Atonement
By KSCrusaders (Sable Rhapsody on BSN)
Part Three
"Woman, you're going to be the death of me."
She didn't argue when Anders scolded her like an errant child for the better part of ten minutes, just let his voice wash over her and his soothing hands run along her bloody skin. It was enough that he didn't have a sudden attack of nobility while she was distracting Sebastian so he could slip out of Ostwick. She smiled up at him and touched his arm. "Thank you for not interfering."
Anders gave her the same long-suffering, anguished look he always wore whenever he had to heal her wounds or cure her ills. "Promise me you won't pull a stunt like that again. Sebastian's not worth it." His face hardened when he turned his attention to the deep, inflamed knife wound in her shoulder.
"I won't," she murmured. "If he didn't get the hint, he never will." She turned her face into his touch, marveling at how gentle he was.
"I don't understand why you even bothered in the first place," said Anders, unable to hide the shaking in his voice. "If he hurts you again-" He stopped suddenly, blue light beginning to crackle along his skin. Natale leaned up with some effort and rested her forehead against his.
"Don't worry," she whispered, keeping her voice calm and steady. "I'm right here." Her fingers traced his sharp cheekbones, jaw, the faint blue light around his usually warm eyes. The glow slowly faded, and Anders took a deep breath to calm himself, looking down at her apologetically.
Justice had been relatively quiet over the last year, only coming out on one occasion when she and Anders were cornered by templars. She suspected that the emotional fallout of destroying Kirkwall's Chantry and killing so many innocents had subdued the Fade spirit for the short-term. But whenever she was seriously threatened or hurt, Anders' control frayed. She tried not to think of what he would do if their war took her life before his.
He pushed her back into a reclining position, rubbing his temples. "I'm sorry. I just-you and Sebastian never exactly saw eye to eye."
Natale shook her head, wondering how she was going to explain this to Anders, who had disliked Sebastian from the start.
"No," she said slowly, "but I know Sebastian. He makes stupid, impulsive decisions, and people die over them. I wanted to give him the chance to back down." She laughed bitterly. "Friends sometimes push."
Anders' hand squeezed her uninjured shoulder. "I...don't know that I would have been as generous."
"What's done is done, and the ball is in his court now."
"Natale...you don't really believe that."
She closed her eyes and let him work his magic, feeling her flesh slowly knit back together, her blood begin to run clean once more. Physically, she felt fine. Mentally, she longed for this whole charade to be over soon. She didn't mind spilling blood when it was necessary, but that didn't make it any less unpleasant. Especially when it was someone she'd known...someone who once trusted her.
"I just wish..." She stopped herself with a frustrated shake of her head and rested her head in Anders' lap. She could wish all she wanted that things had been different. That Meredith hadn't sent for the Right of Annulment a full year before Anders blew up the Chantry. That the Grand Cleric had been arsed to do something about the templars' systematic abuses. That Sebastian wasn't such a goddamned fool.
There was a soft glow through her closed eyes, and she felt Anders press his lips to her forehead, her eyes, her mouth. Then he took both her hands in his and helped her to her feet.
"Come on," he said gently. "You paid for our head start in blood. I'm not about to waste it."
If Fenris had been with him, this would be a lot easier. Fenris knew what it was like to be on the run. Fenris knew how to survive on his own. He could've helped him hunt down Anders. Fenris had been an ally, a brother in arms during those last tense months in Kirkwall when it seemed like everyone was turning against him.
But none of that mattered. In the end, Fenris stood with Hawke, even after seeing everything she had done. She had fooled him, as she had fooled all the others. Pulled them into an unwinnable cause sparked by a madman under the veneer of friendship and loyalty. But she wasn't going to fool Sebastian.
It was easier traveling on his own. He'd had to leave Alrain in a hospice in Ostwick-he knew that otherwise, his old captain would follow him to the ends of the earth, and no one else was going to die for his cause.
He wasn't going to become her. Or Anders.
By Sebastian's count, twenty three people had died in Ostwick that day, eleven of them innocent bystanders. She ran into their midst. She used them like human shields from his men. All that blood was on her hands.
He no longer prayed for guidance or for peace. He had no use now for either. Instead, when he knelt each night in the sight of the Maker, he prayed for his steps to be swift and his arrows true. Hawke and Anders had a head start after her bloody stunt, but Sebastian was determined. Every day along the coastal road to Hercinia brought him just a little closer to his quarry.
It was so quiet and lonely out on the coast, with nothing but the wind and the whisper of the surf at night. The black sand and gravel crunched under his feet, rough and salty. He awoke at dawn and did not sleep until the moon was high in the sky, ignoring the blisters on his feet and his body's cry for rest.
On the third evening, Sebastian dreamed of home.
"Death is never justice."
"It is my right, my duty-"
"Do not interfere, Sebastian!"
"All you have to do is kill anyone who stands in your way."
Elthina stood in Kirkwall's Chantry, underneath the great golden statue of Andraste. But it was not Elthina as he remembered her. The desire demon's scaly tail snaked out from beneath her robes, and her eyes gleamed from the Grand Cleric's kindly face. She reached out to him with clawed hands, caressing his skin. "Shining prince of Starkhaven," she purred, her talons scraping his scalp.
Then Lady Harimann's grinning face erupted through the demon's open jaws, there was a flash and thunderclap of red light, and he awoke in his tent, covered in cold sweat.
"Maker, no!"
He stumbled out of the tent like a blind man, crashing into the surf. The cold and salty water surged around him until he was chest-deep in the waves, gasping for air. It stung his eyes, cleared his head, mingling with sweat and the tears he told himself were not there.
Sodden footprints followed him out of the water; he looked away from the shore toward the east. Toward Starkhaven...the only home he had left. Hawke was right. Maker damn her, she was always right. He was losing himself to this madness. He could return home, and never fear her reprisal. She was still a woman of her word.
But he could still see Elthina's face, still hear her voice. The thought of Anders and Hawke getting away with everything they'd done, all the blood they'd spilled, made him sick with rage. He rushed back up the beach toward his camp and tore it apart, taking only his armor and weapons. And then he began to walk along the coast, away from Starkhaven, heedless of his chattering teeth.
Maker help him, if it was the last thing he did on this earth, he would have justice.
He would have vengeance.
Anders woke earlier than he would've liked, just as night was giving way to the cold grey light that preceded dawn. Carefully, he slipped out of the oversized bedroll so he wouldn't wake Natale. She stirred a little and murmured his name; strange that after all these years, that sound could still bring a smile to his face and a flutter in his heart. He stroked her cheek, waiting until she turned back toward the dying embers and fell asleep once more.
Picking up his staff out of habit, Anders walked out toward the waves, the black sand rough under his bare feet. Calenhad barked happily at him, frolicking in the surf. He couldn't help but smile. At least someone was having fun out here. It was too exposed for Anders' comfort. He preferred the hills, where he and Natale had the ability to hide.
"Stop that!" he said as the dog darted up to him with a bit of seaweed dangling from his slobbery jaws. "How often do I have to tell you that I'm a cat person?" He unsuccessfully tried to fend off Calenhad as the dog bounded around him, spraying him with little flecks of seawater and drool.
"Ugh," said Anders, turning up his nose at the smell of salty, wet dog. "How Natale puts up with you, I'll never understand." He started to walk back the camp when he heard Calenhad growl behind him, nose twitching madly into the breeze.
"All right, all right," he called over his shoulder. "We can share-"
Over a hundred pounds of mabari hit his back and sent him spawling facefirst into the wet sand, knocking the wind clean out of him just as an arrow whizzed over his head and found a target. Anders felt the mabari's body shudder, Calenhad's warm weight slumping beside him on the sand, his uneven and wheezing breath along the back of his neck. Anders scrambled to his feet, reaching for his staff.
It all happened in a moment. His eyes darted from the whimpering animal to the woman stirring not twenty feet behind him, to the man with murder in his eyes running down the beach. Another arrow met the bowstring, this time pointed at Natale Hawke.
Blue light surged from his skin and eyes. He raced down the beach toward Sebastian, a maelstrom of magic and energy booming in his wake. "You will not hurt her!" he shouted, but his voice and body were no longer his own. He sensed fear, hate, and matched it with his own, stoking his rage into a literal inferno.
Arrow after arrow burned harmlessly to ash in the magical storm around him. Flame surged along his skin, and Sebastian's armor glowed blood red, the bow dissolving into ash in his hands. He dropped to his knees with a howl of pain just as he drew a knife from his belt.
The blade exploded in his hand, showering them both with white-hot shards and leaving nothing but a scorched stump behind. He dimly heard screaming, footsteps behind him, cries in the distance. Meaningless. Weak. He lifted the point of his staff above the prostrate man's chest.
"Anders..."
How dare he, after she spared him the first time? How dare he stand in the way of justice? How dare he turn on an ally after all she had done for him? He would die for his crimes a hundredfold. He would bend to the will of justice.
"Anders, no!"
And then he found himself on his knees. Sebastian curled up on the sand beside him. And Natale Hawke kneeling next to Sebastian, her grey eyes glassy and stricken.
All the rage, all the power, drained out of Anders at the look on her face. "He's not going to make it," she whispered. Anders blinked up at her, stunned.
"Calenhad."
She didn't need to ask twice once the meaning pierced his fogged mind. Though his legs felt like lead, Anders stumbled to his feet and grabbed his staff, running back toward the mabari bleeding into the sand.
Tears fell from Natale's eyes onto Sebastian's still-scorched armor, evaporating into little puffs of steam. "Why?" she whispered. "Why didn't you run? Why didn't you listen to me?" The scent of ozone and burning flesh stung her nostrils; Sebastian's face went ashen grey as he entered shock from the agony, blue eyes rolling into the back of his head.
She had spilled so much blood already. A little more on Sebastian's behalf was the least she could give to him. Blood flowed from her palms, holding him still. She rolled him onto his back, careful not to touch his burning armor, and took a deep breath.
She was no spirit healer like Anders, she would have to substitute blood for lyrium, and she had no Fade spirit to guide her. But she could still touch the Fade. Natale took several deep breaths to calm herself and reached into the Fade's flow, hoping her attempt at mercy did not cost her life.
The blood in her palms pooled and disappeared-golden light began swirling around them both before it coalesced around Sebastian's prone form. Magic surged through her open eyes, her fingers, light beginning to pour through her like a conduit. Just as the air began to burn in her lungs, Sebastian's limbs relaxed, his face smoothed, and his eyes slid closed. Natale collapsed on the sand beside him, letting go of the spell. Her head pounded, and she had to fight the urge to throw up. When the nausea of a spell far beyond her means began to fade, she forced herself up on shaking limbs to look at his face.
He was peaceful now. Calm. His battered chest rose and fell gently, though he was merely sleeping. She pulled her dagger from her belt and leaned over him, using both hands to steady her grip.
His life poured over her hands and arms as she cradled Sebastian like a child, until the last breath left his shattered body. Slowly, as though she'd aged a hundred years since Anders' shouts woke her, she laid him back down in the sand. Bit by bit, inch by painstaking inch, she started separating his armor from his scorched flesh. A red-gold sunrise loomed over the horizon by the time she was finished.
She dragged Sebastian's dead weight toward the water, leaving a streak of red in the sand behind them. Even the water and the foam turned dull crimson around them. Gently, she cleaned his wounds, his throat, tried her best to keep the sand from sticking to his skin. The waves nudged his body against hers, as though he was fighting not to drown in the bloody surf.
Anders splashed through the water behind her. He didn't meet her eyes. Wordlessly, he helped her pull Sebastian back onto shore. Helped her gather driftwood for a pyre, heave him over the top, and pile his armor at the base. Anders stepped back, his eyes blank and hollow inside his pale face.
It might be sacrilege. And Sebastian might not approve after all she had done. But she had to try. For herself, and for him. She crossed what remained of his arms across his chest and held her hand over his heart.
"Blessed be the souls of the faithful, that they ascend to Your right hand." Her voice shook, but grew stronger and clearer as she spoke. "Ashes we were, and ashes we become. Maker, give this young man a place at your side. Let him find peace in eternity."
Blue flames followed her fingertips along the wood. Natale bowed her head, forcing herself to stay and watch as Prince Sebastian Vael disappeared into smoke.
Maker help them all. It was all a waste. Such a waste.
She allowed Anders to lead her back to camp when the last of the flames began to die out. Calenhad lay on her pile of blankets, unmoving. She bit her lip against the tears, then stared in astonishment when the dog's nose twitched, and he started straining toward her.
"You saved him," she whispered. Calenhad stuck out the tip of his tongue to lick her hands and whined softly.
"I'm sorry," said Anders. "It was all I could do for him. I'm not sure if he'll fully recover." He didn't mention that he could hardly get Justice under control to get enough focus to heal. He was sure she already knew.
Natale gently scratched Calenhad behind the ears and took a deep breath, looking out to sea. The haunted look in her eyes lingered, but her usual steely determination began to return as she forced herself to come up with a plan. The only way onward was forward. "I'll get a message to Carver," she said quietly. "Calenhad can spend his twilight years with the Wardens in Vigil's Keep."
"And me?"
Anders looked at her with the same eyes as he had for the first three years after they met. Longing and guilt, hope and fear. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and the three of them watched the sun fully emerge over the horizon, the wind blow the last of the plume of ash and smoke out over the sea.
No compromise. No peace. But one day, it was all going to be worth the cost.
It had to be.