SANCTUM AND HEALING (30/?)
anonymous
December 2 2011, 22:02:38 UTC
Happy Friday! Hopefully December has been treating you well so far. ♥ I just want to thank you guys as always so much for reading and replying and assuaging the posting nerves. It makes me so incredibly happy to see that you're sticking with it and enjoying it and I just hope that you continue to do so, that I can continue to provide. Crossing all the things that you do! ♥ Thank you so much again and hopefully LJ will not be so very finicky that I will be able to post!
Wildervale wasn’t the largest outpost imaginable; it had the sort of main thoroughfare that could be crossed at a brisk pace without breaking a sweat, comparable in size to the City of Amaranthine. To the north-east was the glittering promise of water, a sizeable lake rather than the vast expanse of the Waking Sea. It was better than being land-locked, an advantageous position for a fort-city; the keep at the center rose before them soon enough, intimidating as Anders always found them, made for barracks and bluff men and hard training.
This one was full of young mages with young staffs rather than lads and lasses in light armor brandishing practice swords.
Anders crossed an open courtyard after passing underneath the portcullis, scorch-marks blackening the stone in lengthy streaks and lessons conducted in full beneath the open sky. Spells blasted from distant corners, bursts of cold ice followed by swells of heat, protective auras shimmering up and shimmering down again and keeping perfect time. Anders also heard the clang of metal on metal, one open area devoted to glittering armor, silverite shields instead of force-barriers, blades instead of wooden staffs.
It couldn’t be real. Nothing of the sort ever happened in Thedas-nothing of the sort ever would happen, either. No matter how many people argued for freedom or begged for it, equality had never been an option, not so long as there was history, chantry, templar and demon.
They didn’t have time to stop and observe the younger mages and their elders working together perfecting fists of the maker and causing the very earth to rumble-though Paxley greeted a bluff ginger woman who was tossing out round shields to her students, and they kissed, just once, as fond as a handshake.
Then, they were inside the keep proper, past the courtyard and safe behind solid walls. Anders was glad not to have to watch anymore-each touching scene, promises of something better than the life he’d known, or the life he’d come, however grudgingly, to accept was his.
‘I’ll tell you one thing: I’m looking forward to a nice, hot bath,’ Varric said, while Hawke greeted each stranger as though they were the best of friends, one after the other from throne room to narrow hall, around each corner and under each lintel. ‘That much time on the open road and I’m starting to smell like the elf’s old place. No offense to your collection of mold and mushrooms, of course.’
‘None was taken,’ Fenris replied. ‘I found the comment was worth no further comment.’
Varric grinned, nudging a door open with the toe of his boot as he broke off from the main party. ‘Always such a pleasure when we can see eye to eye. You look me up if you need anything,’ he added, glancing Anders’s way, and the lack of the nickname hammered on at the end made Anders feel even lonelier, just a collection of the shadows he was forced-even in this free place-to hide in.
The door swung shut but the lock didn’t click. Anders could imagine Bianca set up on a low chair nearby, sight trained on any unwanted intruder while her owner whistled just inside.
Anders had questions for Varric, which he might or might not be able to answer, but he noted where the door was anyway, the room Varric had staked out as his own. Keran and Fenris found their chambers, too, all a part of the familiar rhythm, familiar rooms and familiar spaces and familiar friends to inhabit them. Only Hawke and Alain remained, making the long journey to the farthest end of the hall, where Anders hoped a bed with his name on it lay waiting.
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Wildervale wasn’t the largest outpost imaginable; it had the sort of main thoroughfare that could be crossed at a brisk pace without breaking a sweat, comparable in size to the City of Amaranthine. To the north-east was the glittering promise of water, a sizeable lake rather than the vast expanse of the Waking Sea. It was better than being land-locked, an advantageous position for a fort-city; the keep at the center rose before them soon enough, intimidating as Anders always found them, made for barracks and bluff men and hard training.
This one was full of young mages with young staffs rather than lads and lasses in light armor brandishing practice swords.
Anders crossed an open courtyard after passing underneath the portcullis, scorch-marks blackening the stone in lengthy streaks and lessons conducted in full beneath the open sky. Spells blasted from distant corners, bursts of cold ice followed by swells of heat, protective auras shimmering up and shimmering down again and keeping perfect time. Anders also heard the clang of metal on metal, one open area devoted to glittering armor, silverite shields instead of force-barriers, blades instead of wooden staffs.
It couldn’t be real. Nothing of the sort ever happened in Thedas-nothing of the sort ever would happen, either. No matter how many people argued for freedom or begged for it, equality had never been an option, not so long as there was history, chantry, templar and demon.
They didn’t have time to stop and observe the younger mages and their elders working together perfecting fists of the maker and causing the very earth to rumble-though Paxley greeted a bluff ginger woman who was tossing out round shields to her students, and they kissed, just once, as fond as a handshake.
Then, they were inside the keep proper, past the courtyard and safe behind solid walls. Anders was glad not to have to watch anymore-each touching scene, promises of something better than the life he’d known, or the life he’d come, however grudgingly, to accept was his.
‘I’ll tell you one thing: I’m looking forward to a nice, hot bath,’ Varric said, while Hawke greeted each stranger as though they were the best of friends, one after the other from throne room to narrow hall, around each corner and under each lintel. ‘That much time on the open road and I’m starting to smell like the elf’s old place. No offense to your collection of mold and mushrooms, of course.’
‘None was taken,’ Fenris replied. ‘I found the comment was worth no further comment.’
Varric grinned, nudging a door open with the toe of his boot as he broke off from the main party. ‘Always such a pleasure when we can see eye to eye. You look me up if you need anything,’ he added, glancing Anders’s way, and the lack of the nickname hammered on at the end made Anders feel even lonelier, just a collection of the shadows he was forced-even in this free place-to hide in.
The door swung shut but the lock didn’t click. Anders could imagine Bianca set up on a low chair nearby, sight trained on any unwanted intruder while her owner whistled just inside.
Anders had questions for Varric, which he might or might not be able to answer, but he noted where the door was anyway, the room Varric had staked out as his own. Keran and Fenris found their chambers, too, all a part of the familiar rhythm, familiar rooms and familiar spaces and familiar friends to inhabit them. Only Hawke and Alain remained, making the long journey to the farthest end of the hall, where Anders hoped a bed with his name on it lay waiting.
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