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It was too much.
From the not-so-gentle sway of the ship as waves on the Waking Sea jostled the vessel with all the subdued force of a charging Druffalo. To the tepid water which sloshed overboard and the spray of a wave's crest as it kissed his cheek. It was all too much. Anders' thoughts were unfocused, scattered to the four winds. Parts of him had never left this corner of the world, still locked in the darkness of the tower; the other parts still lingered at Nathaniel's side grinning and pretending not to have a care in the world. There were pieces of him that remained in Kirkwall, in his clinic with those who needed him, and there standing amid the rubble from the explosion while his heart was fit to burst with sorrow.
Actually, Anders mused, whoever first thought the rocking of a ship was the least bit soothing must have been daft. With each push and pull of the tide, he imagined a rather large cat tossing her prey about before going in for the kill. Isabela had crooned at him over her shoulder at some time the prior evening about finding his sea legs eventually. Anders just laughed it off. He was fortunate not to be prone to seasickness, but it was still not his ideal method of travel.
It had only been two days since they left Kirkwall, two agonizingly long days out on the open sea for the both of them. Far out beyond the early morning fog, rolling over the water's surface like a living being, Anders could barely make out the lights of Kirkwall's docks growing dimmer the further away they sailed. Tattered banners flapping in the wind pulled his eyes away from the horizon to the flickering glow of broken lanterns instead and, in doing so, earned a sigh. Anders' mind was heavy with too many questions. Most were an endless deluge of "what-ifs" about what he'd done and what he was expected to do now. What remorse he was mired in stemmed from the loss of life rather than his decision, but there had been no way around it. Right?
Hearing a groan over his shoulder pulled Anders from the whirlwind of thoughts in his head and back to reality. One he still couldn't quite reconcile. Julian meandered his way out onto the main deck, finally emerging from the cabin where he'd left the man. Poor thing looked ashen-faced, still a touch green around the gills but marginally better than when he initially passed out far too late in the night. "Good morning, my love. How are you feeling?" As he floated the soft inquiry across the deck, guilt bowed his head slightly. They hadn't spoken about what happened since their flight from the city, and until they did, Anders was driven to caution, tip-toeing around everything without making it evident that he was doing so. Fortunately, Julian's condition made it a little easier to distract themselves from it, to keep delaying the inevitable.
Hawke pinched the bridge of his nose and squinted, "Like I got kicked in the head by a horse. At least my stomach isn't threatening to tie itself into knots anymore. Small miracles, I suppose. Or the work of a damned good healer." Despite feeling ill, his smile which drew all of the freckles on his face into a neat cluster still hit Anders square in the chest. That and the twinkle in his lover's eye were almost enough to bring him to his knees. It was typical of Julian to maintain his charm despite being sick as a dog all night. He claimed it was highly unusual, of course, that it would pass quickly, and he would be right as rain in a few hours. Anders understood it was a defense mechanism, not wanting to expose his soft underbelly and let himself be too vulnerable. Still, he was not immune to the man's effects on others. He was grateful that Julian had chosen him to give his whole heart to rather than someone else.
Hawke's casual approach closed the distance between them, and Anders instinctually moved to inspect his person, his palm already awash in a soft blue glow. Calling magic to his hand was near-effortless these days, or so it seemed once he and Justice stopped resisting each other and began to work more in tandem. Anders seamlessly transitioned into the healer role as though he never stopped. "Show me where it hurts," he coaxed, not intending to be anything but genuine. Yet Julian rewarded him with a smile that gave it another meaning altogether.
"Hmm, definitely here," he said, pointing to his lips still curled like the cat who ate the canary. "And maybe here, and certainly here-" Anders found his hands captured and strategically placed with every word that fell from his beloved's lips as growing need curled within him.
Heat settled into his face and his groin both. Maker curse his body for being so bloody responsive. He scoffed in an attempt to play it off, knowing Hawke could and would see through it, especially as he allowed himself to give in to the urges. Fingers hooked into the waistband of his trousers, pulling him ever closer. "Julian Hawke, just what sort of man do you take me for?" Teasing edged into his voice and spilled over into his smile. Maybe they could forget about the discussion. Perhaps they could continue to postpone it. They could press on, lose themselves in desire for a while, and shut out the rest of the world until it was no longer possible to ignore it.
"A man who could stand to get a good night's sleep. But I'll settle for a cat nap below deck with me. Though, I don't know how much sleeping we'll be doing." Julian practically purred against him as his mouth, hot and wanting, kissed a trail down his neck and collar bones. He couldn't help the moan that tumbled out in response as the only answer to that statement. Once more, his physical desires reigned supreme, and he was helpless to Hawke's ministrations. A roaming hand boldly slipped beneath the fabric of his trousers and caressed the bare skin it found. Naturally, his body became immediately responsive to the attention.
"Well well, what have we here? No smalls, hm?" Julian's breathy voice tickled his ear just as the flat of his palm settled on his rear. With one squeeze, he had Anders squirming against him.
Incapable of forming any truly witty retort, Anders loosed a throaty, undignified giggle. Of all things. "Yes, just announce it to the entire crew, why don't you. As it happens, I didn't exactly have time to finish the washing before we fled the city."
A feminine voice sang over his shoulder, "What's this now about not wearing underclothes? Do go on." Isabela emerged from the Captain's cabin with a glint in her eye and a spring in her step. Anders groaned as he tried to free himself from Julian, who seemed nonplussed and one step away from undressing them right then and there. "Never you mind."
Hawke laughed a deep, rich sound that stoked the building heat within but ultimately acquiesced in letting him wriggle away. "So is that a no on the nap, then?"
"I never said that." Anders might have tried to feign indignance, but he knew they would see straight through it.
Isabela sauntered away with only a wink and no further prodding. "Well, don't let me stop you. There's still plenty of time before we reach Ferelden's shores."
Not that either he or Julian needed her permission. Still, some small part of him that never left the Circle could not help but pull away or freeze up anytime they had a public audience, when he heard footsteps approaching, or if anyone else was around. It was the deep-seated fear that they'd get caught, that Julian would be torn away from him and made Tranquil for daring to love him. Yet Julian always understood and reminded him that he was no longer in the tower. That he didn't have to hide…
Anders reached for his lover's hand with a private smile meant only for him and gestured toward the cabins. "Lead the way, love."
Intimacy with Julian was always fulfilling, a release both physically and metaphorically. The man knew what buttons to push to truly get Anders to come alive, to give himself over to pleasure and let his baser appetites take control. It helped that Justice no longer protested or cited Hawke and all that came with him as a distraction from the cause. Even he could recognize the significance of the relationship to Anders. Justice had even envied the love between Kristoff and Aura once upon a time. Yet, in an attempt to protect their host and ensure that nothing would deter Anders from the charted course, they'd acted irrationally. Hawke was a source of comfort, support, and vigor, which aided his work rather than hindered it. Even he could not argue with that logic.
Anders had been living on little sleep and early mornings for as long as he could remember, which had relaxed only marginally when he'd left the Circle. Not that he'd desired more hours awake in captivity, of course not. However, there had been precious few moments in the late evening or the very early mornings that he could count on the Templars being less than totally vigilant, allowing him to visit with Karl or have even a sliver of privacy. Without the looming presence of Templars, who were determined never to let him exist in peace. When he moved into Darktown clinic, every little sound outside the door at night could have been someone picking the lock, a threat from one group or another, a desperate soul who would think nothing of death and blood for another day not completely starving. On top of all, it didn't help that frequent nightmares left him with his chest heaving, feeling cracked wide open often enough that he'd nearly stopped trying to sleep. He would stumble onto a cot when his body could go no further, not bothering to disrobe or even do anything but lay there staring at the ceiling.
It wasn't nightmares that kept his mind active tonight, but other things. Even bedded down, tucked close against his lover's chest as he was, dark thoughts and twisting guilt poked and prodded at him, making sure any real rest was unattainable. Would Julian have been safer if he managed to break things off before putting his plans into motion? Perhaps it could have spared him the need to flee his only other home or live the life of a fugitive. Would it have been a kindness? What about his death, then? As he loathed the idea of his beloved being forced into such a grim situation, having to execute him, Anders always assumed it would have solidified the public opinion about their Champion for the better. Putting down the dangerous apostate who destroyed their Chantry would have won him great favor. Ultimately, the thought of breaking Julian's heart nearly brought Anders to tears.
All of it was moot, however. Anders had already made a choice. Something he became acutely reminded of as Julian stirred beneath him. No sooner did hands start to roam in lazy, affectionate exploration with fingers twitching against his ribcage. Stretching his neck, Anders moved to peck Julian on the chin while murmuring an apology. He hardly felt like he deserved the warmth, tenderness, and love right now and carefully tried to untangle himself from their coupling. Anders didn't want to get up. He was comfortable; his lover was close, peaceful in his slumber while his subconscious mind still walked the shallows of the Fade. Moments like this were precious, and everything so uncertain, so Anders tended to hoard the best things: the touches, the warmth, the days where his soul felt whole and cradled in Julian's heart. Everything he gathered he would cherish when it finally happened, and he paid the ultimate price for his time spent as a Grey Warden. He had tried to protect Julian from that too, but no one was stubborn like a Hawke.
"Bit early for those, you know," Julian mumbled, acknowledging Anders' sorries, his voice still rough with sleep.
Anders sighed but successfully liberated himself from the bed. "Perhaps." The sea air filtering in from above deck was biting against his bare skin, so he made haste fishing his clothes from the haphazard pile on the floor of their cabin. In his mind, it was never early enough or good enough. No amount of apologies would restore the Chantry nor bring back those who perished. He'd gotten lost in his head when he noticed Julian sitting up in bed, dragging a palm over his face.
"Anders."
"Hm?" He barely registered his name as he stepped into his trousers and resumed picking through the rest to find his socks. Would that they had the foresight to put their things aside neatly, but then one couldn't exactly plan spontaneous sex, could they? Anders chuckled as he rolled that thought around in his head. A few times, Julian had tried to prepare a lovely evening together that would have ended with a good romp, but luck was not on their side.
"I can see you overthinking from here. Come back to bed. It's much too cold without you." The request was tempting if Anders were honest with himself, but he was already more than halfway dressed, already committed. It felt like far more effort to strip again than staying up and finding something to occupy his mind and hands.
Anders cast a reluctant smile over his shoulder after stepping into his boots. "Sorry, love. I just - need to distract myself for a bit." Once again, it was a monumental task to resist as Julian turned onto his side, letting the quilts drape precariously across his body in a way that almost seemed deliberately artistic. Enticing. Were he skilled in the fine arts, Anders would have thought to capture the sight on canvas. Not for public display, no, just for him.
A husky chuckle drifted over from the bed. "I see that look, you know you want to come back."
He did. He very much did. But it didn't seem right. "Another time, my love. Truly. I should go get some air, see how Isabela is fairing." But as he attempted to walk away, Julian snatched his hand and gently pulled him back onto the bed. "Anders, I know something is bothering you. Come here. I'll play with your hair, and you can tell me what's on your mind."
Knickerweasels. How transparent was he? With some reluctance, Anders let himself be lured back in, and he settled onto the mattress beside his partner. His love, his heart. Julian made his world just that much brighter. The longer they stayed together, the harder it was to imagine a life apart though he had considered it before being convinced to stay, to fight on even when the odds seemed stacked against them. "Do you truly have nothing to say about it all?"
Julian's fingers carding through his hair, brushing against the nape of his neck, made him shudder, but even as he closed his eyes, Anders focused on his lover's voice. "About what?"
Was he playing the fool? Undoubtedly the question was clear enough. Anders waited for the fist coiled against his scalp, for the salaciously slow pull as his head was drawn back, for teeth gingerly nipping at the sensitive skin along his throat - the memory was fleeting but left him warmed and feeling foolish for being so on edge. Julian had spared him consciously, had he not? "What do you want me to say, Anders?" There was just the faintest sharpness of disappointment in his voice, but it wasn't easy to discern whether that was irritability from being woken up or something else.
"I don't know." Anders let his shoulders slump and settled in, back hitting a solid chest. "Anything, I suppose. Anything is better than just pretending nothing happened."
"Oh, no, something did happen." Dextrous fingers combed and curled strands of hair, halfway braiding but not entirely committing to the process. Anders was always told he had such nimble fingers and very skilled hands, yet this man here had a gift. Oh, he had charm in spades, was easy with his words, and boasted a wealth of confidence, but most of it was for show. Underneath the bravado was a sweet, humble soul. Julian's timbre was a lulling force, capable of smoothing all the rough and fraying edges of Anders' soul. There was something to be said about being loved so thoroughly, despite all his flaws, darkness, and mistakes. Julian carried on after a beat, "There's little either of us can do about it now. Not especially out here on the open ocean, halfway to Ferelden. Do I think it was rash, dangerous, and extreme, even for you? Sure. I knew you were plotting something when you came to me about some mysterious potion. Can't say I expected that, but the deed is done, and we did what we could to clean up the mess afterward."
Anders scoffed at Julian's glibness. "My mess, you mean. You can say it, you know."
"Our mess, darling. Ours. I dropped just as many bodies during my stay in the city. My hands are just as bloody as yours."
"I doubt that." It wasn't right. The blame fell squarely on his shoulders, but Hawke being Hawke, spoke with such…not dismissal, necessarily. Casual confidence, maybe. Nothing out of the ordinary for Julian, but Anders hadn't ever expected acceptance. He had been fully prepared to pay for his deeds with his life. Yet here he was. Here they were. The Maker had such a bizarre sense of humor. Assuming he still cared. Some days, Anders could not be sure.
"It was a pretty garish building anyway. Really, the citizens should have thanked you for getting rid of it."
"Julian, please," Anders protested with a groan. He refrained from yanking his head away to look back in abject horror but found his motivation to move, wanting. He even found himself trying to hold back laughter at the sheer absurdity of Julian's words. "Be serious!"
"Look, the point is that what I think about it matters very little in the grand scheme of everything. I was angry, at first, shocked even. I'm not interested in having a martyr for a lover. I spared you for a reason: I love you, and I'm with you in this. Till the end. Even if I don't always agree with your methods."
None of this was playing out as it should have, as he planned, but it was hard to stay the wounded soul he felt he was most of the time. No one could go on like that forever, with tattered edges torn so desperately, bloody at the edges, barely holding together. Julian had taken it all, created a patchwork, filled in the missing pieces, and put him back together. He even indulged in these moments of nostalgia when Anders reached for memories he didn't share with anyone else, complete with little gestures that eased him and made him smile. Struggling not to doze in Hawke's lap, he withdrew carefully to stand on shaky legs and shed what layers he'd acquired in his attempt to flee, to sit with his guilt. "Julian Hawke," Anders murmured in a low voice, returning to his partner's side with a tender smile. "You are my strength, my courage, my passion. I love you more than words can express. Hopefully, you feel it."
As he reached to brush aside a few of his lover's dark curls, Julian placed the hand over his heart with his usual coltish grin. "I do feel it. Here."
Anders made a sound in the back of his throat and stared at him with soft eyes until Julian moved their hands. "And here..." He lingered there momentarily until he went to move again. "And even here-"
"You are the worst!" Anders exclaimed, finally succumbing to a fit of laughter born of sheer relief, as he bodily tackled Julian into the soft mattress. The two tangled together, reveling in the moment's joy, a weight lifted off their shoulders. At least for now. There was much yet to be done, Anders knew well the fight had only just begun in earnest, but he was confident in the knowledge that they were in it together as partners.
Until the very end and into the beyond.