Summary: What happens between Anders and Aria is for nobody's eyes but their own. Some lemons, mainly drabbles of various types. Chapter 2 onward.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the unsated desire for more skin in DA2.
Queen's Quornor: Originally this was just Anders and Aria, but then a third character snuck in. I find it quite cliche that Hawke is the only person who kills the high dragon, regardless who strikes the final blow. This is the case even when s/he's unconscious and out of the fight! So my thought was, this has to be fixed. That leads us here, to this installment. Also, Kionalil was my first Dalish Warden, and she's the character I had in mind when I wrote the opening chapter of "First Love."
It's Mutual
You never know how lucky you are until you lose what you most cherish.
Kionalil's words echoed in Anders' mind as he sat by Aria's side, watching the rise and fall of her chest beneath the blankets. She had taken a nasty hit from the dragon they had fought at the ruins of the Bone Pit. Aria had darted behind the reptile in an attempt to freeze its hind legs and limit its mobility, but the massive tail had caught her just before the spell took shape. She had been flicked high into the air, soaring in a frighteningly graceful arc until she collided with the stony cliffs ringing the Pit's lower reaches. Fenris and Sebastian had killed the dragon, while Anders' eyes had been glued to the small body rolling down the sharp spurs of rock. She had been folded into a broken heap when he finally reached her, rich dark blood seeping into the dust around her and dripping from the jags adorning the cliff. He had been afraid to touch her, had experienced a paralyzing dread that he would not be able to save the person who mattered the most. As Darktown's only healer he hated feeling so helpless, but had been unable to act. At last he had managed to put aside his irrational fear because of Fenris; the elf had knelt beside her and laid his fingertips atop her torn shoulder, then met Anders' eyes with a gaze that mirrored his terror.
Aria was finally healed, but she had yet to regain consciousness. After her magical mending, the men had carried her back to Kirkwall on a blanket from somebody's bedroll, or perhaps a tent canvas - Anders wasn't exactly certain. He had been too preoccupied with staring at her ashen face, too numb to fully acknowledge what had happened. The mage was not even sure how they had gotten from the Bone Pit to their shared estate.
He wrapped his arms about himself and shuddered. She was alive - that was all that mattered. The dragon was dead, the mines destroyed, and Hubert still waited in the market for an explanation. When she woke up, Aria would stalk down to his stand and inform the prissy Orlesian that a high dragon had massacred her countrymen, jabbing her fingers into his puffy shirt with every word. Her violet eyes would spark with fury if he started whining about his precious equipment and investments, and her entire body would go rigid as she fought her temper, wanting nothing more than to place her hand against Hubert's chest and -
Maker, what if she didn't wake up? Anders was a talented healer, but what if he had missed a concussion or a gash on the base of her skull? Head injuries were notoriously difficult to repair, and the effects were often beyond a mage's control. She might forget things, lose control over specific functions and behaviors, or even her identity and all of her memories. But that would still be a more welcome alternative to her laying in a coma, never to wake.
If she died...
Anders stared at the fire blazing in the hearth, feeling something cold spread throughout his chest. If she died, there was no point in living. Aria was the light of his life. Without her there was no joy, no love, no peace. There would be no sanity, as he would lose himself in the midst of his grief. His anchor would be gone, leaving Anders to swirl into the maelstrom of anger and vengeance Justice would create.
Worse, he would allow it to happen. Justice would take control so Anders could sleep, alone in the blackness with his broken heart.
"How is she?"
He jerked at the gravely voice and turned his head to the side, grateful for any escape from his black musings. Fenris stood inside the doorway, his face expressionless but his posture radiating anxiety.
"Nothing's changed. She hasn't woken up yet." He beckoned to the elf, inviting him to sit on the bed. "I can't believe this happened to her. I would have expected you to take a hit like that, since you were the one fighting that lizard up close."
Fenris settled at the foot of the bed, resting against one of the posts. He gazed at Anders across Aria's legs. "Is it really so unexpected? Hawke takes chances most mages wouldn't dare on a regular basis. She enjoys flirting with death. I'm more surprised that she didn't charge it head-on."
Anders nodded. That was definitely something his Aria would do. Her approach to battle was better suited to a warrior than a mage. "I think the only reason she didn't is because leather is no match for a dragon's teeth."
"I've never before met a mage who wanted to learn swordplay. She's been pestering me to teach her." Fenris turned sad jade eyes upon her face. "I thought the idea was ludicrous. But if she comes to, I would happily teach her everything I know."
Anders watched the elf for a moment, trying to guage the emotions racing through his eyes. "You love her, don't you?"
"Don't expect me to try and supplant you. I'm not that sort of man." He let out a sigh and something akin to regret passed over his face. "I suppose I do, in a sense. I would give my life to defend her. Of all my associates, she is the one I value most. I hate seeing her in pain." His eyes slid to Anders, and the mage was surprised to note the distinct lack of hatred therein. He and Fenris had never gotten along before. "That's why I've never said anything about the two of you. It would hurt Hawke if I damaged her happiness, and after everything she has suffered I wish her nothing but joy. Even if it is with somebody else," he added, turning away.
The mage stared at him. "What about Isabela? Aren't the two of you seeing each other?" he finally managed.
The nearest corner of Fenris' mouth tipped upward in what appeared to be a rueful smile. "We are not lovers. We are - how did she put it? Oh yes - 'friends with benefits'. Once she loses interest in me, it will end. In the interm, what we share is a comfortable outlet for our needs." His eyes closed and he sighed again. "A part of me wonders how things would be if I had been the one she chose. What would have happened if I was in your place, always by her side and in her heart?"
"I would be the one asking that question, most likely. But considering your view on the mages' plight, I bet there would be a lot of tension in your time together."
The elf shrugged. The firelight danced across his skin, catching the brilliance of his markings so they seemed to ripple in their inactivity. Anders had to admit he envied him for his exotic looks, despite knowing that he hardly lacked in that area himself. "Since meeting her, I've begun to question what I believed to be truth. Hawke is nothing like the magisters I have seen. There seems to be very little that will send her into a demon's hold. I respect her." He sent a sly look Anders' way. "So I doubt our relationship would be as tumultuous as you might think."
Anders looked to the ring on her motionless hand, twin to the one he wore. "Forgive me if I remain satisfied in her decision and my place in her life."
Fenris did not rise to the bait. Instead his gaze roamed over her too-still form and he exhaled slowly. "She will awaken. Hawke is one of the strongest people I know, and after everything she has accomplished she won't let a high dragon end her. There is still the dispute with the mages and the templars to mediate."
"Which is a joy in and of itself." Anders spread his hands wide. "I have done what I can to heal her body. Whether she wakes or not is her call."
"Knowing Hawke, she'll be back on her feet by tomorrow."
The mage looked at his rival, feeling a sudden kinship with him. Their roles could easily have been reversed, with Fenris taking the central placement in Aria's private life while he pined on the sidelines, distracting himself however he could so as not to impede her happiness. But now, for once, they were equals. Neither was capable of bringing their beloved leader back to consciousness. The most they could do was hold vigil over her.
Which they did, with their mutual dislike forgotten in the midst of worry and prayers for the woman they both cherished.