Song: Nightwish – "Feel For You"
Chapter 79: Barely Warm in My Bed
He has never physically attacked me before, Caitlyn thought, her heart pounding as she darted through the corridors. If he had not already told her before their fight that the children were at her mother's house, she would be looking for them.
To protect them from their own father.
That thought had not crossed her mind since the first time she ever saw Vengeance, the night over eight years ago that Karl Thekla had died. She had wanted to shield Mal as long as possible from understanding what Justice was, and she would want to do the same for Jo if her daughter ever saw Anders in the spirit's control, but she had not thought about needing to protect her children from Anders himself since that first night.
But he attacked me, put his hands on me against my will, and refused to back down even when I was shouting at him in fright. She could not ignore that ugly truth. I screamed at him twice to let me go, but he only tightened his grip. Her heart thumped again. What would he have done if I hadn't forced him away? How far would he have taken it? What would he have done to me?
She wanted to believe that he would not have seriously harmed her. His final words were a demand that she "listen" to him, not a threat of additional violence. He was not raising a fist against her or forming a spell. He had no right to shove her against the wall and order her to listen to him either, but it was not as bad as striking her—or worse—would have been. Perhaps that was all that he had meant to do. Perhaps even Vengeance had enough control now, after so many years, to not seriously harm her... or the children.
But she could not be certain now. He has never attacked me at all before, she thought again. That taboo is broken, that red line crossed. How can I be sure again?
She reached a small chamber near the doors to the outer Keep and ducked in to catch her breath and think for a minute. Closing the door tightly, she warded it, not hesitating to use the blood ward that she knew. That, at least, was certain to keep him out.
That's twice in less than half a day that I have used blood magic for that ward, she thought. It's frightening how quickly I turn to it when I am angry... or scared. She forced that concerning thought out of her mind, took a deep breath, and sat on an armchair to think.
One thing is for certain, Caitlyn thought grimly as her fear decreased, I am absolutely not apologizing to him for what I did last night. Not after that. Even if I had personally blood-sacrificed Harlan and Lusine as offerings to demons, that would not justify my own husband raising his hand against me.
The memory of Anders collapsing to the ground, the spirit relinquishing control as he broke into sobs, returned to Caitlyn's mind as she calmed down. A momentary pang of compassion came over her. He knows what he did, she thought, and he regrets it. Even though it was "only" pushing me against the wall and gripping my shoulders too tightly, even though we were arguing ferociously, he regrets even that.
But he still did it, she thought. Even if it was Vengeance, the spirit was acting through Anders' body. I riled Anders too. The spirit comes out because of Anders' emotions, not just his own. Anders loses control of him when their states of mind are too similar—when they are both too angry. They are intertwined and they both share blame when these outbursts happen.
He didn't actually hurt me. He pressed against my shoulder blades painfully, but it won't even bruise.
He had no right to do what he did do, though. Her gaze hardened with her thoughts, as she resolved on that point. And he wouldn't have felt that he "had" to do it if he had had a winning argument. He did it because he lost our debate. He had no argument at last. Vengeance then took over and resorted to force, like the simple, violent brute that such a spirit inevitably is.
She recalled her own vicious, deliberate insults to him, her voice seeming to ring in her own memories. "Of course you don't understand the real world! You spent years in a Circle, and you're a spirit abomination!" Was the outburst not in reaction to these insults, personally tailored and targeted for him—almost an invitation to the spirit to burst out, as she also recalled that she had been seeing crackles of lightning throughout the fight—rather than the final resort of a simple, violent brute who had lost an argument?
Maybe it was. Maybe I did know on some level exactly what I was provoking. That still doesn't justify it, she thought.
In this, Caitlyn had no doubt that she was correct. He had no right to raise a hand against her, whether he did serious harm or not. She was right about that and her mind harbored no doubt. She fixed upon this conclusion, almost caressing it in her mind like a comfort blanket—I am right about that part—to avoid thinking about the substance of the argument itself.
She was not sure how much time passed. Eventually, she realized that she had been sitting in this little chamber for quite a while, and that neither Anders nor anyone else had tried to get through her ward. Nobody had disturbed her. And that realization did disturb her.
What is he doing? she thought in a sudden panic, leaping to her feet. My children are at my mother's house. If he goes there and that—that thing—comes out again, my mother cannot defend them...
She took down the ward, half expecting to see him waiting outside the door, but no one was there. Her heart pounding, she burst into the outer Keep and found Aveline as soon as she could.
The Guard-Captain was startled to see the Viscountess so flustered and anxious. All the lingering resentment and anger from the previous night's events melted from her face as Caitlyn hurried over to her.
"Has Anders left the Keep?" she said in a rush.
Aveline raised her eyebrows in surprise at Caitlyn's frantic tone. "He has not," she said. "He hasn't even left the inner Keep since he returned from your mother's house to drop off the children earlier this morning. Why? Have you lost him, Hawke?" she added, a bit of spite finding its way back into her voice.
Caitlyn did not miss her friend's words or their implication, that she had emotionally rather than literally lost him. Her gaze narrowed. "You should ask him that, when he shows his face," she said coldly. "No, I merely wanted to know if the man who just lost control of his familiar spirit and shoved me against the wall might have gone after my children and my mother as well!"
Aveline drew back, shocked. "Hawke—I'm sorry—" she sputtered.
Caitlyn sneered at her, her ire and pride now just as piqued as they were last night when she had stormed inside and warded Anders out of the bedroom. Turning aside in derision, she stalked through the court of the outer Keep toward the great doors.
Aveline gaped at Caitlyn. What was she thinking, storming toward the doors alone and unguarded, especially after what she had done the night before? Although Aveline strongly disapproved of the executions, she had tried to keep the fact that they had happened a secret, to protect the Viscountess. But she knew that was extremely unlikely to succeed. Even if no guards except herself had seen, servants would have been able to see through the Keep windows that overlooked the courtyard. It was nearly impossible that word had not already reached the Coterie—and Caitlyn was headed right for the streets of Hightown.
Gritting her teeth, Aveline gave brisk orders to Donnic to command the Guard while she was guarding the Viscountess. She gave a quick look to a certain greatsword-bearing elf, who unsheathed his blade at once and followed after her. They tailed Caitlyn just as she slammed the great doors open with a mere wave of her mage's hands.
Aveline and Fenris knew that they were welcome in the house as family friends of many years, but they stayed respectfully in the foyer, guarding the door, to give the family some privacy. In the parlor, Caitlyn sat fixedly on the sofa in her mother's house. Mal and Jo were on either side of her, not because they had chosen to sit there, but because she was holding them with an arm around the waist of each and had forbidden them to get up. She stared into space, trying to think clearly, trying to decide what she could possibly do.
Anders is their father, she thought. If I cut him out of their lives, I'll have to explain why. It will devastate them both, Jo because she won't really understand, Mal because he'll understand far too well.
And then what? Would I throw him out of the Keep?
Her heart ached at the very thought, but it was the logical conclusion if she truly feared that he would be a threat to the children in the future. A separate bedroom in the Keep wouldn't suffice.
After all that we've been through together, the years of separation, the losses, the joys, all the changes we've been through, the war for fellow mages we've been fighting, the experiences we've shared—is this how it will end, with me ordering him out of our home?
Her heart broke at the idea. But what can I do? How can I be sure again? How can I be sure that he won't hurt me, really and truly hurt me... or them?
"Mother, what's going on?" Mal asked, squirming on the seat.
"Everything is—" she began to lie.
"No!" he interrupted her hotly. "Don't tell me everything is fine! It isn't! I'm not stupid! Father took us here and then left, and now you are here, not letting me or Jo off the sofa! What is wrong, Mother?" he cried.
"Yeah!" three-year-old Jo added in her childlike but demanding voice.
She closed her eyes briefly. No, she could not hide it from them. Opening her eyes, she gazed wearily at him, then at Jo, then straight ahead. Her eyes were tired, though it was mid-morning. "I... don't know how to explain it," she said, her voice breaking. She sighed. "Your father and I are having very serious troubles in our marriage, Mal, and I don't know what to do."
Leandra did not know the details, but she had heard enough, and had made some deductions of her own already before Caitlyn even showed up. She approached them gingerly and sat down in an armchair across from the sofa.
"Cait," she said gently, "is it something that can be talked out?"
She raised her gaze to her mother's. Sadness was in her green eyes. "I don't know," she said quietly. Don't push me to explain in front of them, she willed. Please, Mother. Don't make me say in front of my children that I am afraid of their father because he raised his hands against me. Do you even know about Justice? She realized that she was not actually sure if her mother did know. The one thing that could be a mitigating factor for Anders was the one thing that she probably could not tell Leandra if her mother did not know.
Leandra seemed to understand that her daughter could not give her more details in front of Mal and Jo, and that alone indicated to her that the trouble was serious indeed—betrayal or abuse, most likely, the older lady concluded. Worry filled her heart. She hoped that it was just something that Caitlyn perceived as a betrayal that really was not one. Her daughter had been very... hard lately in her role as Viscountess. Maker, help them fix it, she prayed.
Caitlyn sat on the sofa, closing her eyes tightly as if to block out the whole world, hugging her children on each side. Her mouth tightened into a grimace. But then, suddenly, the tension that she was carrying seemed to dissipate. She opened her eyes, heaved a sigh, and rose from the chair, her gaze suddenly resolute. Mal and Jo followed on her left and right.
Leandra was pleased at her daughter's apparent resolution. But had she known what Caitlyn had resolved, she would not have been so happy. While her eyes had been closed, Caitlyn had arrived at the conclusion that she had raised Mal by herself for the first three and a half years of his life, so she knew that she was capable of it. If it came to it, if she was not able to trust Anders again, she had resolved to do what she deemed necessary.
It was not a happy conclusion for Caitlyn to have either. As she had reached this realization, a burst of grief had filled her heart, as if someone she loved had died. My love for Anders has not died. I still love him, she realized. But I don't know what could convince me to trust him again. She felt heartsick.
"We're going back to the Keep," she told her mother, taking both children in hand and trying to force strength into her voice.
"Good," Leandra effused. "Do try to talk it out with him, dear."
Caitlyn recalled again the anguish in Anders' face as he crumpled to the floor, his body wholly his own, regret and sobs pouring from his throat. But you still did it, she thought, and you might do it again—to them next time.
Aveline and Fenris were still standing guard by the door when she entered the foyer. Aveline nodded curtly to her as Fenris opened the door for them, then they both got in formation, swords drawn and Aveline's shield up, to protect the Viscountess and her children as they stepped into the streets of Hightown.
Aveline was trying to hurry them back to the Keep as quickly as she could, and Fenris's sharp eyes scanned each side alley for threats as they passed by. It was clear to Caitlyn that her friends had not thought this excursion a good idea, least of all with so few guards. A spasm of dread pulsed through her, though she knew not why. She gripped her children's hands tightly as they turned a stony corner, even though Mal glowered in embarrassment.
A rumble from somewhere nearby reached their ears. Aveline stopped cold, raising her shield sharply. Fenris tensed, his menacing greatsword gleaming, each of them scanning the side streets rapidly to identify the source of the rumble and determine whether it was a threat—
"There she is!"
Aveline gasped, darting in front of Caitlyn and the children as a crowd of about thirty people approached. They all looked hard and angry.
"And she's got her mage spawn with her too!"
Caitlyn tried to find who had said that, her maternal urge to defend her children awakening. She could not immediately identify the threat.
"Back off!" Aveline snarled, holding her sword threateningly. On her back gleamed a shiny crossbow. In wartime, she had taken to carrying a ranged weapon in addition to sword and shield. The sight gave comfort to Caitlyn. If need be, two of the three defenders could shoot at attackers. And Mal will try, although I don't want him to make himself a target, she thought in panic. But he might be one anyway.
"Coterie," Fenris snarled under his breath. At this, Caitlyn gazed sharply at the crowd. A lot of them were in Coterie armor or wearing Coterie insignia. Not all, but many.
Word got out, she realized. How? Servants in the Keep who looked through the windows? Or that idiot Varnell and his loose tongue?
It hardly mattered. Clearly, word had gotten out. The Coterie—she realized with a spike of fear—now knew that she had executed its leader. And that meant that they might well know how she had done it.
Fenris began to gleam as he activated his special talents for speed and stealth—they had a terrible source, but they were at least now his to control.
"You bloodthirsty monster!"
Caitlyn's green eyes again scanned the crowd to find the source. It was no use. They were incensed. The shout could have come from anywhere.
"Harlan was right and you killed him because he was right!"
"Fuck your war and fuck you, mage!"
Mal knew that word and worse by now. He scowled at the sound of those who were swearing at his mother and the war that she had been fighting for mages... mages like him...
Fists rose into the air. Caitlyn's heart skipped a beat. They're going to attack! she thought. Beside her, Mal gasped as he realized it too. He stepped back, unobtrusively trying to shield his toddler sister with his own body.
Caitlyn realized it, her heart nearly breaking at the recognition that her twelve-year-old felt the responsibility to do that. That is my duty. I am your mother. She cast an arcane shield at once, surrounding herself and them. It would hold for a minute or so and deflect any physical projectiles, though any impact would weaken it...
One particular thug, a big burly man carrying a flag that bore the Coterie symbol, raised it and yelled, "Down with Hawke!" Several near him added raised fists and guttural shouts. The crowd became feral.
Aveline and Fenris were on their feet to control the crowd, but Caitlyn was faster—and she had something that they didn't. She had magic.
She stood forth, reaching with her magic for the attacker who had called for her overthrow. A gravitic force spell caught him, lifting him three feet off the ground. Caitlyn felt the rush of magic suffuse her as the crowd fell silent. She had certainly flung people backward in fights by means of force magic. She had also used it to lift planks, stones, inanimate objects—but she had never suspended a person like this.
The images of those effigies filled her mind again. I feared Anders would endanger our children, but I am the one who did, she thought, the wretched realization tearing through her mind like a fireball searing through flesh. They are in danger right now because of me. This crowd could—
She could not finish that thought. It was too horrible.
In midair, the man dropped his Coterie flag and trembled. Tremble in fear, you traitor, she thought in fury and terror, and all the rest of you too! No one threatens my children! Every one of you, see for yourselves what I will do to those who try!
She focused a smaller amount of magical force at his throat. He began to choke and tried to claw at his neck. Others in the crowd started screaming. Several fled down the streets of Hightown, terrified that they would be next to face a power that they stood no chance of fighting.
Caitlyn then addressed the remaining people. "Disperse immediately," she snarled, her eyes and voice fiercely cold but her heart pounding in terror. Her victim sputtered in midair, feet twisting helplessly, hands trying to claw at a vise that wasn't physically there. This crowd would tear us all apart if they could. "If you attack us, you will die, every last one of you!"
"You'll kill us like you killed them? You kill everyone who disagrees with you now?"
Once again she could not identify the speaker. She snarled, "You will die for attacking your Viscountess... and guess what else? Those Coterie gangsters will still be dead. Do you want to die for a pair of dead traitors?"
The man that she was holding aloft finally passed out. Caitlyn tossed him to the ground, where he collapsed in a heap. Her heart pounded in fear underneath her fierce, scornful facade. Even when necessary, violently putting down a mob was a dark thing. She knew that. Despite her tough talk to the Small Council, she did. She did not want to do it in front of her children. She would if it took that to protect them, but—but I put them in this position, she thought again miserably. I created this situation.
Mal was gazing at her in shock already, and Jo Beth's eyes were wide even if she did not fully understand everything that she had just seen or heard.
My friends were right. Anders was right. I put myself and our children into a position where I may have no other choice, damn it.
Her act of menace against the one attacker had been a gamble. Although she had barely had time to think consciously of it, she had hoped that the display would sufficiently frighten the others away, even though they vastly outnumbered her and her two guards. For a moment it seemed as if her gamble had succeeded. The crowd tensed as the man returned to consciousness, groaning in pain from the bruises on his neck. Several people's gazes flickered momentarily at Caitlyn in fear.
"What are you waiting for?" he choked. "She murdered our leaders!"
The moment vanished. The crowd surged forward like a wave—just as Caitlyn's arcane shield around herself and the children dissipated.
"Hawke! Cover!" Aveline grabbed Caitlyn and Mal by one shoulder each and forced them to their knees, throwing her huge shield in front of them. Caitlyn grabbed the shield strap. Aveline flipped the crossbow off her back and loaded it in an instant, shooting lethal bolts into the crowd as Fenris began darting lethally back and forth in flashes like a Fade-light.
Jo Beth was screaming in terror as arrows pinged off the shield and cries of anger and pain from the crowd filled everyone's ears. Mal was cringing, trying to hide as much of his fear as he could—and, Caitlyn saw, trying to cast an arcane shield of his own. Her heart broke again, even through her own fear. He shouldn't have to. She summoned as much mana as she could. A new shield, not as strong as the first one she had cast a few minutes ago—but still sufficient for now—bloomed over them.
I should help, she thought, starting to rise to her feet. Aveline and Fenris are horribly outnumbered.
"Get down!" Aveline snarled, shoving her back to her knees.
"Are you mad?" Caitlyn roared. She cast a fireball around the shield in defiance, feeling grim satisfaction as she heard the whoosh from its impact and the screams of pain from the crowd. "I can't let you and Fenris take this many people alone!"
"You are the Viscountess of Kirkwall! You're fighting a war! You have to stay down and you know it, Hawke!"
She snarled incoherently and cast another fireball in the general direction of the crowd. More people screamed.
"And you almost hit Fenris with that one!"
Damn it, Caitlyn thought. Defying Aveline's orders, she popped up from behind the shield momentarily to at least see where she aimed her next spell—
—And made herself an instant target. A barrage of arrows and bolts struck the glimmering magical shield that surrounded her and the children. They thudded away, the shield absorbing their impacts—but every impact weakened it just a bit. And there was something about these arrows and bolts...
"They have runed weapons, Hawke! Get down, I swear to the Maker—"
Caitlyn realized it. When arrows or bolts were enchanted, it would degrade the shield far faster. Fear shot through her like one of those arrows as she visibly saw her shield weakening. It was far more translucent than it had been a moment ago.
And I've used up a lot of mana, she thought, ducking behind Aveline's shield again and hoping that her friends did not fall. Mal was ghastly pale, shaking with terror, and Jo Beth was whimpering and still. Caitlyn felt awful. I endangered them. They would have been reasonably safe at Mother's. The Coterie surely didn't know they were there. They were after me.
Anders shouldn't have taken them to Mother's house in the first place, she suddenly thought, anger surging through her at that thought. We would all be safe in the Keep if he hadn't taken them to Mother's...
...Unless I wanted them out of the Keep, away from him.
In this moment, she could not focus on blaming Anders. She was too afraid. As frightening as the assassination attempt by Lady Harimann had been, she had felt more in control of her fate then. It was a mage against a mage, and her children's lives had not been immediately at stake in it. This was a crowd of—well, probably fewer than thirty now, but still many more than one—against three defenders, and both of her children's lives were at risk too.
"You too? What are you doing here?"
Aveline's voice was fearful and enraged, but Caitlyn did not dare duck out from behind the shield to see to whom she was speaking. Which of my friends is in danger now? she thought wretchedly, wishing she could help. But her arcane shield was about to fall.
She gazed at the bubble-like magical film that still surrounded her and the children. But like a bubble, before her eyes the film grew thin, glimmered for a moment, and then burst in a fizzle of fading magic. Mal trembled as it broke.
"Hold tight, Hawke!" Aveline called, her crossbow still shooting bolts as rhythmically as only a seasoned warrior's hands could make it do. "We're almost rid of them!"
Caitlyn dared a glimpse at the size of the crowd. She couldn't cast a spell—she needed to preserve her magic for recasting a shield—but she caught a look at its size now. To her amazement, between her fireballs, Aveline's crossbow, and Fenris's lightning-quick lunges with his sword, they had whittled down a crowd of thirty to a small group of five. Aveline and Fenris were quite capable of taking that on themselves, plus whoever among her friends had joined...
"Mother!" Mal cried.
Jo Beth screamed and tried to burrow into her brother's embrace. Caitlyn whipped her head back around and gasped in horror.
From the other side of the square, a pair of assassins, one with a crossbow and one with a spear, were running. Aveline's shield presented a wall against the crowd. These assassins were headed directly for Caitlyn and her children from the other direction. There was no shield on this side.
The crossbow-bearing assassin shot a bolt at Mal. The boy threw himself and Jo to the ground, and the bolt thudded into the back of Aveline's shield.
Caitlyn did not even think. She did not consider recreating an arcane shield. She knew she didn't have enough magic yet. But she did have enough magic for an offensive spell. Calling up a surge of magic from within her soul, she attacked the crossbowman with a ferocious entropic death spell.
He seized up, his face horribly contorted for a fraction of a second, as the spell withered, dried, and rotted his skin. Then he collapsed to the ground dead.
One of the assassins was dead. The other still held his spear, almost untouched by the spell. He was wearing better armor than his fallen comrade, chain mail rather than leather, and Caitlyn had used up all her magic for now. She could not cast anything else unless she used blood magic.
If ever there is a time when I should do that, it's now, she resolved. She hated that Mal would see it, but she would explain later. Better to keep them all alive so that she could explain it. She fumbled around her clothes for her small knife. Where was it?
Fenris was engaged in a sword fight with four of the five remaining members of the Coterie who had been in the crowd. He was holding his own but could not extricate himself. Caitlyn caught a flash of magic in the midst of that fight that was definitely not Fenris's lyrium enhancements; had Merrill or one of the Free Mages come to her aid? Perhaps Petra or Sketch?
Aveline realized that her charges were under threat from the other side of her shield, but one of the people she was fighting—the fifth person—had a bow, and he tried to shoot. She snarled as she felled him with a bolt, aware that the time she had needed to end this threat had further endangered Caitlyn and the children from the spearman on the exposed side of her shield.
The spearman gazed at them coldly. "You kill ours, we kill yours, Hawke."
Aveline whirled around and sent a spray of bolts at him almost as fast as Varric would have with his crossbow. Metallic pings pierced the air. Most of the bolts bounced off his armor, but two stuck in his chest. He winced, but was able to return the snarl as Aveline ran out of bolts in hand and had to reach for more from her quiver. He raised his spear and aimed it at Mal.
"The Coterie sends its regards."
"No!"
The mage who had appeared on the scene and assisted Fenris suddenly darted in front of the assassin, arms out, creating as large a barrier with his body as he could.
Anders!
Caitlyn was horrified as she recognized him and realized what he was doing. Can't you cast something? Are you spent too? Oh Maker—
Mal screamed and looked away, unable to watch the blade enter his father's chest. Caitlyn could barely stand it herself.
But in that eternal moment when the spear was in midair, Anders changed, and he changed more profoundly than Caitlyn had ever witnessed before. It was not a mere series of blue lightning flashes dancing over his body and blazing from his eyes. It was not a change of voice. In that moment, Anders turned bright blue from head to toe, a beacon of light. His feather-mantled coat became shining blue-white armor; his familiar face and golden hair vanished behind a helmet that seemed to be made of magic and light.
This is what Justice looked like in the Fade before he joined with Anders, Caitlyn realized in that same flash. I am not really looking at Anders at all right now. This is Justice. Justice has transformed my husband's body into his own shape, fully.
Before she could even begin to think of what that might mean, the spear pierced the... person... before her. The spirit armor flickered, glimmering and shimmering for a moment between its own form and Anders' coat. But when the spear came out the other side, he was fully Justice.
It went through his heart, she realized in horror and grief. Anders. Justice.
The head of the spear clattered to the stone pavement, broken off, a small trail of smoke rising from its base. Justice raised his head, locked his blazing white eyes with Caitlyn in a moment of ferocity and tenderness—and pulled the shaft of the weapon from his chest.
I love you both. And you just healed and broke my heart at the same time.
Even as Aveline and Fenris took down the assassin with vengeful rage, even as the children cried and sobbed, Caitlyn could not break her gaze with the spirit until—not a second later—he tumbled to the ground, fading away rapidly, the shape changing to the bruised and unconscious form of Anders.
"He's breathing."
Mal and Jo were clinging to Caitlyn's skirt, tears dampening their faces as Aveline gave them the—rather astonishing—news.
The Guard-Captain gently turned Anders over on the pavement. His clothes had a burned, singed hole in them, matching the singeing of the spear's wooden pole—but his chest was miraculously uninjured except for the scar that now marked it exactly where the spear had pierced him when he was Justice.
He was Justice then, Caitlyn thought. In that moment, Justice made him a full... a full... She couldn't think the word, even though she had flung it at him viciously just hours earlier to hurt him.
Now, perhaps, that word had saved him—and Mal as well.
But what about Justice? she thought. Did Justice sacrifice himself? What actually happened?
"He has mild injuries from helping Fenris," Aveline said, observing gingerly, "but... that should have been a lethal wound."
"I know why it wasn't," Caitlyn said quietly, giving her friend a pointed look. "Though it might have been for..." She trailed off.
Fenris and Aveline nodded, understanding her entirely.
"I'm going to be honest, Hawke," Aveline continued, "I don't know why he's unconscious. The wounds that he did take shouldn't have done that to him. He needs Healers to look at him, and besides, none of us should be out on the streets right now. We all need to get back to the Keep as quickly as possible, and I'm going to dispatch some guards or Militia to protect your mother's household as well. The Coterie is obviously out for revenge."
Caitlyn shuddered. What have I done? she thought in despair.
Anders was taken to a private room in the inner Keep, far away from the public healing clinic in the outer Keep. Caitlyn was not sure what to do about having him examined. His case was probably quite different from the usual sort due to the spirit's presence and interference, and that necessitated a trust relationship... but she also wanted to give him the best possible care.
Finally, she decided on Sketch. He was a member of the Mages' Council, a longtime apostate, and he had been a colleague of Leliana years ago. He knew how to keep secrets and was not judgmental. And he was a good Healer.
As Sketch examined Anders' unresponsive form and Aveline barked her orders at the Guard to secure the Keep and the Viscountess's family, Mal—showing maturity far beyond his age and suppressing the trauma he had just experienced astonishingly well—hurried his little sister into a playroom in the inner Keep. Caitlyn gave him a brief look of gratitude.
She explained the situation as well as she could to Sketch once they were alone and the Healer had concluded his primary examination. "I don't know what injuries he received while supporting Fenris and Aveline," she said. "I was behind Aveline's shield with my children, and she wouldn't let me look. I'd used up a lot of my magic..."
"The visible injuries are actually rather mild," Sketch said. "He had some cuts and bruises. Nothing too serious in that regard. The worst one was an arrow through his left forearm, but it was uncomplicated. No arterial rupture."
Caitlyn's heart pounded. Why is he unconscious, then? the thought blasted through her mind. What happened when Justice took that blow? Trying to keep her emotions under control, she took a deep breath and continued to the next part—the worst part. "A Coterie assassin targeted Mal with a spear," she said, "and there was nothing I could do—my magic was spent—and I guess so was his, because he..." She gazed down momentarily, blinking. "He threw himself in front of the spear point."
"That explains the scar, then... but..." Sketch trailed off. "Its location..."
Caitlyn took another deep breath. "Sketch... what I am about to tell you must be kept secret. Our closest friends know, but no one else. For the sake of the revolution—and for our family's own safety—no one else can know."
"Of course." Sketch made the promise without hesitation.
"Years ago, Anders... merged... with a Spirit of Justice," Caitlyn said in a whoosh. "It was the spirit who aided his Spirit Healing, and there were... complicating factors. Justice was tossed out of the Fade, into the body of a dead man, and he and Anders got into a fight with a murderous Templar. There was no other way for Anders to save his friend..."
Sketch smiled mildly. "Your Grace, I guess I should confess now, I thought I detected this spirit when I examined your husband. But thank you for confirming my guess."
Caitlyn blinked. "Oh."
"I am a Spirit Healer myself," the elf said. "My aide—who does remain fully in the Fade—is a Spirit of Freedom. He detected the presence of another of his own kind."
"Oh," she said again. That would have been a good fit for Anders too, she thought sadly, but... it might have made him less likely to return to me. Sketch did not want to tie himself down and only reluctantly joined the revolution when a cadre of apostates forced him to be their leader. I'm glad it was Justice for Anders. Justice gave him a sense of obligation and ambition to make the world better for all mages, rather than just wanting a pleasant life for himself... She felt tears come to her eyes at that thought.
She tried to control herself. "Well... to return to the present, then... when the spear-thrower faced us, Anders threw himself in front of the blade, but when he did, Justice took him over. Completely. His very form changed. He looked like a knight in armor instead of a mage. I suppose that's what Justice must have looked like in the Fade long ago..."
"Probably," Sketch agreed. He considered for a moment, falling silent and thinking. His face then fell as something apparently occurred to him—and so did Caitlyn's heart at the sight.
"What is the matter?" she burst out.
Sketch sighed. "This explains some things. It explains how Anders could survive that wound, and it explains why the pole was broken and burned on each end. The spirit took what would have been a lethal strike for a mortal."
"I know," Caitlyn said quietly, shuddering. If not for Justice, Anders would be dead.
"This kept your husband from being killed immediately... but... even spirits are not invincible, Your Grace. They don't have hearts as we do... their bodies, as such, are not organic, so they don't require blood to be circulated... but that wound gravely injured Anders' host spirit."
A chill shot down Caitlyn's spine. She gazed at the elven Healer. "What are you saying?" Her voice was weak.
"The problem here is not the need to heal a badly injured body. I think Anders is in this coma because his soul and this spirit are deeply intertwined, and Justice himself was weakened very badly. I don't know how to heal a spirit, and my own spirit assistant cannot help. It isn't something that they need to do. They derive their strength from the Fade... and in some cases from mortals that they... influence," he said delicately. "Anders is in the Fade now, of course, but I doubt he is conscious. He's sleeping in the Fade, would be my guess. That's what usually happens when someone is in a coma. It's far deeper unconsciousness than mere sleep."
"I know," Caitlyn said. Sketch was becoming distracted with explanations of spirits and healing, and she just wanted to know what it meant for Anders. "Justice is with him, though... right?"
"Actually... Justice would likely be a very strong spirit by now, with a profound personality of his own. Or... would have been."
Caitlyn grimaced as Sketch made that particular correction.
"And very strong spirits often have the ability to manifest different aspects in the Fade. Different faces of themselves. If this is the case for Justice, one aspect would indeed be with Anders. But that one would be unconscious too. If there is another aspect, it's probably too small and weak for my Spirit of Freedom to find it after it was injured so badly. Either way, Justice is not in good shape," Sketch concluded glumly.
Caitlyn gasped. "But what does this mean? He's there—Justice I mean—he didn't die—but he... can he recover?"
Although he was about the same age as Anders, Sketch looked old and tired. "I'm sorry, Your Grace," he said. "There is nothing more that I can do. Justice will rally and recover his own power from the Fade, thereby waking Anders when he is strong enough, or... not."
"If 'not'... does that mean Anders will die too?" Caitlyn whispered, almost afraid to even voice it.
"I don't know," Sketch said helplessly. "It all depends on the intertwining. He... might, yes. But there's another possibility. If the spirit dies, it may..." He looked nauseated.
Caitlyn suddenly guessed. The horror of a nightmare she had early in her first pregnancy, long shunted aside, filled her mind. "Please, don't—"
"The other possibility if Justice dies," Sketch ground out, almost against his own will, "is that your husband will awaken, but will be Tranquil."
Caitlyn wanted to retch. Guilt was overpowering her. This happened because of me. "No," she managed. "I won't allow it. Anders would rather die than live like that. He said so many times."
Sketch's face was lined with sadness as he looked at her. "Then you should prepare yourself and your family, Your Grace."
Caitlyn felt numb as she left the chamber, closing the door behind her. Her thoughts earlier that morning about raising her children without Anders had presumed a separation, not—not—
She choked at the thought.
What have I done? she thought again, shuffling into a parlor and collapsing on the sofa. She wanted to cry, but her eyes were just hot and hard. No tears could fall. She was still shaking with too much fear and horror. Hope for Anders and Justice's recovery warred with despair and a sinking feeling that it was not possible.
I wondered earlier today what Anders could do to restore my trust in him, she thought. This... was it. For him and for Justice as well. This did it. This is all the proof I need that he wouldn't have posed a true threat to me in our fight and that he wouldn't threaten our children. He—both of them—would die for me and the children.
And they may have done just that.
The tears that she couldn't shed suddenly gushed from her eyes like twin streams. Though the distortions of her vision, she managed to gaze at the walls of this parlor. They held, among other things, a family portrait, painted by Leandra, of the Hawke family as it had been in Dragon 9:27. A duplicate of one that hung in the Hightown manor, it depicted Malcolm, Leandra, Caitlyn, Carver, Bethany, and Anders—and Caitlyn was slightly visibly pregnant.
Caitlyn's tears increased at the sight of the portrait. Her father and sister seemed to stare at her in disapproval and disappointment.
"You listen to me, young lady. Don't ever—and I mean ever!—use your magic like that!"
"I just wanted cookies!"
"You threatened to set your mother's clothes on fire! Your magic is a gift from the Maker. Do you think He would want you abusing it to threaten your mother into giving you cookies?"
Nine-year-old Caitlyn scowled at the floor, unable to answer.
"Mages like us are never to use our power to bully innocent people," he continued sternly. "We should never use our magic to try to force others into giving us things, or doing things, that we're not actually entitled to. Magic can heal; it can make life easier. It can be like a bandage, a medication, a light in darkness, a warm fire, a farmer's plow—but it can also be like a sword. Using a weapon is a profound responsibility, Caitlyn. And magic is a weapon."
"I'm not using it as a weapon."
"What do you consider it when you threaten your mother with fire?" he exploded. She glowered. "What do you think about swordsmen who turn bandit, Caitlyn? Who put their blades to that use?"
She scowled again, but her father had made his point.
"If you abuse your magic, abuse the power that the Maker has given you, it makes you little better than a bandit who's turning his skill with a blade toward unjust purposes," he said in hard tones. "It's the beginning of the road that led the ancient magisters to their great evil."
Caitlyn's face reddened and her eyes grew hot again. It was one of the earliest things that she had done after discovering that she was a mage. I remember, Father, she thought, gazing miserably at Malcolm's portrait.
Another memory filled her thoughts as she turned her gaze slightly to the picture of her little sister.
"Once a mage starts to practice this kind of magic, it's very difficult to say no—or no more. There are those who do it out of malicious reasons, but what is more dangerous in a way is to do it as a justification of necessity. Once you have said that the ends justify the means once, it takes a lot of willpower to stop. You push the line a little bit more... and more... and more..." He turned aside, sighing. "It is possible to make oneself stop and go no further, but not easy. Better to avoid it, Cait, Beth."
Bethany gazed loftily at her father. "I cannot see any circumstance in which I'd think it 'necessary' to use blood magic."
Malcolm smiled back patiently. "You wouldn't now. And I hope you never do, either of you."
"Did you once?" Caitlyn asked curiously.
Malcolm sighed. "There have been times of temptation in my life, yes. Many mages face them. I'd like to shield the two of you from that, though."
"I think," Bethany said slowly, "that if a mage is powerful enough in the right way, the proper way, they'd never feel that 'necessity.'"
Malcolm gave her a wry look. "If only it were that simple. Alas, even the strongest mages do not have infinite pools of magic. In battle situations, your mana can deplete very rapidly."
"I don't want to be a battlemage," Bethany declared. "I just want to be—me. A person, living in a house like other people. I want to do things like using my magic to lift bales of hay and thaw ice from the well. Things like that."
Malcolm nodded approvingly. "That's the life I want you to have."
Caitlyn looked away. Neither of us got to have that life, Father, she thought in misery. Bethany didn't have a full life at all, and I... had to become a vigilante and then an army commander leading a war. I have had to become a battlemage among battlemages. And I've taught myself blood magic too.
A justification of necessity, she thought, the words echoing in her brain. And the hard truth is, sometimes blood magic really has been necessary. I would have used it to protect Mal and Jo if...
She broke off that thought. Anders and Justice's intervention was far too painful a subject. She sighed heavily, the sigh turning into a shudder.
It isn't just blood magic, though, she thought. It's abuse of magic. And abuse of power...
A more recent memory flitted unbidden into her head, one from after her father's death, after Anders' capture, after Mal's birth—one from just before the Blight in Dragon 9:30. Leliana—Maker, what happened to us all? Caitlyn thought wretchedly as she remembered the sweet minstrel—had been visiting the family for a night of music. She had played an old Fereldan ballad that the Hawkes knew well, "Lothering Fair," but there was an Orlesian adaptation of it that had sprung up toward the end of the Fereldan Rebellion, reflecting the Orlesian people's anti-war mood and their disgust for the thought of suffering and dying for an emperor's greed and vanity. Leliana had sung this version, which had been new to Caitlyn's ears then.
"War bellows, blazing in silver battalions,
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme,
Generals order their soldiers to kill
And to fight for a cause they've long ago forgotten."
A final set of memories, from this very morning, intruded.
"Maker, Caitlyn, can't you see what you've become?"
"I have become a leader who does what must be done! I have become an agent of justice for mages! You think you know what that means, but you don't anymore!"
"No! You don't know anymore!"
The final lyrics to Leliana's version of the old ballad came echoing back.
"Generals order their soldiers to kill
And to fight for a cause they've long ago forgotten."
I was fighting for us as a family, Caitlyn thought miserably. I was fighting for that life that Father wanted for us but that you, Bethany, and I could not have. I was fighting for mage freedom. I wasn't fighting to become a magister—and I certainly wasn't fighting to become Meredith Stannard.
You were right, Anders. I've become what I despised, and in doing so, I may have lost you.
She was not sure how long she remained in that parlor. At some point she realized that she had to get back to daily life. I have to eliminate the Coterie now, she thought grimly. I've executed its leader, and they will continue to try to get revenge until they are either wiped out or turned. Maker grant that I can turn some of them. Surely some just joined because of the hard times...
But even though she knew that this task had to be undertaken, she could not focus on it while Anders remained in his horribly uncertain stasis. She could not think of anything but his well-being. I want to make it right with him, she thought. I want to reassure him that I love him. I don't want him to leave the world thinking that I hate him and hold him in the contempt I showed in that fight.
The alternative outcome that Sketch had suggested to her filled her thoughts and filled her throat with bile. And I don't want him to suffer that fate. I have to do something. Somehow.
What, though? Sketch is a Spirit Healer and even he didn't know what he could do to help Anders.
She reconsidered that. The real patient isn't Anders, she recalled. It's Justice. Justice is the one who took that terrible blow meant for Mal... and he is the one who is gravely weakened and injured. His entwining with Anders' soul is why Anders is in this coma, but Justice is the actual patient.
Somehow... I have to help Justice.
There was only one way to do that. I have to enter the Fade.
Caitlyn tried to focus on this and think rationally. She reflected on what she knew of the subject. It is very difficult to enter a specific location of the Fade, looking for a specific person, she thought. Unless a demon or spirit pulls you into that place, you must use some significant power of your own. Justice isn't trying to hide like a demon would; he would want to be found, but... Sketch said that he was likely extremely weak. He may not be able to express his intentions.
It's up to me, then. She sank into the chair and closed her eyes, thinking of rituals for this purpose. Usually locating a specific person in the Fade requires a massive blood sacrifice... or a massive amount of inherent magic.
Keeper Marethari knew an alternative Dalish way, she remembered, recalling the ritual that the deceased Keeper had cast many years ago to find the half-elven dreamer mage Feynriel. But the Keeper is dead, and I have no idea what she did that night. It was obscure Dalish lore even to her.
I have an army of mages. I could conscript them into casting the commonly known ritual. But as soon as that idea entered Caitlyn's mind, she dismissed it. No. There is still a lyrium shortage, and they need to preserve all that they can for the war. This would be profoundly selfish of me... and in any case, I need to keep Anders' situation as secret as I can. Sketch knows, Mal knows, and our close friends know. I don't want anyone else knowing.
Besides, this is my fault. I provoked the fight by burning Harlan and Lusine at the stake, I left the Keep to get Mal and Jo from Mother's house, and I stormed out with insufficient guard. I did this, and I should be the one to make the sacrifice to fix it. If... if it can be fixed.
She resolved on that. Getting to her feet, she trudged out of the inner Keep just long enough to send for Merrill, then ensconced herself in her private study, where she kept all the books of magic that she didn't want Mal to see yet. She pulled one from the shelves and thumbed through it until she found the section that she was looking for.
At the same time, Merrill—who must have been nearby, she realized vaguely, perhaps already near the Keep from having heard word of Anders' condition and the attack—entered the study shyly.
"Come in," she said, giving Merrill as encouraging a look as she could manage under the circumstances. Merrill slipped in, closing the door.
"I heard what happened to Anders," she said quietly. "I am so sorry."
"Thank you, Merrill. And that's what I wanted to see you for," she said gently. "I don't know how much you were told, but Justice took him over—it was Justice who took the full brunt of the spearing—and it's Justice who was gravely wounded."
Merrill's eyes widened. "Oh! So you want to enter the Fade to help him?"
Caitlyn nodded. "Yes. I was wondering... do you know the Dalish ritual that Keeper Marethari cast to help Feynriel that one night?"
Merrill shook her head sadly. "I had not advanced far enough in my apprenticeship to learn that," she mourned. "I am sorry."
"It's all right," Caitlyn reassured her. "I have an alternative." She showed her friend the magic book. "I'm going to do it this way."
Merrill's eyes widened again as she read the description and examined the diagrams. "This is a blood magic ritual," she said.
"It is. And we're blood mages, aren't we." It was not a question.
"We are," Merrill said quietly, gazing at her friend.
Caitlyn took a deep breath. "The book says that it usually requires a life sacrifice... but that's only if you're looking for a spirit that doesn't want to be found. I don't think that would be the case for Justice."
Merrill nodded. "I would not think so either. It should be able to be done just with bloodletting. It will still weaken... whoever cuts herself."
"Me," Caitlyn insisted firmly. "It'll be me. I'm responsible. Don't you even think of cutting yourself, Merrill."
Merrill gave her a wry smile. "I have already thought of it, but if you insist, I will not do it. But you should be careful. Every use of blood magic draws demons closer to the mage who is using it, even if you did not learn the practice from a demon originally."
"I know." A horrible memory filled her mind: a rage demon egging her on during the Qunari attack, filling her mind with savage anger, provoking her to cast a hemorrhage so powerful that it caught Merrill by accident. She shivered, trying to think of a way to avoid that outcome again. At last something came to her. "Well," she said, her tones filled with dark irony, "I have one thing going for me. Even though he isn't hiding from me, I do have a specific demon in mind that I'm looking for."
Merrill looked lost for a moment, but it dawned just as Caitlyn explained.
"Vengeance."
"I'm not sure if he is truly a demon even in that aspect," Merrill said, "but... he is darker in nature, to be sure."
Her friend's use of the word "aspect" brought back Sketch's remarks. Is the Justice aspect with Anders, unconscious in the Fade? Maybe the Vengeance aspect is exactly the one I need to seek out. Yes. This is what I will do.
"I will cast the ritual," Merrill continued, studying the book. "You must sacrifice the blood and enter the Fade, though."
"I wouldn't have it otherwise."
They made sure the door to the study was locked and the door itself warded, and then the two mages returned to a cleared section of the floor. Caitlyn drew out a sharp knife from a sheath on her belt as Merrill placed a silver bowl beneath her friend and began to cast the ritual circle.
Caitlyn avoided looking at her own blood as it spilled into the bowl. She tried not to focus on her own fear or pain, thinking instead of Vengeance—the angry, violent aspect of the spirit, the aspect that she was inexplicably certain was wandering the Fade in a weakened state.
"You will never take another mage as you took him!" She remembered the first time she saw the spirit, taking Anders over, lunging at Templars.
"She must go, by whatever means necessary." During the flu epidemic of Dragon 9:32, Vengeance had snarled in hatred of Elthina. She will, Caitlyn promised in thought. She's survived too long already, but she will.
More drops of blood dripped into the bowl.
"You are unjust!" The dark memory from that morning darted through her thoughts. She did not try to force it away this time. "You listen!"
With the memory of those words, Caitlyn again recalled her father telling her that after she as a child had threatened her mother.
I hear you.
There was a blast of red magic light that she realized was Merrill casting the ritual, a sudden disappearance of her pain, a feeling of disembodiment, and then, Caitlyn found herself in the strange terrain of the Fade.
Notes: The spear through the heart was influenced by Anders' canon short story. And yes, he was a full abomination when that happened, completely transformed. It was the only way to survive that.
Caitlyn's memories are briefly alluded to in chapter 27 (Malcolm warns her and Bethany about blood magic, though I expanded it to include Bethany's remarks here), chapter 30 (Leandra references the cookie threat there), and chapter 10 of my f!Cousland/Leliana story in this same world-state Sanctification ("Lothering Fair" or Scarborough Fair).
