Notes: I'm sorry if this chapter crosses any lines in terms of depicting unpleasant domestic disputes. As you likely gathered, the adult members of this household have a lot of emotional problems and have not actually resolved or even acknowledged the existence of the most explosive ones, so this is about to ignite.
Song inspiration is "Bird Song" by Florence + the Machine.
Chapter 26: He Sang So Loud, Sang So Clear
In the next few weeks, Caitlyn found herself looking back fondly: the pleasant mornings waking up with Anders and feeling renewed closeness to him, the relief that—for however long the interlude lasted—they did not have to toil away for coin or for ambition, and even the end of Leandra's annoying wedding plans. In the back of her mind, however, she knew that the blissful period would not last. Nothing ever did, good or bad. The mortal world might be more permanent than the Fade, but nothing was truly permanent here either. She knew that something would happen to end it.
The trouble started when Leandra continued to seat Anders at the head of the table for dinner and he made no objection to it. It was as though she truly did regard him as the head of household now. She should be that herself, Caitlyn thought after the third time it happened. She is the legal owner of this property. She is "Lady Hawke," since the Viscount reinstated the title of nobility too. But if she does not want to act as the head of household, I should be. I basically got us this house. I was always the oldest child, and I'm the only one who now... lives here.
She felt a pang of guilt; Anders had done so much for the family, and his intervention in the Deep Roads had kept it from being even further diminished. The death of Carver would have been a tragedy from which they probably could not have recovered, after losing Malcolm and Bethany already. Anders had prevented that. But so have I, she thought. Anders would have died in the Deep Roads too if I hadn't known that healing spell, after the wraith hurt him so badly. He had the ingredients for the Joining potion, and I'm sure I would have attempted to make it when Carver became ill even if it meant scavenging Anders' body... but I doubt I would have succeeded. I don't know the correct proportions. Both of them would have died without my spell—and we would not have been in the expedition at all without my work earning most of the coin. So what if Uncle Gamlen stole it? I could have gotten us in if he hadn't. The fact that Anders played hero, as Carver put it, was something that shouldn't even have been necessary. Mother should acknowledge me as Anders' equal, and instead she takes my contributions for granted and defers to whatever man in the family is there.
However, there were some nights when Anders did not take the head seat, because he was still at the clinic. One night in Cloudreach, he emerged from the basement, flustered and distracted. He pushed Mal gently at his mother.
"I want to stay!" Mal said, stamping his foot.
"It's dinnertime," Anders said, arranging his coat.
"Then it's dinnertime for you too," Mal pointed out as Anders headed back toward the steps leading downward.
"Wait," Caitlyn said. "Are you going back?"
He halted and sighed, rubbing the top of his head. "I'm really sorry, love," he said, meaning it, "but it's been a bad day. A lot of refugees are showing up with flu."
Caitlyn's hackles instantly rose—as did her concern. "Flu?" she said sharply. "And you let Mal stay with you all day? I understand that you have to encounter illness, but to expose him—"
"I've had him behind a magical barrier today," he said, sounding and looking tired.
"I want to go back!" the boy insisted.
Caitlyn turned to him with a frown. "No, Mal. It is dinnertime for you, and from the sounds of it, you shouldn't have been there at all. Your father is treating people with a very contagious disease—and I wish he had not let you stay there while they came in, 'magical barrier' or not," she finished, directing the last at Anders with a very hard look.
"He isn't going to get sick, and neither am I. I ward my own face when I'm treating someone who has it. I'm trying to keep it from becoming a city-wide epidemic," Anders explained. "You know what could happen if this isn't controlled, and what Kirkwallers will say if it spreads beyond the refugees and people start dying. This is important... and it's the right thing to do, as well."
She was torn. He was right, both about its being the right thing to do and the political importance of preventing a deadly epidemic that would be blamed on Fereldans, and she knew it. This might be Justice speaking, but it was also Anders, and this compassion and righteousness were why she loved him. And yet, at the same time...
"Why does it always have to be you?" Her words were weary and resigned.
He gave her a sad look. "Because no one else with the power to do anything about it cares."
An idea occurred to her. "I could ask Mother Petrice to send some Chantry brothers and sisters. I'm sure she would like the good publicity—"
"I'm sure she would, but that might do more harm than good," he said. "They can dispense herbs to relieve symptoms, but only a mage Healer can actually treat the disease or cast glyphs to prevent its spread through the air. And they're all locked up in the Circle or else afraid that Meredith Stannard will arrest them if they try to help people. That is the problem." He picked up his staff again, which he had set down, and gave her a heavy, regretful look. "I'll be in when I can, love."
She stared miserably as he headed down the basement steps, then led Mal into the dining room.
"Father isn't coming to dinner," Mal pouted to his grandmother. "He's treating sick people."
"Apparently there is a burgeoning flu outbreak among the Darktown refugees," Caitlyn explained, "and poor Anders has to be the sole dam holding back the flood." She was feeling rather peeved about the situation herself, though her anger was currently directed at Meredith Stannard, Viscount Dumar, and Grand Cleric Elthina rather than anyone in her family.
"Oh, no," the older lady exclaimed. "I hope he's taking care of himself!"
"He says he is."
"Still, we must save a plate of food for him for when he comes in. Poor darling."
Caitlyn agreed—but her feeling of goodwill for her family faded quickly when her mother set a plate down in front of her at her usual seat, leaving the place setting at the head seat empty.
This is petty, she tried to tell herself, swallowing her sudden surge of irritation. Anders is doing good work. I shouldn't focus on something like this.
Anders did not come back to the house at all that night, however. At last Caitlyn gave up, exasperated with him once again—even though she felt guilty about feeling that way. For a brief moment she considered going to the Darktown clinic to check on him, but she put that idea aside. He knows it's late. It's not my duty to drag him away from the sickbed if he won't take care of his needs himself, and I don't know how to cast warding glyphs like his. I would be exposing myself to contagion. Let him stay late into the night, if he's determined to do it.
For the first time since she had moved in with him the day Gamlen had stolen her money—because she had slept by his side in the Deep Roads too—Caitlyn slept alone.
The bed was still all hers when she woke up the next morning. Her first thought was alarm. What if something had happened to him in the clinic? Even if he took precautions against contracting an illness, he could still be attacked. With that fear in mind, she hurried into a day dress and shuffled downstairs, where her mother was already making breakfast.
"Have you seen Anders? Did he already leave?" she asked Leandra. She didn't think he had been there and left already, but she needed to be sure.
"I haven't seen him this morning. You mean he never came in?"
Caitlyn's eyes widened. "His pillow didn't look used. I don't think he ever came in. Maker—I'm going to the clinic at once."
"I hope he's all right," Leandra said, worried.
Caitlyn rushed down the stairs into the basement, lifted the trapdoor, and stepped through the passage into Darktown, near the clinic. It was early, before it officially opened, and no one was waiting outside.
What am I going to find in there? she thought, her imagination suddenly taking over in a terrible way. His mangled body? Or—nothing at all? According to Ser Thrask, there are still two powerful rogue Templars here in Kirkwall even after we killed Ser Karras, not counting the Knight-Commander herself. One of them tried to prevent us from taking possession of the house. Someone laid a trap for him before, with poor Karl, knowing that he was a Grey Warden. They might have...
She tried to clear her mind of these thoughts. Whatever lay inside, she needed to just see it and face it. She pushed the doors—and found, with suddenly spiking alarm, that they were unlocked. Her heart thumping in her chest so loudly that she could hear it, she stepped inside and gazed around quickly, fearing the worst.
Anders was sitting on a stool in a far corner, slumped over a patient bed, his head buried in crossed arms. She hurried over to him to get a closer look. His chest was heaving. He was asleep.
Her terror for him suddenly transformed to anger. So this is why he didn't come in? He just decided to sleep here in the clinic, barely a month after our wedding? She shook him roughly. "Wake up!" she snapped.
He blinked awake and tried to sit upright, groaning in pain as he did. Apparently sleeping this way had given him a bad backache. She found that she did not particularly care and glared hard at him as he carefully turned around, wincing and casting a quick healing spell at himself to loosen his muscles. "What time is it?" he asked, sounding weak. His stomach let out a rumble of hunger. "Late, I guess... I'm sorry, love. Let's go. I'm really sorry you had to do this in the middle of—"
"The middle of nothing. It's morning," she retorted, her voice extremely hostile.
He blanched. "Oh, Andraste's blood," he cursed, getting to his feet. "You're serious? You're serious," he answered himself at once. "I am so sorry."
"You should be. Mother saved a plate of food for you last night, assuming you would come."
His stomach rumbled again. He glanced down self-consciously. "Erm, if it is morning... I suppose I should get started... do you still have that food, though? I understand if one of you ate it..."
"You want me to bring you food now?" she said hotly. "After you spend the entire night here and intend to start another day immediately? Are you coming in tonight, Anders?"
"Yes," he promised. "I swear, love."
His use of the word suddenly irritated her; it felt like manipulation, even though his expression was sincere and penitent. She breathed deeply in and out through her nose, trying to cool herself. "I'll hold you to that. And if you break your word, you can just feed yourself."
"Cait," he pleaded, "I really am sorry."
"I thought you might be dead!" she exploded suddenly. "I thought you might have been attacked, or abducted by zealot Templars, or deathly ill! And instead you just decided to take a nap!"
"I didn't mean to," he said. "I just... wanted to rest, after the last patient left. And if you thought I was in danger, why didn't you check on me in the night?"
"Because I was asleep," she said. "I didn't worry about you until this morning. You've been staying later and later, so I kind of expected that you would eventually not show up until I was already sleeping. I became alarmed when you weren't in bed today." She glared at him. "And how dare you try to blame me for this. This is your fault."
"I'm not blaming you. I know it's my fault."
"And didn't your familiar spirit have a sense of time in the Fade? I know we don't, but wouldn't he have some idea of what time it was while you were dreaming?"
"No. He doesn't. The Fade is the same for a spirit, Caitlyn. Maybe even more so."
The same tiny flames that flickered uncontrollably on her palms when she was angry began to dance in her hands. She tried again to calm herself. "All right," she said. "I'll bring your dinner, or breakfast, or whatever meal it is now, to you. Mal is not coming here today, though."
He nodded penitently. "I understand."
She turned aside and headed back to the house.
Anders did come back to the house for dinner that evening. Caitlyn found that her annoyance at him had barely subsided, and when her mother set his place at the head seat, it was all she could do not to throw fire at someone—which of the two, she was not sure.
Calm yourself, she urged herself. He should have had more awareness last night, but he did keep his word today, and he is trying to prevent a deadly epidemic from occurring, knowing that nobody else can help. He is under more stress than any of us, I'm sure—and Mother's behavior has nothing to do with it. That's a separate issue.
He is happy to accept what she does, she thought.
But he has a lot on his mind. I doubt he thinks about the import of it. I doubt he even notices. There is no smugness in his face. If anything, he's preoccupied. Mother's conduct is not his fault.
But as her mother fussed over him at the table, offering effusive praise for his self-sacrificing work as a Healer and complimenting what a kindhearted, compassionate person he was—emphasizing what he did for the Hawkes and not saying a word about Caitlyn herself—Caitlyn found her mood souring in spite of her resolution.
After dinner, they read to Mal, bathed, and went to bed. Anders clearly wanted to make it up to her in an intimate way, and after some initial reluctance to let him touch her at all, she decided that she deserved this. She also decided that he was not going to lead tonight. She did not hold back—and after she shoved him into the pillow, he stared up at her, eyes wide, stunned at her roughness and ferocity, but clearly enjoying it a lot.
They had not yet used the gifts that Isabela had given them, and they both seemed very hesitant to use the rings. It was intriguing, but also a little frightening—not because either of them feared the other would deliberately abuse the gold ring, but because they did not want to inadvertently do anything that they would regret later, once they had taken the rings off. If they ever used those, they would definitely plan every detail of the entire encounter before either of them put on a ring. That was in the future, however, if it ever happened at all—and Caitlyn was in no mood tonight for anything other than taking him as hard and as roughly as she could. It provided the illusion of control, she thought, and that was something she felt that she sorely needed.
"That was amazing," he gasped once they were finished.
She got off him and lay down beside him, feeling much better. "I do my best," she said lightly.
He laughed and pulled her close.
In the coming days, despite Anders' best intentions, the flu outbreak in Darktown spread, and he kept long hours again, coming in weary and tired each night and welcoming Leandra's ever-ready stream of fussing when he did arrive at home.
"It's not an epidemic—yet," he said as Leandra handed him a hot drink and a blanket. "The number of cases continues to grow, but not as fast as it might. This is still controllable." He closed his bloodshot eyes, rubbing them tiredly. "I knew this would happen—I knew there would be more cases—and I also know that it'll decrease soon, but it's still discouraging to be in the middle of this stage. Even knowing how these things happen, there is a point where you just wonder... is this going to stop? Am I going to succeed at curbing the outbreak?"
"You will. You're doing so much for the poor," Leandra said tenderly. "You're doing more than anyone. Try to stay positive."
Caitlyn felt a pang at the fact that her mother had encouraged him before she had. "Yes," she agreed, "you're going to get it under control. I know you can."
"Yes. You're a hero," Mal chimed in innocently.
Anders managed a weak smile.
Caitlyn had spent her free hours in the daytime in the family library, as they had discussed, but nothing she had yet read had inspired her. Those Tevinter books are still there, she thought unbidden—but she did not want to touch them. Once a mage went down that path, it was difficult to come back from it, so her father had always taught her and Bethany.
When Fenris, Merrill, and Aveline visited her the following day, talking about an alleged slaver operation on the Sundermount that they would like to root out, she almost did not want to go. It would surely only cause problems in the household if she hared off on dangerous adventures again.
These are my friends, she instantly chastised herself. Fenris once was a slave, and if these slavers are on the Sundermount, they could be threatening the Dalish. I should go. I have asked them to help me defend mages before.
Leandra was not happy about it, however. "It's always you!" she exclaimed, right in front of the group. "Why must you try to fix everything that is wrong in the world?" Behind Caitlyn, all three of her friends shifted and scowled.
That sounds like what I told him, she thought—and her mother realized it too. "You and Anders are exactly alike and someday I'm just afraid that it's going to..." She broke off and took a deep breath. "All right. I will take care of Mal. I hope Anders comes home at a reasonable time, in case this is a protracted pursuit."
Caitlyn and her three friends headed off to the countryside. The party was an awkward mix. Fenris was only mildly friendly to Caitlyn and was not friendly to Merrill at all, and Aveline disapproved of Fenris's "squatting" in his former master's Hightown mansion. After some brief conversation with Fenris—which tapered off once she began to complain about the flu outbreak in Darktown, Anders' long hours, and, especially, the lack of mage Healers to help him—no one had much to say. Varric and sometimes Isabela could make awkward social situations more comfortable, but they were not here.
Caitlyn also reflected darkly on the fact that she had taken up an opportunity to inflict yet more violence. That a slaver gang deserved it was beside the point. Maybe this really is all that I'm good at doing, she thought darkly. Maybe I'm not cut out for anything but killing. This dark thought sustained her until they came upon the first group of slavers—who recognized Fenris immediately.
After this group was defeated, Fenris turned to Caitlyn. "Hadriana," he seethed, almost to himself. "I was a fool to think I was free. They'll never let me be!"
Hadriana, it turned out, was the apprentice of Danarius, Fenris's former master. Caitlyn was not sure that they should pursue a probable Tevinter blood mage without a large team for reinforcement, but Fenris was adamant about doing it as quickly as possible.
"I can match her," Merrill suddenly said, her tone darker than Caitlyn had ever heard before. Greenish magic swirled around her as she spoke.
Fenris glowered, Aveline glanced askance at the Dalish elf, and Caitlyn raised her eyebrows. "Let's not do that immediately," she urged. "But... as a last resort... better to be saved by blood magic than for all of us to die by it!"
Fenris and Aveline sighed, but Merrill gave Caitlyn a smile. "I agree," she said lightly, her tone innocent again. "But I'll use Keeper magic first, as you wish."
They followed the trail to an ancient structure, which Caitlyn supposed must have been erected in the days of the old Imperium when Kirkwall was called Emerius and was the biggest slave-trade port in south Thedas. Fenris became more and more dour as they advanced through the... temple, or whatever it was, striking down undead and shades that had been raised by dark magic. When at last they reached a room with living people in it, it became all too apparent that there was someone among them that the slavers could use as a hostage or living shield: an elven slave.
It was a difficult fight, because they did not want to harm her, but at last these slavers lay dead, and the elven woman was shaking in fear. She had never known anything but slavery in Tevinter and had no knowledge of Dalish or southern alienage culture.
She won't fit in anywhere, Caitlyn suddenly realized. It was tough for Fenris, who had also been a Tevinter slave and had no connection to either form of elven culture, but he was a great warrior and had a purpose in life: vengeance on Danarius and discovering what freedom meant to him. This elf, whose name was Orana, was a defenseless house servant and was thus even worse off.
"You could work for my family if you like," Caitlyn offered, the words tripping off her tongue before she realized it. When her friends all stared at her in shock, she added at once, "For pay. And you could quit whenever you wanted and work for someone else, because we don't believe in slavery here. You also don't have to do this."
She did want to do it, however, and was thrilled by the novelty of being paid for her work. Caitlyn hoped that she had made the right decision. Her mother could certainly use some help and companionship around the house and with Mal.
When they finally came upon Hadriana, who had become a magister in her own right and immediately started to use blood magic to raise shades, another fight ensued quickly. Fortunately Merrill was able to make short work of the summonings and Caitlyn sent volley after volley of fire at the magister, finding a sort of release in unleashing an inferno on someone who thoroughly deserved it. It was not a solution for the problems at home, Caitlyn knew, but it made her feel better for now. At last Hadriana was drained and burned, tumbling to the ground and begging for her life. Caitlyn was not inclined to oblige her—and Fenris certainly wasn't, even after the magister tried to buy her life with information about a supposed sister in Tevinter that Fenris still had. After she had nothing more to say, he thrust his hand into her chest and crushed her heart.
Merrill and Aveline had judiciously turned aside for this, and they had no inclination to do anything except leave as quickly as possible. Caitlyn, however, thought it a good idea to at least ask him what he thought about the possibility of having family.
He scoffed. "This could be a trap! Danarius could have sent Hadriana here to tell me about this 'sister.'"
Unfortunately, Caitlyn could easily see his point. Elves in Tevinter were treated appallingly, and it was almost inconceivable that slave-holding magisters would acknowledge a blood relationship between two elves at all. Elves were property in Tevinter, and property didn't have families. Unless she meant "half-sister" and this woman is an elf-blooded human, Caitlyn thought—but given the likelihood that Fenris's mother had been a slave too, that idea opened up an extremely ugly probability of just why a male magister would acknowledge Fenris's "sister." Caitlyn found herself hoping that he was right and that there was no sister at all, just a trap.
Fenris continued, still raging. "Even if he didn't, trying to find her would still be suicide! Danarius has to know about her and has to know that Hadriana knows." He glowered into the distance. "Bah. I don't care. All that really matters is that I finally got to crush this bitch's heart. May she rot and all the other mages with her."
That got Caitlyn's attention—and Merrill's too. "Excuse me?" Caitlyn exploded, whirling around to face him. "Mages just saved your hide! If you hadn't killed that woman, I would have!"
He drew back as if she had struck him. For a moment, his visage hardened even further with anger, but then he wavered. "Hawke—it's not—I just don't think of you as a mage. I didn't mean..."
"Oh, we both know you did mean it," Merrill said, her fey voice angry and disappointed.
"I am a mage," Caitlyn snarled. "Instead of trying to forget that little inconvenient truth, it wouldn't hurt you to try to distinguish between mages like me—like us—and like her!" She gestured at Hadriana's dead body, then turned to Merrill. "And you didn't say a word excepting Merrill, I noticed. Or Anders, or my dead father and sister, or maybe my son. Come on, Merrill, let's go. I've had enough." Defiantly she linked her arm with Merrill's, then turned to the elven maid Orana, who had stayed in the background. "You should come too, unless you have changed your mind. Which is your right to do," she added at once.
Orana shook her head. "No, my lady, I have not changed my mind."
"You should apologize for that," Aveline said in an undertone to Fenris as the group split up, but Caitlyn and Merrill stormed away nevertheless.
Everyone takes me for granted, Caitlyn fumed all the way back to the city. Even friends and family... or maybe especially them. They take me for granted and show no appreciation at best—or blame and hostility at worst. That's the last time I help that ingrate with his problems! Let him hunt every slaver in creation—by himself. I am done. Unless slavers directly attack me, I'm not fighting them again if this is the thanks I get for it, being grouped with them because of something I was born with! I'm done helping other people... except Mal. He is my responsibility. But no one else! No one else gives a damn about what I do anyway. Why should I bother? Better to take care of myself, my child, and pursue a cause on behalf of people I don't know and who don't know me. Maybe it's just fine if I lose everyone else in that, because people who "care" for me only take advantage of me.
She glanced at the Dalish elf walking beside her and felt guilty. She hasn't taken advantage of me. She is a true friend. I shouldn't include her in that thought. When Merrill departed for her house in the alienage, Caitlyn gave her a hug and pointedly urged her to visit whenever she wanted to, then headed with Orana to her own home.
Her mother was dismayed when Caitlyn showed up at the door with the elven servant. "I know you meant well, dear, but... shouldn't we get Anders' approval for this?"
Caitlyn drew her breath sharply. "We don't need his approval," she snarled. "You own this house. Her wages will come from our money."
Leandra raised her eyebrows, surprised at her daughter's degree of vehemence. "He is a member of the family," she offered. "He should have input..."
"You didn't say input; you said approval. As if we need his permission. And again, it is our wealth and our family house, Mother." She turned to Orana. "I'm sorry about that. I have hired you, if nothing else—and don't read too much into my mother's words. I don't know what things are like in Tevinter, but women have the right to hire personal servants in the Free Marches." She breathed deeply, trying to calm herself. "Come. Let me introduce you to my four-year-old boy."
Orana knew how to play the lute, and she had an excellent ear for music. She was able to pick out traditional tunes from Bethany's old songbooks almost immediately.
As the elf began to play the ballads with Mal singing along, Caitlyn felt a kind of melancholy at the memories. She wished that she could bring herself to sing, but she just couldn't yet. She was smiling in spite of her sad feelings, though; this domestic scene was a relief after today.
Leandra stuck her head through the door. "Cait, dear, Fenris is waiting outside to talk to you."
Her good feeling suddenly dissipated. "I do not want to see him, Mother."
"But... he says he is sorry... for what, he didn't say, but..."
"I know what he means. I don't want to talk to him about it yet. I'm still too angry. Tell him I'll visit him when I'm ready to discuss it. He doesn't get to dictate terms, not after what he said."
Leandra gave her a pained glance but disappeared to take the message. Caitlyn scowled to herself as Orana and Mal continued to sing. At least Fenris was sorry... as well he should be... but she had had enough demands from people lately. More than enough. He could bloody well wait for her to acknowledge his apology—and think hard about his words while he waited.
Anders trudged in late, after Caitlyn had put Mal to bed and Orana had been settled into a room that she deemed "small enough" for herself. His eyes were bloodshot, his shoulders were slumped, and he looked more devastated than Caitlyn had seen in a long time as he collapsed in his chair in the sitting room.
"What's the matter?" she asked him, handing him a nightcap.
He set the drink down on the side table and gazed at her bleakly. "I lost a patient. And not to the Blight sickness this time—to the flu."
Caitlyn sat down near him. "This is the first time this has ever happened?"
He looked at her in surprise that this was her reaction. "Yes," he said edgily. "It's the first time I've ever failed to save someone whom it was possible to save."
"Young, old, in-between?"
He gaped at her. "Does it matter?" he burst out.
"Well... no... but if I were a Healer, I think I'd feel worse about losing a child, so in that sense, it matters."
Anders closed his eyes and covered his face, staying silent for a moment. Finally he spoke. "It was an elderly woman. She waited a long time to see me. Too long," he croaked. "The illness was too advanced. And I had just healed someone else who had it. Cait... I used up my lyrium supply from the Grey Wardens today. That was why she died."
She was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry."
"The Warden-Commander didn't anticipate anything like this," he whispered. "She has sent me enough lyrium for a few injured patients a day and people suffering from exposure and exhaustion, not to curb an outbreak of disease. She has a lot of former apostates in the Wardens now, too, and isn't in great odor with the Circle in Ferelden because of that, so I don't know how much longer she can..."
"Is there anything I might do to help with the epidemic?" Caitlyn finally asked. "I know only the one spell, but..."
He shook his head. "I appreciate that, darling, but it won't work. That spell is meant to repair damage to flesh. It works against diseases that are caused by such damage, but diseases like this are caused by something else. I have to rally the body's own defenses and target the infection itself for this kind of illness."
She considered. "Varric might know how to get more lyrium for you. Or... well, I did work for a smuggling ring a year ago."
He considered this briefly before shaking his head again. "I'll just have to let Justice renew me after each patient until the next shipment arrives. That's all there is to it. It is not the duty of the Warden-Commander of Ferelden to prevent an epidemic in Kirkwall."
"But you and Justice believe that duty is yours."
He rose to his feet and walked to the closest window, staring out, not looking at her. "Yes. We believe that those who can take action should. You and I disagree about this," he finally said. "I don't want to fight, love."
That assertion about herself only raised her hackles, even though she had been thinking something very similar to that on the way back from the slavers' lair. "You're wrong. I don't disagree about the principle at all," she argued. "Just..."
"Just this example of putting it into practice?" he said bitterly. "Cait, this is no different from the two of us wanting to change life for mages if we can. I have to do this, and you have to let me."
She drew back, offended and hurt. "I'm not trying to stop you. I just... wish you wouldn't take so much on yourself. You say that no one can help you, no one can risk being exposed as an apostate, there's no point in asking Lady Cousland for more lyrium, no one can smuggle you any on the black market, and I apparently couldn't learn other spells that target infections. I'm starting to think you're choosing to isolate yourself so that you can be a hero—or a martyr," she said darkly. "Perhaps not a literal one... but I do wonder now if there's a part of you that wants the outbreak to become a pandemic in order to prove what happens when Healers are locked up or scared into the shadows."
Anders drew up sharply. His eyebrows narrowed in anger, and the telltale light of the spirit blazed from his eyes. "No true Healer would ever want people to become ill and suffer," he said, his voice not quite Justice's but not his own either.
Caitlyn drew back, suddenly frightened—and angry. "Control yourself," she snapped.
"You accuse me—"
"I said 'I wonder,'" she said. "I'm not accusing you of anything."
He softened. "Then you are wrong."
"Good. I hope I'm wrong," she said. "But I would like to know why you are determined against everything I suggest to try to help, if that's not the reason."
He softened further, and the spirit-light receded. When he spoke again, his voice was his own. "Ask Varric about lyrium, then. Something might come of that. But as for the rest... Maker, I wish there was more that could be done! I wish the Warden-Commander could send me more lyrium, but she doesn't control the source, and she has a lot of mage Wardens to provide for too. I wish I could recruit apostates from the Mage Underground to help me—but I can't ask that of anyone! They're trying to escape Kirkwall, mostly. I couldn't ask them to postpone their plans, to endanger themselves. I certainly couldn't ask you to learn all about healing. It's years' worth of study, not something that you could learn in time to help me with this. I wish you could, but no one can learn the discipline that fast. Trust me, I know."
Caitlyn sighed. "I'll talk to Varric, then. I wish I could do more."
"I know." He gave her a quick hug, then released her. "Go on to bed, love. I'll join you later, after I eat and wash."
Caitlyn was wandering in the Fade that night, pursued by a horde of people begging her for favors and offering promissory notes with indefinite dates as "payment" for her assistance, when she felt herself being pulled out of the dreamworld and back into the physical realm. As she came to, she realized that Anders was thrashing beside her. The spirit-light of Justice was crackling down his body and illuminating the orbs of his eyes, glowing brightly through the thin skin of his eyelids.
Her dream had not been pleasant, but at least she had been sleeping—until now. Seeing him like this, disturbing her rest, with Justice apparently taking him over in the Fade but not trying to reshape it to control whatever nightmare he was trapped in, suddenly incensed her. What good is having a familiar spirit if it's just a parasite and doesn't do anything to stop this? she thought furiously.
She was not in the mood to be gentle. Casting frost on the palms of her hands, she slapped him hard across the face.
He awoke with a start and a shout, gulping for air like a fish stranded onshore. "Maker's breath!" he exclaimed, clutching his cheeks. He gazed at her. The white frost on her palms was fading, but her facial expression was one of fury. "Oh, no," he said. "I was thrashing about, wasn't I? Did I hurt you? I'm so sorry if I did—I didn't know it—"
"You woke me up," she said icily, not answering his question, deciding to let him wonder. "What in the Void is Justice's problem? He was in charge, from the way it looked. Can't he exert any control over your nightmares at all?"
Anders propped himself up and sighed deeply. "It's not as simple as that," he said. "He's not a distinct entity anymore. We... bleed together. And the nightmare... Maker, it was awful." He gazed miserably at her. "I expected one, I admit, but I thought it would be about the outbreak. And it was... but..." He hung his head and covered his eyes. "It was a medley of the worst nightmares I've had. The outbreak killed all of our friends... the Templars took Mal away when he was trying to save people... your mother turned up dead and dismembered... and then when I noticed that you were nowhere to be found, I remembered—in the Fade—that you had been left in the Deep Roads—"
"Anders," Caitlyn warned him, pretty sure that she knew what his dream about her had been, and not wanting to hear it. In fact, she had not wanted to hear any of these horrors. Why was he inflicting his nightmare on her?
"So your brother and I went back to that thaig with all the red lyrium in it to find you," he whispered, "and there you were—as that beast I told you about once, the broodmother—"
Something inside her snapped. Perhaps it was the stress of the past several days, with the flu outbreak taking him away from her so much, her mother's exasperating behavior and disregard of Caitlyn herself, Fenris's viciously ungrateful comment, and the mounting feeling that none of this was ever going to get better, but she had suddenly had enough. "Shut up," she snapped at him.
He drew back from her, shocked. "What?" he said.
"You heard me. Do you imagine I want to hear this? Get back to sleep, and if you interrupt my rest again, I'll send you into dreamless sleep if I have to, so help me. I have had it."
Anders stared at her as the shocked expression on his face changed into an angry one. "What do you mean, you've had it? Had it with what? My long hours, trying to prevent this disease from becoming a pandemic? Do you think I want this to happen? Oh, wait—as you said earlier, you do."
This was unlike him. He was normally patient, pacifist, and considerate of her when she was angry, not like this. Having her own words thrown back at her was like at last mixing the volatile chemicals that had been separated—barely—for days. A blazing rage suffused her as she threw the covers back. "You have no idea!" she shouted, completely unconcerned about waking up the rest of the household. "You think it's all about yourself—your healing, your bad dreams."
"Oh, I am selfish!" he retorted. "That's rich!" He glared at her. "I have always—always!—listened to you when you have nightmares. Is it so much to ask you to show me a little consideration when I have one? You're not the only person who has suffered, you know."
Caitlyn could hardly believe her ears. She would have assumed that this was Justice speaking but for the fact that no sign of the spirit was present—no bluish-white light, no change in the timbre of his voice. This was all Anders, as hard as that was for her to believe. "I never said I was, but you have some nerve expecting me to listen to you narrate your awful dreams and what happens to me in them!"
"I've listened to you," he said again, glowering. "I've listened to you tell me about yours. I listened to you before our wedding when you made that awful comment about marrying for politics—and then became sad and weepy about it, telling me about your problems! I have given and given, and it seems that most of what you do is take."
That assertion was like a poisoned blade to her, after her own thoughts about feeling taken for granted and not being appreciated. Caitlyn stormed from the bed, getting to her feet and glaring back at him as if she wanted to pounce. "You 'gave' because you owed us," she said menacingly, aware that she was saying this to hurt him, aware in the back of her mind that she was deliberately breaking her promise about cruelty, but not caring. "After what happened to this family because you knew us—as you said yourself, or used to, about people having bad things happen to them because they knew you—you owed us."
Anders got out of bed too and stared fiercely at her from the other side. "If I did, I have paid that debt with interest. My maps got you through the Deep Roads and therefore got you this house," he said. "My Warden potion saved your brother's life."
"I saved your life first."
"I taught you the spell to do it."
"I still cast it. I braved that wraith's attack to drag your arse back and heal you. I did it, and how dare you try to take credit to yourself and diminish what I do! You're just like all the others around here, aren't you?"
"What are you talking about?" he exclaimed, some of the anger suddenly melting away as it dawned on him that her outrage might not actually be about him. What was it about, though? What was she so angry about? Anders realized, with a pang, that he had been out of the house and in the clinic so much lately that he really didn't know.
"You don't see it, do you? You genuinely don't see it. Typical." Scorn filled her words.
She did not seem inclined to tell him, and with that, the anger surged up in him once again. He was not going to stand there and be her scapegoat for some unknown thing that he had not done deliberately—if at all—but which she would not even explain. "Look, I don't know who you're really angry with, but I will not let you take it out on me this time. You want everyone to think you're so tough and hard, just like the character in Varric's serial. The vigilante who takes no prisoners, the Fereldan who stands up for herself, the mage who isn't ashamed of it, who makes pragmatic deals with ruthless priests to depose the Grand Cleric. The future Viscountess, maybe! But behind closed doors, you use me for emotional support—and you know, that's fine; it's our job to do that for each other. For each other," he repeated, emphasizing the words. "You suffered. I realize that. You're trying to make things better here and it's hard for you sometimes. But you know, Caitlyn, I suffered too—and I'm also under a lot of stress trying to stop an epidemic that nobody in power gives a damn about. It wouldn't hurt to consider that occasionally instead of using me as your dueling practice dummy."
She breathed deeply, seething at his words. They cut her deeply, though she would not dare admit it. She did act as tough and aggressive as she could when dealing with most people in Kirkwall, because that seemed to be what they respected, and underneath it she did wonder just how strong she truly was. That, perhaps, was why she couldn't stand to hear it from him.
"Get out," she said, her tone cold and corrosive.
"What?"
"Get out," she repeated. "Go spend the night in your clinic again, where your precious patients will be waiting for you tomorrow. I slept better the night you did, anyway."
Anders stared at her in shock, then stormed toward the heavy door and opened it with an angry yank. He stamped down the stairs, then down the basement stairs, as Leandra and Mal pattered into the upstairs hall. The doorway to Orana's bedroom also cracked open, but it was clear that she did not want to involve herself in this ugly domestic brawl.
The heavy basement doors clanged shut behind Anders as he vanished into the crypt. Leandra turned to Caitlyn, her expression sorrowful and deeply disapproving.
"Do not say it, Mother," she warned.
Mal's eyes were brimming with tears. "Why are you so angry at Father?" he whispered, trying not to cry.
She reached for him, but he turned away. That hurt her almost more than anything. "We... had a fight, Mal," she said, though that was perfectly obvious. "People argue sometimes. We had a... disagreement. That's all."
"He left the house," Mal said, still whispering. "Will he come back?"
"He'll come back when he is ready. In the meantime, we should all go back to bed."
Leandra drew in her breath sharply at her daughter's tone, and as Caitlyn tried to get her son back to sleep, she knew that this was not finished yet.
Notes: Concerning the flu epidemic in Kirkwall... I wrote this chapter in late 2018, a year before covid.
Yes, they are actually going to talk everything out in the next chapter—really. I can't promise that there won't be disagreements in the future/sequel about political tactics, but they really are going to have a family talk about this stuff.
I also think that all three of them share some blame for this situation. I agree with every word Anders said to Cait in the "you think you're so tough and hard" comment and a lot of what he says elsewhere. But he has been avoiding the household (even if he has a legitimate reason) and should've been better aware of the mother-daughter conflict brewing so that he would not act in a way that felt to her like teaming up with Leandra. And Leandra takes Hawke for granted to a really appalling, emotionally abusive degree—which is game canon (she implied more than once that she could accept Hawke's death but not their sibling's)—and that is what's actually going on here rather than exclusively cultural sexism. She sees his contributions to help the family but not Cait's, because she takes her for granted.