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Anders couldn’t get the door open. It was embarrassing, really, considering how many times he’d escaped from the Circle, Templar custody, prison, the Fade, certain death, etc., and yet he couldn’t even get his own bloody front door open.
Well, to be fair, it wasn’t really his front door. But he had to get inside, and soon. His eyes dropped to the box next to his feet for a moment and the sight of it renewed his efforts. Anders’ fingers had gone numb in the bitter cold hours before as he’d made his way up from Darktown carrying the package, and he fumbled clumsily with the keys in his hand. Suddenly paranoid, he glanced behind him and scanned nervously over the deserted street.
The fog from Kirkwall’s harbor had crawled up from the docks, through the city, and into Hightown like an army of silent, white ghosts. And at this time of night, the faint trickles of moonlight filtering through dark, menacing clouds and the occasional bite of a winter’s breeze did nothing to soothe his fear. It was all just so…creepy.
Finally, he heard the key click into place and he slowly pushed open the door into the entryway. The fireplace had dimmed to a few sputtering embers, but left a soft orange glow bright enough to light his way. Carefully picking up the box at his feet, he stepped inside and slowly, slowly closed the door behind him so that it made next to no noise. He let out a relieved sigh. At last, he and the box were safely out of the cold.
There was the distinct creak of a floorboard behind him and Anders stiffened. He heard a low, menacing growl and groaned inwardly. Of course the dog would hear him. Anders turned and grimaced at the Mabari war hound standing only a few feet from him with its hackles raised and its teeth bared. Anders held his box protectively to his chest with one hand and used the other to put a finger to his lips. The dog seemed to recognize him—thank the Maker—and cocked its massive, slobbering head at him in surprise. Anders glared down at the mutt. Don’t you even dare.
The dog let out a long howl followed by a series of rough, low barks that made Anders flinch. “Shh! Oh, for the love of--!” he cursed in a hoarse whisper. The hound didn’t seem to care. Just beyond the entryway and upstairs, he saw the door to Hawke’s bedroom fly open. Marian—even half-dressed and with her short-cropped hair sticking up at odd angles—still looked incredibly dangerous wielding her staff over her head and pointing it right at Anders’ chest.
Sighing, Anders sheepishly walked forward to the main hall next to the stairs, cradling his box in both of his arms.
Hawke blinked at him a few times, her bright blue eyes still bleary with sleep. “Anders?” she asked.
“Hi,” he greeted lamely. The contents in the box had started to shift around and he had to tighten his grip so as not to drop it.
“Andraste’s flaming tits, Anders! I could have killed you!” she said, hastily lowering her staff.
“That might have been an interesting décor choice,” he said. “You could have kept my frozen corpse in the gallery like a statue. I think it might have really brightened up the place.”
Hawke was not amused. “What’s in the box?” she asked with a nod.
“Nothing,” he responded a little too quickly.
“Anders…” she said, narrowing her eyes.
The Mabari hound, which had begun to sniff at the box, was waggling its backside with curious excitement. Anders snatched the box higher out of the dog’s reach, jostling the contents and causing them to mewl at him in protest.
“Er…” he said. Hawke sighed heavily and made her way downstairs. Anders gulped as she approached, suddenly realizing how very little she was actually wearing. A short, burgundy robe with the Hawke family crest stitched in gold covered most of her, but the robe only stretched to her mid-thigh and left her long, pale legs exposed. The robe also hung loosely enough that he could tell she was not wearing any kind of smallclothes around her chest, leaving his eyes to wander over the outline of her breasts.
Anders ducked his head, blushing, and focused his attention on the box to keep himself from gawking at her like a twelve year old boy. The box was shifting around more now, and its pitiful cries growing more insistent.
“Anders, you didn’t,” groaned Hawke. She reached over and opened the box, revealing the four kittens bumbling around inside.
“I couldn’t just leave them in Darktown, Hawke. Someone would have eaten them!” he said.
“Anders, we can’t just go around picking up every stray we find in Darktown.”
“Why not? We seem to pick up every other kind of stray in Kirkwall,” he said, meeting her eyes. They were so intensely blue, it took his breath away.
“What about the mother?”
“They already ate her,” he admitted gloomily.
Hawke rubbed her temples and sighed again. “Fine. They can stay in your room. Just this once, okay?” she stipulated.
Anders nodded gratefully. “Thank you, Hawke.”
“Just…wait here. Let me go see if we have some milk or something in the kitchens,” she said. Hawke drifted away down a corridor, and the dog—thankfully—trotted after her. Anders watched her go, admiring the shape of her calves and the easy sway of her hips.
When she was out of sight, Anders knelt down and gently placed the box on the floor. He stroked over the tiny kittens, occasionally dangling his finger for them to play with when he heard a tired groan from up above him.
“Oh. It’s you,” said Fenris in his gravelly voice.
Anders didn’t bother to look up at first and continued to focus on a particularly feisty tabby that was trying to gnaw at his thumb. “Yes, it’s me. The dread mage has returned from his nefarious night rituals,” he said scathingly.
“Where’s Hawke?” asked Fenris, ignoring him.
Anders raised his head to look at the elf. He was shirtless, but still had his trousers on (thanks be to Andraste). His lyrium tattoos were like dull, white paint against his skin and deceivingly benign. Anders watched the elf cautiously he made his way down the stairs and took a place next to the fire, leaning easily against the mantle with his arms crossed and observing quietly.
“She went to go find some milk for the kittens,” explained Anders. “And no, before you ask, these are not apostates magically disguised as kittens so I can smuggle them out of Kirkwall.”
“We could always try drowning them to be sure,” he said.
Anders glared at him. “That’s not funny.”
“Sorry,” said Fenris, obviously not sorry. “I was trying to think of something that fits into my mage-hating, broody persona everyone loves to joke about so much.”
“You should probably just stick to ripping people’s hearts out. I don’t think humor is your true calling.”
The more aggressive tabby kitten bit down on Anders’ hand and broke the skin, causing him to hiss and snatch his hand away.
Fenris smirked. “I think I like that one,” he said, nodding to the tabby.
Anders rolled his eyes. “Oh, yes. Because it can probably tell I’m an abomination and wants to scratch me to death with its little kitten claws.”
“Or maybe it can sense just how truly irritating you are,” said Fenris, his face returning to its trademark frown.
“Don’t you have a big, fancy, decrepit mansion of your own to go home to at night?” Anders replied harshly.
“I find the bed here is much more…comfortable,” he said evenly. The two men stared at each other and the black, bitter tang of jealously crept up unbidden in Anders’ gut.
“You know, for hating mages so much, you certainly don’t have a problem bedding one,” Anders muttered.
Fenris was quiet for a moment, his expression unfazed. “You let her go,” he reminded him.
Anders looked away from Fenris and back to the box of kittens, who were growing raucous in their cries for food. “I know,” he said. “It’s better this way. She’s happy.” Anders said it quickly; listing the facts. It still hurt.
Hawke appeared only a moment later with a jar of milk.
“Sandal hid it again,” she said, shaking her head with exasperation. She stopped when she saw Fenris and glanced suspiciously between the two. “What have you two been talking about?”
“Nothing,” they answered at the same time. Hawke didn’t buy it, but she didn’t say anything else. She set down the milk by the box and then crossed over to peck Fenris lovingly on the cheek. Hawke bid Anders goodnight and then led Fenris away by the hand upstairs to her room and closed the door.
Anders turned back to the kittens, trying to push away the cloying sensation building up inside of him like a scream. I could never make her happy, he reminded himself. It was better this way. It was better for him to be alone.
And besides, he thought to himself, it will all be over soon anyway.