A piece for a Dragon Age Writers' Corner forum challenge: "Write a story about one of the (many) random pieces of... stuff... you pick up in the world."

Prompted by the story of Anders and his margin-doodling, as well as all the "blank papyrus" you find in the Tower.

I guess it could tie in with chapter 28 of Armour, but it's not necessary reading at all. In which Morgana searches desperately for her old friend in the remains of the Tower.

Arcanum Lessons

She isn't sure whether to laugh or cry when she finds the papyrus; it appears blank at first, but, frowning, she turns it over. The sound that escapes her is half-sob, half a snort of laughter.

"Morgana?" Alistair walks over to stand at her shoulder, and does a double-take when he sees the phrase, written in perfectly neat, careful handwriting.

She smirks. "He always did hate Arcanum lessons." They'd had them to read some of the older parchments; she has a sudden image of Anders as he used to be, head bowed, hair escaping from a ragged ponytail, mumbling curses (in Arcanum), scrawling furiously as his nose nearly touches the paper. They were of about equal skill, she was just slightly less grudging about using those skills.

There's a moment of silence as she and Alistair look at the paper, and she suddenly remembers that templars have to learn Arcanum too; a laugh escapes her, the only one since they entered this terrible place. Even now, wherever he is, whatever state he is in, her old friend is cheering her up and on. (Maker, how she misses him. Let him be safe; let him be warm; let him be alive to run. If she believed, she'd pray.)

"Is that… even a phrase?" Alistair murmurs, awkwardly leaning over her, his breath on her ear. "I certainly don't remember learning it."

"I think he translated it," she replies softly, the only sound in the oppressive silence. "Always was a clever sod." She lets her eyes rake over the parchment once again, drinking in one last trace of her friend.

"Ilegitamus non tatum carborundum," she reads: Don't let the bastards get you down. How very Anders.

She folds it, tucking it into her belt, then turns back to the rest of he group; Leliana is watching her, her face a picture of sympathy, and gives her a sad smile. She returns it, swallowing, then begins the slow walk to the door.