Telling Captain Mustow that Anders was an apostate might not have been the swiftest way to thaw the chill that Anders' display of Justice had wrought, but when the apostate then set about healing the crew's injuries before tending to his own, Fenris saw the hostility in the men's eyes fade. Particularly when Anders, with Fenris at his side, knelt to heal the crushed legs of the man the tentacle had picked up.

When their crewmate stood up and did an awkward little jig before settling down to sit on one of the surviving water barrels to rub the residual ache out of his legs, the men cheered and pumped their fists in the air. Self-interest won over Chantry teachings with these people, and even Fenris could see why.

Anders smiled weakly and swayed on his feet before Fenris realized that Anders had healed everyone but himself. He was pale, his upper lip dotted with sweat from the effort.

"Fool mage," Fenris growled, low enough for the crew to miss in their celebration of their survival and good health. "Why did you not see to yourself?"

Anders shook his head and swiped a hand over his face before turning away from Fenris to get the captain's attention. "If any of your men need anything more, come get me. We daring apostates need our beauty rest."

Fenris tried not to glare when Anders gave him a patently contrived doe-eyed look. "And my husband is worried about me. I'm going to let him put me to bed."

One of the crewmen brought the captain Anders' staff, retrieved from where it had fetched up against the railing when the tentacles retreated. Mustow handed it over to Fenris before he smirked and clapped Anders on the shoulder; he missed Anders' wince of pain, but Fenris saw it. "I don't usually hold with apostates, but after what you two have done for my ship and crew, you're all right with me. I saw the look you two were giving each other." Fenris bristled at the broad wink he gave Anders. "We'll ignore any noise from your cabin for the next few hours."

Anders grinned brightly and turned to Fenris, losing the smile the instant his back was turned on the captain.

"Help me downstairs," he said through gritted teeth. "And mind the rib you cracked because you're an oaf."

Fenris took Anders' upper arm in a hard grip, ignoring his protests about being manhandled.

"Or elfhandled or whatever you want to call it," Anders griped as Fenris pushed him through the door into their cabin, closing the door in Brutal's face.

"You will heal yourself," Fenris told him when the door was closed. "I will not have Hawke blaming me for letting you die."

"Not happening," Anders replied, lowering himself to the bunk with a soft groan. "Not until I've had time to rest. I'm just about hollow, I've used so much mana."

Fenris removed Aveline's sword and propped it at the head of the bed within his easy reach before unbuckling his chest piece and spiked pauldrons. "Why did you not heal yourself first?"

"I have a better question." Anders pressed his lips tightly together while he shifted in on the bunk to make room for Fenris and bring his feet onto the bed. "How did you come up with that answer for the captain so quickly? It's almost as though you've been thinking about being married to me. I don't want to break your heart or anything, but I'm not the marrying kind."

Fenris scoffed and waited for Anders to move as far against the bulkhead as he could before he settled next to him. "I have thought about many contingencies, mage, not for your sake, but for my own, as your body would drag me down if the captain and his men threw you overboard."

"Like what?" Anders turned his head to give Fenris the full benefit of wide golden-brown eyes. "Tell me a story about contingencies while I let my magical muscles rest."

"Sleep," Fenris suggested, mostly as a means of getting Anders to shut up. He had things he needed to consider and that was nigh impossible when Anders never seemed to close his mouth. "Then we will both be able to rest."

"No chance," Anders said. "I'm not sleeping until I pass out."

He looked… Fenris searched Anders' face for the right word for his expression, but the only word that came to mind was "haunted."

"Why?"

"Let's talk about other things," Anders said, and Fenris felt his brows drop in a scowl. Every time he asked Anders a question, he deflected or simply refused to answer.

"I want to know about that look on your face when you touched Justice out there," Anders said. "Was it good for you too?"

"So help me," Fenris growled, "I will rip your tongue out."

The jolt of pleasure that sang through the lyrium in his skin was nothing he wished to dwell on, and was nothing he would ever discuss with Anders. His only consolation was that the jolt had not made him spend himself in his leathers the way Anders had lost control at the Gallows.

He felt a slow, cruel smile spread over his lips. "No, I won't rip your tongue out. I shall activate my tattoos and watch you writhe."

Anders' eyes went wide. "You wouldn't."

Fenris realized he liked this very much. Hawke would not even be able to chastise him. In fact, knowing the man, he would likely approve. "Try me."

"Sleeping now."

• • •

The last two days of the voyage to Amaranthine were uneventful. The crew gave them a wider berth after the battle, but none of them were overtly hostile. As an unexpected benefit, no further mention was made of nuptial celebrations.

Fenris noticed Anders growing more tense when the Fereldan coast first came into view. He spoke less, frowned more, and fiddled constantly with the cuff on his wrist, turning and turning it until Fenris closed his hand over it to stop the annoying fidgeting.

"What is your problem?" he asked. "Do you fear what the wardens will do to you?"

Anders jerked his hand away from Fenris' grasp, scowling over at him. "Why spoil the surprise? Don't worry, I'm sure it will be everything you could hope for and more. Except the part where Dal is a mage, because how you must hate knowing how much influence he has with King Alistair."

"What I hate is hearing the word 'mage' from you," Fenris retorted. "Because it is always accompanied by yet another rant about the rights of mages."

"A rant he agrees with," Anders snapped. "King Alistair tried to grant his boon of allowing the mages to practice without the Circle and Chantry. There are free mages in Ferelden. Not many, but some. How do you feel about that?"

Fenris drew a deep breath, forcing himself to push his anger down into the bottomless well he had for it. Instead he closed his fingers over Anders' wrist in an iron grasp and turned to drag the man off the deck, out of sight of the deck hands who saw most things that passed between them.

He ignored Anders' protests and attempts to dig his feet in on the deck, easily getting him down to their quarters. When it came down to a straight up battle of strength between a mage and a warrior, Fenris would always bet on the warrior.

Once the door was closed, Anders let loose a stream of invective. "You dog humping – sorry Brutal – bronto blowing, son of a—"

Fenris let power flow through the tattoos in his hand.

Anders' eyes rolled back in his head behind a blue haze of power – his or Fenris', Fenris could not be sure, the color was distressingly similar.

On the bright side, it shut Anders up quite thoroughly.

He held the steady flow of power into his hand until Anders started to sway before spitefully pushing a final burst through the lyrium. He was ready when Anders' knees buckled, stepping in to catch him and pick him up before unceremoniously dropping him into their bunk.

He had enough time to feel smug about finding a way to finally stave off the interminable rants about mage rights this, templar abuses that, before Anders clamped his free hand over Fenris' wrist in an implacable grip.

Justice turned Anders' burning eyes up at Fenris. "I will not allow you to use us without consequence."

The spirit's voice rang hollow past the sudden swell of vibration through his tattoos. Fenris dropped to his knees beside the bunk, held up by Justice's hold on his wrist.

"This is justice."

It was power that rang a clear toll through him as though he were a crytal goblet flicked with a fingernail. There was no room for thought or anger or fear, there was no room for anything but the perfect harmonics that turned every bit of lyrium in his body into a conductor.

It raised the fine hairs on his arms, curled his toes, and burst from him in a heated wash of ecstasy that burned away everything but the perfect pleasure.

When his vision cleared he was sprawled on the floor with Anders dangling half in, half out of the bunk, apparently pulled there by the chain between them when Fenris fell.

They blinked dazedly at each other before Anders licked his lips and rasped, "I hate you."

Fenris had to swallow twice before he could manage to weakly retort, "I hate you more."

• • •

They would have to talk about what they had done to each other, and both Fenris and Anders knew it, but neither of them had the strength for the discussion after they cleaned themselves up. They collapsed back into the bunk, and despite Fenris' intention to gather his thoughts and arguments, he was asleep moments after his head hit the pillow.

Caleb woke them hours later, pounding on the door. "Messeres, we're docking now. Captain says you can go any time you please."

"I think that means 'get out,'" Anders muttered, running a hand through his hair. "I'm all for that. Solid ground here we come."

"If there are no templars waiting at the dock it also means 'thank you,'" Fenris said, swinging his legs out of the bunk.

They could banter as though nothing unusual had happened for now, but there would come a time when they would have to talk, and Fenris did not look forward to it.

"Where are we going first?" he asked as they gathered their few belongings.

"To see a friend," Anders said, slinging his staff over his back and opening the door. "She should be able to give us some news about Vigil's Keep that might save us running all over the arling."

They emerged out onto the deck for the last time. "I told you that we are not making this trip to socialize."

"And I am telling you—" Anders stopped what he was saying and plastered on a smile. "Captain Mustow."

The captain offered a cordial smile. "I'll offer you good luck and a good future. You have my word that my men and I will remember what you did for us if anyone asks after you."

"That is—" Fenris paused, looking for the right words. "—good of you. We thank you."

Anders nodded. "Yes, thank you."

Mustow jerked his head toward the gangplank. "Get on with you. You've a new life to start together. Maker be good to you."

Brutal led them off the ship, but fell back at Fenris' side when they stepped onto the dock.

"Looks a lot better than the last time I saw it," Anders said, striding purposefully down the dock. "You'd hardly guess that Dal gave the order to have it razed."

Fenris wondered what Anders saw when he looked around the city. He had heard the story of Amaranthine's fall, but Varric had been the storyteller, which made the tales much less credible. Who had heard of a Gray Warden ordering the destruction of an entire city?

He was no expert at reading Anders, but the anticipation he thought he saw on the man's face accorded poorly with his unwillingness to make the trip.

"Come on then," Anders said, his pace quickening until Fenris wondered when he was going to break into a run. "It isn't far."

"Where isn't far?"

"My friend. Her brother is a warden at Vigil's Keep – or at least he used to be – if he's still there, she'll know if Dal is there too."

Anders practically dragged him through the city gates and down toward a street lined with merchant stalls.

"Here. She'll be here," Anders said, then added under his breath, "I hope she's here."

He stopped in front of a modest home and raised his hand to knock, stopping with his knuckles just above the wood. "What if she isn't here? She has to be here, and he'll be here, but what if he isn't?"

"What are you going on about?" Fenris asked. "Do I have to knock for you?"

Anders quickly shook his head and rapped his knuckles on the wood.

Fenris could see that he was actually holding his breath. Who was this woman? An old lover? Or was that the "he" that Anders was muttering about?

A dark-haired woman opened the door and took a step back when she saw Anders. For a moment, Fenris thought she would close the door in their faces, not that he could fault her; he often felt that way upon seeing Anders.

"Anders," she breathed. "But they told me that you were dead."

"Not yet," Anders said ruefully. "May we come in?"

"Oh, yes." She stood aside to let Anders and Fenris enter, but looked dubiously at Brutal.

"He can stay outside," Anders said quickly. "Can't you, Brutal?"

Brutal whined, but settled on his rump on the ground outside Delilah's door.

"Delilah, this is Fenris. Fenris, this is Delilah. Her brother, Nathaniel Howe is the warden I mentioned."

Fenris nodded to her. "Thank you for seeing us."

Anders shifted and Fenris saw him cast a sidelong glance his way before he asked hopefully, "Is he here? Is he…"

"He's here," she said, finally smiling. She looked as though she was indulging a child. "He's older and fatter, but he's here."

"Can I…?"

"Always, Anders." She gave his arm a friendly pat before exiting through an archway, leaving Fenris and Anders alone in the front room.

Her home was modest, but well-loved, the furniture was worn but looked comfortable, the walls were frescoed with murals of what Fenris assumed was an idealized Fereldan countryside, given the overall lack of mud or dogs.

"Who are you two talking about?" Fenris asked. "Who is this 'he'?"

Anders shrugged for all the world like a child being asked who took the last sweetie, but was spared from answering by Delilah's return.

She held an orange tabby cat cradled in her arms and Anders' face lit up with a simple joy Fenris had never seen nor ever thought to see.

"Ser Pounce-a-lot!"