Chapter 2 - Reunion
He had been on his way to Amaranthine to meet with Namaya when the templars caught up with him. 'The templars caught up with me.' The story of my life. He tasted the bitterness in his mouth at the thought, mingling with the blood from his split lip. They had not been gentle when they drained him. Ser Persse, who led the group, remembered him from the Tower.
"Anders. Coming home won't be as pleasant this time." The templar spat on the floor. "Everyone you knew is dead or gone."
Anders closed his eyes, feeling the pain return. He couldn't imagine the Tower without Morena. Without her smile when he made a bad joke. Without the way she would glance his way, so briefly that no one noticed, but long enough to let him know she was there. Without her sweet lips on his, her body vibrating under his hands... He tried in vain to stop his train of thought, but there wasn't any distraction, not any more, not when he was locked up in a tiny room at a fortress they called "the Vigil".
They would stay here for a week or so, Persse told him, stock up on supplies, rest a little from the hard work of hunting down apostates. Then they would take him back to Kinloch.
But on the morning of the third day, he could hear screams, and no one brought him breakfast. As the noise of fighting got closer, he banged the door of his prison, desperate to know more, to get out, but no one answered. They had forgotten him. He could hear people screaming in pain and was considering blasting the door open with a fireball, when the latch finally moved.
"Anders?" It was Ser Vivien, the youngest of the templars, a pretty young boy with auburn locks and hazel eyes. Now his face was blood-spattered and his eyes wide with panic. "You're a healer, aren't you?"
When he nodded, Vivien grabbed his hand and dragged him out to the battlements. They passed a dead templar on the way, and next to him a creature whose foul appearance made Anders recoil in disgust. Darkspawn! What was going on? But there was no time to think because only seconds later more of the creatures were swarming up the walls. They only just made it over to the little group of templars fighting desperately, backed up against a turret. Ser Persse was on the floor in their middle, bleeding profusely from a stomach wound.
"Heal him. You've got to save him." Vivien pushed Anders in the direction of the dying man and took his battle stance. He knelt down and began knitting together the injured flesh, even as his healer training told him it was hopeless. Around him the battle went on, and he dimly realized things were not going well. From the corner of his eyes, he could see one templar fall, then another. This was a lost cause if he had ever seen one.
He had to take his eyes off his patient for a split second to push one of the advancing creatures back with an energy bolt. When he looked down again, Persse's eyes had broken. And then Vivien was at his side, trying to shield him, desperately fighting off the vile creatures. The young knight looked glorious, his face shining with an almost religious fervour, his armour blood-spattered, his sword swinging in a high arc. And then a barbed arrow took him in the eye. Anders screamed when he saw him go down. For the first time in years, he lost all control of his magic. Curling up into a tight ball he pulled it all together, every last reserve he had, and then just let it burst out of the confines of his body.
The world went blindingly white. When he got up, carefully checking himself for injuries and finding none, he was surrounded by dead templars and dead darkspawn. And then the door to the battlements opened, and two silhouettes appeared: a robed mage and a knight.
"This... is not what it looks like," he began to stammer, but when he took a closer look at the mage, his heart stopped for a moment. He would have recognized Morena anywhere. She had changed, true, her posture different, her face harder, more determined, but there was no mistaking the features he had seen in every dream for the past two years. He wondered briefly if this was another dream, if the Fade was looking unusually real today, but then he saw the flicker of recognition in her eyes.
There was no time for greetings, however, as another wave of the creatures attacked. Morena threw him a lyrium potion and raised her staff. He watched in awe as a complicated series of spells took down at least half of the creatures. The knight made short work of the rest. He got in a few spells of his own at the end, but it was obvious she would have managed without him.
When the last foe had gone down, she made her way over to him, climbing over their dead bodies without a second glance at the slaughtered monstrosities. His face lit up, but then he noticed the way she held her hands and recognized their old sign from the Tower. I don't know you. It took all his control not to reach out for her, but he remembered. After all, he had taught her. Never show them you care for anyone. When I do this with my hands, you stay aloof and pretend we're not friends. He nodded almost imperceptibly and somehow managed to keep up his side of the ensuing conversation. All he knew was that she was alive, that he was with her again, and he could hardly take his eyes off her as they proceeded to fight their way through the Keep.
Much later, when the last darkspawn had been killed and the Keep's seneschal been rescued, some sort of normality began to settle over the fortress. He saw Morena's exhaustion in the lines of her shoulders as she followed the seneschal into the large throne room.
"Send the mage up to my quarters," he heard her say as she turned to go up. "He's a healer and I might be in need of his services."
When Varel motioned for him to follow her, he did so gladly. Without a word, they climbed the stairs to her room.
The door closed behind them and Morena walked over to the washstand in the corner, tearing off her heavy robe. It came away blood-stained, and he hissed when he saw the large wound on her flank. In a flash, he was at her side, instinct taking over as he cleaned the scrape with a wet cloth before placing his hand on it, sending his healing magic into the torn flesh. Morena winced briefly, but then she rested her head against his shoulders and closed her eyes.
"You were always such a lousy healer," he murmured against her hair.
She grinned and lightly elbowed him in the ribs. And just like that, everything came rushing back. All the good things they had shared. Her body in his arms. The scent of her hair. The taste of her lips as she turned around and kissed him, tentatively at first, then deeply, hungrily.
They were dirty and exhausted, bone-tired in fact, but Anders didn't care. He couldn't stop kissing her, while his hands were running feverishly over her naked stomach, tracing the new scars there, tearing at her breastband.
"Get out of these robes, they're filthy." Her tone was so reproachful that he laughed, feeling on the verge of hysteria. But then he kissed her again and again and somehow the robes came off and they made it over to the bed.
There was no refinement at all to their caresses, just an urgent hunger for the other, a need to touch, to taste, to feel. When he entered her, it was over almost immediately, but it didn't matter, none of it did. They just clung to each other, and maybe he was sobbing, he wasn't sure, but he knew he could feel her tears on his bare chest.
"I'll always come back to you." His drowsy murmur was the last thing she heard before they fell asleep in each others' arms, but it put a smile on her face. And then they drifted off, naked and vulnerable. Together.
He woke up a few hours later, at the first light of day, his body stiff and sore, his mind still lost in a pleasant haze. A small hand was ruffling his hair, and he squinted up to see Morena's face, serene as always, the hint of a smile on her full lips. She had bathed and put on a thin linen shift, and was now sitting on the bed, close to his head.
Anders stretched and reached out to pull her down into a kiss. "Come back to bed."
She laughed. "Again?"
"Why not?" He knew he was grinning like an idiot, but he didn't care. "I have a sudden urge to show you I can do better than last night." His fingers trailed down her spine, and he arched up so his lips touched her breasts through the thin linen, softly teasing her nipples.
"I don't doubt that for a moment." Her eyes darkened, and he felt her body respond, but she pushed him away. "Later, Anders. Tonight."
She got up and walked over to the window. "You need to wash. And we need to talk."
He got up with a sigh, and she led him through a door to a small but well-appointed bathroom. "The perks of being the Commander," she remarked dryly when she saw the expression on his face.
"So it's true?" He had picked up a few things down in the throne room. "You are the Hero of Ferelden?" He picked up the soap and went over to pick up a bucket of water.
She shrugged. "Yes. Commander of the Grey, Slayer of the Archdemon. I can't get used to it either."
He looked up from the arm he had been scrubbing. "Are the stories all true then? Dragons, werewolves, darkspawn?"
"Most of it." A shadow hushed over her face. "It wasn't quite as much fun as it sounds, though."
He looked back at her, his throat suddenly too constricted to speak clearly. "I thought you were dead. The Circle..."
"I know." Her face had become hard. "I was there. They're all dead, Anders. I was lucky to escape before it happened. But that's a long story..." She swallowed. "They told us you had died during your escape attempt, you know. Probably didn't want to admit it could be done..." Her voice trailed off.
"Rena." He had finished drying off and walked over to her, embracing her from behind. "I'm here. And I'll stay with you as long as you'll have me."
"Yes, about that..." Her voice sounded thoughtful. "I don't want anyone to know about us, Anders. We can tell them we knew each other in passing back in the Tower, but nothing more."
When he raised a questioning eyebrow, she turned in his arms so she was facing him, speaking intently. "Anders, you have no idea how hard it is to get them to accept me as their commander. A woman. A mage to boot. I can't afford any weaknesses." Her eyes went soft for a second. "You are my weakness."
He smiled sadly. She was echoing his own advice, given ten years ago when she was a frightened child. "We're not in the Tower any more, Morena."
She turned away with a sigh. "It's not so different, you know. There are still people watching, looking for our weak spots, waiting for their chance. I... I've had to make some pretty harsh decisions during the past two years, Anders. I am not exactly universally beloved."
He hesitated, but then he nodded. "Whatever you think is best."
They went their separate ways, and he saw little of her during the day. For the most part, she locked herself up in the study with Varel, trying to get a grip on what was going on at the Keep. In the late afternoon, trumpets were calling them to the gates.
He followed Morena out, together with Varel and the young knight, Mhairi. There was a dwarf, as well, a red-haired fighter who claimed to have been at Morena's side during the Blight.
Anders watched Morena go down on one knee before their visitor. "Your Majesty." Her voice was calm and clear. "What-"
But at this moment there was a commotion behind the Queen. A knight in templar armour pushed to the front. "My apologies, your Majesty. But this man is a dangerous criminal." Rylock.
He nearly lost it then, when he realized they would take him away again. He knew he couldn't take it anymore. Not again. Not now when he'd found Morena.
"I invoke the Right of Conscription." Morena's words took a moment to register. And then it all became a blur. Rylock's vehement protests. The Queen's rigid, disapproving face. Morena's hand taking his on the way to the Joining, her whispered "I'm so sorry, Anders" while Varel prepared the cup. He drained the vile liquid, all of it. Then he lost consciousness, and when he awoke, he was a Grey Warden.
Morena came to his room that night, her eyes so full of regret and guilt it nearly broke his heart. She gave herself to him completely, let him take her any way he wanted, to satisfy the violent greed that had taken hold of him. All through the night, she was his, only his, nothing held back. And when she snuck out in the morning, ready to put the mask of Commander back on, he sighed contentedly. She would always come back to him.
Many thanks to zevgirl for smoothing out all the little wrinkles!