Chapter 26

Departure

It was two days after the funeral when Anders finally decided. Hawke had received dozens of letters from the nobles of the city, after news of Leandra's tragic death had spread, and the turnout for the funeral had been larger than either of them had expected. Anders was sure that a small, private ceremony would have suited Hawke better considering his state of mind, but the man hadn't been able to refuse. He had placed his mother in the Amell family mausoleum, enclosed within silver and white marble. Anders stood by Hawke through the entire ceremony and didn't protest when the rogue slipped his hand into his, fingers twining together. He didn't protest when they returned home and Hawke tried his best to act normal, to pretend that he was better, that he was past everything, he was fine. He didn't protest when Hawke finally broke down in his arms the next day, just held him and let him cry. He only protested when Hawke, in his grief stricken state, took offence to something he had said and told him what Anders had feared he would at some point.

"Hawke, I didn't mean anything by it," Anders had tried to reason with the incensed man before him.

"Do not patronise me!" Hawke had shouted, pacing back and forth.

"Please, just calm down..." Anders had said tiredly, rubbing at his forehead, eyes closed.

"Don't you dare tell me to calm down!" Hawke had yelled against Anders plea, "Not after everything you've done!"

Hawke was stressed, he was upset and he was tired, Anders had tried to rationalise to himself. Yet he hadn't been able to ignore that this was something he had known would happen. That somewhere, deep down, Hawke still blamed him; that was all Anders could think it was, all he could comprehend it as. Originally he had wanted to leave the day after his fight with Alesis. He had given Hawke his night of solace, that was what he had thought...but on waking and seeing Hawke sleeping peacefully, pillowed against his chest, his resolve had wavered. Over the next few days he began to lose the understanding he had come to before, that he would have to disappear. He began to get used to Hawke's mood swings; he was entitled to them after all wasn't he? Considering everything that had happened? Then the funeral, well he couldn't leave Hawke then, he couldn't let him go through all this alone. After the funeral was over, Anders began to think about staying...but it was that one shouted accusation that brought him out of the haze of acceptance and ambivalence he had fallen into out of habit. Hawke tended to have that effect on him, he knew, but this time it was different. This time Anders wasn't resisting for Hawke's benefit. He was doing this for himself and, despite his determination, he couldn't help but feel incredibly guilty.

It was a week after Leandra's death. The first rays of sunlight woke him. Must be early. Anders had awoken first, as usual, but instead of lying in bed and waiting for Hawke to wake up, as he had been doing the past week, he instead slipped out from under the covers quietly and dressed himself. Just focus on what you need to do, Anders thought with determination as he pulled on his coat quietly and fastened the trappings. He walked to the writing desk and wrote the letter quickly, holding it in his hands while it dried. Looking around the room he rocked back and forth on his feet and tried not to look at the bed, but it was impossible not to. He crept over silently, looked down at the sight and tried not to feel anything, endeavoured to force the apathy on to himself even as the pain tried its best to vie for poll position.

Hawke was sleeping on his side, one arm outstretched over the spot Anders had vacated, the other pillowed beneath his head. His hair was tousled, falling over his closed eyes and, for a moment, he looked very young and vulnerable. Anders wanted to reach down and push the hair from his forehead, run his fingers across his cheek and kiss him awake...but he knew he couldn't. He looked down as something pressed against his thigh. He found Madam, who had been sleeping at the foot of the bed as usual, had awoken and was now busy walking across the covers and rubbing herself against the mage, tail high in the air. Anders smiled softly at her as he folded the now dry letter in half and placed it onto the pillow next to Hawke.

You're such a recreant, he thought hollowly, can't even tell him to his face. It was a coward's way out, he knew, but he had his reasons. Facing Hawke and telling him he was leaving...Anders knew what would happen if he did that. He didn't think he'd be able to stand up to any argument Hawke would make in return. He would be convinced to stay, that he was certain of, Hawke always managed to manipulate Anders to his point of view. He reached down and ran his hand from Madam's head all the way to the tip of her tail. The cat began to purr, letting a shiver run through her tail. Anders continued to stroke her while he watched Hawke breathing softly.

"You be good now Madam, I know what you're like," Anders said quietly, hating the vacant tone to his voice but not sure how to rectify it, "no destroying the furniture and no climbing the curtains, alright?"

The cat let out a short, trilling meow, almost as if she was answering him. Anders smiled sadly, scratching her neck, trying to make himself leave. It wasn't easy, not that he'd thought it would be, but he'd thought he was stronger than this. Why am I so weak when it comes to you Hawke? Anders thought, echoing his thoughts from that tragic night a week ago. He watched as Madam eventually lay down next to Hawke, curling round into a circle in the warm patch Anders had left. The mage crept quietly to the door and opened it, throwing one last glance at the family he had known from the start was never more than a dream, before slipping through and closing it behind him.

Anders hadn't really been sure why he thought it would work. Perhaps it had seemed a clever idea at the time but had forgotten two key elements of Garret Hawke which rubbished his plan before it had truly started; One, he was unbelievably stubborn and wouldn't let go of an idea once it was in his head and two, he knew how to pick almost any lock in the city. Anders awoke in his clinic to the now mainly unfamiliar dull hiss and click of the sewer systems whirring to life, blinking open his eyes only to find Hawke sitting in his only chair watching him, a very familiar letter clutched in his hand. Anders sat up so quickly he nearly strained his back. Hawke didn't take his eyes from him, even as Anders rubbed the sleep from his face and wished he'd had the presence of mind to find somewhere else to stay for a while so that Hawke couldn't find him.

"Care to explain this?" Hawke asked, holding up the letter as Anders stood and reached for his coat from its place on the table.

"...I thought it was perfectly self explanatory," Anders said, keeping his voice steady, not making eye contact.

"Fuck," Hawke said as if to no one, shaking his head, "I can't believe you...you would leave me a letter. Is that all I mean to you?"

Anders tried not to listen, tried not to let it hurt him. It didn't work. He purposefully didn't look at Hawke as he walked to the cold hearth. Rationalise it, he said to himself, be logical. Tell him what he needs to know.

"It wasn't working Hawke, you know that yourself. 'We can't keep going on like this'," Anders said, keeping his back to Hawke as he started the fire, "wasn't that what you said?"

"Don't you dare turn this back on me," Hawke said dangerously, "I meant we had to work things out, not...not this."

"Maybe there is nothing to work out," Anders said coldly.

It sounded harsh, he knew it did, but that was what he needed. The reason he'd written the letter in the first place was so that he wouldn't have to do this with Hawke. He didn't want to talk about it, he didn't want to have to reason and convince and argue. He just wanted to be left alone. It was difficult enough as it was without Hawke trying to make it worse.

"Just what is that supposed to mean?" Hawke asked soberly after a long silence.

"...It means I'm sick fed up pretending," Anders spat back, "and I can't do it anymore."

It was an open ended statement and Anders knew it. He meant every word of it; he was fed up, fed up pretending to be alright when he wasn't just so he could be strong for Hawke, fed up having to hide everything he was doing from the rogue for fear that Hawke would condemn him. That was what he had meant, although, considering their topic of conversation, Anders knew how Hawke would misconstrue it. The rogue was suspiciously quiet as Anders let the silence linger. He chanced a look over his shoulder and then wished he hadn't. Hawke wasn't looking at him anymore. He was looking down at the folded letter in his hands, shuffling it round and round between his fingers, his face blank. It was a rare countenance to see on Hawke; he looked like he had finally given up. Anders turned back to the fire, blinking away the sheen forming on his eyes.

"But you said..." Hawke started softly before stopping dead.

There was a long pause and then he heard Hawke stand. Anders stayed crouched on the hearth, trying to ignore the awkward sounds of Hawke moving behind him. This is the right thing to do, he kept telling himself, it's the right thing to do.

"Is this really what you want?" Hawke asked quietly.

"...Yes," Anders said with difficulty.

"Alright," Hawke said, voice breaking before he stopped to clear his throat, "if it's what you want then..."

Hawke didn't finish. Anders listened as the rogue simply strode across the room, opened the door to the clinic and walked through, leaving it open behind him. Anders sat staring at the empty doorway for longer than he really should have. Somehow he hadn't expected it to be that easy and, underneath his relief, it made him sad to think it. Hawke was always so stubborn and determined yet, when it came to keeping a hold of Anders, Hawke always seemed to just...give up. Whether it was because he respected Anders' decisions or he just didn't care, Anders couldn't tell. When he finally found the presence of mind to stand and walk to the table he found that Hawke had left his letter there. Anders picked it up and blinked when something, which had been resting atop the letter, fell to the floor. Anders frowned, reaching down to pick it up. His face fell as recognised the ring between his fingers, glowing with a red fire. The gift he had given Hawke for his birthday...Anders closed his hand around it and held it close. Slowly he reached into his shirt with his other hand and pulled out the loose chain that held his Tevinter amulet. He unclasped the chain and slid the ring onto it, watching as it slithered down to rest awkwardly beside the flat talisman. The ring was cold when he slid it and the amulet back under his clothes, resting against his skin.

It had been raining all day. Not just normal rain either but a downpour, sheets of large, heavy drops forming white walls of water. The noise it created as it hammered against the ceiling was amazing enough in itself, interspersed occasionally with bright flashes of lightening and loud claps of thunder. Early summer thunderstorms weren't unusual in Kirkwall but it was only barely summer now. Anders stood on the promenade in Darktown overlooking the canal, leaning against the railings, and watched the rain fall. If he reached out far enough he could put his hand into the deluge, letting the water tap against his fingers persistently. He drew it back slowly, bringing his hand up to watch the droplets roll like frightened insects down his palm and over his wrist, disappearing into the cuff of his coat.

He shouldn't be standing here, out in the open like this. He knew that but it hadn't stopped him. In all honesty he'd lost track of time, watching the torrential rain, losing himself in a daydream like state as he listened to the shush and tap of water hitting water, water hitting stone. Despite the building heat of the air there was still a hint of chill in the moisture pervading everything. He had fastened his coat closed and pulled his collar tighter around his neck to stave it off. There weren't many people about on the promenade today. Occasionally someone had walked past, some of them stopping to view the monsoon before moving on, some of them even greeting him quietly with a nod of their head and one muttered word.

"Healer," they would say with respect.

Anders didn't reply. He couldn't bring himself to. The very thought of commanding anyone's respect made him feel like laughing out loud. Not that he'd ever considered himself respectable, just that he'd become used to and rather fond of the idea of being liked by the residents in Darktown. Now it just seemed like some big, cruel joke that the universe had been playing on him. In the long month since he'd left Hawke everything was beginning to seem like a joke. The air around him echoed with the dull thud of the rain and the occasional whistle of wind. Anders continued to stare at the whiteout before him, trying to discern the grey and brown of the cliff across the water.

"What are you looking at?"

Anders didn't turn. He heard Merrill walk up beside him, leaning next him on the railing. He continued to stare out into empty space. What was he looking at? Nothing. In truth he wasn't even watching the rain, not really. It was just a distraction. Merrill didn't press him further. She just stayed by his side, mirroring his actions, looking out intently over the canal. Eventually Anders found the energy to talk.

"How are you Merrill?" he asked softly, barely audible over the thrashing rain.

"Me? Oh I'm alright," Merrill said with a bright smile, "just the usual. I've been helping Varric with some research for one of his new novels actually. He's trying to include the Dalish, you see, and so he wants me to tell him all about our history, well what we know of it anyway, all about the Dread Wolf and the Creator and the elder gods, our practices and all that. So that's kept me busy."

The gap would have been a natural one in a normal conversation, a polite way of giving the other person a chance to speak, comment or ask a question. Unfortunately Anders had lost his ability for following civilised conversations lately and didn't pick up on the cue. Merrill didn't seem to mind. Perhaps, over the last month, she'd become used to it. Instead of leaving the awkward silence she just went right on talking as if nothing had happened, updating the mage on everything that had been happening lately. He wouldn't say that he'd isolated himself from his friends but he had started visiting less, mainly because of the selfish reason that the more time he spent around them the increased chance there was of running into Hawke. Anders listened to Merrill distractedly, picking up on a few things that she said, not once making eye contact. His stare remained strictly forwards, not out of any necessity, but just out of habit.

"So Varric found his brother finally," Merrill said, propping her chin on her palm as she leaned forwards, "that was a bit of a shock I can tell you. All this time he's been planning on how he would get his revenge and then when he finds Bartrand he's nothing more than a raving lunatic. I feel kind of sorry for him actually. Varric I mean, not Bartrand. Having to look after someone you really want to hate but you can't bring yourself to."

Anders nodded a little and hummed in agreement. He knew what that felt like. Merrill seemed to take this as a good sign, perking up a little. Do I really look that pathetic? Anders thought miserably, I must do. The elf carried on with more enthusiasm.

"And Fenris has had a bit of news too," Merrill said, "he thinks he might be on to something in tracking down his sister. He's had a few leads and Varric's been helping him out. Still, finding someone in the Imperium seems like it's a lot harder than he first thought. They're so secretive up North. Like trying to get blood out of a stone asking a Tevinter for information, or that's what Varric says anyway."

That was good news at least, Anders thought. Fenris deserved to get his life back, find what he'd lost. The elf had been surprisingly civil to him whenever they'd run into each other over the last so many weeks. Without being around Hawke Anders hadn't expected to see Fenris again either, but every now and then he'd seen him around Lowtown, or with Varric. Usually they exchanged nothing more than their usual polite greeting but, as time wore on, Fenris had begun to throw him concerned glances whenever they found themselves in each other's company for longer than it took to say 'hello'. Only the other week Fenris had truly surprised him by inquiring quietly if he was alright. Anders had looked at his reflection in the cracked piece of mirror he had at the clinic when he'd returned home, convinced he must look like he was on death's door if Fenris of all people was asking after his health. He wondered just how far the elf's ability to empathise went; in all truth he had expected Fenris to disparage him, considering he'd obviously hurt Hawke with his proclamation, but it seemed not. Instead, even though he didn't come out and say it, the elf semmed to understand on some level and was willing to be considerate at least. Fenris had been in the same situation with Hawke himself, after all.

"That's good," he said leaning back from the railing and finally looking to Merrill, giving the elf a small smile.

Merrill watched him for a moment, her eyes a little glassy. Anders frowned, wondering what he'd done now. Merrill shook her head when Anders opened his mouth to speak, sniffing a little suspiciously.

"Oh don't mind me," she said, smiling back at him, "it's just been a long time since I've seen you smile, that's all."

Anders swallowed, feeling a little guilty even though he knew it was irrational. I must be such a joy to be around, he thought gloomily. Not that Anders was the type to feel sorry for himself after a tragedy, no he was too used to them for that. He'd admit that the day he'd awoken to find Hawke waiting for him in the clinic he'd been a bit of a mess. Well, maybe a bit more than just a mess. He had locked the clinic and sat slumped in the corner ignoring the alternately timid and aggressive knocks at his door. He didn't eat anything, he barely slept and when he did it was only to fall into fitful nightmares.

However, once he finally had managed to get some sleep he woke to find the next day just a shade brighter. Not very much but at least a little. His resolve returned, slowly, and allowed him to finally look at the situation objectively. He had to keep going forwards, he couldn't stay stuck in this limbo. So he'd swallowed down all the pain and the guilt, difficult as it was to do, picked himself up off of the floor and continued on as if nothing had really happened. Of course he couldn't help but think about it but he couldn't let it affect him, not to the point where he couldn't function anymore. He had reopened the clinic the same day, much to the relief of Darktown.

He wasn't an idiot either, he noticed that Merrill never talked of Hawke when she came round to visit and give him any gossip he might have missed. Varric mentioned him now and then, but it was trickier with the dwarf. Varric had been there when it happened after all, Merrill hadn't. Anders didn't exactly feel forced into telling the dwarf what had occurred on the night of Fenris' miraculous recovery but somehow he didn't think it would be easy to have conversation with him if Varric didn't know all the details. That was how he'd justified it to himself anyway. Perhaps he just wanted Varric to know so that maybe he wouldn't judge him too harshly after what he'd seen Justice do. It was true that Varric had been much more sympathetic once he'd learned of Alesis and the blood ritual. Anders didn't tell him everything, just enough. Varric had tried to tell to Anders about Hawke, tried to tell him that they should really meet and talk, but any time he started his usual placating conversation Anders either shut him down or very unsubtly changed the subject. Eventually Varric had given up even trying.

It's better this way, Anders thought disconsolately. That was what he'd been telling himself anyway. It kept the truth at bay and all the grief that came with it. The side of him that was Justice was perfectly content with the situation. Now he didn't have to choose anymore, now his path was clear of distractions and things which could jeopardise his mission. The other side had faded a little in the shadow of Justice's enthusiasm, wilting in the dark. It was easier this way, far easier, but it didn't mean it was any less painful. Life had carried on, it always would. He had lost something, something very precious, but in the scheme of things it was really just another in a long list of beautiful things in his life which he had lost. What he could count on, what he could rely on, was Justice. The spirit wouldn't leave him, not just because he couldn't but also because he truly didn't want to. They were one and yet separate, whole and yet distinguishable. In the many weeks since Leandra's death Anders had relied on that above all else. They would do this together, they would make this world a better place, somewhere he would be glad to live, not the hive of fear and prejudice which it was. Then...well, after that he could be free.

Free and alone.

"So," Merrill said, pulling Anders attention back to her; the mage looked round to meet the elf's gaze, "are you coming?"

"Sorry?" Anders asked, blinking, obviously having missed something important.

"To the pub," Merrill said with a light laugh, reaching over to pat him on the head, "you really aren't in there today, are you?"

Just today? Anders thought wearily. Still he laughed shortly and apologised. Merrill waved it off before pulling him bodily away from the railing, linking her arm with his, and basically marching him to Lowtown. Anders tried to protest, say that he needed to return to the clinic, but it was no use. When Merrill knew someone was just trying to placate her she never took any notice. Anders was kind of glad for it actually, her enthusiasm and want to help.

The more he thought about it, it was useful actually, Merrill turning up to invite him to the Hanged Man; he needed to talk to Varric anyway. Hopefully the dwarf would be in his suite or, if not, Anders could leave a message for him. He had tried to find news of Alesis' whereabouts through the resistance but, as of yet, there was no word of him at all. It wasn't something he wanted to do anyway, talk of the blood mage to the members of the underground. Sabine and some of the others were already concerned enough about him as it was and, considering the rumours that had sprung up around Quentin's death, asking for information was a little risky. The resistance's network also only spread so far and news from Ferelden was hard to come by. So in the end Varric, with his extensive information network, was a much safer and more reliable bet.

As they rounded the corner out of the Old City slums the sound of voices made Anders stop, his head snapping up. It made him feel a little ill that his heart couldn't help but begin to race at the sound. He pulled Merrill into the wall, ignoring her confused protests, and watched the street ahead carefully. He didn't have to wait long until he saw just what he thought he would. Hawke walked around the corner of The Hanged Man with Fenris at his side. Anders looked on, not entirely sure what to feel. He looked...well, he looked different, Anders thought unsurely. His hair was a bit longer than usual, sitting in the awkward slightly spiky mess it usually did when Hawke didn't cut it. His stubble had also been left unattended, forming a rough beard. It made him look older, Anders thought as he watched the two men walk thankfully towards the adjacent street, talking together in low voices. He caught sight of Hawke's face just before they disappeared and, irrationally, it made Anders want to call out to him. He looked drawn, paler than usual. Yet, instead, the mage kept his mouth shut firmly. He could hear Merrill sigh beside him as she pulled away from the wall.

"You're going to have to talk to him at some point," she said bluntly, "you can't avoid each other forever."

"Says who?" Anders said, not looking at her as they continued towards the Hanged Man.

"Me, that's who," Merrill said, "and don't think I'll let either of you away with it for much longer. Honestly, if you don't talk about it how are you ever going to get it sorted out?"

"And who said anything about sorting it out?" Anders mumbled but, unfortunately, Merrill heard him.

They were almost at the pub door but Merrill stopped dead, hauling Anders to a halt as a consequence. He looked around in surprise to find her staring at him steadily, her face a mixture of disbelief and distress.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, "You've both come through worse than this before, haven't you? I mean, this isn't the end of everything. It can't be."

Anders watched the elf, feeling like he should try and reassure her somehow. Merrill was still so innocent in many ways, despite her blood magic and all the things she'd had to endure. Out of their group she had always been the most taken with Anders and Hawke's seemingly unshakable love. He felt like he was ruining her somehow by showing her what real life was like, tainting her with his own cynicism.

"All things come to an end sooner or later," Anders said, hating that he believed it.

"That's not true," Merrill said, frowning, "that's just an excuse. Come on, it's obvious that you miss him and that he misses you too."

"Merrill, please," Anders sighed, releasing the elf's arm and opening the pub door, "I really don't want to talk about it."

Merrill didn't say anything else as they entered, although it was clear to Anders that she wanted to. Norah told him that Varric was in his suite when he asked. Merrill followed him solemnly up the stairs. They found Varric staring into the fire; Anders enjoyed the rare opportunity to take the dwarf by surprise.

"Ah, you startled me!" Varric said, letting out a chuff of laughter when Anders patted him on the shoulder, "It's been a while. How are you?"

"It's only been a couple of weeks," Anders shrugged, sitting down opposite Varric, Merrill sitting down beside him, "same old, same old. Yourself?"

"Oh you know me," Varric said, taking a drink from his ale, "always busy, busy. I've had some, well, family matters to attend to."

"Yes, Merrill told me," Anders said, "how are things with your brother?"

Varric sighed, sitting back in his chair. Anders could see from the firelight that it wasn't only Hawke that looked worn; Varric did too.

"It's...complicated," Varric said, "he's, well if Merrill's explained then there isn't really much more I can tell you. He's not any better and he's not any worse. He's just...Bartrand, only now I can't shout at him because it makes me feel bad. Anyway, let's not dwell on the melancholy shall we?"

"Couldn't agree more," Anders said with a small smile, "actually, while I'm here, I need to ask a favour of you."

"Fire away," Varric said, his eyes regaining a little of their normal sparkle.

"I need to find Alesis," Anders said bluntly, not bothering to sugar coat it, "and I thought you might be able to help me track him down."

Varric frowned a little uncomfortably while Merrill leaned forwards and turned so she could talk to him face to face.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Merrill asked, "I mean, what are you going to do?"

"Daisy..." Varric started, obviously much more aware of what Anders planned to do than Merrill was but not sure if she should really hear it.

"I'm going to kill him," Anders said matter-of-factly, ignoring Varric's concern, watching Merrill's eyes widen momentarily before she sat back in her chair with a soft 'oh'.

I don't need your concern where this is considered, Anders thought blankly, it's just an inevitability. Something I should have taken care of long ago. Anders let the spike of remorse swell up through him. It wasn't the first time he'd wished that he'd killed Alesis when he'd had the chance, all those years ago.

"I will find him, with or without your help," Anders said as Varric stalled, "it would just be easier with it, that's all."

"I didn't say I wouldn't," Varric said, placing his flagon on the table carefully, "I just don't like the idea of you going off alone to do it. I saw him fight, Anders, he's powerful and a blood mage..."

"You're preaching to the choir," Anders said with a dismissive wave, "please, spare me the 'concerned friend' speech and just say yes or no."

Varric frowned, looking a little put out. Anders wished that he could be his usual charming self but, since he and Hawke had gone their separate ways, he had found himself becoming far more blunt and discourteous. He watched Varric closely, hoping that his manners wouldn't put the dwarf off completely.

"Fine," Varric said eventually, "yes, I'll look into it for you, but I mean it Blondie, no running off alone thinking you're invincible. I get enough of that from Hawke already without you joining in."

"When have I ever thought I was invincible?" Anders asked, shrugging, "I'm far too realistic for that. Oh, by the way..."

Varric raised his eyebrows as Anders hesitated. The mage had tried to make it sound casual but, in truth, he felt a little silly for asking. He had only returned to the mansion once, when he was sure that Hawke was out, to take back the Tevinter book which he had forgotten to retrieve when he left and to return his key. The fact that he didn't really have any other belongings that needed removing seemed entirely emblematic of the state of their relationship. He'd never truly moved in to Hawke's life, so to speak, or so he tried to tell himself. There was one thing that disputed that fact however.

"Well, have you been to the hou...I mean Hawke's house recently?" Anders said, correcting himself.

"I was there just the other day," Varric said, "why?"

"How's the kitten?" Anders asked, tapping his fingers on the table.

I think I'm destined to lose every cat I ever own, Anders thought ruefully as he watched Varric's face soften.

"She was fine last time I saw her," Varric said, "jumped all over me as soon as I sat down. Nearly had a sneezing fit what with her rubbing her face all over my nose."

"Sounds about right," Anders laughed, trying to hide the melancholy in his voice as much as possible, "she'll be getting big I guess."

"You're telling me," Varric said, "I think she forgets she isn't a kitten anymore."

As usual Anders changed the subject quite quickly once he had learned what he wanted to know. He knew it would be awkward to let the conversation continue; Varric would only start talking about Hawke. So instead they began talking about far more banal and easy subjects, like politics and the Qunari. It turned out that it was to the Qunari compound that Hawke and Fenris were headed when Anders and Merrill had avoided them earlier. It seemed that the Arishok had been having trouble and, considering Hawke had assisted him before, had asked for him personally to sort another problem. Hawke had taken Fenris because apparently the elf knew all about Qunari custom and law and was handy to have along whenever the Arishok was concerned. Anders knew that he should be anxious, what with Hawke mixing himself up once more with the Qunari, but it was a little difficult when the thing you should be apprehensive about was also the thing you were trying to avoid

Anders and Merrill spent the rest of the afternoon and a little into the evening talking with Varric. She gave Anders a protracted hug when they eventually left, making him promise to come and visit her tomorrow before she would let him go. Anders promised, even though he knew that he might not keep it.

The sunset was pale and insignificant, doused by grey clouds and a slight drizzle of rain that set a haze through the air. He wondered through it, watching the buildings with a strange curiosity. When the time came, would the apostates in the city stand with him or against him? Would they fight if forced to or would they surrender and face the consequences? Everything was moving closer and closer and yet Anders wasn't even sure if the world was ready for a revolution. From what Cousland had told him it sounded as if Ferelden was ready to rise but was Kirkwall? There was the resistance, of course, but what of the Circle itself? Would they cower in their tower or would they show the templars exactly why it was wrong to imprison mages? Perhaps, Anders thought as he walked towards the meeting point he had appointed earlier for the transfer, it wouldn't matter. After he'd done what he was going to do he suspected that someone as radical as Meredith would invoke the right of annulment, even though the Circle itself hadn't been involved. The First Enchanter would have no choice but to protect the people under his care. It wasn't a perfect system but then neither was the one that was currently in place. Anders hoped that, when the time came, he could make sure to get Hawke's sister out of the tower safely at least. It may be a selfish want, he thought, but after everything he'd done it was only right that he try and make amends. Getting Bethany free and back to her brother was something he swore on his life he'd try and make a reality.

By the sewer entrance at the dock edge sat a grubby looking woman pulling black glossy feathers from a severed raven's wing. She looked up as Anders approached, the wall she leaned against keeping her dry from the rain and casting the street into shadow from the swiftly deepening sunset. Anders leaned against the wall beside her, watching her as she stood.

"Wondered when you'd show," the woman said, showing her dirty teeth.

"Do you have it or not?" Anders asked, his eyes flicking up and down the street even as he tried to look casual.

"No need to be hasty, my dear," the woman smiled craftily, reaching into the pouch at her waist to pull out a bundle of cloth, "Farah assured me you'd have the coin..?"

Anders sighed. Black market dealers were always only interested in one thing. He reached into his coin purse and fished out three gleaming sovereigns. The woman's eyes lit up on seeing them. She reached out and grabbed them from Anders' palm, scratching at them with a broken nail to make sure they were real.

"I'm not trying to rip you off," Anders said stonily, "now hand it over before we're seen."

The woman gave him a shrewd look but pocketed the money before shoving the cloth bundle into his hands. Anders unwrapped it quickly as the woman began walking hurriedly towards the sewer entrance. The mage looked into the bundle and scowled, looking up and calling out just before the woman disappeared.

"Hey, wait!" Anders shouted, watching the woman turn and shake her hands, her countenance angry.

"Keep your bloody voice down idiot!" the woman said as Anders ran towards her.

"This isn't enough," he said tightly as he stopped before her, thrusting the bundle at her face.

"Isn't enough?" the woman scoffed, eyes narrowing, "You any idea how hard it is to come by drakestone, sonny? That there is all you'll find in Kirkwall, unless you want to go to a dragon's lair and fish some out yourself!"

"There has to be more than this," Anders said in frustration, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one had walked around the corner, "who did you get it from?"

"Oh no, can't be telling you that," the woman shook her head and crouched down to open the sewer entrance, "I don't let out information about me clients. You want something you go through me and I say I can't get you any more than that. Was difficult enough getting that much!"

"Please, I need..." Anders started but the woman cut him off.

"I said I don't have any more!" the woman said harshly, "You want more then you find another supplier who might have some but you'll be lucky. Now get out of here before we're caught doing what we shouldn't be doing by the City Guard."

With that she left Anders standing alone in the gloaming, holding the small cloth bundle with the handful of drakestone at its centre. Anders stood looking into the bundle, his lips a tight line. It had taken him a long time to build up enough coin to afford the drakestone he needed and now all he got was this? The amount he held in his hand was barely a tenth of what he needed. Anders folded the cloth roughly, tying it tightly at the top before stuffing it angrily into his pack. Looks like I'll have to track down a new supplier, Anders thought wearily. Yet another delay, yet another obstacle. Not that he was really that close to completing the spell yet anyway, but getting the drakestone was going to be another part completed, another step in the right direction. Now it felt as if for every step he took forwards that he was taking another three back. He took a deep breath and began the short walk back to Darktown, his purse light and his heart heavy.