For as long as Fenris could remember he had felt little beyond shame, fear, and anger. Since coming to Kirkwall he was aware of a growing desire to feel…something else. When he had killed Hadriana he hadn't wanted to give in to his hatred, but he had been helpless to fight it. Afterward he had gone to Hawke, hoping that by giving himself to the warrior he could blot out the hatred, and the memories of pain.

That had...not worked out as he hoped.

He had known that Hawke was not a gentle man, but neither was he. He hadn't known how that kind of rough treatment would affect him. First it had brought up memories of being a slave, and things Danarius had done to him. Then later it had brought back the memories he had lost, only to have them dissolve again like mist. Even now a sense of loss rose up in him and he pushed it away, determinedly setting his mind to other things.

Like the blond-haired healer curled up against his chest. He was without words to describe what had gone on between them this evening. While he had certainly not intended to hurt Anders, the idea of sex where both people enjoyed it was beyond his experience. And so was this closeness afterwards.

He had intended to keep guard from the chair outside Anders door again, but instead had found himself crawling back onto the cot. He should have been aggravated by the constant presence of the man next to him, but he found the healer's touch to be oddly…soothing. So he lay there throughout the long night, absent-mindedly stroking the healer's hair and listening for the sound of armor-plated footsteps.

Sometime towards morning he heard a strange rumbling noise, and he grimaced to himself when he realized it was Anders' stomach. Isabela had tried to talk him into bringing food to the healer yesterday, but the image of himself carrying a tray through the undercity to fetch a mage his dinner was too servile to be borne.

Anders was a grown man; he could feed his own damn self. And sleep when he needed to, and go out into the sunlight every once in a while, and repair that bedraggled coat he wore constantly. Just because he wouldn't didn't mean Fenris was going to start looking after him like a sl…like a servant.

The blonde's stomach rumbled again and Fenris felt his own frame grow tense with irritation. He shifted position abruptly for the first time that night, and the motion wakened the healer so that he blinked and rubbed at his brown eyes sleepily and then smile softly up at the elf. That did nothing to decrease his aggravation, in fact, it only heightened.

Anders didn't seem to notice as he slowly maneuvered around the elf so he could sit up. The smile didn't leave his face, although he had a disbelieving look in his eyes as he asked,

"Did you stay awake all night? Why would you do that?"

Fenris took a deep, calming breath and rose from the cot. When he replied his deep voice rumbled out evenly.

"It is not safe here at night, remember? Sooner or later the templars will be down here in force. We need to think of a better place for you to stay."

At that, an unfamiliar warmth crept into those honey colored eyes. Fenris didn't know what to make of that. Yesterday Anders had looked at him with sheer lust. That was something he recognized from having others look at him that way, although he never understood why. But this…there was a softness to this expression, as if the healer thought he was a hero from one of Varric's ridiculous novels.

The tightening he felt in his chest he passed off as more irritation; it was exactly this sort of soft-headed romantic nonsense that led Anders into one set of troubles after another. He resisted the urge to give him a good shake when the healer spoke again.

"Fenris. I do appreciate this sudden display of protectiveness, but I've been taking these sort of risks for most of my life. I agree that I should probably move the clinic, but having you losing sleep to guard me while I rest is a little over-the-top."

He had begun donning his armor while the blonde man was talking, and he quickly fastened the various buckles and slipped his gauntlets on without looking at the healer, frustration growing all the while. Once he was comfortably ensconced in leather and metal he turned back to Anders, his voice perhaps a little sharper than he intended.

"Yes. Those risks you have taken. The choices you have made are exactly the reason I have chosen to…to protect you. You need to be protected from yourself.

Anders had been looking up at him from where he sat, his expression changing from puzzled to hurt.

"My choices? This…this is a mage thing isn't it? Because I merged with Justice? You think I might start dabbling in blood magic and summoning shades and whatever other nefarious things you're so certain mages get up to, don't you?"

Before he could answer the healer leapt up and snatched up his robes, pulling them on while choking out,

"You…you're just like a templar aren't you? You just want to shag me and then wait around for a demon to take me over so you can slice me up with that whopping big sword of yours!"

The accusation was unexpected, and so far from what he was actually thinking that he flung his hands out in negation and blurted out,

"No!"

The shock he was feeling must have shown on his face, because Anders seemed to calm down a little. The blonde continued fastening his robes as he looked at him in bewilderment. Fenris knew he had to offer some explanation, but…how was he to explain the confusion of feelings the healer inspired in him?

He felt an overwhelming urge to flee, and he actually took a step backwards before stopping himself. Running had been his response to everything out of the ordinary for too long. But Anders was still waiting for him to speak and he didn't know what to say.

In fact, that was really the problem, and why Anders so often misunderstood him. He was a man a few words, while the healer was a man of many words. Many, many words. And obviously, if he didn't supply the words Anders would just insert his own, and that's where everything went astray. So he steeled himself and plunged ahead.

"You are wrong in your assumptions. I have no fear that you will resort to blood magic, or consort with demons."

Anders looked frankly skeptical.

"Really? I seem to remember you saying that all mages will resort to blood magic eventually."

There was not nearly enough room in this tiny cell Anders lived in to pace properly, so Fenris placed a gauntleted hand against his forehead as he said with determined calm,

"Yes. And you have frequently said all templars love torturing hapless mages, despite the fact that we have met a few that you yourself said seemed to be decent. It's hyperbole. People have been known to resort to that when they feel strongly about something."

The healer still did not look entirely appeased and his sarcasm was out in full force.

"Oh, really? I need to be protected from myself, but of course it's not because I'm going to suddenly turn into a monster. You would never think something like that."

Vishante but this man was infuriating in his stubbornness. Fenris felt his temper fraying and he growled out,

"No I would not. I know that you will not turn into a monster because you are too good for that. You are good, and…kind, and…and you believe that most people are good as well. It is foolishness."

Small space or not, he couldn't stop from pacing anyway, even if it was two steps from the door to the bed and two steps back. With a grumbled Venhedis he swung back toward the healer and lit his markings, a scowl darkening his face as he gestured at himself.

"I am none of those things. Not good or kind or gentle. I am the monster. I was created by a mage to guard mages. And until I came to know you there was never a mage I thought worth protecting. That is why you need me, because I will be ruthless where you will not."

It was Anders' turn to look shocked, and his honey-brown eyes held Fenris' green ones as the elf struggled to regain his poise. He had wanted to make the healer understand, but he had not meant to say...so much. For an endless moment they stared at each other, and Fenris was prepared to flee at the first sign of pity…or fear. He couldn't take either of those from the other man. But then Anders stomach grumbled again, and the tension was broken as the healer gave a little shrug and a sheepish look crept onto his face.

Fenris' shoulders dropped wearily as he turned toward the door, feeling as exhausted as if he'd just fought a great battle. He spoke over his shoulder as he began to walk out of the room.

"Come. We are supposed to accompany Hawke today, and we can find breakfast for you on the way."

He didn't get further than the doorway before a softly spoken "Fenris" stopped him. Glancing back, he met Anders' intense, searching gaze as the healer said softly,

"I am not…not really that good. And you are a better man than you think."

He harrumphed and continued walking, knowing from the sounds that Anders had grabbed his staff and was following him out of the clinic. He knew he couldn't change the way the other man viewed the world, so he would just do what he must to keep his mage safe.