Chapter Text
The Hanged man was empty, save for the merry band of the Champion. After their accomplishments during their third trip to the bone pit, Hawke had been more than willing to buy a round for his companions. The usual stoic demeanor gave way to drunken smiles all around. The smell of ale and sweat permeated the wood of the room and table.
“We did it! A real dragon!” Their handsome Champion had declared for the tenth time that evening. His arm was lazily slung over Isabela’s shoulder as she lovingly petted the back of his neck.
“It’s a little sad, though. The poor thing was just looking after its young,” Merrill moped while slipping a piece of bread into her mouth. “It had such pretty scales too.”
Anders sat at the corner of the table, furthest away from the Champion and his bustling. His mind was elsewhere, as he remembered the fight in the back of his mind. He picked his thumbnail with his teeth idly, distracted by the scene that had played itself several times in his memory.
The stupid elf had protected him during the fight when he had a perfectly good barrier spell over himself. It ended with him being exhausted from healing the burnt skin of the warrior and the smell would not leave his nose. His first response was incredulousness which turned to immediate panic. He could literally see the lyrium markings bubble and melt in front of him. It was only a bit, but it was still enough to send Fenris into momentary shock.
Anders glanced at the warrior in question. He had been idly pressing a glass of wine into his lips, barely paying attention to what was going on. He had never been particularly fond of noise, but when it was Hawke, he seemed to make exception after exception. This bothered Anders more than the stupidity from earlier.
“Alright, alright, are we going to play or not? I’m sure we would all like an early night.” Varric input some good suggestions. The cards hadn’t even been passed out to the table, but Anders was not feeling a game of Wicked Grace at all. He continued to glare at the stupid elf that made him lose most of his mana in a single setting again. At this point, he just assumed that Hawke and the rest of the gang were taking advantage of his healing abilities. He would have to rest for a full day before he’d be able to run a full shift at the clinic, and that was being postponed the longer he sat in ‘celebration’ with everyone else.
He was just so tired of it all.
A heavy exhale later, and Anders pushed himself out of his chair, wobbling his way to the loo. He hadn’t had too much to drink, but his tolerance was sabotaged by his lack of mana. One ale was enough to put him to bed, but of course he was already two drinks in before he realized. He slumped against the cool wood of the door, fumbling for the metal hook of the handle.
A smooth hand slipped under his and unhooked the door gently, letting him almost fall into the small room. He blinked angrily for a moment before turning his head. The bright shade of white in his vision wasn’t who he was expecting. “Thanks, but no thanks.” the mage mumbled over his ale-soaked tongue.
A loud huff escaped the elf as he shut the door behind Anders, letting him be alone. The mage scoffed in return, feeling stomach-sick at the thought of him. He took his time pissing before slumping against the door again. After a moment, he knocked, unable to locate the latch.
“Hey lyrium-for-brains. Let me out,” he slurred.
With a moment of hesitation, the door swung open on him again and he leaned on the frame this time, learning his lesson. As he turned to close it, he stared at Fenris as he kept his cheek pressed against the wall. “What do you want?” His voice was acidic, but it sounded so drunk he knew he wouldn’t be taken seriously.
“I owe you my thanks, mage,” Fenris hissed in return. “Not that you’d ever accept it, as stubborn as you are.” He leaned against the wall with his back, keeping his arms crossed and staring right back. Anders wondered if the glaze over those bright-green eyes was the inebriation he felt as well? If so, this was one silly situation.
“Oh god I really am drunk. I’m dreaming right now. Fenris is saying ‘thank you’ to me? Oh Andraste never wake me from this bliss.” Anders turned to lean with his back as well, putting his hands into a prayer. He spit a small laugh from his lips.
Fenris’ ears burned red as he tried to grasp the chain around Anders’ jacket clasp. It was a weak hold, but Anders let him tug at it. The elf got in his face, and Anders finally saw how crimson his skin was becoming. It almost looked like his tattoos were glowing pink as well. It was oddly cute.
“You’ll never hear it again. I never asked for your healing.” Fenris slurred in response, stumbling forward and pressing Anders into the wall with his other hand. “You should save it for yourself once I beat that smile off your lips.”
Anders, being the person that he was, grinned at the turn of phrase and decided to spin it to his favor. “You’ve been looking at my lips? I had no idea, Fenris.” He said the name with a tone of mock-affection, trying to make him as uncomfortable as possible. To add to the effect, he wrapped his free arm around the elf’s slight waist, pulling him just a bit closer. The scent of wine hit him then, cherry-toned and bright. “Want a closer look?”
Fenris’ eyes widened as he was tugged, taken by surprise. The warrior leaned back just a bit, and where Anders thought he would push himself away, Fenris instead doubled-down. He placed his hands on either side of Anders’ head against the wall, leaning just an inch away. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?” he teased.
A breath or two later and Anders found himself shocked. Maybe it was the ale. Maybe it was the tension they had built between them this whole time. Maybe it was just the right time or place. Fenris was beginning to look enticing. He froze in place at the situation, realizing that their mouths were so close he could feel the warmth of the stupid elf’s lips breathing on his own.
His mind went numb and for a drunken second, he slipped his hands over Fenris’ back, nearly pulling him the rest of the way in. The crease of rage in the warrior’s brow was suddenly so cute. The smell of wine on his lips was suddenly so sexy. When did his voice sound so… hot?
“I think you’re the one who would… like it,” he whispered in a weak attempt at rebuttal. Suddenly, Anders felt the warm press he didn't expect.
Fenris kissed him. Chaste and sharp. Immediately after, he spit to the side onto the ground. “Not worth the hype if you ask me.” His words were too fast and shaking. His face betrayed his act of stubbornness. His cheeks and ears were still red, and his hands shook on Anders’ shoulders as he pushed off the wall and walked away.
Anders slumped down a bit, still staring ahead into the glow of the lantern across from him. His inebriated brain was still catching up to what had just happened. It was too insane to believe. He was way too drunk for this. The mage pressed a finger onto his lips, noticing the wetness that still remained. His eyes closed as he replayed the millisecond of contact in his head. Damn.
After a few minutes of letting his mind fuzz out the memories, he wobbled his way back to the table. Fenris had already left as Anders chugged the last of his now-warm ale. As everyone was still singing and celebrating, Anders made his way to the exit for the short journey home. Only after he woke up the next morning did he realize that someone had helped him walk from stumbling and tucked him in that night.
How the hell did Varric know about this? The memory flooded into him like a force wall and nearly took the wind from his lungs. This wasn’t what was written, of course, but the event at the pub that Varric did write contained the details of Anders’ anger from having to use all his mana on the warrior’s burns and Fenris’ begrudging thanks. How in the Void did he know about that?
Anders clapped the book shut and shoved it back into his pocket, leaning up and properly holding the reigns of Elgar. That damned bard knew everything, it seemed. The mage’s face began to burn red as he replayed the old memory again.
Fenris turned to look at him with mild curiosity. “What happened?”
“Nothing, I just remembered something from reading this book. Varric’s such an asshole.” He tried to laugh it off. He wondered if Fenris remembered that night, and if not, would he after reading this little paragraph as well?
“Indeed. He did us no favors in those texts from what I understand. Care to share?” The warrior’s softer voice was such a large contrast to its former grit and Anders had to appreciate the change.
“You’ll just have to read it yourself once you learn how.” Anders teased. “Unless you like my voice enough to narrate the entire thing?”
Fenris cringed and shook his head. “I’d rather face another dragon.”
Anders wondered if he could read minds.