When To Walk Away

Anders

This is an Anders/Hawke chapter set a few days after he moves into Hawke Mansion. I'd had Anders kicking around in my head and wanted to try and write something simple and sweet from his perspective.

Maker's breath, he forgot how wonderful it was to sleep in a bed. With real stuffing inside a mattress instead of a stained and tattered piece of canvas stretched over wood. Pillows to cuddle his blonde head instead of his coat wadded into a ball to keep it from being nicked in the night. And blankets long enough to stretch down to his toes and further beyond. Anders spent so long scraping by he nearly blanked on what living properly was like.

How much was that your doing?

I did what was required to survive.

You did what was required to survive.

He pinched into his eyes trying to stave off the headache that inevitably followed him getting into it with Justice. That wasn't exactly right, Anders aware that he was supplying both sides of the argument just from different angles. Normally, they avoided all the subjects that could come between them, smoothing the problem down until they seemed to agree on everything. All save the one currently slumbering beside him.

Hawke was... In all his days, all his time sneaking out of the tower and hiding through the back alleys of Ferelden's darker streets while relying upon his charm and good looks to get what he needed, he'd never met anyone like Hawke. Not just her heart, which had to be large enough to let half of Kirkwall inside it, nor her explosive sense of humor. Anders suspected that even Hawke could have gotten Justice to laugh on occasion, she was that persistent about it with nary a hint of self consciousness when a joke fell flat.

What all but tacked Anders' tongue to the roof of his mouth the first time they met was her size. He'd seen a qunari woman once, and rather enjoyed that little bit of heresy with her before the templars caught up, but Maker, Hawke all but dwarfed her. Dwarfed every woman he'd ever met, not just in height but strength and mere presence. Perhaps he should be intimidated by it, feel the need to out-man her and show off his own power, but that childish fear never stuck to him.

How much of that was Hawke's doing? Sweep into his life as if she has nary a care, crack a few bandit skulls, then nuzzle a box of kittens she rescued from a rage demon. Was it any wonder she'd warped his thoughts and rattled Justice from deep in his soul for three years?

Something in sleep quieted the louder than life giant. While curled up at night in his clinic, doing his best to not think about the parts of her he ached for, Anders formed the theory that Hawke was the type to sleep fully on her back, mouth open in a snore. No doubt she'd extend her arms and legs and somehow move around the bed until she was perpendicular from where she began.

But no. She slept on her side with her knees curled inward, both palms pressed together to comfort her head. And he'd been lucky enough to wrap his arm around her intoxicating stomach while laying beside her. Four nights now. Even after she agreed to let him stay, he could scarcely believe it.

From shit-central to Hightown, it was an impressive move up. But what calmed the sarcasm on his tongue and also riled up the spirit in his head was the effect her presence had upon his heart. It was impossible to imagine. If Anders tried to stop and count the number of beds he'd hopped into and out of, often while being chased by templars who weren't in the mood to join in, he'd be at it all day. Numerous faces, some forgettable, some breathtaking, bodies of varying sizes and shapes, different races, different genders. All that mattered in those days was that it was warm, willing, and he had a few free hours.