Voices flitted in and out around him, drawing his attention but not holding it. They were ghosts, spirits, nothing more, and didn't they always tell you to not talk to spirits? There were benevolent spirits, of course, spirits that could offer strength and support to a Fade-Walking mage, but outside that realm, one wasn't supposed to deal with them.

He had failed that lesson spectacularly with his joining to Justice, and he had paid a hefty price for that mistake. Granted, at the time, he didn't really have a choice- join with Justice or die from the wounds he received from the Templars. He had accepted, and he was still paying the price. He did not want to repeat it- he had nothing more to lose, for starters, he thought distractedly.

Why was he distracted?

His concentration was nearly nonexistent, he realized. Thoughts formed and flew away before he could grasp them and understand them. Shapes formed and vanished before his eyes, even though they were closed and he shouldn't be seeing anything in this darkness.

It's odd, but he could feel the pain coming before it arrived, and it was with a soft sigh, not a scream, that marked the beginning of eternity for him.
They were starting off easy on him – they had brought out the whips. Two templars took turns pulling their arms back, and letting the leather coil and snap out, catch on and breaking the skin of his bared chest. He could feel the tug, the bite of the whips, but…it is strange.

Odd…everything is off, unreal, yet…

He could feel the pain, knows it is there, but it's not…working like pain usually does. He's not focused on the moment or the feeling of the whip cutting into his skin. He's…it's almost like he's watching it happen to someone else, and he isn't really concerned because he knows it is just an act, a play, and that the actor is not really being tortured, it is just part of the acting and adds drama to the performance. He pulled his head up when they paused in their ministrations, barking and snarling…dogs, they were dogs, and he couldn't understand them, even though he should have…

I will watch over you…

Anders blinked, eyes opening for the first time, looking over the helmeted head of his cruel keepers. He smiled gently at the pale figure standing behind them, eyes dropping closed and his head lolling forward as the whips started cutting into him again.

I am with you, Anders.

"I know," he mumbled.

Hold on.

"Can't. Hands're tied," the mage slurred. It was so hard to talk, to focus on anything-

He let out a raspy scream as one of the Templars stepped forward, and doused his wounds in what Anders started to pray wasn't what he thought it was-

Anders…it SINGS…

Lyrium. They were dousing him in Lyrium.

The intense agony brought his clarity back for a precious few moments, before he was finally blessed with unconsciousness.

Waking up was both the easiest and hardest thing Anders had ever done, especially after what had been poured on him and the agony it caused. And yet, he managed, and he was relieved for a short time to find that when he opened his eyes, it was dark, and he was alone.

There were no windows in this cell, which helped to disorient his sense of time. It was part of the process to wear down a prisoner, and this was what Anders dreaded the most. Beatings, physical torture he could stand – he had learned, over time, how to accept the pain and work through it. His mind was his fortress, and he could bear any physical pain better than most.

But he had never managed to keep himself completely sane in the dark, over long periods of isolation. Add to the time disorientation on top of that, and given enough time, he would panic. He always did.

It was bad enough being here, it was worse wondering about what had happened to Fenris. He remembered falling asleep next to the elf, had remembered curling up to the warmth that he instinctually recognized as 'prickly bastard elf who secretly loved cuddling', and then…he had awoken here.

How had this happened, and why didn't he remember anything? What if they had surprised Fenris and had hurt him? What if he was all alone in that mansion, dying, because Anders wasn't there to heal him-

He prayed for Fenris' safety, and then his own. He did not want to die here; he had too many things to do, too many things to get done, and…he missed certain people. Just a few – no large number, he thought fervently. Just…one or two or three.

Well, maybe more like seven or eight, but that still wasn't that big of a number, was it?

He nodded off, dreaming of happy faces, and warm touches.

Hours, days…they passed without word or touch or even the flicker of a shadow of another person, and Anders, despite knowing better, began to cry out.

Even though he had survived it, he did not like being alone in the dark. He had worked through his fears during his years in Kirkwall (Darktown was rather aptly named) but this…this was too much, even for him.

"Please…someone…anyone," he rasped. "I'll…tell you everything I know!"

Magic words, those were, he thought with relief when the cell door opened. His captors stepped inside, and despite the fact that they both carried various torture devices Anders couldn't stop the sigh of relief and his smile at their return.

Even though it would be painful, he never wanted to be alone again.

He drifted, in and out of…the world? He wasn't sure. Everything was messed up in some shape or form. He was either in pain, choking on a liquid in his mouth, or Fade Walking. The two worlds were starting to blur together, and it was getting more and more difficult to tell them apart.

He couldn't remember much, not after…what had happened? He had…he had been…

Please, hold on Anders.

Anders? Who was Anders?

He turned to the being who had spoken, and offered a confused smile. "Friend? Who are you-"

Anders. You are Anders.

He considered for a moment, ignoring the tell-tale tug in the back of his mind that meant his unconscious body was being harmed once more. "Is that really my name? I can't seem to remember anymore."

The glowing figure seemed to consider him for a long moment.

What of the elf?

Elf? What elf? Now he was very confused. There was no elf. Was there?

The one who you hated, and who hated you. The elf who sang with the song of lyrium in his skin. The one who both infuriated you and inflamed your basest passions. The one you worked for weeks to save from his own broken body and spirit.

…wait. That…that was stirring something…in the back of his mind. He didn't have a picture, not a clear one, but he remembered…a voice? Yes, that was it, he decided. A voice, deep and low with a burry quality to it that could make you shiver either in fear or…expectation.

That elf…he was…

"Fenris."

You are not truly lost yet. If you hold on just a little longer, you will have justice, I swear this to you.

Anders was about to ask more, to demand more, but he was pulled from the Fade abruptly, painfully, and he awoke on the stone floor of his prison, staring up blearily into the helmeted faces of his torturers.

They reached out to touch him, to move him, and he offered no resistance, even though his spirit cried out for freedom from their deadly hands, the hands that bound him here, that bring back-

Memories…

He remembered his time in solitary, and after; he had been even rasher after his confinement, and had lost any and all of his impulse control. His fuse was shorter, he was much quicker to anger, and he could not stop being overly paranoid, sticking to walls and never turning his back on anyone.
And all that had happened without the delicate touch of his current captors.

They were talking again, and using the moment of pain to gather clarity, he understood them a little.

They were telling him what they planned to do to him. It would be a long time before they would put him out of his misery and make him Tranquil.

They brought out more of the lyrium, and the last coherent thought Anders had before the pain began once more was the wish for one last glimpse of the outdoors, or one last whiff of fresh air.

Anders…heal yourself.

He cocked his head at the figure, the request not really registering.

Anders, you must heal yourself. Or you will not last long. Already the lyrium is blistering your wounds…

How? How was one…

Oh. It was there, within reach, and it felt completely natural to draw from that calming font of strength and to just let it expand and engulf him.

In the waking world, the templars were rendered speechless as the apostate's wounds, previously having been glowing blue from the lyrium, faded to a normal red color.

Memories become waking dreams…or do his dreams become memories? He wasn't sure, but he was…frustrated? Yes, he was frustrated by them. They flitted in and out of existence, even when he was sure he could hear, smell, even taste them. He could even feel the whisper of air against his skin when they brushed past him.

He started to look forward to these vivid dream memories that were fantasies…or something like that he didn't much care to ponder it. They offered an escape from his hell, and they wasted time while he…waited for something? Perhaps, he thought, or perhaps not.

Currently, he dreamed…

A fire crackled in the background, but except for the warmth it exuded, he didn't notice it. He was too focused on his lover, his heart, his-

"Fenris," he purred.

The elf groaned softly, but didn't protest when Anders pulled him against his chest, lips descending and leaving soft kisses over the warrior's face. They were naked, obviously having just finished with something that had been undoubtedly fantastic because of Anders' experience and Fenris' broodiness and enthusiasm, and…and Anders wanted his cuddles.

"You are insatiable," the elf murmured, the statement lacking any vitriol or energy. Anders let out a happy sigh when Fenris nuzzled his neck, tongue laving gently at his sweaty skin.

"I missed you," Anders replied.

"As I you," Fenris agreed.

"Thank you for saving me," the mage said, quietly this time. "I don't know what would have happened…if…"

"Hush, dear heart," Fenris murmured. He tightened his hold around the mage. "I will let no one else take you from me again."

He was awake when another fantasy started. These waking ones were disorienting due to the pain he was in, and the way everything felt so…so hot, and bothersome, and it was hard to concentrate on anything…

First, it began with a horrible, loud screeching noise that made him shudder in pain. When he opened his eyes, the door he was used to seeing…gone. It was…gone?

Yes, that seemed to be true in this daydream, he realized.

His captors went flying by him, and he watched them crack against the walls with detached amusement. If only that could actually happen…oh, he would love it if it did, but he would enjoy this for what it was.

A dagger breezed by him and embedded itself in the neck of one, and he watched with pleasure as the templar choked on his own blood.

Anders winced, flinching away from the brown form that reached for him, his eyes unable to properly focus, it was…too much, too soon…

"Anders," a voice called softly.

That…voice. He knew that voice, he did, he was sure of it, but…where had he heard it before?

"Ko…kom…" he said. He frowned, trying to focus long enough to say it properly. "Come…into the light," he tried again. "I would…see who I'm dreaming of."
The form slowly shuffled into the light of the candles, and Anders beamed.

"Ah, you again Fenris," he chuckled, leaning against the wall he was propped against. "Ah, and you brought Zev too?" he added as the assassin too stepped into the light. "If I didn't…know any better, I'd say this…was shaping up to be…interesting…dream?"

He was losing his focus again…everything was starting to waver-

He was brought back to earth as he was pulled against cold armor; he whimpered, the plating freezing his skin and irritating his wounds. He was hastily pulled away, and it was a low, rumbling voice that was muttering softly in his ear, sounding almost…comforting.

He forced himself to look up into the face of his dream rescuer, and offered the stern-faced yet concerned looking elf a smile.

"I suppose I owe you a kiss of gratitude, my knight," he teased.

Of course, the only reason he teased was because he knew that what he saw wasn't real. It never was. He had been here…for a long time. He wasn't going to be rescued, not now, not ever…but it was still nice to pretend, if only for a little while.

"Save your kisses for later, healer," the elf replied, and Anders was delighted to note that the ears on the other man were turning red. How cute. Dream Fenris had always been confident, and assertive. This one was…awkward. And adorable.

Anders couldn't wait for the ravishing scene. Maybe he would ravish the elf for a change?

"As much as I would enjoy watching any sort of carnal interaction between you two fine gentlemen, we should move quickly, before their boss decides to come and check on their progress," the other elf said, motioning to the still bodies. "And then you can ravish each other, yes? Preferably with me watching!"

Anders had to commend his imagination for such fine details. That was exactly what Zevran would say – something incredibly inappropriate at the wrong time.

"If you will keep the way clear, I believe I can carry him," Fenris said.

The world tilted and spun before righting itself, and Anders found himself curled up against the elf's chest. "You're very strong," he said, amazed. He wondered if that strength would be put to use, and then began to wonder how he was supposed to trigger the romance scene. Being rescued was all well and good, but he wanted to skip to the good part-

"You are…very light," the elf said, almost gently. "Have you not been fed?"

"I don't like what they feed me here," Anders chuckled. "Hopefully my next hallucination will include food…and some wine…" he paused, staring up at the elf's face, and getting a sly look on his own. Perhaps something sly and sassy would trigger the bedroom scene?

"…and perhaps a bed to share with my handsome rescuer."

He cackled happily at the elf's choking sound. Oh, this was one of his more fun delusions. Still no bed though. Damn.

"You are…" the elf paused, considering his next words as he carried Anders through a dim corridor. "Insufferable. You are unwell, and do not know what you are saying."

"Of course I know what I'm saying," Anders exclaimed, feeling a little more on the ball now that he was out of that one room. Already the world seemed infinitely bigger!
Now if only he could find a big bed!

"Obviously you do not."

"I do," Anders repeated. "I know handsome men when I see them, and you are handsome."

The elf stared down at him, beautiful green eyes blinking at the mage and looking very…confused? Yes, that was it, Anders decided. He was like a puppy sometimes- a bloodthirsty, scarred puppy that was extremely grumpy, but still an adorable puppy.

"We should move on."

"Yes," Anders nodded, serious now. "I wouldn't want to bed you here. Too many…bucket heads."

Again, the elf made that strangled noise. Anders frowned a little; where was confident, sexy Fenris? Oh well, he could work with this one. Slowly, of course- wouldn't want to break the elf's little mind with some of the things Anders definitely wanted to do with him. The electricity trick was just one simple trick he had in his arsenal.

Perhaps a few sweet, sincere comments to loosen the other man up?

"You're actually really sweet sometimes, you know that?" he grinned up at the suddenly suspicious elf. "You wanted to know if we could be friends? Of course! But, if you want, we could…dive further than that, together."

"Hmph," Fenris snorted. "The mage continues to speak nonsense."

Okay…maybe something much more blatant?

"If you want," he purred, "I could suck you off." He smirked at the harsh intake of breath from the elf, but continued. "I would lick and suck you slowly, driving you wild, and when you came…I would suck down every last drop you had to offer, and I would kiss you, letting you taste yourself on my tongue. I would devote myself to you, thoroughly and utterly, and I would deny you nothing and give you everything; no matter how tame or depraved it was."

"You, you, you," the elf stuttered. "...be silent and stop saying such things!"

Anders blinked and then pouted. "You're such a prude."

"Please, healer, be silent…for the sake of my sanity."

Anders fell silent as requested, gazing up at Fenris thoughtfully. "Can I kiss you?" he asked after a moment.

"What?"

"I said, can I-"

A hand clamped over his mouth, and he stared sadly up at stern green eyes.

"Healer, you have been in the hands of those templars for three weeks four days and thirteen hours. They have not fed you well and have tortured you. You feel feverish and you are not acting like yourself. You have no idea what you are saying; if you still wish to…to kiss…me," he stumbled, and Anders patted his hand supportively. "Then we will discuss it when you are fully functional again. Now, please, please, stop talking. We need to get you on our ship and out of here before reinforcements come, and I can't concentrate on my job when I have you propositioning me."

Anders nodded his head sadly, and stayed silent when the hand was removed.

Well, he didn't get to ravish or be ravished, he thought as he drifted off, but at least he got to snuggle with the elf, so it wasn't a total loss.