Broken Beyond Repair

Prologue


There was nowhere to go. He was trapped, cornered in a shed not far from a shallow lake. He'd tried to swim it but failed. Water wasn't his thing, never was. The only thing it was useful for was to bathe in. But he couldn't do that now, not with the Templars on his doorstep.

They'd sent mabari hounds before they came. He felt the hounds follow his scent, a skill Karl had taught him. Theysensed the smell his magic, following it to him. He could disguise himself, but not the trace of his magic.

Now he was trapped by his own stupidity. He'd run into the poorly built shed instead of fleeing in the opposite direction. He was trapped beyond escape. His heart beat rapidly in his chest at the thought of being caught again. This was his eight-escape attempt and this time, he knew, the First Enchanter wouldn't be able to sway the Knight Commander to go easy on him. He'd run out of strikes yet the old man always went out of his way to help him but he wouldn't, Anders realized, not this time.

There was a bang on the door. The Templars yelled, "We know you are in there!" He cowered into the corner and thought maybe he could disappear. He casted a small shielding spell and hoped for the best, perhaps they'd give up or think he'd gone out the back. The pounding continued at his door mabari hounds barked as the Templars hit the hilt of their swords against the molding wood. The wood splintered and cracked after multiple blows and Anders frantically looked for another way out. The window was low enough to fit through, he saw.

He stood, the shield following, to inspect the window. No Templars on the other side, they were only concerned with the front door. Quickly pulling the stopper out he pushed the door, careful not to let it make a sound. The Templars continued to shout, too distracted to notice him running away from the shabby shed. When he heard the splinter of wood and shouts he knew they'd gotten in and discovered he was gone. But even then he knew his chances of getting away were low so he threw a fireball at the shed for good measure. They would get out safely; they'd probably felt him use his magic. And if they didn't... well, a few less Templars in the world couldn't hurt. He frowned at the thought, split between the thought of one less Templar in the world and being a murderer.

He was miles, or he hoped he was, away from the Templars before he finally stopped running. Out of breathe and exhausted, he lay down on the grass and gazed at the oncoming sunlight. It was beautiful. Green, orange, blue and reds mixed in perfect harmony in the sky. The combination circled around the bright orb that was rising from the east. He'd never seen something this beautiful first hand. In the Tower the only sunset's he got to see where pictures in books that were centuries old. He smiled as he realized that he was now free to enjoy many more sunrises like this. The sun, shinning as bright as his future, peeked as Anders stood.

Once on his feet, he headed northeast to Amaranthine. He had to get away from this, from the Templars and from his old life. He was out of the tower, away from the confines that held him there, away from barriers and lakes and hypocrites. He was free, for now at least. And he wasn't going to let anything stand in his way...


Chapter One: I am alone


They'd caught up with him as he staggered out - or, more accurately, was pushed out- of Gnawed noble tavern in the southern part of Denerim's market district. The beer had been a bit too strong for the former sheltered mage and he'd drunk more than he could pay for. He was asked to leave but apparently he wasn't moving fast enough and had been thrown out, ironically, to land at the feet of the Templar's who'd been following his tracks. Too drunk to fight or care, Anders let them pull him to his feet and take him into custody. They 'commandeered' a wagon from a local farmer and threw Anders into the sturdy, cheese smelling wagon. He didn't complain; he was far too drunk to do so and ended up passing out. By the time they made their way around the Brecilian Forest, through the town of Lothering and up the Imperial Highway, Anders had passed out, not from drunkenness, but from malnutrition. The only thing keeping him alive was his healing magic.

When they arrived at the Circle of Magi and were waiting for the ferryman to get permission for them to cross Lake Calenhad, Anders collapsed. But instead of getting him aid, the Templars dragged him into the small ferry that carried them to the centre of the lake where the Tower stood and pretended he was asleep. It was only when he was being taken down to the lower regions of the Tower that one apprentice voiced his concerns to the First Enchanter who immediately went to check on the mage. He used his healing magic, although not as strong as Anders' own magic, to heal him and gave him a lyrium potion to keep him alive until he could eat. By the end of the week, Anders was back to being his usual self - a carefree, humorous arse whom everyone loved.

Anders woke, as he did every morning, to the sound of metal boots being introduced to his body. His eyes snapped open and he turned on his back only to be met with a punch in the face. His assailant was the same person as always: a big, beefy, angry Templar. He took the punches, the kicks and even the spit that followed without complaint because if he didn't they would just move on to the next innocent mage.

At least he had a reason for being in this hole at the very bottom of the tower. At least he had deserved what was coming to him, the others hadn't. He'd run away, escaped the Templar's hold for the eight or ninth time, he was too weak to remember which, while the others were punished for accidentally casting the wrong spell or even looking at one of their 'guards' the wrong way. The other mages couldn't heal themselves like he could, or they could but were too scared to do it. Even in his weakened state Anders managed to heal his broken ribs and internal bleeding. One good thing about the Templars beating up on him was that the wards they'd put in his 'cage' were lifted while the door was open. The tiny little door that even the Templars had to crouch to pass through, the door that leads to his freedom. He reached for it; his hand shook as he traced the intricate markings the door possessed that seemed so beautiful. Beautiful but deceiving, he thought, they taunt me with every swirl and twist. He concentrated on the markings, touched them, traced them on the floor with his finger and memorized them. He fell asleep to them, woke up to them; ate, prayed and talked to them. They were his everything by the end of his second week in solitary.

By the second month, he was having interesting conversations with the intricate markings. He told them tales; sung them old songs he remembered from the Anderfels; spoke to them in his native language. They didn't talk back, or maybe they did, he couldn't tell anymore. They listened to him, all his idiosyncrasies and ideals. They didn't judge him, didn't reprimand him, and didn't hate him for them. They accepted, loved and embraced what he had to say. He felt at home for the first time in a long time. Anders laughed at himself. I'm at home being alone in a room with only markings to talk to.

Month three brought him all sorts of strange conversations with the markings on the wall that made him think, somewhere deep down, that the solitude was driving him mad. How is being such a cold, harsh wall been for you, he'd asked the wall. How can someone so beautiful, he'd say as he fingered the swirls and twists of the markings, be so dangerous. Anders, out of sheer lack of company, would flirt, joke and laugh with the only thing he had with him- the four walls and the door that kept him in solitude.

It was almost four months before he was let out to bathe and to allow the Templars to clean his cage. He cried out for the markings, feeling alone without them. The Templars laughed and punched him. They taunted him as he bathed, pushed him into the wall, changed the temperature of the water and burned him. He took it all because he knew at the end he would go back to his old friends, the markings. When he didn't complain or make a noise, they left him alone, throwing him back into his home harshly.

Month five was harsh. Satinalia was in full swing by the time his fifth month, Umbralis, was upon Ferelden. He'd been captured in the month of Solis, right before Funalis, and now it was the holiday season and the Templars wanted to give him his present. They came into his cell, one at a time, with a gleam in their eyes. Anders shut himself down, concentrated on only his heartbeat as he heard the bulky armor of his abusers being slowly removed. He didn't complain, didn't whimper or cry as they each, ten if he wasn't mistaken, took their turns on him. They pounded into him mercilessly and asked him how he liked his early present. When they were gone, he returned to speaking with his old friend Mr. Door and his mistresses, the walls.

By month six, he'd grown tired of talking to himself. The markings said nothing, not even his imagination could make him think otherwise. He sat in the corner of his cell, legs drawn up to his chest, and wept. The pains in his body reflected both the physical and emotional pain he was suffering. He was alone, utterly alone, in this pit hole in the earth that no one, but those who were lucky enough to be jailed here, knew about. He wanted to be free of the markings that now returned to being tauntingly beautiful and burned his hand as he reached to touch them. He wanted to get out, throw a fireball at the Templars and flee. He didn't care where he'd go, or that his body was probably unfit for running, he'd escape this hellhole and never look back. He planned it all, his escape and his new home. He visualized it in his mind - the trees that would hide him from the Templars, the rain that would disguise his smell from the mabari and the enchantment that would hide his magic. He had only to find that enchantment. He pictured the breeze that would dry him as he stepped into a field; grass biting at his toes as he ran through it; the sun that would shine as he emerged from the field and into a peak that overlooked a village. A village, filled with wonderful, accepting people who would take him in without question and wouldn't let go of him; the village that would be his home, his salvation, his everything.

In Verimensis, his seventh month in solitude, he began to picture himself home. His home back in the Anderfels, back in the steep snow covered mountains. He yearned to be around his own people, his own race, to not be considered just another kid with powers. He wanted to speak his own language even if the only words he remembered where Hilf mir, Mama and Lassen Sie nicht mich, Papa. He longed to go back to the Anderfels to find his family, to hug his mother, to cry as she clutched him to her bosom and to throw a small fireball at his father for giving him over to the Templar order when his magic manifested. All he wanted was someone to love, to care and want him and in the Anderfels he would at least get a chance at getting it.

Halfway through the eighth month his names day hit. Pluitanis, his birth month, usually gave him such joy but not this time. Or at least it seemed that way until a certain kind-hearted Templar allowed another kind-hearted mage into his 'cell'. Anders had been overjoyed as he saw Karl, his oldest and dearest friend, enter the little shithole he'd called home. And not to mention he'd been allowed to bring him some food! Anders didn't go for the food however. He waited until the door was closed and the innocent little Templar was out of earshot before bringing his lips to Karl's and sighing happily. Karl seemed confused at first, their relationship had been over months ago, but eventually returned the kiss. Anders tried not to cry out in joy as Karl, gingerly, put his hands on Anders' neck and pulled him closer. They kissed until Anders felt like he was going to burst and begun to tug at Karl's clothes. Anders pouted as Karl pulled back to remove his clothing as they continued their ministrations. Anders slipped on to his lap, thighs tight around Karl's waist, and their lips didn't part even as the other man took him to ecstasy. At the end, as the Templar came back to escort his lover out, Anders had one more thing to keep fighting for. Karl.

Two months later, the markings on the door and pet names for the walls forgotten, Anders was startled awake, not by metal boots but by a raspy, warm, wet feeling on his hand. His eyes snapped open and was met by two green eyes. He propped himself up on his elbows and reached out to touch the owner of the warm, wet thing that'd been scraping away at his hand. A large tabby, almost orange in colour, stared at him. Gingerly, he reached out to rub its head and, smiling to himself, he felt the tabby begin to purr. He chuckled lightly as the cat crept closer and lay on his lap. Finally, he had a friend. Sir Pounce-A-Lot, Anders murmured to the furry little creature, that is your name.


Thanks to OhSlashy for beta'ing this, your awesome :)