The palm of her hand is sticky with blood, and a stained knife sits on the floor near her feet.

"Rhyanon?" Anders asks.

She shakes her head, blonde hair falling into her eyes. "Come on," she insists. "Let's go. There might be more of them coming."

She starts to walk, but he grabs her, pulls her back. He whirls her around until she's forced to look at him. "Rhyanon, what are you doing?" He lifts her blood-stained hand. The gash across it is deep. It has to hurt. But she doesn't even seem to notice.

The darkspawn bodies all around them are charred beyond recognition, the air still smells like smoke. There are more than a dozen of them, and Rhyanon had taken them all down, with a wall of flame that roared like thunder. Anders wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it. If he hadn't felt it. Blood magic. The evidence is right here in front of him. It makes him sick, but it's Rhyanon. She has to have a good reason. He trusts her. Doesn't he?

He runs his thumb gently over the cut on her palm, closing his eyes and concentrating enough to reach for the Fade, to channel his mana into a spell that knits her flesh closed. The blood remains, sticky on her skin.

"Thank you," Rhyanon murmurs. She still sounds angry, she pushes her way past him. Anders nods.

"You're welcome," he mutters. It feels like his head is spinning.

The knife is still sitting there on the rocky ground. He picks it up, and holds it carefully as he chases after her. She doesn't turn around, but she doesn't run away either. At least there's that.

"I know what I'm doing, Anders."

"It's blood magic. You're a maleficar."

"And you're an apostate. What's your point?"

Anders feels lightheaded, dizzy. It actually feels like the first cut of a whip, that same shock of agony that makes his breathing jerky when he can catch it at all. Except this is all emotional. Still bloody, though.

"This isn't you," he whispers, desperately.

"I'm not a little girl anymore, Anders. I don't need you to protect me."

She is so angry. And so cold. "Rhyanon..." He's reaching out for her before he can stop to think about whether or not it's a good idea. He pulls her into his arms. She gasps, and for a second he's afraid he's hurt her, but although she holds herself tense, she doesn't push him away. He traces his thumb down her spine. He buries his face in the curve of her neck. She shudders as he holds her, and he realizes that her breaths are ragged because she is crying. He pulls back a little bit so he can look at her.

"Don't leave me, Anders," she pleads.

"I'm not going to leave you," he replies automatically. The cutting irony of the response hurts both of them. She tenses up again. What is he supposed to say, 'But I really mean it this time?' She won't believe him. Honestly, he doesn't believe himself. Despite this, he repeats the reassurance. "I'm not gonna leave you, Rhyanon." He tangles his fingers in her hair.

"I'm broken," she mutters.

"What?"

"I don't... I can't feel anything anymore. Even this..." she holds up her bloody hand. "I don't feel it. It doesn't hurt. I want it to hurt, Anders, I need it to... I was supposed to die!"

"Rhyanon..." He turns her name into a keening cry. She starts trying to walk away again, but he grabs her wrist. He refuses to let her go. "You are not. Broken." he demands. "You are not broken, and I need you."

She stands there, breathing heavily, her free hand clenched into a tight fist at her side. Anders finally lets her arm go. He doesn't want to hurt her. She crosses her arms over her chest and tucks her hands into her armpits. Her head is bowed, wisps of blonde hair falling into her face. And despite the fact that she's standing there in leather armor, he can't help seeing her the way he saw her... before. In torn blue apprentice robes, with blood running down her arm and mixing with his, because she tried to protect him and couldn't and he was already far too damaged to ever be able to protect her.

If he'd been able to protect her, maybe they wouldn't be here.

But the templars dragged him into a solitary cell and a year is a long time, and they lost each other. And he barely recognizes the woman in front of him now. But it's Rhyanon. It's still her. It has to be, because he won't give up on her, he can't.

"Rhyanon, I love you," he confesses desperately.

"I know," she says hoarsely. Not 'I love you, too.' But she lets him brush his thumb down the curve of her cheek. She lets him kiss her. She's crying, but she kisses him back, hesitantly at first and then with frenzied desperation. And they break apart, and they are gasping for air. She's not crying anymore. She looks shocked, in the medical sense of the term, with unfocused eyes and too-pale skin.

He wraps his arms around her again and wishes he knew what to say. He's spent too much time in silence, without comfort. With the other Wardens he can joke and tease and nobody sees under the surface, but Rhyanon was there. He can't hide from her. So he just holds her in silence and she squeezes her eyes shut and breathes, her chest rising and falling against his own. "I thought you'd hate me," she whispers, her words barely audible as she speaks them into his shoulder.

"I could never hate you. I'm... scared for you. I never wanted you to get hurt because of me."

"It's not because of you."

"What?"

"This... this is not because of you. I mean, yeah it started after... but it's not because of you. It's because of me. Because I need to fucking feel something and this is the only way."

"Rhyanon..."

"Shut up, Anders."

He bites his lip. He tries to breathe. He doesn't have any right to ask her to stay with him, he knows that. But he needs her. "Rhyanon, you said I wouldn't get hurt if I stayed with you," he points out, his voice low and shaky.

Her head snaps up. Confusion dances across her features. "I know what I said..."

"So just... don't leave me?" he begs, turning it into a question. "Don't. I can't... I can't lose you."

She swallows hard. Her voice is a little shaky, too. "You're not going to lose me, Anders," she insists, half-breathless. "I told you, I know what I'm doing." She reaches out to squeeze his hand. "You trust me, right?"

He nods, even though his chest is squeezed tight around his heart. He has to trust her. Because without her, he doesn't trust himself.