Chapter 36
Artifice
It's an odd feeling, the displaced and fuzzy sense that you've woken up after the event, that something very important has passed you by. You start by blinking your eyes open, taking in the faded daylight and the long shadows, perhaps still enveloped by the comforting warmth or the coolness of the dreamscape; then everything seems to jump from contented to frozen, your stomach clenches with both shock and anguish while your brain skips into overdrive as it tries desperately to find the nearest clock. Anders went through these very same motions as he awoke on the settee, heavy and warm underneath a thick blanket.
Fuck, was the only rather inelegant and yet entirely appropriate word his mind could produce as he jolted upright, the cool air of the sitting room spilling its way into his clothes as the blanket fell away. What time is it, Anders panicked, shoving the blanket down his legs and scrambling from the couch, what fucking time is it! The storm was still raging outside, the rain pummelling the windows mercilessly, and the thick, dark clouds over the sky gave the illusion of night, casting the room into a gloomy mix of firelight and shadow. Anders stumbled to the mantelpiece and grabbed it with both hands, peering up into the ornate and overly stylised clock ticking away merrily to itself.
Ten past eight. Still another three hours to go. The relief was the same as any other person in his situation would have felt; a flood of euphoria that doused him like a cold bucket of water. It made his nerves tingle and the accelerated beat of his heart all the more noticeable. For a full thirty seconds he felt more alive than he had in years. The adrenaline was quick to wind down however. Oh thank the bloody Maker, Anders thought as he sank into the nearest armchair just to take the weight off of his weak legs. Slowly everything returned to normal. Anders ran his hand roughly over his face and shook his head. I really thought...Maker how irresponsible I am! Anders could feel that familiar inner struggle simmering within him and purposefully tried to clear his mind of the anger that his panic had instilled in him. He took a deep breath and savoured the smell of wood smoke and coals. The spicy, earthy smell of a dying fire always served to calm his nerves. Perhaps it was the memories of travelling with the Wardens, the scent of the fire at camp on the wet Ferelden air, or maybe something more deeply buried; burning peat and the chill of snow. It made him think of...
Home, Anders thought groggily, not entirely sure where the thought had even come from. It felt displaced and distracting. He shook his head and sighed harshly. No time to think about any of that now, no time for anything much. He stood and rolled his shoulders, working out the kinks in his joints. His stomach was roiling with nerves and anticipation. He lowered his arms and took another calming breath. Closing his eyes brought soothing darkness and Hawke's words, 'If you can't show these people what it is to fight then I don't know who can'. He opened his eyes once more to find the world unchanged before them, yet all the while his heart filled with hope as the words echoed in his head.
'They'll listen to you'
Anders steeled his resolve as he looked towards the rain spattered windows, the darkness devouring everything beyond like a hungry beast. This was it.
He left the room and closed the door behind him. The winding corridor was silent and dim, the fluttering of candlelight emanating from the far end. As Anders neared the upper landing, so did the flickering candlelight near him. As he rounded the corner he came face to face with a startled Hawke, holding a single candle holder in his right hand and a plate in the other.
"I was just coming to wake you," he said a little uncertainly.
"No need," Anders said with a small smile, "although I wish you hadn't let me sleep at all. There really isn't time for..."
"For making sure you get some rest so you don't fall asleep during the very important meeting?" Hawke smirked as he turned around and began walking back towards the landing; Anders followed, even though Hawke's flippancy grated a little against his nerves.
"I doubt that would ever happen," Anders said, "this all has me so on edge that I feel as if someone's been feeding me your coffee all night."
"Didn't stop you drifting off earlier," Hawke said with an amused shrug. He stopped at the small table and chairs he'd had placed by the balustrade on the landing, looking out over the living area downstairs; he placed the candle in the centre and the plate, which Anders could now see held a couple of slices of bread, some roast beef and a few roasted potatoes, by the first chair. Hawke took the opposite seat, sitting down heavily, while Anders took the other.
He picked at the food for a moment, feeling Hawke's eyes on him, and then forced himself to eat it. It didn't sit well in his empty stomach. He had been hungry earlier but now he felt he had gone past it; the food now sat like a heavy lump in his gut. He looked down over the balcony for something to distract him, surprised to find the area empty. The Commander and Alistair had taken to spending most of their time there when they weren't busy, as had the Warden's, and even without them there Bodahn and Sandal were usually in sight. The wind howled outside, gusting for a moment before settling down, leaving only the heavy patter of rain as a backdrop.
"It's quiet," Hawke said eventually; when Anders looked back to him he found the rogue staring out over the balcony exactly as he had been.
"Yes," Anders agreed, "where are the others exactly?
"Well Cousland told me earlier that the Warden's he'd brought with him wouldn't be back, they're already gone," Anders frowned, annoyed that he hadn't been given a chance to say goodbye, especially to Nathaniel, "they have some mission further north, or something like that. All very hush, hush."
"Let me guess," Anders said with a snort, "Warden business."
"That's exactly what he said," Hawke smiled, a slight frown marring his forehead.
"That's what the Commander always says," Anders said, shaking his head as he bit into a piece of meat.
I can't believe he sneaked them out without telling me, Anders thought as he chewed on the beef. Just because I left it doesn't meanI don't care anymore. Being a Warden wasn't restricted purely to killing darkspawn and the mutual affliction of the taint. They're my friends. The thought made his stomach knot up once more. Anders pushed the plate before him away half finished, sitting back in his chair.
"You should finish that," Hawke said without looking round.
"And you should stop being my bloody mother," Anders said, smiling nonetheless; he was finding it very difficult to be unhappy around Hawke recently, "thank you though, for making it up for me."
"I didn't make it," Hawke said, looking round at Anders with laughter sparkling in his eyes, "Oranna did that."
"You know what I mean," Anders said, smile still in place as he narrowed his eyes and leaned forwards on the table, his forearms crossed over each other; the candlelight danced on Hawke's face, showing up the stubble he had neglected to shave and the slight bags under his eyes. Hawke eventually leaned forwards, mirroring his stance, and pushed the candle out of the way. Anders found his left hand taken between Hawke's strong fingers while the rogue removed the thin glove he always wore. Anders watched Hawke stare down at the pale, red sun scar and sighed, hanging his head a little. He knew, without Hawke saying a word, exactly what was going through his head.
"I'll be careful," Anders assured as Hawke looked up at him, a little startled, "I promise. Tonight of all nights I'm not taking any risks."
"...You say that now," Hawke shrugged, looking back to Anders hand as he ran his thumb over the glossy flesh of the scar, "but I know what you're like."
"What? Helplessly rash, hopelessly heroic and terribly handsome?" Anders said humorously, "In other words just like you, you mean?"
"This isn't a joke Anders," Hawke said seriously as he once more caught the mage's eye; the smile dropped slowly from Anders' face and he focused instead on the feeling of Hawke's fingers tickling against his palm, "I know you don't want me there..."
"It's not that I don't want you there, Hawke," Anders interrupted, frowning indignantly, "you have to know that I would have you by my side before any other, I just don't want you involved any more than you have to be, for your own sake!"
"I know that," Hawke said, giving Anders a strong look, "but if I can't be there to watch your back then I'll worry, understand?"
Anders felt silly doing it but he nodded in affirmation regardless, feeling like a chastised child who had been told not to stray too far from their parent. Hawke swallowed and said nothing further. Always so caring, Anders thought as he stared at the man across from him, sometimes it amazes me that you would want me at all. You could have any man you wanted and yet for some unknown reason you chose me. The thought, something he didn't dwell on too often, buoyed his spirits just a little. The world outside continued to turn and Anders wondered absently how many other people were sitting in this same position with someone they loved. The clock continued to tick and the wind continued to howl through the side street. Again Anders felt as he had sitting by Hawke on the couch earlier; trapped in a bubble of time, his destiny splaying out flat before him like a map in a myriad of directions all trailing off to unknown ends. Anders closed his eyes and felt the contented feeling sweep over him like a blanket. He wished again, furtively, that he could stay here like this forever.
Then there it was again, that feeling. Anders frowned as the crawl of eyes on his back once more made itself clear. Then he thought he felt a chill of fingers playing through his hair, the faintest hint of distant laughter trilling in the air by his ear. Anders shivered and tried to open his eyes.
"I'm here for you, you know that don't you?" he thought he heard Hawke say.
Anders forced his eyes open and looked from hazel brown into emerald green. He feared that the voice had been once more in his head but Hawke's stare seemed to say otherwise. Anders lifted his right hand to rub at the side of his neck and nodded, hoping that Hawke had actually spoken the words he had heard. Hawke nodded back but did not confirm his words. Did you just speak to me? Anders became almost desperate to ask but he knew the consequences of that one question would be disastrous. Hawke worried about him enough as it was without finding out that he was hearing voices in his head. It's just my imagination, Anders tried to convince himself unsuccessfully. He hoped that it was true and, more than that, he hoped that nothing like this happened at the meeting. It was bad enough that he was a nervous wreck without having to worry about this to.
He needed to be strong, he needed be independent, he needed to be a leader.
Yet under it all, under the fervent want to be free, for everyone to be free, and the guilt and the struggle and the submission and the hatred and the pain, sat one incredibly important thought. A thought that Anders hardly dared to dream could be true. That, with the support of Ferelden behind them, with the influence of the King and perhaps even the Warden's, that soon their Circle would be freed by just means, no need for bloodshed, no need for death.
No need for the bomb. No need to find more blood on his hands than the thick, undetectable sheen that already coated them.
The mere thought made his heart skip about in his chest. A way for Justice to keep his purity, no further corruption of human death to taint the already contaminated spirit. A way for mages to be free without a war stretching before them, without having to fight to be liberated. A way for he and Hawke to be together without the constant threat of Anders' actions tearing them apart.
Anders stared at Hawke as the sound of voices drifted from the hallway downstairs. Cousland strode in along the entrance hall with a familiar face at his side.
"Varric?" Anders said, feeling Hawke's fingers let go of his hand; he looked back to Hawke to find the man standing from his chair, turning to walk towards the head of the staircase, but he didn't miss the odd look in his eye.
Anders stood quickly and hurried after him, grabbing his arm to halt his retreat. Hawke turned back in surprise only to have Anders jerk him into a tight hold, arms folding around him as if to protect.
"I know you're here for me," Anders said into Hawke's ear before pulling back to look him in the face, "but I'm here for you too."
"I know," Hawke said, mouth twitching into a semblance of a smile before he looked a little embarrassed, but leaned in to kiss him nevertheless. Anders closed his eyes and couldn't help imagining this in a time of peace, with no threat hanging above their heads. It was a calming thought.
"Hey you two," Varric's voice cut through, bringing him back down to earth from his lofty thoughts, "get a room."
Anders broke the kiss and shook his head. This was far too normal, far too mundane. Shouldn't a day this momentous be outstanding and extraordinary in every aspect? It seemed not. He and Hawke walked down into the main area, the light dull and flickering all around. He couldn't help but feel affronted at Varric's presence. Everything was planned out meticulously in his head, every movement and countermeasure, and now people who did not figure into his plans were turning up to ruin the calm that vigilance brought.
"What are you doing here?" Anders asked with a raised eyebrow as Varric casually took a seat on a stool by Sandal's worktable.
"Honestly Blondie," Varric said with amused incredulity, "did you honestly think I would be sitting at my table passing by a boring, uneventful evening when the story of the century happens in the same city?"
"I was on my way back from escorting the troops to the gate when I met Varric," Cousland said, "and he asked to tag along. I didn't think you'd be this offended."
Cousland just shrugged when Anders glared pointedly at him. Does he really have to go around telling everyone? Anders exaggerated. The raw feeling of nerves was difficult to truly ignore and Varric's easygoing attitude was not conducive to his calm.
"No," Anders said, his disapproval obvious, "but then that would depend on whether you want to endanger the success of the most important night of the life of any mage in all of Thedas."
"Oh hardly," Varric said in a laid back tone, "you won't even know I'm there, honest."
"This isn't a joke," Anders said stonily, noting Varric's slight look of astonishment, "the more people that attend the more likely we are to be found, or for someone to be followed, and that cannot happen, do you understand me?"
"I think you're underestimating your friends a little," Cousland said, giving Anders a conciliatory look; the mage simply sighed roughly in reply.
"I wouldn't ever take a risk like that," Varric said, clearly insulted, "you know me Blondie. I'm an expert at not being seen."
"That's not the point," Anders retorted; the sudden knock at the door was not loud but it made Anders jump nonetheless, "Maker damn it, who is that now! At this time?"
Hawke answered the door. Anders continued to argue with Varric. Cousland tried to be diplomatic. The mage felt the struggle between his nature and his need to be greater than ever. Here was a friend, a trusted friend, offering to come with him, to support him, and yet he could not accept. He made out that he did it for the sake of the resistance and yet, deep down, he knew it was his damned pride that was ruining his one chance to not be alone in this.
"I hope we're not interrupting," came a very familiar voice which stopped Anders in his tracks.
Finding Varric sniffing after a story was not a surprise to him, but finding Fenris the self proclaimed mage hater at his door when everyone seemed to be determined to attend his meeting about freeing mages was. Merrill, standing at the elf's side, was merely a further conundrum.
"Is there anyone else who'd like to come along?" Anders half shouted as he looked around their gathered group, raising his arms in consternation only to have them drop again in defeat.
"Oh I have no intention of attending this absurd rally," Fenris said, actually making Anders relax a little despite the elf's debasement of his efforts, "I'm just here to stop him from doing anything rash. Like running after you."
Fenris jerked his head in Hawke's direction and Anders couldn't help but look to the rogue with anger flashing in his eyes.
"You told him?" Anders knew that his anger was both misdirected and unsound but he couldn't help it; things were getting a little out of hand.
"Anders it's Fenris, I really doubt he's going to tell the templars that you're..." Hawke stopped short, as Anders heightened his glare, and turned to look at the subtly amused elf, "wait, you wouldn't would you?"
"Oh I already have, didn't you want me to?" Anders opened his mouth, his face the picture of outrage, but Fenris simply rolled his eyes and shook his head, "it was a joke you over sensitive prat. I have been known to make them every so often you know."
"Well now is hardly the time!" Anders yelled, finally losing his temper; he turned to Merrill who looked a little worried when Anders glare fell on her, "and what's your excuse!"
"Umm," Merrill said timidly, "Lirene told me."
Ander wished, perversely, that she could have given him an answer that wasn't so very reasonable. He snapped his mouth shut but couldn't stop the irrational and boiling anger that had built up in him.
"Oh come on, don't stop there!" Anders said accusingly, hearing a door open in the background, "Is there anyone else who knows about this secret meeting?"
"Well," came Alistair's now familiar and jovial tone; everyone turned as one to look at the man standing by the kitchen door who looked no more a King than any other peasant on the street; he was dressed in his disguise of travelling trousers and shirt, a rough jacket of leather that could have been one of Hawke's and a black, woollen hat that was most definitely Oranna's. He grinned at them all and shrugged, "hopefully not Meredith anyway."
There came a time in the face of all expectation and anticipation that the excitement died down to an almost quivering bleakness. A moment of truth, as it as known. A penultimate fear and exaltation which embedded itself into ones psyche and refused the admission of any sense of reality. Anders knew that he used it as a barrier between himself and the real world, but it had been so very long since he had felt it that it was almost nostalgic.
He used to have the very same feeling whenever he fled the Circle, whenever he knew that his plan had worked and knew that he was beyond their reach for however long he could keep it that way...that infant, squirming joy that blossomed in his body was both needed and detested.
They had left the relative safety of the mansion and ventured out separately towards their destination. Anders had been rather desperate, after his brief anger, to kiss Hawke goodbye but, juvenilely, he felt awkward when Fenris was hovering around the rogue so protectively. Instead he gave him a simple but reassuring nod, which Hawke had returned with a smile. Anders sent Varric with Cousland and Alistair, travelling through the sewers, while he and Merrill journeyed through the empty streets, keeping to the shadows and the alleyways. They had spoken very few words to each other, not long after leaving.
"Anders..." Merrill had started as they jogged down a narrow, dark side street.
"This isn't really the time for talking Merrill," Anders tried to reason, yet he couldn't deny that he felt much more relaxed knowing that Merrill was at his side than if he'd been doing this alone.
"Please, I just want to apologise," the elf said, her eyes wide with sincerity as Anders stopped at the end of the street to check if the coast was clear; he looked at her and sighed, nodding, "for telling Cousland about...about everything. I'm sorry, I thought I was helping I swear, I just..."
"It's alright," Anders said, shaking his head when Merrill opened her mouth to continue, "really, we can't do this here. We'll talk later, alright?"
Darktown was lively as usual. Dim lamps buzzed with flies, children played in the streets and thieves and thugs lounged against walls, watching them hungrily as they passed. Thankfully Anders knew that the residents of the undercity either refused to or knew better than to attack him. He and Merrill aimed for the clinic, not deviating in any way from the quickest route. They passed William at the head of the alley; the youth nodded to Anders.
"All in place," he had said quietly before pushing from the wall and walking nonchalantly in the opposite direction.
That was when the feeling had started, coiling around him like a snake trying to squeeze the breath from his prey. He opened the door as quietly as he could, shepherding Merrill though before slipping in himself. Tell me where are all the past years gone? Anders thought as he stared at the sight before him. That a truth like this could be the outcome of so many disappointments, so many failures. Under all the hope he had truly feared that no one would come.
As if to refute his fears there was not an inch of floor space that was not occupied by a warm body. Everyone sat, as quiet as Chantry mice, faces of all ages, elves and humans, men and women. The clinic was gloomy as usual but William had put out a few lanterns and there were even a few mages letting faint light spells seep from their staffs to stave off the darkness. Anders stared in disbelief at the myriad eyes which stared back. He swallowed, even as he recognised some people, others strangers; Merrill took his hand and led him to the side of the room where there was a small clearing, behind his examination table and its one measly chair. He barely managed to find enough surprise to be amazed that Cousland, Alistair and Varric were already there, the rogue standing protectively before the King with his hands hovering subtly around his daggers.
There was a moment of awkward silence in which Anders knew that, despite the presence of the two extremely important men standing by his side, everyone was staring at him. He cleared his throat and found himself looking at Merrill. She smiled back at him reassuringly, nodding as if to say that she believed in him. Anders didn't think that she would ever know how appreciated it was.
Right, Anders thought, do it now or never do it at all. He took a deep breath and turned to his chair, stepping up first onto it and then up onto the sturdy table. The eyes followed him. He looked around for a few seconds, noting Sabine and Farah off to his right, Ghalt and Gerrard not far behind them. So many, he thought, so many I've never even met. So many ready to make a stand.
But where to begin? Suddenly, after so long planning this moment, words seemed to fail him.
"Friends and strangers, humans and elves, we are here on this the eve of..."
No, Anders thought, this isn't it. The rehearsed speech began to sound like someone else's words, not his, not real. He could see restlessness shiver through the crowd like a rippling breeze. He stopped talking and swallowed once more, hearing hushed whispers in the crowd and seeing accusing eyes. He steeled himself once more and lifted his head as proudly as he could.
"You know I could stand here and talk as fluently as you like about things we already understand but the truth is that we all know why we are here," Anders said strongly, watching in relief as the accusation turned seemed to turn to interest, "we are here because we are forced to be here. Our meeting like this? It does nothing if it does not drive home just how tight a grip the templars have over us. Do we see any others but the criminals in this city forced to make such clandestine meetings just to have a chance to talk?"
"No!" came an anonymous male voice from the crowd, fervent in his agreement.
"Too right we don't," Anders nodded back, feeling the mood in the room change from cold uncertainty to a building charge of buzzing enthusiasm, "we are an oppressed people, perhaps for far longer than we should ever have been. Yet even under this oppression there are supposed to be rules that are followed, rights that we have, few and far between as they are. Here in Kirkwall we are not even allotted that simple and much needed courtesy! Mages who have passed their harrowing being turned tranquil, killing runaways from the Circle without a second thought! What would Meredith do if she found us here, gathered like this?"
"Kill us all," Anders managed to distinguish the pale, red haired woman who spoke up, her eyes hard and her mouth a tight line.
"Or worse," Anders agreed, looking around the rapt faces once more, "but I say no more. For twenty years of my life have I run from this tyranny, content to stay clear of the templars and scrabble for as much freedom as I could get. But now I say no more! No more fear, no more hatred, no more killing and Tranquil and families lost! For too long have we simply survived, despite our resistance, without taking action."
A wave of encouraging murmurs and yells swept across the crowd. For a moment Anders felt as if he were once more standing at the edge of the cliff, the dagger spiralling away from him, that feeling of trepidation mixed with an indeterminable will to carry on no matter what. He met Sabine's eyes and saw the keen glint there as the older woman nodded in agreement.
"But I say no more," he said again ardently, "which is why I have asked you all here despite the danger. I have recently learned of something that will change all of our lives. There is someone here I need you all to listen to. Alistair?"
The blonde man, who had been busy removing his woollen hat, looked up in agitation. Anders could see he was a little nervous but that became quickly buried beneath hardened resolve. Anders jumped down from the table and offered the small 'stage' to the King. He watched Alistair climb up solemnly and couldn't help but be impressed by the change in him. Over the past week he had become so used to seeing the tall man as a rather goofy and affectionate individual that he suddenly seemed an entirely different person, his face set and his bearing proud. He looked every inch the regal figure he was, even without the imposing armour.
"My good people," Alistair's voice was loud and rich as he spoke, "I bring news from over the Waking Sea..."
"Who're you?" Anders heard a voice shout, high and nasal, tone accusing; Anders couldn't help but bristle. Can't they just let the man speak? Anders thought in irritation. He opened his mouth to tell the arrogant git to keep his bloody mouth shut but was stopped when Cousland took hold of his arm gently. The Commander shook his head with a smile.
"Who am I?" Anders looked back to Alistair to find the man staring down imposingly at the crowd, "My name is Alistair Theirin."
A flutter of excitement made itself known in snatches of sentences and amazed exclamations.
"The King!"
"..is it truly him..?"
"Can't be!"
One of which stood out above all others, however.
"Bollocks!" shouted a tall, rangy woman with short brown hair and a scar over her left eye; Anders could have sworn he had seen her around the docks but he couldn't be certain. The crowd suddenly became split between laughter and indignance. Anders worried for a moment that the feeling of rebellious camaraderie he had built up would soon descend into a rabble. He needn't have worried.
"Alright, I would not deny you proof," Alistair said with a shrug as he reached down to grasp the one piece of his regal outfit which he had refused to remove; he drew the sword with an impressive ringing of steel on steel, the long silver blade shining like a beacon in the dull light. There was a notable silence as Alistair turned it deftly and rammed it point first into the table, embedding it into the wood. It stood there like some kind of testament to his authority. Alistair grabbed the pommel to make the insignia there clear to all. The Ferelden coat of arms, the red Mabari warhound rampant, shone like wet blood. A few gasps of disbelief could be heard, some whispered 'it's him, it really is the King!'. Alistair waited patiently until silence once more reigned.
"I know very well where I am," Alistair said, "and I know that my authority perhaps doesn't stand for much here in Kirkwall, but I'm sure many of you are of Ferelden birth..." there were cries of agreement, "and for the others this information holds just as much weight. I am here to tell you what the Chantry have been trying so desperately to keep quiet. That there is no longer a Circle of Magi in Ferelden. That we have set our mages free."
There was a terse silence before it was broken once more by disparate cries of joy and scepticism.
"You lie! That can't be true!"
"I heard rumours, but to believe it..?"
"It is true!" Cousland stepped forwards and took up his place before the side of the table, all attention shifting to him, "I can vouch for it personally."
"And why should we listen to you?" the rangy woman once more asked, her doubt clear.
"Because he's the man who slew the archdemon and stopped the blight," Anders said loudly.
To find that the Hero of Ferelden himself was suddenly amongst their midst seemed too much for the mages to handle, seeming to only compile their disquiet when added on top of Anders' rousing speech and the rebel King of Ferelden telling them that there were no longer chains to hold them. Anders could understand their incredulity, their doubt and their shock. He had felt it all himself after all.
"I come here with an offer of help," Alistair said, making Anders' heart quicken, "that any mage, man, woman or child, elf or human, is welcome in our lands. I will personally assure the safety of anyone who wishes to flee the tyranny of Kirkwall for the safety of our shores..."
For a moment Anders nearly forgot to breathe. What? He thought in sheer anger and disbelief.
"No!" he found himself shouting before he realised that might not be such a good idea.
Alistair stopped mid sentence to look at him, followed by everyone else in the room. Oh fuck, Anders thought, his anxiety and his anger warring for dominance. It can't be this way, he thought as he hoped beyond hope that he was doing the right thing. He could feel Justice bubbling beneath his skin and felt spurred on by the spirits incensed fury.
"What?" Alistair said in confusion, suddenly sounding much more like the man he had come to know; confused and a little shy.
"I said no," Anders said again, ignoring Cousland's pointed look which seemed to be telling him to shut up, "that isn't why we're here. We didn't come all this way and gather here, against our better natures, to hear that we can run."
Anders felt Merrill at his side, an uncertain presence but comforting nonetheless. Varric was simply staring at him along with the others, seemingly unsure of what the mage would say next. Anders felt his anger fuelling his courage as he faced up to what he felt was his responsibility.
"We don't need you to give us knew homes," Anders said, "we already have homes and we should be able to stay in them without being forced to fly in fear of the templar's despotism. What we need is your support..!"
"Which is something I cannot give," Alistair said, once more regal and untouchable, "Ferelden has its own problems to worry about. Freeing our Circle has brought us a lot of unwanted attention. We cannot split our forces now and weaken our grip on our homeland."
"Then you doom all mages to a continued life in chains!" Anders said furiously, seeing Cousland stare at him as if he was seeing someone else entirely, "I thought you were here to help us break free!"
"We are here to offer what help we can," Cousland said calmly, "which is more than anyone else is bloody doing. There will be a time for fighting Anders but that time is not now."
"So you say," Anders said, hearing a few murmurs of approval, feeling them encourage Justice even further, "but how many more tranquil will appear in the Gallows before then, how many more families torn apart, how many more deaths before enough is enough!"
"But he's offering us sanctuary," came a young, male voice from the crowd, "to live free? I would go anywhere."
"He's right," said another, Anders unable to see who was talking as he wasn't high enough to survey the crowd, "I don't want to fight."
The world seemed to flash brightly before his eyes and Anders had to purposefully work to push Justice back into dormancy. The agreement of the mages with Alistair's view only irritated him further. The spirit could not understand their lack of honour or will to fight. Anders remembered Justice's own incredulity when Anders had originally told him, back in Ferelden, of his apathy towards the plight of mages everywhere. The feeling within him now was similar and yet tainted somehow with the anger and violence that Anders had come to associate with Vengeance. He hoped that no sign of the spirit had manifested itself on him physically. The lack of reaction in those around him told him that it hadn't. He felt a hand slide into his own and looked to his left to see Merrill looking at him worriedly.
"No, we must stand together!" Anders recognised Sabine's gravelly voice, trying to find her face in the crowd, "We must fight if we are to be free!"
"We can't think only of ourselves," he was surprised to hear Farah speak, especially in such a crowd; Anders was used to her attention seeking but she sounded incredibly genuine, "there are other mages relying on us, those who can't help themselves."
"That's fine for you to say," said an unknown female voice, shrill and breathy, "but you don't 'ave kids to worry about, scared every minute that you'll have to see them taken from you just because of your gift!"
"She's right!"
Oh Maker, Anders thought as he watched the crowd begin to fight amongst itself, what is this? Does embarrassing me make you happy? Setting me up to fall? You offer me solace and then you mockingly remove it at the last second. All I want is freedom, all I want is to be free!
"Please! Good people!" Alistair called out, garnering some attention back from the bickering mages before him, "I am not here to make decisions for you. If you want to take my offer it is always open, please understand that, but the longer you wait the greater the risk you run. There is a boat leaving tomorrow from the fifth Dock, the Maitland. She is bound for Redcliffe and she is under the protection of Commander Cousland and the Ferelden Grey Wardens. If any here wish to leave safely then she sails at noon. For those who stay behind...my thoughts go with you and I pray for your safety."
Anders had expected another uproar as the King stepped down from the table, wrenching his sword from the mangled wood, and turned with Cousland at his heels to leave the clinic. Instead there was a deathly silence. He stared for a moment at the open door before it closed behind them. Anders took a deep breath, forcefully telling Justice that exploding out into this situation would only make things an hundred times worse than they already were. The safety of these people is paramount, he thought as he felt lost gazes wondering over his skin. He squeezed Merrill's hand before letting go.
"Alright, shows over," he couldn't help saying bitterly, "what you decide in the end is really none of my business but I urge you to think long and hard before you choose what it is you want. It may seem a blessing, this offer of sanctuary, but believing in something better is never simple. No one ever said that this was going to be easy."
No one spoke. Anders felt unsure and a little queasy as Justice roiled around inside of him like a seething storm. Enough, Anders thought sternly, I need to get back before something terrible happens.
"There are too many of you here for everyone to leave at once," Anders said suddenly, changing the subject, "so here's what we're going to do. Group together with those that you know and leave in threes. Stay to the back alleys, and the sewers if you know your way around them. Come on, we don't have all night, the longer we wait then the greater the risk of being found!"
Once the danger of their situation had been re-established it didn't take long for the mages to organise themselves. He watched them with a mix of compassion and dispassion, a mix of Anders and Justice. The shock of the evening hadn't truly sunk in yet. Alistair's words were not at all what he had been expecting. He thought he was being offered a cure, but instead all he was given was a bandage for the bleeding wound that was the mage's predicament.
"Come on Anders," he heard Merrill say, pulling his eyes to her; she had been very quiet throughout the proceedings but then Anders found to blame her truly for that. Merrill had always been shy in crowds, "we need to get back too."
"She's right Blondie," Varric stepped out of the way of a tall man herding two teenage girls towards the door, speaking in hushed voices, "it isn't safe here."
"It isn't safe anywhere for us," Anders said tightly, "that's the whole point."
They both gave him uncomfortable looks that only served to once more inflame his ire. He sighed tersely and watched as the last few groups of mages began to ready themselves for the dangerous journey to their homes, wherever they may be.
"Fuck, I've had enough of this," Anders spat, "I need to go home."
The fires were dancing merrily and there was the sound of laughter and glass clinking on glass when Anders finally stepped through the door of the mansion. The contrast to his dark mood couldn't have been any more obvious. Even Bodahn, who always seemed indomitable in his cheerfulness, refrained from greeting him as he usually did. Instead the dwarf closed his mouth after opening it and shied away from Anders angry stare.
He found Hawke and Fenris sitting by the fire in the main room, drinking what looked like Hawke's Antivan brandy. Seeing the two of them sitting in such an intimate setting, happy together, only served to aggravate him further. He tried to march past without being seen but that seemed too much to hope for.
"You're back!" Hawke said happily, looking round and half standing from his chair before Anders spoke, stalling his movements.
"Not now Hawke," he bit out, unable to control the anger still simmering within; he didn't want to take it out on Hawke, that was the last thing he wished to do, but right now he knew how close he was to simply exploding. Thus the best plan he had was to not be around anyone until he had himself under control.
"What?" Hawke said in confusion, his voice a little slow with drink, "Are you alright? Cousland and Alistair came back a little while ago..."
"I said not now!" Anders barked, seeing Fenris' deep frown before he turned on his heel and continued to walk across the room and up the stairs.
He didn't stop until he was sitting on his bed, smoothing his palms over the covers. Calm down, he ordered himself, I said calm the fuck down. His nervous system strictly ignored him in favour of continuing to tingle like a thunderstorm. He bit down on his bottom lip until he tasted blood and forced himself to focus on the pain. As he heard footsteps on the stairs he purposefully flopped backwards onto the bed so as to relax the tension in his muscles.
He closed his eyes. This is all wrong, he thought wearily as Justice finally, without the continued aggravation of the mages dissent from his cause, simmered down. This isn't what it's supposed to be. We were supposed to have a grand plan together, a way to oust Meredith from her usurped title of ruler and set the Circle free. Instead what do I get? Another chance to run, he thought sadly, what a fucking joke. Back to the starting block, he thought grimly as his hopes of avoiding the bloodshed and the killing seemed to wither and die. Instigating a war is the only weapon I have now, he thought as the Tevinter spell came to the forefront I his mind.
The door creaked open slowly before closing once more. Hawke was usually deathly quiet but, with a drink on him, he was always a bit clumsier. Anders kept his eyes closed as he felt the bed dip beside him. It wasn't long before he felt Hawke's fingers on the back of his hand, coyly tracing a soothing pattern over his knuckles.
"I'm guessing something went wrong?" Hawke said after another minute's silence.
"...It's what I get for putting faith in people before I put faith in myself," Anders managed to say after a seemingly endless silence in which Hawke's soothing motions served to calm him a little.
"What happened?" Hawke asked.
The fingers left his hand and a moment later reappeared in his hair; Anders couldn't help the heady groan that the sensation caused.
"I expected more than Alistair could offer," Anders said, unsure whether he was still truly angry or whether he was now simply resigned, "Ferelden cannot stand with us."
"He won't help?" Hawke sounded surprised and hurt all at once.
Anders cracked open an eye to look at Him; The lantern light danced on his face, making his bright eyes shine a little in the gloom. Anders found he couldn't even consider twisting the truth, never mind lying to him.
"Yes, he's offered to help," Anders sighed, "he said that he'll grant asylum to any mage who wishes to ask it of Ferelden."
"Well...isn't that a good thing?" Hawke asked with a frown, "when I saw you come in I thought that something terrible had happened!"
Anders closed his eyes once more as the anger rose in him at Hawke's words. No, he thought, no it isn't his fault, he doesn't know what happened..!
The blackness that descended upon him was so precisely alike to the darkness behind his own eyelids that Anders almost didn't notice the difference. The only thing that gave it away was that familiar sickening feeling of being pushed and pulled and sucked down into the darkness itself, a spinning sensation in his head and the inability to open his eyes. Anders panicked, feeling his heart rate quicken but knowing that he wasn't fully connected to his vital systems, that everything was confused and frantic and frightening.
For one horrible moment he didn't know what was happening and the next he was blinking his eyes open and staring down at Hawke. The man looked both stunned and livid all at once yet, when Anders looked about him in sheer confusion and shock, unsure as to why he was standing by the bed when last he remembered he had been lying on it, Hawke's face lost its anger and instead became incredibly anxious.
"Anders?" he asked as he rose quickly from bed to stand before the mage.
"What? How did I..?" Anders tried to think through the rapidly thinning haze of anger that hung over his mind. As reality seemed to slot back into place the answer to his unfinished question became all too clear. Oh fuck, Anders thought in dismay as he looked to Hawke in distress, "Justice?"
"You didn't know?" Hawke said in confusion, the thought only seeming to worry Hawke more, "one minute you were lying there and the next heburst out and began..." Hawke trailed off, a deep frown marring his forehead.
"Began what?" Anders asked in a slight panic; for Maker's sake Justice! Anders screamed in his mind. What would you have done if we weren't somewhere safe, somewhere no one but Hawke could see us? You know the dangers as well as I do and thrusting yourself into my consciousness without my consent is fucking dangerous!
"Never mind," Hawke said darkly, shaking his head, his eyes alight with withdrawn fury.
"No, don't you dare say never mind," Anders said, swallowing, "you tell me what he said Hawke, I need to know!"
"He said that I don't understand you and that...that you have no need of me," Hawke said, his eyes narrowing a little in hurt; Hawke was always bad at hiding his emotions when he was drunk. Anders felt instantly guilty for allowing Justice to say something so awful and untrue.
"Damn it Justice," Anders muttered before he took hold of Hawke by the shoulders, forcing the man to look into his eyes, "I swear Hawke, if there's anyone in this messed up world that I need, it's you. Please don't listen to him, he's just angry."
Hawke nodded a little, blinking before he sat down on the bed once more. Anders lifted his right hand to rub at his forehead, feeling a headache beginning to build as tension beneath the skin. He frowned and looked down at Hawke. The rogue was staring at him a little blankly.
"...You can't control him anymore, can you?" he asked candidly.
Anders blanched at the statement, no matter how free of accusation it was. The very same thought had been in his mind recently but there was something about having it voiced aloud by another that made it all the more real. This night is turning into hell, he thought bleakly.
"Not as much as I used to be able to, no," Anders admitted, his shoulders tensing, "but please Hawke, let's not talk about this now. I can't, I really can't."
"Alright," Hawke agreed after a moment of hesitation in which Anders thought he would argue back, "tomorrow then."
The soft knock at the door made both men look around awkwardly. Anders cursed under his breath, hoping to the Maker that it wasn't Cousland because he couldn't promise himself that he wouldn't shout the man deaf if he tried to discuss things with him tonight. The mage walked stiffly to the door and opened in a crack to peer through. When he found Bodahn of all people standing on the other side he relaxed a little and pulled the door open wider.
"Bodahn, what is it?" he asked as the dwarf handed him something, frowning as he found himself holding a folded letter with a name scrawled on the front in red.
"A lady, Messer," Bodahn said, looking a little unsettled, "she just came to the door and asked me to give you this. I tried to tell her that the name didn't match but she wouldn't listen..."
At this time of night? Anders thought, feeling Hawke's eyes on him. He looked down to the name on the letter front and froze. Bodahn continued to talk but Anders didn't hear him. No, that's not possible, was all he could think as he continued to stare at the name. Again the feeling of disembodied eyes tickled against his neck, a girlish voice playing on the air.
"I'll be right back," Anders said quickly to Hawke, who looked at him in confusion as Anders slipped out of the door and closed it; he turned to Bodahn and stared at him intently.
"Who gave this to you?" he demanded.
"A woman, Messer, she said to give it to you," Bodahn said.
"But who was she?" Anders asked rather desperately, "Did you recognise her?"
"No Messer," Bodahn said, surprised at the mage's vehemence, "it was dark outside and she was wearing a travellers cloak and hood. She mentioned you by name though..."
Anders didn't give him time to finish. He rushed down the stairs, along the corridor and outside faster than he ever would have imagined he could. He burst out into the cool night air and stared around the dark courtyard, running out to stand by the central garden and stare futilely down the side streets and main walkways. There was no one in sight. He listened for the sound of footsteps but heard none. When he returned inside Bodahn was once more waiting at the end of the corridor. He seemed as if he wanted to ask something further but was afraid to. Anders found himself ignoring the dwarf in favour of standing in the middle of the room, staring down at the red, scrawling letters stained on the front of the folded parchment.
Leif RĂdberg
Who is this woman? Anders thought desperately. Who is this woman who knows my name?