Nine

Requiem For A Nightmare

She was deaf to what they were saying for seconds, or minutes possibly, but at this point it was too difficult to be certain. There was a dull ringing in her ears that blocked all sound from reaching her. Her breathing became shallow in her chest, if it happened at all, which only caused her head to swim further. The colour drained from her face, lips going numb, thoughts simultaneously shutting down and working overtime, replaying Cullen's voice in a seemingly endless loop as her skin crawled and tingled over the length of her body. Everything was so still, even though those around her moved effortlessly, waving their hands, covering their faces, exchanging heated words she could not comprehend.

Shock, Cassandra realised slowly, turning her gaze on her more animated companions. She was going into shock - not only emotionally, but physically. No one appeared to notice her struggle as she fought against her dry mouth to speak, though nothing came out no matter how she tried. Oh, Andraste help me, I'm going to faint. Don't faint, Cassandra...

Movement to her left suddenly caught her eye... A young man rising from the window and walking toward her, focusing on her alone. Who was he, so intense and foreign, yet familiar? Was this all a dream? She blinked slowly, considering that last thought carefully. It was entirely plausible that she'd finally succumbed to her exhaustion, perhaps as far back as when she'd begun her prayers in the chapel. How much of this had been real so far? What if Varric had never truly been there at all, if he was yet another figment of her sleep-starved imagination, still unconscious and fighting for life in the infirmary?

No... This is really happening.

Cassandra raised her face to the strange boy as he made his way over the shoulder of the Commander, utterly statuesque and invisible to all but her. Her questioning eyes pleaded for clarity, but her mouth seemed to forget what it had ever meant to speak, so dry and voiceless.

Come back, Cassandra.

She shook her head roughly and, in the blink of an eye, the young man - Cole, she remembered suddenly - was seated again beside the window as though he'd never left his place, staring out the frosted glass at the courtyard of people below. Cole cast a glance over his patched shoulder, giving her a solitary nod before he turned his attention back, his hat obscuring all. It was the only clue she had that what she'd just experienced was in fact reality - surreal, but reality nonetheless.

"...took a bit of decryption on my part, but my suspicions first arose on explorations through the Fade with the Inquisitor shortly after taking the Fortress. Then it went further when Cole initially warned of the danger on the mountain. From key phrases spoken, I was later able to approach Anders and inquire about the details."

"But that doesn't answer my question of how we know he's still alive," Lavellan pressed, her head in her hands as she processed the revelation slowly. "I know that we... observed things in my dreams, Solas, but nothing made sense to me."

"There is one indication, however tenuous you all may find it, " Solas sighed, glancing around the table invitingly. "Have any others also suffered from intense dreams that have lingered in your mind throughout the day?"

Cassandra's jaw dropped open, seeing in her mind's eye the nightmares that had plagued her for weeks after Adamant. "Yes," she confirmed, her heart hammering away in her chest, "I have dreamt often of the Champion since that day... They were always terrible dreams."

Clearing his throat, Cullen nodded as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes lost in dark memories. "I am no stranger to nightmares... After the siege on the Warden stronghold, it was entirely expected that I'd suffer a few pertaining to the men I had ordered into areas who ultimately died; that comes with the territory. But I couldn't explain why I also dreamt of Hawke battling a creature that rivalled anything I've ever seen personally. When I read your report, Cassandra, I saw my strange nightmare written out as if I'd transcribed it, myself. I don't know how else I could have known any of that, ahead of time."

He glanced over and made tentative eye contact with the Seeker. "The only difference from what you reported and what I saw," Cullen said, a finger raising in emphasis of his point, "was that Hawke fought that demon long after the rift closed behind the Inquisitor, and amazingly... he managed to strike it down. Don't ask me how he did it, but I saw the Champion drag himself out from under the body of that thing and gasp for breath on the rocks... And then he began to grin... His odd laughter was... unsettling." Shuddering at his recollection, he added, "I assumed it was just a warped conjuring from my own imaginings, until now."

"You're basing this conclusion purely on nightmares?" Vivienne criticised derisively, turning a doubtful eye on the apostate. "That is a leap even I would not have anticipated you to make, Solas. It is wholly symptomatic of those having recently undergone a traumatic event to then dream of similar horrors. This could all be a fabrication of Anders' subconscious mind; it's not as though he was the most stable individual to begin with."

"I did mention it was tenuous, if you recall, Madam de Fer," Solas muttered as he rubbed a hand over his face. "Still, that is only a small portion of the evidence I have obtained. In my meditations in the dungeons, I took it upon myself to enter the Fade and seek out those who would be able to provide a clearer picture of the circumstances surrounding - "

"You verified Anders' tale with your demon affiliates," she interrupted coolly, her eyes narrowing.

Cole turned from his place by the window and shook his head. "They're not demons," he countered softly, surprising everyone with his unexpected input.

The elf shot Vivienne a disapproving glare. "Cole is right. They are spirits," he corrected her sharply. "Unlike those in this world, my friends in the Fade are not so easily corrupted. You would be wise to educate yourself of the differences, rather than allowing your mistrust to paint all you refuse to understand with a broad brush. And yes, of course I contacted them. Just who else would I ask while walking the Fade? Master Frederick, the local retired smithy?"

Vivienne tacitly ignored Cullen's suppressed snort and glared indignantly. "If my rational scepticism of your extraordinary claim leads you to stoop to ad hominem attacks, then I fail to see why you personally requested my presence at this debriefing."

"Ad hominems? Oh, she is remarkable! Wait, let me bask in the irony for a moment," Solas smirked dangerously, leaning back in his seat and eyeing the mage critically. "Vivienne, when have you ever refrained from belittling those that disagree with you in order to make yourself appear their better? The only people you don't sink your fangs into are those from whom you stand to directly benefit."

The Circle mage let out a small, delightful laugh at hearing this, straightening her posture even further and raising her chin high in defiance. "Oh, do not be so transparently envious, my dear. We both play our parts to achieve our respective goals. I have simply turned it into an art form, whereas you stomp about like an undisciplined child when you do not get what you want."

"Okay, we've had just about enough from you two, thank you," Lavellan cut in loudly, completely exasperated with her companions. "Put your differences aside and get back to the point."

"My apologies, Inquisitor," Solas inclined his head regretfully. "And to you as well, Vivienne. You and I may both be mages, but we hold vastly differing perspectives. I did not want this meeting to be skewed heavily by my own point of view. In truth, I much prefer to have my position challenged, so that I may be informed of all avenues of prevailing thought in order to choose the wisest course of action. And as such, your training in the Circle of Magi directly contrasts my more... self-taught ways. That is why I requested your presence, here."

"Apology accepted, Solas," Vivienne nodded simply, relaxing her stance to a slight degree.

The elf waited in silence for Madam de Fer to return the apology, his brown brows raised. Upon receiving none, he quietly breathed a dismissive laugh and pushed no further. "So, as I now have you all here to discuss the matter, I would like to proceed with determining Anders' sentencing. Now, I am the first to admit that I have not always kept abreast of current politics while on my journeys, but I feel I am equipped to represent - "

"Wait," Cassandra cut in suddenly, her eyes wide with shock. "This meeting is only to discuss a sentence?" Her eyes darted around the table, attempting to rally them behind her. "To hell with Anders! Why are you treating this news like Hawke is a lost cause?! We should be assembling a rescue team for the Champion immediately! He slew the nightmare demon after giving us the chance we needed to escape; the least we can do for him now would be to save him! Who stands with me?!"

The room had gone unnervingly silent during her stirring speech, enough so that the distant bustle of the marketplace outside could be heard easily from their seats on the top floor of the stone tower. Those present, aside from the Inquisitor herself, shot wary glances to one another in the stillness, quietly electing which of them would answer the incensed warrior and risk possible dismemberment.

"Ah... Cassandra," Cullen began hesitantly after clearly recognising he stood the least chance of sustaining an injury from her, "his survival is purely a mitigating circumstance we're to take into account as the Inquisitor dispenses her judgement... Now, we all obviously agree with your sentiments regarding our moral responsibility to do something for Hawke, but if we were to attempt that mission, it would... not exactly have the outcome you're hoping for."

"Bullshit!" She stood and slammed her fist against the table's surface, fire in her eyes as she kicked her chair, which crashed and splintered against the opposite wall. "We owe him! Explain to me why the Inquisitor cannot just open another rift so that we can find him and bring him back!"

Lavellan turned to the elf apprehensively, laying a hand on his forearm as he lowered his head and massaged the bridge of his nose. "Solas, I've physically been through the Fade twice, now. We can do this, I promise. If it's a question of my safety..."

"The matter the Herald's safety is of utmost importance," Vivienne countered gently, lacing her well-manicured hands together on her lap as Cassandra paced the length of the small room. "It is only by the grace of the Maker that you have managed to survive these terrible ordeals to date. I should be extremely concerned if we began to believe ourselves invincible to the threats lying within that realm."

"That is a major concern, of course," Solas agreed, patting Lavellan's hand before moving to cross his arms over his chest, "but even were you to survive passing through the Veil for a third time, and managed somehow to locate the Champion, that would not alter what has already long-since occurred."

"Wandering wistfully, wondering where he went wrong," Cole breathed against the frozen glass, running his finger through the condensation he created with his words. "Desperate, demented, descending down into the darkness to die. He unravels there, somewhere he can hide from them, but he still sees them, looking like lovers, mothers, brothers, others to his eyes. They try to understand, but he's not home, not whole, ...not Hawke, anymore."

"What the hell is Cole talking about?" Cassandra demanded harshly, bitterness dripping from her tone.

Cullen rapped his knuckles against the table lightly, wincing as he chewed at his scarred lip pensively. "During my service in Kinloch Tower, before Uldred utterly destroyed it," he began thoughtfully, "I attended the Harrowings of several mages, a ritual that sent prospective candidates into the Fade to prove their merit against the demons there."

"A barbaric practice, to say the least," Solas interrupted disdainfully, "but do go on."

Vivienne smirked condescendingly. "A necessary practice to identify those not wilful enough to withstand temptation, Solas."

"So then templars either slaughter them if they cannot resist a powerful creature, or offer the Rite of Tranquillity beforehand to avoid finding out whether or not they can," he bit back instantly. "Do not ask me to discern which fate is worse, Vivienne."

"Oh, no one is asking you, dear."

"My point," Cullen shut the bickering down with a hard look, "is that... Well, unfortunately yes, if a mage could not resist, I was obligated to strike the abomination down - that is the reality of the ritual. There is good reason the practice was named 'The Harrowing', after all. Still, I don't know what became of the actual person, if anything... The body was put down, but the mind could have remained in the Fade... And if it did, I imagine being trapped in a dream world would drive anyone mad."

Cassandra's pacing became more fervent, and she had no idea what to do with her hands other than to lay one on the pommel of her longsword. "I am fully aware of the practice, Cullen, but what does that have to do with anything? Speak plainly."

"Essentially," Solas took over the explanation, nodding toward Cullen in acknowledgement of his input, "those left in the Fade, physically or otherwise, do not remain intact for long, Cassandra, and the study of magic has shown that, to exist there for any length of time, one must be as certain in their purpose as the spirits that inhabit it. Though Hawke displayed bravery and lived through the first wave of the attack, I seriously must question the premise that he was free of all doubt regarding himself, or the choices he made in life... And it has been written that nothing that knows doubt can survive in the Fade."

Inquisitor Lavellan nodded solemnly, muttering to herself, "I guess I should try to remember that... Could come in handy, someday..."

Cassandra stood paralysed at what was being said, unable to comprehend the true gravity of their words. She barely resisted the urge to flip the table, instead feeling her arms go weak at her sides as she was overwhelmed with a keen sense of helplessness.

"What everyone here is attempting to convey, Cassandra," Vivienne stated soothingly as she met the Seeker's eyes, "is that the Champion, if we choose to believe that he was victorious in his encounter with the demon, has more than likely been irreversibly driven to the point of insanity. I am sorry, my dear, but it's beyond any magical study yet known to restore what he has lost. There would be nothing left of the man to save, not as we once knew him. To bring him back and force him to live out his life that way would be a crueler fate than allowing him to meet his end where he is, soon enough."

Leaning over the table, she lowered her face in sickening defeat, her mind reeling as she understood their reasoning. "So we simply abandon him," Cassandra whispered hoarsely, saving her grief for a more appropriate time. "We give him up to the Maker's Hands, and leave him to die alone..."

Solas shook his head gently, adopting a sympathetic tone. "Not necessarily," he reassured her sombrely. "I do have an idea which might work for all those concerned, if you'll hear me."

"What is it?" Lavellan asked hopefully.

Sighing, the apostate rubbed long fingers over his tired eyes and crossed his arms on the table. "The fact remains that Anders must face judgement for his crimes, as he is determined not to contest the charges levied against him. To execute him outright, in my opinion, if it's worth anything, would be yet another undue cruelty to a man who has suffered more than his fair share recently."

"Not only that," Cullen added ruefully, "but it might also serve to make a martyr out of him, and that could incite our mage allies to take up arms, which, though it is a slim possibility, is not a risk I'm willing to take. But what alternative do we have?" He asked, waving an inviting hand.

Lavellan's eyes widened, putting the pieces together for herself as she turned to Solas. "Wait, are you about to suggest that we - that I... banish Anders to the Fade, to share in Hawke's fate?"

"Yes, that would be better," Cole said, nodding his head beneath the wide brim of his tattered hat enthusiastically. "Justice will go back home, and he'll be free... And Justice will help Anders find Hawke. They wouldn't be alone, anymore... We could help them all find peace."

"Vivienne, your opinion, please," Solas invited her criticism, readying himself for her inevitable disapproval.

Tapping a pensive finger against her full lips, Vivienne narrowed her eyes thoughtfully at the elf, weighing the proffered sentence carefully. Surprisingly, she eventually nodded in satisfaction. "I think that is a brilliant solution to both problems, Solas," she agreed, taking everyone aback as all eyes turned to her in disbelief. "Oh, don't be so dramatic," she shrugged delicately, "I still believe in the art of compromise, and as far as I and many other like-minded mages are concerned, a quick death would be far too easy for someone like Anders. To sentence him to live the remainder of his wretched life completely out of his mind is quite satisfactory. At the very least, he will never be able to terrorise Thedas again."

Reluctantly, Solas accepted her vindictive reasoning and turned to the Inquisitor. "Then it's settled, so long as the Herald approves."

Biting her lip, Lavellan let out a ragged sigh and closed her watery eyes, nodding wordlessly as she leaned forward on her rickety chair to lower her head in her hands, clearly burdened with the task of determining peoples' fates. "Well, they'll have each other to hold once more before the end, I suppose... It would almost be romantic, if it wasn't so damn tragic as all hell..."

Cassandra swallowed hard around the lump in her throat, turning away from the table and staring out the far window, which sported an unobstructed view of the tarnished bridge in the distance, the final decision practically turning her guts inside out. "None of you are to tell Varric of what has happened to the Champion," she muttered bleakly, wiping a single tear from her eye. "It would destroy him to hear this, I know it..."

Cole rose suddenly and looked around him at all the faces caught by his unexpected movement."Nobody has to tell him," he answered her in confusion, meeting her puzzled stare. "He already knows."

Stunned, the Seeker's jaw dropped as the words hit her like a hammer, the blood nearly halting in her veins. How could Varric know any of this if he cannot dream to see it for himself?

Just as she had found her voice again to question Cole's statement, she caught the subtle creaking of a door hinge from the bottom floor of the stone tower, which she now realised carried sound all too well, followed by the quietest utterance of the word, "Shit," that she had ever heard.

And it was then, in that moment of cold clarity, that Cassandra's heart truly broke within her.

~oOo~

He'd been caught red-handed. Damn it, Kid, why'd you have to go and say that? An extremely out-of-sorts Varric Tethras stumbled through the chilly courtyard, not only from the soreness of his injuries, and attempted in vain to focus on the many faces as he passed the market stalls, though none of them were easily discernible through the haze.

Where the hell am I going? At this point, he didn't know, nor did he care. All he kept thinking was that he had to get away, far, far away from what he'd overheard, the truth too much to bear. But it wasn't working... Not even in the slightest.

"Hey... Hey, Varric! Helloooo!"

"Uh?" He was lulled out of his thoughts, realising slowly that someone had been keeping pace with him, walking backwards in front of him to gain his attention.

"'Uh?'" Sera mocked him affectionately with a giggle, stopping abruptly to force him to a halt. "You're gonna fall over; 'ere take 'em back," she shrugged, handing him the crutches Dorian had given him earlier in this very long day. "You find Cassandra, then? Told ya they were in the tower. Cullen thinks he can play it cool, but yeah, anybody with half a brain could tell he was hiding somethin' big. So wot was it? Shit, you look like - "

She gasped suddenly, suppressing a fit of hysterical laughter with great difficulty. "Wait, were they doin' it?! I really shoulda seen that one comin'! Or maybe you did, right?! I mean the other meanin', like. Maybe that's why you look so shook up. That would put me right off, too."

Varric fumbled with the crutches, placing the pads shakily under his arms as random syllables tumbled out of his mouth gratingly. Attempting a nod of thanks, he made to step around the talkative elf, resolving to go back to the infirmary and calm down.

"Whoa, hang on, Varric," she slid in front of him again, blocking his escape. "Somethin' ain't right with you. Wot's goin' on, wot's 'appened?"

"Nothing's going on, Daisy," Varric uttered absently, moving past her by blocking her with a crutch. "I just need a minute, I'm fine."

Sera furrowed her brows in confusion, watching him sidle away. "Who's Daisy? Is that my new nickname? I like Buttercup better."

"What? Oh, wait," Varric paused, shaking his muddled head from side to side. "No, sorry, that's somebody else... I'm getting kind of confused, Buttercup. I need to go figure some things out - on my own, for a while."

"Another elf, is she? Wot, we all look the same to you? You owe me another go with Bianca for that!"

He did his best to ignore her mock-aggravation, taking the icy stairs slowly as he descended back down toward the infirmary. Looking to his right, he spotted the door to his room at the end of the hall, intending to switch directions and head for the warm confines of his room and be alone for a while.

A small, muffled cry reached his ears from a dark alcove in the curve of a wall, catching his attention. Arching a brow in curiosity, Varric ventured to his left with the aid of his crutches, careful not to startle whatever creature lay hidden there. "Who's that?" He muttered hoarsely, slowing his movements until he stopped before the edge of the shadow, cast by the upper floor onto the stone at his bare feet.

Surprisingly, a mangy young grey kitten pranced trustingly out of the darkness, making its way eagerly to Varric and running the length of its little body against his slightly swollen ankle. It mewled and wove between his legs, likely hungry and begging for any morsels he might have on his person, though his pockets were unfortunately empty. Still, its large green eyes met his own pleadingly as it let out another questioning cry.

"Hey there, pal," he greeted the tiny creature gently, bending down to let the kitten climb up the sleeve of his red coat to his shoulder. "How'd you get in here? Was this your home before we barged in without asking your permission? Poor little guy..." The kitten pawed playfully at the heavy gold ball chain around his neck, and Varric reached up to stroke beneath its chin soothingly with his braced finger. "You're probably starving," he observed, feeling its small ribs through the drab, furry coat. "I don't have any food for you, but I think I know where to get some..."

Shit, he thought ruefully, this is one of those signs, isn't it? He pursed his lips and let his breath out slowly, trepidation causing his heart rate to increase. Was he really going to go through with this? Without leaving any time to talk himself out of it, he pressed on into the darkness of the corridor with his new friend perched upon his shoulder, heading toward the one place in all of Thedas he definitely didn't want to go.

"Come on, little buddy... I want you to meet an old 'associate' of mine."

~oOo~

Lonely hours ticked by, one bleeding slowly into the other, the beam of daylight from the grate above the only indication of time passing outside his squalid cell. He didn't like being trapped anywhere; it reminded him too much of his days in the Circle, but this wasn't something he could hope to escape - had he possessed such an inclination. The wall he leaned his head against wasn't comfortable at all, but he was numb enough, both physically and mentally, to disregard a search for another place to rest his troubled mind. It would all be over soon, at least; Cullen may have been a templar once, but he had been one of the good and honest ones. The man wouldn't have lied about advocating for his quick and painless death. And, regretfully, it couldn't come quickly enough.

Anders held a picture in his mind's eye, a memory frozen in time, something he pulled out and lost himself to whenever times felt completely hopeless... One of catching Garrett smiling to himself as he stared at Anders while his back was turned, then laughing and rolling his eyes at his own mushy behaviour. Hawke had said something self-deprecating before he'd walked over and planted a single whiskery kiss on his cheek, picking up his daggers and going outside their poor excuse for a house in the harsh wilderness of the Anderfels to use the grindstone, which he did habitually. Always be prepared, Garrett had chimed on many occasions. Maker, that man had been the only light left in Anders' life...

The tears refused to come anymore. He'd long since spent all he had to spare, but the grief was still unbearably present. Anders held firm to that memory of casual affection, desperate not to relive the nightmares of watching his love wander the spirit world, approached by spirits who took the forms of those closest to him, both living and dead, until he was in a fit of wild hysterics, brimming with uncontrollable laughter through his confused and heartbroken sobs. Oh, Andraste, he had gone mad in there... Hawke had always been there for Anders through his bouts of insanity, and there was nothing he could do to return the favour. It was out of his power to do anything for Garrett.

He prayed this torture would be over soon... For the both of them.

It took a moment to notice the superficial sting on his leg, and he barely had the energy to turn his head, but that he gradually did. The needle-like pain moved upward, clawing up his tattered robe until the little visitor popped its head over his bent knee and pulled itself up to perch on top, staring at him with large, innocent eyes.

Anders blinked in confusion at the newcomer, and its faint mewling finally penetrated his haze, voicing its hunger. "Oh," his throat croaked, "h-hello, there..." Looking down, he frowned at his uneaten dinner and moved his shackled hands to dip a finger into a bit of watery gravy, lifting it to the kitten's mouth. The sweet little thing lapped it up greedily, its tongue like sandpaper on his skin. Thoroughly curious, it leaped down from atop its perch and fell on his meagre meal ravenously as Anders scooped up the bread to save for himself.

"Easy, tiger," he said with an exhausted smile, "don't want to give yourself a sore tummy, now. If you're still hungry after that, there's plenty of mice running about to catch. You'd be doing me a favour... But they might be too big for you to take on yourself, though... I think I'll call you... 'Mouse'. You're the right colour for it... What do you think?" He ran a hand from its small head to the tip of its tail, relieved to take his mind off of his own misery for a time.

"I really hate to say it, but... It's good to see you smiling again."

He thought his heart had stopped, but it quickly caught up with him, rising up to meet his throat and choking off a yelp of surprise. Unbelievably, on the worn chair outside his cell, to date only occupied by the mage Solas and the spirit Cole, sat the hunched form of his estranged dwarven friend. Varric's bruised eyes met his for a moment before he lowered his head, choosing instead to stare at his clasped hands, one braced middle finger pointing in his direction. He supposed that was appropriate, all things considered.

"Varric... You're alive," Anders blundered stupidly, stating the obvious. There was nothing else he could muster to say in the moment, so taken aback by this sudden appearance. How he prayed the man wasn't actually a ghost come back from beyond to haunt Anders for killing him.

Varric nodded, shifting the elbows propped against his knees to ease his discomfort. "Yeah, so they tell me. If this is a dream, then this is a first for me."

Getting his feet under him, Anders dragged his weary body as close to the cell door as he dared, squinting in the dim light to get a better look. "Maker," he observed mournfully, "you look... awful..."

Sighing, his friend rubbed his chin and sat up, meeting his eyes steadily. "Not the first to point that out, either, Blondie, but thanks for refraining from using the term 'dog shit'.That one's been overdone."

"I did this to you," Anders whispered, his eyes travelling over the dwarf. Wrapped bandages covered part of his exposed chest hair, a splint donned the broken finger on his dominant hand, and bruises and scrapes covered his eyes, throat, knuckles, and probably elsewhere that couldn't be seen. A pair of crutches leaned against the wall, along with Bianca, his trusty crossbow, which looked slightly different from when last he'd seen it due to new modifications that had been made. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Varric... Please believe me, I never meant to harm you."

"I know you didn't mean it, Blondie," he muttered reluctantly. "Justice can be a bit of an asshole... But that's not what I came here to talk about."

Anders hesitated for a moment as he focused all his energy on suppressing Justice's righteous indignation at the insult, and eventually felt the spirit relent, his shoulders slumping in response as he sighed and nodded. "What do you want to know?" He asked bleakly, lowering his gaze to the floor of his cell.

Dozens of seconds passed by in silence until Varric eventually sniffed back tears and wiped at his bruised face, clearly overwhelmed with deep emotion. "Ah," he stammered, sniffing again and clearing his throat gruffly, "is, um... Is it... true? ...About... what happened to Hawke?"

His eyes widening in alarm, Anders stood flummoxed, in a state of stark disbelief. Varric knew the truth. Damn that elf, Solas had betrayed his trust! Of course he had, though, if he really was who Justice claimed he was; what more should he have expected from the infamous Dread Wolf Merrill had told him so much about? Even though his secret had been exposed, Anders swallowed hard and decided against vindictively returning the favour. The elven mage didn't much resemble the tales anyway, and since Justice called him friend, perhaps history hadn't been so kind to him...

"Varric... I don't think it would be good for you to know - "

"Don't tell me what I should and shouldn't know," he raised his broken voice in frustration. "Shit, everyone's trying to protect me like I'm some fragile old man on his deathbed! I know damn well it's gonna hurt, but the not knowing is what's actually going to kill me! Come on, Blondie, you kind of owe me, at this point..." He let out a ragged sigh and leaned back in his chair. "I'll feel better for it. It's cathartic for me to get it all out there in the open."

He raised his shackled hands to his face and rubbed roughly, attempting to wake himself up and prepare for the reaction. Letting out a slow breath, he finally admitted, "Yes... Yes, it's true. I didn't want to believe it at first, but..."

Anders would have continued had Varric not promptly doubled over, desperately fighting to hold back his anguish. The emotional response ripped open the wound on his soul, and the mage fell to his knees before the despondent dwarf. "Varric," he pleaded solemnly, "please, listen to me. I never blamed you for Garrett's fate - I still don't. Justice was horribly mistaken, and I know I will never be able to say anything to make it up to you, but... Oh, Maker, lay every ounce of guilt on me so that not a shred of it is left on your shoulders."

Varric remained silent as he kept his head lowered, unable to do more than offer a wave of reassurance his way and roughly cough away the tears, waiting until he gathered enough of his dignity back to resume the conversation.

A now fully-stuffed Mouse waddled over to Anders, kneaded gently on the robes over his lap, and curled into a furry grey ball, completely content and comfortable as it nodded off drowsily in the throes of a food coma. Lightly scratching the tiny kitten behind its ears, he smirked softly at one of their shared, fond memories and looked up to the fading light of the grate. "Boiling in oil..."

His old friend paused for a second, then looked up quizzically, his brow furrowing as he vaguely recognised the phrase.

Smiling sadly, Anders glanced his way and sighed dreamily. "Or perhaps trapped in a cave of hungry bears, right at the spring thaw... No, too easy. Dipped in molten gold and left as a statue in the Inquisitor's keep."

"What are you talking about?" Varric wondered, a brow arched humorously.

Shrugging in defeat, he simply replied, "Just trying to guess what my sentence will be. You know her; what do you think the Inquisitor will do?"

His face contorting in remorse, the man forced a smile over his battered features. "Yeah, I thought that might be where you were going..." He placed his hands on his knees and let out a heavy sigh. "Sent into the Fade to separate you from Justice, then reunited with Hawke until you gradually go crazy with him, and eventually die." Varric's words cut off in his throat, but he managed to wheeze out the last word: "Together."

Anders' jaw dropped lamely at the news, and he lifted a shaking hand to cover his gaping mouth as a ragged breath eked out of his throat. Tears sprang up anew, a convoluted jumble of reactions draining him instantly. Fear, gratefulness, hope, despair, relief... All of them flooded his body at once and overwhelmed him. Thoughts racing madly, he felt the tug of Justice stir within him, and it was then that he realised that his lost sense of purpose had returned to him. His new purpose, the only reason for living that had mattered to him for so many years, was to remain at Garrett's side, for better or for worse. And now, through the Inquisitor's undeserved mercy, he would finally fulfil that purpose to the bitter end.

"Well, it was Chuckles' idea," Varric said quietly. "Or Solas'. He thought you'd appreciate that."

Swelling with gratitude for his healer and confidant, Anders nodded absently, regretting his earlier thoughts on the wise elf. "He's actually a good man, that Solas..."

Laughing ruefully, he shrugged and waved a damaged hand. "He's about as annoying as Justice, sometimes, but I bet that comes from his fascination with spirits in general."

The main dungeon door burst open, startling them both and waking Mouse on Anders' lap. Petting the alarmed animal, he watched with raised brows as a human woman, clothed in the armour of the Seekers of Truth, cut a tentative path down the length of barred cells, stopping just short of passing the threshold to his palatial accommodations.

"Varric," she uttered nervously in a thick Nevarran accent, "I would like to have a word with you - privately, if possible."

"Ah, Seeker," he grumbled, "if this is about me invading your privacy again, I'm sorry, okay? I got curious..."

Finding his voice, Anders quipped dryly, "And you know what they say about curiosity." The woman shot him a sudden, brief glance that confounded him as much as she clearly already was. It was almost as though she didn't quite know what to make of him, not settling on disgust nor pity, but lost somewhere in the void between both expressions.

"Blondie, meet Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast. She kidnapped me and stabbed my book, then dragged me into the middle of this shit-fest. Seeker, meet... Anders," he said, using his proper name. "You already know Blondie, obviously."

"I do," she glared, straightening her posture and avoiding the prisoner's eyes.

"It's Anders Hawke now, if you want to get technical about it," he smiled sadly as they straightened and turned to him.

"You... married the Champion?" Cassandra breathed in mild shock.

Varric brightened at that, grinning despite himself. "So, you two finally tied the knot! That's odd - I didn't get an invitation, and Hawke never mentioned it to me. And I doubt the Chantry officiated the wedding, given your... 'explosive' history."

The corner of Anders' lip upturned at the memory of that day in the Anderfels, and he glanced down to the sleeping kitten on his lap, petting Mouse softly. "It was private. Very private... The ceremony - if you could call it that - wasn't official, per se, but... he gave me his name, and we exchanged vows. Luckily, thanks to your new friends, I'll be able to keep them... 'Till death do us part'... I hope you find that kind of love for yourself one day, Varric. Maker knows you deserve it..."

Swallowing another fit of sorrow that threatened to crop up, Varric nodded hard twice and lowered his head sombrely. "Well, that's probably not in the cards for me, Blondie, but... I'm glad I could be a part of Hawke's happiness, in some small way." Standing unsteadily, Varric limped over to the wall and strapped Bianca to his back, placing his crutches out before him. "I gotta get going for now, but I'll be seeing you around."

"Sure, Varric... I'm not going anywhere." Anders watched his old friend depart, the Seeker following closely at his side as she spoke. Though the conversation was muffled, Anders could just make out their echoing voices as they stopped to exchange words near the door:

"Varric, I am truly sorry you had to hear any of that. I wanted to be certain you were all right."

"I'll be fine, Seeker... Maybe not now, maybe not soon, but... I always bounce back. I get where you were coming from when you tried to shield me from it, and I heard the way you argued for saving Hawke, so you're still in my good graces... Is that what this is about?"

"Well... Not really. I did worry about you, but actually... Varric, I am this close to collapsing from lack of sleep, and I would feel better if I knew where you were."

"Ah, I gotcha. Can't nod off without my masculine presence by your side, anymore?"

"It's not like that! I simply... I might have terrible dreams, and - Well, you need to see Dorian for your treatments, so I thought we could sleep... together. Not sleep together, that is not what I intended to - "

"Say no more, Seeker, I was just teasing you. Okay then, let's go get an early night... It's been a rough day."

As he opened the heavy dungeon door for her and allowed her to pass through first, leaving Anders in utter silence, the mage chuckled quietly and kneaded at the skin between the kitten's shoulder blades, eliciting a gentle purr. His spirits had been lifted beyond comprehension, and he breathed deeply, content in the knowledge that he would soon be with his beloved once more.

"I think he's already found it, Mouse... You think poor Varric knows it, yet..?"