Part IV: First Enchanter
In the Tower's gardens, the Passing Party was in full swing. Enchanters with talent in Fire and Lightning cast into the air, with dramatic flourishes of their staves. Fireballs of red, gold and green exploded; lightning trees of silver, blue and purple arced across the starry sky over the Liberator's statue. Apprentices whose specialties resembled the firework-mages tended to the barbeque: stroking slow-burning fire over roasts, or flash-broiling skewers with lightning.
Magelights twinkled like multihued fireflies in every tree and bush. Drinks were chilled and decorated with frost-feathers by Enchanter Levyn, and music and chatter filled the air. Hawke descended the front steps, and approached the festive crowd.
"Congratulations," he inclined his head at Solona Amell and her brother Daylen.
"Thank you, First Enchanter!" they echoed in unison, holding up their new staves.
Anders was nearby, a glass goblet of something amber and celebratory in hand, surrounded by a gaggle of teenaged apprentices - all far too attractive for Hawke's liking - admiring Anders' new staff. Anders was shamelessly revelling in being the centre of attention, grin bright and eyes vivid, hair and earring gleaming golden in the firelight. "... and to you," Anders pointed at Weaselby, a gangly youth whose face immediately went almost as red as his hair, "I leave my treasured notes. May you always know which knob of your staff is up, and may you keep it up high and proud and longer than ever." He leaned in and added in a stage whisper almost as loud as his former announcement, "Speaking of proud, I'm particularly proud of my modification to the Grease spell. May it help smooth your way into many tight spots and help you keep those..." Anders dropped the stage whisper and raised his goblet, "...BOTTOMS UP!" He drained it and the circle of apprentices around him cheered and followed suit.
"Ahem," Senior Enchanter Petra patted Anders' shoulder. "I'm sure they've had plenty of your influence already, Anders." Hawke blinked. It might've been a trick of the firelight, but he could've sworn Petra was blushing - not as badly as Weaselby, but then, who did?
"Of course they have! And to you, our honored Senior Enchanter," Anders rounded on her with a leer, "We all give our utmost respect and gratitude, for keeping us all on a really tight leash and making us remember our virtues fondlely. Whoever would we do without you?"
The flock of grinning apprentices nodded along and gave Petra their best admiring stares.
"Oh, stop that, you rowdy lot," she hmphed, reaching out with a stern glare and scruffing Anders' hair.
Anders beamed impishly at her, then his blue gaze drifted past her, and just for a second rested on Hawke. Though his grin didn't waver, the new arch of one eyebrow changed it into a challenge.
Far from being disconcerted, the tacit challenge energised Hawke. He'd been rising to far more deadly challenges for longer than Anders had been around - well, this time anyway. With the aplomb of a man with a decade's experience as First Enchanter, he sauntered over to the dais at the base of the statue. As he faced the crowd, the buzz of conversation faded, and an expectant near-silence took its place.
"Good evening, everyone! I hope you're all having a good time." He nodded in acknowledgement of the already-slightly tipsy cheers, then added, "Let's welcome the stars of tonight's festivities. Please join me in congratulating our newest mages: Entropy Mage Solona Amell and Arcane Mage Daylen Amell." Hawke paused as they stepped up onto the dais beside him, then waited for the applause to die down. "And join me in bidding them the fondest of farewells, since they've both already been offered positions in the Denerim court."
The twins stood shoulder to shoulder surrounded by magelights. The ruddy glow of the various fires, the multicolored sparks of magelight, lent some color even to Solona's face, dramatically pale above her elegant black robes. Daylen's sleeveless robes showcased his arms, muscled from long practice at wielding sword as well as staff in combat. Their shared facial tattoos shadowed their eyesockets in dark ink, highlighted their cheekbones like those of a skull. Many years ago, before the Revolution, their tattoos and robes and staves would have been suicidal, would have had the templars at their throats at once; but now their appearance was merely striking. If anything, it was an advertisement of the rare contributions they as mages could make, to Denerim's court, to any society. Looking at them, Hawke felt a sudden, glowing sense of pride in what he'd accomplished in less than twenty years.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Anders raise his goblet to the twins.
No, Hawke realised, what he felt wasn't pride at what he'd accomplished, but what they'd accomplished. Without Anders' knowledge of the Deep Roads, Hawke knew he would most likely still be a small-time crook in Gamlen's Lowtown hovel. And even after that, without Anders' cause, Hawke would have gone on his own merry way, with no higher goal in life than maybe someday becoming Viscount of Kirkwall - if he managed to keep his magical talent a secret - while in the Gallows, in the Circles all over Thedas, the brutality would have gone on as it had done for a thousand years: mages would have continued to lose their liberty, their minds, their lives.
That sobering realisation tempered Hawke's pride, restored his focus to where it belonged, all along: to the mages in his care. "We wish them both all the best in their lives beyond the Circle."
The cheering peaked as Daylen waved energetically, and Solona smiled. Then they left the dais, and the applause faded. In the silence, Hawke continued. "Congratulations also to Mage Anders, who chose to take his Test early, and without special preparation." Instead of hurrying up to join Hawke on the well-lit dais as the Amells had done, Anders stayed where he was, looking up rather coolly at Hawke. Hawke took it in his stride, continuing to address the crowd. "In light of the short notice, I acted as Guardian for his first Fadewalk, and I can personally verify that here," he held out his hand, and magelights began to fall out of the nearest trees like glimmering snow, until Anders' current standpoint was almost as well lit as the dais, "we have our first Spirit Healer in many years!" At this announcement, a buzz of gossip arose and lingered, which took a calming wave of Hawke's hand to quiet. "I have no doubt that the Fade and its Spirits will bow to your will, whatever path you choose."
Hawke left the conclusion as an open-ended question to Anders, a question that he did not expect answered at that moment, so it was a surprise when Anders immediately rose up to the challenge.
"Wellll," Anders drawled, tilting his head in a pantomime of thought before smiling winningly at the gathering, "I can't say it doesn't sound tempting to follow Solona and Daylen into the wide, wild world..." Anders grinned at the Amells and waggled his eyebrows shamelessly at their answering laughter. "...to taste mages' hard-won freedom for myself, and push back its limitations wherever I might find them." Here he met Hawke's gaze directly; the light glinted in his pale blue eyes, making his expression unreadable. For Hawke time seemed to stretch strangely, as his stare intensified with his longing to discover the thoughts behind that bright blue gaze. Though it was really only a moment before Anders added, "but with this new bond, I suppose I still have a thing or two to learn from our Circle."
It took all Hawke's experience as a General not to let his knees go visibly weak with relief. The slight nod Anders gave him, no more than a courtesy between equals, was as clear as any manifesto. All hadn't been forgiven yet; but for now, Anders was willing to give him a chance.
They're leaving tomorrow! That's in just... eight hours' time! Anders thought, sitting on Solona's old bed, out of the way of packed bags and chests. Oh, what am I doing staying here? I already miss them, and they haven't even left yet! He sighed and clutched Daylen's skin of brandy to himself for comfort.
He sniffed, and then a sob rose up to stick in his throat, which meant it was time to swallow it back down along with more brandy. Anders took one long fiery gulp, which felt like trying to swallow Daylen's sword (and not the fun one). He coughed and snuck an arm around Solona in her bloody gorgeous silk robes that so unfairly covered up her curves which Anders' hands itched to liberate from such a sad and cruel fate; robes were so unfair and downright criminal and nobody deserved to be imprisoned by their evil hold less than Solona.
Anders sighed. "I'm keeping your wineskin," he told Daylen. "It deserves to be filled from the Spoiled Princess' stores and how're you going to do that all the way from Denerim?"
"Oh, come here!" Daylen grinned widely and stepped forward, pulling Anders into a bearhug. "You ought to be asking for much more than the brandy to remember us by and you know it!" His bright eyes in ink-tinted shadow met Anders' and then he leaned forward to place a kiss against Anders' lips. "We both know you know it. Right, sis?"
"Mmm," Solona purred, taking over the hug from her brother. Her gentle hands with long fingernails gave Anders' bare chest a comforting scratch. "He's been acting odd ever since the Test. You haven't surrendered yourself over to the Spirit of Chastity, have you, dear? I'd rather see you in thrall of a Desire Demon, than caging yourself to a pious, proper deity for a lifetime. You might as well bend over at Andraste's altar and take the Chantry vows up your-"
"Void, no!" Anders laugh-winced. "Definitely not Chastity! My spirit likes his freedom as much as I do."
"Just as well!" Solona smirked.
"You're telling me!" Anders reached gamely for his usual cheerful mask. "If I'd bonded with Chastity, well..." Anders' eyes widened in a parody of innocent shock, "That would've been a right cockup! Well, no. More like the opposite of a cockup. Cockdown? Anyway. A Bloody Disaster! Why, without ME," he declared, waving expansively with one hand and reaching down and adjusting himself teasingly with the other hand, "most of the women around here and a lot the men would chuck themselves off the tower out of sheer sexual frustration! It'd be RAINING MAGES!" He grinned triumphantly and by way of demonstration, toppled backward like a felled tree, flopping onto the rumpled bed, his fall bouncing a couple of clothing-stuffed sacks onto the floor.
They joined in his laughter, pelting him with pillows by way of revenge for his ridiculousness.
Daylen plopped down to sit beside him, back propped against the wall. "Sooo..." he nudged Anders with an elbow. "What's this spirit of yours like, besides freedom?"
"Well, I s'pose he likes me," Anders shrugged to Daylen. "He stuck around for this long already."
"That's to be expected," Daylen interrupted. "Who doesn't like you? You're -"
"Charming!" Anders and Daylen finished together. Both broke into laughter at the old joke.
"But what is it?" Solona pressed, fixing him with a stare that was suddenly needle-sharp. "This spirit of yours? The one that chose you? Or did you choose it?"
Anders frowned, deep in thought. Trust Solona to ask the really hard... difficult questions. "We chose each other," he replied slowly, feeling his way among the truths he couldn't share, to the ones he could. "It feels like a lifetime ago." He looked up, meeting first Solona's intent stare, then Daylen's amiable regard, and explained things as simply as he could. "He's Justice."
That surprised them both. "Interesting," Solona drawled, but the word was a mere placeholder; the wheels of her mind were turning almost audibly despite the late hour and the alcohol. Daylen's reaction was simpler, more accepting: a snort of gentle amusement, a companionable nudge of one brawny arm, warm against Anders' side. "Never picked you for the crusading type."
Anders replied with a soft huff, but couldn't quite bring himself to smile. "S'pose we've all gotta grow up sometime." Then, to stave off the gloom that hung about those words, he sat up and elbowed Daylen. "Like you two. Bodyguard to the King himself, eh? Bit of a step up in the world." He turned his grin to Solona, "And you'll be doing double duty, I hear? Taking care of the Queen's insomnia when you're not Court Investigator. And Queen Anora's asking for all sorts of expert help, getting that University of hers off the ground. Just don't take over the University library completely, eh?" He winked at Solona and gave her a particularly cheeky grin, just to break her composed mask and make her laugh.
As usual, Daylen laughed first. Then Solona's laughter echoed.
Anders sprawled between them on the bed and tried not to think too hard. His thoughts swam anyway, a whirlwind of them in his mind, like the whirlpool of remaining brandy still sloshing in the wineskin. So confusing... Before the Test, the Amells were his closest friends in the Circle. He was used to thinking of them as the best friends he'd ever known. But now, his new memories, his old life, had suddenly complicated a comparison that had always been so simple before. Before Solona and Daylen, in a different life, Karl had been a friend every bit as dear to Anders' heart. Friendship will all of them had come with additional copious benefits that brightened the day and warmed the night.
Part of Anders - mostly the parts below the waist - would have liked to just fall back into his former habits, pull Solona and Daylen both down onto the bed with him and let simple, mindless pleasure liberate him, just for a while, from worrying about the morning.
But then, there was Hawke. And Hawke complicated things. A lot. As always.
Anders' cock still perked up, lifting its head and hoping for a farewell fuck: maybe the last one he'd get in a long while.
But Anders' mind overrode his insistent cock with rare ease: certain that Anders loved Garrett Hawke, and that he'd never loved anyone else.
Anders sighed and took another drink. Just his luck that Garrett - the sexy bloodyminded bastard too fond of shoving Anders into gilded cages - seemed just as off-limits as he was in the bad old days a week ago, when all he'd been to Anders was 'First Enchanter Hawke'.
"No mage I know has ever dared to fall in love," Anders had told Garrett twice, and what's more, he'd meant it, both times. "This is the rule I will most cherish breaking." That wasn't just his usual charm and flattery; those words were true, the truest words in Anders' life, in both his lives. The love he felt for Hawke, then and now, was like nothing else he'd ever felt. It was strong and deep and real, and it was the best feeling he knew, so incredibly perfect it was worth going without a fuck, even a lovely comfortable companionable farewell fuck with dear friends. It was worth waiting a lifetime in loneliness.
Now that he thought of it, it was sort of like waiting for a White Knight to find Anders in his darkest nightmares, and offer all his strength to rescue Anders from them. How ironic was it that the bond with Justice and the Cause was the most permanent thing in Anders' life. The templars had trained Anders not to hope for a family, not to commit to a lover who could only ever have been a temporary reprieve, so what was the use? But then, there was Hawke, the only one who had held Anders' attention for years, who had inspired Anders to utter those words of love and mean them. Hawke who had picked up Anders' Cause, when his guilt and grief had made it impossible for him to go on, and who had made it a reality.
Anders surfaced from his contemplation, to find both Solona and Daylen looking down at him, fondness and resignation in two pairs of tattoo-shadowed eyes. He summoned a bright smile, just for them. "I was just thinking about how bloody selfish I've been. Not sharing the brandy." He held up the wineskin and shook it by way of explanation. "Help me finish this off tonight..."
Daylen beamed. "Now that's our Anders!"
Solona gave her twin a conspiratorial smile. "Just so."
Between the three of them, the wineskin was drained in no time. Anders remembered things in flashes: his eyes were wet and his nose reacquainting itself with the cushiony warmth of Solona's comforting cleavage as well as Daylen's thickly muscled chest. They fell asleep on the bed, sprawled together like a pile of kittens, still in their celebration finery and with their door unlocked. And if Petra found them in the morning and griped at Anders for getting the Amells drunk again on the eve of another important day, well Anders really couldn't've given a nug's arse.
There's time. For the first time in all the long years since that hideous day in the Gallows, Hawke felt hope - not impersonal hope for the mages, for the Cause - but hope for his own future. Hope for him. For them. For the first time since the day his world had ended, Hawke had a future of his own. Because they had a future. He and Anders. His Anders.
Hawke closed the door to his private quarters, shrugged off his heavy outer robes, and set his trusted staff on the rack by the wall. The tower windows were clear, showing the stars in the night sky twinkling down in the deep inky blue. It was as if Kinloch Hold's Tower was an open hand, thrusting high into the skies and holding Hawke up in its palm.
A miniature fireball lit the bedside candle, another stoked the embers in the fireplace. A light brush of telekinesis opened the windows, letting in a soft breath of cool night breeze, airing out the dusty rooms, rustling the sheets of parchment at the bedside table. The candle flickered, bathing the room in soft orange light, casting the dark shadow from Hawke to the open window. Hawke sauntered over to lean against the windowframe, looking out at the gardens far below. The cooking hearths that had been lit in the gardens for the Passing Party weren't quite extinguished: their coals were barely visible, distant sparks. In the deep gulf of the night, their golden flicker was as fragile and beautiful as hope, lingering in the darkness. Keeping the shadows at bay, until the coming of the dawn.
Anders is staying. As Hawke looked down at those distant gleams, a rare smile dawned, slim and shy and very slightly stiff, as if his facial muscles had forgotten the habit. He could've finished his training anywhere. Any Circle in Thedas would be honored to host a Spirit Healer. But he chose to stay. Here. In my Circle. With me.
The smile lingered like the coals as Hawke turned away from the window. As he settled into his solitary bed, he looked up at the two staves hanging over his headboard. He'd kept both of them through the most difficult times in his life, when he'd fled Kirkwall with little more than the robes on his back. Both staves had been wielded by Anders. Together they bookended the man he'd known. The first one, Anders had dubbed Freedom's Call: it was a leather-wrapped length of red steel topped by a silver dragon head. It was apt for spirit damage, and Hawke would never forget the otherworldly grace with which Anders had whirled that staff, leveling it at him in warning, to hold his party at bay, lest anyone threaten the clinic. The second staff was even more familiar: a heirloom from Hawke's father Malcolm, it was layered with memories even older than his first meeting with Anders. He'd handed it to Anders shortly after he gave him the key to the Amell estate; ironically, Anders' magical style had suited the sculpted length of Aurum far better than Hawke's own fierce, Force-driven magic, which yearned to pour through a bladed staff which could slice and stab like a spear in close melee fighting.
He'd always thought of it as a staff of rebellion; for longer than he'd been alive, it had helped his father stay one step ahead of the templars. He'd been more right about that staff than he knew: Anders had wielded that very staff on the terrible day when everything had come to an end.
He'd watched, heart in his throat, as Anders brought that staff deliberately down, its heel ringing on the unforgiving stones of the Gallows courtyard, once, twice, thrice: each strike as fateful as the tolling of a great, golden gong. Marking the end to a millennium of heinous injustice.
Marking the end of the life that had given Hawke's own life meaning.
Hawke drew a breath that shuddered in his chest. Even now, all these years later, even after the miracle that had returned hope to his life, the memory of that day still lay heavy and hot under his breastbone, still tightened his throat like a hangman's noose.
Sighing, he drew back the covers and stretched out on his solitary bed. He rolled onto his side and his gaze came to rest on the familiar sight of the stack of books that for years had served him as a bedside table.
The pile of books was in turn topped by a stack of manuscripts: Anders' manifesto. By now, he'd memorised every word on those worn parchment pages: deciphered every letter scribbled in passionate haste, scrawled by his beloved in the yellow flicker of the library's candles or the red glow of the bedroom's hearth or the lyrium-blue blaze of Justice.
Every book, every page was bathed now in the pearl-gentle glow of preservation spells: Barrier and Immunity runes shone as faint, as steadfast as the stars. He'd kept these mementoes of Anders for decades; he'd intended to cling to them forever, as his only link to the love he'd lost.
Now they weren't his only link, not anymore. He smiled at them, and for once, for once, it wasn't a sad smile, full of longing and loss, grief and regret.
Now, it was a smile of hope.
As he settled into the bed that had been his alone for far too long, he felt warm, truly warm, warm all the way through his muscles, all the way down to his bones, for the very first time since the day when everything had ended.
And better still, it wasn't the sad echo of remembering the warmth he'd lost. It was the warmth of anticipation: not yet the knowledge, but already more than just hope, of Anders returning to his bed; as if he'd never left it.
Just as he'd never left Hawke's heart.
It was ironic, wanting to ask a Fade spirit relationship advice, but now that the Twins were on their way to Denerim, Justice was the only one Anders could really talk to, the only one who would really understand what 'Freedom' meant. What 'Unfair!' meant. What 'Sacrifice' meant. What Hawke meant to Anders, and what they meant to each other. And Justice - unswayed by random glimpses of skin or memories of cock, even Hawke's gorgeous cock - had a far calmer head (either head) than Anders.
Anders wanted to seek Justice out at once, but he'd forced himself to wait at least a day, wary of taking too much lyrium over too short a time. While he was waiting he'd occupied his time in the library, among the few volumes (all dusty and almost-never-touched) that dealt with bonds with Fade spirits. There, he'd been lucky enough to find a method to contact one's spirit while dreaming. The book said that the hardest part would be for his dreaming self to remember that he wanted to talk to Justice. Once he'd remembered that, then apparently following the bond they shared through the Fade was simple.
Worth a try, Anders thought as he checked the book out, took it with him to bed that night.
And it had worked like a charm. The Fade was as weird and misty and irrational as ever, but in the midst of all that miasma, Justice shone like a beacon, drawing Anders to him as surely as steel draws a magnet.
"Maker's blue balls, are you a sight for sore eyes!" Anders beamed.
Justice huffed dryly and shook his head at Anders. He still hadn't replaced the helm that Anders had removed when they'd bonded; it was reassuring to Anders to see his own expression of ironic amusement on the spirit's face. "It's good that you're not using lyrium as a crutch anymore, but you'll still need a great deal of practice." Justice declared. "You took far too long to find me. In sleep you should be able to come to me at once."
"Hey! This is the first time I've even tried it!" Anders cried. "Finding you in this place is nothing like having you right there inside my head! I should get credit for being a fast learner!"
Justice only tsked. "To be truly effective, you'll have to enter trance instantly, even awake, even in battle, and find me at once! Every second we're apart, when you need my help in combat, could be the difference between life and death."
Anders plopped down to sit on mottled dry earth, propping his chin on his fists and his elbows on his knees, and settling down to brood. "Believe it or not," he grumbled, "I didn't actually come here to discuss combat strategy."
Justice looked down, raising both eyebrows at him. He stood there for a bit, thinking it over, watching Anders all the while, then eased himself down with various metallic clinks and clanks, to sit by Anders' side. "Then why did you come?" he inquired, in quieter tones.
Anders smiled sadly and leaned sideways, resting against Justice's side, just like Pounce would lean against him. He even felt like purring. It just felt so nice, not to be alone anymore. "I just…" he sighed, "…needed a friend to talk to."
A bit more metallic clinking, quiet and almost musical, and an arm draped lightly around Anders' shoulders, drawing him in to lean a bit closer as Justice shifted to accept his weight. Around them, the misty landscape of the Fade blurred briefly. Anders blinked and found himself looking out on the Fade's version of Lake Calenhad, the water gleaming a blue brighter than the fog-yellow sky, in which the Black City was a distant blot, no more threatening than a single puff of cloud. He curled fingers and toes in sand as white as sugar, and smiled. "Thanks."
The smile drained away from Anders' face, as fast as the powdery grains trickled through his fingers. He watched his fingertips tracing aimless patterns in the sand, unable to look at his old friend. "I don't know what to do about Hawke," he confessed tonelessly. "It's all so… so different now." He gripped a handful of sand, squeezed. "He's the bloody First Enchanter!" Anders cried abruptly, throwing the handful away in a frustrated flail. "It wasn't his business to go after you, but that's not how he saw it, oh no. I'm just a jumped-up apprentice to him! A kid that needs protecting from himself! From you!"
Justice's voice was patient. "You are a mage," he declared with quiet certainty. "Has he not acknowledged this?"
"Yeah…" Anders felt his pout shift to a more pensive expression: Justice's question brought back a clear memory of Hawke's speech. It would've been so very easy for the First Enchanter to say something arrogant and certain, something about how proud his Circle was that Anders was staying to finish his training. Something that would have assumed, presumed, tried to take the choice out of Anders' hands. But he didn't say that. Anders thought slowly. He did leave it up to me.
"He did. Acknowledge it." Anders admitted. He'd learned early on that you had to be just to reason with Justice. "But I… I miss him, and I want him so bad I can hardly think straight, but I can't bring myself to talk to him yet. Because…" He swallowed. "Because there's too much at stake. Yeah, he conceded when he made that speech at the Passing Party, but what if he's just too used to being First Enchanter and General Hawke and in charge! Of everything, including me! I love him, I always will, but I just can't have anyone ruling me! Not even him! I can't live like that!" He sighed and turned his head, pressing his forehead against a softly glowing breastplate and squeezing his eyelids shut. "So, when we finally talk next, I'll need him to show me that the speech wasn't a fluke! I need to know for sure that he really does understand just what he did wrong, and that he's not going to do it again! So I… I haven't gone to him. I miss him so much it hurts, but I'm not going to see him right now! Because I want to give him as much time as possible, to think about it and get it right. I can't stand the thought of living without him. But I can't bear the thought of living as his toyboy."
Justice drew his axe, and a few bright glowing swings cut down the shadows that had lengthened around Anders as he'd spoken. "And if he does do it again?"
"Then he's not the same man I've always known. We've always been equals. Always! I can't let him blind himself into risking his life unnecessarily, out of some stubborn wish to protect me from things I don't need protecting from, without even talking to me first! And if he thinks I'm going to put up for long with being disregarded and caged, then he's forgotten who I am."
Justice tilted his head. "You're so afraid of being caged by him, yet you stayed."
"Because he didn't assume I would. Because he publicly left it up to me. And just as well he did, too," Anders pouted defensively, "I was this close to following the Twins to Denerim."
"I see."
"I don't know what to do! It's like he's forgotten how to really trust and confide in someone. Maker knows I don't want to leave, but he is the First Enchanter here. Can he ever see me as anything but an overgrown apprentice, if I'm still studying under him in his Tower?"
Wait! He is the First Enchanter. Anders blinked, blindsided by the thought. Who's he had to trust and confide in? As realisation dawned, chills raced down his spine. He wrapped his arms around his knees and shuddered, leaning harder into the steady support of Justice's side. Did he have anyone? What if he's been all alone? For all those years? Decades! Ever since I died. Suddenly it seemed all too achingly likely.
"I just found him, just found myself again, and now losing him would be like losing both!" Anders lifted his fingers to his face in an instinctive gesture to send a burst of healing energy through his temples. "But how am I supposed to tell him that? Wouldn't that sound like, I don't know, like blackmail? 'Treat me like I want, or I'm going?' I can't just walk up there to his office and say that. That wouldn't be fair."
Justice shifted a little; Anders looked, and saw eyes bright with spirit energy gazing steadily into his own. "'Fair' to yourself," Justice asked quietly, "or 'fair' to him?"
"To both of us."
"That is something that only the two of you, together, can decide."
Anders stretched his legs out in front of him, heels kicking long furrows in the lakeshore's sand. "I suppose you're right," he sighed and clambered to his feet.
"I'd hope I have some small insights into matters of justice," the spirit agreed in dryly amused tones, as he too rose to his feet, moving with far more grace than should be possible in heavy plate.
Anders smiled at him; "Thanks," he said, and meant it. "Well then," he stretched the kinks out of his back after so long hunched over, "Now that that's out of the way, I s'pose I'd better get a bit of practice at finding you, while I'm here."
"Fair enough." Justice nodded, then in the next instant he was gone.
Anders closed his eyes, shutting out the Fade's shifting landscape. His head and body turned this way and that as he focused on his link to his old friend. Which direction felt fairer, more just? Right, left, before, behind… up or down? He followed his instincts, blurring through dreamscapes with the speed of thought, until he knew he was where he needed to be. Or more precisely, with the one he needed to be with. He opened his eyes and saw a familiar shining figure. "Caught you."
Anders thought he caught a glint of pride in Justice's answering smile. "Good." Then the aggravating git vanished, leaving only an echo that whispered. "Again. Faster this time!"
Anders laughed and went after him.
