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Chapter Text

Anders groaned, rubbing his eyes as he scanned the room for anything he might have missed. This pointless exercise in misery hadn't even started, and already he wanted to go home. Seeing nothing, his passport, wallet and keys in his jacket pocket (zipped; he wasn’t making that mistake again), all that remained was to grab the bag and leave. Which he did, reluctantly, shivering in the blast of icy air that cut to his bones as soon as he stepped outside. “Andraste’s tits, Hawke, you’d better not be late.” He slumped against the nearest wall and wrapped his coat tighter around himself, eyes on the street. Why couldn’t the Maker have arranged things better? No one wanted to travel during the arse end of the year just to be miserable with people they were obligated to love. 

Luckily for his icy fingers, he didn’t have to wait long. A distinctive engine, like a dragon with a cough, heralded the arrival of his best friend and biggest annoyance. Hawke’s clear blue eyes laughed at him, almost hidden under their mop of spiky black hair, as Anders wrenched the door open and all but threw himself into the passenger seat. The car barely ran, but the heater worked, and that was all he cared about for the moment.

“Nice to see you too!” Hawke said, amused.

“Yes, hello Hawke, it’s good to see you, what have you been up to?” Anders held his hands out towards the dash, where the warm air was blowing. “Try not to do anything dangerous while I’m gone, yes?”

They rolled their eyes. “Yes, mother.” They merged into the evening traffic, which thankfully wasn’t awful tonight. 

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t care,” Anders mustered a smile for them. Hawke was his favourite disaster person. “What have you been up to? I’ve barely seen you for weeks.” 

“I’ve been putting out fires, y’know how it goes around here,” Hawke dismissed, waving their hand flippantly. “But I do have a favour to ask of you...”

“It always worries me when you open conversations with that,” Anders groaned.

“It’s not anything big, not really. It’s just that Fenris needs to get out of town for a few weeks but he doesn’t really have anywhere to go,” Hawke began and Anders covered his face with both hands to groan into his palms, already seeing where this request was going.

“Hawke…” Anders said. “Please tell me you aren’t asking me what I think you’re asking me.”

“Listen, I’ve already got him a ticket on the flight with you, he just needs someplace to lay low. No one would think that he’d be with you. And you’re always complaining about being alone with your parents; now you wouldn’t be alone!”

“I think I would rather be alone. I really don’t want to spend this entire trip hearing him agree with my father about how much of a waste of space I am, thanks Hawke. I mean really, in what world would this go well?”

Anders made the mistake of pulling his hands away from his face to look at Hawke, who had pushed their bottom lip out in a trembling pout, their eyes large and glistening in puppy eyes that they knew Anders couldn’t resist. 

“Fine,” he huffed in agreement. “But for the record, the puppy eyes are just unfair. I’ll do it, but I’m gonna complain the entire time. And you owe me one.”

“Oh, Anders! I knew I could count on you!” Hawke said, pout falling away to be replaced by a sunny grin. “Thank you!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Anders grumbled.

“Great! Because Fen is already waiting for you at the airport! Thank you, Anders!”

Fenris was in fact waiting for them at the airport. He was as devastatingly handsome as he always was, with his dark skin highlighted by the twining silvery lines that branched over what exposed skin peeked out from beneath his dark clothes. He had a leather jacket on that added an air of danger, and a pillow tucked under his arm, his phone in his hand which he was scrolling through idly when Hawke pulled their car up to the curb and Anders got out.

“Bye! You boys have fun! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Hawke called to them once Anders had retrieved his bag. Anders replied with a hand gesture that told Hawke where they could shove their advice and slammed the iffy door shut. Fenris barely had time to raise his eyes from the screen before the car coughed away, trailing Hawke’s laughter like the smoke from its exhaust. Leaving Anders and Fenris staring at each other in awkward silence.

“Hi.” Anders shuffled his feet slightly, feeling the wind bite. The elf raised an eyebrow, but, typically, didn’t reply. “Well, this trip is off to an amazing start,” Anders muttered under his breath, hitching his bag up higher. Out loud, he asked, “Shall we go in? It’s brass monkeys out here; I don’t know how you’re not blue yet.” 

Ignoring the lack of response, he walked through the automatic doors and into the blindingly bright lights of the airport terminal, Fenris his brooding shadow. Maker, I’m surprised he’s not dimming the room, Anders thought in amusement, imagining the elf trapped in a moving patch of shadow. At least he wasn’t talking yet. Any time they talked, they argued. About everything. And Anders hated it. 

If he’d been allowed, he’d have liked Fenris. The elf was dryly witty, intelligent (which wasn’t always the same thing), broody and bloody gorgeous. He was generous to his friends and steadfast in his beliefs, multilingual and, oh did he mention? Double-take, ohmygod, drool-worthy, gorgeous. But apparently the man had taken one look at Anders and decided that they could never be friends, and his views on magic regulation were a huge turn-off. Never mind that mage regulations were mostly aimed at elves, since they made up the biggest proportion of all magic users. So Fenris was essentially advocating against himself! It made no sense! 

And how about how he always scoffed and rolled his eyes when Anders tried to discuss Templar brutality? Like it wasn’t a well-documented fact! 

Anders may have been feeling a little broody himself as they shuffled through check in, jostled by the Wintersend crowds. Maker, he hated everything about flying. He felt the eyes on the side of his face and glanced up at Fenris, who had his pillow tucked tightly against his chest.

“You do not seem to be enthusiastic about this trip,” Fenris rumbled quietly, barely audible below the general hustle and bustle.

“That’s because I’m not,” Anders shrugged, looking back at the tips of his boots. He really should have cleaned them before he left. He tried rubbing one against his trouser leg, but it didn’t make it better. Oh well…

“Why?”

He looked up again, in the middle of handing his passport over to the airport staff. “Why what?” 

“Why aren’t you excited to visit your family?” Fenris recited patiently, like he could keep asking all day until he got an answer that satisfied. The woman behind the check in desk blinked rapidly, unused to having her spiel interrupted by such a beautiful man. 

“My parents and I don’t see eye-to-eye, alright?” Anders snapped, uncomfortable and dreading… pretty much everything until he stepped through his own front door again. “There’s a reason I don’t live in Ferelden anymore.”

Thank Andraste’s soiled panties, the elf dropped it with a small nod. Anders really didn’t want to explain. Oh good, check in was done. Now for security.

When Anders was pulled aside as part of the random security checks, his reaction was… interesting. Where Fenris would have expected mild surprise or exasperation, Anders bristled like a porcupine. Not that he said a word, to Fenris or to the security agent who had picked him out of the line. He just handed Fenris his bag with a momentary apologetic glance and followed the man, shoulders tight and golden head high. 

“You can scan me, but it will definitely go off; it always does.” Fenris heard him say as he loaded their gear onto the conveyor belt to be x-rayed or whatever it was they did. 

The guard muttered something. “My left knee. There’s pins in it.” The mage shrugged, deceptively casual. “Old war wound.” 

And that was a lie, in Fenris’ estimation, watching the way Anders’ shoulders sat, the tension in his mouth. A lie, but not much of one. Curious. He shrugged back into his jacket and picked up their things, moving to stand a little out of the way of the stream of people. A few other people were pulled aside for personal scanning. About half of them seemed as resignedly angry as Anders, and several were elves. Sure enough, the handheld scanner beeped obnoxiously when it reached Anders’ knee, drawing several eyes, and causing him to straighten his back even further, almost looming over the security guard.

At another muttered instruction, the mage huffed and bent over to roll up his trouser leg, revealing a knee that was thick with old, twisted scars. “Satisfied?” The guard ran the scanner over his knee again, and then the length of his leg, eliciting that same horrible beeping each time. Finally, the man nodded and let Anders go. He shook out his trouser leg with a sharp little kick and stalked over to Fenris, face like a thundercloud. 

“Maker, I hate that. They do it every time! Can’t they find some other minority to harass?! Thanks,” he added, almost absently as he took his bag and jacket. 

“Mage, what-” Fenris began, slightly bewildered.

“Yes, exactly!” Anders exclaimed. “Mage. You watch; half the people they pull out of line are mages - and most of the rest are elves!” He scanned Fenris’ face for a moment, then checked the enormous clock outside the duty free. “We have time. Watch.”

They settled in, standing in an unobtrusive corner and watching the security line. “Mage,” Anders said confidently, as an elderly woman passed the handheld scanner without incident. “Mage… elf… mage… oh, dwarf for variety, and to prove they’re not profiling… elf and a mage; got a two for one there…”

“You are just guessing,” Fenris told him bluntly. “You can’t possibly know-”

“Yes I can,” Anders interrupted him again, brow still creased with something like anger. “Watch the passports. See? Mages have red passports; everyone else has green or blue or black.” Sure enough, as Fenris watched, almost everyone who carried a red passport was pulled from the line. It was subtle, but now he was paying attention, it was obvious. 

“Alright, you have made your point,” Fenris acquiesced. Even so he couldn’t stop watching as security pulled more people out of line, all either holding a red passport or elvhen with the random human or dwarf mixed in.

“Yeah we should get going anyway, our gate’s this way,” Anders said and set off confidently through the concourse. 

Fenris followed him, grateful for the mage’s height as it made it hard to lose him in the crush of people travelling for the holidays. For other people, Fenris was sure the crowd would have been annoying at most, but the elf couldn’t stop fearing that someone would recognise him and grab him. He cursed Hawke again for leaving him vulnerable with only Anders to rely on. Anders, though clearly anxious about the trip and on edge from the debacle with security, did not know that they might have been in danger, from the way he didn’t shy away from people buffeting against him. Although that would have drawn attention as well.

By the time they made it to the gate, Fenris' teeth ached from how hard he had them clenched. They found empty chairs near the gate and waited in silence for their flight to start boarding. Fenris knew that while he and the healer had their differences, Anders was at his core a good man and wouldn’t throw Fenris to the wolves, such as they were. That did nothing to quiet the terror that raged in his head like radio static. A thousand terrible possibilities played through his head; men with guns storming the terminal, their flight being hijacked, Anders telling him to fend for himself once they reached - Fenris checked the ticket he had clenched in his fist still - Fereldan, especially since he had not had time to even let his family know he was bringing an extra person. He didn’t know many people who would be alright with housing another person, especially during the holidays. Besides Hawke, but Fenris had found they were an outlier in most things. If Anders’ family did not allow him to stay, he would be alone in a foreign country with no weapon to defend himself, should he be tracked down. This whole situation was an unmitigated nightmare.

Fenris was so lost in his morbid thoughts that he missed whatever was droned over the PA until Anders stood up. The elf looked up at him in surprise and Anders raised both eyebrows at him.

“We’re getting ready to board. You’re over to the left side but I have to go over there. It shouldn’t take too long.”

“Why do we have to go separate ways?” Fenris’ heart jumped in his chest at being apart from his only ally amongst all the people already filing into a line before the gate.

Anders waved his red passport at Fenris casually. “They won’t let me board until I take enough magebane to last the flight.”

“Oh,” Fenris said, frowning some. 

He could see why it was necessary; there was no other way to disarm a mage, even with all the checks they had gone through in security. They could easily hijack a plane with just magic. But on the other hand, part of him argued, Anders was a healer and being dosed with magebane would mean that he would be rendered useless if there was an emergency that went beyond basic first aid on the flight.

“You should be able to wait for me to board the plane if you want,” Anders said, frowning at the elf’s trepidation. “At least this way you know that I’m not going to go nuts and try and take over the flight,” he tried to joke.

“It was not a concern of mine to begin with. You have nothing to gain from doing so.”

Anders’ lips quirked in a sad little smile as he looked back at the gathering line of mages being dosed after having their boarding passes checked and cleared.

“I doubt any of them do either. We’re all just people travelling for the holidays. And more hijacking attempts have been made by people without magic than mages. But either way, magebane, yay,” he jerked his chin in the direction of the faster moving line Fenris was to join. “I’ll see you on the other side, yeah?”

“Of course,” Fenris said and rose from his own seat.

Despite there being more people in his line, Fenris’ side moved through the process much faster and the elf found himself loitering uncertainly on the jetway for Anders to appear through the doorway to the portable hallway that connected the gate to the plane. When the blonde did appear, he looked disgruntled.

“Don’t know they bother with shining flashlights in our mouths,” he groused. “Magebane strips dissolve and absorb into our bloodstream, so hiding them under our tongues would be useless.”

“Tell me about it,” an elderly elf who had come in just ahead of Anders agreed. “But if you refuse they bring in the dogs, hit you with a smite and you still can’t get on the plane, so just let them do what they think they need to if it makes them feel better.”

“True,” Anders conceded with a strained smile. “At least we’re allowed to fly at all; there were talks of regulations letting airlines deny anyone with magical abilities on their flights.”

“I heard about that; glad it didn’t go through. Have a good flight, you two.”

“Thanks, you too!” Anders told the man with a cheerful smile. Despite that, he was still tense at Fenris’ side. “Well, off we go,” he said to Fenris, tone quieter as they made their way onto the aeroplane together.

If Anders had hoped that they’d at least be put in seats that were far, far apart, those hopes were dashed as soon as he actually looked at his ticket. Not only had Hawke booked Fenris a seat, they’d upgraded them both to first class. Seats B1 and B2. Lovely. Anders would almost prefer to be in his plain old cheap economy seat, if it meant that he didn’t have to rub elbows with Fenris for the entire three-hour flight. Almost. He glanced back at the elf, but before the words “Aisle or window?” could even leave his lips, Fenris dumped his pillow into the aisle seat and glared at him, obviously daring him to argue. Okay. That solved that then. 

He squeezed past, trying to touch the elf as little as possible. First class this may be, but it was still an aeroplane, and he barely had room for his knees. Still, it was much better than the seat he had booked. He brightened up more as the hostess came round with glasses of not-really-champaign for the first class seats. “Cheers,” he murmured under the bustle of the other passengers boarding. “I don’t know why you’d want to join me on this miserable little trip, but at least the drinks are good so far.” And the knockoff champagne washed away the taste of magebane. Mostly.

“I certainly didn’t want to; Hawke insisted.” Fenris informed him sourly. He hadn’t taken off his leather jacket, and he had his pillow clamped close to his chest, glass in his free hand. They brushed elbows when Anders shifted.

“Well, don’t worry, you’ll have a wonderful Wintersend with my father, since you share opinions on how worthless I am.” Anders’ bitter grumbling was interrupted by another hostess, who asked to see their tickets but left before he’d wrestled it out of his jacket. He watched her go with a puzzled frown, before refocusing on Fenris. “Why are you here, anyway? Hawke didn’t exactly go into detail…”

“That is none of your business, mage.” Fenris snapped, shooting him a glare and clutching his pillow a little tighter.

“It kind of is,” Anders pointed out reasonably. “If it’s something that could come back to bite me-”

“Leave it alone.” Fenris almost snarled. Anders actually paused, swallowed his sharp retort and looked at the elf. Yes, yes, unreasonably gorgeous, achieving a ‘slumming rockstar’ look without trying, but Anders had known him for years now; had, rather unwillingly, learned to read him. And under the anger and disdain there was… fear. Fenris was scared. The idea was so shocking that Anders’ mouth actually dropped open in surprise. He’d never known Fenris to be afraid of anything, up to and including a gunfight with slavers.

“I- Alright,” he said softly, looking away. That moment of understanding had left him feeling uncomfortable. “If I can do anything to help…”

“No.” Fenris relaxed a fraction, his shoulders lowering an inch or two. “Just allowing me to come with you is enough. More than enough.”

“I can’t guarantee it’s going to be very fun. Or fun at all. To be honest, I wouldn’t be going if my mother hadn’t guilted me into it,” Anders admitted.

Fenris scoffed and rolled his eyes. The dismissal automatically put Anders on edge and he tensed in preparation for the cutting remark that was sure to follow.

And there it was. “I would love to have a home to go back to, yet here you are scorning the one you have.”

“It’s not my home.” The words were out before Anders could censor them, harsh with the feelings he’d been trying to bury. “I haven't had a home since I was twelve years old.” At Fenris’ curious glance, he bit his lip and looked away. This was not something he wanted to discuss with the elf, of all people, but he was going to get a front row seat to all of it soon enough. 

His argument earned a displeased rumble from Fenris. “Count yourself lucky that you have people who love you. That is a home, so I’ve been told.”

Anders let the bitter chuckle escape. No point in hiding it, not in this situation. “Just wait until you’ve met them; you can tell me how lucky I am once we’re on the way back to Kirkwall.” Fenris didn’t seem to have anything to say to that, and they sat in awkward silence through the pre-flight announcements and takeoff.

Chapter Text

Anders barely held in his groan of relief when the announcement came that they could start exiting the plane. His knee was stiff from being bent and immobile for so long, but he stayed sitting while passengers around them scrambled for their things. He had learned several flights ago that people bumping into him were liable to knock him clean off his feet, especially with his bum knee still smarting and aching, unable to provide the stability he needed to remain standing. 

“Mage, we can go now,” Fenris told him, sounding irritable that Anders was not making moves to leave. 

“I usually let other people go first, so no one runs me over. Impatient sods,” he told him.

Fenris raised an eyebrow before rising elegantly to his feet and stepping into the aisle. When the person he had stepped in front of made an impatient noise and tried to go around them, Fenris stilled their progress by refusing to budge and levelling them with a deadly glare. 

A line of people began to form behind the blockade the elf had made with his body and Anders realised belatedly that Fenris was holding the line up for him to ensure no one ran into him while he retrieved his bag from the overhead compartment. Anders clambered to his feet and got his luggage down as quickly as he was able, before limping his way down the aisle and off the plane with Fenris lurking at his back. Even with his demeanour of put-upon impatience, the act had been… sweet? Which was not a word Anders had ever thought he would associate with Fenris.

Leaving the airport in Ferelden was much easier than entering it in Kirkwall. Anders never brought enough to need to check a bag so they didn’t have to bother with the baggage claim area. It wasn’t long before they were out at the rental and passenger pick up area, the night air cold and refreshing after the stuffy plane air and crowd of people inside the airport itself.

The healer scanned the line of cars idling waiting to pick up people pouring from the doors, looking for his father’s beat-up pickup truck and not seeing it. With a sigh, Anders wrestled his cell phone from his jacket pocket and called his father’s number.

“Yes?”

“The plane just landed, are you in the parking lot or…?”

“Oh, so I already have to feed and house you for the holidays and now you just expect me to come drive you around too like a middle schooler?”

“Ama said you would come pick me up,” Anders protested weakly. 

“Figure it out, you’re a big boy,” his father dismissed before the line went dead.

“Guess we’re getting a cab then,” Anders told Fenris. 

“You didn’t get a rental?”

“Waste of money, they're ridiculously expensive, especially during the holidays. C’mon let’s see if there’s any cabs free out front.”

“Not very good planning: you did know you were coming beforehand.”

“And my mother insisted someone would be here to pick me up and not to worry about it. But yeah, I’m the idiot,” Anders snapped. “Just come on already. Bitching at me won’t get us there any faster.”

Fenris followed him to the front loading area where one last lonely taxi was idling, clearly waiting for any passengers who were in need of a ride. After checking with the driver that he was not waiting for someone in particular, they climbed into the back together, both opting to keep their possessions with them rather than in the trunk. Anders gave the elf driving the cab his parent’s address and settled in for the ride, which was spent mostly in tense silence.

When they arrived, the cabbie turned and told them the total for the fare, which made Anders wince. No doubt they hiked it during the holidays. He dug his wallet out and fumbled his card free.

“Cash only, I’m afraid,” the driver informed him casually. Anders frowned but before he could argue that he didn’t have the cash with him for the fare, just his card, Fenris was already thrusting a fistful of money at the cabbie. His expression was thunderous as he told the driver to keep the change before getting out.

“How would you have even paid if I weren’t here?” Fenris demanded. “You think nothing through at all,” he griped.

“Yes you’ve made your thoughts very clear,” Anders growled and felt himself becoming more and more tense, more and more snappish with the elf, until finally, too-quickly they were met by his mother rushing down the porch steps at them. Once she reached them, she went up on her toes to throw her arms around Anders. 

“I’m so glad to see you! It’s awfully late, you couldn’t have gotten an earlier flight? And you didn’t tell me you were bringing anyone with you! I just hoped I made enough for everyone for dinner… So, who’s this?” She asked, rapid-fire, until Anders peeled himself away from her embrace.

“Hello, ama. This is Fenris. He’s my…” he cast around for an appropriate adjective, eventually settling for, “friend.” His mother’s eyes lit up and he realised with a sinking feeling just how that pause had been interpreted. 

“Oh! I'm very glad to meet you, Fenris! Wojciech, why didn’t you tell me you were bringing someone? I’d have-”

“It was a little last minute,” Fenris told her smoothly, gracing her with a smile that was a good deal nicer than anything he’d ever aimed at Anders. 

“He decided to surprise me at the airport,” Anders muttered a little sourly. “I didn't know he was coming before then.”

“Oh, how lovely! It’s always better to spend Wintersend with those you care about, isn’t it? Well, come on, let’s get you inside and settled. You’re in your old room, Wojciech, and I’m sure there’s room for two…” 

“Maybe we should make up the spare room for him ama, I’m not sure Fenris would-”

“Nonsense! If he was sweet enough to surprise you at the airport then I’m sure he wants to share a room with you! You two don’t have to hide it, I’m just happy you brought your boyfriend to meet us!”

“Boy… friend…” Fenris repeated, too stunned to correct her. Beside him, Anders’ mouth hung open in shock.

“Enough chit chat, get your bags and show the boy up to your room, Wojciech,” Anders' father ordered him, coming to stand behind his mother. Anders’ mouth snapped shut with an audible sound.

“Yes, sir,” Anders answered and practically scrambled to comply.

Fenris frowned at the response and how Anders’ shoulders hunched. He had never known the blonde to be easily cowed, not even in an argument with templars. Before he could ponder that or Anders’ newly revealed first name too much, Anders’ father held out his hand expectantly until Fenris shook it. Once they had released each other’s hands, Anders’ father gave a decisive nod, evidently pleased with his grip. Fenris, used to such posturing, ignored it in favour of taking stock of Anders’ parents and how they compared to the man himself. 

Anders’ father was a tall man and had the same nose and mouth as Anders, though he had a much broader build than his son, who was already broader than Fenris himself. His eyes were brown and his hair a dirtier blonde. Anders’ mother was shorter than both her husband and her son, and her amber eyes and strawberry blonde hair clearly showed themselves in Anders’ colouring. 

“It’s good to have you. I’m Johann and this is my wife Myrta,” his gaze lingered on Fenris’ pointed ears and tattoos for a bit too long to be comfortable. “You’re not a vegetarian or anything, are you?”

“No sir. Not a huge fan of fish but I’ll eat whatever you are gracious enough to provide. Thank you for having me.”

Fenris was saved from more awkward conversation by Anders coming by with their luggage. The mage looked at him in surprise when Fenris took his pillow from him before the mage nodded towards the house. 

“C’mon, I’ll show you our room, sweetheart,” Anders told him with a teasing grin.

“Wojciech, carry his things for him, at least. He’s still a guest!” Myrta chided before leaning closer to Fenris with a sly smile. “After two visits, you’re family!”

“I can carry my own things, really,” Fenris protested.

Johann frowned. “Wojciech-”

“I’ve got it, they’re right,” Anders insisted and practically snatched the pillow from Fenris. The blonde had a look on his face that belonged more on a prey animal being hunted by a predator than someone being welcomed home for the holidays by their parents.

Fenris, left with no other recourse and not wishing to argue further in front of strangers, settled for following Anders into the house empty-handed. Once they had started up the stairs and were out of sight of his parents, Anders handed Fenris his pillow back.

“You can laugh if you want. It’s ridiculous,” the mage told him in a hushed tone.

“Hmm?”

“My name.”

Fenris had known that Anders was a nickname, a shortened version of his surname of Andersen. All of his name badges read “Dr. Andersen” and it wasn’t a hard connection to make. It also wasn’t as if he hadn’t heard Varric, Isabela and Hawke pester the man, wanting to know his given name. Those three could smell embarrassing things from a mile away and had honed in on his lack of a first name relatively quickly. Fenris had never seen it as important; his own name was not the one he was born with but it was the one he associated with himself the most and so he had kept it. The mage had the same freedom and Fenris would honour it.

“Mage, if I was going to laugh at you it would be for the ridiculous cat socks you’re wearing. Not a name you did not choose.”

Anders' eyes were bright when he turned to grin at Fenris, his demeanour unarguably relieved. Fenris tried not to notice how handsome he was with a genuine smile on his stubbled face.

“I’ll have you know these socks are the height of fashion. I paid the very steep price of five silver at Lirene’s for them.”

Fenris snorted and shook his head. “Well then, my apologies to your socks.”

Anders’ laughter was a hushed and hidden thing, like a secret between them.

The evening had been… uncomfortable. Dinner was spent in awkward silence barely covered by Myrta’s cheerful chatter, about people and places Anders had surely not seen for a decade and more. The mage tried his best to respond, but it was clear to Fenris at least that his heart wasn’t really in it, and he barely ate more than a few bites. Fenris was puzzled; with only Hawke’s and his own to compare to, this was not what he’d expected a family to look like. He could feel Johann’s scrutiny from across the table, landing equally on the mage and himself, and it did nothing to make him feel more comfortable. Damn Hawke and their stupid, stupid ideas. Fenris was going to break their nose when he got back to Kirkwall, and he suspected Anders would help him.

Myrta’s babbling wasn’t helping much either: Peter’s boy and Julianna’s girl, you remember her, she moved to Denerim, and Old Thom’s farm, and your Uncle sold three fields, and the Chantry Mother, you don’t know her dear, she came after you left and on and on, right up to “And whatever happened to that nice boy you went to school with, Wojtek?” By this point, they’d been bustled onto the sofa together, ‘so you two can snuggle up’, so they were close enough that Fenris could feel Anders freeze beside him. 

“I- he died, ama.” Anders replied quietly, not meeting anyone’s eyes. The hand that Fenris could see, the one hidden from his parents, clenched into a fist, bony white knuckles tight against the skin. He stayed silent; he had heard about Karl, even if it was only in the vaguest of terms.

Johann snorted suddenly, the explosive sound making Anders flinch a little. “Well, good riddance. He was a terrible influence on you.” 

The mage withdrew even further, although Fenris was fairly certain that he was shaking with rage , not fear. In a move that surprised even himself, he reached out and brushed his fingers over Anders’ knuckles, then took his hand in an effort to unclench the fingers before he hurt himself. He glanced up to find the mage staring at him in open shock, and his ears heated even as he found himself smiling slightly at the irony of the situation. Here he was, trying to comfort the mage, someone he could barely stand on a good day.

Yet Anders had allowed it. Had twined their fingers together and now held on as if Fenris’ touch was the only thing saving him from drowning. And it might be; drowning in his memories, in the anger his father had so effortlessly pulled forth, in his grief. Anders flushed faintly, but he didn’t let go of Fenris’ hand, even when he turned back to his mother’s apparently endless chatter.

Fenris tuned her out, too consumed by how well his and Anders’ hands fit together, the absent-minded way the mage swept his thumb over Fenris’ knuckles every now and then, the rough-smooth texture of his skin. It wasn’t until Anders’ gave his hand a meaningful squeeze that Fenris realised Myrta had said his name and his attention was brought sharply back to the conversation.

“-didn’t realise your people celebrated holidays like Wintersend.”

My people? Fenris thought, lost as to what she could be referring to before it clicked. 

“Ama, Fenris is from Tevinter,” Anders broke into his thoughts. “He’s not Dalish.”

“Oh, I just thought…” She made a vague gesture to her own face and throat, “your tattoos, they looked like the ones those Dalish all get.”

“Oh- no, actually these are-“ Fenris cut himself off, not having a good lie to explain them away and unwilling to reveal the truth behind the markings, “that’s not important, but I’m not-“

“Tevinter, ay?” Johann interrupted. “Deviants and mage lovers the whole lot. No wonder you’re with Wojciech.”

Something interesting happened then; Anders, who had sat passively by as his father had heaped insult after insult upon everything from the healer’s work ethic to his appearance, bristled at the implied slight at Fenris. The elf recognized the look on Anders face immediately as his ‘I’m about to mouth off despite the danger of physical harm to myself’ face. It was one he normally only saw around templars and anti-mage propagandists. And, occasionally, Fenris himself when he was in a particularly bad mood.

“Fenris is a guest here and that was r-“ Fenris cut him off before he could finish the reprimand, neatly sidestepping what he was sure would be a blow up of epic proportions. 

“It’s fine, the statement is largely true; deviants make up a mass of the population of Tevinter. I hated it there and it’s why I left. I like Anders for other reasons. He’s told you that he has been running a free clinic in the poorest part of the city, which he set up himself?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Fenris could see how Anders was gaping at him in surprise. Fenris couldn’t blame him; he had not known he planned to defend the mage until he had already spoken. 

“Waste of time, if you ask me,” Johann sniffed.

“I am certain you would not say so if you were sick or injured,” Fenris replied before Anders could, rising to his feet. “Many of his patients are Fereldans anyhow, rather than native Marchers.” He tugged Anders up by the hand he still held. The mage was staring at him in something approaching awe mingled liberally with confusion. 

“If you’ll excuse us, Wojciech promised me that the stars were far more beautiful here than in Kirkwall, and it’s getting late.”

“How romantic!” Myrta crooned at them. She watched as they both pulled on their coats and boots with rapt eyes. “Oh dear, don’t forget the gun! Just in case, better safe than sorry.”

Is she… implying he might need to shoot me? Fenris thought, the shock making him freeze mid-motion, arm half in the sleeve of his leather jacket.

Anders turned back to his parents, a sudden fireball illuminating his face from below and casting his features in an eerie light. “Don’t worry, ama, I learned more than healing at that school. We’ll be fine.”

With the light dancing off the planes of his face, and the grim little smile he wore, he suddenly looked more like the Anders Fenris knew, at home in Kirkwall. It was an odd relief, seeing that. He reached to take the hand that held the fireball, ignoring the sharp gasp from Myrta, and the flames winked out without burning him. Anders turned back to him, golden and warm and human again. Fenris smiled slightly. “Come.” They slipped out before anyone could say anything more, heading out towards the barn and away from the house. 

The night was clear and cold, with that particular sparkling brightness that meant there was ice in the air. The moonlight drenched the farm with silver-blue light, and Fenris had the peculiar thought that it looked almost exactly like the light he cast when he lit his brands. 

They still hadn’t said anything. They walked casually, easily, towards where Fenris vaguely remembered seeing a pond. It was oddly… comfortable. Fenris still hadn’t let go of his hand.

“Why did your mother want you to bring a gun?” Fenris asked eventually.

“Bears and wolves are common out here. It’s kinda rare they come past the fences but it happens sometimes.”

Fenris nodded slowly in understanding. “I… can I ask…?”

“Ask me what?”

“About Karl. I remember Hawke called me to get you home from the hospital…” The mage had looked devastated, ragged and bloody and hollow, a broken scarecrow who was barely responsive. Fenris clearly recalled having to half-carry him away from the waiting room, wrists still scraped raw by the cuffs he’d been put into during the protest. Hawke had watched them leave with tense, frightened eyes as they waited with Carver for Bethany to be released. She’d had a severe allergic reaction to the magic suppressing grenades, and it had only been thanks to Anders that she had survived at all. Karl… hadn’t, and Fenris didn’t know any more than that. Hadn’t wanted to know more. Until now, anyway.

Anders faltered, finally dropping Fenris’ hand to wrap both arms around himself. “Heartfelt confessions, is it now?” When Fenris merely raised an eyebrow in response, he heaved an enormous sigh and nodded slowly, committing himself to the conversation. 

“I.. Karl… we…” he let out a sharp breath and tilted his head back to look at the stars, as if it were easier to speak to them than to Fenris. “We were both at that protest. I’d dragged him along, it was only right, only just, that we try to counter that disgusting racist bullshit.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, pre-empting the tears that clogged his throat. “Karl would never have been there if it wasn’t for me, and when the Templars brought out that smog-” He looked broken again in the moonlight, the shadow of that day stark on his face. Fenris took a slow, gentle step closer to him, but didn’t, couldn’t reach out to touch him. 

“Bethany went down, and we grabbed her and ran before it could get us too…So then I’m crouched in some filthy doorway and I’m trying to get her airways open and she’s got the biggest, most terrified eyes I’ve ever seen, and Karl,” his voice broke, but he took a deep breath and continued.

“Karl was out in front, trying to keep people off us, to give me room. He had a barrier up. That’s all , Fenris! A fucking barrier… and that bastard shot him, point-blank. Shattered his ribs, several of which punctured his lungs. And at the inquest the bastard who shot him was cleared of murder because ‘he was in fear for his life.’ I couldn’t do anything, I was already keeping Bethany breathing, and they gassed me as soon as they got to me, and I couldn’t get to him-” Anders let out a huge gasping sob, shoulders slumping under the weight of the memory. 

Fenris risked reaching out again and brushing his fingers against the mage’s forearm. Anders shook his head, tears shining in the silver light. Fenris had been suddenly struck with an uncomfortable memory of telling Hawke that the mages had been asking for trouble, going to that anti-mage protest. Looking back, he was surprised Hawke hadn’t punched him for that.

“If I’d been able to heal him, if they’d taken him to the fucking hospital as soon as he was injured… if we’d never gone to that fucking protest…”

“Then Bethany would be dead,” Fenris said with a calm he didn’t feel. “It was not your fault.”

“I should have gone alone. Karl didn’t want to go, he thought it was a bad idea. But I convinced him to go with me,” Anders shook his head and sighed. “Karl was a good man who died in such a horrible way. I still remember how he sounded, trying to breathe while they cuffed him. It echoes in my dreams sometimes. They had already shot him and they still cuffed him, then left us there to listen as he drowned in his own blood. He- he didn’t deserve that,” Anders ended in a whisper. 

His breathing hitched unevenly as he did his best to suppress the gut wrenching sobs that had erupted from him. Despite his efforts to stop them, tears continued to come, dripping off his chin, their trails gleaming under the cold light of the stars on his freckled skin. Fenris found himself wanting to brush his tears away, to draw him close and comfort him, but such acts were well outside of his wheelhouse. He brushed his fingers over the mage’s shoulder, uncertain and awkward.

“No, he did not. I’m sorry Anders, I know he was dear to you.”

Anders wiped at his face with the heel of his hand. Sniffling, he cautiously held his hand out to Fenris for the elf to take. The mage’s skin was cold when Fenris took it but his smile, though wobbly and strained, was genuine.

“He was. He was very dear to me,” Anders sucked in a shaky breath, “After he- after, I had to go through his things in our apartment and I found a ring. I never thought… that anyone would want that, not with me. But he did. And maybe he would have been better off without me,” the mage let out a breath and met Fenris’ eyes. “Thank you for staying with me, you could have gone and gotten a hotel room and left me to deal with all of this but you didn’t. Even though I’m an emotional mess.”

“You are grieving and recovering from a traumatic event. I… am glad to be here,” Fenris told him.

Anders smiled at him and tugged on Fenris’ hand. “It’s cold and I’m sure my parents have gone to bed by now. Wanna head back?”

“I am with you.”

Chapter Text

Fenris had seen a glimpse of Anders’ room when they had put their things there when they first arrived, but now that they were preparing for bed he was actually taking in the specifics of it. There were a few posters on the walls with either funny effigies of cats doing improbable things or what Fenris assumed were bands. The bed was very small and the comforter had cats chasing balls of yarn across it. It looked, for the lack of a better description, like it belonged to a child. Even the diminutive desk was covered in stickers.

“Very grown-up room, mage,” Fenris joked, examining an old-style wanted poster for a ‘very cute cat’. The reward section offered pets and purring for capture. Anders blushed so brightly he appeared sunburned.

“In my defence, this room hasn’t been changed since I was eleven or twelve. I haven’t lived here since then. If it makes you more comfortable, I can sleep on the floor and you can have the bed.”

Fenris gave the wooden floor a sceptical look before he shook his head. He had slept in worse conditions than sharing with a wiry mage. Had slept in worse conditions with the mage, if the Hanged Man’s distressingly sticky tables counted.

“We can share the bed.”

“Okay, well if you want to take a shower, the bathroom is just across the hall.”

“I prefer to shower in the morning,” Fenris told him.

“Thank the Maker, I’m gonna go shower and get changed for bed.”

When Anders returned from his shower, he found Fenris had settled in bed still wearing the shirt he had been wearing all day. The blankets were pushed down enough to show that he had taken off his jeans and was lounging in just his underwear. When the healer raised an eyebrow Fenris mirrored him.

“This was all last minute, I didn’t have time to pack any clothes.”

“I have some—“ Anders began before he remembered that they were in his childhood bedroom and not his apartment. None of the clothes that still filled the dresser would fit the elf, even with Fenris being smaller than Anders. In addition he had only packed one set of night clothes. “Actually I got nothing. We’ll have to go into town to get you clothes later.”

“I have made do for longer with less,” Fenris dismissed.

“Right,” Anders said weakly.

He flicked off the main light so that just the lamp on his nightstand remained on. Anders felt hyper aware of Fenris’ presence as he got into the bed with him, doing his best not to encroach on his space on the tiny mattress. Once settled and absolutely not touching the elf in any way, Anders reached up to click the lamp off, plunging them into darkness only broken by the moonlight that bled in around the edges of the curtains.

“Goodnight, Fenris,” Anders whispered to the dark as he laid down.

“Goodnight, mage.”

Anders hadn’t expected to fall asleep easily, already a light sleeper out of necessity and practically clinging to the edge of the bed. And he couldn’t stop noticing the warmth Fenris was putting off even without being close enough to touch. Despite all that, Anders was asleep between one blink and the next, more at ease with someone he trusted to watch his back as he slept. There were no physical threats here, however, just emotional ones.

Fenris was impressed. So far this morning the mage had managed to avoid eye contact with everyone, especially himself. He’d woken up when Myrta had, the muffled footsteps more than enough to bring him from the Fade, and found that in the night Anders had reached across their shared bed. His large hand rested over Fenris’ heart, and the mage actually looked… peaceful.

It was a look that Fenris had never seen on his face before, smoothing the lines that stress had placed there, mouth slack with sleep. Usually, Anders was like a perpetual motion engine, unable to stay still for more than a moment, mind twisting and turning and mouth hurrying to catch up. He’d found himself oddly unwilling to move and break the impression. The touch was not unpleasant, so he’d allowed himself to rest a little longer, observe the dark rings under Anders’ eyes, and how the morning sunlight picked out the red-gold tones as it crept across his hair.

When a door downstairs had slammed shut, it broke the moment. Anders bolted awake, eyes flying open even as he instinctively snatched his hand back, curling into a tight protective ball. Fenris had watched in mild fascination as his eyes went from asleep to alert in less than a second, scanning the room as if looking for threats. Another few moments, and he appeared to recognise Fenris, and then the room, and relaxed. That was an interesting reaction, and not one he’d thought to see from the mage.

“Morning,” Anders had cleared his throat awkwardly, already sitting up and rummaging for clothes in the tattered suitcase he’d brought. “Sleep well? I didn’t, but then I never do…” He trailed off, clutching a clean shirt to his chest. “I’m going to…” he waved in the general direction of the bathroom. “Do you want to borrow some of my clothes? You didn’t bring anything, feel free to pick something of mine…” And he’d sidled off before Fenris could find a break in the flow of words. And he’d not made eye contact even when Fenris showed up to breakfast wearing a shirt that was far too large on him, but smelled like elfroot and petrichor.

“Can we borrow the truck today? We needed to run into town to pick some stuff up,” Anders asked.

“That will have to wait until tomorrow,” Johann said without looking up from his newspaper, which meant that he missed the disgruntled look Anders shot at him.

“Why? Do we have plans today?”

“Well, I figured you and your new boyfriend could help me on the ranch. I need to ride out and check the fences in the east pasture,” Johann folded his newspaper closed and set it on the table next to his plate. He levelled Anders with an unimpressed look as he did so.

“Oh, sir, I’m sure Fen-“

Anders was interrupted by his father slapping a hand down on the table. Fenris only managed not to startle through years of exposure to such sudden displays of anger. Myrta did not even pause in her motions of dishing out breakfast. Anders tried to hide it, but Fenris knew him well enough to spot the flinch at the harsh sound. And there was the matter of the way Fenris had only heard the blonde call his father ‘sir’ throughout their entire visit. It hadn’t felt out of place at the time but now that he looked back on it, something about the use of the title unsettled Fenris.

“You’re not getting out of doing some of the work around here. It’s bad enough you never come to help or show any interest in this ranch, I won’t have you avoiding responsibility while we’re housing and feeding you and your boyfriend for the holidays.”

“Dear…” Myrta protested but his father snorted.

“Stop coddling them, Myrta,” Johann snapped. “Now, you two finish eating and come saddle up your horses.”

Anders sighed and nodded. “Yes, sir,” he agreed quietly. Fenris frowned slightly, still unused to this non-combative version of Anders. It didn’t suit him at all; pale and wan where usually he was passionate fire and gleaming gold.

The blonde didn’t eat much more breakfast, instead pushing the food around his plate, shoulders tense and with a horribly blank look on his face. Once Fenris had eaten his fill, Anders’ father got up and meandered towards the door. He left his plate on the table, clearly for his wife to deal with, and stamped into a pair of tall boots that stood by the back door.

“Well boy, it’s clear you’re not even going to appreciate your mother’s cooking so let’s get to work already.”

“Yes, sir,” Anders mumbled and stood up jerkily. Unlike his father, he collected his and Fenris’ plates and washed them off in the sink before he followed his father out.

“Thank you for breakfast,” Fenris told Myrta, who waved him off.

“No need to thank me. Sorry about Wojciech and his father, they have always butted heads.” Fenris suppressed the snort of laughter at Anders’ given name and nodded.

“I can see that,” he told her. “I better get out there before they leave me behind.”

“Have fun!” She called after him as Fenris slipped out the door after the two men.

When he caught up to them at the stables, Johann had his horse saddled and was standing beside it with a look of angry impatience. In his hand were the reins for another already saddled horse that waited at his side, clearly for Fenris. Anders had the saddle for his horse in his hands, but all Fenris could see as he approached was the mage’s back, including his tensed shoulders and the uneasy way he shifted from foot to foot. As he came closer he caught the tail end of Johann’s reprimand.

“— come on already. In the time you’ve been pussyfooting around that horse I’ve already saddled two!. I thought I had a son, not a wimpy little girl.”

“Sir, I’m trying, it’s just—“

“Fine, then go already. I should have known you would find a way to get out of this, lazy as usual. Go help your mother with housework and don’t be totally useless. I hope you know how to ride a horse, elf.”

“I do,” Fenris said, and did his best not to stare after Anders as he went back into the stable to put his saddle up, the horse trotting after him when he whistled.

“Good, let’s get going.”

They rode out in relative silence, only broken by Johann occasionally giving directions or clicking his tongue at his horse. Together they rode out through the fields towards the fence they would evidently be checking that day. When he did speak, it was curt and informative things about running the ranch and the requirements of it’s upkeep. They found the break in the fence that Johann had suspected was where a calf had managed to escape from previously, and Fenris helped to fix it under Johann’s instruction. Once patched, Johann informed him they would be riding the remainder of the length of fence to ensure there were no other places that needed repair.

“You’ve got a good work ethic, and you’re competent. More than I expected from a knife-ear, especially one Wojciech bothered to bring to visit. At least if he manages to keep you around the farm won’t go to the dogs; I’d feel happier leaving the place to you rather than that ungrateful heretic, halla-rider or not,” Johann told him as they trotted along the fence. “Don’t know why you’re wasting your time with him.”

“I thought you would be pleased to learn your son has a competent partner,” Fenris bit out, electing to ignore the comments about elves completely.

“Bah, the child never calls, never visits; he ran off quick as he could to heal shiftless Marchers and live in that cesspool of a city rather than return to help his parents. He doesn’t deserve someone as dedicated and willing to do the hard work as you are.”

Fenris disagreed but decided it wasn’t worth the argument or the risk of offending the man who was hosting them, even if Johann was doing so ungraciously. He had seen Anders pour his heart and soul into healing those who needed it by working his shifts at the hospital and then turning around and working at the clinic for nothing on little to no sleep, gathering supplies and taking them to refugees, asking for nothing except perhaps a thankful smile in return.

He was beginning to see why Anders had not wanted to come, why he had so clearly dreaded this entire production. Fenris had never felt the need to protect the mage or even really defend him, primarily because Anders had proven that he was more than capable of handling himself, but he wanted to shield the blonde from the critiques and careless barbs his father wielded more handily than any weapon. Every casual insult from Johann was handcrafted to strike at the soft parts of Anders that he normally took such care to hide from the world, things Fenris had hardly been aware of, before.

“Nevertheless, he has me,” Fenris settled on instead.

Johann scoffed at that. They spent the remainder of their day without conversation beyond their set chores Johann had for them to complete, something Fenris was happy about. He hoped that Anders was having a better day with his mother without his father around to make disparaging comments.

“I’m back, ama,” Anders called as he entered the house through the back door. “Can I help with cleaning or anything?”

“Oh, Wojtek, I thought you and your elf were helping your father today?”

“He wasn’t happy with how long it was taking me to saddle my horse. He sent me to help you with the housework instead.”

“The housework is already done, but you can help me cook. Your father requested a roast, and I was going to make something for dessert. Is there anything your Fenris prefers that we could make him? He deserves a reward for helping with the ranch work.”

Anders froze and searched his memory desperately. He had known Fenris for years but they weren’t exactly close. Certainly not close enough to cook for each other or know really what he liked. He knew of Fenris’ distaste for fish due to conversations he had been present for between the elf and Hawke, but wasn’t sure (hadn’t cared) if Fenris had ever expressed a preference for anything while he was around. Anders turned to tell her and his eyes landed on the basket of bright red apples resting in the basket on the counter, their skin gleaming and unbruised. The sight of the fruit dredged up a dozen memories of Fenris eating apples in Kirkwall and a conversation about why Fenris liked them.

“Do we have everything we would need to make an apple pie? Fenris really likes apples.”

“We should have everything we need. I must say, I am very glad he’s not a vegetarian like that rabbit your cousin is dating. I’m not sure we would have anything to feed him besides apples and salad if he were,” Myrta said and began rustling around in the pantry to make sure they had the ingredients they needed to make pie. “Can you go ahead and chop up the carrots, celery and onions for the roast, dear?”

Anders grit his teeth at the casual way she disparaged elves and got to work on preparing the vegetables his mother had been working on when he came in. He was glad to have something to do with his hands, a distraction from arguing with his mother’s tendency to dismiss elves as lesser than humans. It was a discussion they had already had in the past and the habit one that Myrta had no inclination to correct. His mother emerged from the pantry with what they needed to make the pie crust and set it all on the counter. They worked side by side in companionable quiet for a time, Anders finishing the preparations for the roast and Myrta started making the crust for the pie.

“Wojtek, you really should make more of an effort to help your father with the work while you’re here. He’s getting older and it’s hard on him; you’re our only child and he wants to teach you how to manage the ranch for when you sort yourself out and settle down. Besides, what must Fenris think that you left him to do all the hard work with your father! It isn’t a good look if you want him to stick around,” his mother told him as she started working on cutting the apples for the filling.

Anders scowled down at the cutting board and brought the knife down harder than he needed to to cleave the onion he was dicing in half. He had known this lecture was coming, another worn song on the record of his parent’s disapproval about his everything that he had heard over and over and over for as long as he could remember. If it wasn’t his want to be a healer, it was how he slouched or how he was lazy or how he chewed his food. A thousand things that were never good enough for them. Being home always made Anders feel like a failure no matter what progress he had made in his life.

“Yes, ama. I was going to help, I just got spooked by the horse and he got impatient.”

“No excuses dítě. You really need to get over that. How are you ever going to take over this ranch if you’re still so skittish around the horses? Honestly, Wojciech.”

“Yes, ama,” Anders gritted out through his teeth.

He knew when to leave well enough alone and knew his mother well enough to know there was no arguing with her about this. Anders knew it was a stupid fear to have; the accident had been his fault, not the horse’s, but no matter how much he tried to push past it he couldn’t. Whenever the horses would move too suddenly or get antsy in response to his anxiety, his body moved of its own volition, some lingering instinct to protect himself from being hurt again. Even the horses he knew were gentle made him nervous, his intestines tying themselves in knots as he remembered that day, the echoes of pain the memory sent shivering through his bad leg and elbow down to his bone marrow.

By the time Fenris and his father returned, dinner was cooling on the counter and the apple pie was just about finished baking. Anders put his full attention on checking if the crust was golden to stop himself from staring at how attractive the elf was, rumpled and windswept and wearing Anders’ clothes. His mother began thanking Fenris for helping Johann, layering not-so-subtle digs at Anders for not going out with them. His father made no such effort at subterfuge and asked point blank if he had at least been of help in the house while “the real men” were out working.

Anders pulled the pie from the oven once he was confident it was finished baking and set it out to cool, biting his tongue to keep himself from starting an argument with his father. When he looked up, Fenris was watching him with his dark brows furrowed above his expressive emerald eyes.

“We made apple pie,” Anders announced, voice weak.

“Wojtek said you really liked apples, Fenris, so we thought we would make you a treat for being a dear and helping Johann today!”

“I… do. I do like apples,” Fenris agreed slowly.

He met Anders eyes, surprise evident on his face. When Anders considered it, he guessed he and Fenris knew more about each other than they realised. It made sense; they had run with the same circle of friends for several years, even if they did not consider each other friends necessarily. Anders offered him a shrug in response. At least Fenis got pie out of it, hopefully that was enough to appease the elf and keep him from piling on about Anders leaving him to fend for himself with Johann all day. Fenris nodded at him, the barest hint of a smile on his face that made something in Anders’ belly flutter happily. At least one person here did not feel the need to voice what a failure he was.

Dinner was quiet, and Anders couldn’t bring himself to eat much. It was always a fine line to tread, sharing a meal with his parents. If he ate too much, his father would claim he was trying to eat them out of house and home or that he should have to contribute money for groceries. If he ate too little, he wasn’t being appreciative of his mother’s cooking and was wasting food, a cardinal sin in his father’s eyes. The anxiety over making a misstep left his stomach churning inside him and unable to eat more than a bite or two at a time. When everyone was finally done with dinner, Anders helped clear the table and washed the dishes while Fenris made small talk with his parents. He tried not to be bitter that they were nicer to Fenris than they were to him; Fenris deserved to have people being nice to him. It was clear the man had not had an easy life before he came to Kirkwall. It didn’t make Anders feel any less like an outsider in his own family though.

Once the kitchen had been cleaned up from dinner, they moved to the living room to talk some more before Johann announced it was time for dessert and told Myrta to get him a piece of her pie, steadfast ignoring her earlier statement that Anders had made it. Neither Myrta nor Anders disputed him, though Fenris frowned some. When the elf made to get up Anders waved a hand at him and told him he would bring him a piece since he was going anyway. He cut a decent sized piece for Fenris and one half the size for himself. Even sweets were not appealing under the critical eyes of his parents. By the time they had eaten pie and called it a night, Anders back ached from how tense he had been and he felt wrung out emotionally.

It’s just a few more days and then you’ll be home, Anders told himself in the shower that night. Just a few more days. You can survive a few more days and then you don’t have to endure this again until next year. Maybe two if you’re lucky. Just buck up and put a happy face on. A few more days. The pep talk didn’t help much with his mood and the warm water did nothing for his aching muscles or the stress headache that had set in mid-afternoon but at least he would go to bed clean which was better than a lot of the people he treated in the refugee clinic.

Fenris woke to an empty bed and an alarm clock that read two am. Anders had been in bed with him when he fell asleep, a constant warmth beneath the blankets beside him. The sheets and blanket were cool now, signalling Anders’ departure was not a recent occurrence. He carefully got to his feet and crept out into the darkened house when the mage had not returned after another fifteen minutes. He found the bathroom vacant as well as the rest of the house.

He found the mage alone out in the corral— well not completely alone. The horse he was attempting to saddle was clearly affected by the man’s anxiety as it fidgeted and tossed its head in agitation. The sudden movement made Anders squawk and sent him reeling back to land on his butt in the dirt, the saddle falling along with him. Even from as far as he was, Fenris heard the stifled sob Anders let out and saw how badly he trembled with fear at the giant beast.

“Mage? Still yourself, it’s just me,” Fenris whispered as he approached. He was unable to sit aside and watch any longer when Anders was clearly shaken over something. He crouched beside the blonde but made no move to touch him or come closer. “What are you doing out here?”

Anders snorted, bitterly amused. “My parents are right, it’s pathetic I’m so uneasy around horses. I grew up around them, I need to just… get over it.”

Despite his words Fenris could see the tear tracks on his cheeks and the way he was still shaking and not because of the cool predawn hours. He resolutely avoided meeting Fenris’ eyes as he spoke and his shoulders were hunched in that dejected way Fenris was coming to abhor with a passion.

“This seems to be deeper than just uneasiness. Have you always been afraid of horses?”

Anders shook his head and took a few steadying breaths. He watched the horse he had brought out as it pranced around, clearly unhappy with the variance in its normal schedule.

“No, not always. I was fine with them when I was younger but I was in a… pretty bad accident. The horse I was riding got spooked and I didn’t know how to handle her, so she threw me and fell on me when my foot got tangled in the stirrup. Crushed my kneecap and broke my arm at the elbow because I hadn’t let go of the reins when she got back up. I was in the hospital for almost two months, had to have surgery and pins put in both, that’s why I set the scanner off at the airport. It- it took me almost a year to fully recover. I’ve tried riding since then but I just can’t— I can’t shake the fear.”

“There’s no shame in that, Anders. Your father is a jackass. Let me put her back and we can return to bed,” Fenris assured him and stood. He grasped the horse’s reins with a confidence that Anders knew he would never have again. “You shouldn’t try and ride again unless it’s what you want, not because your parents think you should.”

“You don’t think I’m pathetic for this? You can admit it’s stupid…”

“I have never thought you pathetic, and I certainly don’t now; having anxiety around horses is natural, considering. Wait here, I’ll put her up.”

When Fenris returned from putting the horse back into her stable and hanging her saddle back with the others, Anders was still sitting in the dirt. His eyes were vacant, staring at nothing in the middle distance and one hand idly massaging his leg while keeping his other arm tucked protectively against his body.

He jolted in surprise when Fenris laid a careful hand on his shoulder. Fenris made soothing sounds like he would to calm a spooked animal. Without words Fenris helped him to his feet and back into the quiet house. When they were back in their sleeping clothes and curled up in Anders’ bed, the mage rolled over and reached out to cling to him. Fenris could still feel the tremors wracking Anders’ thin form and allowed himself to hold the blonde close.

“Before, you said you hadn’t had a home since you were twelve? What happened?” Fenris asked. He had replayed their conversation on the plane in his head a dozen times, the things Anders had said realigning with the reality of how he was treated here. He knew there was a chance that Anders would tell him that it wasn’t any of his business or rub in the fact that he had been right about how miserable this trip was going to be.

“The accident. I didn’t recover fast enough for my father, and when my magic manifested he was more than happy to send me off to the Circle for education. I- I know it’s different in Tevinter, but here mages go there to be among other mages. It’s a boarding school, of sorts. You know we’re expected to go into the military? Very strict and dour, which my father thought would do me good; he’s always thought I was too soft. Well, wimpy was the word he used. I hated it there. After the fourth time? Fifth, maybe… I ran away to try and come home, he told me this wasn’t my home anymore. That I was dead weight since the accident and that they were better off with me gone. So I stayed gone. I only came back for Wintersend because ama called me crying a few months ago about how she wanted me to come home for the holidays. I know my father doesn’t really want me here.”

They lay in silence for a few minutes, during which he felt Anders relax against his side in tiny increments. “I’m sorry for assuming that you were being ungrateful about having a family to return to. I see now why you dread coming here,” Fenris admitted, something ugly twisting in his stomach.

“Did you just apologise to me? Are you running a fever? You’ve never apologised to me before,” at Fenris’ unamused look Anders shrugged as much as he could, snuggled up to Fenris as he was. “If nothing else, you’ve gotten all sorts of blackmail material on me during this trip. My first name, my dorky childhood bedroom, being a terrible, no good son.” As an afterthought he added with a horribly desperate sort of humour, “please don’t tell Hawke or Bela my name.”

“I won’t,” Fenris smirked before adding, “Wojtek.”

Anders slapped his chest with a weak giggle and Fenris caught the offending hand in his own. Anders tugged slightly against the hold on his wrist, and Fenris did not miss the almost silent gasp when he failed to move him an inch. From the look in his eyes, it wasn’t fear. Fenris turned his gaze to that hand, holding so much power under the skin. Power that he’d never seen turned to evil purpose. Slowly, testing his own reaction as well as the mage’s, he raised Ander’s palm to his lips and brushed a kiss along the lifeline. He could feel Anders’ pulse in his wrist speed up beneath his fingertips, but Anders didn’t move, barely seemed to be breathing. Just as slowly, just as carefully, he placed Anders’ hand on his own chest, over his heart, where it had been when he woke up that morning.

“Sleep, mage.” And with no further words, teasing or not, he closed his eyes without arguing. He was asleep in moments, trusting Fenris to keep him safe. How amazing, Fenris thought, sinking into sleep himself. How strange, and, and… wonderous.

Chapter Text

The morning dawned bright and clear and awkward. Anders jolted back to consciousness as a door slammed downstairs, still possessing the flight responses that had kept him safe all those years without a home. Only today he wasn’t alone. 

Fenris was still in bed with him, sitting up against the headboard with the blankets pooling around his waist, looking like every desire Anders had ever dared to dream. He was scrolling through his phone, hair still messy from sleep, and Anders had the wistful thought that he wished it could be like this every morning. To have someone to share with…

He blinked away the silly thought and stretched like a cat, scrubbing at his puffy eyes with one hand. “Morning,”

“Good morning,” and, Maker, that low, scratchy just-woke-up voice from the elf did things to Anders’ insides. He’d bet he could do all sorts of fun things in the bedroom with that voice. He rolled onto his front, cushioning his head on his folded arms and not at all coincidentally hiding his burgeoning erection. 

“How did you sleep?” Fenris didn’t even look up from his phone. 

“Fine,” And that seemed to be it. Anders waited a few moments, just in case something more was forthcoming, but nope, that was everything the elf was planning to say. 

Maker, was Fenris regretting last night? Had Anders done something wrong? “Is everything alright?” he ventured cautiously.

“Fine,” Fenris repeated with more force. “Unless you intend to subject me to more prattling so early.”

“Ah- of course not, I’ll leave you be then,” Anders said and got up carefully. 

There was weight in his stomach like he had swallowed a rock and anxiety itched under his skin as he found himself wrongfooted, unsure how to interact with Fenris now that his attitude towards Anders had shifted so quickly. Again. He all but ran from his own childhood room, heart aching behind his ribs. He had been a fool to let himself hope after all.

The elf’s sudden return to prickly broodiness had caught him off-guard. How had he become so used to the gentle Fenris so quickly? And now the silence was making him nervous. So Anders did what he usually did when he was nervous; he babbled.

“So I thought that when we get there, we’ll split up. You can go grab some changes of clothes - maybe see if you can find anything that isn’t black, other colours exist you know - and I’ll find something for my parents for Wintersend. I don’t know why I didn’t buy something before, but I kept putting it off and now I’m out of time… Maker, we need to get gifts for each other too…”

The truck settled into its parking space with a few groans and sighs. They sat there for a few seconds, absorbing the sudden quiet. Anders’ move to reach for the door handle was halted by Fenris’ touch to his wrist. 

“I…” the elf cleared his throat, staring at his hands clenched in his lap. “I owe you an explanation.” Anders cocked an eyebrow in puzzled surprise; Fenris was not known as someone who explained himself. He looked desperately unsure of.. everything. 

“I recently… kaffas. ” he cleared his throat and tried again. “Hawke sent me with you because you’re a mage.”

Anders blinked rapidly, trying to put that together. “Uhhh…”

Fenris turned enigmatic green eyes to him. “Do you know how I came to Kirkwall?” 

“Not much… only that you’d escaped a bad situation and needed somewhere to hide.” Hawke hadn’t told him much at all, saying that Fenris deserved the same privacy as anyone else. Now it suddenly seemed like it was a bit bigger than he was expecting.

“I was part of the Tevinter mafia.” The elf said bluntly, smirking faintly at Anders’ visible shock. “Not by choice; I was sucked in by desperate times and poor decisions. Before long…” he clenched his fists, tight enough that his nails dug into his palms. “Before long I was the ‘pet’ of a man called Danarius. He ran the entire criminal underworld of Minrathous.”

For once, Anders was struck dumb. He had no words. So he did the only thing he could think of. In a mirror of what Fenris had done for him, he reached out - slowly, so as not to startle the elf - and took his hand, carefully tangling their fingers together. Fenris took a deep breath and held his hand tightly. “I was his favourite pit fighter and bodyguard. He loved making me intimidating, making me feared -... The things he did… the things he made me do …” 

Anders squeezed tighter, making a helpless shushing noise. “It’s okay, you don’t have to talk about it, Fen, please-”

The elf shook his head sharply. “I got out, with the help of a group called the Fog Warriors. They smuggled me out of Tevinter. I’ve been working with them and Hawke and Aveline to gather evidence and take the bastard down once and for all. It’s been years in the making.

And then…” He left out a small, helpless, disbelieving laugh. “Then my sister, who I had fought and killed and destroyed myself to keep out of it all, so she could stay free… she sent me his financial records. All of them. Just copied them to a USB and put it in the post.”

You have a sister? Anders thought but didn’t say, too stunned by the revelations so far. “But, how do I fit into this? Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Mmm,” Fenris nodded hesitantly, like he still wasn’t sure. “It is good, and she got to Rivain before he found her, but she wasn’t quick enough. Danarius knows what she did, and since he can’t get to her, he’s coming for me.”

“Oh,” Anders breathed. “Oh shit. Oh shit, Fenris! So I’m what, your bodyguard?”

The elf gave a tiny nod, silvery hair falling into his eyes. “I believe that was part of Hawke’s intention, yes. You are never weaponless, and you have military training, as little as you like to show it.”

“Oh,” said Anders weakly. “Alright… and the information? Who has that?” Almost sheepishly, Fenris unclenched the fist that wasn’t holding Anders’ and dropped a silver memory stick into his lap. Dumbfounded, he scrambled to pick it up, struck with the urge to hold it, hide it. It was warm where it was tucked into his palm.

“It was glued into the middle of my pillow,” Fenris muttered. “Don’t ask me why Hawke decided that would be a good idea. There wasn’t time to argue. They just shoved an envelope of cash at me and rushed me out the door.” 

“Fuck,” Anders muttered, mind finally coming out of the clouds of shock. “ Fuck. You should have told me sooner! Should you even be here?!” He gestured wildly through the windshield at the shopping centre. “It’s Wintersend Eve! Everyone and their mother and their mabari are going to be here today!”

Fenris gave a liquid shrug. “I am hoping that I can get lost in the crowd. But just in case, you should keep hold of that.”

The mage opened his mouth to argue, saw the expression on the elf’s face, and shut his mouth with a sigh. Apparently he was going shopping with dangerous information in his pocket. Alright then. “Hawke, how do you get me into these things? You’re not even here!”

Fenris snorted in amusement and finally got out of the truck. “Let us get on with it; waiting around is not going to make this any more enjoyable.”

Anders huffed in response. “Fine. I’ll go find gifts for us and my parents-”

“I shall buy your gift, Anders.” The elf interrupted, smirking as the mage choked in shock. “You should at least have one surprise tomorrow. A nice one.”

“I…” Anders trailed off. “Okay then.” Their arms brushed as they entered the building, and he was hard-pressed to fight off a silly grin. Fenris wanted to buy him a gift! A ‘nice surprise’! It was almost like they really were together. Cradling that thought to his chest like a hot water bottle, he bid goodbye to Fenris and wandered off, determined to find the elf the perfect gift.

Now that they were out of that house and the stifling atmosphere which he could feel tightening around his throat every second he was there, Anders had some time to think on the pretty, prickly, problem that was Fenris. This whole situation was just… bizarre. Back in Kirkwall they’d never really been friends, sharp poisonous words and sly jabs their most common conversations. Yes, alright, he trusted the elf to have his back in a fight, to not spit in his food or steal his stuff. Okay, and maybe he’d call the elf for help before he even thought about Sebastian or Merril, but that wasn’t really saying anything, now was it? 

But… he trailed his fingers along the sleeve of a spectacularly ugly mabari Wintersend jumper, frowning. Here in Ferelden, the elf had been… sweet? Maker, it was good to feel like he had an ally in the house, that he wasn’t alone with his father’s cold disdain and his mother’s indifference, and Fenris had been surprisingly gentle with him, even when he’d cried his eyes out. Twice. Urgh. 

Perhaps sweet wasn’t the word. Anders knew him well enough to know that Fenris was shocked and uncomfortable around his parents, although he was absolutely diplomatic enough to hide it from most people. And he clearly had no idea how to comfort someone; Anders smirked to himself as he considered a pair of black, very fluffy slippers. It had been Anders who initiated more than the most brusque of touches, but it had been Fenris who pulled him closer, Fenris who had watched him with worried liquid green eyes, Fenris who had defended him to his father. And it was Fenris who he was looking for a gift for, and Maker he had no blighted idea what to get the man. What did you buy for someone whose chief pleasures in life seemed to be wine, fistfights and proper weapon care? An ear wax remover? 

…And the revelations in the truck. He was still staggered, recovering from the sandbags, the potential danger waking up long-buried instincts and paranoia. Maker, he’d hated being a soldier, as good at it as he’d been, and this situation, now he knew the whole of it, was throwing him right back into that mindset. He couldn’t see Fenris, and that was making him twitchy as a fennec, and a twitchy mage had no place in a busy shopping centre…

Nothing was jumping out at him as the perfect gift for Fenris so he began to search for the presents he still needed to buy for his parents, hoping that in the process he would find something for the elf. His father was notoriously hard to buy for - anything frivolous would receive a callous remark about wasting his money, anything too practical was an open invitation for scorn in being a useless son who left everything to his father to do. His mother was a little bit easier to shop for; jewellry was usually a good bet, as well as kitschy knick-knacks of cows (he would never understand her fascination with cows but if she wanted plates, aprons, and other things with cows printed on them he was happy to provide).

Anders set out to leave the clothing section but saw something that stopped him dead in his tracks; it was a Wintersend jumper with depictions of a halla pulling an open empty sleigh, with all of the decorative stitching being done to resemble vallaslin with the hooks and swirls that transformed into dots meant to either represent falling snow or stars and the words ‘Happy Halla-days!’ above the scene in glittery silver thread. There were bells sewn in along several points of the halla’s antlers and into the outline of the sleigh that jingled softly when Anders picked the jumper up to examine it closer. A grin bloomed on his face at the ridiculousness of the garment. He knew it was probably petty but Anders quickly rifled through the rack to find one in his father’s size. He considered it for a moment before he put it back and pulled one size smaller instead, just to add insult to injury. Well, that was one present out of the way, at least. It would be worth the possible lecture and more pointed insults to see the look on his father’s face when he opened it. If he was lucky his mother would insist Johann try it on while they were still there.

Buoyed by his discovery, Anders made his way over to the jewellery section to find something for his mother’s gift. The lady at the counter asked him questions about what he was looking for, clearly used to having to guide male shoppers through selecting things for the important women in their lives but Anders just smiled and told her he had it under control. His mother had fairly plain taste and wouldn’t like anything gaudy or too big, as she claimed they only got in her way when she wore them to do cooking or cleaning. Anders was debating between two different pairs of stud earrings when something in the display case caught his attention.

The array of jewellery in this case was clearly meant more for men, all plain banded rings and simple silver chains with either no pendant or with things clearly “badass” enough to make up for a man wearing a necklace, such as skulls or pistols or flames, but nestled amongst them was a necklace that had a sword pendant. It wasn’t too large and the chain looked sturdy but not too thick, and the sword itself was beautifully done. Clearly based off of a two handed sword, with carefully etched details into the hilt, pommel and blade itself. The crossguard on it curled just slightly at either edge, and while the edges of the metal weren’t sharp and the point of the sword had a hoop at the top rather than a point to connect it to the chain it still looked… lethal. It gleamed dangerously in the glare cast by the humming fluorescent lights of the store. It was gorgeous, deceptively dainty with a deadly look to it - just like Fenris himself. 

Anders waved the woman who had offered to help him before over and got her to get the necklace out for him to look at. She did so happily and then showed him the feature the cemented how perfect of a gift it was; she held the necklace by the chain and pinched the hilt between her pointer finger and thumb to pull it free, revealing a small hidden blade that was nestled into the casing created by the blade itself. It wasn’t big but it’s edges were sharp. 

Anders let her know he wanted both the necklace and a wide wrist cuff that was in the same case, made with supple leather and decorated only with a metal plate with what Anders recognised as the constellation of Fenrir engraved on it. The metal plate was thick and felt sturdy enough to be used to deflect a punch, useful for anyone who was friends with Hawke, who tended to get them into all sorts of fights. It wasn’t until he had checked out with both pieces, a pair of snowflake cubic zirconia studs for his mother and the sweater for his father that Anders realised he had never seen Fenris wear jewellery of any kind before. He was considering going to try another, more practical present just in case but then he saw Fenris waiting for him just inside the store’s exit. They locked eyes and he resigned himself to possibly giving the elf a gift he would never use and being embarrassed about it for the rest of his life.

“Find everything you needed?” He asked Fenris as he approached. He had several bags looped over his toned arms so Anders could assume he had gotten himself some clothes along with a gift.

“Yes, I did,” Fenris agreed.

“Great! Guess it’s time to head back,” Anders said, trying not to let too much disappointment colour his tone.

“Actually I was thinking we could get lunch while we were out. I’m not eager to get back just yet.” Anders hesitated, only because he was adding up the sums in his head of what he could afford after spending more than he had anticipated on gifts, but as was becoming Fenris’ specialty he caught Anders off guard by saying, “we can go wherever you want, my treat.”

Anders smiled at him gratefully. He knew his parents probably weren’t the easiest people for Fenris to be around either, with their casual racism towards elves and having to pretend to be dating Anders while around them. Not that that part seemed to bother him much.

He was still surprised that the elf had not curtly informed his mother that he was just a friend that first night when she made the assumption, and even more so that he had continued to behave like they were dating while around his parents. Anders could only imagine what sort of conversation his father had engaged Fenris in the previous day. He hoped Johann had not said anything too offensive while they were unsupervised, but his father was definitely not known for his tact or emotional sensitivity. Anders found that while being home and hearing what a failure he was depressed him as it always did, it was small potatoes compared to the righteous anger that it inspired in him when Johann had insulted Fenris, indirectly or not.

“Lunch sounds amazing,” Anders agreed. “I know a great place. All you can eat.”

Fenris was certainly glad that Anders had suggested an all you can eat buffet, especially now that they were there. He had his one plate pulled close to the edge of the table, arm curled almost protectively around it as he watched, feeling an odd mix of impressed and disgusted as Anders steadily worked his way through the three full plates, four side plates and two cups he had brought back to the table, all heaped with food. 

Though, now that he thought about it, Anders had not eaten much for a single meal they had eaten with the mage’s parents. Johann had been quick to point it out the other morning at breakfast but Fenris was sure that since they had arrived he had not seen the healer eat a full serving of any meal. Now it seemed that Anders was trying to make up for all the missed calories all at once. It probably should have been more revolting to watch the mage shovel gravy-soaked mashed potatoes in his mouth so fast that his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. Fenris was more shocked that he wasn’t completely disgusted, just glad to see Anders eating, even if it was huge amounts at incredible speeds. And, he winced as a chocolate muffin joined the potatoes, in very disturbing combinations. 

Something had changed since he’d finally told the mage why he’d joined him so suddenly. It was subtle, but there. Anders was… aware of the world around them in ways he usually wasn’t, or didn’t care to be. He glanced around at unusual or different noises, he had Fenris within arm’s length as much as he could, and he’d rearranged his bags so they all fit neatly into one. It wasn’t until Fenris watched him tense as someone walked behind him that he realised what was going on. 

Anders was guarding him. 

But he wasn’t guarding him the way Fenris himself had guarded Danarius, as someone too helpless (or lazy) to defend themselves. No, the way Anders watched him, trusting Fenris’ reactions to the room, allowed Fenris to sit with his back to the wall… the mage was treating him like a battle partner.  

The realisation did funny things to the elf’s chest. To be trusted that deeply… he couldn’t think of anyone who would do that, even Hawke. Hawke was a beloved friend, but they fluttered and clucked and checked in and generally made it clear that no one could take care of a problem as well as they could. Anders was trusting that Fenris could handle himself, with absolute confidence that the elf would have his back if he needed it. He toyed with a piece of bread left on his plate, gaze turned inward. 

“Hey…” Anders’ voice was as gentle as his touch when he brushed his fingers across Fenris’ wrist. “Where did you go?” 

“Apologies, I was just thinking,” Fenris told him, and tried to not notice how his heart flipped in his chest over how soft Anders’ touch had been. 

Now that he considered it, Anders did not go out of his way often to touch Fenris before this. Even during their trip, it was Fenris who was reaching out to him. Now the mage seemed hesitant about it, but Fenris recognised the uncertain way the mage held himself; he was bracing himself for rejection. And having seen how Johann brushed him off and dismissed him at every turn, Fenris could understand why. Before he could question himself, Fenris caught Anders’ hand as he started to pull it away and simply held it for a moment. Anders grinned at him and squeezed Fenris’ hand. Fenris managed a weak smile back before he extricated his hand from the mage’s.

“You should finish eating. How you are still hungry is beyond me,” Fenris told him, eying the spread of food that had yet to be devastated by the storm that was Anders.

“Well, I-” whatever reply he was formulating cut off as the mage looked again at their meal. Fenris’ one lonely plate, a last bastion of reason, was clinging desperately to a tiny corner of the table, an inch away from being in his lap, while Anders had filled the remaining space with a small constellation of plates, accented with the odd crumb or smear. A stack of baked goods - cookies, a slightly-squashed muffin, flapjacks - were wrapped in a paper napkin, ready to be tucked into a pocket. 

Fenris watched in mild fascination as the man flushed a bright tomato red, all the way up to his hairline. Anders turned liquid-gold eyes on him. “I was hungry?” Again, that hesitation, that fear of a reprimand or rejection. 

“There is no rush, eat your fill. You haven’t been eating much since we got here,” Fenris soothed. He pushed away the part of him that was cooing about how cute the mage was when he blushed.

“My father delights in having stuff I don’t like prepared,” Anders shook his head. “Brussel sprouts with every other meal,” he complained, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

“Do you think it was intentional?” Fenris wanted to scoff at the idea of the older man doing something so petty just to make Anders uncomfortable but after the past few days he wouldn’t put it past Johann.

“Absolutely. He thinks I’m too picky of an eater.”

Fenris did a deliberate sweep of the table with his eyes before meeting Anders’ gaze. Anders snickered at the show before he shrugged. 

“Brussel sprouts, asparagus, spinach, and corn are apparently all foods I need to force myself to like because he does. And he acts like I have any control over being allergic to mushrooms,” Anders rolled his eyes.

“You’re allergic to mushrooms?” He hadn’t known that. What else had he missed?

“Yeah, normally it isn’t too big of a deal, but he likes them in everything, even broccoli and cheese casserole.”

Now that he thought about it, Anders hadn’t eaten any of that casserole his mother had made the previous night, and all the things he mentioned had been in just about every dish they had been served during their stay. Fenris had noticed that Anders wasn’t eating much but he had chalked it up to anxiety and the oppressive environment of his childhood home. Speaking of…

“Anders, could I ask…” Fenris paused but the mage nodded at him to continue so he forged ahead. “You only call your father ‘sir’. May I ask why?” He regretted it as soon as the question left his mouth as it made Anders’ expression shutter and close off. His mouth set in a grim line and he looked away from Fenris.

“When he told me that the house was no longer my home, that I was just a burden and they were doing better without me, he told me that he was no longer my father and that when I was around I would call him sir— as in all I would say to him was ‘yes sir’ or ‘no sir’.”

“I apologise, I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Fenris said. “But that is… cruel. I don’t blame you for not coming back often.”

Ander graced him with a small smile and shrugged one shoulder. “It is what it is, I guess,” he waved his hand dismissively but Fenris could see how his expression was strained holding back the sadness his confession had brought to the surface. “I’m full, we can head back whenever you’re ready.”

Fenris nodded after a moment and watched as Anders bundled his paper napkin of baked goods into his pocket before he stood and stretched.

“Lead the way,” he told his mage and before he could question himself took Anders’ hand, which he held all the way until they were back at the truck again.

Any joy Anders had managed to glean from their outing was quickly syphoned away as Myrta descended upon them the instant they were through the door. They managed to hold her off long enough to take the wrapping paper, scissors and tape, and to wrap their presents in separate corners of Anders’ room with promises not to peek at their presents for each other. Fenris’ wrapping job was much neater than Anders’, who had never been able to make the edges of the paper lie down flat. Anders’ gift was an odd, irregular shape, with squishy bits. Not that he was trying to guess what it was. Of course not.

As soon as their gifts were under the tree with the others (most of which were addressed to his aunts, uncles and cousins) Myrta had demanded Anders help her make dinner under the guise of spending time together. Fenris, left with the choice between watching sports with Johann or loitering uncomfortably in the kitchen, volunteered to help. He was handed a big bowl of, yes, mushrooms to wash and chop, while Anders and Myrta conducted a strange kind of dance around him, putting together some odd Ferelden desert. Slowly, as he listened, Fenris saw that they danced with their words just as much as with the knives and pans. 

It was a dance of hidden hurts and buried jabs, never clear enough to see the flash of the blade, but close enough to sting. He had thought Myrta kind, but the suggestions and insinuations she made were anything but sweet.

“... and your cousin Anna, she married a nice man in Starkhaven. Just in time, but she flew them all out for her wedding! Paid for it all, if you can believe it. She’s such a good girl…”

And Anders would respond with, “Wasn’t she the one who ran off at seventeen? With that older man, what was his name?” And his mother would flutter and fuss and avoid answering, before settling back into her flow of words. Fenris could see where the mage got it from, when he was somewhere he felt safe. 

“... And I said, well, I’m sure you can understand, Barbera, but I’m not sure I’d be comfortable going to dinner out there. I’m sure they’re all very nice people, but-”

“Ama, did I ever tell you about my friend Mahariel? From Clan Sabre?” Anders interrupted again through gritted teeth. “He was a brilliant commander; really amazing in the field.” Fenris’ ears perked in interest, but before he could ask-

“No, I don’t think you have. You don’t call me enough, zlatíčko!”

“I know, ama, but I’m always so tired after I get back from the clinic, all I want to do is fall into bed, don’t I Fenris?” Fenris tensed, unsure if he wanted to be dragged into this, but Myrta was already off with another grievance.

“And you never even mentioned Fenris! Honestly, Wojtek, after you went to that school of yours-”

“Yes.” Anders shut the oven with a bang. “Since I went to school.” He shook the oven mitts off his hands and dumped them on the counter, already moving towards the door. “I’m going to check on the horses.” and with that blatant lie hanging in the air, he marched out the back door, disappearing into the evening gloaming. Leaving Fenris alone with a disgruntled and annoyed Myrta. 

They worked in awkward silence for a few minutes, before a sniffle drew his eyes. Myrta was dabbing at her face with an apron. “Oh, Fenris, I’m sorry!” she exclaimed when she caught him looking. “I just wish Wojtek would stay more than a few minutes before storming out! It feels like I can’t have a single conversation with him that doesn’t end like this. He was such a sweet child until he went off to that school. He begged to go and then it was as if his father and I just didn’t matter anymore.”

Fenris wanted to point out that the interaction had in fact been a set of accusations framed as a conversation, but he couldn’t find his voice. Instead he finished his appointed tasks while Myrta hiccuped and sniffled her way through a list of all the things Anders did specifically to hurt her. All of them were petty things that lent no consideration to the mage’s own life he was trying to live or his little free time. It was also clear that Anders’ mother expected Fenris to take her side in her arguments, which he absolutely did not. 

Despite the fact that he had expressed his disdain at the mage not appreciating his family, the elf was now considering ways to get the healer to stop exposing himself to this level of toxicity every year. It wasn’t like their little friend group in Kirkwall would leave him to spend Wintersend alone; Fenris himself certainly wouldn’t allow the mage to have another holiday as stressful and negative as this one had been. And after the morning’s awkward awakening, Fenris had to confront that he was infatuated with the blonde; he wanted to hold his hand and kiss him, wanted to wake up snuggled with the mage and go to bed curled around each other under the same blanket every day. He wanted to tangle his fingers in that blonde hair and feed the mage his cock. He wanted to know what Anders sounded like when he was breathless and babbling with need, and how it felt to bite that full lower lip. These weren’t feelings Fenris had any experience with, and while they confused and scared him, Fenris trusted Anders with his heart, as terrifying as that was. 

Once his assigned task was completed, Fenris stepped away from the counter and glanced towards the door Anders had left through and made a decision. Myrta was still ranting as she continued to work on the main course and Fenris cut off her tirade without any guilt.

“I am going to check on Anders,” he told her and was out the door before she could voice any further complaints.

The air was crisp and cold, and there were clouds in the sky that threatened either freezing rain or snow overnight. Fenris regretted his hasty escape for a moment, wishing he had grabbed at least a coat before rushing out after the healer. But there was no way he was going back into that house alone, so he resigned himself to being cold while he found his mage and hopefully got up the courage to act on all the unspoken things that were still hanging in the air between them.

As Fenris suspected, Anders was not at the stables. Instead Fenris found him at the small pond on the property, hurling small flat stones across it hard enough that they skipped all the way from one side to another. It was cold enough that his breath was visible like clouds pouring from the mouth of a dragon, but had not been cold enough for long enough to freeze over the surface of the pool. The edges were beginning to ice over in a jagged ring, but the middle remained liquid and ripples expanded from each place the rocks bounced along their path. Anders didn’t turn to look at him when he approached but his greeting showed he knew it was the elf who was picking his way through the frosty grass that surrounded the pond.

“Sorry for leaving you back there to deal with her alone. I just… couldn’t take anymore or I was going to start shouting.”

“I do not blame you,” Fenris told him and began scavenging his own collection of rocks to attempt and skip them across the as-yet unfrozen surface of the water. “I was not able to remain in there with her much longer than you were.”

“Sorry you got dragged along for such a miserable trip.”

“Your parents have not been easy to deal with, that’s true, but on the whole it has not been unenjoyable.”

Anders stopped mid motion of his next throw and looked at Fenris with something like surprise on his face. His cheeks and the tip of his nose were rosy from the biting wind and his eyes were still glassy from withheld tears but Fenris couldn’t help but think he was beautiful under the waning light of the midwinter afternoon.

“Oh?” The healer encouraged.

“Spending time with you made up for the unpleasant aspects. I am glad I have been here to help mitigate them somewhat.”

Anders smiled warmly at him. That smile. “Yeah. Strangely enough, I’m glad you’re here too.”

Before he could lose his nerve, Fenris dropped the handful of stones he had gathered and stepped into Anders’ space. The mage was just enough taller than him that Fenris had to go up on his tiptoes to kiss him. The rocks in Anders’ fist scattered at their feet and the healer’s large, warm hands moved to hold his waist, pulling Fenris closer. Anders bent his head to meet Fenris more firmly. Both of their lips were chilled from the cold, and Anders’ were chapped as they moved against Fenris’. It still felt perfect. One of the elf’s hands drifted to cup his stubbled cheek while the other slid around his neck to grasp at his shoulder for balance. Anders gasped into the contact, his eyes fluttering shut and his body hot where he and Fenris were flush against each other. The elf took the opportunity as it presented itself, and let his tongue lick across the mage’s lower lip.

Anders wrenched himself away suddenly with a shuddering inhale and took a big step back, nearly tripping over his own feet and the chunks of stones and smaller rocks that ringed the pond. Eyes wide and still breathing a bit too fast, he stared at Fenris in the dimming light. “What-” he cleared his throat. “What was that?”

Fenris tilted his head slightly, a soft little smile creeping across his face. “It was a kiss, Anders.”

“I know what it was! But, Fenris, you- what?!” He was stunned to silence when the elf stepped forward and brushed another kiss over his lips.

“Calm yourself. I would not like to have to carry you back to the house if you faint.” Fenris was smirking now, the bastard. Anders’ hands hovered, unsure if he was allowed to touch. Fenris solved his dilemma by taking his hand. Gently. Maker help him. “Come. It is cold.”

He tried not to fall in the pond as he was pulled - gently; Maker he would never get over that - back towards the farmhouse, but all Anders could feel was a fizzing kind of excitement that filled his chest, bubbled up his throat and manifested itself as a giddy grin that he was helpless to suppress. He’d just made out with Fenris! The most gorgeous, dangerous, prickly elf in the whole of Kirkwall! And he, Anders, had just kissed that mouth! He’d had Fenris’ actual tongue in his actual mouth and the man tasted wonderful. And he hadn’t even had to pay in bruises! It was a Wintersend miracle!

If only- he sighed, the fizzing dying down slightly. If only the elf wasn’t acting.

Chapter Text

Anders awoke on Wintersend morning feeling very warm. Closer inspection - magic, arms, legs, head - found that Fenris had wrapped himself around the mage during the night, tangling them closer than he’d been to anyone since Karl. The tickling sensation on his neck turned out to be the elf’s hair, with his head pillowed on Anders’ collarbone and pinning his right arm to the bed. He couldn’t see or feel his arm, actually; all he knew that it was over there, somewhere. Probably. Fenris had an arm flung across Anders’ chest, but it was the leg that was… bothering him.

Perhaps bothering wasn’t quite the right word. Their legs were tangled together, and somehow Fenris’ thigh was pressed against some… potentially awkward places.

Alright, definitely awkward. What with the morning and armful of warm, soft elf and the fact that whatever clothing Fenris had bought yesterday apparently did not extend to nightclothes, Anders was… rising to the occasion, as it were.

Had he been drooling in his sleep? Maker, please, my mouth was pressed against the top of his head, please don’t say I was drooling, this is already awkward enough and he isn’t even awake yet.

“In case you were wondering,” Fenris’ deep, sleep-roughened voice had Anders stiffening, in more ways than one, “I do not drool in my sleep.”

Anders cleared his throat. “Uhh… of course not.” He registered the cooling patch of liquid on his chest. “Ah- absolutely not. I don’t either.”

“Mmmm,” Apparently oblivious to Anders’ growing problem, the elf settled down again, clearly happy with morning snuggles. Not that Anders was objecting, but if the elf could see his way to moving his leg , one way or the other he really didn’t care- well, alright, that way would be amazing, but he rather doubted that Fenris would be pleased if Anders started rutting against his thigh. It would ruin the cosy atmosphere. 

He did his best to keep his breathing even, and slowly, carefully, began to loosen his hold on the elf. He really did not want to ruin this lovely moment and make Fenris uncomfortable; the elf already had his hand squished against Anders’ hip-

Wait.

That wasn’t his hand, was it?

At the realisation that Fenris was also erect and, apparently, quite well-endowed, Anders was hard enough to cut stone. There was absolutely no hiding it either; the thin sleep pants he’d chosen (Maker, why?) did nothing to conceal, well, anything . Anders’ hips twitched a little at the realisation, which caused a still mostly-asleep Fenris to rut against him automatically, and well, what exactly was Anders supposed to do in this situation?

He settled for lying very still and waiting for Fenris to wake up and disentangle them, trying very hard to ignore how warm and soft the elf was, or how if he just moved a tiny little bit he’d be touching there and how nice that would feel…

Andraste’s crispy nips, he’d kissed Fenris last night! In the raging morning he’d forgotten, and the sudden return of his memory wasn’t helping the situation at all, thank you brain, I didn’t need to remember how he tasted right now.

… surely the elf wouldn’t mind if he… adjusted himself a bit? That was allowed, wasn’t it? He did his best to be stealthy as he slid his left hand down and around his hip. He was only going to make himself more comfortable, nothing weird.

Anders clamped his teeth down on his lower lip to fight back the urge to moan as the tips of his fingers brushed against his cock. He was only… He nearly bit through his lip when Fenris suddenly went rigid in his arms. Oh shit.

“Mage, were you…?” Oh fuck me , Fenris is looking straight at my cock…

“Nope! Absolutely not!” He wriggled free, damn disturbing the elf, he had to get some privacy right now, or something was going to explode and whatever it was wouldn’t be pretty. He scrambled for a towel, holding it in front of his crotch. And Maker, the sight of Fenris, sleep-rumpled and adorably confused and hard and soft and beautiful, wasn’t helping the situation any. “Good morning, I’m going to-” He shuffled out of the room before he could come up with an end to that sentence.

Well done, Anders. Do what, exactly? Like he can’t guess. He’d shut himself in the bathroom, with a towel and some sleep pants and literally nothing else. His thoughts ran rampant circles around each other, primarily a litany of Fenris knows that I shower at night and oh Maker he’s going to know exactly what I’m doing… am I really doing this? 

He slapped the shower on with one hand and fisted his cock with the other, setting a punishingly fast pace. Apparently he was.

Fenris, left alone in a warm bed that smelled of Anders, was faced with a remarkably similar problem. He’d been indulging himself, he admitted it, enjoying being curled up against his mage, and he hadn’t wanted to spoil the moment.

But fehendis, when he’d opened his eyes and seen those long fingers tracing the outline of Anders’ very noticeable cock. Now that the mage had left (fled, really, like a mabari whose tail was on fire) Fenris couldn’t resist the urge to slide his hand into his underwear to wrap his fingers around his throbbing erection. He knew it was a risky move since Anders could technically return at any time but Fenris had a feeling that the mage was going to be at least a few minutes handling his own problem.

Fenris bit his lip as a groan rumbled in his chest as he began tugging in earnest, his head lolling back as his eyes slid closed. He breathed in deeply, luxuriating in Anders’ scent which clung to the sheets as he thrust lazily into his own fist. His breathing was just speeding up as he lost himself in the moment when there was a rap on the door. The elf snatched his hand out of his underwear as he jolted in surprise, eyes flying open as he scrambled to look less guilty of literally jerking off in Anders’ childhood bed.

The door didn’t open though. Instead Myrta cheerfully called, “Breakfast is ready!” Before her footsteps retreated. Fenris tried to still his rabbiting heart and willed away his already flagging erection. He thought every unsexy thought he could and got dressed, pulling on the deep maroon shirt and dark jeans he had bought the previous day while out shopping. Fenris noticed then that Anders hadn’t taken his own clothes when he fled and realised a bit belatedly that Anders couldn’t have been going to take a shower since he had showered the previous night before bed.

When he arrived downstairs, Anders wasn’t at the table yet and didn’t arrive for another ten minutes. The blush on the blonde’s cheeks was impossible for Fenris to ignore, along with the fact that his hair was completely dry. So he definitely hadn’t been taking a shower. Fenris had to avert his eyes and force himself to think about anything else to avoid another awkward problem that would be very visible in his snug fitting trousers. 

Myrta, blissfully ignorant of what she had interrupted for both of them and the building tension between them, began filling their plates and chattering on about their plans for the day and what they would be making for Wintersend dinner. Fenris ate mechanically, barely lifting his eyes from his plate and any answer he gave was in the form of a grunt.

Finally breakfast was done and they moved as a unit to the living room to start opening presents. There was a certain order to it; as the youngest family member Anders was relegated to handing out presents and waiting as they were opened before he was allowed to open his own. The healer found he didn’t mind, as it meant that he got to watch as Fenris opened his presents from Anders, eyes wide in almost childlike surprise, running reverent fingers over the sword pendant on his necklace. Anders decided it would be better to show the elf the hidden blade in it later, away from his parent’s prying eyes. He also got to see Johann’s insulted frown as he inspected his jumper while Myrta cooed over the earrings Anders had picked out for her.

“Is this constellation…” Fenris trailed off, studying the wrist cuff carefully.

Anders grinned. “It’s Fenrir. And the metal is sturdy, it shouldn’t dent or anything if you bash it on something.” He tactfully didn’t mention that with their friend group that something was likely to be a fist. “It’s okay if you don’t wear it; I realised I’ve never seen you really wear jewellery before.” The elf pulled it closer in an unconscious gesture of protectiveness.

“I love both of them. Will you come and help me put my necklace on?”

Anders nodded and got up from his designated place on the floor to come over to stand behind Fenris. He took the necklace from him to carefully hook it around his slender neck, tingles dancing up his arm from where his fingertips brushed Fenris’ skin. The elf’s ears turned slightly pink. Anders kind of wanted to touch them.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, I’m glad you like them!”

Fenris gave him a subtle smile that was just for Anders, one he’d rarely seen on the elf’s face before. A real, genuine smile of pleasure. “I really do. Now, open your gifts.”

Anders nodded and went to his own small pile. He opened the gift from his parents first, and found, surprise surprise, a pack of socks and a gift card for a store that was only in Ferelden and not available in Kirkwall. He was more careful opening Fenris’ gift to him, finding it a shame to ruin the elf’s meticulous wrapping job.

“Oh Maker, Fen, these are so cute,” he squeaked, forgetting where they were for a moment when he pulled out the mug cosies designed to look like cats. With adorable whiskers and everything!

There was also a tea set, the tea kettle and the cups all painted to look like different breeds of cat. Anders immediately designated the snooty-looking Siamese teacup as Fenris’, and the orange tabby with big blue eyes for himself. There was a box of Anders’ favourite blend of tea. The last box beneath that contained a heating pad that boasted ‘ can be activated using magic! All it takes is a spell! ’ along with a bottle of painkillers and a tin of salve that was meant to ease aches and pains as well. His mouth may have been hanging open. Perhaps. A little.

“The last bit is not strictly part of your gift, but I know your knee and arm have been hurting you,” Fenris explained. The look Anders sent his way could only be described as tender and grateful.

Johann interrupted their moment with a mean spirited snort.

“A heating pad? What is he, a girl on her period?”

Anders opted to ignore him and spoke to Fenris instead. “Thank you, darling. These will definitely help with the pain.”

Fenris opened his mouth to answer but Johann spoke first, cutting off whatever he had been planning to say.

“What do you even have to hurt from? It’s not like you do any hard work.”

“The accident; sometimes my bones still ache from it, especially when it’s cold,” Anders bit out, not looking at his father.

“Maker, this is about that damn accident again. You’ve been useless ever since then, always whining about the pain or setting fire to the house over nothing! You’d think magic would have made you more useful, not less! Sometimes I think it would have been better if we’d had you made Tranquil.” 

Tranquil…

Tranquil.

The word echoed in the room, lingering long after the sound itself was gone. Fenris’ vision went crimson with rage at the terrified look on Anders’ handsome face. It lingered as the red haze faded and Fenris found himself standing on the carpet, staring down at Johann, who was now sprawled across the floor rather than where he had been seated in his armchair. It echoed in his ears as Anders and Myrta gasped in shock. Fenris shook his head to clear it. His knuckles stung. He didn’t care.

“How dare-”

“How dare you?” Fenis spat furiously. “How dare you wish that on your only son! I have seen Tranquility, you ignorant pustule. Do you know what it does?!” He took a step forward, so angry he was shaking. Johann scrambled back and to his feet, hands clenched defensively. Behind Fenris, Anders stood up and moved to his side, but thankfully didn’t touch him. “ Vishante kaffas, Tranquility strips you of everything you are; turns you into a literal slave! It’s a war crime for a reason! And you would wish that on him?!” 

He shook his head, taking a deep breath, trying to calm down. “You disgust me.” He rounded on Myrta, watching with enormous eyes and both hands over her mouth. “You both disgust me. We are leaving. And if you think I will ever allow him to return to a place like this, where he is abused and belittled every moment, you. are. very. wrong.”

He spat on the carpet at Johann’s feet and turned away, surprised to see that Anders had magic twining around his fingers. Not healing magic either, judging by the deep purple colour, like a bruise. Whether the spell was meant for him or his father did not matter, fehendis, nothing mattered except getting his mage out of this house. Immediately.  

Chapter Text

Anders didn’t say a word, all through hastily packing what little had been left out of the suitcase, through Myrta’s tears and Johann’s yelled abuse, through awkwardly waiting at the farm gate for the taxi Fenris called. He was pale and silent and solemn for the entire journey back to the city. He didn’t object, or protest, or suggest; didn’t laugh or cry or smile. He didn’t speak. By the time they were checking into the first hotel Fenris had laid eyes on in the centre of Denerim, the elf was concerned, bordering on worried. 

He shut the hotel room door behind them, dropped his bag to the floor and turned to Anders. “Mage-” He got no further, as Anders stepped into him, crowding Fenris against the door, and kissed him. Whatever he had been planning on saying flew from his mind, leaving it blank with shock. When Anders groaned deep in his throat and threaded his fingers into Fenris’ hair, he gave in, wrapping his arms around his mage and kissing him back, curling his tongue into the man’s mouth to taste the rich, sensuous sound. 

“Fenris-” Anders gasped against his lips, one hand sliding down to wrap around the elf’s waist, pulling them flush against each other. “Fenris, I-” the mage let out a helpless little laugh, and kissed him, and kissed him, as if kisses could say things words never could. And Fenris, swept away by the raging torrent that was Anders, Anders Anders, could do nothing but cling to him and meet every press, every touch, with one of his own. Mine, he thought giddily, barely aware of his own thoughts beneath the ocean of touch and emotion. His hands were in Anders’ hair, his teeth nipping at the mage’s lower lip, and he couldn’t think for wanting…

He couldn’t say how long they kissed before Anders pulled away, and Fenris could only think of that moment out by the pond, of Anders looking at him with those big golden eyes and— what if he didn’t want this like Fenris did? What if he-

His thoughts cut off with a groan as Anders slowly sank to his knees, letting his hands slip over Fenris’ chest, his hips, his thighs… “Fen, please, Fen, let me, please-” 

“Anything,” Fenris breathed, eyes wide. “Whatever you want. Anders-”

Anders wasted no more time, practically ripping at his trousers until he managed to get them down around Fenris’ knees. The elf frantically kicked them off and away from them, lost to the hotel room which felt miles away compared to the scorching heat of Anders’ mouth descending on him.

His hands scrabbled for purchase in Anders’ hair and his own head fell back with a loud thump against their hotel room door. The mage didn’t bother with finesse or teasing, swallowing him down in one motion and drawing a liquid moan from the elf’s lips. Anders was almost frantic with need, swallowing around him, his eyes never leaving Fenris’ face. Fenris was equally undone, breath harsh and muscles loose, green eyes dark with desire. The room was almost silent, apart from the hushed sound of Fenris’ panting, and the filthy, wet sounds that escaped Anders’ lips.

“M- Mage,” Fenris stammered, “if you keep that up I’m going to-” he broke off, gasping as Anders did something particularly wicked with his tongue. “Going to cum.”

Anders pulled away, a trailing line of saliva hanging between his lips and Fenris’ cock. “That’s the idea,” he told him with a sultry smile, hand still lazily working what had been in his mouth. He dove back in without waiting for a response, bobbing his head up and down with single-minded determination. Fenris’ hands fisted in his hair at the onslaught of pleasure, a rumbling groan pulled from him at the ministrations. It was too much, too fast. He’d wanted the mage for so long and suddenly he was here, perfect mouth wrapped around his cock, hands that tingled with magic, sunshine hair and enormous golden eyes watching him avidly, like Fenris and Fenris’ pleasure was the most beautiful thing in the world. His underwear was tangled around one ankle, his shirt pulled uncomfortably around, and he didn’t care, because this was perfect and amazing and the silky sinfully sweet glide of Anders’ tongue doing- that!  

Fenris came with a shout, fingers tightening in Anders’ hair, holding him still. Not that he wanted to go anywhere, humming with pleasure as he nursed Fenris through the aftershocks, swallowing down everything he gave. Finally, when the elf was boneless and twitching from overstimulation, the mage released his cock, nuzzling his hip and sighing in contentment. Still panting, Fenris gazed down at him in something like awe, fingers turned gentle as he brushed them through the golden strands. 

“Anders, that was-” He didn’t know. He didn’t quite have the words. 

“You laid my father out flat, the least you deserve was a mind shattering blowjob. I hope I delivered on the mind shattering part,” Anders told him with a little grin, his voice hoarse and his hair a mess from Fenris’ grip on it.

The elf felt a stab of fear, and his hand dropped from Anders’ head. Did he mean-? “I hope you didn’t do that because you felt you had to repay me.”

“What? No! I sucked your dick because I’ve been dying to since that first night you comforted me about Karl. Longer, if I’m honest. I know you own a mirror, Fenris. You’re fucking gorgeous and if I thought you would have been into it I would have made a move ages ago.” He fluttered his eyelashes, apparently happy to remain on his knees, breath brushing against Fenris’ hip. 

“Is this just… while we’re here?”

Anders blinked up at him. “I was hoping not, but I understand if you don’t want to continue back in Kirkwall.” The mage started to pull away from him, that uncertain look that had shrouded his face the entire time they were around his parents back again.

“I’d like to see where it goes,” Fenris admitted, desperate to wipe that expression off Anders’ face. “Though it’s going to be several days before I can go back.”
“I can think of a few things we could do in the meantime,” Anders said with a sharp grin. “Unless you need a moment…”

Fenris caught his wrist and pulled Anders to his feet. “I don’t need a moment,” his voice rough with arousal. He couldn’t resist kissing the smile that spread across his mage’s face at that. He wrapped his arms around him, but, “Mage, you are wearing too many clothes.” He tugged at the shirt Anders was wearing, still neat and buttoned up ready for Wintersend dinner. The top button popped open, and he immediately buried his nose in the triangle of warm skin that was revealed. Anders smelled sweetly spicy from his instead-of-shave lotion, underlaid with the ever-present scents of elfroot and ozone. His hands fumbled for the rest of the buttons, pulling sharply to undo each one in turn, mouth busy worrying marks into his mage’s throat and collarbone, eliciting small whines and gasps. He barely noticed when Anders stripped his own shirt off, dropping it to the floor in favour of running his palms up Fenris’ arms.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Fen,” the mage breathed shakily into his ear. 

“You’re not too bad yourself,” Fenris rasped before he hooked his hands under Anders’ thighs to pick him up, walking a few steps further into the room to pin the mage to the wall.

“Oh fuck ,” Anders gasped and scrabbled at his shoulders, “that’s so hot, fuck .”

Fenris kissed him again, sliding his tongue back into the mage’s mouth as Anders wound himself around him like ivy, his legs locking themselves around Fenris’ hips. True to his word, Fenris’ cock was hard again and rubbing against Anders’ through his trousers maddeningly. 

Finally Anders wrenched himself away to desperately insist, “Bed, Fen, the bed.”

Rather than setting Anders back on his feet, Fenris carried him to the hotel bed and dumped him on his back. He wasted no time in pulling Anders’ trousers and underwear off, whipping them away to be found later. Only then did he pause, consternation flitting over his face.

“I do not wish to hurt you, and we don’t have lubrication of any kind,” Fenris informed him, annoyed with himself, as if he could have predicted this; Anders naked and stretched out beneath him like a gift he couldn’t imagine receiving. 

“That’s not a problem. You are bedding a mage after all. I’m going to use magic now, if that’s alright with you,” Anders told him breathlessly. 

Rather than doing so without regard for what Fenris said, he waited until the elf nodded at him before there was a flash of light as Anders cast his spell. When it faded, Fenris saw the way the mage’s hand glistened in the half light of the darkened hotel room.

“Grease spell,” Anders explained, grinning cheekily, “took a lot of modifying and experimenting but so worth it.”

He dipped the hand between his thighs and Fenris watched raptly as Anders worked himself open. The blonde’s head fell back and he groaned, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet room. He didn’t waste time with it and it wasn’t long before he pulled his fingers free from the hot clutch of his own body. He cast the spell again without asking permission and wrapped the hand around Fenris’ erection. He smirked when Fenris moaned and his hips fucked into Anders’ slippery fist.

“Enough, I’m ready if you are,” Fenris rumbled. 

It was a chance for Anders to back out, to change his mind and call an end to everything before the point of no return, such as it was. Anders made to turn over onto his hands and knees but Fenris stopped him with a hand on his side. 

“I would prefer to see your face, if it’s all the same to you,” he told him.

“Oh, fuck yeah, get inside me already,” Anders told him before flopping to rest on his back again, squirming up to make room for Fenris to join him on the bed, which the elf did. Fenris took himself in hand, resisting the urge to rut into the grip, and guided the head of his cock to Anders entrance before he began to breach him slowly.

They let out twin groans of pleasure as Fenris seated himself in Anders. Fenris paused there, trembling with his need to move, move, move, but waiting for the tell-tale hitch of Anders’ hips back against his own before he allowed himself to start thrusting. 

The elf tried to keep his motions measured, determined to make it last. His control didn’t last long with how Anders whimpered and writhed beneath him like a desire demon, occasionally sucking in enough air to demand harder, or faster, or oh Maker, there, right there . In the end it was frantic and desperate, all clutching hands and grinding bodies as Anders met him thrust for thrust. 

When Anders came, his back arched so sharply that only the crown of his head remained touching the bed. The sound it ripped from his throat was a combination of a high pitched keen and a hoarse shout. Fenris was not far behind him, losing his rhythm and grunting in time with his movements before he let out a feral growl and thrust as deep as he could before the world went white and he spilled himself inside the vice of Anders’ body.

Afterwards, they curled up together as they had been that morning, feeling their hearts slow and breathing even out. Anders couldn’t stop touching the elf, running his fingers lightly up and down Fenris’ back, feeling the silky, sweat-dewed skin. Fenris touched him in return, brushing over the bruises he’d sucked into Anders’ throat and playing with his hair. 

“I’m sorry I punched your father,” he rumbled suddenly, breaking the bubble of holy-shit-I-fucked-Fenris that Anders was indulging in. 

He let out a sharp bark of laughter. “I’m not. The old bastard deserved it. And,” He tilted Fenris’ chin up so he could look into those beautiful emerald eyes and kiss that pretty mouth, “no one had ever stood up for me against him. Not even my mother. So, thank you.”

Maker, the elf was adorable when he blushed. “There is no need to thank me,”

“There is,” Anders disagreed gently. “You could have ignored it, or decided to stay out of it. Maker, you could have joined in! We weren’t exactly close when we got here. But you…” he bit his lip, searching for the words he wanted and refusing to be distracted by the kiss Fenris stole. “You were on my side. There hasn’t been anyone truly there for me, only me, since…”

“Since Karl,” Fenris finished for him. “He knew what they were like?”

“He knew,” Anders gave a shuddering sigh. “He knew, but he wasn’t a confrontational man. He’d comfort me behind closed doors, reassure me that nothing they said was true, but-” he let out a disbelieving laugh, giving Fenris a beaming smile. “He’d never have punched my father in the face. That was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen!”

Fenris smiled back, like he couldn’t help it, but it was quickly replaced with a small frown. One that Anders tried to kiss away. “You cannot go home now, though.”

Anders laughed and tumbled them over in a flurry of pillows and white sheets, leaning over Fenris to nuzzle at his chest. “I have no home. I’m fine, Fenris. I’ll have one of my own someday.”

“Perhaps-” Fenris let out a short gasp as Anders’ teeth nipped at his throat, arms wrapping around his neck. “Perhaps we’ll both find one.”

“We can hope,” Anders agreed. A wish for the future. For now, he had a gorgeous elf naked in bed with him, and he wasn’t about to waste it.

Chapter Text

One Year Later

Anders yelped as a rubber spatula descended on his knuckles as he tried to sneakily steal a bite of what Fenris was working on. It wasn’t a hard enough hit to really hurt, only stinging for a second or two. Regardless, Anders pouted and shook his hand out. 

“I just wanted to taste test!” He whined at Fenris who had wordlessly continued with his task to finish the dinner he was making.

“You can taste it when it is finished, keep your fingers out of the food,” Fenris scolded. “And check your pies. I need the oven soon.”

Anders turned to peer through the window into the oven, finding that the apple pies he was making still needed a few more minutes. Satisfied he wasn’t burning their dessert he turned again to press himself flush against Fenris’ back, trapping the elf against the counter as Anders trailed his lips teasingly up Fenris’ nape.

“Mage, my sister and our friends will be here soon and I need to finish this. Stop trying to distract me,” Fenris told him. He craned his neck to look at Anders’ face in profile. “We’ll have plenty of time to ourselves this evening after they’ve all left.”

Anders whined and hooked his chin over Fenris’ shoulder to watch as Fenris resumed working on dinner. They stood in comfortable silence until Fenris nudged him back and stepped away to get spices he needed. Anders took the hint and checked his pies again, finding the crust had taken on the golden brown hue that signalled it was done. He pulled them both out; one was larger and for everyone that night while he had made a smaller one just for Fenris.

“Oven’s all yours,” he told Fenris.

“Collect your cat, mage, he’s on the counter again,” Fenris chided as he slid the ham into the oven to cook and set the timer.

Anders picked Pounce up before he could step in the pies, since the cat never tried to eat what he baked, only walked all over it. He kissed the orange tabby on the head before he set him back down on the floor. Pounce let out a plaintive meow at being denied the opportunity to make mischief, but made no move to go back up on the counter, settling instead for winding between Fenris’ ankles and generally getting underfoot.

In the other room, Anders’ phone trilled and Anders went to find it in case it was Hawke or one of their friends. Instead it was a Ferelden number. Anders went to hit the ignore button but Fenris was suddenly at his side. 

“Is that your mother again?”

“Yeah, I-“ Fenris didn’t let Anders finish and instead took the phone from his hand and accepted the call.

“Hello?” Fenris said curtly, “No, this isn’t Wojtek, and he won’t be coming, as he told you several weeks ago. Perhaps if you had appreciated him while he was around, he would be spending the holidays with you. Goodbye.”

He ended the call and set the phone aside before smoothly reaching up and pulling Anders down into a kiss. Anders' hands held his waist and he made a pleased noise into Fenris’ mouth. 

“Y’know, we have time until everyone starts showing up for dinner…”

“Nice try, mage, but we both know Bela shows up whenever she pleases, and I for one am not going to give her a show.”

Anders sniggered. “But you’ve already shown her your blade,” the blonde wriggled his eyebrows suggestively which made Fenris chuckle.

“My necklace blade, not my- well. Regardless.”

Anders laughed brightly and leaned down to kiss him again.

“Fenris, this is so good! I always forget that you can cook!”

“Thank you Hawke. And so you tell me every time you eat my cooking.”

“Guess you’ll just have to cook for me more until I remember then.”

“So tell me, sweet thing, was it really you and our little Fenris who almost got caught by Aveline up against that terrible statue down on the docks?”

“Maker, Isabela, why would you ask me that? Judging by the stains, it could have been half of Kirkwall-”

“Caught doing what? Did I miss the gossip again?”

“Oooh, look at how red my brother’s ears are!”

“‘Nia, stop-”

“Oh Anders , how could you?! You know that statue is of one of my ancestors?”

“You will put down that phone at the table, dwarf.”

“I’m just checking my email, scout’s honour!”

“You were never a Boy Scout; I’d bet my underwear on it!”

“But, Issy, you don’t wear underwear-”

“Neither am I,” Anders breathed in Fenris’ ear, watching it twitch and the flush rise along his cheekbones. The look he got in response was scorching. And if Fenris slipped a hand under his belt to check the truth of his claim, well, he was only sitting next to Isabela. She’d probably consider it a proper greeting. 

“Oh, I bet that was good,” Varric guessed from across the table, watching Anders squirm. He scrambled to his feet before Fenris could make him do more than blush.

“I think we need more wine, yes? Fen, love where did you put the- Oh, yes here it is, silly me…” Shit. Shit!  

He glanced over at the elf, hoping that… that had gone unnoticed under the clamour and chatter of all their friends, but no such luck. Fenris was staring at him with enormous, liquid eyes, his mouth slack in surprise. Anders swallowed the lump of clay that had appeared in his throat. “I’m going to-” He gestured in the general direction of the kitchen. “Yes, I’ll just…”

The kitchen was cool and dark compared to the dining room. Anders gripped the edge of the counter and tried to take a few deep breaths. This was okay, this was fine. It was true anyway, and even if Fenris didn’t feel the same, they still had a good time together, didn’t they? Nothing had to change, and everything was fine, and Fenris wasn’t going to leave just because of a slipped unguarded word…

He yipped in surprise when fingers wrapped around his, tugging him away from the crumb-covered countertop and turning him towards Fenris.

Fenris whose eyes were still enormously green, deep as a forest, and Anders bit his lip to keep whatever it was in.

“Truly?” Fenris asked in an uncharacteristically tremulous voice. “Anders, do you really..?”

“Of course.” What a stupid question. “I’ve loved you for months, haven’t you noticed?” Anything else he might have said was thankfully cut off by a kiss. And not just a quick brush of lips; no, this was deep and slow and thorough, tongues and teeth and hands on his biceps holding him tight, like the elf was afraid he’d vanish.

He knew his lips were swollen when Fenris finally pulled back, but he absolutely didn’t care right now. Fenris gave him a final, sweet kiss. “I love you too,” There was nothing else he could do; he had to kiss him again. Now.

“Fucking finally,” Varania muttered as she helped herself to the wine that Anders had completely forgotten about. “We’ve been waiting months for this to happen. Hey Varric!” She raised her voice, “You owe me fifty gold!”