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The pain started when he was in solitary. It was dark, and Anders couldn’t see his hands in front of his face much less why his feet and legs were suddenly on fire. The pain traveled from the tips of his toes up over the top of his feet to his ankles. The lines branched after that and followed the curve of his legs to his hips. The burning was a constant, sustained flair of agony that had him crying out for justice, for relief, for anything.

The next time the templars came with his bowl of gruel they found him pale and sweating in the dry straw of his cell. They put his bowl down and left him there. In the brief light of the templars’ torch, he patted at his legs and saw nothing but raw scratches - bloodied furrows from his own fingers. He couldn't heal them; the heavy collar around his neck kept his magic suppressed.

When the lines of pain started to move up his torso, he screamed till his voice left him. He dug grooves into the stone of his cell, his nails growing ragged and then bloodied as he tore at the rock. The next time the templars visited they found his stomach a bloody mess, and they chained him to the wall to keep him from damaging himself further.

When the lines of pain reached his throat, he passed out. By then, his entire body burned. The pain was a living, breathing, writhing mass that encompassed every part of his body. He hung limply from the wall and wished he could die.

***

Anders stood at the back of the group and adjusted his gloves. His hands hurt; the normal itchy sensations were magnified that night. He could only figure it was from the cool winds in the alienage and the amount of healing he had done earlier. Justice had been adamant about him getting his work done before they left to help Hawke with a job. He leaned on his staff and watched Justice prowl around the open courtyard while Hawke pulled his arrows from fallen slavers and rifled through pockets for change.

Bethany came to stand with him, her bright blue eyes vivid even in the late night gloom. “Are you alright?”

“Just sore. You know how sensitive my skin is.” Anders flexed his hands and willed the itching to settle into a more manageable sensation. “You alright? it got pretty heated.”

“I am. Justice pushed me out of the way,” Bethany let out a laugh. “For a spirit, he’s rather briskly physical.”

Anders watched Justice loom over Hawke. “He’s pretty protective. Not sure what goes through his head half the time.”

“And yet…”

“And yet I let him do his thing. I owe him life, more than that to be honest. He saved me from the templars.” Anders shot Bethany a wry grin. “And he reminds me of that to keep me healing night and day.”

Laughter bubbled up from Bethany. “You love it. You love him.”

“He’s a brother to me. Poor Kristoff. Mortally wounded and he allowed that stick in the mud to join with him. Seemed like a fair trade then. But...you know…” Anders winced as Justice began to lecture Hawke. “He’s Justice.”

They both watched as Varric joined Hawke and Justice, the three of them gesturing at the large group of dead. It was then that Anders’ markings began to throb. He looked up to see a man in armor descending into the Alienage. There was yelling going on now, the man jutting his chin and pointing at Hawke, who bristled and reached for his bow. Anders was starting to step in front of Bethany, his staff at the ready, when he cried out in pain and crumpled.

Blue light filled the courtyard - lyrium blue and tinged with the cold finality of the Fade. Anders looked up in time to see an elf grab the armored man and plunge his fist straight into the man’s chest. Pain flared in Anders’ arm and he grasped his wrist and moaned as his body throbbed. His moans blended with the screams of terror and the death gurgles from the armored man.

Then the light disappeared and the pain fled Anders. He was sweating and gripping his staff with a shaky hand and trying to stand. The elf’s gaze met his from across the courtyard, and he saw the elf frown before turning to walk to Hawke.

Anders didn’t hear a single thing that was said. He staggered from the courtyard towards his hovel in Darktown. Whatever that elf wanted done could be done without him. He hadn’t felt pain like that since solitary, and he had a sudden need to be surrounded by his clinic and the sweet smells of elfroot and embrium. The sound of Bethany calling to him faded as he ran away.

***

The next time he saw the elf was in the Hanged Man. It was a rare evening when Justice had agreed to let him have time off, and he had coin to spend. Varric’s room was warm and filled with laughter as Isabela told bawdy jokes and then explained them to Merrill. Anders sat at the table with his gloved hands clutching his mug and laughed with them. He was relaxed despite the bone-deep itch that had started up in his hands and arms.

There was a gruff clearing of throat and Anders looked up into deep green eyes. It was the elf from the Alienage. “I am Fenris,” he said as he sat down next to Anders.

“I’m Anders. How do you do?” Anders extended one hand in greeting. Fenris took it in a tight grip, frowning down at Anders’ gloves.

“Why do you wear gloves?” Fenris hadn’t released his hand.

“Ah….” Anders noticed the room had quieted. “I have some scars from my time in the Circle. I find it makes people a little more relaxed if they don’t see them. I remove my gloves to heal, but wear them otherwise.”

Fenris’ frown deepened. “You are a mage?”

“Yes?” Anders pulled his hand back and returned to clutching his mug. He stiffened. Something about the question made his skin throb.

“A blood mage would wear gloves to hide the scars from castings,” Fenris said the words idly. “Convenient cover, the story of the Circle.”

“I’m no Blood Mage,” Anders said quietly. “I have scars, but not from a knife.”

“I don’t wear gloves. Should I? Oh! I could wear some long ones!” Merrill held out her arms, showing off the delicate pale lines that marred her tanned skin. Fenris grimaced. “There’s no shame…”

Fenris snorted at that. “Blood magic is shameful.”

“You aren’t a mage, what do you know of it?” Merrill tossed back much like she tossed her hair as turned to Isabela.

“Kaffas, nobody asked you, witch.”

Merrill’s face tightened at the barbed discussion. She glanced at Anders. “Scars aren’t things to be ashamed of.” Anders glanced at the rest of the group. Bethany gave him an encouraging smile, one he tentatively returned. Slowly, he pulled his gloves off.

The scars weren’t on his hands but around his wrists. The skin was thickened and mottled. Where the manacles had closed, the skin held raised pale lines. Long, deep scars disappeared under the sleeves of his coat. Anders cupped his mug and tried to ignore the feeling of unease.

A touch on the back of his hand had him turning to Fenris. One dark finger traced a line from his middle finger back. He watched as Fenris’ finger traced more lines on the back of his hand and then carefully pulled his hand free of the mug. Fenris turned his hand over and smoothed out his fingers. There was a sharp inhale, and Fenris scooted his chair back. Anders watched as Fenris rushed from the room. Swallowing down his shame, he pulled on his gloves and refused to make eye-contact with his friends. When he finished his ale, he stood and made his way to Darktown.

***

Summer was a rough time for Anders. The sweltering wet heat of Kirkwall pressed on him, irritated his skin, and left him with the choice of passing out from heat exhaustion or showing off his scars. It was made doubly hard since Hawke enjoyed occasional trips to the coast to go swimming. Anders had, so far, been able to turn him down. But his luck finally ran out, and he found himself dragged out to relax and frolic.

He had been successful in avoiding Fenris. He would profess to being busy if Fenris was going out with Hawke on jobs. On card nights, he put seats between them. He always wore his gloves and coat, and he never made eye contact.

Today, however, Fenris was with the group on the beach. Anders tried sitting on a rock under one of the rare wind-swept trees, but Hawke was pushing for him to join them in the water. Hawke stood in front of him waving a pair of torn trousers that had been augmented into swimming pants, blue eyes wide and begging.

“Come on Anders. Come swimming. None of us will make fun of you, I promise,” Hawke wheedled.

“I’m in shirt sleeves and trousers. My feet are bare. What more do you want?” Anders pulled his knees up and hugged them to his chest.

“Anders, go swimming.” Justice appeared next to Hawke, already in his own pair of short pants. Anders gave Justice a flat look, a look Justice ignored. “It would be unjust for anybody to tease you over marks gained while in solitary.”

Fenris appeared next to Justice and raised one eyebrow at Anders, who swallowed nervously. His fingers clenched his knees as Fenris frowned. Anders looked down and waited for some commentary about magic or mages.

Instead, Fenris took the pants from Hawke. “I will get him into the water.”

“Why Fenris, I didn’t think you cared about our resident healer.” Hawke teased.

“Do not be ridiculous. I will take care of him. Go keep Isabela occupied,” Fenris said with a dismissive wave.

Hawke shrugged and ambled off towards the blankets where Merrill and Isabela were lounging. Justice gave Fenris a piercing look. “You will not hurt him.”

“No. I won’t.” Fenris agreed.

Justice nodded and went to join Hawke. Anders peeked up at Fenris. “So…”

“I apologize for what happened the first night I introduced myself. I did not realize...your hands. The markings,” Fenris said slowly. “

“What? The scars?” Anders held out one hand, twisting it to show off the mangled skin.

“No. These.” Fenris dragged his finger back over Anders’ hand. Anders watched him and shook his head. “You do not see them?”

“See what?” Anders picked up his hand and peered closely at his skin. Pale white lines were etched in straight lines down his fingers and over the palms of his hands. He frowned and pulled up his shirt, squinting down at his stomach. “I never noticed. They’re nearly invisible under the scars. To be fair, I don’t stare at myself very often.”

Fenris ran one finger over the long pale scars on Anders’ stomach and chest. Underneath were even paler lines. Lines that curled and branched over his skin. Fenris reached for the hem of his tunic and tugged it up, showing Anders his abdomen.

“When I was a slave, my Master made these. They are lyrium. He cut into my skin and poured the liquid metal into me.” Fenris activated his markings and Anders gasped, itchy pain skittering just under his skin. Fenris frowned and brushed his fingers back over the markings.

Anders inhaled, pleasure shivering up his chest. A blush bloomed on his cheeks as Fenris’ fingers continued to stroke him. “What…”

“You do not know what this means?” Fenris dropped his tunic.

“No. No I don’t.” Anders rubbed at his chest, his skin turning redder. “What does it mean?”

Fenris held out the short pants. “Come swim with me. Please?”

Anders hesitated and then took the short pants. “Alright. But don’t do that again.”

Fenris nodded, but didn’t move. “I promise. Not today at least. Now come. I think swimming would do us both some good.” Anders sighed, but changed and followed Fenris down to the water.

***

Small gifts began to show up in the clinic. A new pair of gloves. Soft socks. Lotion that smelled like lavender and soothed Anders’ skin. Smoothly woven blankets that didn’t scratch or rub. A new pillow.

The gifts were always delivered by an urchin, the child’s gap-toothed smile betraying their excitement at being a part of something so momentous. Food began to be delivered - fresh bread, tarts, little cakes, and fresh fruit.

Anders wasn’t sure what to do about all of it. He was fairly certain he knew who was sending the gifts. Even if notes weren’t attached, they were all items that had been mentioned during jobs with Hawke. Jobs Fenris had been a part of.

Justice was, surprisingly, quiet about everything. He just nodded at the gifts and asked the urchin if they were fine or if they needed anything. Anders waited for Justice to tell him that this was all a distraction, but the words never came.

Instead, Justice sat him down and stared at him, his gaze somber. “Anders.”

“What did I do?”

“When will you tell Fenris you return his emotions?”

Anders realized his spirit friend was trying to have a discussion about romance with him and slumped on his stool. “Why would I tell Fenris anything?”

“Anders.” His name was said with great patience. “You have not spoken to Fenris about this?”

“Um...no?”

“Hawke informed me that I should allow you to come to your own conclusions. However, I feel obligated to tell you that ignoring this is an injustice and reflects poorly on you.” Justice seemed to feel that this signaled the end of the discussion and returned to his work. Anders heaved a great sigh, but didn’t say anything to Justice. He stood, picked up his staff, and headed to Hightown.

Anders knocked on the door to the mansion Fenris was squatting in. He waited, trying to look like he belonged, and knocked again. When nobody answered the door, he tried the handle. The door opened with a soft creak. A plume of dust filled the air at Anders’ first step into the mansion. When it settled, he looked around.

The foyer was dim; the light was filtered through a patina of dust and grime on the windows. The floor was covered in old stains, more dust, and mouldering corpses. Broken furniture was scattered throughout the room. A wide, once-graceful staircase curved up the back wall. He watched anxiously as Fenris walked down the staircase and towards him.

“I apologize for the state of the mansion,” Fenris said as he slowly approached Anders. “I have never felt a need to clean it. It isn’t mine.”

“It’s your former master’s place, isn’t it?” Anders clutched his staff as Fenris drew closer.

“It is.”

“Well, I could see why you wouldn’t want to spend money to fix it up,” Anders said while giving a sheepish grin. “I, um. I’m not sure…”

“We should talk upstairs. I have a room that is comfortable.” Fenris gestured to the stairs. “If you wish, that is.” Anders’ nodded and Fenris turned back to the stairs. “Be careful heading up. A few steps are coming loose.”

Fenris’ room was markedly cleaner. A window was propped open to allow fresh air to blow in. A blanket had been strung over a hole in the roof. There was a large bed shoved against the wall opposite a low-burning fireplace. Faded chairs sat in front of the fireplace. Between them sat a low table covered in wine bottle. Anders hovered in the doorway while Fenris fussed with the empty bottles of wine.

“Come sit, Anders. We must talk.” Fenris stopped messing with the wine bottles and took a seat on one of the chairs. He gestured to the other. As Anders sat, Fenris leaned forward and folded his hands under his chin. “Do you know about soulmate markings?”

“No. I’ve never heard of them,” Anders said while shifting on the chair.

“Truly? I would have thought it a common discussion here in the South. In Tevinter, the slaves do not have soulmates, and the Magisters marry for power.”

Anders shook his head. “I was in a circle. Romance was rather off limits.”

“The story goes that every person has a soulmate. You can tell your soulmate because you share markings. For instance, if I do this,you should see it on your skin.” Fenris drew the tip of his gauntlet over his arm. Anders gasped and stared down at his arm in shock.

“Are you telling me that we are soulmates?” Anders shot Fenris an incredulous look.

“You wear my markings on your skin. They are pale, hard to see under the scars. Scars that were caused when you tried to stop the pain, if I’m guessing.” Fenris clenched his hands into fists.

“I was in solitary when the pain started. I didn’t know what to do or think. My magic was suppressed and the pain was...well...the templars eventually chained me to the wall to keep me from tearing my skin open.”

Fenris nodded. “Can you not see it? We are bound together.”

“As if you’d want to be bound to a mage…”

“A mage who heals. Who does good. I have spoken to your spirit friend and Hawke. I have watched you.” Fenris stood and walked the couple of steps to Anders’ chair. He slowly knelt down and took Anders’ hands in his. “I have sent you gifts and food to draw you out, but you did not answer them.”

Anders ran his tongue over his teeth as he gazed down at their joined hands. “This is...sudden.”

“And we have spent much time disagreeing with each other,,” Fenris said with an understanding smile.

“I need time to think...to…” Anders flexed his fingers in Fenris’ hands. “To get to know you.

Fenris carefully squeezed Anders’ hands. “There is no rush, Anders. None.”

Anders’ lifted his gaze and offered a shy smile. “Would you, um, like to get something to eat?”

Fenris stood, keeping their hands connected. “Yes.”

***

“Hey Blondie,” Varric jogged up to Anders as they walked through the docks. “Broody’s been pretty attentive recently. What’s the deal?”

Anders glanced down at Varric and grumbled. “You’re so nosy.”

“I’m a writer, Blondie. Being nosy is part of the schtick. Come on. We’ve been walking through these little side streets all afternoon. I’m bored.”

“He says we’re soulmates.” Anders couldn’t quite help the shy smile that formed when he said the words.

“Are you? Do you share skin markings?” Varric asked, peering at Anders’ hands. “You aren’t wearing your gloves.”

Anders held out one hand and let Varric take it. He ran slightly calloused fingers over Anders’ skin and then blew out a whistle. “Blondie...are those…”

“Yeah.”

“Maker’s arse. No wonder your skin hurts,” Varric shot Anders a troubled look. “ Broody...he’s pretty touchy on mages but he’s a good egg. Had it rough, you know? I see how he looks at you, though.”

“Like he wants to strangle me?” Anders’ smile grew wider as Varric entwined their fingers.

“Puppy eyes. He makes puppy eyes at you. Last time I said anything he growled at me. Which is amusing - what with the puppy eyes.” Varric chuckled.

Anders shook his head. “Any reason we’re holding hands?”

“Can’t a dwarf enjoy some hand holding with a close friend and it not become weird?” Varric didn’t look at Anders as he spoke.

Anders swung their hands, smiling fully now. “Yeah, Varric. He can.”

***

“Hi handsome,” Isabela crooned, sliding into the seat next to him.

“Izzy,” Anders frowned at his cards. He shoved her away when she tried to look at his hand. “Hey. No cheating.”

“My cheating might help you. That’s a terrible hand,” Isabela teased.

Anders threw his cards down in disgust, ignoring Fenris’ smirk. “What did you need, Izzy?”

“So. You and our favorite broody elf are getting close, hmm?” Isabela leaned against his shoulder and whispered into his ear. “Do a girl a favor and tell me what color his smalls are.”

Anders glanced over at Fenris and caught the intense stare being directed at the two of them. “Izzy, I love you, but I love living more.”

“Pssh. He’d never hurt you.”

“Hurt Anders? No. Hurt you? Maybe a little.” Fenris appeared behind them, his hand coming down on Isabela’s shoulder.

Isabela pouted. “Spoilsport..”

Fenris chuckled, a sound rare enough to have the room pausing. “You should move.”

“Oh? And why’s that? I love sitting next to Anders.” Isabela snuggled closer to Anders and gazed up at Fenris with a smirk. “Don’t you love having me sit with you, Anders?”

“I could move…” Anders ignored the question and started to stand. Fenris removed his hand from Isabela’s shoulder and placed it on Anders’, squeezing gently. “Or I could stay here and Izzy could move.”

“Come on Rivaini, let the two lovers sit next to each other,” Varric called out, earning him a glare from both men. “I’m just trying to help.”

“I do not require your aid, Varric.” Fenris said.

“You sure? Because this has been the slowest courtship I’ve ever seen,” Hawke said while winking at Isabela.

“Some people like romance,” Bethany said with a sniff. “I think it’s sweet. What do you think Ave?”

“I think romance should be done properly,” Aveline said while looking over her hand. “And Fenris is doing it properly.”

“It’s so sweet and perfect,” sighed Merrill.

Bethany looked down the table at her brother, who held up his hands. “So buying a bottle of rum for Isabela isn’t romantic?”

“I thought it was. You offered to drink it off my…”

Fenris sighed and bent down, blocking out the rest of what Isabela was saying. “Come home with me.”

Anders gazed up at him, befuddled by the request. He searched Fenris’ face for some indication of what was happening, of what would happen, and only found sincerity and a warmth that made shivers run up his spine. “Alright,” he whispered.

Fenris took a step back and waited for Anders to stand. “We are leaving.”

“But…” Hawke started, stopping when Bethany leaned around Merrill to flail in his direction. “Alright. Night.”

Fenris nodded at the table. “Come, I wish to speak with you.”

The walk back to Hightown was companionable. Anders bumped his hand against Fenris’ and smiled when Fenris entwined their fingers. As simple a touch as it was, it made the nerves jumping in Anders’ stomach settle. The low-level constant ache under his skin smoothed out when Fenris touched him and was replaced with a simmering warmth that had his breath catching oddly in his throat.

“Relax,” Fenris murmured. “I will not hurt you.”

“I didn’t say you would,” Anders said quietly. “I didn’t think you would do all this and then turn me over to the templars or pull out my heart.”

“I would not remove your heart at my home.Too messy,” Fenris said dryly. “Now the Hanged Man, I doubt anyone would notice an extra stain.”

Anders pursed his lips, snorting back a laugh. “Was that a joke?”

“I have been known to make one on occasion,” Fenris said as he stopped in front of the door to the mansion. “Though I think our friends miss half of them.”

Anders did laugh at that, turning his head to smother the sound against his feather-covered shoulders. “Yes well, you would think a sneaky rogue like Hawke would understand subtlety”

“One would assume that an archer would have patience.” Fenris pointed out. “I have never noticed Hawke to be a particularly patient man.”

“You are.” Anders reached out and touched Fenris’ cheek. “Very patient.”

Fenris closed his eyes and leaned into the brush of fingers. “Come in with me? Stay?”

“All night?” Anders slid his fingers down to Fenris’ chin and stroked over the markings there. His chin tingled with each touch.

“Yes.”

“Alright.”

***

Whatever Anders had been expecting, it hadn’t been the two of them sitting on the bed talking. Fenris cradled a bottle of wine in his hands as he spoke of his earliest memories with Danarius and how he gained his freedom. It was a halting tale told between long sips of wine and the occasional break to open a new bottle. Anders didn’t interrupt except to make a pained noise or shift a little closer to touch Fenris - his knee, his hand, his shoulder or elbow.

When Fenris finally quieted, Anders reached for one hand and fumbled through unbuckling the gauntlet. He pulled off the piece of armor, placed it on the bed, and then took Fenris’ hand in his own. “I was in solitary when the pain started.” Anders smoothed a finger over one lyrium line. “It was dark and I couldn’t see what was happening. When I was finally released, I focused only on the scars I had made or that had been left on me from the manacles.”

Fenris pulled away briefly and stood so that he could pull his armor off. He stacked it tidily on the nearby table and then removed his tunic. Standing in just his leggings, he held his arms out. “I would not wish these on anyone.” He turned so that Anders could see the full extent of the markings on his torso. “When I saw the pale lines on your skin, I felt ill. To know that you had experienced what I had, even only a small part…”

Anders pulled his knees to his chest. “You couldn’t have known.”

“Should Danarius ever find out, he would want you.” Fenris returned to the bed. “I would protect you.”

“You know, I am a Grey Warden and a mage,” Anders said wryly. “And of course, let’s not forget Justice…”

Fenris snorted at that. “As if any of us could forget Justice. He is a constant reminder of the perils of magic gone wrong.”

“He’d agree with you there. In fact, he has an entire lecture about the injustice suffered by Kristoff and his wife because of a blood mage.” Anders rested his chin on his knees. “Still, he’s my best friend. Does that bother you.”

“Justice and I have an understanding, of sorts.” Fenris pushed himself up on his knees and shuffled to press against Anders’ legs. “I did not trust him. I am learning, though it is hard. You will need to have patience with me.”

Anders smiled at that. “I’m not a very patient sort.”

Fenris snorted and leaned forward to press a soft kiss to Anders’ cheek. Both men flushed, Anders’ eyes widening at the feeling of lips brushing over his skin. He watched as Fenris pulled back. “Fenris…”

Fenris sighed. “I do not know how to tell you what I wish to. I have tried to show you. Bethany helped.”

Anders watched him struggle and released the grip on his legs. “You’re serious. You would be with a mage?”

“I would be with you,” Fenris said. “There is no rush.”

“So you told me before,” Anders lowered his legs so that they bracketed Fenris, who huffed at that.

“May I...I wish to…”

Anders opened his arms and Fenris slid onto his lap. He frowned and began to undo the buckles on Anders’ coat. Anders rolls his eyes and helped, shrugging his coat off. There was some brief wiggling as Anders pulled his long tunic over his hips and then off - a bit of a dance that had Fenris chuckling and Anders giggling.

They settled, Fenris stroking the pale white lines that ran, like his, down Anders’ chin and over his throat. It didn’t hurt, the touch soothing Anders’ skin instead of inflaming it. Fenris pressed a kiss to Anders’ collarbone, over his breastbone, on his shoulder. The brush of lips made Anders squirm.

“I know you said slowly, but an attractive man on my lap touching me is...um…”

Fenris smiled against Anders’ chest. “You feel impressive.”

Anders tightened his arms around Fenris. “Would you be upset if I said I wasn’t ready?”

Fenris shook his head. “I said I would be patient and that there was no rush.”

Anders laughed a little at that and let Fenris pull him into a gentle kiss. When they both slid down onto the bed to cuddle and touch, it was slow and light - a relaxed warmth that ended with them curled up under the blankets together.

***

“Should I expect you at the clinic?” Justice’s voice woke Anders. He blinked against the light and squinted towards Justice.

“No.” Anders tightened his arms around Fenris. “Not yet at least.”

He waited for Justice to reprimand him and was surprised when Justice just nodded. “Bethany has offered to aid me today. I shall tell her I will need her after all.”

“No lectures on sloth?”

A rare smile touched Justice’s face. “To pull you from your romance so soon would be...unjust…”

“Did you just tell a joke?” Anders gawked at Justice. “Is this the Fade? Am I dreaming?”

Justice tsked. “I have been learning humor from Fenris.”

Fenris lifted his head and favored Justice with a smile. “I thought it was well done.”

“Thank you. Please take care of Anders today. I shall fetch him tomorrow for work.” Justice inclined his head and left.

“You’ve been teaching Justice humor? You have?” Anders was still gawking.

Fenris pushed Anders over to his back and sprawled over him. “I have an excellent sense of humor.”

Anders reached up and touched Fenris’ chin. “It goes well with your unrivaled patience.”

Fenris smiled and lowered his head, capturing Anders’ lips is a deep kiss. Anders groaned and wrapped his arms around Fenris, holding him close as their lips slid and sipped, tasted. Fenris trailed kisses over Anders’ cheek and nuzzled against his neck. “Stay.”

“I did stay.”

“Tonight. Tomorrow. Stay.”

Anders brushed a hand down Fenris’ back. “You’re serious. You’d have me living here with you. A mage. Here.”

“I would stand by you no matter what. Stay with me.” Fenris lifted his head.

“Openly? Everybody would know that we’re together.” Anders pressed the point.

“I would have everybody know that you are mine, and I am yours,” Fenris said solemnly. “No templar will have you.”

“And Danarius would have to go through me to get you back,” Anders swore.

The stared at each other, quiet filling the room as the magnitude of what both of them had said settled. Anders lips twitched, a smile slowly forming. “I’ll stay.”

Fenris leaned down again, his lips brushing over Anders’. “I am yours,” he whispered before kissing Anders.

Anders smiled into the kiss. And when they pulled apart, he whispered back, “As am I.”