Title: No light
Fandom: Dragon Age
Rating: G
Length: 448 words
Content notes: N/A
Author notes: Written for the ‘sunshine’ challenge in fan-flashworks.
Summary: Sara Hawke grows concerned about Anders’ obsessive focus on writing his manifesto.

***

It had been weeks since the clinic had been destroyed. Weeks since Anders had left the Estate. He had done little else except spend his days and nights writing his manifesto in ever more feverish script. His hair had long since fallen from its tie, lank with grease. His sallow cheeks were stained with ink where he had fallen asleep on the page. He looked like he was burning up but when she touched his forehead it was cool.

“Hey, love,” Sara said one night, gently touching his shoulder. The feathers of his pauldrons had grown dark with dust and oil.

He didn’t respond, the nib of his pen scratching away at the paper as he wrote.

Sara tried again. “Anders,” she said, giving his shoulder a little shake.

“Hmm?” he said, not looking away from his work.

“You need to eat.” The dinner she had brought him hours ago remained untouched beside him.

“Not hungry,” he said.

“You haven’t eaten in days. You’ll waste away.” There were dark shadows on his face that weren’t cast by the candle on the desk.

“Mmm.”

Sara took a deep breath. “At least come to bed. Fenris and I miss you.” She was already wearing her nightgown.

“Can’t,” he said. “Need to write this part.”

“It can wait ‘til morning, love.”

“If I leave it, I’ll forget. It could be the argument that clinches the Grand Cleric’s support.”

“Anders…” Sara shook her head. “I don’t think anything you write will sway her.”

“You don’t know that. I’m using their own dogma. I have to make them understand.”

“You have barely left this desk in days, Anders. I’m getting worried.”

“I’m nearly finished –”

“You’ve been saying that for days, weeks. Months, even. I miss you.”

Finally, he turned his head to look at her. She half expected to see the blue glow of Justice in his eyes, but his brown eyes only reflected the warm light of the candle.

“I’m sorry, love,” he said. He put the pen down on the desk next to the loose sheets of paper, and Sara’s heart leaped. “I know it’s been hard for you.”

She leaned down and kissed his forehead. His nose. His lips. He felt almost like a stranger, his skin dry and thin, his lips the same. He barely responded.

She pulled back and smoothed his hair down. “Please, love, come to bed. And tomorrow, come with us to the Wounded Coast. A bit of sunshine would do you good.”

His eyes were sorrowful as he turned away, picked up the pen and dipped it into the ink well.

“Soon,” he said. “I’m almost there.” And started to write once more.