Bloody Apples

Chapter Nine

Hawke stood leaning against the wall of the tavern casually observing his fingers. They stood off in a corner where Hawke could see Fenris and Varania in what would look to others like a deep discussion. Anders caught a glance at the woman who was Fenris's blood. He was surprised, to say the least. Other than the obvious fact that both of them were elves, she didn't look a thing like him. She walked rigidly, with her eyes downcast, as she picked the table in the center of the room. Hawke quietly commented on the fact that she seemed at least remorseful about her actions. Anders growled that it didn't matter. "You seem a bit shaken."

"Do I?" Anders said idly while sipping on a swill that the Hanged Man considered its finest ale, "I suppose there's a lot going on."

"There is that, but it feels like there's something else going on. Did you two talk?" Hawke's eyes were bright with hopeful curiosity. Anders chewed on his bottom lip and pondered how much Hawke might know. He doubted he would have told the other mage about his insecurities and how Fenris had discovered them. But he was their best friend.

Anders decided to play it safe, "He told me about how our relationship began."

Hawke flinched, and Anders cursed at himself inwardly. Of course he knew, "Oh, Maker. He explained that he didn't mean to hurt you, right? Despite how long ago that was, he still beats himself up about it. Even then it really hurt him that he did that to you."

Anders arched an eyebrow and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. He knew Hawke was watching behind him, but he was itching to turn around and look, "Which one of us told you?"

"He did," Hawke shrugged and reached for his staff. He propped the end against the wall and produced a clean rag from the inside of his coat to polish the weapon. He was almost convincing that he was casually cleaning his staff, but Anders knew he was getting ready. He would have done the same, but it would have looked suspicious. "He came to my house that night with a bottle and bloodshot eyes. He said he did something awful and it took nearly an hour to pry out of him just what he did. He felt like a monster. I finally convinced him to make it up to you and prove that he didn't mean to force himself on you. I visited you a couple times to check on you. You didn't seem any worse off than you were before. You looked happier, in fact. As horrible as it was that it happened, I often wonder if it was the best thing to happen to you two in the long run."

Anders fought the urge to snort in disgust and settled for staring at Hawke with shock in his eyes. "I'm rather appalled, Hawke. Did you really just imply something good coming out of a nonconsensual encounter?" His fingers twitched with a desire to ball into a fist. Nothing, not even a misunderstanding, could justify such an action. Hawke may not understand personally what something like that could do to a person, but he couldn't possibly believe his words.

Hawke slipped the cloth back into its placed and held a hand up in defense, "Of course not, Anders. I mean the part where he was making up for it, after. It gave him a reason to get to know you and see you as a man instead of just a mage. And you could see him as a person yourself. Don't get me wrong, it was a messed up situation. But I honestly don't see that as the beginning of your relationship."

Anders's shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch and his back relaxed a little. "What do you consider the beginning of our relationship then?"

Hawke's eyes changed in that moment. They hardened and the grip on his staff tightened. "Trouble."

Anders slipped the staff from his back with practiced ease and spun around. Fenris was standing with strained muscles and his brands were glowing so bright it was almost painful to look at him directly. Varania stood on the opposite side of the table with her hands held up and her eyes wide. Behind her, at the top of the steps, were two slaver guards on either side of an elderly man with cold eyes and a smile that could frighten a grown man. He slowly descended the steps with a shaking head as if he were scolding a troubling child.