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“What’s this one from?”
Anders points to somewhere on his left shoulder, fingers lightly tracing the soft, dappled skin there. Karl stretches out on his bed, lit by only a few illicit wisps far after curfew. Anders snuck into the enchanter’s quarters hours ago, after the lapse in Templar patrols. A habit of his, a talent one might say, but it gives them time together, and Karl would willingly face the dungeons for it—for him.
“Met the wrong end of Niall’s staff,” Karl replies, keeping his voice down. With his ever-growing status in the tower, he no longer has to share a large dormitory with many others. He has a room to himself—though not at all private, with the doors removed from their hinges. Several similar bedrooms line the short hall, but the fact he has an alcove to himself is enough. Karl rests his chin on his arms, neatly folded beneath his head, feeling the bed creak where the young apprentice has wedged himself against the wall.
“He hurt you?” Anders exclaims, a little too loud for Karl’s liking, but then the young lad catches his own mistake. Brown eyes flicker toward the open archway, waiting to see if it echoed enough to wake any slumbering enchanters in the wing. When no frustrated shout answers, he drops his voice again to a whisper. “And you’re still friends?”
Karl smiles lazily, lifting one shoulder in a half-shrug. “It was an accident. You’ve seen his skills with a staff, I should’ve known it was coming.”
Anders’s hand moves further down, toward the swell of Karl’s ass, just barely covered by a sheet. There was no need for modesty between them, not after what they’ve done, but there was always a chance they’d get caught. At the very least, if he was going to be dragged before Knight-Commander Greagoir, being nude wouldn’t change anything about the result.
Anders taps another familiar spot, high on his flank. “And this one?”
“Fell off my family’s donkey.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Karl chuckles. “I was just a boy, maybe six or seven. I wasn’t even supposed to be in the paddock, much less climbing an animal—“
“But curiosity got the better of you, I’m sure,” Anders adds, the knowing smile audible in his voice.
“As it tends to,” Karl confirms, a soft laugh rumbling through his chest. “Why was it shaped like a horse if I wasn’t supposed to ride it?”
Anders laughs, a near snort that shouldn’t be as adorable as it is. Glancing over his shoulder, Karl is reminded why he risks his life for these small moments. Anders’ blonde hair is still mussed from earlier, his freckled skin glowing in the warm wisplight. A tiny wrinkle forms between his brows, furrowed from his careful inspection—a place that Karl would very much like to kiss, among many others. The boy is full of an energy and life that Karl has seen beaten out of other mages—beatings that even Anders has experienced on several occasions, but yet he holds onto it all the same.
Karl loves everything about him, even as he keeps him awake by inspecting his body for more scars. He would give anything to make this moment last a lifetime, but it would be foolish to hope for love in a world that keeps them captive.
Anders hands float past the edge of the sheet, toward his legs, locating a large webbed scar that stretches across both of his calves. The sight of the angry red skin steals the breath from his lungs, an airy sort of sound like the ghost of a gasp. Karl can tell that Anders wants to ask, that the question is burning inside him, but is battling the impulse to question the existence of something so ugly.
But his silence speaks multitudes. Karl sighs, knowing that Anders should know—deserves to know—about this particular piece of his history.
It’s been nearly ten years since he got it, but remembers it like it was yesterday.
“It’s not much of a story,” Karl begins, though he’s sure Anders knows it’s a blatant lie. Still, Karl keeps his head tucked into his arms, like the story means nothing to him, just another day out of thousands he’ll live in a lifetime. “Just a recently promoted templar who wished to make a lesson out of me.”
“What kind of lesson?” Anders asks, his voice soft, void of the teasing affection it normally held.
“I snuck into the library after curfew. I was behind on the scrolls I was copying for Enchanter Wynne, thought I’d be able to catch up if I brought them to bed with me,” Karl continues, each word heavier than the last. It’s been just a memory for years, filed away with a host of others like it, but it surprises him how quickly the recollection drains him.
He doesn’t turn to look at Anders, but he can still feel the weight of the young man’s gaze. “That’s barely against the rules.”
“It should have been nothing more than a slap on the wrist, a stern lecture in Senior Enchanter Irving’s office. But Knight-Corporal Belric was the one who caught me. He had only just been promoted and decided to handle the consequences himself. He said I was being insolent, that I should learn my place as a lowly enchanter.”
He knows he doesn’t need to say anything more—Anders would never ask it of him, not after this—but the memory hurts too much to stay buried. He never wished to place the burden on anyone else, least of all the young apprentice he’s come to love and care for. But deep down, Karl knows that Anders would help him carry the burden, and would go to the ends of Thedas to do it.
“He took me to one of the unused rooms, one of the old dormitories used for storage. He told me to lift my skirts—I thought he was going to cane me, but then he heated his sword in the fireplace and pressed the blade to my calves.”
“Karl— ”
“He made it so I couldn’t walk for weeks without feeling the pain, and forbade anyone from healing me. Irving was furious, but there’s nothing he could have done. Even the highest ranking mage in the tower answers to templars.”
“Andraste’s tits,” Anders swears, his voice beginning to shake.
“Anders…” Karl trails off, rolling on his side just enough to see the young blonde’s face. It breaks his heart to see him this way—tearful, trembling with a swirling storm of fury, love, and helplessness. The tears that threaten to fall down his sharp cheek are for him, for something that happened so long ago that Karl had almost forgotten about it. Anders sheds these tears for the man Karl used to be, who was forced to stay still and silent as the steel seared his skin, too afraid to scream in case matters grew worse.
Anders shakes his head, running his hand through his hair. “I swear, if I see him again— I don’t care what they’ll do to me, I’ll kill him—”
“I care what they’ll do to you,” Karl says gently, reaching out toward Anders’ wrist, his fingers tracing the soft, delicate skin there. His other hand follows, reaching out for the apprentice in a silent request.
His expression falters, then he crumbles—collapsing into Karl’s arms like it’s the last safe place in Thedas to be. Karl pulls him close, wrapping both his arms around the skinny apprentice, tucking him under his chin. He can feel Anders’ breath against his neck, the boy’s own arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders. Karl’s chest aches, not just from the memory but from the way Anders clings to him, keeping themselves together physically and emotionally.
Karl strokes his hand through the blonde strands, much like he would soothe a cat scared by thunder. But Anders isn’t some frightened creature—he’s stubborn, he’s charming, he’s one of the most brilliant young mages Karl has ever witnessed. Karl sees the man Anders is becoming, and it terrifies him. It’s terrifying how much love he feels for Anders, knowing just how dangerous love can be in the Circle. The templars barely need any excuse to tear them apart, to ruin their lives by with the brand. It eats away at him at night, imagining their possible future being so easily torn away.
They lie like that for a while, tangled up in each other like a knot, savoring the silence of the tower at such an early hour. Karl doesn’t know how much sleep they’ll get before sunrise, when the golden light filters through those unreachable windows to remind them that they’ll never see it for themselves.
But in this moment—with Anders slowly falling asleep in his arms, unconsciously mumbling nonsense against his collarbone—Karl decides it doesn’t matter if he never sees beyond these walls, as long as they have each other.