Title: When it Rains
Rating: M
Summary: He has a future without her. With her, he is nothing, can change nothing. Surana knows this. Surana/Anders, mild Surana/Alistair.
A/N: Thanks for reading. Review please.
When it Rains
It's raining when they finally get away from the Keep, and maybe that's for the best. Even from the watchtower, they cannot see the witchlight glowing in her palm because of the rain. Their black, heavy cloaks are drenched with water, the sweet smell of spring filling the air, earthy and familiar. She clenches his hand tighter as they walk around another small ditch where the soldiers were expanding Vigil's Keep. A part of her still whispers that this is a bad idea, that he will be caught and killed. The other argues that he is a grey warden and is untouchable. Then she stops her inner conflict before it can argue back that Templars have broken the rules before.
It is late at night, nearly early morning. When she woke him from his comfortable bedroll this morning, she didn't full understand what she was doing either. Now she understands. This is the only way to guarantee the future of the mages. It is the only way to make sure that something—anything—will change. Anders has a fire glowing inside of him, burning with the passion of the young at heart. He can do anything; he can do what she cannot. Maybe that is why she hates him so.
But she does not hate him, and a part of her scolds herself for thinking that she does. What she feels is a brotherly love, a kinship with a man who thinks like she used to—when she was younger, so much younger, and so much more innocent. But she understands now that her role is over, and that Anders is instrumental in the next change. Deals with demons offer much that the chantry would keep away from mages. She sees glimpses of the future, catches whispers of what is to come.
And sometimes she feels more than brotherly love. Sometimes his eyes scald her with their intensity, his magic washing over her like the hands of a lover. Sometimes when he touches her, she shivers as she used to with Alistair, their magic mixing and linking them in ways that she and the king could never aspire to. Sometimes she wants to kiss him and feel him physically, but she knows that is off limits. It would be treason, a capital offense. Most of the time she thinks it would be worth it.
They cross the gulley, and she nods to Anders to douse the lamp. He does so with a push of his mind and sets down the metal object without letting go of her hand. She pulls, and they are moving. He does not know where they are heading. He only trusts her, trusts to her to lead. It pulls at her heartstrings to know this.
A sack of money slaps against her wet thigh with each step she takes, a heavy reminder of what she is about to do. She does not know if it is against the rules to let a Warden go. She does not know if the Templars will consider him fair game now that he is out from under her protection. She only knows that it is right. Intuition or womanly understanding or some magical force tells her that what she is doing is correct despite her trepidation. The butterflies in her stomach are only a side-effect of breaking the rules.
The cold begins to take over, seeping into her bones. Anders must feel this for he summons heat to spread across her skin. She shakes with the intimacy of it but continues on. The moon is full overhead, blurred by the presence of clouds pouring sweet rain down her face. Her hair is wet and hangs in her eyes. She closes her fist and douses the witchlight in her fingers, tucking it beneath her cloak to keep it warm. The wet appendage against her warm belly makes her jump slightly.
It takes an hour to get miles away from the Keep. She suspects that Anders understands now as he keeps a tighter hold on her hand and keeps up readily. Her heart jumps in her throat a few times when she thinks on it too hard. The rightness, it is there, but other thoughts jump into the fray in her mind. Letting him go means never seeing him again. The rest of her life will be spent overseeing new soldiers, spending warm nights with a man she no longer loves, and existing when she does not wish to any longer. Anders has been the bright spot of a century, a flame in such darkness and self-pity. She does not wish to lose him, but she cannot do anything to stop it. He is far too important. Without her, is something, can change something. With her, he will be nothing. She knows this, and as always she will sacrifice for others.
When they are finally under the underpass, she stops and bows her head.
She recalls the first night she met Anders, an unexpected meeting. The burning flesh of Templars and darkspawn fills her nose unpleasantly. Yet it is not an unpleasant memory. He had made light of the situation and explained his way out rather easily. Then she remembers the Templar trying to take him away and her own fierce determination to protect a fellow mage if not a man who did not deserve death. He was grateful, she remembers, so grateful. Over time, he became friend instead of stranger. Then he became an unrequited love with heated glances in the hallways and lingering hands during training. Now he is leaving, and she chokes back tears.
He senses this and puts his large hands on her tiny, elven shoulders. They quake and tremble but not from the cold. Tentatively, she reaches up and puts her petite fingers against the side of his face. Tiny hairs poke her skin. His smell fills her senses. Their eyes meet. He understands, and she no longer wants him to. She no longer wishes to be vulnerable, no longer wishes to be alone even surrounded by such good friends. But he must leave, and she knows he understands. Maybe that is why she begins to cry at last.
Then he is kissing her, and it is such sweet poison, such forbidden fruit. His kisses are harsh and breathless and demanding. His hands under her robes are hard and bruising on such fragile skin. When he pushes her up against the walls of the cliff behind her, he crushes her ribs with his. She does not care. Her hands go into his hair, her lips just as demanding on his, tongues battling. She can feel his hot skin in the rain, and she wants to sob with the bittersweet taste of the moment.
Finally, she may have what she wishes.
He fumbles with her robes and whispers loving words into her ears, and she believes him. She is so small in his arms, so breakable. His magic spreads over her skin like fire, burning her from the inside out, but she revels in the pain. His hands grip her breasts, and her lips are bloodied with nipping teeth and suppressed desire. He is hot and hard against her thighs, demanding, wonton.
She cries out when he enters her, and the scream feels so good in her raw throat. He pauses momentarily, afraid that he has hurt her perhaps, but she goads him on. She presses tighter against him, wanting the pain, wanting the soreness that would no doubt come in the morning. His fingers lace with hers, and he is moving against her. She sobs into his neck, happy tears, crying out as thunder rumbles over the plains.
Lightning splits the sky behind him, matching the stars in her vision. Pleasure overrides her senses, and her nails dig into his skin. Sadistic as it is, she wants to marr him, wants to mark him with her love. She does not want to be the only one that walks away with bruises and scars from this singular moment. She sinks her sharp, elven teeth into his neck, blood welling in her mouth. He moans in her ear, a guttural and animalistic sound. Looping her arm around his neck, she crashes their mouths together with a clack, teeth meeting. She hopes he can taste his blood in her mouth, know that she carries a piece of him with her.
Heat explodes inside of her as pleasurable waves signal the end of their encounter. She is trembling against him, his hand on her thigh, holding her up. As he pants against her throat, she does not let him go but hugs him close, holding onto the feeling of him, the smell.
For hours they seem to stay like that, locked in their lover's embrace. They stay long enough for her to feel chilly again. Reluctantly it seems, he lets her go and helps her to do up her robes. The rainwater washes away the blood on her mouth, the crimson on his neck. It even washes away the last bits of him on her thighs. As he buttons her robes, he kisses all the way up her back and over her belly. She laces their fingers again, turning to face him. She has never been so cold, so desperate.
Yes, finally she can have what she wants.
Now it must leave.
He is in front of her, frowning, wiping away strands of hair in her face that are soaked with perspiration and rain. Leaning down, he kisses her again, and she feels her blood boil with the same passion. She realizes belatedly what she has done. She has ruined herself for Alistair, committed treason to be with this apostate. Now that she has had a taste of perfection, how can she pretend any longer?
Pulling away, she grasps his hand and unties the coins from her belt. She presses them into his hands and touches his face, thumb grazing his lips.
"I don't have to leave," he says to her over the crash of thunder and the battling thoughts in her mind.
"You must," she cries, still sobbing desperately. "There is no future for you here."
"I do not want a future without you in it," he answers, gripping her upper arms. She realizes how much time she has wasted playing the shy and good mistress of the king. The wrongness of her choice hits her square in the gut.
"You will find someone else," she assures him, hopes for him. "My time is over. It is your turn now. Make us all proud, Anders." She wants to sound like a revolutionary, wants to take the focus off their relationship. He won't have it. He is angry.
"Damn the fate of the mages, and damn the chantry," he growls, nearly breaking her arms with the pressure. "I want you."
Her heart breaks, and she regrets ever giving into his warm kisses. "I have my man," she says brokenly.
"You can choose again, Surana," he presses. "Life is full of choices."
With a sob, she hangs her head. "Oh, but the things I've seen in sweet visions," she tells him. "This is the only way. If you stay, there will be nothing for you. Nothing for the mages."
When she leans up to kiss him, the rest of her dreams shatter. For the first time ever, she hates what she is. "Be free," she whispers against his lips and then yanks loose of his hold.
The mud is heavy on her feet as she turns away. Her bones are gelatin, spongy and unsupporting. She nearly stumbles up the hill. Forcing herself not to look back, she walks nearly a mile before pausing. Through the tears and the rain running down her face, she can see the cliffside where they had been standing.
Anders is not there.
Had a horrible day, so that is why this is so depressing and so short. Thanks for reading. Review please.