As Hawke's blade clove through the magister's body, Anders rocked on his feet, near the limit of his exhaustion. He was drained, both of mana and of his own vitality; he felt bone-weary. He stared at Corypheus as the magister sank slowly to his knees...
And suddenly he was unable to look away as the magister's gaze caught and held his own. Anders gasped silently, suddenly unable to breathe. As he stared into Corypheus' eyes, the magister raised his hands; unwillingly, Anders felt his own hands rising, palms uppermost as magic pooled in them. He felt a tugging, a drawing sensation deep within that came from outside his body. Corypheus' eyes bored into him as he took a halting step forward, then another.
Come to me, my son.
He tried to speak, to utter a denial, but it felt as though his tongue were glued to the roof of his mouth.
Come. Do you not feel sorrow for your dying father?
He tried to shake his head, to hold back, but found himself taking another unwilling step forward. Time seemed to stand still around them both; the others appeared frozen in place – Hawke in the act of holding his blade aloft after having freed it from the magister's body, his arm upraised, poised to strike the coup de grace, Fenris as he turned to look at Anders, a questioning look upon his face. Carver with sword upraised, the light of battle still in his eyes. Varric squinting down Bianca's barrel, a bolt frozen in mid-air as it flew straight and true towards Corypheus' back. And Larius had reappeared, the old Warden standing strangely still, observing Corypheus with eyes that glittered in spite of their milky-white Blighted appearance.
Only Anders seemed capable of movement.
Heal me, my child. As the eyes regarded him, Anders felt an overwhelming sense of grief washing over him. He was dying – Corypheus was dying, and only he had the power to save him. All that knowledge, all that power would be lost – but he could yet save him. He only had to reach out, surrender the last of his life's essence and -
"No!" screamed Anders in denial, suddenly recognising the alien thoughts for what they truly were. "You are not my father – you are a monster!"
Then shall you die, wretched child.
He reeled as suddenly he felt a pressure inside his mind; he clutched at his head, crying out, as he felt Corypheus reaching for that place inside his mind where, as with all mages, a portion of the Fade resided; he was reaching for possession.
And found that another already resided there.
You shall NOT HAVE HIM!
Anders let his hands fall away from his head as Justice took over; willingly, the mage relinquished control to the spirit as blue-white spirit energy danced over his skin and blazed from his eyes. Anders raised his hands as the spirit fire swirled and coalesced about them.
Your time is over. This ends now.
The ball of pure spirit energy flew straight and true to strike Corypheus full in the chest, and as the magister cried out, time seemed to flow again. Larius staggered and put a hand to his head; Varric's bolt thudded squarely home between Corypheus' shoulder blades.
Malcolm's blade described a perfect glittering arc in Hawke's hand as it descended, slicing through the magister's throat and neatly beheading the magister. Slowly Corypheus' headless corpse fell forward as blood spread in a dark pool around the body. Hawke took a step back, away from the near-black fluid.
"It's over," said Anders quietly. Slowly he lifted his gaze from Corypheus' body and glanced around. "Is everyone alright? Does anyone need healing?"
Carver came forward; sheathing his blade, he pulled off his gauntlet. "I think I caught a bit of one of his ice blasts," he said quietly. Anders reached for his hand and eyed the frostbitten fingers, then closed his eyes and reached for his dwindling reserves of energy, drawing on his own life force to ease the pain and restore blood flow to the frozen tissues.
"Thank you," said the Warden quietly. He put out his hand to steady Anders as the mage swayed.
"Enough," said Fenris, moving to Anders' side and slipping an arm around his waist to support him; Anders gratefully leaned into the elf's firm strength.
"Anders, what do you make of this?" asked Hawke as he straightened from Corypheus' body and held out an amulet.
"That amulet – no-one's used that pattern since the First Blight!" exclaimed Anders as he took it, turning it over in his hands. "I've seen descriptions of this design in books back at the Tower, but I've never seen one before with my own eyes – let alone touched one." He passed it back to Hawke. "It was unique to a small sect in Tevinter who worshipped the god Dumat." He turned his gaze back to the body of Corypheus. "He really was an ancient magister." He shook his head, his voice full of wonder and disbelief. "I always thought the Black City was just a story..."
Hawke shrugged. "Even if it's true, that's no justification for punishing mages over a thousand years later, love," he said gently.
"Do you think?" replied Anders. "What else might the Chantry know that we don't? What secrets are they keeping from us?" He glanced away, his voice suddenly full of uncertainty. "i-I'll need to study this further," he stammered.
Hawke nodded, pressing the amulet into Anders' hand once more. "Perhaps you should be the one to take this?" he suggested. Anders stared down at it.
"Perhaps," he agreed absently, tucking it into his belt.
"Come on, let's get out of here," suggested Varric. "Corypheus is dead – we've done what we came here for."
Hawke nodded. Stepping in to Anders' other side, he slung his arm around Anders' waist just above Fenris' arm, and Anders draped his arms over the shoulders of his loves. Slowly they began to make their way back towards the stone bridge that led back across the chasm from the tower to the side of the gorge, Varric and Carver bringing up the rear.
Larius turned away as they approached him, looking out across the gorge.
"You did well, Hawke," said the old Commander, standing straight, his hands clasped behind his back. "More than the Grey Wardens of old were able to accomplish. I will tell the Warden-Commander of your service here."
"I'd be careful," replied Carver. "We don't usually come back from the Calling."
"I must try," replied Larius simply. "You've gained an ally today," he added as he turned to face them.
Hawke frowned; Larius' voice sounded different – more sure, stronger and self-confident. "Why are you talking like that?" he asked, as Anders lifted his head wearily and narrowed his eyes at Larius.
"My head is clear now," replied Larius. "Without Corypheus' call, I can think again." He smiled slightly. "I thank you for my freedom."
"The Wardens won't thank me for the deaths of their own," remarked Hawke, shaking his head.
"Janeka ignored the Warden-Commander's express orders when she sought to free Corypheus," replied Larius with a slight negating motion of his hand, dismissing his concern. "They'll be relieved she's gone – though they will grieve for those Wardens she dragged to their deaths through her deceit." He straightened and inclined his head towards Hawke and the others. "The prison stands no more. My gratitude you have, for my freedom." He turned away, his footsteps taking him swiftly across the stone bridge; within a short space of time, he had disappeared out of sight.
"Come on," said Hawke quietly. "Let's go home."
"The attacks... the darkspawn, every bloody part of it – because of what happened years ago," Carver said slowly, shaking his head. "What he did for Mother. For all of us, really." He sighed as he turned to Hawke. "Blood magic on top of leaving the Amell name. I'm kind of glad Bethany never lived to hear of this. No wonder he kept it all secret. Still, to do all that..." He shook his head. "How would mother take this? Strange magic... I wish I could talk to her."
"I know it was hard... how much time he had to spend with Bethany. You never liked that, did you?" said Hawke quietly. "She and he had something together that we could never be a part of."
"Well, he did start training us too," Carver pointed out. "But I think we picked up far more from those soldiers who came through." Hawke nodded. "Father wasn't a warrior," Carver continued. "Remember when I beat him? Took the blade clean away." He grinned ruefully.
Hawke smirked. "He was holding back," he replied.
"On magic? Sure, but not the blade. After that... well, he knew I could handle the house whilst he was off with Bethany and you were with the guard." he shrugged. "I suppose I see now why he was so concerned though."
"You know, I don't think we had it that bad," replied Hawke quietly. "For a while. A short while."
"I think I blinked and missed it," said Carver, his tone a little wistful. "I think... I think it'll be alright, you know? Not real soon, mind you."
"I suppose it will," laughed Hawke. "Not real soon. I'm not expecting miracles, after all."
"How is Anders?" asked Carver, changing the subject. Hawke rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully, his eyes flicking up to the stairs.
"Exhausted, but I think he'll be OK. He and I have... a lot to discuss when he wakes though."
"I can imagine," replied Carver wryly. "Garrett... go easy on him. It can't have been easy for him, keeping it from you. Believe me, it's not an easy burden to bear."
Hawke nodded slowly. "I'll bear that in mind," he promised.
"Take care, brother," said Carver with a small smile.
"Maker go with you, Carver," replied Hawke. Carver nodded, then turned and strode from the mansion.
Hawke turned and stared back up the stairs again, then turned away and let his feet carry him over towards the fireplace. He stared into the flickering flames, then closed his eyes.
"You know Malcolm wouldn't want you two to fight. He sacrificed so we would have a life free to choose – not always agree. His burden must have been very much like yours is now in many ways." His mother's voice. Leandra.
"That's me – banging my head against the walls of tyranny," remarked Hawke with a faint smile, thinking of Anders asleep upstairs and how the mage had drawn him into his one-man revolution against the Chantry and the Circles.
"You know, your father was the same way. Taming the shadows with questionable wit." He could hear the smile in her voice. "The best of him is still with you. The best of all of us. It's what makes you try so hard." A sound of movement; a faint swish of skirts, a faint hint of roses; her favourite scent. "You will always have that. We will always be family." He voice was full of gentle reassurance as she added, "It will be alright."
Hawke opened his eyes and glanced around, but he was alone.
Anders stirred as Hawke entered the room, turning his head upon the pillow and opening his eyes. Fenris was curled against him, an arm curling protectively around Anders' waist, the elf's head pillowed against the apostate's shoulder. Fenris was sleeping peacefully.
"You should be asleep," remarked Hawke as he crossed the room; sinking down upon the edge of the bed, he reached for Anders' hand.
"I'm sorry, love," Anders said quietly.
"For what?" asked Hawke gently.
"I should have told you," replied Anders, his amber eyes dark with sadness as he stared up into Hawke's face. "About the Calling."
Hawke smiled sadly. "Would you ever have told me?" he asked quietly. "Or would you have just slipped away from me silently one night and left me to wonder for the rest of my life what had happened to you?"
"No, never!" cried Anders, his voice cracking with distress. "I wouldn't do that."
"Then when would you have told me?" asked Hawke, fighting down the urge to grasp the mage by the shoulders, shake him, scream denial, hold him tight and never let him go. Demand to know why. Refuse to let him go.
"I don't know," replied Anders brokenly.
Then Hawke did take him into his arms, cradling close, and they were both crying. Anders clung to Hawke like one drowning; and Hawke felt he may, indeed, drown in the tears that threatened to overwhelm him. Anders tucked his head beneath Hawke's chin, pressing his face against the warrior's chest, and Hawke could feel the mage's hot tears soaking through the rich velvet of his house-robe even as his own tears ran down his face and soaked into Anders' sandy golden hair.
"I dreamed of us growing old together," murmured Hawke. "I dreamed of years spent with you. A lifetime together. To learn that we may have perhaps a couple of decades..."
He pulled away and held Anders at arm's length, staring him steadily in the eye. "How long?"
"I joined the Wardens seven years ago this Autumn," replied Anders quietly.
"So, twenty-three years then, give or take a year or two." Anders nodded. Hawke's face twisted with sorrow, and Anders bit his lip, hanging his head.
"It never mattered to me before," he said quietly. "An apostate's life isn't exactly a long one. It's always just a matter of time before the templars catch up to you. I escaped the Circle seven times; I'm under no illusions as to what will happen to me when they finally catch me." He looked up sadly. "It didn't matter though," he added. "I didn't have anything to live for except freedom itself – and that was a thing worth dying for." He reached up and gently cupped Hawke's cheek with his hand as a sad smile crossed his face. "And then I met you."
Hawke lifted his hand from Anders' shoulder to cover the slender hand cradling his cheek as he leaned into the touch.
"Twenty-three years... it's not enough," he murmured. "There has to be a way..."
Anders shook his head, his eyes darkened to a rich chestnut brown by pain. "No, love," he said gently. "Eventually my Calling will come... and then I will become as Larius is. If I'm lucky, I'll die fighting darkspawn in the Deep Roads. But I can't escape the fate which lies before me." His gaze dropped to the counterpane. "Except by death."
The elf stirred beside Anders, slowly sitting up and wrapping his arms around the slender mage. "It cannot have been an easy burden," rumbled the elf soothingly, pressing his head against Anders' shoulder. "It must be a fearful thing, to know the hour and manner of one's death."
"Actually, it's remarkably liberating," said Anders quietly, his head still lowered. "Or was, before I fell in love. I hadn't counted on that part." He suddenly smiled, a wry, lopsided grin. "I used to be so loose and easy once; as casual as Isabela – you name it, I'd probably done it, men and women both. It didn't mean a thing because it was only skin-deep." He lifted his head, and his eyes were shining softly. "And then you two got under my skin, and suddenly it's far more real, more terrifying – because suddenly there's something greater than myself to lose." He let his hand fall from Hawke's cheek and clenched his fists.
"It's not fair," he breathed. "It's not enough. I want more – I want to live. And I never knew it until I knew you both."
"Larius... at the end, he seemed lucid – more how I imagine he would have been before he answered his Calling," said Hawke slowly. "You have amazing willpower, Anders – you withstood both Justice and Corypheus. If anyone can resist the taint, it's you."
"It may not be enough," replied Anders sombrely.
"We will be with you," vowed Hawke, reaching out and squeezing Anders' shoulders reassuringly. Anders nodded, not looking up.
"So," mused Fenris quietly. "What other secrets have you been keeping from us?"
Anders sat still, his face hidden by his hair.
"Nothing," he lied.
~ Fin ~