MUD AND SAND, AO3 version. ffnet version to follow but formatting over there is so difficult. anders is a tevinter magister (not a very good one) and hawke is a slave (not a very good one, either) and the two don’t get along very well (except for when they do). m!hawke/anders, au, complete, part two kicking off later this evening very shortly…

 Every mage, at some point or another, dreamed of one day becoming a magister in Tevinter. And if they told you differently, chances were they were lying.

It wasn’t necessarily outright lying—because it was so easy to lie without realizing it, to ignore a dream as a wisp from the Fade, or to blame temptation solely on demons. It was just that no demon could offer something to a person they didn’t already want. That was rather how the system worked—as it had for years, with no sign of changing.

So every mage, wayward apostate or anxious apprentice, baffled adolescent or senior enchanter, had considered the idea at least once.

Anders was no exception.

He wasn’t sure if his reasons were the same reasons or different reasons or if those reasons even mattered. Mostly, he’d once thought that wearing whatever robes he liked—not being too cold with bare arms and thin silk in the winter—was the epitome of freedom. Tales of balmy Imperium weather didn’t hurt that impression, either.

Acolyte robes were itchy, but more than that they were ugly, not at all impressive, certainly not what anyone thought of when they decided who to be jealous of or impressed by. Mages had it rough in Ferelden—and really, in all other parts of Thedas that weren’t the Imperium—and the robes they had to wear played a significant part in that: muted grays and dull purples and sometimes faded pinks, high collars and shapeless middles and downright depressing cowls.

Anders couldn’t count on the fingers of both hands the number of poor sods he’d seen on a daily basis wearing hats that looked like the back-end of a sickly chicken. Even worse than that was how readily they all accepted it.

MUD AND SAND, parts 54 - 63 of 63, up on the kinkmeme. i feel so…anxious and sad and distressed whenever i finish one of these, like i’ve got this big missing piece; stories need to end and i know that but i never actually want them to. anyway, attempting a sequel which is more like a continuation which is more like an indulgence of not wanting to end stuff. this part has cats and slaves and figs and resolved sexual tension and other things. i will clean this up soon and put it on AO3 and also finish uploading it to frightening scary ff.net land as well…

Anticipation was one of the most important spells anyone had at their disposal—whether they were a magister or a slave, or any of the countless in-betweens. It didn’t take magic, just a well-timed insinuation, an idea or two thrown in for good measure. Punishment, for example, was so often unnecessary when someone might merely anticipate punishment instead—and the same could be said for pleasure, except Anders so much preferred experiencing it to waiting for it. 

That wait could only go on so long before a man started to tear out his hair and rend his own garments. 

Anders waited by the window, lamp with fresh oil on the sill beside him, but the shadows in the garden were their usual fare: trees and their shifted leaves, bushes and bowers and blossoms, and vine-stakes hammered firm and solid into the soft Tevinter earth. No one melted from behind a corner into the next, or took up his familiar vigil in the appointed spot. Anders’s throat was dry, and he didn’t know whether to undress or possibly drown himself, though the latter was impossible. He needed to know what came next. 

But for a long time, there was nothing, and Anders resisted the urge to pace if only because he was too busy sitting on the edge of his bed and drumming his fingers against his knee, collar too tight around his throat, dragon claw earring swinging beneath his ear. He felt it tickle his skin, as warm as he remembered Hawke being, the man himself not like a dwarven forge but something more special, more arcane, dragon fire lingering in a treasured scale. 

MUD AND SAND parts 45 - 53b up on the kinkmemeroo! this is the second to last update but i think i suddenly got hit by the idea of an immediate sort of sequel… maybe the curse of not being able to sequel-ize will be ended with this one? MAYBE? and maybe that will be what i start on first thing tomorrow just to see if it’ll all work out? anyway, hawke/anders, and it’s another special wahoo tee-hee anders sexy week entry!

It wasn’t that Anders wanted to be more like Danarius. Perish the thought. But he didn’t know if he wanted to be more like himself, or even what he wanted—beyond the small things, carnal and immediately satisfying, pleasures he could name rather than ideals he couldn’t understand, and therefore couldn’t trust. 

The curtains shifted in the easy breeze, shadows splayed over the patterned tiles. They curled and unfurled in the lamplight from the garden, where pretty paper lanterns were hung at measured intervals in the trees, candles floating in glass bowls, which in turn lined the slim path winding its lazy way across the grounds. Anders had never imagined he’d own his own grounds, a garden this well kept, or a single pretty paper lantern, or even anything at all. It made him happy now and then to remind himself as he leaned over the window-sill, and rubbed his dragon claw earring between thumb and forefinger. When he thought about what he had, he could focus—if only for a short time—on that, instead of what he didn’t have. And the reminder was so pleasant, the rewards so obvious. 

The feeling of satisfaction came and went like the summer breeze, air hot and still one moment, then quick and cool the next. Such were the subtleties of Tevinter weather, and everyone—even Anders—knew to search for those pockets of relief, to make them last as long as possible before they disappeared as though they’d never existed in the first place.