GHOSTS

The Docks looked much as they remembered. Fenris stood at the rail as the boat maneuvered for position. He glanced at the mage next to him. Anders hadn't said a word since they had taken their position at the railing to watch the city come into view.

"Are you alright?"

"I don't know." His voice was quiet. "Maybe we shouldn't have come."

Fenris put his arm around him. "Why is that?"

"There's so many memories. So many people. So many things I can't anticipate."

"You've done fine on the boat. That was new, too. And, it brought up memories."

"A boat's an isolated island. The city... don't you feel it? The voices from time? The memories in the stones of the streets and buildings?"

Fenris let himself feel. Yes. They were there. Not as close to the surface for him as for Anders, possibly. "I feel them. We spent a decade here. There are going to be memories. We can do this, Anders. Let's just get to the mansion. We can figure it out, there."

Anders nodded, his face doubtful.

Stepping off of the gangway, the smell was his first memory jolted.

"Fish. Bah." Fenris wrinkled his nose. A group of porters for-hire stood near the gangway, awaiting employ. He gestured for a few to handle their luggage, and led the way to Hightown. Anders was solidly plastered against his side, small twitches in his face. "It's alright, my mage. Just breathe."

Before they even made it to the steps to Lowtown, they came face-to-face with Hawke. A statue of The Champion of Kirkwall stood at the entrance to the Docks. A flame held high, one foot on the head of the Arishok, it took them by surprise. Candles and melted wax surrounded the base. The city still loved him.

"I'd forgotten about this," Fenris muttered.

"I suppose he did defeat the Arishok," the mage said.

Fenris pulled him along. "He once did many good things. Before he did the worst."

Passing through Lowtown as quickly as they could, they took back-stairways and alleys. They weren't ready to face much, yet. Sounds, smells, sights, all set loose a myriad of memories in their minds.

Hightown was the same. For a large city, it seemed every street, every building, had a memory branded into it. By the time they made it to their house, Fenris was beginning to feel some of Anders' anxiety. He pulled out the key Varric included in his second letter, and let them into their sanctuary. Anders was shaking. Fenris paid the porters, then sent one to get goods at the market. He closed the door, and pulled Anders into an embrace. "We're safe. Let's unpack, and when the food arrives, we can lock ourselves in until we feel up to facing the past." Anders nodded.

Fenris had to give it to Varric. The house was repaired, clean, and updated. The decor remained the same. Same statues, paintings, and tiles. It smelled substantially better. He decided it must be the absence of mummified remains and broken wine bottles.

The kitchen actually looked as though a meal could be prepared in it. The rooms were clean, if empty. His room, the only one he'd ever inhabited, still contained the same furnishings. His bed, table, benches... all repaired and upright. A fire was laid, waiting to be lit. As a nice touch, a bottle of wine sat on the table.

Fenris nodded approvingly. "The dwarf did well," he said. They set about unpacking their belongings. Tigris was released from her cage to zip off and explore her new surroundings. When the porter returned with several large packages from the grocers, they stored it in the kitchen, and retired to their room. As on the boat that first day, they lay on the bed and just breathed.

"Are you truly sorry we came?" Fenris asked.

Anders sighed. "No. I'm truly sorry I'm so anxious about every-damned-thing. I thought we were coming to visit old friends. Instead, I'm visiting old pain. Why do I have to be such a mess all the time? Why can't I just let shit go?"

Fenris ran his fingers through Anders' honey-colored hair. "You feel things strongly, my mage. I had a hard time coming through town, too. There's so much to remember. Some of it's not pleasant."

"Did you see Hawke's old estate?"

"Hard to miss."

"This whole town is full of Hawke. I thought I'd dealt with his memory. Now, it's on our doorstep."

"We can take all the time in the world to decide that we're ready to face this city. It's not going anywhere."

They lay and soothed one another until the sending crystal vibrated.

Dorian was still on a boat. He was horribly bored. He was happy to hear they were in Fenris' mansion in Kirkwall. He asked how they were doing, so far.

"Anders is upset with himself," Fenris confided. "He thinks he's a mess. I don't agree."

Dorian replied, "Anders, each time you feel this way, it breaks my heart. When you criticize yourself, you criticize one of my favorite people. I won't stand for it."

"Every time I think I'm getting stronger, I fall apart for some dumb reason," Anders said.

"You are strong. You left home, and got on that boat, and marched yourself through Kirkwall. That took strength."

"You and Fenris never feel like that," Anders said. Fenris snorted.

Dorian's laugh filled the room. "In that, you are so very wrong. We may be more practiced at hiding our emotions than you, but be assured, we feel it. Precious little brother, accept yourself as you are, fear and all. Because, who you are, is remarkable."

It was supper time before they got up, again. Anders dogged Fenris. The elf was happy to keep him close. When Fenris sat on the tabletop in the kitchen, Anders pushed his way to straddle his lap.

"Dorian's right," Fenris said, as they fed each other cheese and bread. "I get scared, too. You know that."

Anders swallowed his mouthful. "You don't show it."

"I did when Wallus cornered me. Remember how strong you were, then?"

Anders shrugged. "Fine. Once. You're always so calm. Always watching out for me."

"I had more time with Danarius. He was exacting in regard to my behavior. I barely let myself feel anything, until I'd been away from him for many years. You're naturally more expressive. And, you were hurt worse." He popped a piece of bread into Anders' mouth. "My beautiful mage, don't be so quick to hurt yourself with your own thoughts. You've had pain enough."

Fenris was awakened by gentle, insistent tugging on his earlobe. Cracking an eyelid, he saw Anders' gleaming, honey-brown eyes. The mage was pulling at his earring. "Whaaa?" he grunted sleepily.

"Wake up. It's time to see this damned city."

"Why so early?"

"No time like the present. It also doesn't smell as bad, early in the morning."

He yawned. "Good point."

Having restored themselves, this walk through town was easier than their arrival. They noticed that Hawke's old place looked as though it was being lived-in. The Blooming Rose was still in business. Hightown seemed to have more dwarven faces. They wondered if a dwarf Viscount was a draw for his race to the city.

It was a strange sense of deja vu. Some things hadn't changed at all. Some things were entirely new. Fenris was in rapture over a new Orlesian delicacy shop. He picked-up a box of candied dates. Anders teased him. Dorian had gotten him addicted to the things.

They decided to dig up and defeat as many memories as possible, before contacting Varric. Over the next several days, they walked the city streets. Sometimes memories came, sometimes they didn't. Sometimes the memories were painful, sometimes they weren't.

The Foundry drew their attention, for two reasons. First, it was the site of Leandra's terrifying death; and the supposed birth of Hawke's madness. Second, it was operating at full capacity.

"Varric's got it running full-bore," Anders commented. "He'll leave no revenue unturned."

"Perhaps he means to have something come out of it besides bad memories."

"That, too. Do you think, if Hawke's mother hadn't died the way she did..."

"That Hawke wouldn't have done what he did? I don't know. What happened here was tragic. I've been second-guessing Hawke's motivations for years, now. We'll probably never know."

Fully armed and armored, they ventured into Darktown. Instead of the overcrowded, filthy settlement of poor, it was abandoned, though not entirely empty. In areas flanking the half-wall, where the risk of chokedamp was less, large tracts of mushrooms grew. Several dwarves managed small crews tending to the farms.

"Wow. Apparently, some vital personnel from Orzammar do make it to the surface," Anders said. "But, where are the people? You don't think Varric had them run out, do you?"

Fenris thought. "It's hard to imagine him doing that. When we finally see him, we'll ask."

Anders' old clinic was gone. The walls torn down, it had old campfires dissolving into the dirt where it had stood. "Makes me even more grateful that Varric gathered our things, for us."

"How are you feeling, my mage?"

Anders shrugged. "Fine. I didn't expect to find much. I'm more concerned about the people who lived here."

The Chantry was beautiful. The exterior stonework had been scrubbed until it nearly gleamed. The interior was just as fine. New tapestries, fresh candle-holders, polished pews. Anders stood, gazing about with a confused look on his face.

"What is it?" Fenris asked.

The mage shook his head. "I don't know. Something I can't remember. Something important. Something terrible."

"The night Seamus and Petrice were killed?" Fenris asked.

"No. It's not so much something that did happen. It feels like something that was going to happen. I can't remember."

Walking through Lowtown, they stopped and looked at the entrance to the Hanged Man. The same sign hung above the door, although the edges looked slightly charred. The same smell of vomit and urine wafted from the nearby alleyways as had years ago.

Anders deadpanned. "Ahh. The ambiance."

"The Hanged Man's particular bouquet," Fenris said. "How you feeling?"

The mage shrugged. "Nervous. Ambivalent. Nauseated. You?"

"You pretty much nailed it."

Anders tugged on Fenris' hand, and led him to the door.

It was quiet, so early in the morning. They stood in the doorway, and took it in. It was brighter, inside. New paint gave light to the room. The floor was new, as well. Varric was right. The blood stains were all relatively recent. Everything looked newer and cleaner. He must have had to replace most of the interior.

The stairway to the second floor drew Fenris' eyes. It was there that Danarius had appeared, five years ago. The room wavered before him. Voices from the past echoed in his mind.

-'Ah, my little Fenris. Predictable as always.'

-Hawke at his side. Fenris counted on him to help.

-'If you want him, he's yours.'

-His heart breaking. His hope gone.

-'Take the abomination with you, while you're at it.'

The elf reached for Anders, pulling him close, keeping him safe. Fenris couldn't breathe.

"Fenris? Fenris... sit down. Come on, right here." He felt Anders pulling him to a table, pushing him onto a bench. "Breathe, love. We're alright. I'm right here."

Fenris pulled air into his lungs, held the mage tightly. "He should never have sent you with him."

"Love, he should never have sent either of us. But, he did. And, now, we're alive, and we're together, and they're both dead."

Fenris dropped his head to Anders' shoulder, breathing deeply. "Oh, my Anders. Are you alright?"

"Better than you, right now. I can imagine how you felt that day, seeing him come down the stairs."

Fenris nodded, feeling Anders' warmth against his cheek. "Yes. You can. There's no one else who could... I feel sick."

"Do you need to leave?"

"No. I need to outlast the memory."

The waitress came by, looking askance at the two men clinging to each other. Anders held up two fingers, hoping she'd understand. She did, bringing two ales.

After several minutes, Fenris raised his head. "I want to see upstairs."

"To make sure he's not there?"

"Yes."

He wasn't. All that was upstairs were empty rental rooms and a clean hallway. The first door at the top of the stairs had a plaque that read "Viscount's Villa". Fenris looked at it and shook his head.

"We're safe, here," he decided. He pulled Anders close and kissed him soundly. "We're together, and they're both dead."

Fenris drank his ale, fortifying his strength. The tavern was losing its memory, the voices had faded. "They're stocking better ale," he commented. "You're not drinking yours?"

"It's mid-morning."

"Can't think of a better time, at the moment." He took a last drink, then set down his mug. "It's better, but it's still not good."

"Come on," Anders said. "Let's find some decent wine to stock the mansion."

Many smaller memories came as they walked through town. Conversations, arguments, events. Occasionally, they brought humor.

"Remember Merrill with that ball of string, leaving a trail to find her way home?" Anders asked.

"Remember Isabela, never wearing pants?" Fenris asked.

"I remember her trying to guess the color of your underclothes. She had a thing for you, I think."

"She had a thing for danger. I seemed dangerous."

"You seemed downright lethal."

"I was. I still am."

"You know... I'm beginning to see why that worked for her."

Fenris laughed. "Remember when Aveline tried to court Donnic?"

"Not very well. One of those memory-holes, I guess."

"Just as well. It was painful to watch."

Finally, an evening came when they decided to brave the crowd at the Hanged Man, and see if Varric showed up.

It looked like a typical crowd for the evening. They walked in the door, and looked for an open table. A voice carried over the crowd.

"No shit... there I was..."

Both came to a dead stop. Standing before the hearth, a small crowd surrounding him, was a dwarf. Their dwarf. Standing on a low stool to allow his voice to carry over the crowd, he was deep in the drama of one of his unlikely tales.

There was an unfamiliar scar across his nose. But, it was Varric. As he swept his arms wide in a theatrical gesture, his eyes cast over them. His oration came to an abrupt halt.

As the three men stared across the tavern, Fenris bolted forward. He pushed through the crowd, and enveloped Varric in his arms.

Varric's expression was one of surprised disbelief. As his eyes met Anders', he grinned ear-to-ear, and returned the elf's embrace. Anders smiled, and watched as Fenris crushed the dwarf.

Anders could hardly sit still. An ale sat before him, untouched.

"Go ahead, Blondie. This is the good stuff, reserved for foreign dignitaries."

Anders shook his head, smiling at the dwarf sitting across from him. He dropped his gaze, grinning at the table.

Varric laughed. "You two made my weary heart smile, showing up like you contacts told me you'd shown up at your place. I was waiting for you to decide you were ready to meet. Took you long enough."

"We've been... meeting memories," Fenris said.

"I'll bet. There's plenty around. Damn, you two look good. Seems like Sparkler's treating you right, then?"

Fenris took a sip of Anders' ale. "Dorian? He's our brother. He was our savior. He's a man among men. There are none finer."

"You wrote that he's been made a magister?"

Fenris nodded, offering the cup back to the mage. "His father was assassinated. Dorian's going to make changes in his country. He has plans in motion to reform Tevinter. He's already working on slave freedom and rights."

Varric nodded. "I'm gonna have to come up with a new nickname for him. The man has substance. You settled alright into your place?"

"Yes. Thank you. It's good to be back in my home. It was the first place that was ever mine. Varric... we can never thank you enough for looking for us." Both Fenris and Anders looked at the dwarf with sincere eyes.

"Ahh... You'd do the same for me. I couldn't not look. I'm just damn happy to have you sitting here, in the Hanged Man, with me."

There was silence for a moment as they sifted through thoughts and sipped their ale. "Who's living in the Amell estate?" Fenris asked.

Varric shook his head. "Gamlen. He inherited Hawke's fortune and property. Word is, he's working through it pretty fast."

Anders laughed bitterly, and frowned into his cup.

Fenris looked carefully at Anders, judging his mood. "We're not fans of Hawke."

"Yeah. I get that. If I were in your shoes... well, even if I'm not in your shoes. Hawke did you wrong. He did a lot of things wrong, at the end. Things not to be forgiven."

"I could have forgiven a lot, Varric. But, not what happened to Anders."

The mage looked at Fenris with tear-filled eyes, and spoke. "Or, what happened to you."

Fenris kissed him, and the tears overflowed.

"I'm sorry," Varric said. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

Anders shook his head, wiping his eyes.

"No," Fenris said. "It's not you. Anders feels things strongly." The elf ran his fingers into the mage's hair.

Varric watched them with a small smile. "I wondered if seeing you two together might seem weird. But, you know, it doesn't. I always say, it's the ones who fight the worst that end up loving the best."

Fenris smiled. "The love comes easy." Anders took his hand, smiling back.

"Maker, this would be such good material," Varric muttered. "You know, Blondie, for someone who doesn't talk much, you sure have people who want to talk to you."

Anders looked confused.

"A letter arrived for you a week ago by royal messenger; it's waiting in my office. Since when are you pen-pals with the King of Ferelden?"

tbc...