Archive of Our Own

Fenris pretends to be fine with it. Anders says xe prefers xer own space, prefers to sleep in the Clinic in case someone needs late night healing, and Fenris says, "As you wish."

Truthfully, however, it keeps Fenris up at night. He lies on his back, stares at the light that peeks through the hole at the corner of his ceiling, and worries. He worries about the slavers that make a home in Darktown. He worries about the gangs that look for easy pickings (and wouldn't a kind person like Anders be considered easy pickings in Fenris' experience, no matter how capable xe is?). What he worries about the most, however, is Templar raids.

In his nightmares, he sees the sunburst brand bright against Anders' forehead, etched into xer very skull, and he wakes in a cold sweat. When he wakes, he aches to hold Anders close, to see xem smile sadly, to hear xem whisper I'm okay. It's two parts fear and one part guilt he stews in those nights that Anders isn't there; the thought that, in a life not so removed from this one, Fenris might have reveled, even assisted in burning that brand into xer skin… It makes Fenris' stomach rebel as harshly as his heart.

Fenris, despite himself, doesn't share his guilt openly, only his fear. He tries not to make a spectacular ass of himself when he tells Anders please, stay, but sometimes this still turns into an argument, Anders insulted by the suggestion that xe cannot take care of xemself. Fenris has as a hard time expressing himself then. He knows that Anders is strong; xe was a Grey Warden, xe is a powerful fighter, and almost nothing could stop Justice from protecting her host (and dear friend). But knowing that doesn’t stop Fenris from worrying. Nothing seems to, bar the feeling of Anders’ back flush against his chest, the lingering scent of sweat that stuck to xer hair filling his nose, the sound of xer snores.

Can selflessness and selfishness coexist? Fenris isn't certain. So he tells Anders he is selfish and Anders bitingly agrees and then they both stare moodily away from each other.

Those nights, though, Fenris notices that Anders always comes back to the mansion with him. Once, just as sleep was tugging Fenris away from the knowing world, Anders whispered, I'm here.

Fenris wants to keep xem here. So he does the only thing Anders would ever approve of him doing - he plots.

If Anders will not stay in my home, he thinks, then perhaps xe'd be happier to stay in xer own.

*

The first step is to find a place. 

He considers a two-story, so Anders can move the Clinic with xem to somewhere safer too, but that wouldn't be fair to the people of Darktown or to their healer. So he focuses his efforts on finding someplace closer to Darktown. Something smaller and cozier, too, with warm lighting and secure doors, things xer clinic doesn't have.. Perhaps a cellar with ventilation; for potion brewing. Anders spends a lot of time brewing potion - if xe can do that at home, it would be mightily convenient. The closer he gets to the docks, the less likely it will be that a basement will be available, however, so that's not a necessity.

The search goes on, Fenris scouting what few resources he has to find a home for sale, even bothering Anzo for the first time in ages, but his search comes up empty.

Although Fenris expected pushback, being an elf and a fugitive of Tevinter law, this is already becoming more difficult than he anticipated. There are no homes currently for sale. It does not appear that the homelessness in Kirkwall is entirely due to poverty - while it is certainly a large part, more of the poverty seems to reproduce itself from homelessness. There simply aren't enough houses in Kirkwall.

It makes sense, in hindsight. So many had come here fleeing from the Blight, filling up every empty space until there were no more left. Unable to pay the costs of assembly for new homes in the few spaces available, families doubled up, like Hawke and Aveline, or even tripled, like he knows they do in the Alienage. There are countless buildings in this city and nearly all of them are bustling with folk - and those that aren't are few in number and owned by disgustingly rich nobles who live out of town. That, or they're so terribly condemned that not even Darktown's squatters could stand to sleep inside.

If the Chantry hadn't taken swift advantage of these people, there might be more homes in Kirkwall than there are now, but there isn't much Fenris can do to change the past. He can only move forward with what he has.

So the first step, plan b, is to build a place. The Ferelden refugees of yesterday perhaps could not afford such a thing, but Fenris has been saving his gold for quite some time now. Perhaps if he paid for one of these condemned buildings to be demolished, he might be able to make room rather than simply take it up. The buildings are often warehouses in Lowtown, large and falling apart already - surely no one would miss one of them if it were torn down and replaced by a few small homes.

Fenris has never built a house before, or arranged to have one built, but luckily for him, he knows where to find someone who might.

*

It's another evening at the Hanged Man and all his friends are here, only this time, they're celebrating Varric's new book being published. The poor dwarf isn't terribly happy about it, but everyone else is happy for him - and getting drunker about it by the minute.

Before long, everyone is warm-faced and smiling, and Varric, almost despite himself, isn't far behind. An alcohol-induced blush reaches down from his smiling face to his chest and into his low-cut shirt, much the topic of teasing and play-flirting.

The topic at the moment, however, is not the pink tinting Varric, but the reason for Aveline's rougey hue.

"I still can't believe you wrote that," Aveline huffs. Her cheeks must be awfully hot, the way she's blushing. Her face is redder than her hair - and it isn't from drink. "And it's being published!"

Varric laughs into his tankard. "Don't act so upset, Guard Captain. We both know that when Butch Guard Falls For Dalish Elf - no that isn't the title, stop giving me that look - when it becomes a bestseller, it'll be the first of its kind."

Braids bouncing around per ears, Merrill nods. Per tiny claps are almost silent from this distance, being on opposite ends of the table, but fast enough to carry the sound to Fenris. "Oh, yes, Aveline, and won't it be wonderful? There aren't many stories for people like us, are there?"

"Sorry I had to make your character a girl, Daisy." Merrill looks understanding, opens per mouth to likely tell him so, but Varric grabs per hand anyways, looks sadly into per eyes. "My publisher already threw a fit about you being an elf, let alone not a man or a woman. I tried to haggle and even argue, bullshit and tell him that Dalish readers were an important demographic, but-"

Varric is silenced by a gentle kiss to his cheek - not by Merrill, but by per girlfriend. Aveline must be even drunker than Fenris thought. "We're fine, Varric," she says. "Really."

"If you're sure…"

"It's alright, Varric. I actually quite like girls! And you'll probably make more money this way, your publisher is right about that. The Dalish don't really buy a lot of books, you know, having our own and all."

That makes Varric chuckle, at least, and he seems a little brighter than he did before. "Glad to hear it, Daisy."

The conversation continues like that for a while yet, everyone talking about the book, about Varric, about what sorts of books they'd publish if it weren't for asshole publishers. They all stay later than they might have on any other night, and when they play cards, it's for the company, not the coin.

Fenris is having a blast. 

If he could keep any moment in a jar, it would be moments like these; Anders' head on his shoulder, xer hair pulled up in a bun at the top of xer head and showing the lines of xer stubble-y neck, the sounds of cards being shuffled and jibes being exchanged on either side of them. 

If Fenris closes his eyes, he can almost imagine it all happening in a house. His house. A house that's so new the walls still smell like sawdust. They're by the fireplace, which is crackling idly and warmly. There's a carpet beneath the second-hand table that's so soft he rubs his bare soles against it every time he sits, curls his toes against it without even meaning to. And his family is all around him, drinking and making merry.

The smell of vomit rather ruins the illusion, in his opinion. Indeed, when he opens his eyes, it's just the Hanged Man, stinking as rancidly as ever, but he thinks to himself, something like hope gathering in his chest, that one day, things will be wonderfully different and wonderfully the same. He won't have to close his eyes to live that dream.

Since getting the idea in his head to build his Anders a home, he's grown… partial to the idea, to say the least. His chest aches with it, aches with that horrible wanting, and he turns his face just enough to kiss Anders' forehead, suddenly tender. No verbal response follows, but he doesn't miss the way Anders sighs and shifts xer body closer.

The night is merry, but eventually, it must come to a close.

"Even future bestselling authors have to sleep," Varric jokes as he kicks everyone out.

People put up token lazy protests, but file out with well-wishes cast behind them. Fenris asks Aveline to walk Anders home as she passes and she agrees readily, though Anders scoffs and glares at the suggestion xe needs protection. Still, xe goes willingly, matching Aveline's stride down the hall and to the stairs. It just goes to show: it doesn't matter how proud one is, muscle like Aveline always serves to make the night feel safer. 

Moreso when she's out of her city guard attire, sure, which xe quickly tells Aveline, but now isn't the time for that. Tonight, Fenris has a mission, which means whether she's the Guard Captain or not, Anders is going to be safe.

With a parting kiss, he tells xem to play nice and leave politics for tomorrow. Only slightly sober than she was earlier, Aveline whole-heartedly agrees, so Anders huffingly acquiesces. Before xe walks out, xe gives Fenris just one more kiss.

"Get home to me soon?" xe pleads.

"I will," he swears. He means it.

When everyone else is gone, leaving only himself and the dwarf in the warmly lit suite, Fenris turns to his friend. "Varric," he says searchingly.

The dwarf raises an eyebrow.

Well, here goes. "I… need to build a house."

The look Varric gives him in response is two fingers suspicion and one glee, easily Fenris' least-favorite mixed drink. "What?!"

"What what? " he snaps back. His face feels terribly warm and it isn't because of the fire.

"Nothing!" Varric puts his hands up, palms open in a show of false innocence. At this point, the action is likely more habit than actual manipulation. "I'm just surprised. I've offered to get you the deed to that mansion a dozen times over and now you tell me you want to build a new one?"

"Not a new mansion," Fenris corrects, sighing. This is more embarrassing than he anticipated. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so careful about his wine intake earlier. "Something… small. A place where..." where Anders can be at home. Where we can play cards and write meaningless stories and-

"A place to hang up your hat." The dwarf's smile is far too big for Fenris' liking. Varric always has been sweet on his friends - writes them into all his stories, gives whatever he has to make their lives easier. Not for the first time, Fenris secretly ponders if the dwarf's lack of desire revolving romantic love makes him better at the platonic sort.

"I don't wear a hat," he deadpans.

"But think of how many you could wear if you only had a place to hang them! Isabela's always going on about that hat shop in Lowtown, you know."

"That she is." He sighs again, then fights a smile. "If you help me find a place to build a home, Varric, I will wear a hat in your honor."

"Ohhh, how about a red one? With gold accents? Actually, no, with your complexion, we'd better make it blue."

"I despise you."

"Despise is just another word for love!"

Varric helps him. He agrees so quickly that Fenris is home early enough to kiss Anders goodnight before the mage falls asleep.

Fenris considers getting him a hat in thanks, even haunts Isabela's favorite shop for a while, but in the end, settles on a cherry wood hat rack with gold-painted pegs. It sits just by the door in Varric's Hanged Man suite and Fenris nearly laughs every time he sees it. When Aveline asks what exactly Varric needs a hat rack for, especially one "so bloody tall", they both fall into a fit of giggles. 

It isn't particularly funny, perhaps, but the thing that rises in his chest is so much more dangerous than laughter. When he and Varric meet eyes, he thinks they both understand.

*

It takes a long time for a house to be built.

It's a small thing, thankfully cozy when the fireplace is lit, though the final plans did end up being a two-story. The bottom floor is living space and kitchens, open but separated by a half-wall, with stairs that lead up to a bedroom and bathing room.

Fenris hadn't been certain about the bath being on the second floor, but the builders and Varric both assured him that pipes through the house were within his budget and leakage shouldn't be a problem. It will be strange not going down to the pump every time he needs water, but likely much more convenient, too. He thinks Anders will appreciate it. Xe always hates the fuss of preparing a bath, especially after a long day of caring for the sick and injured.

The house is in Lowtown, closer to Darktown than Hightown, so Anders can make it to xer clinic easily enough, and close enough to the Alienage that not many Templars will be kicking about thanks to Aveline (finally) cracking down on Meredith. When the builders are finished - however long that takes - Fenris will ask Sandal if there are any runes that hide magic, just in case, and perhaps place them under rugs and behind picture frames if so. Anything to keep Anders safe.

There are not many homes built in Kirkwall, so it becomes local gossip, and the others hear of the construction. Four houses built in Lowtown so far, the people gossip, and supposedly more to come. Anders brings it up over their next game of cards casually, asking Varric if he knows who might be paying for the homes to be built or why. 

Varric looks at his hat rack somewhat wistfully. "Some resident of Hightown," comes his vague answer. "Hear he's doing it for the one he's sweet on."

That stops Anders short, shocked. No one points out how dewey xer eyes become, but Fenris notices. Of course he does.

When the game comes to an end, Anders follows Fenris to his (their-ish) mansion, their hands brushing between them. One moon is full, the other waxing, and in their light, Fenris can see every freckle, every wrinkle on his healer's face.

"It must be nice," Anders whispers.

Fenris glances at xem. "What is, amate?"

"Building a house." For a moment, Fenris forgets to watch the shadows for attackers. He stares at Anders hopefully. "Building a home."

"I imagine," he says.

Anders sighs, but xe doesn't say much else. Just looks over at Fenris and smiles something sad. He can see the moment that Justice soothes xem, xer eyes growing softer and bluer as she undoubtedly brings up their cause. Revolutionaries don't need homes, after all, and Anders can accept that even when it hurts.

But Fenris sees xer need. Fenris sees it and feels it too.

It's this exchange between them that lets Fenris know he made the right decision. As he and Anders easily make their way through Hightown's streets, he thinks to himself, I will give you a home.

*

The Lowtown market is bustling under a bright sun when Fenris runs into Merrill - or moreso, when Merrill runs into Fenris.

The smaller elf bounces off him almost comically, bringing a hand up to cover per nose. "Oh, ouch! Sorry, Fenris!"

Fenris turns to per in alarm. "Why are you apologizing to me?" He moves per arm delicately, needlessly careful with per thin, scar-covered wrists to reveal per nose. It's a little darker, possibly slightly bruised from his armor, but Merrill seems largely uninjured. "There's no blood, but if you start to get a headache, send for Anders. And be more careful."

"Oh, I will, don't worry. That was really quite stupid of me-"

"Not at all."

"-it's only that I saw you across the crowd even above all these people because you're just so tall and I remembered that I've been meaning to ask you about something."

"...Such as?"

"Oh! The houses you're having built."

Some manner of panic rises in Fenris' chest. It's been hard work keeping it a secret already and the things haven't even been properly put together yet; the only one even close to being lived in is his own, for entirely selfish reasons. Despite his frequent visits to the properties, he's managed to keep people off his track so far, mainly thanks to Varric, but Merrill is intelligent, so he isn't surprised that the one who found out was per. 

He also knows that Merrill isn't terribly good at keeping secrets.

"It's okay if you don't want to talk about it." Per face grows earnest, green eyes wide where they gaze up at per friend. "I only wanted to say that… Well, that people are very excited to buy or rent or whatever they can afford to have more space, but also that I'm happy for you. Really happy! Does Anders know or is it a surprise? Oh, I hope it's a surprise. I love surprises. As long as it's a good one-"

"Yes, it's a surprise. I'm hoping to tell xer when it's entirely finished." Which won't be for some time yet, he thinks miserably. Some sort of a mishap with the pipes will be putting him a little behind schedule. "Will you keep this between you and I?"

"And Varric and Aveline. They know too. Oh, and Isabela. And Hawke." Per red-painted nail taps the side of per nose. "And maybe Sebastian? I don't really talk to him so I can't be certain."

Fenris pinches the bridge of his nose and counts to ten. "Keep it between the six - seven? - of us then and make sure they know it too. Anders cannot learn of this from someone else."

"Oh, yes, Fenris, of course!" And then a brilliant smile takes over Merrill's features. "This is so exciting! You have to tell me everything you've planned!"

And almost despite himself, Fenris does. Like a floodgate opening (or a pipe bursting), he babbles even more thoroughly than Merrill ever has on his ideas for his new home.

Throughout it all, he can feel himself smiling.

*

Four months, plus a week and a half. That's how long this damn thing has taken. That's how long Fenris has been hiding and sneaking and plotting and- Well, mostly looking at furniture and sweating about wallpaper.

Four months, one week, and three days, and finally, the house is nearly finished.

The shell of it, anyhow. There are four walls and a roof, a narrow staircase and sturdy floorboards… There's a lovely fireplace, encased carefully in stone, plus wide windows - glass ones! rare in Lowtown! - and a door with a strong lock (three, actually). 

The part of town means there's no fancy dwarven toilet, just a chamber pot they'll have to keep ahead of, but there's a sink in the kitchen and a claw-foot tub with a shower function overhead. Fenris has toyed with the plumbing a bit, made sure the bath and sink run well, and finds himself pleased with the builders' work. There are even runes for hot or cold water. He tips them well.

But Anders can hardly sleep in this empty wood-and-stone shell, no matter how otherworldly the plumbing is. They need furnishing. A love seat, a dresser, a bookcase. Andraste show mercy, wallpaper. Fenris peeks into the kitchen and thinks to add an icebox as well, and a dish rack for drying dishes. And dishes, he thinks wryly. He doesn't think he's ever owned a plate.

He's not sure what else a house needs - he'd broken into many during his time on the run, but there was only so much a man can take in at a time. Otherwise it was inns and taverns, cheaply rented rooms that barely resemble a true home.

There's a little towel-type rug under the dish rack at Hawke's estate; he can add one of those to the list, if he ever discovers what they're called. He might ask Orana or Bodahn.

For a moment, anxiety burrows itself into Fenris' gut. Will Anders want a specific color? He likes teals and greens and blues… Fenris will focus on those colors. Maybe some greys or the occasional violet. Will the violet be expensive? Dyes are so expensive.

He will not, however, buy feathered drapes, even at their cheapest price. He might consider feather pillows or a feather mattress but-

A mattress. Fenris curses. Where in the Void does someone buy a bed in this blighted city?

*

It's been another week and Fenris is halfway finished. It's becoming harder and harder to keep the secret from Anders; not because anyone is close to spilling about the house, or because rumors are growing, but because he's grown… excited. The more time he spends working on their home, the more he wants to share it with his love.

Late at night, when Anders is yawning and xer face is slack, eyes bleary, Fenris wants to cup xer face and excite xem with tales of their new teal curtains.

"I had to build the bookcase myself," he wants to tell xem. "It's a very funny shape. The shelves criss-cross inward instead of lie flat. Who designed that?"

He wants to hear Anders laugh at him, tell him off for buying a stupid bookcase. "Did you put it together wrong? Or is it some Orlesian garbage?" He can imagine the way xe'd needle him, teasing him for his childlike wonder at a uniquely-shaped piece of furniture.

But it's a surprise. It will all be worth it in the end.

Fenris swipes his thumb over the swell of Anders' cheekbone. Those brown eyes glitter back at him, content. Never asking for anything more than Fenris gives.

Fenris wants to give more. Terrifyingly, he finds he wants to give everything he has and then more after that too. He leans forward to press their mouths together, heart full. Xer smile warm against his own, Anders only hums in contentment and lets him take.

*

"I want to buy Anders a new bed. A large, proper bed. But I…" He scratches his nose awkwardly. It's a little bumpy, evidence of stress-pimples on the way. "Am not sure how to go about it. I don't know how a person purchases a well-crafted bedframe, nor a fine mattress." 

There certainly aren't any being sold in Kirkwall, as far as Fenris can tell, or much furniture at all. He's gotten quite a bit more on his list than he imagined he would, rugs and curtains and side tables, but besides the bookshelf, which he had to put together himself, it's impossible to find larger pieces of furniture. At this point, he'd be better off carving the water damage out of one of the rickety old things littering the mansion.

As if Fenris isn't looking directly at him, Varric scrubs a hand over his face. He's smiling wryly, but the smile seems thin. "Oh, Broody…"

"I did not come here for you to mock me-"

"I'm not!" And then Varric's hand is on his armored shoulder, carefully avoiding touching his skin. "I'm just mourning the free life you never had before now. Shit, is that offensive?"

Maybe a little. More so, it's touching in that strange, irritating way care always is. And it is care, as opposed to pity. Varric's always been bad at pity - his heart's too big for that. Fenris feels flustered and only manages to reply a mumbling, "No."

"Good! Phew . Anyways, to business, before I do manage to put my boot in my mouth." Thunk! A large paper-back tome, the texture and thinness of the vellum not unlike the paper used in news tabloids in Tevinter, slaps onto Varric's table. Only a small amount of dust is kicked up around it.

Fenris glares at it for a moment, trying to make out the script on the front; if it's in Trade, Fenris can't read it. It's far too loopy, to the point of seeming Orlesian. Orlesians love their loops.

After a moment, Varric explains, "It's a catalogue. Had to show Hawke how it worked, too, that poor bastard. I think most Fereldans just build their own furniture, though. Probably tear the oak straight out of the tree with their bare hands for materials." He turns a thick handful of pages, revealing small, hand-written print next to the occasional sketch. "This one's for a specific furniture company, based somewhere in Orlais. You just find the one you want, send them the number and the money, and they send the goods."

Fenris blinks in surprise. "Oh. I remember these."

"You've used one before?"

"Yes - in a manner of speaking - though they look different in Tevinter. Danarius would order almost everything from them so we needn't leave the fortress for the city; when he didn't just order a custom piece, that is. Easier to avoid assassination that way."

They're hard memories, somehow. Fenris finds it much easier to remember the cruelty, when Danarius would beat him or punish him or experiment on him. But quiet afternoons of fetching Danarius' checking book, watching him point out different things, asking Fenris his opinion, rewarding his responses with kisses and hair-petting… It's so much harder. That gentle affection hurts more than anything Danarius ever did. It sticks inside him, sticky and sweet, at odds with the reality of Danarius' violence. Of his love.

It takes him a moment, ears ringing like he's back in Castellum Tenebris, Danarius' hand resting gently in the small of his back… but he shakes it off, just enough to focus on the end of Varric's sentence.

"-with me, Broody?"

Fenris swallows around a dry throat. "I apologize. Would you care to repeat that?"

"I asked, are you with me, Broody? But you seem to be now." 

This time, Varric doesn't avoid touching skin; he places his warm hand on Fenris' forearm like he's afraid the markings will pull his friend through the floor. The hand is calloused and broad in ways Danarius' were not. Fenris is glad for it. 

"Do you want me to put the catalogue away? We can find another way-"

"No, I-" want to give Anders everything. "It's only a catalogue." Nothing will stop me. Danarius least of all.

"Alright. You'll tell me if you change your mind?" Raising an eyebrow at him, Varric shoots Fenris a stern look. 

He can't help but smirk - Varric Tethras acting stern . Aveline would fall out of her chair. Still, Fenris nods, chest warm and light.

"Well, let's look through the furniture then. I'm guessing you horny bastards want something sturdy?"

His smirk turns into a choked chuckle which turns into only slightly embarrassing giggles. “You know very well-”

“I do. But I hate to see you brood so much, Broody.” The other man’s eyes are warm, as always, and stare into his knowingly. Caringly. 

Suddenly, Fenris is struck by how grateful he is to have met Varric. And not only because the dwarf has always been good at making him laugh.

*

Everything seems perfect. 

Every room is crafted with love and care. Each piece of furniture has been thoughtfully chosen. Every inch of this house was made the way it is by Fenris' hands for Anders.

There's a small library, which doubles as Anders' study, added adjacently to the bedroom after-the-fact (to the frustration and gratitude of the well-paid Ferelden laborers). There's a kitchen with a stove and a pantry and an icebox, the cold runes crafted by none other than Sandal. There's even a bathroom with rather expensive indoor plumbing and fancy water-proof curtains around the bath. It's not a large home by any means, but it's one of the larger homes in Lowtown, not to mention better furnished.

Fenris is happy with how it's turned out, but the shared bedroom is his true pride and joy. The bed is sturdy, as Varric joked, and made of handsome wood. The sheets atop it are plentiful and well-made. The rug before it is soft, but not too soft to be more a hassle than otherwise, and close enough to the bed to keep Anders' toes from going cold against the hardwood floors in the morning. The curtains on the window are thin enough to let in streaming sunlight - and the window itself is large and paned with thin glass. This way, Anders can lay beside him, look out the window, and think to xemself, I'm free.

Still, there's something… missing. And Fenris can't figure it out.

The chests and drawers are lovely, from different sets but not completely mismatched. The curtains are white and match the paint of the study door, but not the sheets of the bed, which are dyed a wealthy blue. There's a doorstop to keep the study door open, for when Anders wakes in the middle of the night and must make xemself busy but doesn't want to be away from Fenris.

Everything, to Fenris' eyes, is flawless. He cannot for the life of him imagine what is missing.

It must be tested, then. Fenris closes his eyes and puts himself into Anders' too-big, bandage-wrapped boots. He imagines he is an apostate with a fool's sense of humor and an offensively cute nose. He imagines he has wanted a home for decades and only now is getting one.

He looks at the room with Anders' eyes.

The study is a win. Xe cares deeply for xer private space, which xe so often is denied. The large window will set xer heart soaring. The soft bed beneath xer aching back - the soft bed beneath xer arching back, those nights when xe won't be too terribly exhausted from the Clinic and can push Fenris from the room for a while - is divine. But most of all, just being curled up together under the blankets, feeling safe, feeling accepted… 

And that's all xe really wants. Not just a place to live, but a home , whether it's under a roof or under a bridge or under the stars. And that can be found easily enough, when you've love.

Yes, Fenris thinks happily. He can provide that. A home, and a lover and kitty to share it-

"A CAT!" Fenris turns on his heel and runs to the Clinic.

*

Pausing briefly in xer potion brewing, Anders straightens xer back and shoots him an odd look. "Er- Not to say I don't love reliving the loss of my special boy, but why are you asking me about this?"

Fenris scratches his nose, an action that's quickly becoming a habit. Keeping this secret from Anders has been difficult enough without talking to xem about it. "Just wondering."

"Well. Alright." Xe seems unconvinced, but xe shares anyways, "Pounce should still be with Delilah Howe, in Amaranthine. Assuming that he's still alive. Maker-" Xer eyes grow wet suddenly and Fenris stands straight, arms still crossed, staring attentively. "Sorry, I'm just… He'd be old by now, I think. I got him as a kitten maybe 6 years ago? His breed can get older than that but he was a Grey Warden, you know. We don't live quite as long."

Fenris presses a kiss into the corner of xer mouth. I know , he thinks miserably. "I'm sure he's living an excellent life." Xe gives him an unimpressed look, so he continues, "He's probably very fat."

Anders laughs at that. "I hope so. He's a veteran! He should be treated with respect."

"You don't normally believe things like that…"

"Not really, no," Anders kisses him this time. "But I’ll always make exceptions for my special boy."

*

It's taken a week since Fenris contacted her, but finally, after admitting she has other reasons to be in the city, Delilah Banigan-Howe is in Kirkwall. And with her, she has brought the ugliest, meanest, fattest, ginger - est cat Fenris has ever seen in his life. There’s something almost regal about the cat; his fur is thick at the neck like the puffy collars Orlesians wear, fluttering out in a way that reminds Fenris oddly of Anders’ prefered feather pauldrons. His ears are pointed upwards like a bobcats - how much of that is shape and how much is fur, Fenris doesn’t know. The beast glares up at him like he's another Darkspawn in his path, then licks its whiskers almost threateningly.

Fenris is bizarrely reminded of the grizzled old men who sit at the back of the Hanged Man, still selling their blade for coin after all this time. Scarred and greying, this cat is certainly a warrior. There’s no mistaking that.

"This… is Ser Pounce-a-Lot?"

"Yes."

"The fabled hero. The Grey Warden of legend."

Delilah gives him an odd look, like he's started removing his clothes in the middle of Chantry service.

Fenris gives a leveled stare back. The one Isabela calls a smolder. "Anders speaks of him fondly."

Delilah blinks. "I wasn't sure at first." Then, "But I think you two might be good for each other."

That shocks a smile out of him, but the conversation doesn't last much longer. Delilah lets Pounce wander about his new home, watching him wistfully as he curls his bushy tail behind him and stalks dangerously towards the kitchens that Fenris painstakingly designed.

Then she bids goodbye to Fenris, off to search for Hawke. Apparently she wrote ahead in search of her brother and is the reason his Anders is going to the Deep Roads. Oh, the argument Fenris had had with their friend the Champion… But this is personal for Anders. Xe wants to go, so Fenris must let xem.

"Remember," Fenris says. "If you run across Anders, don't tell xem about the home or about Pounce staying with us."

"Of course," Delilah pinches three lines over her mouth, miming stitches. "Not a word, serrah."

And then she's off, leaving Fenris alone with the beast.

Ser Pounce-a-Lot seems content to stalk around the place while Fenris pretends not to follow behind. Behind him, his fluffy tail curls and whips about, but Fenris doesn’t know enough about cats to read the language - does that mean Pounce is pleased or displeased with his new surroundings?

He feels silly, speaking to a cat, but this is Anders’ ‘special boy’, so he says awkwardly, “Welcome to your new home. I hope you enjoy living here.” Then, to himself, “And I hope xe does, too.”

Pounce stares at him with stern yellow eyes, squinting. The look is too searching for Fenris’ comfort. And then he turns back around and continues his patrol of the house.

*

Being that his lover is now in the Deep Roads, Fenris has about a week to become acquainted with his new housemate. It's better than becoming acquainted with the new neighbors, at least, but by a small margin.

The days following the cat’s arrival tell him these things;

• Pounce hates the sound of construction. It interrupts his napping. He will use lethal force if necessary, especially against innocent elves who were only trying to fix the wobbly table leg.
• Pounce is every bit as grouchy and grizzled as he appears to be. That doesn’t stop him from being a spoiled brat. Fenris isn’t sure what Anders and Mrs. Banigan-Howe did to this cat, but he absolutely refuses the regular kitty kibble Fenris tries to feed him until the elf caves and starts giving him people food.
• Pounce eats eggs for breakfast, dove for lunch, and fish for dinner, and still wakes Fenris in the middle of the night for more. Again, he will use lethal force if necessary.
• Pounce is not playful. He is a mastermind of torture. He will occasionally lure Fenris into a false sense of security, showing his adorable cat toes and fluffy belly, only to eviscerate Fenris’ entire arm once his prey has fallen into his trap. Merrill assures him that this is normal cat behavior, but what does per know? Did per not dabble in blood magic? They must be in cahoots!
• Pounce is not dying. He coughs up bezoars upon the nice new rug because biology tells him to. This is not a symptom of horrible cat death. Fenris tells himself this a few times, hand on his chest to still his heart, eyes closed against the sudden fear that grips him at the thought of killing Anders’ special boy. He even lets Pounce leave painful scratches on his arm to prove to himself that the cat is indeed well and fit for his age.
• Pounce hates the vet. He will use lethal force if necessary.

Fenris had no idea that taking care of a cat could be so… much . He figured it was as simple as taking care of Anders - make sure xe eats, cuddle xem often, talk through their disagreements with an open mind and an open heart. It should be easier than with Anders because the only things Pounce disagrees with are the existence of a litter box and not eating an entire druffalo every meal.

About six days into Pounce’s stay, Fenris finds his eyes wet and throat tight from how much he misses his partner. Anders can be overwhelming, the way all wonderful things are overwhelming, but Fenris doesn’t have to clean up xer pee out of the carpet every day. 

Fenris sighs. Anders hates the Deep Roads. He hopes xe’s okay.

As if sensing his distress and coming to gloat, Pounce saunters into the room, tail swishing behind him. Swish, swish, swish . It’s like the pendulum in a grandfather clock, that thing. Fenris could count the hours with it if he pleased.

Instead, he watches it and lets the steady movements calm him. “I miss xem,” he says. “Your Anders. My Anders.”

One of Pounce’s ears twitches.

“Yes, Anders. Xe should be home soon.” Fenris kneels, allows Pounce to get close enough to look into the cat’s eyes. “Xe’ll be much better company than I, I’m sure. Especially after all the time you’ve had apart.”

Pounce butts his head against Fenris’ knuckles. Not biting, which is Pounce’s favorite thing to do to Fenris’ feet, but just… rubbing against the elf’s hand.

“You hate scritches,” Fenris accuses him as he begins to stroke the cat's ear. “What are you trying to do? Anders will be very cross if you eat one of my fingers. Xe might even make you sleep in your cat bed instead of our bed.”

A bit of fang peeks out from Pounce’s lip, like the cat is warning him to drop the subject.

“It is very easy to wound your pride, isn’t it, Ser?”

For a moment, Fenris thinks Pounce truly is about to bite him - but then his tail stills and he peers up at Fenris thoughtfully. Appraisingly. And then he licks Fenris’ thumb with a tongue that’s rough enough to strip paint from wood and waddles over to the elf’s armchair. And leaps into it.

“Kaffar parvalus. That’s my spot!” Fenris stands and stares incredulously. “You are more like Anders than anyone has any right to be.”

Smug in every sense of the word, Pounce closes his eyes and begins to bathe.

*

On the day Anders arrives back from the Deep Roads, Pounce wakes Fenris up by pulling his blankets off and biting his toes. 

After about day three of their living in the house, Pounce had apparently decided the decadent cat bed Fenris had painstakingly picked out for the kitchen as well as the bed in the living room from Delilah's residence were both insufficient and has begun to curl up on what would soon be Anders’ side of the bed. Occasionally, he will even nestle into the curve of Fenris’ hip. 

Never for long, however. He can't bite or scratch effectively when cuddled against his favorite cat toy, it seems.

Fenris groans and pushes Pounce away with his foot, earning himself a much nastier bite.

"Ouch! Little…" Fenris huffs and rolls away. "I'm getting up! I'm getting up. I will make you your eggs, bastard."

Pounce leaps from the bed and runs down the stairs, his bitter servant following slowly behind.

*

It always feels wrong when Fenris is dressed in plainclothes and not his armor, but here he is still, a green tunic and soft coat over a pair of his more fashionable leggings. He's even wearing low-heeled boots, just for the occasion.

They make pacing in front of Hawke's estate much more uncomfortable. The clacking of heel against stone is satisfying, at least. A distracting rhythm to fight against the quick-beating heart in his chest.

Today's the day. Anders is coming home.

He's alone in front of Hawke's estate - he'd wait in Anders' clinic, just as Aveline is likely waiting in Merrill's home, but he wants to walk xer home. He wants to show xer immediately what he has built for them to share.

Fenris is suddenly grateful Ser Pounce swiped most of his breakfast. He's feeling queasier by the moment.

What if Anders doesn't want this? What if he's made a mistake?

Justice may disapprove. She's very strict on what is appropriate for her host, going so far as to disallow alcohol, despite there being nothing unjust about it. A home will be good for Anders, Fenris is certain, but not necessarily good for their cause.

The home, in Justice's glowing blue eyes, may be a beacon for Templars instead of a fortress against them. And what if the people of Darktown have an emergency?, he imagines her demanding. But, no, their house is close enough to Darktown that they will always have access to their healer. The doors of the clinic are locked to the public at night as is. It won't matter. It will be fine.

It will be fine.

Anders is coming up the walkway.

Beside him are Merrill, Isabela, and Hawke, all smiling as they watch Anders run towards him. Without having to think, Fenris opens his arms for xer to fall into.

"Oh, love!" Xe gushes. "I missed you so much. Those awful, too-tight caves… So dark…"

Feeling xer shivers, Fenris holds xer tightly. "You're safe now, amate. I have you."

"I could hear them so plainly down there… They were so loud, Fenris."

"I know. I know."

If it could be, Fenris would never let go, but they're standing in Hightown's bustling street, two fugitives in front of the home of one of Kirkwall's most influential people, and their friends are starting to give them sad looks.

Fenris meets Hawke's eyes over Anders' shoulder and smiles. "I have a surprise for you," he tells Anders, making Hawke grin.

His partner pulls away, eyes wide and hopefully and a little haunted still. "Oh?"

"You love surprises."

"Yes, I do." Xer lips twitch into some semblance of a smile. 

Throwing an arm around both of them, Isabela grins. "It's a good surprise, I hope."

As nervous as he is, Fenris' stomach might come out of his mouth and take flight, but he nods calmly and says, "It is. I… I think you'll like it."

Anders' eyebrow raises, less than convinced, but xe does grin as xer eyes flit between xer partner and xer friends. "Um. Okay. Lead the way then, love." And then xe folds xer fingers with Fenris', xer hand held in his like it belongs there.

For the first time, and hopefully not the last, Fenris leads Anders home.

*

They're standing at the door.

Anders blinks. Xe looks at Fenris, who is having a very hard time meeting xer gaze. Xe looks at the house, first story window, then second, then the door. Xe looks at Fenris.

Fenris swallows. He hasn't the words. Did he do the right thing? Was this the right choice?

"Here," he croaks, and hands Anders a key.

Anders looks at the key, at Fenris, at the key. Xe looks at the door and xer mouth falls open, realization dawning on xer face.

"No," xe whispers. "You- This isn't-"

Chest seizing painfully, Fenris lowers his head to his chest. "I apologize for not discussing this with you first-"

"Oh, shut up, you sentimental elf!" And then xer eyes are shining and wet and xe's smiling like xe's afraid to. "This can't be real. This doesn't happen to people like me."

Fenris raises his head. "It does today. And as many days to come as you wish."

"I- This is mine? Ours?"

"Yours, amate." Chewing his lip, Fenris soaks in the shocked joy on his mage's face. The same disbelief and hope and want that Fenris has felt since beginning the project. The same certainty that this can never last, but the steadfast determination to hold on to it with both hands anyways. "You should enter your home. Or I could carry you over the threshold, if you like."

At that, Anders snorts a breathy laugh. "I'm fine on my legs for now. If I faint, though, promise you'll catch me?"

"Always."

Anders opens the door.

A fat orange cat is waiting in the middle of the living room rug.

“SER POUNCE-A-LOT!” Justice grins brightly, brilliant blue light suddenly overtaking the room. “MY OLD FRIEND!”

Being that he is a cat, Pounce doesn’t reply. He turns onto his back and shows his belly, however, tail curved and still against the carpet. Fenris knows what that means (has fallen prey to it every time despite himself) and nearly opens his mouth to warn Justice of the maniacal plot against her.

But it’s too late. Justice reaches down to gladly rub at the soft belly shown to her and yet doesn’t flinch at all when Pounce, well, pounces. The teeth and claws digging into her arm only seem to amuse the spirit.

“BRACING! WHAT A CLEVER BOY YOU ARE, POUNCE.” Justice laughs, a sound that Fenris has never heard from the spirit. “AH, BUT ANDERS IS WAITING TO SEE YOU. I’LL BE HERE.”

And then those blue veins fade just as quickly as they arrived, taking with them the distinct smell of Fade, and leave behind only the familiar pale lines of Anders’ face, which is quickly tear-stricken. “Oh, Ser Pounce-a-Lot!”

Pounce stands, leaps into Anders’ arms, and yowls . The grizzled warrior of myth suddenly seems more lost kitten than Grey Warden - and Anders is right there with him. Fat wet lines fall down xer face, sobs shaking xer entire body as xe cries out into that knotted orange fur, “My kitty! My special boy!” Pounce cries too, mewling somewhere between joy and misery. It’s more noise than Fenris thought him even capable of making. He's usually content to sit and glare...

Belatedly, the elf finds the reunion to be too private for his presence and quietly leaves them be. He can hear them still, their shared cries leaking through the open wall between the living room and kitchen, but it doesn't make him uncomfortable like crying usually does. His heart feels full. He feels at peace - at home.

He knows he made the right choice.