driftfleet | [Closed] If You Talk Enough Sense, Then You'll Lose Your Mind

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[Closed] If You Talk Enough Sense, Then You'll Lose Your Mind

Who: Anders and Adalwolfe Hawke
Broadcast: N/A
Action: Three Twins Clinic
When: Forward-dated to the 9th

He was slow to wake up. Little things occurred to him first: his face itched. There was something small and warm laying on his chest, too small to be Fat Tom. The bed under him was softer than the ground he'd laid down on, but not as soft as the bed he'd left behind in Orlais.

He didn't know where he was.

There was a stirring in the back of his mind. Panic trickled through him and just behind it like fire lighting on oil was Justice, feeding on it and waking faster to respond. What if he'd been captured at last? Hawke would be waiting at Weisshaupt and never know what if-?

The blue cracks he'd felt bursting around his eyes faded as quickly as they'd shown up as Anders himself woke enough to sense the aura of comfort and safety that hung nearby. The purring warmth at his chest, the sense of magic familiar and safe and trusted to his side. He was fine. Everything was fine.

Slowly, a slightly unsteady hand rose to pet the warmth on his chest and the soft kitten-fuzz under his fingers confirmed this wasn't the rescued barn cat he'd been with last. Bleary amber eyes cracked open and a rough smile broke across his face. "Pounce?" The kitten nuzzled against Anders' jaw despite the hair there and Anders' hands came up to curl gently around his long-lost cat. "I must be dreaming." His voice was ragged from lack of use, but the happiness in it was hard to miss.

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Anders leans up to kiss him again, preferring the closeness and the emotion in the deep kiss over the words that mouth had just given. What did the rest of it matter when he could do exactly as Adalwolfe suggested and cover his boyfriend in kisses? But air is still a necessity, if an annoyance, and he can't truly ignore something Hawke says for long. When he pulls away, it isn't far, their foreheads still pressed together so it could only be them in their own little world for a while longer.

"I feel fine. Better for having you here, you know how much I feared for you. I kept myself busy to keep me from obsessing too much." And being busy meant often being too distracted to remember to eat, if his appetite even bothered to come around.

"What about you? Varric said little in his letter. Obviously you're physically fine, but what about the rest? What can I help with, love?"

"Nothing. I'm perfect. Or at least now, I'm perfect." He dives into Anders yet again, afraid he'll crack in front of his love, that his strong veneer he projects will crumble under the dregs of doubt, under some evil part of his brain telling him he's fallen asleep at the console again and he'll wake up and Anders will have wasted away to nothing on the bed behind him because Hawke wasn't there to do anything to save him.

He kisses deeply, desperately, but the edges grow salty with the tears he'd been trying not to shed, with the worry that it's not real, with the longing and loss that aren't so easily dispelled despite their no longer being necessary because Anders is here damnit, and it's his Anders, and he's waited far too long to hear himself be called Love by that tongue, the one he finds with his own, breathing in the air Anders has used and calling it sweet.

Maker's breath, please let this not be a dream. Or if it's a dream, he'd rather stay sleeping. Forever, if necessary. It's preferable to life without his love.

He couldn't help the pleased sound that slipped out into Adalwolfe's mouth, the kiss too sweet to resist at first, but he does break it. He has to, the concern and guilt in his expression explaining why.

"It's alright, Hawke. I'm here, I've got you." Gentle hands wiped at the tear tracks, his voice quiet and soft, a murmur against Hawke's lips. They were words he usually reserved for when it was Hawke's nightmares that woke them in the night, but they seemed appropriate now as well. The hole in the sky, Corypheus, those months when they thought the Calling plaguing Anders was the real thing, the months when Anders didn't know what he was looking at and missing out on here, that was the nightmare.

"I'm sorry, I'm here now." Both he'd already said and he couldn't help feeling he needed to say them again. Anything to convince his Hawke this was real. "We won't be parted again." Not if he had anything to say about it.

Edited 2016-08-19 04:20 (UTC)

"Don't apologize. I'm alright. I promise, I'm alright." He breathes the words and means them, even with the hitch in his breath and the lump in his throat. "I'm lucky. You're here, and you're my Anders. It's more than I could have hoped for."

He lets out a long breath, letting his emotions ebb long enough to move from the bed. Once he's on his feet again he offers a hand to Anders, ignoring Drools pacing behind him, wagging his stump of a tail vigorously at Anders being awake. "Come on, that can't be a very comfortable bed. Why don't we move back to your quarters? We have a lot to talk about and I'd rather do it privately."

"Alright."

Something about the way he said 'my Anders' made his heart flutter even if that was a truth they'd long known. Anders would always be Hawke's. If anything, Anders himself had to be the lucky one to wake up and find his Hawke waiting. His shining light, the only thing continuing to light his way with his humor and that charming smile.

Anders moved long legs over the side of the bed and made to stand, though it took a moment of making sure he was stable enough on his feet. He remembered how drowzy and cotton-headed Riona'd been when she'd woken up with new memories and Anders had been out longer, he shouldn't be surprised.

He pressed his fingers to his head and sent a burst of healing magic as he'd done for the Commander, it seemed to clear the cobwebs a bit better and keep him on his feet, but that was all. Time would have to sort the rest.

"Do you know your way there? I think I can remember it, if I think a moment."

"I know where the shuttle bay is, and the kitchen, but that's about it." He hadn't exactly explored, staying in the med bay the entire time he'd been on the ship. He's not too worried about that at the moment though, instead looking at his love with a measure of concern in seeing that tell-tale glow from his hands.

"Did we get up too quickly? I don't want you to push yourself," he fusses, leaning in to make sure Anders can keep his feet and putting a hand on his arm even if he can. After a moment, he grins just a bit, though there's an anxiety behind it. "I could carry you, if that would help."

Anders' hand came up to Hawke's cheek to briefly brush it with his thumb and he offered a small smile of comfort.

"I'm alright, love. I've simply been laying down for too long, my legs have forgotten what they're supposed to do." He joked. His hand fell and, instead, curled around Hawke's.

Pounce jumped to the mage's shoulder and Anders briefly bent down to pet Drool's ears before leading their strange little party towards where he thought he remembered the bedrooms.

Drools is ecstatic for Anders to acknowledge his presence and does a little doggie prance to prove it, marching his front paws up and down excitedly and wagging the stump of his tail so hard his entire hindquarters wags with it. He falls in step with them when they move again, though his version of in step means prancing in front of them, giving a short bark as he stumbles backwards, then getting distracted and falling behind as he sniffs a door on their way.

As completely adorable as that is, Adalwolfe's attention is focused solely on his love.

Their fingers curl together and he can do is grip tightly, holding on to that lifeline until they reach Anders' quarters. He knows they have a lot to talk about. What happened while apart, what happened here that they didn't think to tell each other, but all Hawke wants to do is bury his face in Anders' shoulder and leave it there until the next Age starts.

The room was surely never meant to house two men and two pets, even small ones, but it wasn't wholly uncomfortable. Just tight. And as soon as the door was closed, it didn't matter anyway.

Anders stepped into Hawke's space to press his back to the door. It wasn't sexual, as much as that sounded nice for how long they'd been apart, but it was desperate. Anders' arms were wrapped around Adalwolfe's waist and back, tight to keep Hawke sandwiched between the healer and the wall.

But even then, he couldn't seem to decide what he wanted his hands to do more. One clenched tight in the fabric of Hawke's shirt while the other moved up to brush through Hawke's hair, stroking it softly and twining it around his fingers. He let his head fall forward and buried his nose in the crook of Adalwolfe's neck. "My heart is still hammering. I still can't believe I have you in my arms again, my love."

They should talk, sort things out and re-find their footing, but he's spent so long with his arms aching for how empty they were and his hands pained with a longing to touch the one person who meant more than anything else ever had.

Not even Justice or his cause meant more to him than Adalwolfe Hawke.

He'd been so terrified to lose him forever. The relief was overwhelming.

"I can't believe it either." Adalwolfe brings his arms up around Anders, holding him tight, murmuring into his hair as he settles against the wall. Its cold at his back, but Anders is warm and solid and here. No, not just here, but knows who he is, knows what they had.

Have.

"I missed you so much. Not just at Skyhold but here, too. You were right in front of me and I couldn't do so much as look at you without nerves." He buries is nose in Anders' hair, taking in the scent of him all over again, now that he's allowed to be close.

"What's the last thing you remember before waking up?"

He wants to apologize again, he had blissful ignorance, all the while hurting Hawke with it. And he'd flirted with him still! He hadn't flirted with another man in years, certainly not while he still had Karl in his life, and yet Hawke had charmed him all over again. He didn't deserve this wonderful man.

"I was travelling. Varric wrote about what happened with the Wardens and told me you were heading to Weisshaupt, I was heading to meet you." It had scared him a bit, the thought of travelling to that place. The Anderfels were harsh enough to residents and nearly indomitable to travelers. On top of that, it was the Grey Warden fortress and he was still a Warden on the run, it wasn't like he'd be able to slip by, they would know him from the blight in his veins. And with how many Wardens were Anders themselves, how many wouldn't take too well to the apostate who blew up a chantry?

It wasn't a smart idea, but Varric wouldn't have told him where Hawke was going if it wasn't with the intention of sending Anders there too. And he'd been away from his Champion for too long as it was. Weisshaupt made him nervous, but not following Hawke was never an option.

"It's still there, you know. Our house. I locked it up...in case we returned someday." He finally pulled away a bit to see Adalwolfe's face, his fingers coming down from white hair to trace Hawke's cheek.

He was going to scowl, tell him what he already knew about how dangerous it was for Anders to travel alone, but the admonishments die on his lips when he brings up their house, something akin to a home that they had built together. He can picture it, that sunny window in the kitchen where Anders grew his herbs, the little glass bottle in which Hawke kept collecting interesting stones or seashells he would find on various errands for the townsfolk, the bucket on the floor in the corner of the bedroom to catch the drips from that damn hole in the ceiling he hadn't gotten around to fixing before he was called to Skyhold. The mess of furs and blankets on the bed, Tom's food bowl tucked against the wall, savory meals by candlelight. Hawke swallows a small lump in his throat.

"We will. We have to tell the Wardens what happened, but we can go back after. Assuming no one tries anything stupid considering your status with the Wardens." It's a warning, but certainly one more out of worry. He would fight every single one of the entire blasted order to get Anders back were they to take him, but if he didn't have to that would be best.

Anders shook his head lightly and pressed a brief kiss to Hawke's lips as though he could banish the worry that way. "Based on what Varic said in his letter, I think they're likely to have bigger things to worry about than a run-away Warden."

Unless they felt their numbers too thinned and re-conscripted him against his will. Unless they saw his presence as a threat, considering what happened to the other Warden mages. It could go so many different ways, it was pointless to worry about it. Especially here when none of it really mattered anyway.

"Good. I miss the silly place. It wasn't your estate in Hightown, but...it was nice. And it was ours."

Anders pulled away finally and took Hawke's hand to lead him to the bed and sat on the edge, tugging Hawke lightly to get him to sit as well. "Will you tell me about the Fade? Varric said very little, although he implied he was with you."

"It was. Is. Still is." He corrects himself, sitting next to Anders. He has mixed feelings really. Not about the place, but about the estate left in Hightown. Empty, probably, or Gamlen's gambled it away again. Who knows. Carver's probably still off with Isabela, Varric having found her in order to dump Hawke's brother on her as a sailor and out of the danger red lyrium poses. Varric had apparently been trying to track her down ever since she left and was nearly there when the Seeker caught up with him. Aveline did the rest, making contact and explaining the situation. She'd agreed, much to everyone's surprise, though Carver had been a right pissant over them trying to save his skin. Hawke wishes he'd been there to see it. And to tell his brother he loved him, in case of the worst.

But that mansion with its big windows and opulent appointments. He misses that. He misses rowdy dinners and quiet fireside conversations. He misses the library he'd built over the years. Never had the time to read more than a few of the books. But he misses more the gentle breeze off of the Orlesian coast rustling the fruit tree outside the worn wooden exterior of their little haven. He misses coming home to Anders, brewing potions in their tiny kitchen instead of working late into the night in dangerous Darktown. He misses playing with local children, kicking a ball around a field or flying kites. Simple folk like he'd grown up with, not the 'seen but not heard' mentality of nobles towards their children.

Ander snaps him out of his reverie, asking about the Fade, and he almost groans. "I don't really want to talk about it, love. It was harrowing."

Hah hah. A mage in the Fade. Harrowing. Isn't that hilarious?

Edited 2016-09-06 01:19 (UTC)

That most certainly was not funny and Anders' expression shows it. "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that for both of our sakes."

Golden brown eyes trace over Hawke's face as though he was attempting to memorize every curve and contour through sight alone. Rememorize, maybe. "I'm certain it wasn't pleasant...but I'd still like to know. If it's going to stay with you, I want to help you carry it."

"It was..." Hawke trails off, trying to find a way to tell Anders without it sounding too terrible but there really isn't a way to do that. Not after what happened. Not after what he saw.

"Six of us were thrown into the Fade. Alistair, Inquisitor Lavellan, Varric and two others from the Inquisition. Solas, an elven apostate, and a Qunari called the Iron Bull that Lavellan was apparently carrying on with. I don't know. It didn't matter, he was twitchy the whole time. Put the rest of us even more on edge. Not that we needed help, what with being in the Fade physically."

Adalwolfe leans forward, elbows on his knees as he talks. "There was a massive demon there, the Nightmare. Spiderlike and disgusting. It spoke to us as we tried to get to the rift to escape, barred our way. Heinous things, targeting our deepest fears. Of course we fought it. We killed all the minions it could throw at us; pride, despair, rage. I swear there were dozens of each demons. There was a spirit too, though. The spirit of the Divine, or a different spirit that had taken on her aspect, I don't know. She was the one who'd pushed the Inquisitor from the Fade after the Conclave explosion."

He leans back again, not able to get comfortable. "She couldn't hold against the Nightmare. There was no way we could all fight it, it was enormous, blotted out the Black City in the sky. Alistair and I argued, but... ultimately the Inquisitor made the call. Alistair... he..."

Adalwolfe falls silent, a hard look on his face, riddled with anger and confusion. "I don't even know why he was there, Anders. He's the king of Ferelden, he should have been that first and a Warden second, not the other way around."

There's quite a few emotions stirring in him by the end of Hawke's story. Argued...argued about what? If the Inquisitor made the call, did that mean there was a chance...a chance it could have been Hawke left in the fade instead? Was there a second's decision between losing the love of his life and having him back in his arms and it he hadn't even known it?

And Alister...he didn't know the man overly well himself, but he'd granted his freedom and allowed him to become a Grey Warden instead of hung. He was a good man. More than that, he was as much the love of Riona's life as Hawke was to him. Was that really what lay in his best friend's future?

He remembered her words on the beach, hazy as though long ago, but at the same time sharp as though only a week or maybe two past. He'd tried to comfort her, tell her it could be a different Riona who's husband died in the fade and she'd said it didn't really matter because then that meant that Riona had to suffer being left behind. Was she right? Another Anders maybe held that in his future as well. If she truly was his Riona, then that would mean she would lose Alister.

He winced and shoved the thoughts as far back as he could. He couldn't think on that now, it was, and likely always would be, out of his hands. Right now, he had Hawke and that was what he needed to focus on. The rest could wait.

"I don't know, love, but it wasn't your fault. He's...was a very dedicated man, he likely saw it as his duty to take care of Corypheus and the Wardens just as you did. He made his decision, no matter what we might think of it."

Selfishness coiled and sank in his stomach, poisioning his thoughts against himself in the back of his mind as he reached out to stroke Hawke's face. "I'm just glad it wasn't you."

He hated himself for saying it, for knowing how selfish he was to desire his own happiness at the cost of his best friend's, the woman he owed his life and happiness. But wasn't that just par for the course? He let that sickness spread in him even as he kept concerned eyes locked on his partner.

"I am too," he pulls Anders in, tucks his lover under his chin in a protective embrace that also serves to break eye contact. His heart beats softly against his chest, so much calmer than he'd been that day. Knowing Corypheus is his responsibility, that he's the one who'd been tricked into letting him out and bringing doom on all the world. Blood of the Hawke, they'd cried. Only he could have done it. Him or Carver, but Carver had the sense to stay away.

Alistair should have lived, not him. Objectively he had more importance to the world. A Warden of standing, one who'd helped to kill an Archdemon, and a King to boot. The last of the Theirin line to boot. Adalwolfe remembers stories about King Calanhad the Great, resplendent in his magical silver armor. His father liked to tell that story even when Adalwolfe had been too angry a youth to hear it, agreeing with Aldenon in the story; Bethany and Carver loved it though, the idea that one man could rise from being a dog handler to kingship. They'd play a simplified version of it; Aldenon and Calanhad, uniting Ferelden, with Carver wearing the cookwear as his armor. Calanhad always won, Theirins belonged on the throne.

He'd ended that. It feels like he stomped all over his siblings' game, stomped all over history and the right path of the world. Alistair should have lived to rule his country, to rebuild the Wardens. Instead Adalwolfe lives by the grace of the Inquisitor and the lack of time to argue further and Maker's balls he can't even be entirely sorry, selfish as he is. What would have become of Anders without him?

What will become of Ferelden without Alistair?

He can't tell Anders he argued to stay and let Alistair go. He knows how the mage will react. He shifts, pulling Anders tighter, more securely in his arms, wondering if he's already guessed anyway and too frightened to ask. He doesn't want to relive that moment where he'd been silenced by the Inquisitor, mouth dry and muscles tight and so bloody relieved that he hadn't been thrown to that thing, that he would see his love again, that he would live. It's all he ever wanted, just to have some kind of a life and suddenly it was as if someone higher than him was telling him yes, it's alright, you can have it.

But at what cost? Why can't he just enjoy it?

"I missed you so much, Anders. You have no idea..."

A question played at the back of his mind, one he couldn't look at, couldn't think, couldn't voice, so he shoved it down. Don't.

"I think I must have some idea. Likely as much as I missed you."

So desperate with loneliness and longing that the moment the door closed behind Hawke, it nearly sent Anders to his knees. He'd berated himself, how pathetic he'd become, how much he'd hung his entire being on Hawke and his presence. Three years of relying on each other to stay alive. Three years of Hawke keeping him sane and it suddenly felt so fragile, like a thin thread that would snap as the distance became too great between them. The Fade was about as far as they could get from each other.

He let himself stay that way, tucked under Hawke's chin like the outside world couldn't touch them, like nothing had ever tried to tear them apart. Pretending to take simple comfort from it as he should instead of his insides squirming and twisting and his whole self aching to curl around Adalwolfe to know he was there and safe. Hawke deserved Support, not desperation.

That question got louder and louder, shouted in his head, he wanted to ask he needed to know or he'd wonder for the rest of his remaining years. Hawke didn't deserve the question, he shouldn't ask. What was the point in knowing?

His mouth opened and closed and opened again and when he tried to speak, his words made no noise at first. Stop, stop, stop!

"Did you try to stay, Hawke? Did you volunteer to let Alister go instead?" Still, his voice was quiet, but it didn't need to be loud to be heard, to deal it's damage.

Hawke deserved better.

Edited 2016-09-12 04:38 (UTC)

"I'm Ferelden."

It's as simple as that. He's Ferelden, Alistair was his sovereign. He couldn't possibly not put up some sort of fight.

Only he didn't, not a fight, just a conversation. He'd pushed, told Alistair he should go to rebuild the Wardens, redeem the Wardens (Why hadn't he told him to stay for country? For his wife?) but he hadn't pushed hard enough. Maybe - probably - hadn't wanted to. There wasn't enough time for him to hitch up his courage; Inquisitor Lavellan had made his call and by then it was either one of them or all of them.

"I'm sorry, love." He sounds miserable to say it, a murmur that barely rumbles from his chest let alone falls from his mouth. He knows how Anders will react, and he knows he deserves it. He'd just hoped to at least have an hour of blessed time with his lover, his Anders, before he cocked it all up.

So am I! It hisses in his mind as a contention instead of understanding, but it doesn't pass his lips. He wasn't, not really. He was as much Ferelden as he was Anders or Kirkwaller. He was nothing and had no loyalty.

Except to Hawke.

But Hawke cared too much. He cared too much and too deeply about everything and Anders shouldn't expect to be the first thing on his lover's mind. He shouldn't feel hurt. Of course Hawke offered. He was Hawke.

Anders loved him for everything that made him Hawke, including that.

But it didn't stop him from pulling away, from turning out of Hawke's hold to look anywhere but at that face he was sure to see. He knew the answer before he'd asked and Hawke surely knew his reaction before Anders reacted. His heart clenched and so did his hands into fists, anger swirling in him like phoenix born from the ashes of his hurt. Don't, don't, don't! He'll only make it worse, he'll only take his pain and turn it into a knife to cut at Hawke with because that was all he was good at. All Anders could do was hurt Hawke when he only ever tried his best to do what was right.

His voice is tense, like a wire ready to break under strain, but it doesn't shake. "You promised me you'd come back."

"I would have, if we hadn't been brought here." Its splitting hairs and he knows it but it's also the plain truth and he pulls it up like a shield.

He can't look at Anders, can't see the hurt and disappointment he knows will be there, the whipped anger from which he deserves each lash. Adalwolfe stays where he is, lets Anders rise, and all he does is fold his arms loosely across his lap. It's not even a proper defense, more a shiver against elements than a bid to protect himself. He doesn't deserve the privilege.

"Did you think you mattered, Hawke? Did you think anything you ever did mattered?"

The truth of it, the real truth, is that he'd been thinking of Anders the whole time. Thinking of what the Nightmare had said, the truth of it that turned Hawke inside out. It had made him doubt, had made him question himself in the most insidious way. Nothing he'd done had mattered, nothing but keeping Anders alive. That, that mattered to him, and so long as that remained true it was alright, he could get through this like anything else.

"Anders is going to die. Just like your family, and everyone you ever cared about."

Bloody demons.

He'd stopped walking for half a moment, the eyes of the party on him, boring holes into his chest just after the Nightmare had wounded him fatally. It was inevitable, wasn't it? It seemed at the time, even as they'd evaded capture and death for years since Kirkwall. Eventually someone would find them, the wanted apostates who'd murdered a Grand Cleric, who'd destroyed a sanctuary of the most holy. They would find them, and all they needed was to have one unlucky day.

For all he knows, Anders is dead already without Hawke to protect him.

Varric puts a hand against his side and it elicited a sharp noise, somewhere between a laugh and a growl. "Well that will grow tiresome quickly."

They moved on.

But something in Hawke had shriveled, some trick of the Fade to sap his resolve. His hope. In that moment, he'd known he wasn't going to survive. It was an odd sort of clarity, made things easier to have a foregone conclusion.

Afterwards, Varric had called it a moment of weakness when Hawke had confided in him. Brushed it off just like that. Just a momentary lapse but now everything was fine. Only he'd nearly not come back. He'd abandoned all hope and if it hadn't been for Lavellan...

Adalwolfe brings the heels of his hands to his eyes, mouth cut in a grimace. He swallows, trying to speak, but no words come.

Edited 2016-09-12 05:27 (UTC)

He's silent. He should say something. He wants Hawke to say something, but he's not even sure what.

"Hawke..."

His insides feel like they're full of glass. His thoughts turned sharp and blistering, tearing at his mind. Things he didn't want to think about, possibilities that couldn't be possibilities, but they still rang in his mind. He couldn't stand it.

He turned back towards Hawke, took a deep breath and reached for his lover's wrists to tug them away. "Look at me." The strain was still there in his voice, but it was something more than anger causing it.

"...thank you for coming back."

Edited 2016-09-13 04:13 (UTC)

"I almost didn't," he replies brokenly, letting Anders take his wrists, letting him see the red around his eyes, the circles, the wrinkles, the despair. "I gave up."

He doesn't cry - he can count the number of times he's cried as an adult on one hand - but he does let out a dry sob, leaning into Anders, resting his forehead against the hollow of his chest. "I'm so sorry. If it wasn't for the Inquisitor, I..."

Adalwolfe breathes hard, trying to master himself, trying to breathe. When he speaks again, he sounds more put together verbally, but he still doesn't lift his head. "The Nightmare, it's called that for a reason. Every doubt, every terrible thing I've ever heard about myself, thought about myself, it just regurgitated it all. Casually. Booming over the entire Fade. I'm not proud of it, but it... it broke me."

A shaky breath and he finally looks up, meets Anders' eyes. "I've lost everyone, Anders. Everyone but you and it's... it's inevitable, isn't it? The lives we lead? And even if that doesn't claim us, the Calling..."

His fingers curl to stem the shaking. He clears his throat. "But that's no reason to throw away the time we do have. I'm so sorry, Anders."

Adalwolfe's head goes to Anders' chest and Anders wraps his arms around Hawke's shoulders. It hurt, knowing what pained his love and not being able to offer any condolence. Well...almost none. But did it really help? That was here and they would surely go home. But he didn't want Hawke to live in fear of losing him.

One hand crawls up Hawke's back and long fingers pet soft hair. He takes calming breaths to loosen the coil in his chest and ensure his voice would sound more even, more assuring.

"You're just a man, Hawke. I wouldn't expect you not to have your breaking point. Everyone does." Anders had found his in Kirkwall and Hawke had pulled him back from it, allowed him time and support to pick up the pieces and try again. The least he could offer was the same in return.

"But you came back from it." He pulled Adalwolfe as close to him as he could. "The Calling..." He hesitates now, but presses on after a moment. "We still have, what? Twenty more years we could have together? For some, that's a life time. By the end...we'll have spent more time together than apart. I..admit, it scares me too, but having what time I can with you is all the blessing I could ever ask for." He tries, but his voice wavers before he catches it and forces it even again. "I-I'll forgive you if you promise not to let it go again. Remember I want every last second with you I can steal away."

A lightly shaky but quiet breath and he pulls away, hands going to the sides of Hawke's face to meet his eyes. "Besides, a semi-reliable source told me the taint doesn't spread here, so whatever time we have on the fleet is like a gift." It was the silver lining, the best he could offer in a bleak situation. It was bittersweet knowing whatever happiness they could find would only last as long as there was sand in Anders' hourglass, but it made the moments they did have, sweeter.

"Then I don't even want to look for a way back." His mouth is dry as he says it, knowing he should, knowing he misses the rest of his family, his friends, his world. Knowing he has a responsibility to help do away with what is his fault, what he unleashed upon the world. But Anders is right. He's just a man.

A man who's lost too much. Who can't stand to lose more.

He leans Anders into him, pulling the blond against him not just to break eye contact but to hold what he can't lose. He can't stand Anders knowing he broke, doesn't even want to believe it himself. He's supposed to be the rock, the support. After Kirkwall, it just became that much more imperative that he never show any real weakness. Complaining about conditions, anger over the conflict, that was all fine, but real weakness - doubt about the future, doubt about his abilities, about Anders - that he can't show.

Yet now he has.

"I want a lifetime with you. A proper one. Without Templars or Circles or Chantry law. Without Corypheus and without the Wardens or the taint. Just you and me." He breathes into Anders' neck, somehow calm despite the outpouring of emotion that came before. "You and me."

He's stunned by Hawke's answer and he's not even sure if he should be or not. But he lets himself be pulled into Hawke's hold and loosely curls his fingers into his love's shirt. He wants to hold Hawke, to let him know everything is okay, that he doesn't think any less of his champion for being a normal man when it was what Anders knew all along. But he also wanted to be held, to know this fool he loved, who loved him, was truly still with him, was safe and whole and not going anywhere for a long while yet. His fingers uncurled and he wraped his arms around Hawke instead. They could hold each other.

"I want that too." Maker did he ever want that. Once upon a time, it was all he'd dreamed of. Boys in little villages didn't aspire for much more than replacing their parents and that had seemed enough to him; marry someone he loved, settle in their home with his own life and happiness, just existing together. Then he'd gotten his magic and why else had he fought so long and so hard and given up everything, including himself, than to allow mages the chance to have that same kind of quiet life?

Maybe they could find that peace they'd found in Orlais here. At least for a little while. That would be nice.

"No matter where we are, let's just try to stay together."

"Good," Wolfe breathes against Anders' neck, into the feathers at his shoulders that brush his face just as gently as the mage's fingers do. This is all he wants of what he can actually have. A snug place at his lover's side, arms curled around each other with the assurance that this exact place is where they want to be. He'll allow himself this weakness just a moment longer.

The feathers ruffle with a soft laugh from Adalwolfe, amusement striking his features, smoothing them out save for the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. It's not lost on them what they've gotten out of being brought here, one of Anders' fondest dreams, though not in the way either of them had imagined.

"At least it didn't take a hundred years for this."

The laugh that escapes him is sharp, surprised and amused, and Anders pulls back with an incredulous look. "You remember what I said? Even then on the brink of battle?"

Incredulity melts into a wide smile. "But I suppose you're right. I can love you here without fear anyone will try to tear us apart. Thank the Maker." His eyes searched Hawke's and he leaned in to press a kiss to Hawke's lips. "You make me happier than I have any right to be. I love you, Adalwolfe."

The kiss tastes a little like salt, a little like lyrium, and a little like home. Adalwolfe pushes into it gratefully. "And you me. I love you too, Anders. Of course I remember. It's all I've wanted ever since."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Closed] If You Talk Enough Sense, Then You'll Lose Your Mind

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