Warden: I call dibs on the feather mage.

Queen Anora/king Alistair: Yeah, okay.

Templar: That man is an apostate and a criminal. He killed his templar escorts.

Anders: I did not! You can’t prove anything.

Warden: Doesn’t matter. I called dibs.

King/queen: Warden’s got a point there.

Templars: Criminal! Apostate!

Warden: *shrugs* Dibs, though.

hawkefels:

For better or for worse (or: 5 times Hawke asked Anders to marry him) by fauxfires             (tumblr & AO3)

“Damn,” Anders mutters, and looks away. “… I had a whole. I had a whole thing planned. There was going to be Fereldan stew.” He wipes at one of his eyes with the back of his hand, steadfastly not looking at Hawke. “I did a lot of thinking while you were gone about where we were when we left, love, and where we were when you left, and I…”

Hawke is grinning like a rising sun. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, obviously, of course, although I still want Fereldan stew. Also, to be carried across a threshold bridal style. Maker, Anders.”