Notes: This chapter is a split of a much larger chapter that blew way past my self-imposed limit.
No song. This is probably a lyric of something, but I wasn't thinking of anything in particular here.
Chapter 23: Clouds on the Horizon
Leandra held her dinner the following night, the night before Carver left Kirkwall, readily slipping into the lifestyle she had led years ago. However, her children both felt odd eating at the grand dinner table, even when Caitlyn invited all of her close friends. The table was large, since it had formerly been used for noble banquets, and her friends and close relatives still did not fill it up.
Still, it was a fine meal. Several of the guests, in fact, had too much to eat, and everyone except Mal and Anders also had too much to drink, some more so than others—but there were some very nice wines and spirits here. Gamlen certainly had not left any alcoholic beverages behind when he moved out, so these had belonged to the slaver gang, as Fenris pointed out when they discovered them. Caitlyn did not feel the slightest twinge of guilt for enjoying them in spite of that. Blood money had paid for them, but destroying them now would not free or otherwise benefit anyone that the gang had enslaved. Fenris himself realized that, and after he had that epiphany, he took special delight in a fine Tevinter red wine. At least good people would enjoy these spoils in the future.
After dinner, Varric examined the house with a strange, vaguely sad expression on his face. Caitlyn noticed and asked him about it.
He gave her a wry smile. "I've got my own thoughts about grand family manors," he said. "My room at the Hanged Man is all I want. But—that treasure could've been put to much worse use than this, and I'm very pleased that you were able to get the Viscount to deed it to you for a steep discount. I knew you'd do well here in Kirkwall, Hawke. You'll go far if you want to."
"What do you mean?" Her heart thudded suddenly. She did have some big ideas and grand ambitions, but one of them in particular was a little frightening even to entertain as a fantasy.
"You know what I mean," he said. "We won't speak openly of it, of course, but you know." He gave a quick side glance to Anders, then turned back to her. "Just... keep an eye on him."
"Oh, I look at him at every opportunity," she said, smiling crookedly. It was a deflection, she knew, and Varric seemed a bit uncomfortable at her blatant allusion, but she was feeling the fine wine from the cellar and also did not want to have a serious talk about plans and politics right now. What Varric was obliquely hinting at scared her, not least because she knew it would probably be necessary to achieve her true goal of decent lives for mages. It was daunting.
He cleared his throat. "Right, then. I'll leave you to that." He nodded at her. "Later, Hawke."
She watched as he, Aveline, and then—their body language heavily implying that they were leaving together—Fenris and Isabela departed. Good for them, she thought. The wine really was getting into her, and she was feeling positive and happy now, her earlier mixed feelings gone and her discussion with Varric already shoved to the back of her mind.
Her gaze shifted to Anders, who was sitting in a cushioned chair with Mal in his lap, reading quietly to him. The sweet domestic sight sent a rush of warmth through her, and suddenly, she was very eager indeed to get a quick hot bath in the lovely marble tub—perhaps even with him—and then break in the sumptuous bed in the bedroom that would be theirs. They had been too tired last night after moving into the house, so they had never made love on a bed like this one. Most of the time, it had been on single beds—in the clinic or in her bunk in Lothering—or outdoors. The closest they had come to it was the mattress in the loft back in Lothering, which at least had had room for two people, but was still basic and somewhat primitive. Caitlyn wondered what the silk sheets on this bed would feel like against bare skin. Even last night she had thought, before falling quickly asleep, that the grand red draperies of the bed would create the sensation of a close, warm, luxurious chamber when let down for privacy. I think everything about that room and that bed will make it even better. The very atmosphere of the bed seems to invite abandon, passion, seduction. It will be wonderful, and we deserve it, she thought, staring at him.
Her attention was diverted when Carver and Merrill, who had stepped aside, broke apart, Merrill glaring at him with fury in her tear-filled eyes. Immediately Caitlyn's thoughts fled from her plans for later that night and fixed instead upon the situation before her.
"I told you, I don't mind writing to you!" Merrill exclaimed at Carver.
Everyone in the room looked up. It was impossible to ignore. Leandra grimaced and backed away into the shadows, not wanting to hear this. Anders also closed his eyes—and the book—and rose up with Mal, who asked innocently, "Father? Why is she yelling at Uncle Carver? What did he do?"
Anders pulled the door shut behind him. There was another door, but Caitlyn found that she could not take it. She wondered if it might be the drink... and she wondered even more if this was truly a good idea, given that she was a bit tipsy... but she felt, still, that she needed to be here for this. Merrill seemed grateful for her presence, to the extent that she could focus on anyone except Carver.
Carver turned aside even as he spoke to Merrill, unable to look her in the eyes. "It's not that," he said shamefacedly. "There are things about being a Grey Warden."
"You told me what they are, and I told you then that I didn't care! I thought you believed me!"
Caitlyn realized that she was talking about the private conversation that Carver had had with her back in the Lowtown house.
"I do believe you," Carver replied, "but... maybe you should care. I couldn't have given you elven children anyway. I know how important that is—"
"You know nothing!" she shouted, her magic now crackling over her palms. Caitlyn wondered if she would have to dispel it.
Carver finally noticed his sister. "Cait, why are you still here?" he said aggressively.
She glowered back at him. "Because Merrill is right. How dare you presume to think you know what she 'should' want, 'should' care about, better than she does?"
"You do too," he spat. "You and Anders have scolded her on every possible occasion about her work..."
"I've never scolded her for her work and I've never said that she shouldn't care about it. I've had disagreements about one thing she has done to accomplish it—and that is completely different from what you are doing right now! Do you really think she didn't know about elf-blooded children? Honestly, Carver, if you want to break up with her, then take bloody responsibility for it yourself. Don't you dare put it on her by saying she doesn't know what's best for herself like you do!"
"That's right," Merrill said aggressively. "I wish you would not at all, but if you have to, then tell me honestly why."
Carver winced, closing his eyes for a moment. "I'm going away," he burst out. "I'm going across the Waking Sea. Even if I had chosen to stay in the Marches, I wouldn't be here. You say we can still write, but... can we? And have anything, I mean? It's more difficult than it sounds, I bet. I wouldn't want you to feel tied down to a human Grey Warden who wasn't even physically there, and who... well"—he glanced at his sister—"you've barely had anything with anyway."
Merrill's wrath dissipated, as did her out-of-control magic. She gazed sadly at him. "We have had what we were ready to have," she said. "I have had much to adjust to, you know. I have only been away from my clan for these past six months."
"And that's why I don't want to make you think you're restricted. Who knows what the future will hold?"
"But Carver, it is because we have had so little that we can write, and meet during your visits to Kirkwall, and not feel bound to anything yet. It is not like your sister and Anders." She turned to Caitlyn. "Carver and I have never, erm..." She flushed faintly in the dim light.
Somehow Caitlyn was not surprised in the slightest that Merrill had felt the need to share that with her. It was exactly of a piece with the elf woman's curious mix of shyness and ingenuous bluntness. "Well, you didn't have to tell me that—not that I mind—but I agree with you. Why not write and see what comes of it?"
"Exactly. It is a chance. You would eliminate that chance," she said to Carver.
He sighed heavily and ran his hand through his dark hair. "All right," he said, "we can write. I don't want to hurt you, Merrill, and I didn't mean to."
"Then respect what I say," she said, though her tone was gentle.
He managed a nod. Feeling at last that it was time for her to go, Caitlyn slipped out of the room and headed for the stairs.
Anders was tucking Mal into bed in his nice new room, right next to theirs, when she noticed him. He raised his eyebrows questioningly.
"I think I—we—talked him into being reasonable," she said in a low voice. "He said he will correspond with her after all."
"Good. I was afraid I would have to go down there and blast him with a spell."
"You would have been third in line to do that, behind Merrill and me."
He laughed and pulled the door shut. "I suppose so." He eyed her with a knowing smile. "Now. On to other things."
Suddenly, her desirous fantasies rushed back to the forefront of her thoughts.
"I couldn't help but notice that you were staring at me for a long time downstairs," he said, opening the bedroom door and stepping in with her.
"Was I?" she said, smiling. "You were holding him in your lap, reading to him... the lights were soft and warm..."
"That's especially attractive?"
"Watching you be gentle and devoted to our child? Yes, that's especially attractive." She stepped forward and took his hands in hers, gazing up at him. The expression of mirth on his face told her that he had not been baffled by her attraction to that; he just wanted her to say it herself. She did not mind at all. "Come. The bath awaits, and after that..." She nodded at the draped canopy bed.
The bath had dwarven runes for manipulating the elements to produce water at the desired temperature. It was the sort of luxury that was unheard of in Ferelden, even for the high nobles. She and Anders manipulated the runes until the water temperature was perfect, then removed their clothes—eyeing each other admiringly—and stepped in. She sank into the tub and leaned against the marble wall, letting the ends of her hair get wet. She closed her eyes in bliss, but only for a moment; she did not want to block out the fine body before her.
He moved closer, almost hovering over her against the side of the tub. "You know," he said, "I've been meaning to say... I noticed it before, in the clinic, but it's even more apparent now, when you can relax and stretch in a lighted room. You... look different from how I remembered you from Lothering." He placed his hands on her hips and gazed down at her. "Curves. They're beautiful," he added immediately, not wanting to give her a wrong impression.
She understood and smiled back, actually quite flattered that he would notice and remark on it. "I carried a child and gave birth. It changes a woman's body. I worked hard for a year, too, but carrying contraband wasn't any more strenuous than doing farm work."
He moved his hands to her flat abs under the water, making her shudder in pleasure. "Well, that's why you have this, I'm sure." He smiled at her. "I know about those changes, but... it's one thing to read about it in a Healer book and another to see it in the woman I love, because she had my child."
He leaned over her, caressing her cheek with his left hand and placing his right on the marble wall on the other side of her head. Her breath caught in her chest as he sealed her lips with his, and she immediately brought her hands to each side of his face to hold him in place. They deepened the kiss together, almost devouring each other as the warm water swirled around them. He pushed against her down to the waist, and at that point she felt the telltale hardness against her body. That brought her out of the heated fog.
"Can't... in the tub," she gasped, breaking apart. "I mean... we can... but the bed is so nice..."
Anders did not agree with her decision or her rationale. "Warden stamina," he said, pushing back. "I can go again—and I promise you, I will make sure you can too."
She knew she could not resist him, and the truth was that she didn't actually want to. She wanted to take him in that bed, but if he could hold to his word... "You'd better," she said.
"Don't worry, I will," he said, his words almost a threat. He positioned himself and surged forward without any additional prelude, eliciting a shriek of surprise from her that she had to muffle. She was not hurt; she just was not expecting it so quickly. "I will," he murmured as he began to thrust hard, pushing her against the curved wall. The water sloshed harder, almost spilling over the side with every movement. She was overwhelmed with sensation; she'd never had a bath like this one before, just baths in tin washtubs and the like, and the sensuous luxury alone was arousing—but that was also combined with the feel of the water's surface breaking against her skin, the heat of it, and especially the intense presence of him over her and in her, pushing her against the unyielding surface as he filled her repeatedly.
Neither of them lasted very long for this, but it was somehow their unspoken understanding that it would be quick and not drawn out. After their climaxes dissipated and the sloshing of the water subsided to a gentle ebb and flow, they somehow managed to sit upright again and actually scrub each other clean. If Anders spent a bit too much time on certain places that he knew were especially sensitive for her, like her waist and hips, she did not mind.
The water was only warm by that time, but Caitlyn realized, as she prepared to step out of the tub, that he was right—he had almost gotten her ready again. He pulled on a dressing gown and gazed at her nude form as she considered her nightgown. Unlike his simple belted jacket-like robe, her negligee did not open from the front or back and thus was a bit more difficult to get into—and out of.
"Are you going to put that on or am I going to have to pull you naked into the bed?"
She whirled around, holding the garment. The robe did not hide the evidence around his waistline, and seeing that brought a grin to her face. She strode forward boldly, draping the negligee across one bent elbow, and stood in front of him when she reached him.
"Neither," she said, smiling. "I am not going to put it on, and I'm walking to the bed myself." She raised her other hand and ghosted her fingers across the dark green material that concealed his bulge so poorly.
He drew breath sharply at that. In a quick motion, his right hand darted out and grabbed her wrist. His grip was tight. She heard him pant for breath and gazed up at him. In a few moments, his expression had become vulnerable and desperate with need and desire. Whenever he looked like that, it almost drove her mad—and this was no exception. He was still holding her wrist, but she nevertheless led him to the bed. He released her as they tumbled onto the mattress together, and in a swift movement, shed his dressing gown.
Anders gazed across the large mattress in a certain degree of awe, then crawled to one side and sat upright to wait for her. She untied the bed drapes and let them fall, shielding the couple behind crimson and gold. The effect was exactly what she had hoped for, with the light of the magical crystal lamps filtering through the fabric just enough. She pulled back the bedspread and sheets and reached for him, pulling him down.
Caitlyn was expecting him to try to roll on top of her and lead, as he usually did. Over the past few weeks, since they had again become lovers, she had realized that her recent preference for that was not a fluke; she truly did delight in having one place in which she did not have to try to manipulate a situation, bully people, or be on her guard to avoid being taken advantage of—one place other than with her son, of course, but that did not count since he was a child. Having an intimate, loving relationship again with Anders had been very good for her, she knew—and having such trust in him, despite the entity he harbored, was part of that intimacy.
But she still did not want him to lead every night—and this was one of the others. As she gazed at him, lying on his back, his head sunk into a pillow, eyes staring needily at hers, she realized that tonight, she wanted things to be a bit different.
His arms were lean and toned, exuding a strength that was unusual in a mage—a Circle mage, she corrected herself. Free mages like us have the opportunity to become fit... and those are very nice and fit arms indeed. They're strong enough to pin me down. He likes to do that sometimes.
But tonight...
There was nothing on the bed that she could use, so as much as she regretted it, she got down and drew back the curtains on the side of the bed where she knew her clothing lay. She picked up her belt and got back on the bed, pulling the drapes tight again as she held the belt meaningfully in her hands. Anders' eyes widened, and they grew even rounder when she climbed on top of him, straddling his waist.
"This is a change of pace, isn't it?" she murmured as she lifted his wrists to the closest bedpost and wrapped the leather strap around them. He did not offer the slightest suggestion of even playful resistance, and she realized that he must have wanted this very much indeed, whether he had realized it before or not.
He swallowed hard and strained against the belt, testing its hold, letting out a quick, satisfied moan at the sensation. "A very pleasant one, though." He stared at her, desperation in his eyes. "I am yours."
"Yes, you are," she agreed in a purr, smirking, as she leaned down to begin kissing him. "You are mine and I'm not going to let you go until I am ready."
He strained again, trying to arch up and relieve a bit of his arousal against her body. "Never let me go," he whispered.
Caitlyn realized with a start that he was not talking about being bound to the bedpost anymore. The smirk faded from her face at his words, transforming into a tender smile. "I won't," she whispered back, punctuating the promise with a kiss on his cheek. He closed his eyes, relaxed, and breathed deeply.
She suspected that he liked so much to hold her down and occasionally tie her arms up because of his fear of losing her. It was a game of trust for her, but... perhaps... it was a game of belonging for both of them—belonging, and acting out a defiance of their fear. It certainly seemed to be for him right now, and his need for this made her feel the same way.
She decided not to make him—make either of them—wait any longer. He was extremely ready, and after all, he had not had to do much to get her ready again as well—really, just talk to her as he had just done, moan and gasp and make subtle little responses to the situation as he had just done. She desired him very much tonight. Taking a breath, she reached for his shoulders to brace herself as she slowly joined with him. His eyelids fluttered closed for a moment as she began to move, and in the next moment, he began to move in concert with her.
They had not ever forgotten how specifically to please each other, and over the past few weeks, the long-buried knowledge had emerged again. They knew how to make this last when they wanted, and that was indeed what they wanted tonight. She took him slowly and tenderly, never letting him suffer from denial, but also not letting him peak too soon. He was hers tonight, as he had said, and she found that she liked this too, setting the pace and being in control of her own pleasure rather than surrendering that to him. He was so good at it—but right now, she was the one making him gasp, cry out, moan, and thrash, as far as the bond on his wrists would let him. It was thrilling and gratifying to know that, no matter what he could do to her, she could do this to him too.
Anders shuddered and trembled beneath her as he had his release, and she followed him in a few seconds, reaching for the belt as soon as she had gasped for breath and come back to herself enough to think of it. She untied his wrists and promptly found herself enveloped in his arms as they collapsed together, side by side, clinging to each other as if their lives depended on it and pulling the silky covers over themselves to keep the warmth they had generated.
When at last they were able to speak, Caitlyn gazed into his eyes and murmured, "I will never, ever let you go." She reached under the sheets for his hand and fingered the band on it meaningfully. "And I know you will never let me go either. This, always."
He ran his fingers through her hair in response, pulling her close, cuddling her beneath his chin as they drifted off.
Carver's ship set sail the following day. At Leandra's insistence, the family went with him to the docks well before it was to depart, which no one else truly thought was a good idea for her, and they had their suspicions amply justified when the family reached the harbor. She was weepy and miserable, trying her best not to hold her son in a crushing embrace in public. To the merchants and sailors in the dockyard area, who frequently sailed to ports such as Val Royeaux, Wycome, Gwaren, or even as far distant as Dairsmuid, a short trip to Highever was nothing, barely warranting mention, let alone a scene of tears and fears. Leandra seemed to understand that and tried to keep it in check.
She also did not want to disturb Mal, who might interpret such a display as justified fear for Carver's safety on the voyage. Anders was keeping his attention focused on other things, to the extent possible, and for not the first time, Caitlyn reflected on how readily Anders had fallen into his role as a father. In some ways, it came more naturally to him than being a mother did to her. For a while now, Anders had spent more time alone with Mal than she had. She had supposed that it was because he wanted to try to make up for the lost years and because she had been so busy doing vigilante work and preparing for the Deep Roads. She also suspected that Mal's idolization of Anders, the long-lost father who appeared at last and loved them both dearly, who was a Healer and a "Grey Warden hero," and who helped his Uncle Carver, made him more inclined to spend time with Anders temporarily.
We have the house, she thought. I need to sketch out concrete plans for my... ambitions... but politics will be about scheming, plotting, and making alliances, not doing mercenary work for coin. It's something I can do indoors, in my own home. Surely I can settle down now and devote myself to them. To my family. I can go back to that part of my life in Lothering. Nothing else, but still that.
Leandra exclaimed in surprise as a group of people approached. Caitlyn turned around and gaped. Every one of their friends had made a last appearance before seeing Carver back to Ferelden. Even Aveline was there, though she was staying in the background, aware that Carver did not especially like her.
Varric gave a gentle push, and Merrill stepped forward nervously. The rest of the group politely stepped aside to give them a private moment. Caitlyn wondered what they were saying, as they conversed in low voices, but when the little elf drew away, she was smiling mildly. That was a vast improvement from the scene the night before, so she presumed that they had reiterated their promises to write. She wondered how it would turn out. Although she did not regret anything about her relationship with Anders—the first phase of it, she thought—and especially not now, she still wondered sadly if perhaps Carver and Merrill had the right idea about going slowly and not letting themselves actually fall in love just prior to the departure of one of them, even though they knew that would not be a permanent separation. She and Anders had suffered enormously, and although she realized that Carver likely had reasons of his own for being cautious—she recalled his remark about "elven children"—she could not help but wonder if he had been frightened by her sad experience. She hoped that it worked out for them, and that no one's feelings were too badly hurt if it did not work out.
Carver turned aside and faced his family. "Well," he said gruffly, "I guess this is it for now."
"Oh, Carver," his mother finally burst out, her composure shattered at last as she hugged him. "Please write to me as quickly as you can."
"Mother, I said I would—"
"You should send a letter as soon as you land in Highever," she continued. "And then once you arrive in Amaranthine and have found the Wardens."
"Mother," he said patiently, "I don't have unlimited coin for inn stays. Anders told us that Highever and Amaranthine are open now, and that there's a very strong alliance between them due to Couslands holding both now, so it should be perfectly safe and shouldn't take me long at all to reach Vigil's Keep."
She hugged him again. "Please write often," she said. "I cannot help but worry about you every day, knowing that you will be facing those... those monsters."
"I won't be facing them every day," he said. "It should be routine operations, now that the Blight is over and the darkspawn war is put down."
A crooked smile formed on Anders' face at that despite the present scene. Caitlyn noticed and remembered proudly that he was personally responsible for the death of the instigator of that conflict.
"Don't get me wrong, Mother; I will take joy in killing the filthy things. But that shouldn't happen that often. Most days would be like things were with the previous Warden-Commander, the one in Denerim Father knew."
"Don't go out alone," she said. "Always have other Wardens with you when you're scouting."
He rolled his eyes when she was not looking. Behind him, Caitlyn, Anders, and every one of their friends was about to chuckle, even the dour Fenris and the ingenuous Merrill.
"Commander Cousland didn't assign people to do anything alone," Anders put in, trying not to laugh at a mother's concern. "It's fine. He's well able to defend himself, and the darkspawn can't make him sick now."
She sighed heavily, nodding in resignation and acceptance. "You're right, of course. I don't mean to shame you, Carver. Just—take care of yourself, and remember to write to us!"
"I'll write," he said. "But I should board the ship now, Mother." He turned to Anders, Caitlyn, and finally Mal. "You lot take care of each other too."
The words were spoken roughly, but Caitlyn realized that they were sincerely felt, and that he was hiding his feelings under brashness. "We'll do that," she said huskily. She stepped forward. "Carver—I hope this is everything you want it to be. I think it will be."
"If it's not, I'll just ask to get reassigned to the Ansburg post after all," he said, but this gruffness didn't last at all. A sheepish chuckle escaped him. "I think it'll be good for me too, though." He gazed up at the ship. People were boarding.
The Hawkes and their companions realized that the time had finally come. They made their final farewells, and Carver stepped onto the ramp. He looked back at them with an expression of genuine peace and compassion that Caitlyn realized she had almost never seen on his face before. Although she would miss him, she knew then that it truly was right for him to do this.
Caitlyn woke up in a cold sweat, shaking.
He did not die of the Blight sickness, she told herself repeatedly. He became a Warden. Anders saved him. He sailed to Highever yesterday and is going to serve under the Hero of Ferelden. She knew these things to be true, and yet, the nightmare vision she had just had was still horribly fresh in her mind: Carver's blotchy, ghoulish body, lying in a pool of his own blood in the wretched Deep Roads, surrounded by heaps of cold, mocking gold. Anders had not been there in the dream; he had stayed behind at her persuasion to watch Mal, and in the Fade, she had hated him for it even though it had been her fault.
Caitlyn supposed that she should have expected this. Her mother's fear and anxiety had been openly and clearly expressed, which had been embarrassing for Carver, but to Caitlyn's knowledge, her mother did not have nightmares more often than the average person. She and Anders did.
Being conscious in the Fade as a mage did not help. In some ways, it made it worse to know that this was a dream, but to be able to do nothing to force herself back into the physical world. It was also harder to reshape the Fade to something better when a nightmare was particularly powerful, based on deep-seated, gut-wrenching fears and shaped further by her own worst moments. Before, she had harbored hate for Anders based on Bethany's death, and she was sure that this was why that particular element had been in the sequence. But the combination was crippling to her, leaving her with little choice but to see it through until her mind became strong enough to leave.
A quick, faint flash of light blue lit up the bed. Anders was stirring, and she felt bad for waking him up. "Go back to sleep," she whispered to him. "Just a nightmare."
He blinked awake and pulled her close without a word, rubbing her shoulders slowly to dissipate some of her tension. "You're all right," he murmured. "Was it about Carver?"
"Yes," she whispered. "And... us." She had not meant to tell him about it, but the words tumbled off her lips now that he had asked. "You didn't go on the expedition in the dream, and... I... was blaming you..." She squeezed her eyes tightly, abruptly changing her mind about talking to him about this. "It's just a stupid nightmare."
"That's exactly right," he said softly, wrapping an arm tightly around her. "Go back to sleep, love, and if you have another one, remind yourself that here, out of the Fade, I'm holding you."
He was holding her very close indeed, and at this moment, she knew she would remember.
Leandra kept herself busy the day after Carver's departure by arranging the house the way she liked it. In many instances that meant rearranging decorative items in circles, finally deciding on the original placement after all. Caitlyn and Anders quickly recognized the fact that this was essentially a nervous tic and did not interfere with her as she did it.
Anders, in fact, wanted to go to his clinic. "There could be sick or injured people at any time of day," he fretted. "Fereldans are always at risk in this city. That reality does not take a day off..."
Caitlyn had been on the floor, playing with Baldwin and Mal, but at this remark, she glanced up sharply. "You are entitled to days off, however," she said. "We just moved into this house."
"If someone died because I was not at the clinic..."
"Anders, people die for lack of a Healer all the time. You cannot save everyone. This is your family. You should be here—today, at least. We've hardly had a chance to relax!"
"Some people die because they are afraid of magic, or don't know how to find me, or are just too ill to travel and have no one to carry them there. It's sad, but I'm not to blame for those. It's different if they go to the clinic door and it's locked because I'm not in!"
"That could have happened already," she pointed out. "You often stayed the night in Lowtown when I lived there."
He pulled his coat on. "It's different. People understand that services like that are not guaranteed at night."
"You went to the Deep Roads for several days."
"And that's exactly why I should be there today."
"Anders, you cannot single-handedly heal every sick person in Kirkwall who seeks it out. No one mage can. The problem is that Healers cannot operate openly to serve the public... except Grey Wardens. It is not your duty to compensate for yet another wicked policy about mages!"
"I disagree," he said sharply. "I have the power to do this without... much... fear of reprisal. True apostates cannot. Therefore, I should be the one to do it until we can get that policy changed."
"I want to go, Father," Mal spoke up.
"Of course you may," he replied.
Caitlyn scowled at Anders. "Fine!" she exclaimed. "I can't prevent you if you're going to be this stubborn about it. But I think you should consider whether you're truly doing this out of altruism or if it's actually a way to make yourself feel better about deaths that you wrongly think are your fault." She paused before adding, "If you want to make it up to my family in particular, you should stay here."
He drew his breath sharply at that. "If I do have blood on my hands, there is nothing in the world that can truly wipe them clean," he replied. "Nothing can reverse a death, not even saving the life of somebody else."
"I never said it was about 'reversing deaths.' I implied that it might be about settling a debt that you feel you owe. And is this Justice speaking?"
"No," he said. "It's not." He picked up his staff and took Mal's small hand in his own. "You want us to be together, but this doesn't have to separate us. You could come with us too."
"I have nothing to do in the clinic," she replied. "I know one healing spell. I'm staying with Mother so she won't be alone the day after Carver left for Ferelden! I'm sorry that you don't agree."
Anders knew a "blame apology" when he heard one. He scowled back, and with that, left the room without another word, heading for the basement with Mal.
She was moody for the rest of the day, spending time with her mother but not saying much to her as they worked on the house. Leandra had not overheard their spat, so she assumed that Caitlyn simply had not gone to the clinic because healing magic was not her strength.
They reached a room where many of the crated and boxed items still rested. The two women went to these crates and opened them. Caitlyn found herself gazing into one that contained Amell blades that suited nobody; Carver had already helped himself to what he wanted from these crates. She wondered idly if these might suit one of her friends, perhaps Fenris...
Leandra peered over her crate and suddenly let out a sob. Caitlyn hurried over to see what it contained, what terrible memory had just been triggered...
Bethany's lute lay before them.
"Mother," she said, steering her away and placing this crate to one side on the floor, "it's going to be all right."
"Nobody can play it now," she said unhappily. "I should have learned, but I was never interested in learning music as a young girl... and you cannot..."
"Perhaps Anders can."
She shook her head. "Not unless he learned over the past four and a half years! Remember, in Lothering..."
Yes, Caitlyn remembered. Their family evenings in the big common room, when all of them were still alive, had often featured Bethany's music. Even afterward, Leliana had sometimes led musical sessions. She, Caitlyn, had actually been able to sing, though she had not sung in a long time, since before they left Ferelden. Anders could not even carry a tune, though. It was probably hopeless.
"Maybe Mal will want to learn someday. Let's just keep it in the crate for now," she said. "I'll take it to my bedroom." She closed the crate.
Leandra was dabbing at the corners of her eyes. "I'll come back to these crates later," she said. "I... cannot handle any more surprises just now, so soon after Carver left."
Caitlyn understood that, and she led her mother to a different room, where furniture was still arranged haphazardly. The slaver gang, at least, had not destroyed or sold most of the Amell family items that had survived Gamlen's spree of profligacy. Leandra gazed around this room, staring at an antique Tevinter-make table, then shook her head.
"What's the matter?" Surely there were no unpleasant memories associated with this... unless there were some from her mother's youth that Caitlyn could not guess at.
"We should wait until Anders comes home, to ask him, before moving any furniture," she said, stepping away.
Caitlyn's hackles rose. She was already annoyed with him for the spat this morning, and it was incomprehensible to her that her mother would want to ask his opinion of what to do with their furniture, the pieces that had belonged to her family. She was also quite certain that Anders would agree and not have an opinion anyway, but that did not matter; even if he did have a preference, it was not his decision. "Oh?" she said hotly. "And why is that? It's nothing to him."
Leandra gazed sideways at her in confusion. "How can you say that? This is his home. He's going to be family—already is, in a way."
"This is our furniture, Mother—your furniture. And yes, it may be his home, but this house is deeded to you, you know, as the proper heir of the Amells."
Leandra closed her eyes and sighed, then opened them again. "I suppose... perhaps so."
"Perhaps? It is! Mother, do what you want with your own furniture. I assure you, Anders will not care in the slightest. Even if something goes into our bedroom, or Mal's, he'll assume I approved that—and he would be right." She hated using that argument after all, but it might be the only way to get her mother to drop this.
Somewhat to Caitlyn's consternation, the concern lifted from her mother's face at those words. "Oh," she said in natural tones. "Well, if you're certain of that, that's different."
As they began to rearrange the furniture, Caitlyn considered the conversation in light of her mother's behavior over the years. She always wants to find some man or other to defer to, she thought sourly. For a long time it was Father. I noticed that years ago. Even though he never took advantage, I did notice it. Then it was Uncle Gamlen, and she justified that because it was his house. She even tried to let him have final say on things that involved my decisions for how to raise Mal, like exposing him to my uncle's behavior. I don't suppose she ever did it with Carver... but if he had stayed here longer, and Anders did not live with us, I'm sure she would have eventually.
Caitlyn recalled that it was seemingly common practice for Kirkwallers to make ugly comments about women. She even remembered Isabela's warning about the regulars of the Hanged Man. And she recollected that frightening experience working for Athenril in which she had had to use lethal magical force to defend herself from a group of well-heeled Hightowners who intended to assault her. In addition, all of Mother's stories about the Amell family of her youth had centered on a domineering family patriarch who made all the decisions. Even in the story of her elopement, Leandra had made it plain what a frightening choice it was to defy her father, and how she considered her brother Gamlen's slimy plan to marry her original betrothed and claim that the baby—me, thought Caitlyn—was the child of that man instead. Perhaps this was just how Mother was... but I'm not going to let it continue here, she vowed. If she must defer to somebody else because she doesn't want to make decisions herself, she'll defer to me. Or at worst, to Anders and me together. I will insist on it if this continues.
Anders and Mal returned that evening, each of them very pleased. Mal was visibly proud of himself, and Anders let him tell his mother and grandmother his news himself.
"Guess what?" the child exclaimed as Anders helped him clean his hands for dinner. He did not wait for anyone to guess. "Father told me how to make balm, and gave me the 'gredients, and I did it!"
Caitlyn attempted to swallow her irritation over the day's most annoying conversations. It was not Anders' fault—and it certainly was not Mal's—that her mother apparently thought the way she did, and, too, she supposed she was glad that the workday at the clinic had turned out so well for Mal, even if she still thought it had not been truly necessary for Anders to go today.
"That's wonderful!" she said to him as he wiped his hands on a towel. "I'm proud of you."
"It was the most basic elfroot balm," Anders whispered in her ear, "the one that requires no mixing in a concentrator agent. But he really enjoyed grinding the plants with mortar and pestle!" He spoke this second sentence aloud, so that Mal could hear.
The child beamed up. "It was fun!" He made fists and mimed crushing something with them.
"Any emergencies?" Caitlyn said to Anders as Leandra hurried her grandson to the dinner table.
Anders looked at the floor. "No emergencies," he admitted, "but who knows? Maybe someone I treated today would have been at risk of death tomorrow if I hadn't been there."
Caitlyn stared pointedly at him. "You will work normal hours," she warned him, "unless you really do have a patient whom you must watch constantly. The easy access of this house to the clinic does not give you a reprieve from your duty to your family."
Leandra looked up in surprise at her daughter, and her face filled with consternation.
"I would never deliberately neglect my duty to my family!" he exclaimed. "Maker's breath, I was forcibly separated from my family for over four years!"
"Most people do work during the daytime, Cait," Leandra offered hesitantly. "You never had to see that in Ferelden, because we farmed, and because of you, Bethany, and Malcolm... but it's true."
"I'm perfectly aware of that fact, Mother," she said tartly, "and I have lived that sort of life myself for almost a year and a half now. I'm not asking him to neglect the clinic. But things must be different now that he does not live there full-time or sleep overnight."
"It will be different," Anders reassured her, stepping closer and taking her hand.
Leandra beamed, pleased that they had apparently resolved their brief dispute. "Wonderful," she exulted. "Now, let us all have a seat and enjoy this nice dinner. Anders... won't you sit there? This was my father's chair..."
As she pulled him to the head seat, Caitlyn's face contorted in renewed irritation. At least her mother had seated them next to Anders on either side, and Mal next to her on her other side, but this just brought back the frustration that she had felt earlier. I shouldn't make a scene, she thought. As far as Anders can tell, she means this as an honor and a compliment to him, nothing more. This really does not matter compared to... the other, her inclination to defer. But as she sat down, she realized that she would need to have a talk with her mother about this eventually, or else it might seep into her relationship with him. As long as he did not take advantage of her mother's behavior, that would be unfair to him, and she didn't want anything else to come between them.
Notes: As much as they do love each other, they also have very real personality differences, and it's canon that Anders' sense of what is the right thing to do - what he feels morally compelled to do - sometimes results in him doing his own thing and being at odds with Hawke, even the most mage-friendly Hawke possible in the game.
Leandra's behavior (which is not entirely canon, but is something I've picked up by reading between the lines) doesn't help, though.
