Author's Notes: Finally, the ending that I've envisioned since the big baddie made himself known.

Summary: The End.

Warnings: My interpretation of Dragon Age magic. Character death? Sort of?

Playlist:

The Final Countdown – Europe

Walk Softly and Carry a Big Axe

Chapter Fifty-three

When the dagger thrust in and up Hawke felt the cold metal, the splitting of his flesh, the gush of fluid. It hurt, but there was no lurch of fear, no thought that he would be called from the world by the Maker.

"NO!" Fenris roared. That hurt Hawke worse than anything his demonic doppelganger could do to him.

Fenris, don't cry for me. Not after what I did to you. Because of Hawke's fear of death, his fear of following his family and so many others into oblivion, he'd bargained with the ultimate evil... and Fenris and Anders paid the price. Hawke had traded his body for continued existence. He, the Champion of Kirkwall, a man feared by demons, made a deal with their king. Don't you ever cry for me.

Something exploded on the other side of the Great Hall, and then several somethings, followed by the rumble of breaking masonry. Hawke ignored it. The world could crumble around them and he would continue fighting the demon king. He'd released it from the Maker's prison. Destroyer, Andraste had called it. But Hawke knew it to be a part of himself. It never would have come to him if not for the seeds of wrath, fear, and hunger within his soul. He'd fed it. Given it life. Its desires were twisted versions of his own. Its face was his face.

In some ways, this creature was more "Garrett" than Hawke had ever been. It revealed the darkness inside him. The darkness he'd always fought to subdue by putting his companions' needs before his own. They had followed him into battle, but he had always followed them through life, guided by their approval. Then, when he was alone and afraid, he'd crumpled and given in to evil.

"Never again," he growled and shoved Garrett back. The dagger withdrew and the flesh knit behind it.

One of the huge timbers across the domed ceiling snapped and collapsed, followed by a portion of the ceiling. It fell across the room, cutting them off and filling the air with dust and splinters and the angry shrieks of crushed demons. Hawke stared down his opponent, refusing to flinch from the chunks of mortar and stone that struck his head and shoulders or the wall of dust that rolled over them. He did not dare to look away.

Garrett's yellowed teeth flashed in a grin. "We are at an impasse," he said. He shouldn't have been audible over the crashing of stone, but his voice seemed to penetrate into Hawke's head. His cloudy, jaundiced eyes slid, finding Fenris and Anders at the Eluvian. "But you are weak. They make you weak."

"They are the only strength I have left." Hawke side-stepped, placing himself squarely between Garrett and Fenris and Anders. He didn't try to shout over the ongoing cacophony from the other side of the hall, but spoke in a determined murmur. "I would die before letting you get your hands on them again."

Andraste's song, like Garrett's voice, carried under the ambient noise. It sweetened and thickened, becoming syrupy, welcoming, affectionate. Hawke didn't understand it. He wished he could have asked her more before she started singing. She had a plan. There was something he had to do...

"We made a deal," Garrett purred. "All of this—" He spread his arms to encompass what was left of the chamber and the city beyond it. "—is for nought. Nothing you do can stop me. This world is mine. You gave it to me."

We made a deal. Hawke felt everything fade. His vision narrowed on Garrett. He couldn't hear the fading rumbles. Andraste's voice filled his ears. Everything else darkened. We made a deal.

Danarius had tortured him. Then the Eluvian had drawn him in and torn him to pieces in mind and soul. It had been so much worse than anything Danarius could have done. He'd screamed and pleaded, begging someone or something to save him.

"Let's make a deal." The voice had been his own. Hawke had cowered in a place of perfect stillness and faced himself. The other Hawke hadn't been afraid. While Hawke had been naked and shivering, Garrett had stood, tall and powerful, in the Champion's armour. He'd smiled. "Your life... for your body."

Hawke's body had been nothing but pain under Danarius' attentions. But his life... It was still his own and he didn't want to lose it. He had too much to live for and he feared that there would be nothing afterwards but silence and loneliness. Or, worse, nothing at all.

Andraste's voice lifted sharply, bringing Hawke back to the present.

He faced himself again. Not the perfect image in the Eluvian, but a decayed, rotten self. The self he'd allowed himself to become.

''We made a deal,'' Hawke whispered.

"Yes." Garrett's smirk stretched into a lazy smile. "You remember."

"My life for my body."

"That's right." Garrett lifted a blood-stained dagger and set the point against Hawke's battered breastplate. He pushed Hawke toward the Eluvian. "Go back and take my brother's songbird with you. If you're a good boy, you can take a plaything. I recommend the elf. He is quite delicious."

Hawke allowed himself to be pushed back, nearly tripping over the uneven rocks and bits of wood. His thoughts whirled with the realization of what he must do. The Eluvian radiated energy behind him, heat lapping at his nape like the breath of a hungry beast. Hawke was afraid. He knew what would happen if he didn't obey.

But he knew what would happen if he did. Fenris' and Anders' presence chased chills down his spine. Fear for them strengthened his resolve and froze his steps.

Garrett's dagger pressed forcefully until it squeaked against Hawke's breastplate, slid to the side, and dug between one piece of black steel and another. Hawke clenched his jaw.

"No."

"No?" Garrett's face spasmed. He would have made an expression of incredulity, but his skin and facial muscles had decayed beyond fine movements.

"The deal is off." Hawke lifted Truth and Faith and crossed their wicked edges over his own throat. "I'm returning my life to you and taking back my body."

Andraste's song cut off. Fenris' snarls of effort, the rumble from the dome's continuing collapse, and the growls of the few remaining demons filled the silence until Hawke jerked his fists together, forcing his blades through his own borrowed flesh.

"No!" Garrett roared.

Hawke felt no pain, as though he cut through air, but a gash opened across Garrett's throat. Black liquid streamed from the widening grin. He fell to his knees on the scorched and blood-stained floor. His shaking hands lifted to claw at the wound but could not stem the flow. His mouth moved, but no sound emerged, only black foam oozing over his contorted lips. His eyes and ears bled. Cracks appeared in his skin, revealing darkness under the shell.

As his blood struck the ground, wisps of smoke lifted, sucked toward the open Eluvian. Without a body, he was helpless to retain his form. As a spirit he would be drawn into the other plane and locked once more in his prison.

Hawke looked down at his hands. Like Garrett he was falling apart. The blue light and life given him by Anders and Justice was trickling from under his skin and being drawn to the Eluvian. With it went his strength.

He was dying.

Garrett abruptly lunged to his feet and stumbled away, fighting the streamers of darkness pulling him toward the Eluvian. Weak as he was, Hawke could do little more than shamble after and throw himself on him.

Fluid gushed from Garrett's decayed flesh when Hawke landed. They hit the floor in an oozing, squirming heap, each struggling for the upper hand as their bodies lost strength and cohesion.

Garrett's roar emerged as a gurgle. He struck Hawke about the head and shoulders, smeared his foul ichor in Hawke's eyes, and brought his flopping head down to bite Hawke's forearm. Hawke held on. He'd spent an eternity waiting for freedom and vengeance. He would not let go.

The Eluvian's drawing force increased in strength. Streamers of smoke and dust undulated to the open gateway and through to the other side. Andraste stood aside to watch it pass, her expression stern and victorious. Hawke had done well.

The body weakened as Garrett's spirit left it, leaving a husk of shrivelled, rot-slicked skin and a toothy grin. Empty eye sockets stared up at Hawke, laughing at him.

You are dead, whispered his corpse. You are me. I am you. You are dead.

Yes, Hawke thought, relaxing as the body stopped convulsing. As Anders' energy was drawn away, he felt his awareness sink toward the corpse. He knew it as his own and knew it to be right. No longer a cursed spirit, he was dead. He would pass on to whatever fate awaited, be it oblivion or an afterlife. Mother, Bethany, Carver... I'm coming. Fenris, Anders... Forgive me.

He'd nearly finished sinking into the corpse when he turned his weakening attention to the Eluvian and his loved ones, and horror shocked his connection to the body. The black wisps of Garrett lingered, attaching themselves to Anders like another layer of feathers alighting on his shoulders and chest.

Anders arched against the Eluvian's frame, dangerously close to the shimmering entrance to the other world. His head went back and his eyes fluttered. A raspy gasp escaped his open mouth.

No! Hawke pulled together what was left of Justice's power and tore away from his corpse. He couldn't lie down and die, not yet. He couldn't let Garrett steal another body and force it into the Maker's world. It would destroy them all. Hawke had assumed that the Destroyer needed a deal to claim a mortal body, but perhaps he could simply take one if it was close to death.

Hawke's consciousness occupied little more than scraps of magic and willpower. He didn't know if he still had feet and was afraid to look down and check, afraid that seeing nothing would dissolve him completely. He pushed on toward the Eluvian, his arms, such as they were, outstretched. He passed through a cloud, feeling it like dirty oil on his skin, distant screaming in the ear, bitter vomit on the tongue. He had no fingers, but he had the idea of them. He dug them in and pried Garrett away from Anders.

Garrett's roar would have deafened him if he'd had ears. Hawke roared back, tightened his hold, and dove toward the Eluvian.

They passed into the realm of magic and spirit, and Garrett—the Destroyer as Andraste had described—took form under Hawke's incorporeal palms. Briefly, Hawke was aware of his full scale, not in one world, but across many. He knew himself to be holding only one aspect of rot that ate through several dimensions. Everything that the Maker created, the Destroyer lurked in it like a worm in a fruit, devouring from within. He had already destroyed many of the Maker's worlds, beginning with one infected host.

Not this time.

The Destroyer's shapeless, eternal form coalesced back into Garrett, his lip curled in a sneer. "You're a fool," he growled. "You could take one body from me, but there is always another. And you brought it right to me." He shoved an armoured fist into Hawke's chest.

Hawke gasped at the frigid touch and backed away. Garrett's arm slid out smoothly, but it gripped an unfamiliar, shining blue breastplate. Hawke felt a violent tug all over and flinched as arms, legs, and torso emerged from his own—glowing blue, sheathed in plate mail.

Someone screamed.

Hawke shuddered and turned his head with difficulty, fighting the pull of the blue figure detaching from his body. He found the source of the scream. Anders knelt outside the Eluvian, arching back until his head and upper body entered the mirror. That same blue, armoured figure was being pulled from him. It stretched—a blur of images, reflections in the magical mist—to join with the fragile body in Garrett's fist.

"Justice," Hawke gasped. He tried to grab the spirit and gather it back into himself, but his fingers grasped only mist. Anders continued screaming. His head flung about and his eyes opened wide, blank and shining with power. Wisps of oily black coiled around him, entering his gaping mouth, staining his skin with the decay that was so much more advanced in Hawke's corpse.

"Weak as it is," Garrett hissed, "the power this body holds is more than enough for me to lead my army against my pathetic brother. Come, Anders," he bellowed. "I have hold of your spirit. Your body must follow!" He gave the blue figure a hard yank, tearing it completely free from Hawke.

Anders' shriek could curdle blood as Justice stretched between him and Garrett, the tugging more violent without Hawke holding part of the spirit. Hawke threw himself on Garrett, forcing him further into the fog, but he would not release Justice for all that Hawke's fists landed punch after punch on his face and gut.

"Hawke, stop!" Andraste, back in the Eluvian, could speak again. When Hawke glanced back, she pointed at Anders' thrashing figure. Anders, physically and mentally, was obviously too weak to resist. He collapsed backward, fully inside the Eluvian.

Garrett laughed, Justice released an echoing howl, and Andraste cried out in horror as dark energy began to sink into Anders. With a host, the Destroyer could not be stopped.

A hand—gauntleted, the palm glowing white—struck like a snake from the other side of the Eluvian, grabbed the front of Anders' coat, and dragged him back to the mortal realm and out of the Destroyer's reach.

Garrett roared and moved as though to follow. Hawke gritted his teeth and held him. He backpedalled, pulling Garrett deeper into the mist. Justice, nearly solid, grappled with him as well. Garrett stumbled back, taking Justice with him. Justice stretched and blurred as he was pulled away from Anders.

Hawke twisted to shout at the Eluvian, "Don't let him go, Fenris! Don't you ever let him go!"

/.\./.\

Fenris fought the pull of the Eluvian with all his strength. His arms and legs trembled from the strain as he braced his bare feet against the whorls and spirals of the mirror's frame and held Anders about the waist with both arms. The air was full of dust—he could barely see, barely breathe. Only ghosting had saved him when the ceiling fell. Now, half-blind from the dust and tears, and deaf from the crashing of stone against stone, Fenris could only feel Anders and the proximity of the Eluvian. He could only just see watery blurs and hear faintly under the ringing in his ears, "Don't let him go, Fenris!"

Hawke.

He clenched his jaw and held on, silently promising that he would never let Anders slip away. Not now. Not ever.

Justice stretched like glowing taffy from Anders into the Eluvian's misty depths. On the other side, Fenris dimly saw the struggle between Hawke and his doppelganger, with Justice trapped between them. Justice was being torn from Anders, and the strain could destroy his body and his mind.

Anders' thrashing escalated to violent seizures. The back of his head slammed into Fenris' breastplate and chin with enough force and frequency that Fenris worried for his skull.

"Hawke!" he shouted between gritted teeth. He needed help.

There was no response, only that continuing pull.

He and Anders were alone again. They'd had Hawke back for a brief, heartbreaking moment, and then he'd been stolen again. His decayed corpse lay nearby, evidence of the finality of his fate. He was dead. The spirit in the mirror was just that: a spirit. He could not exist in the mortal realm as anything other than a demon or abomination.

Anders, though, was alive. And so was Fenris. He needed to act quickly if he wanted to keep it that way.

He struggled to bring Anders closer and angle his own shoulders nearer to the Eluvian while keeping his legs engaged with the golden frame. His thighs burned at the unusual position and he lost sensation in the arm locked around Anders' waist. Carefully, he freed his other arm and reached for the Eluvian's glass. At any moment his body would give out or Anders would convulse and Fenris would lose his grip. Anders would be dragged back into the Eluvian and Fenris wouldn't have the strength to pull him out.

He could not hesitate.

Fenris set the tip of his finger against the glass. It felt solid, though it would give way to let him pass. But he did not want to pass. He wanted to destroy. He slid his finger in and recognized the sensation of magic on the skin. It was power and matter from another world. A world that he could phase into with a thought.

He ghosted his finger, transforming it into the same matter as the mirror. The mirror rippled with the intrusion, like a beast shivering to shake off a fly. When the ripple reached the frame, the mirror shattered.

The force of it flung them back. Fenris bowed forward to protect his face from the shards of glass and splayed his hands over Anders' head. Shards cut fire over his scalp. Anders was screaming, magic played havoc over Fenris' nerves, blue light flared and died beyond his closed eyelids, and then they hit stone and tumbled.

Anders stopped screaming at the impact. Fenris held him tightly, breathing into the sudden silence. With every breath he forced himself to relax. He was alive, his heart continued to beat, his blood flowed.

Hawke was gone. The finality of it pressed him down more than Ander's weight. He'd already gone through his grief before, when he believed that Hawke had truly become the evil Viscount. At least as well as he could in the midst of all that turmoil. Then Andraste brought Hawke back, only for him to slip away again.

Anders moved weakly against him and Fenris allowed himself to relax. He would mourn Hawke later. For now, it was enough that he and Anders were still alive.

/.\./.\

Anders had never felt anything worse than having Justice ripped out of him. He imagined his skin being flayed from his body, a leg being amputated, his guts turning inside out. He screamed until he couldn't scream anymore, and continued to shriek inside his own mind. Fear and pain bounced around inside his skull.

Then it stopped.

He blacked out for what felt like years, but when he came to he knew it had only been seconds. Something had happened. Justice was gone. They hadn't had different thoughts in years, but Anders could sense the loss of his violent need for vengeance. He no longer felt the balance of right and wrong with the vivid clarity he'd become accustomed to. It both disturbed and relieved him, as now he could make his own decisions... and would have to.

He cracked a gummy eye open and squinted through the murk toward the Eluvian's empty frame. A sea of glittering glass shards covered the floor. The Hawkes, Andraste, and Fenris were gone and demons no longer prowled. All that was left of rage were scorch marks, of pride were patches of oily gore. Dust coated everything.

The entire front of the Great Hall had fallen in, leaving Anders in a pocket of space at the rear of the hall, surrounded by heaps of stone and splintered timbers. He couldn't remember what had happened beyond dim visions of demons, the two Hawkes, and the backs of Fenris' legs. But from the look of the place, Malice had used her bombs. All of her bombs.

He could see nothing beyond the broken stone. The only light entered through chinks and cracks in what remained of the dome and back wall, casting long, broken shadows and illuminating spears of swirling dust. As he watched, new cracks appeared here and there to the sound of pebbles rattling. Eventually, the rest of the dome would fall.

Fenris. Anders urged his aching body to move. He could only pray that he'd gotten out before the ceiling fell.

He planted his elbow against something hard—a rock, he'd assumed—and someone groaned behind him.

"Fenris?" Anders tried to whirl, discovered that nothing in his body wanted to work, and flopped against Fenris' breastplate, cracking his elbow against the steel. He found Fenris' face, tilted up as his head rested back against a rune-covered slab of ceiling. Under the dust, he was bruised and bleeding, but breathing through his slack lips. "Fenris?" Anders touched his cheek. "Are you all right?"

Fenris' arms tightened around him. "Shh," he hushed, turning his head to press his lips to Anders' hand. "Listen."

Anders grudgingly held his breath in time to hear the clatter of something large tumbling in the dimness. A small piece, part of a painted rune still visible on its flat side, bounced across the floor to come to rest near Fenris' toes.

"We have to get out of here," Anders whispered. "This place is going to come down on our heads."

Fenris nodded, but didn't move. He sighed and bowed his head, resting his brow against Anders'. "I am weary," he said.

"I know. We'll sleep when we're out of here." Anders didn't want to pull away from the unusually intimate embrace, but the impending collapse urged him on. "We'll sleep for years, just the two of us. All we have to do is sleep, eat, and f—"

Come to me.

The growl erupted with such sudden and overwhelming power that Anders nearly blacked out again. The sleeping Archdemon's thoughts lashed out of the darkness that infected his blood, white hot like lightning.

Come. I await you.

"Anders?" Fenris' voice came from a great distance. Anders was vaguely aware of his body, on his back and writhing, the muscles in his arms and legs fighting against him. Fenris had him pinned and for once Anders was nearly holding his own against Fenris' greater strength.

Without Justice, Anders could no longer fight the compulsion. And he was weak, so very weak. The Archdemon's will closed around him, strangling his heart and mind. He was no longer an abomination. He was only a man, a mage, and a Grey Warden who had lost too much of himself.

The Archdemon wanted him. The Archdemon owned him. The Archdemon was in his blood.

"I hear you," he answered. He heard and he hungered.

/.\./.\

"No, no, no. Anders!" Fenris forgot to keep his voice down as he pressed Anders to the floor and pleaded with the grimace on Anders' face.

Anders arched and wheezed a deep, rattling breath. Dark veins couched his eyes and snaked across his temples to disappear into his hair. His head went back and his eyes opened, revealing the cloudy white cataracts of the dead.

"I hear," he grated.

"No!" Fenris shoved him down. "You can't have him. You can't take him from me. Not now!"

Anders' smudged eyelids fluttered and his dim pupils focused. "Fenris, I'm being Called." His fingers, stiff and claw-like, settled on Fenris' shoulders. "Kill me." His grip slid down to Fenris' biceps and dug in painfully. "Please. I don't want... to become one of those things."

"You will not," Fenris growled. He rode out another convulsion and pressed Anders' shoulders against the floor. "You're stronger than this. You have magic. You have something to fight the Call. After everything—"

Anders gurgled and his teeth gnashed. Saliva smeared his chin. "I'm so tired. So empty. There's nothing but the Call left." He stilled and the tension of pain drained out of his face. "Fenris." With a shaking hand he caressed Fenris' hair, his touch so light that Fenris could barely feel it. "Fenris." A weak smile ghosted over his lips, only a thin shadow of the grin he used to wear. His cloudy eyes lightened. "I'm sorry. For everything. And grateful. To know you. To be known by you." A spasm crossed his face. He hissed and squeezed his eyes shut. When it passed, he'd lost what was left of his colour, leaving him pale and vein-scarred under the dust. "Grateful that yours is the last face I'll see."

"Do not say such things!"

"I'm sorry." The words were carried on another deathly rattle. Anders' eyes rolled back, showing tiny black webs in their whites. "Fenris, I love you."

"You are not dying. You cannot."

"No. I'm becoming something terrible. I'm weak. It's happening too fast. Kill me. Please."

Fenris swallowed rage and denial. They tasted like blood and stone. "There must be something," he pleaded, fighting to keep his voice level. "The other Grey Wardens must have a cure. When we get out of here we will find them. Septimus will know a way."

It took a moment for him to realize that Anders was shaking, not from Blight, but from laughter.

"There is no cure. Ah!" He stiffened. "The Archdemon. Even in slumber, it knows the Destroyer is gone. It dreams of taking what he left behind." He convulsed and his head cracked against the floor. He went limp, his cloudy eyes half-lidded.

Fearing the worst, Fenris slid his hands under Anders' head. "Anders," he shouted into the mage's slack face. "Anders!"

Anders suddenly lunged, his frail body unexpectedly strong, and his teeth gnashed just shy of Fenris' face. A noise, halfway between a snarl and a sob, whined from his throat. His hands clawed and scrabbled at Fenris' shoulders as though trying to grasp his neck. His foul breath reeked of decay and his eyes were completely blank, completely feral.

"Anders," Fenris tried again. "Fight it."

Unnatural strength enlivened Anders' body and Fenris was handicapped by fear of hurting him. He thrashed, kicked Fenris off, and was on him like a rabid animal, biting at Fenris and only narrowly missing flesh. His teeth left imprints in the leather of Fenris' armour.

Fenris threw him off. Anders hit the ground, tumbled and rolled several yards, and was up and snarling only a moment later. He jumped to all fours, gathered himself, and sprang at Fenris again.

He is gone, Fenris realized as he wrestled Anders away. He is dead and there is nothing left for me.

He wrenched Anders around, twisting his arms until one of them broke, the wet crack audible over Fenris' grunts and Anders' snarls. Anders didn't seem to notice and Fenris felt as though he'd snapped his own arm. He brought Anders into a tight hold and then rolled onto his back and bound Anders' legs with his own.

Anders seemed to realize he was trapped, or at least decided to save his strength, for he went still in Fenris' desperate embrace. His breath rasped and his body trembled with tension. Fenris knew that if he slipped for one moment Anders would attack again.

They were both trapped.

"We have reached the end." Fenris rested his chin on the crown of Anders' head and felt a reactionary tremble. The slight vibration tickled his throat with what was left of Anders' feathered pauldrons. He wanted to believe that Anders was listening, but knew he was only waiting for a chance to break free. "I will not go on without you. Not without you and not without Hawke."

There was nothing left for him. Not when he'd spent months slaughtering Fereldans and Freemarchers in the thrall of the Viscount. Even his friends—those who fought by his side—he didn't think he could face them without memories of Hawke, Anders, and the good days tearing him apart.

"I am tired," he sighed into Anders' filthy, once-golden hair. He stroked Anders' arm where he held it. He didn't want to move or think. Weariness drove him down, stole any strength he had left. He could only hold on, muscles locked. Frozen.

Anders' teeth clicked together and he gurgled. He strained with enough strength to make Fenris groan from the effort of holding him, and then subsided.

Fenris wouldn't last much longer. After another episode like that, he would lose his grip. Anders would then kill, eat, or infect him, whatever it was that ghouls did. Then he would go on to kill others and then join the Archdemon and its Darkspawn army.

If the Great Hall didn't collapse and crush them first.

Fenris glanced over the ceiling and listened to the constant clicking and faint hiss of stone rubbing against stone. Past those sounds his keen ear picked up distant voices. It sounded like a crowd, an ocean of people swelling with elation. Some of those voices belonged to his friends, he hoped. He hoped Zevran and Isabela were out there, tending each other's wounds. He hoped Merrill and Varric would get out of the Imperium quickly. They didn't belong in the Imperium, especially not Merrill.

Anders strained again. Fenris clenched his jaw, nearly lost his grip on one arm, and scrambled to get it back with the help of a leg. Anders twisted and kicked, shoving them back against a pile of rubble. Fenris huffed at the impact against his spine, but managed to keep his skull from cracking against the stone. Anders subsided, his rattling breath quick and thin.

He wouldn't last through another episode. He must act before he no longer could.

Unable to free his hands, Fenris had only one weapon available to him. It was convenient, at least, as he could destroy himself at the same time. It also struck him as darkly amusing. From the moment he'd met Anders he had despised the man and couldn't be rid of him soon enough. Now he planned to join their bodies together in a way that could never be undone. Chest to back. Heart to heart.

Fenris closed his eyes and prepared to ghost himself. He would let Anders fall into his body and then kill them both.

Before he could take his final breath, familiar magic trickled along his nerves like fingernails trailing up his spine. He stiffened, but stayed his power. He knew that magic. It was not of the Imperium, nor of the Circle. It was wild, dark, and dangerous. It tasted of the deep night and freedom.

Anders, too, seemed to sense something. He went very still and held his breath.

Purple light flickered over the stone from a source hidden behind a toppled beam and pile of rock. Within that light appeared the silhouettes of two spiders, one smaller than the other, their legs elongating as they moved away from the light source. The clicking of their many feet echoed from the slopes of stone.

Morrigan rounded the beam, her beaded skirt clicking and white skin ghostly in the light. One hand held her staff, the other held her child.

"There he is, Mother," said young Jo. He'd grown in the past months, gaining inches in height and in his unruly red hair, his face becoming more elven. He twisted to look up at Morrigan. "I told you I could hear him calling."

"Yes, you did." Morrigan's opalescent gaze never left Fenris and Anders where they lay entwined together. "I'm glad to see you alive, Fenris. The dark god underestimated you. His downfall."

Jo snorted. "We should have fought him, Mother." He shook her hand. "I could have killed him easy. I wanted to. He was scaring my 'spawn."

"No, Child. He would have known you for what you are and never let you near him. But Fenris... he wanted you, and you took your opportunity to destroy him. And his Eluvian, I see." One thin black brow lifted toward the sparkling stars of broken glass. "A pity. They are quite rare."

Fenris swallowed and found his voice. "Not rare enough."

Anders, perhaps sparked by Fenris' voice, growled and began to struggle. Fenris lost his grip on one of his arms and Anders twisted, a hand raised to claw at him.

He stopped, frozen, his broken fingernails hovering an inch from Jo's face. The boy had slipped near and put himself within the arc of Anders' blow, close enough for Fenris to see the youthful scab on the bottom of his chin and a smudge of dirt on his forehead. He stared into Anders' face and his eyes seemed to glow yellow.

"I hear you," he said calmly. "You have the poison in your blood. The sleeping Archdemon is calling you to him." He touched Anders' wrist and pushed his arm away so he could move closer, until they were nearly nose to nose. "You must not listen to him." His youthful grin was out of place next to Anders' frozen snarl as he said, "Listen to me, instead. The other Archdemons are old and boring. I'm much more fun. Follow me."

"Jo," Morrigan said sternly. "We are not here to recruit an army."

"Aw, Mother." He turned a wounded, glowing stare toward her. "But I want an army. The other Archdemons have armies."

"The other Archdemons are sleeping," she replied wryly. "And you refuse to go to bed when I tell you. When you can do that, you can have an army."

Deflated, Jo returned to Anders. "Mother won't let me keep you," he said. "But I won't let one of those old lizards have you, either." He placed his small hand on Anders' dusty, black-spattered cheek and leaned in. "You can just tell them to leave you alone." He pressed Anders' jaw and, when Anders' lips parted, he drew a deep breath.

Black mist appeared between Anders' lips and hissed out, first in a trickle, then in a stream. It flowed into Jo's mouth and disappeared as his inhale went on and on, impossibly long. His eyes brightened, became fiery.

The veins at Anders' temples retreated. His body relaxed in Fenris' embrace and his eyes closed. He released a sigh and his head dropped back against Fenris' shoulder.

Fenris feared the worst. He gathered Anders close, his sight blurring with moisture. He choked when Anders suddenly inhaled. Another breath followed, clearer than the first. The death rattle was gone, replaced by normal hoarseness.

"Anders," Fenris whispered. "Are you alive?" He forced Anders' chin up and searched his face for life and awareness. "Anders!"

Anders' eyelids fluttered. He wet his lips and coughed. "Fenris?" When he looked up, his pupils had lost the cloudiness of Blight. "Am I... dead?" He frowned. "You're not supposed to be here."

"Idiot." Fenris gathered him in. "You are an idiot."

"Ow. Ow, ow, ow." Anders didn't try to pull away, but he did flinch and grab his arm. "I can't be dead," he hissed. "This hurts too much."

"I broke your arm."

"Of course you did." Anders didn't sound unhappy about it. His head dropped back against Fenris' shoulder. "What happened? I can't hear the Archdemon's call anymore. There was another voice..."

"Your future master," Jo said.

"Jo," Morrigan warned.

"Fine. I might be your future master. If you ever catch Blight again."

"But how? Who are you? What are you?"

"I am Jo." He planted his fists on his hips and tossed his head.

"The Warden's son," Fenris supplied. "Conceived at the death of the Archdemon. I do not know why he is helping us, when we were responsible for his father's death."

"The Warden was responsible for himself," Morrigan said. "He could never leave well enough alone. He only has himself to blame. Jo also cannot leave well enough alone. He wanted to help, but we could not come until the Destroyer was back where he belongs."

"I want to help Uncle Zevran and Fenris," Jo added. "But then I heard you." He poked Anders' forehead. "I am not going to let those old demons have you when Fenris wants to keep you."

"That... explains almost nothing." Anders' sighed. "But you have my thanks. My mind is empty."

"That is obvious whenever you open your mouth," Fenris said dryly.

Anders snorted. "I mean, there's no Justice, no Archdemon. Only my own thoughts."

"Then it must be very quiet." Fenris chuckled and held Anders close when he tried to squirm away. "A quiet mind is good. You can choose your own thoughts. You are free."

"I suppose I am. As are you." The light brown of his eyes became shadowed. "But free to do what? I don't think I can face everyone. Not after what's happened. Not after what I've done."

"Take us with you." Fenris lifted his gaze to Morrigan. "Take us somewhere far from here."

"I can take you very far indeed. But I cannot guarantee your return."

He nodded. "Please."

"Then come."

Fenris and Anders carefully picked themselves up. After sitting so long in one position, Fenris had to fight his body to get it to move. His joints screamed their agony, one of his feet had gone numb, and each movement jarred his injured hand. Anders didn't seem much better off. He clasped his broken arm to his chest and had to stop halfway to his feet to double over in a fit of coughing. At each bark and hack, rocks clattered around them, making Fenris wonder if they wouldn't be crushed after all.

"Come," he urged, taking Anders' raggedly feathered shoulder. "You can cough up your lungs later."

Anders' eyes watered, but he nodded as he shoved his good arm against his mouth. Fenris helped him stumble after Morrigan.

She led them, Jo prancing alongside, to the watery purple opening of her Eluvian. Fenris shuddered inwardly at the sight and feel of it, remembering the intense nausea it caused. Through the light, he could faintly glimpse the spires and domes of another world.

"Where do you want to go?" Morrigan asked over her smooth, milky shoulder. Her eyes caught the light and seemed to glow.

"Far from here," Fenris supplied. "It does not matter, so long as we are together."

She smiled thinly, turned, and strode through. Jo trotted after, kicking a stone out of his path. The stone bounced away, hit something, and there was a crack in the distance, followed by another, then another. There was a creaking and grinding, and Fenris knew they were out of time. He held Anders more firmly around the back and propelled them both through the Eluvian.