Dark fill for a prompt on the kink meme, for M!hawke/Anders, abusive realationship.

warning, DA2 spoilers, dark themes, unhealthy realationship, violence, dub-con, emotional manipulation, drugs, bondage, emotional trauma.

In retrospect, he shouldn't have stopped to play with the ginger cat lounging by the bakery. Delighting in how the feline would purr and flex under his hand, he'd lost track of time, and so when Anders finally managed to drag himself away and back to the hovel he and Hawke shared, the light was dimming in the streets, casting them in muddy tones. It rather reminded him of Darktown.

Walking in the dark held little intimidation here, much unlike the threat ever present in Kirkwall undercity. The town Hawke had eventually decided on was only just large enough for anonymity. There was a chantry, small, cosy, with a single elder templar was housed there, who seemed to mostly occupied herself with gossiping with the local fishwives. Anders was still unable to pronounce the name of the town, and only knew it was a day's trek from the coast, and somewhere between Kirkwall and Rivain.

He'd entered the small set of rooms they had managed to rent with what coin Hawke had had on his person when forced to flee Kirkwall, to find the rogue frantically strapping bits of armour on. battleworn pieces of leather and metal that they had stored at the bottom of their packs, Anders's feathered cowl and Hawke's red and black mantle too easy to recognise in light of their newly acquired fugitive status.

At the sound of the door, scraping shut against a frame that was too tight when it rained and too loose in the sun, Hawke's head had snapped upwards.

"Anders! Where in blazes have you been? I was just about to go turn the streets upside down looking for you!"

Anders gave a half grin, remembering the cat, "there was this sweet little pussy cat and..." Anders looked up, hoping to see his lovers face break into a smile. His voice faltered when he caught sight of narrow eyes and tightened jaw.

"Have you lost your mind? You are the single most wanted man in Thedas, mages and templars alike shouting for your head... I thought something had happened to you..." Hawke's voice dipped, but his face did not soften, and Anders saw the worry, the panic still hold tight sway over the rogue.

"I apologise, I did not mean to scare you."

Hawke said nothing, instead started to unbuckle his armour, every movement sharp and angry. Guiltily, Anders tried to rest a hand on the shoulder nearest, to reassure and aplease, but Matthias jerked from the touch. The mage tried not to wince at the dejection, and let Hawke take himself, now undressed to a simple tunic and breeches, out the door. As he left, he grumbled that he needed some air, and not to wait up.

Hawke fumed quietly into his watery beer.

Was it not bad enough that Anders's actions had ripped everything he had worked so hard for the last sevens years to shreds, but the man seemed oblivious to the danger he courted still, simply being out where he could be seen. Matthias doubted that anyone in the town could pose too much of a threat to the mage and himself, but if they were to have any chance of rebuilding, he could not risk having to fight. It would give away too much, his own legend haunting him, mocking him even in this little backwater town.

Ebberan was far enough away from shipping routes, and the main roads to and from larger cities that the stories he heard in the pub were fragmented, and varied wildly with each telling. They were entertainment, and no-one really believed that the champion of Kirkwall had really defeated a high dragon, or faced down a Qunari arishok. There was safety in that, but even then, the rumours and tales were too painful a reminder of what he had managed to achieve, against all odds.

He missed his grand homestead, and being able to afford food and clothes without fretting about the cost. The coin he could earn, doing odd jobs and manual labour, was pitiful compared to the rich hauls that could be recovered from dragon's hoards or slaver strongholds. It was too risky however, to attempt such feats, without companions to aid him or avoid the unwanted attention it would bring. He had to force himself to turn down the more adventurous tasks, trying desperately to blend and hide within the simple populace.

He ordered another beer, and tried to remember the rich foam of the brew at the hanged man in favour of the poor attempt at alcohol laid before him.

Anders. He would have cut down every templar in Kirkwall to keep him safe, and yet he went and did something Hawke's daggers could not protect him against. He'd fractured Hawke's collection of friends and allies, none staying longer than they had to after the gallows, each fearful or angry at the war Anders had started. Kirkwall was a battleground, and the champion had been forced to leave his home, his title, everything.

Anders had thanked him for his life, but had not seemed to realise that he had cost Hawke his.

He had lost Bethany as well, but the thought of his sister jarred Hawke from his sour mood, and he forced the memory back, unable to deal with it yet. He had not told Anders what had happened, kept the knowledge and the blame bottled up inside.

Matthias could feel the tension in his shoulders, and shook his head at himself. He loved Anders, or at least, he had done before the chantry had started to rain down upon the streets in rumble and flame. He supposed he still did, but things had gotten so much more complicated, it was hard to pull back all the frustration and fear and see what was left. It would be easier, he thought, if he could rest assured that Anders was at least safe, so he did not work himself up into such a mess every time the mage stepped out the door.

Then, Mattias Hawke, the former champion of Kirkwall, hatched a plan.

Anders was waiting for him, sitting on of of the mismatched chairs by the table, chewing on a fingernail. Hawke shut the door behind him with a click, and met the mage's reddened eyes. He sat down heavily, and reached to pull Anders's hand from his mouth.

"I'm sorry, I should have realised the worry I caused you. I should have-" the words was rushed, almost frantic to apologise.

"Hush Anders. Its OK, I forgive you."

the relief was visible in the mage, as Anders breathed out his tension and fear. Hawke smiled softly.

"But I have been thinking. It is too dangerous for you to go out alone. I care too much about you, and the thought of something happening... Of a templar hunter or someone visiting who has seen the wanted posters..."

"You mean... *never* go out the house?" Anders looked uncomfortable at even the mention of the idea, and shook his head. "Surely its not that dangerous to merit such measures. I'll be more careful. And try not to be late again, save you from worrying."

Hawke bridged his hands in front of him, and stared at Anders, a careful look of concern on his face.

"Worrying? You make me sound like a flustered housewife. No Anders, I was terrified for you. You would put me through that again?"

"No, of course not... But to stay inside constantly, it is a bit drastic. You make it sound like the streets are filled with templar and angry mobs... "

Hawke lowered his eyes, "its not just that I fear. Its you yourself."

"What do you mean?"

"Can you honestly say you can keep control no matter what happens? It would take just one ignorant townperson to blame mages for his crops failing, or remarking that the templar ought to do more than just lock the mages up... Or even someone kicking a dog. It would take just a flicker of Justice, a flash of blue light, and they would turn on you."

"Justice hasn't emerged since we've been here..." Anders offered, feeling strangely ill at ease that Hawke could think him such a liability.

Hawke looked up, dark eyes scanning Anders's. "His past record is not reassuring..."

Unable to formulate a convincing reply, when what Hawke said was basically true, Anders threw up his hands.

"So what do you want me to do?"

"Stay here. I'll bring books, anything you want. Just lay low until the talk of the town has moved on to something else."

"I... I don't think I can do that..."

"Please... Please Anders, for me?" Hawke's voice did not normally sound so fragile, so desperate. It undid Anders's resolve to argue against the man, and he nodded, trying not to think of how he could already feel the walls closing in around him.

Perhaps it was cruel, to keep the mage who obviously had containment issues cooped up in their rented accommodation, but Hawke found he could breathe easier, knowing where Anders was at all times. He could work, shifting bales of hay or barrels of salted fish, and not feel the gnawing edge of panic invade his mind for fear of what harm might have befallen the wanted apostate. He had even managed to go out with a collection of similarly hired hands and enjoy himself, and it had felt good to drink and laugh at the pub. He had to be careful, guarding his words when talking about himself, but years in Varric's company had given him volumes of stories to distract conversation when queries got too personal.

He used a different name here, borrowing a Lothering butcher's alias. The locals at the tavern had come to know 'Marsillion Harris', or Mars to his friends, and that too, was pleasant. He'd been a refugee too long, and could still remember what it was like to live in lowtown, largely ignored in the shadows, scraping for recognition.

If only Anders could appreciate that Hawke was finally claiming back some sort of life, he perhaps would not shuffle room to room, fighting as if suffering from fleas.

Not that fleas were entirely out of the question. Little by little Hawke had started to build a home, proper bed sheets, plates that were not rough and cracked. Still, the walls could be damp after the rain, and the mattress provided had a set of stains that did not bear thinking about. The rent was too high for the standard, but for sake of privacy they had been forced to accept. Even though, Hawke was grateful, albeit reluctantly, that their landlord seemed devoid of curiosity beyond when the rent would be delivered.

No matter how many books Hawke provided however, he could not ease the mage's restlessness. Animals were not permitted, and parchment too rare to risk purchasing, and so he could see Anders grown more and more discontent to remain.

Matthias had protested against night wanderings, declaring them too suspicious, and Anders had sulked for days. Hawke could tell though, that Anders was reaching a point where something had to be done to keep the mage under wraps. Something drastic.

"They hung a mage in the square today."

Anders, obviously not expecting such news, blinked slowly. Hawke could see him try to steady his breathing, to keep control. Hawke swallowed, and carried on.

"Half the town was there... I didn't know the girl, some poor local, barely more than a child..."

"What happened?" justice was there, in Anders's voice, Hawke could hear the change, but as he looked up, he was met by Anders, desperately fighting to keep control. Hawke let his head drop sadly, as if mourning.

"I didn't get the full story, but seems they found the girl heating bathwater for her grandmother. Or maybe her aunt, it doesn't matter. She was using magic, and they dragged her out. She didn't fight, just stood there as the templar was called. By the time the templar got there, the crowd was out for blood.

"Ser Aggie, the templar, she tried to calm the crowd, but there were too many voices, too many people, scared and stupid and shouting. Too dangerous to live, they said. No circle to send her to, no choice but to hang her. In the end, Ser Aggie was forced to agree. They made a simple noose and gallows, and... and... They hung that poor girl. In front of her family, her friends... To the sound of cheering..."

Hawke broke off, and reached a hand out for Anders. The body did not react, but he could hear the quickness in breathing and feel the tension under the skin.

"No... " Barely even a whisper, Anders seemed distant, as if he wasn't behind the soft brown eyes.

When his eyes started to glow in a fierce blue, Hawke tightened his grip. It was Anders who responded, forcing Justice back. He spoke to himself, "No! Attacking the town would only make things worse. Give them cause to hang every mage they find. We can't... We mustn't..."

His eyes faded, and he looked to Hawke, apologetic.

"Justice wants to know why you let it happen..."

"I didn't hear about it till I was returned from the barns, by the time I got there, it was too late."

Anders tilted his head, listening to the fade spirit, and rubbed at an eye.

"I did not think it would get like this..."

Hawke wrapped his arms around the mage's shocked frame, pulling Anders into a tight, possessive embrace.

"Do you see now the danger?"

Anders couldn't quite tell if Hawke meant the danger of the townspeople, or of his fluctuating control over Justice. Not that it much mattered, either way, it was evidently not safe for him to go outside. Overwhelmed, with Justice protesting loudly at his inaction, the mage let himself be swallowed by Hawke's grasp. As the mage pressed against Hawke's strong chest, the former champion started to smile.

He did not like Justice. There was something too righteous about the fade spirit, that left no room for financial gain or living with the consequences. Or even trying to live. Justice would have both of them charge out onto the streets at every opportunity to right the wrongs of the world. That Hawke and Anders were but mortals, with flesh that could be broken seemed of little consequence, and he'd heard Anders often explaining that a sword to the arm *hurt*, and ought to be avoided when possible.

The fade spirit was a complication, in an already awkwardly balanced relationship. Justice refused to speak with him directly if he could help it, after witnessing Hawke kick a bunch of homeless Fereldens out of an old warehouse to make room for an illegal shipment of lyrium. He'd had a shouting match with the spirit, right in the middle of the warehouse, struggling to relate to the 'thing' wearing the mage's face. Justice had called him deviant scum, and had not been impressed with Hawke's irritated retort about 'making a living'. Thanks to quick reflexes, Hawke had managed to avoid the subsequent bolt of lightening, and Anders had then wrestled control from Justice before the spirit electrocuted his lover.

Anders, now forced to relay Justice's commands (always commands, never requests), obviously found the situation trying. Though Matthias could see the efforts the mage went to to keep his temper in check, Justice remained an ever-present threat, a lit fuse with which Hawke could quite easily live without.

Now that Anders had been scared into remaining housebound, both with his tale of non-existent mage hangings and a small reminder of how easy it was for Justice to rear his blue glowing head, Hawke felt it high time to deal with the fade spirit.

"Did you know, it is exactly fourteen and a half steps from one end of house to the other?" It was meant as a lighthearted comment, something to ease Hawke into the conversation that would convey exactly how crazy Anders was growing from being enclosed in the same grubby space.

"Hmm?" Hawke looked up, gingerly plucking the kettle from the fireplace and brewing a pot of tea. Hawke rarely drank it, declaring it not to his taste, but Anders enjoyed the taste of the spiced leaves, and found the process of preparing the brew a welcome distraction during the day. Hawke said it was a blend to help with sleep, after an unfortunate incident a couple of days ago when Anders had woken in the night, eyes blazing. Justice did not understand nightmares, and had reacted as if under attack, and nearly shot a hole through the wall. Hawke knew by then to find cover when justice appeared, and had shouted from the other side of a door that everything was fine, and that there was no danger.

When Anders had finally managed to get Justice to listen, he could feel the magic crackling at his fingertips. He hated to think what would have happened if Justice had actually conjured the tempest in the confines of the room, and the whole experience had left him shaken. So it was a relief when he found the tea to actually work, and even to be palatable. He took the offered cup from Hawke gratefully.

"It is rather cramped. If they let us have a cat, there hardly be room to swing it." Hawke agreed, oiling his daggers, laying out the equipment on the kitchen table. He had another, simpler set for wearing out, but these were his favourite weapons. Expensive and deadly, and much too grand to do anything but raise questions in this small town. The blades did not need the maintenance, they were so rarely used these days that the metal was in no danger of rust due to rain or blood or dragon spit, but the habit was ingrained. The act served to calm Hawke, and Anders enjoyed watching the man focusing so intently on the work.

"... Did you ask about a cat?" Anders tried not to look disappointed when Hawke put down the dagger with a click.

"Same as before, and the last time. The landlord will not permit any sort of animal. He's quite set upon that rule. I daresay even Lothian would not shift his mind, and he was a shining example of a wardog."

Lothian had been Hawke's mabari, surviving Lothering, and the darkroads, and even having the guts to bite a high dragon. But one of Meredith's animated slave statues had caught the dog unawares in the heat of the battle against the crazed templar. The lumbering statue had crushed the dog underfoot, and the crack of bone had been missed as Hawke desperately drew Meredith's ire from Cullen, who had been knocked down and was bleeding heavily.

When the idol finally claimed the knight-commander, Hawke was granted only a moment to take stock of the battleground, see the managed mess of fur, offer a brief commendation to the bravery of the mabari, before they'd fled lest the remaining templars decide that he ought to stay and be held accountable. He might have stayed, and tried to report on what had transpired, but for the apostate mage at his side. It might not have made much difference given the wreckage of the city, but if he did not want to see Anders dragged off in chains, there was no choice but to run. It had been the only time Anders had known Hawke to shirk his duty to his adopted homeland.

Any mention of Lothian put Hawke in a despondent mood, and Anders tried to distract the man from the loss.

"The landlord, he doesn't seem to mind the mice we've got."

Hawke gave a disgusted snort. They'd seen a mouse or two, running along the walls and Hawke had immediately gone out to fetch deathroot to make up poison. So far though, the little rodents had proved too smart to take the bait, no matter how much honey Hawke laced the deathly mix with.

"Shabby little hole, reminds me of Gamlen's shack." Hawke had resumed cleaning his daggers, and was polishing the blades with more force now, working the metal to a shine. "Thought I'd seen the last of windowless grubby pits."

Something had changed in Hawke's tone, something that reminded Anders of how Hawke would calmly inform gaggles of thieves or slavers that they were about to die. He shifted uncomfortably, and curled his hands around his cup.

"Its the smell I detest. Waking up every morning to feted air, knowing that when you go to sleep, it'll be surround by the same stale stinking lungfuls. I'm surprised we both haven't come down with some wretched disease..." Hawke didn't seem to be talking to Anders, more muttering to the dagger in his hands.

"Good thing you've a healer handy then..." Anders smiled, half forcing it.

"Didn't need a healer in Hightown..." Hawke was mumbling, still more to himself than to the mage. "You could count on the beds being clean, and the water drinkable... Didn't have to worry about getting leaks in the rain, or mice, or the locals finding out who you are..."

He sighed, and realised he had been rubbing the same area until the clothe had worn through. He put both dagger and rag down, much to Anders's relief. Hawke was never more dangerous than when armed.

"Still. We're here now, aren't we? No use grumbling."

Anders didn't reply. He almost said sorry, sorry that Hawke no longer had a mansion, or title, but the words seemed unsubstantial enough.

When not out looking for work, Hawke was often called in to do heavy manual labour. He could manage that, but would come home bone weary. A hot bath would have eased his muscles, but they barely had room for a basin, so Anders made do utilising his magic to sooth Mattias's tired body. No matter how hard the rogue worked, the coin was barely enough to cover rent and food. Anders would have helped, but his skills were largely magic based, and would have had him run out of town at pitchfork point. In typical grey warden fashion, he also was a miserable failure in the kitchen. After a quiet yet sharp observation that they really didn't have the money to afford so many burnt lumps at the bottom of stewpots, Anders agreed to stop trying to cook.

Unable to help, unable to even leave the house, Anders wondered if they were wise to remain.

"We could move on, try and find somewhere else?"

Hawke glanced up, and frowned.

"No. Travelling means leaving a trail. And we don't have the coin to barter passage, never mind pay for discretion."

"But.. If they are hanging mages out there... Is it safe to stay?"

Hawke took a heavy breath, and his lips tightened.

"Anders... They are hanging mages *everywhere*."

"No... That can't be. Why?"

"Because of you." Hawke's eyes narrowed to sharp points, "You destroyed a chantry, killed innocents. You 'showed them why mages are feared'. It is the same all over, so no matter where we went, we'd face the same fear and hate and anger."

Hawke turned away, and started to wrap his daggers up for storing under the bed. When he came back to the table, Anders had his head in his hands.

"It needed to be done." Anders spoke in a level voice, and whether he was trying to convince Hawke or himself, the rogue could not tell. "Mages would have suffered for years more if someone had not changed things. It was never going to be easy, and I knew that there would be deaths and carnage to follow... I do not regret what I did, only that you were caught up in it...Hawke, I am sorry."

Hawke sat down heavily, and observed the mage, trying to work out what he would say. Only sour words came to him, blaming Anders for being so short-sighted, and blind to the suffering he had caused.

Anders had been in a daze after the final battle, and had not seen Hawke and Bethany part ways. She was going to go back to the estate and try to gather some of their mother's things, as well as the money he had gathered and saved over the last seven years, and then meet them at the docks. He was too far away when the templars caught her, busy trying to guide Anders discreetly on board without anyone recognizing them. He could only watch, horrified as Bethany was forced to surrender, and knocked out by a sword hilt to the back of the head. Charging to her rescue would have put Anders at risk, and his heart felt like it might tear apart as he made his choice. It felt like losing her all over again, first to the circle, and now to the templars.

He did not know what the templars would do the sibling of the man who had killed their knight-commander, no matter how demented Meredith might have been. He did not care to think about torture, or tranquillity. Maybe Bethany was dead, that seemed the best fate he could hold out hope for.

Matthias realised that Anders was staring at him, and that own his hands were clenched. He shook his head, loose hair falling over his eyes, dispelling the thoughts of his sister. With effort, he relaxed his hands.

He'd become practised at forcing the painful past from his mind, locking it back somewhere it wouldn't reduce him to a despairing mess. When this time his memories would not go quietly back to the dark place inside his head, he decided he would have to distract himself to find peace. Teeth flashed as his lips split into a wide grin, and he gave Anders a playful nudge.

"I think that is quite enough heart-to-heart. Let's go mess up the bed sheets."