Seven

Note: Just a bit of mature content in this one (I know, I know, at last!).

Wynne arrived midmorning the next day, borne on the wings of something Anders could only describe as motherly instinct. She shooed him out of the Commander's room, thanking him for his work and demanding that he rest. He would be no good to Tavia if he was drained and weak.

Before leaving, Anders tucked the necklace beneath Tavia's pillow, hoping it would bring her better luck than the last time it had been close to her.

He did as Wynne advised, but even after a hot bath and a shave, he couldn't sleep. He felt like a ghost, lifted out of his body, deadened by grief. Tavia was not improving. Her wound refused to heal, and she continued to cough up the hideous black fluid. In his deepest, darkest fears, Anders acknowledged that the Brood Mother might have infected Tavia with whatever nightmare poison turned women into those… things. He shuddered. He would die before he let her become such a demon.

The rest of the patrol returned to the keep, Oghren, Justice, Nathaniel and Sigrun among them. They had stopped in Amaranthine to pick up a few healers. There would be a conference in the great hall to discuss possible treatments. Anders would not be present. He had no interest in listening to strangers talk about the tragedy unfolding in the keep.

With the wagon, the rest of his possessions and the Commander's things arrived. He stole her pack before anyone had the chance to look through it. He brought it to his chambers, unpacking the items while Pounce circled nervously at the foot of the bed. The pack had a faint smell of old roses, but he found no trace of an actual flower in the bag. He found spare socks, bandages, knives, and other boring, practical gear. The warding blanket was there, too, folded neatly and unstained.

Anders took the blanket and held it up. Then, feeling foolish and slightly creepy, smelled it. She had slept in the blanket. After spending the night in Tavia's room, he knew quite accurately what she smelled like. He was glad she had gotten use out of it, and considered delivering the blanket to her now. Then he remembered Wynne and her stern, motherly ferocity and decided better of it.

Instead, he wrapped himself up in the blanket and lay down, determined to rest and recover. He needed to be strong.

The blanket performed as advertised. At once, Anders felt more contented. He smiled goofily, snuggling down deeper into his mattress. Then something very strange and unexpected began to happen, something he hadn't waited long enough to feel when he first tested the enchantment. The blanket hugged him, actually hugged him, molding to the contours of his body. He felt a warm, familiar flush bloom in his lower abdomen. Suddenly, he was more than content, he was aroused, lulled into a warm state of heightened awareness.

The blanket squeezed him and he wondered if he was already asleep.

He was plunging into a dream, hard and fast, with no hesitation. He was back in Tavia's room, kneeling beside the tub. But she was smiling at him, awake and perfectly healthy, no trace of a wound on her shoulder. She splashed him playfully, her eyes dancing with blue fire. Anders drank her in, the hard lines of her cheekbones that led to the adorable apple swell of her cheeks. Her generous, feminine lips and button nose… She reached out for him, tugging on his robes. Anders reacted instantaneously, pulling the robe over his head and tossing it aside.

Tavia touched his bare chest, her fingertips warm and wet and stroking up to his neck. Anders writhed into the blanket, suddenly so aflame he could hardly stand it. In the dream, she tugged on his shoulder and Anders slid into the tub, crawling on top of her like a serpent gliding onto a rock. She took him by the hair and forced his mouth down onto her. Her lips tasted like summer cherries. Anders groaned into her mouth and then smiled as she loosed his hair and tossed the band away. Nobody ever saw him with his hair down. He was about to smile shyly, but her hands were already raking through his hair, smoothing it, spreading it, testing the texture...

Anders shivered. Her nails rasped over his scalp.

"Like gold," she whispered, touching his forehead, "strands of liquid gold."

"I've waited for this," Anders said into her lips, "You don't know… How long…"

"I do," she said, arching into him. He remembered then there was so much more of her, not just a beautiful face and graceful neck, but shoulders and arms and… Maker… Everything else. Anders squished in beside her, forcing her to move and sit atop him. She placed one thigh on either side of his legs and sat on his knees.

Anders grabbed her breasts, squeezing them, molding them into his palms until he was certain he'd memorized their shape, their weight and softness. Tavia squirmed against him, grinding down on him in a way that was going to kill him any second. His heart was simply going to explode out of his chest, ruin the bath water and that would be the end of it. He twisted her nipples, determined to draw every delicious sound out of her throat. He wanted to know the intricacies of her arousal, he wanted to name and number every sigh and gasp and know what they meant.

Anders placed one trembling hand behind her neck and drew her mouth to his again, reveling in the warm, sweet taste. He kissed her, fiercely, using his tongue to mimic exactly what a different appendage would be doing momentarily.

"I will possess you, Commander," he growled into her neck, licking her jaw. "I will have you in this bath and then I will have you in your bed, and on your floor. Before this night is over you will beg for more and then beg for mercy and I will give you both. Freely. With all my heart."

Anders was going to tear the blanket in half. He could feel her thighs on his, the silky juncture in between, his own rock hard desire rising up to meet her. He cried out, startling himself awake. Panting, Anders looked down at his lap, where a dark, wet spot grew on the blanket.

Maker, I haven't done that since…

He didn't want to think about it, because at that moment he had a horrifying realization. He hadn't made a warding blanket at all. It didn't just lull you to sleep with pleasant thoughts, it actually…

If she ever gets better, I'm a dead man.

But she had slept in the blanket, presumably before the final battle, so why… She never said a word. Perhaps because, was it possible? She enjoyed it? Anders turned onto his back, groaning with humiliation. He was disgusted with himself, with what had just happened, and then with his own unbelievable stupidity.

Someone pounded at the door. Anders sat up, wondering how his day could get any worse. No, there was no way, nothing could be worse. He heard Nathaniel's voice on the others side of the door.

"Get up and get dressed. We're meeting downstairs. The King of Ferelden marches to Vigils Keep."