Notes: This is a lyric from "Control the Divine" by Blind Guardian, which is about the rebellion of Lucifer, but I think can work well for Spirits of the Fade. There's no hidden message in this choice; I'm not implying that Justice is Lucifer (though I would be fully down for a dark AU like that). I just like the song. :P
Warning: There is an extremely graphically violent scene at the end.
Chapter 10: First Amongst Equals, Bound to No Law
The Wardens were ready to defend Amaranthine.
"Oghren, Sigrun, and Velanna," Cousland said, nodding at each of them in turn, "you will fight with Warden Loghain to defend Vigil's Keep. He is in charge until I have returned. The rest of you"—she looked at Nathaniel, Anders, and Justice-Kristoff, who unfortunately was starting to bear unmistakable signs of decay—"will come with me to Amaranthine and secure the city. From there we will hunt down and destroy the Mother."
Anders knew better than to object publicly in front of the rest of the Wardens, but as soon as he had a private moment, he spoke to Cousland. "I think I would do better at Vigil's Keep," he said in an undertone. "Velanna can be your mage just as well, I'm sure."
Cousland shook her head. "I want you on this mission, Anders. The civilians in Amaranthine may need a Healer." She lowered her voice even further. "And between us, I hope Vigil's Keep does not fall—I hope our upgrades are sufficient—but if it does, as a Cousland, I cannot risk inflaming Amaranthine by losing Nathaniel after denying him the opportunity to fight for his family's city, and you fight better alongside Justice. I have reasons for choosing this team."
Well, he thought, that is a consideration. Still unhappy, he managed to resign himself to it.
At last, he knew what to expect at the end of the Mother's lair. Sigrun had told him: The Mother was a female darkspawn, she had said, that sat in one place and produced innumerable darkspawn from egg sacs. Anders wondered why they had kept this from him for so long; he supposed he had always assumed that the darkspawn on the surface included females, but at the same time, it seemed fitting that the process would instead involve something insect-like, as this apparently was. He was rather offended when he thought about his fellow Wardens' secrecy; did they think learning about this would unman him? Why? It would be a slow grind to kill it, and it could spit poison and lash out, but it seemed like a manageable—if exceedingly unpleasant—fight. Defending Vigil's Keep would have been much more Anders' preference... but the Warden-Commander had made her decision.
Anders greatly respected Warden-Commander Cousland for what she had done in the Blight. Evidently, she had not only saved what few mages could be saved at the Circle, but she had made peace between a clan of Dalish elves and a pack of werewolves in the Brecilian Forest, and had resolved a dwarven civil war. She had also spared Loghain and managed to unite the two sides of Ferelden's civil war with her scheme for the King and Queen. In fact, the only dubious or even vaguely negative thing he had heard about her was that she allowed a mage to use a blood magic ritual to help Arl Eamon's mage son and that this had required the sacrificial death of the boy's mother. There must have been reasons, he supposed. Perhaps it was the best of a set of bad choices. Oghren had said, over drink admittedly, that the ritual could have been done without blood magic if she had brought in the few surviving Circle mages to do it, but that she hadn't wanted to risk losing them at Redcliffe. Justice deeply approved of the Warden-Commander, and that was good enough for him. He looked forward to the conclusion of this mission, so he could resume his search for the remaining Hawkes, and then—hopefully—bring them here, to be supported in relative comfort on his Grey Warden salary. It was not the life he had expected to lead, but he could live with it.
Later.
Anders stared in abject horror at the bloated, unnatural corpse of the Mother, burned and stabbed in dozens of places, its head and torso basically collapsing into the vast bulk below.
"That... wasn't always a darkspawn," he whispered, his eyes wide.
Nathaniel shook his head. "No. It wasn't."
"It cannot be," he said, almost as if to himself. "That isn't possible." He gazed at the repeating rows of breasts and the thing's lack of legs. "That cannot happen. Wherever it comes from, it can't be..." He could not finish the sentence. Saying it would make it real.
Justice and Nathaniel exchanged uneasy glances. Nathaniel spoke again. "This one was human once. It can happen to elven or dwarven women too—probably also qunari, though I've never seen one of those..." He trailed off.
"Captives," Anders whispered, ignoring the others, transfixed in shock and horror at the dead bulk before him. "That's why they take captives."
Justice pushed Nathaniel aside and whispered to Anders, "Justice has been done upon the Architect for this."
Anders gazed back at the body that bore the Fade spirit, eyes wide and hollow. "That's not nearly enough," he said weakly.
"Anders," Warden-Commander Cousland said gently, finally interposing, "you need to come away from there. It won't help anything to stare at it... at her. We need to leave."
He remained on his knees, slumped over, clutching his staff, head hung in devastation.
Her voice was sharper. "Anders, get up. It wasn't your girl."
That got Anders to his feet. A bolt of lightning sizzled in an arc from the top of his staff to the hand holding it. Rage flooded him at a sudden realization. "That's why you insisted that I come instead of defending Vigil's Keep," he accused. "You knew what the Mother was; you've seen these things before, no doubt. You wanted me to see it—you wanted me to think that that's what happened to her." He glared at his commander. "Why? How could you be so cruel?"
Cousland drew her blades and kept them at the ready, though she did not point them at Anders. "That's enough. If you wish to discuss this further, we will do so privately back at the Keep—but this conversation is at an end for now. As Warden-Commander, I order you to get away from there and come back with us."
Anders glared in fury but obeyed the commander. The electricity magic crackling down his staff faded. He scowled behind Cousland's back but said nothing.
Cousland sheathed her blades on her back and strode to the front of the small group. Nathaniel raised a sardonic eyebrow at her. "You're bold to draw blade on a mage," he muttered in an undertone too low for Anders to hear.
She walked in front of him. "I am bold, Nathaniel. You of all people know that."
Justice hesitated for a moment before walking over to the mage and murmuring something to him. Anders lifted his head, nodded, swallowed, and finally looked away from the vast bulk to take his place with the group of Wardens. Cousland did not know what it was that Justice had said, but the gist was clear. She suppressed a frown. She had known what awaited them at the end, what the Mother had to be, and had taken Anders on this for a reason, painful though it would be to him. He needed to see and understand, comprehend the nature and magnitude of the evil they fought as Grey Wardens. He needed to understand it personally. She understood that Justice was trying to get him through the immediate moment, but she did not want him giving Anders further false hope.
Anders fully intended to discuss the Mother once they made it back to Vigil's Keep—which was still standing, and all the Wardens therein had survived. Righteous outrage and determination to check every single town in Ferelden for the Hawkes had overpowered him on the way back. But somehow, all of that fled his mind, replaced by a burning, vindictive fury at the sight before him.
"He wishes to join the Wardens," Loghain said, distaste on his face as he and the others glared at the recruit.
Ser Rolan, still in his Templar armor, smiled in what he must have supposed was a self-deprecating way at Warden-Commander Cousland, but Anders knew better. That grin concealed malice. Ser Rylock had been a zealot, but Anders could not actually fault her for her accusation of setting a demon loose in the Circle tower—he had done so, after all. Ser Rolan was a different order of magnitude. He was not just a very conservative zealot, but a twisted person who took pleasure in inflicting cruelty and believed that mages should all be eliminated, whether by execution or Tranquility. Velanna was staring at the Templar as if she wanted to kill him, and although Anders had never gotten along with the Dalish mage, he found himself in full agreement and wishing that she had.
He is the reason everything went so wrong, Anders thought in growing outrage. Rylock was the other one, but he was the leader. If not for him, I would be with the Hawkes right now. None of this would have happened if not for him. How dare he show his face here? How dare he claim to want to join the Grey Wardens? What a filthy lie—as if this murderous bastard would want anything other than exactly what he currently had!
Warden-Commander Cousland noticed Anders' expression of utter hatred and was taken aback for a moment. She turned back to her lieutenant at once. "Has he slain darkspawn?" she said coolly.
"He has," Loghain said, his lips curling. "He gathered his own darkspawn blood. He knows about the ritual now. We must administer it. His name is Rolan," he added.
Cousland gazed at the smirking man. "Thank you for your service in support of the Grey Wardens," she said in clipped tones. "If I may... what inspired you to wish to leave the Templar Order?"
Rolan shook his head sadly. Anders felt his blood heat up in anger; that was fake sorrow if he ever saw it. "My Chantry was destroyed in the Blight," he said, his head hanging low.
Anders could not stand to keep silent any longer. "Warden-Commander," he protested, "I know this Templar. He captured me twice. He never served at a Chantry! He just led hunts for apostates across Ferelden. Greagoir banished him from Kinloch Hold for murdering mages!"
"Anders," Cousland said sharply. She turned back to Rolan, eyes hard. "Is that true?"
"I certainly rounded up apostates on the Knight-Commander's orders," Rolan said blithely. "I have never murdered mages, however."
"You liar!" Anders exclaimed, pointing a finger accusingly at Rolan. "You did the Rite of Tranquility, and he kicked you out after too many mages died in your custody!"
"Anders," Cousland repeated, giving him a very hard look. "Be silent. That is an order." She stared at the Templar. "You understand, Warden mages are never to be made Tranquil. Period. You are also never to use your Templar skills against fellow Wardens."
She's going to let him take the Joining, Anders thought in despair. He turned to Cousland, eyes pleading and miserable, but she shook her head briefly.
"But what if I'm being menaced?" Rolan said in a falsely pitiful tone of voice, trying oh-so-hard to keep the smirk off his face as he observed the interaction between Cousland and Anders. "You must understand, Warden-Commander, mages can sometimes lose control. Demons, you know."
Beside Anders, Justice tensed. Anders panicked and placed a hand gently on the shoulder of Kristoff's body to calm him; the last thing they needed right now was for Rolan to take too strong of an interest in Justice. Perhaps in the shadows of Vigil's Keep, the decay of Kristoff's body would not be apparent. Perhaps Rolan would die in the Joining and never have to learn about Justice at all. Perhaps I can poison the chalice for the fucker, Anders thought—but realistically, he doubted that the Warden-Commander would let him into the room.
Cousland's nostrils flared. "All right. If a fellow Warden threatens you, you may defend yourself. But not with lethal force." She breathed deeply, clearly wishing this to be over. "The darkspawn have magic users among themselves. Your Templar abilities will be very useful to neutralize darkspawn emissaries, as they are called. The King, as you may know, once served as a Grey Warden, and he was trained as a Templar. We have been without these abilities since he assumed the throne."
Rolan smirked and rummaged in his pack until he found a glass vial. "This contains the darkspawn blood that Warden Loghain asked me to collect," he said sycophantically. "I await your command."
"Loghain, take him to the throne room. I will be there presently." She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose as Loghain and Rolan left, exhaling in exasperation through her mouth.
"Warden-Commander," Anders pleaded, "are you really going to do this? That man came here because he has it in for me. I'm certain of it. We have... a history."
Cousland's grey-blue eyes were pained. "Anders," she said, grimacing, "I do understand how you feel. But... I must act honorably as Warden-Commander of Ferelden. Loghain and Nathaniel both joined us, despite the fact that I had reasons to hold grudges against both of them. They have served with courage and honor as Grey Wardens. If Ser Rolan survives the Joining, he will not be a Templar anymore, but a Warden."
"Loghain and Nathaniel saw that they were wrong," Anders said quietly. "Facts persuaded them. Ser Rolan... is oblivious to facts, Warden-Commander."
She sighed heavily. "He defended the Keep, Anders. He collected darkspawn blood. He already knows that much about the Joining ritual. I cannot break faith and slay him now. He must take the Joining. I will impress upon him that he no longer has any authority over you, if he survives."
Ser Rolan did survive. Anders supposed it made sense that a corruption as vile as the Taint would accept a sadist... but what does that say about me? he thought at once. He sighed. It wasn't fair that a well-meaning, if annoying, recruit like Ser Mhairi would die, while this bastard would survive. It wasn't fair or just. There was no justice in the world.
Even Justice is suffering, he thought. Anders got up from his Warden bunk to sit at the table beside Justice, who never slept. In the candlelight, the deterioration of Kristoff's body was clear and horrifying. The flesh was decaying rapidly, almost hanging off the extremities already.
I've failed you, Anders thought as he stared into the strange undead eyes. I meant to research ways to send you back to the Fade, but I haven't done it. I've been occupied with the Architect and the Mother... At that thought, he wanted to cry. The shock of seeing Ser Rolan, of all people, turn up at the Keep had almost put it out of his mind, but it had all come back now. If this fucker is going to serve as a Warden, I have to get out of here and search for the Hawkes, he thought. I cannot serve alongside him. He came here to harass me. That is the only reason he would leave the Templar Order. Ser Rylock must have reported what became of me, and he decided to do this as a result.
"I do not understand why the Warden-Commander would let him escape justice," rumbled the figure across from Anders. He was very displeased. "He did murder mages. Those failed Tranquilizations were not accidental... and that does not excuse it either. The Rite is a crime against sapience." Justice glowered. "He also is indeed the primary cause of what happened to you and the ones you care for."
"We've got to leave, Justice," Anders said quietly in case any of the other Wardens were awake. "I have to find them. I have to know, after seeing that thing today. And... I have to help you. I'm sorry I haven't done so yet." He sighed heavily. "I won't let you fade away."
Is everything and everyone I ever cared for going to disappear? Everyone who did something to help me, to give me a reason to live? The ones who seem to survive, to never go away, are the ones who brought misery into my life, while the ones who provided happiness and comfort disappear. I can't let this happen. I have to save him. He saved me.
Kristoff's cheeks were hollow, the flesh vaguely cake-like. The body would not hold together much longer. "Warden Nathaniel... spoke to me about a new idea," Justice said hesitantly. "About a voluntary possession."
"Possession is always voluntary," Anders said.
"But with demons, there is trickery involved. It is not truly voluntary, and there is no sharing. The demon takes over the mortal entirely, even if the body continues to assume its original mortal form. What your fellow Warden spoke of was something different."
Anders gazed ahead nervously, then back to Justice. "You mean—sharing the body and mind of a mortal? Truly sharing?"
The corpse nodded. Anders averted his eyes from the sight of the flesh cracking as it did. "I have no desire to assume control of another sapient being. It would be an act of injustice to deny anyone free will. But to share, with the full consent of the one whose body it is... to help a mortal with my own powers while not taking over the mortal's mind... that is different."
Anders stared ahead. He felt his skin crawling at what Justice seemed to be implying, but he did trust the spirit. "I'll keep it in mind, Justice," he finally said. "Let's see if I can find another answer before trying anything like that, though."
The Deep Roads glimmered in the Fade, strangely attenuated and darker than they had been in real life. Anders gripped his staff, following behind the shadowy forms of the other Wardens, as they approached the Mother. Justice was not present. Anders wondered if he simply could not enter the Fade at all through a dead man's body. What a horrible fate it would be. The Fade was his home. This was almost like the spirit itself had been made Tranquil...
The long, vast shadow of the Mother loomed ahead, darkening the tunnel even more. A sickening cackle pierced the air.
I don't want to turn the corner, Anders thought suddenly. I don't. I don't want to see this. But his feet kept moving—or the Fade moved beneath his feet; he was not sure.
The cackling grew ever louder as he drew nearer to the creature. He held his breath.
The Mother's head was bent, but he knew at once that something was wrong. The actual broodmother had had very dark hair. This one's was flame-red, though matted and filthy.
"You came too late."
Anders did not want to look, but he could not stop himself. He gazed up. The Mother's head was still bent, but the thing held five heads in its tentacles, all of them decayed, torn blood vessels and broken spines protruding from their necks. Malcolm, Leandra, Bethany, Carver, and... the fifth head was small and strawberry blond.
"You were too late," the Mother repeated, its voice horribly familiar and full of rage. "You failed me. You betrayed me." At last, it raised its head, revealing exactly the face Anders feared. He could hardly stand to look, but neither could he look away.
"You deserve what has come to you," seethed the thing bearing Caitlyn Hawke's head. "You deserve to be under that Templar's watchful eye. You deserve all of it for what you let happen to us."
"No," he pleaded in a whisper. "I didn't—this is not real—it's just the Fade—I would never..."
The thing grinned, revealing blackened teeth and a split mouth. "You did."
"This is not real!" Justice, help, he pleaded, though he knew that the spirit could not hear him now. Wake up, he urged himself. I have to wake up.
"It could be real," the creature said, still grinning, as Anders felt himself blessedly leaving the Fade and returning to the real world. "It could be real. And if it is, you'll never know..."
Anders awoke in his bed, thrashing. Instinctively he reached for the knife he kept nearby, grabbing it and heaving breaths as he came to. In his other hand, crackles of lightning popped, illuminating the male Wardens' dormitory with a stark light.
"Blasted mage," groused Oghren, who was also coming to.
Anders heaved his breath and set the knife back down. He forced himself to still his magic, and the lightning faded away, leaving a temporary dark spot in his field of vision. His heart was pounding. "Sorry," he muttered. "Nightmare."
Oghren grunted and sat upright. "In fairness, I don't know how you sorry bastards stand the Fade," he said. He rummaged through the pack that he kept shoved to the side of his bunk next to the wall and tossed a small bottle at Anders. "Have some of that. It'll help."
Anders uncorked the bottle at once and took a deep pull without thinking twice. Startled, he set it down. Whatever this was, it was actually good. Strong, but good.
"That's a bit of the White Shear," Oghren said. "You ain't getting the main stash, mind."
Anders took another deep pull, feeling the liquor burn as he swallowed, and almost instantly felt lightheaded. Momentarily he wondered what proof this was... "Thanks, Oghren," he said, meaning it. "It's good. Just what I needed." He took another sip, trying to be careful now, but definitely wanting to drink enough to put himself into a dreamless sleep.
"It was that thing you killed, wasn't it?"
Anders set down the bottle. "Yes," he said simply.
"That's tough," the dwarf said sympathetically. "I've seen it in the Deep Roads... my first wife, in fact... well, she didn't become one, but she turned her people into them. Crazy woman. The Warden-Commander killed her for it."
Anders took another sip. "I won't believe it. I'm going to ask her tomorrow for a leave of absence. I can't deal with that Templar anyway."
"He seems like a real prick," Oghren agreed. "The elf wanted to cut him down immediately. Hey—don't have too much of that. I can handle it, but I'm not so sure about your fragile magey self, you know?"
Anders glared back at the dwarf, and just for that, took a defiantly long pull, even though it burned his throat and he was not quite sure he should have. His stomach was suddenly rebelling against any more. "I'm fine," he lied. "Thank you." He corked the bottle and tossed it back to the dwarf.
Anders was hungover the next morning. He knew it as soon as he awakened and a pounding, pulsating headache immobilized him in bed. He attempted to use healing on himself, which did help a bit. At least he could get to his feet now.
He stumbled into his Warden robes and left the dormitories, passing by the common room of Vigil's Keep, where he caught Ser Rolan—now Warden Rolan, he supposed—out of the corner of one eye. The sight enraged him, but he kept going until he reached the Warden-Commander's office.
She was writing a letter, which she covered as soon as she admitted him. "Good morning," she said, sounding weary. He supposed that the events of the previous day had been hard on everyone.
"Good morning, Commander," he said formally. "I have come here to make a request."
She waited.
He took a deep breath. "Since we have quelled the darkspawn attacks and slain the Architect and the Mother, I thought I would ask you for a period of leave. An... indefinite period," he added, grimacing. "And... given the fact that the Templars, some of them anyway, are obviously still out to get me, I am also asking for official transit papers sealed with the Grey Warden seal, to ensure that they'll let me alone."
She raised her eyebrows. "What are you intending to do that you need letters of transit for?"
He was uneasy, but he supposed he had better tell her the truth. "I have to find the family I knew. The woman I knew. I have to know," he said, blanching inwardly at the sudden emotional surge, but it could not be helped. "I have to keep looking," he said, his voice almost broken, his eyes haunted. "I have to know, after what we saw yesterday."
Cousland glanced uncomfortably at him. "I'm sorry, Anders, but I cannot permit you to visit every dockyard in Ferelden. If they did not leave from Highever, West Hill, or Amaranthine, there is no other port that makes much sense for a family from Lothering seeking Kirkwall."
"Maybe they left south of Denerim," he said desperately. "I admit I don't know why... the northern ports are much closer to Kirkwall and would be less treacherous to get to... but maybe."
"And if they didn't? What will you do if there are no passenger records from any port town in Ferelden, Anders? Are you going to check every single village, every city neighborhood, in the country to see if they are living there? You must accept what their fate likely was—"
"You don't know that! Your brother wasn't dead, and neither was Nathaniel's sister!"
"That was good luck. It was not something I could have predicted given the available facts, and I do not believe that my decision to focus on the Blight instead of searching for my brother was the wrong decision. Neither does he. I do understand what you're feeling. I lost family too, Anders," she said, her voice momentarily cracking. She cleared her throat. "But I don't believe in shielding people from unhappy truths."
"You don't know that it is the truth! Your brother was lucky. Maybe some of the Hawkes got lucky too. You don't know, and if you don't let me look for them—"
"You said yourself that you burned the body of her little sister, but that her body was nowhere to be found," said the Warden-Commander. "You also said most of their possessions remained in their house, including the ring you gave her."
"Maybe she was angry at me," he whispered. "Maybe she left it on purpose."
"They were not a wealthy family. If they evacuated carrying so little, why would she leave a valuable piece of jewelry behind if she could have sold it instead? Anders, you need to face reality. I'm sorry that it has come to this." She sighed heavily. "I heard from my partner in Orlais, Sister Leliana, the one who asked about you in the Circle. It occurred to me that she might have been asking on behalf of someone in Lothering, perhaps even your lover, and so just in case she was in touch, I wanted to let her know that you were still alive so she could pass on the word if so." Cousland ran one hand over the top of her head. "She wrote back that she had indeed made the inquiry for someone else, but that she had no idea anymore how to reach that family."
Anders closed his eyes as if to block it out. She was asking for the Hawkes. No one else in Lothering ever knew me. They were still thinking about me, asking about me, when the Blight began. She still wanted to be with me. He wanted to scream in misery. One week earlier and I could have helped them. Curse the Templars to the end of the Void for this.
"They meant to go to Kirkwall, she had written, but the Kirkwall authorities did not keep information on specific Fereldan refugees," Cousland continued.
"Oh, Maker," he moaned. "Yes—it's the same family."
Cousland gazed sadly at him. "After a time, refugees were just turned away and sent back—and those are the ones who made it out of Ferelden. You know for a fact that at least one of this family did not even make it out of Lothering, and you have found no evidence that any of them made it to the Coastlands. Please believe me when I say that I'm deeply sorry." As painful as it was to see his face, she sincerely believed she was doing the right thing by forcing him to face this. "Yes, I wanted you to see the Mother. I wanted you to know what we are truly facing, even when the Blight is over. The threat remains, and this is the nature of it. They take mothers from their children, kill the children, and turn the women into monsters." She stared hard at him, her words pointed and personal, and he knew it. A flaming fury began to simmer within him as she spoke. "When it became apparent that the rest of the Wardens were protecting you from the knowledge of broodmothers, I made my decision. I hoped that seeing this thing would reinforce the importance of the Grey Wardens to you."
Anders drew back, stung and betrayed, as he stared at his commander. He could not take it anymore. He could not. "Fuck you," he hissed.
Cousland's eyes popped in sudden anger. "Excuse me?"
"Fuck you," he repeated more loudly, taking strength from the words. "You used me—you used my loss to manipulate me." He gazed at her in outrage. "I respected you, Commander. You defended the mages, you helped people, you slew the Archdemon, you didn't listen to the Architect... I respected you!" He was practically shouting now. "How can you ask me to respect you if you use me like this? I loved her, and we had a child! The only child I can ever have now that I bear the Warden corruption. How could you—" He tugged on the griffon tabard he wore as if to tear it off.
Her nostrils flared. "I will forgive this insult this time, Anders. You are shocked and grieving. But you should remember: You are a Grey Warden, for life, and I am your commander. This had better not happen a second time."
"Don't worry," he said curtly. "It won't."
"Is that meant to be a threat, Warden?"
"No, Commander," he said through clenched teeth, his voice cold. "I merely do not wish to discuss this topic with you ever again." He whirled around to face the office door, then stalked out.
Curse the Templars to the Black City itself. Curse them, curse that miserable bastard fucker Ser Rolan, curse Greagoir and Irving, curse the Archdemon and the darkspawn and curse the Maker Himself—and curse me.
Anders had dug through Oghren's pack until he found the same bottle of White Shear that he had drunk from last night. He was nursing himself in a dark corner of the dormitories once again.
He was still angry that Warden-Commander Cousland had not even given him the chance to look—but with another day's worth of liquor in him already, he was no longer angry at her, and in fact felt ashamed of himself for lashing out at her so rudely.
She saved me, he thought miserably, resting his head on his bent knees as he clutched the bottle with one hand. She saved me from being put to death by Ser Rylock, freed me of the Circle for good, and that's how I repaid her. This is how I treat everyone who helps me—this or worse. If I don't curse them and insult them, I get them killed. And the worst thing is, she's probably right.
That was the thought he had not wanted to face, but now, he could not push it from his mind. I burned Bethany's body. She was the only one I saw. Carver probably did die at Ostagar, and who would have been left? Two women and a little child. My son was probably... that tree... the darkspawn probably... He could not put the thought together in a complete sentence, but he didn't have to. And I know now what the darkspawn do to women. The Warden-Commander is probably right.
The little yellow-orange kitten that she had given him, whom he had named Ser Pounce-a-Lot in a brief flight of fancy, rubbed his head against Anders and let out a mew. That was it. He replaced the bottle in Oghren's pack and filled a jug with water from one of the wells. He took swigs of it, helping himself to food that was always around at any Grey Warden fortress, until he felt slightly more sober. I have to find a better way of coping, he thought. I don't need to turn to the bottle. As a Healer, I know better than this.
Mustering up his dignity, he returned to the Warden-Commander's office to apologize.
Anders lay on his bed for most of the day, feeling utterly miserable. He had thought that the worst possible outcome would have been for all of the Hawkes to be dead, but that was no longer the case. Death would have been a blessing compared to—that. It was unthinkable that his vivacious, intelligent, ferocious fire mage could have met such an appalling fate. Unthinkable, unjust, blasphemous.
And now, he could not even escape to the Fade, because the Fade would produce nothing but miserable visions for him—and even Justice was no longer there to make it a little bit easier. There is no respite anywhere, he thought.
Justice. He could still help Justice, he thought. He rubbed his eyes and gingerly rose from his bed to go to the Warden library in Vigil's Keep. There were books about magic there. Perhaps one of them would contain an answer.
There were rituals to send stranded spirits back to the Fade, Anders had found, but they required a large number of mages—far more than the Fereldan Wardens had, certainly—or a blood sacrifice. He recalled the stories he'd heard about Warden-Commander Cousland and the choice she'd had to make at Redcliffe; this seemed to be a similar situation. Justice did have another suggestion, Anders thought darkly. Perhaps I should take it. Perhaps that's what I ought to do. I cannot help the Wardens anymore. The situation in this arling is resolved, so it would be "business as usual" from now on, and I don't think I could stand that anymore. I might see more of those things. The time might have come for me to take revenge... no, he corrected himself at once, to pursue justice for mages, since the awful Circle policy is what ultimately caused all of this. Perhaps I should do what Justice suggested and devote the rest of my life to that cause, with him by my side. More than by my side. A part of me. And I do owe him my life.
Rolan entered the Warden library and stared at Anders, not taking any books off the shelves, not even pretending to look for one. Anders gritted his teeth until he could not stand it any longer. At last he whirled around to glare at the former Templar.
"What do you want?" he snapped.
"I have as much right as you to be here, mage," Rolan said.
Anders sneered. "You're not going to drive me out of the library," he warned. "If you're looking for a book, then fine—but I see no evidence of that. You're here to bully me, but I'm not going anywhere." A surge of rage suddenly flooded him, and he snapped the book he was holding closed. He advanced on the former Templar. "Listen closely," he said through clenched teeth, glaring at the man with pure hatred, "I know why you became a Warden. I haven't missed your little smirks and that pathetically obsequious tone of voice. The Warden-Commander is an honorable woman and is giving you the benefit of a doubt. I'm not."
"I know you have no honor," Rolan hissed back, undaunted. "You set a demon loose in Kinloch Hold. You were probably part of Uldred's clique, getting out before they did their worst."
"I had nothing to do with them!"
Rolan ignored this, continuing with a malicious smile on his face. "Uldred, a maleficar and abomination, had more integrity than you, you mewling coward," he said. "He at least died for his actions. You cut and ran."
Anders felt sparks of lightning charging in his hands. "I was never part of Uldred's group," he snarled. "I have never performed blood magic or made deals with demons. You look at every mage and see evil. Maybe that's because you can't look past the filter of your own evil, malicious gaze." Lightning suddenly sparked, arcing between his two opened palms.
The former Templar reacted instinctively to the sight of magic. He held his hand and blasted Anders backward, not with a full Holy Smite, but an anti-magic defense in the same category. Anders felt queasy as he slammed against the bookshelves, feeling his mana level decrease. Suddenly he was horribly vulnerable. He panicked—and then something horrifying happened.
For a moment, this was not the Warden library; it was the roadside and Ser Rolan the Templar towered over him as he attempted to burn Malcolm Hawke's body, raising his hand, the reek of lyrium surrounding him. It was so real—and Anders cowered, covering his face, trying to block it out, trying desperately to recall where he was as the world spun strangely. Had the Fade intruded into the real world? Was it a rift? His heart pounded frighteningly fast. Help me, Justice, he thought suddenly. Help. He's going to kill me.
In a couple of seconds, the sounds of voices in the hall and the welcome darkness of closed, hand-covered eyes pushed the vision from Anders' mind. He breathed deeply. This is Vigil's Keep, he told himself. I am a Grey Warden and this bastard has no authority over me.
Cousland and Justice dashed into the library. Cousland drew her blades from her back at the sight of Anders, curled into himself against a bookcase, Rolan towering over him.
"What is the meaning of this?" Cousland demanded, directing a dagger at Rolan. Her gaze was very hard.
"He used Smite on me," Anders said at once, pointing at Rolan. He turned to Justice. Had he actually heard Anders' thoughts? Did the Spirit Healing connection extend that far? I can't let you fade away, he thought again. If you are already that closely linked to me, I can't.
"I did not," Rolan protested. "It was a Righteous Strike, and the mage threatened me! He had lightning between his hands."
"I wasn't going to use it on you, you fool," Anders snapped. "You were accusing me of conspiring with Uldred! It just made me angry, and I summoned the lightning unintentionally because I was angry."
"See?" Rolan chortled, gesturing gleefully at Anders as he appealed to Cousland. "Mages can't control themselves! Magic bursts out of them when they have strong emotions."
"Enough!" Cousland roared. She glared at both of them, but harder at Rolan. "Anders may have lost control of his magic, but you attacked him deliberately."
"Warden-Commander—"
"The two of you are both Wardens," she said in hard tones. "You must learn to get along with each other. Maker damn it, if I had to learn to get along with Loghain Mac Tir and Nathaniel Howe, you two can do the same."
"Loghain and Nathaniel were not responsible for the deaths of your family members, Warden-Commander," Anders could not resist saying.
Cousland ignored that. She stared from one to the other. "I am assigning you two to scout the mines for stragglers tomorrow. Justice," she said, turning to the body of Kristoff, "you are in charge."
Rolan was deathly, menacingly silent as they all trekked toward the entrance of the mine. Finally, he spoke.
"So," he said, his voice dark and cold, "you are 'Justice.' As in, a demon? And you've taken over the dead body of a Grey Warden?"
"I am not a demon," Justice replied.
"Spirit, demon, what's the difference?" sneered Rolan. "I am shocked at the degree of depravity in the Grey Wardens. A blood magic ritual to join, mages larking about unsupervised, and a Fade demon occupying a body! I cannot believe that a Cousland finds this acceptable. I thought better of that family, and I am sure the Lady Seeker in Orlais will be delighted to know about this."
"You really are an idiot, you know," Anders remarked as they reached the mine entrance. "You have two witnesses who can testify to the Warden-Commander of what you said about her, as well as that threat. The Templars and Seekers have no authority over the Grey Wardens."
"That might just change if they knew what went on," Rolan said. "And as for the two witnesses..." He drew his blade.
Justice and Anders were ready. Anders blasted Rolan with a powerful lightning spell as Justice charged forward, bearing Kristoff's sword—but the former Templar had a lot of practice fighting off magic, and his own use of lyrium had given him some immunity. He threw off Anders' spell quickly and blasted the mage back with another nauseatingly stunning Righteous Strike, or whatever it was, then began to engage Justice.
Anders was thrown to the ground. Until he could recover his strength and his mana, he could do little but watch helplessly as they battled. Kristoff had been a great warrior in life, but after death, his body had decayed and deteriorated, and it was now affecting Justice's swings. They were stiff and slow.
Time seemed to slow down for Anders as Rolan brought his blade down in an arc, first severing one arm from the dead body, then—as Justice staggered, shocked—the second. He raised his sword and his hand, and Anders felt the scent of lyrium fill the air again. He was going to blast Justice out of the body—or destroy him outright, just as if he really were a demon.
No, he thought. Summoning every ounce of mana, he struck the ground with his staff. A blast of intensely cold frost spread from it, encasing Rolan in a layer of ice. Anders fumbled in his pocket for a vial of lyrium, downed it, and blasted Rolan again, this time with a Crushing Prison. The combined onslaught of the two spells sent the former Templar unconscious.
Justice had fallen to his knees, unsure of what to do without arms. Anders bounded forward, seizing the sword from Rolan's fallen form.
"It's time," he said to the spirit. There was no doubt in his mind anymore. It was inevitable, fated from the very first time that Justice came to him in his nightmares. That was perfectly clear now. The first nightmare had even been about a horrible thing that had happened to her, his beloved, because of the great injustice of Circle policy. Now that he had failed to get justice for them in life, this was what must happen. He must avenge his lost family—beginning with this person who had started it for him, and who had now attempted to slay both of them.
"You should not do this on impulse," Justice protested.
"I have thought about it. It's the only way. You are going to die otherwise... especially now that that bastard has done that to this body. I owe you, and... we already have a connection. I trust you. Just... tell me what I need to do."
Justice considered before finally nodding. "You must enter the Fade."
Anders glanced back at Rolan, making sure that he was not about to awaken. It would be disastrous if he saw this while both of them were out of commission. "Yes," he agreed. "Naturally."
The light isn't right. It's harsh and violent. This isn't right.
No, it is. This is the sun.
Why is everything suddenly different?
I am Anders.
I am Justice.
We are both.
The swirling began to slow, and finally, he was able to disentangle the strands of identity from each other. Some things were permanently melded together, it seemed, like the burning drive to bring justice to mages, but others... memories... were different.
Hello, old friend. Yes, that was his voice, only his.
It is done, the spirit replied.
Anders blinked. His skin was crackling blue, and he heard, more strongly than ever before, the voice in his head.
He also heard sounds in the physical world. Rolan was stirring at last. He grabbed his staff. What would his magic be like now?
The former Templar got to his feet, staring first at the body that had been Warden Kristoff, then at the mage before him whose eyes were glowing blue-white. "What have you done, you unnatural monster?" he roared.
Anders had had enough. He would not listen to any more of this ignorant zealot's raving. Images of her, horribly distorted, deformed, no longer herself, filled his mind as he advanced on the former Templar. He felt half in the Fade already.
"You," he snarled. His voice sounded odd, deeper, but he did not think too hard about that. The rush of rage was too heady. "It wasn't enough for you to tear me away from her, ruining and probably ending her life? You also tried to kill us?"
Rolan backed away. "I knew you were bad news, and I joined to watch you! Rylock told me that Cousland made you a Warden despite that stunt with the rage demon—and don't deny it; I may not have been in the tower, but I'm sure you did it. You mages are capable of anything. And what do you mean, 'us'?" He glared. "You've become an abomination, haven't you?"
The word "abomination" was like detonating a bomb. When Anders spoke again, his voice was definitely not his own, not remotely. He knew that Fade light must be blazing out of his eyes. "I am no abomination!" Filled with the Spirit of Justice—becoming a Spirit of Justice, Anders felt, as he was oddly shoved into the back of his own mind while the other being took over his body—he opened his palm and cast a fireball at the former Templar strong enough to melt metal.
The fireball had decreased in intensity in its path through the air, and when it struck the man, it did only ordinary fire damage to him. However, it did stagger and disorient him. Justice let out a guttural roar and charged the man.
The next few minutes were vague, a cloud of rage, bursts of intense magic, blood, gore, crunching sounds, rips, and screams—two screams at first. He, or Justice, lunged forward with a snarl of rage and pulled at something silver, oblivious to the pain that it caused in his palms; then when that gave way with a metallic snap, he grabbed pieces of it and stabbed repeatedly. The screams of the man on the ground intensified. It irritated him; how dare this one complain about his suffering after the suffering that he had inflicted on others? It was justice that he should suffer. Anders felt a heady burst of Fade energy, heard an explosive crunch, saw a red cloud, and with that, suddenly the second screaming voice was silenced.
The horrific image Anders had invented of Caitlyn Hawke as a broodmother pulsed in his brain as he continued to pound with violent, spattering crunches. His hands hurt more and more with each blow, but that did not deter him. Images of her father, so accepting of his mage children, so unlike his own, the kind of father he'd always wanted and almost, almost had, dead, all because he'd wanted to get Anders' phylactery away from the Templars; then the dead body of her little sister; then the son he had never seen, their child, whose name he didn't even know and probably never would, probably one of those decaying heads of children that the darkspawn had hung from the tree in Lothering—all of this because of the evil, cruel, unjust Circle policies. Because this man had taken him away. A new surge of rage filled him, and he reached forward and tore something away in a hot red spray that momentarily blinded him.
At that, Anders drew back, realizing that the spirit had relinquished control. His heart was pounding and his breath was heaving. He glanced down at his fists. They dripped with blood, which had splattered all over his robes. His face was also wet, and he had a feeling that it was from blood spatter too. The reek of iron and copper filled the air and assaulted his nostrils.
There were also... things that weren't blood, he realized. Something solid but fibrous squished wetly beneath his boot. A piercing, throbbing pain from one hand suddenly grabbed his attention, and he noticed that there was a broken tooth embedded in his palm, in the soft flesh at the base of his left thumb. That was definitely not his. Hair—dark hair, not his hair—that was matted and smeared with blood adhered stickily to his hands and wrapped around some of his fingers. He wrung his hands fiercely, imagining that this would somehow clean them, momentarily refusing to accept reality. Horror dawning on him, he blinked and dared to look at the... thing that had been Warden Rolan.
His armor had been bent in places, sometimes snapped, the broken jagged ends of his bracers forced into his flesh. His breastplate was completely destroyed, and... Anders could not bring himself to look that closely, but from the amount of blood, the broken ribs sticking out, and the massive red cavern, he guessed that Justice had torn his chest open and probably ripped out his heart, based on the amount of blood present. The—organ, face the facts, that's what it is, you murderer, he told himself in disgust—under his boot squished again. He did not want to look too closely to see what else he, or Justice, had torn out of Rolan's body. That kind of prurient fascination with gore was for sick, depraved killers, the worst of the worst—which he wasn't—no, he wasn't—
Yes you are, his mind whispered back.
The man's head was... basically nonexistent now. Anders, or Justice, had crushed it like a gourd, and from the looks of it, had hit it with dozens of blows, physical and magical, long after the man was dead. There was basically nothing left, just a horrific spatter of blood, brains, and bone, all smeared into clumps of hair. At least, that was all that he could stand to identify.
He could not take any more of it. His breath catching in his chest, his heart pounding now from something entirely different from the rush of violence, Anders backed away from the... body. His back slammed against a tree trunk.
Why is there blood on my hands? I am a Healer. There should not be blood on my hands, he thought. In an almost manic gesture, he tried to wipe the blood off his fists, to clean his hands, but only dirtied his robes even further. This isn't justice. Justice would've been to slit his throat or stick a blade in his heart. This is not justice; this is murder. This is vengeance.
Even good spirits can become corrupted...
What have I done? What in the name of the Maker have I done?
There was nothing to do now but return to the Vigil to face the Warden-Commander. It was an ignominious end for his great plans, but... perhaps it was all that he deserved now that his first act had been to commit violent, gory murder. Justice was even more upset. How could that have been my action? the spirit thought, deeply troubled.
It's my fault, Anders thought in reply. I've ruined you. I ruin everything I touch.
I was in control when that happened, Justice said sharply.
But I had already corrupted you.
I do not feel corrupted. I am not a demon. It was... a lapse. But... nonetheless... we must face justice for it. You are right about that.
Back at the Keep, Warden-Commander Cousland stared back at him, shocked at the story he related. He hung his head, casting his gaze at the floor, as he finished the narrative.
"I understand what the penalty is for killing a fellow Grey Warden," he said dully. "I... turned myself in so that you can issue the sentence."
Disturbed, Cousland turned aside, her brow furrowing and her eyebrows knitting together. The truth was, she felt that to some degree, she shared blame for this. It had been a terrible mistake to send the former Templar—the same one who had captured Anders, and who had a personal vendetta against Anders—on a mission with him and a Fade spirit, of all things. She had meant to force them to learn to get along, because she had faith that it could happen due to her experiences working beside Loghain and Nathaniel, but... sometimes people simply could not get along. Sometimes too much lay between them, and some things were unforgivable. Sometimes the only thing that could be done was... justice. If I'd had to recruit Rendon Howe himself, or any of his thugs who were at my family's castle that dark night, I couldn't have, she realized. And if Rolan did menace Justice and Anders, threatening to kill them so that he could tell outsiders about what I do as Warden-Commander... She shook her head. This was an unmitigated disaster. She also thought that perhaps she should have given Anders more time to grieve after seeing the Mother, instead of forcing him to deal with the person who was partially responsible for what had happened to his lover and child. Perhaps she also should have let him check a few more ports until he gave up on his own. She had meant well, but it had gone horribly wrong.
Finally she turned back around to face them. "You have confessed to murdering a fellow Grey Warden," she said. "As you know, the penalty for that is death."
Anders closed his eyes. So be it. Perhaps it should have come long ago.
"Due to extenuating circumstances, I hereby commute this sentence to lifelong exile from Ferelden," she continued. Anders' eyes snapped open in surprise. A wry, sad smile formed on her face as she spoke. "I do not expel you from the order, mind. It is a lifelong oath. I urge you to go to the Free Marches, specifically to Kirkwall, to aid the Blight refugees as a Healer." She gazed sternly at him. "If you choose to do this, I will provide an official order for you, sealed with the seal of the Grey Wardens, which will provide safe passage, entry to Kirkwall, and security from Templars in the city."
I will probably never see Caitlyn again, he thought, seizing on this offer from Cousland like a drowning man grasping at a rope, but Karl is there. I might be able to help him. I could get him out of the Kirkwall Circle. And I can help the Blight refugees, as she suggested. I can make amends. I may spend my whole life doing it, but I can try. "Yes," he gasped. "Thank you, Commander. Thank you."
She gazed sadly at him. "I will have it ready for you forthwith. Anders... I hope you find peace."
Notes: A lot to say here, so accept my apologies for the length of this note.
Yes, I think Elissa was cruel to take him to fight the Mother so that he would presume this is what happened to Caitlyn and therefore become more determined as a Warden. I think she was out of line to use a personal tragedy in such a way. However, I didn't intend Elissa's nature to be cruel (she is with unhardened Leliana, after all), and I think her exile of Anders to Kirkwall under official Warden protection shows her better side. She's very traumatized too and is forcing herself to be tough and focus on duty to hide from it, so she thinks Anders should do the same. It can also be argued that she tried to do the right thing as a commander. A Warden under her command was distracted from his duties, and she rationally didn't think there was any hope that he would have a happy conclusion to his search.
I've got a number of problems with the pre-DA2 short story about Anders' merge with Justice. In this fic, Rolan acted on his own. He had a messed-up personal obsession with Anders and was part of a lawless, fanatical faction of Templars (which I alluded to in chapter 5 when Anders was captured). Anders knows all this and does not speculate otherwise here, unlike in the short story.
This is the absolute nadir and there is nowhere to go now but up. They meet again in Kirkwall in the next chapter.
Is anyone enjoying this fanfic? If so, please let me know! I kind of feel like I'm screaming into the void by posting chapters.
