Selise was somewhere. Somewhere cold, harsh and constantly changing. A breeze swirled around her head, whispering sweetly into her ear. Or was it a breeze? Maybe it was a breath, and the whispers were just real words, utterings too slippery for her mind to grasp. Just as she thought she might know, it morphed into a croon, growing deeper, louder, vibrating down her spine, until her teeth chattered. Then the chatter became rocks falling, crashing and crumbling, sharp cracks of impact that sounded like snaps of a whip. And then it wasn't that either, it was the crackle of lightning, sharp and jolting. Wherever she was, whatever it was, it was constantly changing. Even in her ears, nothing was solid or sacred or static.

A part of her knew it must have been the Fade again already, but she shouldn't be there now. Julian was dead and she should be running. She should be looking for Anders.

As quickly as she could think it, she was moving, gliding through white landscapes that seemed like the same few features on a loop, repeating, fading and reforming before her eyes. Maker, she didn't want to be here any more. She was sick of these blighted mountains, sick of the cold, sick of the hunger, sick of the nervousness. Her stomach had long since eaten itself up, leaving only a raw wound inside of her, aching with the need for food and a surplus of overstimulated nerves.

But as she moved, the constraints of her body grew faint. She was falling further and further away from the pain, the mortal tether that bound her to a sack of emaciated flesh and bones. The flesh is weak, she realized, but her mind held onto it anyway, not knowing what else to do. The body, with all its pains and limitations, was familiar. It was home. But she shouldn't be asleep. She hadn't fallen asleep, had she? Somewhere far away came a bite of pain on her cheeks, feeling both too intense too bear, and trivial compared to the task before her. Find Anders, get out of the mountains, and Maker fuck the rest.

She remembered the vision she'd had before, the lines of people in chains, memories of wounds in time recorded in the fabric of the Fade, but it was not there now. Not until she thought about it, called to it. And like a looking glass with the lenses being turned, it had all suddenly come into focus before her. But the memory looked different this time. This time she saw those leading the procession, people who looked no different than the others save for a different set of clothing. And they were handing out food, water, worrying for their families back home. Not everyone was in chains. Many seemed there by their own choice, following along with hope in their eyes and coin jingling in their pockets. She could feel them, their commitment to the cause, their attention to the workers, their concern for what was still to come. With resolve and determination, they led their charges onward.

The scene only distracted her for a moment, and she was suddenly rising above them, following the lines of movement faster than she could understand, beyond the capabilities of the body that her mind still assumed was there, even if only out of habit. But it was not, and she traveled unencumbered by the physical rules of the flesh.

The caves appeared quickly, dark windows in a granite mountain, revealing nothing of the secrets within. The images of Fade memories flickered as apparitions entered and disappeared, traveling around the network of dark entrances like bees in a hive. From a distance she counted five cave openings, though how deeply they went, which ones merged and honeycombed into others she didn't know.

But she could know. She focused her mind and tuned into the Fade, syncing with the imprints of slavers coming and going, raging and despairing, living hard enough to leave a permanent mark on the land. There was a vast network beneath a portion of the mountain, but that was on the far side. Through the fading light she saw tracks, edges softened by wind, but traveled enough to be worn deep, until the ice and mud parted, leaving only exposed rocks.

Could she hear him? She'd come to know Anders more deeply than she knew anyone. She knew the beating of his heart, the whisper of the air through his lungs, the crackle in his voice when he spoke. She knew the heat that was in his touch and in his eyes and in his loins, and he had to be here somewhere. This is where they had been the last time she saw him, and there was no where else he could be. She called out, but she had no voice to ring through the air, no feet to drag her through the snow. His name died unspoken in the throat that existed too far away to make a sound. She tried to sigh, an instinctual reaction to exasperation, but it was pointless. The only thing she could do was move, and see.

Caves both empty and not, teeming with images that had no form but which loitered about in spaces black, barren and cold. But the cages were empty, save for rocks and the occasional pile of bones. Another cave another empty space, and then another and then another. Rocky floors and broken metal, darkness that felt oily and rich, like plunging your hand into a pool of tar. She almost didn't see him when she finally found the cave, but she felt him. Another blink and she was within the bars of his cage and standing beside his crumpled form, frail and thin, lost to unconsciousness.

"Anders?" she spoke as she knelt, words that made no sound but in her head. But Solas had entered her dreams and there they had spoken. He had taken her somewhere, controlled it all. She needed to do the same. He too was in the Fade, traveling as all mages traveled, his mind so deeply imprisoned that he hadn't bothered to wander far, hadn't even recognized that he was anywhere other than a solitary captive, freezing and starving and left to wither away on a stone floor.

How had she gotten in?

Anders blinked hard, seeing her clearly despite the smothering darkness. She looked just as he remembered, wild and beautiful, if a little dirty and thin. And then she was kneeling, a hand coming forward, he wanted to flinch, unable to believe what he was seeing. Not only was she there, but she was inside the cage, standing only a few feet before him. He jumped to attention and looked immediately to the door, frowning with confusion as he confirmed that it had not opened. He thought he heard his name and wanted to recoil, unable to trust this vision before him so easily. It must have been a demon, but were that actually the case, Justice would have been stirring. He took a breath and she only got closer, moving in, her hands warm and searching, cupping his face, looking into his eyes, flying through his hair, his clothes, his body, confirming that he was whole. And then she was balling up, settling her body on the ground beside his and burrowing into his arms. Anders' heart raced, building to a hammering speed that made his head feel like it was spinning, but the images before him didn't budge the way he felt they should have. He blinked some more, staring dumbly down at the vision of his lover. This couldn't possibly be real. There was no way this was actually real.

The cave around them began to change, morphed and lightened, becoming something warmer, brighter, more familiar. It took less than a heartbeat before he found himself in bed in his room in Skyhold, with Selise still tucked tightly against him. Thick blankets over their lap, a soft mattress beneath.

"What is happening?" he asked. Suddenly his body didn't hurt anymore.

"We're dreaming," she said, her voice flowing like silk over his mind, soothing his anxiousness with a wash of warmth. She squeezed around him even harder. Her dark hair cascaded down her back in luxurious waves, healthy, shiny and thick. The dirt smudging her face was gone, her skin creamy and clean again, pink flushing the cheeks below heavily lashed lids. And he too felt more substantial, his limbs fuller, stronger. If this was a dream, it was unlike any dream he'd ever had.

The uncertainty, the fear, the questions all melted away. Even if it was all an illusion, it was still infinitely better than the cruel Void of the mountain caves. He smoothed her hair out of her face, amazed at the solid texture beneath his palms, and pulled her chin up to look at him. It felt like her, and more than just her body. He could feel her spirit, that distinctive spark of her behind the silver shine of her eyes. He covered her lips in a kiss, their mouths coming together as though simply following their inherent nature, two magnets drawn to join without any effort expended. Her lips were full and cool, her mouth tasting as it usually did, of a subtle combination of chamomile and mint. To see her healthy and vibrant again made his heart swell to the point of bursting.

Her tongue slid warm and soft against his, fingers clutching harder and harder at flesh that felt real, that resisted dissolving away into nothing. This was a dream?

"Anders," she whispered after she broke away, cupping his jaw and running her fingers through his hair. Shivers raced down his skin and Maker it felt like everything and nothing all at once. He glanced around the room. It was exactly as his had been. His books still piled on the table. The tea kettle hanging by the fire, half full of water and ready to be put on. The frosty peaks of the mountains were visible through the windows. Candles and lanterns flickered, illuminating shadowy corners.

"How is this possible? Why does this feel so real?"

"I found you," she whispered, laying her cheek back onto his shoulder. "I found you."

It dawned on him slowly, his sluggish mind locating the recent memory of the things she'd said when they were together in the cave. She was like Feynriel. And Solas. Solas had come to him too, but he'd not taken him anywhere, the way Selise had done. Solas had not eased his pains or quieted his groaning stomach. This was an entirely new reality, a multi-sensory illusion.

He sank down into the bed, stretching out his limbs and pulling Selise down with him. She'd found him, but she wasn't speaking, wasn't moving.

"Where are you? Are you okay?" he asked. Her lids fluttered but she didn't open her eyes.

"I don't know," was all she said.

"Who are you with?"

"I'm with you," she said. Her voice seemed small and distant.

"No, your body… if we're dreaming, then you're sleeping? Are you camped? Is Julian hurting you?"

"Julian is dead."

Anders would have laughed, embracing the surge of satisfaction that coursed through him at that knowledge. But instead he felt only a razor sharp pang of worry. There was something wrong with the way she sounded, the way she was speaking. If Julian was dead, and she didn't know where she was, then what did that mean?

He turned her over, shaking her body, or whatever it was that was in his arms. Her head lolled around, but her eyes opened weakly. Her only response was to try to burrow back into him again.

"Why are you sleeping? What is wrong?"

"I don't know," she said, and he barely heard it. "I can't wake up."

He held her quietly for what felt like hours, his mind warring with the knowledge that he needed to wake up, he needed to keep trying to free himself from his cage if he had any chance of getting to her body and discovering what was wrong. But leaving her, leaving the warmth, the comfort of the dream, a lack of pain and agony that he hadn't felt in what seemed an eternity, was practically impossible. He'd begun to wonder if this was the way they might both leave the world, and he could think of worse fates. All he could bring himself to do was pray. He prayed to the Maker for intervention, that he help her, that someone find her, and if not her, then find him so that he could get to her himself. Praying seemed to be about as useful as anything else he'd done so far, and even stuck in the dream, even as he physically slept he still felt tired. But at least there was no pain, no cold, no hunger. The Seeker's tome no longer seemed important, and he promised again and again to the Maker that if they could just escape the mountains with their lives, he would leave the book to its own fate. They had the information they needed, and it was so much simpler than he ever could have guessed. If they hadn't had to protect the book, they might have asked Solas to send for help. He'd still be exiled, but maybe they might have used the roads that led more quickly out of the mountains, instead of crisscrossing into the roughest of terrain, trying to stay hidden. And then maybe they wouldn't have met the blood mages. Maybe everything would have been different.

The fact that the dream persisted was his only source of hope. If she was holding them in the dream, then her mind was working, and if her mind was working, her body was living. She'd grown less and less responsive, her answers to his nudges, his questions were mere groans and whimpers, but at least there were responses. He almost wished he could feel the aching in his stomach, the acidic wash of anxiety that he knew was there, as maybe it would have been impetus enough to make him fight again, fight against the constraints of metal and stone and cold and bring him incrementally closer to actual freedom. But she had them so perfectly cocooned in a warm, painless dream that his resolve faltered. How could he possibly let her go, when he didn't know how much longer either of them even had?

Slowly, Justice began to awaken, thinking in unhappy whispers.

You are giving into sloth.

Yes. Yes, I think I am.

You would let ourself waste away for this illusion?

You can have the body if you want it. I am tired of hurting. I am tired of everything.

Anders couldn't help but think back to when he first met Justice, when Justice inhabited the decaying, grayish corpse that had once belonged to Kristoff. It had been difficult even to look at Justice at first, but he and the others had all gotten used to it eventually, as the spirit fought and conversed beside them day after day. Perhaps Justice might find himself back in another dead vessel after all, walking Anders' corpse around in the same manner that he had Kristoff's. Or perhaps he might be freed, left to return to the Fade, perhaps to reconnect with his purpose, perhaps to complete his transformation into something else. Either one would probably be easier for him than remaining stuck in a weakening body alongside Anders. It'd be much less infuriating than tolerating those few conflicting desires that angered them both so. Those conflicts had become some of the only conscious moments that they still felt a little bit separate, and they were growing in frequency and intensity. Justice grew more and more frustrated with how Anders' energy was flagging with increasing age, with the draining effects of the taint, with years and years of being on the run with no one to trust. Anders' wasn't sure how long his body could keep up with Justice when he was just Justice, much less when he was Vengeance. That Selise could tame him when he emerged and ran rampant had been a life-changing revelation, but even she couldn't stop the constant, wearying demands of an immortal who doesn't recognize or accept the limitations of his mortal body even during peace.

And when would the day come that there was no more Justice at all? It seemed increasingly possible that someday all that would remain at all would be Vengeance, and eventually, possibly not even Anders.

But there was no way to know. The future was not set, a lesson he had learned over and over again. A lesson that should have been motivation of its own.

Someone approaches.

Anders felt the hum of Justice now, a confused radiating of energy trying to emerge but finding no body in this place to do so. The form of Anders laying in the bed with Selise in his arms was not a real body, and they were not inside his mind. Selise, however incapacitated she might have been, retained the last word of control, holding the illusion steadfastly into place. But the hum of his spirit passenger increased, fighting against the constraints of the dream, and slowly Anders grew uncomfortable as the hold of the real world grew stronger and stronger.

Someone approaches, Justice had said. But approaches where? Surely another was not approaching within the dream. He could only mean in the cave.

Fuck. The blighted cave. He could cry at the thought of returning there, back to the torture of his captivity, back to the shivering and the hurting and feeling his body inch a little bit closer to death with every passing second. But someone approaches. Someone approaches and now he knew where the keys were. And Julian is dead.

He let Justice's energy pull him slowly away from Selise. Though he looked down and saw her, appearing to be slumbering peacefully in his arms, she felt further and further away. In order to leave her he had to acknowledge the reality of the fact that she wasn't really there. And wherever she really was, she needed help. The warmth was disappearing completely, the pain ebbing back in, and it was horrific, like tiptoeing into an icy pond and having to adjust to the discomfort in an eternity of icy increments. He whispered a last prayer, that this not be the last time he see her, that this not be the moment they both meet their end, and then he jumped headlong into the frigid waters of consciousness, wrenching himself out of the soothing lie of the dream.

Immediately it felt as though a ravenous beast was inside him, gnawing at his organs, clawing through his flesh and bones and innards. It was the hunger and the cold and the pain, as substantial as a third party, crowding into the increasingly tight space of his body. But Anders had no time to listen to its demands. Someone approaches.

But Justice wasn't letting him have control. This felt familiar somehow, as though the someone coming was not a someone, and was more of a something. Was it something he'd already known before? As the grey darkness of the cave came into focus, his eyes watering against the assault of the frosty air, he thought he saw a figure. His vision, only just restored was again blotting out, fading into blackness with the force of Justice pushing him aside, thrumming and buzzing his control over the physical form they shared. But before the darkness was complete, the figure came fully into view.

A skinny kid with white hair and a very large hat.