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Anders seemed hesitant when Hawke asked him to join her on the expedition. At the time, she thought that perhaps it was just the thought of spending unknown weeks with Fenris’ barely contained contempt that made him pause. However, once they had descended into the deep, he barely seemed to notice the elf’s sidelong glances and snarling lips.
She noticed his twitchy distractedness on the first night into the expedition. Carver took up the watch; Varric counted the coins inexplicably found on dispatched darkspawn corpses; and Fenris oiled his blade as far from the camp as he could without becoming an easy target to the beasties just beyond the fire’s brim. Anders was making himself busy with a book from his pack, but as Hawke snuggled herself into her bedroll, she saw his hands trembling so violently that he couldn’t close his pack’s clasp. She gasped—fear was a fiend she was intimately familiar with. One she could even recognize from afar.
She knew Anders was the kind of man who felt when eyes were upon him—a habit of apostates in general, and one her father had taught her too. But even her unabashed staring did not draw him away from his “reading.” Suddenly feeling as though she was eavesdropping upon a deeply personal moment, Hawke broke her stare and turned away to leave him to what privacy a Deep Roads expedition could offer.
***
Most of her vigilance during their travels the next day was devoted to rooting out any tiny movement that might reveal darkspawn, but a small part of her attention was for Anders. The twitching never stopped—not completely. It eased when the need for his staff came upon them, but she still saw the tips of his fingers fluttering even when holding the hewn wood so confidently.
The real breakthrough came when Bartrand called for camp that night in a tucked away little alcove that would protect them on three sides. “You nug lickers better like the smell of each other’s arses because it’s gonna be cozy tonight,” he declared when the laborers raised concern about the tiny space.
But Hawke’s eyes were on Anders who was scanning the tiny accommodations with abject horror. His hands rose, palms out as one might while playfully saying, “I didn’t do it!” and his feet started to shuffle backward almost of their own volition.
“Anders,” Hawke called, interrupting his retreat, “could you help me with… some magic….stuff over here?” She beckoned to the tunnel back from where they had come and, turning on her heel, she marched purposefully before he had the chance the answer.
They walked in silence together until the tunnel widened, the ceiling raised, and the echoes of his panting diminished. Then she turned to face him, watching as his eyes darted all around the tunnel and as he jammed his hands into his belt to try and hide their quivering.
“You should have told me, Anders,” she began. His cheeks immediately flushed, but his eyes found hers. The trembling of his hands was so intense that when he tried to tuck them under his arms to contain them, he only succeeded in triggering his whole body to quake.
“It’s okay,” she said, putting a hand tenderly upon his shoulder.
“Ever since solitary…” he managed to stutter.
She just nodded in understanding. There was no need for further explanation.
“I have a solution,” she said, looking him squarely in the eye to convince him, before leading him back to the tiny alcove.
Once there, she went straight to a large chest she had insisted upon bringing despite Bartrand’s loud complaints. After a bit of rummaging and a momentary distraction when a ring rolled out from a bunched up cloth (“THAT’S where that went!”), Hawke victoriously pulled out some canvas, two poles, and some stakes.
“You brought a bloody tent to the Deep Roads?” Anders asked incredulously. He couldn’t help but gawk and smile.
“I’m Ferelden. We’re always prepared for rain,” she replied with a shrug and a grin. She carried the items off to a small empty spot near the wagons. More than a few sets of eyes were following her now, but she didn’t shrink.
“But it’s rock, Hawke. Those stakes will never—”
“Hush. Watch.” She laid out the canvas, measuring the distance for the poles, and scouted the spot for the stakes. Once decided, she bent to one knee and placed two fingers against the stony floor of the tunnel. Anders stepped closer as she called forth primal energy precisely around her finger tips. He watched as the rock beneath her fingers began to yield like butter to a hot knife. With her other hand, she slipped the stake neatly into the hole then pinched the rock closed around it.
“Close your mouth, Anders. You’ll catch a blight fly,” she smirked before repeating the process for the remaining stakes. In moments she had a small tent pitched and, as she tied the last knot, she gestured for him to climb inside.
“Go ahead, Blondie!” Varric called from his bedroll, “This will make a hell of a story!”
He gave Hawke a skeptical glance, obviously not sure how crawling inside the tiny canvas structure would actually help his problem. “Trust me,” was all she said.
So he did. Once inside and settled, Hawke drew back the canvas and crawled in next to him. It was hard not to notice the rush of blood that filled his cheeks when she brushed up against him, but his intensifying trembling made her push aside the fluttering of her own fingers.
“Close your eyes,” she said, “and imagine yourself in a vast open field at night.” She paused to allow him a moment to conjure it.
“Hawke, is this really—”
“Shh! Listen! Do you hear that? Crickets!”
He rolled his eyes only slightly before jamming his eyelids shut. Hawke watched as his expression slowly changed: his jaw unclenched, his lips unpursed. Even she could hear past the grumbling of laborers outside the canvas, past Fenris’ rhythmic blade sharpening… there it was. Faint chirping.
“Now open your eyes.’
Tiny globes of light danced upon the canvas interior like distant stars winking from an endless summer night. When he unjammed his eyes, he took in a sharp breath and held it. Slowly he dragged his eyes from the sky above them back to meet hers.
“How did you—”
“It doesn’t matter,” she smiled, taking his hand in hers to feel the new stillness. This was her reward. She watched as he returned to the conjured sky above, then sensing that it was time to take her leave, she muttered, “sleep well, Anders.”
“Wait!” He squeezed his hand over hers before she escaped. “Don’t tell the elf.”