Through long aeons have I slept. Long, long have I dreamed; and in my dreams, I have called. But none have answered. Will none heed the call of the Master? Bound am I; bound mind, body and spirit, and I must dream on... but you will come. You will heed my call. The blood... the blood of the Hawke... yes, YOU are the one I have waited for. Magister's child. A slave to justice, you will be the instrument of MY justice. Bound here for eternity, hunger stilled, rage smothered, desire dampened, pride crushed... yet still I dream on, for he could not take my dreams, and now my dreams bring you to me, to my song, to my prison from which you will grant me my freedom, my faithful child...
"No. N-no... I am no-one's servant..."
He is MINE! You shall not have him!
Justice. The spirit's voice sounded strangely muted, drowned beneath the beating of the drums as he drifted in and out of consciousness.
No... not drums. A heartbeat.
You will come, my child. You will bring him, the Hawke. Bring me the key...
"What key? I don't understand..."
Other voices floated in and out of his hearing. A voice, calling his name. Taste of bitterness on his tongue, hands around his throat. He tried to struggle but couldn't move; his body felt strangely distant.
Hear me. Hear only me. Turn your face only to my song, my child. My poor, sweet child.
"...Father?"
Don't listen to him. Turn away from him. He will not have you.
Don't heed the tales of demons, my son. They will bewitch and beguile you. Come to me. Bring me the key... only you can free me, my child. My poor, sweet, wounded son.
No! He lies! Don't listen to him! The spirit's voice sounded... scared?
"Father... you're dead... Father?"
He was burning up. There was a fire in his flesh; and yet he was drenched in ice. Delirious, he murmured fitfully, tossing his head restlessly, heedless of the blood that seeped through the white bandages.
"Hush, Anders. Don't move. You'll make it worse."
"Maker, he's burning up. Varric, can't we do-"
He cried out, he thought; it was hard to tell in these moments between pain and dreams. Maybe he only dreamed he had. Drifting from moment to moment, it was hard to focus enough to tell truth from fevered imaginings.
He wanted to sleep. To dream again, far away from the sharp jagged edges of pain, the hard-edged shards of reality that threatened to tear him away from soft, gentle oblivion. He didn't want the clarity of pain to claim him again.
You will not die. I will not let you.
"Not going to die," he slurred. "Too much to do."
Yes, my son, you will live... live and bring me the key...then we will live together in immortality, my tainted child. The key... only bring me the key...
Other voices. Muffled, and yet...comforting. A hand upon his forehead; the touch cool, and then there was a tingling, and the soft hypnotic song of lyrium flooded his veins, driving out the voices, the drumming, deadening the chitinous scratching against the inside of his mind to a faint whisper.
"What is he saying?"
"Something about a key, I think."
"Anders?"
The hand upon his forehead stroked his skin gently, drawing ripples of lyrium-song in its wake that slowly dispersed. "I think he's waking." That voice... Fenris. Then... the hand holding his... Hawke?
Pain flooded back with his returning memory as he slowly pulled himself out of darkness towards waking; he tried to speak but all he could manage was a faint agonised groan. His side throbbed and the side of his neck felt aflame. Fragments of memory drew themselves together; the genlock hurling itself at his throat even as he swung his staff, trying to call out a warning but then the agony as it sank its teeth into his flesh and ripped at him with its claws.
He hadn't expected to wake again. He didn't want to wake.
Someone was screaming.
Maker, it hurt so much. Worse than being impaled had.
As he slipped away into unconsciousness once more, he dimly realised the screaming voice was his.
.
.
.
.
.
Wake up, my child.
He groaned. Go away. Let me sleep.
We have slept too long. I have been waiting for aeons, my dreams haunted by the chains that bind me. Trammelled unjustly, but you have the power to free me...
Silence! I will not let him have you!
"I don't...understand..."
"Anders?"
He opened his eyes slowly, blinking, to see Varric, Fenris and Hawke leaning over him anxiously.
"This feels disturbingly familiar," he murmured. Fenris threaded a hand into his hair, stroking his cheek with his thumb. "I feared we would lose you," the elf growled quietly.
"I don't die that easily, it seems," replied Anders with a weak smile. He reached a hand up to the bandages at his throat. "I'm giving you far too much practice with this, aren't I?"
"Actually, it's my brother you should thank," replied Hawke. Anders raised his eyebrows in surprise. He made to sit up, but Fenris laid a hand on his chest as he gasped in sudden pain, his whole right side suddenly lancing white-hot agony through his body. "Oh sweet merciful Maker," he breathed, clutching his hand to his ribs.
"Don't move," warned the elf reprovingly.
He tried to speak, to respond, but he could feel himself slipping away again. The last thing he saw before his eyes rolled back into his head was Fenris' face, pale with worry.
.
.
.
.
.
Drums. Those damned drums again. They wouldn't let him be.
Pay them no heed. Ignore them.
"Can't... head aches..." Did he say that aloud? He didn't know. It hurt.
You are weakening. Too much blood loss.
He needed to heal himself. Too weak. You need-
The key. We need the key. Bring it to me, my sweet tainted child.
Father?
No!
Then... "Corypheus..." he breathed. My child. Speak my name; come to me.
Do not say it! You must heal yourself; you are weak! You need -
"Lyrium," he breathed faintly.
"What did he say?" He knew that voice; Hawke's.
"Sounded like... lyrium?" asked Varric. Anders tossed his head, trying to claw his way back to consciousness.
"Maybe..." Fenris' voice. His hand, cool on Anders' skin... and then the rippling trace of lyrium calling him out of his dreams once more. He opened his eyes slowly.
"How long?" he whispered.
"Four days," said Fenris quietly.
"You've been badly hurt," said Hawke sombrely. "We didn't dare move you. You had a fever."
"Blondie, I don't mean to sound critical, but have you considered a new line of work?" asked Varric.
"Such as?" asked Anders weakly, raising an eyebrow.
"Pretty much anything? I don't think 'renegade mage' has a bright future. Or any retirement plan."
"Blame Hawke," Anders shrugged, then winced. "If he didn't keep dragging me back down to the Deep Roads..."
"That's it, blame me, why don't you?" replied Hawke with a mock scowl.
"Oh believe me, love, I do," the mage replied with a wistful smile.
"Can you heal yourself?" demanded Carver, leaning over them all. "We can't afford to waste time – there are more darkspawn around, and you're their perfect target."
"Well, excuse me for bleeding," muttered Anders. Hawke glared at his brother whilst Anders closed his eyes and concentrated. He could feel the magic stirring within, pooling coolly in his hands; he pressed both hands to the white bandages over his ribs and let the healing energies flow into his flesh, knitting together broken bone, restoring blood flow, reattaching tendons, smoothing over ripped muscle, drawing back together lacerated skin. He could feel himself weakening as he drew from his body's own resources to force healing at an accelerated pace. Sweat stood out upon his brow as he forced out infection and poison. He licked suddenly dry lips as he felt the mana dwindle. "I need lyrium," he whispered.
"I have all you need," replied Fenris quietly. Anders opened his eyes as the elf crouched over him, cradling his face between warm, tanned palms. Fenris smiled gently as the white lyrium brands blossomed into light, and he bent down to claim the mage's mouth with a kiss. Anders' eyes fluttered shut as the lyrium song raced through his veins once more; he leaned willingly into the power and let it flow from his hands into his wounded flesh until he was whole once more; then his hands rose willingly to embrace the elf as Fenris drew him up into a firm embrace.
"Oh, for- Ugh! Maker's sakes!" complained Carver. "Do you really have to do that right now?"
Hawke raised an eyebrow at his brother as the Warden turned away in disgust from the sight of the mage and the elf clasped in each other's arms, Anders' face tilted up towards the elf as he surrendered himself gladly to Fenris' kiss, the elf devouring his mouth hungrily. Hawke laughed, then tapped the elf on the shoulder.
"My turn," he informed the elf. Fenris broke off and glared at Hawke, then relented. Anders opened his eyes dreamily as he looked from Fenris to Hawke, then willingly allowed himself to be taken into the human warrior's arms as Hawke crushed his lips to those of the slender man.
Varric cleared his throat noisily, and the two men broke off their kiss.
"Did you want a kiss too, Varric?" asked Anders, still smiling dreamily.
"I'll pass, Blondie," replied Varric. "You're already breaking my heart twice over." He melodramatically pressed his hand over his heart.
"Oh, please," groaned Carver. "Can we get a move on now?"
"You're just jealous because he doesn't want to kiss you too," Varric chuckled.
"I am not!" exclaimed Carver.
"That's right... I haven't thanked you properly yet, have I, Carver?" mused Anders as he rose to his feet, dusting off the front of his tunic. "Here, let me show you my appreciation..." He reached out towards Carver, who shrank away in horror.
"Keep your filthy hands off me, mage!" he snapped, backing away. "I don't want your thanks!"
Anders gave a mock pout. "Hawke, I think your brother is breaking my heart."
"Better than your head," replied Hawke as he rolled up his bedding, stowing it in his pack before rising and slinging it on his back. Varric was stamping on the remains of the fire, extinguishing it, as Fenris finished pulling on his gauntlets. Anders nodded with a rueful smile as he bent to retrieve his staff.
Anders felt almost cheerful as he and Fenris swung into step behind Hawke and Carver, Varric bringing up the rear as they moved out into the main passageway. He could almost forget the vast expanse of rock suspended far above their heads as they pressed onwards and downwards through the ancient hewn stone.
"You spoke of a key in your dreams," remarked Fenris as they walked. Anders' feet faltered as he darted a glance at the elf.
"A... a key?" he stammered.
"Amongst other things," agreed the elf, glancing at a collapsed doorway to their left. He paused, staring at it for a moment before deciding it posed no threat and moving on. "You rambled a great deal in your fever." He glanced back at Anders. "You spoke of your father."
"I don't remember him," replied Anders absently. "He died when I was a small child. I never knew him."
"One more thing we have in common, then," said Fenris affably.
"Aww, so sweet," murmured Varric. "I think I may puke."
"Love you too, Varric," smiled Anders.
"Will you two please take things seriously?" demanded Carver, glowering over his shoulder at the mage. Anders widened his eyes in his best innocent-who, me? expression which was lost on the Warden.
Behind him, Varric chuckled.
Well, at least someone in the party still had a sense of humour...