Title: I'll Keep a Candle Lit

Summary: She thought of him as almost a son, but if that were true, then she was the worst mother in history. Wynne and Anders in the Circle tower.

Rating: Teen for language, violence, implied sexuality, and disturbing themes.

Characters: Wynne, Anders, First Enchanter Irving, Knight-Commander Greagoir, Karl Thekla, Ser Cullen

Author's Notes: The first part of a two-story series chronically the non-canon life of Anders the apostate and the people who love him. Takes place pre-Origins through early Awakening.

This was... different. I'm struggling a bit to write Wynne, but the idea bit me and I can't help but use it. This story is Wynne's point of view instead of Anders', though it really is his story. Um, I'm trying to write this, though with everyone home for the holidays, getting some peace and quiet in which to write angsty fanfic is ridiculously hard. Got a teenage brother playing Skyrim right next to me the whole time. Heh. I'm going to try to hold myself to a schedule when writing this, so I pray I'll get to that elusive regular updating thing at some point.

Also, sorry this chapter is a little boring. The next one will actually feature Anders. And child abuse! Yay! I'm going to Hell for this. Or probably for the Wynne/Oghren I plan on writing. Either way.

Prologue: Homecoming

"Senior Enchanter Wynne!"

Wynne reshouldered her pack and mustered a weary smile for the gaggle of young apprentices and Creation mages that had assembled in the main hall to meet her and her entourage. The templars shifted nervously in the background, unnerved by the assembled, excited mages, and Wynne hastened to diffuse the tension.

"Hello, hello. It's lovely to see you again."

"Miss Wynne, Miss Wynne!" An apprentice, perhaps six years old, dashed up and threw her arms around her knees. "You're back! We thought the templars killed you!"

Wynne forced a chuckle, shaking her head. "No, child. Whoever told you a silly thing like that?"

"Anders," the girl replied cheerfully.

Wynne looked at one of the enchanters in askance. The woman shrugged helplessly.

"It's a long story, Wynne. A bit's happened since you left."

"Well, I'm sure it will keep until after dinner. Now, off with you, magelings. Tired, smelly mages need baths and bread."

They managed to round the herd of children up into the apprentice quarters long enough for Wynne and her fellow healers to slip up the stairs and disappear into the enchanter quarters. Wynne battled with herself for a moment before she decided that it wouldn't kill Irving to wait an extra hour or two for his report – long enough for her to soak away some of the travel aches and eat something besides camp fare, at least.

Wynne's position as senior enchanter came with a few perks, such as a private room and bathing chamber and the opportunity to travel outside of the tower, and she was especially grateful for said bath as she sank beneath the hot water she'd conjured. She only got out reluctantly after giving herself a thorough scrubbing, for she knew that the longer she remained in the water, the more likely it became that she'd end up falling asleep in the tub. She had no desire to drown herself or prompt a search party while she was indecent.

Exiting the bathing room, Wynne was surprised by a young Tranquil laying out a meal on her desk.

"Hilde? What are you doing, dear?" Wynne was always polite to the Tranquil. To be otherwise seemed irredeemably rude.

Blank eyes looked up from the task at hand. "Senior Enchanter. The First Enchanter arranged for this meal to be brought for you. You are to report to his office after you have finished eating. I will dispose of the refuse and soiled dishes once you are finished."

"Ah, thank you, Hilde." Wynne sat at the desk and allowed the girl to uncover the dishes. Her nose wrinkled at the smell. Irving had to be behind the pickled eggs near her elbow, though he'd sent a pear strudel in apology for his prank. Really, the man was nearing sixty, and he still acted like a giggling apprentice whenever the opportunity arose.

Wynne ate quickly and carefully thanked Hilde, ignoring the shiver of disquiet down her spine as the other woman simply stared at her uncomprehendingly. Soon enough, she was sweeping into the First Enchanter's office.

"Irving, you know I detest pickled eggs," she said without preamble, striding over to claim her usual chair.

"And I also know you adore pastries." Irving gave her a warm smile behind the bushy beard he was growing out. "You look well, Wynne. I trust you managed to get the situation under control?"

"Fortunately. My team did remarkably well, and with Teyrn Loghain's support and his young daughter's organization, we managed to prevent the wasting sickness from spreading beyond the region." Wynne smiled to herself. "It is always good to show the world the good mages can do, and I doubt the people of Gwaren will forget our intervention soon."

"Excellent. Now, I take it you would like to hear the latest gossip?"

"The status of the tower, you mean?"

"If you'd like to call it that." Irving chuckled. "Well, let's see… One of the apprentices managed to burn half of a bookcase before the nearest templar smote him to cut off his flame spell. We lost almost fifty tomes, and Greagoir was livid. Ranted for hours."

"You must stop goading him, Irving."

"Spoilsport. He's the most fun when he's irritated. Hm, well, I heard a rumor that Enchanter Evelyn finally managed to seduce Willem. Remind me to pay you back, Wynne. I could have sworn he was pining for Eddard, not Evelyn."

"Irving…"

"Yes, yes, I know, you've told me I'm a terrible judge of character, but –"

Wynne pursed her lips. "Irving, do you have anything useful to add? I have more important things to do than listen to you chatter on like a thirteen-year-old apprentice about who is shagging whom."

"Oh, all right. You can pretend you're not interested if you like." Irving steepled his fingers and leaned forward onto his desk. "There is a matter I would like your opinion on. While you were away in Gwaren, we gained three new apprentices. A four-year-old girl who likes to start fires, a seven-year-old boy who likes entropy, nothing unusual, but last month we got something a bit different."

"Is it a spirit healer?" Wynne sounded suddenly excited and a bit greedy. Spirit healers were much more rare than primal or entropy or even spirit specialists.

"Oh, we don't know his specialization yet. He's been most uncooperative. All we know is that he likes ice, his fireballs are abysmal, and he cannot do any entropy."

"That sounds promising." Wynne smiled to herself, already making plans to test the apprentice. "What is his name?"

"And that is where we run into a problem." Irving stood up and began pacing in slow and measured steps. "You see, the boy is twelve years old, and he has refused to tell us anything, even his name."

"Twelve? Did he recently manifest, or is he an… apostate?"

Irving spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "We simply don't know. The squad that brought him in has already returned to their patrols, and their report is missing many details. All we know is that his parents are immigrants from the Anderfels sharecropping somewhere in the wheat and rye farmlands of the Bannorn. Beyond that, we don't know his name, his exact age, his level of schooling, when he manifested his magic…"

"I can see the problem, but it's not too unusual for us to have little information about apprentices." She frowned suspiciously. "What else aren't you telling me?"

"Well, you see, Anders has this tendency to –"

The door burst open and a flustered enchanter ran in. "First Enchanter! We have a problem! Anders is gone!"

"- escape." Irving closed his eyes and rubbed at his temples.

It was going to be a long night.