Embers and Ash
One
Disclaimer: I do not own Anders, Nathaniel, Leliana or any of the other Dragon Age Origins characters. Please do not publish this elsewhere. This story takes place some months after the events in The Blanket. Since this is a sequel, it won't make much sense if you haven't already read The Blanket. Please review if you enjoy the piece. It's always very encouraging and speeds the writing process!
*
Les murs ont des oreilles.
"Even the walls have ears."
*
Anders stared down at the dust-colored pamphlet in mute horror. The postmark said Vigils Keep, and the envelope smelled faintly of stale whisky. Of course it was from Oghren. Of course it was. Who else would send him a booklet called, "So You're Going To Be a Father!" complete with hideously detailed medical illustrations of dwarf anatomy.
Andraste's blood.
He most definitely did not need to know these things about dwarves, or about anyone, actually, and the image of that poor dwarf woman's legs splayed open on a granite table would haunt him for years to come.
"Darling? I'm feeling a sudden urge to research long-range hexes!" he called, knowing Tavia would hear him through the pebbled archway of the kitchen.
Her prolific love of cooking had transferred well to their home life. Not that it could accurately be described as "home life." The average, typical marriage he had suggested to her had never come about. Oh they were married, husband and wife, but there was nothing average about it. Mainly because Tavia insisted on providing for them by taking on insane, suicidal missions to bring back hostages or rescue civilians from collapsed mines.
She would never put down the sword. That much was obvious.
As expected, Tavia emerged from the kitchen. Whatever she was cooking in there smelled almost as good as she looked.
"Maker," Anders breathed, dropping the pamphlet on the dining room table.
"Hallo," she said sheepishly, her cheeks turning bright pink.
Sometimes he forgot just how beautiful she was; he also forgot how very pregnant she was. It was like seeing her for the first time all over again. Sure, in the dank cellar with Templar blood hanging in a mist around him, she hadn't exactly looked sexy. But even then he had been captivated by her brilliantly blue eyes and the willful determination that set her pretty jaw in a line.
But if he was honest with himself, Anders liked her best this way – in their home, safe, clean and swordless. Pregnancy was treating her well. She was doing that glowing thing, which he had always privately insisted was a lie conjured by husbands wanting to feel better about their fat wives. But she really and truly looked… different. Contented. Glowy, even.
Anders swiped the pamphlet off the table and padded over to her, instinctually putting his palm over her round stomach. That seemed to be the best place for his hand, protecting the strong little life that grew inside. He held up the booklet, prying it open with his thumb.
"Look," he muttered, "at this. Have you ever seen anything so disturbing in your life?"
"Oh heavens," Tavia said flatly. "I think I've lost my appetite now."
"That makes two of us."
"What were you saying about hexes? I think this time I approve."
"It's from everybody's favorite drunkard," Anders pointed out with a sigh. He collapsed into the nearest chair, taking Tavia with him. He propped her on his knee and looped his arms underneath her belly.
"Oof. Maker's breath, woman, did you turn into a bronto while I wasn't looking?"
"It's your fault," she returned casually, "He's got his father's thick skull."
Anders opened his mouth to riposte with something about other thick appendages, but there was a knock at the door. Tavia jumped up and ran, too fast for his liking, to the door. Their cottage was small – a cozy, cramped sitting room, dining room and kitchen all in a connected loop on the first floor. Trundling up the poky staircase would put you in a hall with two bedrooms and one washroom. They probably could have afforded much more luxurious accommodations, but Tavia wanted to settle in a humble house. Throwing gold around needlessly was a good way to attract attention, and attention was exactly what they didn't want.
"Who goes there?" Anders bellowed from the dining room, doing his best impression of a surly giant. That voice always made Tavia laugh.
"It'll be Leliana," Tavia replied, unlocking the front door.
His smile vanished. In a few loping strides he was at the door beside her, forcing it shut with his hand over her head. Tavia half-turned, sneaking a furtive glance at his eyes.
"What did I say? No. More. Sparring! You're going to burst any day, Tavia. I won't have you going into labor with a sword in your hand." Anders wrapped his arm around her waist, pinning her with his best 'I only want what's right for you' look. He was still perfecting that one.
"I'm still at least a month away," she replied sensibly. "And I'm bored to tears making you supper and mending your socks."
"That's not true and you know it," Anders said, relenting. "You love mending my socks."
He backed away, letting her open the door on a miffed Leliana. Her hair had grown out, but she kept it in an auburn braid down her back. Anders glimpsed Nathaniel's sharp, pale face over her shoulder.
"Bonjour!" Leliana called. Being back in Orlais was bringing out her inner… Orlesian. "Thank you so much for inviting us to dinner. How exciting!"
Anders watched his wife stifle a chuckle. He raised one eyebrow, realizing he had been duped. Again.
"No… fighting then?" he squeaked. Leliana stared. Behind her, Nathaniel was covering his mouth as he tried not to laugh at Anders's expense.
"Are you mad? In her condition?" she looked at Tavia and clicked her tongue. "What have you been feeding him? His brain's turned to mush."
"I'm right here, you know. I can hear you."
Anders retreated to the kitchen. He couldn't cook to save his life, but stirring a pot ineffectually was better than listening to Leliana berate him. This was one of her favorite topics – how little he knew about parenthood. Meanwhile, she cooed and simpered over Tavia, stroking her stomach, exclaiming over how beautiful she looked. But Anders? Anders was a pariah, an idiot, as if he had tripped and fallen on top of Tavia and gotten her pregnant by accident. He would be the first to agree that, yes, being a mage and an apostate and a formerly-wanted man, he wasn't exactly choice dad material. But on the other hand, Leliana had been present at their hand-clasping. Had she dozed off at the part where Anders promised to do anything and everything in his power to keep Tavia safe?
Tavia appeared like a shadow behind him. A mean, clunky warrior and pregnant to boot and she could still sneak him up on him when he was in a foul mood. He felt her little hand go about his bicep and squeeze. Out in the dining room, Nathaniel and Leliana were taking their seats.
"I told her you had just finished lecturing me about sparring," Tavia said with theatrical gravity. "You are avenged, ser mage."
Ander smiled down at the soup, feeling tingly all over. He turned and kissed her deeply on the lips. It defied reason, really, how quickly he went from grumpy to aroused…
"My lady," he whispered, "I am in your debt."
"Stop kissing in there! That soup isn't going to ladle itself!"
"Could you bring out the bread?" Tavia asked, knocking him into action with a little bump of her hip. Anders sidled away, reluctantly, and dropped the crusty loaf of bread into a napkin-lined basket and brought it out to the dining table. Leliana and Nathaniel perked up at his entrance. Anders took a seat next to Nathaniel. They were, technically, friends now and Anders was glad for it. Previously, when they lived together as Wardens, Nathaniel had seemed fragile, impenetrable with his private grief. Finding someone to share his life with had changed Nathaniel for the better.
Nathaniel turned to him, his wide mouth set in a grim line.
"How are you holding up, Anders?"
Now that was a strange question.
"Holding up?" Anders drew his eyebrows together. "How do you mean?"
"You aren't even a little nervous? Having a child is a big change…"
Anders smiled and shrugged and leaned back against his chair. He was tempted to rest his arms behind his head and kick up his feet as he so often did, but he restrained himself for the sake of his guests. Tavia wouldn't appreciate him getting dirt on the table immediately before they ate.
"I'm not nervous," he said truthfully. "I'm excited. Wouldn't you be?"
Nathaniel looked terrified at the suggestion. His gray eyes grew wide and he swallowed what was probably a horrified shriek in the making. Luckily, with Leliana's eyes burning into his cheek, Nathaniel pulled himself together.
"Fatherhood is daunting for any man."
Nice save, Howe.
"From what I can tell, we're lucky. Elves have a much easier time of things. I visited the library at Val Chevin - you wouldn't believe the size of the place, Nathaniel – books everywhere, you could get lost in there for days. Anyway, I unearthed a few dusty old tomes on elf physiology. They were wonderfully informative." Tavia entered, bringing with her a tray of bowls that smelled divinely of rosemary and leeks. "The pictures weren't so bad either." He winked at Tavia. "So, no, it's not so frightening, Nathaniel, not when you know what you're in for."
"Maker, Anders. You're scaring me." Nathaniel shuddered, ripping off a hunk of bread and holding it reflectively in both hands. He stared at it for a moment, as if the crust held the answers to the universe. Ser Pounce-a-lot stalked into the dining room like a tiny orange shadow, no doubt summoned by the Siren song of tasty and forbidden food.
"Did you put Anders under some kind of spell? An enchantment?" Nathaniel asked Tavia, accepting his bowl of soup with a polite little nod.
"I'm afraid not," Tavia said mildly. "I'm no mage."
Anders beamed. It gave him immense pleasure to unseat Nathaniel, who seemed convinced that Anders should have already accumulated a barn full of mistresses. Proving to be a good husband was the fastest way to tie Nathaniel's tongue into a stuttering knot.
"Tuck in, everyone," Tavia said, leaning over her own soup, "or it'll go cold."
The meal went by silently, as it always did when the food was hot and good. Anders only paused to cool his mouth with a gulp of wine or dab his chin with a napkin when soup droplets landed there. Pounce hopped up into his lap in anticipation of dessert.
"It's pleasing to see you have a healthy appetite," Leliana said with a giggle. She was referring to Tavia, who had hastily cleaned out her bowl of soup and was now mopping up the dregs with an enormous piece of bread. His wife blushed and shrugged. Anders had indeed noticed that her appetite had reverted to Warden-sized proportions - destroying an entire pan of shepherd's pie was easily-accomplished and even expected.
"I'll fetch dessert," Tavia said, scooping up their empty bowls and disappearing into the kitchen. She was still shy about some aspects of her pregnancy, her mammoth appetite being one of them. Anders cleared his throat and shot Leliana a look that said, "Drop it."
It was tempting to join Tavia in the kitchen and sneak a clandestine kiss, but he knew it was his job to keep the guests occupied. Tavia enjoyed cooking and playing hostess, which Anders found adorable, given her almost uncanny ability to spread mayhem and bloodshed. He was also forbidden from intervening, considering the two times he attempted to cook, he burned first his fingers and then half of his sleeve. So instead, he scratched Pounce's ears and leaned back further in his chair. If his robes required a tight belt he would've loosened it.
"You visited Val Chevin?" Nathaniel said casually, sipping his wine. "You're up for travel then?"
"Some," Anders replied. "But I'm not sure I'll venture much more. Just going to the library made me paranoid someone would recognize me as an apostate… Felt like there was a big red 'mage' sign around my neck. Everybody was staring at me, nobody was staring at me… Miserable."
Leliana reached across the table, took his hand, and squeezed.
"I'm sure it was all imagined, Anders. It's been six months – surely you're not still afraid?"
"It's different for you two," Anders replied. "Neither of you are mages and neither of you personally insulted the King of Ferelden."
Leliana took her hand back and shared a long, unreadable look with Nathaniel. They could sulk all they wanted, but it was true. There was clearly no 'guilt by association,' since Nathaniel had done well when presented at court in Val Royeaux. Through Leliana's substantial if questionable contacts, Nathaniel had secured a respectable stewardship to one of the larger households in Val Royeaux. If he played his cards right, and Anders was certain – under Leliana's guidance – he would, then Nathaniel would be a full-fledged chevalier in less than two years.
The irony was not lost on Anders; his wife had once been poised to be second in command in Ferelden, now they lived in a tiny cottage while their friends rose in fame and fortune. It stung, he decided, but only just a little. And the wound was quick to heal, especially when Tavia was returning and bringing with her a glistening rum cake. He avoided the obvious bun in the oven joke and instead greeted his wife with a wide smile. He wasn't going to dwell on the fact that they were teetering on the edge of poverty. He wasn't going to ruin the evening for her by probing Nathaniel about his life at court. In fact, he didn't need to. Nathaniel was wearing his position, covered in velvets and brocade that could feed a small family (or them) for a month.
"What did I miss?" Tavia asked, though Anders was sure she had overheard.
"We were learning about Anders's new hobby," Nathaniel replied, spreading out his napkin with a noble little flourish, "apparently he's becoming quite the authority on Elves."
Tavia laughed. "As if that was ever in question."
While Anders was admittedly devoted to gorging himself on cake, he didn't miss the tiny nudge Leliana gave Nathaniel. Anders stopped long enough to pin them with a look of his own.
"Something the matter?" he asked slowly.
"Oh no," Leliana replied, splitting her piece of cake into dozens of miniscule bites. "We just… Well we thought you might want to come with us to the spring fair in Val Royeaux."
Anders didn't need to be holding Tavia's hand to know that she was growing cold all over. Her fork clattered to the table. She quickly picked it back up and stared resolutely at her plate.
"It's not in Val Royeaux," Leliana immediately corrected herself, "It's outside the town walls. A good distance away, actually. I know you're not eager to travel, but it shouldn't be missed – the musicians, the merchants, the food! Magnifique. And I worry about you, Tavi. Cooped up here, afraid to go out… It isn't healthy."
Anders clamped his teeth down. His initial instinct was to snap at her for telling Tavia what was and was not healthy for her. Anders wondered if Tavia's fork was going to break in half, given the way she was clutching it.
"That's kind of you," she said at last, ever the diplomat, "But I don't think we should go. Val Royeaux is just too dangerous for us right now. Perhaps next year."
Tavia had tried valiantly to keep the note of disappointment out of her voice, but Anders heard it and it stabbed at his conscious. It's not that their lives were dull exactly, but they certainly weren't leading a life of high intrigue, not anymore at least. Before the baby, they were free to roam the countryside, taking on small jobs or dangerous ones, whatever suited their moods. Anders silently chastised himself for using that phrase. 'Before the baby' – it was a dangerous way to think and meaningless. Still, he regretted their isolation, their paranoia.
"Leliana is right," Anders said quietly, darkly. He could feel his wife's eyes drilling into him. "We should go out, Tavi, and have fun. If we don't have to go inside the city walls…"
"Anders, need I remind you that Val Royeaux is the seat of the Chantry? Seat of the Divine? Land of retired templars?" Tavia was staring at him, desperate for his cooperation. But sometimes he needed to disagree… For her own good, he hoped.
Leliana and Nathaniel were silent, sensing their opinions were not welcome in this private quarrel.
"They're retired. They'll be old… And slow… and fat!" Anders grinned but nobody laughed at his joke. "We can be discrete, love. Think about it - who would look twice at a couple of quiet, unremarkable travelers from the country?"
* * *
She loved him. Sometimes it took what little energy she had left in her body to make that fact stick in her mind. For all intents and purposes, Tavia was reading a book. In actuality, she was staring through it. Anders had undermined her, tricked her, and all under the banner of 'her own good.' She hated when he did that. If it was for her own good, shouldn't she recognize it herself?
There was nothing good for her in Val Royeaux, of that much she was certain. And yet here she was, cranky and sulky because, like a typical wife, she had crumbled under her husband's insistence. And she knew why.
No, you're being foolish.
But the idea had been planted in her head. There was no getting around it. What if Anders was bored? Not just with quaint, country life, but with her? They had chosen to restrict their stomping grounds, and perhaps now they would pay for such a decision. Tavia cursed herself silently. She should have allowed him more freedom, encouraged him to go to town and explore. Now, instead of relatively risk-free outings to Val Chevin and surrounding villages, they would go directly to the viper's den. Anders was a fool if he expected to avoid templars altogether. They congregated in Val Royeaux. They were drawn there. At least a few would make it down to the fair and even with his phylactery destroyed, there was no guarantee he was safe.
Tavia sighed. She was comforted by the familiar night-time sounds in their home – crickets chirping outside the window in friendly competition with the frogs, owls hooting in distant trees, water trickling in the room next door, the wind rustling across the grass… Leliana and Nathaniel had left after dessert, choosing to take the ride back to the inn at Val Chevin. Tavia knew it was because of the thunder cloud hanging over her head. She didn't make much of a hostess when she was busy shooting daggers at her husband. Said husband was still washing up next door and taking far longer than usual. She had frightened him away, her foul mood driving him to wash his face for half an hour.
Ser Pounce-a-lot, an unexpected ally, leapt onto the bed and nestled in beside her. She stroked the cat's back, grateful for the company. The silly tabby had a way of softening her up. Tavia preferred dogs, but Pounce was a bit canine in his ability to sense when his human masters were feeling less than rosy. His warm little body scooted closer to her. She leaned back into the pillows she had piled up against the bed's headboard.
Thank you. At least one living creature is on my side.
Tavia Tabris, Scourge of the Darkspawn, Hero of Ferelden, Warden Commander, had been utterly routed by her friends and by a particularly crafty pair of brown puppy dog eyes. Since when had she become such a coward? She felt a twinge in her abdomen and placed her hand over it. Right. Since she was now carrying a new life inside of her. Arguing exhausted her, the idea of fighting repelled her… She had retreated into defensive mode, choosing to bow to inferior sense to keep the peace. Because that's what she wanted for her little one – peace. She had hardly known any peace in her life and, judging by the fool's errand she had just agreed to, that was not about to change.
Weren't pregnant women infallible? Weren't her needs more important than Leliana's desire to have a friend to shop with or Nathaniel's wish to look popular in front of his court friends? And why was her husband suddenly taking the opposing viewpoint? They were usually so solid, so perfectly in agreement…
Tavia tried to read again, noticing that her sour mood was making the baby kick like a mule. Calm yourself, mother, he seemed to say, you're making me bloody anxious.
For some reason, in her head, the baby always had Anders's voice and attitude.
"Is it safe? You haven't got a knife pointed at the door, I hope…"
And there was the man himself. Tavia held her book, determined to look like she hadn't just been stewing in her own angry juices for half an hour. Pounce brushed his nose against her wrist in solidarity.
"No knife," she called back, "Not yet."
The door in front of her and to the right creaked open. Their chamber was dark except for the moonlight and the plate of candles burning on the bedside table. The wreath of dried thistles and thyme that hung above their bed had long ago lost its scent, but every now and then, when the wind blew through the room at the right angle, the fragrance of summer lived again. This happened at that moment, coinciding with Anders's glossy blonde head appearing around the door. At first, she could only see his eyes, which peered out at her, wide and slightly guilty.
"I'm not armed," Tavia reminded him quietly, looking intently at the margins of her book, "But I'm afraid you've been replaced."
Anders stepped fully into the room, both eyebrows raised in question. He glimpsed his cat curled up against her and blew out an exaggeratedly defeated breath.
"Sod it. I can't compete with him. I'm done for."
"He is awfully cute."
"I'm in no position to argue," Anders admitted. Tavia risked a glance over her book, knowing that her black mood would be swept away by him at any minute. They never stayed angry at each other for long, despite Tavia's immense talent for holding a grudge. He melted her in every way, which was probably why she had fallen for him in the first place. Not many men, or cute fuzzy animals, or anything, did that to her.
But that didn't matter. She was supposed to be reading. Tavia tried to find her place. It was horribly dull really, a bunch of dry, scientific explanations for why Elves had a slightly shorter gestation period. It went on to compare the seven-month gestation period with that of the humans' nine months and blah, blah, blah…
Was he naked? No, still in his shorts.
Blast it.
Anders was calculating, she could give him that. Purposely, she was sure, he had stripped down to his scant underthings. As she watched, (secretly, of course, for she was playing at studying her book) Anders reached up and took the band out of his hair. He combed his big hands over his scalp, making the blonde strands cascade in pretty waves across his forehead.
Even in the semi-darkness, Tavia could see the hard, firm lines of his body. A scar wound around his taut shoulder like a snake, dipping down into his broad smattering of chest hair. Her eyes followed the dark trail of hair down, south of his navel, where she found her suddenly rapt attention split between the creases of his pelvis and the shape of his hipbones. Without hesitation, he climbed onto the bed, shoveling Pounce out of the way with one motion of his hand. The cat fell with a thump onto the floor and trotted away indignantly to find a new bed.
"Replaced me, have you?" Anders muttered, crawling in beside her. He slid under the sheets and soon brought his own warmth to rest against her side. Tavia reminded herself that they were in a fight. She was angry with him. Furious. She would not let him burn away her defenses so easily. He deserved a tongue-lashing for the ages.
Mm, tongue-lashing.
No.
"Do you forgive me, pretty wife?" He kissed her ear, another calculated move. An elf was all but helpless when their ears entered the picture. Tavia lowered her book and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He was so marvelously handsome - all amber eyes and cheekbones and that nose that reminded her of a goshawk. Lovely… Especially with his hair falling around his shoulders and his bare chest pressing into her arm. She wished her night gown would evaporate.
Furious, remember? Spitting mad!
Anders kissed her ear again, his tongue darting into the inner coil. She shivered, and bit down on her lip and tried weakly to scoot away from him. His hands protested, holding her close. She saw the candlelight glint off of the simple silver band on his ring finger. Husband.
"Is it so wrong," he began in a low, gravelly voice, "that I want to buy you sparkly things and ply you with honey cakes?"
When Tavia said nothing, he frowned. "Isn't that like a magic word or something when you're pregnant? I say 'honey cakes' and your clothes fall off? No?"
"Anders…"
"Honey cakes, honey cakes, honey cakes…"
She kissed him, if only to still his wagging tongue. Anders was quick to push that tongue into her mouth and possess her with the same eagerness he had shown on their first embrace. Tavia could still remember Anders's scandalized look when she informed him that the bacon she had been kissing from his nose had never been there at all. Maybe he was right. Maybe they had grown boring and complacent. Once upon a time they were sneaking kisses under King Theirin's roof, killing Darkspawn together, torturing each other with long, chaste baths, saving the world…
"I'll need help with these laces," Tavia whispered into his lips, "It appears your strange and wonderful words have worked, apostate."
"Oh sweetheart, it makes me so hot when you remind me of my criminal past," Anders moaned into her ear. She laughed and swatted at him but did not resist when he began pulling open the loose corseting on her gown. Tavia tossed her book aside, not even remembering what it was about.
As he freed her of the nightgown and kissed a trail of scalding kisses down her neck, Tavia grasped his neck tightly.
"Say we'll be careful, Anders," she whispered, afraid again. "Say everything will be alright."
