Notes: Something rather different in this chapter, but I hope you enjoy it.
Song: Imagine Dragons – "Demons," another "Anders" song for me.
Chapter 80: Where Our Demons Hide
The dream terrain of the Fade surrounded Caitlyn, floating rocks amid ever-shifting gray-green clouds, speckled and patterned paths twisting in strange directions, magic doors and portals. These bizarre features sprouted up around and in the midst of a shimmery, almost unfinished-looking mimicry of a place that could exist in the real world.
Caitlyn tried to focus. The ground was—mostly—stone, or something appearing as that in the Fade. She was in some sort of... square. She squinted; along the periphery were oddly distorted buildings, shifting ever so slightly with her own movements or sometimes nothing at all.
Hightown, she realized. This is Hightown in the Fade... or what I perceive it to be.
The street was familiar but creepily different, and not just because of the strangeness of the Fade itself. There were no people present. The Fade version of Hightown was deserted.
I was thinking of Vengeance, Caitlyn thought in dismay. I was hoping to focus on him in order to keep other demons away from me during the blood magic. I should have been transported into his vicinity, but where is he?
She shuffled up the dreamlike steps of the Keep, reaching the grand entrance quickly. She glanced backward. It now seemed impossibly high, though she could not have walked more than twenty or thirty vertical feet. But the street of Hightown seemed to be thousands of feet below her suddenly.
Steeling herself, she entered the Keep. There were no guards. No courtiers. No staff. The place was creepy when it was abandoned like this, and Caitlyn felt vulnerable suddenly. Fear rose in her. What is in there? she thought in a sudden panic.
But before she could fall into the abyss of terror at that speculation, another presence finally appeared: a little glowing ball of mint green. A wisp, Caitlyn thought, recalling the term her father had long ago taught her for a weak and minor spirit of the Fade.
The other presence brought her a modicum of comfort—but only for a second. As she approached it, she realized instinctively what—or who—it was.
Justice! Or... Vengeance.
The wisp hovered before her, unable to assume a recognizable form, unable to speak to her in words. Horror overcame her. This is what he has been reduced to. He is practically gone... or this aspect of him, at least. He can't recover from this on his own. He isn't strong enough now. He would have dwindled away, and with him, Anders—one way or the other. Where is the rest of him, with Anders as he sleeps? Or is it completely gone?
Fear rose in her, but she attempted to stay calm and communicate with the wisp. "Justice?" she asked weakly, hoping that reminding the spirit of his identity would help bring him back to health.
The orb could not speak to her in words, but it did have some rudimentary abilities left, and one of them was the expression of raw emotion—and the power of movement as that emotion suffused it. The orb rushed at Caitlyn, flaring vividly green. She instinctively ducked.
He's angry at me, she realized. "Vengeance?" she offered at that thought.
The orb whirled around her, lashing her with a tendril of magic, then slowed and hovered in front of her, pulsing like an angry heart. Caitlyn still could not detect any words from it, but she did detect the anger.
I wish it—he—wouldn't attack me, but if Vengeance loses his anger, what else is left? she thought rationally. I can't fight this wisp. That will destroy all that is left of it... and there clearly isn't much. I have to help it. Gingerly, she turned to the wisp, opening her arms in a hesitant embrace. She moved tentatively closer, trying to make contact.
The orb allowed the contact, glowing slightly brighter for a moment, but then no more. It seemed marginally stronger, but still not nearly strong enough to manifest in the form of a person.
I am...
Caitlyn's eyes snapped open. The orb was trying to formulate words, and even though it had no mouth, she could hear them in her mind in the Fade.
"You are Vengeance," she told it.
The orb seemed to accept this, hovering before her. I am apart from me, it told her.
"Your Justice aspect? It is separated from you? With your human?"
My human... you?
"No," she said. "Anders. Do you remember Anders?" Her heart was breaking. Had the trauma of the spear thrust destroyed the spirit's memories?
Anders. I remember now. The rest of me is with Anders.
The orb seemed to be growing stronger, but there was so little left of the incredibly powerful and distinct entity that it had once been, and it was so weak... Caitlyn did not know what to do. Offering to embrace the wisp, to love and cherish it, could apparently only do so much.
"I want to help you," she said. "I want to help you reunite with the rest of yourself and grow strong again."
It is your fault that I am weak, and apart from myself and Anders. You betrayed justice.
Caitlyn knew that the wisp meant the concept of justice rather than the identity of its "good" side, but she scowled at its accusations. "My fault, is it? You share no part in this?" she replied.
But... you have made me a bit stronger already, it considered, hovering in the strange Fade-air. You thought of me as...
Caitlyn felt a sinking feeling in her gut as it contemplated recent events.
You thought of me as you and your friend performed blood magic! The disapproval was unmistakable as it remembered.
"Yes. I did. You were just saying that made you stronger, so what are you complaining about?" She hoped that she could provoke the spirit to feel stronger emotions, giving it additional strength and regenerative capacity, while not provoking it to violent conflict.
It draws demons to you! And since you involved me in it, to me as well!
"I was hoping to come to you and keep other demons at bay."
I am no demon! You sought to use me to shield yourself from demons. I have already shielded your children from a spear. The Vengeance-orb's rage was directed at her with a renewed ferocity, as the entity glowed and throbbed before her. I cannot shield you from what your behavior has drawn to you, however!
Shouts suddenly echoed from beyond the great doors leading back to the streets of Hightown. She heard their jeers, heckling, and shouts. It seemed profoundly foolish to take on a crowd alone, but somehow Caitlyn knew that she was supposed to—that she needed to see it. She approached the heavy doors and pulled them open.
The street of Hightown was no longer impossibly remote, but had moved back to a lifelike degree of closeness to the Keep entrance. A vast crowd had gathered, a crowd of thousands, far more than she had faced in life, but none of them seemed to have fully resolved faces. To Caitlyn it almost seemed that each person in this crowd was just a manifestation of the surroundings, rather than a spirit or other sapient entity. They are not real people, she realized, not even Fade spirits. They are just part of the scenery...
"They are real enough to the seat of your fears, Hawke."
The voice was not that of Vengeance. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, a strange metallic echo. And she somehow knew that she had heard it before, though she could not recall how or in what dream.
"Tens of thousands," the metallic voice snapped. Its speech was brisk and clipped. "Hundreds of thousands. Millions. They all hate you. They want you dead. They want you to fail."
In the vast crowd, a group of... figures... raised effigies, all of them distorted caricatures. The effigies blazed with consuming fire immediately, piles of ash forming quickly at their bases, smoke clouding the Fade-sky above the crowd. The crowd began chanting her name, and not approvingly. None of them seemed to see her at the entrance to the Keep, but their hate was evident.
Caitlyn knew that she was in the Fade and shouldn't have an organic heart here, but she was used to palpitations in fear, and the form of her in this dream began to feel its spirit-heart racing at the sights and sounds. Millions of people, she thought. There probably are that many who hate me. Several thousand in Kirkwall... most of the schism states... probably most of the Templars and Seekers... countless people in Orlais, Nevarra, and elsewhere who hate my cause... most of the Qunari nation... Maker, even some Tevinters.
She swallowed hard. They all know who I am and what I want, and they do want me dead. They do want me to fail. These people are not real, but there are people in the world who are. The voice was right about that.
They all know my identity, she thought again, and my cause. If I had never done any of this, if I had just stayed hidden, lived a quiet life...
Her own thoughts replied to this speculation. Then I would have had a different fear: the fear of discovery. The fear of my family being torn apart. As, in fact, it was.
No matter what, I was always doomed to be terrified of something, she thought in sudden rage. That's what life is like for mages. Always some fear...
"It does not have to be that way, Hawke." The disembodied, clipped, echoing voice spoke again. "There is another way."
As if on cue, a towering figure appeared, manifesting out of the Fade itself as clouds and mist coalesced to form its body. Caitlyn gaped as it took shape. Unlike the blank faces of the crowd, this figure was quite recognizable. Indeed, it was more recognizable than any person in the world could ever be to her.
Me, she realized. It looks like me.
The figure of herself was magnificent, twice as tall as anyone in the crowd—taller than life and terrifyingly beautiful. Its face was statuesque, cold as marble and fierce as the storm. Its eyes gleamed mint green as if the fire of the Fade itself burned in them. It carried an impossibly ornate staff. It wore Caitlyn's familiar armor and dark red cape, but there were also two great wings of shifting shadow behind it, the size of dragon's wings. Flares of fire and veilfire swirled from these shadow wings.
"You will all burn!"
The voice was hers, but not hers—louder, deeper, and crueler. The figure raised its staff and flames erupted across the vast crowd, wreathing every one of them in flame. It watched, satisfied, as its shadow wings opened wide.
"That is what you want, Hawke. Isn't it?" Instead of the clipped, disembodied, metallic voice, the figure was speaking in that voice that was so similar to her own.
She tried to pull her gaze away from the vision of herself as an unstoppable, terrifying, beautiful, unchallenged leader. "Begone. I know you're a demon," she said, her real tones sounding ordinary and weak compared to the magnificent, unearthly voice of the figure.
"And you are a tyrant. A despot."
She formed two balls of magic in her hands. "Shut up."
The demon laughed again. It turned to face her, mint-green eyes staring into emerald ones, and smiled. "Oh, you do not want that. A part of you likes it. Likes hearing it."
"I don't," she snarled.
"Oh, but you do. You like it when people call you these things. It means they fear you, and that is what you want. That is what you have always wanted. You have been afraid your whole life, Hawke," it said, shadow dragon wings crackling with magic. It was then that Caitlyn noticed that the hair of the phantom seemed to be made of flame too. "All your life, you have lived in fear. Fear that your family would be discovered. Fear of the Circle. Fear for Anders. Fear for your son. For your brother. Your daughter. Fear of your enemies, of your own allies, of losing this war, of losing your crown. You have been afraid, and to fight your fear, you have tried to make everyone else fear you instead."
It's right, Caitlyn realized, to her absolute dismay. This thing is right. I was literally just thinking that I was always afraid of something. It sickened and enraged her, but she could not deny it. What kind of demon is this? A pride demon, appealing to some idealized image of myself? A fear demon, feeding on my fears instead of trying to scare me?
"How would you like to be the most feared person in the world?" it purred. "You would never need to fear again, because all would fear you, just as you desire." It seemed to grow even larger, and its wings solidified into actual dragonskin rather than just shadow.
So a desire demon, then. I know how to deal with those. She cleared her head. "It wouldn't work that way. I wouldn't become that. You would turn me into an abomination, a horror, and would be slain quickly. I would die as a pathetic, contemptible blob of ruined flesh, not as this."
The desire demon—for Caitlyn now believed it was that—smiled again. "How do you know what I can do, Hawke? I am very strong, far stronger than my weak kindred, because you are so much greater than most mortals. What do they seek? The attention of a fellow mortal, a title before their name, a large sum of gold, a loved one returned to life. Petty and small, and so my kindred stay small by attaching themselves to such people. Not so you, Caitlyn Hawke. You are one of history's great, and it has made me far more powerful."
If this thing speaks the truth, it has been feeding off me, she thought, suddenly becoming furious at the very thought. It's been parasitizing me.
"This could be you," the demon continued. "A mage so powerful that you could fell two, even three, Divines, and set yourself in their place. Make every lord, king, queen, and empress give way to you, instead of presuming to imagine that they are your equals—or betters. They are not, you know they are not, and you could make them acknowledge it too. You could crush the Qunari, take over the Imperium. All would love and fear you."
It was tempting. Oh, it was tempting. To vanquish everyone who fought her, put obstacles in her path, dithered and played politics... and this demon had even named all the enemies that Caitlyn had feared when she had contemplated the thought of millions wanting her dead.
But Caitlyn knew that ultimate power was an illusion. She would die in the end, as everyone did.
It read her thoughts. "You fear facing the Maker too, don't you? You fear that if you do all this, He will punish you after you die," it said. "And perhaps so. I do not know what is beyond the Fade, and you're so much smarter than to be comforted by a spirit's claim that the Maker is a lie," it cooed. "But there is no need to fear Him if you never die."
"Stop lying," Caitlyn demanded. "You can't do that."
Its flaming hair swirled about its head as it walked lightly, before turning to face her again. "Oh, but I can. There are still a few who remember the magic of immortality. The seven magisters sought it... and they obtained it, you know. The Chantry does not want to admit that, but it is true. The Architect. Corypheus. They went to the Golden City and became immortal. They lived over a thousand years."
"Until they were slain," she replied tartly, "by Anders and me, in fact."
"None could defeat you with me by your side, in your heart and soul."
"You lie," she insisted. "You want to possess me because you know I'm already stronger than you." She glared at it. "You think I fear 'facing the Maker'? What fear would that be, exactly? Might it be the fear of... justice?"
As she spoke the words, she thought of the concept of justice—and accepted that what she had been doing in the waking world was against it. Beside her, the glowing orb that was Vengeance seemed to shift imperceptibly, letting go of some of its anger at her as she accepted her own wrongdoing.
You are not yet strong enough, though, she thought regretfully. The spirit would assume its warrior form if it could. Fighting the unjust was its calling, not lurking as an amorphous blob. The fact that it wasn't doing that meant that it couldn't yet. Perhaps, Caitlyn thought, the demon before her was still too strong. She needed to vanquish it and all it stood for, she thought.
She addressed the nightmare-vision form of herself that was the demon. "You know I fear loss, so you offer me this vision of myself as all-powerful. But to become so, I would have to give way to injustice." More than I already have. "And facing justice for horrible actions is a fear that you can offer nothing to assuage." Because I will always know I've been unjust. No trappings will ever change that knowledge.
"Those who are strong enough make their own justice," it purred.
"No, they don't. They call their power justice, but it's not the real thing," she said with another meaningful look at the glowing entity nearby. She knew these words applied to herself and what she had been trying to do. She let the self-chastisement sink in as she defied the demon. "You would do nothing but make me a creature of contempt and derision. Yet another mage fallen victim to a demon and possessed," she scoffed. "Not one-of-a-kind, one among hundreds over the years."
"Like Anders?" Cruelty filled its eyes as it shifted its approach.
"You dare say his name—" Caitlyn began.
"You could let him go, you know. You don't need him anymore. He has given you two children and a weapon. He had his uses, but he is naught now but dead weight. A problem for you. He is beneath you. You are greater."
Anger overtook Caitlyn. "How dare you say this to my face?" It was awful to hear these words coming from a figure that resembled her. If I really were that proud, terrible thing, this is exactly what I would think of him, she realized in horror. I already started down that path in my recent arguments with him, treating his ideals with contempt, sneering at him, thinking him naïve because I couldn't bear to face what it meant if he was right—to face my own injustices. I was becoming this. And that's yet another reason to reject this monster.
What in the Maker's name is this thing, though? Now it seems to be appealing to my pride and arrogance, not desires. How could a demon shift what it presents to me like this? Spirits and demons who have never left the Fade are supposed to represent one idea. What am I facing?
"It is true, though. He was never good enough for you. Even in Lothering, before you achieved anything... even then, he failed you. And you knew it. You grew angry at him, and he deserved it."
It doubles down on this approach. Pride, then? That could fit with the offering of power that I rejected. This is a very powerful demon, in any case. It is quite right that it's greater than the usual ones. They couldn't pull off this complexity and subtlety.
But she pushed that speculation aside as she responded to it. "He didn't fail me," she retorted, "and you have no right to use my unjust anger against me like that. Anders and I long ago made peace over that. Begone, I said—I am trying to help Justice and you are in my way."
"Justice corrupted him. A weak spirit unable to control itself. Anders is a ruined shell of the man you once knew, Tainted and possessed. Your life with him is a shabby patch job of something beautiful that was broken and ruined."
That is what I thought on my wedding day, Caitlyn realized with dismay. She tried not to let the demon see her shock. "You are speaking of my husband and the love of my life," she replied icily. "I'm here for him, to save him—and Justice. Not to make myself into you." She readied her magic, two huge balls of fire in her hands. "You're envious of me, like all your kind. You think to tempt me, to pretend to offer me power, but you're the one who wants what I have. You're weak, and if you won't get out of my way, I'll get rid of you."
The demon faced her, its purring and cooing abruptly sliding away and giving way to hard resolve. Its mint-green eyes glittered. "I had hoped you would accede willingly, but so be it."
The crowd was long gone, vanished with the thing's fire—though the faces had never been real. It was just Caitlyn and the demon that mocked her face. She scowled. I'm not going to let you strike the first blow. She formed a staff for herself out of Fade-material and launched a ferocious fireball at the being.
It laughed, vanishing into nothing, leaving behind a gleaming mass of gray-green clouds. "You prefer to shoot first, Hawke," it jeered—and gone was the feminine voice akin to her own. Instead the demon was speaking with the same clipped, metallic, disembodied voice that she had heard at the beginning. Out of the mist that had been the form of herself, a pair of glowing eyes flickered. The demon rapidly coalesced back into its form.
Caitlyn suddenly realized where she had heard that voice. The last time I had that dream about the gash in the sky, she thought, firing spells at the demon before it could take shape again. During the siege, before we used Anders' blasting powder to break it up. The last night that Anders had his dream about that darkspawn magister. This same voice mocked me then. What did it say?
She tried to remember even as she fought the figure ferociously. In the Fade, that was easier than in the waking world.
"You fight your fears by making yourself feared even more. Aggression and defiance, displays of power to terrify others: That's you." That's what it said to me then. This thing had already latched onto me, studying me. As she realized it, anger surged in her. Have my actions been my own doing at all? Or has this demon been influencing me all along?
She ducked a lightning burst from the demon, partially manifested as a shadowy human figure with fire-red hair. Even as she fought, she realized that it was not so. The demon had not been controlling her. My actions were my own, she realized grimly. This thing was letting me do what I would, to study me, to learn about me so that it would know what sort of appeal to make to me.
The human figure, devoid of all features except those round glowing eyes and hair of flames, flickered out like the bolt of lightning that it had just cast. It then manifested behind her. With a snarl, Caitlyn whirled around to fight back.
It was not clear to her how long she and the demon fought, but every time she landed a powerful spell directly upon it, its ability to vanish in a puff of Fade-fog and reappear elsewhere decreased. The more damage it took, the more damage it had to take, instead of making a quick getaway and then re-manifesting in another spot.
Caitlyn noticed something else as the fight continued. The orb near her that was Vengeance slowly began to grow, first simply becoming larger and brighter, then elongating into an ellipse, then a rounded rectangle the size of a person's head and body. Tendrils of magic began to shoot from it, lashing the demon. Caitlyn was pleased that the spirit appeared to be benefiting from this—perhaps taking strength from the demon's demise, perhaps as well from her own resolve to behave justly in the future—but she could not focus too hard on Vengeance's evolution when this demon was still able to disappear and reappear elsewhere suddenly.
But at last it could not move about anymore, but had to fight in place, in that silhouetted form with glowing eyes. Caitlyn cast a final fierce blast of fire. The demon groaned and seemed to dissolve.
Those unearthly bright eyes fixed upon Caitlyn's emerald-green ones for one seemingly eternal moment—and then vanished.
Caitlyn whirled around rapidly, anxious and still expecting the thing to have one last trick up its sleeve, one last sudden reappearance. She waited. She relaxed when no such reappearance occurred—
—And then she noticed her companions.
Behind her stood a spirit that resembled the warrior that she had briefly seen in the material world before the spear pierced his body. Knightly armor in mint green, gleaming white and sky-blue. A lethal-looking morningstar and serrated daggers rather than a sword and shield, she noted. Perhaps these were the kinds of weapons that Vengeance would have. It seemed—appropriate enough. Still, it troubled her. If this was Vengeance, why didn't he wear cruel-looking armor to match the cruel weapons he carried?
The other companion stole her attention away immediately, however. The figure of her own husband, gold hair, distinct coat, feather mantle, and all, smiled back at her. "My love," he said in his own voice. Color filled his cheeks as he smiled asymmetrically.
Caitlyn was frightened again. One of these was an impostor, the demon making one last attempt—by stealth this time—to escape with her. It had to be.
The figure who looked like Anders glared hatefully at the one who looked like Justice-Vengeance. "That thing is a liar," he said, his face twisting. "It's the demon, Caitlyn! It's trying to trick you."
"Don't listen to this!" exclaimed the Vengeance-figure. "It is the demon!"
"You are not the spirit who was my companion," the Anders-figure retorted. "You impersonate Justice."
Caitlyn put up her hand, commanding silence from them both. "If this isn't Justice, and you really are Anders, then where is Justice?" she demanded. "I was told that he would be close to you—trapped with you as you slept, while the Vengeance aspect was separated and lost."
"The Vengeance aspect is merged back into Justice. And he is separated from me and returned to doing good deeds in the Fade," he said smoothly. "You have separated me from him at last, freed us both. You did it, love! You have saved us both. You'll have me back without him spoiling things anymore, like it was in Lothering! He was the one who shoved you, you know."
"This—thing—is lying to you!" the Vengeance-figure snarled. It hefted its morningstar as if to attack the Anders-figure.
The Anders-figure formed a spell in his hands and hurled it at the other spirit, who ducked away. Caitlyn tried to think as rapidly as she could.
The figure that looked like Anders was extremely handsome, and he seemed more than ten years younger. The Lothering era, indeed, she thought as she quickly studied him. Gone were the faint lines below his amber eyes and the weariness, grief, and anger that flickered behind those eyes.
The figure that resembled Justice-Vengeance had bright eyes behind the visor of the helmet that reminded her for a moment of the eyes of the demon that she had just fought.
Caitlyn tilted her head uneasily, considering her options. If she made a mistake, it would be fatal—to her, to him, to their children, and to the cause. She could see it in her thoughts already: "The Viscountess performed a blood magic ritual with her heathen Dalish friend to try to save her abomination husband and came back an abomination herself! This proves mages can't be trusted with anything!" She shuddered. I cannot get this wrong.
"Remember why you came, Hawke!" The voice was that of the Justice-Vengeance entity, and a note of pleading was in its words. "Remember what Anders himself told you long ago about our bond—and Sketch too!"
"You fool," sneered the Anders-figure. "If I'm not the real Anders, and you're irrevocably bonded to him, then why don't you look like him?"
"I am an aspect! She knows that! Hawke, remember!"
Caitlyn finally turned back around to face the pair of entities. She knew what she had to do. It thinks it knows me so well, she thought, and I'll give it that—it does. It knows me unnervingly well. But I bet it doesn't know him. Or Justice. I'll sort out who is the liar.
She faced the thing that looked like Anders. "If I take you back like this, I need to know if you will support me going forward."
"Of course," he assured her in dulcet tones. Suspicion mounted for Caitlyn.
"Hawke, don't listen to it!" Justice-Vengeance exclaimed heatedly.
"Be quiet, demon," said "Anders," pointing a finger accusingly at the spirit.
Caitlyn ignored this exchange. "You haven't supported me before. You picked fights with me. You presumed to lecture me about 'injustice.' You shoved me against the wall. Even under the influence of the Vengeance demon"—she felt horribly guilty for these words, and she tried to shut out the start of outrage and terror in the other figure—"it came through you."
"I know," said "Anders." "You were right and I am sorry."
She paused, considering her words. "There are traitors among the Free Mages' Council who opposed my methods. I need to know if you will support me this time, now that that thing is no longer possessing you."
"Of course," he assured her. "I was wrong not to."
More certain than ever now, she moved in for the kill. "I also need to imprison Aveline. She has turned against me. I realized it at the burning." Guilt filled her at the use of their friend's name for this, but she buried it deep. Must not let this thing see. It thinks it knows me, but its understanding is limited to a fearful, aggressive tyrant who sees enemies in every shadow and meets all problems with force. It does not understand the strategist-tactician side of me. "I need to know. Are you with me in this, Anders?"
"I am always with you, love, whatever you must do. I was wrong before."
"Hawke, no!" exclaimed Justice.
Caitlyn did not hesitate. Before it could react, she formed a massive ball of fire in her hands and threw it headlong at the demon wearing Anders' face.
Her guess was correct. There was a horrible moment when this thing that had presumed to mock her beloved was aflame, but then it transformed.
Caitlyn had expected the demon to take the generic form of a desire demon—purple, horned, overtly sexual and obscene. To her shock, the transformation was rather different, and unlike any demonic transformation that she had ever witnessed or even read about. The limbs attenuated rapidly to monstrous forms like four fleshy spider legs, the head shrank to a misshapen nub, and the clothing disappeared, leaving an unclothed and wrinkled but otherwise featureless body. It was vast, the size of a giant spider itself.
What in the Maker's name? This must be its demonic form, but what is this vile thing?
There was no time now to speculate. It opened its mouth, a maw far too large for that nub-like head, and emitted a terrifying screech as it pounced.
But Caitlyn was not alone. She had a fully formed spirit warrior with her, a warrior armed with jagged daggers and a morningstar—and no compunctions whatever about using them.
Standing side by side with Vengeance, she and her husband's companion attacked the demon with every ounce of strength they had.
"What was that thing?" she exclaimed to Vengeance, still shaking in the aftermath of the fight. "I thought it was a desire demon, maybe a pride demon."
He shook his head. "It was something very rare and much more powerful: a demon of envy."
"Envy?" Caitlyn repeated. Her father had taught her and Bethany about the types of demons, but he had never mentioned this kind. Well, Justice did say it was very rare.
"They usually pursue very important people. They study them obsessively, trying to learn everything about them. Their goal is to enter the mortal world and impersonate their victim flawlessly, while hiding or killing the real person."
Caitlyn shuddered. "So that's why it seemed to shift between appealing to my desires, my fears, my pride..."
Vengeance nodded. "It knew them all, and since it was mimicking a mortal, it could mimic the complexity of a mortal. That is the danger of envy demons."
"But it didn't know Anders," she said in satisfaction. "That was a pathetic simile of him. I saw right through it. It walked into my trap, not even suspecting that it was making a mistake." She gave the spirit an arch look. "And I don't think you knew what I was doing either."
"I do not understand guile very well," he admitted. "Even all these years with Anders have not given me a full understanding of it. He can keep secrets, and this I understand because it is sometimes the just thing to do, to protect someone, but trickery is different."
"It has its uses, though."
"I suppose it does."
Then she asked the question that was nagging at her, even though she was of course certain that the "Anders" entity had been the impostor. "What about you?" she asked. "If you are Vengeance, why are you in Justice's armor?"
"I am Vengeance... but I am also Justice." He hesitated. "I am an aspect of Justice, and I was clearly and distinctly Vengeance when you first entered the Fade to find me. But it is no longer so clear-cut." He considered. "Vengeance and justice are similar ideas. The distinction between them is not always clear."
"That is certainly true," she said wryly.
"This is why your friend Merrill said she was not sure if I was truly a demon even as Vengeance. But by coming here, facing your own injustices, vowing to yourself to be more just in the future—and doing all of this in my close presence, with the intent to help me and save me—well, it has returned some of the Justice side even to me." He ran a gauntlet finger down the sharp edge of one of the daggers and fingered a spike on the morningstar. "But I am still an Aspect of the whole spirit."
"But... there is an aspect that is with Anders?"
"I cannot be separated from Anders except by his death or Tranquility, and a part will always be attached to Anders. So it is now. My other aspect remains very weak, though. But do not worry," he added as she gaped in dismay, "when I return to my other aspect and Anders, I will strengthen that aspect too. Anders will awaken then with no permanent harm. It is good that you brought strength back to both sides of me. If you had regenerated me only as Vengeance, I could have awakened Anders still, but that would have become the dominant side. Perhaps the only side." He hesitated again. "I wronged you. I tried to make amends, and I hope you can forgive me."
Caitlyn faced the spirit for a while, all mint-green armor—the color was now a comfort to her, unlike the creepiness that it had given to "her" eyes in the figure of the demon—before being overcome with emotion. She lunged forward and embraced Justice in a chaste hug around his chest, noting idly that the armor was not hard or sharp at all. It was like soft leather... or even velvet. Everything has soft edges in the Fade, she thought... or maybe this is what I need it to be right now.
The spirit didn't seem to know what to do. He awkwardly patted her back before saying, "I am not Anders, you realize."
"I know," she assured him. "He'll understand. I wanted to hug you, to thank you for protecting him. And... and me," she added quietly. "I've never been able to hug you, just you."
"I am still linked with Anders. The envy demon lied."
"I know. Where is he?"
"He is resting in the Fade-form of the Keep. Sometimes when mortals enter the Fade, you require rest, not dreams. Anders required such rest. But I must return to him. He needs all of me."
"Of course," she said.
The spirit gazed sternly at her—at least, it felt stern, even though she could see only its glowing eyes through its helmet. "And you need to promise me that you will remember what you faced here. I mean your realizations, not the envy demon," he clarified. "Powerful leaders cannot help drawing their interest. But through its simile of you, you saw what you were becoming, and it repulsed you. You must promise that you will honor the idea of justice."
She did not even need to hesitate or resent the request. "I promise."
The spirit held out a gauntleted hand to her. "Then let us return."
Merrill was gazing nervously as Caitlyn awakened with a start. The scent of blood—her own blood—filled her nostrils at once. The pain on her arms came back as well. While she slept, Merrill had performed a basic healing spell to stop the flow of blood, but long scratches still remained.
Merrill faced her expectantly, almost afraid to ask the question that was on her lips, but it was in her eyes nonetheless. Caitlyn did not make her wait.
"I had an envy demon interested in me," she explained, "and I had to defeat it. But it presented itself as this horrible menacing version of me—what I had secretly wanted to become," she added in shame, "and seeing myself like that... it made me have a change of heart, and that strengthened Ven... Justice. Both." She paused before adding, "He told me that Anders would awaken soon."
Relief flooded Merrill's face. "Oh, I'm so glad," she effused. She gazed in distaste at the silver bowl that was filled with Caitlyn's blood. "We should get rid of that before someone sees, though. And..." Her lip quivered. "Your arms. I'm so sorry. It was the best I could do."
"It's fine," Caitlyn assured her, hiking her sleeves up and casting a better healing spell on them. If they scarred, she supposed that was the least she deserved. She felt mildly weak nonetheless from the blood loss, but Anders would have some potions to help with that in his healing clinic.
Anders...
As Merrill disposed of the bowl of blood, Caitlyn wiped the dried blood off her arms, healed them as best she could, and hurried toward Anders' room.
Anders had suddenly and very abruptly come to himself. He had no memories of this time in the Fade, and he supposed that this was one of those occasions when he was in the Fade but asleep—the way it worked when he needed to go into extremely deep sleep.
Or a coma. He did recall the last few moments, seeing the spear pointed at Mal and Jo, feeling helpless for a horrible moment as his mana was spent in the fight, throwing himself directly in front of it even if it meant his own death. Then—then Justice took him over more profoundly than ever before.
He rubbed the scar on his chest. Justice had taken that too. He should be dead, Anders thought, but somehow I know he isn't. I hear him in my head.
He tried to relax, settling into his pillow and closing his eyes, allowing Justice to communicate to him what had happened and how they were both well again. As the spirit imparted to him Caitlyn's appearance and struggle in the Fade, he felt a wave of guilt wash over him.
I raised my hand against her this morning, he thought miserably. I was already feeling bad about it when I realized that she was gone, and that's why I went looking for her and the children, but knowing what she did for me... for us... Even if she was willing to save Justice, did she really do it for him? Or did she do it because saving him was the only way to save me?
The demon tempted her with an image of me, free of Justice. She saw through it, but... is that, in truth, what she really does wish were possible?
It doesn't matter, he scolded himself. If she does, perhaps she's right to do so. I raised a hand against her. I shoved her against the wall to yell at her and did not let her go even when she screamed at me twice to do so. I had never done that before. I even promised her, years ago, that Justice wouldn't do that to her.
The magnitude of his failure washed over him. I am a danger to her and the children. I promised her that this would never happen, but it did.
Justice was willing to sacrifice himself for them, though. He has never menaced the children, he argued with himself.
But he had never menaced Caitlyn either until today. I don't want there to be a first time for Mal and Jo.
At this moment, Caitlyn herself burst into the room. She was flustered and harried, and she looked rather pale, but she was here, and clearly glad beyond words that he was awake.
"Anders," she said, rushing to his bedside, getting on her knees beside the bed and taking his hands on top of the covers.
He could not meet her gaze. He was too ashamed. "Caitlyn," he said, unable to look at her. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
She did not have to ask for what reason, and despite the fact that she believed she was the one who had most needed a spiritual reckoning, she had not changed her mind that it had been wrong of him to shove and restrain her. She nodded. "You're forgiven, Anders. I'm sorry too."
He took a deep breath. This was going to be hard. "I have to go," he said, his voice cracking.
Her eyes flew wide open. "What? Go? Go where? You just woke up!"
"I... I'm a danger to you and the children. I can't stay here now."
Indignation and pleading filled her face. "Please don't go," she said. "I don't want to lose you. Especially not after what just happened!"
"I can't believe you would want me around after that outburst, that complete lack of self-control! I am a danger to you and the children," he repeated, finally turning his face to fix his gaze with hers. "I never feared Justice before in regards to you and our family, because Justice knew who you were from the start and understood what love was from my mind and the remnants of Kristoff's memories. I really didn't think anything like this could happen," he pleaded. "But... I was wrong." His face fell. "He attacked you."
"Anders," she said patiently, "do you know, did he show you, what happened in the Fade?"
"He did..."
"Did he show you how I came up to him and hugged him? How he told me that I had helped him to become more of his original self, more Justice? He saved our lives, Anders. And I saved his—and yours."
"You hugged—him?"
"Yes," she said. "I hugged him knowing who it was. I love you both."
Anders calmed down at that. She hugged him. She values him. Perhaps she didn't just save him because that was the only way to save me. Perhaps she saved him in his own right as well.
But these soothing thoughts could not last. He sighed heavily, drawing his hands away from hers to rub his forehead. He gazed at her with weary eyes. "Cait," he said, "I'm... not well. And I haven't been well for a long time."
"What do you mean?"
"It's him. Justice," he clarified. "He has been tense and stressed from having to work hard, to fight that darkspawn that keeps haunting my dreams. Caitlyn, I think it's real. I think it exists, alive, outside the Fade."
This was extremely upsetting to her—but she was not going to let him go, not to such a monster. Memories of defeating Corypheus filled her mind. No—she would not lose Anders or Justice to such a monster as that! "Are you certain this isn't the beginning of the Calling?" she asked nervously.
"I really don't think it can be. The potion Avernus made works, and the theory is sound: his own work slowing the progression of the Taint almost to nothing, and the Architect's work silencing the call of the Old Gods. That should do it. But... that same potion has the side effect of making Grey Wardens more vulnerable to the voices of darkspawn—Magisters Sidereal, I guess—such as the Architect and Corypheus. That's what this has to be. I hope the Wardens can find the accursed thing soon, but they've been around for over a thousand years already, evading us all."
Something occurred to her then, and another wave of guilt flooded her. "I have made things worse for you rather than better," she said quietly. "With you under stress from this darkspawn and Justice's determination to fight it, plus the difficulties of the war, I've only added to your anxieties and Justice's anger by doing things that he thinks are unjust. That are unjust," she said. "Anders—I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." Words tumbled from her lips before she could stop them. "I'm going to make things better here. Be a better Viscountess, reduce the economic stresses here in Kirkwall, at least remove the constant display of injustice in the streets from the heresy executions and hair-trigger sedition arrests."
"That should help," he agreed quietly—but then his resolve broke. He hung his head, tears coming to his eyes.
That was too much for Caitlyn. She tumbled onto the bed and pulled him close against his protests, trying to show him that she wasn't frightened of him. She caressed his hair and kissed the top of his head. "You are so loved," she whispered. "I love you, Anders. Your children—our children—love you. We all love you so, so much."
"I don't deserve your love. I attacked you," he moaned miserably.
"Stop. It wasn't you," she insisted. "And Justice, if you are listening, you saved Anders' life and Mal's when my actions put them in mortal danger. You saved the life of our daughter before she was even born. You've probably saved all of us many times over. I know who you really are, both of you." She hoped her words soothed the spirit and comforted Anders himself, as she caressed his hair. "You matter to us. My family is your family, and you are a part of it, and families take care of each other."
"Not if one of them is hurting the others," he whispered. "Families aren't obligated to care for threats."
She sighed. "If you, yourself, had attacked me... then yes, you'd have a point. But it wasn't you. It was that darkspawn, needling and stressing you both into doing things you'd never do otherwise."
Anders sobbed quietly, deeply moved, but allowed her to hold him, no longer fighting. Caitlyn cuddled him against her chest, hoping that she had convinced him—but then he spoke up again, his voice muffled.
"You're right. I would never do that on purpose. But it doesn't mean I'm not a danger to you all anyway." He closed his eyes, holding back tears. "How could you protect the children, your mother, even yourself—if you're caught unprepared—from that happening again?" The tears he had tried to hold back fell from the corners of his eyes. "What if I don't get better, Caitlyn? The ancient magisters have been alive for ages." He drew away from her, breaking out of her embrace, and stared hard at her. "How could I even be a husband to you if it doesn't stop, if for the rest of my life I'm in thrall to this... thing?"
"You will get better," she insisted. "You know what's causing this. We'll get the Wardens to find that darkspawn. It'll be killed, and then this will end. But..." She pulled him close again. "You ask how you could be a husband, like that depends on your being well. Anders. We took vows to each other before the Maker. We promised to love and care for each other for the rest of our lives. I don't recall there being an exception for illness—and that's what it is, sweetheart. That darkspawn is making you and Justice ill in your minds."
"But—the danger—"
She tilted his head upward so that he was forced to look into her eyes. "If I have to, if this really does make you a danger to us while that thing is on the loose, then I will have you placed in a comfortable room, with books or anything you like, behind strong wards, so you can't hurt anyone. You will be visited and cared for tenderly." She began to choke up, and tears started to roll down her cheeks too. "You'll be safe there, safe from accidentally hurting others, and safe from all the things in the world that would harm or kill you if you went out alone in a misguided idea that that was what you had to do! I will do what I promised to do and take care of you for as long as you need care, until this thing that is hurting you is destroyed. I will take care of you and protect you from yourself if I have to. But I'm not letting you go!"
Anders finally managed a weak smile. "Well, if you put it that way, what can I say? I still don't know why you are giving me another chance, after how I behaved... but if you are—"
"I am, damn you both!" She was quite certain that Justice was influencing this, with the spirit's inclination to punish wrongdoing.
"—then I will make a promise to you too. I won't do anything like that again." He sighed. "I know it doesn't mean the same thing after failing to keep a promise the first time."
"Tell me about it," she muttered, recalling the first year of their marriage and her own deliberately broken promise to not speak purposely cruel words to him. A promise that I broke again today, calling him an abomination. "I understand, Anders. But I trust you and I believe in you."
Anders sighed heavily, his breath ending in a shudder. He wrapped his arms gently around her again, rubbing her scalp and running his skilled Healer's fingers through her fiery locks. She relaxed, settling into his embrace in relief—that he was alive and well, that they had talked it out and forgiven each other, that she really did mean to be a better leader, that Justice was alive and well too.
They remained like that for some time until he spoke again. "I still worry about being alone with the children now. If I am with them, I want someone to be present—a mage, preferably, but definitely a strong person who could subdue me—"
"So not my mother," she said with a chuckle.
He chuckled wryly as well. "Well... no. I love her, but she is very much the gentlewoman."
"And I'm not?" she teased.
He gave her a sideways smirk. "Absolutely not, and that's why you've been so successful. You do things that other lords and ladies wouldn't do, and I love you for it." The joking smile faded away as he returned to seriousness. "As long as the darkspawn is bothering me and Justice is on edge, I want someone else with me if I'm with the children."
Caitlyn sighed. It saddened her that he considered this necessary, but, she reflected, she herself had thought far more severe measures were necessary just a few hours ago today. What could she say? If it gave him peace of mind, she would not argue about it.
"It will be done," she told him, giving him one more hug. "And I hope you can find some peace knowing that it will be all right."
He nodded. "We both need peace after all we've been through recently."
She didn't want to break the sweet and tender moment, but they both knew what had to follow such a remark. "We may be able to find some inner peace of our own," she said quietly, "but we remain at war. And it isn't over. I can only hope that finding this inner peace for ourselves helps us to succeed too."
Notes: I wanted this to feel like a "spiritual test" quest. She needed one, badly. And yes, the envy demon nightmare in "Champions of the Just" in DA:I was my inspiration. (It's not the same demon, though.) This demon has not been influencing her thoughts, however. Like the canon one, it was mimicking her. And that fact would indicate to Caitlyn what she was becoming in a rather shocking and upsetting way.
If you were hoping for Anders and Justice to be separated in this chapter, I'm sorry. I prefer the connection remaining (semi-)permanent.