Hawke stared into the fire, swirling the liquid in the glass he held as he once more tried to wrap his mind around his very existence. The fire seemed real enough, bright and blazing hot, reflecting off the solid-seeming marble of the fireplace around it. He still remembered the blood dripping from his fingers as he stared into the same flames after finding his mother sewn together like a ragdoll, or when he'd returned home with the blood of his lover on his hands and the taste of ashes in his mouth. Every time he turned around, he expected to see the blank smile of Sandal alongside his father's obsequious bow, or hear the clicking of claws on the marble floor to signal the approach of Barker as he ran up for a scratch on the head from his master.

But it wasn't real. None of it was. None of it but the memories, anyway.

Tossing back the drink in one gulp, he savored the sharp bite of vanilla and Antivan leather, dusted with an overtone of caramel, then held it up to the flames to watch the traces of brandy trickle down the sides. It was a lie, of course: no matter how many he drank, he would still be thirsty, and he would never get drunk. Here on the edge between the Fade and the Void where Amell had banished him, nothing would ever be real except himself and his unexpected companions—well, and his own personal hell of confronting everything he'd done to screw over everyone he'd ever loved.

Suddenly his face twisted into a sneer, and he threw the glass into the fireplace. The shattering sound proved satisfying, but the satisfaction was as fleeting as his happiness, and soon the shards melted away into the ether from which they had been shaped.

"He doesn't like it when you do that, you know," an amused voice said from behind him. "It makes it harder to keep everything else in place."

Hawke grunted, rubbing his hands over his face as he tried to remember what being real actually felt like. "And I don't like being stuck here," he retorted, half-turning to look at the man behind him. "Even if you're here with me."

A tender smile came to Anders' face, though it faded quickly. "It won't last forever."

Moving towards the man, Hawke reached up to cup Anders' face, feeling the perpetual miasma of guilt and longing wrap around him as he did so. "It's lasted longer than I ever dared to hope," he murmured, then leaned in to savor a kiss.

It hadn't been like this in the beginning, of course. After that first explosive encounter with Vengeance had culminated with one of the most intense fucks of his existence, Hawke had woken up to find himself in his own bed back in the Amell Estate in Kirkwall-and Anders standing at the foot of it.

Their first conversation hadn't gone well, and Hawke readily admitted it. In point of fact, there had been more than harsh words exchanged on both sides before Vengeance had stepped in and separated them. That was when Hawke had learned that he wasn't, in fact, dead, and that the Estate wasn't some sort of twisted afterlife. Rather, it was a careful construction built on the edge between the Fade and the Void and spun from Hawke's memories as a place to keep him sane while Vengeance and Anders tried to figure out how to break Amell's spell and reunite Hawke's soul with his body.

Once Hawke had assimilated that, along with all of the implications that went with it, he had sought out Anders and initiated his apology. It was the beginning of a long, arduous process, a halting, faltering sort of apology which stretched out over what felt like days, weeks, and even months in this place with no sun or moon or time. Most importantly, though, it was genuine, and it was enough to give them a place to talk. The initial agreement to see where matters took them had led him from constantly biting back his words to truly, and for the first time, listening to Anders, and not just his groin's reaction to Anders.

Though, perhaps not unexpectedly, that came up as well—with surprising frequency. After all, when it had been good between them, it had been very good.

All this flitted through Hawke's mind as their lips caressed each other, and then he pulled back to meet Anders' gaze. "All right. No more glasses thrown into the fireplace, or doors broken with a kick, or whatever else puts Vengeance into a bad mood. Anything that will help you do what you need to do to get me back where I belong."

"So eager to get away from me?" Anders asked lightly, but Hawke heard the pain in his voice.

"No." He traced his fingers down Anders' neck. "But there's a reason Vengeance was able to find me even in the Void, and its name is Amell." He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, "And Corypheus."

"I know." Anders reached up to take Hawke's hand before tugging him away from the fire. "Speaking of which, there's been a breakthrough."

Hawke's eyes widened. "Show me."

As they crossed the large main hall, Hawke saw Vengeance standing in front of a tall mirror, one whose design sent a chill up Hawke's spine. "That's Merrill's mirror," he said bluntly as he came to a halt in front of it. "Maker, why is that here?"

Vengeance turned to face him, the dark purple light of his gaze sending another chill through Hawke, as it always did-especially when he was separate from Anders and couldn't quite remember what he wanted to look like. "I needed a design which can exist between worlds," he said, his voice throbbing and pulsing in Hawke's gut. "And this is similar enough to the conduit in the waking world to form a steady link."

"Similar enough to-" Hawke's eyes moved to the mirror, and his blood froze. "That's...me?"

"Your body," Vengeance noted clinically, turning back to face the mirror. "And another black mark on Amell's soul."

Hawke stared at the sight of his own body, sprawled limply on top of a table practically lost amidst a vastness of open space which Hawke instantly recognized. Soldier's Peak and its architecture had been burned into his memory, after all, but he especially remembered the tower where Avernus conducted most of his research. His eyes locked on his body, noting that the chest slowly rose and fell and the eyes blinked occasionally, but that it otherwise lay inert and unresponsive. "Am I- Is my body-" He stopped, swallowing harshly.

"Your body is still alive," Anders told him, coming up to stand next to him. "It breathes, blinks, and all other things a body does without you needing to intervene. Everything else it does is controlled by Amell, no doubt."

Hawke frowned, his eyes skittering around the room where his body lay as he avoided the uncomfortably blank gaze of his empty vessel. "How are we seeing this, anyway?"

"The view is from the Eluvian in Soldier's Peak," Vengeance told him.

Hawke blinked, then raised his eyebrows as understanding dawned. "That's why you're using Merrill's mirror on this side. Or...whatever it really is."

"It is a memory of her Eluvian from when it was whole, preserved within the Crossroads between the realms," Vengeance told him.

"Riiight." Hawke leaned towards Anders. "Did that make sense to you?"

Anders chuckled and rolled his eyes. "Yes, Hawke."

"Good. Then I'm fine with it." He returned his gaze to the view in the mirror. "Odd, though. Usually that room has a few more occupied tables." His gaze swept the room on the other side of the link, trying to find any possible excuse not to look at his body. "Though there used to be more tables, now that I think about it. And more bubbling flasks. And Avernus." Even as he talked, though, he knew he was only distracting himself from the unsettling sight of his limp body. "Maker's codpiece, why did they just...leave me there like that." Like a used rag, he almost said. He felt slightly better when Anders took his hand and squeezed it, but only slightly.

"We can only learn by watching," Vengeance observed.

"Thanks," Hawke said sarcastically. "I never would have been able to figure that out on my own."

Suddenly a figure moved into the field of view, walking towards Hawke's body, and Hawke immediately tensed. It took him a moment to recognize the new arrival, but despite the short-cropped hair and gaunt cheekbones, it was still Zevran. The elf reached the table and paused, then ran his hand down Hawke's body, squeezing here or there as if testing for something. "You are still a fine specimen," Zevran said, his words high and tinny as they came from the mirror, "but even you need to move, si? Time for another test, little bird."

"Are you sure you want to do this?" That voice was instantly recognizable, and Hawke barely kept himself from growling as Amell appeared and moved to the other side of the table. "Perhaps you should rest. I could have Avernus send in one of the Wardens I've dominated."

Hawke stared at Amell, astonished that he still bore evidence of the injuries taken from the Shrine of Dumat. One of his eyelids drooped permanently, and the left side of his face and body still appeared almost skeletal, with waxy, melted skin that almost didn't look human. Surely he could have healed himself by now? Hawke wondered.

Zevran shook his head "I need to do this. I need to know I can still do this. Put it on him."

Amell made a little gesture towards Hawke, then nodded. "As you wish." Laying his hand the imprint he'd left burned in Hawke's chest, Amell closed his eyes and muttered a few words under his breath before he reached into his pocket and withdrew a leather collar which he wrapped around Hawke's neck. Like a dog, Hawke noted with distaste. "There. Ready when you are."

With a nod, Zevran danced back from the table, then quickly removed his clothing to discard in a small pile nearby. Hawke's eyes widened as he took in the elf's condition, struck not only by the dark hollows under his eyes but also the overall almost skeletal thinness of the elf. The cropped hair seemed to be an attempt to disguise severe hair loss, but Hawke could still see patches of scalp showing through the short blond hair. Furthermore, Zevran seemed to be nothing but whipcord and bone, a marked contrast to when Hawke had last seen him, and Hawke wondered just how long he'd been stuck in this limbo between worlds. Zevran bent to retrieve two daggers from his pile of clothes, then settled into a ready stance as he waited.

The reason for his actions became apparent soon enough. Hawke paled as his own body jerked into motion, sporadically at first, but with smoother motions as it stood and moved opposite Zevran, copying his position. The elf tossed one of his daggers to Hawke's body, which caught it with ease. From there, Zevran gave him an odd little salute with his single blade, then launched himself at Hawke.

Hawke watched, mouth slightly agape, as the two opponents faced off. He immediately saw that Zevran's attacks were not as strong as they used to be, but the elf was still quick and deadly, as shown by the series of small cuts he inflicted on Hawke's body as the mock fight went on. Still, Hawke's body, even without Hawke inside it, proved to be an exceptionally skilled fighter all on its own, and soon enough Zevran sported more than a few cuts himself. Around and around each other they whirled, blades clashing and glittering in the air, as each sought the upper hand.

"Whatever else can be said about you, you are definitely a handsome bastard," Anders noted.

"With a great ass," Hawke said with a grin, glad for a moment of absurdity in this increasingly surreal situation.

"I may have noticed that a few times myself," Anders said, even as he unleashed a hard slap on said ass himself. "Remind me to abuse it later."

"Gladly," Hawke said with a smirk, but his eyes remained locked on the mirror, wondering how the interlude there would end.

It ended with an abrupt suddenness, as his body suddenly took advantage of a weakness in the defense on the side of Zevran's empty hand and surged forward with pinpoint precision. Zevran's dagger was abruptly knocked into the air and snatched away by Hawke's body, which then drove Zevran back into the wall and pinned him there with the two blades crossed in front of his throat.

A sharp clap from Amell prevented it from going any further, even as Zevran panted and gasped and shivered where he remained pinned against the wall. Hawke's body, on the other hand, suddenly stood stock still, staring in Zevran's face as the blood from his wounds slowly dyed his skin crimson.

Amell walked towards the pair, looking them up and down slowly. "Well, it seems that the collar's spell is effective at enabling the body to act independently for self-defense."

Zevran nodded. "Si, si. Ah, perhaps you could... have him move his daggers?"

For answer, Amell chuckled and tapped Hawke's body on the arm. "Stand down."

Hawke watched as his body immediately relaxed, dropping the daggers to the ground as he stood to attention. As Zevran sagged on the wall, Amell ran his hands over Hawke's body, the cuts disappearing as he did so.

"Maker, it's creepy watching that," Hawke muttered. "I'm glad I can't actually feel it, at least."

"If it were anyone else, I would say he was just healing your wounds," Anders noted. "But it's Amell. He wouldn't only do that."

Indeed, the look on Amell's face, a mixture of concentration and sensual pleasure, made Hawke's skin crawl. Thankfully, it was over soon enough, and Amell pushed him towards the table before turning his attention on Zevran. By the time he was done with running his hands over Zevran's wounds to heal them, it was abundantly clear that the elf, at least, enjoyed that sort of treatment at Amell's hands.

Once the healing was done but before Amell stepped away, Zevran stepped closer to Amell, wrapping his arm around the man's waist as he dug his hips into him. "Perhaps a little celebration is in order, amor? To commemorate a successful test of your Vessel, si?"

Amell chuckled, then drew Zevran up into a heated kiss that made Zevran whimper. When the kiss ended, however, Amell stepped back. "There is no time. Avernus finished another group of my new Wardens, and I must go set the spells on them."

"Again? But yesterday you promised-" Zevran protested, only to stop and flinch back as Amell jerked violently and raised his skeletal left arm.

"So, Amell's monster yet lives," Hawke murmured softly.

"Are you questioning my decision, slave?" Amell's monster snarled.

"N-never, Master," Zevran said, dropping to his knees.

"Good. Make sure to feed and bathe the Vessel. After that, you are dismissed until I have need of you once more." Without another word, Amell strode from sight.

Hawke frowned as Zevran remained where he was, staring at the ground as his whole body trembled. "It would appear that Amell and his monster are growing even more unpredictable," Hawke mused. "I almost wish I could feel some semblance of pity for Zevran, if he weren't such a bastard."

"He doesn't deserve pity," Vengeance growled, the words punching straight into Hawke's gut again. "Only me."

"And justice," Anders said quietly, squeezing Hawke's hand tightly. "We should probably stop watching before he-"

But it was already too late. Zevran suddenly surged to his feet and climbed onto the table where Hawke's body had returned to its formerly quiescent state. With frenetic strength, Zevran hauled Hawke's legs apart and lifted his lower body up into position as if in preparation of a sexual assault, but stopped before taking any sort of action. For a moment he remained frozen in that position, the only movement the heaving of his chest and the trembling of his arms. Abruptly he muttered an oath and released Hawke, rolling off the table with a tightness of motion which spoke of anger.

Hawke expelled his breath all at once as Zevran stalked away from the table and disappeared from sight. "I…don't think I could have watched that," he muttered. "I remember him doing it to me all too well. Odd that he didn't carry through with it, honestly. He certainly took out his anger on me before when he argued with—"

A motion in the mirror caught his attention, and Hawke cut himself off. "Well, shit. Maybe I spoke too soon." Eyes narrowing, Hawke scrutinized Zevran as the elf returned to the table, carrying something in his arms. As Zevran flung his arms out, Hawke's brow furrowed. "A blanket? What is he-" His voice trailed off and more confusion set in as he watched Zevran climb onto the table to join Hawke under the blanket. As the elf buried his head in the crook of Hawke's shoulder, a rhythmic movement further down under the blanket indicated the exact nature of Zevran's intent. "Sweet Maker," Hawke muttered, obscurely embarrassed.

"Did he ever do that before?" Anders asked, obviously amused by Hawke's discomfiture.

"Well, no. But…" Hawke made a vague gesture to the mirror. "I mean…it's still creepy."

"Pathetic, certainly, but not as malicious as what he'd originally intended," Anders mused. "I wonder what it means. He always was one to exert his control over others when he had the opportunity, especially when it came to sex."

"You mean he—" Hawke began, then snapped his mouth shut. He didn't really have to ask, did he? He remembered Zevran's nature all too well.

Which made the events in the mirror that much stranger. After Zevran found release with a groan that echoed in the large room, he didn't move for a long time. In fact, Hawke had to stare until his eyes burned before he realized that the blanket was moving in an odd fashion, but it was Anders who gave the thought words. "I think he's crying."

Hawke's lips tightened. "Let him," he said gruffly. "He's earned that, and worse. And someday I will pay him back for all he's done to me."

"Someday." The word resonated in Hawke's head enough that it took him a moment to realize he hadn't actually repeated himself. Turning his head, he stared at Vengeance where the spirit stood with his singularly burning gaze. For a long moment Hawke felt a pure resonance of purpose between himself and the corrupted spirit, and he sensed the power that could be at his disposal if he let himself absorb the spirit as Anders had. In the next instant, however, he shook his head vigorously and pulled back. It wasn't the right time. Vengeance could only truly be served there, in the waking world, and Hawke didn't dare distract the spirit from the task of figuring out a way back.

With another short shake of his head, Hawke forced his gaze back to the mirror. Focus. Stay focused.

Zevran had pushed the blanket down enough to stroke Hawke's hair and face, a blank expression on the elf's face as he watched his own hand move. Finally he settled his hand in the middle of Hawke's chest. "I wish you had not been lying," he murmured, just loud enough for the words to be heard. "I wish…I wish I could have truly believed you." Pushing himself up, the elf claimed Hawke's lips in a passionate kiss, and Hawke could see the light glittering off of tears on his cheeks. When the odd, one-sided kiss ended, Zevran added, "You bloody bastard." Once that was done, Zevran went limp on top of Hawke, unmoving as his eyes slowly drifted shut.

"Maker, my skin is crawling," Hawke growled.

Anders tilted his head as a frown came to his face. "What is he talking about?"

Pressing his lips together for a moment, Hawke finally sighed. "On the way to the Shrine of Amell, Zevran was dangerously volatile. Amell was treating him like he treats everyone else instead of like a lover, and in reaction Zevran took his anger out on Alistair, who had just lost his arm and wasn't in the best place. So I diverted Zevran, called him my Master. Basically tried to seduce him."

"All to distract him from hurting Alistair?" Anders asked, raising his eyebrows. "That doesn't sound like you."

"Ouch." Still, the words gave Hawke pause. If Anders said that… "I suppose I never looked at it that way, but he was all I had, and he had no one else to look out for him."

"Neither did Isabela," Anders pointed out. "Or Fenris."

Hawke bowed his head. Isabela, at least, had managed to escape on her own, but Fenris… You sent him back to the Imperium with his owner, you idiot, he growled to himself. What kind of a life do you think he's having? "Or Bethany," he added, naming the one sin for which he could never forgive himself, even if Amell was a part of it.

Anders frowned. "What did you do to—No." When Hawke looked up at him, not bothering to hide the self-loathing he felt in that moment, Anders took a step back. "Oh, Maker, Hawke. Not Bethany." When Hawke just looked away, Anders gave a shuddering sigh. "I feared the Circle would be the death of her, but I never thought that—Please tell me that at least Amell was involved."

"Does it matter? The hand that dealt the blow was mine, and I have to live with that the rest of my life," Hawke said, voice thick with tight rage. "Nothing I do can ever make up for that."

For a long moment Anders didn't reply. When he did, it was to step over and take Hawke's hand in his, squeezing tightly. "Don't let him do that to you, Hawke," he said softly. "Amell delighted in that sort of thing."

"What sort of thing?" Hawke said acidly.

"Making you hate yourself instead of him," Anders said. "Or hate someone else instead of him. Divide and conquer was his best utilized tactic. Easy enough for a blood mage, right? Take them over, make them do something they can't live with, then sit back and let that rage and self-hatred fester. I swore I'd never let him win that fight."

Hawke frowned as he turned to Anders, reaching up to cup the mage's face. "Is that why you stayed with me? At the time, I didn't question it because…well. I think we all know what sort of fellow I can be. But later, I could see no reason for it."

"I loved you, Hawke," Anders said softly, taking Hawke's free hand in his so that he could squeeze it tightly between his own. "When it was just you and me, I've never been happier. Once I figured out what Amell was up to, I…I couldn't desert you."

"You should have," Hawke said, voice breaking. "You should have left me to it. I'm not a good person, Anders. I never was. Maybe I did a thing or two that accidentally helped people, but—"

Anders pressed a finger to Hawke's lips. "They didn't call you the Champion because you sat on your ass and watched Kirkwall burn, either," he said. "You were never what I would call nice, no. But you're not evil, or what Amell made you do wouldn't anger you."

Closing his eyes, Hawke tried to believe the words, but ultimately failed. "It doesn't really matter in the end," he said, pulling back. "Bethany's still dead, and I'm still here unable to do anything to Amell."

"We will overcome that," Vengeance said in a growl that vibrated through Hawke's body. "But look. Amell is back."

Hawke pivoted to face the mirror, eyebrows rising as he turned. There, Zevran still lay limp on top of Hawke, but Amell had indeed returned, striding across the room with purpose. Hawke noticed a slight hitch in his step once he got close enough to see the elf, but he quickly smoothed his gait until he reached the head of the table. He looked down at the table with a tilted head, then gently reached out with his whole, right hand to gently stroke Zevran's cheek.

The elf didn't react, and for a moment Hawke thought the elf slept. In the next instant, however, a weak voice emerged from the mirror, a voice rendered tinny by the glass but which still retained the owner's emotional bleakness as Zevran asked, "What happened, mi amor? How did I lose you?"

Amell withdrew his hand, clenching it into a fist as he replied in a mild tone, "You were supposed to be asleep."

Zevran moved at last, pushing himself up slowly as he looked at Amell. Even through the mirror Hawke could see the tension in his shoulders and his expression. "You think I would be content with a simulacrum? He is not the man I love. He is not Jorath Amell." After a pause where Zevran's eyes narrowed as he searched Amell's face, Zevran added in a whisper, "And neither are you."

Hawke felt a dirty sort of satisfaction as Amell flinched back from the words and turned his head, seemingly facing Hawke through the mirror. Hoping that was just an illusion, Hawke held his breath as, for a long moment, Amell simply pressed his unmarred hand to his mouth and stared at the eluvian through which Hawke looked into the room. Finally, though, Amell turned back to Zevran. "You are partially right."

"Who is that monster?" Zevran demanded. "Who is the creature which appears to torment and abuse me, to drive us apart?" He shrank back as Amell lowered his hand, fear entering his mien, then relaxed when no outburst followed. His expression hardened once more. "Something happened to you in the Deep Roads, but you won't speak of it to me. Any time I try to bring it up, you call me a slave or worse. Or… whatever it is does so. I learned to simper and call you Master, I learned to flinch back and appease. But I am learning also to hate, and I tell you this: if nothing changes soon I will be dead, at your hand or my own. So tell me. What happened before I found you collapsed deep in the bowels of that cursed thaig?"

"I should have known that cave-in I triggered wouldn't stop you," Amell said in a quiet voice.

"The Archdemon couldn't stop me," Zevran snarled. "What makes you think a few rocks would do more than slow me down?"

A tight smile came to Amell's face. "I should have had more faith in you."

"Yes," Zevran said, biting the word off. "Though I'm impressed you haven't hit me or shifted to…whatever it is yet."

"He's weary," Amell told Zevran. "The spell to enhance the Wardens to his liking is taxing. He is…not sleeping, exactly, but he is distant, as he rarely is these days. If we talk quietly…"

Zevran hesitated, obviously wary, then finally nodded. "Fine. Quiet it is, then. So. Who is he? And why have you not spoken of him before? Surely you've had the opportunity."

"I kept hoping I would be able to destroy him, as if he were a demon or an abomination. You recall how I handled Uldred."

"Yes." Zevran's tone indicated he didn't relish the memory. "Efficient, certainly. There's rarely any coming back once you remove someone's skin, even for an abomination."

"Maker," Anders breathed. "I never heard about that, only that Amell killed him during the Blight."

"Was that during the whole Circle affair where Amell tortured Cullen?" Hawke asked, suddenly curious.

"I wouldn't know about that. I only heard that Uldred basically threw all the Templars he could capture to the mercy of the demons. What Amell did to those who survived, I have no idea." Anders frowned, then shuddered. "I left Kinloch Hold just before Uldred went mad."

"Good timing," Hawke muttered. "Still, we'd better listen to what Amell has to say." With a frown, he concentrated on the mirror, determined not to lose focus again.

"—gone far away," Zevran said in a flat tone, making Hawke mentally curse as he wondered what he had missed. "You told me he agreed to the exile, to keep him away from the resurgence of Grey Wardens in Ferelden."

"He did," Amell said. "But apparently when Corypheus broke free of his prison, it awoke something in him. His memories returned, and a portion of his power."

Zevran swore softly. "So it is as you speculated. He wasn't just any darkspawn, but one of the first."

"Yes, he was. The first to agree to Corypheus' mad plan, though he claims he but followed the command of his own god in doing so." Amell gave a small shrug. "Regardless, once Corypheus was free from the prison the Wardens held him by my poor cousin, he suddenly recalled who he was, or so he claims. And oh, how I wish I had remembered the full ramifications of that. Not a darkspawn, but the leader of them, as powerful as an Archdemon in some ways." With a shake of his head, Amell said, "When I went on my Calling, he found me."

"Or he was waiting," Zevran pointed out.

"Oh, he was steeped enough in the taint he could have detected my location from quite a distance," Amell said, tone thoughtful. "Or he could have tracked me down, as he claimed. Regardless, I should have considered his sudden return to life as a warning. Instead, I discounted it entirely."

"What happened, mi amor?" Zevran asked, almost pleading. "They told me when you left that you were teetering on the brink, yet when I found you, you seemed to be hale and hearty once more—better than I'd seen you before, even. How? How could he—"

Amell held up his hand, and Zevran snapped his mouth shut. "You were getting loud," Amell said softly. "But I invite you to think on this: the Archdemons require a Warden to kill them, yes?"

"Si, a Warden, because otherwise—" Zevran paused. "Oh, no."

"Thankfully I'm a powerfully stubborn bastard and a somniari, which were precious rare even back in his day. It was a hard fought battle, though, and I still almost succumbed."

"Which would explain the condition of the place where I found you," Zevran noted. "It looked like a warzone."

Amell nodded silently, his right hand clenching into a tight fist. "But in the end, he couldn't get rid of me entirely, and I couldn't kill him fully. So we were forced to bargain in the recesses of my mind."

"Is that when I found you?"

"Almost. You found me after he'd taken me to the thaig proper so I could restore us using the red lyrium within." Amell's lips spread in a smile devoid of humor. "You were an unwelcome wrinkle to the agreement, but I was adamant."

Zevran bared his teeth. "I don't need his approval."

"No, but it is part of the reason why it's harder to control him around you than others. And after that first time he tried to hurt you when we were making love, and then what he did to your ear…" Amell turned his head away. "I still wish you had let me heal that."

"It's a reminder," Zevran said, though he didn't elaborate for what. "But you should have told me all this long ago. Why didn't you?" A cold accusation tinged his voice, making it clear he hadn't forgiven Amell for the oversight—and likely never would. "I might have been able to help you, one way or another. Now…" Zevran sighed and hung his head.

Amell smiled at that. "It's too late, I know," Amell said quietly. "I am all too well aware of your last attempt to kill me."

Now Zevran winced. "I thought—"

"You thought it was the only option, I know," Amell said. "A pity it is too late. Even my death would not kill him, as it might have when our alliance was new. I need more power if I am ever to be separate from him again. A great deal more." Amell's hand settled on Hawke's head, lightly brushing through the limp hair. "And that is why we must ensure my cousin is up to his task. We must come out victorious. And you must survive until that moment." He reached out and gently cupped Zevran's face in his hand. "Promise me you won't leave yet."

Zevran's eyes closed. "It's…hard to remember the good times," he said finally. "My body is tuned to your pleasure. I miss the sweet kiss of pain from your flame and blade. I miss your hands chasing it away with magic and love. I miss you, amor. I miss…all of it. The anger…It's hard to control when you don't release it with your deft cruelty."

"I know, my love," Amell said softly. "But I can't risk him killing you. Soon, I will have what I need to get rid of him. Promise me you will survive until then. Promise me you will stay."

"I—" Zevran shuddered as Amell's hand wrapped around his damaged ear and squeezed hard, an expression of almost orgasmic bliss crossing his face. "Maker," he breathed. "I…I promise, amor." Swallowing harshly, he added, "I did say I would go to the Black City itself with you, did I not?"

"Yes," Amell said in an oddly intent fashion, then suddenly leaned forward and claimed Zevran's lips in a savage kiss. When he pulled away, blood trickled down Zevran's chin for a moment, and Amell smiled. A burst of green magic lit his fingers as he reached up and wiped away the blood, healing the cut so the flow stopped. "Maker," he breathed. "I forgot how powerful your blood is."

"The power of love," Zevran said with a sardonic grin. "Or so you once said."

"It must be." Amell glanced down at Hawke's body, expression shifting back to something far more neutral. "None of us can falter in what is to come," he said softly. "Not Hawke, not me, and not you. Any part of the plan that fails will give either Corypheus or my unwelcome visitor an advantage too great to overcome." He looked up at Zevran. "Remember that. Don't push yourself so hard that you cannot accomplish your own task."

Zevran closed his eyes. "I shall keep that in mind, mi amor."

Again Amell leaned in for a kiss, but before it had a chance to be more than a brush of the lips, he staggered back with a gasp and clutched his head. "He's…I need to… Tomorrow. We'll train Hawke more…tomorrow." With that, Amell pushed away from the table and staggered out of view, though Hawke was certain he saw a trickle of blood coming from the man's nose before he disappeared from sight entirely.

Behind him, Zevran's face twisted in frustration, and he slammed his fist into the table. "You had better be as good as you think you are, little bird," he snarled to Hawke's unresponsive body. "Or I will take it out on your hide, inch by slow and painful inch."

"Like that's anything new," Hawke muttered under his breath. He continued to watch with narrowed eyes as Zevran rolled off the table and dressed, leaving the room without so much as a backwards glance to Hawke. After his body was alone once more, Hawke felt a vitriolic shudder rise through him, and he quickly turned away before it overpowered him. "Maker's fucking hairy balls, I can't bear to think of what else they've done to him. To me," he corrected hastily, even as, for a moment, the estate tipped and wavered around him, causing the floor to tilt and buckle.

"Concentrate," Vengeance snarled. "Don't let them make you forget who you really are and where you belong. Keep a strong grip on your identity at all times."

Hawke nodded, squeezing his eyes shut and running through the exercises Vengeance had ingrained into him once more: his name, his family, his deeds, and, lastly, his body. Finally the rumbling around them stopped, and he heard Anders sigh in relief. At last he dared to open his eyes as he puffed air into his cheeks. "That was close."

Moving to stand in front of him, Vengeance gripped his shoulders and stared into Hawke's eyes, his visage wavering and shifting as he said, "Don't forget who you are, or your ties to the waking world. The Void would be all too happy to consume you fully, and the Fade would be just as quick to draw you in. We can't let Amell and Zevran get away with everything they've done."

Straightening, Hawke nodded and sneered, "They won't. Not while I have breath and, according to that mirror, I still do."

"Good. Remember that." Vengeance released him and moved back to the mirror so he could resume his study of the spell which separated Hawke's soul from his body.

Anders beckoned Hawke to follow him, then headed back towards the fire. As Hawke fell into place next to him, Anders murmured, "Hopefully it's just a matter of time now. I'll help Vengeance as best as I can, but there's no telling how long it will take."

"And if he can't figure it out?" Hawke asked bluntly.

"Then…" Anders took a long, slow breath. "I don't know."

"You mean eventually I won't be able to hold on to myself," Hawke said. "And I'll end up back where Amell sent me." When Anders said nothing, Hawke bowed his head. "All right. I just wish I knew more about what they're up to. I don't like this talk of plans and tasks. It must have something to do with what he learned from that Magister in the Shrine, but what?"

"We can only watch and learn." As they arrived at the fireplace, Anders stared into the flames for a moment, then looked to Hawke. "Care to join me for a drink?"

Suddenly Hawke's face broke into a wry grin. "Not a sandwich?"

Anders rolled his eyes. "Beast. No, not a sandwich, and I still can't believe you said that when you did." Shaking his head, he held out his hand. "Come on. I really want to think about something besides Amell and Zevran for a while."

"Well, you don't really have a lot of options," Hawke admitted, glancing down at the outstretched hand. "I might be able to come up with something a bit more distracting than a drink, though."

"I was rather counting on it," Anders admitted.

After a long moment, Hawke took Anders' hand and tugged it. It still felt a bit surreal to be this close to the man he'd loved so intensely who he'd last seen in life with Hawke's own knife buried deep in his back. All their long conversations in this place-that-was-not-a-place echoed in his mind as he reached up to stroke Anders' cheek, whirling as he tried to understand how Anders could stand to be this close to him again. In the end, he knew, they still loved each other—and, in the end, that love was still doomed to end with them apart if Hawke had his way and returned to his body. "Are you certain?" he asked quietly, as he did every time before they ventured to the bedroom.

"This is not the time for talk," Anders said. "And…I'm terrified of what will happen when you wake up."

Hawke stared into Anders' eyes, seeing the pain and love and fear all wrapped in a familiar bundle, and felt an ache in his heart that would probably never go away. "I understand," he whispered, then drew Anders into a lingering kiss.

They didn't speak again until much later, lying in a mashup of blankets and pillows in front of the bedroom's fireplace in the simulacrum of the Amell estate. They both lay dozing in the heat of the flames, content enough to remember the best they could of the past. As Anders lazily traced runes onto Hawke's chest, Hawke tried to relax, tried to simply enjoy the moment. He knew it hadn't worked when Anders finally sighed and pushed himself into a sitting position. "You're tensing up already."

"Sorry. I just can't stop thinking about everything." Hawke sighed and rolled onto his side to stare into the flames. "I'm not good at this part. The waiting."

"I remember." Hawke heard Anders rise to his feet and move to retrieve his discarded clothing. "We should probably go back to watching your body. Now that the mirrors are synced up, time actually means something again."

"So Vengeance can't stop it?" Hawke asked, following suit.

Shaking his head, Anders said, "Anything we learn, we have to learn by constant vigil."

"Luckily I don't need to sleep here," Hawke muttered, then groaned as he levered himself to his feet. "I think you broke my ass."

"You can return the favor later," Anders quipped. "Let's go. Vengeance can get a little strange when we leave him alone for too long."

Hawke grunted and hurried to his own shirt and tunic, pulling them on hastily. "Not something I want to encourage, especially right now. I just wish we could do something."

"Not yet," Anders said with a little shrug. "But we can watch, and learn what we can."

"And hope for an opportunity to come along." When Anders didn't respond, Hawke didn't press the matter. They both knew that Hawke's chances were slim at best, and rested on the hope that between them Anders and Vengeance could figure out a counter to the spell preventing Hawke's soul from returning to his body. Hawke had never been very good at hope, which made the wait all the worse for him. Still, he had to cling to that hope, even if it felt distant and tremulous. It was all he had.

That, and the promise of Vengeance.