Notes: Thank you so much once again! One more chapter before they're both in Kirkwall. On the upside, I ended up writing out Anders' final escape. I hadn't intended to do that, and the way it happens is off-canon, but as soon as the idea occurred to me, I found it far too amusing not to write out.

I'm not diverging from canon very much with regard to Anders' Grey Warden experiences, so I'm not going to go into too much detail about the events of Awakening. You know what happens.


Chapter 9: Shadows Searching in the Night


Dragon 9:30.

Anders almost did not recognize himself in the vanity mirror anymore. Gone was the trim, fit mage with sun-kissed skin and a cocky smirk on his face. After a year of solitary confinement, a year of seeing literally nothing except the walls of this small room and the horrifying flat faces of the Tranquil who brought him books and meals, he was pale and thin, his eyes haunted. There was little doubt in his mind that he would be dead now if not for Justice—that a demon would have at last had a convincing argument for him, and in his desperation about Caitlyn and Karl, he would have taken the demon's offer despite his better judgment. But instead, Justice had been his protector, had kept him grounded and focused.

He wasn't sure how he could ever repay the immense debt he owed to the spirit. He owed Justice his life more than once now, and compounding the debt, he had done the impossible and become a Spirit Healer without the knowledge of anyone in the Circle. More than a Spirit Healer, actually: The benevolent spirit would provide a boost to Anders' magic in general, as long as it approved of what Anders was doing. It was something he and Justice had worked out in the Fade over the course of the year. The practice of Spirit Healing was not prohibited, but Templars watched mages who did it extremely closely. The last one he knew of who did it was an elderly woman, Wynne, and even though she was on good terms with most of the Templars and believed she worked with a Spirit of Faith rather than the more martial (and potentially menacing to the Circle authorities) Spirit of Justice, they even watched her. They probably would have made him Tranquil immediately if they'd known what he was up to, Enchanter or not, but instead it was his and Justice's little secret. He found it very satisfying that the Knight-Commander's determination to inflict cruel and unusual punishment on him had actually enabled him to break a truly major rule right under the old man's nose—and made it easier to effect a final, permanent escape.

This is it, he had thought a week ago, when the Templar guard let him out of his room at last. I won't leave immediately, because they'll probably expect me to try to bolt, but I'm leaving as soon as I can, and I will never return. If they try to capture me again, Justice and I will make sure it does not happen—at all costs. The dark promise he made to himself thrilled him, even though he hoped it would not come to that.

The main part of his plan was his own idea. A major flaw in his previous escapes had been a fixation on the idea of running rather than covering his tracks. He had sneaked past Carroll or knocked him out, and as soon as the Templar had come to, he had instantly guessed who had done it yet again. It had not given Anders enough time to put distance between himself and the tower. Even when he had made it to the Bannorn, he had been caught because he had vacillated and wasted time deciding where to go, assuming that he had more time than he really did due to the fact that his phylactery was in Denerim.

He was still going to sneak out, but it would be much more cunning. His most successful escape, the one in which he had met Hawke, had been heavy on cunning. He had dived into a frigid lake and run south at the onset of a snowstorm, trying to convince the Templars that he would die. Now, he was going to outright fake his own death—in a manner of speaking. He hoped that he could arrange an... event... that convinced the Templars he had become a rage abomination. Notes left by chance in books, which he had destroyed once he had them memorized, had led him to a surprising conclusion: A powerful demon could be summoned by merely touching statues in a certain order.

Justice had not wanted any part of stealing a Templar's armor to prevent any witnesses from identifying him or, especially, setting the demon Shah Wyrd loose in the tower. The spirit had vocally objected to deceit, theft, and, in particular, risking innocent lives—but Anders was determined on it, and Justice simply would not participate in that part of the escape. Anders also hoped that the demon did not kill any mages, but if it did, he vowed he would make their sacrifices mean something.

That is not your choice to make for others, Justice still whispered in his thoughts. He dismissed the voice. Justice meant well, but he—Anders had come to think of the spirit as male, perhaps due to its increasing connection with himself—represented only one idea, and the mortal world was more complicated than that. Anders would do his best to keep the other mages away from the area.

Anders had already procured a spare set of Templar armor from a storage closet that he had managed to break into with the help of his spirit-enhanced magic. He had stashed it away near the basement entrance, where the demon was supposed to be. He hated the idea of putting the stuff on, but it had to be done so that nobody, absolutely nobody, would be able to identify him after he was seen going into the basement. He would leave it behind as soon as he could.

The enchanted statues were on the third floor. Trying to keep a smirk off his face, Anders sauntered up the stairs.

Four statues. Making sure that nobody was watching what he was doing, he tapped them in order, returned to the first floor, and entered the library.

"I'm going into the basement to get something," he announced to the nearest group of mages, who nodded and barely looked up from their books. There are my witnesses, then, he thought. Now to summon it.

Anders first checked the crawl space for the Templar armor. Finding it still there, he painstakingly put on each piece, glowering as he did—but as soon as he put the helmet on, it hardly mattered, as no one would be able to see the look of loathing on his face now anyway.

He walked down the basement steps and touched the door. That was all that it took. Immediately, a fiery, growling rage demon appeared at the base of the stairs.

Nobody thinks twice about a Templar running from a demon, apparently, Anders thought with cynical amusement as he took off down the hallway, disguising his voice as best he could to "warn" his "colleagues."


The Templar armor was long gone, left behind in a grove of trees just inside the Bannorn. Anders was able to move at a comfortable pace now without the heavy gear, and he did so, even though he did not expect that anyone at the Circle would suspect he had escaped this time—and they would not have his phylactery readily available to check. Once the demon was put down, they would take an accounting of the mages and Templars, and then his absence would be noted—but the ones in the library could then say that he had said he was going to the basement, where the creature had come from. He really should be presumed dead this time.

And if any innocents died in this escape, Justice lectured him in his dream when he bedded down in the woods for the night, you must keep your promise and work for Circle reform, not just pursue your own desires.

"Yes, yes," Anders murmured in the Fade. He would do that someday. The injustices of the past three years had lit a fire inside him to get the situation changed for mages. But he was due to reach Lothering tomorrow, and that was going to be challenging enough emotionally.

Did Cait have the baby? he wondered, fully lucid in the Fade. What is he like, I wonder? What is his name? Does he look more like her or like me—or neither of us? Perhaps he inherited her mother's features instead. Has she told him anything about me?

He had no idea how any of this would go, and he was pointedly avoiding thinking of the possibility that she had found someone else over the course of three years, even though he knew it was possible. He had, albeit briefly. What if she had too, and it had not been brief?

I still need to know, he thought. I need to know, and I need to meet my son—if all went well. Maker, I hope it did. I hope I can knock on their door and she will open it and throw her arms around me, as our child peeks around the corner, instantly deducing who I am. That's what I want to happen. I'll apologize for what happened to her father and everything else. I'll get on my knees and beg her if need be. I'm coming, love. I'm coming at last.


Anders first heard word of the Blight in a tiny scrap of a village in the southern Bannorn the next day.

"You'd better turn around and head back," warned a snaggle-toothed farmer headed in the opposite direction on the road. "Nothing to the south but darkspawn now."

He stopped cold. "What do you mean?" A chill crawled up his back. There had been precursors of a Blight even three years ago, as he knew all too well.

"It's a Blight and no mistake. The army was lost at Ostagar fortress," the farmer said. "Most of it, anyway. Teyrn Loghain's company made it. The King fell too, and all the Grey Wardens."

"What?"

"You haven't heard any of this? Where've you been?" The farmer examined him. "You look ill. Pale."

"Yes," Anders said at once, seizing upon that excuse. "I have been infirm for a year. I haven't heard anything. King Cailan is dead? And the Grey Wardens, all of them?"

"Well... two of them made it, so I heard. Maker preserve them."

"What about... Lothering?" he croaked, terrified of what he might hear.

"That's where you're headed? Turn around and head back. The town's gone."

Anders felt faint. He scrambled for a post for support and clutched it, leaning forward slightly as he gaped at the man. "Gone?" he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Compassion filled the farmer's face as something occurred to him. "You knew someone there, didn't you? I expect they're fine. The townsfolk evacuated, mostly."

He steadied himself, feeling some blood return to his head. "I... did know someone there, yes. They lived on the outskirts. I have to at least see—maybe they left some clues behind about where they would have gone." Kirkwall? he wondered. Mistress Hawke had family there, but it would've been easier for them to stay in Ferelden. Perhaps Denerim, then? I have to find what clues I can instead of chasing all over the countryside, hoping I'll stumble on them randomly. "They wouldn't sit and wait for the darkspawn to take them, I'm sure."

"Then Maker watch over you," the farmer said, shaking his head, clearly thinking it a very bad idea for him to continue, but not trying to stop him.

Feeling a drastically renewed anxiety to reach the Hawke cabin, Anders cast Haste on himself as soon as the farmer was well out of sight.


The situation at Lothering was worse than he could have imagined. He held a handkerchief over his face to avoid breathing in mold and dust that could easily be Tainted as he passed through what had once been the town. The sun had nearly set, which provided him some cover in case darkspawn were still lurking around, but oddly, he had not seen them. Of course, he supposed that he wouldn't; they lived to destroy and ruin what the people of Thedas had built, not to take it over for occupation themselves. They had moved on somewhere else, or perhaps back underground. He shuddered at the thought that they could be below his feet this very moment.

Although they had not bothered to occupy Lothering, they had certainly destroyed it. Broken timbers and torn flaps of awning pierced the air; the Chantry windows were smashed out; the shop was a smoldering ruin. Sour, stale fumes filled the air, the scent of days-old smoke, mold, and probably Blight.

Anders gazed across the hillside at the forest. The Hawke cabin should be on the other side, but he found that he did not particularly want to enter that forest again. The last time he had done so, Tainted creatures had attacked him. It seemed like tempting fate to do it again, knowing that a Blight was on, and also knowing that there would be no one to rescue him this time. There was a longer path that curved around south of town, a rocky, rather crude path that he could take instead. To get to the cabin, he would have to head east and then double back, making a wide loop, but it was doable.

He had resolved to do this when he first saw the silhouette of something dangling from a tree in the village square. Perhaps a hanging lantern left over from a Summerday festival? As he squinted in the fading light, he realized that there were several of them...

Those aren't lanterns.

Anders gaped in horror at the severed heads, mouths hanging open, tongues lolling out, eyes mostly rotted or picked out. Several of them were small. Children, he thought, feeling a surge of outrage and sickening grief. The darkspawn did that to children!

He cast Haste again on his legs. As horrible as this was, there was absolutely nothing to be gained from staring at it. He could do nothing for those poor people. His heart pounded as he reached the rocky, tunnel-like trail that forked off the main road.

His boots pounded the primitive trail as the sky quickly grew dark. The path was sinister-looking in the twilight, a creepiness that was matched by the treacherous nature of its rock-strewn footpath. Anders stumbled on his feet a couple of times—and then he saw the first body that wasn't a darkspawn corpse.

A Templar, he noted as he saw the man's armor. From the look of it, the Templar had been killed only a few days ago. Anders was not sure how to feel about it. At least this one had, apparently, died fighting darkspawn instead of going after mages in the middle of a darkspawn attack... but the Holy Smite—unholy Smite, rather, he thought—of the twisted bastard Ser Rolan, the mean-spirited act against him that had kept him from giving Malcolm Hawke a decent pyre, returned to his thoughts, preventing him from feeling too much grief about the death of a stranger.

The next body he saw was not that of a stranger.

"Oh, no," Anders whispered, falling to his knees at the sight of the fallen body of Bethany Hawke. She was older, of course, and fully grown, but she was still starkly recognizable.

Her face was almost peaceful in death, he saw, feeling his chest hitch as he recalled her spirited, accepting nature, her encouragement of her sister and her amusing little schemes to give him private time with Caitlyn. Her eyes were closed and her facial expression was not one of frozen horror, but sleep. Her body, too, was only a few days old—and it was that realization that suddenly brought Anders to horrified, choking sobs.

I'm too late, he thought. I should have left as soon as I got out of the room! I shouldn't have waited a week; I should have done it at once! Just a few days would have made a difference. He reached out with his magic to assess the condition of her body and the injuries that had killed her. Her skull had been cracked, and she had suffered a severe traumatic head injury. There had been blood on her brain, and that had been the cause of death. It would have been a challenge to heal, and he was not certain he could have done it, especially in a battle, but he thought he might have been able to do it if he had just been there.

He glanced around. There were no other bodies, either strangers to him or... not. Bethany did not have her staff with her anymore either, a detail that gave him a faint flicker of hope. Someone might have taken it away. Someone might have survived—and there was only one other person in the Hawke family who could use a staff. Even if their child turned out to be a mage—if he made it, Anders thought miserably—they would not know that yet.

He remembered what had happened when he had tried to do right by Malcolm Hawke, but he dismissed that thought. Bethany was the aunt of his child. He could not just leave her body here for the Blighted scavenger animals. He scooped her body up, shuddering from its coldness and stiffness, as he backtracked along the rocky trail until he finally saw the Hawke cabin. At least it did not appear to have been sacked or burned by darkspawn.


Oh, no. Anders gazed at the items on Caitlyn's vanity. He could not remember how much she had owned, but some things were definitely still here—and among them were his two gifts to her, the feathered hairpin and his mother's sapphire ring. Its sparkling had caught his eye in the middle of all the dim, dusty gloom.

Why would she leave them behind? he thought, staring in horror. Especially lying out like this? If she was angry at me, surely she wouldn't even have kept them, especially the ring. It is valuable. And... a lot of their belongings are still here.

Were they already all dead when Bethany went out on that rocky trail? Could Bethany have been the last Hawke to attempt to escape? Could she have been alone? But... what happened to the others?

The grisly tree in the village square returned to his memories, but he would not face that possibility. He would not. Putting the ring and the hair ornament into his belt pouch, he gazed around the little bedroom, so familiar to him. He moved forward—and almost tripped on something.

There's something new, he thought, looking down. A small bed was pushed halfway under the lower bunk bed. His heart leaped at the sight. A bed that size could be for only one person—and it appeared, too, that Caitlyn had not moved out of the house to take up with a new partner.

But what did it matter if they were all dead now?

Feeling partially outside of his own body, he moved through the rest of the cabin, looking for anything, any clues, any proof that the rest of the family either had made a run for it or... not. He also looked for any indication of where they might have gone, but there was nothing. He thought there were some items missing, but after three years, he honestly could not remember. If they had tried to escape on foot and the darkspawn had been literally at their heels, they wouldn't have been able to bring much.

If Carver became a soldier as he wanted to, he might have perished at Ostagar, Anders suddenly thought. I can't believe that every single soldier except those with Teyrn Loghain died, but he easily could have been among them. That thought made his heart ache even more. He had not gotten along with Carver, but he hated the thought of any... more... Hawkes being gone even if Caitlyn and their child had made it—of which he was horribly unsure now.

At last Anders gave up. The house held no answers. He stepped outside again, shaking and trembling, unsure of what was even keeping him on his own two feet anymore.

"I'll do it this time," he mumbled as he approached Bethany's body. He did not have to have a staff, but it would produce hotter flames, and the quicker this was done, the better. It might be dangerous to light a fire. He had not seen any living darkspawn, but he did not want to bring them down upon him.

When the flames caught, he finally collapsed to his knees, sobbing and shaking as the fire consumed Bethany's body. When at last it crumbled to ash, he gathered the ashes up in a leather pouch he had found inside the cabin. Why, he did not know, and he was aware that it was macabre. It was vaguely creepy to tote around the ashes of the sister of the woman he had loved. But he had no home anymore, so he had to keep everything on himself. If any Hawkes had survived, surely they had regretted leaving Bethany's body behind and would be glad of this, if any gladness could be found anymore.


Denerim.

"Those are all the passenger manifests I have for two months," the harbormaster said, scowling at Anders. "If you haven't found the people you're looking for, I suggest you look at a different port."

Anders nodded miserably. "And... what's the word about the Grey Wardens?"

The man glowered. "The word is that they betrayed the king at Ostagar," he snarled. "The Regent has sacked their compound in the Palace. You'd best not take too much open interest in the Grey Wardens, unless you mean to collect the bounty, of course."

What has happened to Ferelden? Anders thought in despair and anger as he headed away from the harbor. We are under assault by darkspawn, in the middle of a Blight, and the government has declared the Grey Wardens to be traitors? What in the Void is going on?


Highever and Amaranthine were not admitting strangers. Apparently, Arl Howe had taken over Highever and was trying to put down constant revolts by Cousland loyalists, who were also—it seemed—loyal to the Grey Wardens due to the fact that the last surviving Cousland was now the leader-in-exile of that order, such as it was. Anders was not overly interested in noble politics, but this made it impossible to get complete information about the ports within the teyrnir and arling. Surely this state of affairs would not last too much longer, though. He hated being near the Circle, but he supposed he should check West Hill, which was open.

There were several Templars milling around at the harbor of West Hill. Anders ducked away. He did not recognize any of these, but it was best to wait until they had left before making inquiries.

To his despair, the ship manifests from the past few months were just as devoid of the names he was hoping to see as those from Denerim had been. Trying to swallow the panic and misery that welled up inside him, he asked the harbormaster, attempting to affect casualness, "What was the story behind all those Templars who were here earlier?"

"They wanted to go to Val Royeaux," the man said gruffly and with more than a hint of contempt. "After all that happened at the Circle of Magi and all..."

A sick feeling formed in Anders' gut. Surely not. I only loosed a single demon. "What do you mean? What happened there?"

"A secret cabal of blood mages, led by some mage named Uldred, took it over and summoned demon after demon! Most of the mages and a lot of the Templars got killed outright or turned into abominations. Practically destroyed, it was." He shook his head, fortunately not noticing the look of relief that washed over Anders' face despite this horrible news. "Word has it that the Warden and her companions took care of the problem. Of course, you didn't hear that from me."

Well, that will certainly ensure that they won't be interested in me anymore. A cabal of blood mages! I wonder who they were in addition to Uldred? It sounds like I got out at exactly the right time, Anders thought. And... I never believed I'd think this... but I am glad Karl was sent to Kirkwall, too! What an escape. And what a great way to disprove the idea that the Circle keeps mages from turning bad. Blood mages within the Circle itself, operating in secret, rather than apostates. I hate that so many innocent mages must have died. I'm just... glad that it had nothing to do with the rage demon I set loose.

He still was not wholly comfortable remaining here, this close to Kinloch Hold, but it seemed that the entire country was in too much chaos and confusion for any Templar to go to Denerim with the intent of getting hold of his phylactery. Indeed, he was surely presumed dead... along with so many others he had known over the years. He just hoped that the rest of the Hawkes were not.

He remained in West Hill, checking the passenger records for all the minor port towns, waiting hopefully for Highever and Amaranthine to open up again, and was still there when word reached the little inn at which he was staying. They had a new king, a previously unknown half-brother of King Cailan who had actually been a Grey Warden beside Warden Cousland, and he had been wed to Queen Anora. Some people had expected Warden Cousland to become Queen, but evidently, she preferred the company of women and another of her companions was her lady love. Even more curiously, Teyrn Loghain, the avowed enemy of the Wardens, had become one at the Landsmeet—apparently under orders from Warden Cousland—in exchange for his life. Finally, that very same Warden Elissa Cousland had slain the Archdemon atop Fort Drakon in Denerim, deftly leaping atop the thing and plunging her two sharp daggers into its head—or so the story went—and ending the Fifth Blight.

It was all very well, Anders thought when he heard the crier proclaiming all of this, but it would only affect him so far as it served to settle the country down, making it easier for him to continue his search for the Hawke family—if anything remained of it.

He hoped to the Maker that he wasn't too late for all of them. But he had not seen any bodies but Bethany's, and she had not had her magical staff with her. As bleak as the situation in the Hawke cabin had appeared, Anders was determined to hold onto that one fact. He chose not to think of the possibility that Bethany might have made a desperate run without it once the rest of her family was already gone. He kept the ring, hairpin, and pouch of ashes in his belt purse like talismans of hope that someday he would be able to return these items to the family.


Dragon 9:31.

Highever's passenger records had been just as devoid of Hawkes as those of West Hill and Denerim had been, and at last, still holding onto the last vestige of hope, Anders had traveled to Amaranthine.

What am I going to do if they're not listed here either? he thought miserably as he trekked to the harbormaster's office in pouring rain. There are still ports between here and Denerim, and there are all the little towns between Highever and Amaranthine, I suppose. They might even have left from south of Denerim. But why would they have left for Kirkwall from a port south of Denerim? That makes no sense and would be very dangerous sailing. How do I even know that they went to Kirkwall at all, for that matter?

But if they didn't, how in the Maker's name can I possibly find out what happened to them in Ferelden? So many people have been displaced by the Blight, so many killed. A full accounting is just beginning, and I'm sure there will be some people who are never found at all. He shuddered; while in Highever, he had heard a chilling rumor of darkspawn capturing people and taking them underground for some unknown, but terrible, purpose. Could all of this, all the waiting, the planning, Justice's help, all of it—have been for nothing?

Surely not—surely not my girl and my son—but at once, his mind dismissed that. How many other people thought that? There were children slain by darkspawn, he thought, remembering the ghastly tree in Lothering. They weren't protected by their ages. Some people did lose their daughters and sons, their wives and husbands, their lovers. There is absolutely nothing that would keep me from... He could not finish the thought.

He came away from the harbormaster's office in Amaranthine practically sobbing. At least the rain disguised it—but he was too distracted to notice the sharp glower of Ser Rylock and her band of followers.

He did not realize he was being followed until he was almost on the grounds of the fortress of Vigil's Keep.


"This mage has been an apostate for almost a year!" shouted Ser Rylock, spittle practically frothing from her mouth. "He is suspected of setting a demon loose in the Circle Tower!"

The other woman—yes, it really must be the Hero of Ferelden herself; two lethally sharp silverite daggers gleamed on her back, and her breastplate bore the emblems of the Cousland family and the Grey Wardens—stared back with cold contempt. "The Circle Tower?" she barked, her tones posh and aristocratic, but also filled with disdain. "That would be the same tower that was packed to bursting with abominations and demons that your precious order couldn't stop? That my companions and I had to secure for you?" She sneered. "You have already accused this mage of murdering your Templars here in this fortress when I know for a fact that the darkspawn did it. Why should I believe a word you say against him?"

Ser Rylock glowered back. "I do not question your heroism, Warden-Commander, but you are a fool to take him into your company. He is dangerous! We did not suspect that he loosed a demon until the Templars went to Denerim to destroy the phylacteries of the mages who had perished in that disaster and discovered that his was still active. He did it on purpose to trick us into thinking he had become an abomination! I'm sure of it! Let us take care of him once and for all!"

Anders panicked for a moment and tensed, prepared at least to die fighting, but Warden-Commander Cousland noticed it. She placed a hand protectively on his shoulder and tapped the griffons on her armor. "No," she said firmly. "As Warden-Commander of Ferelden, I invoke the Right of Conscription on this mage. That right is absolute," she said harshly as the Templar opened her mouth to object again. "It is absolute and non-contestable. You have no further business with him. Now, since Vigil's Keep belongs to the Grey Wardens, I rule this castle, and I order you and your company to take yourselves off."

Ser Rylock gave Cousland a glare of loathing, but she did not dare disobey.

Anders breathed out once the troop of surviving Templars finally left. He turned to the Warden-Commander with gratitude in his face.

She was an attractive woman, he noted. Her hair was a fairly nondescript shade of brown, mouse-brown rather than rich mahogany or red-tinted, but she had it in a long braid that was both elegant and practical. Her grey-blue eyes were sharp and intelligent. However, if the rumors he'd heard in West Hill were correct, she was unattainable. In any case, she was to be his commander, and most importantly, his heart belonged to another woman.

"I was not going to let that Templar take you off to be put to death," Cousland said at once, a wry smile on her face. "The Wardens need mages, quite frankly—and I had an additional reason for conscripting you once I learned your name."

"My... name?" Anders repeated. "You had heard of me before, then? Commander?" he added.

"A... companion... of mine asked the First Enchanter about you by name when I recruited the Circle mages to fight the Blight," she said. "But you were missing, 'presumed dead.'"

"A companion?" he wondered. "How could any of your companions know of my existence?"

"She is a Chantry sister from Lothering," Cousland explained, "and said that you had resided there for a while as an apostate." Upon seeing the hostile glower that formed on Anders' face at these words, she frowned and added, "She is sympathetic to mages and disagrees with what is done. She thought you would be a good Warden recruit because you didn't want to be in the Circle."

"Oh," he said, the anger melting from his face. A flicker of hope flared in his heart. "Did she say... anything else? Anyone in Lothering that she might have known?"

Cousland shook her head. "I'm afraid not, and you must realize, the town is gone. She left before the darkspawn sacked it, so she would not have information about what happened to anyone."

"I do know," he said, his voice low. "I just hoped..."

"Some escaped, but others were likely captured by the darkspawn, I'm afraid."

"I heard that rumor in Highever," Anders said. He decided to venture the question; surely the Hero of Ferelden, of all people, would be able to shed some light on it. "I didn't know that happened. Why would the darkspawn capture anyone? What would they... do?"

Cousland turned away, grimacing.

"Warden-Commander?" he asked again, his voice suddenly shaky. Something was wrong.

"I... will take you and the other recruits on a mission later to show you about that, I expect," she said. Her voice was uneven. "It's... tough to explain."

Something was very, very wrong—but Anders knew he was not going to get an answer just yet. His heart thudded at the sudden, dark uncertainty, the fear of a total unknown.

"There are many people who were displaced in the Blight who are just now being found," Cousland continued. "My lord brother, the new Teyrn of Highever, was one of them." She smiled darkly. "And a fellow recruit you'll soon meet: Nathaniel Howe."

"The son of the late Arl?"

She nodded tightly. "Yes. He will take the Joining with you and two others. The Wardens were decimated, and of course, one of us now sits on the throne. Warden Loghain will be joining our party in a few days; he is currently at the Grey Warden fortress of Soldier's Peak, but we still need to rebuild, and we cannot afford to turn aside good recruits. Now let us proceed." She began to walk briskly toward a different room in the fortress.

As Anders hurried to keep pace with her, he felt that he should get something cleared up. "Warden-Commander," he began. "That Templar... the demon she was talking about..."

"The First Enchanter said you disappeared two days before the Circle went to the Void, and that he feared a demon they'd had to put down had either killed you or... well. Needless to say, I don't believe what that Templar said about you. Obviously, the demon that got out was part of that plot. Of course you seized the opportunity that the chaos afforded, and given what happened to the Circle so soon after, I'm glad you did. Your escape may have saved your life."

Anders had no intention of ever telling the Warden-Commander that Ser Rylock had been absolutely correct. It didn't matter. His little stunt had not cost any lives, and he was finally—finally!—free of the blasted, accursed Circle for the rest of his life.


Infertile? Anders thought. He had awakened from the worst nightmare he'd ever had, to learn that one of the four Warden recruits had perished in the Joining ceremony—a macabre ritual in which they drank a potion containing darkspawn blood—and as soon as the other survivors, Nathaniel Howe and the dwarf Oghren Kondrat, woke up, Warden-Commander Cousland had told them the grim facts of Grey Warden life.

I have had a child already, he thought, remembering that little bed in the Hawke cabin in Lothering, but I don't know... He could not complete the thought. If his little son had not survived—if Caitlyn had not survived—he wasn't sure he even wanted to try to have another child.

But if they had, he would have wanted the chance to have a larger family, and now that was taken away from him forever. Being a Warden was the one way a mage of the southern countries could live outside the Circle with the surety of being left alone, and this was the price he had to pay.

The one child I'll ever have, he thought unhappily, and I missed his infancy and early childhood. I hope I didn't miss his entire life. The Templars and the Blight have destroyed so much for us. I just hope they haven't destroyed it all.

It seemed that, despite the death of the Archdemon, there was still a rogue band of darkspawn terrorizing the arling of Amaranthine. It would need to be sorted out and put down, but once that was done, Anders was sure he would be free to resume his search for the Hawkes. Oddly, the sense of urgency was gone now that he did not have to fear being captured by the Templars, and he found a certain satisfaction in exacting vengeance on the creatures that had killed Malcolm and Bethany Hawke and had destroyed the peace of the family.

The Blight is over, Anders thought. They survived it or... they didn't. Either way, there is nothing I can do for them at a distance. The Warden-Commander plucked me out of the Circle for good, gave me a vocation. If Caitlyn lives... if our son lives... I can bring them here and support them on my Grey Warden stipend. My first duty now is to help Lady Cousland with what's happening in this arling. That is urgent. If Caitlyn did... make it... then she is safe, wherever she is. I will get through this and then continue my search.


The Crown and Lion, Amaranthine.

Anders staggered away from the bar, feeling queasy. Foolishly, he had allowed his fellow Grey Warden, Oghren, to challenge him to a drinking contest. He should've known better; Oghren's capacity for drink was infamous. But the truth was, he'd wanted to do it to distract himself.

"I could've told you how that would end," the Warden-Commander said as he approached the Wardens' table, a wry sympathetic smile on her face.

He sank into a chair across from her as she pushed a large jug of water at him. "Thanks," he murmured, accepting it and drinking directly from it. Ahhh... this was holy water of the Maker Himself right now.

"Anders," she said, "is there something you'd like to talk about? Just to get it off your chest? You don't have to if you don't want to, but you've seemed sad, and if it'll make you feel better to talk about it, I'll listen."

Should I tell her? He hesitated, but then resolve came over his face. She knew what it was like to fear that her entire family was lost. "Yes," he said. "Yes... I need to talk about it. I need to tell someone. There was only one person in the Circle I spoke to about any of it, and he didn't... he didn't know it all. Nobody knows it all except me and... the people involved."

"I'm sorry about your friend..."

"Friend." Sadly too true. Another way I sought distraction. Anders mustered his reserves to avoid falling into despair about this too. "Oh, he wasn't there when the demons came. He was sent to Kirkwall's Circle in early 9:29. I didn't have any friends left by the time the Circle fell."

"Well, I'm glad he was safe, then."

Silence fell between them. Anders hesitated again—and then it burst out.

"I was in Lothering in the first part of 9:27 during one of my escapes from that horrible place," he said abruptly. "You know that already... but... when I was there..." He picked up the jug and took another swig of water. "It was a long escape. Six months. Long enough to meet someone."

"Well, six minutes is long enough to 'meet someone,'" she teased gently.

He managed a brief, weak smile, but it faded at once. "We were going to marry," he choked out. "She was going to have a baby." Finally getting it out, telling someone the full truth, hurt even worse than he'd thought. He'd been holding it in for too long. His Grey Warden duties kept him from going insane from grief, perhaps, but he realized that it was just barely kept at bay.

The Warden-Commander looked stricken. "I am so sorry," she said quietly.

He stared at the jug, unable to meet her eyes. "I was taken back to the Circle before my son could be born. Yes, I knew. There's a spell that can do that. I went with her father..." He sighed heavily. "He was an apostate too, and two of his three children also were. My love... and"—he suddenly choked, tears coming to his eyes—"her younger sister."

The Commander waited compassionately.

"So her father and I went to try to bait the Templars chasing me. They would've been carrying my phylactery, and we were going to get it away from them and destroy it so I could be free for good. It... didn't happen that way. Ghouls attacked us—yes, even that early, there were signs of Blight," he said as her eyes widened. "I survived. He didn't. And then the Templars found me."

"I'm sorry," she said again. "And then... three years of the Circle?"

Anders nodded. "I tried to get out, to return to her. They always caught me. By the time I finally did, the Blight had begun." Two tears streamed down his face. "The rest of the family had abandoned their house. Most of their things were inside. There was a little bed, a child's bed, that hadn't been there before... that must have been my son's... and I understand that if they fled, they couldn't have taken all their furniture, but... other things were left behind that shouldn't have been." He wiped his face and reached into a pocket on his coat for the ring, which he dropped on the table. "I gave this to her before I was taken. It was there. Warden-Commander, it was there." He broke into sobs. "I have to hope that she left it behind because she was angry with me. And also... I found her little sister's body on the trail."

The Commander blanched. "I am so very, very sorry," she said softly.

"When you told me about Grey Wardens being unable to have children... I don't care, so long as I can just see her again, see my son. I've never seen him. I don't even know his name. We didn't have time to discuss names..."

There was another brief period of silence. Anders tried to get his grief under control. But as he did, a dark memory that he had suppressed swam to the surface: a memory of being told of darkspawn taking captives instead of merely killing their victims. "Warden-Commander," he began, his voice stronger but guarded, "why do the darkspawn take captives?"

"You don't need to think about that right now, Anders," she said in noticeably firmer tones. "I'll show you someday. But this is not good to think about now."

"I went to Denerim, West Hill, Highever, and Amaranthine harbors to look at passenger manifests," he continued. "Dating back to the beginning of the Blight. I needed to see if their names were there, if they had escaped Ferelden." His face fell. "I didn't see their names. Commander, please, the darkspawn—"

"Not tonight, Anders." Her tone was final. "You don't know what happened to them, and you don't need to dwell on... darkspawn captivity."

Anders nodded, considering that. "A lot of people are still missing. We found Delilah Howe." He picked up the ring and replaced it in his pocket. "I gave her sister a pyre," he said quietly. "I have the ashes, just in case I ever see them again. Maybe the rest of the family escaped but didn't have time to do it."

"Maybe so."

Anders did not choose to hear the sad doubt in her words. He finished the jug of water, rose from his chair, and rejoined the other Wardens at the bar.


The Blackmarsh.

"Justice?" Anders exclaimed, his eyes wide with surprise.

The body of Warden Kristoff stirred and blinked. "Yes," he said. "I did not intend to leave the Fade, but it seems that I did."

The Hawkes were evicted from their home by darkspawn. I have no home either now, unless the Wardens count. And Justice has just been kicked out of his too. He was devastated. The connection between them, the mental link, was not gone, but this was horribly wrong. Justice did not deserve this. What would happen to a Fade spirit once the body that he had taken decayed beyond the ability to sustain him? Would he just... disappear? Fade away, as it were? It was horrible, and the idea of it sickened Anders. Justice had saved his life in the Circle, had helped him to become a powerful Healer, and had just now fought beside him to defeat a mass murderer. This was wrong. It was unfair. It was... unjust.

"Come," the spirit said through the body of Kristoff. "We have work to do yet."

Although it seemed impossible, Anders wondered if Justice had spent enough time with him that he was able to understand compassion and other feelings that were different from his own nature. There was a certain sad tone to his voice, as if he knew what Anders was thinking.

Anders rose to his feet and picked up his staff, nodding in resignation. I will find a solution, friend, he thought as he followed the spirit to confront the Baroness again. I won't let you die, not after you kept me alive so many times.


The Crown and Lion.

One of the Templars who had harassed him was finally dead. Rylock had bitten off more than she could chew, at last, leading a band of fellow fanatics to try to arrest him even though he was a Grey Warden. A tip that his phylactery might be nearby was in fact a trap, which he supposed he should have foreseen. He did not have the accursed item. But he did have the lives of some of these lawless, fanatical Templars—including one who had taken him from Lothering.

Justice's presence in his life, outside the Fade, was sparking more anger and indignation in him about the Circles than ever before. The two discussed the topic at great length alone in their rooms, deep into the late hours of the evening. Justice had been cool to him about the manner of his escape, looking for other injustices in the Fade—and finding one—while Anders settled in to Warden life. But they were friends, and a virtuous act—such as becoming a Grey Warden—had helped to mend their friendship. And now that Justice had seen more of the world, and directly rather than through the memories and ideas of a dreamer in the Fade, he had become very resolved against the injustice of the Circles. The two had bonded again over it. Killing this Templar, one of the two who had taken him from Caitlyn, had felt good, just, avenging.

But he was not alone. The Warden-Commander had stood up for him, fighting by his side against Rylock and her gang. Now, after she had seen to some business of her own in Amaranthine, the Wardens were having some drinks at the tavern again. Lady Cousland had explained to him about her own history, how she had long ago wanted to be a Templar herself until she saw a mage child running from them—and Anders had been amused, because he had been that child. He had reached Highever in his first escape. He hadn't seen her, but she had seen him, and the experience had put her off the Templars, setting her on a path that ultimately led to her conscription into the Grey Wardens and now taking up arms against a pack of lawless Templars in his defense. It felt full circle.

"That's amazing," Anders said, with a chuckle. "Yes, it must have been me. That is incredible." He actually felt himself smile. "So you picked the Wardens instead because you didn't want to do that to mage children, because of me. I'm flattered, Commander."

"I didn't pick the Wardens, exactly," she said. "The previous Commander conscripted me the night that Highever fell to Rendon Howe. But I didn't object to the vocation. I just hated the circumstances."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I'm sorry too. You suffered something similar, even if you didn't personally witness it."

They may not all be dead. I only know that two of them died. And you do have your brother still, he thought in objection—but he didn't say it. "Her father—my father-in-law, almost—was killed by ghouls, as I mentioned before. When I was captured, the first few days after that, I thought about escaping again—naturally—and joining the Grey Wardens. It seemed like a way to honor him, provide for her and our child, and be safe as a former Circle mage." His face fell. "I guess I would've been killed at Ostagar if I had, though."

"Most likely," she said in a low voice.

"But before that, I never thought about the Wardens either. I just wanted to live an ordinary life." That's the great secret of us mages. That's all that most of us want—at first. We only decide that we want to change the world when we're denied even that little thing. "I was taken to the Circle at twelve, Commander. I had friends in my village. My mother didn't want me to go... and my own father turned me in." That shocked and disturbed her, and he sighed. "All I ask for is a decent meal..."

"Don't we all," she said, smiling sadly. "The times on the road when we had to eat Alistair's cooking..."

"The King can't cook? Well... I suppose he doesn't have to anymore," Anders said. A mirthless laugh, ending in a sob, escaped from him. "I want a decent meal, I want my girl back..." He broke off, unable momentarily to continue, as his face grew stricken.

"Me too," she said quietly.

Anders had heard from Oghren, that incorrigible gossip, that she and her lady love were estranged, or conducting a relationship by correspondence, or something—but that was completely different from what he had gone through. A choice was a completely different matter from a—from a fucking abduction, he decided. Because that is what it was. I was abducted and imprisoned for dissenting. His face hardened with anger, though it was not directed at the Commander. "And I want to incinerate every Templar in creation for what they did," he snarled. "Smash their stupid heads to bloody bits and strip their lyrium-sodden flesh from their bones."

The Warden-Commander gazed askance at him. "Maker, Anders," she exclaimed. "That's a lot of hate and anger."

Is it? Yes, I suppose it is. I hate the people who did this to me, to her, to our family, when we did nothing to them. He glared at the ground. "You understand, though, don't you? You must have hated Arl Howe just this much."

"I do understand how you feel, but I obtained my vengeance, and... didn't you as well? The ones that we killed today, for their lawless impudence and threats to you—weren't they the ones who took you back?"

"The leader of the group, Rylock, was part of that, but there was another who captured me, and he wasn't in that group today."

"Still, they took you back to the Circle, but they didn't personally harm your family. The darkspawn did that, and you're getting to take revenge on them for it. You can strip their flesh from their bones."

The sense of camaraderie that he'd felt with her the past few minutes nearly vanished. I thought she understood. He stared back, still filled with hard anger. "I wasn't there because of Templars," he said. "I wasn't able to protect them."

"You don't know that you could have protected them. I was at Highever when Howe's men attacked, and I couldn't protect anyone in my family. Sometimes we can't, Anders. It's hard but it's true. The only person in my family who survived was my brother, the one who wasn't even there."

He could not stay annoyed with her. It was true, after all. He had not been able to protect Malcolm from either the ghoul attack itself or the Blight disease. He could have now, years too late... but yes, he did know all too well that she was right. He closed his eyes and sank into his seat, covering his face.

Finally he spoke again, feeling empty and bleak as he let his hands fall away from his face. "I have never seen my son," he said, surprised at the whisper that escaped his lips. "He's three years old and he has never met his father. That is what the Templars took from me—from us. Yes, Commander, they did harm my family. They just didn't do it with swords."

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I'm so sorry that this happened." She rose from her chair, gently touching his shoulder. "If you need to talk about it, you can come to me. I do understand what it's like to lose one's family."

"They may not be... dead," he said, uttering the last word very reluctantly, with a grimace. "All of them, I mean. I didn't... find... anyone but her sister. Maybe... I mean, your brother survived... and that must have been very hard, to go through the Blight wondering what had happened to him."

He did not like the half-grimace that she gave him in return, but he refused to give in to despair.


The Crown and Lion, later.

"To the Vigil!" exclaimed Nathaniel Howe, raising his flagon. "Restored and protected, as it should be!"

"I'll drink to that," grunted Loghain, joining the toast.

"We'll need every one of the upgrades once the darkspawn make their stand," agreed Sigrun. "I don't envy the ones who have to fight the Mother, if it is... what I think."

Anders drew his flagon away, frowning. "What do you think this 'Mother' is?" he inquired. "You, Oghren, and Loghain have been very cagey about that."

It was true. He and Justice had been virtually inseparable, but they had not been sent on some of the Warden-centric missions and did not fully understand of what the others spoke. Loghain and Oghren had been out with the Warden-Commander on the day that Sigrun joined the company, and they had all come back very grim despite having acquired a new Warden. Anders had caught mutterings between the dwarves, with sad, pitying glances thrown his way that they must have thought he had not seen. They also did not want to talk about this mysterious "Mother," even though they all seemed to know what it was—as well as the Warden-Commander. Well, she at least tended to keep to herself in general, wanting to keep a certain distance between herself and her Wardens due to her authority. They did not have that excuse. They were keeping something from him, and he did not care for it. If it was Warden business, as it surely must be, he needed to know.

They looked as if they finally wanted to tell, but Nathaniel shook his head faintly. "This is not the time to discuss that," he said. "How about another toast?"

Constable Aidan raised his flagon. "A toast to the ones we're fighting for!" he exclaimed. His eyes softened. "My lovely wife and twin boys."

"Aye," Oghren said, foam dribbling down his beard. "Felsi." He clanked his against the constable's.

"The Queen," Loghain said at once, joining in, the closest thing to a smile on this face that Anders had ever seen.

"Yes, Maker keep Her Majesty and the King," said Aidan, joining the toast to Anora. The smile melted away as Loghain glowered at the mention of Alistair, but he did not respond verbally.

Nathaniel had been gazing in concern at Anders, clearly not liking this toast topic at all, but finally he managed a weak smile. "My sister Delilah and her husband." The foam in his flagon spilled slightly over the side as he clanked it against the others.

Sigrun smiled weakly. "Mischa, Stone preserve her. Glad I could fix the friendship."

Anders had been stricken for the entire toast, but finally, he raised his own flagon and joined it to the rest almost soundlessly. "If you made it, I swear I'll find you, love," he murmured, not looking at the others but, rather, at the tabletop, "and if not... I'll join you someday."

His companions were struck silent as they brought their flagons back. Aidan gazed at the mage. "I'm sorry," he said, meaning it. "I'm really sorry. I didn't know—"

"It's all right," he said.

"Who was she? Were you married?"

Anders ignored the fact that Aidan was speaking of Caitlyn in past tense. "We were going to be. I was captured and taken back to the Circle before we could." He hesitated for a moment before adding, "We were expecting a baby." Across the table, all four Grey Wardens gaped in shock at that revelation. It had become common knowledge that he had had a lover who had gone missing in the Blight, but no one had known that.

The constable frowned. "I've never really thought about it, but that's just not right, separating couples like that, taking you away from your child. If you can be a Grey Warden outside the Circle, you could've stayed with her, as I see it. Obviously you're a good sort."

Anders nodded at him. "It means a lot to me that you said that, truly. I wish more people felt the same." He sighed. "She lived in Lothering." Grimaces spread across all of the others' faces, but he continued determinedly. "I visited what was left of the town... I didn't see... proof that she died. I also saw a small child's bed in their house. I'm not going to give up hope," he said, trying to make himself believe it. "And after we've solved the darkspawn problems in this arling, we Wardens should have a respite. I'm going to look for them then."

"I hope you can find them," said Aidan. He raised his flagon. "To your success, Warden."

As the others joined in silently, Anders noted that Loghain and, especially, Oghren seemed very pessimistic about the likelihood of that. But whatever the dwarf knew—or thought he knew—that was so negative, Anders understood that it would do him no good to hear it, since he could not know if it were really true. If Oghren had something definitive, he would've said it, of that Anders was certain, so this was just a dire possibility of some sort. Still, he felt a hole of despair upon seeing their faces... No, he told himself sternly. I won't give up unless I have proof that they're gone.


Notes: I know this is really, really dark, but honestly, under these circumstances I think this conclusion about Hawke's fate would be unavoidable. Poor Anders, once he finds out what they're all keeping secret from him next chapter.

Regarding Loghain, I get that they didn't want to deal with making him and Alistair full-fledged companions, depending on whom (if either) you have. Still, from a story perspective, it heavily implies a personal FU from the Grey Warden command post in Weisshaupt to send him to Orlais of all places, especially when Ferelden is the country that suffered a Blight and the near-obliteration of its Wardens. Why they couldn't make Warden Loghain interchangeable with Warden Alistair (who is "scouting Ferelden for the Thaw," which still is stupid given the troubles in Amaranthine but at least isn't an insult), I don't know, but it makes Weisshaupt look extremely corrupt very early on. (Maybe that was the point.) In this story, Cousland didn't put up with that and informed them that he was needed in Ferelden.