"He seems much better lately," Nathaniel said quietly to Fenris as the two worked on maintaining their weapons, watching Anders standing at the far side of the room, listening to Sigrun talking, both of them smiling. "Almost his old self again."

Fenris grunted and nodded. The mage had changed a lot since their patrol to Amaranthine; as if, after stirring restlessly for some time, he had finally awoken from a long sleep. He had become much more independent of Fenris, of everyone really; he no longer seemed to have any fear about being on his own, at least within the safety of the Keep. He had even taken over an empty workroom and set up a proper stillroom, where he spent time each day making potions and salves, brewing up medicines, and rolling up bandages against future need, of well-boiled old cloth sprinkled with a little oil of thyme.

He was still much quieter than he'd been in the past. He never talked about what had happened to him in his years between leaving Vigil's Keep and returning, but he would talk, and not just in response to direct questions. He participated in conversations, shyly some times, with more confidence at others. When he'd had enough he'd drift away again, mentally or physically, and at least a few times each day he'd seek out Fenris and just remain near him for a while.

Fenris knew that he had changed too; no longer was it just a mild sense of rightness when Anders rejoined him. There was always a feeling of happiness to see the mage again, of warm feeling at being near him. He found himself reaching out occasionally, when their parting had been particularly long, touching hand to arm or shoulder, unexpectedly charmed by the rare shy smile it sometimes won from the mage.

He was surprised one day when he found out just how much they both had changed. They had returned from a patrol through the Wending Wood, tired and sweating and sore, Fenris itching abominably from where small biting flies had managed to reach bare flesh. Anders had no such problem; the shielding magic he habitually cast around himself kept such minor nuisances from ever reaching him.

"I'm taking a bath," Fenris told the mage, and headed off down the hallway to the bathing chamber. He had it to himself, no one else on their stretch of hallway having been on that same patrol. He'd filled one of the tubs, stripped down, and was rinsing off the worst of the grime by pouring bucketfuls of cold water over himself when the door opened and the mage entered the room.

"For the itching," Anders said, holding up a paper for him to see before sprinkling it into the bath, then started a second tub filling and began removing his own clothing.

Fenris turned away to give the mage some privacy. He'd seen glimpses of Anders' skin often enough – seen him entirely nude more than once – to know just how much scarring the robes hid. He wondered if that was part of why his old hatred of the mage had faded away; the inescapable knowledge that at some point in his life, Anders had suffered treatment almost as bad as any slave he'd ever known. And only qualified by "almost" as he'd been able to survive the abuse; he had not been tortured to death, as Fenris had more than once seen happen to slaves with particularly cruel masters. Only once he heard Anders pouring water over himself in preparation to get into the bath did he turn and hastily climb into his own tub, keeping his eyes averted.

Whatever it was Anders had added to the water had turned it milky white, but it also worked; Fenris sighed in relief and sank deeper into the tub, closing his eyes and just enjoying the lack of itchiness and the relaxing effect of the hot water. He could hear Anders clambering into his own tub, then the splashing sounds of him washing, accompanied by the scent of soap. After a while he opened his eyes, sat up, and began scrubbing himself clean as well.

Anders got out of the bath first, heaving himself up out of the water and splashing water everywhere, then grabbing up a towel and beginning to briskly dry himself off. Fenris finished shortly afterwards, while Anders was busy towelling his hair dry, and rose from his own bath with considerably more decorum, the floor by his tub only receiving drips of water, not being sloshed all over. He was edging past the mage to get a towel for himself when his foot came down on an area of stone that was worn smooth and covered in soapy water; treacherous footing, he realized too late, as his foot skidded out from underneath him. He yelped and flailed his arms, almost catching his balance and then went over backwards. The back of his head slammed into something, and everything went dark.

He woke with a terrible headache to find himself sprawled naked on the floor, held half-in and half-out of an equally naked Anders' lap. "Maker! My head," he groaned, and reached up to feel the back of his head. He didn't feel any injury there, not even so much as a lump, but his fingers came away wet with more than just bathwater, and judging by how pale and shaken Anders look, there had certainly been an injury of some kind. "What happened?" he asked.

"You f-f-fell," Anders stuttered, eyes wide. "You hit your head on the edge of the tub. I... I thought you were dead for a moment," Anders exclaimed, then hugged him tightly, burying his head against Fenris' shoulder and just shuddering with after-reaction. Fenris found himself feeling peculiarly touched by how upset Anders clearly was over the dangerous accident.

It took several minutes to calm him down again, by which time the worst of Fenris' headache was receding. He needed Anders' help to get back to his feet, his own legs feeling decidedly shaky as well, and was glad of the mage's support as he leaned over the tub to wash away the blood matting his hair and streaking his shoulders. He was only just realizing he was going to need help drying off when Anders snatched a couple of towels off the shelf, handed him one, then knelt down and began wiping his legs and feet dry.

Fenris flushed in embarrassment, hastily towelled the worst of the moisture from what he could reach without bending over, and wrapped the towel around his waist, keeping his eyes carefully off of the naked man at his feet. Thankfully Anders noticed his own nudity without Fenris having to point it out, and wrapped a towel around his hips as well before turning away to drain the two tubs they'd used and make some effort to clean up the mess they'd made. That done, Anders helped Fenris back to their room. Fenris sat down heavily on the edge of his bed, suddenly feeling very tired, and Anders handed him his nightshirt.

"I'll get our things," Anders said, and hurried out again, presumably to fetch the dirty clothing they'd left behind in the bathroom. Fenris had managed to struggle into the nightshirt by the time he returned. Anders quickly sorted their clothing, hanging up Fenris' armour on its stand, and putting everything else in their laundry baskets for the keep staff to deal with later. He turned his back and quickly pulled on his own nightshirt as well, then came over and stood by Fenris' bed, looking nervously down at the elf. "How do you feel?" he asked.

"Sore and tired," Fenris told him.

"No ringing in your ears or blurred vision or anything like that?"

"No, just a headache, but it's fading now."

Anders nodded. "Good. Blows to the head can be tricky. You need to stay awake for a while until I'm sure you're going to be okay."

"That's not going to be fun, I'm tired as it is – we did a lot of walking today."

Anders nodded again. "You can lie down, but you need to stay awake. Keep talking to me," he added.

Fenris nodded, and got into bed. Anders sat down on the edge of it, watching him. "Talk about what?" he asked.

Anders shrugged. "Anything. Just stay awake."

Fenris sighed, then did so, talking about what he'd done after leaving Kirkwall – travelling with Isabela, visiting a few places he'd only ever heard of in stories, eventually ending up roaming around in southern Orlais for a while. He carefully avoiding any mention of Kirkwall itself, or of his eventually tripping over Anders in Lydes. After that he talked for a while about his time among the Fog Warriors of Seheron.

Anders just listened quietly while he talked. It was well after dark, both of them yawning frequently, before the mage finally interrupted. "How are you feeling now?"

"Exhausted. Still a little headachey."

"No dizziness or nausea or anything?"

"No."

Anders smiled. "Good. You can sleep now."

"Good," Fenris said, and rolled over in bed. To his surprise Anders moved to lie down beside him, rather then going to his own bed. "What...?"

"I'm still worried," Anders admitted, voice just the tiniest bit shaky. "I'd rather be close, in case you need any further healing."

"All right," Fenris agreed, and yawned. "Get in bed, then – it's going to be a cold night."

There was a brief silence, then Anders moved, joining him under the covers. As tired as he was, Fenris was already falling asleep even as the mage gingerly curled up back-to-back with him.

He woke in the grey pre-dawn. At some point during the night they'd both turned over, Anders onto his back, Fenris onto his other side, so that rather than being back-to-back he was lying pressed up against Anders, one arm draped over him. One of Anders' arms was draped along his back, the other lay along and partially over Fenris' own, hand wrapped loosely around his forearm just below the elbow. Fenris tensed for a moment, and tried to extricate himself. Anders made a sleepy sound, rolling toward him and tugging him closer, arm moving to drape over his waist. The mage nuzzled into his hair, and sighed, somehow managing to make a simple sigh sound pleased. Fenris froze again, unsure of how to deal with this.

Then Anders' moved again, shifting one leg, lifting it to hook over Fenris' lower leg. Fenris flushed as the change in position rolled the mage ever further toward him, and he became aware of a certain hardness against his thigh. To his embarrassment, his own cock twitched in interest as soon as he identified the source of the pressure.

"Anders," he said, thinking it best to wake the mage and get them separated. Anders made another unintelligible sound, then tensed and stretched, catlike, chin tucking down toward his chest, legs going stiff with feet pointed straight. And arched his back, shoulders and head moving back while his hips pressed forward in a way which ground his groin even more firmly against Fenris. Fenris flushed with a mix of arousal and embarrassment. "Anders!" he said again, more sharply.

Anders froze, eyes snapping open, suddenly awake and aware. He stared for a moment at Fenris, then glanced downwards and suddenly blushed, hastily releasing the elf and rolling over. "Sorry," he mumbled, and came to a stop sitting hunched on the edge of the bed, back to Fenris, arms wrapped around himself with back and shoulders hunched.

Fenris bit his lip, curling in on himself as well and wishing his own reaction would subside faster, then after a moment reached out and touched Anders' back. "It's okay," he said quietly.

Anders looked back over his shoulder at him, then sighed, and straightened up a little. "Sorry," he said again.

Fenris found himself smiling. "No you're not," he said.

Anders looked away, then looked back again. And smiled, just the merest quirk of one corner of his mouth. "No, I'm not," he agreed quietly.

There was a very long silence, a stillness, as they both remained as they were, watching each other. Then Fenris slowly uncurled, sitting up, and Anders turned, moving closer to him. It was Anders that leaned in closer, starting the first kiss. It was Fenris who was the first to open his mouth, deepening the kisses. Which reached to touch the other first – neither could have said.

It seemed both inevitable and logical for kisses to become more heated, for hands to roam further afield. At some point Anders helped Fenris to tug off his nightshirt. Fenris wasn't even aware his lines were glowing until he saw the blue-white light of them reflected in Anders' eyes as he lay back down on the bed. Anders reached out, hand hesitating just shy of Fenris' stomach.

"It's all right," Fenris said, giving permission, and Anders' hand closed the last bit of distance, fingertips coming to rest against the lines carved into his flesh. The mage traced them, gently, an absorbed, almost wondering look on his face, watching as the glow of them brightened where his hand touched them, faded as he moved it elsewhere. Fenris shivered, then closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation; the long slow stroking touches, being touched so carefully, so gently, as if he was something precious and breakable.

Anders shifted after a while. Fenris opened his eyes again, watching as the mage peeled off his own nightshirt and then moved to straddle Fenris' legs. He leaned forward and down, hands braced to either side of Fenris' shoulders, and kissed him, his hair falling loosely to veil their face. Fenris lifted his own hands, carefully settling them against either side of Anders' waist, feeling the shift and stretch of the muscles there as Anders moved, kissing Fenris' lips, licking tentatively at the marks on Fenris' chin, the lowering his head even further to suck and bite at Fenris's neck, nip at his earlobe, then nose into his hair, drawing in a deep inhale.

"You smell good," Anders said, voice thick and a little muzzy.

Fenris smiled, eyes closed again and head tilted back, enjoying the attentions. "You smell like ozone," he said.

Anders snorted, then carefully sifted position again, lowering himself further, more of his weight on Fenris, pressing him back into the mattress. It might have felt threatening, as if he was trapped beneath the mage, but it didn't. It felt comforting instead, like the weight of a heavy quilt draped warmly over him, especially with Anders putting so much attention into seeking out what pleased Fenris, not just what pleased himself.

There was more kissing and touching, and then the startling-close shock of magic buzzing in his lines as Anders worked a spell that summoned a handful of slippery grease. Then more touching, ticklish and more than a little intriguing as the mage sat back long enough to spread it over both of them, stomach and upper thighs and erections, before lying down on him again. And then the slide of flesh against flesh, the two of them rocking together, grunting and gasping as they moved in the second-oldest of rhythms, starting slow and then gradually moving with increasing speed and vigour.

Anders cried out first, still thrusting against Fenris as his seed spattered out across the elf's stomach. Fenris moved, as the mage slowed, flipping him over on his back and moving to kneel between his legs, his own hips still pumping energetically as he rutted against Anders a short while longer, before crying out as he came as well.

He collapsed on top of him, afterwards, ignoring the damp mess smeared between them. They wrapped they arms around as much of each other as they could, and just clung together for a while, Fenris' head resting on Anders' chest.

He realized, after a while, that the mage was crying. Silently, tears welling from open eyes as he stared up at the ceiling, blinking occasionally. Concerned, Fenris pushed himself partway upright again. "Are you okay?" he asked worriedly.

Anders shrugged. "Not entirely. Not yet," he said, then drew a deep breath, and released it, and met Fenris' eyes. A tremulous smile curved his lips. "But I will be," he said.