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Hawke wasn’t much in the mood for outings these days, but her friends had insisted that she needed a break. The weather was too fine, they said, for her to stay in the city moving house. Hawke would have continued refusing anyway, but when all five of them showed up at her doorstep one morning, refusing to leave until she came with them, there wasn’t much she could do.
“This isn’t so bad, I suppose,” Hawke said.
She sat beneath a lone tree in the shadow of Sundermount, watching the others play cards in the sunlight a few feet away. Anders, who, like Hawke, claimed he was too tired to play, lay in the grass not far from her, his hands forming a pillow beneath his head.
“I’m glad you feel that way,” he said, eyes still closed. “At least you’re not complaining that we kidnapped you anymore.”
“You did kidnap me, though,” she said. “What else would you call strong arming me into going somewhere I don’t want to go?”
“An intervention.” His voice was vague, half asleep and far away. “And, you just admitted that it isn’t so bad.”
“Details.”
He shrugged, even as he kept lying down. Hawke crossed her arms, but she couldn’t keep herself from grinning. Maybe a little fresh air was just what she needed. It was certainly a good distraction from the move, Gamlen, and her mother. Having Anders so nearby didn’t hurt either. They hadn't spent time together since--
Hawke’s smile faded and her stomach churned, as it always did at the thought of the Deep Roads. At the thought of Bethany. It had been a month since she'd seen her sister, and she still didn’t know if she was alive or dead or--
Stop, she told herself. Don't think about it. A panic attack in broad daylight, and in front of all her friends, was the last thing Hawke needed. The heat and brightness of the sun were making her dizzy enough as it was.
Desperate for distraction, Hawke reached into the satchel beside her and pulled out her sketchbook and pens. She hadn't drawn much since arriving in Kirkwall, but she carried her supplies with her out of habit, like a talisman. Now, she steepled her knees and rested the pad against them, considering what to sketch. She was probably out of practice.
The card players out in the field might be a good choice, though drawing so many moving figures would be a challenge. She could do a basic landscape, or one of the nearby flowers. But, no. Her gaze settled on Anders.
He was so still he might have been asleep, face so calm that the usual lines around his eyes were invisible. A small breeze rustled his golden hair. Sympathy and concern stirred. He must be exhausted, to fall asleep in the sun like that. Had he been working long nights at the clinic again? Up late writing his manifesto? Was Justice keeping him up?
Was this what he looked like in the morning, before he woke up?
Hawke she instinctively drew her knees closer to her chest. There were so many things to avoid thinking about these days.
Regardless, she gripped her pencil and began to draw. Anders might have been off limits, but he was still a good subject. Focusing only on the mechanics of the task, Hawke sketched in his profile. The long, straight nose and the strong jaw. His full lips and equally strong brows. She took special care with the stubble on his chin, the peacefulness of his expression, and the way his hair and the grass caressed his face.
Once finished, she held the book away from her and studied her work. It wasn’t bad. She’d definitely captured something of Anders, and she tried to be proud of that fact and ignore her racing pulse.
“What have you got there?”
Hawke flinched and lay her sketchbook flat on the ground. Her eyes locked with Anders, who was blinking in the sunlight and half sitting up.
“You’re awake,” she said.
“Was I asleep?” His brow furrowed. “I didn’t even realize.”
He yawned widely and sat up, planting his back against the tree, right next to her. Hawke put her hand firmly on the back of the sketchbook, but too late. Anders' eyes traveled to her hand, and to the pencil lying in the grass nearby.
“You were drawing?” His voice rose in curiosity. “I didn’t know you did that.”
“I don't. I mean, I used to. Back in Fereldan.”
“What were you doing just now, then?"
He leaned closer, and she pressed her hand down harder on the sketchbook. His face was so close to hers, and she imagined leaning in and kissing those full lips of his. But instead she broke eye contact to look at the grass.
"I was just messing around," she said. "It's nothing worth showing."
"I'm sorry." He sat up straight. "I wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable."
You always make me uncomfortable, she thought. But that's not your fault.
Out loud, though, she sighed. "It's all right. I'm just being silly."
Anders shook his head, smile kind. In that moment, Hawke couldn't think of a sight she liked more than that gentle expression.
She moved her hand away from the sketchbook.
"I suppose I could show you," she said. "Promise not to laugh?"
He snorted, a what-do-you-take-me-for sort of sound. "I'd never laugh at you, Hawke."
"I know." She sighed, and handed him the sketchbook.
“How about that,” he said. "It's me!"
“Do you like it?” She felt limp with relief. She scooted a little closer, so there was almost no space between them.
“It’s…” He sighed wistfully, and passed his hand over the drawing. He turned to her, expression sincere. “Thank you.”
Sitting so close, she could feel the warmth of his body. They were so close their shoulders nearly touched, but not quite.
“I’m glad you like it.”