I woke up and I knew it was long past midnight. I had been waiting for Anders, I had wanted to tell him about my misadventure with Isabela that day—but he had never come and I had fallen asleep, waiting. I rolled over to see if he was next to me, but he still wasn't in bed. I sighed and sat up, I knew where he was. The same place I'd found him the past three nights. I stretched and stood up; there was no chill to the dry summer air. As I walked out of my room I saw firelight streaming out of the study downstairs, Bodhan must have kept it going for Anders.
I went down the stairs and turned into the study, stopping in the doorway. The fire kept most of the room lit so I could see where I was going as I headed into the room and up the small staircase to where Anders would be—at the table in the small library. When I reached the top I saw him, sprawled across an array of tomes and parchments across the table, a single lit candle nearly burned out. I walked over to him quietly and surveyed the collection. I had had several chances lately to take a closer look at what it was he was reading, to get some idea of what he was doing, but I didn't. I had seen him do this for days on end now, but I had ignored a good deal of what Anders had been reading and doing lately—and he hadn't seemed to want to share. Turning from the table I looked down at him, he was wearing himself out. Or Justice is, I thought.
I reached down and stroked his hair back, where it had covered his face. Why won't you let me help you? I thought. I leaned over and whispered, "Anders, love. Wake up."
He stirred slightly; it never took much to wake him anymore. He lifted his head from the musty leather-bound book that had been his pillow and looked up at me. "Szer. What time…" he mumbled.
"Late, Anders. So if you're going to sleep you might as well be in bed," I smiled slightly.
He looked back at his assortment of writings and then to me, "I suppose you're right. This will be here in the morning." He closed the book he had been laying on and stood up in front of me.
I looked up at him; his brown eyes were even darker in the firelight. I had never seen him look so exhausted. I reached up to his face, "Maybe you need a break," I said softly.
He reached up and pressed my hand flat against his face, closing his eyes. "A break... It has been a while," he said, seeming to think out loud. "But I have to do this," he said wearily, resolutely.
"I wish I knew what 'this' was," I sighed.
He opened his eyes and looked down at me. "Szer, if I could…if I told you…" He seemed lost for words.
"I'm not asking you to, Anders," I said, to myself as much as to him. "But, do you remember? I told you once I couldn't stand losing you—to the templars…or to Justice. We've made it this far, but I've never felt this close to losing you." My voice was more composed than my mind—I was afraid. And I didn't even know why.
"You haven't lost me, love," he said, looking at me for a moment before pulling me into his arms. "Not yet," I heard him whisper over my shoulder.