Quick grammar note: Just a quick, initial note to say that, in regards to making Anders' name a possessive (just like I have there) I drop the second 's (as in Anders's) because it would be awkward and clumsy to say. I know this is usually only reserved for classical names (such as Venus') but I think that in this case it also applies. Just so you didn't think I was being a grammatical dummy ;)

Chapter 1

Righteous

It had been a long day but he didn't want to rest. The sun was long gone, not that it made much of a difference in Darktown, but in terms of who came out at night it was imperative. First of all it was the little blonde girl, Ethel, and her grandfather with arthritis, then Elena, seven months pregnant and still malnourished despite his best efforts, and now this. The boy wasn't responding and Anders had to admit for the first time in a long time he was beginning to worry.

"Maker watch over him," the mother was whispering, over and over into her cupped hands.

The husband, Jonathan he if he remembere is name correctly, had brought him in unconscious half an hour ago. He'd been caught in the middle of a fight between the Coterie and the Carta, mere minutes from the clinic. Playing with his friends. It made Anders sick to think that even innocent children weren't safe to play outside around here but it didn't surprise him in the least. He wasn't that naive. What did surprise him was that he'd stopped the bleeding and sealed the head wound fifteen minutes ago and the boy's eyes were still firmly shut.

"Why isn't he waking up?" Jonathan asked, brow furrowed, eyes accusing.

It didn't faze Anders, not the way it used to. When he'd first started this clinic, all good intentions and naivety, people's grief had scared him more than anything. People in suffering tended to lay blame on the closest thing they could find and Anders, usually being the one who'd tried and failed to help, was exactly the target they needed. He would have given up...if it hadn't been for Justice. The spirit, in the early days, had been a strong and comforting presence, always there to urge him on when he began to doubt himself. Not anymore though, he thought numbly. He ignored the usual hollow feeling he suffered when he thought about how bloody pitiful his life had become and focused more energy into the healing aura around the boy.

'You push yourself too far'. Anders shivered. It was Justice's solemn voice and yet it drifted into his consciousness as if he had thought it himself. He was finding it difficult to tell the difference anymore. Perhaps it was out of spite, maybe if he hadn't been dwelling on Justice only moments before he wouldn't have done it, but he ignored the advice and pushed harder. His aide, William, gave him a sidelong glance and frowned. Anders tried his best to tune everything out and felt for the boy's life source, flinching away from him, and grabbed at it. It was a last ditch effort but considering how depleted his energy reserves were, he had little choice. The boy gasped, drawing in a choking breath, arms flailing up, eyes shooting open. The mother rushed forwards, heedless of the last of the magic still clinging to her son and of Anders' own distress. The mage stumbled back, all energy leaving him as his connection to the Fade lessened just that little bit.

"Are you alright?" William asked with concern, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder, "I've never seen you go for that long before."

"Then you've obviously not heard the rumours," Anders said with a smile, but he knew the joke was hollow.

"Ha ha," William said deadpan, eyes serious, "I mean it, you should sit down, I'll get some water."

Anders nodded and sat in the nearby rickety chair, more to appease William than any actual want to rest. The last thing he wanted right now was rest. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers and tried to tune back into the world around him.

"Thank you serrah, may the Maker bless you!" suddenly there were arms around his shoulders and Anders started badly.

"That's-that's alright," Anders squirmed under the warmth and managed to pull the woman from him and keep her at arm's length; thankfully she was too overjoyed to be offended.

"You saved my son," her face was so open, "I can never repay what you've done. I am sorry, we have no coin to spare but..."

"I don't need payment," Anders summoned a smile from his reserves and tried not to let his control slip; "I'm just glad I could help."

"You truly are..." the woman looked lost for words, "it makes me happy to know there are still good people in this world, even here in Darktown. Bless you serrah, bless you."

Anders watched her leave, her arm tightly around the small boy's shoulders, possessive. Anders smirked a little; that boy would be indoors for months. He'd probably see him brought back into the clinic with cabin fever by the time his mother was done coddling him. Justice was right, he had pushed too hard, but it had been worth it, even if he did now feel like someone had picked him up and thoroughly wrung him out. Anders hung his head and rubbed his face with both hands, feeling Justice pushing against the barriers. He was too tired to fight against him and he could feel the flaring of the markings on his skin, his eyes momentarily blinded by light.

"Not now," he said angrily, closing his eyes and pressing his fingers against his eyelids.

Then he heard it; the sound of booted feet, more than two, maybe three, entering the clinic. So that's what it was, Anders thought, Justice had probably sensed them long before he had. He was always so vigilant, sometimes it made Anders head hurt. Even back when he was a Grey Warden, well an active Grey Warden, Anders never would have counted himself as the most perceptive of people. Unless there were templars involved, of course. Thankfully he was pretty sure that not one of the three people approaching his rickety little chair was a templar. One should be thankful for small mercies. He stood up as boldly as he could, picked up his staff and turned.

"I have made this place a sanctum of healing and salvation," Anders hated having to sound threatening; he knew he looked as intimidating as a wet kitten, "why do you threaten it?"

"Wait! We don't mean any harm," the man raised his hands placatingly, green eyes widening slightly, "we just want to talk."

Wow. Anders blinked. He would be the first to admit that living in Darktown had made him rather cynical and, despite how much he cared for the residents, very few of them peaked his interest further than tending wounds. Everyone was poor in Darktown; if you weren't poor you left at the first opportunity. These three however were wearing the nicest clothes he'd seen in a long while and, if he wasn't mistaken, that was real gold thread in the dwarf's jacket. However, that wasn't what had grabbed his attention, despite how much he needed the coin.

Short, jet black hair falling into emerald green eyes, high cheekbones, broad shoulders, slim hips, tall and my, my but did he have a pair of thighs on him. Do not stare at the thighs, Anders told himself seriously, that's just rude...despite how tempting it is. He scanned them all quickly, taking in the fact that the stunning man at the front and the girl behind him bore a striking family resemblance and that the dwarf had no beard. Well, Anders thought, not as unperceptive as I thought I was. Not that it got him anywhere but it made him feel better in a silly sort of way. Then he noticed the dwarf was talking.

"Word on the street is you were a Grey Warden once," the dwarf was saying, "We're going on an expedition to the Deep Roads. Do you know a way in?"

"The Wardens?" Anders narrowed his eyes, "What is this? Are you here to take me back, because don't think that..!"

"No, you don't understand," the man continued quickly, "we're not from the Wardens or the templars or anyone else. We just need some help, that's all."

"Right," the dwarf said eagerly, "a way into the Deep Roads, that's all we're after."

Anders found himself relaxing despite the taught sense of suspicion still flowling through him. The initial adrenaline which, had flared at the thought of a fight, was now ebbing away, leaving him once more drained and weak. He leaned against his staff and sighed.

"Ugh, half the reason I left the Wardens was to get away from the blighted Deep Roads," Anders couldn't help but relax a little despite himself; it had been so long since he'd even mentioned his past to anyone and it made him feel a little nostalgic, "those bastards made me get rid of my cat. Poor Ser Pounce-a-lot. He hated it down there too."

"Wait, wait, you had a cat...called Ser Pounce-a-lot," the man, who had seemed imposing and self assured since entering the clinic, now looked as if his own fantasies about heroic griffon riding Grey Wardens were being torn down about his ears, "in the Deep Roads."

"You know that's the look the other Wardens used to give me whenever I took him," Anders smiled, "he was particularly partial to Genlocks. Swatted one on the nose once, drew blood too."

The man's eyebrows rose even higher, if that was possible, while the girl simply shook her head. Anders just stood there, not caring. They'd come to see him, what did it matter to him if they didn't like what they found. He simply stood and watched them back.

"Eh, right, anyway we're getting a little off track," the dwarf finally said, "we're looking for a map into..."

"The Deep Roads, yes I heard you the first time," Anders sighed, "and no I have no desire to have anything to do with the Deep Roads or the Wardens or anything of the sort, sorry."

"But we need to get in through the Free Marches," the man's voice had an odd note of desperation to it that didn't escape Anders' notice, "whatever information you can give us will save lives."

Oh he was good, Anders thought ruefully, going straight for the guilt. Reminded him of another handsome rogue he'd met in Ferelden who had also dragged him into the Deep Roads and lots of trouble. Talk about history repeating itself. No, Anders thought firmly, this time I'm sticking to my bloody resolve, gorgeous thighs or no. Honestly, why did rogues have to wear such revealing clothing, it was terribly distracting.

"Look there are more important things going on here than making coin..." he said as sternly as he could before a thought popped into his head.

Despite the moderately fancy clothes and the respectfully good looking what-he-assumed-to-be siblings, they also looked rather...capable. He was guessing that the dangerous looking crossbow strapped to the dwarf's back wasn't just for show, or the long daggers on the man's, and if he wasn't mistaken was that a well concealed staff the girl had down her back? Another mage? It was a risk but...maybe, just maybe he wouldn't have to go alone after all. He didn't like to admit it but he'd been worried about this all day, the meeting, and the thought of not going alone was appealing. It had been a long time since he'd sought any kind of help. The strangers were beginning to look distinctly resigned until Anders spoke once more.

"...Wait," he said, making all three sets of eyes spring to him, "how about an exchange? You want the maps and I, well, I need some help. You do something for me and I return the favour?"

"What exactly is it you want?" the man asked, eyes suspicious, "I'd rather know the details before I agree to anything."

"Wise man," Anders smiled, albeit without reaching his eyes, "I came to Kirkwall to help a friend, a mage, away from the wretched Gallows."

"Great," the girl muttered under her breath, "templars."

"You want to break someone out of the Gallows?" the man asked, frown still firmly in place, "That must be some plan you have there."

"Well, not exactly, I mean hopefully it'll never come to that," Anders admitted that even he probably couldn't pull off that feat, "I sent him a message to meet me tonight at the Chantry. However the templars have got wind of our meeting and I'm worried...that something might happen. Karl's a good man, I don't want to see him get hurt. If you come with me, watch my back for templars, I'll give you the maps. All I want is for everyone involved to walk away free. Sound like a fair deal?"

All three shifted a little uneasily and looked to each other. Anders waited. He'd become very good at waiting over these past years. The girl looked uneasy but the man gave her a quick, reassuring smile and she nodded almost imperceptibly at him.

"Alright you've convinced me," the man said, face determined, "it sounds like you could use the help anyway."

"Thanks, I..." Anders found himself hesitating cautiously; it had been so long since he'd had to use social graces, "I'm Anders by the way."

"So we'd heard," the man said amiably, "everyone calls me Hawke, this is my sister Bethany and that's Varric."

"At your service," the dwarf said with a charming smile.

For which Anders was becoming more and more glad. They left with an arrangement to meet in front of the Chantry in two hours and Anders wandered back into the clinic feeling ten times better than he had that morning. Hawke; Anders rolled the name around in his head idly as he waited in the clinic, using the time to prepare a few basic potions in case they were needed. It was a good, strong name, not his first name Anders was guessing, unless he'd had a particularly cruel mother, probably a surname or a nickname. Anders didn't notice he wasn't paying attention until he poured a whole stamina draught onto the floor while staring into space.

"Balls," he said with a sigh, "focus for goodness sakes, this is no time to let your mind wander."

Karl needed his help. That was enough to sober him from his lustful thoughts about the man he'd only just met. So he'd lied to Hawke, just a little. Karl wasn't the only reason he'd come to Kirkwall but it was still part of the bargain. He needed to make sure he was safe, right now nothing else mattered. No matter how much Karl had tried to distance himself from him since coming here, Anders wouldn't abandon him. He knew how trapped Karl felt, he knew because they'd both fought so hard to be free together, and it had never worked. They were so close this time and yet all Anders had was a bad feeling that something was going to go wrong. He was glad that this man Hawke and his friends would be there. Admittedly they had only just met but still, it was nice to have someone watching his back again.


The air was cold but dry. It chapped his lips and bit at his hands but he ignored it, moving from foot to foot to keep warm. The Chantry stood behind him like a monolith, foreboding under the moonlight, staining the paving stones with its eerie red glow. Anders rubbed his hands together and looked down the stairs before him. He was early, he knew, but it didn't stop him from being impatient. He'd become so antsy trying to kill time at the clinic that he'd decided to set out and wait at the meeting point. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Anders sighed and watched his breath turn milky in the air before him, turning back into the shadows under the doorway.

"Been waiting long?"

Anders wasn't proud of the undignified yelp he let slip as Hawke's deep voice spoke into his ear. It would have been almost funny if he hadn't felt Justice champing at the bit to protect his 'body', forcing Anders to push him back down. He took a deep breath and spun round to glare at the man who, once more, looked a little stunned and, dare he say it, repentant.

"Don't sneak up on me like that!" Anders said, holding his chest, "Maker's breath do you have a death wish or something?"

"Sorry," Hawke scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, "sometimes even I forget how quiet I can be."

"Take this as a reminder," Anders muttered, catching his breath as he looked around, "where are the others?"

"They'll be here in a moment," Hawke said folding his arms and rubbing at the exposed flesh above his gauntlets.

"I wish they'd hurry up," Anders said; just looking at Hawke in that get up was making him alternately hot and cold, it was rather confusing, "it's bloody freezing out here."

The silence was awkward. Anders sighed and hugged himself for warmth, wishing that right now he could recall how he used to start conversations. He'd always been good at it, being charming and breaking the ice with a joke or a lewd innuendo, and people always tended to take to him rather quickly. Maybe it was all that running away from the Circle, he'd had to learn how to create creative lies and distract people from the truth of his being an apostate mage with little to offer other than maybe some healing and a tumble in the sack. Of course that was all before Warden Commander Cousland and the bloody joining. And Justice. Anders swallowed and tried to ignore his own thoughts; he looked up to find Hawke watching him with interest.

"So," Hawke said, not sounding anywhere near as awkward as Anders felt, "you're Ferelden too?"

"I was, yes," Anders said.

"Whereabouts?" Hawke asked.

"Actually I'm from the Anderfels originally," Anders said distractedly, "you?"

"Lothering," Hawke said, his eyes becoming momentarily distant before refocusing, "so Anders, Anderfels. Bit of a coincidence isn't it? Is that your real name?"

"Well you're a quick one aren't you?" Anders replied wryly.

Hawke was saved from having to reply by the arrival of Bethany and Varric. Anders didn't miss the fact that he'd opened his mouth to speak however. He felt a sudden need to know what Hawke was going to say, but Justice beat him to it. The spirit was coiling around in his thoughts quite passively until he began to lose focus on his mission, then he flared up threateningly in the background. Anders swallowed and gripped his staff a little tighter as they entered the Chantry together. Bethany looked a little in awe of the temple around them, all dark red light and smoky incense.

"When we find Karl let me talk to him," Anders said to Hawke as they walked through the hall towards the towering statue of Andraste.

"Don't worry," Hawke said, surprisingly reassuring, "we'll be on the lookout."

Anders could only nod in reply. It was odd, this trust; he hadn't been trusted by anyone so quickly in a long time and his patients didn't count. His patients were desperate people willing to trust anyone to help save themselves or a loved one. This man had no reason to trust him and yet he seemed quite willing to.

The Chantry was deathly quiet at this time of night and their footfalls alone seemed magnified by the silence. Anders nodded to the stairs on the right and Hawke and the others followed. He remembered how Karl had liked to visit the Chantry in the Circle. He said it gave him peace, sitting in the little alcoves off to the sides, reading whatever he'd managed to get his hands on. Anders used to joke that he kept dirty books inside his copies of 'The Makers Children', disguised just so the Clerics wouldn't throw him out. Karl just said that Anders only thought that because that's what Anders would do, and he would laugh and say that Karl knew him so well, because he did. Karl probably knew him better than anyone, other than Justice. They found him exactly where Anders expected him to be, in an alcove away from the main hall, facing the wall, staring down at the desk before him.

"Karl?" Anders said quietly, "Are you alright?"

"I knew you'd come Anders," and from the first words out of his mouth Anders knew that everything was lost, but he wouldn't believe it until he saw it, "I know you too well, I knew you'd never give up."

"What on earth are you talking about?" Anders asked, swallowing down the dread, "we really don't have time for this now, we have to get out of here, quickly!"

"It's too late for that, too late now," Karl said softly as he turned to face them, his movements languid, "The templars, they knew I was too rebellious, that I had to be made an example of."

"Karl no..." he could feel his throat closing up as his friend finally faced them.

"They will help you Anders, they will help you to control this anger inside of you," and there it was, on his forehead, the mark, and everything started to fade away, all reason and right and wrong, "this is the apostate I told you of..."

Anders didn't hear any more. All he could see were Karl's blank eyes, staring at him, and that hideous, red sun emblazoned onto his forehead. Gone, he was gone, he'd lost him. He'd failed him. Flashes of memory jolted into his consciousness; the Circle at Ferelden, Karl's smiling face as they hid in the shadows from the templars giggling like children, scolding him every time he was dragged back by Ser Cullen or one of the others after another failed escape attempt followed by tender kisses that made being caught just that little bit more bearable. And now there was nothing left, Karl had become a puppet dancing a grotesque mimicry of life on templar strings and Anders couldn't cope. He couldn't, didn't want to, please someone tell him this wasn't real. When Justice leapt at the chance while his defences were down Anders didn't even fight it. He fell to his knees and let the sickening sensation of losing himself inside his own body take over, forcing him from control, wresting his own hands from his grasp. He felt his body move without his consent, standing, turning to roar a challenge to the templars gathering behind him, placing himself between them and Karl. The light was blinding, the hate, the rage, the vengeance. Everything slipped away and, for once, Anders was glad for the oblivion that rose up to swallow him.

"You will never take another mage as you have him!"

When he came to it was the same as it always was. There was blood on his hands and he didn't know how it got there. He never understood it, he always cast spells from a distance, he wouldn't know hand to hand combat if it would save his life; but clearly Justice did. Whenever he took over Anders always found bruises from close contact fighting and his staff tended to have a few new notches here and there. Anders looked down as he felt control returning, Justice slinking sated down into his subconscious. He was shaking. He didn't want to see it, it wasn't true.

"Anders, what did you do?" that voice, oh maker Karl, he sounded like Karl again, "It's like you brought a piece of the Fade into this world."

"But I thought the Tranquil were cut off from the Fade completely," Hawke's concerned voice urged him to turn and look to his friend, "how can you still sense it?"

Karl was watching him with a terrible desperation that broke Anders heart. He looked ready to throw himself at Anders, beg him to make that connection come back, even if only for a moment. Karl had always told him he'd rather be dead than Tranquil, and Anders had always fervently agreed. They'd both been witness to what happened when the brand was sealed, the loss of self, the terrible acceptance of everything around you. Yet now here was Karl, looking at him like he was still in there and it was only making it harder.

"When you're made Tranquil you never think on your life before," Karl said lucidly, "you're severed from your dreams of the Fade. But it's as if the Fade is inside Anders, burning like a sun! I can feel it again, oh Maker don't let me lose it! Kill me Anders, please, I'd rather die a mage than live as a templar puppet!"

"Karl you can't...," he couldn't help the words as they escaped, even though he knew he'd promised, his voice strangled and weak, "please don't ask me to do this."

"There's nothing we can do," Bethany's voice, tainted with sorrow and a certain amount of fear.

"Anders it's fading, please, I can't lose it I..." Karl begged, his eyes wild.

"This isn't right," Hawke's voice was dark with anger, his hands clenched at his sides; his eyes were steady when he looked at Anders and spoke, "help him."

Help him. Anders swallowed down the tears and looked back at Karl. Didn't Hawke understand, that's what he'd been trying to do, all he'd ever wanted to do was help? He stepped forwards, the dagger hidden in his white knuckled hand.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Karl asked, his voice oddly calm and childlike as he stared at Anders face.

"I'm sorry Karl," Anders tried to smile, tried to reassure him but he couldn't, not in the face of this, "I'm so sorry."


The trip back to the clinic was silent as the grave. In a way he wished he'd brought the maps with him so he could hand them over and get rid of Hawke and the others but he hadn't thought he would need to. He hadn't dreamed that they would find Karl demeaned into a Tranquil, that he would be forced to kill him, lose him, that everything would go so very, horribly wrong. He'd had a bad feeling but this was beyond anything he could have imagined. Of course now, on top of that, Anders had once more lost control of himself and now his three new companions knew his secret. Justice hadn't made the best impression he was sure, slaying templars left and right and shouting about murdering the entire order in cold blood. Hawke looked a little uncertain whenever he caught Anders' eye and, half way back to the clinic, he asked Varric if he would take Bethany home to Lowtown. Little sister was not happy about that, leaving her brother alone with the abomination, but Hawke told her that it was dangerous enough being out at night but, what with having had a run in with templars, it was even more dangerous out in the open streets. She finally acquiesced, albeit moodily, and she and the dwarf headed right at the turn to Lowtown while Hawke and Anders headed left.

"Watch yourself Hawke," Varric said seriously, just loud enough for Anders to hear.

Anders was sure it was deliberate. They reached the clinic without incident and Anders unlocked the door, letting Hawke in behind him.

"So, this is where you tell me you're an abomination," Hawke's voice, despite its sarcasm, was oddly devoid of the usual malice he found when accused of being a maleficar.

"If only it was that simple," Anders said, propping his staff up against the wall and slumping down into the only chair he owned, "I'd offer you somewhere to sit but..."

"I'd rather you explained," Hawke said, leaning against the wall in front of him, arms crossed.

Explained? Why in the hell did this man care about him? Anders thought angrily. He closed his eyes and found Karl's blank stare emblazoned onto the backs of his eyelids. No, he thought, no this isn't happening. He swallowed down the grief that was threatening to consume him and took a deep breath. Explain. At least it would be a distraction. Yet it was easier said than done. Where did he start? It was such a complicated story and telling the watered down version only made it sound like he was an abomination. Still, Hawke's sister was a mage, perhaps he would be more open to the idea than others. Anders silently hoped that he would be.

"When I was a grey warden in Amarathine," he said slowly; picking up a rag and dipping it in the water William had left him he began to clean the blood from his hands, "I met a spirit who had been trapped outside the Fade, trapped in the mortal body of a dead man."

"Define spirit," Hawke said sternly, "I've heard many things called spirits that I would rather went under a different name."

"He isn't a demon," Anders said, looking up at Hawke sternly, "there are spirits in the Fade that embody our virtues, not just our sins. They were the Maker's first children and he was my...my friend. His name was Justice."

"Was your friend?" Hawke frowned.

"I've...I mean it's," Anders stumbled and tried to steady himself; the stress of everything that had happened was slowly sinking in and this interrogation wasn't helping, "when we merged, I did it to help him. The body he was inhabiting wasn't going to last forever and he would have died, I guess. I offered to share my body with him as a favour, I only wanted to help. He shared my views about the injustice of oppression for mages, about the tyranny of the templars and the fact that the Circle just didn't work. We were going to work together, to bring justice to any child torn away from its mother for the pitiful crime of being born a mage."

Anders stopped and looked down at his hands, still smeared with wisps of red. He took a breath and sat back in the chair, once more meeting Hawke's eyes. The man looked much more relaxed than he had, although not entirely unwary.

"I sense a colossal 'but' coming up," Hawke said with a small smile.

"Yes, well," Anders said tightly, "since this sort of thing doesn't happen very often, in fact I've never heard of it before at all, there was always the chance that it would go wrong. It was my fault, Justice helped me more than I've helped him. I've corrupted him with my hate, the feeling I get when I see any mage oppressed, any templar abusing their position, any boy or girl taken from their family. I can't help it, it just comes out and that's when he takes over...only now when he appears he is not my good friend Justice. He is a force of Vengeance."

And I cannot control him, Anders omitted from finishing. He watched Hawke intently as the man drank in the information. He looked rather blank but he pushed up from the wall and wandered out across the empty clinic, turning back to retrace his steps past Anders' chair. Anders wasn't sure why he felt on tenterhooks waiting for him to say something. He hadn't felt this need for acceptance since, well...

"Well, sounds like I'm not the only one who's had a rough time of it," Hawke said finally, now standing in front of Anders, his hands on his hips, "I'm sorry, that it turned out that way. You sound like you were only trying to do the right thing."

"I..." Anders felt like crying, what with the relief and the stress, but that would have been far too embarrassing; instead he shook his head and looked away, "thank you. You're more understanding than most people would be."

"Well, the Hawke family has spent its life on the run, so to speak," Hawke shrugged a little, "my sister is a mage and so was my father. I guess I'm more sympathetic than your regular pedestrian."

"Yes," Anders managed to smile at that thought, falling back on his charm as a distraction, "the word pedestrian hardly suits you."

Hawke let out a laugh but cut it short, looking elsewhere as he once more scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. A nervous tick, Anders noted. When Hawke once more looked to him his eyes were serious.

"I'm sorry, about your friend," he said genuinely, "that can't have been easy for you."

"Karl was a good man," Anders could hear himself becoming defensive and forcibly stopped it before it could start, "he...he was a good mage. There was no reason to make him Tranquil."

"You'd been friends a long time?" Hawke asked tactfully.

"Yes," Anders nodded, "since we were boys. We were both in the Circle together, in Ferelden. He never entirely approved of my mission in life."

"Which was?" Hawke asked.

"To break the record for the number of attempts to escape the Circle and end up in worse trouble than if I'd never bothered in the first place," Anders said with a smirk, remembering Karl's disapproving stare.

"Why, how many times did you try?" Hawke asked incredulously.

"Seven," Anders shrugged, "the last time was when the Warden Commander found me and it was conscription time for the apostate. Saved my life admittedly, I think the templars had had enough of my runaway status, ready to label me a maleficar and get it over and done with."

"But how did the templars keep finding you?" Hawke asked.

"Incredibly angry," Anders said, warranting another short laugh from Hawke, "I never destroyed my phylactery, I don't know why I thought I would ever be able to stay away long enough to become truly lost to them. Ironically joining the Wardens was the only true way out, and all that did was chain me to another order that doesn't appreciate people who say they aren't entirely happy with the retirement plan and try to duck out early."

Hawke nodded, looking unsure of what to say. Anders dropped his now red stained cloth down into the cup of water and watched it soak through, the red leeching out to tarnish the water.

"So we can both agree we've had the shit end of the stick then?" Anders looked up with a wary smile as Hawke spoke.

"Oh you know, templars, darkspawn, spirits, dragons, demons, what's not to love?" Anders shrugged with a hollow smile.

"All that in one lifetime. So that's where you get your sexy, tortured look then?" Hawke said with a wink.

Anders blinked. That he...hadn't been expecting. Not that it wasn't welcome it was just, well, he was still feeling raw from the nights events. It made him feel even guiltier that he was suddenly entertaining thoughts of Hawke when he'd only just helped Karl end his life. Only just found out that Karl had been taken from him. The templars, the bastards. Anders felt the anger rising once more and tried his best to force the unconcerned and charming side of his personality back to the fore. Justice certainly did not approve.

"It's not often I find a man willing to speak his mind," Anders said, looking Hawke up and down.

"Well I've been told I'm a rare find," Hawke said, trying for levity.

"You were told right I think," Anders said.

"Look, Bethany and mother are probably having kittens by now," Anders had known he would have to leave at some point but couldn't help but feel disappointed, "but I think we should both get ourselves a stiff drink, what do you say?"

"I'll just get the maps...sorry what?" Anders had already started before he realised what Hawke had propositioned, "A drink? At this time of night?"

"Varric has me on his tab at the Hanged Man," Hawke shrugged, looking a little pleased with himself, "so they don't mind if I come around after hours. Well, not so much anyway..."

"That's very kind of you but," Anders tried to think of a reason to say no, "Justice doesn't let me get drunk anymore. I kind of miss it actually."

"Then you can talk and I can drink if you like," Hawke said cheerily, "just...seems like you have a lot on your mind. I'm told I'm a good listener."

"Seems like you're told a lot of things," Anders said with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, apparently I also have a terrible stubborn streak," Hawke said, "I never take no for an answer."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you," Anders said, surprised at how genuine he sounded, "really, but I can't."

Hawke hesitated, as if he wanted to continue. The man was right, he was definitely stupidly stubborn to have persisted this far in the first place, in Anders opinion. Who does this, Anders thought? Hello, I'm an apostate abomination. Oh wonderful, would you like to have drinks later? Was the man mad? Not that Anders had ever been attracted to anyone sane before but that was beside the point.

"I'll get the maps," Anders said, standing and walking to the back of the clinic before Hawke could think of something else witty and charming to weaken his resolve with.

He opened a large chest with a key he kept around his neck and dug around until he felt the small, wooden case he had brought from Amaranthine. All that was inside were the maps, a few letters, the sight of which filled him with dread, and his most cherished possession; the little pillow his mother had knitted him as a boy. It was the only thing the Circle had let him keep. Anders grabbed the maps and locked everything back up.

"Here, as promised," Anders said, handing them to Hawke.

"Thanks," Hawke said, looking a little awkward, "I just wish we could have done more for them."

"You did enough," Anders smiled, "you helped me, more than you know maybe. I appreciate it."

"Well, you know, if you ever need to talk," Hawke said, stubborn to the end, "my family and I are staying in Lowtown with my uncle, Gamlen Amell. If you ask around someone can point you in the right direction."

"I..." Anders felt a little warmer inside, despite the cold numbness that had descended upon him, "I might just do that. You'll be alright getting back?"

"Oh I'm sure I'll be fine," Hawke said as he walked towards the door, "I'm good at going unnoticed when I want to."

Anders waited until the door was fully shut before racing back to the chest and tearing everything back open, hauling the box out and pulling out the letters. He stared at them, not taking in the words, but that didn't matter; he knew them off by heart anyway. Karl was never much of a writer, he preferred practical magic to theory and research, but he'd written to Anders any time they were far enough apart that they couldn't speak, or if Anders was being isolated by the templars after an escape attempt. Anders used to think that Karl just enjoyed the challenge of trying to get his notes past their 'quarantine' in ever more elaborate ways. One time he'd even transformed the letter into a mouse and sent it scurrying through the walls to get to him. Karl never did explain how he'd managed it.

Anders felt the tears before he registered that he was even crying. He wanted rid of them, these reminders of him, reminders that there was one less beautiful thing in his life. He hated losing people, he couldn't stand it. Perhaps because there were so few to lose or maybe because he always felt the guilt was squarely on his shoulders. If he hadn't associated with Karl the man would probably never have been made Tranquil, he would have lived his life trapped in the Circle, yes, but he would have been alive. No, Anders thought angrily, that's no way to live, I gave him hope, I let him see. Anders hated his doubt almost as much as his ultimate feeling of loss. He placed the letters down on the ground, his shaking fingertips barely touching them, and summoned a small flame which fell greedily onto the pages. He watched the dry paper catch, curling, black, words disappearing beneath licking flames.

"Goodbye Karl," Anders said, his voice rough; he wiped his face even as the tears continued to fall, "I'll never forget you my friend."