ELEVEN

Dispensing Justice

The Seeker was doing her damnedest to make as much noise as possible at her guard post in front of the condemned man's tent, sliding her sharpening stone along the edge of her long blade to drown out the spirited debate taking place around the campfire. She could only pray that Anders had long-since fallen asleep as the mages devolved into an all-out cat fight about who could be the most self-righteous.

"Oh, don't be so idealistic, my dear. For one not fond of believing in absolutes, you certainly paint an unambiguous picture of the conflict in which we're presently involved."

Solas' eye began to twitch, and not for the first time this evening. "Once more, Vivienne: I am not trying to pigeon-hole each and every mage and templar into simplistic categories of victim and perpetrator. Do not mistake my passion on this issue for naivety. Coexistence has worked well before; I have seen it, myself. It can be done without all of the needless persecution and paranoia of becoming the latest Tevinter, which are largely unfounded fears drummed up by the Chantry."

"Except that Tevinter exists,Solas, and only goes to prove the Chantry's argument against letting mages have more power with which to subjugate the non-mage classes."

Dorian sighed and leaned back, arms crossing over his chest as he shook his head at the stars above. "You know, I do wish you southerners would stop portraying my home as some great evil, as though every other kingdom and country in Thedas is perfect and without need of some reform. And this strange notion that we mages have total control over our lives is pure bollocks!" He lowered his eyes, arching a dangerous brow over the fire at them. "Why do you think I left? Because everything was all roses and sunshine for me as a mage?"

Vivienne turned her gaze to the side in such a way as to imply he wasn't worthy of acknowledgement, but stated coolly, "You'll not soon convince me to change my tune regarding Tevinter, Dorian. Having been raised there, you could never hope to see your country for what it truly is due to your heavily-indoctrinated patriotism."

"That's odd. I thought having spent the majority of my life there would offer sorely-needed perspective in these parts. We're not allslavers and blood mages bent on taking over the world."

"Says the magister," she smiled, her tone drenched in biting sarcasm.

"Altus, Vivienne, I'm an altus! There isan actual difference between - Oh, why do I even bother at this point?" He rose in exasperation to dump his cold tea near a rock in the sand, rolling his eyes as he sighed out his mounting frustration and struggled to control his anger.

Cassandra stole a quick glance through a gap in the tied flaps of the tent, telling herself that it was only to be sure Anders was still within and had not escaped out the back. In truth, she did this to check whether he was awake and alert - and indeed he was. He had continuously found it difficult to sleep as they drew nearer to the Western Approach, his increasingly severe nightmares pushing a restful night impossibly out of reach.

"Is something wrong, Lady Seeker?" He asked quietly, concern in his tired voice. "Do you need me to help with anything?"

Anders' propensity to be helpful on this long death march was as irksome as his tendency to make eye contact with her. She had not yet engaged him in any conversation he attempted to initiate, and she wasn't about to start now. "Sleep, Anders. Tomorrow will be a trying day." Releasing the red cloth from her grip, she picked up her stone and leaned over her sword again, determined to cover the growing voices of dissent to her right with the singing of steel.

"...should save your breath, Dorian. Though I do not share in your fondness for the Imperium, she will not be swayed by reason and evidence."

"I don't know if you're aware, Solas darling, but a glimpse in the Fade of an ancient society that may have once thrived hardly constitutes as solid evidence of a viable system. Clearly it is notsustainable, or you would not be arguing to raise it from the grave. The past is in the past, where it belongs; that is the order of things. I prefer to look to the future."

The elf could no longer sit still, instead getting up from his rock near the campfire to pace, hands clasped tightly behind his back. "Yes, go right ahead and knowingly elect to subject yourself to a broken system, set up nearly a thousandyears ago during a time of intense suspicion of all things magical in nature. How very forward-thinking of you! Excuse me while I marvel at your profound callousness toward your fellow mages, using their continued subjugation to your advantage so you can live in luxury as those around you suffer for simply wanting to be freeto live their own lives."

"What you perceive as callousness, my dear, I see as a calculated strategy to ease the conditions under which my fellow circle mages are bound, through both being a shining example and by applying subtle suggestion to those with the power to sway toward our benefit." It seemed that her time immersed in the Great Game kept Madam de Fer from losing her cool, though all her nonchalant attitude accomplished here was to foster aggravation in their other allies. "In the end, we are all here to see that this war concludes in our favour. I have sacrificed many worldly comforts to put my skills to good use for this cause; do not be so contemptuous simply because you had no comforts of your own to lay aside."

Solas glared intensely in her direction, and Cassandra leaned up in preparation to intervene as he stood defiantly before the woman, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. "And that is the key difference between you and I. Your - "

The elven woman thundered past Cassandra as though a dark cloud followed her wherever she went. Storming toward the campfire, she plunked a wooden bucket of water down, standing between Solas and Vivienne, the flames in her eyes not merely a reflection. "What is wrongwith you?!" She seethed under her breath, gesturing at the tent the Seeker guarded. "You want to have this argument right now?Can't you at leastwait until 'he's' gone?"

Cassandra's eyes darted to the furthest tent across the way as Sera's high-pitched voice taunted from within, "Ha ha, Inky told you mage-y arsehats where to shove it!"

Sighing, Dorian rubbed his tired eyes and tentatively lifted the bucket at Lavellan's feet. "Sorry, Inquisitor. We tend to get carried..." He paused as a thought occurred to him, cocking his head to the side and furrowing his brows in interest. "Well now, you're a mage who might offer a different perspective on this, Lavellan. Whose side would you support in this debate?" He asked curiously, a smirk turning his mouth gently. "Do say mine."

Rolling his eyes, Solas shot Vivienne a stern look. "The point is - and it is the last thing I shall say on the matter," he added as he watched Lavellan stiffen angrily in his peripheral vision, "that sometimes, action must be taken that isregrettable, but in the end is the only available means to affect positive change in a world gone mad."

"And you have the nerve to call mecallous," Vivienne rose from her seat, brushing sand from her shimmering leggings. "Your dismissal of atrocities is truly abhorrent."

"I - "Lavellan jerked as she suppressed an outburst and massaged her fingertips against her temples. "Okay, deep breaths, Lavellan... Time for a shift change. Solas, Vivienne, Dorian, you're all calling it a night."

"Oh," Dorian smiled, his well-groomed brows shooting up in amusement, "we're being put in the naughty corner! Serves us right, I suppose, for driving mummy completely mental."

"I get it, you're all tired - clearly- and frankly, we'retired of having to listen to you," the Inquisitor grumbled, taking the water bucket from his hand and setting it near the kettle. " I want Blackwall, Sera, and Cole out here in the next five minutes."

"Right then," Sera's voice answered somewhat dejectedly at realizing she'd have to spend a long shift with the spirit boy, "out in a sec, Quizzy."

"I am here. I'm always here," Cole answered out of nowhere, appearing suddenly by the fireside, dark, sinister clouds cascading down and dispersing at the ground around his boots. Dorian and Solas shot a glance between them, the two men startled, but not truly surprised to discover that Cole had been present for the duration of their shift. Glaring almost imperceptibly, Vivienne made her way to one of the tents, presumably to wake a snoring Blackwall and steal the warmth of his cot.

The Inquisitor shook her head, sighing loudly as she trudged through the sand to her side, and Cassandra lowered her eyes and resumed running her sharpening stone over the razor edge of her sword.

"Did he hear any of that?" Lavellan mouthed quietly, pointing needlessly at the tent flap.

Turning her face up, the Seeker gave the Dalish a look that said more than she could convey with words, for she was not a woman who was known for her fabulous communication skills, and she saw the elf read her thoughts plainly enough. Running a worried hand over her face, Lavellan nodded in acceptance and cleared her throat. "I suppose it's a good sign he hasn't burned the tent down around him. Still, I did call for a shift change, Cassandra, and that means you, too. Wake the Commander to relieve you and get a good night's rest in before the morning."

"What about you?" Cassandra asked in a low tone, her own exhaustion deepening her voice. She pocketed her stone and rose to her feet, sheathing her sword as softly as she could manage.

Lavellan attempted a weary smile, but it only served to highlight the bags of fatigue forming beneath her eyes. So the Inquisitor would not be sleeping this night, it seemed. Perhaps the weight of the day ahead was filling her with too much anxiety to sleep soundly. Making no mention of these thoughts, the Seeker nodded at her silent reply and walked the short distance to the tent adjacent to Anders', where Cullen and Varric had taken their leave after dusk had fallen over the desert.

Cullen was an incredibly light sleeper for a man that required much more of it than others to recover from the mental and physical strains put upon him daily, and it took only the removal of her obsidian boots and the ghost of a touch to his ankle to rouse the man almost completely. He inhaled deeply, rising automatically without word to slide his chest plate over his tunic and slip his signature cloak over his shoulders to stave off the night chill, bending to retrieve his shining boots.

Before he left the rudimentary shelter, Cassandra laid a hand on his forearm and whispered, "The Inquisitor is about to brew more coffee. Take it when it is offered and stay alert. They're at it again."

"Oh, Andraste's Blood," the Commander sighed sleepily, "will I forever be the babysitter of squabbling mages?"

Smirking gently, she patted his shoulder companionably. "No rest for the wicked."

Breathing out a rueful chuckle, Cullen parted the tent flaps and stepped out to begin his shift on guard of the prisoner. As he left, she unfastened her own plate armour and laid it down carefully at the foot of the now-available cot, which was hopefully still quite warm. She left on only her light tunic and leggings, kneeling down and turning over the blanket to crawl luxuriously inside, careful not to disturb the dwarf lying on his back to her left, his hands resting one over the other on his abdomen. She sighed with a mix of fatigue and relief, turning Cullen's pillow to the cool side before lowering her head on the down feathers.

"They can't help themselves, Seeker. Blondie's mere presence here is reinvigorating the debate."

Her eyes shot open to the dim light provided by the fire in the middle of camp, the distant flames flickering over the red canvas. "You could have just said you were awake; I went to a lot of trouble not to disturb you."

Varric shrugged, a movement that had become much easier over the last few days of travelling. "It's much more fun to see what lengths you'll go to. Besides, wouldn't want to spoil the surprise reveal too early."

She shifted herself on her side to face him, their cots half a meter apart on the floor. "It's true, the mages were fighting, but the Inquisitor handled them, and they settled fairly easily. No need to be concerned; I am certain she has calmed the situation for the moment."

He sighed and lifted a hand to the bridge of his formerly broken nose, massaging the bridge between thumb and forefinger. "All this rebellion shit really stirred the proverbial pot... You think you know a guy to the point where you can predict what he's gonna do in any given situation, and then he does the exact opposite of what you expect... The compassionate healer becomes the unforgiving mass murderer - that's a twist I never saw coming, and I write about mislaid trust and ultimate betrayal for a living. Then, everyone's at each other's throats for years, and before you know it, he's literally at your own throat out of nowhere... and I can't even bring myself to..."

Frowning, Cassandra leaned up on an elbow and studied his face, or what she could make of it in the poor lighting provided to her. "Is something troubling you?" She prodded seriously, noting the blank look on his tired, stubbly face.

"Eh," he muttered half-heartedly, sounding as though he didn't know where to start with such a loaded question, "it's...complicated, Seeker. In short, I feel like a damn coward."

The admission surprised her. "You have done nothing cowardly that I have seen. At least not lately," she amended, unable to help taking a small dig at him even now.

The casual back-handedness with which they treated each other barely got a rise anymore, and was instead evolving into something more endearing than bitter, as it had once been between them. Knowing this, he let the comment slide with no more acknowledgement than a slight smirk at the corner of his scabbed lip. "Back in the dungeon in Emprise du Lion, I distinctly remember telling Blondie that I'd talk to him again, but...so far I've been making up every excuse in the book not to."

"No one expects you to simply pretend nothing has happened," Cassandra consoled him. "Despite the excuses made on his behalf, Anders still hurt you. You would be completely justified if you chose to never speak to that abomination again, and know that I would support you in your decision. I myself have barely spoken to him aside from what I have had need to say."

Varric sighed, letting the air out of his lungs in a slow mental purging of destructive thoughts. "I know, but he wasn't your friend once upon a time... If I don't say something, anythingto him,I might regret it in my old age..." He turned his head to face her in the darkness. "See? Told ya. Complicated."

Filled with sympathy for his dilemma, Cassandra lowered her head to the pillow and traded with him a rare, small smile. "We should try to rest before the dawn robs us of a chance to sleep at all, tonight."

She closed her eyes in the following silence that ensued, and felt the hands of slumber descend upon her form, its fingers lulling her into a dulling of sound and sensation as her mind slipped softly into that otherworldly state of being.

"Do you, uhm," Varric's voice coaxed her back suddenly, causing her to jerk slightly as she awoke to the tent around her again. It was difficult to focus, but he appeared shifty as his eyes darted back and forth from her face to his shaking hand - or perhaps that was her usual suspicious nature mislabelling the expression. Perhaps what she actually saw was nervousness. "I don't mean this the way it's going to sound, Seeker, but... Would it be better for you if I slept a little closer, tonight? It's just that your nightmares sound like they've been getting worse."

That was not an offer Cassandra had expected in the slightest. Why would it make any difference to her nightmares how close or far away the dwarf was to her sleeping form? It seemed ridiculous to her that he would even suggest this as some form of aid. But then it hit her: He really hadn'tmeant it the way it had sounded. Varric was not offering to move closer as a service rendered, nor even a security measure against her fretful dreams. There was something else to be gained for him in this proposal. Nothing perverse or malicious, but strangely more personal: comfort.

Not being able to dream himself, perhaps Varric believed that being near her as she dreamt of Hawke in the Fade was as close to his old friend as he would ever be again... And not only that, but he also sought someone to hold, to feel guarded against his own distressing emotions. Finding it difficult to sleep under these grievous circumstances, he needed the touch of another, however benign, in order to be calm enough to cope and drift off to sleep. If Varric could protect her against something he had no true power to control, then perhaps he believed she could do the same for him.

And he was either too ashamed to admit this, or believed that she would laughingly refuse if he was honest with her.

"...I suppose that would be helpful, if nothing else but to wake me as soon as the nightmare begins in earnest... But I only require this for tonight. Our business will conclude after tomorrow, and I should be fine once we head back for Skyhold."

"Sure. Just thought I'd offer... " He nodded once, leaning upright to slide the edge of his cot against her own. As he settled again, his bare, muscular arm draped over her waist, hand resting against the wool blanket in front of her, but she made no protest to this gesture. In fact, it felt oddly comforting for her, too.

"Night, Seeker."

She closed her eyes and listened to the crackle of the fire in the distance, catching the soft voices of conversation on the wind as his breath warmed the back of her neck. "Sleep, Varric... Tomorrow will be a trying day."

~oOo~

Anders sat under the shade of a boulder with a sense of disquietude as the Herald of Andraste herself stood nearby, watching him poke over the bounty laid out before him: a selection of four cheeses, dried meats, a torn hunk of bread with an orange preserve spread, and a canteen of the coolest water available in the barren wastes of the Western Approach. Around him, the chosen few that had accompanied the leader of the Inquisition on her journey south-west snacked on simple rations as they watered their horses and beasts of burden, talking amongst one another and trying their best to shield themselves from the scorching desert heat.

Anders assumed she anticipated a word of gratitude from him, but risking a glance upward to read the woman's expression, her features unexpectedly read otherwise. Instead, what he found there behind her prominent Dalish tattooing was something resembling curiosity, as though she had a question in mind to ask him or a thought she yearned to put forward. The whole thing struck him as odd; not one person had approached him to converse for the three days it had taken them to journey through Orlesian territory. In fact, the only ones whom had traded words with Anders thus far were Commander Cullen and Seeker Cassandra, and that was merely to inform him of a change in direction or when they would be setting up camp for the night. So to have the Inquisitor herself standing before him, obviously wondering how to engage in a dialogue with a condemned apostate, was perturbing at best.

She threw a quick look over her shoulder as if searching for support from someone, but Anders didn't find anyone standing in that particular direction. Confused by this, and also wanting to give her the opening she so desperately needed, he cleared his throat and took a cautious sip from the canteen. "Thank you for this, uh, generous spread, Inquisitor, but... I don't think it was necessary. I would have been fine with more rations."

Lavellan wrung her hands briefly and bit her lower lip, glancing down at her boots as she lightly kicked the sand at her feet. "Well, to be honest, we actually packed the food especially for this, uh... leg of the journey."

"Oh?" Anders probed warily, his heart sinking noticeably at her words. "What leg would that be, exactly...?" Even as the question left his lips, her awkward expression told him precisely what she had meant, and her reluctant answer, though delivered with soft, sobering finality, was entirely expected:

"The last leg."

He didn't need to look to the horizon to know that the ancient dwarven fortress standing on the very edge of the Abyssal Rift now loomed like a dark cloud in the distance. Picking up the soft brown bread from his wooden plate, Anders understood all too clearly that what he had actually been given by the Inquisitor was his last meal.

A small feast, but a gracious one nonetheless.

"I see," he uttered hoarsely, his appetite drying up within him. "I've known this day was coming for a long time, Inquisitor... Now that it's finally here I... have mixed emotions, to say the least."

"I know," she empathised sincerely, which surprised him to a degree. The level of compassion coming from his executioner - in a sense - was something he hadn't anticipated, let alone that he'd assumed most, if not all, of those "escorting" him to the last place Hawke was seen alive were happy to watch him receive his comeuppance. Certainly the Imperial Enchantress accompanying the small band had made her undeniable pleasure at his impending sentence well-known. He'd once heard a Nevarran mage refer to the enjoyment derived from another's misfortune as "schadenfreude". Anders couldn't honestly admit that he wouldn't feel the same toward the gloating mage if their situations were reversed. She was the living embodiment of all he despised about the higher echelons of the Circle of Magi.

Anders sat upright in alarm as Inquisitor Lavellan lowered herself to the sands and sat across from him beneath the shade of the mountainous boulder towering at his back. "No, don't worry," she held her hands up before her calmly. "I just wanted to say a few things before leaving you to it, and I didn't think towering over you was a polite way to go about it."

He nodded cautiously, raising the water to his lips again. The liquid within had warmed considerably whilst resting next to him, but with the heavy shackles binding his wrists, he couldn't chill it again with an ice spell. As if sensing his train of thought, she laid a hand on the base of the canteen and tapped into her mana reserves to achieve the desired result. Lowering his head slightly in thanks, he drank greedily for a moment before exhaling loudly, bringing his attention back to the powerful woman showing more leniency than he ought to deserve.

"First, I wanted you to know that I'm not ignorant to what occurred a few years ago in Kirkwall," she started easily enough. "Though we Dalish typically elect to shut ourselves off from events that don't concern us directly, Clan Lavellan was based in the Free Marches, and we were of the opinion that being informed on human affairs was not only good for trade, but for politics, too. So I know about what you did, and what happened there as a result. I can't say I understand your rationality, but... you should know that I not only consider your sentence a mercy, but just punishment for your past crimes, as well."

Anders' brow furrowed slightly at her choice of words. "I know. I'm prepared to face the consequences of those actions, as I was when I first took them... But you're speaking in the past tense about your Clan, Lady Inquisitor. Don't you still consider yourself one of them?"

Caught off-guard, Lavellan sat up slowly, her hands braced on her knees as she sighed quietly. "Ah... Well, I still consider myself a Lavellan, of course... But they're gone, now," she admitted with a catch in her voice. "My clan was wiped out some months ago... Even close relations with neighbouring humans couldn't spare them once I was named Inquisitor."

Taken aback himself, Anders fidgeted lightly with his gold earring and winced, unable to hide his sheer pity for the woman. "Oh... Then I am sorry for your loss..."

"...And I yours," she replied levelly. "In fact, that's exactly why I came to speak to you in private..."

He looked up again to meet her large elven eyes, full to the brim with remorse and the heavy weight of responsibility bestowed unto her. "Well... I don't see how what happened to Garrett could be considered your fault, Inquisitor," he reassured her warily, unable to foresee where she was headed with all of this.

"So Varric didn't tell you, then," she sighed, brushing a nervous hand through her blonde, shoulder-length hair. "There's something I should apologise for, Anders... When Hawke, Warden Stroud and I finally reached the way out in the Fade that day, we were cut off from our escape at the last second by the Nightmare demon that ruled there, a gigantic monstrosity that we all immediately knew we had no hope of killing ourselves. We watched helplessly as Cassandra, Solas, and Varric escaped through the Rift, all of them believing we were right behind them... Stroud offered to distract the demon and allow us a chance to escape, but Hawke was having none of it, and put himself forward to spare Stroud, whom Hawke insisted would be needed to help rebuild the Grey Wardens... So, I was ultimately left with a choice to make, regarding who would be coming home... and who would stay behind."

His breath robbed from him momentarily, Anders felt the enraged tug of Justice from within, full of fiery vengeance at her words, but the spirit within him was unbelievably held at bay. He had no idea how exactly Justice was kept from taking over - other than Cole's previous vague assurances that Justice wouldn't be able to take control of Anders wholly while the mysterious boy was nearby. Still, the heartache he felt at her revelation cut like a knife deep in his belly, the wound reopened and festering in his very soul.

"It was the most difficult decision I've ever had to make," Lavellan admitted quietly, "and I'm so sorry that I couldn't do better... Believe me, I know what it's like to lose everything you once cherished, to have that awful news delivered into your shaking hands... All in the form of something so innocuous as a letter..."

There were no words to describe his appreciation for her honest confession, nor the pain that it brought him to know that it could have turned out so differently, nor even the gratitude at her decision to allow him one final opportunity to reunite with the love that was taken from him that day.

"My only regret for you, Inquisitor," he managed to whisper through his despondency, "is that you cannot be given the chance to recover what was lost to you, as you have so graciously offered me... If there is anything left of your home, though, I do hope you are able to find it someday."

Pressing her lips to a fine line and resisting the sting of tears, the Inquisitor stood and brushed the sand from her trousers as she gently cleared her throat of the emotions that choked her. "I hope so, too," she agreed with a curt nod. "Rest assured, as well, that I will honour the allyship established with the rebel mages, and that the goals you fought to accomplish throughout your life will not die with you this day.

"Now, eat up, Anders... You're going to need every last bit of strength left in you to find Hawke."

He uttered a small thanks in response as she walked silently back toward her party to join them during their mid-morning meal. Taking her parting words to heart, he closed his misting eyes and held the cold canteen to his aching chest, knowing that the Inquisitor's direct promise of loyalty to the cause and her unearned, sincere compassion for his plight had granted him an immense sense of inner peace...

And, dare he even admit it, tranquillity.

~oOo~

If there was any place in all of Thedas he would rather never lay eyes on again, it was Adamant. No contest.

Varric kept his eyes cast strategically downward, walking through the scorching sands at a lumbering pace behind his friends as they silently approached the dilapidated stronghold. Even from this far off, he could see the extensive damage done to the stonework from their previous visit, when the Wardens had taken control and bunkered down with demons, all under Corypheus' watchful eye. The air felt different here, creepier and more sinister, but he didn't care to rationalise the change in atmosphere with talk about the Veil, as Solas did. For him, the dark feelings washing over him were more personal.

He shot a glance ahead, watching forlornly as Anders lifted his gaze high to fully take in the haunting structure. Only able to see the back of his head, Varric couldn't tell from this angle what the look on the condemned man's face expressed, but if it wasn't full of panic or dread, he'd have been shocked. Anxiety tied his intestines into intricate knots, pulling tightly at his guts, and his breathing came shallow and quick in his chest.

"You want to, but you don't. You should. It would be better."

Shaking his head, Varric scrunched his eyes shut tightly and gritted his teeth. "Not right now, Kid. I'm barely holding it together as it is."

Cole now walked next to him, as he probably had for Maker knew how long before he finally came into view. "Your thoughts are loud, Varric."

"Sorry," he sighed, keeping his voice low and hoping the Kid would do the same. The last thing he needed was for everyone to know what he was thinking in the moment. He'd much rather have a stiff drink than ever express something so personal. "I know what you're gonna say, and I appreciate you trying to ease the pain, but please... Don't. Just...don't."

"You want me to stay quiet, just as you are."

"Yep... That's what I want."

"Why?"

Varric stopped in his tracks as though the effort to explain himself left him unable to carry out other tasks, his heartbreak and conflicting emotions too strong to give voice. He cautiously glanced up again and, as if feeling eyes on his back, Anders turned his head to steal a glance behind him.

So much was written on his long, drawn face. Every paralysing fear, every lost resignation, every desolate hope was bared to Varric as their gazes locked from across the sands. The dwarf could have sworn he saw moisture beneath the man's honeyed eyes, and it wouldn't have fazed him considering the execution that was about to transpire, though it just as easily could have been a mirage. Yeah. A mirage, Varric thought bitterly, chastising himself. You don't really believe that. Talk to him, you chicken shit! You're in denial!

"You are, but that's okay," Cole uttered in a ghostly whisper. "You should listen to yourself. It would be better. He would feel better. And you will, too."

The battered remnants of the high door loomed before him, shattered and splintered by Cullen's battering ram as though it had only happened yesterday. He watched practically outside himself as Tiny, Buttercup, and Hero passed through the archway, their weapons at the ready in the event that not all within the stone walls remained dead. The Seeker stood on guard at the broken doors as they scanned the first level, the four less argumentative mages tying up the beasts near the gate.

Then Curly turned to Blondie and wordlessly pulled out a large ring of keys from his rucksack, sifting through one after the other in search of the iron key that would unlock the shackles around the apostate's wrists.

Thoroughly surprising himself, Varric turned and walked away roughly twenty paces, uncorking a hidden flask from his pack and knocking back as many large gulps of brandy as his throat could withstand. Fully expecting the Kid to follow and press the issue, he glanced toward the party again as he sucked in a breath hoarsely - only to find Cole nowhere in sight. Whether he had simply disappeared, or was never actually there to begin with, Varric was unsure.

But it didn't matter... Because either way, he was right.

"Hold up," Varric called out, lifting a hand as his brows came together. He kept his eyes cast down and, after a handful of seconds passed in silence, all activity coming to a dead halt ahead, he heard the soft plodding through the sands as someone approached. He didn't dare meet their eyes at point-blank range, in case a sliver of unguarded emotion was visible somewhere on his face. "Ah shit, come on, Varric" he reprimanded himself under his breath, sniffing hard and stuffing the flask back in an empty holster at his belt.

The dull shine of her obsidian boots was all he focused on as she spoke in hushed tones. "Varric, you do not have to say a word to him if you don't want to," she reminded him. "However, if you would like the opportunity, Cullen and I will wait just inside the gate and allow you a moment of privacy to say what you wish to him."

Varric's throat was raw, and a tear betrayed him as Cassandra laid the offer before him. Rubbing his gloves over his face to stave off further emotions escaping his walls, he nodded and placed his hands on his hips, pursing his lips and glaring in an attempt to harden his trembling features. "Okay," he managed to croak out his agreement, "I think I should... probably say goodbye... I didn't get the chance with Hawke, so... Yeah."

Placing a supportive hand on his shoulder, the Seeker gave him a knowing squeeze before leaving his side. "Send him over," she called over to Cullen, her voice firm and businesslike.

He heard the clinking of iron chains as the shackles were stored away, the prisoner now free to move as he so desired. Nobody believed Anders would attempt an escape at this point, and since there was nowhere for him to run, they were confident that he would do as he was told at this point in the journey.

His soft approach was quiet, but didn't go unnoticed. Varric tried to meet his friend's gaze, but the distraught look on the man in front of him was too much to take, tears springing up involuntarily. "Damn sand," Varric cursed, desperate to place the blame for his tears elsewhere. "Always getting in my eyes..."

Anders went to his knees slowly, resting on his heels as he sat before the dwarf. The man had worn his heart ever on his sleeve, and this moment was no different... Well, it was, but only due to the stark fact that now, there was more emotion pouring from him than Varric had ever witnessed previously. Respectfully, Anders waited in silence for his friend to break free of the catch in his throat, but it wasn't coming easy.

Finally, Varric gave up trying. "I can't say it, Blondie," he whispered gruffly.

Anders nodded, rubbing his fingers across his newly unbound, red wrists. "I know," he replied, his voice trembling slightly.

"I want to - trust me, I reallyfucking want to," Varric all but laughed at his inability to get it out, "but - "

"I know," Anders interrupted, pressing his lips firmly together as a fresh tear spilled over his cheek and into his blond beard.

Varric didn't need to say the words, after all. Though he couldn't express them, it must have been obvious enough for Anders to guess their content. "Are you sure you can do this?" He asked bluntly, his eyes searching his friend's. "I mean, if I was in your shoes right now, I don't know how I would..."

A sad smile gave way on Anders' lips, and though he gave no direct answer, his bloodshot eyes said it all: I don't really have a choice anymore, do I?

Sniffing back the tears, Varric forced a smirk, trying to ease the pain, if only for a moment. "If you happen to see Justice when you get in there, tell him I said he's an asshole."

Laughing softly, Anders cast his eyes down to his lap and paused. "He says to tell you, 'I apologise for unjustly punishing the innocent, Varric Tethras.'"

The dwarf bit his lip in acceptance, his next thought taking a bit more time to convey than he would have liked to admit. He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, the pain there growing with every passing second. "...And if... when...you find Hawke," he amended himself, fighting against the tremor in his tone, "Tell him I'm so..." There was so much he wanted to say to Hawke, but the words choked off unbearably in his throat. Clearing it again, he tried once more. "Tell him - "

It refused to come out. Embarrassed at his lack of self-control, Varric let out ragged, torn sigh from his lungs, looking up to the blue sky above... It was such a beautiful day.

"...I will," Anders replied despite not receiving a message to pass on, his words soft and gentle.

His face contorting in grief, Varric glanced down again, his face shielded from view as he lifted a gloved hand to cover his brow. "Promiseme," Varric very nearly pleaded, lowering his hand and looking into Anders' piercing eyes.

"I promise, Varric..." He started and stopped a few times before the right sentiment reached his lips. "I wanted to thank you for every laugh we shared together in The Hanged Man... For every time you ever stuck up for me in a fight with templars... Every mercy you showed, every... undue kindness..." His Adam's apple bobbing on his neck, Anders raised a finger to his eye and caught his welling tears, wiping them with a shaking hand on the fur lining of his tattered robes. "I know I haven't always deserved it, but you have been a good friend to me, over the years..."

Closing his eyes against another rising tide, Varric felt despair pierce his heart in one final blow, the breath knocked from his chest. After everything they had been through, both good times and bad, it finally hit him that this was really goodbye... And it hit him hard. "Despite everything, Blondie," he admitted, not bothering to hide his sorrow any longer, "so have you."

Unable to say anything further, Anders gave Varric an encouraging smile, hoping that with a single look, he could cheer his old friend up and let him know that everything was going to be all right. He glanced toward the door behind him, and turned back, his brows raising questioningly as he moved slightly, indicating that they should enter the fortress before anyone grew suspicious.

Shaking his head, Varric bit his lip hard before answering, "You go on ahead... I don't think I can stomach to watch what comes next..." He felt weak for admitting it, but he had already been there as a Rift closed with a dear friend on the other side, trapping him forever behind the Veil. He couldn't bring himself to stand by and watch as it happened all over again. "I can't do it," he uttered, his voice breaking at the thought. "I didn't think I'd abandon you after getting this far, but... I'm sorry. I just can't..."

A long, sombre silence filled the desert air around them, and after a time, Anders placed his outstretched hand on Varric's shoulder, patting gently. "In that case, will you do me a favour while I'm gone?"

Varric's brows knitted together in confusion as he looked up and his expression softened as, unexpectedly, Anders removed a grey bundle of fur from the folds of his robe. "She's a girl, by the way," he uttered sadly, placing the little kitten in his calloused hands. "I do wish I could keep her, but... Garrett was always more of a dog person." Anders gave a final scratch behind her ear as a simple goodbye, adding hoarsely, "Mouse loves gravy, and she'll sleep anywhere you put her, so long as it's warm. You'll hardly notice she's there, so she won't be any trouble, and..."

Varric placed the sleepy creature in a loose pocket near his hip flask as Anders' instructions caught in his throat, accepting his new charge wordlessly. At least he would have something - or rather, someone - to remember him by. Before Anders could rise to leave him once and for all, Varric hopelessly raised his arms and stepped forward, embracing his old friend for the last time.

"I forgive you, Blondie," he whispered gratingly. "I forgive you..."

After that, the sobs they'd so bravely held back were beyond their control.

~oOo~

It was less than an hour later when Varric caught the metallic clanking of boots on the stone floor of Adamant Fortress, the first sound he'd heard apart from the horses munching away at their full feed bags. He didn't glance in her direction as she cast her gaze around the wide expanse of the wastes, the Abyssal Rift black and bottomless to her left. Varric would have signalled her to his location against the wall, but he hadn't the heart to call out to her. If anything, he didn't want her to see his heart splayed open as it was...

She caught sight of him just then, and he sighed softly, taking a swig of his brandy again as Mouse repositioned herself on his lap, kneading the silken fabric with her claws. Scratching her beneath her chin, the kitten nodded off to sleep once more, purring gently as she breathed.

"Are you all right?" The Seeker asked quietly, her voice as broken as he'd ever heard it.

He leaned his head back against the stone, staring at the sky and willing himself to breathe again. "Not right now," he uttered, biting the inside of his lip to keep his emotions at bay. "But eventually. I always bounce back, Seeker... You'll see."

She lowered herself down next to him, the fabric of her tunic brushing against his own. It was the closest she had ever elected to be to him without then proceeding to strangle him. Smiling despite himself at the thought, he passed the flask to her invitingly, and she sighed, taking it from his gloved hand and bringing it to her lips. After several greedy gulps, she lowered the flask and tapped him with it, signalling him to take it back.

"Do you want to know his last words...?"

Varric stifled a hiccup and took another sip, her cautious question piercing his heart and wounding his soul. Last words...It sounded too unreal to accept, even at this stage. To know that Blondie was well and truly gone... He counted silently the number of letters he was going to have to write when he got back, and after recalling all the smiling faces of those he would need to inform, he nodded gravely, steeling himself for the inevitable.

Swallowing hard, Cassandra placed her hands on her knees and breathed deeply. "You won't believe his choice," she said, clearly unable to believe it herself. "I thought my own heart would stop when I realised what he was saying..." She turned her face to him, leaning her head against the stone wall. "He recited The Canticle of Trials One, verses thirteen through sixteen."

As he stared out at the Abyssal Rift, Varric's jaw dropped slightly open, feeling as though the ground beneath him had opened and swallowed him whole. The hymn Cassandra had prayed in the depths of Suledin Keep, the one she'd recited as she believed Varric lay dying, the one he'd joined her in speaking, had been the one Anders had chosen as his last words in this world before entering the next... But they hadn't gotten as far as that in their own recitation.

"I cannot see the path," he quoted verse thirteen, wiping a hand over his face as he recalled the hymn to mind. "Perhaps there is only abyss. Trembling, I step forward, In darkness enveloped..."

Her sad smile twitching in the corner of her lips, Cassandra's eyes welled with tears for his sadness. "Though all before me is shadow, Yet shall the Maker be my guide," she continued, her voice a mere whisper. "I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light... And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost."

Varric's throat tore uncontrollably as he struggled through his lines. "I am not alone... Even As I stumble on the path With my eyes closed, ...yet I see The Light is here..." He grimaced, sniffing hard and covering his eyes with a hand. Varric fought desperately to conceal his tears from her, not wanting anyone to see him like this, least of all the Seeker.

She didn't seem to mind, however, and calmly reached her hand over to grasp his own, their fingers lacing together through their gloves as he dropped his flask in the sand. She squeezed his hand firmly, offering him strength and comfort in his fresh grief.

"Draw your last breath, my friends," she sighed, resting her temple against his and closing her soft brown eyes as the world around them ceased to exist for a time. "Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky... Rest at the Maker's right hand..."

Varric's heart broke within him as he spoke what would have been the final words his old friend had uttered before stepping into the Rift:

"...And be forgiven..."