Fourteen

Anders wasn't sure if it was a blessing or a curse that they arrived back at the castle just in time for brunch. The hall buzzed with activity, servants weaving through the nobility to replenish the tables with heaping plates of breads and fruit. The smell of fresh coffee made him swoon.

Their entrance made quite an impression - the blood-soaked warrior, the limping, battered mage and the beautiful bard. Nobody tried to stop them from entering the great hall. Perhaps the guards knew that getting in the Warden Commander's way was as good as begging for death. Tavia had been tightlipped on the journey back to the castle, quietly focused on some internal matter. Anders hoped she was deciding whether to behead Alistair or pull his organs out one by one with a chopstick.

Tavia snapped her fingers for a servant. A liveried boy appeared out of the alcoves lining the walls, scampering over like a little brown lapdog. "Have a bath drawn in my room," she said curtly, "Now."

The boy bowed and disappeared, running, not walking, out of the hall.

The gasping started around the first table. Then a wide gap formed, letting them through, a straight shot to the throne. More than a few noblewomen reached for their handkerchiefs. Ladies, I know I'm a little ripe, but is it really all that bad?

Alistair stood near the royal dais, arms crossed and brow furrowed as he chatted with Arl Eamon. He was quick to fall silent, turning on his heel when he glimpsed Tavia out of the corner of his eye. Anders had a feeling that she had kept her armor on for a bloody good reason. Emphasis on the bloody. She had either been crushing tomatoes for fun or hacking limbs… possibly also for fun.

"Commander," Alistair murmured, his face turning the same shade as his ivory brocade cloak. "What… Are you quite well?"

Anders couldn't quiet the jumpy feeling in his chest. Tavia was in a very particular mood, the one where she never raised her voice above a furious whisper. This was not a mood you wanted to come face to face with. It generally preceded bloodshed on a massive scale. Anders hoped for his sake that Tavia would keep her sword sheathed. He had just cheated death. It would be such a waste to have Alistair's guards fall on them now.

"I'm going to ask you a question, Alistair, and you're going to answer yes or no, and depending on your answer, you'll either have a slightly unpleasant day or a tremendously shitty one." Tavia adjusted her stance. Her armor creaked. Blood was beginning to run into the carpets. Anders prayed none of it was hers.

Alistair flapped his mouth. The hall was so silent, Anders could hear the King's heart rate accelerating. What a beautiful sound that was.

"Alistair, what is the meaning of this - "

"Shut up, Eamon," Tavia barked. "Ready, Alistair?"

The King nodded his head, slowly, his eyes trained on Tavia's spattered face. She turned to Anders, her stern expression softening just a little. He wanted to kiss her. Even with the blood. It didn't matter. For just a moment, King Alistair looked at Anders, right in the face. He could tell the King was taking stock of Anders's wounds. The King didn't look guilty exactly, just, strange… ill maybe.

"Anders," Tavia murmured, "If you're feeling unwell you may retire."

"Ho, ho no, I wouldn't miss this for all the wine in Antiva."

"Very well," she said, spinning to face the King. "Did you have anything to do with his abduction?"

"Tavia, in the Maker's name…"

"Yes. Or. No, Alistair."

The King flushed to the tips of his ears. Apparently, he too was familiar with this mood of hers. Anders felt it was a safe bet that she had never actually turned it on Alistair, unless of course she employed it when he ripped her heart out and stomped all over it.

"I… No, no, Tavia. I had no idea…"

"Take a good look at him, Alistair," she said, gesturing toward Anders. "If you're lying, I'll make sure your pretty face ends up exactly like this."

"I'm not lying to you, Commander," Alistair said firmly. "And I'll see the men responsible brought to justice."

"No need," Tavia said with a shrug. "I took care of it. Look to your Templars, Alistair. They're out of control. Somehow, they stole a man out of your castle, imprisoned him in a ruin outside the city walls, and tried to hang him. Quietly. Without a trial."

"Maker's breath," Alistair whispered. He glanced at Anders. "Is this true, mage?"

"Nah, I just thought I'd bash my head against the wall for a few hours to see what happened."

"Did you get a clear look at your abductor?" Alistair asked.

"I did." Anders's chest ached. Speaking was making his lungs hurt. "Big, bull-headed fellow. Ugly. Mean. And married. Figure that one out if you can."

"Gray hair? Yellow teeth?"

Anders nodded.

"Jorgan. Maker, I hate that man. He's hardly a Templar. A zealot. He started some wild sect of his own years ago. I thought he was just a story conjured by the chantry teachers to frighten us." Alistair dropped his head into his hand and squeezed. He actually looked… contrite. Anders shared a look with Tavia, who also seemed surprised by the King's reaction.

"Oh he's very real," Anders said.

"Yes, I can see that. They don't exactly abide by the rules of the other Templars. They spend all their time hunting mages and dolling out justice however they see fit. No accountability to anyone. The chantry won't associate with them."

"Convenient," Anders muttered, "And cowardly."

"You have my apologies, mage. You should have been safe within my walls. I take this failure personally, and I will see to it that the guard is doubled outside your chambers," the King replied. He looked drained, terrified. Guilt or real grief, Anders couldn't decide.

"My physician is very tired, as you can imagine, your Majesty. I will seek an audience with you later to discuss the boons you promised me," Tavia said, bowing at the waist. Leliana curtseyed and Anders did his best to bow, but gave up trying and nodded instead.

"Tavi," Alistair said, grabbing her forearm. She wrenched it free.

"Don't, Alistair."

"You know I wouldn't do this. I would never…"

"That's right. And if you were involved I would snatch the crown off your head and snap it over my knee. Then I would raze Denerim to the ground." Tavia left him standing, staring, gaping after her. Arl Eamon, scandalized, put a stabilizing arm around Alistair's shoulders.

Anders smiled, following his Commander to the eastern corridor. The hall erupted with noise as they left. He didn't care what they were saying. He wanted food, a bath and a big soft bed. If he never saw another Templar again it would be too soon.

Leliana took his arm and gently squeezed.

"I'm glad you're safe, ser mage."

"You and me both. So what were you two lovely ladies doing while I was preparing to meet the Maker?"

Tavia flinched, clearly sensitive about the fact that Anders had very nearly died. Leliana swept in gallantly to help her. "Your door was locked. A messenger informed the Commander that you had left to browse the shops in the market square."

"And you believed them?" He slumped hard against Leliana's shoulder for support.

"At first, yes," Tavia said quietly. She was up ahead, leading them back toward their chambers. "You left word - it was the responsible thing to do. But when you were not back the next morning I began to suspect the worst. Nobody had any idea where you were, which was only more suspicious. Alistair was frantic to keep me in the castle, attending his dreadful parties, which didn't help. It took us a full day to track you. The Templars took pains to keep you hidden. They moved you by night. Stumbling upon the ruins was a lucky coincidence."

"Maker," Anders whispered. The blood drained from his face. "So I really was… close."

"We found you," Tavia said. "That's all that matters."

Leliana stopped just outside their door. She gave Anders a gentle hug, minding his injuries. It hurt anyway.

"Be good, mage. I'll be back to check on you later." She nodded toward Tavia. "You're in good hands."

Tavia opened their door, clasping hands with Leliana in some silent, warrior's signal of understanding. The Commander held the door for him and locked it when they were both inside. Anders feared to speak. He acknowledged that opening his mouth even a little might invite all sorts of embarrassing confessions to come tumbling out. Seeing her again was… even Anders was speechless. It was something beyond relief.

She began removing her armor, unclasping the leather straps that held it in place. For once, Anders saw what a chore it was for her to wear such heavy steel. Her shoulders sagged as the pieces dropped away, falling to the floor around her feet. It didn't look like she had the energy to unarm herself carefully. Anders wanted to help, but his hands were already trembling with weakness.

When she was stripped down to her linen shirt and leggings, she turned and gave him a wan smile.

"Here we are," she said quietly. "It appears we're doomed to nurse each other back to health, Anders. First you, then me and now it's your turn again."

Tavia stepped over the pile of filthy armor and took him by the hand. Lovely, how perfectly her little hand fit into his. She brought him to the washroom. On the way, he glimpsed his door, which had been shattered into about a thousand splinters.

"Your handiwork, I take it?" he teased.

"You know me too well."

Anders remembered the fragments of poetry he had left on his bed. Tavia had probably found them. That didn't seem like much of a problem. The pain in his chest and face was more important than a few lame sentiments. A bath was waiting, steaming and sparkling in the mid-morning sun. Anders felt lightheaded at the sight of it. Silently, Tavia turned around and waited for him to undress. He did so, wincing as the fabric skimmed across his many wounds.

With shyly-averted eyes, she helped him into the tub. It was almost too funny, when he thought about it. He had bathed her, dried her, put her to bed and now she would do the same for him. Tavia was right; they were destined to care for one another. Not a bad cycle, in his opinion, if they could cut out the bleeding and dying part.

Anders melted into the water, sighing so loudly and contentedly that Tavia laughed.

"I'm glad you find my misery amusing."

"I'm sorry. I do that when I'm relieved," she said. "I'll give you some privacy."

She stood to go, but Anders caught her hand.

"Stay," he said hoarsely, "I'm not… ready to be alone."

"Of course."

Wordlessly, she knelt beside the tub, handing him a washcloth from the low stone table. Anders tried to lift the cloth, but his arm locked up and his fingers failed, the cloth dropping into the water. Tavia grabbed the floating cloth without comment. She made a little circular movement with her finger and Anders turned, giving her access to his shoulders and hair.

His chest tightened as her fingers combed through his hair. She washed his arms and shoulders, carefully, with the practiced skill of someone who was used to navigating around tender wounds. He dozed intermittently, so relaxed and relieved that he simply drifted away. When he woke again, his hair was wet and washed. The sour vomit smell was gone, and the bathwater was tinged brown.

"Anders?"

"Mm."

"I know we've already had a lot of… excitement today. But there's something I need to discuss with you. Something terribly serious."

Anders dropped his head back, looking at her upside down. Her nose looked silly from that angle. She continued raking her fingers through his hair. Anders felt a tingle in his midsection; he couldn't stop the comparisons to his little interaction with the warding blanket.

Like gold, strands of liquid gold…

"What is it?" he asked, dreading the answer.

"'I was smitten, and potentially smote'? Seriously, Anders?"

"Ugh. You witch."

Her laughter tickled the side of his face. Anders tried to reach back and smack her in the arm, but his body wouldn't cooperate. He wondered how long it would take for the fatigue to wear off. Food would help…

"It was Leliana's idea," he said, "She said you like poetry."

"I do. Good poetry."

He grumbled something under his breath. His brain wasn't working particularly well. No cunning quips came to mind.

"Anders… There really is something we need to discuss."

Tavia pushed him gently until he was facing her. His strength was returning, but looking at her in the sunlight was enough to make him weak again. He gestured for a towel. He was sick of sitting in the murky bathwater and it was beginning to grow cold. If they needed to have a serious talk, he didn't want to have it in the nude. Tavia nodded, took the towel and spread it wide for him. She looked away again, which Anders found endearing yet unnecessary, and wrapped the towel around his waist.

Anders followed her back into the bedroom and Tavia helped him into a simple cotton robe. She sat on the bed and Anders took the liberty of plopping down beside her. Tavia rested one leg on the mattress, the other on the floor, and stared resolutely at her hands.

Anders groaned internally. This didn't feel like the precursor to a happy, slappy conversation.

"You told me once that all you wanted in life was a pretty wife, a good meal and the right to practice your magic," she said, picking at her sock. "Do you still think that?"

"Sure," Anders said slowly, "Why?"

"I'm lost, Anders," she murmured. He heard the hitch in her voice. Maker, don't cry now, my arms don't have the strength to hold you. "I don't know what I want," she continued hoarsely, "I can no longer serve the King. I've lost faith in him. The Grey Wardens no longer serve a purpose. I no longer serve a purpose."

"Tavia," Anders said, "That's absurd. You're the Warden Commander."

"I know! I know. If I… If we…" She stopped, snorted, started again. "If there was a way to erase the Darkspawn taint in you, would you do it?"

Anders swallowed hard. He had never considered it. "But it's not possible."

"Thirty years, Anders," she said, "That's all we have. It's not enough. It's not… what I want. There's a way, Anders. I think I know a way."

"You do? That's… Wow. I… I suppose I don't know what to say."

Anders watched her picking the stitching out of her sock. On a whim, he reached over and took her hand. She squeezed it and seemed to relax a little. Maker, was it that easy all along? I just had to take her hand?

Suddenly, she looked up at him, her dark blue eyes wide and glistening with tears - a face that pretty should never look so sad. He tried to breathe, but his lungs refused to function. Anders didn't know what to say. He wasn't even sure he was still alive. Half of him was already fast asleep.

"Maker, Anders, you're exhausted." He couldn't argue with that. Tavia sprung up from the bed and strode to the door. She flung it open. "Boy! Somebody! You, yes, you. Bring me a plate of food. Make that two plates, no, three."

He wanted so badly to stay awake. There was much to consider. A way to kill the Darkspawn taint… If such a thing existed… It's not that he didn't enjoy being a Grey Warden, but the short lifespan was a bit of a letdown. Especially now that he so desperately wanted a future. Tavia crawled onto the bed. In the interim, Anders had fallen over into a sleeping position without meaning to.

"Should I get you, the blanket?" She raised one eyebrow and Anders had to laugh. His ribcage felt like it might burst any second.

"No, please no. Have mercy, woman. It might kill me, blood everywhere, shameful mess." Anders winced. "Sorry. That was… not sexy."

"Relax," she said, her round, elfin face brightening with a grin, "You don't have to be sexy all the time."

"Yes, I do actually. It's in my contract. One tall, blonde and unbelievably sexy mage, snark and fireballs included. Wank blankets sold separately."

"You're delirious, Anders."

"Is that pork I smell?

It was. Tavia returned from the door with her arms overflowing with goodies. Anders roused himself long enough to stuff a wad of bread down his throat. The first taste brought him out of his stupor. He was ravenous. He ate blindly - turkey, pork, potatoes, fish… It didn't matter. He had always been a hearty eater, but the taint had given him an unstoppable appetite.

"Slow down," Tavia said gently. "There's no rush."

"Stomach…" Anders grunted between bites. "Disagrees…"

He fell over in a heap when he was sated, which involved the desecration of several animals and many dozens of obliging vegetables. On his back, he stared up at the ceiling, waiting for Tavia to finish her light meal. She cleared the plates and napkins and sat cross-legged near his head.

"You have bacon on your nose."

Mortified, Anders reached up to wipe it off, but his arm seized part way through the motion.

Tavia was leaning over him. His heart inched up his throat as she came closer. She kissed his nose, leaving a wet smudge behind. He exhaled slowly, a tremor running down the length of his body. Then she was stretching out beside him, her warm breath blossoming against his chin. She kissed him full on the mouth. Anders was infinitely grateful that his abductors hadn't managed to bruise his lips too much. He couldn't stop the groan that rumbled in the back of his throat. He had wanted it for so long, finally having it was better than all of his fantasies combined.

His tongue lapped at hers, greedy, wanting…

She pulled away, smiling down at him.

"Anders?"

"Mm?"

"There wasn't any bacon on your nose."

"Maker. The audacity." He puckered his lips and Tavia indulged him with another sweet kiss. He could get used to this – a beautiful woman serving him food in bed, kissing imaginary bacon off of his nose…

Tavia cupped his ear and frowned. "Will you pierce the other one?"

"I don't know," he murmured. "Maybe not. Seems a bit juvenile. I think I might be a grown-up now."

"Or a radish."

"Sorry?"

Tavia grabbed a vanity mirror from the bedside table. She handed it to Anders, who looked at his reflection with silent horror. He really did look like a radish. His skin was red, swollen and bruised, with purplish cuts running along both cheekbones. His nose was swollen, a blister splitting open his bottom lip. The bottom of his right ear was a ragged mess. His stubble now officially qualified as a beard.

"You kissed that?"

"I could have waited…"

"No! No." Anders handed her the mirror, sick of his distorted face. "I'll heal myself up after a nap. Not enough energy at the moment."

"That's fine. Let me take care of you until then."

"You don't need to ask permission for that."

Tavia draped one arm across his middle, moving it until she found a spot that didn't make him tighten up all over. Part of him was convinced he was dreaming. It was a likely explanation. Many of his daydreams ended up this way, with his fearless leader wrapped around him. Usually they were naked, but this was an inspired start… minus the cuts and bruises, of course.

"Anders," she whispered, her mouth close to his ear. He wished shuddering didn't make him ache so much. "I feel like I should explain myself. While you were gone, the King tried to convince me to stay in Denerim. I know what he wants. He thinks he can make me love him again. His gifts, the parties in my honor… It disgusted me. Just looking at him made me sick. And when I realized you were in trouble, I… Something snapped. I went crazy. I'm not proud of it. I shouldn't have killed all those men, but I kept seeing your face…"

Tavia paused, inhaling a shaky breath. Anders wasn't ready to interrupt her, mostly because he could sense she needed to say more. "I think I was waiting. I was waiting for Alistair. I guess I assumed since he was my first love that he would be my last. But I could've taken him back. He wants me back. But I don't want him. Not anymore. Not ever again."

His hand found hers. Their fingers laced together.

"I'm sorry I waited so long, Anders. There were moments when I almost… When I was dying and you put me in that bathtub, I wanted to kiss you. I tried to. I was just so tired. So incredibly tired."

Anders smiled up at the ceiling. No, he wasn't just smiling, he was beaming. He laughed, giggled, laughed again. "Tavia, why did you ask me that before? About the pretty wife and the meal and the magic?"

"It's just something I never considered for myself."

"You're a passionate, completely irrational woman. Why are you suddenly asking me about a quiet life in the country?" Anders turned his head to look at her. Was she actually blushing?

"Anders, I'm serious. If I can get rid of the taint… Would you want that?"

"Which?" he asked. "The pretty wife or the cure?"

"I don't know, Anders." She squeezed his hand. "Maybe you could have both."