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Fenris wondered when the change had happened. He certainly hadn't been aware of it at the time. But at some point, somewhere along the way, he had stopped looking at magic as nothing but a corrupting force and had instead begun to see it as the tool that Anders and Merrill so often argued it to be. Certainly it was not an ordinary tool. One man with a hammer or saw could not wield anything like the amount of damage that one power-hungry mage unchecked could accomplish. But he could now admit that, most of the time, how much damage was actually done was on the user and not the tool itself.
Magic was the most dangerous kind of tool, to be certain. It required dedication and training to master, without which, its users might wreak havoc without intention, out of sheer incompetence. But too much training, too much experimentation, "research" for the sake of curiosity and without consequence, those could all lead just as easily to devastation. Worse, the devastation need not be on a massive scale. A mage could just as easily ruin the lives of a few specific individuals as bring down an entire city.
There was a fine line, then, in the middle. Mages needed enough training to control their magic, to be able to wield it responsibly, to use it in aid of others. "For the good of all mankind," as Sebastian's Chantry would have it. But they must not be allowed free reign, they must be kept in line, regulated so that they could not abuse their abilities. For as long as he could remember, Fenris had always believed that this was what the Circles outside of Tevinter did. It was, after all, their stated purpose.
But lately he found himself wondering if the Circles had lost sight of that purpose. The first time he had heard Anders equate life as a Circle mage to the life of a slave, Fenris had bristled with rage. Anders had no idea what it was like to be a slave. To be so wholly at the whim of another, to obey without thinking, no matter the vileness of the order, no matter the pain it might bring to one's own self. No, being a mage was nothing like being a slave. Fenris knew it in his very bones.
The mages in the Circles might be denied some basic freedoms, but to Fenris they were cosseted. Dangerous pets kept on a lengthy leash and allowed a cozy, if confined, existence. Apostates such as Anders, who spent their lives running to avoid being sent to the Circles, were selfish. Worse, they were dangerous for their belief that they did not need the training provided there. Those who gave in to blood magic or bargained with demons were the most despicable of the lot. They were cowards who cared nothing for the people they might hurt, looking only to expand their own powers to the detriment of others.
And yet.
There was Anders.
Apostate. Abomination.
Healer.
It may have taken Fenris years to realize it, and then more to admit to himself, but Anders was not selfish. He was no coward. He gave of himself freely to others, sacrificing his own health at the benefit of others, risking his life with every patient he welcomed into his clinic, knowing that any of them could be a spy for the Templars, or might turn him at a moment's notice. Nor was he a coward. The Deep Roads were his own personal nightmare, yet he had repeatedly ventured into them to aid his friends. He did not pretend to be anything other than he was. He stood up for himself, and others like him, no matter the very real danger. He had not joined with Justice to seek power but to protect a friend's very existence. If he was to be believed, and Fenris was shocked to realize he did believe, even this mad crusade to save other mages had not begun until after they had fully merged. There was not even the furtherance of an agenda behind the decision to let Justice into his body.
It puzzled Fenris greatly, and it made him open his eyes. By now he had seen and heard enough from others to know what was really going on in the Gallows, and to understand that while it might be worse than other Circles, it was not entirely atypical. Mages might not be slaves, but they were horribly abused with alarming frequency. Just because they had been born with magic. So he listened carefully to Anders' arguments and debates on the subject. He instigated arguments himself, belaboring his points, pushing Anders to explain. He didn't like everything he heard, and he certainly didn't agree with it all. Anders was still fool enough to think that the ways of Tevinter were the solution to the plight of mages. He refused to listen to Fenris' points against this. For as good as he was at speech-making, and at helping others, he did very poorly when it came to actually trying to understand opposing points of view.
It frustrated Fenris to no end, especially now that the two of them were...whatever it was that they were.
Friends? No. He wasn't sure that word would ever apply to them.
Lovers? No. Not yet, at any rate.
Twice now they had kissed. That first time, in Anders' clinic had been a surprise, certainly. It was the first time Fenris had ever promised to kill someone and been answered with intimacy. He had not gone there planning for any such thing to happen. But once Anders' lips had touched his, he had wanted nothing more than to let the moment last forever. It had not, of course. Such a thing was impossible. It had, in fact, been rather brief. When Fenris had pulled away and met Anders' eyes, he had seen a tiredness in them that he knew well.
"You should sleep," he had whispered, reaching up to brush back a loose strand of lank blonde hair. "Take what rest you can."
"Sleep is never restful for me," Anders sighed. There was no bitterness, only resignation.
"Still," Fenris had insisted, "you must try."
Anders had not argued. He rarely did, when it was just the two of them and they were not speaking of magic. He had let Fenris lead him to his back room and see him ready himself for bed.
"Are you going to tuck me in?" Anders had asked as he climbed into the beat up cot. "Read me a story?"
"Do you wish me to?" Fenris had arched a brow at Anders, hiding his smile at the return of the other man's humor.
Did Anders know he could not read? He had not asked Hawke to keep the information a secret, but he did not think it would have come up in conversation with the others. It was a question for another time, however, as Anders only snorted and shook his head, pulling the thin cover over himself. Fenris nodded and blew out the single candle on the crate next to the bed, turning to leave.
"You could stay, you know," Anders said very softly. Fenris stopped in the doorway, resisting the urge to look back.
"It is...better if I do not." He answered carefully. Fenris was surprised at how much he wanted to stay.
"Of course." Anders whispered. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."
"Tomorrow," Fenris agreed, giving in and glancing back over his shoulder. He could just make out the gleam of Anders' eyes. "Good evening, Anders." He offered a hesitant smile. "Thank you."
As he left he hoped that Anders would understand that it hadn't been a rejection. Not completely, at any rate. But this thing between them was fragile and he found that he very much wanted to see what it could grow into. If they rushed into this and things went badly, he knew he would never get the chance to find out.
Yet he worried that perhaps he should have been more clear. Despite their farewell, they did not see each other the next day. When Fenris stopped by the Hanged Man, he learned that Hawke had taken Anders to the Wounded Coast, along with Varric and Merrill. When they returned several days later, Anders had been overwhelmed by an influx of patients in the clinic. Fenris had been there to help him, of course, but they had very little chance to talk about what had happened.
In fact, it seemed to Fenris as if circumstances must be conspiring to keep that discussion from happening at all. It was almost two weeks after their first kiss that the second happened. This time Fenris was the one to initiate it. Following an evening of cards in Varric's suite, the pair of them had lagged behind after everyone else had left. They left the Hanged Man together, walking idly to the junction where they would part ways, Anders for Darktown and Fenris for Hightown. Fenris found his feet dragging as they approached that moment, and he desperately wanted to say something, anything, to find out if he was alone in this growing desire. But he could not settle on a way to initiate the conversation, and Anders did not speak either. They were most comfortable in their silences, after all.
"Pfaugh!" Fenris stopped short, catching Anders off guard, and turned to face him. "This is ridiculous."
"Pardon me?" Anders blinked at him, clearly confused by the outburst.
Fenris did not bother explaining. Instead, he reached out to grab the front of Anders' coat, pulling him close and bringing their mouths together. He was annoyed to realize he had to stretch up on his toes to kiss the other man. Had that been necessary the last time? Why could he not remember? Yet his annoyance faded quickly, replaced by a warm feeling as Anders melted into him, returning the kiss.
He felt Anders' tongue press lightly against his lips and let them open, stretching out his own tongue to tangle with the mage's. It was a heady feeling, one that had nothing to do with the wine he had drunk over the course of the evening. Anders' arms slid around his waist to pull him in closer. Fenris released his grip on the man's coat, reaching up to card his fingers through Anders' hair instead. Finally, he pulled back, nipping at Anders' lower lip as he did so. The low moan that caused brought a wide grin of satisfaction to his face.
"Maker!" Anders exclaimed breathily. "Let's not wait another two weeks to do that again!"
"I have no argument with this plan," Fenris murmured.
They had parted ways, each making for his own bed, and Fenris' thoughts had been full of Anders. This was a foolish endeavor. He knew that. But he could not seem to make himself care. Almost certainly, whatever this was between them would end with Anders being overtaken by his demon and Fenris killing him. Surely that should be enough of an argument to dissuade them from continuing on this course. But as Fenris slipped inside his mansion and made his way upstairs, he realized that there was only one thing that he knew for certain at that moment.
Whatever this was, he wanted more.