#18daysoffenders

[barbex]

17. One And The Same

Don't stop, won't stop. Still for @18daysoffenders, I'm determined to finish all the prompts.

-----

"Do I detect a note of jealousy? It's not surprising. The lad is rather skilled, isn't he?"

Danarius holds out his hand, and Fenris watches himself lower his head. His knees want to bend.

"Fenris is important to me, I offer you a generous compensation." 

Hawke's face transforms into a smile that cuts through her entire face. She laughs, holding her hand out for the money. "You can have him, for the right price."

Fenris stares at her, a scream stuck in his throat, and his eyes fall on Anders leaning against the wall. Anders' eyes narrow as he watches him. "Looks like I wasn't the only one who thought that way."

Colour bleeds from the world. "No, Anders." His voice doesn't even reach his own ears.

"He's such a hypocrite." Anders pushes himself away from the wall and steps over to Danarius. His hand glows with magic and Danarius' eyes widen. "Always going on and on about how he hates all mages, but still lusting after the one who owns him. Looking for him in all other mages."

Danarius looks down at Fenris. "I remember him being so affectionate."

"I'm sure he was."

Fenris is on his knees, his mouth sewn shut, helpless as he stares at Anders, laughing with Danarius. 

"I could offer you incredible chances, mage." Danarius strokes over Anders' arm, a hidden blade in his palm leaving a bright trail behind. The blood flows from the cut like flowery veins, like the pattern on Fenris' arm. Anders' body goes rigid, his back arching, bloodmagic wrapping around his body with red fog. 

"Come, my little wolf." Danarius turns, and Fenris rises to his feet. "We have a new toy to play with." 

The thread through his lips rips as he screams — and wakes up.

Panting, he scrambles to free his legs from the blanket clinging to him, pushing and kicking until he falls out of the bed. The floor is ice cold, shocking him awake. The wind carries laughter from the street below through the window, cackling like Danarius —

"You are dead!" he yells into the room. It sounds hollow.

He snarls at the empty room, soulless and broken as it is. In a rush, he pulls on his clothes, his armor, and grabs his sword. His feet carry him down the endless stairs of Kirkwall. Nobody bothers him. Not even the elevator to Darktown dares to rumble as he kicks the ancient mechanism.

The lantern over the clinic's door is out, but light shines through the gap under the door. He presses his hand against the wood, knocking with the other. 

Hectic movements sound through the wood. "Who is it?"

His mouth feels sewn shut again. "Fenris," he presses out, the name foreign on his tongue.

The door opens for a small gap and then slowly opens all the way. "Fenris? What is it?" Anders steps aside, gesturing for him to step inside. The room is lit brightly by several lanterns. One of the examination tables is covered with boxes and things, hidden from view by a haphazardly thrown blanket. 

Fenris ignores the table, pacing in agitation. 

"What's wrong?" Anders asks.

"Danarius, he is dead."

"Yes, I was there." Anders stands at the wall, his hands open at his side, watching Fenris like one would watch an agitated animal. A predator. 

A dog without a master.

"What now?" Fenris stops pacing and turns to Anders. "What am I now? Nothing changed. I thought killing Danarius would change something, but... this anger, it still eats at me like poison."

Anders pushes away from the wall, eerily looking like the Anders in his nightmare, and steps over to the cast-iron stove. "And you're asking me?" He shakes his head as he fills a kettle with water and places it on the stove. "You want to know when the anger goes away?"

"Yes." There is a chair next to an examination table and Fenris sits down, feeling too heavy to stand.

Anders casually flicks fire into the stove. 

Fenris doesn't even flinch.

Dragging a second chair over, Anders sits down next to Fenris, staring at the light of the fire shining through the decorative gaps in the stove's door. "The anger never goes away. Because nothing changed." He looks at Fenris. "The abuse happened, and nothing will change that. It was cruel and unfair, and it still is. Even if everyone involved is dead, it still happened to you. That person, the one who believed, who doubted, who had no power, is still part of you."

"Are you talking about me or yourself?" He wants to feel angry about that too, but he can't.

Anders laughs out bitterly. "Are you suggesting we're one and the same? How could that ever be, since I'm such a carefree and powerful mage?"

"Don't patronise me." 

"Is that what I'm doing?" Anders shakes his head and stands up to take the steaming kettle off the stove. He keeps talking makes tea in two cups. "I'm afraid I'm not much help when it comes to healthy ways of coping with anger. I just know..." He sighs, handing Fenris a cup and sits back down on the creaking chair. The fire in the stove draws orange shadows on his face. "I know that hopelessness can be addictive. Because it's predictable and reliable."

Fenris takes a sip of tea. It's green and tastes spicy on his tongue. The warmth lets some tension seep from his shoulders. "I don't want to stay stuck in this spiral. How do I get out?"

Anders holds his nose over the cup, breathing in before he drinks. After a pause, he turns to Fenris. "You have a whole free life to look forward to. It's an incredible chance, you know? You can make your own life from the ground up. No past to hold you back."

Fenris scowls at him. "You mean my lack of memories is a blessing?" 

Instead of the frown Fenris expects, Anders' expression turns soft. Almost sad, despite a smile playing on his lips. "No, of course not. But your past life is gone now. There is no slave named Fenris anymore. There is only Fenris, a free man, who has friends and opportunities. Your life is yours now." He wipes a tear from his eye as he turns away.

"This saddens you?"

"Ah, sorry." Anders wipes his eyes once more and then gives Fenris a hint of a smile. "Please, don't begrudge me this small moment of envy."

Fenris doesn't know what to say to that. That Anders equates his life as a mage with him living as a slave, still doesn't sit right with him. But he cannot deny that Anders' experiences, and what he has seen in the Gallows, do not align with his image of mages that he carried over from Tevinter. 

He almost wants to tell him that. But the moment passes in silence. Anders shakes himself and puts a smile on his face, offering him more tea. He tells a story of tea someone at Kinloch Hold brewed once, and Anders' lively tale soon has Fenris laugh out loud. 

He leaves a while later, a smile still clinging to his face. As he turns back at the door to say his goodbyes, he is taken aback by the sadness in Anders' expression. "What's wrong, mage?"

For a brief moment, a smile lights up Anders' face. "It used to sound so vicious when you called me 'mage'. But now..." The smile disappears, a frown marring Anders' forehead instead. "I feel honoured that you came to me today. I don't know if I helped but I... I hope I can help you again, one day."

"You helped me. I have a lot to think about." 

Anders looks at him for a moment and then steps forward and draws him into an embrace. Before Fenris can quite register what happens, Anders steps back again. "Goodbye, Fenris. Make yourself a good life." 

Bewildered by the sudden seriousness, Fenris can only say his goodbye before Anders closes the door. He watches the light under the door for a while, at the shadow moving across it, and the blue light that flickers in it. 

Two days later, the chantry explodes in bright red columns reaching into the sky.

[18daysoffenders]

Welcome to 18 Days of Fenders, a casual, low-pressure Fenders event. Feel free to make whatever type of content format you'd like (fic, art, edits, gifs, moodboards, playlists, ask memes, whatever), upload it to Tumblr/Twitter/AO3 with the hashtag #18daysoffenders, and tag us at @18daysoffenders and we'll reblog your post. There are 18 days worth of prompts here, but feel free to keep posting until April 1st!

GROUND RULES

Remember to be respectful to your fellow creators.

Tag your NSFW, kinks and triggers appropriately (if it's something you'd tag for on AO3, tag it here).

Please do not tag any content that is discriminatory (eg racist, transphobic, ableist, etc), erases a canon queer character's sexuality (eg pairs Sera with a male character), whitewashes canonically non-white characters, includes underage characters (under 18) in sexual situations, or that is focused primarily on a pairing other than Anders/Fenris.

If you have any questions, feel free to message this blog!

[potatowitch]

Not His Story

For Day 16 of 18 Days of Fenders - "Ten Years From Now" @18daysoffenders

"So, will you tell me the truth now? About Anders?"

Varric sighs, shaking his head as he thumbs through the letters on his desk: a missive in Leliana's careful, flowing script. A note from the Merchant's Guild that he'll deal with later, once he’s had another glass of whiskey or two. Another request from Starkhaven that is immediately tossed aside to be used as kindling.

And written in a rigid, blocky hand on cheap parchment is a coded message from an old friend, with a little note scribbled in a different handwriting - long and thin and almost illegible - in the corner. Varric runs the tips of his fingers along the letters slowly, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"It's not my story to tell," he says. He hears Lavellan huff from across the table, her prosthetic arm scraping along the wood as she shifts in her chair. It's not the first time he's disappointed her by holding back, and it certainly won't be the last.

He won't tell her about the cramped clinic on the Tevinter border, nor will he tell her about the apartment above it with the big windows and the yellow cabinets. He won't tell her about the wide bed piled high with blankets and pillows, or the narrow couch covered in a healthy dusting of cat hair, or the kitchen table buried underneath a mountain of books and potion brewing supplies.

He won't tell her about the spot on the wall where the plaster has begun to wear away from years of a staff and a greatsword leaning up against it. He won't tell her how the larder never stocks fish, except for when it does, because Chimneysweep is overly fond of it, and a certain broody elf is overly fond of her. He won't tell her how the clinic downstairs fills with rebels and runaways day in, day out, no payment required.

He will not mention how the way Anders grins when Fenris comes home fills their tiny home with warmth and sunshine. He will not mention how Fenris' smooth, rumbling laugh makes Anders' stomach flutter, even after nearly two decades of knowing each other. He will not mention how they clutch one another to chase away the shadows that plague them, how they wake to a new day in each other’s arms.

Varric will not tell Lavellan the story of Anders as he is now, years after the Chantry explosion and the mage rebellion, nor will he tell her how Fenris is inextricably woven into that story like a thread of silver moonlight. He will not tell her a damn thing.

It is not his story to tell. And for once, he’s alright with that.

[tea42]

Scars

Post for @18daysoffenders

TW for brief mentions of slavery and medical experimentation

3. Scars

When the Mage healed there was never a scar left behind. It was impressive though Fenris had never admitted as much to the Mage. The skill would be coveted in Tevinter among the vain elites for esthetics, perhaps even moreso than his power would be coveted as support against the Qunari. 

Fenris knew magical healing was a delicate business. Healers in Tevinter would practice on slaves who were left with raised, ropy marks after. To balance the lay down, realignment, and breaking up of tissues took practice and care. 

Which made each scar he noted on Anders’ own body puzzling. The Mage kept himself well covered most of the time, but over years of knowing the man, wraps had come undone and sleeves had been rolled up to show concerning evidence of cuts and gashes poorly healed. Once there had been a thick, jagged end of a scar peeking out from under the back of the collar of the Mage’s sagging, ragged tunic when he had shrugged his coat off to clean it of Spider gunk in the mountain stream. 

None of these made Fenris pause in shock as this one did. The scar over the man’s heart was from a fatal wound, one even the cleverest of magic should not have been able to heal.

“What are you…oh,” the Healer said and quickly looked away as he threw his spare tunic. The one which it replaced had been shredded by wild dogs beyond repair. “Go ahead then”, he said wearily.

“That should have killed you”, Fenris said and winced as he realized from the shocked then angry look on the man’s face how that had sounded.

“You must be so disappointed”, the Healer said bitterly as he quickly did up the tunic’s laces.

“No.” Fenris answered quickly, then continued, “No. I meant, how did you survive such an injury?”

The Mage looked at him quietly for a few seconds and his brow unknitted.

“Justice”, he said softly as he wrapped the same old scarf around his neck.

“Ah,” Fenris uttered for want of anything else to say. It made sense. A demon would protect its host, but It was a terrifying amount of power.

Then the Mage looked him in the eye, the sunshine from the sea made gold dance in the brown.

“It goes all the way through you know”, he said with a defiant, slightly mad smile.

“Of course it does”, Fenris answered and started walking. The Mage was very strange.

“So if you’re not disappointed you’re what then? Overjoyed?”Anders asked with a hand wavering in the air as he stepped with Fenris, but had moved too fast as he turned and his large boots skidded in the gravel causing him to fall on his backside. He blinked up at Fenris. 

“Slightly amused now,” Fenris chuckled at the now scowling Mage but offered him a hand up. The Mage’s eyes widened again in surprise but he took the hand and they continued on towards others.

“If that is your Justice’s handiwork on your chest then you are by far the more skilled Healer in that fool head. You’ve never left a mark on me”, Fenris said and was pleased at the Mage’s laugh. 

“Well, it was a rush job, and patience is not his strong suit. Don’t worry. He never does the healing anymore. We can’t have him scar up handsome elves,” Anders said.

“There’s nothing unattractive about your scars Anders”, Fenris replied as he tried not to react to the compliment.

“Oh”, the Mage said softly and went uncharacteristically quiet. 

When Fenris glanced over he noted the brightness of the fair man’s flush high on his cheek. It was one of the many ways the man gave away his feelings for all to see. 

‘So this is how to make him quiet’, Fenris thought. Yet he found himself smiling into the breeze as they walked as he recalled the little smile the Mage had worn.

[tofiam]

Fenders

I started to write #18daysofFenders

My stories will be short and I'll finish as my work allows me. (So not on the deadline, probably.) You can find all of them here:

Luv ya! <3

And the first one:

1. Freedom

It wasn’t enough. He expected the world to change, to narrow, to give him some great relief which he couldn’t grasp. And it did, for a while, revenge tasted better than freedom and filled his belly, warmed his blood, pointed his steps. But no meal could sustain him forever. Now Danarius was dead and he felt lost like a doll without its limbs. Fenris tried to drink it away, until oblivion ideally. The second bottle only let him think more thoroughly, while he was watching a fire in his bedroom’s fireplace slowly die. He was too heavy to get up and put another log in it. One part of him also feared that if he moved, the fragile equilibrium between his emotions could shatter and the world could hear it and the world would take the freedom back. And maybe, just maybe he would be grateful. He felt like a crook, sitting on the dirty floor in the bedroom of the stolen mansion and not being happy enough. Fenris tipped the bottle upside down again, only to find it empty. He loosened the grip of his fingers and let it roll over the floor, the sound of glass made him chuckle but he didn’t know why. “Andrastes’ tits, you’re a mess,” a harsh familiar voice spoke from the door. Anders entered, grabbed a few wooden logs, put them in the fireplace and ignited them with magic. He reached out with his hands, warming them for a minute with a content half smile. Fenris was sure of the smile, although he couldn’t see his face clearly. It created a little dimple in his cheek, because once his face hasn’t been so bony and hollow. It was weird to notice such a thing about someone, however he also noticed how Varric clutched Bianka as if it’s the last thing under the sun and how Hawke still mourned Bethany and how Carver almost cried that one time he saw a girl with blue ribbons in her nut brown hair. Is that what freedom meant? The inescapable loss and torment? Then sure, he was free, venhedis. Anders turned to him, eyes glinting. “When I ran from the Circle for the third time, I really thought I had everything covered. So I went to Redcliff and ended up sloshed as a skunk. I still don’t remember how templars found me or how they transported me back.” He smiled, melancholically and proudly. “After that it became a little bit of a game of how far I could run. I knew they had methods to find me. They did, again and again. Becoming a Gray warden seemed like a liberation and lesser evil.” “Isn’t it a death sentence?” Fenris asked quietly. Anders laughed and sat next to him, feathers on his coat mingling with spikes on Fenris’ armor. “You didn’t really listen when I talked about the Circle, didn’t you? Because the Circle was worse, the only difference was that the Circle was an uncertain death sentence in methods of the end. The thing is, you don’t have to stay what you are. When you are free, you don’t have to do that.” “You said…” Fenris looked at him, “... that you are not my friend.” Anders sighed and stretched his long legs. Soles of his boots almost touched the brim of the fireplace. “I don’t want to be your friend. I would never be your friend, if I stayed in the Circle, and you would never be… well, you,” he replied, his tone sad and broken. Then he touched Fenris’ ear, almost shyly and hesitantly, long fingers gently caressing a helix and a lobe and sliding to his jaw. The touch burned him, yet coldness clenched his stomach. “I don’t know what to do,” Fenris admitted. Anders laughed, a little tingling laugh of someone exhausted by life itself but still living it and keeping score for a petty revenge. “That’s the bloody point. You don’t have to do anything, or everything.” “And you don’t have to stay not my friend,” Fenris pointed out. “That would be great,” Anders sighed, following silence heavy and bittersweet with unsaid wishes and promises. Fenris gulped the aftertaste of alcohol in his mouth and asked: “Can I kiss you?” “You don’t need my permission to do that.” And so Fenris did, clumsily, hands stupid from the bottles of wine, his lips moving lazily as Anders sucked them slightly, his body akwardly distorted to reach. When they broke

apart, Anders fingers playing with his ear again, the coldness in his stomach dissolved. He let his head fall into the feathers and smiled. Freedom smiled back.

[justcallmecappy]

18 Days of Fenders: Yours

13. Yours

“Why me?”

Fenris looked towards Anders as the mage’s voice broke the silence between them.

They sat side by side, gazing out at the Waking Sea as the surf roared gently against the Wounded Coast. The moon hung full and bright in the night sky, and there were few clouds to hide the pinpricks of stars piercing through the darkness.

“Hmm?” Fenris asked, as he reached towards Anders to twine their fingers together. Anders did not pull away – rather he seemed to lean into Fenris’ touch, seeking him out.

“You could be with anyone else. I mean it. Maker knows you have no shortage of admirers absolutely infatuated with you, vying for your attention. And yet …” Anders’ voice trailed off, as hardly daring to believe his next words.

“And yet,” Fenris continued for him, “I chose you.”

“Yes.”

Fenris was silent for a moment, listening to the muted sound of the waves, the faint chirp of insects hidden in the seagrass rustling in the breeze. He leaned in towards Anders so that their shoulders touched.

When he spoke again, Fenris’ voice was quiet. “For as long as I can remember, I was treated like a prize, a trophy. Danarius would parade me around like some valued showpiece, delighting in the fact that he owned me. Even now, as he lies dead, I fear being unable to see myself any other way – a prized possession, a thing to just be owned, coveted, displayed, admired.”

Anders sat still, listening.

“You tell me that I have no shortage of admirers, but I fear being made into a prize again, Anders. I want to be more than just another jewel in someone’s necklace, a notch in someone’s belt.”

Fenris turned to look at Anders, to meet that deep golden gaze that now looked so dark and glistening in the evening light. “Do you remember how we antagonized each other, when we first met?”

Anders’ laugh was bright against the muted sound of the surf. “Hard to forget,” he said, grinning.

Fenris smiled back. “Yet, despite that those passionate disagreements … you understood me, you helped me, you stood by my side against my enemies. You had no reason to aid me, no reason to stay by my side … no reason to accept me as I am. But you did. No amount of infatuation can compare to that sort of loyalty.”

A comfortable silence fell between them, and Fenris’ tightened his grip on Anders’ hand.

“You would insist I belong to no one; that I am my own man. But I would rather give myself to someone who would not try to lay claim over me,” Fenris continued in a hushed voice, no louder than the sound of the waves meeting the surf. “And that is why I am yours, mage.”

Anders’ voice was low as he replied, thick with an onslaught of tears. “And I am yours, too, love.”

This fanfic is posted in response to the “18 Days of Fenders” prompts and writing challenge, running from March - April 2022. 😊

This has also been cross-posted to AO3.

Follow @18daysoffenders

[barbex]

18. Questioning Beliefs

It is done!! This event by @18daysoffenders was meant to finish in April but I'm nothing but stubborn. Can't stop won't stop. Here is the last bit for the last prompt:

"Are you all set for the night, traveller?" The innkeeper looks Fenris up and down and then throws a pointed look towards the window. "It looks like rain for tonight." 

Fenris follows her gaze and has to admit that the innkeeper is right. The sun has disappeared behind heavy clouds, promising rain or worse. He stares a bit longer at the clouds piling up high. He's still not used to the eerie green shine they have since the sky broke open with a maw, letting the green light of the fade into this world.

"I will be fine," Fenris says, turning back to the innkeeper. The woman shrugs and holds her hand out for the coins he owes her for the stew. Fenris pays and pulls his hood back over his head as he leaves the tavern, just as a large group of riders comes up the road and halts in front of the inn. Fenris unties his horse and leads her to the side, watching the men from the corner of his eyes. He is not afraid of them, but he wants to hear what they say. The horses look tired, their fur covered with the dust of the road. These men have travelled far.

"Hey, boy!"

It takes Fenris a moment to realise that one of the men addresses him. He turns slowly, letting his cape slip to the side to show the sword on his back. "I don't work here."

The man looks at him, his eyes sliding to the sword peeking over Fenris' shoulder. He mumbles something about elves getting uppity, but wisely decides not to get into an argument with Fenris. He and his men dismount and deal with their horses, until the inn's stableboy appears and takes them off their hands.

The leader throws another look at Fenris as he steps through the door into the inn. Fenris leads his horse behind the inn. As he expected, the group moves to the back of the inn, to the largest table, and through the open window, their voices carry down to him.

He knows these kinds of men. They might call themselves mercenaries or hunters, but they are just rogue templars. Several of these groups roam the land, taking the law into their own hands, or making up new laws if they feel like it. Fenris has met one group who considered elves even below mages in their own hierarchy. They might have reconsidered their stance at some point, but their lives ended too abruptly for that.

What he listens for is information about the one mage every templar tries to catch. The most wanted. The mage who blew up the chantry in Kirkwall.

"We'll take an ale each, and a bowl of whatever you have bubbling in that pot there, good lady." The innkeeper giggles predictably at being called lady. "Tell me, do you know of a healer in these parts? My friend here is suffering from a rough stomach and could use some help."

Fenris strains his ears to hear what the innkeeper says. She's a bit too far away from the window to understand every word, but the leader repeats what she says to his men when she leaves. "Near the cherry hills, as I said. Way too many miraculous healings in this area to be natural." 

Fenris' horse shuffles its feet and the conversation stops suddenly. A chair scrapes over the floor and Fenris hurries to hide, pulling his horse away from the window, into the shadows. 

He rides for a few hours until he spots an overhang in the side of the mountains. He doesn't dare to make a fire, it would be visible for miles in the darkness. Coaxing his horse underneath the overhang, convincing her to lie down, he huddles against her warmth with a blanket, just as the rain begins.

He can't breathe. His sleepy brain needs several precious seconds until he realizes that someone presses a cloth over his nose and mouth. It smells sickeningly sweet. With a scream that sounds more like a cough, he pushes the man away, calling upon his markings to sink his hand into his throat.

But his markings only flicker and hurt, his hand stays solid. The world tilts around him. The sweet smelling substance must have been some kind of poison and it's clouding his senses.

One of the men leans over him, grinning at him. "Now, what do we do with uppity little elves?"  

Another man leads Fenris' horse away, shouting over his shoulder, "He stinks like a mage."

"Must be something really special. I bet there's a price on his head." The man presses his entire weight on Fenris and shows his teeth. "Might have some fun first."

Nausea crawls up Fenris' throat and he struggles against the hold the man has on him, but his movements are sluggish and weak. The poison makes his arms and legs feel heavy like lead.

The man leans forward. His breath stinks. Fenris draws on the lyrium in his skin again, but all he gets is pain. Nothing from his power. 

The man's face fills his vision, his breath like oil on his skin and then — a blast of ice hits the man, a needle-sharp shard shooting into his neck. He gurgles wetly, pressing his hand to his throat, but the blood spills too fast and he collapses on top of Fenris, his blood dripping on Fenris' face.

"Oi, you alright there?" one of the former templars asks, stepping over to where Fenris lies buried under the dead body. An ice shard hits the man in the chest and then the ground explodes with electric-blue lightning, holding the others where they stand and sit. One by one they die, stabbed by ice or burning up in flames. 

The last rogue templar manages to throw out a counter spell, Fenris feels a Silence scratch against his markings. A tall man steps out of the shadow, his staff held across his body in both hands, and he beats the templar down with two strikes and stabs him in the heart with a blade at the top of his staff. 

The man straightens. He lowers his staff and steps over to where Fenris lies still buried under the dead body. He pulls the corpse away and looks down at Fenris. "Are you alright?"

Fenris knows that voice as well as he knows his own. "Hello, Anders."

"Fenris?"

Fenris struggles to sit up. It takes all his strength to lean to the side to spit out the blood in his mouth. "This is not how I imagined finding you again."

"Are you injured?" Anders asks carefully as he kneels at Fenris' side.

"Poisoned. They pressed a cloth to my face..."

"May I use magic?"

Fenris lets himself fall back again. "Yes, please."

The familiar touch of Anders' magic flows into him, and he sighs in relief when the nausea and the heaviness of his arms and legs dissipates. Anders hands him a waterskin and Fenris gratefully rinses his mouth out, before he takes a long sip.

"So, how did you imagine finding me?" Anders asks. His hands glow with gentle magic and Fenris feels month old aches melt away from his body.  

Fenris looks at Anders, and a smile spreads on his face. He has been looking for Anders for so long, only now realising how much he missed him. "I imagined some rogue templars had caught you and poisoned you, and I would fight them all and free you."

Anders chuckles. "You got it almost right." He sits back, letting his magic fade, and watches Fenris warily. "And then? How did your imagination continue?"

Fenris sits up, his strength coming back. "And then I kissed you and told you that everything will be alright." 

Anders raises his eyebrows. "No questions? 'Why did you? How could you?' and all that?"

Fenris takes Anders' hand and interlaces their fingers. "I know why, I know how, and I'm with you, if you let me."

A myriad of emotions run over Anders' face. But at last, he looks away, hiding his face behind his hair and the hood of his coat. "This is not how imagined meeting you again."

"What did you imagine?"

Anders raises his head, his eyes dark. "You saw me. You told me I didn't deserve mercy. And then you killed me." Anders clenches his hand around Fenris' as he looks down. "You always looked so beautiful and terrifying just before you ripped out my heart. And I was glad I got to see you once more."

"Anders." Fenris puts his hand under Anders' chin, turning his head to make him look at him. "That will not happen. I will not do that."

Anders' voice is a low whisper. "Why not?"

"Because you were right."

Anders just looks at him, frowning.

"If you have known abuse, if you have felt the fear of an oppressor deciding if you are worthy of life, then you know how a mage lives."

Anders' eyes widen. "That's from my manifesto."

"Yes."

"You've read it?"

"Every word." Fenris slips his hand into his shirt, pulling out a small booklet tied with faded red ribbons. "Once I was willing to see what you said, I recognized many experiences as similar to my own."

Anders stares at the booklet in Fenris' hand, with its rounded and wrinkled corners and the cover smooth from countless touches. "I regret writing all that. It has not brought peace."

"But it brought hope."

When Anders looks at Fenris again, tears glitter in his eyes. "Did it?"

Fenris nods. "It gives me hope. It shows me that change is possible."

A sound like a sob breaks free from Anders' chest. "And you were looking for me to tell me that?"

"Mage. Will you let me stand by your side in this fight?"

Anders stares at him as if he has grown several heads. "You want to join me? A mage? A fugitive? Hunted and hated by everyone?"

Fenris puts his hand on Anders' cheek. "Not everyone."

Anders stays silent for a long time, long enough for Fenris to worry. At last, he lets out a shuddering breath. "Yes, under one condition."

Fenris tenses at the seriousness of Anders' tone. "What condition?"

"You let me kiss you."

Smiling, Fenris leans forward, almost touching Anders' lips. "I am hoping to do more than that."

Anders grins. "Let's start with kissing and see where it takes us."

"You are surprisingly wise, mage."

"I have my moments," Anders says. And then he kisses Fenris.

[barbex]

Back in April, @18daysoffenders ran a prompt event and you know what? I'm still not done. It is done when I’m done. Here’s prompt 15.

15. One Bright Light

In some parts of the city, Kirkwall feels like a dungeon. The houses stand so close to each other, people could shake hands across the alley from one window to another, and no sunlight reaches the cobblestones. Fenris has never been in this part of Kirkwall. It's a mess of narrow streets and stairs, forming an unnamed connection between Lowtown and Darktown. A lot of dwarves live here. Maybe they don't mind the lack of sunlight, but Fenris shivers in the shadowy cold.

Anders looks over his shoulder at Fenris, a frown on his forehead, as he hurries his steps to catch up to Hawke at the front. The smile on Fenris' lips dies before it can fully form. He isn't sure what he expected, or hoped for, but it was not a frown and turning away when he sees Fenris. Instead, he leans over to Hawke, whispering, but Fenris can still hear it.

"Why did you bring Fenris?"

Hawke just shrugs. "I have my reasons. You'll see."

The hairs on Fenris' neck stand up. Hawke's tone is ominous, maybe even angry? He has learned well to listen for tone, sensing danger to himself, when someone's mood changes. It's what keeps a slave alive. 

They reach an abandoned warehouse, which is apparently their destination. Hawke walks slowly through the empty building, waving at them to follow her. Their steps sound loudly in the empty building.

The closer they get to the outer side of the building, which faces the cliffs, the more the air tastes of magic. Fenris wrinkles his nose. He knows this smell.

"That's bloodmagic," Anders says, before Fenris can say it.

He turns to Hawke instead. "What's your business with bloodmages?"

Hawke glares at him. "My business is with a mother who misses her daughter and her boyfriend. She thinks they've fallen in with the wrong kind of people, possibly a cult, and asked me to find them."

"And they are mages," Fenris states.

"Yes, and if they've fallen in with some bloodmagic cult, their day might turn for the worse in a minute. You do know that I have no love for bloodmagic, don't you?"

Fenris lets out a long, slow breath. "Yes. I trust you, Hawke."

"Good." Hawke gives a nod to Anders and turns to step into the last room. "Let's see if we can fix this."

They can't. Despite Hawke gentle and Anders' angry words, the young woman and her boyfriend are determined to continue their ritual, hoping for immunity against templar detection.

"What in the blazes is that even supposed to mean?" Anders yells. "Stop this, you're only making it worse and putting us all in a bad light."

Predictably, that doesn't convince the couple. Slitting their wrists, they call up demons, despite Merrill's warnings, which is so ironic that Fenris doesn't know how to deal with it. 

"Enough." Fenris activates his powers and fade-steps forward, felling the demons as they rise from the ground until he reaches the bloodmages. Untrained as they are, they fall to his blade before they can call up a barrier, and Fenris lets out a bitter laugh when the woman pleads for her life once before she dies.

When he looks back, wiping the blood from his face, he catches Anders' gaze. Something strange shows on his face, before he hardens his expression and turns on his heel. 

"You were right," he says to Hawke and walks away, his steps echoing in the building as he leaves.

Fenris turns to Hawke. "What did you tell him? What were you right about?"

"Nothing. I just let him see."

"See what?"

"You, how you love killing mages."

Fenris looks down on his blade, blood still dripping from it. "You also have killed mages."

Hawke throws her hands up. "Yes, but I didn't fucking laugh while I did it."

"And you wanted Anders to see that. Why?"

"To protect him. From you."

Fenris' hand tightens around the grip of his sword. "You still think that's what I am? A wild animal, waiting to attack him?"

Hawke shakes her head. "I never thought that of you and I don't mean it that way. I mean his heart. Anders isn't someone who holds back. He will fall for you and get hurt."

"Why are you convinced I will hurt him?"

"You just killed mages, with glee," Merrill says quietly. "You were laughing. We all saw it."

"Bloodmages!" Fenris yells, laying his bone deep hatred into the word.

Shaking her head, Merrill points at the symbols on the floor. "Desperate mages without teachings, without hope. Their deaths are a sadness, not a joy."

"Every mage for you is just a Magister in waiting." Hawke's voice is hard. "You may like Anders, but you laugh when you kill someone like him."

"Anders isn't a bloodmage," Fenris says weakly.

Looking into his eyes, Hawke steps closer. "I'm not telling you to stay away from him, because I know how stubborn you are, but I want you to think about what you really want. What you are able to tolerate."

Fenris stares at her for a moment and then pushes past her and out of the building, to follow Anders. 

He finds him in Darktown, in the clinic, his hands glowing as he heals a tiny child with bluish skin, until it breathes freely again. The mother and father thank him with tears in their eyes, promising to bring a loaf of bread the next day. 

Anders leads the family out, glancing at Fenris. He hands a folded paper pouch to the father. "Just keep her warm and make her drink a cup of this tea every hour and she should be fine by tomorrow. Otherwise, come see me again."

He stays by the door, watching the family as they hurry through Darktown. He doesn't turn around when he speaks. "Why are you here? To tell me how dangerous mages are? How those two deserved to be killed?" 

"They were bloodmages," Fenris says, as if that explains everything. 

"They were kids, misguided, teenager stubborn. If only they had some help, some teachings..."

Fenris can't stop himself from rising to that bait. "They would get teachings in the Circle."

Anders lets out a bitter huff. "I never said that mages should not be taught control of their powers. But a school is not meant to be a prison. Learning should not be tied to daily threats on your life." He turns around to look at Fenris. "But you don't want to hear that. Why come here?"

"I..." Words blink into his mind and disappear again.  "You are not like them." He gestures around the clinic. "You are a bright light in the darkness of this wretched city and I cannot ignore the good you do."

"Fenris, stop." Anders turns away, staring into the flame in the lantern, blinking his eyes. "I cannot be your one bright light. I cannot be your one exception." He takes a shuddering breath and blows out the candle in the lantern. He holds the door open, staring at his feet. "There's many mages like me, who do good things, because most people are good. And I can't parade them all before you to prove that."

"You're asking a lot of me, Anders," Fenris says. 

"See, that's the thing, it shouldn't be a lot."

"I'm trying." It comes out more pleading than he intended. 

Anders looks up, pinning him in his gaze. "I like you a lot, Fenris, despite everything. But I know what hate does." His eyes glitter with tears. "And I can't have more hate in my life."

Something shatters in Fenris' chest and all he can do is duck his head and run past Anders, out into the alleys and stairways of Darktown, away, far away from the one bright mage.

[barbex]

13. Yours

For @18daysoffenders, another late entry. This is a continuation of the other prompt. (see @fustianriddles? only a little more hurty)

---

The lantern isn't lit and the door to the clinic is locked. Fenris knocks, once, twice, until he finally hears footsteps coming closer.

"Who is it? Do you have an emergency?"

"It's me, Fenris, and no."

The door opens for a small gap, Anders' face half hidden as he peers out. "It's really you." He stares for a moment, then opens the door wide to let Fenris step in.

Anders leads him into the small nook separated from the clinic with a curtain. It's surprisingly warm in here, a fireball smoldering in a bowl on the floor giving off heat. The warmth explains why Anders doesn't wear his feathery coat but just a linen shirt that barely covers his naked knees.

"Do you want tea?"

"Yes," Fenris says, lacking any other words he could say. He keeps staring at Anders' naked legs.

Anders follows his gaze and blushes. "Sorry, I didn't expect visitors."

Fenris internal catalogue of things one does as a guest is extremely limited. In Hawke's house, he'd have tea or wine in his hand and Hawke or Varric or Merrill would tell a tale or a story and maybe he'd even have something to add. But here? How can he tell Anders that the feather reminded him of his fragile strength, his stubborn kindness?

"So," Anders says, "I guess you want to talk. Just so you know, that doesn't make it easier. It's just drawing out the inevitable."

He doesn't want to talk at all. He doesn't know how. All he knows is that Anders smells of elfroot, that his lips are soft and the frown on his forehead too harsh. His eyes slide down and his hands find the sharp angles of Anders' hips. He grabs and pulls him closer.

Anders follows easily, his eyes half lidded as he lays his head to the side to let Fenris kiss his neck. The simple gesture emboldens Fenris, this he knows how to do. He shoves Anders against the desk, turns him around and slides his hands under his shirt, up his back, pressing his hips against his ass.

Fenris goes still. This is not what he envisioned. Anders' back is rigid, his fingers are clenching, his fingernails dig into the table. Fenris takes a step back.

Anders turns his head and looks over his shoulder at Fenris, a bitter fire in his eyes. "What? Keep going. You're not the first one who wants to take a mage like this."

"Like what?" Fenris presses out between clenched teeth.

"Like punishment." Anders still glares at him. "Not even the first one wearing armor while — "

A scream he has no voice for wants to break free from his chest but nothing comes. He stumbles backwards, the curtain ripping as he falls, the earthen floor hard under his back. Armor bites into his skin, armor he's still wearing, just like the men who abused Anders, why is he still wearing the armor? He pulls at buckles and straps, his fingers trembling and he has not breath, there is no air, no air...

"Fenris, breathe, it's alright, I'm here, I'm sorry, just breathe for me."

Amber eyes stare at him, wide and fearful. Fenris tries to stand up, but Anders pulls him back, wrapping his arms around him. "I'm sorry, so sorry, I'm such an ass sometimes. I shouldn't have said that, I know you're not like that, I'm sorry."

Anders holds him, back pressed to his chest. Air finally fills Fenris' lungs again, smelling of Darktown and elfroot. He breathes in deeply and tension seeps out of his bones. "Alright. I'm alright."

"Thank the fucking Maker," Anders says. "I'm so sorry, I... you make me so angry sometimes and then I'm lashing out like a stupid teenager. I keep forgetting..."

Anders' arms are warm around him and not even the coldness of the floor they're sitting on bothers him. "What do you forget?"

Anders sighs and presses his lips against Fenris' temple. "I keep forgetting that you're old and young at the same time. You have no reference. You don't know what it means to have a healthy relationship, to love. All you know is violence."

Fenris leans his head against Anders' shoulder. It's easier to speak like this, without looking at him. "He took and took and I had to be grateful for it."

"And that's not a real relationship, that's not love." Anders pulls him tighter. "It's supposed to be a balance, giving and taking. In pleasure as in suffering. It's when you're finding joy in the happiness of the other, when you want to be with the other because you both want to make each other better."

"It's not just sex."

"No." Anders kisses his temple again. "Remember how Hawke and Merrill sometimes look at each other? As if the rest of the world just disappeared? How they both blush when they hold hands under the table? Those little gestures, small moments. I think those are more important than sex. And I do think that sex is pretty great."

"But it isn't what makes a relationship." Something loosens in Fenris' chest as he breathes out.

Anders' breath brushes over Fenris' ear. "It's when you want to say 'I am yours' and you know you can because you're not giving yourself up, you're not signing yourself over to be owned. You say it because you feel safe."

Fenris breathes out, long and slow. He turns in Anders' arms so that he can look at him. "I can learn this."

"You'll feel it. One day you'll be sure." Anders wipes his eyes and looks away. "It will take time."

"Can you give me that time?"

A strange sound like a sob falls out of Anders' mouth. "Don't. I'm a mage, you don't want me."

"I can't help what I feel."

"No, no." Anders lets his arms drop and tries to scoot away from Fenris. "I'm not the one you want."

Fenris grabs Anders' shoulder, pulling him back. "I will decide that for myself."

[barbex]

Hah! And another one for @18daysoffenders, this is prompt 16.

16. Ten Years From Now

Orana opens the door for him, ushering him inside and excuses herself quickly, because she's got something on the stove. Fenris watches her hurry into the kitchen, surprisinlgy touched by how far the former tevinter slave has come. She is still shy and Fenris knows that she sometimes still calls Hawke Mistress, but she's become much more confident. She's learning to be free, just like him. 

He's not pointing out that she was meant to announce him to Hawke, and sets out to find her on his own. His feet carry him silently through the hall, Muffin, Hawke's mabari, only raising his head, acknowledging him as a friend. Voices spill out from the library on the other side, and he slows his steps when he hears someone answer Hawke.

It's Anders, speaking with Hawke. Fenris stops in front of the slightly ajar door, listening. He knows he shouldn't, but his whole body is frozen. 

"What is it?" Anders says. A chair creaks, and Fenris imagines Anders leaning forward, his amber eyes full of care. 

"I thought..." Hawke sighs, her clothes ruffling as she moves. "I want to marry Merrill."

"Oh, Maker!" Anders exclaims. "That's wonderful! Congratulations." A pause. "But?" 

Another creak from one of the heavy, stuffed chairs in Hawke's library, and then he hears Hawke pacing, her voice wandering from side to side. "Well, our options are kind of limited, for some fucking reason, aren't they? We can't go to the Chantry, obviously."

"Yeah," Anders says. "It would be hilarious though. 'May I introduce my soon to be wife, Merrill of the dalish, a mage you haven't caught yet, with a penchant for bloodmagic.'"

"The hilarity would be short lived, I think." Hawke lets out a bitter laugh. 

"Yes, afraid so," Anders muses. "Mother Elthina might just combust on the spot. Can't say I'd grieve much for her."

"So, since the Chantry won't marry us, Merrill will ask the keeper of her clan to do the ritual." Hawke is pacing again. "Which is a whole other awkward problem, what with her being exiled and the new keeper not exactly on best terms with Merrill." 

"I'm sorry," Anders says. "This shouldn't all be so complicated."

"Right?" Something clatters to the floor. "I mean, I love her, I just want to marry her, without risking her to be killed, made tranquil, or further shit on by her clan."

"Ten years from now, maybe a hundred years from now, a mage will marry someone like you, and nobody will interfere."

Fenris clenches his hands at his sides. There's such longing in Anders' voice, Fenris feels it like his own pain.

"I don't want to wait that long." Hawke's voice has never before sounded like this, close to tears and so defeated.

"If the keeper refuses, I can do the ritual for you," Anders says.

Hawke chuckles. "Are you a chantry mother now, too?"

"I think being a healer is pretty close to that." Fenris can just imagine his wild grin at that. "But I also carry Justice in me and if a literal spirit of justice approves of your bond, what can anybody possibly say against that?"

Fenris silently steps back, slowly letting out a breath. He walks back to the hall, his thoughts tumbling over each other. Muffin looks up again and Fenris kneels down next to him, scratching the pelt at his neck as he tries to order his thoughts. 

Hawke is a good person and she loves Merrill. Merrill, even though she's a bloodmage, has never abused another person for her powers, and helps people whenever she can. But their bond is forbidden, just as it would be for him and Anders. 

Somehow, this revelation flutters like wings in his chest. Anders talked about the hate Fenris brings into his life, but he didn't even mention the hate he gets from everywhere else. His entire existence as a free mage is forbidden, just as a free slave has been forbidden for all of Fenris' life. 

And Fenris has never truly realized how wrong that is. 

Muffin nudges his side because he stopped petting him. Fenris continues scratching the mabari's neck as the door to the library opens and Hawke comes out. 

"Fenris. When did you get here?"

Scrambling to his feet, Fenris stretches his legs. "Just a few minutes ago, Orana let me in."

Behind Hawke, Anders looks at him over her shoulder. He doesn't smile, not even trying to. Anders always wears his emotions on his face, which makes him terrible at bluffing during Wicked Grace. And now there's so much pain in his expression, Fenris feels guilty to be the cause of that.

Hawke notices something and looks between them, but Anders already turns back into the library, his spine too straight, his hands clenched at his sides. Hawke takes a breath but doesn't call him back, even though she clearly wants to. She sighs instead and walks over to Fenris.

"What can I do for you?" she asks, ignoring the tense atmosphere in the room.

"You remember the letter you helped me write to my sister?" Fenris pulls an envelope from his pocket. "She wrote me back."

"Let me see. I'll read it to you." Hawke holds out her hand but Fenris looks at the door to the library. It's still slightly ajar, and he wonders if Anders listens to their conversation just like he did.

"Do you want Anders to read it to you?" There's no judgement in her voice.

Fenris shakes his head. "No, I... I can tell him later."

Hawke opens the envelope and pulls out the letter. "Dear brother," she reads.

[barbex]

8. Home

For @18daysoffenders​, for the prompt Home, too many words once again.

---

Anders follows Donnic into Fenris' mansion. This is the second week where Fenris invited Varric, Donnic, and even Anders into his home, to play Diamondback. Anders still can't quite believe it. He actually arranged to come with Donnic and not alone, just to make sure the Fenris wouldn't kick him out again.

Stepping into the main hall, Anders stumbles in surprise. The last time he's been here, corpses lined the staircase and mushrooms grew in the corners. Now, the hall is bright and clean; corpses, dust, and mushrooms cleaned away and the room bathed in sunlight from a skylight. "Fenris. This is impressive."

Fenris nods, hiding his face behind his hair. "This way." 

He leads them to the other side of the hall, where a massive tiled stove connects the hall, the kitchen and another room. Fenris opens the door to this room and gestures to them to step in.

"Andraste' grace! What an incredible room." Anders stares at the stove, decorated with colourful tiles, covering one wall of the room and giving off wonderful warmth. On the rest of the walls, blue and red tapestries and curtains keep the room cozy and several lanterns and candles bathe it in warm light. Opposite of the stove, a window only shows darkness at this time of the evening but Anders wonders if there is a garden to see. 

"This is beautiful." Anders lets his hand glide over the back of one of two stuffed chairs in front of the warm wall of the tiled stove. He catches Fenris' eye. "A beautiful home you've made yourself."

"Thank you." Fenris puts a plate with apple slices on the table.

"It is indeed a wonderful room," Sebastian says.

Anders had not noticed Sebastian at the table and swallows against a wave of unease. He trusts Fenris by now to not rat him out to the chantry, he isn't quite so sure about Sebastian though. 

Varric comes in, carrying a bottle of wine. "Quite the improvement for this building. Excellent work." He places the bottle on the table and takes the chair next to Donnic. 

"Thank you all for your advice," Fenris says. His cheeks blush as Sebastian, Varric, and Donnic assure him that it was nothing. He looks over to Anders.  

Anders quickly looks at the beautiful tiles on the stove. It only hurts a little that Fenris never asked him for advice. Of course he wouldn't. What does Anders even know about making a home? He lives in a hole in the wall in the sewers. And even if that pathetic room with just a cot and a table is more his own than any room he ever had in the Circle, it certainly isn't a real home. 

"Are you coming, mage?" Fenris asks. 

Anders slides his hand over the velvety cover of the armchair and lets himself fall into it. "If you don't mind, I'd like to sit this one out and just watch. Since Sebastian is here, you don't need my hand at the table."

"Are you alright?" 

It almost sounds like Fenris worries about him, a silly idea he quickly pushes away before it makes useless hope bloom in his heart again. "I'm fine, it's just been a long week." He leans his head back and closes his eyes. "I'll go back to the clinic in a bit, don't worry."

"Mage."

Anders startles awake. What happened? Just a minute ago he listened to Donnic and Sebastian discussing the upcoming summer fest and now the table is empty. "Oh sorry, I fell asleep?"

Fenris looks down at him, his hands twitching at his sides. "Yes." 

"Sorry." Anders stretches his arms above his head and then gets up, shaking his legs out. "I guess I was more tired than I thought."

He pulls his coat tight around him and walks out of the room, through the hall, stumbling a bit on tired feet. Looking up, he stops and stares. "Look, the stars! You can see the stars from inside."

Fenris leans his head back to look. "I never noticed." He smiles when he looks back at Anders. Beautiful, almost sweet.

Anders feels like a thief having seen that expression. It was not meant for him. "You really made this a nice home." He's almost at the door.

"Anders."

The door looms in front of him. He just wants to leave. "I'll be out of your hair. Now that Sebastian plays with you — "

"You don't want to come back?"

Anders touches the frame of the door, leaning on it like a good friend. He's so tired. He doesn’t know how to do this. "Let's not pretend you like having me here. Sebastian can be your fourth man at the table from now on."

"That's not..." Fenris frowns like he's in pain.

"Are you alright?" Anders is a healer, he can't help himself, even if he isn't exactly welcome here. Even if he really doesn't know how to separate his secret longing from this.

"Come, I want to show you something." 

"What?" Anders is certain that his tired brain is playing tricks on him. "You... what?"

Fenris gestures at him to follow and walks back into the hall. "Come."

"That bad?" Anders follows dutifully, wondering what kind of ailment Fenris could have that he has to show him instead of saying what it is. "You know you can tell me anything, if you're in pain or something isn't quite working as it should. I will never talk about it with anybody."

Fenris walks up the stairs, the freshly cleaned, mushroom and corpse free stairs. Anders realises with a start that Fenris is leading him to his bedroom. "I this a delicate subject? Don't worry, I can probably help you, only if you want to woo Sebastian, I'm afraid there is no cure against that stick up his ass." 

Fenris whips around at the top of the stairs, glaring down at Anders. "Why do you say that?"

"I talk a lot when I'm nervous." 

A pained expression settles on Fenris' face. "You don't have to be nervous."

"Not exactly under my control." 

Fenris opens the door to his room and lets Anders step in first, closing the door behind him. He strikes a match and lights up three candles on a table next to the door. 

"Whoah." It's not the most eloquent expression but the only one he can think of as he looks around the room. Not only is it clean, it's also freshly painted, red and gold tapestries cover the walls and there's a desk at the side with a vase of flowers on it. The bed still stands at a strange angle but it works for the room. "You really made yourself a home." 

Fenris leans against the doorframe and Anders can't let his eyes linger on his beauty, draped against the wood like in a painting. 

"You said something, a while back," Fenris says. "About how I am acting like I'm not responsible for myself and how I live. As if I am still a slave."

Anders flinches at that. "Yeah, sorry, that was really insensitive of me."

"But you were right." Fenris pushes himself off the doorframe and steps closer. "That's why I cleaned it all up." 

"Really?" Anders looks around, anywhere but at the elf approaching him like a dream come true. "Glad to be of service then. Speaking of which, you wanted to tell me about a medical problem?" He needs to go. If he stays any longer, he's going to do something stupid, like trying to kiss Fenris.

Fenris sighs and for a moment he actually looks insecure. "It's my heart."

Anders gathers the remains of his professionalism and holds out his hand, hovering it over Fenris' chest. "May I use magic? What are your symptoms?"

There is a beat, a pause, where no sound can be heard but the rushing of his blood in his ears. Then, Fenris wraps his fingers around Anders' wrist and pulls, pressing Anders' palm against his chest. 

"My heart beats too fast when you are around. Like this."

Anders stares at his hand on Fenris' chest and then looks up. Instead of the brooding scowl he expects to see, Fenris looks almost scared. Like he means it. 

Like he means it.

And Anders realises, finally, that Fenris doesn't know how to do this either. He cleaned a whole house for this. 

Anders can't help but smile so wide that his cheeks hurt. "Then, in my professional opinion, we should kiss." 

And Fenris smiles too.

[barbex]

3. Scars

For @18daysoffenders​, today’s prompt is Scars. I already wrote a ficlet about Anders’ scars for DADWC, it took me a bit to come up with something else.

---

"No! Don't." Fenris pulls his arm away, out of Anders' grasp.

"Oh, come on, really?" Anders snarls. "Are we back at this again? Maker's bloody balls." He points at the large weeping wound on Fenris' arm, cutting through the glowing lines of lyrium. "The blade was probably poisoned, it's gonna get infected." 

Fenris lips are a thin line, the muscles on his jaw twitching with tension. 

Anders jumps up and curses in at least two languages, stomping over to the other side of the meager campfire. Hawke follows him, putting her hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, just give him some time," she says.

Anders sighs, his anger evaporating. "It's just so unnecessary. I've healed him hundreds of times before. All is fine, one minute he talks to me like I'm actually a person and the next it's back to —" Anders makes a vague gesture towards the general area where Fenris sits and his shoulders sink. "I'm just so tired of this."

"I know, I don't understand it either." Hawke looks back to where Fenris sits. He stares at the cut on his arm.

Anders digs through the bag on his hip for a tin of elfroot salve. Finding it, he rips a strip of fabric from his shirt and stomps back to Fenris. "Here." He throws the tin and the bandage into Fenris' lap. "At least put some elfroot on it."

Fenris looks up at him. 

Anders rolls his eyes. "It's just a salve with elfroot, for fuck's sake. I'm not letting you die of an infection, no matter what you say." He turns away but Fenris calls him back.

"Mage."

"What?"

"Could you..." Fenris looks back on the cut. "Could you heal the infection but leave the cut?"

Anders narrows his eyes and after a short hesitation, turns back and kneels down in front of Fenris. "Yes, I probably can, but why? It would leave a scar."

Fenris looks up, his gaze locking on Anders' eyes. "Yes."

"You want it to scar?"

"Yes."

Anders watches closely, his mind spinning around itself trying to solve this riddle. He sees Fenris' hand tremble slightly, almost unnoticeable and his eyes go wide. "Because he kept you pristine."

Fenris' voice is barely a whisper. "Yes. His expensive property could not be marred by scars."

Anders clenches his teeth to rein in his anger at the monster who did that to Fenris. "We're gonna make you such a great scar, you just wait." He calls his magic forward, removing the infection and mending the flesh but he stops before the skin closes. After spreading elfroot salve on the cut, he wraps the bandage around and secures it with some thread. "There, leave that on for a day."

Fenris looks at his bandaged arm. "Thank you. I'm sorry you had to rip your shirt."

"Ah, well, it's nothing."

Fenris takes a breath and looks up at Anders. "I know you're a person."

Anders blinks against the tears threatening to fill his eyes. "Well, yeah. I know you're one too, you know?"

Fenris turns his arm around and smiles. "Not property."

Anders lets out a slow breath to calm his beating heart. "Not property, yes."

[barbex]

2. Magic

Another ficlet for “18 days of fenders” @18daysoffenders​ for the prompt Magic. I feel like this is so obvious and unoriginal  for this prompt and everybody will write this better than me.

--------

Magic has never been like this. This gentle.  

All he remembers about magic is violence, pain. Pain burning into his skin and then... sudden relief as the pain lessened. But less pain is not comfort. Still, it was enough for him to be grateful, to thank his master for his kindness.

He swings his sword in a wide arc, his shoulders aching from the strain. A faint metallic taste fills the air and he braces himself for the bite of magic. But the bite doesn't come. Instead, healing magic brushes over him like a caress. So gentle. Almost loving. 

The first time Anders spread his healing magic over the group like a cloud, removing the pain, the exhaustion, Fenris almost screamed in shock. But none of the grating pain came. By now he knows that the magic fills him with new energy, making him faster, stronger. He wants to hate it. It makes him more deadly, like a beast. 

"Mage!" he snarls.

"Sorry!" Anders frowns, holding his glowing hand up to keep the healing spell going. "It's difficult to distinguish between friend and foe with this spell. I try to leave you out of it, but —" 

A rogue appears behind him, stepping out of a shadow that has not been there a moment before. Fenris opens his mouth to yell a warning but the rogue already jumps, slamming the dagger down on Anders' back. But Anders moves. He still looks at Fenris, twisting his hip, and uses his staff to unceremoniously skewer the rogue behind him on the not so decorative blade at end of his staff. As the rogue crumbles, Anders falls forward, coughing.

Fenris hurries over to him. "Mage. I wanted to warn you."

"I know, I saw it in your eyes." Anders coughs again. "Fuck, that hurts." Blood spread through the fabric of his coat, nearly covering all of his back.

"Heal yourself."

"Need a moment," Anders says through clenched teeth. "That healing spell isn't exactly easy."

Fenris takes a step back, looking around if another rogue wants to attack from the shadows. He glances at the mage kneeling in the sand. There's blood everywhere, he could easily use it to amplify his powers. And he will, all mages fall for that temptation. It's just a matter of time.

Anders' hand begins to glow. Fenris grips his sword tighter. But Anders holds his hand up, and a golden glow rushes over them, touching Hawke, Isabela, and Fenris. It feels like the brush of soft fingertips over his skin. He almost moans but then Anders' eyes roll back and he falls face first into the sand. 

"Mage!" He fumbles for a health potion on his belt, turning Anders around to hold it to his lips. "Either southern mages are incompetent or you are the stupidest mage south of Tevinter." 

Anders' eyes are closed but he grins. "A little bit of both, I think." 

Fenris tips the vial over Anders' lips. "Drink this and heal yourself." 

"Careful," Anders says with a wink. "You sound like you care." 

Fenris jumps up, his heels digging into the sand. "I only care that you don't turn to using the power of all that blood around you." 

The smile falls from Anders' face. "Yes, of course. You don't have to worry about that." 

Fenris walks away. The air tastes of metal again and healing magic brushes gently over his body. He glances over his shoulder. The fool mage is using his strength to heal everyone but himself. Again.

Anders grins at him. "Whoops." Then he closes his eyes as his magic finally glows over himself, healing his wounds. 

Fenris can't tear his eyes away. Magic has never been like this. This beautiful.

[barbex]

And we have reached the end. These are the ficlets I've written for @18daysoffenders, the 18 days of fenders event. I didn't write for each prompt and one broke containment and became its own fic, so we are left with twelve scenes.

Twelve scenes of Anders and Fenris getting closer, drifting apart, and finding each other again. But can they truly bridge the differences between them?

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Chapters: 12/12 Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Anders/Fenris (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, love is not enough, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Mage Rights (Dragon Age), Chantry Issues, Fenders

[tea42]

Fugitive

Very late for @18daysoffenders . Sorry I’ve been a writing funk.

It bothered him. It bothered him that the Mage had thought he would turn him over to the Templars. There had been real fear in the Mage’s eyes that night. Fenris was used to engendering fear in others. It had been part of his duties as a bodyguard and since Seheron there was a satisfaction in seeing fear in the eyes of those who would subjugate him once more. 

That night was different. It brought up his own memories of being on the run before Kirkwall.

Fenris had of course known Anders was hiding from the Templars, but the fear from last week was not apparent today as they stood into Gallows on some of Hawke’s business. The Mage was all bitter scorn and brazen words. The fear in the place was not coming from him, only anger.

Afterwards when they all made to depart from Hawke’s house their eyes met as they both took the same initial route away. Anders had not spoken to him all today, nor more than was necessary at card night. Did he still fear Fenris?

“Have the Templars been after you again?” Fenris asked. He wondered if the Mage had told anyone.

“Not so loud”, Anders hissed and started walking faster. Despite the Mage’s longer legs it was easy to stay in stride.

“You have been avoiding me,” Fenris said.

“Are you complaining? I would have thought you’d be pleased”, Anders replied. His brow was stormy.

“I don’t wish to fight, but I also don’t wish you to fear me as you have apparently been doing for years”, Fenris said.

The Mage stopped abruptly.

“Apparently? As if you haven’t given me cause over the years? You said I deserved to be made tranquil after Karl, after… oh nevermind. Thank you for last week, but I am not afraid of you”,  Anders said with a pinch expression that accentuated his long face and wrinkled his large nose. If he was lying his anger hid it well enough. He turned without another word and started walking again at a pace, feathered shoulders hunched.

Fenris recalled that exchange. Though it had been years ago its bitterness lingered, but he had not meant it the way Anders had apparently heard it.

“I didn’t mean you,” Fenris called at the retreating man’s back.

Anders stopped once more and turned, “What?”

“I have known those who deserved that and worse, but I didn’t mean you”, Fenris said.

“Oh”, Anders said, his brow wrinkled as he stared at the flagstones. He looked uncomfortable, fidgeting like he didn’t quite fit in his long limbs. 

“It is clear then? I will not give you to them. When-IF you become truly dangerous I, and I assume the rest of your friends would… take care of you”, Fenris said. The Mage’s eye’s darted up and he made to speak but before he could get a word in, Fenris continued, “I would think you would want that, to be spared such a fate”.

“I, yes, yes of course. I suppose we both would if it came to it. I just didn’t realize you consider yourself…my friend”, Anders said with a look of surprise, “Anyway, I have to get back to the Clinic. Good day, Fenris”. 

The afternoon sun turned his stubble aflame and his pale cheeks seemed even more flushed than that had been in anger a moment ago. The Mage turned to leave, but Fenris caught sight of a soft, lopsided grin on his face as he left. Fenris had seen such a smile before, but never had been the cause of it. He hadn’t meant to profess friendship, but now that it was done he found this misunderstanding closer to truth than any correction would be. 

Fenris took himself home, keeping his eye to the shadows on the way in case of ambush. Later, while alone in the mansion, he contemplated this change with the Mage. Perhaps this new understanding would make his company easier. That would be welcome, as long as it didn’t lead to more diatribes about the Circle.

also on ao3 as part of my other 18days offenders responses https://archiveofourown.org/works/37543168/chapters/93705625

[barbex]

12. Feathers

Look at that, March is already over but the prompts are still beckoning me. Filling prompt 12, Feathers for @18daysoffenders​.

---

Yesterday, he kissed the mage. Today, he almost died protecting him. A mage. Barely free and he ties himself to a mage again? 

Anders has healed him but the air is still thick between them, full of unsaid words. Anders hovers by the fire, his hands twitching. "If you want me to leave, then I'll leave."

"Yes, you should leave." If he says it out loud, maybe he can convince himself.

Anders' shoulders drop. "Yes. I should have known."

"Should have known what?" Fenris can't help but step closer, feeling the aura of Anders' magic in the lyrium under his skin. As if he could ever forget that he is a mage. 

Anders mumbles to himself, as if he didn't hear Fenris speak. "Mistake. Always a Mistake."

"That's not what I said." 

Anders glares at him and for a second he looks angry before a mask falls over his face and he smiles bitterly. "Fine, it's fine, you don't have to say anything. I rather know now than later."

Fenris shakes his head. "That's not what I meant."

Anders raises his chin. The mask sits firm on his face. "I know, it may be hard to believe, but I'm almost forty. I've been here before, this isn't the first time I've been called a mistake. 'You're a mage, you're dangerous, we'll never have a normal life.' I heard this before, I understand. And honestly —," he takes his staff and walks to the door, "I'm too old to be someone's mistake again."

Fenris watches him leave. He has no words to call after him, no name for the churning in his stomach. The door doesn't quite fall closed behind Anders, uneven as it hangs in the frame. At last, the creaking spurs him on, walking to the door in a daze, putting his hand on the handle to pull it closed. Something flies up in the draft. A black feather. A feather from Anders' coat.

He catches it out of the air, pinching it between thumb and finger. Fuzzy and soft around a rigid spine, a strength that one wouldn't expect from how fragile it looks. 

Fenris grabs his sword and follows Anders.