Blessings and Curses
He'd been right, hunting had become his favorite past time. And it wasn't just his, but Justice's as well. In fact, Justice spent more time with Sekhmet on their hunts than Anders did. And to be honest, Justice was better at hunting with Sekhmet. He could read her moods more easily, knew when she wanted a quick clean kill, and when she was in the mood for more, not that Anders minded.
Sometimes he appreciated the distance between him and the brutality that Justice and Sekhmet rained down on the Templars of Kirkwall. It wasn't that Anders thought the Templars deserved leniency. No, in fact he knew how very much they deserved everything that was done to them. He just sometimes had a hard time reconciling the visceral violence with the fact that he was a healer as well.
Justice and Sekhmet getting along was an added bonus. She reacted to Justice no differently than she reacted to him. Actually, that wasn't completely true, she left the touching, kissing, and innuendo behind when she was with Justice, but otherwise she treated him the same. Something Justice not only appreciated but had grown to like quite a bit.
And since he was hunting Templars nearly every night with Sekhmet he left Anders to his own devices for the most part. Not pushing at him to constantly do more, which actually led to Anders starting work on his manifesto again. And without the fear of Justice asserting himself and trying to push through to take control he was able to really and truly relax for the first time since their merging.
Without the threat of losing control looming over his head he came to really enjoy living with Sekhmet and her odd little family. They were each so different, and so wonderfully unique. Anders adored all their quirks and how free they felt to be themselves. It was astonishing.
Bodahn was shrewd and had stories that rivaled even Varric's and Anders loved hearing about Sareyna and the others during the Blight. She'd never spoken of it much when he was a Warden. Bodahn was so proud of Sareyna and Alistair one would have thought they were his children.
And the dwarf was fiercely protective of Sekhmet, incredibly loyal and ready to stand up to anyone who spoke badly of her. It was a bit humbling to watch. As time went on he seemed to become fond of Anders as well, but it was easy to see his heart lie with Sekhmet. Anders had no doubt that if it came down to it the dwarf would choose Sekhmet every time.
When Anders wasn't off in his clinic, or helping Sekhmet with some job he spent hours with Bodahn's adopted son Sandal. The younger dwarf fascinated Anders, he was an enigma. Seemingly a simpleton one moment and then uttering something profound the next instance. Frustratingly, he never seemed to repeat the profound statements so if Anders missed what was said he never had another chance to catch it.
And then there was the boy's enchanting, his ability far surpassed any Anders had seen before, not to mention whatever he had done to the ogre in the Deep Roads during the expedition. Anders always made sure not to push too much, not that Sandal couldn't handle it, but rather it seemed to upset Bodahn. Bodahn had raised the boy as his own and Anders wouldn't risk upsetting him over his curiosity.
Orana was a rather difficult matter. Being as Anders was the only mage in the house she deferred to him more than anyone else in the estate. Likely due to being brought up in the Imperium serving a magister. That in itself, while inconvenient at times, wasn't a huge problem.
The larger problem came from her going out of her way to find Anders and constantly asking him what she could do for him. He'd learned rather quickly to utilize both the bedroom and bathing chamber door locks as neither nudity nor catching him and Sekhmet in the throes of passion had slowed or deterred the girl.
And if he couldn't think of something for her to do she'd often leave shaking and in tears as if he had reprimanded her. It took months for her to understand that sometimes he simply didn't need anything, not that he was angry with her. And as far as seeking him out…well they were still working on it. While Sekhmet and Leandra were both amused, Anders felt very uncomfortable about the entire situation.
Anders had been worried that after their disagreement over his belongings that there would be a rift with Leandra. And he was quite relieved to find that the fear was baseless. Leandra had acted as if the incident had never occurred, and Anders was happy to go along with it because he wasn't sure how to get back from that mess either.
Anders enjoyed talking with Leandra almost as much as with Sekhmet. Although, she didn't possess Sekhmet's intelligence and keen mind she was no slouch. She was even more 'well read' than Sekhmet and always had an opinion. And when she was in the right mood she regaled him for hours with stories of her life on the run with Malcolm, a man he was regretting not knowing more and more.
A couple times a week he and Leandra would even cook together. The idea of a man who could cook just tickled Leandra to no end and she seemed to enjoy teaching him new recipes. She reveled in teaching him Sekhmet's favorites. It was in the kitchen where they often had their most personal conversations.
Sekhmet always steered clear of the kitchen unless Leandra asked for her help. And though he adored cooking with Leandra it was often bittersweet. The older woman would often get rather sentimental, perhaps voicing concerns to him that she couldn't with Sekhmet for whatever reason. And he made more promises to her in that kitchen than he had in the whole rest of his life combined.
He could deny her nothing though. Her smiles and laughter, the way she ruffled his hair and bumped him out of the way with her hip when she needed him to move, it all reminded him of Rhoswhen. She mothered him and sometimes it was almost suffocating, but he couldn't bring himself to ask her to stop. Because he liked it, liked feeling like maybe she cared for him, like maybe a mother's love wasn't beyond him, even tainted and possessed as he was.
Which was why when she got that far off look in her eyes and started with "I need you to promise me," he always agreed, no matter what she asked. And he meant it. He'd keep every promise he made to her, or die trying. Inevitebly, they were about Sekhmet, caring for her, loving her, and not letting her fall apart when Leandra eventually died.
She'd confessed to him in whispered tones one day how hard it had been to be the only family Sekhmet felt like she had left. How she felt like Sekhmet was constantly waiting for her to leave too. How Sekhmet never staying at the estate was really her trying to prove to herself she didn't need Leandra, and how Anders being there seemed to ease her daughter's fears. Anders had a hard time picturing Sekhmet fearing anything.
She'd kissed his cheek, "Since you've moved in I've seen more of her than I have since before she left Lothering the first time. Thank you, I don't think you have any idea what a gift that is for an old woman." She'd laughed then lightly, "Now, if I could just get you to talk her into grandchildren before I die."
He'd smiled for her, the idea of children thrilling and terrifying him. He still hadn't spoke to Sekhmet about that part of being a Warden. In truth, he was scared to lose her if she found out they might not ever be able to have children. In the back of his mind, a piece of him was holding on to a spark of hope though. He wanted children, he just wasn't sure he'd be a very good father.
And as wonderful as afternoons with Leandra in the kitchen were, there were things he wasn't so thrilled about, like, trying to get used to Fenris' seemingly constant visits. The elf came over most every evening for reading lessons with Sekhmet. Anders knew Fenris was keeping an eye on him as well, but didn't let it bother him. He just really didn't like Sekhmet being alone with Fenris so he usually sat and read on the upper floor of the library while she taught him below.
Sekhmet had protested at first, strenuously in fact. Eventually, she'd given in, probably because Anders hadn't really given her much of a choice. She'd learned he could be every bit as persistent and stubborn as she could.
As for Sekhmet, living with her had come easy, as if they had always lived together. They fell into this nice comfortable rhythm and he learned to read her pretty well. They went weeks without arguments, something he'd never imagined the two of them would manage. And though they both had nightmares and woke each other up, they were both sleeping better together than they ever had apart.
He came to love her tactile nature, how she wanted to touch and taste everything. She had this passion for life in her that was hard for him to reconcile with her age, and it kept him feeling young as well. Living with her was this odd blend of new and old. Old, as if they had lived together all their lives. And new because so many things with her were different and exciting in a way they hadn't been for him in a long time.
He told her he loved her at least a dozen times a day, because there were at least a dozen things she did in a day that made him love her more, or reminded him why he loved her so much. He never wanted her to feel like he didn't appreciate her, like what was between them was old hat. And if half the time she laughed at him when he said it, he didn't care. Those times she said it to him without him prompting her first he cherished, like rare treasures.
As for Justice, he was always there, but was usually quiet. The longer he lived with Sekhmet the more fascinated Justice seemed to be by her. He didn't seem to be interested in anyone else in the house, not even Sandal, which surprised Anders. But with Sekhmet he was usually closer to the surface of Anders' thoughts and on a few occasions actually asked Anders questions about her and their relationship.
The spirit seemed curious now instead of disdainful. Perhaps it was his hunting adventures with Sekhmet that had mellowed him. Whatever the reason, Anders appreciated not having to deal with Justice being so antagonistic about his relationship with her.
Without any major jobs or outbreaks in Darktown Anders found himself living a comfortable and happy life for weeks on end. Even the Templars who had increased their presence and patrols in the city in reaction to Sekhmet's nights of hunting weren't something he really worried about. Sekhmet enjoyed the challenge, constantly devising new plans and strategies. And she was careful to keep civilians from seeing their faces. Not to mention, none of the Templars they confronted lived. There was no one to tell the tale of who they were.
The biggest problem they had in regards to their hunting was keeping it a secret from Sekhmet's usual companions. Not that they didn't suspect, but none of them would come right out and ask. He wasn't sure why most of them kept their silence, but with Sebastian it was easy enough. The man was clearly afraid of the answer so he didn't dare ask the question.
It made Anders uneasy that the Chantry Prince seemed so ready to put aside his principles to keep Sekhmet in his life. But, he kept his thoughts to himself, questioning her relationship with Sebastian was never a good idea. She still went to see him almost everyday, and Anders would let her go without a word. The bond between the two was clearly very strong and he was not stupid enough…or perhaps brave enough, to put it to the test. He wasn't completely sure she would choose him over Sebastian if it came down to it.
He was fairly certain there was nothing between them other than friendship. And when she returned home she almost always filled Anders in on what they had spoken about or had done that day. She spent a lot of time with him training, learning how to shoot a bow and to be better with her throwing knives. And in return she accompanied him when he needed help, whether it be on an errand for the Chantry, or to play buffer between him and some new noble's daughter being thrust at him, the poor man.
On such nights when she returned home she often lamented Bethany becoming a Warden. She was convinced Bethany would have been a good match for Sebastian before she'd left Kirkwall. Though, she also mentioned that she was no longer sure the two of them would be compatible since Beth had changed so much.
Anders agreed, he'd been writing and receiving letters from Bethany regularly. He didn't think she and Sebastian would be a very good match at all. Not to mention Bethany already had her eyes set on someone.
He still wasn't sure whether to tell her he knew who her crush was on. She hadn't used his name yet, but from the description it had been easy to determine. He wondered if Nathaniel knew he had a new admirer. It did work out rather nicely for Anders, he could learn about his friend's life without putting the man in danger by revealing himself. Bethany was only too happy to talk about him.
All in all, giving in and sharing his life with Sekhmet was possibly the best thing he had ever done. For once in his life, Anders felt truly blessed.
"No, Lee An Dra!"
"Enchantment?"
The calm of an afternoon of quiet solitude shattered, Anders pushed himself out of the chair he had been reading in and jogged down the steps from the second floor of the library. Sekhmet wasn't home, she was "running an errand" with Varric and Isabela. Which probably meant there was stealing and alcohol involved and she didn't want Justice to get upset about it. Orana had gone shopping and Leandra had left several hours ago, so it was just the men in the house.
He rounded the corner and almost rolled his eyes. "Gamlen, what do you need?"
Gamlen glared back at him, he resented Anders living in the estate while he was still living in Lowtown. It was no secret that neither Leandra nor Sekhmet had extended an invitation to him to move to the estate. "Is Leandra ill?"
That was an odd question, "No, she left hours ago, why?"
Gamlen licked his lips nervously, "She never showed up for our weekly visit."
Bodahn spoke up from behind Gamlen; he had been berated by Gamlen several times in the past and was obviously wary of dealing with it again. "Uh, perhaps she is with her suitor."
Gamlen and Anders both looked at Bodahn at the same time, "Suitor?"
"Ah…yes, she received some flowers this morning. Lilies I think." Bodahn ventured, looking to a vase on one of the small tables.
Seeing the vase full of white lilies Anders felt all the blood drain from his face. "Uh, I need to go." How had he missed those? And why hadn't Leandra said anything about them. That wasn't like her.
Gamlen obviously noticed his concern. "Why, what is it?"
Anders shook his head. "I have to find Sekhmet and let her know Leandra's missing." With that he headed up the stairs to grab his boots and coat, quickly.
Gamlen was babbling when he came back downstairs. "Maybe she went another way to my house; I must have just missed her."
Anders nodded noncommittally and started corralling Gamlen towards the door. He had to get to Sekhmet as soon as possible. Leandra could be in very real danger, and Gamlen was wasting time. "Alright, you look around Lowtown then. Maybe someone saw her."
Gamlen nodded, strode quickly ahead of Anders and left.
Bodahn was very quiet beside him. "Something bad is happening, isn't it?"
Anders looked at Bodahn, trying to reassure him. "Let's hope not."
He clearly wasn't convinced. "Sandal and I will stay here in case she comes home."
"Good, any idea where Sekhmet went today?" She hadn't mentioned where she was heading.
"Said she had some business at The Gallows and then something she needed to take care of at The Hanged Man, I believe."
Anders nodded briefly before leaving the estate. He would head to The Hanged Man first, no point going to the Gallows if he didn't have to, especially alone. It was probably why she had left him home to begin with. Though now that he knew, it made him more anxious, what business could she possibly have at the Gallows?
Sekhmet's head jerked up from the paperwork spread out before her as Anders came through the door, slamming it open. His eyes had a wild desperation to them and he was breathing fast as if he had been running. "Anders?" Her skin crawled, something was very wrong.
His eyes landed on her and she saw fear in their soft brown depths. "Sekhmet, hurry, your mother."
Her heart started hammering even before she knew what was wrong.
"She's missing and she…" He looked so miserable, "she got lilies this morning." A mournful tone suffused his words.
No, this couldn't be happening. No, no, no, not again. She couldn't lose her mother. She'd find her, and save her. Save her as she hadn't been able to save papa, or Carver, or Bethany. This time would be different.
She stood up, trying to portray a calm and surety she didn't feel. "Let's go get her." She strode from the room and was grateful that Isabela and Varric both followed her. As soon as she was out of the tavern she took off at a run. She couldn't, wouldn't be too late this time.
Dread, heavy and thick, swirled in her gut as she followed a trail of blood back to the foundry where she'd found the bag of human remains years ago. "Please Maker; don't let me be too late. Just this once let me save someone I love. Please."
Anders was at her side, looking paler than usual and Isabela and Varric still followed. They were like two silent sentinals, waiting for a chance to do something, anything, to help. Just their prescence helped; she wasn't alone this time. She'd have help to save her mother.
Anger at herself stabbed brightly through her when they found a trap door she'd apparently missed years ago. How could she have been so careless? A woman had been missing and she'd done a half assed job at finding her, and now her mother was paying the price for her mistake.
She swallowed hard, she wouldn't think like that. She would save her mother, and kill the bastard who dared to touch her. And then she would find a way to make it up her, somehow.
Under the foundry they found Alessa's desiccated corpse. Bizarrely, her feet were missing. The stone in Sekhmet's stomach grew. There was no doubt now, the killer who had been hunting Kirkwall's women for years had her mother.
She kept moving deeper until they were accosted by corpses. She glanced at Anders and saw something new: anger. Justice flickered and burned under his skin. Not taking control, but reveling in the rage she could see in Anders' eyes. The person who had taken her mother was a mage, and Anders was furious about it.
He picked up a tome sitting on a small table and spoke, fury curling around every word like wisps of smoke, "Blood magic, and now necromancy? We need to be careful of this mad man. And one way or another, he won't be getting out of this alive." He looked up, eyes locking on hers, "I swear it, love."
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Anders' devotion was welcome, but she would kill whoever had dared touch her mother. Varric silently moved around the room picking things up here and there, tucking them away without a word. She had no idea what they were, but he seemed to think they were important. Perhaps, he was just looking for ways to make money, but the frown and deep crease between his brows made her doubt it.
Isabela was staring up at the wall and when she spoke her voice was weak, "Hawke, you need to see this."
She looked up and saw a painting and felt her breath catch in shock. Moving closer to get a better look she felt Anders and Varric join her. They all stood, staring at the painting on the wall.
"Ancestor's mercy." Varric whispered.
"Is that…" Anders started, but his voice trailed off.
"No, but she looks very similar." The woman in the painting looked like her mother, there were small differences of course, but they could have been sisters. The sick fuck had taken her mother because she reminded him of whoever was in this painting.
A faint hope uncurled inside her. Maybe her mother was still alive. If the person who had taken her cared enough about the woman in the portrait to have the painting so prominently displayed perhaps they wouldn't hurt her mother. Perhaps, if the Maker was kind, she'd only been kidnapped.
Feeling hope suffuse slowly through her she stepped away from the portrait and continued deeper into the labyrinth of tunnels under the foundry. She ignored the smell of rot and decay, ignored the pools of blood they encountered and focused on that small sliver of hope. Her mother was still alive.
Jogging down a set of stairs the stench of rotting flesh became almost overpowering. And as she turned the corner they came across two people, an old and withered man, the mage who had taken her mother clearly. The other seemed to be a woman, frail and delicate looking, seated facing away from them, dressed in what looked to be very old wedding garb.
Just what the Void was going on here?
The man stepped forward with a smug grin, "I was wondering when you would show up, Leandra was so sure you would come for her. I am Quentin, and I have a feeling we'll be getting much better aquainted."
She narrowed her eyes, surprised he had so willingly admitted to taking her. "And here I am, so where is she?"
His grin widened, "You will never understand my purpose. Your mother was chosen because she was special. And now she is part of something…greater."
She stepped closer to him, "I don't give a shit about your purpose. Just tell me where the fuck she is." If he didn't shut up and just tell her she might decide to kill him now and find her mother on her own.
Again his grin widened, his voice condescending "She is here." He turned to look behind him at the seated woman. Sekhmet wasn't sure what the mage was playing at, she could tell just from the woman's size that it wasn't her mother. Still, he continued. "She is waiting for you." He puffed up his chest, arrogance in every syllable. "I have done the impossible. I have touched the face of the Maker and lived."
She was going to strangle him, or beat him. His insane ramblings were scratching at her already shredded nerves. She just wanted to find her mother, kill this prick and go home, smother her mother with attention and bask in Anders' steady support.
Quentin canted his head, as if evaluating her. "Do you know what the strongest force in the Universe is?" When Sekhmet didn't respond he turned and walked slowly to the woman seated behind him. He touched her hair lightly, "Love." A brief pause before he walked around the seated woman, standing beside her.
"I pieced her together from memory." His eyes had taken on a far off look, as if he was walking in those memories now. "I found her eyes, her skin" he reached down, bony fingers taking the woman's hand, "her delicate fingers." He released her hand to cup her chin; with a shiver she realized he had two small moles on the back of his hand like Anders.
She shoved the thought away, buried it deep so it would never see the light of day. She would absolutely not sacrifice her love of Anders because he had a skin imperfection that reminded her of Quentin. She would lock that memory away, and banish it forever.
Quentin's voice had taken on an almost hypnotic cadence. "And at last her face, oh this beautiful face." He released the woman and she stood slowly. The mage's voice took on the insanity that clearly clouded his mind. "I've searched far and wide to find you again, beloved, and no force on this earth will part us."
The woman lumbered awkwardly to her feet, moving painfully slowly with jerky, hesitant motions. When she finally managed to turn around and face them Sekhmet felt her world shatter. It was her mother, but not.
Her mother's head had been inexpertly stitched onto a body. And the foul thing had been stitched together from other bodies, the pieces in different states of decomposition, the skin oddly sagging as if it didn't belong on the body. She'd failed, she'd failed again. Her mother was dead.
The flicker of recognition in her mother's eyes was almost more than she could bear. Her heart felt like it was ripped in twain, a dead useless lump in her chest. There were not words to describe how she felt in that moment. The world could rip itself apart beneath her feet and she probably wouldn't have noticed.
She forced herself to take a breath and reinflate her burning lungs. The grey pinpricks at the edge of her vision faded as she forced herself to take another. With great difficulty she tore her gaze away from the monstrosity that bore her mother's visage.
And when her eyes landed on Quentin's smug face, it ignited sparks within her. She relished it and pulled on the only thing that would see her through this. Anger. She let it swirl around her and suffuse her veins, like a fiery poison wending its way through her. She let it seep into every inch of her body. Every breath scorched like fire within her.
This man would know pain. This man would know suffering intimately, like an old lover, before he died. How could she let her mother's murderer suffer any less than her father's had?
The mage must have noticed the change in her because the smug smile melted from his face, replaced with alarm. The sight of it brought a smile to her face. A smile she knew was not warm, a smile that had sent men running from the battlefield. A smile that spoke volumes as to just how fucked this man truly was.
With a quick flick of her arm she sent a blade flying to embed into and through his foot, effectively pinning him to the floor. Before he could react she threw another, listening to him howl as it too found its mark. Both feet held still by blades deeply buried through them and into the wooden floor below the mage finally responded.
He threw up a shield, and called forth corpses, shades, and demons to attack them. Sekhmet didn't bother to acknowledge them. No, she had her prey and she could be patient. The others would take care of anything that threatened her.
She marveled at that for a moment. For the first time she could remember, she actually was trusting people. She trusted them to keep her safe while she was focused elsewhere. It was kind of nice. Not something she would dwell on now though, her anger suited her better.
Her gaze moved to the undead creature with her mother's face. It was watching her curiously, and was she deluding herself or was that pride in her mother's dead eyes? She looked away; she could revel in madness later, for now she had a man to kill.
She stood still, watching him as he began to tire, as his magic began to wane. A thick, sickly spell still wound around the room, but the rest faded as he lost his ability to weave and hold so many spells. Was the sickly, sweet spell the one keeping the stitched together corpse animated?
When at last his spell shield faltered she whipped out another knife, lightning fast. He screeched and dropped his staff as his fingers became numb and lifeless. All that time learning anatomy from her father and Anders paid off at last.
Dropping her shoulder she rammed into him. A high pitched scream echoed around the room as he fell backwards ripping the blades up through his feet. He tried to curl up into a ball but Sekhmet kicked him hard in the gut knocking the air out of him.
He flopped on the floor, mouth working useless for a few moments while he tried to pull in a breath. She took her time, pulling out the knives still embedded in the floorboards. She wiped them clean on the mage's robes before tucking them back into her belt.
When she ripped the one from his hand he managed enough breath for another faint scream. With another small smile she reached into a pouch on the back of her belt and pulled out something she hadn't used in ages, a pair of cestuses. She pulled off her gloves as she settled across Quentin's waist.
Dropping her gloves to the floor she pulled on one of the cestuses, feeling the weight of the iron against the back of her fingers she laced it tight. She watched fear creep into Quentin's gaze as she pulled the second one on as well. She thought briefly about letting him try to protect himself, but he'd kidnapped and murdered her mother. He didn't deserve any consideration. And he didn't deserve mercy. She took his already damaged hand and held it flat to the floor, palm up.
He whimpered and fought her, but he was an old man, and a weak mage. She held him fast and stabbed one of her daggers through his palm and into the floor. She'd have a hell of a time dealing with the damage to the blade later, but his blood curdling scream as it ripped his flesh and severed bone was satisfying.
She felt an odd calmness flow over her as she pinned and stabbed his other hand. It didn't feel completely real, and she hadn't really heard his scream. The room seemed to close in, leaving only the two of them in it. Just her and the man she was going to kill.
She took a breath, and even that felt slow. The mage beneath her was crying and babbling, blubbering like a child. Had her mother cried? Had she begged for her life, pleaded with him to spare her? Somehow she doubted it very much. Her mother had been a proud and strong woman. She would have faced her death bravely.
And then the anger washed over her again. He didn't deserve to look upon her mother let alone touch her. With a growl of fury she slammed her fist, heavily encased in the cestus, into Quentin's blubbering face.
It landed with a satisfying crack, his lips splitting and pieces of his teeth flying. It had felt good, right, his face splintering under the iron reinforced impact of her fist. He struggled against the daggers holding his hands and when he couldn't release them he turned his face away.
She slid forward, a knee on either side of his head, holding him still. She swung again, the impact jarring up her arm, and sending a fine spray of blood from Quentin's destroyed face. His eyes started fluttering as if he would pass out. He wouldn't escape so easily. She waited, waited for him to regain himself.
He looked at her with terrified eyes, and sobbed through his broken teeth. "She'll die. If you kill me she'll die."
Her eyes narrowed, "She's already dead, you sick fuck." She lashed out again, cutting off any protest.
And then things went hazy, all she could remember was hitting him again and again. She felt his hot blood hit her cheeks, her chin, her neck. And it was strangely satisfying. Each spray of blood and crack of bone felt better than the last.
Finally, Anders' voice, quiet and filled with pain, broke through the haze. "He's dead, Sekhmet. And your mother is asking for you."
Her head jerked up, her mother? She looked around and found her mother staggering slowly towards her, like a marionette whose strings were being cut. She jumped up and ran to her, managing to just catch her as she fell to the floor.
"Mother?" Her heart was aching, could her mother's mind still be intact?
Her mother reached up with an unsteady hand and brushed a blood soaked strand of her hair back behind her ear. A soft smile curved her dying lips, "You came, I knew you would come."
Anders' voice was choked behind her. "There's nothing I can do, his magic was keeping her alive."
Another spike of anger shot through her, but she quashed it quickly. Anders couldn't be expected to save a severed head stitched to a rotting body. He was a superb healer, but he wasn't a god.
She tried to speak but couldn't force any words past her constricted throat.
Her mother took a ragged breath, but still that soft smile clung to her. "Don't cry, I'm going to see your father. I was never any good without him, anyway. And I miss him."
"Mother please, don't go." It was a soft plea.
"And your brother, I'll be with him too. I'll be fine." The smile melted from her face and concern darkened her eyes. "But you'll be left alone. I'm sorry, my darling."
She stroked her mother's hair, not wanting her mother to worry about her in her dying moments. "I'll be fine mother, you know me."
The sadness settled more heavily over her, "Yes, I do." She took another breath, shallow. And forced the smile back to her quickly paling lips, "I love you Sekhmet, I always have. And you've made me proud." Her body trembled in Sekhmet's arms. "So…." Her head fell to the side, her mother lacking the strength to hold it up, "proud." It came out in a soft whisper and her mother was gone.
She pulled her mother tight against her, holding her close. This couldn't be real, it just couldn't. How could she fail so spectacularly again? How could she fail to save another member of her family? She'd failed them all now, every single one of them.
She wanted to scream and she wanted to cry and she wanted to shatter apart on the floor and die. But she did none of those. She held her mother and rocked her and tried to burn her last words into her memory. The last words she would ever hear her mother speak.
Sekhmet hadn't just killed the mage, she had destroyed him, brutally executed him. He'd never seen someone literally pummeled to death. And after those first two guttural growls she had fallen silent. Other than her rhythmically falling fists she had seemed almost eerily calm as she had done it. Even as her mother lay dying in her arms she was calm, soothing her mother in her last moments.
She jerked away from his touch when he tried to comfort her on the way out of the foundry. He pushed down the brief flare of hurt at his comfort being rejected, everyone dealt with grief differently. He followed silently behind her as she strode, blood spattered, to the Viscount's Keep.
Isabela and Varric both disappeared when they realized where she was headed. Varric promising to take care of Leandra's body before he quickly strode away. Clearly neither had any desire to be caught in the middle of Sekhmet's grief and anger. Only Anders stayed with her as she headed straight for the guard quarters and kicked open the door to Aveline's office, rage and grief briefly warring on her face.
He knew his beloved, knew she had to grip onto her anger tight to make it through the next few hours. Anger was her shield for now. He only hoped it didn't last too long. She needed to really grieve so she could keep on living. Otherwise she'd wither away and he'd lose her forever.
Aveline shot up from her desk, her eyes flicking between Sekhmet who was covered in blood, to Anders who stood quietly by the door, who was sure he looked as lost as he felt. He should stop her; find some way to get her home. This could only end in disaster.
Sekhmet was breathing fast, her nostrils flaring. "I just thought you might want to know that the man who has been killing women for years in this city was dead. Ser Emeric was right." Sekhmet stepped closer to Aveline who stared at her unsure of what to say. "All that damned evidence we brought to you and you didn't even bother to investigate."
"Thank you." Aveline said hesitantly, then stepped backwards as she saw Anders suddenly move forward he was sure his panic showed on his face.
He grabbed Sekhmet just as she tried to lunge at Aveline, screaming. "Ghyslain was right, why are we paying you. You're all worthless. I do more to protect this city then your entire guard combined. Anders, let me go, right now!"
Aveline looked to Anders confused as he struggled to keep his hold on Sekhmet. "What's going on?"
Sekhmet struggled for another few seconds before she stilled in Anders' arms. "I'm alright, let me go."
"Are you sure?" He asked, not sure he completely believed her.
"Yes, I…I just want to go home."
Hesitantly, he released her and she headed for the door, Anders trailing behind her. As she reached the doorway she turned back to Aveline, who was still watching the two of them looking completely confused. "There were two more victims before we caught him."
Anders whole body stiffened and he moved to stand in front of Sekhmet. "You don't need to do this now."
"I do." She pushed him out of her way and stared hard at Aveline. "The woman Alessa I told you about? The one you couldn't afford to have someone watch? She died, we saw her mangled body."
He touched Sekhmet's arm, this would end badly. "Sekhmet, please, you're upset."
"You're right," she let out a slow breath. "I'm upset." She turned towards the doorway again and he felt relieved that she was going to leave it alone, but he should have known better.
She stopped again, suddenly, and turned around. Anders just moved out of her way, there was nothing short of putting her to sleep that he could do to stop her now and he would never do that to her again. Resigned, he turned to watch Aveline, and hoped the damage wouldn't be irreparable.
Sekhmet's voice had become sarcastic, "Did I tell you that my mother received white lilies this morning?"
Aveline blanched and reeled backwards a step, covering her mouth. Finally, realizing the real reason for Sekhmet's impromptu little visit.
"And this evening, I held my mother in my arms while she died. Well, part of her at least, the head was hers, the rest of the body was stitched together from parts of the other missing women that Ser Emeric and I told you about. Great job, Captain, glad to see the guard working so hard to keep this city safe."
Aveline had collapsed into her chair during Sekhmet's rant. Her expression was horrified and devastated. "I'm…so sorry." Her voice broke over the words.
"Save it, save your bullshit and platitudes, I don't want to hear it. My mother died Aveline, because you didn't do your fucking job. Your apologies mean nothing to me, Guard Captain." She spit out the last two words as an epithet. She jerked away from Aveline abruptly and left, striding quickly from the Viscount's Keep. Anders followed a few steps behind her. He had been the focus of her rage before and knew it was best just to let it blow itself out.
Gamlen had returned to the estate that night, and no matter how Anders tried to talk with him he insisted on seeing Sekhmet. He pushed his way past Anders into the library, where Sekhmet had been sitting silently since they arrived home. She just sat there staring at the fire.
Anders didn't hear much of the exchange, but he heard Gamlen blame Sekhmet for Leandra's death. He was only too happy to usher Gamlen out of the house a few minutes later. He slipped into the library quietly. "Do you need anything?" he asked; voice not much above a whisper.
Sekhmet shook her head no, but her gaze never left the fire. Eventually, she moved to their bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. He followed her in and hesitated by the door for a moment. "I have no words that can make this better, and for that I'm truly sorry, but I'm here if you need me, for anything."
Sekhmet closed her eyes and turned away from him, "I don't."
"Sekhmet," he hesitated unsure of exactly what to say, smarting from Leadra's loss and from Sekhmet's harsh words.
She hung her head, "I should have found her faster."
Anders walked to the side of the bed, "She wouldn't want you to blame yourself."
Sekhmet flashed angry and pained eyes up at him, "You didn't know her." She hissed at him.
He sighed, now was not the time to argue with her, so he just agreed. "You're right, I didn't know her as much as I would have liked to, and I am sorry I never will. But she loved you Sekhmet."
She was quiet for several minutes and he was about to say something, anything, when she looked at him for a moment, "Do you remember that day in the Deep Roads after Bethany?"
Anders nodded his stomach knotting as he realized what she wanted from him. "And I'm not more willing to do it now. It's not what you need Sekhmet." Considering how he felt just now he wasn't even sure he could if he wanted to. Sex was the last thing on his mind.
Sekhmet shook her head, irritated with his refusal. "Then just leave, Anders."
Anders sighed and left the room, feeling useless. The woman he loved was hurting and she wouldn't let him help her, wouldn't let him comfort her. He ached to hold her, to be there for her while she grieved, and honestly, he wanted to share his grief with her.
He'd forged a bond with Leandra over the last several weeks, and he was hurting too. True, she wasn't his mother, but she'd been the closest thing to one he'd had in a very, very long time. She'd been so open and accepting of him, had shared her thoughts and fears with him and invited him to do the same.
His heart ached not only that she was gone, which still didn't seem quite real, but that she'd died in such a horrible way. Considering that her head had been sewn to a cobbled together body the poor woman had faced death twice. Yet, she'd been concerned not for herself, but for the daughter she was leaving behind. The daughter he'd promised not to leave, and to take care of should anything happen to Leandra.
When he'd made the promise he figured he had a decade or two before he had to worry about it. Had Leandra sensed her death was coming or had she simply been trying to reassure herself Sekhmet wouldn't be alone? He didn't know why Leandra would have been so concerned, Sekhmet was strong and could take care of herself. Still, he had promised her.
He closed his eyes and felt a couple tears slip and run down his cheeks. He didn't bother to wipe them away. He wouldn't be embarrassed to mourn such a great woman. And he wouldn't shy away from his feelings as Sekhmet was doing. He wanted desperately to be there for her, to comfort her but he couldn't force it on her, so he retreated down the stairs to give her some space.
That had been almost four days ago. He hadn't seen her sleep at all and she only ate when he brought food to her. And then she mostly picked at it. She paced around the estate almost constantly and refused to leave it even for the funeral. She avoided Anders and everyone else when she could.
He wasn't sure what to do other than wait, and be there for her. She had frozen the emotional part of herself off to deal with the monstrousness of what had happened to her mother. And even though he didn't agree with it, he couldn't blame her. Still, she needed to grieve.
The ghost roaming the halls of the estate needed to anchor back into life at some point.
He had managed to keep everyone away from her so far, but it was getting more difficult as they became more demanding. They all wanted to comfort her and offer condolences, but she wasn't ready for any of it. She wasn't grieving, she was avoiding and until she stopped anyone offering her condolences was doing her a disservice. Anders kept himself available for her, but stayed out of her way, as per her request, much as it hurt him to do it, and mourned in his own ways.
Tonight he'd spent most of the night working on a charcoal sketch of the woman who had taken him in. He even managed a small smile when he thought that she'd practically kidnapped him. With her sense of humor she'd probably have found it funny.
She was laughing in the sketch, hair pulled back loosely as she often wore it. And he couldn't help but to draw her playing the lute. She'd only played it a few times for him, but she had been amazing at it, her tunes both haunting and fantastically beautiful. And when she lost herself to the music she'd become a beautiful, young woman.
He slipped the sketch into his desk and headed upstairs to bed. Sekhmet was still sitting in the library, but he knew better than to bother her. She'd call for him or Bodahn if she wanted or needed anything.
Hours later he was reclining in their bed, a book lying on his chest forgotten as he worried about her. He wasn't sure if there was maybe something else he should be doing for her at this point. For some reason, she didn't seem to be capable of grieving.
Suddenly, the door to the room crashed open, banging off the stone wall and shaking in its frame. Sekhmet stumbled into the room, hair loose and sticking up oddly as if she'd been pulling at it. Her eyes, red rimmed with tears streaming from them, locked onto him.
It yanked viciously at his heart to see her. She looked no more than a small child who'd lost her mother and couldn't understand. Her breath hitched as she stood there, looking completely shattered and terribly young.
Anders moved to get up, to go to her and comfort her but Sekhmet ran at the bed and flung herself onto it. She clutched at him desperately, her arms wrapping around him. Her head she laid on his bare chest. Carefully, he wrapped his arms around her and held her as she sobbed, great catastrophic sounds tearing from her. As much as it tore at his heart to hear her, he felt relieved that she was finally grieving.
As the two of them lay there, he stroked her hair and she cried herself to sleep, still clutching him tightly the whole time. Anders moved as much as he could without waking her and pulled the blankets he could reach around the two of them.
And as he lay there, his sweet lioness so clearly heartbroken and shattered he couldn't help a few tears of his own, both for the loss of Leandra and Sekhmet's obvious pain. With Sekhmet finally in his arms, letting him feel like he was finally doing something for her, his body relaxed after days of unbearable tension. He found himself yawning and quickly followed his love into slumber.
He awoke when she planted kisses across his chest. He opened his eyes, still heavy with sleep as she spoke. "Thank you for not listening to me, thank you for staying."
He stroked her hair gently, "I'm not going anywhere."
She looked up and caught his eyes and Anders could see the fear in them and it stuck him like a blow, Sekhmet was never afraid, never. Nothing she saw, nothing she faced ever made her afraid, not dragons, or ogres, or men, or Templars, not even Justice. "I'm alone now. Without you, I'm all alone."
Anders winced at the words. Leandra had been right, his strong, brilliant, beautiful woman was afraid of being alone. How had he missed that? It didn't matter now; he was very familiar with feeling alone and knew just how awful it could truly be. He wouldn't make her face this alone. "I'll stay for as long as you'll have me, my love."
"Good" she mumbled, fatigue dragging her down again, before resting her head back on his chest. Her arm tightened around his waist and she planted a few more kisses on his chest before nuzzling against him and slowly drifting back to sleep.
Anders stared at the ceiling trying to calm his thundering heart. Responsibility was not something he was very good at. And in all honesty, neither was staying, but for her and for Leandra he would try. He had to.
