Warning: Graphic m/m sex
Chapter 37
Letters
The next day seemed to pass as a leaf on a river, swift and inconsequential. Despite the importance of the events taking place, Anders found it difficult to truly focus on anything. He found himself once more torn between his duty and himself. Half of his resistance could be leaving Kirkwall that very day and he found that, guiltily, he couldn't bring himself to care. Justice damned those who would flee, while Anders couldn't help but resent their abandonment even though, deep down, he understood it.
The tail end of the storm from the night before kept light showers intermittent over Kirkwall, drenching him in a fine mist of dew like water droplets as he walked towards the fifth dock. His mind felt heavy, as if his head were a weight on his shoulders, making his neck ache. Despite the feeling of belonging which had built up during the last week, surrounded by friends, Anders felt suddenly lonely. The Warden's were leaving, as was the King and his escort, and Hawke, despite his naturally loving behaviour, couldn't help but be a little distant with him.
He had tried to talk to Cousland earlier in the morning, when he was sure that a good night's sleep with Hawke at his side would have calmed him enough to at least be civil. It had started well but, what with the combination of Justice's impatience and Cousland's quick temper, had rapidly descended into a shouting match. Anders had tried to be reasonable but had only ended up attacking Alistair's sense of honour which had enflamed Cousland to no end.
"How can you be so short sighted!" Anders had found himself roaring; he'd come across Cousland in the library pacing back and forth as if working himself up for something. As they had begun to talk Anders realised that it was this very conversation he had been doing it for.
"Short sighted? What the fuck is that supposed to mean!" Cousland had shouted back, his own authoritative bark much more powerful than Anders' own voice, "We came here to help you and your friends because we thought it was the right thing to do! What? Would you rather we had just sat on our arses and kept it all a big secret?"
"And that's what I mean by short fucking sighted!" Anders hadn't been able to ignore the deep, tenor quality that invaded his voice, feeling the sizzle of magic in the air around him, "to think that this is in any way only about me and my friends!"
There had been a terrible pause then, during which Cousland, just as he had the night before, stared at him as if seeing someone else entirely. Anders had frowned angrily at him and demanded to know what the hell was wrong. Once he received the answer he almost wished he had never asked the question.
"I'll admit it's been a while," Cousland had said, somewhat calmly, as he eyed Anders critically, "but I'd never forget that voice. Just how long are you going to let him use you like this Anders?"
He had refused to grace him with an answer but it wasn't truly because he was angry at the accusation. Instead he found himself worried by it, unsure any more as to who was really using who. When it had all begun, the determined pact he and Justice had made, it had been so very right and well intentioned. Now, as he fled from Cousland's accusing stare, he couldn't help but once more feel the weight of the unwitting mistake they both had made by joining in the first place. He hid it beneath an outraged snarl and stalked out of the library to the safer confines of the sitting room. He uses me no more than I use him, Anders had thought weakly as he stared at the floor, and that's just the reality I have to accept now.
A stray ray of sunlight momentarily broke through the thick clouds above him, forcing him to squint under the yellow glare. It was quickly swallowed once more by the greedy clouds, turning everything back into the usual grey. Anders continued to march forwards across the heavy stone slabs, ignoring the calls of merchants hawking their wares and dock workers shouting orders and lewd comments to each other. It seemed somehow like he was approaching the sight of a battle already fought, ready to walk amid the dead and see who could no longer be counted amongst his forces. There were few enough of us as it was, Anders thought bleakly, now how are we supposed to fight?
The fifth dock was normally, as the others were, mainly empty. Today, however, you could hear the voices before you saw the crowd. He had seen the tip of the masts from over the buildings before he had even seen the rest of the ship. When Anders rounded the corner and descended the stairs to the dock, his fragile hopes of things not going as badly as he had feared were crushed. At least four dozen people stood chattering on the long pier, jutting out adjacent to the imposing ship which sat stationed in the narrow dock. The Maitland was indeed an impressive vessel, Anders had to admit. The small, dirty merchant ship he had bartered passage on to bring him to Kirkwall seemed like a simple rowing boat in comparison. She was tall, throwing the already gloomy pier into further shadow; two levels and a main deck, three proud masts with sails tightly bound. She was thick hulled but built for speed, a long narrow hull tapering to a svelte stern. There were no ornate decorations on the half round of the captain's cabin, or along the sides. This was a ship built for one purpose; to escape in safety.
Wet, salty air assaulted his nose while the sloshing of water beneath the ship herself drowned out most of the hushed conversations around him as he pushed through the crowd. People avoided his gaze as it fell on them, or stopped speaking as they noticed him approach. Many he did not recognise at all, some he identified from the night before and one he actually knew.
"Ghalt," he couldn't help but say aloud as he bumped into the tall man.
"...Anders," Ghalt eventually nodded after shifting about in uncomfortable silence.
Many words tried, one after the other, to force themselves out of his mouth. How can you do this? Why are you leaving us? We need you! Anders did not let any of them slip, no matter how much he wished to spout them at the man he had come to rely greatly on for gathering intelligence. In truth he hadn't been expecting anyone he knew well to leave. Seeing Ghalt was actually quite a shock. He began to wonder how many more of his friends may be hidden among the crowd.
"Look," Ghalt said at length, pulling Anders' thoughts back to the present, "I'm sorry, about...leaving. I have to admit that I'll miss Kirkwall, but I have been waiting my whole life for an opportunity like this. I can't stay."
Well hurry up and fuck off then, Anders felt like snapping but managed to keep his acerbic words to himself. Instead he simply reached out and patted the burly man on the arm, nodding in what he hoped looked like understanding.
"Stay safe," Ghalt said as he clamped his large hand down onto Anders' shoulder.
"And you," Anders managed to say before he quickly quitted the man's presence; he did not want to taint his parting words with anger.
It was as he pushed his way through the crowd that a very familiar voice made itself known.
"These people are under suspicion and I will not allow this ship to leave until I am satisfied!"
Anders reached the edge of the crowd and pushed out past elbows and shoulders until he was free of it. The end of the pier was empty but for three people, two of which he knew and the other he recognised from Cousland's troops. Aveline and Donnic stood by the tall, blond Warden, whose name he could not recall, indignantly glaring at him. Well, Aveline was anyway. Her husband was, Anders had always found from his limited dealings with the man, far calmer than his spouse.
"We are leaving imminently, madam," the Warden said politely but obdurately, "Commander's orders."
"Then I would speak to this Commander," Aveline said, eyes narrowing, "I will not allow...Anders?"
Anders smiled humourlessly at the odd break in her sentence.
"Won't allow me to do what?" Anders said as he finally reached their small group; he nodded to the Warden and received a courteous nod in return.
"That's not what I meant," Aveline said tightly, "do you know these men?"
"Mmm," Anders nodded, "yes, they're Cousland's troops."
Aveline opened her mouth again, clearly intent on continuing her diatribe, when she realised exactly which name he had said.
"Cousland? You mean..?" Aveline started, looking startled.
"Well, well, it looks like I have quite the little send off party, eh Blake?"
Everyone, including the crowd on the pier, looked to the top of the gangway to find Cousland, once more in his drake scale armour, both arms propped on the rope handrails. The tall Warden, Blake, nodded to his Commander with respect but also with a small smile of amusement that seemed out of place on his stoic facade. Cousland descended quickly, feet sure on the rough board beneath him, and stepped down onto the smooth stone. Aveline was staring at him just as she had the first time they had met, her cheeks seeming to flush involuntarily. Donnic looked at her with a frown and eyed Cousland with blatant suspicion. Oh, everyone's jealous of the Commander, Anders couldn't help but think with genuine hilarity as he took in Donnic's reaction and remembered Hawke's same response on meeting Cousland in the Deep Roads.
"I didn't realise..." Aveline floundered, sounding nothing like her usual self assured and strong willed self, "forgive me Lord Cousland, I didn't know this was your ship."
"Easy mistake to make," Cousland shrugged, "I wouldn't worry yourself over it Guard Captain Aveline."
So easy to fool them, is it? Anders thought. Cousland may have seemed his usual calm and charming self to the others, but Anders could see the slight hardening of his eyes and the tension in his stance at the mention of the word 'lord'. Cousland spared a brief glance for Anders before looking away. The mage just stood casually to the side, his arms folded, unable to summon any of the anger or the outrage or the hurt he had felt that morning. Everything seemed to have become a little dead inside. He watched Cousland charm Aveline expertly, to the point where even mild mannered Donnic decided to intervene and say that, if Aveline wasn't intent on holding these people, then they had better leave. The Guard Captain seemed a little torn, for a moment, between her duty and her want to be respectful to the man who saved her homeland. For a moment Anders knew exactly how she felt.
He stood to the side as the Guards left and he waited patiently as the mage's began to file past, up the gangway and onto the ship that would take them away. No templars had shown which was, in itself, a mystery. That Aveline had obviously been tipped off about suspect persons leaving Kirkwall on this ship made him wary but it was odd to think of Meredith having anyone else do her dirty work. Usually the Knight Commander was more than happy to show her true colours, especially now that she seemed to think they were validated by her status.
When everyone had boarded the pier was once more its usual ghost haunt. The sounds of the city docks floated on the midday breeze, the faint chill of approaching snow apparent in the air. Anders had walked to the end of the pier as the proceedings took place. Soon he heard Cousland join him, standing by his side as they stared out over the glittering water. The Gallows were an undeniable blight on the scenery, towering out of the water, casting a long shadow over the ships that sailed in and out of the harbour.
"So," Cousland said after a long silence, but for the lapping of waves against the stone, "I suppose nothing I say will convince you to come with us?"
Considering everything they had said to each other that morning, an offer such as that was the last thing Anders had expected. He looked to Cousland as the Warden continued to stare out over the glassy sea. As usual he forgives far too easily, Anders thought. In a way it was a sad thought, not on the Commander's part but more on his own. He had been like that once too, yet now he found far easier to hold grudges and keep everything inside where it only fuelled the fires of Vengeance's hatred.
"You know I would," Anders said, meaning it only as a placation yet it astonished him how much he truly wished it could be so, "but I can't."
"I know," Cousland nodded with a sad smile, "I know but it never hurts to ask, isn't that right?"
"Right," Anders said looking away as Cousland turned to face him, hurriedly thinking of something else to say, "I take it Alistair isn't going with you?"
"No," Anders could hear the numb element to the Commander's tone and wished that he hadn't brought up such an obviously contentious topic, "no, he's heading back to Denerim on the Victory. She's the flagship of the royal fleet. Make's this pile of wood and nails look a bit like a skiff."
Cousland laughed a little awkwardly and then stopped when he realised he was the only one doing it. There was an awkward silence. Anders tightened his folded arms as the breeze gusted momentarily into a strong wind. I shouldn't let it get to me, he thought as he squinted into the pale sunlight, I only have so long left before things will have gone past the point of no return. I should be savouring these moments, not waiting for them to end. It was as he lost himself in musings of the revolution to come that Cousland interrupted his thoughts with a rather apt statement.
"I wish you wouldn't look like that," he said cryptically.
"What?" Anders looked to him more out of confusion than any great want to, "Look like what?"
"Like a man ready to die for his cause," Cousland said, sending a shiver up Anders' spine; the mage looked away once more, his eyes hard as Cousland continued, his voice subdued "I should know. I wore the same look myself once."
Anders didn't reply straight away. He let the thought settle in his mind and create something in response, a feeling more than words.
"Don't worry Commander," he said, unfolding his arms, "I'm not quite ready to die yet."
"...Well good," Cousland said.
The next thing he knew Anders was being pulled into a tight hug, strong arms wrapped around his lithe frame. Cousland had always been stronger than him but Anders felt as if he were having the air crushed bodily from his lungs. He pulled in a coughed breath and lifted his arms to return the embrace.
"Don't do anything fucking stupid while I'm gone," Cousland said before pulling back, holding Anders by the shoulders, his grin covering up the sorrow in his eyes, "or I'll be back here to give you a good bloody hiding, you hear me?"
"I hear you," Anders said, rubbing at his chest and shaking his head.
It was the second time he had stood and watched one of his closest friends sail away across the Waking Sea, unable to truly persuade himself to leave until the ship was out of sight. Such a sentimental fucking idiot, you really are, Anders thought harshly as he turned to walk back up the pier in the afternoon sunlight. So many gone, so few remain. I want to save them, all of them. Yet who is it I'm really saving with all of this talk of revolutions and bloodshed? Is it the mage's of Thedas, those I have sworn to protect, or is it myself?
As Anders reached the top of the stairs, still lost in thought, he bumped into someone, jostled to the side by the tall stranger's burly walk.
"Excuse me," he said absently, only reacting when the stranger took hold of his arm. Anders pulled back and instantly fell into a battle ready stance, his senses heightening and jumping to full alert. It was only as he finally got a good look at the stranger that he realised she wasn't really a stranger at all. The woman from the meeting, he thought as he remembered the doubtful words and the scar over her eye.
"I always said that they were a bunch of hypocrites," the woman said, making Anders blink as he checked around them for people who may be listening, "leaving like that just when things are getting difficult. But don't let it worry you. I'm with you, if no one else is."
With that she turned and began walking away as if she had never stopped. Anders blinked at her retreating back. When she turned again he couldn't help but listen.
"I'm Rayzla, by the way," she said with a sly grin, before once more turning and marching off towards the end of the Docks.
Anders watched her for a moment more before he shook himself and forced his legs to walk forwards. It wasn't until he had reached the main walkway, leading to the stairs that would take him to Lowtown, that he realised just how unbelievably happy her words had made him. He stopped at the foot of the stairs and simply smiled. He noticed a few people who passed him by giving him odd looks but he found it hard to care. You aren't alone in this, he thought, never think you're alone in this.
Yet, despite Rayzla's encouraging words, it was impossible to be truly content with the situation. Especially with the letter a burning presence in his left pocket.
He read it.
He read it again.
He folded it up tightly, dragging his nail along the creases, and placed it on the table. He waited a full minute before picking it up and opening it once more.
He read it again.
Nice little dream you've got going here. So close and yet so far.
Freedom with a bang, is that about right?
Shame that even though you can build it, you don't know how to set it off.
The thick, blocky writing was a stark contrast to the elegant script on the front of the letter itself. It spoke of two authors, not just one. The language used seemed rather immature and blunt. It didn't mince words and Anders knew, in an instant, exactly what it was referring to. The Tevinter bomb; whoever they were they knew he was building it and they also obviously knew he was still having trouble translating the entire procedure. What they stated was entirely true. He had no idea exactly how to set off the bomb once it was complete. Exactly how they knew all of this was another matter altogether but Anders was beginning to understand his visions and auditory hallucinations. Someone was manipulating him through the Fade. Another mage, Anders thought seriously, but who? It had been two weeks since Cousland's departure. Two weeks of waiting in vain for some sort of conclusion.
Yet despite the worry of this person, or perhaps persons, knowing of his plan, what Anders found the most distressing was the name scrawled on the front. Not just any name; his name. A name he hadn't seen or heard in twenty years. The last time he had heard it...
No let him go! Leif! Leif..!
Memories of long golden hair and grasping hands. Being pulled down a dirt track. Trying to get away...Anders opened his eyes, not realising he had closed them in the first place, the library coming back into view. He looked down to the letter on the table before pulling out the others which had arrived since the first. Disturbingly these had not been delivered as the other had but instead he had found them hidden around the house in places only he would look. He had found the second inside the pages of his Tevinter tome, marking out the page where he kept his translation. Anders had almost, for a moment, thought he was going mad, that he had put the first letter into the book himself and then forgotten. When he had opened it to find a completely different letter altogether he had felt a cold shiver down his spine. Two thoughts sprang to the forefront of his mind instantly; they were in my house and they know my secrets, all of them. Who are you? he thought anxiously. Who are you?
Other than his name scrawled on the front the second letter had contained no further correspondence in red script; instead it contained a folded sheet of ancient, stained paper on which he found a hand written account by an unknown author, the small, neat handwriting almost illegible at times.
Ancient Tevinter lore is hard to come by, but there's history to be had here in Kirkwall, the city once home to the Imperium's slave trade.
What answers does Kirkwall hold? Why look here instead of Perivantium or Vol Dorma? The Imperium does not give up its secrets easily. Even with the magisters centuries dead, our journey is perilous.
Here on the dock of the Gallows, we renew our vows. And should we fail, search for the markings of the Band of Three.
There was an odd symbol marking the final line and it was simply signed as The Band of Three. What it was supposed to mean Anders had no clue at the time. He had spent the entire day setting wards around the house when he was sure Hawke wasn't in. Yet the next day he had found one folded into the shirt he had put out the night before. When he checked the house in a panic he found that not a single ward had been disturbed. He had slipped back to the study, where he had begun to compile the letters he had gathered. Again there was no communication, only another tattered piece of paper.
The viscount is suspicious, but the bribe was sufficient to gain access to the restricted section of the archives. The money would have been better spent elsewhere, the archives being almost devoid of Imperium-era records.
When the slaves revolted, they hunted magisters and burned the city—at least the parts that could be burned. One account says that the streets were littered with piles of scrolls and books set aflame.
Is our quest futile? Did the slaves destroy the answer? As Maferath's armies toppled the Imperium, they sent three magisters and their legions here. They never arrived. But why march here of all places? What were they coming for?
The letters arrived, one each day, and continued to unfold a story of this mysterious Band of Three. Anders found that, after his initial disquiet, he began to await their arrival. After a week's worth of letters he began actively searching for them. Hawke had caught him a few times opening drawers in odd rooms and asked him if he had lost something. Anders had just said 'yes' and forced Hawke to leave it at that.
The story that was revealed through further letters spoke of the Band's continuing research into the importance of Kirkwall. The author explained that they thought the magisters perhaps settled in Kirkwall for the minerals contained within the hills more than for the military advantage of the harbour as was originally thought. The vast quarries the slaves were forced to dig made up most of the city now. They spoke of finding old relics among the black market of Kirkwall, tomes thought lost. Just like my own, Anders thought as he read the account of the nameless author, running his fingers of his right hand over the Tevinter tome. They spoke of the sewers and secret caches of lost Tevinter knowledge, of the disappearance of slaves on a vast scale, of Tevinter mages researching a lost art, of seeing the outlines of glyphs in the maps of Kirkwall. The final note he had received spoke of something which he had suspected himself for a while now.
It is well known that the Veil is thin in Kirkwall, small wonder given the suffering in the city. But we've discovered the magisters were deliberately thinning it even further. Beneath the city, demons can contact even normal men. Did they seek the Black City to compound the madness of their previous efforts? Or was it something else? We've found a chamber where the Veil is at its thinnest, long-since looted, but the power is still there. Tonight we will go there.
Pray for us. Pray for us all.
The memory of Fenris' mansion flooded back, making Anders wonder if the magister himself had perhaps known of this odd phenomenon when he bought the building in the first place. Yet the fear in the faded words was what sparked his remembrance of that day he had visited Fenris with the Commander. The final words on the stained paper sent shivers up his spine. What is this place? Anders had thought as he read over the account again and again, what is it that Kirkwall holds deep in the bowels of the earth? It was only as he turned the note over to place it back into the envelope that he realised there were words scrawled in red on the other side. He read them with trepidation, almost afraid of what they would say.
Do you understand yet?
Perhaps you should try going home.
Home. As Anders read the word he could have sworn he could smell the smoky burning of a peat fire in the air. He had started so badly that he had dropped the letter altogether. It was only as he did so that he realised just how often he had been sensing things that reminded him of the vague memories he had of home lately. The smell of snow on the air despite it not being the right time of year, the smell of wood smoke despite there being no fire in the room. He began to wonder just which thoughts were his and which were seemingly being planted there. He hated to admit it but the thought scared him. Yet, despite his fear, the as yet unfinished tale of the Band of Three began to intrigue him more and more. The itch to find the truth behind this mystery was almost unbearable. How will it help us? Anders thought as he pondered the resistance and the bomb itself, how will it help set us free?
Perhaps you should try going home.
The words rang in his head until he was practically seeing the red letters scratched onto the backs of his eyelids while he slept. The thought was unnerving and yet, at the same time, somewhat exhilarating. It wasn't the first time he had thought about making the long journey to the Anderfels but something had always held him back. Now, with a purpose behind him, he began to wonder why he hwas resisting this calling at all.
A week after the last letter arrived the snow started. It was a bitterly cold day. A day that seemed to symbolise more than it normally did for him; Hawke's birthday. He tended to think of it as an anniversary of sorts, even though it had been a few weeks before that date when they had truly become partners. Yet his first, true and admittedly drunken confession of love had come on Hawke's birthday, so he tended to think of it as a milestone. However, despite the importance it held for him, he hadn't had either the time or the wherewithal, what with the letters and the intrigue of the Band of Three, to think of or obtain a present. Instead he decided, however cheaply, to chip in to Varric's gift of a set of brand new daggers to replace the now ruined set Hawke had been left with after fighting the Arishok. He knew he should be paying more attention to the present but he was finding it increasingly difficult.
No one had shown themselves since the mysterious letters had stopped coming, not a hint of the stranger anywhere. Yet Anders had continued to feel observed and, occasionally, he thought he could hear a girlish voice on the air when water ran in the background or the wind blew through the gaps under the door. During that time he had re-read the letters countless times, hoping to find some overlooked clue as to the authors identity. Yet nothing was apparent. The yellowed parchment was fairly thin but strong, the ink was an odd shade of red but he wasn't sure what either of these things meant. The pages on which the account of the Band was written were too old and worn to bother trying to identify. He wished that he could show them all to someone he trusted for an opinion, like Varric, but he knew that as soon as the dwarf saw the name and the mention of secret research that he would become curious as to why Anders had it in the first place and then...well he didn't want to have to explain himself.
As if everything else hadn't been going to the dogs, Hawke had also been difficult to deal with over the past three weeks. The day after Cousland had left Hawke had demanded that Anders talk to him about Justice and, by escaping to the clinic and only returning after he was sure Hawke would be asleep, Anders had managed to delay that unpleasantness until the day after. He had hoped that he would have been able to awaken before Hawke, as he usually did, but unfortunately his body was simply too tired to awake at seven. When his eyes had fluttered open he found the other side of the bed empty. He had lain there, staring at it as if it were some sort of ill omen, until Hawke had returned to the bedroom with a pot of tea. The rogue had set it on the bedside table, poured him a cup and then sat down on the side of the bed and looked at him expectantly. Anders had sipped the hot liquid, sitting up against the headboard, savouring the warmth while he thought of something to say.
"How long has it been this bad?" Hawke had eventually asked when it became clear that Anders wasn't going to speak.
From then on Anders had forced himself to tell Hawke the truth. He deserves the truth from you, Anders had reasoned, he deserves to know just what sort of man he shares his bed with. He would admit that it had frightened him, telling Hawke about his struggle with Justice, how he had slowly realised that the spirit was becoming more forceful and more influential, that more and more he was having difficulty telling their thoughts apart and, most of all, that it had been going on for a long time now. When Anders admitted that things had been bad enough on Hawke's twenty third birthday the rogue had looked at him as if he didn't know him anymore. The thought caused a blossom of pain to open in his chest.
"I'm sorry, love. I'm sorry I kept this from you," Anders had said plaintively, setting his tea on the bedside table as he pulled his legs up towards him for warmth, "I just...I just didn't want to believe that it was true."
"It's alright," Hawke had said, yet Anders could hear in the tightness of his voice that he wasn't being wholly truthful, "I'm here and your here, that's what is important. There will be time for us to figure out how to undo this...this union."
"Hawke, it's not that simple," Anders had retorted, looking imploringly at his lover; please don't make me think you're only staying with me because you think that one day I'll change, he thought, please, "don't you think that if it were possible to separate us that people would have been doing it already instead of simply killing abominations?"
"I don't know," Hawke had replied a little darkly, observing Anders closely, "all I know is that there's an antidote to every poison."
That comment had gone down as well as could be expected. Pushing Justice back after he reacted viscerally to Hawke's implication of his nature was a feat unto itself. Anders would admit that he could tell Justice had also been unhappy with Anders frankness in relation to their problems which had also put the spirit on edge. Hawke had lunged forwards to capture Anders in his arms, even as the mage struggled in anger to get away.
"You can't do this Hawke," Anders had cried, "you can't provoke him like this! Why? Why do you do it! Don't you see what it does to me?"
"I can do it and I will," Hawke had said, holding Anders still, his eyes fervent, "because he needs to see that you're mine and I'm yours and that this life has nothing to do with him."
Once more Hawke's naivety was somewhat of a hindrance. Anders had wished Hawke could understand him better but then, deep down, he didn't really blame him. Why would Hawke understand? Why would anyone understand? Being joined to a consciousness in the way Anders was to Justice wasn't as simple as any mortal companionship; they were one, whole, a union of mind, body and soul. There was no way he could expect Hawke to realise that he didn't really know in himself what was Anders and what was Justice anymore.
Talking about Justice had been like his own personal inquisition. He felt accountable on so many levels for so many different things; the deaths and the misery, not being able to save those he loved, not being able to love Hawke the way he should. It's not something I look forward to doing again anyway, Anders thought as he brooded over their talk about Justice. He once more folded the letter and put it back into his pocket. The only thing I thought it had been good for was to distract Hawke from the letter and that didn't even work. Anders had been so sure that Hawke had been sufficiently distracted by Justice's foul temper to forget that Bodahn had delivered him a letter at all. Instead Anders had returned home only a week ago to find Hawke sitting by the fire with a familiar piece of parchment in his hands. Anders had frozen on seeing the seemingly innocent scene; at once he had been desperate to rush forwards and grab the letter away from Hawke's hands as he watched the rogue's eyes follow the lines of text, yet he couldn't bring himself to. It would be too suspicious. Instead he had swallowed down his irrational fear that Hawke would somehow know of his plans, and approached him. Hawke had looked up at his advance and smiled at him, albeit a little firmly, before asking exactly what Anders had feared he would.
"Who's Leif Rødberg?" Hawke had asked, making Anders mind race.
"Why are you reading my letters?" Anders had retorted.
"It was just sitting on the desk," Hawke said casually yet too quickly to be entirely believed, "and you haven't answered my question."
"He's...an old friend," Anders said tersely, "you don't know him."
"Then why are you receiving his letters?" Hawke had frowned.
"Someone wanted them passed on to him," Anders had shrugged, taking the letter back as casually as he could when Hawke offered it, "and I'd be grateful if you wouldn't read them Hawke. They're private." And there was formed yet another bone of contention that had been wedged between them. Anders couldn't give it the attention that he should have as he was too preoccupied with making sure Hawke didn't find the other letters and the rather worrying account held within their pages.
The others had been easier to deal with, at least marginally. Merrill was simply overjoyed to have Anders forgive her indiscretion in talking with Cousland and, as things were still a little fraught with Hawke, he had been spending a lot of time with her. She had even begun accompanying him to the clinic most days when she didn't have other duties to attend to. Anders had been grateful for her support, it meant a lot to him to know that he still had friends.
Varric had been a little trickier. Anders usually loved Varric's quick wit and keen eye for detail but when it was directed at him he couldn't help but resent it. The mage had visited the Hanged Man a few times but, on each occasion, Varric had managed to steer the conversation towards Anders' conduct at the meeting.
"For a minute I thought you were really going to lose it there Blondie," Varric had said with a concerned look, "I mean, here I was thinking you'd be happy to have the Ferelden King welcoming you all with open arms but instead you seem ready to instigate a full scale rebellion. Am I right or not?"
Anders hadn't visited Varric since he had voiced his very astute observation. In contrast to both Merrill and Varric, he had only encountered Fenris once. He had bumped into the elf at Lowtown market while gathering herbs and information from Lirene. Thankfully the elf had no real idea as to the turmoil in his mind or his life, not in the same sense as the others did, and so had fallen back on simplicity instead.
"Actually I just wondered if you were alright," Fenris had shrugged nonchalantly as if to say that it didn't really bother him either way, as he always did when inquiring after Anders wellbeing, "considering last time I saw you, you looked as if your head was about to explode."
Ironically it had been the most pleasant of his friendly encounters since the meeting. Fenris, he had found once he got to know him a little better, was really very down to earth. Most of the time his black and white attitude grated on Anders' nerves but, at times like this, he greatly appreciated the elf's candour. He had dismissed his own problems as insignificant, which Fenris accepted with ease, and instead asked the elf how things were going in the search for his sister. It served as a refreshing distraction, being able to ask someone else about their problems for a change. Fenris had sighed and continued to pick through the assortment of wares at the weaponsmithy.
"Not well," Fenris had said, "it's difficult enough obtaining information from the Imperium as it is and, despite that, I already have to be clandestine in my efforts so as to avoid Denarius' ever watchful eye. I am not fool enough to think that he wouldn't use a situation like this to his advantage."
They had walked together for a short while, sometimes in thoughtful silence and sometimes discussing ideas for obtaining news of Fenris' lost sibling. Anders found it an entirely soothing exercise. Silences with Fenris were not as they had once been; they weren't accusing, as with Hawke, or awkward, as with Varric. The elf was an entirely judgemental being, Anders would never fool himself into thinking that wasn't true, but he was also rather compassionate beneath all his aloofness and his bigotry.
Anders had purposefully been spending the mainstay of his free time at the clinic, partly to distract himself from the continuing feeling of watchfulness and partly to keep Justice away from Hawke. In the process, however, he had managed to virtually estrange himself from the man in question, only seeing him once or twice a day. He had done such a good job of keeping them apart that, when he had asked Hawke the day before what he was planning to do for his birthday, the man had replied that the noble families had discovered his celebration and had decided to throw him a get-together. Hawke said that he'd tried to refuse but that his protests were not heeded in the slightest.
"I didn't think you'd want to go," Hawke had shrugged when Anders hadn't said anything in reply.
"And you were right," Anders had smirked dryly, "I suppose we can have our own party another time, hmm?"
Anders knew that Hawke wasn't stupid enough to miss the guilt and the hurt in the mage's eyes. Yet neither said a thing. Anders knew that he had purposefully been pushing them apart and yet he hadn't truly thought of the consequences until that moment. He had spent the whole day at the clinic, distracting himself from thoughts of Hawke, and returned to find the mansion empty. He wandered around for a little while, trying to dispel the hollow feeling that mirrored the mansions emptiness.
He remembered that Bodahn had taken Sandal on a short trip to Cumberland, a large city to the west, to meet with some fellow traders who had been on an expedition to the Korcari Wilds. Apparently there were some things Bodahn wished to purchase from them, for Sandal's benefit more than his own. Hawke had been happy to let them go, as he had with Oranna when he had basically ordered her to go out of the house and do something fun and enjoyable for once. When the poor girl had seemed stricken at the idea of going out alone Hawke had asked Merrill for help. Anders wasn't sure if Hawke knew that Merrill didn't get out much herself, what with working on the mirror and being terribly shy, but he had declined to interfere. The two girls had ventured out together just before Anders had left. He hoped that they wouldn't get into too much trouble.
The library was too quiet and it reminded him of Hawke. It made him think back to the time Hawke had hidden him here from Alrik and his men. Anders ran his hand over the books in the false bookcase. You saved me then, he thought bleakly, you always save me and yet all I can do is hurt you in my efforts to save you. He rummaged through the books for another few minutes before grabbing one and leaving through the door on the upper landing to head to the sitting room. It had already grown dark. Anders lit the gas lamps and set about clearing out the fire. Without Bodahn or Oranna around he had found himself cleaning out the fires himself, not that he minded too much. Yes it was messy and laborious, and the coal and wood ashes puffed into the air and made him sneeze, but he enjoyed setting the new fire alight. Placing the delicate kindling over the crumpled twists of parchment and coals, watching it burn almost timidly at first before the fire really caught, then watching it greedily devour the paper and wood, adding smaller logs and sitting back to see his handiwork turn from a pile of inanimate objects into something that seemed almost alive.
He sat back in the armchair by the fireplace and sighed as the warmth began to spread out into the room. He had donned Hawke's thick woollen jumper to stave off the chill in the air and had even purloined the rogue's travelling blanket from the cupboard in the bedroom, which he now pulled over his legs. He began reading the book he had brought, a heavy tome on the history of Kirkwall which he hoped to be able to glean some facts from that might support or contradict the account of the Band of Three, but found that he was rereading sentences over and over simply because he wasn't paying enough attention. He couldn't stop thinking about Hawke. It was half past ten before the door to the living room creaked open and then clicked closed.
"Well you're back early," Anders said as he pretended to read his book, "did you have fun?"
No reply, yet he could hear Hawke walk across the floorboards to stand by his armchair. Been drinking have we? Anders thought as he closed the book and placed on the table by the lantern.
"Hawke did you hear..?" Anders stopped talking when he looked up and saw Hawke's face.
He was wearing his finest clothes. A heavy crimson coat of fine twill rimmed with black and silver thread, a red silk shirt festooned with the Amell crest, tight, black cotton trousers and elegant shoes of leather and gold. He looked every inch the gentleman he was supposed to be and yet, when Anders looked at him, all he could see was the same earnest young man he had met four years ago. The look of sheer epiphany on Hawke's face made him hold his tongue and wait for the rogue to speak.
"I was talking to Lady Harrimont, at the party," Hawke said, all of a sudden, "you don't know her, but I saved her husband a long time ago from the group I used to run with, the Red Iron. She's been staying in Kirkwall while he lives in exile. Did you know they've been married for forty three years? They've spent forty three years together and yet she says that she misses him every day. Every day, Anders."
As Hawke said his name he reached down and pulled Anders out of the chair, holding him tightly. Anders wasn't sure what to think. He found his arms trapped in between them, folded at the elbow with both palms resting against Hawke's broad chest. He looked at Hawke in astonishment, able to smell the alcohol on his breath as the rogue continued to talk.
"She doesn't even have him by her side, and yet every day I have you here beside me and I let you drift away," Hawke said earnestly, making Anders feel guilty all over again.
"Hawke I..." Anders started but Hawke cut him off effectively; he leaned forwards and captured his lips in a rather sloppy and drunken kiss. He tasted of smooth wine with a hint of whiskey tang.
He hadn't realised until that moment just how far apart he had pushed them in the last three weeks. He and Hawke hadn't kissed this freely since the night of the mage's meeting. He found himself melting into Hawke's embrace as the rogue slipped his left hand down to the small of Anders' back and pulled their bodies flush against each other. When they broke apart both men were panting for breath.
"No, no more apologies," Hawke said without spite, "no more words Anders, no more promises. I was standing there all night at that stupid party because I was angry at you, because I was fed up of you forcing me away, when I could have been here with you instead. I don't want to talk Anders, all I want," Hawke leaned in and kissed him fiercely, pulling back only slightly so as to talk once more, "is you," another kiss, "here with me," his mouth trailed Anders' jaw, making the mage gasp as Hawke bit playfully at this earlobe, before breathing hot and wet into his ear, "all night. Just us."
Anders didn't think he'd ever heard a better offer. He forced his arms out from in between them and circled them around Hawke's shoulders. He wanted to say that he was sorry, he wanted to tell Hawke why he had been so secretive lately, he wanted to promise that it would never happen again. Yet Hawke had already said that he wanted none of these things. For the first time since they had met Anders thought that he may understand Hawke's need to speak through the deeds of the flesh more than promises and pleas. He wondered if Hawke somehow saw actions as more powerful than words; actions were physical and could not be taken back, unlike words spoken in haste. So instead of trying to woo Hawke or cajole him, Anders simply whispered into Hawke's ear.
"Yes, my love," he said, "for you, anything."
He swiftly found his lips once more devoured. Hawke was slightly unsteady on his feet and he stumbled a little, forcing Anders back towards the chair. His desire was obvious to Anders through the thin, tight material of his trousers, digging insistently into his hip. He's just drunk, a bitter and unhelpful part of him tried to say, he won't even remember any of this by morning. Yet the other half of him couldn't help but soak up the loving feeling that emanated from Hawke's honesty. Anders turned them round slowly before pushing Hawke into the armchair. The rogue fell a little ungracefully into the padded chair and blinked as Anders leaned down to capture his lips once more.
This is real, Anders thought as he felt Hawke's tongue slipping past his lips. He'd spent so long focusing on the ethereal happenings over the past few weeks that he was rather absorbed by the reality of the feeling of Hawke on his body. He wasted no time in sliding Hawke's coat off his shoulders to pool around his waist, then working quickly to undo the taught buttons on the front of his trousers. Hawke moaned into his mouth, breaking away with a gasp of pleasure as Anders freed his already rigid cock form the confines of his constricting clothes. The mage dropped to his knees in between Hawke's open legs and, without giving Hawke a chance to speak or even to open his eyes, took the stiff flesh into his mouth.
"Anders fuck..!" Hawke keened, his hips jerking from the chair; Anders gagged as Hawke forced himself too far and drew back, taking hold of the feverish rogue's hip with his left hand. Hawke groaned as Anders trailed his tongue from the base to the tip before once more taking the head between his lips. Once Anders was sure he wouldn't move too violently he began to move slowly up and down the shaft, his right hand trailing light touches over the base. Hawke continued to pant and groan seemingly random pleas and obscenities before a heavy hand threaded through his hair, the fingers massaging soft patterns on his scalp. Anders hummed appreciatively, making Hawke's breath stutter and the hand in his hair try and encourage him to move faster. Anders complied, laving his tongue over the thick cock in his mouth as he moved back and forth. His own arousal was becoming harder and harder to ignore as it built as a coil of heat and stiffness in his own underclothes.
Just as he heard Hawke's telltale breathing, fast and shallow, he pulled back entirely. Hawke let out a sound of loss and opened his eyes to look at Anders in confusion. Oh don't worry, Anders thought, I'm not quite finished yet. He took Hawke in his fist and, as he stared into his lover's eyes, let a small amount of magic flow to his fingertips. He watched in satisfaction as Hawke's body went rigid as he let a rush of static sparks flare out from his hand to engulf his pulsing member. Hawke's eyes snapped shut, his teeth clenched, and let out a long, guttural cry of ecstasy as he came rather violently over his shirt and the arm of the chair. Anders massaged the softening flesh in his hand while Hawke lay gasping for breath, his body essentially boneless. After a full minute Hawke finally opened his eyes and stared at the slyly smiling mage between his legs.
"You..." Hawke said breathily, "have been keeping that one quiet."
"I thought that it was worth saving for a special occasion," Anders shrugged; he let go of Hawke as the man pushed up out of the chair, instantly going to his knees and enveloping Anders with his arms and a passionate kiss. The heat of the fire was soothing and welcome as Hawke pushed Anders down onto the hearthrug, letting a hand trail up under the mage's jumper and shirt to run teasing trails across his abdomen. It was as Hawke let his other hand trail down into Anders trousers that the rogue broke the kiss.
"You're so beautiful," Hawke said as he looked down into Anders' half lidded, amber eyes, his face flushed; he continued to work the mage inside his trousers with his fingers until Anders was groaning and writhing in need. Hawke leaned down to kiss at his neck and lave at the sensitive flesh; he withdrew his hands from inside Anders clothes. The mage had expected him to begin undressing him but, instead, Hawke knelt up and began pulling at his own clothes.
"Hawke, what are you doing?" Anders started to ask, leaning up on his forearms.
"I just thought," Hawke said in a lust filled daze, "that maybe you'd want to, you know..."
"Want to what?" Anders asked with lustful impatience, the heat in his groin swiftly becoming an ache.
"You know," Hawke said as he pulled down his trousers and his underwear with them, "do me."
At first, even with desire clouding his senses, Anders hadn't been sure if he'd heard Hawke correctly. Hawke? Domineering, officious, forceful Hawke was offering himself to him? Anders almost didn't believe it until Hawke, now naked from the waist down, climbed on top of him and freed Anders erection from its confines.
"It's been a while," Hawke said as he kissed the mystified mage, "so you might want to go easy on me, alright?"
"Hawke," Anders said, accepting another kiss before he lifted his hands to take the rogue's sweat shined face in his palms; Hawke looked down at him expectantly, "you don't have to do this, if you don't...I mean..."
"It's alright, really, I want to," Hawke said with a small smile, "I trust you Anders, more than anyone."
And, through the need and the desire, Hawke's confession stung at Anders conscience. He trusts you and yet you can't even tell him the whole truth about yourself. You hide things from him even after you promise yourself that you'll never lie to him again. Anders tried to push the thoughts away as he watched Hawke suck his fore and middle finger into his mouth before he reached back and, to Anders gratification, awkwardly slid the slicked digits up inside himself. Fuck that's hot, Anders thought with a surprised moan as he watched Hawke prepare himself. The mage leaned up and capture Hawke's lips, drinking in the other man's panted breaths. After a few minutes Hawke finally brought his hand back round and sat up, straddling Anders' thighs. Of course, Anders thought with a small amount inner amusement as he watched Hawke raise himself up and take hold of Anders, guiding himself down, I would never have expected someone as dominant as Hawke not to be on top.
When Hawke finally lowered himself down all logical thought fled Anders' mind. All he could think, all he could feel, was the hot and incredibly tight heat surrounding him. He watched Hawke as the man lowered himself a stage at a time, his teeth clenched and brow furrowed in concentration and pain. Anders reached up with his right hand and flattened it against Hawke's thigh, letting a small amount of soothing magic flow through Hawke's system to lessen the ache the rogue was bound to be feeling. He was glad to see the look of pain fade from Hawke's features, the man's eyes slitting open to watch Anders for a moment before he impaled himself fully with a loud grunt. Anders couldn't help the cry of bliss he let escape as he was fully enveloped. Hawke took control of the pace, lifting himself slowly up and lowering himself back down as Anders panted and groaned beneath him. The muscles in Hawke's strong thighs rippled in the firelight as he steadily increased the speed. When Anders looked down Hawke's body he realised, to his astonishment, that Hawke was once again already semi erect. He reached up and took hold of Hawke once more as the rogue leaned forwards and began pushing back and forth onto him.
"Maker you feel...so good," Hawke moaned as Anders began to pump Hawke in time with the rogue's own jerking thrusts, "inside, yes, oh fuck yes."
Anders once more let the magic flow to his hand and spur Hawke into full hardness, the rogue growling like an animal as he tightened around Anders almost involuntarily. The mage closed his eyes in ecstasy and let out a soft whimper of elation.
"Please, Hawke," Anders said faintly as Hawke increased the speed once more until he was driving back against Ander's pelvis with the slap of flesh meeting flesh, "I can't...anymore, I'm going to..!"
It was all the warning he could give. Hawke drove back against him and Anders screamed his completion into the silent, night air while Hawke once more spurted his seed in between their tightly pressed bodies. Anders mind was a joyful blank as he rode out the waves of thick, hot, rapture flowing through his veins.
Eventually Hawke fell forwards onto him in exhaustion, forcing Anders to slide out of him at the change of angle. Hawke let out a soft groan at the feeling and let himself go limp, his body a heavy, crushing weight against Anders' already breathless chest. Only when Anders began to struggle beneath him did Hawke seem to notice. He pulled himself up onto unsteady forearms and looked down at him.
"Sorry," he said absently, before rolling off of the gasping mage to lie on his back beside him before the fire.
They lay like that for what seemed an endless and entirely peaceful amount of time, until Anders breathing slowed and the sweat began to cool on his skin. Eventually he managed to push himself up and pulled off the heavy jumper he still wore, now too hot for the heavy garment. His shirt stuck to him disagreeably but he couldn't find the presence of mind to care as he lay back down on his side and snuggled against Hawke, his arm thrown over the rogue's chest. Hawke was rather unpleasantly sticky but Anders ignored it in favour of feeling the rising and falling of Hawke's chest. The soft rumble of appreciation Hawke made when Anders kissed at his collarbone vibrated against his palm.
"That was," Hawke said sleepily, after another unidentifiable lapse of time, "surprisingly enjoyable."
"Hmm, what are you trying to say?" Anders murmured against Hawke's shoulder, "doubting my abilities now were you?"
"Ha, of course not," Anders shifted around to allow Hawke to bring his right arm up and wrap it around the mage's shoulders, "it's just I've only done it a few times and I'll admit I never found it that pleasant."
"Are you trying to say that I give the best birthday presents?" Anders grinned half heartedly as Hawke chuckled.
"Mmm, yes you could say that," Hawke said with an amused sigh.
There was another break in the conversation, yet this time Anders found the silence rather oppressive. Mainly because he knew that he should speak. As the afterglow faded his feeling of responsibility rose once more. You love him, Anders reasoned with his unreasonable nature, you trust him, so just tell him for the Maker's sake!
"Hawke," he said, receiving only a sleepy mumble in reply; this really isn't the best time to do this, is it, Anders thought, "Hawke there's something I need to tell you."
"Mmm?" Hawke said as Anders pushed up onto his forearm.
"It's important Hawke," Anders said seriously, yet the rogue's eyes still stayed annoyingly shut; Anders took a deep breath and decided it was about time that they both started calling each other by their names, "please Garret."
Hawke's eyes blinked open and he looked up at Anders in confusion, as if he had been expecting to see someone different altogether. After a terse moment of silence Hawke smiled up at him. He reached up with a clumsy hand and trailed it down Anders bicep.
"You never call me that," he said, yet thankfully Anders thought he seemed happy at the change; Hawke let out a chuff of amused laughter, "I can't help it, whenever I hear my name spoken like that I always think I'm getting into trouble. Anyway, what's the special occasion eh?"
Looking into Hawke's open and trusting face took the edge off of Anders' apprehension. He swallowed, looked up towards the fire and then began to speak.
"You know the other week, when you asked me about that letter I received?" Anders said, waiting until Hawke nodded in confirmation, "You wanted to know who Leif Rødberg was and I told you that he was an old friend you didn't know?"
Hawke nodded again, only this time a little less blithely. There was a sudden hardness to his features that spoke of nervousness.
"When I said that you didn't know him, well..." Anders hesitated, "that's only half true."
"Really?" Hawke said, his eyebrows raised as if he hadn't been expecting Anders to say that at all, "Then who is he?"
Anders looked away from the fire and into Hawke's earnest eyes.
"He's me," he said simply, noting the rogue's blank look.
"He's..." Hawke breathed out, a frown deepening on his brow, "but you said that I didn't..!"
"Know him? No, you don't know him and you never will," Anders said genuinely, even as Hawke propped himself up on his forearm so they were at eye level, "Leif Rødberg died a long time ago. There's very little of him left, if anything at all truly survived. He's more of a...memory now. Something I'm not sure if I want to truly remember or not."
Well this is something new, Anders thought as an odd feeling surged through his mind, I've never let anyone this close before. I've never told anyone these things, these things I tell you Hawke. The rogue in question continued to watch him for a moment before he simply lay back down on the rug. Anders felt a spike of anxiety at Hawke's lack of response. Everything else seemed to flood out in a rush.
"I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to worry," he said quickly, "I haven't received only one of those letters, but almost a dozen now and they know things about me Hawke, things I've never spoken of to anyone, and I need to know who sent them and I need to go home..."
"Go home?" Hawke said as if to himself, "What, to Ferelden?"
"No," Anders said impatiently, "to the Anderfels."
"The Anderfels?" Hawke said incredulously, "That's over a thousand miles away!"
"I know, I know but you don't understand!" Anders said pleadingly, "They know things Hawke, they know who I am and I need to know who they are..!"
"Shh, love, shh it's alright," Hawke said, shaking his head as Anders slowly stopped his tirade, swallowing down the words trying desperately to get out of his throat, "this is all just...a little too much for me to take in right now. I...need some sleep. We both do. We'll talk about it in the morning, okay?"
Anders nodded, even as he wished he could simply tell Hawke everything straight away and get rid of the awful weight on his chest, share the burden. Instead he and Hawke left the mess of clothes behind them and wandered, together, through the cold hallway , out through the library and up the stairs until they were in the bedroom. Anders undressed while Hawke slid sleepily under the covers. The sheets were cold as Anders, dressed only in a nightshirt, slipped in and curled up beside Hawke. Despite the rather tumultuous night they had shared, however, Hawke still seemed more than happy to wrap Anders in his arms and hold him close. Anders revelled in the feeling while it lasted, hoping that tomorrow he could at least be more coherent and calm, for Hawke's sake if not for his own.
AN: Dear all, it is once more terribly late as I finish this chapter so I will reply to your lovely reviews tomorrow :) thanks again to everyone who has read and enjoyed the story so far!