Author's Note: Takes place in the same universe as "Mistakes", after Act 3.

The ship plowed across the sea, bow cutting through the waves that seemed to be getting rougher. Fenris looked up from his spot against the starboard railing, watching as the burning city slowly got further away. Hawke and Merrill were a few feet to his right, the human with his arms wrapped protectively around the Dalish. Around them were Isabella's crew and the mages they'd managed to rescue all trying to keep busy. Isabella was at the wheel, Varric chatting with her about something. Aveline and Donnic were on the other side of the ship, deep in a conversation that no one seemed willing to interrupt. The Elf sighed heavily, standing up straight and looking at Hawke. "Bethany and Nathaniel are talking to him," the other warrior said with barely a glance in his direction. Ah yes, the Wardens who had come when they'd heard how unstable Kirkwall was becoming. They'd helped against the Templars and Meredith after…

"Venhedis," he sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose.

"Fenris, you really should speak with him," Merrill softly pleaded. "I think you're the only one who understands him."

"Understand?" he asked in disbelief, staring at her. "You think I understand why he did that? He hid that from all of us!"

"With good reason," Hawke replied with a shrug. "I'm not even sure I would have completely gone along with his plan. Blowing up the Templar quarters, fine. The Chantry?" Hawke sighed and shook his head. "It caught us all off-guard, Fenris."

"But you and he did not share a bed, or discuss your past as extensively as we did. I thought he trusted me."

"He's the only one who can answer that," Merrill reminded him. The former slave hung his head and headed for the hold, where all the younger mages were being kept so they wouldn't get in the way. The interior of the ship was dark, feebly lit by lanterns every so often so people wouldn't trip over each other or various supplies. The children all stopped talking as he walked past them, and he could see their wide eyes as his markings flared slightly in response to the magick he could feel. Finally he heard arguing coming from a back storeroom, and stood listening at the slightly open door.

"…were you thinking? Did you honestly believe that was a wise choice?"

"I don't know!" Anders yelled back. "But something needed to be done."

"You started a war, Anders," Bethany shot back. "Innocent people died."

"You think I don't know that? You think I came to this decision lightly?"

"Then why, Anders?" Nathaniel demanded. "Tell me why you did this, and I'll leave it alone." Fenris held his breath as he edged closer, now getting a good view of the cramped room: Anders was backed into a corner, anger and guilt clear on his face. Nathaniel was in front of him, arms rigid at his sides. Bethany was behind him, one hand on the older man's shoulder.

"You wouldn't understand," the healer finally whispered.

"Damnit mage, tell me!" the dark-haired man roared, grabbing a handful of Anders' shirt and bringing their faces inches apart. Fenris felt every instinct he had tell him to burst in and stop this, but he forced his body to remain still.

"Nathaniel, please calm down!" Bethany pleaded, her grip tightening slightly.

"No, I need answers. I didn't get a reason to why he left Amaranthine, or why he was in Kirkwall. But Andraste as my witness, I will know why he blew up the Chantry!"

"For the Maker's sake, Nate-"

"Don't." That one word was spoken with so much venom that Bethany took a step back, and Anders closed his mouth and swallowed nervously. The archer let his former comrade go, but not before slamming him into the wall. "Once we get to Amaranthine, I want you gone. I won't have the Wardens of Ferelden pulled into a war."

"I never meant-"

"Save it. You're no longer the man I knew. Maybe you never were who I thought you were, but that doesn't matter any more. Bethany, we are done here." The two Wardens walked out of the room, and Fenris stepped back to let them pass. Bethany turned and motioned with her head towards the room.

"My brother wrote to me about what happened. But Maker help me, Fenris, I still don't understand his reasons."

"None of us do," he replied after a moment.

"I'm sorry." Then she was gone, and Fenris turned his eyes to the room. He pushed open the door and stared at the man within. Anders had slid down the wall, and was sitting his knees against his chest, resting his head on his arms. He looked up and blinked, then closed his eyes.

"Why?" the Elf asked, voice softer than he wanted it.

"I don't have a reason that makes sense, Fenris."

"Any reason would be better than this." Anders opened his eyes and slowly stood.

"Because it had to stop. Meredith was making things infinitely more oppressive in Kirkwall, and there are other people who are even worse than she is. And everyone needed to stop pretending that the Circles were the right way to go."

"So you declared war on a city, forced Hawke to choose between peace and chaos, and then expected both him and I to kill you?" Fenris shouted the last part, glaring at the mage, who nodded.

"Why didn't you?" The whispered question caught the Elf off-guard, and he stood there with his mouth hanging open for a moment. Then he hauled the healer up by his shirt, a low growl escaping him.

"You thought I would be heartless enough to shove a blade between the ribs of the man I care about? You think Hawke would be able to stab someone he calls "brother" in the back? I don't know what that Spirit has been whispering to you, mage, but you better learn to shut him up." Anders was staring at him, fighting back both anger and tears. For Fenris to call him "mage" again hurt him on a level he couldn't describe.

"I'm sorry," he finally managed to get out past the lump in his throat.

"I trusted you; we all did. When you figure out what your next step will be, come find me. Until then, I will be helping this ship reach a safe port, now that you have made Kirkwall impossible for us to return to." Fenris stalked out of the room, and Anders once more slid down the wall, head in his hands.

'Every revolution has a price. Every war its martyrs,' Justice spoke up.

"But I don't want to be a martyr anymore. And if this war costs me the family I found… Will it be worth it?"

'Yes.' But the healer shook his head, listening as the ship creaked and the waves lapped at the sides. He closed his eyes and let the tears slip down his cheeks.

"I'm not so certain, Justice."