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Tell Anders to wait just a little longer, and that I’ll be with him soon.
Hawke wasn’t sure if she was lying to Varric or just lying to herself. When she left, his pained eyes said he wasn’t fooled, but if anyone could convince Anders to stay hidden, it was Varric.
It was hard enough to get him to stay put the last time, she thought. Reminding Anders of what had happened the last time he was close to Corypheus was enough to keep him from following her, but dredging up those memories hurt them both. If only she could have convinced him to go with Bethany (though Aveline no doubt preferred the way things had turned out).
Lying to Anders tasted worse than her dry mouth, but letting him near the Wardens was still too risky. Having Varric do the dirty work didn’t make it any easier. If she made it back to Anders, she’d tell him everything; about Stroud, about the Fade, and about the mages she met at Skyhold, free and allied with the Inquisition. At least that part would make him smile.
Maybe he already knew. Word traveled fast, and assuming that Anders would sit on his hands until she returned would be foolish. Some version of the story was bound to reach him eventually.
This way was crueler. She hoped he could see through the rumors and have faith, but he had a tendency to overreact where she was involved.
As if I’m not guilty of the same thing. At least he would know she was alive, and if she knew Varric, he would find a way to let her know that Anders was still alive, too.
He had to be.
But she’d be no help to anyone without food, never mind the fact that she wasn’t hungry. Anders would be upset if she skipped meals, especially if he thought it was his fault.
The Iron Bull had said something about a great stew at an inn around here, and it would be nice to sleep in an actual bed. It might be her last chance for a while.
For a recommendation from a Ben-Hassrath spy, the inn was awfully kitschy. Run by a tiny old woman who gave Hawke the stink eye, the place had only a few rooms, each somehow more pastel than the last. At least the soup was good.
A cat lounged on a pillow at the window, and Hawke lowered her spoon, appetite waning. She could see Anders smiling in her mind, that peaceful smile he only seemed to show around cats (okay, sometimes around her). Somehow, he always knew just where a cat wanted to be scratched. Maybe that sense worked on Hawke, too.
Abandoning her soup, she headed for the window. "What's your name?" she asked the cat, stroking its pure black head. "Anders would come up with something clever. Andraste's Whiskers. I don't know."
She followed the cat's stare out the window, and her breath caught at the silhouette outside. Anders?
Maybe she needed to eat more, or go to sleep. This had to be a trick of the light. But when he looked up, there was no mistaking him. His eyes lit up, like he might cry from happiness, and he waved.
Definitely Anders. Hawke's stomach turned and she forced herself to breathe as he made for the back door. Still too dazed to process it, her feet carried her to meet him. Her fingers worked the lock from muscle memory, their only goal to get her to Anders.
The moment she opened the door, he enveloped her in a tight embrace, showering her with desperate, tear-dampened kisses that she did not return. When he pulled back, he knitted his brows, hands lighting up with pale blue magic.
"Are you all right, love?" His words were hurried, almost panicked, but still she froze. What was wrong with her? "Do you need healing?"
Hawke tried to speak several times before words finally came out. "What are you doing here? How did you find me? How did you even get here?"
The blue faded with a slump of his shoulders and his eyes turned down. Hawke's heart seized—hurting him was the last thing she wanted to do—and she ran her fingertips along his jaw.
"Varric's letters," he explained, leaning into her hand. "And a little help from a friend of ours."
She dragged her thumb across his lips and he kissed it, then drew it into his mouth. Her eyes fluttered shut and she shuddered.
Wait. "Varric?” Her eyes snapped open. “No, he was supposed to tell you to stay put and wait for me."
"Supposed to tell me?" She could barely understand him with her thumb still in his teeth. "Did you tell him to lie?"
"Well, normally, he's good at it.” She freed her hand and looked down at her feet. “What did he say?"
Anders let his hands fall to her hips. "He told me you needed me, and he told me how to find you." He made it sound so simple.
"Is Varric tracking my movements?" Hawke wondered, looking back up at him.
"Does that really surprise you?" He cracked a smile and her heart broke again. She couldn't let him stay, and the longer he looked at her, the lower his face fell. “Aren’t you even a little happy to see me?”
The little pout on his lips sent her thoughts twisting around affection, guilt, fear, and regret, like some sort of Orlesian dance. Holding back from touching him was only making it worse.
"Of course I am," she said, leaning forward to nuzzle his feathers. "But I’d be happier to see you hidden in a cave somewhere far away from Wardens."
Anders smoothed a hand over her hair, holding her against him with his other arm. “You and your dank, musty stone fetish.”
"It’s more of a dank, musty mage thing," she said, lifting her head to press her lips to the underside of his chin. "One mage in particular.”
“You mean the Herald? I don’t know how she smells, but I hear she’s quite the looker.” Anders unhooked her belt and let it fall so he could pull her closer. “At least I hope that’s why you’ve been gone so long, not because you were venturing into the physical Fade like the rumors say."
When Hawke didn’t answer, he pulled back to look at her, eyes round with concern.
“It’s true,” she sighed. “The part about the Fade. I figured Varric would have told you, since he told you everything else.”
“He didn't tell me much. I was surprised to hear from him, to say the least." For a moment, Anders looked away. Varric didn't hate him, but the relationship would never be the same. Hawke was their remaining link. "But I came as quickly as I could. Whatever you need, I'm here for you. I don't care if it is Wardens."
So they sat down at one of the tables, and she told him everything. About the Warden corruption, about the Fade, the Venatori, and Stroud. She relayed Corypheus's foiled plan, and where she was going next. "That's why I wanted you hidden. I need to know you’re safe." She gripped one of his knees, stroking it with her thumb. "I'm sorry I tried to lie to you."
Anders shook his head and stood, pulling her up by her hands. "You never need to apologize to me, love," he said. "But I am sorry about Stroud. He was a good man. Kind of a rarity in the Wardens.” Hawke tried to hang her head, but Anders pressed his forehead to hers to stop her. "All that matters is that you made it back. You succeeded, and you don't need to do this alone. We can look after each other."
Hawke pulled back. "But Weisshaupt—"
"—is a mess. The Wardens to the north have not seen eye to eye with the south for a long time, and this will only make it worse." She widened her eyes, and he placed his hands on either side of her face. "I still have contacts. Please, let me help you. I so rarely get the chance."
Hawke shook her head and rested her arms against his chest. "You don't have to prove anything to me."
"I know, but I still like to feel like I bring something to this relationship."
You can't contribute anything if you die, she thought. When she opened her mouth to protest, Anders pressed his lips to hers once more, but this time she gave in to the kiss. Even if he didn't want her apologies, she took comfort in his forgiveness, and her tears finally came.
She relaxed into him, letting him support her weight, showing him how she had longed for him. Their lips parted and she stood on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear.
"Knowing you were safe meant everything to me." The warmth in her heart settled, bittersweet in her stomach. "Having you here, it's incredible, but I can’t afford to be selfish."
Anders shook his head, eyes shining. “You have never been selfish. And I would know. I spent most of my life thinking only of myself. You’ve done so much for the Inquisition,” he brushed his lips over her eyelids, “for mages,” her cheeks, “for me,” her mouth, “and I will not see you lost to the Wardens.”
"I won’t lose you, either," said Hawke. Corypheus’s threats hadn’t scared her in the Fade, and they would not paralyze her now. Foolishness and fear pushed her to isolate Anders; Varric had just figured it out first.
"That's why we have each other."
The burning look in his eyes roused her appetite and she tugged him forward by his robes. It was all the encouragement he needed, and their lips met, hungry and wild. He was here and she couldn’t make him leave, but this kiss felt like their first and she didn’t want him anywhere else. The ordeal had wound her too tight; now laughs, moans, and sighs bubbled out with abandon.
Taking off her mantle before dinner ended up being more than just a relief for her tired shoulders; Anders seized the opportunity to try touch all of her at once. Despite all the fastenings, she could rid him of his robes with her eyes closed, and he swept her up onto the edge of the table to match his height and make it easy for her. She linked her legs around his waist, breathing his name, when a croak cut through the haze.
"I don't know who this young man is, but I assure you, this is not that kind of establishment!" The proprietor stood at the door, one arm on her hip as she wagged a finger at them.
Oh, right. This isn't my house. Anders backed up and Hawke scooted off the table. She collected his outer robes (luckily, or unluckily, she had gotten no further in undressing him) and her belt.
"Right. We'll take this upstairs," said Hawke, grabbing Anders's hand and pulling him behind her.
"Didn’t you hear me? I'm not running a brothel!" The old woman glared at them harder than Hawke's own mother ever had.
Anders just laughed, but Hawke narrowed her eyes. Really? Iron Bull liked this place? "This is my husband. Have more of my coin for another body if you like, but I'll take him wherever I want."
The innkeeper eyed her with skepticism. “You didn’t mention a husband earlier.”
“I wasn’t aware it was a requirement,” Hawke muttered, balling her fists. Before she could boil over, Anders swept her off her feet, bridal style. She let out a yelp and frowned at him.
“You’ll have to excuse us. I surprised my lovely wife with a visit,” he explained. “We really haven’t been married that long, you see, so this is sort of an impromptu honeymoon.” Anders brushed his nose against hers, and Hawke couldn’t help but smile at the red marks that had transferred from her face to his. “We just can’t help ourselves.”
The brilliant thing was that Anders wasn’t lying. The closest they had come to a honeymoon was traveling from circle to circle stoking rebellions, and that had come before they had even decided to get married.
The innkeeper considered his words. “Well,” she grumbled, still glaring at Hawke, “I suppose I have a bottle of sparkling rose somewhere around here. I’ll have Hema leave it by your door. My treat. Young love and all that.” She took Hawke’s unfinished soup and left them alone.
Anders grinned down at Hawke.
“See? You bring plenty to this marriage,” she said, hooking her arms around his neck. “Where would I be without your patience and charm?"
“Don’t forget the free wine,” he added. “I don’t know about patient, but did you hear her call me young?”
“Don’t get too excited. I’m positive that woman is at least 200 years old,” Hawke said. Anders was by no means old, but she had no idea how much longer they had before he started hearing the actual Calling. Now was not the time to think about it, and she let him carry her up the stairs.
“Someone’s jealous,” he said with a smirk.
“More like impatient. The Divine herself couldn’t keep us apart. There’s no way I’m letting some other judgmental old woman come between us.” Part of her wanted to introduce the woman to Justice, just to see the look on her face, but she didn’t think he would go along with it.
Anders looked thoughtful. “Speaking of, should I have mentioned that the Chantry technically doesn’t recognize our marriage?”
“That depends how badly you want to sleep in a cave tonight,” replied Hawke.
“As long as you’re sleeping with me, I don’t care where we go.”
Just like with cats.
After a bottle of wine and some more contributions to the marriage, Hawke was glad that she and Anders didn’t have to reunite in a cave. It was hard to cuddle on rocks.
“So you really wouldn’t care if I took up with the Inquisitor?” she asked, twirling a finger in his hair.
He turned to her, burying his nose in her neck. “I’m just happy that a mage is a religious figurehead in Thedas. The irony alone...” He let out a soft laugh, but his eyes were crinkled with joy. “I suppose I can’t really be jealous of the Herald of Andraste, can I?”
Hawke rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. “Sounds like I’ll have to watch out if you ever meet her.”
He leaned his head against hers and pulled the blanket over them. “You know I only have eyes for you, love,” he said with a yawn.
Anders was asleep in minutes. She could only assume it was sorely needed; she slept better at his side, too.
But her peace of mind came with a price. She attracted enough attention on her own, and at least some of that attention was positive. It wasn’t just the Wardens who had painted a target on his back. She only hoped that the Chantry had too much on its plate to worry about one apostate.
But just in case, she draped an arm and a leg over him, shifting her weight onto his body. He stirred only to wrap his arms around her.
Anyone who wanted Anders had to get through her first.