Damage Control
The flames of the campfire dance around the logs, licking at the wood, uncaring who it is they are warming. I've come to depend on these kinds of mundane things, have taken refuge in the stable facts of life that never change, and never judge. Even for a criminal the fire is warming, even for an abomination the water is refreshing and even for a wretched man like me, love gives comfort. For Hawke is right across from me, on the other side of the flames, the orange glow of the fire painting her skin healthier than it is, her eyes less hollow in the friendly light. She has stuck with me through everything, protected me after I'd done the unthinkable, ran with me when Kirkwall spit me out. Despite everything, she's still here.
I never thought I'd say it, but I miss Dark Town. Not the dank, muddy streets, or the toxic fumes of course, nor the cramped spaces, the rattling coughs or the hostile atmosphere, but the people. I miss the people. They came to me for aid, I tried to help them and they paid me what they could. It took time, but ultimately those business transactions forged a sort of bond between us. A bond that is now irreparably broken. The connection I used to have with these people has left an empty space in my gut that no food or drink will fill. They might've liked their healer in Dark Town, but that doesn't mean they will accept the murderer of the Grand Cleric in their midst.
A murder that had to be committed, for nothing else would've started the revolution, Justice pipes up. I can't really blame him – oh, I want to, trust me, but I can't - he's a spirit of justice, why wouldn't he justify his deeds? But for me, it's not so easy. I have trouble convincing even myself that I did the right thing, so how could I explain what I'd done to my comrades?
Fenris took off immediately after the battle with Meredith and I was glad of it. Hawke's presence might've persuaded him to fight on our side in the end, but he will forever hate mages, judging all for the crimes of one. And I don't care much for him either, to be perfectly honest. Scrawny little elf.
He was a good fighter, Justice cuts in. He always has to say something to contradict me.
You mean he was a good killer, I correct, quite sharply, remembering a ghostly hand reaching into a man's chest, squeezing the life out of him, and Justice stays quiet. He's been less of a presence lately, perhaps pacified somewhat by the recent events, or it's simply that he has had no reason to surface while Hawke and I move through forests and marshes. We have no idea where we are going, aimlessly wandering, moving in one direction or other every day, because staying in the same place for too long heightens the chances of discovery.
Hawke and I, indeed. Varric was – surprisingly – the second to leave, and his parting pained me. We'd come to an understanding of sorts, the loud-mouthed dwarf and I, and I was hoping that, at some point, he might accept what I had done. But after a fortnight he declared there were no stories or riches to be had with us, that his chances would be better in the city, and the next morning he was gone. I miss the bad jokes over terrible beer. I know Hawke misses him too.
He had no honor or dignity, again Justice voices his opinion on my choice of comrades, but I don't want to hear it.
He had more honor than you have in your pinky toe, I bite at him, pretending not to hear his remark that this would be my pinky toe then, since we share the same body. It disturbs me, that I'm sharing my pinky toe with a justice spirit gone homicidal, but I keep it to myself.
Hawke sent Bethany off a few days after Varric's departure. It wasn't a pretty sight. Hawke's a fighter, all tough armor and cutting blade; she doesn't do emotions. Not well anyway. And when she commands, she expects others to follow, not to rebel like her sister did when Hawke briskly told her to start walking in the opposite direction. Harsh words were uttered by both sides, but in the end, in her anger, Hawke betrayed the truth, blurted that she couldn't lose another family member, wouldn't survive it and staying with us was simply too dangerous for Bethany. Bethany argued that she was no better off in the wild, on her own; with nowhere to go, but in the end she took off, taking captain Vallen with her as protection. Thank god for small blessings.
Losing a fellow mage to our cause is indeed regrettable. But if she's not strong enough to be part of our revolution, she's of no use to us. The coldness of Justice's remark is like an internal bucket of ice water. Inhuman, is my first thought, but I confine it to that small corner of my mind that's still my own. Justice is not human after all, so what did I expect? Thankfully, we see eye to eye on the guard captain. Well, sort of. Justice thinks she's a liability due to her sense of duty. The only thing keeping her from ratting us out is her loyalty to Hawke. I just think someone ought to remove that stick she's been carrying up her ass.
Merrill would have stayed with us to the end, I'm certain. Not because she supports her fellow mages' cause – she's no clue what's going on – but because she doesn't have anywhere else to go and has no idea of the danger she's in. I feel a rather surprising warmness towards her now, naïve little elf girl. But then again, that's always the case with Merrill. Nothing like spending two minutes in her presence to cure that particular case of sympathy. Like I said, she would've stayed, but we encountered some wood elves, lost and without a keeper, and all of a sudden Merrill grew a sense of duty as well. She actually cried when we took off – Hawke, Isabella and me – and I could see it hurt Hawke to part as well.
In fact, every parting hurt Hawke, every time one of our companions left broke her a little more, and she grows quieter every day. I worry about her, even as I watch her now. She's staring into the dark woods behind me, an empty look in her eyes, plate of food forgotten beside her.
You have more important things to worry about than her, mage. I told you she was a distraction.
And I told you that I love her. She's the only reason I'm still alive. The steel in my voice when I rebuff Justice is all my own. His help – normally gratefully accepted when trying to vocally intimidate – is neither possible nor needed. I might be a coward, but there are some things even I will fight for. My spirit companion refrains from answering, probably knowing it's hopeless. We've clashed many times on this subject, him and I, and he knows that, even though he's the victor on almost any other subject, he can't beat me here. I won't leave Hawke any more than she'll leave me.
And for all her faults – and by Andraste's knickers she had many – I think Isabella understood that. She didn't care about my cause, that much was clear from the many conversations in which I'd tried to convince her to form an opinion at least. She refused to the very end. The weeks we spent running together taught me that she'd made a habit of not forming opinions, or at least not voicing them. I guess it makes it easier to betray people if you don't pick sides. I also learned she was very observant, learned a lot about people by watching them. Also a trick of the trade probably, best way to cheat people, trick, or sneak up on them is if you know exactly what they want, are doing or thinking. And I guess that's how she knew what the deal was between Hawke and me, and also why she decided to take off in the end; she knew we were better off with just the two of us. The absence of her flippant comments makes the silence even louder though.
She was an opportunist, adrift, with no greater cause than her own fun and fortune, my eternal companion lets me know and it's clear from the disdain in his mental voice that his opinion of Isabella is not favorable.
Yes, she was all that, and a good person, is all I have to say to that, but the affection that floods me is remarkable. Sneaky pirate, making people like her without them noticing.
I glance up as Hawke pokes a stick into the dying flames to get them to rise again; she succeeds only partially. I flash her a quick smile, which I know looks fake, because the tiredness that has taken hold of me is so all consuming even a smile is too much effort. Hawke returns the favor, before getting up and walking towards our makeshift beds. It's nothing but dry leaves and moss and some holey blankets, but we're happy for finding dry material at all in this godforsaken swamp. We're sleeping under the stars again tonight, as most nights. Occasionally, we get lucky and find an abandoned barn or shack, once, we even found a house, but mostly the earth is our mattress. I've offered to keep first watch, since I have trouble sleeping anyway and Hawke needs her rest.
I stare into the flames for some time, but finally – reluctantly – get quill, ink, paper and a piece of mostly straight wood to write on and continue my manuscript. It's nearly finished now, but I'll have to restart all over after I'm done. I've reread the first chapters and I'm afraid to admit that I don't recognize myself in them anymore. The man that wrote those words, the Anders that arrived in Kirkwall to become a healer, is gone. Healing hands have been replaced by those of a murderer, the kind, quipping character of a slightly awkward doctor by that of a hardened revolutionist. It comes as no shock to me that I'm turning into Justice; he has a tendency to take over, not only to save my butt, like he used to, but whenever he feels the situation calls for it and the arrogant wisp of smoke thinks he can handle almost anything better than me. And several years ago I didn't care; my life was one of running and hiding from Templars, that of a coward, it might as well be put to good use. Besides, Justice helped me put some very annoying people in their place several times. But now – being with Hawke – it worries me. Because she fell in love with a man, and whether it was the quirky healer, the hardened revolutionary or someone in between I do not know, but I do know that that man is changing, forever morphing into someone else, someone she might not be capable of loving. And it would destroy me if she ever stopped loving me.
A faint sound from the woods behind me pulls me out of my reverie with a start. As I scramble for my staff and whirl to face the darkened trees, I feel Justice prickling at the back of my mind, alert and ready. It used to be a comfort, that I had a secret ally against whatever was lurking out there – yes, I truly am a coward – but now I harshly press him away, fighting to keep the little bit that is still me in here in charge.
I can help you stay alive, Justice argues, but I just push a bit harder. If it comes to a life or death situation, he will take over at the last second anyway, he always does. Right now, I want him gone. Justice and I have not been getting along lately.
I'm not the cause of your current troubles, mage. You agreed to do this, Justice defends himself faintly in the background. I know he's right, but I don't want to hear it right now. I agreed to it reluctantly, after a passionate argument from him, mostly because I reasoned he was a spirit of Justice and therefore would know what the price of justice is.
There's another crack from the woods to my right and then a figure comes leaping from it, the dark shadow of a man sharply contrasted by the campfire at our backs for a second, before he barrels into me, giving me no time to call on any kind of magic. I can only just bring my staff up in time, but without Justice's strength behind my arms, it is used against me, pushed into my chest with the full momentum of a soldier's charge and I topple backwards, landing on my ass ungracefully. Grace quickly ceases to be a concern, as my head lands on the one rock left in the clearing where we set up camp – there's only one rock, of course my head would connect with it – and my vision starts to swim. The armor clad figure pressing the air from my lungs is not helping. The realization that it's iron breastplate and armguards and thus a templar on my chest, sends a jolt of panic rushing through my veins, immediately bringing Justice to the fore.
You should've let me help you, mage, he rumbles as my grip on the staff tightens.
Take over, you mean, I sneer at him in my mind, but let him take partial control over my body, making it stronger, better equipped to deal with the Templar that's pinning me to the forest floor. It's like an instant upgrade really, if only the side effect weren't so dire.
I-we, manage to work my-our, legs under our assailant and a Justice powered kick sends him flying. He lands in a heap of armor. It sounds like someone dumped a pile of scrap metal onto the floor, and Hawke is up and ready in a heartbeat. She sends me a panicked glance – face unguarded in the first moments of awakening – but then her eyes darken and her jaw sets. Her sword makes a short whooshing sound as it slices through the air, the point coming to rest at shoulder height, pointing in the Templar's direction. Muscles taut, she slowly advances on him.
I struggle to push Justice down again, as I gather magic for a stunning spell, while watching Hawke as she points the sword at the Templar's throat.
"How did you find us?" she barks at him, voice all steel and demand. He doesn't answer, doesn't move and Hawke bends down cautiously to remove his helmet, check if he's really unconscious, all the while careful not to remove her sword from his throat, but she goes flying before she can touch the rim of his headdress. I have just enough time to mentally complement the Templar on his nice magic trick, before Hawke lands with a grunt and I watch in horror as she rolls through the campfire.
Move! Justice jars me back to reality and I do, although I doubt it's in the direction Justice was anticipating. I shake the accumulated magic out of my hands – I no longer have use for it – and form a powerful healing spell while I sprint over to Hawke, who's frantically rolling around, trying to douse the flames. I release the spell as soon as my hands make contact with her and I can feel Hawke relax when I cover her body with my own, suffocating the last of the flames.
"Okay?" I ask gently. I only roll off of her once I've heard an affirmative answer. I don't have to bother to get up though, there's a Templar's sword pointing at my jugular and Justice rants in my head about my stupidity, trying to force his way to the front again. My whole being is absorbed by the danger the weapon represents. I cannot see the tip of the sword, but my entire vision is filled by the length of that blade, gleaming maliciously in the light of the moon, as the campfire has been mostly extinguished when Hawke rolled through it.
Gather some magic! Kick his legs out from under him, do something! Justice rages at the back of my head, fighting for control. But I'm paralyzed with fear, my mind is paralyzed and that means Justice is as well. Suddenly the blade moves away from my throat and I catch a glimpse of Hawke standing to the side of the Templar, blade across his throat. The only way for him to hurt me, is to move forward, which he cannot do without pressing his own neck into Hawke's blade, but she can't slice his neck either, because his sword would impale me. I have to move.
It's about time, Justice rumbles as I grant him just enough control to roll out from under the sword and stand up. Speed was always on my side, bodily grace and strength less so, but with a little Justice, that's quickly fixed. I position myself next to Hawke as she repeats her previous question and the Templar laughs. It's a hauntingly familiar laugh for me, but devastatingly recognizable for Hawke.
"Carver?" she asks, her voice gone raspy and thin with shock. As if it wasn't enough her brother joined the Templars; he has to chase her down like a dog too? Anger flares hotly within me and with it comes Justice. The stunning spell is fired before I even realize I'm calling on magic and my staff is pointing at Carver's throat without conscious thought on my part.
"Anders!" the streak of fear in Hawke's voice gives me pause and I glance back at her. She tells me there's blue light when Justice takes over, says I sort of crack open and go all veiny with blue energy. I don't know what it looks like, but the uneasiness and worry in her eyes every time it happens, tells me she doesn't like it. She wears that same expression now.
"He must die," Justice speaks with my mouth and I can feel my muscles tensing for the final blow. Hands gripping the staff just a little bit tighter, knees bending lightly as feet are planted more firmly on the forest floor.
"No!" I shout with my own voice, fighting with all I have to regain control over my own body.
"No!" Hawke yells at the same time and rushes over to grab my arms. Justice pushes her off roughly and she stumbles back, a hurt look in her eyes that cuts me to the very bone and I redouble my efforts to regain control. Carver is still too stunned to make use of the situation.
But he won't be for long, we have to strike now, Justice reasons.
We don't have to strike at all! I shout back, panting with exertion from the struggle over who's in control, managing only to take one step backwards.
He's a Templar! Justice thunders, rattling my mind, instantly making intense pain blossom behind my eyes, but I keep fighting him. I manage to drop the staff and it clatters to the ground with a finality that seems ominous.
He's her brother! I shout back, unwilling to give in. I cannot lose this mental wrestling match; if I let Justice kill her brother, I'll lose her for sure.
We don't need her and he's a danger, the very thing we're trying to eradicate. He must die! Justice repeats. And suddenly, with great clarity, I realize how wrong that sounds. I never meant to eradicate anything, certainly not human beings. Oh, I don't hold any sympathy for the Templars, they've put me back into that tower far too many times and I don't care for the whole Circle of Magic set up either. I even believe that a revolution is necessary, but eradicating Templars? That makes me no better than them.
Don't speak nonsense, Justice intervenes in my thoughts; they have killed thousands of mages, all guilty of nothing but being born a certain way. Innocent people, dead because of them.
And how am I any different? What were those people in the Chantry guilty of, besides being capable of creating a grand uproar when killed? I ask Justice, creeping panic making my mental voice sound shrill. My head feels like it's about to burst; for the first time since we've joined I honestly feel that there's one person too many in there, but I see clearly now what horrendous event has transpired.
Necessary sacrifices for a good cause, that other person in my head declares. But how is that thinking any different from the Templar's? My knees hit the forest floor with a soft thud, my mental voice reduced to a horrified whisper.
You've turned me into one of them.
Justice booms in furious outrage, righteous things about people being oppressed out of fear and a misguided interpretation of Andraste's words, but I'm not listening; my entire being is filled with revulsion about what I did, what I've become and that's when Justice grabs his chance.
"Anders?" it's Hawke's dread filled voice that awakens me and I once again, find myself hovering over Carver, but this time it's a fireball spell in my hands and the Templar is no longer stunned. Fear shines clear in his wide open eyes as he stares at me, paralyzed, like I was before, terrified of dying, all the Maker's pretty words about joining him in the City of Light forgotten. The spell disappears fast, my control over magic was always better than Justice's, but stepping back takes more effort.
"Run," I grunt out in Carver's general direction as every bone in my spine pops with the strain of straightening up against a tremendous force. "Run, or he'll kill you." I don't know if Carver understands what I'm talking about, but terror can make people very manageable. Carver scrambles up, turns and runs. Hawke makes as if to call after him, but doesn't. I just sink to the floor in exhaustion and rub my forehead, trying to ease the pounding pain that has taken up residence there.
He will come back to finish you off, probably in your sleep, little coward, Justice growls. He sounds so angry, so unreasonable. Hawke kneels next to me, pulls me into her lap. I let strong leg muscles support my aching head and close my eyes against the harsh glare of the morning light. The sun must've risen at some point during the fight.
"Is he getting stronger?" Hawke asks softly, working hard, but failing to keep the worry out of her voice. She's so different with me than she is on the field; so much softer and gentler, so much more human.
"I'm not sure, maybe he's just less willing to relinquish control to me, but he's …" I trail off. Hawke is patting my hair, like she always does when trying to soothe me. I told her I'd break her heart and I did – Maker I wish I hadn't – but she's still here, soothing me, calming me, even if it's slowly destroying her.
"He's what?" she pushes, but I shake my head and push myself up to a sitting position, concentrate on breathing until the world stops swimming in front of my eyes.
"I nearly killed your brother," I force the words out past the shame and horror. She sits down next to me, blows a lock of hair out of her eyes – such a normal gesture, like nothing is wrong with the world.
"But you didn't," she says simply, indicating that for her, that's that. But I can't let it go that easily, Justice came too close and his intentions became too clear.
"I almost couldn't stop him. He has such blind hatred for the Templars and the Circle," the disbelief sounds so clear in my voice that even I can hear it and I wonder how naïve I truly am.
"You used to say you and Justice are one, but now you speak of him like a different person," Hawke observes. And she's right, but not in the way she thinks.
"He is," I say simply. "Justice is gone, the being trapped inside my head is so blindly focused on destroying the Templars and the Circle that he's lost sight of the original goal. He wants to eradicate the Templars. That's not Justice, that's Vengeance and I want him gone." A rush of fear grabs hold of me and I look up to Hawke as if she can protect me as I repeat the words, voice trembling slightly. "I want him gone!"
Hawke's arms come around me, holding me like a small child, shushing me gently.
"It'll be alright, Anders. We'll find a way," she soothes. "We'll find a way."
Maker, I hope she's right.