I am abusing your journal.
Fandom: dragonage 2 again...
Title: I'm beginning to think I don't know how to title things.
Pairing: m!Hawke/Anders with some mention of Bethany/Nathaniel
Rating: Oh def NC-17.
Word Count: 12.501
Warnings: Little Sisters of the non-Bioshock variety.
Content: One(1) Fanfic
Summary: Her mother probably shouldn't've given her that key.
'Oh, Garrett. Of course it's practical, locking the door to your estate, but must you send all the help away the first time I decide to come back?' I mentally cursed, trudging through Darktown and praying I didn't scuff up my armour too badly. If I did, Commander Howe would never let me hear the end of it, he might even revoke any further attempts at seeing my family.
I didn't stop the little purr at my usual thoughts on Commander Howe. It's an estranged nobility turned Warden thing, I suppose, but there's something about him and the way he's so precise with his fingers and his eyes, the way he's so imposing. And one does get used to the nose, especially when that nimbleness from his hands is sneaking through the fantasies you're trying not to giggle and blush over when he's giving speeches or touching your arms to guide you through steps.
Not that that's the only reason I'd asked for archery lessons. I figured it'd be a good idea to have a back-up skill, the way my father did, and since I no longer had to be protected by my family, I felt it was a good idea to learn. And it's much too late for me to start swinging a sword the way they did.
But, if there's anything I've learned from two older brothers, it's that you never mention the boys you do like around them. Not even the noble ones. Let them think that you want vapid pretty boys and go after them while you head off for the real prizes, until they catch on, of course. And Garrett would wonder why I was flushed. So I did my best to get rid of the flood of vastly inappropriate things to do to one's Commander and instead went back to searching for the only door Garrett had left me a key for. Well, not left, I suppose- I doubt he even remembered we had the secret passage to Darktown, the one under the wine cellars that came out right next to where that other Warden had been hiding, the pretty one that I'd fought with Garrett over because I'd mentioned he was pretty and Garrett thought that meant I wanted to sleep with that man instead of a man who actually looked, well, male, and all I really remember about the Warden was that fight and that he'd been ace at medical spells and he spent the entire time after we'd argued in front of him blushing and grumbling about how he needed to grow a beard while Varric just laughed. It'd certainly kept the Deep Roads that little bit more tolerable, until everything else that happened down there.
Still, it made it easier to find, since the residents of Darktown were happy to help guide a Warden to the Warden's clinic when I lied that I was going to help him with supplies. From there I just had to retrace the way to the hidden path. I'd kept the key, and I'm reasonably sure Garrett didn’t remember the door existed. He never cared much for wine.
It was almost painful to use the key, remembering where I’d gotten it from. Mother had given it to me when I was little, telling me stories while she'd brush my hair before bed about how she’d sneak off on such grand adventures, how she'd sneak Father in. I'd kept it as a reminder of her happy memories, and of her spirit, and of what I'd hoped more than anything else she'd get to have again. At least we gave it to her, at least she did have her childhood home back for a short while.
And thankfully, Garrett didn't remember the lock. I knew he'd forgotten the passageway. I recalled it completely, every weave and turn from when we'd come here for the will, when we'd driven out those damn Tevinter Slavers Gamlen’d given our home to. Garrett had written once that they'd actually started to get along some, in one of the many letters I did my best to avoid replying to, but I'd never forgive the man.
When I opened the door to the house proper, I took a moment to steady myself, unsure what the house I'd dreamed of and heard so many tales about would be like.
It was beautiful, all deep red silks and hardwoods. There were fires going behind family-crested screens in here and the rooms beyond, and books, and well-kept antique furniture.
'This should've been my home,' I mused as I touched the mantle, the shield above it.
It was a trance, one that lasted until I saw the stairs in the next room over and remembered why I'd come.
I hadn't made it to the will-reading, but I knew what was left to me. Mother had always promised me her jewellery as a child, not on her death but when I would marry. She'd written me a few times as well, telling me that she'd managed to collect back many of the family heirlooms, and told me in detail which she'd love to have had me wear, to have had me use to snare some fellow noble lad of my fancy.
There were a few pieces that sounded wonderful, but the only ones I'd cared about were the ones she'd promised me as a girl and that she refused to sell even when we were starving. The Amell-adorned locket with her and Father’s first picture, the rose-shaped pale ruby earrings Father had given her as their wedding present, the antique wedding ring her grandmother had left her as a little girl and that she’d assured me would be my own symbol. All of the rest, the fancy, pretty little baubles Mother had wanted me to wear, I would be fine without, but I wanted to have the stories she'd told behind each one, the meaning, and I wanted to wear them as proudly as Mother dared not to for fear of bandits. I even wanted the box she kept them in, the mostly-empty lacquer jewellery box she'd been given when she turned fourteen by her father, along with the locket, to keep all her pretty things in she'd said. And as a girl, I'd watched her open that box many times, sigh at each memory she sold off for another month’s stay at the inn, another set of fresh clothes for winter, another solid meal. She had so many gifts, so many jewels, and she told me the story of each one as she took me with her to pawn it, of suitors denied and of our family history.
And each time she chose another piece, she told me which ones were to keep no matter how desperate we were. She'd let me try them on, when Father had solid work, let me giggle and laugh and pretend to be the little noble heiress I almost was, a girl's fancy and play. And I cherished those memories as much as her stories, and that they were just for the girls, not Carver or Garrett. She had sold off one last brooch, a pearl and opal studded beauty that had been a gift during her courtship by the Comte du Launcet, and that had brought us passage to Kirkwall. She'd told me proudly that she'd kept all of the pieces meant for me intact as we boarded.
Garrett had no need for such things. And although I'd probably inherited all her finery and gilt, all I wanted were those four little memories.
I went up the stairs, trying to find Mother's room. The first door I opened was full of tarp-covered paintings and boxes, things Garrett or Mother must've reacquired but not gotten back in place yet. The second was full of dwarven things, given me an answer on whether or not Garrett had servants. The third and fourth were guest-rooms, the fifth a woman's but not Mother's.
The sixth was, and I allowed myself to fall into the sway of emotions. Here, her bed, here, her personal desk with half-written letters, here, a patch of lilies from a suitor she never got to pursue. I sat at her vanity, and dug through it to find her perfume, not the fancier ones she wore now but the rose-scented one she'd worn for Father, the scent I remembered from her. As I squeezed it, Garrett's mabari, as much mine as his, padded into the room, putting her paw on my knee as I cherished her.
I was a Grey Warden, however, and although I gave myself leave to pat Puppy on her head, I did not give myself the means to cry. "I get this one, don't you think, Puppy?" I asked, shaking the bottle. Puppy gave a soft bark, which I rewarded with a good scratch behind her ears. "Will you help me find Mother's jewellery box?"
Puppy barked again, letting off me and going across to the nightstand to paw it open. "Good girl," I cooed, wishing I had a treat for her but her tail-wagging suggested she'd had reward enough. It was exactly as I remembered it, but the contents were different. Additions for the most part, but... "Oh, no. Where's my locket?"
A disapproving bark this time, and a whimper. "Garrett had her buried in it, didn't he?" I sighed. "I suppose it doesn't matter. I've got these. Is Garrett here at all?"
Puppy whined. "Oh, did he kick you out of the bedroom? He's never done that before, but it's only been two weeks, he may still want to be alone."
Puppy barked again, and if I wasn't mistaken I'd say the tone was jealous. "Well, I suppose I'll leave Mother to rest," I decided, placing the perfume and the key in the box next to the rest before wrapping the entire thing in one of Mother’s silk scarves folded on the vanity. I had a lining in my pouch, but I wasn’t certain that my chain wouldn’t damage it through the leather. "Come, Puppy, we'll wait in the kitchen. I'll make you a treat while I cook dinner, because there's no way that any of the servants know exactly how Mother made clay-baked fish." It had been Garrett's favourite when we were kids, and if I was going to break into his house and surprise him, I might as well soften the blow. Puppy agreed enthusiastically, following on my heels with giddy jumps and demands for pets.
I started the dish, humming softly to a tune Father had sung often with the boys, some tawdry bar ballad about big-chested girls and drunken lads conquering them. It was one I tried not to giggle at, but it was another memory of my family and I cherished it as much as the ring in my pouch when I started to roll the meal in the mud. It was good, Fereldan mud- Maybe Mother had made it recently, before she died, because Garrett had always preferred when she improvised it to match instead of trying to find good Marcher clay, said it improved the flavour to add a bit of real dirt and roots.
Mother had a knack for using one method of cooking for the entire meal, so I sliced some potatoes and carrots and seasoned them appropriately, and pulled out my secret never-fail forgiveness remedy with Garrett- blueberry marmalade. He adored the stuff, ever since I first made it when I was six to keep his favourite treat fresh longer for him, and ate it on every piece of toast he got for the next week. And a few tarts would go a long way for him, especially if I left him a second, full jar.
The meal all set to bake, I gave Puppy a raw bit of fish I hadn't used and some carrot, tossing it to her and laughing as she caught it all with two quick snaps and an excited tail-wag. She sat in front of me, her head on my lap, as I pulled the box out again.
There were some lovely things in it now, I had to admit. Perhaps too lovely to just sell. Some of the pieces I remembered, too, items Mother must've struggled to find again and paid handsomely for the return, because I doubted she'd merely replace them with duplicates. I found her grandmother's ring and slipped it on my finger after taking off my glove, and held it to the light to admire its beauty. It was supposed to be my wedding ring, after all, and Wardens so rarely married, although I giggled as I considered becoming Lady Mrs. Warden-Commander Howe. This would be a fine ring for the title, although not so fine as any his own family might have.
Oh, dear, I was playing the little girl again, dreaming up fancies from her mother's jewels. And yet the knowledge simply made me laugh again in glee. I hadn't lost this part of her after all.
The rest I set out, piece by piece, making up new stories and recalling the old. And then I found my earrings, the pretty roses my father had spent his last coin to get for Mother before they ran off, one last decadence for her former life.
They were stunning still, and I wanted so badly to wear them despite not having any piercings. Puppy whimpered at me from my lap as I held them, turned them in the light and watched the facets of pinkish sparkles dance across the table. "Ooh, they are lovely, aren't they?" I mused. "Father always had such impeccable taste when it came to gifts." Puppy woofed, a soft sound, and I made a little appreciative noise of my own. "Do you think I should wear them? I’d never take them off if I did, I could be the Rose Warden, the Rose of the Deep Roads." Puppy barked at that, panting and smiling, and I scratched her cheek. "Oh, alright. I guess I could pierce myself. I can numb the pain, and heal any bleeding if I get it wrong, I suppose."
I shoved Puppy off gently and headed to the nearest mirror I knew- The one made from Orleasian trick glass that opened to the cellars and the hidden passages. I stood in front of it, unpinned the first earring, and pressed the pin and the wire to my earlobe as I cast a localised ice spell to numb it. It didn't hurt when I felt the two pieces connect, and I crowed my success to Puppy, who woofed approval and wagged her tail more. I repeated the action for the other lobe, but had accidentally let the ice slick too much and dropped the rose, and watched it bounce under the thin space beneath the door the mirror covered. I made a noise, more of a squeak to trap in my disgust, and Puppy barked loudly in agitation as I pried the door back open.
It had bounced down a few of the steps, but Puppy's bounding in circles had caused the door to close further when she must've bumped it. I was about to open it when she barked excitedly and sat down in front of it, her tail wagging harder than before and fully visible through this side.
"Did you hear something too, Pup?" my brother called from upstairs. Had he been there the entire time? She barked again. "There's no-one here, gel." Another bark. "Alright, he might be here," he chuckled, the deep sound I remembered just as fondly as Mother’s earrings.
I was about to announce myself, despite Puppy's impatience, when I saw what my brother was wearing.
Chantry robes. Or, more specifically, Templar robes the Chantry provided for their out-of-armour lounging. We'd seen them hundreds of times in bars, particularly at Dane's Refuge, which had made my job as a server a constant struggle for stealth.
The Templars. Oh, no, had Garrett joined them? It made me sick to think about how it could be a way to cope with his grief, that to abandon all the pain of losing us he'd turn to the Chantry and with his skills as a swordsman they'd only take him one way. But for years we ran from them, I'd seen him lie to and maim and kill hundreds of them in order to buy us a few more minutes to retreat...
"Well, you don't seem too concerned, Pup, so if it's all the same, I'll be heading back upstairs-"
"And why is that?" a voice that sounded a bit familiar, but I couldn't place fully, said from the other room. Garrett gaped for a second, then suddenly smiled and started shooing Puppy, whispering, "Be a good girl and go, he doesn't care much for dogs," and Puppy left the mirror but also left Garrett standing in front of it, arms crossed and face turned dour. "Did you think that our meeting couldn't be anywhere, Messere Hawke?"
The accent was a strong, lilting Tevinter, and I bit my finger to hide my presence even as I made a noise of disdain when he entered the room. Tevinter was right, from look of him, with his silken Magister robes in deep teal and bright gold, matched by the heavy amount of ornamentation he wore on his bared arms. From the muscle on him, and the swagger, he had to be a slaver as well. That was the first thing I noticed, the second being just how good he looked in said robes, hugging his body tightly and the gold matching well against the strands of honey-blond hair falling to his collar. A Magister and a slaver had no right to be beautiful, and it left a bitter taste in my mouth that I even found him attractive despite knowing what he was.
"Oh, Maker,” Garrett moaned, a tone I'd never heard before and was just as familiar but odd to place as the voice. The Magister scoffed, a slight sway to his hips as he walked up to my brother.
"There will be none of your gods here, Messere Hawke," the Magister snapped, popping each syllable of the name separately as if taunting my brother. He was inches from Garrett's face, as he stood there trembling and panting like any sane man would when confronted by the second most evil thing in the room. Of course, the Templar Garrett had become was even worse than any potential slaver we’d encounter, but at least he had the decency to be unnerved.
He swallowed loud enough I could hear it myself, and stepped back from the Magister, who practically posed as he stood there, canting his hips to the left and placing one hand on the stretch above it just to emphasise. Garrett's eyes were there, instead of on the hand itself, and he'd fought apostates, he knew, watch their hands, always watch their hands- "I didn't forget your rules, Magister," he said, his voice even and strong, confident the way he was when he was trying to be diplomatic. "Out with it. You're here to negotiate the use of my tunnels again? I've offered you my cellars, but I will not give you passage through Hightown."
The noise the Magister made was pure disapproval, but he slid up to Garrett and ran his hand up his back. Garrett shuddered at the touch, and disgusted as I was, I was proud of him. "Such a pity. This was such a good front for us, back before you claimed it again. No matter. I came to discuss your payment for what you do allow us."
"I've received your gold, Magister," Garrett snarled.
"True enough," and the way he purred the words actually went straight down my spine in a manner I couldn't help but find attractive. No, no, he was horrid, he was evil, he was... Pulling out a glowing blue vial from his vest, shaking the bottle softly. Lyrium. Oh, no, Garrett, you couldn't be, not yet- "But we’ve always been good to our allies, and it has been a profitable month, Messere Hawke."
He said it the same way as the first time, and the genderneutrality of the term made my mind traitorously imagine those words snapped piece by piece at me, those lips pursing them wetly against my throat as he kissed down. I moaned, biting my finger harder and squeezing my legs shut, hoping the press of thighs would ease the sudden, solid need I was beginning to feel.
"I've got plenty on my own, thanks," Garrett said dismissively, waving it off.
"Oh? The Chantry in Kirkwall has been tightening its grip on the lyrium trade, if I recall correctly," the Magister replied, unstopping the bottle and taking a deep whiff as he passed it under his nose, closing his eyes and sighing. "And this is fresh, from a raw ore tapped only hours before, highly potent and I've enough here to last you through the next few weeks without any... discomfort."
Garrett shuddered, and I had to push my hand against the wall to steady myself. He was smooth, the way he exuded this raw... sin, for lack of a better word. Greed and lust combined so casually, so easily, he must have had demons in tandem for his every beck and call. But, of course, that was what was getting to me, for Garrett, it was probably the fact that even I'd heard there was less of the Templar drugs to be had, and if Garrett was a new recruit, he'd be starting fresh, needing his new fixes at random times...
"Oh? That long?" Garrett asked, voice wavering slightly, but the Magister wouldn't know him well enough to pick up on it. Or so I thought, until I saw the cat with cream smirk and he closed in, pressing his body against Garrett's. Garrett winced away, but only just, and I noticed with horror that he was picking up the same sexual signs I was, that he was aroused. Perhaps it was the lyrium held up for him, because I couldn’t imagine it was the blond in tight silk with his hip jutting into Garrett’s thigh, no matter how gorgeous a man making him still a man.
Garrett swooned when he breathed in, his own eyes narrowing in pleasure. "That's pretty intense," he conceded.
"A reward for all our faithful partners, Messere Hawke."
"And there are other rewards to our... Partnership?"
The Magister backed off him, turning his eyes to the vial. "It is not enough? What more did you have in mind? Did you want a slave or two of your own? Perhaps one to be a companion in the night?"
"I don't take slaves," Garrett growled.
"Mm, but do you wish to take one?"
"I'd rather get my pound of flesh elsewhere," Garrett replied. "But after I taste it. Make sure it's fresh."
"Mm," the Magister purred, putting his finger over the top of the vial and shaking it again as he gathered at the front of his robes. "Perhaps we can see to both at once?"
Garrett's shoulders were heaving when the Magister lifted the front portion, revealing himself already nude and hard. Did Tevinters not believe in smallclothes at all? By Andraste, did he not need them though, and those skirts were a curse, hiding long, lean legs and a solid, heavy cock. He switched hands, and rubbed a small stripe on the base of his cock with his soaked finger. "On your knees, Messere Hawke, and I will give you your taste of your poisons."
I mentally begged Garrett not to do it even as he moaned so hungrily I half expected him to pounce the man, but instead he went up to him and sniffed the vial deeply before pressing his face into his collars against that honey hair, his hands running down that fine silk that swished even now, even half-bunched, at his shins. It was a small act, but one that radiated hunger for all he was being offered, and Garrett slid his hands to the Magister's back, trapping his body between his grip and his own as he slid down to the floor. The Magister smiled, capping the lyrium and putting it on the table.
They were at an angle that while they weren’t directly parallel to me, I could clearly see Garrett’s panting, the way he smacked his lips and leaned in to lick off the swipe. "Ah, ah," the Magister warned, his freed hand pushing my brother back with only two fingers placed to his forehead. "The long way, Messere Hawke, to let it tantilise you with its scent as you savour it." Garrett's eyes dilated, but he accepted the removed spot with a steady swipe of his tongue across the edge of the Magister's foreskin, peeling it back with a heavy lick and earning one of those purrs that went down my spine. "Oh, very nice, Messere Hawke, but that's no way to get what you really need, now is it?"
Garrett's growl resounded deep, and he wrapped his lips around the head of him, sucking his cheeks in hard. His voice caught and he grabbed the Magister's hips, pushing him forward into him. "So much better, Messere Hawke," the Magister said, voice deepened and heady, even more sexually charged than before.
I tasted blood, and winced twice- First because of the sensation, second because I realised I'd bitten through the skin because I'd been thinking that Garrett couldn’t possibly know how to do this as well as I could.
Judging from the little sighs and gasps the Magister gave, though, Garrett seemed to know exactly what he was doing, his hands kneading at the Magister's hips and ass and thighs and his throat relaxed as he got him fully, inconceivably in. I would've struggled to take the Magister's size, but Garrett relished it, bobbing over him in noisy, wet passes and grunting with the exertion.
Oh, Maker, my brother was a natural at this, the first time he'd done it. Right?
He let his mouth off when he reached the glowing prize, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand and diving back in to gum and lick over that one spot.
"Mm," the Magister moaned again. "The taste is to your liking?"
"It's delicious," Garrett mumbled, his hand on the Magister's cock and milking him steadily, mouth not moving from his current spot.
"Would you care for another taste, Messere Hawke?"
Garrett grunted again, and the Magister eased him off, collecting the bottle again and smoothing a generous helping over the top of his cock until it was a steady, glowing sheen over him that made Garrett's entire being shake. Maker's sweet return, how much lyrium did they find? And why was this making me want to jump in and taste for myself?
Garrett didn't seem to care so much about the lyrium, however, jerking the Magister down with a quick grab above the hips and dragging him to the floor, licking and sucking off patches at a time as he loomed over him. "Looks like we may need to raise our stakes in our negotiations," the Magister purred again, making Garrett tremble as he toyed with the hem of Garrett's skirts, pulling them up over Garrett's back and patting the exposed skin there. "Very nice body you have, Messere Hawke," he murmured, rubbing over the back of his smalls and squeezing on him. "Such a pity, too, needy as you are, that you're wasted here. You'd be quite talented as a bedding slave. I'd be tempted to take you for my own, if it weren't a poor business practice to keep the merchandise. Of course, if you weren't officially mine, just something I could come and have my way with whenever I desired-"
"Yes," Garrett panted. "Yes, any way, whenever you desire it, Magister. I'll be your secret, personal slave."
"Mm, now that is nice to hear. And what brought this on? You always seemed so assured whenever we'd negotiate before."
"I've been dreaming about this cock," Garrett confessed, the words absolutely genuine and foreign enough it made me reel, almost falling back off my current stair if it weren't for my hand steadying my way. 'Garrett--? Dreaming about sex with anyone but busty and perfect Fereldan girls?' "You're beautiful, so much that I can ignore all that's wrong about you, all the things that make you twisted and horrifying and instead just craving the perfection of you. I'd imagine your body under those clinging robes, and I'd palm myself all night, aching for you, imagining you inside every bit of me."
I knew my brother better than any living person without a doubt, and I was certain that each word was absolutely true. Oh, Andraste preserve us, my brother was gay? With Carver dead, with my fertility reduced drastically with the taint, did this mean the end of the Amells, the Hawkes?
I let myself think carefully, treacherously, to Commander Howe again, imagining how I could mimic Garrett's current laps and moans over his cock, feel his hands over my back and my hips, hear him call me his Rose, the Rose Warden identity that made me feel so giddy and secure earlier back again in earnest. Those thoughts, not the image of the blond my brother was currently raising his hips enthusiastically to, were what made me shift my thighs and start to convulse around myself.
"Just how much of me did you want, Messere Hawke?" the Magister asked smoothly, dipping his fingers into his smalls and tapping them against the muscle there. I was sitting there, hands on both walls next to me, grinding my thighs together as strongly as my teeth to prevent myself from crying out.
'Okay, maybe I'll sleep with Commander Howe after I jump that Magister who keeps saying my name so well. It's not evil if it's just sex.'
"All of you," Garrett begged, once again taking the Magister's full length in his mouth, this time to open enjoyment and a delighted cry as he pushed hard into my brother. He lowered Garrett's smallclothes to his knees, rubbing between the cheeks of his ass, and I hate to admit it, but Garrett actually looked good like that, and more so like he was enjoying the attention. It was shameful, the way he writhed and pulsed, but I couldn't bring myself to look away, either, couldn't help but feel an embarrassed kinship.
"All of me?" he repeated, voice catching. "All of me? Are you certain?"
Garrett moaned what could only have been a yes. "Are you certain?" Another, more emphatic moan. "I'm an abomination, you know," he snarled, his skin crackling with blue and yellow light as he said it. "Would you have all the desires that comes with?"
A third, even more intense yes at that, which made the light recede. "And the perverse!" the Magister howled, his hips bucking into Garrett's mouth, his fingers plunging into my brother's body, his other hand wrapped around Garrett's cock as he leaned over him, started to nip and bite and suck on his lower back. "I have such demands for my lovers, I'd have more from my slaves, would you take all of that, Messere Hawke!" The way he popped the syllables resounded with his shouts, his desperation, and I was a bit proud of my brother for breaking the man's composure because I sure wouldn’t, I'd crumble the first time he talked to me and never get to this point. I needed a solid touch to match my spiraling emotions, and I moved aside my tunic to unlace myself, to reach in and there, already I was moist and willing. While the finger I brushed against myself wasn't nearly long enough, thick enough, calloused enough, it was enough to make me hitch my breath and brace against the wall tighter. I had my fingerpads make small passes over individual spots, rubbing furiously, intensely as I circled around all my favourite places against me and eased one inside, trying to match pace to the Magister's hands in my brother's ass and feeling so guilty for it, more for taking it from him than watching at all.
This time, Garrett whimpered, shaking like a leaf in the wind and holding his hips high. To my shock, the response was to plunge his entire hand inside him, forcing his way deep into Garrett furiously and full. Even more shocking was that Garrett keened at that.
And that I couldn't help but imagine the same thing with Commander Howe's nimble, calloused fingers reaching inside me, tickling the deepest parts of my body and touching in ways only he ever would. It made me cry out, although I bit my lip back to staunch it mid-cry, but I leaned against the wall and filled myself with a second finger.
"What was that?" Garrett asked, lifting his face from his work.
"Orana," the Magister hissed. "She watches sometimes, and she's smart enough to know why you gave her the night off. She's usually quieter."
"She's watching? Oh, Maker, that's almost as hot as you in these robes, these stunning, beautiful-" Garrett's hands started to go up the Magister's sides.
"Shut up, shut up, I'm close, love, you don't want to drop character now!" he snarled, impatient.
Garrett cocked an eyebrow at that knowingly, smirking as I sat there, confused and poised to push more of my hand inside of myself and hopefully not have it hurt while I continued to pretend it was the Magister’s bigger, sturdier hands. But Garrett slid off the Magister's lap, leaving the hand in place as he rose to meet his eyeline. "I said I want all of your depravity, Magister," he ordered. "That includes that wonderful cock I’ve been so content to get wet for you." The Magister's eyes flashed for just a second with a hint of, something, my first thought was humour-laced pride but that just didn't fit, but it was gone, replaced by the same man he'd been the entire time as he rearranged his robes to the side.
"Mm. And here I am, getting you all good and loosened up for it myself."
"Here you are," Garrett agreed. "And me all loose, and slick, and your dick close to spilling out and already so hard I nearly choked." He pushed back on the hand, causing the Magister to close his eyes quickly and gasp, then removed himself and flung the Magister back to the floor. He held his wrists as he lowered himself over him, and the looks on their faces as he took him all in first pass made me slip another finger in immediately, not particularly caring that this gorgeous man was doing this to my brother, the only family I had left and someone who'd tossed my life and our father's life and the childhood we'd shared aside for slavers and templars and a quick lyrium fix, instead of to me.
I didn't even care that he'd probably addicted my brother to all of these things, and maybe even to the cock he was thrusting inside him as Garrett straddled him. What I did care about was the primal yell that the Magister gave, the way he broke free to snatch Garrett's wrists for himself, the way he flipped them over and folded my brother up and crashed inside him like an animal gone to stud. Garrett was screaming, pure sounds of lust and need without any other coherency to them, matching every push between whimpers and pleas for more, more, more, desperate even though he was getting it quite solidly. It was steady and rough and I couldn’t help but match them, watching their faces and their hips.
"You're mine," the Magister snarled, the blue and yellow dancing over his skin again. "Mine, mine, mine, to do whatever I want, whenever I want, you belong to me, Garrett Hawke!"
"Yes!" Garrett screamed. "All yours, all yours!"
The Magister cried out again, flinging himself back, and I saw the strands of semen dripping off his clothes as he shifted Garrett's unsteady knees over his shoulders and continued his manic pace for a minute before he buckled under himself and collapsed on top of Garrett's chest, the two of them collected together and struggling for air, for their limbs to stop twitching.
"Oh, Maker," Garrett gasped, voice completely uneven, wiping the back of his hand over his bangs and shucking off the sweat. "That had to be the hottest thing you've ever done, love."
"I think we ruined my new robes," the Magister answered, his words muffled by the way he'd nuzzled his face into Garrett's neck. But there was laughter in the words, and more than that, the sexy, deep Tevinter accent was gone, replaced by the Fereldan I'd heard my entire life even though the man clearly was as native to the land as Garrett and I had been with our Kirkwaller parentage. In fact, between the pale skin and the blond hair, he looked almost...
The voice connected then.
That was the man who sentenced me to being a Warden. Anders.
I didn't remember him being so good-looking though. Mostly he was, well, attractive, but in a pretty way, not to my normal liking at all, I wanted my men to have a dangerous edge to them. Of course, Tevinter Magister certainly did add that in spades. But I also tended to head right for the noble blood, even without knowing straightaway.
"How much did these run me?" Garrett asked, his hands running over the smooth, silk that covered Anders' back.
"Seven sovereigns," was the muffled, somewhat sheepish reply. Seven- That was enough to have last the five of us a month back in Lothering!
"Worth every bloody bit," he decided.
"It's the real thing. I figured, nothing else, I can use them to patch up my coat, since I sacrificed my old set to make it."
"You are never, ever cutting up anything that looks so good on you. I'd sooner just buy you a new coat entirely," Garrett warned. "You hungry?"
Anders smacked the back of his hand against Garrett's chest. "You ask that every sodding time!" he laughed. Garrett shrugged, making Anders roll his eyes as he stood up.
Every time? How long had my brother been...
Since before the Deep Roads, I realised. That was why he didn't want me to flirt with Anders, not some protective big brother thing, he hadn't wanted me to potentially take away his own crush. And did I ever see him with a woman? Flirting, sure, but in hindsight he'd flirted even more often with men, Carver and I'd just thought he was being funny.
Or did Carver? Carver was always making snaps about his sexuality, wasn't he, I'd just assumed that was how brothers talked. Although he was pretty specific, with his declarations of "cocksucker" and "dicklover," I just thought he was trying to emasculate Garrett and make himself look the better. After all, Garrett was the one who'd started swinging around swords first.
"Yes. I am, rather, I skipped dinner to get this all set up for your little game," Anders admitted as he reached down to help Garrett up. The robes shifted down over his legs, despite the sticky bits of my brother's fluids over them, which Garrett poked at uncomfortably. "I can't believe you of all people wanted to play Templar and Naughty Apostate, you hate Templars more than I do. Well, near enough."
"Speaking of setting up, how'd you get that oil to glow?"
"You mean besides magic?" Anders chuckled, which made Garrett scoff. "It tasted alright, right? I was going to have you lick it off me, you know, pour it all over my body and force you not to come until you'd gotten every last drop."
Garrett shuddered at that image, but I was just upset it’d meant that Anders hadn’t had the chance to fully disrobe. “Oh, yes, blueberries are my favourite, love. I have to admit, I was concerned- it really looked like lyrium. And these come out, right?”
"Easily enough, yes, they're Tevinter robes, and all mages know how to clean up a good mess," Anders said, swatting Garrett's hand away. "Stop that before I just end up bending you over your desk and continuing this game. Which we didn't even play right, you didn't keep character, you should've been more templar and less horny lyrium addict. There wasn't any of whatever it is people consider fun, none of the danger edge, you said you wanted that."
Garrett shrugged again, stripping off his shirt and wiping himself off before tugging his smalls back up. "I had fun. We'll play it again, although, if you don't fist me again-"
"I do that once a week at least, you’re insatiable!"
"Not while I'm sucking you off you don't," Garrett pointed out.
"You're impossible! Yes, we'll do it again, love, promise. Now, sandwiches?"
"It sort of is tradition, isn't it? Orana, you can come out now, we're through for the moment and we're good for a snack," Garrett called, looking directly at the mirror.
Oh, Maker's hairy and potentially omnipresent bollocks.
"Orana?" Garrett asked again, a bit of concern in his voice, while Anders simply shook his head and walked towards it.
"You can finish up later, girl, you need to stop being so excited over us," he started, stopping after he'd pried it open some more and saw me there, one hand still half inside me and the other pressing against the wall, and potentially bleeding from one ear. "Um. Hello," he tried weakly while I went red, removing my hand and burning off the shame with a controlled burst of flame over my fingers.
"'Hello'? It's not Orana? Who's the little pervert breaking into our house then, I'll kill them-" Garrett gnashed, reaching for his sword and coming up behind his... Lover?
"You might not want to be so hasty, love. This particular pervert comes in Grey Warden blues and Amell blacks."
"What?" Garrett looked down over Anders' shoulder, and I waggled my freshly-charred fingers at him. He went pale as he mumbled, "Oh, hallo, Bethany..."
"I'd quite fancy a sandwich myself, but I've got fish on in the oven so let's not spoil dinner too much," I somehow managed, my mouth saying the words because my brain was incomprehensible.
"I've got mustard," Garrett replied, just as coherently as my own thoughts. "Four types. You've always liked mustards."
Anders took a deep breath, still standing between us, and let it out slowly. "I'll go make a plate up, love. You two... Well, you might have a lot to talk about. Start with I'm not going back to the Wardens."
"Duck?" Garrett asked, eyes still on me.
"I'm sod all at sandwiches, love, I'm just bringing back a platter of cold cuts and cheeses and those mustards."
"He calls you love," I stated, the first clear thought between brain and mouth.
"Yes he does," Garrett breathed the words out, almost a gasp or a prayer, smiling a little. "Aren't I lucky?"
"You call him love back."
"And I mean it every time, too." He ran his hand through his hair to get at the sweat again, looking decently embarrassed and fully unkempt, which was the right way to look when wearing only smalls and drenched in sex. "Are you hurting, sitting like that? I've plenty of chairs, if you don't mind, um, walking through..."
"Whatever bodily fluids you and your male renegade Warden lover left on the floor there?"
"Right." Garrett and I probably matched shades of red. Well, he always wore red well. "We should talk about that."
"Which part?"
"All of it?" he tried.
"Good boy. But first help me up and help me out, I've lost my earring."
He gaped for a second, then must've looked at my ears. "Mother's earrings," he recalled, giving me his hand. I took it with the one I didn't burn.
"The ones she promised me when I was a little girl."
"Oh, damn it all, I knew I was forgetting something. I was going to send it all to you, you know, but I was going to have most of it just sent your way, the special pieces I was wrapping for Bodahn to take special care getting to you. But Mother's been rearranging that box of hers, so I've no idea what the right ones were-"
I pulled it out of my pouch, acknowledging the theft. "Yes, that'd be the box. Did you want that too, then? You're, you're welcome to all you want, and not just of hers, this is your home too-"
"Can I have a go with your apostate?" I teased, but Garrett set his lips in a stern line. "That actually is a threat, isn't it?"
"He does like women, too," he mumbled.
"And you don't."
"And I don't." We stood up, unable to look at each other until we heard a clatter behind us.
"I cut you some duck," Anders announced around a mouthful of sandwich, pointing at the overstuffed plate he'd plopped on the floor, thankfully nowhere near their filth. I laughed at the familiar by now Grey Warden table manners.
"Mutton?" I asked.
"And beef," he promised, still chewing. "And pork that isn't bacon or cured ham."
"He eats so much mutton," Garrett sighed, placing some of the duck on his mustarded bread.
"It's a Warden thing," I shuddered. "Ground mutton, unspiced, or beef if we can get it, or especially pork." I put several slices of the latter two on top of a heaping scoop of the first, and a heavy dose of mustard, and a sliver of cold cabbage and raw onion for the pretense of it.
"He can't even taste it, though."
"No, we can't."
"Which is why I never use any of the mustard," Anders admitted, making himself a second sandwich. He didn't use raw cabbage or onion, instead choosing a pickled version of each, and radishes, and cucumbers, and a slight bit of salt. But that was washed out by the mutton and the thick slice of rich cheddar, and I assume he added the vegetables only for nutrition. He did, however, quickly burn the sandwich until it toasted, which I delightfully tried. "For the texture. That bit of crunch," he winked. It wasn't a happy wink, but it was for Garrett's sake.
He'd kept our secrets, at least. That was a relief. "So. When did all this start?"
"All what?" Garrett asked around his perfectly normal cold cut sandwich with its perfectly normal amount of sliced cold-roast duck to mustard to vegetables to cheese to his odd habit of adding pickles and sliced hardboiled egg, and he’d be blissfully able to taste every oddly clashing bit of it.
He'd only eat the one. There was very little duck compared to the other meats and only the one egg had been laid out. I suspected the correct volumes were why Anders had volunteered, and that Garrett would've vastly underestimated.
"All of us, love."
"No, no," I interrupted. "I know when all of that started. Before the Deep Roads, and you two were so clever about hiding it. Must've met for trysts in the back alleys behind the Hanged Man while we were all sloshing pints of ale about, and I'd imagine you moved in right after Mother died to spare her the shame-"
"Before that," Anders whispered, while Garrett said, "After that."
"Which one is it?"
"He moved in before Mother died," Garrett explained. "After our first night together. Three years after the Deep Roads, Bethany, but you're right, they were a miserably long three years to be pretending your hands are a good substitute for a man's cock."
Anders was a lot more obvious when he blushed than the two of us, glancing awkwardly at me for only a second.
"Or his hands, I suppose," I shrugged, making myself a third sandwich after helping myself to the remains of his egg just to be rid of it.
Garrett winced. "You saw that much, did you?"
"Garrett, I was what Puppy was barking at."
Garrett moaned uncomfortably, planting his face into his hands and wringing at his hair. "I really don't have to explain any of it, do I?"
"No, it makes sense in hindsight. The way you'd look at boys, how you'd chase me off certain ones but not all of them, the way Carver was so odd around you."
"He caught me with the butcher's son back in Lothering," Garrett shuddered. "When I was sixteen. And several more times after that with others. Fleeting things, the lot of them, never lasted two nights, but I preferred it that way then."
"That explains nearly everything. All except one last detail."
"What would that be?"
"Peaches," I smirked, finishing off my current and starting on a fourth.
"Peaches?" he repeated. "Weren't you worried about spoiling dinner?"
"She eats like me, love," Anders scolded, on his own fourth.
"Oh. Right. Warden thing. Peaches. Wait, you mean that girl Carver was so sweet on?"
"Yes, and who told the entire village she was engaged to you."
"She was not! She didn't even have any bits I'm interested in!" Garrett exploded, Anders laughing so hard he nearly choked on pickled cabbage. "Is that why Carver hated me so much towards the end there? He thought I was moving on his girl? I sodding thought she actually was his girl!"
"No," I said sadly, suddenly unable to eat even with my appetite. I handed the sandwich to Anders, though, who made a face and tossed it through the open door to the kitchen, where Puppy gave a grateful yip.
Garrett put his hand on my arm. "I miss him too, Bethany."
"He wasn't your twin."
"He was my brother. And she was my mother, and he was my father. But it's good to know you're still alive. You never answer any letters."
"The Warden-Commander monitors what we say out. After the first two got rejected, I just stopped writing. I read them all, though."
"How is the Commander?” Anders asked.
"The one you knew has been missing for some time," I told him. "It's Nathaniel Howe now. Do you know him?" Before I'd finished asking he'd actually choked on his food, nodding.
"Do me a favour, Bethany, and tell him I'm dead or something, would you now? Certainly don't tell him I live in your house in the same bed as your brother. In fact just feel free to not mention me at all, really."
"Why, is he the jealous sort?" Garrett joked, both of us sputtering for completely different reasons, Anders protesting that he was never interested in him and me protesting that Anders would never be interesting to him. Garrett watched us stumble over our words before nodding with an oddly patient glee. "So it's not just my apostate you're interested in sleeping with, is it?"
"You're joking!" Anders exclaimed, turning towards me.
"I just find you pretty, that's all. Pretty is obviously my brother's type, but it isn't mine. I was thinking about Commander Howe the entire time you two were at it." Well, most of the time, but I wasn't going to admit the truth.
"Oh, ew," Anders winced. "While watching us?"
"Do I need to hurt this man Howe?"
"No, no, he's a bore!"
"He's a proper aristocrat!" I interrupted, although the protective instinct was sort of cute when it wasn't out of jealousy.
"Translation, boring," Anders replied smoothly. "And I'm done with these, if anyone else wants one? No? Well, we'll leave it for the dog, then." Puppy ran from the kitchen immediately at that, skidding to a stop right beside Anders and slopping away.
Garrett and I laughed at it, his hand still on my arm, squeezing gently. "Mother used to get so mad when she'd do that," Garrett sighed. "Remember when she was an actual pup? How she'd jump on the table and walk from plate to plate?"
"She always took the most from Father," I giggled. "And no matter how much he tried, she'd never eat Carver's greens."
Indignantly, Anders yelped, “You two find this charming?"
"Cat person?"
Garrett rolled his eyes, sighing theatrically. "Obnoxious, I know, but he makes up for it."
"I saw. Let's leave them to bond?"
"Good plan. Pup, lap," he ordered, and Puppy immediately rolled over and put her head on Anders' lap, her tongue lolling as she panted at him, whining for pets. "Dog drool does come out of those, doesn't it? Of course it does, it's always easier to get out than seed is and you do like to brag you actually are Fereldan, no better way to prove it than by getting out the most common stains. Be good, Pup."
"I'm not using my hand on you for an entire week!" Anders shouted over our laughter.
"Oh, he's stuffy! What do you see in him?" I was nearly crying with mirth while he attempted to shove Puppy off, but she thought it was a game and nudged him, wanting to wrestle. And with her weight advantage, she managed to get him on his back and lay on top of him, giving a pleased, dominant bark as he pushed up at her sternum and ranted.
"He's actually quite fun, I swear. And not just for the fantastic sex," Garrett hurried to add. "He's just not a dog person. Or a staying with the Wardens person. Or a templar person. He's not a lot of things. But he is a lot of things, too. And I sort of love him, don't forget, sort of madly, wildly love him."
"But you were dressed-"
"Right, it was, um, sort of a joke he made at Aveline once, but not quite a joke, and I begged him to give me a bit of fun to..." he trailed off, and I knew.
"To get over Mother," I finished.
"I haven't exactly been able to think about our sexlife with that hanging over me. I asked for a suggestion to, well, patch up things. He'd joked that for five gold he could reenact every game of Naughty Apostate he'd ever played along with at the Pearl, and I didn't get it was a joke when I told him I'd give him thirty.I was just hoping that, pretending I was someone different, that my life was something different, it might make me want not be afraid of losing him for long enough to love him. I haven't... Ever since Mother died, I've been afraid, Bethany. I'm glad you're here," he admitted, eyes cast on the floor the entire time.
"And next thing you know, I'm thinking you sold our Mother's childhood home to slavers again weeks after she's buried and have joined the people who hunted us our entire lives in grief."
Garrett blanched. "Did you really? Bethany, no, not ever. I'd never do anything... I couldn't even bear to hurt you. Even slightly, like when I took some of Mother's jewellery out, I just hadn't thought you'd come for it. Look, go find your earring while I fetch all of them. I suppose you want the locket most of all, you'd always loved it."
"Mother's locket?"
He opened up his desk, one of the hidden drawers, and retrieved a nondescript brown package. Garrett took a letter opener of particular sharpness and pressed his thumb against the edge, the twine between them snapping as he pushed up. "Mother's locket, and a few of the prettiest trinkets, things I thought you'd like. I feel right stupid for forgetting the earrings."
"And Grandmother's ring," I added, holding up my hand while I felt around the dark stairwell for the rose. By the time I'd found both pieces to it, he was standing in front of me, the locket dangling over my head by the chain. "Yes, that's the very one, Garrett, thank you-"
"I added a middle," he said as I grabbed it, immediately unlatching it to put around my neck. He took it back, walking behind me and connecting it. "I'd had a portrait made as best I could, of you, and of Carver, as a gift for Mother two years ago. She wanted a place to wear it, and I asked Bodahn if a dwarven smith could copy this without making it bigger. When I was sending it to you, I had a miniature made of me. I suppose that's vain but-"
"Just you? Not you and Anders then?"
He blinked. "What do you mean?"
"I've always loved this locket," I hummed, thumbing over it. "Because it was the first picture of Mother and Father together. Adding Carver, that was sweet, but there's three sides now you say, and if it's them in love, and you're in love, I'd rather have you and him together than just you alone."
Garrett looked at me as if I'd suddenly declared I was in league with demons. Which, judging by the squirming, screaming blond being licked by our childhood pet, would've been less shocking. "I'll, I'll have one commissioned tomorrow, then. If I can have it back, just to make it fit?"
I reluctantly took it off again, only because I'd made the request. "Thank you," he said as he shut his hand over it, and I could hear his throat clenching, the way he was holding back his emotions the way he always did. I leaned up and kissed his cheek, getting a heavy relieved sigh for the concern. "For... Understanding all this."
"Understanding? Thank you, brother mine, for showing me that thing Anders did with his hands. If you do want to help, can you get this through my ear for me? Try to make it even with the other side?"
Garrett pushed my hand closed. "Anders'd be better for it, he's done piercings before. Did one this morning, freaked me out but good until he explained it was for tonight and he'd worn one since his teens until he sold his last one to pay for Kirkwall."
"Once he's done with Puppy," I agreed.
"Once he's done with Puppy."
"I'm done with Puppy! I'm done with Puppy!" he screamed.
I grinned at Garrett. "How about you put some pants on, then show me around the place?" I suggested, holding my arm out.
He looped his through mine, nodding. "And after, I'll give you a proper tour of Hightown. And by then, that fish I've been smelling may even be ready! I should've caught on, Bethany, I'd thought Orana had figured out Mother's recipe and set it to bake before she took the night off."
"It'll be another four hours."
"Oh, we can find something to pass the time. And they do so need to bond."
"Not for a sodding month!" Anders shouted after us as I sidled up to his arm, impossibly happy that my brother of all people had found someone to share this side that he rarely even showed to us.
Epilogue
Title: I'm beginning to think I don't know how to title things.
Pairing: m!Hawke/Anders with some mention of Bethany/Nathaniel
Rating: Oh def NC-17.
Word Count: 12.501
Warnings: Little Sisters of the non-Bioshock variety.
Content: One(1) Fanfic
Summary: Her mother probably shouldn't've given her that key.
'Oh, Garrett. Of course it's practical, locking the door to your estate, but must you send all the help away the first time I decide to come back?' I mentally cursed, trudging through Darktown and praying I didn't scuff up my armour too badly. If I did, Commander Howe would never let me hear the end of it, he might even revoke any further attempts at seeing my family.
I didn't stop the little purr at my usual thoughts on Commander Howe. It's an estranged nobility turned Warden thing, I suppose, but there's something about him and the way he's so precise with his fingers and his eyes, the way he's so imposing. And one does get used to the nose, especially when that nimbleness from his hands is sneaking through the fantasies you're trying not to giggle and blush over when he's giving speeches or touching your arms to guide you through steps.
Not that that's the only reason I'd asked for archery lessons. I figured it'd be a good idea to have a back-up skill, the way my father did, and since I no longer had to be protected by my family, I felt it was a good idea to learn. And it's much too late for me to start swinging a sword the way they did.
But, if there's anything I've learned from two older brothers, it's that you never mention the boys you do like around them. Not even the noble ones. Let them think that you want vapid pretty boys and go after them while you head off for the real prizes, until they catch on, of course. And Garrett would wonder why I was flushed. So I did my best to get rid of the flood of vastly inappropriate things to do to one's Commander and instead went back to searching for the only door Garrett had left me a key for. Well, not left, I suppose- I doubt he even remembered we had the secret passage to Darktown, the one under the wine cellars that came out right next to where that other Warden had been hiding, the pretty one that I'd fought with Garrett over because I'd mentioned he was pretty and Garrett thought that meant I wanted to sleep with that man instead of a man who actually looked, well, male, and all I really remember about the Warden was that fight and that he'd been ace at medical spells and he spent the entire time after we'd argued in front of him blushing and grumbling about how he needed to grow a beard while Varric just laughed. It'd certainly kept the Deep Roads that little bit more tolerable, until everything else that happened down there.
Still, it made it easier to find, since the residents of Darktown were happy to help guide a Warden to the Warden's clinic when I lied that I was going to help him with supplies. From there I just had to retrace the way to the hidden path. I'd kept the key, and I'm reasonably sure Garrett didn’t remember the door existed. He never cared much for wine.
It was almost painful to use the key, remembering where I’d gotten it from. Mother had given it to me when I was little, telling me stories while she'd brush my hair before bed about how she’d sneak off on such grand adventures, how she'd sneak Father in. I'd kept it as a reminder of her happy memories, and of her spirit, and of what I'd hoped more than anything else she'd get to have again. At least we gave it to her, at least she did have her childhood home back for a short while.
And thankfully, Garrett didn't remember the lock. I knew he'd forgotten the passageway. I recalled it completely, every weave and turn from when we'd come here for the will, when we'd driven out those damn Tevinter Slavers Gamlen’d given our home to. Garrett had written once that they'd actually started to get along some, in one of the many letters I did my best to avoid replying to, but I'd never forgive the man.
When I opened the door to the house proper, I took a moment to steady myself, unsure what the house I'd dreamed of and heard so many tales about would be like.
It was beautiful, all deep red silks and hardwoods. There were fires going behind family-crested screens in here and the rooms beyond, and books, and well-kept antique furniture.
'This should've been my home,' I mused as I touched the mantle, the shield above it.
It was a trance, one that lasted until I saw the stairs in the next room over and remembered why I'd come.
I hadn't made it to the will-reading, but I knew what was left to me. Mother had always promised me her jewellery as a child, not on her death but when I would marry. She'd written me a few times as well, telling me that she'd managed to collect back many of the family heirlooms, and told me in detail which she'd love to have had me wear, to have had me use to snare some fellow noble lad of my fancy.
There were a few pieces that sounded wonderful, but the only ones I'd cared about were the ones she'd promised me as a girl and that she refused to sell even when we were starving. The Amell-adorned locket with her and Father’s first picture, the rose-shaped pale ruby earrings Father had given her as their wedding present, the antique wedding ring her grandmother had left her as a little girl and that she’d assured me would be my own symbol. All of the rest, the fancy, pretty little baubles Mother had wanted me to wear, I would be fine without, but I wanted to have the stories she'd told behind each one, the meaning, and I wanted to wear them as proudly as Mother dared not to for fear of bandits. I even wanted the box she kept them in, the mostly-empty lacquer jewellery box she'd been given when she turned fourteen by her father, along with the locket, to keep all her pretty things in she'd said. And as a girl, I'd watched her open that box many times, sigh at each memory she sold off for another month’s stay at the inn, another set of fresh clothes for winter, another solid meal. She had so many gifts, so many jewels, and she told me the story of each one as she took me with her to pawn it, of suitors denied and of our family history.
And each time she chose another piece, she told me which ones were to keep no matter how desperate we were. She'd let me try them on, when Father had solid work, let me giggle and laugh and pretend to be the little noble heiress I almost was, a girl's fancy and play. And I cherished those memories as much as her stories, and that they were just for the girls, not Carver or Garrett. She had sold off one last brooch, a pearl and opal studded beauty that had been a gift during her courtship by the Comte du Launcet, and that had brought us passage to Kirkwall. She'd told me proudly that she'd kept all of the pieces meant for me intact as we boarded.
Garrett had no need for such things. And although I'd probably inherited all her finery and gilt, all I wanted were those four little memories.
I went up the stairs, trying to find Mother's room. The first door I opened was full of tarp-covered paintings and boxes, things Garrett or Mother must've reacquired but not gotten back in place yet. The second was full of dwarven things, given me an answer on whether or not Garrett had servants. The third and fourth were guest-rooms, the fifth a woman's but not Mother's.
The sixth was, and I allowed myself to fall into the sway of emotions. Here, her bed, here, her personal desk with half-written letters, here, a patch of lilies from a suitor she never got to pursue. I sat at her vanity, and dug through it to find her perfume, not the fancier ones she wore now but the rose-scented one she'd worn for Father, the scent I remembered from her. As I squeezed it, Garrett's mabari, as much mine as his, padded into the room, putting her paw on my knee as I cherished her.
I was a Grey Warden, however, and although I gave myself leave to pat Puppy on her head, I did not give myself the means to cry. "I get this one, don't you think, Puppy?" I asked, shaking the bottle. Puppy gave a soft bark, which I rewarded with a good scratch behind her ears. "Will you help me find Mother's jewellery box?"
Puppy barked again, letting off me and going across to the nightstand to paw it open. "Good girl," I cooed, wishing I had a treat for her but her tail-wagging suggested she'd had reward enough. It was exactly as I remembered it, but the contents were different. Additions for the most part, but... "Oh, no. Where's my locket?"
A disapproving bark this time, and a whimper. "Garrett had her buried in it, didn't he?" I sighed. "I suppose it doesn't matter. I've got these. Is Garrett here at all?"
Puppy whined. "Oh, did he kick you out of the bedroom? He's never done that before, but it's only been two weeks, he may still want to be alone."
Puppy barked again, and if I wasn't mistaken I'd say the tone was jealous. "Well, I suppose I'll leave Mother to rest," I decided, placing the perfume and the key in the box next to the rest before wrapping the entire thing in one of Mother’s silk scarves folded on the vanity. I had a lining in my pouch, but I wasn’t certain that my chain wouldn’t damage it through the leather. "Come, Puppy, we'll wait in the kitchen. I'll make you a treat while I cook dinner, because there's no way that any of the servants know exactly how Mother made clay-baked fish." It had been Garrett's favourite when we were kids, and if I was going to break into his house and surprise him, I might as well soften the blow. Puppy agreed enthusiastically, following on my heels with giddy jumps and demands for pets.
I started the dish, humming softly to a tune Father had sung often with the boys, some tawdry bar ballad about big-chested girls and drunken lads conquering them. It was one I tried not to giggle at, but it was another memory of my family and I cherished it as much as the ring in my pouch when I started to roll the meal in the mud. It was good, Fereldan mud- Maybe Mother had made it recently, before she died, because Garrett had always preferred when she improvised it to match instead of trying to find good Marcher clay, said it improved the flavour to add a bit of real dirt and roots.
Mother had a knack for using one method of cooking for the entire meal, so I sliced some potatoes and carrots and seasoned them appropriately, and pulled out my secret never-fail forgiveness remedy with Garrett- blueberry marmalade. He adored the stuff, ever since I first made it when I was six to keep his favourite treat fresh longer for him, and ate it on every piece of toast he got for the next week. And a few tarts would go a long way for him, especially if I left him a second, full jar.
The meal all set to bake, I gave Puppy a raw bit of fish I hadn't used and some carrot, tossing it to her and laughing as she caught it all with two quick snaps and an excited tail-wag. She sat in front of me, her head on my lap, as I pulled the box out again.
There were some lovely things in it now, I had to admit. Perhaps too lovely to just sell. Some of the pieces I remembered, too, items Mother must've struggled to find again and paid handsomely for the return, because I doubted she'd merely replace them with duplicates. I found her grandmother's ring and slipped it on my finger after taking off my glove, and held it to the light to admire its beauty. It was supposed to be my wedding ring, after all, and Wardens so rarely married, although I giggled as I considered becoming Lady Mrs. Warden-Commander Howe. This would be a fine ring for the title, although not so fine as any his own family might have.
Oh, dear, I was playing the little girl again, dreaming up fancies from her mother's jewels. And yet the knowledge simply made me laugh again in glee. I hadn't lost this part of her after all.
The rest I set out, piece by piece, making up new stories and recalling the old. And then I found my earrings, the pretty roses my father had spent his last coin to get for Mother before they ran off, one last decadence for her former life.
They were stunning still, and I wanted so badly to wear them despite not having any piercings. Puppy whimpered at me from my lap as I held them, turned them in the light and watched the facets of pinkish sparkles dance across the table. "Ooh, they are lovely, aren't they?" I mused. "Father always had such impeccable taste when it came to gifts." Puppy woofed, a soft sound, and I made a little appreciative noise of my own. "Do you think I should wear them? I’d never take them off if I did, I could be the Rose Warden, the Rose of the Deep Roads." Puppy barked at that, panting and smiling, and I scratched her cheek. "Oh, alright. I guess I could pierce myself. I can numb the pain, and heal any bleeding if I get it wrong, I suppose."
I shoved Puppy off gently and headed to the nearest mirror I knew- The one made from Orleasian trick glass that opened to the cellars and the hidden passages. I stood in front of it, unpinned the first earring, and pressed the pin and the wire to my earlobe as I cast a localised ice spell to numb it. It didn't hurt when I felt the two pieces connect, and I crowed my success to Puppy, who woofed approval and wagged her tail more. I repeated the action for the other lobe, but had accidentally let the ice slick too much and dropped the rose, and watched it bounce under the thin space beneath the door the mirror covered. I made a noise, more of a squeak to trap in my disgust, and Puppy barked loudly in agitation as I pried the door back open.
It had bounced down a few of the steps, but Puppy's bounding in circles had caused the door to close further when she must've bumped it. I was about to open it when she barked excitedly and sat down in front of it, her tail wagging harder than before and fully visible through this side.
"Did you hear something too, Pup?" my brother called from upstairs. Had he been there the entire time? She barked again. "There's no-one here, gel." Another bark. "Alright, he might be here," he chuckled, the deep sound I remembered just as fondly as Mother’s earrings.
I was about to announce myself, despite Puppy's impatience, when I saw what my brother was wearing.
Chantry robes. Or, more specifically, Templar robes the Chantry provided for their out-of-armour lounging. We'd seen them hundreds of times in bars, particularly at Dane's Refuge, which had made my job as a server a constant struggle for stealth.
The Templars. Oh, no, had Garrett joined them? It made me sick to think about how it could be a way to cope with his grief, that to abandon all the pain of losing us he'd turn to the Chantry and with his skills as a swordsman they'd only take him one way. But for years we ran from them, I'd seen him lie to and maim and kill hundreds of them in order to buy us a few more minutes to retreat...
"Well, you don't seem too concerned, Pup, so if it's all the same, I'll be heading back upstairs-"
"And why is that?" a voice that sounded a bit familiar, but I couldn't place fully, said from the other room. Garrett gaped for a second, then suddenly smiled and started shooing Puppy, whispering, "Be a good girl and go, he doesn't care much for dogs," and Puppy left the mirror but also left Garrett standing in front of it, arms crossed and face turned dour. "Did you think that our meeting couldn't be anywhere, Messere Hawke?"
The accent was a strong, lilting Tevinter, and I bit my finger to hide my presence even as I made a noise of disdain when he entered the room. Tevinter was right, from look of him, with his silken Magister robes in deep teal and bright gold, matched by the heavy amount of ornamentation he wore on his bared arms. From the muscle on him, and the swagger, he had to be a slaver as well. That was the first thing I noticed, the second being just how good he looked in said robes, hugging his body tightly and the gold matching well against the strands of honey-blond hair falling to his collar. A Magister and a slaver had no right to be beautiful, and it left a bitter taste in my mouth that I even found him attractive despite knowing what he was.
"Oh, Maker,” Garrett moaned, a tone I'd never heard before and was just as familiar but odd to place as the voice. The Magister scoffed, a slight sway to his hips as he walked up to my brother.
"There will be none of your gods here, Messere Hawke," the Magister snapped, popping each syllable of the name separately as if taunting my brother. He was inches from Garrett's face, as he stood there trembling and panting like any sane man would when confronted by the second most evil thing in the room. Of course, the Templar Garrett had become was even worse than any potential slaver we’d encounter, but at least he had the decency to be unnerved.
He swallowed loud enough I could hear it myself, and stepped back from the Magister, who practically posed as he stood there, canting his hips to the left and placing one hand on the stretch above it just to emphasise. Garrett's eyes were there, instead of on the hand itself, and he'd fought apostates, he knew, watch their hands, always watch their hands- "I didn't forget your rules, Magister," he said, his voice even and strong, confident the way he was when he was trying to be diplomatic. "Out with it. You're here to negotiate the use of my tunnels again? I've offered you my cellars, but I will not give you passage through Hightown."
The noise the Magister made was pure disapproval, but he slid up to Garrett and ran his hand up his back. Garrett shuddered at the touch, and disgusted as I was, I was proud of him. "Such a pity. This was such a good front for us, back before you claimed it again. No matter. I came to discuss your payment for what you do allow us."
"I've received your gold, Magister," Garrett snarled.
"True enough," and the way he purred the words actually went straight down my spine in a manner I couldn't help but find attractive. No, no, he was horrid, he was evil, he was... Pulling out a glowing blue vial from his vest, shaking the bottle softly. Lyrium. Oh, no, Garrett, you couldn't be, not yet- "But we’ve always been good to our allies, and it has been a profitable month, Messere Hawke."
He said it the same way as the first time, and the genderneutrality of the term made my mind traitorously imagine those words snapped piece by piece at me, those lips pursing them wetly against my throat as he kissed down. I moaned, biting my finger harder and squeezing my legs shut, hoping the press of thighs would ease the sudden, solid need I was beginning to feel.
"I've got plenty on my own, thanks," Garrett said dismissively, waving it off.
"Oh? The Chantry in Kirkwall has been tightening its grip on the lyrium trade, if I recall correctly," the Magister replied, unstopping the bottle and taking a deep whiff as he passed it under his nose, closing his eyes and sighing. "And this is fresh, from a raw ore tapped only hours before, highly potent and I've enough here to last you through the next few weeks without any... discomfort."
Garrett shuddered, and I had to push my hand against the wall to steady myself. He was smooth, the way he exuded this raw... sin, for lack of a better word. Greed and lust combined so casually, so easily, he must have had demons in tandem for his every beck and call. But, of course, that was what was getting to me, for Garrett, it was probably the fact that even I'd heard there was less of the Templar drugs to be had, and if Garrett was a new recruit, he'd be starting fresh, needing his new fixes at random times...
"Oh? That long?" Garrett asked, voice wavering slightly, but the Magister wouldn't know him well enough to pick up on it. Or so I thought, until I saw the cat with cream smirk and he closed in, pressing his body against Garrett's. Garrett winced away, but only just, and I noticed with horror that he was picking up the same sexual signs I was, that he was aroused. Perhaps it was the lyrium held up for him, because I couldn’t imagine it was the blond in tight silk with his hip jutting into Garrett’s thigh, no matter how gorgeous a man making him still a man.
Garrett swooned when he breathed in, his own eyes narrowing in pleasure. "That's pretty intense," he conceded.
"A reward for all our faithful partners, Messere Hawke."
"And there are other rewards to our... Partnership?"
The Magister backed off him, turning his eyes to the vial. "It is not enough? What more did you have in mind? Did you want a slave or two of your own? Perhaps one to be a companion in the night?"
"I don't take slaves," Garrett growled.
"Mm, but do you wish to take one?"
"I'd rather get my pound of flesh elsewhere," Garrett replied. "But after I taste it. Make sure it's fresh."
"Mm," the Magister purred, putting his finger over the top of the vial and shaking it again as he gathered at the front of his robes. "Perhaps we can see to both at once?"
Garrett's shoulders were heaving when the Magister lifted the front portion, revealing himself already nude and hard. Did Tevinters not believe in smallclothes at all? By Andraste, did he not need them though, and those skirts were a curse, hiding long, lean legs and a solid, heavy cock. He switched hands, and rubbed a small stripe on the base of his cock with his soaked finger. "On your knees, Messere Hawke, and I will give you your taste of your poisons."
I mentally begged Garrett not to do it even as he moaned so hungrily I half expected him to pounce the man, but instead he went up to him and sniffed the vial deeply before pressing his face into his collars against that honey hair, his hands running down that fine silk that swished even now, even half-bunched, at his shins. It was a small act, but one that radiated hunger for all he was being offered, and Garrett slid his hands to the Magister's back, trapping his body between his grip and his own as he slid down to the floor. The Magister smiled, capping the lyrium and putting it on the table.
They were at an angle that while they weren’t directly parallel to me, I could clearly see Garrett’s panting, the way he smacked his lips and leaned in to lick off the swipe. "Ah, ah," the Magister warned, his freed hand pushing my brother back with only two fingers placed to his forehead. "The long way, Messere Hawke, to let it tantilise you with its scent as you savour it." Garrett's eyes dilated, but he accepted the removed spot with a steady swipe of his tongue across the edge of the Magister's foreskin, peeling it back with a heavy lick and earning one of those purrs that went down my spine. "Oh, very nice, Messere Hawke, but that's no way to get what you really need, now is it?"
Garrett's growl resounded deep, and he wrapped his lips around the head of him, sucking his cheeks in hard. His voice caught and he grabbed the Magister's hips, pushing him forward into him. "So much better, Messere Hawke," the Magister said, voice deepened and heady, even more sexually charged than before.
I tasted blood, and winced twice- First because of the sensation, second because I realised I'd bitten through the skin because I'd been thinking that Garrett couldn’t possibly know how to do this as well as I could.
Judging from the little sighs and gasps the Magister gave, though, Garrett seemed to know exactly what he was doing, his hands kneading at the Magister's hips and ass and thighs and his throat relaxed as he got him fully, inconceivably in. I would've struggled to take the Magister's size, but Garrett relished it, bobbing over him in noisy, wet passes and grunting with the exertion.
Oh, Maker, my brother was a natural at this, the first time he'd done it. Right?
He let his mouth off when he reached the glowing prize, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand and diving back in to gum and lick over that one spot.
"Mm," the Magister moaned again. "The taste is to your liking?"
"It's delicious," Garrett mumbled, his hand on the Magister's cock and milking him steadily, mouth not moving from his current spot.
"Would you care for another taste, Messere Hawke?"
Garrett grunted again, and the Magister eased him off, collecting the bottle again and smoothing a generous helping over the top of his cock until it was a steady, glowing sheen over him that made Garrett's entire being shake. Maker's sweet return, how much lyrium did they find? And why was this making me want to jump in and taste for myself?
Garrett didn't seem to care so much about the lyrium, however, jerking the Magister down with a quick grab above the hips and dragging him to the floor, licking and sucking off patches at a time as he loomed over him. "Looks like we may need to raise our stakes in our negotiations," the Magister purred again, making Garrett tremble as he toyed with the hem of Garrett's skirts, pulling them up over Garrett's back and patting the exposed skin there. "Very nice body you have, Messere Hawke," he murmured, rubbing over the back of his smalls and squeezing on him. "Such a pity, too, needy as you are, that you're wasted here. You'd be quite talented as a bedding slave. I'd be tempted to take you for my own, if it weren't a poor business practice to keep the merchandise. Of course, if you weren't officially mine, just something I could come and have my way with whenever I desired-"
"Yes," Garrett panted. "Yes, any way, whenever you desire it, Magister. I'll be your secret, personal slave."
"Mm, now that is nice to hear. And what brought this on? You always seemed so assured whenever we'd negotiate before."
"I've been dreaming about this cock," Garrett confessed, the words absolutely genuine and foreign enough it made me reel, almost falling back off my current stair if it weren't for my hand steadying my way. 'Garrett--? Dreaming about sex with anyone but busty and perfect Fereldan girls?' "You're beautiful, so much that I can ignore all that's wrong about you, all the things that make you twisted and horrifying and instead just craving the perfection of you. I'd imagine your body under those clinging robes, and I'd palm myself all night, aching for you, imagining you inside every bit of me."
I knew my brother better than any living person without a doubt, and I was certain that each word was absolutely true. Oh, Andraste preserve us, my brother was gay? With Carver dead, with my fertility reduced drastically with the taint, did this mean the end of the Amells, the Hawkes?
I let myself think carefully, treacherously, to Commander Howe again, imagining how I could mimic Garrett's current laps and moans over his cock, feel his hands over my back and my hips, hear him call me his Rose, the Rose Warden identity that made me feel so giddy and secure earlier back again in earnest. Those thoughts, not the image of the blond my brother was currently raising his hips enthusiastically to, were what made me shift my thighs and start to convulse around myself.
"Just how much of me did you want, Messere Hawke?" the Magister asked smoothly, dipping his fingers into his smalls and tapping them against the muscle there. I was sitting there, hands on both walls next to me, grinding my thighs together as strongly as my teeth to prevent myself from crying out.
'Okay, maybe I'll sleep with Commander Howe after I jump that Magister who keeps saying my name so well. It's not evil if it's just sex.'
"All of you," Garrett begged, once again taking the Magister's full length in his mouth, this time to open enjoyment and a delighted cry as he pushed hard into my brother. He lowered Garrett's smallclothes to his knees, rubbing between the cheeks of his ass, and I hate to admit it, but Garrett actually looked good like that, and more so like he was enjoying the attention. It was shameful, the way he writhed and pulsed, but I couldn't bring myself to look away, either, couldn't help but feel an embarrassed kinship.
"All of me?" he repeated, voice catching. "All of me? Are you certain?"
Garrett moaned what could only have been a yes. "Are you certain?" Another, more emphatic moan. "I'm an abomination, you know," he snarled, his skin crackling with blue and yellow light as he said it. "Would you have all the desires that comes with?"
A third, even more intense yes at that, which made the light recede. "And the perverse!" the Magister howled, his hips bucking into Garrett's mouth, his fingers plunging into my brother's body, his other hand wrapped around Garrett's cock as he leaned over him, started to nip and bite and suck on his lower back. "I have such demands for my lovers, I'd have more from my slaves, would you take all of that, Messere Hawke!" The way he popped the syllables resounded with his shouts, his desperation, and I was a bit proud of my brother for breaking the man's composure because I sure wouldn’t, I'd crumble the first time he talked to me and never get to this point. I needed a solid touch to match my spiraling emotions, and I moved aside my tunic to unlace myself, to reach in and there, already I was moist and willing. While the finger I brushed against myself wasn't nearly long enough, thick enough, calloused enough, it was enough to make me hitch my breath and brace against the wall tighter. I had my fingerpads make small passes over individual spots, rubbing furiously, intensely as I circled around all my favourite places against me and eased one inside, trying to match pace to the Magister's hands in my brother's ass and feeling so guilty for it, more for taking it from him than watching at all.
This time, Garrett whimpered, shaking like a leaf in the wind and holding his hips high. To my shock, the response was to plunge his entire hand inside him, forcing his way deep into Garrett furiously and full. Even more shocking was that Garrett keened at that.
And that I couldn't help but imagine the same thing with Commander Howe's nimble, calloused fingers reaching inside me, tickling the deepest parts of my body and touching in ways only he ever would. It made me cry out, although I bit my lip back to staunch it mid-cry, but I leaned against the wall and filled myself with a second finger.
"What was that?" Garrett asked, lifting his face from his work.
"Orana," the Magister hissed. "She watches sometimes, and she's smart enough to know why you gave her the night off. She's usually quieter."
"She's watching? Oh, Maker, that's almost as hot as you in these robes, these stunning, beautiful-" Garrett's hands started to go up the Magister's sides.
"Shut up, shut up, I'm close, love, you don't want to drop character now!" he snarled, impatient.
Garrett cocked an eyebrow at that knowingly, smirking as I sat there, confused and poised to push more of my hand inside of myself and hopefully not have it hurt while I continued to pretend it was the Magister’s bigger, sturdier hands. But Garrett slid off the Magister's lap, leaving the hand in place as he rose to meet his eyeline. "I said I want all of your depravity, Magister," he ordered. "That includes that wonderful cock I’ve been so content to get wet for you." The Magister's eyes flashed for just a second with a hint of, something, my first thought was humour-laced pride but that just didn't fit, but it was gone, replaced by the same man he'd been the entire time as he rearranged his robes to the side.
"Mm. And here I am, getting you all good and loosened up for it myself."
"Here you are," Garrett agreed. "And me all loose, and slick, and your dick close to spilling out and already so hard I nearly choked." He pushed back on the hand, causing the Magister to close his eyes quickly and gasp, then removed himself and flung the Magister back to the floor. He held his wrists as he lowered himself over him, and the looks on their faces as he took him all in first pass made me slip another finger in immediately, not particularly caring that this gorgeous man was doing this to my brother, the only family I had left and someone who'd tossed my life and our father's life and the childhood we'd shared aside for slavers and templars and a quick lyrium fix, instead of to me.
I didn't even care that he'd probably addicted my brother to all of these things, and maybe even to the cock he was thrusting inside him as Garrett straddled him. What I did care about was the primal yell that the Magister gave, the way he broke free to snatch Garrett's wrists for himself, the way he flipped them over and folded my brother up and crashed inside him like an animal gone to stud. Garrett was screaming, pure sounds of lust and need without any other coherency to them, matching every push between whimpers and pleas for more, more, more, desperate even though he was getting it quite solidly. It was steady and rough and I couldn’t help but match them, watching their faces and their hips.
"You're mine," the Magister snarled, the blue and yellow dancing over his skin again. "Mine, mine, mine, to do whatever I want, whenever I want, you belong to me, Garrett Hawke!"
"Yes!" Garrett screamed. "All yours, all yours!"
The Magister cried out again, flinging himself back, and I saw the strands of semen dripping off his clothes as he shifted Garrett's unsteady knees over his shoulders and continued his manic pace for a minute before he buckled under himself and collapsed on top of Garrett's chest, the two of them collected together and struggling for air, for their limbs to stop twitching.
"Oh, Maker," Garrett gasped, voice completely uneven, wiping the back of his hand over his bangs and shucking off the sweat. "That had to be the hottest thing you've ever done, love."
"I think we ruined my new robes," the Magister answered, his words muffled by the way he'd nuzzled his face into Garrett's neck. But there was laughter in the words, and more than that, the sexy, deep Tevinter accent was gone, replaced by the Fereldan I'd heard my entire life even though the man clearly was as native to the land as Garrett and I had been with our Kirkwaller parentage. In fact, between the pale skin and the blond hair, he looked almost...
The voice connected then.
That was the man who sentenced me to being a Warden. Anders.
I didn't remember him being so good-looking though. Mostly he was, well, attractive, but in a pretty way, not to my normal liking at all, I wanted my men to have a dangerous edge to them. Of course, Tevinter Magister certainly did add that in spades. But I also tended to head right for the noble blood, even without knowing straightaway.
"How much did these run me?" Garrett asked, his hands running over the smooth, silk that covered Anders' back.
"Seven sovereigns," was the muffled, somewhat sheepish reply. Seven- That was enough to have last the five of us a month back in Lothering!
"Worth every bloody bit," he decided.
"It's the real thing. I figured, nothing else, I can use them to patch up my coat, since I sacrificed my old set to make it."
"You are never, ever cutting up anything that looks so good on you. I'd sooner just buy you a new coat entirely," Garrett warned. "You hungry?"
Anders smacked the back of his hand against Garrett's chest. "You ask that every sodding time!" he laughed. Garrett shrugged, making Anders roll his eyes as he stood up.
Every time? How long had my brother been...
Since before the Deep Roads, I realised. That was why he didn't want me to flirt with Anders, not some protective big brother thing, he hadn't wanted me to potentially take away his own crush. And did I ever see him with a woman? Flirting, sure, but in hindsight he'd flirted even more often with men, Carver and I'd just thought he was being funny.
Or did Carver? Carver was always making snaps about his sexuality, wasn't he, I'd just assumed that was how brothers talked. Although he was pretty specific, with his declarations of "cocksucker" and "dicklover," I just thought he was trying to emasculate Garrett and make himself look the better. After all, Garrett was the one who'd started swinging around swords first.
"Yes. I am, rather, I skipped dinner to get this all set up for your little game," Anders admitted as he reached down to help Garrett up. The robes shifted down over his legs, despite the sticky bits of my brother's fluids over them, which Garrett poked at uncomfortably. "I can't believe you of all people wanted to play Templar and Naughty Apostate, you hate Templars more than I do. Well, near enough."
"Speaking of setting up, how'd you get that oil to glow?"
"You mean besides magic?" Anders chuckled, which made Garrett scoff. "It tasted alright, right? I was going to have you lick it off me, you know, pour it all over my body and force you not to come until you'd gotten every last drop."
Garrett shuddered at that image, but I was just upset it’d meant that Anders hadn’t had the chance to fully disrobe. “Oh, yes, blueberries are my favourite, love. I have to admit, I was concerned- it really looked like lyrium. And these come out, right?”
"Easily enough, yes, they're Tevinter robes, and all mages know how to clean up a good mess," Anders said, swatting Garrett's hand away. "Stop that before I just end up bending you over your desk and continuing this game. Which we didn't even play right, you didn't keep character, you should've been more templar and less horny lyrium addict. There wasn't any of whatever it is people consider fun, none of the danger edge, you said you wanted that."
Garrett shrugged again, stripping off his shirt and wiping himself off before tugging his smalls back up. "I had fun. We'll play it again, although, if you don't fist me again-"
"I do that once a week at least, you’re insatiable!"
"Not while I'm sucking you off you don't," Garrett pointed out.
"You're impossible! Yes, we'll do it again, love, promise. Now, sandwiches?"
"It sort of is tradition, isn't it? Orana, you can come out now, we're through for the moment and we're good for a snack," Garrett called, looking directly at the mirror.
Oh, Maker's hairy and potentially omnipresent bollocks.
"Orana?" Garrett asked again, a bit of concern in his voice, while Anders simply shook his head and walked towards it.
"You can finish up later, girl, you need to stop being so excited over us," he started, stopping after he'd pried it open some more and saw me there, one hand still half inside me and the other pressing against the wall, and potentially bleeding from one ear. "Um. Hello," he tried weakly while I went red, removing my hand and burning off the shame with a controlled burst of flame over my fingers.
"'Hello'? It's not Orana? Who's the little pervert breaking into our house then, I'll kill them-" Garrett gnashed, reaching for his sword and coming up behind his... Lover?
"You might not want to be so hasty, love. This particular pervert comes in Grey Warden blues and Amell blacks."
"What?" Garrett looked down over Anders' shoulder, and I waggled my freshly-charred fingers at him. He went pale as he mumbled, "Oh, hallo, Bethany..."
"I'd quite fancy a sandwich myself, but I've got fish on in the oven so let's not spoil dinner too much," I somehow managed, my mouth saying the words because my brain was incomprehensible.
"I've got mustard," Garrett replied, just as coherently as my own thoughts. "Four types. You've always liked mustards."
Anders took a deep breath, still standing between us, and let it out slowly. "I'll go make a plate up, love. You two... Well, you might have a lot to talk about. Start with I'm not going back to the Wardens."
"Duck?" Garrett asked, eyes still on me.
"I'm sod all at sandwiches, love, I'm just bringing back a platter of cold cuts and cheeses and those mustards."
"He calls you love," I stated, the first clear thought between brain and mouth.
"Yes he does," Garrett breathed the words out, almost a gasp or a prayer, smiling a little. "Aren't I lucky?"
"You call him love back."
"And I mean it every time, too." He ran his hand through his hair to get at the sweat again, looking decently embarrassed and fully unkempt, which was the right way to look when wearing only smalls and drenched in sex. "Are you hurting, sitting like that? I've plenty of chairs, if you don't mind, um, walking through..."
"Whatever bodily fluids you and your male renegade Warden lover left on the floor there?"
"Right." Garrett and I probably matched shades of red. Well, he always wore red well. "We should talk about that."
"Which part?"
"All of it?" he tried.
"Good boy. But first help me up and help me out, I've lost my earring."
He gaped for a second, then must've looked at my ears. "Mother's earrings," he recalled, giving me his hand. I took it with the one I didn't burn.
"The ones she promised me when I was a little girl."
"Oh, damn it all, I knew I was forgetting something. I was going to send it all to you, you know, but I was going to have most of it just sent your way, the special pieces I was wrapping for Bodahn to take special care getting to you. But Mother's been rearranging that box of hers, so I've no idea what the right ones were-"
I pulled it out of my pouch, acknowledging the theft. "Yes, that'd be the box. Did you want that too, then? You're, you're welcome to all you want, and not just of hers, this is your home too-"
"Can I have a go with your apostate?" I teased, but Garrett set his lips in a stern line. "That actually is a threat, isn't it?"
"He does like women, too," he mumbled.
"And you don't."
"And I don't." We stood up, unable to look at each other until we heard a clatter behind us.
"I cut you some duck," Anders announced around a mouthful of sandwich, pointing at the overstuffed plate he'd plopped on the floor, thankfully nowhere near their filth. I laughed at the familiar by now Grey Warden table manners.
"Mutton?" I asked.
"And beef," he promised, still chewing. "And pork that isn't bacon or cured ham."
"He eats so much mutton," Garrett sighed, placing some of the duck on his mustarded bread.
"It's a Warden thing," I shuddered. "Ground mutton, unspiced, or beef if we can get it, or especially pork." I put several slices of the latter two on top of a heaping scoop of the first, and a heavy dose of mustard, and a sliver of cold cabbage and raw onion for the pretense of it.
"He can't even taste it, though."
"No, we can't."
"Which is why I never use any of the mustard," Anders admitted, making himself a second sandwich. He didn't use raw cabbage or onion, instead choosing a pickled version of each, and radishes, and cucumbers, and a slight bit of salt. But that was washed out by the mutton and the thick slice of rich cheddar, and I assume he added the vegetables only for nutrition. He did, however, quickly burn the sandwich until it toasted, which I delightfully tried. "For the texture. That bit of crunch," he winked. It wasn't a happy wink, but it was for Garrett's sake.
He'd kept our secrets, at least. That was a relief. "So. When did all this start?"
"All what?" Garrett asked around his perfectly normal cold cut sandwich with its perfectly normal amount of sliced cold-roast duck to mustard to vegetables to cheese to his odd habit of adding pickles and sliced hardboiled egg, and he’d be blissfully able to taste every oddly clashing bit of it.
He'd only eat the one. There was very little duck compared to the other meats and only the one egg had been laid out. I suspected the correct volumes were why Anders had volunteered, and that Garrett would've vastly underestimated.
"All of us, love."
"No, no," I interrupted. "I know when all of that started. Before the Deep Roads, and you two were so clever about hiding it. Must've met for trysts in the back alleys behind the Hanged Man while we were all sloshing pints of ale about, and I'd imagine you moved in right after Mother died to spare her the shame-"
"Before that," Anders whispered, while Garrett said, "After that."
"Which one is it?"
"He moved in before Mother died," Garrett explained. "After our first night together. Three years after the Deep Roads, Bethany, but you're right, they were a miserably long three years to be pretending your hands are a good substitute for a man's cock."
Anders was a lot more obvious when he blushed than the two of us, glancing awkwardly at me for only a second.
"Or his hands, I suppose," I shrugged, making myself a third sandwich after helping myself to the remains of his egg just to be rid of it.
Garrett winced. "You saw that much, did you?"
"Garrett, I was what Puppy was barking at."
Garrett moaned uncomfortably, planting his face into his hands and wringing at his hair. "I really don't have to explain any of it, do I?"
"No, it makes sense in hindsight. The way you'd look at boys, how you'd chase me off certain ones but not all of them, the way Carver was so odd around you."
"He caught me with the butcher's son back in Lothering," Garrett shuddered. "When I was sixteen. And several more times after that with others. Fleeting things, the lot of them, never lasted two nights, but I preferred it that way then."
"That explains nearly everything. All except one last detail."
"What would that be?"
"Peaches," I smirked, finishing off my current and starting on a fourth.
"Peaches?" he repeated. "Weren't you worried about spoiling dinner?"
"She eats like me, love," Anders scolded, on his own fourth.
"Oh. Right. Warden thing. Peaches. Wait, you mean that girl Carver was so sweet on?"
"Yes, and who told the entire village she was engaged to you."
"She was not! She didn't even have any bits I'm interested in!" Garrett exploded, Anders laughing so hard he nearly choked on pickled cabbage. "Is that why Carver hated me so much towards the end there? He thought I was moving on his girl? I sodding thought she actually was his girl!"
"No," I said sadly, suddenly unable to eat even with my appetite. I handed the sandwich to Anders, though, who made a face and tossed it through the open door to the kitchen, where Puppy gave a grateful yip.
Garrett put his hand on my arm. "I miss him too, Bethany."
"He wasn't your twin."
"He was my brother. And she was my mother, and he was my father. But it's good to know you're still alive. You never answer any letters."
"The Warden-Commander monitors what we say out. After the first two got rejected, I just stopped writing. I read them all, though."
"How is the Commander?” Anders asked.
"The one you knew has been missing for some time," I told him. "It's Nathaniel Howe now. Do you know him?" Before I'd finished asking he'd actually choked on his food, nodding.
"Do me a favour, Bethany, and tell him I'm dead or something, would you now? Certainly don't tell him I live in your house in the same bed as your brother. In fact just feel free to not mention me at all, really."
"Why, is he the jealous sort?" Garrett joked, both of us sputtering for completely different reasons, Anders protesting that he was never interested in him and me protesting that Anders would never be interesting to him. Garrett watched us stumble over our words before nodding with an oddly patient glee. "So it's not just my apostate you're interested in sleeping with, is it?"
"You're joking!" Anders exclaimed, turning towards me.
"I just find you pretty, that's all. Pretty is obviously my brother's type, but it isn't mine. I was thinking about Commander Howe the entire time you two were at it." Well, most of the time, but I wasn't going to admit the truth.
"Oh, ew," Anders winced. "While watching us?"
"Do I need to hurt this man Howe?"
"No, no, he's a bore!"
"He's a proper aristocrat!" I interrupted, although the protective instinct was sort of cute when it wasn't out of jealousy.
"Translation, boring," Anders replied smoothly. "And I'm done with these, if anyone else wants one? No? Well, we'll leave it for the dog, then." Puppy ran from the kitchen immediately at that, skidding to a stop right beside Anders and slopping away.
Garrett and I laughed at it, his hand still on my arm, squeezing gently. "Mother used to get so mad when she'd do that," Garrett sighed. "Remember when she was an actual pup? How she'd jump on the table and walk from plate to plate?"
"She always took the most from Father," I giggled. "And no matter how much he tried, she'd never eat Carver's greens."
Indignantly, Anders yelped, “You two find this charming?"
"Cat person?"
Garrett rolled his eyes, sighing theatrically. "Obnoxious, I know, but he makes up for it."
"I saw. Let's leave them to bond?"
"Good plan. Pup, lap," he ordered, and Puppy immediately rolled over and put her head on Anders' lap, her tongue lolling as she panted at him, whining for pets. "Dog drool does come out of those, doesn't it? Of course it does, it's always easier to get out than seed is and you do like to brag you actually are Fereldan, no better way to prove it than by getting out the most common stains. Be good, Pup."
"I'm not using my hand on you for an entire week!" Anders shouted over our laughter.
"Oh, he's stuffy! What do you see in him?" I was nearly crying with mirth while he attempted to shove Puppy off, but she thought it was a game and nudged him, wanting to wrestle. And with her weight advantage, she managed to get him on his back and lay on top of him, giving a pleased, dominant bark as he pushed up at her sternum and ranted.
"He's actually quite fun, I swear. And not just for the fantastic sex," Garrett hurried to add. "He's just not a dog person. Or a staying with the Wardens person. Or a templar person. He's not a lot of things. But he is a lot of things, too. And I sort of love him, don't forget, sort of madly, wildly love him."
"But you were dressed-"
"Right, it was, um, sort of a joke he made at Aveline once, but not quite a joke, and I begged him to give me a bit of fun to..." he trailed off, and I knew.
"To get over Mother," I finished.
"I haven't exactly been able to think about our sexlife with that hanging over me. I asked for a suggestion to, well, patch up things. He'd joked that for five gold he could reenact every game of Naughty Apostate he'd ever played along with at the Pearl, and I didn't get it was a joke when I told him I'd give him thirty.I was just hoping that, pretending I was someone different, that my life was something different, it might make me want not be afraid of losing him for long enough to love him. I haven't... Ever since Mother died, I've been afraid, Bethany. I'm glad you're here," he admitted, eyes cast on the floor the entire time.
"And next thing you know, I'm thinking you sold our Mother's childhood home to slavers again weeks after she's buried and have joined the people who hunted us our entire lives in grief."
Garrett blanched. "Did you really? Bethany, no, not ever. I'd never do anything... I couldn't even bear to hurt you. Even slightly, like when I took some of Mother's jewellery out, I just hadn't thought you'd come for it. Look, go find your earring while I fetch all of them. I suppose you want the locket most of all, you'd always loved it."
"Mother's locket?"
He opened up his desk, one of the hidden drawers, and retrieved a nondescript brown package. Garrett took a letter opener of particular sharpness and pressed his thumb against the edge, the twine between them snapping as he pushed up. "Mother's locket, and a few of the prettiest trinkets, things I thought you'd like. I feel right stupid for forgetting the earrings."
"And Grandmother's ring," I added, holding up my hand while I felt around the dark stairwell for the rose. By the time I'd found both pieces to it, he was standing in front of me, the locket dangling over my head by the chain. "Yes, that's the very one, Garrett, thank you-"
"I added a middle," he said as I grabbed it, immediately unlatching it to put around my neck. He took it back, walking behind me and connecting it. "I'd had a portrait made as best I could, of you, and of Carver, as a gift for Mother two years ago. She wanted a place to wear it, and I asked Bodahn if a dwarven smith could copy this without making it bigger. When I was sending it to you, I had a miniature made of me. I suppose that's vain but-"
"Just you? Not you and Anders then?"
He blinked. "What do you mean?"
"I've always loved this locket," I hummed, thumbing over it. "Because it was the first picture of Mother and Father together. Adding Carver, that was sweet, but there's three sides now you say, and if it's them in love, and you're in love, I'd rather have you and him together than just you alone."
Garrett looked at me as if I'd suddenly declared I was in league with demons. Which, judging by the squirming, screaming blond being licked by our childhood pet, would've been less shocking. "I'll, I'll have one commissioned tomorrow, then. If I can have it back, just to make it fit?"
I reluctantly took it off again, only because I'd made the request. "Thank you," he said as he shut his hand over it, and I could hear his throat clenching, the way he was holding back his emotions the way he always did. I leaned up and kissed his cheek, getting a heavy relieved sigh for the concern. "For... Understanding all this."
"Understanding? Thank you, brother mine, for showing me that thing Anders did with his hands. If you do want to help, can you get this through my ear for me? Try to make it even with the other side?"
Garrett pushed my hand closed. "Anders'd be better for it, he's done piercings before. Did one this morning, freaked me out but good until he explained it was for tonight and he'd worn one since his teens until he sold his last one to pay for Kirkwall."
"Once he's done with Puppy," I agreed.
"Once he's done with Puppy."
"I'm done with Puppy! I'm done with Puppy!" he screamed.
I grinned at Garrett. "How about you put some pants on, then show me around the place?" I suggested, holding my arm out.
He looped his through mine, nodding. "And after, I'll give you a proper tour of Hightown. And by then, that fish I've been smelling may even be ready! I should've caught on, Bethany, I'd thought Orana had figured out Mother's recipe and set it to bake before she took the night off."
"It'll be another four hours."
"Oh, we can find something to pass the time. And they do so need to bond."
"Not for a sodding month!" Anders shouted after us as I sidled up to his arm, impossibly happy that my brother of all people had found someone to share this side that he rarely even showed to us.
Epilogue