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i. Karl
The first time Karl noticed Anders - really noticed him - was during a normal, everyday class on Magical Theory.
The boy from the Anderfels hadn’t been a particularly large part of Karl’s life in the Circle Tower; he was just another novice, several years behind Karl and so not in his social group or even most of his classes. But every one of the mages - not to mention the Templars - could recognise the lad on sight by his reputation alone.
That is to say, his reputation as a troublemaker, already famed for his escape attempts despite only being brought to Ferelden a year ago. And had his latest attempt - in fact, less ‘attempt’ and more ‘near success’ - lasted just a day longer than the week it had taken the templars to catch up with him (led by Knight-Captain Greagoir himself, no less) then the lives of both Karl and Anders might have gone very differently.
But the fact of the matter is that Anders had been brought back after his impromptu dive into Lake Calenhad, and was sitting several rows behind Karl in a class of novices from all years of study. The topic on that seemingly innocuous day was the Four Schools of Magic.
“-and as mages it is vital that we all have at least a rudimentary understanding of each of the Four Schools, so that we may best serve the needs of both ourselves and the rest of Thedas, but also so that we may avoid the pitfalls that led to the corruption of so many of the great magical minds of the past. The corruption that can still be seen today in the number of maleficars at large, and in the abominations that occur in those tragic cases when a mage oversteps his or her limits. Perhaps if a better sense of the importance of these different areas of magic and their relation to each other had been instilled in these poor, misguided individuals, then they would not willingly pose such a danger to the rest of society.
So, who would like to remind us of the Four Schools?”
Although Enchanter Quinsforth had barely finished his introduction, he had already lost the attention of most of the class. Karl, idly scratching his quill in a spiralling pattern of leaves and vines down the side of his parchment, only recognised that a question had just been asked from the change of tone and pitch in the reedy whine that was their lecturer’s voice. A glance towards the front of the room, chin resting on his hand, told him that Quinsforth was happily not looking in his direction.
But before he could further embellish his rather attractive (if he did say so himself) piece of graphic design, Karl found his - along with everyone else’s - head snapping round to face the back row.
“Anders, since you’re clearly finding this class unnecessary, perhaps you could answer the question?” The balding Enchanter had folded his arms and his gaze, under his lowered eyebrows, was fixed heavily on a boy in the back row.
As every person in the room - even the templar on duty at the entrance to the library - swivelled to face him in a kind of morbid fascination, Anders himself calmly leaned back in his chair from where he had been bent over his neighbour’s desk, deep in conversation. Settling himself, he offered the Enchanter a cocky grin, and Karl felt an involuntary hitch in his breathing.
And here comes another retort that’s bound to get him sent to see Irving...
Nobody expected anything else from Anders. This was what he did; get in trouble for messing around in classes and being rude to their teachers. He was older than most of his year-mates, partly because of the language problems he’d had when he’d first arrived, but mostly because of his refusal to pay attention - thus leaving him at the bottom of every lesson. Maybe he was hoping that if he didn’t know anything, it would be easier to escape templar notice.
“Certainly, Enchanter Quinsforth.”
Wait, what? He’s going to answer the question? He was listening to the question?
Anders was smirking as his hazel eyes danced with mischief. Karl started to smile despite himself - he was due for his Harrowing in a month or so, he shouldn’t be amused by Anders’ pranks and rascally nature.
Anders continued in the same warm, playful tone. “According to Josephus - once First Enchanter of this very Circle Tower, I believe - the Four Schools of Magic divide into the Schools of Matter and the Schools of Energy. The first School of Matter is Entropy, also known as Negation, and the second is its opposing force, the School of Creation, or Nature. The Spirit and Primal - or Power - Schools make up Energy. Every school is balanced by another, and each has a different focus and use. Occasionally spirit magic is mistaken for blood magic - which is sometimes referred to as the Forbidden School since it is outlawed everywhere apart from in the Tevinter Imperium. It was, however, the first form of magic in Thedas, apparently taught to Archon Thalsian, founder of Tevinter’s imperium of magisters, by the Old God Dumat.”
When Anders paused for breath, he appeared to finally notice the wide-eyed stares and the silence that had fallen. He beamed. Straightening in his seat, he stared right at their mentor.
“Does that sufficiently answer your question, Enchanter?”
Quite frankly, Karl was surprised that Quinsforth could rouse himself enough to speak; the Enchanter was clearly as shocked as the rest of them at Anders’ amazingly encylopaedic knowledge. He cleared his throat, uncrossing his arms slowly.
“Ahem, well, yes, Anders, you appear to have covered all the relevant points. Yes. So,” and he briskly turned his attention back to the class as a whole, “let us take first the School of Entropy. Leading on from Josephus’ work, we must also consider...”
Even as most of his brain was switching off, a small part of Karl remained fixed on Anders, suddenly intrigued. Who knew that behind that ridiculous facade was real academic interest? And clearly a keen interest, at that.
Karl was slow turning around, and Anders noticed his lingering gaze. That incredibly infectious smile was turned solely on him for just a moment. Karl was mortified to feel a faint blush warming his cheekbones.
Anders winked.
*
Years later, when the two of them lay curled around each other on a narrow dormitory cot, sweat sticking them together in all sorts of unfortunate places, Karl would remember that day. He would look back and smile, infinitely glad of his lover’s ability to be devastatingly clever when it suited him, and nuzzle into Anders’ dirty blonde hair.