bubonickitten:

Anders doesn’t bring a lot with him when he moves in. A small sheaf of various drafts of his manifesto (which quickly become scattered and lost throughout the house); an old, worn scarf repaired with the tight, steady stitches of a healer’s hands; and a pillow, beaten and well loved, with small flowers embroidered on both sides.

“It was my mother’s,” Anders explains of the latter when Hawke finally gives into the curiosity. “It’s the only thing of hers they let me keep in the Circle.”

“You took it with you when you escaped?” Hawke asks, surprised.

“It wasn’t easy.” Anders smiles faintly. “I had it stashed down the back of my robe for three days straight when I was planning. I wasn’t sure when I’d have the opening, you see.”

“It must mean a lot to you,” Hawke says.

“It does.”

(That night, Hawke has a Very Serious discussion with Dog. They know too well how the mabari likes to chew.)

Anders never goes to bed without it. Which isn’t to say that he never sleeps without it, of course – it’s far, far from uncommon to see the mage sprawled out over the desk or the couch, glowing faintly as he drowses. But on the nights when Hawke can coax the mage into bed properly, it’s never without the pillow in his arms, and Hawke’s even offered it a few times to help him relax when Anders is in his more agitated moods.

Which is why Hawke worries when Anders tries to give it to Varric. “I don’t need it anymore,” Anders explains when Hawke asks, and no matter how Hawke tries he will say nothing more of it.

They leave it behind when they flee the city. It’s among the least of what they’ve lost, Hawke knows. And there is much, much more disturbing the healer’s sleep than the loss of a pillow. But Anders curls around his pack in his sleep like he’s trying to fill the gap and Hawke, already raw and worried, feels their chest tighten at it.

There’s a package with Varric’s second letter, a courier rather than the usual messenger bird surprising them on their way to Ostwick. Hawke understands before Anders even tears away the wrapping, but they both can only stare at the item in his hands.

“I expected him to be angrier,” Anders finally manages.

“He probably is,” Hawke says carefully. “That doesn’t mean he’s not still your friend.”

It’s a somewhat bulkier addition to their bedrolls, Hawke supposes. But that night, Anders sleeps peacefully for the first time in months, arms wrapped over carefully embroidered flowers.

(submitted by The Handers Fairy)

Aaaa, this is so beautiful!! I want to adopt it as a headcanon, omg.