Ten

Anders's heart imploded at the sight of her. It was like being kissed by a beautiful woman and then slapped a second after. She was alive – which was wondrous – and carried by that Antivan misfit – which was not so wondrous – but she was still, the color old ashes.

Anders met them at the edge of the camp. He had been pacing there furiously anyway, so at the first sound of hooves and Shale, he hurled himself down the hill. Uncharacteristically, he had worried his fingernails down to jagged stubs. As Zevran drew near, Anders reevaluated his initial thoughts – was she alive? She looked dreadful, streaked with soot and as limp as a doll without its stuffing. Anders had to hand it to the Antivan, he could sure haul ass even with a heavily pregnant girl in his arms. Wynne wasn't far behind, leaping from her horse and abandoning the reins altogether. She almost didn't see Anders, colliding with him in the shade of a broad oak.

"The baby, Anders," she panted, yanking him along by his sleeve. "The baby is coming."

"What? Now?"

"Yes, now. Find a clean shirt and tear it to pieces. Conjure some warm water please and meet us in the tent."

Anders watched, open-mouthed, as Zevran and Wynne blew by, Tavia's eyes open but unseeing. He hadn't expected this. Tumbling into action, he trotted back up the hill and dove into his pack. Pounce watched this all with his usual feline disinterest. Anders shoved the cat out of the way, picking through his clothes, trying desperately to find something that wasn't absolutely covered in kitten hair. There was a feeling building in his stomach, as if someone were perpetually punching him in the gut over and over. He was either going to vomit or fall over or maybe both at the same time. There was no time to decide whether he was more terrified of Tavia's failing health or the imminent arrival of his kid.

Nathaniel and Leliana waited outside the Tent of Fate. They held hands, talking in low voices as Anders rushed like a psychopath in every direction. Shale deposited something next to the fire, a body probably, which was weird, but Anders didn't spare the energy to look closer. Leliana and Nathaniel turned and approached the body. Good, they could deal with that bullshit, he had bigger fish to fry – help. Lovingly support.

He ducked into the dent, slopping scalding water down the front of his robe. Bugger. A pile of thready rags were tossed over his shoulder. Dusk was coming on outside the tent, purple and ribbed with gold. It would have been picturesque but for the panicky disaster unfolding in the tent. Even Wynne looked stumped. She had probably never helped a woman deliver a baby when that woman had just been roasting on a stake and rescued at the last second. And it really did look like they'd waited until the last possible moment. Anders glowered at the black smudges all over Tavia's face and arms. The bottoms of her feet were badly burned, the flesh peeling in long, red ribbons.

Anders set down the bucket of water beside Wynne and then backed away, petrified. Wynne shoved every pillow and blanket she could find underneath Tavia's back. The tent felt awfully full, with three grown men watching what should have been a private event. Anders wanted to bustle them back outside but worried that Wynne needed extra hands. And so he laced his fingers together and squeezed until his nails drew blood.

"There's something wrong with her," Krag remarked calmly. Calmly? Calm at a time like this? Anders stifled the urge to smack him. Krag knelt beside Tavia and carefully uncovered her lidded eyes. Anders gasped. Where he expected to see white it was pure, glowing red.

"Andraste's blood," he swore, clutching at his throat. "What's happening to her?"

Suddenly, Tavia's body wrenched upward, arching and writhing. Krag pulled his hand away as if he had been stung. He stood and regarded Wynne over Tavia's prone body. Anders was going to start screaming and throwing fire balls if someone didn't say something soon… Has everyone lost their minds?

"There is dark magic at work here," Krag muttered. Anders was sick of it, all of it. His wife was having a baby, this wasn't the moment for a magical summit. He plowed passed Zevran and dropped down next to Tavia. Her eyelids fluttered and then opened. Anders shuddered at the blood red pupils staring back at him. Where was his girl? Where had she gone? Tavia reached for him and then made an abrupt hissing noise, dropping her hand.

"Get…" she wheezed, "Get him away from me. Get him away."

"Tavia, my love, it's me… It's Anders…"

Someone was picking him up by his armpits. Anders struggled, but her words had shaken him. On his feet, he watched as Krag nodded to Wynne and then turned to Anders.

"Come outside," Krag said. "Come. Trust me."

Anders wrenched his hand out of Krag's grasp. "I'm staying."

"You mustn't. Come, I will explain."

Anders sighed, making the whiniest noise he could muster. But Krag was persistent, shoving him until he relented. The last thing he saw was that creepy Antivan helping Tavia into a sitting position and Wynne moving to kneel between Tavia's feet.

An audience had formed, watching the tent intently. As soon as Anders emerged, they looked away, as if it wasn't painfully obvious already that they had been eavesdropping. Krag ignored them, putting an arm around Anders's shoulders and directing him to a shadowy embankment of oaks. They stood in the shadows, the vibrant purple dawn burning in every direction. Anders couldn't stop sneaking glances over his shoulder at the tent. He expected to hear screams any second, but nothing came, just silence.

"Listen to me very closely," Krag began, wetting his creased lips. "Your woman is not herself right now."

"Yeah? No fucking kidding." Out of pure rage, Anders laughed incredulously.

"I have seen this before. Once, long ago, in my village a girl took ill. She had just returned from a hunt and behaved normally at first. She became very pale and weakened. It was my job, as the village's healer, to tend to her. I found no wound, no disease I could name. She was possessed, cursed in the woods by an exiled crone." Krag watched him steadily. Anders could feel his limbs begin to tremble. Surely not, surely Krag had misunderstood…

"But…"

"No, listen. The red eyes, the odd behavior, the color of her skin… She is possessed, mage. A demon dwells within her."

Krag was silent, giving that a moment to sink in. Anders gaped, opening and closing his mouth as he searched for the proper response. He decided there really was no proper response, and instead let the trembling continue until he was certain his boots were going to shake off. He said the only thing that felt right, true.

"I don't understand."

"It's blood magic, Anders. I know not if you are religious, but I suggest very strongly that you pray for them both."

Anders glanced around for inspiration. Suddenly, everything felt meaningless. How was this fair? Hadn't they been beaten and dragged through the mud enough? No, he thought with a dark sneer, he was not religious. He was pretty damn sure the Maker didn't exist, and if he did, he was a god of blood and suffering. Tavia didn't deserve this. Their innocent boy didn't deserve these horrors either. He heard a rumbling from camp, voices. He turned and saw that Shale's body bag had found the strength to sit up. Anders felt a deadening flash of anger. He knew that face.

Krag grasped for him, but Anders was already on the move. He stalked back up the hill, away from the trees and directly to the campfire. At the last minute, Bayard turned and saw him coming. His look of tranquil acceptance was chilling. Bayard didn't even move to protect himself.

Anders was upon him. The chevalier's stupid face was already bruised and bloodied but that didn't bother Anders. He could still see a few places where he could fit in another welt. Distantly, he heard Nathaniel shouting, but Anders had already grabbed Bayard by the neck with one hand and landed several wailing punches with the other. There was something deeply satisfying about hurting him this way. Magic was effective and powerful, but crunching someone's face with bare knuckles was considerably more therapeutic. He wouldn't stop until Bayard's face was nothing but indistinguishable meat and bone.

"This," – crack – "is," – whap – "for Tavia." Crunch.

It took both Nathaniel and Krag to jerk him free. Nathaniel tackled him into the grass, pinning his hands above his head.

"I know you're angry, Anders," Nathaniel grunted, squeezing his wrists. "But Bayard helped. He's not a hostage, he's here willingly."

"Well he would say that wouldn't he?" Anders bellowed. "Tavia is dying," he continued, "She's dying and it's all his bloody fault. I'll kill him!" His heart was hammering against his chest. The fight drained out of him, replaced by cold, hard dread. Still pinned beneath Nathaniel's weight, Anders turned his head to look at the tent. Shouldn't there be screaming? Crying? Why was it so quiet?

You know why.

Nathaniel released Anders and helped him to his feet. Leliana seemed to read Anders's desperate expression and ducked into the tent. He hoped he would return soon with word, but she stayed inside for another twenty minutes. Listless, Anders allowed Krag to peel him away from the campfire while Nathaniel tended to Bayard's mangled face. He wished Bayard had fought back, but the knight had done nothing, letting Anders take out his rage and frustration in perfect stillness. If that wasn't a clear admission of guilt, Anders didn't know what was.

Krag watched him sink down against a tree.

"I said it was blood magic," Krag murmured, "I didn't say I couldn't reverse it."

"And you know all this because…?"

"Because I'm a blood mage."

"How did I not guess that?" Anders muttered, shaking his head. Somehow it didn't bother him, because honestly, that's exactly what Krag looked like. Besides, he wasn't going to throw a tantrum and send a blood mage away when that was precisely what they needed, prejudiced be damned. "So what do we do?"

"First, we wait. If the child is uncorrupted that is a good sign. It is much easier to exorcise an adult. Children are fragile, lacking the strength of will to battle the demon from within. Your woman has lasted this long. Her possession is advanced, yes, but if she was strong enough to get this far then there may be hope yet." Krag pulled out his long, knotted pipe and began to smoke. A rustling in the tree above drew Anders's attention. Krag's raven watched them from inside the leafy branches. Ser Pounce-a-lot wandered over, crawling into Anders's lap and plopping down in quiet solidarity. It spoke to Pounce's care for his master that he braved the presence of the crow to provide comfort.

Anders stroked the cat, listening to Krag draw on his pipe.

"Wait for the child," Krag repeated, "then we will explore our options."

In Anders's mind there was only one option: save Tavia, no matter what. But a queasy feeling was taking hold in his gut. He knew enough about blood magic to guess that reversing her ailment would involve something awful. Maleficarum generally operated on a "life for a life" sort of spectrum. Anders was willing to give his blood. He questioned the wisdom of sacrificing his life. Tavia would probably be quite upset with him if she made it through only to find his life had been the price of her survival. No, there would have to be another way.

A fiery head of red hair emerged from the tent like a flame bursting from the shadows. Anders stood, emboldened again with the vigor of love. This was not at all how he pictured his son's birth. In his thoughts, it was always in their cottage, a scary, messy, mystifying yet ultimately beautiful experience. Wasn't it supposed to be like a gauntlet of sorts? He would start in on one end barely an adult, a stranger in his own skin, and he would emerge on the other side a man, a father… Or maybe that was all wrong. Poetics probably didn't quite capture it. Nothing so intricate and strange could be fit into neatly-packed words.

Leliana cradled something small in her arms. It was wrapped double and triple in one of Ander's old robes. Her expression was unreadable as Anders loped across the campsite, eating up the ground as fast as his long legs could manage.

Please, Maker, I hate your fucking guts but please let him be alright. I might even start believing in you again if you do this for me. I said believe, alright? Not like.

Anders steeled himself. How could he bear it? If he looked in that robe and his son was… No. No, no, no, no, no.

"Tavia is asleep," Leliana murmured gravely, "We cannot wake her. Before she… The last thing she said was 'Tempest.' Does that mean anything to you?"

"Maker, does it ever."

Anders stared down at the bundle, which had begun to wriggle about frantically. Leliana smiled and bent a little to let Anders take the baby from her smoothly. He bounced the child in his arms a little, as he had seen others do. Beaming like a complete idiot, he peeled the robe aside to look at the baby's face. Maker's breath, but he was cute. It was a boy, of course, strong and adorable, with delicately pointed ears and a fuzzy layer of dark blonde hair. Blue eyes. Tavia's eyes. Anders brought his nose close to the little one's face, surprised and delighted when a fist reached up and socked him in the nose.

"I suppose I deserved that," he whispered, chuckling. The boy seemed to respond to the vibrations of Anders's chest, and snuggled deeper into his wrappings. Anders glanced up, noticing at last that absolutely everyone was staring at him. He blushed, and ducked his head to look at his son again. It was official. He would never get sick of looking at this kid. What a handsome mug. What a ladykiller and he wasn't even a day old.

"Hallo Tempest," he said awkwardly, clearing his throat. He wanted to sound commanding, like a father ought to. "Your mum's… Well, she's asleep. But she's going to be alright." Anders glanced up at Krag and skewered him with a look that said, I made that last part up but it better be true. You don't want to make me a liar to my own kid, do you?

"The important thing is," he went on, drawing on a huge, shaky breath. Don't cry, you imbecile. "The important thing is you're here, and we love you very much."

Under a tree, his amber eyes glowing in the dusk, Pounce-a-lot did not at all look pleased about this recent development. Anders was sure that in his little kitty brain, other tiny and cute creatures were nothing but unwelcome competition.

"Frankly, I'm shocked he didn't come out with an earring and a ponytail telling us all what a bunch of blithering morons we are," Nathaniel said, striding up toward him. He leaned over to get a look at the boy, smirking in an odd way.

"Want one of your own?" Anders teased, wiggling his eyebrows.

"I don't understand it," Shale said with a sigh, inspecting his fingers where nails would be. "It just looks like a hairless mole. And so needy. How you humans can stand around jabbering and drooling over that thing is utterly beyond me."

"Oh shush. He's lovely!" Leliana cooed, tickling the baby's nose with the tip of her finger. Anders caught Nathaniel's eye and smiled, slowly, mouthing, "She wants one."

Nathaniel coughed uneasily. "And Tavia?"

Anders clutched the baby a little tighter. He didn't want to have this conversation yet. He didn't want this new joy to be dashed. Krag materialized over his shoulder. There was still no sign of Wynne or Zevran.

"Her condition worsens by the minute," Krag replied. "We must be swift and clever or her life is forfeit."

* * *

Moments later, Anders reluctantly handed the baby to Leliana and Nathaniel and joined the others in the tent.

They convened in a circle around Tavia, who was now sleeping flat on her back. Anders spied a dubious amount of blood-soaked rags in the corner. The bucket of water had been emptied. Tavia looked no better. In fact, she looked much worse. Without the bulk of her belly, she looked incredibly small and shrunken, as if she had wilted to half her normal size. Her skin still possessed that dull, ashen color. Anders heart broke at the sight of her. He knelt to stroke her head. Krag grabbed his wrist.

"You must not touch her. Anything at all could bring on another crisis." Krag let go of his hand when he was satisfied that Anders understood. "She is in the Fade and will not return on her own. We must decide our course of action now."

"Krag has informed me of the dangers," Wynne said quietly. She looked exhausted, taxed to her very limits. Her white hair had come undone, unraveling around her ears. At her side, Zevran crouched, and he too wore an expression of deepest fatigue. "You are not going to like what he has to say, Anders," Wynne added.

"Just hurry up," Anders said. He was torn, eager to return to his son but loath to leave Tavia without deciding how to go forward. Given the color of her skin, they had precious little time to act and he wasn't willing to entertain the idea of her death. She wasn't leaving him, he wouldn't allow it. How could he raise their child alone? It was unthinkable. Not just from an emotional standpoint, but a practical one, too. Without her, how on earth would he feed the kid? It's not like he had an extra pair of breasts lying around for just such an emergency.

"Lay it on me," he said, staring at his wife's still, pale face. His heart compressed. She was beautiful… even in repose, even when she stood on the very threshold of death.

"Whoever performed this ritual was not very skilled," Krag said gruffly. He had stowed his pipe for the moment. "I assume they meant to trap the demon and use it as some kind of shield for the child. The child would have survived the burning while the mother expired. I have used this very spell before."

Anders made a shocked, strangled noise.

"Only in cases where the child's life was in grave danger. When both mother and child are certain to die, it is better to save the one you can," Krag continued. I suppose that's logic… In a way. Krag did not look at all embarrassed by the fact that he had employed blood magic in the name of medicine. "In such cases, the problem of the demon is complicated, but not unmanageable. Before the mother dies, the demon must be drawn out and banished. Sometimes there are mere seconds to do this. But a skilled mage can accomplish such things."

"Hooray for you," Anders muttered darkly, "Where does that leave us?"

"In quite a predicament, I should assume," Wynne replied. "We do not want Tavia to die, therefore the demon must be drawn out some other way."

"Exactly," Krag replied. "To do this we will need a sacrifice of blood…"

"Me," Anders barked without hesitation, "I'll do it."

"No, mage. A life. An entire life must be given to save her." Krag looked at him with his molten eyes, watching closely. Anders felt his hands grow cold.

"But that's… Who?"

"Oh? Is it not obvious?" Krag knit his eyebrows together in confusion. "The man you throttled outside. Would he not be an apt choice?"

The atmosphere in the tent was unbearable, thick with silence. Anders had a very bad feeling that this decision would fall to him. It had to. It should. He stared around blankly. Sure, he wanted Bayard to suffer, but this was extreme. What would Tavia say if she woke to find that her life had been spared because Anders had volunteered Bayard?

"This is… heavy," Anders whispered.

"It is not," Krag said simply. "He is the obvious sacrifice."

Well, gee-golly, Krag. Thanks. I had no idea blood magic was so gosh darn straightforward.

Obvious sacrifice. Right. Despite that, nobody except Krag looked comfortable with this idea. Wynne observed her toes, pale with dread. Zevran shifted from foot to foot, rubbing his chin too energetically for mere thoughtfulness. In the end, they would still be performing blood magic, forbidden magic, on Tavia. What if it backfired? What if it inevitably led to something worse? Anders was certain that in Krag's bizarro mind, this was actually a pretty happy outcome. Useless traitor dead, Hero of Ferelden saved. To Anders, it was far more complex. He would have to live with this decision for the rest of his life, and Tavia would, too.

Anders stood. "I need to think about this."

"Think with haste," Krag advised him, "For we are running out of time."

Anders took one last glance at Tavia, still as a corpse, and ducked outside the tent. He did not anticipate that Ser Bayard would be standing directly in his way, his green eyes half-hidden by the swollen lumps of his brow. Leliana and Nathaniel could be seen some yards away, distracted with the baby.

"Oh. You were listening," Anders said flatly.

"Indeed." Bayard's face was unreadable, not just because it was a grotesque patchwork of cuts and bruises, but because the man had mastered the art of neutrality. Maybe they learned that at chevalier camp. "Over here, mage, if you please."

Anders followed him, reluctantly. He was getting a squidgy feeling all over, like his limbs were turning to jelly. This was not a conversation he ever expected to have. So I know we hate each other and you took part in abducting and nearly charring my wife, but would you mind very much giving your life to save her? By the way, did I mention you don't have a choice? Great, lovely, you're a peach.

They stopped on the eastern side of camp, away from the tent and the others. It was full night now and the campfire was the only source of light. The air hung heavy with the smell of magnolia blossoms. An owl sang its low, hollow song to the stars. Perhaps it was good that Bayard stood in the darkness. Anders had a hard time looking at his distorted face.

"So…" Anders began.

"I want to do it," Bayard said at once, holding up a hand for silence. "Please, let me do this for you."

"Are you… You're not joking, are you?"

"No, I'm quite serious." Bayard sighed and ran his hand through his black curls. Then he winced, his entire body ridged with pain. "I owe her this much. I was very nearly the instrument of her death and my actions allowed for this to happen. This is a defilement of every oath I have ever sworn, every ideal I have ever held dear. And you know as well as I do that this is the only way."

"The mages at the Circle, they might be able to…"

Bayard held up his wounded hand again. "There is no time for that. Do not hesitate, mage. I give of myself freely. Look," he said, nodding over Anders's shoulder, "At your son. If for no other reason, do this for him. If you do not, he will never know his mother."

Anders bit down hard on his lip. This was agonizing. He was really hoping Bayard was going to be a bitch about this. It would make killing him infinitely easier.

"And Anora," Bayard continued, panting slightly from his wounds, "Must be stopped. She is ruthless, determined… She cannot take the throne. You must not let her."

In the darkness, Anders could see the earnestness in the man's eyes. It wounded him, wounded him to his soul that blood had to be spilled to save Tavia. Anders glanced at his boots, embarrassed, moved and confused and humbled by Bayard's willingness. He could feel, in the back of his mind, the clock ticking, propelling him to urgency, reminding him that his beloved wife was going to die at any second if he didn't make a choice. So this was what it was like, was it? To be a leader? This was what Tavia did day in and day out? What a horrible burden. And never did she complain, never… Now he had to make one decision, just one, and he was balking. Anders looked again at Nathaniel and Leliana. That was his son. But to actually drain someone of their life… This was the terrible price of being a family.

"Tavia would…"

"She would like, I suspect, to see her son grow to manhood," Bayard finished. "You know what to do."

Anders nodded.

"I'm… I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I could never live with myself after this anyway." Bayard walked back to the campfire, his shoulders broad and squared. Anders wondered if he would ever feel better about this. Then he thought of holding Tavia again and feeling her kiss, and his reservations vanished. He followed after Bayard, inhaling shakily as he ducked into the tent. Krag waited in his exact same position.

"Bayard's going to do it," Anders told them, his voice wavering, "He's agreed."

Krag didn't even need to call for the chevalier. He appeared beside Anders in the tent, wearing an expression of supreme calm. Zevran and Wynne were silent, dumbstruck. Krag motioned for Bayard to lie down next to Tavia and Wynne cleared a space. Bayard nodded, turning to Anders before he took his position. He extended his battered hand.

"Farewell, ser mage. Once, I was an honorable man. I wish with all my heart you could have known me then."