The next day they packed up and left earlier than usual. Anders had slept far away from everyone else and moved around with a decidedly stoic expression, betrayed only by his quick glances at Margaret whenever the opportunity arose. She pretended not to notice.

As they moved off Isabela muttered something under her breath and pulled out a wine sack, taking a long draught for herself before passing it to Varric.

They were now in an area comprised mostly of fertile grasslands and sporadic forest that stretched onwards to Hercinia itself. The day was refreshingly warm and golden fingers of sunlight splashed across the verdant earth. Merril looked around at it all approvingly, humming softly under her breath, lulling the party from a state of quiet unease to one of almost peace as they drifted along. They all grew so relaxed, in fact, that they never noticed the bandits shadowing them until one misjudged arrow landed with a sudden thwack against the ground, only inches from Margaret's feet. She sprung around at once, immediately feeling magic welling up inside her, but Fenris was already moving, sword in hand as he streaked dangerously across the grass to where a small group of men in bedraggled leather waited.

There had been a time when Margaret had pitied the bandits and other law-breakers that lingered in the wild lands of the Free Marches and Ferelden, but no longer. Without a second thought she raised her staff, sending out a vicious bolt of energy that slammed one man in the chest, knocking him to the ground. He struggled to rise, but Fenris was too fast- before he even realised it, a glittering sword descended through the air, catching him in the abdomen. The man let out a yowl of pain as his fellows- five in all- began to close in around the elf. Two more suddenly fell to the ground- one with a dagger protruding from his back, the other, a crossbow bolt. The three that remained dropped their weapons and stepped away. 'Please!' one of them gasped, realizing they were utterly outmatched.

Margaret approached them, magic still crackling at the end of her staff, drowning out the sound of birdsong leaking from the surrounding trees. She reached out and tipped his back the helmet of the one that spoke, revealing the weary, bloated face of a man lined with wrinkles and pale stubble. 'Why should I spare you?' she asked quietly, looking down at him. 'So you can go and kill others who are more defenceless than we?'

'I swear,' the man whispered fervently, his eyes flickering from side to side and his forehead beading with sweat. 'I swear I won't do it again. I promise. I'll… I'll become a farmer.'

Varric scoffed somewhere in the background. 'And I suppose the Andraste will come flying naked through Lowtown when you do, throwing out sacks of gold as she goes.'

Margaret stared into the man's panicked face a moment longer, before pulling a dagger from her belt and pulling it across his throat with a shiver of disgust. The other two bandits leapt back and began to run, but Isabela appeared from nowhere, striking them both down with two precise blows to the spine. She smiled up at Margaret as they dropped to the ground. 'Nothing like a bit of banditry to keep you going, is there? Personally, I prefer pirates. At least they know how to fight better than these louts- it's almost too easy.'

Margaret lowered her staff and said, 'Is it strange that this makes me feel kind of normal?'

Varric chuckled and swung Bianca over his back. 'Hawke, look at us- I don't think being "normal" was ever on offer.'

That night after they made camp Margaret lay on her bedroll a long while, her hands folded delicately over her stomach. There had been no outward changes to her physique yet, but through her magic she could feel a new pulsating form of life hidden beneath her skin. Never having been pregnant before, she could not tell if it all was as it should be- if the steady stream of energy reaching through her was normal. Merril wandered past her, keeping watch with Fenris. The sight of the black-haired elf triggered something within Margaret.

'Merril,' she whispered, sitting up.

Merril turned around and came over. 'Hello, Hawke.'

'Would you do something for me?'

'Of course I will. Well, I mean, that depends what it is. Not that I don't want to help with whatever it is you want.' Merril stopped herself and let out a small squeak of laughter. 'Sorry.'

Margaret's heart began to race as she spoke. 'Could you tell me if my baby is tainted?'

'Oh.' A worried look passed over Merril's face. 'I've never had to do that before. I don't know if I can, Hawke. I've… felt the Blight before, when it touched our clan-but I don't know if I can find it in a baby. Maybe you should talk to Anders.'

Margaret looked over her shoulder. Anders was lying on the other side of the camp, distant from everyone else. He was entirely motionless except for the restless, silent drumming of his fingers upon the ground. The sight sent a jolt through Margaret- whether it was of pain or pity, she could not tell, and she quickly looked away. 'Please, Merril.' She reached out for her friend's hand. 'I need to know.'

Merril bit her lip and knelt down beside Margaret. 'Alright,' she whispered. 'Lie down. But I'm not promising anything.'

Margaret immediately fell onto her back and took several deep breaths, willing herself to relax. Merril's cold hands suddenly pressed themselves against her abdomen and the faint hum that comes only with magic shivered in the air. Energy flowed out from the elf- a strange, sweeping sensation that seemed to hover delicately over Margaret's stomach. For some minutes she lay still, waiting- but Merril did not speak.

'What is it?' she asked at last, dreading the answer.

Merril shook her head, perplexed. 'I don't know. I've never… I've never felt anything like this before, Hawke. There's something…' She trailed off and pulled her hands away. 'I don't know what this means.'

Cold fear made its way up Margaret's spine. 'Is it the Blight?'

'I don't know,' Merril repeated. 'I think you need to find someone who knows more about this.' She smiled weakly and placed her hand on Margaret's arm. 'I'm sure there'll be someone who can help you in Hercinia. Plenty of mages will be there- one of them has to know.'

'What did you find, Merril?' Margaret sat up and looked the elf in the eye. 'Please tell me.'

'I already have,' Merril replied sadly. 'I'm sorry, Hawke. I just don't know. I truly don't.' After a moment she stood up and whispered, 'You should probably get some sleep. We have a long way to go tomorrow.'

The next three days passed relatively calmly. Several times Anders had approached Margaret, the same wounded look in his eyes, and each time she had found some way to busy herself, hurriedly turning away from him before he had the chance to speak. He still avoided the others, and when they made camp would sometimes wander away for hours at a time. One night Isabela left to find him and came back looking shaken and worried. She made her way straight to Margaret, who was rummaging through her rucksack, the depths of it illuminated by the small ball of flame sheltered by her hand. It was a full moon and the stars were shining listlessly in the sky, devoid of their usual cheery sparkle.

'Hawke.' Isabela knelt beside her. 'I think there's something really wrong with Anders.'

Margaret stiffened, but did not turn. 'What do you mean?' she asked cautiously, moving aside her journal in favour of her only other pair of socks.

Isabela coughed awkwardly and lowered her voice. 'I think he's gone crazy. Like, really crazy. As in lost his mind crazy.' She paused before continuing. 'Love and feelings and all those things aren't really my strong point- but I think you've punished him enough.'

Margaret looked at her, socks in hand. 'Punished him?' she asked, frowning. 'I never meant to punish him, I just-'

Isabela held up a hand, stopping Margaret mid-sentence. 'He wasn't exactly normal before, you know. I don't think he can tell the difference between punishment and… whatever it is you're doing. This is the last time you'll ever hear me hand out advice; but you need to speak to him now. I'm sort of worried he might kill us all in our sleep or something.'

'What exactly did you see, Isabela?'

The pirate squinted and bit her lip. 'He was walking around in a clearing,' she said uneasily, 'muttering to himself. It was like I was only hearing one half of the conversation. Like there was someone else there, but I couldn't see anything. I think he was talking to Justice, because he just turned around and his eyes were all blue and scary, and then he… threw some fire at a tree.'

'Justice came out? Without any sort of trigger?' Margaret felt her jaw drop in shock and she jumped to her feet. 'Don't tell anyone where I've gone. If I'm not back in half an hour, come and find me.'

Isabela nodded. 'The clearing was to the west. Only a few minutes from camp- you won't miss it.'

Margaret picked up her staff. They were passing through a forest now, having left much of the agrarian plains behind them as they moved further inland. She entered the trees with no small trepidation, keeping them at bay with her staff as she half-walked, half-ran to the clearing that Isabela had described.

Margaret found it soon enough. The first thing she saw was Anders sitting on the ground, his knees drawn up to his chest and his face buried between them, hidden by his arm. He was breathing heavily- at first Margaret thought he was sobbing- but no sounds emerged. She could sense the magic surrounding him, potent even from where she stood, hidden in the brush, and felt a flicker of alarm. She watched him for some time, but he did not move from his position. The only thing that indicated he was even alive at all and not some kind of morose statue was his deep, even breaths.

At last, she stepped forward.

'Anders?' Her voice drifted across the clearing, splintering the silence.

Anders jolted and looked up at her, his eyes wide with panic. 'What are you doing here? No! Don't come any closer.' He stood up and began to back away, like a startled animal. 'I've hurt you enough already. Please, stay away!'

Margaret stared at him boldly and slowly lowered her staff to the ground. 'You won't harm me,' she said with quiet confidence.

'I already have,' Anders said helplessly, still moving away from her. 'I can't do it again, Margaret. Don't make me.' He whispered this last part, staring at her imploringly across the space that separated them.

But Margaret ignored him and kept moving steadily forward. All her pity and hesitation seemed to have, for the moment, vanished- she was no longer angry, just overcome with a huge tide of worry at the sight of terror she seemed to inspire in the man she loved. 'What's going on, Anders?' she asked, her throat constricting. 'Isabela said she saw you- she said she saw Justice.'

A shudder suddenly ripped through Anders and he grasped his head as though in great pain, nearly doubling over. Margaret ran forward and caught him just as he staggered, his weight pulling them both to the ground. In the moonlight she could see veins throbbing on his neck, and the red flush of his skin. 'I'm trying,' he gasped hoarsely. 'But I can't control him. I thought we were one, but he-he's still there. Vengeance.'

For a moment a blinding blue glow emanated from his body and sparks ran through the air. Margaret flinched, blinded at the sudden display of light, but it was gone as it quickly as it had appeared. Anders moaned and swayed back and forth- Margaret could hear him chanting under his breath, 'no, no, no, no, no, no, no!'

'Anders!' Without a second thought she reached for him and pulled his hands away. 'Look at me, Anders! Look at me right now!'

He raised his eyes slowly to hers, burning and half-mad. He mouthed her name.

She held his face gently, running her thumbs across his cheeks. 'Anders.' She said his name again, loudly and clearly, before slowly leaning in and pressing her lips to his forehead.

They stayed that way for a few minutes longer until Anders fell still and eventually pulled away, looking wan and exhausted. 'I didn't think something like this could happen,' he murmured, turning his palms over in his lap and staring down at them as though they might hold answers. His voice was raspy, but steady. He sounded as though he had just been strangled. 'After what happened- the explosion… It's like he's been trying to take control of me.'

Margaret saw his haggard, beaten expression and felt a rush of anger. 'We won't let him,' she promised fiercely.

'How can you say that after what I've done to you?'

She smiled thinly. 'Because I love you, no matter what.'