Autumn of Anders is an inaugural celebratory prompt event for anyone who loves Anders from Dragon Age! The prompts are only suggestions; we will reblog Anders-centric content that meets the rules and tags #autumnofanders or mentions @autumnofanders.
Who can participate?
Fan content creators or consumers! On SEPTEMBER 22nd, 2021, creators can begin posting Anders-centric works. You can use the provided prompts or come up with your own. Content that will be reblogged includes fanfiction, artwork, moodboards, gifsets, screenshots, edits, playlists, ask memes, fic or art recommendations, etc. This list is not exclusive, but just to give you an idea of content to create for the event!
The blog will reblog or queue up posts (depending on amount of response) that tag #autumnofanders or mentions @autumnofanders until December 21st.
Bingo Cards
TBA
What content is not allowed?
We will not accept any of the following:
Content featuring underage characters (younger than 18) in sexual situations.
Content that discriminates against a marginalized group.
NSFW content that is not tagged appropriately (#lemon or #smut please).
Content where Anders dies or is killed.
Content which features a canonically gay or lesbian character in a sexual or romantic situation with a character of the opposite gender (i.e. no Dorian/f!Inquisitor or Sera/Anders. Some leeway is allowed for true healthy polyamory situations - Anders/f!Inky and Anders/Dorian, where Dorian and f!Inquisitor are onboard with sharing Anders, but Dorian and f!Inquisitor would not interact sexually). Note: Dorian or Sera in romantic or sexual scenarios with appropriate nonbinary or trans characters WILL BE reblogged!
Content from creators who leave negative comments on the works of other creators during the event.
Any other rules I should know about?
Please do not start posting your content early! You can start posting on September 22nd in your time zone. Anything in the tag or that mentions us prior to that date will not be reblogged.
Please only tag your own content. Fic and art rec lists count as your own content for the purpose of this event!
For nsfw content please tag using #smut or #lemon for the benefit of those scrolling the tags to be able to filter out nsfw content.
Use your own judgement with tags! If it's something you'd warn for on Ao3, please warn for it here as well, both in the tags and before the work you're sharing!
Accidentally - because it was an accident - burning down the barn wasn’t the first time Anders used magic. Not that he was Anders then, he was someone else. It was the first time that anyone else knew - the first time that even he himself really knew that it was magic flowing through him, but he realizes later, when he’s laying in the back of a wagon with an iron manacle around one ankle and a Templar woman who is trying to be at least a little kind - that it was not the first time, and the realization comforted him. Not much. But enough to get through the next set of counting to one hundred before starting again because he knew he’d go mad if he let his thoughts wander.
Two winters before, he found a nest of kittens in the same barn - the one that was now ash. Outside, the snow piled past his waist, he had to break the water in the trough so the cattle and goats would be able to drink, and even with three layers of heavy wool socks, he couldn’t feel his toes.
The kittens must have been a late litter. Their mother was nowhere to be found, and the little bodies were terribly still and cold. One moved a little when he touches it, seeking more warmth from his hand. It opened its still blue eyes and blinked at him. The other two were barely breathing and didn’t respond when he stroked their soft fur.
He loosened his coat enough to tuck three kittens inside and pet their noses and backs with the tips of two fingers. All he intended was to try to keep them warm until it was over. Even at ten, he had seen enough animals die to know that it wouldn’t be long; they were starving as well, he can feel their ribs where their sides should be round with baby fat. He didn’t want them to die cold. His father shook his head with a sigh, when he finished with the milking and saw what his son was doing, and told him not to be too long or he’d freeze to death himself.
A bit after his father left, he started to feel warmer. Much warmer, like he was tucked in the shelf built into the massive hearth in the house, with one of grandmother’s quilts wrapped around him, or snuggled into bed with his little siblings asleep beside him, or curled beside his grandmother while she told them stories in the evening.
He didn’t feel alone.
The kittens started to move, arching their backs into his hand, pawing at his shirt like they would their absent mother’s stomach, opening their eyes, and mewing in tiny hungry chirps, until there’s a small wiggling mass of furry bodies - warm furry bodies - tucked inside his coat.
He thought he heard a soft sigh in his ear, and a gentle push - he couldn’t think of another word for what he felt - to take them to his mother. She will smile softly at him when he does and pour a bowl of warmed goat milk and show him how to soak a bit of fabric in it so the kittens can suck because they’re still too little to lap it up from a dish. His little brothers and sisters will argue over who gets to name them for the heroes of grandmother’s stories. And his father will sigh again, but humor them all, because winters are long, and caring for the kittens will give the children something to do.
That was the first time Anders who was not yet Anders used magic. Not for destruction, but for healing.
Okay I totally loved this one, because any chance I get to feature our favorite Spirit friend is great.
For a while, Hawke simply observed Justice - who was currently sat up in bed while Anders still slept - in relative silence. While it was not a new occurrence by any means, he still watched the spirit curiously as if he could see the gears turning in his/Anders’ as the thoughts played over in his mind. What he wouldn’t give to be privy to some of them. They were such an interesting duo, but it was more than that, had been for a few years now. The depths of his feelings for both mortal and spirit were difficult to measure, but if asked, well, could he even explain in words? Piecey blonde wisps of hair, mussed from sleeping, framed an angular face that was both familiar and foreign. Blonde brows laid flat and low across his forehead, above eyes brimming with vivid blue where there should have been burnished gold.
Eventually, Hawke rolled over and leaned on his elbow to prop up his head. “Everything alright with you two?”
“Our battle with Corypheus has set Anders in a state of turmoil. He is still troubled by turning on you.”
Out of everything that the spirit could have said, this statement was the one to stick, to hit him square in the chest like a Fist of the Maker. It rang through his head, knocking around in his thoughts, and caused Hawke to suck in a sudden breath through his nose. The memory was still quite raw, haunting even. The image of ethereal-blue Fade light escaping through cracks in the mage’s person every time Justice was at the front and present wasn’t what worried him, it had been the silence and the ferocity with which he’d lashed out. Hawke felt his stomach lurch as he recalled the way he tried to arrange a cease-fire before being backed into a corner and having no choice but to defend himself, at least long enough until the two of them overpowered Corypheus’ voice in his head and to take back control. It made his chest ache, his heart clench.
No. He never wanted to do that again. “Please, don’t be,” he all but whispered, propping himself up to a sitting position now, practically mirroring Justice/Anders. “You didn’t mean it, nor did he and it’s alright.” That’s the last thing he wanted. For Anders to feel guilty over something out of his control. “Really, I’m just relieved that you’re both fine.”
With no immediate response, he grew quiet again, thinking about what the spirit said about the calling - the haunting whispers of a song and a voice that bade one listen, both impossible to ignore once they had become too loud and all-consuming. Blighted fucking Maker he hated this place. Everything about it made him want to be ill these days. What they found down there only made it worse.
“We are not physically unwell, but the creature’s control was … not an experience I wish to relive. And I cannot help but think on his claims-”
“What? That he was one of the Magisters to breach the Golden City?” Well, he wasn’t getting back to sleep anytime soon and the conversation had taken an interesting turn. Sighing, rubbing his eyes and scooting in closer, Hawke draped one of the quilts around the both of them. “Do you truly think there’s truth to his words then? To what he said? I admit - it’s not like we have any way to prove otherwise, nor would I want to try. Suppose it puts things into perspective.”
If he had any real stock in faith beyond a surface-level observation of The Maker and Andraste, Hawke might have considered this a crisis of his beliefs but as it stood, it was simply just confounding. Perhaps there was a bit of crisis still taking place there, the one best experienced by those like him who never knew where to stand or what to think.
Justice only mused quietly in his usual way, a low rumbling hum as he contemplated what to say. After a few more minutes passed, his shoulders slumped. “I - will have to think more on this and Anders is stirring.”
That much was evident by the way the light from his eyes seemed to dim and recede, by the way the tenor of his voice lilted and drifted off, becoming duller. Once the rigidity of his form abated, the mage’s body curled into his and a soft airy sigh signaled Anders’ return to the conscious world. At least partially. He mumbled something quiet and half-intelligible, but Hawke adjusted his position and drew the other mage into his arms as he laid back against the mattress once more.
Anders didn’t plan his fourth escape from Kinloch Hold. It was a crime of opportunity. About two months after his Harrowing, some of the senior enchanters talked the Greagoir into letting them take the recently harrowed mages outside to teach them some spells that could be used with water - in the water. Supposedly, they could be trusted now. Allowed a bit more leeway.
He wasn't planning on doing anything except enjoying the sun, but once he's mastered a spell that creates an artificial current - intended to propel a boat - well, it only made sense to see if the same spell would work for a human body.
Yes.
And by the grace of Andraste or some other power, no one notices when he takes as deep of a breath as he can manage, ducks under the water, and reemerges a good fifty yards closer to shore.
Anders hides out on an overgrown bank for the rest of the day, then steals some clothes from a line and a handful or two of carrots from the ground in the little village beside the docks, and then he's gone.
It takes them one month and five days to find him in Amaranthine.
Anders is already pretty beat up when they get him back to the Tower. Greagoir is infuriated - angrier than Anders has ever seen him - and orders a public whipping to get his point across. Thirty lashes. Anders tells himself that he’ll live through that... he thinks. After about ten or so, his mind just sort of drops out, floats away, to nowhere in particular. Just somewhere very, very far away. He’s not really conscious again until someone tosses a bucket of salted water across his back, then two knights are hauling him down the steps and dumping him face-first onto a thin mattress.
The next time he’s aware of anything there’s a woman arguing with the guards outside the door.
“Sorry, ma'am, but the Knight-Commander wants him to be an example.”
“He won't make a very good example if he's dead, will he?” A very stern, determined woman. Wynne. Just what he needs. A warm, maternal tongue lashing. “Let me through. I won't do anything other than drive out infection.”
“Let her pass. Drop the dampening wards for her as well.”
The door creaks open. Anders can’t tell if the light in the cell increases. His face is too well hidden in his arms. Wynne touches his bicep and shakes him until he groans and turns his head to the side. “Hi, Mom.”
“You are the damnedest fool I’ve ever met.” Wynne tweaks his ear. “Don't you realize how much trouble you create for the rest of us? How worried some of us were about you?”
“I'm not the problem. If they didn’t -”
She sighs. “I’ve heard all of this from you before. You’re old enough to know better.”
Heat radiates from her hands as they hover over Anders’ back. It’s not a full healing spell, but it will keep the open welts from getting infected. And possibly calm the fever that Anders can tell is running dangerously high. Might get an interesting dream or two out of it to pass the time.
“That’s all I’m allowed to do.” Wynne gathers his hair at the base of his neck and brushes the back of her hand over his temple and cheek. “They're leaving you down here for two months and ten days, Anders.”
“Ah, I'll get caught up on my sleep.”
“Don’t jest. I suggest using the time to pray for some wisdom.” She pats his cheek and stands up. “You're smarter than this. You have a lot to offer if you would just learn to accept reality.”
***
Light. Even the limited light of Kinloch Hold’s entry hall is more than Anders can hand;e after two months and change in the dark. An unsympathetic Templar shoves him toward the door that leads into the library. They’re done taking him apart. If any of the other mages want to bother putting him back together, he’s their problem now.
Karl grabs him almost as soon he staggers into the library and shakes him by the shoulders. “You moron.” Then he leans close and kisses him. “You fucking idiot.”
Anders winces at the contact. A kick in the side is about as much human interaction as he’s experienced in the past... however long. In the dark, time collapses and expands in unpredictable ways.
Dark. His vision goes dark around the edges, and his knees give up.
Karl catches him and pulls Anders’ arm across his shoulder, holding him up. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
Anders hadn’t had the time to fully explore the quarters where the mages who had survived the Harrowing but who weren’t yet enchanters slept. The baths off to the side are about the same as the ones in the apprentices’ dorm though. Cast iron tubs with chips in the enamel and a few folding screens to approximate privacy. Hand pumps for water. A drain in the floor for the same.
They’re on the second tub of water, and Anders is beginning to worry about just what Karl used as a bribe to get this much water and time. “I’m going to have to cut these out.” Karl has been trying for what seems like hours now to work loose the mats in Anders’ hair. Or maybe they’ve only been here a few minutes; Anders isn’t sure.
“Go ahead,” he mumbles.
“Maker, baby...” Karl pushes lightly on the back of his head. Anders lets his chin fall forward onto his chest. The sound of metal scraping together grates against his ears as Karl begins snipping clumps out of his hair. Karl is careful, working slowly and pushing his fingers along Anders’ scalp to keep from cutting the skin by mistake. It’ll grow back. Just like skin does.
He rests his elbows on the edge of the tub and lets his fingers dangle in the water. It’s warm, he knows, but he can’t really feel it, any more than he could really feel the rough fabric of a washcloth scrubbing across his skin.
“What are you humming?” Karl is still trimming, maybe trying to even out the length.
“Am I humming?” Anders started singing to himself maybe a week, maybe two, after he was left alone. Then it turned to humming. He doesn’t even think about it now.
Karl leans around him, scoops up a double handful of water, and rinses out his hair. “There we go.” He presses his cheek against Anders, beard prickling against freshly shaven skin. “Let’s get you dried off and dressed. Do you want to try to walk a bit? The garden is still nice.”
Anders can’t find the energy to respond or even to raise his hand and investigate the feeling of short hair. Karl decides for him, guiding him to the kitchens and begging a bowl of soup and a thick chunk of bread from one of the Tranquil cooks. He sits across from Anders, watching as he eats. Anders doesn’t finish the food, his stomach starts to feel tight and painful before he’s even halfway through. He stares at the surface of the thin soup and stirs it absently.
“Can’t eat more? They’ve starved you too.” Karl reaches across the table and touches his face, frowning when Anders reflexively pulls away. “I’ve never seen your cheeks so hollow.”
“Shoulda left the beard then.”
Karl almost smiles. “Let’s try to stretch your legs a bit then.”
Even though the autumn day is overcast, the garden is almost too bright. Anders has to pull up the hood of his robe to shade his eyes before he can bear it, and he isn't able to walk far before he has to sit down on one of the stone benches. So much for running.
The walled garden is busy with mages trying to catch a bit of sun before winter sets in, but everyone except Karl gives him a wide berth. Anders has no complaints, he can barely manage to not cry with delight from hearing other human voices - or to panic because he’s no longer accustomed to hearing the sounds of people interacting with each other and going about their business.
How much he can stand to be touched comes and goes, but after the first several times Anders flinched away, Karl waits for him to initiate anything, not even daring to hold his hand. It’s probably safer for Karl if that remains the case. Anders just creates trouble for anyone who cares about him.
“You should go. They’ll be watching anyone with me.”
“Fuck that. Besides, I’m already marked.”
“I’m sorry, Karl.” Anders slumps against his shoulder, blinking rapidly in a futile attempt to not start crying. Maybe it’s just the light causing his eyes to water.
“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.”
“Can we go back inside? I’m tired.” He hadn’t expected to be tired after spending so much time sleeping.
“Yes. If that’s what you want.”
***
Anders’ bed is just as he left it. No one had taken the opportunity to steal a desirable lower bunk tucked into the corner. A sign of respect? Or just Karl zealously guarding it? Who knows?
Anders crawls in and lays down gingerly on the mattress. His back is finally whole as of an hour or two ago when Karl peeled the filthy shirt off him, squeaked in dismay, and healed the one or two remaining welts that had been stubbornly refusing to close up. But Anders has gotten accustomed to moving with care to avoid reopening them. It’ll be some time before he’ll be able to bring himself to move carelessly, freely again.
Anders curls on his side and lays his head down on the large pillow, wrapping his arms around the much smaller one his mother gave him. The threads of the artful needlework are beginning to fade, much like the memory of her face.
Karl shakes out a blanket, drapes it over him, and starts to pull the curtains around the bed.
“No.” All the muscles in Anders’ body tighten, and his right calf spasms painfully. “Stop.”
Karl freezes. His eyes widen then soften with something between pity and pain of his own. Anders reaches out to him. “Will you stay with me? Please. Please don’t leave me alone. And not in the dark.”
Karl sits on the edge of the bed and strokes Anders’ hair. The short length transfers more of the sensation to his scalp, and Anders chokes back the sob that the gentle contact elicits.
“Do you want me to lay down with you?”
Anders nods. His throat is too tight to speak. Karl crawls into bed next to him and pulls the curtains around it partially closed, leaving at least some light streaming in. He folds one arm under his head and continues stroking Anders' hair and cheek.
“I’ve missed you,” Karl whispers.
Three, nearly four months, counting the time Anders was on the run and if in fact, Greagoir had only left him locked up for the time he first named and hadn’t conveniently forgotten about him for a few days or weeks more than promised.
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re not the problem. It’s this miserable place.”
“Keep talking.” Anders hasn't heard voices that weren't gruff commands in so long. “Please. Anything. Tell me what happened while I was...” His voice trails off.
“Hmm... Amaury finished his thesis. He’s got two apprentices now. One accidentally set a tree in the garden on fire last week. He let the Templars scramble for a minute or two before extinguishing it.”
Anders smiles, even if he can't quite find the strength to laugh.
“Speaking of Templars, two were caught at it in a stairwell the other day, and dear Knight-Captain Maude is furious because she'd been tupping one of them, but she can't say anything of course, because you know Greagoir frowns on cross rank relationships. So that's been a bit fun to watch.”
“Ah, so much honor and self-restraint from our selfless protectors.”
“As always. Let’s see... The Formari were asked to up their production of goods. I guess the Chantry didn’t get enough donations this year, or some Revered Mother wants new drapery for her halls. Pity that increased speed increases mistakes. Exponentially, of course.”
“Of course.” The Tranquil within the Formari might not care about being asked to do more, but the enchanters would find subtle ways to indicate their displeasure.
“Enchanter Ines managed to arrange another research trip, so every mage with any training in botany or herbalism is jockeying for a position. Have you ever seen what happens when a growth spell is cast on a fly trap?”
“Please tell me the overgrown carnivorous plant caught a Templar.” Anders manages a chuckle. “I should ask to go. Ines loves me. Maybe I could take a vow of silence."
"Now, now -” Karl kisses the tip of his nose. “Don't make promises you can’t keep.”
Making progress adapting from sketching on paper to digital. (Anders is a good subject.)
And yes, the grey in the hair is deliberate. A) Dude ain't a spring chicken anyway. And B) I want him to live long enough for his vanity to suffer, 'kay?
