* 6 years after the chantry was destroyed*
They had run out of lyrium, for the first time in years. Anders drank his tea, bereft of the magical powder but still laced with Deathroot, Feverfew and Eddle's Blossom, but found it did little to calm him. Not when he knew Justice could be lurking in his mind, growing stronger with the lack of lyrium to keep him subdued, ready to strike out at Hawke. He had had such peace in his own mind since he'd given let Hawke dictate his every waking moment, it was unnerving to think of the spirit reawakening within him, rekindling the misspent passion for the mage's cause.
He had both succeeded and failed, in his efforts to free the magi. Hawke, his only window to the outside world, had told him of the slow death of the circles. The populace would give no coin for healing or protection for they no longer had trust in the magics, and the templar, without the means to sustain themselves, never mind the circles they had sworn to serve, had mostly fallen back and regrouped near the chantrys. This provided a more than willing army, when the chantry decided to extract vengeance for the work of one man upon every circle, each one surrounded and put under siege. The occupants were either massacred en masse, or starved to death barricaded within.
So he had, in a way, destroyed the Circle. It could not have had further from his hope if a demon had granted his wish and twisted it. All mages now, were hunted and hated.
He was frightened to think of what Justice might have to say about the whole sorry mess. That had been why he'd never refused the tea, never tried to wean Justice off of it as he had originally planned. Why until now, justice had been effectively gagged.
Finally, when he could hear the whispers of something crawling around the back of his head, he turned to Hawke and pointed to the pile of neatly coiled ropes.
"Perhaps it would be best, if you were to tie my hands so Justice cannot cast if he were to emerge. Maybe even tie me to a chair or the bed... I do not want to hurt you."
Hawke looked at him, thoughtful. "Sit yourself on the chair then."
The ropes were used to bind bond hands down by his sides, and looped under the chair so he couldn't easily rise up and strike at Hawke physically. The reassurance of the bindings eased the tremor in his chest, and Anders looked at Hawke, apologetic for the trouble he continued to cause his love.
"Try to cast..." Hawke said softly, and they both saw the tremulous flicker of a healing speak flutter about Anders's fingertips. Difficult to control, and harder still to aim, but the magic was there. Short of breaking his fingers, Anders could not think what else he could not to block the rush of magical energy that thrummed through his body.
"Hmm... I thought so. Sit tight, I have something that will be of use." Hawke, turned his back to fetch something, and for a heart-stopping moment Anders pictured him pulling out the hilt of a dagger to crush against hand.
There was a box under the bed which Anders was not permitted to touch, and from that Hawke pulled a large dark green bottle. He pulled one of his daggers from his belt, and approached Anders.
"Magebane." he explained, coating the dagger. "It'll take a little cut, I'm afraid, but it will stop you from using magic. I'll have to re-apply regularly... Let me know when you can sense your mana return."
Anders, the cool wash of relief that such drastic measures as breaking fingers was not to be considered, regarded the bottle, it's contents the fear of many a mage. "Why would you have such a poison?"
"Just in case. Ready?"
He cut a quick line into Anders's shoulder, and the mage instantly felt the magic leave his body as poison met blood. He gasped at the sensation, and looked to Hawke, seeing how little of the thick liquid he had seen being used. The bottle was half empty, and far too large a quantity for 'just in case'. He did not pursue the matter however, he knew he would probably not like the answer. He'd seen Hawke's wounds from work, and treated them personally. He'd have had to be blind (or lyrium-addled) not to notice the frequent burns, or the way that Hawke's ribs were crushed without a single dent to his armour, or the frostbite in the middle of summer. Anders suspected Hawke had a lot more dealings with magi than he would admit, aggressive magi... He did not care to think on what Hawke was doing to possibly anger so many magic users, nor how he was managing to afford such quantities of wine and lyrium. Such thoughts would only lead to argument, and arguments always ended with Hawke's fist.
The days ticked on, and justice made no sign of emergence. Hawke, torn between leaving Anders alone with the fade spirit, and going out to source the lyrium they so desperately needed, paced almost constantly. Anders was willing enough to be tied down, even sleeping in the chair, and Hawke had admitted, after yet another apology from the mage that he was hungry again, that there was a certain novel pleasure to be found in feeding the mage, his hands bound tight to the legs of the chair. Of having him so completed dependent, passive and prefect.
Anders had practically shone with the gentle affectionate words.
He'd finished 'freshening' Anders with a wet washcloth, and then returned to the bowl of milky porridge he'd left to cool by the still, with honey added, just how Anders liked it. Spoon by spoon, careful not to go too fast, or burn the mage with porridge still piping hot, Hawke fed Anders. Anders swallowed gratefully, and smiled. He lived for these rare moments, when Hawke would look upon him and not sneer or snarl.
Finally, Hawke tore himself away from his mage, hand on the door frame, and knuckles white with tension.
"I'll be back... As soon as I am able."
As soon as Hawke disappeared, Anders could felt he was not alone.
At first, justice's thoughts were brief flashes, short and sharp like a mabari barking. All want and need, hardly making sense. Anders struggled to calm the spirit, try to understand, but those hammerblows drowned out any coherent dialogue.
Slowly though, justice became stronger, threading words together, making a connection between them that Anders had missed. Anders spoke aloud, it seemed the best way to keep his thoughts clear and organised for the spirit to respond to.
"Justice... I need to know, do you still intend to hurt Hawke?"
There was no answer, but he could sense justice's need for the man, and what he provides. It mirrored his own dependence, and he wondered how much was a product of the bond he and the fade spirit shared, that both of them were hopelessly mixed up in a need and addiction they could not untangle.
"will you try to take control of my body?"
"No." Justice's voice, raspy, a whisper, but heartfelt as far as he could tell. He probed deeper, seeking reassurance that he would not be used against the man he loved. There was an impression of shame, and resentment, that justice had no wish to show Hawke what the spirit had been reduced to. That justice feared should he take control, he would only beg Hawke openly for the lyrium.
The shame and hurt of these thoughts made Anders start, unused to feeling justice's presence, and the strength of the spirit's emotions.
"Could you leave then..? Return to the fade?"
"No." justice sounded like defeat, weary, a far cry for the raw power he'd felt flow through him when the spirit was presence, and they had fought for their cause, "It is too late. I do not desire to leave." there was a thought that went unsaid, -I only desire the lyrium-.
Paying for the lyrium was not the problem. Being a mage hunter, dealing with those that the masses feared, was lucrative. Moreover, he would often find extra little stashes of coin in the robes of his bounties, scrimped and saved pennies to fend off starvation. He brought most of these mages in dead, they were less likely to growing bulky and demonic that way. Healers, however, were in high demand, the great cities struggling in their wars against each other, and more than willing to have a little healer mage in chains to serve their armies. If he was quick enough, he got to those with the healer talent before they could stab themselves with a dagger or choke down some poison.
Anders would undoubtedly hate the idea of Hawke rounding up the last desperate mages as they hid in cellars and caves, so he did not share the exact details of his job description with him. Besides, it was a tactical manoeuvre, for he would get wind of any gossip concerning the biggest bounty of them all, the chantry-murdering abomination of Kirkwall. Sebastian had issued the reward, of that he had no surprise, but as an experienced bounty hunter, if he were to be caught with Anders, he could claim he was taking the mage in to collect the 20000 gold reward. There was safety in being privy to the word on the street concerning Anders, and it offered an escape route should all else fail. At least that's what he told himself.
The lyrium though, was becoming problematic. Not the cost, he could easily cover that the number of scared, underfed little circle mages he'd brought in, mostly too weak to even aim their fireballs. The sheer quantity he required though, that was the issue. He;d been upping Anders's dose, every time he thought he saw the mage about to answer back, or pause before following his demands, he swore that he could see justice just on the verge of breaking through. True there had been no flash of blue, and Anders seemed to think the spirit had gone into a sort of hibernation, but that could well be a rouse of the spirit to get him off guard. It wasn't worth the risk, so, again, not bothering to worry Anders with the details, he'd been steadily increasing the amount of lyrium needed for the tea.
He'd made connection with three different dealers, one of which was a aged templar, who probably consumed more of the lyrium than he sold. That, and taking a peep at whatever was shipped through the port had sufficed so far. Then the templar had died, well, gone into a sort of lyrium-induced coma, and could not be woken, Hawke had found his second dealer had been stabbed in the night, probably because he was supplying raw lyrium on the side, and one of his regulars had not been able to handle the maddening substance.
He had one more dwarf to visit, before he would consider a midnight raid upon the warehouses by the docks, but either why, justice would be provided. Indeed, Hawke thought to himself wryly, when he managed to obtain the poisonous powder, Justice would be served.
Hawke opened the door, and held out a solid block of lyrium, his prise for threatening to cut the ears of the dwarf's daughter if he didn't hand it over right that instant. Anders gave a nod, solemn, and a little scared.
"I can hear him." he said, quietly, and Hawke started to mix the tea at once. Anders's eyes widened a little at the sight of exactly how much of the block Hawke was adding to the leaves, grinding them in a pestle and mortar with the deathroot and other ingredients. He said nothing, but could felt his mouth water at the sight of the powder, justice apparently watching through his eyes, transfixed on the process. While Hawke was blending, Anders tried to speak, a slow uncomfortable burn of guilt gnawing at him.
"Hawke... I need to tell you, justice... All he thinks about is the lyrium. There is no greater goal for him anymore..."
"That's addiction for you." Hawke muttered, mixing the blend to distribute the dose evenly through the tealeaves.
"I think... perhaps we should stop drugging him." A flash of angry panic filled his head, making him falter. He gave himself a brief shake, and pressed on,"He says he will not fight for control... It may be possible to undo the wrong we have caused him..Wean him from the lyrium. Let him return to the fade... He doesn't want to go, but I think it'd be for the best if he was freed."
Hawke looked up, frowning. "Justice could well be lying to you..."
"Justice does not lie!" There was no mistaking the difference in the voice, raspy and weak as it was.
Hawke shook his head, pouring hot water over a pinch of the new batch of tea. He held the cup out to Anders, "I don't believe it."
Anders, feeling the surge of desperate *want* in reaction to the cup offered him, turned his head. "please Hawke, I don't think it is right. I took a creature of the fade into myself, but we have drugged him... And possibly destroyed him. Can we not try to make things right?"
Hawke stood, and held the cup in his hand, tapped against the side with a finger.
"Justice... What do you think. Do you want to go through the pain and torment of withdrawal?"
Flickers of blue streaked across Anders's face, his eyes dancing with blue fire.
"Well now, that seems to answer whether you'll take control or not." Hawke said coldly, "Now... tell me you want it."
"..." Justice, flickering but obvious in the open hatred he wore on his face, said nothing.
"Tell me, or I'll pour the whole sodding cup to the ground."
low, a rumbling hiss, "no... I may be desperate, but I'll not give you the satisfaction."
Hawke grinned, and started to tip the cup, drops falling past his fingers to the floor. "I find it interesting that you think you have a choice... Now. Tell me you want it."
Justice's eyes widened, and he leaned forwards, the chair creaking as he wore against the restraints. As the drops became a trickle, he dipped his head, defeated.
"Please..."
Hawke used Anders's hair to pull the head up, and pressed the cup to the lips, which gulps greedily at the liquid. When the cup was empty, Hawke used the nearby washcloth to affectionatly wipe a stray drop from the stubble of the chin, watching as the blue flickers receded.
He felt triumphant, finally having beaten justice, not just contained the fade spirit. He noted, coldly, that Anders did not look half as so pleased at his victory. The mage looked ill. He leant over and brushed a stray wisp of hair from his mage's face.
"Don't look at me like that... Justice wanted it. I'll not be able to untie you yet though, need to make sure the drug has taken proper effect."
Without waiting for reply, Hawke turned to prepare some dinner for the two of them, leaving Anders bound to the chair.
Anders felt the lyrium fight the magebane within him, blood almost boiling at the power untapped, singing in a deafening chorus.
After a while, he could feel the tea seep through his body, calming frayed nerves, giving everything a distant hazy feel. Some part of him held on to the lingering sensation of doubt, fighting against the wash of of calm of the drugged tea, despite the uncomfortable sensation it produced in his gut.
"It's working..." He said quietly, feeling justice drift from him. He took a breath, and then, more to himself, added; "At least he seems happy now."
"So why do you still look as though I have kicked a kitten? The spirit got what he wanted, and will not cause you anymore bother."
Anders tried to ease his brow, but the creeping unease still clung to him. Justice might well be happy, in a lyrium stupor, but that didn't make it right... He knew better than to argue with Hawke however, didn't want to risk the fragile concern and care Hawke had started to show much more frequently to be ruined.
Hawke took the pot of stew from the hook over the fire, and left it to cool on a slab on stone on the floor. He looked up at Anders, and his face slowly spilt into a wide smile.
It only took him a pace or two to reach the mage, on his knees and grinning as he rubbed his cheek against Anders's thigh.
"I know what we can do while we wait for dinner to cool..." His tone was all thick lust and though Anders tried to shake his head against Hawke's advances, Hawke paid the man in the chair no mind as he began to nuzzle and rub against the inner thigh, hot breath rolling over his member.
It took an age for Hawke to get the flacid flesh to respond, licked and sucking and kissing and breathing over the delicate skin till it at last started to harden, against Anders's will. It seemed disrespectful to bid farewell to his hidden passenger in such a way, and he strove to keep the last whispers of justice with him, rather than indulge in Hawke's skilled tongue.
His body was too well trained however, and soon his manhood stood, straining upwards, as Hawke lavished it with wet tongue and tightly gathered mouth. Just as he felt his rear raise from the chair in near completion, Hawke pulled away, grinning wickedly.
"Tell me you want it." he drawled.
Anders bucked at the cold loss of sensation, and the poor humour of Hawke's words. He would have maintained his indignant frown, but for Hawke's causal insistent licks up the underside of his shaft, flicking against the ridge of his head, every breath a promise of the wet heat that lay in wait beyond Hawke's grin.
Anders reached for Justice, blindly trying to summon strength, to hold on to his outrage and not give in to Hawke, not on this, the final straw. What was left of Justice was not much more than faint threads of lyrium induced bliss, and unresponsive to his moral stance. Unresponsive to anything save for the lyrium coursing through his veins.
He slumped, giving in entirely, finding no strength to draw on to deny Hawke anymore.
"I want it Hawke..." His voice was flat, and spoken like a dying breath, "I want you."
With that, Hawke consumed him.
Anders could not feel Justice at all anymore, save for the pleasant buzz at the back of his mind when he drank his tea.
He had lost track of where they had wound up, the cityscapes beyond the closed curtains meaningless to him, and Hawke more and more frequently coming home in a panic over some unspecified threat, and demanding they move to a different town.
Despite the constant upheaval, Hawke seemed better these days, now that Anders had ceased to question or argue with him. All magic inflicted wounds were healed without comment, and the bottle of magebane was no longer hidden. Anders had started to add a drop or two to his tea, to keep his unintentional sparks at bay. If Hawke had noticed that his poison was depleted quicker than usual, he had not made comment of it.
Despite requesting that Anders was awake and waiting for him when he returned home, Hawke had started to stay out late at the local taverns, often coming home in the dead of night, and falling into an instant sleep as Anders quietly mended the damage the vast quantities of alcohol caused to his internal organs.
One day he surprised Anders by coming home early, and wrapped the mage into a tight, almost crushing, embrace.
"Mine..." He breathed, cheek pressed firmly against the crown on Anders's head.
The last part of Anders that realised he had become little more than a favourite possession, rather than a person, shuddered at the word. It was the only part of him that still felt Hawke had done Justice wrong, that still held on to a frail and tremulous believe that Anders was more than just Hawke's pet mage. The doubts, the concerns at what Anders had allowed himself to become were quickly drowned out by the desperate need to please Hawke, still, after all these years, trying to repay a debt that could never be matched.
'Mine.'... And the small fading voice of what was once a strong and powerful mage, willing to sacrifice everything for his cause, feared that it was true.
