Chapter Text
Epilogue
Kinloch Tower, Ferelden
Solitary confinement might have been more appealing if not for the utter lack of things to keep his mind occupied. The torchlight against the walls was terrible for shadow puppets, and those were hardly worth making without an audience. Well, save perhaps for the tabby cat that would occasionally visit, though Anders suspected Mr. Wiggums was only placating him by pretending to take interest.
Weeks had gone by since his capture in West Hill, or so he guessed as there were no windows to tell him how many sunrises and sunsets he had missed. First Enchanter Irving had kowtowed to the Knight Captain’s scathing review of how much trouble Anders had given his Templars this time around, and for once more than a slap on the wrist was deserved. His ‘apostate accomplice’ had caused the death of one of their men, and it could not be left to go lightly.
Irving had apologized, and sentenced the blond to a year of solitary confinement. That Anders had absolutely nothing to say for him, no witty remarks or charming antidotes, struck him as unusual. The mage had retreated within the very shell he kept when first arriving to the Circle as a boy. Clearly, he was hurting over the young elven apostate with whom he’d kept company. She was an entirely different matter, however, and Rylock’s reports would be considered while handling it.
Back against the cold wall, Anders dangled his feet over the edge of his bed, ignoring the grumbling of his stomach. It felt as though it had been hours since his last meal, though the reality of it was he’d shared it with the cat. If he kept feeding the mouser, maybe it would continue to come around. Else, he figured he might lose his mind without some kind of socializing.
“…see, Emmy? Cats are fantastic…” He whispered to the shadows before taking a long, deep breath and let it out slowly. It made his chest hurt to think of her. His dreams were plagued by the scenes at the docks of West Hill. Sometimes, he preferred not to sleep at all.
The grinding of metal brought Anders out of his thoughts, his chin jerking upward as the grate covering the barred window of the door barricading him inside slid open. A Templar with kind, honeyed eyes and curled, sandy blond hair peeked inside.
“I’m still here, Cullen.” Standing away from the bed, Anders lumbered forward to grip the bars. “And, much to Greagoir’s chagrin, I’m sure; I’m still alive and breathing.”
The young Templar recruit fumbled a bit with the keys in his armored fingers, remaining silent as the blond mage continued speaking. “How is Solona? Are you still pining for her touch?”
A violent flush of red appeared on Cullen’s cheeks as he found the key to unlock a slot in the iron door, pushing a tray containing a hearty meal through it, followed by a skein of water. Closing the slot, the young Templar met Anders’ gaze though he remained silent.
“Oh, an extra roll. You do like me.” Anders smirked, though it quickly faded as the grate began to slide back into place. “Wait! Wait- Cullen, please. One moment?”
The grate halted as the Templar waited for whatever further teasing might befall him.
However, the mage’s face had grown sullen. “I’m sure you’ve heard everything that happened in West Hill, right? Rylock has always liked boasting about her successes in capturing me.”
A brief nod confirmed this; Anders continued. “Have you…heard anything about the elven mage I was with?” Even in the worst of his nightmares, he held onto the sliver of hope that somehow Emeline still lived.
Cullen seemed to war with himself over the right thing, and whatever orders he might have been given to not share any information with his charge. Finally, he shook his head, looking to Anders from the corner of his eye.
“She is not here. It’s all I know, though from the wounds she sustained, it is highly unlikely she could have survived it. I’m—ah…I’m sorry.” The grate shut soundly, locking into place.
Anders turned, sliding down to the floor as he let the notion sink in. He had failed her. He had broken his promise to Nesiri, he had broken his promise to Emeline—and now she was gone. Anger flared up within him, a frustrated, anguished cry escaping him as he kicked the tray across the room.
“I told you…I told you, Emmy.” He covered his face, drawing up his knees as he at last allowed the grief to overcome him.
For that night, and many more to come, Anders would internalize all the ways he should have prevented any of it from happening. This was why mages never dared to fall in love.
And didn’t he tell her, didn’t he warn—staying with him would mean the end of her.