Chapter 7

.

.

.

.

The library was where Otto spent most of his time now, some of the mages using their magic to create tomes in braille for him. He felt old, useless amongst all the mages and Templars, and he would have felt alone, too. Luckily, Bronwyn was spending more and more time with him. It seemed to him that the Hero of Ferelden was seeking him out, and he was elated. Sometimes, when they were walking, he would take her arm. And several times, when he escorted her to her rooms at night, she would reward him with a little kiss on the cheek. But this was the only physical contact they had, and Otto didn't want to move too quickly when she was in such a delicate state. He sometimes felt a twinge of jealousy, but he prayed to the Maker to remove it, for the boy who had saved them all from the archdemon certainly deserved better than bitterness from him.

He had just started a tome that revealed the tale of Dirthamen when he sensed her approach. "Good morning," he said, closing the book. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"It is all mine, good Ser," she laughed. "Come, the First Enchanter wishes a word with you."

His stomach dropped. "Does he?" he asked nervously.

"Don't worry so much. It's good news," she said, grabbing his hands and pulling him up. "I'll be with you. Come."

He relinquished only one hand and let her walk with him to the First Enchanter's office. When they arrived, she opened the door without knocking, which struck him as a bit familiar, but Irving did not seem nonplussed. "Ah, Otto, it's good to see you."

"And you, First Enchanter."

"Anyone who is on a first name basis with the Knight Commander should be with me, as well," he insisted. "Call me Irving."

"As you wish."

"Still so formal. I suppose that is for the best, because Bronwyn has told me of your abilities, and I have decided to contract you from Greagoir."

"Contract me? For what purpose?"

"Something most important... Tell me, how many times did you go out to retrieve a mage child for the Circle?"

.

.

.

It was amazing to have a purpose again. Of course, he should have thought of it long ago; his ability to sense magic would allow them to warn parents that their children had the gift before it surfaced, saving countless mages from death and rebuilding the Circle. He was elated and grateful, thanking the Maker with every breath for the opportunity, for turning his gaze on him. And Bronwyn would accompany him with two Templars, which was even better. Well, it would have been best if it was just the two of them, but he would make due.

They moved through the country, trying to hit each village and town as they came to it. It would take months to cover the whole of Ferelden, and each time they found a mage child they would have to return to the tower.

At night their campsite was filled with the low, contralto voice of his mage singing. Some were folk songs, others seemed more formal. She confided that she had learned many of the songs from a traveling companion during the Blight, a bard from Orlais, who had a much better singing voice than she. Otto thought no voice could be prettier than hers.

He was listening to her sing one evening, thinking how pretty she must be in the firelight. Her voice died away, and they sat in silence for a few moments. "Is everything all right?" he asked finally, concerned.

He heard her moving before he felt her lips on his. They were warm and moist, a different kiss from the chaste ones before. She licked his lip and, as he moaned, slipped her tongue inside his mouth. She tasted like autumn in the woods, pumpkin pie, cinnamon spice. He wrapped his arms around her waist, surprised by how small it was, pulling her against him.

His senses came back to him and he pulled away, gasping. "The others-" he began to whisper.

"They're gone, gathering firewood or something," she said, sitting in his lap.

This was good news. His palms itched, hands eager to touch her. "If I may be so bold... May I see you?"

She laughed once. "How would you do that?"

"I can see with my hands," he said quietly. He felt her stiffen. "Of course, if you're uncomfortable..."

"No, of course." She took his hands and placed them on her cheeks. His rough fingers gently touched her chin, her cheeks, her nose. Her face was thinner than he thought it would be, her features a bit more angular, but then he supposed that fit her personality quite well. He traveled over her closed eyes, up to the softness of her hair and back down, putting together an image of her. His hands slid down over her hair to the curve of her ears.

He froze.

Where there should have been curve, there was a small but definite point. She was...

"...An elf, yes," she said bitterly. "Or a half-elf, anyway, but in this country any amount of elven blood will mark you as lower class, so what does it matter? I had hoped you wouldn't mind-"

"No, of course not." His voice was gentle, kind. "I wish you had told me, but it bothers me not a bit." He kissed her again to make his point, his fingertips caressing her ears gently then stroking her hair. "What color is your hair? Your eyes? Are you fair or tanned?"

"My hair is bright red. My eyes...I suppose they're amber. And I'm very fair, if I may say so myself," she added saucily.

"You must be the most beautiful woman in all of Thedas," he murmured, nuzzling her neck. "Otto...will you come to my tent with me?"

His mind whirled. Was he ready? Would he embarrass himself? Did she realize he was a virgin, nearly five decades of age?

Reading him easily, she touched his face. "We can just hold each other. It doesn't have to be more than that right now."

He let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding and nodded. She led him to her tent and they lay together in silence, simply kissing and stroking each other before drifting into a peaceful sleep.