minrathous circle college of antiquities

“It’s cold,” Hawke complains in a passable imitation of Fenris. “Why would anyone want to live in this?”

Anders quirks a grin. “He’s not entirely wrong, you know,” he points out.

Hawke nods. “I’d swear I can see you turning blue some days.”

“Yes, well,” says Anders, “you know where it’s warm? Tevinter. I think we’ll both take the Kirkwall winters, thank you.”

Hawke says, “At least this way you can pretend the city is clean.”

“Perhaps you can,” says Anders, but he’s still smiling. “Should we check on him? He might have frozen to death.”

A raised eyebrow. “Is that concern I hear in your voice?”

“It is,” says Anders. “If I let him die, he’ll haunt me just to blame my blood magic.”

Hawke smirks, then shivers. “Well, would you mind using a little of that blood magic to warm up this damn place? Call up a Rage demon or two.”

“I’ll get Justice on it,” says Anders. “Will anyone even notice a demon solstice party in Kirkwall?”

Hawke shrugs. “We can invite Meredith,” he says. “Bribe a Rage to spend some private time with her.”

Anders says, “Bribe Fenris. I’ll bet he could really get under her skin.”

Hawke snorts. “Bet she’s got a special place in her heart for him.”

Anders laughs, just a little, but it sends a faint sting through Hawke’s chest. Anders doesn’t laugh as often as he used to these days.

Suddenly, and for no reason he can name, he’s compelled to turn away from the door, take Anders’ face in both hands, and kiss him. Cold fingers warm themselves on flushed cheeks; cold noses brush; Anders makes a soft sound, half pleasure and half protest, and when they part, Hawke stays where he is, feeling Anders’ breath warm against his skin.