Free Marches, a small city near South Reach Post, Guardian 2012
Anders frowned at the broken mirror as he studied himself in the dim light of the filthy bathroom. His hair, newly dyed to russet, combined with the small beard he grew, made a new man of him. It made him look older, hiding the sharp angles of his gaunt cheeks. The beard itched but he preferred to suffer the uncomfortable facial hair than to be caught by templars.
"You look like an old guy." Falcor chuckled. His hands ghosted over his own cut-short, curly hair. "Don't look at me like this. You are older than me."
"An old guy who suffers you every day. I should have a medal for that alone." Anders faked a pout. "And that old guy fucks you, the best lay of your life. Don't forget that fact, my dear boy," he added slyly.
Falcor snorted in amusement and pinched Anders' ass when he passed near him.
"…Are we sticking to the plan?"
Anders nodded, turning to his lover.
Falcor's shoulders drooped and he tagged at his hair, now too short, nervously. "I still think it's a bad idea. We could just run away - to the Anderfels, for example. We can build a small house somewhere in the wilderness. Just you and me. We can start anew. They won't find us there." His voice was small, almost pleading. He was tensed, teeth worrying his lower lip and squinting at his lover.
The blonde mutant sighed. "We have talked about this already. At least five times. I can't hide. I won't. Falcor, sooner or later they will find us."
Falcor glared at him. "I am not stupid. But I really don't understand why you had to jump in the middle. Justice was on it already. He's the one that wants to fight against the entire world. Do you? Do you really want it? I just don't get it. You are so...so..." He stumbled on the words.
"So-what?" Anders crossed arms on his chest and scowled at his lover.
"Obstinate!" Falcor cried out. "We don't need it. Please, we can just find a safe place. We have each other. Isn't it enough?"
Anders glared at him. He could taste the tension building in the air. Frustration and anger were mixing into a quiet snarl. "I did what had to be done. We have talked about it already, several times. Things weren't improving and you know it."
Anders was a doctor for many years and he knew how to diagnose an illness. He could see when someone was ill, a festering wound affecting its functioning and the effectiveness of its actions. And as a good doctor he knew the wound needed to be reopened, cleansed and treated to stop further infection.
He could use it as an allegory for the situation between humans and mutants. It just got worse and worse. Even as an idealist, Anders understood change was needed, something to shake their apathetic society. Supported by Justice and his fellow rebels, he felt empowered enough to operate.
Sadly, his views on the subject weren't shared by other people, including his lover. It was a constant theme of arguments between them.
"How can you say that? I am acting for all of us. For you too, Falcor! You have no idea how it is to be taught every day of your life that you are a monster, a mistake of nature. How it is to cower, to be punished for every small thing… To be a prisoner…A FUCKING SLAVE!" Anders finally lost his patience.
"How dare you say that?! I do not know how it to be a…I DO NOT?!" Falcor screamed back. His eye was narrowed and he was breathing heavily now, trying to hold himself back from a further outburst and failing.
"You are a fucking selfish son of a bitch." Falcor grabbed a nearby chair and threw it against the nearest wall with such force that it broke into several pieces. The unsteady table was next. Anders winced. To see Falcor looking at him with such disdain, almost hate in his gaze, he didn't want that. And he definitely didn't expect another episode, it hadn't happened in the last year and now he'd caused it.
He hoped all the tumult they made wouldn't bring unwanted attention to them. Luckily screams, fighting and vomiting were quite common in that slowly dying colony of refugees.
"Falcor," he started but the redhead just growled like an angry beast. Anders stared helplessly, trying desperately to say something to calm his lover. But the words escaped him. "Shut up. Fucking freedom fighter..." Falcor hissed, grabbing his coat and escaping the room.
He loved Anders more than anything but sometimes he just felt like wrapping his fingers around the blond's throat and pressing. He'd hurt his lover a few times and was terrified by it so when the anger threatened to take over, he'd learned to run away. Anders knew by now not to stop him. Falcor always returned in the end.
"Damn, love, I am so sorry. I just…it's the right way...Why can't you see that?" Anders whispered to the slammed door, sitting on the dirty floor and winding his fingers into his messy hair.
Falcor wandered around for an hour, until he was able to stop. It took him that long to slow down his insanely fast heartbeat and to stop thinking of tearing something apart. Back then, when he was Downing's toy, he was given freedom to release his aggression from time to time. Marcus was smart enough to see the signs and just left him in one room with someone he wanted to get rid of. Later Falcor would walk out of the room, much more relaxed, and whatever left of the unfortunate victim would need to be scrubbed from the walls.
Now he had no such way to calm down through violence. Nor did he want to. Falcor was working on the meditation techniques that Anders and that little, babbly mutant, Merrill had taught him. He was improving, slowly but surely.
Most of the day he spent hiding; trying to meditate. He needed some time away from Anders, to relax and to think. Packed together with many other refuges in a darkish wagon, on the road to South Reach for almost a week… it was too much for him. Both he and Anders were claustrophobic and Falcor's patience was rather short.
When Falcor came back to himself, it was already midnight. He looked around through the broken windows, staring at the bright quarter-moon. The realization that his lover was probably searching all over the camp came to him a bit later and brought some guilt with it.
Walking through the greasy streets, full of rust and ruins, he pondered what to do next. Of course Anders wouldn't change, that persistent dumbass. Now he felt sorry for his hysteria. It wasn't Anders's fault. After all, Falcor had fallen in love with the man, for good and for bad.
He ignored the other refugees at the sides of the streets as he walked back. A lone man usually would be an easy target but something about him kept away even the most desperate criminals.
A small fire to his left caught his attention. More accurately, the pile of burning books that a few refugees were using to keep themselves warm.
Falcor stopped. He felt sorrow for wasting books like that. Only a few years ago he'd realized the importance those fragile pages held. The toy he had been had no need for reading properly, for gathering knowledge. He barely could read or write his own name. If not for Bethany Hawke, Varric and Anders, he would never have found out the magic of reading. Since then his reading skills had improved greatly.
A bitter smirk twisted his mouth. Falcor approached the little fire and leaned over, reading the titles in the dull light. He had no idea why he did so. Perhaps the nostalgia for better days caused him to linger. When he saw a particular book he stopped.
The men tried to protest, scared the stranger would steal their fuel source. But Falcor gave a warning growl and they retreated.
'Fairy Tales Told for Children' by Hans Christian Andersen. Falcor's breath hitched and his hands began to tremble. He denied the moisture at the corners of his eye. This version was a pale copy of the golden-threaded book with colorful pictures Varric and Anders had bought him for his birthday. Technically it hadn't been his birthday; Falcor had forgotten when that was long ago. So they chose a date for him and held a small party. He remembered crying then and hiding his embarrassment into Anders's warm chest. He remembered, too, the following nights when they snuggled in their narrow bed and Anders read to him and cherished every of those precious memories.
Standing above the books' pile for long minutes, Falcor forced himself to snap out of the trance. He grabbed the book, hiding it inside his heavy fur coat and rushed home.
Anders didn't move when the door of the room screeched its objection to being opened. He didn't react when Falcor sneaked in, just keep sitting on the bed, brows furrowed and body stiff.
Crap, Anders was angry at him.
Squinting at the unmoving figure of his angry lover, Falcor swallowed. He carefully circled the bed, sat down and opened the book at a random page.
The steadfast tin soldier.
Alright, then. He loved this one.
"There were once five-and-twenty tin soldiers. They were all brothers, born of the same old tin spoon. They shouldered their muskets and looked straight ahead of them, splendid in their uniforms…"
He kept reading slowly, stumbling over hard words till the stiffness left Anders's limbs and the taller man shifted closer, softly correcting the grammar mistakes and pronouncing words for his lover.
Forgiven.
Falcor held in a sigh of relief and kept reading, his own voice filling with lightness as they pressed against each other.