Chapter Text
It’s raining on Satinalia.
Not a light drizzle, either, or the freezing ice storms that Hawke had grown accustomed to during the winter months back in Ferelden, but a roaring thunderstorm that whipped rain through the streets at blistering speed and rattled the windows of the Hawke Estate.
Hawke’s had four years in Kirkwall now to get used to this, but even so, it just seems wrong to them, how warm Kirkwall is this late in the year. Satinalia is supposed to be all snow and feasting, not lightning and miserable muddy streets.
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” comes Anders’ voice, shortly before his arms wrap around their shoulders.
“I suppose I should be glad for it,” Hawke says. “I always used to complain about the snow in Lothering, you know. Our cottage hardly had any insulation, and father would never use magic to warm anything.”
Anders nods, looking strangely distant. After a moment, he speaks, “I never really thought about snow before the Circle. I was a kid - I played in it, threw snowballs, made little spirits in the snow. I never thought I’d miss it so much in the Circle.” He frowns. “I suppose I’m still missing it now.”
“Anders-” Hawke says, but Anders just shakes his head.
“No, you’re right.” He takes Hawke’s hand, and smiles, just a little. “All things considered, this Satinalia… I am grateful. Rain and all.”
“Flatterer,” Hawke teases.
“I do my best,” Anders says, leaning down for a kiss. Hawke returns it gladly, pulling him close before, eventually, they break apart.
“… still…” Hawke says slowly.
“What?” Anders asks.
“There’s no reason we can’t make this a proper Satinalia after all.”
Aveline comes to visit later that night, bringing wine and cheese as customary gifts, to find a mansion almost entirely bedecked in glimmering crystals of ice, a shivering, grinning Hawke and Anders greeting her at the door.
She decides it best not to ask.