#suranders

Pre-relationship Circle-era Suranders, anyone? Two and a half years after you sent the prompt?

@dadrunkwriting

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Anders noticed a difference in his room before he saw what it was. He walked past the open wall of the sort-of-door that separated his room from the hallway and peered into the darkness toward his bed and vanity. His anxiety ramped up every second he couldn't place what was wrong; he'd made a few enemies lately, with that smart tongue of his, and there could be many things that whatever wrongness this was could be. He made a slow advance through the small room, cataloguing everything that could be used against him, lightning crackling at his fingertips.

Nothing proved to be wrong except that there was a lump in the blankets nearest to the wall, roughly person-shaped. It even breathed. That wasn't on his list of possibilities.

There was only two people he could think of with the balls to sneak into his bed in the middle of the night--and it wasn't Karl, because he'd just left Karl in his own bed.

"What are you doing here?" Anders hissed, unfolding the blankets back from Ilya's face. She grimaced at the slight light peeking into her makeshift nest. Ilya's hand reached out blindly toward him, patting limply around the mattress until Anders sighed and slid in beneath the blankets. She grumbled and snuggled up to him, throwing her arm possessively across his chest.

"You're lucky you're cute, Ilya Surana." Anders kissed the top of her head and moved a chunk of hair out of her face to rest behind her ears. "I would be very cross otherwise."

She peered up groggily at him, her hazel gaze muzzy. "You have a pretty lady in your bed and you'd be cross? Perish." She bent her head back to the crook of his neck, and Anders couldn't help the puff of laughter that escaped him.

"When you say it like that, it sounds rather silly, doesn't it?"

Ilya grunted in reply, clearly unimpressed. "Sleep. Be silly later."

He shook his head. "Not before you tell me why you're here. You know what the dangers are for apprentices caught in the harrowed mage quarters." Anders squeezed her tightly. "What got you out of bed?"

She quieted. Anders was sure she fell back asleep until she spoke again. "Bad dream. You'd escaped again. Left us behind. We didn't see you again." She rubbed her cheek against his scruffy jaw, and he felt dampness on her cheekbone. "Had to make sure you were here, and you were gone."

"I was just with Karl. I promise. I wouldn't leave you and Jowan behind, not forever."

Ilya huffed a shaky breath on his skin. "You better not. Or I'll be the cross one. It's the three of us, right?" she asked, looking up at him. "Right?"

Anders' heart clenched. "Right," he said, something in his middle dropping out. He squeezed her tightly to his chest. "Of course it is. You, me, and Jowan. We'll be free someday."

"And Karl."

"And Karl," Anders echoed gratefully.

i just think that baby anders + mage warden (surana in my case) getting into shenanigans in the circle,,,,cute,,,

I know, right? This is the same Ilya from my Surana/Zev/Ali throuple, though this is an AU. She has been in love with Anders since the Circle. Here's some Suranders noodling! @dadrunkwriting

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Anders glows red-gold in the firelight where he sits on the ground beside Ilya, teasing Pounce with a leaf on a twig. He's wearing a big, bright smile and laughs when Pounce forgoes the leaf entirely to instead bat at his hand. It looks good on him. Anything does nowadays, for as much as he complains about being out in the wilderness with the Wardens.

"Are you just going to stare at me all night? You've spent years looking at my pretty face." Anders aims his grin at Ilya, his eyes dancing in the flickering light. "Literally."

Ilya rolls her eyes but smiles back. She can't help it with him. Since he came to the Wardens, she finds herself thinking of him in the quiet moments between emergencies. It is different than when she, Jowan, and Anders were younger in the Circle; she loved him even then, fiercely, though Anders was years older than them, but now--

But now she can kiss him, so she does.

"Mmph," he mumbles, smiling against her lips. Pounce meows indignantly when Anders drops the makeshift toy and pulls her into his lap, sending the cat scurrying. Ilya's hands slide over his chest, though she can't feel him through his armor. His own hands, so much warmer than her own, cover them and he sinks his fingers between hers.

She fits against him like she belongs there, and it's a powerful thought. Ilya kisses him again and again just because she can. She could spend the next thirty years kissing him and it wouldn't be enough.

"I love you," she whispers when they pull apart to take a breath.

for @dadrunkwriting

Sleep is violent. It’s dangerous and brutal and one wrong step is all it takes. Noure hates it, they can’t remember the last time they wanted to sleep, before the dreams and demons and the fear. Nightmares. Ice crawling through their bones, freezing their blood as it flows through their veins, building a frigid knot in their chest. 

Despair tonight, long spindling fingers of dread and decay reaching for the cooling heart in their center. Noure knows this one intimately. Is familiar with the haunted howl echoing from under the thing’s hood, the whispers it croons in Noure’s ear are lies and Noure knows not to listen. But they never were good at following directions. 

But they are good in a fight. 

Heat in the form of fire. Conjured flames in the palms of their hands, bright orange and gold and Noure lets them grow until their hands are consumed. Directs them at the demon made of ice and allows the flames to fly and to burn. Howl turning into a screech, despair flees from Noure’s dream and leaves only the stench of scorched rot. 

Now there are only the demons of their own making. Noure closes their eyes in the Fade to open them in their home. Familiar rickety bed, worn sheets, and a pillow passed down from their mother. Not enough light filtering in from the window to justify waking up. So they don’t. 

Instead, they turn over and bunch the sheets around their face. Warm and content and just on the edge of drowsiness. Momentary paradise to rival the Golden City. Even though there is a lingering chill coming from somewhere, a hole in their sheets or a draft from the window probably. Noure doesn’t pay it any mind.

They do pay attention when they heard the clang of plate clad boots against their door though. The sheer terror freezing them in place makes damn well sure they’re paying attention. A mad desire to fight filling their lungs with burning air. Another kick and the door comes down and Noure is on their feet. Snarl on their lips. 

But they’re only good in a fair fight. 

And this is five on one. Smite sundering the air with an acrid smell, magic on the tips of Noure’s fingers fizzing and popping and disappearing. Pain flaring in each and every nerve and Noure is screaming. Falling. Cold metal in their swimming vision, a sword surrounded by flame. 

“Yield!" 

But they never were good at following directions.

Noure hits the ground with a thud, lashes out with at the nearest templar with a kick directed at the joint in their armor just under the knee. Earns a grunt and a boot in the face. A snap, copper and rust in the back of their mouth, something wet and burning hot and Noure sees stars bloom across their vision.

This can’t be happening. Frozen terror clawing in their chest, sizzling anger burning in their lungs. Noure tries again, blindly flailing and connecting with something sharp just out of sight. But this time the yelp of surprise is familiar and the name ringing in the air shouldn’t be so worried coming from a templar. 

"Noure? Noure what’s wrong?” Hands on their shoulders, a blurry outline of a face in front of theirs and Noure uses their head this time, slams their forehead upwards and into their attacker. Who swears and their hands drop away from Noure. 

Only to return with a gentle shake, “Wake up Noure, before you hurt yourself!" 

Wake up? Wake up? Noure drives their knee into the other’s chest. Winding them and Noure scrabbles away with a jerk of their arms and without warning the indistinct form of the templar vanishes. Like smoke. 

Cold currents carrying the stench of rot, of stale air, of despair. Noure blinks the tears and the stars from their eyes and finds they’re not home at all. Air leaving their lungs in a choked gasp as the dead hand of despair clutches around their neck. 

This time Noure lets the fire consume them both. Golden flames licking the air, a hollow scream as the demon burns, scraps of thin ratted cloth swirling around them in the inferno. Noure blazes. A pyre for the dying and despairing. And they don’t put themselves out until nothing is left of the demon but a cold bruise around Noure’s throat. 

Noure closes their eyes in the Fade and opens them in their home. Jackknifes up under the sheets, lungs burning and aching and Noure lets the fear and the anger in their chest, in their veins, condense in the back of their throat and they scream.

"Whoa, whoa Noure are y-” That same voice, but now Noure can put a name to it, knows the warmth and the intimacy and the safety of it. 

“Anders.” Noure’s voice is ragged, torn. Broken around the edges. They look around, eyes wide and clear, but they don’t see him anywhere. “Anders… Where are you?" 

A cleared throat, from off to Noure’s left and. Further down than they were expecting. "You pushed me out of bed in your sleep.” Noure turns over, peers over the edge of their bed, finds Anders on the floor in a long-limbed sprawl. 

“Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t- I thought you were- Are you hurt?” Cursing themselves, for their foolishness and anger. 

But Anders looks up at them with a shrug and a worried look in his eyes, “I’m alright, you’re the one I’m worried about.” He stands with creak and pop in his joints, sighs in time with them, only to crawl back into bed beside Noure. “Are you alright?”

His hands are so much longer than Noure’s own. They should be a threat, a danger in their breadth, but Noure only finds comfort in how they engulf Noure’s as Anders tangles their fingers together. Finds the warmth of them against Noure’s frozen palms banishes the last of the ice in their chest. 

“Yea, yea I’m fine.” Still ragged, still torn. But mending. “I just want to go to sleep without…” They don’t need to finish the thought, so they let it hang in the silence it creates. Exhaustion pulls at them, drains them. It’s in the hollowness of their chest, the buzzing in their head, hidden in the marrow of their bones. 

Matched in the bags under Ander’s eyes. “Yeah, me too." 

It would be dangerous, however tempting. Obvious too, unless Noure could figure out a way to hide clean red lines on pigmentless skin. Lines weeping crimson anger, fueling Noure's next and last escape. Freedom coming at the price of their own blood. 

Worth it, Noure decides. They can almost see it -the open sky and starry night, a room they share with no one else. Able to hold hands and kiss cheeks without fear. Study and speak with the spirits lingering and pressing against the veil instead of hurrying away without listening. It's what they've wanted for the past six years. 

All they've wanted the past six years. Torn from their life when it was just about to begin, ripped from everything they knew and thrust into everything they feared. 

But they wouldn't have met Karl or Anders if they hadn't been taken.

And that's what damns them the most, isn't it? Because they would trade everything to have never been taken to the Circle in the first place and yet they're doing everything now to make sure they don't escape alone. 

Consumed with their thoughts Noure isn't paying much attention as they make their way to the hidden side room where they're supposed to meet with Anders and Jowan. It's one of a handful, each chosen at random at the place before. Keeping their meetings secret, shared only between the three of them. Noure slides aside the shelf blocking the door and slips inside, after checking to make sure they're absolutely alone.

Only Anders is inside. A single candle sitting on the floor beside him, this room is more of a broom closet than an actual study. But it suits them well enough. He turns his head to look at Noure as they enter, a split second of cold fear in his eyes before it melts when they realize it's just them and not some templar or tranquil. 

"Oh, there you are. Started to worry no one was going to show tonight." The upturn of his lips and the eyebrow he raises don't seem too concerned though. Neither does the hand he reaches out with to tug Noure down beside him. 

So Noure pays it no mind and rolls their eyes. Slides down to sit shoulder by shoulder with Anders on the floor, knocking their elbow into his side. "Jowan was supposed to be here first. Something happen?"

Anders shrugs, a haphazard roll of his shoulders against Noure's. "Not that I know, that's why I was worried." 

Taking a deep breath Noure nods. Mulls it over for a moment, making a list of all the different ways this could have gone wrong. "We need to leave tonight, it's too dangerous to wait another night if he didn't show." 

"I thought you might say that. So I already checked to make sure the guard rotation is clear. We should have half an hour if we leave now." 

Gut churning just as it has every time before. Noure stares into the small flame of the candle, imprints the feeling of Ander's warmth against their skin. "Let's go then, tell Karl." Standing up Noure runs through a mental checklist of sorts to calm the adrenaline beginning to hum through their veins. "And if anything happens. I've got a backup plan." 

Anders looks up at them, a strange light Noure has only recently started to become familiar with burning in his eyes. "Do you now?"

"I do." They almost reach for their wrist, with its single traitorous line still etched in harsh red against the pale white. Almost, just a flick of a motion before Noure stops themselves. 

But it is more than enough for Anders. Standing quickly, holding out his hand expectantly. A guarded look falling across his features as Noure's heart begins to race inside their chest. Air becoming thick between them when Noure doesn't offer out their hand in return. 

"What did you do." Quiet, insistent, heavy. Anders' hand is still in front of him, waiting for Noure to answer. Wanting the truth or a lie Noure doesn't know, they only know the price has already been paid and they would do it again in an instant if it meant freedom.

So they extend their hand. Let the loose robe fall back from their wrist to expose the still fresh line drawn across the delicate skin with a knife earlier in their room, alone. No longer bleeding, because blood is valuble and Noure has already used those drops which wept from their veins. A promise made to see the open sky and starry nights again. 

Anders sucks in a harsh breath. Long fingers encircling Noure's wrist as he wraps his hand around the healing cut. "Noure what did you do." 

Touch light and gentle, a healers touch. "I did what had to be done so we can be free."

"It's too dangerous! You can't let anyone see this. If they do they'll think you're a blood mage, that the rumors are true!" Harsh whispers in a hidden broom closet, Anders stepping closer until the pair of them are nearly pressed together. Noure's hand held between them.

They rip their wrist out of Anders' grasp. "Who cares what they think! What matters is that we'll be gone and safe and no one will find us to take us back ever again." Words hissed, frustration leaking through. Noure has to tilt their head back to look up at Anders and they regret it when they see what lingers in his eyes. 

A cold fear, an excitement, dread and longing and hope. The longer they look the less Noure's heart skips. This is Anders, this is the man they trust, he's safe. How could Noure have doubted his conviction to see freedom would have been any less than theirs. 

They stand there, not a hair's breadth between them, for a long moment. Hearts racing in sync. Anders breaks it with a nod and a hurried, "Half an hour, we have half an hour." 

Noure takes a deep breath, holds the stale air of the Circle in their lungs and lets it out with a rush. Thinks of the air outside and how it will taste when they breath it once more. 

for @dadrunkwriting

Late night or early morning, too dark to tell. Waking in the silent moments between heartbeats, long legs tangled together with shorter ones under sheets. Moonlight. Soft blue white on red gold, Noure blinks away the sleep crusting around their eyes and curls their hand against Anders' chest. Twisting the fabric of his shirt under their fingers, old linen warm and familiar. 

Sleep softening the harsh planes of his face, the gauntness in his cheeks less apparent as he snores. Noure smiles quietly, stretches their legs with a yawn. Soon. Things will be better soon, they've come to Kirkwall with the intent to leave after finding Karl. A temporary stop before the three of them build a new life. 

Noure can see it, a life far from templars and the circles. A quiet house, remote but easy to find if you know how to look. It could be a refuge, a safe harbor. It's a dream and Noure knows it, but Maker if they don't want it anyway. Hope for it, even if it won't come true.

Light sighs, late night or early morning musings can wait. Sleep is far more appealing. So Noure wiggles closer, buries their head into the crook of Anders' neck and breathes deeply. Legs still tangled together. Hand still curled into his shirt. 

Anders' sleeps deeply, when he sleeps at all. All or nothing, like most things about him. Noure can recall nights in the circle, never sharing more than a handful of hours together out of fear. Accidental naps in the library turning into anxious flurrying movements as they hastily part before they're discovered. But in the brief half moments before Noure recalls the almost peaceful nature of Anders' face when he sleeps.

It's the same now as it was then. Noure doesn't even need to look now, to know the crease of his brow is smooth and the tightness around his eyes is banished. Even if only during those few precious hours.