Archive of Our Own

Nathaniel is annoyed.

He has been annoyed for quite a while now—it would be fair to say that he tends to be on the more annoyed side of things most of the time. Right now he’s annoyed about something specific, something new, something that makes him want to bash his head against one of the Keep’s walls or follow in his father’s footsteps and throw someone into the torture dungeon somewhere below his childhood bedroom.

That something is blond and sassy and obnoxious and is currently sprawled all over Nathaniel’s bed, snoring peacefully. An orange tabby cat is curled up on his chest in a neat, purring circle, the ears flicking from time to time.

It takes no genius to realize what happened—the stupid cat must have thrown up on Anders’ bed again and instead of dealing with it Anders crawled into Nathaniel’s bed for an afternoon nap. Nathaniel didn’t intend to sleep, but the entitlement still makes him feel furious. Maybe more furious than it would’ve made him feel if, for example, Sigrun had done the same.

Nathaniel puts down his bow and quiver in their designated corner, pointedly not looking at Anders with his one leg dangling from the side of the bed. It’s highly likely that he’s drooling on Nathaniel’s pillow. Again.

He has no idea why this keeps happening. As far as Nathaniel knows, Anders hasn’t stolen any of the other beds before. It’s highly likely that he’s scared for his life if he tried to sleep in either Velanna’s or Sigrun’s bed and is too creeped out by Oghren to try and hog his. Either way, Nathaniel decides he has to have some strong, stern words with Anders.

Every time he does this the bed smells faintly like him—something that might be lavender adjacent, maybe from a soap Anders uses, and something herbal like Elfroot—and it makes it harder for Nathaniel to fall asleep at night. If Anders would simply get his cat under control or change his sheets like a well-adjusted adult Nathaniel wouldn’t have to deal with this.

As he takes off his armor Anders curls onto his side, making his cat roll off his chest and onto the mattress. Ser-Pounce-A-Lot doesn’t seem particularly disturbed, just stretches and lies down again, now pressed against Anders’ stomach.

What Nathaniel wouldn’t give to be able to sleep like that.

Instead dead family members, his father’s torture chambers and talking Darkspawn, haunt his sleep. He went down there twice, staring at the heavy metal doors, the contraptions and tools, trying to envision his father there, delighting in the pain of others. Ordering it, maybe even committing acts of torture himself. A small part of him wonders if he could have prevented all of this if he hadn’t been away for so long—but then again maybe there was nothing to stop the inevitable from happening.

He probably shouldn’t go there and ponder what he can’t change anymore. But there is a perverse pull inside him, a desire to know and see it all. Maybe if he stares at it long enough his heart will follow his mind and understand that his father wasn’t a good man and it will stop mourning the man who never even loved his son.

Nathaniel folds his cotton tunic up and takes a deep breath, doing his best to push the dark thoughts away.

“Oh my, are you saying all my flirting finally paid off?”

Anders’ sleepy and bemused voice rips Nathaniel out of his mind and back into his room. He turns and stares at Anders, his brow furrowed and his arms crossed in front of his naked chest. They’ve all seen each other more or less naked by now—something Nathaniel wishes he could unsee especially when it comes to Oghren—but it doesn’t bother him as much anymore.

Well.

It bothers him when Anders looks at him like that.

“Get out of my bed”, he says instead of dignifying Anders’ remark with a response. Anders chuckles and stretches, nuzzling his face into Nathaniel’s pillow.

“It’s really soft though”, he mumbles and Nathaniel watches his eyes flutter shut again.

“So is yours, I’m sure.”

“Ser-Pounce-A-Lot puked on it”, Anders says.

“I really don’t care, Anders. Didn’t you have to change your own sheets in the Circle?”

Anders snorts.

“Oh, because you’re so good at changing sheets? Didn’t you have your butt powdered by servants all your life?”

Nathaniel huffs and shakes his head, turning away from Anders and his arched eyebrow.

“I’m perfectly capable to change bedsheets.”

“Hm. Prove it. Change my sheets.”

“I will not change your sheets!”

“Because you don’t know how to?”

“Because I don’t want to!”

Anders shrugs.

“Well, I suppose that means I’ll stay in your bed after all.”

Nathaniel is fuming by the time he grabs a fresh set of clothes to put on after bathing. Anders still hasn’t moved when Nathaniel leaves his room to wash himself, and he is still there when Nathaniel comes back half an hour later after an unsuccessful attempt to drown his thoughts in the bathtub.

To top his misery off he used the wrong soap and now he smells like Anders.

Anders might be wrong about Nathaniel not being able to change sheets, but something that Nathaniel sorely misses from being a noble is the privacy of your own room. A lot of space you can hide in when you don’t want to see another soul so you can brood and think in peace.

Now, here in the fortress of Amaranthine there are always people intruding on his personal space. He never had to share his room before—not even with one of his siblings. Now he has a roommate who’s cat starts throwing things off of shelves when it gets bored at night and who keeps sneaking into Nathaniel’s bed, solely to piss him off.

He supposes he could try to be alone in his father’s torture dungeon but seems a little dark, even for brooding purposes. After getting dressed Nathaniel makes his way to the armory to stock up on arrows and get some polish for his leather armor. And of course he runs into Sigrun, because someone is always in the same place Nathaniel wants to go.

“You look grumpy”, she says as she eyes him up and down. There is an obscene amount of daggers and short swords piled up in front of her as she sits cross-legged and barefoot on the stone floor to inspect them.

“Anders crawled into my bed again”, Nathaniel says glumly as he walks over to the section of the armory that provides equipment related to archery. “Because his stupid cat puked on his bed. Again.”

Sigrun snickers behind him as he looks at the differently weighted arrows to decide which ones he wants to use.

“Makes sense”, she says, a big smile in her voice. Sometimes Nathaniel thinks that truly nothing can dampen her mood. Maybe your perspective on life really changes once you’re metaphorically dead.

“How does it make sense?”, Nathaniel retorts, unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

“If you lived your whole life cramped in the same room as twenty other people, wouldn’t it creep you out to be alone?”, she asks, distracted by a pair of twin daggers she holds up against the light to test their balance.

Nathaniel blinks.

“I hadn’t… thought about that”, he says. Sigrun cackles.

“Wow. You nobles really don’t think about other people much, huh?”, she says light-heartedly and without any malice, as if it’s just a fact of life she has long accepted. Nathaniel feels uncomfortable even though he knows that Sigrun hadn’t meant anything by it. He grabs a bundle of arrows and a small vial of leather polish and clears his throat.

“I guess… I can just let him nap there. For today”, Nathaniel says gruffly and Sigrun looks up at him with a wide grin and a twinkle in her eyes that he can’t place.

“Aren’t you charitable”, she says, bemused, before going back to whatever she is doing with twenty daggers. Nathaniel doesn’t even want to know. He grabs his arrows a little tighter and heads out of the armory again, deep in thought as he tries to imagine what it feels like to share a room with just one other person after almost a lifetime of staying in a dormitory. Nathaniel’s first instinct is to think that one would be thankful for some peace and quiet.

But maybe Anders is and it still takes him longer to get used to it.

Nathaniel huffs, this time annoyed with himself because his mind is stuck on his own ignorance. Of course, to be fair to himself, Anders does like to be annoying on purpose. But maybe in this case it wasn’t just to poke Nathaniel.

When he gets back he puts his new equipment aside and quietly changes the sheets of Anders’ bed as he sleeps. Just to prove him wrong.

*

Waking up to a silent room is somehow more unnerving since he started sharing a room with someone. Usually the rustling of Anders’ clothes and blanket during his restless sleep, his quiet snoring or even mumbling, and of course every noise the cat makes are there to greet Nathaniel when he can’t sleep for yet another night.

Not tonight though. There’s nothing.

Nathaniel’s eyes need some time to get used to the almost perfect darkness in his room before his eyes find Anders’ bed, empty and neatly made, just the way Nathaniel left it after changing the sheets.

Neither his roommate nor his cat are anywhere to be seen.

Of course Nathaniel isn’t worried. Anders can do whatever he wants.

But then again they’re fighting talking Darkspawn with enemies crawling in through the cellars. So for the safety of the whole fortress Nathaniel decides that it’s appropriate for him to look for Anders—just to make sure he’s not getting up to anything ridiculous. Apparently former circle mages are loose canons when it comes to their freedom and personal safety—or at least Anders is.

The Keep is mostly empty and quiet at this time at night, most of its inhabitants sleeping. The smell of their dinner still hangs in the air as Nathaniel passes through the dining hall, keeping to the shadows as he makes his way to the cellar doors. A small noise from the kitchen makes him halt and he listens into the darkness for a few seconds before continuing his slow way along the stone walls until Nathaniel reaches the opened door of the big kitchen.

Pots and pans dangle from the low ceiling above big wooden tables and the only source of light are the ambers in the fireplace that bathe part of the kitchen in an eerie, orange glow.

Anders sits in front of the fireplace, his legs crossed, feeding pieces of cheese to Ser-Pounce-A-Lot and an apple to himself as he quietly hums to himself. Nathaniel isn’t sure why but he feels guilty disturbing the peaceful scene so he just stands in the doorway, his arms crossed, leaning against the wooden frame as he watches Anders chuckle while his cat jumps to catch one of the small pieces of cheese.

“Won’t he get sick from all that cheese?”, Nathaniel finally asks and watches as Anders flinches at the sudden sound of a voice, his head whipping around. He drops his apple and Nathaniel recognizes a defensive gesture when he sees one. He immediately feels guilty again.

“Oh, it’s you”, Anders huffs and lowers his hand before picking up his apple. Nathaniel wants to protest as Anders dusts it off a little before biting into it again. “Sorry. Old habits die hard. Could’ve been a Templar come to make me Tranquil in the middle of the night, you know.”

His tone is playful and dismissive but Nathaniel can feel the truth in what Anders says.

“What are you doing here?”, Nathaniel asks, feeling dumb to ask as Anders waves the half-eaten apple at him.

“Having a little midnight snack. Always wanted to do that, but of course that’s a no-go in the Circle. Sneaking around at night will get you killed faster than you can yelp ‘I’m just hungry’”, he says and holds out a piece of cheese towards Nathaniel.

“I’m not big on cheese”, Nathaniel says but slowly walks over. Anders shrugs and gives Ser-Pounce-A-Lot another bite.

“Guess you don’t know much about going hungry, huh?”, Anders asks and bites into the apple again, the sound unnaturally loud in the quietness of night. Nathaniel isn’t sure why he does it but he lets himself sink onto the stone floor across from Anders, propping his elbows onto his knees.

“Thankfully not, no”, he says wearily. A pause as he considers his words carefully while Anders happily chews on his apple. “I assume—?”

Anders arches an eyebrow at him and scoffs.

“Can’t say solitary confinement was a luxurious experience”, he says, his tone almost challenging. “Or, you know. Hiding in the woods from Templars.”

Nathaniel isn’t sure what to say so he just sits there watching the cat happily eat a piece of cheese before it comes over to him to sniff his hands. To his surprise Ser-Pounce-A-Lot climbs into his lap and starts kneading his thigh, his claws digging into the soft fabric of Nathaniel’s pajama pants and the skin underneath it.

“Why’d they put you in solitary confinement?”, he finally asks, looking down at the cat as it needles his thigh.

Anders chuckles.

“They weren’t happy about me escaping all the time”, he says quietly. “What about you? Your good ol’ dad ever locked you up somewhere?”

It seems like a terrible subject to speak about so flippantly, but then again that is what Anders does, Nathaniel supposes. He keeps making fun of the most grim dark situations, trying to make light of things where there is no light to be found. Much like Velanna scoffs at everything, Anders laughs about it.

“From time to time”, Nathaniel finally offers, not keen on talking about his father. His feelings are still too raw and complicated for him to form words around them without choking. Unbidden his thoughts wander down to into the dungeons below, bouncing off the metal spikes and clasps and chains.

Nathaniel clears his throat and tries petting Ser-Pounce-A-Lot who seems to appreciate it. He purrs contently before turning in a circle once and finally settling down in Nathaniel’s lap as if it was his favorite napping place. The soft and warm fur underneath his fingertips make him feel a little calmer.

Maybe this is why Anders is so fond of the little rascal.

The purring sound has a strangely soothing effect.

“I admit I—uh. Can’t quite imagine being locked in a room for a whole year,”, he adds despite his desire to turn to other topics. Anders chuckles and tilts his head back, exposing his long neck as he looks up at the vaulted stone ceiling above them, barely visible in the darkness of night.

“Seems a bit unreal to me, too. No idea how I survived it. The boredom was even worse than the blighted Deep Roads,” Anders says, his smile lopsided. There is something haunted in his eyes that betrays the light-hearted tone of his voice. Nathaniel decides not to pry any further as his fingers keep stroking the soft fur of Ser-Pounce-A-Lot.

“Getting a midnight snack whenever I want feels like the most luxurious thing in the world”, he continues with a soft chuckle as he stares into the fire, his eyes miles away now. “Just doing whatever you want whenever you want it? Making decisions for yourself, just belonging to me and not the Circle. Some people just do that every day of their lives, I guess.”

Nathaniel doesn’t know what to say. He thinks about being born a noble where doing whatever he wanted also wasn’t much of an option, but he’s aware by now that it’s not the same kind of cage. His was golden. Anders’ was a hole in a tower with no one to speak to.

“Thank you, by the way”, Anders says, uncharacteristically quiet as he throws the core of his apple into the ambers of the fireplace and watches it blacken. Nathaniel looks at his face in profile and how the soft, glowing light shimmers in his eyes. Something in Nathaniel’s chest feels weirdly tight and winded, a small, restless thing prowling the depth of his ribcage with a nervous energy.

“For what?”, he asks. Anders tilts his back and looks at Nathaniel with such an intense, serious face, that Nathaniel feels himself blink and swallow.

“Changing the sheets. Checking to see if I was eaten by Darkspawn.”

They stare at each for a few heartbeats. The air feels weirdly charged—Nathaniel is the first to look away. He does his best to scoff and shrug.

“I won’t make a habit out of it”, he mumbles. Anders chuckles again.

“Too bad. I could get used to it.”

*

Various people have told him that it’s a bad idea to keep coming down into the dungeons below the castle to stare at the remnants of his father’s crimes and Nathaniel knows that they’re all right—and yet he can’t bring himself to stop. He doesn’t even know why he keeps doing it, as if staring at windowless cells and torture tools will help him feel better about his family dying or his father being a monster or feeling responsible for everything somehow even though he couldn’t have changed any of it had he been here.

There are still bloodstains on the tables and the floors, dried and darkened and the smell is sharp and moldy. Standing in the doorway beside the manacles fixed to the walls from which prisoners probably dangled until they died. Nathaniel finds himself wondering if his father ever did any of the torture himself or just had his lackeys do the dirty work.

It’s so hard to breathe down here.

Being almost gored by an Ogre today had him on edge the entire day and while Anders was snoring peacefully in his bed Nathaniel snuck out into the dungeons. Again.

Justice’s voice rings through his head, saying, “dwelling on the past mistakes of a dead man will not help bring justice to anyone or help you heal from your wounds.”

He knows it’s true. He knows it.

His chest feels tight as if one of his father’s steel instruments clutches at it, squeezing hard and making it almost impossible to breathe. The only reason why Nathaniel wasn’t killed by an ogre today was a magical blast pushing him out of the way at the very last second, the magic tingling on his skin as it catapulted him out of harm’s way.

His back still hurts from the way he landed on the ground, hard, but this is nothing compared to the damage he would have taken had the ogre impaled him on its horns.

Nathaniel knows who’s magic it was, of course.

He never really had much to do with magic, but fighting alongside mages now that he’s part of the order made him realize that everyone’s magic feels different. Well—at least he assumes. He only has two samples of people using magic on him for different reasons. Velanna’s magic feels primal and angry and earthy.

And… well.

Anders’ magic feels a little like a summer rain.

Nathaniel doesn’t want to put too much thought into it.

After his brush with death, Nathaniel steps into the dungeon for the very first time instead of just lingering in the doorway to stare at his father’s atrocities. He steps up to one of the cells, touching the cold metal bars and walks alongside one of the drains, which no doubt were used to get rid of the blood from all the torture.

The iron fist around his heart tightens when he spots the desperate scratching of fingernails on one of the benches. Breathing has never been this hard before.

It feels as if the basement is closing in on him from all sides, his vision blurring at the edges as he tries his best to breathe in and breathe out. No one else is here and yet Nathaniel can swear that he hears screaming echoing through the chambers.

His knees give out and he finds himself on the floor, face to face with long dried blood still sticking to the shallow stone canals leading to the drains a few feet behind him. There is no more air for him to suck into his lungs, only blood and crying and the sound of flesh tearing.

He’s drowning.

And then the feeling of soft rain on his shoulders, touching his forehead, his wrists, his back.

“Breathe in”, a familiar voice says somewhere to his left and Nathaniel does his best to follow its instructions. “Hold it there, yeah. Like that. Alright, now breathe out again. Slowly. Good. Breathe in again, just follow my voice.”

Nathaniel concentrates on the feeling of gentle raindrops on his skin, cooling his body down and slowing his pulse. A soft, blue glow surrounding his clenched fists catches his eye before he shuts them to concentrate on getting air back into his lungs.

He doesn’t have to be this. Just because the same blood flows in his veins doesn’t mean that he will become this.

“Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. That’s good.”

It feels as if it takes him hours, days, weeks, to feel as if the iron clamps around his lungs are finally loosening and letting him breathe normally again. His whole body hurts now, even more so than after an hour long trek through the Deep Roads or being thrown through the air by magic.

Fuck, Anders saved his life.

And now he’s crouching right here next to Nathaniel on the blood stained floor, speaking to him more softly than Nathaniel has ever heard him speak before. The words don’t make any sense just yet, but the sound of them makes it easier to get out of his own head.

“You don’t have to keep punishing yourself for what a fucked up guy your father was”, he hears at some point. “You’re a good man.”

“It’s alright to mourn him even though he was a terrible man. It’s complicated. I get it.”

Nathaniel finally raises his head, wiping at his eyes and feel the cold sweat on his forehead, the tears he apparently shed here on the floor of his father’s crimes. A stream of profanities escapes him. He can’t believe that Anders saw him have a panic attack.

“Fuck”, he croaks.

There’s a hand on his back, unsure and testing. Nathaniel turns his head to look at Anders who looks pale and worried. Something in Nathaniel tightens again and he swallows heavily.

“What are you doing here?”, he asks.

Anders shrugs and pulls his hand back, hesitantly. It leaves an emptiness behind that Nathaniel refuses to examine.

“Saw that your bed was empty, thought you might get eaten by Darkspawn.”

Nathaniel scoffs.

“Come on, let’s get out of here. The kitchen is a way better place to spend the night than this hole”, Anders says and pulls on his sleeve. Nathaniel gets up with shaky legs, trying not to look back at the scratch-marks or the bloodstains, just concentrating on his breathing and on putting one foot in front of the other for now.

As they walk towards the kitchen in silence Nathaniel glances at Anders’ profile in the flickering light of the torches lining the walls.

“Thank you”, he says.

Anders glances back at him and a lopsided smile that makes Nathaniel’s heart stumble in his chest appears on Anders’ face for a split second.

“Eh, don’t mention it.”

*

Anders doesn’t eat well.

Nathaniel didn’t really pay attention to it before, but his eyes find Anders more these days as they sit in the dining room together with the rest of the group or when they make camp out in the open or down in the Deep Roads. Way too often he leaves parts of his portion for his cat or offers it to Sigrun wordlessly who gobbles everything up she can get her hands on—no matter how grey and slimy it looks or how dry and tasteless it is.

This, of course, is not Nathaniel’s concern. Just as Anders’ sheets, his sleeping habits or his regular flinching is none of his business.

They’re colleagues and roommates at best, annoyed by each other at worst, and that’s all there is to it. There’s no need for Nathaniel to sneak apple pie out of the kitchen and put it on Anders’ nightstand. He doesn’t have to hand Anders the largest portion of stew when they sit around the campfire, and he certainly does not have to dare Anders to finish a whole plate of roasted chicken and carrots faster than Nathaniel just so he’ll have motivation to eat.

Anders keeps looking at him funnily whenever Nathaniel does any of these things but he never says anything. He eats the apple pie, he eats half of the big portions—which is then of course more than he would eat if he only had the half of a smaller portion—and he allows Nathaniel to dare him, eating the entire plate of chicken and carrots.

Amidst all the gore and the horrors of speaking Darkspawn and his father’s torture dungeon this provides a nice distraction from time to time. And so do the occasional ‘parties’ that the Warden-Commander orders for ‘morale’. Nathaniel always groans when it’s time again but truth be told he appreciates it whenever it happens.

“I dare you to drink that faster than Oghren”, Anders says one night, pointing at a tankard of ale Nathaniel is holding. Oghren laughs so hard that he almost falls off the bench and Nathaniel raises one eyebrow to comment on both the ridiculous dare and the lilt in Anders’ voice.

Somewhere in the background Sigrun and Velanna try to explain the significance of tattoos to Justice. For a brief moment Nathaniel wonders if Sigrun would ever give him a tattoo if he asked but the usual mischievous glint in her eye makes him think that he might end up with the likeness of a naked woman instead of his actual request.

“You know that’s quite literally impossible”, Nathaniel says.

“So you’re a quitter, huh”, Anders says, crossing his arms in front of his chest and wiggling his eyebrows. Nathaniel has rarely seen anything more ridiculous in his life.

“I’m simply not insane”, Nathaniel says as Oghren climbs back onto the wooden bench and belches loudly. Nathaniel pulls a face which makes Anders laugh.

“Okay, so if you don’t want to do a drinking contest with Oghren you should do one with me. Lighten up a little. You always look so grumpy! Can you even smile?”

“I can smile just fine if people give me a reason to”, Nathaniel says with a roll of his eyes and Anders snorts, shaking his head as if Nathaniel is the most ridiculous person he has ever interacted with. Somehow, coming from Anders, that annoys Nathaniel. Which is nothing new, of course.

“Fine. I’ll drink one of these faster than you and then you can leave me to brood in peace”, Nathaniel says and Anders laughs so hard he almost drops his tankard.

“You brood all day, doesn’t that get boring?”, Anders huffs as he refills his tankard, swaying lightly on his feet. Nathaniel can only assume that he hasn’t eaten enough again. Which is none of his concern. Not at all.

“Not as boring as listening to your complaints all day”, Nathaniel mumbles.

“When you two ladies are done flirting you can get to the drinking any time, you know”, Oghren says.

Nathaniel glares as Anders splutters, sticking his tongue out at Oghren.

“Will you even manage to count to three?”, Nathaniel asks Oghren who snorts in response. Anders chuckles about Nathaniel’s remark and his eyes have a strange glint to them as he looks at Nathaniel.

“Three, two, one… Drink!”

It’s not even good ale. And Nathaniel wouldn’t usually call himself competitive but there is something in Anders that makes him act unwise, rubs him the wrong way and spurs him into all sorts of ridiculous behavior like getting up late at night to steal pie from the kitchen or agree to useless drinking contests.

He feels unusually and unnecessarily smug when he finishes first, putting the tankard aside as casually as possible before wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. Anders huffs into his tankard and lowers it with a grimace.

“I win”, Nathaniel says with half of a grin. Anders stares at him, swaying slightly on his feet. “And you should really stop drinking.”

“Why? Are you going to spank me if I don’t?”, Anders answers with wiggling eyebrows. Nathaniel is so taken aback by the retort that he doesn’t know what to say. Anders laughs at his face and winks—more with both eyes than one, really—before doing a ridiculous little salute.

“You are… impossible”, Nathaniel huffs, hating how his body reacts with heat in his cheeks and a tingling sensation in his lower abdomen. His palms feel sweaty all of a sudden and he would love to insist that it’s the ale taking its toll on him but it’s an unreasonable conclusion that the alcohol would act this quickly.

Anders seems eternally pleased with himself, looking at Nathaniel as if he just achieved something far greater than what he actually did.

“I think I have to sit down”, Anders says and without further ado just lowers himself onto the ground, his eyes blinking rapidly. Nathaniel wishes he had the mental fortitude to just let him sit with his misery and find his own way back to bed—but he can’t.

He doesn’t know why and he doesn’t want to know but he feels a strange sense of responsibility for this ridiculous man.

“Maker’s Breath… I am going to ask for another roommate”, Nathaniel grumbles and leans down, hoisting Anders up into his arms.

He ignores Oghren’s drunk cackling in the background and the heat in the tip of his ears when Anders’ arms wrap around his neck as if he’s some sort of frail little damsel being saved by Nathaniel.

“Stop being so nice to me”, Anders mumbles somewhere into his shoulder.

“I’m not nice.”

“You are.”

“Am not.”

“So, so nice.”

“Shut up and don’t you dare vomit on me or I will drop you off the battlements.”

“You wouldn’t”, Anders slurs. “You like me too much.”

Nathaniel wants to protest, wants to make a snide remark, maybe say something so mean that it would dissuade Anders from further drunken ramblings—but something underneath his skin is perpetually heating up and his insides feel way too wriggly for his liking. So maybe he’s gotten used to Anders being around and his terrible jokes and his constant challenging of everything Nathaniel has known his entire life. Maybe the mutual acts of kindness—veiled as something else, something less dangerous—have gotten under his skin.

But it doesn’t have to mean anything.

It shouldn’t mean anything because Nathaniel neither has the time nor the emotional capacity for—well. Whatever this is.

This being Anders’ breath on the side of his neck, his little giggles as Nathaniel almost trips over the last stair that leads up to their shared room, his slender fingers at the back of his neck brushing against his long hair and sensitive skin.

Maybe the ale has finally kicked in because Nathaniel feels like he’s ready to crawl out of skin when they finally reach their room and he kicks the door open because both of his hands are full of drunk mage.

“Did you know”, Anders says and raises his head to stare at Nathaniel with glassy eyes, “that you’re really pretty when you smile.”

Nathaniel blinks. His heart stumbles.

“I am not—“

He doesn’t get to finish his weak protest because a pair of warm, dry lips press against his. Anders tastes like ale and apple pie and Nathaniel is frozen in place for a few heartbeats before his brain and body manage to catch up with the situation.

Anders’ fingers card through Nathaniel’s hair, making a mess of it before holding on and the sigh that escapes him makes Anders’ breath hitch and Nathaniel almost die of shame. This is a terrible idea. He shouldn’t allow Anders to do any of this—Anders is way too drunk, they are not like this, Nathaniel can’t deal with the ramifications of this kiss at all—but there is a warm tongue pressing into his mouth and a slender body clinging to his and his brain freezes in place as his body decides that it wants.

He kisses back, hungrily, desperately, making Anders moan in surprise as Nathaniel sets him down to wrap both arms around him. Anders is still swaying slightly but he kisses back enthusiastically, his fingers tightening in Nathaniel’s hair and making him gasp into the kiss. It annoys him endlessly that Anders is a little bit taller than him.

Fuck.

He’s already half hard in his pants—months and maybe even years of being touch-starved crashing down around him as he crowds Anders backwards until he drops onto Nathaniel’s bed, eyes wide and lips wet from kissing.

“So now I’m allowed in your bed, huh?”, he says with a lopsided smile, but the rasp in his voice betrays the confidence of his words as he stares up at Nathaniel with an almost wild look in his eyes.

“Shut up”, Nathaniel growls and follows Anders onto the bed, pressing him into the mattress with his entire body as he kisses him again, biting down on his bottom lip as Anders’ back arches below him and his hips buck up against Nathaniel’s thighs spreading Anders’ legs.

“Hmm”, Anders hums into his mouth, “Make me.”

Nathaniel does, finding that this is an excellent way of ensuring Anders’ compliance because the way he arches into every touch, moans at even the slightest brushes of skin on skin and ruts up against Nathaniel’s thighs distracts him wonderfully from talking any more. They kiss sloppily, greedily, as if both of them have been starving for it for a while now. The friction of Anders’ hard cock against Nathaniel’s own makes him dizzy with want.

He can’t remember the last time he felt this urgent with need.

Embarrassing.

His mind flashes back to Oghren and Anders bantering about mages wearing ‘skirts’ allowing easier access for secret midnight trysts and his hands find the bottom seam of Anders’ robes and pulls them up. Anders looks up at him through hooded eyes and it shouldn’t be attractive.

This is Anders.

Terribly annoying, skinny, obnoxious Anders.

But in this moment Nathaniel wants nothing more than to get his mouth on every single inch of his body, to make him feel so good that he forgets his own damn name.

“Come on, stop staring and fuck me already”, Anders pants and pulls at Nathaniel’s shoulders to get him to do something. Nathaniel looks down at him, his face flushed and his eyes glassy, thinking about the comment Anders made about feeling like he never belonged to himself while he was in the Circle.

“No”, he says softly and lets his hands sink into his lap. “You’re too drunk for this.”

Anders stares up at him for a few speechless seconds, then Nathaniel is kicked out of his own bed with a force he didn’t anticipate from someone as skinny and intoxicated as Anders.

“Fuck you”, Anders grumbles and pulls his robes down, his brows furrowed and his mouth pulled into a thin line. Nathaniel isn’t sure whether to be angry or concerned when he watches Anders get up from his bed and stumble to his feet. For a moment he’s scared that Anders might leave the room to go back to the party, but he sways over to his own bed, throws himself on it face down and doesn’t move again.

Nathaniel stares at him, dumbfounded and confused with his butt hurting because it hit the cold stone floor very unceremoniously.

They kissed.

Anders kissed him and Nathaniel liked it.

In fact, his cock liked it so much that Nathaniel can practically feel its raging complaints about stopping this whole thing. Nathaniel ignores it and slowly gets up to peel himself out of his clothes. His heart feels weirdly heavy in his chest, something that simply shouldn’t be the case after he was kicked out of his own bed by a man he refused to sleep with because he was too drunk.

He shouldn’t feel like an asshole for wanting Anders to consent properly.

A few seconds later he hears a quiet snoring sound and shakes his head, walking over to Anders’ bed to pull his blanket over him.

As if the world wasn’t enough to worry about, now Nathaniel has to obsess about the feeling of Anders’ body pressed against his and his long, slender fingers buried in his hair while he lies in bed, unable to sleep while his mind rages on and on.

*

Anders is definitely pretending as if nothing has happened. Nathaniel wonders if he was simply too drunk to remember anything, but Anders’ carefully kept distance from Nathaniel speaks otherwise. He doesn’t sleep in Nathaniel’s bed anymore, doesn’t press his shoulder against Nathaniel’s when they walk and he certainly doesn’t mention the kiss or so much as make the tiniest joke about it to anyone.

Not even Oghren.

“You’re scowling even more than Velanna”, Sigrun says as they trot along the battlements together, looking out over the landscape to see if they can spot the others returning from their current mission. It’s been two weeks since The Incident and Nathaniel finds that he can think of little else. He wishes he’d been more drunk so he couldn’t remember the way Anders’ lips felt against his, his little breathy sounds or how good it felt when Anders clung to him like a man drowning at sea.

Instead of continuously thinking about the dungeons, now he’s constantly preoccupied with thoughts of kissing Anders, holding him, sucking on the sensitive skin of his neck and—

“I don’t think that is possible”, Nathaniel says, ripping himself away from his train of thought. Sigrun chuckles.

“Neither did I, but here you are.”

Nathaniel does not want to talk about his feelings. Or his—well. Absolutely not.

“Come on, don’t be a Cavern Crawler. Is this about Anders?”

Nathaniel narrows his eyes and stares at her as Sigrun grins up at him, playing with one of her daggers as if it is a child’s toy, throwing it up, catching it again, swirling it through her fingers.

“Maybe”, he grumbles. Sigrun snorts.

“Take it from a dead lady: Life’s too short to grind your teeth about stuff and not just doing anything about it”, she says and balances the dagger on its tip without hurting her finger. Nathaniel thinks it looks very impressive but decides not to tell her. The glint in Sigrun’s eyes tells him that she already knows.

“He doesn’t want to talk about it, so why should I?”, Nathaniel says, maybe a little spiteful. Perhaps even a little unnecessarily stubborn.

“Because you obviously want to. And listen. You both could do with some nice stuff in your lives! This Rolan guy keeps following Anders around and stares at him as if he wants to do target practice on him. These Templar guys are nasty. Better do it now before Rolan murders him in his sleep or something”, Sigrun says.

Nathaniel’s first thought is that Rolan can certainly try but before he gets to put his dirty hands on Anders, Nathaniel would stab him with an arrow right through the eye. His second thought is that maybe this is not the calm and rational response to the growing tensions between the former Templar who joined the Wardens and Anders.

Sigrun is right and Nataniel knows it. He can tell that Anders is on edge even though he hides it behind jokes and jabs and even though the Warden Commander defends him in front of Rolan, she can’t always be there—like now, for example, while Anders is out on a mission with Justice, Rolan and a few other people because Rolan insists on following him wherever he goes.

Nathaniel wishes he’d insisted on following along, but Anders would probably not have wanted it.

“Fine. Maybe you’re right”, he mumbles and Sigrun claps him on the back so hard that he almost stumbles over a loose rock.

“There you go. Everyone should listen to me all the time”, she says with a pleased smile. Nathaniel forces himself to look away from the horizon and down at Sigrun and he even manages a smile. Before he can say anything else though, they are interrupted by one of the servants.

“Excuse me, my Lord? My Lady? The Warden Commander called for an emergency meeting. She said something happened on the latest mission that needs to be discussed right away.”

Nathaniel stares at the servant before his eyes flicker back to the horizon and then down towards Sigrun who’s not smiling anymore. As the two of them rush towards the ladder that leads towards the courtyard and Nathaniel’s heart hammers in his chest with panic and worry, a gentle rain starts falling.

*

Anders is alive.

Alive and gone and now Nathaniel is sitting on Anders’ bed with Ser-Pounce-A-Lot in his lap, staring at the door to come to terms with the fact that he can’t talk to Anders about what happened and the last thing Anders said to him was “Fuck you”. The details about what exactly happened are still murky, but Nathaniel can’t even bring himself to care.

Ser Pounce-A-Lot meows sadly.

“I know. Left behind again, huh?”, Nathaniel mumbles into the silence. Of course the cat doesn’t answer, but it curls up and closes its eyes as if sleep could turn back time and bring Anders back home.

*

Nathaniel supposes that he has a cat now.

*

Warden Commander,

I apologize for my hasty departure but I assumed that my little outburst would bring down more Templars for you to deal with and I know how much you loathe them. I am more or less well and adjusting to my new “relationship” with Justice as best I can. You would not believe how much worse than Kinloch Hold the Circle here in Kirkwall is. Merging with Justice really makes me see beyond the horizon that is my own life and freedom. The Fereldan refugees could do with a healer so I’ll settle down somewhere safe and see what I can do to help.

Please tell Ser Pounce-A-Lot that I miss him.

Yours,
Anders

*

Nathaniel decides that he doesn’t have time to dwell on whatever it was that happened between him and Anders. He refuses to continue to stare at empty beds or apple pies or kitchens in the dark and wonder what could have been if he hadn’t decided to do the right thing. Under no circumstances will he continue to sleep in a bed that is not his or wait for letters that don’t come—at least not addressed to him.

Anders is alive and Justice is alive—or whatever you might call it when a human and a spirit merge and don’t become a growling abomination. The Warden Commander might hand all of Anders’ letters addressed to her to Nathaniel to read without comment but really, Nathaniel doesn’t even care.

If Anders doesn’t want to speak to him at all, then Nathaniel will get used to it. Even if it might have been a silly crush or even just a ridiculous spout of sexual frustration—he doesn’t need to dwell on it. It’s unnecessary, unproductive and entirely unbecoming.

As time moves forward not every apple pie sends him into a fit of bad mood and a few months after Anders’ departure the Warden Commander asks him if he would be willing to share a room again with one of the new recruits. There is no reason for him to say no so Nathaniel doesn’t. Surely the sight of someone else in Anders’ bed—and it’s not Anders’ bed anymore, he really should stop thinking about it like this—will make him get used to his absence faster.

Working with new recruits and scouting the Deep Roads takes up all of his concentration. And if a flash of blond hair somewhere in the corner of his eyes makes him turn around a little too fast then no one has to know about it.

It’ll pass. It’ll pass. It’ll pass.

*

(It doesn’t, it doesn’t, it doesn’t.)

*

Following Bartand’s expedition seemed like a straight-forward mission at first but Nathaniel realizes pretty quickly that it’s going to be way harder than both he and his fellow Wardens anticipated. When pressed Nathaniel would of course deny his desire to go to Kirkwall for personal reasons. Anders is there. It’s a big city and Anders must be in hiding and Nathaniel will be underground the whole time so the chances of them meeting are infinitesimal. And yet.

And yet.

After all these years Nathaniel still feels a pull, maybe a desire for closure. Maybe seeing Anders again will be a lukewarm experience and afterwards Nathaniel can finally stop thinking about it. It has been too long and the only reason for that that Nathaniel can think of is the lack of a proper ending to things.

All he needs is one last conversation, maybe five minutes to clear the air.

Nathaniel might be distracted from his Warden senses because of his unhealthy obsession with his non-existent relationship to a certain mage—that’s the only reason he can think of that would cause him to get separated from the group. Finding himself all alone in a room with multiple Darkspawn, equipped with a bow and arrows to fight against monsters armed with axes and clubs doesn’t bode well for him.

It would be ridiculous if this is how he dies.

Killed by Darkspawn with no one to even witness his passing while thinking about a man he shared one kiss with ten years ago.

What a way a go.

Nathaniel sees the ogre too late as it charges him, heavy footsteps shaking the stone beneath him as two Hurlocks crowd him towards a wall. There’s no way for him to go and for a split-second he considers to duck and roll to the side when a ray of blue energy hits the two Hurlocks straight in the chest and then he’s pulled—pulled by something that feels like a heavy summer storm and lightning.

He hits the wall and groans as he falls to the stone floor and for a few seconds his vision blurs from pain as people rush past him towards the ogre. Cackling laughter, sounds of slashing and blood splattering on the floor and then a soft blue glow covers his hurting body. It feels entirely different and yet familiar and Nathaniel’s heart stutters in his chest as he looks up.

There he stands.

Long wooden staff in hand, eyes blazing a bright blue, one hand out-stretched towards Nathaniel without ever losing sight of his companions who have charged forward to surround the ogre—three women, two human and one elven. Nathaniel is embarrassed when he realizes that a wave of arousal rushes through his body seeing Anders like this.

“Someone needs a good spanking!”

“Please don’t spank the darkspawn, Isabela.”

“Spoilsport.”

When the ogre falls, Anders’ eyes go back to their warm brown and he turns his head to look at Nathaniel.

“Haven’t learned from your mistakes, huh?”, Anders says with a lopsided smile.

Nathaniel wishes he could say that his heart doesn’t react at all to seeing him there, but it doubles down and hammers against his ribs as if it wants to escape its confines as Anders steps closer to check Nathaniel over for injuries.

“You’re still not eating enough”, Nathaniel mumbles without dignifying Anders’ quip with a response. Anders chuckles.

“Starting a revolution is hard work.”

Nathaniel hums and sits up, pulling a face.

“I’ll get rid of the pain”, Anders mumbles and holds both hands over Nathaniel’s torso, his eyes closing as he works. Nathaniel is too busy staring at him to answer what Anders’ companions are asking of him. Finally the one who must be the Champion of Kirkwall says “You know what, I think we should go check for those other Wardens”.

They’re left alone in the chamber and Nathaniel gets up slowly, the pain in his ribs and back subsiding slowly as Anders’ healing magic takes effect.

“So—uh. You found your sister again?”, Anders says at the same time that Nathaniel blurts out “Ser Pounce-A-Lot is doing well”.

They stare at each other and there’s a beat of silence.

Then Anders lunges for him and they’re kissing, mouths pressing against one another hungrily. Anders moans into the kiss the second their tongues touch and Nathaniel slams him against the stone wall and closes the last remaining distance, cupping Anders’ face and the back of his head as he kisses him deeply, desperately.

He was half hard just from seeing Anders fight and now his cock is straining against his pants as Nathaniel forces Anders’ legs apart with one of his thighs to press closer still. The hammering of his heart and the rushing of blood echo in his mind, drowning out all coherent thoughts as they tear at each other, trying to get to naked skin, to press closer.

Nathaniel grabs Anders’ hair tightly and pulls his head to the side, making Anders’ moan. It’s such a filthy and desperate sound and Nathaniel can feel his cock twitch as he bites down into the delicate skin of Anders’ neck, sucking a dark bruise into the pale skin as Anders paws at his chest and shoulders, rutting against his thigh to get any friction on his hard cock.

“Oh Maker, fuck, shitfuck—“

“I don’t have anythi—“, Nathaniel starts, licking at the spot of skin he just bit, making Anders whimper. It’s a beautiful sound and Nathaniel wants more of that, more of Anders. They should have done this years ago. His head is swimming with how good it feels, how right it feels, how much his body has been aching to finally be close to this obnoxious bastard of a man.

“Doesn’t matter, fuck me, come on”, Anders pleads, tearing at some of Nathaniel’s buckles to get rid of his pants. Calloused, slender fingers push into his breeches and grab his aching cock. Nathaniel gasps at the contact and bites down on the tendon of muscle connecting shoulder and neck, sucking another bruise there as Anders whimpers.

Yet again he thanks the Maker for mage robes as he fumbles to get access and for a second he just wants to hoist Anders up and fuck him against the wall like this, but despite how much he wants that he doesn’t think his arms would hold Anders’ weight for long. So as soon as he manages to find naked skin—shaky legs, a big scar just over his hipbone, his leaking cock—Nathaniel turns Anders around so he faces the wall.

The loss of contact from Anders’ fingers on his erection makes him groan and he presses his cock against the curve of Anders’ ass.

“Don’t you have magical lube?”, he pants into the back of Anders’ neck between kisses and more bites, his hand slowly pumping Anders’ cock without granting him any real relief. Anders’ legs are shaking as if Nathaniel has been touching him for hours, his breath coming out in ragged bursts and moans—he’s so loud and expressive and so incredibly desperate, it makes Nathaniel’s chest ache and his abdomen burn with want.

Anders manages a snort between two beautiful whimpers and Nathaniel stops his hand to let him answer.

“I can take it”, he says. Nathaniel puts his mouth right next to Anders’ ear, making him shudder when he speaks.

“Don’t be so sure about that”, he says and Anders’ legs almost give out. Nathaniel doesn’t even have time to be proud of himself because Anders reaches back blindly and there’s the feeling of heavy rain and thunder and lightning as Anders spreads whatever magical substance he conjured over Nathaniel’s cock, making him groan and push into Anders’ hand.

“No prep”, Anders insists once he’s done. “I need you inside me. Right now.”

Nathaniel swallows heavily and foolishly nods despite Anders not being able to see him. Both of them are almost entirely dressed still and a part of him wishes that they could do this proper way. In a bed maybe, instead of in the blighted Deep Roads with people camping around three corners and the smell of Darkspawn blood in the air. But his body is aching for connection, wants Anders so much that it almost physicals hurts him, so he lines himself up and pushes into the tight heat.

Anders’ legs almost give out and Nathaniel grabs him around the waist to hold him up as he sinks deeper, doing his best to go slow so he doesn’t hurt Anders. Anders on the other hand seems unconcerned with his own safety. With a desperate moan he pushes back in one fluid motion until Nathaniel is pressed flush against his back, his cock buried deep inside Anders.

He feels so good, Nathaniel thinks he might be going insane.

It takes all of his willpower not to immediately pull out and slam back in. Maker, how much he wanted this—how much he dreamed of it, obsessed about it.

“Move, please—fuck. Come on”, Anders begs and tries to move against Nathaniel but he holds him there as he slowly pulls out and pushes back in, making both of them groan.

“I need more.”

“You’ll get it”, Nathaniel promises and Anders whines, pushing back hard, reaching a hand back to grab onto Nathaniel to make him move faster.

“You’re so impatient”, Nathaniel mumbles even though his own muscles are tense with the struggle of moving slowly and not giving in to the burning want in his abdomen.

“I’ve wanted your damned cock for almost ten years now so can you finally get on with it and fuck me like you mean it?”, Anders snarls. It’s the admission of wanting it for so long that makes Nathaniel finally relent, pulling back just to slam his hips forward, making Anders moan his name.

“Maker, I hate you”, Nathaniel lies and Anders laughs breathlessly.

“I hate you, too”, he whispers and the underlying tone, the gentleness of the words, makes Nathaniel lose his mind a little bit. He pushes back into Anders again and again, hard and unrelenting. Anders sobs and claws at the wall to find any purchase.

“I missed you, I’m sorry—fuck”, Anders whimpers. “I missed you, I missed you.”

Spurred on by the steady litany of “I missed you” and “I’m sorry” and “Don’t stop, oh fuck, right there” and “Nathaniel”, said as if it’s a prayer to the Maker himself, Nathaniel can feel that he won’t last long. He hasn’t touched another soul in so long, not like this, maybe not ever like this, and his orgasm is building in a tight curl of electricity between his legs.

“Don’t leave me again”, he pants into Anders’ neck and there’s a heartbeat where Anders’ mouth hangs open and he goes completely still before coming, almost violently, without Nathaniel ever touching his cock. The tight clench around him is enough to send him over the edge, tumbling after Anders while he grips his hips tightly as if this might ensure that Anders will indeed not leave again.

They sink to the floor still connected, Nathaniel holding a still shaking Anders and it takes him a long, breathless moment to realize that Anders is crying. Nathaniel turns him around to check him—what if he accidentally hurt him after all? But there doesn’t seem to be anything physical wrong with him.

Nathaniel feels his throat close up as he pulls Anders close.

“What’s wrong?”, he croaks.

Anders half laughs, half sobs against his chest while Nathaniel awkwardly pets his hair. He was never good at comforting people in distress and no one ever cried before or after sleeping with him. For a few seconds he wonders if it was so terrible that Anders mourns his own year-long expectations of having sex with Nathaniel.

“I am—“, Anders pauses and swallows, raising his head to look at Nathaniel with red eyes and tears clinging to his eyelashes. “I’m very happy. And very sad.”

Nathaniel blinks in confusion until he realizes that it’s because of what Nathaniel said. His wish for Anders to not leave him again. He manages a lopsided smile and presses a shaky kiss to the corner of Anders’ mouth.

“I understand”, he says quietly.

Maybe they’re not meant to be together. Maybe they’re supposed to meet and be pulled apart again, their obligations tearing them away from each other. Nathaniel knows that Anders has to return to his fight for mage rights. And Anders knows that Nathaniel must return to the Wardens.

“I suppose the likes of me aren’t really supposed to be happy”, Anders mumbles and Nathaniel doesn’t know what to say.

*

Instead of getting closure Nathaniel’s heart is on fire now. His body aches with want whenever he thinks of Anders—which is constantly. This truly is the opposite of what he wanted. His last mission could only have gone worse if he had perished with the rest of his fellow Wardens.

His report to the Warden Commander is brief and against his better judgement Nathaniel decides to stay close to Kirkwall. The city seems close to its breaking point and in the privacy of his own mind Nathaniel can admit that he’s worried for Anders—a lone mage taking on the Templars, the Chantry… it seems insane. Impossible.

But this version of Anders is different than the man Nathaniel knew ten years ago. Maybe he’s right and there is no happy ending for someone like him—a mage who merged with a spirit and wants to change the world for the better. But if Nathaniel has anything to say about it Anders deserves happiness.

It doesn’t have to be with Nathaniel.

But there should be a future in which people like Anders don’t find happiness to be an impossible goal to achieve. Nathaniel never thought about changing the world before. His sights were always set right in front of him, oftentimes centered on himself and he knows that the Anders of the past was the same—but not any longer.

Anders has set himself aside for the better of all people like him. It’s most likely terrible selfish to choose to join a fight for such a personal reason—but if Nathaniel wants to save Anders from the world and allow him a chance at happiness, he has to join this fight. A part of him wonders if this is just who he is as a person—an ultimately small man with no aspirations on his own, joining things much bigger than him for entirely non-noble reasons.

He joined the Wardens not out of conviction, but just for survival and maybe a shot at redemption. Now he considers to support the mage rebellion, not to save lives of innocent people but for one man who wormed himself into Nathaniel’s heart.

The voice of Warden Commander Surana echoes through his mind, her dark eyes made of steel.

“I don’t care about your personal motivations as long as you get the job done.”

His thoughts and feelings don’t matter right now. Only his actions.

Finding Anders in a city like Kirkwall is impossible, whereas finding Messere Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall, is easy enough. She seems surprisingly amused by his appearance at her estate and makes no attempts to hide Anders’ location from him at all. Nathaniel wonders if she knows anything about him—or what he and Anders did. His ears burn at the thought of someone hearing them, but it doesn’t matter.

All that matters is Anders’ safety.

Political neutrality be damned. He never wanted to be a Grey Warden in the first place. He found purpose there, yes. But now his personal purpose has outgrown this. So Nathaniel takes off his armor—for now. He’s not leaving. He’s simply momentarily defecting to keep the Wardens’ name intact as he prowls Darktown and makes sure that no Templars find their way to the clinic Anders resides in.

Anders doesn’t have to know he’s here.

This is enough. Nathaniel will keep him safe until the air is clear again and the tensions between Templars and mages have calmed down. He can be an assassin in the dark.

He can be a Howe for this.

*

When Kirkwall is shook by a massive explosion Nathaniel immediately knows that instead of calming down the tension has reached critical levels and combusted. He also knows it in his heart and bones that Anders is responsible for this, so there’s only one thing for him to do. Follow the smoke and the screaming to find the man he came here for.

He is alive.

He must be.

Nathaniel refuses to believe that Anders is dead after all this, all these years, all the fighting and everything he’s been through.

His heart races as he wades through crowds of screaming people towards Hightown, his eyes burning from the dust and his lungs aching. The plume of smoke is enormous and it only takes him mere minutes to realize that the building that exploded was the majestic Chantry at the very top of the city. Torn and burning banners with the Chantry’s sun symbol on them are blown out over the ocean and he watches as one of them catches on one of the huge slave statues where it burns to ash slowly.

Nathaniel barely hears people’s screams and shouting as he pushes through crowds, past nobles in singed dressed, people with bleeding wounds, corpses trampled by the masses. There is one objective in his mind, one goal to every step he takes: reach Anders.

When he finally reaches the Gallows the scene that awaits him is horrifying.

Templars cutting down mages wherever they stand, some of them begging for their lives as they’re struck down by swords and arrows. The smell of dust, fire and blood hangs heavily in the air as Nathaniel takes in the chaos and pulls fabric over his face to make sure he doesn’t breathe in too much of the dust.

The eye of an archer, something Nathaniel has trained for much of his life, finds every head of blond hair as fast as possible before moving on, trying to see if he can spot Anders anywhere. In the end it’s Hawke he sees first, enormous sword in hand as she goes toe to toe with Knight Commander Meredith.

And there, to her right, next to an elven man who has strange glowing tattoos and a young woman who bears a striking resemblance to the Champion, there he is. Eyes glowing blue, furious expression on his face, covered in blood that’s not his own—Anders.

Nathaniel shoots two, three, four Templars directly through the eye-slit in their helmets as he makes his way towards Anders. More people rush past him to join the Champion in her fight. Nathaniel is not here for them.

He’s here for one person only.

Killing people shouldn’t be this easy, but maybe this is his father’s legacy after all, Nathaniel thinks as he picks the Templars off one by one, watching Anders’ back from a distance as magic explodes, statues come to life, people scream and cry and fall and bleed and he has only eyes for the blue glow of Anders’ eyes to make sure that they stay open instead of closing forever.

That’s probably why he doesn’t see the sword coming.

Everything around him slows down as he blinks slowly, his head lowering to look down at the blade piercing his abdomen. For a split second he thinks that he’ll get in so much trouble for coming to this world-shattering battle in his Grey Warden armor.

Then he collapses and the world around him grows dark.

When he wakes up again every bone in his body is hurting and it smells like rain. His vision is blurry for a few seconds as Nathaniel groans, opening his eyes to find a familiar, haggard face looking down at him. The pain is washed away by a tidal wave of relief as his mind registers that Anders is alive, he’s here.

They made it.

“You did it”, Nathaniel croaks. It’s the first thing that comes to mind. His next thoughts are far more dangerous somehow, because they involve feelings and sentiments and wants that he has that he—after all these years—still can’t even voice out loud because he’s too scared to admit the enormity of them.

“You’re here”, Anders whispers as a response. His calloused, slender fingers are pressed onto the wound, pouring the smell of rain and the sounds of thunder into Nathaniel’s slashed skin, knitting it back together.

“You saved my life a few times. Had to return the favor”, he says, only half joking. Anders looks haunted and terribly wounded in a way that has nothing to do with his body, but he breathes out a laugh at Nathaniel’s words and shakes his head slowly.

Nathaniel takes him in fully now; the beard, the long hair, the dark circles under his eyes and the far-away look in his eyes. This man looks nothing like the one Nathaniel met all those years ago and yet he’s still the same. His brown eyes, his long nose, the lips that Nathaniel kissed and couldn’t stop thinking about for such a long time.

“Are we on the run now?”, he asks.

Anders blinks.

“We?”

Nathaniel arches an eyebrow.

“You blew up a chantry and started a mage uprising. I think that means running is inevitable.”

“Well, I know that I have to run. But—“

Nathaniel manages to raise one hand to cover Anders’ mouth and stop him from speaking.

“You don’t have to run alone again”, he mumbles.

When Anders kisses him this time there’s no urgency. His lips quiver and the kiss tastes salty, so Nathaniel pushes Anders’ hood back and cards his fingers through his hair. Nathaniel can’t save the world or change it, but he can save the man who’s trying and maybe that’s enough.