SANCTUM AND HEALING (19/?)
anonymous
November 30 2011, 21:59:06 UTC
I have a bit of a longer part (so sorry!) to post this time around so I will try not to talk here too much and use up space, except to say thank you guys so so so much for reading and for commenting as well! It means so very much to me and I just hope that you continue to enjoy the fill! ♥
Camp was quiet when they returned, no fires lit, the sun sinking behind the high horizon. Making their way back in the dark was uncomfortable, blistered toes stubbed too many times to count, Anders hissing and wincing and cursing in the dark. They weren’t sheltered from the full force of the wind anymore, either, and the chill was almost as bad as the sound of tent flaps being snapped and blown about.
‘We’ll be leaving come dawn, I’m guessing,’ Varric said, pausing in front of the dark outline of a tent. ‘Hawke’s got some plans for you, so try not to get into any trouble in the meantime, all right? I’ve got some questions that need answering, and we can’t have you running off before that.’
‘Get into trouble doing what?’ Anders asked. ‘I don’t sleepwalk. I’m very tidy. I only cry when it rains. But I might just freeze to death out here all alone, since I don’t exactly have my own tent.’
‘Yeah.’ Varric rubbed the back of his neck. ‘About that… I’m also guessing Hawke’ll want to talk to you-or at least keep a close watch. The man doesn’t sleep anymore, anyway-something about the Fade; I try not to pay attention to those sordid details, since Maker knows I need my beauty rest-but I’m betting he’ll figure that makes him the perfect candidate for the night watch.’
‘This is a kidnapping after all,’ Anders said. ‘Isn’t it?’
‘But who’s doing the kidnapping?’ Varric winked, leading Anders to the light spilling out from underneath the flap of Hawke’s tent. ‘You should ask yourself that.’
‘Varric,’ Anders told him, before ducking inside, ‘that cryptic statement made no sense.’
‘Why do you think I prefer books?’ Varric asked, remaining on the other side of the tent’s wall, still holding a swath of stained canvas in one hand. ‘By the time the reader realizes I’m making shit up as I go along, I’m already halfway across the continent, and they can’t demand a refund.’
Anders let him have the last word, not out of any charitable goodness inherent in his spirit, but because Hawke was within, his weight braced awkwardly over a hand-cobbled stool, and it seemed rude to carry on a pre-existing conversation in front of him when it was one he couldn’t share.
But that moment of unexpected etiquette only meant something if Hawke even noticed Anders was there. His head was bent low over a soft hunk of wood, the knife in his hand shaving pale flakes away from the rounding shape. He’d discarded his cloak again since Anders had last seen him, and it lay in a limp, gray pool on the ground next to his bedroll. The stiff bristles of his pauldrons were dotted with water.
‘Stick around Varric long enough, you’ll learn that’s how he always talks,’ Hawke said, lifting his eyes to Anders’s face. The knife slipped in his hand, and he jerked, a bright spot of scarlet blood welling up from the broken skin.
Anders held his breath, watching Hawke lift his fingers to his mouth to ease the sudden sting. It would only be a matter of seconds to heal a small cut; Anders felt the familiar pulse of arcane warmth flush against his fingertips. Healing was what he was made to do-and Hawke, with all his injuries of flesh and muscle, made it very difficult to ignore.
‘Good with stories, though, isn’t he?’ Anders took a step closer and toward the friendly light of Hawke’s lantern, burning so bright and so strong that it barely flickered. ‘…You’re all wet. Did you know that? Were you and Fenris getting up to trouble without us around to supervise?’
Hawke blinked. Then he took his finger from his mouth, brushing the damp from his furred shoulders. ‘It’s raining in the valley. Had to leave the mountains to send a message.’
‘Would that be the message for Feh-no, don’t tell me, I’ll remember it, but you know too many people whose names start with F-Fenris, Fenders…ah yes! Feynriel?’ Anders asked.
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Camp was quiet when they returned, no fires lit, the sun sinking behind the high horizon. Making their way back in the dark was uncomfortable, blistered toes stubbed too many times to count, Anders hissing and wincing and cursing in the dark. They weren’t sheltered from the full force of the wind anymore, either, and the chill was almost as bad as the sound of tent flaps being snapped and blown about.
‘We’ll be leaving come dawn, I’m guessing,’ Varric said, pausing in front of the dark outline of a tent. ‘Hawke’s got some plans for you, so try not to get into any trouble in the meantime, all right? I’ve got some questions that need answering, and we can’t have you running off before that.’
‘Get into trouble doing what?’ Anders asked. ‘I don’t sleepwalk. I’m very tidy. I only cry when it rains. But I might just freeze to death out here all alone, since I don’t exactly have my own tent.’
‘Yeah.’ Varric rubbed the back of his neck. ‘About that… I’m also guessing Hawke’ll want to talk to you-or at least keep a close watch. The man doesn’t sleep anymore, anyway-something about the Fade; I try not to pay attention to those sordid details, since Maker knows I need my beauty rest-but I’m betting he’ll figure that makes him the perfect candidate for the night watch.’
‘This is a kidnapping after all,’ Anders said. ‘Isn’t it?’
‘But who’s doing the kidnapping?’ Varric winked, leading Anders to the light spilling out from underneath the flap of Hawke’s tent. ‘You should ask yourself that.’
‘Varric,’ Anders told him, before ducking inside, ‘that cryptic statement made no sense.’
‘Why do you think I prefer books?’ Varric asked, remaining on the other side of the tent’s wall, still holding a swath of stained canvas in one hand. ‘By the time the reader realizes I’m making shit up as I go along, I’m already halfway across the continent, and they can’t demand a refund.’
Anders let him have the last word, not out of any charitable goodness inherent in his spirit, but because Hawke was within, his weight braced awkwardly over a hand-cobbled stool, and it seemed rude to carry on a pre-existing conversation in front of him when it was one he couldn’t share.
But that moment of unexpected etiquette only meant something if Hawke even noticed Anders was there. His head was bent low over a soft hunk of wood, the knife in his hand shaving pale flakes away from the rounding shape. He’d discarded his cloak again since Anders had last seen him, and it lay in a limp, gray pool on the ground next to his bedroll. The stiff bristles of his pauldrons were dotted with water.
‘Stick around Varric long enough, you’ll learn that’s how he always talks,’ Hawke said, lifting his eyes to Anders’s face. The knife slipped in his hand, and he jerked, a bright spot of scarlet blood welling up from the broken skin.
Anders held his breath, watching Hawke lift his fingers to his mouth to ease the sudden sting. It would only be a matter of seconds to heal a small cut; Anders felt the familiar pulse of arcane warmth flush against his fingertips. Healing was what he was made to do-and Hawke, with all his injuries of flesh and muscle, made it very difficult to ignore.
‘Good with stories, though, isn’t he?’ Anders took a step closer and toward the friendly light of Hawke’s lantern, burning so bright and so strong that it barely flickered. ‘…You’re all wet. Did you know that? Were you and Fenris getting up to trouble without us around to supervise?’
Hawke blinked. Then he took his finger from his mouth, brushing the damp from his furred shoulders. ‘It’s raining in the valley. Had to leave the mountains to send a message.’
‘Would that be the message for Feh-no, don’t tell me, I’ll remember it, but you know too many people whose names start with F-Fenris, Fenders…ah yes! Feynriel?’ Anders asked.
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