White walls surround us
No light will touch your face again
Rain taps the window
As we sleep among the dead
"No. Absolutely not! There is no way in the Void that you're going wandering off to the Chantry to help some mage we don't even know. What if it's a trap?"
Blue eyes narrowed in anger fix on me, and I stare right back, unflinching and not backing down. Carver may not like the fact his is younger, but oldest I am, and when the time comes for the hard decisions, I make them for the sake of our family. "We need the maps, Carver! We have to get out of here! Get Mother out of here! Besides, if it is a trap, then I get dragged off to the Gallows and you don't have to worry about being 'where's your older sister, I need her', anymore, do you?" I do my best to catch Meeran's tone when I say those words, the way he brushed off Carver whenever our old boss saw him before me. Of course, Carver doesn't actually know what Meeran meant when he said he "needed" me, or he'd realize that is a need he can't and doesn't want to fill. My soul feels dirty just thinking about it, and I shiver, the rage deepening on my brother's face.
"Maker, I hate you! I hope the templars do catch you and take you away! You don't care anything for any of us; not Mother, not me. You couldn't even save Bethany or Father!"
My own blood boils as I think of those two I failed so bitterly, the two quarters of my heart so broken they will never heal. "That's enough, Carver."
"Even back home, what could I be? The lone blade in a house full of mages? If I excelled, it brought too much attention. That was a waste, huh? Could have found my fortune if Bethany was going to die on your watch anyway."
"Feel better getting that off your chest?" My tone is cold, but this wound cuts me to the quick, and I want to hear no more. He knows nothing of the pain inside me, how I still dream of those days, how I would do anything, anything - give myself over to Meeran, blood magic, even sell my soul to the Archdemon - for a chance to bring them back. Through the Fade to the Black City, across rivers of blood and deserts of fire I would wander, just for the chance to beg the Maker to accept my broken soul in exchange for theirs.
"I… I suppose." He hesitates, looking at me like he's afraid I'm going to turn into a demon any moment. I can't handle it; I know what I am as well as he does, better even, and if the last twenty years haven't proven that I would die before willingly harming my family, then he's not worth it.
"Good. Because I keep every death with me. If you want that weight, be sure you're ready to take it." There is silence, and he looks away from me, down on the floor, as if ashamed. I know my sins all too well, my failings. Carver doesn't need to rub my face in them every chance he gets. "All right." The subject must be dropped before we tear each other apart, so I spin away, striding towards the door to head out into the night.
"Sister." He calls me back as I approach the door, and I stop, keeping my back turned so the anger and hurt won't show. There is only one way to protect my brother, with silence, so protect him I do. "I feel.. I don't know. It's like Mother, taking everything out on us. She was just scared. I don't have a place in Kirkwall, in our new family. I'm here if you need me. But I must find my own way." Behind me, I hear his boots on the rough floor as he goes into the room he shares with Gamlen, shutting the door firmly behind him.
"I love you, Carver." I whisper into the air, finally letting the tears fall down my face.
Anders is waiting for me when I reach the Chantry, alone an hour after sunset. I know Aveline and Varric would willingly be here, but for some reason I feel like this is something only a mage really understands, to try and free one of our fellows, to lead them into the life of running and hiding known as apostate. The only life I've ever known. Not to mention I consider the woman who came with us from Ferelden part of our family now, and on the off chance there are templars here, I don't want to have to remember the one she loved so deeply she killed him rather than see him become a darkspawn.
"You look like you've been crying," he says, and I scrub at my cheeks, trying to erase the tell-tale tear trails from my face.
"Got into an argument with my brother. It's nothing."
"About me?"
"Among other things." Carver's still my brother, and I feel like I have to explain, to excuse his actions to the man in front of me, even if they still cut so deeply. "It's been hard for him; our sister and father were also…" Gesturing so he understands, I shrug. "Now that they're gone… it's harder for him to deal with the way our lives have been. Never in any place too long, never able to be too close to anyone or anything, in case we can't take it with us."
His brown eyes lock on to my own violet gaze, and I'm surprised by the emotion I see there. Like he knows all too well how it is to be afraid to trust yourself with anyone. Rapidly, the subject is changed to the business at hand. "I saw Karl go inside a few minutes ago. No templars so far."
"I didn't see anyone suspicious out here." I'd walked a circuit of the Chantry courtyard before coming up to meet him, taking time to read the posts on the Chanter's board, pulling down a notice from a 'Prince Sebastian Vael', calling for the deaths of mercenaries who had murdered his family. No one had bothered me, approached me, or even glanced in my direction while I did that, even though I'm openly wearing a Tevinter staff on my back. I'd say we're alone. For now. "Let's do this fast and get your friend someplace safe."
"All right. When we find Karl, just let me talk to him. You watch for templars." Nodding my assent, he opens the great doors a crack, just wide enough for him to squeeze through. My smaller form follows after, and with a heavy sound, it closes behind us, shutting out the night and sealing our fates to whatever must now come. Everything is still within the Chantry, candle flames burning straight up without a single flicker in front of the many statues, incense hanging heavy on the air. The whispers of our boots against the stone are the only noises that reach my ears, and I feel a shiver go up my spine when I see both the nave and altar are completely empty except for the towering icons of Andraste and her Maker. Stairs lead up to balcony overlooking the pulpit, but as I pass one of the lay brother's quarters, I feel something, a stir of air perhaps, and I turn, seeing a man in mage's robes standing in the shadows. My companion's eyes light up and he starts to walk towards the figure, then stops, looking slightly confused as the other man starts to speak.
"Anders. I know you too well. I knew you would never give up."
"What's wrong? Why are you talking like…" Karl turns, and I feel my heart stop in my chest. Clear on his forehead is the sigil of the risen sun, the brand of a Tranquil mage.
"I was too rebellious. Like you. I had to be… made an example of."
"No!" There is sheer pain on Ander's face as he cries out his denial, and I start to go to him, to try and console him, though I don't know how, when a gauntleted hand closes over my mouth, an arm sheathed in silverite wrapping around my waist, pinioning my arms and lifting me off my feet. Flames surge up my skin, but are doused as soon as they start, the mana field I usually carry as close as my own soul drained to nothing. Templars!
"How else will mages ever master themselves? You'll understand, Anders. As soon as the templars teach you to control yourself. This is the apostate." Tranquil and healer turn in our direction, Karl to address the man holding me as a dozen of his companions surround us, Anders to look to why I have not given warning. His face contorts when he sees me trapped in the templar's grasp, and I beg him with my eyes just to run. He is a Grey Warden, after all; he can get away. As for me, I know it's too late.
And then before us, he begins to change, a deep blue I associate with the lyrium and the Fade filling his eyes as he drops to his knees in agony. When he comes back up, his entire body his crackling with the energy; the voice that emanates from his body echoes within me, and with a sudden rush I feel mana begin to flow back into my blood. "You will never take another mage as you took him!"
When the Templars surround them, Anders is unready, too focused on the emotionless husk that was once his friend to notice surroundings, to hear the heavy treat of armored boots on the stairs. Even the dark-haired girl, so much like Hekate, is absent from his thoughts until he finds himself facing down a dozen templars, and then he looks for her, expecting to see she too has betrayed him. Instead she is caught up in the arms of one of the large males, mouth covered, sparkling eyes dull from having her mana drained. Resigned to her fate, those eyes tell him, but still pleading with him to get out of there while he can. Righteous anger shoots through his blood like fire, sending his body to his knees; they will not have this pure creature, this innocent girl, more selfless than any being he has ever met. She deserves justice. "You will never take another mage as you took him!"
When Anders' body rises back to his feet, ready to fight, it is no longer he who stands before the doomed holy warriors; it is they. They release the power of the Fade into the Chantry, filling the girl's eyes with the light of mana once more, then sending a bolt of spirit energy into the eyes of the templar holding her. With a cry of agony the man drops Hawke, and she lands on her feet, coming up with her staff in hand to send a wave of ice at three more who leap forward to grab at her. Screams and clanging metal echo off the stones as they freeze, then shatter at a hit from an invisible fist.
They are rushed, staff twirling in their hands as they shoot off more spirit energy, blocking swords with the sharpened end, pushing back with demonic strength to knock two more over the railing, to their deaths on the hard stone below. Hawke fumbles at her waist, pulling out a small glass sphere, which she throws at a knot of four, coating them with some sort of green liquid that melts their armor like lava when she follows up with a fireball. Another templar appears behind them, daggers flashing at their back; but before the strike lands she steps into the blow, one dagger sliding into her left shoulder, though she manages to twist just in time to keep the cut shallow. With a cry she spins around, knocking the assailant behind the knees with the thick part of her Tevinter staff, then stabbing down with the bladed end into his unprotected throat. She is bleeding freely, lame in one arm, backed into a corner, but they will not let her be taken. They lash their arms out, and the hated sword symbols on the remaining templars explode in shards of metal, hotter than the sun, cutting through organs and bone, melting the flesh off what were, a moment ago, men, until nothing remains but piles of ashes and smoldering bone.
Only then, falling to the ground, surrounded by corpses, a Tranquil mage, and his wounded companion, does Anders return to himself. "Are you alright?" Hawke pants near his ear as she kneels down beside him, cradling her wounded arm against her chest.
Karl's voice brings his head up. It is not the voice of the Tranquil he and Hawke had heard in the moments before the battle, but the voice he remembers from their years in the Circle - full of emotion and wonder. "I- Anders what did you do? It's like… you brought a piece of the Fade into this world. I had already forgotten what that feels like."
"I thought the Tranquil were cut off from the Fade forever." As Anders stands, she struggles to her feet, leaning heavily on her staff, before reaching out her uninjured arm towards Karl, light the same color as her eyes glowing in her palm. For a moment the former Grey Warden is confused, then he realizes she is searching the Tranquil for wounds, seeing if there is something within him she can heal. Maker, girl, you're bleeding. Worry about yourself.
"When you're Tranquil, you never think on your life before. But… it's like the Fade itself is inside Anders. Burning like a sun." With a rush, Anders' feathered shoulders are seized by his friend, a frenzied, desperate look in his eyes. "Please, kill me before I forget again! I don't know how you brought it back, but it's fading!"
"Karl, no…"
It's happening again, that's all I can think as I watch Karl beg Anders to kill him, hear Anders' agonized denial. I've seen this too many times, and it hurts so badly that I forget the pain in my shoulder as I focus the energy inside me, trying to feel how this artificial link to the Fade is being formed, how it can be shaped, strengthened. "Maybe we can find a cure." I think we can do it; at the very least I can kill myself trying.
"Can you cure a beheading?" Tears fill Anders' eyes, and I reach out to try and show him through magic what I think we can do, but he pulls his arm back, shaking his head hard. "The dreams of Tranquil mages are severed; there is nothing left of them to fix."
Karl looks straight at me, and I wonder if he sees into my soul, or if he sees something else. It must be something else, because he looks back at our mutual friend, nodding in determination. "I would rather die a mage than live as a templar puppet."
"I got here too late. I'm sorry Karl. I'm so sorry."
"Now! It's fading…" As the artificial link to the Fade ceases to glow, so does the light in his eyes, leaving them blank and emotionless, just like his voice, the voice of a Tranquil when he asks us both: "Why do you look at me like that?"
Stepping forward, Anders places one steadying hand on his friend's shoulder, the other reaching to his hip, drawing out a dagger the length of my forearm. "Goodbye." From my spot behind him, it looks like the two men are hugging, but the sound of the blade sheathing its self in Karl's body, the tang of blood in the air, and mad rush of life as he fades from my senses tells me all too well what is really going on. "We should leave before more templars come." Anders tells me in a dead voice, turning on his heel to lead the way back down the stairs, out of the Chantry, and away from all the death behind us.
Hawke's arm is bleeding even worse when they reach the safety of his clinic, and he gently helps her peel off the chain shirt, having to dig a few of the metal rings out of the wound. The homespun blouse she wears beneath is graying from wear, except where it is stained bright read with her blood. A whistle escapes his lips as he looks over the wound, surprised she not only kept fighting, but kept standing after that wound; it may be shallow, but it's also twice as long as his hand, running from the back of her neck almost to her elbow. "That must have hurt like blazes."
"To be honest I barely noticed until afterwards. I tend to get a little… focused, at times." Anders nods as he washes out the wound with a rinse of elfroot and witch-hazel, wanting to make certain there is no more debris in it from either her blouse or rusted chain before he closes it.
"I'm sure it makes life easier, being able to close things off."
She closes her eyes as he rests his hand over the wound, knitting the skin together. "I've been head of my family since I was sixteen. If I can't disconnect myself to my own problems to take care of them, I won't be any good to anyone." A soft sigh of relief answers the final surge of magic, and he removes his hands, leaving the white skin beneath smooth and unmarked. "That wasn't normal magic you just did in the Chantry, was it?"
Anders sits back, running his blood-stained hands under the witch-hazel mixture to clean them as he decides what to say, Hawke tucking her long legs under her flank on the examination table as she watches him. "I… this is hard to explain. When I was in Amaranthine, I met a spirit of Justice who was trapped outside the Fade. We became friends. And he recognized the injustice that mages in Thedas face every day." Hekate, standing up on the turrets, staring off into the direction of Denerim, aching for the life she could never have. Him, one arm around her, wishing with all his might for a girl who cared for him as much as Hex loved her king, knowing that all the wishes in the world would never make any mage free enough to love. "To live outside the Fade, he needed a host. I offered to help him… We were going to work together, bring justice to every child ever ripped away from his mother to be sent to the Circle. But… I guess I had too much anger. Once he was inside me, he… changed."
Amethyst eyes look at him with compassion as her small calloused hand grips his smooth one, magic flowing from her to him to ease the spots where he is just now starting to get the blisters from a life of hard work. "This must be difficult for you."
How can you be so calm? How can you stand to touch me? "I thought I was helping me friend. He would have… died, I guess. If that even means anything. And he wanted to help me. He knew what mages had suffered. But my anger… when I see templars now, things that have always outraged me, but I could never do anything about… He comes out. And he is no longer my friend Justice. He is a force of vengeance. And he has no grasp of mercy."
"Can you control it?"
Yes, please, worry about that. Get out of here while you still can. Run, before I hurt you. "No. He comes only when I've lost all power over myself. It's a madness, a frenzy. I only after find out what I might have done. It is a curse, and I have no one to blame for it but myself."
Her hands grip his tighter, trying to pull him back from despair, and for a moment he hates her for it. She cannot do this, cannot be this understanding. It's harder than he ever dreamed possible. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
Maker, have mercy on me. Help me withstand temptation. For her sake. "You're the first one I've ever told this. Thank you for not running away. My maps are yours; I thought I was done with the Grey Wardens, but if you have any need of me in planning your expedition… I will be here."
Hawke gives his hands another squeeze, then climbs from the table, picking up the ruined chain shirt from the floor. "Let me know if you ever need any help down here. My father taught me a bit about healing before he died. It's the least I can do for my fellow Fereldens. Good night, Anders." He cannot help but watch her go, and even though his heart is heavy with the loss of Karl, with the weight of everything he told her, it lifts slightly when she turns back to give him a slight smile as she closes the door.
There is nothing left of you
I can see it in your eyes
Sing the anthem of the angels
And say the last goodbye
I keep holding onto you
But I can't bring you back to life
Sing the anthem of the angels
And say the last goodbye
A/N: Lyrics from "Anthem of the Angels" by Breaking Benjamin. Wow, this story has reached over 1,100 hits! Thank you to the seven people who have set it for alerts, and to gamerchic, horselover90, and Ioialoha for the faves! Nebel Engel, thank you for being my first review! And yes, more Anders/Fem!Hawke interaction is coming, I actually have two chapters written of nothing but them for later on in the story…
Anders/Justice (what's a good nickname for that? Justers? Andice?) may seem slightly overpowered in this chapter, but I was reading a back story written by the devs which said they melted a templar right after their "joining", and they did (temporarily) reconnect Karl to the Fade after he was made Tranquil, so I think I kept it close to cannon. Don't agree with me? LEAVE ME A REVIEW! (Yes, this is me trying to get reviews by starting an argument.) While you're at it, leave me a review and let me know what you think of switching the viewpoint back and forth within the chapter, will you?