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“Maker, Anders, please make it stop!” Hawke complained after yet another violent sneeze and the Spirit Healer was torn between laughing at and pitying the man, hiding his amusement behind his mug of water.
“I can’t just make an allergy go away,” he pointed out. “I heal people. I don’t perform miracles.”
“You bring people back from the brink of death on a regular basis, you don’t get to say that,” Varric stated as he dealt out cards.
“Damn right,” Hawke agreed and promptly sneezed again. Anders snorted when the man looked at him pitifully, eyes red and puffy, nose runny. With a sigh, the mage put down his mug and reached for the vase decorating the center of the table.
“Be right back!” he announced.
“Where are you taking my flowers?” Hawke complained. “They were a gift!”
“And they make you sneeze,” Anders pointed out as he crossed the foyer of Hawke’s estate. He carefully pet over the delicate, deep red petals with a grin. “Red carnations,” he said while looking for a spot safe and far away enough from Hawke. “Someone’s got a secret admirer?”
“Because they are red?” Hawke asked around a snort.
“Because they are red carnations.” There was a small table next to the entrance, the perfect spot for them, Anders decided. “Red carnations say ‘I admire you’ or ‘my heart aches for you’.”
“You know the language of flowers, mage?”
Anders yelped in surprise and stumbled, saved by one gauntleted hand gripping his arm, the other rescuing the vase before it could shatter on the floor. Moss green eyes regarded him calmly and Anders felt his cheeks flush.
“Fenris?” he squeaked and scrambled to regain his footing. Anders cleared his throat. “Fenris,” he tried again.
“Mage,” Fenris acknowleged before putting the vase on the table. “Am I late for the game?”
“Varric is just dealing out the cards.”
“Hm.”
Fenris regarded the flowers, seemingly intent to look anywhere but at the mage. “What’s with the flowers?” he rumbled.
“Hawke found them on his doorstep earlier. Said it was the second time this week.” Anders relaxed his stance. “I was just telling him what red carnations mean.”
“I was not aware you are familiar with the language of flowers.” Fenris fixed him with a sharp gaze and Anders felt his cheeks heat some more. “You never struck me as the romantic type.”
The mage’s cheeks puffed indignantly. “For the record, I am a romantic. Just because I never had any romance in my pathetic little life doesn’t mean I don’t wish for it? Apart from that, I obviously had too much time on my hands while I was still at the Circle and may have read about flowers and their meaning and –!“
Green eyes widened in surprise and two gauntleted hands lifted into a defensive gesture. “I did not mean to insult you with my assumptions, Anders. I apologize.”
Anders sighed heavily, shoulders slumping. “And neither do you need to try and be nice to me because of what happened on Satinalia,” he muttered, pushing past the slightly stunned elf. “I believe there’s a card game to attend?”
“Mage,” Fenris growled, annoyed. Honey-colored eyes glanced at him and Anders almost believed he saw a look of hurt cross the elf’s features.
Almost, because this was still Fenris.
~*~
It was the scent that caught his attention first.
The air down in Darktown usually smelled foul, although Anders barely noticed it anymore after years of living near the sewers and being surrounded by sick or injured people. Sometimes, he found himself grateful for the smell of badly festering wounds, overshadowing the stench of fecies wafting up from the filthy waters and giving his tortured olfactory system something of a break. The mild, flowery scent therefore got him immediately as he opened the clinic.
A single yellow tulip, in full bloom, carefully tied to the handle of the door with a thin band.
There’s sunshine in your smile.
He was almost ridiculously careful, removing the band and taking the flower off the door handle. He lifted the tulip to his nose and sniffed, a stupid smile stretching his lips. The soft ‘mrrp’ of Ser Snow made him glance down, where the cat was slinking around his legs with a purr.
Even after he’d given the cat a thorough bath, the dirty grey color of his fur reminded Anders of muddy snow. It had not snowed often in Ferelden and neither did he get a chance to admire it often, after being locked up in the Circle, but he remembered the Templars marching into the narrow foyer of the Tower, muddy snow covering their boots; falling off and soiling the tiled floor.
Ser Snow had recovered well. For a few days after Fenris had carried the little guy into his clinic, Anders had feared he wouldn’t make it. The winter had been hard and merciless and food was not something Anders usually had aplenty. Each night since, that Ser Snow curled up next to him, stubbornly going on and refusing to give into his sick, weak body, Anders was reminded of that night at Fenris’ mansion. Expectations disappointed, he’d been shown to one of the other rooms, ending up at the far end of the corridor and far away from the room the elf usually vacated. Fenris had made sure he’d have it warm and even found something for the cat to eat. Curled up beneath at least three blankets, Ser Snow sleeping against his belly, Anders lay awake all night, waiting. Craving, hoping, sometimes dreaming and waking up whenever he thought he heard Fenris approaching the room, only to be met with dead silence.
Anders wasn’t sure what exactly he’d believed to happen when he’d taken up the elf on his invitation to spend the night at his mansion; but it was settled since that he was indeed a very ridiculous man.
He’d left after only a few hours and while Fenris had still been fast asleep.
Things had changed between them. Fenris wasn’t quite as condescending and aggressive anymore whenever they were out together. They could, in fact, hold a decent conversation now and then. Anders secretly enjoyed those moments, but it didn’t stop him from still wanting more.
“Mreow?” Ser Snow asked and Anders sighed, gaze fixed on the yellow tulip once again.
“It seems Hawke is no longer the only one to receive flowery messages,” he told the cat. “How about some breakfast for you, hm?”
~*~
Drenched and exhausted, Anders stumbled into his clinic. Leaning heavily on his staff for support, he thought he had probably never been more happy to come home. He wasn’t usually that tired after being out with Hawke and their friends all day, but today had been particular exhausting.
He would never set foot in the Bone Pit again. Anders didn’t care what Hawke bribed with, the answer would be no. The dragon they had fought had just been too much.
Leaning the staff against the wall next to the passage to his private quarters, Anders peeled himself out of his soaked coat and let it drop to the floor, then worked on getting out of his boots. He grumbled when he found his socks were wet too and cursed his boots under his breath while pushing the curtain separating his quarters from the rest of the clinic aside.
Ser Snow blinked sleepily at him before stretching lazily and greeting him with a low ‘mrrrp’.
“You know,” Anders told the cat, “I had to take Pounce everywhere with me, when I was still with the Wardens. I didn’t trust anyone to keep an eye on him while I was away. Be glad you are safe here, Ser Snow…I would have hated seeing you end up as a dragon snack.”
Shirt and pants were next. He carefully put them over the wonky chair next to his bed, relieved they weren’t soaked like his coat. His feet were icy cold though and he sat on the bed, letting magic course through his body to warm up again and fight the chill in his bones. Ser Snow complained about having to make space, but moved to the foot of the bed, an accusing look in his eyes. Despite his tiredness, Anders chuckled and reached over to scratch behind the cat’s ears.
Anders grabbed his pillow to shake it out and fluff it up so it would be nice and cozy to sleep on. A sudden, sharp pain in his index finger made him hiss and drop the pillow in surprise. In the semi dark, he saw something slender falling to the floor. Curious, he reached for it with one hand, a fireball gathering in the palm of his other to conjure some light to see better. Held delicately between the tips of thumb and index finger, Anders blinked at the single orange rose that must have been resting on his pillow.
Fascination.
He felt his cheeks grow warm as he brought the rose closer to his face. He knew he should worry about how someone had managed to get in here during his absence, without bashing the lock in. Yet all Anders could think about was the fact that within three days, he’d received two flowers from someone who…
“Think someone likes me a lot, Ser Snow?” Anders whispered, suddenly not so tired anymore. The cat perked at the mention of its name, eyeing Anders and the rose with mild interest. Eventually, Ser Snow yawned and curled up again, leaving Anders to his thoughts.
The mage sighed and placed the rose next to his pillow. Who could it be, he wondered. Who would leave him flowers? Anders frowned at the rose. He was usually good at reading the signs of attraction; he was always aware if someone was attracted to him, whether or not he returned it. For the first time, though, he was at a loss. One of his friends? Unlikely. Maybe one of his patients or one of the Fereldans who had kept an eye on him ever since he came to Kirkwall? His frown deepened – he severely doubted they would have gotten past the lock Varric had made for his clinic’s door so he wouldn’t have to worry about intruders. It was enchanted, too. No one without a key and magic abilities would be able to open it.
Someone from the Circle? The Mage Underground?
Anders glanced at the cat and reached over to poke it. Ser Snow gave a low, annoyed growl in response.
“You are keeping a secret from me,” Anders told the cat. “Who was in here, Ser Snow? Tell me.”
Snow huffed and curled up further, intent on ignoring the mage and sleep instead.
“Oh, come on, Ser Snow,” Anders whined. “It’s not nice to keep secrets from daddy, you know?”
At that, Snow lifted his head to look at the mage with disdain for interrupting his nap. Anders couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight. “You’re such a cat, Ser Snow,” he said fondly before slowly slipping beneath his pile of thin, worn blankets for a few hours of sleep. As soon as he found a comfortable spot to lie in, one hand reached for the thorny, orange rose next to his pillow, eyes slipping closed. He felt Justice’s presence, flickering in the back of his mind for the briefest of moments. It felt like the spirit was trying to tell him something, but Anders was too tired to understand the whispers, let alone actually pay attention.
His last thought on his mind before sleep took him was that it was odd his pillow smelled of leather oil and a hint of lyrium.
~*~
“It occurred to me that you and I have never actually spoken about the events on Satinalia.”
Caught by surprise, Anders swallowed wrong and proceeded to cough violently, dropping his water skin in the process. It surely would have been easier to take a few deep breaths to calm himself, were he not reeking of spider intestines, death and Bone Pit, which turned the coughing into retching.
Once he managed to take a few shaky breaths and calm himself, tears burning in his eyes, Anders glared the elf. “Really?” he spat. The sharpness in his tone had Fenris’ stony expression falter. “We just dealt with dragons, spiders and shades and now you decide you wanna talk about it?”
The elf blushed, eyes cast downward. “I apologize. But there never seems to be the right time for this.” He made a vague gesture with one gauntleted hand. “I thought, now that we have a moment…”
“We are having a moment?” A final cough and Anders straightened his back. “We could have been talking about this weeks ago. Months ago. The next morning?”
Fenris’ lips pursed. “You…are angry,” he murmured.
“Hey, what’s with the shouting?” Hawke called from a few feet away. “I thought you two were finally past this?”
Anders growled under his breath and shot Hawke a dirty look before focusing on the elf again. It might have just been wishful thinking, but Fenris looked like he was trying to make himself small, despite carrying a broadsword almost twice his height.
“I see no need to talk about it,” Anders said, calmer now. It was no use to get angry at Fenris, no matter whether or not the elf had kissed him in return, that particular night. “Not anymore.”
“So, you…feel regret?” Fenris murmured.
“Not regret, no.” Anders ran both hands down his coat, fixing up his appearance after the rather pathetic display of ‘Fenris got me again’ that almost made him throw up his poor breakfast. “Humiliation, maybe? Yes, I think that’s it. I feel…humiliated.”
Moss green eyes snapped up, locking gaze with Anders’ honey-colored ones. The elf seemed – shocked, Anders decided, hearing those words.
“Ridiculous men feel ridiculous things sometimes,” Anders said with a shrug before brushing past the stunned elf to rejoin with Hawke, Isabela and Varric, waiting for them to get a move on so they could return home. Anders could feel Fenris’ gaze boring into his back as he attempted to distract himself by complaining to Hawke about their continued trips to the Bone Pit that always had him end up a complete mess. It was a regular thing and usually a playful one but the slight frown on Hawke’s face told Anders that his distress was showing, his words sharper than usual, the slightly crooked smile faked and not reaching his eyes.
Anders knew Hawke thought this was about Satinalia, which wasn’t wrong per se, just not for the reason the bear-like man thought. Hawke believed he had not stressed his invitation enough or should have simply hauled Anders to his estate, ignoring the mage’s protest; he believed Anders was sour they all celebrated and he hadn’t been a part of it. It wasn’t true but Anders figured it was the best alternative to the truth. Hawke did know about Anders’ presents to Fenris, as the Tevinter elf had informed him about it. That in itself had surprised Anders.
But if Hawke knew Anders had, despite himself and the general situation between Fenris and him, developed feelings for that cranky, mage-hating elf – well, Anders was sure he’d never live it down. If Hawke knew, Varric would soon and the last thing Anders wanted was to be an ‘inspiration’ for the dwarf’s next novel.
It wasn’t like Anders to guilt-trip people he held dear, even if it meant Hawke accompanied him all the way to Darktown, stopping briefly to buy some food for the mage – and Ser Snow, of course – and to this clinic to see him off. He knew Hawke would do all these things if Anders would simply ask. The silence that had followed their earlier bantering was uncomfortable and now that they were alone and Anders exposed to Hawke’s questioning glances, he almost felt brave enough to spill his guts. He could make Hawke swear to not tell a single soul. He could ask Hawke to make sure that, for the time being, Anders and Fenris would not have to accompany him at the same time – which Anders knew was ridiculous and childish. He hadn’t even noticed just how much that ‘thing’ with Fenris had been smarting him until that blighted elf had decided to bring it up.
A small group of Darktowners had gathered in front of the clinic by the time they reached it. The sight of a very feverish young boy clinging to his mother already made Anders feel tired and he hoped there were still enough lyrium potions in the clinic or he’d be in serious trouble.
Hawke regarded them with his ever-watchful eyes while Anders unlocked the clinic. A rather annoyed and hungry Ser Snow awaited him when the door swung open, meowing indignantly. Hawke chuckled at the complaining cat and offered the waiting people an apologetic look. “Give the Healer a moment,” he told them as he gently pushed Anders into the clinic.
The bright sunlight was enough to illuminate the clinic today, even filtering through to the darkest and deepest part of Kirkwall. Hawke still went and lit a few candles while Anders unpacked what food his friend had purchased a moment ago to feed the cat.
“Eat something and take a moment,” Hawke told him gently. “I’ll stick around and help you out today, how’s that?”
“Did you see the boy, Hawke?” Anders asked after putting down some dried meat for Ser Snow and marching toward his secret lyrium stash. “He’s pretty sick. I shouldn’t waste too much time.”
“The fact that he’s so bad off means his mother waited too long. He can last another five or ten minutes. Eat something.”
Anders huffed as he pulled up the loose plank in the floor and peeked at the box he hid there. Five more vials of lyrium. He would have to ask Varric to get more, soon. He grabbed one and took it immediately, shuddering at the awful taste. His mana restored so fast, he was actually dizzy for a few seconds and once again, Anders marveled from where Varric managed to get that rather potent lyrium.
Turning around to grab something to eat as well, Anders froze in front of his desk and stared. A bouquet of hyacinths, their color a deep, beautiful purple, had been carefully placed and neatly arranged on top of his manifesto. Their thick, floral scent was only beginning to fill up the clinic, so Anders knew they must have been put there only moments ago.
Which meant Hawke and he had just missed the mysterious person who had been leaving flowers for him recently.
Anders felt Hawke step up to him, glancing over his shoulder curiously. “Well, it seems you are the one with a secret admirer,” Hawke said cheerfully. “What do these stand for?”
“An apology,” Anders said tonelessly as he continued to stare at the hyacinths. Today, the smile and the warm feeling he’d experienced before wouldn’t come. Instead, it felt like those flowers were the final straw. A sudden anger seized his body and Anders reached for the flowers and threw them across the clinic with a shout that made Hawke flinch. They hit the ground and just lay there, petals scattered across the floor.
“Fuck you!” Anders shouted angrily at no one in particular – or maybe that ‘secret admirer’, in hope he’d hear. “Go to the fucking Void! Fool someone else!”
“Anders, calm down,” Hawke told him, confused. “Maker, what’s with you today?”
“I’m tired,” Anders replied, sounding every bit like it. “I’m just…”
Hawke’s concern visibly grew. Without another word, he went to retrieve a healing potion from Anders’ shelf and left the clinic for a moment. Anders listened to his friend speak to the people waiting outside, asking about the severity of their health problems and asking the concerned mother to give her feverish body the healing potion. Anders’ hands shook from the outburst and he inhaled sharply, willing his moist eyes to not let the tears fall he could feel coming up.
Ser Snow, who had gone into hiding when Anders had suddenly yelled, slowly came out from under one of the cots. Even the cat looked concerned and Anders choked back a sob.
Hawke joined him inside the clinic after a few minutes, closing the door quietly before approaching the upset mage. Anders watched him cast a look at the abandoned flowers before turning his attention to him.
“Alright,” Hawke said gently, “who hurt you and deserves some beating?”
~*~
It was the faint lyrium song that first roused Justice, then Anders from his light slumber. He lifted his head just in time to find Fenris phase through his locked-up clinic’s door, eerie and surreal. His pulse quickened at the sight of the Lyrium Ghost.
He’d never get used to it. Justice tugged briefly on his consciousness, imploring, before withdrawing when the Fade spirit decided that the glowing elf posed no threat.
Fenris stopped right were the abandoned hyacinths were drooping on the floor and regarded them with an unreadable expression on his face. The annoyance and anger Anders had felt earlier in the day returned, albeit weak due to his half-asleep state.
“What do you want?” he asked tiredly and Fenris gazed at him. “Actually, forget I asked,” Anders mumbled. “I don’t care.”
Fenris sighed softly. “Mage…”
“Don’t ‘mage’ me, Fenris. Just go.” Anders rubbed a hand over his face. “Would it hurt to let me keep some of my dignity?”
The elf seemed at a loss, faced with Anders’ anger and the mage felt bad for being so hostile. He did have a good idea why Fenris had even decided to show up; it was honorable that Fenris by now cared enough to try and fix any issues within their small group. But it didn’t help and Anders wasn’t sure if Fenris realized something like that wouldn’t go away over night.
He would still care. He would still long for more. He would entertain in sad little daydreams about a future that was not within his reach. His pathetic little heart would continue to skip a beat, each time Fenris was close or spoke up.
Ser Snow emerged from Anders’ private quarters and Anders watched the cat trot over to greet Fenris. Watching the elf bend down to scratch the cat’s head and Snow giving an appreciating purr chased away the last tendrils of sleep.
“I wasn’t aware you two have become friends,” Anders said. Fenris winced at the words and Anders realized he was back to a sharp tone, this time provided by the pang of jealousy he felt, watching them being friendly with each other.
Another sigh from the elf, this time an exasperated one. He seemed to exchange a glance with the cat before returning to the clinic’s door and unlocking it.
“What are you doing?” Anders asked and watched Fenris straighten his back and stalk toward him, a determined expression on his face. The mage got off his chair and backed away, eyes scanning the clinic for his staff. Where had he put his blighted staff?
Anders winced when gauntleted hands gripped him tightly and tugged, then shoved him toward the door. After a moment’s hesitation, Ser Snow followed them. Outside, Fenris waited until the cat had caught up with them before closing the door and shooting Anders a glare.
“Lock up,” he told the mage and Anders swayed a little when he hurried to comply, still not understanding what was going on. As soon as the lock was secured and sealed, Anders found himself pulled close to Fenris before the elf swept his feet off the floor and marched on. Anders clung to the elf’s strong shoulders and sputtered as he found himself being carried away from the clinic.
This was ridiculous. He was taller than this blighted elf and he was not going to…
“I am not a damsel in distress,” Anders snapped at Fenris. “Put me down.”
“Shut up,” Fenris told him, the tone of his voice leaving no room for arguing and Anders’ mouth snapped shut, too stunned to even think of something to retort.
The longer Fenris walked, the more Anders became aware of his exhaustion. Deciding he’d simply accept whatever fate awaited him as soon as Fenris has reached their destination, he let his head fall on the elf’s shoulder, eyes closing. He could enjoy this rare moment. Rare moments were all he got, after all. He felt Fenris slow his steps and wondered if the elf truly worried about him being comfortable or if he was getting tired, carrying Anders across Kirkwall.
After taking the lift to Lowtown, Fenris continued his way. Ser Snow trotted after them, like it wasn’t the first time they did something like this. Glancing across the elf’s shoulder, Anders wondered when Fenris and Ser Snow had gotten so acquainted with each other.
They passed a Templar patrol and Anders tensed in Fenris’ hold, the same moment the elf’s arms tightened around him. Anders indulged himself in thinking Fenris was being protective of him, no matter if Fenris used to state that he should be locked up, numerous times, in the past.
“Keep calm,” Fenris murmured into his ear and Anders suddenly felt very warm. “They will not have you.”
There was a hitch in his breath and Anders swallowed down traitorous tears. “Don’t do this,” he whispered and buried his face into the crook of the elf’s neck. Fenris voiced no complaint. In fact, Anders could feel him tilt his head a little to give him more room before resting his cheek against the top of Anders’ head.
The rest of the way was nothing more than a blur in his memory. Held safely in the elf’s arms, Anders just wanted Fenris to keep walking forever. Too tired to be confused over the elf’s change of demeanor for the time being, Anders just wanted to savor the moments.
The smell of decay and the moist, earthy scent of mushrooms told him they had entered Fenris’ mansion. The elf’s body shifted a little as he kicked the door shut and there was the sound of claws clattering across the tiled floor of the mansion’s foyer as Ser Snow ran ahead. Fenris was moving slowly now as he carried Anders across it, then upstairs.
Anders was slowly waking from his content, lazy state of mind and wondered why Fenris had decided to bring him back here. He hadn’t set foot into the elf’s mansion since that particular night. This time, Fenris didn’t take him down the long corridor leading to the room he’d vacated, last time Anders had been here. Instead, he found himself being carried into the room Fenris inhabited, where it was warm and smelled off leather oil and lyrium. A fire crackled invitingly in the fireside.
And then Anders found himself lowered on the elf’s bed. He would have expected to be dumped on it unceremoniously because that would be so like Fenris, but he was carefully bedded. Anders blinked up owlishly at the elf, now hovering above him and still wearing that determined expression on his face.
What now? Anders wanted to ask but found himself distracted by something tickling against his right cheek. Never breaking eye contact with the strangely behaving elf, Anders reached up and grabbed whatever was offending him. Fingertips came into contact with something soft and smooth. He grabbed a handful and let his head roll to the side to see what it was.
Petals. Incredibly soft, red petals that he recognized as rose and tulip petals. When he dared to let his gaze travel along the length of the bed, Anders realized it was covered in soft, red petals. He inhaled the faint floral scent gratefully as his fingertips rubbed against their soft, smooth surface, all under Fenris’ watchful gaze.
Love.
A declaration of the very same.
His tired mind needed a moment but eventually, Anders managed to put two and two together. He felt his pulse quicken.
“You were the one leaving me flowers?” he asked in disbelief. “I thought…”
“You were the one who stole away at the crack of dawn,” Fenris interrupted gently. “I woke to find you gone and not knowing what to believe.”
“You invited me to your home and then made sure to keep me as far away from you as possible,” Anders pointed out and he knew he sounded bitter and it was – truly not justified, as the expression on Fenris’ face spoke volumes right now.
“Anders…”
“I’m sorry.” Anders let his hand fall on the bed. “Obviously my expectations were higher than what you were ready to give that night. I would have been more than happy to simply sleep, curled up next to you but I was wrong to assume that declaring my ridiculous feelings for you would cause a sudden change in your apprehension concerning me.”
Fenris huffed out a laugh and Anders found himself gifted with one of the elf’s rare true smiles. “I wish I had known you were so easy to please that night, mage. My apologies.”
Anders grabbled around for the soft petals covering the bed. His chest felt tight but this time, it was not because of a negative emotion.
“I am sorry about the hyacinths,” he mumbled and watched Fenris smile widen a fraction. The elf shook his head and sighed.
“I assume it would only be right to get you another bouquet of hyacinths.”
Anders groaned out a laugh and lifted his hand enough to let red rose and tulip petals rain on Fenris’ head. “I think I should get you some instead.” He sighed. “I am still that easy to please, elf, in case you worry.”
“I am not.”
The cold, sharp metal of Fenris’ gauntlets felt like ice against his heating cheeks when Anders found his face cupped gently. It was easy to ignore in favor of feeling Fenris’ lips pressing against his.