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Kirkwall, The Free Marches
Fenris slouched in his seat, eyes on the sky visible through the Keep’s windows. It was sunny and warm - a perfect day to go out to the coast with Hawke and Varric to swim. Sadly, he was stuck indoors with his father, the Prince of Kirkwall, putting letters in front of him. It was tedious, boring...and all of the portraits rather looked the same at this point.
“This one is from Cumberland. A sweet lad, a little young at six but…” His father pushed a portrait over of a child smiling sunnily. The accompanying letter had obviously been written by a tutor and was long, boring, and all about how advantageous a political match would be. Fenris put it in the No pile.
His father sighed. “Fenris…”
“They are all either children or dull looking or their letters are tedious and written by an adult.” Fenris sulked. “I don’t understand why I can’t just pick somebody when I’ve taken the throne.”
“Because a political joining would strengthen our ties, our standing, and bring our citizens comfort and a better life.” His father ruffled his hair. “How about this one? He’s from Ferelden...a bit cheeky. He wrote his own letter.”
“Did he?” Fenris sat up. “How old is he?”
“Mm...Prince Anders Theirin is twelve and the youngest of four brothers. Maker, King Maric did always like too much of a good thing. Let’s see, he discovered his magic three months ago while playing in the garden. He apparently set fire to a bush...then asked if they could toast sausages over it. Very cheeky. He’s quite handsome...and of course, his letter. I don’t know how he managed to sneak that thing out of the castle. Though, Maric is rather impish himself.” Fenris’ father slid him the photo and letter.
Fenris looked down into wide amber eyes set in a slightly sunburnt, freckled face. The artist had caught the young Prince with a teasing grin, lips curling up like he was about to tell a joke. Long, strawberry gold hair brushed his shoulders and curled appealingly around his face. Fenris couldn’t help but grin, looking into those eyes and imagining the boy’s laugh.
Putting the picture aside, Fenris picked up the letter and settled back to read it.
Dear Fenris Lowell, Heir to the Throne of Kirkwall...yadda yadda yadda…
I am putting this in a sealed envelope so that my brother, Cailan, doesn’t read it. Da has made me write exactly twenty of these letters - all following a sample letter. They are boring. I saw your picture and your face looked nice...plus, I am tired of writing that letter.
You probably heard I’m a mage. I set a bush on fire. It was sort of on accident. Sort of. I didn’t mean for the fire to be so big! But the gardener had yelled at me and Ser Willow-Tail and I was a little bit upset. I have been told that it is improper to set bushes on fire and promise to not set your garden on fire.
I have a cat - my best friend in the world! His name is Ser Willow-Tail because his tail is all fluffy. He’s grey and white with big green eyes and we like to explore the garden together. I can’t have him at the Circle, where I am learning to control my magic. I miss him.
Today, I was learning about elemental magic - like fire and ice and lightning. My teacher had us form little balls of fire and then put them out. The kid next to me, Jowan, he dropped his on his foot! He was hopping around like a bunny and knocked into me - and I dropped my ball on the teacher! I didn’t mean to set Enchanter Lucius on fire. I had to write on the blackboard fifty times that we don’t drop fireballs on people’s feet.
It could have been worse. Jowan had to write it one hundred times and successfully create five fireballs. When I last saw him he was crying while writing. He’s not a bad kid, just klutzy.
I think maybe I’ll sit with him tomorrow and tell him about Ser Willow-Tail.
Do you have any pets? How about brothers? I have three older brothers. Cailan, who is a big old stick in the mud; Alistair, he’s fun - we get into trouble together; and Cullen - who tattles. All the time! You can’t even do little pranks around him, He’s learning to be a templar and gets all high and mighty about it.
He’s a bit of a dunce-head.
Cailan is all serious because he’s going to be king. Alistair is going to lead the army and spends all of his time running around with his wooden sword. I may have frozen his sword to his shield before I left for the Circle. He thought it was funny, though.
Alistair is my favorite...but don’t tell Cailan and Cullen.
Anyway. You don’t seem too bad. Da keeps showing me pictures of Princes and most of them look like Cailan...royal pains in the butt. But you had a nice smile and pretty eyes. I guess that’s a good thing. He promises to tell me if anybody likes me but...well...he’s been sick this last year. I think he wants to know I’m betrothed before too much longer.
Alright. I have to go study for my next exam in Creation magic. I am really enjoying that class. Something about Healing just...makes sense.
Maybe I’ll get a letter from you! Like a pen pal!
Yours very Cordially,
Prince Anders Theirin
And Ser Willow-Tail
Fenris rubbed his fingers over the letter, a little smile on his face. “Father.” He tilted his head. “This one...this Prince Anders. I liked his letter. And he looks...sweet...do you think we would be a good match?”
“Ferelden, hmm?” His father rubbed his chin. “A good choice. Yes. I will draft a request. I know they’ve been looking to move into the Free Marches, and we could use their trade routes.”
“He looks kind.” Fenris murmured. “I wish to send him a gift. A stuffed cat. Yes. He likes cats. And some of that mint cats like.”
“Already wooing him?” His father grinned.
“I want what you and Mother have.” Fenris stood. “When…”
“Twenty-five is the average age for mages to marry. You have plenty of time to woo him. I will contact his father and we’ll get this cemented. That was easier than I was hoping.” Fenris watched his father gather up the letters and portraits.
Grabbing Anders’ portrait, Fenris gave his father a shy grin. “I want to keep it.”
An understanding smile and his father nodded. Fenris gazed down at the portrait, fingers rubbing lightly at the lips and chin. He liked all that blond hair...and those eyes. And that letter. Fenris chuckled. Anders Lowell...it had a good ring to it. He’d have to think of more gifts to send his betrothed. He wanted Anders to fall in love with him...he wanted a happy marriage.
Whistling softly, Fenris bounced off to find a spot for the portrait, fantasies already unfurling about his marriage and consort.
***
Denerim, Ferelden
“A package, Your Majesty.” The Seneschal bowed deeply and held a wrapped container out to King Maric.
“Another one?” Maric sighed. They’d been getting letters and gifts non-stop since he had sent out Anders’ betrothal letter and portrait.
“From the Prince of Kirkwall and son, Majesty.” The Seneschal placed the box on the King’s desk. “If I might say, Kirkwall is close. Young Master would be able to come home on occasion.”
Maric shook his head. “You are too soft on him.”
“He is a dear boy, Majesty. He will make somebody a good consort. I just worry.” The Seneschal shifted. “If I may?”
Maric looked up from his work and gave a gentle smile. “Philip, you and I have been together for years. Speak your mind.”
“The Young Master...some would use his status as a mage to their advantage. Find him a match that will cherish him. I fear, well. I fear he would be seen as little more than a broodmare.” Philip bowed again. “Just my thoughts, Majesty.”
“And good ones. I will take your advice seriously.” Maric turned the container in his hands, breaking the seal and opening it. Inside were two sealed letters, a bag of what looked like cat mint, and a stuffed cat. He took out the letter addressed to Prince Anders, yadda yadda yadda, chuckled slightly, and opened it.
Halfway down the letter, he sat back and smiled.
***
The stuffed cat never made it to Anders. Nor did the letter. Nor did the next...or the next. King Maric had saved them all in a chest. Each letter, each portrait of a handsome dark-skinned elven lad who was growing into a stunning man. Little gifts sent, held for his son...for when he would graduate from the Circle.
Maric didn’t want to distract Anders from his learning. He didn’t want to bring up something that seemed to cause the young lad a great deal of anxiety.
He didn’t blame him. Cailan had finally married Anora and their marriage could only be described as hostile with a side of snide commentary. Maric wasn’t sure who was worse - his son who pranced around the castle with a serious case of superiority or Anora who delighted in pointing out every flaw and mistake.
Anders had spent two days around them and informed his father that if this was what he had to look forward to then he was going to request to never leave the Circle.
Two months before Anders graduated, King Maric Theirin, Ruler of Ferelden, passed away from unforeseen complications caused by a lingering illness. Anders graduated alone - Cailan consumed with taking the throne, Alistair too stung with grief to do more than push his soldiers harder, and Cullen busy finishing his training to take over as Knight Commander.
Anders graduated, returned to Denerim, and was immediately pushed to find a job to keep him occupied for the next nine years. He took over duties at the royal clinic, sent a messenger to First Enchanter Irving for help on establishing more clinics, and kept out his brothers’ ways.
He gained a tutor - to finish his lessons on statehood, diplomacy, negotiating trade agreements, and deportment. He gained a guard...or two. He had regular reminders of his duties both to Ferelden and to Kirkwall.
But the little gifts, letters, and portraits from Fenris Lowell, Heir to the throne of Kirkwall...he didn’t receive a single one.
Cailan had found to chest of gifts and thought his Da had disapproved. He certainly disapproved. Or more to the point, he was jealous. Anora had never sent him a single item in their long courtship. That he had had a courtship was beside the point, Cailan looked at the little trinkets and figured them to be pointless.
The Seneschal handled all letters to Kirkwall. Handled all portrait sittings, all updates, all reports. Cailan simply didn’t have the time or interest in coddling his youngest brother. Not when Orlais was refusing to trade, Anora wasn’t pregnant, and Alistair was getting married. As far as Cailan was concerned, Anders needed to pull his own weight, knuckle down, and make it to twenty-five...when they could get him married and solidify the trade routes Ferelden needed.
thirteen years…
Thirteen years of gifts never seen. Letters never read.
Thirteen years of lessons, of nagging, of reminders of his duty.
And when his twenty-fifth birthday arrived. Anders Theirin, Prince of Ferelden covered his face with his hands and wept.
***
He had been waiting for thirteen years to meet him. Prince Anders Theirin, soon to be his consort. He had horded every letter from the Seneschal, every report, every little portrait. In fact, he had been staring at the last one he received...his fiance’s hair down and curling around his face, his eyes wide and sad, lips curled slightly up as if he had been forced to smile. He had to wonder what had made him so sad.
His Seneschal knocked on the office door. “They are approaching, Your Majesty.”
“Stop frowning. You will love him.” Fenris stood and brushed down his tunic.
“As you say, Your Majesty.” Bran sniffed haughtily. “Bunch of Dog Lord…”
“Bran.” Fenris’ voice was whip sharp.
“And a mage.” Bran gritted out.
“Go greet them. And be nice.” Fenris sighed. If Bran hadn’t served his father faithfully, he would have fired the ass. Stretching, he took a deep breath to calm himself. Head high, he slowly walked from his office. Down the stairs...out the door...and watched as the King and Queen of Ferelden made their way to him.
They were very attractive, both blond and pale and regal. Tall. Fenris kissed Anora’s hand, exchanged a nod with Cailan, and glanced around them to see another tall, blond, pale, regal couple. He peered around them and saw...another blond. How many blonds were in the family, Fenris had to wonder.
He was about to ask where Anders was when a tall, slender figure exited the carriage. Strawberry blond hair flashed in the sun. He seemed to be clinging to something - something orange? Fenris couldn’t tell. Cailan was making small talk and smiling, a bored smile fixed on his face.
“Allow me to welcome you to Kirkwall Your Majesty. Your brother shall be taken to his new rooms. Would you like to visit him? Perhaps see where he will be living?” Fenris walked into the Keep, a slight smile on his face.
“Not necessary. I’m exhausted. I’m sure Anora is as well. I hope you received our missive requesting adjoining rooms.” Cailan raised on elegant brow.
“Wouldn’t do to share.” Anora muttered under her breath before offering a tense smile.
Fenris kept his slight smile in place, even as his voice chilled. “You do not wish to check on Anders’ comfort? It is a new place, a new situation. We have not met. Perhaps you would like to introduce us?” Fenris tried again, prodding for Cailan to step in.
There was a light snort from the other blond. “Cailan would like a bottle of whiskey and some alone time with one of your servant girls.”
“Alistair.” Cailan’s voice whipped out.
“He’s family now, Cailan. He might as well know.” Alistair shrugged. “I’m Alistair, by the way. Commander Alistair of his Majesty’s armies. My wife, Lady Elissa.”
“Charmed.” Fenris gritted out.
“Anyway. Anders won’t want to be fussed over. And Cailan won’t wish to fuss. Certainly, Elissa is exhausted. She’s expecting.” Alistair beamed at his wife, who grinned and patted her still-flat abdomen.
Cailan and Anora both turned away from the happy couple.
Fenris swallowed slightly and nodded at a servant. “Please show His Majesty and family to their suites. I shall be unavailable till dinner.” The young man gave a bow and gestured to a set of stairs. Fenris watched both couples start to head up. “King Cailan. Does Prince Anders have a large retinue?”
“He doesn’t have one.” Cailan waved a hand.
Fenris waited for elaboration...elaboration that didn’t come. Instead, Cailan kept climbing the stairs, Anora a sedate viper beside him. Fenris watched them with a thoughtful frown, turned, and headed to find his sister.
***
“They are horrible.” Fenris had his head nestled on his sister’s shoulder. “His own brother did not wish to check on him.”
“Not everybody has a family like ours, Fenris.” Varania brushed a hand over the tips of his hair, soothing him. “Not everybody was given a choice on who to be betrothed to.”
“Are you saying he did not choose me?” Fenris sat up, eyes wide and distraught.
“For most families, it is not a choice. We were lucky.” Varania smoothed a hand over her gown. “I am lucky that Sebastian was so close. That his family approved of my desire for an actual courtship.”
“He is…” Fenris frowned, making Varania laugh.
“He is himself. A bit devout, yes. And formal. But you do not see him behind closed doors, brother. He is very used to being proper. He can relax when away from the eyes of the court. I should think you, of all people, could understand that.” Her voice was gentle.
“Still...he has no retinue, according to Cailan. He has nobody to check in with him. I was going to go…” Fenris stood to pace. “Would it be wrong of me to go to him?”
“No. He will be afraid. Is he timid? He is shy? Do you know?” Varania watched him, her eyes kind.
“I do not know. His last portrait, he looked sad.” Fenris’ face grew worried. “What if it was because of me?”
“You sent all those lovely little gifts.” Varania stood, moving to take his hands.
“What if he never received them?” He looked at her. Their eyes - so similar - meeting. “What if he does not want me.”
“Then woo him.” Varania squeezed his hands. “You love him already. Let him see it. Be patient with him, be gentle. I know you can be. If you want a happy marriage, show him that he is wanted.”
Fenris looked down at their linked hands and gave a slight smile. “Will you be returning to Starkhaven or staying here after the wedding?”
“Returning to Starkhaven. You will need time with him, and I am in the middle of discussions with the First Enchanter on some class ideas.” Varania stepped back. “You will have the Keep to yourself.”
The thought made Fenris nod. “Perhaps after your nuptials, I will take Anders on a trip. I shall have to see where he would like to visit.”
That made Varania smile. “Go to him, brother. I know you want to.”
“Thank you.” His voice was sincere. “For listening.”
She just shook her head and waved at him, watching with a fond smile as he let himself out of the room.
***
Fenris frowned at the door to the Consort suite. He had knocked three times and nobody had come to answer. He had thought Cailan might have been pulling his leg about Anders not having a retinue...but it appeared he was correct. He didn’t even appear to have a servant to answer his door.
He gave it another minute and then turned the handle, the door opening easily. Closing it quietly behind him, he heard soft humming coming from the bedroom. A male voice...one...a lovely tenor. Cocking his head, Fenris moved across the room - the very pastel room. Certainly the room hadn’t always been pastel - had it?
Fenris made a note to ask Anders about redecorating.
He paused at the door to the bedroom, eyes stuck on the tall figure working at the desk. Strawberry blond hair was mussed and coming out of its tie, slender hips were encased in dark brown pants, a pale ivory tunic tucked in and showing off an equally narrow waist.
Fenris cleared his throat and waited. The man, clearly his fiance, didn’t turn around. Fenris huffed softly moved across the room, and reached out to touch Anders’ shoulder.
There was a scream and then the blond man dropped his books and leapt back, clutching at his chest. “I did not mean to scare you.” Fenris watched as Anders’ eyes latched onto the royal crest worn around his neck. “I did knock three times.”
“Oh Andraste,” Anders wheezed.
Fenris took Anders in from his mussed hair to his sock-covered feet. Tall, nearly skinny...long slender arms, delicate looking fingers, freckled and pale skin that blushed easily - and that made Fenris smile. And all of that beautiful hair slipping down to brush against a narrow, elegantly handsome face.
His fiance was stunning and Fenris wanted nothing more than to gather him up.
He took a breath and looked around, trying to calm the instinct to simply hold the nervous looking young man. “Where is your servant? And what are you doing?” Certainly he wasn’t unpacking by himself...was he?
“I can unpack by myself. I don’t like people handling my healing research. I, ah, don’t much care to be fawned over in general.” He watched as Anders fidgeted, his voice filled with stubbornness and nerves. “Besides, I didn’t come with a servant. I don’t keep one, just...use one when I’m home. I’m usually at the Circle and trust me, I don’t have time to be primped when I’m teaching.”
“We will need to remedy that.” Fenris was glad he had talked to Varania about Orana already. This would simply not do. Anders needed to know he would be taken care of...not simply left here alone. “I am Fenris Lowell, Prince of Kirkwall. And you are Prince Anders Theirin of Ferelden, my betrothed?”
“Sadly yes.” Fenris’ breath backed up into his chest...a glance into fearful honey eyes made his heart plummet. Anders seemed to realize his mistake and hastily said, “I mean, I am. Your Majesty. I’m sorry.”
“Come sit with me, Anders. I will not bite. Yet.” Fenris tried to keep his voice light, friendly. Teasing. He thought about what Cailan had said, how he had acted, and knew that his instincts had been right - something was very, very wrong. He turned to head back to the sitting room, slowing by the bed as he realized Anders had not been given a choice. He had been forced to accept this marriage.
Fenris took a seat on an overstuffed settee - one he remembered his mother complaining about. She had been correct, the colors were drab. He glanced up in time to see Anders tentatively step into the sitting room - like a deer scenting for predators, he hesitated at the door. Fenris patted the seat next to him and watched with some amusement as Anders took a chair instead.
“Are you always so difficult?” Fenris wondered if he was destined to a life of fighting with his consort.
“I just...don’t…” Anders’ beautiful hands twisted together as he stuttered a bit. “I was happy as a healer and teacher. I did good work. This, all of this, was a surprise.”
“I was under the assumption that you knew you were betrothed.” This was a disaster. Fenris felt his heart break a tiny bit...for him and for Anders. He wondered if it was too late to call this off. To tell Cailan to return home. The thought made his heart clench.
“I mean, I did. I knew. There was always talk as I grew up...lessons and everything. But I guess, I guess I just settled into my clinic. Put it aside and just…” Anders seemed to fold in on himself. “I spent more time away from court. I had a thriving clinic and I taught at the Circle.”
“And you will miss it.” Fenris had to smile at that. At the image of Anders healing, teaching...using his gift. This he could understand, the homesick longing he saw in Anders’ face. It made an idea start to form, one that he didn’t think he’d be doing at this stage of their relationship. “You were hoping it would never happen.”
Anders sighed and flushed. “Got it right in one.”
Fenris took in the young man: his graceful face, his hands, his nervous eyes. There was a soft noise and he turned his head, catching sight of a gorgeous tabby. The cat gazed at him, eyes filled with mystery, and then gazed at Anders before turning around to head back into the bedroom.
Fenris realized he didn’t want Anders to go. He wanted a chance to bring a smile to his face. Varania had been right. He bit his lip and then nodded. “I will woo you.”
“Come again?” Anders blinked, surprise on his face.
Fenris gave a half-smile, already enjoying the look of surprise. “We shall marry tomorrow and you shall spend the night in my rooms, as is proper - though we will probably just fall asleep. The day is destined to be exhausting. Then, I shall woo you. I do not wish a reluctant…”
Anders seemed to bristle. “I am not a bride.”
“I would be grateful if you would visit the Circle and see how it is fairing. I have no idea how best to approach that place. Magic, in general, is an unknown and I have been reluctant to poke my nose into the Circle or its running. I am also assigning a you a servant - she would have been a lovely addition to your retinue but it appears you do not have one. Her name is Orana. She is...you two shall get along, I believe. And if you do not wish for more servants, well, she is very capable.” Fenris watched Anders gape and smiled. Yes, tempting him with the Circle was a good idea. And Orana would be perfect for him “I know this has to be difficult. I had assumed...well...it is no matter.”
The minute Anders leaned forward and asked “you had assumed what,” Fenris knew he had him. He patted the settee again and watched as Anders reluctantly got up to join him. He slowly placed one hand over Anders’ restless fingers and squeezed gently. “Anders, did your father not show you the letters I sent? The small portraits I had made for you? I received updates on you.”
Anders’ response had him frowning. “No...I...no. Da passed away years ago and my brother...he’s been…”
And just like that, Fenris knew he had been right. None of his gifts had made it to his betrothed - none of his letters, none of his portraits. Anders was coming into this blind - afraid, nervous...possibly even a little resentful. “King Cailan.” Fenris looked thoughtful. “Well, if he allowed you to spend so much time away from Court then I can see how you would not have received my little gifts and letters. I have much time to make up for.”
“What about...what about an heir?” Anders clutched his knees, knuckles going white. That made Fenris’ heart lurch. What had they told Anders? What had he been threatened with?
“We have time for that.” Fenris relaxed and smiled gently. “So. I shall send Orana to you. She will help you finish unpacking and dress for dinner. You shall sit next to me and we will start to get to know each other, yes?”
“I suppose.” Anders gave him a shy smile, a shy look.
Fenris nodded, standing. He gave Anders a final look. “Welcome to Kirkwall. You will be safe here, Anders. I swear it.” He watched Anders’ eyes widen a hair and resisted the urge to lean down and kiss him. Giving a short bow, he turned and let himself out.
Once in the hall, he clenched his fist - anger flaring in his eyes. Whatever had been done to his consort, it would end now. He glanced at the door, forced himself to relax, and then went to find Bran. Step one would be sending Orana to Anders. Step two would be showing his nervous consort that he had been serious.
He had a lot of planning to do. Suddenly, his wedding gifts would need to be handled more as wooing. And that consort suite...it just wouldn’t do to have them separated all the time.
Ideas buzzing in his head, Fenris started smiling again. He was going to woo his consort - and win him.