Notes: Another lyric from Beethoven's Last Night by Trans-Siberian Orchestra, this from "The Moment".
This may be the darkest wedding chapter I've ever written… but somehow that seems fitting for them, and it's not all dark. I just realized, as I was writing it, how completely and utterly fucked up these characters are—all of them, even in canon, let alone in this AU. And that really came out.
Chapter 25: Maybe Then This Moment Will Survive
Two months later, early Drakonis 9:32.
Perhaps it was because of Mal; perhaps it would have happened even if Caitlyn had not met Anders until they both lived in Kirkwall, but after the family took possession of the mansion again, that became the meeting place for Caitlyn's friends rather than the Hanged Man. It afforded much more privacy, it was safer, and it did not require Caitlyn and Anders both to leave their son behind with his grandmother while they talked and conspired with their companions.
"You've convinced me, Blondie. The drinks are much better here," Varric remarked one night to Anders when the entire group was present in the living room, talking late into the night after the older lady and the young child were both in bed. Varric, of all the companions, had been most loath to leave the Hanged Man in favor of a Hightown estate—Caitlyn attributed that to unspoken issues with his brother and his parents—but at last he had come around.
Caitlyn was ensconced comfortably on a seat for two, next to the fireplace, with Anders by one side. His left arm was around her waist. On her other side, in a separate chair, was Isabela. She sprawled over it with one leg hitched over the armrest, offering a view of her smallclothes to Fenris, who was seated directly across the room next to Varric. He was studiously avoiding the sight and drinking wine.
Isabela admired the sapphire on Caitlyn's finger as it glittered in the flickering flames. "That's a nice jewel," she remarked. There was a touch of hunger in her eyes, but Caitlyn knew that some things were off-limits even to a professional thief and pirate, so she was not worried.
"It was Anders' mother's ring originally," she said. "He first gave it to me in Ferelden. I spitefully left it behind when we fled the Blight, but he went to our old house when he escaped, saved it, and gave it to me again." She touched her feather ornament in her hair. "This too, which he made for me. And... my sister's ashes." It was the first time she had told the whole story to her companions. No one, in fact, had known the full truth except Anders; her mother and Carver had apparently assumed that she had just stopped wearing it until he proposed to her. But saying it at last was like lifting a weight off her chest. Anders realized that and tightened his hold around her waist.
"Aww," said Isabela. "Very sweet." She gazed at Anders, then across the room at Fenris, a strange, almost pained look on her face. "It's... almost enough to make me—" She broke off at once.
Believe in love? Caitlyn wondered. She decided not to discomfit Isabela in public, though. She knew that this subject made Isabela uncomfortable and defensive.
Isabela spoke up at once, before anyone else, most probably Merrill, could quiz her on her unfinished statement. "It's a fine ring," she said, back to her old, carefree self. "Nice jewelry is almost reason enough to marry—unless you can get it by other methods. You could've, Hawke, so I'm a little surprised that you actually want to go through with this, no offense, Anders. I was married before, you know—and then had to, erm... well... I'm not implying that for you, of course—"
"I should hope you're not implying for us what you did," Anders said, his tone suddenly very cold. "You were forced to marry someone you didn't even like. That makes a big difference."
"Exactly. I was forced. Choosing to be tied down is even stranger to me," said Isabela. "But—everyone's different."
Caitlyn was also rather put off. Isabela had been so close to a major revelation, but she had turned aside from it because it became too uncomfortable for her, and now, she was making flippant and rather hurtful comments to cover for it. She had hired an assassin to kill her abusive husband, and it was exceedingly insulting that she would allude to that in relation to Caitlyn and Anders. However... Caitlyn knew that picking a fight in front of all of her friends would accomplish nothing and would probably only cause Isabela to dig in. She decided to try a different tactic. "Yes, everyone likes different things," she said, "and I like being tied down if he's doing it. Anders can tie me down whenever he wants to." She gave the pirate a quick wink.
Isabela burst into a wicked grin and chortled in delight, but the rest of the companions were much more uncomfortable. Anders' eyes popped wide open and his face flushed pink as he gaped at her in astonishment—not that she would admit to enjoying that; he knew that already, but that she would say it in front of everyone. Aveline muttered and shook her head; Varric gave Cait a look askance, and Fenris spat out his wine into his lap as his face twisted in disgust at that image. As he did, Caitlyn noticed that a quick smirk formed on Anders' face at that. Merrill only looked confused—until Varric whispered in her ear, and then her elven eyes grew as wide as plates.
"Well," Aveline said, rising to her feet, "I think that's it for the night."
"Yes, let's leave the lovebirds to it," Varric agreed, though he was feeling far more awkward than disgusted.
"Indeed," Fenris said, mopping up the wine and standing up. "I would tell them to get a room except that they have one upstairs."
"Isabela and I were just running on. I didn't mean to clear the house," Caitlyn said at once.
Varric smiled reassuringly. "You didn't, Hawke. It's late. It was already time to clear out."
She managed a smile. "Well, if you say so."
"I do say so."
"Yes, enjoy what you have together," Aveline said sincerely.
Caitlyn felt bad for her old friend; Aveline had lost her husband in the escape from Lothering. Perhaps someday she would find love again... but in the meantime, there was no reason why others should sacrifice love. It wouldn't help her, and, though she was evidently quite traditional and upright, she did not begrudge others their foibles and kinks if they were committed.
As the group of companions left the house, Caitlyn turned to Anders with a pointed smirk.
"As the lady insists," he purred in response, rising to his feet with her hand in his. She laughed eagerly as he pulled her to her feet and led her upstairs to their room.
With Petrice's ordination as a priest of the Chantry, the Hawkes and Anders began to accelerate their plans for the big event—though they did not agree about just how big it should be. Leandra in particular seemed to want to fall back into the noble lifestyle she had known years ago, though in a new role now. Caitlyn thought sourly that it was rather hypocritical of her mother to play the enthusiastic wedding planner when she had certainly upended her parents in that—not that it stopped Leandra.
"This was my dress," she informed Caitlyn cheerily one day soon after they set a date, pulling an off-white gown with a high waist from a trunk.
It was a very pretty dress, Cait had to admit; delicate lace in cream and gold adorned the neckline, sleeves, and hem, and pretty gold flowers were picked out in outline on the short bodice. The colors would flatter her. Still, Caitlyn found her mother overbearing. She was doing this because she loved Anders, because it should have happened four and a half years ago, because her son should not be deemed illegitimate, and because it was important to be "respectable" to pursue her ambitions, in that order—not because she wanted to celebrate a day all about herself. Her mother seemed to have forgotten all that they had lost. Is that the one they picked out for you to wed Comte de Launcet in? Caitlyn thought darkly. But before she could ask the question, her mother answered it.
"It isn't the one I was supposed to wear, of course, but I was three months from having you, and that necessitated a change," Leandra explained, lifting out the flowing skirt. The high waist and filmy, loose skirt would flatter a pregnant belly—but Caitlyn was not pregnant. And if Anders is right about the Taint, I never will be again, she thought. This only increased her annoyance—and her mother's next words did not help.
"The color is eminently suitable, of course," Leandra continued, oblivious to the growing glower on her daughter's face. "It follows the Orlesian 'rules,' which dictate that only, er, virgins should wear pure white... but although I suppose no one would have enforced those rules for me, I was supposed to wear off-white under them, since I was marrying my child's father and had never been married before and had no other 'history' with men—just like you, darling! It's meant to be that you should wear this dress, and you will look lovely."
She handed it to her daughter, who was, by now, rather offended. She snatched the dress out of her mother's hands icily. "Thank you for that, Mother," Caitlyn spat.
Leandra looked confused. "Darling," she said, "have I offended you? I didn't mean to—I never judged you for your relationship with Anders. I know how young people in love can be, from personal experience!"
Caitlyn took a breath and tried to swallow her anger. "I know," she said. It was true; of all the people who had insulted and judged her over the years for being a single mother, her family—her immediate family, at least—had never been among them. "But the 'Orlesian rules' themselves are rather insulting."
Leandra looked utterly crushed, and Caitlyn felt bad. "It's still a pretty dress," she reassured her mother. "I'll be happy to wear it—but because it was yours, specifically the one sewn for you to marry Father rather than that Comte, and not because it follows 'Orlesian rules.'" She gave her mother a cynical smile. "I have to wonder how many Orlesian brides who wear pure white have had enough partners to fill a barracks, but their families 'silenced' anyone who knew."
Leandra's eyes widened in shock. "I... suppose you may be right," she admitted. "Hypocrisy and lies... while brides like I was, and you will be, are expected to wear something else because we had 'consequences' of having just one partner."
Caitlyn sighed. "Mother, you know I slept with Leliana too."
"I... suspected it... but they wouldn't count her."
"Which is an entire manifesto in its own right," Caitlyn retorted, "but I'm not going to try to reform Orlais. I've got enough on my plate as it is..." She broke off, realizing that she had not confided in her mother about her long-term plans and ambitions.
Leandra did not suspect anything unusual, however; her thoughts were otherwise occupied. "You have talked with Anders, though, I hope...?"
"We've talked about everything," she reassured Leandra, "that included. He understands." She decided not to tell her mother about Karl; it was Anders' right to decide who knew about that, not hers. "I love him so much. He's the only person I want for the rest of my life and he feels the same about me. We'll be fine, Mother."
Leandra smiled. "I can see that love in your eyes—and his too. I don't know if you know it, but sometimes when one of you is occupied at the desk with a letter or reading to Mal, the other will stare for a long time, saying nothing, just... gazing. I'm not sure if you realize how much time passes."
Caitlyn was startled. She realized that she did do what her mother said, and it didn't shock her that Anders did it too, but it was a surprise that her normally oblivious and naïve mother would notice. "I didn't know you saw that," she said quietly.
"It reminds me of how your father and I used to look at each other."
Cait managed a forced smile. "Well... when we were all together in Lothering, I sometimes thought about what Anders and I had in common with you and Father. I just... wish it had turned out better then. For all of us," she added, turning aside, as she stood up.
Anders, in the meantime, did not have anyone to assist him—or bother him—as Caitlyn did. Determined to appear as a mage, he picked up a nice set of robes from the secret stock of his preferred private vendor in town and considered himself ready. Varric stepped into the role of advice-giver when Anders finally realized that he was a little frightened, not having seen a happy marriage between two good people since Malcolm Hawke had died, and not wanting to use his parents as an example for himself. What Varric had to say was minimal.
"Hawke doesn't take criticism well even if it's about something she does care about improving, and she knows how to cook because of necessity rather than enjoyment, so compliment anything she makes even if it's bad. Talk about everything involving the little boy with her first. Don't let her go to sleep pent-up and unsatisfied... but I doubt that will be a problem. And for the love of the Maker, never take coin that belongs to her."
Anders blinked. "That's it?"
"Blondie, you can't seriously expect that I will have any marital advice for you about emotions or things like that. Do you realize what my household was like when I was growing up?"
"I... suppose that makes sense. I can't believe you'd think I would steal from her, though!"
Varric smiled wryly. "When you're family, it doesn't feel like stealing anymore to do it—but it does to have it done to you."
"You're speaking of your brother and that incident in the Deep Roads," Anders guessed. "Varric, not everyone is like him. I'm never going to help myself to anything that belongs to her without asking." He paused. "Why are you still thinking about that idol anyway? We got the treasure. He got that. I'd say we came out better."
Varric shook his head as if to clear it. "You're right," he said abruptly. "I shouldn't..." He trailed off and thumped Anders on the back congenially as he got to his feet. "You'll do all right."
"Mother," Caitlyn said sharply, "enough is enough. I am not carrying flowers and I am not wearing a veil."
Leandra's face fell as she set down an antique bridal veil that she had found in the attic. "This belonged to your grandmother Amell," she pleaded.
"Whom I never knew," Caitlyn retorted. "What is her bridal veil to me? I've agreed to your dress because it was yours. This is different. If it was so important to you, you should have worn it."
"Cait!"
"I'm not doing it, Mother," she insisted. "I'm not going to cover my head and hold flowers as if I were a sweetly smiling innocent."
"I thought you didn't approve of the Orlesian customs..."
"It's not about the Orlesian customs. If I wanted to wear a veil, I'd do it even if Mal stood right next to me before the priest. I mean 'innocent' in a different way. Mother, this family has been decimated. Anders and I lost four years together. You may not realize what a struggle it was for us to get back together at all, we were both so sad and bitter—and different from how we used to be. I'm not going to wear that or carry anything. It's not appropriate anymore." She glowered. "Anders bought robes from this seller he knows in Lowtown. He has sensible ideas about all of this."
Leandra sighed. "I suppose you are right. I just wanted to... well, to try to forget all of that for one day, but it is your day, and if you cannot do so, I shouldn't try to force you to." She raised her gaze to her daughter, a mild smile on her face again.
Caitlyn breathed out slowly in relief, closing her eyes, ignoring her mother's voice as she continued to speak. She had just had enough of it for now. It's more than wanting to forget about the pain for a day. Mother wants to be an Amell again, she thought in frustration. Having this house again has brought it out. She wants to be a lady of leisure and doesn't understand that Anders and I have no intention of resting. She probably wants to have the fancy wedding day in the family estate that she didn't get when she chose Father. Her mother's bridal veil! Fresh flowers! What was she thinking? This wedding is going to be at the end of Drakonis, barely days into spring! The guests will probably still need to use the coat closet!
"...I know how this is going to sound, but I believed it myself and learned otherwise. Love isn't enough, darling. It's necessary, but it's not enough on its own. You can't take each other for granted, or your relationship, and the challenge you're about to face is that you'll feel 'secure' now and may be tempted to do that. I learned it myself early. A certificate from the Chantry cannot substitute for real consideration and compassion..."
Caitlyn blinked. Her mother had continued to talk while she was ensconced in her own thoughts, and she had not heard most of what her mother had said—nor registered the import of this bit that she had heard. "Right, then," she said at once, cutting her mother off before Leandra could say more. "I'll take that under advisement."
Leandra was left holding her mother's antique veil as her daughter walked off. She was not sure if Caitlyn had actually paid attention to her... but there would be other opportunities to talk.
Anders had spent another full day at the clinic, and he was keeping longer hours now—and Mal had been with him. When he at last emerged from the basement entrance, smelling of medicinal herbs and lyrium, he said that there had been a violent altercation between Qunari and a civilized Tal-Vashoth who called himself Maraas, and the Tal-Vashoth had won—but at a heavy price. It was the first time he had had to treat a patient of the qunari race, and it had been an unequivocal emergency.
"The Arishok has claimed that they are all violent savages once they leave the Qun, and most of the ones we've had to deal with have been, but this one..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "They tried to cut his horns off. There was no reason to do that; it's like they wanted to humiliate him before they killed him. That is savage. He just wants to live his own life and make his own decisions. I understand that perfectly, and it makes me think that the real reason they want to kill all deserters is that they don't want anyone countering them about life under the Qun. I... never thought I'd say this... but maybe the priest has some valid points..." Anders broke off, deeply disturbed by the day's events.
"I remember that qunari," Caitlyn said, her brow furrowing. "I'm glad he's still all right, though he ought to leave Kirkwall and go someplace else. Anywhere, really." She gazed at Mal, whose eyes were wide. "Mal, if you are ever disturbed by what you see in your father's clinic, you don't have to go anymore, you know. You could stay here. He won't mind."
"Oh, no, Mamma," the boy said eagerly. "It's interesting! I see blood sometimes, but we all have blood, so it's all right. And Father knows how to make it stop coming out."
Anders beamed fondly at him and mussed his hair. "That's my boy."
Caitlyn sighed as they walked away to clean themselves up.
Isabela and Varric turned up at the house that evening, late, for drinks and snacks. Caitlyn was relieved for the company. She felt a low simmer of persistent irritation after the discussion with her mother and Anders' late return—and, she supposed, the fact that his lateness was completely justified. Somehow that made it worse, because she knew it would be unreasonable to scold him if people really did need his help. I'm not supposed to take him for granted, she thought sourly, recalling the bits she had heard from her mother and twisting them unconsciously in her mind, altering the memory, to make her mother's advice one-sided. What about him? I have to share him with every needy person in Kirkwall, it seems—and Mal too, now. Isn't he taking me for granted?
"You look down, Hawke," Varric remarked. "Rough day?"
She nodded, scowling. "You could say that. Mother wanted to doll me up for the 'big day' and then offered me unsolicited advice once I told her to back down. And Anders came in late."
Isabela smiled wryly. "What did I tell you? That's why I like to keep all my options open and not be tied down. Figuratively, not literally," she added.
Caitlyn's expression soured even more at this smug cynicism. "Isabela, I'm not like you. I want commitment and permanence, and being 'tied down' applies to what Anders and I already have. That's not the problem. I'm just sick of everyone else being selfish! My mother wants her fancy noble wedding day at long last, and is trying to have it vicariously through me, and Anders is pulling Mal away from me, whether he means to or not."
Varric and Isabela exchanged concerned glances. "Hawke," Varric said, "he had never even met Mal until eight months ago. He wants to see as much of Mal's childhood now as he can. The lad is interested in healing right now, because that's what his dad does. It could just be a phase—or if it isn't, it means that's what he likes. Don't you want him to find out what he likes and who he is?"
She ran her fingers through her hair in frustration. "Of course I want that!" she exclaimed. "Ugh—I suppose it sounds unreasonable when you put it like that. I don't know. I'm just frustrated. I felt happier in the little nook in the clinic just after reuniting with him." She glowered at her lap. "When you think about it," she muttered, "it's rather ironic that the priests of a religion in which the prophet's husband betrayed her to her death would be the ones to solemnize marriages. Maybe that's the problem." She scowled. "I doubt I would have bothered if I didn't have other plans," she continued recklessly. "The people of Hightown would expect it, and I wouldn't stand a chance of... what I want to do... otherwise. That's really the primary reason."
"What?"
The speaker was not Varric or Isabela. Suddenly horrified, Caitlyn looked up sharply at the balustrade, where Anders had emerged from Mal's bedroom moments ago. He looked devastated.
Varric and Isabela winced as he hurried downstairs, his face crumpled. "I didn't mean that," Caitlyn burst out immediately as he reached the lower floor. "I really didn't. I was just irritated."
Anders looked unconvinced, but Varric spoke up. "I believe her... Anders," he said, surprising him by the use of his real name rather than a nickname. "I don't think she meant it either."
He breathed out and nodded briefly, but he did not reach out for her or try to move closer, instead standing at the foot of the stairs. Feeling awful, Caitlyn rose to her feet and walked over to him. "I shouldn't have said that," she said, touching his chest and gazing into his face. "I was just spouting off my mouth because I'm frustrated about some things."
Anders put her hand aside. "So the remark would have passed unnoticed if I hadn't appeared."
"No, it wouldn't have," Varric interjected. "I was going to call her on it."
"It is a consideration," Caitlyn admitted, her gaze cast down, "but it's the least important one. I swear, Anders. I was just blowing off steam."
The guests got to their feet. "I think it's time for us to make an early departure," Varric said. "Sounds like you two need to talk alone."
When they were gone, Caitlyn and Anders remained in the now empty sitting room, in separate chairs, rather than going to their bedroom. He stared ahead, brooding, as the remaining embers of the fireplace gradually died out. "Cait," he said heavily, "I'm sure now that you didn't mean it, but you shouldn't say things like that if you don't mean them. It's not a game."
She stared unhappily at him. "I know," she agreed. "I know. I'm sorry." She leaned forward, resting her head in her hands and closing her eyes. I promised I wouldn't be cruel to him again, she thought miserably. I gave him my word. That wasn't meant for him to hear, but he heard it anyway—and this means that I'm falling into my destructive habit again. She felt like a failure. I had a right to be frustrated, but I made it worse yet again.
A light touch brushed her shoulder, and she lifted her head. He was standing beside her, gazing gently at her. "Cait," he said, "what's wrong? Is this about the long hours I put in today?"
"Not really," she admitted. "I know you only do that when a patient needs you. I can't say I don't miss you when you're gone, but I would not want anyone to die for it. It's..." She gazed ahead at the dying fire. "I'm afraid," she whispered, realizing it as soon as the words tumbled from her lips.
"Afraid of losing me again?"
"Of losing everyone. Mal wants to spend the days with you now, because he likes what you do—and meanwhile, I am stuck in this house with Mother, who has been trying to make me into the wealthy Hightown bride that she never was. It's irritating in its own right, of course, but that's going to pass once the wedding is over. But Anders, this is my mother, and although we were never as close as my father and I were, it's gotten worse lately, and I blame this house for it. It's turning her into a person she hasn't been in years. It makes me think... I'm afraid that I'm going to lose everyone once I start to do—what we discussed a couple of months ago." She closed her eyes again and shook. "That there will be nothing left but artifice and pomp, nothing real—not even relationships. I guess... when I made that comment, I was actually thinking of that fear and trying to persuade myself that it didn't bother me, although I didn't realize it."
Anders was silent for a moment, taking in what she said, and then he pulled her gently from her chair and embraced her. "That doesn't have to happen," he said in a quiet voice, caressing the back of her head with one hand while the other arm was wrapped tightly around her waist. "I don't think we found each other against all odds only for work to slowly drive us apart."
"But if you are a Healer who must work long hours, and I'm a political figure who also must..."
He considered that. "I will always want to help people," he acknowledged, "and I know that some things may need to change once you start to progress toward your goal—and especially if you do achieve it. I've thought about it. If it's ever infeasible for me to work from the Darktown clinic, I will just offer healing from somewhere else—and as you say, I won't have to do it all by myself anymore if we succeed!" He caressed her cheek. "I'm a Healer... but you know, love, I've got another side too, the same side that you have. You'll see more of that in the future. I'm doing what I can to help mages right now, to make people realize the good we can do. Once I'm able to do more..."
She nodded, feeling momentarily comforted—but only momentarily. "But that means that we are marrying for politics—for the 'cause.' That this is what our partnership will be about."
"I don't see it that way," he said. "It's just one aspect—and besides, there's a big difference between two people who share a passion, which is what this is, bonding in part over that passion, versus two people forming an alliance of convenience."
"Our relationship cannot be separated from this cause anymore," Caitlyn said. "It shaped us too much. Before, perhaps—but not now. I made peace with the idea that it was for the greater good that we suffered, because I have to think it means something. It's too much to bear otherwise."
"Our suffering didn't make us change our minds, you know. We both believed in mage freedom from the very beginning."
"But if we'd never been separated and you'd never become a Warden, I might have been content living the sequel to my parents—with everything that implies, including terror that our family would be destroyed. It's not how I truly would have wanted to live, I now know. I want to set things right, to make it better, to make it so that Mal never has to have that particular fear and neither do we again. But the cause is so important to us and what our relationship is now, what will that leave us once the cause is put to rest? The couple from Lothering is gone, love. Mother doesn't want to see that... it's another reason why her attentions are getting under my skin; it's like she's trying to forget all that we've lost."
He gazed ahead, past the top of her head. "I don't think the couple from Lothering is gone, even now. There is more to both of us than being revolutionaries."
"Since I came to Kirkwall, I've been fixated upon getting this house, first to protect the family from further turmoil and destruction, then as a casting-off point for greater ambitions. I've forgotten what it felt like... before," she whispered.
He chuckled. "And yet I'm the one who houses a spirit of Justice." He pulled her down gently onto the divan. "Cait. I know. I understand." His gaze became very intense as she raised her eyes to look into his. "Ever since I took him in, I've struggled against being utterly and completely consumed with the cause to the point that I feared losing everything else about myself. And not only the cause for justice, either, but the drive for revenge against those who hurt us. I haven't told you that."
"You're scaring me, Anders. This isn't comforting."
"It is scary," he said. "It scared me when I realized it. I don't want to lose the rest of myself to that, important though it is, and I sure as the Void don't want to lose myself to hate and vengeance. I know how you feel, love." He pulled her very close and rested his head atop hers. "I know. I know. And it's always a struggle, as long as the injustice is so great."
"How have you kept from... losing? Since you do have an actual spirit of Justice?"
"You," he said simply. "You and Mal. Your mother. Even your Maker-blasted brother," he said with a laugh. "Our friends." He caressed her again. "Being a Healer. Having other people and things that are important, and making time for them." He paused. "And you may not want to hear this, but as annoying as your mother's actions may be, she isn't wrong to want to remember what it was before. I don't think she's forgetting the dark parts, but you are forgetting happier times, as you said yourself. Try, love. Please try to remember what else you are." He lowered his gaze again to meet her eyes, and a mild smile formed on his face. "Maybe if that day comes, we can have that peaceful, normal life after all—well, as normal as it could be for what we'd have become by then."
She felt tears spring to her eyes. "I have used magic to try to stop crime in the city, and earn coin when I needed it, but I don't actually like being a killer. Before I became so determined on our cause, I just... expected to live a quiet, anonymous life, using magic domestically. I don't even have any hobbies. Bethany was the artistic one. If I'm no longer a vigilante, no longer trying to feed the family, no longer a revolutionary someday... well, I'll always be a mother, but he's growing up so fast, and he's bonding with you. You're a Healer, but I don't know what else I am." The words sounded petulant to Caitlyn's own ears, but she meant them, and she hoped Anders took them seriously.
He was silent, considering what she said. Finally he turned to her again. "Well, you have time now to find out, or to decide that for yourself. You don't have to endanger your life to put food on the table anymore, and the political scheming won't start immediately either. If you're not artistic... well, maybe you can focus on magical specialization like I did."
"A better way to throw fireballs and freeze things!" she laughed cynically.
"I didn't say it had to be elementalism. There are all kinds of interesting magical theories, and your family brought most of your books with you." He ruffled her hair. "Try it, love. When Mal comes to the clinic with me, spend the time reading rather than letting your mother bother you or brooding darkly about the future." He rose to his feet, pulling her gently with him.
She knew, as they ascended the stairs to head to bed, that he was right, and she was glad to have had the conversation. It really did make her feel better, and that feeling compounded because it reinforced that he was good for her.
The next day, she ensconced herself in the library, which had been restocked with the Hawkes' books about magic, as well as some Tevinter tomes formerly belonging to the slavers that Caitlyn strongly suspected were about forbidden magic. Dutifully avoiding those books despite a guilty curiosity, she browsed until she found some interesting titles. She did not have an immediate epiphany about what she wanted to do, but she was feeling much better now. The epiphany would come, she was sure—and in the meantime, she had a wedding approaching.
"Carver!" exclaimed Leandra, hugging her son. He patted her back awkwardly with one arm. Although he was out of heavy armor, he was still wearing chain mail with a Grey Warden tabard on top, he had a greatsword strapped to his back, and he had two very long wrapped parcels under his free arm—gifts for Caitlyn and Anders, obviously staves, but they were still eyeing them with interest, eager to find out what specializations and enhancements they had.
Behind Carver lurked another Warden, who was carrying a pack on his back and a large box with a handle on top in one hand. A cloth was draped down the box, a hole cut out for the handle.
"Nate!" exclaimed Anders, heading toward his old comrade as Carver greeted his family.
Nathaniel Howe smiled. "Anders. Congratulations." He set down the box. "I know the gifts should be opened later, but this is a special situation, and I doubt you'll mind the breach in protocol!"
A very displeased meow came from inside the box, and Anders' heart leaped. Could it be? he thought. Yes, it could—and as Nathaniel lifted the cloth, Anders gasped out in delight. His cat, Ser Pounce-a-Lot, whom he had left behind with Delilah Howe and her husband Albert, gazed back at him from behind the wire, tail flicking back and forth. The cat meowed again, and Nathaniel opened the cage door to let it out.
Anders was on the floor as Pounce jumped into his lap, purring and rubbing against him. Caitlyn turned around from welcoming her brother and burst into a beautiful, genuinely happy smile that warmed his heart. He had rarely seen her smile like that in Kirkwall. She was a dog person, he knew, and she would need to train her mabari to accept Pounce as one of the pack, but she didn't have a problem with cats and was happy for him.
"Come on," Anders said, scooping up his cat and carrying a very satisfied Pounce to the nearest chair, where he sat down. Pounce settled himself in Anders' lap and continued to purr.
Nathaniel sat down in a nearby chair. "My sister and her husband decided that the time had come to return him to you once they heard that you had a good place to live."
"Well," Anders said, petting the cat, "I'm glad they did! How are they, by the way? How is everyone, for that matter?"
"They're doing splendidly. They are expecting an heir, and I say 'heir' because my sister is the Bann of Amaranthine City now." As Anders' eyes widened, Nathaniel smiled in satisfaction. "Lady Cousland recommended my sister, and the Landsmeet acclaimed her. Bann Esmerelle is dead."
"Oh," Anders said. "Well... I can't say I'm sorry, especially since your sister is the new bann."
"No one misses Esmerelle," Nathaniel said. "Let's see... the Warden-Commander is well, but busy with paperwork and rebuilding. She sends her regards. Oghren and Felsi live in separate rooms, but they are married, so I guess that works for them. Sigrun is with Mischa now."
"Really?" Anders said, surprised. "I had no idea that Sigrun... I thought they were just friends."
"So did all of us, but they are a couple. Oh—and Loghain is marrying Ser Cauthrien."
"Erm... who?"
"Oh, that's right—you wouldn't know much about her because you were in West Hill for most of the Blight. She's the commander of Gwaren's militia." He smirked wryly. "Nobody is that surprised about it. I think Loghain is more surprised than anyone, to be quite honest."
"Is anyone not in a couple now?" Anders laughed.
"Avernus."
Anders groaned in disgust, as Nathaniel burst out laughing. He collected himself and then answered his friend seriously. "All right. Velanna's still single. And so am I."
Anders suddenly felt bad. "I'm sorry, Nate," he said. "I didn't mean to be flippant..."
"It's fine, Anders. I've found that... I'm satisfied with my life. Maybe someday I will feel differently, but right now... I wouldn't have thought it possible, but I am content."
There was a brief pause in the conversation before Anders leaned over conspiratorially. "Could you tell me anything about those staves?"
"You're not supposed to know that they are staves," replied Nathaniel.
"Then you lot should have hidden what they are better than that," he rejoined.
"And no, I'm not going to tell you about them right now. I'd probably get it wrong anyway. There is a scroll about each one wrapped up inside."
At this moment, Caitlyn walked up to the chair, Mal in front of her, eager to see the cat.
"Is this..." she began to say.
"The cat is Ser Pounce-a-Lot, and the Warden is Nathaniel Howe," Anders said with a smirk. "Nate—Caitlyn and Malcolm Anders Hawke, known as Mal." The little boy beamed a sparkling smile at the introduction with his full name.
"It's an honor to meet both of you at last," said Nathaniel. "Your brother has talked about his family, of course, but it's different to actually meet you." He smiled at Anders. "I'm glad that someone else had a happy resolution to 'family missing in the Blight.'"
Anders took Caitlyn's hand in one hand and Mal's in the other. "So am I."
Leandra had had her way about Caitlyn's dress and a fine banquet at the house, but very little else. Caitlyn had held her ground about the veil and bouquet, as well as much decoration in the mansion itself, and Anders had flatly refused to be married at the Chantry. It was associated with the dark, sad memory of Karl for him—and for Caitlyn, though for a guiltier reason in her case. The couple had also refused to let her invite people to a mage wedding that they did not know, so in the end, it was a very small and private event in the house with no one other than the family, their core group of friends, Nathaniel Howe, and the priest. Leandra had invited Gamlen, who had actually shown up, much to Caitlyn's dismay—but she seemed to have her brother under control for this one occasion, and he apparently had just enough gentility left that he did not want to spoil this day for his niece.
Despite the fact that her conversation with Anders had helped soothe some of her fears for the future, Caitlyn had expected her dark cynicism about the wedding to continue. Although she truly had not wanted the sort of event that her mother would have planned, for a while she had deliberately kept festivities to a minimum out of gloomy respect for their losses. She and Anders would stand near the hearth, where the urn and purse of ashes rested. Mal would be seated next to his grandmother closest to the couple, no longer in gowns but breeches and a coat, a reminder of the lost years and the siblings that his parents had originally meant to give him but now couldn't. Mother Petrice, whom Caitlyn knew to be a schemer, who probably would be a dangerous demagogue in the near future, would perform the ceremony, a chilling reminder of the challenges, practical and moral, that lay ahead for them in their pursuit of their cause. Due to all this, Caitlyn had convinced herself for a while that this wedding was a shabby patch job for something beautiful that had been broken beyond true repair—but as she actually stood beside Anders in her mother's dress, and the newly ordained priest stood in front of the fire screen, speaking, while the flames blazed away, she realized something.
This is beautiful. It is sadder than it might have been, yes, but it isn't shabby. It is a triumph. Each of us thought the other was lost to a horrible fate, but not only did we endure, so did our feelings for each other. I have focused so much on what we lost and what I'm afraid of in the future that I've almost forgotten what we didn't lose, what we actually gained, and what we can shape. Anders and I have a future and we can choose what it is. A year ago—nine months ago—I would have scoffed at the first idea, and I would have scoffed at the second even in Lothering. She gazed at his face, noticing for the first time today how content and happy he looked. He is happy because he is with me. I know I am happy with him—he comforts me and lifts me like no one else can—but I don't think about that as much as I should. Maybe he's right... maybe Mother is right... that it's all right to be happy.
Petrice finished speaking. Caitlyn had not paid too much attention to her words; she knew that the Andrastian rite was actually a pastiche of tribal customs and later pronouncements of women who had never been married in their lives and never would, rather than anything that Andraste claimed the Maker had inspired her to say. But Cait knew how this went. As soon as Petrice finished, she and Anders presented their rings to be blessed, gently slid them on each other's fingers, and repeated their vows. Anders' smile had become almost goofy, she noticed, her heart lifting at his now-lopsided grin.
She knew it was coming, and she anticipated it the moment before it happened when his expression turned mischievous, but somehow she was still surprised when he pulled her close, closing the gap between them, and kissed her passionately in front of all their guests and the priest.
It did not actually go on that long, but it was definitely longer than was strictly socially correct. Caitlyn found, as she caressed his face and leaned in, that she did not care.
The banquet got a bit rowdy, as wedding feasts often did, but fortunately nothing untoward happened—even from Isabela or Gamlen, the two guests Caitlyn was most concerned about. She had also been somewhat uneasy about having Petrice in the same room as Merrill, who bore Dalish vallaslin and still worshiped the Dalish gods. If Petrice quizzed her about that, the young elf would certainly acknowledge it, which Caitlyn did not expect could go well. To that end, she had briefed the priest that Merrill was an exile from her clan who was helping the elves of the city alienage—implying that Merrill had left behind her religion, as the alienage elves were mostly Andrastian. She hated doing it; she never liked concealing the fact that she herself was a mage and would prefer, ideally, to be confrontational about something central to her identity. But she was coming to recognize that certain fights were better avoided.
Carver carried the gifts to the table for the newlyweds to open them. Most of the gifts were paired items—jewelry, chalices, diaries. The staves from the Grey Wardens were named "Heaven's Wrath" and "Final Reason," according to the scrolls. It was all too clear which staff was meant for whom; they were runed for electricity and fire respectively.
"Final Reason," Caitlyn remarked, eyeing her staff with a wry smile on her face. "That's dark."
"Darker than the name of mine," Anders agreed, holding the lightning staff, "but perhaps fitting. It's the final reason why people should do as you command!"
She shook her head and shot a quick glance at Mother Petrice, who fortunately was occupied in conversation with Leandra and had not heard. Neither, she breathed in relief, had Fenris. "That's not the example we're trying to set, love," she said pointedly.
He laughed and raised his new chalice in a toast to her.
Caitlyn smiled to herself and opened the next gift that was placed in front of her. To her surprise, it was a book, and it was not for her or Anders. The Story of Ferelden lay before her, a friendly mabari stamped in gold on the cover. She opened the cover and realized from the sparse text and frequent woodcut illustrations that this was for Mal.
"That is from Lady Cousland," Nathaniel Howe spoke up. "She wanted him to have something too. It's actually written by a Fereldan author, so it's not biased. Or... well... it's biased in favor," he said with a grin.
"Thank you," she said sincerely, amused that Lady Cousland would gift weapons and a history primer at a wedding, but still pleased that such a book for children even existed. "He's very, very close to reading." She turned to Mal, who was seated beside her, and handed him the book.
Isabela withheld her gift until the table had cleared and Mal, Leandra, and Petrice were well out of earshot before giving it to the couple. The gift was disappointingly drab, a single jewelry box, but as they set it aside, she said in an undertone that no one else could hear, "It has a false bottom."
Caitlyn and Anders instantly guessed that this concealed something—and since this was Isabela, it was probably something tawdry. Unobtrusively Anders put the box in his lap and popped open the panel. His eyes widened for a moment, but he kept his face and tilted it toward Caitlyn.
A coil of silken black rope, a gold and a silverite ring, and a set of manacles rested at the bottom of the box.
"Right, then," Caitlyn said, snapping the false bottom back in place. "I'm going to regret this, but... the rings... are they, erm, actually meant for... they look awfully small for..."
"Ohhhh," Isabela said, realizing what she was implying. "Oh, no. They're Tevinter. The silverite one"—she lowered her voice—"makes the wearer highly suggestible by the person wearing the gold one. Supposedly."
Caitlyn and Anders both drew back, eyes wide, genuinely shocked this time. Caitlyn's guess that they were cock rings was actually very mild and ordinary compared to what they truly were.
Isabela rose from her chair. "Enjoy," she purred, giving them a knowing wink.
As the night grew long, the guests gradually had their fill and took their leave. Eventually the only ones remaining were the family members themselves—and Mal had already fallen fast asleep on the divan next to Anders, his new book in his arms. The dog and cat were also asleep in front of the fire; Baldwin seemed to have accepted Pounce already, much to everyone's relief. Leandra was torn between fussing over Carver and fussing over the newlyweds, with the result being that no one had to take all of her fussing.
"I suppose nobody bothered with the pretense of staying at the table until we scampered giddily off to the bedchamber," Caitlyn remarked.
Anders glanced down at the sleeping child. "I wouldn't mind that now, though."
"Oh," Leandra exclaimed, picking Mal up gently and barely waking him. "Of course you want to have your wedding night! I'll tuck him into bed."
At times like this, Mother isn't so bad, Caitlyn thought as Leandra headed up the stairs with him.
Carver also rose to his feet and prepared to go to a guest bedroom. "I'd say I'd beat you up if you hurt her, but... a bit late for that, isn't it?" he said to Anders. As he realized how that sounded, he blanched. "That is—well, damn it. I didn't mean..."
Caitlyn put a hand on her brother's shoulder. "I know what you meant. If this were our first time and he was... unkind. But you would've gotten to him after I was already finished. Doesn't seem sporting." She grinned at Carver and raised her eyebrows.
"You know," Anders said, "I am standing right here. And I have no intention of hurting you—unless you want me to," he couldn't resist adding.
Carver drew back. "All right, that's quite enough for my ears. I'm off to bed." Without waiting another moment, he stalked toward his bedroom.
Anders offered his arm to Caitlyn, who took it. His expression was mild and loving again, the same one he had worn just before they spoke their vows. They were silent as they ascended the stairs, silent when they entered the room still arm-in-arm, and silent until the door clicked shut behind them.
"I don't suppose you want to use Isabela's gifts tonight," he began to say.
She faced him, caressing his cheek, gazing into his eyes, her heart suddenly fluttering. "Not tonight," she said, shocked at how breathy her voice sounded. "Tonight... it's ridiculous, but..."
"Whatever it is, it's not ridiculous."
She took a deep breath. "You're right. Tonight... I want you to carry me to bed. I want you to make tender passionate love to me and—and let me show you how much I love you too. I... think lately I've forgotten to do that," she whispered guiltily.
Anders paused for a moment before bending over, scooping her up in his arms, and balancing her weight. He was strong for a mage, and she was smaller, but lifting an adult person was not nearly so easy as the Orlesian and Antivan spicy-novel writers made it out to be in their prose. "I know you love me," he said. "It's all right."
She reached for his face as he carried her to the bed. "I haven't shown it as much as I wish I had. I've been feeling so dark and bitter and fearful... Maker, if I hadn't had that realization today, in front of the fire, all my memories of my own wedding day would have been like that."
He got on the bed and climbed gently on top of her, planting soft kisses on her as he pulled her dress gently down. "You're doing it right now, love, reliving dark thoughts and chastising yourself for having had them—even for something that didn't actually happen! Stop. Don't think of it."
Caitlyn was startled, and a wry laugh escaped her as he kissed her between her breasts. He lifted his face and gave her a knowing smile. "I guess you're right," she said. "So... let's give each other something else to think about."
He tossed the delicate gown carefully to the floor, propped himself up, and began to remove his new robes. "Yes," he said, "let's."
In a few moments, they were both nude. Anders pulled the drapes of the bed closed, leaving the dwarven crystal on his nightstand to provide subtle illumination for them, as he descended upon her again.
As much as she liked his attentions, she was determined to give back tonight—and that resolution was easy to keep when he was hovering close, warm and flushed, the light filtering through the canopy and casting a reddish-gold glow on his toned body. She made sure to caress every muscle that flexed as he tended to her, kiss him whenever he raised his head, make him moan by running her fingers through his gold hair, and—after he had brought her right to the edge with his hand—suck and lick his fingers clean. After that, neither of them could wait any longer.
That was the first of three times they made love that night, each successive time a bit harder and rougher than the previous, but neither of them wanted anything tonight other than each other—no "toys" and no roles. There would be other occasions for that.
"You know," he finally gasped out, collapsing on her at last, their bodies heated and sweaty, "maybe there isn't Warden stamina after all. You matched me tonight. Maybe it's just us."
She laughed and wrapped her arms around him. "Whatever it is, it's wonderful."
He smiled and gave her a final kiss for the night, reaching quickly through the drapes to deactivate the rune on the lamp. He knew, of course, that this would not be every night, but as he rolled carefully off her and pulled her into a tight cuddle, he could not help but feel optimistic for their future. He hoped that her dark mood was gone at last and that she felt the same.
