an Anders/Karl Apostate AU - rated M - ~30k
[tags: fluff, domestic, bed-sharing, apostates, romance, slow build, strangers to lovers, angst, flirting, cats, skinny dipping, bamf anders, family + much more]
Karl has lived all his life as an apostate, the only one of his relatives, working on his family’s farm miles from the nearest village. It’s worked well for him so far, and he feels he could peacefully live out the rest of his life like this, even if it means never using his magic. But that peaceful life is put in danger when he finds an intruder in the barn one night—a blond boy about his age… wearing Circle robes.
For @teamblueandangry Kandersgiving event - Day 4: AU/Free
AU where the touch of Justice cures Karl permanently.
(I’m not saying that would have changed the whole plot of DA2 and DAI but yes it would have. I kind of want to write 40K of this but here are the bullet points.)
1.
When they were free and safe, catching their breath on the narrow bed after a messy, shakily desperate reunion, Anders offered to remove the brand from his forehead.
Karl traced the raised ridges of the sunburst with his finger. He’d not seen it in the mirror yet, not since he’d been cured, but he’d already made up his mind.
“No, love, leave it,” he said. “It’s fine. It happened, no point pretending it didn’t. You have plenty of new scars too.”
He ran his hand over the recently healed sword wound over Anders’ heart and leaned in to kiss it.
“Love, my love,” Anders sighed, and then the spirit that had mended Karl’s sundered mind was looking at him from his lover’s eyes, its voice coming from the familiar lips. “They’ll never take another mage. We won’t let them.”
2.
In those half-formed dreams he had, before his dreams were ripped from him altogether, Karl had imagined they’d run away together. They’d hide in some village, never again do magic to avoid any suspicion. They’d have a little farm, a cow and a goat, and they wouldn’t need anything else.
Things were different now. Anders, for all that he still was every bit Karl’s Anders, had become something new: more than human now, indestructible, unstoppable, burning with one purpose: to make this world a just one, a safe one.
And Karl himself was changed, new, bare, tender, like a thin pink skin that’s revealed when a scab comes off.
“I’m just… emotional,” he told Anders’ friend Bethany the next day. She came to visit while Anders saw to his patients, likely because Karl seemed too unstable to leave unsupervised. Even just thinking about that brought him near tears, and he had to bite his lips to stop them from trembling.
Bethany, a sweet little hedge mage half his age, patted his shoulder comfortingly.
“Emotions are good,” she said. “Better than not having any. I was like this all through puberty, I remember. Even now if I hear ‘Andraste’s mabari’ at the wrong time of the month, I’ll bawl my eyes out. But you’ll get used to it. Just cry whenever you need, it really helps.”
He wasn’t going to, would hate for Anders to see him like that. But that same night as soon as they kissed again the tears spilt out, burning and abundant, and Anders held him tight while Karl wept on his shoulder.
“I’m not sad, I’m just - too happy,” he sobbed out, and Anders kissed his hair and said it was all right, and soon it really felt like that.
But, whether he was fine or not, they had work to do.
3.
Samson’s name had been passed around Gallows in whispers, from one trusted friend to another. Before he was given the brand, while he’d still been planning to escape with Anders’ help, Karl had counted on Samson to get them out of Kirkwall, provided they could find the money.
“Apparently, if an escaped mage can’t come up with coin, Samson sends them to some unsavoury people,” he explained. “Some of them could be slavers. We need to make sure this doesn’t happen.”
Anders promised Samson any treatment that could ease the pains of Lyrium withdrawal, Karl promised not to burn him alive, and just like that, Samson was now working for them. Soon he brought them their first mage runaways, Feynriel and Olivia, and Karl had students again. Olivia’s father tipped them about the escaped Starkhaven mages, and with their friends’ help they brought them in, too. They all spent some weeks turning the sewers into a decent enough place to live, for themselves and other refugees. Between them they could provide clean water and safe fire, they could reshape stone and light darkness. They diverted the sewage away from the living spaces, widened the gaps in the rock to let in more light, and began trading their skills and knowledge for food and necessities.
The plan was coming together.
4.
A few weeks later Karl felt strong enough to talk about what had happened to him, and asked Anders to take him back to the chantry. There he prayed before Andraste’s statue for courage and then approached the Grand Cleric and pushed his hood off to show her the brand.
“I am a Harrowed mage,” he said. “I was illegally made Tranquil, against my will, by Ser Alric. With, I suspect, Knight-Commander’s full knowledge and approval.”
“This seems highly unlikely,” she said calmly. “You don’t sound like a Tranquil. Are you sure your brand isn’t a fake, child?”
“I… got better,” he said, already trembling, overcome with anger and frustration. “Will you bring them to justice?”
“The misdeeds of the Templars are the Knight-Commander’s domain. You should speak to her.”
“As I said, I believe she had a hand in this.”
“You seem to be here without templar escort,” she said. “Am I to understand I’m speaking to an escaped apostate? If you wish me to start the investigation and have a chance to take this to trial, you must turn yourself in. That’s the proper way to see the justice done.”
“I’m not going back to the Circle. I’m not safe there. That’s where I was illegally made Tranquil.”
“There’s little I can do on a hearsay from an apostate, I’m afraid.”
He stumbled away from her, weeping in strange, inexplicable, helpless shame, and Anders put his arms around him and led him outside, into the light.
“I want to ask your spirit,” he said when he could speak again. “Can murder be justified? Am I consumed by my anger?”
Anders had killed many templars to save him, Karl knew. He’d killed before, too, in his time with the Wardens. Perhaps even earlier, if he was cornered during his many escapes. But for Karl that would be a new line to cross.
“Justice isn’t vengeance,” Anders said. “It’s not about an eye for an eye. It’s about creating a better world. I believe this particular murder would go a long way toward that goal.”
They ambushed Alric the very next day on his way from the brothel. Karl forced him to his knees and pressed his fingers to Alric’s forehead, and set his brain on fire.
He was ill for days afterwards, unable to keep anything down, his hand sore as if his own fire had harmed him. The catharsis had brought some measure of solace, he supposed.
5.
Hawke was about to head out on his daredevil expedition, and Anders declined to go and leave Karl behind.
“Well, without the Warden and the healer this enterprise just became a lot more dangerous,” Hawke said. “I understand, it’s just that I wanted to take Bethany with me, to make sure the templars don’t snatch her while I’m away. Now I’m not so sure.”
“She can stay with us,” Karl offered, and she did.
While they waited they took her, Merrill, a few Strakhaven mages and Fenris all around Kirkwall, trying to dig deeper into the grizzly matter that was brought to Hawke by Ser Emeric.
“If we are to live free among other free people, we have to do our part in fighting those who use magic for evil,” Karl said. He knew Fenris still had reservations about their little commune, and it seemed important to show him their dedication. Karl’s right palm still itched a little, but he mostly ignored it. Solving this crime would be the comfort he needed. “We know a mage is involved. We will find and stop them.”
They kept digging, and eventually came to the end of their search. The dead murderer’s secret room held some remnants of his horrific experiments, and a shrine to a woman who looked disconcertingly like Bethany’s mother.
“Imagine if this creep met her and became obsessed with her,” Bethany said and turned the portrait to face the wall. “Well, she’s safe now.”
6.
Orsino stared at Karl, fascinated. They’d arranged the meeting in the Darktown, and the old man’s huge eyes were watering, perhaps from the stench, perhaps from the same emotion that had Karl on edge of tears too.
“Unbelievable,” he said again. “Karl, I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you. But this, this is a miracle.”
“It’s a simple enough cure,” Anders said. “I can do it with a single touch, but summoning a spirit isn’t difficult. Anyone can do it. We can cure everyone, and we don’t have to be afraid any longer. The templars have lost their best weapon.”
“This changes everything,” Orsino agreed. “I will make sure the other Circles know. This can not be silenced.”
“I’ll cure everyone I can get my hands on,” Anders said. “Anyone you can send my way. Afterwards we’ll take care of them right here, in this sanctum we’ve built, among our people. We’ll nurture them through their recovery, help them face the horrors they might have been put through. Make sure they heal, the way they’d never be able to if we send them back to Circles. This is what we’ve been working toward.”
“That’s very good,” said Orsino. “A good start. Let me talk to other First Enchanters. I understand you’re overjoyed to be free and together, and you might not be seeing the bigger picture yet.”
7.
Later that year the conclave had voted for separation of the Circles from the Chantry, and the uprisings were on the way. Grand Cleric Elthina left Kirkwall, fearing for her safety. The Nevarran accord was broken, but the Templars and the Seekers both were in disarray, a lot of them opposing the order once the truth of the Rite of Tranquility was known.
The Gallows stood empty, following a swift uprising of mages fully supported by the new Viscount. Dumar had retired to rebuild his relationship with his son, and named Hawke his successor. Hawke, friend of the mages, darling of the nobility after all the favours he’d done for them, a close friend of the new Starkhaven king and even a trusted ally of the Arishok, ruled well and fair, even though there were rumours that his friend Varric did most of the work. Once the Kirkwall mages rebelled, Hawke sent in the city guard to fight on their side. After a short siege, with the mages who’d not escaped by then holding the Gallows and keeping the templars trapped in the courtyard, the templars ran out of lyrium and surrendered.
For a few happy years Karl and Anders lived and worked side by side, teaching the children, curing the Tranquil, building a community that accepted mages as their own. They penned a few papers together arguing for the rights of mages, outlining their ideas for peaceful coexistence.
“What would I do without you,” Anders kept saying. “I swear, without you, without your love, I’d given up a long time ago.”
“I know you too well,” Karl said. “You’d never give up.”
Still, it was good to know he was helping. It was good to be alive, to be able to love, to be loved. His unruly emotions had mostly settled down, except for one: he was still as overcome by tenderness and desire whenever Anders touched him, looked at him, smiled at him. But that they could certainly live with.
There was a call for help from a rebelling Circle, and they gathered a fighting force of battle mages and set off. Halfway into their march the forward scouts brought back an elf in tattered clothing. He seemed weak and confused, he refused to talk, and he was clutching a strange dark orb to his chest.
“Friend,” called Justice to him as soon as he came near. “I know, this is strange. Like you, I didn’t want a body, but you will see, you will understand the beauty of this world. You will love it. I will help you.”
“What?” Karl asked, but Justice only kept beaming at the man, and didn’t explain. Karl could sense the man’s power, though. Definitely a mage, in need of shelter, food, probably healing. “Well, he’s right, anyway. You’re among friends now. You’ll see, we’re good people.”
The boy’s head swivelled around. Eyes narrowed in suspicion, he peered up at Karl from beneath messy strands of blonde hair. That little furrow between his brows, growing deeper with every passing second of silence…Karl would really have liked to kiss it. Well. Maybe later. Much later. He had a reputation to maintain, sure, but the kid was…well, that was just it, wasn’t it? Almost still a kid. Almost. Not quite. But from what Karl had seen, he didn’t seem to be interested in the…social aspects of Circle life yet. Pity. He really was kind of cute, from up close. Ah well, maybe one day. No need to rush things. It was a Circle, after all, you were bound to run into everyone again at some point during the rounds. Unless they disappeared overnight, never to be mentioned again…
He softly shook his head and plopped down next to the boy in his best display of well-rehearsed casualness. Not the time for that. He’d come for stories. Although an ally to complain with wouldn’t hurt either. Someone who wasn’t too cowed to open their mouth, now that would be a nice change.
Karl made a point of shrugging extensively as he flashed the boy his best lazy smile. “I don’t remember it. Any of it. Sometimes I see pictures in my head when I read a story, but I never know if it’s a memory or just my imagination. No one ever really talks about it, they all just pretend like it doesn’t exist. But you, you keep trying to get back there. I was just curious….But if you don’t want to talk, that’s fine.” He added another shrug for good measure. “Just thought I’d ask.” He made to get up….
“Wait…”
…and sat back down with a grin.
“Why would you ask me? No one wants to be seen with me. I’m on the Templars’ watch-list.” For a moment there, he looked endearingly proud beneath the still very-present layer of suspicion.
Karl shrugged again. There could never be too many shrugs, right? “The Templars can kiss my pale, robed ass. Anyone who makes them look even more stupid than they already do is alright in my book. I’m Karl, by the way. And you’re Anders, I know that much.”
“Yes.” There was a brief pause. “Anders. I’ve never seen you in class.” His eyes narrowed again.
Karl had to bite his lip hard to keep himself from laughing. He really shouldn’t. It wasn’t funny. Quite the opposite.
He wordlessly reached out a hand and sent a tiny cone of cold along Anders’ thigh. Snowflakes gathered on his robes in a glittering trail, then melted into nothingness, a couple of tiny stains the only proof they’d ever existed.
“See? Mage. I’m not a Templar spy, no need to worry. I’m in advanced classes. Mostly elemental and force. Naturally, I mean, I’m cool, and I’m a force of nature.”
He wriggled his fingers in an exaggerated fashion, but Anders didn’t seem to be paying attention. His gaze was fixed on where the snowflakes had been.
“I’m not good at elemental.” Something settled in his eyes, making them appear darker as he spoke again. “Fire’s hard to control.”
“Well, if you ever need help, my fireballs leave all customers satisfied.”
Anders rolled his eyes, but that little quirk at the corners of his mouth didn’t escape Karl’s notice. “Thanks, but I’m more than capable of satisfying with my healing hands.”
So…maybe not that much later after all. Karl tried not to smirk too obviously. “Healing hands, huh? You got Wynne?”
“Yes.”
“Good. She’s alright. Well, mostly. Likes to meddle, but won’t sell you out to the Templars…Has she given you all the ‘smart choices’ talk yet?”
The look on Anders’ face would have been answer enough. “Does she ever not?” He fell silent, chewing on his lip. “She’s nice though, reminds me of…“ He broke off abruptly. “She says I could become a Spirit Healer.”
Of course. As if the poor guy didn’t draw enough Templar attention already. One of the rarest talents, lucrative, feared and tightly leashed. But somehow, it suited him. Special. Like those eyes that seemed clueless at first glance but had been watching him intently the entire time, taking in everything with hardly any signs of movement…They really were an unusual colour…
“I bet you’d be great at it.”
Anders raised his pointy chin defiantly. “I won’t stay long enough to find out. I’m going home. The Templars can’t stop me!”
“Guess I should tell you that there’s no chance and you’d better accept your fate…but you know what, you’re so persistent, you might actually make it one day. And I’d love for someone to get out. To prove we won’t all be Templar slaves forever.”
“Why don’t you try to escape then?”
Ah, yes. The question of long-abandoned dreams.
“I was brought here when I was four. I don’t remember a ‘home’ I could return to. They took the world away before I even had a chance to see it. I tried anyway. Once. Years ago. It didn’t end well. There’s nothing out there for me.” The forced nonchalance of his shrug came less easy this time. “So yeah, the revolution won’t start with me. But you…for a child to swim all the way across the lake—“
“Riiiight, Grandpa, because you’re so much older and wiser. Bet your hair’s going to go grey any day now. You’ll leave a nice, shiny trail of silver when they drag your brittle ass to your Harrowing.”
“You were a child then is what I meant, alright, no need to go all Surana on me.”
“You too, eh?” For the first time since Karl sat down next to him, Anders gave him an actual, full smile. Followed by a soft, melodic laugh. Karl made a mental note to coax that sound out of him more often.
“Yes. Don’t make me speak about it. I’m scarred for life.”
Anders laughed again. Karl leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the table.
“It’s a gilded cage, how can you not see that,” the younger boy huffs, dragging a frustrated hand through his long strawberry blonde hair.
“Anders,” Karl tries patiently in the same calm as anything voice he always uses, which only seems to rankle the other boy still further.
“You come when you’re called. They tell you to jump, you ask how high, and what does it get you? A pat on the back? Extra library and research privileges? You’re still stuck here, living and dying in this tower,” Anders continues, pacing in front of the bed where Karl sits listening, watching, waiting for him to wind down a little, for an opening. “Is that really what you want? Don’t you ever dream of anything else? Of something more? Of getting out of here,” he asks, shaking his head, before finally throwing himself down onto the bed beside his mentor to stare blankly up at the ceiling with a heavy sigh.
“I’ve never known anything else,” Karl admits softly, carefully sliding to lie down across the mattress beside Anders. “Nothing I can remember, at least. I was only four when they brought me here.”
Anders falls quiet for a moment, and in the otherwise empty and silent dormitory, listens to the steady breaths of the mage beside him, shifts onto his side to watch the steady rise and fall of his chest, and slowly allows his own to match his pace.
“I’m sorry.”
Karl shakes his head. It’s not Anders fault, besides he’s not sure whether that being the case is such a bad thing: to have no recollection of what was lost, what might have been, the way Anders does. It’s fortunate the First Enchanter is so patient and has such a soft spot for the younger mage. There’s not many that could have made as many attempts to break out without being forced to take the brand.
“You’ve not tried to run away for months now,” Karl muses thoughtfully, brow furrowing a little at the realization.
“Everyone knows Irving told you to take me under your wing. I’m not giving Greagior or the rest of them a reason to come after you when I’m gone.”
It’s a thoughtful sentiment. Probably even a sincere one, Karl thinks. Still, he can’t help but feel there’s something more, another reason for the lack of any recent escape attempts Anders isn’t saying. Or perhaps this is simply wishful thinking, chancing a sideways glance at the handsome boy beside him.
“What do you want, Anders,” Karl muses thoughtfully, rolling over, blue eyes searching the amber ones that meet his. “What are you running towards when you escape? What do you dream about?”
“I want to be free,” Anders replies plaintively. “Free to, I don’t know… “ he shrugs frustratedly. “No. That’s not true. All I want is a pretty girl. A decent meal. The right to shoot lightning at fools,” he corrects himself, grinning at little at the sheer ridiculousness of his last request. “I just want to live, to choose a life for myself the way anyone else can.”
“Templars, the Chantry, they’ve taught everyone to fear us. Nobody even questions it anymore,” Anders bitterly. “They slap a collar on anyone with even a hint of magical ability. We are all Maleficarum and Abominations waiting to happen. But we’re not. Not all of us. You would never– but you’re just as trapped here as the rest of us,” the blonde whispers as sorrowful amber eyes brim with unshed tears.
“Marina is pretty.”
“What,” Anders ejaculates, utterly bewildered.
“Apprentice Amell is a pretty young woman,” Karl offers softly, no longer daring to look at the other boy.
“I- No. I mean, yes, she is, but… that would just be strange. I mean, she’s a friend. She’s more like a- a sister,” the blonde protests. “That’s really what you got out of all of that,” Anders manages, shaking his head. “That I need fixing up with someone?”
“Do you?”
“No! And, anyway, even if I did, I could- I can manage it just fine, myself.” Karl nods, though Anders doesn’t look much comforted by the gesture.
“I just don’t see how I can change or fix any of the rest of it,” he admits ruefully.
“I don’t expect you to.”
“I know,” Karl nods again. “I would, though,” he confesses softly, finally dragging his eyes back up to meet Anders’, which suddenly feel as though they pierce right through him, see everything he’s tried so hard for so long to keep contained, hidden, even from himself. The things he dreams of, the ‘something more’ he longs for… or, more accurately, someone. “You deserve freedom, happiness,” he continues, forcing himself to continue to meet those passionately fiery and rapidly widening amber eyes. “Love,” he whispers, his throat seems to constrict, tongue swelling and threatening to tie over the word.
“You would give me that,” Anders whispers.
“Anders,” Karl whispers, swallowing. “I would give you the world, were it within my power to.”
“I don’t want the world.”
“Of course,” Karl nods, rolling back onto his back to stare up at the ceiling once more, doing his level best to ignore the sudden weightless feeling in the pit of his stomach and clenching in the space where his heart should be. “Just the right to shoot lightning at fools, right,” he tries, but the words are far too stiff to convincingly pass as the causal, teasing tone he’d aimed for. Maker, but he’d known better, hadn’t he? Whatever had possessed him to think…
“Karl?”
“Yes,” he manages to choke out, letting his eyes slide closed with a silent prayer to spontaneously melt into the bed beneath him.
“I- um,” Anders stammers uncharacteristically unsure of himself. “I’m not- that is… well, it doesn’t necessarily have to be a pretty girl.”
He doesn’t dare open his eyes. He’s not even sure at this point that he’s breathing as he struggles not to get his hopes up, heart hiccuping in spite of himself. “Oh? An ugly one would do, then,” he teases with a hollow chuckle.
“Karl.” There’s a hand on his cheek, warm and soft, a thumb wiping away a tear he’d not even realized had escaped. A rustle of the quilt and slight squeak from the frame as the other boy shifts, and Karl still hasn’t opened his eyes, but he knows, can feel Anders’ arm and its warmth where it rests propping him up as clearly as if it were an extension of himself. He swallows again, feeling his Adam's apple bob with it. “Karl,” Anders calls again, voice infinitely softer and more patient than Karl has ever had the occasion to hear him use. “Look at me? Please?”
He does. And Anders is just where he knew he would be, hovering just above him. A breath, then another pass wordlessly, blue eyes watering, longing to look away and simultaneously lacking the willpower to do so. Whatever those bright amber eyes are searching for, Anders seems to find it, suddenly breaking into a dazzling smile. Karl has only scant seconds to appreciate it before the younger boy lets the hands that had been supporting his weight go out from under him in favor of falling on top of him and crushing his lips to his. His name, a breathless whisper on Anders’ lips as they finally pull apart, has never sounded so good.
Thurs. Nov 23th - Sun. Nov 26th we’ll be celebrating Anders and Karl! This year’s themes will be centered around the firsts of their friendship and relationship. As always, you don’t have to follow the days’ themes, they’re just starters! (Check out last year’s entries here)
So if you want to draw, or write, or just talk about your headcanons for them, tag #Kandersgiving 2017 and @teamblueandangry so we can reblog!
Thursday: First Friend - When do they become friends? Is Karl’s good nature there to ground Anders? Were the pair of them both troublemakers? How does it start?
Friday: First Kiss/First Date - When did it become more than friends? If everybody was kissing everybody, when did that first kiss mean something? What kind of date could they get away with in the Circle?
Saturday: First Love - What made Anders stop escaping for Karl? What was their ‘first time’ like? How did they say goodbye before Karl was taken to Kirkwall?
Sunday: If We Were Free - AU/Free Day! AU where they both escape! Another AU where they stayed together in any universe.
(We’ll be filling in between with older Kanders posts for the weekend)
He looks forlorn and filthy, covered in a sheen of rain mixed with dirt and sweat. His eyes are a golden-brown that shimmer like sunlight through whiskey in the lantern’s wavering light. But, what is most striking about this intruder is what he’s wearing, and the realization makes Karl gasp.
Circle robes.
an illustration for the first chapter of my newest Kanders fic The Second Best Thing I’ve Ever Done, finished for kandersgiving 2017
I always picture Karl Thekla as the type who was a snarky cynical asshole when he was a teen and then mellowed out into a lovely gentlemanly individual when he grows older. Which is why he loves Anders so much.
