"Pancake Day" - a short Anders/Male Hawke fanfic (937 words)
Hawke teaches Anders how to make pancakes. Short fic in honour of Pancake Day (Shrove Tuesday) in the UK today, and therefore written while munching on home-made pancakes for tea earlier.
(As an aside - if I’m not entirely mistaken, isn’t ‘making pancakes’ a euphemism? I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure I’ve heard it used as one… ‘Tossing’ definitely has a double meaning, but I haven’t used it here.)
Anyway, one-shot fluff. Can be found on Archive Of Our Own here.
‘But you’re Fereldan,’ Hawke protested, gazing in disbelief at Anders. ‘Or you’re from Ferelden, at least. Have you really never made pancakes before?’
Anders folded his arms and frowned. ‘I was in the Circle, Hawke. Mages didn’t really get to do much for themselves beyond their magical training. Least of all learn to cook.’
Hawke grinned. ‘Well, then,’ he said, eyes sparkling, ‘I’ll just have to show you. Come with me.’
Feeling curious, and carried away by Hawke’s excitement, Anders allowed him to grab his hand and lead him to the kitchen, where Hawke started to hunt for the requisite pots and pans in the cupboards. Amused, Anders leaned against a wall and watched his lover’s childlike enthusiasm as he rummaged noisily in every cupboard and corner the kitchen had.
‘Master,’ Orana called out as she appeared in the doorway, ‘do not trouble yourself! Whatever it is you want, I can learn to cook it!’
‘Orana, there’s no need,’ Hawke answered as he emerged from one cupboard, triumphantly brandishing a frying pan he’d found. ‘I want to teach Anders how to cook pancakes. Take the evening off; do something nice for yourself.’
Orana looked confused; her eyes met Anders’s, and he nodded. Orana curtsied, then left.
‘Now, we need some measuring bowls – ha! Found them – and the eggs, flour, milk and butter will be in here…’ Hawke dived into the pantry, and emerged with his arms full of ingredients, a satisfied expression on his face. ‘Come on. Let’s show you how to make yummy pancakes, just like my mother used to make them. Well, until Carver ate them all, and Bethany had to make a new batch – but yes, just like my mother cooked them.’
‘But Hawke, I really can’t cook,’ Anders laughed. ‘Don’t you think I’d be better off starting with… er… something a bit easier?’
Hawke’s eyes widened. ‘But pancakes are easy,’ he insisted. ‘You just measure out the right amount of the different ingredients, mix them all together, add some salt to taste, and that’s the batter done; then you grease up the frying pan with some butter, and ladle in a small amount of the batter and let it fry.’
‘That… sounds too hard even for me, Hawke.’
‘Well, OK,’ grinned Hawke, his enthusiasm not dulled by Anders’s fond reticence. ‘I can cook, and you can toss the pancakes.’
‘Excuse me? Toss the pancakes?’
‘Well, yes,’ said Hawke, patiently. ‘How else will you get to cook them on both sides?’
‘So, what, I just toss the pancakes up in the air? And catch them in the pan?’
‘Yes!’ Hawke beamed, pleased that he understood. ‘Easiest thing in the world!’
Anders raised an eyebrow. To him, that sounded even harder than the actual cooking, but Hawke was already happily making up the batter, humming to himself as he measured and poured and whisked. Shaking his head affectionately, Anders resigned to watching his lover busying himself with preparing the pan, finally taking a step forward towards the lit stove as Hawke poured the first ladle of creamy batter into the centre of the pan, where it spread out into a perfectly round, pale yellow circle.
Hawke prodded the quietly sizzling pancake, checking underneath the edge, and then turned to Anders, smiling broadly through his beard, amber eyes gleaming.
‘Ready for the toss?’ he said.
Anders was nervous. ‘But what if I mess it up? Or drop it?’
‘Don’t worry, you’ll be fine,’ Hawke reassured him. ‘It’ll come with practice. Not that I think you’ll need much,’ Hawke winked at him, ‘seeing how good with your hands you already are.’
Anders chuckled, but that didn’t stop him feeling any less uneasy. Hawke took the pan off the burning stove and handed it to him.
Anders flicked the pan, but the delicious-smelling pancake barely moved.
‘Harder,’ Hawke advised, and Anders had a sudden flashback of Hawke calling out the same thing in bed, Anders at his back. Suppressing a giggle, he flicked the pan much harder…
‘Ah,’ said Hawke, staring up at the golden circle on the ceiling. ‘Well. That sometimes happens. But not to worry, we’ll find a way to get it down…’
As if it heard him, the pancake started to peel itself off the ceiling, and plopped itself squarely on Hawke’s upturned face.
Anders’s giggles gushed out in earnest now as the yellow pancake turned to face him, surprised (or as surprised as a pancake-covered face could look), blinking. Hawke shook his head as Anders roared with laughter, but Anders could tell from the shake of his shoulders that he was laughing too.
‘…Well,’ Hawke chuckled, shaking the pancake off his face and onto his hand, where it draped like a sheet over his outstretched fingers, ‘let’s try that again, shall we?’
It took three pancakes before Anders was able to successfully flip one over, but that hadn’t stopped both of them tittering and teasing each other at each failed attempt. But Hawke was right: the pancakes were delicious, and eating them the traditional Fereldan way – with lemon and sugar – meant they provided a tasty and satisfying meal, too.
‘OK, that’s it, I think I’m full,’ Hawke said, sitting back in his chair and pushing his plate away. Anders pushed his own plate away and walked over to his lover’s side of the table.
‘Thank you for showing me how to make pancakes the Fereldan way, love,’ he said, settling himself into Hawke’s welcoming lap and smiling as the other man nuzzled his beard against his ear. ‘Perhaps when we’re feeling less full, we can make pancakes… another way.’
