Anders

"Karl is gone, Anders," First Enchanter Irving said, his voice breathy and thin, older than Anders remembered. He sat heavily in the big oak chair behind his desk, groaning and looking uncharacteristically tired. "He went to Kirkwall to help."

"Gone to Kirkwall—to help what?" Anders's exasperation came through loud and clear. He threw up his hands with his frustration. "Are they redecorating? Exactly what was in Kirkwall that they needed him so desperately?"

"They were short on healing specialists," Irving said with a wheezing chuckle, "and quite long on apprentices. They've had terrible luck with enchanters running away or turning into abominations. So their First came here to recruit and Karl decided to go."

Anders fixed Irving with a glare, disbelieving what he was hearing. "Really? Without any sort of coercion, he volunteered to go? Are you certain he wasn't fleeing someone here? Maybe an abusive templar? What about the Knight-Commander Greagoir?"

Sighing heavily, Irving sat back in his chair and regarded Anders carefully. "To the best of my knowledge, it was his idea. I think he truly felt he could help there."

Anders finally sat down, slouching into the visitor's chair. "I just can't believe he would leave without saying goodbye, or writing, or something."

"It's none of my business, Anders, but after your last escape attempt, I think Karl expected to hear you were dead. We all did. Perhaps he decided he just couldn't bear watching his friend throw away his life for yet another attempted escape. Sometimes you just have to move on with your own life."

Anders stared past Irving, his funk deepening. "Kirkwall, though?" He shivered. "The tales that come out of that place." He shook his head sorrowfully. "Maybe I should go after him. I am officially recruiting for the Grey Wardens, so I'm certain I could…"

"No, Anders. Despite the treaties, most of the Knight-Commanders and First Enchanters are very protective of their mages. There's little chance they would let you recruit him.

"But you still haven't told me why you're here? You came all this way just to visit Karl?"

"Well, no," Anders lied. "I came to do some research on," he hesitated momentarily having neglected to think of a really good reason to return, "uh, dragons. We seem to run into them fairly frequently and the Warden-Commander thought it would be a good idea to do some thorough study on the topic. Mind if I stay awhile?"

Giving a wheezy, breathy chuckle, Irving nodded. "Of course, Anders. The library is always open to you. Your old room is even available since Karl is gone. You can have his bed. The loose brick has been repaired."

"Loose brick?" Anders feigned innocence. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Of course not." Irving struggled to get up from the chair.

Even though Anders and Irving had had their disagreements, a sharp pang of grief shot through Anders. Irving wasn't long for this world. He got up and offered his arm to the old man and helped him up. They walked to the First Enchanter's bedroom together, the old man still holding onto his arm as they went down the hall. He made pleasant, but meaningless chatter as they went.

"You'll need to tell me all about your time in the Wardens, Anders," Irving said when they reached his door.

"I will, First Enchanter. I should be here for a spell, so to speak."

"Ha!" Irving laughed, not sounding so wheezy this time. "That joke was old when Andraste was young."

They bid one another goodnight and Anders went back to his old room and began to settle in. It was quick since he didn't have any of his belongings with him, just his staff and the clothes on his back. Oh, and a red ribbon he had once taken from Lucy. He kept it tied around his wrist.

Zevran

Galloping across Ferelden was far better than walking across Ferelden, Zevran decided. He remembered making this trek to the Mage's Circle on more than one occasion and it always seemed like an endless distance when you walked. Maybe it was the flatness of the terrain. Farmlands and forest, forest and farmlands, it never changed all that much. Periodically a village broke the monotony.

It would have been far more enjoyable to ride Lucy, she was a splendid mount, but this horse was acceptable. If all went well, he would be at the Circle tower in another two days. If Lucy hadn't found Anders in Amaranthine, she would fly to the tower. Most likely she would get there several days before him. They agreed that she would wait for him there. If she had found Anders then they would have been waiting for him at the Spoiled Princess, the little inn outside of the Circle tower. However, she wasn't there when he arrived.

Arriving at the little village as the sun was going down, he encountered a templar standing guard over a rowboat.

"Good day, Ser Templar," Zevran said. "Is this the official conveyance to the mage tower?"

The templar, a bored expression on his face, looked over Zevran and sniffed disdainfully. An elf looking to get into the tower? That was newsworthy. He was probably one of those Dalish elves, but he didn't have those swirly lines all over his face. So he must be a Dalish elf in disguise! He was probably here to rescue one of those Dalish curators, or no, that wasn't right. Damn his brain! It was getting harder and harder to remember. Dalish custodian? No, not quite right. They were the protectors of the Dalish, the guardians… the gatekeepers? Keeper! That was it.

"Err, sorry. What was your question again? Ah hell, it doesn't matter. The answer is 'No'. No you may not go to the tower and rescue your… uh, keeper of Dalishness."

Ah, a lyrium-addled templar. What fun. "Ah, of course. No doubt you see the tattoos on my face and think, because of them, I must be Dalish?" Zevran's facial tattoos had been removed, of course, when he had assumed the role of the mysterious Rivaini, Daniella.

"Wait, what tattoos?" the templar asked. He peered closer at Zevran, looking for any sign of them, perhaps covered by some clever means of concealment. The elf was rather dark-skinned, perhaps he had used a dye to hide them.

Zevran laughed heartily, if falsely. "Exactly! You spotted it right away didn't you? I can see why they trust you with this job. You're a tough man to fool."

The templar puffed out his chest. "You got that right. Knight-Commander Greagoir hand-picked me for this job. He said, 'Carroll, I've got the perfect job for you.' And then he sent me out here to keep watch of the boat and make sure no one rows across the lake without getting permission first."

"Very good," Zevran said. "They clearly picked the right man for the job. Well, now that you've figured out I'm a Dalish elf, I suppose you won't let me cross?"

Carroll squinted at the elf again. He was clearly trying to trick him, that much he knew for certain. Why was he trying to convince him he was Dalish? "You clearly have no tattoos, what are you trying to pull?"

"Ah ha! And because I have no facial tattoos that must mean…" Zevran trailed off meaningfully, waiting for Carroll to provide the conclusion.

"You're not a Dalish elf!"

"You sussed me out. Now that we have that out of the way, will you row me across?"

Carroll squinted at the shorter man, trying to remember what his instructions really had been. "Oh, to the void with it. Row yourself across. Lunch is probably ready at the tavern up the road."

"Very well, good ser. Best get your lunch while it is still hot. I'll just row myself across," Zevran said. He pushed the little boat into the water and deftly jumped in. He wasted no time setting the oars into their locks and rowing. The templar might start rethinking this at any moment and he wanted to be well underway.

Back on shore, Carroll took a pair of steps toward the Spoiled Princess then stopped. He turned around and yelled "Hey! You need to get permission first."

The elf waved at the templar but didn't stop rowing or return.

"Hm," Carroll mused, for the first time in a very long time. "How do they get permission without seeing the Knight-Commander, if he is in the tower?" He resumed walking toward the inn and his lunch. "Maybe it wasn't permission. Maybe it was persimmons? He likes those. Or musicians? Don't let any musicians over? A physician? That might be it. Don't let anyone come over without a physician. That sounds reasonable."

The smell of his lunch cooking drove the last memory of the elf out of his mind and after he'd had a hearty lunch and a lyrium-laced ale he walked back to his post and was surprised to find the boat was gone.

Lucy

I stopped a number of times on the way to the Vigil to see if anyone had spotted Anders and no one had. So much time alone with my thoughts, I began to worry. Every time I saw a crow I flew after it and cawed. What if Anders spent too much time in animal form? He might forget he was human.

My heart was breaking with all the unimaginable terrors I could concoct. Even if I did find Anders, what then? How could I let him go after everything we had been through together? In my mind, logically, there was only one solution: the same sort of arrangement we'd had with Riordan. I knew, just knew, that Zev and Anders had both had the same thought, but no one had dared utter it. That it worked once, a perfectly equilateral triangle, where all sides were even and connected, seemed unlikely to ever happen again. How do you even go about suggesting such a thing? Hey guys, we're all fairly hip, why don't we just crawl in the sack together and see what happens? Ugh. That was creepy sounding.

Then there was another part of me that said if we did this, it was the final step to completely replacing Riordan. No. I cawed sadly and winged my way on. I would never forget Riordan. How could I when Danny was a living reminder of him. Those moss-green eyes were definitely his. Someday that baby face might develop that rugged chin and those high-cheekbones. My Danny, when will I ever stop missing you?

So far I'd stopped at every village on the way to the Vigil and then I had detoured to Amaranthine. I spent several hours asking around after Anders. No one had seen him. So my next stop was the keep itself. Everyone was quite happy to see me, but no one had seen Anders or heard anything. It now seemed more likely that he had gone to the tower, but there were still a few more places I wanted to check.

I bid a hasty farewell to Nathaniel and promised I'd come soon for a longer visit. He looked quite happy and that lifted my spirits a little, but as soon as I was back in the sky, I began to feel sad again.

The road to Highever was my last place to check. I doubted he would dare poke his head into Fergus' territory as he was known as an associate of mine. I couldn't imagine Elissa's brother would resist the urge to keep close tabs on me. It wouldn't surprise me to find out he knew the nature of my relationship with Anders and he would take full advantage if he could.

I skirted the border of Cousland territories and stopped at a village to ask after Anders. Finally, after three days of searching, I was rewarded with a solid clue!

"Aye, m'lady, I saw someone matching that description." A man, mounted on horseback, told me. "He was walking down that road there, toward Lady's Well. It's a dozen miles or so from here. You might ask there." He gave me a friendly smile and tipped his hat. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm running a mite late." With that he spurred his horse and took off down the road at a good clip.

Finally, I had a lead after all these days of searching. I would need at least two days to fly to the Circle tower, but I had a few more days I could spend before I needed to meet up with Zevran at the tower, or the Spoiled Princess inn. The only thing I didn't like about this was that Lady's Well was in Fergus' territory, if just barely. I was eager to find Anders and get out of here. I had no doubt if Fergus got wind of him being here he'd do something horrible. That thought did little to cheer me up.

How to proceed? Walking was a solid option. I could ask anyone I met if they'd seen a tall, golden-haired stranger recently, one carrying a large staff. In a small village, he was likely to stick out as someone noteworthy. However, this was hostile territory. I should fly, scout for him from the air. When I got closer to the village, I could change and see if my Warden-senses could pick him up. So I feathered-up and took to the air once more.

This was splendid grazing land. It had been largely cleared of trees and vast flocks of sheep were dotted about here and there. Some of the land was fenced off and crops were growing. I flew the dozen miles to Lady's Well and made a couple of circuits around the village looking for somewhere to change form. I finally settled on an area behind some houses where some freshly laundered bedding had been hung to dry. I would have chosen a stand of trees, or otherwise sheltered area further from town, but the landscape just didn't offer any.

I landed on the clothesline and looked around warily. I saw nothing: no housekeeper, no dogs, and no guards. It looked safe enough. I hoped down from my perch and transformed. No sooner had I removed the spell, I felt the air compress around me. It squeezed me, sucking my breath away and flinging me into the bedding hanging from the clothesline. If it hadn't been for the sheets and quilts fastened to the lines, I would've gone flying several feet, if not yards. As it was, I was buoyed by the laundry, which I suddenly noted was quite dry. Even though I was disoriented by the attack, I knew this time what it was: a templar.

"Oh, fuck!" I struggled to gain my feet, which were wrapped in the linens I'd plowed down. Then I could hear the rapid crunching of steel boots striding across gravel, and the metallic ringing of swords being drawn. All this was audible over the booming of my own heartbeat. Mana gathered from my necklace pooled within me as I prepared to Fade step. I threw open the door to the Fade and stepped in, emerging from the Fade closer to the road, but free of the suspiciously dry laundry.

The templars were still facing the hanging laundry, looking for me like a fly caught in a spider's web, but my maneuver put me twenty or so feet behind them. Templars are trained to sense magic and I'd just used an incredible amount of it. They turned, like iron filings to a magnet. I could almost wish they weren't wearing those metal buckets on their heads; their expressions would have been almost worth seeing. But not quite.

I broke my first rule of survival: Don't turn into an animal in front of hostile templars. I needed to get the hell out of there and my best option was to fly. The transformation is quick, but the templars beat me to the draw. My mana was drained and the spell shriveled as I began the transformation.

"Shit, shit, shit!"

Running wasn't a bad option after all. There was a fleeting, half-formed thought that if I could get far enough away, out of the range of their spells, I might make it, but a man mounted on a horse was charging down the road toward me. I turned, preparing to run through the fields and pastures. My feet left the road and I flew, covering several yards of grassy pasture, much to my surprise. Just before my body decided to obey gravity, I recognized the feeling of my mana draining away. Thedas was rising up to meet me, welcoming me home from a far too temporary absence. This was going to hurt unless…

I tucked myself into a ball and managed to hit the ground and roll into a summersault. I pushed myself to my feet, my head still spinning from the smiting and the tumbling. I took a few drunken steps in a direction I thought might be increasing the distance between me and them. It didn't matter. The next smite pushed me flat on my face, and the one after that just made the pile of rubble that once was my body, bounce.

Pain. I put my hand on the ground and tried to rise, but agony sang like an angry Wagnerian soprano as I put weight on my wrist. I managed to roll onto my back just in time to see the sun being blotted out by a pair of templars. The sword tip pressed against my belly—yeah, the one they call the Sword of Mercy—told me, in case I hadn't yet gotten the message, that I was well and truly fucked.

"Surrender!" one of the templars shouted.

"Okay," I said, belatedly starting my charm offensive.

~o~o~o~

Notes: And here everyone was worried about Anders. See! He's totally fine.

Thanks so much for the reviews. Thanks much to Wedger, Biff, Zevgirl, Arsinoe, 1Scarylady, a couple of unnamed anons, and KatDancer2! I love reviews and feedback.

Thanks to Biff for beta-reading. I always appreciate your comments and eagle-eyes. Thanks to both Biff and Zevgirl for helping me get past things that I'm stuck on.

To address something left by an anon: Fergus is a bad guy in this work. It is an AU (alternate-universe) thing, so I'm not sticking to canon much at all. I don't know if you recall from the prior Lucy story, but even Elissa Cousland wasn't all that noble a noble either. In reality, I loved Fergus in the game, but in this work he has been pushed beyond his breaking point. You do have to realize that Loghain and Lucy have humiliated him terribly. Given the opportunity to be evil to her, he just can't pass it up. Especially when he has to do so little.

To Scarylady: The templars love to muck with Wardens, especially Anders. Remember Rylock in DAA and that nasty ambush in Amaranthine? I can just imagine how much Warden mages must irritate them.