Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I've tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of fate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.

- "Fire and Ice," Robert Frost

Part I

We know about Anders. What about Justice? Does he not get involved? Or perhaps he thinks you're too good of a person and isn't willing to smite you. That would be a shame, wouldn't it? - Isabela

He is the Fade.

Raising his arms, Justice sees gauntlets covering strong hands instead of the delicate fingers of a healer. He hears the clank and feels the weight of heavy armor instead of the rustling of fabric. He rolls his shoulders, annoyed how the armor makes him uncomfortable. There was a time, back in Amaranthine, when he wore this armor like a second skin. Anders, with his feathered pauldrons and his linen jacket has made him soft.

Made him weak.

But those are thoughts for another time. For now he must find the Champion, he must find Hawke.

For years, ever since she brought Anders into the Fade to help Feynriel, they have met here. While Anders sleeps, wanting no part of the Fade for himself, Justice takes the time to roam. Most nights, he simply wanders, letting the atmosphere seep into his skin, rejuvenating the mana Anders rations so carefully.

But some nights, seemingly more often than not these days, he searches for Hawke. Some night he isn't able to find her. Most nights, he can. Justice is attuned to her energy here in the Fade, the physical relationship she shares with Anders leaving an impression on him as well. Once he finds her, then it is a simple matter of deciding whether to speak.

Some nights, he does not, choosing to observe, to learn more about the Champion who is so tied up in their cause and their lives. But most nights, he does.

The first time he found her, he used Anders' form, thinking she would appreciate the familiar. She did not. Several weeks passed before he found her again, only a few nights after she and Anders became lovers. Since then, he appears as Kristoff, which seems to please her. He does not dwell on why her praise at such a small gesture matters so much to him.

Justice closes his eyes and lets his essence drift outward, searching, reaching, hunting. Precious seconds pass, and he senses her presence.

Taking a breath he does not need, Justice breaks into a jog. Anders has placed him in a crude replica of the Fereldren Circle, but it doesn't take long before Justice steps out the front door, a freedom his host was never allowed. And if the Templars had their way, no mage would ever have permission leave their cage. Once he is outside, he feels heat and hears the sudden snap of fire.

Behind him, the Ferelden Circle burns.

He wonders in what form he'll find Hawke. If he times this right, he can catch her between dreams, which is his preference, when she is just herself in the Fade and they converse of all manner of things. But he's not too proud to admit that he enjoys watching her dreams as well.

She has several that she returns to, over and over. He savors the ones when she is a child, with red, wavy hair streaming down her back while she plays with her brother and sister. The innocence she displays during those dreams reminds him why he fights, why they fight. So other mage children might have the same childhood she had.

Another one he prefers is when she sits at her spinning wheel in Lothering, crafting thread or yarn. She told Anders she had been an apprentice to a spinner once, and there was nothing more enjoyable to her than the act of creating. In these dreams, she simply sits and spins, and Justice will find himself getting lost in the beauty of the repetitive movement. These dreams do not happen often, only when she is bone-weary and exhausted, and her mind does not have the strength to craft more elaborate tales.

Then there are the dreams where she and Anders are in bed, sometimes in the middle of the act of lovemaking, sometimes just after. At first, Justice would disappear in the recess of Anders' mind when they made love, furious Anders would allow himself to be distracted from their cause. It took time, but eventually Justice realized Hawke is a necessary distraction; the nights with her eases Anders' stress and sharpens his focus.

Only in the Fade, where Justice does not share Anders' mind, can he admit the nights now peak his curiosity. Kristoff's memories still linger, and Justice can remember being with Aura. And only a week ago, when Hawke and Anders both drank a glass of wine, and Justice, fresh from the triumph of recovering enough Drakestone for the explosives, bade Anders to ask her if he might kiss her.

Hawke, her cheeks flush from the wine and the question, surprised them both and agreed.

Neither he nor Hawke have brought up the kiss in their conversations in the Fade since. Justice thinks about it a great deal, how tentative the kiss was at first, but then deepened, until he finally pushed Hawke against the wall and simply took. Afterward, Anders - in control once more - led Hawke to bedroom, his fingertips brands and with every touch, marked her as his - as theirs. Justice observed it all and wondered how much longer it would be before he wanted more than a simple kiss.

But Justice cannot let memories and possibilities distract him, not now, not when so much is at stake.

He picks up his pace, feeling the pull of her energy. She is nearby. The Fade around him changes and he walks into a replica of the Hawke manor, but not the bedroom. The main hall is brighter, more cheerful, than Justice has seen it. A cackling fire roars in the hearth. He hears a child laugh and he wonders if Hawke is tired and mixing up her dreams. A girl, no more than six, with long red wavy hair runs down the stairs, seems to confirm it.

But then Anders walks in from the library and picks the girl up, revealing eyes of gold instead of green.

The sight staggers Justice back, and adrenaline courses through him.

Betrayal.

Hawke is only dreaming and he knows this, but he cannot help but feel deceived. They had spoken about the possibility only once, about a week after Anders started spending the night, when she asked, her voice almost shy, about birth control. Anders took her by the hand and explained how the taint made him virtually sterile. Even now, Justice can remember the one brief moment of grief and despair on Hawke's face before smiling against Anders' lips, saying it would be one less thing to worry about.

Anders and Justice believed her.

And there she is now, watching Anders with the little girl so intently, with such naked longing on her face, that Justice feels he has been kicked in the gut. They would do anything for Hawke, he and Anders. They are getting ready to tear down the entirety of Thedas so she can be free. So Knight-Commander Meredith can never again threaten her with the Circle.

So why this? Why would she dream of the one thing she knows they cannot give her?

Even without the taint, Justice himself would never allow it, not until all mages are free. Not until they could raise a child without fear of the Templars. For years now, Justice has made sure Anders never drinks more than one lager or one glass of wine at a time, he could certainly force an abstinence as well.

"Hawke."

He is taking a risk, breaking the illusion of her dream, but he has no time. Justice says her name carefully, not allowing any of his anger to bleed through his voice. He will make sure she and Anders discuss this dream later, but first, there are far more important things to do.

She meets his eyes, guilt apparent on her face. But the dream does not dissipate as it should. Anders disappears, but the little girl remains, the smile on her face sharp and terrifying.

"What have you done, Hawke?" Justice asks, hearing the outrage in his voice. Hawke is better than this. She is the ideal. She is tempted over and over by demons but never once has she succumbed. He searches her face, demanding an explanation and then he realizes.

Hawke is exhausted.

Her eyes, with far more shadows underneath them than he remembers, close, and she slumps against the wall. "I didn't promise anything," Hawke whispers. "I swear." She takes a breath and squares her shoulders, looking directly at the child. This time her voice is strong and sure. The voice of a Champion. His champion. "I've seen enough, demon, and want no part of this. Be gone."

Before them, the child transforms into a desire demon. "But they were so happy together," the demon says, her lips forming a dainty pout. "He wants to be the father of your children. Would you deny him that?"

His fingers curl into fists and Justice thinks how often Anders dwells on the conversation about birth control, his thoughts always tinged with sadness and regret. Justice knows the demon is right, Anders does want this, but it is a fantasy, a dream.

A desire.

"Leave this place, demon," Justice orders. "There is nothing for you here."

The demon transforms again, this time into the shape of Anders. "I don't think so," the demon says, using Anders voice. Justice sees fire dance at Hawke's fingertips and prepares himself. She is staffless, but by no means defenseless. And he carries a sword and shield, like the one he used in Amaranthine. They will defeat this demon together if need be.

Hawke takes a step away as the demon reaches out his arms. "I've been neglecting you, sweetheart," Anders' form say, sincerity piercing every word. "I've realized I was wrong. You're right, of course. Nothing is more important than love."

"If only that were true," Hawke says, her voice quiet. Without warning, Hawke throws out her hands, releasing a Winter's Blast. The demon freezes into place, giving Justice time to draw his sword and shield. As the spell wears out - quickly, for Hawke does not have a staff - Anders transforms back into the desire demon's true form.

Before Justice has a chance to strike, the demon casts Spell Shield, ensuring Hawke's spells will not be nearly as effective against her. But Justice knows that Hawke is smart and able to switch tactics with ease and is not surprised one bit when he feels an Arcane Shield envelop him.

"Foul sorceress!" Justice taunts as he bashes the demon with his shield. He has the demon's full attention now and takes the opportunity to let the magic of this place surround him, to slither into his soul, until he has the Blessing of the Fade himself. His reflexes quicken, his attacks sharpen and with Hawke at his back, protecting him with Boons and well-applied Hexes, he knows they cannot fail.

Even so, the fight ends more quickly than he expects, the desire demon dead at his feet.

Justice turns to face Hawke, to accuse her, to censure her, to blame her, for even talking to a demon, but she rubs her eyes with the heels of her palms and says, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'm tired and scared—"

"That is not an excuse—"

Hawke's eyes flash and she takes a step closer to him. They are only a heartbeat away from each other and she is furious. Her eyes are lit and her cheeks red and she has never been more beautiful than she is right now, with her frenzied gaze piercing his soul. For just a moment, he is tempted to lay everything out before her, and tell her the true reason of the Drakestone and the Sela Petrae and discover her reaction.

Her hands ball up into fists and she pounds his chest piece once. "Where is he?" she asks. Her voice is of the Champion, demanding to be obeyed without question.

He relishes her anger, her vengeance, and it reminds him why he has sought her out tonight in the first place.

"Hawke," he says, grabbing her wrists with his hands. They stare at each other and Justice wonders how he ever, years ago, thought her simply as a tool to be used. She is his Champion and he will tear down Thedas brick by brick to make this world safe for her; he will rain down retribution on anyone who dare hurt her. But first…

"We need your help."