Me: Okay, I’m going to need my A-Team (& Lucion) for Chapter 20, so the B-Team can handle Chapter 19 right?

Chapter 19: You will suffer for your hubris

Tales of Xillia

So now that I’ve played through both Jude and Milla’s side, I thought I’d say a few things about Xillia.  Expect spoilers below.

First of all, I enjoyed this game so much more than Graces.  It’s ridiculous how much more.  Sure, it had canon het, which I do tend to prefer subtexted, but it was much less heteronormative than Graces.  Which granted, was a terribly low bar, but still.  And in the very least, Jude’s puppy love with Milla was actually kind of adorable.  Instead of following the usual “I want an older girlfriend to take care of me” thing I see from Japan a lot, it was “Milla is so strong and cool and beautiful and has her life all together and I want to help her.”

I’ll start with Jude, since he’s a baby bi-doctor who’s only 15 years old (hello blocking a certain portion of fandom!  Though admittedly, most of the things I’ve seen have been like “and then he’s older/aged up” which I respect).  He’s pretty much the inverse of a General Male Protag, which is just beautiful?  He’s a pacifist, he cooks, he’s an honors student who sways back and forth in anxiety as he tries to make himself look smaller.  He’s really goddamned adorable.  I’ve seen bits of the Tales fandom that say he’s boring, but he 150% is not.  In fact, I’ve yet to see an argument that wasn’t mostly straight boy whining about how he’s far more feminine coded.  I mean, I’m sure there are people who disliked him for other reasons, but most of what I’ve seen fell under that. 

And he’s just... a puppy.  His body language in the game is ridiculously cute, because HONORS STUDENT ANXIETY.  And he worries about everyone.  And wants them all to stay together.  He has no idea what he’s doing with his life, other than studying and helping people, and helping Milla got him marked as a Criminal so now he’s on the run, but he just wants to help!  Also, I really adore his snap pivot fighting style.  It was awkward at first, because I rarely if ever play as a healer and so I’m suddenly like, oh, fuck.  I’m actually supposed to heal my party sometimes.  Once you get Elize that’s less of a problem, but still.  I do actually like being able to restore my own status if I get an aliment. 

Milla, on the other hand, was most definitely saved by the collective female staff according to wikipedia.  Also, I wish they’d actually had the art reflect the writing, because the whole cast was like “FUCK YEAH, BUFF MILLA”  which I absolutely approve of.  She reads about humans in books and they’re her favorite animals.  XD  And I love how there’s times when she’s just all “ugh, boys, if you’re not going to stop being idiots I’ll crawl away and do things myself” when they start fighting.  She has no time for Jude and Ivar to pick a fight over her.  She’s got her mission. 

I do like how she softens, compared to Jude’s finding his strength.  She always had her path, but she learned other things were important along the way as well.  You can see how they both rubbed off on each other, starting at opposite extremes and meeting somewhere in the middle.  Sadly, from what I hear, the development was rushed towards the end so her route feels less polished.  As much as I do like her arc being crippled and the chronic pain, I also feel like it was an extended period of time where you couldn’t actually use your female protag, combined with another time she gets knocked out to be taken out of commission.  Jude had none of that, so it ended up feeling a bit lopsided. 

Also, after her ‘death’ her plot was...  terribly boring compared to Jude’s.  Largely because you’ve only got her in the spirit realm going through several maps by yourself, while she has no memories or personality.  I think if they’d done more with the Four, it’d have been more entertaining, but it was probably part of what was rushed.

The final chapter overall needed a lot more polish and the game itself fells... so short compared to other Tales games.  I’m used to these games taking a good 90+ hours, so the lack of end game side quests just made me sad.  Like Graces, it lacked good costume titles too, which honestly is one of the best parts of Tales games.  At least unlike Graces, they had a plethora of attachments!  And unlike previous Tales games, none of those attachments were only for a single gender.  If you think I won’t put a tiara on Alvin for most of the game, you’d be dead wrong.  XD  I did end up buying some of the DLC costume titles because I did actually enjoy this game a lot.  Milla in Dhaos’s outfit is honestly god tier, and Jude in Leon’s was like SMOLS.  Leia as Farah is one of my faves too, and aside from the fact that Alvin should always have that stupid scarf, I love his random teacher outfit?  Like, sandals with red panda socks with one hole entertains me far more than it should. 

Speaking of Alvin, HELLO RABBIT HOLE.  I was not expecting to fall quite that far down the rabbit hole, but he’s explicitly lonely and I honestly never stood a chance.  Like, fuck, I have a lot of feels.  I’m still contemplating a Milla side to my Alvin soft angst that I should be posting shortly, though it’s less cohesive than what I wanted Jude to tell him. 

That said, I am fully behind a 3otp of him, Milla, and (an older) Jude.  Like, he’s had both of them at gun point at different times and couldn’t pull the trigger and I was just, so gone.  I’ve got a few thoughts on Them finally getting together that I might type out later, though I doubt many people would be interested.  I also have a lot of thoughts on Alvin being aromantic, but that’s neither here nor there. 

For the game play itself, I really liked the linking, though I wish the other characters had more than just like, four linked attacks.  The fighting style from Graces was much more streamlined and I felt worked a lot better.  I haven’t really played the other characters as much, but whenever I eventually do another play through, I’d like to switch around more.  That said, the devils arms in this game are actually useful?  I dunno.  Other Tales games they just seem to take so bloody long to power up that I never used them even after I awoke them.  In this game, even the characters I used the least got a major power up from equipping them, probably due to the linking which was brilliant.  But fuck if the post game dungeon wasn’t boring.  I only got through the first fight (there’s apparently two more times you go through it) because I just had no patience to keep going with it.  I might go back through another time just to abuse the exp to get those final titles for everyone being at level 99 because grade.  But ugh, definitely not an ex-dungeon I enjoy.

Overall, I had a lot of fun with Xillia, and am looking forward to Xillia 2.  I’ve heard mixed things about X2 and I’m not sure how I feel about a silent protag for Tales.  But like, I am looking forward to Rollo in the very least.  I remember Xillia 2 first coming out and just needing that Rollo plushie.  HE’S JUST SO ROUND. 

Anyway, I definitely had more fun with this one.  Like Graces, it kind of lacked a few things that made Tales Tales games, but the skits and characters were far more entertaining. 

Breaking the Silence - Chapter 1

I’ve been toying with the idea of writing something about Revan and the Exile running into each other before the Reveal, and at the encouragement of @b4d4, I decided to go for it!

Please keep in mind that English isn’t my first language.

[read on ao3]

There are too many Republic soldiers on Manaan.

She should have expected that, of course, with Malak’s Sith constantly attacking the Republic. They’d need the kolto.

She watches them try to avoid the Sith soldiers in the Ahto City cantina. It’s a strange choice to keep them in such close proximity of each other, and she wonders if it worries the Selkath at all. The Republic wouldn’t dare break the neutrality, but a soldiers aren’t diplomats, and drunk people aren’t known for making good decisions.

Not that she cares about the Republic these days. She hasn’t cared since the order cast her out for going to war. Hasn’t cared since Malachor V. It’s just that she prefers them to the Sith.

(She’s gotten so good at lying to herself that she barely even notices anymore. She’s not quite sure where she acquired that skill.

Maybe it comes naturally to runaways.)

She watches as a human man (dark hair and frown lines and a look in his eyes that she recognizes all too well from her own reflection. All barely contained anger and sorrow and loss. A veteran, then), a twi’lek girl (she can’t possibly be more than sixteen. She’s probably younger. She doesn’t belong in a cantina. Especially not one full of soldiers.) and a wookie (tall and proud. Only a few gray strands in his fur.) sit down at the table next to hers.

There’s nothing remarkable about them, but there’s nothing remarkable about anyone here except maybe the two mercenaries that challenged her to a drinking contest weeks ago. She’d won. They’re still bitter.

And is it really eavesdropping if their conversation is loud enough for her to hear?

“I’m not a child, Carth, there’s no reason I can’t help her!” The twi’lek girl pouts and crosses her arms over her chest, looking very much like the child she just denied being.

“Well, Ceeira doesn’t agree and neither do I.” The veteran – Carth – replies sternly.

“You’re just mad because she didn’t bring you either. I’ve seen how you look at her, you know.” The girl’s pout turns into a lopsided grin in record time. “You like her, don’t you?”

“As much as I like any jedi. She’s a friend.” There’s a jedi on Manaan, then. Possibly more than one.

She only has to stay for five more days if her maintenance job stays on schedule. She needs the credits.

She doesn’t want to stay.

“Mmmm sure. Do you stare at all of your friend’s -”

“Mission.” He sends her a look that Senna would probably recognize as disapproval if she knew him better. The twi’lek girl and the wookie both laugh wholeheartedly, and Senna wonders to herself how a solider, a child and a wookie ended up traveling with a jedi.

“Can I buy you a drink?” It’s one of the mercenaries from two weeks ago. No longer bitter, then. Good to know.

“Sure.” She answers, and offers him the closest thing to a smile that she can manage. “I could use a drink.”

She thinks he’s a Mandalorian, but she doesn’t want to know, because she doesn’t want to hate him. If he knows that she fought in the war, he doesn’t say anything, and for that she’s grateful.

–

She sneaks out of his hotel room as soon as he falls asleep, a little less lonely and a lot less tense.

Ahto City is even more peaceful at night than it is during the day, and she allows herself a moment to enjoy its serenity before returning to her own room and her own bed.

-

Fixing droids is easy. She’s done it a million times before, both during the war and her exile. She feels at peace when she does it. More than she ever did meditating at the temple. Maybe that was the first warning sign.

The T1 series utility droid that she just finished doing maintenance on beeps excitedly at her, and she offers it a calm smile.

“There. Good as new.” She tells it, as he pats it absently on its head.

“Beep-deet-bip.” It replies with a little wiggle.

“You’re very welcome.” She gives it a final pat before working on one of the other droids. If she’s efficient, she might get to leave earlier.

-

The next two days follow the same routine as most of her days have since her exile.

She wakes up tired. It’s been years since she’s had a night of uninterrupted, dreamless sleep. She drinks too much caf to stay functional during the day because of it. She knows that she should see a healer. She doesn’t want to.

She goes to work. Sometimes, she works with droid maintenance. Sometimes she’s a slicer. It depends on what planet she’s on and how desperately she needs the credits. She’s not picky.

After work she goes to the local cantina. Sometimes she’ll play Pazaak. Sometimes she’ll drink alone, and sometimes she’ll flirt with whoever is interested. Mostly she just listens to hear what’s going on in the galaxy. That’s how she’d found out about Revan’s death at Malak’s hand. Or ion cannon, rather. He never had been able to best her in combat.

(Sometimes she wishes that she’d been the one to do it.

Sometimes she wishes that Revan was still alive so that she can confront her, if for no other reason.

Most of all, she wishes that Revan was still Rea, and that Malak was still Alek, and that the wars had never happened.)

At the end of the day, she goes to bed. It doesn’t matter if it’s hers or someone else’s. It all depends on her mood and how much she needs to distract herself.

When she wakes up the next morning, the pattern repeats itself until she becomes unable to distinguish between days. She should probably be more concerned about that than she is.

-

The last day before she leaves Manaan, she finds herself in the cantina again. Not to drink, not today, but she does want to say goodbye to the two mercenaries and the guy she’s played Pazaak with a couple of times.

And perhaps to satisfy her curiosity about the jedi presence on Manaan. She never did know when to quit.

(They shouldn’t need Kolto, she thinks bitterly. They have force healers and they refuse to go to war when needed.)

“… I got out of there, didn’t I?” She doesn’t hear the first part of the sentence, but the voice that speaks it is familiar.

She hasn’t heard that voice in years.

“That’s not the point! We cannot endanger the mission by angering the Sith. Do you have any idea how important -”

“Yes, because you keep telling me! I did what I had to. It’s not my fault that -”

“You’re so careless, Ceeira, you need to learn -”

“Control? You’ve said that about a million times, and I feel like you’re singling me -”

“That’s ridiculous. I would say the same to anyone without proper training in the force. You don’t know what you’re risking by -”

“If we want to find the star maps, we have to do what it takes to find the star maps.”

Something ugly twists in Senna’s stomach when she realizes where she knows that voice from.

She looks different and the same all at once. Her hair is the same dark color as it’s always been, carelessly pulled away from her face. Her eyes are the same blue color as they’d been back on Dantooine before they’d turned sickly and yellow during the war.

She’s still smaller than one would expect. All narrow shoulders and skinny legs, and she’d be so very easy to overlook if her very presence didn’t command attention.

Senna knows the tone in her voice better than she wants to. It’s the tone she’d used to recruit their fellow jedi back at the enclave. The one she’d used when demanding that the council take actions against the Mandalorian threat, and then later when her followers dared question her. All anger and righteousness and fire.

She has no doubts about who this woman is.

And yet, her walk is different. She no longer looks like she carries the weight of a million corpses on her shoulders. She does not walk like a caged animal. Instead, she moves like a young woman with her whole life ahead of her and with a carelessness that Senna doesn’t think that she’s ever seen before. Like she’d never let herself drown in the pits of her own corruption.

Her smile is bright and honest. That, Senna has seen before, but it’s been so many years that she may as well not have.

She’s dreamed of this moment for years. Dreamed of getting to confront her old friend. Dreamed of getting back at her for Malachor, and Dxun, and every single other death trap that she’d been sent into. Dreamed of a fight. Dreamed of an apology. Dreamed of a confrontation.

When the moment comes she can’t find her words. All she can do is stare, until her mouth finally forms around two familiar syllables.

“Revan.”

Breaking the Silence

Title: Breaking the Silence Fandom: Knights of the Old Republic, Knights of the Old Republic 2: the Sith Lords Chapter: 1/? Words: 1520 Status: unfinished - abandoned Relationships: female Revan & female Exile Characters: female Exile, female Revan, Carth Onasi, Canderous Ordo, Bastila Shan, Mission Vao, Zalbaar, Jolee Bindo, HK-47 Warnings: alcohol abuse, canon typical violence, PTSD, depression, mental health issues

chapter 1 │ chapter 2 │ chapter 3

The Jedi Exile has spent a long time imagining what she'd say if she ever saw Revan again.

When she gets the chance, it's not quite what she expected.

There are too many Republic soldiers on Manaan.

She should have expected that, of course, with Malak’s Sith constantly attacking the Republic. They’d need the kolto.

She watches them try to avoid the Sith soldiers in the Ahto City cantina. It’s a strange choice to keep them in such close proximity of each other, and she wonders if it worries the Selkath at all. The Republic wouldn’t dare break the neutrality, but a soldiers aren’t diplomats, and drunk people aren’t known for making good decisions.

Not that she cares about the Republic these days. She hasn’t cared since the order cast her out for going to war. Hasn’t cared since Malachor V. It’s just that she prefers them to the Sith.

(She’s gotten so good at lying to herself that she barely even notices anymore. She’s not quite sure where she acquired that skill.

Maybe it comes naturally to runaways.)

She watches as a human man (dark hair and frown lines and a look in his eyes that she recognizes all too well from her own reflection. All barely contained anger and sorrow and loss. A veteran, then), a twi’lek girl (she can’t possibly be more than sixteen. She’s probably younger. She doesn’t belong in a cantina. Especially not one full of soldiers.) and a wookie (tall and proud. Only a few gray strands in his fur.) sit down at the table next to hers.

There’s nothing remarkable about them, but there’s nothing remarkable about anyone here except maybe the two mercenaries that challenged her to a drinking contest weeks ago. She’d won. They’re still bitter.

And is it really eavesdropping if their conversation is loud enough for her to hear?

“I’m not a child, Carth, there’s no reason I can’t help her!” The twi’lek girl pouts and crosses her arms over her chest, looking very much like the child she just denied being.

“Well, Ceeira doesn’t agree and neither do I.” The veteran – Carth – replies sternly.

“You’re just mad because she didn’t bring you either. I’ve seen how you look at her, you know.” The girl’s pout turns into a lopsided grin in record time. “You like her, don’t you?”

“As much as I like any jedi. She’s a friend.” There’s a jedi on Manaan, then. Possibly more than one.

She only has to stay for five more days if her maintenance job stays on schedule. She needs the credits.

She doesn’t want to stay.

“Mmmm sure. Do you stare at all of your friend’s -”

“Mission.” He sends her a look that Senna would probably recognize as disapproval if she knew him better. The twi’lek girl and the wookie both laugh wholeheartedly, and Senna wonders to herself how a solider, a child and a wookie ended up traveling with a jedi.

“Can I buy you a drink?” It’s one of the mercenaries from two weeks ago. No longer bitter, then. Good to know.

“Sure.” She answers, and offers him the closest thing to a smile that she can manage. “I could use a drink.”

She thinks the woman is a Mandalorian, but she doesn’t want to know, because she doesn’t want to hate her. If she knows that she fought in the war, she doesn’t say anything, and for that she’s grateful.

–

She sneaks out of his hotel room as soon as the woman falls asleep, a little less lonely and a lot less tense.

Ahto City is even more peaceful at night than it is during the day, and she allows herself a moment to enjoy its serenity before returning to her own room and her own bed.

-

Fixing droids is easy. She’s done it a million times before, both during the war and her exile. She feels at peace when she does it. More than she ever did meditating at the temple. Maybe that was the first warning sign.

The T1 series utility droid that she just finished doing maintenance on beeps excitedly at her, and she offers it a calm smile.

“There. Good as new.” She tells it, as she pats it absently on its head.

“Beep-deet-bip.” It replies with a little wiggle.

“You’re very welcome.” She gives it a final pat before working on one of the other droids. If she’s efficient, she might get to leave earlier.

-

The next two days follow the same routine as most of her days have since her exile.

She wakes up tired. It’s been years since she’s had a night of uninterrupted, dreamless sleep. She drinks too much caf to stay functional during the day because of it. She knows that she should see a healer. She doesn’t want to.

She goes to work. Sometimes, she works with droid maintenance. Sometimes she’s a slicer. It depends on what planet she’s on and how desperately she needs the credits. She’s not picky.

After work she goes to the local cantina. Sometimes she’ll play Pazaak. Sometimes she’ll drink alone, and sometimes she’ll flirt with whoever is interested. Mostly she just listens to hear what’s going on in the galaxy. That’s how she’d found out about Revan’s death at Malak’s hand. Or ion cannon, rather. He never had been able to best her in combat.

(Sometimes she wishes that she’d been the one to do it.

Sometimes she wishes that Revan was still alive so that she can confront her, if for no other reason.

Most of all, she wishes that Revan was still Rea, and that Malak was still Alek, and that the wars had never happened.)

At the end of the day, she goes to bed. It doesn’t matter if it’s hers or someone else’s. It all depends on her mood and how much she needs to distract herself.

When she wakes up the next morning, the pattern repeats itself until she becomes unable to distinguish between days. She should probably be more concerned about that than she is.

-

The last day before she leaves Manaan, she finds herself in the cantina again. Not to drink, not today, but she does want to say goodbye to the two mercenaries and the guy she’s played Pazaak with a couple of times.

And perhaps to satisfy her curiosity about the jedi presence on Manaan. She never did know when to quit.

(They shouldn’t need Kolto, she thinks bitterly. They have force healers and they refuse to go to war when needed.)

“… I got out of there, didn’t I?” She doesn’t hear the first part of the sentence, but the voice that speaks it is familiar.

She hasn’t heard that voice in years.

“That’s not the point! We cannot endanger the mission by angering the Sith. Do you have any idea how important -”

“Yes, because you keep telling me! I did what I had to. It’s not my fault that -”

“You’re so careless, Ceeira, you need to learn -”

“Control? You’ve said that about a million times, and I feel like you’re singling me -”

“That’s ridiculous. I would say the same to anyone without proper training in the force. You don’t know what you’re risking by -”

“If we want to find the star maps, we have to do what it takes to find the star maps.”

Something ugly twists in Senna’s stomach when she realizes where she knows that voice from.

She looks different and the same all at once. Her hair is the same dark color as it’s always been, carelessly pulled away from her face. Her eyes are the same blue color as they’d been back on Dantooine before they’d turned sickly and yellow during the war.

She’s still smaller than one would expect. All narrow shoulders and skinny legs, and she’d be so very easy to overlook if her very presence didn’t command attention.

Senna knows the tone in her voice better than she wants to. It’s the tone she’d used to recruit their fellow jedi back at the enclave. The one she’d used when demanding that the council take actions against the Mandalorian threat, and then later when her followers dared question her. All anger and righteousness and fire.

She has no doubts about who this woman is.

And yet, her walk is different. She no longer looks like she carries the weight of a million corpses on her shoulders. She does not walk like a caged animal. Instead, she moves like a young woman with her whole life ahead of her and with a carelessness that Senna doesn’t think that she’s ever seen before. Like she’d never let herself drown in the pits of her own corruption.

Her smile is bright and honest. That, Senna has seen before, but it’s been so many years that she may as well not have.

She’s dreamed of this moment for years. Dreamed of getting to confront her old friend. Dreamed of getting back at her for Malachor, and Dxun, and every single other death trap that she’d been sent into. Dreamed of a fight. Dreamed of an apology. Dreamed of a confrontation.

When the moment comes she can’t find her words. All she can do is stare, until her mouth finally forms around two familiar syllables.

“Revan.”

Charity

My fic for @primaryconsumer (who did some wonderful fanart) for Handers Secret Satinalia 2017!! It’s also on AO3!

Prompt: Anders is basically emaciated because he spends all his coin on the clinic. Hawke is going to fix that, and either brings or cooks Anders meals constantly. Watching like a…. hawk to make sure he eats it all! Warnings: Mentions of disordered eating/starvation (non-graphic) and some very very brief mentions of tranquility (no one gets made tranquil in this fic ofc!!!)

-------------------- Anders’ clinic was full of people when Hawke arrived that evening, and for a moment he thought he might have walked into the middle of a crisis. However, on a closer look, it was clear that most were healthy, and had come in to shelter from the cold. The whole city was settled well into the winter now, but the undercity had a damp chill to it that never really went away, even in summer, and only got worse in the colder months. The clinic was warm, thanks to the fire going in the middle, and Hawke could smell a stew simmering. It was no wonder it had attracted such a crowd.

Hawke shifted the basket of food on his arm, smiling to himself. Folks down here had it rough, enough to make Gamlen’s little hole in Lowtown seem like a luxury, but Anders had carved out a space here that offered them some relief. A sanctum of healing and salvation. He cared for his patients, spent every last bit of coin he had to making their lives easier. For the people no one else would look twice at- for the people that could so easily have been Hawke and his family, if he hadn't been his mother's son. He had no end of admiration for that. He also had no end of frustration with it. Anders gave and gave and gave but he never took anything for himself, and it was starting to have an effect on his health. He had always been skinny, as long as Hawke had known him. He hadn’t thought much of it at first; Anders was an apostate living in Darktown, working for no coin except what he got through donations. Going hungry was just a hazard of the lifestyle. Lately, however, he’d been deteriorating; cheeks thinning away to nothing, long fingers bony and fragile. He was starting to look worse than some of the people he treated. So Hawke had taken matters into his own hands. A few times every week, whenever he could, Hawke would turn up on Anders’ doorstep like this, with whatever food he could scrounge up. Sometimes there wasn't much. Hawke wasn't exactly swimming in gold, and every spare copper should go towards the 50 sovereigns he needed to get in on Bartrand’s expedition. But Anders had given his maps and his considerable skills towards the expedition, even after they’d failed to help his friend, just because Hawke had asked him. Hawke felt like he owed him- something. Making sure he didn’t martyr himself for lack of a decent meal seemed a fair start. “Delivery for my favourite healer!” Hawke called as he stepped through the threshold, scanning the building for his friend. It wasn’t hard, even with the crowd; Anders was a head and feathery shoulders above everyone else in the room as usual. Anders looked up at Hawke's voice, startled, then smiled as he caught Hawke’s eye. The expression caused the weary lines around his eyes to crinkle up, visible in the flickering light of the fire. Hawke answered with a smile of his own, and felt heat rise to his cheeks as Anders made his way through the crowd. “You really are too good to be true, you know that?” Said Anders by way of greeting as he took the basket from Hawke, eyes on him, mouth pulled up into a lopsided grin, the barest edge of flirtation in his voice. Hawke's face was red from more than just the cold. “Trekking all the way to Darktown to give food to the poor… You'd put a Chantry sister to shame.” “Not hard in Kirkwall,” Hawke answered. The sisters here wouldn't know charity if it bit them on the arse, and if any of them gave him food he'd check for poison. Anders let out a huff of air that might have been a laugh. He smelled of dank air and rot and mostly of Anders, and that Hawke didn’t even have to fight the urge to recoil anymore was. Probably a bad sign. “I appreciate it,” Anders said, sincerely. He pulled up the cloth tucked over the basket and peered in. Today’s delivery was vegetables on the turn that mother didn’t need for tonight’s supper- carrots, turnip, a few parsnips- the kind of thing that would go well in that stew Anders had going. “You’re sure you can spare all this?” “Wouldn't have brought it otherwise, would I?” His mother had been delighted by the idea, just as she’d been the first time he’d told her he was bringing food down to Darktown. Cooing over how generous he was even when times are hard, and his father had been just the same, rest his soul. Carver, who knew exactly which Darktowner in particular he was concerned for, had shook his head and muttered something under his breath. “You've been known to be overly generous in the past,” Anders said, which was something, considering Hawke was here to make sure he didn't starve because he'd given all his food away. Hawke decided not to say anything, and instead bustled over to the clinic's kitchen. ‘Kitchen’ overstated it, as it consisted entirely of a cauldron simmering over a fire and a few sacks of what looked to be barley leaning against the wall. It was separated off from the rest of the room by a few wooden tables, stained and scratched but recently scrubbed. There were a few bowls and spoons, all different sizes and in various states of repair. Anders pulled over a couple stools as he followed, and the two of them sat down and got to work peeling. It was nice. There wasn’t much space in their little corner so they’d sat close together, huddled over a bucket to catch the peel, knees knocking whenever one of them shifted. They’d developed this routine together, since Hawke had started fetching food to the clinic. It reminded him of being back in Ferelden, helping his parents with the cooking. He’d hated that chore; it was boring, tricky work, and he kept nicking his fingers on the knife before he got the hang of it. It had been a relief when the twins were old enough to help. But now- maybe it was just the nostalgia, but it was soothing to go through the motions, following the contours of the root. Let his world just be carrots and turnips and simple, repeated movements for a change. And the company was good. Anders head was bowed, loose strands of blonde hair hung over his face, lips slightly parted. Hawke loved watching him work, whether it was healing or fighting or peeling vegetables. His fingers were long and clever, and he worked in quick, decisive cuts. Hawke wondered if he was using the same knife he’d used on Karl. “They made me do this a lot, in the Circle,” Anders said suddenly, as if answering a question, and Hawke realised he’d been caught staring, “As punishment for… whatever I’d done at the time. Exist, mostly. They made me sit in the kitchen, peeling for hours- a whole Circle’s worth of vegetables, it was awful.” Anders took a pause before continuing. His hands stilled. “The worst part was having to sit with the Tranquil the whole time- that’s who they got to do it, you know. Tranquil and naughty apprentices. I thought they meant it as a warning- or maybe they were just trying to train me up right, for when they used the brand on me.” The last part was spat out, bitter in his mouth, and Anders took a deep, shuddering breath as if to calm himself. Hawke watched him for a moment before he spoke. “And you’re down here, using what they taught you to take care of people who know magic isn’t a sin, who know the Circles are bullshit. Because of you.” Hawke hesitated, then placed his hand on Anders’ arm, squeezed lightly. Anders turned to look at him, a surprised smile stretching across his face. “Yes,” Anders answered, eyes warm and creasing at the edges, and it took everything in Hawke not to kiss him, “Yes, that’s right. Thank you.” Before long, the vegetables were peeled, chopped and thrown into the stew, and all that was left was to wait for it to finish. Anders had wandered off to attend to a few patients, and, after trying and failing to get Hawke to go home-  which wasn’t happening until he saw some food actually pass Anders lips himself, though he kept that to himself- Anders had set him making some poultices, as he was hopeless with healing magic. Father had never taught him, or Bethany; it was too obvious, too tempting to use in public. Which was true then, and true now, but watching Anders work made him feel like he should be able to do more than grind herbs. Maybe Anders would teach him, if he asked. Time passed- Hawke didn’t know how much; he always lost track down here. Darktown didn’t really acknowledge the passings of the day, not like the surface did; morning, noon or night, the sky was stone lit dimly with lamps and lanterns. Anders flitted about the clinic, and Hawke watched the bubbling pot until eventually it was pronounced done. People began to crowd over immediately, so Hawke poured two bowls out and waited for Anders to return. As soon as he did, Hawke thrust the steaming bowl into his hands. He blinked in surprise, and then opened his mouth to speak, but Hawke cut him off before he could protest. “You need to eat, too,” Hawke said firmly. “I should make sure everyone else-” “Everyone else is quite capable of feeding themselves,” Hawke argued, “There's plenty to go around. You don't need to hover over their shoulders, I promise.” Anders huffed, but obviously couldn't think of anything to say to that. He took a seat on the same stool he’s been sat on before, and Hawke joined him. The stew was earthy and warm, perfect in the winter weather, and Hawke knew it’d do everyone here a lot of good. Someone had fetched a loaf of bread, and it was being passed around amongst them. Hawke made sure Anders took his fill of that, too. Hawke kept one eye on the other man as he ate. He’d been half-expecting Anders to tear into it like a man starving, which he was, but he ate steadily, savouring it. Then again, despite the obvious malnutrition, Hawke had never seen sign of him flagging. Benefits of being a Warden, maybe; he had heard rumours about Grey Warden’s unnatural stamina, though it hadn’t been about pushing through starvation as much as its uses in… other contexts. Based on that, he’d assumed it had to be a lie, but maybe there was some truth to it after all. And then there was the possession thing, which Hawke couldn’t even begin to wrap his head around. It obviously allowed Anders feats beyond a normal mortal, at the least. Still, even if Anders could live without eating as much as anyone else, that didn't mean he should. Hawke watched as Anders licked his lips, mopping up the last of his broth with his bread. There was more colour in his cheeks than there had been before, Hawke thought, and that was worth the effort on its own. Content that Anders had a good meal inside him, Hawke decided it was about time he took his leave. Most of Anders’ other guests had gone by now, trickling out back into the streets in a steady stream. The frigid air hit him hard as soon as he stepped outside, and he was unable to suppress a shudder. Anders had followed him up to the porch, and snorted at his reaction. “I'd offer you my coat, but I don't think it'd fit,” He said, grinning, eyes glinting handsomely under the lantern-light so that Hawke had a hard time taking offence. “If I freeze to death on my way home, it's on your head,” Answered Hawke, and went to leave before he felt the warmth if Anders hand on his shoulder, pulling him back. “Thank you for this. Really,” Anders said suddenly sincere, and embraced him. Hawke was caught off-guard, though quickly recovered, returning the gesture. Anders was thin and bony and surprisingly strong, squeezing a little too hard, and Hawke wasn't entirely sure what he was being thanked for, and none of that mattered at all. He held the hug as long as he dared, Anders warm in his arms, and when they parted felt giddy and foolish and really, really wanted to kiss him. “I should- uh. I should get going,” He said, instead. “You should,” Anders agreed, still smiling, and when Hawke turned away and set off back to Lowtown, he barely felt the cold.