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‘Anders!’ Garrett Hawke burst into the bedroom like a large, bearded tornado. As the door slammed shut behind him, the draught sent papers scattering and fluttering into the air around the desk. ‘I’ve had an idea.’
Anders watched his efforts at vindicating the right of mages everywhere to a life of freedom float aimlessly toward the floor. They weren’t particularly eloquent efforts anyway, or at least, not yet. He’d thought he just needed to get into the right mindset, although since between himself and Justice they were thinking about mage freedom at least twenty-three and three-quarters hours of every single day, it might be he actually just needed a rest.
He tilted his head back, peering at his lover upside-down. Garrett’s eyes were bright brown dots above his scruffy black beard. ‘Does this idea involve food, violence, or inappropriate remarks to authority figures?’
Hawke tossed himself onto the middle of the bed, arms splayed wide, eyeing Anders with suspicious pique. ‘Not necessarily.’
Anders’ eyebrows arched. He turned in the chair, abandoning the pages to their fate. ‘None of them? That doesn’t sound like you.’
Hawke heaved a long sigh, a motion which took most of his body. ‘Well, it might involve food. And I never turn down a chance to make inappropriate remarks at certain authority figures. But mostly no. I just want to do something nice for my brother.’
Anders blinked rapidly at him. Hawke and Carver loved each other, would defend one another to the death, but did not generally show each other small kindnesses. ‘Something actually nice? Or is this like when you told him you'd brought him cake, only you'd really just covered the sponge from Corff's mop bucket in chocolate? Because if that’s the case, I want no part of it. Except a good view from a safe distance.’
Hawke pushed himself up onto his elbows, utterly unable to hide a snicker. ‘That was good, wasn’t it?’ he muttered, clearly still proud of himself. ‘But no, this is actually nice. And I will need your help.’ He flung himself back upright and reached out to catch Anders’ hand between his own. His palms were warm, and the strength in those fingers never failed to do things to Anders’ insides. Pleasant, wobbly, swirly things that distracted him enough he almost missed it when Hawke continued blithely, ‘You know how we’re deliriously happy together?’
Anders swallowed, and nodded. ‘Yes?’ He did not miss the smirk that crossed Hawke’s face, but decided to let it go. ‘Dare I ask what that has to do with – oh.’ Lightning struck, metaphorically speaking. ‘You want to...find someone for Carver?’
He wished he could be surprised at the way Hawke beamed at him, but he wasn’t. ‘He deserves the same chance at happiness as anyone!’ the man declared. ‘Even if he is Carver. Also, I might have secretly confiscated a letter our mother was going to send to Knight-Captain Meredith. And one to Lord de Launcet. Let’s just say he’s going to need to get attached on his own before she does it for him.’
Anders winced. Since he’d moved in to the estate with Hawke, he and Leandra mostly avoided each other; she was always perfectly kind to him but he was sure he wasn’t the partner for her firstborn child she’d always dreamt of. If she was turning her attention to arranging a match for her youngest, his existence was probably at least partly responsible. ‘All right, I concede the cause is just,’ he agreed, pretending not to notice Hawke roll his eyes. ‘I assume you have a candidate in mind?’
‘Oh,’ Hawke said brightly. ‘Merrill, of course. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed what an idiot he is whenever she talks to him? More of an idiot than usual, I mean.’
Anders had, in fact, noticed. Justice had noticed. Isabela had definitely noticed. He was reasonably certain the rats hiding in the wall of the Hanged Man had noticed. The only person who possibly hadn’t was Merrill herself, although she also might just be politely pretending to spare him embarrassment. ‘Have you asked her how she feels about this?’
Hawke gaped at him. ‘Of course not! That would be interfering.’
Anders felt a groan start somewhere in his throat. ‘Right. Then – and I admit I may not actually want to know the answer to this, but I think I’d like some warning – what exactly is your plan?’
Hawke gazed down at the hand he was still holding, his fingertips running absently over the back of Anders’ wrist. ‘We all go to the Wounded Coast,’ he explained. ‘The four of us. We’ll say we’re looking for bandits, or Tal-Vashoth, or blood mages or something. Something will happen that makes us split up. You and I will go hide in a cave together all night, probably naked, and leave them to sort things out for themselves.’
Anders twisted his hand to catch Hawke’s larger one, lacing their fingers together, and sighed. ‘That’s it? That’s your whole plan? Camping on the Wounded Coast?’
‘And getting naked,’ Hawke reminded him helpfully. ‘Oh! Do you think we should get into danger somehow? They could have to work together to rescue us – er, or just me,’ he amended hastily at the look of disbelief – and the sudden bright flash of blue light – in his lover’s eyes.
‘No,’ Anders said flatly. ‘I think you should leave the peril and rescuing out of it.’ All previous experience suggested that those things would happen anyway; he saw no need to court them deliberately.
Hawke’s mouth twisted into an adorable pout and his face was full of challenge, but he only mumbled, ‘We’ll think about it.’ His eyes shone with mischief, and the tip of his tongue poked out between straight white teeth. Anders thought he had understood what ‘trouble’ looked like before meeting Garrett, but he had been very wrong. The last three years had been an education. ‘Besides, I didn’t mean real peril. Just imaginary, ceremonial peril. We’d be perfectly safe.’
‘So,’ Anders pointed out dryly, leaving aside that few if any of Hawke’s plans could ever be categorised as perfectly safe, ‘this idea also hinges on frightening your large, sword-wielding brother over your well-being? There is clearly no way any aspect of this could possibly go wrong.’
He was never sure if Hawke really didn’t understand other people’s sarcasm, or just pretended not to when it suited him. He certainly used enough of it himself. His deep brown eyes were wide, all feigned innocence and indignance. ‘How could it? It’s a foolproof plan!’
‘As far as I can tell,’ Anders countered, ‘there is not, technically speaking, any plan.’
Hawke drew back, looking offended. He crossed his arms over his broad chest, and somehow managed to look both alluring and a bit like a toddler on the edge of a tantrum. ‘Well, no,’ he agreed, with a reproachful glare, ‘but all my plans are brilliant–’
Anders patted him soothingly on the knee and began, ‘I’m not absolutely sure that’s true–’
‘Because I am brilliant,’ Hawke continued, his jaw set as if daring Anders to disagree.
Anders would never, of course. ‘I would have said “creative”.’
Hawke looked mollified. And Anders could, if called upon, provide evidence as to some of the less-brilliant aspects of many of Garrett’s plans, which were mostly successful through some combination of divine intervention and sheer idiot’s luck.
‘...foolproof,’ the idiot in question was muttering under his breath. ‘Which is good!’ he added abruptly, flashing Anders a riotous grin. ‘Because my brother’s a fool.’
Anders was certainly not going to argue with that. Carver, as near as he could tell, had joined the Templars for the same reasons he made most of his life decisions: out of spite. ‘Have you pitched this to Varric?’ he asked. ‘The apostate who tried to set up the Templar and the Blood Mage? It might have potential.’ In fact, it bore a number of narrative similarities to a series of ridiculously overblown romances he’d borrowed from one of the older apprentices, back when he had time to be interested in fictional lives rather than real ones. Forbidden affairs between mages and Templars were a startlingly popular subject for fiction.
‘You think?’ Hawke wondered. ‘I’ll suggest it, but I think he’s going off romance serials. But can you imagine the cover? She’s so delicate and he’s so bloody huge–’
Anders laughed. ‘You should talk.’ Garrett Hawke was apparently what happened when mages spent their childhoods doing manual labour in the fields, instead of trapped in a tower. Both the brothers were of what one might call intimidating stature. He personally found it...enticing. Exciting, sometimes.
Hawke only chuckled. ‘Fair enough. Anyway, it’s a good idea and they both deserve something nice and say you’ll help?’ His wide brown eyes glittered with mischief, and Anders knew it didn’t matter whether they idea was good or not, or whether he approved or not, or if the whole thing was as ridiculous as the time an inebriated Isabela managed to convince an even more inebriated Hawke that a secret treasure was buried beneath the Hanged Man's latrine. He was always going to go along, wasn’t he?
He held up his hands in melodramatic surrender. ‘All right. But next time, I get to pick our romantic destination.’
Hawke sniffed. ‘Your idea of a romantic destination is the smuggler tunnels in the deep sewers,’ he pointed out, ‘so no.’
Anders protested, ‘That was one time–’ But he didn’t get far, because Garrett leaned forward and kissed him, and whatever he’d been about to say fizzled and sparked and disappeared entirely from his brain.
‘I knew you’d help,’ Hawke said with a satisfied smile. Anders, dazed and grinning, only nodded.
--------
‘I really don’t see why you need me along for this,’ Carver grumbled. The wind from the sea blew harsh and hot, and heavy armour was really not ideal for trudging through the dunes in the sweltering heat. He’d taken off his helmet, but humidity and sweat kept his dark hair plastered to his forehead. ‘Not that I don’t appreciate the vote of confidence, I guess, but doesn’t Fenris usually come along to swing a big sword at things these days?’
‘Yes,’ Garrett answered cheerfully. ‘But have you ever spent a day with Fenris, Merrill and Anders? The arguing would drive me to the depths of despair before lunchtime. I’d jump off a cliff or drown myself in the sea.’
Carver rolled his eyes. ‘Wouldn’t that be something?’
‘Anyway,’ Hawke said with a shrug, ‘do you mean you didn’t want a day away from the Gallows?’
Carver’s gaze darted from his brother, to Merrill standing a few steps ahead, and back. He muttered, ‘I didn’t say that.’
Hawke flashed Anders a triumphant grin, and reached for his hand. Anders still didn’t see how any of this was supposed to result in a romantic rendezvous between Carver and Merrill. So far it was just tromping around in the dirt, pretending to look for an imaginary nest of imaginary maleficarum, getting sweaty and lost, and listening to the brothers bicker. But he’d already resigned himself to whatever result – be it success, failure, a sudden attack by a dragon, or a line of darkspawn dancing the Remigold. And it wasn’t that bad, getting out of Kirkwall for a while. Fresh air and exercise and such. Also Hawke had stripped off his jacket, giving Anders a rather nice view of bare biceps and the tight leathers enclosing a muscular body, and he kept flashing conspiratorial smiles that could make a mage’s stomach flutter.
They’d already encountered a few spiders when the dog accidentally disturbed a nest, but unlike most days spent hiking around the Wounded Coast, nothing they met proved too challenging. Despite all the wandering, Anders had a feeling they weren’t actually lost – at least judging from the way Hawke led them deftly around the cliffs, keeping far away from the Tal-Vashoth camps and bandit hideouts. He certainly wasn’t too worried, since he chattered away the whole time – teasing Carver, flirting with Anders, asking Merrill questions about every other plant and shrub they passed. The elf beamed every time, delighted to explain all the lore she could remember. Anders watched Carver’s brow furrow as he tried to commit it all to memory – or at least listen to her without staring – and Hawke flashed his lover a self-satisfied grin.
They paused for a rest on top of a rise overlooking the sea. Heat and humidity made the air shimmer above the surface, the glittering water fading into a hovering mist. The sun floated lazily lower behind a puff of cloud, giving them a small respite from its blazing heat. Hawke perched close to Anders, one large hand resting on his knee, sending sparks shooting through his skin that had nothing to do with magic. The dog flopped onto his back and rolled, wriggling, in the mud.
‘I’m sorry, Hawke,’ Merrill said, fishing a bit of dried fruit out of her pack and passing it around, ‘but we may not be able to find these maleficarum of yours at all. I haven’t seen anything that looks like magic all day – other than us, I mean. Have you?’
Garrett shook his head, but his face was set and determined. ‘No,’ he admitted, with a completely straight face that Anders envied. ‘But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t keep looking!’
‘How long, though?’ Carver demanded. ‘We can’t stay out here all night.’ At the defiant lift of Hawke’s chin, he sighed. ‘Or I suppose we can. Is it really that important?’
‘In a hurry to get back to the Gallows and torture some mages?’ Anders countered coolly. Carver glared at him.
Hawke held up a hand to stall the conversation before it became an argument. ‘Look, at least if we camp out here and don’t find anything, we’ll be reasonably sure there’s nothing to find. And you can go back to the Knight-Commander and make helpful noises. We can even just tell her we found some and dealt with them, if it comes to it. How’ll she know the difference? She always thinks there are blood mages somewhere.’
Carver swung his pack from his shoulders and tossed it to the ground. ‘Fine,’ he grumbled. ‘Let’s get set up.’
They pitched three small tents, then Hawke and Carver ventured off to forage for firewood. Merrill sat with her back against a boulder, knees pulled up, and when they were out of earshot asked Anders sensibly, ‘Do you ever get the feeling Hawke just wants to see if we’ll actually follow him?’
Anders shot a look toward the path the brothers had disappeared down, and nodded. ‘Surprisingly often, actually.’
Merrill’s soft smile was teasing, her eyes bright. ‘You always follow,’ she pointed out.
Anders shrugged, feeling his cheeks go warm. ‘I have my reasons.’
‘I know,’ Merrill said cheerfully. ‘And I think you’re very sweet together.’
‘That’s one of you,’ said Anders dryly. Although really, offending Carver’s delicate Templar sensibilities was something of an added perk to the whole arrangement.
The brothers returned, still grumbling at each other. Merrill started a small fire and it danced and crackled merrily, sending small bright sparks soaring into the slowly darkening sky. The sun still hovered over the line of mountains in the distance, the summer days long and lazy about turning into night. Carver settled onto the ground, leaning back against a small rise of earth with his sword across his knees.
Hawke stuffed a few things into a small pack and bounded to his feet. ‘Anders, want to come with me?’
Carver glowered at him. ‘And just where are you going?’
‘Foraging,’ Hawke answered easily. ‘For supplies. Food and such. Nuts, berries, stray monsters. We’ll see what we find.’
Carver eyed him suspiciously as Hawke pulled Anders to his feet. ‘If you’re foraging for food why are you taking – oh, never mind.’
Hawke held his brother’s eyes for a long moment, though whether he was trying to impart some wisdom or set him on fire with nothing but his mind was impossible to tell. Then he slung the pack over his shoulder, seized Ander’s hand, and dragged him off toward the cliffs.
‘Try not to pick poison ones this time!’ Merrill called helpfully after them.
Anders glanced at Hawke. ‘This time?’
Hawke shrugged blithely, not even slowing. ‘Hardly even worth talking about.’
Anders shook his head in disbelief. ‘What would you do without me?’ he mused aloud, chuckling. Hawke flashed him a dazzling grin, leaned in, and kissed him on the nose. ‘Yes, I thought so.’
It quickly became clear that actually foraging, for poisonous berries or otherwise, was the last thing on Garrett’s mind. The two mages walked hand in hand along the high cliffs, fading sunlight streaking grey and gold through the mist above the glimmering sea below. Hawke hummed a tune under his breath as he walked, his thumb stroking absently over the back of Anders’ hand, a look of utter contentment on his face.
Getting out of Kirkwall, even for a ridiculous reason, really wasn’t bad at all.
They picked their way slowly over the rocky ground along the cliffs, wandering slowly lower toward the beach. Ahead of them, a tall jut of limestone towered overhead, shadows marking the ledges and caves along its side. A colony of gannets nested on an outcropping high above their heads, muttering to each other, their rumbling calls echoing between the escarpments. Further down, below a bracken-covered ridge, a wider opening led deeper into the cliffside itself. It didn’t look too hard to reach, and Anders had a terrible suspicion that Garret was going to suggest exactly that.
‘Look!’ Hawke gripped his hand, tugging him toward the hollow in the rocks. It didn’t look like it could even really properly be called a cave, but all things considered, that was probably a good thing. A not-quite-cave was considerably less likely to be housing sleeping dragons, cursed corpses, or long-trapped demons. ‘There’s something glittering inside. What if we’ve found treasure?’
‘More broken plates and torn trousers?’ Anders said dryly, but as they stepped forward he could see it too – something shining on the surface of the cave floor, smooth and still, reflecting the fading sunset. ‘I suppose not. It’s not coins, though, it’s too flat. Really, it’s probably just a trick of the light.’
It certainly didn’t shine as much as Garrett’s eyes did, when he turned the full force of his eager smile on Anders and in an exuberant whisper, said, ‘Let’s go see!’
That look always made Anders a little dizzy, and he could only nod agreement. Why protest, if this was going to make Hawke happy? ‘Lead on, then.’
Hawke beamed at him, bringing their joined hands to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to Anders’ knuckles. ‘You’re the best. Have I said that?’
Anders chuckled, his cheeks warming. Something bright and brilliant twisted in his chest and he admitted, ‘Once or twice, maybe.’ A smile, almost shy. ‘But I never mind hearing it.’
‘The best,’ Hawke repeated. Hand in hand, they made their way over the uneven ground in toward the little opening that might or might not be a cave entrance. Ahead of them, reflected twilight gleamed from the floor’s surface, the great hulking shadows of the hills rising around them.
And then suddenly – too abruptly to catch themselves – there was no more ground beneath them. The outcropping Hawke balanced on crumbled under his feet. His arms flailed wildly, fingers clenching in a death-grip Anders couldn’t wrench free of, and with an undignified yelp they were both falling, sliding and tumbling down the hillside in a clatter of stones and dirt and limbs. Then they were flying, or falling, through empty air. Anders’ stomach lurched, Hawke still clutching at him.
They landed with a splash, as the shimmering cave floor proved to actually be a shallow pool. The reflection of light rippled and broke as Hawke crashed into it, and Anders crashed into Hawke, finally able to pull his hand away. His wrist was wrenched and sore, and he shook it out as they got their balance. The pool wasn’t deep enough to be dangerous, provided one wasn’t unconscious in it, but they’d managed to get quite impressively wet in a very short time.
‘Well,’ said Anders dryly, ‘it’s not hidden treasure.’
Hawke’s face scrunched up in distaste. ‘Bloody well isn’t. It’s sticky.’ He heaved a great sigh, feeling around the edge until he found somewhere that seemed secure. ‘Water shouldn’t be sticky, should it?’
Anders’ staff was digging into his back; he was lucky it hadn’t hit him in the head. Hawke had dropped his on landing, and the gleaming naked figure of Andraste poked out from the edge of the pool. ‘Not usually.’ He summoned a wisp of veilfire and let it float up above them into the cave. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘I don’t think so.’ Even so, Hawke was examining himself, then turned his face up to the area around them. ‘A little sore from landing like that, but it’s nothing. Are you?’
Anders shook his head. ‘Just wet.’
Hawke’s nose wrinkled in distaste, and he splashed his way to the entrance and poked his head out. ‘We got lucky,’ he announced. ‘There’s a bit of a ravine there, I don’t think we could jump it. A little slower and we’d have landed on the rocks. Or ended up in the sea.’ As he turned back toward Anders a slow grin split his face. ‘I did promise a cave, didn’t I?’
‘Promise? Or threaten?’ Anders countered, picking his way out of the shallow pool toward the back of the hollow. ‘Also, this is barely a cave.’ The ground was slick with algae and seaweed, the rumbling cries of the gannets above them echoed off the walls, and the entire place smelled aggressively of salt water. He sat down on it to unlace his boots. It was as good a place to wait as any, he supposed, since all Garrett really wanted was to keep distracted and away from Carver and Merrill anyway.
‘It’s not the size,’ Hawke said cheerfully, with a ridiculous waggle of bushy eyebrows, ‘it’s what you do with it.’ Anders groaned, fumbling about on the ground for something suitably heavy and harmless to throw at him. But Hawke splashed across the pool to sit next to him, folding himself onto the slick floor with more grace than such a large man should possess. He tugged off his own boots, tipping them upside-down to let a spurt of water fall from them.
‘All right,’ he said after a moment. ‘It isn’t exactly luxury. Privacy has to count for something, though, right?’
Anders considered the damp cave smelling of algae and fish, ground slick beneath them and a pool of some questionable watery substance to dip their feet into, compared with the feather mattress and thick blankets and red silk sheets on Hawke’s bed back in Kirkwall – his bed, now, too, though he still had trouble thinking of it as such. He shrugged. Garrett was watching him a little too keenly, and Anders relented with a smile.
‘All right. It’s not as if either of us are that used to luxury anyway.’
‘Someday,’ Hawke said, resting a hand on Anders’ thigh that drifted almost absently over one damp leg, ‘I’ll take you somewhere properly fancy. Privacy and luxury. Maybe one of those overpriced hotels in Val Royeaux.’ The hand slid off Anders’ thigh and around his back, and he leaned into the one-armed embrace as Hawke eased him closer. ‘We’ll spend all day in bed. I’ll get to see you relaxed for once.’
‘In Val Royeaux? Not likely.’ But Anders rested his head against Hawke’s broad shoulder, letting the image settle in his mind anyway. It was only a fantasy, after all. ‘Too many Templars.’
Hawke grinned, turning his face; his beard scratched across Anders’ cheek as warm lips traced the curve of his jaw. ‘We won’t see any Templars if we don’t leave our room,’ he pointed out. ‘And I’d keep you too distracted to think about them.’
Anders could point out that between himelf and Justice, one or both of them was always thinking of Templars, no matter how distracted. Or that there was really no point going all the way to Orlais for a holiday and then spending the entire time alone indoors. Or – and this was the Maker’s own truth – that he didn’t care in the least where they were, as long as Hawke was at his side. Even this smelly, wet not-a-cave.
But he didn’t, because Hawke’s tongue was tickling a line aross the side of his throat and because there was something attractive about daydreaming. And as Hawke’s usual plans involved more tromping through swamps and mountains, and less lazy mornings in plush beds, it was a nice change of pace.
And, well, it was a pleasant thought, imagining Garrett spread out naked on one of those ridiculously elaborate Orlesian beds. Without the chance of anyone walking in looking for something, or the dog whining outside until he was let in, or Hawke’s mother calling to him through the door.
So instead he said, ‘You do make a compelling argument. I’m going to need some of those little lavender cakes, though. A lot of them, if you want me to keep up my strength.’
Hawke laughed, delighted; his breath was warm against Anders’ throat and he pressed another kiss there before he straightened. ‘Here the whole time I thought it was Grey Warden stamina, but it’s really just sugar?’ he teased, his fingers sliding into Anders’ hair. ‘I’ll keep it in mind. Your secret is out.’
Anders smiled mysteriously. Hawke’s eyes glittered. They sat for a while, arms around each other, bare feet dangling into the pool that shimmered with each ripple. It wasn’t remotely like an expensive hotel in Val Royeaux, but there was room to sit, and so far nothing had tried to eat them. Considering their daily lives, there was something to be said for that.
The lingering remnants of light faded, as somewhere beyond the jagged curve of the cave wall the sun sank below the horizon. ‘Do you think we ought to get back?’ Anders asked, but Hawke tightened his arm and shook his head.
‘They won’t expect us anyway,’ he said. ‘Well, Carver won’t. I hope he appreciates this is all for his benefit.’
Anders’ mouth twitched. ‘Carver, appreciate something? Especially something you did?’ he pointed out. ‘It’s possible, I suppose, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.’ He shifted in the crook of Hawke’s arm, draping long legs across his lap and nestling against his chest. ‘How long do you mean for us to stay?’
Hawke kicked his feet absently, and in the darkening shadows the motion sent little trails of silver rippling through the water. ‘Like this, right here?’ he answered, his voice soft and fond. ‘Years, at least.’
Anders leaned up to kiss him. ‘You should have brought more food, then.’
He could feel Hawke’s breath hitch, the racing of his heart beneath the leather, the soft warmth of his laugh. ‘Oh, all right. A little longer, then, how’s that? I did say we should get naked in a cave, didn’t I?’
Anders sniffed. ‘You want us to get naked here?’ Although the idea was becoming a more and more attractive one the longer he sat here, pressed against Hawke’s strong body, wrapped in his arms and breathing him in.
Hawke’s fingers began a slow dance along Anders’ thigh, slipping beneath the folds of his coat. ‘I suppose naked isn’t necessarily a requirement,’ he conceded. ‘It might make things easier, but –’ he grinned, his hand going flat to cup the bulge forming in Anders’ loose trousers, ‘I’m always up for a challenge.’
He looked far too pleased with himself, and Anders shoved at him half-heartedly. ‘You’re hopeless.’
Hawke laughed, delighted. He captured Anders’ wrist in one hand, gentle but firm. and the whisper of strength in that grasp shot straight through Anders’ body and into his groin, twisting his stomach into fluttering shapes on the way. ‘Hopelessly sexy!’ Hawke declared, tugging him close again. ‘Hopeless in love, definitely.’
Anders was sure he would never get used to hearing that, so open and unaffected. He melted into Hawke’s embrace, searching out his mouth to kiss him fiercely. That they were two apostates in a damp cavelet, hidden from prying eyes by a pond of glowing algae and a dirty ravine, made no difference. Daydreams were wonderful, but they didn’t need luxury. Just each other.
They were both breathing hard by the time the kiss broke. Anders pressed his hand flat against Hawke's heart, felt it racing beneath his palm. His expression must have been something, because Hawke was silent, watching him quizzically, his smile dazed and giddy.
‘If we’re getting naked in this cave,’ he said firmly, pressing Hawke backward and crawling over his lap, ‘you will be the one on the ground getting dirty and damp.’
Hawke let out a burst of a laugh. ‘And here you were used to Darktown,’ he teased, and tugged his face down to kiss.
Anders grinned against his mouth and nipped at his lip, rewarded with a low groan. ‘And now I’m a kept man in Hightown,’ he countered, already pulling at the laces of Hawke’s trousers. ‘I’m sure that’s your fault.’
Garrett stretched out beneath him, long and broad and eager, his dark eyes glittering like the reflected stars in the pool. ‘Suppose I’d better let you do whatever you like, then,’ he said mildly. The skin of his stomach twitched as Anders’ fingers touched bare skin.
‘Suppose you’d better,’ Anders agreed, and did.
-------
‘...Anders?’ Hawke shifted uncomfortably, wriggling against him. ‘I itch.’
Anders blinked, pushing himself up onto an elbow. They were stretched out on the cool, damp cave floor, nestled together and half-covered by his spread coat. ‘Where?’ he asked, thinking his assistance was being required for his lover the way it sometimes was for the mabari warhound who still didn’t believe he wasn’t allowed on the bed.
But Hawke made a small unhappy sound. ‘All over.’ Anders leaned back and summoned a wisp of light to get a better look at him, and groaned.
Hawke’s skin was flushed and blotchy, patches of red broken out across his throat and chest and over his legs. Anders rested a hand against his forehead – no fever, at least. ‘Oh, Hawke,’ he sighed. ‘What am I going to do with you?’
Garrett sniffed miserably. ‘Take care of me, I hope. What’s the matter?’
‘If I have to hazard a guess,’ Anders answered, ‘I think you’re allergic to something. The algae in the pool, maybe? Whatever it is, it’s all over you.’
Of course, it only stood to reason. After all, nothing had attacked them; even the colony of gannets was being surprisingly well-behaved. Something else was bound to go wrong. Anders sighed, brushing a comforting kiss across Hawke’s forehead. He rose, not bothering to wrap himself in his coat, and picked his way to the entrance. ‘When we get back to camp I’ll be able to do more for you,’ he promised, and stopped short. ‘Oh, Maker’s arse.’
Hawke pushed himself up onto one side in alarm. ‘What?’
Anders gripped the edge of the little opening. Not far below, the waves lapped against the slick stone, dark and deep, wearing away at the bank on the other side. ‘That ravine you mentioned?’ he said wearily. ‘It’s a tidal tunnel.’
Hawke’s eyes widened and he only said, ‘...Oh.’
‘Quite.’ Anders made his way back to him and settled onto the floor. ‘It’s not too far, but it’s deep, and I can’t tell anything about the current. I don’t think we’re going anywhere until the tide goes out.’
He could make it, possibly. Probably. He’d swum across Lake Calenhad as a teenager. But Hawke, the farm boy from the middle of the Hinterlands, wasn’t a strong swimmer at the best of times. And right now was not the best of times. Better to stay where they were.
There was only so much magic could do about a rash, but as long as it was just itching, they’d be all right here. Anders sighed, settling onto the slick ground next to Hawke and easing his lover’s head into his lap. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he promised, the tips of his fingers glowing soft gold as he summoned magic to them. He brushed them soothingly, gently over Hawke’s face, letting cleansing energy and mana sink deep into his skin.
‘...Feels nice,’ Garrett mumbled, squirming in his lap.
Anders cupped his cheek. ‘Good. Just make sure you tell me if it’s more than an itch, all right? If it starts to be hard to breathe, or if you start to feel feverish….’
‘How’m I supposed to tell?’ Hawke countered, impish despite his obvious discomfort. ‘I’m always feverish and breathless with you around.’
Anders felt the blood rushing to his face, and tolerantly shook his head. ‘Flattery is nice, Hawke, but I’m serious.’
‘So am I.’ Hawke’s cheeks were flushed and blotchy, and he looked a little fevered, though his forehead was still cool. ‘But all right. I’ll tell you. Should you be touching me?’ he added, awkward. ‘Not that I want you to stop, but I don’t want you to get whatever it is, too.’
Anders shook his head, drawing cool, glowing fingers down the line of Hawke’s jaw and the curve of his throat, magic spreading in their wake. ‘It’s all right. I think if I were going to react, I would have already.’ Not quite as much of his body had gone into the water, but he’d had his feet in it long enough by now, and the rash didn’t seem to be confining itself to parts of Hawke that the algae had actually touched.
The spell did its work, calming at least some of the vicious colour on Hawke’s skin. He still squirmed, clearly uncomfortable, and a few times Anders had to catch hold of his hand before he could scratch himself.
‘Honestly, you’re worse than the dog. Stop trying to itch it!’
‘I’m sorry,’ Hawke grumbled in protest. Then he caught Anders’ faintly-glowing hand and laced their fingers together. ‘...I really am sorry, by the way. This wasn’t quite how I meant for things to go.’
‘Really?’ Anders traced the line of Hawke’s fingers with his own. ‘How very surprising.’
Hawke’s grin turned sheepish. And dizzying. ‘My plans are brilliant,’ he protested, and chuckled weakly. ‘Oh, I know you’re right. I just like giving you chances to say it. Anyway, they usually work out somehow.’
‘You’d better hope Carver is managing to speak full sentences around Merrill right now,’ Anders said mildly, ‘and then maybe it will all be worth it.’ If Hawke’s reaction didn’t get worse, if the sea didn’t get any higher, if the little cave didn’t end up being something’s home after all. The night was still young.
Hawke sniffed. ‘You say that as if you haven’t enjoyed yourself at all.’
‘No.’ Anders stroked gently down Hawke’s cheek, fingers sliding through his coarse beard. ‘I say it as if I hate seeing you uncomfortable. Which I do.’ Garrett’s brown eyes narrowed, his lips moving as if he were about to protest, and Anders tapped him lightly on the nose. ‘You know what I mean. Physically uncomfortable. When you embarrass yourself and it’s funny, that’s your own fault.’
‘Fair,’ Hawke agreed with a sigh. For a long moment they were both quiet – Hawke squirming, because he was apparently incapable of being still. Also because he itched, but all the wriggling around wasn’t going to help that. ‘Tides are...what, about six hours?’ He pouted, a dramatic sigh escaping his lips. ‘That’s a long time to wait with nothing to do.’
‘It is.’ Anders shifted, settling his back against the wall. A long wait, and an uncomfortable place to sleep, but they had little choice. After a moment he summoned a small burst of golden veilfire to his fingers, twisting it absently in his hand. Hawke, head still in his lap, watched curiously.
With little more than a thought the magical flame stretched, curled around itself, its bright edges opening like flower petals. A leaf burst from the lowest part of its stem and grew, long tendrils that shifted again to spread wide wings from its centre. Now a butterfly, it lifted off from Anders’ palm and fluttered into the air.
‘Oh,’ Hawke murmured, and called magelight to his hand as well – bright blue, shimmering in the air above him. ‘I think I can do that.’ His eyes narrowed, and with a short sudden flare the little light shattered in his hand, cascading into sparks before it reformed in his palm. ‘Let me try it again.’
Hawke’s magic was not delicate, as a general rule, and his forehead furrowed in concentration as he worked on coaxing a shape from his little wisp of veilfire. Anders’ golden one flitted around it – now a hummingbird, now a drop of liquid poured from a goblet, now a pouncing cat – as gradually Hawke’s began to take more shape.
‘It’s harder than it looks,’ he grumbled, but half-heartedly; his eyes were bright and excited.
Anders’ cat sprouted wings from its back and leapt away. ‘The Circle teaches it to apprentices, to help them learn control. They’re not usually this elaborate, but I used to make them for Sigrun sometimes. There’s a shocking lack of entertainment in the Deep Roads.’ Hawke’s blue light shaped itself into a tall tree, which Anders’ cat, now a full-fledged griffon, dove to circle.
‘When my dad taught Bethy and me control, it involved not doing anything magical at all,’ Hawke said, matter-of-fact. ‘Safer that way, of course. But it means we didn’t do many games.’ With a deep breath and a look of fierce concentration, his fingers squeezed, and the flickering blue light began to shift again. ‘I want to make a dragon.’
Anders’ fond laugh bubbled up in his chest before it burst its way free. ‘Of course you do,’ he teased, as Hawke grinned impishly up at him.
The sky outside was deep, moonless black by the time he succeeded, a fitting backdrop for the bright, misshapen little dragon that reared its head and spit flame at the shimmering ramparts of Anders’ floating castle. Satisfied at last, Hawke let the light fade from his hand and nuzzled against Anders’ knee. Sleepy and content, they curled together in the nest of their clothes, dozing, to wait out the night.
------
Dawn brought with it a dazzling stream of light, streaking into the little cave and bathing their bodies in cozy warmth. Anders stirred, shielding his eyes until they adjusted and he could get a look at Hawke. It was hard to tell if the furious red blotches had eased, but at least he didn’t seem to have gotten any worse.
He tried to rise, and Hawke’s fingers closed around his arm with a sleepy, ‘No.’
Anders chuckled, brushing damp dark hair back from his lover’s forehead. ‘It’s light, and the tide should be lower,’ he pointed out. ‘Time to get you back home.’
‘How?’ Hawke mumbled, curling around himself in drowsy warmth. ‘We could tie a rope and swing across….’ He faltered as Anders tossed his shirt onto his face. ‘Hey! Are you this rough with all your patients?’
‘When it’s necessary,’ Anders answered, unrepentant. Hawke shot him a sheepish grin and pushed himself upright. Even itchy and miserable, he was gorgeous; the golden glow of early morning light and the damp sheen across his muscles convinced Anders to stare at him as he dressed, disappointed by each vanishing glimpe of bare skin.
Hawke caught him looking, of course, and stretched purposefully. ‘Having second thoughts?’ he began, but before Anders could protest – or agree – he stopped short, head cocked. ‘Is that–’
The distant, but recognisable, bark of a mabari. Their eyes met and they dressed hastily, Anders holding his boots in one hand as he splashed across the shallow pool to the cave mouth. The water was low now, but the eroded ledge of the opposite bank was still too high and a bit too far to reach.
‘Are you sure it’s your dog?’ he asked over one shoulder. ‘I don’t want to attract attention and find out it’s not Carver and Merrill after all.’
Hawke’s mouth tightened, his forehead wrinkling as he listened. ‘Think so,’ he said, and leaned toward the entrance with a hand outstretched. A delicate wisp, ghostly in its flickering, manifested in his palm.
‘Go find Carver,’ he directed it, a look of intense concentration on his face. The little wisp flashed obligingly and darted off, and Hawke shrugged at Anders with a sheepish grin. ‘We didn’t play mage games, but Bethany and I used to cheat at hide-and-seek when we were little. It drove Carver crazy, but he never told our parents.’
Anders was torn between a surge of useless panic over how dangerous that would have been for a family of apostate mages, and a flare of fond protectiveness at the image of the small Hawke children using magic in such a playful, uninhibited way. The youngest apprentices in the Circle might play with veilfire shapes and shadow puppets, but genuine joy was in short supply there. And hiding, in a mage tower, was both survival mechanism and sacred trust.
But he only said mildly, ‘I’m sure that annoyed him no end.’ He wondered, for a moment, if the apprentices in the Gallows had games at all. Even educational ones.
Hawke, oblivious to the melancholy path of Anders’ thoughts, only grinned. ‘Everything does.’ He was still leaning out the cave mouth, balanced on his belly, when the joyful barking grew louder and the nose of a bounding mabari appeared over the ledge, followed by its body, its short stubby tail, and finally, Merrill and Carver. They peered down at the ravine, the cave, and the two bedraggled mages poking their heads out of it.
Carver crouched gingerly on what was left of the outcropping as Merrill stood lightly on its edge. The dog showed no such caution, gamboling about them in delight.
‘Yes, yes, you’ve found them,’ the younger Hawke grumbled, before levelling a glare at his brother. ‘What in the world, Garrett? How did you even get in there?’
‘Fell in!’ Hawke called back, his deep voice ringing out in cheerful defiance. ‘There was a landslide.’
Carver’s eyes narrowed, dubious. ‘A landslide?’ he echoed, taking a hesitant step backward.
‘We were trapped,’ Hawke continued dramatically. ‘And then algae tried to kill me.’
A sigh. ‘It serves you right,’ Carver muttered, but not seriously. He glanced around himself awkwardly, his face shadowed with guilt.
‘I did tell you something might actually have happened to them,’ Merrill pointed out gently.
Carver heaved another sigh. ‘I know, I know.’ He shrugged an apology in Hawke and Anders’ general direction. ‘Sorry, I guess. I thought you were sneaking off for...you know, private time. Not that you actually needed help.’
He looked so crestfallen that Anders, who didn’t even like Carver, felt compelled to comfort him. ‘He’s fine,’ he promised. ‘He’s not dying, whatever he says. It’s just a rash.’
Hawke turned to him with wide, betrayed eyes and wailed, ‘You don’t know that!’
‘Who’s the healer?’ Anders countered dryly, rolling his eyes. ‘I do know it. Now let’s just get you home so we can deal with it.’ He reached out to take Hawke’s hand, squeezing it gently, and was rewarded again by that dazzling, mischievous smile. ‘Any thoughts on that?’
They shouted ideas back and forth, but in the end decided on a straightforward solution in which Carver simply pulled them each up, using thick vines conjured by Merrill as a rope. He was red-faced and sweaty by the time he’d hauled both mages back to the ledge, and the dog thought the whole thing was some wonderful game and got in the way and nearly got himself caught in the vines. But at last, first Anders and then Hawke collapsed onto solid, safer ground and Carver sank heavily down next to them.
‘Goodness,’ Merrill exclaimed, leaning in to get a closer look at Hawke’s blotchy red face, ‘that doesn’t look good at all. You must itch like mad.’
‘Oh, it’s fine.’ Garrett waved a hand dismissively. ‘I thought maybe I could build up an immunity. To poison, acid, getting my face burnt off….’ Merrill’s mouth twitched, but her smile was sympathetic. ‘I don’t suppose you know what it is?’
The elf shook her head. Her hair puffed out in wild sleepy wisps, and a leaf poked out from behind one ear. ‘Not without seeing it. Although there is one plant – little spores, it has, and they get stuck to things – well, hard to say. But it could be.’ Her wide green eyes darted toward Anders, her smile growing. ‘But you were in good hands, I think?’
‘The best,’ Hawke agreed. He rose to his feet, wincing a little as he shouldered his bag. The dog yipped joyfully – an entirely undignified sound for a warhound to make – and nearly bowled him over. ‘Shall we?’ He offered Anders a hand, pulling him up as well, and then just didn’t let go. Carver pretended not to notice.
They trudged over the smooth sandy hills, scraggly trees jutting out at odd angles from the cliffside and the sun rising defiantly over their heads. Following behind Carver and Merrill, Anders could just see Hawke eyeing them, trying to determine whether anything had changed.
Something clearly had. Maybe Hawke couldn’t tell, but Anders could – it was in the way Merrill’s face tilted when she looked up at Carver, or how he touched her elbow when he stepped back to let her go ahead. Garrett was still looking thoughtful, and Anders didn’t want to spoil it all by speaking up.
Besides, if this ridiculous plan worked? He’d be insufferable.
The few white wisps of mares’ tails floating lazily across the sky dissolved and vanished as the sun rose higher over the shimmering line of the Waking Sea in the distance. The wind eased as they moved inland, but remained a hot, sandstrewn breeze that did nothing to cool them off and stung harsh against Hawke’s itching cheeks.
Merrill dropped back for a moment, falling into step beside him. ‘I really am sorry, Hawke,’ she said earnestly. ‘Carver was so certain you were fine.’
‘Hey, it’s all right,’ Hawke promised. His eyes were very bright. ‘You couldn’t have got to us anyway – we were stuck until the tide went out. So at least this way you didn’t worry too much, right?’
Merrill ducked her head, only a little awkward, glancing back toward Carver with a secretive twist to her mouth. ‘I suppose so. As long as you’re not upset!’
‘I’m really not,’ Hawke said firmly, a slow smile growing across his flushed red face. Over Merril’s head, he met Anders eyes with a look that said I told you so, which Anders decided not to dignify with a response. ‘I hope you two at least had an all right night?’
‘Oh yes,’ Merrill stammered, and hurried back up the path again, her cheeks slighty pink.
Hawke grinned at Anders and mouthed, Brilliant.
Anders rolled his eyes, and reached out for his hand. It was going to be a long walk home. Garret was going to be impossible. But he was right about one thing. His plans – however ridiculous – usually somehow worked out.