Notes: This chapter's title is a lyric from "Fiddler on the Green" by Demons and Wizards on their self-titled album.
There's some more NSFW content in this chapter! I wanted to give them everything I can before I shatter their bliss and leave them with PTSD and a whole book of issues to work out.
Chapter 4: The Sun Seemed Bright
When the twins returned home, Caitlyn and Anders were standing by a window in the common room, fully clothed. They were talking in low voices. She stood extremely close to him as he presented her with something. Bethany's eyes widened in amazement and she quickly ducked away into the bedroom—but she need not have worried too much, because the gift was not what she thought. Carver gave them a silent sneer and otherwise ignored them.
Vaguely aware that the twins had returned, but paying them little attention, Caitlyn examined the object Anders had just given her. It was a hairpin, but he had tied and glued a strip of brown leather to the top of it and attached three feathers and a brass button to the leather strip, to resemble the elements of his coat. She quickly looked up and down his coat, but it didn't appear to be missing any buttons or have any pieces of leather cut out...
"It was a spare button sewn inside. Same for the leather," he said. "I hated using 'scrap' materials, but..."
"Of course you wouldn't want your coat to look battered," she said, smiling as she touched his chest. "I'm not offended. Using every bit of leftover materials is what we've done our whole lives." She turned around, presenting the back of her head to him. "Would you?"
"You just want me to do your hair," he said, but he was smirking too as he parted it.
"You gave me a decorated hairpin," she said. "It's implicit. Almost explicit."
He attached the ornament and smoothed the red locks. "There you are. They'll all know you're mine now." He leaned over and nipped her on the side of her neck.
She felt her face flush at his words and the love bite. When he had drawn away, she turned back around to look at him. Her face was playful and challenging. "Is that so? Then I already was, before... today."
"I didn't say you only became so today."
"And I'll have to find some way of declaring whom you belong to." She touched his left cheek, making him yelp—for her fingertips burned with suppressed flames once again. Smirking, she returned to her bedroom, an idea already in her mind.
Bethany did not ask her sister anything, but she seemed to know that the two mages had taken advantage of their privacy. She gazed at the ornament in her sister's hair. "That's... interesting," she remarked.
"You don't like it?" Caitlyn said, rummaging through a chest.
"It looks better in your hair than it would in mine," she said with a gentle smile. "The browns and the gold of the brass button go well with your hair. He made it?"
"He must have, unless Father was in on this in secret. But he didn't say anything about that."
"What are you looking for?" Bethany asked, coming over.
"The dye," Caitlyn said, scowling. "I thought you had it last. Did Mother...?"
"I did have it last." Bethany opened up a bag that contained her knitting and embroidery supplies. "Which color do you want?"
"Red and yellow."
Bethany picked out the two small jars of powder and handed them to her sister. "You're making something orange for him?"
"I'm dyeing a handkerchief. He associates me with fire."
Keeping a perfect elemental balance, she cast frost with one hand and fire with the other, creating a drip of water into a bucket. It might not be grand and showy like the Circles taught, but Anders had been impressed with all the ways that the Hawkes could use magic at controlled, regulated levels to do everyday tasks. He had offered the opinion, and she had agreed, that the Circles didn't teach that because that would give the mages more self-confidence in their ability to survive outside.
Bethany watched in interest as her sister rolled up her sleeves and began to dye one of her white handkerchiefs. She was the crafty one of the siblings, and she half expected her older sister to ask her for assistance, but Caitlyn seemed to have a plan, and it was an interesting one. She was dipping different sections of the cloth in the dye, holding it there for varying amounts of time, twisting and balling up the fabric, to get a vividly multicolored effect like real fire. At last she seemed satisfied with her handiwork.
That evening, after it was dried and the dye set, she came up to him, her face deliberately serious.
"Are you offering me your favor now?" he said, noting that she had something in her hands.
She huffed. "I am declaring you mine, you mean. You'll wear this to show that." She presented him with a small parcel.
He unwrapped it to reveal the dyed cloth. His eyes widened, all trace of cockiness gone. "It's lovely," he remarked, holding it up to see the colors. "I almost don't want to..."
"It looks fine tied around your arm," she reassured him, taking it from his hands and wrapping it around his left upper arm, making sure the diagonal was in the center so that she could get the most fabric to work with. She tied it in a loose knot and stepped back. "There you are," she said, echoing his words from earlier. The handkerchief was a vivid flame against the muted neutrals of his coat.
"This makes me want to lose my supper," came a sarcastic male voice from the corner. "Can't you take it somewhere else? At least get out of here if you're about to start the touchy and slobbery parts?"
"Shut up, Carver," Caitlyn said cheerfully. She had not actually intended it, but with a provocation like that, of course she was going to nestle herself in Anders' arms in front of her brother. He didn't have to tell her in words, but he completely agreed with her reasoning and promptly obliged.
After that, Carver was resolutely against leaving the house with Bethany again. Caitlyn did not appreciate that her brother seemed to have appointed himself as her guard, especially since she was an adult and he was not. As the days to their parents' expected return dwindled, she found herself very hungry for another taste and inclined to say to the Void with it and take Anders while Carver was around. Not Bethany, she assured herself. Her little sister didn't have a problem with the relationship, and she had no interest in making her uncomfortable. But Carver... yes, a growing part of Caitlyn rather wanted to give her little brother an eyeful to serve him right.
It's not fair to use somebody that way, she thought. If she was deliberately going to risk being seen, Anders deserved to know so that he could decide whether he wanted to be in on it.
She needn't have worried. As soon as she broached the idea to him—not to taunt Carver, but not to bother taking extra privacy precautions either, and if Carver did see or hear more than he would have liked, it served him right—he laughed wickedly and said he was in.
They waited until Bethany had gone out to do some early-spring garden work, breaking up the soil and planting some of the seeds that she had indeed procured in Lothering that day. The vagaries of Fereldan winter had left them with a warm spell. It was good for traveling, too, which would help their parents—but Caitlyn noticed a tension in Anders' features. Being cooped up indoors in frostbite-cold winter was one thing; this was different. And at some point, the situation with his phylactery will have to be resolved, she thought, though it was an unpleasant feeling, something that left a pool of dread in her gut.
She banished that at once and turned to him. In his usual dark corner, Carver was fletching arrows for his bow, clearly dissatisfied with this weapon and wanting to train with something else—a greatsword, apparently. He glowered at his sister and Anders but said nothing.
Caitlyn reached for Anders' hand and began to rub circles on his palm with her thumb. He hitched his breath and turned to her questioningly. She smirked back. It was all that he needed. He gripped her hand in his and pulled her close, not into an actual embrace, but standing very near.
Carver scowled. "I'm right here, you know."
"All right," she replied with a dramatic shrug, then began to lead Anders into the little room she shared with Bethany. Carver gaped in astonishment at their brazenness, but he did not move to stop them. That could be revenge enough, Caitlyn thought smugly as she pulled the door closed.
They quickly ascended the ladder that led to her bunk and collapsed on the mattress together almost immediately, her tumbling on top of him as he fell onto his back. This was only the second time they had even done that much, but somehow it already felt familiar. One of his arms snaked around her waist, holding her in place, as his other hand worked at her indoor clothing. She laughed and began to undo the fasteners on his coat. The flame-dyed handkerchief that she had given him was loose enough around his arm that she did not have to remove it to get the coat off, and he could slip his arm through the sleeve again when he put his coat back on. He released the arm that was around her waist, and she set it gently at the foot of the bed. Then he pulled her back down.
The desire to get revenge on a nosy sibling was rapidly fading as they cuddled and kissed, removing their clothing gradually. Instead, she found herself just wanting him. He gently pulled the hairpin out of her locks and set it aside with one hand, keeping the other on the back of her head, cradling her as he descended upon the side of her face and neck with a barrage of quick but intense kisses. Several of them were bites.
"You're trying to mark me," she murmured, mildly in protest.
"I can heal them if you don't want them to show."
"I may insist on that."
He pulled back and gazed at her. He was still in his tunic and breeches, and although he had opened up her top all the way down to her waist, she was also otherwise fully clothed. "If you don't mind..." he murmured, snaking a hand up her chest, "I think we should stay clothed."
Her face fell as she misunderstood his meaning.
"Oh, no," he said, pinching one of her nipples and enjoying watching her nostrils flare as she took in her breath sharply. "I meant—here's what I meant." He slipped his thumbs into the waistline of his breeches and pulled them down under the covers, then pulled up her skirt and removed her smalls.
"Oh," she said. That... made sense. It would be faster to get themselves back in order this way... and there was a certain thrill at the idea of this being necessary, part of a quick furtive coupling that they had managed to steal...
In keeping with that idea, Anders was pleased to discover, fingertips ghosting her core, that she was more than ready and he didn't need to arouse her. He did want to show her what he could do with his tongue, but that would be for a more leisurely, relaxed occasion. For this one, this time, neither of them minded a bit when he thrust himself into her without teasing, touching, or prelude while they remained clothed from the waist up.
It was quick, intense, and almost rough. She tugged on his hair to hold him in place and kept her muscles clenched around his manhood like she was trying to drink every possible bit of pleasure from him in the shortest amount of time she could; his hands supplied a crushing grip to her hips as he hammered her repeatedly to do the same with her. They could not burst out any oaths or each other's names; they could not moan or, Maker forbid, scream. They could just breathe heavily and whisper—hiss, really—sharp declarations of urgent desire and praise at each other.
The intensity and forced suppression of their more satiating outbursts brought them to completion very quickly, even him. But they had only a minute of being able to enjoy the feel of post-coital closeness and the heavy, rapid pulsing of each other's heart mere inches away from their own before they heard the door to the cabin open and then shut.
Caitlyn scrambled for her smalls and managed to get them on as she descended from the ladder, but Anders had no time between letting her get out from under him and reaching for his coat. He gave her a desperate look and threw the quilt over his head as he pressed against the wall, pretending to be just part of a rumpled, unmade bed as Bethany entered the room.
Carver knew we were in here! Caitlyn thought in utter fury as her little sister greeted her and walked over to sit down in her favorite chair. He let her come in here knowing that!
"How was gardening?" she asked her little sister, attempting to sound normal.
Bethany glanced up from the embroidery hoop she had taken out. "Easier than it should have been. It's very odd that the weather is so warm in Drakonis, especially after that ghastly blizzard we had in Wintermarch."
"There will probably be more snow before spring truly begins."
"Most likely." She glanced up at the top bunk, her eyebrows knitting in confusion at the disorder that she was sure had not been there all day, but only momentarily. She met her sister's gaze again, eyebrows raised in surprise. "I know you're up there, Anders. You can come down."
Her older sister turned as red as a strawberry. Mortified, Anders emerged from the top bunk, clutching his coat to his chest and holding Caitlyn's hair ornament in one hand. Attempting to muster some semblance of dignity, he turned to her, studiously avoiding the other sister's gaze, and attached the hairpin to her head once again. He pulled his coat on and adjusted the handkerchief on his sleeve.
"We, uh... nothing happened," Anders brazenly lied to Bethany. "Just cuddling." Caitlyn had to give him credit for the lie; sometimes a plausible lie worked very well indeed.
Bethany shrugged. "It's nothing to me what you do as long as it doesn't occur in my bunk."
He laughed. "Well, I can offer you positive assurance that it never will." He took Caitlyn's hand and walked with her out of the room to smirk triumphantly at Carver.
Only after they had settled into a single large chair to read magic books together, her practically seated in his lap, did he realize that he had again neglected to ask her about her fertility. He would have to remember to do it next time.
Unfortunately for the couple, they did not have a "next time" before Malcolm and Leandra returned from Denerim. She had a bundle of purchases in her arm, mostly fabrics from the market to make new clothes for everyone, but also a couple of books from the Wonders of Thedas, the shop for mages. Malcolm's face was grave and his brow furrowed with thought, but he did not seem to be in a panic about whatever he had learned from Warden-Commander Duncan. His sharp gaze quickly noted the flaming orange decoration on Anders' coat and then the ornament in his daughter's hair that was meant to resemble the elements of that same coat. He nodded knowingly at them, pleased that their relationship was progressing. If only I can help them, he thought. I'm meant to help them... We speak of fathers "giving their daughters away," but that's not what this would be. They shouldn't settle far from this house, and I don't think he even wants to. He sees me as a mentor. This feels more like making a gift of him, for her, by procuring his freedom. I just hope I can do it.
Taking a deep breath, he gathered the family and sat down with them at the table. "I see the house is still standing, and no signs of fresh burns or bloodstains anywhere," he said. "So, good on you. As you have seen, we had a productive trip—but I'm sure you all want to know what the Wardens had to say to us." He stretched his arms across the tabletop, hands clasped together. "The news is good—for now. Duncan told us, in confidence, that the Wardens do expect a Blight sometime over the next decade, that they've had signs on occasion for the past twenty years."
"What kind of signs?" Carver asked.
"He wouldn't tell me that. The Wardens have their secrets and he wouldn't share that much with me about the specifics of these 'signs.' But he did say that the Tainted creatures we've seen here are the gravest sign 'on the surface' that he has seen yet, which tells me that whatever the Wardens know that they didn't tell us, it's in the Deep Roads." He accepted a cup of cider from Bethany, sipped it, and continued. "He says that we need to remain on our guard, but not to assume that the beasts are actually from the Lothering area at all, especially if there have been no signs of darkspawn themselves at the surface near here. A Blight could begin anywhere, he said, and we're better off staying put until the Wardens know more. And there is one more thing." He gazed at his children and Anders sternly. "You are not to repeat what you've just heard to anyone. I mean it. It could begin a panic—and it would result in either the loss of this correspondence relationship that I have with the Fereldan Wardens, or possibly even my conscription into the order."
"You have my word," Caitlyn said at once. Her siblings and Anders promised in quick succession.
He nodded, satisfied. "Between us... I do wonder if we should move anyway. If it's time for it. Or if it'll be time for it after I settle the business with your phylactery, Anders," he said.
Anders' eyes widened. "I would hate for your family to be uprooted over that," he burst out.
"We'll do what we must. My daughter cares about you, and frankly, so do I. I want this for both of you. And it may not be necessary to move," said Malcolm. "I've been thinking about how to do it, and if we can bait a few Templars to hunt for you with the object actually on their persons—which they'd have to do, to know where to focus a search—then we could just... knock them out, put them to sleep, get the thing, and leave before they wake up. I don't want to shed blood. They're just doing their job. But that doesn't mean that I want them to succeed at their job," he said with a grin.
Anders smirked. He certainly didn't want Templars to succeed at their job of capturing apostates, and Malcolm's idea—if it could actually work—would be a way to secure his freedom, his future, with a minimum of violence and disruption.
With the parents back at home, opportunities for the pair to explore the physical aspect of their relationship became even fewer, much to their mutual frustration. The warm springlike spell continued, a temptation that grew stronger by the day.
"I've been free of the Circle for two months," Anders finally said. "In all this time, they shouldn't have been able to get one signal from my phylactery since the blizzard early in Wintermarch."
"Except for the time that you went out to help us kill the bereskarn," Caitlyn pointed out.
"That was very brief. What are the odds? They have every reason to think I'm dead now. None of my escapes have ever lasted this long before, not even close. I think it's safe to go out, and it's practically spring. We should enjoy it while it lasts."
When she still seemed unconvinced, he took her face in his hands and gave her a pleading look. "They won't suddenly appear in the woods anyway. If some Templar at Kinloch Hold does happen to be holding my phylactery while I'm outside, it will just show that I went south. It won't show them 'Lothering.' And then I'll go back inside the house soon, and it'll go dark again. Besides, if your father's plan is to work, we have to bait the Templars anyway."
She sighed. His argument did make sense, and she did have an urge that needed to be sated... and it wasn't fair to lock him up while the weather was so beautiful and balmy. She rose from the table, took his hand, and led him out the door hand-in-hand. Walking through the ward's protection seemed a momentous act.
She led him just inside the boundary of the tree line, noting that some of the deciduous trees had tiny buds and pale green leaflets at the tips of their branches. It happened that way some years, but this was far too early for a lasting bloom. Those buds, those leaves, would be killed by a freeze. It made her feel bad for a moment, and then suddenly, inexplicably, panicked... but no, she reassured herself as she led him to a large fir tree that she had liked for years. This is nice now. Even if it's just the illusion of spring, and every one of those buds will be nipped, it is still warm right now, and I should enjoy it now, while it lasts.
He gazed up at the tree. It was bushy enough to conceal them well indeed. He pulled her close and collapsed to the ground with her, holding her as they both crouched on their knees. She closed her eyes and let him tilt her head back, exposing her neck for kisses and gentle bites.
He had just enough awareness left to remember his promise to himself. "Cait," he gasped out, pulling away from her even though he didn't want to. "There's something we need to talk about."
She looked at him, brows quirked, waiting and hoping it would be a quick discussion.
He took a deep breath. "Your... monthly cycle."
She gazed levelly at him. "I'm not having that right now," she said in even tones. "Do you think I'd expect you to deal with that, really?"
"Outside? Why not? What would it matter?" he shrugged as her green eyes widened in utter shock.
"But I thought men..."
"Maybe some, but it makes no difference to me. I'm a Healer; it doesn't bother me. But that's not what I was asking. We need to start being more careful. Unless you can get the herbs to make the potion to prevent a pregnancy... or... unless you don't mind..."
She leaned back, thinking. "I don't think I would mind, actually, but that does not mean I want to invite that to happen right now. So much is unsettled yet."
"That's exactly how I see it."
She seemed to be counting in her head, her eyes gazing upward. Then she lowered her gaze to him once again. "All right. It might be a bad idea right now. Our first time was just after I'd... finished. It's about two weeks later."
He frowned deeply in concern. "The second time, then... well, never mind; no point in speculating when we can know. If I may?" He lifted a hand, a medical diagnostic spell glowing at his fingertips. She nodded, suddenly fearful, as he plunged it under her tunic, but not as a lover now. He breathed a sigh of relief. "Nothing."
She let out her breath.
"That means that this is a great opportunity to try something else, though," he said, a wicked smile appearing on his face again. He reached for the buttons on her robe, deliberately, slowly unbuttoning each one as she lay down on the bed of dried grass and leaves. Before long, her robes lay beneath her nude form.
"You're still dressed," she said.
"That won't be a problem." Anders gazed greedily at her for another second, breathing heavily as if he could inhale her very essence with it, before lifting up her legs and throwing them over his shoulders as he got on his knees.
He plunged his mouth into her core as she muffled a cry, nuzzling against her most sensitive spot with his nose and teasing her entrance with his tongue. She was so wet already and he lapped it up, drinking in her taste, feeling himself start to grow hard at the thought that this was all, every bit, for him. Maker, but he wanted her. Freedom was an idea; this—she—was a reality that gave that idea a potency that surprised even him, though he had thought before meeting the Hawkes that he couldn't possibly want it any more than he already had. She was the reason why he longed for it so much now. He wanted this. He wanted her. And with that thought, he thrust his tongue into her passage and brought a hand between her splayed legs to press against her pearl, bringing another cry to her lips.
He wanted to draw this out, to make her feel wave after wave, but she was so unused to anything like this that his intense ministrations sent her over the edge quickly, leaving her shaking in his grasp, her legs clamped around his head and trembling, her hands holding his face in place as she tugged on his hair hard enough that it hurt.
She finally let him go, relieving that pressure, and gaped at him. "I'm sorry," she said at once. "I must have pulled too hard..."
"No harm done," he said smoothly, grinning as he licked his lips and tried to clean his face with his fingers.
She gazed, transfixed, and managed to sit upright as the last shuddering breaths escaped her. Her gaze traveled down his form, fixing upon the large visible bulge below his waist. Now what, she thought. I should do something for him, but I don't know how. "Well," she said, fumbling for words, "I, er, want to make you feel that now. But you'll have to guide me."
He finished licking his fingers clean of her feminine juices and wiggled a single finger at her, silently urging her come closer. She crawled across her robes to him, looking expectantly at him.
He hadn't intended to ask this of her; he knew he could take care of it with his own hands and had thought that perhaps she might like to watch that, but if she wanted to, he certainly had no objections. Without a word, he loosened his trousers and drew out his erection. Her eyes widened for a brief instant, but a grin formed on her face as she apparently remembered that she knew for a fact she could handle it. He guided her hand to the base of his manhood and, keeping her wrist gently in his grip, brought her slender fingers up his shaft. Her green eyes widened as he sucked in his breath in pleasure.
Instinctively she formed a grip, but a loose one, and gave him one final inquiring glance, brows raised. He breathed deeply. That felt really good... but those eyes, that mouth—he hoped she would not blast him with a spell for it, but he had to feel her mouth on him. He drew another breath, threading his fingers into the hair on the back of her head, and pushed her down until her lips were right above the tip. "Lick me," he ordered. "Suck me. Don't worry about doing it 'right.' I just want your mouth on me, now."
Caitlyn was stunned at his commanding tone, but it was deeply satisfying to her. If she had not just experienced a shattering climax, it would have brought her to intense arousal, but instead it somehow deepened the feeling of completion that still suffused her body. And the fact that he would be pleased just by her touch... well, that was all the encouragement she required to conquer her uncertainty about whether she could match what he had just done for her. She first licked his tip hesitantly with her tongue, then when he tensed and groaned, she began to lick stripes up and down, occasionally bringing a hand in the opposite direction from her tongue when she noticed that he groaned especially loudly at that, his hands fisting her hair all the while.
When he was tensing and shaking himself, she finally decided to take his tip into her mouth. He shuddered at the new sensation. "Do you—you know I'm about to—"
She briefly pulled back, staring up at him as he groaned again from the sudden loss of contact. "Give it to me," she said, her tone just as commanding as his had been earlier. Then, with a smile, she descended on him again. He threw his head back as her lips enveloped his tip once more, shoving her head even lower, forcing her to take in more, the light friction of her mouth against his sensitive skin bringing him so, so close—she gave him another lick, her tongue never leaving her mouth—and with that, his head fell forward as if of its own accord, a gasp escaping his lips as he emptied himself. She seemed startled at first but did not draw back, flinch, or lose a single drop. As he came partially back to himself, he was enthralled at the sight of her bent over him, swallowing every last bit for him.
At last they were sated and re-energized, and he helped her back into her clothing as they got to their wobbly feet. He hugged her close. "That was fantastic," he assured her.
"I could tell." Her tone was cocky and bold, the way he liked to hear her, and he chuckled as he brushed twigs off her back. "You were fantastic too. I've known about that, of course, but somehow it never seemed like something I'd want to do, or have done." She shook her head in disbelief at the silliness of her younger self. "What did I know?"
That was not the first time that they took advantage of the warm weather—though they did not only go outside for that purpose. Another day in the latter half of Drakonis, they found themselves sitting behind that same tree, talking.
"You have so much to say about the bad parts of Circle life."
"The only good part is the ability to make friends with other mages," he declared. "The only good part that I couldn't have outside the Circle, at least. Your father... your family... the training, the knowledge, all of that, you and your sister got without being torn from your family and locked up."
"Have you ever thought about fighting for mages in some way?" she asked him.
He smiled wryly. "Oh, I have thought about it, but ultimately... so many mages seem content with their restricted lives in the Circle. How can I make them care if those conditions don't? Why fight for people who don't even believe that there is anything they need to fight for? And I guess what I want more than anything else is selfish. I want what was taken from me when I was twelve." He pecked her on the cheek. "I'm finding that here."
"I guess just being in a family with several mages is a rebellion in its own right."
"It very much is," he assured her. "I think the reason they don't want mages to have any family contact at all, even with parents who want to correspond... why they won't let Circle mage women even nurse their own babies or keep them... is because it'll make us think, maybe we deserve even more than that." He made a fist, and small bolt of lightning crackled from it. "If we can have any family contact, maybe we should have this." He gestured back at the Hawke cabin. "Maybe we can belong to someone other than them. They want us dependent on them for literally everything, food, shelter, clothing, every scrap of affection we receive in life."
She chuckled and leaned into him. "You belong to me?"
"Don't I?"
"Yes, I suppose you do." She lowered his head into her lap and tousled his hair. "I found you, after all. I suppose that does make it so."
"I could say that I found you."
"You did."
Drakonis turned to Cloudreach, and Anders became much more at ease going outside. Surely if the Templars were still trying to find him, they would have detected enough signals from the south that they would have tried to seek him in earnest. The Hawkes were still awaiting a final freeze, but it did not seem to be coming.
"Look at that," Caitlyn pointed at the horizon one day. "That's an actual thunderstorm cloud. What a strange winter it was, that massive blizzard but no last late-season frost."
"I wouldn't know," Anders said. He scanned the cloud. "I always liked it when those came to Kinloch Hold. Made for a little rare excitement to see the windows rattle and natural lightning to strike."
"Did lightning ever strike the tower?"
"Oh, yes. The first time it happened, I was thirteen, and it was the best moment of my life since I'd been taken away. No, it was," he insisted as she gazed skeptically at him, sure that he was having her on. "The bookcases all shook, lots of things fell to the floor all over the place... but I wasn't frightened at all. It was exciting, and it seemed like the Maker Himself smiting that damned tower in disapproval of how we were treated. It was great." He grinned fondly at the memory. "I decided then that I was absolutely going to learn how to produce amazing lightning with my own magic. I'd discovered that I was good at healing, but I knew then what else I wanted to do as a 'signature' spell."
She shook her head in amazement. "I think I just naturally had an affinity for fire. It was not a conscious choice to make it my default."
"I'm sure it wasn't, for you." He touched the vivid handkerchief that he wore on his sleeve.
They stopped in a clearing atop a small hill and sat down on the ground, watching the storm expend itself in the distance. She turned to him, gazing deeply into his eyes, as she brought a hand to his cheek.
This was becoming familiar to them now with practice, as they had taken every opportunity that presented itself over the past month. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her into a crushing kiss as he lowered her to the ground. Their clothes were off, covering the ground, when he remembered the calendar. It was about a week since her last cycle...
She gripped his waist with both hands and rolled him on top of her. To the Void with it, he thought, dismissing the concern in the sudden heat of the moment.
When they returned to the house, Malcolm took Anders aside. The young mage tensed, suddenly concerned that Malcolm had at last deduced exactly what he and Caitlyn did on many occasions outside, and that he was rather less accepting of it than Anders had convinced himself.
"You've been spending a great deal of time outdoors," Malcolm began. "I don't blame you; the weather has been beautiful, but I'm becoming a bit concerned. We do want to bait the Templars here, but I don't want them literally at my doorstep. The idea is to keep my existence and identity a secret."
Anders almost breathed a sigh of relief. So that was it. "Well, it will be difficult," he admitted, "but I'll try to be more... judicious."
"You want to be alone with Caitlyn," Malcolm stated, noting with amusement that the younger mage's face flushed faintly for a second. "I understand that. My wife and I remember what that was like, and we've decided to do something about it." He gestured at the ceiling. Carver's loft was unchanged, but a separate area right next to it that had heretofore been used for storage was now cleared. The wall between the two loft partitions remained, affording them visual privacy and some amount of auditory as well. They could have almost total visual privacy with a bed shoved into the darkest far corner and a screen mounted in front of it. A second ladder now led to the new loft. "It's not perfect, but we thought..."
Anders was grinning. "I would appreciate that even if there were nothing between us," he said. "I could have helped move those boxes that used to be there..."
"Carver did while you were out. He was more than happy to, as he put it, 'not to have to look at you first thing when climbing down the ladder in the morning,'" Malcolm said.
"I'm sure he was."
Malcolm patted Anders' shoulder. "He'll get used to you. Whether he admits it or not—whether you can believe this yet or not—he's protective of both of his sisters because they are mages. He and Caitlyn fight like cats and dogs, but it would kill him for either of them to be taken away from the family."
"Does he see me as a danger to her, then, in that specific way?"
"I think he does. This should get better once that's no longer a concern."
Anders realized two things after that conversation: Malcolm had spoken with the assumption that he would be a permanent part of their lives, and Anders himself had not disputed that or even noticed it in his own mind.
Bethany did not say a word over the next few days if her older sister emerged somewhat sheepishly into their bedroom very late at night. As backward as Caitlyn knew it had to be, she felt incredibly aroused about making love in the dark. Until this point, it had always been in daylight, because he had slept in the common room in front of the hearth, and Bethany had always been a presence in her bedroom at night. But when she first ascended that ladder and climbed into the bed surrounded by darkness, able only to feel his touch, hear his whispered words, and—if they were really bold—have very faint illumination from magic, she felt such excitement as she had not yet known. There was something very primal about the dark.
And then, after the initial sweet occasion, he had taken her hard in the dark, shoving her into the spot where the sloping roof connected with the loft floor, as far from the overlook and the privacy screen as they could be, leaving her with no space to wriggle away, making her take the full sensation of everything. He had illuminated the scene with only a very faint glow from the globe at the end of his staff. Outside, a rainstorm battered the house, and Caitlyn recalled what he had told her that day about the thunderstorms at the Circle tower. She was accustomed to hearing the rain loudly from sleeping in the top bunk, but to know that rain lashed the roof merely inches from where he was pressing her, to actually feel every gust of wind and cloudburst through the building, heightened the other sensations, the ones he was giving her. She was ready to ask him, to beg him if necessary, for that electricity pulse magic that he could do—but he had it on his mind too and did not need to be asked. After she shuddered from the second compression—a gust of wind from the outside, and a hard thrust from him in the other direction—he began to send sparks into her in keeping with his movements and the storm's fury.
She could barely stay on her own two feet after that. After wobbling unsteadily at the top of the ladder, she decided to just sleep in his bed overnight and sneak out at daybreak.
Anders was strangely withdrawn the next day, as if something weighed heavily on his mind—and the day after that too. He did not want to share his bed with her the night after the rainstorm, and when she finally had a moment alone, she asked him about his sudden change of mood.
"We've been reckless," he said in a low voice. "I promised us—I promised myself—that we wouldn't be, but we have."
"Then do your spell," she urged him. Her heart began to pound in anxiety at what he was implying, but no good could come of wondering and worrying. If nothing had happened, this would be a crucial reality check for them to start being more careful. And if it had... then better to know.
He took a deep, uneasy breath, lifted her tunic, and placed his hand over her abdomen to cast the spell. It glowed vividly blue. He jerked away, backing up, and slammed back-first against the nearest wall. His eyes were wider than she had ever seen before. "Maker," he swore under his breath, staring at her.
She did not know the first thing about the creation school, let alone how to "read" such a specific medical spell, but that was all the answer she needed. Her eyes widened too, and an oath of her own escaped her mouth.
He breathed heavily, shaking his head, easing away from the wall and towards her, but he did not touch her. "Yes," he said, though it didn't need to be said. "Oh, Maker. I knew it." He sighed. "It's probably not too late for that herbal brew, if you..." He took another breath, and she noticed that his face grew sad at the words he had not said. "What do you want to do?"
She gazed to one side, her hand involuntarily finding its way to rest over her lower belly. "That's not even a question. Of course I'm having it."
He realized that she had seen the look on his face. "If you're not ready, then you don't have to for my sake," he said.
She decided to bridge the distance between them herself, since he was not doing it. Stepping close, she wrapped both arms around his waist and rested her head under his chin. "It's not only for your sake. This is part of the life we wanted to build, Anders. It's something I wanted."
"Not right now."
"I didn't expect it right now, but that doesn't mean I don't want it." She paused, a fear suddenly flooding her. "Are you changing your mind about us?" she asked, her voice sounding strangely small to her ears. "Does this make you question if you—"
He enveloped her in his arms at once, stroking her back and her long hair. "Oh, Maker, no," he said immediately and feelingly. "Certainly not. Please don't think that. I guess I just... don't want this to prevent you from doing anything else that you might have wanted..."
"What could that possibly be?" she asked. "Anders, I'm a mage. So are you. What do you suppose this would keep us from doing?"
He held her silently, unable to dispute her point.
"When I was a child, and Carver and Bethany were really little, Mother used to tell us stories about Kirkwall," she said, gazing ahead past him. "I had a fantasy of going there and becoming a noble again, like she had been." She pointed at a dark scorch mark in one corner. "Guess what that is?"
He craned his head. "It looks like a burn mark." Something occurred to him. "Was that—"
"It was. My first magic," she said.
"Of course it was fire," he said with a grin.
"Of course," she agreed. "I was nine." She laughed mirthlessly. "No more dreams of reclaiming the family seat. I think Father was actually... not disappointed that I was a mage, but somewhat crestfallen that any of his children would experience the restrictions that he had on what he could be and do." She sighed. "It's all right. I've known for over a decade that I would have a quiet life, like my parents. But at least we'll have this." She smiled at him. "I didn't really expect to leave this house, you know. I didn't think I would be able to have a family of my own."
He considered that, finally nodding in contentment and holding her close. She nestled her head into the crook of his neck and closed her eyes, swaying slightly as they stood.
In truth, she had never fully accepted the restrictions of being a mage, even a free mage. It always seemed an injustice to her, and she expected she would always wonder what she could have been in life if she had not been born with magic. But it no longer tormented her, at least. She could find peace with the vision that was now in her mind: a cabin, perched within sight of her parents' home in this same clearing. There would be books of magic in every room... they would have a cat and a dog... Anders would learn from her and her father about how to raise food... she would bear him half a dozen children with mischievous smiles and various shades of red and blond hair... and probably magic, she thought with a pang. Now that she was going to be a parent herself, she understood how her father had felt about that.
"We'll have to tell my parents," she finally said. He blanched at that, as did she. "It's unavoidable now, Anders."
"Erm... promise me one thing," he said, releasing her at last. "If your father readies a spell to turn me into a smoldering pile of ash, please intercede for me so we can take to the hills together?"
She laughed, relieved at the touch of levity. "He won't do that. It happened to him and Mother too, after all. Did you know that?"
Anders laughed. "I suspected."
"It's true. I was born quite scandalously early. I'll remind them if they get shirty with us."
"You two certainly don't make anything easy," Malcolm groused as the young couple sat before him and Leandra. "I suspected that... ah, no matter. It is what it is. In the blood, right, Caitlyn?"
She glanced at her lap, reddening.
"All right then. I will try to keep my ears open for signs of Templar parties in the south. I'm afraid that's the only way. I admit, I do not know most of them anymore, and I certainly don't know of any who serve at Kinloch Hold who I'm certain would smuggle a phylactery out of the tower. Our best hope is still to draw them out with it in their possession, searching for you. Spend all the time you want outside." He gazed evenly at them. "It's not as if any further 'damage' can be done, is it?"
"I'm sorry," Anders muttered, chastened.
Malcolm got up from his chair, his face softening. He walked over and stood beside Anders, rubbing one shoulder. "It's all right. I'm going to be a grandfather. I'll get to see my firstborn start a family of her own. I'm just ribbing you."
The young mage looked up at the elder. "Really?"
"Really."
"I can generally detect humor," he said, shaking his head in surprise.
"You were obviously scared of this conversation, and you're still shocked at your own news. You're preoccupied and I can't blame you. But... we have been through this too, Leandra and I."
"That's right," she chimed in, gazing at her daughter. "Please, ask one of us if you're worried about something."
Caitlyn took a shuddery breath. She had never had a particularly close relationship with her mother, but perhaps this would be the event that changed that.
Notes: I need to say, just so everyone is 100% clear on this, that this is the last chapter of unblemished, undarkened light and sweetness. There will be additional ones in the future that are happy, but the idyllic, innocent days are over for good, and the next 4-5 chapters are going to be very unhappy indeed.
This is, of course, pre-Justice, pre-Awakening, pre-lots of things Anders. He'll change his mind about "the good fight," sooner than he thinks in fact.
