Into the Fade, Part III: The Illusion

Anders stood at the end of the line of archers, his knuckles white around his staff, his dark eyes boring a hole into the tear in the Veil. It had been almost an hour since the Inquisitor, Varric, and Iron Bull had gone into the Fade, and not a single thing had come through the rift. Some of the soldiers were beginning to speculate about their fortune, but he wasn't convinced that it was luck so much as the quiet before the storm.

Another few minutes slipped by, and he felt himself growing restless. He broke away from the rest of the soldiers and circled the rift, coming to a halt about a quarter of the way around it.

From here, he had a view of all the men wrapped around the edges of the hall. Some continued to eye the rift with suspicion, their nerves laid bare in their rigid stances, hands gripping the hilts of swords or arrows twirling rapidly between unusually clumsy fingers. Some paid the rift no more attention and held up lively conversations with their brothers in arms, avidly voicing their conviction that this "Fade business" isn't half as dangerous as everybody says it is. The more seasoned soldiers were easy to spot among the rest; they were the ones waiting patiently, their eyes trained on the rift and the recruits in equal measure.

The atmosphere wasn't so tense now that it had been quiet for so long. Anders probably should have been glad for it, but instead, all he could do was wish that something, anything would happen. He wanted the din of battle to fill his ears and the familiar thrum of magic to crackle at his fingertips, and more than anything he wanted to put an end to something. He wanted to watch the life drain from the eyes of one of the creatures that had taken his beloved away. He wanted to rip the demons that had stolen her limb from limb, feel their blood splash hot across his face and listen to their agonized cries drown out the Song in his head.

Fire tore through the mage's veins without warning, driving a low, strangled snarl from the back of his throat and causing his muscles to seize visibly. Cracks flashed over his skin, wisps of black energy obscuring the sharp lines and thickening the air around him. The Song grew louder, and with it, the rage burned brighter than it ever had before.

Sweat broke out over Anders' forehead and the muscles in his neck strained and bulged. He used his staff as a crutch, driving the end into a furrow between the stones to keep himself upright. The fire in his veins surged violently. The darkness beginning to surround him pulsed and twisted.

With an extraordinary surge of willpower he managed to push it all back, to drive it down below the surface again. The shadows fell away and the cracks melted into his skin, leaving in their wake a man who looked like he could use a bed far more than a battle. The absence of the fire left his knees weak and a little wobbly, and the exertion drained what little color was left from his face. Small strands of blonde hair stuck to the sweat coating his forehead and the sides of his neck.

Once he caught his breath, Anders directed his gaze around the hall. Nobody seemed to notice his outburst, brief and quiet as it was, and for that he was thankful. Still, his eyes swept the line of men to make sure that none were on the verge of pointing him out, and it was then that he spotted Cole for the first time since he'd disappeared into the sparse ranks of soldiers.

The boy sat crosslegged on the ground, picking at piles of pebbles he'd constructed during the wait. His hands were poised above a small divot in the stone, tiny rocks held in each of them, and a long moment passed before Anders realized that he wasn't moving. He sat, as still as any statue, staring at the mage. His eyes were obscured by the fringes of his pale hair, but there could be no mistake about the direction of his gaze. He had seen everything.

Anders froze under the boy's scrutiny, the sweat growing cold on his skin. He'd done a better job than he'd thought possible of keeping his little problem under wraps throughout the journey; breathing exercises and learning how to wake up from nightmares quietly went a long way when one was intent on keeping secrets. Now, however, this kid had gotten an eyeful that would be more than enough to earn him a turn under the axe, especially if the mission to recover Hawke went sour. Suddenly his illusion of control felt much thinner than it had a few moments ago.

The mage couldn't pretend to understand Cole's powers or how he knew about the burning, but he also knew that he couldn't approach him or try to explain. He wasn't ready to explain this to anyone yet, and he doubted the kid would let him get anywhere near him anyway. The Inquisitor and her friends didn't know it, but that boy was probably the smartest out of all of them.

A long, shaky breath escaped Anders' lungs. He was sure that what he was thinking was stupid, but he was desperate to hold onto his secret for just a little while longer. Just until the rest of them returned from the Fade.

He focused all of his concentration on Cole and very determinedly thought, Please don't be afraid. I'm trying.

A measure of desperation crept into Anders' face as the two stared at one another, and then Cole went back to piling pebbles into the hole in the ground.