not," replied Fenris quietly, taking a step towards him. Anders turned his head and glared at him.
"You've seen what I am," he said quietly. "You've seen what I can do." He turned back to the fireplace and closed his eyes. "Do it," he said quietly. "It's what I deserve." He bowed his head, leaning into the mantelpiece, his body shivering.
"No!" cried Hawke, unable to hold himself back. He reached out for Anders' shoulder and spun the slender man around.
"Don't touch me!" Anders screamed, staggering off balance then stumbling backwards into the fireplace, his feet leaving bloody footprints as he stepped drunkenly through the broken glass. "Keep your hands off me! I'm not your bloody slave, your toy to just cast aside like that!"
"Love-"
"You keep saying that word as though it had meaning any more," moaned Anders. He clutched his stomach suddenly with a groan and doubled over. "I feel sick." He stared despairingly at the elf. "Say something," he begged.
"What do you want me to say?" asked Fenris quietly.
"I don't know," moaned Anders, bowing his head as he fell back against the firestone and slowly slid down against it. "Anything. My head's spinning. I think I'm going to be sick."
"Let's get you outside," said Fenris, reaching down and hauling Anders up by the wrist. He draped the mage's arm across his shoulder, his other arm slipping around the bare waist as he half-walked, half-carried the drunken man towards the balcony doors. Hawke followed behind, picking up the grey blanket as he brought up the rear.
Anders staggered into the cool night air on the balcony. Throwing himself against the stone balustrade, he moaned before noisily spewing the meagre contents of his stomach down into the square below. Fenris supported him with his arm still around Anders' waist, awkwardly patting the mage's shoulder in what he hoped felt like a comforting fashion. Hawke stepped up to the rail on Anders' other side and gently held the blond hair back as Anders coughed and retched. He hung over the cold stone railing, his stomach spasming emptily, then turned and slid down against it, moaning piteously.
Fenris crouched down beside him and gently pushed a lock of blond hair out of the amber eyes, which glimmered dimly with tears.
"What am I to do with you," he mused fondly. Anders raised his eyes and stared at the elf.
"Anything you like," he said dully.
Fenris gently cupped the distraught man's cheek with his hand. "Not like this," he said quietly. "I would have you come to me of your own free will."
Anders stared at him, eyes dark. "Did you mean what you said?" he whispered. "About me? Being a mage you could die for?"
"Yes," replied the elf simply.
Anders turned so he was kneeling in front of the elf; he shivered in the cold night air as he reached a trembling hand to pluck at the front of Fenris' tunic. "Please tell me," he begged brokenly. "What am I?"
Fenris laid his hand over the trembling fingers, holding them to his heart. "You are Anders," he replied simply. "Mage, abomination, it is true – but still a man." He smiled sadly. "A cold, broken, drunken man who will catch his death of cold soon, but still a man."
"Could you truly love a man like me?" breathed Anders, shivering.
"I do," replied Fenris.
"Then take me," Anders whispered brokenly. "I'll give myself to you. Here, now, whatever you want to do to me."
Hawke stifled a moan, dropping the blanket as he stumbled away, back inside.
Fenris should his head. "No. You are tired, drunk and hurt," he replied, picking up the blanket and wrapping it warmly around Anders. He rose to his feet then stooped and swept the mage lightly up into his arms.
"I don't understand," murmured Anders. "You...don't want me?"
"Not tonight," replied the elf as he carefully carried Anders inside. "Not like this. Tomorrow, when you are rested, sober and yourself again – if you still want to, then..."
Anders rested his head on Fenris' shoulder as the elf carried him across to the bed. "So tired," he murmured. Fenris gently laid him down upon the bed.
"Rest," he said gently. "I shall tend your feet."
Anders lay back against the pillows with a faint sigh. He closed his eyes as Fenris reached for the backpack Lirene had brought, and pulled out a healing kit. Hawke had slumped into a chair by the empty fireplace and was staring into it silently, his shoulders shaking. Fenris fetched a bowl of water and cloths and set to work quietly washing the blood and ashes from Anders' feet before gently pulling out slivers of dark glass. Anders made no protest beyond an occasional whimper or faint gasp. Finally the task was done, and Fenris started to carefully wind clean white bandages around the pale slender feet. Anders turned his face into the pillows and closed his eyes.
"Fenris?" he asked drowsily.
"Hmm?" answered the elf, not looking up from his task.
"Does it glow?"
Fenris looked up, startled. "I'm sorry?" he asked, perplexed.
His only answer was a faint snore.