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Prompt # 10: Lies

Shaken Foundation

"There is no potion, is there?"

Anders' head snapped up, wide-eyed for a split second before returning to his usual weariness, head hanging slightly to the right. How could he possibly be surprised she'd caught him in a lie? He had to know he was royally bad at it. He'd been fidgety throughout their entire conversation and wouldn't meet her eyes at first. The latter in itself was cause enough for suspicion and concern, since eye-gazing seemed to be one of his favorite pastimes with her for reasons she couldn't fathom. She could never suppress a blush when he started to describe her "striking" eyes in poetic near-verse, as though he'd practiced it in his head . . . probably for at least three years, if he was to be believed.

Hawke wasn't quite sure what to believe anymore.

She hadn't been suspicious when he'd asked her to meet him in his clinic to speak privately. With Meredith cracking down on all underground mage activities, he was practically the only freedom fighter left in Kirkwall, and her pet apostate was convinced that it was only a matter of time before the templars came after the two of them. Her Hightown estate was too conspicuous to him. It was too obvious both of them would be there, so therefore not a place to discuss something . . . serious.

His clinic, by contrast, was nearly empty at all times. After six years, most of the Fereldan refugees who comprised his patient list had moved up or moved on, understandably getting the hell out of Kirkwall. Anders still kept a cot down here for himself, for when he worked so late that he was too tired to climb through the mess of tunnels that were her lower cellar. He'd done that quite a lot lately (the last week, in fact), and in spite of his insistence that his patients needed him, Hawke just didn't see the evidence of it.

She did recognize, however, that even the closest of couples needed time away from each other on occasion. Her mother and father had taught her that much about serious relationships before she was even old enough to like boys. Hawke figured Anders' need to be alone would pass, but it didn't stop her from running her hand over the cool sheets on his side of her bed at night.

Her bed. He slept in her bed. Regularly enough that his absence was noted. The thought still sent shivers of pleasure down her spine on occasion. Both the idea that after the kind of childhood she had, she owned so many things and that she had him there, too.

She knew the discussion wasn't something about the two of them. He probably would have just saved an apology for pillow talk. When he'd claimed he had a potion to separate himself from Justice all figured out, she was surprised, but if it wouldn't harm either and that was really what he wanted . . .

Hawke had to admit that she probably owed that spirit a great deal where her love-life was concerned. From what she understood of Anders' stories of his previous life, he probably would have tried to jump her from the moment he laid eyes on her. Sure, they probably would have had an amazing one-night stand, but they would have moved their separate ways shortly thereafter, Deep Roads maps given for free. If he'd stayed in Kirkwall long enough for them to meet, anyway.

Instead, she met a handsome, opinionated, slightly haunted mage who very much wanted to be with her but held himself back, a man who smiled at her flirtatious advances until he abruptly stopped himself and flat out told her it was a bad idea. She guessed it was those smiles stolen out of the wreckage of a shitty life plus the refusal that kept her going. Hawke liked keeping people happy, telling bad jokes, being everyone's friend. She'd practically made a business off it, in fact. Of course she wasn't always successful (trying to keep her little brother happy was always a lost cause), but Anders was a challenge she figured she could manage.

Flirts were the easiest, of course. They showed him that he was liked, wanted, and welcome in more ways than one and always made him smile, at least for a little while. Every refusal filled her with a little more desire and disappointment in equal measure (and in her own strange logic, encouragement), but she admired his willpower. When it finally snapped, the unconscious wait had proven well worth it.

She sometimes missed those tortured faces he made whenever he'd stop himself, though. Those were adorable.

Justice had held him back from her long enough for her to truly want him as part of her life, to see him as something more than a pretty face to share one night with. Justice kept him in Kirkwall to fight for an admirable cause that hit incredibly close to home. Justice made him unafraid to stand up and mouth off to Knight-Commanders and pithy Tevinter ex-slave elves. Justice also made him terrified of himself sometimes, but she was there to soothe those fears away. It seemed the least she could do. She really did owe Justice a lot, for Anders' sake and her own.

But if separating man from spirit was what he—no they wanted . . .

She wasn't familiar with Tevinter potion ingredients and only knew a smattering of Arcanum gleaned from her father's sparse teachings on the subject, but she was fairly certain the disgusting components would be enough to drive anyone away, corporeal or no. Yet when they returned to his clinic and there was still something else to do, this time involving the Chantry . . .

"No, I lied. There is no potion," he said it as if he'd made a decision, and Hawke knew from experience that when he made up his mind, it took a long time to change it, "but this isn't about me and Justice. It never was."

Hawke felt a small measure of relief mixed with confusion and a pang of hurt. "Then why lie to me about it? You should know me better than that by now."

Anders' face struggled to remain impassive. "I-," his forehead creased in thought, "You wouldn't thank me if I told you. Just know that what I do, I do for all mages, not just the ones here in Kirkwall. Compared to that, one lie has little meaning. Help me distract the Grand Cleric. If you truly love me, you'll trust me."

Hawke wasn't sure if she truly did, not right now. The sting of betrayal was growing into an ache somewhere around her heart. "I care for you, Anders, but that doesn't mean I agree with everything you say. I don't trust blindly. Please, tell me what's going on." That was her, always asking as many dumb questions as possible, but she always needed to know what she was getting in to before jumping in with both feet anyway.

His face hardened in frustration, verging on anger. It was an emotion she'd only rarely seen directed at her, from him at least. "You can't claim to love me and then turn on me now. I am the cause of mages. There's nothing else inside me." He said it with such conviction that Hawke nearly believed he thought that way, but she knew it was a lie. Another one. He's racking them up today. She almost called him on it, but his brown eyes locked with hers, not quite the glare he used for slavers, templars, and Fenris, yet still firm and unyielding. Hawke briefly wondered how much of Justice truly showed in Anders' behavior and action and how much of which person had brought her to his arms in the first place. How much had he been lying about who he was as long as she'd known him?

Maybe it didn't matter, after all.

"Fine, Anders," Hawke backed down, and the action felt foreign. Usually it was he who caved to her arguments, not the other way around, but this time he played dirty. "I'll give you my help, but I won't forget what you did to get it."

Anders almost sighed in relief, looking down and away from her again before his gaze returned to her face. "Thank you, love. I promise: whatever happens, it will fall on my head alone."

She wondered if that would turn out to be a lie as well.

When she returned to the clinic to see him dressed in new black robes and hear another eloquent declaration of love among disturbing dialogue, she wondered if that wasn't the biggest lie of all.