Anders was aware of the worried looks Isabela and Hawke kept casting in his direction, but he paid them no attention as he lay upon his bedroll, staring at the low ceiling of the cave without seeing it. Even Fenris had been almost gentle towards him following the revelation of the loss of his magic.
The question had been heavy but unspoken in the air: what of his passenger? He could see it in their eyes when they looked at him, the elf most of all. He knew they all wanted to ask about Justice.
But even if he'd felt like answering their questions, he could not. He could not have told them before where he ended and Justice began, and even now he couldn't feel the spirit - he never really had, apart from the early days. There were thoughts that seemed to be more Justice than Anders, and other thoughts that had been pretty much all Anders, but as time had gone on he had found it harder and harder to tell them apart. He'd never been able to sense the spirit as a separate entity within him; the merger had been too complete for that. The only way he knew the spirit had not subsumed him completely was the occasional blanks in his memory where Justice had taken him over. Sometimes he was aware when the spirit took control, as though he were riding in the back of his mind watching; but more often there was simply a blank where for a period of time Anders simply... ceased to exist.
So the fact he couldn't feel Justice inside him now meant very little really. He could not answer their unspoken question, so he avoided talking at all.
He knew he was in seriously bad shape. He'd read of people surviving injuries like his, but he'd never read of this happening to a mage. Could head trauma cause a severing with the Fade the way the Rite of Tranquility did? He had no idea.
His head throbbed constantly, but he was almost growing used to it. He drank the healing potions Fenris handed him periodically during his waking moments, and slept a lot. He was aware that he was healing inside, but he had no way of sensing the extent of the damage to his head; even that little had been stripped from him by the crossbow bolt. His existence had narrowed down to brief periods of waking filled with pain in which Hawke and Isabela tried to coax him to eat, interspersed with long intervals of dreams which he couldn't quite remember on waking.
At least he could still dream.
Fenris had retrieved the bolt when Anders asked, and the apostate had studied the smooth unadorned steel shaft for a while, twirling it slowly in one hand. Such a deceptively simple weapon; in one swift sudden moment it had robbed him of both sight and magic - for his very reason for existing. What was a mage without magic, after all, if not Tranquil? And yet he retained his emotions. There was evidently more to the Rite than merely the severing of the mage's connection with the Fade. Maybe there was good reason for removing their emotions as well.
He'd kept the bolt, to Hawke's consternation, slipping it into his belt. He'd refused to answer why, much as he refused to answer now when Hawke softly called his name. He stared unseeing at the rock overhead and kept silent.
"Anders," Hawke repeated softly, then glanced at Fenris. "He has to eat something, but he won't move," he said, worried. "He just lies there, staring into space."
The elven warrior took the bowl of stew from the rogue and carried it over to where Anders lay.
"You need to eat, mage," he rumbled quietly.
"I'm not a mage," murmured Anders, not looking at the elf. Fenris paused, a spoon in one hand and the stew in the other.
"What did you say?" he said quietly, not sure he'd heard Anders clearly. The blond apostate rolled his head on the pillow and stared at him dully from his one good eye.
"You heard me," he said quietly. "I'm not a mage. Not anymore. It's gone."
"You still live," observed the elf.
Anders laughed without humour. "I'd be better off dead," he replied. "What use am I now? No magic, and I can't fight. I'm no good to anyone."
"You are a Grey Warden, are you not?" asked Fenris, frowning slightly. Anders glanced away.
"Maybe once. I'd be useless to them too," he said listlessly.
"You could learn how to fight," said Fenris slowly. Anders glanced back at him and frowned.
"Why? What would be the point? And why would you care, anyway?" he asked.
"Have it your own way," said the elf without heat as he set down the bowl and spoon then rose to his feet in one smooth, fluid motion and walked away.
"I need some air," the elven warrior said in a low voice as he passed Hawke and Isabela, picking up his sword as he headed towards the passage that would lead back to the surface.
Anders woke suddenly to realise he could feel darkspawn nearby - close enough he could make out the distinctive feel of a group of genlocks with an emissary.
"Hawke! Fenris!" he called out then gritted his teeth against the wave of pain that swept over him as he sat up. He reached instinctively for his magic to call up magelight as he grasped his staff, then swore with frustration as he encountered only a numb emptiness inside where his magic should be.
The small cave was flooded with brilliant blue-white light as Fenris lit his brands. "What is the matter?" he growled, reaching for his sword.
"Darkspawn. Several genlocks and an emissary," answered Anders as he struggled to his feet.
Hawke rolled to his feet; Isabela was already up, her blades in her hands.
"Run or fight?" asked Hawke. Anders shook his head as he leaned heavily on his staff.
"There are at least five genlocks, and we'll have a hard time against the emissary without magic," said the former mage.
"And Anders is still not well," added Fenris tersely. "We should go."
"He who fights and runs away," agreed Isabela.
"How far away are they?" asked Hawke, glancing at Anders. The blond apostate closed his good eye and frowned, trying to concentrate past the pain in his head.
"About... two, three hundred yards in that direction," said Anders, gesturing at the far wall opposite the passageway that led back to the surface.
"Then we go the other way. Come on, pack up," ordered Hawke. "Not you Anders, you sit there and rest."
"I'm not a cripple!" snapped Anders.
"Yes, you are," replied Fenris briefly as he doused the fire. "You are half-blind, injured and without magic. Sit down."
Anders dropped down onto a nearby rock, his face stricken. He could only watch as the elf and the two rogues broke camp, Hawke slinging Anders' small pack onto his own back as Isabela reached down to sling Anders' arm around her shoulders, hauling him to his feet.
Fenris was right of course; that was what made it sting the worst. Half-blind, without magic, still weak from blood loss and with his head pounding painfully, he was a liability and was going to slow them down. There was no way he could take on any darkspawn in a fight.
He leaned on Isabela and his staff as they led the way towards the exit followed by Hawke; Fenris brought up the rear.
"I can hear them coming," called the elf as they reached a point at which Anders guessed they were perhaps halfway back towards the entrance. His breath was coming in harsh panting gasps as he struggled to move faster; he had no idea how long it had been since he'd been hit by the crossbow bolt but it must have been several days, judging by how weak his body felt. He stumbled and cried out as he nearly fell; only Hawke's hand on his shoulder prevented him going down in an undignified heap and dragging Isabela with him.
"They are upon us!" warned Fenris as his brands lit up, illuminating the tunnel behind them. Hawke turned, an arrow on the string nocked and ready to fly.
"Isabela, get Anders out of here!" ordered Hawke.
"What? No, wait, we can't leave you two to face the darkspawn on your own!" objected Anders.
"Sorry to break it to you sweet thing, but we're not hanging around," muttered Isabela as she dragged him away towards the distant light of the entrance.
"What? No, we can't can't just run away!" exclaimed Anders as Isabela pulled him on and up the passage, the sounds of growling darkspawn and the clash of swords following them. "Hawke? Fenris? Hawke!"