Chapter Text

Anders didn’t even know a spell like that existed. Hawke had called him over just after the battle, with a look of dark concern Anders assumed meant someone was injured. When he arrived at Fenris’ side, however, the elf was thrashing, but seemed unharmed. He was spattered with blood, though nothing suggested it was his own and not the slavers he had just cut down… the only thing to signal anything was wrong was the thrashing itself.

If the circumstances had been different, Anders would have assumed Fenris was asleep and having a nightmare. The pained expression, the shouts and wriggles clearly in response to unseen hands and events outside of the warrior's favour and control - something was going on behind his closed eyes. Anders shook him, spoke to him, but nothing worked to rouse him. He even used magic, first to diagnose that he was not, in fact, asleep, and then to try and shock him awake, but Fenris remained in the same state. Hawke and Merril watched Anders tend him for a few minutes, but eventually Anders had to concede defeat - whatever afflicted Fenris, they would all have to wait for it to run its own course.

By now, the shouts had turned to grunts and whimpers, Fenris’ teeth grit and his expression strained but stony. He didn’t seem to be protesting anymore, but he certainly didn’t look happy, either. He looked….

Anders swallowed hard, cringing internally with sympathy and something like shame for what he was witnessing. He couldn’t be sure, but there were expressions reserved for certain kinds of torment. Fenris wore one he recognised. The fight and reluctant give, the grunts… he didn’t want to see this.

“Give him some privacy,” he snapped at the others, knowing he had to stay until the spell passed, just in case. “Go loot the fallen, see if they carry clues as to what this is. I’ll watch over him.”

Hawke and Merril obliged, leaving Anders alone with the elf. He turned his back on Fenris, listening from a few feet away as the spell exhausted itself. Anders had thought about moving further away, actually giving Fenris the privacy he’d bid the others for, but he didn’t know what the spell was, yet, nor what it could do. Or even if it was a spell, for that matter - there was a chance Fenris was in the fade somewhere being spirit-buggered by a lust demon with a cock the size of the chantry spire. Anders chuckled at the image.

I would feel him were he in the Fade, Justice offered. He is not there.

I know, Justice, it was a joke.

He sighed and rubbed his neck as he waited. It could still be a fit, a break-down, a head injury, an enchantment, a poison… and even if it was good old fashioned magic, it was unknown. The end result could be some sort of spontaneous combustion or- well, anything else, really. No - better he be here than not.

The whole episode only lasted about fifteen minutes, and ended shortly after the other two had gone. Anders turned to check on Fenris as he fell silent and still, and for all the world he looked as though he were sleeping, though another spell revealed he was awake, but dazed. Anders' inquisitive magic reached deeper into the elf, but still found nothing, nothing at all, to suggest he was harmed. He sent out a pulse of healing magic anyway - it couldn’t hurt. Fenris relaxed at the wave of energy.

Suddenly, the elf’s green eyes snapped open and a gasp escaped him as though he had been winded. His eyes fell on the first thing he saw - Anders, of course - willing him into focus. For a moment, Anders saw Fenris. Really saw him. Unguarded, unsure of the world around him, in the aftermath of… whatever he'd just experienced. Anders had always known ‘bad stuff’ had happened to Fenris, it was fairly obvious he had ‘issues’ as Varric put it, but Fenris did his best to keep himself restrained and controlled, the wariness always behind something else, some filter that made it look less like fear and more like skill as a warrior.

And then the moment passed as Fenris’ eyes focused, and those walls snapped back into place as though they were angry. Fenris’ gasp became a growl.

“Get away from me,” he muttered. Anders hand was swatted away before Fenris pushed himself back and up off of the dirt, as far away from the mage as he could.

Anders scoffed. “You’re welcome,” he snapped back.

He rose and dusted off his knees. He walked past Fenris with a casual call to the others to let them know he had recovered, and the whole incident was dismissed as just another injury, a new spell they didn’t really care much about. Clearly something from Tevinter, something they’d likely never see again. Fenris was well and the animosity between he and Anders was alive and blooming, and the slavers were dead, and the pockets of Hawke and his merry band of followers were filled. All was as it should be, as right with the world as anything ever was.

-x-

Anders had thrown himself into his clinic the moment he got back, healing the constant stream that ebbed through his door. It was late when he lit the lantern, deep in the night when he wearily rubbed his eyes, then head, then snuffed the lantern out. He was about the pull off his coat and boots for the night when he heard the clinic door open behind him.

“I’m sorry, friend,” he said automatically, not bothering to turn and face whoever had walked in. “If you need is not dire, it’ll have to wait - I have nothing more to give tonight.”

“You’ll just have to make an exception,” came the familiar elvhen voice behind him.

Anders turned to seek Fenris in the gloom of the empty clinic, but before he could do so, hands were on him, grabbing for his arms and pushing him against the wall. A mouth was on his, biting as much as kissing and tasting like stale wine. Anders broke the kiss - if you could call it that - and tried to get Fenris at arms length, but the elf was far stronger and Anders wasn’t keen to use magic on his clearly inebriated companion. At least not until he had tried to talk some sense into him.

“Fenris? What in the Maker’s name are you doing?” he demanded, more surprised than actually indignant.

“Silence, mage,” Fenris growled and released one of Anders' arms so he could grab the man by the hair, turning him back into the kiss.

Anders took the opportunity to grab Fenris’ wrist, ‘ow-ow-ow’ing through the hairs which were pulled out as he twisted the other man’s arm, forcing him away.

“Stop it!” Anders commanded, Justice flaring in his defence.

He pushed the spirit down and released Fenris as soon as the elf’s oral assault was successfully repelled. He quickly cast a small ball of flames at the lantern on the far wall, sparking the clinic to light once more.

“Now, what do you think you’re doing?” He asked once he could see his conversational companion.

Fenris’ face glowed red and angry, a combination of firelight, alcohol, and, as best Anders could tell, recent tears. He was a wreck… though the fact that he’d just jumped his nemesis in the dark for a kiss had already alerted Anders to the idea that Fenris was not completely of his normal mind.

Anders moved away, calming himself and lowering his tone from angry to a practised healer’s balm.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he bid.

Fenris turned away, turning his face from Anders as though hiding. There was something else there - shame, Anders guessed. It still didn’t tell him what had prompted the visit.

“Fenris?”

The elf growled as if the mere suggestion that he was ailing was somehow offensive.

Anders tutted. “Obviously you want something - tell me what it is and I may be able to help you.”

Fenris’ head snapped up to look at Anders. The elf was something of a master of deep and broody expressions, Anders had long since learned this, but the look Fenris gave him now was fuelled by more than just anger. Alcohol, and whatever raw wounds he was suffering, added a passion to his venomous glare that not even the slavers had been met with. Or maybe it was because Fenris didn’t fear Anders? Or was too drunk to consider it? Regardless, Anders recoiled, and Fenris’ glare fell back to the ground.

“You bastard,” Fenris spat, half-broken. “You know why I’m here.”

Anders held out his hands in surrender and tired frustration. “I don’t know anything,” he insisted. He kept his voice as calm as he could. Seeing Fenris in a mood was usually a source of some joy, but he was a healer first and foremost and had a professional concern for him, now.

It took him a moment to make the connection, but… the spell? They still didn’t know what it had done.

“You saw it,” Fenris muttered, half to himself. “On the coast. You saw….”

“I was called over by Hawke,” Anders explained calmly. “I saw you… as best I can tell you were suffering the effects of a spell or some enchantment. You seemed to be having a bad dream or a vision, though I knew it was not that simple. I made sure you recovered, which you did - from that point, you know more than I. Whatever you saw, I wasn’t privvy to it, so you can stop glaring at me like you want to chest-fist me, alright?”

Fenris shook his head, the movement jerky and his eyes still down as if he wasn’t speaking to Anders at all. “Don’t play the fool, mage,” he growled. “You know.”

Anders grew more frustrated by the moment, keenly aware of the bed beckoning him. He was no fool, nor a stranger to horror stories. He could guess at what Fenris was talking about. Maker knew the man had plenty of nightmare fuel - Anders could probably choose the worse things from his imagination and Fenris would claim to have seen it. Still, he was no mind-reader, he didn’t know what Fenris wanted him to say. What he was was tired, drained of all but his emergency reserves of mana, and longing for his bed.

His thoughts were interrupted when Fenris lunged for him again, this time with a wide punch flung at the mage’s head. Anders moved easily out of the way, catching Fenris’ arm and twisting again. There was no way he would be able to overpower the Elf under normal circumstances, Fenris beat him out for brute strength every time, but he was so drunk right now that he seemed to be confusing the ceiling and the floor with each other. He fell against one of the cots Anders used for the patients, coughing as though winded by the fall. Anders took advantage of the moment and hiked Fenris’ forearm across his back, pointing his hand up to his head. Anders didn’t want to hurt him, insufferable though he was, but this position gave him the advantage and would keep Fenris from turning on him again.

Fenris roared at him and thrashed to escape, but Anders ignored his protests.

“I’m willing to help you, Fenris,” he told the elf calmly. “But I won’t let you hurt me.”

“Unhand me, mage!” Fenris yelled, clearly in no mood to listen.

Anders obliged, stepping back. Fenris pushed himself up and practically fled around the cot, putting it between he and Anders as though Anders had been the one to swing for him.

“Can we try and calm down a little bit?” Anders asked, his voice starting to betray his exasperation. “How about if I sit down over here, you sit down over there, and we talk like grown-ups for a while, hmm?”

Fenris shook his head with the same jerky movement a before, but Anders sat down himself and Femris followed suit in spite of his refusal. More or less, anyway, perching against the edge of a pallet, keeping a cot and a decent amount of space between them.

“Now, I did see something today,” Anders began, watching Fenris twitch and flinch. “Something I’m guessing has upset you. Do you want to tell me what I saw, from your side of it? ‘Cause all I saw was a lot of twitching and glowering.”

“Danarius,” Fenris growled, and his voice sounded like chaos-filled voids in the fade felt. It felt as thought he Magister had walked into the room to join them, bringing all of his evil with him.

Anders nodded. “A spell from him. It… brought back memories of your time as a slave?” he guessed.

Fenris growled.

“Fenris, if you don’t tell me, I can’t help,” he pointed out with another tired sigh.

He received a sharp nod in response. “It was as if I was… transported.”

“It was in your mind, Fenris,” Anders reassured him. “You didn’t leave. He wasn’t there.”

“I know that, mage,” Fenris spat as though Anders was an idiot for trying to comfort him. Which he arguably was, to be fair.

“Alright, well, forgive my bluntness, but you’ve had flashbacks and run-ins with slavers before,” Anders pointed out. “You’ve never reacted like this.”

“This was more immersive.”

“And that’s the only difference?”

Fenris glared at him for a moment, then at the ground, before launching himself from the box to pace the room instead. Stalking would be more accurate, as though he were caged and looking desperately for an exit. Anders shifted a few steps further from the door in case Fneris wanted to leave, and waited.

Several minutes passed, but all Fenris did was pace, stalk, whatever. His bare feet on the dirt floor was broken up only by growls and the occasional muttering of a Tevene curse. Transported was right, Anders thought. It was as though Fenris wasn’t even there.

“Fenris, is the spell still bothering you?” Anders asked, just now realizing the the vision from earlier might not have been the only effect, that it may not have ended when Fenris ‘woke’ from his fifteen minute involuntary nap.

“Obviously,” Fenris snarled back.

Anders sighed, his patience all but gone. “Obviously not if I didn’t know it already.” He rubbed the side of his face, not wanting to start an argument. “What do you want me to do, Fenris?”

“You’re the healer,” Fenris snapped, discontent and restless. “You tell me what to do.”

“Alright, fine. Come here.”

Fenris eyed him warily and didn’t approach. So many different expressions, as though different people were looking at him moment to moment. Fenris looked wounded and afraid, then desperate, then hungry, as though he wanted to kiss Anders again and then murder him right after, and then he was afraid again and lost the way so many patients were when they didn’t know what their minds or bodies were doing to them.

“Fenris, if you want help, come here.”

Anders waited, as patient as possible, until Fenris cleared his head and steeled himself enough to approach. “What will you do?” he asked warily.

“Heal you, as best I can,” Anders promised. “Follow me.”

He turned and lead Fenris to the back room of the clinic, to his personal… well, not really a chamber, more like a patch of floor space made private and slightly less drafty by a wall of cob. There was no bed, all of those had been pulled out for the patients, but Anders had a nice little nest of blankets in a warm corner. He thought for a moment… he could grab a few extra blankets and extend the nest for Fenris, but he doubted the elf would appreciate sharing a sort-of-bed with him. He could make up another little nest in another corner, but the space was so small that doing so was more or less the same as sharing a bed.

“Sit down and wait for me here,” Anders instructed before pulling over one of the more portable cots so that it lay a few feet from Anders nest, half in the ‘door’ to his room (and by door, he meant the gap that wasn’t cobbed over) so that he could keep an eye on the elf but still give him his own bed. Then he left again to find food and water. The elf would shrivel up into a dehydrated prune of alcohol-induced misery tomorrow without something to help him work through however much he’d drank tonight.

He returned and passed a small, slightly stale bun of bread into Fenris’ hands, along with pork dripping, some water, and a basic elfroot potion. “Eat and drink,” he commanded.

Fenris glared at him, but took the provisions and did as instructed.

“Now, I’m going to cast a diagnostic spell on you while you have your supper,” Anders told the elf as he settled beside him. “I want to see if anything’s amiss.”

Fenris glared mildly but otherwise didn’t respond, just let Anders work. Sure enough, he easily detected the abundance of wine turning Fenris into a fine pickle, but no matter how thorough his investigation, he found nothing else. There was no magic there, no spell currently taking effect… Fenris was terribly distressed, yes, but as far as Anders could tell, nothing tormented him but his own mind, his memories.

Anders hated it. He hated Fenris too, of course, but he’d seen sorrow like this consume and kill mages in the circles. No matter how much he hated the bastard, he didn’t wish this sort of suffering on him. But it was something he couldn’t help, not the way he could a broken bone or a fever.

He eked out a tiny bit of healing magic from his reserve and cast, hoping to negate the damage the wine would do. The result was immediate and perplexing; Fenris stopped mid-bite and, with a groan of pleasure and relief, slumped into Anders’ nest of blankets a though he’d fallen unconscious.

“…Fenris?” Anders moved the vittles aside and shook him gently.

“Yes?” Where before the elf’s voice had been sharp and straight, now it was low and softened.

“What just happened?”

“I don’t know,” Fenris answered, calm and completely co-operative, the exact opposite of the bundle of angry resistance Anders had just been dealing with.

“Do you feel better?” Anders asked, confused but optimistic. He certainly seemed better.

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s good, I guess….” Anders wasn’t sure when his healing magic had extended to include post-traumatic invasive thoughts, but he wasn’t going to argue. “I’d be happier if I understood it, I won’t lie….”

Fenris didn’t respond, he merely lay and watched Anders, somewhat expectantly.

“Do you want to go home now? Sleep it off?”

“Do you want me to leave?” Fenris asked.

“Well, I’d like you to get out of my bed, at least,” the mage replied. His annoyance had lightened but he was still bone-tired, and Fenris had flopped into the blankets Anders had been hoping to rest in. He gestured to the bed he’d pulled in. “You can sleep there, if you’d like.”

Fenris obediently stood and went to the cot, curling up there instead like a well trained dog. Anders chuckled at the thought, considered teasing Fenris about it, but he was too tired and riling the elf up would only lead to more sleepless hours.

Anders didn’t even remember laying down. The next thing he was aware of was waking up, the cot beside him empty.

Chapter Text

The morning came absent one elf. Anders thought nothing more of it. Fenris had come to him drunk and miserable, Anders had healed him as best he could, Fenris had woke sober, probably remembered trying to kiss Anders, and then sneaked away quietly while Anders was asleep like a guilty one night stand with morning-after regrets. They’d all been there, though granted they usually got laid first, but Anders was hardly bitter things hadn’t gone that way, considering the contempt he and the elf held for each other.

You should have helped him.

I did my best, Justice.

The spirit didn't understand that some people didn't want to be helped, or they didn't want to be helped by a certain person. He had given up trying to explain it – a simple 'I did my best' would have to do. Sure, it set off hours of quiet complaint about always doing more, but Anders was used to that, he could ignore it.

It wasn’t until the second night, when a repetitive thudding at the clinic door roused Anders from a light doze, that he realised something was truly wrong with Fenris.

Anders grabbed his staff and alerted Justice, and together they ventured into the clinic, standing aside as they opened the door quickly. Fenris tumbled in, obviously having been resting on the door they just opened. The elf didn’t even try to get up… Anders wasn’t sure he could, from the way he lay. He looked non-responsive, unconscious with his eyes open, though terribly miserable, not at all at rest.

“Fenris?” Anders asked, using magelight to see him better and casting a diagnosis over him. He seemed fine, the same as before. He wasn’t even drunk this time. “Can you hear me? What’s wrong?”

Fenris didn’t respond, though he turned slightly into the hand as though magnetically drawn to the magic, or maybe just to the touch. On a hunch Anders healed Fenris with all the magic he could spare, watching as once again the elf deflated with relief, slumping against the dirt as though he would melt into it.

Anders, still very aware of the fact that they were in the middle of the clinic door, settled next to Fenris and rested the hand he’d healed with, the one Fenris had leaned toward a moment before, on the elf’s forehead. Fenris flinched minutely first, hesitated, turned towards the hand just a fraction, then hesitated again and returned away the same tiny amount he had moved. Even with his eyes closed, he radiated that same uncertainty that Anders had seen before, that same helpless want to seek guidance, the same mistrust of it, the same fear, the same anger.

“I’d like to help you, if I can,” Anders told him again, not sure how much of last night Fenris remembered. Clearly some, if he’d come to Anders for healing again, but it didn’t pay to make assumptions in healing. “Can you move?”

Fenris nodded and pulled himself up to sit, moving as though his whole body ached.

“Come this way,” Anders bid, guiding Fenris over to a nearby cot before closing and bolting the clinic door again. “You’re not drunk this time?”

Fenris shook his head, now watching Anders as he moved about. “No.”

“Can you describe what you’re feeling right now?”

Fenris paused as though reflecting on it, then scowled slightly and shook his head again. “No.”

“Oh?” Anders asked a touch frustrated at the reticence. “Well, that’ll make healing it so much easier.”

Fenris tensed a little, not quite a flinch but not far from it. “I’m not trying to be obstinate,” he protested quietly. “I can’t….” He gestured to his head, frustrated. “It’s… loud. There are….” He gave up with a sigh, pressing one bare hand against his temple.

“Like a crowed of people, all talking over each other, trying to get your attention, and you can’t hear any of them?”

Fenris nodded. “Something like that.”

That was simple enough - good old fashioned stress, his brain trying to work out what he was experiencing. The problem was that until Fenris knew, he couldn’t communicate it, and with his affliction being undetectable by magic, Anders was at a loss as to how to help him in the meantime.

“Can you tell me anything at all?” Anders tried. “What’s in your mind right now?”

“He wants me back,” Fenris said without hesitation. “He’s calling me. His voice is the loudest.”

“Who?” Anders asked, though he had a fair idea. “Danarius?”

Fenris shuddered, nodded. He wrapped his arms around himself loosely as though cold.

“You can hear him?”

Fenris thought about it a moment. “Not… exactly,” he answered carefully. “It is a desire to return. A compulsion, like when someone speaks your name behind you and feel the urge to turn and look, but far stronger.”

Anders eyebrows raised. “A summoning spell?” he asked. Those were used for Fade spirits, demons - not angsty elvhen bodyguards. Not to mention, he’d be able to detect a summoning spell. Why couldn’t he sense anything like that in Fenris?

The elf shrugged. “I couldn’t say.”

“Well I can’t sense any magic affecting you,” Anders informed him.

Fenris’ head dropped, dejected at those words. “Then what’s wrong with me?”

A dozen snarky retorts leapt to Anders mind unbidden. Justice prepared to scold him, but he pushed them down. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “Can you tell me what happened today, after you woke up?”

Fenris nodded and obediently relayed his day, the entirety of which seemed to have been consumed by this call from Danarius. An urge, then an itch, then an ache, first in his head and teeth, then throughout his body. Then a need, and a fear, then the knowledge that if he didn’t return, he would die. When the pain became too bad, he had returned to Anders instead.

“How did you know to come to me?” Anders asked as the story ended. “Last night, I mean. How did you know I could heal you?”

Fenris shifted slightly, uncomfortable. “I didn’t,” he admitted. “But you remind me of him.”

Anders stood, ready to hurl Fenris back out into Darktown and return to his bed, but Justice stopped him as soon as he detected the mage’s rage.

He was not of his right mind, the spirit reminded him. You cannot judge him.

The hell I can’t.

But Anders knew Justice had a point, and he didn’t want to punish Fenris for his honesty. He sighed deeply, exhaustion taking over.

“Well I can’t let you just go home,” he snapped. “Not if that’s likely to happen again.”

Fenris just nodded, meek, as though he’d given up. Uncharacteristic of him… Anders had seen Fenris face slavers and agents of Danarius before, he’d always done so with fire and rage, not this submissive acceptance of his lot. He had been angry the previous night, Anders remembered… conflicted, yes, but anger was there, throwing fists at Anders head when he was distracted by thoughts.

“So… why did you attack me last night?” He asked, already knowing the answer was a single name and began with a D. If the spell was making Fenris want to return to Danarius and addling his brain so much that the lines between Anders and the Magister blurred, it was hardly a surprise that Fenris wanted him dead. “And why did you kiss me?”

Fenris flushed, reluctant to answer but doing so regardless. “Another compulsion of the spell.”

“To kiss me?”

Fenris swallowed heavily and squirmed, his shoulders hunching slightly against the question.

“To... be closer to you.”

It took a few seconds for Anders to remember the immediate effects of the spell, the struggles and grunts against some unseen assault. He decided he didn’t need to know more, at least not tonight. Fenris could keep those nightmares to himself.

“Alright, well, let’s get some rest, then,” he decided, a yawn interrupting him.

Fenris nodded and stood to follow him, back into the partitioned area of the clinic and the nest of blankets.

“I’ll get you a cot,” Anders said as he doubled back to the main room, but Fenris caught his sleeve.

He hesitated, mouth opening slightly to speak, but there was nothing.

“Fenris?” Anders prompted.

Nothing but further silence and a slight shake of the head as Fenris released his arm.

To tired to worry about it tonight, Anders fetched the bed for him and added the blankets back to it. “Have you eaten today? Had water?”

Fenris shook his head, so Anders bid him sit an fetched those too. Only some water and an apple, it was all he had handy until morning, but it was better than nothing. He handed them to the elf and flopped into his own nest.

“Get some sleep, Fenris,” Anders bid. “We’ll work on this more tomorrow.”

Fenris nodded and sat on his bed to eat and drink before sleep, leaving Anders to slip into sleep and worry about what he’d just become invested in.

-x-

The next morning came exactly as Anders expected it to - with a very prickly elf, glaring at him from the cot as though Anders had personally forced him to walk through dark-town to his clinic, then manhandled him into bed against his wishes to molest him with an apple.

“Good morning to you, too,” Anders greeted, gruff but amused. “How do you feel?”

“Fine,” Fenris answered, cautious.

Seeing that pleasantries were doing little for the elf, Anders decided getting it over with fast was probably best. Like an amputation or… well, any other unpleasant medical necessity, really.

“Do you remember last night?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“Vaguely, or in detail?”

Fenris hesitated, all of his normal walls and self control back up, and then some. “Detailed enough.”

“What about the night before?”

“About the same.”

Anders doubted that, considering how drunk Fenris had seemed, but wasn’t going to argue that point. “Do you remember me trying to help?”

“Yes.” Another terse nod.

“Then why are you looking at me like I’m the problem?”

Fenris looked away, suitably chastised. “Apologies,” he offered, then after a moments pause, added “I have no desire to be leashed. I don’t like it.”

“Fenris, I didn’t even let you kiss me,” Anders joked. “I certainly haven't had you on a leash, yet.”

Fenris glared at him, his voice raising at once. “That’s not what I mean and you know it!”

Anders turn to look chastised. He should have known better than to joke about that, blamed the poor judgement on his lack of sleep.

“Sorry, problems look smaller when I laugh at them,” he said. “But jokes aside, I’ve done nothing of the sort.”

“I never said you had,” Fenris snapped. “But this spell….”

He huffed and growled, sliding from his seat to stalk the tiny space once more.

“It’s still bothering you, then?”

“It’s not stopped bothering me.” He snarled and grimaced as though something foul sat at the back of his throat. “It never relents!”

“You weren’t this bad last night,” Anders pointed out. He’d been calm last night, he’d slept.

“Last night I was worse.”

“Not after I healed you.” Anders stood and reached out, taking Fenris’ arm and stopping his pacing, but Fenris immediately broke away. “Let’s try that again. It should help.”

“No.”

Fenris resumed pacing, stepping out in to the clinic now.

“No?” Anders repeated as he followed the elf out.

“No.”

“Why would you refuse it?” He caught Fenris arm again, stopping him from leaving the clinic entirely. “It helps you, doesn’t it?”

Fenris, scowled, shook his head, full of nervous energy and anger once more.

“It… takes something from me,” he explained, though it was clearly hard for him to define.

Anders clarified, “it takes your suffering.” Funny that, being healing magic and all.

Fenris shook his head, not looking at the healer. “Not just that,” he elaborated. “Something… more. It… takes me. Who I’ve become since….”

The words failed him and the pacing returned, sending him to the far side of the clinic and away from prying mages.

“Alright, well, look - I need to work,” Anders explained, trying to stay patient. “I want to help you, but I can’t have you be my only patient today. Others need me and I can’t have you stalking around terrorising them with your broody presence. So-”

Fenris was already heading for the door. “I shall leave you in peace then,” he grumbled.

“Well, fine, if you want,” Anders agreed. He certainly wasn’t going to come between a broody elf and perceived freedom. “What I was actually going to say is why don’t you go sit down and whenever you get so worked up that you can’t stay seated, I’ll heal you?”

This had the obvious issue, though Anders was going to let Fenris realize it himself. Fenris was already at that point. Anders needed to heal him before the elf would settle.

Fenris halted at the door for almost a full minute, having whatever argument he was having in his head, before he finally nodded, his head slumped in dejection but tension through every line of him.

“Alright.”

“Shall I heal you now?”

Fenris hesitated again, then shook his head, went to the corner, and sat obediently.

“Fine.” Fenris had to know he wouldn’t last long, but Anders wouldn’t waste mana on the unwilling. “Let me know when that changes.”

Chapter Text

The day was long and as eventful as any in the clinic. Only one person died, that was good… but that person had been a teenage girl, sick with an infection after an abortion she’d tried to perform on herself. She was already near death when the family bought her to the clinic, there was nothing Anders could have done, but take the pain out of it. Her, he could help, but her parents, her mother wailing over the girls body that she hadn't need to hide it, that her mother would have helped her… nothing could be done for that. Anders wasn’t sure anything should be done for that. It was a natural pain, born of love, and much as he hated to see anyone suffer, all he could do was leave the woman to her wailing, her husband to his silent anguish, as they watched their little girl slip away needlessly.

Fenris sat in his corner throughout, his expression becoming more sullen and his movements more antsy. He went from tense to rigid, restless to animated, his fingers and teeth clenching and unclenching constantly throughout the hours following lunch.

Anders approached at one point, hoping the warrior had come to his senses. “Do you want-?”

“No,” Fenris had growled, and fixed him with a glare so menacing Anders didn’t doubt Fenris would swing for him again if he didn’t leave. Anders backed off, leaving Fenris to his stubbornness and misery.

He did, however, put out the lantern a little early. They both needed it, he decided. Even if only one of them would admit it.

“It’s the end of the day, Fenris,” he told the elf calmly when the clinic was empty of all but them. “We both know you need healing so you can rest, and I’m tired. Come.”

“I am not your dog,” Fenris growled, but followed Anders regardless.

“I never said you were,” Anders assured him, not rising to meet Fenris’ anger. He rested a hand on Fenris’ forearm as though to guide him into the room, sending a gentle push of healing energy through him as they made contact.

“I don’t- oh….”

Fenris started to protest the touch, but cut it off with a groan as the magic swept over him. He slumped forwards, half onto Anders, half falling to the floor beside his cot, into the nest of blankets where Anders slept.

Anders' arm shot out to catch him. “I’ve got you,” Anders assured him as he broke the far-heavier-than-he-looked elf’s fall, steering him to the nest and a softer landing. “Sorry about that, I didn’t realise- Is that an involuntary reaction?”

Fenris nodded.

“Like when you bang your elbow and your arm goes numb?”

Another nod.

“Well, maybe if you didn’t leave it so long between treatments-”

“I’m sorry,” Fenris said quietly, submissive. “It won't happen again.”

Anders annoyance dissipated instantly. He hadn’t noticed it so much the last night or before. Fenris’ behaviour had been uncharacteristic, certainly. The change between the conflict before healing and the quiet compliance afterwards had always been stark. But now, Fenris’ words of the morning pestered him.

“It takes me,” Fenris had said. “Who I have become since….”

Since leaving Danarius?

Is this what Fenris was like, as a slave?

“Okay,” Anders mumbled, feeling like he should address the acquiescence somehow. He shifted so that he sat near Fenris rather than crouching half-over him, helping him to sit up as he did so. “Okay so… umm… tomorrow, when we wake up, we’ll do this again? The healing?”

Fenris nodded, accepting it, and now that Anders had the thought in his head, the idea that maybe this wasn’t the prickly elf he knew and loved to hate, he couldn’t help feeling… off. As though he’d done something wrong and should feel guilty, and was trying to convince Fenris to submit to something he did not want.

“What else can we do, though?” he half asked, half thought aloud. “You said this morning you don’t like being healed, that it changes you. And I mean, you are-” he paused to gesture at Fenris where he sat, head bowed and eyes averted. “-Different. But you know how bad you get when the spell isn’t healed, right? I mean- Maker, do you even remember it?”

Anders was suddenly keenly aware of how little he actually knew about the spell. Perhaps the shift Fenris referred to was a literal change between two people? Himself, at two different points in his life, with this version having only memories of slavery and no awareness of the spell now? What if that’s what the spell was? A reset of Fenris’ mind so he wouldn’t remember his desire to be free? What if-

Fenris had been leaning towards him, he realized. A white head tentatively landed on his shoulder, interrupting his thoughts.

“I remember,” Fenris said softly with a little shiver, as though cold now that the spell had stopped irritating him.

“Oh,” Anders responded, his hands hovering awkwardly away from Fenris so as not to offend the elf by touching him. “That’s something. Do you-”

Fenris wriggled, sliding down until his head was on Anders' thigh. Not sexual like the first night when Fenris had kissed him, just… weird. Closer, intimate. Definitely uncharacteristic, yep.

“Umm…” he stammered. “Well, this is happening…” His hands continued their awkward hovering until Fenris reached up, took one, and rested it on his head as though it was a perfectly normal thing for two men who hate each other to do. “What are you doing Fenris? Looking for excuses to break my hand?”

Fenris shook his head and curled up closer against the cold only he could feel. “I don’t know,” he said quietly after a moment.

“Okay… but you promise not to blame me for it?” Whatever ‘it’ is.

A little nod, and Anders pulled a blanket up over the elf and awkwardly rubbed his shoulder through it. “What’s on your mind right now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay….” He thought for a moment and suggested, “how about this. I say something, and you tell me the first thing that comes to your mind.”

Fenris nodded and Anders began.

“Head.”

“Noise,” the elf answered obediently.

“Belly.”

“Ache.”

“Pain.”

“Head.”

“Sit up.”

“Yes m-” Fenris halted, half sitting, stammered, abandoned the words.

Yes Master.

Anders stroked his arm again, completely unsure of what to do with this information.

“Does that bother you?” he asked, hoping it did. “Or does that feel right?”

“Yes.”

“Which?”

Another hesitation. “Both,” Fenris answered, words coming harder now, being dragged out as though the didn’t want to be there. “In equal measure. Equally… noisy.”

Slowly pieces came together, well enough at least for Anders to start guessing. “So, the spell… what does it do? Does it hurt you?”

Anders couldn’t say he’d seen anything obvious to indicate physical pain, but it was a fair bet that pain was part of it. Fenris nodded.

“And it gets worse with time?”

Another nod.

“But your mind clears, and you’re more ‘yourself’ again. You know that this-” he gave a little squeeze of Fen’s arm to indicate his meaning. The quiet closeness, the craving for touch from a man he hated. “-is wrong.”

Fenris hesitated, then nodded again.

“And that’s why you resist healing?” He checked. “Because you don’t want to be like this?”

Fenris didn’t respond to that, but it was fairly obvious that or something like it was true.

Anders sighed and tried a different tactic. “Alright. The other day on the Sword Coast. Can you tell me what happened when the spell first hit you?”

Fenris made a very soft noise, something like a whimper but not loud enough, and turned into the mage like a child seeking comfort. Anders moved his hand back to Fenris’ hair where the elf had first put it, scratching his scalp gently, automatically, helping him to settle.

“It’s okay,” Anders murmured. This obviously wasn’t the same person he knew, there was no point in pretending otherwise. “You can tell me, Fenris. Just tell me.”

“No.”

“Then I can’t help you.”

“I don’t want your help.”

Anders almost laughed. “That’s why you’re curled up in my lap like a pet?”

Don’t be cruel, Justice warned him, threatening him with a headache.

Didn’t your mum ever tell you it’s rude to eavesdrop?

He ignored whatever Justice had to say about Fade spirits not having mums and silenced him with a heartfelt apology to Fenris. On a hunch he tried another wave of healing magic, a smaller one so as to not effect the elf too greatly. Assuming it worked that way, which Anders had no place doing, but he had to start somewhere.

“I need to know,” he said gently. “You don’t have to go into any more detail than you want to, Fenris, but I need to understand the effects of the spell so I can help right it.”

Fenris was forcefully relaxed by the magic, but the misery in his voice was unmistakable. “I hate you,” he said quietly, more a confession than an insult.

“I don’t doubt it.”

Anders wanted to be angry at that. He felt angry, truth be told, but Fenris looked so pitiful, curled up with his head in his enemy’s lap, asking for… something and painfully aware that he relied on someone who hated him to get it. Anders couldn’t be angry with him, any more than he could be with a child throwing a pain-induced tantrum. People were assholes when they were scared and in pain, every healer knew this.

Slow and reluctant, Fenris did as he was bid. He struggled with the words for nearly an hour, and even after hearing the details, the spell was alien to Anders. It seemed to involve a memory rune of Danarius own creation, made especially for Fenris. Upon its triggering, Fenris had been “transported” as he put it, back to another time of his life. He awoke with no memory, his body covered with pain and blood and lyrium. Danarius came to him, petted and soothed him (As Anders was doing now, he realised with a slightly ill feeling. He didn’t stop, though - Fenris nuzzled his hand pitifully every time he tried to). Fenris had appreciated the comfort in spite of the pain Danarius touch brought with it. He’d appreciated the kind words and company, not being alone in the world of pain he didn’t understand.

The Magister became Fenris’ whole world for a while, weeks played out in moments in that spell. He healed under Danarius’ surprisingly gentle care, and became slowly more confident speaking to his master. Brash, even, forgetting his place, as Danarius started to warn him. Fenris tried to do better, to be a good slave, but he couldn’t stand to be touched by his Master. Danarius Always claimed that the touch, the magic, shouldn’t hurt Fenris, but the markings burned as though fresh whenever the man touched him, and it seemed Danarius found great pleasure in stroking them just to watch Fenris suffer the effect. It also became obvious somewhere around that time that Danarius was interested in Fenris, which Fenris met with a mixture of revulsion, docility, and desperate hope to please.

This was only the first part of the spell, Anders learned. As soon as that part was done, it became an awareness more than an experience. That knowledge that Danarius owned him, was his world, liked him to suffer, appreciated his body in a way that made Fenris nauseous, the docile obedience in spite of it - all of that froze into Fenris as though he was that person once again, standing shirtless before his master’s leering, tolerating whatever the old man did.

The second part of the spell was a fresh memory, and this one has remained separate, playing loudly in Fenris’ head on a loop, over and over, getting louder the longer he went without healing. One day, several weeks after the lyrium lines were poured into Fenris, he had been sparring. Danarius loved him - his passion in the fight as he tried to keep each blow from striking him, knowing that his pain would be doubled thanks to the lyrium and his master’s proximity. Fenris’ strength, his beauty now that the marks were healed, his elegance in battle. In congratulations, Danarius took Fenris to his personal chambers - a privilege for any slave. He bid him bathe in Danarius own huge bathtub, he shared the feast that was his own meal, he praised his Little Wolf highly. It had felt like a clumsy seduction, and that’s exactly what it turned out to be.

Fenris tried every excuse he could think of to deny his master without angering him, but of course it didn’t work. He was a slave. A pet. A favoured one, certainly, but it was not his place to deny his master and it never, ever would be. Danarius lead him to the bed and ordered him to kneel, which Fenris did. Eyes up or down or anywhere but on the groin suddenly right in front of his face. Fenris couldn’t speak of what followed, but Anders didn’t need him to - there were only so many places the tale could have gone from there.

The rest was fragmented, restless babbling. There were mentions of spells, specifically one to ignite the markings into pure agony as though they were being pulled out of Fenris’ body. There was talk of a potion, some sort of aphrodisiac if Anders wasn’t mistaken, of torture that lasted for hours, days, years, more than once, certainly. As Danarius trained Fenris in the proper ways to accept his position, his master’s touch, his master’s cock. He told Anders only one coherent detail in those minutes of stammering and panic.

“I tried to fight him.” Fenris had said that several times. He knew fighting his master could mean death, but he had tried to fight him anyway. At one point he elaborated; “I tried to fight him, but he wasn’t offended, or angry. He was amused. 'My sweet Little Wolf,' he had said. 'My Fenris. You think your strength means something.’ He waved his hand and I couldn’t move. Never felt so….” That was a far as he’d managed before losing that thought and becoming incomprehensible again.

Anders had subtly began healing Fenris again, sending a tiny but almost constant stream of healing energy through him. He didn’t know if Fenris would hate him for it when this was over, knowing that it affected the elf in some way he at least half-hated, but for now it seemed like the lesser cruelty. Several times the story faltered while Fenris buried against the mage’s touches, trying to get closer to the balm of the healer, each time punctuated with curses and reminders of how much he hated Anders. He let Fenris ramble, but eventually it became obvious that there was nothing relevant to be discovered in the memory of the initial spell, and that Fenris was only being hurt by dwelling on it. The next time he quietened to seek comfort, Anders gently prodded him on to the next question.

“What about the first night?” He asked. “You claimed you were fine when you woke up from the spell.”

“I lied,” Fenris admitted. “I thought it was… a bad dream. A nightmare. I needed to deal with it as such.”

“Do you normally drink yourself silly when you have a bad dream?” Anders asked, semi amused and trying to lighten the mood somewhat.

“Doesn’t everyone?” Fenris asked as though it should be obvious.

“Fair enough. So why come to me?”

Fenris paused, thought about it a while. “I don’t remember,” he said at last.

“You said I reminded you of Danarius.”

Fenris flinched slightly and pressed his head against Anders’ hand. “I’m sorry for that.” He sounded genuine.

“Was it true?”

Another pause while he thought. “Not exactly….” Another pause and he slowly elaborated, each word deliberate. “You are a mage. You harbour a fade spirit. You share many of his views-”

“I most certainly do not,” Anders protested, though he tried to keep his anger to himself. He was already on edge, it had been a rough day.

“You do,” Fenris insisted, sitting up and glaring slightly. “Politically, you do. You might not think of it as such, because you are looking at the desired outcome, not how you will get there. Where you are short-sighted, he is fully aware, but you do share a lot of views with him.

“Fine,” Anders snapped. “So what happens when I heal you? The spell, what? Is satisfied? Thinks you’re with him?”

“I don’t know.”

“But it helps?” He pressed, knowing how annoyed he sounded. He tried not to, but the fact that Fenris had only just pulled his head out of Anders’ lap only served to remind him that even if Fenris was talking rubbish, Anders’ magic did have a rather creepy ‘I am your master’ effect on him but Fenris was crawling after him and asking for it.

“It offers me a reprieve from one set of problems in favour of another,” Fenris answered, confirming everything Anders didn’t want to hear. “It's no better, only different.”

“That’s it,” Anders snapped, trying to control the tone and failing. He gestured to the cot. “Out. Out of my bed. I can't do any more of this tonight.”

Fenris looked horribly wounded for a second, then scowled in anger. “You would punish my honesty?” He asked, his voice quiet.

“Oh!” Anders barked a laugh. “So when I try and help you, I remind you of your master - that guy who carved you up and raped you. When I heal you I’m trading excruciating, debilitating pain for some other problem that's somehow just as bad but you certainly don't seem to mind when it suits you, only when you want something to make me feel like an arsehole for. And when I don’t want a mage-bashing elf in my bed - one who broke into my home the other night to assault me, I might add! -I’m punishing you? Get over yourself, Fenris, not every action I take is to annoy you. Believe it or not, I’m just trying to, you know, live my life. I didn’t ask for you to come knocking your head on my clinic door, I didn’t ask for you to curl up in my bed with me, and I certainly didn’t ask you to bring your ‘all mages are magisters’ crap with you. Now get out of my bed before I set your arse on fire!”

Fenris deflated the way Anders imagined he would if Hawke ever tried to hand him over to the slavers. His head slumped, face covered by hair in a painfully submissive gesture. He shifted out of Anders bed, though it was only to the floor, not the cot, where he stayed on one knee and said; “I’m sorry.”

Anders knew he’d gone too far.

“Fenris-”

“I don’t mean to insult you, or blame you,” Fenris told him, trying to keep his voice steady as he spoke. “I know this isn’t your doing. I only meant that I don’t want to need the healing, or… this. What it does to me. It’s not your fault, Anders. But I am leashed to you, now. I am at your mercy, I can’t not hate that-”

“I hate it too,” he told Fenris honestly. “I don’t like you, I don’t want you here, and I don’t want to feel like I’m using magic to… well, do anything to you, really. Everything about all of this makes me feel rather uncomfortable, if I’m honest. But I don’t want to see you suffer, either.”

Fenris twitched in a way that probably was a nod.

“Listen, if you wanted to, you could punch your fist straight into my chest and pull my heart out. Right?”

Fenris hesitated. “I could not,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what would happen to me if you-”

“You’d go to the circle and find some other healer,” Anders interrupted. “You punch me in the chest, I die, you’ll live. Right?”

Fenris paused a moment longer and nodded. Anders was fairly sure Fenris disagreed, but he wasn’t arguing, so that would have to do.

“So for now let’s just agree that I don’t want you to punch me in the chest, you don’t want to be enslaved. I promise not to try and force you to do anything so long as you promise to leave if you want to rather than pull my heart out. Deal?”

Another twitch-nod.

“Okay, deal,” Anders echoed. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I could do with some sleep. Do you want to stay here with me tonight? Or sleep on the cot?”

Another nod and Fenris gravitated towards him.

“Come here, then.”

Fenris scooted back into the blankets, returning to his previous spot at Anders’ side, though his head was still bent almost painfully low.

“I’d like to heal you again so you can rest,” Anders told him, loosely looping his arm around the elf’s. “But I won’t if you ask me not to.”

Silence.

“Do I take that as consent? ‘Yes, Anders, you may heal me, I promise not to lyrium-punch you in the heart?’”

Anders smiled and jostled Fenris playfully, and the elf returned a polite smile in turn. “Yes, Anders.”

Anders let magic wash through them both, free-flowing into the elf and letting him relax once more. He didn’t slump the same way, Anders noticed. He hadn’t earlier, either, when Anders was feeding him healing energy to help him tell his story. So that reaction did only happen when he’d been too long without healing, then. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Some progress on this frustratingly mysterious spell.

“Goodnight, Fenris,” Anders murmured as he settled the elf for sleep.

Fenris’ eyes were already closed. Whatever this spell was, Anders had at least found a way to help it.

“Goodnight, master.”

Well. Help it sort of.

Anders lay beside the elf and rested a hand on Fenris’ lower back, closing his eyes and silently wondering what he’d just gotten himself invested in.

Chapter Text

Anders woke first, though not by much. Fenris was already stirring, still in his arms, scowling slightly against the effects of the spell. Anders rested his hand on the elf’s face as he had the previous night, and in his sleep Fenris turned into the touch urgently, burrowed closer, seeking aid. Without a thought, Anders cast a healing spell over Fenris, and the distressed twisting and scowling stopped at once. Fenris turned towards Ander, nuzzling under the mage's neck like a lover, and fell into restful sleep.

That was good. That was exactly what Anders wanted, what he had hoped for. Peace, relief. It took him a second to feel guilty, that maybe Fenris wouldn't have wanted it... but they had agreed to it the night before... whatever. He'd worry about it if Fenris did.

He jumped slightly at something tickling his neck. Fenris stirred again, arching his back to press against Anders, as he tilted his head and kissed along the mage’s neck again. Sloppy, sleepy kisses, like kitten-licks.

Anders gave a somewhat anxious laugh and pulled back. He could handle Fenris’ weird desire to be petted, he could tolerate the glares and hate-kisses, but he wasn’t going to take advantage of the sleeping elf’s urge for sexual submission or whatever the hell this was. Pleasant though the sensation was, everything about it felt wrong.

“Fenris?” Anders spoke softly, stroking the white hair back from Fenris' forehead in an attempt to rouse him. He tilted Fenris’ head up further so that if he opened his eyes they would rest on Anders' face. “Are you awake?”

Fenris pushed up and pressed his lips to Anders own. Not as aggressive as the first night, granted, but hungry in an uncomfortable way, as though he were trying to get as deep into Anders as he could and didn’t realize kissing wasn’t the best way to do it.

Anders turned his face to break the kiss, then shifted them both to rouse him further. “Wake up, broody. It’s morning.”

Fenris opened his eyes somewhat reluctantly. He looked as though he was pouting, which Anders couldn’t help smiling at. This was certainly preferable to watching the elf wake in pain, though still far from perfect and entirely awkward.

“Good morning,” he said with a smile, trying to be casual about the fact that someone he didn't like very much had just woken in his arms. “How did you sleep?”

Fenris regarded him warily, then stretched. “Well,” he said softly. “Thank you.”

“Happy to help,” he said with another smile and moved to roll away. He wasn't sure Fenris had noticed, but in all the shifting and stretching and back-arching, Anders certainly had. Whether it was an effect of the magic or just a quirk of nature and timing and the Maker having a sense of humour, Fenris had woken with a rather impressive morning wood.

Fenris flinched when Anders moved, instinctively grabbing for him to stay closer. “Stay.”

Well this is going to get awkward. you're sure? Anders asked, but stayed where he was. “You, ah, look like you could use a few minutes alone.”

Fenris looked confused, so Anders tried to clarify with a vague but crude hand-gesture. When that didn't work, he ignored his own embarrassment and said; “You were kissing me. You’re horny. I was going to go wash up outside so you can, ah, meet the maker, if you want.”

Fenris scowled in confusion. “Isn’t that normally a euphemism for death?”

“Leave me alone,” Anders teased. “I’m tired. You know what I mean.”

“I do.” Fenris cuddled against him as he tried again to draw away. “It won’t be necessary.”

Anders loosely hugged Fenris where the elf nudged into his arms like a lover. “Uh-huh,” he said, somewhat sceptically. “Because…?”

“I’m not ‘horny,’” Fenris casually insisted.

“What are you, then?” Anders asked, confused but intrigued and trying not to think about just who he was cuddling. If this was a chance to learn more about the spell, he’d grasp it with both hands. “Feeling, I mean. When you kiss me or… well, this.” He squeezed Fenris slightly to indicate the hug.

Fenris paused, looking at Anders arms as though he’d only just realised where he was and who he was with.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly after a moment, clearly bothered by it.

Fenris shifted, then moved away from the mage, sitting against the wall instead. Almost instantly he wrapped his arms around himself the way he had the previous night before they had cuddled up.

“Are you cold?” Anders asked.

Fenris nodded, and Anders passed him a blanket he’d been sitting on. Fenris wrapped it around himself gratefully, but it didn’t seem to help. Which made sense - it was a warm morning in early summer, Fenris shouldn’t have felt cold at all. Anders could see from the disturbed frown deepening by the second on Fenris’ features that he was thinking the same thing.

“It’s… training me…” he mumbled and shuddered. “Rewards and… and punishments. The pain returned faster last night when I argued with you, faster the night before when I was away from you.”

“And you feel cold when we’re not touching,” Anders finished. “And I assume the kissing and such, feels good?

Fenris nodded. “More than it should.”

He looked sick. Anders felt sick, if he was honest.

“What do you want to do about this?” Anders asked.

Fenris glared at him as though he had proposed something lewd, but grimaced slightly and looked down rather than speak.

Anders could almost hear the accusations in that glare, so he answered the question Fenris couldn’t ask. “Well, I certainly don’t want to encourage it,” Anders assured him. “I don’t want to take advantage of this and… well, enslave you or something.”

“That’s good to know,” Fenris growled, still obviously mistrustful of Anders.

He ignored it. “But, I don’t want you to suffer either,” he clarified. “Especially since the punishment is cumulative. If it was just an unpleasant sensation you could learn to live with, that would be different, but it’s not. The more you try and live with it, the worse it gets.”

Fenris nodded his head, most likely recalling a couple of nights previous when he’d been unable to do anything but lay on the floor and look miserable until Anders healed him.

“So, knowing that we have to do certain things or you’ll just keep getting worse, how do we do that without yielding to the demands of the spell?”

Fenris face twisted into a scowl. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

“Can we at least re-affirm first that the spell is the problem, and not me?” Anders asked. “I don’t like this situation any more than you do.”

Fenris scoffed, but looked apologetic as soon as he’d done so, and instead nodded. “Alright.”

“Alright. So, what do you want me to do?”

Fenris shuddered. Anders hadn’t seen the elf look so miserable before.

“I think we should… indulge the spell.” He almost gagged on the words. “Maker, I hate this….”

“Me too.” He scooted closer to Fenris, then settled beside him, arm to arm, when the elf didn’t move away. “I’ve always been the ‘enthusiastic consent’ sort personally. Sorry. Bad joke.”

“I didn’t mean….”

“Neither did I,” Anders assured him. “I… I’ll tell you what, I’ll let you set the pace for this stuff, alright? I’ll heal you morning, noon, and night, and I’ll let you come to me when you want anything more. Hugs or... whatever else. You’re in charge of anything we do in that regard.”

Fenris nodded, forlorn and trying to simultaneously remain touching Anders while leaning as far away from him as possible.

Anders chewed the inside of his lip. He needed to work, but he kept thinking of Fenris yesterday, slowly going mad in pain in the corner. Surely there was something else that could help him. He sighed and gave Fenris’ arm a little squeeze where they touched.

“It’s time for me to open the clinic,” he said and then rose, resolved to rack his brains for the day to think of something. “Do as you wish today, but come to me if you need anything, and be available for healing around noon?”

Fenris nodded and Anders turned away to change quickly and wash. The fact that he didn’t know the exact triggers or methods of the spell meant everything was trial and error, and he was experimenting with someone who wanted no part in the process. Surely their must be-

He paused, half way through putting his coat on. He had no idea if it would work, but the coat was almost an extension of himself by now. Maybe it would help Fenris stave off the chill in his absence?

“Fenris?” He called, turning.

He held the coat out in offer, and Fenris’ eyes widened and lit up like a child being given a gift, as though he already knew it would bring relief. He grabbed for the coat and wrapped himself in it, closing his eyes and burrowing into the feathers.

“Better?” He asked.

Fenris nodded, eyes closed and face relaxed in intense relief, as though he’d just been healed. “Better. Thank you, Anders.”

The mage smiled and fastened a blanket into a cloak instead. “You’re welcome, Fenris. Happy to help. Do you want to rest here?”

Fenris nodded and lay down, head on one of the fluffy pauldrons as Anders left to light the lantern.

-x-

Six people. Six bloody people had commented on the lack of coat over the course of Anders’ morning! Anyone would have thought he owned no other clothing and he should be wandering the clinic nude for all the fuss they were making. It hadn’t stopped him doing his job, of course, though he had started to use it as a sort of diagnostic tool. If their plight was so small that they commented on his bloody coat, they could wait a while longer for their ill to be seen to.

“Hey, Anders,” Hawke said as he entered, cheerful in the sunshine. “Hey! What happened to your coat?”

Anders sighed. “The arms fell off and then it spontaneously combusted. I’m holding a funeral for it tomorrow. Did you need something?”

Hawke laughed at the joke as playful as he’d ever been, though his disposition shifted to more serious as the laughter came to its natural end.

“Actually, yes,” Hawke said. “Have you seen Fenris? I know you two don’t get along, but….”

He wasn’t sure how much he should tell the rogue, if he was honest. He knew Fenris and Hawke were good friends, he knew Fenris would most likely trust Hawke with this himself, but it seemed highly inappropriate to say anything before Fenris decided to do so. Since, to the best of his knowledge, there was no way to say ‘yeah, he’s in my bed asleep in my coat’ without raising more questions than he answered, Anders lied.

“No. Why do you ask?”

Hawke scowled a bit. “He’s been… a bit off colour, I guess. Since the sword coast. He showed up at the mansion the night before last and… honestly, I’m not sure what he was saying. I think he was either trying to profess his undying love to me, or he was planning to go on a suicide mission of some sort. Regardless, he ran away before I could corral him inside and find out what was wrong.”

Anders nodded, matching up the details. It made sense that Fenris would have gone to Hawke first. You know, the person he actually liked. But the spell wouldn’t have relented for Hawke… if anything it probably punished him for trying to take comfort from a non-mage, it was that sadistic.

“Anyway, I gave him a day, I figured he’d sober up and come to me, but he didn’t. I set out last night looking for him and… nothing. He’s not at the mansion, Varric and Isabella don’t know where he is, but they said it could have something to do with the slavers we ran into the other day, and I thought since you were there when the spell hit him you might have some insights, might know if it’s connected.”

Anders considered, again not wanting to confirm anything out of respect for Fenris. He’d just finished convincing the elf he was an ally and would leave management of the spell to him, he couldn’t do that while gossiping about him behind his back with the man he’d be lusting after since they joined together last year.

“I think you might be on to something,” Anders said vaguely. “From what I saw, the spell was from Danarius, crafted to target Fenris specifically, but it ran its course already, didn't it? He’s probably just laying low and recovering, trying to get his thoughts back in order.”

Hawke clearly wasn’t satisfied by that. “If it’s run his course as you say, why was he in such a state two days later?”

“It was night time, you said?” Hawke nodded. “Alcohol, bad dreams, too much time alone with his thoughts. Try the chantry, he’s weirdly religious. Maybe he’d go there to do some soul-searching. In the meantime, I’ll tell him you’re looking for him if he comes here.”

Hawke ‘hmm’ed and his scowl switched to a smile again. “Alright. Well, thanks for your time, I’ll let you get back to work. Stay out of trouble, Anders.”

“You’re the one who keeps finding it,” he teased.

With a wink Hawke was gone, leaving behind a new layer or trouble for Anders to resolve.

Chapter Text

Noon came with healing and news of Hawkes visit. Fenris took both silently along with some lunch, before cuddling into the coat again and dozing for the rest of the afternoon. Anders worked until dark, trusting the magical top-up would keep Fenris out of harm’s way until sundown. As he worked he turned the symptoms of the spell over and over in his head, trying to work out how it all fit together. Some things were becoming more obvious the more he saw, but some elements weren't sitting well with him.

Well, none of it was sitting well with him, he thought as he extinguished the candle and turned his attention towards dinner. He’d had stew simmering for hours for the patients, the ample leftovers were for them.

“That smells good,” Fenris greeted him as he entered the bedroom.

“Convenient, since it’s your dinner,” said Anders with a smile. They were almost friendly. It was bizarre. He sat down with Fenris, with their food and some water, and asked; “How do you feel?”

“Thirsty.”

“Well, if that’s your main displeasure, that’s an improvement.” He poured water for the elf and handed it over. “You’ve slept all day, I suppose you needed it.”

“I feel better for it,” Fenris assured him once his water was half-gone. “And for the healing, and the coat. Thank you.”

“Well, you seem more yourself.” Not quite accurate, since the elf was actually here sharing a meal with him, but he wasn’t shaking, incapacitated with pain, or trying to kiss him, so it was better than he’d been for a while.

They ate in silence, enjoying the quiet of the night and each other’s company. Fenris still wore the coat, Anders noted - he hadn’t shed it through the warm day, and seemed well for it. Assuming that’s what was helping him, though that was part of Anders pondering. Why was it helping? What reason could their possibly be for the coat to help negate the spell?

“So, I’ve been thinking,” Anders announced, drawing Fenris’ attention. “The spell. I’m not convinced it is rewarding and punishing you, as you said earlier.”

Fenris eyes narrowed as he frowned, clearly expecting Anders to take this somewhere less than great. “Oh?”

“Well, think about it. If it is, then what’s it training you for, exactly? How does Danarius benefit, even if I did use his spell to enslave you? If anything it makes you more vulnerable to being stolen from him. It makes no sense.”

“And yet it is what it is, mage,” Fenris growled and set his food aside.

“Is it, though? Or is that just what you fear it is?” The glare intensified. “Hear me out. Danarius knows you hate all mages, right?”

Fenris nodded, glaring intensely in an attempt to communicate as much of that hatred as he could.

“So isn’t if fair to assume he believes you won’t go to one for help?” Anders said. “He thinks the compulsion to return to him, and the pain, will just get worse and worse because he assumes you’re not friends with any mages, thus you’d have to return to him to make the pain stop.”

Fenris glare dropped, expression slack in surprise as he realised how much sense that proposal made.

“And if that’s the case, then you are subverting him and his spell by coming to me for help,” Anders continued. “He’s relying on you isolating yourself and suffering alone without him to help you - that’s not what’s happened. You’ve sought help from a… well, let’s not pretend we’re friends. From an ally. And in doing so you’ve rendered his spell nothing but an annoyance. A headache you can easily get rid of.”

Fenris stared at the ground beside them, chewing over the words. “That’s… certainly a more comforting though…” he admitted. “And it does make sense.”

“It does. Because like I said before - if Danarius wanted to use this spell to bring you back to him, which seems to be it’s main goal, why would he have made it so easy to dispel with simple healing magic?”

Fenris nodded, seeming to accept it.

“In fact, maybe some of your desires… to be closer to me, for instance…. Fenris, I think those are actually coming from you and not the magic. On some level your instinct to survive and remain free from Danarius’ influence are taking over.”

That was a bit too much for Fenris, Anders thought. He recoiled from the idea. “I do not want this,” he insisted

“No, I know,” Anders clarified. “But ultimately, behind the spell and whatever it's doing to you, you want to not be hurt. Everyone has an instinct to avoid painful stuff and gravitate towards stuff that makes them feel good or reduces pain – your instincts are drawing you to me because I repel the pain from the spell.”

Fenris nodded, but his mouth was still twisted in a frown, anguish in every line of him.

“Something on your mind?” Anders asked casually, giving Fenris the invitation to speak without expectation.

“I....” Fenris shifted and cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable. “Your proposal makes sense, but it does not account for all of my, ah....”

“Desires?”

Fenris' head bowed low and he looked as far away from the mage as he could without turning around completely.

“You mean the petting and stuff?” Fenris nodded. “I was thinking about that, too – you only seem to want it when you're healed, which is when your brain is probably yelling at you 'this man is the person who can help you with this, hold tight to him.' And it's natural for you to do that in a familiar way. Even without the spell, I'm guessing the way you behave around me after healing is the same way you behaved around Danarius in the days following the lyrium ritual, it's just your natural way of clinging. You know, in the circle it was quite common for a mage who had been set upon by a Templar to-”

“Do not compare the too,” Fenris snarled, unleashing the words like weapon and clearly intending to hurt, to make the mage shut up.

Anders did so, mouth snapping shut. The words were meant to hurt, and they did. He'd been excited to share his theory with Fenris, he'd hoped that understanding how the mind worked and how normal Fenris' reaction was might help the elf to make peace with it. Instead, he'd been so wrapped up in his explanation that he'd not noticed Fenris winding tighter with every word, overwhelmed by what he was hearing until he had to lash out to end it.

“I'm sorry,” Anders said, his words much calmer now and better controlled. “I only meant, in my experience, that it's common for someone who's been raped to behave a certain way. They often want to do things their rapist liked, or they want to be treated a certain way or do certain things their rapist did to them. It's a way to make sense of it and take control of it. Danarius treated you like a pet, so it makes sense that you would want the same thing.” Fenris didn't react to Anders' calmer explanation, so he continued. “And those who are abused for a long time, they often seek to re-create elements of the abuse because it's familiar. Familiar is always less frightening than unfamiliar, even when the familiar thing is horrible. That's all I meant to say, Fenris. I was just trying to explain that... well, that there's nothing wrong with you or the way you're feeling or behaving. It's not the spell, it's not Danarius controlling you, it's a normal reaction to that sort of abuse. The spell just brought it to the surface. That's my theory, anway.”

They fell into melancholy silence, both feeling raw. Anders understood why Fenris had lashed out, and it was hardly the most aggressive verbal attack Fenris had levelled at him in the course of their rivalry, but it had been unexpected. Anders had been trying to help, he'd thought he was, and it hurt to be damned so sharply for his efforts. Not to mention the elf's ridiculous notion that no one has ever suffered as much as he personally has suffered, or whatever it was he thought. He always grew angry when Anders compared the circles to slavery, and he could understand the different, negligible though it was, but rape was rape and the Templars did it just as surely as the Magisters. To have that denied....

“I'm sorry,” Fenris said after a while. “I have hurt you. I did not mean to.”

The apology was heartfelt and certainly helped. And Anders did. Fenris wasn't trying to hurt him, just shut him up.

“It's alright, Fenris.”

The elf hesitated, then tentatively he shifted closer to Anders, silently seeking something.

“You want healing?” Anders asked. He’d planned to wait until they were ready to sleep, but if Fenris was going to ask for it, even silently, he wouldn’t deny him. It was a good sign that he was initiating it.

Fenris nodded and Anders obliged, slipping his arms around the elf as his magic took effect.

“Do you want to finish your food?” Anders asked, rubbing Fenris’ shoulder a little, knowing he liked it. Fenris shook his head. “You should eat. You’ve had nothing but an apple today.”

“Do you want me to finish?”

“Of course I-” he halted, remembering the spell and the effect that healing had on Fenris. Was it really fair of him to give him direction when he was like this? Was it reasonable not to? For all his talk about how natural it was for Fenris to seek guidance like that, it didn't help Anders with whether or not he should give it. “Yes, I want you to finish your meal, Fenris. But it’s up to you if you do, there’ll be no consequences should you refuse. I'm not ordering you or anything.”

Fenris nodded against Anders’ shoulder, then sat and took up his bowl once again. Anders finished his own meal quickly and poured more water for Fenris, watching him as he ate.

He was handsome. Anders had always thought so. He was beautiful, really. The lyrium complimented his darker skin and toned form perfectly, not that Anders had seen much under the armour. And the voice... the moment he'd heard Fenris speak, that low, rumbling voice and rolled right through Anders' belly like a vibration teasing his cock. Of course, then he processed the words that beautiful voice intoned and Anders realised what a complete arse the elf was, but that didn't make him objectively any less fuckable.

Fenris drank the broth from the bottom of his bowl and licked his lips as he set it aside, lost in thought.

“What are you thinking?” Anders asked as he collected Fenris' bowl with his own and set them both aside.

“I’m trying to make sense of all of this,” he offered freely. “To decide, as you’ve posed, how I want to handle.”

Anders nodded, listening and silently inviting Fenris to continue.

“I… wouldn’t want anything to do with you if not for this spell.”

“I’m well aware,” Anders teased mildly before realising there was more to the confession. “But?”

Fenris shifted uncomfortably. “When we first met you, and you thought we were here to disrupt your patients….”

Fenris trailed off, cheeks dark as he avoided Anders' eyes.

“When you first met Justice?”

Fenris grimaced. “Yes.”

“What about it?”

Fenris gave a short growl of frustration and gave up. “I do not wish to start another fight. I mean no offence, but I can’t explain… adequately.”

“Alright.” Anders had no idea what that was about, but Fenris was holding his tongue, he could offer the same civility.

He was drawn to us, as we were to him.

Justice, I have some bad news for you, my friend. I don’t think Fenris has ever found you attractive.

You are wrong.

“You’re… talking to him, aren’t you?” Fenris asked with an uneasy look.

“Well you did mention him,” Anders pointed out lightly. “Come on Fenris, you know how hard it is to ignore a conversation someone’s having about you when you’re right there.”

“True enough,” Fenris conceded.

He looked drained in spite of his day of sleep. Anders started fussing with the nest. “Do you want to sleep?”

“I’ve had enough of sleep.”

“What do you want to do, then?”

Fenris blushed dark and looked away again. Anders couldn’t help but laugh.

“Well,” he said with a grin, “I suppose we could do that if you wanted… pretty sure that’d piss Danarius off… probably Justice too if you’re looking to kill two birds with one stone.”

“Do not make light of it,” Fenris mumbled.

Anders had meant to lighten the mood with his joking, not make Fenris feel worse. “Why not?” He asked. “I mean no disrespect, but what is there to take seriously? Your old master tried to call you home, all he did was give you a headache and a boner. Impotent old arsehole can’t even summon his slave properly, why shouldn’t we laugh about it?”

Nest suitably plumped, Anders settled down once more in the threadbare wool and held out his arms to Fenris.

“Do you trust me?” He asked, knowing full well the elf didn’t.

Fenris looked at him, silently acknowledging exactly that when he met Anders eyes for a moment. In spite of it, he shifted closer. “I trust you to try and help me,” he offered honestly.

Anders was pleasantly surprised and slightly delighted. It felt good to finally be gaining ground to the damned curse Danarius had put on his former slave, and every word Fenris gave now felt like another triumph.

“Oh good,” Anders said happily. “Then I ask as someone who genuinely cares about shitting on this spell, and as someone who is more or less indifferent to your answer - do you want to do more of those things I’m not meant to make light of?”

More awkward shifting, but no answer.

“I’ve said I’ll leave it with you, Fenris,” Anders reminded him. “I won’t push either way, I won’t even advise. What I will say is that I don’t want you doing anything you’ll blame me for when the healing magic wears off, and I don’t want you hurting me or using me to hurt yourself. Beyond that, I really don’t care. If it’ll help you feel better… Maker, even if it’ll just be a fun diversion from a stressful week, I’m willing. You’re handsome, and when we’re kissing, we’re not arguing. But I have no desire to be with someone who isn’t convinced-”

A kiss interrupted him, though again it lacked all of the finesse of someone who had ever actually kissed or been kissed. It was a push more than anything else, again as though Fenris was trying to merge the two of them through willpower and force, as though he might phase at any moment and meld them together.

Anders touched Fenris’ jaw with his fingertips, startling the elf with the gentle gesture. He drew them apart a little to take better control, kissing Fenris sweetly, almost chaste. Just brushing their lips together and ending the contact with the slightest bit of suction against the elf’s bottom lip. The kiss was gentle and practised, the complete opposite of the oral violence Fenris kept trying to wage between their mouths.

Anders continued, kissing the elf again, this time with his hand alongside Fenris’ neck so his thumb could stroke his jaw and guide their lips together. The kiss was longer, deeper, very little tongue through Anders did lap once at the corner of Fenris’ mouth, just to see if the elf liked it (he did). He was incredibly sensitive, though whether it was natural or because of the spell or the lyrium, Anders didn’t know.

He ended the kiss and whispered, “may I heal you, when we do this? You seem to like it.”

Fenris nodded as though he didn't care in the slightest and just wanted to get back to kissing, and pressed his lips to Anders' again. Gentler this time, trying to mimic what Anders had done to him. He moaned when Anders began to send little waves of healing through him, his lips going slack but the rest of him pressing closer against Anders as though offering something, giving himself up to whatever Anders offered, trying hard to climb inside the Mage and the sensations Anders gifted him with.

Anders drew back before Fenris lost himself, wanting to make sure he was okay. Fenris certainly seemed happy, his eyes were closed and his jaw slack with pleasure, but the elf shivered violently as they pulled apart. Anders gave him more magic and arms around him, rubbing his shoulders through the coat.

“I’m still here,” he murmured and kissed Fenris’ temple. “Are you okay?”

Fenris nodded, and Anders stroked his back as he settled.

“More?” Fenris asked, quiet and hopeful, hands wandering to Ander's hip.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

The elf thought, then nodded. “If it is as you say and these urges are my own, then yes.”

“And if I’m wrong?” Anders asked.

“Then the urges are from Danarius and for his benefit, and I give them to you to spite him.”

Anders chuckled. “Alright. But I won’t touch you, okay? Not beyond what we’ve already done, I mean.” He touched Fenris’ jaw, stroked his cheek once with his thumb. “I'll kiss you all night if you want me to, but I'll not do anything else. At least not until tomorrow. I want to make sure that you don’t regret this in the morning before I go further.”

The hand stroking the outside of Anders' thigh still and Fenris looked at him with a forlorn expression. “Should I stop?”

“No.” Anders stroked his cheek again, then gave him another little kiss. “Do what you want. I am yours, so long as you promise to stop if I ask you to. Just don’t expect me to do too much, okay? Not until I’ve checked it’s okay with the prickly version.”

A nod from Fenris, and his hands flew to Anders crotch, seeking him through his breeches.

“Whoa!” he exclaimed in surprised, then chuckled a bit as he laid back. “You’re direct.”

“You’re hardly a blushing virgin,” Fenris pointed out as he unlaced the man’s trousers and wrapped his callous fingers around his cock.

“True enough. Oh….” Any further banter ended as Fenris began deftly stroking him, and then the world burst into colour and pleasure when Fenris wrapped his lips around the head of Anders cock.

Damn, it’s been so long….

Greywarden stamina or no, he was barely a match for Fenris and his exceptional training. He knew he should feel more uncomfortable about why Fenris was so good at this. He hardly liked it, but honestly it felt too good for Anders to care more than he already did. He wanted to at least hold out long enough to rival a horny teenager discovering his cock for the first time, but Fenris was amazing. His hand found the perfect pace and pressure to stroke him, his lips and tongue quickly learned which tricks the head of Anders’ cock liked the most, and within minutes Anders was grasping the blankets and panting.

“Fen, I’m close,” he warned quietly, forcing his hands to stay away from the elf’s head in case he mistook the gesture for a command to stay and swallow.

He expected Fenris to draw back, but instead his hand fell away to seek out Anders’ own and his head bobbed down to take Anders’ full length into his mouth. The head of his cock pressed against the spongy softness at the back of Fenris’ throat, and the elf rocked gently as their fingers twined together. Orgasm came, ripping through Anders and leaving him drained and breathless against the blankets, twitching slightly as Fenris’ lapped his deflating erection clean.

Anders held his hand out as soon as he was able, softly bidding Fenris, “come here” and Fenris went obediently.

Anders tucked the elf into his arms, cuddling him like a lover and stroking his hair as he sent sleepy little waves of healing magic out in reciprocation.

“That was amazing.”

Fenris was silent, relaxed against him.

“Speak, Fenris.”

“I have no words.”

“Do you feel better for having done that?” he tried.

Fenris nodded. “Yes M-” the slightest hesitation as Fenris tried to hide what he’d almost said, as though Anders hadn’t noticed. “Mage.”

Anders didn’t know any way to address that slip, the fact that Fenris at least still half-thought of him that way, other than to be as un-Danarius-y as possible. He touched Fenris’ cheek and chin lightly, tipping his face up until their eyes met. He smiled at Fenris, fond and reassuring, and kissed him again, as slow and gentle as any he’d given. When they drew apart, Fenris couldn’t meet his eyes again.

“What’s my name, Fenris?”

Fenris’ head ducked, seeking comfort against Anders shoulder, away from his gaze. Anders let him go there before the elf answered; “Anders.”

“Then call me Anders, please. Not mage, not abomination, not master-” he spat the word. “Just Anders. I don’t want you forgetting who you’re with, or why.”

Fenris nodded against his chest.

“Is there anything you want me to do for you?” Anders asked as Fenris started to settle. He knew he’d said he wouldn’t get too hands on with Fenris until he’d checked in later, but it seemed only polite to offer.

“Let me stay here?” he asked quietly.

“Of course.”

Fenris settled further into him, relieved. “I know it’s not easy for you either. I know you hate me.”

Honestly, Anders wasn’t sure he did anymore. This version of Fenris, anyway, the one who wasn’t constantly advocating the abuse of a whole people because of a handful of bad experiences. This person who came to him desperate and in pain, and who laid in his arms and thanked him for letting him take comfort from him. No, Anders didn’t, couldn’t, hate him. But he also couldn’t say as much without enforcing Fenris’ worry that he was no longer himself.

“You’re making it easier by the minute,” he said instead. “I don’t hate you, Fenris. Just some of your politics.”

That seemed like a safe comment. Earlier Fenris had compared Anders and Danarius by their politics, maybe Fenris would see what he meant if he could link the two in his mind. The difference between the man and the ideals they held. The difference between hating Fenris and hating some of his beliefs. Anders had no idea if it would work or if he was sleepy and his brain had turned to jelly along with his bones, but all he wanted was to keep Fenris safe from whatever curse held him, and rest.

Thus they slept, wrapped in their blankets and healing magic and each other, Anders’ breeches still open and low, and Fenris tucked safe and peaceful in his arms.

Chapter Text

This became their new normal. For the next day or so, Fenris stayed in the clinic, watching Anders work or hiding in the nest of blankets through the sunlit hours, sucking his cock and soaking up healing magic whenever the mage’s lantern was out. Anders in turn switched his attention from his manifesto to researching a cure for Fenris. Justice allowed it, partly out of a desire to see Fenris’ master brought down, partly because, deny it though he may, their proximity to Fenris when he was calm and close was pleasing to the fade spirit. None of them talked about it - Anders and Justice knew Fenris wouldn’t want to know, and Justice was deeply in denial, but every time Fenris curled up in Anders lap, Justice edged closer to the surface as though trying to come as close as he could to the happy elf and the lyrium under his skin. He even started to bother Anders towards the end of the day when he hadn’t been paying Fenris enough attention. He was starting to feel as leashed to Fenris as Fenris seemed to be to him.

Fenris was happier, though not happy. Most days brought at least one rant about how he was ‘once again enslaved by magic’ or some such, but he made an effort to keep his anger impersonal, ranting about the spell or magic and mages in general, and Anders in turn tried not to take any of those broad attacks personally. Fenris had kept his promise not to blame Anders, Anders tried to appreciate that. Fenris was frustrated and afraid and venting, Anders could understand that. They were both getting used to the whole horrible situation, and their inability to fix any of it.

And so Anders focused on his studies and his work. The problem he ran into time and again was that he needed to study Tevinter magic, which was basically all blood magic, which, funny enough, wasn’t easy to study anywhere other than Tevinter.

One sunny morning towards the end of their first week, Anders realised he didn’t mind any of it. He woke to sunshine and the delicious feeling of friction, of Fenris rocking his thigh between Anders’ legs, massaging his morning wood as Anders woke rolling in gentle waves of building pleasure. He kissed Fenris sleepily and without even thinking about it, he guided the elf's hand, showed him how to envelop him, stroke him to completion. Their morning started sticky and warm and accidentally intimate, their foreheads pressed together and lips so close they shared breaths as Anders came over their hands and hips.

Fenris was hard too. He always was by the time he finished Anders, though he never did anything about it. Even in private while Anders was working, and it had bothered Anders more and more every time he noticed it.

“Is there anything you want me to do for you?” Anders asked as he always did, but this time - for the first time - his offer was accompanied by a brush of fingers against Fenris’ length. Fenris sucked in a breath, either a gasp of pleasure or an audible flinch, it was hard to tell sometimes.

“No, thank you,” he whispered, breath shuddering. He didn’t pull back though, or move to stop him.

Anders hesitated, fingers still but still there. He was awake enough now to remember his promise to go at Fenris’ own pace, not to guide or nudge or pressure anything. He knew he should stop, but the elf wanted it… he clearly wanted it, and Anders wanted so badly to do something for him.

“Do you want me to stop?” Anders asked, stroking him gently again to show what he meant.

Fenris bucked against against Anders’ hand, moaning in pleasure and pressing his forehead down to the mages shoulder, curling against him. With anyone else, that would have been enough.

“Answer me, Fenris,” Anders murmured, hand still but more than happy to continue. “Tell me that you want it, or I’ll stop. I promised I wouldn’t do this unless you asked me too.”

Fenris took several seconds to answer, and when he did his words were as ambiguous as the rest of him. “I am yours,” he panted.

Sweet, but not enough.

“No,” Anders scolded mildly. “That’s not fair, Fenris. Yes or no.”

Silence, and Fenris hips pushed against Anders hand, but Anders withdrew, leaving his fingertips resting on Fenris’ thigh, but nothing more.

“Answer me, Fenris. Properly.” He stroked the elf’s hip so he knew he wasn’t in trouble and kissed the side of his head. “You’re not a slave anymore, Fen. Tell me what you want.”

They hung like that for several seconds, neither speaking or moving until Fenris broke it. Not with words, though words were quickly rendered unnecessary. He shifted, his hand grabbing for Anders’ and wrapping the mage’s long fingers around his cock, stroking himself with Anders hand in a reflection of what the mage himself had done just minutes before. With a few thrusts, his own cum joined Anders’ between them. It was hardly what Anders expected, but at least it was easy to read what he wanted.

Eventually Fenris’ ragged breathing began to settle, his hand still gripping Anders’ own as though he feared to let go of it.

“It was a reward,” he said quietly, voice gravelly and hot on Anders’ neck. “For pleasing him. I was allowed to… finish. If I asked.”

Anders stomach sank and rolled at that.

“Bastard.”

He kissed Fenris’ head and hugged him with his free arm, and it seemed that the movement reminded Fenris that he was still gripping Anders’ fingers, for he released them a second later.

“You know that’s not what I’m doing, right?” A pause, a few seconds of silence. “Fenris? Words, please.”

The elf squirmed slightly. “You never… start… it….” The words came slow and awkward, but Anders knew what he meant.

“We agreed I wouldn’t, Fenris,” he reminded him. “I don’t want to take advantage of… anything.”

“I’ve told you I want this. Even when I’m angry and unreasonable, I want it.”

“But you don’t ask for it.”

“I was trained not to.” Fenris was angry, though not with Anders, he was getting better at showing that distinction. He clearly cared. “Are you trying to re-train me, Anders?”

Well, yes, but he couldn’t say that.

“You’re the one in control here, Fenris,” Anders told him. Fenris nodded. “I’m doing this to help you.” Another silent nod. “Fenris, will you say something please?”

“I’m sorry.” Unsure and submissive. If Anders hadn’t ordered Fenris not to call him ‘Master’ anymore, it would have hung nicely on the end of the apology. “What do you want me to say?”

Anders sighed in frustration but stroked Fenris’ hair with his clean hand. “Nothing,” he reassured him. “It’s all fine. How about I get us cleaned up, and we’ll talk more later, hmm?”

Another nod, and Anders kissed him once more and stood.

Their sweat and semen had mostly gathered on Anders hand and dribbled down from his hip to pool on his belly where that same hand rested, so the cleanup was easy in theory. He just had to stop the now-cold, sticky mess from going anywhere else. He left his pants down and kicked them off, then lifted his nightshirt with his clean hand and held it in his teeth so it wouldn’t fall into the mess. Then he cupped his cum-covered hand under the puddle to stop it dripping and, in this most dignified of positions, he dashed to the into the empty clinic for water and a rag.

Just in time to watch the clinic door open.

Hawke and Varric stood in the doorway, lockpicks in hand. Varric chuckled and turned his back on Anders politely. Hawke’s eyes roamed up and down, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Anders, for his part, just stood.

“Give Blondie some privacy, Hawke,” Varric admonished after a moment.

Hawke blushed and turned his back as well, and Anders rushed to clean up and drop his sleep shirt, covering himself almost to the knee.

“What are you doing here?” He demanded, his voice a couple of pitches higher than normal. “And why now?”

“Well we did knock,” Hawke protested. “When you didn’t answer, we thought something was wrong.”

Of course. He’d started putting wards up to keep the noises of Darkdown out, to protect Fenris and what sleep he could get. They must have muffled the knocking, too.

“I was busy,” he answered. “Sort of distracted. And that still doesn’t tell me why you’re here.”

“You’ve not seen our favourite broody elf, have you?” Varric asked. “I’ve been trying to track him down for two days. We were out all of last night. When I can’t find someone, you know it’s time to start worrying.”

“No one’s seen him in nearly a week,” Hawke added. “After the spell… have you heard anything else from him? Seen him?”

“Actually, yes,” Anders offered, thinking fast. It’s not like he could just tell them where Fenris actually was, they’d surely leap to the wrong conclusion. Or exactly the right one, but…. “I saw him a couple of days ago. He was laying low, as I thought. Apparently the noise and bustle of the city has been a bit much of him, so I paid him to go fetch some herbs for me.”

Hawke and Varric swapped a sceptical look. Obviously neither of them quite believed him.

“Come on, now, Blondie. What’ve you done with him?” Varric asked, half joking.

Anders rolled his eyes. He wished he could just retreat to his room, to Fenris who was no doubt listening and apparently wanted nothing to do with the conversation.

“I haven’t done anything, Varric.”

“Really?” Asked Hawke. “You seem awfully shifty this morning, is all.”

“Well, yes,” Anders drawled, irritated. “My morning wank has been interrupted by my friends picking my front door, and now I’m being questioned with no trousers on.”

Hawke blushed but conceded. “Oh, right.”

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get dressed and light my lantern. Fenris should be back later today, I’ll tell him you’re looking for him. But Hawke?”

He waited for the rogue to turn and face him.

“If he doesn’t come to you, it’s for a reason. I know I don’t like the bastard much, but I expect you not to pester him.”

Hawke looked humbled, though Varric raised his eyebrows in surprised behind him. He was suspicious, Anders could tell, but to be honest he wasn’t quite so worried about Varric as he was Hawke and his hint of a superiority complex.

“Alright, alright, we’re going,” the dwarf said as he herded Hawke out. “Keep your nightshirt on.”

Anders bolted the door behind them. He took a moment, gave a sigh, resting on the door.

“Are they gone?”

Fenris voice was the same rich baritone as before, though still husky from sleep and emotion. He hugged himself, cold and anxious, and Anders held a hand out to him. Fenris hesitated, then moved willingly into Anders’ embrace and settled.

“Yeah, they’re gone,” Anders assured him. “It’s just us now.”

“They’ll be back.”

“Of course they will, they’re your friends. They’re worried about you.”

Fenris hesitated, quietly hiding against the mage. Anders realised in the silence that he hadn’t actually healed Fenris yet this morning, and sent magic through him from the base of his skull where he often complained of the pain starting, then down over his back.

“What do you want me to tell them?” Anders asked, but was met with silence. “They’re already getting suspicious. You’ll have to face them soon.”

“I know.” The thought clearly distressed him.

“I’ll not cast you aside, regardless,” Anders promised. “Whatever you decide, I’m going to help you as best I can for as long a you need me.”

Fenris nodded again and kissed Anders’ shoulder. “Thank you.”

Anders gifted him another kiss to the forehead, then sent him back to their room to rest while he dressed and opened the clinic for another day.

-x-

Fenris slunk out a few hours later, refusing food and comfort. He took some water and sat in his corner, glaring at the door to the clinic and awaiting Hawke’s return.

“You know, you’d probably not be so worried about facing them if you weren’t working yourself up like this,” Anders pointed out, trying to help.

Fenris shot him the full force of his glare. “The spell is working me up,” he snapped. “And I don’t want them to see me… like that.”

Submissive, slavish, the way he was for Danarius. Fine, Anders could understand that. Hopefully they wouldn’t wait long before their visit, then. If they were coming at all.

Lunch passed, then several hours more. Fenris stayed in his seat, rocking slightly, fingers clutching at his elbows restlessly. Had he always been this bad? Anders couldn’t tell if Fenris was getting worse each time he delayed healing, or Anders was just getting more sensitive to his distress, but it was hard to focus on anything else. Obviously he didn’t need to touch Fenris to heal him, he could do it from across the room, but the elf would surely notice, and doing it without permission, knowing Fenris didn’t want him to, felt far more like taking advantage than their twice-daily blowjobs.

When a familiar face did come through the door, it wasn’t for Fenris. A young girl, one Anders knew well. A runner from Lowtown who often brought news from her mother - a friend aiding the mages.

“Ser!” The girl called breathlessly. “Mama sends word.”

She pressed a scrap of parchment into his hand. There were only a few words - my house, after dark - scribbled in soot. Anders dropped the parchment into a bowl of dirty water he’d been using to clean up a patient, rendering it unreadable. Either Fenris knew what Anders was doing or he just resented everyone who wasn’t Hawke and Varric at this point. He glared intensely at the girl, then at Anders, as he saw her out.

Varric finally came just before dark, alone. Anders left them chatting for a few minutes while he finished his work and closed the clinic doors, then joined them.

“-need to get snappy, we were worried is all!”

“Well I’m fine!” Fenris growled. “You needn’t worry, you can leave me be now.”

“Hey.” Anders rested a hand on Fenris’ arm, but the elf pulled away from it with a scowl. “Fenris….”

“It’s okay, Blondie,” Varric reassured him. “No harm done. To me, anyway. But Fenris, you don’t exactly seem yourself right now.”

“He’s not,” Anders answered before Fenris could snap at their friends again. “The spell was a gift from Danarius. He’s been like this all week. He gets worse without frequent healing, so he’s been staying with me.”

Varric’s eyebrows rose again. “Oh, is that so?” Anders knew he was thinking of that morning, of the way he and Hawke had found him.

Anders shrugged, trying to stay casual. “Do you have any alternative suggestions?”

“No,” Varric agreed. “It’s just a surprising arrangement, is all. You two are hardly friends.”

“But we are allies,” Anders pointed out. “I’ve healed Fenris many times before, this is no different to a sword wound in battle.” Anders couldn’t be certain, but Fenris looked almost hurt by that.

“Hmm, fair enough,” said Varric, watching Fenris closely. “You’ll let us know if we can do anything?”

“You can keep it to yourself,” Fenris snapped.

Anders added, “if you don’t mind. Fenris could do without the gossip and the well-wishers. Truth be told, he’s spent most of his time here asleep, I assume he wishes to continue as he has begun.”

Varric chuckled. “Boy, can you imagine Isabella with this story? Alright, yeah, I’ll keep it quiet.”

The dwarf took half a step towards Fenris and rested a hand on his arm, grabbing his attention. “Take care of yourself, Broody. Remember you have friends, if there’s anything we can do, let us know, we’ll be there.”

Fenris nodded twice, jerky but trying to be polite, and Varric let himself out.

Anders let out a deep sigh, glad to have it over with. “I need to head out soon,” he told Fenris as soon as the door closed. “I have work to do in Lowtown tonight. May I heal you-”

He reached out for Fenris arm, but it shot back as though Anders’ hand was on fire.

“Don’t touch me,” he snarled. “You think I don’t know what you’ve been doing? Did you think I wouldn’t figure it out?”

Anders sighed again, this one louder, more frustrated. “I think it’s been too long since your last fix.”

“And I think you’re not just using healing magic on me.”

“Oh for-” Anders cut off and pressed his hands over his eyes. “Does it always have to come back to this? Didn’t we agree that I wasn’t the problem? You promised-”

Night has come, Justice interrupted. We need to go.

“Yes, I know we need to go, Justice!” Anders exclaimed, making Fenris jump. “Can I please put out the fire in my own bloody house before I help my neighbour with theirs?”

Silence, thank the Maker.

“Now, Fenris, I need to deal with something, alright? And you can’t stay here by yourself without-”

Fenris stood now and physically moved away from him, taking long steps towards the door. “Then go.”

“I need to take care of you first!”

“You need to stay away from me, Abomination.”

“Fenris, stop it. You can’t leave-”

“Oh, I’m your prisoner now?”

“You know you’re not,” Anders yelled, all patience gone. “But if you-”

“Then I can go?” Fenris reached for the door again.

You cannot let him leave.

I can’t force him to stay, either!

“Stop!”

Anders only lost control for a moment, but that was enough for Justice to move between Fenris and the door, stopping the elf from leaving.

“I’m sorry.” Anders fought Justice back.

I will not let him hurt himself.

He’s more likely to run if you behave this way.

“He’s worried about you, Fenris, he wants-”

“I don’t care what your demon wants,” Fenris spat. “Move out of my way!”

“He’s not-” Anders halted. There was no point in arguing. “Look, I need to go. I have other people to help, people who actually want my help. Do as you like.”

Anders turned in the doorway and left, heading into Lowtown and trying not to focus on the elf he left behind.

Chapter Text

It was too late by the time Anders reached the home of his contact. She was gone, so was her daughter, so was whoever he was supposed to be meeting. They’d fled in a hurry, though clearly it had been hours ago. At least he didn’t have to wonder if his fight with Fenris had made a difference, but it hardly helped his mood as he made his way back to the clinic.

Fenris was in their bed when he entered. Stark naked and kneeling, because of course he was. Anders instinctive reaction was worry, he knew how taxing it was for Fenris when he went a while without healing and it had been all day, but the glare he sneaked at Anders when he came into the room said that this was no breakdown or act of desperation - this was pure spite. Fenris was playing with him.

Anders sighed deeply, trying not to look at Fenris more than he had to. Not that he didn’t like the look of the elf naked, but that was really rather the problem.

“Fenris, what are you doing now?” he huffed, tired and wanting to rest, not… whatever this was.

“Awaiting your return.” His voice shook and hitched with the exertion it took to speak. Anders could see tiny tremors through his whole body.

“And why are you naked?”

“I didn’t know what new game we are playing, what new demands you would have in exchange for healing,” Fenris answered, voice tight. He glared at Anders again, not lifting his head, the gesture tiny but speaking volumes of defiance. “We both know I need it.”

“Oh for Maker’s sake….”

Anders rested his hand on Fenris’ head - the nearest part of his body - and healed him as normal. The elf crumpled forward onto his hands and, to Anders surprise, heaved once as though he would start sobbing.

“I’m sorry,” he stammered. He gasped and repeated himself. “I’m sorry, I’m-”

“Shh, it’s alright.” Anders crouched before him. He was tired, yes, but he’d have to be a fool not to notice the drastic and genuine changes. He held out his hand to brush Fenris’ cheek and see if the elf would welcome it, which he did, leaning against the touch greedily, eyes closed. “It’s done, it’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again. He couldn’t stop shaking. Not just slight shivers of anxiety – these tremors were extreme, a problem with the muscles, not the mind. What is this spell doing to him?

Anders shed his cloak and boots and sat by the elf’s side, arms around him. “It’s okay, Fenris,” he repeated over and over.

It took a while, but Fenris started to settle. “I’m sorry,” he said again, but clearer now. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Well, you do seem to be suffering the effects of a spell, recently,” Anders teased gently, though he realised something as he said it. “Fenris, when you’ve been a few hours without healing, do you regret being healing? The way you regret your anger?”

Fenris considered, then shook his head. “No.”

“Alright. And I know the spell obviously effects you all the time, but do you feel more like yourself now, or when you’re angry?” Fenris had originally said the healing magic stripped him of his identity, returning him to the slavishness Danarius favoured, but Anders had found that overall Fenris was calm, rational, and insightful when he wasn’t being bothered by the pain caused by the spell.

“…Now,” Fenris answered after a moment, as though just realising it himself. “Does that mean something?”

“Perhaps,” Anders mused aloud. “It might not mean anything, but it might be another effect of the spell.”

“What do you mean?” Fenris lowered himself tentatively to rest his head in Anders lap, a habit he’d been developing over the last few days.

Anders stroked his hair and waited for Fenris to relax, silently reassuring him that it really was okay, that he wasn’t mad, that Fenris could seek that comfort, Anders wouldn’t deny him just because they'd had a magic-induced argument.

“Well, it could suggest that the way you behave is due to the spell,” he explained. “Another of its effects. A few minutes ago you were angry, paranoid, irrational-”

“I’m sorry.” Fenris nuzzled Anders leg, apologetic.

“I know, Fenris, but that’s what I’m trying to say - that’s not you. I’ve never seen you act that way, even when wounded or drunk or facing slavers. You have your moments, the same as any of us, but that sort of unreasonable rage and paranoia isn’t like you.

Fenris considered, nodded slowly.

“What about this?” Anders asked. “Ah… forgive any lack of delicacy on my part, but you’ve said this is the way you used to be with Danarius, correct?”

Fenris curled slightly and nodded. “I’m more tactile with you,” he mumbled as though trying to deny it.

“I imagine I allow it more than he did,” Anders pointed out, hating how it sounded but he didn’t know how else to discuss it. “Would you have been allowed to do this, as a slave?”

Fenris shook his head.

“It's like I said before, Fenris – in my experience, when people are scared or wounded, they behave in all sorts of strange ways to get through it. But it does make sense that… hmm.” He sighed and rubbed the elf's neck, thinking. “Let me try again. Before I joined the Wardens, there was a girl in the circle a couple of years younger than me. When she was little, she would behave a certain way, more childish than her years warranted, but in an endearing way. No one really begrudged her it - she did it for favours, really. So that people would see her and treat her as a child, rather than giving her the extra responsibilities and attention of a woman. That changed when she was about seventeen - she developed physically, people started treating her differently, and she grew up a bit.”

Anders hadn’t brought up his time in the circle to Fenris since he was snapped at for it a few days prior. These stories were intimate, they left him vulnerable. Fenris was behaving now - when Anders paused there was not sniping about getting to the point. Still, Anders heart pounded a little as he waited for it to come. When it didn't he stroked Fenris’ hair and continued.

“A few years passed and things were… well, not fine. Normal. Then one day with no real reason, she just started acting girlish again. No one really noticed or commented other than another young man who called her silly. Then a few days later, she set fire to herself. She wasn’t trying to kill herself, she told me later. She was trying to get the feeling of ‘him’ off of her. That’s the most she ever said about whatever happened to her, but….”

Fenris shuddered, nodded. “It’s enough.”

“Mm.” He stroked Fenris’ face and hair. “My point is, her change in behaviour was probably right after she was raped, or when she started to fear she would be. She began acting a certain way - a way she associated with safety, hoping it would protect her. It’s something people tend to do. In your case, it could be a reaction to the spell, or to the memories it’s forced on you, like I said the other day. You're acting like you're trying to please him.”

Fenris scowled mildly. “I don't have to like it just because it makes sense.”

“Well, no, I don’t like it either. It suggests you’re as scared as you were when you first woke up after the lyrium and I hate that. But it also means that your anger and paranoia and such is a part of the spell, it’s not you. Think about it - it’s in his best interests to isolate you, isn’t it? Doesn’t it make sense he would have built some kind of rage or paranoia into his little curse, to distance you from allies?”

Fenris nodded, seeming to relax a bit at that.

They fell silent for so long that Anders almost fell asleep there, sitting with his back against the wall and Fenris’ head in his lap, but the elf broke the silence just as sleep was starting to take him.

“I don’t want to be like that again,” he said quietly. “I want you to heal me, even if I say I don’t want it. I’m not in my right mind when I’m like that, I can’t make that decision.”

“Okay.” Anders had dealt with patients like that before, when madness was involved, or certain substances. Paranoia clouded the mind so severely that they didn’t trust anyone to help them, even their healer. If Fenris suspected that was a danger, Anders would serve him better by assuming control of that aspect of his care. “Let it be known now, though, that I hate it. I want to help, of course, but I hate the uncertainty. I hate not being able to trust your clarity of mind, and I hate not trusting myself to do this properly. But regardless of how uncomfortable it makes me, you are my patient first and I will do as I feel best benefits you as such.”

“My mind is clear enough,” Fenris assured him.

“How can I trust that?”

Fenris rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling as he considered. “Right now… I feel love-struck, almost. I know it’s not normal, it’s not just me, it’s partly the spell, partly him. But I can feel it… that something’s in my mind that shouldn’t be. It’s as though I’ve had a glass of wine in the company of someone I find attractive - my thoughts are affected, but not impaired.”

“Does your mind clear when you’ve not been healed for a while?”

“A little,” Fenris explained. “I’m… more affected, I suppose, in the immediate minutes following healing. But it doesn’t last long, and then I am myself, more or less, for a while. Then the spell starts to take once again.”

Anders stroked his hair, rested a hand on his forehead. “What does that feel like?”

Fenris scowled at whatever thoughts crossed his mind. “As though my normal mind is sunshine, and a cloud is passing slowly over me. As though I’m taken over by something else. A… possession, of something unnatural, not me.”

“That hardly sounds pleasant.”

“It’s not.” Anders stroked his cheek and he turned his head to kiss Anders palm. “It feels like that’s all I can trust, when it happens. I don’t want to get to that point again.”

“You won’t,” Anders reassured him, running his hand over the elf’s head again. “I’ll make sure of it.

Fenris closed his eyes and rolled over to bury himself against Anders’ stomach, Anders in turn lay down so they were cuddled up and ready for sleep. Anders was drained, he assumed Fenris was too, but after a few seconds Fenris started to kiss the underside of Anders jaw. His hand started roaming, fingers trailing Anders’ leg as though asking a question.

Anders tilted his head to rub his nose against Fernis’ forehead. “Something you want, Fen?”

Fenris hesitated, then moved his hand slightly toward Anders’ crotch. “Can I…?”

“Sure. Whatever you want.”

Anders expected, actually kind of hoped, that Fenris would do as they’d done that morning. He found himself needing that reconnection, the intimacy they’d shared before it all went to shit. He liked this closeness more than he’d expected to, he’d enjoyed the elf in his arms, their breaths mixing as they brought each other to orgasm.

Instead, Fenris shifted down Anders body, nudged his hips this way and that, and wrapped his mouth around the mage’s cock again. Anders wasn’t exactly going to complain, but he couldn’t lie to himself, he was a little disappointed.

“Oh, Maker….”

Fenris was damn good at that. Anders laced his fingers in Fenris’ hair as his hips bucked up. Usually he was more controlled, not wanting Fenris to misinterpret anything in Anders’ eagerness, but it felt more appropriate now. More like lovers than a physical act of necessity. Anders worried that Fenris might dislike the touch - plenty of people hated having their heads held when they were giving head, it was natural enough. It was annoying, distracting, at worst it was a threat - ‘you will suck my cock whether you like it or not, if I push you will choke on it.’

But no.

One of Fenris’ hands held Anders’ member while his mouth expertly worshipped the head, and his other hand flew to his head to twine with Ander’s fingers and push the hand against Fenris’ scalp, wanting more contact, more of the touch. Anders used both hands to stroke Fen’s hair, to massage his scalp, trace his features. One of his thumbs traced Fenris’ lips, and the elf plunged himself onto Anders’ erection in response. The mage almost came right there as he felt his lover’s lips stretch around him, felt where they joined.

“Fuck… Fenris….”

Usually this was when he would make absolutely sure his hands were anywhere but on Fenris’ head, making sure the other man knew he didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want to, didn’t have to swallow, could pull back if need be. This time, he gripped Fenris hair gently, holding him in place while making sure Fenris could easily pull away if he wanted to, and he started to thrust.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he gasped. “I won’t if-. I mean….”

His last scrap of cohesive though vanished as Fenris gripped his hips and pulled him closer still, swallowing him so deeply Anders felt teeth against his pubis. Fenris' answer couldn’t have been clearer. More.

Ander’s hips bucked again, up against Fenris’ eager mouth, and he released himself deep in the elf’s throat.

“Fu-u-uck….” He stroked Fenris’ hair sweetly and tugged him up. “Come here, love. Please.”

Fenris crawled back up to lay in Anders’ arms again, but Anders nudged until he rolled over.

“Let me return the favour?” He asked, still breathless but kissing Fenris’ neck and jaw between words. “I mean, I won’t if it makes you uncomfortable, but… Maker, Fenris, I want to.”

Fenris nodded, looking… strange. Anders couldn’t quite pin down Fenris’ expression, addled though his mind was right now. A little confused, cautious, surprised, mostly curious, maybe hopeful? Complexity was synonymous with Anders’ prickly elf, but he was willing and that was good enough.

Anders kissed down Fenris’ body, not working as slowly as he normally would. Something lent him a sense of urgency, now that the idea was in his head. He had to taste the elf, now. A few more seconds, some fumbling with trousers, a little nuzzling, and Anders mouth was exactly where he wanted it.

Anders was as practised as Fenris, though thankfully for entirely different reasons. Just as Fenris had been quick to learn Anders, Anders wasted no time finding all of the things that made Fenris groan and arch his back, what made words tumble sweetly from his lips or what made him clench his eyes and fists and bear down against the blankets in an attempt to keep still.

Depth was what Fenris liked most, Anders quickly realized. Depth and gentle touches. Where Anders enjoyed Fenris’ combat-calloused hands on him, Fenris preferred the softness of a tongue lapping his length. The shouted in Tevene as Anders swallowed around his cock, he thrust hard when Anders trailed his fingertips down the length of Fenris’ side and hip, and when their hands met and Anders traced Fenris’ fingers with his own and gave a contented moan, Fenris came. Anders didn’t get any warning - it was possible Fenris didn’t either. He hardly minded - he drank the elf down happily, milking him for every drop of pleasure.

They stayed there for a while, Anders too tired to move. Fenris rested his hand on Anders head, the touch unsure but not anxious, not even tentative. Just new, Fenris discovering it for the first time. He stroked the mage’s hair, pressing just enough for his fingers to penetrate a few strands. Anders craved something deeper, but it would wait. There would be more times like this.

“That was…” Fenris’ words trailed off and he continued stroking Ander’s hair in substitution. “Did you… umm… was that…pleasant for you?”

It was adorable that he seemed to understand that most people didn’t enjoy sucking cock quite as much as he seemed to. Anders’ heart ached as he realised Fenris probably knew it because he had hated it himself, too, once. He’d learned to enjoy it. Or maybe he hadn’t. Maybe Anders had been confusing genuine enjoyment of the act with the comfort of servitude, of pleasing. Incredible though Fenris was, Anders knew then that it would be his last blowjob for a while.

“I did, Fenris. Thank you for letting me do this.” He kissed the elf’s hip, belly, breast bone. “Have you done that before?”

“Once, when I was younger. With another slave.” He cuddled into Anders as the mage came into reach. “I preferred this.”

“I’m glad.”

He kissed Fenris sweetly on the lips, enjoying how the elf’s tongue ventured out to seek his own, how they tastes of each other joined between them.

“Fenris?” he asked as they drew apart.

Fenris rested his head on Anders’ shoulder. “Hmm?”

“Do you find it pleasant? Doing that for me?”

He felt Fenris tense slightly and gifted him a thread of magic, something pleasant to help him settle. “I enjoy doing it for you,” Fenris answered after a moment, the emphasis light but certainly there.

“But you don’t like the act itself?”

Another hesitation. “I’m good at it.”

“You are, but that’s not what I asked.”

“I want to please you,” he confessed, voice smaller with each word.

“And you do.” He kissed Fen’s head and stroked his hair. “But that way of pleasing me, that’s what He used to demand of you, right?”

Fenris shook his head in protest. “It’s different with you,” he insisted.

“Damn right it’s different with me.” He stroked Fenris hair again, then dug in his fingers to massage the elf’s scalp. “But I think it’s time we learned different ways to please each other. I don’t like the thought of you using me to service his memory.”

Fenris nodded, lightly stressed but accepting. “I’d like that.”

“As would I.”

More kisses, more magic. Anders summoned an extra blanket, since Fenris was still nude, and wrapped it around his lover’s shoulders.

“Sleep well, Fen. Tomorrow will be a good day.”

Chapter Text

They stirred together the next day, tangled in each other like pups in a litter. Before he’d even opened his eyes, Anders stroked Fenris’ head, kissed his light hair, and flooded him with healing magic, holding him as he groaned and twitched and soaked it in happily.

Fenris looked up as his mind cleared. It was like watching someone waking from a blow to the head, Anders noted. The foggy eyes that cleared as they found themselves again. The elf did so before Anders’ eyes, then leaned up and gave Anders a sweet, slightly awkward kiss.

“Thank you.”

Anders grinned and kissed him back, deeper though no less sweet, as gentle and intimate as any they'd shared. Full of fondess. He licked Fenris’ lips and nuzzled his nose, and murmured softly against his skin; “you’re welcome.”

Maybe the day actually would be a good one.

-x-

The clinic was quiet, in the good way that meant things were well in the city. Fenris was more active, too, as though recovering from a flu which had incapacitated him for the last week and now he was starting to feel himself again. He watched the door cautiously, still apparently worried he would be discovered by one of their friends, but aside from that he seemed to be doing remarkably well. Anders gave him little jobs that he could do in the back of the clinic - washing blankets and folding bandages, preparing the herbs for potions and such.

Still, Fenris re-appeared every so often. He seemed fascinated by the patients, moreso than Anders had seen him before in the days he’d spent sitting in the corner of the clinic. None of them minded. There was a little boy with a badly sprained wrist who thought Fenris’ lyrium markings looked amazing, an old man with a cough that had resisted healing all year, who noticed Fenris still wore the healer’s coat. Anders healed them all, engaging Fenris in his usual banter and comforting of his patients. Even when the elf wasn’t there, he was in Anders' thoughts.

Anders wasn’t even sure what he felt for the elf he had… well… sort of adopted. It wasn’t love, at least not like he’d known it before. It wasn’t just lust, either - it had never really been just lust. It was a weird combination of feelings - hatred was still there, though there was a wall now between Fenris and his opinions, leaving light frustration behind but taking away all of Ander' genuine dislike for the elf. Protectiveness was was probably the strongest feeling, or compassion. Compassion with a hint of pity, anger at the things Fenris had suffered, a desire to save and heal him. Justice helpfully pointed out that Anders felt the same for Fenris as he did for the oppressed circle mages. That was a delightful comparison he would be keeping to himself, Fenris hated to be pitied.

It was more personal, though. Anders wanted to… keep him. Look after him. He felt fondly for him, he enjoyed their time alone together. He enjoyed the simple, sexless things like stroking Fenris’ hair and whispering kindness to him, feeling Fenris’ relax against him, knowing he as safe. He liked the warmth of Fenris’ mouth and fingers more than the orgasms. He liked Fenris being there. Not the same way he had enjoyed Karl’s company, for instance, there wasn’t the same excitement at the prospect of seeing him, nor the depth of adoration. More a longing, and a degree of peace Anders didn’t remember ever feeling with anyone else. Perhaps it was just because of how sedate Justice was thanks to Fenris' presence, but his time with the elf almost felt like coming home to a loving pet.

Fenris would punch you through the heart if he ever found out, he thought, but it was true. And if Anders was really honest, he suspected Fenris would find the comparison more favourable than not. The heart-punching would be more about keeping up appearances.

That’s when his thoughts wandered to exactly what he was supposed to do with Fenris. He was making no progress with the spell, and he highly doubted that would change any time soon. He knew little of blood magic and was perfectly content that way. He was glad that he and Fenris were making personal progress and overjoyed by the recent revelation that healing Fenris essentially brought him back to his senses, but he couldn’t keep the elf tucked away in the back of his clinic forever. Sooner or later they would have to re-join the real world. Anders had his work with the mages, Fenris had Hawke still sniffing after him, and regardless of how efficient Anders and his healing magic were he simply couldn’t keep healing Fenris every day, it was impractical. How would it work when Fenris returned home? How would it work when one of them had to leave Kirkwall for a few days for whatever reason? No. Anders couldn’t get comfortable - he had to find a way to break the spell.

And in the meantime?

They were making progress, weren't they? Fenris was happy… but a big part of that happiness had been comfort from the blowjobs, and sure, Fenris was enjoying the other stuff, but Anders could tell he craved that familiarity. All of the things Fenris wanted when he was healed, those were all about familiarity, weren't they? The blowjobs, the submission, seeking affection and approval... how much did Anders want to indulge that? How much did he want to withhold? He’d never been a reticent lover. He’d always been happy to take people places they’d never considered, or to ply them with a drink or two and play with them until they were begging him to do the things they’d suggested but discarded. He’d never done anything he - or even Justice - would consider non-consensual. He’d never tried to do anything he thought a partner would regret the next day, and had shut down plenty of things he worried a partner would regret when they'd sobered up. He just understood how fear and society could limit a person’s pursuit of pleasure, and he’d always prided himself in helping people break free of their stigmas. Was it so different with Fenris? He clearly enjoyed the things Anders worried about. Anders fancied that Fenris could have orgasmed untouched a few times while he was sucking the mage's cock. He was so sensitive to things like being petted, and the way he enjoyed Anders hands on his head that last time, the way he had enjoyed being used, thrust into….

Anders shook the thoughts away and cleared his head, keenly aware of how much he was distracting himself. Suffice to say, Fenris liked the gentle touch of a firm partner. If Fenris was anyone else, if the spell hadn’t prompted him into Anders bed, would Anders even question it? Or would he be pouring Fenris a glass of wine, tying him up, and whispering “trust me” into his ear as he spread lube over the elf’s arse? Was that genuinely what Fenris needed? Maybe not the ass stuff, though....

“Are you well, healer?” Fenris rich voice came up behind him, starling him a little. The elf’s hand slid over his shoulder.

“Oh! Yes, quite well, thank you, Fenris. I was just thinking about you,” Anders answered with a blush, which deepened when Fenris smirked at those words. “Uh… about your predicament, I mean.”

Fenris chuckled and nudged against Anders, subtly reminding him that they were due for healing, which Anders obliged with.

“And what were you thinking?” Fenris asked, eyes closing in pleasure at the magic.

“Heh. That I have no idea how to fix it,” Anders admitted. “I can’t even detect it. Fixing it would require-”

Blood magic.

Another blood mage.

Like Merrill, you mean?

“…I’m an idiot,” Anders groaned, pressing the heel of his palm against his forehead. “I can’t do anything with it because I’m not a blood mage. Think what you like, Fenris, but I’ve never touched the stuff… but Merrill might be able to help.”

Fenris scowled at the needless snipe, shuddered a little at the mention of Merrill. “I’d rather not.”

“Would you rather stay like this forever?” Anders asked.

He was surprised when Fenris seemed to pause a moment before answering, but of course the elf shook his head. “No.”

“Then I don’t think there is another way, unless there's some other blood mage you'd prefer.” Anders rubbed Fenris’ forearm, giving him an apologetic smile. “She’s an ally too, you know.”

“She’s a fool,” Fenris growled mildly, not at Anders. “And you want to let her rummage through my head.”

“Not rummage. Just take a peek.” Anders gave Fenris a smile he hoped was disarming, or at least charming.

“Hmph.” Fenris stepped aside and leaned against a nearby wall. “Do you think it’s for the best?”

“Yes,” he answered honestly, without reservation, before remembering the effects the spell could have. “I’ve no great love for the girl or her methods, but as a healer I think we should try everything we can. If a treatment could save a life, we do not balk at it because it causes nausea. This is no different - if a trip to see Merrill could help us understand or lift the spell, we would be foolish not to try it.”

Fenris grumbled again, but nodded. “Alright then.”

“Tonight?” Anders asked with a happy grin. “I’ll close the clinic early, if I can.”

The elf nodded. “Tonight.”

“And after, I’ll see if I can find something pleasant to distract you with, hmm?” Anders promised, taking a step closer. Maker help him, he was actually flirting with the elf, trying to make him smile with his playful comments. “Assuming you want to, of course.”

“Of course,” Fenris echoed and gave a wan smile. “I’d like that.”

Close enough to touch now, Anders grinned and leaned in to kiss him. “See how you feel when we get home, love.”

Fenris nodded obediently, then kissed Anders again and found something to occupy himself with, leaving Anders to work through the remaining trickle of needy.

-x-

Anders wrapped up quickly after that, not that is was hard considering how few people ventured in. A young woman with a rather unfortunate and intimate rash, a little boy with a broken leg, a pregnant woman with a baby who insisted on scaring his mother every few weeks by moving in a strange way (or not moving at all, as the case was today). A young man just about skidded in as Anders was closing up, his own plight hilariously comparable to the young woman, his rash matching hers perfectly. Anders didn’t comment on it, of course, but the man couldn’t stop blushing, and eventually asked if he’d seen ‘anyone else’ today. Anders hadn’t, naturally. No need to embarrass the poor boy more than he already was, hilarious though it would have been.

Lantern extinguished, Anders took his coat back - it would have been too hard to explain Fenris wearing it, even to innocent, oblivious little Merrill - and headed out into dark-town, Fenris in tow. They made their way to the Lowtown alienage, stopping briefly to buy some pastries, much to Fenris’ disgruntlement.

“It’s only polite to bring something,” Anders insisted. Besides, he’d had these before. They were delicious little parcels of steamed apples with some sort of custard. He’d been looking for an excuse to buy more, and he was sure Fenris would like them.

Merrill was adorably surprised to see them, she always was whenever she received guests. She and Anders weren’t exactly friends, but every time he saw how eagerly he received visitors, he always felt as though he should visit with her more often.

“Oh!” she chirped when she opened the door. “Fenris! Hello. How are you? Hawke’s been looking for you. And Anders, hello. Hawke’s not looking for you, though.”

Anders chuckled. “Yes, they’ve been to see me,” he told her, gesturing inside. “May we come in? We were hoping to ask for a favour. Or a trade?” He held up the little package of tiny apply pastries. “We come bearing gifts.”

“Ooh! I love these.” She took them excitedly and lead the pair inside. “Take a seat, both of you. The chairs should be clear for once, I tidied this morning. I just knew I’d have a visitor, I think. Would you like some water?”

“Yes please, Merrill.”

Fenris seemed in no mood to settle. His shoulders were hunched as though against rain, and he prowled the small house mistrustfully. Anders took a seat and tugged his hand, urging him to do the same. No luck, but it wasn’t worth arguing.

Once the little elvhen woman had set up water and pastries for everyone, she finally asked; “so, what can I do for you?”

Anders swapped a look with Fenris. “Do you want to tell her?” Fenris answered with a single shake of the head. “Alright. Well….”

The mage took a deep breath and settled into the shortest explanation he could, skimming over all of Fenris’ personal details as much as possible. A little wrinkle grew between Merrill’s eyebrows as she listened.

“Oh dear,” she softly said as the tale finished. “Well, let’s see what we can do to help, then.”

She stood and approached Fenris, though he stepped back as she stepped forward, glaring at her as though she was armed.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Fenris,” she assured him. Her tone was soft and sweet, her hands out but not touching him. “I just need to take a look. It’s no different to when Anders diagnosis with magic, it’s the same thing. I’m just looking for something a bit different, that’s all.”

Fenris reluctantly submitted, standing still while she touched his temples. Almost at once, his mild scowl deepened, turning into a grimace.

“Oh, there it is,” Merrill said quietly. “I see it….”

A few more seconds, and the grimace broke into a “nyah” of pain as Fenris recoiled. “What are you doing?” he snarled.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Fenris,” Merrill said with genuine sadness. “Did that hurt? It shouldn’t have. But it was all…” she gestured to her head as though poking her fingers into her brain. “It’s was all prickly, like a bramble. Growing in and out of your head, Fenris. I’m sorry, it’s probably got something mixed into it to protect it from being tampered with. That’s why you can’t see it, Anders.”

“Can you get rid of it?” Anders asked, already worried about the answer. Even if she could… if simply looking at it hurt Fenris so much that the warrior couldn’t stand it, what would happen if Merrill tried to remove it?

Merrill opened her mouth, closed it, twisted her lips. “Perhaps,” she said, though Anders was fairly sure that was a polite lie. “Don’t get your hopes up, but… leave it with me. I’ll see if I can find anything.”

Fenris looked dejected. He nursed his head as though it still throbbed, his face hidden by hands and hair.

“Fenris?” Anders stood and went to his side, resting a hand on his shoulder and healing him discreetly. “This is good news. It’s progress, Fenris. It’s more than we had this morning.”

Fenris nodded, apparently struggling in spite of the magic. “Can we go?” He asked, voice shaky.

“Yeah, of course.” Anders turned to Merrill with an apologetic smile. “Thank you, Merrill. I’m sorry to dash like this but-”

“Oh, don’t be silly, I’m fine. Honestly I could use a bit of time by myself now. I’m feeling the need to peel my skin off. That spell’s horrible.”

“Heh.” Fenris almost laughed.

Merrill reached out to touch his forearm again, sweet and full of care, but Fenris flinched away.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, returning his arm to where she had reached for it as though silently submitting to the touch.

“That’s okay,” Merrill said as she drew her hand back. “I was going to say, take care of yourself. That’s all.” She looked to Anders and asked, “is he staying with you?”

Anders nodded. “He is. Healing magic seems to help. We’d appreciate it if you kept that to yourself, though. We don’t want too many people to know about the spell, if we can help it.”

“Awwh, is it one of those male ego things?” Merrill asked as though the concept was adorable.

Anders steered Fenris towards the door. “Something like that. Thanks, Merrill.”

Chapter Text

Fenris was shaking by the time they reached the clinic, clearly struggling. Anders shepherded him in quickly, bolting the door behind them and shedding his coat to offer it to the elf, but Fenris was on him as soon as he turned around, his lips pressed desperately against Anders’.

“Please,” he whispered between kisses. “Please….”

Anders indulged him for a few seconds. He left his lips pliant but responsive, letting Fenris take whatever he needed and giving back the same gentle affection that his elf craved. He stroked Fenri’s hair, fingers carding in the white strands, and eventually pressed on his shoulders to push him back a little and break the kiss.

“Please what, Fenris?” he asked, forehead to forehead and full of care. “What do you need?”

Fenris pressed closer, bowing his neck to rest his head on Anders shoulders. He turned and kissed Anders neck and nape before finally and honestly answering; “I don’t know.”

“You let me know if you work it out, hmm?” Anders asked playfully before kissing Fenris again.

He had some idea, though. Healing magic and kisses and more careful, learned touches, and he started to nudge Fenris towards the back of the room. The elf murmured happily against his lips and reached down to undo Anders’ coat, but the mage stopped him, hands on his hands as he pushed back enough to speak.

“Actually, I had a thought.” He kissed Fenris briefly once more so he wouldn’t worry. “Something to make you feel better.”

Fenris almost whined. “Must we?”

“No,” Anders answered as casually as he could. “We don’t have to do anything, Fenris. I think it would benefit you, is all. More than this.”

He gave the elf another little kiss, watching him choose between the options.

“What do you want to do?” Fenris asked, a hint wary for the tiring day he’d had, but clearly wanting to trust.

Anders grinned, watching how his happiness melted some of Fenris’ reservations. “I want you to strip. I’ll be right back.”

It hadn’t escaped Anders’ notice that he hadn’t actually seen Fenris naked under good circumstances. The only time the elf had bared all was when he was maliciously prostrating himself to make Anders feel bad the previous night. Anders didn’t count that for anything, regardless of how much of the elf's gorgeous body he'd actually seen, but he wasn’t going to lie - he liked the idea of enjoying Fenris more completely, of enjoying all of him, not just his hands and lips and fingers.

It also hadn’t escaped Anders’ notice that the elf had come in exactly one set of clothes and not left his clinic in almost a week, nor stripped to bathe. While not terribly unpleasant, it was starting to become… noticeable. Especially when he had his face in Fenris’ groin, sucking him off.

Fenris glared at him mildly, but obeyed, removing his tunic, his leggings, his smalls, and setting them aside. Oh, he was beautiful. The lyrium was stunning, like vallasine, as Merrill had said, but far more remarkable. They followed the curves and planes of his muscles, even lining his cock, and Anders most definitely wanted to map every line with his lips and tongue in the very near future.

However, it was Fenris himself that really caught his attention. The markings were a beautiful addition to him, but they were worthless without the body beneath them. Thick muscles and slim limbs, not an ounce of fat or wasted space. He was… pure, somehow. There was nothing to Fenris that wasn’t powerful, or beautiful. As though he had been made that way by the Maker himself.

Or someone far less savoury, he thought with a bitter sadness and a scowl. He wasn’t going to think about that now, though.

Fenris folded his arms defensively in front of his chest, his glare taking on a genuinely irritated tint. “You told me to strip,” he argued defensively, and it took Anders a moment to realize Fenris couldn't hear this toughts and though Anders was scowling at him.

“I did,” he answered, tone and face softening. “And I’m glad for it. You’re incredible, Fenris.”

The elf pinked slightly and uncrossed his arms, fidgeting a little under the praise.

Anders grinned and kissed him once more. “Now, let’s clean you up a bit.”

He dragged a decent sized tub into the middle of the room, not terribly large nor comfortable, but it was useful for his patients and a luxury he could justify. He drew a bath of cold water from the dirty pump outside, using magic to clean and heat it. Fenris hissed beside him as he cast, and drew closer.

Anders glanced his way, confused by the sound. “Are you okay?”

“Mm.” He half-nodded. Anders wasn’t convinced.

“Do you need healing?”

Fenris shook his head, though he held his hand out to the mage as though asking for it. Anders healed him anyway, he had plenty spare today. Fenris’ reaction was normal, though a little stronger than usual considering he’d been healed recently.

“Into the water,” he gently ordered, and Fenris happily obeyed.

“Do you have soap?”

Anders was already fetching some. “Of course,” he said with a grin. “Good stuff, too. Let me.” He lightly batted Fenris’ hand away when he reached for the soap.

The elf watched him, part wary but mostly just curious, ultimately trusting the mage. Anders lathered up his hands and reached for Fenris, who offered up his arm for the mage to wash. Carefully, Anders began to massage each finger, the hand, Fenris’ wrist - Fenris tensed slightly when Anders’ own larger hand encircled it.

“S’okay,” Anders murmured, and at his own pace moved on to the warrior’s forearm instead.

The next arm, and less of a flinch this time when Anders held Fenris’ wrist to wash it, and then the mage shifted around to the elf’s back. As he spread his hands over Fenris’ skin, he marvelled at the contrast between them - Anders weathered hands were pale on the elf, even on his back, which saw so little sun. Fenris’ skin was smooth, if well-worn, and free from scars and significant blemishes - Anders most certainly could not say the same. Where Fenris’ wore heavy armour, Anders usually wore robes, and between battle and his time in the circles, he had quite the collection of scars. His back was a mess compared to the smooth expanse beneath his touch.

He reached up, washed the shoulders, the neck, kneading the muscles a little bit until Fenris slumped forward and made a low moan that was almost a purr. Anders considered a moment, thinking of how Fenris had reacted to the hands around his wrists. This had the potential to go well, or very, very badly.

Anders leaned forward until the front of his robed chest touched Fenris back, and slipped his hand very gently around Fenris’ throat as though washing it. There was no pressure to the touch, certainly not enough to be a thread, but still there was the expected little flinch, the warrior tensing in Anders' arms even as he leaned back against Anders, eyes closed as he accepted the touch.

“It’s okay, Fen,” Anders murmured and kissed his cheek, kissed his lips when Fenris turned to face him. He didn’t withdraw his hand, instead washing Fenris’ throat while the kissed, stroking it gently, feeling the muscles shift under the skin as Fenris’ mouth moved. Slowly, after a tense few seconds, he withdrew the hand, then the kisses. “See? Nothing to worry about,” he said with a smile. “Now, stand up for me.”

Fenris took a moment to catch his breath, then obediently stood. Anders moved around him, this time kneeling and re-soaping his hands. He took his time, cleaning every inch of Fenris’ torso. The muscles, the occasional small scar, the lines of lyrium that sparked excitement in him every time he saw them… not only him, he was quickly realizing. He traced them with his fingers, watching how Fenris bucked and wriggled when they were stroked. He’d avoided touching them for a while, worried that they might hurt the elf or bring up unwanted memories. He’d stuck with healing magic and petting in places Fenris had demonstrated to be safe. If he’d known this was the effect a simple touch could have on the lyrium, he would have started playing days ago.

“Does that feel good, love?”

Fenris nodded, clearly enjoying himself and a little out of breath. “Yes.”

“More?” He cupped water in his hands and rinsed the soap suds off as he waited for Fenris to answer.

The elf nodded again, gasping. “More.”

Anders grasped Fenris’ hips, gentle but firm and pressing his finger tips to as many lyrium brands as possible, and he let his magic flow through them.

The effect was instant. Fenris groaned, his knees buckled, bringing him down to sit against the edge of the tub. One of Anders hands stayed on his hip in case he needed the extra support, and the other began to explore, pumping low level healing magic as it went. Naturally, it only took him seconds to find Fenris’ impressively hard cock. His hand moved slightly, one supporting Fenris’ lower back as the other wrapped around his cock, energy flowing into both points and creating a cycle.

Magic wasn’t meant to be sustained like that. Anders had barely used anything today, but already he was feeling taxed by the energy he was giving Fenris and knew he'd have to stop if he was going to be any use to the elf later. Still, it had been fun while it lasted.

“Sit on the edge of the tub,” he instructed, aware that the elf was still perched rather precariously against it rather than settled on it. It was thrilling to watch the way his lover pushed forward, trying to get as close to Anders’ hand as possible, but he could do far more if he didn’t need to hold his lover up.

Fenris obeyed, but pouted like he’d just been scolded. “Why did you stop?”

“We’re not done, love,” Anders answered with a wink.

Both hands returned to Fenris now, stroking up his legs but getting bolder. Fenris squirmed as Anders massaged the thick muscles of his thighs, then scraped his nails back down them, heading for Fenris’ knees. The elf jerked and gasped when Anders leaned over the small tub and took Fenris in his mouth, teasing him with kisses and little licks while his hands continued to work.

“You’re perfect, Fen,” Anders murured against his thigh, pressing kisses to the sensitive skin. Fenris stilled as if distracted by the words, though that didn’t last long. He thrust again, seeking Anders mouth, but the mage pulled away with a grin. “Oops! I forgot the soap.”

Fenris groaned as he realized he was being tormented, but didn’t exactly seem to mind. He sat docile and enjoying it as Anders returned to work, the mage lathering up his hands and then stroking Fenris’ cock as he cleaned it, drawing back the foreskin, rubbing circles around the head, buffing it with his palm like was polishing the end of a staff. Then down, gently stretching and cleaning the skin of his shaft, then each tight ball, one after the other, fingering every contour. Then back further, massaging his perineum as he slipped a finger further still-

Fenris eyes snapped open and he jerked back, away from the touch. When Anders looked up at him, the elf’s green eyes were burning with anger and… betrayal?

“Hey, it’s okay.” Anders rested his hands on the edge of the bath and pushed up to kiss Fenris. “Whatever you’re worried about, Fenris, I wasn’t going to do that. It’s the same as with your throat - I’m not going to hurt you.”

Anders kissed him again, a little deeper this time. He shifted his weight to bring a hand up to the base of Fenris skull, massaging and helping the elf relax. Fenris scooted back so that he sat far more firmly on the bath, though, silently making it clear that visitors were not welcome. That was fine. Anders gave him another smile and kiss and rinsed him off.

“Come, get out of the tub. Let’s go to bed.”

Fenris obeyed, backing out of the tub on the opposite side to the mage and glaring warningly at him the whole time. Anders wasn’t one to take Fenris’ nervousness lightly, but the glaring was adorable.

Anders stripped and washed quickly while Fenris dried, casually washing everything, general ass area and all, while Fenris watched warily. Neither of them commented. Anders knew there would be a reason for Fenris’ reaction, he knew that bringing it up now wouldn’t be well received, and he knew it wasn’t personal. There was nothing he could do about it right now, other than carry on as normal (and apparently give Fenris’ ass a wide berth).

He finished his bath quickly and dried himself, shivering a little and shooting a grin to his elf, who had hidden around the corner in their nest and was only peeking out to watch the show. “Cold.”

Fenris kept his distance for a second before relenting and approaching, wrapping a blanket from the nest around Anders’ shoulders.

“Better?”

“Better.” Anders cuddled against him and shivered again. “Bed?”

Fenris nodded and pulled Anders back to their nest. Another moment of hesitation before he curled against the mage’s chest, snuggling against him, seeking something.

Anders wrapped them both up to share warmth and kissed Fenris' head sweetly. “Are you alright, love?”

Fenris nodded, still quiet.

“Do you want to tell me anything?”

“What would you like to hear?” came the automatic response.

Anders kissed him and sent a little wave of healing through him. Fenris groaned and relaxed against him involuntarily.

They lay in silence for a full minute, just listening to the world and each other’s breath, each waiting for the other to speak. Anders broke it first.

“Would you like to do anything tonight?”

Fenris shifted, moving his hand down to seek Anders’ cock.

Anders chuckled, moving to give him easier access as he kissed Fenris shoulder.

“May I return the favour?”

He reached down as he asked, knowing if he didn't take the matter into his own hands, so to speak, Fenris would say something ambiguous that would make things awkward. Fenris bucked up to meet Anders’ hand, gasping silently at the contact.

“Do you like that?” Anders asked, stroking Fenris slowly to temper the eager elf. “When I just do it? Reach for you, don’t wait for your answer… you know I’ll stop if you ask me to, don’t you?”

Fenris nodded, breathless and possibly not even hearing.

“Like I did in the bath, hmm?”

Fenris tensed, the flinch moving his hips back from Anders. He peeked up at the mage, looking hurt.

“Relax, Fenris.” Anders kissed him, hand following the movement of the elf's hips so he could continue stroking. “We’re just talking. I only meant, I stopped, didn’t I? You didn’t even have to say anything - I saw you didn’t like it, and I stopped. I care about you, Fen. I want you to feel good.”

He worked his hand faster, the pleasure intensifying with each word.

“Does that feel good?” He murmured, leaning down to nuzzle Fenris’ neck. “Tell me, pet.”

“Don’t- ah! Fenris’ breath hitched as Anders sucked the nape of his neck. “Don’t call me that.”

“Mmkay.”

More kisses, another suck, faster pace. Fenris was quickly coming undone. He groaned, surrendering himself to the simple pleasures of Anders’ hand. Anders started to move down, knowing Fenris was close and wanting his lips around that glorious cock when he reached his orgasm, but Fenris clutched his shoulders, keeping him in place.

“Don’t.”

Anders smiled at him again and sunk into a kiss. “Okay.”

More kisses. More, always more. That was how Fenris came - with a deep thrust of Anders’ tongue into his mouth, Fenris’ hands clutching him and pulling them tight together.

They stayed still, both panting slightly as they held tightly to each other.

“I’m not going anywhere, Fen,” Anders whispered against his hair. “If you want, I’ll stay right here, stark naked, all night. I’ll get a draughty arse and keep you happy.”

Fenris chuckled, still breathless, but Anders was fast becoming addicted to that low, rumbling sound.

Silence for a moment, then a soft, “why did you stop?”

“Stop what?” Anders asked. “Playing with your arse when you lurched away as though I’d just pulled your dick off?”

Fenris laughed in spite of the tension and nodded. “Yes.”

Anders couldn’t lie, the question stung. “Do you still think so badly of me?” He asked. He tried to be gentle, to not make it sound like an allegation or an argument, but he wasn’t sure it worked.

“No,” Fenris assured him. “You stopped because you’re a good person who cares about my well-being, I assume.”

“Then why ask?” He stroked Fenris back and tried to be patient.

The elf hesitated, then shrugged. “I actually meant, why did you stop using your magic, earlier,” he said. “But when you posed your alternative, I was curious as to your answer. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

There was more to it, something he wasn’t telling Anders, but the healer had never felt the need to dig out Fenris’ secrets unless it were essential to do so.

“I was tired,” he answered simply. “Casting a spell to heal someone is like swinging a sword. Maintaining it like I was earlier is more like holding that sword straight out in front of you with your arms fully extended. You can swing a sword all day, but I bet you can’t hold like that for the same amount of time.”

Fenris nodded, seemingly understanding the analogy. “Can you not use my lyrium to sustain you?”

Anders’ eyes widened a bit in surprise. He hadn’t expected Fenris to offer.

“Perhaps, but I assumed trying would hurt you. Or at least be unpleasant.” Physical sensation aside, he knew it was one of the ways Fenris had been used by Danarius.

He kissed Fenris forehead, but the elf just shrugged. “Your magic is different.”

“Yes, I meant to ask about that.” Anders propped himself up on his elbow, watching Fenris more than cuddling, now. “Merrill’s magic hurt you. That’s new, isn’t it?”

“No,” Fenris answered as though surprised Anders didn’t already know this.

“Her magic has always hurt you?”

“All blood magic has, especially when it’s… penetrative.”

Anders snickered at the word, he couldn’t help it. “You mean her digging around in your head?”

He nodded.

“But my, ah… penetrative magic.” He paused to giggle again.

“You are a child.”

“Shush, you said it.” He used his free hand to take Fenris’ chin and kissed him before continuing. “It doesn’t bother you the same way?”

“No.” That same tone as though it should be obvious, which, to be fair, it really was.

Anders stroked Fenris’ jaw casually, letting his fingers trail down a line of lyrium to the elf’s chest.

“What does my magic feel like?” he asked, suddenly curious. “I assume it’s not just a relief from pain?”

Fenris shook his head and closed his eyes, rolling onto his back to give Anders free roam of his body. “It feels like being in water, and pushed by a wave, but the wave pushes through you as well around you, and when it leaves you it takes everything bad with it. And when it doesn’t leave, when it is maintained, as you were doing earlier, it feels… like a vibration. Like the reverberation of a very deep drum.”

“Like your voice, when you moan around my cock?”

Fenris smirked. “Yes, I would imagine, something like that.”

Anders grinned at the thought. He really was quite horny, now that he thought about it. Not that he wanted a blowjob, but….

He distracted himself by casting a thread of magic into Fenris’ belly, where his hand rested, drawing from the lyrium as he did.

Fenris gasped and arched his back, pulled up like a puppet when the string is yanked.

“Sorry.” Anders smoothed his hand over the spot he’d drawn from. “Did that-?”

“More,” Fenris gasped.

Not what I expected.

“It didn’t hurt?” he checked. “What did it feel like?”

Fenris whined and silently pleaded with beautiful eyes, but Anders kissed his cheek and lay beside him, patiently waiting for an answer.

“It feels… like a pull. As though….”

He gave up after a moment of struggling and twisted to face Anders, then reached for his mouth. The mage was a little take aback - it wasn’t common for Fenris to initiate anything, let alone anything new, but he opened his mouth agreeably to let Fenris do whatever he was planning. The elf reached a finger inside, and stroked the inside of Anders cheek, drawing his finger forward towards his lips and then looking at him quizzically when the digit left his mouth.

“…Okay…” Anders said after a moment, no less confused. “I still don’t get it.”

Fenris frowned. “Do you trust me?” He asked, and Anders couldn’t exactly say ‘no’ considering how much faith he asked from the elf.

“Sure.”

Fenris glowed, his hand shifting, lit with lyrium.

“Wait-”

The same finger slid into Anders’ belly, around the same place Anders had drawn from Fenris.

The sensation was overwhelming - his immediate thoughts all ultimately lead to “bad” “wrong” “out” “stop” and similar sentiments of blind panic. However, when he thought about it, the sensation itself was not unpleasant. It felt as wrong as an encounter with a demon… there was something resoundingly wrong about it, it screamed through his whole body that there was a finger in his stomach that most definitely shouldn’t be there. But physically? It just felt… strange. Like any other invasion, like the finger had felt in his mouth, or like being the penetrated one in sex.

It wasn’t a pleasant sensation, only because it was terrifying and unexpected and wrong, but as Fenris slightly hooked his finger and slowly drew it out, Anders sort of thought he could imagine what Fenris had been experiencing. A sensation almost like suction, but electricity at the same time. Tingling, tickling, stroking, pulling, deep and all at once in a unique way. If Anders compared it to anything it would be to the draw of a lovers finger hooked and dragging against his prostate. The same sensation, admittedly less pleasant, but more intense than anything he'd felt before.

“Do you feel it?” Fenris asked as he shifted back to normal.

He looked worried, Anders realized, as though he had just now realized Anders might not have enjoyed that. Anders had said he trusted Fenris, and true enough the elf hadn’t hurt him- Anders giggled. It had only just then occurred to him that Fenris could have killed him just then. Well, he could always kill Anders easily with his phasing abilities, but he could have done it just then by accident, had his focus or judgement failed him.

“Anders?”

“Yes,” the mage answered as he re-gained his breath. “I think I feel it. It’s… intense.”

Fenris nodded, studying his mage. “Neither pleasant nor unpleasant, but intense, as you say. Deep. And exclusive to you.”

“Yeah…wait- what?” Anders had been nodding along to the explanation, still trying to wrap his brain around what he’d just experienced. “Exclusive to me? You mean because it doesn't hurt?”

Another nod from the elf as he cuddled against his mage. “It feels quite different when others do it, I assure you.”

“Heh.”

Anders didn’t ever want to know what being finger-fucked in the stomach would feel like if Danarius did it, he couldn’t imagine Fenris’ experiences would be any more pleasant. He kissed the crown of Fenris’ head, the gesture as gentle as he could make it while still actually touching him. He’d never felt as intensely protective for any one person as he did for his elf.

“You never finished,” Fenris mumbled as his hands started roaming again.

“True… though I’m not sure I need to.”

“I need to.” Fenris fingers couldn’t have found his cock faster if they’d been guided by a homing spell.

Anders laughed. “You need to, hmm?”

“Mmhmm.”

Fenris’ hand came back up to Anders’ shoulders and he rolled them together so he practically sat over Ander’s hips, kissing the mage deeply as he went, almost aggressively again. Anders wasn’t sure what had caused the shift, though he was hardly going to complain if Fenris became more assertive. He didn’t mind either way, but it was a pleasure to see the elf growing more confident with him.

Fenris ground down against him, rubbing their erections together. The weight was a little off, Fenris clearly hadn’t done much of his before, so Anders shifted and held his lover’s hips to move him into a better position for what he was doing. Well... a better position for rubbing against each other in fun ways. He knew that wasn't actually what was on Fenris' mind.

Again, like in the bath, Fenris flinched back when Anders touched him, breaking the kiss with a flash of worry in his eyes.

“Sorry, love.” Anders released the hips and stroked them instead. “I’m not going to-” he leaned up to give him a kiss, peppered between the words “-do anything.”

Fenris’ lips followed his down to resume kissing, hips rocking again, again shifting forward. Fenris neglected his own cock and reached down to stroke Anders again, but flinched as Anders bucked up against the touch.

It was at the forefront of Fenris’ mind, Anders thought. The thing he didn’t want to do. Now he was seeing every move as an attempt to achieve it. That's why he was being more assertive, he was tring to take control of something he feared and every time Anders looked like he might be encroaching on that control, it was a threat.

He could hold still no longer so, denied the option of thrusting, Anders reached down and wrapped his own hands around both of them, lightly trapping Fenris' erection and his still-stroking hand together so that with each movement, they were both being rubbed on all sides.

Fenris gasped and fell forward, shaking slightly at the sensation.

“Too sensitive?” Anders casually asked, pretending that was the only reason why Fenris hadn't been touching himself.

Anders cast another healing spell, this one moving through him as well. He wouldn't lie, it was a nice sensation, a pleasant warmth through his cock, though Fenris clearly got more from it that Anders himself.

“Don’t-” Fenris gasped, so close to his second orgasm. “I wanted-”

“Hush,” he said and kissed the elf again, knowing full well why Fenris was trying to stop him, what he had actually planned instead of this. Fenris relaxed at the command, melted into the kiss, so Anders guided the elf's face against his neck and whispered reassurance and encouragement to him as he cast again and again, stroking them both to completion.

Fenris slumped on his chest, limp and sprawled and drained from his second orgasm. Anders stroked the ejaculate from his hands onto the damp cloth he’d used to dry himself, and pulled a blanket up over Fenris’ shoulders. The elf was so incredibly sensitive to the feeling of soft and well-worn wool against him. To the feeling of everything, really.

“That wasn’t….” Fenris curled up a bit and shifted to Anders’ side. “That was amazing. Thank you. But it wasn’t what I… had in mind.”

“I know.”

Fenris glanced at him, surprised and a touch wary. “You…know?”

“I can tell when someone’s lining up my cock, Fenris,” he teased gently. “You’re not ready. I’m not ready. I didn't want to do it.”

Fenris scowled slightly. “But you do want to do it.”

“I will want to do it,” Anders clarified and kissed Fenris’ forehead, above the nose where the frown creased him. “When you’re ready.”

“I was-” Fenris interrupted himself, scowl deepening. He flopped his head back onto Anders shoulder with a little growl.

Anders chuckled and stroked his back with a kind, warm hand over the blankets. “Sleep, Fenris.” He kissed his head again. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

Fenris woke feeling warm, and there was no pain from his infernal markings. Even after so much time had passed, he still expected to wake in pain, but hands were moving over him and healing magic soaked into each and every inch of his body, and his lyrium brands hummed pleasantly. So gentle, those hands, radiating an incredible feeling of comfort, like the kindest of sensations, one that could penetrate every part of him.

"Good morning, Fenris," a gentle voice whispered, and there was more of that exquisite feeling. He basked in it for a moment, and then he remembered. His Mage.

Anders.

He opened his eyes with a small amount of habitual wariness. He wanted to trust this man more than he could say, but the threat of it was too clear and painful to ignore. He found his Mage pouting at him, expression playful but eyes sincere.

"You looked so relaxed in your sleep. I want that back," he lamented.

Fenris tried to relax and admitted: "I slept well."

It had the desired effect. Anders settled a bit and didn't look so sad at the loss of that peaceful sleep, and Fenris settled in turn.

Anders stroked his face lightly and continued: "you seemed to. Sleep well, I mean. You've been sleeping deeper for a while now... even with yesterday being a bad day. Does this mean the spell is fading?" There was such hope in his voice.

Fenris was loath to disappoint him, but he couldn't lie. He shook his head. "No," he apologized. "The spell is just as present as it's ever been. Though…." He shifted, rolled his shoulders habitually. “It’s becoming like an old injury that heals badly, now. It’s still present, but I’m getting used to it.”

And of course, his Mage slumped. "Oh. But...you seemed to be doing so much better!" His protests were sad and childish as though that would change anything, like a little boy whining that rough treatment is unfair.

Fenris sought a way to assuage that sadness, even though a part of him knew he should be irritated by the whining man. But it was getting harder to listen to that part of himself. He felt a small twist of anxiety at the thought of losing it, that losing anything could mean that the spell was succeeding in wearing him away until there was nothing of him left. Perhaps losing his hatred for this man meant Danarius was succeeding, that the spell had done what it was supposed to do and he was reverting back to his old slavish self, accepting whatever behaviour a mage displayed.

But no. Anders was right-

Even thinking it still made him shudder. Part of him, in the back of his mind. The part that still screamed and thrashed against invisible bonds, blind with terror at going back. He didn’t want to be that man, either.

-and it made far more sense that they had simply found a way to negate the spell. It was detrimental to a master for his slave to bond with another, it made no sense for Danarius to do this intentionally if he still wished to reclaim Fenris one day.

Lips brushed his hairline, and he tilted to meet them, loving the taste of the human. He always tasted oddly sour, though not unpleasantly, more like peasant bread. A strange thing to adore, but he did.

Another wave of healing magic, and Fenris curled into the pleasure, like a blanket. Anders did know how hard it was for him, and he was working in turn to help relax him. Fenris reminded himself of that care a few more times and made himself remember that Anders was his healer, was taking care of him, had taken care of him for a week now. The man’s gentle fingers stroked through his hair, soothing him like none other could, like no one had since Danarius. The thought made him shudder, but there was an undeniably pleasure in it. That was the part of the spell he hated the most. The part that loved those touches, the petting. Feeling owned.

"I miss him,” Fenris stated without really meaning to. “I miss my place at his side."

He could almost feels Anders eyes widen at that statement. "And… you're getting used to that now?" Anders practically squawked.

Annoyance and endearment warred. "No, fool," he teased with only a little vitriol, and it wasn't truly aimed at his Mage.

"Then what?" Anders asked before Fenris could elaborate. "Fen, I'm not trying to be difficult, I'm trying to understand."

Fenris bit back the urge to point out that he would have answered had the mage paused to let him, and he chose his words carefully. Anders, seeming to understand, falling silent to focus on his petting hands.

“The spell… with time, I can feel it more clearly, as though it is a separate entity. When I’ve been…without, for a while…” he paused to nuzzle Anders for a moment, hoping that communicated his meaning well enough, because he wasn’t sure himself what that really meant. Without healing? Closeness? Something his mage gave that the spell liked - that was the best way Fenris could define it. “When the spell becomes agitated, it takes over more and more….”

Anders nodded and petted his hair, and Fenris pressed into the touch slightly. He couldn’t tell his mage that he wanted the touch, but he could show him, and Anders always understood, always gave more.

“You said before that it felt like being possessed.”

Fenris nodded, wary of making the comparison and causing a fight, but it seemed relevant. “I’ve seen similar behaviour in m-” he hesitated, considering for a split second. “-Magisters, sometimes, who had made deals with rage demons. As though every living being is their enemy, and the Magister need to fight them all.”

Anders nodded again, thinking over what Fenris told him. “You were going to say ‘mages,’ weren’t you?”

His mage knew him enough that it unsettled him at times. He still wasn’t sure they were friends… dependency did not equate to friendship, and in Fenris’ experience is only lead to one person vulnerable to another.

“Yes.”

“But you changed it to ‘Magisters’ to keep me happy?”

Not quite accurate, but he didn’t want to correct his mage, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to offer more insight than necessary into his thoughts. “Yes.”

Anders petted his hair again, gifting Fenris the familiar feeling of a heavy, human hand on him. Pleased, not painful.

“A rage demon wouldn’t do that,” Anders assured him. “So I doubt you actually are possessed.”

“I know I’m not,” Fenris assured him. “If the spell is sentient, then… I think it’s parts of myself. Not a demon.”

Anders kissed his forehead, something Danarius had never done, which always helped settle some part of him. Silently, Anders’ seemed to bid him to continue with his explanation, apparently knowing Fenris’ hadn’t finished, but had in fact been side-tracked. Would anyone else have noticed, he wondered? Was it normal for people to sense those things? When others had something to say, or were done? He’d always sensed it, but he was a slave, slaves who couldn’t predict their master’s thoughts and moods didn’t live long. Anders did it… was that because he’d been a circle mage? He often compared the circles to slavery. The thought had always disgusted Fenris. Anders had no idea what it was like, he blasphemed to make that comparison. But was that why he could predict Fenris’ thoughts so well? Why he understood the cravings the spell evoked, why he knew the best ways to settle his mind? Or was it because he was a healer? Or just because he was a mage?

Another kiss to Fenris’ forehead, gently tugging him out of his thoughts. “Did you have something else to say, love?”

Love.

He said it so easily, as though he’d say it to anyone.

Anders’ continued; “you were saying something about, when the spell is agitated it’s like being possessed by a demon, but..?”

“But when it’s calm, it’s… still present, but a very different entity. A desire…no. A longing. An ache, somewhere deep, touched only by magic and lyrium. Like mourning. It craves to go back, as though Danarius was a lover.”

“Heh.”

Anders hands moved all over him. Arms and back and his head were all touched, stroked, it was constant. It would have been torture if Danarius was doing it, it was completely different, so why was Danarius' spell so assuaged if Anders wasn't right and they weren't circumventing the spell? Surely this was alright. Liking it was alright, if it wasn't what Danarius had intended.

“It… longs for him,” Fenris continued reluctantly. “To return to him. To how things were. To be at my master’s side, to be his slave again. To be good for him, to be wanted by him. To be safe in the knowledge that he’s pleased with me.”

The spell ached. Not Fenris’ own heart, he would never long for that. But the spell... the spell ached at the quiet confession, at the longing evoked by the truth of the words. Anders was always there with a steady trickle of magic to soothe his sadness. Fenris held his breath and tried to lose himself in that incredible feeling, wrapped in his mage, and admitted;

“…but the desires of the spell are no longer exclusively for Danarius.”

His mage’s breath caught, his heart thudded under Fenris’ ear. He chose his words carefully. “Fen… are you saying the spell is fixed on me, now?”

That was exactly what he meant, and he had told his mage this willingly, but in spite of everything his fear bubbled up and he growled without meaning to.

“I have no desire for you to enslave me, mage.” He pushed back and looked up at Anders with a warning in his eyes. “Banish the thought before I rip it out of your head.”

Even as he spoke the words, he regretted them. Danarius would have visited a horrific punishment upon him for that. Anders would be hurt by it. Neither were favourable thoughts.

But Anders didn’t flinch, didn’t tense, didn’t glare or turn angry or even seem saddened, besides the melancholy that always hung in the back of his eyes. When he spoke again it was with the same soothing tone and gentle touches, his words chosen for Fenris and not himself.

“I wouldn’t want to do that, love. Even if you did want it. Just like last night. I wouldn’t even entertain the thought of doing it if I knew it could hurt you, and I know a relationship like that would hurt you. Or, well, anyone, really. Even a consensual one… I’m not sure that would ever be good for you.”

Fenris had settled as Anders spoke so that now he rested his ear against he mage’s chest and accepted the touches to his arms and hair when they returned. Anders shifted Fenris up a bit to kiss his head again, and he left his lips pressed against the elf’s hair as he continued.

“But that is what you’re saying, isn’t it?” he clarified gently. “The spell yearns to serve, to have rules and understand those rules and what is expected of you. It wants to be appreciated, loved, protected, for following those rules. The life of a slave, but given freely and revoked at will. Your will, of course, no one else's. And you want that with me.”

Yes. Exactly that.

Maker, no. Never.

He didn’t want it. He truly didn’t. But Anders words resonated so deeply that Fenris felt it everywhere. His heart and cock both filled with excitement at those words and the potential they held, and he hated, hated, that the spell had reduced him to this. And all of it laced with the same blind panic that threatened to overwhelm him just as surely as the want. Where did he end, and the spell begin? Was the longing for Anders his, but the longing for Danarius not? Were both his own, or neither? The desire to kill them both and be done with it… was that him, or the part of the spell that made him think of rage demons? The desire to run and never stop? To be held and never released?

“Answer me, Fenris,” came his mage’s gentle words.

He tried, but the best he could manage was a huff in frustration.

Anders gave a soft, fond-sounding chuckle and kissed Fenris’ head, face buried in the white strands of his hair. “With words, love.”

The endearment almost broke him. His words shook as he answered. “I don’t want it, but….”

That was enough for Anders, it seemed. “I think I understand,” he reassured Fenris. More magic, or maybe more intense. Regardless, it felt good. “And I won’t abuse it. I hope you already know and trust that.”

Fenris wasn’t sure trusted it, but he had heard it enough times that he was starting to become comfortable with it. He nodded, and surrendered at least for a moment to the sweet bliss of just being held and petted by his mage. This was safe. Anders wanted it, the mage enjoyed this, so it was safe to enjoy it too. There was no pain, no teasing, no degradation, no shame, not for either of them. Both partook in it simply because they enjoyed it. It was baffling to Fenris in its simplicity, he felt like a child with a simple ball, trying to find the latch to open it, not understanding that it was just a ball. Could it really be so simple? That Anders treated him so kindly, purely because he wanted to? Because he enjoyed Fenris' pleasure?

Almost as soon as he began to relax, he also began to remember. Fleeting images and sounds and moments, every other time he’d surrendered and trusted his Master and had been hurt for it. It was always part of the game, some way to relax him or make him love his Master, some way to make him want whatever Danarius was going to force on him. This would be no different.

Except that as he thought that, every other time with Anders returned. Not all at once like the spell forced memories of Danarius upon him, but trickling in sequentially like a story playing out. Not once in the time they’d been together had Anders betrayed him like that, even the times Fenris assumed he had, and had snapped at him to protect himself. Anders had been patient, he’d been gentle, even when he was angry. He’d never hurt Fenris, never used magic to set his marking on fire as Danarius had when he was displeased. Anders was different.

“Anders… may I make a request?” Fenris asked for the first time since he’d first come to him.

He could feel his mage grin against his hair. “Of course, Fenris.” His tone was indulgent, praising him for asking.

Fenris’ chose his words carefully, not out of fear of punishment, but a genuine desire to do this right. He didn’t know if that was the spell wanting to please its master or just he himself wanting this to go well, but he cared less the less he thought about it.

“Might I ask that we re-negotiate one of our rules?”

“Which one?” Anders asked, though before Fenris could answer the mage carried on. “I mean, we don’t have many. I stop if you ask me to, you stop if I ask you to, you don’t phase-crush my heart… which, can we add a new one? No more surprise phase anything? Because I’m still not sure I’m okay with that finger thing you did yesterday.”

A fragment of Fenris was horrified that he’d displeased Anders, but he flicked it away and chuckled. Anders tone was light, he clearly wanted Fenris to be amused, not afraid. “That is a reasonable request.”

“Oh good.” Anders kissed his head again and rubbed the back of his neck, warm human fingertips massaging away his tension. “Sorry, love, I didn’t mean to speak over you. What did you want to re-negotiate?”

Fenris’ hand skimmed down over the Mage’s body, resting just above Ander’s hipbone on the curve of his stomach. “I… feel you have put restrictions on me… on my, ah… pleasing you….” He fumbled with the words, hating how awkward he sounded, but Anders laughed softly. Not cruel, not mocking him, merely endeared by Fenris’ efforts. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but was hardly sure how he felt about anything these days, so it was hardly amiss.

Anders moved his head down so their faces were side by side, and in a low tone that shot straight to Fenris’ groin he asked, “do you want to suck my cock, Fenris?”

Yes, master.

Don’t.

It was an instinct, a reflex, nothing more. Like jerking back from an unexpectedly hot iron. But the desire lingered, so strong and close to the surface that he could barely hold it back, let along say something else. The words filled his mouth, tasted sweet, but his lips – and only his lips – kept them back. He couldn’t say it - half of him screamed with the need to, the other half screamed to do anything but.

“Answer me, Fenris,” Anders prompted, his tone lower still, harder, more commanding, and Fenris couldn’t help it.

“Yes, Master.” The words were barely audible, they fought so hard to get out there there was no life in them when they escaped, but escape they did.

As soon as the words had passed his lips, he felt a monumental shift. It was as if something inside him had died, and something else set free. As if the spell between Anders' words and Fenris’ desire had been broken. His mage’s arms and hands had stilled around his body, holding him loosely as Anders’ heart thundered so hard Fenris could feel it in his cheek. Horrible, horrible dread flooded him. His mage was displeased. Or maybe he wasn’t, and he was trying to calm his excitement so as not to frighten his little wolf. Fenris wasn’t sure which thought was worse.

“Fenris, I, ah…”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

“Wait.” Anders cut him off and drew back, silencing further words with a brief kiss. “We’ll talk more about this later, okay? I’m not saying no, love. Yes, in fact, I’m… okay, we’ll talk about that in a minute. But Fenris?”

“Yes?” Fenris mumbled to show he’d heard his mage, but couldn’t meet his eyes.

Anders kissed him again and then let him hide his head under Anders’ chin. “Don’t ever call me that again. Alright?”

“I didn’t mean it that way, Anders.”

“I know, love.” More kisses, touching, a tiny wave of magic. “But I already lie awake at night wondering if I’m just as bad as Danarius, if I’m taking advantage of something. I know you say I’m not, and I know you want this, and I know it helps, and I even understand what you’re saying about the desire to serve and return and… okay, we’re going to talk about that later, too, because that’s a big subject, but….”

He paused to catch his breath and kiss Fenris’ head again, and in spite of everything Fenris felt so safe there.

“If you want to call me something to show respect, when acknowledging something like just now, you can call me Healer, alright? It’s my title, it’s different from others you’ve… yeah, we’ll talk about that. And it’s something I’m proud of, that I actually want to be respected and acknowledged for. Something I can hear and not feel like a complete bastard. Alright?”

Fenris nuzzled Anders’ collarbone and nodded. “Yes, Healer,” he reluctantly tested, but Anders relaxed at the words instead of tensing up. And, to Fenris own relief, he felt his own desires stirring again at the words.

Anders’ fingers curled under Fenris’ chin and lead him up into a kiss, the healer’s lips capturing Fenris’ own and loving them so well that Fenris’ went from dread and shame to nothing but pleasure in moments.

“As for that other thing,” Anders murmured against Fenris’ lips. “Yes. If it’s genuinely something you want to do with me and not just to please the memory of him, then yes.”

“I never wanted to do it with him,” Fenris blurted. It seemed important, like there was another meaning to the words that he was trying to find. “I never wanted to do that with him.”

“Maybe that’s why you like it so much with me?” Anders pondered, easily finding the meaning that had evaded Fenris. “You give something freely to me that he had to take by force. And I don't exactly hide how much I enjoy it. Everyone enjoys giving gifts that are well received.”

Now permitted, Fenris started trailing kisses down his Healer’s body, seeking the slim curves and angles that he was growing to love and letting his mage ramble.

“And it makes sense that a desire to serve and be enjoyed would translate to a desire to suck someone off... I've felt that. I know it's not the same, I'm not comparing.”

He stopped talking to moan as Fenris lapped at one of Anders' nipples, then sucked and gently bit down, testing the mage's sensitivity, how much he liked each sensation. The healer's hand lightly stroked Fenris' hair, and Fenris happily responded by doing it again. Anders always seemed to enjoy a rougher touch than Fenris assumed he would. He all but cried out as Fenris sucked harder on his skin, leaving it swollen when Fenris' mouth left it to pleasure the other nipple instead.

“You love gentle touches,” Anders continued, stroking Fenris' hair lightly. “I need to- oh, Maker, that feels good. I need to play with that a bit more. I bet I could make you come from a feather-light touch and a few kind words.”

Fenris’ erection throbbed and wept in agreement.

“But you also like being… well, I shouldn’t say it, it’ll ruin the mood… although I suppose now that I’ve brought it up, I have to say soooooohhhhnevermind.” His words gave way to panting as Fenris’ mouth plunged down over his cock, swallowing him greedily.

Emboldened by his Healer's pleasure, Fenris nudged and rolled Anders until he was laying on his back, spread and open to Fenris and his touches. He took his time this morning, moreso than usual, He had missed this, the taste and feel of his human's cock in his mouth, heavy on his tongue and dragging lightly on his teeth. Danarious would have ripped his teeth out if he'd done that with the Magister, but Anders loved it, he loved the gentle scrape on his shaft, though it was a little too much on his head. The head of his cock much preferred the tip of the elf's tongue, soft but firm as it explored Anders' slit tip or ran in circles around the dome.

“Fuck, Fen, I'm so-”

He stopped as the healer started panting, replacing his mouth with his hands and calming touches, shifting up to kiss Anders as he drew back from the edge. It was enthralling to see how readily Anders surrendered himself to this. He was so vulnerable right now, eyes closed and head thrown back, throat bared as Fenris moved over him. Fenris could kill him if he wished it, he could hurt him in any number of ways before the healer could react. Was Anders unaware? Or did he simply trust Fenris? Fenris had no desire to hurt his mage, but did Anders know that enough to trust his life to him?

Anders laughed as Fenris ended the kiss. “Oh, that's what we're doing?” He asked lightly. “You're teasing me?”

“I'm....” what? He hadn't even thought about it, he was simply enjoying it. He was playing, improvising, doing what the thought Anders would enjoy. “Do you want me to... do something else?”

Anders grinned and reached up to take the elf's face in his hand and kissed him passionately, smiling when they drew apart. “I love you like this,” Anders encouraged him. “I love being able to lay back and enjoy it. Sometimes, of course, all good sex is give and take, but- fuck, Fenris, just keep doing whatever you like, love, I'm enjoying it.”

Fenris' felt the healer's cock twitch with those words, and he began to stroke faster again, kissing Anders deeply until his lips contorted in a moan and Fenris was doing nothing more than pumping his erection and kissing his bottom lip as he was lost to pleasure. Then he stopped again.

“Fen...” Anders whine lightly, kissing him again. He didn't seem to be genuinely bothered in spite of the sound. Fenris knew how torturous this could be if kept going for too long, but for now, Anders seemed to still be enjoying it.

Another kiss, deeper, and then he began to litter kisses over the mage’s cheek and jaw. Neck, shoulders… Anders had very sensitive collarbones, Fenris was discovering. He suckled on the skin pulled taught over them, and the mage’s hips bucked up with another deep moan. Down further until his lips were in the light trail of hair, leading down to where he suspected his mage truly wanted his mouth, but, growing bolder still, his fingers left the mage’s cock all together and started to roam, as did his kisses. Over the fuzzy hair of Anders’ stomach and pubis, soft compared to the thicker hairs on his legs and chest. Over his ribs - too prominent - and his hips. Fenris squeezed Anders’ hip-bone to keep him in place as he licked the based of his erection, nipping with his lips at the straining skin. Anders writhed, fully consumed by his pleasure.

“Fen,” he gasped. “Fuck… Maker’s… ohhh.”

Fenris grinned and abandoned Anders’ groin to kiss his inner thigh instead, and his hand reached back to massage the muscle of his ass. Anders seemed to enjoy that, he tensed the muscles playfully in Fenris hands and giggled, then shifted to allow Fenris easier access to his underside.

Innocently curious in some ways, vengeful in others, one of Fenris’ hands circled the base of Anders cock, stroked once, and then dropped to fondle his balls. The other gripped his ass for a moment longer. Then, both of them began moving together, one hand sliding the mage’s ass cheeks apart and the other tentatively exploring the same puckered entrance the mage had been so interested in the night before, in the bath.

To Fenris surprise, Anders groaned and shifted further down in the bed and bunched a blanket under his hips. The position pushed his legs wider apart, giving Fenris complete, unashamed access to him.

Trapped between perverse fascination, lust, and a desire to please this man, his fingers continued. Unsure of what to do he followed the only guideline he had for such a thing, and soon he was wriggling his dry fingertip into Anders' ass.

The mage winced just a little, his body tensing away from the touch, but he chuckled and peeked down at Fenris with a smile, assuaging his concern before it could begin.

“Hang on, love. I’ve got some oil around here somewhere.” He rolled over to seek it, taking his body away from Fenris’ hands.

Hands.

Until then, it hadn't been such a prevalent thought. But now it was all he could think about - Danarius hands, Danarius fingers, dry and rough and then slick with spit and then the pain as he split Fenris open, and the damned magic that always went with it. He curled back against the wall while Anders’ back was to him, any interest he had in sex vanishing in an instant.

“Fen?”

“It’s nothing.”

Don’t lie to your master.

He’s not my master.

Healing magic nearly brought him to tears. Anders was beside him again, arms wrapped around him as the magic seemed to fill him up.

“Okay, love,” Anders murmured against his hair. “It’s nothing. Do you want to tell me about it anyway?”

Anders let go with one hand as he spoke and moved a blanket to cover his lap, hiding his incredibly hard and wholly unsatisfied erection.

“Let me finish,” Fenris mumbled and tried to move out of the embrace, but the hand Anders had covered himself with blocked Fenris from doing so.

“Wait-”

“Please, Anders.” Fenris let his hair fall between them and closed his eyes so he wouldn’t see the worry in his Healer’s eyes. So that his Healer wouldn’t see how much it broke him to beg. “I can’t explain it, but- please. Please, I need to.”

Anders nodded and sat back, taking the oil away with him as though silently forbidding Fenris from trying anything like that again. Fine with him.

He slid down on Ander’s cock, mouth and both of his hands and all of his passion. Anders groaned and lay back completely so that his hands could come up resting gently on Fenris’ hair. He almost flinched, it was a habit, but he knew if he did those hands would recede, and Anders’ touches had always been gentle, always excited him. He wanted them, even if he wasn’t ready to admit it out lout. He cherished the way his mage’s fingers stroked his head and delicately traced his ears while they did this, always so controlled and careful even with Fenris working hard to bring him to his blissful fall. Most men became rougher when they were so close to their peak. His Healer became ever-gentler.

“I’m close, love,” Anders panted as though it wasn’t obvious. “Oh, Maker. Oh, Fenris….”

Anders’ drained himself down the elf’s throat with one shaky hand ghosting over his hair and the other resting lightly on his jaw. As Anders started descending from his orgasmic high, the touches became more solid, petting Fenris as though the mage now trusted himself again.

“Are you alright, love?” Anders asked, still breathless.

Fenris released the mages flesh from his mouth and nuzzled the joint where Anders’ thigh met his crotch. “Perfectly.”

His Mage chuckled and tugged his hand. “Come here.”

Of course Fenris obeyed, returning to Anders’ arms. The Healer kissed him, stroked his cheek, kissed him again. He looked drained, content. Moreso than normal, though Fenris couldn't be sure.

"Mmmm," he hummed hazily, happily. "I don't know which is better - relaxing this way at the end of the day, or starting the day like this. Maker, you're amazing."

The compliment came easily and felt good when he heard it. Fenris gave a polite laugh and curled against his Mage's side, trying to ignore... everything, really. Everything that wasn't this, right now.

An arm rested around him and loose petting began again. A few minutes of silence passed as Anders breath steadied, and at last: "you could have carried on there, you know."

"What do you mean?"

"With your fingers. I quiet enjoy that." There was no shame in the admission, Anders made it easily. The same mixture of interest, uneasiness, and desire stirred within Fenris at those words. "Just not dry," he added. "It gets very uncomfortable without something to ease the entry."

A fact Fenris knew all too well. He flinched at the memories, drawing away from Anders touch, but his Mage was there with gentle words and waves of healing magic.

"When you're ready, Fen," he reassured him fondly with a kiss to the top of his hair. "In the meantime, I’ll enjoy everything else you do. You’re incredible. You're a blessing in a prickly package. I'm glad I have you here with me and I'm happy to go at the pace you set."

Another small war as the words sunk in. The praise felt like a patch of sunshine on an otherwise overcast day, and Fenris wanted nothing more than to curl up in it and bask and stay there forever in the warmth of his Mage's kindness. But there was more, tainting it. The disgust at himself for wanting it. The fear of what accepting it would represent. Even shame at having allowed his fears to keep him from properly pleasing his Mage, and a small desire to coax Anders to hardness again so he could do as he'd been encouraged.

He didn't voice any of it. He lay, still and quiet, and he basked in the safe parts of Anders’ care.

Eventually the first sounds of the world permeated their solitude and Anders stretched, yawned, and rose.

Chapter Text

Fenris was content. Patients came and went, a few more than yesterday though not many, and his Healer seemed happy without being stressed by his work load. That was, at least, until a man arrived who made Anders look around anxiously around the room before ducking to the corner with him. Not a Templar… Fenris watched, worried for his Healer as they spoke quietly. By the time the man left, Anders looks deeply concerned.

“Trouble?” Fenris stepped behind the Healer’s shoulder, eager to help with whatever issue had so unsettled him.

“Yes….” Anders turned, reserved. “I’m…. It’ll be fine.” He gave Fenris a tight smile. “I’ll sort it out.”

“No. What’s wrong?”

Anders looked taken aback by Fenris’ insistence. Fenris surprised himself, if he was honest. He’d felt strangely for the mage, but the strength of his desire to hunt down the man who had upset him and punch him through the throat surprised him.

“Umm….” Anders glanced about the clinic again, and then his eyes met Fenris’ own. “There’s a young man in Lowtown I was trying to help. But Templars got to him before I did.”

Fenris sneered. He’d almost forgotten the work Anders used to do, before Fenris’ own dilemma had distracted him. “An apostate.”

“Yes.” Anders bristled defensively. “A good man. His wife, also an apostate, started to dabble with blood magic. Fearing for what she might do, he turned her in to a Templar he thought he could trust. His wife escaped, and he was arrested instead. Now, they are painting him as a cohort, and abomination. They plan to make an example of him.”

Fenris tried to keep his tone steady, even if it was still full of contempt. “With the rite of Tranquility?” he asked, slightly disappointed in himself when he sounded eager.

Any joy the idea brought him dissipated when he saw the hurt in Anders eyes, the way they shone brighter suddenly.

“Yes.”

Fenris remembered Karl, and the way Anders had looked at him before he died. Whatever his views on other mages, on the man his mage was set to rescue, he resolved to do his best not to hurt his Healer further.

“I’ll not stop you,” Fenris assured him.

“Actually, I was hoping you’d help.”

“Anders….”

The human rushed out the words nervously.

“Look, I know.” Anders started to pace. “I’m not keen on it either, Fenris. But I can’t just disappear and leave you here, and I can’t really take any of the others with me without risking them finding out about you….”

“You would go alone?”

“Well, no, or at least I’d rather not,” Anders said. “I could die and all that.”

That was unacceptable. “Then I’ll accompany you.”

Anders perked, eyes still brighter than normal, but grinning wide. “You will?”

Fenris gave a reserved nod. “I will. For you. Not for him.”

“Well, I don’t believe in the Maker, so I can hardly ask for miracles,” Anders said with that same love-struck, dopey grin. He leaned in to kiss his elf. “Thank you.”

Fenris grunted slightly and nodded. “You’re welcome.”

-x-

Fenris sulked the whole way, or at least that was how it seemed to Anders.

“Are you alright?” Anders asked more than once.

“Fine.” Always the same steely response, and a growl in his tone that made Anders instinctively want to heal him. Or never heal him again, after the third iteration.

The fifth time he asked, Fenris didn’t answer, instead asking, “where will we be finding this… man.” Somehow he managed to make even that sound like an insult, as though he’d taken every other foul word he wanted to call him put all of the venom into the word his ‘master’ wanted to hear.

Anders bit his tongue and answered. “My contact will get him into an empty home through a passage, we’re to meet them there and escort him into the sewers. From there, we can lead him to the coast.”

“And after that?”

Anders hesitated, not sure he wanted Fenris to know. “There will be a boat waiting for him.”

“To take him where?”

“I don’t know,” Anders half-lied. “I never know, in case they capture me one day and make me Tranquil. This way I can’t give them up if I’m taken.”

Fenris grunted, apparently annoyed by Anders’ ignorance. Anders ignored him.

“We’re here.”

They stopped at the door and double-checked the frame. Three tiny notches were cut, two close together and one higher up, lined with the eyes, nose-tip and upper lip of Anders’ friend in the gallows, who happened to be the same height as Anders himself. It was an arbitrary identifier, but then the ones that went unnoticed the longest usually were. Anders checked that the coast was clear, then began to scratch quietly on the door.

“Why are you scratching?”

“Keep your voice down” Anders hissed. “I can hardly knock, can I?”

The area was packed, surely Fenris realised they had to keep quiet. Those in the house would hear the sound as it echoed through the wood, but others nearby would not. At least, no one had in the last few escapes Anders had assisted with, and he could only hope that luck held out for at least one trip more.

Sure enough, the door opened a crack, then wider, revealing a man about their age. He shook in the shadow, his eyes looked sunken into their sockets, the rings around them were so severe.

“A-are you the healer?” The man stammered. He glanced to Fenris and recoiled, eyes down like a dog trying to avoid a fight. The poor man looked ready to buckle under his own weight.

“I am,” Anders told him. “Are you Swarek?” The man nodded without looking up. “This is my friend, Fenris. We’re going to take to the boat now.”

Another nod from the man and he stepped out into the street with them, glancing nervously up and down the road.

“Come,” Anders bid, and rested a hand on Swarek’s shoulder to guide him.

Fenris, to his credit, was nothing but professional. He made no snide comments, asked no insensitive questions. He walked a step behind the man and stayed alert, his keen senses constantly watching for danger, even in the moments when Anders relaxed. If Anders didn’t already know Fenris was trained as a bodyguard, he would have assumed it after his showing tonight.

Anders wished he could say things were calm and quiet, that they found their way out with no difficulty, but that would be a lie.

“Swaaaaaaaareeeeeeeek.”

The man yelped and ducked down, uselessly covering his head. The voice - woman’s voice, soft and high - laughed at his cries, the sound echoing through the sewers.

“What is it, dear heart?” The voice continued. Anders and Fenris scanned the passage, back to back as they looked for the owner of the voice. “You’re not afraid of your own wife, surely.”

“I’m sorry,” the man whimpered. “Liret, I’m sorry, I though they could-”

She was beside him in an instant, materializing in with a knife in his gut. Her eyes burned with the fade, cracks of it throughout her skin, painting the sewers the colours of fire.

Fenris ran her through almost as fast as she did her husband, except his sword was bigger. Through her gut and he ripped it up and into her chest, killing her before her she could comprehend and heal herself. She crumpled like dropped paper, leaving her husband bleeding at her side.

“Hush.” Anders was beside Swarek in an instant, one hand on his forehead and the other over the wound. “Lie still. You’re going to live.”

“No,” the man sobbed miserably. He reached out to his wife’s fingers, taking them in his. “Let me die. Oh, let me die. Liret… oh….”

He pressed her lifeless hand against his face and sobbed against her fingers until Anders was done. Even then, he didn’t rise when Anders did.

“We need to keep moving,” Anders told him and tried to lift Swarek to sit. Instead, the man rolled over towards his wife and lay there weeping.

Fenris stepped forward to speak. “Swarek-”

Anders held up a hand to Fenris, silencing him. He wasn’t sure what the warrior planned to say, but he doubted it would help, in spite of his intentions. Anders knelt by the man instead and rested a hand on his back between his shoulder blades.

“Tell me about her. How did you meet?”

The man sniffled and said, “we were kids together. We weren’t allowed to play with other children, because we were apostates, but… we knew, when we met each other. We ran away together when we were just young.”

“You sound like you were really happy together.”

“We were, ser.” He sniffled and sobbed again and clutched his wife’s hand tighter. “She was an amazing cook… every year at the holidays, the only gifts she ever wanted were things she could bake with. And… and she loved to climb! I’ve never known anyone who loved to climb as much as she did. If she could climb over it instead of walk ‘round it, she would almost every time. And she had such a heart… she felt the plight of every mouse the cat caught.” He sniffled again and looked at anders with huge, miserable eyes. “You would have liked her, ser. She would have liked you.”

“And she loved you,” Anders pointed out. “Would she want you to stay here and die beside something that took her face and tried to hurt you? Would she want you to die at all?”

Swarek looked back to her sadly and rubbed her hand. “No.”

“Would she want you to come with us and escape?”

“I don’t want to.” Swarek clung to her again. “I don’t want to leave her.”

Anders put a hand on the other man’s shoulder, his other hand on the woman’s arm.

“Swarek?” he said calmly, waiting for Swarek to look at him. “That isn’t her. She’s already gone. You’re not sitting here with her, you’re sitting with the flesh she used to be. Nothing more.”

Anders hand began working between husband and wife, gently prying her fingers from Swarek’s grip.

The man wailed weakly, eyes still fixed on his wife's body. “Nooo….” He went where Anders guided him, regardless.

The rest of their journey through the sewers was silent and tense, Swarek gripping Anders’ hand as though it were his wife’s. He went where the mage bid him and climbed aboard the boat as though in a dream.

“Take care of him,” Anders bid the boatman. “He’s had a rough night.”

“Aye, healer.”

The journey back to the clinic was just as silent, just as tense.

Chapter Text

“Fenris-”

“Please, Anders,” the elf interrupted. “I do not wish to talk about it.”

They were barely through the clinic door and already Anders could feel a fight beginning.

“I only wanted to say thank you, Fenris. That’s all.”

The elf’s shoulders hunched when Anders began to speak again, as though coiling up to snap back against an attack, then sagged as none came.

“You’re welcome.”

“Do you….” Anders sighed and shed his coat. “No, you don’t want to talk about it. Alright. Can you at least not feel bad about it?”

“Killing a mage?” Said Fenris with habitual venom, though the ‘not likely’ or similar vitriol didn't follow it. Instead, Fenris seemed to realize who he was speaking to, and where, and why, and he hung his head in apparent shame.

How is he still so blind, when he sees with his own eyes?

Buggered if I know.

Anders tried to be gentle. He wanted to reach out and heal the elf, but having this conversation while Fenris was enraptured seemed unsavoury, as though that really would cross a line between healing and taking advantage.

“For helping a wrongfully persecuted man escape a hellish fate.”

“So that he may inflict similar hells on others.”

“So that he may live a free life.”

Fenris growled slightly, but Anders went to him, resting his hands on the elf’s armour-clad arms. “Maker, Fenris - you’re a walking weapon, you could kill so many people if you wanted to - does that mean you shouldn’t be free either, because of what you might do?”

“It is not the same, mage,” Fenris growled and swatted Anders hands away. “I am my own man, I make my own choices. I kill when it is needed, not because a demon decided for me.”

“And you think mages who make deals with demons don’t choose to do so?” Anders snapped back. “You can kill for any reason, Fenris. You’ve said it yourself, you are your own man. You choose when to kill. You don't need a demon to tell you to do it.”

Fenris had nothing to say to that. Anders watched him pace, watched those now-familiar signs of the spell fraying him at the edges.

“Come here, love. Let me-”

“No.”

Fenris paced a moment longer, then began to strip his armour, throwing it into a pile as though it had offended him. Anders recognized it, he was learning Fenris rather well now. The elf knew he needed healing. He knew he needed sleep, and the comfort of his healer, but he, his mood, or the spell (or all three) fought against it. What a horrible feeling, Anders thought. To be vulnerable to someone who could hurt you so terribly, just by denying you aid. To be forced to submit yourself to them to keep yourself sane. Especially to an enemy. Especially in the wake of such poisonous words.

He gave Fenris space to pace and strip and offered; “I do agree that mages need to be governed, just like anyone or anything else.”

“But they should not be governed by themselves,” Fenris snapped. “That is how the magisterium began!”

“Perhaps.” Definitely not, but Anders was choosing his battles. “But not by a system that enslaves them, either.”

“I see no slavery in the Kirkwall circle.”

“Then what do you call it, when someone is ripped from their parents without word or choice, taken to an unspecified location, denied access to their family, and tortured if they misbehave?”

“I see no evidence of that.”

“I never saw you enslaved, but I trust that it happened.”

Fenris wheeled about to face him, furious at the comparison.

Justice lit inside Anders in response, clouding his vision with bright blue.

Be calm, my friend, he told Justice. He's hurt and already bested, be calm. He won't hurt us.

“My evidence is branded into me, Mage,” Fenris snarled. “Can you say the same?”

Anders considered dropping his robe and turning his back to Fenris, revealing the many, many, many scars he had collected in his time in the circles. Fenris had seen him naked before, but always in half-light, and perhaps not from behind, but either way it was hardly a preferable option.

“No,” he said instead, forcing himself to stay calm. “But take a walk through the gallows. Plenty of mages can say the same, Fenris. Their brands are just as visible as yours. Right here.”

He tapped his own forehead, in case the dumb elf needed help understanding Anders’ meaning.

Anders walked away to set aside his coat and boots, leaving Fenris to calm a little. Not that he was convinced the elf did so.

Heal him, Justice demanded.

In a moment.

Now. It is cruel to withhold-

Trust me.

“Ultimately, Fenris, no creature should be ruled by those with an interest in keeping them leashed. That’s not the way the rest of society works, and it shouldn’t be for the mages, either.”

“Then you condemn all of Thedas to become one great Magisterium.”

Anders sighed loudly. “No,” he said. “I just don’t believe one corrupt system is better than another corrupt system. There has to be a better way.”

“And what ‘better way’ is that?” Fenris demanded.

Anders shrugged, palms out, and sighed again. “I don’t know, Fenris.” He’d never actually admitted it before. All of his work with Justice, the mages he smuggled out… “I have no idea how to fix this. I don't think I can. But I can't do nothing for the ones like Swarek.”

That confession was enough for Fenris, it seemed. He reached out to Anders, touched his hand when Anders reached back for him. In a moment they were wrapped up in each other, taking sweet and mutual comfort in spite of their argument.

“I… accept that mages are individuals,” Fenris offered at last. “I accept that not all of them would use blood magic or bind themselves to a demon. Not all mages are like Danarius. Some are like you.”

Anders could have cried to hear those words from the elf. The person he cared most about converting, the person he least expected to, was finally coming around. He lowered his lips to the elf’s neck and began to lightly kiss up his nape, stopping shy of his ears. Fenris had incredibly sensitive ears, he had mixed feelings about them being played with.

Fenris continued, “and I accept that the system here is corrupt. It doesn’t work. And I do not seek the enslavement of mages any more than I would seek the enslavement of anyone else, but-”

“Shall we leave it there, love?” Anders interrupted, then kissed him briefly to sweeten the rudeness. “Before the ‘but’s? Shall we just agree that the failing systems are scary and bad, and we both hate that we can’t fix them?”

Fenris growled softly, hesitated, but nodded. “Alright. I think that would be wise.”

Anders perked and kissed Fenris again. Done with their debate he wanted to heal the elf, but didn’t want to… reward him? Anders didn’t want to heal him just because he had agreed to something the mage said. That wasn’t the only reason to do it, of course, but he was keenly aware of how that could be inferred.

“Let’s go to bed, love,” he suggested instead. In bed, at the end of the day, was neutral. No problems healing him there.

Fenris nodded, followed, at least a bit more relaxed now. Anders lay down first, arms open to his elf, waiting as Fenris stripped his shirt and leggings and joined him. He wrapped one arm around Fenris' slim waist, rested his other hand at the side of his neck, and pressed a so-light kiss to his temple. He sent a little swirl of healing magic out, and Fenris gasped slightly at the pleasure.

They rolled so that they lay side by side instead of one on the other, letting Anders run a hand up Fenris’ stomach, over his hairless chest. Fenris shifted closer and wrapped his legs around one of the human’s, pressing his already half-hard length against Anders' thigh.

“Eager, love?” Anders asked and pushed a warm wave of healing magic into Fenris’ lower back as his hand pushed Fenris against Anders' thigh, making him moan.

There were different types of healing magic - people never seemed to realize that. The direct sort that knitted things back together, the pushes and pulls for things displaced, the warmth that treated muscle pains or shock, or coolness for an angry joint. Fenris enjoyed it all, but it was the warmth he craved more than anything else. With those waves of warm energy, Fenris moaned and pushed up against Anders as though frozen and in desperately need of more. Anders indulged him happily. Lips and touches and nuanced magic combined to expertly satisfy the elf. His own type of magical massage.

Not a bad idea….

“Roll onto your stomach,” he whispered.

Fenris tensed immediately and resisted such a move. “Why?

Anders kissed his neck, patient. “So I can give you a massage. You’ll like it, I promise.”

Hesitation, then a cautious “yes, Healer.”

Anders still felt a twinge of something unpleasant at the way Fenris said it, but it was better than ‘master’ and helped Fenris with whatever he was dealing with, so Anders wasn’t going to deny him.

He fetched a little bottle of oil from his chest and waited for the elf to shift, then leaned over him and greeted his obedience with touches and the sunshine warmth of magic, and Fenris could do nothing other than hump the blanket and moan happily.

Anders chuckled again. “Do you like that?”

“Why do you ask?” Fenris asked, though there was no anger. “You know I do.”

Another chuckle. “Because I need to hear it,” he answered honestly. “I need to check you're enjoying yourself.”

“You doubt yourself too much.”

“You think so?” He asked softly behind Fenris' ear before kissing the edge of it. He was careful to be as quiet as possible, knowing how sensitive those ears were, how painful a loud squeak-pop kiss would be. When Fenris didn’t protest, Anders started running his teeth along the edge of the point, and Fenris groaned and humped the blankets again.

“Ooh, good to know,” Anders murmured and did it again, but Fenris squirmed uncomfortably, signalling that he'd reached his threshold for ear-playing.

Anders switched to kissing down Fenris' neck instead, the elf always like that. Between each kiss, Anders dotted praise. Soft words, half-meaningless. Fenris enjoyed being quiet, Anders was learning. What others called ‘broody’ was simply his natural, internal state of being. He enjoyed company, but he thought about everything three times before he said it. The times he didn’t, like when the spell became painful and robbed him of his wits, he usually regretted it, even if the action didn’t bear consequences. Silence was a treat for Fenris, a reward. Anders indulged him, murmuring praise but not asking questions, humming in the silence so Fenris knew he didn’t have to fill it.

Anders took his time working over his lover’s shoulders, slowly down his back, then back up. Magic and massage, odd kisses. Shoulders again, back, shoulders, then arms. Back again and down, digging the heal of his hand into the base of Fenris’ spine and complementing the pressure with warmth. Fenris groaned and let go of some of the tension he'd been carrying. Anders hands worked back up the elf’s spine, down again to it’s base. Finally, carefully, they began to stroke the perfect half-spheres of the elf’s ass.

Fenris tensed, of course. Anders knew he would. He gently persisted, rubbing them for a while, then back up Fenris’ spine, back to his shoulders and down again. Anders even went further, massaging the backs of the elf's incredible thighs before returning up to his ass once more, but Fenris was determined to remain tense. Magic worked for a moment, but only for a moment. An involuntary reaction of the body. As soon as Fenris was able, he tensed up again.

“Relax, love,” Anders tried after a while, his touches moving again over Fenris’ back. “Your arse is perfectly safe with me, you know.”

Fenris swallowed and answered; “Yes, Healer.”

Anders should have kept his mouth shut, he still hated how that sounded.

“You know I don’t want to fuck you, right?”

Silence. Anders had told him as much, but fear was a hard thing to reason with, Anders supposed. What bothered him most was that Fenris would probably start encouraging Anders to do it, if he let him. They would have already done it if Anders hadn’t been mindful.

“Yes, Healer.”

“Good.” He leaned over the elf to kiss between his shoulder blades and rolled off to the side. “You have nothing to fear from me, Fenris.”

“That remains to be seen.”

Anders chuckled, determined not to be insulted by his anguished lover. “You know, done properly, that particular act is quite pleasant.”

Another tense, and Fenris rolled onto his side, facing Anders but not looking at him, still silent.

Anders rested his hand on Fenris head, tucking his white hair back behind those sensitive ears, and asked, “Would you like to know what that feels like, some day?”

Silence again from the elf. Anders stroked his hair, down to his arm, then cuddled closer and wrapped his arms around the elf.

“You know, whatever happened before… Fen, that’s not what it’ll be like-”

“Yes, Healer,” he interrupted weakly. The closest he could come to telling Anders to shut the fuck up without regretting it.

“Maker, Fenris,” Anders muttered and kissed the top of the elf’s head. What in the blazes did Danarius do? Line the poor bastard's arse with lyrium to make it hurt more? He wouldn’t be surprised, there was a line of the stuff on his cock after all. The more he learned about Danarius and the abuse he’d piled onto Fenris, the less surprised him.

Regardless. Anders wasn’t going to condemn Fenris for his reticence. Time to find somewhere safer to play, he decided. He didn’t want the night to end with them both miserable.

“You know, Fenris… I’m really pleased with how you handled things, tonight.” He shifted so he could move his hands freely between them. Fenris shifted in turn to do the same. “You reacted to that attack before I even realized it was coming. You may well have saved my life.”

“It’s what you- ahhh.”

Anders’ fingers sought Fenris cock, still rock hard in spite of their sombre subject. Anders nudged the elf’s legs apart as he began to stroke him, bringing his thigh up between Fenris’ to bring them closer. Fenris waited until Anders’ leg stilled in its position between his own, then began to thrust into the mage’s hand and grind himself against the skin of his thigh. Interesting, Anders thought. As if Fenris had actually kind of enjoyed the pressure against his ass, the back of his balls. As though he was seeking more of it, in his way.

Safer things. Anders didn’t dwell on the thoughts.

“You were saying, love?”

Fenris composed himself and answered; “it’s what you took me for, isn’t it? To protect you.”

“Mmhmm. And I’m glad I did.”

Between the stroking and the praise, Fenris was already losing his grasp of words. .

“So good at what you do,” Anders murmured as he kissed along Fenris neck. “And you look so good doing it. So handsome. You know, I’ve been thinking about getting you naked again, about your markings and your muscles and how glorious you look nude. Let me see you.”

He rolled the elf over and knelt, one knee between Fernis’ thighs and the other beside them, looked down on his lover. He hadn’t removed his hand yet, he was still stroking Fenris and enjoying the elf’s pleasure, but as he leaned back to look, he grinned with a wicked idea.

“Give me your hand, love.”

Fenris obeyed, and Anders wrapped it around Fenris’ own erection. The elf’s pleasure-hazy eyes opened and he looked to the mage, confused.

“Masturbate for me, Fen. Let me watch you.”

Anders’ hand left Fenris’ own and went to his own cock instead, following Fenris’ lead as the elf began to do as he was told. It took an awkward minute of adjustment, Fenris’s struggling, trapped between embarrassment and pleasure and a conflicted desire to please, but it worked. Eventually his head relaxed back against the pillow and he moaned, the pace on his cock picking up as his hips began to strain up into his fist. Anders matched the pace, made sure Fenris could feel the mage’s own movements against his spread legs, moaned a little louder than normal to make sure Fenris heard them and knew they were for him.

“Fuck, Fenris.” Anders rested his free hand on the front of Fenris’ hip, so close he could grab his cock again if desired. “You’re beautiful like this.”

Fenris moaned again and opened his eyes to watch Anders. Each fuelled the other, glancing between eye contact and the feast each made of their own self pleasure. Fenris stared at Anders’ hands for a second, then seemed to notice the one on his hip and pressed his own hand on top of it.

“Please,” he gasped, and Anders knew what he wanted. At least hoped he did, or that they wanted the same thing.

He began to cast again. And, with shaky inexperience, he began to draw power from Fenris as he did. It wasn’t necessarily easy, it was like blowing out through your mouth and inhaling through your nose at the same time, but Anders managed a few seconds well enough. And a few more seconds was all he needed - Fenris’ hips arched up so aggressively he almost threw Anders off. He curled into himself wrapped around the sensation, orgasmed into it, leaving the warm join between himself and his healer sticky and hot.

Anders pushed him gently back down, laying flat so the mage could lean in and lap up the seed across Fenris' hand and belly. The elf groaned again and petted Anders' head, stroking him as gentle as Fenris himself liked to be stroked.

“Oh, Maker,” the elf groaned softly.

It wasn't common for him to speak in these moments. Anders realized with a grin he was doing it for the healer's benefit. Anders looked up at Fenris with his head still down, lapping at Fenris' stomach as he did so. The elf groaned again and his head fell back.

“You know, I bet I could get you hard again,” Anders mused between delicious tastes.

Fenris snorted. “I doubt it. That was draining.”

“I don't know, there's a spell or two-”

The elf flinched minutely, and Anders tabled the idea without comment, letting the sentence die in the middle so Fenris would know it was for his benefit.

“Apologies,” the elf mumbled, stroking Anders' hair and looked down at him again. “I didn't mean... I know it would be different.”

“Of course it would,” said Anders with a casual smile. “Let me know when you're ready, and I'll show you all of those differences, happily. Now scoot over, I need to get off.”

Fenris had apparently forgotten about Anders unsatisfied erection. He moved, but as soon as Anders lay back to start playing with himself, Fenris scooted down and latched his lips around Anders' cock before the healer could protest.

Anders laughed. “Fenris, love- oh....” The elf didn't take the hint and stop, so Anders bent his knee and pushed him away a bit with his leg, his hand nudging Fenris' face as he tried again. “Stop, love.”

Fenris obeyed, looking up at Anders with no small amount of dejection. Anders grinned and resumed stroking himself, trying to keep eye contact through the sensations.

“I- ohhh, fuck. You put on such an amazing show for me, love. I wanted to... nnnnngh.” His head flopped back for a moment and he slowed his own stroking, not wanting to finish too soon. “I wanted to return the favour.”

He heard and felt Fenris move, felt a hand on his thigh and fuck, fuck, fuck even just that touch made him want to come immediately. When did he get so sensitive to a touch on the damned leg?

He took a deep breath and tied to picture Elphina naked. Meredith naked. Meredith and Elphina kissing. Nothing worked, but the thought of Meredith left her lingering in his mind, in her full armour and usual glare. That definitely helped wilt his erection. Maybe a little too well.

He opened his eyes and looked down at Fenris, watching his elf as his elf watched him, wide-eyed with his tongue flicking out to lick his lips. An idea flickered across his mind, something he could do for Fenris that would help get him back in the mood, certainly, but would also... maybe, hopefully... help his lover with something.

Or scare him off even more....

“Can I show you something?” Anders asked, then bit down on the corner of his lip.

Fenris nodded, eyes taking in the sights greedily.

“Can you pass me the oil, over there?” Anders gestured to the bottle he'd used earlier for Fernis' massage, hoping the elf understood his meaning.

Fenris shifted, then hesitated, realizing what Anders had planned. Anders lay his head back and closed his eyes, thrusting up into his hand and groaning like one of the Blooming Rose's best whores, giving Fenris ample opportunity to refuse, to simply and silently not do as he was asked. A few seconds later, however, the slim bottle pressed against Anders free hand.

The mage looked down at Fenris with an eager smile. “Thanks, love.”

Fenris didn't answer, just settled instead between Anders legs and watched as his mage began to slick up his hands, his erection, letting some of it dribble down into the cleft of his ass.

“Grab a blanket for me?” Anders asked, offering innocent ways for Fenris to help. “Something to put under my- ah, perfect.” Fenris anticipated what the blanket was for and tucked it under Anders lower back. A position Anders knew would give his lover a great view.

Anders lay his head back again with another happy moan, propping it on a pillow so that even relaxed, he could see Fenris' reactions. He stroked himself for a minute more, then slowly began to move his free hand down to rub over his entrance.

Anders had never been a terribly sensitive person, the so-light touches Fenris enjoyed did little for him. This was something he'd always enjoyed. He loved the stretch, the slight burn, he'd always loved pushing himself just a bit too much, wringing out the feelings. It was exactly what he needed now after his draining day and his all too effective attempts at delaying his orgasm, but he knew it was probably a bad idea to indulge too much right now. Fenris would watch Anders' treatment of himself and almost certainly assume that's how it would be for him, and the last thing he wanted was to worry his partner even more. He realized as he started carefully pressing his first finger into himself that this was probably a bad time for such an experiment. That he needed something he couldn't give himself because of Fenris' attention, but it was too late to stop now.

His attention shifted from shaft to ass as he slowly sank a finger into himself. He gasped in pleasure and forced himself to stop at the second knuckle, not wanting to go too deep too quickly and scare his audience. He groaned as he drew his finger back out and began to fuck himself in time with his other hand, pumping his cock.

The feeling was neutral, not enough, unsatisfying, but it allowed him to pay a bit more attention to Fenris, watching with his eyes wide and wary as his own dick twitched again, showing a whole lot of interest in the scene before him.

Anders added another finger with a moan of obvious pleasure, playing with his cock lightly. Patience. Patience was fucking hard, but necessary. He pushed a little deeper and moaned again, shifting his hips as though to meet an invisible lover.

Some day, it'll be Fenris, the thought came unbidden and Anders' cock throbbed hopefully, chasing orgasm. So close, but he needed... dammit, he needed more, something to push himself over the edge. Something he couldn't give himself while Fenris was watching him like that. He just needed... something.

He thrust faster with his fingers, watching the elf to make sure he wasn't worried. Far from it, he was stroking himself, licking his lips again.

“You can join in, if you want,” Anders offered, the words coming in pairs and little groups as Anders fought for breath. Fenris recoiled slightly but Anders let go of his cock and grabbed Fenris' hand instead. “You don't have to, love,” he assured him. “I just... fuck, Fen, I love your hands on me.”

He dissolved into groans of pleasure again, closing his eyes and thrusting wildly onto his fingers. Fenris moved their hands tentatively, resting them on Anders inner thigh and stroking up towards his erection.

“Please, Fen,” he panted. “Please. Whatever you're alright with, fuck, please.”

And as if the elf's hands were summoned by magic, there they were. One on his erection, holding more that stroking, the other sliding along his thigh, slick in the oil, until Fenris' fingertip traced lightly around Anders' entrance, and suddenly something completely new. Familiar but damned if Anders could place it right now. Anders grabbed desperately for the hand around his cock, tightening the grip and thrusting into it and that incredible, fucking incredible sensation, like electricity all through him. Two strokes and he erupted, all but shouting in pleasure as Fenris pulled something deep inside him, like two orgasms overlaying, a sensation so intense it almost felt like an attack on his cock, leaving Anders babbling praise and incoherent. Fuck, that felt so good.

“Fen...” he panted as he came down from his high, concerned before he was even aware enough to realize just how pushy he'd been with his elf. He couldn't even open his eyes. He wanted to, wanted to look at his lover and make sure he was okay, but all he could do was flop one of his hands free and hope it looked like he was beckoning. “Come here, love.”

Fenris climbed into bed beside Anders, curling slightly into his arms but keeping his face at a bit of a distance. Concern finally prompted Anders to open his eyes, only to be greeted by Fenris beautiful green ones. The elf watched him with the same reserved fascination with which he had watched the whole show, no cause for alarm but it barely put Anders at ease just yet.

“That was incredible,” he whispered, pressing his lips to Fenris' own. “That felt so good, Fen. Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

Such a controlled tone. Anders wiped his hand and reached out to stroke Fenris' hair and cuddle him closer, suddenly worried that praising the elf for this might do more harm than good. “Was it fun for you, too?”

He felt Fenris nod and didn't push him to speak.

“You know you can talk to me, right? About anything at all.”

Fenris drew back and looked up at Anders again, studying him with the same curious expression.

“You are worried you pushed too hard,” he stated surely. “That you've hurt me.”

Well, yes....

“Have I?”

Fenris shook his head and leaned up to kiss him before tucking his own head into the nook of Anders' neck and shoulder.

“No,” he answered, and seemed to be honest, though he was clearly still stressed by something. “I... enjoyed it greatly. Perhaps... perhaps too much....”

“You want a hand?” Anders asked, knowing the half-mast Fenris was ignoring wasn't what he was referring to.

Fenris shook his head but didn't elaborate. That was alright, thought Anders. He would another time, if it was good for him to do so. Anders would leave it with him, trust him. It was the respectful adult thing to do and Maker when did he get so tired.

“It felt incredible,” Fenris said simply. Somehow that was enough, coming from him.

Yes, it did.

Anders giggled sleepily, finally identifying why this orgasm had been so different. Fade spirits didn't get off the same way as humans or elves did, but just as he felt Justice' anger as a headache or nausea, he'd always felt the spirit's contentment as a warm feeling in his heart or low in his gut. And Fenris and his abundance of lyrium most definitely left Justice 'content.'

“What?” Fenris asked, a touch defensive at Anders' laugh.

“Justice had fun, too,” he answered with a grin without really thinking. “What did you do there, at the end? That was exquisite. I've never felt anything like that. He liked it, too.”

Fenris grimaced mildly. “Ugh. Must you remind me that our time together has an interloper?”

Anders kissed Fenris on the cheek, as sweet a kiss as he’d ever bestowed.

“Thank you for not calling him a demon.”

That, he would gladly reward the elf for.

Anders cuddled up beside him, his arm under Fenris’ head and his lips on the elf’s brow. They both enjoyed this. Seeking rest and comfort, wrapped in each other. Fenris was already settling in spite of his tumultuous thoughts.

“Good night, my love,” Anders whispered as he kissed Fenris once more, and slowly drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

They were several hours into their day, Fenris perched on a stool and waiting to be useful. He’d been watching his healer work, but at some point had transitioned to simply staring into space, enjoying his place in the healer's life. It felt good there - there was sunshine, and he could feel a sort of ambient healing energy as his Mage worked.

There was a sick young apostate in the clinic today. He was suffering terribly from a fever, hallucinating demons and Templars, both coming to claim him. At least, that’s what he assumed he saw from the things he was screaming. Several times, Anders had returned to him to soothe him and settle his feverish fears, and Fenris watched and felt his fondness for Anders grow each time he did. His mage was a healer, not an abomination. His mage was a good man. His mage was kind, and made people feel better. His mage cared, and his mage was his. He wouldn’t draw Anders away from his work to prove it, but he knew that when the last person left, Anders would come to him again. Always, his Mage would come to him and wrap him in that same wonderful feeling he shared now with others.

He didn’t see Hawke until the rogue’s rough hands smacked the back of his shoulder, almost throwing him off of his stool with a confused sound of alarm.

“Where’ve you been hiding?” Hawke had asked, loud and oblivious. “We were getting worried about you! Thought maybe you’d annoyed Justice one time too many.” He winked at Anders, who was fast approaching.

Fenris stammered, unsure of what to say. The shock of the intrusion into his life and thoughts prickled him with anxiety, and the memories and thoughts and conflict were pushing up at him - the pull between attack and civility.

Several seconds had passed and Hawke’s frown was deepening, and Fenris had no idea how to calm any of this.

“Merrill and I have been helping him investigate the spell,” Anders intercepted, and Hawke’s eyes turned on him. “We’re going to see her later, when the clinic quietens. He’s just waiting for me.”

“Oh.” Hawke hardly seemed less worried. “You’ve still not been able to shake the spell?”

Anders rolled his eyes. “It’s not a bad cold, Hawke, you don’t shake it off. You’re stuck with it until it’s done with you or you dispell it.”

Hawke muttered something about Anders being a smart-ass and looked back to Fenris.

“Why don’t I walk you to the alienage, then?” He offered. “I’ll be nice to catch up.”

And how would that conversation go, Fenris wondered. What could he tell his friend that wouldn’t harm something? He couldn’t talk about the spell. Even with his Healer he could barely talk about the spell, it was like an embarrassing wound you begrudge showing to the medic and certainly wouldn’t show your friends - either they would never let you live it down, or they would forever pity you because of it. If Hawke knew… it would change their relationship, how he saw Fenris, for the rest of the time they knew each other. He couldn’t tell him, not yet. If ever. But could he talk about anything else? His new relationship with the mage? How would he even define that? Did he want to risk trying? Would Hawke just let them be? Probably not. Hawke had flirted with Fenris, pursued him, called him handsome… but then, Hawke did that with everybody. Did it even mean anything? Could it now, with this curse so deeply embedded in Fenris?

Whatever had been said while Fenris was lost in thought, Hawke seemed reluctantly placated and was now teasing him about being a recluse. Fenris forced a smile and a response he hoped was appropriate, and Anders ushered their friend outside with promises of some sort.

Fenris wanted to be annoyed with his Mage- no. With himself. With the fact that his mage had to come to his aid. With how damned helpless he felt. Was. Even with his friends.

Were they even his friends how? He wasn’t the same person he had been two weeks before. Before the spell. They had never met him as he was today.

Fenris stared blindly at the feverish man, getting restless again, waiting for their Mage to return.

-x-

“I know you don’t want to see them, Fenris, but the longer you leave it, the worse it’ll be.”

“I understand, Anders, but….”

But what? That was the stumbling block. The explanation tripped Fenris, and Anders' eagerness to fix this and be done with it only slowed his explanation.

“Don’t you want to see them?” Anders tried.

“No.”

Not quite true, but simpler than explaining.

“They’re your friends, Fenris.”

The elf shook his head and rubbed his elbow worriedly. “I don’t know them. They feel so far away, in my mind.”

“They won’t get any closer if you don’t talk to them.”

Fenris gave a stressed sigh and Anders echoe’d it.

“Look, I won’t pressure you,” the healer promised. “But Hawke was already suspicious today. I can’t lie to him again if he comes here, you’ll have to talk to him soon whether it’s on your terms or his.”

He knew. That’s what bothered him, he realized. Where Anders was patient and happy to listen and willing to do as Fenris wanted, Hawke wasn’t the same way. A lock had parts. Pins and passages. You knew those parts, you manipulated them the right way, and the lock clicked open. People were the same, for Hawke. Made of parts. Hawke needed to make sense of every little bit, and he was relentless with new things he did not understand. Fenris didn’t want to be something for Hawke to probe and prod and understand - he wanted to be left alone, and knowing that if he asked for that he would be ignored made it impossible to ask.

When Fenris didn’t respond, Anders spoke again, his Healer’s tone gentler still. “Come on, love. Let’s go and see Merrill. We said we would… and maybe we can visit the Hanged Man later, huh? Put in an appearance.”

Fenris didn't want to, so he his inside his thoughts. He was still wrapped up in them when they reached Merrill’s little house. He didn’t even really follow the pleasantries between the two magic-wielders when they greeted each other. The first thing he really heard was “can’t.”

“So what did you learn?” Anders was asking.

“Not much, I’m afraid.” The little blood mage was perched on the table, she slipped down to flit about as she delivered the news. “I'd need to check the spell again to be sure-”

“No,” Fenris cut off, taken over for a moment by the memory of the pain. It had been incredible, the same as his lyrium when Danarius drew from it, the same tearing pain as though it was being ripped from him, except the spell was deeper, the pain ripping through his head and spine.

“Fen...” Anders took his hand, sweet in spite of Merrill's presence. “You don't have to if you don't want to, but it might help us heal the spell.”

Fenris shook his head again and backed away from them both. Merrill watched him, worried, though Anders followed with the same gentle hand on Fenris' own. When Fenris stilled, Anders did not, his healer wrapping arms loosely around him to give comfort.

“It's alright, love,” he whispered. “If you don't want to do it, we won't.”

“I don't know if it would make a difference anyway,” Merrill piped up. “The spell is all through you, Fenris. Like the lacing on a corset. It’s all in your head, pulling on your thoughts. No matter what you do, even if you destroy it, there will still be holes where the magic has been. You cannot undo the spell any more than you can undo a thousand holes punched into a sock - the best you can do is patch it up, but between the hole you cut out and the bit you’ve stitched in, there’ll be none of the sock left when you’re done.”

“So Fenris would change?” Anders asked. He turned during Merrill's explanation, literally hiding Fenris behind him while he and Merrill discussed him.

“Fenris has changed,” Merrill explained. “He would change again if you tried to break the spell. You’d have to cut into him with blood magic and dig it out, and even if you were successful, you’ll have no way of knowing the effects it could have. And that’s assuming you could even do that sort of magic! First you’d need a fade spirit… you’d need to get rid of Justice, first, and then you’ll need the help of a new spirit powerful enough to do this work for you… I mean, I couldn’t do it, and that’s even if Fenris did want me and my friend cutting bits of his head out.”

Fenris shuddered at the thoughts. He understood that they weren’t seriously considering it, but the words terrified him. And as he thought that, the rest of what she said registered loudly.

The spell cannot be broken.

Even if they willingly took each risk, the spell was irreversible.

I belong to Anders now.

He refused to blame the healer. The man had been helping him. His mage was good, and kind, and gentle, and helping. He had never used this chance to do Fenris harm, and Fenris would control himself and not use this excuse to hurt him, either. The care on the mage’s face, the vengeful anger in his eyes when Fenris spoke of Danarius or suffered… Anders was a good man.

“I need some air,” Fenris said and moved to leave.

Merrill’s skinny finger’s caught his arm as he stepped away from Anders, causing a shot of pain through the lyrium like fire where she touched him. “Fenris-”

“I don’t need comfort from something like you,” he snapped.

He’s regret it later, maybe, when he was in his right mind. As he turned away again he could hear his mage making apologies for him. Merrill dismissed them, and Anders jogged to catch up with Fenris as he left.

Chapter Text

“Fenris….”

He felt his Healer’s hands on him as the clinic door closed, felt the wave of healing almost before it came. He let himself sink back into the man, into the comfort and the warmth of his voice and touches. He couldn’t fall apart, he just physically couldn’t, but in Anders’ arms he knew he was allowed, if he was able. He was safe to, and that almost made is possible.

“Please.” He hated begging. Hated asking for anything. Somehow it was easier when he didn’t know what he was asking for.

Fenris leaned his head back and Anders met the motion with a kiss. A warm hand rested on Fenris throat, causing him to flinch, but it was just his body remembering someone else. The touch was perfect, and he clung to his Mage’s arm for fear that Anders would misunderstand and move his hand away. He didn’t, of course he didn’t. His Healer almost always understood what he needed. Always pushed the right way.

“Do you want to go to bed, love?” Anders murmured against his lips. The sound vibrated through Fenris and he nodded. Bed meant healing, meant sex, meant touch. Mean privacy, a space for just them, without the world. “Come, then.”

Fenris let himself be lead, blinded by whatever afflicted him. He saw everything, but took none of it in, as though the objects in the clinic didn’t stick behind his eyes, didn’t make it to his brain. It didn’t matter. His mage had him by the hand and guided him. Fenris didn’t need to see, so long as he had Anders. He would be okay, so long as he was with Anders.

And you always will be, now. Some disgusting voice in the back of his mind, a voice that sounded like Danarius.

The spell cannot be broken.

You belong to him, now.

Anders’ hands tugged at his armour, awkward for lack of experience. Then the tunic beneath, much better with that, and his thumbs found Fenris’ leggings.

“Anders, wait….” He took the Healer’s hands

Anders looked at him with concern, of course with concern, and his fingers moved away from Fenris' waistband.

“What is it, Fen?”

He owns you now.

“I want to try something,” he explained, staring at their hands and trying to ignore the voice. “But....”

“Oh?” Anders watched his face and Fenris know he was looking for things to worry about.

He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care anymore. He doesn’t need to care anymore.

Fenris pressed his eyes shut and rested his forehead to Anders’ own, seeking comfort. Anders gave it in warm touches and patience, letting Fenris fight the demon lurking in the spell.

“It’s alright, love,” Anders whispered sweetly into the air between them. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it. I’d do almost anything to make you feel better. Whatever you need, I’ll do it.”

-x-

“Whatever you need, I’ll do it.”

Famous last words. He hadn’t expected Fenris to take Anders’ hands and plant them on his arse, nor to step closer and start kissing his neck in that ‘let us get out dicks out’ sort of way.

“Umm… Fen?”

“You said you would do it.”

“Sure.” He would regret saying that, he knew it as soon as the word was spoken. “But can you clarify what ‘it’ is?”

“Am I not being clear enough?”

Anders knew how hard it was for Fenris to ask for things normally, but considering how tense this wonderful arse had been under a similar touch just this morning, and considering the bad news the elf had just been bashed about by, Anders needed to hear this one.

Fenris couldn’t look up until his face was alongside the healer’s, no risk of eye contact. He brought his lips to Anders’ ear and whispered, in a sickening way taught to him by a Magister, “I want you to fuck me.”

“Fen….”

Fenris recoiled from the rejection in his name. “Please, Anders.” Head down again in the space between them. “I’ll do anything you want.”

“I know you will, love.” Anders cupped Fenris’ face in his hands but kissed his forehead instead of tilting his face up to meet his eye. “There’s nothing I want from you, at least not at the moment. I want to take care of you. I’m not convinced this is the best way to do that.”

Fenris' shoulders slumped, his head hanging lower. “As you wish, Healer.”

Fix it.

How in the void do I just magically ‘fix it,’ Justice?

Fix it.

“Fenris… try to understand.” He kissed the elf again and sat with him, taking his hands to bring him into their bed. “If I do this, and you regret it, or you’re too stressed and upset to enjoy it, then I’m the bastard who just confirmed that you should be scared of something that should be wonderful. If I don’t do this, then I’m the bastard who took away your right to choose. It feels like doing as you ask is more important, but-”

“But you don’t want to do it,” Fenris offered.

It was the perfect out. Anders could simply say he didn’t want to, for his reasons. It was true. The thought of strengthening whatever shit he was trying to help is elf get rid of, that made him feel ill. He couldn’t willingly do that. But he also understood the need to replace a bad memory with a good one. So many of his lovers in the circle had come to him with the same desperation, some of them still sticky from a Templar. That was what this felt like, but could he be sure it was the right decision? Denying Fenris if he was right was would hurt him, giving in if was wrong would too. Which would hurt him less?

“Alright, Fenris.” He kissed the elf’s face again and took a breath to steady himself. “How about this - I will do whatever you ask me to do, just as I promised. So long as it doesn’t violate our normal rules about hurting each other and stopping if we ask to stop, I’ll do anything you want. I will trust that you know what you need right now. All I ask in return is that you don’t hate me if things go badly. Just remember that I’m trying to help you, and that I care for you deeply. Can you do that?”

Fenris started kissing Anders neck as he spoke. When he nodded, his hair brushed under Anders’ chin. “Yes, Healer. I can do that.”

The kisses continued down Anders body. He let them, laying back and offering little pets and loving touches to his elf’s hair as he went. Fenris opened Anders’ trousers and worshipped him, there was no better word for it. Fenris lavished him with just-right touches, digging into Anders’ hips as he re-adjusted them or massaging the underside of Anders’ shaft in a way the healer himself hadn’t know he liked until the other day. Anders was hard in moments, raging within a minute, as Fenris worked him towards orgasm faster than he ever had before.

Naturally that’s where it ended. Anders had almost hoped the elf had changed his mind, but once Anders was suitably hard, Fenris’ mouth lifted off of him and one hand fell away, leaving the other to tease him and keep him interested as Fenris started to climb over him.

“Wait!” Anders blurted a bit more aggressively than he meant to. Fenris paused, mid-straddle, to watch his Healer warily. “Sorry, love, I just meant… don’t do that, you’ll hurt yourself. Let me.”

“I am not so delicate, mage.”

That control of something he feared, again. He'd rather hurt himself than surrender to Anders, but the healer just couldn't stand the thought of letting that happen. If they were going to do this, it wasn't going to hurt.

Anders sat up and placed his hands on Fenris’ shoulder and hip, moving the elf to lay where Anders had just been. Fenris went willingly in spite of his grumbling.

“Nor I so worthy of such worship,” Anders told him with a grin he knew probably looked drunk and lecherous, but it was the best he could do with his cock still so pleased. “And yet you gift it to me. Let me give you something in return.”

“Anders, you don’t need-”

The mage shut him up with a kiss, and not to the lips. Fenris wasn’t hard as he lay back, but when Anders put his lips around the elf’s tip and sent a wave of magic through the hand that cupped his lover’s root and balls, that changed. Fenris cried out so abruptly that the surprise almost choked him, and were it not for Anders’ hand holding him down, he would have lurched straight up and away from the healer’s attention.

Anders lifted his head to grin up at Fenris.

“Oh, you liked that?” He did it again, watching as the elf writhed, mouth open as though he wanted to scream. “It’s not too much?”

Fenris couldn’t answer, which was a good enough reason to stop, and least for now. Anders’ mouth minded the erection while his fingers began to explore further back. No tension this time, but it could have been because he’d just half killed the elf with magic.

Anders reached for the oil he'd left beside their bed and he stroked a line between Fenris’ ass cheeks, over his hole but not penetrating it. That make the elf tense.

“Mage….”

He disconnected from Fenris cock and moved up to be closer to him. Fenris wrapped around his shoulders as he came close enough, and Anders rested his head on Fenris’ chest to enjoy the embrace.

“I know, Fenris.” He kissed the elf’s nipple and asked; “do you want to stop?”

“No.” I just wanted you here, Anders almost heard. The need to connect. He understood.

He continued his exploring, massaging the curves and lines of the muscles of the elf’s bum, tracing the pucker again, then playing with his balls and then the space between balls and arse - Fenris had an incredibly sensitive perineum. When Anders pressed it with a slick thumb, Fenris relaxed the same way he did with magic, spreading himself wider to give his Mage better access.

Anders played him like an instrument, one hand at his arse and the other around his cock, both playing in-between as they were able to keep the elf blissed out. It took time and patience, but Fenris didn’t even seem to notice when Anders finally slipped a finger into him. At least not at first. Anders felt Fenris fingers flex after a few seconds, felt how the elf stilled and tensed slightly even in his pleasure.

“It’s only me, love,” Anders murmured and turned to kiss one of Fenris’ hands. “It’s only me.”

He trickled healing magic into his partner, letting it literally radiate from his insides out. Fenris melted, all tension gone, at least until Anders stopped. Fenris tensed again, but that was okay, it was normal. Anders could and would work through it. Carefully, very intentionally, he withdrew his finger and worked it in again, fucking Fenris with it as the elf simply lay and felt it. Anders set a slow, steady rhythm for him to learn and get comfortable with. In, out, in out, as innocent as breathing. Five times, and then another touch of healing to affirm how good this was. In, out, five more times, another touch of magic. Fenris started to truly relax at last.

“That’s good, love,” Anders murmured. He moved up to kiss Fenris’ chin when the death-grip on his shoulders eased. Anders kept the magic going as he withdrew his finger and slid another in alongside it, kissing Fenris’ jaw as he watched the elf realise what was happening. “It’s only me, love. I’m here, I’m with you. You feel so good.” Gentle, generic praise that would sound silly with anyone else, but his elf clung to the words.

In, out, five more times, more magic. Fenris soon started arching and pushing his hips back against Anders hand, urging the mage deeper until he brushed up against the soft gland of Fenris’ prostate. More bucking, more moaning. Still the same tension, physical pleasure could only distract the mind so much, but Fenris gave every sign that he was enjoying himself.

“I’m going to stop for a minute,” Anders murmured, interrupting his litany of praise. “I want to change positions. I want you to get me ready for you.”

Fenris nodded, seeming to understand. Anders laid back and helped the elf roll on top of him, then guided him to turn so Fenris straddled his face, bobbing his head down onto Anders’ cock.

If Fenris liked a touch behind his balls, he liked a tongue there far more. Open as he was, he ground against Anders’ mouth when the mage spread his arse cheeks open and started tonguing his hole. Anders’ thumbs parted the pucker itself, letting Anders in even deeper, and Fenris abandoned Anders' cock in favour of groaning against his thigh and bearing back against everything Anders offered him. That itself, the wanton passion, the lust, the pleasure, that stirred Anders as well as any mouth.

“Please, Healer,” Fenris soon pleaded. His forehead was pressed to Anders hip, it was all he could do not to collapse. He hesitated for a moment as he tried to finish his request, but couldn’t.

“Come up here, love,” Anders bid and held a hand to him, inviting Fenris to come and lay beside him.

The elf did so, avoiding Ander’s eye. He lay on his belly in the blankets, still looking wretched and desperate in spite of all of Anders’ care, all of the pleasure.

“We can still stop, Fen.”

Fenris shook his head, face muffled in the blankets. “No.”

“Then roll over. I want to see-”

Fenris shuddered and shook his head again. “No.” Maker, he almost sounded like he was crying.

Anders hesitated. He didn’t want to deny his elf. He obviously had reasons. Anders didn’t want to threaten his rather necessary erection by wondering what Danarius had done to taint even the act of facing one’s mate, but he trusted that Fenris had reasons. Still, he couldn’t stand the thought of Fenris forgetting who he was with.

“Okay, love.”

Anders kissed the back of his neck and straddled him, leaving enough room to work his fingers in between them. He returned to what he’d been doing earlier. In, out, five times, healing. Again. Again. Fenris relaxed into the blankets beneath him, definitely crying now, but the kind that often came with release. Fenris was letting go of something, and Anders knew that like any other toxic thing, the best course of action was to let it flow, let it leave. Be there to fix whatever void was left.

He never stopped talking to Fenris, his magic kept coming in the same pattern, like a magical heart-beat to soothe him.

In, out, in, out. “It’s just me, love.” Anders lined himself up with the elf and easily slid in.

He knew he didn’t hurt Fenris, he’d been so careful, and his lover was so well prepared that Anders’ met no resistance. Still, he rested there, hips against his lover’s ass, and gave him a minute. Gave them both a minute, really. Incredible though it felt, Anders had never been the sort to enjoy sex with a lover who cried at his touches.

“Let me kiss you, Fen.” He kissed the side of the elf’s neck hopefully, but Fenris shook his head. “Close your eyes. You don’t have to look at me. Please, Fenis, I don’t think I can do this if-”

Fenris pushed back against him, inviting him deeper, and Anders groaned in pleasure despite himself. He rested his forehead on the blanket next to Fenris as his hips bucked on their own.

“Please, love,” he gasped. “I won’t ask for anything else.”

A moment later, Fenris turned to face his mage. Eye closed, but invitation open. Anders lips latched onto Fenris’ own, his tongue pressing into Fenris mouth to bring them closer together, and he began to thrust.

It didn’t take long after that. A few kisses, a handful of strokes, and Fenris’ ass was milking Anders as he came, pulling his mage along with him. It was an empty pleasure, a cold comfort, but needed for both of them. Anders focused on the kiss, and his lover’s well-being. Fenris was healing, that’s all that mattered.

Anders found a cloth to catch their mess and cleaned Fenris first, then wiped himself on it as he withdrew. Focused on the task, he almost missed Fenris’ soft voice when the elf began to speak.

“He used magic,” Fenris said. He could have stopped his explanation there and it would have been enough, Anders knew how many terrible things those words conveyed. “It was as if he was made of fire. When he touched me… it was like being aflame, and never put out. He’d have me face him, so he could see me screaming-”

Fenris halted on the words and Anders kissed him again at the corner of the mouth, giving him freedom to speak, permission to stay silent. Fenris turned to bury his face in the blanket.

“It wasn’t even a punishment,” he continued, voice muffled. “He just enjoyed it. There was no other reason. He just enjoyed it.”

“Fuck, Fenris.” He kissed the elf’s neck again and lay down beside him, one hand on his back as he pressed healing down into him.

Finally, thankfully, Fenris rolled. He curled into his lover, seeking comfort and touch and letting Anders take his fill of it in turn.

“Anders,” he moaned into the kisses. Whispered, softer than he’d ever said the mage’s name. Lover-soft, prayer-soft. “Thank you.”

“For what, love?”

Whatever it was, Fenris fell asleep humming against Anders’ lips before he answered.

Chapter Text

The sun was warm and all-enveloping, peeking through the holes in Anders’ curtain and roof and wrapping around them both. Anders woke first. Neither of them had exactly slept well, but they had slept, wrapped in each other. He opened his eyes and stretched lazily, then re-settled with his arm around Fenris’ waist again and pressed a so-light kiss to the elf’s temple. Fenris’ ears twitched sometimes, moreso when he was falling asleep or rising into awakedness. Anders sent a little swirl of magic out through Fenris’ lower body, and the ears twitched and Fenris moaned lightly at the sensation.

Fenris always slept on his belly, arms and legs ready to push up and away at a moment’s notice. Now he shifted his weight and rolled against Anders. The mage twined their legs together and pressed his hand into Fenris’ lower back, pushing him gently against Anders’ leg. The elf moaned again, stirring in more ways than one. Anders coaxed him awake with warmth and sunshine and magic.

“Good morning, love,” Anders whispered and kissed Fenris between the eyes before he could open them. “I missed you while I was asleep.”

Fenris smiled faintly. “I dreamed of you.”

“Sap.”

Fenris swatted him and they shared smiles and a soft laugh. Oh, but it felt good. Maker, it felt good. To see that grin, hear laughter, to feel Fenris happily half-hard against him. Whatever had happened last night, it was a good thing. Or at worst it was not a terrible one. Anders had gambled and won - Fenris was more relaxed this morning than he had been the morning before. They had weathered the bad news of the spell and they were closer for it.

That was what Anders had hoped for, anyway, before he saw how Fenris sobered as he woke fully. It was like the sun had suddenly passed behind a storm cloud, turning the world cool and blue-tinged.

“What’s wrong, love?”

Fenris cuddled closer and didn’t answer for a minute, eventually offering just; “nothing.”

“Fen-”

“What do you want me to say, Anders?”

“…well, nothing, exactly….”

“Then nothing is wrong.”

Anders sighed and hugged the elf. “Just tell me you don’t hate me?”

“I don’t hate you.” Fenris drew back from the curled embrace and kissed his healer. “I don’t hate you, I don’t blame you, you’ve done nothing wrong, and you are not the problem.” He curled again and Anders tucked him, safe and warm, into his embrace. “I am simply miserable. It is resisting further definition.”

Anders pressed his lips to his lovers’ head and pointed out, “well, you’ve just had some bad news, tacked on to the end of a fairly shit life, and you’re suffering a mind and mood altering curse, so you can’t deal with it the way you normally would. I’d be more worried if you weren’t miserable.”

Fenris chuckled at that. “I suppose so.”

“But you’ll be okay, I think,” Anders continued. “You’re scared, which I understand. But you’ll see, with time. You’ve already made great progress with the spell. You’ll adjust. And one day you’ll rip Danarius’ heart out and be done with it for good.”

The mood shifted to colder again with the mention of the Magister, but that was okay. Normal. Anders was content to simply hold his elf for as long as was needed. The clinic could wait, just for today.

“ANDERS! Open this door!”

Apparently someone else could not.

Fenris jerked up in Anders’ arms, eyes wide and staring in the door’s direction.

“It’s okay, love,” Anders soothed him, offering magic. “I’ll see what it-”

“Anders, open up.” The first demand had sort of sounded like Hawke, angrier than Anders had ever heard. The second was most definitely Aveline. “I can bring the guard down to do this officially if you want to.”

“Maker, Aveline, I’m in bed!” Anders called back as he donned his coat and covered the space to the door. “Hang on!”

He disenchanted he door of its various new locks and traps and opened it, feigning bleary-eyed ignorance as he looked over his friends. And yes, it was friends - all of them, more or less. Varric, Merrill, Isabella, Aveline. Hawke lead the group with a dangerous threat in his eyes and pushed past Anders as soon as the door opened.

“Wait a min-”

Aveline stopped him from following with a hand on his chest, turning him away from Hawke and to the side of the door so the rest of them could enter.

“What in Thedas are you doing here?” Anders demanded, his anxiety spiking as Hawke paced towards the bedroom, but stopped in the middle of the clinic.

“Is it true Fenris has been staying with you?”

Anders felt Justice flare first, the mix of dread and lightning and the fade made his stomach roll. “Of course n-”

The blood mage revealed him.

Or Varric, Anders realized. Varric knew too. And Hawke wasn’t- okay, Hawke was that stupid, but….

“So what if he has?” Anders challenged. “I’ve been helping him with the effects of a spell, I said as-”

“Are you?” Hawke asked pointedly.

Anders glared. “Of course I am. Why else would he be here?”

“I can think of a few reasons.” Hawke raised his voice and turned towards the partitioned area, where Fenris hid behind the half-wall. “Are you decent back there, Fenris?”

Anders could almost feel the anxiety in his lover. “Hawke,” he growled and stepped forward, but Aveline came between them, her face set in a scowl.

“I wouldn’t,” said the guardswoman, low and full of warning.

“It’s not what you think,” Anders protested, but Hawke had already begun towards the bedroom. Anders leaned on one of the cots, gripping its edges so he didn’t follow and get himself in trouble.

“Sorry, Blondie.” Varric walked up behind him, moving to stand by Aveline. “I told them nothing sinister was going on. You boys are adults, you don’t need mommy or daddy’s permission to get down in darktown, but-”

“I’m not sure you’re helping as much as you think you are, Varric.” Anders hated how his voice shook. He chose to believe the tremble came from anger, nothing else.

Varric held up his hands with an innocent face and said “hey, look, I’m just saying, I’m on your side here. If you boys are here doing what lonely adults do, then far be it from us to tell you not to.”

“But you have to admit, it looks a bit queer, Anders,” Aveline said. “No one sees Fenris for almost two weeks, he's apparently under the effect of a mind-altering spell, and you’re being evasive in your answers.”

“Not to mention the fact that he’s apparently in your bed.” Of course Isabella had to add her voice, too. “I love fucking the people who hate me, they don’t hold back, but I wouldn’t have pegged our beautiful elf as one to dabble in the same.”

“We don’t hate each other,” Anders argued. “We came to an agreement, we… we’re lovers.” He hoped Fenris wouldn’t mind him sharing that, but how could he hide it now, with Hawke in the next room speaking quietly to the possibly still naked man in his bed?

“Sure,” said Varric. “But you have to agree, Blondie, the timing is….”

“Queer.”

“Will you stop saying queer?” Isabella teased Aveline. “You are forbidden to use that word again until you know how hilarious you sound.”

“S’not that hilarious, Rivaini.”

“Regardless.” Isabella leaned against the cot Anders gripped, facing him as he faced away from everyone else. “If there’s nothing going on that shouldn’t be, I’m sure Fenris can explain and we can all leave feeling very foolish. But if it turns out you’ve been naughty-”

“Like using weird Tevinter enslavement magic to get rid of a pesky rival,” Varric added helpfully, making Anders’ blood rage.

“-then Aveline is going to have to spank you.”

“I only did what Fenris asked!” Anders snapped, enraged at the accusations, though the fact that they hit so close to home and stung so harshly spoke volumes to him. “He didn’t want to talk to any of you - he barely even wanted to talk to me. He needed help with the spell, but aside from that- Merrill, you tell them.” Anders turned to her desperately. “What was he like, when you saw him?”

“Urmm….” The little blood mage glanced from person to person and squeaked out, “well, I mean, he was prickly, but then he always it. I did think it was a bit strange that you spoke so much for him, Anders. Or that you were so... familiar.”

“I spoke for him because he didn’t want to speak!” Anders all but yelled. “I don’t understand why you, his friends, are not more respectful of his wishes!”

“Calm down, glowy.”

Anders could feel Justice rising to fight for their elf.

Fenris doesn’t want to see you, he reminded the spirit. Stay out of this.

“We will respect his wishes, Anders,” Isabella assured him, strangely serious for once. “When we hear them from him.”

Anders turned away again and resigned himself to silence, aware that no matter what he said, he was just getting deeper in shit. “Fine. Ask him, see what he says. Where’s Hawke?”

Hawke had been in the bedroom for a suspiciously long time, the others seemed to realize in sync as Anders pointed it out. Varric and Aveline nodded to each other, and he in turn looked to Isabella, who joined him and together they headed for the bedroom. Anders wanted so badly to stop them. He knew how much Fenis would hate this-

Then stop them.

What do you want me to do, Justice? Murder them all because they embarrassed our-

This is beyond a mere embarrassment!

He felt Justice rise. The more they disagreed the harder it was to control the spirit, as though he were a separate entity again.

Justice, we cannot-

We cannot allow this mistreatment to go unpunished! You owe the elf more than this.

I know, Justice, but I cannot stop this by force.

“So, uh….” Varric scratched the back of his head and stood side by side with Anders, at a safe distance, he noticed. “Can you explain why your ‘lover’ seems so emotional right now?”

“I told you he doesn’t want to see anyone,” Anders answered through clenched teeth. “The spell… curse, whatever it is. It affects his moods. It goes in a cycle, when he's just been healed he's not himself-”

“Uhuh. Yeah. Sounds like the perfect time for him to be reconciling with mortal enemies and going to bed with them.”

Anders growled in frustration, “I know what it looks like, Varric!”

“Then you won’t mind us cleaning him up for a walk.”

“Varric-”

“Look, kid, this isn’t gonna end any other way,” the Dwarf told him calmly, hands up and spread again like Anders was a horse to be calmed by the gesture. “We don’t want to think bad of you, but we have to make sure he’s okay, yeah? We can’t do that here. If you do care about him then I'm sure you understand.”

Do not let them take him

Justice, I can’t-

His head throbbed, everything burned. The spirit rarely hurt him, never on purpose, but the more agitated Justice became, the harder he was to contain and the more painful being a host was.

“Anders-”

“Leave us be!”

Stop! Fenris wouldn’t want this.

He is not able to speak now, we need-

He can speak, Justice. He can, and he must choose to.

The spirit wasn’t happy, but he stopped, at least.

“-back soon, then.”

Anders spun to see the clinic door held open by Isabella. Hawke in front with an arm around Fenris’ shoulders, Merrill behind with Isabella, Varric walking backwards and speaking to him.

“What?”

Why did he say nothing?

“We’ll see you soon, Blondie. We won’t keep him out past bedtime.”

Why does he go so willingly?

Varric offered a wane smile, and Isabella kicked the doors closed behind them.

Chapter Text

“Maker, Fenris, what happened-”

“-just want to help-”

“-why is he not talking to us?”

Where’s Anders?

It had just been Hawke at first, and Fenris had tried to stammer an embarrassed explanation, but all too soon the others had started to pile in with questions and worries, all between him and the exit, packed into the tiny room. They all merged together as though alien, as though his eyes and ears didn’t know what to do with them, the same way the world around him had when Merrill told him the dark prognosis of the spell. He didn’t understand it, he didn’t care to. He wanted his mage and nothing else mattered.

Why are they even here?

“Fenris?” A single voice, Isabella’s. “We’re going for a walk, okay handsome? Get some stinky dark town air, it’ll be good for you.”

Being buggered by a dragon sounded preferably, but when he tried to protest he made no sound. Or at least seemed not to, he wasn’t sure if they were talking over him.

“Anders,” he murmured, half hoping his Healer would hear him, somehow. Of course he couldn’t. He didn’t even think he’s spoken out loud, though he doubted it would make a difference. Anders….

His Mage was there, back to the room, when they finally lead him out. Fenris looked to him, but Anders didn’t even notice his passing.

Do I mean so little, after all?

He accepted it quickly. Life is easier when you accept quickly. Pain didn’t matter. His heart didn’t matter. It was what it was and lamentations wouldn’t change that. He bowed his head and accepted Hawke’s arm around his shoulders, leading him out.

-x-

There were questions, Fenris didn’t doubt. And pain, starting at the top and bottom of his spine and radiating outwards like his skin was a corset being laced by his lyrium. He tried to speak, but every time the words faltered, lost between the never-ending babbling of the others.

“-what do you think he was doing-”

“-can he even hear us?”

“Fenris?”

“We should take him to the circle-”

“-must know what’s going on-”

Please don’t take me there.

It seemed silly to care, but the circle chilled him now. His Mage wouldn’t like it.

Is he still mine?

The ground beneath him seemed to move, like a ship at sea. Leaving Seheron… except he didn’t. Not with his Master. That fear, knowing he was alone with the enemy, left behind at their mercy and wounded-

Stop it.

Not among enemies. These were his friends. They were trying to help.

Just the spell….

Why didn’t he speak?

“Fenris?”

A different voice to last time. Too much noise.

Familiar. Bright lights and sharp smells. The slippery images his eyes didn’t know what to do with started to stick. He was in the Hanged Man.

“You look like you could use some rest, Broody.”

Fenris nodded and let himself be lead. He needed healing, not rest. He knew the difference. But he could barely hear right now, he certainly couldn’t speak. He hoped the world would at least be quieter in Varric’s room, but most of the noise followed them.

“-what about the Chantry? They might be able to-”

“Do you think Anders was the one to cast it? I mean, did anyone see-”

“Merrill, can you help?”

The blood mage squeaked. “I can try, Hawke, but I already told you, I can’t-”

“You don’t need to, just try and heal him. Look at him.”

When Merrill reached for his arm, Fenris held it out obediently, but before he could be hopeful or fearful, pain seared under her touch, then ripped through his body with her magic.

“It’s okay, Fenris,” she cooed, and the sensation gentled as she focused. “There… there, that’s better, isn’t it?”

The pain left him, both from her initial casting and from the spell from Danarius. Even the worry for Anders… all of it left him. He could feel her under his skin, but it didn’t matter. His skin was numb, even the markings were numb, but numb as though ice had been set to them, as though someone planned to cut them out and had taken a meagre measure to prevent pain. It felt wrong and inorganic, it felt like a spell or a poison.

Anders….

Life was easier when he accepted quickly. It wouldn’t hurt so much if he just accepted it.

“Broody?”

The sound echoed, distant and unimportant, like his ears and his head were numb too, or he’d taken a blow to the head, too hard.

“-still say we should take him to the circle, at least there they can try-”

“No,” Fenris managed. The circle wasn’t safe. “No.”

“No to the circle? Okay, so what else can we-”

The sounds fell away again, meaning nothing. None of them had need or a plan for him, and so he simply sat where he was placed, like an ornament, and awaited instruction.

-x-

Eventually the horrible, sickening sensation of numbness wore off. Fenris never thought he’d embrace pain the way he did when he felt he effects of the spell again. It felt like Danarius, angry with him. Felt like a kick in the back or a hand on the back of his neck. It felt like being gripped and shoved down, but it felt like something Fenris could get used to. He forced himself to breath through the pain and focus only on staying calm and doing as he was told, on answering their questions so they wouldn’t cast on him again or keep him longer than necessary. He needed to get home, to-

Does he want you back?

The reminder that his Mage hadn’t fought for him hurt more than the spells.

“Fenris?”

Hawke.

The noise was still there, in every space all around him, but the single voice was easy to follow.

“Yes, Hawke?”

“What happened? Come on, you can tell me.”

I already tried, he wanted to say. He’d already explained this in the clinic, Hawke just hadn’t listened.

Instead he steadied himself and embraced the pain to keep him focused, and started again a the beginning.

“I was infected with a curse on the Wounded Coast with you, Merrill, Varric and Anders. It caused me pain and unwanted thoughts, and they became worse. Anders was able to heal the effects, but they grow stronger throughout the day. He must heal them frequently lest they overcome me.”

“Okay… and the sex?”

Fenris winced and focused again. “I hear it’s quite enjoyable,” he quipped. “Jokes aside, adult have sex, sometimes. There is nothing more to it.”

“Why with him?”

He couldn’t admit that it was because of the spell, that was exactly what Hawke was worried about. But that was the reason, the whole and only reason. He needed Anders for the spell, and the spell needed sex, and Anders was convenient. If Anders had an attractive brother or sister who wasn’t so insufferable, Fenris would have likely bedded them instead. Love came after-

He let you go. It's easier when you accept.

“I want to understand, Fenris.”

“Then listen,” Fenris snapped, grimaced again. The spell was developing faster than normal. “Take me back.”

“Why?”

“I need healing.”

“Then we’ll take you to the gallows, we’ll find someone there who-”

“No!” Fenris yelled, then forced himself to calm and focus again. “No. It has to be him.”

The room had fallen quiet at the yell, Fenris could feel eyes on him, hear them waiting for the rest of what he had to say, but he had so little left already.

“Please just take me back,” he said again. Exhausted, but not begging, he promised himself. “Please.”

Hawke’s tone wasn’t unkind. He touched Fenris’ hand with the same care as a friend. Hawke had stood by Fenris through everything so far, he clearly cared deeply, no matter how hard it was to see.

“Fenris… Merrill told us about the spell. It forces your submission, doesn’t it?”

Fenris glared at him, hurt that he knew. “It’s not as simple as-”

“Come here, Fenris.”

Hawke held a hand out to him, bidding, and Fenris easily followed the single voice. It took him a moment to realize what he’d just done, that Hawke had tricked him to prove a point. It hurt Hawke too, that much was plain to see, but Hawke didn't have to do it.

The rogue sighed sadly and asked, quieter, so the rest of the group wouldn’t hear, “if I ordered you to go to bed with me, would you?”

“No.”

“You just told me the spell didn’t force your submission, and yet here you are.” He gave Fenris’ hand a gentle squeeze before letting it go.

“I said it wasn’t so simple.”

“And yet you can’t explain it?”

There hardly seemed to be a point. No one was listening. They all craned their ears to his suffering, but none heard his simple truth. He was in pain. He wished to return to his healer. That was all he wished for.

“Fenris, how do you know that Anders didn’t fuel the spell, or at least take advantage of it?”

“How do you know you’re not a dragon?” He muttered, suddenly exhausted. “I simply know.”

It didn’t matter what he said. The rogue wouldn’t listen. He felt bruised and terribly tired, drained. Done. He just wanted to be left alone, if he couldn’t be left with Anders. He didn’t want to keep answering questions, only to be told he was wrong. It felt like a game, the sort Danarius would play. Asking him the colour of the table cloth, only to tell him it’s red when Fenris answered blue.

“Fenris….”

More words. Fenris didn’t hear any of them. Everything was slippery again, his mind refusing to take it in. He ignored his friends and closed his eyes instead, and willed himself back to his bed that morning, with the sunshine and the blissful waves of magic. He had been happy for a little while. Even if that painless time in the sun was gone, it had left him with something to hold onto. A memory to lose himself in. He had made do with less for longer. He could survive this.

Chapter Text

“Fenris?”

He floated in memories until a hand on his shoulder roused him, forcing him back to the real world. It was dark now, night time. Isabela. It was her hand on his arm, her single voice to guide him.

The pain was incredible, now that his focus was on it.

“Fenris?”

Isabela’s single voice. He blinked and fixed his eyes on her.

“Fenris, sweet thing, it’s time for sleep. You’ll be with me tonight.”

“I still think this is a horrible idea,” protested Aveline. “Do we really think-”

“I have the biggest bed,” Isabela snapped in an exasperated tone that suggested she loved it all, really. She winked at Fenris like he was in on the joke. “Come on now, handsome. Let’s get you to bed.”

It was good that it was Isabela. If any of them wouldn’t ask questions, it was her. The spell made demands. Before it had demanded Anders. It could make do with her. Even without the healing, it could make do with one voice to follow, one master to please.

She lead him out and across the hall, down to her room. She closed the door and sat him on her bed, then gave him an oddly fond smile before crouching down before him.

“You don’t mind, do you?” She asked. “Spending the night with me?”

Fenris shook his head. “Not at all,” he answered honestly.

“Good.”

The pirate began to strip off her jewellery and all but one of her blades, then her boots, her belt and garters. Fenris sat and waited until, wearing nothing but her now-unlaced dress, she returned.

“Aren’t you going to get into the bed, sweet thing?”

Fenris obeyed, slipping between the covers to wait for her there. He closed his eyes and thought of Anders, wrapped up behind him in Isabela's real bed. It certainly felt nicer than the floor in the clinic, there was no doubting it, though Fenris wouldn’t trade that for this if Anders’ company were the sacrifice.

Life is easier if you just accept. Why haven’t you let him go yet?

Isabela flipped back the covers and joined him, her half-bare body pressed against him in the darkness.

“I hope you don’t mind, I’m not the sort to sleep constricted. And you looked like you could use a hug.”

Fenris ducked his face to her neck and nuzzled the familiar spot of her unfamiliar body. “I don’t mind,” he murmured against her skin.

She gave a happy sigh, easy to please, and tilted her head back. Her hands roamed his shoulders and hair, one hand skimming a line down his back. Fenris kissed her neck and awaited instructions.

Nothing.

One arm lay under his head like a pillow, the other rested loosely around his waste, and the wench seemed ready to fall asleep. Fenris nuzzled again at her neck, trying to get her attention, but she didn’t stir.

Please, don’t be asleep.

He needed… something. He didn’t know what and his Mage wasn’t there to tell him. “Isabela,” he whispered urgently and kissed her neck, sucking a gentle hickey to the surface. “Isabela, please….”

“No, sweetheart,” she told him, firm but gentle as her hand on his waist stroked his face instead. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“Isabela, please-” he knew he was begging, hated to think it, but he needed it. Oh, Maker - with her so close, her skin beneath his lips and her hand on his head he needed so badly, needed to be petted and pushed down and praised, needed to make her buck and gasp and tell him how good he felt, how well he was doing. “Please….”

“Shhhhh.” A long and hushed sound, soothing as her fingers laced in his hair. “Oh, Fenris, pet, hush.”

“Isabela….”

She pressed his head to her shoulder and shifted to press herself more against him, hugging him fully. “Yes, handsome?” she whispered back.

“I… I can’t…. “

“Can’t what?”

She pushed more than Anders, not in the right ways. He longed so desperately for something else, but….

“Whatever it is, pet, you can let it go.” Another little shift to bring him lower, resting his head against her chest so that her shoulder became a pillow.

Something in the words and the firm press of her hand to the back of his neck made him want to cry, to release his frustrations again her skin, but it felt intrinsically wrong. He didn’t want her to see this, any of this.

“Please take me back,” he begged softly. “Please. I cannot bear it.”

No answer for a long while, just her steady heart-beat and her fingers in his hair. A lighter touch than Anders, sharper somehow. Not painful, but not right. She petted with her nails rather than the pads of her fingers, a tiny difference but is set his skin on edge, making it hard to take comfort in the touch. He made do as best he could, giving in to his need to bury against her as he tried to remember Anders’ touch well enough to replace Isabela’s.

“Have you been like this since the spell started, pet?”

Please don’t call me that.

“It’s complicated,” he quietly said. “It… yes. But… it builds. Healing- Anders healing,” he clarified pointedly lest Isabela call the blood mage back. “Diminishes it. Let’s me… think.”

“’It builds’?” Isabela echoed. “What is ‘it’?”

“I don’t know.”

Isabela huffed dramatically and continued petting his hair. “Okay. What helps it? Don’t say Anders.”

Anders.

He said nothing.

“Okay… is the sex stuff part of it?”

“No.”

“Oh?”

He felt her fingers circle his erection, that was the first time he knew he was hard. He certainly wasn’t wanting, not for that. Or rather, not for that specifically. He didn’t even understand his body’s reaction to the spell, he knew he would never be able to explain it in its entirety. Certainly not now.

He was bucking against her hand, and then the hand was gone. He whined but he didn’t mind, the sensation was removed from him, maybe even from pleasure itself. His body was not him, he couldn’t bear the pain of being in it as the spell pulled him tighter and tighter.

“Sorry, handsome, I didn’t mean to torment you. Do you even feel that?”

“No.”

The answer clearly surprised her, from the little gasp he heard. “Well, that’s not normal.”

No answer, none was needed.

“So sex isn’t part of the spell?”

How to shut her up… he nuzzled her chest and hoped she’d let him fall asleep, but she jostled him or scratched his scalp lightly, every few seconds, demanding his attention. His thoughts slipped around his head like the conversations where there were too many, each one just a fragment. A sensation he liked or hated or craved, an emotion, an image, a half-formed sentence.

“The spell gives me… thoughts,” he explained slowly, and Isabela had the decency to shut up and listen. “Noise… they overlap. I cannot hear them all, these thoughts that overlap, that I would rather not have. Anders helps me ignore them.”

Isabela petted his hair and waited a while to be sure he really was finished. “That doesn’t really answer my question, Fenris.”

“I cannot answer it any better.”

“Hmm.” She seemed to accept that and continued playing with his hair. “Try and rest, sweet. I’ll talk to the others in the morning.”

“Please just take me back now.” He could cry in frustration, he felt like he was being lead in a circle, into a trap he was too stupid to understand. “I cannot sleep here.”

Her annoying touch was gentle, and she kissed his head with genuine love, the way another had so often done. “Fenris, sweetheart, you have to realize how strange this seems. You’re afflicted with a mysterious spell that only one man can apparently deal with, and that same man is someone who hates you- or hated you, until very recently,” she amended. It helped, knowing she was willing to entertain the idea. “And that same man has been keeping you secretly in his home, and has taken you to his bed even though you’re clearly not of your normal mind.”

“But I am with him,” Fenris almost cried. She wasn’t getting it. “He helps.”

“Even if that’s true, pet, it’s no less suspicious. Only he helps. You can only make decisions with him. If you want me to value your mind on this matter Fenris, tell me honestly - do you not think you’d be wary in my position? If you held Hawke in your arms and listened to this?”

Fenris wanted to rebel against everything she said, but she was right. He gave up and nodded weakly. From the outside… yes, it looked bad. He understood that. But how could he show them Anders’ good intentions and good work if they didn’t take him back?

“I’ll talk to the others in the morning, pet.” She rubbed the back of his neck and tucked the blanket in around them both. “None of us want you to suffer. Just get some rest, and we’ll discuss it in the morning.”

With all-wrong gentle touches and soft words and a bed that was softer than he wanted, Fenris wasn’t sure he slept, but he rested a little. He had endured worse. He could endure this.

Chapter Text

The sun was dappled, like it filtered through water. Isabela’s voice came to him from a long distance, too far to hear properly. She leaned over him, looked worried. The pain… he couldn’t remember it being this bad before, when the spell first took hold. It felt as though a spike had been driven into the base of his skull and another into his lower back, and an ache radiated from them as if he were made of ice, and cracks spread in sharp tendrils from the intrusions within him. Where those tendrils touched the lyrium, a new path began, up and down the white lines until they wrapped him in a spider’s web of agony. He couldn’t even move until Isabella lifted his arm. Then he shuddered, and suddenly it hurt more to keep still.

She said something else and fled the room, naked but for a blanket. Fenris tried to push himself up to sit, but his arms trembled and refused to take his weight, and so instead he closed his eyes and waited, not daring to hope. Could the spell actually kill him? He hadn’t known before though he had wondered. He had a feeling he was about to find out. He couldn’t survive like this for long, surely. Even if the pain didn’t cause him real harm, as Anders had said, there were some things that simple couldn’t be endured forever.

Distant voices again, more than one. He opened his eyes to see Hawke leaning over him this time, worry in every line of his face.

“Please take me back,” Fenris said. He had no idea what he sounded like, or even if the words came out at all. “Please take me back.

The worried frown deepened further and Hawke knelt beside the bed.

“Do you want to sit up?” Fenris heard through the distance, the words echoing. He nodded and Hawke scooped him carefully under his shoulders, helping him to sit. He said something else that Fenris missed, then retreated to the group once more.

The rest of the conversation blurred. Fenris blinked and people had moved, or left, or come back. Words and sentences, sometimes whole portions of their talk, filtered through the spell to warble at him. Some of it stuck, some didn’t. He knew they were debating what to do with him. He knew they were his friends and they were trying to help him, but nothing frightened him more than the threat of being left here with them.

Why hasn’t Anders come?

Even Danrius returned for him.

Eventually. Give him time.

“-regardless, he’s getting worse,” Varric pointed out. “Whether Blondie did it or not is irrelevant, he made this mess, he can fix it.”

“Or make it worse,” Hawke argued. “We don’t know enough about the spell to-”

“-not all of us, Hawke.” Merrill protested something, but the sound went before Fenris knew more.

“-practically command him not to go down on me last night,” Isabela was telling them. He knew he should feel ashamed, but he couldn’t care. “Maybe Anders just doesn’t realize it’s an effect of the spell?”

Aveline joined them at some point, though he didn’t hear her until she was already gone.

“Well, it’s possible,” she had agreed before she left. “With his need to please he has likely dropped his anti-mage stance, he’ll be more willing to compromise on his beliefs, but is it a friendship if it’s based on that?”

“Either way, Anders-”

He blinked and Isabela was gone too. Another blink and she was sitting before him, her hand on his face and looking worried.

“Does anyone remember actually seeing the spell cast?” Merril asked. “I don’t. Hawke, Varric?”

“No, I was watching the slavers.”

“Same,” answered the dwarf.

“Then maybe-”

Isabela stood and turned to them, one voice over the noise.

“My dears, I think we’re giving him a headache,” she announced. “I’ll take him to get some porridge. Varric, is it alright if I sit him in your room?”

“Of course, Rivaini.” The whole dwarf swam out of focus, all but his eyes, which spoke of something more than what was said, but Fenris missed it. “Take your time, we’ll work it out.”

Isabela turned to Fenris again and leaned down to help him up, one of her arms under his. “Can you stand?” She asked kindly. “You can lean on me if you need to.”

He could stand. Did. The thought of porridge made him feel ill, but he couldn’t deny the woman.

“Please take me back,” he mumbled automatically. “Isabela, please.”

“Shhh, love,” and he obeyed, instead following Isabela where she lead. Past the now-silent group, through the tavern’s bustling main room, and out in to the street of lowtown.

-x-

We need to retrieve him.

Calm down, Justice.

He is being wrongly imprisoned and you should care at least as much as I!

He’s not being imprisoned.

Anders halted and pinched his nose, the reminder stinging more than he should. He hadn’t slept. Hadn’t opened the clinic, hadn’t eaten… honestly he couldn’t remember anything he’d done, other than pace and argue with Justice. And Fenris wasn’t being held prisoner. He just didn’t want to come back.

We were wrong, my friend. He shouldn’t have been here, we shouldn’t have concealed him.

And how will you know, sitting here and waiting? How do you know he is not waiting for us as well?

Justice, Hawke and Varric and the others are our friends, they’re only looking out for-

The clinic door opened, and he was there. Just there, eyes down and Isabela at his back.

Fenris.

Anders crossed the clinic in three strides and wrapped his arms around the elf with an urgency even he hadn’t anticipated. Justice had already calmed and fallen silent, he was well aware that their elf didn’t want to see him. He was back, and safe, and that was all that mattered. He wasn’t well, though. Fenris stood, stiff but shaky in Anders arms.

“Hush, love,” Anders murmured on instinct and sent wave after wave of healing magic through him, holding the elf up as his knees buckled. “It’s alright, I’ve got you.”

He waited the few seconds until Fenris could stand again and then guided him to the back of the clinic, to their bedroom and the nest where Fenris could rest.

“Umm, hello?” Isabela was still there. Of course she was, she wouldn’t disappear by magic.

Anders didn’t stop his venture to the bedroom, if Isabela wanted to talk she would have to follow. “Yes?”

“I hope you two aren’t planning anything you wouldn’t want a witness to,” she said salaciously as Anders rounded the wall and lay Fenris down. The elf clung to him and tried to pull Anders down too.

“In a minute, love,” Anders whispered and kissed his hand as Isabela continued outside. “I need to talk to Bela for a bit. I’ll stand in the door, right here. You can see me.”

Fenris hated the idea, Anders could tell, but he nodded and just lay still and silent, staring at Anders as he rose.

“-terribly rude of you to leave me out here. No, but seriously, Anders, if you-”

“Relax, Isabela,” he said as he leaned against the wall, between her line of sight and the elf’s. “Setting aside your presumption to dictate our sex life, I was just settling him to rest.”

“Hmph,” she said with a tiny pout. “Spoil sport. Would you ruin all of my nice fantasies?”

“Where they involve us, yes.” Isabela was playing, not malicious, but Anders was not in the mood. Not in the slightest.

“A shame.” She gave one of her overly dramatic sighs and stared wistfully at their bedroom. “You two are so cute together.”

Anders was about to retort, something about her being sexually impressed by a doorknob, when he realized the double meaning of her words. “Is that why you brought him back?” Anders asked, hopeful he had found an ally.

“No, precious, I brought him back because he was suffering, and he asked to be brought. You still have a lot of explaining to do, but….” She paused for thought and gave a single, certain nod. “I knew from the way he was, if you were harming him, it’d be obvious as soon as I saw you together. I’ve seen that kind of abuse before, it’s all too familiar.”

As have I, he wanted to say. Wanted to be angry and offended, but truth be told, he appreciated her concern. He’d worried since he took Fenris in that he was behaving inappropriately, it was something of a relief to hear Isabela’s blessing, such as it was.

“And you don’t see that here?” He clarified, more for his own peace of mind than anything else.

Isabela shook her head. “What I see here is completely alien to me. It must be love,” she said with a smirk. “Just don’t prove me wrong or I’ll whip off your bollocks and wear them as earrings.”

“That’s… lovely.” He shook the image out of his head and tried to convince himself that he only needed to shift his weight for comfort, not to cover his balls behind the partition in the wall. “So what will we do about-”

“Where is he!?”

The clinic door crashed open, revealed a furiously red Hawke, Aveline and Varric at his back.

-x-

Anders didn’t even realize Justice had taken over - they moved as one, sending Hawke flying backwards out of the clinic with a shot of energy and fury.

“You will not take him again.”

Merrill, if she had been there, had already vanished. Aveline’s hand went to her sword, ready to draw and face the threat in defence of the others. Protective, like Anders, like Justice. The fire calmed just enough to let Anders think and speak.

“I want you out,” he declared, Justice behind his eyes as he moved to shoo them. “All of you, out now.”

Isabela went, and Hawke hadn’t returned (Anders briefly entertained a vision of him still flying, comically smashing back-first through every obstacle in Kirkwall and then skipping out to sea like a stone. Just for a moment, before Varric stepped forward and reminded him of the gravity of their situation).

“Now, now,” the dwarf spoke. “Let’s calm down.”

“We’re all on the same side, here,” said Isabela, looking to Hawke as he finally came back into view. “Fenris clearly wants to be here. He’s doing better, Anders is caring for him. We should go.”

“Not so fast,” said Hawke with his usual aid of self-appointed authority. “I want to see him.”

“He’s resting,” Anders told him. “I’ll bring him to the Hanged Man later and you can see him then.”

“When?” Hawke demanded, clearly not placated by the offer. “And how can we trust no harm to come to him in the meantime?”

“No harm to- what sort of bastard do you think I am, Hawke?”

Hawke stepped forward and Justice rose up. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

Anders grit his teeth as Justice vied for control, but it was Isabela who dissipated the fight.

“Now now, boys,” she said as she stepped between them. “I’m sure Fenris is flattered that you’re fighting over him, but he doesn’t exactly look impressed.”

Both men looked to her in confusion, then Hawke dropped his combative stance as he saw something over Anders’ shoulder. Anders turned to follow the gaze and quickly realized Fenris was no longer in their room - he’d come to stand in the doorway, glaring at them all.

“Fenris.” Anders spoke first, tone soft and full of concern as he went to the elf. “What are you doing out-”

“Believe it or not, Anders, I can hear you from our bed,” he growled, then turned his glare entirely onto Hawke. “I have returned willingly, Hawke. Please respect that and leave us in peace.”

Fenris turned to return to the bedroom, but Hawke halted him with a rather loud, “wait!” The elf paused, tension all through him at the command. “I just- can we talk? I was worried about you, Fen. Can we just talk? Please?”

No.

Anders knew Fenris didn’t want to talk about this. He knew how raw the elf must have felt, he knew Fenris didn’t want to talk to Hawke, especially. He wanted to rest, and more than anything else, Anders wanted to get rid of the group so that he could re-settle his lover and take care of him, until this whole mess was just a memory, a long-past misunderstanding for them all to joke about.

“Make I make a suggestion?” Varric stepped forward this time, hands raised and palms open. “How about I stay? I’ll ask my questions, satisfy myself, then I can come and answer yours. Hawke? Aveline? Does that satisfy you?”

Hawke looked wounded, but nodded. “Yes. Yes I suppose that would work.”

“And you, Blondie?”

Anders turned his back on them to return to Fenris, resting a hand on his lover’s waist and in doing so, shielding him from the view of the others. Fenris gave a hesitant nod, and Anders turned back to the room, Fenris at his back.

“I suppose it’s better than nothing,” he said. “The rest of you, get out.”

Chapter Text

The group went with varying degrees of willingness. Anders ignored them all, his attention firmly on Fenris once more, right where it should be.

“Lay down, love,” he said softly so as not to be overheard. “Try and get some rest.”

Fenris shook his head, no, and held on to Anders’ hands.

“Stay with me.”

To try and placate the elf, Anders sat beside him. Fenris almost immediately climbed into his lap and curled up, hands in the healer’s shirt and head tucked under his chin.

“Fenriiiis,” Anders chided mildly, trying not to think about how good and right it felt to have him back. “I need to talk to Varric.”

Fenris snuggled closer. “I’m not sitting on your mouth, Mage. You can still speak.”

Anders chuckled and hugged him loosely. This would have to do.

Varric joined them soon enough with slow, loud footsteps and much clearing of his throat.

“We are both fully clothed,” Anders called for the dwarf’s convenience. “No appendages are out inappropriately, no mouths are being used in improper fashions….”

Varric laughed. “My friends, if you think that covers all the things I don’t want to witness in your bedroom, you both need an education.”

Anders chuckled in turn as Varric pulled up a chair. He regarded the pair, clearly still a bit perturbed, but didn’t comment on the cuddling.

“Okay, so,” he began as he sat, then spread his hands in an open gesture. “Tell me everything.”

Anders did so, leaving out as little as he could, for Fenris’ benefit and privacy. He told the dwarf, day by day, what they had learnt about the spell and how it affected Fenris, how Fenris had expressed his reticence to see his friends and why, and how their relationship had developed. He made it clear - abundantly and maybe even inappropriate clear - that he had rebuked Fenris’ initial sexual advances, that he had waited days and discussed it several times with Fenris, making absolutely sure that he wasn’t taking advantage. He explained how they had slowly and tentatively come to realise that Fenris found great relief in being guided.

“Having one voice to follow,” Fenris clarified as Anders spoke.

The healer went on to explain how Fenris often found the spell difficult to understand or discuss, that he described his thoughts as noisy and disordered, and that by speaking for Fenris, Anders was only trying to help him control that. He finish with a summery of how he assumed it looked to an outsider, how he could understand why people were concerned, but that ultimately Anders was only trying to respect Fenris' wishes and help him heal, and that it was not and had never been his place to reveal that which Fenris wished to keep to himself.

“You still could have told us!”

Varric leaned back in his chair, looking out into the clinic. “Shit….”

None of them had heard Hawke, lingering in the clinic and listening to the whole rather private story. He stuck his head around the door, looking in on Anders and Fenris where they still sat, curled together in their bed.

Fenris was on his feet before Anders could even speak, shoulders hunched as he glared the the rogue down.

“We’re your friends, Fenris!” Hawke defended, taking a step back as Fenris advanced on him.

“And does that give you some right over me?” the elf demanded. “To a part of me I do not wish to share? I asked you to leave, Hawke, why are you still here?”

They had backed out into the clinic proper now as Fenris all but chased Hawke out. Anders rose to watch, but honestly Fenris could pull out Hawke’s heart right now and Anders wasn’t convinced he would care.

“I just wanted to make sure you were safe,” he protested, though to his credit he did sound suitably humbled. “I had to be sure.”

Fenris’ anger softened, his stance straightening a bit as he stopped chasing the other man.

“You are a good friend, Hawke.” Fenris voice was calmer now, his words more carefully chosen. “I appreciate your concern. But you must understand - you cannot force someone to be free and happy by dictating the parameters of their life for them. Freedom means freedom to make mistakes, freedom to be hurt - I made a choice to hide here, I made that choice for my own reasons, and Anders respected and facilitated that. Anders and I are… together now… because of that. Freedom means choice, and I choose to be here, with him. You cannot protect me by trying to deny that.”

Hawke looked down and suitably chastised, nodding along to Fenris’ words.

“Now, do you promise to go, and leave us in peace?”

Hawke nodded once again, glancing up to meet Fenris eyes once. “Yeah. Sorry.” With that, he turned and let himself out.

Varric cleared his throat as he slid from his chair and swung his arms nonchalantly. “Well, I think that concludes my business here as well,” he casually said as he headed for the door. “I’ll leave you gentlemen to your business, and make sure the others know to do the same. Take care of yourselves.”

With a smile and a flourished little bow, he closed the door behind him.

Fenris exhaled, steadying himself now that he was alone and free to do so. Anders considered waiting for him to return, but his willingness to go to the elf, to push, was what had defined them thus far. Going to him felt like the thing to do, and so he did. He wrapped his arms around Fenris’ waist and was quickly rewarded as his lover turned to rest his head on the mage’s shoulder.

“Hello, love,” he said with a little smile and a soft kiss to the elf’s cheek.

“Mm.” Fenris turned into the kiss and met it, grazing their lips together.

Together.

“So… we’re together now, are we?” Anders asked with a grin. It wasn’t exactly new, but Fenris admitting it out loud certainly was.

“We are,” he confirmed, though suddenly seemed to doubt it. “Assuming… you want that?”

Anders’ grin widened and he kissed Fenris on the lips again, deeper now, though quick so the elf didn’t have time for his worry to grow.

“I’ve wanted nothing more,” Anders told him honestly. “I think I’m falling in love with you, Fenris. When you were gone-”

“Let us speak no more about it.”

Another kiss, longer this time, deep and wanting and unashamed. Anders felt the elf’s hand on him, casually cupping his crotch, possessive and wanting.

“Come,” Fenris bid as they parted. His other hand took Anders’ own and lead him back towards their bedroom. “There is much catching up to be done.”

Chapter Text

“Do you think Hawke will ever forgive us?” Anders asked with a grin and a giggle.

“Doubtful.” Fenris turned inside the clinic door to shut it behind his mage, then snagged him for a kiss. “He has overestimated his awareness of your tells. I think if you beat him one more time, you would have had to take the clothes from his back in payment.”

Anders giggled again, swaying slightly. “Maker, you're sexy when I'm drunk.” He fell forwards to kiss Fenris as best he could around the grin, knocking him back against the wall and pinning him there for some casual groping. Fenris indulged him for a minute before arching to create space between himself and the wall, then pressing Anders hand against his lower back.

“Sober yourself,” he told the mage. “I don't want you falling asleep before I'm done with you.”

Anders giggled again. “Bossy.” But he kissed Fenris deeply and drew from the lyrium under his hand, using it to heal himself of the effects of the alcohol. It wasn't necessary, he didn't need the extra power, but the way it made Fenris moan and open to him was too thrilling to ever neglect.

They somehow made their way to their room, to the actual bed they have taken from Danarius old mansion. Something about it had made them reluctant to use it at first. Perhaps the fact that it belonging to Danarius once, even if it technically it had never been his, or had never been used. After a full day and night of scratching their heads, they stripped the mattress and incinerated it in the clinic, along with the blankets. They scrubbed the bed until the old varnish was stripped away and the wooden frame would give them splinters in their arses if they weren't careful. Then they invested in a new straw mattress Danarius would never have lowered himself to sleep on and they topped it with their old threadbare blankets, still decorated with the odd stain of their love no matter how many times they were washed. The pair spent another day and night in their new nest together, using magic and Fenris' lyrium to sustain themselves until they were both too exhausted to move, and their bed was truly, truly theirs.

They fell into it tangled together, lips locked as they playfully wrestled to see who ended up on top. Fenris, naturally. He'd only sipped an ale through the night and still had his wits about him without the aid of magic.

“I win,” Fenris growled in his lover's ear, then sat up to strip off what remained of his armour while he straddled Anders hips, leaving him in just his leggings.

Anders grinned and ran a hand over Fenris' waist and stomach. “I think we both win.”

“You know what I mean.”

Feris shifted his weight so he could unlace the mage's trousers and wriggle him out of them, claiming his lips in another kiss as he did so. Anders' peeled Fenris' own pants down as far as he could, but the angle meant that was only an inch or so.

“Stay here,” Fenris growled again, pinning Anders' hands up by his shoulders before rolling off of him to strip and find the oil.

Anders hadn't stopped grinning. In the months Fenris had been there, he felt as if he'd literally never stopped grinning. He loved the elf's confidence, which grew every day. He loved their playful wrestling, he even loved the lingering hint of their rivalry – when they bickered over mage rights now, it only reminded him how far they had come and how unafraid they now were of each other. It reminded him that however much they disagreed, Anders would always be there to cut down any blood mage who threatened an innocent, and Fenris would always be at his side to protect a mage being unfairly abused. He loved it all. He loved having the elf in his home, he loved his assistance in the clinic, he loved his body, his lips, his cock... he loved the way Fenris had taken to growling in his ear. Anders loved him.

Fenris returned to the bed, oil in one hand and already pouring it into the other. Anders spread his legs casually and rested his feet on the mattress, encouraging Fenris silently with the movement. It still took little nudges to remind him just how much his Healer enjoyed this, just as it still took kind words and gentle kisses to remind him how much he enjoyed it when the tables were turned. But that was part of the thrill, in Anders' opinion. The reminders, the reassurance. That's what made it theirs and no one else's. Neither of them had come to the bed as virgins, but nor had they ever done this with any other lover.

At the first touch of oil-slick fingers on his entrance, Anders bucked and moaned, greedy and eager. Fenris sat back, just watching for a moment and circling Anders' hole, spreading slick and watching the mage enjoy it.

“Fuck, Fen.” Anders looked down and forced a pout. “Don't tease me, love. Please....”

“You like being teased,” Fenris reminded him as he slipped a finger in. Practised, the digit knew exactly where it was going. Anders cried out and bucked again, pushing into the sensation as Fenris' fingertip slid across his prostate.

“Fenris... oh, Maker. I'm not going to last long if you keep doing that, love.”

Fenris chuckled and added a second finger, cock twitching at Anders' hiss and groan of pleasure as the ring of muscle stretched. He pushed forward again, rubbing harder as his other hand came to the mage's cock and began to stroke him.

“Come, then,” Fenris told him simply as though it were a casual thing of no consequence. “We both know it won't stop you.”

Anders pressed his shoulders back against the bed, arched his hips up to Fenris and his merciless ministrations, and cried out as his first orgasm of the night swept through him, leaving a creamy line up his belly.

His hand replaced Fenris' on his cock, magic and a practised touch quickly getting him hard again as Fenris scooped up Anders' cum and mixed it with the oil he used to prepare the healer's arse.

“Maker, that's hot,” Anders gasped and closed his eyes, losing himself in the sensations.

Fenris was a fast and passionate student, he knew Anders' body and preferences so well, now. Maybe the Maker was real and he'd crafted Fenris for him – sex with him certainly felt that way, and every time it seemed to get better and better the deeper into each other they fell.

“Come here, love,” he whispered after a minute more of playing, knowing Fenris would do as asked regardless of their roles tonight. Sure enough, elvhen lips brushed Anders' own a moment later, and Anders' tongue flicked out to meet them. “I love you,” he whispered when they broke apart.

“And I you, Healer.”

Anders couldn't pinpoint when the word had changed, but one day he realized it didn't twinge anymore when Fenris used it. It had become something personal, as intimate as anything they did in the bedroom, but easy and innocent enough that a casual 'yes, Healer' in the clinic aroused no suspicions. Fenris was his. They were each other's, those threads of healing and willing obedience binding them closer with every word and touch.

Fenris pressed inside him, filling and flooding him, angling himself so that every thrust rubbed the mage perfectly until Anders was clawing at their blankets and kissing him desperately.

“Fen,” he panted between kisses, racing his lover to orgasm, knowing he was going to lose, happily. “Fen. Love- love you.”

Their tongues and teeth pressed together and Anders rested his hands on Fenris' arse instead, touches light as Fenris plunged into him, and he sent familiar waves of warm, healing energy through the elf, drawing from the lyrium to feed the pulses and pushing his lover to orgasm, tasting and touching him as he came apart in his arms.

Anders nuzzled his temple and kissed his face. Tiny, gentle touches as the elf recovered. Only for a moment, then Fenris returned to deeper kisses. He slipped from Anders and lowered his legs back to the bed, then drew back from the kiss as well.

“More,” he growled in the healer's ear, the way he knew Anders loved, and he moved down the bed once again.

He pounced on Anders’ cock as if it were a meal he'd waited all day for, two fingers thrusting back in where his cock had just been and making Anders cry out in pleasure. It always took a little extra sensation, a hint of something like pain to get him off the second time. Anders knew what was coming, knew it would be too much under any other circumstances, but Fenris knew him well, knew what he was doing. He found all of the right spots and angles, set his new pace, and brought his lyrium brands to life. Sensation shot through Anders like lightning, all but forcing him to orgasm.

It was weeks before Fenris admitted he'd used that once when Anders' eyes were closed. The time Justice had enjoyed, too, Fenris' hand simply holding Anders' erection, one hand at his entrance but not inside. Anders had asked him before not to do it, out of fear of the unknown and intense sensations, but just like anything else, the fear had passed and left only pleasure in its wake. They had to be careful – they only did it when Fenris was clear-headed, never when he was aroused or angry, just in case he lost control... but honestly, Anders didn't care. He could have forsaken everything and died in that sensation and been happy for it, that the last thing he felt could be the passionate bliss of Fenris’ mouth, the pleasure they took from something as horrid as his slave brands, the unashamed hunger of his actions.

Unashamed.

Unashamed, and in love. That was what made Anders grin, now. Not the orgasms, but the shift in Fenris as he started to love the fact that he didn’t hate the mage anymore. As he started to enjoy enjoying him.

Anders came back to his body to find Fenris kissing his shoulder. They were clean, the blankets over them. Be it the alcohol or the orgasms, there was at least a little time Anders couldn't account for.

“That was... Maker, Fen....”

Fenris tilted up to kiss his chin without moving his head from Anders' shoulder. “Satisfactory?” He asked with a hint of amusement anyone but Anders would have missed.

Anders giggled again and kissed Fenris' head. “Incredible. You're incredible.”

Silence followed. Something they were still working on. Fenris craved compliments, clung to them, but some dark part of his mind still told him that there was an ulterior motive behind them, that his mage was using them for something sinister. No matter. The voice would not bother them forever. Anders would outlast his lover's anxiety.

He kissed Fenris' head and simply murmured, “goodnight, my love.”

“Goodnight, Healer.”

-x-

“You are no longer my master!”

And it was done. Danarius was gone. Years of hunting, suffering, and he was gone as if he had never even existed. Nothing but a rag-doll corpse on a piss stain in the Hanged Man. Nothing at all.

Fenris confronted Varaina, but he didn't remember what he'd said. Hawke had something to say. Anders, nothing at all. His Healer waited and watched, letting the scene play out as it must. There for Fenris, in the end. Nothing else mattered.

The darkness of night came before Fenris realized the day was ending, and they were back in the clinic, Fenris sitting on their bed with Anders approaching, a hand between his shoulder-blades and a mug of tea or potion in his hands.

“He's gone,” Anders stated quietly.

Fenris nodded and took the mug. “Yes.”

Anders' hand shifted up, resting at the base of Fenris' skull. “From here, too.”

He almost hadn't noticed. It was a tiny sensation, like a headache he'd become used to. His Healer had been with him all of those years, healing him ever time they touched. It had been so long since he'd felt the pain of the spell. It was strange to notice its absence.

“Yes,” he answered with a touch of surprise. “How did you...?”

“I felt it too,” Anders said quietly, not meeting his eye. “Like pressure relieving. A need that's no longer there.”

An old, old, familiar fear tweaked the pit of Fenris' stomach.

Before Fenris could give it voice, Anders asked; “Do you feel any different?”

“No,” he answered honestly, not even giving it thought. “At least not in any way that matters.”

If he searched hard he might be able to find something new or lacking, but whatever evil thing Danarius had sewn through him years ago had withered and died on its own, leaving holes that Anders had helped him fill without any of them even realizing. Killing Danarius had killed whatever dead roots the spell left behind, nothing more.

Anders exhaled deeply, clearly relieved. Shaking, Fenris realized as his Healer stood and stripped off his coat.

Fenris finished his drink and undressed quickly, pulling back the blankets and taking Anders by the hand to draw him into bed. He wrapped his arms around the mage, stroking his hair and arms, tracing each scar he'd learned and come to love, waiting until his breathing evened out. They had anticipated and feared this day for years, ever since they realized breaking the spell could break them, too.

“I'm still here, love,” Fenris whispered. “As you are for me.”

Anders kissed the shoulder he was cuddled against and nodded. “Always.”

Nothing more tonight. Nothing more was needed or wanted. Just the simple necessity of holding each other, as close as any two people could ever be, warm and complete in the lives of their making.