Chapter 14

"We arrived in the dead of night. We had been tracking the maleficar for days, and finally had him cornered... or so we thought.

As we approached, a home on the edge of the town exploded, sending splinters of wood and fist-sized chunks of rocks into our ranks. We had but moments to regroup before fire rained from the sky, the sounds of destruction wrapped in a hideous laughter from the center of the village.

There, perched atop the spire of the village chantry, stood the mage. But he was human no longer.

We shouted prayers to the Maker and deflected what magic we could, but as we fought, the creature fought harder. I saw my comrades fall, burned by the flaming sky or crushed by debris. The monstrous creature, looking as if a demon were wearing a man like a twisted suit of skin, spotted me and grinned. We had forced it to this, I realized; the mage had made this pact, given himself over to the demon to survive our assault."

—transcribed from a tale told by a former templar in Cumberland, 8:84 Blessed

Anders

Within a week, templars had come frighteningly close to catching him. He'd managed to dodge them twice already, but wasn't convinced he could slip from their grasp a third time. The group practically up his rear was particularly good at tracking. So good that he wondered if they'd taken lessons from the Dalish. Maybe they had a Dalish with them? Nah. He couldn't see any Dalish elf submitting themselves to the Chantry's rule. That had been the whole reason the Dalish had formed—splitting off from their brethren who chose to worship Andraste and live in human cities. The ungrateful Dalish, according to the Chantry, had chosen to continue worshipping their pagan gods. Even the Dalish who ended up living among humans, such as those who became Grey Wardens, rarely gave up their belief in the Creators.

I do not see why relinquishing their beliefs would be necessary.

That's because it isn't, except in the eyes of the Chantry.

They seek too much control. The same as demons seek.

Yes, well, I'm not going to be the one to tell them.

We should inform them so that they may change their ways.

That'll be the day. And what is this 'we' stuff? There's you, and there's me. There's no 'we' aside from you residing in my body for the moment.

We are not always separate.

I'm going to pretend you didn't say that.

A rustle from the surrounding trees caught Anders' attention and made Justice shut up for once. Anders had thought this clearing safe and had even set wards to keep it that way. The templars on his trail were at least a day behind him. His brilliant tactic of going toward Kirkwall—really, the last place an apostate mage should be going—had proven genius thus far. Perhaps these were inept bandits, not knowing they were about to try to rob a powerful mage. He frowned as he investigated the source of the sound, creeping forward toward the underbrush. A whisper, another rustle, and then Anders found himself on the ground, his magic drained by a smite.

He swore and scrambled for his stave, figuring he could knock some heads with it even if he had no magic. And where had those blasted templars come from? There was no way they could've caught up with him already.

A man wearing a Grey Warden tabard and helm burst from the underbrush, sword flashing in the sun. The tip quickly pressed against Anders' neck, forcing him back onto the ground. "Found you," said the man, his voice tinny under his helm. "I should kill you, apostate."

Anders squinted. The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it. "You should know, Wardens don't generally kill apostates. Especially if said apostate is a Warden. Mages are amazing at killing darkspawn."

Another man stepped out from the trees, this one wearing a Warden tabard, but no helm. The man possessed a long, flowing mustache that reminded Anders of Knight-Commander Thierry's. "Anders is correct, Benoit. Remove your sword from your brother Warden's neck," the man said. As he spoke, four other Wardens moved into the clearing, spreading out to surround the other three.

Anders peered up at the Warden the other man had called Benoit, who slowly and reluctantly drew back his sword. It remained out of his scabbard, however, and pointed at Anders. "We should exercise more caution," said Benoit.

The name was as familiar as the voice. Then Anders' eyes went wide as he remembered. "Benoit! As in, Ser Benoit, formerly under the command of Knight-Commander Thierry?"

Benoit shifted his weight from foot to foot, as if uncomfortable at Anders knowing who he was. "Yes. Though he was demoted to Knight-Captain Thierry and reassigned after the debacle with the prince. "

Anders couldn't help it. He laughed, though at Benoit's plight rather than Thierry's. The latter hadn't been half bad for a templar. "So did you have a change of heart! Decided to join up and face the darkspawn after all? Or did you get thrown into the Deep Roads against your will?" If it was against Benoit's will, he would be more than a little disappointed. Definitely something he would've liked to see.

"Not anymore a change of heart than you, apostate," said Benoit.

"I'm not an apostate. I'm a Grey Warden, same as you."

"You left the Wardens. That makes you an apostate." Benoit brandished his sword—a Sword of Mercy, no less—once again. "That makes you fair game."

Anders rolled his eyes. The man had become a Warden, but hadn't turned into one of the Wardens who happened to have templar skills, like Alistair or Malcolm. Instead, Benoit seemed to be a Warden who absolutely believed in everything the Chantry said, and who would do anything necessary to keep mages in their place, as the Chantry commanded. Still, it was worth a shot at pointing it out. "You're a Warden now. What do you care?"

"I'm a templar first, just as you'll always be a mage."

"Really? You were born a templar as I was born a mage? Pity you weren't born with some brains, as well. At least I remembered to get into that line when the Maker was handing them out."

In answer, Benoit dug the tip of his sword in Anders' neck.

The other man cleared his throat. "Stand down, Warden Benoit. Killing him would be a waste."

Benoit kept his sword on Anders as he looked in outrage at the other man. "But—"

"Stand. Down." Once Benoit had sheathed his sword and stepped back, the leader turned his attention to Anders. "You're lucky we found you. A party of templars was only a half day behind you. No need to worry. We misdirected them so we could get to you first."

"Should I thank you for that? It's either being dragged back to the Grey Wardens or dragged back to the Circle of Magi for me. Either way, I don't get to go where I'd like."

"The templars would kill you," said Benoit. "That is the safest course of action. We should do the same."

"The Grey Wardens do not advocate wasting their resources," the leader said. "Anders is a healer. He also knows a sizable array of offensive spells that are good at controlling large groups of darkspawn. We need him for our trip to the Deep Roads."

And here Anders had been assuming that if any Wardens caught him, they'd send him back to Ferelden. "You're keeping me?" he asked the leader. "But I don't even know who you are."

"I apologize," the leader said with a nod. "My name is Stroud. I command the garrison in Ostwick. Our healer had to take his Calling recently, and we've yet to replace him. However, we've an assignment in the Deep Roads that cannot be delayed. When we heard you were last seen in this area, I decided that you would do."

Anders had absolutely zero desire to go into the Deep Roads ever again. "How do you plan on keeping me from escaping?"

Without a word, Stroud motioned toward Benoit.

"All right, you make a convincing argument," Anders said as he got to his feet.

This will needlessly delay our task. You must decline.

I don't know if you were listening, but they didn't give me much of a choice.

You always have a choice.

Not unless I wanted to kill them all. That's the only way I'd be able to escape.

The time will come when you must make that choice.

It certainly isn't right now. These are my brother Wardens. Well, one looks like a sister Warden, but you get the general idea.

The time will come when it will be your only choice.

Andraste's knickers, but Justice could get more than a little unnerving at times with his single-minded determination.

Anders brushed off his robes, and then looked at Stroud. "When do we leave?"

"Right now. The nearest entrance is a day away, outside Kirkwall. We should be there by tomorrow, allowing for time to camp and rest up tonight, and a supply stop in the morning." Stroud met the gazes of the other Wardens in the clearing. "The Deep Roads will not be restful. The vigilance alone in avoiding the darkspawn will be tiring enough, not to mention if we must meet them in battle. Let's go before the day passes us by." With that, Stroud plunged back into the forest, not even looking to check to make sure the rest of the Wardens followed him.

Benoit sidled up to Anders and motioned him forward. "You walk in the middle, mage. And if you so much as tense like you're going to run, I'll smite you. In fact, I might just keep smiting you to make sure you don't have a single opportunity to escape."

"That would be unwise," said Anders. "If we get attacked, I'll be entirely useless. The last time I was in the company of templars who insisted on smiting me and we got attacked by darkspawn, two of them died. The last two would've died as well, but Wardens showed up and took care of the problem."

"Do not smite Anders unless absolutely necessary," Stroud said from the front. "And I will decide if it becomes necessary, Benoit. Not you."

Anders kept his chuckle to himself when he heard Benoit's huff of indignation. If Stroud kept up his scolding of the templar, this trip to the Deep Roads might not be so bad after all.

He kept up with feeling that way until the point where Benoit discovered that Anders had a half-grown kitten riding along in his pack. When he first found out, he merely sneered at Anders. But after they'd made camp for the night and all sat around the fire bolting down dinner, Benoit brought the matter up with Stroud. "Anders has a cat," he said, almost conversationally.

"You mean in Ferelden, or actually with him?" one of the other Wardens asked. His name was Ruairc, Anders recalled. He reminded him of Sigrun, somehow.

"With me," said Anders. "I could never abandon Ser Pounce-a-Lot." He reached into his pack and brought out the cat, giving him the food left over from his meal.

"Do you expect to bring him into the Deep Roads with us?" Stroud asked.

"I think the Deep Roads would be a lot less scary if we all had a snuggly kitten with us," said another Warden, Jaska. He reminded Anders of how he was before he'd decided to let Justice share his body.

"Not if the cat has a demon in it," said Benoit, who then turned to Stroud. "It can happen, you know. Mages will keep animals around, then a demon will possess an animal, and from there, the demon can leap over to the mage. I've heard of it happening at least once. Cat possessed by a rage demon at the Circle in Ferelden—killed three templars before it could be stopped. This apostate cannot be allowed to bring the cat into the Deep Roads with us. It could mean death for us all."

Another Warden, Dardan, grumbled and said, "I thought the real threat in the Deep Roads were the darkspawn, but what do I know?"

"Bless you, Mr. Wiggums," Anders said under his breath.

Stroud looked from Benoit to Anders. "What was that?"

"Who, me? Nothing. Nothing at all." Anders decided that Stroud must have the hearing of an elf. He'd have to watch his words more closely.

"Is what Benoit says true?" Stroud asked, seemingly growing more intense by the second.

"You're not taking him seriously, are you? He just wants to torture me."

"Answer the question."

Anders sighed. "There were rumors about a possessed cat at Kinloch Hold."

"I told you," said Benoit.

"Oh, shut it," said Dardan.

Stroud looked from Anders to the cat and back again. "You'll have to get rid of it before we go into the Deep Roads."

Anders stood, cradling Ser Pounce protectively in his arms. "What? No! I'm not getting rid of my cat!" Maker, he knew the Wardens outside of Ferelden took their Wardening quite seriously, but this was bordering on fanatical. "If you expect me to kill my pet because Ser I-Can't-Think-For-Myself is scared of it, you've got another thing coming."

"What? I don't expect you to kill it. That would be ridiculous. We're stopping in Kirkwall tomorrow for supplies. You should find a child to give it to or something. Look, our mission in the Deep Roads isn't going to be pleasant—"

"The Deep Roads never are," said Anders. "Well, aside from Cadash thaig. If I had my druthers, I'd go there again. It could even make a good vacation spot, that's how nice it is there."

"Really?" asked Ruairc. "Maybe I can take my Calling there if it's so nice. I'd like a Calling without darkspawn, personally."

Stroud sighed again, and Anders was distinctly reminded of Riordan. He wondered if all Grey Warden commanders had to put up with this kind of behavior. Aside from Benoit, Anders found that he rather liked most of the Wardens who'd caught him. Stroud was a bit stuffy, but it only made him fondly remember Nathaniel. All right, mostly fondly. "You really cannot bring your cat, Anders. I apologize for that, but there's nothing to do for it. Had you started out in our garrison, you could've kept it there." He paused and gave Anders a quizzical look. "How is it that you had a cat out in the field in the first place? Why did your commander or Senior Warden not make you leave your cat in Ferelden?"

"Well, the Senior Wardens got to bring their dogs, so I got to bring my cat. I've been training Ser Pounce in darkspawn fighting techniques, but it's a work in progress."

The statement made Stroud do a double take. "Your Senior Wardens have dogs?"

"Two of them do, yes. I mean, they are from Ferelden. They've got mabari. Oh! Ask Benoit, he'll tell you all about them. One nearly ripped his throat out for threatening the prince. Also for being stupid."

"Not surprised," Dardan said as he sharpened his sword.

Stroud sighed yet again, and then stood. "Walk the perimeter with me, Anders. I need to tell you about our mission. You may yet have some insight that none of us do."

Anders frowned, wondering how he'd know more than these other, more experienced—aside from Benoit—Wardens, but he followed the commander. He also returned Ser Pounce to his pack and brought it with him, just in case Benoit got any ideas.

As soon as they were at the treeline, Stroud said, "We're going to the Deep Roads to look for the Architect."

"On purpose?"

"That was not the insight I was looking for." Stroud sounded oddly disappointed in Anders' flippant answer.

Anders felt somewhat bad, but Maker, who would voluntarily go after the Architect after what happened last time? Lunatics, that's who. Also known as Grey Wardens. "What do you want to know? I assume Weisshaupt sent you the report that Riordan sent them. From what I read of it, it was quite accurate. Nothing was left out."

That is a lie.

All right, nothing he needs to know was left out. Stroud doesn't need to know about personal stuff. Whatever thought you heard of mine, it was regarding personal matters with friends of mine. The friends you made me leave.

That was your choice.

Sometimes, I don't think it was.

It is always your choice.

Now who's the liar?

"I was hoping that perhaps you had an additional insight. Something that will help us find the Architect," said Stroud, unknowingly interrupting the conversation between Anders and Justice.

"Let me think." Anders went over their experience with the Architect, how he and the Wardens aside from Malcolm had been kept in a makeshift dungeon. How sometimes they found themselves waking up and not knowing how they'd fallen asleep. How, later, Malcolm had explained the Architect wanting Warden blood. All that had been in the report, though. The only thing they'd left out was what had happened between Malcolm and Líadan, but that part didn't much matter. It really was personal. Sure, staying at Drake's Fall to free her from the cave-in had delayed their trip to Kal'Hirol—wait, that was it. He looked over at Stroud. "Were you sent a report about something called the Mother?"

Stroud stroked his mustache, a frown beginning to pull at his mouth. "No, I was not."

"Right. Short version—a possessed female mage was tainted and turned into a broodmother by the Architect. She, and the demon, actually really liked the song from the Old Gods. Then the Architect, doing his weird quasi-Joining for darkspawn, cut her off from the song, and she pretty much went mad. She turned on the Architect, and using the similarly pissed off darkspawn who'd taken her side, went after him. Right before we killed her at Kal'Hirol, she told us that she'd sent another group of her darkspawn after him, and that he was north of where we were. She didn't specify much more than that. So, as far as I know, there's darkspawn still fighting each other—and they can all talk. Very unnerving."

"Ah. That would explain why we've still got intermittent reports of that in the Deep Roads. The last report was near the Kirkwall entrance, which is why we've chosen that one. Thank you. Even that little bit of information may be of some help. At the very least, we'll know to follow any darkspawn that talk."

"Are you still going to make me get rid of my cat? I did help. And I'm still helping. I'm even going into the Deep Roads with you, without much complaint."

"Were we not going into the Deep Roads, I would allow you to keep it. It isn't possession I worry about—it's your cat becoming tainted by the darkspawn. I suspect you would not want to see that happen. Am I correct in that assumption?"

Anders sighed. "You would be, yes. I just—fine." It would be best for Ser Pounce, given that he really couldn't fight darkspawn. And what if became separated from his pack? Or it was stolen? Ser Pounce would be abandoned in the Deep Roads and that would be horrible. "Hopefully I can find someone suitable."

By mid-morning the next day, they had entered Kirkwall. They entered through the Gallows, which did nothing to make Anders feel better. While he watched the mage prison—Circle of Magi or no, with the name it had and how many bars it kept closed, it was a prison—warily, Benoit looked at it with admiration.

"That's how mages should be kept," Benoit said.

Jaska rolled his eyes. "So help me, I will beat you if you go on about how mages should be treated. You aren't a templar anymore. You're a Grey Warden. Since you haven't noticed on your own, let me explain to you: Wardens like mages. Mages can kill groups of darkspawn in numbers higher than you could even dream of doing yourself. Mages save our lives. They can heal us from wounds that would kill us using non-magical healing methods. You're an idiot if you think the Wardens could survive without the help of mages."

"He is an idiot," said Anders. He'd seen plenty of evidence of that in Ferelden.

"Not helping," said Stroud. "We need to get going. I think the templars have caught wind of you, and while you've got immunity as a Warden, I don't relish the delay of a protracted argument with them. They're particularly dogged here. We shouldn't encounter too much trouble in Lowtown, and there are better prices there."

Anders was fairly certain he heard Benoit give a wistful sigh as they left the Gallows courtyard. Once in Lowtown, Stroud set to obtaining supplies, and sent Anders to look around Lowtown with Benoit and Jaska—Benoit to keep Anders from making a run for it, and Jaska to protect Anders from an overzealous Benoit. The rest of the Wardens went with Stroud, and they agreed to meet at the docks in an hour. Before they split, Dardan said to Anders, "You should look for some Fereldan refugees to take in your cat. They might have some sympathy for a fellow Fereldan, provided they don't hold anything against mages. That'll probably be your best bet."

If the refugees are not destitute, like the rest of the denizens here.

I don't know if I've ever mentioned this to you, but you suffer from a serious lack of optimism.

I do not suffer without optimism. I am a realist, as Justice should be.

Realist, stick-in-the-mud, same difference.

He stopped the internal conversation when he felt a very, very subtle tingle of magic from someone nearby. A quick glance at Benoit revealed that the former templar had yet to feel it. Ha, shows how the man hadn't been very good at his former trade. But when they got close to the most likely apostate mage, he'd have to rely on Jaska to keep Benoit from doing anything stupid. Anders wove through the crowd, heading past the Hanged Man—what was it with this city and hanging?—down some stairs and into very small market area. He pinpointed the location of the other mage, surprised to discover that it was two mages together. Ballsy, he thought, even if both mages were women. A human and a Dalish elf, perusing over trinkets spread out on a table by one of the vendors.

"I feel magic," said Benoit.

"You're walking next to a mage. Of course you do," said Jaska.

Benoit frowned and surveyed the market. "No, not Anders. Other mages. Apostates."

Jaska grabbed Benoit by the arm and dragged him aside. "For the love of the Maker, you're a Grey Warden. Tracking down and turning in or killing apostates isn't your job any longer. If you try to do anything to the apostates you claim to feel, I will take you into a back alley and explain what it means to be a Warden with my fists. And possibly one of my feet up your arse."

Part of Anders wanted to see that. "He's at least somewhat right," he said to Jaska. "There are other mages here. Perhaps one of them will be willing to take care of my cat." He hoped it would be true. Mostly because it would irritate the shit out of Benoit. "Be right back." Then he waved to Benoit and strode toward the two fellow apostates. As he walked away, he heard a hastily strangled shout when Benoit tried to follow and Jaska took care of the little problem. A quick glance behind him revealed that Jaska had made good on at least part of his threat, dragging Benoit into one of Lowtown's many alleys. A half-smile on his face, along with his kitten in his arms, Anders approached the two other mages.

"Thank you for coming with me. I keep getting lost here," the Dalish elf said to her companion. "The last time I came here by myself it took me four hours to find my way home."

"Four hours?" asked the human woman. "Where did you go?"

"Everywhere." The elf shrugged. "At least, that's what Varric told me when he found me."

Anders cleared his throat. "Excuse me, could I speak with you two for a moment?"

The Dalish elf immediately cooed at the kitten in Anders' arms. "Is that a tabby kitten?"

Meanwhile, the human mage had been warily sizing up Anders, but she sighed at her friend's reaction. "I suppose so."

After tucking Ser Pounce into the crook of one arm, he proffered his hand. "Anders."

She shook the offered hand, tentatively and then firmly. "Bethany. Why's it you want to speak with us?"

"I'm a Grey Warden, and we're about to go into the Deep Roads, and—"

Bethany crossed her arms. "Is this a proposition? Marian warned me about things like this, said it's something Isabela would do."

Anders blinked. "No! Nothing of the sort. See, we're going into the Deep Roads and I can't take my cat. I don't want him to get tainted or killed by the darkspawn. I was looking for someone to take care of him for me."

"Oh! Me!" said the elf. "I'd love a kitten." Then she seemed to remember manners. "My name's Merrill. Does your cat have a name? Do humans name cats? The Dalish don't name halla, but we do name the deerhounds."

He deposited the kitten into Merrill's arms, wondering if this Dalish elf was the Merrill that had been discussed when they had visited the Mahariel clan. The similarities were too many to be coincidence. A Dalish elf in Kirkwall, goes by the name Merrill, and was a mage. He didn't want to outright ask yet, just on the slim chance that he was wrong in his supposition. "His name is Ser Pounce-a-Lot."

Merrill stroked the kitten's sleek fur, and then looked up at Anders. "Ser Pounce-a-Lot? Who knighted him?"

Anders looked from Merrill to Bethany. "Is that a serious question?"

"Could be. I can never tell," said Bethany.

He returned to Merrill, who was turning out to be very different from either of the Dalish elves he'd known before. Líadan was bristly until you got to know her, Velanna, in her best moments, was always bristly, and this elf seem to be quite open and friendly and possibly even naive. "It's just the name I gave him. No real knighthood for Ser Pounce."

Merrill seemed slightly disappointed as she regarded Ser Pounce. "Oh, too bad. No jaunty cap with a feather for him." Then she squinted in thought and looked at Anders again. "Did you say you were a Grey Warden?"

"Yes. I wouldn't be going into the Deep Roads otherwise. It isn't exactly a vacation spot."

"Did you..." She shuffled her feet as she danced around the question. "Did you ever meet a Dalish Warden? Líadan?"

He smiled. He'd been right, after all. "I did. Before I was... reassigned, I traveled with her and some other Fereldan Wardens for months. Why? Did you know her?"

"We grew up together. She was one of my clan. I was hoping to hear some news. I haven't heard anything about her since the end of the Blight. I know she was there, fighting the Archdemon, and that she lived, but that's all I know. How is she?"

He wasn't sure how to answer, not exactly. The first answer that popped into his mind was 'expecting' but he suspected that Líadan herself still didn't know. In addition, he remembered the awkwardness at the Dalish camp, and then Oisín's anger when he discovered it on the ship from Ayesleigh. It'd been all Anders could do to keep him from telling Líadan, and then castigating—or worse—the human male responsible. Only appealing to the situation at large kept Oisín quiet, and possibly Malcolm unharmed. Anders had lost his own temper with Oisín in the argument, and hadn't been very friendly to Malcolm afterward. He regretted it, especially since it'd been one of his last interactions with his friend before he'd left. Aside from that, though, Líadan had seemed fairly happy, if you ignored the Morrigan thing. "She's doing well," he finally said to Merrill. "Still with the Fereldan Wardens. When we were all traveling together, we did stop to see the Mahariel."

Merrill smiled, and Anders could tell she was glad to hear her clanmate was okay. "Oh, I bet Marethari was happy to see her. She'd felt so bad after Líadan left. Líadan hadn't wanted to go, but she'd been tainted by the eluvian, and if she hadn't gone with the Wardens, she would have died like Tamlen. Marethari fretted over it for weeks afterward, and never quite got over sending her away, even though it saved her life."

"Well, the Keeper hugged her almost as soon as we walked into the camp, so I think she was happy to see her return." He frowned. "And then after that, it seemed all they did was argue."

Merrill didn't seem bothered by the news. "That's how they normally were. They cared about each other, but they butted heads all the time. They're both very stubborn."

Anders really wanted to ask about the eluvian, but it didn't seem wise to discuss something like that out in the open. Or to bring up Merrill's exile or that Marethari kept insisting Líadan become her First.

"Did you say Fereldan Wardens?" asked Bethany. "You're from Ferelden?"

"Born and raised," said Anders. "Well, if growing up in the Circle counts as being raised. I'm not so sure it does."

"Then you are a mage. I thought so." Bethany glanced around, looking panicky. "There could be templars anywhere. You should—"

Anders held up a hand to stop her before she got herself too worked up for no reason. "Have no worries. Being a Grey Warden means the Chantry doesn't get to control me. Sadly, it also means more than occasional trips to the Deep Roads. Grey Wardens go there a lot. Seems to be their thing."

"No, not just Grey Wardens. My sister seems determined to go on an expedition into the Deep Roads in the coming months. Or weeks. It's hard to tell—it's a dwarf who's in charge of the expedition, but they want my sister to help monetarily back the trip. I don't think it's a good idea, but she never listens to me. I'd say it's because I'm the younger sister, but she never listens to anyone."

He needed to explain to this woman's sister that going into the Deep Roads voluntarily was a very bad idea. Maker, going into the Deep Roads involuntarily was a bad idea. Bad idea all around. "Where's your sister now? Maybe a Grey Warden or three could convince her otherwise."

"Good luck with that. She isn't even in the city. Something about saving escaped mages from the Starkhaven Circle. They're surrounded by templars and most of them don't want to be brought to Kirkwall."

"What happened to Starkhaven's Circle? They could just be brought back there."

"Burned to the ground. Most of the mages there died, aside from the few who escaped. If they're brought to the Gallows, I'm not sure how many will live, or how many will end up Tranquil for continuing to run after the fire instead of turning themselves in to the templars."

"They shouldn't have to turn themselves in. They're people, just like anyone else. And they'll kill them or make them Tranquil just because they had the audacity to escape their burning home?"

It is not just.

It isn't right.

This treatment of mages must be stopped, here and now.

There's nothing I can do at the moment. Deep Roads. Wardens. Obligations to them and not wanting to kill them to get out of said obligations.

This issue is more important than a few lives.

Maybe to you. Not to me.

Mages will continue to be oppressed or die until we act.

The anger flared through Anders again, the hottest he'd ever felt it, and he lost himself again, unable to tell where Justice started and Anders ended or if Anders even existed. He didn't remember the rest of the conversation with Bethany and Merrill, or if there even was anymore conversation with them. He didn't remember leaving Kirkwall with the Wardens, didn't remember arriving at the Deep Roads. It wasn't until they were trudging through the darkness in the perpetual night that he came to himself. He kept quiet for a time, trying to gauge how he'd been behaving. Benoit hadn't killed him, so he figured he must've been acting mostly normal.

After a couple more days, he began to hate the Deep Roads more, and hadn't thought that possible. Benoit never left his side, not through waking or sleeping or eating or even visits to makeshift privies. It was worse than the Circle—the templars there had at least let him tend to bodily functions in private. If Benoit didn't give him some space, some breathing room, he was going to... he wasn't sure what he was going to do. It wasn't like he could escape. Separating from the Wardens now would just be an early Calling. He'd never make it out alive.

Stroud called out a halt. "Someone approaches."

"Darkspawn?" asked Dardan.

"No. A solitary traveler." Stroud stared into the shadows of the road ahead, and the rest of the Wardens did the same.

Soon enough, the figure emerged. Though Anders had never met this person, he immediately recognized her from many descriptions. "Flemeth."

She gave him a small smile of recognition and he wondered if she knew about Justice. He'd put coin on it that she did. But she didn't give him away. Instead, she simply nodded. "Wardens." Then she turned her attention to Stroud. "Is there some purpose to your being in these Deep Roads? There is no Blight. None of you are yet at your Calling. What brings you here? Simple curiosity?"

"We've been sent to find the Architect," said Stroud.

She lifted an eyebrow. "You seek the Architect? Do you think it wise?"

Anders glanced over at Stroud. "You know, when a being as powerful as Flemeth asks if something we're doing is wise, we should probably take the hint."

Stroud didn't bother looking back. Instead, he kept his eyes on Flemeth. "I have my orders."

"I'm beginning to think your orders are stupid," said Anders.

"Your objection is noted. However, we must press forward. We are Grey Wardens, Anders. Act like one."

Great, now Stroud was lecturing him like he did with Benoit. Fantastic company he was in. Anders sighed, but kept the rest of his opinion to himself.

Flemeth regarded Stroud for another moment, allowing her hands to drop from her hips. "It will be to your folly," she said. "You are not ready for what you will find. Heed my words or not; change is coming to your lives—or an end. The choice is yours." She stepped forward, brushing past the Wardens without issue. "Now, if you would excuse me, I have an appointment to keep."

Then she was gone in the shadows behind them. Not even Benoit voiced a challenge.

"We move onward," said Stroud.

Two more days of trudging and fighting skirmishes with darkspawn brought them to an older section of the Deep Roads. They entered a large rotunda from an elevated stairway, and Stroud led the descent to the stone floor below. As Anders studied the paving stones, he thought he recognized symbols he'd seen before, the same symbols that Velanna had stepped on in Drake's Fall.

"Stop!" Anders shouted, just before Stroud moved off the stairs and triggered the same trap.

To Stroud's credit, he did stop, unlike Velanna, and pulled his foot back while looking up at Anders. "What is it?"

"Trap." Anders motioned towards the glyph. "Not sure if you can see it since you aren't a mage or Nathaniel, who can see every kind of trap ever, but it's there. It's the same kind that got us in Drake's Fall." Nathaniel would've been so proud of him spotting a trap all on his own.

Stroud motioned the Wardens back up the stairs. "Then we will have to decide how we want to trigger it on our terms."

Anders frowned. "Not sure if that's a good idea. I mean—"

Then the press of the taint, once a background annoyance, become pressing, almost suffocating.

"We're surrounded!" said Ruairc.

"Go!" Stroud pushed at the Wardens in front of them, urging them to run up the stairs. "Back the way we came! It's our only chance!"

Lightning crackled behind him, accompanied by a voice Anders had never wanted to hear again. "You will not escape," said the Architect. "You might as well surrender."

"Not bloody likely," said Stroud. Then he got in front of the Wardens, leading them down the road. "I know another exit from here. I saw it on the maps I was studying last night."

Anders wasn't convinced they'd make it, but he was willing to try. He also realized they were in for a lot of running, and talking wouldn't be an option very soon.

They ran all day, dodging darkspawn, dodging the Architect's attacks. Dardan fell first, tripped up by his own feet, and then overrun by hurlocks. Ruairc was the next, caught by a crushing prison, dropped, and then savaged by genlocks. They ran faster. Anders cast as many rejuvenation spells as his mana allowed. He couldn't make them run faster, not if they wanted to keep running, but he could make sure they stayed ahead, if just barely. He hated this. He hated the Wardens. He hated seeing fellow Wardens die for stupid things, their bodies left in the Deep Roads for the darkspawn to violate.

His mana reserves started flagging just as soon as they saw a light.

"Exit's there," said Stroud.

"How are we going to keep them from running out right behind us?" Jaska asked between huffs. "It isn't like they'll melt in daylight."

"Leave that to me," said Anders. He'd learned enough from last time with Líadan and the Architect's spell combination. He also knew enough to not let himself get caught in the rock collapse that would follow.

Stroud urged the remaining Wardens out the exit while Anders drew up almost all his remaining mana and cast the two necessary spells. As soon as the rumbles began, Anders bolted from the cave's entrance, pushing Stroud out right before him.

The Wardens watched silently as the entrance collapsed, rocks and boulders tumbling from what had once been a stable ceiling, until the entire thing was filled. "Mark that entrance off the map," Anders said, dusting off his robes.

"Impressive," said Jaska. "Bet the Architect's pissed."

"Very likely," said Anders.

Jaska smirked at Benoit. "See? That's why Wardens need mages. They save our collective asses with tricks like that."

Benoit said nothing and kept a dark glare on the filled cave.

They made camp only a hundred feet away, too tired to travel any farther. It meant they had two Wardens per watch, with their dwindling numbers coupled with their exhaustion, but they had no other choice.

Anders found himself on watch with Stroud. At first, Stroud was quiet, studying the small campfire and relying on his ability to sense darkspawn instead of preserving his night vision. It was probably also the only way he could stay awake. Anders certainly wouldn't be able to, otherwise.

"You saved our lives back there," Stroud said, sitting back from the fire.

"Seemed the right thing to do."

"More than once."

"You're welcome." Anders thought it prudent not to mention that Justice had wanted to end their lives so they could fight the other good fight.

Stroud sighed. "Will you try to escape now that we're out of the Deep Roads? We are not Wardens who are close to you. We are not your friends, not like the Fereldan Wardens, and you even left them."

"The truth?"

"That would be preferable."

"Then, yes, most likely. Not tonight—I'm too tired for that. But I know that eventually, I'll leave."

For a few minutes, Stroud went back to contemplating the fire and stroking his mustache. Then he said, "My choices are to either assign Benoit to stay with you at all times—which will quickly drive you mad—or to let you go on your way." He dropped his hand and looked over at Anders. "It isn't a Blight. Leaving isn't desertion at the moment. And energy is better spent elsewhere over keeping a Warden in garrison when he doesn't want to be there. It isn't like you can escape the taint. Sooner or later, you'll return. You saved our lives, Anders, and you didn't have to. You could have let us die and attempted to make your way out, free of us. Instead, you stayed, and you saved us. For that, and for the other reasons I mentioned, I will let you go."

"Benoit won't like that."

"Benoit has a lot to learn. I'm of a mind to send him to Ferelden."

Anders couldn't hold in laugh, not between gaining his freedom without bloodshed and Benoit being assigned to Ferelden. "I appreciate it. I mean, thank you. However, if it's all right with you, I'd like to sleep after my watch and leave in the morning. I'm exhausted."

"We all are."

Silence fell between them for the rest of the watch. At dawn, Anders set out from the campsite, heading north, towards Kirkwall. He'd been a healer once. A good one. Perhaps there was good he could do there instead of leaving a trail of bodies in his wake.

Along the way, needing to replenish his healing supplies, he collected elfroot he saw growing at the sides of the path. Then he decided to find other poultice components and found a meadow off the side of the road, through a small stand of trees. But as he gathered the plants and herbs, he felt like he was being watched. He looked around and saw no one, yet couldn't shake the feeling. Had templars found him already? Or had the Wardens changed their minds?

He caught a glint of bared steel and the wing of a Grey Warden helm. Only one Warden close by wore a helm like that—Benoit. And it wasn't just him. He saw other flashes of metal, other helms.

Templars.

Anders dropped the bundle of elfroot he'd gathered, and then turned, summoning his magic to his fingertips as he did. Benoit, accompanied by over a dozen templars and no Wardens, rushed from the undergrowth.

It is time.

Justice had gotten stronger. Anders could almost feel the spirit flexing his metaphorical muscles. Time?

Accept all that I am. Together, we can remake Thedas into a world where justice rules, not fear.

A vision came to him, one of a world with no Circle and no templars. Mages with homes and families. A world without apostates. A world without maleficars. A world where magic was a gift from the Maker, and not the Maker's curse.

As the templars closed in, the traitor Benoit leading them, Anders realized that the time to choose, to really choose, had come. He either accepted Justice's offer, or he submitted himself to the will of the Chantry once more. He could either be compliant and obedient and guilty of being born a mage, or he could accept what was being freely given and introduce justice to a world sorely lacking in it.

Thedas, as it stood, repulsed him.

Change needed to come to the world.

He would be an agent of that change.

"I accept."

On hearing those two words spoken out loud by Anders, Benoit shouted, "See! He's an abomination! Even Wardens can't abide abominations! I've seen them kill one before. Kill him! Rid the world of another!"

On saying those two words, Anders felt the surge of something that was not him, and power thrummed through his entire body, power of a strength he'd never dared to imagine.

It felt good.

I am Anders. I am Justice.

I am...

Did it matter who he was? No. It only mattered that he rid the world of injustice, starting here, starting now.

He set them all on fire and watched them as they died.

Those who had hunted him turned to ashes in an instant. They would hunt him no more. They were dead. He could kill them all if he so wished. And he did. He would. Every templar, every priest, every sister, every cleric, all who would stand in the way of freedom would die. There would be justice. There would be retribution. He would make sure of it.

I am Vengeance.

*Anders' acceptance of Justice, their battle with the templars, and their transformation into Vengeance was adapted from the Anders Short Story written by Jennifer Hepler. If you want to read her story, do a Google search for "Anders short story" and it should be the first result you get.