The door creaked opened, too quietly to be a templar or guard, and Anders didn't look up from his patient. The boy coughed and wheezed as Anders stood over him. This should have been simple and had been, four years ago. He had charmed spirits as easily as he charmed everyone else. They had been happy to touch the mortal world with their virtue by knitting a broken bone together or easing the pain of childbirth. The spirits no longer came so easily to his call. Perhaps they sensed what he had done to Justice and what Justice had done to him. Perhaps anyone fused with a spirit would have trouble. Or maybe, just maybe, spirits of things like compassion and mercy didn't like it when you almost murdered innocent girls. That was possible, too.
"Trouble?" Rowena asked softly. "Do you want me to take over?"
Anders spared her a glance. Exhaustion made her cheeks seem hollow and the powders she used on her lips and eyes were absent. Just as they had been this morning and the morning before that. "I'll manage."
She made a harsh noise in the back of her throat. "My mother died, Anders. That doesn't mean that I'm made of glass." Then, more gently, "I need to do something. Let me help."
He had never been able to say no to her. "If you could grind up the elfroot…Boy's got chokedamp." He gave up on the spirits and summoned his own effort instead. The boy's breathing eased. His lungs still suffered from the scarring caused by the foul mist that polluted the slums. It was all he could do.
He allowed himself to watch Rowena work. That was one of the few pleasures Justice still permitted him. She wasn't graceful. More like…efficient. There was no wasted movement as she poured the dried leaves into the pestle. Always so certain in the way she spoke and in the way she moved. And of course she was beautiful. It hadn't been that long ago that that was all he would've noticed about her. Another woman to get into bed before the Circle found him again. His condition forced him to appreciate other things. Maybe that was something to be grateful for. Rowena was here in the slums, helping him. She could make Fenris see reason, if only until the next time he saw something that compelled him to rant about the dangers of all mages everywhere. Wealthy, powerful, and had never so much as dabbled in blood magic. She was what this city needed to see because she was everything a mage should be.
Justice rose up within him, all ice and lightning. She is a distraction. If she cared about the plight of her people, she wouldn't smile and do the viscount's bidding while her brothers and sisters are enslaved. You allow her to wrap you in silk sheets. Mages need action, not her.
She put a warm, hard hand on his shoulder. "Justice again?" She managed a smile, but it was the false, practiced smile she used when the nobles came to dinner. "At least you're not glowing."
His smile was just as false. Perhaps lying to each other was part of love. "He's a grouch. Doesn't approve of anything I do." He passed a hand over his coat. "I used to wear the most stylish robes in the Circle. Came all the way from Tevinter. Justice thought they were too wasteful. So now I dress in the robes even beggars won't take." He plucked the elfroot powder from the table and spread it on the boy's chest.
Rowena watched him. "And he doesn't like me. Doesn't think I do enough for mages or for anyone else." This smile was a little less false. "I flatter myself that I know you, Anders. And that means knowing Justice." The light went out of her eyes as quickly as it appeared. "He's right. I don't do enough. For anyone."
The confession hung between them. He was supposed to say something. The work part of a relationship—as opposed to the steaming up the sheets part—was still way too new to him. Varric would say just the right thing, and throw in a story about griffons to sweeten the pot. Anders, master of eloquence that he was, said, "That's not true."
"You're very sweet. And a horrible liar." She sank into a filthy chair, heedless of the damage to her fine clothes. "The Hero of Ferelden saved the world from darkspawn inside of a year. I can't even save my own mother or do anything about the fact that most of the refugees are still starving. All the magic and money in the world and I still can't change anything."
You changed me. Brought a little of the light and charm back into my life. But that wasn't what she needed to hear right now. She envied the man who could practically reshape Thedas with a snap of his fingers, but Duran had known that man. "Duran was a bastard. He burned Amaranthine to the ground. He didn't have to. We'd make sure Vigil's Keep was strong enough. He got the Circle annulled. Even the children." Anders stepped around to cup her cheek. "If that's the price of doing something, I don't want to pay it."
He brushed his lips against hers gently. She didn't respond. Maybe she didn't believe him. Maybe he didn't believe himself.
Justice bristled. And that's how you excuse passivity while others languish under the yoke of oppression? You coddle her with tales. And still men like Alrik rape and rob mages of their minds without provocation. Aeducan was a monster, but he was willing to make sweeping changes.
Sweeping changes? Oh, they'd been sweeping. So sweeping that the rumors were that the nobles were still plotting rebellion and Amaranthine still hadn't been properly rebuilt. Hawke was the one who threw sovereigns in the donation box while still a refugee herself. The Arl of Redcliffe's son was dead while Feynriel was alive. And she had never almost murdered a mage while trying to lead her to freedom. Sweeping changes left only rubble.
Suddenly he knew exactly what to say to her. "Do more, then. Show those papers we found on Alrik to the knight-captain. Tell Dumar that the city guard needs to do its bloody job instead of making you track down every murderer in this city. Keep helping me here. That's how we'll win freedom, love. The long, slow, boring way." The way that would let him stay in control. Her way. And he would help her however he could.
See? I'm acting. Now, be quiet.
He felt Justice recede. And other things surged forward. Mercy, love, hope. All the things Justice had driven out. He could summon them now. He was Anders: lover of cats, clothes, and beautiful women. He would not fall again. "Things will get better. I promise."
And for the next three years, they did.