Irving looked almost regretful as he sentenced Anders to death.
"I'm afraid I must agree with the Knight-Commander. You leave us no other option, Anders," Irving said. Greagoir stood behind him, stony-faced, mage and templar for once united in their decision. When both the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter showed up at his cell, he wasn't expecting a fruit basket and a hearty welcome home, but he'd never expected this.
Aeonar. They said it was a prison where the guilty would condemn themselves, and mages who had done no wrong had nothing to fear, but he knew that wasn't true. No one ever came back. He'd never harmed anyone, never dabbled in blood magic - he felt faint at the sight of his own blood, for Andraste's sake, and now he was doomed. He scowled at both of them as they left his cell, Irving pausing at the cell door as if he had something left to say, but he shook his head and left. Anders curled up on his cot to stroke his cat and plan his next escape, and if he hugged the cat a little more tightly than normal there wasn't anyone to see it.
Alistair pushed doggedly onwards along the road north and wondered if it was possible to drown in your own sweat. He'd taken off his helm, earning him a reproachful glance from Ser Dominick but some respite from the boiling temperatures around his head, and now he just had sweat trickling down his neck and soaking through his padding, pooling damply in uncomfortable places he wouldn't be able to itch for hours. He dragged behind Ser Garlan and Dominick, who flanked the apostate, ever watchful.
Anders was strolling along in the loose tunic and breeches they'd given him to replace his robes, enjoying the summer heat and looking like he hadn't a care in the world. Occasionally he would make some remark to the others that Alistair couldn't quite catch, but he could hear the ever-present cheery smugness in his tone. He wondered how he managed to be immune to Dominick's stares, which made Alistair cringe like an initiate caught sleeping during chapel.
The Chantry had warned him about the dangers of apostates and maleficars, but they'd never said they could be so irritating.
At last Dominick called a halt, and Alistair put up the tents, glad to be out of his armour at last. Anders sprawled on the grass, a picture of supreme laziness spoiled only by the manacles at his wrists. Alistair scowled at him. He didn't see why he couldn't at least make himself useful, but Domenick said that Anders was too dangerous to be allowed near anything weapon-like, and so Alistair worked on with the mallet, a steady dribble of sweat rolling down his back.
"Good job, Alistair," called Anders from his prone position. "I think if I'm very lucky, my tent might not collapse on my head tonight."
Alistair ignored him. It wasn't his fault, honestly. The Chantry hadn't educated him in the finer points of camping, and certainly no one at Redcliffe had thought him worth teaching. Was it any wonder he had a little difficulty on his first try?
"I see you've managed to hammer all the pegs in today. Was it tricky? I knew they didn't pick templars for their brains, but I thought counting to four wouldn't be that hard."
Maker's breath, did the man ever shut up? Alistair ignored the little voice in his head reminding him how much he used to prattle on until his silent shifts in the Tower cured him of that particular habit, and rounded on Anders. "I only need to count to one to keep track of you." He made an attempt at Domenick's glower and got only a smirk in return, then turned back to the tents and smacked the pegs harder than necessary, pretending it was Anders' smug grin.
Anders sat at the base of a tree and watched the world go by, not that he had a lot of choice in the matter. The Templars had considered what to do with him while they swam in a lake, and not wanting to give up their chance at a cool dip in the oppressive heat to guard their charge, they settled to chaining his hands behind a tree at the waters' edge where they could keep an eye on him.
And where he could keep an eye on them. If he'd had any doubt about how serious his punishment was, it vanished when he saw they'd assigned Domenick to escort him. Garlan was boring and dutiful and devoid of imagination, but that was what he'd come to expect, and exactly how the Chantry liked them. Domenick was on an entirely different, and entirely nastier level.
They hadn't sent any lady templars this time, either, and he wondered exactly what Ser Rylock had recommended after they found her tied to that bed in Highever in nothing but her smallclothes. Still, they hadn't quite figured him out, or they wouldn't have sent Alistair as part of his guard. Anders watched him stride out of the lake, water running slowly down his chest and thighs. Such a shame to hide that under a skirt all day. He realised Alistair was watching him, and let his eyes drift downwards, flicking them back to see mounting horror on the templar's face as he looked for somewhere to hide. Alistair settled for cupping his hands awkwardly over the offending parts and scurrying after his clothes, giving Anders a fine rear view, and he grinned happily to himself. An escape route would turn up, it always did, and in the meantime he might have found some entertainment.
A soft laugh echoed in his ear, sounding distinctly self-satisfied. He felt the press of another body against his, skin to skin, a slick hand holding him, coaxing him closer. He gasped, and a mouth covered his, a tongue pushing into his mouth, and he kissed back, harder, desperately thrusting into the hand wrapped round his cock. Stubble grazed against his chin, and a cold horror filled him as he recognised the laugh echoing in his ear even as he came, letting out a strangled cry as he woke up, sticky and sweating in his own tent.
Garlan, who had the tent next to Alistair's, caught his eye as he emerged. "A word, Alistair?"
They headed into the forest far enough fromt he camp that they wouldn't be overheard. Garlan stared into the distance and didn't look at Alistair while he talked. "Now, Alistair, I know you haven't been a templar all that long. And I know the Chantry has certain teachings, about, well, self-discipline and so forth, but I know that it can be difficult, with the mages, that is, all around you, and those apprentice robes are very poorly designed, far too low-cut, and, well, I wanted you to know that it's all perfectly natural and nothing to be ashamed of."
Alistair looked at his feet and wondered if he prayed really hard whether the Maker would have the ground swallow him up right now. Garlan coughed, politely, and Alistair realised he was waiting for a response. "Um, yes. Very badly designed. All ... thighs."
"Exactly. Exactly. And of course you should try and avoid any sort of impure thought, pray for Andraste's forgiveness, etcetera etcetera, but some of the younger men, they get a little over-zealous, you see. Think it must be desire demons tempting them, that sort of thing, try to drive them out, saw one young man driven to self-flagellation, screaming about how they were evil temptresses. Horrible business. I'd rather not see you go down that route." He was smiling kindly if a little nervously at Alistair, and Alistair returned the expression.
"That's ... well, thank you for the advice."
"Not at all, not at all," he said, seeming as relieved as Alistair that this conversation was over and he would never have to mention the subject again. He clapped Alistair on the shoulder and headed back to camp, leaving Alistair to ponder whether his advice would have been the same had he known the figure haunting his dreams was no young apprentice in her revealing outfit, but a smirking apostate and maleficar who was currently sitting by the fire shovelling porridge into his mouth. Alistair flashed back to that mouth pressed against his, exploring and tasting and making him gasp, and he groaned. Of all the men to dream about, why him?
The weather broke with a deafening rumble of thunder, water pouring from the clouds to soak them to the skin in seconds. Even Anders, who knew a little more primal magic than he liked to let on, was in awe of the sheets of lightning crashing down around them while they huddled under a tree.
At least, three of them were under the tree. Alistair had taken off his helm and tilted his head back, letting the rain wash over him, a blissful expression on his face. Anders remembered the first time he'd stood in a rainstorm outside the tower, free and alive and in a world full of exciting possibilities, and he'd been caught a week later but that didn't make the memory any less sweet.
"We'll get no further in this weather," Domenick said, with a wary eye on the clouds. He called Alistair to set up the tents, and with a weary sigh Alistair started to shed his armour and find the tent pegs.
Making camp in the middle of a downpour was muddy and confusing, and exactly the chance Anders had been hoping for. Just one moment was all he needed, one unguarded second without chains on his ankles or a watchful eye on his whereabouts, and when it came he took it and ran.
He crashed through the forest, as speedily as he could, heavy enchanted bracers weighing him down. He might only get a minute's head start before they realised he was gone, and he intended to make all of it count. He heard angry shouts from behind him, but he was barely able to hear them over the sound of the rain and his own laboured breathing. He hadn't the first idea where he was heading, but he figured it was better to end up where the templars weren't and then worry about where that was.
The forest was dense and dark in the storm, and his foot snagged in the roots and sent him tumbling heavily into the dirt. He lay stunned for a moment before he gathered his wits and carried on, but the shouts were louder, closer now, and he stumbled on desperately, gasping air into his lungs.
It was no use. He stumbled again, muddy and blinded by rain, and a hand grabbed the back of his shirt, pulling him to his feet. "I've got him," Alistair shouted, and Anders cursed his luck. He might've outrun the older templars, but Alistair was young and strong and he probably practised sprinting around in his armour for fun.
Domenick found them first, striding into the clearing with a furious look on his face, and smashed a fist into Anders' ribs before he had time to make any smart remarks. Anders sprawled on the ground, winded by the blow, and Domenick pulled him up by his shirt, his face practically touching Anders'. "Maleficar," he spat, and a blow from his gauntlet exploded into pain down the side of Anders' face. "Bring him back to camp, and keep an eye on him this time," Domenick ordered, already pushing his way back through the forest.
Alistair opened his mouth as though he were going to protest, then closed it and frowned. He reached out an arm and hauled the dazed Anders out of the dirt.
He shifted from side to side, trying to find a spot where his ribs wouldn't ache. Gingerly he poked the side of his face, wincing a bit every time. His eye was already swollen shut, and he wasn't sure if his nose was broken but he certainly couldn't breathe through it or anything useful like that. Everything was hurting and throbbing and he couldn't do anything but lie awake and think about how he'd made a total cock-up of what might be his only chance to escape.
He abandoned sleep and stepped out of his tent. Alistair, on guard duty, jumped to his feet and raised his sword, but Anders only raised his hands and carried on walking. "Relax. I'm hardly going to run off like this, am I?" He dragged himself over to the log Alistair had been perched on and lowered himself down as gently as he could. His ribs protested, but at least sitting upright he could breathe.
Alistair lowered his sword, sighed, and seated himself on the log as far away from Anders as he could manage. "I'm sorry," he said, quietly. Anders blinked. "He shouldn't have done that. He shouldn't have hit you."
"Sorry, say that again? I thought for a minute you were having an opinion. You know, one of your own that you didn't pick up from the Chantry like a good little Templar." It wasn't the most graceful way to accept Alistair's apology, but he was still a Templar, even if he was turning out to be one of the better ones.
"I know what the Chantry says. I know it doesn't including beating defenceless mages just because you can."
"Right, yes. But sending them off to certain death, that's just fine and dandy."
"It's not-" Alistair realised he was close to a shout, and lowered his voice back to a loud whisper. "It's not death. It's just a prison, one for those mages too dangerous and disruptive for the tower."
"Of course. And how many mages have you met who ever came out of Aeonar? Or hear of any who were alive six months after they went in?" Alistair, looking troubled, had no reply.
"And besides," Anders said, leaning closer to Alistair, "I'm not a maleficar."
Alistair looked relieved. "That's exactly what Domenick said you would say."
Anders rolled his eyes, aware that only one of them could be seen. "Doesn't make it less true. I'm an apostate, I admit that, not that I see it as a crime. Blood mage? Maker preserve me! I'm a healer. I help people. I don't slurp out their bodily fluids and use them in ancient dark rituals! Yet somehow I'm the dangerous one who needs locking up, not the templar who broke my sodding nose."
Alistair stared at him for a moment. "Does it hurt?"
Anders sighed. He probably shouldn't have ranted at Alistair - after all, he hadn't hit him, and he'd helped him back to camp far more gently than Domenick would have though necessary. But the boy was so sodding earnest he couldn't help trying to teach him a little of how the world worked. "Yes, it hurts."
"And you could heal it. If you didn't have those on, I mean." He pointed at the bracers, runes glowing faintly in the dark.
"Correct, Ser States-the-Bloody-Obvious."
Alistair frowned for a moment, then looked him in the eye. "Then I'll take them off and you can heal yourself. If you promise me you won't run."
Anders stared at him, dumbfounded. Surely he wasn't serious. "Why would you trust any promise made by a maleficar?"
"Didn't you just tell me you weren't one of those? The answer is, I don't know. I know I shouldn't trust a word you say ... but I do." He cocked his head to the side, and smiled. "I've got my sword with me, I'm not completely stupid. But I think I'm right."
Anders met Alistair's gaze and held out his hands. "Then I promise."
Alistair's hands settled on the bracers and concentrated, and Anders could see the same expression of deep concentration he saw on the apprentice mages. A soft pulse of Alistair's templar power and the runes glowed more brightly, flaring white, until the bracers sprang apart along invisible seams. Anders flexed his wrists, felt power gathering inside him, so good after so long without the thrill of magic in his veins. He'd tricked gullible templars before, but this was almost too easy. Lightning spell, perhaps, just enough to knock him out, and then he'd be off before the sleeping pair of templars were even out of their tents.
And he looked at Alistair, and he couldn't do it. There was something so painfully earnest and trusting in his eyes, and he just couldn't bring himself to wipe that away. Why the boy had decided to trust him of all people he couldn't imagine, but he couldn't do it.
He channeled his power into a healing spell, letting the glow wash over his battered chest and face until he felt the bones knit together and the swelling subside. Then he meekly held out his hands, to let Alistair snap the bracers back on, and closed his eyes as a chill washed through him, clearing the last traces of magic out of his system. That might be the last spell he ever cast, now he had squandered his best chance of escape because he couldn't resist some pretty Templar's puppy-dog expression. Maker, he was an idiot.
Something brushed his cheek and he opened his eyes. Alistair's fingers were poking gently at his newly-healed face.
"What, never seen a healing spell before?"
"No, actually," said Alistair, turning Anders' head to the side and staring at it. "It's very..."
"...magical?" said Anders.
"Yes. Um, yes," said Alistair, and he whipped his hand back, as though he hadn't been stroking Anders' face. He cleared his throat. "It's nearly time for Garlan's watch."
"Already? I didn't even have time to thank you properly." It was too dark to tell, but Anders would bet that Alistair was blushing behind him as he ducked into his tent.
Alistair wasn't so keen on leaving his tent the next morning even though his dreams had been blissfully free from mages. Maker, he'd almost been caressing Anders last night! If he hadn't heard Garlan stirring, he might've ... well, he would have blushed a lot and run away, but he would have been thinking about other things, that's for sure.
He was pretty sure Anders knew what he was thinking, too. Setting him free, even for a moment, was definitely a stupid move, and yet he'd been so sure that the man wouldn't run, it hadn't seemed a risk at all.
The sounds of shouting outside his tent roused him from indecision, but the sight outside his tent shocked his breath right out of him. Anders was on his knees in the dirt, his chained hands raised in front of him, Domenick's sword an inch from his face.
"I swear, I didn't take them off. How could I?"
"Then explain to me, mage, how you healed overnight. A miracle cure, perhaps, from Andraste herself?" Domenick never sounded pleasant, but there was a gleeful righteousness in his voice that Alistair didn't like at all.
Anders shot Alistair a pleading look. Why had he not thought about this last night? Right, he was too busy thinking about how good Anders' stubble felt under his hand, and not how suspicious his fellow templars would be.
Alistair stepped forward, trying to position himself between Anders and the sword and failing. "I used a poultice, Ser. He looked pretty bad, and I was worried he wouldn't be able to breathe." Please, please, let him buy it.
"I don't know how he persuaded you to cover for him, Alistair, but believe me, he didn't mean a word of it." Dominick turned his attention back to Anders, who was still staring defiantly at him. "A clever plan, mage. Pretend to run so we'll make you bleed, then use your blood magic against us."
"How many times do I have to say it? I'm not a maleficar! Half the sodding tower is studying blood magic, right under your noses, and you're locking me up so I don't go round healing people! For Andraste's sake, think about what you're doing," Anders said, his voice ragged and desperate.
"I have thought about this, Anders. You're simply too dangerous to risk a further escape, and my actions will save inncoents from your corruption." Domenick's sword was still steady, pointing at Anders' throat.
"What? No! You can't just murder him!" Alistair turned to Garlan, standing silently and stony-faced behind Anders. "You can't be going along with this, surely?"
Garlan smiled the kindly, condescending smile he always used on Alistair, with a little hint of regret. "Maleficars are a danger to themselves as well as others, Alistair. A demon is sure to take him in Aeonar. This is really what's best for everyone."
"Maybe that's not for you to decide," Alistair said.
"It's already been decided. Step aside, Alistair," Domenick said, and he raised his sword.
Alistair slammed into him, surprise rather than the force of the blow knocking Domenick from his feet and sending his sword flying. Alistair knew he had only seconds before he recovered, before Garlan overcame his shock and drew his own sword, and he grabbed Anders' manacles, sending the pulse of Templar energy through them that would free the mage.
The manacles fell to the ground and Anders rose, taking a deep breath and grinning widely at Domenick, who was scrambling to reach him. Alistair felt the tingling feeling of powerful magic close by, and saw the bright wave of energy rush towards him.
Ow. Someone was ... kicking him? He opened his eyes and sat up, and Anders stopped with his foot in mid-swing.
"Good, you're awake. Sorry about that. The kicking, I mean. You're a hard man to wake up."
Alistair rubbed his eyes. He still felt groggy. Then he saw the bodies of Domenick and Garlan, lying on the ground.
Anders saw his expression. "Don't worry, they're not dead. Just sleeping peacefully. Like you were, which I'm sorry about as well, but I didn't really have time to do much aiming while I was knocking you all out before Domenick could chop my head off."
Anders was wandering in and out of the tents, stuffing things into his pack and occasionally throwing something into the bushes. He tossed a pack at Alistair. "Ready?"
"Ready for what?"
"To make our grand escape. Or were you going to stay here and face the wrath of that lunatic over there? He's not going to be happy with you when he wakes up."
"Go with you?"
"Yes. Look, I know you're having a particularly trying day, but are you always this slow?"
He could stay here and wait till the others awoke, and if he was lucky they might not lock him up and throw away the key, and he could stand around watching mages for the rest of his life. Or he could run away with a mage he wasn't even sure if he liked half the time but who definitely made him feel strange and uncomfortable things, and they would be hunted by templars and probably end up dead within a month.
Easy decision, really.
"What's the plan? There is a plan, right?" asked Alistair. They'd been making steady progress for most of the day, after Anders had made sure that Garlan and Domenick would remain sleeping beauties long enough to give them a good head start. He'd also taken off their boots and thrown them into the undergrowth and stolen all their money and spare smallclothes, because he might be leaving them alive but that didn't mean he wasn't vindictive.
"I thought we could wander aimlessly in the woods for a while, maybe starve to death. How does that sound?" Anders said.
"Great! I was thinking we'd die long before we had a chance to starve."
Anders gave him a sidelong glance. Escaping was always an adrenaline rush, but the templar was practically bouncing along, and snarking right back at him. Anders was rather enjoying it.
"For a templar, you have an odd sense of humour. No, wait ... it's odd that a templar has a sense of humour."
"I'd almost forgotten I had one. Being an initiate wasn't much fun, but at least I had the training to keep me sane. The templars in the tower... they were all so serious, and pious, and that was my future so I thought I'd better try and fit in." He smiled ruefully. "I never thought I'd get sent to the tower. Village chantry, maybe, where I couldn't do any harm."
"You didn't seem like the religious sort, it's true. How did you end up in the Chantry, anyway?" Anders listened as Alistair sketched out the unhappy story of his childhood. No wonder he was so happy to be free of the Chantry, even if it was likely to be temporary.
"Anyway," said Anders, trying to distract Alistair from his thoughts, "if we survive the forest, which is probably full of wolves, bears, and other terrifying woodland creatures, I think we'll be near the coast. Follow the coast, and we get to Highever, and from Highever we get a boat to the Free Marches, and from the Free Marches we go ... somewhere."
"Somewhere?" Alistair sounded skeptical.
Anders shrugged. "That's about as far as I usually get."
"I thought you were the infamous Anders, veteran of half a dozen escapes?"
"If you think about it, if I were really good at escaping I'd only have had to do it once."
They walked in silence for a little while, but silence was not Anders' natural state. "Starting to regret tagging along with me?"
"Tagging along? Who do you think is going to save your arse from all the terrifying wild animals?" Alistair said.
Anders laughed. "They'll be on fire before you even spot them."
"Not if I smite you first," Alistair muttered.
"Oh, I'd like to see you try," he said, low and soft into Alistair's ear, and he could see Alistair shiver.
Oh, this was definitely his favourite escape attempt.
Despite flirting with him on a daily basis until Alistair's ears went pink, Anders still wasn't quite expecting it when Alistair pinned him against a tree and kissed him. He was pressed so tightly against him he could barely breathe, and Alistair's kiss was all hot, hard pressure, as though he could make up for lost time in intensity.
Anders pushed him back, breathing hard, and Alistair's face took on a look of crushing disappointment that Anders would do almost anything to avoid seeing again. "Sorry," he said, "I thought ... well, it doesn't matter."
Anders rolled his eyes. "No, you idiot, I don't want you to stop kissing me. I want you to stop crushing my ribs." Alistair grabbed Alistair's shirt, pulling him closer, and backed him up against the tree. Much better. Now he could set the pace, slowly kissing his way up Alistair's jawline to plant soft kisses on his mouth, coaxing his mouth open and letting his tongue explore until Alistair shivered despite the warm evening. Alistair's virginity was painfully obvious, and Anders would be damned if he didn't make the first time as memorable as possible. He had a reputation to live up to back in the Tower, after all. He slipped a hand up under Alistair's shirt, feeling a shudder as he traced his way lightly up Alistair's chest and circled a nipple. He kissed him a little harder, using his free hand to cup Alistair's head and bring him closer, and stuck his hand down Alistair's breeches.
Alistair jerked as Anders' hand closed around his cock, moaning with every move of Anders' hand, his face flushed in the light of the fire. Anders sucked roughly at Alistair's lip, and Alistair thrust into his hand, almost whimpering. He came quickly, gasping in pleasure, Anders holding him up as he shuddered, hearing his shaky breaths.
He held on until Alistair recovered, putting a hand under Alistair's chin to tilt his face up until he could meet his eyes. Satisfied, he gave him a lingering kiss and let him go, turning back to the campfire. Alistair sat down beside him and they stared at the fire for a while.
Alistair scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "That wasn't exactly how I expected that to go."
"No?"
"I thought there might be a pretty girl who laughed at my jokes and didn't mind when I said the wrong thing. And maybe a bed. But lately I thought it might not happen at all, so..."
"So you grabbed the first chance you had?" Anders was oddly upset at the thought.
"Oh, Maker, I knew I'd get this all wrong. No, I don't- I just, it wasn't how I thought. And nor is anything else in my life, but I liked this. And I like you," he said shyly, staring at the fire.
Anders bit back the sarcastic response that was forming, and instead he leaned over to lift Alistair's head and give him a long, slow kiss. "You like me? I can think of a few ways you can prove that. Where would you like to start?"
They lay side by side in their bedrolls, Alistair having laid his out a little closer to Anders than he had on previous nights, and Anders was halfway to sleep when Alistair woke him.
"There's something I should tell you."
"Wait, let me guess. Are you a Templar? You are a Templar! Oh, I knew it!" Not his finest joke, but when he rolled over to look Alistair wasn't even smiling.
"You know how I told you my mother was a serving girl, and Arl Eamon raised me? What I didn't say is that my father was King Maric."
Anders considered this piece of information. "Which means I just fucked the heir to the throne?"
"No! No, it was always very clear that I was no way in line to the throne. And that's just fine with me. They sent me off to the monastery to keep me hidden, so I wouldn't be a threat to Cailan's rule."
"And you didn't think this was something I should know?"
"I wanted to tell you, it's just ... my whole life, everyone who knew always treated me differently. I guess I wanted to wait as long."
Anders sighed. He knew Alistair had a sheltered life up until he pulled him away from it, but honestly, he could be an idiot sometimes. "You didn't think it was important that I know? Someone arranged for you to be assigned to the tower for a reason, Alistair, and I'll bet it was to keep a closer eye on you. They're not going to be happy when they find out you're on the run with a noted apostate and probable maleficar. There's probably Templars from all over Ferelden searching for us, and with my phylactery they won't have any trouble tracking us down."
"I'm sorry. I didn't... I guess I didn't think about it like that."
"I know." He sighed, and said the part he really didn't want to say. "But tomorrow, we should go our separate ways."
"What?" Alistair protested, as Anders knew he would, but he had to make him see reason. "Stay with me, and they'll find us sooner rather than later, and we may not even make it to Highever. Split up, and you can go where they'll never find you."
"And you'll die," Alistair said.
"That was always likely. Frankly, I never expected to evade the Chantry for this long. But you don't have to throw your freedom away as well."
Alistair laughed a short, mirthless laugh. "And what will I do with my freedom? I never had a choice about anything, until you came along. I won't choose to leave you to face the Templars alone. We escape together or not at all."
Alistair looked more determined than at the start of their argument, and it was true. It was his choice to make, even if it made him a romantic fool. "Fine!" said Anders, exasperated. "You can stay. We set off at dawn tomorrow. We need to get to Highever as soon as we can."
Highever was easily the largest town Alistair had ever visited. Also the noisiest and smelliest, and after months spend wandering through sparsely-populated areas, it was all a little overwhelming. Having Anders at his side helped, as the mage flashed him a reassuring grin and stuck close to his side.
The dockmaster sent them to a ship at the far end of the docks, where sailors were busy loading crates and barrels. A dark-skinned woman with daggers at her waist was supervising them, and Anders caught her attention.
"Looking to buy passage?" she asked.
"Yes," said Anders. "How did you guess?"
She inclined her head towards Alistair. "He looks about as panicky as they get," she said, "which can only mean you want to get out as Highever as fast as you can, and the fewer questions asked the better." Alistair flushed, and she smiled a predatory smile. "No passengers on my ship, but I do need extra crew, and I have a soft spot for those on the wrong side of the law. Especially ones who might be a distraction on lonely nights." Her gaze wandered over Alistair, taking in the sword at his belt and the muscles showing beneath his ragged garments. "I can see he'll be handy at sea. What can you do? You don't look the heavy lifting type."
Anders glanced around, then very carefully let a tiny fireball form in his cupped palm. She raised one delicate eyebrow. "A mage? That explains the hurry, but you could come in useful. Alright, we sail on the morning tide. Be here tomorrow at dawn. Free Marches is a three-week journey; maybe we'll have some time to become better acquainted while we sail?"
Alistair felt himself blushing to the tips of his ears as they strolled away. "That was what I think it was, wasn't it?"
"Do you mean, was the attractive lady pirate offering to show us the delights of the captain's cabin? Yes, Alistair, she was."
They found a cheap inn, somewhere in the twisting alleyways that led from the docks to the market, and they had just enough coin to get them a meal and a room for the night. It wasn't pretty, but it had a bed, and after they bathed Alistair was content to lie there for a while, Anders' head on his chest, and enjoy the closeness. Anders hadn't been happy about his decision to stay with him, but he'd accepted it, and pushed them both hard to cover the miles to Highever as quickly as they could. Their lovemaking had been restricted to hurried trysts before they fell into exhausted sleep, but now they had to lie low until morning, and Alistair was eagerly contemplating the possibilities of their bed.
Anders seemed to be having the same thoughts. He leaned up to kiss Alistair, long lazy kisses that soon had Alistair aroused, and he pushed Anders over to straddle him. He pulled off his own tunic and helped Anders squirm out of his, and ran his tongue over Anders' nipples. Anders groaned and tried to grind his hips against Alistair, but the angle was impossible, and he lay back, allowing Alistair to kiss and lick and suck his way down his torso. Alistair reveled in the freedom to take as long as he liked, admiring the other man's body, while Anders moaned and sighed in pleasure.
Finally Alistair unlaced Anders' breeches and slipped them down, steeled himself for a moment, and took Anders into his mouth. Anders had done this for him, skillfully sucking him to completion, and he'd never known anything could feel so good. He wanted to return the favour, and he sucked gently on as much of Anders as he could take, listening to Anders taking a deep shuddering breath above him.
"Andraste's knickers, keep doing that." Anders was as noisy in bed as he was out of it, but at least Alistair wouldn't be lacking in encouragement to steady his nerves. He tried to keep a rhythm going, taking as much as he could with his mouth and letting his hands sort out the rest. Certainly, Anders didn't seem to mind - his words had become a stream of wordless moans, body shaking, and Alistair could see he was fighting to keep his hips from bucking. He swirled his tongue around the tip, doubling his efforts, and felt Anders' hand fist itself in his hair, gently pulling him up.
"I'm ... oh, Maker," Anders groaned, as he came under Alistair's hand. Alistair curled up next to him, and Anders ran his fingers through Alistair's hair. "I'd tell you how good that was, but there's only room for one inflated ego in this room," Anders said. "Now I have to think of something even better." Anders sat back against the head of the bed, propping pillows underneath him, and beckoned Alistair to sit between his knees, where his back was against Anders' chest. Alistair shivered as Anders kissed his shoulders and neck, arms wrapped warmly around his chest. He squirmed impatiently as graceful hands drifted lower, and Anders chuckled in his ear. "I thought the Tower would have taught you patience," he teased, and slowly stroked Alistair's cock. Anders' hand was slick and warm and felt desperately good, and Alistair fought off the unmanly urge to whimper and failed.
Anders shifted a little, and Alistair felt a hand reaching under his arse and slicking something warm over his entrance. He knew this was what men did, he'd even talked about it with Anders and tried not to blush at the mage's frankness, but talking wasn't the same prospect.
"Relax. It won't hurt. Quite the opposite, I hope," Anders said, kissing Alistair behind his ear, and Alistair tried not to tense up with nerves as Anders' finger pushed in smoothly. "Warmth balm," said Anders, explaining the slickness. "Bought it off the innkeeper while you weren't paying attention." Anders slowly relaxed the tight muscles with his finger, while his other hand was wrapped around Alistair's length, and soon Alistair forgot to be nervous and enjoyed the feelings. Anders pushed his finger in a little further, and did something that felt unbelievably good. Alistair let out a groan, and Anders touched the same spot again.
"That's what I was after. Mind if I try something? You'll like it," said Anders, and since he hadn't been wrong about what felt good so far, Alistair nodded in reply. Anders held both hands steady for a moment, and Alistair felt the tingle of magic followed by a fierce, jolting stab of pleasure, wrenching a cry out of him. The sensation was so intense it was almost painful. Anders nuzzled the back of Alistair's head, as soothing as he could be with his hands both occupied. "Everything alright?" he asked, and Alistair managed to choke out a reply.
"F- Fine," Alistair said, and Anders laughed.
"It's a tiny lightning spell. Hits the bits my hands can't quite reach," he said, and in a lower voice that make Alistair's cock twitch, "I can do it again, if you like it."
Alistair nodded, and almost instantly Alistair felt the lightning coursing through him, bring him close to the edge. He was shaking, and Anders wrapped his legs around Alistair's, holding him still, as another arc of energy jumped between his hands. Soon he stopped waiting for Alistair to recover, sending the spells one after another, until it was almost too much for Alistair to bear, and he felt himself coming in juddering spurts as he groaned deeply, fisting his hands in the sheets.
He felt Anders gently slip his fingers out and wrap his arm around Alistair's waist, pulling him tightly against him. "Too much?" Anders asked, gently. Alistair shook his head, not trusting his voice just yet. Anders kissed the back of his head. "Good. Oh, did I mention the best part about shagging a mage?" Anders' hands glowed gently, and Alistair felt soothing energy wash away his tiredness. "We really can keep it up all night long."
Alistair awoke tired but happy, curled up behind Anders with his arm round his waist. He shook Anders awake and they dressed and left with hardly a word, only stopping to exchange a few lingering kisses as the dawn broke and they stepped out into the streets of Highever.
The Templars surrounded them just as they reached the docks. Alistair felt a burst of familiar templar magic just as Anders dropped to his knees, holding his head in his hands. He quickly drew his sword, his heart sinking. There were far too many of them to fight alone, and though Anders was getting to his feet, he didn't think he'd be getting magical help any time soon. He didn't believe in the Maker, but it was hard to believe there wasn't someone watching, thwarting his happiness any chance they got.
One Templar stepped from the group, holding his empty hands in the air. "It's alright, Alistair," said Ser Garlan. "If you come with us, we won't hurt you."
Alistair shook his head. He didn't want whatever life the Templars were offering him. "I think I'll stay right here, if that's alright with you."
"Alistair, listen to me. You're under a powerful spell. It isn't your fault."
Alistair narrowed his eyes. "What? You think Anders used magic on me? To make me run away with him?"
Garlan nodded. "Yes. He is using blood magic on you, to compel you to do his bidding. To make your regrettable attack on Ser Domenick and myself, to help him run to Highever, and-" he coughed delicately "-to make you do other acts against your will."
Alistair stared, dumbfounded. "I'm not under his spell. He's not even a blood mage! I'm in love with him!"
There was a long pause, when even the small crowd who had gathered to watch the excitement fell silent.
"We really have to work on your timing," said Anders beside him, but he grinned. "You mean it?"
"Yes," said Alistair, and he did, he really did, and for a moment there was no one in the world but the two of them.
Garlan's weary sigh brought him back down to earth. "I see the compulsion is more powerful than we thought. I'm sorry, Alistair. This will only hurt for a moment, and then you'll be free." He signalled to the other Templars, who quickly separated the two of them, gripping Alistair's arms so he couldn't break free as they forced Anders back down to his knees.
"No. No! You can't! Doesn't he get a chance? Please," he begged, and the fear in Anders' eyes nearly broke him. "Please," he said, struggling against the Templars, but Garlan didn't even answer him.
"Wait!" called a tall, dark-skinned man, pushing his way through the crowd, and he had an air of command about him that made the Templars obey. "I have a better solution." He gave Alistair a calm stare, and though he had no reason to trust the man, Alistair felt reassured by his presence.
The man turned to Garlan. "My name is Duncan, Warden-Commander of Ferelden, and I invoke the Right of Conscription."
Alistair broke free of the Templars in the chaos that followed and dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms tightly around Anders, tempted to never let him go. Garlan was still arguing with Duncan, who was calmly refusing to back down. "You and me, Grey Wardens?" said Anders. "I like the sound of that." He pulled himself out of Alistair's embrace and got to his feet, offering Alistair a hand up. "I love you too, by the way. See, I can say it even when I'm not facing certain death. Shall we see what our new commander wants?" He tucked an arm around Alistair's waist and grinned, pulling him towards Duncan and whatever adventures the future held.