mend this porcelain heart.

[espouses]

Who: Marian Hawke and Anders
What: Nightmares.
When: Evening of day 398
Where: Heimdall #306
Rating: PG-13 for Hawke for now!

Everything hurt.

Nightmares were nothing new for Hawke; she'd had them since she was a young girl, since her father had died and Bethany had started crying herself to sleep, since she joined the army and since the Darkspawn. She's lived with them as a constant for a long as she could remember - but it didn't make it easier: waking up in a cold sweat, her heart rushing a mile a minute, the darkness of her room as frightening as a hoard of Ogres and Golems on her heels. She just wanted one night of peaceful rest, Maker help her, was that too much to ask for?

Apparently so.

It's easy for her to push herself out of bed, to gather her armour and drape herself in it, as though it will protect her from the haunting memory of her mother's last words. Putting her sword on her back steels her for her walk and she moves quickly, storming out of the room, completely unconcerned with whether or not she might wake up her 'roommate' - the King would survive, she was sure of it. Her mind and her heart may not, however.

When she reaches Anders' room her hands are shaking and there are tears gathered in her eyes, her throat tight and her expression grim. For a moment she doesn't dare knock, but her resolve falters and she presses her palm against the door, her foot moving to kick the wood gently. If Anders doesn't respond to that she will leave, find a place where she can swing her sword until she has no energy left. Until then, she waits.

Comments

[isblind]

Of course he responds- he's used enough, with the way he's had to live for so long, to being roused at all sorts of hours. Preparing to grab things and go at a moment's notice- which is still his first response. For a few moments there's no response save the shuffling sounds of motion before the door's unlocked and opened a crack.

As soon as he's seen who's there it's pulled open wide- Anders might not have had time to gather everything, but it's clear he'd have been ready enough to leave, boots on and staff in hand. And once he's gotten a look at her face-- he steps back to give her room to come in, concern written on his own face.

"Hawke?" is all he asks, all he really needs to. There's no point asking whether she's alright when he knows the answer, and she'll talk about what happened and why she's here in such a state if she feels like it. (He has his guesses, but none look very favorably upon certain people she's mentioned before.)

[espouses]

She's almost startled to see him so well dressed - until she remembers that he's used to waking at the break of dawn to attend to everyone and their mother in Darktown, leaving out plates of warm milk for kittens and giving his heart and soul to the healing of people that couldn't afford to see anyone else. Hawke almost feels bad for getting him out of bed and ushering him into clothing - she would, she thinks, if she imagined he wasn't used to it. The hours they keep as friends have never been particularly well plotted.

Slipping into the room, she places her sword in the corner and kicks off her boots, taking the moment where her back is turned to rub at her eyes hard and breathe out, to control her emotions. She would stay for a few moments, say she was worried, some excuse, before she slid out of the room and let him go back to his rest. It was the right thing to do - Hawke was not going to be a weight on anyone's shoulders, not anymore. She knew what that was like and it was hell to bear.

"Yes, I'm here." She settles down, flopping on his bed and shifting a little, patting the spot beside her in silent invitation to have him join her. She won't admit it but she needs the solid weight of someone beside her now, she needs comfort in a way she hasn't craved since she and Bethany were children, curled up and missing their father in unspeakable ways. "I didn't interrupt anything, did I?"

[isblind]

"Nothing," he answers with a shake of his head, "I was just reading." ...in bed, evidently, considering how the blankets are still shoved aside from when he'd nudged himself back out of it, the space he'd occupied still warm. The book in question's still open on the nightstand, and he reaches over, flipping the cover shut before he settles on the edge of the bed to take his own shoes back off. With that done he takes that invitation and shifts into place beside her, faint worry still lining his face; she doesn't show up on doorsteps in the middle of the night for no reason. "You're not sleeping too poorly, are you? I might be able to find you something for that."

The room's only slightly more lived-in than when he'd first arrived- he just doesn't have very many things to have left out- but it's at least slightly less empty, a little more obviously occupied. It's never going to be anything homelike, as far as he's concerned it'll be temporary no matter how long he's lived in it, but company still helps it feel a bit less empty. Quiet. Some nights he almost misses Darktown.

[espouses]

"Reading," Hawke nods, watching him as he comes over and settles beside her. She's actually rather surprised that he hadn't put up more of a fight - but, then again, she's never invited him to lie with her in bed before. It's an entirely new situation for the both of them and she simply lets herself indulge in the fact that she can settle herself and move closer, draping herself over his body to press her face into his neck.

It's not as though she's a stranger to physical affection, not really, not after Isabela and Varric, but it's a little different with Anders. She's never been closer to him than she's needed for healing, not until they arrived here together and found sanctuary with each other. She's craved that kind of comfort since then and it's fallen to Anders to bear that weight.

"I don't need any medicine, don't worry," She whispers in reply, her eyes squeezing shut, tight enough that it might hurt. Her hand wraps around his shirt and she squeezes, hard. "I simply had a bad dream - it's been a while and I thought it best to come here in case I broke something with this new strength of mine."

[isblind]

At first he doesn't quite return the gesture, simply letting her make herself comfortable there; this isn't the sort of situation where he wants to push anything, to overstep the boundaries he'd so carefully set for himself. But when she mentions nightmares, when her hand tightens-

Nightmares are a thing he knows well. He's a mage and Warden both; his ties to the Fade and the taint in his body make certain that he knows what there is to fear in the dark. Many are the nights he's woken in a cold sweat to the sound of his own heavy breathing, nothing to do but roll over and try to put it from his mind to sleep again, and that can be hard enough in a place he calls home. But far from it, and alone?.. Comfort isn't a thing he can deny her, of all people.

Anders reaches up to stroke her hair, carefully, gently. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice low. "It can't be easy, waking up alone here." There may be other people in the house she lives in- but her home at least held familiar faces. The bloody mabari, if nothing else; he bets she let it sleep on the bed.

[espouses]

It's so very easy to lean into the touch to her hair, the fingers a familiar gesture; it's comforting, like the touch of her sister of her father, and that makes the dull ache in her chest feel even worse, a sour taste developing in her mouth. She came her to comfort herself, not to drive herself deeper into this hole, and she has to physically bite her lip to snap herself out of it all.

"It's not. At least at home I had Sandal to dance with and Bee to hassle, but here? It's very dark and it's not as though there are bandits." It's not home, not in the least, and it feels worse than it had felt when she had first arrived at Kirkwall. She had been blessed with her mother and Bethany, then, and Aveline, and she had been prepared to make a life keeping them safe.

What does she have now?

"I suppose I just needed a little tenderness," she grins, trying to lighten the mood. "And who better than my favourite healer, hm?"

[isblind]

He isn't unwilling, but why him, why not the stranger she's apparently found distraction with? Anders could never turn her away, he knows it and he's sure she knows it; the sight of her so distraught is painful in ways he'd thought he might not feel again before they met. He wants to be the one she comes to for comfort, to allow her (and himself) that closeness.

He wants what's best for her. What would make her happy, in the end, and that isn't him. Anders won't pull away from her now, won't leave her like this, but she shouldn't have come. Should have gone to someone else. The arm he's settled over her doesn't move, despite his response.

"What about that new... friend of yours? I thought that was what you saw him for."

[espouses]

The sudden reply has her tensing, her body still as his words sink in. She had never thought that this, their relationship, their friendship, would make him so discomforted but that is the thought that spins through her mind now. It probably wasn't fair of her to wake him in the middle of the night desperate for companionship when she did have Killian to take care of any of her... Needs. But she didn't want something so base and sexual; she wanted the warmth of friendship and that is what she had longed for.

Perhaps she had made a mistake coming here after all, even if the gentle way she was resting against Anders suggested otherwise.

Pulling back, Hawke lifts herself up and shrugs a shoulder, flexing her fingers as though she was entirely content. The weight of her sadness still hangs heavy around her neck and all she wants is to bury her face into Anders' neck and cry until there's nothing left for her to sob out, but she wants nothing less than to be a burden on her friend. So, instead, she grins, easily.

"I only came here to irritate you," she says it lightly, as though the whole thing had been a joke, a tease. "In lieu of you having a cat. I shall let myself out." She hops up over his legs, standing and reaching for her boots, lifting her leg awkwardly as she tries to tug it on with shaken hands.

(She wonders, absently, if this is how Isabela feels).