The True Place for a Just Man - Chapters 1-5
Title: The True Place for a Just Man
Author: Miri1984
Artist: JessicaJones_1
Beta: Amhran_Comrac
Canon: Dragon Age/Dragon Age 2 - Fits into the Caged/Blood Wound/Shameboner universe
Ratings: M
Warnings: Sexual content, some implied violence, some actual, traumatic situations.
Summary: Anders' time in the tower from his capture to his final escape.
Author's/Artist's note I know I've used the title before for an Anders story, but it's just too appropriate, and this fic kind of wipes that fic out (which was only a short one shot in any case!)
1. Capture
"What's your name boy?"
His mother moves to answer, but something snaps in him and he gets in first. "Anders," he says. One of the Templars sniggers, and he hears his mother protesting, but it's too late for any of that. It was too late the moment the first fingers of flame started in the straw of the barn. The name is accurate enough. His mother calls him pet names, like "sweetheart" or "darling", and he groans and tells her he has a proper name while inside he feels special and loved. His father more often than not "boy." His given name has never had much meaning for him, and it's easy to give the name the boys in the village use for him.
The boy he used to be, the one who had a mother and a father and a home that wasn't populated by tinsuited monsters, that boy isn't him any more.
"All right then, my little Anders," the Templar says. "Let's be off." He's vaguely aware of his mother sobbing as she passes a package to one of the men, his father standing stoic and unmoving at the door. He hopes to Andraste he imagines the clink of coins as he is led from the house. Instead he focuses on the sound of his mother's tears. They at least, are genuine.
One thing is absolutely clear from the get go: chains are not meant to be comfortable. He's been crying, and he wants to wipe his face and his nose, try to regain some semblance of dignity considering one of the Templars is periodically laughing and jeering at him, but with his arms bound behind him he can't even scratch his nose, and struggling to do so would undoubtably unbalance him. Even though he's sitting wedged between the Templar and the horse's neck he's terrified of falling. It's a long, long way down to the ground.
When they stop for the night the Templar whose horse he'd been sharing is surprisingly gentle, taking him down and allowing him some time to relieve himself, unlocking the chains but standing directly behind him, making it clear that no escape attempt will be tolerated. As he finishes, however, the other Templar comes up behind the first, and there's a sneer in his voice, along with something else that makes Anders shudder, as he speaks.
"How old do you think this one is?" he says.
"Get back to camp, William," the kind Templar, as Anders has come to think of him, says. His voice is hard, however.
"You're a soft touch, Harley," William says. Anders buttons his clothing and turns around, surprised to find his hands shaking as he holds them out to Harley to be manacled again. William hasn't moved. He is looking at Anders, a small smile on thin lips, and Anders shrinks back from the wrongness in his gaze.
The trip takes forever. He doesn't know if it's because he's terrified of what will come next, or terrified of William, who continues to look at him as though he is a piece of meat to be devoured, or simply because he wants to be at home. He'd even be glad to see his father's face, now.
When they reach the lake, the kind Templar hands him the package his mother had been allowed to put together for him. Anders had seen it, among the gear, and had ached for it the entire journey. He didn't know what was in it, only that it was from her - the only person who seemed to care that he was being taken away.
"Don't open it until you've got your bunk," the Templar whispers to him. "And don't let the others see it. It's for you, you don't want to lose it." Anders bites his lip and nods. He doesn't like Harley - it would be impossible to like the man who has spent the last few days dragging him from his home, but he knows, obscurely, that this man had stood between him and something even more terrible, and he is grateful.
They remove the manacles just inside the enormous double doors. They close, and Anders can tell there is more to them than just wood and metal, in that way he has. A tall man in robes is standing there, and despite everything, Anders feels a small surge of excitement. He's a mage. An official mage, one who is …allowed, and he is like Anders. One day, he'll wear robes like that, have a staff to help him cast spells. One day he'll be able to do magic and people won't be surprised at it, won't yell at him for it. People will ask him to do magic.
"Just the one today, William?" the man asks. He's old. Older than Anders' father. He has dark skin and a black beard and deep brown eyes.
"Yes, Senior Enchanter," William says. "Feisty though. I'd watch him."
The man's face clouds for a minute and he glances at Harley. Anders knows they don't think he notices, but Harley shakes his head minutely, and the mage's face relaxes in something like relief.
"What's your name, child?" the mage asks, as Harley and William turn to leave.
"Anders," he says.
The mage lifts an eyebrow. "Well then. Mine's Torrin. It's nice to meet you. I'll take you to the apprentice quarters and get you settled in."
Anders is silent. The tower had looked huge from the boat on the lake, and the inside is just as confusing as the outside. Twisting corridors, doors that lead into rooms full of books and softly speaking people, but the thing that he notices the most is the Templars. They are everywhere. At the door of every room, clanking in their heavy boots down the corridors, their blank helmets making them seem like metal demons. He shrinks back when one brushes past him, the cold of the metal on the breastplate making him shiver. He doesn't like the sword they all wear, wreathed in flames the way it is. It makes him think of death, and the fire in the barn.
He clutches the packet to his chest and follows Torrin. When they reach the dormitory, Anders is shocked to see it full of children. He hadn't heard them. Why weren't they shouting? Playing? He's never seen children like this before.
They are a mix of ages, none younger than six or so, but a few a couple of years older than he. It's to one of these that Torrin waves, calling him over. A dark haired boy, probably about sixteen.
"Karl - you're the eldest here, this is Anders. Set him up with a bunk and some clothes will you?"
The boy raises an eyebrow insolently and crosses his arms. "Why me?"
"Just do it, Karl. No complaining."
The boy sighs and rolls his eyes, and Senior Enchanter Torrin nods and leaves. Once the older man has left, however, Karl smiles at Anders with genuine kindness and the fear that had gripped him lessens a little.
"Don't worry about Torrin," Karl says. "He's a prig. I just do it to get on his nerves."
Anders laughs a little at that, the first time he's laughed since before the fire, and he's surprised at how good it feels. Karl nods and grins, obviously seeing something promising in Anders, and claps him on the shoulder.
"Is that something from your parents?" he says, eyeing the package in Anders' hands.
He clutches it tighter. "From my mother," he says softly.
"Hide it," Karl says. "Under your mattress. Open it tonight when it's dark and the Biffs can't see properly in their stupid helmets. They'll take it from you if they see it."
"Why?" he says.
Karl shrugs, sounding bitter. "It's what they do," he says, and any good feelings Anders had are suddenly gone.
Karl is kindly, and has a sharp sense of humour that makes Anders smile again, although he doesn't feel close to laughter any more. He finds Anders a bunk, near the back of the room, close to the corner. "Corner bunks are best," he says, "The Biffs can't see you that well when you're in one of those, and Varel's close to his Harrowing. If you're lucky you'll be able to get his when he goes. Just make sure you keep an eye out first thing in the morning. If his stuff's gone, grab it."
"Harrowing?"
Karl shook his head minutely. "You'll see. Just watch for it." Anders' bunk is a few over from the corner, at the back of the room, on the bottom. "Used to be top bunks were better, but things are different these days. Now that William's a catcher instead of a watcher."
"You know William?"
Karl's gaze darkens at that. "Did he bring you in?" he asks, and the question is gentle.
"Yes. Him and Harley."
"They've assigned Harley with him?" He raises an eyebrow, then nods grimly. "Good," he says, but doesn't explain, just goes to a set of cupboards at the back of the room and piles up Anders with blankets and pillows and a bundle of clothing. "These will probably be a bit big for a while, but you'll grow into them," Karl says. "Kids are usually younger than you when they come in. Were you an apostate?"
"A what?"
"A free mage. Did your parents try to hide you?"
He shook his head, biting his lips, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening again. "No," he said. "They didn't." He's intrigued by Karl's words. "Are there free mages?"
Karl looks at him. "If you can call it that," he says. "Here. Put your packet under the mattress. Make up your bed and come find me. You're lucky you came in before dinner, they don't bother to feed the new ones if they come late. Hurry up."
That night, he reaches under his mattress to find the packet and opens it, worrying the string with his fingers. The knots have gotten so tight, in their journey, that it takes a while for him to get it off. He unwraps the cloth to find his pillow - the one his mother made for him when he was just a baby, back when she had time to do things like embroider: before the farm, before the brothers and sisters who never came, before his father stopped smiling and fell silent and hard. He clutches it to his face and breathes in the lingering scent of her, tears squeezing out of his eyes. He is still clutching it in his arms when he wakes the next morning.
2. Healing
The boy can't be more than eight, and he's crying for his mother. Anders feels his own loss keenly, but this boy is younger, and obviously was loved by both of his parents, for he calls for mama and papa and not just mama the way Anders did in his sleep. He keeps his head down, though, he doesn't want to get the duty that Karl got with him. It's only been a couple of weeks, any way. He's relieved when Jowan is assigned to him - Jowan is a year or two younger than Anders but he's been here since he was six and knows the ropes better than most. He's a nice person, Jowan, but Anders hasn't really made any friends apart from Karl, and he can't exactly call Karl a friend. He suspects the older boy thinks he's a nuisance and is only kind out of pity, and that makes Anders angry. Not with Karl, with himself.
"There are always more elves," Anders says to Karl.
"Elves are better at magic," Karl says. "Something in the blood, they say. You'll notice it in class, once you're past the rank amateur stage you're in now."
Anders makes a face at Karl. He's sensitive about not doing well at the moment. The fire in the barn had seemed so easy but here he can't seem to magic the smallest spark. The teachers seem, strangely enough, pleased about this. He's heard mutters of "he'll be easier to control" and "probably won't pass the Harrowing, that'll make the Templars happy," and on one occasion "he was brought in so late, what do you expect?" The only class he sees to be doing well in is Healing, which earns him some sneers from the other boys. It's a girl's talent, apparently. But he can't stop himself from feeling proud of the green and blue light he can conjure there, even if it isn't blowing anything up or freezing it.
Karl notices his expression and elbows him. "Don't worry," he says. "It takes time to learn. Don't listen to what they say."
"How old were you when you came?" Anders asks. He's been wanting to, since that first night, but something about the expressions on the faces of the apprentices stops him from asking personal questions. There's a careful blankness whenever something from the past is mentioned. If someone says the food reminds them of home, or mentions a favourite game they used to play outside, there is always an awkward silence.
"Seven," Karl says. There is finality in the tone, however, and Anders knows he will get no more information from him. That he responded at all was a sign of trust.
The boy's name is Alim Surana, and he quickly shows himself to be one of the most talented mages the circle has ever seen. The teachers all talk about him when they think no one is listening, and the Templars show extra vigilance whenever he is around, as though he's some sort of walking shock bomb, which Anders supposes he is, in a way. Jowan and he have become fast friends, although it quickly becomes obvious who the leader out of the two of them is, despite Jowan's greater age. Alim is quick and sneaky and constantly getting the two of them into trouble, but it's a cheeky, lovable kind of trouble that earns them cuffs on the back of the head rather than extra duties. Alim has a smile that melts the heart of the hardest Templars.
There are also rumours that Irving has personally said if any harm comes to the boy before his Harrowing there will be a reckoning.
Anders decides it would be a good idea to keep out of the new protege's way. He does find out that of all the schools of magic, Alim is rubbish at creation, which makes him a little bit smug. There is little doubt, now, that Anders' talent lies very firmly in the healing arts. His teachers have gone from being exasperated at his lack of ability in primal and entropy, to sanguine. "At least he can heal. He'll get a good place outside the tower if he's careful."
That phrase lodges in his mind like a fish hook. Outside the tower. He's been inside for three months, the longest time ever. Granted, it's the middle of winter and the lake is frozen over, but he aches to feel wind on his face that wasn't shunted through a narrow window. He's heard rumours that the Templars take apprentices out for exercises when the weather is fine. He clings to that rumour with all his heart.
On his way back to the dormitories after dinner that night on his own, he hears the unmistakable mewling of a cat. Curious and excited, he follows the sound. Cats are nice. They had many, on the farm. Mice were a problem - they ate the grain and shat in the house and his mother always had a few mousers about. She was kind hearted too, and let the older cats retire to the house, once they'd slowed down and were less than useful as workers. His father grumbled about it, but hadn't ever gotten rid of them the way he threatened, and Anders had loved to play with them.
This cat is scraping at the door of a room - one of the senior enchanter's rooms he thinks, although he's still not entirely sure of the layout of the Tower. There is templar outside who snarls at the animal and Anders recognises his voice as that of Ser Warrick, one of the templars the older boys avoid if possible, then kicks it, hard. Anders can hear the bone break. The pathetic mewl that emerges tears at him and he wants so badly to yell at the man that he shakes, but he's heard enough about Warrick to know that any confrontation with the man will undoubtably end in kicks aimed at Anders as well, so he dips out of sight until Warrick tramps away, then creeps out to find the animal lying in a corner, still mewling, but more weakly now.
Anders' heart twists. How someone could be so cruel as to kick something wearing metal boots like that he doesn't know. He gathers the animal in his arms as gently as he can. Even so, it scratches him, as animals do, big red welts open on his arms and his robes are undoubtably ruined, but he can't risk sedating it until he's back in the apprentice quarters. A few healing spells later and the cat is sitting on his bunk, licking his fur. Anders touches his lips to find a smile there, before he feels a hand on his shoulder. He jumps, expecting Ser Warrick or another Templar, ready to lecture him about reckless use of magic, but turns to see a grey haired senior enchanter instead. She has kind blue eyes and a gentle voice.
"They said you were talented," she smiles at him. "I didn't realise how much."
His grin is genuine in its delight. It's the first direct praise anyone has given him about his magic.
"Thank you," he says.
"I think you've made a friend, too," she says, eyeing the cat, which has stood up and is butting against Anders leg and purring. "Might want to save him some fish scraps from dinner tomorrow."
Anders leans down and buries his hand in the soft fur. It's a young cat, not fully grown, tiny and vulnerable. He feels a fierce need to protect it. The Enchanter notices his action and smiles. "You should name him."
Anders is terrible at names.
The cat starts to follow him around the keep. Finally another apprentice dubs him "Mr Wiggums" and Anders is embarrassed by it, but it sticks and the cat won't answer to anything else. Not even Ser Pounce A Lot, which is the name he finally comes up with. He vows he'll call the next cat who adopts him that, although the other tower cats avoid Wiggums. The cat has a nasty temper and a tendency to swipe at people who try to pet it.
He likes to ride on Anders' shoulder and after a while the Enchanters and Templars stop telling him to leave the damn animal behind, since every time he tries it just shows up any way, usually biting and scratching people on the way. Wiggums sleeps in a fur ball on the end of his bed and Anders feels, for the first time since getting to the Tower, relatively safe.
It's a good feeling.
3. One Kind of Ending
"Flora. Flora. Flora's a girls name."
The boy is on the brink of tears. Anders tries to ignore it, it's not an uncommon sight in the tower, after all, but usually the tears are for other reasons. Apprentices don't tease each other. There's too much danger in that, not just from the Templars, but from each other. These are exceptional circumstances, however.
Florian had come to the circle escorted by his parents who were tearful and loving as they let him go. Anders couldn't deny the first time he'd seen him teased he'd felt a warm stab of satisfaction in his belly. Let him be miserable. When Florian wrote letters to his parents, his parents could read them. When Florian wrote letters to his parents his parents wrote back.
But the younger children have been doing this for weeks now and Anders can't help but see echoes of his own childhood back in the village, teased for his mother's accent, his too-blond hair.
"Anders, Anders, Anders…"
He dealt with it by adopting the name. There were worse things to be called, after all. He could think of five or ten right off the bat that would make Florian cry more quickly than "Flora."
He walks up to the group. He's tall, even though he's only just fourteen, and the other mages like him because he talks back in class and isn't afraid of the Templars (oh, but he is, inside he can still feel the clamp of the irons on his wrists, still see the gleam of predatory hunger in the eyes of Ser William), and they fall silent at his approach.
"Finn," he says, clapping his hand on the smaller boy's shoulder. "You said you needed help in the library?"
The boy looks up at him, big eyes welling with moisture. Anders fully expects this to be something he regrets, but he is impressed when the boy gathers himself and stands straighter. "Thank you," he says. The other boys have fallen silent. If Anders is Flora's friend, they'll have to be careful. Anders isn't mean, but he is respected. It didn't do to pick on someone who he is friends with. Not if you wanted to be popular.
Finn follows him around after the nickname incident. That's all right, though, because he's clever. Sometimes Anders gets him to do research for him. The boy loves the library, and it gives Anders more time to explore.
But he doesn't do it often, because he likes the library too. Karl helps him with his papers sometimes, and the other apprentices seem to relax more there, as though it's a place of sanctuary.
Today he's meant to be studying entropy. He's gotten better at it, these days, better at all the spells in the other trees, although creation is still his best. Entropy bothers him, though, because it's as though all the healing spells he's learned are reversed, somehow - wrong. Still, he needs to find a particular book, which doesn't seem to be on the shelves, so he goes to the enchanter librarian who checks who was the last to have it.
"Enchanter Marian," she says, smiling at him. "She must have been using it for her next set of classes."
Anders frowns. He really needs the book if he wants to finish the paper on time. Radley isn't tolerant of apprentices who don't finish their assignments, and he's not keen on doing another stint of pot scrubbing if this is late. He puts on his most charming smile and watches the enchanter behind the desk melt. This is a talent he's only just discovered. It works better on the older, female enchanters, and even some of the Templars. He's learned that if he cocks his head just so and lifts his eyebrows slightly he can convince them to let him do pretty much anything. "I can write you a pass to go and ask for it if you really need it," she says. "The mage quarters are out of bounds at this time of day but if you show this to Hubert at the door he'll take you to her room."
"Thank you, enchanter!" he says brightly, and watches as she writes out the slip.
Hubert grumbles, but opens the door when he sees the enchanter's signature and follows as Anders gets to the right door. Marian is one of the senior enchanters. She has her own room. Anders is jealous. Privacy is a long lost luxury that he's beginning to pine for as he gets older.
He opens the door and goes inside. The room is tiny - but there is a bed and a desk and a chair. It's impersonal, nothing in it to show that it belonged to anyone in particular. But Anders doesn't go to the desk where he's sure the book will be. His feet are rooted to the spot.
The first thing he notices is that the chair is knocked over on the floor, the second, that the bed is stripped of its linen. The third makes his throat choke up and his eyes bulge, even as Hubert curses and shoves him out of the way.
A minute later… maybe ten, Anders is sitting outside the room with his arms wrapped around his knees. Hubert has forgotten about him, or maybe he's too busy with the… the thing in the room to care what an apprentice mage might be thinking. He can't shut his eyes, because every time he does he sees enchanter Marian, swinging back and forth slightly like some… rag doll from the beams in the roof of the room.
How did she get the linen up that high? he wonders, then snorts an hysterical laugh. What use is telekenisis if you can't use it to kill yourself?
He doesn't understand why she didn't use magic for all of it, at first. Because truly, magic would have been the easiest way to do it. Anders knows he could, if he wanted to, stop his own heart. Why would she want to? Why would anyone ever want to? Did she really do it to herself? Maybe one of the Templars… but no. The Templars didn't need to string mages up to kill them. A sword through the chest worked fine, and no one would question that. That was their job.
He wipes at his eyes, which are pouring tears that he couldn't control if he tried. Hubert comes out of the room and sees him, sitting. "By all that's holy, boy, what are you still doing here?" he says. "I asked you to get the Knight Commander."
"I'm sorry, ser…I… I can't get up ser…"
Hubert kneels in front of Anders, looking at him critically, then snorts. "First one for you then," he says, sounding resigned. "Never mind, boy. I'll fetch one of the other apprentices to get you." He stands up, ready to leave, but Anders is suddenly terrified.
"No, please, don't leave me here, ser!" He manages to scramble to his feet. Hubert raises an eyebrow, but nods and waits for Anders to catch up. Anders trails behind the Templar back towards the main hall, trembling uncontrollably the whole way. When they're back he hears someone calling his name and Finn is there, tugging on his arm.
"Anders, what's wrong?"
He looks down at the big eyes, several things clicking into place at once. He could tell Finn what he just saw. Finn would probably write to his parents about it. Finn's parents would be horrified and they would come to the Tower and demand that he be allowed to go home with them…. and then it would get out, exactly what happened in the Tower and everyone would feel sorry for them and good King Maric would come and….
"First one for you then," Hubert had said.
"Nothing, Finn," Anders says shortly, and turns back towards the library. If he's lucky he can find another book to help him finish the paper. It won't be as good, but he finds he doesn't really care.
4. Harrowing
Anders is fifteen when Karl disappears. He is in the library, waiting for him, for over an hour. They were meant to work on his fire spells.
Anders has trouble with fire spells. More trouble than any other spell. Lightning and Ice and Entropy all come almost as easily as healing to him now; his destructive force is on a par with the most experienced apprentices. Only some of the elves do better - Alim Surana, of course, and Margaret Amell, who he's overheard has the potential to reduce the entire library to ashes with one wave of her hand. With Alim it's a cause for praise. With Margaret, suspicion. She's a bewitching thing - a couple of years younger than he, usually closeted with Alim and Jowan instigating trouble. Big green eyes and deeply dark hair. But where Alim is charming and open, Margaret is sly and sarcastic. Where Alim can get away with bending rules, Margaret more often than not is stuck on pot scrubbing duty, or something worse. Anders feels sorry for her.
But today, he is meant to be meeting Karl, and Karl hasn't shown. He knows, in the back of his head, what that means. He's seen enough of the older apprentices disappear, heard enough from the older mages.
Karl's gone for his Harrowing. Which means he's a full mage now, or…
…he's dead.
There's an unspoken rule, among the apprentices, that you don't talk about someone who's gone to their Harrowing. Not until it's known for certain what's happened to them. If they don't acknowledge that the person is missing, there's a chance they can believe he's just been transferred to another circle, or passed his Harrowing and is too proud to come downstairs to visit - or the Templars don't want them associating with the apprentices any more (this is true enough, anyway - the only full mages Anders gets to see are the ones who teach his classes and they leave as soon as their lessons are done).
But the news always filters down eventually. Some of the Biffs are friendly - or stupid. Hubert is an arsehole, but he's an honest one, and if you get him on a good day he'll let you know if your best friend is alive or dead. Some of the older templars will answer your questions, or if you can snag a tranquil they will always give you the information you want, not having imagination enough to lie.
Not many people have the stomach to talk to the tranquil, however. Although this time, Anders thinks he might try.
Marchon will tell you, if you can stomach being in the same room with him for more than a few seconds alone, which is something Karl has told Anders to never, ever do. There's a reason he's always paired with another Templar. The man takes delight in describing the failed Harrowings he has attended, although he's very careful never to go into detail about what the ritual actually entails.
There's a rumour that Greagoir is going to reassign Marchon, but it never actually happens. As it is he's forbidden in the apprentice quarters. Niall told him that Marchon was related to the Arl of Denerim - a younger son, or a bastard who was palmed off to the Templars to keep him out of trouble. Anders realises it may well be his job to warn any new apprentices about him, if Karl is really gone.
He chokes a little on that thought.
"Anders, what are you doing here?" He turns to see Maggie Amell, books clutched in her arms, big green eyes blinking at him over the leather covers. She's so pretty, Maggie, and Anders wants to give her his best smirk, but worry over Karl has him distracted.
"Karl's gone," he blurts out. Maggie's eyes narrow and she looks troubled, but the unspoken rule stands between them and she bites her lip on whatever she was going to say.
"Here," she says finally, shoving her books at him. He holds up his hands to avoid taking them, stepping back a little, and she sighs in exasperation. "Enchanter Leorah tells me I have to improve my healing. You're the best in our class, help me."
He frowns at her. "Why should I help you?" he says.
She looks angry. "Jowan says you're going to fail primal unless you learn how to cast a proper fireball. Help me with healing and I'll help you with fire."
He folds his arms. "What does it matter any way?" he says, smiling a little bit now. "It's not as though they're going to kick me out or anything."
Her eyes shift to the corner of the room and Anders follows her gaze to see Owain, sorting and shelving books. Methodically. The shining red of the brand on his forehead catches the light briefly, and Anders' shudders, smile fading, heart constricting.
Harrowings are all well and good, but you have to be good enough to get to one. Tranquility isn't likely for Anders, not really. He's too good at healing, and healing is the marketable skill, the safe skill. But Maggie… Maggie is more dangerous. Without someone like Irving backing her, like he's backing Alim, she could be in a lot of trouble in a few years. The thought of those green, lively eyes going blank makes him catch his breath a little in fear and he reaches out a tentative hand to take the book she's holding. "Fine," he says, forcing his voice rough. "But you better be able to teach me to do a proper fireball."
She grins, suddenly sunny, and he realises he likes her, almost as much as he likes Karl. When they're sitting next to each other a bit later, he feels her small hand on his arm and a gentle squeeze.
"He'll be ok," she says under her breath.
He suspects, then, that Maggie likes him too.
He gets word from Hubert a week later that Karl passed his Harrowing and is teaching some of the younger mages - the fives and sixes. Anders never quite manages to cross paths with him. It makes him sad. He begins looking for ways to sneak around the Tower. He doesn't admit it, but he's looking for two things - a way to get up to the mage quarters that the Templars won't notice…
…and a way out. Karl going for his Harrowing has brought it home to him that in a very few years he could be facing his own death.
He doesn't want to die. He wakes in cold sweat some nights, remembering Enchanter Marian. Since he found her there have been three more suicides, one of them an apprentice.
His explorations get him into trouble. Templars drag him to the senior Enchanters every second or third day and he ends up with extra duties. More often than not when he makes his way to the kitchens after meals for pot scrubbing duty Maggie is there with him. Her transgressions are more imaginative than his - icing the stairs just before Templars are about to go down them is a personal favourite of hers. Although she's helping him with his fire spells, it's her ice magic that is exceptional.
One night, nearly a year after Karl has disappeared, they finish the last big, smelly pot and Anders manages to press her up against the kitchen sink and kiss her, to find out that despite being two years younger than him she's definitely been practicing with something other than her hand. When he raises his head, breathless and red-faced and clumsy, she's grinning an evil grin at him that makes him laugh.
A metal hand descends on his shoulder shortly afterwards and he's spun around to face Ser Maron, who cuffs him as Maggie runs off and gives him two more nights pot scrubbing duty.
News gets around and he's always alone on extra duties after that. Anders chalks it up as another thing the Templars need to pay for.
5. Firsts
Karl is a lot shorter than he remembered. But it's been two years since his Harrowing, and Anders supposes it's more because he's been growing rather than Karl shrinking. He has a rough covering of stubble on his cheeks that Anders itches to touch. Karl is rather dashing, with those blue eyes under the unruly mop of black hair, he looks like some sort of pirate.
"Anders!" Karl also seems happy to see him. "It's been a while."
"I didn't know where you'd gone," Anders says, and curses, because it sounds lame and young and stupid, all the things he never wants to sound in front of Karl. "I mean… I tried to find you a couple of times, but they never let us up into the mage quarters."
"I know. They don't let us down here, either, unless we're teaching. I'm sorry, I would have got a note to you, but you'd been moved too and I didn't know which of the Biffs on my level to trust yet."
The library is quiet. Anders had been meaning to meet Maggie here - but it wouldn't be the first time she stood him up. Perhaps he should stand her up instead?
"Let's get out of here and talk somewhere," Karl says then, grinning, and Anders nods.
They run from room to room, Anders showing Karl all the tricks he's found to avoid the Templars in the year they've been separated. "You've been busy," Karl says, a note of admiration in his voice. "I never knew half this stuff."
Anders shrugs. "It's a talent," he says, a half grin on his face. Karl's eyes glint with something as he watches Anders' mouth and Anders feels a flutter in his belly, and lower.
"I know a few places," Karl says then. "Come this way."
They end up in a room, empty but for a closet and some dusty shelves, with a high, narrow window. It looks impossible to get to, as are nearly all the windows in the tower, but Karl moves purposefully towards the wall, grinning. "If you climb up here you can get outside," Karl says, hitching his robes up and starting up on some uneven bricks. Anders starts to follow him, but there is the unmistakable sound of metal on stone that signifies a templar. "Karl!" he hisses, warning, and Karl drops down with an audible clatter.
"Fuck, we'll be caught," Karl pulls him by the hand into the closet, still giggling. "Andraste this has been fun," he whispers once they're firmly wedged inside with the door closed. "I forgot what it was like, being an apprentice. The senior mages are so dull sometimes…"
Anders smirks into the darkness, wanting to respond, tell Karl how much he's missed him, but something stops him. He suddenly realises they're pressed together, very close, and he can feel the scrape of Karl's stubble on his ear and the gentle whuff of his breath against his neck. Karl is still gripping Anders' arm and the press of his fingers is hot even through the robes.
"Anders?" Karl's voice is soft… hesitant in the darkness, and his fingers move slightly on Anders' arm and Anders feels his other hand creep up until it is gently brushing the skin at the neck of his robe. Anders' breath hitches - it feels different, somehow, than what he's done with the other apprentices. More intense. Karl is older, better, more handsome and Anders can't believe that he would even consider…
Before he's really sure what he's doing, Anders has lifted one hand to trace patterns on the back of Karl's neck, feeling the soft hairs there. Karl lets out a soft groan as Anders leans forward to kiss him. They're of a height, now, Anders is even a little taller, and it sends a thrill through him that he might be the cause of someone like Karl's desire, a desire that is all too evident through their thin circle robes. He presses his lips to the other mage's. He's been told he's good at this, even if he's never managed to get much further without Templars interrupting and putting he and his partner on extra duties, and Karl's little needy sounds as he parts the other man's lips with his tongue seem to reinforce that assessment.
Karl starts to hitch up Anders robes and Anders almost pulls back, but he wants this, he's wanted this for years and he's not going to let Karl get away again. Karl's long fingers trace a pattern across Anders' hip and dip lower, grasping his erection, and Anders can't stop his hips from bucking - it feels so good, so much better than touching himself, and maker knows he's been doing enough of that lately. Karl has captured his mouth again in a kiss that muffles his groan and Anders suddenly remembers there's a Templar outside and if they catch him they'll be angry and it just makes it sexier and suddenly he's coming and it was embarrassingly fast, but that's ok, because really, what he wants to do now is touch Karl.
Karl's lips have curved in a smile against his and Anders suppresses a desire to bite, instead he grabs Karl's upper arms and pushes him back against the wall side of the closet, making room for him to kneel in front of the older man, and lifts his robes. Karl's fingers tangle in Anders' hair as he cups the other man's cock in his palm, stroking upwards. Karl gasps. "Are you sure you want to do this…?" he manages to whisper, even though Anders can hear the need in his voice. "You… "
"Yes," Anders says. He's imagined doing it often enough, practiced on his own hand, trying to think of things he would want done to him, but it's different, and better and as he moves his mouth forward over Karl's cock and feels the tension in his legs and the short, desperate gasps for breath as he works his tongue he knows it's worth it.
He can tell Karl is struggling for silence. His gasps are getting throatier, more forced as Anders moves. The older mage starts to guide Anders' head back and forth, gently thrusting his hips at first, until he lets out a low groan and pushes hard making Anders gag and splutter as hot, bitter liquid spurts into the back of his throat.
"Sorry," Karl whispers. "But… you caught me unprepared." Anders grins and wipes his mouth, getting to his feet carefully.
"It's all right," he says. And it is. Totally all right. More than all right. Great. He hasn't felt like this before ever and the fact that Karl presses another kiss to his mouth and pulls Anders' close to his chest, breathing deeply, running his hand through the blond strands of Anders' hair, makes it better.
"I missed you," Karl breathes as they part.
Anders rests his forehead against Karl's not sure what to say in response. You're not like the others, seems inadequate, let's do this again sometime seems forward.
"I'll try to get away tomorrow," Anders says instead. "We can meet in the library?"
Karl nods. "I can teach you a few things," he says and Anders feels heat rise in his cheeks and other places.
"Do you think he's gone?" Anders whispers then. They haven't truly been paying attention to what's going on outside. It's entirely possible they'll open the door to find the First Enchanter and the Knight Commander waiting for them.
"If we weren't interrupted, they didn't know we were here," Karl says, laughing a little. "Trust me. I know. But you better go first. I'll clean up in here and see you tomorrow."
Anders reaches for the door, but looks back. It's too dark to see anything but the glint of Karl's eyes, but he leans forward any way and kisses him again. Karl responds, cupping the back of Anders' head and Anders feels warm all over.
He doesn't stop grinning all night.
Author: Miri1984
Artist: JessicaJones_1
Beta: Amhran_Comrac
Canon: Dragon Age/Dragon Age 2 - Fits into the Caged/Blood Wound/Shameboner universe
Ratings: M
Warnings: Sexual content, some implied violence, some actual, traumatic situations.
Summary: Anders' time in the tower from his capture to his final escape.
Author's/Artist's note I know I've used the title before for an Anders story, but it's just too appropriate, and this fic kind of wipes that fic out (which was only a short one shot in any case!)
1. Capture
"What's your name boy?"
His mother moves to answer, but something snaps in him and he gets in first. "Anders," he says. One of the Templars sniggers, and he hears his mother protesting, but it's too late for any of that. It was too late the moment the first fingers of flame started in the straw of the barn. The name is accurate enough. His mother calls him pet names, like "sweetheart" or "darling", and he groans and tells her he has a proper name while inside he feels special and loved. His father more often than not "boy." His given name has never had much meaning for him, and it's easy to give the name the boys in the village use for him.
The boy he used to be, the one who had a mother and a father and a home that wasn't populated by tinsuited monsters, that boy isn't him any more.
"All right then, my little Anders," the Templar says. "Let's be off." He's vaguely aware of his mother sobbing as she passes a package to one of the men, his father standing stoic and unmoving at the door. He hopes to Andraste he imagines the clink of coins as he is led from the house. Instead he focuses on the sound of his mother's tears. They at least, are genuine.
One thing is absolutely clear from the get go: chains are not meant to be comfortable. He's been crying, and he wants to wipe his face and his nose, try to regain some semblance of dignity considering one of the Templars is periodically laughing and jeering at him, but with his arms bound behind him he can't even scratch his nose, and struggling to do so would undoubtably unbalance him. Even though he's sitting wedged between the Templar and the horse's neck he's terrified of falling. It's a long, long way down to the ground.
When they stop for the night the Templar whose horse he'd been sharing is surprisingly gentle, taking him down and allowing him some time to relieve himself, unlocking the chains but standing directly behind him, making it clear that no escape attempt will be tolerated. As he finishes, however, the other Templar comes up behind the first, and there's a sneer in his voice, along with something else that makes Anders shudder, as he speaks.
"How old do you think this one is?" he says.
"Get back to camp, William," the kind Templar, as Anders has come to think of him, says. His voice is hard, however.
"You're a soft touch, Harley," William says. Anders buttons his clothing and turns around, surprised to find his hands shaking as he holds them out to Harley to be manacled again. William hasn't moved. He is looking at Anders, a small smile on thin lips, and Anders shrinks back from the wrongness in his gaze.
The trip takes forever. He doesn't know if it's because he's terrified of what will come next, or terrified of William, who continues to look at him as though he is a piece of meat to be devoured, or simply because he wants to be at home. He'd even be glad to see his father's face, now.
When they reach the lake, the kind Templar hands him the package his mother had been allowed to put together for him. Anders had seen it, among the gear, and had ached for it the entire journey. He didn't know what was in it, only that it was from her - the only person who seemed to care that he was being taken away.
"Don't open it until you've got your bunk," the Templar whispers to him. "And don't let the others see it. It's for you, you don't want to lose it." Anders bites his lip and nods. He doesn't like Harley - it would be impossible to like the man who has spent the last few days dragging him from his home, but he knows, obscurely, that this man had stood between him and something even more terrible, and he is grateful.
They remove the manacles just inside the enormous double doors. They close, and Anders can tell there is more to them than just wood and metal, in that way he has. A tall man in robes is standing there, and despite everything, Anders feels a small surge of excitement. He's a mage. An official mage, one who is …allowed, and he is like Anders. One day, he'll wear robes like that, have a staff to help him cast spells. One day he'll be able to do magic and people won't be surprised at it, won't yell at him for it. People will ask him to do magic.
"Just the one today, William?" the man asks. He's old. Older than Anders' father. He has dark skin and a black beard and deep brown eyes.
"Yes, Senior Enchanter," William says. "Feisty though. I'd watch him."
The man's face clouds for a minute and he glances at Harley. Anders knows they don't think he notices, but Harley shakes his head minutely, and the mage's face relaxes in something like relief.
"What's your name, child?" the mage asks, as Harley and William turn to leave.
"Anders," he says.
The mage lifts an eyebrow. "Well then. Mine's Torrin. It's nice to meet you. I'll take you to the apprentice quarters and get you settled in."
Anders is silent. The tower had looked huge from the boat on the lake, and the inside is just as confusing as the outside. Twisting corridors, doors that lead into rooms full of books and softly speaking people, but the thing that he notices the most is the Templars. They are everywhere. At the door of every room, clanking in their heavy boots down the corridors, their blank helmets making them seem like metal demons. He shrinks back when one brushes past him, the cold of the metal on the breastplate making him shiver. He doesn't like the sword they all wear, wreathed in flames the way it is. It makes him think of death, and the fire in the barn.
He clutches the packet to his chest and follows Torrin. When they reach the dormitory, Anders is shocked to see it full of children. He hadn't heard them. Why weren't they shouting? Playing? He's never seen children like this before.
They are a mix of ages, none younger than six or so, but a few a couple of years older than he. It's to one of these that Torrin waves, calling him over. A dark haired boy, probably about sixteen.
"Karl - you're the eldest here, this is Anders. Set him up with a bunk and some clothes will you?"
The boy raises an eyebrow insolently and crosses his arms. "Why me?"
"Just do it, Karl. No complaining."
The boy sighs and rolls his eyes, and Senior Enchanter Torrin nods and leaves. Once the older man has left, however, Karl smiles at Anders with genuine kindness and the fear that had gripped him lessens a little.
"Don't worry about Torrin," Karl says. "He's a prig. I just do it to get on his nerves."
Anders laughs a little at that, the first time he's laughed since before the fire, and he's surprised at how good it feels. Karl nods and grins, obviously seeing something promising in Anders, and claps him on the shoulder.
"Is that something from your parents?" he says, eyeing the package in Anders' hands.
He clutches it tighter. "From my mother," he says softly.
"Hide it," Karl says. "Under your mattress. Open it tonight when it's dark and the Biffs can't see properly in their stupid helmets. They'll take it from you if they see it."
"Why?" he says.
Karl shrugs, sounding bitter. "It's what they do," he says, and any good feelings Anders had are suddenly gone.
Karl is kindly, and has a sharp sense of humour that makes Anders smile again, although he doesn't feel close to laughter any more. He finds Anders a bunk, near the back of the room, close to the corner. "Corner bunks are best," he says, "The Biffs can't see you that well when you're in one of those, and Varel's close to his Harrowing. If you're lucky you'll be able to get his when he goes. Just make sure you keep an eye out first thing in the morning. If his stuff's gone, grab it."
"Harrowing?"
Karl shook his head minutely. "You'll see. Just watch for it." Anders' bunk is a few over from the corner, at the back of the room, on the bottom. "Used to be top bunks were better, but things are different these days. Now that William's a catcher instead of a watcher."
"You know William?"
Karl's gaze darkens at that. "Did he bring you in?" he asks, and the question is gentle.
"Yes. Him and Harley."
"They've assigned Harley with him?" He raises an eyebrow, then nods grimly. "Good," he says, but doesn't explain, just goes to a set of cupboards at the back of the room and piles up Anders with blankets and pillows and a bundle of clothing. "These will probably be a bit big for a while, but you'll grow into them," Karl says. "Kids are usually younger than you when they come in. Were you an apostate?"
"A what?"
"A free mage. Did your parents try to hide you?"
He shook his head, biting his lips, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening again. "No," he said. "They didn't." He's intrigued by Karl's words. "Are there free mages?"
Karl looks at him. "If you can call it that," he says. "Here. Put your packet under the mattress. Make up your bed and come find me. You're lucky you came in before dinner, they don't bother to feed the new ones if they come late. Hurry up."
That night, he reaches under his mattress to find the packet and opens it, worrying the string with his fingers. The knots have gotten so tight, in their journey, that it takes a while for him to get it off. He unwraps the cloth to find his pillow - the one his mother made for him when he was just a baby, back when she had time to do things like embroider: before the farm, before the brothers and sisters who never came, before his father stopped smiling and fell silent and hard. He clutches it to his face and breathes in the lingering scent of her, tears squeezing out of his eyes. He is still clutching it in his arms when he wakes the next morning.
2. Healing
The boy can't be more than eight, and he's crying for his mother. Anders feels his own loss keenly, but this boy is younger, and obviously was loved by both of his parents, for he calls for mama and papa and not just mama the way Anders did in his sleep. He keeps his head down, though, he doesn't want to get the duty that Karl got with him. It's only been a couple of weeks, any way. He's relieved when Jowan is assigned to him - Jowan is a year or two younger than Anders but he's been here since he was six and knows the ropes better than most. He's a nice person, Jowan, but Anders hasn't really made any friends apart from Karl, and he can't exactly call Karl a friend. He suspects the older boy thinks he's a nuisance and is only kind out of pity, and that makes Anders angry. Not with Karl, with himself.
"There are always more elves," Anders says to Karl.
"Elves are better at magic," Karl says. "Something in the blood, they say. You'll notice it in class, once you're past the rank amateur stage you're in now."
Anders makes a face at Karl. He's sensitive about not doing well at the moment. The fire in the barn had seemed so easy but here he can't seem to magic the smallest spark. The teachers seem, strangely enough, pleased about this. He's heard mutters of "he'll be easier to control" and "probably won't pass the Harrowing, that'll make the Templars happy," and on one occasion "he was brought in so late, what do you expect?" The only class he sees to be doing well in is Healing, which earns him some sneers from the other boys. It's a girl's talent, apparently. But he can't stop himself from feeling proud of the green and blue light he can conjure there, even if it isn't blowing anything up or freezing it.
Karl notices his expression and elbows him. "Don't worry," he says. "It takes time to learn. Don't listen to what they say."
"How old were you when you came?" Anders asks. He's been wanting to, since that first night, but something about the expressions on the faces of the apprentices stops him from asking personal questions. There's a careful blankness whenever something from the past is mentioned. If someone says the food reminds them of home, or mentions a favourite game they used to play outside, there is always an awkward silence.
"Seven," Karl says. There is finality in the tone, however, and Anders knows he will get no more information from him. That he responded at all was a sign of trust.
The boy's name is Alim Surana, and he quickly shows himself to be one of the most talented mages the circle has ever seen. The teachers all talk about him when they think no one is listening, and the Templars show extra vigilance whenever he is around, as though he's some sort of walking shock bomb, which Anders supposes he is, in a way. Jowan and he have become fast friends, although it quickly becomes obvious who the leader out of the two of them is, despite Jowan's greater age. Alim is quick and sneaky and constantly getting the two of them into trouble, but it's a cheeky, lovable kind of trouble that earns them cuffs on the back of the head rather than extra duties. Alim has a smile that melts the heart of the hardest Templars.
There are also rumours that Irving has personally said if any harm comes to the boy before his Harrowing there will be a reckoning.
Anders decides it would be a good idea to keep out of the new protege's way. He does find out that of all the schools of magic, Alim is rubbish at creation, which makes him a little bit smug. There is little doubt, now, that Anders' talent lies very firmly in the healing arts. His teachers have gone from being exasperated at his lack of ability in primal and entropy, to sanguine. "At least he can heal. He'll get a good place outside the tower if he's careful."
That phrase lodges in his mind like a fish hook. Outside the tower. He's been inside for three months, the longest time ever. Granted, it's the middle of winter and the lake is frozen over, but he aches to feel wind on his face that wasn't shunted through a narrow window. He's heard rumours that the Templars take apprentices out for exercises when the weather is fine. He clings to that rumour with all his heart.
On his way back to the dormitories after dinner that night on his own, he hears the unmistakable mewling of a cat. Curious and excited, he follows the sound. Cats are nice. They had many, on the farm. Mice were a problem - they ate the grain and shat in the house and his mother always had a few mousers about. She was kind hearted too, and let the older cats retire to the house, once they'd slowed down and were less than useful as workers. His father grumbled about it, but hadn't ever gotten rid of them the way he threatened, and Anders had loved to play with them.
This cat is scraping at the door of a room - one of the senior enchanter's rooms he thinks, although he's still not entirely sure of the layout of the Tower. There is templar outside who snarls at the animal and Anders recognises his voice as that of Ser Warrick, one of the templars the older boys avoid if possible, then kicks it, hard. Anders can hear the bone break. The pathetic mewl that emerges tears at him and he wants so badly to yell at the man that he shakes, but he's heard enough about Warrick to know that any confrontation with the man will undoubtably end in kicks aimed at Anders as well, so he dips out of sight until Warrick tramps away, then creeps out to find the animal lying in a corner, still mewling, but more weakly now.
Anders' heart twists. How someone could be so cruel as to kick something wearing metal boots like that he doesn't know. He gathers the animal in his arms as gently as he can. Even so, it scratches him, as animals do, big red welts open on his arms and his robes are undoubtably ruined, but he can't risk sedating it until he's back in the apprentice quarters. A few healing spells later and the cat is sitting on his bunk, licking his fur. Anders touches his lips to find a smile there, before he feels a hand on his shoulder. He jumps, expecting Ser Warrick or another Templar, ready to lecture him about reckless use of magic, but turns to see a grey haired senior enchanter instead. She has kind blue eyes and a gentle voice.
"They said you were talented," she smiles at him. "I didn't realise how much."
His grin is genuine in its delight. It's the first direct praise anyone has given him about his magic.
"Thank you," he says.
"I think you've made a friend, too," she says, eyeing the cat, which has stood up and is butting against Anders leg and purring. "Might want to save him some fish scraps from dinner tomorrow."
Anders leans down and buries his hand in the soft fur. It's a young cat, not fully grown, tiny and vulnerable. He feels a fierce need to protect it. The Enchanter notices his action and smiles. "You should name him."
Anders is terrible at names.
The cat starts to follow him around the keep. Finally another apprentice dubs him "Mr Wiggums" and Anders is embarrassed by it, but it sticks and the cat won't answer to anything else. Not even Ser Pounce A Lot, which is the name he finally comes up with. He vows he'll call the next cat who adopts him that, although the other tower cats avoid Wiggums. The cat has a nasty temper and a tendency to swipe at people who try to pet it.
He likes to ride on Anders' shoulder and after a while the Enchanters and Templars stop telling him to leave the damn animal behind, since every time he tries it just shows up any way, usually biting and scratching people on the way. Wiggums sleeps in a fur ball on the end of his bed and Anders feels, for the first time since getting to the Tower, relatively safe.
It's a good feeling.
3. One Kind of Ending
"Flora. Flora. Flora's a girls name."
The boy is on the brink of tears. Anders tries to ignore it, it's not an uncommon sight in the tower, after all, but usually the tears are for other reasons. Apprentices don't tease each other. There's too much danger in that, not just from the Templars, but from each other. These are exceptional circumstances, however.
Florian had come to the circle escorted by his parents who were tearful and loving as they let him go. Anders couldn't deny the first time he'd seen him teased he'd felt a warm stab of satisfaction in his belly. Let him be miserable. When Florian wrote letters to his parents, his parents could read them. When Florian wrote letters to his parents his parents wrote back.
But the younger children have been doing this for weeks now and Anders can't help but see echoes of his own childhood back in the village, teased for his mother's accent, his too-blond hair.
"Anders, Anders, Anders…"
He dealt with it by adopting the name. There were worse things to be called, after all. He could think of five or ten right off the bat that would make Florian cry more quickly than "Flora."
He walks up to the group. He's tall, even though he's only just fourteen, and the other mages like him because he talks back in class and isn't afraid of the Templars (oh, but he is, inside he can still feel the clamp of the irons on his wrists, still see the gleam of predatory hunger in the eyes of Ser William), and they fall silent at his approach.
"Finn," he says, clapping his hand on the smaller boy's shoulder. "You said you needed help in the library?"
The boy looks up at him, big eyes welling with moisture. Anders fully expects this to be something he regrets, but he is impressed when the boy gathers himself and stands straighter. "Thank you," he says. The other boys have fallen silent. If Anders is Flora's friend, they'll have to be careful. Anders isn't mean, but he is respected. It didn't do to pick on someone who he is friends with. Not if you wanted to be popular.
Finn follows him around after the nickname incident. That's all right, though, because he's clever. Sometimes Anders gets him to do research for him. The boy loves the library, and it gives Anders more time to explore.
But he doesn't do it often, because he likes the library too. Karl helps him with his papers sometimes, and the other apprentices seem to relax more there, as though it's a place of sanctuary.
Today he's meant to be studying entropy. He's gotten better at it, these days, better at all the spells in the other trees, although creation is still his best. Entropy bothers him, though, because it's as though all the healing spells he's learned are reversed, somehow - wrong. Still, he needs to find a particular book, which doesn't seem to be on the shelves, so he goes to the enchanter librarian who checks who was the last to have it.
"Enchanter Marian," she says, smiling at him. "She must have been using it for her next set of classes."
Anders frowns. He really needs the book if he wants to finish the paper on time. Radley isn't tolerant of apprentices who don't finish their assignments, and he's not keen on doing another stint of pot scrubbing if this is late. He puts on his most charming smile and watches the enchanter behind the desk melt. This is a talent he's only just discovered. It works better on the older, female enchanters, and even some of the Templars. He's learned that if he cocks his head just so and lifts his eyebrows slightly he can convince them to let him do pretty much anything. "I can write you a pass to go and ask for it if you really need it," she says. "The mage quarters are out of bounds at this time of day but if you show this to Hubert at the door he'll take you to her room."
"Thank you, enchanter!" he says brightly, and watches as she writes out the slip.
Hubert grumbles, but opens the door when he sees the enchanter's signature and follows as Anders gets to the right door. Marian is one of the senior enchanters. She has her own room. Anders is jealous. Privacy is a long lost luxury that he's beginning to pine for as he gets older.
He opens the door and goes inside. The room is tiny - but there is a bed and a desk and a chair. It's impersonal, nothing in it to show that it belonged to anyone in particular. But Anders doesn't go to the desk where he's sure the book will be. His feet are rooted to the spot.
The first thing he notices is that the chair is knocked over on the floor, the second, that the bed is stripped of its linen. The third makes his throat choke up and his eyes bulge, even as Hubert curses and shoves him out of the way.
A minute later… maybe ten, Anders is sitting outside the room with his arms wrapped around his knees. Hubert has forgotten about him, or maybe he's too busy with the… the thing in the room to care what an apprentice mage might be thinking. He can't shut his eyes, because every time he does he sees enchanter Marian, swinging back and forth slightly like some… rag doll from the beams in the roof of the room.
How did she get the linen up that high? he wonders, then snorts an hysterical laugh. What use is telekenisis if you can't use it to kill yourself?
He doesn't understand why she didn't use magic for all of it, at first. Because truly, magic would have been the easiest way to do it. Anders knows he could, if he wanted to, stop his own heart. Why would she want to? Why would anyone ever want to? Did she really do it to herself? Maybe one of the Templars… but no. The Templars didn't need to string mages up to kill them. A sword through the chest worked fine, and no one would question that. That was their job.
He wipes at his eyes, which are pouring tears that he couldn't control if he tried. Hubert comes out of the room and sees him, sitting. "By all that's holy, boy, what are you still doing here?" he says. "I asked you to get the Knight Commander."
"I'm sorry, ser…I… I can't get up ser…"
Hubert kneels in front of Anders, looking at him critically, then snorts. "First one for you then," he says, sounding resigned. "Never mind, boy. I'll fetch one of the other apprentices to get you." He stands up, ready to leave, but Anders is suddenly terrified.
"No, please, don't leave me here, ser!" He manages to scramble to his feet. Hubert raises an eyebrow, but nods and waits for Anders to catch up. Anders trails behind the Templar back towards the main hall, trembling uncontrollably the whole way. When they're back he hears someone calling his name and Finn is there, tugging on his arm.
"Anders, what's wrong?"
He looks down at the big eyes, several things clicking into place at once. He could tell Finn what he just saw. Finn would probably write to his parents about it. Finn's parents would be horrified and they would come to the Tower and demand that he be allowed to go home with them…. and then it would get out, exactly what happened in the Tower and everyone would feel sorry for them and good King Maric would come and….
"First one for you then," Hubert had said.
"Nothing, Finn," Anders says shortly, and turns back towards the library. If he's lucky he can find another book to help him finish the paper. It won't be as good, but he finds he doesn't really care.
4. Harrowing
Anders is fifteen when Karl disappears. He is in the library, waiting for him, for over an hour. They were meant to work on his fire spells.
Anders has trouble with fire spells. More trouble than any other spell. Lightning and Ice and Entropy all come almost as easily as healing to him now; his destructive force is on a par with the most experienced apprentices. Only some of the elves do better - Alim Surana, of course, and Margaret Amell, who he's overheard has the potential to reduce the entire library to ashes with one wave of her hand. With Alim it's a cause for praise. With Margaret, suspicion. She's a bewitching thing - a couple of years younger than he, usually closeted with Alim and Jowan instigating trouble. Big green eyes and deeply dark hair. But where Alim is charming and open, Margaret is sly and sarcastic. Where Alim can get away with bending rules, Margaret more often than not is stuck on pot scrubbing duty, or something worse. Anders feels sorry for her.
But today, he is meant to be meeting Karl, and Karl hasn't shown. He knows, in the back of his head, what that means. He's seen enough of the older apprentices disappear, heard enough from the older mages.
Karl's gone for his Harrowing. Which means he's a full mage now, or…
…he's dead.
There's an unspoken rule, among the apprentices, that you don't talk about someone who's gone to their Harrowing. Not until it's known for certain what's happened to them. If they don't acknowledge that the person is missing, there's a chance they can believe he's just been transferred to another circle, or passed his Harrowing and is too proud to come downstairs to visit - or the Templars don't want them associating with the apprentices any more (this is true enough, anyway - the only full mages Anders gets to see are the ones who teach his classes and they leave as soon as their lessons are done).
But the news always filters down eventually. Some of the Biffs are friendly - or stupid. Hubert is an arsehole, but he's an honest one, and if you get him on a good day he'll let you know if your best friend is alive or dead. Some of the older templars will answer your questions, or if you can snag a tranquil they will always give you the information you want, not having imagination enough to lie.
Not many people have the stomach to talk to the tranquil, however. Although this time, Anders thinks he might try.
Marchon will tell you, if you can stomach being in the same room with him for more than a few seconds alone, which is something Karl has told Anders to never, ever do. There's a reason he's always paired with another Templar. The man takes delight in describing the failed Harrowings he has attended, although he's very careful never to go into detail about what the ritual actually entails.
There's a rumour that Greagoir is going to reassign Marchon, but it never actually happens. As it is he's forbidden in the apprentice quarters. Niall told him that Marchon was related to the Arl of Denerim - a younger son, or a bastard who was palmed off to the Templars to keep him out of trouble. Anders realises it may well be his job to warn any new apprentices about him, if Karl is really gone.
He chokes a little on that thought.
"Anders, what are you doing here?" He turns to see Maggie Amell, books clutched in her arms, big green eyes blinking at him over the leather covers. She's so pretty, Maggie, and Anders wants to give her his best smirk, but worry over Karl has him distracted.
"Karl's gone," he blurts out. Maggie's eyes narrow and she looks troubled, but the unspoken rule stands between them and she bites her lip on whatever she was going to say.
"Here," she says finally, shoving her books at him. He holds up his hands to avoid taking them, stepping back a little, and she sighs in exasperation. "Enchanter Leorah tells me I have to improve my healing. You're the best in our class, help me."
He frowns at her. "Why should I help you?" he says.
She looks angry. "Jowan says you're going to fail primal unless you learn how to cast a proper fireball. Help me with healing and I'll help you with fire."
He folds his arms. "What does it matter any way?" he says, smiling a little bit now. "It's not as though they're going to kick me out or anything."
Her eyes shift to the corner of the room and Anders follows her gaze to see Owain, sorting and shelving books. Methodically. The shining red of the brand on his forehead catches the light briefly, and Anders' shudders, smile fading, heart constricting.
Harrowings are all well and good, but you have to be good enough to get to one. Tranquility isn't likely for Anders, not really. He's too good at healing, and healing is the marketable skill, the safe skill. But Maggie… Maggie is more dangerous. Without someone like Irving backing her, like he's backing Alim, she could be in a lot of trouble in a few years. The thought of those green, lively eyes going blank makes him catch his breath a little in fear and he reaches out a tentative hand to take the book she's holding. "Fine," he says, forcing his voice rough. "But you better be able to teach me to do a proper fireball."
She grins, suddenly sunny, and he realises he likes her, almost as much as he likes Karl. When they're sitting next to each other a bit later, he feels her small hand on his arm and a gentle squeeze.
"He'll be ok," she says under her breath.
He suspects, then, that Maggie likes him too.
He gets word from Hubert a week later that Karl passed his Harrowing and is teaching some of the younger mages - the fives and sixes. Anders never quite manages to cross paths with him. It makes him sad. He begins looking for ways to sneak around the Tower. He doesn't admit it, but he's looking for two things - a way to get up to the mage quarters that the Templars won't notice…
…and a way out. Karl going for his Harrowing has brought it home to him that in a very few years he could be facing his own death.
He doesn't want to die. He wakes in cold sweat some nights, remembering Enchanter Marian. Since he found her there have been three more suicides, one of them an apprentice.
His explorations get him into trouble. Templars drag him to the senior Enchanters every second or third day and he ends up with extra duties. More often than not when he makes his way to the kitchens after meals for pot scrubbing duty Maggie is there with him. Her transgressions are more imaginative than his - icing the stairs just before Templars are about to go down them is a personal favourite of hers. Although she's helping him with his fire spells, it's her ice magic that is exceptional.
One night, nearly a year after Karl has disappeared, they finish the last big, smelly pot and Anders manages to press her up against the kitchen sink and kiss her, to find out that despite being two years younger than him she's definitely been practicing with something other than her hand. When he raises his head, breathless and red-faced and clumsy, she's grinning an evil grin at him that makes him laugh.
A metal hand descends on his shoulder shortly afterwards and he's spun around to face Ser Maron, who cuffs him as Maggie runs off and gives him two more nights pot scrubbing duty.
News gets around and he's always alone on extra duties after that. Anders chalks it up as another thing the Templars need to pay for.
5. Firsts
Karl is a lot shorter than he remembered. But it's been two years since his Harrowing, and Anders supposes it's more because he's been growing rather than Karl shrinking. He has a rough covering of stubble on his cheeks that Anders itches to touch. Karl is rather dashing, with those blue eyes under the unruly mop of black hair, he looks like some sort of pirate.
"Anders!" Karl also seems happy to see him. "It's been a while."
"I didn't know where you'd gone," Anders says, and curses, because it sounds lame and young and stupid, all the things he never wants to sound in front of Karl. "I mean… I tried to find you a couple of times, but they never let us up into the mage quarters."
"I know. They don't let us down here, either, unless we're teaching. I'm sorry, I would have got a note to you, but you'd been moved too and I didn't know which of the Biffs on my level to trust yet."
The library is quiet. Anders had been meaning to meet Maggie here - but it wouldn't be the first time she stood him up. Perhaps he should stand her up instead?
"Let's get out of here and talk somewhere," Karl says then, grinning, and Anders nods.
They run from room to room, Anders showing Karl all the tricks he's found to avoid the Templars in the year they've been separated. "You've been busy," Karl says, a note of admiration in his voice. "I never knew half this stuff."
Anders shrugs. "It's a talent," he says, a half grin on his face. Karl's eyes glint with something as he watches Anders' mouth and Anders feels a flutter in his belly, and lower.
"I know a few places," Karl says then. "Come this way."
They end up in a room, empty but for a closet and some dusty shelves, with a high, narrow window. It looks impossible to get to, as are nearly all the windows in the tower, but Karl moves purposefully towards the wall, grinning. "If you climb up here you can get outside," Karl says, hitching his robes up and starting up on some uneven bricks. Anders starts to follow him, but there is the unmistakable sound of metal on stone that signifies a templar. "Karl!" he hisses, warning, and Karl drops down with an audible clatter.
"Fuck, we'll be caught," Karl pulls him by the hand into the closet, still giggling. "Andraste this has been fun," he whispers once they're firmly wedged inside with the door closed. "I forgot what it was like, being an apprentice. The senior mages are so dull sometimes…"
Anders smirks into the darkness, wanting to respond, tell Karl how much he's missed him, but something stops him. He suddenly realises they're pressed together, very close, and he can feel the scrape of Karl's stubble on his ear and the gentle whuff of his breath against his neck. Karl is still gripping Anders' arm and the press of his fingers is hot even through the robes.
"Anders?" Karl's voice is soft… hesitant in the darkness, and his fingers move slightly on Anders' arm and Anders feels his other hand creep up until it is gently brushing the skin at the neck of his robe. Anders' breath hitches - it feels different, somehow, than what he's done with the other apprentices. More intense. Karl is older, better, more handsome and Anders can't believe that he would even consider…
Before he's really sure what he's doing, Anders has lifted one hand to trace patterns on the back of Karl's neck, feeling the soft hairs there. Karl lets out a soft groan as Anders leans forward to kiss him. They're of a height, now, Anders is even a little taller, and it sends a thrill through him that he might be the cause of someone like Karl's desire, a desire that is all too evident through their thin circle robes. He presses his lips to the other mage's. He's been told he's good at this, even if he's never managed to get much further without Templars interrupting and putting he and his partner on extra duties, and Karl's little needy sounds as he parts the other man's lips with his tongue seem to reinforce that assessment.
Karl starts to hitch up Anders robes and Anders almost pulls back, but he wants this, he's wanted this for years and he's not going to let Karl get away again. Karl's long fingers trace a pattern across Anders' hip and dip lower, grasping his erection, and Anders can't stop his hips from bucking - it feels so good, so much better than touching himself, and maker knows he's been doing enough of that lately. Karl has captured his mouth again in a kiss that muffles his groan and Anders suddenly remembers there's a Templar outside and if they catch him they'll be angry and it just makes it sexier and suddenly he's coming and it was embarrassingly fast, but that's ok, because really, what he wants to do now is touch Karl.
Karl's lips have curved in a smile against his and Anders suppresses a desire to bite, instead he grabs Karl's upper arms and pushes him back against the wall side of the closet, making room for him to kneel in front of the older man, and lifts his robes. Karl's fingers tangle in Anders' hair as he cups the other man's cock in his palm, stroking upwards. Karl gasps. "Are you sure you want to do this…?" he manages to whisper, even though Anders can hear the need in his voice. "You… "
"Yes," Anders says. He's imagined doing it often enough, practiced on his own hand, trying to think of things he would want done to him, but it's different, and better and as he moves his mouth forward over Karl's cock and feels the tension in his legs and the short, desperate gasps for breath as he works his tongue he knows it's worth it.
He can tell Karl is struggling for silence. His gasps are getting throatier, more forced as Anders moves. The older mage starts to guide Anders' head back and forth, gently thrusting his hips at first, until he lets out a low groan and pushes hard making Anders gag and splutter as hot, bitter liquid spurts into the back of his throat.
"Sorry," Karl whispers. "But… you caught me unprepared." Anders grins and wipes his mouth, getting to his feet carefully.
"It's all right," he says. And it is. Totally all right. More than all right. Great. He hasn't felt like this before ever and the fact that Karl presses another kiss to his mouth and pulls Anders' close to his chest, breathing deeply, running his hand through the blond strands of Anders' hair, makes it better.
"I missed you," Karl breathes as they part.
Anders rests his forehead against Karl's not sure what to say in response. You're not like the others, seems inadequate, let's do this again sometime seems forward.
"I'll try to get away tomorrow," Anders says instead. "We can meet in the library?"
Karl nods. "I can teach you a few things," he says and Anders feels heat rise in his cheeks and other places.
"Do you think he's gone?" Anders whispers then. They haven't truly been paying attention to what's going on outside. It's entirely possible they'll open the door to find the First Enchanter and the Knight Commander waiting for them.
"If we weren't interrupted, they didn't know we were here," Karl says, laughing a little. "Trust me. I know. But you better go first. I'll clean up in here and see you tomorrow."
Anders reaches for the door, but looks back. It's too dark to see anything but the glint of Karl's eyes, but he leans forward any way and kisses him again. Karl responds, cupping the back of Anders' head and Anders feels warm all over.
He doesn't stop grinning all night.