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This was all Hawke’s fault.
That’s the only logical reasoning Anders can reach as he’s looking at his reflection on the polished copper pan. He didn’t have the funds or motivation to get himself a mirror of fine glass and silver but the warped reflection showed exactly what he had already felt with his hands.
He had an extra pair of ears.
And a tail.
The soft, triangular shaped ears on each side of his parietal bone twitched and turned in tune with his panic. They were a muted orange in colour, almost the same hue as his hair. He pulled at them, feeling the seam where they met his scalp. The ears were most assuredly attached to his skin and were not coming off. It felt weird on so many levels and for a moment Anders was worried he might vomit.
What was more extraordinary was that he could feel with his new ears. Sure enough, if you touch your ear with a feather, you can feel it. But that was with natural born, flesh and blood human ears. Not these furry, cat-like, definitely non-human… extremities.
All the while his newly sprouted tail kept swishing behind and around him, its root chafing against the waistband of his breeches. It grew apparently as an extension of his tailbone but Anders had a hard time trying to control it. The tail was the same colour as his ears and definitely not coated with hair but with the same soft fur that covered his new ears. The tip of the tail was fuller and lighter in colour. Anders edged the waistband of his pants down a little bit to ease the chafing and to feel that yes, it was permanently attached to his body.
He was going to murder Hawke. After somehow reversing the spell. What if it couldn’t be reversed, Anders thought in dread. What if it didn’t just wear off with time? There was no way he could venture outside his clinic - oh Maker, he couldn’t see to his patients - with these unnatural appendages.
But yes. Hawke was going to pay. Even if he didn’t even know he was accomplice to this atrocity. Anders paced around the small room he called his own at the back of the clinic, wearing a groove into the dirt floor.
He had wanted a cat. But no matter how many saucers of milk or cream he placed out, no felines were attracted to it. Anders still wanted a cat and he was a mage, so why could he not summon a cat? Like a cat familiar. Not a spirit or a demon but a magical illusion of a cat. Yes. It had seemed the perfect solution. The cat could even help out in adventures, he reasoned.
Anders had to look for a spell to accomplish this feat but it didn’t prove too difficult. He found one that instead summoned a mabari familiar and the way he understood it, there was only one creature-specific ingredient. Which was a strand of hair or fur of the beast desired to be summoned. So theoretically he could conjure up a rat or a hamster or a small pony if he so liked. A larger creature would sap his mana pool faster, so it made more sense to summon up a smaller animal.
The magic had taken some time to cast, requiring Anders to be deep in focus during the spell. What he theorized went wrong was that during this time of focus, he... lost it. Instead of thinking wholly about the form he was about to summon, his mind wandered to the leader of their little band of misfits, with his thick black hair and dark eyes and that grin that made Anders’ heart thump an extra beat. He remembered the one time Hawke had brushed a stray strand of Anders’ hair behind his ear. He thought about how he had spent way too much time fantasizing about Garrett Hawke, his clever hands all over Anders’ body, hands squeezing his backside on the way up to his shoulders...
Startled, Anders had felt something shift in the spell he wove and reapplied his focus on the feline familiar. The next thing he knew was a dull pain all over his body and then the curious sensation of something being terribly wrong.
So yes. It was all Hawke’s fault. Anders’ current predicament was in no way related to his own mental capacities temporarily failing him at a very critical moment. The blame was completely on Hawke’s sly charm and snarky flirting.
Anders ran his fluffy tail through his hand and groaned in embarrassment. This was absolutely horrible. He thought his day couldn’t get any worse until he heard a knock on the clinic door.
“Anders?”
Anders rushed to the door to make sure it was locked. “Stay away! Don’t come in here!”
“Why? Are you doing something dirty?” Isabela asked from the other side of the door, intentionally speaking loud enough for everyone within earshot to hear.
“No! I’m, uh, I’m sick and it’s, uh, I’ll sort it out by myself,” Anders hurried, brain failing on delivering a plausible excuse.
“Sweetie, I can hear you lying through your teeth. Now let me in so I can get some of that salve of yours.”
Anders’s tail was hanging low, ears falling to the sides. He needed time – alone – to fix this mess and he was not going to let anyone see him like this. Least of all Isabela!
“Get it from somewhere else! I’m closed,” he protested and sighed with relief when he heard a scoff from the other side of the door. He stayed a moment to make sure Isabela was really gone before going back to the worn grimoire to find any kind of clue how to reverse this… thing.
“Really now Anders, I can pick loc—“
Anders dropped the grimoire in a flurry, tail fluffing out in fear as he heard Isabela’s voice. He spun around in panic, but Isabela’s initial shock had already been replaced with a snort and soon full out, whooping laughter.
“Oh Anders, what did you do!” she howled, eyes watering, unable to stop laughing.
“A spell went wrong, stop laughing! This is horrible!” Anders’ tail swished from side to side with irritation and embarrassment at being seen and laughed at. Thankfully Isabela had locked the door behind her.
“Maker’s beard, do you have any idea how silly you look?” Isabela continued, trying to control her laughter but breaking out into guffaws and snorts whenever she took another look at their spirit healer’s feline form. “Just you wait until the others hear about this!”
“No! Isabela, no, don’t tell anyone!” Anders pleaded, ears once again pressing downwards against his skull.
“Wait, those things work? The tail too? What other kitty attributes did you get?” Isabela grinned, suddenly very interested in Anders’ form, stepping closer.
“I was trying to summon a cat familiar—“ Anders started, but Isabela wasn’t exactly listening.
“No whiskers or canines,” she mused and suddenly grabbed Anders’ extra ears.
“Hey!”
“So soft, like real cat ears!” Isabela admired, kneading the tips between her fingers. That felt nice, Anders noticed. Really, really nice. He was silently grateful that his face was already red with mortification so any other kind of blushing didn’t show.
“Tell me, what does your blue friend have to say about this? How did he let this happen?”
Now that was a good point, Anders thought, pulling back. He hadn’t sensed Justice at all since the spell happened and heard no protests or anything.
“He’s… quiet,” Anders said, blinking in confusion. Justice was most certainly there, but not really aware. Was it possible for spirits to faint?
“Cat got his tongue?” Isabela chortled, bursting into another round of laughter. “Or is he terrified? Mortified? Petrified? Stupefied by your blunder?”
“He’s never going to let this go,” Anders sighed in defeat. “Now he has more ammunition against Hawke—“ He stopped mid-sentence, seeing how Isabela’s eyes lit up in glee.
“Hawke? What does Hawke have to do with this?”
“Nothing, absolutely nothing—“
“Is he kinky? And this is your way of trying to seduce him? I’d say it’s about time, though I’m not sure if this is the best method.” Isabela wiped the smudged kohl under her lashes, still amused by Anders’ predicament.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen! And what do you mean, it’s about time?” He was being punished by the Maker, he thought. Instead of Templars or demons, his tormentor came in the form of a very attractive pirate queen.
“Oh, for pity’s sake! Everyone, and I mean everyone, has seen you ogling and mooning over each other. Varric is running a bet on which one of you makes the first move.”
Anders didn’t really know how to react to this piece of information. He thought he had imagined it all? Hawke’s advances applied to nearly everyone in their little group, after all. Anders had interpreted it as his own way of friendliness.
Apparently some of this amazement showed on his face, because Isabela groaned and rolled her eyes. “You have got to be kidding me. That’s it, I’m getting Hawke over here.” With that, she turned swiftly on her heels and disappeared as fast as she had appeared in the clinic.
Now Anders was certain he was facing some sort of divine punishment. He was finally brought to justice for all the sins he’d done during the years, probably including petty crimes like “accidentally” singing a Templar’s beard at the Circle Tower or telling the younger mages about the Great White Mabari, a bloodthirsty beast supposedly preying on anyone who stepped foot in the cellar. Of course there was no beast, but the look on the little ones faces had been worth it. They stayed well away from the cellar until one day, curiosity would get the better of them. Maybe they would tell the same story to new young magelings.
Something had finally tipped the scales against his favour and here he was, about to get humiliated by far too many people, including Hawke. Hawke of all people! He tried once again yanking at his ears but they were still a part of him, as was the tail. Pulling at them hurt as well. Why was Justice so quiet? Couldn’t he take over and dispel this enchantment? Anders tried casting dispelling magic on himself with no avail. For one desperate moment, he considered whether a Templar’s magic-cancelling skills could help him.
Maybe he should get caught by a Templar and let Justice become enraged…
Even these kinds of thoughts didn’t wake his friend. Sleep (or unconsciousness?) was the only thing he could think, because Justice still existed in his mind but stayed dormant. Perhaps he really had fainted out of shock. Or the failed spell rendered him mute. Oh Maker, Anders thought, what kind of mess have I got myself in.
Right now, Anders needed to get away, for the thought of Hawke seeing him like this was unimaginable. He’d never live it down. Isabela he could somehow perhaps bribe or blackmail to be quiet, or just pretend that she had been drunk or dreaming. Feeble excuses, but Anders was desperate.
He slipped into his feathered coat but was disappointed to notice that his tail extended below the hem. He tried to curl it up, focusing on the area around his tailbone, but it seemed to have a will of its own. With a little practise, he was sure he could control it. It just wasn’t common to sprout new body parts every day, and deep down Anders hoped he’ll have the ears and tail removed far before he would get used to them.
The ears were a bigger problem. Anders didn’t usually wear hats or helmets or cowls, so he didn’t have anything to cover his head with and hide them for his hopefully stealthy escape. He scanned around the clinic, praying to see some sort of answer shimmering in light, a sign from the Maker that he wasn’t really abandoned. He found nothing. In haste, he wrapped his threadbare blanket around his head and shoulders in the way he had seen some nomad tribes do. It would look strange in Kirkwall but less strange than a tall apostate in kitten ears. And tail. Pulling the front of the blanket down a bit, it would work as a cowl and hide his face a little as well.
Anders picked up the dusty tome that was the source of all this misery and stuffed it into his bag. He pulled the makeshift shawl deeper on his forehead and carefully cracked the door open. He peered into Darktown and saw some familiar patients waiting, rising from the ground and from against the wall where they had been leaning and sitting. His path out was blocked.
“I-I’m sorry, I can’t treat you today,” Anders said with only his head peeking from the clinic. “I’m really sick, you see,” he explained and added a few coughs to make his point. The few who had gathered in front of the clinic looked at the dirty blanket wrapped around his head and shoulders and judging from their faces decided to stay away from Anders, lest they catch whatever was troubling the healer.
He leaned his head against the doorframe, cursing himself (and Hawke) for the umpteenth time today. Magical mishaps had happened before, of course, but nothing quite so embarrassing. Well, maybe for the Templar who got an efficient and hot shave. He just needed a little time to work out what had gone wrong so that he could fix it, a nice, quiet place for some spell-reversing.
At that moment, he heard a noise from the door on his side and out burst Hawke, shouldering the tunnel door open.
“Anders! What are you doing out here?!”
So much for the grand escape, Anders thought, horrified. Apparently his disguise wasn’t working, at least not on Hawke who had used the secret tunnel from the mansion cellar to reach the clinic. If Anders would break into a run, could he evade Hawke? Maybe throw a tiny fireball to distract him—
“Let’s get you back in bed,” Hawke said, ushering Anders back inside and closing the door behind them.
“In bed? Why?” Anders asked, desperately trying to buy time to escape. Would a mind blast hurt Hawke at this distance? Would it hurt Hawke more than what Anders being discovered would hurt Anders’ pride?
“Isabela said that you were sick in bed and needed my milk!” Hawke exclaimed, eagerly presenting the round, ceramic jug in his hands.
Shock was a mild way to describe what Anders felt at that comment. Hawke’s milk—
Groaning pitifully, he collapsed into a squat, burying his head into his knees, arms around them. He could feel his face was hot and never before had he so fervently begged for the earth below to swallow him or a bolt of lightning fry him on the spot or even Justice taking over. He was his friend, why wasn’t he helping Anders?!
“Anders, are you all right? Here, you can have some milk right away,” Hawke fussed, squatting down alongside Anders.
“I hate Isabela,” Anders mumbled into his knees, deciding to go for the bury-head-in-sand-and-the-problem-will-solve-itself methodology.
“What did you say? Here, let’s take this thing off your head,” Hawke said and peeled back the makeshift cowl off Anders’ head.
Anders, on the other hand, kept his face firmly buried against his knees and thighs, adamant on never ever looking at Hawke again. Maybe when he saw the ears, he’d scream and run away. Considering his history in killing everything from giant spiders to Tal-Vashoth and demons, that was unlikely.
“What’s this? Are those… cat ears? Is this a costume? I thought Isabela said that you’re sick,” Hawke asked, perplexed.
Anders mumbled something unintelligible, trying his best to think about evil Templars harassing innocent mages, dead kittens and Meredith, but Justice stayed quiet.
“What was that?” Hawke asked.
“A spell went wrong,” Anders sighed, finally raising his face which was probably still flushed. “I was trying to summon a cat familiar but something went wrong and… You can see the results.” He supposed he was cornered now, so he might as well tell the truth. Well, almost the truth.
Anders could almost see question marks popping around Hawke’s head as he tried to make sense of the situation, dark eyes blinking rapidly. “So… you have cat ears now?” Hawke asked slowly.
“And a tail,” Anders added, exasperated, still crouched and hugging his knees. As if on cue, his fluffed up tail bent into view.
Hawke glanced down at the tail attached to Anders and for a moment Anders was afraid that Hawke’s eyebrows would escape into his hairline. Hawke stayed quiet and Anders didn’t want to give him any more information on the situation. He just wished he’d wake up or Hawke would leave or anything to make the embarrassment stop.
“And Isabela told me you were sick because…?” Hawke queried carefully.
Anders buried his face in his knees again, feeling incredibly ashamed. Why was Hawke torturing him like this?
“Shetoffuwdlei.”
“Say what now?”
“She thought you would like me like this,” Anders wailed, refusing to meet Hawke’s gaze and instead focusing on a very interesting patch of dirt on the floor. Ground. Whatever. It was interesting.
Hawke was quiet for a long while before venturing. “So the milk… Oh dear.”
“Yes,” Anders answered, clipped.
“She meant my—“
“Andraste’s ass, you don’t need to spell it out! This is all your fault anyway!” Anders cried out.
“My fault?”
“Yes, yours! I wouldn’t have messed up my spell if you weren’t so damnably handsome and irresistibly charming and always flirting at everyone and—“ Anders’ ears flattened against his scalp and his tail started to swoop the ground before he realized what he was saying. The cat is out of the bag now, his mind supplied helpfully. Or was that Justice?
Hawke blinked. “Does that mean you like me?”
Of all the things that were present in the current circumstances, and that is what Hawke came up with?
Anders finally changed his position, leaning backwards to sit on the ground. “Of course I bloody do, which, apparently everyone else but you know. Knew. Oh, Maker.”
Hawke’s eyes lit up, his whole body perking up as well. “Does this mean I can kiss you now?”
“Wha— mmph!”
Without waiting for permission, Hawke quite literally pounced on Anders, pushing him to the ground by his shoulders and mashing their lips together. Anders was stunned, very much not expecting this.
“Isabela was right,” Hawke said gleefully, his enthusiasm reminding Anders of an over-zealous puppy. “You look really hot with those ears.”
Again, Anders wasn’t allowed to say anything in his defence before Hawke was kissing him again, not that he really wanted to say anything if the alternative was being devoured by Hawke. His moustache and beard tickled against Anders’ face, but it was a welcome sensation along with his intense kiss. He wasn’t able to think coherently about anything at all and just went with the flow, everything completely still inside his head. His body reacted even if his brain was at a standstill, kissing Hawke back light-headed.
“Will they go away?” Hawke asked when he came up for breath, panting but obviously very happy about the whole situation.
“They have to!” Anders groaned, looking up at Hawke grinning like a simpleton. Did this mean that Hawke wouldn’t like Anders after the ears were gone? Because he would get rid of them, eventually. Somehow.
“Let us seize the moment then,” Hawke smiled contentedly, reaching out to knead one feline ear between his thumb and forefinger.
Anders was shocked at the positively filthy moan that came from apparently his own mouth. The feeling of Hawke’s fingers touching his ears went straight to his groin. His heart was pounding, blood buzzing in his ears the more Hawke caressed his ears.
Hawke noticed that. He kissed Anders around his mouth and pinched one ear, making Anders arch his back with a ragged whimper. It was somehow even more embarrassing, realizing his body was reacting so shamelessly.
“Hawke, wait, stop,” he gasped and Hawke obeyed immediately, completely still apart from his heaving chest. It was really bothering him now, what Hawke thought about him.
“Why are you doing this?” Anders asked, strawberry blonde hair spread around him like a halo. His lips were swollen already with Hawke’s bruising kisses, a strip of red blush covering his nose and cheeks.
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve only flirted at you,” Hawke smiled. “Only, you haven’t responded so I thought you weren’t interested. Until now, that is.”
“Oh,” Anders replied, a little dumbfounded. He thought Hawke did that with everyone. Anders felt confused but also thrilled to have been so very wrong.
“May I continue showing just how much I like you?” Hawke asked, leaning in a little closer.
“As long as we get off this floor, yes,” Anders laughed.
Later that night, the pair walked hand in hand into the Hanged Man for the gang’s weekly card game. Isabela and Varric erupted into impromptu applause when Hawke and Anders stepped into Varric’s suite with idiotic grins plastered on their face, the kind only couples in love have. Merrill joined the applause, slightly confused but still excited about whatever was going on.
“Hey cat boy,” Isabela cooed. “Where did you leave your ears and tail?”
Both Anders and Hawke blushed furiously. “They… disappeared,” Anders coughed.
Varric produced a quill and paper from seemingly nothingness. “So the Champion’s cock can heal magical ailments. Good to know!”
Anders was never going to live this down.
