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Fenris respectfully stood back, watching the mage hurry across the still busy clinic. It seemed unreal to the elf how many people still came to the clinic every day. One would think the mage had healed pretty much everyone by now, yet more poor and homeless people found their way into Anders’ clinic every day.
He would have expected people to be busy preparing for Satinalia, but then, what means did the poor and homeless have to celebrate? Fenris knew Anders would ask them outside soon, so he could lock up the clinic, but until then, he happily and kindly provided shelter from the surprisingly harsh winter that had taken hold of Kirkwall over the past few days, handed out what little food he could find – find, not actually spare – and there was a by now almost empty pot over the fire that had provided them with hot soup, made of what little Lirene had been able to find to cook before leaving the clinic to take care of her shop.
Occasionally, Anders would spare a glance at him and Fenris did not miss the surprise the mage showed each time he noticed Fenris was still around. The elf had only meant to deliver that basket Hawke had asked to bring to Anders.
Fenris was still there when the last people – a woman with her two children – left the clinic, watching Anders lock up the door with a sigh before offering the elf a tired, uncertain smile. “Something you need?”
“Why would I need anything from you?” Fenris asked, still in the same spot not too far from the door, leaning against the wall and ignoring the chilly wind wafting through it.
“Because you are still here.” Anders nodded at the basket the elf had delivered. “Hawke?” he asked.
“He made me promise to deliver the basket. I hear you do not plan to participate in the festivities at his estate tonight?”
Anders huffed and shrugged while beginning to tidy up the place.
“You would have it warm and safe,” Fenris murmured. “Obviously, Hawke would ask you to stay the night.”
The expression flitting briefly over the mage’s face at those words was not one Fenris was familiar with. If he had to guess, the elf would call it irritation.
“Obviously, I am not a friend of festivities and crowds,” Anders replied while reaching for something beneath his desk. “It’s why I made sure whatever little gifts I have for them all was handed over this morning when he paid me a visit and invited me again.” He fixed his gaze on Fenris. The elf shuffled uncomfortably. “Are you going?”
“No.” Fenris let his gaze travel across the clinic’s dirty floor.
“You should get on your way. It’s getting dark and even colder. Maker, I can’t remember the last time we had such a strong winter and winter has only just arrived.”
Fenris watched with interest as Anders produced a small basket from beneath his desk before walking toward the elf and thrusting the basket into his hands. Green eyes wide in surprise, Fenris stared at it.
“What is this, mage?” he asked.
“Happy Satinalia,” Anders merely replied with a small smile. “Open it once you get home. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
A gift?
Fenris was not prepared for this. Eyes still wide, he locked gaze with the tired mage, eyebrows furrowing.
“If you end up attending Hawke’s party, please let him know I’m sorry I can’t make it.” Anders gestured at the door. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind…I’m rather tired, Fenris. Thank you for coming down here to deliver Hawke’s basket. I know spending time in my presence is your least favorite thing in the world.”
~*~
Fenris felt strange making his way back to Hightown, carrying the basket the mage had given him. A Satinalia gift? From Anders? The mage had once again managed to confuse Fenris and confusion, where the elf was concerned, usually meant infuriate.
Fenris hated not being able to respond properly in certain situations and Anders had a talent for getting Fenris in such situations. He’d snarl at the mage and still end up finding himself healed by Anders after yet another encounter with spiders, dragons or Carta. Fenris would rant at the mage about not understanding what being a slave meant and completely disregard Anders’ attempts to explain the situation in the Circles to him, yet Anders never actually fought back, insulted or ignored the elf like Fenris would the mage. If they actually did get into a heated argument that made Hawke tell them both to just stop it already, Anders would be the first to go quiet while Fenris certainly would have liked to test just how far he could push the ‘abomination’ until Anders would show his true face.
His ‘true face’, Fenris had to begrudgingly admit to himself a while ago, was the man the elf had just seen work at the clinic.
And now Anders had gone and gifted him something just because it was Satinalia. Fenris neither believed he deserved such kindness, nor had he even thought of returning the sentiment. Fenris had purchased gifts for a few selective companions, which basically meant for everyone but Anders and Merrill and when it came to Isabela – well, the kind of gift she had requested with a leer and a wink, Fenris was not inclined to give to the pirate, even though he did feel humbled she had voiced an…interest.
Even though Fenris had told Anders he would not attend Hawke’s party, his feet carried him to Hawke’s estate anyway and when he made the mistake of so much as blink at the decorated front door, it had already opened and Hawke had pulled him inside and to in front of the warm fireplace so Fenris could get the chill out of his bones. His gauntleted hands kept clutching the basket tightly as he sat quietly in his spot, nodding his thanks when something to drink and food was placed in front of him. The estate was quite busy and Fenris was sure not even Hawke had expected so many visitors. Aveline had brought some of her Guardsmen along, who were laughing loudly, cheeks flushed from the warmth inside the estate and the questionable amount of alcohol consumed before Fenris had stopped by. Sandal was playing with Hawke’s mabari and the dog made his delight known by barking cheerfully – and loudly.
Two hours passed and Fenris found himself once again confused by the mage – who was not even present. Fenris didn’t know why he had expected Anders to be lying about him not attending the party, other than thinking it made no sense. Anders seemed drawn to Hawke like a moth to the flame, constantly seeking reassurance and, as Fenris occasionally believed, backup against Fenris. Varric had once, in jest, pointed out how these two seemed to try and outdo themselves vying for Hawke’s friendship and support – and disapproval of their rival. It was not something Fenris thought they did intentionally and for his part, he could not care less if Hawke sided with Anders. Fenris could always leave – he did not need another fool corrupted by a mage.
Except Hawke was not and Anders wasn’t here. Fenris wasn’t sure why it actually bothered him, knowing they were all in one place and the mage was missing.
The only one sparing a few minutes to actually talk to him was Varric. Not surprising, Fenris thought bemused. Varric was good at paying attention to everyone, even during a party. Speaking to the dwarf did not make the elf feel less out of place among cheerful people, such as the rest of their companions and the other guests, but he did feel grateful that Varric tried.
“Couldn’t help but notice you brooding again,” the dwarf opened their conversation with his usual toothy grin. “Now, what’s what you keep clutching to your chest?”
“An unexpected gift,” Fenris rumbled as he sipped on his wine, the food untouched and cooled off by now.
“Secret admirer?”
“Kindness I do not deserve.”
Varric frowned at him. “I guess it makes no sense to ask what that even means?”
Fenris merely offered the hint of a smirk. “It would seem the abomination was not invited?” he asked casually.
The dwarf’s eyebrows shot up at the question. “On the contrary, but it seems Blondie doesn’t like parties much. I’ll make sure to pay him a visit first thing tomorrow.”
“Why would he not enjoy receiving attention from Hawke and be treated like a normal person?” Fenris grunted out, yet still held the basket more tightly to his chest.
“It’s Satinalia, Broody,” Varric commented with a sigh. “Cut it out for the day at least, will you?”
~*~
Varric’s reprimand was fully justified.
The late night hours found Fenris sitting on his bed, staring at the contents of the basket in disbelief. He’d received gifts from Hawke and the others before leaving the estate; small gifts that had warmed his heart, knowing they had all cared enough to get him something. Fenris had never received gifts before and he was proud of himself for not losing his composure as his companions – his friends – had piled their carefully wrapped gifts on the basket he couldn’t seem to let go of all night and cheerfully wished him a happy Satinalia. He was sure Hawke would have even tried to hug him, had he not been afraid to get injured thanks to the elf’s rather spiky armor.
He felt gratitude for the mage not even having tried to put labels on the flasks or attach a note to them. He wouldn’t have had to, for Fenris was familiar with these. Anders had given him the one or other in the past. Fenris knew the color of the potion and its smell and even though he had never told Anders about it, he’d been thankful when they had relieved the pain his markings caused, gifting him with a peaceful sleep at nights.
The basket held six of them. They would last for a long time. Fenris distantly remembered Anders telling him what exactly he used to make them, and that he couldn’t make them regularly because some of the herbs he needed only grew during the warmer months. This meant the mage had collected them and kept them safe for months; thinking ahead so he could give Fenris these potions.
What had the elf’s ears twitch and pink with joy were the apples. Juicy, sweet, of a pink-ish color. Fenris’ favorite apples. He had no idea how Anders knew. They were pretty much the only thing that would make Fenris roam Hightown market, since he usually tried to avoid going out on his own.
Fenris took off his gauntlets and grabbed one of the apples. After the first bite, he let out an appreciative moan and allowed his body to fall back, bed bouncing under his weight. Eyes slipping closed, he savored the taste on his tongue, each following bite of apple chewed as slowly as possible so he could enjoy it longer. After not touching any of the food at Hawke’s estate, those apples were perfect and just what he needed after barely eating anything all day.
He unwrapped the gifts he’d gotten from his friend after finishing the apple. Thoughtful gifts, he noticed, a rare, full smile grazing his lips. Things he was sure he’d put to good use in the future, yet his mind would not allow him to stray from thinking that the mage’s unexpected gift was – the most perfect of all. Fenris glanced at the basket from the corners of his eyes, once again wondering what he had done that the mage thought he deserved a gift from him as well.
He also wondered the real reason Anders did not show up at Hawke’s estate. Fenris had fully expected him to, especially after he told the mage he wouldn’t attend the party.
The mage had looked tired by the time Fenris had left the clinic, but then again, Anders looked tired and exhausted most of the time. That he had not become a liability to them yet was nothing short of a miracle – at least, Fenris was sure that was what Sebastian would say. Every once in a while, Fenris had sworn the mage would go down first in battle, only to learn that Anders was often the last one standing and still casting defensive or healing spells. It gnawed away on the pride Fenris hadn’t know he actually possessed until it happened for the first time.
Maybe Varric wasn’t so wrong about Anders and him vying for Hawke’s friendship and attention – except they were utterly lousy at that game. Where Anders was compassionate, protective and an open book, Fenris kept to himself, had problems articulating his thoughts, needs and desires and in his attempt to keep everyone around him safe and sound, taking responsibility for their safety, he was the one often obtaining the worst injuries – and needing someone like Anders to see to him, if he wanted to see another sunrise.
With a huff of annoyance, Fenris blinked his eyes open, staring at the ruined ceiling. The dark night sky was clear, a pale new moon shedding some light on Kirkwall for this festive day. He could hear people sing in the distance, the songs unfamiliar to him. While Satinalia in itself was not unfamiliar to Fenris, he could not remember it being a cheerful time in Tevinter. There was no singing, no children laughing happily, no warm greetings and best wishes between people randomly meeting on the streets. In Tevinter, Satinalia was about who celebrated it best, showing off your powerful family and wealth; who was able to afford the most expensive gift. Murder was not uncommon on Satinalia, either. In fact, some years, it seemed like a game between powerful families.
It had made Fenris grateful that Danarius was not a father. The blood shed he’d seen was sickening.
Fenris’ thoughts drifted back to Hawke and the party at the man’s estate. Were they still celebrating? Did they mourn his absence? Did they even care he was no longer present? He admittedly missed the warmth of Hawke’s home. While his own mansion wasn’t exactly freezing cold, he hole in the ceiling did not help keeping the warmth of the fireplace inside long enough. Varric had so often offered to find someone to fix it for him, yet Fenris kept declining. In the past, he had not seen himself remaining in Kirkwall long enough to have need for such a thing. Now it had been years and Fenris still hadn’t moved on.
Arms wrapped around himself, the muscles in his back aching from the chill at the clinic in Darktown, Fenris wondered if the mage was able to keep warm. Truth to Anders’ word, it had gotten much colder after sunset. Darktown had been freezing as it was. The only source of warmth in the mage’s clinic had been the small fire used to keep that pot of soup warm. Fenris frowned and sat up. Why had that fool mage not gone to Hawke’s estate, where he’d be safe and warm at least for tonight. Longer, if he would accept the invitation Hawke would undoubtedly voice. Had voiced so often in the past that Fenris had stopped counting. It was easier to be infuriated when it came to Hawke’s naivety where the mage was concerned.
He sighed and scowled at himself, as he did so often when he was on his own. Fenris knew he was being unreasonable. Often, he was also rather unfair, especially toward the man who had…
Again, his gaze drifted over to the basket, his frown deepening.
Why? Had Anders been sincere, offering him a gift where Fenris was sure he deserved none or did the mage plan something? Was he trying to make Fenris feel bad? Make him look bad in front of their mutual friends and companions? Had Hawke suggested Anders be kind and nice to Fenris and make a peace offering of sorts?
“Fasta vass,” Fenris growled into the silence of the mansion. People were confusing. Anders was confusing and it angered him in a way he could not comprehend.
He reached for the basket, absent-minded, and grabbed another apple, savoring and enjoying it the same way he’d done with the first. It calmed the fury inside Fenris, his body relaxing as he rejoiced in the sweet flavor. Fury was replaced by guilt, doubt and confusion.
~*~
By the time Fenris stole out of his mansion in the safety of the night, most of Kirkwall was still awake. There was light in almost every window on his way, soft murmurs and joyful laughter, the scents of various dishes filling his nostrils and making his stomach growl despite having eaten a third apple.
The air was crystal clear and smelled of ice. Fenris had often travelled Thedas with Danarius, always at the magister’s side. He remembered the smell of ice and snow from their journey across the Frostback Mountains. It had been foreign, so rare, that he had memorized it for a lifetime. Knee-deep in snow as he’d marched the mountain pass next to Danarius’ carriage, eyes wide open and attentive. He had not understood the purpose of that journey and it probably wasn’t important. Frostback Mountains were a stark contrast to the climate he was used to, the heat and humidity of Minrathous.
Smelling it now, Fenris wondered if it meant snow was starting to fall soon. From what Varric had told them, Kirkwall hadn’t seen snow in two decades, the climate usually too mild in the Free Marches. Fenris vividly remembered Hawke’s disappointment. The man was such a child.
Lowtown was not as awake at this hour as Hightown was. Instead of lit windows, Fenris saw shadows flitting across the streets and into dark, narrow alleyways. Hushed whispers in the dark, a crying infant and a mother’s soothing words to calm it accompanied Fenris’ strolling as he quickly made his way from the lift he’d just emerged from to the one that would take him to Darktown. Wrapped in a thick coat he’d found at the mansion, protecting him from the cold, Fenris was almost invisible in the darkness. Only the moonlight catching in his white hair and making it shimmer warned people of his presence, along with his glowing eyes. A group of young men huddling around a fire eyed him with concern as he hurried past them toward the lift to Darktown. In favor of reaching his destination as fast as possible, Fenris was even able to ignore yet another knife-ear comment from one of them.
Darktown certainly honored its name. Fenris paused, taken aback at how dead this part of the city seemed to be. The narrow paths were empty. Not even the thiefs and thugs usually present at all times of the day were seen. He continued his way more carefully now, watching his footing as he headed for the clinic. Despite his good eyesight even in the dark, Fenris almost walked past it. He was not accustomed to seeing the clinic lie in complete dark, with the lanterns extinguished. Not a single noise came from inside. Pointed ears twitched and moved and Fenris found himself frown once again. Not even the sound of breathing.
Had the mage left his clinic after all?
His gaze dropped to a bowl near the entrance and Fenris snorted, remembering that Anders always put out milk before going to bed, in hope that one day, he’d find a new feline friend when he opened the clinic. Hawke had always given the mage a pitying look, when Anders emptied the bowl the next morning or whenever the mage accompanied them for a job and the unhappy sigh the mage would let out.
Taking another step closer, Fenris leaned down to reach for the bowl. It would be useless to put out milk tonight. It was likely frozen.
His hand stopped short of the bowl, green eyes blinking in surprise at finding it empty. Had the mage forgotten to put out milk tonight?
The creaking of the door was the only warning Fenris got before he found himself faced with the blunt end of the mage’s staff, ready to attack. Slowly, Fenris lifted his hands so the mage could see them and let his brands light up. The eerie blue light reflected in the mage’s honey-colored eyes and Fenris watched Anders blink in surprise.
“What are you doing here?” Anders asked tiredly, at the same time as Fenris let out a surprised “How did you know I was here?”
They stared at each other for a long moment. Anders relaxed his stance and lowered the staff. “Fenris? Anything the matter?”
Fenris blinked.
“Did something happen?” Anders asked, now sounding mildly concerned.
Fenris stood there, lowering his hands. He realized he’d simply left his ‘home’ and started walking, without knowing what exactly he hoped to achieve once he roused the mage from his sleep.
In the middle of the night. A very cold night.
Fenris’ lips moved before he was aware he was speaking, forming a single word and question: “Why?”
Anders leaned heavily against the doorframe; his hair was tousled, indicating he had indeed gone to bed but to Fenris, it did not look like the mage had actually gotten any sleep. Through the ajar door, the elf could see the inside of the clinic lay in darkness. No fire lit to keep the mage warm. No candles slowly burning down on the mage’s desk, where he’d usually spend his sleepless nights working on his ridiculous manifesto.
He was wearing a long cotton shirt that certainly looked too thin to keep him warm in such a cold night. As if to prove his thoughts true, Anders started to shiver.
“Why what?” Anders asked.
“Why did you…” Fenris pursed his lips. “Why get me gifts for Satinalia?”
Anders’ brows furrowed. “You come here, in the middle of a Maker be damned icy cold night to ask me that?” he asked in disbelief. “Really? Did you lose sleep over me being nice to you, elf? In that case, I apologize. A mistake I’ll be sure not to repeat next year.”
Fenris shook his head with a growl. “You invested time and thought into the gifts,” he argued. “You made me six vials of a potion you knew eases the pain in my body, even though I have never told you it does. You purchased apples from Hightown market, a place you dislike going to and I marvel how you even knew they are my favorite.”
Despite the cold and the obvious tiredness, Anders blushed. If Fenris’ eyesight wouldn’t be so excellent in the dark, he would have missed it.
“Not understanding infuriates me,” the elf admitted. “So yes, I have been losing sleep over this. Did Hawke tell you to do this?”
Anders huffed at that and rolled his eyes. “Hawke? Really? That’s more believable than me simply showing you some kindness on blighted Satinalia?” The mage straightened his back, yet remained leaning against the doorframe. “Hawke doesn’t even know you like apples. If he ever did, he forgot it within a minute. Hawke doesn’t know I’ve been giving you potions for the pain or the fact that you never even considered thanking me for it.”
Embarrassed, Fenris looked at his feet.
“Hawke keeps forgetting you can’t read,” Anders continued. As usual, once the mage was on a roll, there was no stopping his blathering, “so he keeps leaving you notes at the door to your mansion whenever he goes away, so you wouldn’t worry about having been left behind. Hawke is the one regularly inviting you over for dinner, especially when there’s fish on the menu, never remembering you hate fish, Fenris. He drags you along when he hunts down slavers, knowing you enjoy slaying them but never considering that every time he does, he reminds you of a past life you are still trying to free yourself from. He takes you along when he pays the Gallows a visit, although you are clearly uncomfortable surrounded by us evil mages. Yes, Fenris, Hawke totally talked me into being nice to you!”
“But you know all these things,” Fenris mumbled and lifted his gaze once again.
Anders blinked owlishly at the elf before blushing furiously.
“Go home,” the mage said, suddenly nervous as he disappeared inside his clinic. A muffled ‘goodnight’ was the last thing Fenris heard before the door was closed and locked.
Fenris was too stunned to react immediately, staring at the locked door unblinkingly. Of all the things he would have expected to happen – despite not even having an actual plan when he’d come here – this had not been on the list of possible outcomes. His ears grew hot as he replayed what just went down in his mind, realizing Anders was right – Hawke was a great friend, someone Fenris knew he could trust with his life, if he allowed himself. But Hawke was also terrible at remembering the finer points of things. Fenris had wondered about the notes attached to the front door, the ones he usually took off and crumbled in his fist, angry at the words mocking him for not being able to read, angry at the person who kept leaving them.
But the mage remembered them. Every single one. Fenris suddenly realized the mage knew him better than the man he’d willingly and happily called ‘friend’ for the greater part of three years now. And it was that knowledge that had Anders help finding the most perfect gifts for the elf.
Fenris cleared his throat, feet shuffling against the cold, hard ground. “Mage?” he called. When Anders didn’t reply, Fenris huffed in annoyance. “Mage!” he snarled, one hand lifting to bang a fist against the door.
Mew.
Fenris froze and looked down to his feet when something nudged against his ankle. A pair of green feline eyes stared back. The elf regarded the tiny, famished cat that was now strolling around his legs. The grey fur was matted, caked with dirt, fecies and what looked like dried blood. Thin legs were trembling and another pitiful sound reached his ears. When Fenris didn’t react to the small creature, it swayed over to the empty bowl and glanced into it.
The look Fenris got when the cat realized the bowl was empty was nothing short of accusative. It made Fenris narrow his eyes in return and snarl at the cat.
“Don’t look at me, flea bag,” he spat. In response, the cat wobbled.
Fenris moved before he even was aware of it, catching the pitiful creature before it hit the ground and lifted it up. He was rewarded with another sad ‘mew’ as he held it against his chest, feeling it tremble from exhaustion and the merciless cold weather. The cat snuggled into his coat, seeking warmth. Fenris half-heartedly attempted to put it back down, but then tiny claws dug into the fabrics of the coat, holding on with surprising strength.
“Mage!” Fenris barked and this time, Anders reacted. The door was ripped open and a still blushing, albeit slightly annoyed blond poked his head out.
“Maker, what is it, Fenris?” Anders snapped before finding himself pushed aside, stumbling back into his clinic as Fenris stalked in with a growl.
The elf listened to the door being locked behind him and paused his steps. He suddenly felt lost in the center of the clinic and he could feel himself tense, knowing he was alone with a mage.
“Alright, now will you tell me what your problem is?” Anders asked. “If you hate the gifts, just throw them away, Fenris. I’m tired fighting with you over every blighted little thing. Had I known you’d become even more of a pain in the ass over me trying to be nice to you, I would have thought twice! Why is it so difficult for you--”
“You did not attend Hawke’s party,” Fenris blurted out, effectively shutting Anders up. The cat was getting comfortable against his chest and Fenris shuddered at the feel of matted fur beneath his fingertips.
“I told you I wasn’t going,” Anders replied tiredly.
“I thought you were lying,” Fenris admitted.
The mage sighed loudly. “Fenris, you are making no sense.”
Fenris almost jumped when the fireside suddenly lit up. Honey-colored eyes narrowed at him, daring Fenris to voice a complaint over Anders using magic in his own home and indeed, such a complaint was resting heavily on the tip of the elf’s tongue. Fenris swallowed the words down and slowly turned around to face the mage.
Anders’ gaze fell to the tiny bundle cradled against Fenris’ chest and his eyes went wide with disbelief.
“It seems your stubborn attempts to attract a cat finally paid off,” Fenris muttered. “The bowl was empty. It was looking for more.”
The tiny cat lifted its head and fixed its stare on the slowly approaching mage. It mewed at Anders in greeting.
The mage’s eyes widened even further and Fenris had the distinct feeling that Anders had completely forgotten the elf was present. He seemed transfixed.
The mage was an open book to everyone who knew enough about reading expressions and body language. It wasn’t difficult for Fenris to understand what simply seeing a cat did for Anders. Often, he had ignored the mage’s constant whining about the Wardens making him give away his cat in the past and the grudge the held against them for something so trivial, in Fenris eyes. It was not as trivial as Fenris had always believed it to be. The spark of joy in Anders’ eyes, the realization that indeed, a cat had found its way to his clinic, the prospect of making a new feline friend, was painful to see. Fenris learned what heartbreaking meant, in that very moment, just looking at the man before him. That man who saved lives, day in, day out, who spend lonely nights at his clinic, denying himself the simple joy of being with his friends on a night like this. A sentiment Fenris was more than familiar with. The desire to just have someone to chase away the terrifying feeling of being utterly alone in this world.
Slowly, he lifted the tiny creature so the mage could take a better look at it and he could see Anders’ fingers twitch nervously.
“Happy Satinalia, mage,” Fenris murmured. “It would seem your Maker thought this to be the perfect gift to give to you.”
Anders inhaled sharply and finally closed the distance between them. One hand lifted to stroke the cat’s tiny head and Fenris couldn’t find it in himself to shy away from their close proximity. The cat purred, vibrating in Fenris’ hold and the mage’s lips twitched into a delighted smile.
Fenris felt his own breath catch in his throat at the sight. Happiness certainly looked better than it should on the mage and his pulse quickened when he realized how truly handsome Anders was, just smiling at that flea bag in his hands that was purring happily.
It only lasted seconds and Fenris felt regret when their eyes locked and the mage’s expression turned serious again.
“Fenris,” Anders murmured, voice trembling. He took another step closer to the elf and Fenris held his breath.
“Mage?”
Anders in- and exhaled slowly, as if he was trying to relax. Fenris could see the tension in the taller man’s frame and wondered what exactly it was that made Anders fear him right now. Fenris was posing no threat and he was no fool to believe he could really as easily end the mage’s life as he always claimed whenever they got into another argument. Anders was powerful, more powerful than the magisters Fenris had known and yet he never abused that advantage.
“Don’t kill me,” Anders told him and Fenris frowned at the mage.
The taller man moved swift and sudden, giving Fenris no time to react or shy away. Slender hands cupped the back of his head and buried in soft, white hair, pulling him close. Fenris breathed in sharply when soft lips descended upon his, kissing him gently.
Fenris mind went blank, unable to comprehend what was happening, yet his own lips moved on instinct, countering the mage’s and returning the kiss uncertainly. His shoulders sagged and Fenris almost dropped the cat happily squished between their bodies and still purring.
Anders pulled back and Fenris blinked, eyes wide as he stared at the mage.
“Don’t kill me,” Anders said once again, honey-colored eyes sad and pleading. Fenris found himself unable to respond, other than staring at the mage, who carefully took the cat from him before wandering off to the back of his clinic.
Left on his own, Fenris spent a long moment debating with himself on how to respond to the kiss. Part of him was infuriated that the mage that taken the liberty to force such an act of intimacy on him, although Fenris knew the anger mostly stemmed from confusion, once again. Another part of him was dazed, mind trying to wrap around the new experience just made. He had seen people kiss before and he had wondered, but never in his life had Fenris expected so much tenderness in a kiss.
He found Anders sitting on his cot when Fenris finally felt able to move again. Hawke’s basket stood on the floor, mostly unpacked. Food. A basket filled with food, or what was left of it. The cat was right next to the mage, happily nibbling on what looked like dried chicken meat, while Anders carefully caressed its bony back.
Fenris wanted so say something – or maybe yell at this infuriating man, looking tired and so fragile in his worn night shirt, eyes still alight with joy as he watched the cat eat. Yet, words did not come.
“Thank you,” Anders said softly after a long moment of silence, too long to be comfortable anymore.
“Why?” was all Fenris managed to breathe out.
A small smile stole its way on Anders’ lips as he put out more meat for the very hungry cat. “You are a clever man, Fenris. I am sure you’ll figure it out.”
Green eyes blinked at the unexpected compliment.
“You asked me ‘why’ earlier, too. I gave you an answer,” Anders added, gently petting the cat’s head. “And thank you…this truly is the best gift I could have asked for on Satinalia.”
Fenris huffed. “I did not gift you this cat, mage.”
“You did. Had you not shown up here, I would have remained curled up on my cot all night. I would have missed this little fella straying in front of my clinic.” The mage gave the cat a thoughtful look. “He probably wouldn’t have survived the night.”
The elf’s brows furrowed. “Even you must realize how ridiculous that sounds,” he snarled.
“I don’t care,” Anders replied easily, his smile widening a fraction.
They both watched the cat finishing up the dried chicken meat before stretching shakily and curling up on the nest of blankets on Anders’ cot. Four of them, Fenris realized. The mage must have been truly cold. While the fire in the main room was slowly warming the place, the walls were still drafty and now and then, Fenris felt a cool breeze coming through them. While his feet were usually insensitive to temperature, the rest of his body wasn’t and he shivered despite the thick coat he was wearing. Anders eyed him with concern and Fenris bit back a growl.
“You can go back to the fireside and warm up a little,” the blond suggested.
“You kissed me,” Fenris blurted out. Anders’ mouth snapped shut, honey-colored eyes regarding the elf carefully. Fenris’ hands balled into fists, green eyes fixing their gaze on the mage and the cat purring contentedly next to him.
“I did,” Anders confirmed. “A humble mistake that I will not apologize for, elf.”
With a growl, Fenris closed the gap between them, one hand grabbing the hem of the mage’s shirt and tugging him close. Anders complied easily, for once not putting up any resistance, though there was a challenge in his eyes.
“Explain yourself,” Fenris demanded.
“You’re not really that much of an idiot, are you, Fenris?” Anders shot back tiredly. Surprised, Fenris loosened his hold on the mage’s shirt and Anders slumped a little. The elf wasn’t sure what it was he saw in Anders’ eyes in that moment, but in his head, everything clicked into place suddenly and the realization left him dumbfounded.
“Why would you…?” Fenris found himself tongue-tied.
“I’m a ridiculous person, as you know.” Anders offered a smile that was so typical for him, one Fenris saw a lot of times – disarming, covering up his uncertainty and insecurities. The mage would wear that smile like an armor, no less dangerous or sharp than the literal armor Fenris wore.
“I have done nothing but insult and belittle you since the day we’ve met,” the elf pointed out, confusion and disbelief making his voice tremble.
“I’m known to have a rather bad taste when it comes to choosing partners,” the mage deadpanned. “We do not need to talk about this, Fenris. You wanted an answer, I gave you one. Can we, for once, agree that this…should never be mentioned again?”
The tiny cat mewled, stretching all four in his next of blankets, slow-blinking at the two men. Fenris finally let go of Anders and stood back, eyes cast downward.
Anders sighed and reached over to pet the sleepy cat. “I apologize,” he murmured. “It was stupid of me.”
A few moments ago, Fenris had expected, silently demanded an apology from the mage for his actions. Now that he heard those murmured words, he found he didn’t want it. The elf slowly shook his head in response and Anders’ face fell.
“I did come here in search of an answer,” Fenris replied calmly. “And you delivered. You need not apologize for it, Anders.”
Honey-brown eyes widened and Fenris watched, mesmerized, how they lit up until their color reminded of gold. The smile that followed brightened the mage’s features entirely and Fenris was sure that he’d never seen a more beautiful creature before in his life.
“You just called me by my name for the first time,” Anders stated. “It must truly be Satinalia.”
Fenris really wanted to roll his eyes at the other man but instead, he huffed out a laugh, his own lips quirking up in response.
“And now he’s smiling,” Anders teased. “I must have been a good boy, this past year.”
“Only if your Gods deem being infuriating, obnoxius and annoying to be good traits,” Fenris deadpanned.
The mage laughed and Fenris found he enjoyed the sound. He couldn’t remember ever having seen or heard the mage actually laugh before.
“You made a joke! You gotta stop, I can only take so much in one night, Fenris.”
Still smirking, Fenris found himself leaning close again. Anders didn’t back away, but his eyebrows lifted, a curious look in his eyes now. Inexperienced lips brushed the blond’s, feathery and uncertain and Fenris felt and heard the surprised gasp that left Anders’ mouth. One lyrium-lined hand lifted to cup the mage’s cheek and Fenris frowned when the stubbly skin felt icy cold to his touch.
“You will freeze to death down here,” Fenris murmured, pulling back.
“Mage here,” Anders reminded.
“Magic can’t protect you from everything,” the elf retorted. “You will have to be awake to cast spells. How will you get some sleep if you have to stay awake to keep warm, you fool?”
“I managed just fine until now, I will just-“
“You will dress warm and gather what you need for the night,” Fenris decided. “The mansion is much warmer than this…” He looked around, nose wrinkling. “…place you call home.”
Anders did not comment on it, but Fenris could see the mage realized his attempt at being…accommodating. When Anders got off his cot and looked for his clothes, Fenris realized he’d just invited the mage to his home and his ears warmed with embarrassment.
Fenris turned his back to the mage, giving him privacy while he got dressed, not even questioning the invitation. Anders cleared his throat once he was done and Fenris found the basket he’d delivered earlier pushed into his hands. The food left in the basket would be enough to serve as breakfast, the elf figured, while Anders wrapped up the ‘flea bag’ in one of his blankets.
The elf’s eyebrows shot up when Anders gathered the bundle in his arms.
“What?” Anders asked with a sniffle. “He’s coming with. I’m not leaving him here.”
Fenris growled and stomped off toward the clinic’s door, a smiling mage in tow.