As soon as they stepped out of the tavern Anders almost pitched forward onto his face, and Fenris had to grab him to keep him from falling. After some awkward positioning, he managed to get the healer's arm draped over his shoulder but avoiding the spikes, while his arm went around Anders back to hold him up and move him forward.

They managed like that for a couple of blocks, and while Anders was humming to himself Fenris had a little time to let his thoughts drift.

He could hardly credit the change in his own attitude towards Anders, but he knew at some point he has stopped thinking of him as just another mage, and had started thinking of him as a man. A good man; generous to a fault, with a big heart and a need to help anyone he thought of as worse off than himself.

In fact, the problem with the healer was that he was too good. He assumed everyone else was basically good too, which is why he persisted in this notion of mage freedom. It was how he ended up with a…spirit inside of him. He had thought this Justice was his friend, and had wanted to help him, to his own detriment.

If he had someone looking after him properly, that foolishness would have never happened. Fenris knew it was far too late for Anders to go to the circle. Even if it were a better circle than Kirkwall's-and privately he could admit that things weren't quite right here-he would be made Tranquil or killed just because of the spirit he housed.

So, Fenris mused, he needed to be kept safe from the templars and he needed to be saved from himself…

That line of thought was cut short when the healer stumbled, and while trying to right him Fenris somehow managed to get a face full of feathers. As he huffed and batted at the feathers to try and get them away from his face and mouth, Anders broke down in a fit of giggles. He lurched toward the elf, clutching at his arms and talking in a funny, cooing voice,

"Oh, what kind of kitty doesn't like to play with feathers? Aw, there's my little tabby-elf."

And before Fenris could respond to that the blonde man took two of his fingers and began tickling gently right underneath the shell of his ear, crooning drunkenly.

Fasta Vass. His eyes almost crossed from the tingling sensation that shot down from his neck to his spine. His first instinct was to crane his head back to expose more of his neck and ear to the man's touch, but instead he knocked the healer's hand away. Then of course he had to grab him again before he fell over, Anders giggling softly the whole time.

Once he got them situated and moving again he grumbled at the blonde man,

Venhedis Anders, even the blood mage holds her drink better than you."

They managed to make it through Darktown, and had just reached the bottom of the stairs leading to the clinic when a slight hint of movement in the shadows set all the ex-slave's "avoid-the-hunters" instincts on alert.

He gently shoved a barely-concious Anders to the side and drew his sword, keeping his eyes trained on the spot he had first noticed. There, in the shadows on the ledge at the top of the stairs, the distinctive glint of torchlight off of shiny armor. Certain they had already been spotted, there was nothing to do but face whatever threat was there. So he roared out,

"You wish to fight?"

In the silence afterward he could hear the sound of swords being drawn. Only three. He almost snorted in contempt when he clearly heard a whispered conversation,

"Are you certain about this, we weren't expecting an armed elf."

"See the feathers? That's the one we want. It's three to two."

Clumsy and foolish, he thought…and not going to live to learn from their mistakes.

He didn't want to give them the advantage of higher ground, so before they could move forward he activated his markings and burst up the stairs while calling out,

"Come out and face me!"

Stopping at the top, he saw three templars step forward with their swords drawn. He took their measure in an instant; they were very young, fresh recruits. The two on the right looked arrogant, and the other scared. They probably weren't even supposed to be here, but thought they could make a name for themselves by catching the infamous apostate of Darktown. It was almost too bad they had to die.

He didn't give them any more time to collect themselves, but leapt at the scared one, raising his sword up as he jumped and bringing it down with enough force to cleave his skull in two. Two left, but they will both attack at once.

Fenris swung to the right, moving his blade in a big enough arc to knock back both their swords. He couldn't cut through both of their heavy armor at once, so he was going to have to take out one and hope he could withstand one free blow from the other.

He lunged at the one who was closest, trying to maneuver off to the side so that the templar was actually shielding him from his comrade. This one was faster than he expected, circling back so he was beside his fellow and deflecting the first swing. But he wasn't expecting Fenris to follow through by keeping his blade locked against the other's with one hand while phasing his first through the breastplate with his other. While the last templar got in a quick slash at his leg, he solidified his arm with a quick twist and crushed the man's heart.

He pulled out his arm and whirled back, expecting to deflect another blow from the other man and instead finding himself facing his back Anders had come up the stairs with his hands raised to cast a spell, and the templar had faced him to cast a holy smite, stupidly turning his back on the elf. He didn't waste the advantage, gripping his sword in both hands and driving it up under the edge of his helm into the back of his neck.

He took a moment to look around and make sure they were all quite dead, and that no one else was going to come to their aid. When all was quiet he walked over to the healer, who was swaying dangerously at the top of the steps. Fenris thought he still looked foggy with drink, but he had obviously been aware enough to respond to danger. He guessed that it was as much instinct with Anders as it was for him, especially with templars involved.

When he stopped before the blonde man Anders reached out to him, muttering curses about having his mana depleted. Fenris let him grab his arms, to steady himself, he thought. But then Anders grinned crookedly and said,

"Fenris, you just killed two…a bunch of templars."

The adrenaline was still racing through his veins from the fight, and having the healer's face so close to his own wasn't doing anything to calm his pulse, but he managed to say dryly,

"I am aware of that."

When the healer leaned in drunkenly for a kiss, he couldn't pretend he was surprised. What did surprise him was how desperately he wanted that kiss. Anders mouth was hot and sweet with the taste of honey mead, and his lips were deliciously soft. He pulled the taller man against him, with one hand circling the back of his neck and the other arm reaching around his back to hold him tight. He plunged his tongue into the healer's mouth, and let himself ravish that warm cavern for just a moment before he reluctantly pulled back. Now was not the time.

Anders did not look any closer to sober as he licked his own lips, making an mmm sound as he did. In fact, as his eyes grew more unfocused, he looked like a man about to pass out.

Fenris sighed and eased him into a sitting position on the ground before he fell and hurt himself, and then stood up to consider what to do next.

He had two problems; he had a drunken healer who would probably need to be carried the rest of the way home, and he had three templar bodies that needed to be hidden.

He decided he would do the best he could to hide the bodies for tonight, and then get Varric to help him dispose of them permanently tomorrow. So he took his sword and cut their skirts off, neatly piling up the swords and shields and using the fabric to wrap them up. He tied it all into a bundle with a series of knots. Then he moved the bodies under a nearby pile of rubbish. They would be obvious to the first scavenger who came poking around, but hopefully it would do until the morning.

Then he turned back to Anders, who was now out cold, sitting with his back against the wall. He propped the bundle on top of Anders, and bent to scoop him up, cradling the healer against his chest. It was awkward and with the weight of all that metal even he had a hard time lifting him, but luckily he didn't have too far to go.

He made it just inside the door of the clinic before he had to tip forward and let the bundle slide off Anders and onto the floor with a clang. Then he carried the healer back to his bed, managing to get him to sit up for just a moment so he could get the coat off his shoulders, and then easing him back onto the mattress so he could take his boots off.

Going back out into the clinic he picked up the bundle, stashing it under a pile of broken crates in the corner. The he returned to Anders room. The healer was lying exactly as he left him, sprawled on his back and snoring softly. For a long moment Fenris just stood there looking down at him.

As much as he'd like to deny it, he had to admit that he wanted this man. Wanted him badly.

After fighting for so long to keep his freedom from Danarius, it seemed insane to want to get tangled up with another mage. He had sworn that no mage would ever own him and he would never let another one control him. And yet here he was. Was his slavery so ingrained he felt incomplete without a mage to protect, to belong to?

He reached down and brushed a stray lock of hair back from Anders forehead.

Wouldn't it be different…it would be different if the mage belonged to him.

Smiling softly to himself he moved to grab a chair so he could sit outside the door until Anders awoke. He had things to...consider.