Chapter 18: Secrets

Alistair gripped the mug he had filled with wine tighter, leaning back in the chair.

Somehow, in the span of just two or perhaps three days his life had once again turned on its head and he had no control over it at all. He had no idea how it all had come down to this, when he had merely wanted to… he didn't know what he had wanted to do. He was just pretty sure it hadn't involved running from assassins, fighting slavers and least of all being part of something like this.

Well, technically he knew how and why the events had unfolded. He had gone for a walk and encountered a certain Aífe Cousland, which had been the beginning of the end. Perhaps, if he hadn't been quite so drunk back then, he'd have recognized the danger that she posed and run the other way screaming in terror. In an optimal scenario, that moment should have been sometime between being knocked down by the ballistic missile that Aífe had felt like and the moment when he had actually put on his armour to meet her at the Wounded Coast. He was reasonably sure there had been at least two instances in which he had debated turning his back on it all and walking into the sunset. It was just that he hadn't been smart enough to actually do it. He wasn't even delusional enough to think he had done it for the money, even if he didn't quite know the real reason.

He sighed. That wasn't absolutely true. He had an inkling. She had called him honourable. Had called him a warrior. And somehow that had stricken a chord with him, had made him want to be exactly that. An honourable warrior, worthy of trust. Worth something.

His expression hardened as he ran his thumb over the rough surface of the mug he was holding to his chest. He would simply not accept it. Any of it. She could not make him do anything.

Glancing up from the mug of wine he was holding, he could see her bustling about in the room where he had slept. Frowning, he let his eyes wander over her. She didn't even look all that catastrophic, despite having put on her armour again. Being of relative average height – perhaps a bit on the small side – probably helped with the deception. Nobody ever blamed the small ones.

He found himself glaring at the back of her head as he watched her bend over the table, her weapons spread out in front of her. She took each of them in her hand, looking along the blade and allowing herself to assess it, then put them down again. It looked as natural as if she was at the market, trying to decide which new scarf to buy.

Grimm had moved alongside her, looking up at her with clear puppy adoration. The big hound was leaning against her leg, seeking body contact, and uttered a low huff when she put aside a short sword that gleamed in the candle light.

"You cannot come, I am sorry, my sweet," she murmured and chose a stiletto that she also put aside.

Alistair snorted, raising the mug to his lips. Welcome to the club, buddy. Apparently nobody could ever come along. Not even when they insisted on it with good reasons – such as being an additional sword and being the one actually making the whole trip necessary.

Grimm grunted in protest and pressed himself even more tightly against her, making her stumble. She had to catch herself with one hand on the table, but did not even look at the hound or chastise him. It was much the same treatment as Alistair had gotten not half an hour ago.

"I know. I would feel better if I could take you along as well, but I intend to move quick and unseen. There are very small passageways leading into Darktown, I am not even sure I myself will be able to fit through," she explained and finally dropped a hand to Grimm's head, rubbing his ear between her fingers.

The hound shook his head and dodged away from her hand, ears flattened against his skull as he averted his eyes and snorted.

"It is necessary. I promise it is the last time I venture out alone," Aífe said and chose a pair of daggers, then rolled up the oiled leathers that contained the collection of her remaining blades. Lowering her voice, she continued. "We will leave soon. I need you to stay here and defend the boys for me, alright? I need you here, so I can be sure they are safe."

Alistair felt a sarcastic smile twitch over his lips. He hadn't been safe since he met her. Lifting the mug, he gulped down the wine and reached for the bottle, giving himself a refill. He noticed that the bottle was almost empty and gritted his teeth. His fingers were itching. He wasn't even remotely feeling any effects yet.

Looking back at Aífe, he saw that Grimm had gotten up and was stalking away. The woman touched a hand to his neck and the hound stopped when she moved around him and crouched down in front of him. She touched her brow to his and ran her hands down over his neck to his sides, murmuring something. Before pulling back, she pressed a kiss to his snout.

There. Right there. She was doing it again. Being all nice and calm and gentle and so very, very sure that there was no room for doubt of any kind. Alistair glared harder. He was so onto her, the whole small and cute act didn't fool him anymore.

She got up and when she turned, she met Alistair's eyes. Faltering, she looked at him for a moment and he couldn't help the frown that appeared on his face. Her gaze softened and she looked almost apologetic, but then she turned away and returned to the table to pick up the blades and arm herself.

Grimm, meanwhile, had walked over to Alistair and was now sitting right in front of him, just staring up at him quietly. Creepy, that.

"Yes?" Alistair asked finally and averted his eyes from Aífe.

The Mabari cocked his head to the side, sighed and etched forward until he was close enough to put a paw on his knee, whatever that gesture meant. Pet me? Feed me? Stop my lunatic mistress from being overly lunatic? Probably the latter.

"You'll have to be clearer. My doggish is a bit rusty." He drank from his wine, savouring the sweet taste that rolled over his tongue. Nelaros was still sleeping, having drifted off after Aífe had gone to change her clothes, probably still exhausted and tired after the almost fatal wound he had received – so he could get no translational help from that side.

And he wouldn't ask Aífe to translate doggish into something understandable. For reasons. Such as not intending to talk with her.

Grimm opened his mouth to pant, tongue lolling out, and uttered a sound Alistair couldn't quite identify.

"See, that could have been a burp for all I know. Words, Grimm, use them." Leaning back, Alistair gestured vaguely and was all too aware that Aífe was almost done arming herself.

With a whine Grimm put his second paw on Alistair's knee and heaved himself up, now being taller than the sitting warrior. He was still panting and whined again – and he looked dangerously close to drooling all over the mug. Quickly, Alistair lifted his hand holding the wine above Grimm's head, while the other hesitantly patted the dog.

"In case you think I've got any power over what she does, think again. Haven't you noticed anything over the course of the last days? Did that look to you like I had any say in that matter?" he murmured and refused to turn to look around when he heard Aífe walk towards them.

She was standing somewhere on his left, but he kept his eyes fixed on Grimm, who had swivelled his head to look at her.

"I will leave now," she said and Alistair nodded curtly. He had to bite his tongue to keep from offering to go with her again. She would, without a doubt, say no and give him a hundred reasons as to why. None of them valid, of course. They had been through that already.

"I expect the healers to come here this night, they promised to check up on you again. Grimm will know if it is them or somebody else knocking. I will return as fast as I can and bring more supplies if I manage to get somewhere unseen." She took a step to the side, putting herself in his field of vision.

Reluctantly, he dragged his eyes to hers and nodded again. Grimm dropped down to the ground again, looking back and forth between them.

Aífe seemed like she was about to say something, but then she closed her mouth again and nodded too, lowering her eyes. "Stay safe." Touching a hand to Grimm's head, she turned to leave.

Alistair got up and caught her by her arm, something he had not really thought through, he realized, as she stopped and looked at him. He looked away again, his eyes landing on his sword and shield.

"You really shouldn't go," he said finally and let go of her. "Not alone."

Her arm dropped to her side and she shrugged with one shoulder, almost helplessly. "I have to go alone. I can move faster on my own and hide in the shadows. All I need to do is set everything up for our departure, pick up some supplies and get your belongings from your room. I will be in and out before anybody is the wiser."

"It's just stuff. It's not important." He took a step back and away from her. He should have kept quiet when she asked if he had anything of value left in his room, but he hadn't thought she intended to go alone.

"It is important to you," she replied and he looked away. He hadn't said so, but apparently she had read it between the lines anyhow. It was bothering him, somehow, that she cared.

"It is the least I can do. We need to leave Kirkwall, the sooner the better, I cannot change anything about that. What I can do, however, is to at least make sure you do not lose anything you hold dear."

He wished he could convince her that there was nothing of value in that room, but he could not even convince himself. Hidden beneath a loose floor board he had hidden Duncan's dagger, the one he had found a lifetime ago at the ruins of Ostagar. It was the partner to the sword he had brought with him. Next to it sat a small wooden box, containing only three items. Leaving them behind... it would hurt.

None of it had any real value, at best you'd get a few silvers for the dagger. The memories, though, no matter how tainted... he could discard them no more than he could stab himself and feel no pain.

"It will be fine, I will be fast. Perhaps I will even learn some new information about the Crows, and I can set up false trails for them to follow," Aífe said when he remained quiet.

"I should come with you. It's my stuff you're risking being seen for, after all." He had little hope she would agree and he could see her point. He wasn't exactly a stealthy person and the innkeeper and most of the patrons knew him. He'd be spotted faster than a purple dog.

She simply smiled before she walked towards the door again, listening for a moment to make sure nobody was close to the door outside. "Stay safe," she said and slipped outside.

Alistair wasn't sure how much time had passed when he could feel the first whispers ghost over his skin. Slowly, the warrior got to his feet and looked at the door. The bottle of wine was empty and he wasn't feeling any better. Rather worse, if anything. The thirst had grown in the quietness of the room, his mouth too dry to bear it.

The fire had burned low and Nelaros had shifted in his sleep, pulling the blanket higher. The elf was very quiet, even when sleeping. He had barely moved at all – Alistair didn't know if it was from pure exhaustion or his general sleeping pattern.

With each moment Alistair could feel the presence of somebody else drawing closer. Like little spiders running over his skin, a slightly ticklish feeling and first and then something stronger that settled in his gut. Two presences, Grey Wardens.

He had no doubt who they were. The healers, Anders and Eynla, as Aífe had predicted. It didn't take long before Grimm jumped to his feet and hastened to the door, nose pressed against the wood as he bared his teeth. His ears were laid back and he looked menacing, but no sound escaped him.

Finally, after a long moment, the hound stepped back again and retreated. He didn't seem to be overly happy about their visitors, but at least gave Alistair enough room to open the door and let them in after a short greeting.

Anders and Eynla slipped into the little house and stood still for a moment, casting glances around. As Anders caught sight of Grimm, who backed away yet another step, something flickered over his face. After a moment he simply smiled and shrugged.

"I've always been more of a cat person," he said.

Grimm showed his teeth for a brief moment as a way of answer and Alistair shot the dog look out of the corner of his eyes.

No kidding.

"He won't harm you, he's just a bit grumpy at the moment. The last days have been hectic," Alistair said and hoped that it was actually true. Grimm didn't look like he was about to take any action against the mages, but he was far from being the loving little puppy he had been just hours before.

Eynla stepped closer after she had pulled her hood from her head, the silver hair now framing her pretty face. She fixed her eyes on Alistair for a moment, before she turned to look at Nelaros.

"Has he woken up since he was healed?" she asked quietly.

"Yes, he was sitting up and ate and drank with us. He seemed fine, only very tired," Alistair answered and found it easier this time to ignore the pressing feeling of their presence. Perhaps it had been the poison back then that had made them feel so hostile. Perhaps the wine just helped this time.

"He lost a lot of blood. While we mended his flesh and repaired the damage done by poison and blood loss, we can only push the body into producing more blood. We cannot generate it on our own. It will take a bit of time before he feels normal again," Anders answered in her stead. "The best medicine is to eat, drink and sleep right now."

Eynla stepped to the elf's bed and stretched out her hand, a soft light starting to play around her fingers. Nelaros had started to shift when they talked, but now grew quiet again and his breath seemed more even to Alistair now.

"What are you doing?" the warrior asked and took a step towards her. It didn't look like healing magic.

Grimm, noticing the tone of his voice, stepped closer and flattened his ears against his skull. His eyes were on Eynla, but every then and again he looked at Alistair to gauge his mood and reaction. He was probably looking for any indication on what to do – he did it with Aífe, he just looked at her and even the slightest movement of a finger could push him into action.

Alistair tried to relax, letting his hands sink to his sides. Grimm took a step back, but was still alert.

"It's a spell that deepens his sleep. There is no reason to wake him now, the longer and deeper the sleeps, the better. We can only check on him at this point and make sure he is actually recovering," Eynla explained and now extended her other hand. The light changed to a soft blue glow as she moved her hands over Nelaros' still form.

"You didn't need to put a sleep spell on him," Alistair murmured and watched her carefully.

"I didn't need to, no. But it guarantees that he will sleep deeply for at least another few hours and he needs the sleep." Eynla looked up from her patient, raising an eyebrow at him. "Don't worry, it is a very light spell."

A spell a Templar could lift, she meant, but didn't say. Alistair frowned and nodded finally.

"Now, if you'd let me take a look at your wound?" Anders asked behind him and Alistair turned to look at the man. He was tall, as tall as he himself, but leaner. He didn't exactly look very mage-y, now that Alistair thought about it. Except for the staff and the feathers and the rolled up pages sticking out of one pocket. Alright, perhaps he did look like a mage upon closer inspection.

"Thank you. I feel alright, though," Alistair said. There was something off about Anders and it wasn't the taint, even though it felt weaker than it should be. Alistair couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it felt almost as if the magic within him was stronger, much stronger, than was normal. Now that they were standing close, it almost felt as if the healer was leaking magic constantly, like a vessel overflowing.

"Sure you do," Anders agreed and a grin lifted one corner of his mouth. "You're a Warden. The taint fought the poison and lessened the effect it had. The taint also helps you to withstand wounds easier and heal faster." Shifting his weight, the mage regarded Alistair. "I could still facilitate this easily, especially since it is only a flesh wound by now. Unless you have a thing for pain and self-torture. In which case, hey, I don't judge."

Alistair snorted and shook his head. "Let me guess: You're one of those funny mages."

"Only every other day, though," Anders answered and waited until Alistair had settled down on the chair with a quiet chuckle. He started to remove the bandages and Alistair could tell the exact moment when he noticed the honey: His eyebrow shot up and he leaned closer, taking a rather hesitant sniff, before raising his eyes to Alistair. "Honey?"

"Aífe said it prevents gangrene and… something about fever and soothing the skin?" It was more a question than a statement, because he did not quite recall which part the widow bark contributed. Anders raised his second eyebrow and Alistair set up straighter. "She's convincing."

"I'm sure she is," the mage murmured and finished removing the bandages. "I have read about the healing attributes of certain kinds of honey. I was wondering more why she'd think it necessary. The taint prevents gangrene and fever in all but the most severe cases, though. Treatment beyond wound cleaning was not necessary."

Alistair could feel Eynla's eyes on him and swallowed, meeting Anders' gaze. Of course it was no secret to them that he was a Grey Warden and knowing his name and where he came from, both were aware of who exactly he was. He disliked it, being so utterly exposed.

"I'm not a Grey Warden. Not anymore," he said.

"Neither am I," Anders answered. "The taint doesn't disappear, though, for better or for worse."

Not a Warden anymore? Alistair looked the mage over again, but could see nothing all that extraordinary, aside from the strange feeling of overflowing magic. But then, what did he expect? Nothing really changed, no matter how far you ran.

He remembered faintly that Eynla had remarked something like that – Anders and him leaving the Wardens, but he hadn't really registered it at the time.

He wanted to ask where Anders was from, why he had left, what he knew – and at the same time he wanted to end the conversation here and now, remove himself from this topic altogether.

"I know. Aífe doesn't know anything, though, and I'd like it to stay that way." At the same moment Alistair spoke, he realized how it sounded. Like he was lying on purpose. It wasn't lying, though, he hadn't told her any lies at all. She hadn't asked.

"Lady Cousland doesn't know who you are?" Eynla seemed suddenly interested. Alistair didn't turn to look at her, he kept his eyes on Anders, who slowly extended his hand. His fingers almost touched the skin close to the still open wound, but only almost. Blue light seemed to seep out of the mage's palm in waves that rolled over Alistair's skin. The magic felt like a cool breeze and with it, any feeling of itch or pain was gone.

"No," the warrior finally answered curtly.

"Interesting," Eynla commented and Alistair shot her an annoyed glance. What was so damn interesting about somebody not knowing about his rotten family for a change? They were dead anyhow, all of them. He was the last of nothing. So really, nothing to know there, except that he was a well known mistake.

"The rebel Cousland and the last of the Theirins. Now that sounds like a story," she added after a moment.

It took him a moment to realize the implication. Aífe had led a rebellion against the self-proclaimed regent Loghain and his right-hand-man, Howe, even if she hadn't officially joined the Civil War. What was more, some people had idolized her and her troops for defying Loghain. She was for sure not a favourite with Loghain's daughter, the Queen of Ferelden at the moment – especially not because as a Cousland, Aífe doubtlessly enjoyed the support of more than just a few nobles. Would the queen know, though, that she travelled in Alistair's presence on top of it all… well… It looked bad. It looked like it was no coincidence.

Alistair gritted his teeth, his eyes pressed closed. He had not thought of that at all until now. The bastard prince and the rebel leader of the Coastlands. It all came down to the one thing again: His bloodline.

He didn't want the throne. He wouldn't take it and if it were offered with promises of happiness and peace and joy, he'd still not take it because he'd know it was a lie. Not that the queen would believe him for a second.

"Aífe knows nothing," he said when he had managed to push his thoughts aside. "I didn't know who she was until after we had worked together and frankly, I hadn't wasted a thought on it until now." He buried a hand in his hair, raking his fingers over his scalp. "There is no story, you can just as well stop digging. No plans, no coups, no nothing."

Anders was watching him quietly, hand still extended, and his eyes darkened.

"Leave it be, Eynla. You see demons when it's just shadows flickering in the candlelight. Sometimes life isn't easy. Sometimes things happen," the mage said. There was wistfulness in his tone, as he lowered his eyes and shook his head slightly.

Eynla snorted, withdrawing her magic from Nelaros and regarding the two men. "You're telling me that?"

Anders looked up, giving her a sharp glance, and something transpired between the two of them. What, Alistair could not quite say. The tension between them was back again and he wasn't sure whether it was caused by what had been said or rather by what hadn't been said.

"Don't worry, I won't let anything slip," Anders then said and returned his attention to Alistair. The magic stopped flowing and the mage let his hand drop back to his side, the pleasant cool feeling on Alistair's skin gone almost the very same moment.

"Secrets like these inevitably come to light and by then the consequences are far worse than they would have been at first." Eynla had crossed her arms in front of her chest and shook her head almost imperceptibly.

"And here I was, thinking you are simply a Warden mage and not one of the Rivaini seers," Alistair said and found it hard not to snap at her. He wanted to leave the conversation and the room altogether. He wanted a sip of whiskey, or better yet two.

"I sealed your wound and healed the damage done to the tissue. It was only minor at this point and you should have full function of your shoulder already – except for a bit of pinching here and there, where the skin is still tight, you're good as new," Anders said and thereby totally changed the course of the conversation. He clasped Alistair's shoulder and squeezed it in a quick gesture, then turned and nodded at Nelaros.

Only slowly Eynla averted her eyes from them and looked at the still form of the elf.

"The damage to the tissue has been repaired. His blood levels are still low, but his organs are fully functional and no traces of the poison are left. I recommend lots of sleep and liquids, he should not exhaust himself within the next weeks, if possible. He'll sleep for a few more hours yet, then he'll hopefully feel hungry."

"Thank you for your help," Alistair said and got up again, throwing Anders a thankful look that elicited a small smile from the mage.

"Aífe more than repaid me for it, immensely so. I feel almost like I need to heal you till you are shining with health the tip of your toes to the top of your head." Anders chuckled quietly. "In fact, I meant to ask… does she require any healing? I only got a quick luck at her when she came to get me at the clinic and healed only the most obvious injury."

Alistair did not have time to answer, because Grimm shot out from his corner and pawed at the door, whining as he danced around. At this point the warrior didn't even wonder anymore when a quiet knock resounded and Aífe slipped in not a moment later.

She stopped in her tracks for a moment, regarding the mages, and blinked in surprise, but then a smile appeared on her face as she regarded Alistair.

"Fit as a fiddle?" she asked him after greeting the mages and rolled his shoulder as way of answer.

Not wasting anytime, she asked about Nelaros and listened to their explanations, nodding, as she came closer and at the same tried not to stumble over her war hound. She frowned when Eynla mentioned the sleeping spell, but said nothing. When Anders asked to see her injuries, she waved him off, claiming that she had nothing more than a few bruises and those would be healed within hours once she drank another poultice.

Just as they were about to leave and Eynla was already slipping her hood over her head, Anders stopped as if he had suddenly remembered something.

"I wanted to let you know that you could ask a friend of mine to escort you out of the city. Don't worry, he doesn't expect coin, he has quite enough of that at the moment – and he'd for sure do it as a favour to me." He leaned on his staff and gestured towards the door. "He is not very far from here, in fact, we could find him at the Hanged Man."

Alistair looked from him to Eynla, who seemed slightly amused. Somehow, he almost expected her to say something any moment. Something such as – Hey, fun fact of the day: You are in the company of the bastard prince, disgraced traitor, unbelievable idiot, yadda yadda yadda. She didn't, though, she simply watched Aífe.

Aífe cocked her head to the side and tentatively asked: "Who is your friend?"

"His name is Hawke. He's a very capable… warrior," Anders answered after a short pause.

Aífe's reaction was immediate. She lifted a hand, quickly waving the idea off with a quite determined head-shake.

"The Hawke? Oh, no. No, no, no. Absolutely not. It is indeed very nice of you to offer and I thank you, but we will not require any help," she said, her hand continuing the waving away motion.

"Are you sure?" Anders asked dubiously, resulting in a nod that could dislocate a vertebrae or two in the near future if Aífe didn't drastically decrease the movement angle.

"Very sure. I honestly speak with the utmost respect for Ser Hawke, but I am planning to leave the city unseen. Quite frankly, I think the chances of leaving unseen in the company of a purple, three-legged dog spitting rainbows would be remarkably higher than doing so in the company of one Garret Hawke, widely known by anyone and their grandmother. I am serious. I just passed a group of elderly women, gushing about that dashing young mage-boy who is now living in Hightown and was kind enough to return a lost scarf to one of them." She even tried to smile apologetically, and it looked quite convincing, except for the little twitch around her corners of her mouth that betrayed her.

It took a moment, but then Anders burst out into laughter. He leaned on his staff, seesawing on his heels, trying to calm down.

"Oh, I can't wait until Varric hears that one," he chuckled to himself.

Alistair couldn't help but join in, laughing quietly to himself. Comparing Hawke to a purple, rainbow-spitting dog was perhaps a bit drastic but kind of understandable. Everybody in Kirkwall did know Hawke after he returned from the Deep Roads expedition and used the money to buy back the old family estate, thus making the family name honourable once again. Plus, pretty much every citizen had seen him fling a fireball at least once by now. How all those thugs were still stupid enough to attack him on the open street was truly a mystery.

"It's quite true, though. My cousin isn't subtle," Eynla said with an amused smile.

"Thank you for the offer, though," Aífe was quick to appease Anders, even though Alistair didn't think it necessary. The mages didn't seem offended.

"You'll leave Kirkwall soon, then?" Eynla asked and cast a worried glance at Nelaros.

Aífe nodded. "Yes, we will have to. We are expected in Starkhaven very soon."

"Alright. Try to take it easy on your friend, he needs rest and I wouldn't suggest letting him walk all day long. It will increase the time it takes for him to recover fully drastically," Eynla stated and Aífe once again nodded.

"I will take good care of him, do not worry. Once out of the city, we can travel by carriage or go only as far as Nelaros can manage." Aífe cast her friend a tender glance and smiled at the mages.

They said their good-byes and Alistair stepped back, watching the three of them as they talked on the way to the door. He could see Eynla looking Aífe over carefully, as if trying to make sense of something. Swallowing, he crossed his arms in front of his chest. He felt suddenly cold. His mouth was dry. Instinctively he reached for the mug and only when he had lifted it halfway to his mouth he realized that it had been empty for quite a while already.

The mages left and Aífe turned to him with a halting smile. He had a hard time smiling back. She had no idea what she was getting into. The question was… did he?

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Author's Comment:
*looking around* Holy nectarine, this has been putting on cobwebs. o_o I am really, really sorry for the long wait. Work, private stress and the unwillingness of a certain mage to cooperate have made this chapter really hard to write for me. I am curious to see how you like it, since I am on the edge about it. Some aspects turned out really well, I think, other things... I'm not so sure about.
I will try to upload the next chapter much, much faster. I'm finally leaving Kirkwall and can concentrate on my rat pack of four. :)
A huge thanks goes to alyssacousland for pointing out quite a few mistakes and saving myself the embarassment, and also for her moral support with Anders. And as always, a big thank you to Eynla for her honest opinion on the bits and pieces of this chapters. :) Thanks of course also to all you lovely people who review: Marvey4, Graymalkyn, LadyMimzy, Pollyanna24, EkoCentric, Melysande. Your support needs a lot and whenever I feel like I'm unable to continue, I check out your feedback and push myself forward. :) Thanks also to those quiet followers out there, I hope you enjoy the new chapter! :)
A few last remarks:
1) I feel cheap for silencing Nelaros in this way, but he IS still in a condition that will set him back for a bit. Also, the conversation between the three Wardens was really important to me. Sorry, Nel. ._. I promise you get more screentime soon.
2) Anders was very difficult for me to write - this is between ActI and ActII of DA2, so I imagined that Anders still has traces of his old personality left, but Justice is already taking his toll and the moments of wittiness are not all that abundant at this point. At the same time, I think he'd feel a certain kinship with Alistair - being lost in a way, and running away. Not that Anders can do that anymore, or wants to. I hope I was able to portray him well enough, especially for you avid Anders fans out there. :)
3) Grimm doesn't like things that don't belong in this world. Such as demons. And spirits. Especially the kind that takes over people and likes the colour blue.
4) Anora'll throw a fit when she finds out for all the wrong reasons. As will Loghain, probably. Fergus will just facepalm.
5) HAH. MWHAAHAHAHA. GOOD-BYE KIRKWALL, DREARY OLD POOPBROWN KIRKWALL. This is officially the last chapter set there. \o/ That makes me so happy. Next up: Cranky old ladies. Cake. And Alistair can't help himself. :D
6) *squints at counter* Soon.