Aryana doesn't know what wakes her from her slumber, but some niggling instinct prevents her from simply turning over and going back to sleep. She lies there quietly, straining to hear Anders' breathing, but the room is silent. She summons the energy to conjure a dim light in the palm of her hand and scans the room. Anders' bed is empty, the rumbled blankets spilling onto the floor. Zevran's bed remains untouched - less surprising. The door is slightly ajar.
He probably couldn't sleep, is all. She sits on the edge of the bed for a minute. She should just go back to bed, but given his state of mind in the last few days, she knows she won't sleep now until she finds him. Maker! I am not his guardian, not any longer. Annoyance mixed with concern, she slips on her boots and tunic to go outside.
She treads as quietly as possible on the hard flagstones. It is quiet, cold and very dark in the hallway. She goes back to grab a blanket from the bed, wrapping it around her shoulders. Casting a dim light before her she makes her way down the corridor, checking every open doorway as she goes. As passage after passage reveals no sign of Anders, she begins to feel ridiculous, and very tired. She stops and thinks about where he might go if he couldn't sleep; the library perhaps, wherever that is.
The library is empty when she finds it, like all the other rooms along the way. She is weighing rousing the others against lying in bed awake all night, when she hears a slight noise. She goes back out into the corridor and listens intently. The sound seems to be coming from around the corner. She makes her way forward, and there it is again, a slight scuffling. A large arched opening beckons in front of her, framing a flight of shallow steps that lead downwards. The noise seems to be coming from the lower level.
She hesitates. Ah well, whatever is down there can't be worse than the Arishok, she thinks. Light, or no light? See and be seen, or keep the element of surprise? Light. Definitely light. She casts a light forward in front of her and heads down the stairs.
She sees him almost immediately, and a wave of relief hits her stomach. Her mouth forms his name, but it freezes on her lips. He doesn't seem aware of her presence. He walks along a few steps, stoops to touch the floor, straightens and repeats the process. She walks up closer to him and sees that his eyes are closed.
Sleepwalking.
He fumbles in non-existent pouches, shaping something carefully in his hands, then placing the imaginary item gingerly on the floor. His hand goes back to where his pouches would be, they draw out something and scatter it in a line along the floor. After a few feet he lays down another 'item'. It reminds her of something…
Tired as she is, it is a moment before she realizes: planting explosives in the Chantry! Just like he did when he sent me on some fools errand to talk to Elthina. Anger and indignation boil in her stomach, a reminder of how easily she was deceived by someone that she loves. Loved. Loved. Part of her wants to leave him there, crawling around in the dark and cold in the middle of the night.
She takes his arm, gently. He doesn't look at her, but shakes off her hold on him.
"You've finished Anders. Time to go."
Something of it filters into his subconscious. He straightens up and allows her to lead him back up the stairs and into their room.
She lays him down on the bed. He is freezing cold, especially his bare feet. She lies down next to him, pulling thick blankets over both of them, warming him with her body. He pulls her arm more closely around him. As the warmth of their bodies builds up under the blankets, he eventually stops shivering.
~~~ o ~~~
Aryana is woken by noises in the hallway, clattering and voices, the sorts of everyday noises of a residence coming to life. She shifts her weight slightly and tries to turn on to her back. It takes a moment to register that she is still lying on Anders' bed. Her movement causes him to stir, shifting on to his side and draping an arm across her chest.
His eyes flutter open. "What?" He smiles weakly at her.
"You were sleepwalking. You got really cold," she says, "I fell asleep trying to warm you."
He closes his eyes and leans in to her body. "Sleepwalking. I haven't done that since I was a child, not since the Templars first brought me to The Circle."
He tightens his arm around stomach turns over and she tries to speak but a painful knot in her throat prevents it.
"Thanks for bringing me back. I don't remember anything. What happened, exactly?"
"I think perhaps you were dreaming about the Chantry." She says.
"I do dream about it," he says, and sighs. "I wish there had been a better way."
"What's done is done," she says, tersely. She can feel his heart beating and the gentle rise and fall of his chest against hers. The pressure of his body against her feels simultaneously familiar and wrong; the past bleeding into the present.
"Those men on the boat, they shied away from me," he says. "Perhaps that is how I'll go down in history. Not a hero, not a martyr, but a madman."
"You are all of those. You're different things to different people." As she says it, she realizes she is running her fingers over his soft hair, and rocking his head gently against her shoulder.
The door opens and Zevran walks in. He raises an eyebrow. "Sleep well?"
"Not really. How about you?" replies Aryana, raising an exaggerated eyebrow in return.
"I slept."
"Tired yourself out?" she smiles.
"That man is still in love with Morrigan," he says in a quiet confidential tone, tilting his head towards Jason's room. "That she's long gone was not a persuasive argument. Still, we talked and drank a little. Of course Isabela was disappointed, I had to comfort her."
"Very thoughtful of you," says Aryana. She sits up, swinging her legs onto the floor. Anders' hand follows her movement and settles against the side of her thigh. She is just about to stand when Fenris and Varric appear in the doorway. Fenris scowls and Aryana's heart sinks.
"There's some breakfast waiting for us when you're ready," says Varric, weakly.
~~~ o ~~~
Breakfast is a silent thing. Anders looks glum and Fenris looks angry. Zevran and Isabela eat heartily, amusing Aryana, despite herself.
Finally, it is Varric who speaks. "Where's the damn hideout? I don't know about the rest of you but I want to get the job done and get out of Ferelden."
"It's not that bad is it?" says Aryana.
"Well you're from here, maybe you have some nostalgic love for damp and cold. I've heard Lothering was particularly prone to a steady drizzle."
"Zevran, do you actually know where we're going?" says Fenris.
"West of here, four days by horse." Jason strides in to join them, helping himself to a large platter of eggs and potatoes. He sits down, grabbing chunks of bread and eating with gusto. Aryana remembers Zevran telling them what enormous appetites the wardens had, but she'd never seen it in Anders.
"Four days west?" says Aryana.
"On the far side of the Frostback Mountains, before you get to Halamshiral. Most of the route is paved with good roads," says Jason.
"Here." Rafe appears behind Jason, and places a map on the table. It is not an area that Aryana is familiar with.
"We'd have to go past Orzammar. You could see where your family came from," says Isabela, directing her comment to Varric.
"My family left under bad circumstances Rivaini. If you want to get me killed then yeah, we can take a stroll around Orzammar."
"Hey, let's concentrate on the matter at hand," says Aryana.
"There are Templars on all the major roads. They're looking for Anders, obviously," says Rafe.
"Well, we can't be seen slaughtering Templars from here to Halamshiral," says Aryana.
"We'll travel in disguise," says Jason. "I have some Templar uniforms I picked up during the blight campaign. Most of us can wear those." He looks at Varric, and scrunches up one corner of his mouth. "I suppose that Varric can pose as a trader. There are a lot of surface dwarves on the route. You'll have to travel apart from us, but we can stay within sight of each other."
"Gee thanks," says Varric. "Oh well, at least I won't have to listen to the usual bickering along the way."
"You two can't take your helms off, not in the light of day anyway," says Jason, looking at Fenris and then Zevran. "The rest of us should pass for Templars."
"Wear a Templar uniform? I can't," says Anders.
"You'll have to. You're the most notorious of all of us. Your description will have been widely circulated," says Jason.
"But I can't, I just… can't," says Anders.
Jason sighs and frowns. He walks over to Anders and puts an arm around his shoulder. "The only other option is for you to play the captive apostate, but we can't be seen dragging the infamous Anders around. If you're not wearing a Templar helm then you need to do something - cut your hair, dye it, shave it off. Something." He looks up to address all of them. "We don't have time to play around. We'll leave tomorrow at dawn. In the mean time gather supplies, horses. Weapons can be sharpened and cleaned in the armory. Magic supplies are in the basement. You know the drill."
Isabela steps up to Anders, and fingers his hair. "I'll do it. Cut it shorter, dye it black, eyebrows too. We'll shave off the stubble. I'll give you a tattoo, just some plant dye. Don't look so alarmed, it'll all wash off after a few days. Take a while to grow the hair back though."
"Well well, I can see I'm going to have to find a different nickname for you, Blondie," says Varric, chuckling.
~~~ o ~~~
Aryana has the benefit of knowing where the basement stores are. Returning there gives her a slight chill as she recalls the events of the previous night. She gathers up a few essential items and walks back up the stairs to the main level. There is a flurry of activity in this wing of the castle. Servants have brought hot water and extract of winterberry to dye Anders' hair. Isabela is setting to it with a small knife. Aryana sits and watches for a few minutes, but finds it disconcerting to watch the long blond locks fall on to the flagstones.
She is reminded of the time she cut Fenris' hair. She'd suggested it almost without thinking and before she'd known it she'd had her fingers laced into his soft fine hair. When she'd finished he'd turned around and held her gaze for just a little too long and for the first time since she'd been with Anders, she'd realized that Fenris still had feelings for her. Fenris, who she'd tried so very hard to get over. Despite herself, despite her pride and her commitments, she'd been tempted.
She feels pinpricks at the back of her eyes, and blinks hard. "This stuff is pungent," she says, waving her hand over the bowl of dye. "I'm going to get some air."
There is little to distract her outside. She finds Varric in the armory, sorting through crossbow bolts.
"You looking for me, or somebody else?" he says gruffly.
"I don't know. I'm just feeling restless."
Varric pauses for a moment. "If it's the sulky one you're after, he went off towards the stables. For pities sake, do something about his mood."
The stables are just a few paces across the courtyard from the armory. Following the direction of Varric's gesture she heads into the low-roofed building, walled with thick timbers. Narrow beams of light filter through the gaps in the walls, yielding a dim light inside. The air is heavy with wet fur and wood shavings.
She sees Fenris almost immediately. He is lying back on bales of hay piled clumsily into an empty stall. He looks at her but says nothing. She moves closer. His eyes are unreadable. She sits down beside him and starts talking, as if nothing were wrong.
"Isabela cut Anders' hair. It looks really different. She's doing a facial tattoo as well, I couldn't watch."
Fenris looks at her, and nods, screwing up his mouth slightly as if to feign an amused interest.
"It reminded me of when I cut your hair," she says.
"I remember that," he says, giving her an odd look.
She is silent for a minute, but he doesn't say anything more.
"You're angry," she says.
"I always was transparent." He arches his back a little, shifting his weight.
"It won't be long, another week and we'll be done with all of this."
"And then what?" he says.
"Well, back to Kirkwall I suppose."
"You suppose?" says Fenris. "Are you actually going to be able to leave him, or might you be leaving us instead?"
"No. I mean, I'm not leaving the group."
"Are you sure," he says slowly, "because this morning, it looked very much like you might."
"Whatever you think you saw, it was nothing."
"What I saw looked a lot like forgiveness."
"Only you could make forgiveness sound like an accusation." She stands and takes a step away from him. "If you have a question, state it plainly."
He stands up. "Are you still his?"
"His? He doesn't own me, and you don't own me."
"No, I don't own you, but you bloody well own me," he says, with such force that she takes a step backward, shaking her head slightly.
"I'm watching every move you make, every thing you say. I don't want to, but I am. So you see, you own me. Every fibre of my being," he says.
She takes a deep breath, her hands shaking.
"Just send me away while I still have something left of myself," he says, shaking his head, looking down at the ground.
"No, Fenris," she says.
"Then what do you want?" he says.
"I want my head to be quiet. I want an end to all of this anguish, all of the tension."
"That's your answer?" he says, coldly.
She takes a step forward and perversely he takes one back, almost as if her movement has surprised him. His eyes are wide with uncertainty and she feels suddenly awkward and clumsy. She reaches out and takes his hand.
He wraps his fingers tightly around hers and pulls her to him. "Don't toy with me," he says, his voice hoarse and low.
He's so close now that she can feel his warm breath on her face. She leans in and presses her lips to the side of his face, working her way down to his neck, feeling the pulsing lines of lyrium brands humming beneath her lips. She brushes his lips gently with the fingertips of her free hand and he gasps slightly, locking his eyes upon hers.
She can hear voices approaching, the clatter of armor and the sound of several pairs of feet. She has only a moment before the others are upon them.
"This is my answer," she whispers, capturing his mouth for a fleeting second with her own.
~~~ o ~~~
