Anders doesn’t take things like the feeling of rain on his skin for granted. All too aware of what it is to be denied such simple experiences, he savors them whenever he can.
My contribution for #anderspositive
it was raining the day he made the decision to swim lake calenhad. the choppy waves should by rights have killed him; later he would find out that they had delayed the launch of a boat to retrieve him, and won him several days more freedom. after that the rain became something special: a shield, a cover, a friend. he’s not quite so arrogant as to think andraste herself is watching over him, but he feels better in the rain, lighter somehow, like it has his back.
it was raining the day the warden commander conscripted him, voice crisp and cold as the templar backed off. anders grinned at her, triumphant as thunder cracked and rolled above, like a round of applause for this, his last escape finally, finally gone right, if not in the way he expected. he’d grow to resent the wardens, but he’d never forget they were the first step to true freedom.
it was raining the day he met hawke, water dripping from the ceiling and the damp settling deep in his bones. “i’m here for the maps,” said hawke, and a fat drop landed on anders’s forehead, trickling down his nose. karl was waiting for him in the chantry. it was probably just a coincidence, anders told himself, and chose to pretend he believed it.
it was storming the day hawke returned from weisshaupt, road dust in their boots and relief in their eyes; and as the lightning flashed and flickered across the sky anders folded himself into hawke’s arms and thought of the boy in the tower, looking out longingly at sky the grey of steel and imagining a freedom he never thought he’d have, and thought, if only you knew.
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