The morning after Teagan's arrival, Anders awoke to Girl in his bed.

She was not thrilled when he asked who she was and what she was doing there. He may have told her he didn't like her, but mostly he just didn't care at all. He was too busy trying to not think about the night before, and the pictures Oghren had been painting of all the things Brand and her husband could be doing in her room where they'd holed up instead of joining the rest of them for dinner.

His inattention to Girl earned a slap and a flounce and, with her gone, he set to dragging on some clean robes. After a long and rain soaked evening, the sun was out and giving him every indication that he'd missed breakfast.

"I have a feeling it's going to be a cold porridge morning, Ser Pounce-a-lot," the cat rubbed against his leg, pausing only long enough to offer his human a contemplative mrawr before he was streaking out the door Girl had left hanging open in her snit.

Anders lunged into the hallway after Pounce. The cat had taken a liking to the rooftops and Anders was definitely not in the mood to rescue him should he get stuck on the tower again.

Searching the length of the corridor, he saw a flash of orange go into the commander's office and he barged in after, confident that Brand would be off doing wifely things with Teagan and not sitting at her desk, face blank and eyes staring into the distance like she'd fallen victim to one of Anders' own paralysis spells.

Which, because it was one of those kinds of mornings, was exactly what she was doing.

"Brand?" He dropped onto the couch that faced her desk, Pounce immediately finding his lap, headbutting his hand appreciatively as if to say this is what I wanted all along.

She looked up and, for a second, something base flared in her eyes. Anders felt it from across the room, a surge of energy that pulsed out of her, moving across his skin, hot and slightly unsettling.

But it was only a second. Then she had her elbows on the desk and her hands were rubbing at her eyes, "I'm sorry, Anders. I'm a little...out of sorts right now."

"Long night with the husband?" It sounded like a different person asked that stupid question, the jocularity painfully forced.

Her hands fell from her face and she laughed a short, bitter laugh.

"I guess you could say that," her eyes wouldn't quite meet his own, which was the most disconcerting thing of all. How much time had they spent together these past months being comfortable with one another? Why the sudden...weirdness?

"Is everything all right?" He leaned forward, pushing Pounce off his lap because everything was obviously not all right and he hated how distressed she looked. "Did something...bad happen?"

He had no idea what bad might be to a woman who'd been nearly snapped in half by a dragon, but he was hoping that it fell well within the usual parameters. Maybe Teagan had made a joke about her nose, or maybe she told him that she rather liked the company of attractive mages.

"I quit being a wife," her voice cut the air like a blade.

Or...that.

His breath caught, as if he was afraid that breathing would undo what she'd just said and everything might fall apart and that would be horrible because this had potential.

"So you're not going back to Rainesfere?" He tried to keep his tone neutral, not that he could hear himself over the roar of blood in his ears that grew deafening when she pulled an envelope out of her desk and flung it across the room at him. It was addressed to the First Warden and bore the seal of the Warden-Commander of Ferelden in wax which had been picked at and dulled down by distracted fingers. Distracted perhaps by something he'd said, or done or...maybe it was just him. It wasn't so farfetched. She seemed to enjoy his company enough and he was handsome and she was beautiful and they were both bright individuals with expansive views on certain human entanglements and...

Brand still looked distressed, her brows drawn together, her teeth visible on the edge of her lip.

"I know you probably don't care right now, but I'm glad you're staying," he found his feet and Pounce immediately darted out of the office, his job finished. "I think you belong here. I know...I know that it wouldn't have felt like home anymore without you."

She nodded slowly, although her eyes only grew more shadowed as she withdrew further into what she had done and, perhaps, why.

He left her alone with that, his heart already about to explode as he fell against the corridor wall in order to just get things under control. Even if she was interested in him, and it was far from certain that she was, it wasn't something he could force to happen. He'd have to give her time and distance and a chance to move on.

He'd have to wait.

He hated to wait.

But waiting for something possible was better than pining for something that was never going to happen.

He made it two weeks before he decided that waiting was a huge waste of time and he was just going to go for it.

Going for it was conversation on the roof, stretched out at her side and pretending to be interested in the stars when all he wanted to be doing was kissing her, touching her, and he had the whole thing planned out:

He'd prop himself up on his elbow, maybe catch her cheek in his hand, and say something utterly inane about the stars in her eyes. Whatever it was, he wasn't entirely committed, would make the soppiest lordling blush.

Brand would roll her eyes and scoff at his efforts.

Then he'd scoff at her cynicism My lady, how you can cast me aside with such disdain is beyond my comprehension. You have forced me to redouble my efforts...

Then he'd kiss her and everything would be right with the world.

(He had spent the past two weeks convincing himself that the fact that they weren't yet making love at all hours of the day was a mistake of cosmic proportions, and that mistake needed to be rectified.)

He started by asking her about where the stars went when they fell...and then she was talking about a sword because she had some sort of fixation. Undeterred, he took his cue and moved to his side, striking a casual pose and opening his mouth to say the words that...

She was crying.

He wavered for a moment, caught between wanting to try anyway, because he was so certain that this night was supposed to end with her in his arms and he could feel the air between them alive with electricity and there was something of her yearning towards him.

It was such a small gap to close, barely more than a few inches, but if she wasn't ready and he pushed then supposed to might not matter.

So he did the only thing he could think of that wasn't kissing: he pressed his finger to her cheek and healed.

Her eyelids fluttered in surprise until she realized what he was doing, which made her laugh from her stomach and for a while. Her laughter always had a way of making him feel lucky, even if there was no kissing happening.

He fell onto his back into friendship, convinced that a step away from that had at least been taken. There would be other nights, other lines, and his lips would always be ready to find hers.

Arriving the day after Anders' mini-success on the roof, the elf had impeccably horrible timing...in addition to his tattoo, scarred cheek, and tan.

That he was Antivan was just the most precious thing.

Every time Anders would try to get a moment alone with Brand, Zevran would be there, the very picture of languorousness and where was this guy from, anyway? Besides Antiva.

Oghren was able to illuminate Anders on the Zevran thing. It was fucked up, of course: Nathaniel's father hired the Crows to kill Brand during the Blight and their failure to do so had given her a wonderful new assassin friend who spoke solely in double entendres and stood way too close to her all the time.

It was frustrating, to say the least. It also made it exceedingly easy for Anders to blame Zevran for the day that his cautious optimism came undone with one word that nobody said, but everyone knew meant an end for anything approaching fun.

Anders was in the library when they arrived, Brand looking distinctly uncomfortable and the elf, so impossibly sleek that he made Anders feel stodgy, complaining loudly about his boots.

"I realize that you can buy me another pair, my dear, but I have a rather nostalgic attachment to these, if you remember," he frowned and pushed Brand towards Anders. "I need you to do something about my Warden."

His Warden?

"Like what?" Anders didn't bother to hide his annoyance. "No one can make Brand do anything she doesn't want to. It's like telling a tree to walk over there."

"I'm standing right here," Brand's lips pressed into a firm line.

"And looking awful, I might add. How long have you been harfing on the elf's boots?"

"Uh, the past couple of days, maybe," she shrugged.

"All day?" His brow crinkled in concern.

"No, not all day. Usually just late morning, early afternoon. And I should have...oh."

It was almost funny how it all hit them at the exact same time. Zevran began to chuckle, Brand turned the deepest shade of red a human could possibly turn and Anders folded up inside. He couldn't even look at her, so tight was his chest as he asked himself how it could have happened and how long would it be before she was leaving again because if she wasn't going to stay as a wife, then she certainly wouldn't want to stick around as a...

He couldn't finish the thought, and he couldn't allow himself to think about the way she was watching him now.

The elf escorted her out, his laughter seeming a bit cruel in light of everything and Anders continued to contemplate how utterly cold he was feeling in the absence of what he'd been feeling before.

He'd had hopes for her and him. Now all he had were tendrils of grief that curled into his mind and how could it hurt so badly to lose something that had never been his in the first place? And for the second time, too.

"Fuck."

The news that Brand would remain as the Warden-Commander of Ferelden, and the surge of relief that brought Anders, was completely ruined by the news that Bann Teagan of Rainesfere would be relinquishing his lands and joining his wife as the Arl of Amaranthine.

Not that Teagan was unpleasant in any way that Anders could see. He was just more the type of man to impress women and guys like Nathaniel and Garavel, men who could talk to him about hunting and fighting and politics.

Anders was fairly certain that the only thing that he and Teagan would have in common was the fact that they'd both shared Brand's bed at least once and now they were both avoiding her.

Actually, Teagan was merely avoiding her while Anders was trying to forget she existed, at least until he could once again kiss a pretty girl without it feeling wrong. And how frustrating was it that a pretty girl he'd never actually kissed had set some sort of mental benchmark for such?

It was very frustrating.

Also frustrating was how she insisted on getting prettier by the day, her face softening and her lank becoming curves as her pregnancy progressed. For a few months, when her stomach remained relatively flat, it was easy to forget what it was exactly that kept him from her, especially now that she was easily the most beautiful thing he saw every day that he saw her.

One day, when he'd somehow gotten cornered by Nathaniel and Teagan and a discussion they were having about absolutely nothing that was any interest to him, Brand appeared from nowhere and he felt an overwhelming flash of finally! Where has she been all this time? But she looked as if she had been crying and she was here to speak to Teagan, who seemed entirely too put out by her presence.

Then Teagan refused her nervous invitation to come and talk to her in their room. Anders fought back the urged to interject a smart Why not, my lord? After all, you've gotten into as much trouble as you possibly can on that front. He remained silent, however, as his smartness would only be to mask his own discomfort at the way her stomach was definitely swollen, but the rest of her beyond was so lush that he wanted to lay her down and spend the afternoon exploring her with his eyes, his fingers, his tongue and...

"I have to go," he stood suddenly, Nathaniel and Teagan already having fallen back into animated conversation even as Brand slunk out of the room, cheeks pink with embarrassment. He followed her, unable to not because he was suddenly in desperate need to do something, to take her someplace comfortable, to be with her where he could make her laugh and moan and ache for him the way he found himself aching for her.

And then he could heal them both by being what she deserved right now, even though she'd probably convinced herself she deserved this: indifference from the man she'd quit on and the man she'd kept at a careful distance.

You have to stop this.

His feet quit beneath him and he let her hurry down the staircase while he leaned against the balustrade and watched her go. There was no happy ending to this; he had known that the second he'd realized she was pregnant. Even if he could convince her to be stolen away for the afternoon, and even if it was as incredible as he knew it would be, there was a whole lifetime of her being married to another man, and her being pregnant or mother to a child that wasn't his, stretched out in front of him.

Waiting was a mistake.

And he was just going to have to learn to live with it.

Months passed, and he was learning.

It became easier as he threw himself at any woman who even so much as breathed near him. He went with Oghren to visit Felsi and Delyn at their home in Denerim. While there, he toured the local taverns, his hands kept busy by the multitude of girls who fell hard for the Grey Warden bit.

He also got slapped more than a few times by the girls who were less impressed by some of his other lines.

When he returned to the Vigil, Brand was even more scarce than she had been before he left. He saw her a few times a week, usually tucked in a secluded corner going over figures, writing letters, or rifling through boxes of junks. More often than not she was alone, and every day that passed found her looking more serene than he'd ever seen her.

He gave himself over to that peace, the need to have his body and mind always occupied lessening as time passed and he realized that things could be worse. At least he was still free, at least he had a commander who would fight for him. At least he could have his own room, and his own cat and come and go as he pleased.

Coming and going as he pleased was his favorite thing to do these days, even if it was limited to creeping down to the kitchen to steal some pie that he'd planned on enjoying in relative solitude in the empty dining room.

That Brand was there should not have surprised him. It did almost dissuade him, but he realized that perhaps, with her inelegantly shoveling gruel into her mouth, this might be the perfect time to take a few tentative steps towards a more neutral relationship.

So he tried. But then she went and laughed and it was a sound he'd not heard for months and why would he ever not want that in his life? but he held onto himself as she settled into bemusement and then looked at him, eyes fastened on his, and said;

"I miss you, Anders."

It was simple and sincere and he had no idea if anyone had ever missed him before. It broke his heart and quickened his pulse and he was simultaneously frustrated with her and guilty. Why did she have to go and get pregnant? What good could possibly come from that? Why did he have to hide from her in order to deal with it? Why couldn't he just draw a mental line around her and learn to cope with the fact that she was off limits, even when she was sitting a few feet away from him, lips curved in the sweetest smile until her expression started to go a bit concerned the longer he didn't respond.

He pushed his plate away she did ask for some of my pie, right? and stood to leave.

"Take the rest, I'm really too tired to eat."

And he ran, his mind caught on the hurt in her eyes as he turned away and his heart threw itself against his chest in a mad attempt to get his attention.

He made it to the safety of his room before he reacted to what he'd just done, running scared when he should have just told her.

Told her what, exactly? That you more than miss her? That you want her? That you love her?

"No," he was talking to a cat and an empty room, but this needed to be said aloud because, otherwise, it wasn't enough. "I don't love her. I...no."

Ser Pounce-a-lot was watching from where he'd jumped onto the bed.

"Mrawr."

"Shut up, you," Anders rubbed at his eyes, pressing hard against an encroaching headache. "You don't think I feel like a complete ass?"

"Mewf," the cat turned his back and collapsed into a ball, clearly displeased with his human but nowhere near as displeased as his human was with himself.

The rain had been falling for days.

Anders had been lurking quietly for the most part, keeping to his room or hiding in the library or solarium. He'd heard the Commander's orders, that every knight, healer and Grey Warden would be sent into the arling to help evacuate farm holds. He heard the orders and promptly hid. There was absolutely no way in the world that he was leaving her here with only Varel and a mid-wife. He'd had limited experience with childbirth, one blood-soaked night tagging along with his mother to deliver a neighbor woman's first, but he knew that having a healer on hand was always a good idea in these situations.

He risked serious repercussions if anyone discovered he'd willingly stayed behind, and the idea that he could be discharged from the Wardens turned his stomach. That will never happen. He found a quiet corner of the library and pretended to be napping. The library was not a place frequented by soldiers before a mission, so he could just say he hadn't heard the orders.

Not that, in the end, anyone would even be thinking about such things.

It was a cry that woke him, a scream that cut through the thick fog of oversleep. In the silence that followed, he was able to convince himself that the noise was just an extension of his dream, un unpleasant thing featuring darkspawn and pale hands that reached to him from impenetrable shadows.

He sat up slowly, and touched his forehead to relieve some of the pressure and clear things up a bit. His eyes remained gritty, and his tongue was coated in a film that tasted faintly of rank cheese, but otherwise he felt fine.

Fine until he heard another cry, his name being called out by Varel.

Anders had never heard anyone sound so desperate, and he was tearing out of the library more quickly that he'd done anything his entire life, almost knocking the seneschal clear down the staircase when they collided at its landing.

"What's wrong?" He didn't need to ask, because Varel's tunic and hands were covered in blood and his face was distorted with panic, anguish and concern.

They descended to the ground floor together and Anders didn't stop running until he was at her side, his hands searching her stomach while his eyes avoided everything lower than that.

Whatever pain she was feeling was wrapped up tightly, even though she was unconscious. The baby, though, was obviously not fine.

"He's suffocating," Anders swallowed hard and turned to Anatolia. "He's suffocating, but slowly. She needs to have him now or he'll die."

Before Anatolia could respond, he poured as much healing into Brand's stomach as he could. It would protect the baby and help her body cope with the blood loss so far. He then placed his hand against her chest, testing her heartbeat against his palm.

"She's nowhere close to ready, ser," Anatolia lifted Brand's shift and did something between her legs, her head shaking. "Nowhere close. We'll have to cut him out."

"We'll what?" Anders leaned protectively over his commander, the idea of cutting a baby out of its mother seeming like something that wasn't the healthiest thing. "Won't that kill her?"

Anatolia nodded, "I think she'd dead anyway...or close to it."

"No...no. She's not dead," Anders' stomach twisted and he pressed harder against her chest, her heartbeat steady beneath him as he offered another heal.

This brought her back, her hands finding the bottom of her gown as she pulled at it and arched her back.

Brand.

He tried to get her to hold still, but only the promise that he would save her son would placate her and the idea of killing her was just too...he fell against her. How could she ask this of him? How could she expect him to take her away forever when he'd not been able to cope with the idea of her just being on the other side of Ferelden? How would he live with himself?

But she was flesh and blood beneath him, her own person with her own heart and how could she live with herself if she chose to let her son die so that she might survive?

And she would never be the same it that happened.

So he relented. He drank his lyrium and steeled his heart and prayed to the Maker that he could save them both, that Anatolia was able to make a clean incision and Brand was able to remain still and that the baby would come out whole and healthy because Anders could not bear to lose them both.

He could not bear to lose them both, and he only knew the one until Anatolia placed a bluish thing, slick and bloody and motionless in his hands and what was he supposed to do with it?

"Breathe into its mouth and nose," she had unwound the cord from the babe's neck. "Breathe into it and heal."

So he did, remembering that he had seen his mother do the same that other night with another baby and it was the strangest feeling in the world when the thing in his hands cried at him and went from thing to Bryce with a waving of his feet and hands.

Maker, look at those hands.

"He looks like a genlock."

And how Brand could be talking in her current state Anders did not know.

Anatolia handed Bryce off to Varel so she and Anders could refocus on Brand and the gash in her stomach. Her son wailed in the background, as if he could sense that things weren't going so well and his mother was fading fast.

No. Anders drank more lyrium and pushed harder, even as the room tilted and spun around him. No, I will not let you die. Not like this, not before you know.

Her eyes rolled back and she was unconscious.

He continued to heal until Anatolia had dealt with everything that needed dealing with and the wound was stitched tight. Then he drank more lyrium and kept healing until he felt nothing because he'd collapsed, too, and had to be carried to his own bed and, even then, he insisted on being on his side so that he could watch her sleep and breathe.

Disobeying orders, as it turned out, was the best decision he'd ever made.

"What was it like? The birth, I mean" they were alone in the infirmary, talking over the gap between their beds. Brand was on her side and facing him, Bryce swaddled and against her stomach.

She couldn't keep her hands off of him, her fingers always brushing at his hair, or running along his cheek, or pressing against his chin.

"It was disgusting, what I saw of it," Anders ducked his head. He'd tried very hard to not see anything, both out of respect and out of a desire to actually enjoy sex the next time he had the opportunity for it. Still, there had been fleeting glimpses and he really didn't want to talk about those. "It was a bit like watching you loot."

"Loot?" She smiled and looked down at Bryce. "Pretty decent loot, if you ask me."

"I don't know...I was hoping for a new pair boots, to be honest," he sat up slowly. For the most part, he was fine. He was just having headaches that couldn't be handled through traditional means. "Have you seen his hands yet?"

Her eyes widened in excitement as she shook her head. It had been nearly a week and Anatolia had been handling the changes and his baths until Brand had gotten her strength back. Anders wanted to point out that a weak Brand was still twice as strong as Anatolia on a good day, but he decided against it. Brand needed the rest and would be up and at it with the slightest bit of encouragement.

He went over to her bed, taking a seat on the edge up by her headboard. They worked together to unbind Bryce just enough that Anders could work one arm out and Brand gasped she saw he son's spidery fingers wrapped around one of Anders'.

"Wow...wow," she slid her thumb against him so that Bryce's fingers spanned both of theirs. "Look at his tiny little nails. Maker, I didn't know they had fingernails!"

He laughed at the joy in her voice, allowing his free hand to lower so that it was grazing her temple, and he nudged back a lock of hair that had fallen into her eyes. Her head moved slightly, coming to rest against his knee and they remained that way, even after Bryce's arm had been recaptured and there was no reason for them to be together at all.

A few evening later, they were together again as he escorted her to her room, Bryce in one arm and his other hand holding her waist.

It was a brief moment, her thanks to him, but it came with a kiss. A stupidly chaste kiss, of course, that really shouldn't have meant anything considering their own proclivities to that end. But it was her close to him and he sensed her hesitation as she pulled away and her eyes were liquid and saying things her mouth couldn't.

I could fall in love with you if I don't love you already and I'm sorry that this is all you'll ever get from me.

And his silent response: Yes and Don't be sorry, there are worse things than not being with you... like losing you forever.

He left before their mouths could take over from their eyes and he made it almost halfway to his room before he fell against the wall, his head going back with a crack he hardly noticed as his eyes fell shut and he replayed the stupidly chaste and perfect kiss ten times without breathing, the events of the past week culminating in this moment of confirmation.

Never had he felt so relieved or so helpless.

After over a year of chaos, life at the Vigil settled into something approaching routine.

Anders spent most of his time teaching mages how to fight along the non-mage Wardens and knights. Once they learned the language, and where to stand and what spells were inadvisable to use near a comrade, he would then take them to the melee training and teach the swords how to fight alongside the mages.

He took satisfaction in watching the knights go from openly disdaining them to being incredibly impressed at how effective they could be in any role they needed to fill.

When he wasn't training, or studying, he was with Brand in her office, discussing training and recruitment or what Garavel had said that morning at breakfast and oh, they hated that guy.

In her office, he'd be on the couch with Bryce climbing all over him, his ridiculously overlong fingers finding their way into Anders' hair, his earring, his mouth. She'd be at her desk, trying not to laugh as Anders wrangled her son with tickles, silly faces, and songs.

As Bryce grew older, his eyes settling to the same shade of green as his mother's and his face never looking any less like her own, he started talking with her casual cadence and hurtling around on unsteady feet, as fearless as she was.

He was bright and curious, incredibly observant and funny on purpose, which caught all of them by surprise. Despite the fact that he was raised by several hands, Fiona, Sigrun, Zevran and Nathaniel all cared for him in turn whenever Brand had obligations that took her away, Anders was his favorite.

The feeling was mutual.

"The younger apprentices in the tower were always so...ugh. Kids," Anders shuddered. Bryce was just over two and a half and repeating everything anyone said.

"Ugh, kids," he shot a glance over at Brand. "Sit with me?"

She joined Anders on the couch, Bryce immediately crawling into her lap to begin a rambly and mostly nonsensical account of how Anders had said Ugh, kids and then Brand had come and sat on the couch.

"Why do you think you're special, Bryce?" Brand pushed his hair back, her brow wrinkling in consternation over the length of it. "Why do you think Anders likes you when he thinks other kids are ugh?"

"Knicker's weasels!" Bryce was absurdly proud of his non sequitur. Anders started to laugh, but Brand's hand went out and knocked him against the shoulder.

"Oh, and he hasn't picked up worse from Oghren?" Bryce was now wedged between them. "I don't see you hitting him."

"Don't act like you don't like it when I hit you," Brand's eyes were bright and they'd been brighter recently, and she and Teagan were spending more time together. A few days later, Anders saw her do something she'd never done before, at least not openly- she kissed Teagan on the cheek. It was a spontaneous and affectionate gesture and while she and Anders had settled into an honest friendship that meant he had to become comfortable with her and Teagan together, seeing her be like that with him was weird.

And it shook something loose in him.

It was four months later that he found himself sprawled on the floor of her office, Bryce and Ser Pounce-a-lot waging a small war for his attention, one tangled in his hair, the other gnawing contentedly on a feather pulled from his robes. Brand was watching, laughing and writing decrees, or letters, or dirty poems.

Then Teagan walked in, and Bryce toddled off to his father, his father father, and not the man sprawled on the floor in mangled, drool-covered robes with a head of hair mussed by paws and spindly, sticky baby fingers. Brand also went to Teagan, chattering on about their upcoming visit to Redcliffe to visit his brother.

Lying there, Anders realized with terrible clarity that he had been waiting for the past three years, give or take. Being her second, joining in the Garavel hate, rolling around on the floor with her son like a very handsome and overpowered nan. And he wasn't celibate or anything, and nothing was there, really, but it was still embarrassing to be That Guy, and for what? The off chance that one night he might do something spectacular enough to warrant another sisterly peck on the cheek?

He left a few days later for a lecture at the Circle Tower. When he told Brand he wouldn't be coming back, he searched for a flicker of sorrow in her wide eyes and saw only careful distance.

"Have fun," she shifted a bit. "And be safe. And stay out of trouble, with that...mouth of yours. I won't be around to save your ass."

You could be, he shook his head. That wasn't fair, he supposed. He was the one that had been too late, and had waited when he shouldn't have waited and then let being comfortable in their friendship convince him that friendship was enough.

At the tower, the templars greeted him with barely repressed disdain, and he very much enjoyed breezing in, laying down some knowledge and preening a bit in front of a group of young mages, and then breezing out with a nod to First Enchanter Virginie on his way.

Lucille Amell stopped him before he left, pressing into his hand a packet of letters for her siblings in Gosport. Anders had spent some time at the Brother and Sisters Inn, engaging in the general merriment and flirting with Lucille's twin sister, Beatrice, but he'd no real plans to return there until he was asked to courier the documents.

"Why won't you let the Wardens recruit you?" Lucille had always been a bit odd, even before she'd spent time in the tower prison. Now she was downright eccentric, her fingers tapping against air and lips moving as she thought.

"I like it here, now," she smiled, pushing back her copper hair. "Virginie is nice and even the Knight-Commander has allowed some of the rules to be loosened. I think they're scared of another rebellion..."

"I think you're giving them too much credit, Lu," he held up the letters. "But I'll take these with me, for the next time I head that way."

As is it turned out, he ended up heading that way within days, after he awoke in a random bed in a random tavern next to a random brunette with freckles on her back. Fumbling around his pack in attempt to find his water skin, his fingers brushed against a folded piece of vellum.

He pulled it out with a frustrated sigh. He knew exactly what it was- a short note to Brand explaining that Bryce's nameday gift, a wooden frog, was in a box in Anders' wardrobe.

And he'd meant to leave this on her desk, so that she would be able to find the toy and take it with them to Redcliffe, where they'd be celebrating. Anders had been so excited to discover the frog, knowing that Bryce would probably go crazy when he discovered the mechanism that allowed it to croak.

Now, though, it was uncertain that he'd ever receive it. Anders had no idea how long Brand would wait for him to return, how long she'd leave his room vacant. If they did move someone else in, would she sort through his abandoned belongings? Or would someone else find the box and discard the present?

He crumpled the note, letting it drop into his pack.

He'd missed the point entirely.

His rash decision to leave the Wardens was because he felt like a fool for waiting for Brand all those years while she was slowly learning how to be content with her own situation. But, until the moment he thought it, he'd not felt foolish. As a matter of fact, he'd been happy. He could come and go as he pleased from his home full of people who respected him. He had a purpose- helping other mages discover worth that had been taken from them by the Chantry, and he was helping them prove their worth to others.

He had Brand. He had her support, her friendship and her commitment to his freedom, which she seemed to cherish far more than her own.

Best of all, he had her smile and her laughter whenever he wanted it, and double because he also had Bryce who was Brand in miniature and his feelings for her had spilled onto him and he didn't spend time with them because he wanted more, he spent time with them because he was happy with what he had.

He fell out of the bed, pulled on his hastily discarded clothing, and left random brunette to wake up alone.

He took his horse and Ser Pounce-a-lot and headed back towards Amaranthine, via Gosport. There he'd deliver Lucille's letters and then return to the Vigil, hopefully before Brand had returned from Redcliffe. He'd let himself into her apartment and leave Bryce's gift on his bed for when he returned and, if anyone asked why he'd come back, he'd say that the Grey Wardens were his family.

Because they were.

But things were never easy for him when he was on his own. He arrived at the Amell's inn only hours before word of Arl Teagan's death came through the door with one of Teyrn Fergus' couriers. Anders had been drinking with Coire, laughing over nonsense and then the sweet cider that Anders so enjoyed turned bitter on his tongue and...

"Is Brand all right?" Panic gripped him, cold and black. The courier nodded and explained what happened- bandits had attacked just outside of the village. Arl Teagan and their mabari were killed; the Arlessa had escaped with minor injuries. Their son was at Redcliffe Castle when it happened, safe with Arl Eamon.

With Brand and Bryce accounted for, Anders was able to fret over the other thing- how suspicious it was that he had left shortly before Teagan's death and how even more suspicious it would be if he returned now.

His heart racing, he booked a room that he never saw because pretty Beatrice invited him to stay the night with her and he did.

It was nice.

Nicer than it had been in years, to be honest. If he hadn't been so distracted, it probably would have been enough to keep him there. As it was, he stayed with her for two months and hoped that what he was doing wasn't cruel.

Fortunately, Beatrice was a smart girl. She had known where he was heading and she knew why he felt like he couldn't continue.

And then she pushed him out.

"Before I get too attached and you run out of rope," her eyes were sympathetic. "You will always want to be with them, Anders. The longer you wait, the worse it looks."

And waiting had gotten him into trouble before, so he went back to the Vigil. He went back to the Vigil and tried not to see how Nathaniel and Garavel looked at him, choosing instead to be embraced by Sigrun and affectionately scowled at by Fiona. Despite it being the worst idea ever, he went to Brand's apartment without stopping by his room first.

The door was unlocked and he found her in the sitting room, stretched out on the settee and staring into the fireplace. Her face was as blank as it had been the morning she'd told him she had quit being a wife. And, like that morning, when she saw him recognition flashed and he felt the momentary pull of desire before she could lock that part of herself back up.

"I was more concerned about Charon," she focused on the fire. "I tried to love him, I tried to make it happen and I thought it might. But in the end, I was more concerned about my damned mabari than I was about my husband."

Anders knew it wasn't that simple as he left his pack in the hallway and pulled her up so that he could sit next to her on the couch. They remained in silence for several minutes, the warmth of the fire nothing compared to the warmth they were generating in the space between them.

Which they ignored. Of course.

"I've been waiting two months to say that," she turned so that her eyes could meet his. They were far from empty and shining with tears. "I found Bryce's frog. He's probably sleeping with it right now."

"So my room has been reassigned?" Anders felt odd talking about this now.

"What? No," she looked vaguely guilty. "Bryce was asking about you and I thought I might find something I could, you know, give him. Maybe smooth the transition a little. The frog was perfect."

"I know," he leaned his head forward. They were so close, and the room was so warm and she was looking at him and there was real longing there...and sadness."I'm sorry, Brand. I should have been here for you."

"You're here now," she touched the back of his hand, which was now on her stomach.

That's not right.

He blinked and he wasn't sitting beside her but rather kneeling next to her where she was lying on her back on the sofa in the Castle Cousland library. He blinked a second time and saw again the way the skirt of her dress was pushed up around her waist, and there were damp spots on her bodice...

"Brand, what did they do to you?"

She was dead-eyed again, one hand under his, the other on top. Beneath them all was her scarf.

"They came here after the talk...," she wouldn't look at him. "They...I let them sex ambush me."

Oh, Brand. He tried to ignore the way it burned beneath his breast, the idea of them with her. It had been one thing to think of her young and bright and seducing them at a garden party, and another thing for anyone to be with her now. In this state.

"They were beautiful, and it felt good," her hand tightened around the scarf and she closed her eyes. "I couldn't bring myself to go to you, because that would have hurt."

"Brand, you have to come to me now. Come back and tell me what's wrong," his hand went to her face, pushing her hair away from her temple, both skin and hair damp with sweat. "I can't help you until I know."

"I didn't want to hurt you, not like that," her breath caught. "So this happened instead. I thought if you saw us, it would at least be a good story, rather than just being...sad."

He could tell by looking at her, by the way she was yearning towards him and the way she was still wearing everything she should be wearing that the Hopewells hadn't been with her for very long.

"Did you ask them to leave?"

"They found my scarf," it didn't match her dress, so she'd worn it beneath, around her waist. He'd secured it there himself while they were getting dressed for dinner. "I don't remember if I asked or if they knew. It doesn't matter, Anders. I let them...when I should have been talking to you."

She made the admission in the same detached voice she'd been using since he'd found her, and it was so far removed from whatever had happened between her and Fergus, and her and the Hopewells, and she would rather do it like this than tell him the truth.

"I know what you're doing, Brand," he closed his eyes for a few seconds and thought of all the times before that he'd been too late, or he'd waited too long, or he'd remained quiet when he should have said something. He felt like this entire week had been spent trying to get through to her, to let her know that she didn't have to do this anymore. "You don't have to be alone, ever. Even if I'm at the Vigil, and you're in Redcliffe, write to me or shout at a portrait of me. Put it all in a journal to give me when I visit, or you visit, or we meet halfway in some inn that will charge extra for all the complaints they receive about us. Just...give it to me. I can't watch you poison yourself, I can't let you do to me what you did to Alistair. I won't. I won't let you hurt either of us like that, because you think you have to do it all alone. Because you don't."

She was crying now, her chest hitching as she tried to catch her breath and he could actually feel it now, her anguish rushing over him and Maker, no wonder she's drunk.

"Why?"

It came out, barely above a whisper.

"I don't know," he laughed, although his own eyes were stinging with tears. "I don't know why I put up with you, or why I waited all these years for you or why I would do it again. I'm a little confused why I'm even here right now when I could probably be with the Hopewells. Their standards seem to be pretty low this evening."

Her hand found his cheek and she tried to smile at him, but failed.

"Bryce will stay at the Vigil, as a squire," and this was the real reason for the pain, this was truly what she'd been trying to avoid. "He'll be safe, and free, and happy and...so far away from me."

Anders could feel her fingers trembling against his jaw and he caught her hand and kissed it, trying to think of something reassuring to say.

"I promise I'll teach him to write so you can get the full Bryce effect as soon as you can, and we will write you every day if you want," her fingers were now on his neck and pulling him closer. "We'll visit as often as we can and I'll fret over his hair. And he will never not know that you're thinking about him all the time because I will never stop telling him how much you love him and how much you miss him."

"Can you tell yourself that, too?" They were so close, and the room was so warm and she was looking at him and there was real longing there..."Or should I train Bryce? Would that be weird?"

"You could say it now," his lips found hers before she could say anything. "Or you could show me and save the saying for when we're not alone, or for letters."

She looked him in the eye, hers still bright with tears.

"I don't know how much this means to you, but no place will feel like home without you," she tried another smile, successfully this time. "I've been waiting for years to say that...or some version of it. I was hoping for something more positive, but it seems like we're going to have to grab what we can and make the most of it."

Making the most of it would definitely work for him, especially when it came to her. Besides, he'd waited far too long to allow any more of these moments to pass him by.