#nathaniel x anders

[eve-eleidan]

my sweet boooooysss nathaniel, get him something to eat. he's skinny as a rail >:c

lovebirds from Кошкин дом (ficbook)

[sulky-valkyrie]

Happy Friday!! For DADWC, maybe "I thought you said we had something worth fighting for- was that just another lie too?" for Anders/Nathaniel? 🥺

haiiiiiiii Gin, have a sequel to this for @dadrunkwriting

screenshot yoinked from this video, which is a delightful animated banter compilation

Trusting you was a mistake.

Anders’ parting shot and rage in his voice would've broken Nate's resolve if Loghain hadn't grabbed his elbow.  This contingency plan had been his wretched idea, brought up last night while they'd listened to his frantic pacing one room over.  Anders had said getting Karl out was the goal, that he'd burn the city down to see him free, so Nate had agreed to it as a last resort.

A last resort.  Not a bargaining chip to be tossed out at the merest hint of disagreement.  He barely heard, barely cared about Loghain and the Knight Captain's conversation as they walked through the same gate Anders had been dragged through moments before.  

“There's a list of the recently Harrowed in the Knight Commander’s –”

“Not necessary,” Loghain interrupted.  “I want someone seasoned.  A known quantity.  Already trained, not some barely housebroken robe barely able to tie his boots.”

Anders was more than that, you bastard.  He is more.

The Knight Captain cleared his throat.  “Traditionally, Wardens recruit from the Circle those who haven't yet proven themselves assets due to the risks of losing such valuable skills.”

Nate opened his mouth to snarl that they aren't assets, they're people, but Loghain stepped on his foot, grinding his mailed boot against the bone with an insincere apology, before sighing at the Knight Captain.  “A spirit healer should more than make up for any loss of revenue.  I want a list: men who've been Harrowed for at least five years with no disciplinary history.”

“Men only?” The Knight Captain's eyebrow arched up curiously.  “Are they better Wardens than women?”

Nate briefly entertained a fantasy of watching Velanna melt his eyeballs from his sockets as Loghain made up some drivel about recruitment quotas.  In truth, men made less dangerous Wardens, not better ones, but darkspawn breeding habits simply weren't a thing to discuss with the uninitiated.  

The Knight Captain sighed and changed course.  “Elsa would know best.”

“A moment.”  Loghain paused to fish a sealed letter out of his pouch.  “Give that to our former companion.”  He glanced at the Knight Captain.  “I assume he's been taken to your holding cells?”

The wax seal was imprinted with Brosca’ own signet (a stylized middle finger) and it wasn't addressed to Anders, but Nate.  He took the letter and he hid a frown.  This hadn't been in the plan.  In fact, they'd barely had a plan at all: trade Anders for Karl if they had to, then break Anders back out.  Details hadn't been important when they'd discussed hypotheticals last night, but now, the hypotheticals had become practicals, and only Loghain seemed to have any idea what was going on.  “Yes, ser.” He glanced at the Knight Captain, then quickly away.  The expression on his face when he'd cast that smite on Anders had been nothing short of cruel glee, more sickening to see than the way Anders had gone gray and stumbled into his captors’ grip.  “Where are the cells?”

“Up the right, down the hall, and on the left.”

Nate beat a hasty retreat.  An older Templar with steely gray hair was guarding the cell, though guarding it was a generous description.  He sat on a chair with his back to the opposite wall, arms folded, and head tilted to rest against the stone.  “Ready?” he asked without opening his eyes.

“For what?” Nate asked.

The Templar sat up in shock.  “Then you’re not…” he trailed off as his eyes traveled over Nate’s Warden armor.  “My mistake.  Knight Templar Emeric, at your service.”

What the void is going on?  “I’d like to speak to An – the prisoner.  In private.”

Emeric didn’t argue with him, just stood up and nodded crisply.  “Take your time.”  With that, he walked out.  What the void is going on?

Nate unfolded the letter as soon as the jingle of Emeric’s armor faded down the hall.  Another paper was inside, unaddressed and sealed.  Nate tucked it behind the message as he read Brosca’s blocky handwriting.  And read it again. 

Carta smuggles lyrium in through Templar barracks.  Been paying out my own pocket so they smuggle some other things out too.  Find the one who knows about Harrith. Give the other letter to Anders.

Did Brosca plan this?  Or just plan for it?  Did Loghain know?  Is that why he insisted on coming along?  The Commander hadn’t even been at Vigil’s Keep when they’d left, so he must’ve had the letters already.  

With more confidence than he felt, Nate approached the bars.  “Anders, I’m getting you out.”

The cell didn’t even have a bed.  Just two stools and manacles embedded in the walls.  Anders sat on one of the stools and stared at the ground.  His left arm hung limply at his side, shoulder still dislocated, and, even in the flickering torchlight, Nate could see a bruise darkening his cheek.  Maker, he's been in custody barely twenty minutes.  “Fuck off, Howe.  Just take Karl and go.”

“Loghain's taking care of that.”  I hope.  “And I'm taking care of you.”  I hope. 

“Taken care of me enough, I think,” he snarled.  “Don't worry, they'll finish the job.”  He hiccuped and covered his mouth as he shuddered.  “They must lace their magebane with something; even if I had mana, it'd be hard to cast when I feel like I might throw up any minute now.  Good thing for the both of us, I guess.  Asshole.”

Nate held up the smaller letter.  The movement caught Anders’ attention, and he glanced up before flicking his eyes away with a scowl.  “Brosca sent this.  For you.  Loghain had it.”  He tossed it into the cell.

Anders watched it flutter to the ground but made no move to pick it up.  “Don't want it.  Don't want anything from you.  Or them.”  He turned away, wincing when his arm brushed the edge of the stool.  “You didn't have to come.  Neither of you.  Could’ve just let me go, and probably got the same result: me, gone.  But no, you had to tag along, and for what?  Just make sure they did it properly?  You going to stay and watch the branding?  Report back that the infamous apostate and troublemaker is done for?”

“It wasn't –”

“You said you cared, Nate,” Anders interrupted softly.  “That we – that Karl and I had something worth fighting for, and, Maker damn me, I believed you.  When did it change? Or was it always a lie?  Would you rather see me dead than with anyone else?  Was that it?”

Nate rubbed his face.  “I'm trying to get you out, Anders.”

“You fucking put me here.”

The clank of Templar boots startled them both. “Just read the fucking letter,” Nate hissed before turning around.

It was Emeric again.  He was sweating and his cheeks were red, as if he was unused to running.  “I said take your time, but the Knight Commander is not happy about your choice of conscriptee.”

Nate glanced down at the message again.  “I’m looking for someone who knows Harrith?”

“Thank the Maker,” Emeric sighed.  He pulled out his keys and unlocked Anders’ cell.  “Nothing to be done about the magebane, I’m afraid.  Or your arm.”  He frowned as Anders stood up.  “Or your face.  Wilmod and Mettin are… overzealous.  It wasn’t like this when I joined.”  

As he stepped out, Anders muttered something that sounded like, “heard that before.”  The letter was in his hand and open.  He didn't look pleased about its contents, but Nate couldn't care less what he thought as long as it got him out.

That said, he couldn’t simply ignore his injuries.  He pulled a small healing potion from his pouch and held it out.  Anders stared at it for a few moments then rolled his eyes.  “The void am I going to do with that when I can't use my fucking arm?”

Asshole. “Generally, you drink it.”

Emeric shooed them down the hall.  “Keep going, lads; the tunnel is behind my wardrobe and it gets harder to move myself every year.  You know, I haven't done this since Maddox's – nevermind.  Used to be one or two a month before Commander Stannard and her roll calls and mandatory counts twice a day, and when Maurevar was doing it, we could slip out one a week to the Collective.”  He paused at the door.  “Harrith visited when he was dying.  Lyrium, you know.  It kills us all eventually, either from too much or not enough.  They told me everything.  The Carta, the Collective, the deals.  It's never been enough, but it was the best we could manage.  I took it over…  oh, about six years ago.  Easy money, I thought.  But it wasn't.  Instead I just see all the mages I can't help.  The ones the Collective doesn't know about.  The ones who can't pay the Carta for protection.”  

He shook his head as he walked to the edge of the wardrobe and pushed.  It barely shifted an inch, and he sighed as he glanced at Nate.  “That Warden strength might come in useful right about now.”

Nate stuffed Brosca’s letter in his pocket, then moved next to Emeric.  “Where's it going?”

“Just away from the wall.”  Emeric stepped back and grabbed a lantern.  

It scraped on the floor as Nate shoved it across the room to reveal a stone archway.  It looked like the opening had been plastered over years ago, and he ran his fingers over it skeptically.  “Your entrance is lacking.”

Anders snorted.  “That's what she said.”

“You think a smuggler tunnel would survive if we just hid it with furniture?” Emeric chuckled.  He turned to hand the lantern to Anders, frowned at his limp arm, and set it down on the desk.  “It's a rune.  Designed by one of the first mages Maurevar helped.  Said he learned it from the Wardens.”  He pulled a knife off his belt and slashed his hand.  “Responds to lyrium infused blood, so only a Templar can open it.  And no Templar would be foolish enough to wound himself in the presence of an apostate, of course.”  He cut the back of his wrist, then smeared it on his fingers before touching them to seven spots on the wall.  It glowed green, then vanished into mist as he gestured toward Anders.  “The tunnel leads down to a small harbor.  Take the skiff and follow the shore away from Kirkwall until you reach a cave marked with dwarven carvings.  The Carta know the boat, and will take you wherever you need to go.”

Nate grabbed the lantern.  “Let's go, then.”

Anders shook his head.  “Get Karl out.  I'll meet you at the inn, Andraste willing.”

“You're just – what if it's a trap?” Nate spluttered, then glanced at Emeric.  “No offense intended, of course, just – Anders, are you certain?”

“Get. Karl. Out.”  He pressed the note into Nate's palm.  “We'll figure the rest out later.  Or not.  I don't care.”

He looked down.  More blocky script.

If he doesn’t bring you back, he dies.  My word as a thief.

“Well,” Nate mumbled.  “And here I was thinking death threats were behind us.”

Anders grinned sadly.  “Welcome to the Wardens.”  With that, he ducked under the archway and disappeared into the dark.

[urskeletonboy]

Sometimes I forget that Nanders isn’t canon. Like I’ll be playing Awakening and think ‘when r they gonna bang’ and I have to remember that they don’t. Fml.

[silvanils]

Happy Friday!!!! How about “ i’m not in a very rational mood. ” for Anders/Nate/Cousland?

@dadrunkwriting

This prompt really fit well with an idea I've had bouncing around in my head for a while, so I hope you enjoy it!

Rating: T (for themes) Word Count: Just over 400

Things were finally beginning to feel comfortable again, which also made Fergus… uneasy.

He spent about half his time at the Vigil, now, and was starting to think of it as a second home. His relationship with Nathaniel felt like it had never been interrupted, and… Anders had finally relaxed around Fergus after their last heart-to-heart.

They were all haunted, really, by people and places they could never see again — not as they were — but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be happy together, here and now.

So, the moment he walked into Nate’s office and found both of his lovers all broody and sullen, Fergus knew something must be terribly wrong.

Nathaniel was reading a piece of parchment, his posture all stiff and square — as if he were bracing himself against a strike he knew was going to hurt. Anders leaned on the frame of one of the keep’s tall windows, facing away from both Nathaniel and the doorway — his eyes fixed on the distant horizon.

Whatever Fergus had planned to speak to them about was forgotten in the gloom. “What happened?”

“The First Warden has summoned all of the Grey Wardens to Weishauppt,” Nathaniel said, carefully setting the letter down. “No further information, just… those orders.”

“All of you?” Fergus asked, disbelieving. “That doesn’t make sense!”

“No, it doesn’t,” Nathaniel agreed. “It feels… wrong.”

“It feels like a trap,” Anders said, his voice as quiet as distant thunder. “Classic strategy! Call everyone into one room, then shut them in and silence them! Nothing about this feels right!”

“Anders,” Nathaniel sighed, reaching out for him. “I doubt that’s what the Wardens are planning. Be rational about this — ”

“I’m not in a very rational mood!” Anders snapped, shying away. Blue lightning crackled across his skin. “Even if it’s not a trap, what do you think they’ll do to me, Nathaniel? I won’t be imprisoned again!”

“Alright,” Nathaniel said, letting his hand fall. “We won’t go.”

And just like that, the tense crackling feeling in the room diffused.

Anders relaxed slowly, until even his eyes softened and returned to their normal honey-color. He looked less like a cornered cat, now, and more like a lost kitten. “Is that what you call a rational decision, Howe?”

“I’m not in a very rational mood,” Nate quipped, letting out a huff of air. “In fact, I’m feeling a bit rebellious.”

Fergus chuckled at that, shaking his head. He still had that uneasy feeling deep in his gut, but his heart felt warm in his chest. “Well, good. You know how much I hate goodbyes.”

[barbex]

My gift from @fergus-cousland​ for @dasmutquisition​, a wonderful Nathaniel Howe x Anders fic.

Something I Can't Get My Head Around   

It’s so soft, Anders is terrible with admitting to emotions and Nathaniel is wonderful.

[eve-eleidan]

nanders WIP i dont care i ship it!!

[sulky-valkyrie]

Happy happy Fridaaay! For DADWC, how about “Trusting you was a mistake" for Nanders, maybe? 🥺

Happy Friday, Gin! 💜 have some angst for @dadrunkwriting

Anders had not been pleased when Nate insisted they bring Loghain to Kirkwall, but he couldn’t deny he’d been useful.  The city guards damn near fell over themselves for the fabled Hero of the River Dane far more than they would have for a simple pair of no-name ragged Wardens.  Nevermind that he’d almost torn Ferelden in half.  Nevermind that the refugee crisis in the Marches was partially his own fault.  Nevermind that Wardens weren’t supposed to have any ties or allegiances outside the order.  He was still Loghain mac fucking Tir, father of the bloody queen of Ferelden.  

He wanted to head straight for the Gallows, but Loghain insisted they do it the next morning.  “They won't look on us kindly if we're still covered in sea spray and road dust.”

“Besides,” Nate added, “the boats only travel to and from the city twice a day.  We’d be stuck there all night.”

Anders shuddered at the thought as he stared over the water.  Karl, please, just one more day.  “Fine.”

They found a small inn near the alienage, paid for two rooms, and took their evening meals upstairs.  To Anders’ surprise and Loghain's confusion, Nate chose to bunk with him, leaving him alone to wonder and worry instead of sleeping.  

When they reached the harbor just after dawn, the ferry to the Gallows was still docking.  They got into the blessedly short line to embark and were back on the water in less than half an hour.

The boat ride was simultaneously the one of the most boring and – hah – harrowing experiences of his life.  Anders fidgeted with his jacket, as much from nerves as the need to do something to keep himself from jumping off and swimming the rest of the way.  It would be apropos, after all.  The swim across Lake Calenhad was one of his favorite and more successful escapes; doing it again to get Karl out would have a poetic irony.  

“Stop that,” Nate hissed as he slapped his hand.  “The more nervous you look, the more they’ll worry something is wrong.”

He bit his tongue to keep himself from snarling a retort.  Something was wrong, wrong with the institution, the whole bloody world.  And he was going to fix it as soon as Karl was out of harm’s way.

Karl, I’m coming.  For him, he’d keep his damn hands still.

The strange jangling in his nerves that he’d always associated with lyrium use was thick in the air as they walked down the gangplank, and only increased as they wound their way past the Tranquil shops to the main entrance.  He'd known it would be crawling with Templars, of course, but knowing it and feeling it were two different things entirely.  He felt like he was trudging through molasses and hot coals all at once.  I'm a Warden, they can't touch me.

It was a cold comfort.  No, it was just cold, with icy fingers that squeezed his heart and made it difficult to breathe.  He followed Loghain and Nate almost blindly and prayed they'd be able to get this over with soon enough to take the afternoon ferry back to the city.

A familiar face was at the gate.  Familiar and unwelcome.  Maker, it's Cullen; I thought he died, now he's here and promoted?  Anders knelt down to adjust his boot, wishing Loghain or Nate were taller.  Hopefully he doesn't recognize me.

Loghain pressed a paper into Cullen's hands.  “We're here for the Right of Conscription; these are orders from the Warden Commander of Ferelden.”  

When had Brosca done that?  Was it forged?

“We're not in Ferelden,” Cullen sneered, then crumpled it up.

“The Wardens have authority to Conscript anywhere Thedas.” Nate waved his hand in disgust.  “Even Kirkwall.”

Cullen made a face.  “I'll have to take this to the Knight Commander.  Gallows are off limits to everyone, yes, even Wardens, without her permission.  We can't simply – wait.” He peered over Loghain's shoulder.  “Anders?”

Damn.  He tried to hide his wince as he stood up.  “Knight Captain, what a surprise to see you here.”

Cullen ignored him as he swung his gaze back to Loghain.  “Warden Constable, is there a reason you're bringing an apostate into the Gallows?”

“Call it a gesture of goodwill.”  He pointed at Anders.  “This mage has proved to be more trouble than he’s worth.  We need a different one.  I'm sure you understand.”

What?  Anders looked at Nate, who cleared his throat and fiddled with his belt pouch.  “Nate, you – was this the plan the whole time?”  He lunged for him, reckless with despair as the smite hit, stealing his voice, burning his mana away, and Maker, it hurt, but not as much as this.  Templars were suddenly at his sides, grabbing his hands, then pushing him to the ground and twisting his arms behind his back before hauling him back to his feet.

Loghain watched the whole thing impassively, but Nate, fucking Nate, Nate whom he’d slept with, who’d offered to help him, couldn’t even do him the courtesy of looking him in the eyes as he sent him to his death.

It happened so quickly he was too stunned to even fight back as they marched him past Cullen and toward the gate.  The crushing silence faded as the gate lifted, and he twisted around in their grip, ignoring the agonizing pop as his shoulder came out of his socket.  

“Trusting you was a mistake,” he spat before they dragged him away.

[silvanils]

For DADWC: “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?” for Anders/Nathaniel? :D

@dadrunkwriting

I had WAY too much fun with this prompt! Mostly because I love the idea of Nathaniel also getting dragged into Hawke's shenanigans.

It was a slow night at the Hanged Man, which is probably for the best because even so the night was proving rather eventful for their visitor from Fereldan.

Nathaniel was still absolutely terrible at card games, his tells only becoming more obvious the more frustrated he became. A little frown, a shift in his seat, his hand rising to cover his mouth.

“Shit,” he groaned. “I mean - ah. Hm.”

“Remember, if you fold at the start of a round you have to take a long drink,” Hawke teased. Anders couldn’t help but smile as he glanced over to her.

Bright as ever, he thought. The one real beacon in this damn place.

He felt a boot clunk against his foot under the table, and arched an eyebrow as he returned his gaze to Nathaniel. Still so glum. He’d perked up a little when they’d gotten out of the Deep Roads — they all had — but Anders couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d said or done something that had offended Nate on the journey back to Kirkwall.

“You don’t want to get me really drunk,” Nate said, slowly, clearly struggling to keep his words clear. “I’d rather not wake up in bed with someone unexpected. Like the dwarf.”

Varric laughed, shaking his head. “Well, there go my plans for the night.”

“Careful,” Hawke teased, winking at Nate. “He’s only really got eyes for Bianca. Varric’s a one-crossbow kind of man.”

Nathaniel took a moment to process that information. Then he set his cards down and raised his cup in a toast. “Good for him. I can respect that.”

After the game, he asked Anders to help him get back to his room. They were halfway down the hallway, fitted together in the same way they’d often been back at the Vigil on nights like this, when it occurred to Anders what might be wrong.

“Wait a minute,” he said, glancing down at Nate. “Are you jealous?”

“Jealous?” Nate asked, his voice clipped. “Why would I be jealous? It’s good that you have friends. Or… whatever.”

“You’re jealous,” Anders said, unable to stop the smile that was creeping onto his face. “You know, you don’t have to be. They really are just friends. Mostly."

“Even if they weren’t, it’s been, what, six years? You’re happy. That’s all I care about,” Nate grumbled, frowning a little more as Anders led him through the door. After it shut, he sank onto the bed and pulled Anders after him, and despite the prickling feelings of protest in the back of his mind, Anders allowed it.

They just lay there like that for a few moments. Then Nate sighed. “You stopped writing suddenly, a few years back, and… I thought… Hawke? You really like Hawke. I shouldn’t be jealous of her. Not like I’ve been lonely at the Vigil. I have other people, too.”

“Nights still must get cold, though,” Anders breathed. “Bet no one else keeps your bed as warm as I do.”

Nathaniel snorted. Oh, Anders had missed that sound.

“I see you still enjoy tormenting me as much as ever. Fine. If I admit I'm jealous — does that make you happy, mage?”

“Surprisingly enough, yes. But only because it means you really missed me.”