Ferelden's climate was often reliable, though there was always the odd chance of snow even well into the spring months. The air here was cooler, wet enough to sink deep into tired bones and disturb new and old aches and pains. A sigh of relief rolled out of Hawke's chest by the time he reached the edge of the village - if it could be called a proper village. The rebel mages had managed to cobble together something of an outpost here in the Hinterlands, one of many he helped them establish. Pride swelled within, seeing the group managing so well since his first visit.
Careful not to disturb the injury he had been nursing during his ride here, a parting gift from some faceless Templar, Hawke dismounted his horse and passed the reins off to the woman who approached to greet him. Maren. Her name and face came to him quickly when stretched up to kiss his cheek. How could he forget?
"Look at you. Have you grown since I saw you? Have you eaten yet? Are you tired? I can have a bed made-"
She was an older woman, already grey and wizened but not yet hobbled, and Hawke had a fondness for how much she reminded him of his mother. Despite her size, she was strong, and her crushing embrace earned a wince from him. "Thank you, Maren, but I won't be long this time, I'm afraid. I've got somewhere to be-"
"Nonsense, you can at least stay the night." She pulled from him, eyes taking in his posture as he hunched, almost instinctively. "But first, I can show you to the healer."
Nothing escaped her, it seemed. Hawke laughed, albeit nervously, while shaking his head and patting her arm in return. The churning in his gut wasn't waning, but he knew he should have someone check him over. "Alright, but you don't have to fuss over me. I'm just glad you all seem to be doing well."
His eyes swept the surrounding area, watching as some of the newer faces huddled together. Some stared back in quiet reverence; others broke into frenzied whispering. Hawke recoiled, feeling uncomfortable with the recognition. He wasn't wearing his Champion's mantle, but that didn't seem to matter, for he was easy to pick out in a crowd even without it. Word traveled fast, and the unease it stirred up settled awkwardly.
So much for anonymity.
There was no sense in pretending he wasn't who he was. Hawke. Kirkwall's renowned Champion. Even if the people gathered here were Ferelden, they knew the stories about what one of their own had done for the Marcher city-state. He wanted to relish in it, to be proud of the good he did or tried to do, but he also knew too well that trouble often followed in his wake, and that was the last thing he wished to inflict upon these people. The village wasn't significant in size; it was one of the smaller, more contained hamlets across this part of Ferelden, if only partly due to the close proximity to the Wilds. Templars did not dare venture too far near the wood as both reputation, and the landscape effectively warded off even the boldest of them. Still, he smiled politely at those he passed, still walking in close step to Maren, as they crossed the boundary from the village proper to the very outer edge where fewer buildings stood. That churning in his gut only grew, but Hawke attributed it to superficial nerves.
Eventually, the path diverged and brought them to the door of a small yet sturdy hut on the outskirts of the hamlet. Voices filtered out from, two of which were distinctly youthful and the other- the other stole the very breath from Hawke's lungs, and his feet refused to carry him any further rooting him to the spot.
"There now. Good as new, but please be careful. Eventually your body will remember all the healings and could very well become resistant."
"Yes healer."
"Go on then."
Maren didn't seem to notice his reaction, only stepped aside when the door swung open, and two boys skipped out, darting off into the village. Behind them, another figure stepped into view, sunlight catching on wisps of blonde hair that framed his angular face. Lean and tall, with a strong nose and tired brown eyes, there was no question who he was. The color drained from his face, and the proud, fond smile he'd been wearing faded when he turned to look at them. For a moment, Hawke found himself thrown into a memory, a hazy recollection of a place far from here. Senses inundated by the clean, biting astringent of herbs and disinfectant, he latched onto something that had been muddled by the passage of time and sucked in a breath. The dirty straw-laden floor gave way to clean, hard stone polished to perfection, and the haunting wails of Darktown's denizens were now mercifully absent.
"Hawke," Anders breathed, voice airy with apparent disbelief.
While he stared slack-jawed at the blonde mage, it was the sound of his name that pulled Hawke from the memory and back into the present. Gone was the musty, aging warehouse from a decade ago, barely able to keep out the undercity chokedamp. In its place was a modest structure, quaint but suited to the needs of a small village like this. He raked his fingers through his overgrown hair - a nervous habit. "Anders…" It slipped out in his stupor, somewhere in between the internal battle of emotions. On the one hand, he wanted nothing more than to embrace the man, to sweep the healer up into his arms like he used to, and never let go. At the same time, Hawke realized his presence here could potentially ruin Anders's attempts to keep a low profile.
He felt like an intruder.
The concern twisted in his gut, but his face betrayed his conflicting emotions, and he fixed the man with a glassy-eyed, somber smile. The one thing that he felt most overwhelming, out of everything, was relief.
"Well," Maren murmured, more to herself than them. "Since you two are already acquainted I'll just leave you to it." Her steady hand gripping his shoulder should have been a calming gesture, but instead, his mouth felt dry, and his pulse quickened. She left, and Anders watched her go with something unreadable in his eyes.
As heat crawled up his neck to settle in his face, Hawke found words lacking just long enough to consider the odds. "The Maker must have a real sense of humor," he muttered after releasing the breath he had been holding.
Anders, resigned to this fate it seemed, also exhaled, and his face softened finally. "Come, let's go inside and sit."
Casting one final glance over his shoulder, Maren's figure was well out of sight. There was nothing left to delay this conversation any longer. His hesitation wasn't even directed at Anders himself. Even now, the knot that formed in his throat when Hawke recalled their kiss in the Gallows before facing off against Meredith, the sensation lingered on his lips, yet still and being this close, it was easy to smell the familiar sharp scents of elfroot and astringent.
The interior was as modest as the outside but clean, organized, and Anders' signature was evident across every square inch.
Hawke was reluctant to make a wrong move, only for a moment before he gathered his wits and pulled Anders into a tight embrace. "I genuinely had no idea you were here, but I'm beyond relieved that you're alright."
There was a second where Anders stiffened, bristled even, in his arms before he relented and seemed to allow himself to return the action with much fervor. "I'm happy to see you, too." It was a quiet admission, but Hawke still sighed in relief, releasing a heavy yet pleasant exhale. Anders was never very good at concealing his emotions, especially at keeping them from reaching his eyes. The way they creased at the corners when he smiled, or how the light from the far window reflected within and gave them a glassy appearance as if he were so overcome with joy that he was on the brink of tears. "If you didn't know I was here then-" Anders' confusion was quickly replaced with understanding, and it was easy to see the shift from friend to healer immediately once he realized what was going on.
"Oh maker, rambling when I should have - bloody fool I am. If I'd known you were hurt sooner-"
"Anders," Hawke reached for him instinctively, brushing his thumb across a pale, freckle-dashed cheek. "It's okay. And it's nothing that serious. I ran into a little trouble with Templars on my way through the Hinterlands."
Worry crossed his face and knitted sandy brows together. "Hawke," his voice was tight yet thick with woe. "I'll be the judge of just how serious it is."
Although he sat on the edge of a cot expectantly, de-robing like a familiar ritual, he still tried to reassure Anders. "I'm fine, really. I wasn't badly hurt but it aggravated an old injury." The memory of the blow that put him in this position was still vivid, along with the wave of sharp pinpricks underneath his skin with even shallow breaths immediately after it happened.
He remembered being stuck in a sickbed throughout his recovery following the tangle with the Arishok, too, with frequent visits that often left him more agitated than relieved. He wasn't a man content to be laid up for long, insisting on being back on his feet sooner than recommended, something Anders had vehemently disagreed with. Still, Hawke had been grateful for the man's dutiful care. Without it, well, he didn't wish to linger on the what-might-have-been of that situation and the direct result of his reckless actions.
Nothing but praise had dripped from Maren's lips on their walk over about the healer in charge. It unearthed fond memories of the warm ebb and flow of Anders' magic currently washing over him as it knitted flesh back together. No longer were the reminders of nimble fingers touching the skin ghostly echoes. The cleaning, mending, and pretty eyes filled with concern that had always lingered both in mind and body, were real again.
The moment his thoughts betrayed him, Hawke chased them away, focused on his frustration with himself for letting this go unseen for far too long. It had begun to affect his skill with a staff, and while he wasn't incapable of casting without, he didn't like having the choice taken from him.
Anders let a chuckle escape amidst his focus. "Always getting into trouble, I see."
"Yeah," Hawke mused, a chuckle of his own rising to the surface. "It hasn't been the same without you though."
He hadn't expected that to make Anders stop what he was doing, but he covered it with a nervous-sounding laugh. "Must have been difficult without your trusty healer at your side, but you seem to have gotten through-"
But Hawke lifted his chin, searching for the man's eyes again. "Not just that. Anders I-" his words caught in his throat, but he swallowed his anxiety. "I've missed you. Probably more than I had any right to…." He let his voice trail off for a second, forcing down the urge to grab Anders' hand and kiss the tip of each finger, to press his lips into the palm and feel the warmth and surge of magic over the rest of his skin…
"I've missed you as well."
He almost didn't hear it over the sound of his own thoughts racing, but sure enough, the confirmation came in the form of a smile when he studied Anders's face again. As if his heart wasn't pounding loud enough already. "I should probably go find Maren after this, then, and have her set me up with a place to sleep and a meal. Since she was so insistent about it."
By the time he floated the question across, Anders had already finished up his work and put space between them again, though his posture - leaning a bit forward and towards him - spoke volumes. Surprise illuminated the healer's face as he straightened his back. "You're staying? I thought you were just passing through."
Rolling his shoulders now that Anders was finished with him, Hawke rose to his feet. "That was the plan, but it looks like that has since derailed."
"I suppose you have a point."
Damn right he did, but it felt disingenuous to make such a retort out loud. "Walk with me to my room?" He tentatively reached for Anders's hand, noting the ever so slight hesitation before pale, freckled digits laced themselves in twine with his. A sound escaped the healer, akin to a whine but quieter and sweeter. The soft, plying look in his eyes as they caught the light said enough, yet he spoke up anyway. "I would have only tarnished your reputation had I stayed. It was for the best, but you're too damn stubborn to listen I see."
As they exited the hut, Hawke pulled Anders close with only a half-hearted scoff. "And when did I ever give a damn about my reputation? You know I would have followed you to the void and back."
Something flickered across the other mage's face that made him close the gap between them and lean into his side as they walked. "That's exactly what I was afraid of." Anders finally said after a few more heartbeats of silence, but it was spoken with a guilty smile...
It's snowing up temple - yay skiing- which is good but it means I'm going to actually have to talk about things with the guy I'm sleeping with, because I can't go on being confused, but it means talking about things.
Hopefully it means I can do drunk talks and things will get sorted - I'm normally more into emotions and things when I'm drunk.
