"Hawke," murmured Fenris later that evening, after Anders had rolled himself up in his grey Warden blanket and sunk into a restless sleep. "I would talk with you."
Hawke glanced up from mopping up the last of his stew with a crust of bread. He glanced over at the sleeping mage. "I suspect our minds are on the same thing right now."
The elf stared down at his hands. "How long has Anders been a Grey Warden?"
"I don't know," admitted Hawke. "He's rarely spoken about it. But..." he frowned. "He can't be near his Calling. Can he? He's not old enough, surely?"
Fenris shrugged. "How many Grey Wardens are abominations?" he asked, glancing at Carver. Carver shook his head.
"None that I know of," he said, spreading his hands. "I have no idea what effect that would have on the taint. I don't think anyone does; maybe the First Enchanter in the Ferelden Circle..." He shook his head. "I've not been a Warden long though. I'm out of my depth on this one."
"I will not allow him to become like Larius," stated Fenris flatly. "I will kill him myself rather than see him meet that fate."
"Aren't you being a bit hasty there, elf?" asked Varric as he sat himself down by the fire. "Sure, he's hearing voices – but according to the undead Warden, pretty much anyone round here is going to be hearing 'em if they have any taint in them at all – darkspawn or Warden. That doesn't mean you're all getting your Calling though."
"But Anders is far more affected than even Larius," pointed out Hawke.
"So, he's maybe fighting it a damned sight harder than anyone else. Maybe sharing head-space with Justice has, I don't know, sharpened up his spooky hearing or something?" The dwarf shrugged. "All I'm saying is, you all seem to be rather hastily deciding whether to kill a man who's been your friend for years – in your cases-" he stared hard at Hawke and Fenris - "he's been your lover." He held Hawke's gaze. "Tell me, Hawke; could you honestly stare into Blondie's eyes – the man you've bedded – and stick that knife of yours into his heart?"
Hawke blanched. "No... I..." He dropped his head into his hands. "Maker, no. I can't. I couldn't." Varric nodded and stared at Fenris.
"You said you'd never loved before him, elf. You said you'd die for him. Could you really kill him?"
"It would destroy me – but yes," Fenris nodded, his voice quiet. "I would. I would spare him Larius' fate."
Anders moaned and tossed restlessly, tangled up in his blanket. They fell silent, all eyes upon the mage as he rolled over onto his back, one hand clutching at his head. "No... I won't listen... Father, please, I – I can't do this..."
"He worsens," said Fenris quietly.
"You'd better calm him before he draws unwanted attention," warned Carver.
Fenris nodded, rising from his position by the fire and crossing over to the sleeping man who had rolled over onto his side with a whimper. Grabbing his bedroll, the elf stretched out alongside the mage, pulling him into his arms so that Anders' head was cradled against a tanned, lyrium-branded shoulder. He began to softly murmur to the sleeping man whilst his tattoos faintly glowed with a soft, pure silvery light; gradually Anders fell silent and settled into a deeper, peaceful sleep.
"How long can he withstand it?" asked Carver, rubbing his forehead. "He's already lost it to Justice. Surely it's just a matter of time before he succumbs to Corypheus?"
"I'm not giving up on him," growled Hawke.
"Let's hope Blondie doesn't give up either," remarked Varric gloomily.
Silver chains bound him; fine as thread yet impossibly strong. They glowed with a faint white light through the eerie yet familiar green-tinged light that pervaded everything in the Fade. He hung suspended from them, delicate silver wires that entwined about his arms, his bare torso, his legs – even about his throat. They bit into his pale flesh, choking him; it was hard to draw breath. The silver wires burned like lyrium where they touched his skin; movement was pain, but stillness was also torment.
He had no idea how long he'd been hanging there; awareness seemed to dawn slowly. He lifted his head slowly, drawing breath with a faint hiss as the chains cut into his flesh. He looked around, daring to move only his eyes. His arms were burning with the strain of being suspended; thin rivulets of blood trickled down his arms and across his chest.
"My child."
The voice... he knew it instantly. It had been steadily tormenting him ever since he had set foot in the keep. It had only grown worse as they had gone deeper. Now the voice seemed to surround him.
"Justice?" he croaked, staring about him for the Fade spirit.
"Forget the demon. He has beguiled you, my son, but I show you now the truth. This is the torment they have laid upon me. Long have I been bound thus; my every moment agony. They have bound me, as you are bound now; only you can free us, my child. See, there, the fate that lies before you."
A movement caught his attention from the corner of his eye; wincing, he turned his head slightly, then gasped.
The thing that shuffled slowly into view reminded him of Larius, but the unkempt wild hair was blond – long, bloodstained, a tangled mess that hung to the revenant's chest. It limped haltingly towards him, the right arm hanging limp and useless, the left leg twisted and dragging slightly. It was dressed in tattered, dishevelled clothing; tatty remains of feathers still adorned one shoulder of the dusty, faded black jacket. The patchwork leather tunic beneath was torn, several patches missing, one side seam ripped apart. The grey robe beneath was stained and filthy.
Slowly it looked up at him, and he cried out in horror as he stared into his own Blighted eyes – or, rather, eye; for the right eye socket was empty, the cheek below ruined with scars, the flesh half-melted. The slack mouth began to work slowly, trying to form words. "Aah...Aaaannn... Annn..."
"No, please, no," whispered Anders as he stared at himself.
"This is the fate of all who share the taint, my child, but I can free you from this burden. Only I can save you from eternal undeath."
He is not yours. A flash of blindingly bright blue-white flame; a vaguely humanoid shape of brilliant light, the glowing blue eyes staring directly up at the captive mage. Anders twitched in alarm then cried out as the lyrium chains sliced into his vulnerable flesh, blood running freely from a multitude of lacerations.
Another figure appeared; tall, imposing, the face hawk-like and regal yet somehow familiar. Golden eyes regarded him lovingly from a face framed by long honey-gold hair.
"Anders, my son." He raised a hand towards the apostate. "Look what they have done to you – my poor, wounded son! And all because of the gift of magic which I bequeathed to you. How they have made you suffer for our birthright." The eyes were saddened, and Anders himself found he was weeping.
"F-Father? But they said you were dead..."
The glorious figure shook his head. "Nay, my child. They lied to you. Is that not ever their way? They have bound you in lies as surely as they have bound me in chains. Only here am I free; in truth, every wound you suffer from those chains is a burden and a torment I have endured for so long." He smiled gently. "Would you weep for your father, my son? Or would you free him?"
LIES! HE LIES! screamed Justice. The figure merely smiled; Justice seemed somehow impotent – though he raged, he seemed unable to do anything else. The figure held out both hands to Anders.
"Come to me, my beloved one. Free your Father, and together we shall set all mages free." The smile was hypnotic, enchanting. "Let me free you from your burdens and pain, even as you shall free me. You are tired, weary; you long to lay down and rest. Let some other take up this burden. Come to me; let me give you surcease from your pain. The endless struggle. The hatred of others, their abuse of you... you have suffered enough, have you not?"
Weeping, Anders shook his head, heedless of the blood running down his body. "No... I won't listen... Father, please, I – I can't do this..."
"My child. My poor, tainted, wounded son. Would you truly choose this existence?" The figure gestured to the revenant, which shuffled forward, peering up at him, still trying to speak in that awful, broken voice.
And the lyrium chains abruptly dissolved into glowing ribbons of pure light that held him gently, safely, spreading a warm healing balm wherever they touched. The green light faded into a soft warm glow, and a quiet voice was speaking in gentle soothing tones. He didn't understand the words; it didn't matter. They were spoken in love.
Anders curled up into the warm light and sank into a deep, dreamless sleep, far away from the Fade.