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Chapter Text

A realm of rock and sand under an ashen-grey sky. Worn roads stretching through the vast plains with only an occasional smattering of small huts, sheltered from the harsh winds by the larger cliffs of the wasteland, indicating the region wasn't abandoned altogether – all one and the same, a blur of dust and forlornness. A vague awareness of his whereabouts was all he had left, of daylight fading and then once more struggling its way through the thick yellowish clouds that hung low in the sky. In vain, though, for his tiredness was overwhelming no matter the hour. What few breaks they had been granted had been short, and far from restful. He had been unable to find actual sleep for days now, the haze that clouded his mind tethering him to this numb, half-wakeful state.

One foot in front of the other, that was all that mattered, had mattered for the eternity they had been traveling now, his body begging him to finally give in with every step. Not an option. Many had fallen behind already, worn-out bodies sagging to the ground face-down. Their captors had made sure they wouldn't get back up. That no one else who happened to stumble upon the trail of losses behind them would make profit from what had been claimed as theirs.

The loud snorting of a horse caught his attention as the riders leading them came to a halt, the group behind them swaying on tired limbs as it stopped moving.

The dirty rope around his wrists was chafing, dried blood from the first few days flaking off from the inside of the loops. Leto peered at the knot through dust-crusted lashes. He had been lucky, the man shackling him had been worried about damaging the goods, apparently unsure how much force the thin bones of elven children could handle and leaving the binds relatively loose. Back then he had been frightened, slowly realizing the fate they were headed towards, but even that didn't seem to matter right now. For the first few hours there had been overwhelming fear too, the kind that made him feel sick to his stomach, had made it impossible to stop crying no matter how much they yelled at him and yanked at his hair and ears – and now it took an effort to even remember what it had been about.

He blinked, lifting his head slightly. They had reached another village, it seemed. Someone was barking orders and from the corner of his eyes he saw wary villagers scatter and hide inside their houses, not daring to face the strangers passing through. An elderly man was shoving a small girl back into a store they had just exited from, her braids fluttering after.

Varania.

Mother. Father.

There was a low fence to his right and Leto allowed himself to lean against it for a moment. Who knew how long this luxury would last? His eyes slid closed again, still burning from the sand on the road that dozens of shuffling feet kept stirring up all around him.

The memory came back, their faces in his mind, but it felt so distant now. They had been separated early on. The group of slavers that had ripped their village apart dividing them into three parties, to facilitate traveling as they were herded onto the ships.

He wasn't sure if he hoped they were still alive when that meant they were to share his fate.

He jolted upright, head jerking to the side, when there was sudden touch to his arm.

The human boy he came face to face with couldn't have been much older than him, and might as well have been a reversed mirror image. Where Leto's short black hair stood off in shaggy, dirty tufts, silky blond strands fell onto small shoulders, framing amber eyes in a pale, slightly freckled face that peeked over the top of the fence. An equally pale hand still rested on Leto's tan skin over his elbow.

Brows drawing together the boy pressed a finger to his lips, urging him to be quiet. Leto tried to find the strength to frown back but couldn't.

A moment later the boy produced something from inside his shirt, something crumbling, dark-

"Don't chew," he whispered, "they'll see. Just swallow."

It was pressed into his dirty palm through the fence and the moment he touched it, Leto realised it was bread.

He didn't think. Just, after a quick glance to ensure their captors were still occupied, stuffed as much as he could into his mouth, willing it down his dry throat. It hurt, but barely so compared to the soles of his feet, his wrists, his knees.

The same again with the second portion he was still holding. Once that was down too he had to gasp for breath, having forgotten to breathe for a few moments.

When he turned back around to the boy his eyes met only darkness.

And it had turned cold from one moment to the next, although they had been marching in dry heat all day, it had -

When had he laid down?

Whose bed was this?

A window to the right, lights from the neighboring mansion glowing a soft gold - mansion?

Fenris sagged back down onto the mattress as the present came back to him.

Kirkwall. Hightown, The Hanged Man, The Chantry. Hawke.

His memories had started to return lately, some slowly, like a day's first gleam of sunlight creeping over the horizon. Others crashed into him full force like waves in a storm, throwing him off his feet momentarily. Lately he had started to get used to even the second type, getting practice with anchoring himself to what was and filing what had been away for later.

He wasn't confused over where – and when – he was now, that state never lasted long, but something still felt... off. Different than before he had gone to bed.

It was something about the dream, something that felt like it was urging him to act but he couldn't put his finger on what he was supposed to do. Perhaps if he closed his eyes again, just for a moment –

Moments later Fenris was heading out the door, fastening the last clasps of his tunic as he went.

*

Anders dragged himself across the clinic towards the door, one eye still closed against the dim lighting from its ever-burning fires. The incessant knocking had ripped him straight out of blissful and much-needed sleep, and his first instinct had been to ignore it – in fact that idea would still hold a lot of appeal if it weren't for the fact that whoever was intent on bothering him in the middle of the night seemed to be few knocks away from breaking the door out of its fragile frame.

Thus it wasn't exactly with the brightest mood that he finally yanked the door open a crack and peered through at his late-night visitor.

He barely caught sight of a familiar pair of wild, green eyes before the door was pushed open completely, making him stumble a few feet backwards into the room.

The elf had gone mad at last.

Of course he couldn't have done that at a more convenient time of day. And of course he had come to torment Anders first. Not much of a surprise.

What did seem rather odd however was the blur of tanned, lyrium-lined hands in his peripheral vision. With a suspicious lack of gauntlets Fenris, for lack of a better word, groped his face.

No, that actually was an accurate description of what he was doing, Anders thought, as the elf pulled and pushed around as his cheeks and chin, then took a step back with a deep frown before reaching around the mage's head to snap his- ...hair tie?

He had to be drunk or feverish if his aim was off this much, surely he had meant for it to be Anders' neck.

Then the hands were back on his cheeks, squashing them together.

"Cun I... hulp yu?" Anders croaked out from between them, his patience slowly but surely wearing thin despite the tiredness.

Fenris didn't bother with an answer, too busy rearranging his now loose hair around his face. Once he seemed satisfied with it he took a step back again, contemplating his work, frown deepening.

"Fenris?"

"It was you," the elf said after another moment of silence, apparently unsure how he felt about that revelation. Whatever kind of revelation it was.

"What have I done this time?" Anders inquired, not yet daring to move lest he would ruin whatever Fenris had just done to him and have to undergo the whole process again.

After another long look at him his visitor turned away, slumping onto the edge of the nearest empty cot. The mage allowed himself to relax a little.

"It was you," Fenris repeated, pinching the bridge of his nose, "I was not sure."

He paused and Anders thought it better to wait for him to continue rather than to press for more. He didn't really have the energy for that right now anyway.

"I- it was a... the village we passed- I do not remember where..." He glanced up at the mage over his shoulder.

"You gave me something to eat."

*

Anders blinked in confusion and for a moment the deep frown returned to Fenris' face, doubt creeping back in. Perhaps his memories had been playing tricks on him, blurring present and past together, perhaps he had made a fool of himself coming here.

He should have stayed at home, thought this over, it had been a stupid idea to just come here and –

A small gasp.

"No," the blond said softly, voice and barefooted steps closing in on Fenris. "That... that can't..."

And just like that, he had certainty.

The mage now regarded him with the same curiosity he had been subjected to moments ago. Surely trying to imagine the elf without the lyrium marring his skin, black hair instead of the unnatural white. Much, much younger. A lifetime ago. As much has he hated being gawked at, Fenris could understand it, could allow it, this time.

"I... never would have recognized you," Anders admitted quietly. "Did that memory just return?"

Fenris nodded, eyes still fixed on the floor.

"I... apologize for disturbing you at this hour. I was... I was afraid I would forget again. I needed to make sure." While the face of the human boy was still so clear in his mind.

"I understand."

Did he? The mage was moving around the clinic now, somewhere behind him. Having him at his back would have been a cause for concern at any other time. But right now Fenris was too exhausted. Mentally, and physically as well, after hurrying across the city. It was hard to care much.

"We had been walking for many days, maybe weeks," he said, not entirely sure if to Anders or himself. He squeezed his eyes shut. "They barely ever fed us. If they did, everyone was fighting over what little they left. It was never enough for all."

Their numbers had dwindled every single day, exhaustion, hunger and thirst taking their toll. The elderly and sick had been the first to go. But eventually age and health had stopped mattering, evening the odds. It could have been him, each day it could have been him, and he had been fully aware of it. But he had survived, more by chance than anything else.

How many others – suddenly there was a stabbing pain in his temple. He tried to rub it away. How many of them had arrived in Tevinter? That had been where they had been headed, right? It was where he had ended up so surely –

"Don't push it."

His eyes flew open again to find the mage crouching in front of him, looking up in concern and offering a cup of water to him.

"Let the memories return on their own. I don't know how exactly they sealed them away but you can't just force them back into place. You'll only hurt yourself."

Fenris grudgingly accepted the cup, along with the advice. It must have been obvious that trying to remember more details was giving him a headache. A small sip of water suddenly made him aware of how dry his mouth had been. He took another.

Instead of getting back up the mage remained on the ground, a small smile on his lips. Only now was Fenris starting to become aware of what he had just done to him, blond hair still a tangled mess across his head and face, some stray hairs caught in the stubble on his cheeks. He really hadn't thought this through, Fenris mused, a bit embarrassed now.

Anders didn't seem to mind all that much. He cocked his head slightly to one side as he spoke up again, causing some of the strands to fall back where they belonged. "It's... good to see you well. I always wondered what happened to those they brought through our village." The corners of his mouth and his gaze dropped. "There wasn't much I could do. From what I know the slavers tried to avoid possible Qunari attacks by taking the long route through our land. Back then I never understood why none of the adults stepped up to put an end to it. But they were just farmers, they wouldn't have stood a chance. And they knew it."

For a moment, the blond seemed to get lost in his own memories, before he looked back up, his warm smile in place again. The one usually reserved for Hawke, Varric, Isabela. People he actually liked.

"At least you are well. And free too. You've come a long way."

Fenris stared at him, the words reaching his ears but not truly registering in his head.

He cradled the cup in both hands.

"Back then..." he started again, Anders still watching him as if seeing him here was a small wonder, reveling in their shared memory.

"... I hated you."

The mage's face fell.

"What?"

"I hated you. So much," Fenris said, staring at what little water was still left in his cup and at his own distorted reflection in it. "Of course I would have, you were free. You were what I should have been, right there on the other side of that fence. In your comfortable home. You did not have to suffer. You did not have to live in fear. You even had the nerve to help me when you must have known you would have been in trouble had you gotten caught. As if it was some game or a dare."

Anders kept quiet but his expression darkened considerably.

"It might even have been what kept me going for the next few days, the thought that you were with your family, eating your stupid bread, while I woke next to another bunch of corpses every morning. I don't know. But I do remember I was... so angry."

The mage looked anywhere but at Fenris as he got up, turning away.

"If it's any consolation to you, I wasn't free much longer after that day."

The elf snorted at the bitterness in his voice. "Oh, right. The Circle. Such a cruel fate."

At that, Anders whirled around again, the sudden movement causing Fenris to jump slightly.

"Are you done now?" he hissed, anger plain on his face and Fenris felt his own frown return.

"I am merely telling it as it is."

With a bitter laugh the mage moved away. "Sure. You are so concerned about propagating the truth that you made your way across the city in the middle of the night and woke me up from the first decent sleep I've had in days just to tell me how much you hate me. No, wait, hated me, even before you actually knew me," he spat, back still turned on Fenris but gesturing wildly enough for him to see it anyway. "Your dedication is admirable, Fenris. I feel honored you deem me worthy of it."

The cup came down a little too forcefully on the cot as Fenris deposited it there, getting up and following the mage a few steps.

"Anything to help you feel as special as you believe to be."

"How else am I to interpret this late night visit?" Anders seethed, turning around to face him again, jaw set this time. "You know, it's actually really reassuring."

"Reassuring?” Fenris mimicked, one dark eyebrow arching up in question.

"Yes," the mage declared, throwing his hands up, "it's great to know that no matter what I do, no matter how much I try to do something right it will never ever be good enough for you. So I might as well just stop trying, save myself the trouble."

Fenris opened his mouth, only to close it again as the other continued his tirade.

"And the best part? This even applied back when I didn't have my magic yet! Which means you can save yourself all future attempts to explain your hatred for me by my being a mage. Because apparently my magic has nothing to do with it – it's actually me as a person you hate. Doesn't that make things so much simpler? More personal?"

The blond was truly agitated now and, apparently attempting to calm himself, drew a deep breath as he ran a hand through his still wild hair. He closed his eyes for a moment.

"So glad we had this conversation. I'll go back to sleep now, if you don't mind. Actually, I will even if you do. Leave, stay, I don't care. And rest assured I'll remember how strongly you feel about me until morning. No need to wake me again."

With that, the man disappeared in the small alcove he apparently slept in. Fenris didn't dare follow. After a moment he retreated to the cot he had sat on before, where his cup still sat in a small puddle of spilled water. Perhaps now was a good time to mull over recovered memories. He didn't think he would be able to find sleep again anytime soon.

Chapter Text

He almost hadn't noticed.

The clinic was busy these days. Anders could never tell whether it was because things were going downhill in Kirkwall or because word-of-mouth was making him increasingly famous. Both were dangerous in their own way.

Whatever the reason, the effect was the same: New patients arrived much faster than others left, people settling down wherever they found some space as they waited their turn. Anders had tripped over stray legs poking out from under a cot too many times to count, had had his entire potion collection rearranged multiple times by unsupervised children (one of which had managed to start a small fire by mixing two reagents he had, for safety reasons, kept on opposite ends of the room) and once accidentally asked an old lady to please sit down on someone's enormous mabari hiding under a blanket instead of a cot. Fortunately everyone involved had gotten away with just a few scratches.

In short, it was madness. It was slowly becoming too much to handle, even for someone borrowing the power of a fade spirit. After all patients had been treated and shooed outside work didn't stop, no, someone still needed to clean up after them. Blankets and bandages needed to be collected and washed or fixed, new potions needed to be made (and stored away safely on the highest possible shelf, he did learn from past mistakes on occasion) and then there was also the fun task of collecting what people had accidentally left behind to gather it in a crate from where they could retrieve it later.

There was a variety of strange things waiting for their owners already. Toys, various items of clothing, amulets with pictures of someone's ancestors or loved ones, single shoes that made him wonder how people didn't notice they were wearing only one of them as they walked home.

Today he had gathered up a small horse rag doll, someone's smallclothes, a piece of wood with intricate carvings someone seemed to have made as they waited, a belt and a dried mackerel. He should have thrown away the fish immediately. It had been the first item he had found that evening, and didn't look like it was still fit for eating but its stench was bringing back memories of better days and so he kept carrying it around while picking up the rest.

One more corner to check, Anders told himself, just this last one and then he would turn in for the night. He gave the mackerel a mournful look. It stared back up at him from a dead, glassy eye. Pounce would have loved it. Despite its missing tail and one side being covered in sand and dirt from the ground.

Perhaps it was best to leave it outside the door for whatever animals came by at night – even if there was also a chance this would lead to having to treat one more person with a mysterious stomach ache tomorrow.

It was as he made his way to the door that something caught his eye, that looked distinctly out of place.

A small bundle next to the door, wrapped in a piece of fabric.

Odd. People didn't wait that close to the door, not when someone was constantly moving out of or into the clinic, it was unlikely someone had set this down and left it there by accident.

Finally finding something more interesting than the mackerel, Anders pulled open the door and threw the fish outside before closing it again and approaching the bundle with growing curiosity.

*

"Grapes, ham, apples." Anders counted, pulling his lower lip between his teeth for a moment, "Pears, radish, turnips, bread and cheese and sometimes cake." He sighed. "I love cake."

"Not bad at all," Hawke marveled, then proceeded to regard the rabbit over the fire with even hungrier eyes.

They had made camp a while ago, all four of them weary, less from fighting than from climbing around Sundermount all day. Wherever those bandits Aveline's patrol had let escape the other day were now, it certainly wasn't anywhere near where they had last been seen.

Anyone else might have been grateful for the lack of bloodshed and violence but as it was the prevalent mood within their group was frustration and boredom. They most certainly hadn't been wandering around all day just for the scenic view. Determined to cheer everyone up Anders had brought up what he claimed was the one positive thing in h is life at the moment while he tended to his elfroot harvest of the day.

"Definitely not bad, no. I swear, Lirene doesn't collect as much in donations in a month. Whoever's leaving it must be paying a lot for it each time."

"Sounds almost like you have a secret admirer, Blondie."

Varric had been busy polishing his crossbow for the past half hour but now seemed to be losing interest in it – not that he would ever admit to such a thing.

Anders snorted. "Yeah, right. Nothing more romantic than turnips."

"I know a pirate who could tell you quite a few romantic things that can be done with a turnip," Varric suggested with a wiggle of his eyebrows. The mage pulled a face.

"I'll pass. And you and I have very different definitions of the word 'romantic'. But yes, it is nice to see someone is appreciating the work I do enough to support it."

"Not sure I want to know why you and Isabela were discussing the creative use of vegetables,” Hawke said with a slightly disturbed expression, "but Anders. You deserve all the support in the world." She reached out to clasp his shoulder in a firm grip and shook him slightly. "And what you do with your turnips is entirely up to you."

"I – "

"It was research, " the dwarf interjected, protectively drawing his crossbow closer, "Bianca would never forgive me if I traded her for some plain root."

"Please, spare us the details," Fenris moaned from the other side of the campfire, growing weary of where this conversation was headed.

"Remind me not to read your next book." Hawke shuddered at a thought that probably best remained private.

"Words can hurt, Hawke,"the dwarf said, pouting and wiping an imaginary tear from his eye.

"So can turnips. Some of those things are huge."

"Oh, will you two stop it already," Anders barged in, looking a shade paler than usual. "You'll ruin turnips for me forever if you keep this up."

Hawke leaned back on the log she was sitting on and cracked the joints in her neck. "Sorry. No, you go and enjoy your donations from a mysterious benefactor while they last."

" Thank you, " the mage sighed in relief, "I have no idea how long they will so I intend to make the most of them."

Varric perked his head up again. "How long has it been anyway?"

Anders looked up to the tree tops for a moment as he pondered the question.

"Must have been... at least three weeks. There's something new there every two or three days."

"And you've never seen anyone? I mean, someone must be bringing them."

"No," the mage admitted, rubbing his forehead, "I'm quite busy, can't keep an eye on the door all the time... and when I ask around no one has seen anyone come in carrying anything but more sick people. It's strange. It's like they just appear out of nowhere."

Hawke excitedly motioned to Fenris. "Oh, oh! This is the part where you scream 'blood magic' and stomp your feet."

The elf merely rolled his eyes at her mockery. He had had enough time to get used to the woman's very unique brand of humour and to learn not to take it seriously. Hawke was fully aware of the dangers of blood magic, she didn't need further lecturing even if she occasionally made light of it.

Not to mention he did not stomp his feet. Ever. That alone made it obvious she wasn't being serious.

Anders shrugged. "I'm not sure I even care how they do it, I'm just glad they do. It's been a great help lately." His expression turned thoughtful as he rummaged through his pack and retrieved a small pouch to stuff his plants into.

"Food has become so expensive – I'm not sure if you noticed, Hightown prices haven't changed much but the less pricey goods they sell in the lower parts of the city have all but disappeared. It's good to know I can help out by dividing what I get among those who need it mo-"

"You were not supposed to give it away!" Fenris blurted out – and immediately regretted it.

Three heads slowly turned towards him.

"That... that is," he cleared his throat, feeling heat rush into his face and ears, "That is not what I believe the... person leaving them would want... I believe." His voice was gradually getting more quiet as he spoke. "I... am merely guessing. Stop staring at me!"

They didn't.

And then Anders' eyes widened.

There was another very uncomfortable moment of silence before the mage spoke up, voice sounding eerily neutral as he slowly put aside the pouch and got up from the ground.

"Fenris, may I have a word with you in private?"

*

"So," Anders said.

Fenris made a noncommittal sound, staring at the dry branches beneath his feet.

The mage had led him away from their camp, just far enough to be able to talk without the others listening in, the light of the campfire and Hawke's barking laughter still reaching them through the trees. He had a feeling the elf wouldn't want to discuss the matter in front of them any more than he did.

"Anything you want to tell me?" he pressed.

"No." Fenris answered, kicking at a fallen leaf.

Sometimes Anders could swear that despite his appearance the elf was secretly only five years old – he certainly acted that way right now. Fortunately Anders was well aware of his age and knew better than to offend the man with such a comment when he wanted answers, not a fight.

"So you haven't been leaving this stuff at my clinic then."

Green eyes flashed up at him for an instant before returning to the forest floor.

"I did not say that."

"So it was you?"

"I did not say that either."

"So you may or may not have been leaving things at my clinic, but definitely just got very upset upon finding out I gave them away."

"They were obviously for you ," the elf declared, lifting his gaze for a moment to Anders' face only to then look away again, "Regardless of who left them."

"Right", the blond sighed and leaned against a tree. This conversation would apparently take some time. "And to you it makes perfect sense you would yell at me for not doing what you assume some stranger wanted me to do with their donations."

Fenris remained silent.

"Fenris, can we please talk about this like adults? It was you. I can't say I understand it but it's certainly nothing you need to be ashamed of. Look, I'm not laughing. In fact I'm quite grateful, as you might have noticed earlier."

Another stretch of silence followed, only the leaves under Fenris' shifting feet crunching quietly.

"It was just...," the elf finally mumbled, "I... did not wish to feel indebted to you."

"Indebted"? The mage raised an eyebrow as he tried to make sense of that. "Why would y- ...oh. Oh ." He ran a hand through his hair, contemplating what had to be going on inside the elf's mind.

"I'm an idiot. The timing should have given it away but I guess the very idea of you giving me anything but a heart attack seemed so unlikely..."

A quiet snort from Fenris' direction was all he got for a reply.

"You don't have to do this, you know. You don't owe me anything."

"I might." The warrior said softly, "I am not sure I would be alive today if- ... I cannot remember." He shook his head. "I was in need back then, and this... it seemed appropriate."

Anders' heart sank. The uncharacteristically timid voice of the elf only made everything worse. It was obvious he had no idea how to handle this situation, had never even considered getting caught at whatever he had been playing at.

"Appropriate," he wondered out loud, "How so? Because I'm poor and live in Darktown? I do get by, I would not be giving food away if I truly needed it. Maker, Fenris..."

"I am not stupid," the elf huffed, kicking at the ground again, "I know you are eating but... it was... symbolic. And I thought if I left something you would keep it. I did not consider you would just hand it over to others. It defeats the whole purpose."

"All right," the mage conceded, holding up both hands. "Wait now. What is the purpose exactly?”

"Giving you something in return so we are even again, something for you , not others", Fenris grumbled, turning away from him and in the direction of the campfire and their friends but not leaving towards it – yet. "Since this was obviously not a good choice you may suggest something else and I will consider it."

Anders blinked into the semi-darkness where the elf stood, now still as one of the trees around them. "You really do sound like you're trying to pay off a debt."

"As I said."

The mage took a tentative step in his direction. "Fenris. I will not ask you for anything because you do not owe me . It's fine, it was just a leftover piece of bread and you were in a really bad situation."

"So you will not give me a chance to recompense you. You would rather have me leashed by my debt to you forever. Typical."

"There is no debt!" the mage urged, deciding to overlook the accusation.

Fenris turned to him again and, dark as it was, Anders could tell he was fuming by now. "To me it feels like there is, and I would know best. I wish to remove it. You might as well tell me what you expect of me in return right away instead of hoping you can collect on it later. Your days are numbered anyway."

The blond narrowed his eyes, suddenly not feeling as empathic anymore. "Is that a threat?"

"Just a reminder of the hopelessness of your situation."

"It sounds very much like you would love to rip out my heart right here and now."

The elf barked out a laugh as he crossed his arms.

"I have no desire to reach inside your chest. The demon inside it might bite my hand," he spat, then turned serious again. "Nor do I wish to miss the chance to pay you back, now that I have it. I... did not think that would ever be the case."

Anders watched his silhouette shift before the backlit trees for a moment.

"That bothered you."

"Obviously."

Slowly the mage began to wonder which of them was more uncomfortable with this situation. He had been shocked and then incredibly embarrassed to learn whose gifts he had been swooning over just minutes ago, especially considering the elf had been part of his audience – but for all his harsh words this actually seemed to matter to Fenris, in fact how emotional he became betrayed just how much it did.

The elf was still going back and forth between shifting around and standing still and tense as a statue. He couldn't really be thinking Anders would bring this banality up one day, to force him into anything untoward, could he? Though perhaps that made sense in his world, only being offered something for an expected favor in return. It did sound like a typically Tevene concept.

Anders sighed.

"Hawke has probably devoured all three rabbits on her own by now. We should get back to the others. Perhaps we can still salvage a tail or an ear?" He tried for a smile.

Fenris stared at him from under a reflective, white fringe tainted orange by the dim light reaching them, unblinking.

"I will..," the mage peered over his spiky shoulder at the firelight, avoiding his eyes, "...I will try to think of something. And please rest assured I won't use this opportunity to torture you, as you obviously expect."

At that, the other finally relaxed a little.

"We will see."

Chapter Text

Three days.

Three days since they had returned from Sundermount (after finally discovering the bandits they had been looking for by accident as Hawke had slipped off the side of a hill and more or less rolled into their hideout headfirst), three days of painful idleness and isolation – which turned them into three days of speculation.

Three days the mage had made him wait already, and it was driving Fenris mad. He had attempted to sleep a lot to avoid further worrying, but now he was so fully rested his mind had all the energy it needed to happily keep creating one scenario after another about what Anders would ask of him.

In silent despair Fenris had, bottle of wine in hand, retreated to a dusty, but still surprisingly soft, armchair he had dug out of a mountain of junk only a few weeks ago. He had drawn his knees up to his chest, liking the feeling of plush under his feet. It made drinking somewhat difficult, but as long as the alcohol somehow went down his throat that didn't matter. Usually he avoided drinking himself into a stupor, but right now it seemed like an oddly comforting plan.

Some of the gruesome theories his mind had come up with were completely ridiculous – after years spent in the mage's company he had a general idea of what could and couldn't be expected of Anders. While he would never admit it out loud he did recognize the man did have some moral standards at least. Still, the nagging voice in his head reminded him, he had to be prepared for the worst. And for the fact that he would likely have a hard time telling the man no. He had no illusions about ever truly being able to pay him back for what he had offered back then if Anders had truly contributed to his survival, a symbolic gesture would have to suffice and doing as the mage asked was the least he could do.

Especially after the way he had come down on him the night this memory had returned. Fenris still felt the tips of his ears heat up when he remembered that conversation – or rather that fight. That he had provoked.

In retrospect it seemed completely ridiculous: It truly must have left the impression he had walked all the way across the city to profess his hatred for the mage, even if that hadn't been his intention. He should have watched his words more carefully, especially when half of what he had spat at Anders had been assumptions.

No more memories regarding the event had returned, but the longer Fenris had turned what he knew over in his head the more he could make sense of it. There was one thing in particular his tired, alarmed mind had gotten slightly wrong that irked him.

While he could remember the burning anger he had experienced back then as clearly as if it had all taken place yesterday his initial conviction that it had been directed at the blond boy had been wrong. It was triggered by him, yes, but its target had only been Leto himself. For being weak, for not being able to break out of this, for having become so helpless and pitiful.

For knowing that he would never have a chance to return there to even offer his thanks.

He took another swig from the bottle.

Perhaps this was the Maker's idea of a joke, reuniting them like this, now both fugitives, in the bloody City of Chains no less. Either way, Fenris was not willing to waste this chance to prove Leto wrong. There was no need to owe anyone anything. He would make this right.

A knock on the door startled him so much he dropped the bottle as he jumped to his feet. The elf made a face at the mess of shards all over the floor, then turned his back on them and went to see his visitor. At least his reflexes still worked perfectly.

The door opened with a sad creak to reveal a rather flushed and disheveled Anders, a strained smile on his lips and a few loose strands of hair standing off his head.

"Good morning... can I come in?"

"Did you sleep under your bed last night?", Fenris replied in greeting. But he opened the door fully and stepped aside to allow his visitor in.

"I- what?" Instead of moving past him Anders looked down his front for anything out of place. When he didn't find anything his gaze trailed over the ground between them and then back up once it reached Fenris.

"I don't know what you- Is that wine on your feet?"

The elf looked at his toes and found them wet and slightly reddish. Well. He had successfully avoided the shards, that had to count for something. He looked back up at the mage, face betraying nothing of his discovery.

"Are you coming in or can I close the door again?"

"What- oh, no. I mean, yes," Anders babbled as he hastily stepped inside, "No to the door, yes to coming in. That's what I meant."

Fenris watched the mage turn and attempt to find a comfortable position to stand in as he closed the door behind him. He cleared his throat.

"So."

Anders beamed at him, obviously making an effort to be particularly friendly today.

"Yes. So. I have something for you. Actually, I have multiple somethings for you."

"Multiple somethings ", Fenris repeated, not particularly liking the sound of that. One request was what he had been expecting, he had not offered more. But of course the mage had to go and make the most of this opportunity, it shouldn't come as a surprise.

"Yes. It's all harmless though," the mage nodded, tracing a ripped seam on his coat, "you'll see. First off: I have a question I need you to answer me."

There was a lot of potential for both bad and good in that. Fenris crossed his arms, steeling himself for whatever invasion of his privacy was about to come. He would not show any weakness, no matter how offensive the question would be. He had reserved the right to refuse, he reminded himself.

"All right."

Finally, Anders looked up from the seam and at the other man, a grin slowly spreading over his face.

"So. I'm just dying to know..."

Chills ran down Fenris' spine.

"How did you do it?"

The elf blinked at him.

"What?"

He felt slightly offended already when the mage started chuckling.

"How did you get those things inside my clinic without anyone noticing? I must know, safety concerns and all. I'm sure you understand," he explained.

Fenris felt the tension leave him as if it had simply slid off him and down to the floor. Really? That was what he wanted to know? Of all the things he could have asked, this was what he settled for?

"I waited outside until a larger group of people went in... and then I pushed it in."

Amber eyes squinted at him, confused. "Into the people?"

"Through the wall."

The mage stared at him. Fenris stared back for a moment, then sighed and rolled his eyes.

"With them standing inside, in the way, I could be sure no one would notice the glow, even if they happened to look in the right direction. I quickly phased through the wall with the package in hand."

More staring, then Anders slowly opened his mouth. "That... Of course," he started laughing again. "Maker, so there was blood magic involved after all, in a way! Hawke would love this."

Fenris narrowed his eyes at the far too amused mage. "What I do is not blood magic, merely enabled by it. And you will not discuss this with Hawke."

This was none of Hawke's business. Working through this with only Anders involved was troublesome enough, he did not need more people laughing at him. At least the mage seemed to agree with that.

"I won't," he declared, shaking his head, "But it's good to know. All right, and now my actual request."

Fenris tensed up again, fingertips digging into his arms. If it was really, really bad he would claim he had already done him one favor by answering the first question, he told himself. It would not feel right at all but it was a way out if he needed one.

"This may seem a little weird but please hear me out before you refuse."

That did not sound very promising. If even the mage himself was expecting him to refuse it had to be bad. Fenris mentally counted through his list of excuses he had collected in the past few days for this very moment. He had to make sure to pick the most fitting one right away so there wouldn't be a lot of arguing, then send the mage away immediately and try to forget about the whole issue, hard as that would be. He would not allow the man to humiliate him in any way. He wouldn't--

"I want you to stop questioning my motives."

Fenris eyebrows shot up.

"What?"

"No, listen," Anders interrupted him, decidedly shaking his head, then meeting Fenris' eyes with a determined look, "Just listen. What I mean by that is – well, exactly this. Don't question my motives. No more, no less. I'm not asking you to not critique my words or actions if you disagree with them."

Stunned, the elf closed his mouth, realizing he had left it open after his last attempt to get a word in.

"I'm not asking you to like me, in fact you're free to hate me all you want, for whatever reason you want, even if it's for no reason at all, fine , hate me because it feels good. But stop telling yourself – and me – that I always have some evil ulterior motive when I do something nice even though I never gave you any reason to think so."

When the mage finally paused for a moment Fenris realized it was probably his turn to speak. But he couldn't think of a response. He had expected a variety of things, had played through many scenarios in his mind but this was nothing like what he had imagined.

Apparently, the mage caught on.

"I'm not some sadistic magister, Fenris. I'm just not. I make mistakes sometimes and I may not always play nice but you're projecting something onto me that I'm not, and I want it to stop."

He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing some of the stray strands back down, a few jumping back up after his hand lifted from them.

"When I give a slave something to eat it's because I want to do something about their suffering, because I have something to share and they need it, because it's all I can do when freeing them isn't an option, not because I get some perverse pleasure out of playing master of life and death or whatever it is you think happened back then."

The mage's gaze had dropped to the broken tiles covering the floor as he finished.

Fenris was at a loss, not only of what to say but also of what to think. What the mage asked was unexpected, and yes, also strange. What did it matter to him what Fenris thought of him when he was obviously fine with being hated either way, and didn't expect him to change his behavior? It wasn't like he wasn't used to it either. And yet, he seemed to care about this. He almost sounded hurt by the implications Fenris had thrown at him that day. Nothing made sense. But he had to reply in some way.

"I," Fenris began, not even sure how to continue, "I... cannot promise to change the way I think."

At that, Anders shoulders sagged as he looked back up, brows drawn together. He was obviously unhappy with that response – no, that wasn't the right word. He looked disappointed. Fenris felt a knot form in his stomach. Somehow he wished he could comply. What Anders asked really did not seem like much, and in a way he could understand the sentiment behind it. After all this very situation had proven once more that he had made completely wrong assumptions about the mage.

"I can promise to try. But that is all I can offer," he ventured, uncrossing his arms and rubbing at a fleck of dust on his thigh. Eye contact was too hard when he had to let Anders down like this. He heard the mage sigh.

As he looked back to him he was smiling, in a resigned way but smiling nonetheless.

"I supposed that's all I can ask for," the man said quietly, rubbing at the stubble on his cheek with a shrug.

Fenris relaxed a little. Better than nothing. It did not truly feel like he had imagined settling his debt would but it was something, it was a start. He would try to make good on his promise as well as he could, challenging as it would be.

"Well, now that this is settled", Anders exclaimed, his voice returning to its regular volume, and pulled forth his pack, removing a fabric-wrapped object from inside, "here's the last something I brought you."

The elf stepped a little closer as he unwrapped it, smelling what it was before he could even fully see it. He gave the blond a flat look.

"You did not honestly bring me more bread."

"It's not just more bread", Anders explained with a widening grin, "it's more of the same bread."

With both hands he held the loaf out to Fenris, ignoring the dark eyebrow arched at it. "It's what my mother used to make. There are some special ingredients in it that give it a unique taste – Maker, do you have any idea how hard it is to find cinnamon in this city?! I've lost count of how many stores I've been to and people I've asked. I'm not even talking about prices here, it's like no one in the Free Marches has ever heard of it!"

"Mage."

"Yes, sorry. Yes, I brought more bread. I thought it would be a nice way to... round off this whole affair." He scratched his neck nervously and lowered the bread a bit.

"You baked me a loaf of bread."

"Yes?" For some reason he sounded unsure if that was the right answer. "You're bigger now. A few crumbs wouldn't do."

Fenris ran a hand over his face and drew a deep breath. Did this man really believe the quantity of bread was the issue here?

"Very well." He nodded after a short pause. "We will eat your bread."

Anders pulled the bread a little closer as he tensed in surprise. "Oh, that's really not necessary-"

"We," Fenris repeated, "will eat your bread."

"It's for you."

"I need to make sure it is not poisoned," Fenris said, face carefully neutral.

As expected, the blond immediately tensed up in anger, his hands tightening around the loaf until his nails were digging into the crust. "You just promised-"

"Anders," Fenris said, allowing the smirk that had been tugging at his lips to break free.

"-that you wouldn't-" Anders paused and stared at him. "You were joking."

"Yes."

With a huff, the mage returned his attention to the bread and forcefully ripped a big piece off, shoving it at Fenris.

"Why must everything be so bloody complicated with you?"

Still grinning slightly, the elf accepted the piece. It was still warm.

"I only answer in kind. Also, it keeps our conversations from getting too boring despite the recurring themes."

"Perhaps I would prefer some boredom over constant frustration,"Anders pouted, and went about breaking off a piece of bread for himself.

"Since I am, as of today, judging you based solely on your actions, I can claim with certainty that you would not,” Fenris said, popping the bread into his mouth. Across from him, the blond sighed.

"Much as I am loathe to admit it, you may be right."

"Much as you loathed to admit it, I liked to hear that."

It was surprisingly easy to settle back into banter all of a sudden, Fenris thought as he spoke, the words coming to him so naturally as if it had never been any different. The past few weeks he had felt uneasy, and vulnerable, and he was glad to have finally settled the issue. As unexpected as it had been, Anders had found a suitable solution it seemed.

Although perhaps there was one more thing that needed to be done, one more thing to get off his mind before he could let it rest. He cleared his throat from eventual breadcrumbs and the last bits of hesitation. "Anders."

"Hm?"

And finally, clutching the bread a little more tightly in his hand, Fenris said:

"Thank you."