#karl thekla

[albaharu]

years later it haunts me how anders could cure karl but he just didnt know it. but WHAT IF.... AND HE KEEPS HIS CAT ALSO....

[wildbasil]

they deserved to be happy

[chernychnyi]

growing older

[owlch333]

Dragon Age stuff I did today

[oftachancer]

Thank you, @maxkennedy24, for this incredible portrait of Anders, Karl Thekla, and Cecily Hawke, from Aisles of Memory and Regret!

Also reposting for the fans of @tranquilweek!

[storybookhawke]

This painting appears several places in Dragon Age Inquisition, and I have a headcanon about this man.

Karl Thekla writes a magical tome on force magic, both theory and practice, and unexpectedly but understandably gets attention among mages in all of Thedas, not just the south. Because of this, he is made to get a portrait painted for the back of his printed books since he's now a somewhat famous mage scholar.

That's why he looks unhappy because painting is a long process he didn't want, and Anders gives him a ton of shit over the silly little hat they made him wear for the portrait.

It's also one of the reasons why he is sent to Kirkwall's Circle, because it's the circle with the most mages specializing in force magic and thus a research powerhouse.

[glowing-blue-feathermage]

“I can’t help it (when you look at me like that).” kanders pleaseee!!!

i feel like i don't see enough kanders around... i'm a sucker for young kanders where karl is just head over heels smitten for this larger-than-life little mage who's equal parts a prodigy and a rebel.... i love them so much....

a soft, unsad Kanders snippet for @dadrunkwriting ! hope you enjoy lovely anon friend!

Karl should have said no when Trilla had requested that he stand in for this class. They were hopeless on the best of days, and with a six-foot, willowy blonde distraction in their midst, they were even worse. Force magic was not the forte of any of the students in this unfortunate throng; ten junior mages gathered in a disused portion of the library to fine tune their skills. 

He winced as yet another copy of Herbet’s 101 Uses For Elfroot tumbled toward the floor, arrested with a flick of Karl’s wrist just before it slammed into the stone. He nudged the book upright in the air and sent it back to the shelf, slipping it in with practiced ease. Books were probably not the ideal training tool, but he’d always found this particular skill useful. If a bit hedonistic, when ladders were just as easily available. 

“Congratulations on getting a book from the correct shelf, at least,” Karl said with a long-suffering sigh, punctuating it with a smile to take the edge off. 

The student who’d dropped the book was pink-cheeked, eyes bright with humor. None of them took this seriously, and the fulcrum of it was Anders. Who wasn’t even supposed to be here.

Anders was in his sixth year, freshly returned from his fourth hiatus. There’d been a month between the templars dragging him back and his rerelease into the general population, but that hadn’t been long enough to either dampen his spirit or quell the enraptured gossip of his peers. They wouldn’t get anything else done today. “On that note,” Karl added, “we will reconvene next week. Same time.” He gestured at the door with one hand, pinching the headache at the bridge of his nose with the other. “Anders? Stay behind please.” There were a few hurried whispers, Anders promising his dangerous tales to students that worshiped him like a hero, and Karl had to suppress his own discomfort. “Out,” he said more loudly. With a disappointed murmur, the gaggle of starstruck mages dispersed, leaving him alone with Anders. 

“Where are you even supposed to be right now?” Karl hissed. 

Anders’ grin was sheepish, but his eyes were full of mischief. “In the laundry.” “In the laundry,” Karl echoed. “Not down here disrupting my class.” “I asked if I could stay!” Anders protested with a huff of laughter, standing up from the seat he’d taken at the table and edging around it, closer to Karl. Karl took an involuntary step toward him and stopped himself. “What was I supposed to say with you…looking at me. Like that.” “Like what?” Anders asked, feigning innocence. Taking another step closer, glancing over his shoulder at the quiet stacks behind him. He met Karl’s eyes again, pink lips turning up at one side with a self-satisfied smirk. “Like that,” Karl told him with another sigh, finally crossing the distance between them and lifting a hand to Anders’ face. With a thumb, he traced the smiling curve of soft lips. “Like you can just have whatever you want.” Anders’ shuffled closer still, head tilted just slightly up, brown eyes warm in the low light. “Can’t I?”

Karl desperately wanted to pretend he’d misunderstood the question. To address the other things—not Karl’s touch—that Anders wanted. That he felt entitled to. Freedom, a place outside the Circle, to practice his magic without a templar breathing down his neck. All of these were things he couldn’t have, things that were going to get him killed in the pursuit of them. But telling Anders no was like holding a flame to a wick and expecting it not to catch fire. 

“Next time find me after class?” Karl suggested instead. “No one will pay attention to anything else with you here.”

Anders’ eyes flicked over Karl’s shoulder to the bookshelf and he nodded smugly toward it. “Including you.”

Confused, Karl glanced behind them, finding Herbet’s dry botanical tome upside down.

[andrewknightley]

What if anders first saw tranquil karl in the gallows selling things, instead of in the "safety" of the chantry where he could turn into justice and kill some templars without much consequences. What then

[sulky-valkyrie]

vaaaaaaaaaaaaaal for kanders!!! 'hiding your feelings, not wanting to ruin the friendship, even going as far as avoiding each other completely, yet always ending up sharing an intimate moment'

happpy Fridaaaaaaaaaaaaaay, Ro 💙💙💙

for @dadrunkwriting

After Karl was Harrowed, Anders thought whatever they had was over.  Not that they had much, or that he didn't want more, of course; everything about Karl drove him to distraction.  But Karl was special, so special that he'd never tried to even kiss him.  He was tender and kind, and the first person in this Maker-forsaken tower who'd tried to talk to a twelve year old boy who was too scared to speak.

It was Karl who'd turned “that Ander boy” into a name, and never laughed at his rusty voice and thick backwater accent when he began to talk months later.

It was Karl who'd shown him how to mend the fraying edges on his tiny embroidered pillow.

It was Karl who’d sat on his cot and healed the bruises and gashes left by Templar gauntlets when they'd dragged him back to Kinloch, drugged on magebane and unable to do it himself.

So it was perfectly normal that Anders had become… attached.  But attachments of any kind were dangerous for mages.  He tried to ignore it, and filled that aching void in his heart with meaningless trysts.  Each one, no matter how satisfying in the moment, left him more empty inside, wishing for soft greying hair under his fingers and a beard rasping on his skin.  He told himself time and time again that Karl was too important to risk losing, whether to rejection or something worse.  

But Karl, sweet gentle Karl, didn't seem to understand.  And telling him would be tantamount to confessing to the blasted feelings he'd been attempting to rid himself of for years.  No matter how much he tried to avoid him, everywhere he went, Karl was there too.  He was in the kitchens, the library, the chapel, even the apprentice dorms, always with some reason to be there, but looking at Anders the whole time.  The tower wasn't large enough to never see him, of course, but the frequency was worrisome.  Provided the Templars weren’t involved, apprentices were granted more leeway for misbehavior.  They were the lowest of the low, so far down the hierarchy that even the Tranquil were above them.  Tranquil were useful, after all.  Apprentices were simply nuisances and, as long as nothing was actually on fire, they were just swatted away, like gnats.

Full enchanters, however, were expected to set an example.  One of cowed competence.  Karl was a natural at it, full of studious deference.  Associating with a mouthy troublemaking apprentice would get him noticed in all the wrong ways.

Distance was the only defense, but if Karl wouldn’t take the hint, Anders would have to do what he did best.  He ran.

They caught him a week later, and of fucking course, Karl was there when the dragged him in by the back of his collar.  Greagoir ordered that he be locked up below, but when Karl whispered something in his ear, he sighed and told Anders he was confined to his dorm.  Another Templars grabbed him by the elbow, but before he could struggle, Karl stepped in front of them and took his other hand.  “I'll escort him.”

The Templar paused, but at Greagoir's nod, released him.  Karl bowed ever so slightly, then pulled him down the hall without another word.

They wound their way up to the second level before Karl let go, and the absence of his touch was as painful as the quiet disapproval that radiated from him.  When they reached Anders’ dorm room, he pushed it open and stomped to his bed to throw himself on it.  “You shouldn't have done that.”  You're painting a target on your back.

Karl closed the door and walked over to sit down by his head and stroke the scratches on his neck.  “Did they hurt you?”  An unspoken again hovered in the air.

“Just a smite,” he muttered into the pillow as he forced himself not to lean into his fingers.  “Knocked me out of a tree.”

“I wish…” Karl's voice trembled and trailed off as he healed Anders’ broken skin.  “You need to be more careful.”

He bit back a sigh of longing and rolled away.  “No, you need to be more careful,” he grumbled.  “Sticking your neck out like that?  It's not worth it.”

“What's - Anders, what's gotten into you?”

Anders dug his fingers into his palm and squeezed his eyes shut.  “You shouldn't be here,” he whispered.  “Leave me alone.”

“Irving's orders,” Karl said.  “Why do you think you're not in a cell?”  He touched his shoulder.  “I'm – we're trying to protect you.  Even if he hadn't asked, I'd be here.  Like always.”

He hunched up and shook his head.  “Go away.”  They hate me already; don't make them hate you too. 

He felt the bed shift as Karl inched closer.  “Anders, look at me,” he pleaded.  “Look me in the eyes and say that again.  Please.”

Maker, it was so hard to disobey that voice.  All he ever wanted other than to get out was to make Karl happy, but happiness wasn’t safe here. Nothing was.  “I – I won't try anything until curfew,” he whispered.  “So they know you didn't have anything to do with it.”  

“Try what?  Anders, I – you haven’t talked to me in weeks and then you ran again and now you’re back and I… what did I do?  Let me fix it,”  Karl begged.  “I – we were friends, and now you won't even look at me.”

Friends.  The word made him want to shrivel up and die.  Just friends, nothing more, never anything more.  He rolled back over, still not meeting his gaze, and grabbed his hand.  “You didn't do anything.  I just – we can't.  You're Harrowed now; they're watching you, and I –” he bit his lip.  “It would kill me if anything happened to you.  So I need-”  He swallowed.  “Need you to go away.”

Karl’s fingers slipped from his grip, then touched his chin.  “And what about me?”  He asked softly.  “What about what I want?  Do you have any idea how much it scares me when you run?  How awful it feels to hope I won't see you again?  How many nights I've spent terrified they'd killed you already and I'd never know?”  His thumb slid across Anders’ cheek, trailing remnants of magic on his skin.  “Don't I get a say in this?  In what - in who is worth the risk?”

What could he say to that?  Anders looked up, finally meeting his eyes, and what he saw in them ripped his heart in two.  One half grew wings and fluttered in his throat while the other sank like a stone to the pit of his belly.  He hadn't seen it in years, but recognized it instantly: love.

Fuck it.

He sat up, afraid to look away and lose the moment (or his nerve), and leaned forward to press their foreheads together.  “Give me a reason to stay,” he breathed, willing him to understand.  Tell me I'm worth it.

Karl tilted his head ever so slightly, just enough that Anders could feel his breath ghost over his lips.  “What about this?” he asked, then closed that final infinitely long inch, the one that had been between them for years, to kiss him.  It was hesitant and slow, like he was afraid Anders might not want it, like he didn’t want to take it if it wasn’t freely given.  

Oh, but it was.  It was.  Anders sighed against Karl’s mouth and pulled him closer, kissing him back and pouring years of feelings into it, until they were dizzy and breathless and somehow he was on his back and Karl was on top of him and it was so right and he was so ready and –

“Not like this,” Karl murmured when they finally broke apart, then he pushed himself up, leaning on one arm and resting his palm over Anders’ racing heart.  “I want it to be special.  Can you wait?”  He glanced away and added, “I mean, is that a reason to stay?”

Anders couldn’t help the smile that crept across his face.  “You’re just trying to drag this out and keep me here longer.”

“Is it working?”

He caught the edge of Karl’s collar and tugged him back down.  “Ask me next week.”

[laniardraws]

A comic inspired by this exchange:

[albaharu]

if dai gave us the cure for tranquility and then never use it ever i will had to do it myself

Anyways kirkwall tranquility gang hanging out (if anders Fucking Knew How) + I havent watched dawn of the seeker, but I cant believe cass has a pic of her holding hands with avexis in the movie and then as a tranquil in dai there is not a plot about it after promise of destruction.

[shouldaspunastory]

For @uchidachi and @dadrunkwriting

Anders x Karl Thekla, (SFW, Act I DA2, Canon Divergence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort) 3,189 words

-----------------------------------------

"Anders," the older man says in a voice that is flat, devoid of any emotion or affectation, but a voice that nevertheless, the apostate and underground healer knows as well as his own. His once and long-time lover before Templars and years tore the two of them apart, putting an entire ocean between them "It really is you," Karl says, a gentle breeze that blows through the mage's Darktown clinic brushing the graying hair from the older man's brow to reveal the reason for his flat affect- a red sunburst sigil burned into his forehead marking him as Tranquil.

"Karl..." the name is a whispered prayer, then a gasp, amber eyes widening in shock and horror as he takes in the other's brand. His heart aches, tears burn his eyes as he takes in the sight of the only person he's ever loved. Tranquil. Karl is tranquil.

"No," Anders whispers shaking his head. "No. No. That can't be. They can't-" he stammers, too many emotions warring within him at once.

"I knew you would find your way here. Not when, but some day," Karl replies. The words, which ought to be spoken in joy, which once would have been full of relief, gratitude and love are hollow, a ghost of what they might have been before the mage was separated from the Fade and any sense of his emotions which the Templars will no doubt have alleged will make him vulnerable to possession. Not that Karl would have given them any reason to believe he might become an abomination. Meredith and the Templars of Kirkwall rarely need a reason or abide by due process these days.

"I..." It's as if everything stops. Anders mind is reeling. He can feel Justice stirring in the corners, responding to Anders righteous indignation and fury, readying himself for a fight. Anders doesn't know which of the things he feels is the strongest. It's a maelstrom, horror, disgust, sadness, anger, rage, the need to scream, to throw something, do something. Anything.

Maker, he wants to reach out to him, pull him close, kiss away the brand on his forehead. It's been so many years now since he's seen him, since he's been able to touch him. But Anders no longer knows whether he can. Could Karl even say no, like this, Anders thinks feeling ill thinking of some of the horrible stories he's overheard Templars sharing about the Tranquil entrusted to their care. If mages have it bad, the Tranquil, often seen as the lowest among them have it even worse. To have known magic only to be ripped away from it, to be all but enslaved to the Templars...

"When," Anders asks softly, terrified of the answer, but needing to know. Would things have been different if he'd only made it here a little sooner?

"They found my letters," Karl replies, his voice still the flat affect that so often unnerves most people about the Tranquil, their sentiment cut off along with their connection to the Fade through the Templar's brutal and painful ritual. "They knew you would never give up. They knew I'd run away with you, given the chance. They couldn't take that risk. They needed to make an example of me, for the other mages of the Circle," Karl replies matter-a-fact, as if he's not describing the terrible chain of events that led to a kind of horrifying lobotomy being forced upon him.

Anders swallows the urge to vomit, to storm the Gallows, a self-destructive storm of anger and lightning.

"But your emotions, your... you, they can't just take your magic, your personality, your memories! It's like you're..." Dead, Anders thinks stopping himself short of saying it.

Taking a deep breath, he clenches his hands into fists, pushing back the thrum of magic gathering within him with his growing frustration and fury.

"I have my memories," Karl interjects. "I remember you. I remember- what we had. That it was important enough for me to risk everything, important enough the Templars thought it was dangerous. I can no longer feel the Fade or my magic anymore. I cannot feel anything, so I cannot be tempted," Karl summarizes. "This pains you," the Tranquil observes softly.

"Of course it pains me," Anders snaps, his voice breaking. "For the Maker's sake, look at yourself, listen to yourself, they took everything! They've made you a puppet, a tool, a thing to be used, to follow orders like a Tranquil should," he says, pacing the length of the clinic.

"I didn't come here to cause you pain," Karl says with the slightest hint of a frown, though it's more confusion than pain being cut off from any sensation of emotion as he is. "I-" Karl hesitates for a moment, stunned by a sudden realization.

Tranquil are meant to be obedient, to follow orders. Yet somehow, he has come, found Anders with some stubborn, last remaining shred of his free will and independent thought. It shouldn't be possible. Yet here he is.

"I came to warn you, Anders. The Templars, they're very angry. I was more useful to them as a mage, but too dangerous and rebellious not to be made Tranquil. They blame you for turning me away from and defying the law and order of the Templars. They're looking for you, and I do not believe that they will stop until they find you. You- you cannot allow yourself to be caught or come to harm," Karl says, the first, if only the faintest hint of emotion slipping through in his voice.

"They've cut me off from my ability to feel, but they're not merciful enough to allow me to forget. I don't want to see you- to remember you- as anything less bright, strong, stubborn, and free than you are now."

As a Tranquil, Karl should no longer 'want' anything other than to serve his masters, this strange inconsistency, this crack in the armor doesn't make sense with what is known about Tranquil, but Karl doesn't care enough to question it, knows only that it was imperative, worth the trouble he might get in if he were to be caught, to find and warn his former lover of the danger he is in.

Anders rage is immediately quelled by concern, guilt settling into its place. He stops his restless pacing, turning to gaze at the former mage.

"You shouldn't have come."

"You do not wish to see me like this," Karl surmises with a nod. "I am sorry for the hurt it causes you. If it brings you any peace, I tried to fight them off," he offers, though his voice is still the same uncharacteristically flat tone of most Tranquil as he speaks. "To my last breath before they knocked me out, with every ounce of my strength, I fought them. Fought for us, for you," Karl says quietly. "What they've done to me has disconnected me from my ability to feel it, but I know that I loved you." I know somewhere deep down, I still do, Karl thinks, but something stops him saying it, an awareness that this will only pain his former lover more.

Anders shoulders sag as sorrow and anger mingle together, settling into a deep ache in his chest. He wants nothing more than to pull him into his arms, to hold him, kiss him, protect him from any further pain. And yet, would Karl even respond if he did?

"You have no idea how hard it is, looking at you now. The person I l-love is... gone. Replaced by a husk," Anders chokes, turning away.

Karl's face remains the neutral calm that typifies the Tranquil, but something deep within him breaks, his chest feels tight and his stomach rolls at the way this man who once adored him, who looked on him as if he were the very sun in the sky, now can scarcely stand to see him.

I'm here, some deep internal part of him longs to say, to cry out. I'm still here! I'm not dead, not gone, just.. locked away. Let me out. LET ME. OUT.

"Help me," Karl whispers, quite without realizing he has even spoken, that the plea has escaped his lips. "Please."

Anders jerks at the quiet request, his heart breaking for his lover as his eyes are blown wide with shock. How many other Tranquil still had that part of them deep inside, desperately screaming to be heard? How hard had his beloved had to fight to overcome what was done to him just to make this desperate, soft cry for help?

There is no cure for Tranquility, still the pain on Karl's face, the pleading in his voice finds Anders reaching out, hesitantly taking Karl's hands.

"You feel different," Karl says, marveling at their joined hands. "Something has changed about you. You're... like a beacon, like you're carrying a piece of the Fade itself within you," he continues, unaware of the spirit that now shares his former lover's body, but drawn inexorably towards that energy, the power from which his connection has been severed. "Being near you, I- I can feel myself coming back. It's small, in fragments, but..." Karl shakes his head, frowning, forcing himself to take a step back.

"The man I was- the one who loved you- he wouldn't be so selfish to put you through such heartache and pain for a few moments, for pieces of what was. I- I should go, before the Templars take note of my absence."

"No!"

Anders grabs his arm, fingers curling around the fabric of Karl's sleeve, holding him place. Fear and desperation make his voice rough, panic clouding his thoughts. He can't let him leave, not when there is a possibility- no, that hope- that Karl might not be lost to him forever.

"You can't just come in, tell me that you might... feel something," he breaks off, free hand raking through and mussing his hair, "and then leave me. We have to... try something."

"What would you have me do," Karl asks.

"Not give up," Anders replies with a desperate and hollow laugh, shaking his head.

Hold me, he thinks desperately as he looks into the near emotionless depths of his former lover's eyes. Kiss me, hug me, hit me, something, anything to show me this isn't just a cruel joke by the Maker, a last way to punish those like us.

He shakes his head again, fighting the urge to pull the Tranquil in against his chest. The brand on Karl's forehead mocks him, a bitter reminder of the years lost between them.

"I- I don't know. Stay here, with me."

"You want what I was. What we were. What we had," Karl observes, reading between the lines from the other's body language and pained and desperate expression shining back at him in his eyes. "But seeing me like this... I'm only hurting you," he frowns. "How can I protect you from me?"

Anders lets out of a sound that's somewhere between a laugh and a dry bark, a sardonic imitation of a smile on his lips.

"You can't," he answers honestly, his free hand gesturing to his chest. "I already care. I already love you, and I can't just stop feeling that." His expression crumbles into anguish, eyes burning with pain and anger. "How can you ask me to turn it off? You think I can simply forget you and move on?"

"If that was what I wanted I could simply have led the Templars here with me and turned you over to them, let them give us matching tattoos," Karl replies shaking his head. "I don't want you to stop caring. Your passion for life, for freedom, it's what made me love you. I want to stop hurting you, but... I don't know how."

"You're not hurting me. You- you would never. The Templar bastards are hurting me," Anders spits, his voice dripping with bitter hate.

With an almost angry growl, the healer finally gives into the urge to pull the other man into his arms, folding himself around him and burying his face against Karl's shoulder as a single tear slips down his cheek.

Slowly, Karl wraps his arms around Anders in return, holding him close, the gesture sparking memories of a hundred other stolen moments like this together in the Kinloch Hold before the Templars decided to separate them. And that thought makes Karl laugh. A short, hollow thing, nothing like the ones they shared before he was branded, but a laugh all the same.

"All of this- we might never have troubled them, well, not nearly so much if they hadn't torn us apart in the first place," Karl says in answer to Anders puzzled gaze. "We might have found a way to make peace with it all- life in the Circle under Templar eyes if only they hadn't separated us," Karl observes quietly, still holding Anders close, one hand absently reaching up to stroke his hair, the muscle memory of a former tender gesture shared between them a lifetime ago.

Anders' hands bunch the fabric at the other mage's lower back as he burrows deeper into their embrace, seeking to make their bodies touch in as many places as possible.

"We were happy," he says bitterly, a hint of petulance, a childish whine of the unfairness of it all in his voice. "We didn't do anything wrong. Not really. We didn't hurt anyone. We only wanted to be together. We should have been able to be together the same as anyone else."

"That first time you kissed me," Karl recalls softly. "I'd never been so happy. I couldn't believe, couldn't understand why someone so funny, so smart, so fucking beautiful would ever want someone as ordinary and boring as me. I thanked Andraste for you every day. I know what the Templars say, I know after what they did, I should obey without question, but I cannot believe that loving you was a sin simply because we're both men and happen to have been born with magic in our veins."

Anders closes his eyes, listening to the familiar, beloved voice speaking of fond memories. It's been so long since he heard him say his name, call him beautiful, felt the warmth of his body close to his.

"You were never ordinary or boring," he says, his voice coming out in a half sob, "You were perfect. You were everything to me. Are everything."

Karl shudders softly as Anders presses in closer to his arms, as the healer barely manages to restrain a sob. As a Tranquil it shouldn't affect him, but something inside of him stirs, cries out for him to do something, anything to comfort the man in his arms.

"I don't remember any life before the Circle. I had no reason to resist, to wish for anything different, anything more. Then, I met you, and-" Karl shakes his head. "It was like my whole world had been black and white, and there you were, bright and bold in living color. So loud and defiant. Every time you ran away, I hoped I'd never see you again, that you'd finally beat them. Then one day, I- I started to hope you'd take me with you," Karl admits shaking his head. "I used to dream about Rivain. The books always made it sound nice. Somewhere warm and sunny, you'd have so many new freckles to kiss," Karl continues with the faintest twitch of a smile at the corners of his mouth, "a place as pretty as you, where they might not even care about either of us having magic, and if any Templars dared to bother us, I could simply hire a Crow."

"It was a foolish dream. So many of them were. But my every one, from the day we met, was about you."

Anders heart aches, remembering those early days, when he first met the shy, stuttering older boy Irving assigned to take under his wing, to try and keep him in line with soft brown hair and that uncertain smile. He had taken his breath away, even then, and he hadn't stopped.

"You can't say things like that," Anders says, the words half strangled by the lump in his throat. "Say that you would have left with me, that you wanted to go... that you-" he breaks off, shaking his head with a choked laugh. "That's not fair."

"I'd go away with you now," Karl confesses. "Spend the rest of my days serving you instead of the damned Templars, if I thought for a moment that I could make you happy, could do anything besides hurt you and break your heart, for this," he gestures towards the sunburst mark upon his forehead. "And if I didn't know that you could never leave this place, these people, when they need someone like you, when there's still a chance for you to help them. But I could never ask you to change that, would never want you to be anything else, but the beautiful stubborn man I fell in love with."

That simple admission, the truth of it almost shatters him all over again, Anders buries his head against Karl's chest with a sob, his shoulders trembling.

"I wish I could say the same," he confesses breathless, his voice barely audible. "I want to say yes, to grab you right now and make a run for it and damn all the consequences. I want to be selfish. I used to be good at that. I want to keep you all to myself, and never let you go, but-"

"But you're needed here," Karl nods. "You need to keep fighting. To make sure no other mage ever suffers as we have, is forced to take the brand as I have for the simple 'sin' of loving and hoping for something better, for writing you letters. I'm a fair healer too, if you recall, or perhaps I could help make your potions and poultices for you."

"You- you'd want to stay," he swallows, hardly daring to believe it. "In Kirkwall?"

"I want to stay with you," Karl replies softly. "I've no fondness for this place, not after all I've seen, after what has been done to me, but you're needed here," he repeats with a patient smile, tipping his forehead against his. "And I- I need you."

Anders hands find their way to Karl's waist, his fingers digging in almost possessively in case he changes his mind. "They cannot have you," Anders whispers fiercely. "You're not leaving. I'm not losing you again. We will find a way to fix this," the healer vows, pressing his forehead back against his, against the brand that marks him

"Anders, they have my phylactery," Karl warns softly. "If I stay-"

"You cannot possibly think I would ever consider letting you go back to the Gallows. To the tender mercies of Meredith and those Templar bastards," Anders growls shaking his head.

"But if they come for me-"

"We will burn that bridge when we get to it," Anders replies, shaking his head, hugging him tightly.

[chernychnyi]

kanders kiss

[notallbloodmages]

Look what my browser history made 🤣😭😭😭😭

[libartz]

NOOO THIS CHAR HAS DIED (sad) vs

NOOO THIS CHAR HAS DIED (there was so much potential)

[storybookhawke]

I have failed you, my dear kanders, I miss you terribly