Chapter Text
She doesn't want to admit it, but Anders makes her laugh.
She's under the impression that she's supposed to be Extremely Serious now, and it's hard to argue with that, when she had to fight her way through darkspawn just to get here, stepping over corpses and trying not to think about the Grey Wardens who were here first, now all dead along with most of the staff and accompanying soldiers.
There are plenty of things to be serious about.
And still.
She tries not to let it show, particularly when she overhears Anders teasing Nathaniel about something. Nathaniel, at least, can more or less keep up. Oghren is another matter entirely. Kal doesn't feel bad for him, precisely, but she knows--and she knows Oghren knows--that beating out Anders's tongue is not a skill Oghren has.
That Anders makes her laugh only adds to her worry on the few occasions when he's serious.
Kal hasn't known many mages--Wynne and Morrigan, really, are the only ones. Wynne was always resigned or even happy to have been in the Circle. And Morrigan, of course, lived in the Wilds and never had to deal with the Circle at all, except to make comments about it during that whole fiasco with Uldred.
So Kal writes Alistair (missing him terribly): Is the Circle as bad as Anders says it is? Would they lock up a mage for an entire year in solitary? Would the templars brand someone a maleficar even if they weren't, just so they could be rid of them?
While she waits for an answer, she watches Anders and wonders. He flirts with the arling staff (both the men and women, she notices), plays with the kitten she gave him, heals skinned knees and cuts at all hours without being asked (and without saying anything about it). When he joins her and the others for a mission, he's always cheerful and sarcastic, acting as if he hasn't got a care in the world. Sometimes, though, when he doesn't know she's watching, she sees his shoulders slump, and he gets a far away look in his eyes.
She can't help but wonder if he's missing someone, too.
The letter from Alistair comes as quickly as can be expected, given that he was in Weisshaupt the last she knew (she'd hoped Mistress Woolsey would have heard something, but of course Woolsey dashed her hopes by saying she's never even been to Weisshaupt). Anyhow, the letter comes, and Kal finds an abandoned corner to read it.
Maker, I was glad to get your letter, he writes. The Anderfels weather is brutal--almost as brutal as the training the First Warden is putting us through. Presumably this will make it easier for us to kill more darkspawn--if it doesn't kill us first. Three Orlesians have already fainted dead away from sheer exhaustion.
I'm not entirely sure what to tell you about your mage friend, he continues. You know I was never fully a templar. We did visit the Fereldan Circle a few times, and it seemed, well, not as bad as it was when Uldred was mucking about, but not particularly pleasant, either. The templars kept a wary eye on everything at all times, and while the mages acted like they didn't care, it was obvious they did. It's not too hard to imagine there were abuses committed on both sides. If your friend seems angry or sad about his experiences, I'm sure he has every right.
(You said he was funny--funnier than me? I need to know what I'm up against, Kal. Don't hold out on me.)
I'm glad I never had to be a templar, frankly. Duncan saved me in more ways than one.
Anyway, I won't tell you to stay safe because I know how impossible that is in our line of work. So just make sure to watch your back, all right? Since I'm not there to do it for you.
I love you.
"Letter from your lover?"
Kal starts and unsheathes her dagger before she's even thought about it. Anders is standing off to one side, amused and nervous in about equal measure. "Wow, successfully sneaking up on the Commander? That's got to earn me some sort of medal, right?"
"It's Kallian," she says, putting the dagger away. "And yes. About the letter, I mean."
He grins a bit wider. "What, really? There were rumors, of course--that the Hero of Ferelden had a torrid love affair while in the midst of saving the world--but I always that was just about telling a good story. Or that your lover died heroically and tragically, probably in the final battle."
"There's nothing heroic about dying, Anders."
"Well. I suppose it depends on how you do it, right?"
"No." She fixes him with a hard gaze. "If you're dead, you're dead. And that leaves other people to clean up your messes."
"Hmm." He sits down next to her, chin resting on his knees and hands wrapping around his legs. "What does he say?"
Kal raises an eyebrow. "Why do you assume it's a he?"
"Handwriting. Uh. Not that I read any of it! I just saw it. Briefly. Over your shoulder."
Kal looks down at the letter in her hands, smooths out a tiny crease, and wonders how soon she can read it again without seeming like a total sap. "I asked about you, actually," she says.
"Me? I think I'm flattered. Wait. What for?" Anders frowns. "And why would he know anything about me?"
"He was a templar. Sort of. Almost a templar. I just wondered if the Circle was as bad as you say it is."
"You don't believe me?" His voice turns hard the way it sometimes does when he's not watching it too closely, and the flippant mask drops off. She remembers it from not long after they first met, when she invoked the Rite of Conscription in front of that smug templar. The moment before, she could tell he'd assumed he was done for, that no one would ever believe he hadn't killed those templars, that he was headed back to the Circle he hates because no one ever believes a mage.
"I do believe you," she tells him. "I'd hoped Alistair could tell me if the corruption was widespread, and if so, how much."
"Oh, there's plenty of corruption. I'm sure your templar friend benefited from it. They usually do."
"He didn't. He never became a templar. He was conscripted first. And glad of it, he says."
"Well. Convenient for him. Not all of us had the choice."
She doesn't know what to say to that. Even if she were good at comforting people--and she's definitely not--there's no real comfort to be had when your life has just been that horrible.
(She thinks of Shianni. Of the alienage. Of the horrors in the orphanage when she finally made it back. Of the slavers and the fact that she'll probably never know what happened to Varathorn. Stop. Not helpful. Still hurts. When does it stop hurting?)
"Anders." She waits till he looks up at her. "I can't change what happened to you no matter how much I want to. But I can promise you this: We'll find your phylactory. And when this is all over, you can go wherever you want. You will never have to go back to the Circle. Ever."
He swallows. Nods once. Seems to have trouble speaking. "Thank you, Commander."
"Kallian."
"Kallian." He rocks back and forth for a moment, then turns back to her and grins. "Did I tell you what Ser Pounce did this morning? You remember the darkspawn we found down in the basem*nt? There was this one genlock...."
She starts laughing partway through his story, and this time she doesn't hide it.
