"Anders," someone said. Anders didn't reply. He was sleeping. "Anders!" came the call again, and someone unceremoniously kicked his feet.
"When my eyes are closed that means I'm sleeping," Anders said, "Go away. Do not disturb."
"When your eyes are closed that means you're an ass," came the reply, "Oh wait, no you're an ass all the time."
Anders heaved a dramatic sigh and opened his eyes. "Fine, I'm awake. What is so urgent that you wake me up for the one free hour I have had all week?"
A tall, brawny boy stood in front of him, arms crossed. "I misunderstood, it must've been someone else I was thinking of. I'll just tell Reila you're not interested." The boy made a move as if to go.
"Wait, Reila's back? When did she get back? Why didn't you just say that in the first place." Anders tried to brush out the wrinkles from his apprentice robes.
"Give it up," the older boy chortled, "Unless you've suddenly developed a skill for the more domestic arts. Going to take up spell-sewing? Magic stain removers?"
Anders glared at his friend. Thomas was at least a foot taller than him, and probably a foot wider than him too. Where the robes draped over Anders sixteen year old frame, Thomas seemed bound and determined to keep every seamstress in the whole of Ferelden in work, single-handedly. He didn't look like a mage, especially not a healer. He looked like a bruiser, or in fact, a templar. Which to Anders meant basically the same thing.
"I know which stain I'd remove first," they grinned at each other. "Agatha."
Agatha was in fact, just down the hall from them. As she saw them approach she moved into the center of hallway, her pinched face looking very much like a mouse. No, that wasn't fair. He liked mice.
"Irving told you to take that earring out," she stated, her voice as pinched as her face. "It's against the rules."
"Are you Irving?"
"That is a stupid question."
"Well if you're not Irving, and you're not the rulebook, then my earring really doesn't concern you, does it?"
"That is not the point," she glared at him. "Mages like you are why we need the templars."
"Mages like you are why we need anti-nausea spells," Thomas replied, walking forward. Agatha was forced to move back and let them pass, but did so with a scowl. Anders mockingly bowed to her.
"So where is Reila?" Anders asked, "How does she look? She asked after me?"
"Kitchen. Good. Yes." Thomas answered.
Reila was the third side in their little triangle of healers. She was the most talented of the three, even Anders admitted it. She also had shining black hair, and the most dancing blue eyes he'd ever seen. Just looking at her was a kind of magic. And she'd picked him (him!) over Thomas. They'd only shared one furtive kiss, they day before she left. She'd been gone for three weeks. Some Arl's infant had become sick. Not too many healers specialized in the care of children so young. Reila had grown up in an orphanage, not realizing she'd been healing the newborns dropped off to live or die until it was too late to hide it. She'd been brought in shortly after he had, and spent weeks crying through their first lessons, worrying over the children she'd left behind.
Anders stopped short.
"The baby?"
"I don't know."
They took the stairs silently now. If the baby hadn't survived… neither one of them wanted to finish that thought.
But as Anders walked into the warmth of the kitchen, he heard laughter and the scent of hot bread baking. Reila sat at the rough wooden table, perched on stool. She'd cut her hair, he thought distractedly.
"You're not supposed to be here," a querulous old voice said, "apprentices are not allowed in the kitchen." She cut two slices of bread from the hot loaf. "But as long as you're here." She handed each a slice of bread. "Thomas, you need to stop growing. I can't even look up at you anymore."
"I'll stop immediately."
"See that you do." She pursed her lips. "Watch the stew, I need something from the pantry." She left them alone. As soon as she did the girl was off the stool, launching herself at the both of them.
"You found me! How did you know I was back? I was going to surprise you."
"I have ears in all places," Thomas intoned. "I am all-seeing, all-knowing…"
"All-full of shit," Anders supplied.
"I get no appreciation."
"I appreciate you," Reila said, with a smile. Anders heart did a little flip. Had she changed her mind while she was gone? "I'll appreciate you even more if you eat your bread while talking to Cook. I'm sure she could use your help."
They were left alone in the large kitchen, and Anders tongue suddenly felt leaden.
"Umm. Hi," he said, wincing at himself. "You had a good trip?"
Reila twined her fingers with his. "I did. But I missed you."
"Oh. I. That's good." That's good? He mentally kicked himself. "I… umm. You cut your hair."
She smoothed one hand self-consciously over her short locks. "I did. Do you like it?"
"It looks nice." They lapsed into silence. Reila began to pull her fingers from his.
"I missed you, too," he said suddenly. "Two weeks seemed like an awfully long time." He stepped closer to her, and had a sudden fear she'd hear his heart hammering. "Irving wanted me to take the earring out."
Her soft fingertips reached up to his ear. "This earring?"
"Mmhmm, but I know how much you like it. I would bear all Irving's wrath, just for you."
"You would?" She asked, her voice almost a whisper as Anders leaned closer to her.
Anders didn't answer. Instead, heart beating faster than he thought possible, he kissed her. An eternity passed, or maybe just a few moments.
Someone cleared their throat in the doorway. "I've finished my bread. And Cook's found her missing ingredient." Thomas walked back into the room.
Anders and Reila separated hastily. No one noticed the shadow racing up the stairs behind them.
The next couple months were the most blissful and gut-wrenching Anders had ever spent.
"You're just sixteen," Thomas told him from his old age of eighteen. "She's just sixteen. She's your first girlfriend."
"I know all that," Anders said, stubbornly. "It doesn't matter. We want to… we thought you might know a spell."
"Well, does it matter that mages aren't allowed to be together? Seriously, this isn't like your earring, or sneaking down to the kitchens. And if something happens..." Thomas shook his head, "I don't know a spell, and there is nooooo hiding that."
"You've done it a lot, and nothing ever happened," Anders argued.
Thomas looked away. "I may have… exaggerated." Color seeped up his cheeks. "There was just the one… and she wasn't a mage."
"Oh." They sat awkwardly for a few moments.
"Then we'll escape."
"You can't escape," Thomas scoffed. "Did you see that mage they brought back last week?"
"The three of could do it," Anders said. Then, more slowly, "The three of us could do it."
"That look always gets us into trouble," Thomas said, fingering a new rip that had appeared along the seam of his arm. "I'm not losing my outside privileges, like last time."
"No, really, think about it. We could go somewhere, like Antiva."
"Antiva? Do you ever pay attention during class? No, it would have to be someplace else. The Free Marches, or a pirate ship!"
"I don't want Reila on a pirate ship," Anders said.
Thomas rolled his eyes. "The Free Marches then."
"The Free Marches what?" a pinched voice said from behind them.
"That's where we're going to bury your body," replied Thomas.
"If you don't stop spying on us," Anders finished.
Agatha pursed her thin lips. "If you get us all in trouble, I'm putting a hex on you."
"Could you do it now, please? I could really use an excuse not to go to history."
"Hmmph," Agatha snorted nasally, and turned on her heel.
"Ooo, you got me, I'm dying," Anders called after her, staggering in a mimed heart attack, falling into Thomas.
"You'll be sorry, someday," was all Agatha said back.
Anders didn't know how true those words would be.