#anderstheapostate

She wants to run away with him?

How many times has he thought about asking her to run away with him? So he isn’t alone. So he doesn’t have to live without her. Even when they were just kids, he’d contemplated telling her to gather up a passel of cookies and run away with her into the night. Maker, wouldn’t that be nice? Running away with Ellie at his side. They could be together. Away from the Templars, he wouldn’t be afraid to love her. He wouldn’t be afraid to pursue the one thing he couldn’t lose.

Anders’ heart pounded rapidly in his chest and he wondered if the entire dormitory could hear the drumming of his pulse in his ears. “Yes.” He breathed out, moving to lay down beside her on the bed, his eyes trained upwards at the ceiling above them.

“We have to get your phylactery.” Anders stated, slipping his hand beneath the covers to find hers, lacing their fingers together. “You’re sure about this? You’re sure you want to leave all of this behind for me?”

She isn’t certain rather or not she’d meant to say the words - they had slipped into existence unbidden from the quiet depths of her heart - but once they were alive and real and she’s seen the response on his face, she’s certain that she means them. From the bottom of her heart and with everything that she is, she’s certain that she means it. They’re enough to stop him. He had been turning to leave and as soon as she breathes the words to life he turns back to her, eyes wide and disbelieving. And then he whispered yes and the words bring him close again and as soon as he slips back into her bed she’s at his side, resting her head on his chest and breathing a sigh of relief. 

Is she sure, though? She doesn’t know, but she does know that she loves him. She’s sure that the thought of him leaving her for good, slipping away in the night never to return to her side, feels like a knife slowly being driven through her ribs. She’s positive that she wants to kiss him again, so certain that she wants to feel his hands dancing along her skin and everything that came with the sensation. And she knows, somewhere deep in her heart, that she wants to be with him forever. The love she feels for him isn’t the flighty sort of love usually felt between two young mages. It’s not the kind that could so easily dissipate into nothing just because he’s chosen to leave. 

It’s the ‘I want to marry you’ type of love. 

But she doesn’t have the courage to breathe those words into existence just yet.

“I’m positive. Whatever we need to do. Whatever you need me to do- just. Take me with you, love.” She tells him, squeezing her eyes shut tight and wondering for a moment if this is a dream. Elena Amell isn’t a troublemaker. She isn’t the type of girl with the courage to do something like this. She loves her home, she’s never rocked the boat, she’s never been punished by the templars - but Maker, she loves him. And if shoring up a little bit of courage and bravery was what it took - if jumping over the edge with her eyes shut tight, crashing into the depths below is what she needs to do, she’s going to do it. Especially if it means being with him. Especially if it means kissing him like they had in the hall that morning every morning. 

Archer was waiting for this, months of waiting and having Anders be around him and yet he never found the courage to ask Anders this question. Anders did say yes or agreed to it. Now they were kissing in Archer’s mansion, the bedroom to be specific. He knew the mage wanted more, he did as well, Archer was just nervous of the consequences.

When she heard the news about Kirkwall, she had been shaken.  Part of her desperately wanted it to have been exaggeration, lies, anything other than the truth that sat like a poisonous stone in her gut.  She had to know.  Had to find them, find Hawke, find...

Getting to the Free Marches had been difficult.  Finding Hawke had been easier than she would have thought.  Maybe it was their shared blood, calling to each other, clinging to those last remnants of family from across the sea. Maybe because Hawke let her find them.

“He’s a grey warden,” Caitlin told them, her voice shaky, but sincere.  “We take care of our own.”

“Anders, hold still.”

A slender hand comes up to touch his face, finger tips brushing along his stumble. Her brows knit together and she lets out a huff of anger. Perhaps it was desperation or frustration, but no sooner had she spoke did she push her lips into his.

           ‘it’s fine. what else would i be doing on an evening like this?’ probably spending her evening trying to DRINK varric under the table, but this resulted in less of a headache in the morning and was far quieter. ‘just point me in the right direction.’

@anderstheapostate

Darktown was a place for the down trodden. For the sick and abandoned, for the abused and neglected. He often felt anger for the abandon Elthina showed by not doing more to help the poor people, but she insisted that she had enough people to help and if they wanted help, they would come to the Chantry as people who wish to be saved sought Andraste had. 

Elthina couldn’t extend herself past the walls of the Chantry, but he could, and he tried. Although he had no money to give, or sway to get the hungry people food, he tried his hardest to give them hope and as much guidance as he could. But no one wanted to hear him talk about Andraste or his past experiences with hardship.

As upsetting as it was, feeling like a stranger among even his friends, or someone they just tolerate instead of enjoy the company of, he only wanted to see the best for his friends, even if they didn’t return that sentiment.

He made his way through the dust of Darktown, torches flickering through the dark streets. He could see the glowing of eyes as they followed him but he didn’t stop, a container wrapped in a cloth in his hands as he made his way for the clinic.

        the warmth of the fire wasn’t quite enough to shake the COLD from her, especially as a fierce wind swept through the trees and the small, shallow cave they had set up CAMP in, but she was still too polite to say anything, holding her folded arms close to her body. but his robes looked much warmer than the FRIGID steel of her armor.

        giving an inconspicuous stretch and fake SNEEZE, she scooted closer to anders so their shoulders almost touched. she just hoped he wouldn’t say anything.