Anders had only a second of peace once the powder sting finally released its claws on his eyes, before a sharp blast of force to smashed into his cheek. Blurry shapes spun in his vision, a jumble of sensory input that his brain couldn't rectify. Landing on his back with a jarring thud, Anders head bounced off the wood floor. He lay still while his pulse blared in his ears, his breath hitched in his throat. The fierce stomping of Solona's footsteps shook the floorboards. He blinked up at the ceiling, fingertips rising to the throbbing goose egg forming on his cheekbone. He'd expected that eventually she'd hit him with a spell or something, but apparently, she'd chosen her fist instead. Anders groaned and gulped at the room's stale air, mind scrambling to find his bearings.

"Sol—"

"SHUT UP!"

Anders had known he was pressing his luck in front of the tavern, but he just hadn't been able to stop himself talking. By the way she and Nathaniel had been standing there together, holding hands and radiating intimacy, there was no question that whatever fling he'd enjoyed with Solona was over. The souring in his gut that came in response to that realization was painfully familiar, and completely unwelcome. It was the first time in a long time that he'd actually looked forward to having the same person in his bed again, and then again after that. He hadn't known just how much he was looking forward to it until he'd caught that glimpse of them.

It wasn't a surprise, really. How many times had the men and women he'd been genuinely interested in been stolen by someone who knew how to conduct a normal relationship? Maybe if he'd been more obvious about his struggle with what to do and how to act, or if he'd shared how he felt about her. How he thought he felt. Or how he thought he could eventually feel… But holding back those sorts of things was a habit so deeply ingrained, he did it without even realizing it.

And Nathaniel, standing there watching Anders approach form the street… if that bastard hadn't looked so bloody satisfied about it all… who knows how differently it could have gone. But before Anders knew it the venom poisoning his gut had spread up to his mouth, and was spewing forth in words that aimed - and succeeded - in wiping that damned smile off Nathaniel's face.

Anders tucked his knees up toward his belly and rolled onto his side, fully expecting Solona's boot against his ribs at any moment. His body was braced for impact, his stomach clenching in anticipation. But the seconds slipped by and nothing came. Wiping his eyes again, he blinked hard and fast to clear away the blur. Slowly the lines of the wood floor became visible, the glow of the candle in the dim room flaring and dimming as Solona paced beside it.

His thoughts raced wildly. She was controlling her magic so far, but were she to continue to attack, he'd have no choice but to fight back. And then what? Well, one doesn't just attack the Hero of Ferelden, even in self-defense, without incurring more trouble afterward. Trouble from the other Wardens, from those all over the land who owed her their lives. So he'd defend himself, but then he'd have to flee. So much for being a Grey Warden.

The reverberations of her boots vibrated through the floorboards and into his skull. With each step he could feel the force of her anger. It was decidedly less sexy than what she'd displayed in his bedroom, its power and force now carrying an alarmingly real threat.

"FUCK!" Solona's footsteps stomped toward the door. The whole room shuddered as the door slammed shut behind her.

Anders took a breath and pushed himself upright. Her fist had caught the edge of his eye, and he could feel it already starting to swell. Perfect. Just after getting that powder shit out. Calling up a glow of healing, he waved his hand over his cheek, though for a second he considered letting it hurt for a little while. Had he not just endured what felt like hours of chemical burn in his eyes, he would have let it. He deserved it.

Finally, the room's furnishings resolved themselves into familiar shapes, and Anders realized he had no idea where within the tavern he was. The sloped ceilings suggested they were on the top floor, and the items strewn about the table-tops and shelves were numerous and personal. A pile of laundry lay in a corner, a tray of smudged glasses sat beside the water cask and a collection of liquor bottles. Dog-eared books and random coins scattered over shelves. Gripping a nearby chair, Anders pushed his wobbly knees to an unsteady stand. Crackling flames licked up the stone of a blackened fireplace, with the only other source of light being the candle. A window on the far side of the room revealed a darkening twilight sky.

Anders stumbled toward the liquor bottles first and drank deeply from the first one his shaky hand landed upon. The stopper required multiple frustrated attempts to replace, and the bottle clinked hard against the tabletop despite his attempt to set it down gently. Anders made his way toward the window. Off to the west the sun's upper half peeked above the horizon, casting a pink glow over what he knew from memory to be the farmlands outside the city's protective wall. In the street three stories below, blurry orbs swayed as lanterns illuminating the paths of their holders. Flickering orange warmed the nearby windows. Dusk had come quickly, or so it seemed. But it had been nearly impossible to measure the passing of time while trying to deal with burning eyes. He vaguely remembered guards yelling, and Solona growling in his ear as she gripped his upper arm and hoisted him to his feet. With a guard's help, they'd dragged him upstairs and dropped him beside a basin. The frantic splashing of water in his eyes had soaked his whole robe. Though he hadn't cared while it was happening, a cold breeze hit the window, and then spread over the heavy wetness against his chest. He shivered so hard his teeth chattered. At first opportunity he'd need to change, or at least pull the sodden robes off and dry out by the fire.

Solona had grown impatient with how long the process of clearing his eyes had taken. He'd heard her fidgeting as he'd sat back from the basin and tried to open his eyes, waiting to see if the burning would return again. Time after time he'd lunge toward the water and keep splashing, and had even been forced to hold his eyelids open with his fingers while Solona dumped water into them. Her grip on his cheeks and shoulders as she'd assisted had been rough and forceful. Part of him was glad he'd not been able to see her face. He was sure it bore that same snarl of hatred he'd seen on so many others after his mouth had gotten the best of him. Now that it was finally over, Anders' muscles quivered with cold and shock.

Anders sighed. The liquor burned its way through his empty stomach, and he swallowed hard to prevent himself from heaving. Numbness would soon be on the fire's heels, and with it a lessening of how much the memory of his own behavior already stung. Another failure, another regret lumped into a whole secret treasury of them. Niggling at the back of his mind was that pathetic little voice that had lead him astray, the one which dared to hope that she might forgive his ineptitude with courting. She was from the Circle too, after all. Hadn't she known what it was like? Growing up with "Love" as a dirty word, he'd merely done what everyone else had done: copied those who came before him. Quick trysts between Templar shifts and hushed meetings behind bookshelves. Multiple partners meant no one could be singled out and targeted by the Templars. Sometimes relationships grew inside the Circle, such as his with Karl, but they'd both fumbled through that process together, and not without many starts and stops. The risk he and Karl had been taking weighed over both of them, infecting their moments together with doubts and fears. But that was all Inside. A whole separate world from the Outside. He still wasn't sure how to exist without those doubts and fears.

And it always seemed to come to this same point. When it looked like the end of something he cared about was near, he couldn't seem to stop himself from doing or saying something stupid.

All too soon Solona was stomping through the door again, rattling the glass bottles as it slammed behind her a second time. He cast an eye over his shoulder to see her striding wearily toward the sofa before the fireplace, the force draining out of her with every step. She dropped onto the sofa as though her body weighed more than she could carry.

Anders waited in silence. He patted the part of his cheek struck by her fist and found normal flesh over familiar cheekbone. A twitch of discomfort remained in the joints of his jaw and neck from the impact of her blow, which Anders soothed with a wave of healing warmth. Even after the discomfort faded, somewhere within his cells remained the memory of the pain, a phantom resonance that seemed to throb despite his mended flesh. His eyes too continued to water, even after he blinked and confirmed that the burning was gone.

He opened his mouth to voice one of the many emerging questions on his mind. Where are we? How long are we staying? Will you hate me forever now, just like all the others do? But closed it again quickly. Solona's form was slumped forward, her head resting in her hands. Not sure what else to do, Anders walked over the liquor bottles again and squinted at the label on the bottle. Small print swam in his watery vision, and with a shrug he filled the cleanest looking glass with some caramel liquid. Almost timidly, he walked it over to Solona and held the glass against her shoulder.

At first her only movement was the rise and fall of her back as she took shallow, ragged breaths. Anders nudged her and she immediately pushed back, an attempt to elbow him off. The glass knocked loose from his grip and fell to the floor almost as if in slow motion. Anders watched numbly as the liquor splashed over the floorboards, and the glass impacted the wood, shattering into countless pieces. The reflection of the fire sparkled over the spray of shards. Neither Anders or Solona moved.

Finally, Solona raised her head enough to look over at the mess.

"Another," she croaked. With a nod, Anders hurried to fill a replacement.

She took it as he dropped down onto the sofa beside her, his mind reeling to formulate an explanation. But even as the words came together in his mind again and again, he knew it wouldn't take back the things he'd said, or the antagonizing way he'd said them.

Finally, Solona spoke. "It's too late to walk home." She sighed, fingertips squeezing at her brows. "Though I've half a mind to anyway, so I can feed you to the darkspawn."

Anders snorted.

"But we've got this room all night. It was the only one available."

"Whose room is this?"

Aside from all the personal items strewn about, the room was far larger than any Anders had ever seen in that tavern before. It must have taken up at least half of the building's highest floor. It dawned on him eventually. "Ah, Mick's quarters? Then where's he sleeping?" The bed there would fit two, though he couldn't imagine Solona would want to sleep anywhere near him.

"With his ladyfriend," she said simply. Her voice wavered, seeming to have lost all energy. The force of her previous rage had quickly spent, leaving behind a drained shell. She drank down the glass of liquor and pulled her legs up onto the couch, tucking them off to the side. Anders watched flames from the fire dance in her distant eyes. Cold still clung to his wet robes, but he made no move to peel them off yet.

"I'm sorry about all that, Sol." The words tumbled out of his mouth without forethought. An apology. He would have thought with as many times as he'd fucked up in the past, he'd be better at them. But they still felt strange.

She shook her head so weakly the movement was almost imperceptible. "No, you're not. You knew exactly what you were doing."

He sighed again. Technically she was right. As his muscles stopped quivering and the silence stretched on, shame gathered in the pit of his stomach like a cold, steel ball. The truth was that he was sorry. Sorry for hurting her, sorry for killing what spark of interest might have remained in her for him. And yet… there was no denying that Nathaniel's reaction was exactly what Anders had been angling for.

Cautiously, Anders reached out and squeezed her calf, not even sure why he was assuming she'd want his feeble attempt at comforting her now. In a swift motion, her boot shot out. White exploded in his vision. The next thing Anders knew, he was doubled over his own knees, a blindingly intense ache clenching his stomach into itself and preventing him from taking a breath. He coughed and wheezed, gasping for a breath but his torso seemed paralyzed. Shaky hands vibrated with instinctively summoned magic as they clutched his quaking muscles. The magical warmth penetrated deep into his belly, and finally he was able to expand his abdomen, bringing in a gulp of sweet air to replace that she'd knocked out of him. He coughed again as he looked toward her and was startled to see her eyes sharp, face twisted into a sneer.

Her second glass fell to the floor as she pounced, clinking against the wood and then rolling toward the hearth. Anders fell back against the sofa. Suppressing the habit to call up a defensive spell, he went limp and accepted her attack. Her knee jarred into his ribs as she clawed her way on top of him, then her fists began to fall. Despite their small size, they landed with the weight of boulders, smashing hard into his chest and head, sending sharp pangs of pain in all directions. He heard himself grunting with each blow his body absorbed. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was glad for the barrage of violence.

"It's not fair!" she wailed. The hits slowed, and Anders thought he heard a sob. "It's not fair that you never have to feel any bloody pain. You get hit, you heal it. You're not left to suffer like the rest of us. Is that why everything is such a big fucking joke to you?"

His left eyelid was heavy, and pain like daggers shot down his neck. His whole head throbbed with the rhythm of his own pulse. Different spots stood out as sorer than the rest: a split lip quickly growing fat, a warm wet bruise on his brow. He sat as still as a statue and breathed through it, waiting for the blows to resume. But as quickly as her attack had begun, it seemed to be over. Her thighs over his quivered, and then slowly began to sink down to rest upon his. Despite the fact that his head felt like a bloody pulp, his manhood began to rise for her. She was warm and heavy, and mounted in his favorite position. He managed to lift one eyelid to see her face. Even through the blur, anger blazed from her large brown eyes. He squirmed his hips, trying to scoot back from the center of her thighs. He could only imagine how much more she would rage if she were to feel how his body was betraying him.

"No," he croaked.

"No, what?" she spat.

"It's not a joke," he answered.

And then her weight, her heat was gone, retreated to her side of the couch. Blood oozed down his face, droplets pattering against his water-soaked collar. He remained still, taking in the pain that pulsed through his head. She was wrong of course. That powder had hurt like a fucking poisonous fire. And, it had hurt for a very long time and he hadn't been able to stop it. Is that how it was for everyone who couldn't heal? Unless you had a pocket full of potions, you just endured, and waited. Or searched for another solution. Perhaps it wasn't fair. But this was how the Maker had made him.

The room seemed to be spinning, though his vision had returned to an incomprehensible blur as blood dripped into the only eye he could open. Every cell in his body screamed. The alcohol and the pain, the empty stomach and the shock of his struggle with the powder all converged into a dizzy delirium. A need to hurl gripped his stomach, and he lurched forward, emptying a stomach-full of sour liquor down his shins and onto his boots. He heaved again and felt himself reeling forward, unsure which direction was down.

"Maker," Solona gasped. "Anders… okay, just… go ahead and heal it."

He heard the words, but even as his hands connected to the spidery webs of the Veil, his torso was seized by another forceful retch. Footsteps clambered about, stumbling around the room behind him. Soon after something scraped against the floor as it was slid before him. A warm hand landed on his upper arm, much gentler than the impatient hands that had gripped him at the water basin.

When his stomach was empty, the retching finally slowed. His whole body felt like a pulpy wound.

"Can you heal now?" Her voice in his ear was soft, the anger gone. A few more gulps of air, and he finally let the magic come. The familiar glow of healing buzzed forward, seeping from his bones out to his flesh, one of the few comforts in his life he could always count on. With sweet waves of tingles, he let the magic flow over him. His fleshed itched slightly as cuts and scrapes closed. When it was done, he opened his eyes to see swimming dots of blue and purple marring his vision. A vile bitterness coated his tongue. He let his head fall against the back of the sofa and whimpered against the still spinning room. Healing, as wonderful as it was, couldn't put food in his stomach, or rehydrate his parched cells. Or subdue his body's desire for liquor. That his soaked robe lay like a patina of ice over his chest and shoulders was enough to tip the scale into full born misery.

"Um, are you done?" Solona asked. "You still look like shit."

Anders couldn't help but snort. "How kind of you to notice."

"I'll… I'll go get us some food." With that, Solona got up and left.

"Why did you say those things?" Solona asked as she set aside her empty bowl. With every bite Anders took he felt a little bit of strength returning. As soon as the room had stopped spinning he'd asked for a glass of liquor but Solona had put her foot down. We are not going to drink all Mick's liquor. Water, only, for the rest of the night. For both of us.

Anders scraped the last of his bowl and then set it inside hers. With his wet robe finally peeled off, he gathered the blanket tighter around his shoulders and scooted toward the fire. Crackling flames bathed him in glorious heat.

"Because I'm an asshole," he answered seriously. She glanced up at him with a frown. Her purpled eyelids drooped over her the dark orbs of her eyes, and her brown locks hung in unkempt strings. She looked as though she'd just fought a war. Anders' cheeks burned as he looked at her. Her weariness tonight was his fault.

"I don't know, Solona. That just… happens sometimes. Things just come out of my mouth, and they hurt people and I can't seem to stop it. It's just who I am, I guess."

She regarded him quietly. Pulling a foot out from under her, she began to unlace her boots.

"I mean…" Anders continued. "I… It was clear walking up to you that… it's you and Nathaniel now. And this is how it always goes for me. So I wanted to make Nathaniel feel as shitty as I did."

"It's probably not me and Nathaniel anymore."

"I'm sorry about that," he said.

A quiet laugh shook her. "Are you really?"

He thought a moment. No point in lying now. "No."

Solona's brows knitted together, her eyes evading him.

"How did you…" he began, but stopped. She waited quietly as he searched for the right words. "How did you learn to do this?"

"What?"

"Well, you grew up in the Circle, the same Circle I did. Things were the same there as they were in the one I was at before."

She sighed and slipped a boot off, then began to unlace the other.

"Yeah," she answered. "What about it?"

"It's just so different outside, isn't it? What people expect? How they just sort of know the things to do and say to… come together. And stay together."

"You mean relationships."

"Yes."

Solona sighed and shook her head. "It's not easy. Even for people outside."

"Yeah, but…" Anders drank from the glass of water beside him. Water and food had been a good call. His vision was sharp again, and the waves of dizziness hadn't returned. He watched as Solona pulled her knees against her chest, condensing herself into a tiny ball. When he didn't continue, her eyes found his. They were unexpectedly soft.

"Anders, I have no idea what I'm doing. I thought that was obvious." She remarked as she looked away. "We wouldn't be here right now if I did."

The night was over in a blink. It seemed the moment Anders stretched out on the sofa and closed his eyes, light invaded the room and it was time to open them again. Solona dressed wordlessly, and stood looking out the window while Anders did the same. A quick breakfast in the tavern as Solona thanked Mick and they began their walk back to the Keep. That too was a silent trek, with Solona's eyes so far away that he figured she wouldn't hear him even if he did try to speak.

The sun was high when finally Vigil's Keep came into view. And suddenly Solona's pace quickened.

"Shit!" She strode forward, heading directly through the gate without acknowledging the guards.

"What?" Anders asked, confused. She moved directly toward the eastern wing of the Keep, and sprinted the last few steps to the door. Curious, Anders followed.

"There she is!" Exclaimed Lya as she turned away from the dough she was kneading. Two elven servants were busy skinny carrots and potatoes, while a fire blazed in a large round hearth. Anders' stomach growled as the hearty scent of baking bread filled his head. "Just gon' be gone a few hours, she said!" Lya wiped her hands on a towel and stormed to the corner of the room. "The little thing should be fine til then, she said!"

"I know, I'm sorry," cringed Solona. "We didn't intend to be out overnight. We just ran into… some problems." Glancing to Anders, she gave an irritated shrug and turned to follow Lya. The women both approached a wicker basket on the floor, and Solona stooped to open the lid.

"I don' know how to feed this damn thing! What do I look like!?" Lya bellowed. As Solona stood, a high-pitched and desperate sounding wail pierced the air. Solona turned around, her hands cupping the source of the noise. Drawn to the helpless sound, Anders' feet carried him forward.

"So you didn't feed it?" Solona asked.

"I tried! The damn thing don' know how to take milk from a bowl! I had to lock it in the closet to get any sleep last night."

Solona's face fell as she lifted the small creature up and eyed it. A tiny orange body twisted in her hands, its paws clawing at the air. Anders couldn't help but reach for it. The pathetic mewling tugged at his heart. He couldn't help but smile as his fingers met the warm fur on the top of its head.

"He hasn't eaten since yesterday?" Anders couldn't help but pry.

Knowing immediately what to do, he strode toward a shelf in the back and grabbed a clean towel off a stack.

"Where do you keep your cream?" he asked Lya. She gestured toward a ceramic pitcher on another shelf. In less than a minute Anders was seated at a table with a saucer of cream. He beckoned Solona, who seemed grateful to unload the squirming thing into his hands. Fragile and shaking, he felt it begin to purr almost immediately, seeming to calm as it settled against the warmth of Anders' chest. Pinching a small portion of towel, he pulled enough to make small pocket of fabric, and then twisted. He laid it in the saucer of cream until the little bundle was soaked and dripping, and then placed it just under the kitten's nose. The little thing was immediately quiet as it latched on and began to suckle. When the cream was gone, Anders resoaked the towel and offered it again.

Lya huffed and returned to her dough.

"You can get little rubber nipple things at some markets. Maybe next time we're in Amaranthine…" Anders said, but let himself trail off. He felt strangely in awe as he watched the mewling orange ball in his hand, so instantly soothed by a bit of cream and a warm chest. Visions of the mouser in the Circle tower came flashing back, the only pop of color in that year of grey and unbearable loneliness. How Anders had looked forward to that cat's visits. The cat would chase the pebbles Anders threw across his cell with such gusto that, despite all the misery, he couldn't help but laugh. He'd assumed at the time that his affection for that cat was because it was the only company he'd had as those weeks in solitary confinement turned into months. But some piece of understanding fell into place as Anders returned the towel to the cream, and brought it back to the kitten's mouth. The kitten's purrs intensified, vibrating warmth and contentment into Anders' palm. It wasn't just that that cat had been the only one to talk to on so many empty, torturous days. It was also that they seemed to understand each other, without need for words.

This is a relationship I know how to have.