A/N: This one takes place sometime during Act III. Post-Legacy, so contains spoilers for the Legacy DLC.

I always wondered whether a romanced Anders would ever get around to explaining just why getting romantically involved with a Grey Warden is a heartbreak waiting to happen. ;_;

A classic case I suppose
A haunted man who can't outrun his ghosts
They're in my skin and my bones

- City and Colour

4. Like My Fate

They were whispering to him in the darkness. He could hear their voices, but he couldn't see them. It was thick and black and airless. It was impossible to see, but he knew something was stalking him. Whispers, whispers … on all sides of him. And whatever was following him was getting nearer. The whispers were getting louder, turning into snarls and shrieks. He was running, but he couldn't tell if he was moving. He felt warm breath settle on the back of his neck, and there was one second of complete, crippling panic before he was jolted out of sleep.

He had thought he was done with these nightmares. The Blight had ended years ago with the Archdemon's death. The Architect and the Mother had fallen to the Warden-Commander months later, and the darkspawn had reportedly fled. And so he had expected the nightmares to stop. Instead, they had only changed: the dragon no longer haunted his dreams, but he could still feel the other creatures watching him, waiting for a moment of vulnerability so they could strike. The terror he would normally feel in such a situation was magnified tenfold by the surreal qualities of the dream.

There had been longer gaps between nightmares, for which he supposed he should be grateful. He seemed to be most susceptible after long, stressful days, and the past few days had been exactly that. After a few too many attacks from Carta dwarves, Theia had finally requested that Varric figure out who was trying to kill her. The search intensified after a letter from Bethany brought news that she too had been a target of the Carta. Varric had then quickly traced the criminals to the Vimmark Mountains, and the ancient Grey Warden prison that wasn't supposed to exist. It had almost been like a holiday, getting out of Kirkwall… except for the dwarves and Wardens crying for 'the blood of the Hawke' so they could release some age-old darkspawn. Of course.

As they had ventured further into the Deep Roads, the voices from his dreams had actually penetrated his waking mind. He'd never experienced anything like it. Whispering, calling to him … Bethany didn't seem to notice anything, so he kept quiet until he could no longer take it. He completely lost control for a split-second, and the next thing he knew Theia was pulling him up off the floor, her face taut.

"Thank you, love." Apparently beating some sense into him seemed to help. He deserved it; he had turned on her, summoned demons to attack her. And then they had just continued on, as if nothing had happened. Once, he opened his mouth to apologize, but Varric shot him a warning look. Wait until after we fight this Corypheus, that look said.

They finally came to the prison, and Theia had broken the last seal with her blood and the Key, it was all he could do to contain Justice when the one who had possessed him was staring him in the face. But Corypheus had fallen, just like every other foe they crossed paths with. And with his death, the voices finally stopped. But it didn't erase the shame of what he had done. Again, he tried to apologize, but this time it was Bethany who stopped him. Not now, said the hand on his shoulder. We need to talk about our father.

So he had waited, respectfully staying away from the Hawke Estate, despite his desperate need to ask for her forgiveness, to have the chance to simply explain. But that had been a time for sisters, for the elder to reassure the younger that her magic was not a curse and that their father had never despised her for it. By the time he had finished with his patients in Darktown, Bethany had gone back to the Wardens, and exhaustion had finally driven Theia to her bed.

Bodahn had let him in with a tired smile. "Messere Hawke said for you to join her in her chambers when you arrived. If you need—"

Anders quickly cut across him. "Thanks, Bodahn, but I can help myself to anything I need."

The dwarf gave him a grateful smile, beckoning Sandal and Orana to follow him to the servants' quarters. Anders had watched them go, and then quickly bounded up the stairs to the bedroom. There was a rush of relief and disappointment when he found his lover slumbering peacefully on her side of the bed. No apologies or explanations tonight, but there would be plenty of time in the morning if he could keep her away from her writing desk. He gently climbed into bed, taking care not to disturb her sleep. He had meant to stay awake and mull over the events of the previous few days: the disturbing revelation involving the Golden City and the ancient magisters; a story he had always seen as Chantry propaganda, but one which he now knew to be true. But he had underestimated his own fatigue, and soon his mind drifted to the Fade with his dreams.

He had only been sleeping a few hours when the nightmares started. At the usual point in his dream, he woke in a cold sweat, sitting up quickly like a struck match. This sudden movement jerked Theia out of her own dreams. She sat up slowly, bleary-eyed, but instantly became alert when she noticed her distressed sleeping partner.

She knew this routine. She shuffled closer to Anders, rested her head against his shoulder and stroked his back soothingly. In a few minutes his body stopped shaking and he was ready to talk. After the first startling wake-up call almost a year ago, she had learned not to ask about the contents of his nightmares, or why Wardens were plagued with them. But tonight was different. His distressing performance in the Deep Roads had lit a fire in her, and she was determined to get answers.

Just as she opened her mouth to interrogate him, Anders spoke. "I owe you an explanation for what happened with Justice and Corypheus. And an apology. I'm so sorry, I should have been able to control him …"

"I probably shouldn't have dragged you back down there. I just … forget."

He smiled at her. "Well, if we're both going to apologize, we might as well do it over something hot." He laughed as she raised her eyebrows, quickly clarifying. "I mean cocoa. Get your mind out of the gutter."

She moved to get out of bed, but he grabbed her arm. "No, I can get it." I need the time to figure out how I'm going to tell you this.

He hurried out of the bedroom and down the stairs, taking care to be as quiet as possible; he didn't want to wake Bodahn or Orana (Sandal could sleep through an Exalted March). The fire that usually warmed the kitchen was reduced to embers, and he flinched as his bare feet touched the cold stone floor. He quickly removed two mugs from the freakishly organized cabinet, and filled them with water from a large jug left on the counter. Taking the cocoa powder from its usual place, he held one mug in his hand, heating the water with the tiny flame in the middle of his palm. In five minutes, he was carrying two steaming cups of cocoa back up the stairs.

He found Theia sitting attentively, waiting for him. He passed her a mug, and then sat across from her on the bed. They sat in silence for a few moments while he tried to collect his thoughts. Where to start? The Joining, or the events that led up to it?

She saved him the trouble of picking a starting point by asking, "What did you mean when you said that Wardens aren't immune to the taint forever? You said something similar when I first met you."

He could do this, and she could handle it. She'd proven how strong she was a hundred times over, and it was only his reluctance that held him back. Besides, he owed the Wardens no favours, and she wasn't the type to spread this information around.

"Do you remember what Stroud said when we found him in the Deep Roads?" he began. "How joining the Wardens could be as much a death sentence as the taint?" She nodded, and he continued. "Well … okay. When you join the Wardens, you have to go through this ritual called the Joining. One reason there aren't a lot of Grey Wardens is because not a lot of recruits survive the ritual."

"Survive?" she blurted, and then clapped her hands over her mouth. "Sorry!"

"Yeah. You get to drink this lovely little cocktail that contains, among other things, blood from an Archdemon." He couldn't help but laugh at the face she made. "You have to have a sufficient dose of darkspawn corruption to have an immediate effect, otherwise you are slowly corrupted into a ghoul."

"Like poor Wesley …"

"Like Wesley, yes. So after the Joining, you get a link to the hive mind, and that's why Grey Wardens can sense darkspawn." And now came the tough part. "But drinking corrupted blood isn't exactly healthy, and just because you survive the Joining you aren't immune from the blight forever. It just delays its onset."

He didn't want to spell it out for her, and he saw her mind processing what he'd just told her. There were subtle changes in her expression as she realized what it all meant. Her eyes widened slightly, and he could see her jaw drop behind her closed mouth. She pressed her lips together tightly before finally asking, "How long?"

"Thirty years after the ritual, give or take."

"So you and Bethany …"

"If you're imagining sitting dutifully beside a deathbed as I waste away, you needn't worry. When the nightmares and voices come to a head in a couple decades, I'll head to Orzammar for my Calling."

That had confused her. "Orzammar … your Calling? What?"

"It's when the taint finally starts to take hold. You go down into the Deep Roads, celebrate, and then take as many darkspawn with you as you can before they kill you." He waited for her to say something, anything, but she just stared at him, her mug of cocoa completely forgotten. For a second, he was terrified that she might burst into tears, but she was too strong for that. "I'm sorry. I should have told you sooner. I should have told you before—This is why I didn't want to get involved—"

"I'll come with you," she said unexpectedly.

"What?"

"When you go for your Calling. I'll come with you."

His mouth went dry. "To … to see me off, right?"

She had that determined, blazing look on her face. Oh, Maker … "No, to fight with you."

He must have misheard her. She couldn't actually be suggesting this. "No. Absolutely not." How had she jumped to this decision so quickly?

"I don't think you can really stop me, unless you're planning on binding me with blood magic." She looked smug, like she had just found some sort of loophole in his refusal.

He couldn't let this happen. "But-but … No! You have a life here, I can't take that away from you!"

"A life? I have an estate, but that's it. My mother's dead and my sister is going to die a couple years after you. What am I supposed to do after that?"

Hard to argue with that. But he had more than one incentive up his sleeve. "What about your friends? Merrill, Aveline, Isabela? Varric?"

She could sense his desperation, and her face softened. "They would understand. Besides, they have their own lives. Merrill's finally making friends in the alienage, Aveline has her husband, and I don't think Isabela could ever be bored. And Varric …" Her resolve faltered for one brief second. "Varric would keep busy. Spreading rumours, annoying the city guard, general mischief."

"Where would Bodahn, Sandal and Orana go?"

That seemed to hit home. She didn't fire off an answer right away. This argument seemed to have some effect on her stubbornness. For a moment, he allowed himself to believe that he might have actually convinced her. But then she was a Hawke, and tenacity ran deep in her veins.

"Varric would find them a good place," she said finally. "He likes Bodahn, he'd never let him work for someone as pompous as the Merices. You're not going to talk me out of this one."

"I'd be a despicable human being if I didn't try."

She grinned roguishly at him, and then tried to stifle a yawn. He sighed resignedly. Clearly, this dispute would not be settled tonight. They were both determined to sway the other, and they were both getting tired. He took her now-cold mug of cocoa from her, and placed it on the nightstand. She took the hint, and crawled under the covers. For tonight, he would allow her to think she had won. But he definitely hadn't given up on this fight.

The Hanged Man was not a place Anders normally visited. Especially not during the day. Before dinnertime, the tavern was full of inebriated miscreants just looking for trouble. He didn't understand how Varric could tolerate living in such a place. But then again, Varric had been spending much less time in the Hanged Man over the past few years.

As Anders stepped into the tavern, he couldn't help but wrinkle his nose at the smell: sweat and stale booze from last night's happy hour. Varric was sitting at a table in the back corner, scrutinizing some pieces of paper with apparent disgust. When the dwarf noticed Anders approaching, he quickly covered up the documents, and Anders couldn't help smiling to himself. Varric's dissatisfied expression probably had to do with the costs of activities that he only alluded to—keeping the numerous Darktown thugs from attacking Anders' clinic, or paying off the Lowtown gangs so they would leave Merrill alone at night.

"Blondie!" Varric threw him his customary grin. "I didn't expect to see you for a while. Isn't it a little early for drinking?"

"Very funny." Anders sat down across from Varric, and the dwarf straightened up.

"Ah, so you're looking for advice. You've come to the right place. I've got a lifetime of knowledge."

Anders cocked an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. It's more of a favour, actually. I'm going to have to leave Kirkwall eventually—not for years, but one day. And I need you to … convince Theia not to follow me."

There was a moment of silence as Varric's brow furrowed. "This has something to do with your Warden days, doesn't it?" Anders nodded, but didn't offer any other information. "I've heard stories of middle-aged Wardens going to the Deep Roads to die. I take it they're not just stories. And you don't want your lady love rushing into an early grave."

"Exactly!" He was relieved that Varric seemed to understand him. "You need to make her see sense. She won't listen to me."

Varric stroked his chin thoughtfully. Surely if anyone could convince Theia to abandon her foolhardy plan, it would be the smooth-talking dwarf. But then: "You know that you're completely wasting your time. Even if you and I plan this for years, and you drug her and sneak away in the middle of the night, she'd come after you in a heartbeat. And to be honest, I'd probably join her."

A weak "What?" was all he could manage.

"Nothing in Thedas could keep her from following you. And I'd want to throw you two one hell of a going away party. Can you honestly picture Hawke all dolled-up in her mansion, attending pretentious noble gatherings for the rest of her life? Besides, in our current line of work, her life expectancy is probably about the same as yours."

Anders was prepared to argue this point until dusk, but he knew that he would get nowhere with the loyal Varric. Instead, he merely settled for, "Thanks. I'll see you later."

He stepped out of the Hanged Man, feeling a lot more exasperated than he had expected. Varric did not have a point. He refused to concede. He would not accept defeat, even if it meant hurling himself into some chasm in Orzammar while she slept. He would not allow her to die for him. Never.