Your drabbles are honestly the highlight of my day, thank you so much for writing them! As a prompt, could I request Anders finding out Fenris and Hawke have broken up?
You’re so precious, anon. Thank you for reading them!
I’ve been putting off writing this very thing for a long time, and now I have an excuse to.
Bodahn said, “It’s good to see you again, ser. It’s been
nearly seven weeks!” and there was such a mixture of upbeat cheer and impeccably
appropriate obeisance in his voice that Anders immediately doubted the dwarf’s
sincerity. He flushed, and felt the burn up into the roots of his hair.
“Things have been hectic at the clinic,” Anders lied.
He tried not to sound too defensive.
Bodahn nodded in sympathy. “I’ve no doubt, messere,” he
said. “I am merely grateful you were able to pull yourself away now.”
“Right,” Anders said, and he frowned, anxiety gnawing at his
toes. He already regretting agreeing to come. It had been hard to deal with
Hawke since their last talk, when the big man had sat him down and, with utter
seriousness, informed Anders about his new relationship status.
Fenris and I – we’re
going to make a go at it, he’d said. Anders had never seen his eyes light
up like that.
Anders shrugged off the memory. “Where is Hawke, then?” he
The inquiry came out a little more sharply than he had
intended, but the dwarf only smiled a little, his eyes drifting skyward. “Oh,
he’s up in his room, I imagine,” he said. “He hasn’t left it in days. The
illness took him real sudden-like. I can’t get him to eat, either. His mother
is having a fit of it.”
Guilt immediately bypassed Anders’s annoyance, flashing hot
and sick through his body. He thought of the small stack of letters Bodahn had
sent, begging him to come check on his employer. Ignoring them suddenly felt
Anders moved to the stairs.
“Good luck!” Bodahn called with cheer.
The stairs creaked under his weight. The thought that
something might be genuinely wrong with Hawke turned Anders’s stomach. His
heart was broken. He couldn’t look at the man without picturing him with that
elf – but that no longer seemed to measure up as an excuse.
There was no answer the first time he knocked at the door.
“Fuck off!” was the answer, the second time. Anders opened
It took him a moment to take it all in. The room was a mess,
as if it had been struck by a hurricane. Chairs dashed against walls, the
dresser shoved over on its side, sheets ripped from the bed. The smell of
alcohol was heavy in the air.
Hawke was in the bed, face down, in nothing but his small
clothes. Anders’s eyes flinched from the tempting display of broad bare back
and muscular shoulders. He was here to do a job, and Hawke didn’t want him.
“Hawke?” he asked. He approached slowly, cautiously picking
his way through broken glass and splintered wood. Bodahn hadn’t said anything
about booze, but there were empty bottles on the ground, and Hawke absolutely
reeked of the stuff. “Hawke,” Anders said again, more firmly. The other mage’s
flesh flinched under his touch when he reached out and brushed his bare back
with his fingers.
Hawke lifted his head. His eyes were red and bleary. His
beard hadn’t been trimmed in days, and his hair was a riot.
“Anders,” he greeted, in that voice. The terrifying one. He
said, “Get out.”
“Your man thinks you’re sick.”
“I’m not,” he said. “So leave.” He dropped his head again,
into the pillow of his arms, and ignored it when Anders sat on the edge of the
bed beside him. He pressed his palm against the small of his back, but there
was no illness to find.
Hawke was half naked, and Anders was sitting on his bed, and
it couldn’t have been farther from the healer’s fantasies.
They were silent for a long time. Hawke surprised him when
he spoke. His voice was raw.
So I had a really vivid dream about Fenris last night...
It was quite bizarre but felt SO real, you know? One of those dreams.
Earliest thing I remember is being in my room, with Fenris sitting on my bed. He’s most definitely still an elf, with white hair and lyrium markings. He’s cross-legged and relaxed – he seems to feel safe here. He’s also wearing some strange sort of mix of his usual and modern clothes which consist of his leggings, a white undershirt, and a dark button up with the top two buttons undone. We’re talking and he’s smiling, but then all of a sudden he stops and his body goes rigid.
Anders:I don’t just sleep with anyone, you know. No way. Not until we’re married. Fenris: From what I gathered, you like a lot of things. Anders: But you’re homeless! And I’m not sleeping on the street. We need somewhere to live. Get a house, then we can get married. Fenris: Hm, an interesting thought. Anders: Somewhere to live would be nice. You know, like a house. I’m interested, but not in someone who doesn’t own their own house.
Varric: Those paper weren’t easy to forge, you know. Fenris: I appreciate your assistance. Varric: Why don’t you just sell the blighted place and be done with it? Fenris: Sentimental reasons?
Fenris: It is done. Welcome to my home. Anders: Do you mean that? Would you have me here? Living with you? Would you tell the world, the Knight-Commander, that you love an apostate and you will stand beside him? Fenris: I’ve thought about the answer a thousand times. If there is a future to be had, I will walk into it gladly at your side. Anders: For three years, I have lain awake every night aching for you. I’m still terrified I’ll wake up. Fenris: Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you. Anders: I love you.
“…And so that’s when the Revered Mother said, “Well that’s all well and good, but what have you done with my clothes?”’
Fenris gives an exasperated sigh and Varric laughs uproariously, clapping Isabela on the back as she smirks and refills her glass. Varric’s suite is now empty but for the three of them, their friends all having said their goodbyes and departed the Hanged Man for the night. Fenris is thinking of heading off himself, before he gets any more drunk, but Varric’s fire is warm and his chair is comfortable.
“So,” says Varric, leaning forward to look at Fenris. “You and Blondie have been together a while now, and to all our surprise, you haven’t killed each other yet. And tomorrow’s Lovers’ Day… what are you getting him?”
Fenris snorts, contemplating his glass of ale. “I was not planning on getting anything. We do not have Lovers’ Day in Tevinter, but from what I’ve heard it sounds quite bloodthirsty. Is it really customary to give your lover a heart?”
@breadedsinner Honestly I’m cool with the activism he did, I just wish it didn’t come with emotional manipulation/abuse, racism against elves, sexual harassment, slavery apologism, double standards for blood magic, romanticising of Tevinter, blatant murder of innocents, and martyring an entire group without their consent.
It would also be nice if his stans didn’t pretend like Sebastian was the epitome of privilege when the narrative makes it clear he didn’t have a choice
anders and fenris play wicked grace with each other and a couple of the other companions which makes me so happy beccaue that means he isnt like alone all the time but its also sad in a silly way how hes terrible at the game.
They may argue all day but they still know when to call it a day and just relax with a deck of cards.