Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Water, dripping down his face, darkening his hair, catching in his coat. No longer feathers, no fancy design, plain, sturdy wool and leather. Time had changed much.

But not this. Not him. Still beautiful, still upright, still standing in the rain like a man drawing his first breath.

Fenris leaned back against the meagre protection of the damp chantry wall, taking in the sight, the soft slope of his shoulders, every single strand of hair, the water gathering in the palms of his hands. Memory was a treacherous thing. It brandished what scarred yet buried your treasures, and just when you felt safe, it slipped away, stealing what you most wanted to keep. Look as hard as he might, the image would fade. But he would remember the feeling. He would remember this day.

They’d made it. All pursuers shaken, the hunt called off, the last bands of scattered, anxious mages gathered and guided to safety. A new world, a new Divine. It still frightened him, sometimes, but it was worth it to see Anders like this.

Free.

They were both free now.

Free to go wherever they pleased. Free to take a moment to feel the rain.

A tiny river of drops converged on the tip of Anders’ nose as he turned his head, reached out a hand.

“The rain is warm, Fenris. You need to feel this.”

He took it, let Anders pull him away from the protection of the overhanging roof, followed as he took a few more steps onto the plaza. Eyes closed, he tilted his face to the sky.

“Where do you want to go now?” He didn’t need to look at Anders to know that he was smiling.

They’d discussed it, at length. Fenris would stay; he would follow wherever Anders’ fight led them for as long as it took, would lend his blade, his fist, his love to support the man he’d chosen, until the world no longer claimed that man was not free to make the same choice. And when there was nothing left to be done, when the fight was either won or had to be abandoned, Anders would do the same for him. Follow him through whatever Fenris felt he needed to do.

He hadn’t required a promise, even if he’d been grateful for Anders’ insistence. He’d known, long before the mage repeated his agreement with eyes burning blue. They’d taken more than one detour, for him. No slaver crossed their path and lived. Only some of them died by his hands.

And Justice for all.

He kept his eyes closed, let the water tickle his skin, soak into his clothes for a moment longer.

They could find new allies, kill more slavers, dismantle their trade in earnest.

They could see their friends again.

They could visit places he’d only heard of, take a break, get that cat.

And no matter where he steered them, they would be together.

He was free to choose…but the most important choice had already been made. When he’d chosen to stay that night. And then again, that day, years later. He had looked at dust and smoke and death and he had seen threads, loving eyes and hands intertwined. His anger could not compete. He stayed. He forgave. And eventually, he understood.

Fenris turned to look at the mage, who’d stuck out his tongue to catch a few drops, and squeezed his hand, warm and wet in his own.

“Let us not decide right now.”

They could afford to stand here, together in the warm summer shower, for as long as they pleased, and when they wished to get dry again, they would go find an inn.

There was no need for immediate plans. No one was hunting them.

Not anymore.

Chapter Text

A single, leaf, dried and faded. He shouldn’t have kept it. Let alone framed it. Enshrining garbage, I see? Always so sentimental, Fenris would have said, that little smirk of his lurking in the corners of his mouth.

Anders still misses that smirk. He will never stop missing it, always clinging to what is bound to slip away. Fenris had a point, as usual. Still smugly superior, even when he’s just an echo of a past long gone.

At least Anders didn’t put it on a shelf. No, stored safely out of sight, it lies waiting. For moments like this, when Anders is weak – weak, always and eternally weak – when he seeks to find comfort in what has been lost. When he picks it up, lets his fingers trace its lines, the net of intricate veins, the frayed holes and edges. Brittle. Lifeless. Yet still the same as when he pulled it out of the tangle of strands behind Fenris’ ear, kissing his red, runny nose. He can still see it clearly, Fenris’ smile, his hair plastered to his face, eyes gleaming, feverish, wild and unshackled in the storm, the taste of his lips mingling with that of the rain, his hand warm and firm in his as he led the way. Their beginning. So much prettier than the end.

Before. There is no going back. No knocking on his door, no shoving the horrors back into their box. A handful of trinkets are all that remains. And memories, sometimes an avalanche, sometimes a drizzle, piercing that hollow space inside him.

Outside, the leaves keep falling, the wind shakes the trees like it did that day. Where is he now, Anders wonders. Did he flee the city, the country, the continent? Or is he still right there, curled up in what used to be their favourite armchair, looking at a clear blue sky? Is he happy? Does he know he is loved, and always will be?

And does he ever think of him, when the leaves fall, when his cat purrs, when his eyes fall on that scar?

Anders knows loneliness; he knows it inside out, like a favourite sweater, like an old friend. He thought he knew what he was giving up.

But there had never been a loneliness like this.

Yet it was worth it, if it means Fenris can be free. Wherever he went, he will have a life. He will be happy. He will be loved. And Anders will be what he was always destined to be. A memory, a distant ghost of past mistakes.

The scarf has long since lost his scent, but Anders wears it anyway, as he walks out into the storm, to smell the rain, and remember.

Chapter Text

His hand still on the doorknob, Anders didn’t even have time to blink in surprise. There was a flash of dark brown topped with white and covered in spikes, and then there were arms around him, lips on his, the taste of Fenris in his travel-weary mouth, sweet and urgent and home, and Anders certainly wasn’t complaining but…

“Eh, hello to you too. What was that for?”

Somewhere in between assaulting his neck with lips and teeth, Fenris managed a muttered, “I missed you.”

“Did you now? I must say, you’re awfully cuddly for someone who wouldn’t even properly kiss me Goodbye. I seem to recall a lot of glowering and grumbling about my ‘stubborn obsession with saving the world’.”

His smug grin was promptly wiped away by a very insistent tongue and an armful of elf pushing him into a chair, crawling into his lap and twisting his fingers into his hair as he began to grind against him.

He bit back a laugh. “Fenris, it’s only been a week.”

“Exactly. A week. Why did you stay away for so long?”

Anders’ voice softened immediately, although it became even harder not to laugh. Fenris didn’t pout often but when he did, it was simply too adorable to resist.

“You really did miss me, didn’t you?”

“And here I was thinking I had made that perfectly clear.”

“I hope you’re not planning to keep me locked up,” Anders said, making a show of raising his eyebrows.

“No. From now on, I shall go with you. And do not even think of sneaking off. You are as stealthy as a herd of Hawkes.”

“Don’t let him hear that.”

“I highly doubt he could, over all the noise he makes.”

“So”—he flashed Fenris a broad grin—“basically, your plan is to keep me from putting myself in danger by reminding me I’d also be putting you in danger?”

“Perhaps.”

Not the worst of plans, Anders decided as Fenris pulled him down for another

Chapter Text

“I lied before. There is no potion.”

There is no potion.

I lied.

Around him, more words were falling, useless and hollow. Hawke kept pressing Anders for details about the favour he’d asked of him, but his attempts were half-hearted at best; he was already on his way back to his cheerful, trusting self. As their conversation moved on to plans, to smiles and promise, Fenris’ mind remained stuck on that one, casual remark.

Because it hadn’t been casual at all.

No potion.

What was really going on?

Was his mage safe?

His mage. Anders would probably have had to say a thing or two (or, knowing him, 200) about this use of the possessive, yet after everything they’d shared, that was how it felt. Anders might huff and deny it - Venhedis, he’d spent months trying to deny it himself – but they belonged. They understood each other. Fenris knew more than just the scent of his skin or the sound of his moans; he knew his tells, the furrows and valleys of his worries, the flicker of thoughts he tried to hide. And right now, he knew that something was very, very wrong.

Wrong enough that just for a second there, even Hawke had sensed it.

True, the taste of despair wasn’t new on Anders; they’d all had weeks of fun teasing him about a certain ham - but this was different. There was a sort of…finality to his demeanor, as though there was more and less of him at the same time. Fenris couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it was almost impossible to resist the urge to surge forward, pull Anders close, protect him from whatever it was that was haunting him.

He couldn’t, of course. That was not who were, not how they approached one another. There was nothing he could do to help, and Hawke didn’t even seem to realize help was needed. Or perhaps he simply didn’t care, always one to take a ride with trouble. And Anders was always trouble, always ready to put himself at risk.

But that Fenris didn’t have the words to reach him didn’t mean he couldn’t watch over him; he had more than enough experience following the mage without being noticed. What was it Anders had asked of Hawke? The grand cleric…the chantry… tomorrow? Well then, tomorrow.

Fenris would be there.

Chapter Text

A soft rustle reached his ears, roused his fears and hauled him out of the refuge of his dreams. He shot up, fumbling for his staff, mind racing through the endless list of possible threats. Templars, bandits, ogres, mercenaries, Sebast-

“A nug,” supplied a voice next to him, its low, soothing tones instantly causing his body to relax. As he turned his head, glowing green eyes met his. “They seem to be common in these regions.” Fenris smiled, reaching out a hand to brush several stray strands of hair out of his eyes. “Your wards will hold. And should someone trigger them, you won’t have to fight them alone.” The elf gently pulled him back down, tucked his head underneath his chin and wrapped his arms around him. “Try to get some sleep. You need it.”

“Thank you,” Anders whispered against Fenris’ neck, “thank you for making everything a little less scary.”

He could hear the smile in the elf’s voice as his reply carried him back to sleep.

“I am your husband. It is my job.”

Chapter Text

“You have every right to be upset.” Hawke nodded emphatically, trying to comfort the elf sulking next to him. “Justice distracting him is no excuse for forgetting your anniversary. I should teach this feathered jerk some manners. Just say the word; I’ll kick his ass if you want me to…”

He got a sharp “No!” for his efforts. Yet it was another, utterly bewildering sound that caused Hawke’s jaw to head for the floor.

“Fenris, did…did you just…growl? I don’t think I’ve ever…”

As unusual as it was, the elf did it again. With feeling.

“The mage ass is mine.”

Chapter Text

“You’re going out dressed like that?”

“Yes, Hawke. Is there a problem?”

“Fenris…you’re wearing…a staff. And those robes! Maker, they show your…”

“They are looking for a mage. If this is what it takes to get their attention, so be it.”

Still staring incredulously, Hawke couldn’t do much more than stammer, “I…I guess this is what they call true love.”

Fenris showed no reaction as he walked towards the entrance of the cave they had been huddling in all night. “I’ll mark the trail. And I count on you to keep Anders safe.” He gave Hawke a nod before he stepped out into the rain, a dark grin taking hold of his face. “Let them try to smite me.”

Chapter Text

“Admit it, you stepped on that pressure plate on purpose,” Fenris hissed as they stepped out of the cave.

“Excuse me? May I remind you that I was the one who immediately cast a barrier around you to keep you from becoming toast? You’re welcome, by the way.”

“A barrier that for some reason stopped right below my hair.”

“Weren’t you complaining it was always falling into your eyes? Problem solved.”

“I am nearly bald.”

“Oh quit whining, it’s just a little singed at the tips. What do you want from me; I had to be quick, and barriers are not an exact science.”

“That claim would be more believable if you weren’t grinning.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not grinning,” Anders said, grinning.

Chapter Text

The guy had a nice smile. A shy one, just barely tugging at the corner of one mouth, but somehow, that only made it more appealing. Not to mention that every so often, shy turned into sly, which was appealing in…different ways. Very nice and good ways. Yes. Both would be good…

Dammit, Anders, keep it in your pants, this is business, not pleasure.

Figured that this one time, Anders would have actually liked for it to be pleasure. Or well, fun. Just fun. And maybe pleasure later…

He softly shook his head – wouldn’t do to freak his not-date out with an elaborate mabari impression – and sighed. If he wanted to get the message out, he’d have to be professional. Perhaps there’d be a chance for a second meeting, a real date, at some point, once the story was published and Meredith had been hauled off to prison where she belonged, when the public had finally had their eyes opened to just how much mages still suffered in this wonderful new world, and things could, would, finally change…

If it got published at all. Perhaps they’d simply cover it up, quietly replace Meredith and the worst of her lackeys and pretend the whole thing never happened - but journalists weren’t interested in keeping stories untold, right? Would be an odd choice of profession otherwise… Sure, this specific one seemed like the quiet type…quiet, but no doubt brilliant. You could see it in his eyes, in those brief flashes of observation, that sharp wit that also shone through in his pithy quips and anecdotes. A man of few words, but he made every single one count. A perfect fit for the job, really, and just the person to trust with such a delicate issue.

I wonder how Varric met him…or was it Isabela? Did they…? I’ll have to ask Hawke, he’ll know…and while I’m at it I should also tell him to rely on their judgement more often cause this guy…meeeoooow!

Turns out at least some of his friends had excellent taste, although given what Hawke had put him through, even ‘acceptable’ would have been a vast improvement.

He shuddered as his mind replayed the endless parade of horror dates Hawke had fixed him up with. And they call ME an abomination. It had started at awful and kept getting worse, with not a single glimmer of hope in between.

Alright, if it hadn’t been for her allergies being so bad she couldn’t even be in the same room with Pounce, the girl with the nug tattoo wouldn’t have been so bad – in fact, her collection of nug plushies in all shapes and sizes had been the very definition of awesome - but other than that…

‘Afraid of pants’, ‘got his tongue stuck on a lamppost trying to walk him home’, ‘thinks challenging him to a fistfight is an appropriate way of courting’, ‘constantly asking him to set things on fire’, ‘boastful rich guy who smells of moustache wax’, ‘religious fanatic communicating solely in annoyed grunts’, ‘professor of elven history who happens to hate elven history, and also…well, everything else, including Anders. And the sun. And soft kittens. And chocolate and rainbows and the very concept of joy’, and to top it all off, a ‘freaking Templar with an overly shiny face’… Was it any wonder Anders had refused to let himself be set up on even one more date?

And now this not-date was an absolute keeper, charming eye and brain candy (and ugh, that voice, ear candy too), plus he’d been really remarkably sweet and considerate about the whole thing, not barging in and bombarding him with question after question, but actually taking the time to ask about his interests, tell him a few things about himself, share jokes and charming little anecdotes and just…make it all easy and comfortable. It felt like blasphemy to interrupt that melodic voice with talk of gruesome injustices but in the end, Fenris (such a lovely name too!) hadn’t come here just to look at a pretty face, had he?

Anders took a sip of water, fiddling with the stem of his glass as he forced himself to finally get to the point. “So…do you want to get started on the interview?”

There was a brief pause during which Fenris’ eyes first narrowed, then widened, then narrowed again. “The…interview?”

“Yes. Don’t get me wrong, not that this isn’t nice…really nice, like, absolutely lovely. You know,” Anders hastened to add, “if you wanted to repeat this sometime, under different… circumstances, I’d totally be down for that, just, tell me how high and I’ll jump… But I mean, you came here for a reason, so I’d better deliver, right?”

“I…I do not wish to speak off...” Deep furrows had formed on Fenris’ face; he looked ready to bolt. “I…was told this was a date.”

Knowing his friends, this should not have come as that much of a surprise. Nope, it shouldn’t have left him sitting there gaping like a carp trying to solve a logarithmic equation.

Of fucking course.

But, knowing his friends, at least Anders pieced things together fast enough for the silence not to reach catastrophic levels of awkward. The current level of ‘exceedingly awkward’ was more than enough, thanks, guys.

Anders cleared his throat around a not-at-all-unnatural little laugh. “Dammit Hawke.” Understanding dawned on Fenris’ face. Of course, they were his friends too…well, at least some of them had to be his friends, right? “One of Varric’s and Isabela’s charming ideas, if I were to hazard a guess. See, after the last couple of thousand disasters, I’ve been refusing to go on any more blind dates. But of course they knew perfectly well I wouldn’t be able to resist someone from Seekers Corp—“

“Seekers Corp?” Judging by Fenris’ expression, that did not ring a bell.

“Oh, didn’t they tell you?” Anders grinned. “You’re a fancy undercover journalist from Seekers Corp, investigating mage rights violations. And hey, I’m always a slut for mage rights, so these bastards set a nice, juicy little trap for me. Not that I mind, honestly, you’re quite nice and juicy yourself… Alright, sorry, strike that last part, that definitely sounded better in my head, a bit creepy for a first date—“

Fenris cut off Anders’ babbling. “You are a… You are interested in…mage rights?” There was a slight shift in his posture and inflection. Anders couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something felt off. Enough so that it sobered Anders’ tone to a careful, lip-biting, “Well…yes. I’m just not that fond of my people suffering—“

“You are a mage?”

Now that look didn’t require any further explanation. Anders had seen it countless times, but this one was… well, not the worst, nothing beats your father calling heavily armed thugs to drag you out of your own home, but it was definitely in the top ten. And he wasn’t even given a chance to come up with a snarky, witty, or perhaps just plain angry retort; he just sat there, watching with wide eyes as Fenris reached beneath his chair, pulled out his backpack and, at an alarming speed, shoved every single breadstick on their table into it.

“I have to go right now immediately.”

And with that, he was out the door, leaving Anders too dumbstruck to even fight for his fair share of pillowy goodness.

And the bastard ran out on the bill too! The fucking GALL!

Anders wolfed down the remainder of his meal so quickly he burnt his tongue several times – he didn’t even really taste what he was eating but he was paying for it, for fucking all of it, he sure as hell would eat it. And then he’d hurry to get out of here and go kick a certain someone’s ass.

Oh yes, Hawke would pay for this.

Fenris stormed along the street, breath coming out in little puffs in the cold winter air. The colourful blur of cars and houses rushing by didn’t register, and neither did the angry shouts of unsuspecting pedestrians that had just narrowly managed to avoid a collision with 160 pounds of angry elf. His mind was too busy trying to decide whether it should focus on lamenting the fact that there hadn’t been enough breadsticks to fill his backpack to the brim, or the fact that the handsome, funny man with the golden hair and that voice like caramel (and a penchant for cat-themed accessories that was more charming than it had any right to be) was a mage. A mage Fenris had been foolish enough to like. To joke with, to consider meeting again, to maybe kiss, or hug, or marry… Yet more people hastened to step out of Fenris’ path as he flung colourful curses at the snowflakes drifting in the glow of the streetlights above him.

Hawke would pay for this.

(Now guess where they meet again…)