Notes: The song inspiration for this chapter's title is "Safe and Sound" from the soundtrack for the first Hunger Games film. At this point in her evolution as a character, I see some pretty strong parallels between this Hawke and Katniss Everdeen. (That won't last. My Hawke, as we'll see, is a lot more interested in being a political leader and is not nearly as selfish or shortsighted as Katniss.) And Anders has Peeta's sweetness and Gale's righteous vindictive fury in one.

A lot of the chapter involves discussion of events that have already happened. Normally I don't like to explicitly write out a conversation about previous events, but here, I concluded that I couldn't have the emotional impact I wanted without doing so.

This is a major, super important emotional chapter, and that being the case, I'm nervous about whether I have done everything that such a scene needs. Please let me know how it goes over!


Chapter 12: No One Can Hurt You Now


All the way from the clinic to the Amell-Hawke house, Anders had been thinking about what awaited him at the end. He was a little disappointed that Caitlyn was so silent, but he supposed that it was understandable. She must be experiencing quite an emotional conflict about seeing him again, he thought with a pang, since she had tried to set him ablaze upon discovering who her Warden contact was. That kind of wrath could not be spur-of-the-moment; she must have been angry for a long time. He recalled the contents of one of the two pouches he had stashed in his pack; it seemed that his first guess a year ago about why the ring and handmade hair clip had been in the abandoned cabin was correct after all. He was just glad she hadn't sold the ring. He really hoped that his account of the past four years would help her put aside at least some of her fury with him.

As they approached the house, his thoughts shifted. He was going to meet his son for the first time. The boy would be three years old now. Anders felt sick for a moment about that; he had known, of course, that if his child had survived, he had missed the entirety of his babyhood—but it was somehow different to actually see the proof of that. And with the Taint, he's it, Anders thought in anguish and outrage. I'll never get to deliver my own child. I'll never hold a child of mine as a baby, see his first steps, or hear his first words. This is what is done to mages in the south. Caitlyn, of course, was a mage too, but she was lucky enough to have had two parents who would not turn in their own children, making them traceable for life. At least she got to see these things, he thought—but he was still furious, and Justice was also furious, that he had missed most of her pregnancy and his child's earliest years.

But he was going to see his child at last. As recently as an hour ago, he had assumed that would never happen because child and mother no longer lived—or, in her case, far worse. He was going to meet his little one. Malcolm—Mal—is old enough to talk with me, he thought with a sudden rush of anxiety. What does he know about me? Has she told him anything? Carver must have been the only man he's known. Will there be a place for me, or is his uncle already his father figure? Anders dismissed that worry; the boy was three. There was plenty of time for them to forge a lasting bond, at least. I wonder what he's like. I wonder what he looks like. They most likely wouldn't know if he is a mage, and I won't care either way, but... I kind of hope he turns out to be. I think that would make it easier for us to bond.

His heart was pounding when Carver Hawke returned from the inside to tell them they could come in. He glanced quickly at Caitlyn; she too was visibly nervous. Well... he didn't wish any more emotional difficulty on her, but somehow it made him feel better to know that she was also uneasy. That meant she was not indifferent to him or intending to dismiss him immediately. Despite her fireballs in the clinic, she was willing now to give him a chance.

They stepped inside, and he instantly scanned the dusty, dark little house. It was much smaller than their cabin in Lothering. Ah—there was Mistress Hawke, who was fully grey now. She was staring at him as if not quite believing her own eyes. At least she doesn't look angry with me, he thought—though he wondered if that might change once he had to relate one particular detail of his story concerning her late husband. One door was closed, and he supposed that this must be the uncle's room, where he was sleeping off his drink. It was a shame that they had to live with a drunk and a gambler... but if this Deep Roads expedition bore the fruit they hoped, that would not last indefinitely.

He gazed to one side, and his breath caught in his chest. A little boy with strawberry blond hair sat on the floor, rolling a ball in front of a mabari, who dutifully and gently retrieved it for the child. There he is, Anders thought in awe. He suddenly felt blood rush to his head and leaned against the table for support as he stared ahead.

The child had not yet noticed the people who had just entered the house, entranced as he was with the dog. The mabari uttered a friendly, guttural woof as the boy patted him and scratched behind his ears. He must be a dog person like his mother, Anders thought, surprised that he would have such a lighthearted thought.

There was a light touch on his arm. He glanced away from the little boy and faced Caitlyn. "I should go to Mal and talk to him alone," she said quietly.

He nodded, unable to speak. Caitlyn glanced at him, Carver, and her mother, then set her staff down in the corner and stepped over to her child.

The little boy finally noticed that a person he didn't know was in the house. He brought his right index finger to his mouth to suck on it, green eyes widening as he stared at Anders, unsure what to think. Caitlyn sat down on the floor in front of him.

"Who's that, Mamma?"

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, exhaling in a shuddery breath. "He's your father, Mal."

Mal dropped the hand that was at his mouth. His lips parted. "Really?" he whispered.

She nodded, forcing a smile on her face even as a knot formed in her chest. "Really. He lives in Kirkwall too now. He just arrived a few days ago, and we found him today." When Mal continued to stare silently across the room at Anders, who clearly was desperate to come over, she leaned down. "Would you like to meet him? I think he would like to meet you."

The child nodded immediately and emphatically, jumping to his feet. She turned around and gestured for Anders to come. Leaving his staff next to hers, hurriedly, he made his way into the common area and squatted on the floor.

"Wow," he breathed, reaching out and almost touching the boy's reddish-gold hair. "Both of ours..." He doesn't know me yet. Don't be too familiar too soon, he thought. He drew back his hand, collected himself, and smiled at his son. "Hello. I've heard your name is Malcolm."

The boy nodded. "People call me Mal." His tone of voice was very matter-of-fact, and he was trying his utmost to sound mature and nonchalant. The effect of seeing his little son trying so hard to impress him made his heart thump.

"Of course. I'm Anders. Nice to meet you." He held out his hand for an almost ridiculously mismatched handshake, which made the boy giggle and relax, shedding the façade. Anders smiled sadly. "You're named for your grandfather."

Mal nodded. "Mamma told me so. Guess what? She told me I'm named for you too, and it's true! My second name is the same as yours!"

"Is it?" He gave Caitlyn a surprised smile, then turned back to Mal. "I didn't know that!"

Mal gazed at Anders. "Did you know my grandpa? They tell me stories about him."

A strangled cry almost escaped from Anders at that innocent question. "Yes," he said. "Before you were born, I knew him. He was a good man."

Caitlyn stood up and backed away, watching with an increasingly painful mix of emotions. It shouldn't have been like this. He should have held him as a newborn, the very first to do that, even before I did. I'm happy that this has happened against all odds, even if it's late—but what will it mean for me now? What do I even want it to mean? Amid her warring feelings, sadness seemed to be the dominant emotion, though, and a lump was forming in her throat.

"May I call you 'Father'?" the child asked hesitantly.

He closed his eyes, trying not to cry. "If you want to," he choked out. "I would like that. I haven't had the chance to be a father to you, and I hope you and your mamma will let me."

"Do you love us?"

"Yes," he said at once, feelingly. "I do."

"Then why did you go away?"

Caitlyn could not stifle the cry from escaping her throat. She hurried away, but she still heard what he said.

"Oh, darling," he burst out in spite of his resolution not to be too familiar too soon, "I didn't mean to. I didn't want to. People took me away and then kept me from you for so long." His voice broke. "When I was free of those people, I went to your old house..." He trailed off.

"The house in Ferelden?"

Anders nodded. "I went there, but... you were gone. I thought... I didn't know where to look for you then," he corrected himself at once. He forced a smile on his face. "But here you were! Just exactly where I went."

Mal sniffled and cuddled against Anders. "I'm glad you're here. I love you too."

Another sob wracked the mage as he embraced his son. Caitlyn finally forced herself to look back. His eyes were closed, and tears were streaming down his face. He was shaking faintly from the sobs, but Mal didn't mind. She saw that the child's eyelashes were also damp, and his face was red, as Anders cradled the small reddish-blond head next to his chest.

She felt tears finally fall from the inside corners of her own eyes. Wiping them, she walked through the room, opened the door, and stood outside in the threshold, leaning against the house.

What are we going to do? she thought. The happy, blissful, quiet life we expected is lost forever. Our old lives were shattered and some of the pieces were lost. How can we ever put them back together in a way that feels whole? I'm different... and he must be different too. I've been angry and sad for so long... and I still don't know that I shouldn't be. His feelings about meeting Mal are real; that can't be faked, and he claims that he was kept from us, but what has he been doing for the past four years? And even if he can forgive me for... certain things... how can I ever forgive myself?

She stood outside until the inclination to cry disappeared. Taking a deep breath, she returned to the house.

It had already been very late when they returned from Darktown, and Mal had quickly fallen asleep. Anders had picked him up and sat down on a chair, holding his sleeping son with an awed, happy-yet-melancholy expression on his face. He was no longer crying either, but it was obvious that he had been. His pack was no longer on his back, but instead rested at his feet, open.

Carver and Leandra were also seated in the common room. She gave them quick nods and took a seat across from Anders, who opened his eyes at her approach.

He gently adjusted the sleeping child to a more comfortable position and took a deep breath. "I... guess I should start at the beginning," he said in a quiet voice, his gaze cast to the floor. "I should warn you... you probably won't like some details of this."

Caitlyn was instantly on her guard. So there are indeed things that will make us angry, she assumed at once. Well... better to have it out.

When he had no response from any of the family, Anders sighed uneasily and continued. "Cait mentioned in my Darktown clinic that Carver had to bring home his father's body."

"Mentioned," she thought wryly. Diplomatic way of putting it.

"I don't know what... he found," he said delicately, "or what you believed... but, well, I'm probably the last person in Thedas who would ever defend Templars, but they didn't kill him. The ones who captured me probably would have," he said with a glower, "but he was already gone."

"He was laid on a pyre," Carver said, "and I presumed that meant it had been something else, and that the Templars had captured you before you could burn him."

Anders nodded, his face pained at the memory. "That's exactly right. I regret that you had to see that, Carver—your own father."

Carver sighed. "It was painful, but... I thought about it afterward, and I guess I'm glad that you didn't get the chance to burn him. Since you didn't get to come back, I mean. At least we were able to know it was him."

Anders forced a bitter smile on his face. "Well, I don't know if you were able to deduce any more, but... I'll tell you. Before I was captured, a band of ghouls attacked us on the road." He gazed out at the shocked, disturbed expressions on the faces of all three Hawkes, feeling bad for what he was telling them, but having no choice now but to see it through. "We both survived the attack itself. But... yes," he said, as Caitlyn's eyes widened, "he contracted the Blight sickness."

Her hands found their way to her mouth as her quick mind finished this part of the story. He realized that she had figured it out, but he still had to say it himself, just to get it out. "He insisted that I... end it... before he became a ghoul himself. I didn't want to," he pleaded to all of them, but especially Leandra, who was horrified. "I thought about calling off the phylactery mission and going to Denerim to try to find the Grey Wardens... but he was very certain that he wouldn't have made it that far." His voice broke. "I'm so sorry. It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do," he said in a whisper. "I understand if you can't forgive this, but please believe me that I didn't want to give up. But I was able to honor his last wish." One of his last wishes, he thought unhappily, recalling the other two promises Malcolm had asked him to make. I do love her... I kept that one too... but I couldn't protect the family. "He died himself, fully in command of his mind," he finally managed.

Leandra had tears in her eyes. She was seated closest to him, and at this, she got up from her seat to give him a brief hug. He could not return it, since he was still holding his child, but he managed a sad smile.

"And now you are a Grey Warden," Carver muttered.

Anders believed he knew what Carver was thinking. "Yes—too late." He sighed again, then noticed the urn resting on Gamlen Amell's hearth. His eyebrows rose in recognition, but he continued his story. "After that, I was captured and taken back to the Circle." He decided to skip over the parts about Karl; he would need to tell Caitlyn about that later, but it was not something for her mother and brother to know unless she chose to tell them. "I tried to come back. I escaped two more times, but they caught me. One time was after my Harrowing. I made it to the Bannorn before they found me. They locked me up in my room, in solitary confinement, for a year after that one."

"Solitary confinement?" Leandra repeated, appalled. Her husband had told her many things about the Circle over the years, but this was one of the worst she had ever heard. Would that not increase a mage's risk from demons?

Caitlyn was remembering Leliana's accounts of Anders during this time that she'd had from the Mages' Collective through the apostate Sketch. After his Harrowing. This was when she could not explain why he was not assigned outside the Circle as a Healer. They had locked him up! She felt a pang at her own memories of this period. I was so sure that he was there because he chose to be there—but no, that's not actually true, she felt with a second, harder pang. I wanted to believe that. I tried to convince myself of that. And he really was suffering all along. She lifted her gaze to him. I'm sorry, she thought, hoping that he could see it in her eyes.

"It was a hard year," Anders said, trying not to focus too much on that. Justice had helped him to muddle through it, but that was another detail that he didn't want to tell the Hawkes, at least tonight. "I finally got out after the Blight had begun, though I didn't know that at the time." He rubbed his forehead unhappily; this was one of the more difficult parts to talk about.

Caitlyn finally realized that she had to say something. "You said in the clinic that you went to Lothering, but we had just left," she said, trying to make her voice sound strong, though it was still uneven. There were too many terrible memories associated with their final days in Lothering: the breakup, Leliana's astute analysis that she was still in love with Anders, her departure with the Grey Wardens, the letter from her about the Circle of Magi that never came, and then the escape itself—Bethany's death in defense of little Mal. She kept her gaze raised to his; it was hard to look him in the eye, but she felt that she had to. She could not stand appearing weak. She was already starting to feel pangs of shame about her own long-festering anger with him.

He nodded, keeping his eyes on hers. "I did," he said. His gaze broke with hers and darted to his open pack again, but only for a moment. He took a deep breath, but found himself unable to speak. He cuddled Mal, closed his eyes, and winced.

Caitlyn tried to help him. There was something important, she could tell, but it was also something that was hard for him to say. "You said you saw Bethany," she said. Her voice was a whisper now.

He swallowed hard. "More than that," he said, forcing himself to look at them. "I... carried her back home and gave her a pyre."

Leandra let out a cry at this. Anders thought for a moment about whether to interrupt his story, but it was the right time for this. Carefully making sure he did not wake up little Mal, he leaned to the side and down, drawing a leather bag out of his pack.

"Oh, Maker—" Caitlyn burst out. Her eyes were wide with shock and emotion. Carver, too, was gasping in astonishment.

Leandra got up from her seat again and leaned over him, hugging him as she sobbed. "My poor little girl," she whispered, touching the drawstrings of the bag that held Bethany's ashes. "I hated so, so much to leave her behind." She wiped her nose. "We're all here now." Another sob escaped her throat as she picked up the bag and carried it to the hearth, setting it beside the urn. She shook from her sobs as she knelt next to it. The others were silent, no one wanting to break the moment.

At last she rose, wiped her eyes, and returned to her seat. Anders gazed unhappily at each of the Hawkes. "I'm just sorry I wasn't there," he said. "I wish I could have brought her back to you, rather than her ashes." He felt his eyes grow hot again.

Caitlyn felt utterly horrible now, staring at the leather bag. He gave her a pyre and kept her ashes for a year. He held onto her ashes in the hope that he would see us again and return her to us. I, however, held onto a grudge. She was unable to even look at him now.

"I went to Denerim, West Hill, Highever, and Amaranthine to look for your names in passenger manifests," he continued once he was able to speak. "I didn't see them. I was actually wondering..."

"We left from Gwaren," Carver said. "I know it was strange. The entire journey was strange."

Anders sensed that there was a story here, but he still had an additional year to account for. "Highever and Amaranthine weren't open to outsiders for a while," he said, glad to have something strictly factual to discuss that wasn't directly related to the Hawkes. "I stayed in West Hill until they were, and while there, I learned all the news about the Blight. One thing I learned... I don't know if you heard this later or not... but something went wrong in the Circle after I escaped."

"We did hear rumors here in Kirkwall," Caitlyn ventured. She seemed to like the change of subject too, he noticed. "No one could tell us anything directly, though."

"I'm sure the Circle authorities wanted to hush it up," he agreed, with a return of his old glower at the unceasing wickedness of the Circle and the Templars. "The Warden-Commander wanted to move on and not relive the Blight, especially since a problem arose in Amaranthine so soon. I'll tell you a bit about that," he added as her eyebrows rose. "As for the Circle, I was told that a secret group of blood mages took it over, killing most of the mages."

Leandra gasped. "How terrible!"

He clutched his sleeping child very close and glowered. "And that is where they kept me against my will for three years," he muttered. "That is where they thought I had to be instead of with our child—with you," he said to Caitlyn. "The Circle of Ferelden was almost destroyed."

"And you would have been there, among them, if you hadn't escaped," Caitlyn said, eyes wide with horror.

He nodded. "The Templars captured me in Amaranthine after they discovered that I was still alive, but the Hero of Ferelden was there at the same time. She conscripted me into the Wardens."

"What happened in Amaranthine?" Caitlyn asked.

"There were rogue groups of darkspawn," he said. "Intelligent darkspawn, who had leaders. It was very disturbing."

"Intelligent?"

"Many of them could speak."

The Hawkes looked disgusted. "Speak?" Carver repeated, his face curdling.

"It was unsettling," Anders said, not wanting to belabor this. It was another story for a different time. Only a few hours ago, he had believed—but no, he wouldn't think of that. "But we—the new Wardens, the Commander, and Warden Loghain—managed to defeat them. I couldn't continue my search for you while that was going on." He decided not to tell them that he had assumed they were all lost. "Warden Cousland sent me here to help the Blight refugees... and here we are."

That's not all, the other person whispered in his mind. You're avoiding talking about me.

I am not going to tell them that yet, Anders replied. It's too much, too soon. Justice seemed to accept that, at least.

The Hawkes were silent, each of them thinking about what he had said.

Carver had the least emotional attachment to any of this. For the half year that Anders had lived with them, they had not gotten along particularly well, but toward the last he had come to accept the apostate as a future official family member. When that had not come to pass, he had felt for his sister, and he supposed that for the sake of her and his nephew, he was glad Anders was alive and well, but he had not missed Anders in his own right. His previous difficulty with Anders prevented him from feeling the same degree of gratitude that Leandra did for Bethany's ashes. He felt bad about this, but he was actually a bit annoyed that this man he did not particularly like had earned their mother's affection by bringing his twin sister's ashes to them. That task should have fallen to him—and he knew that it couldn't have, that they'd had to survive, but he still felt a sense of inadequacy and failure. And finally, one more feeling gnawed at the back of Carver's mind: Yet again, everything is all about my older sister and what happens in her life. Caitlyn might be dead set on recovering the Amell estate, which was all very well, but this reunion tonight just reinforced to Carver that he had to find his own path wherever they lived.

Leandra was happy in a somber way that Anders had brought the ashes. He was right; it certainly was nothing like having her youngest child back, but this would help with their collective grief. Even if the Hawkes themselves had not been able to do justice for Bethany, Anders had, and he was almost family, in Leandra's opinion. It was a relief to know that her daughter's body had not been picked apart by Tainted animals, but had been given a respectful treatment only a few days after her death and her ashes kept for a year by a young man for whom Leandra harbored fondness. Leandra was surprised at what Anders had told them about poor Malcolm's death, but it had been four years, and the grief was no longer raw. She certainly did not hold it against him, and in fact, was sorry that he'd had to do it. Aveline, after all, had had to end Ser Wesley's suffering from the Blight sickness in the same way, and it had been brutal for her. And watching as Anders held little Mal so close, wanting so much to be a father when that had been denied to him for all of his child's life, Leandra found her romantic heart—the same heart that had fallen in love with a Fereldan mage twenty-five years ago—hoping that he and Caitlyn could somehow make it work again.

Caitlyn's feelings were the most turbulent. Mainly, her guilt was becoming much stronger now than her anger. I turned to somebody else while he was locked up in solitary confinement, she thought miserably. I left behind his mother's ring and the gift he made for me, and he gathered my little sister's ashes and kept them. I held onto a grudge while he was trying to get back to us. Leliana was right all along, she thought. I thought she was being naïve when she tried to tell me that he might have been locked up, but she was right—and I should have admitted it to myself. I knew Anders. I knew how much he hated the Circle. He wouldn't have chosen to stay, especially knowing that we were out there. I made myself believe that because it temporarily made me feel better to be angry—and even worse, I acted on that anger. She felt sick at that realization. He's here—but I've forfeited the right to have anything with him ever again. It hurt, because the narrative he had given tonight reminded her of why she had cared for him in the first place.

However, the old anger, her armor, was not defeated so easily. Wait a minute. He wasn't telling us everything, she suddenly thought. I don't know what he skipped, but he skipped something. She clung to this intuition like a lifeline against drowning in her own guilt.

Mal squirmed, yawning, as he woke up. His first reaction upon waking up was surprise, then confusion—and Caitlyn and Anders could see the exact moment that he remembered who was holding him. A smile formed on his face as he closed his eyes and tried to return to sleep.

"Lucky," Caitlyn said quietly, referring to his smile. As much as he had already suffered in his short life, as many shocks as he'd had, he was still young enough that they would not hurt him as much as they hurt his elders, especially since he had both of his parents at last.

Anders chuckled sadly. The little boy squirmed again, though, and Anders realized that his arms had become somewhat numb. Caitlyn rose from her seat to pick him up. "It's well past bedtime for him," she said. "I generally don't let him sit up this late..." She wondered, momentarily, why she had said that. She didn't need to justify her parenting to Anders. He had not even been here.

A clap of thunder sounded, startling everyone. In the next second, the telltale sound of a deluge began. Anders closed his eyes. He did not look forward to walking back to the clinic in the rain, even if some of that walk would be underground. Come to think of it, some of the Darktown thugs and gangs might target him if word got out that he was a Grey Warden. Wardens were paid, and paid well—and Lady Cousland had promised to continue sending him his stipend as long as he sent reports to her about the refugees and any darkspawn-related activity he happened to see. The Darktown criminal element might have learned that he had coin. But... he was a mage, and he could defend himself.

Caitlyn emerged from the room that she shared with her mother and her son, whom she had just laid down on a mattress. She sat in her chair again, sighing and looking at the floor unhappily.

"I should go," Anders said, rising.

"What?" Leandra exclaimed. "It's pouring! What are you thinking? Of course you must stay with us."

Caitlyn recalled that he had no patients remaining overnight. Unless he took people who came in the middle of the night, he had no urgent need to return, and she felt that she owed him this tiny little thing, at least. "She's right," she croaked. "Unless you accept patients at your clinic at any hour."

He shook his head. "I wouldn't turn people away, but officially, it's not open." He forced a smile on his face. "Thank you." He turned to Caitlyn. "Could you and I talk alone?"

Leandra instantly rose from her seat and hurried away. Carver scowled as he retreated to his loft. Caitlyn took a deep breath. Here it is, then. As her mother and brother dispersed, she steeled herself for the conversation.

They moved to a quiet, remote corner in the house near the front entrance. Their conversation would be muffled by the rainfall.

"Cait," he said quietly, "I need to tell you some things."

"Hmph. I thought you hadn't quite said everything." The tough remark felt good to say for a moment, but immediately afterward, not so much. Why do I keep trying to hurt him? she thought. I'm only hurting myself.

Still, he did not seem to take offense. Perhaps her guess was right. "Things... happened to me," he said brokenly. "I'm not the same person I used to be." He stopped, momentarily unable to continue.

She sighed. "Neither am I. I'm not satisfied with a simple life now, nor even with wealth for its own sake. The past four years—for both of us—have made me determined to get back my mother's estate so that I can have some power here to change things for people like us."

"For mages," Anders said sadly.

"We shouldn't have to live in terror of being separated, taken away from our families and our children, torn from the Fade and stripped of feeling and magic because somebody is afraid of us. Maybe others can live that simple life if I succeed... but not me. Not now."

He looked proud and resolute for a moment. "I feel exactly the same," he said quietly. More than you know, he added in thought. For a moment, he meant to tell her about Justice tonight after all. He tried to gather his courage and decide how to say it.

"But aside from that... I lost my father. I lost my little sister. We don't have a home of our own anymore; this is Uncle Gamlen's. I've had to raise Mal... and... there's something else." Why am I telling him this? she thought in a panic. Because I have to, she answered herself at once. "Anders... in Lothering... there was a person, a woman..."

His eyes widened in surprise. "You and her?" Instantly he thought he had a guess, as she nodded, wincing. Could it be? "Was it Warden Cousland's partner? The one who's now her partner, of course," he added.

She gaped. "You knew that?"

"No," he said at once, "but I was aware that she had met your family. The Warden-Commander said that she had asked about me at the Circle and that it was on behalf of someone else. I thought it had to be your family, since no one else in Lothering knew me."

Caitlyn's eyes fluttered shut. "Oh, Maker, she really did ask," she whispered. "She kept her promise." She had accepted a while back that Leliana probably had done so, and that the disaster at the Circle and the destruction of Lothering had prevented her from contacting the Hawkes, but it was still painful to have it confirmed. Her anger at Leliana, her belief that it had been a bard's false promise to get Caitlyn out of her hair so she could run off with the Grey Wardens, was also undeserved. "At the end of it, she promised me that she would. Anders, I'm sorry. I don't know what to say. I was lonely, and there was never anyone else, ever, not even once." Why did I need to reassure him of that? she asked herself. "I should have—"

His thoughts were tumultuous. On one hand, this made him feel marginally better about his own relationship with Karl, a source of guilt to him for a long time until he had believed the Hawkes dead or lost to the darkspawn. She had surrendered to loneliness too. However, what did it say that both of them had turned to somebody else in their loneliness? Did it mean anything? Anders was utterly certain that he would not have done it if they had been allowed to stay together, but both of them nonetheless had fallen into hopelessness and done so... "Hey. I understand, better than you think. Cait... I did too."

"What?" she whispered, daring at last to raise her gaze to his.

"When I was stuck in the Circle... there was a friend I'd had for a while, a male friend, the only person in the whole Circle who cared anything about me..."

"Oh," she finished. For some reason, she was glad it was not another woman. I can never be a man, so I can't compare myself to one. I could compare myself to another woman, though, and if he preferred another woman to me, it might be because he saw her as superior to me, not different. This dark trail of thought led to a startling conclusion that she instantly rejected. I'm not jealous, she thought insistently. I'm not. I actually feel a bit less guilty about my own relationship, knowing that he had one too. I'm not jealous of that man.

"We were Harrowed around the same time. It was... He was also the only one since you. I was lonely too. He is in the Circle here in Kirkwall now, and I'm hoping to get him out of that place."

She thought she understood what he was hinting at. The thought was not a relief to her; the idea of jealousy reared its head again. "And you want to start again with him after you do?"

"I was thinking I might try... until tonight," he said. "I believed you were all dead—well, actually worse than that. I can't even tell you what I thought had happened to you. Trust me," he said as she opened her mouth to ask, "you really don't want to know. I saw something terrible in the Deep Roads under Amaranthine, and... I'll leave it at that. It's not true, and that's what matters. We—this man and I—broke up after he realized that... well..."

That you still cared about me, she thought. "You went to Lothering after you got out," she said quietly, making the point for him without saying the words. "You searched all the northern ports."

He nodded. "There's... something else that happened to me." A grimace formed on his face. Should he really divulge this? His resolution faded. It was too much. A better time would come.

Her eyebrows rose on her forehead. "What is it?"

"I... can't tell you tonight," he said, wincing. "It's too much for one day. I won't keep this from you forever, Caitlyn... but because of it, I'm truly not the same person I used to be." Please, try to understand, he willed her. Try to see what I'm telling you. I think I had a lapse back in the clinic. Did you see? Do you understand what it meant?

She scowled, and Anders felt unhappy and futile. She either had not noticed what had happened in the clinic, or she had not understood what it meant. If she didn't understand—and he supposed he was not being very clear—then he would have to tell her later. He dreaded the prospect now.

He sighed, closing his eyes in resignation. "I understand that we can't go back immediately to what we were four years ago. I just want to be part of my son's life," he pleaded. "That's all I ask." For now, he added in a secret promise. He opened his eyes again to gaze at her imploringly.

She nodded. "Of course," she said. "That was what we wanted, wasn't it? To have him, to raise him..." Despite the bitterness of the words, she glanced fondly at the room in which Mal slept, then, turning back, noticed that he was doing the same. Guilt tugged at her yet again. "Anders... I have another thing to confess." And I'll actually confess it, unlike you and your secret, the voice that was determined to be angry added in spite of her. She pushed that voice aside; her anger and spite were a shell against her own guilt and pain. "The hair clip... your mother's ring... I'm so, so sorry—"

"I have them."

She gaped at him, genuinely shocked this time. "What?"

"I went inside your house in Lothering," he said. "I was looking for clues about where you might have gone—and if anyone had survived."

"You got past my wards?"

He had not thought about that. "They weren't in effect," he said. "Maybe they failed when your family moved, when it wasn't your home anymore. I found the ring and ornament inside and kept them along with your sister's ashes." He gazed into her eyes. "You said you regret leaving them behind. Do you want them back?" He was surprised at how cool his voice was suddenly, but now that he was among the Hawkes again, he found that he was a little bit angry at her for leaving behind his family heirloom. He had been unable to feel that until he was sure that they had survived.

She put up her hands in refusal. "Anders! I left your mother's ring behind out of spite. It's one of two things you had from her, and I abandoned it to the darkspawn because I believed that... you weren't... The point is, I don't deserve it."

His first instinct was to be annoyed that she had rejected it twice, first when she left it in Lothering and now here. It was a rejection of him, was it not? But a wave of melancholy replaced that quickly. He had hoped to return it to her and ask the question that he had promised her he would ask once he was truly free of the Circle, but now, he realized that this was unrealistic. It had been four years, and he was still keeping a big secret from her. They had changed, and they needed to get to know each other again. She's still herself, he thought, and so am I, but people change over the course of four years, and we didn't change side-by-side all along. "Very well," he said, "but the hair clip was a gift for you. It never belonged to anyone else. Please take that one." He reached into the small pack he kept on his belt and pulled out a small corner of the orange-dyed handkerchief she had given him four years ago after he had presented her with his own gift. "I still have this."

She breathed in and out, closing her eyes and nodding. "All right. If you want me to have it... I'll take it back. And I won't discard it this time."

He chuckled mirthlessly at that. "It's in my pack. Both of them are." He wanted to take her hand to walk with her across the room, but he did not. Instead they shuffled back to the dark corner where the pack rested in front of his chair. He fished in it until he found the second pouch that she had noticed him placing inside in his clinic. He opened it and shook out the ring and feathered hair clip. Her eyes widened even though she knew what to expect. She had truly never thought she would see them again. He passed the hair ornament to her and replaced the ring in the pouch.

She was holding it in her hand, running a finger along the feathers, when she noticed his yawn out the corner of one eye. She was relieved at the sight; it was a sign that she could change the subject to a practical concern rather than this difficult, fraught discussion. "Mother was right. The rain is still coming down, so you should stay here."

He glanced at the hard floor in front of the hearth. It was an unpleasant prospect. "I could wait for it to stop..."

She noticed what the problem was and huffed, but she supposed it was understandable on his part. "No, there's no need. Come on." She reached for his arm—making sure not to take his hand or even to take his arm in a tender way—and began to walk him back to the room that she, her mother, and Mal shared. "I have room on my pallet." It's a good deed, she told herself. I'm offering this to settle a bit of the debt between us. He did so much for us and suffered so much—and never harbored a grudge, to boot. This is to make it up to him just a bit, no other reason.

He stopped and stared at her. "You really don't have to do that."

She sighed. "Anders, you don't want to sleep on the hard, cold floor, and I don't blame you. You also don't need to walk in the rain and mud, or be in the tunnels of Darktown alone at night. Don't argue with me. I'm not afraid of having you nearby, you know."

"I didn't say you were... but you're not obligated..." He trailed off and stopped arguing as they crossed through the open door to the bedroom.

Leandra was asleep in a rather dingy little single bed. To the side of it where there was more space, two rag-stuffed pallets had been laid on the floor, one small one for Mal and a second one that was just big enough for two people. He felt a flicker of outrage on her behalf that their living conditions had been reduced to this... but he was tired, and that was a bed. And this is why she came to my clinic, he thought as he took off his coat and boots. She and her brother are going to seek out Deep Roads treasure to buy back their family estate. I have to help them with that.

She pulled off her own shoes and removed her belt and overdress, leaving a loose long-sleeved chemise. He tried not to stare. And no touching, Justice reminded him.

She sat down on the rag mattress and lay down, pulling a blanket over herself. He hesitated for a moment before doing the same, less than a foot from her. I'm going to let you take over in the Fade, he thought as he began to nod off. You won't let me do anything in my sleep or half-awake that I'd hate tomorrow... if she didn't burn me to a crisp first. The spirit seemed to agree; Anders sensed approval of his plan.

"I'm glad you are safe and sound," she said quietly, not loud enough to wake either of the other occupants of the room, but still jarring in the silence. He thought it sounded as if she felt that she had to say it.

"I'm glad you are too," he replied in a whisper. "And him. And the rest of your family." He hesitated again. "We'll figure out the future later." This is enough for now, he completed in thought.

She murmured almost inaudibly in agreement as they drifted off.