Author's Note: A huge thank you to my dear friend Bellaknoti- half this story is hers, really. And another huge thank you to my other dear friend Demonsaya, who quite literally forced us to write this again from the ground up, and all for the right reasons.
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age or anything else, just a small smattering of OCs. It all belongs to Bioware. Cruel, brilliant, infuriating Bioware.
The second she's finished eating what passes for breakfast, she heads for the library. She keeps her eyes on her toes, a few heavy books hugged to her chest. She knows this route by heart, knows how to avoid obstacles and mages and most especially Templars, all without ever looking up. The only time her eyes rise above ankle level is to ensure that her usual seat isn't occupied, and then it's back to looking at the floor again. She sets her books down at the desk, pulling a sheaf out of one of the drawers, and pulls out the last page she was working on. It's busy work, nothing more, but it keeps her out of trouble and out of the way of the Templars, so she's made it her singular mission to read her way through the library, taking note of things that interest her. It isn't long before her mind is completely focused on her task, the quill tip racing along the parchment, and his voice startles her.
His most recent stint in the basement was cruel, and he's feeling vulnerable enough that he's driven to talk to her, even though it puts them both at risk. He feels so alone. Setting his expression to one of friendly interest for the benefit of the Templars nearby, and he pitches his voice low to keep their conversation as private as possible. "It's been awhile since we had a chance to talk. You've been a bit of a recluse."
Her hand slips, scattering the pages, and she scrambles to fetch them before the wet ink has a chance to ruin any of the other notes. "Um. S- sorry, I... I haven't meant to- to not d-do anything. I- I just... sorry." She bites her lip as he crouches beside her, helping to gather the pages, and she hopes he doesn't notice the redness of her cheeks as he apologizes in turn.
Feeling bad, he kneels beside her to help her gather the scattered pages, close enough that she feels the sleeve of his robe brush against his arm, catches the faint scent of sandalwood and citrus. "Sorry... I didn't mean to startle you." She freezes for a moment as he speaks, struck dumb by how close he is, close enough to touch if she wanted to- she abruptly steers her thoughts in a different direction, clearing her throat nervously as she grabs for the remaining pages.
"No, it's- it's not you. It's- It's just me. I mean... I- I don't mind talking. If you want. I'm just n-not... used to it. Talking." Groaning inwardly, she gathers the last pages, trying not to let herself babble on like an idiot- though if the heat blooming on her cheeks is any sign, she's doing a remarkable job of it. She glances over at him as she stands, catching a glimpse of his eyes, and her heart lurches almost painfully.
"Well, you seem to be doing well so far." He smiles, eyes sparkling with humor as he hands over the sheaf of notes. Maker's breath, he could drown in her eyes forever. "Whole sentences, even." It's more than she manages for most people.
She realizes that she's still looking at his eyes. Her gaze darts elsewhere, and she tips her chin downward so she can hide behind her hair. "Well... being quiet doesn't... doesn't m-mean you can't talk. Usually it- it just means th-that you don't want to." Her hands only shake a little as she takes the papers and sets them on the table, much to her relief. She's already made this encounter awkward enough, after all. "Did... did you ha-have a- a question?" Maker, she's just digging a deeper hole, isn't she? Of anything she could have said, she chooses that?
Oh. Something must have happened while he was away. She's heard something bad about him, or maybe tired of him disappearing. "Ah. Er... I see." He gets to his feet, gut churning, unable to look at her, now.
There's a noticeable pause, and she tries not to let her mind run wild about what he must be thinking. His proximity again gives her the scent from before, warm and bracing. It suits him perfectly, she thinks, and it makes the color stick stubbornly to her cheeks.
"No, I suppose not. I only meant to say hello." He should have known she'd eventually come to dislike him.
Another pause, and she's too cowardly to dare to look at him, despite the unease in her stomach, the feeling that something's just gone wrong. He stands there uselessly for another moment, but she's made herself pretty clear. "It looks like you have a lot of work to do. I'll... let you get back to it." He turns away, heading back to the entrance to the aisle.
Her head snaps up at the sound of his retreating footsteps. She's done something wrong, said something- of course. Just one more thoughtless thing, one wrong word. She should let him walk away. They can't know that she ca- that she admires him, or they'll target him more than they already do. But the rest of her isn't listening, her feet pulling her forward and her fumbling lips trying to spit out some semblance of an apology. "I... um. Sorry. I- I think I said that wrong. Or- or I just- I just di-didn't think about it. I... I didn't mean I don't... don't want to- to talk to you. I- I meant th-that... well..." She considers her words carefully, not wanting to mess up this time, and takes a deep breath. "I don't... I don't want t-to talk to a- a certain type of... of person. And you're- you're obviously one... one of the nice people. S-so you don't... belong to... that... group of... of other people." Oh, that was bad. She cringes at her wording, blush darker than before, and she prays he doesn't laugh at her like the others. That would hurt, even if she knows he has no reason to be kind to her.
"I'm one of the nice ones?" his tone is incredulous, but he smirks anyway, thinking that's adorable. She has no idea. He's really only nice to her. "Well... thank you. That's not something I hear very often."
"It's... it's true. I- I hear a lot of things. And th-they... they mostly say nice things about... about you. The younger mages, at- at least. I d-don't think the Enchanters or the T-Templars are- are as impressed." She bites her lip nervously, looking away, and she misses the genuine surprise on his face- he doesn't get much in the way of praise.
"Hmm... it doesn't surprise me that the Enchanters and the Templars don't like me. But the others? Really?" Both eyebrows raised, clearly disbelieving, but he hasn't discounted her word yet. "Surely not." Everyone knows he's a rebel, has been since he came to the tower. The only people who hang around him are looking for that aura of danger. They don't actually respect him, do they?
Ilia smiles, then tries to hide it behind her hair. "I- I'm surprised you- you don't know. You're practically a legend. You're n-not listening very well at- at all if you don't know that." Her blush darkens again, and she bites her lip as she considers just how much she should say, how much she wants to say. "I... I could tell you who- who likes you th- the most, if you want. Or... who doesn't. People... people tend to- to talk around me."
He blinks, then shakes his head and smiles like she caught him in a joke. "A legend... hah. That's a good one. I really don't listen to the gossip, no. There's so much of it." A pause as he gives her a considering look, still hiding behind her hair. Does she really want to push him toward other people? He may as well listen. "Why, what have you heard?"
"In general, or... or about you? I- I know that... that Petra likes you. Something a-about you helping one of- of the children with... with something. I think. I know that Redgaar is- is stealing f-food from the kitchens, though Maker knows how he's- how he's managing it. And Jowan... Jowan's been sneaking out past curfew a lot, lately. Oh, and Nanae li-likes you, too. But she... she thinks you're go-going to- to eventually never come back, so she- she won't admit it outright." She stops suddenly, mortified at what she's spilled, frustrated at herself for saying any of it, because it just means he'll have more reason not to notice her in the first place. "Sorry."
Gives her a smile, respecting her ability to hear the quietest of whispers. "You do hear a fair amount. I do get along with Petra all right... didn't think she looked at me like that." Muses to himself, his voice drifting a bit. Who he really wants is completely out of reach and not interested in him in the slightest. Why else would she tip him off to possible liaisons? "That's actually good to know..." Something else she said gets through to him, and he looks back at her, his eyes sharp. "Wait. Nanae? Are you serious?"
She smiles again, forgetting to hide it. "She... she doesn't seem- seem the type, does she?" Nanae is somewhat known for a sharp tongue and a short fuse, after all. "I overheard her in- in the baths last week. She... was, ah... defending your honor. Against I-Ilene. She was saying th-that you were... sneaking out to- to do 'something fishy, li-like consorting with- with blood mages or apostates'. She stops suddenly, her heart stuttering with fear as she glances at the closest Templar. She wasn't talking loudly, was she? She'd never forgive herself for getting Anders in trouble.
He really shouldn't be surprised that people think him a blood mage, no matter how it rankles. Just because he's an apostate doesn't mean he's a maleficar. "Hmm, well, if I were going to do something incredibly stupid, that wouldn't be it. Good to know Ilene is far too nosy for her own good. I'll watch out for that." He looks at her, really looks at her, and Maker's breath she's so beautiful a compliment just falls out of his mouth as he gives her a genuine smile. "Your smile is beautiful. You shouldn't hide it."
This time it's Ilia who's surprised, and she finds herself fumbling for something to say that won't turn back on her, like she's been doing this entire conversation. "Oh. Um. Th-thank you. I'll try. Not to. Hide it, I mean." She sighs in frustration, nearly crimson by now. "I mean... I mean I'll- I'll try to f-follow your advice." Speaks slowly, glad it finally came out somewhat in the right order. She takes a deep, steadying breath, torn between her fear of him being seen with her and her utter failure at communicating. "Um. If- if you... if you want to... to know more, it's... it's fine." Maker, what is she saying? She'll get him in trouble. Again. "I'm- I'm always here. In the library, I mean. When I- I'm not with Surana, I mean." She's done it again, tripped over her tongue, and she hides behind her hair, wishing the floor would swallow her up to spare her finishing this conversation.
She doesn't even see him, apparently. Everyone comes to the library for one reason or another, and when he can be, he's here too, watching over her. She doesn't seem to notice, and he doesn't want to call attention to it. He might make her uncomfortable. "I don't mind whatever you would like to tell me. I tend to be about the library frequently, myself. The more knowledge, the better."
He sounds so infuriatingly calm, and she supposes that's a blessing, but it leaves her unsure what to say in return. She catches Nanae looking at her out of the corner of her eye, and she feels nervous all over again. It's not just Templars and Enchanters she has to worry about. She knows better. She knows it isn't smart to let him talk to her out in the open, but there's something about him that makes it impossible for her to resist trying to talk to him, no matter what the punishment might be. And there will be one, she's sure of it, for both of them. He's always getting punished. She bites her lip again, wrapping her arms around herself, certain that what she wants to ask isn't polite, or appropriate, but when will she get the nerve to talk to him again? "What... what do you go out there for? You... you don't have to say," she corrects herself quickly, hoping he won't be offended or annoyed. "It's just... it's- it's a lot to- to risk, and... and you do it all the time. No one e-else bothers to- to try so much. No one w-who keeps... keeps coming back, anyway. But like... like I said, you... you don't have to answer. Sorry. I... I shouldn't have asked." She isn't expecting him to answer, but after a long moment, he does, his voice soft, serious.
"What do I go out there for? The sky. The ground. The grass. Ale. A bed of my choosing. Companions of my choosing. Meals of my choosing. And I don't 'keep coming back'. I keep getting dragged back, and... I've got the stripes to prove it." Will she even come with him, if he does manage to find a place? He can't think like that. He's already too deep into the plan to turn back now.
Her brows furrow, and she's honestly trying to comprehend it. But she can't. She never understood why Bradhon fought so hard to be free, and it's no different trying to understand why Anders does, too. "Is it... is it really worth it? Is all that worth getting them angry? She glances at the Templar again, lowering her voice. "I don't- I don't want them to-" Stops mid-sentence, because she's sure that isn't appropriate to say, even if it's true. If she really doesn't want him to end up like Bradhon, she should stay away from him at all costs. "I- I mean... there has to be a reason, right? For all these rules, for the... the way they treat us. We have to be here for a reason. Otherwise..." The thought echoes in her mind, as strong as always- otherwise, Bradhon died for nothing. She pauses, takes a deep breath that does nothing to steady her. "Th- thank you. For... for answering. You didn't have to. You... you don't have to answer that one, either."
Anders doesn't answer for a moment, just looking at her. He knows she has no idea, but one day... one day he will show her. If she lets him. "Would you do anything that wasn't worth more than the scars it would earn you?" Pauses, glancing at the Templar himself, fully aware that every word is being measured. "Once we pass the Harrowing? What's the point? We know how not to get possessed. People stupid enough to agree to that sort of thing deserve what they get. It's no accident. It's all conscious choices."
"I know that. We all know that. It's just... not-not all of us are brave. That's why I-" Too close again, and she scolds herself for slipping and tries to recover. "That's why you're admired. Not envied, perhaps, but admired." Suddenly noticing that the nearby Templar keeps looking at them, a fresh thrill of terror rushes through her. "I- I should go. S- sorry." No, don't say it. She knows it's a stupid idea, but her lips are moving without her permission, anyway. "I- I still would like to- to talk sometime. Again. If- if you want to."
He notices the Templar's scrutiny and puts on an easy smirk, same look he gives everyone else. "Bravery? Crazy, more like. But... I'd like that. Any time." She has no idea... but it's the best he can do. He has to walk away now, so he strolls off with a book in his hands, no backward glance. He doesn't dare.
Quickly, before she changes her mind. She nods, turns away the second he has, her face practically aflame and her hands shaking. There won't be any focusing on Tevinter flora now, she's certain of it, so she takes care to organize her notes, then sits there, unsure what to do with herself, going over every word, and Maker, she's hopeless. She's just gotten to finally putting her notes away when she hears a familiar, impatient stride. Barely glancing up, she sees Surana's hands on the desk, and tries not to let the inward sigh manifest. She has something in mind. This can't be good. It never is.
"I need your kitchen key." Demanding, not asking, even though her tone is calm and even. She knows that Ilia will listen to her, because she doesn't have much of a choice in the matter.
Ilia looks up, regretting it instantly, hating how Surana can intimidate her without saying a word. Hugging a book to her chest, she hides behind her hair again, her voice shaking* I... I c-can't. I... I got a-asked about... about the incident last month. In the supply room."
Surana makes an impatient sound, her fingers drumming on the wood. "Anyone could have broken in there, Ilia. I told you before- I'm not letting you get in trouble. It's a harmless prank, really."
A harmless prank. She's said that many, many times before. Ilia takes a deep breath, hunched over her book, worrying at her bottom lip. She knows she should say no, but... that wouldn't end well. One thing everyone in the tower knows- what Surana wants, Surana gets. Very, very slowly, she reaches into her pouch and retrieves the correct key, placing it on the desk. This is a mistake. It's going to cost her somehow, she knows it, because despite Surana's assurances, something always goes wrong.
"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" There's a triumphant gleam in Surana's eyes as she grabs the key, eyes darting around to ensure that no one saw the exchange. She places a hand on Ilia's shoulder, her tone as grateful as it ever gets, the emotion not quite reaching her eyes. "Thank you, Ilia. You're a good friend, you know? It'll be fine. You'll see."
She nods mutely, not trusting herself to speak, terrified of what this is going to lead to. Surana may not care about the risk of the basement, but it's something that haunts Ilia's nightmares frequently.
A bit annoyed at her silence, Surana's hand drops, suddenly all casual, no trace of that momentary warmth remaining. "There's something else, too. I need you to take one of Gregoir's bottles of wine out, and hide it. Maybe in the cupboard with the yams? No one eats those." She shudders in disgust, wondering what person in their right mind eats them on purpose.
This time, she looks up sharply and doesn't hide, shock written all over her face. "I... Surana, I... I can't. Only- only so many p-people can... can access that, and- Maker, you know what he'd do to us-?"
"Absolutely nothing, unless you're stupid enough to screw it up. Or talk." She leans forward, a clear warning in her eyes this time, a signal to the end of her patience. "Just do as I say, and don't bother me with your paranoia. Either you trust me, or you don't. And if you don't, I have no use for you. So, what is it going to be?"
Ilia stares at her, eyes wide, understanding exactly what choice is being laid out before her. After a moment, she bows her head, hating herself for this fear, but she can't stay unnoticed without help. She needs Surana. "I... I understand. I'll... I'll leave it i-in the cupboard tonight."
"Good girl." Meant to be patronizing, even if she isn't looking to see the smug smirk on her face. Surana leaves her like that, walking away the winner yet again, and goes to find Jowan- she has a job for him, too. After a long while, Ilia stirs, trying to ignore the heavy foreboding. Just a harmless prank. A prank. That's all it is, and it's going to be fine. It will always be fine, so long as Surana keeps her promise. She can't fail anyone like she failed Bradhon ever again. And especially not Anders.