Chapter 14: Anders

A calm had settled over us as we walked, a misguided sense of security. We knew there was danger, we had just chosen to forget about it for this short ceasefire that the Darkspawn had given us.

From somewhere in her ichor-stained bodice, Isabella procured a tarnished flask. Good thing too, the party had nearly become sombre, and I was worried that I would have to put up with my own internal dialogue. I had the knowledge of my inevitable fate pushing down upon me. The weight of it was almost too great to bear, alone in my own mind.

I was grateful when the party exploded into a frenzy of joviality and drinking games. I needed something to dull my senses and keep my mind off of my torments.

Trudging along the broken cobblestones, we got inventive.

"We passed another broken pillar. You know what that means." Varric- the mastermind.

"Everyone take a drink!" Isabela- the facilitator.

Garrett, currently in possession of the flask, and having since pulled out one of his own, swigged greedily from both- the token drunk.

He staggered into his brother who pulled him back to his unsteady feet. Carver didn't need to play at being the ever-vigilant Grey Warden that he was.

The alcohol was still warm in my chest. I was drunk enough to be charitable, but I was far from the inoperable state that Garrett had reached. I am still unconvinced that Varric or Isabella ever let themselves reach drunkenness, but Isabella at least was very good at her act.

I think it helped to mute the song, I couldn't really tell though. It was still my background orchestra, maybe I just wasn't listening. I had happier things to attend to.

I groaned, "The last time I played this game, I kissed an ogre. Please, let's not go there." – Anders- the stick in the mud, as usual.

"What! When was this and where was I?" Garrett brand melodramatics at their finest, "I can't believe you would cheat on me, Anders!"

"I think he means you, sweet thing." Garrett looked affronted, but Isabela had misinterpreted me.

"Well, that's not strictly-" Four pairs of eyes widened simultaneously and locked onto me. I feared I'd said too much.

"Now you have to give us this story, Blondie."

"Was it sexy? Even I am having a hard time imagining that, and I have a vivid imagination," as an afterthought, Isabela added, "and a pretty high tolerance for indulging fetishes."

"Eurgh, Isabela. I did not need to hear that from you," Carver did look a little pale, except for his cheeks that were creeping with flush from the drink.

"Hey, it's definitely unhealthy to build up so much sexual frustration like you do, Carver. It wouldn't hurt to imbibe once in a while." Her eyes glinted knowingly and Carver's blush deepened as he fixed his gaze determinedly on the floor.

"Ew, just ew. 'Carver' and 'sexual' should definitely never be mentioned in the same sentence ever, ever again, okay?" For someone so up for public groping, Garrett was a dirty hypocrite when it came to his brother. "Back to the more important topic though," he turned to me accusingly, "I know you've had a lot of ex-lovers Anders, but really, an ogre? I'm a little bit insulted."

"It doesn't surprise me at a-" Isabela's comment was broken by what was intended to be a gentle shove from Garrett. Unfortunately he underestimated his own strength and she ended up on the ground.

"Oh shit, sorry." He helped her to her feet awkwardly and she laughed, stumbling.

"This is a story I have to hear," Varric was always a sucker for a good blurb, "Blondie?" He invited.

"Errr," I felt blood rush to my cheeks and I knew I was turning crimson, but I was under such scrutiny, even Carver had his ear cocked to listen, "It's nothing like what I'm sure you're all thinking. You've seen ogres, how would you even…?"

"Strong resolve! You have that, Anders," Isabela supplied.

"Yeah, thanks Isabela. No. I mean-"

"This story is going to need a lot of embellishments. You lack creative flair you know that? No wonder no one reads the manifestos, I told you I could spice those up, Blon-"

Garrett cut him off "-Shhh! I want to hear this."

Right, back to me again, and I thought I had done such a good job deflecting. "Would you all accept that it is a Grey Warden secret that I cannot possibly divulge to anyone, lest I risk the integrity of the Order?"

"It's not, and it won't," Carver filled in, "Spill, Magey."

I frowned at him, "See this is why we can't get along." Sighing I relented, "Well, like I said, it was like now. We had just killed a bunch of Darkspawn, Ogre included, and -get your mind out of the gutter Isabella, that is justdisgusting- and this Dwarf I used to know, pulled out some ale and we… well, I got pretty well smashed. I don't know what we were drinking but Maker, that stuff was strong! Dwarven I think, tasted terrible… And I was dared to kiss the Ogre –not like a proper kiss-," I looked apologetically at my still open-mouthed lover, "and, I did."

"Absolutely no creative flair," Varric practically whined. "I can fix this later," he said as he scribbled hastily in a worn notebook.

The whole group was in hysterics now, except for Varric who was preoccupied, and Garrett whose mouth still hung open in shock or revulsion, I couldn't tell.

The last thing I expected was for him to seize me by my shoulders and pull me roughly towards him, crashing his tongue into my surprised mouth. His beard grazed my neck and his hands where everywhere; and even though my clothes were thick with the smell of blood and taint, even though the people I had to be around for the rest of the journey were all watching us fixedly, not to mention that we were in the blighted Deep Roads, I felt myself fold into his embrace, groaning involuntarily into his hungry kiss. I didn't feel so isolated anymore.

Garrett pulled away too soon. I glimpsed Carver's revolted expression over his shoulder. "That'll teach you to talk about ex-boyfriends in front of me, Anders," he said this all with utter seriousness, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

"Maybe I'll have to talk about them more often," I mumbled privately to Garrett, resting my panting body against his and playing idly with his fingers. It had taken me by such surprise but now I felt drunk with longing, the alcohol might have had a hand in my boldness as well. It had been so long what with the Deep Roads and the constant company, I wanted more.

"I'll say!" Isabella interjected.

The moment shattered with a shrill whisper. I jumped back from Garrett, heart beating in my throat.

I whipped my head around on my shoulders, searching for the disturbance, preparing for an ambush. A fiery glow already encasing my hand, a surge of untapped power welled up just within my reach, ready to be drawn upon.

"What is it, Anders?" Garrett and Carver had both drawn their swords and were glancing around trying to find the invisible assailant.

Isabella laughed easily, disturbing my agitated turmoil and shattering the still cadence. The sound seemed very out of place in the Deep Roads. It echoed off of the creeping corruption that covered the cavernous walls.

"There's nothing there boys. Someone,-" she glanced pointedly at me, "- and perhaps his glowing blue friend, are feeling a little bit paranoid." I looked down at my hands in alarm.

Isabella was right, they were barely visible, but the tell-tale blue fissures were starting to fracture my skin, trying to create a portal for Justice to fuel me. I breathed in and blinked my eyes shut hard. What? Justice had never been roused by my paranoia before. Worse still, did this mean that my reprieve was over? Had Justice returned with even more power and fury?

Isabella was right though; there was nothing there, not even insubstantial beings like wisps or spirits. When I opened my eyes again my hands were normal, wracked with tremors but otherwise normal. I clenched and unclenched them in my lap. Garrett visibly exhaled his relief.

"S-sorry, I shrugged, hugging myself and reverting to my fall-back excuse," It's the deep roads. You know what they do to me."

"You're sure?" Garrett's gaze lingered on me. The reappearance of Justice, this was definitely something we would need to talk about later. Worse, it completely killed the mood of the evening.

"Yes... Yes, I'm fine. I've still got my Warden senses, no darkspawn… yet," I gave a thin, insubstantial smile. Carver looked about as annoyed at me as he had ever been, so I reverted back to humour, "just common sense I'm lacking at the moment, apparently." What a terrible joke, I could do better. Even Garrett had grimaced, not even a polite laugh.

"I think I need to get some rest." As an afterthought I added, "So should you, I just… you aren't strong enough to fight yet." I kissed him on the cheek, pretending that what had just happened was nothing short of normalcy for us. Maybe it wasn't. I didn't wait for a response, or for anyone to try and stop me. I just got up and left. I walked away and unfurled my bedroll, knowing that I wouldn't be able to sleep properly. I hadn't been able to since I last dreamt.

Unfortunately, all this strategic move afforded me was the luxury of being alone with the music. I got lost in its strange sounds and tones, that sounded just vaguely like words but completely undiscernible.

When I woke from my fitful rest, it was with a jarring sense of urgency, with laboured breath and sweaty skin. I felt strange, as though I had been drifting amidst that soft chorus song that had followed me from the Fade, the song that had become a constant companion to my travels now.

The fire had gone out hours ago and the darkness had enveloped us with such completeness. I could feel Garrett's body pressed against mine. He was warm and comfortable and familiar, and he reeked of ale. I slid away from him and clambered uneasily to my feet, blinking the tiredness from my eyes. I waited for the blurred ghosts of my surroundings to materialise into concrete things as my eyes adjusted to the lowlight.

It had always been easier to use my Warden sense as an indicator of my surroundings. If I focused hard enough, I could feel everything as a labyrinth of winding tunnels, outlined in the thickness of the taint where it clung to the rock walls, pressing down on us from above and around and beneath. I reached out, hesitantly.

With this sense, the humming, throbbing music crescendoed into a wall of sound. Worse than the weight of rock and taint, the song was completely encasing. In every direction my mind slammed into it and it pushed back with such force.

I mentally shut it down, making ugly gasping sounds in the dark. Was this just my imagination, or was it more than that?

It sounds ridiculous, even to me, but I heard a voice amidst the song. What would they all think of me if they knew I was hearing things? Would anyone believe me? Did I even want them to know? Was this the kind of thing that would be okay to keep to myself or was it something worse?

I am slipping. Garrett's near death experience had pulled me back from the edge for a while. It was easier to focus when he so needed me to, but now… now there is that song, it's there all the time and I'm drowning in it. I can't eat, I can't sleep. My friends talk to me and I can't hear what they are saying for the music that is swallowing me up.

The pieces are getting shorter and shorter, and worse is the anxiety that is plaguing me now.

This isn't fair. My life isn't fair. I never wanted any of this.

Why couldn't I have been born without this curse? Without magic, I wouldn't have had the Circle and I wouldn't have needed to escape. There would have been no Wardens, no Justice. No running and fighting and none of this floundering, thrashing struggle that is my life.

It's a battle and I'm losing.

Startlingly, I realized that now I can understand him. Corypheus doesn't speak in human tongues or any language that I know, but I know exactly what he wants from me now and that frightens me more than anything. His is a compelling command: Release me, you're getting closer. Just like it had been in the Fade.

"I'm not listening", I tell myself, "I'm not listening!" but I can't not listen anymore. I simply cannot.

I rise, and fumble semi-blind in the darkness of my ill-equipped human senses, but it's easier now, there is a soft blue glow in this cavernous space. Where is that coming from?

And then I look to the ground and I see myself. My hands have lit up again, they are cracking open in tiny fissures of light. It's like all the power of the Fade is inside of me and is pushing for a way out. I know that it's him: Justice. I shudder.

With all of my willpower, I struggle. I push him down. I push the song out of my mind. The effort leaves me shaking and defeated. I retch but it's just a painful cramping because there is nothing in my stomach.

What is happening to me? The glow in my hands has faded, leaving nothing but the sick pallor of my skin to light the night.

I only ever wanted control.

Here, crouched as I find myself on the cold, rock floor. Shaking and crying in the dirt. I want it to end. I need to get out of this place, I need to forget it. I need to talk to someone.

I rock forward, stones are biting in to my palms so I struggle again to my feet.

I need my stave. This was never my magic's fault. It is the entire institution of the Circle, delegating power and privilege unfairly to those of its choosing. Letting sufferers suffer and the blessed rise and prosper. They call magic a curse and foster a culture of fear and aggression, the 'us' and 'them' mentality.

I breathe consciously, working to stifle the fire that is clawing at my gut. Gradually, the burning resentment subsides into a coal of anger, smouldering away. I can smother it temporarily, but it always roars to life again when provoked, it never truly dies. It burns the fumes of injustice, and it will never be extinguished with the amount of fuel that the Circle provides. Not unless something gives.

A brilliant realisation pushed itself logically to the forefront of my mind. My stave: I'm not a hopeless blind man, I am a mage, and one who should be particularly practiced at survival in the Deep Roads by now. I mumbled an incantation and my stave, not metres from where I had lain, spluttered into illumination, casting a benevolent blue glow around our camp and on the sleeping forms of my friends.

I trudged to the straight-backed silhouette that I could just vaguely see in the darkness, more confident in my footfalls now with the comforting light. It was Carver.

In that instant I resolved to tell him about the song, about Corypheus and Justice and everything. I needed to tell someone and I didn't want Garrett to worry, and I thought that maybe out of everyone, Carver stood the highest chance of understanding.

In the darkness I thought, I will finally be able to tell someone, I will finally be rid of this secrecy. I won't have to pretend that I am alright anymore. It's too hard and I am so tired of doing this on my own.

But as I approached him, Carver stood quickly and he smiled at me with such tiredness and gratefulness in his eyes that a strange fear and sense of obligation gripped me and I just couldn't say anything. Instead, I relieved him wordlessly; I didn't trust myself to speak. He nodded his thanks before departing into the night and I did the same thing that I do every night. I waited and watched and I got lost in Corypheus' song.