Chapter Text
"There you are!"
Anders started up from his alchemy desk, banged his head on the shelf, fell back in the chair, then stood up again. “Marian?”
She grinned. “You look surprised. Were rumors of my death greatly exaggerated? Again?”
“I - there was, there was a rumor about a qunari attack at the Chateau.” He almost tripped over the chair again, caught only by Hawke’s quick thinking and quicker hands.
She righted him with a fond pat on the ass. “One qunari - okay, like ten, but mostly it was one, and she was an elf, so -” she shrugged. “Got covered in wyvern spit, saved a dog, desecrated a grave, and really pissed off Carver too, that was fun. Oh, and I punched some guy - no, two? Maybe it was the same guy twice; they were wearing masks.”
The other mage blinked at her a few times owlishly. "I didn't - nothing you just said makes any sense except pissing off Carver and punching someone." Just seeing her again was enough to loosen the tightness in his chest. "But you're alright, right?" He pulled her into a hug. Well, pulled himself into her arms. She was an absolute bear of a woman even as a mage and no force on Thedas was able to move Marian Hawke if Marian Hawke did not want to be moved.
"Minus the terrible cheese, yeah. Oh, and I got kidnapped for a while and threw someone important off a cliff. Empress Celene's cousin, I think? Really, the qunari were barely half of it." She unbuckled his jacket to slip her arms inside and around his waist, then stopped. “Did you forget to eat again?” She asked sternly, taking a step back to frown at him.
He glanced at the basket of stale bread Orana had left three days ago. Or was it four? “I didn’t forget to eat, love, I simply forgot time passed.”
She sat down on one of the cots and tugged him into her lap. “That’s not better, Anders. Not better at all.”
He sighed with melodramatic resignation as she manhandled him, poking and pinching and complaining that he had plenty of shirts up in the mansion, and plenty of trousers and why in the Maker’s name did he insist on wearing the same pair every bloody day and - “Because they’re mine,” he finally interrupted her. “They’re mine and no one can take them away if -” he bit his lip and looked away. If something happened to you.
“What - Anders, what's wrong?” Her voice was soft now. Smaller. She sounded like a different person when she stopped being the Champion. That . . . persona, however helpful it had been over the years, took as much time to take off as her damn armor. He nestled against her throat, ignoring both of their raspy stubble.
“The usual,” he said glumly. “Raids, kidnapping, blood in the street. We try, but -”
“Anders, you’re just one man,” Hawke said quietly as her arms tightened around him.
“But we’re not!” Justice echoed in his voice, and he rubbed his temple to try to sooth the throbbing of his and the spirit’s shared frustration. Not with him, not with Hawke, just with . . . everything.
She kissed his forehead. “Fine, two men. But one body. One that still needs to eat and sleep and can’t be in more than one place at a time.” She stood up and slung him over her shoulder like a rag doll. “And we need to take care of you before you take care of the world, babe.”
“Marian!” He squawked. “I’ve got -”
“What you’ve got is a date.” She swatted his ass. “With your lady - well, not wife because fuck the chantry, but close enough.”
“But the elfroot is still -”
She waved a hand and the fire under the pot went out. “The building isn’t going to burn down and you need a break. I’ll buy you more elfroot, but you can’t buy me more Anders. Clinic’s closed for the day.” She walked out with him swaying like a sack of potatoes. She glared at the lantern as she locked the doors, and it winked out almost apologetically. Then she made her way to the stairs.
“Marian, you’re not - the cellar is back that way,” he protested. “Don’t tell me you’re really planning to cart me across Kirkwall like this.”
“Alright, I won’t!” she said cheerfully, then set off at a trot. Tomwise laughed out loud as they passed, prompting Anders to make a very lewd gesture in his direction. Somehow, Hawke knew what he did - blasted mages, he snickered to himself - and tugged at his belt. "Hey now, if you're doing it for him, you're doing it for me first."
It was embarrassing.
It was absurd.
Anders loved it. She dragged him up to Lirene’s and carried on her usual shopping for basic Ferelden staples that couldn’t otherwise be located in Kirkwall. The shopkeeper was largely used to Hawke’s eccentricities, and simply asked where she got her new shawl.
“Oh this ol’ thing?” the Champion laughed. “I’ve had him for what, three or four years now?” She reached back to grab his hand and pull it to her lips. “Hands down my favorite and really ought to wear him more often.”
Anders rolled his eyes. “I’m not that old.”
“And it talks too! What a magical scarf!” Lirene teased.
She snorted. “You have no idea.” With that, she tossed a few extra sovereigns in the donation box, picked up her basket, and headed off.
“Are you done lugging me around?” He asked in mock annoyance as they exited. “Your armor is poking me in parts I think you like in working order.”
“You got magic fingers, babe,” she said, headbutting his hip. “And I don’t doubt for a minute you’ve tested them out for yourself while you were aching for -”
Anders groaned. “I’m never going to live that down.”
“Not if I can help it.” She stopped outside the Hanged Man. “You wanna say hi to Varric and Bels?”
“Please dear Maker, not from this angle.”
“It’s Marian, babe, not Maker.”
“Marian, Maker, Champion of my ass, whoever you are, please for the love of Andraste’s cock, do not take me inside the Hanged Man.”
“Ooh, Champion of your ass? I should tattoo that under the Amell crest on my shoulder.” She squeezed the ass at, well, at hand. “Marion Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall and Conqueror of Apostate Ass.”
“Oh no, love, you haven’t conquered it, only championed it. It’s like a chevalier wearing their lady’s colors to a grand tourney, except you’re the lady and the colors are my ass.”
Marian put him down and leaned over wheezing. It took Anders a few moments to figure out that she wasn’t angry or hurt, simply laughing too hard to do anything but squeak in mirth. “You - strapping you to - your ass - like a -” she giggled so hard she started coughing. Anders waited, fighting back his own snickers, mostly to make sure she didn’t actually start to choke and end up needing proper healing. “Wear your ass like one of those stupid Orlesian hats!” she finally gasped out before giving up and sitting down in the street.
"Alright, love, if you’re going to collapse with laughter, at least do it not in the middle of foot traffic." Anders' Warden strength was all that allowed him to drag her to the building as she chortled weakly. The basket, miraculously hadn't spilled, and one of the street kids - Walter, maybe? - brought it over to him.
Hawke tossed him a sovereign. "Payment for saving my dinner," she explained cheerfully as the boy looked at her in shock.
Anders nodded reassuringly. "She means it, go buy a nice hot meal for yourself and the rest of the family." Probably-Walter took off as he pulled up a nearby crate and sat on it. "Whenever you're ready, love."
"Am I supposed to be readying myself?" She reached up to pat his thigh. "What for?"
He caught her hand and laced their fingers together. "Taking me on a date."
"Ooooh, that's a great idea!" Hawke exclaimed. She tugged at him and whimpered pathetically. "I'm a delicate flower and need help standing up."
"You're a delicate pain in my ass," Anders laughed as he stood up to pull her back to her feet. "At least you better be, or this is a shit date."
She pretended to stumble forward into his chest, then nuzzled the side of his throat. "My hero. Conqueror of . . . standing up?" She huffed. "That wasn't clever at all. Win some, lose some, I guess."
"Are you trying to seduce me with . . .terrible and confusing compliments?"
"Is it working?"
"Well, I'm definitely seduced, but I don't think threatening to wear my ass like a hat is what did it."
"Really?” She pursed her lips together. “Try it on me, let's see if it blows my pants off."
"Sexperimemts only behind closed doors, love. Aveline has already threatened to arrest me enough."
She leaned back to frown at him. "Why?"
Anders shook his head. "Don't worry about it." She would, of course. Probably bug him about it later incessantly. But for now, it was enough to simply hold her and be held. “I missed you,” he said, resting his cheek on her shoulder.
“I would’ve brought you, but -”
He kissed her gently. “No, love, it was the right decision. There are too many reasons why I shouldn’t leave Kirkwall.” And too many reasons you shouldn’t stay.
“You’re getting awfully lost in that head of yours.” Hawke tweaked his nose. “Shall we head back home? You know, that mansion you keep forgetting to live in?”
Anders shrugged ruefully, but didn’t bother to argue. She was right. There was too much to do down in the clinic, and too many Mage Underground contacts didn’t dare come to bloody Hightown for -
“Anders.”
He gave her a sheepish smile as he stepped back and linked their fingers together. “Sorry. Yes, let’s go home.” Home. He hadn’t felt like home was a place since he was fifteen. Hawke was home, not her house, and there was no reason to be there if she wasn’t. The rest of the walk to Hightown was as uneventful as the city ever got, with Hawke only interrupting two attempted muggings. She didn’t even need to use magic, just whacked her staff across the back of both would-be attackers’ heads, barely breaking her stride. The healer part of him winced as they collapsed to the ground, but Justice had little sympathy for those who would harm others for personal gain.
Hawke put the basket down by the door as they walked inside. “Orana?” she called. “Food’s here!”
“Coming!” The elf’s voice echoed oddly from the kitchen.
“Don’t rush on my account, Anders and I will be busy upstairs regardless,” she laughed as she tossed her staff in the umbrella stand by the door and tugged him in for another kiss.
Now that they were in private, it was so much easier to just let go and feel. Anders sighed against her contentedly, pressing her back against the wall and dragging her arms up over her head as he leaned into her and just drank her in. It was a complete fiction, of course, that he had or even wanted that kind of control over her, but it was nice to pretend, at least for a moment. “Did you have something planned, love?”
Marian grinned lazily. “I always do.” She slipped her hands from his loose grasp and ran them down his chest with an appreciative purr. “But first, we need to experiment with terrible compliments and confusing threats.”
He laughed softly and buried his face in her throat. “You’re impossible and I love you.”
“Mmmm, complimentary and confusing, but not terrible or a threat.” She rubbed her stubble against his forehead. “Try again.”
Best to do this properly then. He kissed her then dropped to one knee. “Marian Hawke.”
“I’m liking where this is going, particularly the angle,” she said, patting her crotch.
He grabbed her hands. “Hush when I’m seducing you.” He dragged her knuckles across his lips gently. “Marian Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, would you do me the honor - no, let me have the unadulterated pleasure - of wearing your ass like a hat?”
She giggled as a puff of magic turned her trousers to ash. “Hey, it worked!”
“Would you really call that ‘blown off’ though?” Anders mused, leaning forward to kiss her now-exposed hip. “I think I need to work on my technique.”
“Your technique and your blowing are just fine.” She tugged him back to his feet. “Now loan me your coat before I have to to a walk of shame in my own -”
“Sorry, Marian, the fireplace needed a good scrubbing and I -” Orana paused at the doorway then looked up at the ceiling. “Again?”
“Um, he started it?” Hawke offered as Anders slipped off his coat so she could wrap it around her waist. “I’m all right and proper again, you don’t need to worry about being scandalized by my knees.”
Orana smiled and picked up the basket. “Serah, you’ve never been proper in your life. Why start now?”
“You make a compelling argument, my dear.” She looped an arm around Anders’ elbow and headed upstairs. “Thanks for cooking tonight.”
The elf arched an eyebrow. “I cook every night.”
“And thank the Maker for that,” Hawke said as she continued to drag the other mage to the bedroom. “We’d have to eat Sandal’s boots otherwise.” As the door clicked shut behind them, she picked Anders up again and tossed him on the bed. “Strip.”
He laughed and started unlacing his boots. “In a hurry, are we?”
She threw her own clothing off - nearly into the fireplace - and jumped on the mattress as Anders shucked off his shirt. “In a hurry to touch every part of you and make sure you’re still real,” she murmured into his hair, wrapping her arm around his chest in a hug that squeezed the breath out of him in all the ways he adored.
“I’m here, Marian,” he breathed softly, reaching back to caress a scarred and muscular hip. “I’m here, and you’re home.”