Notes: Song inspiration is "Still Breathing" by Green Day on Revolution Radio.

This is mostly a transitional chapter.


Chapter 15: Shine a Light Into the Wreckage


After that, things between Caitlyn and Anders were different and yet not so different.

She was relieved that there was no more uncertainty underlying the meaning of their interactions. He wanted to "try again," and she had agreed. That meant that once he had grieved for Karl and become accustomed to his new life in Kirkwall—and, she suspected, adjusted to the reality, rather than just the dream, of being a father—he would presumably flirt with her again and possibly even try to pick up exactly where they had left off in Lothering four years ago. When that time came, she would not have to worry about mistaking his intentions. It was a relief in that regard—as well as in the fact that she would have another chance with him. And I have some time to try to redirect my anger, she thought that evening. I don't want to be hostile to him now, but I'm under no illusion that this will last. I will be tested again in the future, when I've become used to him again and I'm distant enough from this last outburst that the fear has faded and I won't acutely fear losing him. That's when my promise will really matter, and I have to be prepared for it.

Now that she was seeing him on a daily basis again, all kinds of memories were returning to her mind, and she wanted very, very much to create more of them—for herself and for him, since he had suffered at least as much as she had. She had enjoyed her relationship with Leliana and had certainly had moments of happiness raising Mal, but she realized that she had not been truly joyful since Anders had left. Of course, the memories of their shared past were not exclusively happy anymore. They had once been, but now they were forever tinged with sadness and poignancy due to the many losses that they had suffered in the intervening years. Any future memories she formed with him probably would have that tinge of melancholy too, she realized. There would always be the recognition in the back of her mind that they had lost many people they had loved, lost four years together, lost certain other intangibles too—his fertility, his carefree attitude, our innocence—but she still hoped that, if they had not changed so much that it was impossible for them even to get on, they would both recover some of their lost joy if they managed to get back together. She was glad to have that as an additional goal to that of recovering her mother's family estate. Getting back the Amell estate would be satisfying, but it would be a cool satisfaction due to the family's losses of Malcolm and Bethany, and the fact that it was ultimately only a material thing. Being with Anders again would also not negate those losses, of course, but it would be a more important gain than a house or even a title. And Mal loves him, she thought. He should have both of his parents, and he should see us caring for each other. I grew up witnessing that; so should he. Still, she had consented to Anders' request not out of obligation, but because she truly wanted it, and she looked forward to its happening eventually.

However, that time was not yet. For now, their interactions were just as they had been for the past few days. He was too acutely sad and angry about many things—and she gathered that his "deal" with Justice was rather recent too, not long predating his arrival in Kirkwall. It was something for him to adjust to even more than her. All of this, plus the simple fact that they needed to learn how to relate to each other in their new circumstances, meant that there was little flirtatious teasing, no heartfelt professions of love, no suggestions of escaping to the Sundermount or elsewhere outside the city to gaze up at the stars and talk. It is different to know that it is temporary and doesn't mean he's no longer interested—or isn't sure if I am interested, she thought, but I just... I haven't realized, I guess, just how much I missed him. I was too buried in my anger to allow myself to feel that.

It was too soon, she knew. She missed the Anders of 9:27. This man was older, sadder, darker—but she was too. That in itself was oddly hopeful, because it meant that they had changed in a similar way—and she knew for a fact that they had both become much more determined to change things for mages, because of their own suffering, the suffering and losses others they had loved had endured, and, most of all, the very strong likelihood that their child would someday show magic too. Our bond, if we can form a new one, will be different in that regard, she thought. But... the couple who fell in love in Lothering were young, innocent, and... kind of shallow and selfish. We have the potential now for something much deeper and more profound than we had then.


The first signs that things were truly different between them came when Caitlyn began to pick up... what were they? She was not sure that her gradually growing team of boon companions counted as "friends," but perhaps that was only not yet. For some of them, anyway.

A final job from Athenril that turned out to be rather misleading—the recovery of what she had believed was smuggled lyrium, but instead, was an assist of an escaped former slave from Tevinter—had led to Caitlyn's "recruitment" of one such companion, the elf Fenris. He hated magic and his first comment to her after she had helped him attack magical constructs and shades in his former master's mansion was to demand to know what she wanted to get from her magic.

I want to get power in Kirkwall to make things better for people like me, she had thought, but she had known better than to say that to a man whose only experiences with magic and mages were extremely negative. Anders was present for this, and she had seen his disapproving reaction the very moment that the lie had escaped her lips, the quick assertion that "I'm just trying to get by." He was disappointed in her, and after they had left Fenris behind in the mansion, he had asked her about it—or, more accurately, confronted her.

"How can you not stand up for us?" he had said. "How can we accomplish our goals if we won't articulate them without shame or fear?"

She had wondered if this might be Justice talking, but she had not seen any signs that the spirit was about to assume control of Anders. "He was enslaved to a magister in a nation where mages have all the political power," she had said. "There is a time and a place for stating those goals openly, and this wasn't it. It would be different if I confronted Knight-Commander Meredith. This elf has suffered a lot, and I don't stand to gain anything by holding forth to him. I don't agree with his views, obviously, but I don't think declaring that I want power to improve mages' lot is quite the best way to make him see me differently than the other mages he has known."

Anders had scowled. "You were confrontational with me," he had muttered as he turned aside, "and I suffered too."

At that point, she had realized that he was feeling a spark of jealousy. It was astonishing to her that he perceived any cause for jealousy; she was actually rather put off by Fenris's ungrateful reaction—even though the elf had acknowledged that he was being ungrateful—and certainly could not imagine becoming more than friends with him, ever. She had also suffered and lost too much to want a romantic partner who fundamentally disagreed with an opinion of hers that was deeply personally significant to her, someone who, at best, would only ever see her as a rare exception to his own rule about mages.

"And I'm still sorry about that," she had said to Anders. "I promised I won't do it again. As for Fenris... to achieve our goal, we have to change people's minds when possible. I want to change his mind, at least about the two of us, and my father and sister if I ever talk about them to him. And Mal, when he first does magic." She had blinked, startled at what she had just said about her son, but she did not doubt it any longer. His fascination with Anders' clinic was not that of a dilettante; it was that of a person who instinctively knew that he could do the same thing but just had not learned how yet. "That's it. Trust me, you do not have anything to worry about."

Anders had glowered, somewhat embarrassed that he was that transparent, but he had accepted this.

His reaction to one other companion was better. After the initial meeting in his Darktown clinic, Anders had come to get along well indeed with Varric. That was a relief to Caitlyn, who—despite her own growing awareness that the dwarf was involved with quite a lot of shady dealing in Kirkwall—increasingly trusted him, and so did Anders, though perhaps that only came to pass once he could see for himself that Varric really was not pursuing Caitlyn.

Caitlyn had quite a basket of feelings to sort out after they met Merrill the Dalish elf. She had not particularly wanted to go to the Dalish camp on the Sundermount at all, because the purpose was to repay the favor that Flemeth had extorted from her family—and after Merrill had performed a ritual on the amulet Flemeth had given Caitlyn, resurrecting the old witch, Caitlyn wished she had broken her promise to Flemeth and destroyed the blasted amulet. Nothing good could come of Flemeth's reappearance in the world in the long term, she was sure. However, it seemed that Flemeth's business with her was done, and the trip had not been for nothing. Merrill returned with them, exiled from her clan. She was also a mage—and a blood mage, and the Dalish did not permit blood magic. Anders had not liked that at all, and if Caitlyn were completely honest with herself, she was uncomfortable with exactly how the elf had learned blood magic. A pride demon had taught it to her in the Fade, a fact which she was not at all ashamed to admit. She was not possessed by the demon, but Anders seemed to regard it as a matter of time. However, Caitlyn had not forgotten how horrifying it was to feel completely helpless and vulnerable after the Templar had drained her mana in the Chantry. If she knew how to tap an alternate source of magical power, she would never be helpless again, and perhaps Merrill could teach her the basics. Just the basics, she thought. Just enough to know how to use blood to power ordinary spells, nothing about controlling people's minds or the like.

She was also—she had to admit it—attracted somewhat to Merrill. She'd had the same reaction to the little elf that she had to Varric, and for that matter, to Anders himself four years ago when she first met him: the realization that she thought Merrill was quite cute. This was troubling to her. Am I actually more attracted to women than to men? she brooded after she realized her mild crush on Merrill. As handsome as she still thought Varric was, her mild crush on him had not advanced any further despite their burgeoning friendship. Indeed, the fact that it was becoming such a good friendship seemed to be killing off the crush. She... was not sure that the same thing would happen with Merrill, especially if she did ask Merrill for basic tutelage in forbidden magic. She would have to keep that from Anders if she did, since he deeply disapproved of blood magic—and a secret like that could come between them. It was frightening to her; she did not want to choose between being helpless and losing Anders—or, perhaps worst of all, not being bothered, because someone else had replaced him even when she knew he was alive and living in the same city with her. That would be unlike her relationship with Leliana, when he had been absent and she had convinced herself that she would never see him again; that would be replacing him indeed.

Settle down, she chastised herself while brooding over this. You're worried about it, terrified in fact, so that in itself is a guard against it. And blood magic is still dangerous even if it's not learned directly from a demon. It draws them in anyway. Better to just avoid being the victim of a Holy Smite again. That wouldn't have happened if I hadn't taken Anders out of combat, after all.

In addition, she knew that her attraction to Merrill was not as strong as the one she felt for him. She was not even sure it was as strong as the attraction she'd felt for Leliana, for that matter, based on the kinds of things she thought about. When she had brief, guilty fantasies about the Dalish elf, they were limited to thoughts of cuddling, hugs, and fairly chaste kisses on the cheek. This will pass, she realized. It will be like the thing for Varric and will subside into friendship as long as I allow that to happen and don't obsess over it. It will pass and Anders will never even know.

In retrospect, she supposed she should have known that it would not be that easy.


"I've noticed how much you look at Merrill," he said to her in the Hanged Man one day. His face was twisted with pain and jealousy, and she noticed that he had ordered whiskey instead of ale, as if he needed the extra punch—or thought he would. "I have to ask if there's anything between you and her. If..." He broke off, reconsidering his words. "That is..."

Anders is a lot more possessive than I realized, she thought suddenly as she stared at him. Sadness was present in his facial expression, but there was a great deal more jealousy. He had not reacted this way to learning about her relationship with Leliana, but then, that was in the past. It was not a direct threat to him that he had to face. Deciding quickly that truth was best, she responded without waiting, not wanting this to fester. "I like talking with her," Caitlyn admitted. "She knows magic that's very different from anything I ever learned from my father—and I don't mean blood magic," she added as his face twisted and his eyes widened in a glare. "My father was an apostate, but he was trained at the Circle like you. The magic that you and I know is basically similar even though we have different strengths. But the Dalish tradition is quite different from the Circle tradition, and it's fascinating to compare notes, one mage to another. I also... think she's cute, yes," she said, watching as he glowered at that. "But no, there is nothing between us except the beginnings of a friendship, and I don't intend to let there be anything more than that."

He breathed deeply, looking aside to the wall to collect himself and taking a sip. "If you're certain of that."

"I am." She felt a little guilty about the thought, but seeing Anders so manifestly jealous—even if there was actually nothing for him to be jealous of—made him even more attractive to her. It means he wants me, she thought in explanation. It also diminished the idle crush, making it perfectly clear to her that that was all that it was. She realized that if their reunion had progressed to the point of physical affection once again, they probably would have shoved each other against the walls possessively right now and—

Cool down, she told herself, taking a deep breath. She took a sip of her ale.

He had not noticed her sudden rush of desire, or perhaps it had not been physically apparent. As he turned back to her, a wry smile appeared on his face. "I'm simply not accustomed to sharing you with anyone except your own family," he remarked, still with that smile.

"They're friends."

"Who you think are cute."

She gave him a defiant shrug. "I can't help that. It doesn't mean anything, though."

"You were mightily jealous of Karl, I seem to remember."

She was a bit surprised that he could speak of that without agony in his face. It had been several weeks since that, and his grief certainly would have moderated, but still, perhaps this meant that they were closer to a major change in their interactions than she had known. "You had a relationship with him," she said. "I haven't had anything with Merrill—or Varric, for that matter—except friendship, nor do I mean to." She raised her eyebrows at him. "You are mightily possessive. I am not going to give up my friendships. I've had few enough of them in my life as it is."

His face fell in dismay. "I wouldn't ask you to do that! I just... wanted to know, that was all. Where you stood. And where we stood."

A pang of unhappiness hit her at that; she had not meant to kill the moment, but killed it was. He seemed to realize it too, from the regret that filled his features.

"I should go home," she said, her words pained, as she drained her flagon. "My mother has been taking care of Mal, but I think I have put that on her too much since we moved to Kirkwall. I've been busy, but..." She sighed. "You are welcome to visit tonight, as always."


The scene at Gamlen's house was tense, she noticed at once. Carver was sitting on the divan, a moody scowl on his face as he counted the Deep Roads buy-in coin they had saved from doing odd jobs around town. He knew perfectly well that it was not enough yet, Caitlyn thought, so this must be a distraction from something else. Her mother was glowering at Gamlen's closed bedroom door, and Mal was asleep in her lap. Caitlyn sat next to her mother, gazed down at him, and stroked his head gently. "What is the matter?" she asked.

Leandra shook her head, not wanting to talk about it. Her cheeks flushed faintly.

Carver looked up from his counting, a deeply hostile look on his face. "Mother is ashamed to say it. Uncle Gamlen came in completely drunk, a whore on his arm." He scowled at the closed door, making it all too plain to Caitlyn that her uncle and his companion were in there right now.

Caitlyn's face curdled into deep anger. "Oh, did he?" she said harshly. She looked down at Mal. "And I'm sure Mal noticed!"

Leandra was humiliated, but she finally could speak. "He asked why Gamlen brought different women into his bedroom," she whispered. "He said that you, Caitlyn, never brought anyone into the room except 'Father' and didn't understand. I was so furious—"

"Not as furious as I am, I'd bet," she snarled, rising to her feet. She stalked over to the corner and grabbed her magic staff. "I've a good mind to go in there right now and burn them both to a crisp!"

"No!" Carver exclaimed. "Caitlyn, please, don't do that—don't use magic in front of the woman—we don't know her—"

She saw his point and tried to calm herself, but it was very difficult. "He's exposing my three-year-old child to his habits!"

Leandra sighed fretfully. "It is his house," she said, putting a forced dutiful tone into her words, "and we are his guests."

Her tone and words only riled Caitlyn even more. "We still have rights," she insisted. "I'm going to have some words for him once the woman is gone. She'd better not spend the night!"

She had managed to channel her anger toward the frustrating situation in Kirkwall and the various street thugs and slaver gangs that she fought from time to time. She had kept her promise to Anders so far not to lash out cruelly at him—but Maker did it feel good, in a certain dark way, to have someone else she knew who deserved it now.


The woman emerged from Gamlen's bedroom in a bit, slinking along the wall to avoid the family. Once she was out the door, Caitlyn grabbed her staff and stormed into the doorway to her uncle's room. Glowering furiously, she cast a spell that lit the rock crystal globe at the end of the staff, creating an eerie blue glow that reminded her of Anders' appearance when Justice was in control. That thought briefly amused her. This is a kind of justice, she thought.

"Put that damned thing out," Gamlen barked. "Hurts my eyes."

It was just the provocation she wanted. "Oh, hungover, are you?" she snapped. "Too bad for you! A bit of a headache is the least you deserve! I've already heard about how you stumbled in drunk, again."

"Your brother said you were in the Hanged Man. You're one to talk."

"My problem isn't that you drink; it's that you are constantly drunk! You drank up the Amell fortune! And my child saw it tonight—and more importantly, Mal also noticed your 'guest' and inquired innocently about why you take different women into your bed every night!" From the common room, she heard her mother whimper in defeat, but she did not care. She was riled and she was going to see this through. It had been a year of this, of tolerating his conduct, of serving out an indenture because of his profligacy and enduring offensive comments and outright threats from Kirkwall bottom-feeders—all because it was "his house," in her mother's words. She had no patience for her mother right now.

"I don't have them every night," Gamlen said, "but let me make sure I got this right. You're upset because your bastard son is getting an education in the real world?"

If she could only barely contain her anger before, that was the end of it. Her entire gaze seemed fogged with rage. A searing fireball formed in her hands, and she prepared to hurl it directly at her uncle's bed, when she felt Carver grab her arm. "Don't do it!" he exclaimed.

The fireball vanished, but her anger only increased. She turned back to her uncle's bed. "If you ever use that word for him again, I swear, I will light you up like Andraste on the stake!"

Carver was shocked but deeply amused; he suppressed a guffaw at his sister's blasphemy.

"You have a problem with my women? When were you going to tell him how you got him?" Gamlen continued, undeterred now that Carver had somehow convinced his sister not to burn him.

Her rage erupted once again. "Not that it's any of your business, but I've had one male partner in my entire life and he's being a father to Mal now—so don't you dare say that about him again!" She would not say it, certainly not to her awful uncle, but his words hurt her deeply. He's "illegitimate"—for now—but he's not a "bastard." He's not fatherless. He's not, she thought. This was one of the subjects about which assorted Kirkwallers had insulted her for the past year, and she was sensitive about it—and insecure—and anger was still her default way of handling that.

"Well, isn't that sweet," drawled Gamlen. "You're just as virtuous as your mother."

The double-edged insult did not go unnoticed by either Caitlyn or Leandra. In the living room, Leandra shifted on the divan, angry with her brother again. Caitlyn thought she heard her mother's shoes patter on the floor and her clothes rustling, but Leandra did not appear in the threshold with her or Carver.

"You know," she said, continuing to glare, "I actually don't care who does what with how many people. But exposing my child to it—and not just the whoring, but you are constantly drinking or drunk! I'm sick of it! This is your house, Uncle, but he is my child and I have the right to control what he sees!"

"You think he'll never learn about these things?"

"He's three! He doesn't need to learn about them right now!"

Someone else tapped her shoulder from behind. She whirled around, expecting her mother, and nearly gasped out loud at the sight of Anders. The noise wasn't Mother's shoes, she realized in a flash. He knocked on the door and she let him in.

"Do you want to come back to the clinic tonight?" he asked seriously. "Mal too, of course."

She breathed deeply, trying to still her outrage at her uncle. "I... might. If you have room."

Gamlen laughed nastily, clearly expecting them to do exactly what he had just finished doing, and equally obviously regarding that as hypocrisy.

"There is room for bedrolls if..." He trailed off as Mal yawned awake. A smile formed on Anders' face in spite of everything, and as the group headed away from the threshold—Carver closing the bedroom door behind them—that smile broadened as his son met Anders' eyes briefly. The child smiled himself for a moment before nodding off again.

"You missed my sister telling him that she would light him up like Andraste on the stake," Carver said.

Anders hooted with wicked laughter, but only for a moment. His face grew somber again. "She has mentioned that it's... difficult... here," he said with a sympathetic glance to Caitlyn.

Carver scowled. "None of us get along great with him—"

"Carver," Leandra scolded.

"It's true, Mother. Cait is right. We can't stay here much longer. We've got to get the rest of the coin to buy into the expedition, so we can get a hold of the treasure and get the estate back. Let Uncle Gamlen live however he likes—as long as we don't have to deal with it. But... he and Cait have clashed worse than anyone," he finished for Anders.

"He's right. We have," she agreed, not even attempting to dispute it or feel shame.

"Do you want to spend the night in the clinic?" Anders asked again.

She thought about it. This seemed like a precipice... probably not the one Flemeth was talking about, she thought wryly, but another one. I won't hesitate to leap from this one either, though. "You know, I think I do," she said. She turned to her mother and brother. "Baldwin—what about him? Do you want him to stay here?"

Leandra was clearly very anxious about Anders' plan. "Cait, you shouldn't go to that place," she pleaded. "No offense, Anders dear, but Darktown... Why can't you stay overnight instead?"

"I've never been attacked there," he said. "My clinic is warded. And I don't think she wants to deal with her uncle tomorrow morning."

"Still... take the dog with you," Leandra said. "If—if you want to, of course. We're fine. Carver can use a sword. You need additional defense more than we do, if you're really going into that dreadful place." She dabbed at the corners of her eyes. "I'm going to have to have a talk with Gamlen tomorrow," she murmured almost to herself. "We're still family, no matter what..."

A voice came from behind the closed bedroom door. "Leandra, I don't want him here overnight. She has such a problem with my company, well, I don't want to hear them at it either!"

Expressions of disgust and rage formed on the faces of everyone in the common room. "Right, then," Anders said, rising to his feet and lifting his half-asleep child from the divan. "Cait?"

She sneered with contempt at the closed door as she grabbed her pack, a change of clothes, and her staff. "Right indeed." She snapped her fingers at the mabari, who rose to his feet and ambled after his mistress.


It was very odd, momentous in a way, to walk into the clinic with the boy and dog, knowing that they were going to spend the night there. She realized too late that she had not picked up any bedrolls. "Anders," she exclaimed, "Mal—the patient beds—are they clean enough? I forgot to pick up our mattresses..."

Anders smiled as he closed the door, restoring his wards on it. "They're clean," he said. "Infection would spread if I didn't clean them after every time someone used them."

Mal yawned. "Are we staying the night where Father works?"

"Yes, darling," Caitlyn soothed him. "And Baldwin is here too."

"Do you hate Uncle Gamlen?" he asked innocently, eyes wide.

She felt a pang. "Oh, no, of course not," she said. "I'm just very angry with him, and sometimes when we're angry enough with someone, we don't want to be around them for a time. Your great-uncle... is sick, Mal."

"But can't Father fix him?"

She sighed and turned to Anders, who gazed sadly at him. "Your Great-uncle Gamlen has a kind of sickness that I can't cure," he said. "It's a sickness that makes him think he has to drink all the time, and it makes him... do other things too."

Caitlyn was not convinced that Gamlen's whoring and fiscal profligacy were strictly caused by his addiction to the bottle, but she did think that all the issues were related.

"But are Grandma and Uncle Carver going to be all right?"

Caitlyn gave Mal a gentle hug. "Yes," she assured him. "Uncle Gamlen isn't a danger to anyone. He doesn't hurt people. We just came here tonight because we'll all be happier and will sleep better here."

The little boy seemed to accept that. He yawned again, and it was just too much for his parents. "Let's get you into a bed," Anders said, lifting him up. He set him down on one of the patient beds, which he then wheeled across the clinic to stand next to the hole-in-the-wall where he slept himself. He pushed the bed against the wall and turned to Caitlyn. "Does he roll off the bed?" he asked quietly.

"Not that I've ever seen."

"Still..." He glanced uneasily at the hardwood floor, then stepped away, slung his staff off his back, and cast a glyph at the side of the bed. Caitlyn recognized it as a ward that most people could not cross unless they had powerful magic of their own—which a three-year-old child, even a likely future mage, would not have yet.

"That's clever," she remarked, genuinely impressed. "I've never thought of using a glyph that way. But then... I don't know any of the creation school of spells." She smiled at him. "I might have to ask you to teach me the basics someday."

He smiled back, a real smile rather than a sad one. "I think every mage should know the basic, general-purpose healing spell, just in case."

"I doubt I have any affinity for the strong, specialized kinds that you do... and of course, there's Justice," she recalled. "I'll... pass on Spirit Healing. He's been very well-behaved lately, though."

"We haven't encountered injustices against mages," Anders said quietly. "That specifically is what sets him off. These odd jobs that you've done have mostly been about recovering lost valuables for people and dealing with ordinary street gangs."

"I suppose that's true. We'll have to take on Meredith eventually, though. Anders... please... try to train him to accept your control before that time comes."

Anders felt overwhelmed, and in these moments as well, Justice sensed his weakness and felt the inclination to take over to provide moral strength for his host. Anders knew it was coming and rallied himself. "Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves," he said, trying to keep it light. "The Deep Roads treasure first."

She managed a chuckle; the conversation had gotten very heavy very quickly. "Actually, sleep first."

"Ah, yes." All of a sudden, the entire atmosphere changed. Anders gazed at the nook where he kept his small bed and personal belongings. It was a single bed, and if she wanted to share it, there would be enough room, but they'd have to curl up very close—he found that a growing part of him liked that idea, even if the rest of him shouted that they shouldn't do that without having a conversation first—

She was staring at the nook as well, but she turned aside, her face hard and resolved, and drew away from him. She picked up her pack and staff and headed for another patient bed. He swallowed his disappointment and headed to his own bed. The dog plopped down on the floor, guarding his family even in his sleep.


Caitlyn was pulled out of the Fade by the sounds of someone crying out. Unsure at first whether the one suffering a nightmare was Mal or Anders, she blinked herself fully awake and rose in her bed. Is it dawn? she wondered. There were spots in Darktown where light from the outside filtered in, but this was not one of them with the doors closed. It could be any time.

A light then illuminated the clinic space, but it was definitely not natural sunlight, or even moonlight. Caitlyn rose from her bed and gingerly crept toward Anders' nook, hoping that the spirit did not lash out at her. She pulled back the wall cladding and gazed in.

He was curled into a ball on his bed, blue light flashing up and down his body as he muttered cries in his sleep. The covers were gone, kicked into a ball at the foot of the bed. His face was contorted with pain.

She nudged him hard. "Wake up," she urged. He moaned but did not come to. She pushed him harder and slapped his cheek, though she hated doing that. "Anders—wake up!"

That brought him to. The light faded as Justice receded, and he blinked awake, breathing heavily. He shivered for a moment, looking around for the blanket, but she was already covering him with it.

A sob escaped him as she sat on the bed beside him. "I'm sorry for waking you," he said, unable to even look at her.

She did not hesitate for a second, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning into him. "It's all right," she said softly.

He muffled another sob. "Grey Wardens have terrible nightmares," he muttered. "Cousland said that they're worst of all in a Blight, and she would know... she said that during the Blight, she dreamed about the Archdemon... I haven't seen it in the Fade, of course, since it's gone, but the things I do see..." He shuddered. "It's something else I guess you should know about. And I think it's worse because of everything else that happened to me before I even became a Warden."

She held him for a moment. "I have nightmares too," she said. "I doubt they're as bad as yours, if being a Warden causes them to become worse... but you're not alone. And I'd probably disrupt your sleep just as much as you disrupted mine."

A bleak laugh escaped him at that.

"They aren't real, though," she said.

The laugh quickly morphed into another sob. He rubbed his eyes miserably and gazed up at her. "Some of them are," he whispered. "That's the worst thing about it. Sometimes I dream of things that did happen. I relive them in the Fade."

She squeezed her eyes shut. She'd had dreams like that, and they truly were the worst. Not knowing what to say, because there was no good comfort for that, she pressed against him silently, trying to comfort him without words.

"I've brought death to people," he burst out. "Your father, Karl, your sister—"

She rose from his chest and shook her head at him. "Don't do this again, Anders. It's not so. None of that is your fault."

He continued as if he hadn't heard her. "You say that, but they might all be alive if I hadn't been in their lives. I'm certain that Karl would still be alive and still a mage, even here in Kirkwall, if he had not ever known me."

"That doesn't mean it's your fault," she insisted. "You didn't do that to him. Other people did. You're not responsible for the evil that they do."

He gazed at her unhappily. "You know how it feels," he whispered. "Whether I did the evil or not, I look at my past and I see a trail of bodies of people, dead because they associated with me. I see death and very little else."

This was too much. "Then you should look at different parts of your past—and your present," she said feelingly, rubbing his shoulders. "There is life too! You're a Healer. You have surely already saved some lives among the refugees... and there will be more to come."

He was silent, considering that.

"You defended Amaranthine as a Grey Warden, saving the lives of people there too. You saved Justice. You did," she argued as he winced. "The fact that he still comes out as himself and then turns control back over to you is proof that he didn't become a demon. He just got exposed to more ideas... to the complexity of emotion. He's more like the rest of us now, that's all. You saved him." She glanced out into the main clinic where Mal still, fortunately, was asleep. "You've even created life with me, Anders. There is more in your past than death. You just have to see it!" She gazed at his brown eyes. "I think Justice must be focusing on the dark parts, because it's his nature to see injustices more strongly than anything else, but you are in there too!"

"I can't forget them," he said. "I can't ignore them. I can't lie to myself that all I've done has been to save lives..."

"No," she agreed, "but that's not what you have been forgetting or ignoring." Daringly, she reached for his cheek to stroke his face. His eyes fluttered shut and he sucked in his breath at her touch. "I've been trying to let go of my anger with you and my guilt about the deaths of Father and Bethany," she whispered, "and it's helped me to understand... you never had the anger—at least at me—but you did have guilt, and I don't want it to gnaw at you like this... like mine gnawed at me until it turned me into a ball of rage. You didn't kill any innocents. Others did that. You're a good person."

He was silent, and after a moment she felt his arms envelop her. He continued to suppress sobs, but he was not crying, and she thought that perhaps this was another turning point for them at last.

"Thank you for coming," he finally said, releasing her. "I'm sorry for disturbing your sleep."

She suddenly realized that she did not want to return to her lonely clinic bed. This was a small bed, but he was in it. "Do you want me to leave?" she asked, her brows knitting together.

He drew in his breath. "I—no, but I don't want you to feel obligated..."

"I don't. I want to be here." She drew her legs onto the bed and tucked herself under the blanket. Lowering her hands to his waist, she pulled him down with her.

There was not much room on the bed, and they had no choice but to stay cuddled very close, but she liked it—and so did he, though he was surprised that she wanted to go even this far. She nestled herself under his chin, feeling a rush of warmth when he hesitantly—then, in a sudden change, determinedly—wrapped an arm around her back to keep her from rolling away.

He was not wearing his coat, but she still smelled the distinct scent of leather on him, combined with the spicy fragrance of pine—from the wood in the clinic?—and a faint hint of freshly cut green plants, probably mostly elfroot. He gathered his own herbs to make medicines, she thought idly. It was a very soothing combination of scents, similar but not identical to his distinctive fragrance of four years ago. I could get used to this again, she thought, gently stroking circles on his back with her fingers.

He managed to fall into a calm sleep in her arms, which gratified her. I can still soothe him, she thought, enjoying the feel of his chest rising and falling right next to hers. I can do something for him other than abuse and attack him. I can help him. I can make him feel better...

This realization was startling to her, and as soon as the thought crossed her mind, it seemed as though a great weight lifted from her. I have something to offer him, she thought. If I can help him, I can begin to repay him for all that he did for my family. He would probably say that I didn't owe him anything for that, but I feel that I do, and I have to find some way of giving back to him. If I can do this, then maybe we do have a future.

Before she drifted off to sleep herself, she realized something else. I am in love with him again. It was not just that she did love him, in the sense of caring about him. She was "in love."

He is still possessed by Justice, she thought. He always will be. The spirit has not made another appearance, at least a full one, but it is always there. I haven't had to think about it because it hasn't shown up, but it has not gone away. I saw a hint of it tonight during his nightmare. Is this something I can live with? Can I even answer that question yet, since I haven't had to see it in full bloom since that night at the Chantry?

She decided not to worry about it right now. Cynically she supposed that as long as she and Anders remained in Kirkwall where a mage-hater like Meredith Stannard and weaklings like Viscount Dumar held sway, it was very likely that she would see Justice making an appearance again. What mattered for now was that another barrier was down. They were cuddling in bed. Caitlyn felt a pang at the thought that all of these barriers were already crossed four years ago, but... if they needed to be crossed again, and it seemed that they did, then at least she and Anders were doing that now.


Notes: Isabela will be recruited; she just hasn't been yet. And when she does join the group, there will be a wholly separate issue about her... and you can probably make a guess about what that issue is going to be. (Consider the "electricity trick" conversation, and just how Isabela might know about that, and you've got your answer.) Aveline is also going to be more of a factor later. However, Sebastian is not going to be recruited. He'll be around, and Caitlyn will have some business with him, but he won't become a "companion." I admit that the actual reason for this is that I dislike him, and yet, I don't want to constantly vilify him. The version of him that I got was "self-righteous theocrat who doesn't get along with anyone in the party," and theocratic stuff is just a hard no for me. It's not about his beliefs about the mage issue or his religious devotion in isolation; I like Fenris and Leliana, after all. But I don't think that this Hawke or Anders could handle him after all they've been through.