Notes: Thanks for sticking with the story. Not much "action" happens in this chapter, but there's a very, very important development... after a NSFW scene!

Song inspiration for this chapter: "Undisclosed Desires" by Muse.

Thank you so much for the reviews! Yes, prismatix, it's going to be a dark story (particularly for a fix-it), though not all of that will be Petrice's doing. But she's certainly a factor.


Chapter 20: Exorcise the Demons from Your Past


A heavy knock sounded on the thin wooden doors of the clinic, battering them on their hinges. Anders looked up from the patient he was healing, startled.

The doors were thrown open, breaking the latch, and Knight-Commander Meredith herself stormed in, followed by a pair of Templars following silently behind her.

"Get out," Anders demanded, reaching for his staff. "You have no authority here." He held up the order from the Grey Wardens.

"That paper only protects you," said Meredith, her voice cold as ice, the pupils of her eyes strangely tiny.

He moved to place an arm around Caitlyn's waist. "I invoke the Right of Conscription on her."

The Knight-Commander's mouth curled into a cruel smile. "Oh, we know what you can do, and did not come for her." She nodded to her two Templars. They advanced toward another patient bed, where an older child was bent over another patient, blue glowing magic emanating from his hands, determined to finish this for this person before the Templars caught him even if it cost him the chance to defend himself. It was so like his father, trying to give his son's namesake a pyre years ago, before the capture, the Conscription, the killing, the exile to Kirkwall, the disastrous Deep Roads expedition that cost Carver his life from the Blight sickness and had yielded only a single chest of loot to be divided up among all the adventurers.

The Grey Warden document that Anders was holding crumbled to dust.

Caitlyn knew that this was the Fade, but that did not make it any easier as the figure of Meredith Stannard advanced. She tried to will herself back to the physical world and finally saw the dream imagery dissolving away, but it was too late—the memories of the dream had already fixed themselves in her mind.

She breathed heavily in the darkness of the clinic. Anders appeared to be sleeping soundly; only an occasional, faint glow of Justice illuminated his skin. He was pressed against her but was not holding her. Trying not to wake him, she gently extricated herself from under the blanket and padded into the small room where Mal slept.

He too was peaceful in sleep, she observed, her pulse slowing as she took comfort in his presence and safety. He's all right, she thought. They're not coming for him. He has not even done magic. And if he is a mage, that should not manifest until much later, when things should be better after we have...

With that, she remembered the rest of the dream. In the Fade, she had not actually experienced a failed Deep Roads expedition or the death of her brother; it was instead false "knowledge" that was part of the dream, but the memory suddenly filled her with disquiet. What if the expedition did turn out that way? Mal was older in the nightmare; what if the dream was a glimpse of the future?

I can try to persuade him not to go... Caitlyn instantly realized that this would have the opposite effect on her brother. Even before she had moved out—years ago, in fact, when they still lived in Lothering—Carver had struggled with his place in the world. His transition to manhood had not been easy with a father who had died before Carver was an adult—a father who had been a mage, at that, rather than someone his son could try to emulate in his career and life path—and a very clingy, suffocating mother who had already lost one child under horrible circumstances and lived in terror for another, justly so, considering what had happened to that child's lover and to her own husband. No, Caitlyn knew that there was likely nothing she could say that would convince Carver to stay at home if he was determined to go on the Deep Roads expedition.

Caitlyn felt the warm pressure of a hand on her shoulder. She jumped slightly, but it was only Anders. He was gazing at her with concern.

"Are you all right?" he whispered.

She nodded, drawing quietly away from Mal's bed and pulling the makeshift door closed behind him so as to not wake him. They walked silently back into their own nook and sat on the bed together.

"I'm sorry for waking you up," she said, leaning against him. "I had a terrible dream—they came to take Mal away, and I just had to check on him..."

Anders held her. "They will never do that. Ever. I won't allow it."

She considered that. Of course she and Anders would not actually stand by helplessly, holding up paper documents, letting Templars advance on their child to take him away forever. They would use every spell they knew and they would aim to kill. Justice would take over Anders. That part of the dream was definitely unrealistic, and she took comfort in that fact.

"The nightmare was set in... a possible future," she said. "Mal was older, and he was a mage and a Healer. And... the Deep Roads expedition had been a bust, and Carver had died of the Taint."

Anders pulled her closer and stroked his fingers through her hair. "Mal could be a mage. He wants to be a Healer so much, I hope he is. I do hope that," he said fiercely. "No parent should have to dread that, and I refuse to!" He breathed heavily. "As for the expedition... that Tethras fellow must think there is a good chance of finding significant treasure in that area, or he wouldn't bother. Dwarves know about these things; they have long records of their lost civilization."

"And Carver..."

He did not have a good answer for that, and he knew it. "It could just have been that you were thinking about your father and how he died," he said somewhat helplessly. "But... there is something I could do in preparation, because Blight sickness is a real risk when traveling in the Deep Roads."

"Oh?" She looked up at him, interested. A solid preparation was a comforting idea, a practical act rather than mere soothing words.

"I could write to Cousland for a few doses of the Grey Warden Joining potion. If anyone got sick, that would at least give them a chance to survive, though as a Warden."

She gave him a grateful look, but as the implications of that struck her, it faded. "Anders—but that means you would have to go along too, wouldn't it? Since that is a Grey Warden secret?"

"Yes," he said grimly. "It would. If I handed them out to everyone in the group to carry around, the Wardens would have my hide—and would force them all to take the Joining whether they 'had to' or not."

"And if you, I, and Carver went, then Mal... Mother would..."

"I didn't say I liked it. Let's hope your brother chooses to stay."

"Good luck with that," she said bitterly. She sighed, feeling bad for that small outburst, and rubbed his shoulders to apologize without words. "Thanks for listening to me. I hope it will be all right, and that this expedition will be a turning point for the family."

"I think it will."

She let him pull her gently back into bed and cradle her in his arms for the rest of the night, giving her gentle kisses on her head and forehead until she was dozing. As she nodded off to sleep again, she reflected that it was much easier to recover from nightmares when he was close by. As uncertain as things were, waking reality still was a genuine relief from the nightmares that fear demons—or her own mind—could conjure in the Fade, and his presence in her life again was largely the reason for it.


Neither of them said a word about the nightmare the following day, but Anders did write a letter that he sent quickly by courier before he even put his coat on, and it was apparent to Caitlyn that this was the request to the Warden-Commander of Ferelden for Joining potion supplies. It was a relief to her, and she tried to put the dream out of her mind entirely.

As he pulled his coat sleeves over his arms, a thoughtful look crossed his face. "Let's go to the market today," he suggested with a smile at Mal, as they all sat at a makeshift spool table for breakfast. "Maybe I can find a little coat there like this one, and some feathers to attach to it!"

Mal squealed in delight. Caitlyn smiled wryly and murmured to Anders, "Are you sure about that? He has a lot of growing to do."

Anders considered her words seriously, then turned to his son. "Your mother makes a good point. We wouldn't want you to grow out of your special Healer coat too soon! What do you think about having a mantle of feathers, like mine, but one that you could put over anything you were wearing, for years to come?"

"Oh, yes! That would be even better," the little boy said, eyes gleaming.

They went into Lowtown and picked up a cut of soft linen for the backing. Next they found some feathers identical to the ones on his coat from a vendor who had a prior arrangement with Anders to offer access to a "secret stock" of contraband items, most of which had a magical purpose. Evidently, the more zealous Templars in Kirkwall even had a problem with mundane-owned businesses selling magical artifacts in the public square.

"Three reasons for that, I think," Anders muttered under his breath as they headed back to the nearest Darktown entrance. "Meredith wants to control the market with the Circle shop at the Gallows to accumulate as much coin as she can, she probably wants to know who the repeat customers are, and she also assumes that any private vendors like that man must be getting their supplies from apostates. Which they likely are, and I'm glad to support them," he added defiantly.

Caitlyn smirked. "Mal's feather mantle will be even more worthy of him, then!"

The little boy glanced up at his mother's mention of him, but he had not heard the other part of the conversation. "It's going to be special?" he asked.

"Very," she assured him. "It will be just right." The child beamed.

Back at the clinic, Caitlyn laid out the supplies while Anders saw to his patients and Mal played with the dog. She was the only one who could sew well; since he had escaped the Circle for the final time, Anders had purchased all of his clothing or had it provided by the Grey Wardens. It was... odd... to do something domestic, rather than hunting down criminal gangs or slaying dragons—or being part of a smuggling ring myself, she thought wryly—but at the same time, it was pleasant, a snippet of what her life had been like in Lothering. As she made a pattern and began to create the feather mantle, she gazed out the door from time to time at the activity, a feeling of poignant melancholy filling her mind.

If the Blight had not menaced Ferelden—if the ghouls hadn't attacked Father and Anders on the road—he might have succeeded at getting his phylactery away from the Templars and destroying it, she thought. So much might have been different then. We would have had to live a very quiet life, of course, and certainly couldn't have come to a place like Kirkwall, but it might have been something like this: Anders the Healer, helping people... At that, her thoughts took a darker turn before she could complete the description of the full scene in her mind. An apostate Healer who insisted on helping strangers would have been in terrible danger.

Little did she know that at that very moment, Anders was also reflecting on the peaceful domestic scene. I like this, he thought as he finished with the current patient and sent her on her way. I like having my family with me, able to relax and just... be in our home, such as it is, as a family. I like that Cait has that mine share, so she doesn't have to engage in vigilantism for coin. Every time she has to fight someone, she risks being exposed as a mage. I'm glad that I can do what I love, showing people that magic can be good, lifesaving even, and get paid by the Grey Wardens for it. I'm glad that we can be parents. In all my dreams of escaping the Circle, I never considered that as a real possibility until I met her that winter.

I like this... and Maker forgive me for it, but there's a part of me that wishes it wouldn't end. Partly it's because I've already seen a glimpse of what we'll have to do to achieve our goals for mages—Caitlyn's alliances with that shady Chantry sister and any Templar who doesn't hate mages—and I dread what else may need to happen for the cause, but also, I just... like being needed. He gazed at his child as Mal played with the mabari, feeling a pang. If we move to the Amell estate, I won't be needed anymore—at least to support them. Her newfound wealth will support me. I understand exactly how Carver feels. Everyone needs to feel important and needed.

The voice of Justice nagged at him. It's a dream, he thought, trying to clear his thoughts. It can't stay like this. The only possible way we could live like this indefinitely is if Mal turns out not to be a mage—and the odds of that are low. And it would be an abdication of responsibility to others.

Caitlyn got up and emerged from the nook, the backing for the feather mantle in hand, sewn together and hemmed. "Come here, Mal," she urged him. "Let's make sure this fits you." He got up from playing with the dog and stood before his mother. Anders smiled fondly as she draped it over his back and shoulders.

A refugee entered the clinic hesitantly, slipping through the door and closing it quietly behind her. He was instantly in professional mode as he attended to the patient and the little girl with her.

"They were here first," the adult refugee said demurely, looking at Caitlyn and Mal.

Anders shook his head. "It's fine. They are not patients."

Recognition dawned on the woman's face. "Oh! He's yours? And she—you are his mother?" she said to Caitlyn. They both nodded, and she continued, "I had no idea! No one told me that the Grey Warden that the Hero sent here had a family."

"Yes," Anders said, still smiling at them, "I do. We were separated before his birth and ended up in Kirkwall unbeknownst to each other until a few months ago."

"Separated before the Blight, then," the refugee guessed from Mal's apparent age.

"Yes. If anything, the Blight is what brought us back together—she evacuated here because of it, and I became a Warden and was assigned here." He glowered. "The Templars separated us."

"Then..."

"I escaped from the Circle and met her. I was recaptured before our son was born and locked up until I became a Warden."

The refugee was startled. "You didn't get to write to them or anything?"

Anders laughed darkly. "Mages taken to the Circle don't get to communicate with anyone on the outside while they are in there. Even little children, taken from their parents against the parents' wishes... if their own mothers and fathers write to them, the Circle authorities won't let the children see the letters or write back, and the parents aren't allowed to visit."

The woman was utterly appalled at this. "I had no idea!" she exclaimed, hugging her own daughter. "Separating families—that's wicked, that is." The expression on her face was deeply troubled. "I suppose I always was uneasy about apostates, but I see now why mages would want to live that way."

The woman's daughter, it turned out, was the patient, with a case of blood poisoning from a large, nasty splinter she had acquired in Darktown. Without Anders' healing, the child would have died of the infection in a few days. As the small family left the clinic, both Anders and Caitlyn were quite confident that they would never again fear all mages by default. Every bit helped.


Caitlyn had not forgotten about her tentative, implicit "deal" with Sister Petrice and Ser Varnell. Something was troubling her, and it was that they were a Game-player who had already revealed herself to be underhanded, and a Templar—and that both seemed to be extremely zealous in their faith, even if their zealotry manifested as anti-Qun rather than anti-mage. She really did think that there was the potential for a mutually beneficial alliance if she truly could become an important person in Kirkwall and give the ambitious sister the option of a "patron" other than the current Grand Cleric—which, if her guess about Petrice's ultimate ambition was correct, would then give her a powerful backer for what she wanted... but she also understood Anders' concerns about it.

I will feel better about this with another opinion, she thought. Claiming to need to buy some items, and making sure to leave her staff behind and arm herself with a dagger instead, she headed to the Gallows, hoping that Ser Thrask was on duty outside.

He was, and he was surprised to see her. "What can I do for you today, Serah Hawke?" he inquired nervously.

"How are you coping?" she asked first, wanting to be polite and indicate to him that she remembered about his daughter's recent death.

The man sighed. "As well as can be expected. It hurts, and... between us... it has made me question even more what I'm doing." He glanced around unobtrusively to make sure they were not being overheard, but still kept his voice low. "Let's step aside, shall we?"

They stepped into a fairly private corner. "You must understand, serah—it's different for your son. He has two parents who are trained and can train him, if he eventually manifests magic. I don't see any reason to take children from their families at all in that case. But my daughter... she had nobody who could teach her as well as that. I wonder now if I failed her... but what could I have done? Maybe it would have been different, maybe she would've been able to resist better, if she had gone to the Circle, but I just couldn't send her in there, knowing that I would never see her again and wouldn't be able to do anything to protect her from abuses by other Templars. They would have placed her outside Kirkwall, you know—or reassigned me to another city. They would not have let us be at the same Circle, able to see each other and talk."

Caitlyn scowled at the ground for a moment. "That doesn't surprise me. They seem to have a deliberate policy of cruelty when it comes to tearing apart families with mages."

Thrask shuffled his feet. "That's harsh... some months ago, I would've said too harsh... but I don't think I can say that now."

"Ser Thrask," she asked, "I was wondering about something—and I'll get to that in a minute—but before I do, I'm wondering about something else now. You said just now that you were questioning what you were doing."

"There are some of my, ah, brothers and sisters, who think that we are supposed to protect other people from mages. When I took the vow, I believed that Templars were meant to protect mages themselves," he said. "I used to think it meant that we were supposed to protect mages from themselves, and from demons... I think I've told you this before?"

She nodded. "But that you now think that you should protect mages from people who would do harm to... us."

"Yes. The biggest threat to mages that I have seen, by far, is from frightened civilians and malevolent, or over-zealous, Templars, who either harm mages outright or drive them to do desperate things to protect their own lives. I don't think there would be nearly as many voluntary possessions if mages didn't feel that their only choices were to be killed, made Tranquil, torn from their loved ones for the rest of their lives, or accept a demon's help to fight back. If we drive them to do that, how do we not share some blame?" He collected himself, shaking his head.

"I agree completely with you and so does Anders," she said, feeling completely comfortable speaking for him. If he were here right now, she had no doubt that he would speak for himself very freely on this topic. "I have to ask, though—if you could live in the world you wanted, if the Circles were different and Templars acted the way you believe they should—what, in your view, should be the duty and purpose of the Templar Order?"

"A last line of defense," he said at once, feelingly. "I have pondered that above all else lately, that question, and that's what I think."

"Meaning that if ordinary guards, and perhaps even decent mages, were not enough to defeat powerful mage criminals who abused their powers..."

"Then Templars could be called in. Yes."

She smiled wryly at him. "That sounds rather like 'protecting other people from mages,' you know. Is that what you meant by 'questioning what you are doing'?"

"I have been rethinking a lot of things," he agreed. "Perhaps most mages don't need protection from themselves and from demons, if they are taught well and aren't driven to desperation."

"You think?" she said coolly. It annoyed her a bit that this man was explaining to her, a mage, his big revelation about people like her... but at least he'd had one, and it would hardly do to alienate an ally just for talking about the reasoning behind his agreement with her. "There are undoubtedly a few people who would let demons possess them just for power, but the vast majority wouldn't cede control of their own bodies unless they were desperate. I certainly wouldn't." She thought about Anders, but Justice was a spirit, mostly in the background, and he yielded quickly after the occasions when he was not—and Anders had indeed been desperate, though for Justice's survival, not his own.

"And I was very arrogant to think it should be my duty to protect mages from themselves, since the Order I swore to serve created the conditions that drive so many mages to listen to demons. Perhaps my... colleagues... are not entirely wrong that the true purpose should be to protect others from mages, although that means something different to me than it does to them." He glanced around again before continuing, his voice even lower. "If that were our sole duty, apprehending mage criminals that even other mages could not, there would not need to be nearly as many of us, so the Order could be much more exclusive in whom it accepted, as it should be. Far too many men and women join the Templars for the coin, or because their families send them to the Chantry at a young age. Or worst of all, because they have a cruel nature."

"I am sure it must be difficult for you," Caitlyn said, choosing her words carefully, "but I do hope you'll stay in the Order." I need a spy, she thought, and probably will continue to do so. "You have a respectable vision for what it could be, and they need a... a better example to follow."

He smiled sadly. "I'm glad you think I can be that."

"There was one other thing." As interesting as the conversation had been, this was actually her original purpose for seeing Thrask, though she had disguised that fact well and made it seem like an afterthought. "Have you met a Templar named Ser Varnell—or know anything about him?"

Thrask considered. "I know him mostly by reputation, but I met him briefly, and I think his reputation is accurate. He was always... a bit of a loner, and not very enthusiastic about his Templar duties. He was recently assigned, by his own request, to serve an initiate who was doing work in Lowtown." He peered at her. "Did you meet him there?"

She nodded. "Him and the initiate. I didn't get the impression that he cared much about mages at all, apostates or otherwise."

"Nor did I. He hates the Qunari, though."

Caitlyn chuckled darkly at that. "I... did get that impression, to say the least." She peered back and lowered her voice to a whisper. "He is not one of the Knight-Commander's favorites or hangers-on, to the best of your knowledge?"

Thrask raised his eyebrows. "Not that I could tell. He was eager to be out of the barracks, and never associated with Alrik, Mettin, or... Karras." His gaze darted quickly back and forth at the grate in front of the Templar barracks. "Listen. You should not linger here. I have overheard some of them talking about Karras's death."

"Are you in danger? Do they suspect you, since you returned with Alain?"

He shook his head. "Our story, which you should also know, was that the blood mage—whose body was recovered from the cave—killed Karras and his group by himself, but that Alain and the other apostates then killed him—and that Alain alone chose to surrender when I arrived later, all the others fleeing the scene first. No mention of you. But this still makes me uncomfortable. Better for you not to be seen with me in public, Hawke."

She nodded. "I understand. Thanks for your help, Ser Thrask."


Anders was closing up shop for the day when she returned. "What did you get?" he asked innocently as she strode in.

Oops. She recalled that she had told him she needed to buy something as an alibi. Chuckling guiltily, she breezed past him and gave him a peck on the cheek. "I, er, didn't get anything," she admitted.

He turned around to face her, eyebrows raised. "What did you do, Cait?" His voice was pained, apparently because he realized she had felt the need to deceive him, but also worried.

"I went to the Gallows to ask Ser Thrask about my... associates... from Lowtown. You know whom I mean. I wanted to know if he had any additional information about them, the Templar especially, that should give me pause. He did not; my impressions matched up with what he knows of the man—which is good, Anders," she tried to assure him. "He also had some interesting things to say about the Templar Order itself."

Anders glowered at the mention of it, but that glower melted somewhat as she related Thrask's musings back to him. "I have never heard of a Templar who is that sympathetic to mages," he finally said when she finished speaking.

"He always meant well, according to his own—former—view of what it was to mean well, but having a daughter who was a mage, and then losing her traumatically due to this awful system, is what did it. Anders," she urged him, "advocating for families influences people. That patient earlier today, for instance. Arguing that magic isn't really that dangerous isn't going to work, because frankly, it's not true! We are dangerous. We can do things that other people cannot do, and since it can be a weapon, we do need to know how to use it appropriately and control it."

"That need not mean the Circles."

"I know that better than anyone," she said, smiling. "But not every mage has parents—or others close to the family—who can teach them. You didn't. But talking about families—parents separated for life from their children, lovers torn apart, siblings sent to different Circles—that changes minds. This should be a centerpiece of our message, Anders."

"I agree, love. It's our story, for one. We can just talk about what happened to us." He hesitated before continuing. "But there are other abuses too, like Tranquility. That should never happen, ever. And yet, people seem not to have a problem with it, because they meet Tranquil store clerks and have some passing familiarity with them, and the Chantry spreads the propaganda that Tranquility makes mages 'safe.' I don't know how to counter that."

She considered before responding. "Perhaps that's not something that can be changed from the bottom up, by making people care and demand change. Perhaps it has to come from the top down, after we have the influence and power that we want."

"People should care," he muttered. "It's an evil thing to do to someone. How can they not understand that?"

"We can talk about it, but ultimately the propaganda has been successful in that many people do not see mages as 'full' people, so it doesn't bother them so much," she said darkly. "That's why it's so important to talk about the other. It reminds them that, yes, we are people too—that we have loves, friends, and families just as they do."

From across the clinic, Mal finally spoke up, revealing that he had overheard the entire conversation, to their surprise. "We're a family," he remarked. "The people that Father heals know that after they visit, like the nice lady with the girl today."

"From the mouth of a child," Caitlyn said, giving him another kiss on the cheek and heading across the clinic to attend to Mal.


That night, in bed, he brought up the topic of her earlier outing again.

"I... want to be careful of what I say," he began, "because I don't want you to think that I want to control you, or anything like that."

She was tempted to make a joke about more intimate activities of that sort, but bit her lip. He seemed serious.

"It does bother me, though, that you didn't think you could tell me the truth about what you meant to do," he said, turning to face her. "Why didn't you?"

"Honestly? Because I knew you would worry if I told you I was going to the Gallows to talk with a Templar. Don't deny it, Anders—you would have. Better to ask forgiveness than permission," she said wryly.

"You don't need permission..."

"Yes, you said you didn't want to control me. I wouldn't let you anyway," she said with a smirk. "It's just an expression."

He sighed. "I know. And... you're right. I would have worried, but I wouldn't have tried to stop you from going or talk you out of it."

"You're sure about the latter?" she said, a hint of teasing in her voice.

He did not crack a smile. "Cait—I appreciate that you don't want me to worry, but if something happened, it's better for me to know where you were supposed to be. If you hadn't come back—if that bitch in the Gallows... sorry," he muttered, remembering that he was speaking to a woman.

She shrugged indifferently. "You can call her that."

A single bleak laugh escaped him. "If she had brought you in, I wouldn't have known that you were last in that area. There are so many dangers in Kirkwall."

"You're starting to sound like my mother."

"I'm not going to try to stop you from going anywhere!" he insisted. "But if something had happened today, I would have thought you were at the market and would have gone there first to look for you. I would have been delayed. Yes, I'll worry—but I still want to know where you'll actually be, just in case. Please?"

He meant it, she realized—and as she gazed into his face, his eyes pleading, she also realized why this was so urgent for him. They had lost each other, been separated, for years. He was terrified of losing her again, and he was correct that she was in greater danger of that than he was now. She still experienced moments of irrational traumatic-memory fear when they were apart for any reason, but rationally, she knew that his status as a Grey Warden on official assignment would protect him from actually being hauled into the Circle again. There would be other dangers, mostly of the underhanded scheme variety like the vile plot to bait him with poor Karl, but even Meredith Stannard was not going to publicly arrest a Fereldan Grey Warden ordered here by the Hero of the Blight. She, however, did not have any such protection. His fear for her was not irrational in the least.

She embraced him, falling into his arms as he lay on his back, and kissed his collarbone. "All right, darling," she said softly. "I won't lie again about what I'm doing or where I am going. I promise."

He tilted her chin up, gazed into her eyes for a moment, and—with the arm that was holding her around the waist—pushed her up his body to kiss her tenderly.

She threaded her fingers through his hair, removing the leather band and setting it down atop the stack of crates next to the bed, as she intensified the kiss. He let out a groan when she pulled his lower lip gently between her teeth. His hands found their way to her hips, and he pulled her smalls down with one stroke, her helping him along by bending her knees and wiggling up his body further.

Their kisses became heavier and punctuated with gasps of breath very quickly once their smalls were both cast aside. A sweaty, heated struggle of hands and limbs then ensued as she tried to wrap her right leg around him to straddle him. Anders was trying to roll her over and get on top, but she was not having it now, and when she finally positioned herself at his tip and slid down decisively, he collapsed on the mattress, his struggle for dominance ended—at least temporarily.

"Fuck," he gasped, his honey-brown eyes wide—an expression of awe rather than vexation.

She smiled wickedly. "With pleasure," she replied, clenching her muscles around him.

Another strangled moan escaped from his throat as they began to move together.

A few minutes later, he had recovered some command of himself—must be that Warden stamina again, Caitlyn thought—and was holding his own once more. His hands gripped her waist and he slid her back and forth, making her own movements that much harder and more abrupt, hitting deep inside her every time. The onslaught from that was turning the tables a bit, making her slip ever closer to surrender despite how this had begun.

His tip hit her most excitable spot far inside, and he knew it immediately—her eyes squeezed shut and a throaty moan burst from her lips. In that moment, she could not hold her position and keep him in place if she wanted to. A grin appeared on his face for a brief moment, and he seized the opportunity at once to flip her over and pin her hard against the mattress—he does that very well indeed, she thought in the midst of the pleasure storm he had just inflicted on her.

In the next moment, she realized that her mental characterization of it as a storm was even more accurate than she had thought. Anders began to send pulses of electricity into her, one after the other, first attending to each breast, then the sensitive places on her waist and hips, then, finally, her inner thighs and core. After recovering from the first pulse there, Caitlyn finally pulled herself together enough to retaliate a bit, leaving a thin trail of frost down both of his sides and prompting a shiver from him.

Neither of them lasted much longer after that, her following him over the edge, each of them gasping the other's name almost reverently and both of them falling into a blissful wave of intense pleasure that they rode to its completion.

Their chests were still heaving when he collapsed on her, hands running up and down her sides tenderly, and pressed his lips to the place where her jaw and neck met. "Marry me, love," he murmured, giving her another kiss in the same spot immediately, then a third slightly farther up.

Instantly, Caitlyn froze. Did he mean that? Was that a real proposal, or just another exclamation of love and desire that came out in the heat of the moment? In the space of a couple of seconds, many memories and thoughts flashed through her mind. He was going to make it dramatic and get on his knees, she thought, remembering the now poignant moment in Lothering when he had given her the sapphire ring with a promise that he would ask "properly" once he was free of the Circle. Well, he is free of the Circle, she thought at once—but could this be what he had meant for a "proper" offer? Until recently, Caitlyn had not given much thought to how that lost proposal might have gone, because it was too painful to think about while they were apart and his fate was uncertain. However, since they had reconciled, she had speculated occasionally again—but not once had she thought about it occurring like this, with both of them naked in bed, barely a minute after lovemaking.

It had only been a few seconds, but he drew back, concerned at her sudden stiffness and lack of immediate response. She understood then that he had meant it—and why shouldn't it be like this now? she realized. We were innocent then; perhaps he would have gotten on one knee like a storybook hero after successfully vanquishing his pursuers, but our story did not have that kind of ending. Given what did happen, that we were separated and hurt and had to fall in love again, it's more fitting this way.

The expression on his face was very worried, his eyebrows knitted together, anxiety that he had gone too far too soon making his muscles tense. He opened his mouth either to ask her again, more uncertainly this time, or to apologize—she did not know which, and she never found out, because before he could speak another word, she reached for him with both hands.

"Of course," she said, her voice brimming with love and reassurance. She caressed his cheek. "I will, sweetheart. I love you so much."

A quick, uncertain laugh escaped him, then a shaky smile. "I wasn't sure for a moment."

She laughed as well and ran her fingers into his hair, gently rubbing against his scalp. "I was surprised and startled—and I was unsure for a moment if you meant to say it."

"Unsure if I meant it? How can I ever forgive that?" he teased, relieved and relaxed again.

She pulled his head down, which he allowed without any resistance, and cradled him beside her. "I'll have to make it up to you," she said. "You should come up with ways for me to do that, since justice is one of your specializations."

Anders planted a kiss on the shell of her ear and draped an arm around her waist, resting side-by-side with her. "That could be a dangerous opening to give me."

"I'll take the risk." She snuggled closer to him. "Four years," she said, feeling bad immediately for referring to that, but it seemed almost implicit to the conversation already. "Almost four and a half now. Far longer than either of us thought we'd have to wait..."

"Yes," he said quietly. They were silent for a moment, in respect for everyone and everything that they had lost, and then he continued. "And that's why I don't want to wait much longer."

"Nor do I," she agreed. "There is no reason to. We've waited quite long enough... and I don't know about you, but I don't care two coppers about a lavish 'event' that would cause further delay to plan." She sighed; this was getting very sad, and she hated that, but better to say it. "Father and Bethany... the fact that Mal is approaching four years old himself... let's just keep it small and private, with close friends and... family."

"Yes," he said emphatically. "I wish we could do it before we even go into the Deep Roads... but we'll probably have to wait for that initiate to become an ordained priest."

Caitlyn agreed that Sister—Mother, by then—Petrice should do it; she did not know anything about any other priests and did not want to burn the tentative alliance with this one by snubbing her. But those were worldly, practical considerations... and now that they had expressed their grief that it had taken so long and they had lost so much, she found that she wanted to focus on the happy elements of this moment rather than anything else. She lifted her head to face him and drew close again, kissing him languidly as they lay next to each other.

After a few minutes of this, he drew back, remembering something. "Let me give you the ring again," he said, reluctantly breaking away from her warm embrace, out of the pocket of warmth in the bed, and reaching over the side for the leather pouch that rested atop his stack of crates.

"I wish I'd never left it." The words tumbled from her lips as he pulled the drawstring mouth open and shook the ring into his open palm. "If you hadn't gone inside the cabin—"

"I did, though. And I know you wouldn't leave it behind again, so don't think about that anymore," he urged her. "It's in the past, love." He took her left hand in his and slipped the sapphire-bearing silver band on her finger again. The gem glittered faintly in the dim light.

I can't put it behind me, she thought, but he is right that I should put my guilt in the past. Instead, every time I look at this, I'll remember that the reason I wear it is that he never gave up on us.