This was written for the CMDA Mid-Summer fic exchange, as a gift for Kira Tamarion.
Anders was worried. That usually made him a little obnoxious, he would be the first to admit it. But that was no excuse for Nathaniel's dismissive attitude. The man didn't even look at him. That was just plain rude, and so Anders was forced to politely insist.
"What do you mean, she never came back?"
The rogue looked up from the pile of paper stacked in front of him, eyebrows raised.
"Now I'm confused, Anders. What part of this very simple sentence is causing you trouble, exactly?"
"You mean there has been no word at all? Was she supposed to be gone this long? Why did she go alone? Was she expecting trouble? Should we send reinforcements or something?"
He stopped upon seeing Nate's amused smile.
"Why so worried, Anders?"
"I'm not worried," Anders hastily replied, making the other man's smile widen a bit. "I'm just… I'm not used to being left behind, is all. She knows nothing of healing magic, and her regeneration spells are a complete disaster… and I'm so bored, here, Nate. There's nothing to do but eat and watch Oghren drink himself stupid. It's not fair if she's out there having all the fun by herself!"
"The Commander's a big girl," Nathaniel said. "Well, you know… relatively speaking. She can handle herself." He narrowed his eyes at Anders, his smile slowly returning. "So, are you afraid she might be in trouble or that she might be having too much fun? Which one is it?"
Anders huffed.
"Both. Neither. I don't know, Nate, I guess I just want out of here. Everyone's so… broody. Even Sigrun's no fun these days. All she does is read-read-read. I've had enough of that to last me a lifetime, thanks."
"Then, by all means, go after the Commander. She left yesterday for the Turnoble estate. Maybe she needs your help, or maybe she'll get pissed at you for disturbing her and stealing her fun. Either way, it should be interesting."
"Turnoble estate. Got it. Try not to miss me too much!" Anders said, already halfway out the door.
It took him less than five minutes to grab his pack, make a quick stop to the kitchen for some provisions, and get on his way. The estate wasn't too far. If he kept a good pace, he could be there by mid-afternoon.
It was kind of exhilarating, to be back on the road by himself, knowing there was no Templar hot on his trail. Being a Grey Warden was not freedom, not exactly, but it had given him a taste of what freedom might be like. He wasn't locked up, for once. There were people around him that respected him and appreciated what he had to offer. The food was incredible, too.
Then there was the Commander.
She was a very… special lady, Neria Surana. A mage, and an elf, and a girl, and yet nothing seemed to be able to stand in her way. A force of nature, if forces of nature could be… tiny. And funny. And damn cute.
When she barged in on him at Vigil's keep, clad in leather armour and winged helmet as the Templars and Darkspawn were burning behind him, he had thought his last moment had come. He grimaced as he remembered his pathetic excuse of an explanation.
"Hum… I didn't do it," he had said, hands in the air.
She had looked behind him, then at him, then behind him again, and then out of nowhere a huge smile had lit her face.
"Yeah you did, you awesome mage you! High five!"
She had slapped his hand as he stood there, bewildered.
"Huh… thanks?"
"Oh, Anders, I can't believe you're here!" she had said, throwing herself in his arms.
"Hum… do we know each other?"
"Ow, now that hurt!" she had said, removing her helmet to reveal short brown hair and laughing grey eyes… eyes he was more used to seeing peering at him over piles and piles of books.
"Ria?"
"Oh, shit, shit, shit, the blood, I got blood all over you! Shit! Shut up! Close your mouth! Close your eyes! Close your eyes and your mouth! Don't touch your face! Shit, shit, shit! Mhairi, give me something to wipe it off!"
And she had begun scrubbing every inch of his skin she could find while he stood there, completely in shock.
He had heard that the Hero of Ferelden was a mage, and had tried to remember a Surana from the Tower. He would never in a million years have made the connection with little Ria. He didn't know her all that well at the time, truth be told. She was a couple of years younger, and they didn't run in the same circles. She had been such a bookworm back then. She still was, as he discovered during the following weeks, after she made him a Grey Warden.
Her office was spotless, an example of order and cleanliness. Her bedroom, however, was pure chaos, as he found out one morning she had slept in and he was sent to wake her up. Piles of open books everywhere: on tables, on the floor, on the bed. She was used to learning of the world in books, the difference now being that she couldn't wait to transform knowledge into reality. Her bedroom floor was covered in half drawn maps, miniature replicas of machines and weapons of siege, models of buildings and castles, drawings of every possible animal. She was curious about the world, thirsty for knowledge and enthusiastic at the idea of experiencing it.
Her most remarkable experiment happened when she found a book on different kinds of alcoholic beverages and decided she wanted to try them all. After convincing Mistress Woolsey to order some of the needed liquors, she held in the hall of Vigil's keep a night to remember, even if it took the participants some work to piece the whole night back together from memory afterwards. Anders had never been more grateful for his healer's skills than when he woke up the following morning, but it had been worth it just to see the Commander like this.
Neria was a happy drunk. Happy, dancing, laughing, chatty, cuddly drunk.
She was also possibly the strongest mage he had ever met. She could unleash forces of death and destruction beyond his comprehension, and she seemed to do it all effortlessly. It was a sight to behold when she stood at the center of a hurricane of elemental fury, arms raised, cheeks flushed, short of breath and laughing with exhilaration.
He was probably more than a little in love with her by now, if he was honest with himself.
Damn, they probably all were. The way she could lead them all by their noses to the scariest, darkest, gloomiest corners of the arling was just uncanny.
"Halt!"
Startled, Anders did just that. He had been so lost in thought that apparently, he had walked straight into a trap. Five men were already encircling him, two of them with bows at the ready. He should have known better. The roads were always crawling with crappy bandits. Of course, someone usually alerted him to their presence. Being by himself did have its disadvantages.
"I'm a Grey Warden, in the arlessa's service" he announced, trying his best official voice. "Let me pass."
"Hear that, boys? Guy's thinking we should let him pass!"
"I say we teach him a lesson, boss."
Anders smiled to himself.
"When you run back to Amaranthine to give yourselves up to the authorities, please do tell them I gave you fair warning," he said, raising a hand to the sky. "Otherwise, the Commander will have my skin… and I rather prefer my skin where it is, thanks."
"What?" one of the men uttered intelligently, before lightning finally answered Anders' call. Bursting from his fingers, long sinuous arcs of blue energy shot through the air, hitting the three bandits gathered in front of him. With his other hand, he raised his staff behind him, ready to cast the spell in another direction.
"Ready to run yet?" he shouted over the voices of the three men yelling in agony as lightning ran through their bodies.
"Nothing sweeter than the sight of random bandits' backs as they scramble away," he thought with no small amount of satisfaction as he watched them run. Now were was he… ah, right. The Commander.
Little Ria Surana, with her short brown hair and her mischievous grey eyes, with her pink little mouth and her perky breasts and her round, firm bottom, her lean thighs, naked under the leather skirt of the armour she preferred… Maker, it had been too long!
What was she doing at the Turnoble estate anyway? The place was empty, as far as he knew. After the discovery of the family decimated by Darkspawn, the Commander had tried to find some next of kin still alive, someone to inherit the property, to no avail. The estate had been abandoned ever since.
Well, he'd know soon enough. He could already glimpse the estate's roof in the distance. No signs of battle, no Darkspawn corpses. Ah, and there was the Commander's wagon, by the barn's entrance. So she was still there. Inside the house, probably.
He was about to get in when he heard it. The Commander was inside, all right. He could hear her voice through the door. What had him frozen in place on the porch, one hand poised over the knob, was that he could, in fact, hear her singing. She was humming some popular folk song in a remarkably nice voice.
By the clear fountain, I walked along the path
Found water so pure, I settled for a bath
For the longest time, I have loved you,
Never shall I forget you…
Under the leaves of an oak I lay myself to dry
On the lowest branch, the nightingale sang high
For the longest time, I have loved you,
Never shall I forget you…
Carefully, very carefully, Anders turned the knob and pushed the door open, wondering what exactly he was going to find on the other side.
The first thing to hit him was the smell. Sweet, rich and warm, like… cherry pie. There were open books on the kitchen table, among various cooking utensils. Neria was there, dressed in dirty commoner's clothes, hers lips stained red with cherries, traces of flour on her cheeks and nose. She was humming and smiling to herself, sweeping the floor with a rustic broom.
Sweeping.
"Huh… Commander?"
She gave out a high-pitched yelp, whirling to face him.
"Anders! What… why… how?"
"As articulate as that sounds, I was actually about to ask you the very same thing." He smiled, crossing his arms and leaning in the doorway. "Feeling a little… domestic, Ria?"
"You can't be here!" she exclaimed, advancing on him, hitting his feet with the broom to make him back away. "It's too soon! I told Nate to send you so that you'd arrive at nightfall!"
"What? Ow! Ow!" He surrendered to the insistent pummelling of his feet, retreating to the safety of the porch.
"Go away! Go take a walk in the orchard, or take care of the horse, whatever! Come back just before sunset! That's a order, Warden!"
She slammed the door in his face.
"What in the… What's going on?" he yelled.
No answer.
Anders waited a while, standing on the porch, to see if the door would open again on an apologetic, or laughing, Commander. No such luck, apparently. Whatever was going on, she was somehow serious about it. Maybe then he should take her up on some of her suggestions, since he had some time to kill. It wouldn't be the first weird order she gave him. It wouldn't even be the weirdest.
He turned heels and headed for the barn, where he found Ria's horse. He spent some time brushing and feeding it, then went back to the farm, rounding the house to check out the fields. There was an orchard there all right, and cherry trees, as well as a poorly kept garden that still managed to produce some vegetables. The apples were not quite ready, although some of them seemed ripe enough. The cherries, sweet and a little tart, were delicious.
Anders wandered aimlessly for a while through rows of trees and along barely discernable paths through fields of wheat, munching on fruits and listening to the birds chirping. All around him were remnants, ghosts of a simple life, filled with hard, honest work and small joys.
Lying on his back, a wisp of straw between his teeth, he watched as the sun slowly begun its descent. He could see it all, so easily… To wake up at dawn, go fetch some breakfast directly in the henhouse, take care of the animals, the sowing or the harvest, get back home at dusk. He'd probably have some kind of small clinic opened as well, where neighbours and people from surrounding villages could come get some healing. They would not be afraid of his magic. They would be grateful, glad he was there. There'd be a girl, too, to greet him when he got back home, someone with brown hair, maybe, with grey eyes and a warm smile, and she'd be baking cherry pies and humming softly while sweeping the floor…
He sat up abruptly, his heart suddenly hammering. Had he fallen asleep? Above him, the sun was setting.
He made his way back to the house, lost in thoughts. Such a simple dream, it was, and yet he couldn't remember ever wanting anything else. The simple joys, simple hardships and simple freedom of a normal life. It was so easy to imagine what could be, here.
Was that what the Commander was doing? A little harmless dream made into reality? Was she, basically, playing house, taking the child's game to a whole new level? How long had she been at it? What was supposed to be his place in all this?
He could see the appeal in this, he thought as he reached the door. He could imagine so easily how it would feel, coming home after a hard day's work to a place like this, to a girl like her…
He opened the door and found he didn't have to imagine.
Neria, dressed in fresher, prettier commoner's clothes, was setting the table with wooden bowls and utensils. A pot of what looked like some sort of chicken stew with fresh vegetables was bubbling softly over the cooking fire, the smell of it divine to his nostrils. Pies were resting on the windowsill, their sweet aromas mingling with the stew's.
She turned to him and smiled.
"Oh, you're home!" she said. "How was your day, dear?"
It was the easiest thing, then, to lay his staff by the door, to sit on a nearby chair to unlace his boots.
"Very well, dear, he answered, toeing his boots off. "I think we should be able to harvest the cherries soon. The apples are looking good, too. I think they'll be ready in a couple of weeks. What's for supper?"
She smiled brightly, her eyes shining, pleased that he was playing along.
"Your favourite, of course! Go wash up," she told him, picking up a knife to slice a big loaf of bread. "It's ready."
She pointed at a basin of fresh water on the counter where Anders proceeded to wash his hands and face while she put the basket of sliced bread on the table and filled the wooden bowls with large helpings of stew. They sat facing each other on each side of the small dining table.
The stew was delicious, very carefully seasoned, the bread soft with a hard, crunchy crust, the wine fruity and light, the pie sweet and flaky. Neria was babbling throughout the whole dinner, something or other about her imaginary neighbour coming by in the afternoon for tea, saying her husband was having trouble with his crops, oh, and did he know that Mrs. Something was pregnant again? He should go check on her sometimes. He smiled and nod and even added some stories about "imaginary" patients and their funny stories. Maker knew he had loads of these in stock.
They did the dishes together, their hands brushing under the warm, soapy water.
"You should start a fire in the hearth," she said afterwards, putting the dishes away. "We'll finish the wine by the fireplace."
He got the fire going with a flare of magic and sat in a cosy, if faded, chair before putting his feet up with a contented sigh. He wished he had a pipe. He wished Ser Pounce-A-Lot was here. The picture would have been complete.
She joined him by the fire with a bundle of soft blue, yellow and red wool. He had to raise his eyebrows.
"Knitting? Really? You?"
She shrugged.
"I found a book that taught me how. It's easy. See?" she asked, lifting her knitting needles to reveal something vaguely resembling a multi-coloured cowl. "I'm almost done. It's for you, by the way."
He chuckled softly.
"No way I'm wearing that."
"We'll see," she said in a tone that suggested it was already decided.
He perused through the books piled up by the chair while she worked, until she exclaimed: "There!" in a triumphant voice and stood to march on him, holding her creation with both hands before her. Anders saw with amused horror that the thing was pointed, with ear flaps and a puffy-looking pompom. He raised his hands over his head.
"No way!"
"Don't be such a baby!" she said, batting his hands away. "You should be proud to wear this! It's a work of art!"
"Then we'll hang it on the wall, not on my head! Damn, and here I thought the Circle's cowls were ugly!"
"I'll get it on you if it's the last thing I do!" she proclaimed, tackling him.
Ensued a brief but violent battle, somehow ending with Neria straddling his thighs, looming over him while he sat on the floor, pulling on the cap by its ear flaps to hold it in place on his head.
They stared at each other, out of breath and laughing. His hands went around her waist, then moved slowly up her back, and her breath caught and suddenly it wasn't so funny anymore. Her fingers slid under the cap, pushing it back to slip into his hair. She held his gaze a second longer before bending her head slowly to kiss him.
The fire was crackling merrily behind her, fending off the night's chill. He could hear crickets chirping outside, a soft wind making small branches gently tap against the windows. Her lips tasted of cherries and wine, her hands smelled like dish soap, and with the way his heart was soaring he could almost believe this was all real.
Almost.
"Wait…"
He broke the kiss, pulling her away.
"I get why you did this. All… this. But this, between us… This is too big, Ria. Too important for make-believe."
"This isn't make-believe," she breathed against his lips. "Well, not just make-believe," she amended, straightening up somewhat when he raised his eyebrows in doubt. "This is me… trying to give you what you want."
"What I want?"
"Well yeah. I'm sorry I couldn't find any fools to shoot lightning at, but I hope the meal was decent enough…" Her hands went to her hair, fluffing it nervously. "And, hum… I hope I'm pretty enough… Plus," she added, forcing a smile and grabbing the knitted cap, "I made you a dashing chapeau!"
He swallowed, then took her hands in his, throwing the knitted abomination aside.
"You're more than pretty enough," he told her, his voice a little hoarse. "You're gorgeous. Strong, and kind, and funny. And I… who am I, really? A mage who understands, at the right place and the right time? Someone to share this fantasy with, only because I was in the Tower and so I get it? How can you feel anything for me when… really I'm just this stupid, scrawny excuse for a man, a fugitive and a wanted apostate…"
She interrupted him by pushing him away to get up. Then she walked away and he hung his head in shame. Well, he knew it.
But then she was back, kneeling on the floor in front of him, and a book fell in his lap.
"What's this?" he asked without looking up.
"Open it," she said, her voice serious.
It was a leather-bound notebook, he found out as he flipped it open. On the first page was a child's drawing of a man in robes shooting fire from his hands at what appeared to be a three-headed purple dragon. Above the drawing, written in shaky letters, he could read: The wonderful adventures of Anders the Amazing!
"I wrote this, when I was younger, back in the Circle," she said as he silently flipped through the pages, his eyes catching words like "castle," "haunted forest," "faeries" and "huge monsters." "When I got word that you had escaped again, I sat for hours in the library, thinking about you, imagining what kind of formidable adventures you were embarking on. I had such a huge crush on you back then," she said, shaking her head, a little smile playing on her lips. "Your were my model, my inspiration, the one voice for freedom. My hero."
"Then I was out of the Tower and off to do some adventuring of my own, and I got a taste of how truly awful life out here can be. I wondered, then, late at night, alone in my tent, where you were, if you were alive and well, if your own adventurous life was treating you any better than mine. Then I was named Warden-Commander and sent off to Amaranthine, and there you were, handsome as ever, making witty jokes that lit up the horror that was my life, and I, I could save you…"
Her voice broke. She leaned closer, her hands cradled his face and his arms came up around her, the book falling to the ground, forgotten.
"It's you. All of you, Anders. It's your thirst for freedom, the way you're so enthusiastic about the world, the way you see everything as an opportunity. It's in the way you talk to Ser Pounce-a-Lot that makes my heart melt every time. It's in the way you can smile and make a joke at the worst of times, letting me know everything will be fine. It's because you're always there when I fall. It's in the way you save me..."
She bowed her head, slowly, and he realised he was holding his breath, waiting…
"For the longest time, I have loved you…" she whispered, before her lips met his again.
He tasted the wine and cherries on her lips again, the sun on her skin as his mouth slid down her throat and she arched against him, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and pulling him down with her in front of the fireplace.
As his hands slowly undid buttons and laces, as his lips devoured each inch of her skin he could reach, his fogged mind thought back on everything it took to get him here. The escape attempts, the punishments suffered at Templar's hands, the solitary confinement, the tainted blood… it had all been worth it, to be able to kiss her without fear, to feel her skin under his hands, her lips against his ear as she whispered endless words of love to him. To have her love him and to love her back, he would do it all over again.
He would do anything.
"There's a bed right there, you know," she murmured when he pulled back to remove his own clothes.
"I'm fine right here," he said, smiling down at her. "I'm exactly where I want to be."