"If you're here to tell me to rest, I don't want to hear it."
"Since when have I ever lectured you?" Anders stands just outside of Rhyanon's quarters, unwilling to enter without her permission. It's not like they never shared a bedroom as kids, but they're not kids anymore, and this is a boundary that seems unwise to cross carelessly.
She's sitting cross-legged on the end of her bed, looking up at him. There are dark shadows under her eyes that make him worry – she does need to get some sleep, if she's going to really recover from her earlier ordeal.
"Are you here checking up on me?"
"Can you blame me?"
Rhyanon shakes her head, and then tells him to stop standing in the doorway.
Anders enters the room cautiously, then sits down next to her, letting his legs drape over the side of the bed. Now that he's here, he isn't sure what to say. When did things get so complicated between them?
"This isn't just about the darkspawn poison, is it?"
"I promise I'm not here to lecture you."
"I know, Anders. I know. It's just..." She takes a deep breath, then blows it out, slowly, deliberately. "It's just that, of all the people here, you're the only one who can possibly know how full of shit I am." Anders' brow furrows with confusion, as he tries to puzzle out what she means. Rhyanon sighs, and rubs at her forehead as if warding off a headache. "You really think that I can be what they're all expecting?" she asks. "A Commander? An Arlessa?"
"You're doing fine from what I can see."
"If that was true, you wouldn't look so worried."
Anders winces. Guilty as charged. "You just need to get a little more sleep, that's all."
"Do you really think I haven't tried?"
"Is that what this is about? You're having nightmares?"
"I'm used to nightmares, Anders. This... this is different."
And there it is. She is vulnerable, hurt and lonely and half-broken, and looking to him for help. Anders isn't at all sure he'd have stayed here with the Wardens if it weren't for Rhyanon, but he is absolutely sure that because it is her, he has to stay.
He puts his arm around her, pulling her close the way he had when they were younger. He half expects her to pull away, but she doesn't. "Close your eyes," he says softly. She looks at him sideways, for a moment, but she knows what he's doing, and she's willing to play along. She does as he asks.
Anders hums to himself, and to her, and then patters his fingertips down her spine, soft raindrops that come from a place where neither of them had been allowed to experience real rain. This has always worked to relax her, since she was seven years old.
"Rhyanon?"
"Mmm?"
"Do you want to talk about it?"
She tenses in his arms, at war with herself. Anders won't push. He doesn't need to, for one, and how can he judge her for keeping secrets? He has so many himself. But she surprises him by opening up, just a little. She does it in fits and starts, little hiccups of words and stories spilling out a little at a time. He'd spent a year locked up in a cell, and struggled through a little of the Blight in his last escape. But Rhyanon has been through a hell of her own, and she is beginning to break because of it.
And worse than that, far worse than the general sense of loss and pain that the Blight poured out over everyone, is Rhyanon's critical loss. Anders isn't sure he knows what it feels like to love someone, but listening to Rhyanon's voice in the quiet room, he knows how much it hurts to lose someone. The pain of it is still raw even now, her heart is still in the process of breaking. She never let it heal over. She doesn't know how.
Anders listens to the rhythm of their breathing, and he lets his eyes close as he wonders if he should return her trust in him with a little of his own, if he should tell her his own story. Or would that just be selfish? This isn't supposed to be about him. "I'm sorry," he finally murmurs. Rhyanon looks up, her eyes widening as she shakes her head.
"I don't think anyone's ever said that to me since – Not once."
Anders nods. He understands her point. Mages aren't usually the type of people anyone apologizes to. Shitty as that is. His fingers are still resting lightly on her spine. Her presence in his arms make him feel comfortable, and safe, and he desperately wants to give a little bit of that back to her. His heart aches as he tries to make that possible. "I don't really know how to make this better," he admits. Some things you can't make better. Maker knows he's become well acquainted with that truth.
Rhyanon squirms a little in his arms.
There is so much under the surface for both of them. They had once been inseparable. But they've learned that the Circle can separate anyone, and it's not always so easy to come back together. No matter how much they may want to. Rhyanon is looking at Anders the same way she used to back then, taking on guilt that doesn't belong to her, feeling like everything is her fault.
"Rhyanon, there's nothing you could have done to change it. Not what happened to him, and not what happened to me, either. You know that, don't you?"
Rhyanon gives him a look that could kill, a look he recognizes all too well, from their days in the Circle. That stubborn look that somehow makes it all too clear she thinks he's an idiot. "You weren't there," she demands.
Anders almost – almost – protests. But turning this into an argument won't help anyone. "That's true," he says softly. "I wasn't."
Eventually Anders gives Rhyanon a good chunk of his supply of sleeping potion, though he leaves her the choice of whether or not to use it. She's still holding it in her hand, looking it over, when he leaves the room. But she's still asleep the next morning when he heads down to the main hall for breakfast, or at least that's the word from Oghren, and Anders sees no reason for the dwarf to lie. He feels a little bit better knowing that Rhyanon is getting the rest she so obviously needs.
He sits down at the only free space available at the table, next to Nathaniel Howe. The man looks him up and down, and frowns. "You look terrible."
Anders raises an eyebrow. "Thanks for noticing?" The words practically drip with sarcasm.
Nathaniel just gives a shrug and starts shoveling food into his mouth, like he doesn't care either way. He probably doesn't.
Anders reaches for a plate of his own and starts piling it high with sausage, bread, and assorted fruit. The handful of Wardens eat enough to feed a conventional army, all on their own. As he sits there, he taps his mana to make himself a bit more alert. It's not the first time he's wondered if he ought to try using the same sleeping potion he'd given Rhyanon to help himself get a bit more rest at night. Maybe tonight, he tells himself. He does so every night.
Despite his attempts to pace himself, Anders is the first to finish his meal. "I'm going outside," he announces.
"We'll see you there," Oghren replies.
Anders gives the dwarf a slight nod that he hopes is polite enough, and then books it out of the main hall as fast as can without actually running. It's not that the large room was particularly confining, but he still feels better out under the open sky. He wanders toward the training yard. Without any of the other Wardens out here to watch him making a fool of himself, he feels more comfortable grabbing one of the training weapons and working his way through a few forms. The swords still make him nervous, but he finds a staff that feels solid and reassuring in his hands. The heavy wood gives him something to push against, and, even better, the straw dummies in the middle of the field give him something to fight.
He imagines those formless shapes as templars, and as darkspawn, and he whirls his staff against the nearest one's head. Straw flies off in all directions after a satisfying thwack, and Anders grins. He hits the dummy, again and again and again, until he is soaked with sweat and breathing hard.
"A dummy won't hit back," Rhyanon points out, when Anders has stopped to take a drink of water. He whirls around, to see her watching him from the other side of the low fence that rings the yard.
"I thought you were asleep."
"I was. I'm not now. But thank you for the magic elixir. It did help."
"I'm glad."
"There's no shame in using it, you know."
Anders shrugs. He knows Rhyanon wouldn't look down on him for having nightmares, but he's gotten used to having to deal with things on his own. "I'm thinking about it," he tells her honestly.
Rhyanon shrugs too. She won't pressure him either way, and they both know it. But she's worried about him. She can't hide it. She never could.
"Do you want to spar?" she asks, nodding toward the training field.
Anders smiles. "Sure. Those dummies have probably had all they can take anyway."
Rhyanon nods, and the two of them step out onto the field.
"Do you still not want to let me fight with magic?" Anders asks.
Rhyanon looks at him for a long moment, turning the idea over in her mind. But then she shakes her head. "No. I want you to fight however you fight best."
Anders nods.
The two of them had never really gone up against each other in the Circle, not even for practice. Rhyanon is surprised by how difficult a fight it is. She supposes she shouldn't be, having seen what Anders can do against the darkspawn.
She can feel the pressure of his mana clashing against hers, even before he shapes it into the kinds of primal spells that can cause real damage. Lightning crackles out from his palm, forming a ball the size of a closed fist that flies toward her face. She ducks, just in time, and comes up breathing heavily. In retaliation, she launches a ball of fire. There is a part of her that is afraid that she might accidentally hurt him, but his quick reflexes keep him safe enough. At least they do until the moment she throws a crackling ball of ice and hits him straight in the chest. The cold spell crashes against the ill-fitting armor Anders is wearing, but he still goes down.
Rhyanon runs to him, falling to her knees so that she can check on him. "Are you all right?"
Anders groans, struggling to sit up. But he manages, with her help. "Ow," he complains.
"What were you thinking?"
"Nothing. It was just an accident, right, Rhyanon? I'm fine, I swear."
"You're not fine," Rhyanon demands. She'd seen him, just before the ice spell hit. He'd looked like he was blacking out or something.
Anders looks at her and seems to know that he'd been caught hiding... whatever it is he's hiding. Rhyanon has always been perceptive. She knows him too well for him to be able to hide anything from her. So he just takes a deep breath and looks her in the eye. Without realizing it, he's curled up the same way he had on his bunk in Kinloch Hold, when he'd been trying to avoid talking to her about solitary. It's the same situation now. But they're both outside in the sunlight, on a pleasantly warm day. Birds are chirping. He takes another deep breath and holds onto that. What he knows. What he can see. He lets the breath out slowly.
"You're right," he says to Rhyanon. "I'm not fine."
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
He shrugs. He genuinely doesn't know. If he could solve his own dysfunctions, he wouldn't be in the mess he's in now. He tells her that.
"Anders, this isn't your fault," is Rhyanon's reply. It's a lot less accusatory than a lot of what she'd said when they were in the Circle together. But she's been bruised and battered quite a bit herself, since then. And he still loves her anyway.
Anders squeezes his eyes shut as soon as the thought crosses his mind. He can't admit to that out loud, can he? He's not supposed to love her. He's known her since she was a little kid, she is his closest friend. And neither of them have ever wanted anything more than that. Right?
She'd asked him, earlier, if he wanted to stay. Of course he does. He'll do anything to be able to stay by her side. He may be broken, but it's the kind of broken that's better with her around.
"Anders. Talk to me. Please."
Anders doesn't ever have trouble talking to anyone. But he hasn't said a word to her all morning, even though this trip to Amaranthine was his idea.
"Anders? Are you alright?"
For a long moment, he says nothing, and Rhyanon is sure that he will continue ignoring her. But then he stops. The horse nickers softly in the quiet, and Anders shakes his head. "I can't sleep. I can't... nothing feels right to me, Rhyanon. Nothing feels like anything, no matter how much I try."
"What are you talking about?" Rhyanon speaks so softly that at first she isn't even sure Anders will be able to hear her. Her voice falters as she tries to force the words out. Because she knows what he's talking about. She feels it too. She just never expected that Anders would understand. He has been taking such good care of her that she'd almost forgotten all the very good reasons she has to be worried about him.
"Rhyanon," Anders says, as he slips off his horse and holds his hand out to her. "Come on."
She follows his lead, and the two of them wind up sitting together in a fallow field, nowhere near the city. Anders wraps his arm around her. "I've been waiting for things to get better," he admits. "But they haven't. It feels like they're only getting worse, and that doesn't make any sense."
"Anders, you know I'm here for you."
"I know. And that just makes me feel worse."
"But you invited me out here on this... what is this?"
"I don't know. I just wanted to talk to you. I wanted to... to try to make things work."
"And when you say 'make things work,' what exactly are you talking about?"
"I don't know, Rhyanon. I just want things to be like they were."
"Like they were when?"
"I don't know. When we were kids. Before everything fell apart."
"Anders, everything was always broken." She doesn't understand what he wants. Is he actually talking about the Circle like it was something good? Whatever he's remembering, it isn't the same as what she remembers, clearly.
"Maybe you're right. Come on. Let's just go back to Vigil's Keep."
"What? No! Come on, I want to go to Amaranthine with you, Anders."
"You do?"
"Yes. Maybe... maybe we can make things be like they were."
"Or like we wanted them to be," Anders murmurs. Rhyanon nods. That sounds a lot more plausible, anyway.
"It can't be that hard," she insists. "I ended the Blight. Everyone said that was impossible. We should be able to figure out how to make things... not broken."
"It seems like a good goal."
He moves to get back on his horse, but before he can mount up, Rhyanon grabs his hand. "Anders, wait." She stands on tiptoe, and kisses him. It's tentative and awkward, but Anders doesn't pull away. And when Rhyanon breaks off, he is smiling. He waits until Rhyanon climbs onto her own horse before he follows suit.
They don't reach Amaranthine until late afternoon, but Anders is actually okay with that. The imminent sunset adds to his plan for a romantic, perfect day, or as close to one as he can create. The warmth from Rhyanon's earlier kiss still lingers, and boosts his mood. He puts his hands in hers as soon as they stable the horses, and the two of them walk slowly through the crowded streets of the city as the sky's colors change from blues to pinks and oranges as the sun goes down. Anders guides Rhyanon to a restaurant on the waterfront. It's the kind of place neither of them can afford, except that Anders has never worried about money, always relying on his charm to get by. And Rhyanon is famous.
"Warden Commander!" the proprietor squeaks. "Please, come in. You do me a great honor."
Rhyanon smiles shyly. Even this many months after the Blight, she isn't used to being seen as a hero.
The short man with his beaming smile leads her and Anders to a table with a view of the boats tied to the docks. "You will have the house special!" he announces.
Anders smiles. "That'll be fine."
Half an hour later, he and Rhyanon are dining on pasta and seafood, and it is exquisite. "You're smiling," he points out, watching Rhyanon.
"This is nice," she agrees. "Thank you, Anders."
"You're welcome."
Rhyanon winds up asking the restaurant owner if he can recommend a good place for them to stay the night. The man smiles knowingly, but he seems all too happy to give her the name of an inn only a few blocks away. When Rhyanon pushes open the door to the room, a large bed greets her.
"I'll sleep on the floor," Anders offers.
"Don't be silly. There's plenty of room for both of us."
Anders nods. But he sleeps in his clothes. He doesn't want to make any assumptions or do anything wrong. He cares about Rhyanon too much for that.
She too sleeps fully dressed, but it is still the most comfortable sleep she's had in months. At least it starts that way. Rather than stay awake, tossing and turning and frustratingly unable to drift into slumber, she feels relaxed and calm with Anders next to her. Her eyes slip closed, her breathing slows, and then she's out. The rest she gets is sorely needed. But far before the sun comes up the next morning, her eyes snap open again. She rolls over, keenly aware even before she does so that she is not the only one awake.
"Anders?" she murmurs. "Are you alright?"
He boosts himself up on his elbow so he can get a better look at her. "Better now," he says.
Rhyanon nods in understanding. "Bad dreams?"
"How can you do this every night?"
Rhyanon lets out a heavy sigh. He's right. It's not really something you can get used to. "There's not really another choice, is there?"
"No. I guess not." He reaches out, tentatively, and tucks her hair behind her ear. "I meant it. It really is better with you here. I missed you so much when... when you were gone." He falters slightly, but they both know what he means. She was gone. He was locked up. This past year has been hell for both of them.
Anders sits up, jiggling his leg up and down, looking over his shoulder at Rhyanon. She's used to this kind of behavior from him, this need for motion. "Why don't we go for a walk?" she says.
Her suggestion of movement seems to make Anders realize his edginess. He stills, and stares at her. Then he rubs his face with his hand, and nods. "Okay," he says, a little hesitantly. But Rhyanon takes his acceptance as a sign of enthusiasm, and she smiles. By the time they've reached the first floor of the inn, they are walking hand in hand. Once they've made it onto the streets, which are bustling with workers headed for their day's labor, the nervousness he'd displayed indoors is gone completely, replaced by a boyish cheerfulness. He practically runs ahead of Rhyanon in his eagerness to get to the waterfront. He scrambles up onto the pier, turning back to Rhyanon, who is walking at a far more leisurely pace. He takes her hand and helps her up onto the rickety wooden posts of the dock, and holds her close so that she can see the sunrise.
The colors tinting the sky are truly beautiful: pinks and oranges and reds that lighten into morning. There is a natural sense of magic in it that makes him feel refreshed in a way that feels more sustainable and true than even a night's unbroken sleep. From the tiny smile visible on Rhyanon's face, she feels the same way. But she remains silent. Distant. She lets Anders hold her, but her body is tense.
"What's wrong?" he asks quietly. Rhyanon shakes her head. "Don't say 'nothing,'" Anders insists, before she can do exactly that.
Rhyanon takes a long time before she answers the question. When she speaks, it's with halting starts and stops. "I just was remembering... the last time I saw a sunrise like this... I mean, really saw it."
"It was with him, wasn't it?"
"Alistair. Yes. He used to sit with me early in the mornings, before we had to break camp or go anywhere. Before we had to fight. Anders, he had this... this gift for finding beautiful things."
"Like you," Anders murmurs. The words slip out before he can stop them. Once they're out, he doesn't want to take them back. "He found beautiful things like you," he confirms.
"Anders..."
"It's okay. It's not... I'm not... asking for anything. I just wanted you to know. After all this time. After everything, you deserve to know."
"Was that what this was all about?" Rhyanon demands. Her voice is soft, but there is a hard edge to it that makes it obvious that it is a demand. "You brought me into the city to... what? To tell me you love me?"
"I didn't mean to, Rhyanon, I just... it just happened." But just because it wasn't planned doesn't mean it isn't true. He had spent so many days alone when the thought of her was the only thing that kept him going. Kept him sane. She's been a lifeline for him since the day they first met. "I'm sorry," he pleads. "Forget I said anything."
Rhyanon sighs heavily. "This isn't the kind of thing I can forget," she points out. But rather than push him away the way Anders is expecting, she takes his hand, and looks up into his eyes. "Anders, listen to me." She won't let him look away, won't let him break the contact between them. He nods his understanding. And he listens. "You're right. There's too... too much between us. There's too much us to forget. I'm not sure what that means yet. But I'm willing to try to find out. If you are."
Anders nods desperately. "Of course I am, Rhyanon." There is an aching emptiness inside of him that only she is able to fill. Of course he's willing to try.
He hugs Rhyanon close to him, wraps his arms around her, and this time she lets him. After several long moments, he breaks off the hug. They walk hand in hand down the narrow pathways on the edge of the docks, listening as the sailors shout over the wind. A string of paper lanterns hanging overhead between two balconies overlooking an alleyway guides them away from the waterfront and deeper into the city. At the other end of the alleyway, the streets widen into a market square. Anders grins, pulling Rhyanon into the carefully controlled chaos of shoppers and sellers hawking their wares. Small children run through the crowds, and musicians perch at the street corners playing their instruments and nodding toward hats or cups at their feet, hoping for coins from the people passing by. Rhyanon stands in the middle of it all, trying to get a feel for the city that she is now suddenly in charge of and responsible for.
"They're happy," she tells Anders, and it seems for the most part to be true. This isn't a city like Denerim, heavy with the weight of war and the fear of the Blight. Amaranthine's relative prosperity seems untouched, and though there are whispers of darkspawn out in the farms and fields, within the city itself no one seems to know that they ought to be afraid. Rhyanon wonders if they'd listen to her if she told them what dangers lurk outside the walls.
"Good," Anders says, in response to her comment. He squeezes her hand, willing her to be happy too, even if just for a moment.
"What happened?" Nathaniel asks, as Rhyanon hands her horse off to the groom at Vigil's Keep's stables. She turns to her second-in-command.
"What are you talking about?"
Nathaniel waves a hand, flourishing it to take in her head and body, all of her. "You look different," he insists.
"Nothing happened."
Anders comes up behind the two of them, having taken a bit longer to take care of his horse. Nathaniel's jaw drops a little when he sees the other man. "I should've known," he mutters.
"Nothing happened," Rhyanon repeats, although she knows that Nathaniel will believe what he believes and there will be no convincing him that he's wrong.
Anders steps up next to her, and takes her hand. Rhyanon could pull away, if she really wanted to put to rest the rumors that will certainly be spreading soon among the Wardens – even Varel seems to look at her differently. But it feels too good to walk side by side with Anders again. She doesn't let go of his hand.
There are a thousand things that she is supposed to do, as Commander of the Grey. Even Anders isn't enough to get her to back down from her obligations. They fill her time and her thoughts in a way that Anders' presence alone can't do. So she gets back to them, diving in with her full self.
Anders sits on the edge of her desk as she deals with ledgers and paperwork. Rhyanon knows Anders is smart, despite his tendency when they were young to blow off his schoolwork. "You can help me with this, you know." He smiles at her, but after a moment, he nods. He's willing. Maybe just because it's her that's asking.
Both of them lean over the desk, as Rhyanon reads dozens of requests and lists and missives needing her attention, her brow furrowed in concentration. A jolt of something like electricity shoots up her spine as Anders' thumb brushes over her hand. She looks up, meeting his caramel-colored eyes.
"What do you want?" she asks him. She barely lifts her voice above the level of a whisper. She's prepared for him to ask a question about the books and documents spread out in front of them, or even for him to complain about being hungry; she's ready for him to tease her or offer a joke. But he doesn't do any of that. Instead, he leans in a little closer to her, and kisses her, slowly and deeply, until she's hungering for more and she reaches out to draw him in a little closer.
They are both truly breathless by the time the kiss breaks, and after they have taken a few desperate gulps of air, Rhyanon kisses Anders again. He smiles, she can feels the upward quirking of his lips, and then their mouths are open and they are tasting one another, pulling one another close.
"Rhyanon," Anders murmurs, the next time they stop to breathe. She nods, urging him to continue saying whatever he needs to say. "Can we take a break?"
"Maker, yes."
They practically run up to her quarters.
The next morning, Nathaniel doesn't even say anything, he just raises an eyebrow as Rhyanon sits across from him at the breakfast table. Anders is sitting next to her, so close that their bodies are practically entwined. Rhyanon throws a rolled up napkin at Nathaniel, and further down the table, Oghren laughs knowingly. "Good for you, Sparklefingers."
"Shut up, the lot of you," Rhyanon protests. But she is grinning. She is happy. Anders makes her happy. The knowledge doesn't come without its shadow, of course. Feeling happy at all – and especially with Anders – feels like an unforgivable betrayal of Alistair. Her grief at his absence sweeps over her, causing her stomach to knot painfully and tears to threaten to spill from her eyes. She ducks her head and grabs a roll from the bread basket on the table, stuffing it into her mouth. She chews mechanically, knowing that her body needs nutrition despite the pain that guilt has ignited deep inside.
"Are you alright?" Anders asks quietly. Rhyanon nods, unwilling to deal with the questions he will certainly ask.
And anyway, she has to be alright, so she will be.