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Firelight plays on their naked forms, sprawled on the bearskin rug. His tongue explores her mouth, one hand is in her golden hair, the other fondles her breast. She strokes him while she squeezes herself rhythmically against his thigh. It's gone on like this for ages, and she's more than ready for him to raise himself above her and spread her legs with one knee, for him to gaze darkly into her eyes and tease her with his rock-hard prick until she's whimpering and ready to beg. But as he prepares for his initial thrust, an alabaster hand reaches out to caress his ribs. He leans back and takes the hand in his. He smiles and rises to follow her, the pale, dark-haired vixen, as she leads him to the bed. She bids him lie down, climbs over him, straddles his waist. Taking him in hand, she slides herself slowly, ever so slowly, down, onto his cock, and it seems to take forever, and when he's finally buried deep and they moan in unison, she looks over her shoulder at Anja and smirks.
Anja woke with her hand between her legs and came a split-second later. As her breathing and heartbeat slowed, she wondered how long ago she'd stopped crying about this dream.
Maker take you, Morrigan.
She rolled over and went back to sleep.
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The next morning she was woke up feeling guilty about the dream. Alistair had never asked to sleep with Morrigan; she'd talked him into it, and it was hardly fair to feel so bitter about it, no matter how much the thought of them together haunted and disgusted her.
She retrieved quill, ink, and parchment from her trunk, and sat down at her desk to write him a letter.
Dearest Alistair,
I know this letter won't reach you for at least another week, but I hope it finds you well and that your journey was a safe one. I also hope you'll take some time to rest and maybe even do some sight-seeing before you take up your business with the Warden Commander. I'm sure it was a hard journey, especially after a year's worth of hard journeys.
When I arrived at Vigil's Keep, the place was overrun by darkspawn. Some semblance of normalcy is returning, but there are mysterious goings-on and much work to do. The seneschal and his captain seem capable enough, as do the rest of the people here, so that gives me hope that we'll get everything sorted out eventually.
We have four new Warden recruits, and you won't believe who they include: our old friend Oghren, who sends his regards, and Nathaniel Howe, who most assuredly does not. Yes, he's the son of that viper. Suffice it to say that we're desperate enough to take him. Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on my back.
I'm glad we're doing meaningful things with our lives, but sometimes I find myself wishing we were born in another time—a more peaceful time, and we were apprentices, maybe, or shopkeepers, and we could enjoy a simple, quiet existence together instead of spending all our time fearing for our lives, or being apart, or both. In that case I might know the title of your favorite book by now, and what time of day you like best, and the name of that very large cat you had…maybe even something about your first crush. (Surely there was some little girl you had your eye on before Eamon sent you to the monastery? I can almost guarantee that some little girl had her eye on you…)
Then again, if we led those lives I'm sure we'd both be bored out of our skulls. I guess I can't have my cake and eat it too. More's the pity!
Please write to me as soon as you can and let me know how you are, and the outcome of your discussions with the Warden Commander. If we could convince him to send even fifty Wardens in the next few weeks, when it will matter most, it could make a world of difference.
Yours,
Anja
P.S. Please hold your nose and sample the Orlesian wines and cheeses. I know how you dislike fussy things, but it would be a shame not to at least try them. I'm so jealous. How I wish I could join you there! Maybe someday we can go together.
She left the ink to dry and gave herself a moment to imagine Alistair traipsing the streets of Val Royeaux. She really hoped he would at least take some time to see the Grand Cathedral and visit the markets. Surely he'd sample the wines and cheeses, as she'd suggested. In her mind's eye she saw him wandering among the crowds dressed in the clothing she'd helped him buy just before he left. They'd found yellow chausses, a fine linen shirt, and a green tunic that brought out the red in his hair and the green in his eyes. She'd rarely seen him out of his armor, but she was sure he was turning some heads.
She sighed and rose to prepare herself for the day.
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She and Varel spent most of the afternoon getting ready to conduct the Joining ceremony. Anja had put it off in order to induct as many people as possible at once, reducing the need for multiple preparations.
That evening, after the skies had turned from deep indigo to black, the initiates assembled in the main hall, joking nervously. Without fanfare Varel spoke the invocation, then began the rite.
To Anja's surprise, Mhairi, Oghren, and Nathaniel each made it through the ritual without incident. Both she and Varel held their breath as Anders raised the chalice to his lips. Strictly speaking, Anders' own odds were not affected by the three prior successes, but all the same it would be a rare event indeed to suffer no deaths in a four-person Joining.
When Anders' eyes went white and he fell to the floor, writhing in agony, she felt a chill run up her spine. But Varel quickly announced that he would make it. As Varel helped him up and Anders sputtered the words "ghastly" and "disgusting," she felt an outsized sense of relief. She tried to tell herself it was due primarily to his valuable healing abilities.
"Well done, everyone!" she said, clapping each of them on the back. "This calls for a celebration. Thanks to Oghren we don't have much ale left at the moment," she said, glaring at the dwarf, "but I have a feeling you'll be cheap drunks after what you've just gone through."
She ushered her new Wardens into the dining hall. They took seats at their usual table and she requested that the staff bring several tankards of ale.
"I don't know what you're all complaining about," Oghren muttered after his first gulp of beer. Anja decided that the foam in his beard and mustache didn't really do much for his appearance. "That Joining was a walk in the park. Actually, we got any more of that darkspawn blood? This beer could use a good chaser."
Anja flushed slightly, feeling guilty that she couldn't have told them beforehand just how dangerous it was.
It was as if Varel had read her mind. "I can tell you now," he said solemnly, "the survival rate of the Joining isn't much better than fifty percent."
Nathaniel gave a low whistle and looked at her coolly. "So, Commander. You almost came through with my death sentence after all." Anja had noticed a bit less animosity in his voice lately, but he certainly didn't sound happy right now. She really couldn't blame him.
Anders, too, gave her a dark look. "I hope you won't keep any more secrets like that from us, Commander," he said, before taking a long draught from his mug. "Don't get me wrong, I'm overjoyed to officially be free of the templars. But imagine my disappointment if I'd wound up dead instead!"
Anja nodded. "I understand, Anders. I had the same reaction myself when I found out."
"But if you told anyone the risk, there wouldn't be any Grey Wardens," Mhairi interrupted.
"Exactly right," Anja agreed.
She made a note to tell them the rest of the bad news the next day and not let it out in dribs and drabs as Duncan and Alistair had done to her. There was a lull as everyone stared into their beer, contemplating just how badly the evening could have turned out.
"So, Commander," Oghren began again. "When's your templar coming back to join us? In case you haven't noticed, we can use all the bodies we can get."
Anders coughed, almost choking on his beer. "Your lover is a templar?"
Anja groaned inwardly. Leave it to Oghren to bring this up at the least opportune moment. She hadn't planned to mention Alistair until just before he arrived, which could still be weeks away. She still needed to work out how Alistair would report to her without risking accusations of favoritism or worse from the others under her command. It was almost certainly going to be a tricky situation.
Anders was still looking at her, waiting for a response. Anja chuckled and shook her head. "He's not quite a templar. He completed his training but never took his vows."
Now Anders looked confused. "How does that work? The templars aren't exactly fond of letting people get away, whether they're mages or other templars."
"Too true," she agreed. "He was conscripted into the Wardens at the last minute. He's always been glad about that. He was really miserable."
A look of relief came over Anders' face. "Anyone who was miserable in templar training can't be all bad." He paused and tapped his chin. "So, a mage and an almost-templar? That could be a lot of fun, actually."
Anja regarding him quizzically, sipping her beer.
"Oh, you know," Anders prodded. "The spells and counter-spells, the whole smiting thing…that lovely, languorous feeling when you've been drained of all your mana…" He smiled at her roguishly.
Dear Maker, he was even more reckless than she would have guessed! Not that she, personally, would know about that kind of thing. Alistair had never been enthusiastic about magic in the bedroom. He said that thanks to his training, it only got his hackles up; he couldn't relax.
"Smiting is quite dangerous, Anders," she said, not bothering to hide her alarm. "In case you missed this bit, it's, ah…intended to kill you."
He snickered and shrugged. "Bit of pain heightens the pleasure, don't you find?" he asked with a wink.
Her eyes narrowed, and she set down her mug. He'd let something slip yesterday, and now he'd just given her the perfect opportunity to harass him about it. "So that raises an obvious question. What, exactly, have you been doing with that templar? You know, the female one, who you said always escorts you back to the Tower."
He rested his chin on folded arms and gazed up at her. "My dear, just how in Thedas do you think I've managed to escape the Tower seven times?"
For a second she felt tremendously envious of that templar. "Maker, Anders, I was joking! Don't you ever tell the truth?"
He looked at her innocently, all earnestness and raised eyebrows. "Who says I'm not?"
Shaking her head, she turned to Mhairi and changed the subject.
As the evening wore on her companions began excusing themselves. Varel retired first. Next, Oghren, Nathaniel, and Mhairi rose to leave. The Joining really had taken a lot out of them, she realized. Even Oghren, who could usually put it away all night, had only managed about a third of his usual intake.
Anja noticed that Nathaniel had pulled Mhairi's chair out for her. He was a noble's son, possessing manners befitting his station, but still. She was going to have to keep an eye on those two, for Mhairi's sake.
Anders rose last, but instead of leaving he walked slowly around to her side of the table, trailing long fingers along its rough-hewn surface, and took the seat to her left. He looked even more relaxed than usual, if that were possible, but he didn't seem the least bit tipsy.
Anja was feeling intoxicated, however, and she suspected it had little to do with the beer. She'd tried her best not to watch Anders' triceps twitch as he'd pulled out his chair. How in the Maker's name was a mage even built like that? This was the closest she'd ever been to him, and her heart beat noticeably faster as she tried to avoid staring at his clean, shiny hair, the bit of scruff on his jaw, those damnable feathers. He smelled faintly and quite pleasantly of Antivan herbal soap.
"I really like you, you know," he said, and reached up to tweak her nose. "It's a shame about that other fellow. Even if he isn't a templar."
Mild bells sounded in her head. It seemed he had picked up on her interest despite all her intentions to the contrary. Surely a beau posed no moral obstacle for him. Was he testing her?
"A shame for you, maybe," she replied. "I happen to like that other fellow." She eyed him carefully, looking amused. "Just what do you see in me, Anders? Try to be honest. I can smell bullshit a mile away."
He attempted to feign offense, his mouth open wide, but started laughing instead. "Is that some bonus Warden ability you picked up during your Joining?" His eyes were playful as he reached back and stroked his ponytail.
She smiled and rolled her eyes. "No, I think I've had it since birth. That's why it's foolproof."
"Oh, all right." He was playing at resignation now. "Let's say you weren't brilliant, formidable, strong-willed, all that. Wouldn't it be enough that I find you incredibly attractive?"
She drummed her fingers on the table and her green eyes did their best to burn a hole through him. "Don't you find every woman incredibly attractive, Anders? You were hitting on Andraste's statue the other day, if I recall correctly."
He chuckled. "Point! Okay, honestly? That's one of the things I like best about you. Reminds me of my parents. My father loved to tell stories. Okay, whoppers. My father loved to tell whoppers. And my mother loved to call him out on them. Preferably with an audience. The more people, the better."
"Aw, I like your mother already."
"I thought you would."
He gazed at her steadily, and she marveled at his manner. He was not aggressive or cocky, not plaintive or overeager, not calculating or deceitful. He was just open. He openly wanted her, and if he could have her, good, and if he couldn't, that was fine too. No hurt feelings. No drama.
She grinned, feeling like a cat ready to pounce. "So you're saying you just told a whopper when you said I'm incredibly attractive? And now I'm supposed to call you on it? It doesn't seem quite fair to ask me to do that, honestly."
"Maker—no!" He laughed, but for the first time she saw him look the slightest bit flustered. "A wag needs a foil, a straight man. You know what I mean. And you, my dear, are about as straight as they come."
Her brows knit; that irked her a little. What did he presume to know about her, other than what she'd chosen to show him? Of course she was terribly straight, but it was a tad disappointing to know that others saw it so plainly. She looked at him coyly. "I don't know, Anders. I might not be quite as straight as you think I am."
"Now that sounds promising." His eyes held mirth and mischief, but he made no move toward her. She had no doubt that if they were peers, though, sitting in some darkened tavern corner, he'd be lightly stroking the back of her neck, maybe tracing the curve of her ear—templar lover or no.
It really was time to get out of here before something regrettable happened. "I think I'll call it a night, Anders," she said, smiling sweetly. She stood to leave and he rose too, reaching for her hand and pressing it to his lips.
"Spoilsport." That grin again, then he let go of her hand. "Good night, Commander. And sweet dreams."
She turned and quickly headed for her room, trying not to look like she was running away. Once she'd cleaned up, gotten into bed, and closed her eyes, she immediately saw his face. In her imagination he was always smiling, his eyes always shining—so full of life. Surely no one could be like that all the time. Her mind was playing tricks on her. She was just trying, subconsciously, to put unhappy thoughts about Alistair out of her head. Right?