#nathaniel x anders

[eve-eleidan]

my sweet boooooysss nathaniel, get him something to eat. he's skinny as a rail >:c

lovebirds from Кошкин дом (ficbook)

[bloodybiohazard]

tumblr likes gay people right?

[sulky-valkyrie]

Happy Friday!! For DADWC, maybe "I thought you said we had something worth fighting for- was that just another lie too?" for Anders/Nathaniel? 🥺

haiiiiiiii Gin, have a sequel to this for @dadrunkwriting

screenshot yoinked from this video, which is a delightful animated banter compilation

Trusting you was a mistake.

Anders’ parting shot and rage in his voice would've broken Nate's resolve if Loghain hadn't grabbed his elbow.  This contingency plan had been his wretched idea, brought up last night while they'd listened to his frantic pacing one room over.  Anders had said getting Karl out was the goal, that he'd burn the city down to see him free, so Nate had agreed to it as a last resort.

A last resort.  Not a bargaining chip to be tossed out at the merest hint of disagreement.  He barely heard, barely cared about Loghain and the Knight Captain's conversation as they walked through the same gate Anders had been dragged through moments before.  

“There's a list of the recently Harrowed in the Knight Commander’s –”

“Not necessary,�� Loghain interrupted.  “I want someone seasoned.  A known quantity.  Already trained, not some barely housebroken robe barely able to tie his boots.”

Anders was more than that, you bastard.  He is more.

The Knight Captain cleared his throat.  “Traditionally, Wardens recruit from the Circle those who haven't yet proven themselves assets due to the risks of losing such valuable skills.”

Nate opened his mouth to snarl that they aren't assets, they're people, but Loghain stepped on his foot, grinding his mailed boot against the bone with an insincere apology, before sighing at the Knight Captain.  “A spirit healer should more than make up for any loss of revenue.  I want a list: men who've been Harrowed for at least five years with no disciplinary history.”

“Men only?” The Knight Captain's eyebrow arched up curiously.  “Are they better Wardens than women?”

Nate briefly entertained a fantasy of watching Velanna melt his eyeballs from his sockets as Loghain made up some drivel about recruitment quotas.  In truth, men made less dangerous Wardens, not better ones, but darkspawn breeding habits simply weren't a thing to discuss with the uninitiated.  

The Knight Captain sighed and changed course.  “Elsa would know best.”

“A moment.”  Loghain paused to fish a sealed letter out of his pouch.  “Give that to our former companion.”  He glanced at the Knight Captain.  “I assume he's been taken to your holding cells?”

The wax seal was imprinted with Brosca’ own signet (a stylized middle finger) and it wasn't addressed to Anders, but Nate.  He took the letter and he hid a frown.  This hadn't been in the plan.  In fact, they'd barely had a plan at all: trade Anders for Karl if they had to, then break Anders back out.  Details hadn't been important when they'd discussed hypotheticals last night, but now, the hypotheticals had become practicals, and only Loghain seemed to have any idea what was going on.  “Yes, ser.” He glanced at the Knight Captain, then quickly away.  The expression on his face when he'd cast that smite on Anders had been nothing short of cruel glee, more sickening to see than the way Anders had gone gray and stumbled into his captors’ grip.  “Where are the cells?”

“Up the right, down the hall, and on the left.”

Nate beat a hasty retreat.  An older Templar with steely gray hair was guarding the cell, though guarding it was a generous description.  He sat on a chair with his back to the opposite wall, arms folded, and head tilted to rest against the stone.  “Ready?” he asked without opening his eyes.

“For what?” Nate asked.

The Templar sat up in shock.  “Then you’re not…” he trailed off as his eyes traveled over Nate’s Warden armor.  “My mistake.  Knight Templar Emeric, at your service.”

What the void is going on?  “I’d like to speak to An – the prisoner.  In private.”

Emeric didn’t argue with him, just stood up and nodded crisply.  “Take your time.”  With that, he walked out.  What the void is going on?

Nate unfolded the letter as soon as the jingle of Emeric’s armor faded down the hall.  Another paper was inside, unaddressed and sealed.  Nate tucked it behind the message as he read Brosca’s blocky handwriting.  And read it again. 

Carta smuggles lyrium in through Templar barracks.  Been paying out my own pocket so they smuggle some other things out too.  Find the one who knows about Harrith. Give the other letter to Anders.

Did Brosca plan this?  Or just plan for it?  Did Loghain know?  Is that why he insisted on coming along?  The Commander hadn’t even been at Vigil’s Keep when they’d left, so he must’ve had the letters already.  

With more confidence than he felt, Nate approached the bars.  “Anders, I’m getting you out.”

The cell didn’t even have a bed.  Just two stools and manacles embedded in the walls.  Anders sat on one of the stools and stared at the ground.  His left arm hung limply at his side, shoulder still dislocated, and, even in the flickering torchlight, Nate could see a bruise darkening his cheek.  Maker, he's been in custody barely twenty minutes.  “Fuck off, Howe.  Just take Karl and go.”

“Loghain's taking care of that.”  I hope.  “And I'm taking care of you.”  I hope. 

“Taken care of me enough, I think,” he snarled.  “Don't worry, they'll finish the job.”  He hiccuped and covered his mouth as he shuddered.  “They must lace their magebane with something; even if I had mana, it'd be hard to cast when I feel like I might throw up any minute now.  Good thing for the both of us, I guess.  Asshole.”

Nate held up the smaller letter.  The movement caught Anders’ attention, and he glanced up before flicking his eyes away with a scowl.  “Brosca sent this.  For you.  Loghain had it.”  He tossed it into the cell.

Anders watched it flutter to the ground but made no move to pick it up.  “Don't want it.  Don't want anything from you.  Or them.”  He turned away, wincing when his arm brushed the edge of the stool.  “You didn't have to come.  Neither of you.  Could’ve just let me go, and probably got the same result: me, gone.  But no, you had to tag along, and for what?  Just make sure they did it properly?  You going to stay and watch the branding?  Report back that the infamous apostate and troublemaker is done for?”

“It wasn't –”

“You said you cared, Nate,” Anders interrupted softly.  “That we – that Karl and I had something worth fighting for, and, Maker damn me, I believed you.  When did it change? Or was it always a lie?  Would you rather see me dead than with anyone else?  Was that it?”

Nate rubbed his face.  “I'm trying to get you out, Anders.”

“You fucking put me here.”

The clank of Templar boots startled them both. “Just read the fucking letter,” Nate hissed before turning around.

It was Emeric again.  He was sweating and his cheeks were red, as if he was unused to running.  “I said take your time, but the Knight Commander is not happy about your choice of conscriptee.”

Nate glanced down at the message again.  “I’m looking for someone who knows Harrith?”

“Thank the Maker,” Emeric sighed.  He pulled out his keys and unlocked Anders’ cell.  “Nothing to be done about the magebane, I’m afraid.  Or your arm.”  He frowned as Anders stood up.  “Or your face.  Wilmod and Mettin are… overzealous.  It wasn’t like this when I joined.”  

As he stepped out, Anders muttered something that sounded like, “heard that before.”  The letter was in his hand and open.  He didn't look pleased about its contents, but Nate couldn't care less what he thought as long as it got him out.

That said, he couldn’t simply ignore his injuries.  He pulled a small healing potion from his pouch and held it out.  Anders stared at it for a few moments then rolled his eyes.  “The void am I going to do with that when I can't use my fucking arm?”

Asshole. “Generally, you drink it.”

Emeric shooed them down the hall.  “Keep going, lads; the tunnel is behind my wardrobe and it gets harder to move myself every year.  You know, I haven't done this since Maddox's – nevermind.  Used to be one or two a month before Commander Stannard and her roll calls and mandatory counts twice a day, and when Maurevar was doing it, we could slip out one a week to the Collective.”  He paused at the door.  “Harrith visited when he was dying.  Lyrium, you know.  It kills us all eventually, either from too much or not enough.  They told me everything.  The Carta, the Collective, the deals.  It's never been enough, but it was the best we could manage.  I took it over…  oh, about six years ago.  Easy money, I thought.  But it wasn't.  Instead I just see all the mages I can't help.  The ones the Collective doesn't know about.  The ones who can't pay the Carta for protection.”  

He shook his head as he walked to the edge of the wardrobe and pushed.  It barely shifted an inch, and he sighed as he glanced at Nate.  “That Warden strength might come in useful right about now.”

Nate stuffed Brosca’s letter in his pocket, then moved next to Emeric.  “Where's it going?”

“Just away from the wall.”  Emeric stepped back and grabbed a lantern.  

It scraped on the floor as Nate shoved it across the room to reveal a stone archway.  It looked like the opening had been plastered over years ago, and he ran his fingers over it skeptically.  “Your entrance is lacking.”

Anders snorted.  “That's what she said.”

“You think a smuggler tunnel would survive if we just hid it with furniture?” Emeric chuckled.  He turned to hand the lantern to Anders, frowned at his limp arm, and set it down on the desk.  “It's a rune.  Designed by one of the first mages Maurevar helped.  Said he learned it from the Wardens.”  He pulled a knife off his belt and slashed his hand.  “Responds to lyrium infused blood, so only a Templar can open it.  And no Templar would be foolish enough to wound himself in the presence of an apostate, of course.”  He cut the back of his wrist, then smeared it on his fingers before touching them to seven spots on the wall.  It glowed green, then vanished into mist as he gestured toward Anders.  “The tunnel leads down to a small harbor.  Take the skiff and follow the shore away from Kirkwall until you reach a cave marked with dwarven carvings.  The Carta know the boat, and will take you wherever you need to go.”

Nate grabbed the lantern.  “Let's go, then.”

Anders shook his head.  “Get Karl out.  I'll meet you at the inn, Andraste willing.”

“You're just – what if it's a trap?” Nate spluttered, then glanced at Emeric.  “No offense intended, of course, just – Anders, are you certain?”

“Get. Karl. Out.”  He pressed the note into Nate's palm.  “We'll figure the rest out later.  Or not.  I don't care.”

He looked down.  More blocky script.

If he doesn’t bring you back, he dies.  My word as a thief.

“Well,” Nate mumbled.  “And here I was thinking death threats were behind us.”

Anders grinned sadly.  “Welcome to the Wardens.”  With that, he ducked under the archway and disappeared into the dark.

[marshsano]

tiniest dragon age spam because i haven’t posted it here in awhile!

[perkeleen-lavellan]

Here's a little holiday spirit for everyone. You can now go grab the Love Across Thedas zine on itch.io for free, and find this artwork and much, much more inside, including plenty of fanfiction and digital merch.

@loveacrossthedaszine Extra thanks and much love to everyone who worked on the zine, but especially the mods.

(For anyone interested in what I was thinking when I was drawing this tune in below)

I wanted to do nanders because I pretty exclusively just do art about my player characters and their beaus otherwise. But nanders is one of those ships that I have been carrying my torch for since day one, or day 6 months in more like, with the pace I do my playthroughs in. Regardless, they were my favourite part about Awakening, and the greatest tragedy in Dragon Age is that they still haven't reunited for longer than 5 minutes in some dank darkspawn tunnel! So I set out to fix that.

I wanted to create a scene where the Amaranthine Wardens, my Mahariel and Zevran included, would go meet Anders in the middle after what happened to the Kirkwall Chantry, to keep him safe, and the team could finally get that more permanent reunion.

Due to my own headcanons the Amaranthine crew is also having a bit of an exodus, since they're in the middle of planning to go rogue from the rest of the Wardens. Oops :). All in all they're a bunch of outcasts right now, but they have each other.

And of course Nathaniel brought Pounce with them too.

[bluerose5]

Look, look, look. All I'm saying is, we needed more of that same energy from Origins and 2 when the protag had opportunities to have a threesome (and potential foursome in Origins). I'm not even gonna look at Inquisition because as much as I love that game, a lot of the mature content felt kind of watered-down(?) in comparison to the two previous games. Anyways, all of this to say that the option should have definitely been there with Anders, Nathaniel, and Hawke.

[morgandarcyarts]

Bonus pic:

This took me ages to finish because the summer heat is slowly killing me, but still! Totally my hc, with Nat and Surana wandering across Thedas, looking for a cure, while Justice, Compassion and their lovely cat are actually a roaming family, happy and boundaries free.

Until this.

Still hoping to see them again one day👀💖

[pinkfadespirit]

Here's the painting I did for the @dragonagereversebang! And here is the amazing fic @floralprintshark wrote for it:

I love it a lot! If you're a Nanders enjoyer then I'm sure you will too so go and give it a read! 💖

[lets-get-brave]

Guess what, y'all? The Sanders Summerbang collection opened for viewing today!!!! So over the next few days that's what I'll be flailing about. The first fic I'd like to shriek about today is written by @dismalzelenka who is a god for coming up with this AU. It stabbed me right in the feelings, but it ends so happily, I LOVE IT.

The Color of Sorrow

Written by @dismalzelenka , Art by me <3 Rating: E Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence Relationship: Nathaniel Howe/Anders Summary:

Anders has learned by now that if he looks hard enough into the darkness, something will eventually look back. He never expects it to extend a hand instead. Days later after a misguided attempt at seeking justice ends in utter disaster, his memory is no longer what it used to be; and when he stitches up a wounded stranger who turns out to be the local Arl's eldest son and soon-to-be heir, he also doesn't expect the man to offer him a favor in return.

What happens after that, well, that's a story for the history books.

[thiefbird]

Accidentally published this way too early, whoops!

@midnightprelude thank you for the prompt!

Wow so this one got long and kinda convoluted! We've got Fenris watching Nathaniel and Anders, we've got Nathaniel watching Fenris watch him and Anders, we've got two broody men brooding a lot!

For @dadrunkwriting

Anders laughed, big and bold in a way almost completely unfamiliar to Fenris, at something the Warden-Archer had said. As was tradition at this point, they'd all ended up at the Hanged Man once they'd arrived safely back in Kirkwall. And to Fenris's great, if unexpressed, displeasure, 'all' today seemed to include the Howe.

It wasn't that he had any specific complaints about the man himself; it wasn't his fault Hawke had been hired by his sister for a rescue mission. Nathaniel Howe was an good fighter, and an excellent strategist; for all that he was the reason they'd entered the Deep Roads this time, he was also the reason any of them made it back out again. He was a prickly, standoffish man until he had a few pints in him, but Fenris shared those traits with him.

No, the problem was the way Anders had completely lost his mind the moment the archer's sister had begged Hawke's assistance. The man, who had spent their month or so in the Deep Roads miserable and vomiting from claustrophobia, had all but demanded they leave that very moment, without even stopping for supplies.

And the way he'd nearly thrown himself into the arms of his fellow Warden the moment they'd spotted him, darkspawn ambush be damned. He'd only been stopped by Fenris grabbing him by the collar, and had clung to him for long minutes once the fighting was over, murmuring to each other too low for anyone to hear.

All while Fenris watched, miserable and steadily more irritable. He'd thought himself above petty jealousies when he'd accepted that Hawke would always have a piece of Anders' heart, but watching his mage fawn over someone not part of their little group of misfits stung like his brands in the sun.

And yet...

He'd not seen Anders smile so much, so widely, in years. Maybe not ever. Had so rarely heard of his life in the Wardens or before Justice, just that he'd killed a Templar who joined the Wardens to hunt him, and his spirit had possessed him to save his life. But between Nathaniel's reminiscing, and Anders egging him on, Fenris felt he'd learned more about Anders' life before Kirkwall in the last day than he had in the past five years.

He hadn't even known Anders had a lover in the Wardens, but it was clear to everyone who watched them interact how deep their history ran. It was clear in the shock and heartbreak on the Howe's face when the battle ended and he realized Anders was the mage he'd been fighting alongside, in the way he mumbled, stunned, that he'd thought Anders dead. In the way they clung to each other for the day's hike back to Kirkwall, and in the soft way Nathaniel watched Anders on the rare moments they separated.

And Anders, as usual, seemed oblivious to the tensions building. Varric was using the three of them for inspiration, ink smudges staining his fingertips as he scribbled frantic notes. Isabela looked ready to pick up her friend-fiction once more. Even Hawke and Merrill, usually the last to pick up on social cues, were watching them cautiously, as if they were a keg of gaatlok. But Anders was too busy being happy, truly happy, for the first time in a blue moon.

... Happy in a way Fenris didn't make him. In a way he'd never made him. He simply couldn't justify taking that happiness away. He knew when to accept defeat, and how to bow out gracefully.

~~~

Being found in the blasted Deep Roads had been a wild stroke of luck, Nathaniel mused as he sipped his ale. Being found by a rescue operation Delilah had staged by hiring his former lover's best friend was something else entirely. Especially considering he'd spent five years believing said former love was less 'former' and more 'late'.

Maker and Maferath, he was alive. Leave it to Stroud, the great lout, to miss an entire Grey Wardens in the same part of the Deep Roads at the exact same time as him. Five years of thinking Anders had died to a templar's blade, of beating himself up over becoming complacent to the threat Roland had posed, and Anders had been just across the Waking Sea, barely a few days easy travel.

... Leave it to him to not have noticed there was a Warden in Kirkwall at all, but in his defense, there was something flaming wrong with this city. Near every fourth citizen he met felt Blighted, and nearly every Templar.

But that was a matter for the morning. The only important thing now was that Anders was alive. Alive, and apparently possessed by Justice, which was a surprise only because Anders had barely been able to stand being in the same room as the spirit, back at the Vigil. Possessing a willing friend had been Nathaniel's own idle suggestion, all those years ago, and he was glad to have made it, having learned how it saved Anders' life. They were joined, here and whole and hale, and not twisted up upon themselves like every other abomination Nathaniel had ever had the displeasure of meeting.

Anders smelled the same as Nathaniel remembered, as if he'd just stepped out of a memory or the Fade: herbs and healing potions, elfroot smoke and the minty, numbing sweetness of too many lyrium potions. A good, familiar smell that spoke of safety and affection.

He looked good, too. A little older, a little sadder; too thin, too tired. But still so beautiful. And Nathaniel was no longer mired in the leftovers of Rendon Howe’s shame, so he could admit it now, how beautiful Anders was.

He could admit it, now that it was too late to say. Anders hadn't said anything outright, he never would with how the Circle had twisted him, but every third word from his lips was about the Tevinter elf with the nightmarish tattoos, of what couldn't be but definitely was lyrium. And if that wasn't enough, the miserable glares Nathaniel kept catching from the elf were their own evidence.

It had been five years. Of course Anders had moved on, and more fool Nathaniel for not having done the same. But Anders had been dead, and Nathaniel had never managed to say anything of import to him, and maybe those words, those feelings, had died along with him. Burnt to ashes beside Kristoff's suddenly empty corpse and what few of Anders' possessions they'd managed to keep hidden from the Orlesian bastard.

The only issue with that being that Anders was not dead, and all those secret, painful feelings were rising from his ashes like the metaphorical phoenix, and Anders had moved on.

He deserved it. He deserved happiness and love, in whatever form they took. Even if that form was a broody, spiky elf determined to stay as far from Nathaniel as possible while remaining in earshot, and who was currently glaring daggers at him.

... thank Andraste that Sigrun was not here, or Brosca, to quip about Anders having a type. (Thank the Paragons? The Stone? Thank someone, anyhow.)

He tried to bow out after a few drinks and a shared meal, claiming exhaustion from his long stay underground and the hike back, but Anders had grabbed his arm and begged him to stay a while longer, and Maker damn him, he'd never learned how to deny the man anything even before he died.

"What's Warden stamina good for it we can't use it to stay up too late and drink too much?" Anders joked once Nathaniel sat back down beside him.

"I can think of a few things," the Rivaini pirate said, waggling her eyebrows at Nathaniel in case her tone hadn't been clear enough. "Mmm, I had your Commander, once, during the Blight. Definitely worth the cursed blood."

Anders had burst out laughing at that and the elf's -- Fenris's -- ever-present glare had changed to something more sad and contemplative.

"What do you say, Sparky?" the pirate continued once Anders had caught his breath. "Why not let me compare before and after? Determine once and for all if the rumors are true? I still get shivers thinking about your little electricity trick..."

So did Nathaniel. It was a good trick.

"'Bela, you couldn't afford my new fees," Anders had shot back, and Isabela had feigned scandal.

"You'd charge a friend?!"

"I'd charge you, at least."

The conversation moved on, eased by the heady combination of cheap, bad booze, and the raw relief of finally being above ground, but Fenris made no attempt to join it, even as his glares ended and were replaced with resigned, thoughtful staring when Anders leaned against Nathaniel.

Apparently, Justice was less than fond of alcohol, even if he didn't seem to mind Anders' elfroot habit, and Anders had become a bit of a lightweight, even with a Warden's metabolism.

And he was still an overly affectionate drunk, curled into Nathaniel's side with his head on his shoulder in between glances at Fenris as he began to process the elf's reticence. "'Bela, he's sulking again," he complained, his words just starting to slur together.

Isabela chuckled, patting his knee. "Don't think he's too fond of your choice of pillow, sweet thing. Not that I can blame you; I do love an archer. You can pluck my string any day," she added, turning her gaze to Nathaniel with a wink.

"I prefer 'string my bow'," Anders mumbled into Nathaniel's neck as he tried to push himself upright. Nathaniel shivered at the hot, wet sensation on sensitive skin, and then flinched near hard enough to knock over their bench when Anders' flailing hand brushed against his crotch in its search for leverage. He grabbed Anders' wrist and directed him to the safe territory of his knee, and prayed his cock wouldn't start taking more of an interest in the proceedings than it already had.

Anders managed to get to his feet with only a slight struggle, but almost immediately tripped over Nathaniel's foot. Nathaniel instinctively caught him with an arm around his hips, nearly pulling him into his lap in an attempt to stop them both from toppling off the bench and into the rushes.

He made certain Anders was stable on his feet and without obstacles, and gave him a gentle push in Fenris's direction before turning back to his ale, and to Isabela, who gave him a calculating look before pulling a face.

"Oh, that's no fun," she complained cryptically.

Nathaniel huffed out something at least related to a laugh. "'Fun' is not something I've often been accused of, my lady. You will have to elaborate."

"My, my, you are something. I don't hear 'my lady' very often. More usually 'whore' or 'slattern'. 'Wench' if someone is looking to have a few teeth knocked out." She paused, looking over at Anders and Fenris staring awkwardly at each other. "You're in love with him, aren't you."

It wasn't a question, and Nathaniel felt no need to deny it, certain Anders was paying them no mind. "What of it? I thought him dead these last five years. I love a memory, a ghost of what used to be. He's happy. I'm glad he's happy."

Isabela mimed throwing up into her bet before tossing it back. She stood up and vaulted the table, landing on the bench where Anders had been moments before. "Well, you know what they say, Archy: the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else, and I'm someone else!"

Nathaniel chuckled. "Thank you for the offer, but I think I will just head to bed. I... don't think I want to be 'over' him, just yet, now that I know he lives." He threw back the rest of his ale 26th a grimace, and stood to leave.

[deedeemactir]

Anders: So, now that you aren’t trapped in the Deep Roads, what’s the first thing you’re going to do when you get back to Amaranthine?

Nathaniel: 😏 My wife.

Anders & Nathaniel:

[eve-eleidan]

nanders WIP i dont care i ship it!!

[my-dumb-obsessions]

💕 Happy Anniversary, Carie & Nate! 💕

A year ago today, I completed a short fic based on a random prompt that had been sitting in my inbox for 3 months. That was Silverite Moon, and it was the day I decided that Cariane Amell and Nathaniel Howe had more story that I needed to tell.

Since then, I went backward and forward (and backward again) in their story with 3 more fics, and there's still more story to come!

But I'm so proud of this work I spent almost a year on, and this romance that still owns my whole soul. So I wanted to celebrate and share it again:

Nathaniel Howe returns home to the wreckage of the past and builds a new future with an unlikely partner. Warden-Commander Cariane Amell is thrown into a role she never expected and never prepared for and finds family and love along the way.

[sulky-valkyrie]

Happy happy Fridaaay! For DADWC, how about “Trusting you was a mistake" for Nanders, maybe? 🥺

Happy Friday, Gin! 💜 have some angst for @dadrunkwriting

Anders had not been pleased when Nate insisted they bring Loghain to Kirkwall, but he couldn’t deny he’d been useful.  The city guards damn near fell over themselves for the fabled Hero of the River Dane far more than they would have for a simple pair of no-name ragged Wardens.  Nevermind that he’d almost torn Ferelden in half.  Nevermind that the refugee crisis in the Marches was partially his own fault.  Nevermind that Wardens weren’t supposed to have any ties or allegiances outside the order.  He was still Loghain mac fucking Tir, father of the bloody queen of Ferelden.  

He wanted to head straight for the Gallows, but Loghain insisted they do it the next morning.  “They won't look on us kindly if we're still covered in sea spray and road dust.”

“Besides,” Nate added, “the boats only travel to and from the city twice a day.  We’d be stuck there all night.”

Anders shuddered at the thought as he stared over the water.  Karl, please, just one more day.  “Fine.”

They found a small inn near the alienage, paid for two rooms, and took their evening meals upstairs.  To Anders’ surprise and Loghain's confusion, Nate chose to bunk with him, leaving him alone to wonder and worry instead of sleeping.  

When they reached the harbor just after dawn, the ferry to the Gallows was still docking.  They got into the blessedly short line to embark and were back on the water in less than half an hour.

The boat ride was simultaneously the one of the most boring and – hah – harrowing experiences of his life.  Anders fidgeted with his jacket, as much from nerves as the need to do something to keep himself from jumping off and swimming the rest of the way.  It would be apropos, after all.  The swim across Lake Calenhad was one of his favorite and more successful escapes; doing it again to get Karl out would have a poetic irony.  

“Stop that,” Nate hissed as he slapped his hand.  “The more nervous you look, the more they’ll worry something is wrong.”

He bit his tongue to keep himself from snarling a retort.  Something was wrong, wrong with the institution, the whole bloody world.  And he was going to fix it as soon as Karl was out of harm’s way.

Karl, I’m coming.  For him, he’d keep his damn hands still.

The strange jangling in his nerves that he’d always associated with lyrium use was thick in the air as they walked down the gangplank, and only increased as they wound their way past the Tranquil shops to the main entrance.  He'd known it would be crawling with Templars, of course, but knowing it and feeling it were two different things entirely.  He felt like he was trudging through molasses and hot coals all at once.  I'm a Warden, they can't touch me.

It was a cold comfort.  No, it was just cold, with icy fingers that squeezed his heart and made it difficult to breathe.  He followed Loghain and Nate almost blindly and prayed they'd be able to get this over with soon enough to take the afternoon ferry back to the city.

A familiar face was at the gate.  Familiar and unwelcome.  Maker, it's Cullen; I thought he died, now he's here and promoted?  Anders knelt down to adjust his boot, wishing Loghain or Nate were taller.  Hopefully he doesn't recognize me.

Loghain pressed a paper into Cullen's hands.  “We're here for the Right of Conscription; these are orders from the Warden Commander of Ferelden.”  

When had Brosca done that?  Was it forged?

“We're not in Ferelden,” Cullen sneered, then crumpled it up.

“The Wardens have authority to Conscript anywhere Thedas.” Nate waved his hand in disgust.  “Even Kirkwall.”

Cullen made a face.  “I'll have to take this to the Knight Commander.  Gallows are off limits to everyone, yes, even Wardens, without her permission.  We can't simply – wait.” He peered over Loghain's shoulder.  “Anders?”

Damn.  He tried to hide his wince as he stood up.  “Knight Captain, what a surprise to see you here.”

Cullen ignored him as he swung his gaze back to Loghain.  “Warden Constable, is there a reason you're bringing an apostate into the Gallows?”

“Call it a gesture of goodwill.”  He pointed at Anders.  “This mage has proved to be more trouble than he’s worth.  We need a different one.  I'm sure you understand.”

What?  Anders looked at Nate, who cleared his throat and fiddled with his belt pouch.  “Nate, you – was this the plan the whole time?”  He lunged for him, reckless with despair as the smite hit, stealing his voice, burning his mana away, and Maker, it hurt, but not as much as this.  Templars were suddenly at his sides, grabbing his hands, then pushing him to the ground and twisting his arms behind his back before hauling him back to his feet.

Loghain watched the whole thing impassively, but Nate, fucking Nate, Nate whom he’d slept with, who’d offered to help him, couldn’t even do him the courtesy of looking him in the eyes as he sent him to his death.

It happened so quickly he was too stunned to even fight back as they marched him past Cullen and toward the gate.  The crushing silence faded as the gate lifted, and he twisted around in their grip, ignoring the agonizing pop as his shoulder came out of his socket.  

“Trusting you was a mistake,” he spat before they dragged him away.

[geopvnk]

warden bethany x sigrun and warden carver x nathaniel howe . is anybody out there can anybody hear me

[elsmaster]

Anders would do anything to keep this, to have this, to be this, but it’s not his to have, to be, to keep. or Hawke agrees to look for a missing Warden, and Anders gets back what he once lost.