A/N: I just had to get some Anders off my chest. I just love the idea of him having unfinished business with the Warden... :)
Edit: Run along to my Tumblr, abrupt-left-turn dot tumblr dot com, for a copy of Anders' letter :D
Bioware owns the nouns, but the adjectives are mine :D
~In the Spirit of Understanding~
Anders was sitting in his clinic, and staring at the wall.
Yet another slow day. Hawke had been pouring money into helping Fereldans, giving them jobs in the Bone Pit or through one of her many contacts, buying them land, sending regular ships to take them home. He appreciated what she was trying to do, really he did.
It was just that they didn't seem to really need him any more.
It had been weeks since Justice had made an appearance, and since Hawke had been taking a lot more "legitimate" jobs lately, he hadn't left Darktown in just as long.
He'd cleaned the clinic spotless - twice. He'd managed to attract three regular feline visitors (named Fluffy, Ser Wuggums and Beatrice), finished his manifesto, and read through all those lovely books she'd bought him in the Black Emporium. The mage had even bought everyone's Satinalia presents a month in advance.
Now, he had nothing to do.
Well...
There was something.
Which was why he was sitting here - at his little desk in the back of the building - with a quill one hand, perched over a perfectly blank sheet of paper, staring at the wall.
You must write her. Justice intoned. It is unfair of you not to.
Anders snorted.
"You just want me to get around to sending her that letter from you."
I may have a few choice words I'd like to pass along.
"Well, not until I've finished mine."
This was met by a stony internal silence. Mildly pleased with himself - Anders was rarely able to shut Justice up when he started talking - the mage pressed quill to paper.
Dear Alainka,
No, scratch that.
Alainka,
No, needed to be more formal.
Warden Commander,
That was too formal.
Commander,
Yes, that felt right. Commander,Anders mused.
"Commander."
It had been a long, long time since he'd said that word aloud. It felt good - familiar - like a little piece of home. A memory rocked him suddenly, from back in the 'good ole days' - that short period of time when his life had made sense.
"So, what should I call you?" he quipped, grinning, at the elf before him. She was stocky for one of her race. Very short, of course, but with well-muscled limbs and broad shoulders. Her light brown hair was pulled into an intricate braid on the back of her head. She was bent over a letter, painstakingly writing it out in Common.
She had been Dalish, once, if her tattoos were any indication - so this must be very difficult for her.
"What?" she replied in her slightly accented voice, looking up at him irritatedly. She always seemed to be irritated. She very rarely let her guard down. Anders knew from the stories that she had, during the blight, been quite rowdy and open, but he had a feeling that that had ended badly for her.
"I wanted to know what I should call you." he repeated, still smiling beatifically.
"My name is Alainka." she replied, deadpan.
"Yes, I know, but what should I call you? Your rank is Warden Commander, isn't it?"
"Yes," she replied, green eyes narrowing in the suspicion that he was simply having her on, "I don't see why that should matter."
"Well, we humans are awfully concerned with rank. I'm wondering if I should call you Warden Commander."
"No." she glared, obviously displeased.
Maker, she was cute when she was angry.
"How about Warden?"
"No, I had enough of that during the Blight. It took me ages just to convince Alistair to stop, even when we -" here she cut off, swallowing a lump in her throat and avoiding his gaze.
Ah, so that was it. King Alistair and the Hero of Ferelden.
Well, we can't have an Elf on the throne, can we? Anders thought in disgust. People would really jump at any chance to discriminate against someone, no matter what she'd done for them.
"How about Wardy?" he jumped back in, hoping to re-lighten the mood. "Or I could call you Warlainka. Like Warden and Alainka - get it?"
She glared at him helplessly, then shot a pleading look at Seneschal Varel, who coughed gently to hide his laughter.
"Warden Commanders are usually referred to as 'Commander', my Lady."
Alainka sighed, but Anders was all smiles.
"Commander. Yes, I think I like that." he grinned, earning himself another fiery glare.
"Get out of my rooms, you idiot shem." she growled, and he began backing away from her, towards the door.
"Yes, Commander!" he smiled, saluting for a half-second before spinning his way into the corridor beyond the suite, skillfully dodging an ink bottle that shattered against the wall just past his ear, splattering him in ink.
Hurry up.
Ah, Justice. Always ruining peaceful flashbacks.
"I'm getting there, I'm getting there." Anders grumbled, refocusing on the present. He stared at the letter, running his free hand through his hair. It tumbled down around his eyes and he pushed it back into place again.
He tapped the quill against the table, thinking hard. What to say after six years of silence? He'd practically disappeared into the marsh, leaving nothing behind, not even a note. He knew he'd broken her heart - again. For all the mage could guess, she probably hated him.
"She'll probably just throw the thing in the fire as soon as she realizes who it's from." he grumbled, chewing on the nib of the quill.
Or, she'll gather an army and march on Kirkwall to destroy the Circle herself.
"Grey Wardens don't get involved in political matters, you know that."
She was never one for rules.
"Why do I get the feeling that that's what you always liked about her?"
Her transgressions were usually just.
"Oh, of course- she was just."
I am a spirit of Justice.
"Get out of my head!"
You invited me.
"Excuses!"
"Eh- excuse me? Mister mage, Ser?"
Anders spun around on the stool, blinking stupidly at the wide-eyed little boy who stood before him.
"M-my mother..." the child seemed lost for words. Anders groaned internally. How long had he been standing there, listening to the mage argue with himself?
At least my half of that conversation was silent.
"I'm not sure if that's a good or a bad thing."
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing! Nothing, young Ser." Anders smiled, hoping he wasn't too obviously hiding something. There was an uncomfortable silence before the mage realized that the poor boy had probably come to pick up medicine for someone. His mother, perhaps?
"You're the Parrinson boy, right?"
"Yes, Ser." the child replied, wringing his little hands. Anders reached into a drawer in his desk, withdrawing a small sack and placing it in the boy's faltering fingers.
"There you go, then." he said, but the boy didn't move. There was a long, uneasy pause.
"Well, kid? What do you want?" Anders asked, wishing the boy would go away.
"Who are you writing a letter to?" the kid mumbled, curiosity obviously overcoming nerves, "Is it the same person you were talking to?"
Anders groaned internally. He'd obviously been there for a while.
"I'm writing to a friend, and no it's not the same person."
"Oh, okay." the boy replied.
Another long stretch of silence.
"Is the person you were talking to invisible?" the boy asked, seeming to relax somewhat.
"N- no - just- ahg." Anders sighed, "Look, if I tell you, you have to promise never to tell anyone."
The boy nodded energetically. Anders mentally resigned himself for disaster.
"Okay, it goes like this: I had... a friend. His name was Justice. He was - is - a spirit of the fade."
"What, a demon?" the little boy exclaimed, taking a step back.
"No! No, there are other things in the fade than demons."
"Oh, that's alright then." the kid said, his expression clearing as he approached Anders again.
"I'm glad you approve," the mage said, with no small amount of irony, and continued. "Justice is a spirit of... well, of justice. Through an... accident, he ended up here, in Thedas, inhabiting - er, living in - the body of a dead man."
The boy nodded in rapt attention.
"But the dead body began to, well, decay - fall apart - which dead bodies are apt to do. So, Justice needed a new place to live, and I let him share with me."
"Why didn't he just go back to the fade?" the kid asked, cocking his head to the side.
"Well, the problem is that we don't know how he got here in the first place. So, we don't know how to send him back."
The boy nodded, seeming to understand.
"As for who I was writing to... well, she's a friend of Justice and I. We haven't spoken in a while."
"That's why it was taking you so long?"
"Yes. It's hard to pick up a conversation that's been six years stagnant." Anders sighed, kneading his temples. "Now, will you leave?"
"I s'pose," the boy replied, a thoughtful expression on his small face, "but it seems t' me I could be of some help."
"What?" Anders asked, completely nonplussed.
"Y'see, my sis was a scribe - she took down letters tha' the nobles dictated to her - an' she taught me everything she knew about letter writing a'fore the sickness got her on the ship from Ferelden."
The kid looked so earnest, so desirous of helping, that Anders couldn't really bring himself to refuse.
"Alright, kid, what's your name?"
"Understanding, Ser."
"That's an odd name." the mage remarked in mild surprise. He felt a vague stirring in his mind, as though Justice were startled.
"Yes, Ser, it is. I dunno why my ma named me tha', but she did. My friends call me Stand."
"Alright then, Stand, let's see what you can do."
The boy padded up next to Anders, and he was just tall enough to see over the desk.
"Is Commander her name, Ser?" he asked, taking the quill and turning his wide eyes up to the mage. Anders noticed with a start that they were an awfully funny green-blue color. Very calming, somehow.
"That's what I call her." he replied, feeling ever so slightly dazed.
"Well, then, you're off to a good start." Stand smiled, dipping the quill in ink and then handing it back to the mage. "Since it's been so long, maybe you should start by saying sorry." he said very seriously.
"Saying sorry?"
"Yes." the boy said firmly, "You are sorry that you haven't written, aren't you?"
"Well -yes, I suppose." Anders replied, slightly bewildered.
"Then say so!" Stand ordered, nudging the mage's hand. Anders quickly scribbled down something appropriate, then looked back over at the kid.
"What next?" he asked.
"You should probably explain why it's taken you so long t' write her."
"Like what?"
"Well, what've you been doing for th' last six years?" the little boy asked, as though it were obvious.
"I've been... helping refugees." Anders replied.
And running around with the Champion of Kirkwall.
"Oh, Right."
"Was that Justice?"
"Yes, he very intelligently noted that I've also been working with the Champion."
"You should tell her that, then." Stand nodded, prodding Anders' arm again. The mage took a moment to write, feeling suddenly much better about the whole thing. He felt like getting up a bit of momentum on this project might make it slightly more bearable.
"Okay, there. What now?"
"Does she know about Justice?"
"Erm..." Anders felt suddenly very uncomfortable under the kid's piercing gaze, "No... not really."
"You should tell her about Justice."
"Alright."
The rest of the letter went very smoothly. Stand really did seem to know what he was doing, and it was finished a very short time later. The only real conflict came at the end. Anders wanted to sign off with something that was as almost-formal as the opening, but the little boy was determined to get him to end the letter with something more personal.
"Look, I am not signing 'love'!" Anders cried, for the fifth or sixth time. He felt bad raising his voice at the kid, but he really was pushing.
"Do you want her t' forgive you?" Stand asked patiently, his steady, calm gaze unmoved from Anders' eyes.
"Yes, of course I do!"
"Then you have t' show her you still care!"
"But that's so... what if she doesn't care? I'll look like an idiot!"
"You do love her, don't you?"
"I- I- I just-"
"Well?"
"Yes! I do - er - I did. Once. A very long time ago!" Anders shouted, throwing his hands up in the air. There! He'd said it! He'd never admitted it to anyone, but while Karl was his first man, the Warden was still the closest thing to real romance he'd ever had.
And it had ended so badly. For both of them.
Can't have a revolutionary apostate mage for a lover, can you? Not when you're Warden Commander, even if he is one of the Grey.
Especially when he has slight... abominable tendencies.
That's right. That's me. Abominable Anders! They'll tell horror stories to their children about me.
And me.
"Oh, don't even start. This is your fault, you know."
I don't recall being the one to cast the spell.
"Shut up!" Anders bellowed. The child stared at him, wide eyed. The mage felt trapped, frightened, like an animal.
"She would have left me." he moaned, staring at the unfinished letter, "She would have left me."
"But she didn't, did she?" Stand asked in a gentle tone, putting a little hand on Anders' arm. "You left her first."
There was a long, drawn out silence.
"All right. I'll put 'Love'."
"And don't forget to put that I helped."
"What?"
"It's only fair. I think Justice would agree."
I do.
"Oh, fine. There - done. I'll send it with the next ship going to Amaranthine."
"Good!" the little boy grinned, then put the little medicine sack on the table. "I'll just be off home, then."
He began walking out of the clinic, and Anders called after him.
"Wait! Stand - what if I need... help again? With more letters?"
"Oh, I'll help, if you like." the boy answered brightly.
"How can I get ahold of you?"
"Don't worry, Ser." Stand smiled, "I'll know if you need me."
Anders didn't know what to say to that.
The boy had nearly gotten to the doors of the clinic when he turned and shouted back to the mage.
"Oh, and Anders?"
"What?"
"Don't worry about th' talking in your head!"
"Why not?"
"It happens to me, too!" and, with another sweet smile, Stand left the clinic and shut the doors behind him.
Anders sat in his chair, staring blankly at where the boy had disappeared.
"Justice?" he muttered, after a long while.
Yes?
"What was he?"
I'm afraid that I am as confused as you.
"Do you think he was really a spirit of understanding?"
If he was, he'd be more powerful and much, much older than I am. I've never seen one before.
"Well, I don't think he was the Parrinson boy."
I'd agree.
"He left the medicine."
I noticed when you noticed.
Another long pause.
"I... I don't recall telling him my name."
You didn't.
"I think I'm going to mail this now."
Good idea.
The mage turned and stared at the parchment, focusing on the last couple of lines.
...I hope you and Nate and Sigrun and Oghren and everyone are doing well.
love,
Anders
(with help from Stand)