ANDERS
The Fade once again called to him. Abstract, dreamy images weren't natural but not new. He strolled between the shelves suspended in space and the furniture arranged in unusual positions feeling strange, but at the same time, he had the impression that he was home. His mind was filled with a blissful peace that made him want to stay here forever. Somewhere in the distance, he noticed a hazy figure. A slender woman dressed in an airy navy blue gown stood with her back turned to him and looking up at the sky. Her long blond hair glinted in the bright sunlight like golden threads. He took two steps toward her and stopped when he noticed that the woman had lowered her head. Some forgotten part of a distant memory was claiming its own. The woman turned around slowly but the bright light behind her made it impossible to see her face. Anders squinted and covered his face with his hand, but it didn't do much good. His gaze was quickly drawn to the object the woman was holding. Long graceful fingers clutched a small embroidered pillow. The woman walked over to him and crouched down beside him. Her gesture made him realize that he was a child again. His mind, however, did not perceive it as something strange and unnatural. It was like a grotesque dream that only made sense when you woke up. The woman held out her hands and handed him the clamped object.
- Be brave my son. - a warm, melodious voice said. - Remember that whatever happens, I will always love you.
Anders held out his little boyish hands accepting the gift. The woman's face was still fleeting, but her voice... her voice etched into his memory like a chiseled symbol. He looked at the beautifully embroidered fabric. It didn't represent anything in particular, but commitment and affection could be seen in every thread running through the fabric. Suddenly, he felt a jerk on his shoulders. Two hooded figures grabbed his arms and pulled him away from the woman. A moment later, two more emerged from the darkness, holding the struggling woman.
- Anders. Remember me. Remember that your mother loves you the most in the world! - she screamed.
Anders tried to break free, but the hands holding him were too strong. He screamed in his child's voice with all the strength in his lungs but to no avail. His small hands clutched the pillow as the figures dragged him in the opposite direction. He closed his eyes and squealed shrilly. The grip eased and his feet no longer scuffled on the ground. He stood paralyzed for a moment, afraid to do anything. He opened his eyes and slowly raised his head. Another figure appeared in front of him. The man was like a mountain that blocked out the sun. Metal armor glittered in the pale light. A flaming sword symbol adorned the breastplate.
- You are in the Circle now, boy. - a menacing bass voice came from the helmet. - From now on you are our property and you will do as you are told. Any opposition will be severely punished, and if we find any suspicion of demon influence you will be put down.
Anders hadn't felt this childlike fear in a long time. His honey-colored terrified eyes stared up at the huge templar. It felt like a little heart wanted to jump out of his throat.
The templar was joined by another figure. An older woman dressed in the robes of the sun. A chantry sister. She extended her right hand and said a short prayer for his soul. Suddenly, a quiet whirring pierced the air. The woman whimpered briefly and blood rushed from her mouth. A black, smoking spike pierced her breast.
- Demon! - screamed the templar drawing his sword. The shadowy phantom that had killed the revered sister turned a glowing gaze towards the knight. A groan of steel rang through the air as the blade crossed with the spike. The demon continued to make screeching sounds as it tried to distract its opponent. Suddenly, two more templars joined the fray in an attempt to defeat the beast. Anders huddled behind a small chair trembling in terror. His fingers clutched the embroidered pillow. He wanted so badly for this to all end.
- And it will. - suddenly a familiar voice rang out. Anders opened his eyes. The templar and the phantom were gone, replaced by a luminous figure. The thread-like cracks in its skin glowed a pure blue. The mage's honey-colored gaze flickered around, betraying his disorientation. After a moment he stopped in his tracks.
- Can you control the Fade? - he asked. The child's voice disappeared.
- No, Anders. The Fade cannot be controlled by anyone.
- Then what was it?
- Your buried memories. We are one Anders. I know what you know. I experience what you experience.
- Why did you force me to go through it again?! - growled the mage in frustration.
- Your fate is the fate of thousands of children like you. Taken from their mothers by strangers and locked away in towers that the outside world cannot see.
Justice held out his glowing hand, pointing his finger at the wall to his right. A moment later, a theater-like scene appeared before the mage's eyes. Short acts began to form a gruesome spectacle. Quite a gentle beginning depicted a chantry sister walking around with a thick wooden pointer. With each disobedience, she would strike the pointer to a face, hands, head. In the second act, disobedience was punished by isolation in a dark room. A ten-year-old boy sat huddled in a corner waiting only for a meal to be carelessly tossed to him through the door. A third act showed a young girl pushed against the wall by the strong hand of a templar. Fear and disgust crossed her face as her torturer's fingers sought the softness beneath her loose robe and a lustful, animalistic gaze roamed her body. Anders furrowed his brow and clenched his teeth. The girl didn't even defend herself knowing it was pointless anyway. Act four was the climax of the entire show. A fifteen-year-old boy had just been caught in another escape attempt. Two templars grabbed him by the arms and dragged him into a dark isolation room. The boy sat down in a corner and curled his legs. After a while, he heard the sound of a key being turned in a lock. The boy raised his eyes, expecting a carelessly thrown meal. This time, however, one of the templars entered the room along with the meal. The young mage rose from the floor, still staring at the man. The knight was not wearing his armor which was quite unusual. Templars only took it off when they went to rest. The man approached the boy slowly. The tray of food was still in view. The young mage's chest rose and fell in nervous breaths. The templar set the meal on the floor and took a piece of buttered bread from the tray. He bit off a small portion of the bread and then held out his hand, directing the remainder to the boy's mouth. The young mage stared at the meal for a moment, then shifted his determined gaze to the man's face. He pressed his lips together and clung more closely to the wall.
- Brave. I like brave. - the templar grinned and closed the distance even further. His dark lustful gaze never left the boy's face. - You have such beautiful honey eyes. Sweetness itself.
The boy flinched when he felt the touch on his chest. He turned his head. The cold wall behind his back had become a cruel trap. The templar moved closer to the boy's ear.
- You are property and you will do as you are commanded. - he whispered with a smile.
Anders stood next to the glowing figure staring at this last most cruel of acts. Short nervous breaths were not helping to catch air. For so many years this memory had been buried so deep it had almost ceased to exist.
- Stop it. - he whispered. The glowing gaze of the phantom shifted to him. - Stop it! - this time he screamed. Justice lowered his hand and the image from the wall dissolved into thin air. Anders turned and looked down at the floor, trying to control his nausea. The memory of that day came back to him with redoubled force.
- That's why we can't stop fighting Anders. - said the spirit. The mage turned his head. His honeyed gaze was filled with anger, but also a slowly resurfacing determination. Justice was right. The templars must be punished and the mages must be set free. There will be no more stories like this. Anders will see to that, or die trying.
- What do you want me to do? - he asked in a calm and composed voice.
- A spark needs to be rekindled. You will need Sela Petrae, and the Drakestone. Once you have them I will help you prepare the spell.
Anders only nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a door emerging from nothingness. Some invisible force was drawing him towards them.
- Focus on the task at hand Anders. That's all that matters.
He heard behind him before he crossed the threshold.
Very slowly, his senses began to come back on track. First a sound. A quiet crackling... like burning wood? After a moment came the smell. A mixture of pine smoke with a touch of strawberry incense and the herbal scent of an elf root or other healing plant. Next was the taste. In his mouth, sweetness mingled with bitterness. Probably more medicine. At the end of the line came the sight. Something Anders had been anticipated the most. He needed to find out where he was as soon as possible. His eyelids twitched slightly. It required all his effort to open them. The ornate fabric of the canopy appeared before his eyes. He tried to get more air into his lungs. The pain in his right side momentarily made him regret it. He wrinkled his forehead and clenched his teeth. Another sense tentatively joined the others. Touch. He felt the warmth of someone's fingers on his right hand. He turned his head slightly.
- Hawke. - he whispered. He had no strength for anything else.
Marian was sleeping curled up in a cushioned armchair. Her peaceful face was adorned with strands of black waved hair that had slipped out of the ribbon tying it together. Someone had covered her with a warm woolen blanket. This was not her first night in this chair. Her left hand clenched his fingers tightly. Anders hung his gaze on her sleeping face. Maker's breath, she was so beautiful that almost unreal. He felt a slight sting of fear. What if this was just another dream? A cruel joke of fate from which the gray reality would wake him up in a moment. He stared at her for some time feeling a slow but steady surge of strength. The girl moved on the armchair, changing position slightly. She sighed loudly and raised her head opening her eyes. The blueness of her gaze made Anders shiver. She was really here. This was no dream. She rubbed her eyes with her right hand, chasing away the remnants of the dream. When her gaze crossed with the mage's honeyed gaze, complete concentration returned to her face. She twitched slightly and digging herself out of the woolen blanket, approached the bed.
- Anders. At last. - the melodious voice was filled with relief. He smiled slightly.
- Have I been abusing your hospitality for a long time? - he asked in a more confident voice. She only snorted locking his hand in both of hers. After a while, he felt a warm touch on his forehead.
- The fever has stopped bothering you for good. The wound is also healing quite nicely.
He put his fingers on her palm that was checking his forehead. The honeyed look did not leave her bright face.
- How long? - he asked more firmly. She sighed quietly and smiled slightly.
- Three nights.
Anders placed his hand on the bedding and slowly let out a breath. His excursion in the Fade had been somewhat prolonged. Perhaps it was for the better. The body had time to regenerate. He lifted his head slightly. The pain in his side seemed to be lessened.
- What are you doing! - shouted Hawke in anger.
- Help me sit down. I want to see how it looks. - he announced.
Hawke pressed her lips together. There was doubt on her face. She did not insist, however, and putting her hand behind his back helped him up. Anders leaned against the wooden bed frame and reached for the bandage. He tried to tilt it away, but the material clung tightly to his body. Hawke watched in resignation at his failed attempts. She sighed finally and leaning over him began to unwrap the bandage. Anders sat still letting her work. She was so close that he could smell her flowery perfume. He closed his eyes for a moment. He missed this closeness so much. When she finished, only a small piece of cloth was left on his bare torso covering the wound. He reached out to it tilting it slightly. The round wound was healing properly. The faint itching only confirmed it. He noticed a series of longitudinal lines around the main wound. Someone had nicked the skin to get at the metal buried in the flesh. He wrinkled his forehead in thought. He loved Hawke but he had to admit that when it came to healing abilities, she had two left hands. It had to be someone else. Small flashes of memory didn't provide an answer. He gently touched the oily ointment covering the entire wound and put his fingers to his nose. Among the array of smells, he managed to recognize some herbs. The whole thing had a delicate aroma of animal fat.
- Your assistant Mira... - Hawke spoke up, providing help to his confused mind. He raised his gaze wrinkling his forehead. - Varik brought her here. She took care of your wound.
- Mira... - He muttered to himself. Memories momentarily jumped into place. Somehow she had to avoid capture.
- I hope you got a good look at it because I'm going to bandage it up again. - Hawke said suddenly, pulling him out of his thoughts. He nodded slightly and leaned his head against the wooden bedframe. After a moment he felt the lukewarm wetness on his skin. Hawke rubbed the area around the wound carefully removing the remnants of the oily ointment. She walked over to a shelf, grabbed a small jar and returned to the bed. She scooped some of the ointment onto her fingers and began to rub it around the wound. Her pleasantly warm hands were a real relief. Anders did not take his eyes off her. Her face was focused to the limit. It was as if there was nothing else besides this activity. She did not look at him. He shifted his gaze to her working hands. He noticed that her fingers were trembling more and more by the moment. He looked at her face again. The twitching cheeks betrayed clenched teeth. The blue gaze stubbornly stared at his injured side. He gripped her wrists. She froze in place still not raising her head.
- Hawke. - he said calmly. She was all shaken up. He could feel it under his fingers. She nervously drew in air and then let it out through trembling lips. Maker. He had never seen her like this. He held her wrists silently waiting for her to react on her own. A long moment passed before she spoke.
- When I saw you on the basement floor... lying lifeless in a pool of blood, I thought... - her voice trembled and a grimace of displeasure appeared on her face. Anders furrowed his brow. He guessed what a sight it must have been. Hawke, however, had witnessed far worse. After all, she had seen the gruesome way the mad mage had treated her mother. She sucked in a breath and let it out, trying to control herself. Finally, she raised her gaze. Her blue eyes glazed over, betraying the rising wetness behind her eyelids.
- I felt so powerless, Anders. I should have been able to do more. If Mira hadn't gotten here...
- But she did Hawke. - he interrupted her firmly. He had to get her out of this state. He couldn't let her abuse herself mentally because of him. Especially considering what he was about to do. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a pendant lying on a small cabinet. The tevinter's amulet and the basement key were inseparable. - Marian... - he began more softly. - I am here only thanks to this. - saying this he took the thin thong. Both pendants swung in the air. Hawke looked at them with her blue eyes but she remained silent. The moisture accumulated under her eyelids found an outlet and ran down her cheek with a warm tear. Seeing this, Anders felt as if a second bolt had torn his side. He raised his hand and rubbed her skin. She didn't even flinch. The events of the past months must have finally taken their toll. After a while, she seemed to calm down a bit. She wiped her cheeks quickly with the palm of her hand and resumed the bandaging. Concentration and composure returned.
- You are staying here. - she spoke when she had finished. He wrinkled his forehead, wondering what exactly she meant. - The clinic is no longer safe. You are staying here. - She continued.
- Hawke if the templars find out I'm here...
- I'm a Champion of this damn town. - she interrupted him. - They can only try to take you.
Her determination and firmness surprised Anders. Was Hawke willing to go to war with Meredith to save him?
"Focus on the task at hand."
A quiet voice brought him back. Could Hawke help him? No. She'd been through so much already. He had to keep her out of it. He would do this task alone and bear the entire burden of guilt himself.
- There is something that could make things easier. - he said suddenly. Marian looked at him questioningly. - For three years I have been looking for a way to separate me and Justice. Recently, I came across an old tevinter spell. The magisters managed to separate the ghost and its host without decapitating the latter.
A lie. His every word was a pure lie that he fed to the love of his life. When he saw hope in Hawke's face he almost broke. However, he stifled the remorse to go on with the fabricated story.
- Is it possible? - she asked. He only nodded, feeling that he could not trust his voice. She brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face and wrinkled her forehead. - Is this dangerous?
He slowly drew in and let out air giving himself time to get a grip.
- Every spell has its risks, but I think it is worth a try.
The confidence in his voice surprised even him.
- What do you need?
- I've already gathered most of the ingredients. Fortunately, they're outside the clinic. The last two are strong reagents. Sela Petrae and Drakestone.
- Tell me where to get them.
He described to her in detail each of the ingredients and their likely location. With each lie, he felt as if he was in a trance. As if his mind had separated itself from what his mouth was saying. When Hawke left the room he sank deeper into the pillows. He placed a hand on his forehead and closed his eyes. One solitary tear glazed briefly then ran down his temple as if in shame and disappeared into the gray sheets.
