BioWare owns all; I just play in their pond. Reviews are always welcome!
A/N: TRIGGER WARNING. Discussion of suicidal inclination. Nowhere near as bad as it could be, I assure you.
And wow writing this one hit me. Me being me, I triple-proof everything before I publish it, and just... wow. We're seeing now some of the underlying reasons for what goes on in canon, some hints at the future, and more groundwork being laid.
29. Conservator – Anders
Hawke's knee touched the cobbles as he slid, swinging a sharp turn out of the tavern door to find his path to Darktown. Biting back a curse, he pulled himself upright, the urgency in his mind warring viciously with the fog of Maker knew how much ale, his forward motion never stopping.
He wouldn't… It has to be Justice, something the spirit is pushing for that he doesn't want… "Sorry, miss, no harm!" How did I not see it? He's been so quiet, but nothing's happened, nothing's changed, why would he… "Andraste's sanctified ass, there weren't this many steps here yesterday!" What could that spirit possibly want that would push him here? We're doing everything that can be done, we've rescued more mages this year than in the last five put together. Surely he sees… "Bugger! Hey, lady, you don't want it broken, don't shove your table out into the bloody street!" No, no, not again… He'll be there, he'll be fine. He has to be. He has to be.
He found some space to simply run as he rounded another corner into a straight path through the marketplace, and the freedom to move seemed to gust away some of the alcoholic haze that hampered him. Maker's breath, you can't stop thinking about the man, he thought, gesturing even as his lungs started to press against his chest with the exertion of moving. Get that spell going and give yourself some Maker-be-damned Haste!
Hawke absently registered that the feeling of the stones against his feet became lighter with the spell, and his balance seemed to improve as the pace of his sprint picked up. Scrambling down another set of stairs toward the passage to Darktown, he threw a wisp over his head out of habit. He hadn't come through this way since they'd moved into the estate, but his magic still recognized the familiar rusted grate even if he couldn't coherently think about what he was doing.
Twice more he barreled around corners, heart thudding in his chest and knees scraping through mud and muck and Maker knew what else. He hit the clinic door without a break in his stride and found Anders standing at the surgery table.
Alive. Catch your breath. You got here, you've got him. Breathe. Oh, Maker, he didn't even jump when the door smacked against the pillar. His pulse had barely begun to slow when a glint caught his eye in the waning light. No patients, but is that… No, no, no, he's holding one of his surgery knives.
He stumbled forward now; small, frightened sounds escaping his throat as the healer turned to face him, a puzzled look on his face. Later, Hawke would remember seeing the cleaning rag in the man's opposite hand as he turned, but now he couldn't push a single thought through the terror that had seized his mind. Pain jarred him even further as his hip connected with the table, but he was here, he'd been in time, things would be fine. Heedless of the sharp edge at his lover's hand, he pulled Anders into a kiss, feeling an urgency he didn't think he'd ever match, unable to dislodge any of the words clawing at his throat. Reaching, clutching, he grasped down Anders's arm, seeking and searching, until he found his hand and pried the knife away.
Presently, the blond man watched the instrument fly across the room, striking the leg of a bench and kicking up dust as it skittered off into a corner. "Davin, what… what in the world has come over you, what's wrong?" With more curiosity than worry, he noted that the wisp hovering over the other mage's head was jumping in place, jittery and flickering.
Puzzled, confused, but to Hawke's ears it felt flat, vacant. It was Anders's voice, and still he heard none of the man within it. Breath coming in short and ragged gasps, he managed a hoarse whisper. "You can't… The pillow… Don't… Don't leave me, don't… You have to… Tell me you won't go, you'll stay, tell me… Tell me you won't leave…"
"Davin, what? The… pillow, that was just…"
The automatic denial rang false. Sobbing now, heavy and unashamed, Hawke shook the healer by his shoulders, a fleeting thought striking him that he'd never before handled the man so violently. "No, no, no, no! You won't go. You won't. Say it!" The plea echoed in the empty room, singing back sorrow and fear and a lifetime of love he couldn't stand the thought of losing.
Stunned, unable to process the change in the man before him, Anders opened his mouth to speak and … found himself breathing, deep and shuddering and aware as he hadn't been for days, weeks, and he saw now how close he'd been. And even still, he couldn't help but be unquestionably moved by the strength of the need he'd heard. "Oh, Maker, Davin, no. No, no. I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here. It's me, I'm here, I'm back, I'm staying." He pressed a kissed the man's head and pulled him close.
The maelstrom blowing out of them both, they sank to the floor, knee to knee, holding and being held, just being.
"It's you." Hawke's relief was palpable, blanketing the healer as if to ward away the chill of the abyss they'd stepped away from. Steadying now, he repeated, "It's you. I thought… At the pub, when Varric told me, I didn't even wait for him to finish. I had to get here, I had to run. All the way, I saw you and I… The last run, in Lowtown, when Mother… I couldn't stop seeing it, and I had to get here, and then I saw the knife, and…"
Now the full weight of what the man must have gone through punched into Anders's gut in an instant. Oh, Maker, I was there when he… "Love, I'm so sorry. I had no idea, I… What you must have thought… I'm here now, I'll always be, and Justice… Justice wants you to know he's sorry as well, that he'd never meant…"
Shifting now, Anders saw what he could do. He settled back against the wall, pulling the other mage back against his chest. We're both healers after all, aren't we? Maker knows we can relax more than we are now, without sending our legs to sleep besides, and we'd need it after such an ordeal... Circling his love's chest with his arms, he gathered his thoughts.
"Please, can you… Can you tell me…" Hawke returned his focus now to breathing, to calming, drawing on the comfort of being held.
Anders had already understood he'd need to reassure the other man that the danger had truly passed. In that moment, with Davin laid bare as he was, he offered silent thanks to the Maker and, equally bitter and sincere, to Justice, that he would be able to give him what he needed.
"Justice has been… He's consumed me, lately, in a way he never had before. I'd resisted, I was arguing with him, almost constantly, that we can't do any more right now than we already are. When discussion didn't work, he... changed his approach. He'd push me to work on our writings, he'd find some urgency, some immediate need that I'd felt before and bring it up again without any purpose attached to try to nudge it toward the cause, toward the mages.
"When that didn't work, he dug for the memories. The Circle, that cell, the Templars… He'd push them at me, over and over, calling up all the rage and helplessness and fear and asking me if it wasn't past time to strike them back, to take the revenge I was due and create justice for myself.
"Weeks this went on, never the same argument twice together, never the same memory, until I'd seen them all enough to know what he was dredging up before it hit me. It got so I couldn't stand it anymore, and then I found that Justice would hesitate when that out, that escape occurred to me, that I could threaten him into retreat with ending it, with losing his host.
"I can't lie anymore, Davin, not to you. It had gotten to a point that I'd decided to take that escape. Not now, not today. That wasn't what you saw when you came in, I swear to you, you got here in time. Justice, though… When he saw what it was doing to you, he pushed into my head that he'd seen in that moment what an injustice it would be to take me away from you in that way. He regrets it, and he asked me to give you his word that it won't happen again. He hasn't left, but he has retreated. I'm here," the healer soothed, softly. "I'm staying."
As Anders wound his way through the events, Hawke had managed to still his terror and think. He'd suspected Justice had been the cause. There were so many things he wanted to say, but couldn't, not if Justice would overhear. Pushing Anders to look for a need for vengeance, and through such vile and revolting means… No. Hawke was certain Justice wasn't Justice anymore. There was a decidedly demonic bent to these tactics, but beyond that, he had no idea.
Cousin Amell. The thought presented itself out of nowhere. Right, Danica told me in her last letter that the king had mentioned something about a possessed boy, during the Blight, something that hadn't ended with another nightmare. I'll have to write her again, and soon.
For now, it had begun to sink in that the crisis had passed. He closed his hands over the healer's and leaned back into his shoulder, happy to pass the time on a dirty Darktown floor as long as his love was here, whole and safe.
