I own nothing, profit from nothing, all glory to BioWare, etc.

3. Curse the Darkness

The one who repents, who has faith,
Unshaken by the darkness of the world,
She shall know true peace.

-Transfigurations 10:1

He's here, against his own better judgment, to say nothing of the spirit presently lurking in the recesses of his consciousness. He's had so many reasons to avoid involvement, all of them playing through his mind with crystal clarity on the endless walk from his clinic, his mind never settling on one over the other as a reason to turn around and forget all the words that have passed between them.

Those he's hurt, innocent for all their experience, who couldn't understand why a mage's life can never be static. Though he was long gone before they realized it, the blade cut both ways, and he had never needed to be there to see the pain, the loss, the abandonment on the faces of those he'd left behind.

And those who had hurt him, when in his weaker moments he had sought comfort from one strong enough to give it. If his life had given him any certainty, it was in the knowledge that none will thirst so much for power as those who are first given a willing sip.

As Justice retreated and Anders sank to his knees, the foul cavern under the Gallows returned to absolute black. Rigid, unable to move, grasping at fleeting thoughts and hoping one will carry him back to some measure of control, Anders focused on the voice that had called him back from the brink of the unforgivable. He couldn't hold it, kept losing his grasp, felt himself becoming his terror as he had so long ago in the dark cells with the clank of armor and the crack of the whip and the all-pervasive smell of cloves.

And then he saw that familiar face, bathed in pale green light, and as the terror receded so did the worry creasing his friend's brow, to be replaced with … an absence of worry, no more, and no less. No pity, and no blame. There was just one hand extended to help him stand, and one hand carrying a wisp to chase away the darkness.

Perhaps that distraction, that lack of focus, is what causes him to fixate so quickly on the fire crackling softly behind its grate. Sneaking through the memories of gentle freedom and broken hope is the realization that it isn't yet the season for the fireplace to have been prepared.

He keeps his eyes cast down, sure as he is that his would-be lover would see in them all too plainly the request, the need, for the things he's learned time and again he can never have. He's suddenly not sure if he'd remembered earlier, when he said he'd come, to mask any of those things. A hand cups his chin, and the next words he hears carry with them the answer he's sought since before he can remember.

"Anders… there isn't any darkness here."

If I can't see me… I know you will.