Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Autumn hasn't quite reached the Coastlands yet. The air is warm, even now, hours after the sun went down. It's warmer yet inside the Keep, between old thick brick walls that were made to preserve heat during harsh winter in an era without air-conditioning. 

The ventilation system has been broken in the west wing, and with the temperature only expected to drop over the next days, there are more important things to fix. 

Anders hasn't gotten used to sleeping inside a stone building as a free man. Not that being a Grey Warden provided genuine freedom, but it was freedom nonetheless. 

No one stops Anders when he walks outside instead of retiring to the barracks with the rest of the Wardens. No curfew, no templars or guards. He walks until he finds a spot with grass, sitting down crossed legged to just watch the clear night sky. 

He rests there, refusing to close his eyes. 

There are crickets in the grass around the training field. Distant chatter of the Keep as nightwatch takes their shift, and most of the residents head to sleep. Quiet hum of electricity from the lampposts. 

And eventually, footsteps, light but sure, nearing Anders. 

Amell. 

It's always Amell. 

“May I join you?” he asks. As if Anders would ever deny him. 

“It's your Keep.” 

Anders doesn't need to look to know Rylan is smiling, but he looks anyway. The corner of Rylan's lips is only barely curled up, but it's the most of a smile Anders can get from him these days. And it's all for Anders’ silly little attitude. 

“Don't let it get to your head though,” Anders adds as an afterthought. 

“This?” Rylan gestures at the patches of burnt grass, the ragged wooden training poles. “No, I peaked at ‘Hero of Ferelden’,” he jokes. 

“Beats ‘runway apostate’, I suppose.” Anders’ voice only barely manages not to crack with emotion. He’s only a little younger than Rylan, and his life has been absolutely meaningless. He rubs a thumb over the scar on his wrist absentmindedly.

“You are so much more than that, Anders.” Rylan says it like he believes it, holding Anders’ upper arm until their eyes meet, so Anders can’t hide away from the conviction in his dark eyes. 

“What makes you so sure?” 

“You’re a Warden now, for starters.” Rylan licks his lips, taking his hand back. 

Without his touch, Anders feels cold. But he can’t ask for more. Not when the air around them is so thick that Anders’ throat closes up. 

“And I know you, Anders.” Rylan takes a slow breath, measured. “You could change the world if you wanted to. No one would be able to stop you.” 

Chapter Text

Boom.

It’s louder than Anders expected. His ears are ringing as the smoke disperses along the city skyline, bits and pieces of metal and stone rain down around them, engulfed in flame. 

The sky turns dark, the streets filled with screams, car alarms and distant sirens.

Anders wonders why that particular conversation with Amell came to him. Rylan always had so much faith in him. But it was misplaced. Anders has just proved it, again. “There can be no peace,” he says to no one in particular. He wishes Rylan could hear him, and could understand why he had to do this. And maybe, forgive him for it. 

“Why? Why would you do such a thing?” Orsino asks him, voice breaking. 

Anders’ words are well practised, and they only barely lack Justice’ echo. “I removed the chance for compromise because there is no compromise.” 

“The Grand Cleric has been slain by magic, the chantry destroyed.” Meredith turns to him, to Hawke. She’s cold and calculated as she takes out her pager, speaking to it as much as them. “As knight-commander of Kirkwall, I hereby invoke the Right of Annulment. Every mage in the Circle is to be executed – immediately.” 

No. Justice stirs within him. They cannot let that happen. 

Orsino is quicker with his words. “The Circle didn’t even do this! Champion, you can’t let her! Help us stop this madness!” 

“And I demand you stand with us!” Meredith interjects. “Even you must see that this outrage cannot be tolerated.” 

“Was that… why you needed me to distract the grand cleric?” Hawke asks Anders. She looks horrified, as it dawns on her – her part in this. 

It breaks Anders’ heart to see her like this. “If you knew what I was doing, you would have felt honour-bound to stop me. I couldn’t take that chance.” He planned for this moment for so long, and it still feels inadequate. Hawke couldn’t possibly understand this. “The circle is an injustice, in many places beyond Kirkwall. The world needs to see.” 

Orsino, for one, isn’t convinced. “You fool, you’ve doomed us all!” 

“We were already doomed. A quick death now or a slow one later– I’d rather die fighting.” Anders stands his ground. Whatever happens next, the world won’t be able to ignore it.  

Hawke takes a shaky breath. “You may have turned everyone against the mages now.” 

“Was anyone ever with us?” 

Hurt flashes across blue eyes. Anders can’t take the words back. Can’t take anything back. So he pushes harder. 

—

“There’s nothing you can say that I haven’t already said to myself.” Anders is glad Hawke is behind him. He’s not sure he can face her for this. “I took a spirit into my soul and changed myself forever to achieve this. This is the justice all mages have awaited.” 

“So you start a massacre to prove a point?” 

“I’m not proving a point. I’m changing a world.” For the better, he hopes. “You’ve never been part of the Circle. I have! The people fear what we can do, but to use that fear to bludgeon us into submission is wrong! And they do it with our blessing!” His anger is seething, but he swallows it down. “And if I pay for that with my life… then I pay. Perhaps then Justice would at least be free.” 

“Asking you to stay would be a death sentence. I don’t want you dead Anders, but I can’t...” She trails off.

Anders closes his eyes while he waits for her to find the words. He knew that this won’t end pretty. There is just no way where Hawke could ignore what he’s done, where they both ride off into the sunset together. That’s not the kind of future Anders could ever have. But he still hoped for… something. 

“I can’t come with you. I will have to condemn you, publicly.” 

“Only publicly?” he asks. A last effort to know if there’s any chance– 

“Just go.” 

Don’t push it, Anders tells himself. Hawke is not the person who would take that, not even from him. “Thank you for my life. I’ll try not to make such a mess of it this time.”  

He ends up running. Like a coward, not even looking back to see her face. She doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t come after him. 

A part of him wishes she did. But that’s not Hawke. 

The streets are loud and chaotic. But no one pays him any mind. No one in Hightown really knows him like that. The templars, the city guards, everyone rushes the opposite direction, to the Chantry. They will not know it was his doing until Meredith announces it. She would be doing that any second now, surely. 

Anders steps to a narrow one way road, walking in the shadows of commercial buildings. Kirkwall is an ancient city, and it shows. Not so many skyscrapers, and more old renovated houses than new construction. It works to his benefit now. Everyone in the city can see the Chantry. Everyone is looking at the smoke now, occupied with this televised disaster. 

Anders can keep running and running. 

He continues even when he’s tired, until he gets closer to the city gates. 

Too much traffic that way. Anders stills, his back flat against a wall, panting for breath. Where else could he go? 

The screech of a car draws his attention back to the street. A black SUV stops on the sidewalk, steps away from Anders. 

His eyes widen as the back door opens. 

“Anders, get in.” 

Chapter Text

Of all people, Rylan Amell is the last person Anders expected to see. 

Anders couldn't stop thinking about him all day, and for a moment he wonders if his thoughts manifested him as some hallucination. 

But the car is real. Rylan is real. 

Anders gets in. 

Rylan looks— a little older. His hair, dark, is still long enough to reach his neck. Slicked back with long bangs that fall to the edge of his eyebrows. Dressed in a black suit with the Grey Warden pins on his chest. He looks good. Unharmed. In Kirkwall right now that should not be taken for granted. 

Anders is a mess in comparison. His hair is greasy, stubble overgrown, his coat is barely held together and the shirt underneath has countless tears and stains. 

The driver hits the gas, navigating through the streets and swerving out of the neighbourhood. 

Anders clicks in the seatbelt by habit, eyes fixed on Rylan. “How did you–” 

“Hawke told me.”

“She asked you to save me?” Despite what Anders has done, if she could look past, if Rylan could forgive him– 

Rylan's eyebrow twitches. “No. You can't trust her.” 

Anders swallows. “You're–  You're going against your own cousin?” 

for me? 

“You and I both know family is what you make it.” 

Anders hesitates. He can't find the words to explain to Rylan that he doesn't know. 

His parents have abandoned him long ago, yes, but so did everyone else. First Enchanter Irving, Warden-Commander Caron, Hawke– 

Rylan’s hand rests on his thigh. The corner of his lips curls up in a smile. His eyes seem sad, but he is offering Anders comfort. 

Anders swallows again. His throat must still be dry from the smoke. “Where are you taking me?” 

Rylan pulls his hand back. “Somewhere safe.”

“Warden-Commander,” the driver says urgently, and Rylan focuses on the road. 

“Find a different route. We can’t help them–” 

Anders looks out the tinted window. It feels like the city has delved into chaos, and there are templar cars blocking the exit to the highway. 

And beside them, a few young men and women, hands cuffed behind their back. The execution Meredith promised. 

Anders removes the seatbelt and opens the door, and Justice steps out. 

“Maker,” Rylan mutters. Another click of a seatbelt and then, “Anders!” 

“ You will not harm them ,” Justice echos, arms stretched out, magic coursing through his body. 

The templars do not hesitate. Guns already drawn, they aim and fire. 

Justice's barrier is strong enough to deflect the magebane bullets, protecting himself and Rylan behind him. As it holds, Rylan begins casting, knocking the templars to the ground. 

One of them rises up controlled by Rylan’s magic. Necromancy. 

Between the two of them, the templars stand no chance. Justice relishes in the carnage. These bastards do not deserve an honourable death. 

Rylan breaks the magic cuffs easily, freeing the poor detainees. 

“ Join your people! Fight for freedom! ” Justice commandes them as they flee the scene. 

Amidst the chaos that surrounds them, Rylan faces him with his fists clenched. 

“Maker’s breath, Justice! This is not the time!” 

“Justice must be taken by force, we cannot wait–”

“You're not alone anymore–” Rylan's voice is strained, angry, frantic. “I can't protect you if you run head first into danger without me!”

Justice inhales sharply and Anders holds the air in, refusing to exhale. He doesn't know what it cost Rylan to come here. To avoid his duties, surely. Maybe a direct command even, just for Anders. 

Hawke didn't know what Anders was doing. She couldn't have possibly predicted that Anders would end up here. But Rylan knew enough to come to Kirkwall, to wait for Anders? 

Sirens sound nearby, slowly getting stronger, and Anders exhales shakily. “I couldn't…” 

What if you tried to stop me? he thinks, the way he considered telling Hawke about the Chantry. But Rylan is here beside him regardless.  

“Warden-Commander,” the driver calls again, strict. They can't stand idle here in a pool of templar blood. 

Rylan closes his eyes, sighing, before reaching for Anders’ hand. “Let's go.” 

Anders nods, following Rylan's lead and getting back into the car. 

The driver barely waits for the doors to close before he takes off. The sirens follow them for a while, but not dangerously so. 

Anders doesn't know how to fill the silence in the backseat. He just listens to Rylan's breathing for a while, to the car engine as they drive. 

“I think you got blood on your suit,” he jokes, looking at the dark stain on Rylan's jacket and shirt. 

“Fuck my suit,” Rylan spits, hand pushing his hair from his forehead. 

“Don't tell me they took away the Grey Warden dry cleaning discount,” Anders teases. 

It works. Rylan's anger dissipates into a sort of amusement, a restrained quiet laugh escapes him. 

He sneaks a sort of shy glance at Anders, before resting his back against the carseat. “We'd go bankrupt without it,” he quips. 

And suddenly, it's like no time passed at all. Rylan is still Rylan, no matter what he's been through, and they are friends. No. Much more than that. But Anders doesn't know how to name the emotion. 

A notification sound draws their attention, and Rylan stretches his neck, pulling out his phone.

Anders tries not to pry but he spots multiple notifications, and sees Rylan reading through a text. 

“Do you want Hawke to know you’re with me?” He asks calmly.

The events of the day all come back to Anders, forcing him to remember what is at stake, what he’s done. His voice is gone suddenly, and he can only look at Rylan and nod.

It’s quiet for a while, with just Rylan’s occasional typing. 

The car slows down, going over multiple bumpers. They're about to leave the city. Anders looks out of the window, nervous. 

He doesn't realise his fingers are twitching over his wrist until Rylan holds his hand still. 

“This is a registered Warden vehicle. We're not going to be inspected.” 

“You sure?” Anders asks lightly. “I think the guards are having a slow day.” 

Every silly joke Anders makes is forced out of him, but the effort is worth the reward. Rylan smiles at him, bright and charming. 

“You are still my Warden.” 

Surely, Rylan means this as a way to get Anders out of Kirkwall, politically. But the way he says it makes Anders feel like he means more than that. 

And Anders believes him. 

Chapter Text

They get out of Kirkwall safely. It’s a long drive over the bridge to Ferelden. Rylan asks Anders to toss his phone into the water when they’re halfway through. Anders does. He’s been using a burner throughout his stay in Kirkwall, but he’s not just some apostate running an underground clinic anymore. He holds his breath again at the next border check, but they pass it, and make it to Fereldan’s side without any complications. Being the Hero of Ferelden certainly carries enough political weight for Rylan to be able to drive through the borders without an inspection of any kind. 

The sun is long gone when they’re back to driving on land. 

Somehow it takes Anders by surprise when the car slows down, entering a small building parking lot. It doesn’t make sense, but he expected this ride to last forever. 

The driver exits first, leaning against the car. Not just a driver then - he must also be security. Rylan offers Anders a reassuring smile before he leaves the car, walking over to Anders’ side. He eyes him thoroughly, before taking off his suit jacket. “Leave your coat in the car.” 

“It’s the height of fashion, I’ll have you know,” Anders says weakly, tossing it to the backseat.

Rylan looks a little amused, unbuttoning the top of his shirt, holding his jacket in his arm strategically to hide the blood stains. Despite the rushed battle, he looks spotless. 

Anders probably still looks like a sewer rat. 

“We’ll have to rid you of the Free Marches aesthetic.” Rylan hands him a dark hoodie, and Anders easily slides it on. 

They walk together into what appears to be a family owned inn. Small, with a diner attached. The mabari keychain stand on the desk makes him nostalgic despite himself. Anders doesn’t actually have a home to speak of, but he is Fereldan, at least. 

“Two rooms for the night,” Rylan says, passing on his ID and credit card to the receptionist. She nods dismissively, and begins typing details into her computer. Rylan fishes out a couple of bills and slides them over discreetly. “Two guests only,” he notes with that authoritative tone he rarely uses. 

Anders keeps his face hidden, standing a step behind Rylan and looking sideways. 

Rylan takes his cards back along with a pair of keys. He hands one to his driver, flashing him a polite smile. “Bring us the usual?” The driver nods, and Rylan leads Anders to their room. 

Their room, which has a queen bed and a couch, a writing desk, and a small bath. 

“You know the receptionist is sure we’re fucking,” Anders says without thinking about it. 

Rylan shrugs, placing his jacket on the chair. Making a show of it, he unbuckles his belt slowly, holding Anders’ gaze as he pulls it out. “What do you think we’re doing here?” 

Anders feels his face go hot as he laughs, taking his boots off to avoid looking at Rylan’s dark eyes. “Am I your special call girl, all the way from Kirkwall’s pissed sewers?” 

“I like them exotic, what can I say?” There’s a shift to his voice that Anders can’t exactly pinpoint until he faces him again, and gets pulled into a hug. 

The air changes along with Rylan’s attitude, as if by magic. Suddenly there’s heaviness between them, emotions exchanged without a word. 

I missed you.

I’m glad you’re safe.

Right when Anders thinks he can’t bear it anymore, that a tight embrace is not enough , Rylan pulls away with a chuckle. 

“I’m not going to ask you to put out before you’ve had a night sleep.”

“What, my dark eye bags are not appealing suddenly?” 

“You won’t be able to keep up with me, I fear,” Rylan jokes.

Anders is about to quip something about Grey Warden stamina, when the knock on the door comes. 

Rylan opens the door, quickly chatting with his driver and accepting a large paper bag. Must be the “usual”. 

Anders takes a seat on the sofa trying not to get stuck on the fact that he and Rylan were just flirting. 

No, it couldn’t have been— They weren’t… It was friendly banter, surely? 

Anders glances at Rylan as he closes the door before looking away. His mind reels, remembering that one night – but they were both absolutely hammered, and it didn’t mean anything. Just a joke that got too far that almost turned into a kiss and — it was all forgotten by morning, they never — 

“Anders.” Rylan’s voice snaps him out of his own spiral. There’s food on the table. “When’s the last time you ate?” Rylan asks him. 

Anders doesn’t know the answer. Hawke has gotten used to him skipping meals, and eventually she stopped asking him to join her. 

His hunger doesn’t materialise until he begins eating, and his exhaustion doesn’t sink until he lays in bed. 

For the first time in too many nights, Justice is quiet. After all, they didn’t have a plan beyond the bomb. It was to either die by Hawke’s hand, or to die protecting as many mages as they could. They didn’t expect to be sent away. They didn’t expect to be saved by Amell. 

Anders watches Rylan dress down to his underwear and slide into the bed beside him, a million questions on his mind. He doesn’t feel like he can ask any of them. 

Rylan glances at him, before turning to face him. “Come here,” he says easily, pulling Anders into another hug. 

This should be ridiculous, awkward even. It’s not. Anders tucks his arms against Rylan’s warm chest, breathing against the crook of his neck. 

“Sick of looking at my face?” Anders asks quietly. 

“Mmmhmm.” Rylan's hand rubs Anders’ back gently. “Making sure you can’t steal the blanket from me.” 

Anders laughs despite himself. “I should. My feet are dangling off the bed,” he lies.

“Skill issue,” Rylan says dryly. It earns him a light jab to his ribs, but he barely reacts to it. “You were shorter than me last time we shared a bed like this.” 

“I am younger than you,” Anders responds, just in case Rylan forgot. It’s only by a couple of years, but it meant a lot when they met. When Anders befriended Rylan and Karl who were his seniors, the older kids. When Anders was a scared little kid and snuck into Rylan’s bed just to spend a little more time with him.

Rylan always welcomed him with open arms. Even when he could have shrugged it off, when his options for company at night were much more appealing than Anders. 

Somehow, despite over a decade later, it feels almost the same. The recognisable comfort washes over Anders, Rylan’s scent surrounding him, and closing his eyes is easy. 

Chapter Text

Home.

Justice has not been to the fade in a while. It is still hard for a spirit to measure time, but he knows Anders has not had a good night of sleep in many weeks, which meant Justice had only the briefest returns to the fade. 

He walks calmly now, on a stone floor, surrounded by a half formed structure that resembles the Circle Anders grew up in. The place is familiar to Justice now, pulled from Anders’ memories. Of course meeting Amell brought him here, the way just thinking of Amell always does. The road tangles through different rooms until he comes to the training ground of Vigil’s Keep. This is also familiar, through Justice’s own memories as well. 

The rough grass under his boots turn to asphalt, and then gradually to dirt. Different parts of the old building appear and disappear, merging together and flowing in a way that Justice finds soothing. 

When a different path forms under him, made of red cobblestone, he decides to follow it. It leads him to a green field, with a few large trees for shade from a sun that doesn’t shine here. A figure rests under an oak, and Justice is pulled to him like a magnet. 

“Amell,” he greets. 

“Justice. It’s good to see you, my friend.” 

“Is it? I feared your reaction to what we have become. Anders more so.” 

Amell looks hurt, but he is not wounded. They are safe here. “Anders need never be afraid of me. Neither should you.” 

“You understand what we did?” Justice asks. He sits down by Amell’s side. 

Hawke has said they started a war. Orsino called it madness. A mistake. 

“You made a stand. There are few other ways to appeal to an oppressor.” 

Justice is filled with a sense of repose. A wind blows and suddenly they are sitting on a bench, watching the waves of the sombre sea. Kirkwall is far ahead of them, in the horizon, and there is soot rising from it, thick and dark. The city is burning. They made it so. 

“I admire your conviction, Justice. We share the same cause. But Anders needs to be protected.” 

“We are not more important than all those who suffer.” Anders understood the cost of Justice. 

“You are to me,” Amell confesses. 

They sit there in silence watching the water, smelling the ash. Justice does not doubt Amell’s affection for Anders. He remembers the way Amell treated him as well, a spirit trapped in a corpse. Amell has a lot of compassion. 

“What do you plan to do next?” Amell asks him. 

“We will continue to seek justice for mages. That is our cause. It is not over until they are all free.” Blowing up the Chantry has forced many to see the injustice of it. That was the plan. As this tragedy is televised, another will be exposed. 

“I will support you, Justice. And I will find a way for you to continue your work without putting Anders in the gallows.” 

“You have been honourable for as long as I have known you, Amell. You understand our cause.” 

“It is mine as much as it is yours. ‘Hero of Ferelden’ and yet some still only see me as a ticking time bomb, because I am a mage.”

Justice stirs. It is not right. It is why they must continue fighting. 

Amell sighs beside him, and brings his hand to rest over Justice’s shoulder. It is a show of comfort. “Whatever we do– We do together. Okay?” 

Justice nods. They will try. 

Chapter Text

Anders is only half awake when he hears the knock on the door. Something soft brushes at his forehead, a feather-touch over his hair. Rylan untangles from him then, taking the warmth with him when he leaves the bed. 

Anders’ fingers twitch on the empty side of the sheet, overcome by the loneliness of a petulant child. He slept deeply, and it made the night go by too fast. 

“Alright princess, rise and shine,” Rylan chimes, patting his thigh as he walks by the bed. 

Anders groans even as he sits up. “Princess? I thought I’m Thedas’ most wanted by now.” 

“Actually for the moment you’re still my secret call girl,” Rylan smirks, tossing the hoodie to Anders’ lap. “And it’s check out time.” 

Anders shakes his head with a smile, getting up and dressed. The clock by the bed shows it’s five AM, which means they are least likely to be noticed leaving the inn. He doesn’t argue as he follows Rylan out of the room. Doesn’t bring up the fact that he’s cold in the Ferelden morning wind, so close to the coast. None of it matters. 

The car warms him up, as does the takeout coffee Rylan hands him in their stops for gas. 

Two minutes past seven is when they start driving again. The morning news broadcast should have started. Anders bites his lip and asks the driver to turn on the radio. 

“ ... suspect is still at large, with KPD suggesting he might have crossed the border to neighbouring countries. They have begun cooperation efforts with the Seekers, and a special taskforce is being formed. The Champion of Kirkwall, has declined to comment. The latest death toll sta– ” 

“Turn it off,” Rylan orders, and the car goes silent again.

Anders needs to argue then. “You don’t think I should–” 

“Loghain called us traitors.” Rylan clenches his jaw. He doesn’t shift in his seat. “They said we were the ones who got the army routed. That we'd betrayed the whole country. He sent assassins after us. Hundreds, thousands dead, and it was my fault. It would've been the end of it, but then we won, and now I'm the untouchable Hero of Ferelden.” 

But you didn’t kill anyone who didn’t attack you. You didn’t blow up a Chantry. Meredith called for Annulment of the Circle, Maker, if no one fought against her after I left every mage in the city could be dead– 

He swallows the bile that rises up in his throat. 

“So you’re saying I could be looking at a shiny new title when the die is cast?” Anders prays to the Maker his expression doesn’t give his emotions away. That Rylan doesn’t see through the flimsy facade Anders is putting up, or at least plays along with it. 

But the Maker, as Anders suspected long ago, has abandoned him.

Rylan’s face is serious, his hand reaching to grasp Anders’. “Whatever happens. I’ll be there with you.” He glances away, briefly, and releases Anders’ hand as if he thought better of it. “If you’ll have me.” 

“W-What?” Anders’ voice breaks along with his confusion. 

“You left to Kirkwall–” 

“You left first–” 

“I– We shouldn’t be doing this now.” Rylan shakes his head. 

The air is tense all of the sudden, and Anders hates to admit it, but Rylan is right. It’s not the best place or time for this kind of heart to heart. He purposefully looks out the window, trying to ignore the way he misses Rylan holding his hand. Amell doesn’t owe him anything. Never did. It’s silly of Anders to be upset, to hold it against Rylan that his job– his title – had him leave Anders with that bastard Orlesian Warden-Commander. 

Rylan sighs. Shifts in his seat. 

It’s quiet for another moment and then – “I missed you.” 

Anders almost thinks he imagined it. Misheard maybe. But he couldn’t have. 

He turns to Rylan, who looks vulnerable in a way that Anders has rarely ever seen him. And his chest aches with the sight. His hand moves without a thought, caressing that dark hair. 

It’s too soft, and he can’t drag his eyes away from the details of Rylan’s face, the creases on the side of his eyes, the moles on his skin, the curve of his nose, his— 

Anders forces a chuckle out, ruffling Rylan’s hair to mess it before looking at the view from the front windshield. “You keep saving a guy from impending doom and it’s gonna get weird.”

“Clearly everything goes wrong when we’re apart. I’m just not going to let you out of my sight this time.” 

Want my phylactery? Anders thinks, and it makes him laugh despite himself. “Follow me to the bathroom and all?” 

Rylan shrugs. “Is that where you plot all your bad ideas?” 

“You wanker,” Anders wheezes, shoving Rylan playfully. “Fuck off.” 

—

They stop by the Golden Goose Grill for lunch. Anders is itching to stretch his legs, but the place is too crowded. 

He must do something that gives it away, because Rylan notices, and asks the driver to park at a rest stop a few miles away. There’s a half broken wooden bench, but it’s an excuse to sit outside. In between heavy clouds the sun briefly shines on them, and Anders tries not to tear up. 

The Golden Goose Grill’s special is a cheeseburger filled with onion rings, barbecue sauce, and macaroni and cheese. It’s big, messy, and absolutely delicious. Anders hasn’t had it in… almost a decade, probably. The recipe hasn’t changed at all, and the nostalgia washes over him in waves with every bite. 

He moans as he eats, cherishing the rich flavours. 

“Do the Free Marches not have food?” Rylan asks, chuckling over his own rather humble burger in comparison. 

“I wasn’t really able to pub crawl, you know, on account of the–” 

“On account of the templars,” Rylan finishes the sentence, and Anders shrugs. 

Somehow despite the massive difference in their meal size, Anders finishes his burger first. 

“I guess I’ll have to worry about more than just templars now.” 

“The world conspires to keep you from experiencing shitty restaurants yet again,” Rylan jokes as he throws the wrappers away. 

They’re about to enter the car again when Anders changes the atmosphere. “Did Hawke ask about me?” Anders is hesitant when he asks it. Unsure if asking is right, if he even wants to know the answer. Maker damn it. Hawke was his lover for years. It should mean something. It does. He wouldn’t have been able to last as long as he did in Kirkwall. 

As far as messy breakups go, ‘I committed domestic terrorism and she asked me to leave the city’ is pretty messy. 

Rylan doesn’t hide his wince. “Give her some time.” 

Anders isn’t sure what this means. But he gets in the car and doesn’t push it.

Chapter Text

They drive by a demonstration when they enter Highever. It’s not massive, but it’s crowded. The traffic is horrible, and it gives Anders a chance to really see the people protesting, to read the signs they hold. Mage rights are human rights. Fuck the chantry. All templars are bastards. 

He can’t help the warm feeling that spreads through him. The way people are willing to stand up and fight, the way he and Justice inspired them into action. The mob chants “Abolish the circle!” so loud that Anders feels his skin vibrate with it. 

Justice stirs within him, eager to join them, to lead them. But Anders can’t. He reaches for Rylan, holds his hand until the traffic clears and they drive away. 

They don’t go much further, but enough that when the car parks there is no trace of the demonstration.

“Flashy,” Anders comments, looking at the tall apartment building. 

“Don’t get used to it,” Rylan jokes as they exit the car. 

“I come with very low expectations.” 

Rylan raises an eyebrow, curious but then concerned. “Hawke said you were staying with her at the old Amell estate.” 

They walk into a side entrance, and then to a shiny silver elevator. “Yeah. My old place though– The neighbourhood is called Darktown for a reason.” 

Rylan sighs, leading him through a corridor, and eventually to a door he unlocks with a keypad code. “Alright, don’t faint then.” And with that, they enter. 

It’s a modern penthouse, large glass windows, minimalistic decor, everything looking brand new and well kept. To Anders, this is luxury he has not seen in… Ever, actually. Still, he’s not going to let Rylan know that. 

“Oh Maker, a dishwasher?!” he exclaims with mock surprise. 

“Ass.” Rylan shoves him playfully. “This is my apartment. I have a… discreet entrance, but not enough. We can’t stay here too long.” 

“Where are we going after then?” Anders asks, already taking off his boots. 

“My cottage. It’s on the outskirts. Open fields for miles. You’re going to love it.” 

“You don’t,” Anders states the obvious.

“I never stay there more than a few days. Which is why it’s a great hiding spot.” Rylan flashes Anders with a shit eating grin, but Anders doesn’t buy it. 

What would be the point in arguing about it now though? 

“Come here,” Rylan tells him, leading him to a spacious bedroom. 

His bedroom, Anders supplies. There’s a picture of him, Rylan and Karl, back from the circle, framed on the bedside table. Anders remembers the day they took it. He tries not to. 

“I can’t really take you shopping, so just pick out whatever clothes of mine you want to wear for a while.” 

Anders glances at the selection. It’s mostly monochromatic basic clothes. Fits the apartment. Fits Rylan. 

“If you wanted to get me naked there are easier ways,” Anders says dismissively as he picks out a pair of black jeans and a grey sweater that feels too soft. 

“Waiting for you to blow up a Chantry was easy enough,” Rylan answers in a nonchalant, judgement-free voice. Then he hands Anders a pair of black boxer briefs and socks, nodding at the hallway. “Bathroom is the door behind you.” 

Anders turns around to find it, pile of clean neat clothes folded in his lap. It reminds him of the first days moving in with Hawke, when she got him new clothes, and they ate meals together. It always made him feel like he was a kid playing house. Maybe it was due to Justice wishing every mage could have that. That Anders could have it without needing to hide who he was. Maybe it was simply that Anders wasn’t used to having a home. Not after so many years living in his rundown clinic in Darktown. 

Rylan’s bathroom is as expensive looking as the rest of his penthouse. The shower features look daunting, but Anders hurriedly undresses to try them out. 

He could live in this room, he determines after a minute. Marry it even. Make love to it, certainly. 

Anders quickly changes his line of thought. This is definitely the place to have a quick wank, or slow one, but not with Rylan waiting for him right outside. 

Even without indulging, the shower feels too long. Anders washes his hair, soaps his body twice just to get the smell of ash out from his skin. 

He eyes his reflection in the mirror, trying to determine if there’s a point to shaving. Not now, he decides, and gets dressed. The clothes he picked out are all clean, but somehow Anders can still pick out the smell on them that is distinctly Rylan’s. It’s not unpleasant. The sweater he picked out is even softer on the inner side, and the jeans are wide enough that they don’t strain. 

He takes one last look at himself, brushing out the wet hair and collecting it to his usual half ponytail. By all accounts, he looks decent. Better than he did any time the past few weeks, that’s for certain. 

But he doesn’t know how to read the look Rylan gives him when he exits. A part of him wants to challenge the scrutiny, the way the attention makes him feel a bit warmer than it should, but naturally he ends up with a joke instead. 

“Didn’t think the dirt would wash off?” he says with a smirk.

Rylan seems to snap to reality at that, offering half a smile. “Didn’t think my clothes would fit you, you know, with how much taller you are.” It’s a clear jab at the previous night, and Anders shakes his head at the low effort insult. 

“Don’t get jealous when I wear your clothes better than you.” 

“I would never,” Rylan says. And as Anders passes him to walk to the living room he mutters in a stage whisper, “because that would never happen.” 

Anders laughs again, small and quiet, but a laugh. How long has it been since he was able to act so carefree? How much of it is finally leaving Kirkwall, and how much of it is due to Rylan? 

He looks at the city view from the window, with Rylan’s reflection as he walks closer to him, and the answer becomes clear. 

Chapter Text

The cottage is amazing. Rylan was absolutely correct - Anders loves it. There is nothing but grass fields for miles, a few forests. One old dirt road leads them to it. 

Even with the overcast weather, it looks magical. The kind of place Anders used to dream of. It almost reminds him of the house he grew up in, but thankfully there is no barn by Rylan’s cottage. 

There is, however, a mabari that greets them all too excitedly. 

“ Maker , okay– Dog! Sit down–!” Anders flails under the mabari’s gruesome attack (jumping up to lick Anders’ hands).

“You should be flattered Clive Barker remembers you fondly.” 

Rylan’s words don't offer enough comfort. Anders pushes himself to the door as soon as Rylan unlocks it. 

Clive Barker, thankfully, once inside is more interested in greeting his actual owner and looking for his dog toys. 

The cottage looks – homely. Intentionally decorated to be cosy. The living room has one large couch, a fireplace, TV, numerous plants that look like they're surviving by magical means. 

What's missing, much like in Rylan's penthouse, are any personal effects. There aren't any family pictures, no random souvenirs. The book case is filled with neat, impersonal books about history and geography, as if someone else assembled it for The Warden Commander. 

Maybe someone did. 

Rylan gives him the quick tour. There's not too much to show. 

This kitchen is less showy, but it still has all the appliances they could need. One bathroom, spacious with a big tub. Every window shows a pastoral view. 

The main bedroom is Rylan's, and the guest room will be Anders’. It's cute, a small double bed, a closet and a desk. More than what he's had in… Ever. He shared a room with a sibling growing up. Shared dorms in the circle. A couch in the Pearl. Barracks with Nate in Vigil’s Keep. His private room in his Kirkwall clinic barely fit his single bed. 

And Hawke’s room was… Her's. Anders had a desk there, certainly, and his own dresser, but— 

“You're free to decorate as you see fit. I won't take offence.” 

“Your interior designer might,” Anders suggests. He must have been looking at the room oddly. 

“I'll handle them. This place is yours for as long as you want it.” 

Anders swallows the lump in his throat. 

They end the tour by figuring out some logistics. Rylan gives Anders one of his old laptops. Asks him not to use any of Anders’ existing users for anything, so it won't be flagged. The duffle bag Rylan brought with apparently has some more of his clothes that he packed for Anders to use until he orders whatever he'd like. 

Anders isn't sure how to respond to any of it. He nods, cracks some jokes when he can. It feels unreal. 

Then Rylan hands him his credit card to use, and a pair of keys. The cottage and the car that's parked by it. 

“Welcome home.” 

—

Anders sits on the bed. He intends to undress. To lie down. Get under the warm soft covers. He would sleep well in this bed. Likely have another dreamless night. No nightmares. Even if he did have any, Rylan would be there when he wakes. Understanding and accepting. 

Hawke offered him comfort, but he could tell she grew tired of it. Of him waking up thrashing in the middle of night. Or not coming to bed at all. 

Rylan wouldn't require any explaining. He knows what Grey Warden nightmares are like. What memories Anders has of the circle. What memories he has of the Deep Roads. The dark, choking air, and the voices, whispering, mumming, calling to him, real and unreal— 

Anders breathes. He clenches the sheets under him. 

He's not there. He's in Rylan's cottage. Safe. Not alone. If he focuses he can feel the taint in his blood, past the wall. Close. 

This is it. Anders waits for the relief to wash over him. For his heart to calm down. Everything is fine now. He got everything he needed, everything he dreamt of. He's free, so long as nobody learns of his whereabouts. The cottage is beautiful. Rylan would care for his every need, because that is just what Rylan is like. 

All Anders needs to do is lay low and not go insane. 

Easy. 

Everything is fine. 

Except it doesn't feel fine at all, it feels like Anders is going to be sick. The room spins for a moment, and then he's out the door running through a field of corn, leaves whipping little cuts into his skin. 

He runs until there's sweat down his back, until his vision blurs again, until his muscles ache. Then he continues for a little longer. 

Eventually, his legs give in. He wants to keep going, just so he won't have to think. But he falls down to the ground, in between the corn straws, panting. The jeans chafed his skin but he refuses to heal himself. 

The discomfort gives him something to focus on. 

He doesn't realise he's crying until the tears fall to his lap. 

Everything is fine, he tells himself. The hurt in his chest is familiar. He's just going to run.

Chapter Text

Anders isn't sure how long he sits there. Long enough for the sweat to dissipate, his skin to grow cold and the cuts to sting. 

The wind is loud. It’s biting at Anders’ nape, chilling him.. The crickets set an easy rhythm for Anders’ mind to float through, along the rustle of the corn. 

Ryan's footsteps are discernable when they cut through the ambient. It helps that Anders feels his taint as well, and his magic. The small light wisp that he conjured brightens Anders’ vision gradually, until Rylan reaches him. 

Anders expects him to be angry. Disappointed maybe. Tired. 

What else could he be, really? Anders pretends he can feel numb to it. 

Rylan sits down next to him, on the dirt. “There are nicer paths for a midnight run here.” 

Anders can't come up with anything to say back. He can't even explain why he needed to run. 

It doesn't seem like Rylan minds the silence. He wraps an arm around Anders, then another, and as simple as that Anders is lost. How could he possibly wanted to leave? 

He didn't, not really. But he needed to, for some reason. Because staying is scarier than running away. 

“I know what it's like. The first days, you feel like you don't belong.” Rylan’s voice is calm, a gentle whisper caressing Anders’ ear. “You can leave any time,” he says, giving Anders permission. 

Anders melts into Rylan’s touch, the way he's running his hand across Anders’ back in reassurance. When he stops, it's only to stroke his fingers through Anders’ hair. 

Rylan turns to look at Anders then, and the air between them grows thick. Their faces are so close now that Anders feels Rylan’s breath on his own lips. It should be unpleasant, but Anders is mesmerised by Rylan’s dark eyes. 

“And you can come back any time.” 

The words carry more emotion than Anders can handle. Like a pot overflowing, his body shudders, and he rests his chin over Rylan’s shoulder to hide his face. His hands reach over to grasp at Rylan’s sweater, holding on to him. His knuckles turn white with the effort to stabilise himself, to keep from falling apart. 

I want to stay, he thinks, and closes his eyes as they burn, threatening tears. He doesn’t need to say it. The way he latches on to Rylan is enough. 

They remain embraced until Anders breathes easy, until his hands relax their grip. When they pull apart, slowly, Rylan caresses Anders’ jaw. Now that their bodies are no longer in contact Anders feels the wind again, and Rylan’s touch is an anchoring fire in the cold. 

“Ready?”

Anders nods, offering a smile. “We'll see.” 

Rylan's eyes glint in the dark, and then his hand catches Anders’, pulling him up to stand. He doesn't let go right away, and for a few steps Anders is led by Rylan's hold. 

—

The cottage looks a little different in the dark of night. Red paint looks black, the dim light from inside casts wide shadows over the entrance. With no buildings around it seems to float in a sea made entirely from an abyss. The clouds above are bright with the light of stars. 

The entire way back was filled with light banter, jokes and shared companionable silence. By the time they reach the cottage, Anders’ anxiety has completely disappeared. 

Clive Barker lifts his head at the sound of them entering, and then returns to sleep, content. 

As he takes his shoes off, Anders suddenly feels the physical exhaustion of the day. He runs a hand through his hair for a moment, trying to find the way to tell Rylan 'Thank you’.

“Come here,” Rylan says instead, leading Anders by the hand to his bedroom. 

“No, it's fine,” he counters. “I'm not going to–” 

“Anders. Come here.” 

Only a little reluctant, Anders gives in. He doesn't know which of them would need it more, to just spend another night sleeping close to each other. 

They both undress to boxers, and Anders finds himself sliding into bed with Rylan once more. 

This should be weird. 

It's not. 

Anders’ heart skips a few beats, but it calms down, taking in the scent of Rylan all around him, enveloping him like the morning fog. 

He presses his nose to Rylan’s skin, inhaling it. The richness follows down to his lungs, spreading through his body like a strong drink.

The places Rylan's touches him prickle in the best way, and Anders doesn't want him to let go. 

“Thank you,” Anders whispers to the crook of his neck. 

“You don't need to thank me.” 

Anders can't agree. Rylan is already brushing the top of his head, gentle soothing motions. 

“What if I want to?” 

Rylan chuckles, fingers brushing Anders’ ear, making the back of his skull go numb. 

“Then stay.” 

Anders closes his eyes and prays to the Maker that he could.

Chapter Text

Anders could get used to this. It’s dangerous how easily he could get used to this. He wakes up slowly, comfortable in Rylan’s embrace. They must have turned in the night because Anders does not recall being the little spoon when he fell asleep. Rylan is breathing serenely over Anders’ upper back, hand wrapped around Anders’ waist. 

The problem is Anders could get used to this. Easily. But that’s not how things are going to go. Anders has his own bed– his own room. Rylan is surely holding on to Anders in his sleep as a way to prevent him from running away again. Tonight, Anders will let him sleep alone, unbothered. But for now… 

Anders indulges. Time passes as he enjoys the quiet sounds of morning, the birds outside the window, lively bugs humming and the soft wind. He floats halfway back to sleep and is determinedly ignoring Rylan stirring awake against him. 

Or rather, a specific part of Rylan rising with the day. It’s normal. Totally normal. Anders has morning wood more often than not. He’s never had one platonically pressed against his ass, but new things happen every day. 

What is not normal is Anders making a big deal out of it. So he doesn’t. He’s about to move away when Rylan’s grip around him tightens, when he sighs against Anders’ skin. 

The full body shudder that goes through Anders is not an indicator of anything lecherous. Absolutely not. 

Rylan is quicker to react, pulling his hips away as he fully wakes up. “Fuck,” he mutters, voice raspy from sleep.

Anders has never heard his voice get this kind of edge to it, and his face heats against his will. 

“Dreamt of something nice, sleeping beauty?” Anders teases without tilting his face back. He can pretend to have composure. 

Rylan untangles them, pushing Anders’ back just enough to make him budge an inch. “Fuck off,” he says with no bite, messing up some of Anders’ hair. “You should have woken me up,” he adds instead of an apology. It fits better. 

“Oh, you were getting up just fine,” Anders smirks, unabashed, now that there is space between them and he can think clearly. 

Rylan laughs at the poor pun, playfully nudging Anders’ calf. “Get your ass out of my bed then,” he says dryly. 

Anders tosses his legs off, but doesn’t fully leave yet. “You sure? You were pretty attached a–” 

There’s no additional warning, Rylan curls his knee and kicks Anders off the edge of the bed. 

Laughter fills the room, Anders almost giddy with it. It’s been too long since he was able to fuck around like this, carefree. 

“Maker,” he sighs when he gets up, jaw almost aching from the laugh. “I should be the one kicking you out of the bed.” 

“You missed your chance,” Rylan says, sitting up, hair messy from sleep and eyes soft. 

“Did I?” Anders wonders out loud in mock contemplation. With his best reflexes, he reaches to grab at Rylan’s ankles, yanking him to the floor as well.

Occasionally, Rylan looks the way Hero of Ferelden is supposed to be. Today, Anders woke up to Rylan- his friend. It’s easy to forget that they are both powerful mages when they act like school boys. All this to say that Anders miscalculated with his attack, not expecting to immediately be knocked down to the ground, with the Hero of Ferelden straddling him in his underwear, gripping his wrists, looking like he’s ready to take on an archdemon. 

Anders’ breath is frozen, lips parted and eyes wide. Following what almost happened this morning it can’t be helped his mind is in the gutter. A vision of Rylan holding him down like this and— 

“Round two?” he manages to joke with an eyebrow raised, and somehow this makes Rylan blush this time as he hurriedly flings himself off of Anders. 

“Alright alright, enough playing,” Anders huffs as he rises to his feet again . Seeing Rylan flustered might just be his new favourite thing, but he is not without mercy. 

Rylan doesn’t meet his eyes, standing a foot away. 

Anders reaches to his pants. “Even though your dick started it,” he mutters, taking the jab to his ribs with pride. “I’m done– I’m done, I promise,” he says with a grin, holding his hands up in surrender. 

—

They make it out of the room shortly after without further incidents. If Anders has to bite his tongue once or twice, Rylan doesn’t comment on it. 

Rylan turns on the TV, and the news broadcast becomes their background noise while making breakfast. Or rather, while Rylan is making breakfast. Anders watches him cooking pancakes expertly, while helping him with ingredients and then organising the kitchen. 

It doesn’t take long for Anders to run out of things to do. He follows Rylan frying the pancakes, losing himself in thought. “When are you going back to work?” he asks after a moment, when it comes to him. Amell cannot put his life on hold just to babysit Anders. 

“I am technically never off the clock.” This much Anders remembered. Rylan is not a regular Warden after all. “I’ve got some emails to work on for today, but I’ll be heading to Soldier's Peak a few times a week.” 

“What am I supposed to do all day?” Anders hasn’t had this much free time in… Years. 

Rylan leans on the counter, eyebrow raised. “You mean to tell me you didn’t dream of becoming a countryside housewife?” 

Anders pouts dramatically, considering smacking Rylan with a towel. “Merging with a spirit of Justice changed my priorities.” 

“Don’t bring Justice into this. He would make a splendid housewife. I remember having him watch over me when I slept only to offer coffee in the morning.” 

“You mean, when he was possessing a corpse?” Anders snorts. “I don’t see the appeal.” 

Rylan shrugs. “I’m a necromancer.” He flips the pancake. 

Anders almost chokes laughing at that. He’s wiping tears away from the corners of his eyes when the news anchor starts talking about Kirkwall. About him. 

“Civilians are still being asked to stir away from the area. However, a memorial is already being set up, with funds allocated to the immediate rebuilding of the Chantry. The assailant has been identified as Anders, a dangerous Fereldan fugitive–” Rylan chuckles at the description, cooking as he listens. “Whereabouts currently unknown. Riots have been sparked at the Kinloch Hold as well as Ostwick Circle. Kirkwall’s peaceful protest for mage rights last night has turned violent, resulting in multiple arrests and—” 

“It had to be big to have an impact,” Rylan tells him. 

It snaps Anders out of his internal spiral. Did it show on his face? The guilt and the fervour? 

“It was necessary, but I still hate that it came to it. I wish they listened.” 

“They never do. Not until you make them listen.” 

Anders tunes into the news again. “And now, for the weather. Over to you Jules–” 

“Alright dangerous Fereldan fugitive ,” Rylan starts, pressing the remote to turn the TV off. “Breakfast is ready.”

Chapter Text

When breakfast is done, Anders goes for a walk. Clive Barker joins him, and while Anders isn’t a dog person, the mabari is good company. He leads Anders to a nice circular path around the cottage, a dirt road that frames a few fields. 

In typical Ferelden fashion, the sun only makes a brief appearance during the day, and the overcast clouds keep Anders cool.

It’s been too long since Anders walked just for the sake of walking, and enjoying the fresh air. There wasn’t much of that in Kirkwall. Now, with nothing but nature on the horizon, he feels tension leave his body entirely. 

He looks at the cottage again when he returns, and explores the small garden in the backyard. Unattended to, it’s mostly weeds and herbs, but there is room for flowers, for vegetables and plants. 

There are worse places for him to stay low in, he thinks. 

Curious, he goes back inside, searching online for gardening stores he can order from. It leads him to a local bookstore chain he can shop from, and some news outlets he can subscribe to. 

A couple hours go by before he can even notice it. The internet is tricky like that. When he finally sets the laptop aside, he ends up turning on the TV, surfing channels until he gets caught up on some brain-dead soulmate dating show. 

Anders scratches at his wrist. The scar there, old and healed, covers what used to be a name. A name Anders has never learned, before he lost it. He always assumed it was fate, that his soulmate’s name must have been taken from him because he is unworthy of one. It’s a bitter thought, but it doesn’t matter. Many people live and die not having met their soulmates. Anders has more important things to worry about. 

“How was work honey?” He asks in a mocking sweet voice when Rylan comes back into the living room. 

There’s a brief moment when Rylan stares at him, looking disgusted. “I'm filing for a divorce.” 

Anders chuckles, watching Rylan stretch his arms out, rubbing at his neck before joining him on the couch. He expects Rylan to switch the channel, but he doesn’t ask for the remote. They both watch a completely manufactured lovers quarrel. 

“I've talked to some lawyers. Discreetly.” Rylan’s voice is serious, drawing Anders’ attention. 

Lawyers? What about – Oh. Anders stares at him. “You were serious about the divorce?” 

Rylan blinks back at him. Confusion, and then the realisation sinks in. “No you idiot. I'm trying to figure out how to help you.”

Ah. Anders turns his eyes back to the TV, though he is not paying attention. “I think it'll be easier to stop another Blight.” 

Rylan shrugs. “One - O. I can take those odds.” 

It makes Anders’ stomach do a weird flip. Of course a Blight isn’t a threat to Rylan. The Hero of Ferelden. But this isn’t just confidence. No, regardless of the odds, Anders somehow knows the underlying meaning is that Rylan would stop another Blight, if it meant protecting Anders. 

He meets Rylan’s eyes, focused, sharp. There is no doubt there, no hesitation. Whatever it takes. 

“You're going to be a hero. Appearing in history books, fifty years from now.” 

Oh. Rylan’s confidence isn’t just in his own skills. Somehow, he believes in Anders as well. In Justice. That their cause is true, and their method is right. That would be for the history books to decide, but Anders suspects he will not get to be labelled a hero in his lifetime. 

He hums in agreement, mostly to avoid sharing any of his thoughts out loud. 

Rylan continues. “Until then we need to get you a pardon. If you are trialled, you're looking at life in Aeonar.” He looks away for a moment, eyelashes long and dark. “Fifteen years if you plead insanity, but…” 

They both know how that would end. “But once they check me for possession, it's tranquility.” 

Rylan nods, solemnly. A mage could get away with insanity as a defence. Not often, but it’s been known to happen. A possessed mage? An abomination like Anders? They would sooner put him down like a dog than offer a reduced sentence. It would only work against him if Justice comes to light. 

“So it’s a life on the run,” he settles. Anders looks around the cottage living room. His new prison, in a sense. By the far the nicest he’s been in. Nicer than the Amell Mansion in Kirkwall too, even though it’s smaller. And Rylan will be with him. 

“No,” Rylan interrupts his thoughts. “You will get a pardon.” The conviction in his voice is deep.  

“Who the fuck is gonna pardon me?” Anders looks back at the TV. The couple that was fighting is now making out.

“The king.”

Anders stares at Rylan in disbelief. “You… You think King Alistair is going to pardon me?”

He’s heard the tales. He’s even met King Alistair briefly, in Kirkwall. Rylan may be on good terms with him, but to pardon a fugitive apostate charged with domestic terrorism? A direct attack on the Chantry? Unheard of. 

“He has no warm feelings for the Chantry. He could be persuaded. If we find a good publicity spin for it. The right time politically, perhaps.” There’s an indication that Rylan is already scheming for it. But it feels impossible. 

“You sure you aren't the one possessed?” 

Rylan smiles. “The taint is enough for me, not everyone is as greedy as you.” 

“I have no soulmate,” Anders pouts. “I can afford to bind to a spirit.” 

“Are you trying to say Justice is your housewife?” Rylan raises an eyebrow. 

Incredible. Anders smacks Rylan’s shoulder affectionately, before going to ruffle his hair in a playful scuffle. 

Rylan swats his hand away, fixing his hair. They both glance back at the TV, where the host is talking about the contestants' soulmarks. 

“What about your soulmark?” Anders asks him casually, rubbing at his own wrist absentmindedly. 

“What about it?” Rylan’s eyes stay on the TV.  

“How come I don't remember seeing it?” 

“Because you never did.” 

“Why not?” Anders’ curiosity rises, more interested now that Rylan is deflecting. 

“It's private.” There’s a definitive tone to his words that means the conversation needs to end there. 

Private. A soulmark is not really something people care to hide. Unless it has intimate placing. 

Rylan is a lot of things, but he is not a prude. Anders tries to remember if he's seen him fully naked before. No, there is no way. Anders would have remembered. 

In a purely platonic way. He remembers skinny dipping with Velanna. Karl changing his robes in the same room. Fenris’ ass when he walked in on him and Isabela. 

They changed clothes around each other as early as this morning. If Rylan wanted his soulmark hidden it would have had to be— 

Hmmm. Anders’ mind wanders. He’s heard of some people having a soulmark on their ass. That would probably look good on someone as fit as Rylan. His underwear choice as far as Anders knows is always boxer briefs. Could it be on his upper thigh? A perfect spot for a lover to admire. His dick? Technically possible. Would be heartbreaking to have sex with someone that has another name on his actual dick. But with his soulmate? It’s already common knowledge that soulmates mean compatibility in all aspects of life, including sex. Would be a bit telling to have the mark there. Assigned top by your soul . Rylan would be a top regardless, if Anders had to guess. With that authoritative attitude he gets sometimes, that glint in his eye that makes him such a good commander. He would absolutely be an experience in bed, with those long fingers and that smirk of his–

Anders blinks at the TV. Glances at Rylan beside him. When did he start daydreaming about Rylan? How– No. He has to shut that train of thought down. Of course, trying to means that he’s actively thinking about it more, and the start of a boner he felt against him earlier in the day and – 

He swallows, choking on air and turning his head away from Rylan to cough. This is ridiculous. 

He and Rylan are friends. Family, really. Well, not really family, considering Anders was involved with his cousin until this week. Which really makes him wonder how he could even be thinking of Rylan like that right now. 

He shouldn’t even be over Hawke yet. Maybe this is his mind looking for a rebound? A distraction? Someone to fill in the blank that Hawke left? Even though they’re related, Rylan is nothing like Hawke.

No no. This has to just be his mind playing tricks on him. Rylan is an attractive man, of course Anders’ mind is bound to slip once in a while. It doesn’t need to mean anything. It couldn’t. 

Surely it couldn’t. 

Chapter Text

“Kinloch is talking about liberation,” Anders says apropos of nothing. He's sitting at the kitchen table, coffee in hand. 

New morning habit. Funny how he considers it his routine after just a week in the cottage. 

“Just talking?” Rylan asks. He's dressed in black training pants and a running t-shirt. The combo of a tight top defining his muscles while wearing looser pants makes him look relaxed. Different from the Grey Warden uniform Anders used to see him in. 

“For now. There are protests for mage rights all around Lake Calenhad, but the mages haven't started anything yet. I think a petition is going to be submitted soon. Discussions about it could take months, but the media will be covering it this time. The more eyes we have on the plight of mages the harder it will be to ignore the injustice –” 

Anders takes a shaky breath. Rylan didn't sign up to hear Anders go on a tangent. 

In the silence, he hears Hawke's voice in his head. Telling him she's hoping it would work this time. Even though they both knew it wouldn't. But now there is a real chance. Thanks to Anders. 

“I can make a statement in support of it. There are a few nobles I could sway to chime in.” 

Anders exhales slowly. It feels unreal to have Rylan back him up so nonchalantly.

“Won't it affect you negatively?” 

Hawke has always spoken in favour of mages, but she still worked with Meredith. Still helped the templars on the odd job. To protect her place in the city. To maintain her power. 

Rylan shrugs. “If I don't use my title to promote my own agenda, what good is it?” He finishes the glass of water he was drinking. “I'll make some calls later.” 

With that, he takes off. Anders watches him put on running shoes and leave with his mabari, jaw slightly dropped. 

He makes it look so damn easy. 

Anders sighs, returning to the open tabs on his laptop. With his new anonymous accounts, and the Grey Wardens secure VPN, he has been contacting different pro mages groups. From

The Mages' Collective to The Resolutionists fraternity, he speaks to all. Encouraging them to rise up, sharing stories from Kirkwall. 

He gets lost in the work, and is surprised when Rylan comes back. 

It must have been a good run, because he's a sweaty mess. Not that he looks messy. He peels the shirt off of him and throws it over his shoes, showing off his bare torso. 

His hair is a little damp, skin a little flushed. When he walks into the living room Anders can see he's almost out of breath. 

There's a support beam at the entrance to the kitchen, and Rylan jumps up to it, lacing his feet and starting a rotation of pull ups. 

Anders is a little awe struck by the show of strength, by the way Rylan's back and shoulder muscles shift as he moves. 

“So you do this for fun?” Anders tries to sound insulting. He wants to mock the little choked grunts Rylan makes as he lifts himself up. Maybe he’ll be able to convince himself he’s not taken by them. 

Rylan finishes his set and drops down, turning to Anders. “I do it to stay in shape. But it is fun.” 

It's fun to watch him, but Anders doesn't say that. Instead he makes a gagging noise. 

Rylan chuckles. “You should join me. It's good for you.” 

“We're mages,” Anders says dryly. There is no reason for them to need to be at peak physical condition. 

Rylan is already on the floor doing push ups. He makes them look effortless even as sweat drips down his body. “We're Grey Wardens.” 

“I'm a fugitive, ” Anders says playfully. 

Rylan shakes his head, focusing on his repetitions. 

Anders decidedly does not gawk. He just appreciates Rylan's good form. Respectfully. 

When Rylan gets up, he sighs, wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, swiping his hair back. 

“I'm going to shower, if you’d join me?” 

Anders' heart stops beating. 

“W– What?” 

Rylan's calm expression doesn't change. “Should I shower, or do you want to spar with me?” he repeats– clarifies, because clearly Anders misheard. 

“Yeah, we can spar,” he says slowly, unsure of his own voice suddenly. “With magic?” 

Rylan shakes his head. “I don't have a permit for massive magic use here. We need to stick to daily use.” 

“Ugh, so you are just trying to trick me into working out.” 

“Maybe.” Rylan smiles, nudging Anders’ shoulder to follow him out into the yard. Anders is still dressed in his lounge wear, simple black cotton pants with a matching T-shirt. Changing doesn’t seem worth it. “Maybe I just want to knock your ass out.”

Anders laughs. “You think you could? You’re out of breath before we even start.” 

“You worried it’ll be easy?” Rylan smirks. 

They find a spot in the backyard, on the grass, where there’s enough space to mess around. Clive Barker joins them to watch, naturally. Anders knows who the dog will be rooting for. 

Not that it matters. This isn’t serious. Just friendly sparring. Anders rolls his shoulders back, shaking his legs and stretching his arms. “Alright, let’s go.” He smiles at Rylan. “Don’t break anything, grandpa.” 

Rylan’s lip curls up, amused at the cheap insult. 

They start slow. Rylan uses the old Warden drill manoeuvres, likely to see how much Anders remembers, and in what shape he is. Whether he expects it or not, Anders holds up. Sure, he’s not been working out, or doing Warden training the past few years, but he’s been working with Hawke. Just the walk from Darktown to Hightown can be a full workout, with the amount of stairs one needs to climb. 

He meets every punch and kick with the appropriate guard, throwing a few quick counters of his own. It’s more distracting than he thought, to have Rylan this close, warm skin touching him as they fight. Anders tries not to let it get to him. Rylan drips with sweat and the scent is slightly overwhelming. Musky with notes of lingering cologne.

They pick up the pace gradually, until suddenly the training wheels are off, and Anders’ back meets the ground with a splat. 

“Fuck,” Anders groans. His defeat came sooner than he would have liked. “I just needed to warm up,” he mutters as an excuse.  

Rylan offers him a hand and a wink. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, sweetheart.” 

Bastard. 

Anders shifts gears, if mostly out of spite. With a little more focus, he learns Rylan’s movements, stays a little more defensive to wear him out, to find a weakness he can exploit, a gap he can use to knock him down. 

He reacts too late to dodge a punch and instinctively calls on the fade to push Rylan away with a targeted mind blast . 

“Cheater,” Rylan breathes.

Anders shrugs innocently. “Daily use. Not my fault that a walking skeleton is not as inconspicuous.” 

“And it still doesn’t get you a win.” 

“I play the long game,” Anders explains, despite not being confident he could win against Rylan. He’s still determined to try. 

It doesn’t take too long until he’s back on the ground. This time Rylan is a heavy weight on top of him, pinning him down, one hand under his own body and the other held to his chest. 

Anders struggles, trying to wiggle out. Rylan simply applies more pressure, until Anders aches to be freed. He's reeling from Rylan's alluring scent, the pleasant warmth radiating from his body.

“You're disgusting,” Anders lies. 

Rylan smirks. “Then tap out.” 

Anders exhales slowly, trying to think of a way to turn things around. It’s not his ego that’s stopping him from admitting defeat, it’s just something about the way Rylan feels above him that’s making his skull numb and his muscles throb. 

It takes a lot of focus to cast a spell with his arms bound, but there’s one he has practised enough. In the span of a heartbeat, Anders’ skin cackles with lightning, too weak to hurt. It’s not meant for it. The spell on such a low level is used for pleasure, but Anders figures it can be a distraction as well. 

Rylan doesn’t expect it at all, given by his sharp gasp, the brief full body shudder. 

Anders pushes him off with all of his strength, until he’s free. 

“Who said playing dirty isn’t worth it?” Anders chuckles, celebrating his escape. 

Chapter Text

“A gift?” Anders asks, looking at the four large bags full of blueberries that are resting on the kitchen table. 

“Yes,” Rylan reaffirms. He’s been out for a job every day this week, helping a farm about an hour drive south. And his reward is more blueberries than Anders has ever seen in one place. 

Anders picks one up, tossing it into his mouth. Delicious, locally grown, and perfectly ripe. “So what are we making?” 

—

The answer is a lot of everything. Rylan brings out multiple large pots Anders didn’t know they had, adding a bulk of the blueberries to make plenty of jam. As it cooks, he prepares pie dough, and Anders fixes a few smaller bags of blueberries to freeze. 

“We’re going to be sick of blueberries by tomorrow,” Anders says, casually eating another one from the bag he’s filling. 

“Maybe you should stop eating them.” Rylan gives him a side eye as he works the dough. 

Anders pouts as he chews. “Jealous is a bad look on you,” he says, taking another one for himself. 

“I’m not jealous–” Rylan says, promptly coming to a halt when Anders holds a blueberry close to his face. 

Anders means it as a tease, to dangle it in front of him, but he miscalculates the distance when Rylan turns to look at him, making it seem like an offer instead. And the offer is received, as Rylan simply parts his lips and closes the gap, taking the blueberry into his mouth from between Anders’ pointer finger and thumb. His lips brush against Anders’ fingers, just for a moment. 

He turns his head quickly, returning to the flaky dough he’s mixing, and Anders is glad for it. Whatever might show on his face, he’d rather Rylan not notice it.

“What else are we making?” Anders asks as he goes to put the bag in the freezer, trying to set his thoughts back on the blueberries and not the one Rylan ate from his fingers. 

“Muffins?” Rylan suggests, and Anders brings eggs and milk to the counter. 

He cracks the eggs into a small bowl, and takes out a large mixing bowl from the cupboard. “Three cups of flour?” he nudges at Rylan while measuring. 

Rylan looks at him with a raised eyebrow, almost suspicious. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait for me?” 

Anders frowns as he pours the flour, holding the bag out and flicking it to send a cloud of it in Rylan’s face as retaliation. 

Rylan looks away, but not in time, and he coughs when it gets all over his face. He kicks in Anders’ direction, hitting him with barely any strength. “Three cups, yes, you bastard.” 

“Keep teasing and you won’t get to have any muffins,” Anders says confidently as he adds baking powder, sugar and salt. 

“By that logic you should not have any dinner.” 

“Stop making sense,” Anders says, picking out a blueberry and bringing it close to Rylan again, an offering of peace. “I’m nice to you as well. It balances out.” 

Rylan glances at the blueberry, as if considering if he should take it. He does, leaning slow and closing his lips around Anders’ fingers. He takes the blueberry, but doesn’t look away this time, and Anders is trapped by his gaze even as he moves back. “Are you saying I am not nice to you?” 

"I think you could stand to be a little nicer to me, actually. Since I am the one making muffins."

“I think you’re making up whatever rules suit you,” Rylan scoffs, rinsing his hands, cleaning his face and brushing flour out of his hair. 

Anders hums, not refuting it. He focuses on mixing all the ingredients, preparing the batter. Rylan transfers the pie dough to the fridge to harden, and moves into Anders’ personal space, arm outstretched to take a handful of blueberries from the batch Anders is using. 

Anders almost convinces himself that it has no effect on him to have Rylan this close. Almost. 

When the muffins are in the oven a minute later, Anders joins Rylan in ladling the jam into jars, which feels like it would take forever. 

It takes about a few seconds for Anders to giggle like a school boy. 

“You alright?” Rylan asks, entirely unaware of what he looks like. 

“You missed a spot,” Anders says when he catches his breath, looking at Rylan’s obvious splatter of flour across his cheek. 

“Har har.” Rylan looks at him pointedly. “Clean it up,” he demands.

Anders licks his lips, trying to school his expression. “Alright,” he says calmly, swiping his thumb in the jam and smearing it on Rylan’s nose with no warning. 

The silence is tense, with Anders barely containing his delight, and Rylan clenching his jaw with a glare. It’d be scary if it wasn’t obvious he’s trying to hold back from bursting into laughter himself. 

Anders chuckles, bringing his thumb to his lips, licking the jam off with a satisfied hum. 

Of course Rylan reaches for the jam next, and Anders doesn’t stop him in time. 

—

The blueberry war ends with Clive Barker as the real winner, unsurprisingly, getting to lick way too many blueberry jam stains off the floor. Anders, on his end, has to wash his hair before dinner. 

Now, his eyes are heavy. He's been writing some blog posts for the last two hours, while Rylan is watching a show on TV. 

Living with Rylan is cosy. Yesterday they fell asleep halfway through a movie, and woke up in the middle of the night, leaning into each other on the couch. 

Tonight, Anders is determined to make it to his room. 

He stretches his arms wide, yawning, before turning off the laptop. 

“Alright, I’m heading to bed," he announces as he gets up. 

Rylan looks at him from his seat on the couch, expression almost mournful. 

Anders stands still. "What? Do you want a good night kiss?"

It's a joke. Rylan immediately smiles wide, eyes bright. But Rylan also doesn't let it go. "I cooked, didn't I?" 

It's a dare. 

A dare Anders can pass off, because he was joking.  

But it's off-brand for Anders to back away from a challenge. What won't he do for the bit? He walks to Rylan, trying to decide what would be the funniest option. A silly kiss on the cheek. Sloppily licking his nose as an apology for the blueberry incident earlier. 

His brain must not be aware of his plans, because they all go out the window when he faces Rylan. He puts his hand on the backrest as he hovers over him, leaning close. 

Rylan idly slips a hand up Anders’ shirt, searing heat on Anders’ skin through his fingertips. 

Their eyes are locked together, and the air is thick. Anders aims for his cheek but he's pulled to Rylan's mouth by an invisible force, until he's kissing the corner of Rylan's lips. 

It only lasts a moment, where Rylan holds his waist, where their lips meet in this not quite kiss, neither of them breathing. 

Anders’ heart is pounding in his ears when they both pull away. 

"Good night babe,” he whispers sweetly, licking his lips before realising he's doing it. All too quickly he moves back, and all but runs into his room. 

It's only when the door closes that he feels like he can breathe, because what the fuck did he just do?

Chapter Text

It's appropriate that Rylan is gone the next day. He told Anders he would have to leave early to work in town for the day. 

Coincidentally, it means that Anders doesn't get to check if everything is normal after what he pulled last night. 

He assumes Rylan would tell him if it wasn't. If Anders crossed a line. It should be fine though. It was just a joke. Barely even a kiss. Rylan was definitely committing to the bit himself, grabbing Anders’ waist like that. 

It'd be fine if Anders could also stop thinking about it. But he keeps remembering how Rylan sat there, inviting, uninhibited, dark eyes fixed on Anders. 

What if Anders took the joke further? How much would he be able to do before Rylan stops him? No– before he stops encouraging him? 

It's a dangerous line of thought. One that Anders shouldn't even be entertaining in the first place.  

He goes to Rylan's room to look for a cosy sweater to borrow. Rylan has offered his clothes to Anders openly. It's not a big deal. 

When Anders walks in, he notices Rylan's shirt from the day before is hanging on his desk chair. Absent-mindedly, Anders grabs it, meaning to check if it needs to be washed. 

It smells– good. Used, definitely, but mildly so. It intensely smells of Rylan though, of his faded cologne. 

For some reason, it makes Anders shudder. He hasn't gotten dressed yet, and now somehow it's not urgent anymore. Shirt in hand, he sits down on Rylan's bed. 

This is not a good place to get a boner. 

It is a good time though, now that Rylan is not home. 

Feeling betrayed by his own body, Anders lays down on the bed with a sigh. He hasn't had an active libido for months, despite sharing a bed with Hawke. 

Now, he supposes, when Justice is calm, their cause getting recognized, and staying here with Rylan, safe– it makes sense that he would be back to normal. 

Another sigh, and Anders knows there is no point to deny the warmth building up, spreading through his body. 

He wraps a hand around the outline of his cock, over the fabric of his underwear. It's hardening under the attention, the tease of an indirect touch. 

Bodies are so simple. Of course Rylan instinctively went to rub his morning wood on Anders. It doesn’t matter that it was Anders. The memory of it almost makes him groan, and he applies some more pressure with his hand. 

Eyes closed, he takes it one step further, holding the shirt to cover his face. It makes everything darker, and Rylan's scent is all he can breathe. It's intoxicating, sending him back to the nights where they share a bed, pressed close. 

It doesn’t make sense for him to think of Rylan like that. He tries desperately to think of anyone else. Hawke, and her soft skin. Isabela’s curves. Fenris’ piercing eyes. 

Nothing works. All that gets him going is remembering Rylan’s grunts as he worked out, the gasp he let out under Anders’ spell when they sparred. His lips brushing Anders’ fingers yesterday, the way he looked at Anders with long eyelashes. The way his hair is ruffled in the mornings when he wakes up, the outline of his muscles. 

Fuck, his hands– Anders’ want to feel them everywhere. What if Rylan would have kept his hand on his waist last night? Or moved further up? Down? Grasping his ass– 

“Ah,” Anders chokes out a groan, pressing his back to the mattress, sliding his underwear down to wrap a loose fist over his cock. 

Daily use, he thinks, summoning a little grease. It’d be amazing to have sex here, freely using spells, not having to worry about anyone sensing magic. Rylan would encourage it too, using his own spells. Anders shudders at the thought, at imagining what Rylan would look like on top of him, panting, magic wisps around them in a dark room. 

“ Fuck,” he moans quietly, inhaling Rylan’s scent off the shirt. It makes it easier to pretend he’s there, that Anders is pressed against his skin, close enough to taste him– 

He snaps his hips up, fucking into his fist frantically, spilling all over his stomach when he comes. His orgasm leaves him dizzy, unmoored. Somehow, the vision of Rylan remains. That’s bad. Anders hoped this was some freak accident. He can’t be lusting over him. Especially not now when they’re living together for the foreseeable future. This could become more than just an inconvenience. If Anders would make a mistake, cross a line— 

He gets up, shirt still in his hand. Maybe he already crossed a line. But if Rylan were to find out, this would be a disaster. At worst, Rylan would be disgusted. At best, it’d be awkward. No, Anders needs to get this situation figured out and sorted before Rylan is any wiser. 

He cleans himself up, thinking back to when this started. On some level, his attraction to Rylan must have always been there. That’s hardly his fault. When Rylan looks like that. It could just be the proximity. The overwhelming sense of ‘ safe’ that surrounds him when Rylan is close. He thinks back to the way the shirt riled him up. 

After a quick shower and getting dressed with no distractions, he sits down on the kitchen desk, opening his laptop while the coffee brews. 

All search results for attraction to someone’s scent bring him to the same answer – Soulmates. Apparently, one of the many ways soulmates are compatible with each other is their scents. Which makes sense, but he and Rylan are definitely not soulmates. 

The thought of Anders somehow leaning into Rylan’s bond with his soulmate, and taking advantage of it – It makes him sick. 

Rylan cannot find out about this – whatever this is. 

Chapter Text

The weather is a deceitful, treacherous thing. He should have trusted Jules. Unfortunately, Anders only read the forecast in his weekly newspaper, and with the sun shining bright and early, he figured it was accurate enough. Great day to work the garden and plant some herbs, and most importantly, avoid looking at Rylan and giving away his sudden infatuation.

He’s halfway through when the rain starts. Gentle at first, refreshing even. Anders doesn’t heed the dark clouds approaching. 

The bulk of the rain hits him hard and sudden, and there’s no point in even trying to escape it. He blinks helplessly, eyes squinting against the onslaught of the downpour, skipping around the cottage to the front door. 

“ Andraste’s tits ,” he swears in the doorway, utterly soaked. He considers walking to the bathroom like this, and decides against it. Rylan is working in his room. It won’t be a big deal if Anders undresses in the entrance to save the effort of wiping the floor later. 

Of course he’s taking off his pants when Rylan walks into the living room with his coffee mug in hand, stopping to eye Anders when he notices him. 

They stare at each other in silence for a moment, as Anders finishes undressing, trying not to wonder why his throat is raspy. 

“How’s work?” he asks without hiding his annoyance. Hoping the goosebumps on his skin can be attributed to the rain and not Rylan's eyes on him. 

“Dry,” Rylan says, well, dryly. He walks to refill his coffee.

“Ass,” Anders shoots back. He heads to the bathroom, in his underwear.

Rylan chuckles in response, and then murmurs, “you look good.” 

It gives Anders pause, bringing him to a stop. He stands at the edge of the corridor, water dripping from his hair down across his torso. “What?” he asks quietly. 

Rylan almost looks flustered. Almost. He glances away shyly before meeting Anders’ eyes. “When you first came here, you looked– “

“Like a wet starving nug–” Anders supplies. 

Rylan ignores him. “Malnutritioned. Sleep deprived.” 

All true. 

“You look better now.” 

Anders doesn’t know what to say to that. It’s all thanks to Rylan, but he isn’t going to accept that stroke to his ego. Anders swallows thickly. “Yeah.” He goes to shower.

—

A quiet night follows. The rain continues, keeping them company and lulling them to ignore their chores. They end up pressed together on the couch, watching some animal documentary. Rylan is the one who takes the remote, switching the channel. 

“A little bird whispered that I should watch this segment.” 

Anders hums, not bothering to ask if it’s the infamous nightingale that he heard stories about. 

The news anchor is in the middle of a conversation with a Chantry representative, and the headline under her reads in big bold letters - “Grand Enchanter Fiona calls for a vote on separating from the Chantry.” 

Anders stops breathing. His hand reaches to Rylan without thinking. 

“This is unlikely to pass the required vote–” The anchor continues the conversation. “Of course, the Divine has the right to veto such a decision–” The room spins around Anders. “This could take years before we see any conclusion to the matter–” 

The fade cracks through his skin, as Justice’s emotions threaten to overwhelm him. 

“Anders,” Rylan whispers in his ear. “Breathe.” He squeezes Anders’ hand, bringing him back to the present. 

Like an anchor in the storm, Rylan grounds him. 

Anders opens his eyes despite not remembering closing them. The TV volume has been lowered enough that he can focus on his own thoughts. Videos of Fiona from a press release show up on the screen. She’s full of conviction, standing tall and unafraid in front of all the microphones and camera flashes. 

“She’s really done it?” Anders asks. While a part of him refuses to believe it, he knows Rylan would not lie to him. 

“Yes. It’s the first step of many, but she’s done it.” 

“Did you–” Anders isn’t sure how to ask. 

Rylan’s smile is sneaky, eyes lowering slightly. “I’m not the only one that helped.” 

Impossible. 

Anders wants to kiss him. 

He doesn’t. But he lunges into him, throwing his weight to push Rylan’s back to the couch. An aggressive hug. 

Rylan shuffles a little, making the space more comfortable for them to lay. This isn’t the first time they’ve ended up like this, sprawled on top of each other on the couch. It doesn’t mean anything. And it’s easier for Anders to hide his face, while still indulging in Rylan’s proximity. 

They listen to the rest of the news report like this. There’s a quick break for Jules to talk about the forecast, and Anders only pays attention because her voice is nice. Rain expected to continue until Saturday. Bleak and cold, with a biting wind. That’s when the demonstration for mage rights is planned in Highever. Anders wishes he could go, hand people umbrellas, heal them discreetly if they catch anything. But it’s too risky. 

As if to confirm his thoughts, the news anchor wraps up with a brief update on the ongoing manhunt for him. 

“We want to assure the public that while the vote on separating the mage Circles from the Chantry has now been set in motion, the templars have all resources focused on finding the terrorist apostate responsible for the Chantry destruction in Kirkwall.” 

The automatic light outside of the cottage turns off as if on cue, setting a dark shadow on the living room. 

Rylan pets his head, draining almost all of Anders’ anxiety away. “I am going to keep you safe.” 

“What if the cost will be too great?” Anders asks quietly.  

“It can’t be.”

Chapter Text

Amell.

Justice recognizes his presence in the fade immediately. As a spirit, he senses the realm in which Anders dreams the same way a human senses their own body. It no longer surprises him to find that Amell can walk into Anders’ dreams, that he can find Justice in the fade and share a conversation with him as easily as he does when he wakes. 

Amell’s magical talents are many, and he is a skilled mage. Justice was proud to work with him in Vigil’s Keep, and he is proud to call him a friend still. 

They sit together on a couch similar to the one Anders and Amell fell asleep on, in the mortal realm. Amell is laid back, arms outstretched on the backrest. Justice is sitting upright, in a manner Anders would have surely teased him for. 

The physical appearance of the fade looks much like Amell’s cottage, intertwined with a growing forest. Flowers bloom by the TV bench, vines fall from a gap in the ceiling. There is an old tree instead of the fridge. 

“You are keeping your promise,” Justice says, in reference to the last time they talked. Anders has been safe, while following their cause.

“I am a man of my word,” Amell says easily. 

Justice believes him. Believes in him, in a way he hasn’t in another human. But he wants more. “We wish to join those on the front line.”  

Amell scratches at his chin, eyes looking around in thought. “I can’t make that happen.” 

“We need to rise up among the people. To lift them up. Amplify their voices.” His voice echoes through the space.

“You would, Justice. But not in Anders’ body. The templars will be on you, the guards– The news would focus on your arrest. Not on the cause.” 

Justice considers this. Amell has often been wise. 

“You’ve done your part.” 

“It is a difficult concept to accept. I am Justice. There is always more to do.” 

“Yes.” Amell smiles at him. “I admire you.” He pats Justice’s back, in reassurance, in camaraderie. “I know you won’t rest, but I think there are no more Chantries for you to burn.” 

Justice considers this too. Escalation is no longer necessary, that is true. Their work online has been beneficial as well. Amell has been most accommodating when Anders discusses it with him. “You do not see our actions negatively. Despite the destruction caused and blood shed.”

Amell nods. “It was needed.” 

They are quiet for a moment before Amell speaks again. “I wish it wouldn’t have cost Anders so much.” 

“He is happy with you.” Justice didn’t mean to say it. The words were simply there. A fact. As true as the fact he exists. 

Amell’s expression is one Justice has not seen before. He turns his face away to hide it. 

Justice does not know what it means, or if he should inquire. Before he can figure it out, Amell disappears. 

Chapter Text

There isn’t much of a notice. Anders is solving a weekly crossword on the couch when Rylan exits his room, dressed in his usual work from home outfit, a loose sweater (Grey today) and fitted cotton pants (Black, as usual). 

“Alistair’s on his way,” he says as if he’s talking about a delivery boy. 

Anders blinks slowly, looking at Rylan who’s fixing himself a glass of water. “Alistair?” he asks. Because surely, Rylan means a random delivery boy that happens to be named Alistair. Not The King of Ferelden, coming by to visit. 

“Mmmhm,” Rylan nods, opening the fridge and taking a curious look inside. “He knows you’re here.” 

“The King of Ferelden knows I’m here. And he’s… what? Dropping by for tea?” Anders is still holding the newspaper and pen. Maybe Rylan expects him to just finish his crossword leisurely, while the Monarchy is knocking on the door. 

“He’s staying for dinner.” 

Anders hasn’t trimmed his beard in a few days. He hasn’t showered this morning. What do you mean the King is coming over for dinner? He wants to scream. Instead he closes his eyes and sighs. Alistair has seen him before, in Kirkwall. Back then, Anders wasn’t exactly at his best. Isn’t now either, really. ‘Best’ isn’t an easy spot to define in his life. But this is coming close. 

“I’m going to change–” he says, rising up and leaving the newspaper on the coffee table. 

He picks out an outfit, some bright coloured pants and a patterned button up that looks casual enough to be something he’d wear at home. In a last minute decision, he goes into the bathroom for a quick shower. And a trim. The least he could do, really. 

When he comes back into the living space, Rylan gives him a pointed look, like he’s seeing right through the effort. 

“What?” He shoots back, trying to seem unbothered. 

“Shirt looks good on you,” Rylan compliments him. It’s genuine, but there’s an edge to it like he is refraining from saying more. 

Anders doesn’t push. 

They hear the car when it approaches, heavy wheels rolling on dirt. Clive Barker sniffs the air and runs to the door.

Anders isn’t sure what he’s expecting, an entourage, he supposes. The King in his regalia the way he looked in Kirkwall. 

Instead he sees Alistair opening the door as if he owns the place, immediately crouching to pet the mabari that is assaulting him with affection. 

“Clive!!”

Rylan smiles at them fondly, and Anders’ stomach curls a little with an unrecognised emotion. 

“Ah, Maker, I always forget about your dirty little paws, you monster,” Alistair chuckles, trying to pat his pants clean while rubbing the back of Clive Barker’s ear. The dog whines at him happily, running around him in a circle of pure delight. 

“Nice to see you again, Anders,” he says in a somewhat rehearsed tone. “Circumstances could be better, though.” 

Anders scoffs, offering his hand to shake. “I think considering the likely alternative of me showing up at your court, this is a much preferable setting.” 

“Oh yes, I’ll be honest, this is nicer. You’re not going to be able to sue me if I say something out of place, on account of you being, well, a fugitive.” 

Anders wants to laugh. The situation feels absurd, meeting in secret with the King of Ferelden. Are they going to get hammered next and exchange dirty stories? Do a line of coke on the couch? Smoke elfroot on the porch? 

He’s snapped back to reality when Alistair approaches Rylan. 

“Been a minute,” he says, and they hug. No, hug isn’t quite right. They are pressed together, Alistair’s eyes closing, arms tight around Rylan’s back. An embrace. 

Anders feels like he should look away. He can’t. 

“Thank you for coming over, Ali.” 

Anders’ mind reels. Ali . Alright then. They weren’t just close, they were close . That’s fine. That’s also none of Anders’ business. Is– Anders breathes slowly. Is Alistair’s Rylan’s soulmate? 

“I’m just here for the dog actually,” Alistair jokes when they pull apart, and the mabari nudges him playfully for it.  

Anders hates the way Rylan smiles at him. Too sweet. 

“What can I get you?” Rylan asks, hands on the kitchen counter behind him. 

“Oh, the usual – if you have it, I mean. Lotta trouble to keep all that on hand for just me,” Alistair says, heading to go sit on the couch. 

It is bizarre, for a moment, to see him dressed in a henley shirt and jeans. But Anders has met The Architect, discovered red lyrium and defeated Corypheus. He can handle this. 

Anders takes a seat next to him while Rylan fixes up drinks. 

“Is it safe for you to just drive around with no security attachment?” 

Alistair eyes him suspiciously. “If anyone asks, I'm having tea and crumpets with the Arl of Bumblesnook. Lovely fellow named Clive Barker.” 

“I won’t tell,” Anders promises with a shrug. He is on the run, after all. 

“Good, cause I definitely did not see you; only the Arl, right over there, eating a boot.” 

Rylan joins them then, handing Alistair a pink fuzzy cocktail, with a foam topping. It looks ridiculous in Alistair’s hands, but he is excited to have it.

Anders takes his drink, a gin and tonic, and they all hold up their glasses briefly. 

“Fuck the Chantry,” Rylan says, and both Anders and Alistair smile, cheering with him. 

They drink. They talk about politics. Rylan moves back to the kitchen at some point to make dinner. Alistair, Anders learns, has a tendency to speak plainly, but he is smart and empathetic. It’s a good combination. Rylan did not lie about his dislike of the Chantry, his support of mages. They confidentially skirt around discussing the Chantry boom. But Alistair shows interest in Anders’ manifesto, in the people he’s spoken to, the conditions he saw in Kirkwall. 

It’s a relaxed atmosphere, until Rylan comes by, hand on Alistair’s shoulder, leaning down to invite him to the table for dinner. It’s so unnecessarily intimate that Anders feels like he’s biting back bile. There is no rational explanation, of course. Anders has no reason to be jealous of Alistair. Because he does not have any claim on Rylan. They are simply friends. 

And if Rylan is involved with the King of Ferelden, who is Anders in comparison? A fugitive? A failed mage, a failed Grey Warden – nothing to his name but a wanted poster. 

Rylan deserves a kingdom. 

Dinner is not fancy at all, but Rylan’s cooking is exquisite as usual. 

Alistair looks absolutely enamoured when he sits down at the table. “You know, if ‘Hero of Ferelden’ doesn't pan out, you are always welcome to be my personal chef.” 

Anders chokes on air, for no particular reason. 

“Tempting,” Rylan says dryly as he serves the meal. Three Grey Warden at the table means three massive plates. 

They don’t waste time before digging in.

“Mmmm,” Alistair moans with a mouth full of stew. “Marry me,” he whispers when he swallows, and Rylan tenses. 

To his credit, Alistair spots it immediately, and hurries to add, “The stew, obviously. We don't need to have that talk again.” 

Rylan winces briefly, but reaches to hold Alistair’s hand over the table in a blatant romantic gesture. “The stew is yours, my King.” 

Anders clenches his jaw to avoid gagging. He considers excusing himself, but he knows not being present means he would imagine much worse. 

“Another drink?” Rylan asks when dinner is over. He’s resting his chin on his palm, elbow on the table, looking at Alistair with the most inviting expression. Anders bites his cheek. 

Alistair shakes his head, getting up. “It is tempting, but I have to drive.” 

Rylan sighs, getting up as well, moving closer to Alistair. 

Anders tries not to watch. He picks up the dishes, bringing them to the sink. But he ends up looking regardless, drawn by some sick need to know what’s happening. 

Alistair leans close, hand on Rylan’s waist, whispering something to him. He pulls back with a shy smile, tucking a lock of Rylan’s hair behind his ear. 

Anders digs his nails into the palm of his hand. He hates every second standing there to watch this. 

"You can stay the night," Rylan says softly, not moving away from Alistair’s personal space. 

Internally, Anders fumes. It is obvious that ‘staying the night’ would involve Alistair and Rylan fucking, and Anders having to hear it– his vision goes red. 

Alistair glances at him, and once their eyes meet Anders looks away. It’s not his decision to make. It’s not his place to care about who Rylan is fucking. 

“Three's a crowd, right? And you’ve got enough guests at the moment. Plus the country doesn't run itself, no matter how many times I ask it to.” 

Clive Barker whines, nudging Alistair’s ankle as if begging him to stay. 

Anders suddenly wants to go on a night run in the fields, alone. 

“Anders,” Alistair turns to him, and Anders desperately tries to control his expression. “I – it was good.  To talk to you.” That polite, rehearsed tone is back, and Anders hates that he’s not using it on Rylan at all.

“The same,” he says with a smile he hopes looks genuine. 

“Whatever I can do, I will.” He looks at Rylan then. “I promise.” 

Anders feels sick. 

“Let me walk you to the car, Ali,” Rylan says, hand resting on Alistair’s arm. 

Anders feels worse. 

The mabari follows them out, and when the door closes Anders is in the cottage alone.

Chapter Text

Anders isn’t the type of man to sit and sulk. Which is why when Rylan returns he finds him sitting at the table with a bottle of Aqua Magus, pouring himself a drink. 

“Pour me a glass?” he asks, and Anders has to fight back the urge to snide . 

Instead he brings the bottle over along with the glasses, and drinks with Rylan on the couch. Surely, the lyrium infused alcohol is going to ease his mood, and keep him in check. 

His throat cools as the drink goes down, stomach warming immediately when the alcohol hits. The mix sensation is familiar, taking the edge off in minutes. 

Rylan sighs, pulling his feet up to the couch, brushing his hair back with his hand. 

The moment reminds Anders of how Alistair touched him, and he takes another drink from his glass. 

“Ali's harder to manipulate since he's taken the crown.” 

“Is that it? or is it that you two aren't fucking anymore?” Woah. Subtle. If this is Anders being mostly sober he should definitely drink more. He tries to control his blood pressure, hoping Rylan won't read into the bite of his words.

“Are you implying my dick could make a king bow down to me?” Rylan sounds amused. “Thank you for the compliment. I'm good, but I don't know if I'm that good.” 

Anders desperately tries not to think of how good Rylan's dick is. He'd bet it is enough for Alistair. 

“You didn't look like you were above trying.”

Anders winces at his own words. What the fuck was he trying to accuse Rylan of? 

“To get you a pardon? Sure, would be the easiest way out.” Rylan doesn't seem offended in the least, like he can't tell Anders’ tone, or doesn't care for it. “But Alistair is not like that. He needs clear boundaries. We're just friends now.” 

Anders scoffs. “He would have jumped your bones if I wasn't here.” 

Rylan shrugs. Drinks in silence for a while longer, eyeing his glass. 

Anders drinks with him. Thinks back of his words. “Why did you break up?” he asks even though he doesn't want to know. 

Rylan glances at him as if he can see right through him. 

“It just didn't work out. We both had obligations that took precedence over each other.” 

Anders swallows thickly. Alistair’s obligation was the throne. Rylan’s? Commanding the Grey Warden? The title he's putting in danger to protect Anders? Or something else? 

“You miss him,” Anders says quietly, feeling bitter with himself suddenly for his uncalled jealousy. 

“I don't.” Rylan meets his eyes when he says it. “We're still friends.”

“Pfft,” Anders sets his empty glass down. “Friends?” he mocks. He can't help himself. 

He leans close to Rylan, too close, so his lips brush his ear. “Is this what friends do?” he whispers, indulging in the way he feels Rylan gasp. When he moves back he keeps their faces close, watches the way Rylan's dark eyes widen, the curve of his lips. He mimics the way Alistair tucked his hair back, fingers soft and delicate as they trail down to Rylan's neck. Alistair didn't do that part, but Anders can't resist. 

They're close enough that Anders feels Rylan’s breath on his own lips. He wants to taste it. 

“Maybe,” Rylan says, just as quiet. “Are you jealous?”

Anders knows he is. Knows that he can't admit it, or why. 

“Maybe,” Anders says, repeating Rylan's intonation of the word. 

There's a glint in Rylan's eyes, and then Anders can't see them, because his own are closed, and their lips meet. 

Despite the few weeks Anders has inexplicably been attracted to Rylan, he's never envisioned what it would be like to kiss him. Which is fine, because he wouldn't have been able to get close to how it really feels. 

Rylan’s lips are soft and warm, opening up to Anders’ as if they were his own. It's incredibly chaste, both of them breathing each other in, almost hesitant. 

There’s a quiet noise, a choked groan. Barely audible and still all Anders can hear.  

Anders isn’t sure which of them makes it, but it breaks whatever restraint held them back. In a heartbeat, Anders grabs the collar of Rylan’s shirt, pulling him close. Rylan has a hand on Anders’ thigh, another framing his face as their tongues meet. His touch sears Anders’ skin like fire, his taste more intoxicating than any drink. 

Anders moans into the kiss, and Rylan groans in response, grip tightening on Anders’ thigh making him shudder. 

He's never wanted anything more– never needed anything else than Rylan's skin on his. His hands travel down his shirt to the hem, then under– 

“ Anders –” Rylan moans, sounding wrecked, pressing their forehead together. His hands move to Anders’ biceps, a clear sign to stop.

Anders heaves as if he ran a marathon. His body is shaking with the need to make Rylan his. But he holds himself back, frozen. “You don't want this.” 

“Not when you're drunk.” The words are rough, as if it pains Rylan to say it. 

“Yeah, fuck.” Anders shakes his head, looking at the bottle on the table. Reality is sinking in. This is a poor idea. He takes a quivery breath and pulls back. “I shouldn't have done that.” 

Rylan winces, and Anders’ chest aches. He will give anything to make sure they are okay. That he didnt fuck things up irrevocably.

Chapter Text

The hangover hits him hard. Briefly, Anders thinks he must have been inside the Chantry explosion somehow. But no, the explosion is simply his throbbing head. 

“Anders.” It’s Rylan’s voice, soft and pleading. 

Anders tries desperately to open his eyes. They’re immediately blocked by his own hand. Rylan is clear in his intention, covering Anders’ head, and taking his other hand to his own forehead. 

“Healing first.” 

Good to know that he’s not the only one who’s suffering. Magic dances on his fingertips, summoning energy from the fade, and taking all the pain away. 

Rylan’s sigh of relief tickles Anders’ wrist, followed by a whispered “Thank you,” that almost feels like a kiss. He lets go of Anders entirely then, and with eyes open, Anders studies him.

The memories of last night come rushing back, because how could Anders not be jealous? How could he not want Rylan to himself? 

He looks away because he has to avoid saying something stupid, and notices the time. It’s barely an hour past sunrise. “Why are you up?” 

“Got called in. I’ll be back after dinner.” 

Convenient. Anders wonders if this is intentional, that he puts space between them whenever Anders pushes too far. But if he does, Anders has no one to blame but himself. 

Rylan runs a gentle hand through Anders’ hair, as if reading his mind. “Go back to sleep.” 

Anders nods, and tries not to worry. 

—

He fails. 

In fact, he spends the entire day worrying. 

Rylan comes back to the cottage long after dinner. He looks worse for wear, and Anders almost feels guilty, from his cosy spot on the couch. 

“Anything I can magic?” Anders asks him, and for a moment it looks like Rylan is about to say yes. 

He shakes his head instead. “Just need a shower and sleep.” 

Sure. Anders can give him space. He stays on the couch, not paying attention to whatever is playing on the TV while Rylan heads to the bathroom. 

To his credit, Anders manages to not burst into the shower just to apologise. He waits until he hears Rylan is in his room, and then he counts to ten before he’s at his door. 

“Hey,” he says eloquently, walking in on Rylan in his underwear, wet hair, sitting on his bed. 

Rylan doesn’t even respond, simply shuffles back to make room for Anders on the bed. As if it’s obvious that he’s welcome. 

Anders’ chest hurts. He stays leaning on the doorway. With a breath, he glances away, rubbing at his wrist nervously. “The shit I said yesterday was uncalled for.” 

Rylan shrugs. “Apology accepted. Alistair didn’t seem to care. He liked you.” 

“He– He did?” Anders’ mind comes to a halt. “Was that your plan?” 

Rylan smiles a little shyly. “I wanted him to get to know you. I knew that if he’d see what I see, he would grant you the pardon.” 

Anders needs to check his lungs. It should not be this difficult to breathe. He swallows thickly. “Does that mean–” 

“He’ll try.” 

Anders refuses to be complacent. Alistair trying does not mean he will succeed. But it does show once again how far Rylan is willing to go to help Anders. And the poor way Anders repays him. 

“And about the rest of last night–”

“No apology is needed.” 

That’s not exactly what Anders expected. He looks for anything in Rylan’s expression that would give his thoughts away. 

“I wasn’t going to apologise.” 

There. There’s a glimmer of hope and want in Rylan’s face, and that’s all Anders needed to see. He moves closer, planting his knee on the bed, thumb caressing Rylan’s jaw. The way his eyes darken with desire is mesmerising, and Anders thinks he’s addicted already. 

Rylan’s lips part with a shaky exhale. “I don’t want you to regret it in the morning.” 

Anders leans closer, tilting his head just right. “I won’t,” he promises against Rylan’s mouth. 

It’s tantalising. This time there is no pretence, the kiss is filthy from the start, wet and hot, both of them moaning into it. Rylan’s hands are immediately under Anders’ shirt, on his waist, guiding him to straddle Rylan’s hips. 

Anders frames him with his legs, kissing him with fervour he has never experienced. All he can think of is how right Rylan tastes, how good he feels under him, the warmth of his skin radiating until it burns through Anders’ soul. 

“ Fuck ,” Rylan mutters when Anders moves to kiss a path down his neck, licking and sucking just to hear Rylan shudder and groan. 

“Sure,” Anders chuckles, finally pulling back to allow Rylan to peel the shirt off of him. “Unless you’re too tired?” 

Rylan snaps his hips up, so Anders can feel his intentional hardness under him. “You’re already on top,” he smirks. 

The back of Anders’ skull goes numb, throat dry as he imagines this hardness inside him, riding Rylan hard and fast– 

He leans down, grinding their cocks together, taking Rylan’s lower lip into his mouth as a tease. “What if I’m a pillow princess?”

Rylan’s hand trails over Anders’ exposed torso, hint of magic on his fingertips that is making Anders’ skin get goosebumps. “I can bring Justice out—” 

“No–” Anders interrupts hurriedly, kissing Rylan’s mouth to shut him up. It works fantastically. So well in fact, that neither of them speak, focused on each other. 

Anders’ pants and underwear slide off in one swoop motion, and he goes right back to Rylan’s lips. All of his blood rushes down his body, overwhelmed by Rylan’s taste on his tongue, the smell of his musk, the feel of his warm skin. The sounds he makes drive Anders to a lustful haze, and the sight of him, face flushed, eyes hungry, is enough to make his cock twitch between them. 

It’s an odd moment to remember it, but as Rylan moves to take his underwear off, Anders thinks back at the soulmark he has not seen. Determinedly, he pushes Rylan to lay on his back and begins kissing a slow path down his body. 

While aiming to look for a soulmark, he takes his time finding out what Rylan likes. The way he hisses in pleasure when Anders bites his nipple, the way he breathes shakily when Anders presses a flat tongue to his ribs. 

“Oh fuck–” Rylan’s moan when Anders sucks a love mark into his hip is thick with need. Anders can’t get enough of it. He pulls back just enough to see the impression and he sighs, licking his lips and admiring his work. 

The mark is dark, beautiful like the rest of Rylan. Anders wants to see him covered in kisses and bites, bruises in the shape of Anders’ fingers. His eyes are drawn lower to Rylan’s flushed cock, and his mind stutters to a halt. It shouldn’t be real that every single inch of Rylan is perfect. But it is, and Anders gets to see, touch and taste– 

He licks a long slow stripe along the length of Rylan’s cock, getting a sense of the way he feels, smooth velvet, warm and alive. 

“ Anders ,” Rylan breathes out in reverence, in a plea. 

“That’s my name,” Anders smirks, settling into an easy position between Rylan’s legs. 

“No– Nngh –” Whatever Rylan was about to say is lost in a moan as Anders wraps his lips around the head of his cock, taking more and more until he feels it at the back of his throat. He breathes slowly through his nose, adjusting to the sensation. 

The smell of Rylan’s skin against him, the feeling of him fluttering beneath him. It’s worse than the Aqua Magus. Worse than any addiction Anders could ever have. His thumb is digging into Rylan’s thigh as he begins bobbing his head up and down, alternating different strokes of his tongue to see what feels best. 

Rylan pants, hands stroking Anders’ hair, caressing his head without applying any pressure. 

Neglected, Anders’ own cock twitches against air. The thought of Rylan holding his head there, fucking into his throat, gets him moaning desperately. He could ask for it. Let his jaw slack and offer himself for Rylan to take control. He would, Anders is certain of it. Fuck him until his throat is raw and voice rough. 

Somehow, he resists the desire to be the direct cause of Rylan falling apart stronger than this fantasy. 

“ Ahh,” Rylan moans, thumb brushing Anders’ ear. “Yes– Like that– ” His voice drips praise and choked out groans, as Anders finds every single way to make him come undone. 

Of course, Rylan is chivalrous enough to signal when he’s close. Of course, Anders is a big enough of a cum slut for it to only encourage him to double his efforts. He ignores the need to breathe, setting a frantic pace, licking at Rylan hungrily. 

“Fuck, Anders, your mouth –” Rylan moans, grunting as he comes, spilling down Anders’ throat. Greedily, Anders swallows every drop, indulging in the strong salty flavour that is all Rylan. 

Anders pulls away, swiping his mouth with the back of his hand, utterly pleased with himself. “One of my better qualities,” he smirks. Rylan looks wrecked beneath him, eyes glossy, lips red and parted. “You really gonna let me do all the work here–?” 

He barely finishes the question before he’s pulled up and flipped, pushed to lay on the bed, mouth full of Rylan. It’s a hungry kiss, overcome with emotion that Anders can’t contain. 

With the way Rylan is positioned on top of him, hands trailing down, his intent is obvious. Anders complies, crossing his legs around Rylan’s waist. It earns him a delicious moan that he drinks like a parched man. 

Even when he knows it’s coming, when he feels the pull of the fade, he’s still not prepared for Rylan’s hand to move over his cock, slick with grease. He moans, loud, unabashed, as those magical fingers wrap around him, slow and intense, thumb sliding over the head with every stroke. 

It should be just a handjob. By description alone. But it feels like divine light, pulling every inch of his body apart and setting him on edge of infinite pleasure. Rylan’s lips are on his neck, kissing every tremble of his throat when he moans. 

“More, more, more–” he begs, not wanting Rylan to ever let him go. His thighs shake with the effort of staying still. As if knowing exactly what he wants, what he’s asking for without words, Rylan changes the angle, pressing himself lower, so his hand can wrap both of them at once. Like this, Anders can join his thrusts, moving his hips in the same rhythm. 

His head spins as the pleasure builds, the reality of having Rylan over him after weeks of dreaming about it making it so much sweeter than he thought. 

“ Rylan –” he moans when he comes, with Rylan’s mouth on his collar bone. Rylan’s teeth dig into his flesh, and his hand stills around the both of them, Rylan’s cock twitching as he comes as well. 

Anders’ senses come back to him gradually. His legs begin sliding down back to the bed. “Fuck, that was–” 

“We’re not done.” Rylan’s voice is low and rough. 

Anders sighs with content. “I know.” He is a Grey Warden after all. His eyes fall to the mess on his stomach. “You couldn’t have swallowed?” he jokes to cover up the fact that the feel of it alone is enough to keep him hard and wanting.  

Rylan kisses his lips softly, hand gently caressing the cleft of his ass. “I want you covered in me inside and out,” he whispers, voice thick with promise, and Anders melts into it.

There isn’t a pause for uncertainty, it’s not needed. Rylan summons more slick, and his pointer finger finds Anders’ entrance, circling around it. He only teases for a few seconds, before pushing in. 

A part of Anders wants to argue that he’s not a virgin, he doesn’t need to be prepped. It’s been a while, but he knows how to relax his muscles, especially after an orgasm. Another part of him, the one that wins, is the one that wants Rylan to never stop touching him, to give him anything he’s willing to, in any shape or form. 

Rylan kisses him through it, drinking every whine and gasp. His index finger joins, and Anders knows what’s coming next . 

“ Fucking Maker –” he moans when Rylan presses against his prostate, back arching by instinct. It feels so good, better than it ever did, and Anders isn’t sure if something in him changed or if it’s simply Rylan that can do this to him. 

“Anders,” Rylan calls his name like he enjoys the taste of it, and Anders doesn’t want to hear anything else. 

“Ahh, Fuck,” Anders mutters, vision going blurry as Rylan fucks him with expert fingers. He whines shamelessly when Rylan takes them out, when Anders is left empty and gaping. 

Rylan aligns them, holds Anders’ thighs close, but doesn’t push in. 

“Rylan–” Anders starts, whining his name like a request. 

“Ask me for it,” Rylan says. His voice isn’t cruel, nor cocky. He makes a request like he simply wants it. 

“Seriously?” Anders raises an eyebrow. He is still out of breath. It could not be more plain how badly he wants Rylan. 

“Indulge me,” he pleads, and how could Anders ever deny that sweet voice. 

He exhales, trying to forget about what happens tomorrow, what this would mean for them. Instead he focuses on his own need, the desire to be the only thing on Rylan’s mind until he’s possessed by him. “Rylan,” he murmurs. “Please, I want you in me, Maker, I need you–”  

The end of the word is moaned as Rylan thrusts in, and Anders’ vision goes white with pleasure. Anders is now equipped to argue that Rylan’s dick is absolutely good enough to bring a king down to his knees. 

Rylan barely gives him the option to breathe. He doesn’t ease into it. Anders supposes that’s why he fingered him first. It’s a brutal pace from the first thrust, knocking the air out of Anders’ lungs. His hands are white knuckled gripping the comforter, hips matching Rylan’s speed. The room is filled with incoherent moans and half screams. 

“Yes– yes– yes–” Anders almost shouts, unable to put together a cohesive sentence as Rylan fucks him senseless. It’s all heat and passion, a fire burning him from the inside out, all consuming.

There are tears in the corner of Anders’ eyes, sweat pooling under his back, when they slow down. One of Rylan’s hands drags over Anders’ torso, sparks of magic making him gasp and shake. 

“You need a break?” Anders asks him, voice rough and uneven. He needs water. He is the one who needs the break.

Rylan looks at him fondly. He’s gorgeous, sweat making his hair stick out in the loveliest way. “Just needed to adjust my grip,” he says easily, like he’s not rewiring Anders’ brain. He pulls at Anders’ leg, changing their position so it rests on his shoulder, while he holds the other one. 

Anders’ eyes fall shut. Rylan is going to kill him. 

Rylan doesn’t continue at the same fast pace. It probably isn’t humanly possible. Not when he’s now going deeper with every thrust, hitting Anders’ prostate, making him see stars. 

The only thing outside of Anders’ own pleasure that he can focus on are the sounds Rylan makes, the low groans and breathless gasps, as if he’s holding something back. 

Anders becomes so attuned to it, amidst his own moans and whines, that he can tell when Rylan is close, can feel the change in his pants, the stutter of his hips. 

Anders reaches to his own cock, and is unprepared when Rylan swats him away. Instead he takes Anders’ hand, laces their fingers together, pressing it to the bed. 

“Come with me,” he asks, like he knows Anders can do it. 

Anders is about to complain, to explain that no, he’s not going to be able to, but the look in Rylan’s eyes makes him trust him. Indulge me , he asked. Anders would do anything for him. He focuses on the feeling of Rylan inside him, of the way Rylan sounds, the intense smell of their arousal and sex in the room. Fuck, his cock is twitching by itself. 

“ Nngh , Rylan,” he pleads. 

“Come with me,” he asks again, like a command, and Anders does. His own cock spasms as Rylan stills inside him. 

Unsurprisingly, for a second orgasm that night, it is no less fervent . Anders listens to their combined heavy breathing for a while, as Rylan rubs his thumb over Anders’ wrist. 

"Is it always this intense with you?" Anders’ muscles feel tight from the strain in a way they usually do after a whole night of debauchery, not two rounds.  

Rylan shrugs. "Let's find out," he smirks, pulling out and turning Anders around to his stomach, lifting his hips up and sliding right back in.  

Chapter Text

They leave the mess of the night on Rylan’s bed, shower, make some more of a mess there, and then fall into Anders’ bed. They don’t sleep a lot that night. Despite this, Anders has zero complaints. He wakes up perfectly content, well rested and well fucked.

Surrounded by warmth, he opens his eyes slowly, adjusting to the light. Rylan’s arms are wrapped around him, protective and comfortable.

Anders turns around in his embrace to look at him. His neck and shoulder is littered with marks, just as beautiful as Anders envisioned them to be. It shouldn’t be fair for him to look like this, messy hair, long dark eyelashes. Anders can’t help wanting him. 

They haven’t really talked about what this is, between them. But at least Anders knows they are still friends. They could discuss the details later. For now, Anders runs his fingers through Rylan’s soft hair, leaning close to plant feathery kisses on his lips. 

Rylan responds to him while still asleep, fingers curling around his back, body pressing closer. It’s the most delicious way to watch him wake up, becoming aware that it’s Anders by his side. The kiss turns deeper gradually, their hips rubbing against each other lazily. 

Anders’ fingers drag over Rylan’s scalp, and the moan he lets out makes Anders shiver. Fuck . He is not going to be normal about this. In an instant, it’s too hot under the covers. Anders tosses them aside, straddling Rylan’s hips. 

“Make that sound again,” he asks, needing to hear it over and over. 

Rylan’s lips curl up, teeth showing in a smug smile. “Kiss me,” he commands, and Anders does. 

They move slow, but the kiss is intense, making Anders dizzy. He’s about to say something when break for air, but Rylan presses his lips to Anders’ ears, hands on his ass holding him in place as his hips snap up to grind them against each other. He moans then, as Anders requested, deep and rough, and Anders already feels on edge. 

“ Maker ,” he sighs. “The sounds you make.” 

Rylan smirks, sucking Anders’ earlobe. “Do you hear yourself when I'm inside you?” 

Anders’ spine goes numb. He knows he's loud, needy. Does Rylan like it as much? 

“I can't help myself,” he says almost defensively.  

“Good,” Rylan says, satisfied with the answer. His hand sneaks between their bodies, to coat his cock with summoned slick. “Let me hear it some more,” he teases, meaning clear. 

Anders doesn't hesitate. He shuffles to align himself, and sinks down, slowly, taking every inch and cherishing it. 

Despite being sore from the night, he's loose and relaxed, and the slight burn is a welcome feeling. “ Fuck ,” he moans as he works himself on Rylan's cock. 

It's just as good as it was the time before, and Anders suspects he's never going to have enough. 

Rylan's hands rest on his hips, gentle, letting Anders set his own pace. 

Anders starts easy. It's satisfying to focus on how full he is, on the drag of it. Listening to Rylan's choked off gasps and sighs is another benefit. He can tell by the way Rylan watches him that he knows he's being teased, but he still allows Anders to lead. 

There's something about it that drives Anders wild with desire, seeing Rylan beneath him, reins handed to Anders completely. 

“You're gorgeous like this,” Rylan says unprompted, and Anders’ hips stutter. 

He picks up the pace just a little more, arching his back for a better angle. The praise goes straight to his dick, along with what feels like every drop of blood in his body. 

Rylan’s fingers brush over his torso, forming trails of electricity that Anders knows well. Rylan’s magic feels different than Anders’, and it makes him lightheaded. 

“I could come just watching you–“ 

Anders moans at the admission, nails digging into Rylan’s skin as he struggles to hold on. 

“Listening to you moan like this…” Rylan pinches his nipple, circling around it with more sparks of his spell. 

Rylan groans, thumbs pressing against Anders’ hips. “The way you feel–”

“ Rylan –” Anders whines, moaning the name as he comes untouched, spilling all over Rylan's abdomen. Through the aftershock, he shivers, thighs shaking. His cock twitches, an additional drop of cum sliding down its length. 

He breathes hard, watching Rylan under him.

“So good,” he praises, caressing the side of  Anders’ body. “You can take more for me, can't you?” 

“ Yes ,” Anders sighs, ready to beg for it. For anything more that Rylan would like of him. 

Rylan eyelids are low, lips parted. He grabs Anders’ waist tightly, and without warning, holds him in place as he begins fucking up into him, brutally. 

Oversensitive but still hard, Anders melts into it, hands curling against Rylan's chest. The breath is knocked out of him, mouth open in a silent moan. 

Rylan groans, losing himself in the rhythm he sets.

“ More–” Anders cries, trying to find the purchase to work against Rylan's moves, to meet his thrusts with his own strength. 

Rylan gasps, trying to shift the angle, and then they hear the knock. 

Knocks. Plural. 

Someone is at the door. 

They both freeze, and Anders wants to whine, wants to hold on to Rylan and continue ignoring anything outside of the room. But he drags himself away to lay on the bed and give Rylan the space to get up. 

Rylan takes his phone from the side table, unlocking it and scrolling through the notifications. He's breathing heavily, skin flushed, and he smells like sex and Anders.

Anders can tell by the way his shoulders tense that it’s nothing good. “Trouble?” 

“Yeah.” Rylan picks up a pair of Anders’ pants, pulling them on. “Stay here.” 

Anders doesn’t say ‘yes’. Doesn’t nod either. So technically, he’s not disobeying when he follows Rylan a moment later. He feels a brief tug of magic, likely Rylan getting rid of his obvious hard on. 

He stands by the door to his room, hidden from view as he listens. 

“You have the wrong address.” Rylan’s voice is cold and annoyed. 

“Hello sir. May we come inside?” Not delivery boys. Not Hessarian's Witnesses. Guards. Or templars. 

“No. Leave.”

“I’m afraid we must insist.” 

Anders swallows. He only hears one voice speaking, but there has to be at least two of them. 

“You do not have the authority to enter my residence without a warrant. It is by grace alone that I do not strike you for being on my land.” 

“It is the King’s land first and foremost, which makes it subject to Chantry rule.” 

“And it’s unfortunate for the Chantry and the King, but as Commander of the Grey Warden in Ferelden I am above the rule of either. This land is not the King’s land so long as I am here.” There’s a heavy pause, where hopefully the men realise their mistakes. “So you will come back with a warrant or not at all, but you will leave.” 

They really should. They do not. Anders feels the pull of Rylan’s magic and panics.

He hears a zap and a crack, and then a gunshot. He’s at Rylan’s side in an instant, but everything is already done. Two templars. Dead at his feet. One of them with a broken neck, the other with a hole between the eyes, bleeding over the threshold. 

Rylan looks like a storm, a splash of blood on his face and torso, smoking gun in his hand. 

“Are you alrigh–” 

“I’m fine,” Rylan says, tone hard. “Clive, go dig.” The mabari, sitting obediently behind him, rushes out into the fields. Practised routine. 

Rylan disarms the gun, leaving it on the entry shelf. Keys, wallet, dead templar gun. Anders blinks. He’s still naked. 

“Do we need to leave?” He asks, hoping to at least get an honest answer on that. 

“No.” Rylan turns to him, brushing the hair away from his face. “I’ll get rid of the bodies. Plant evidence on the other side of town. Make them disappear.” 

“They were after me though, weren’t they?” 

Rylan gives him a pointed look. Who else. 

Anders hates that. Hate that Rylan has to sacrifice this much just to keep him safe. 

“You shouldn’t have to do this for me.” He doesn’t mean to say it, but the words slip out, a quiet admission. 

"Not the first time, not the last." Rylan glances at the bodies, and with a wave of his hand they rise up, slowly walking in Clive Barker’s direction. When they’re out of sight, Rylan turns to Anders, hand framing his jaw. 

"I won't let anyone get to you."

Chapter Text

Not too much changes between them, following the new habit of casual sex. Anders is usually the one to initiate, getting to Rylan’s space, kissing him, pressing against him, until they end up tumbling into the sheets. Rylan on his end, seems addicted to touching Anders. It’s like a barrier has been lifted, and now he feels free to rest his hand on Anders’ thigh as they watch TV, to lay his head over Anders’ shoulder, to lace their fingers together with no excuse. 

It only makes it harder when Rylan has to work from the city, or go to Soldier's Keep. When his absence is felt so much more, and Anders misses him.  

This is despite the fact that Anders becomes busy himself. Writing and managing multiple blogs incognito, supporting different initiatives all over Thedas for the liberation of mages. He finds opportunities in Ferelden for Amell to join, to make appearances where it won’t get him into trouble. 

There is still a relief when Rylan comes back home, when Anders doesn’t need to hide the need to be close to him. 

Rylan leans back on the counter as Anders sets the table. 

“How much longer until food is ready?” Anders asks innocently when he’s done. 

“About twenty minutes more. Do you want to–” Rylan stops mid sentence as Anders crowds him, hands on the counter behind him, trapping him. Although, Rylan does not look particularly displeased. He exhales a little louder, and Anders smiles, capturing his lips in a kiss. 

It could have been a sweet gesture. Could have been soft and affectionate. It’s not. 

They both open up to the other, licking and moaning, aligning their bodies together. There’s heat and passion, Rylan’s hand on Anders’ waist, the other angling his neck. 

“Missed me?” Rylan smirks against his mouth, pulling Anders closer still. 

Yes, Anders admits to himself. 

“Just hungry,” Anders whispers, sucking Rylan’s lower lip, before falling down to his knees in one smooth motion. 

Rylan gasps along with the thump of Anders hitting the floor, and all at once the air goes thick with lust. 

Anders’ lips are still wet when he unzips Rylan’s pants, lowering them and pressing his mouth against Rylan’s underwear, against the clothed head of his cock. The heavy smell of his desire makes Anders dizzy with want, and though he meant to tease, he can’t keep it up for long. 

Eagerly, Anders removes his underwear as well, and begins licking Rylan’s length with long slow strokes of a flat tongue. Without exaggeration, Anders could probably do this forever. Just listening to Rylan’s small hitched breaths, feeling the way his body shakes under the effort of staying still. His cut off moan when Anders finally takes him in, swallowing around him, makes Anders’ spine numb. 

It feels like magic. Like something uniquely Rylan that is in the air, on his skin. A spark in every inhale, integrating into his blood, into his bones. 

“Anders–” 

At the sound of his name, a broken plea that makes him lightheaded, he looks up. Rylan is looking back at him, eyelashes long covering dark eyes, fingers gripping the counter behind him with desperation. Anders is watching him fall apart. No, he is the cause of it, unravelling every single one of Rylan’s defences, until he’s laid bare and waiting for whatever Anders wants to do with him. 

All this, and Anders still wants more. Twenty minutes, he remembers, and begins sucking Rylan in earnest. The pace he sets is uneven, sliding from teasing slow to fast but not frantic. He indulges in every single bob of his head, in Rylan’s taste and feel, the heat and passion of him.

“ Fuck ,” Rylan sighs, desperate, sounding wrecked and so far gone already.

Anders pulls away, looking up at Rylan with expecting eyes. “Okay.” There’s a sweet satisfaction in watching Rylan’s confused, glossy eyes attempt to focus, eyebrows scrunched. Anders smiles. “Fuck me,” he adds, slacking his jaw and taking Rylan’s length back into his mouth, but not moving further. 

Rylan doesn’t need further instructions. His fingers immediately tangle in Anders’ hair, holding his head in place, as he begins rolling his hips in a slow pace, seeing how far he can go. Far, he finds, reaching the back of Anders’ throat with no complaint. 

“ Maker , Anders–” 

There’s a hint of a question there, in the reverence, and Anders hums in answer, sliding his hands down from Rylan’s thighs to his own pants. He moans, wrapping a loose fist around himself, trying to match the rhythm of Rylan’s hips. 

Anders takes every single thrust, every stab of sharp pain from Rylan’s fingers dragging on his scalp. It’s intoxicating, the euphoria he gets from floating in this haze, of letting Rylan take his pleasure.

“ Your mouth– ” Rylan whispers when he’s close, when his hips stutter and lose their form. 

Anders is ready for it, despite the wetness in the corner of his eyes. He moans when Rylan stills, pushing himself as deep as he can, spilling into Anders’ throat. 

A full body shudder goes through him when Anders swallows around him, indulging in the salt and bitter taste.  

In the haze of orgasm, Rylan pulls out slowly but not all the way. His thumb caresses Anders’ jaw, while he strokes his cock, emptying the last few drops into Anders’ tongue. Their eyes meet, turning the moment hotter where Anders licks into Rylan’s slit, greedy for everything he can take. 

“Fuck,” Rylan mutters, pushing Anders back, joining him on the floor and crashing into him with a kiss. 

Anders whines at the attention, the way Rylan doesn’t mind tasting himself on Anders’ tongue. His hand finds Anders’, and he swats them away, wrapping a warm, magic slicked fist around Anders’ cock. 

“Nngh, Rylan–” he whines with a rough voice, feeling raw. “ More –” he begs, barely an inch away from Rylan’s lips. 

“Yes,” Rylan promises him, encouraging him. Another spark of magic then, and Anders can’t hold back. He comes, groaning, body tight and sensitive.  

The world doesn’t exist for a few more seconds, as they kiss in the afterglow. The kitchen smells like sex, like Rylan and magic, and faint spices.

“Dinner’s ready,” Rylan says softly, before taking his fingers into his mouth, licking off Anders’ come off them like nothing could taste better.  

—-

“They’re adding the mage-templar conflict to the conference in Orlais next month,” Rylan tells him over dinner. 

“Mage-templar conflict?” Anders mocks. “Not mage oppression?” 

Rylan rests his head on the back of his hand, elbow on the table. “It’s more attention than they’ve given it in decades. I can’t care what it’s called.” 

Anders sighs. He’s right. Justice stirs within him, curling his stomach. “So far it looks like the Chantry is just funnelling more money into templar security. Riot gear, support from local guards. Nothing about listening to what mages are going through.” 

“No, why would they? They want to maintain the status-quo, mage blood means nothing to them.” Rylan shakes his head, leaning back in his chair. “Alright, let’s change the topic to something pleasant.” 

Anders watches Rylan’s face - tired from the day, but still beautiful. “Your dick?” 

Rylan rolls his eyes even as he smiles, kicking Anders under the table with the tip of his foot. “I have something ready to present in Orlais.” He gets up, rummaging through his work bag and returning with a stack of papers. “I figured you’ll be interested in it.” 

Anders reads the title when Rylan places it in front of him. Research paper - Effects Of Mages Autonomy Within The Grey Warden. His ears perk up like Clive Barker when he hears there’s steak for dinner. He glances at Rylan as if to make sure this isn’t an elaborate prank, and then skims through the work. 

“Who’s idea was this, and can I suck their dick next?” 

Rylan chokes, averting his eyes and coughing. His face immediately goes a shade redder. “Bethany Hawke.”

Chapter Text

It takes a week to coordinate a meeting with Bethany, and another week for the date to arrive. For safety reasons, she isn’t told a word about Anders. Her surprise when she walks into the cottage and sees him is genuine, and the hug feels just as real. 

“Anders– What– How are you here?” She asks, confused, not letting go of his arms even when they pull apart. 

“Through the Maker, all things are possible,” he recites in a mock tone.

Rylan chuckles beside him, leaning against the kitchen chair. “Maker? Is that what we’re calling me now?” 

Bethany looks between them, connecting the dots. “Hawke knows.” 

Anders has a brief moment of worry, before realising she means him being with Rylan, not him being with Rylan . 

“That he’s safe, and staying low, yes,” Rylan clarifies. 

“I can’t believe she didn’t tell me. Neither of you did!” Bethany drags Anders to the couch, pulling them both to sit down side by side. “I was worried sick, you know.” 

The words mean more to Anders than she knows. He hasn’t been in contact with anyone from Kirkwall since he fled. He couldn’t, but he was also terribly afraid to find out everyone has moved on fine without him, that no one has mourned the loss of him in their life.  

He can’t confide her with any of that though, however, so he hugs at her instead. “I’m sorry,” he says as earnestly as he can. Bethany has been his friend– no, family, for so long now. Even after she left Kirkwall, joining the Wardens to save her life, they stayed in touch. 

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

 “Let’s not take it that far.” 

She punches his arm playfully. “Is my cousin mistreating you? You can come over to my place, you know.” 

“I don’t think I can stay low in barracks full of Grey Warden,” he says with a slight frown. The thought is terrifying. 

She rolls her eyes, lifting a leg into the couch, feeling comfortable. “I have my own place. Outside of Vigil’s Keep.” 

“It’s beautiful,” Rylan adds, joining them, sitting on the armchair, setting refreshments on the table.  

“You’d know that if you’d stay in touch,” she criticises Anders, and he almost laughs out loud.  

“Rylan made me throw my phone,” he says dryly, and Rylan on his behalf crosses his arms, looking unapologetic. 

“No social media is a small price to pay for your safety,” Rylan says in his defence. 

Bethany smiles, amused and understanding. “Well, all the more reason for you to move in with me.”  

Anders is about to complain, because on top of the long list of logistic issues that would cause, he likes living with Rylan. Even if he sets aside the mind blowing sex they’re having, there’s a specific sense of comfort he’s never experienced before. 

“Think about it,” she adds hurriedly. “Hawke comes over to visit me for the holidays. It wouldn’t be suspicious.” 

Hawke. 

His heart clenches at the mention of her, and he feels the air shift in the room. He can’t help from visibly wincing as he remembers their last interaction. “I doubt she would appreciate the surprise as much as you did.” 

“Don’t be silly. She misses you.” Bethany takes his hand, reassuring.

Anders hears the sharp inhale behind him, from Rylan. He doesn’t dare turn his head to look at him. 

How would Bethany know that? Is she assuming? Or did they talk about him? As sisters, they are close, and Anders doesn’t doubt Bethany pried Hawke for every detail about the night he left, the night he changed the world. Would Hawke have had anything kind to say? She pushed him away, after all. Rylan never mentioned how much he shared with Hawke, but at the very least she knows he took Anders with him. 

“We didn’t really end on the best of terms, to put it mildly,” he says eventually.  

“She told me,” Bethany shares, somehow answering none of the questions Anders doesn’t dare to ask. “She won’t turn you away again, I’m sure. You two are perfect for eachother.”  

Anders only barely suppresses another wince, looking away. They were good together, but they were never perfect. Of that much he has no doubt. 

“She’s not even looking for her soulmate, you know,” Bethany urges, not taking the hint that this is not a conversation Anders is interested in having. “All that matters is that the love is there, no?”

“I…” Anders’ words catch in his throat, making it hard to breathe. If there is one thing he knows for certain is that he no longer loves Hawke. But the thought of saying it out loud, making it true, is difficult. For some reason the fact that Rylan is right beside him makes it even harder.  

“Oh! I told her I’m visiting. I’ll invite her over next time, and you could talk ,” she says mischievously, and for a moment Anders remembers how she helped him court her sister in the beginning, years ago. He is a different man now, but Bethany is still motivated by the same will to help him be happy. 

It’s simply that Hawke wouldn’t be the one to make him happy, not anymore. 

“Rylan could fix that, right?” she turns to him. 

“Of course,” he says, and his voice sounds sharp and formal, like he’s holding back. Anders can’t help himself that time, turning to look at him. Their eyes don’t meet, because Rylan seems determined to keep his eyes on Bethany. It’s giving Anders an odd sense of alarm. 

“Bethany,” Anders turns back to her. “I know you mean well, but I’m not sure it’s wise to involve Hawke in this.” 

“Do you not miss her?” 

“Of course I do,” he says without thinking, without any heed. 

There’s a drag of wood on the floor, and a glance back shows Anders that Rylan has gotten up. As he moves into the kitchen, Anders looks back at Bethany. 

“You shouldn’t give up on love, Anders,” she presses.

Anders scratches at his wrist, the scar of his soulmate name. 

I’ve given up a long time ago, he thinks. 

Chapter Text

Bethany leaves the same evening. On the couch, Anders goes through her research paper again and again, reading over the notes they made together with Rylan. 

He scribbles a note beside one highlighted line, reading it out with reverie. “When similar statistics are compared across the different Circles, the conclusion is the same - There are fewer demon possessions within mages who have been granted liberal use of magic in the confines of their daily work.” 

“Yeah, it's good,” Rylan says with a little less enthusiasm, voice just loud enough for Anders to hear over the sound of him washing dishes. 

“Brilliance runs in your family huh?” 

As soon as the words are out of his mouth Anders knows it's the wrong thing to say. The temperature in the house suddenly drops a few degrees, a chill Anders can feel down to his bones. 

The sink closes shut.

“It does,” Rylan says dryly, with disdain. 

Anders watches him, back turned. If he strains he can almost see a cartoonish dark cloud over his head. Somehow, Anders figures out it's a thought best kept to himself. 

He sorts the papers in the right order, collecting them all into an almost neat pile, and sets it aside on the table. Left to his own devices he could continue to pore over it for nights on end, Justice urging him on. But it's easier to calm that part of him now. To allow Rylan to take their notes to present in Orlais, to trust him with taking the lead. 

It's not easy to go to the kitchen, to stand by Rylan and wordlessly ask what's wrong. 

Anders has been through enough relationships of all sorts to know that the honeymoon phase can't carry on forever. Casual or not, things get messy eventually.

The silence is heavy, and Anders rubs at his wrist in a nervous tick.

“Do you miss her?” Rylan asks eventually, not making eye contact. The same question as Bethany but in an entirely different tone. 

“Sometimes,” Anders admits tentatively. Hawke meant so much to him. There were days where everything else became so difficult, and she alone was easy. Easy to love, to be with, to follow. 

“Am I just a rebound to you?” 

It's a legitimate concern. Anders isn't sure when he became so certain that it's not the case. “I thought you were. In the beginning.” 

Maybe it's not as obvious to Rylan, that he has to ask. Anders swallows, preparing himself for the answer he doesn't want to hear. If Rylan thought he was just a rebound, and still went on with it, then his expectations for Anders must have been low. “What about you?” 

“You're–” Rylan looks at him then, and stops himself. Sharp inhale, fist clenched and pressed against his lips to physically hold back the words. 

Anders plays nonchalant even as his heart breaks. “It’s fine,” he lies. “I won't be offended. I'm a good pastime if you haven't found your soulmate yet. It's what I was to Hawke, to Karl.” He looks away briefly, so his voice won't break. 

“I can't. That's not what you are to me.” Rylan isn't practised enough. His voice has an edge of hopelessness to it. 

It's fine. Anders can take the load for both of them. 

Anders snorts. “It's fine. if you need an out, you've got it. We don't need to make things messy.” He owes Rylan that much- a clean cut. They're going to have to still live together, probably. If Rylan would want to stay in the cottage. 

“Anders–” 

The phone rings. It cuts through their conversation like scissors to a pulled thread. 

Rylan clenches his jaw. His fist now resting on the kitchen table. 

Anders leaves him to take the call, retiring to his bedroom early. Maybe they both need space. 

—

The cottage is small enough that eavesdropping is unavoidable. Anders hears enough to know it’s Grey Warden business, related to Crestwood. Rylan’s side of the conversation is short, commanding, and to Anders’ ears - annoyed. 

Anders hears pacing, which rationally would be Rylan preparing for bed. The call ends, and the dead air is worse than Rylan’s irritated voice. It leaves too much space in Anders’ mind to fill in with paranoia. 

It makes Anders’ anxiety spike despite himself, and he ends up breaking the skin on his wrist. He sighs, healing the shallow cut, but the blood is still there. With a somewhat shaky resolve, he goes to the bathroom to wash it off, and on a whim, walks into Rylan’s room after. 

He doesn’t expect to see Rylan’s duffle bag on the bed, or to see him shoving clothes into it. 

Panic floods him, breath held still, before he remembers. 

The conference in Orlais. Right . Rylan should be leaving in the morning. 

“Sure I can’t come with you? I’d look dashing in a mask.”

Rylan looks at him, and his eyes seem tired even as he plays along. “Your accent needs work.” 

Anders shrugs. “You’re going to do all the talking anyway.”

“An Orlesian keeping their mouth shut?” Rylan’s lip curves up, and Anders counts it as a win. “Nothing more suspicious.”  

“Stay safe,” Anders says, instead of come back to me.  

“I will.” 

—

Anders doesn't sleep. He lays in bed waiting for the fade to take him. Begging for it. His wish is not answered. 

Instead he listens to the owl outside, the crickets by his window. He hears Rylan's alarm in the early morning, his subsequent shower. Anders flinches as he closes the cottage door, starting the car. He'll be gone for a week at least. 

It's fine, it's fine, it's fine. 

Chapter Text

Anders’ foot taps on the floor nervously. The sun hasn’t been out all day, but the sky is getting darker as night falls. Anders doesn’t know when Rylan is due back. For all he knows, there’s been a delay and he would only arrive tomorrow. Maybe he’s gotten more interesting prospects and decided to spend a few days in Highever. Or visit Bethany in Vigil’s Keep. 

Due to Anders’ legal status they have avoided any kind of communication while Rylan’s been away. Of course, the conference in Orlais has been televised, and Anders has been following every press release about it, watching Rylan on the TV screen. 

But it’s not enough. 

Anders rubs his forehead, trying to focus on the words of the blog post he’s been writing the past few days. It’s almost impossible to get more than a sentence at a time, when his eyes keep being drawn to the door. 

Another coffee. Another paragraph rewritten. Anders is lost in thought, thumb pressing against his wrist, when he hears the distant motor of a car. Clive Barker wakes up from his nap at once, trotting to the door expectantly. 

Anders bites the inside of his lip as he listens to Rylan park and approach the door. He wants so badly to share Clive Barker’s entitlement to simply jump and welcome Rylan home with affection. But he can’t know for sure if Rylan would accept it from him.

Hesitation and insecurities root him to the spot, and he stands there, halfway to the entrance when Rylan comes inside. He looks exhausted, almost toppling over when Clive jumps at his legs. 

“Missed you too buddy,” he says to him, dropping his duffle bag and petting the mabari’s head with one hand. 

His other hand, Anders notices, is carrying a little ball of dark fur, holding it close to his chest. 

“Is that–”

“Hey,” he says weakly to Anders, taking a slow step forward. “I found another little guy for you.”

Anders’ breath catches in his throat, and the turmoil of his emotions is making him light headed. “You got me a cat?” Again?  

“Yeah,” Rylan answers, like it’s easy. Just a matter of fact. “It's not to convince you to stay. You can take him with you,” he adds as an afterthought.

Anders inhales sharply, taking the kitten away from him. A gorgeous, tiny black cat, with slow blinking blue eyes. The cat looks almost as tired as Rylan.  

“But I can stay?” he asks, and Rylan nods with a hint of a smile. 

“Of course.” 

Anders holds the cat to his chest, hoping it will also curl up to sleep in his lap. “And you? Will you stay?” 

“Of course,” Rylan says.

Anders feels the breath returning to his lungs, then the sharp stab of claws as the cat begins climbing up to his shoulder. Little adventurer. Anders grabs him, holding him in the air to look at him. 

“Great Magnus The First,” Anders names him quietly, the first name that calls out to him. 

“If he’s your cat, shouldn’t he be Magnus The Second?” 

The world comes to a halt. 

Magnus– The cat – wiggles in his hands, nibbling on his pointer finger. Clive is sniffing the duffle bag, trying to decipher which treats Rylan brought him. 

Rylan himself is just standing there, next to Anders, looking like he hasn’t said anything out of the ordinary. 

Anders’ heart stops beating and no one notices. 

Because Magnus is just a name. A name that fits a courageous and curious cat. The name of a child that loved running in fields and tending to animals, and cooking with his mom. It’s not– It’s not been Anders’ name for so long that he forgot. 

“How–” Anders chokes, barely able to get the word out of his throat. 

Rylan blinks at him slowly.

The shoe drops. 

His eyes widen, lips parting, before resignation sinks in. 

The silence is an answer. There is only one way for Rylan to know a name Anders hasn’t spoken out loud in decades. 

Everything about Rylan suddenly makes sense. Everything about how Anders feels, how he has been feeling for years. Everything except– 

“Why didn’t you say anything—?” Anders asks, and now he’s somehow having this life changing resolution while wrestling an energetic kitten. 

Rylan looks away, almost in regret, jaw working. “Was it selfish of me to want you to love me regardless?” 

“What– You–” Anders tries to stop himself from hyperventilating, now that his lungs seem to work. He wonders if he’s dreaming. If this is an elaborate scheme of a Desire demon. Not that Justice would allow it. Not that Rylan would be wearing clothes and looking so tired if it was. 

He settles for ‘fuck it’ , pulling at Rylan’s shirt and dragging him into a bruising kiss. 

Rylan kisses him back, slowly, as if his brain is still catching up to what is going on. As far as love confessions go, this might not be so articulated, and Rylan is clearly running on no sleep. 

But they’re soulmates, so what matter does it make? 

Careful not to squish Great Magnus the second between them, Anders takes Rylan’s hand, leading his fingers to Anders’ wrist, to the scar where Rylan’s name was once written. 

Rylan picks up on the cue, holding Anders’ wrist tightly as they kiss. 

I love you. He doesn’t say it, but he tastes the I love you too on Rylan’s lips.

Chapter Text

A year later, Anders is still not tired of life in the cottage. He watches the mage-templar war unfold, does the work to support the mages' side discreetly, while watching Rylan take an official stand. Great Magnus The Second grows into a healthy cat, that gives Clive plenty of entertainment and camaraderie. 

Anders keeps busy with tending to the garden he set up, regular runs in the fields, and Rylan.  

By far, his favourite pastime is spending lazy mornings like this in bed with Rylan naked and wanting for him. 

“Fuck,” Anders breathes, exhaling slowly as he sinks down on Rylan’s cock. He can take him easily, but he restrains himself, intentionally pacing his movement to tease them both. It works all too well, Rylan’s fingers trailing on Anders’ thighs, encouraging and pleading. 

“Anders, please,” Rylan almost whines. They’ve been going at it for an hour, and Anders has been pushing him to his limit with no reprieve. It’s been incredibly intoxicating to have so much control over him. 

“Mmm, are you going to beg for me?” Anders purrs, spreading his legs a little wider apart, but not moving much lower. 

A mischievous glint strikes on dark eyes. “Fuck you,” Rylan says with no bite, grabbing Anders’ waist to hold him still as he snaps his hips up.

“ Ahh–” Anders moans loudly, hands braced on Rylan’s chest as he fucks into him. Done playing. 

The room is filled with the sound of skin slapping, their heavy pants and moans. The smell of sex and Rylan surrounds Anders, chasing every coherent thought out of his mind. Heat and passion are all he has space for, the half choked whispers of more– 

As sudden as Rylan began, he stops, alternating to a sluggish thrust that goes on without end. Anders keens, cock twitching as his thoughts clear. 

Under him, Rylan grins full of teeth like a cat who cornered a mouse. Pleased with himself for rendering Anders speechless, no doubt. 

Anders deserves it. Cherishes it even, the playfulness they still share in bed. 

“You cheat,” Anders gasps, trying to take back control of their pace. 

“I got impatient,” he smirks, and Anders can’t find it in him to hold it against him. Rylan laces their fingers together, pulling Anders’ hand until he can kiss his wrist, the scar that’s been obscuring his own name. The sentiment makes Anders’ spine go numb, his body shivering as he still rides Rylan slowly. 

“I love you,” Anders breathes, like it’s easy. Like it didn’t take a lifetime for him to get here, to Rylan’s bed, to be able to confess his feelings with no struggle. 

“I love you too,” Rylan answers every time, definite and deliberate. 

All of a sudden Anders’ body passes the threshold for teasing. Every ounce of him is overcome with need, with the urge to merge with Rylan, to feel nothing else. His legs move of their own accord until he’s riding Rylan again, desperate and eager. Rylan’s hands return to his waist, grip rough and demanding, helping him with every thrust. 

It’s so good and not enough, so Anders curls his body, reaching to kiss Rylan. It’s deep and filthy, lacking any sort of finesse. All Anders knows is an insatiable hunger for more. 

“Rylan,” he whispers against his lips, fingers brushing the back of his ear, where he knows his name is written. His thumb brushes against it, and Rylan gasps, hips stuttering. 

“Yours,” Rylan tells him, biting at his lip possessively. “ Yours ,” he insists, and Anders feels weak. 

He can’t hold back for longer, coming in stripes between them, over Rylan’s abdomen. 

Rylan hurries to join him, fucking him fast and frantic through his aftershocks until he comes as well. 

Anders whines fondly, laying his head over by Rylan, kissing the tip of his ear, adjusting his breathing. “All mine?” he whispers. 

“All yours,” Rylan confirms, fingers brushing over his back. 

—

Rylan is making blueberry pancakes for breakfast that day. 

“Ali texted.” 

“Hmm? No good news?” Anders has been waiting for an update. 

“Not exactly. He found someone who can legally pardon you.” Rylan says, working the pan. He waits for a moment, giving his answer a dramatic effect. “The Inquisitor.”