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Chapter Text

“Hawke.”

The sound of Fenris slamming his cards on the table cleaved through the quiet of Varric’s suite like a blade. The group’s playful chatter ceased at once, and sleepy eyes snapped open to focus on the warrior as he rose from his chair to loom over their champion.

Hawke looked up at Fenris with wide eyes, trying and failing to convey innocence.

“Fenris? Everything all right?”

Fenris growled, gesturing to the arm Hawke had tried to tuck under the table as he held Fenris’ gaze.

“What happened?”

Hawke hesitated only briefly before cowing under Fenris’ glare. With a sigh, he dropped his arm upon the table to let everyone have a good look at it. Someone - likely Hawke himself - had done a poor job of bandaging whatever wound he’d sustained. Only a portion of the injury was actually covered, and the bandages themselves were soaked through and through with blood.

“Bandits in the market earlier,” Hawke said. “It’s nothing, Fenris.”

“Is there a reason you’ve not gone to the mage about this?”.

“Anders...wasn’t available today. Really, Fenris, I’m fine--”

“Not available,” Fenris sneered. “If the mage is now refusing to heal you, I see little reason to keep him around. Useless--”

“Blondie lost a patient today, Fenris.”

It took a moment to register the cold, terse voice as belonging to Varric. Fenris turned to look at the dwarf, finding his expression just as frigid. A bit of the ire in Fenris dwindled, replaced by a sense of shame he quickly tried to smother.

“Surely this isn’t an unusual occurrence in a healer’s line of work.”

“Unusual for Blondie,” said Varric. “I don’t know much about mages, Broody, but I know Anders is a rare sort. The man drains himself to the brink of death every day for those poor blighters that stumble into his clinic. Just...wasn’t enough this time.”

Varric shook his head and exhaled a deep sigh.

“He’s a mess right now. Do me a favor and hold off on the bickering for a while, will you? Blondie’s got enough shit to deal with at the moment.”

“I was simply...worried for Hawke,” Fenris offered lamely. He felt naked under the pitiless gazes of his friends. “Was I the only one who was not aware of this?”

The way the others glanced at one another said all he needed to know.

“Didn’t think it was worth mentioning to you,” said Varric. “Come on, Fenris. If you actually care about Blondie, you’re better at lying than I thought.”

Fenris felt something beneath his ribs clench. Although he’d never been particularly close to Varric - certainly not as close to him as Anders was - he’d always counted the dwarf among his good friends. Varric seemed to ‘get’ him. He seemed to understand that Fenris expressed his emotions in unusual, often confusing, ways, and had never accused him of being an uncaring person because of that.

Until now, that was...

“I think I deserve to be informed when the welfare of our only healer is at stake,” Fenris said, his voice laced with bitterness he could not force himself to withhold.

He dropped his gaze to the floor so he would not have to see the way the others looked at him, contempt flickering in their eyes alongside the flames of the dimly burning fire in the hearth. He felt as though he’d only just realized he’d been sitting at a table with strangers the past few hours.

“I’m leaving.”

He let his hurt boil over into anger as he stormed out, because anger was a far more familiar thing.

His vicious scowl managed to deter a small band of looters outside The Hanged Man, who took one look at him before disappearing around the corner. If there were others who waited for him in the shadows, he was not aware. Blood pounded in his ears in his rage, negating his normally sensitive hearing, and he did not pay enough mind to his surroundings for his night vision to matter.

He only came to himself when he stood before the door to Anders’ clinic.

The lantern was out.

Fenris pushed hard against the sealed entrance to the clinic and found it locked tight.

“Mage.”

He pounded his gauntleted knuckle against the door, irritation flaring in his gut when his knock was met with silence.

“Anders, open this door. Now!”

When he was met with silence a second time, his fist was through the wood in an instant. He let the broken lock clatter to the ground before he shoved against the door once more. This time it burst open against the pressure, and Fenris immediately stormed inside.

He’d barely managed to get both feet within the clinic before he felt himself slammed against the nearest wall.

The mage had never dared attack him before. Upon feeling Anders hands on him, Fenris braced himself for a burst of fire or pulse of ice - but there was only raw, mortal anger in Anders’ touch. Being physically shoved by a man with magic at his fingertips was so unexpected, so absurd, that Fenris let himself be pushed to the floor without resistance.

When he managed to scramble to his feet and meet the mage’s gaze, he found no trace of the demon burning in his deep, honey eyes. In fact, he may as well have gazed into a mirror - for in the mage’s expression he saw the same anger that churned inside of himself.

“Get out.”

It was Anders’ voice that spoke, not the eerie baritone of the demon.

The mage’s lip curled upward in disgust as Fenris reached behind him for his sword.

“Get out of my clinic. You’re going to have to go through Justice if you want to kill me, and I really don’t think you want to deal with him right now.”

Fenris hesitated when his hand fell upon the hilt of his sword. He waited for the mage to strike again, to give him reason to attack, to let him be as heartless as the others thought him - but Anders only stared hatefully at him before turning on his heel and heading for the back of the clinic.

“Mage!”

“What?!” Anders shouted, whipping around. There were tears tracks running through the layer of Darktown grime on his face, but his expression was still one of pure rage. “What the Void do you want, Fenris? You’re obviously not injured! Did you come here to mock me? To tell me what a terrible healer I am? Do you not think Justice screaming in my head all day got that across? Do you not think I’ve already torn myself apart over this?!”

Fenris let his arm fall to his side, the shame he’d felt under Varric’s gaze welling up inside of him again and overwhelming his anger. Why had he even come here? Had he thought to hurt the mage to ease his own pain? Had he wanted to push his heel against his face as he lay there at his lowest point?

“I came to check on you.”

Anders eyes widened, and he gave a harsh laugh.

“Check on me. Right. Because you care so much about me, Fenris. The accursed mage, the abomination--”

“I would like to be made aware of things like this henceforth, mage!” Fenris said, raising his voice over the other man. “We cannot afford to have the health of our only healer compromised - by what? The death of a patient? Death is to be expected in your profession.”

“Shut up,” Anders growled. “You don’t understand.”

“Though all mages seem to believe otherwise, you are not the Maker. You cannot stop death, Anders! Not all the time!”

Anders opened his mouth to retort, but clamped it shut at the last moment. Once more his body mirrored Fenris’ own, the tension draining from him as the rage within him warped into something softer but no less heavy. The mage let himself collapse to the floor, cradling his knees to his chest and staring at the dirt beneath him.

“You have no idea what it’s like,” he murmured. “This is the first time I’ve lost a patient since I merged with Justice. He’s confused. Terrified. He wouldn’t stop screaming.”

Anders raised a hand to his temple, massaging the invisible pain that lingered beneath the surface. After a few heartbeats of silence, he looked up at Fenris once more. The tear tracks running down his cheeks were a brilliance against his skin. Fenris hated that they reminded him of his own markings, that he saw more and more of himself within Anders the harder he looked.

“He stopped when you reached through the door.”

Anders gave a weak chuckle.

“It’s funny, you know,” he said. “The way Justice sees you. I’ve tried to tell him that you’re the greatest threat to mage freedom outside of Meredith, but he doesn’t believe me.”

“I haven’t turned you into the templars, have I?”

“Sparing me doesn’t mean anything. Even bigots like you know the worth of a spirit healer. Especially one like me. There aren’t exactly an abundance of human mages willing to heal an elf out of the goodness of their heart.”

“I suppose you expect me to be grateful you have an ounce of decency.”

“Do you even know what the Chantry teaches us about elves, Fenris?” Anders continued, remaining deadpan even in the face of Fenris’ bait. “Your precious Chantry says elves are born into poverty and slavery because they’re paying for their ancestor’s sins against the Maker. Your blood is as much of a curse as mine in their eyes.”

Fenris scuffed his heel in the dirt, stirring up a cloud of dust. He’d heard this all before, from the mouths of well-meaning friends who wished to steer him from religion, and from the lips of priests that thought their words would anchor him to Andraste.

“When you threaten me, Justice tells me to remember the injustices committed against your people. Against you. But I’ve never met another elf as hateful as you, Fenris. I’m tired of trying to believe there’s any hope for you. Justice just looks at you and sees home. Those damned lyrium markings sing to him. He doesn’t know any better.”

Anders said no more. There upon the dirt, he was quiet and emptied of the rage that had possessed him only moments before. The only indication that not all was well was the slow trickle of wetness down his cheeks. Fenris wondered what he might have done if he were Varric or Hawke. He looked at the mage and could not imagine the feel of his skin against his as he embraced him. He could not imagine coaxing a smile from beneath the mage’s sorrow.

A high, mournful wail suddenly pierced the silence of the clinic. Anders had sprung to his feet and fled to the back of the room before Fenris had even registered what happened. Markings pulsing faintly, he followed the mage beyond the ragged veil that separated his sleeping quarters from the rest of the clinic.

The bedroom was a depressing sight. There against the wall was a small, moldering mattress without a frame. The only other furniture the room boasted was a bookshelf against the wall opposite the bed. There were no candles to light the area; instead, a ball of magelight hovered against the ceiling, casting the room in an otherworldly blue glow.

The mage had his back turned to Fenris, but it was evident he held the source of the wailing.

“Mage--”

Anders turned to him before Fenris could advance.

There in his arms, he cradled a baby.

Chapter Text

The baby could be no older than a few months. It was small enough that Anders could tuck it against his chest with only one arm to support it, and only the barest wisp of hair graced its tiny head -- a head from which two very evident, very pointed ears poked out.

“That is an elven child.”

Anders rocked the baby in his arms, gradually getting the child to calm its wails. Only when it had fallen completely silent, apparently drowsing in Anders’ arms, did he respond.

“Yes,” he said. “The woman I lost today was a elf. Thank the Maker she brought the child with her to the clinic today...”

Fenris wasn’t sure what emotion next surged to the forefront of his mind. Anders pulled away from him when he reached out to touch the babe, an action he hadn’t even been aware of committing until he realized the mage was flattened against the bookshelf with the child clutched close.

“You’re not going to take her from me.”

“You intend to keep this child?” Fenris demanded. “Are you truly so ignorant? You are an abomination living in the sewers, with barely enough coin to feed himself!”

“I believe we’ve established my many shortcomings over the years, Fenris,” Anders said with a roll of his eyes. “But I can’t just abandon this child. It’s my fault she’s without a mother!”

Fenris wanted to ask Anders what had happened that day. Just how he’d lost the child’s mother, just what had gone so terribly wrong. But that was the sort of question reserved for friends...people that weren’t Fenris.

“What of her father?”

“Lia never mentioned him. All the times she came to the clinic during her pregnancy, she came alone. I get the awful feeling she wasn’t exactly... in a consensual relationship with the child’s father.”

Fenris stared at the little bundle in Anders’ arms, mulling over the thought of such a vicious act resulting in something so small and innocent. The baby’s hand reached out and clasped at the mage’s dirty robes, and Anders smiled at her as he began to murmur in a strange language under his breath. Though the words were unknown to Fenris, the rhythm of Anders' voice was unmistakable as that of a lullaby.

“You cannot keep her.”

Anders pressed a kiss to the child’s forehead and looked up at Fenris.

“And what would you have me do, Fenris? Do you think this child is better off going to the Chantry? Were you not listening earlier? They think less of elves than they do mages! Maker forbid she turns out to be a mage too!”

Fenris wondered when he’d come to understand Anders so easily, but one look into his eyes and he suddenly knew. There in Anders’ gaze he saw the dream stirring in his mind - the elven child a mage, coming into her power aside him. He would keep her hidden away from the mundane that did not understand, and teach her to love her power rather than fear it. The child would live the life Anders had never had the chance to live.

“You are placing your own desires above the needs of the child.”

“My own desires--”

Anders laughed derisively.

“Because I really need yet another mouth to feed and another life to worry about at all hours of the day.”

“You desire a child of your own.”

“Oh yes, I recall telling you that during one of our many heart-to-hearts!”

“You do not need to tell me. It is not difficult to see what you’re thinking, mage. You’re imagining what you will do if the child is mageblood. How you might make her life different than yours.”

Anders eyes narrowed, and the magelight above them dimmed.

“And is that so wrong, Fenris? To want to do some good in this world?”

Fenris held his breath, waiting for the telltale sparks of Fade light on Ander’s skin to signal the emergence of Justice. Then the mage closed his eyes, inhaled a deep breath, and the magelight flickered back into brilliance.

“You don’t even dream about having a child in the Circle,” Anders said quietly. “They tell us from the time we’re children ourselves that we’re a crime against the Maker. No one wants us. Certainly no one wants more of us. Would it really be so wrong if I raised her to believe she was something other than a monster?”

“You do not even know if she’s mageblood.”

“Then I’ll at least teach her to respect mages! I’ll show her the Chantry is wrong about mages and elves! Maker, Fenris, can’t you let me have this one thing? I know I have nothing! I know I’m not suited for this… but I owe this to her. I’ll never let her go hungry. I’ll find a way to take care of her. And if something happens to me, Justice will still be there to watch over her.”

Fenris cursed under his breath, feeling his markings glow as Anders prepared the start of some spell.

“Stop,” Fenris growled, nodding to the mage’s hands tucked under the baby. “You do not know how that might affect her.”

“It’s just a shield spell. I would never hurt her!”

“Not intentionally, perhaps,” said Fenris. “Listen to me, mage. You have proven you cannot control yourself or the whims of your spirit. You should not be permitted this… but if you are insistent on keeping this child, you must be watched.”

“Watched?” Anders said with a snort. “What, do you think you can bribe some templar to follow me around and smite me whenever I sneeze too hard?”

“I believe the templars have already proven themselves ineffective at keeping you in check,” said Fenris. “I will be the one watching you.”

Chapter Text

Anders’ eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.

“I’m sorry, it sounded like you just said you’d be watching me, Fenris.”

“You heard correctly, mage. You’re not to be trusted as it is, let alone with a child. In any case, my mansion is far safer than this deathtrap you call a clinic.”

“Your mansion? What, am I moving in with you now?”

Anders regarded him warily, tightening his grip on the child as he waited for Fenris’ reply.

“Darktown is full of disease and criminals,” Fenris muttered, realizing the implications of his offer far too late.

“That doesn’t answer my question, Fenris. Are you actually proposing that I move into that filthy mansion of yours? Which, I may add, is hardly the pinnacle of safety either.”

“I am telling you that the child shall reside in the mansion, and if you wish to take part in her care, you will stay there as well.”

Anders stared at him, jaw slack in disbelief.

“And I will have you know I’ve made repairs to the mansion since your last...visit.”

“Oh, you mean when I tagged along to help you look for Danarius?” Anders said, sneering. “The night you nearly tore my arm off because I dared heal you after you were swarmed by shades?”

“The roof no longer has holes,” Fenris continued, deliberately ignoring the mage’s remark. He was not in the mood for a continuation of Anders’ rant on mage rights when the life of a child was at stake. “And I’ve refurbished several of the guest rooms. You may take one of the rooms for yourself and the child.”

“Fenris - Fenris you cannot be serious.”

“I do not joke, mage.”

Fenris noticed the tiny bundle in Anders’ arms wriggling as the child roused from her short-lived slumber. At once, Anders began to rock her gently to and fro again. It awoke something strange in Fenris seeing an elven child held so tenderly, and by a mage no less. Elves were rarely granted kindness in Tevinter, even in infancy. Elven babes were ripped from their mothers’ breasts far too soon. The weak ones were culled, and those found healthy were sold at market like cattle.

As Fenris watched Anders rock the child, he realized he was singing to her in the same peculiar language he’d used before.

“Ander?”

The mage glanced up, thinking Fenris had called his name. The gentle song faded to silence.

“The song you were singing… that was Ander, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Oh...yes. Yes it was.”

“I’ve never heard you speak your mother tongue.”

Anders cleared his throat, a bit of color rising to his pale face.

“My pronunciation is probably terrible. I tried to forget Ander when I was brought to the Ferelden Circle as a child. I was one of the few there that couldn’t speak Common, and the templars mocked me for it. They called me ‘Anders’ because they couldn’t be arsed to pronounce my real name. So I just stopped talking for a while. The next time I spoke was after I’d taught myself the King’s Tongue.”

Fenris did not remark, considering what the mage had just told him. Of course now it seemed obvious ‘Anders’ was not his real name, but Fenris had never truly thought about it before.

“I know some Tevene too,” Anders added. “Enough to know you’ve got a filthy mouth, at least.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow.

“It’s required,” Anders said before Fenris could ask. “Some of the older spell books were never translated to Common. Anyways...weren’t we in the middle of arguing?”

“I am not arguing with you, mage. I am giving you a choice.”

“Some choice. Come live with the mage-hater or let him haul an innocent child to the Chantry. Maker...I’m assuming you’ll want me collared like a Saarebas and put on a steady diet of magebane?”

Fenris grimaced.

“You will not use magic in my home. I see no need for force as long as you can control yourself.”

“That’s funny, a moment ago I wasn’t fit to watch myself at all! Make up your mind, Fenris!”

Why was it so difficult for others to understand him? Varric and the others apparently thought him a heartless bastard, and now the mage regarded him as some addled fool.

“I am trying to help you. Why must you always oppose me?”

“Because it’s you!” Anders exclaimed. “You never help anyone! Especially not me!”

“You’ve frightened the child.”

Anders swore as the baby’s soft whimpers gave way to pitiful wails once again.

“I wouldn’t have frightened her if you hadn’t provoked me!”

Maker, what was he thinking inviting this mage into his home? Even if the man hadn’t been the epitome of a would-be magister, he was still one of the most annoying beings Fenris had ever encountered.

“You expect to raise this child, and yet you behave like a child yourself.”

“So sorry. They don’t exactly teach you how to live like a normal person in the Circle,” Anders spat back.

“You admit it, then. That you don’t know the first thing about taking care of an infant.”

“I admitted it from the start, you--shh, it’s all right, shh…”

Anders turned his attention to the wailing babe, trying to sooth her to no avail. She screamed and writhed in his embrace, batting her arms in the air with impressive strength. Fenris kept back and admired the scene, relishing the idea of the mage contending with a little warrior. He felt himself smile at the thought, but schooled his expression into a frown before Anders noticed.

“Mage. May I...hold her?”

Anders just stared at him, continuing to bounce the howling babe in his arms.

“Mage, give me the child. I’m not planning to run off to the Gallows with her.”

A few more seconds passed before Anders finally gave a nod.

“All right, but take off that breastplate first,” he said. “And those bloody gauntlets.”

Fenris obeyed, tossing his gauntlets aside before unstrapping the breastplate and setting it, along with his sword, on the floor. He felt too small without the armor, and puffed his chest out a bit to compensate. Anders apparently noticed this, for a smile twitched at the corner of his lips as he came forward with the child.

Anders’ hands brushed against Fenris’ as he handed him the baby, and Fenris almost wondered if the mage had sent a jolt of electricity magic through him when they touched. But when his markings did not light, he realized it was not magic at work at all. He nearly yanked the babe from Anders when he felt a blush creep up his neck, severing the contact as quickly as possible.

The baby continued to wail as Fenris tried to arrange her against his chest. He held her as he’d seen elven mothers in Tevinter do, with his arms cradling her bottom and her head resting against his shoulder. Then he nuzzled his face against her’s, letting the pointed tip of his ear brush against her cheek so she knew she was in the care of a fellow elf. Although it surely looked ridiculous, it seemed the natural thing to do.

To his surprise, it worked. Feeling the familiar touch of another elf, the baby instantly began to calm. Her wails subsided to soft coos as he continued to embrace her, and soon he felt a trickle of drool against his neck. She had fallen asleep.

“That…” Anders snorted and shook his head. “That was unexpected.”

Fenris tensed as Anders drew even closer to him, so close he could feel the heat of the mage’s body. Anders was tall - ridiculously so, even for a human - and having him loom over him made Fenris feel caged. He fought the urge to tear away as Anders leaned over to place a kiss against the child’s cheek - the same place Fenris had nuzzled her seconds before.

Anders straightened and looked at Fenris with a smile.

“I’ve never seen anyone do that before. Is that something all elves do with their children?”

“I saw the mothers in Tevinter hold their children in such a manner,” said Fenris. “I’m not sure if it is the same elsewhere.”

Fenris focused his attention on the child as the room fell into silence. He could feel the mage watching him even with his eyes averted. He regarded him with an expression Fenris could not name until he recalled the look was one the mage often directed at Hawke - it was a look of affection. The realization made him ache for the weight of his discarded armor against his body rather than the warmth of the child.

“What is her name?” he asked, trying to lift the uncomfortable milieu that had settled over the room.

Anders did not respond for a moment

“Don’t you -- no, I don’t suppose you’d know,” Anders said. “The city elves here don’t name their children until they’re a year old.”

“An...unusual tradition.”

Anders paused again, as if carefully gauging his next words.

“You’ve never really spent time in an elven alienage, have you?”

Fenris glared at him. The mage knew his general opinion of the alienages well enough he should not ask such questions.

“Look, I’m not even going to argue that the alienages are worse than slavery,” Anders said. “But life there is hardly any better. Those places are rampant with disease. So many children die within their first year, most parents don’t see the point in naming them as babes.”

“I see.”

Fenris reflexively tightened his grip on the child in his arms, as if his embrace alone might anchor her to life.

“As much as I hate to say this,” Anders said. “Maybe we should pay a visit to Merrill.”

Chapter Text

Fenris shielded himself and the child behind Anders as the mage knocked on the door to Merrill’s home. Although Anders had agreed to let him carry the child, he’d forbidden Fenris to wear his armor or weapons while doing so.

The cool, dry air of the Kirkwall night made gooseflesh spread across his exposed flesh, and for one horrible moment he missed Tevinter. There, the air was always heavy with dew, and the wind carried the heat of day through each eve. He gazed down at the baby, wondering if she felt the chill as deeply - but she seemed unmoved by the cold, and so he let himself suffer in silence.

Merrill answered the door with dark circles beneath her eyes, but offered them a pleasant, if somewhat surprised, greeting and welcomed them inside.

“Honestly Merrill, you can’t just answer the door like that,” Anders scolded as they made their way to the living area. “What if I’d been a burglar, or Maker forbid, a templar?”

“Oh, I knew it was you,” said Merrill. “I heard you squabbling with Fenris just before you knocked. Oh my - Fenris, what’s that you have there?”

Fenris stepped out of her reach as Merrill leaned over, trying to glimpse inside the bundle.

“Stay back, witch.”

“Fenris,” Anders sighed. “What did I just tell you outside?”

Fenris glared between the two of them, wondering if he’d been foolish in letting the mage convince him this was the right decision. Hesitantly, he maneuvered the sleeping child so Merrill could see her face and the tip of one pointed ear.

“Oh! A baby!” Merrill gasped. She stared at the bundle in shock before suddenly smiling widely at Fenris. “Congratulations, Fenris. Mythal’s blessing upon you and the mother.”

“She’s not his,” Anders cut in before Fenris could respond. “She’s Lia’s...the woman I -- I was hoping you might have known her.”

“Lia? Oh yes, I did know her. Vaguely,” said Merrill, reaching forward to gently stroke the baby’s little tuff of hair and completely ignoring the death glare Fenris gave her. “She was a very private woman.”

“Do you know who fathered her child?”

“Oh, no, she never said anything about that. Not to me at least. She didn’t really seem to like me very much.”

Fenris withheld the nasty remark on his tongue when he saw the glare Anders was giving him. Right. They needed the blood mage’s help...not that it looked like she’d be able to give them much aid at this rate.

“Did Lia have any other family that you know of?” Anders asked.

Merrill shook her head.

“I’m sorry, Anders, I don’t know much about her at all. I...I believe she lived here alone. I never saw her with anyone.”

Merrill looked up at Fenris with wide, shining eyes.

“What are you going to do with her?” she said quietly.

“The mage wishes to keep her.”

“In Darktown?!” Merrill exclaimed, whipping around to look at Anders. “Anders--”

“They will be staying with me,” said Fenris. “I am not foolish enough to let the abomination raise a child alone in the sewers.”

“Oh. With you,” Merrill said, turning back to Fenris. Her brow furrowed in confusion. “Are the two of you… I mean, Isabela said you were, but I didn’t think…”

“Maker, Merrill, no,” Anders said with a groan. “I don’t even want to know what Isabela said about the two of us, but I assure you it isn’t true.”

“Oh, she said that you and Fenris--”

“Merrill! Just...just keep it to yourself.”

“All right, I won’t say anything else. ...but just to be clear, you’re not, are you?”

“No. Maker, no.”

Fenris noticed the way Anders’ face twisted in disgust at the mere insinuation of them being together, and felt annoyed at himself for the way it rankled him. So what if the abomination thought him disgusting? He was well aware of the fact that most found him unattractive due to his markings, and it wasn’t as if Anders’ opinion mattered to him anyways...

“Look, Merrill, if this child doesn’t have any other family to speak of, we...we’re going to need your help,” Anders said. “I’ve treated elven children at the clinic, but I hardly know anything about elven child-rearing. And Fenris, well...there’s a lot of stuff they skip out on when your entire race is an enslaved population, apparently.”

“I’d love to help with the baby!” Merrill said cheerfully. “This is so exciting! I can teach her all about our people. Our history, our stories -- oh, maybe when she comes of age we can find a Keeper to do her vallaslin--”

“No one is getting near this child will a needle, witch--”

“But Fenris, the vallaslin is an important tradition among the People--”

“Maker, can we worry about getting her to a year old right now?” Anders said. “Merrill, that’s not really what we need help with at the moment. I was thinking more along the lines of what foods I should be feeding her, when we should start teaching her to walk…”

“Oh, right. Sorry, I just… we didn’t have many children in the clan. When we did, it was everyone’s job to take care of them. This is so wonderful, having a child of my own to care for. I mean, she’s not my child of course, I just meant--”

Fenris was growing more and more annoyed by Merrill’s babbling.

“Do you have anything useful to offer or not?” he growled.

“I -- I can tell you what to feed her,” Merrill said, her smile fading. She crossed the room to where a stack of papers was piled on top of a table and began to riffle through them. “But...are you sure she's even old enough to have been weaned? She's so tiny.”

"She's small for her age, but I do know she's old enough for solid food," said Anders. "I keep records of all the births at the clinic. She's just shy of six months now."

“Oh, all right. Just give me just a minute and I’ll write down some foods we typically introduced to the clan's children at that age. Now where did I put that inkwell--”

Anders gave Fenris a sympathetic look as the sound of breaking glass resounded throughout the room.

“She’s trying, Fenris.”

“Hmph. I told you this was useless. We would have been better off going to Hawke.”

“Hawke,” Anders said, chuckling. “What in the Maker’s name makes you think Hawke knows the first thing about babies?”

“He had two younger siblings at one time.”

“Oh...right.” Anders’ expression grew somber. “I forget sometimes. Maker, it still kills me to think what Bethany is going through in the Gallows...”

Anders reached out and softly petted the baby’s head. Fenris knew he was thinking of the child being mageblood once more -- what he would do if any templar ever tried to take her from him. The thought of the child being snatched from them made Fenris think of the countless elven children he’d seen torn from their mothers in Tevinter. It was not the same, of course. Mages were better off taken to the Circles, where the templars might protect them from themselves and the mundane.

But perhaps...perhaps if mage children were all snatched away from their parents without ceremony as Anders said, the templars might find a better way to go about things.

Fenris couldn’t let himself linger on such thoughts, however. He must be prepared if the day came that the child showed magical talents. He could not let Anders plant such a fear of the Circle in her that she cried and fought if templars came for her. It was his duty to teach her of the Imperium, and all that was wrong with a society in which mages lived free.

Mages like Anders were all it took to prove his point. Left alone, Anders had allowed a spirit inside his body and resorted to illegal means to aid others like him.

It was good he had a capable keeper at last.

Chapter Text

He’d known visiting the blood mage would be a waste of time.

While Merrill knew a great deal of elven history and religious traditions, she could only offer them a paltry bit of practical advice. The most useful thing Fenris took away from her insufferable prattling was that the baby would not require a wet nurse, as she was of an age Dalish women typically stopped nursing their infants. Whatever else she’d written down for them was likely useless. Anders had taken one look at her notes and merely given her a strained smile in response.

The mage would never admit Fenris had been right, of course, but he at least kept quiet all the way to Hightown.

Fenris claimed the privilege of carrying the child home, only handing her to Anders when he turned to bolt the entrance to his mansion. Although few were foolish enough to break into the home of the infamous glowing elf of Kirkwall, it was better to be safe than sorry -- especially now that he had a helpless child to look after, as well as an elven babe.

“Huh, looks like you’ve done some work on the place after all,” Anders said when Fenris turned back to him. He clutched the child tighter when Fenris gestured for him to hand her over. “Hey, no, I get to carry her now! You’ve been holding her since we left the clinic.”

Too tired to argue, Fenris began his ascent up the stairs with the mage in close pursuit. He led him to the cleanest of the upstairs bedrooms, and stood awkwardly near the door as Anders inspected the area.

“It’ll do,” the mage concluded after a few minutes of pacing around the room. “But we’ll need to get her a bassinet tomorrow. It’s risky for babies her size to share a bed with their parents. Maker...parent. Never thought I’d get to call myself that…”

“You are not--” Fenris began, but trailed off when he saw the smile on the mage’s face as he gazed down at the little bundle in his arms. “...I will purchase the bassinet tomorrow. You will be needed at the clinic. Do not forget to retrieve my armor while you’re there.”

“Andraste’s tits, that’s right,” Anders groaned. “I’ve still got to figure out a way I’m going to manage with her at the clinic.”

“...The child will stay with me when you attend to your duties. I thought I made it clear you will not be left alone with her.”

“Really?” Anders exclaimed. “And you actually think I’m going to leave her alone with you? I’m still not convinced you won’t haul her off to the Chantry the second you’re given a chance!”

“Hmph. Then I suppose the only option is for me to accompany you to the clinic henceforth."

Anders looked like he wanted to throw his arms up in frustration, but seemed to remember the precious bundle in his arms just in time. He gave an annoyed sigh and settled on the edge of the bed.

“Whatever. Just don’t get in my way. And keep out of sight! You scare my patients every time you come in.”

Fenris grunted. This was apparently an acceptable reply, for it got Anders to stop grousing.

“Listen...I’ll tend to the baby if she wakes up during the night,” Anders said. “Just ignore her if she cries, all right?”

“It would make more sense for us to take turns.”

“No, no, it’s really just more convenient if I do it. I mean, she’s right here with me. It’s fine.”

“That hardly seems...fair.”

“Fair,” Anders snorted. “I’m used to things not being fair, Fenris. Just let me take care of it. Swear to me you won’t come in here if you hear her?”

Fenris gave another noncommittal grunt before retreating to his bedroom. He undressed quietly in the dark, listening for some noise from the other room. The sound of Anders’ boots hitting the floor with a ‘thud’ caught his ear, and he felt satisfied that he’d be able to hear the baby’s cries if she woke.

He settled into his usual uneasy sleep then, lingering on the brink of the Fade even when the promise of sweet dreams called to him. Despite the odds of Danarius finding him dwindling by the day, he could never fully give himself over to slumber. He knew the moment he let himself grow too complacent, that would be when the bastard came for him.

Not to mention he now had to deal with the fact he was harboring a possessed apostate in his home. Fenris’ greatest worry was not that the mage would turn on him, nor that the spirit inside him would take control of its host. He was most concerned for the safety of the mage himself.

Anders had only eluded capture by the templars for so long because he’d made a home for himself in the filthiest, most crime-ridden part of Kirkwall. The templars knew damned well where to find him. The truth of it was, they just couldn’t be arsed to trudge through the sewers for one relatively harmless apostate. The smell alone was reason enough for them to avoid Darktown, but there was also the matter of fighting through Anders’ various supporters and Varric’s ‘protection’ if they planned on getting to the mage. It just wasn’t worth it.

In Hightown, there were far fewer barriers to Anders. While Fenris was a formidable warrior, he doubted even he’d be a match against a dozen templars that caught him unaware.

Damnable mage. His selfish desire to play at father was going to result in disaster for all of them before this was over. If he truly cared about the child as he claimed, he would give her over to someone more capable. Instead, he insisted in putting both the child and himself in more danger than ever, leaving Fenris with the task of protecting them both.

It was a few hours after he’d laid down that a high-pitched whine pulled Fenris from his light slumber. He was up at once, grabbing a tunic and slipping it over his leggings as he made his way down the hallway.

He jerked open the door to the mage’s bedroom and suddenly froze. There upon the bed sat Anders, cradling the baby to his bare chest. The room was alight with an ethereal glow. This time the source of the light was not a spell, but the transparent blue flames that rose from cracks in the mage’s flesh.

“Return to bed, elf.”

The spirit had not bothered to look at him as he spoke, but he raised his head when he realized Fenris was not moving from the door. Anders’ eyes glimmered the same eerie shade as the flames licking at his skin.

“Ah, of course,” the spirit said. “So often I see you through Anders’ eyes that I forget we have never spoken. I am Justice.”

Fenris remained glued to the spot, words failing him. He’d often fantasized about what he might say to the spirit if he ever dared show himself outside battle, but such fantasies had never involved Justice politely introducing himself as he cradled a baby.

“You may leave us. I am capable of calming the child alone.”

It didn’t seem like the spirit meant the baby harm, but from the way he merely stared down at her, Fenris doubted he knew how to help her either. Likely he was racking the mage’s mind for some hint, but there was the distinct possibility that would prove just as fruitless.

“I--” Fenris found his normally deep voice came out a squeak when he finally spoke, and he stopped to clear his throat. “I...I believe she may be hungry. She has not eaten in several hours.”

“I see. Where will I find foodstuffs in this house?”

“Ah...there are a few items in the kitchen pantry. Can...can you let me speak to Anders?”

“Anders is resting,” the spirit said firmly. “I will not disturb him when he so rarely finds peace in his dreams. You will show me where the foodstuffs are kept.”

Justice rose with the babe held tightly against his host’s chest. Watching his stilted movements made the hair on Fenris’ neck prickle. Anders bare feet scraped against the floor as the spirit shambled across the room, and his whole body gave a violent lurch when he came to a sudden halt beside Fenris. Unwanted memories of a Tevinter necromancer’s puppet flashed across his mind.

“Lead me to your pantry.”

Staring into that blank, unblinking gaze, Fenris could think to do nothing but obey. Without another word he started downstairs, the spirit shuffling behind him. The bright Fade light lit their path through the home, illuminating all of the home’s sharp corners and the spider webs woven before unused doorways. Fenris brushed a particularly dusty web aside as they entered the kitchen.

Justice loomed over him as he searched through his barren cabinets for something resembling food. At last he was able to locate a jar of apple preserves -- a gift Isabela had given him several months ago. The spirit watched him intently as he struggled to remove the top. The moment the lid popped off, Justice snatched the open jar from his hands and sniffed at its contents.

“What is this? Will it satisfy the child?”

“It’s...apples. A type of fruit. It will be enough for her until we’ve had a chance to go to the market later.”

“Hm. Show me how to feed her these apples so I will know henceforth.”

“All...all right. Go...sit down at the table. Hold her in your lap.”

The spirit obeyed, continuing to watch Fenris as the elf searched for a spoon and cloth amid the many drawers. Fenris tried not to let on just how unnerved he felt in the spirit’s presence as he sat in the chair beside him, but he found he couldn’t force himself to look at him for very long.

He kept his gaze focused on the baby’s face as he lifted a spoonful of the preserves to her mouth. Justice was silent as the child closed her lips around the spoon, testing the offering. Thankfully the apples were to her liking, and she swallowed down the spoonful before opening  her mouth for another bite.

“I believe I understand how this is done,” said Justice after the baby’s third bite. “I will be able to do this in the future.”

“She is still eating. You must continue feeding her until she’s full.”

“How many times must she eat until she is full?”

“There isn’t a certain number of times. Doesn’t Anders eat?”

It would not surprise him to learn the mage did not, in fact, eat. With his upper body no longer hidden beneath his coat and robes, Fenris could see just how malnourished he was beneath all the layers. Anders was almost painfully thin for someone so tall. His pallid skin pressed tight against his ribs each time the spirit exhaled a breath.

“I am able to feel when Anders is hungry and when he is sated. It is much more difficult to gauge this with the child.”

Had it not been a spirit possessing the body of a malnourished mage speaking, Justice’s concern might have been endearing.

Fenris fed the baby several more bites as Justice watched, finally setting the spoon aside when she spat a mouthful of preserves onto the table.

“That’s usually a good sign she’s full,” said Fenris as he dabbed at her mouth with the cloth.

“I understand,” said Justice. “I thank you for your help.”

“I told Anders I would aid in her care. There is no reason to thank me.”

Fenris tensed when the spirit suddenly extended his hand as if to touch his arm.

But the touch never came. Justice merely let his fingertips hover above his intended target, gaze fixed on Fenris’ face.

“May I touch your lyrium markings?”

“No,” Fenris said tersely, sudden panic rising in his chest.

To his surprise, and great relief, the spirit immediately retracted his hand.

“My apologies. Lyrium is a reminder of my home, the Fade. Though I understand you endured great pain for these markings, I must admit I find them fascinating. They are quite beautiful for something forged from such an injustice. Anders believes so as well.”

Fenris felt his stomach drop.

Beautiful? The mage thought this horrible, ugly part of him...beautiful?

“These are scars, spirit,” Fenris snapped, his chair scraping against the floor as he rose from the table. “Permanent reminders of the wounds Danarius inflicted upon me. There is nothing beautiful about them.”

Heart racing, he fled from the room and up the stairs. The dark void of his bedroom beckoned to him, but he forced himself to go into the mage’s room and wait on the edge of Anders’ bed instead. He closed his eyes and listened to the awful noise of the spirit shuffling up the stairs and down the hall. When Justice’s presence outlined the doorway in Fade light at last, he rose from the bed and steeled himself for what was to come.

Justice moved past him and claimed the spot on the bed where Fenris had sat moments ago. He then began to stiffly rock the child in his arms. This earned him a pleased gurgle and the wave of a little hand.

“I will see to it she resumes her slumber. You may go.”

Fenris nodded, even when part of him screamed that he should stay. He’d seen what Justice was capable of in battle. What if he woke in the morning to find he’d turned on the innocent child…

“Elf. There is one thing I would say.”

“...Yes?”

“I must disagree with you. With what you said of scars.”

Fenris watched the blue flames surrounding the spirit begin to dissipate, dwindling to embers beneath the mage’s skin.

“Anders has many scars,” the spirit said, and Fenris caught his gaze wandering over the expanse of pale, exposed skin at these words. “It angered me when I first came into this body. To feel them, to know the pain Anders suffered...but he has helped me understand. You call your markings the reminder of a wound, elf…”

The spirit was silent for what seemed a long while, and the room grew dark as the last of the Fade light flickered out.

“I cannot understand why you say this, when scars are so clearly a reminder that you are able to heal.”

Chapter Text

Fenris heard the child wake twice more during the night. Though instinct urged him to follow her cries, he could not bring himself to return to the bedroom. He knew Justice would be there in Anders’ place, and he was not prepared to face the spirit again so soon.

Only when sunlight filtered through his windows at dawn did Fenris rise and pad quietly down the hallway. Upon reaching Anders’ bedroom, he cracked the door open just enough to peek inside.

He found the mage curled on his side in the bed, one lanky arm securing the baby against his bare chest. Either he or Justice had managed to kick all the blankets into a heap at the foot of the bed, leaving the whole of him exposed. Fenris eased the door open a bit more, transfixed by the sight of him bathed in the glow of morning.

His gaze lingered on small, unremarkable parts of the mage -- the dusting of freckles that spilled across his shoulders, the bristly shadow of a beard upon his jaw. Even parts of Anders that might have been thought flaws -- the sharp jut of his too-skinny hipbones, the white, corded flesh curving around his flank --

Fenris looked away at once.

Anders has many scars.

Scars that were none of his business.

Anders was practically a stranger to him. Even after years fighting aside him, after all the victories and losses they’d shared, he barely knew the man...and he was pretty sure Anders prefered it that way.

Fenris shut the door without a sound. He let a few minutes tick by, then tentatively knocked against the wood.

“Mage? Are you awake?”

He knocked again, louder, and received a displeased groan in response.

“Mage, it is time to get up. Now.”

“Give me a minute, elf,” came a muffled voice from the other side of the door.

“I’m going downstairs. I will be waiting for you in the kitchen.”

“Hold on, hold on! I have no idea where the kitchen is in this blighted house. Just give me five seconds…”

Oh, right. Anders wouldn’t remember his way to the kitchen, would he? In fact...would Anders remember anything about the prior night?

The door to the bedroom swung open and Anders stumbled out with the baby clutched against his side. He’d rather haphazardly thrown on his robes and his face was already twisted in the grimace Fenris knew so well. To think he’d looked so...different without that frown marring his features.

“Maker’s balls, Fenris, what time is it?”

“Morning. Isn’t that when you’re supposed to open your clinic, mage?”

“Like anyone can tell when it’s morning in the sewers,” Anders muttered. “Ugh, but I can tell you I never open this damned early, that’s for sure.”

“In that case, we have time to attend to our errands before heading to Darktown.”

Anders narrowed his sleep-puffy eyes at him.

“You know, I’d really hoped you’d have one redeeming thing about you. But no, on top of everything else, you’re a bleeding morning person. Elf. Whatever. There’s just no forgiving that.”

Fenris offered a snort as reply before leading the mage downstairs.

“Hey, so, uh...the baby didn’t wake you up last night, did she?” Anders asked once they’d reached the dining room and sat down for breakfast.

Fenris hesitated, trying to gauge what Anders already knew. Obviously he’d planned for Justice to take control of his body while he slept -- that’s why he’d been so intent on keeping Fenris out of his room. But could the mage truly not remember his actions when Justice took control? It seemed strange, given that they shared a body and mind.

Fenris had always thought the supposed disconnect between Anders and his spirit to be nothing more than a convenient excuse. Anders only seemed to mention it following one of his outbursts, lamenting that he’d been ‘blacked out’ the entire time the spirit wreaked havoc in his body. There was no way to truly know if he was lying, however.

“I heard her several times, but fell back asleep shortly afterwards,” Fenris finally said. “I assume you were fine without my help?”

“Oh, yes, no trouble at all,” Anders replied, letting out what Fenris assumed was a sigh of relief. “I’d like to keep things that way, all right? Just me taking care of her at night.”

Fenris shrugged.

“All right.”

Let the mage think him fooled for now. While he was hardly thrilled about Justice’s presence, he’d expected him to show himself eventually. Besides, a part of Fenris was curious to learn more about the spirit...and perhaps Anders as well.

“I suggest we stop by Hawke’s first this morning,” Fenris said, glancing across the table at Anders as he cleaned a bit of food from the baby’s mouth.

“Why?”

“Because he has a right to know what you’ve gotten us into. And I still believe he might be able to help us. He’s got to be more useful than the blood mage.”

“Well...ok,” Anders said reluctantly. “Can I uh, have a few minutes to wash up?”

“Make it quick. The bathing room is down the hall on the left.”

“Right,” Anders muttered, practically leaping to his feet. “Oh, while I’m doing that can you get her changed?”

“Changed--?”

Anders rummaged in the pockets of his coat, finally tugging out a thick, white cloth.

“Here,” he said, shoving the cloth at Fenris. “I’ve got a few extra on me for later. I’ll be back shortly.”

“Mage, what--”

“Just use the pin she’s already wearing,” Anders called before disappearing down the hall.

The smell hit him just as he heard the door to the bathing room slam shut.

“Mage, I will end you.”

“Maker, I’m trying to stop,” Anders said, barely containing another laugh. “I just can’t believe you actually…you actually threw up, you--”

“Perhaps we should see how funny it is when it is your guts on the floor,” Fenris said menacingly, shoving a glowing fist in Anders’ face to be sure the mage got his meaning.

But even that couldn’t shut him up. Apparently the mage was never going to get over the fact he’d puked trying to change that putrid diaper. Fenris glanced down at the little one in his arms and still couldn’t fathom how she’d managed such a disaster.

Anders got his laughter under control just as someone came to the door of Hawke’s estate.

“Well hello boys,” Isabela greeted them, smirking broadly as she leaned her weight against the doorframe. “I heard some very interesting news about the two of you. Or should I say the three of you.”

“Merrill, so help me,” Anders muttered under his breath. “When did you even find time to snoop around the alienage, Isabela?”

“Like I needed to snoop with the two of you bitching your way across Kirkwall last night, sweet thing.”

Fenris let her lean over him and get a look at the bundle in his arms.

“Oh, she’s adorable! A real wonder with the two of you as parents. And Anders dear, I’ve got to say, those robes did an amazing job of hiding the pregnancy all that time.”

“Yes, it’s remarkable, isn’t it?” Anders said, rolling his eyes. “Fenris and I were so desperate for a child of our own that we were willing to resort to the heinous blood magic such a thing requires.”

“Wait, that’s...actually possible?” said Isabela, regarding Anders with a wary look. “You’re shitting me, aren’t you?”

“I’m sure there’s at least one demented magister out there that’s come up with something,” Anders assured her. “Are you going to let us in? We need to see Hawke.”

“Oh all right,” Isabela said, giving a dramatic sigh. “But for fucking with me, I’m charging an entry fee. Hand over the kid.”

Fenris and Anders exchanged a look.

“Daggers off,” said Fenris.

“Don’t smother her,” said Anders, nodding pointedly at Isabela’s chest.

Isabela chuckled as she took the baby into her arms, her gaze softening when the child gurgled at her.

“I told Varric he had it all wrong about you two,” she said as she led them inside. “Living together, a cute little baby… I can’t wait to rub this in his face.”

“Ugh, I thought we were on the same page with this,” Anders muttered. “We’re not...it’s not like that.”

“It never will be like that,” Fenris added.

“If you say so, darlings. So, what’s the little bundle of joy’s name?”

“That’s...a bit of a weighted question,” Anders said after sharing another glance with Fenris. “Her mother, Lia… the patient I lost… she was an elf from the alienage...”

“So? What’s that got to do with anything?”

“City elves don’t normally name their children for a year. In case they, you know, die, before that.”

“And the two of you haven’t come up with a name for this one yet?” Isabela scoffed. “In Rivain, the seers believe the best way to scare off bad luck is to take away its power. You’re practically begging for death to come knocking if you don’t name a child.”

Fenris was not one for superstition, but he agreed it was time they name the babe. The elven slaves in Tevinter gave their children names at birth, even if that name was to be stripped from them by the master the following day. A birth name was a little secret mothers tucked away in their hearts and whispered to their children under the cover of night. Fenris could vaguely recall the feel of his mother’s kiss against his ear as she tucked him into bed, but it was impossible to recall the name she’d murmured to him those many years ago.

“She should be given an elven name, in honor of Lia,” said Fenris.

“Oh? Any ideas, sweet thing?”

“I know very little Elvish. So no.”

“Good thing we’ve got our little Merrill then,” said Isabela happily, the gleam in her eyes daring either of them to make a snide remark. “I’m sure she’ll be happy to help you pick out a name whenever you pop over for a visit again. Oh, hello Hawke!”

Anders and Fenris looked up to find Hawke frozen at the top of the stairs. His eyes were wide, locked on the little bundle in Isabela’s arms. Isabela grinned and lifted the baby to give Hawke a better view.

“Surprise! You’re a daddy, Hawke!”

“Oh for Andraste’s sake, she’s kidding!” Anders called before Hawke could throw himself over the railing. “Get down here and I’ll explain. Maker, Isabela…”

Isabela snickered and retreated to the sitting room with the baby as Hawke stumbled down the stairs.

“She is joking, right?” Hawke hissed as soon as he’d come to stand before Anders and Fenris.

“Don't you think you'd have noticed a little something before now if she wasn't?” Anders said, rolling his eyes in annoyance. “But perhaps if you’re that concerned, you could avoid docking in that harbor altogether.”

“No need to be jealous!” Isabela cackled from the other room. “I’m sure Hawke’s willing to dock his ship elsewhere if you’d just ask!”

Fenris noticed a bit of pink rise to Anders’ cheeks at her words.

“Anyways,” Anders continued, shooting a glare in the direction of Isabela’s voice. “It’s...the baby belonged to Lia. A patient of mine. She--”

“Varric told us,” Hawke said. “About Lia, that is. He never mentioned… Maker, Anders, what are you going to do?”

Anders bit his bottom lip and looked over his shoulder at Fenris. Hawke’s gaze fell on the elf as well, his eyes widening as if he’d just realized he was there. Fenris tensed, remembering the way Hawke had regarded him the prior day. How he and the others had looked upon him like he was some callous bastard...how Varric had accused him of not caring about Anders’ health, and no one had disagreed.

“Well...Fenris is going to let me stay at his mansion with her for a while,” said Anders. “I...I stayed over last night, in one of the guest rooms. I still need to retrieve my belongings from the clinic later, and we’ll need some supplies for her, but…”

He trailed off, pleading with his eyes for Fenris to explain. The blush from before had spread, coloring his entire face a bright red. Fenris found himself at a similar loss for words, and merely stared back at Hawke, hoping he’d break the awkward silence.

“So you’re...keeping her,” Hawke said. “With Fenris. In his house.”

“Sounds like a recipe for disaster, I know,” said Anders with a weak laugh. “But it’s our only option. Lia had no lover or family to speak of, and it’s not like I can keep a child in Darktown. Oh, and let’s not even pretend giving her to the Chantry is an option. I’m going to make this work, Hawke. After what happened, I...I owe it to her.”

“Well...you’re more than welcome to stay here instead, Anders. I'm sure Bodahn and Sandal would adore the baby.”

Though Hawke spoke to Anders, his eyes were firmly fixed on Fenris.

“I believe it is best if I keep watch over the mage for the time being,” Fenris said, answering Hawke’s unspoken question.

“Watch, huh?”

Hawke’s expression darkened. Fenris knew that growing up aside a mage sister and father had given Hawke no great love for the templars and their practices. He was especially bitter toward the Circles after what had happened to Bethany. Since she’d been taken, it seemed Hawke was always at odds with Fenris on the subject of mage rights, despite their shared experiences as warriors.

“I agreed to it, Hawke,” Anders said. “Thank you for your offer, but I can’t ask that of you. Fenris and I will be fine. And besides, you’re close enough you’ll hear the explosion when one of us kills the other.”

Anders gave another weak chuckle, but Hawke did not laugh in return. Instead, he continued to glare at Fenris, eyes full of the same contempt from the previous night. Fenris saw him not so subtly tug at the sleeve of his robe, exposing the edge of a bloody bandage.

“Oh, Hawke, you’re bleeding!” Anders exclaimed when he noticed the poorly-dressed wound on Hawke’s arm. “Maker, what happened?”

Hawke finally broke eye contact with the elf as Anders scurried toward him. He assured Anders he was fine as the mage rolled up the sleeve of his house robe, but Anders got one good look at his injury before he was tugging him toward the kitchen.

“Fenris, I’ve got to get him properly patched up. Wait for us in the sitting room,” Anders said as they disappeared into the kitchen. “Hawke, why didn’t you come to me…”

Chapter Text

“There we go, all healed. Honestly, Hawke, you could have just come to me--”

Anders stilled, looking down at the hand that had closed around his wrist.

“Hawke…?”

“Anders. Anders, look at me. What are you doing?”

Hawke only tightened his grip when Anders tried to pull away, and Anders was forced to meet his eye. It pained him to look at him.

“This thing with Fenris. What’s this really about?”

“I told you. It’s really the only option I had, Hawke.”

“But it’s not! You can stay here with the baby. It won’t be an issue at all, I swear to you. I just… I need to know you’re safe.”

Hawke released his wrist, and Anders let his arm fall limply to his side.

“Do you not want to stay here because of what happened between us?” Hawke asked quietly.

“That’s part of it,” Anders admitted, his voice straining as he choked back the hurt welling inside of him. Just being around Hawke hurt. His touch had nearly brought him to tears. He wasn’t sure if he could handle talking about...that.

“It’s just funny to me,” Anders said. “That a year ago you cut me out of your life because I asked you if I could move in, and now you’re trying to convince me I’m welcome here.”

“Anders, a year ago I wasn’t ready for -- it was so sudden, I just…” Hawke gave an exasperated sigh. “A year ago I wasn’t in a place I could handle living with another person.”

“Isabela seems to have settled in rather nicely.”

“Isabela doesn’t live here. Maker, she’s hardly ever here. Most of the time she makes me meet her at the Hanged Man if we’re...getting together. It’s really not as serious as you think.”

“You’ve been with her for a year now. Sure seems serious to me.”

“Anders, really?” Hawke said, simpering. “Isabela’s not the type that wants to settle down. We’ve got a good thing going, but it’s not...it’s pretty casual really. She still sees other people, and I’m welcome to see others if I want. Not that I’ve wanted to see anyone else. Well...not except...”

There was the briefest hesitation before Hawke reached out and gently took Anders’ hand in his. Despite the way it burned against his skin, Anders couldn’t make himself tear away. He squeezed Hawke’s hand in return, and a wave of happiness washed over him.

It had been so long since he’d felt such a tender touch. Not since his last night with Hawke those many months ago had he let another close. He hadn’t wanted anyone else. He wasn’t sure he’d ever want someone again in the way he’d wanted Hawke…

“Isabela’s right, you know,” said Hawke softly. “All you need to do is ask.”

Anders tugged away just as Hawke leaned in to kiss his lips.

“Anders…?”

“I’m not doing this, Hawke,” Anders said. It took every bit of his strength to say those words, when all he wanted to do was let himself fall into the warrior’s arms and kiss him until they were both breathless.

“I never stopped caring about you, Anders. I was a fool to ever let you think I did. Just please, give me another chance--”

“This is for your own good,” said Anders. “Maybe you and Isabela aren’t ready to admit it to yourselves, but what the two of you have isn’t just some fling. You’re...happy together, Hawke. You’ve been happy together for a year. I’m not going to come between you.”

“Anders, Isabela still talks about that electricity thing you tried on her once. You wouldn’t come between--”

“I would, Hawke, because I’m not willing to share. I’m not the same man Isabela knew all those years ago. If you wanted to be with me, it would have to be me and only me, and I know that’s not what you want. It’s fine. It hurts, but at least I know you’re happy.”

Feeling the old bitterness well to its brink, Anders turned from Hawke before he exploded at him. Or cried. Most likely he’d cry, and that would lead to Hawke trying to comfort him, touching him again…

“I just don’t understand why you think you’re going to find what you need with Fenris.”

Hearing the revulsion in Hawke’s tone, all of the bitterness threatening to overwhelm Anders was suddenly replaced by utter shock.

“What?” he said incredulously, whipping around to squint at Hawke.

“Fenris,” Hawke muttered. “Maker, I’d hoped Isabela was just kidding around but--”

“Andraste’s arse, you too? Has Isabela convinced everyone that I’m having some kind of affair with that deranged elf?”

“I guess rogue training allowed her to pick up on the subtleties better…”

“Hawke, just because you’re a warrior doesn’t mean you lack common blighted sense,” Anders grit out. “You’d know if there was something going on with me and that… ugh! How can you even think…”

“I mean, I kept telling myself it was ridiculous, but now you’re moving in with him--”

“For the baby!”

“...and the fact you’re raising a child together…”

“We’re not -- Maker’s breath, I can’t believe you of all --”

Anders had to take a moment to exhale an angry growl and collect himself.

“Hawke. This little arrangement with Fenris is purely one of convenience. We’re not together. We’re never going to be together. Do you really think I’m so stupid as to...want someone like that?”

Hawke gave a little shrug.

“I don’t think you’re stupid, Anders,” he said softly. “But I know you can fall for people who aren’t always good for you. Like me.”

“Hawke, you’re not--”

Hawke gave a small smile, and raised a hand to silence him.

“I wasn’t good to you, Anders. I can admit that. But I’ll be damned if I see you get hurt again if I can stop it.”

The way Hawke gazed at him, eyes so full of compassion and concern, made Anders’ heart swell with the love he was trying so desperately to quash. He’d accepted he was not the person Hawke needed, nor was Hawke the person he needed. It wasn’t fair to either of them to pretend otherwise.

"There's nothing between us. Really."

"I still don't trust him."

“Look, Hawke, I appreciate the concern, but I know what I’m getting into. I’ve dealt with crazy elves before. Fenris may think he’s got me under his thumb, but I’m watching him as well.”

He forced a smile, but Hawke didn’t seem to relax.

“I’m a grown-up, Hawke. I can take care of myself.”

“Just…just know I’m always here if you change your mind.”

Hawke came forward and gently cupped his cheek.

“About anything.”

Fenris sat beside Isabela in one of the rocking chairs that had belonged to Hawke's mother. The baby was awake in Isabela’s arms, mouth agape and eyes wide as she watched Isabela’s sparkling earrings jingling to and fro.

“What happened to our loverboys?”

“The mage is healing Hawke’s injured arm,” Fenris said, not bothering to take her bait. Generally, he found arguing with her only prolonged the teasing.

“Healing his arm, hm? They needed to be all alone for that?”

“The mage knows I dislike magic being used in my presence.”

“Oh, you really are missing out on so much fun,” Isabela sighed. “Anders has such a way with those sparkle fingers of his. Or used to at least, before that stick-in-the-mud came along.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

He thought of Justice holding the baby in the early hours of morning. The words he’d spoken to Fenris - beautiful, he’d called his brands.

“Look, sweetheart, you know I don’t like to get too serious, but about last night at the Hanged Man…I could tell Varric hit a nerve. If it helps any, I know you care about Anders.”

“I was simply annoyed that I’d not been informed of the...incident. That’s all.”

“Fenris. You’re subtle, I’ll give you that,” Isabela chuckled. “Subtle enough to get under Varric’s big nose, and that’s saying something. But you can’t fool me. Mmhmm, I’ve seen you.”

“Seen me what, exactly?” Fenris muttered.

“The way you defend him in battle,” Isabela said. “You always position yourself in front of him. Oh, and the way you fight. You’re so much more vicious when you’re defending Anders, so much more passionate--”

“It’s not my fault the mage is weak and needs protecting.”

“And the way you rush to him the moment the battle ends, demanding to know if he was hurt. Checking over every inch of that tall, lean body for injuries--”

“I...I’m only making sure the fool heals himself before healing anyone else.”

“Oh! And let’s not forgot the fact you’re now living together and raising a child!”

“That’s not--”

“You caaare about him,” Isabela said, grinning widely. “Or was Varric right?”

“I…I do not wish him ill.”

“Oh come on, Fenris. Just admit it. You’ve got a thing for our resident healer. You want to shove Anders facedown and fuck him senseless.”

“Excuse me?” came a voice from the entrance to the room.

Of course Hawke and Anders had chosen that exact moment to join them.

“Well, that was quick,” said Isabela, winking at the two men. “You boys didn’t need to rush for our sakes.”

“We need to leave,” Anders said. “We’re going by the market before we head to the clinic. Need to get a few things for the baby.”

Anders came over and took the baby from Isabela, tucking her against his chest. He gave Fenris a quick glance before looking away. He was blushing. Surely the mage didn’t think he actually wanted to…

They were both silent as Hawke followed them to the door. When Fenris turned to say goodbye, Hawke came forward and brought Anders and the baby into a gentle hug.

Something in Fenris twisted when he saw Anders relax against the other man. Something he’d never thought he’d feel in regards to Anders. Seeing the way Hawke seemed to fit against him like a matching puzzle piece, the way Anders smiled so easily for him...

It was a deep, subdued feeling, but there was no denying it.

He was jealous.

Chapter Text

Hawke watched the gentle rise and fall of Isabela’s chest as she slept. The dark spirals of her hair spilled freely across the pillows, her kerchief lying forgotten on the floor with the rest of her clothing. The small, golden bead beneath her lips was the only glimmer of metal remaining against her skin. He’d kissed the red from her mouth, and the heat of their lovemaking had washed much of the kohl and rouge from her face, baring all of his lover’s wondrous imperfections.

He admired the fine lines of age etched against her forehead, the claims of smiles and laughter engraved on either side of her lips. What a fool he’d been when they first met, believing there was no secret part of Isabela yet to discover, no beauty she did not flaunt before all.

The dark line of hair trailing down her belly, the pale, jagged scars across her hips and thighs, the puffiness beneath her eyes when she first woke -- all treasures she kept locked away and buried deep.

Perhaps Anders was right. Perhaps he really was in love with her...

Isabela groaned softly and rolled onto her side, and Hawke savored the last few moments he would have with her before she roused and made up some excuse to leave. For some time now he’d wanted to revisit the idea of her moving into the mansion, though he doubted she’d changed her stance on Hightown. It was just...they had been together for a year...

“Mmm, that was amazing, sweetheart,” came Isabela’s muffled voice from the pillows, followed by a loud yawn as she raised her head. “I dare say you could give a Grey Warden a run for their money.”

“Not the Grey Warden I took to bed,” Hawke said with a snort. “Anders was bloody insatiable.”

Isabela’s eyes gleamed mischievously, and knew he’d managed to net her for at least a few more minutes.

“Did you ask him, then?”

“Yes. I let him know the invitation was from both of us, but he still refused.”

“Oh, balls. I was so looking forward to watching him use that electricity spell on you. Mmm, I suppose his affections just lie elsewhere now. He’s as hung up on Fenris as that elf is on him! It’s kind of sweet, isn’t it?”

“You’re actually serious, aren’t you?”  Hawke said, frowning. “You actually believe that Anders and Fenris are secretly pining for one another.”

“Secretly!” Isabela snorted. “Have you seen them in battle, Garrett? Anders wouldn’t notice if one of us had our heads chopped off he’s so busy watching Fenris. And Fenris never moves from his side!”

“That doesn’t mean they want to jump one another.”

“No, but it’s certainly a change between them. They’re so...synchronized now. It’s almost like they were made to fight aside one another.”

Hawke snorted and shook his head.

“Merrill agrees with me, you know,” Isabela said. “She thinks it has something to do with the lyrium and Justice. I tend to believe it’s just good ol’ fashioned lust at work.”

She winked at him and he merely rolled his eyes in reply. He didn’t want to think she was right. Despite the fact he’d ended his relationship with Anders a year ago, he still held feelings for the man. That didn’t mean he wanted to keep him from finding another lover, but he just couldn’t stomach the thought of him with someone like Fenris.

Of late, his friendship with Fenris had been rather strained. Ever since Hawke had taken a stance on mage rights and began aiding apostates, Fenris had distanced himself from him. No more evening meals together at the mansion. No more impromptu treks to the Wounded Coast on quiet days. Fenris was even starting to skip the group’s weekly Wicked Grace night -- last night had been a rare exception.

He really wanted to get along with the elf. Since Aveline’s promotion to guard captain, Fenris had been his go-to warrior for assignments, and he was rather good company when he wasn’t spewing anti-mage rhetoric.

But he simply couldn’t look past Fenris’ beliefs. Especially since what had happened to Bethany. Especially if he really did have his eye on Anders.

Watching Anders work was far less exciting than Fenris expected. In fact, it was downright disappointing .

In Tevinter, mages leapt at any and every excuse to flaunt their talents. Fenris often recalled Danarius warming his tea with heat magic, or dusting off his dirty boots with a wind spell when he was in the company of his fellow magisters. Using magic for such frivolous things was just another way to affirm his strength and intimidate his enemies. The more often he could do it, the better.

By contrast, Anders reserved his healing magic for treating only the most severe cases that entered his clinic. The majority of the time the mage simply gave his patients a poultice or bag of herbs and sent them on their way. Between visitors he attended to mundane tasks like changing sheets on the cots or inventorying supplies. Occasionally, he glanced toward the far corner of the clinic where Fenris lurked, keeping watch over the child.

Currently the babe was tucked under a pile of blankets in the bassinet they’d purchased at the market earlier. Her little ears were folded back and a trickle of drool seeped from the corner of her mouth as she snoozed, oblivious to the thoughts that plagued her caretaker.

If only she would wake and cry, giving him something to actually do. He’d even welcome a stinky diaper at the moment.

Anything to get his mind off what had happened at Hawke’s...

Jealous.

Fenris couldn’t remember experiencing jealousy in his time as a slave. He doubted he’d even been capable of feeling such an emotion then. How could he have desired someone else’s belongings when he’d not even thought himself worthy of basic needs like food and water?

Now, for the first time in his life, he knew what it was to want something that didn’t belong to him. He’d looked upon Hawke and ‘want’ had rang loud and clear in his mind. He’d not wanted Hawke’s riches, nor his power. He’d wanted...

He’d wanted to be in Hawke’s place. To be needed. To be able to give someone a part of himself as easily. To have something within him that others even wanted. And more than anything, he’d wanted…

No.

He shook his head, abruptly severing the thought. Isabela didn’t know what she was talking about. He held no secret affection for the mage, and he certainly didn’t want to bed him. Honestly, that woman could twist anything to suit her own perverted fantasies. He only protected Anders so fiercely in battle because the mage was incapable of protecting himself, and that was that.

A sudden noise from the entrance caught Fenris’ ear, and he looked up to see Anders pushing the doors to the clinic shut. When he finished he leaned heavily against the nearby wall and stared into the empty room before him. Fenris waited in silence, finding it odd the healer was turning in so early. Surely they hadn’t been there for more than a couple hours?

Anders muttered something under his breath and headed to his desk, where he proceeded to sit and stare at the many papers scattered across its surface. He remained like this for several minutes, until Fenris cleared his throat to catch his attention.

“Are you closing for the day, mage?”

“Huh...oh, no I--” Anders scrubbed at his face and sighed. “I’m just taking a break. It’s always quiet this time of day.”

Fenris allowed himself his first good look at the mage since they’d left the market. Anders was pale as a corpse, the blue threadwork of his veins a sharp contrast against the white of his flesh. Dark circles hung beneath his eyes, and exhaustion seemed to weigh down every inch of him.

“Perhaps you should go to the back and rest for a while.”

“I’m fine,” Anders muttered. “I have to be. Slacking off isn’t an option with Justice.”

Fenris grimaced, suspecting Justice was to blame for Anders’ current state. Even if Anders had been in the Fade the prior night, his body had been very much up and running about in reality.

“I’m sure your spirit will understand.”

“I doubt that,” Anders said, his tone surprisingly bitter.

“You doubt it would want you well-rested?”

Anders groaned and dropped his head in his hands. When he looked up at Fenris, it was clear he was extremely annoyed.

“You really don’t know anything about spirits, do you?”

“So enlighten me.”

“I’m tired of trying to enlighten people. You especially,” Anders muttered. “Look, it comes down to this -- when you’re possessed, you don’t get to call the shots anymore. If Justice thinks I can keep going, I keep going. He’s already giving me a massive headache just for thinking about taking a nap.”

Fenris paused to think of a reply that wouldn’t ignite a full-blown argument. Before he could come up with anything suitable, Anders gave another exasperated sigh and continued to ramble.

“I will never regret my decision to merge with Justice,” he said. “It was the wisest choice I’ve ever made. Because of Justice, I found what I was meant to do in life. I’m putting my talents to good use, helping people, making a real difference. But Maker…”

Anders trailed off, shaking his head.

“But?” Fenris pressed.

“It’s nothing. Nevermind.”

“Mage…”

“Sometimes I just can’t deal with it!” Anders blurted. “Sometimes I just need to get piss drunk and lay in bed for a week! Sometimes I need to step away from everyone else’s problems and not give a shit about anybody but myself. I’m still human!”

Fenris caught a hint of wetness gathering in the corners of the mage’s eyes. The clinic grew quiet once more, and Fenris felt a mounting anxiety stirring in the pit of his stomach. He focused on the baby at his feet, willing himself not to flee.

“You forfeited those luxuries when you allowed a spirit inside of you,” he finally spoke, aware that such words would only serve to make things worse. He swallowed and found more awkward words tumbling forth. “Far too many people depend on you for you to wallow in self-pity, mage.”

Anders glared at him, the sadness fading from his expression. Fenris tensed, waiting for the mage to scream at him or lash out, but he merely gave a weak chuckle.

“Almost Justice’s exact sentiments. Well, except you didn’t prattle on and on about righteousness for several more hours,” he said, his lip trembling a little as he tried to maintain a smile. “If you’d ever stop calling him a demon, I think you’d get on well with Justice, you know. Though Maker help me if the two of you ever team up.”

Anders’ eyes then fell on the baby.

“Namaya,” Anders said. “What do you think of Namaya for a name? Maya for short.”

He looked up at Fenris expectantly. It took a moment for the elf to adjust to Anders’ abrupt change of mood.

“An old friend of yours, I take it?”

“Hah. Namaya...real jewel of a woman. Met her after my, what was it, third? Third escape from the Circle. I stumbled into some dump of a tavern outside of Amaranthine, and saw this little elf sitting at the bar. She wasn’t really a looker, but I was...less discerning in my youth. She winked at me and gestured for me to follow after her into the back room. Never even suspected she was a member of the Thieves Guild until I was naked with a blade to my throat.”

“You’re telling me you wish to name the child after a thief that nearly murdered you.”

“Oh, she didn’t get that far. I cast an ice spell on the floor and she fell right on her arse. I did too, actually. My bare arse. Maker, that was cold…”

“Mage--”

“Right. Well, long story short, I wound up freezing us inside the room, and had to burn down the wall to get us out. You can imagine how well that went over with the tavern patrons. A few of the brutes chased us into the woods, and they managed to catch up to Namaya. I could have gotten away, but it didn’t feel right leaving her behind, even if she had just tried to rob me. So I cast a lightning spell and got them off her, and we kept running.”

“And?”

“I guess we agreed on a truce somewhere along the way. Unfortunately, the freak lightening storm I’d conjured had alerted every templar in Thedas to my location, and I was captured within a few days.”

“Was that the last you saw of Namaya, then?”

“She helped me escape the Circle a few weeks later,” Anders said, grinning at the memory. “Said she’d be damned if she was in debt to a mage. But right after that I saved her from a bear, and after she repaid me for that, there was some other disaster I averted. Every time she thought she’d finally managed to shake me, it was Anders to the rescue again and yet another life debt. Maker, that woman hated me.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow.

“Then why name a child for her?”

“The last time I saw her, Nayama told me where to find my phylactery. Once I destroyed it, I would be free of the Circle forever. We both knew I could never repay her for my freedom, but I joked that one day I’d name my firstborn in her honor.

‘Good to know I’m free of you at last. That’s one promise I can be sure you’ll never be able to keep,’ she said.”

Anders’ smile faded at these words, a darkness crossing his features. There was heavy silence once more.

“Maya,” Fenris said after a moment, breaking the quiet.

Anders looked up at him.

“Maya,” Fenris repeated, and the little one in the bassinet opened her eyes, gazing up at him with a look of wonder. He glanced at Anders and gave a soft nod. “I believe Maya approves of her name, mage.”

Chapter Text

Naming Maya seemed to lift Anders’ spirits, and the mage returned to his work with a renewed sense of purpose. Fenris found his own mood changed as well, and allowed himself to relax as Anders went about his business. He kept thinking of Anders’ story as the day went on, at times the memory even causing a small smile to cross his features.

It was the first time Anders had shared anything personal about himself with him. Fenris didn’t count all of the mage’s ravings about the injustice of the Circles or his grumblings about his troubles in Kirkwall. His tale of the elven thief had been something different entirely, something he might share with Isabela or Varric over drinks at The Hanged Man.

Speaking of Varric…

The clinic was nearly empty when the dwarf showed up. Merrill was trailing behind him with a bounce in her step, seeming far too cheerful for someone who’d just taken a stroll through the sewers. All the tension Fenris had managed to quell immediately returned upon seeing them, and he sank down a bit in hopes they wouldn’t notice his presence.

It was too much to hope for. After he’d greeted Anders, Varric turned to stare directly at the spot Fenris sat hunched over Maya’s bassinet. Fenris felt his heart beat a little faster as the dwarf began to make his way toward him. There was no contempt in his eyes, but Fenris doubted he was there to congratulate him on his new role as Anders’ keeper.

“Broody,” Varric greeted him, his friendly tone obviously forced. “So Daisy tells me you’ve got a little surprise to share. Care to introduce us?”

Fenris hesitated before turning the bassinet toward Varric, allowing him to lean over and get a look at her.

“Cute kid. Elf, I hear?”

“Yes,” said Fenris. “She is the daughter of the patient Anders lost yesterday.”

A silence followed, and Fenris knew both of them were remembering their encounter the prior night. He saw Varric purse his lips and then draw in a sigh, and knew he was preparing to drop his friendly act. A short distance away, Merrill was keeping Anders occupied so he would not see their exchange.

“Hawke says you’ve moved in with Blondie.”

“Yes. I agreed to help him with the child. Maya. Her name is Maya.”

“Hmm.” Varric frowned before exhaling another sigh. “Fenris. I’m not convinced this is the best arrangement given the history between you two.”

“He agreed.”

“Sure, but sounds like you put him in corner to get him to agree. Said you’d take the kid to the chantry or something if he didn’t let you…’watch’ him, I believe is the word Hawke used.”

“I am doing what is best for Maya,” Fenris said. “He is an apostate and an abomination. He cannot be trusted to care for a child on his own.”

“Yeah, see, there’s my issue with this,” Varric said, a bit of the cold anger from last night seeping through. “You don’t even think of Blondie as a person. You’re always going to have a problem with him, because to you he’s just another mage to hate.”

“I don’t -- I don’t hate him,” Fenris said lowly. “This arrangement will benefit him as well. He will have someone to defend him against templars.”

“He already has people protecting him. I’ve had eyes on this clinic since he came to Kirkwall, before I even met the man. I heard what he was doing for the refugees and knew I couldn’t let the rabble down here get to him. And I’m not the only one. If templars showed up they’d have a fun time fighting through the dozens of people he’s helped.”

“I know that,” said Fenris. “I just… with the child…”

He cut himself off, knowing it was no use. Varric had plenty of reason to doubt him, it was true. Years of arguing with the mage and disagreeing with all he stood for hardly made a case for him caring about Anders.

“What do you want me to do?” he finally asked when Varric did not say anything else.

“I don’t know,” Varric grumbled, massaging his temples in frustration. “Hawke said he wouldn’t stay with him. I’d let him stay with me, but I don’t have the room to spare. He’s not going to live with Merrill. And the others… ugh. I mean, I don’t really think he needs to live in Darktown to begin with. Even if he’s got protection here, he deserves a better place after all he’s done. And I guess I don’t really like the thought of a kid growing up in the sewers.”

“Then the solution is to let them stay with me. At least until you arrange a more suitable place for them to live.”

“Yeah. I guess that’s just how it’s going to be.” Varric shook his head, looking defeated. “Just...treat him like a person for once, Broody. You know Hawke’s going to be waiting for you to screw up.”

“I am aware of Hawke’s feelings for Anders,” Fenris said. He felt a twinge of irritation remembering the intimate embrace Hawke and Anders had shared earlier that day.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this tense before.”

“I understand why he is worried. Why you are worried. But...I will attempt to make peace with the mage for Maya’s sake. I can manage until you have found a better solution.”

“Huh. All right, Broody, we’ll see.”

Varric turned from him and headed back to where Anders and Merrill were still conversing. Fenris felt as though a cloud had settled over the clinic. His pleasant mood was vanished, and a numbness had overtaken his entire body.

He saw Anders glance over at him and looked away, focusing on Maya once more.

Why did Varric’s words make him feel like he’d been punched in the gut? The dwarf didn’t know him as well as he’d thought, obviously. If he had, he’d know his feelings regarding the mage.

No. No, that wasn’t fair. How could Varric understand what Fenris himself did not fully comprehend at the moment?

Before last night, his feelings had been clear enough. He’d disliked the mage and his beliefs, and couldn’t fathom helping him. But suddenly he found himself hurt by the mere suggestion of mistreating Anders. Why did he want to prove Varric and Hawke wrong? Why couldn’t he just walk away and leave the mage to suffer his poor choices on his own?

The last of Anders’ patients had left by the time Varric and Merrill said their goodbyes to Anders, and Fenris heard him close and lock the doors. He still did not look up when he heard footsteps drawing nearer to his corner.

“Maker,” Anders said with a groan. “I don’t even know what Merrill was going on about. Something about pie recipes? Or maybe she was asking about a glyph spell. It was something circular. Say...are you all right?”

“I am fine,” Fenris replied, still not looking up. Maya stirred in her bassinet, her eyes slowly opening to stare up at him.

“What did Varric want to talk to you about?”

Fenris was silent for a moment, thinking maybe it was best if he didn’t tell Anders about the conversation.

“He...was concerned about you,” he finally offered. “About our arrangement.”

“Hah, well you can’t blame him for that, can you?”

“No,” Fenris admitted. “We have not gotten along over the years. At times we’ve said cruel things to one another. I disagree with many of your arguments regarding mages.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of that.” The slight smile on Anders’ face faded.

“But I -- I do not plan to harm you, and I would prefer not to argue. I will try to hold my tongue if you will do the same.”

“I’m not going to stop fighting for the rights of the mages in Kirkwall.”

“I did not say--” Fenris forced himself to quell the anger in his tone, adopting a neutral voice instead. “I do not expect you to stop. I only ask that you do not bring up your endeavors in my home.”

A rather dark look crossed Anders’ features, but the mage nodded in agreement.

“All right, that’s fair enough I suppose. But that means you don’t get to insult mages around me anymore.”

“Fair enough.”

Maya began to cry softly and Fenris turned his attention to her, lifting her from the bassinet and rocking her in his arms.

“It’s about time for her dinner,” said Anders. Fenris was glad the darkness surrounding him lifted somewhat. “Let’s go ahead and head to Hightown.”

Much later in the evening, well after night fell and Fenris had climbed into bed for the night, a noise roused him from sleep. It had clearly come from Anders’ room, so he made his way down the hall and opened the door to see the cause.

It did not surprise him to see Justice awake and cradling Maya.

“Elf,” the spirit said.

“You should allow Anders to rest.” Fenris felt bolder than he had last night, though some of his courage left him when Justice looked up, directing his glowing, blank stare at him.

“Anders is within the Fade. He will be well-rested come morning.”

“He seemed fatigued this afternoon, which I suspect was due to his body being kept awake last night.”

“Anders and I have been one for many years. I know how to handle this body.”

“I am not certain you do.” Fenris tensed, noting the way Justice bristled at his comment. “I do not doubt you know a great deal about him, but I believe it would be better for me to care for Maya at night henceforth so he may sleep.”

Justice looked down at the baby in his arms, who was whimpering softly as she studied her glowing caretaker with wide, uncertain eyes.

“We promised to take care of her,” Justice said.

“I agreed to care for her as well.”

“You are not responsible for what happened to her mother,” the spirit said firmly, his gaze snapping to Fenris. “We failed in our duty. We must repay the child for our terrible mistake.”

“You did not fail. Sometimes you simply cannot save someone. Sometimes they are fated to die.”

“We could have saved her!” Justice boomed. “We were careless! I will not allow it to happen again! I will not allow us to stray from our purpose!”

Maya had began to cry in terror at the sound of the spirit’s loud, angry voice.

“Give Maya to me now, spirit.”

Justice emitted a growl and drew the child closer to Anders’ body. Then it seemed to suddenly dawn on him that he was the source of her horror, and he relaxed his grip on her, extending her toward Fenris.

Fenris quickly snatched her and placed her head against his shoulder, nuzzling her so that she could feel the tip of his ear. Even this was not enough to calm her. She wailed right against his ear so loudly that he could hear the start of ringing.

“I--I did not mean to frighten the child,” Justice said, his deep voice low, almost too quiet to hear.

“The damage is done,” said Fenris. “I advise you leave. Return Anders to his body and let him sleep.”

“Yes, I should go. It is best.”

The spirit's glow winked out, and Anders’ body flopped down against the mattress. Fenris neared with caution, making sure Justice was gone before he tried to lean over and tuck the sheets over Anders. The mage startled and Fenris leaped back, careful not to drop Maya.

“Fenris?” Anders said groggily. “What happened? Why is Maya crying?”

“Do not concern yourself with it.”

“Huh? I -- I said I would take care of her at night. I guess I...I just didn’t hear her crying.”

Anders was studying him with a worried expression, likely concerned that Fenris had discovered his plan to have Justice care for the baby in the evenings. Fenris kept his expression stoic. He had no plans to make Anders aware he’d already stumbled upon Justice. The spirit held information Anders was unlikely to reveal, and it was in Fenris’ best interest to keep him around for further discussions.

“I will take care of it,” Fenris said, turning and walking out of the room with Maya before Anders could protest.

Thankfully, he did not hear the door to Anders’ room open, meaning the mage had not followed. He made his way downstairs alone, heading for the washroom to change Maya. He would take her to bed with him that night to be sure neither Anders nor Justice attempted to care for her. Hopefully it would allow the mage an actual night’s sleep.

Maker, what had he gotten himself into?