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No matter where they found themselves, as soon as the wind and the leaves began to grow crisp, Anders and Garrett would find themselves packing up and heading off to Nevarra. It had become a tradition of sorts, starting completely spontaneously as many such things do, and then garnering its own meaning over the years.
The first time they found themselves in the country together, Anders had been traveling alone since Kirkwall, often sleeping out-of-doors or in forgotten alleyways, never staying in one place for long. His journeys took him north, through the Marches, Antiva, Rivain, Tevinter, and Anderfels. He saw more of the world than he ever could have imagined back when he was rotting in Kinloch. Freedom had been a strange thing for Anders, nothing like what he had expected, and he still wasn’t sure he had really ever tasted it in truth.
He and Hawke had necessarily parted ways after the revolt, once the mages of the Kirkwall Circle were finally freed and Meredith put to the sword. Anders had betrayed him. Garrett had given him everything: a home, a purpose, a life . Love.
Anders had tossed it away. It was necessary, but the pain of it still stung. He imagined it always would. And in the end, Hawke didn’t even have the heart to destroy him, to end his pain. Anders supposed it was too much to ask--Garrett had promised to always take care of him, to keep him safe from those who would put him back in chains. Who would put them both in chains, if they could. Garrett had never been trapped in a Circle himself, but he had seen what the confinement had done to people. What it had done to Anders. Garrett had promised it would never happen again; he had promised to keep Anders safe from the Templars and the Seekers and the Wardens and anyone else who might come for him. And Anders had tossed it away.
He had heard rumors of the Herald and had even seen the Breach, far off in the distance. It was only a subtle green glow when he was in the Marches. Rumors of darkspawn and demons, but then again there were always rumors of darkspawn and demons. He hadn’t thought much of it.
He had been traveling for five years, his feathered coat growing more and more tattered as the miles he accumulated crossed the hundreds. Sometimes he was able to get a pony to carry his tired feet. More often, he was on foot. Sometimes he would heal for coin. Sometimes for a hot meal. Sometimes for nothing at all. He was not so callous to turn away a patient who could not pay for their treatment. He never had been. Those nights he went hungry.
Eventually his feet carried him to Nevarra City, the dense population allowing him to bleed into the background, despite his light hair, pale complexion, and southern accent. There were plenty from around the world who flocked to the area, trading, wandering, traveling. He could find shelter here, perhaps build a life. He was far enough from anyone who would recognize him. Perhaps he could stay for longer than a fortnight. It could be Kirkwall again, better even. Nevarra also smelled of death, but it was the acrid smell of embalming fluid and incense, not of blood clotting and drying in the streets.
The first day of autumn was impossible to miss. The denizens of Nevarra City strung lanterns and streamers from every surface, preparing for a month of revels. There would be food, drink, costumes, and celebrations of the dead. Even Anders was starting to feel festive. He would not partake, of course, but it was hard to not be swept up in the infectious nature of an entire populace coming together over shared traditions, even if they were not his own. He remembered evenings in the Hanged Man, Isabela singing loudly or dancing on a table, Fenris actually smiling when he was beating Varric at cards, Merrill drinking far too much and being carried through Lowtown by one of the men or Isabela, when she wasn’t too far gone herself. He remembered stolen kisses, holding Garrett’s hand under the table, drunken confessions of love. In Nevarra, he would sometimes use his last coins to buy a drink and sit in a tavern, in the corner, not speaking to anyone, and just remember the way Garrett looked in the candlelight, flushed with drink. The thought alone was enough to make his stomach flutter and bring tears to his eyes. Justice was allowing him alcohol now, in small amounts, never more than one drink.
Maker, what I wouldn’t do to see him again, just once more.
He was cleaning up his makeshift clinic, reshelving unused gauze and taking stock of his remaining herbs, when he heard a knock at the door. He had established his practice several months ago under a particularly seedy bridge, a cavern leading off of the walkway from the canals that criss-crossed their way through the city. It reminded him a bit of Darktown, but at least he was no longer in the sewers.
He turned to the door, sighing.
One more patient , he thought, and then I can try to rest.
Not that resting was particularly pleasant for him, either. More often than not, Anders would dream of stumbling through the Deep Roads or his cell in Kinloch. He would wake up with his skin crawling, the dreams of demons never far from his mind. On the kinder nights, he remembered when Hawke asked him to move in, holding Hawke and being held in return, the feel of Ser Pounce-a-lot’s fur, that wry smile Fenris had started giving him towards the end, the way Varric would shake his head when he called him ‘Blondie’.
He still didn’t entirely understand why Garrett had spared him, sending him away instead of facing punishment for his crimes. Justice had been angry about it, even despite his feelings of victory. In truth, Anders had been a little angry as well. Garrett had chosen the easier route for himself, but not for Anders. Anders was forced to endure, living with the knowledge that he had destroyed his friends’ lives in a single instant. He didn’t regret his actions at the Chantry; it had been necessary. He regretted hurting his companions. He regretted hurting innocents. Hurting Kirkwall itself.
He stepped gingerly over the improvised cots and across the uneven cobblestones to reach the door he had thrown together himself from a pile of cast-off driftwood. He reached for the handle, sighing. He had hoped he could finally go to bed for the evening, catching a few hours of sleep before dawn came. It did not seem to be the case.
He opened the door slowly. The face staring back at him, glowing in the lantern light, was enough to make him drop his staff, the wood clattering against the stone floor.
Garrett Hawke stood before him, more slender, more lined, and travel-worn. He had kept his beard, but his hair was close-cropped and he looked like he had gathered a few more scars over the past several years. Anders could hardly breathe.
Hawke smiled. “It’s been a while, Anders. I’ve missed you.”
Anders was at a loss for words. He used to babble, but all of the time alone with his thoughts had quieted his mind. And he wasn’t expecting this of all things. Not him. Not here. Not after all of this time.
Garrett looked at him curiously. “May I come in? I’m exhausted and could use a drink.”
Anders nodded, stunned, his breath and speech stolen from him by the circumstances. He could not stop staring. He was almost sure that this was just another dream that would suddenly turn into a nightmare. Garrett would be replaced by Meredith or an abomination or would have a sunburst on his forehead, his mind and connection to the Fade severed completely.
But he grabbed whatever swill he had on hand and poured a glass for his old friend. Garrett was still there. When he took a mug for himself, choking down the ale, Garrett was still there, smiling slightly. And when he finally found his words, Garrett was still there, grinning stupidly.
“Why…? How…?” The questions were all Anders could choke out. Anything else was impossible. The whole situation was, in fact. He couldn’t really be here, not after all of this time. Not after all of the miles he had crossed getting away, to keep Hawke safe from the cloud of suspicion that being acquainted with Anders would bring. Of being more than acquainted.
Garrett laughed. “I’m sorry I couldn’t warn you of my coming. I wasn’t sure if you would still be here when I arrived. I’ve tried to follow you before, but I was always too late. And then there was the bit with the Inquisition…” He sighed. “Anders, we fought a monster . I didn’t think it could get worse than Kirkwall, but it decidedly was. World-ending calamities. And of course, Varric dragged me into it.”
Anders frowned. That angered him. Varric should have known better. “You’ve done enough, Hawke. He should have let you rest.”
Garrett shrugged, eyes laughing. “You know I would have found my way there eventually. I can’t stay away from trouble. It’s my special talent.”
“I know.” Anders’s voice was soft, hardly more than a whisper.
“Anyway, I was invited to a party and was hoping you would come with me! By a Seeker, no less, a royal one. A Pentaghast! It seems I’m popular again. Never thought that would happen.”
Anders’s brow grew even more lined as his frown deepened. “You know that it isn’t possible. Not for me. Not anymore. It is good to see you, Hawke, but now I must ask that you leave. I’m only going to put you in danger. And if anyone knew you were here, they might realize and… I was starting to get used to things here.”
Garrett rummaged in his cloak, looking quite serious for one of the few times in his life. That usually meant something bad was about to happen. Or something incredibly intimate. Anders was still never good at predicting which.
He pulled out two masks, one with the beak of a bird and one that looked curiously like a cat. From another hidden pocket, he pulled out a letter.
“It’s a masquerade, nobody will recognize you. They’ll just see two handsome foreign men, dancing together, and wonder.”
Anders was unable to return his smile.
Garrett pushed the letter towards him. “If you’re still concerned, this might help.”
Looking over the parchment, Anders noted an official seal in black wax, a sword and a flaming eye. He knew he had seen it before, but could not place the symbol.
“What is this?” he asked, his voice wavering.
Garrett smiled, not jokingly, but with an incredible sincerity. “When my duties at the Inquisition were over, the Inquisitor herself asked me to name my rewards for my service. I asked for two things. The first was use of her spy network and the Divine’s. The second is here. Open it.”
He obeyed, unsure, hands shaking.
The script was formal, elegant, and very official. The words were even more so.
From this day henceforth, by the combined powers of the Inquisition, the Orlesian Chantry, and of the Free State of Kirkwall, let it be known that the man known as Anders of Kirkwall is hereby granted clemency for all acts of aggression in defense of the Circle mages.
While the parties listed above do not condone the violence utilized to secure their safety, they also recognize that significant attempts were taken to avoid direct confrontation. All means to avoid conflict were denied.
The actions taken by the aforementioned will also be canonized in the Canticle of Light as an act of heroism, on par with those taken during the Andrastian revolution. The Church recognizes that not all progress can be made non-violently and while we mourn the loss of those who died in the explosion and the city that was destroyed, we also understand that through his actions, countless lives were saved and dramatically improved through the reform of the Circles.
Anders of Kirkwall, as of this day in 9:42 Dragon, is protected under the Inquisition. Any move against his person will be considered an act of aggression and will be met with retaliatory force.
There were three signatures under the body of the letter, their scripts as floral as the language: Inquisitor Lavellan, Divine Victoria, and Viscount Varric Tethras of Kirkwall.
Anders held the parchment out away from his face as though it was poisonous. He could not believe it. He did not dare.
He turned the letter over in his hands, reading it again and again, before finally looking up. He stared at Hawke, unblinking.
Hawke grinned. “So, would you accompany me to this soiree? I’m sure the alcohol will be better than what you just poured me. And you look like you could use a drink.”
Anders didn’t know what to do. A pained laugh escaped his chest, quiet at first, but growing until his entire body shook. Tears formed in his eyes, his laugh lines forming. His laughter turned into exhausted sobs and Garrett pulled his arms around him, holding him tightly.
Anders hadn’t laughed, not truly, in years.
He had cried though, but not like this.
Garrett released him, using a calloused hand to wipe his tears away. “I never stopped loving you, despite it all. I hope you will forgive me for not finding you sooner.”
Forgive him ?!
“Hawke, I… I don’t deserve this. I took everything from you.”
Hawke smiled, looking into his eyes. “That may be so, but you gave me something back as well. And call me a selfish bastard, but I want more of it, if you’ll have me. And I won’t let you go this time. But please try not to blow anything else up, okay? I don’t know if I have the clout for two miracles. One was hard enough to secure.”
Anders had to laugh again, tears falling harder, picking up the mask. “I… I love you too, Garrett. It has been so long since I have gone dancing. I would like nothing more. That and… if all of this is true, to be with you as well would be...” He choked on the words. “More than I ever could have hoped for.”
Hawke laughed, extending his hand. “Perfect. I am much too handsome to go to these things alone. And you are much too handsome to be wallowing in this stinking pit. Come with me, I have an apartment that overlooks the city. We can watch the revels from there. We need not join the masses to enjoy their festivities. The party’s tomorrow evening. Stay with me until then? After, we can try and figure out where we go from here. But for now… I have five years of longing to make up for.”
Anders set down his glass, taking the offered hand. He was still stunned, utterly. He smiled, slowly, unsure if he was dreaming. He thought not. Even his happiest dreams had not been this hopeful. He followed Hawke into the crisp autumn air, his boon and his lover in hand.
Hawke had saved the world and all he had asked for in return was the power to save Anders.
He would never understand how he could have been so lucky.