makinglies | Dragon Age: Inquisition: Anders Inquisitor AU

Dragon Age: Inquisition: Anders Inquisitor AU

Hawke is called away from his fugitive life with Anders to go look into some red lyrium stuff with Stroud. Anders heads for the Conclave to "redeem himself".

This can only end well.

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Anders isn't dead.

It's the only thing that sustained Adalwolfe in his long ride from eastern Orlais to Haven. He pushes his horses too hard and just trades for a new one at each town. He should be pacing himself but he can't take the time, not when this budding Inquisition has hold of that which is dearest. And most idiotic, apparently.

He bursts through the gates of the town with spin of his staff, still mounted and casting his magic from horseback. It's not until he's at the gates of the only stone building left in the encampment that he swings off the horse and marches right to the doors, throwing them open with such force that they creak with alarming volume. Doors that large were't meant to move that quickly, but Hawke doesn't have the patience to wait. Not for that, nor the yelling he can hear of the scouts and soldiers coming up the slope outside.

"Oh Maker's bloody-- Hawke!" That voice gives him only a moment's pause as Cullen Rutherford comes charging in, boots tracking snow-damp prints on the stone floor of the chantry building and his armor jangling dimly under the massive fur mantle he's got curled around his shoulders like a mane.

"There's time for you later," Adalwolfe tosses back at the Templar, continuing forward with long strides until he bursts into the inner chamber. What used to be the chapel is now more appointed for war. A large table with a map and metal icons to push around, weapons and other sundry items stored in corners for lack of anywhere else to put them, and three figures at points around the table. The two women - a redhead whose hand goes immediately to her belt and an Antivan who gasps and steps back, clutching a writing board to her chest - he ignores, his attention on only the last familiar figure with his back to him.

Anders starts to turn around and Hawke punches him square in the jaw.

Edited 2016-11-01 15:40 (UTC)

Cullen was late which, really, wasn't like him. Anders might have a few opinions on the ex-knight captain, but he knew well that Cullen took responsibility very seriously. Something must be happening.

'What was happening' quickly made itself known when raised voices could be heard from the Chantry's hall outside. Anders knew in an instant who it was and his heart simultaneously jumped and sank. He knew it wouldn't take Hawke long to find the note...but at the time he'd written it, he anticipated being in a prison or Tranquil or simply dead by that time.

He was miraculously none of those things. He deserved the punch he received as he turned to see his lover, and it made him stumble back into the war table. But even with his jaw throbbing, happiness, relief, pain in his heart, all warred for his attention far better than any physical discomfort. He didn't regret attempting to make amends and turn himself in, giving his victims justice, answering for his crimes, and freeing Hawke from this life he'd chained himself to with Anders, but he was too selfish to not feel and embrace the rush of bone-shaking relief at seeing Hawke again.

Anders moved to him, arms reaching to draw Adalwolfe close, if he'd allow it. He just wanted to pet that soft hair and kiss his love's face and feel the solid warmth of his Hawke in his arms again.

Of course, Hawke had never been this mad before, at least not at Anders, so he also wouldn't be surprised if his affection wasn't all that welcome currently.

"Love...I'm so sorry." He'd hurt Hawke all over again, even if he still believed what he'd done had been right, hurting Hawke was never forgivable and he seemed to be the best at it.

"You'd better be," Hawke's voice is a low growl and he grabs Anders by the lapels, wrenching him close so he can kiss him as ferociously as he'd just yelled. Everything behind the anger, the worry, the panic that drove him in a mad dash across half of Thedas and through a warzone where he's at least public enemy number 2, the relief to find Anders here in one piece when he'd been certain the Conclave explosion had ended his love in one fell swoop. He'd started this journey as one of revenge, of seeing answers. He'd been ready to tear down Haven by the nails if they'd been responsible for Anders' death. But then there were rumors, on the road. Whispers of the Herald of Andraste, none other than Anders the Renegade. Anders the apostate who had sparked the revolution. Some said his name with hate, some with reverence, but each person Hawke had cornered for answers and rumors all had one thing in common with their stories: Anders was alive.

He could figure out this plucked from the Fade nonsense later.

Hawke kisses Anders a bit too long and a bit too hard and he can hear in his periphery a stifled giggle from the Antivan woman with the writing board, followed by the other woman clearing her throat as the sound of Cullen's boots drew to a hault in the entryway, still standing blown open by the storm that is the Champion of Kirkwall.

"Perhaps if you two would like a moment to... catch up?" There's a spark of amusement in the redhead's Orlesian accent, though also a tone that implies they'd best take her up on her kind offer of that moment before she decides it's better to break them up personally and move on.

Anders can barely find it in him to care that they aren't alone here. They might as well be for how much attention he was giving the advisers. It had been a heartbreakingly long six weeks without Hawke.

He pressed into the kiss with desperate need like a man starved and only bothered to pull slightly away to caress Adalwolfe's cheek and into his hair, still dirty from the road but achingly real and perfect for it. "Of course, Leliana. I apologize for the interruption."

Josiphine cleared her throat, but even not looking at her, Anders can hear the smile in her voice. "It's quite all right. We'll continue this later on." Cullen made a disgruntled noise and Anders could hear his heavy boots step aside to allow them to pass. Better take their cue while Leliana was giving it to them.

He took Hawke's hand and led him back through the Chantry and out into the bright sunlight of Haven. Where there seemed to be a small gathering of soldiers and civilians, all murmuring and looking hesitantly into the Chantry as though afraid the building may blow up just as the Conclave had. Their concerned gazes fell to Hawke as the two mages stepped into the light. and it only took a moment for Anders to piece together what they must be thinking.

He put on a smile as Threin stepped forward, a somber and stoney expression on her face like she might be coming over to do something about the 'threat' Adalwolfe posed. Time to think fast.

"It's alright, go back to what you were doing. I apologize for the scare the Champion of Kirkwall might have caused...there was a misunderstanding, it's all sorted now."

He didn't bother to wait and see if his words took affect like he'd hoped, instead he just continued to lead them off to the cluster of cottages and the one Anders had been put in. Thank the Maker these people listened to him for some insane reason.

As soon as the door was closed behind them, Anders turned to Hawke. "What were you going to do, fight the entire Inquisition?"

"Yes," Wolfe replies bluntly, leaning against the nearest piece of furniture and looking at Anders with his eyes dark and his arms crossed. "I thought you were dead until I started hearing tales about how you were tossed out of that Rift by Andraste herself. What in the Maker's name were you thinking, going to the Conclave? We'd agreed it was better to stay out of it."

His posture remains tight, angry, and despite the coolness in his voice he's still clearly hurt. He'd dedicated the last ten years of his life to Anders, the last seven to his cause, and yet somehow the spirit healer continues to intentionally put himself into positions where he'll die easily. Hawke knows better than to think it's his fault - Anders had this problem long before they'd ever met, of that Wolfe is certain - but that the fact that he has Hawke isn't enough to stop him cuts more deeply than any moment of heartbreak before it.

"You lied to me. What's more, you intended to say goodbye in a note. A note. After ten years, I suppose I should be grateful I'm worthy of at least a note." He runs a hand down his face, looking up at the ceiling as if he can find some answer written there, some solution for the great mystery of why Anders can't just let it be.

Or does he know the answer to that already? The same reason he helps every down on their luck refugee or fresh-faced apostate that happens to cross their path; they both care too much, they both want to see the world better for their having been in it, and while Adalwolfe has no doubt that despite the bloodshed in Kirkwall they started something fundamentally necessary, if not good, Anders is plagued by it rather than proud. He'd set the bomb. He'd ignited it. He'd sat there, calm as you please on that crate and expected a knife in the back for that crime. He's still expecting it, despite all of Wolfe's attempts to persuade him that to keep living and keep trying to fix things is a far better atonement.

Adalwolfe's eyes find the cracks in the wall behind Anders, trace where a mouse might be getting in and stealing whatever scraps it can find to survive the winter in Haven, and he knows he's let the silence stretch too long. He has to say something to fill it, something easy and not at all as cruel as he guiltily feels at the moment, ready to lash out like a desperate animal. He feels desperate, with the stunt that Anders pulled. Desperate to keep him when he apparently wants so badly to go. "You look strange without your feathers. They're in my pack, if you want them."

Anders lets the words fall on him like knives, each cutting a little deeper until he aches with it. The silence just leaves the cuts throbbing as he keeps himself silent to let Hawke say what he would. The feathers comment is the most surprising part of everything his lover just threw at him and Anders runs a hand over one of his shoulders as though remembering what it felt like to smooth the feathers there.

"I can't believe you brought them with you."

Anders' eyes trace along the floor, finding imperfections in the wood and letting them steal his gaze for the time being.

"I'm sorry for the note. You're right, you deserved better than that, but short of paralyzing you and walking away, I couldn't think of a kinder way to keep you from coming with me. If you had-" All those twisted, melted, charred bodies. Innocent people caught in the flash fire of an explosion no one could have prepared for. Would they be like that, away from whatever had spared Anders? Or would it just be him standing here now, nothing left of the Champion of Kirkwall but a mutilated and charred corpse? He was sorry it had to be a note when Hawke deserved an entire novel's worth of praise, adoration and gratitude, but Anders wasn't sorry he'd left it.

It could have been so much worse. He'll take the anger and hurt over a dead Adalwolfe Hawke.

"I know we talked about it, but after we did, I couldn't stop thinking about it. They wanted to find peace, work something out all sides could be happy with. We did our part freeing the circles and helping mages see that things can be better, we helped them get to where they were supposed to be going. I thought, if I turned myself in, it could make the process easier. You said to atone through living and my actions after and I have been. I still was when I made that decision. I wanted to help...but I couldn't ask you to come with me this time. You deserve to live a life with fewer complications and more happiness, Hawke."

He's silent. The words that had popped into his head as soon as Hawke had accused Anders of not caring enough to do more than leave a note, swirled in his mind and threatened to choke him as they clambered up his throat to rest on his tongue. When he speaks, his voice is quiet, but firm.

"I love you. More than my own life, more than anything in the entirety of Thedas and I am more sorry than I can properly express that I hurt you again. But, Hawke, this decision wasn't about you."

He's really not sure why he did. At the moment he packed he'd thought Anders was dead, but it seemed like the thing to do. He'd left everything else. Anders' potion brewing kit, all of the bits and bobs they'd collected over the years. He'd grabbed his staff and stuffed clothes in a bag and that was it. Only he'd paused at Anders' feathered pauldrons, left behind because they're so recognizable, if he had to guess, and Anders would want to at least get to the Conclave to make a scene before being murdered. Always so dramatic.

Hawke could see it, Anders pulling down a hooded cloak directly in the middle of the proceedings, interrupting the Divine and all the Grand Clerics, not to mention near every Grand Enchanter in southern and central Thedas. He'd try to make some grand speech about the wrong thing for the right reasons or how they all could now see that change was needed. Necessary. And that he had done his part and now had to atone for it as they saw fit. How the Chantry always saw fit when a mage steps out of line. Anders would have still found his way to be a martyr.

But that isn't the part that bothers Hawke. Or rather, that bothers him the most. Instead it's how they'd talked about it and then Anders had decided to throw all of that out and go his own way. Yes, he'd probably thought of how Wolfe would feel but it wasn't enough, wasn't as important as the guilt he carries for what he did, what he had to do. Still, still, Anders doesn't believe that Adalwolfe wants to face these things together.

"No, it wasn't, but therein lies the problem." From anyone else the statement might sound self-centered ad petulant, but from Wolfe it promises an explanation. "We talked about it together. We made a decision, together. And then the moment I've got my back turned, you turn right 'round and ignore what we've decided on together. We're an us, Anders! You're not protecting me by locking me out and telling me what I deserve. I'm tired of people telling me what I deserve! My father, my mother, my friends, the Viscount, the Circle, the bloody Chantry, everyone in any position all my life has told me what I deserve and what I should want, be it good or ill, but I am too bloody old to be dictated to any longer. Especially not by you!"

He points at Anders to illustrate the point, angry but hurt and the two are warring for dominance on his face. A moment later he runs his hands over his face instead, trying to banish them both. "It should have been a decision about the both of us, Anders."

"And what would you have said if I told you I'd changed my mind? Would you have packed my bag for me and sent off with a kiss? No! If you had even listened to me, you would have come with me and then you likely would have been arrested alongside me, but they wouldn't kill you Hawke, they'd make you waste away in a cell for the rest of your life! Is that the kind of decision you'd like to make!?

"Maybe we'd have been lucky and caught in the explosion too! Or maybe, Maker forbid, everything would have gone exactly the same but you don't make it this time and the only thing left of you is a skeleton with it's skin melted to the bones and fused to the ground where you started to fall, if there'd even be enough of you to mourn over! Innocent mages and even non-mages were being killed in the streets and you could barely show your face in any town we went to; I just wanted to make things right!"

His words are practically a snarl as they run unchecked from his brain to his mouth, every 'what if' that had played through it since he'd made his decision. But as soon as they were out, he could feel the wind slipping from his sails, leaving him feeling drained and an unpleasant mixture of exhausted, wary and near tears. He collapsed into one of the two chairs in the tiny cabin and slumped forward on his elbows so his hands hung limp in the air.

As he stared at them, the left one picked up it's still foreign glow and spark of the mark on his palm. He hadn't even gotten what he'd aimed to accomplish. He'd just gotten this mark and a growing group of people who looked to him as 'Andraste's prophet.' What a damn joke. The Maker must really and truly hate him. And Hawke should too, after how Anders had now ruined their lives twice. He wouldn't, though. Anders would have to do it for the both of them.

"You're right. I shouldn't have made the decision for you. Nobody should make decisions for you, least of all me, I've done it too many times out of a desire to protect you. Each time I've only made things worse."

He turned his left hand over, staring at the glowing mark and partially wondering if he could maybe cut it off and they could go back to their lives instead. "Now I've got this and all those people out there, they-" He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Adalwolfe. I messed up, I never should have left. We could be back in Orlais, warm and safe instead of here."

But it had been the Just thing to do, turning himself in, he could have given justice to his victims and all the innocents killed, could have put things back in balance.

But what he'd done to Hawke wasn't Just. He'd made the only man who cared about him think he died with his only goodbye being a piece of paper. The only person who'd stuck by him despite every shred of logic. Was the justice to those random strangers really more important to him than what justice Hawke deserved? No, it wasn't, and he could feel a surge of disapproval in himself for the thought.

"That's hindsight," Adalwolfe returns sullenly, crossing his arms again, but he listens to the rest. Lets Anders get angry, vent, and then deflate. He can take that much, at least. When Anders is angry, it's so much easier to deal with than it was with his family. They all always blamed each other, or him. Usually him. He carried their guilt for them, like everything else, and he did it gladly for a long time. Anders though, Anders wants to keep guilt and sorrow as far away from Wolfe as possible and while he still feels strongly about having that be his own choice, he does understand. And he's grateful even when it drives him to distraction.

And there is an apology, which also helps.

With a soft sigh, Adalwolfe moves over and sits not on the other chair he'd have to drag over, but just on the dusty floor of the cabin beside Anders' foot. He'd rather be close than comfortable right now. "Just... promise me you'll try and think more about how things will effect the both of us, alright? And no more lies. I can't stand that, not after everything we've been through."

He looks up at Anders, then over at the mark, glowing that soft otherworldly green. "And who knows, maybe this is the atonement you've been searching for. Closing rifts, keeping the world from tearing itself apart. Does it hurt?"

He wanted to argue that he hadn't lied, that he'd been perfectly honest when he'd said he initially didn't want to go and again when he'd written his note. Changing his mind didn't mean lying...but if Adalwolfe believed he'd lied it was bad enough. He'd never been particularly good about the truth...how could he ask Hawke to trust him now that he thought Anders had failed that trust twice? Maybe Anders shouldn't ask it.

"I promise. I-" He sighed and let the sentence fall away. He could remember clearly his thought process before when they'd talked and then the thought process after when he'd changed his mind and he thought he knew what the difference was, where the change had happened, but he kept it to himself. What was the point now?

"It did at first, now it only does when I use it and I think that has less to do with the mark itself and more to do with the energy it takes to do what it does." A beat and there's an edge of humor to Anders' voice. "It makes for a great nightlight."

Slowly, Anders slid from the chair to his knees to wrap his arms tight around Hawke's shoulders and bury his forehead against Adalwolfe's hair.

They can never just ease into conversation after an argument. They're too... something. Insecure, maybe, but whatever it is they always end up in a bundle of limbs as a reassurance that nothing has been broken irreparably. Nothing ever has. If Adalwolfe can forgive Anders for the Chantry, he can forgive Anders for this. Damn his ability to see the why of things, but it makes him so much more forgiving even when he maybe shouldn't be. Anders can make him feel so pointless sometimes, but normally? When he's not trying to get himself killed? Normally Anders makes him feel like the most important person in the world. And maybe he is. It's just that all mages together equal up to heavier than Adalwolfe himself, not in least part because Adalwolfe is a mage. It's their weight added to his. So. Heavier.

He'll take some small amount of solace in that thought, but most of it comes from Anders sinking to the floor with him and bringing himself close. Of being able to have his love still here, still smelling of sandalwood, elfroot, copper, and something new. Something ancient and a bit ethereal, like the Fade. Must be the mark, he reasons, and brings his arms up around his mage's shoulders, tilting his head so their foreheads are touching. Somehow, like this, he can breathe easier.

"I was so afraid I'd lost you, my heart."

"I know." He pressed a kiss to Hawke's cheek but tried to move as little as possible. "Varric was going to send you a letter, I'd hoped you'd come when you got it. I know it's likely better if you don't get involved, you know Cassandra was looking for you, but I just wanted you here with me."

He let out a sigh that was half a strangled laugh. "Things are insane. What have you been hearing on the roads?" Even as he slipped back into normal conversation, he still clung tight to Hawke, content to grasp at his clothes and breathe in the scent of the road and sharp and enticingly comfortable scent that was all Hawke.

The kiss is returned, but Wolfe also doesn't want to move lest he have to give up any of this contact. "The Seeker he sent about? I'm sure I can handle her."

If she hasn't come storming in to skewer him on her sword by now, she's probably not going to. Or was it that she wanted to involve him in this Inquisition thing? Because that's now pretty much a certainty. Hopefully that's the one she wanted because then he'll get less resistance for his sticking around. He's absolutely not going to be made to leave now.

"When did you last talk to Varric? Does he know about your trip to the Conclave?"

Anders gave Hawke a peculiar look, like he was trying to tell if Adalwolfe was joking or not, but he quickly realized that wasn't the case. Slowly, a smile spread over his face.

"Love, you must have blown past him in your rush to punch me in the jaw, he's usually not too far from Haven's gates. He was on his way to the Conclave when it exploded, Cassandra wanted him to tell your story and what happened in Kirkwall to Divine Justinia. He's been here since I first tried to close the Breach."

"What, really?" Wolfe laughs, a rumbling sound. "I did, I missed him entirely. I'll have to apologize."

Still amused, Adalwolfe leans in a bit to examine Anders' jaw, make sure he didn't do any lasting damage. "I have to say I'm glad they didn't make it to the Conclave in time. If the worst had happened, having both of you gone would have been..."

He sighs, dropping his hand, then gives a sort of weak half smile. He's shoving it away, turning the still clinging fears over what could have been out of his mind. It's over now, Anders is safe, Varric is safe. It doesn't help to dwell, so it must be best to move on. "I hear some are still blaming you for that, even while others are calling you Thedas' savior. What exactly happened out there, love?"

His jaw was still sore, but more in a dim ache way that meant it might be a bruise later, but he wasn't going to bother with it just yet. He deserved to wear that little reminder for a while.

He leans in a bit closer when he hears Hawke falter over the 'what ifs' but Anders can't blame him for them; he'd imagine plenty of his own. But Hawke's question is met with Anders shaking his head.

"Honestly? I don't remember. Which, Varric has so helpfully informed me, is a terrible alibi. He insists I should have made something up, but I'm not nearly as good at that as he is." Plus, he'd been so confused and disoriented when he woke up, he hadn't even had the presence of mind to think he ought to lie.

"What I remember is being at the Conclave and walking through an empty hallway. The next thing...I was running from something? Somewhere...and this woman reached out to me. She was trying to help. Then I woke up in Haven's cells, I've been trying, but I can't remember for the life of me. I'm sure it would answer a few questions everyone, including myself, has if I could.

"Did you find anything out with Stroud?"

Edited 2016-11-07 23:51 (UTC)

"Maybe it's a poor alibi but it's still the truth. I'm less worried what they'll do to you when you have that on your hand, though." He motions to the mark. Rumor had it it was the only thing that could be used to seal the rifts; somehow that tid-bit had made it into the gossip he'd uncovered on his way to Haven.

At the question of Stroud, Wolfe leans back against the edge of the chair. "We found more red lyrium deposits. They're growing in a lot more places than they should be, which is worrisome. Above ground, which is worse. I'm not sure what to do about it other than destroy what we can. There's worse news, though."

He looks at Anders sidelong, a seriousness settling over him like a shroud. "What's more is the Wardens. Stroud was hearing the Calling too, they all are. That's why they've gone, pulled back to some stronghold in the desert. It's all of them at once."

With a shift, he looks at Anders directly again, an intense look on his face. "Are you still hearing it?"

Anders' expression sobers, a business-like seriousness he'd only recently discovered he could slip into with ease. The red lyrium was troubling, maybe Leliana's people could find something out about it, maybe Josephine could use her contacts to discover just how wide-spread this 'infection' was. But then there were the Wardens...surely Cullen's scouts could find out the location, maybe even report back any suspicious findings. One thing was for certain, however: Leliana was correct to worry about them.

His thoughts veered off with Hawke's question and his eyes snapped back up to look at his partner. Out of anyone in this camp, Hawke at least ought to know what now only Anders and Blackwall knew.

"No, I'm not. Something happened after I came out of the Fade, I don't know if it had anything to do with that woman or not, but I can't hear the Calling, I can't sense Darkspawn, I can't sense other Wardens. I'm not a Grey Warden anymore, Adalwolfe. The Taint is gone.

Silence reigns, Adalwolfe looking at the space in between them as opposed to Anders himself. That news has to set in somehow, beyond the tumult of emotion Wolfe had been choking on for the last several days. It's still there, even with his physical proof that Anders is here, and if not safe than at least sound. As sound as he ever is. Does this count as something that just happened to Anders, or something that he caused to happen to him in his going to the Conclave?

Moreover, he doesn't trust the news, good though it appears to be. He can never trust good news, not unless its slight. Fresh pastries in the morning, a rabbit in their hunting trap on the road, those are benefits he can swallow in a long life of awful, but something that could easily tilt the scales even with the death and battle that's dogged him all the while in Kirkwall, in Ferelden? This he doesn't trust because he didn't fight for it, wasn't there to see it done. He's just hearing about it now and instead of light it makes him uneasy, as if someone is standing just out of sight with a crossbow to strike while he's distracted.

Whatever the case, Adalwolfe doesn't know what to feel for the moment. He nods slowly, carefully, hesitant in a way that he never is. "You're... certain?"

Anders scoffed lightly and shook his head. "Not entirely, no. I was never a very good Grey Warden, it could be something else entirely...but, at the same time, I know it's not. I know it's gone. I can't explain it to you, the evidence I have could be worse, but I have no test I could take to prove it to you."

Anders finally moved and went to one of the windows to look out at the glistening snow, now growing dimmer as the sun began to set. "The nightmares aren't about Darkspawn, there's no ear-splitting cry of an Archdemon and, more-over, that song is gone." A small chuckle escaped him and as faint as it was, it wasn't without humor. "And, on top of all that, I got tired traipsing around Haven the other day. So I really do think it's gone." He turned back to Hawke with a lopsided smile. "Maybe I simply had too many qualifiers and one of them had to go, can't be a possessed apostate spirit healer, a renegade grey warden, the most hated revolutionary of this age, and...whatever I am now."

'Herald of Andraste.' He felt about that title about how his worst critics did.

"I don't know, there's others with more titles than that. Take your Leliana for example. Or Seeker Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Pentaghast, Princess of Nevarra, Hero of Orlais, Right Hand of the Divine." Varric may have been fairly specific in his initial letter warning them about the Seeker looking for Wolfe. If Adalwolfe didn't know any better, he might have thought Varric was font of this Cassandra in that he was so interested in her personal details.

Adalwolfe resettles himself against the chair, not regretting that earlier sudden need for contact but certainly regretting that they hadn't used the bed instead. The floor is cold and he's getting too old to make getting back up any easier. "Maybe your mark is drowning it out but it still worries me, especially if the Wardens as a whole are still hearing it. If all the Wardens go at once..."

He trails off, not wanting to follow that train of thought but certain that Anders knows where it leads regardless.

Anders looks back over to Hawke and moves to his side again. He reaches down with both hands to help hoist his boyfriend back up off the floor. Once he's up, Anders' arm wraps behind Hawke's hips and his hand curls at the side of his lover's neck.

"I didn't tell you about going to the conclave because I didn't want you hurt or arrested by association with me, I knew you'd want to protect me no matter the cost and I feel the same way about you, I wanted you safe, even if it meant I'd never see you again. But you're here now, love. You came to find me even still, I'll continue to worry for your safety and whatever danger might come calling for you even with the Inquisition, but we are together now. If there's one thing I've learned over the past three years of it only being the two of us, it's that we can weather anything that comes for us. Even the Wardens. Even whatever this mark is, even the damn Calling if we need to."

He leaned in to kiss Adawolfe, both of their lips a little rough and chapped from the cold, but it was still gentle and slow. Anders didn't feel half as confident as his words conveyed, but he hoped he could at least half convince Wolfe and maybe it would convince himself the rest of the way too.

He pulled away and pressed their foreheads together. "What do you say? Will you stay with me, even with these new perils?" His lips quirked up in a slim smirk. "Or, I suppose, we could run away together, slip out and escape this new responsibility." They wouldn't, Hawke was like Anders in that way, if someone needed help, they'd be there. Unfortunately, the 'someone' here was the entirety of Thedas, Maker save them. Besides, Leliana's people would spot them before they made it to the wilder parts of Haven to be sure, that woman was terrifyingly sharp.

It's the same weak argument and Adalwolfe just sighs as Anders gives it again. He can't protect Hawke, that's something that Adalwolfe has always thought was true even if he's rarely said anything of the sort. He doesn't mean in battle, but protecting him from perception, protecting him from the masses that already know what happened thanks to Varric's book. They're already in this together but Anders can never seem to see it. Instead he just tries to smile, tries to carry on with the bits that he doesn't see a need to argue with. Yes he will protect Anders no matter the cost, yes Anders feels the same. They want each other safe.

He'd fight every darkspawn himself if it means keeping Anders from his Calling. He lets that feeling fuel the heat of the kiss, much warmer than the weather outside.

"You know full well I'm not going anywhere now that I've got you again. We can't run, either. People will die, of demons from these rifts or worse. Do we even know what caused the explosion at the Conclave?"

Try as he might, he can tell his words fell short and he supposed it was inevitable they would. There was a new break between them he could feel, similar to those weeks and months after Kirkwall but, thankfully, not nearly as wide and deep. They needed some time. Anders had abandoned Hawke without warning, likely to be arrested or killed or worse and he'd intended to let Hawke find out second hand.

He tries to let the thought drift back away from the front of things where it felt more desperate and focused on the question instead.

Anders' expression twisted into frustrated confusion as he pulled away again and looked to his hand, the green glow raising up again from the jagged mark on his palm. "We don't know. If I saw it, I can't remember it. Solas says he doesn't believe it was any sort of magic we might recognize, but it was too massive and too...destructive to be anything man-made. Maker, at least, I hope not."

A shudder ran through him as the memories of the twisted and still-burning victims of the Conclave seared through his mind. "I'm hoping..I don't know, maybe there will be some clue when we finally, fully, close the rift."

Edited 2017-04-18 21:37 (UTC)

"My first though was Qunari Blackpowder but even that wouldn't cause a tear in the Fade," Hawke muses, letting that white lie sound like the truth. It was his second thought, the first being that Anders had actually done it. He'd wrestled with that for some time, trying to point out that Anders wouldn't destroy the free mages who went to the Conclave like that, especially not after whatever happened at the previous one at the White Spire. Trying to tell himself that Anders' goal here was to atone, not further push the conflict. They'd stayed out of it for the last year, once all the Circles they could get to had been freed or dealt with. But a traitorous part of him, the part that looks at things too logically and focuses on the dark parts of men's natures, thought that maybe Anders' - or Vengeance's - anger was too great and had finally consumed him.

He lets that go, watching the thought sink under the proverbial bridge like so many other things.

"I'm coming with you when you do, obviously. One more mage to help with Fade stuff is going to be an asset. I'm sure I can make my case to that lot." He waves his hand in the vague direction of the Chantry building, referring to the women who had been in audience when he'd marched in. Cullen hardly counts; they'd already established long ago that his authority means virtually nothing to Hawke.

Anders gives a small, tight smile.

"You don't need to convince anyone. Leliana and Josephine are very practical and they'll see the benefit of having you along. Cassandra hardly counts as well, she's been wanting you here from day one, don't be surprised if she asks for your opinion. The Commander' opinion doesn't really matter in this either, he doesn't dictate who I take with me where. Really, his role is just to deal with the army, not whatever I do."

For once. It's a sour thought that darkens his expression for a moment but he releases it intentionally and takes a deep breath to steady the wave of...negativity that surges up in the back of his mind.

Being around Cullen was difficult for more than one reason. For one, they didn't agree on quite a few things that they both felt passionate about. For another thing, a lot of the bad Anders could remember, from Kinloch Hold to Kirkwall, was stirred up and brought to the forefront whenever he saw the former Templar. It often caused Justice to surge in him and make him feel like a continual hum was vibrating his head and chest.

Despite their history, they'd actually managed to remain civil to each other. At least so far. But that didn't mean they'd spent a significant amount of time 'hanging out' either. Anders had swung by the training grounds a few times to talk, and some of their conversations had even been about something other than the Inquisition...but only perhaps twice.

"I wish it didn't, but the Inquisition will need your help, Hawke." Maker, he wished it didn't, it would put Hawke in more danger and bring back the need for the Champion of Kirkwall. The Champion of Kirkwall and the Herald of Andraste...even if the Inquisition didn't need the Champion, they'd be getting him while Anders was there. It was his own fault Hawke was in danger again.

"Naturally," Adalwolfe waves a hand, pronouncing the word loftily as if he doesn't have any doubts when in actuality he can't imagine why anyone would want him to lead anything. Every time anyone ever brings up that notion he has to wonder if the world's gone mad. Though now, with a glowing green crack in the sky, maybe it has.

The silence after that word goes on just a little bit too long and Wolfe clears his throat.

"Should I return you to your retainers? Or do you think they expect us to be a bit longer?" His hand returns to Anders' side, slipping under his coat to do it. Wolfe has always thought the round-ring fastenings on Anders' coat were hardly practical to keeping out the chill, but with his ability to creep his hands easily inside said coat, he does find them practical for other things. Not that he feels particularly amorous at the moment, it's just... how Anders left, how he'd thought his love dead, a charred body among many. Adalwolfe needs this, he needs to feel Anders solidly beside him, under his hands, taking up space in his life so know that there isn't just a hole there that's molded to his shape.

"You can introduce me properly to your Inquisition later," he whispers against Anders' neck, pressing a kiss to the soft skin there and warming it from the mountain's cold with his breath.

'Your Inquisition' are some of the most terrifying words he's ever heard. It was Leliana's and Cassandra's Inquisition. Being 'The Herald of Andraste' was the only thing he could think of that scared him more and he'd had no say in it. Blessed and cursed in equal measure...he might not wish Wolfe here, but Maker save them, he didn't think he could do this without him, either.

"They can wait. They can't decide who to approach next...but they know who I would choose." His voice drifted off, already a little breathy under Hawke's lips as Anders tilted his head back for easier access. This first. He needed this first and then he could put his mind back to their efforts. Redoubled with his love at his side.

The kiss is sweet and almost chaste for how Wolfe pulls away just after to furrow his brow at Anders. "Approach for help? I'm surprised all of Thedas hasn't sent some sort of-"

He cuts himself off, the reminder of just what sort of world they live in catching up with him all at once. "Nevermind, I'm not actually that surprised. Who's on the list, then?"

Anders can't help the slight flare of disappointment when Wolfe pulls away. He was more than ready to not think about business for a while, but he knew his love, he'd be too distracted by wanting to know what field they were on before anything more intimate could come up. Besides, Anders hardly deserved it considering the stress he'd put Hawke under.

He leaned in for another (selfish) kiss, then took Wolfe by the hand so they could sit at the small table in the cabin. Even once they were sitting, however, he didn't release Wolfe's hand.

"You'd think they'd want help, considering the sky is broken, but it seems people are ever as impractical. For that hole in the sky, the others think we should either approach the rebel mages to pour more magic into the mark so that it's strong enough to close the rift, or approach the templars holed up in their corners to weaken the magic in the rift itself." Anders sighed a bit, that weight that had settled on him since he'd woken up and walked outside to find half of Haven staring at him, settling back in. "Cullen has a point, the templars likely could accomplish such a thing, but the fact I'd be the one approaching them when I'm the most hated mage in all of Thedas makes the idea laughable. I suspect they know it's not workable, but considering we have so few avenues of aid, they don't want to take it entirely off the table."

If they'd even make the decision. This group...they debated and argued so much...it seemed the only thing they'd managed to -barely- agree on, was to include him in the decision making instead of just sending him where they needed him. He had a sinking suspicion the decision would end up in his hands in the end anyway.

"If they're really as Maker-fearing as they say they are, they'll follow you if you're Andraste's Herald." He says this with irony, knowing that templars aren't so much Maker-fearing as mage-fearing on the whole. "No, the mages would be better. They'll listen to you, first of all. Or some of them anyway. And it could earn them amnesty and a chance to show they can use their magic to serve man in the spirit of the Chant and not the Chantry."

Wolfe lets that sink in for a moment, lets the conversation go back to the cause. Yes there are more pressing matters in that the sky has cracked open and Maker knows what is seething green on the other side, but that doesn't mean they can't try to help in such a way as to further their endeavor as well. Anders is in a position to do so much more good then they ever could even when they were traveling the Marches and further to push Circles to join the rebellion. A rebellion that's gotten more mages killed than saved, if Adalwolfe has any true guess. Maybe this Inquisition can bring a peace with it.

There's not just that either. He wants Carver far away from this and were the Templars called to help, he knows his brother would be first in line to heed the call. Not through any sort of chase for glory - not anymore - but because it's what should be done for the good of all. Bless him, but he'd not see the danger. No, best leave him out to sea with Isabela chasing whatever lie they'd come up with to get him to go. Best keep the Templars out of notoriety altogether lest word get back to the younger Hawke and spur him to seek out the Inquisition himself. Maker's breath, that might be the end of Adalwolfe if it came to pass.

It's the right thing to ask the mages even without his personal doubts, but he can't help the bit of nagging doubt that wonders if they really do need Templars to fight against magic in this case... and the stakes are too high to fail.

He weaves his fingers between Anders', rubbing his thumb against the freckles on the back of his love's hand. "Who's leading the rebel mages now?"

"Enchanter Fiona. She has a good head on her shoulders and she's been a voice of reason in the circles for some time now. There's also a rumor she has some history of working with the Wardens for something, but I don't know how much of that is true. Jospehine said she'd look into it."

The thought reminded him of Blackwall and, consequently, Leliana's concern about the Warden's involvement with the Conclave. He almost wished Blackwall was a true Warden, if only for the insight he could provide. Anders had told him he would keep the secret as long as Blackwall eventually told him why he was even keeping it someday, but he wondered if Hawke actually had to count in that. Maybe later, if it even mattered.

"When I go back in there, if they still haven't made a decision, I'll make it for them. We were technically invited there by Fiona, unlike the templars who closed the door in our faces in Val Royeaux, so it makes the most sense. Even beyond my personal preferences. Besides, the Warden-Commander mentioned Arl Emon was a very reasonable man and she helped them before, perhaps the Warden angle will come in handy."

Which...was another thing...the taint. He should mention that too, there was no way Wolfe would know just by looking at him. Maybe he'd be able to pick it up in the coming nights as Anders' sleep went uninterrupted by nightmares of blight and darkspawn, but it would likely be more appreciated as something told than discovered. It was just a matter of how. So far, only Leliana and Blackwall even knew.

"It should, especially in Ferelden considering it's your Warden Commander's accomplishment that the country is even still standing." Wolfe leans back in his chair, his free arm perched along the back while leaving his other hand still entwined with Anders'. "Varric mentioned the Seeker was looking for the Hero of Ferelden alongside me in his letter. Did she find her?"

He's curious to meet her actually. Has been ever since he learned her surname was the same as his, and a mage to boot. He'd always assumed his and Bethany's magic had come from their father but if it had come from the nobility side instead... well, it doesn't really mean anything honestly, but it is a curious coincidence that he's interested in finding out more about. He doesn't expect the the Seeker has located the Warden though, otherwise she'd likely be here.

"Nevermind, she likely would have been in the chantry with the others if she'd been here so my guess is no. As for Enchanter Fiona, it's probably best to stop dallying and make the trek to Redcliff before the war gets someone killed. I propose you march back into that room and use your newfound authority to do some good."

You know. In a minute. When he can bring himself to let go of his love's hand.

Just as Wolfe was going back on the question, Anders shook his head. Cassandra hadn't been successful in finding Warden-Commander Amell, just as she hadn't had a clue how to find Hawke himself. She'd tried to press it out of Anders himself, even, but he'd been steadfast in his refusal to give Wolfe over to the Seeker. Even once she'd sweared she only want to contact him for the good of Thedas, he hadn't budged. Wolfe was here now, but Anders still hoped his old commander and friend could stay out of this. She deserved some peace, they both did.

"Yes, you're probably right. We had to dispatch both the mages and templars fighting on the king's road through the Hinterlands, just to make the land safe again for those uninvolved. I don't want to keep seeing that bloodshed."

He could feel the surge in him that pressed for action. The need for that direction, briefly set aside by Hawke's arrival, now back in the center with Wolfe's own support. Justice couldn't abide by this any more than he could. Clearing out the rebel mage encampment had been painful, but even when he'd demanded their peace, they hadn't listened, so desperate to fight any who crossed their path. Even one of their own.

Anders nodded and stood. "I'll go now. There'll still be a day of preparation before we leave. I should go now to ensure we can leave as soon as possible. Thank you, love." For showing up, for granting this moment of reprieve, for putting him back on the path he should be on.

The decision had been made quickly and without too much push-back. The fact he was the one who'd been invited to speak with Enchanter Fiona on top of the fact the templars wouldn't return their missives seemed to make the decision largely Anders'. Well, Anders and Hawke. Cassandra had seemed almost relieved to have the Champion of Kirkwall now among them, Josephine told Anders almost immediately she intended to capitalize on it and even Leliana had seemed pleased. Cullen...less so, but Anders didn't care. He was just happy the commander hadn't fought him on the decision beyond his initial comment about fearing what so much power in the mark would do. Privately, Anders didn't disagree with him by half, but there really wasn't much choice.

With a day of preperation, Anders took Wolfe, Cassandra, and Varric with him to the Hinterlands. It was good to see the changes already taking place in the areas they'd helped. The cult in the hills could be seen down with the people at the Crossroads encampment, helping refugees and healers both, the Inquisition forces keeping bandits from the main roads, the lands seemed much more peaceful. Redcliffe was different, almost immediately there was something wrong when the rift at the gates to the city caused time in sections of the field to speed up or slow down. As soon as the last demon was down and the energy around the rift broke, he closed it, his thoughts already stumbling over what could have caused it. 'Some sort of product of the Fade? Then why only this rift? The others have never done this...'

That was only the start. The scout warned them they weren't expected. Anders might have feared some sort of misunderstanding, if both Cassandra and Varric hadn't been there when Fiona had asked for them as well. Then Fiona's man had mentioned a magister, and he could feel the tension in the party rising, himself included. Magisters were rarely a good thing when involving themselves in the South. Redcliffe itself seemed...taxed and confused, but safe. Running into Connor Guerrin shed a bit of light on the situation with Emon's absence and a touch too much light as he admitted his role in what had happened in Redcliffe ten years back.

'Weren't you possessed? And a child as well! It wasn't your fault.'
'Wasn't it? I let the demon in. Sometimes I dream of that time, all the death and destruction, and it's me. It's always me.'

Anders' blood had run cold, but he'd dropped the line of questioning quickly enough, the presence of his three companions behind and beside him a looming and uncomfortable one in the shadow of those words. He asked about the circle instead, and what Connor said was both uplifting and understandable. He'd voted against dissolving Kinloch, but came with the rebels anyway as there was no where else to go. The fact the mages Anders had grown up with had largely just seen to taking care of themselves, no one summoning demons or anything, put something close to pride in him. It was just this magister's involvement that had ruined things, by the sound of it. Anders held no love for the circle he'd grown up in, but seeing familiar faces in the crowd here and there, faces that either didn't meet his gaze or looked right through him as though there'd been too much time and change for recognition put an ember in him.

This magister wouldn't be staying. They were right to come here, no matter what was going on with Fiona, they would help these poor people, those in the city being pushed out by this force from the north, and the mages themselves.

Fiona met him with dignity as much as obvious confusion, her explanation about wanting to save her people from violence and anger wasn't as hateful and heated as Anders would have expected since it was partially his fault for her situation, she seemed more sorry than anything, but Anders couldn't even find fault in her reasoning. Just the decision itself, something he made plain before the magister himself arrived.

Alexius was smooth as a snake in grass and Anders did his best to channel his love's more diplomatic influence and sat with the man to ask him questions. All of his answers were too political, too precise, and too convenient. Before Anders could ask anything more, however, Felix had stumbled against him. Almost immediately, Anders had tried to push his healing into the young man's system, which seemed to ease a line in Felix's brow...and allow him to slip something into Anders' hand while he was at it.

'I appreciate your effort, Herald, but I'm afraid this is beyond even a Spirit Healer's talent. I apologize, everyone.'

It wasn't until Alexius was ushering the boy off and Anders' eyes stared blankly at the words on the secret paper that the feeling occurred to him. The resistance against his magic. The sickly poisonous feeling at the edge of his awareness as though running into a wall of the stuff...it was blight-sickness. The taint. Felix was right, there was nothing Anders could do for him, no healing cured the taint and Anders had never learned enough about the joining to even try and offer it. If he even would. The joining was no cure, no salvation.

It weighed on him as they went to the Chantry, that feeling that he should be able to do more. If he'd still been tainted, he would have known immediately, but he wasn't and why was that? Why him when he couldn't even figure out how to do it again to save a man who seemed so kind?

There was no relief to be had in the Chantry, however. Another rift with warps in time around it, another Tevinter mage, though this one promised he was no magister. He was charming and full of useful information, which only made the anxiety of the situation worse. Time magic, fissures in time as well as the sky, a cult of Tevinter mages who might be behind this whole thing, but who certainly had it out for Anders.

'He rearranged time itself and indentured the rebel mages just to get to me why?'
'They're obsessed with you. I don't know why. Perhaps because you survived the Temple of Sacred Ashes.'
'All this for me? I didn't get Alexius anything.'

Humor was about all he had left with everything tearing at his attention and none of it making sense. He was thankful to have Wolfe with him now, at least, being able to look over at him. To have him nearby and know he was at Anders' back...he wasn't sure how he'd be able to do any of this without him.

With more planning needed, they returned to Haven and the advisors. Varric had barely said much to him, but he caught Anders briefly to offer that, perhaps, he shouldn't go rushing in, that maybe he should think about this before walking into a Tevinter trap. Anders had no doubt it was a trap, but he couldn't let this wait. Justice or maybe his own guilt, was pushing him to solve this now, to free the mages now in Tevinter's hold.

He went right back to the war table and pushed for the Inquisition's movement forward. Even with Cullen saying the castle was impregnable, Josephine telling him Alexius was asking directly for him and it was a trap, and Leliana's assurance the trap was meant to be lethal, Anders wasn't swayed. If anything, he was more motivated. They needed to remove this threat, free the town, and free the mages.

'Redcliffe Castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in Ferelden. If you go in there, you die and we lose the only means of closing the rifts. I won't allow it.'
'And if we don't even try to meet Alexius, we lose the mages and leave a hostile power on our doorstep!'
'Even if we could assult the keep, it would be for naught! An "Orlesian" army marching into Ferelden would provoke a war. OUr hands are tied.'

Around and around and Anders could feel the headache brewing and his patience fraying. His determined but heated voice joined the fray.

'We can't just give up! There has to be something we can do!'

And that seemed to break the tide. Cassandra's support at his back, Leliana remembered a passage into the castle, an option to get Cullen's troops in while Anders and his group were the distraction. Finally, a step in a good direction. Dorian offered his help and it finally seemed a plan was coming together.

A plan that worked.

Anders walked in with full confidence of a man holding the power in the room, something he'd seen Hawke do with nobles and even the Templars of Kirkwall time and time again. He used that now, controlling their arrival and even the conversation with Alexius where the smarmy lout tried to hold the rebel mages just out of reach, as though taunting him. Anders shut him down with the finality of someone who already knew he'd won, proclaiming he had no intention of giving Alexius anything, he'd simply be taking the mages and leaving.

Like clockwork, Felix provided just the last moment of distraction needed before the venatori around the room met their swift end under the blades of the inquisition, even granting them a moment more of insight with a mention of an 'Elder One.' Then it turned south.

A moment of flared outrage and desperation.

'You are a mistake! You never should have existed!'

An amulet and a flare of green magic as something that looked like a rift opened up behind Alexius in an explosion of energy. Dorian's weight struck Anders' back and everything inside him felt like it twisted up as his feet left the floor.

Edited 2020-09-03 01:36 (UTC)

Dorian lurches with a yell as he sends a spell at Alexius and suddenly Anders and their erstwhile ally were gone in a swirl of green. Vanished as if they'd never been. Adalwolfe cries out in alarm, spinning his staff at his side as he darts forward to confront the Magister in a cloud of rage that likely only Varric knew of what depths to fear it. "What have you done!?"

Alexius balks for just a moment, steps back and looks as any other old man may without the weight of magic to protect him. So sharp is the Champion's rage, biting cold and bitter chill, there's a waver in his voice as he commands more guards, Venatori, the indentured mages, anyone to come to his aid.

A call that's answered with a roar.

It's enough to even make Adalwolf look up instinctively despite the roof blocking any hope of seeing the sky. A dragon's bellow is not to be ignored, no matter how much anguished confusion is driving the Champion to in his advance on Alexius. The magister, for his part, barks a laugh somewhere between manic fear and resignation. "It's not just me you'll have to deal with now, cur."

"Hawke, I hate to say it but we need to go while the going's good." Varric too has his eyes and Bianca's bolts, trained on the ceiling. Cassandra nods along, standing ready with her sword drawn and shield poised, but her feet shuffling towards the exit.

"Not until this filth tells me what he's done with Anders," Wolfe's eyes flash cold steel as he grabs Alexius by his impractical collar.

"Hawke!"
"Champion!"

Another roar and a distant commotion.

The words that pass Adalwolfe's lips make even Alexius pause, giving him a wild-eyed and pearl clutching stare as he's dragged and shoved ahead of the Champion and towards the exit. "We'll drag him along then. Go!"

The dash out of Redcliffe is frenetic. The moment they're under open sky, the scent of smoldering pitch burns their nostrils. Screams and running feet are all that can be heard save for the punctuated roars of the dragon and for all the haze and press of bodies - civilian, Inquisition, and Venatori - it doesn't take long for Alexius to make his escape. Hell, for the drag out the party has with the Venatori, it's amazing they escaped with their own lives.

The ride back to Haven by contrast is dead silent. Varric tries once or twice to strike up conversation but Hawke has none of it, silent as the grave and looking only straight to the road ahead.

"C'mon, Waffles," Varric tries again in sight of Haven's gates, trying desperately to get some kind of response from his friend.

"Unless you have an idea of what the hell happened back there I suggest you keep your bloody mouth shut." There's no conviction in the threat.

"Hawke, that's not-"

"We left him behind, Varric."

That's it, really. That's all there is for Adalwolfe. He doesn't actually care so much about the Inquisition or the cause or any of the unspoken 'what are we going to do now about the giant rift in the sky that keeps spitting out demons?' None of it seems so pressing as Anders being here and then not just a moment later and the bastard that did it sitting on a throne.

Adalwolfe turns his horse around to a disgruntled sound from Cassandra.

"You can't just go riding ba-"

"No, you can't just go riding off. I'm the Champion of Kirkwall and I can do as I bloody well please!"

"If we're resorting to titles, I outrank you," the Seeker arches her eyebrow.

"It seems you've mistaken me for someone who cares an iota about authori-"

She raises her voice to cut him off. "We may not have all the might of the Inquisition of old, but we do have some soldiers, and contacts in Denerim. Now that Alexius has shown his true colors, we can appeal to the king for aid in taking Redcliffe."

Adalwolfe lets out a breath at that, deflating. It's a solid, logical plan and he nods to acknowledge it, even though it does nothing to curb his yearning to just ride back and storm the entire castle himself. "I'm sorry, Varric."

"It's fine. Verbal abuse I can take. It's another day's ride on horseback that'll end me."

The two men exchange glances in understanding of each other, no other words said, but there's an easing of tension into a solid sort of settled grief-driven determination.

"Let's get word to Denerim."

---

A roar breaks the night's quiet and Adalwolf stumbles out of the cabin only half dressed, a mistake in the cold mountain air but he's not feeling the chill. He's not feeling much of anything watching the blighted dragon float around the perimeter of Haven. There's a sense of dread beyond it too, of something worse coming. He's felt it since they left Redcliffe and attributed it to Anders' loss - a loss he steadfastly refuses to believe is permanent - but now it feels too close, too familiar. Maybe old uncomfortable memories of the Blight? Maybe...

A figure lights from the dragon's back as it skims and lands near the lower gates. Heavy footfalls heard from meters away as Adalwolfe and Cullen nearly run into each other on the path down from Haven's upper roads.

"What in the Maker's name is that?" Cullen sounds aghast not just at the dragon, but at the figure, glowing red disfiguring crystals protruding from its face and chest. Adalwolfe stops cold.

"No..."

Cullen looks to Wolfe as the older man stares in wide-eyed recognition of the towering visage making its way inexorably up the hill.

"Blood of the Hawke. I suppose I should be... grateful." A voice like slabs grinding together reaches their ears and Cullen tenses, bringing up both sword and shield only to be immediately pushed back by a wave of magic from the ancient magister. The Knight-Captain keeps his feet, but only barely.

The move however does snap Adalwolfe from his stupor and he joins the fray, staff whirling as he slings spell after spell at his foe, Cullen redoubling to press the attack and the other members of the Inquisition joining them one by one as they arrive. At least, until the dragon takes to the skies again, raining terror and death down from above and splitting the combatants below between Corypheus and the blighted dragon... and then waves of others. An army of mages and templars alike, the mages either enslaved or Venatori and the templars glowing red with protrusions of corrupted lyrium piercing their armor from beneath, breaking the metal surface like compound fractures breaking skin.

It's a hopeless fight. They've been caught flat footed and disastrously outnumbered, but they fight to the last. Adalwolfe especially fights desperately, knowing now this is his fault entirely. Corypheus, whom he'd thought defeated after he'd been deceived into awakening him the first time. They'd checked, he'd been killed, his body lifeless at the top of a Warden prison deep in the Vimmarks. He fights to rectify that mistake, he fights to protect his friends, to protect the innocent forces of the Inquisition, and he fights to live long enough to find out what became of his love.

He fights until he's spent, out of magic, and still he keeps swinging his staff until the magister catches Hawke's Key in his massive, deformed hand and snaps it with no more effort than one would snap a twig. Adalwolfe rakes a hand across his arm then, cutting himself open and calling upon all the power in his blood, the Blood of the Hawke, the magic he swore on his life to his father and friends that he had never and would never use, but if this blood had kept Corypheus prisoner before then maybe, maybe...

Corypheus grabs Adalwolfe by the face before the spell can coalesce and everything goes dark.

His boots land in water and he barely has a moment to be confused before the sound of voices draw his attention to advancing Venatori. They have a moment of surprise on them that turns the battle tense, but he and Dorian fall into an easy step with each other, a natural cohesion he noted and set aside to examine another time. A time when they aren't now in the bowels of Redcliffe Castle and every part of him that is Justice tears at him with the wrongness of whatever's happened.

"Ah! It's not just where, it's when!"

Immediately, that thought alone sends a spike of sharp anxiety through him. There's red lyrium everywhere and who knew what could have happened in however long they've been gone. The single hope that Dorian may be able to reverse the event is the only thing that keeps Anders from caving in on himself then and there. All the stress of the Conclave, being the Herald, the mark, the looks and whispers and shouts that meshed with the looks of hopes and pleas that he, of all people, could do something to help everyone when the sky was broken. The knowledge he'd drawn Wolfe in only for everything to have gone wrong in one instant because he'd thought he could disarm a trap made of magic he could barely comprehend. Having that hope they could fix this was all he could cling to.

With the determination of heated anger and frustration and stress, Anders pushed through the dungeons of the castle like a rush of concentrated fury, his lightning crackling viciously in his wake. A few guards met their end not by his magic, but by pure gravity as Anders callously shoved them off the edge of the platform they were on and into the abyss below. The bridge leading them into the rest of the castle was drawn, so they chose the right most branch, Dorian at his heels and only one ignored comment about being quiet and subtle to chase Anders' actions. The red lyrium was growing from the floor and the walls and Anders didn't want to think about the implications of that just yet, even as Dorian voiced them.

Their first path led to a cell, one of them holding the young man Anders had spoken to before, the one who'd greeted them at the gates of Redcliffe. Two seconds in and it was clear the poor man was addled by the red lyrium growing around him. Worse were the vein-like strands of red lyrium energy that seemed to cling to his being and eyes, not unlike Meredith on that horrible night that Kirkwall burned.

Past him, they found something far worse. Fiona, adhered to the floor and walls by the large growths of red lyrium from her body.

"You're...alive..? How? I saw you...disappear. Into the Rift." Her voice struggled with pain and echoed in a way Anders had only heard once before.

He shook his head, as though trying to remove the image while it still existed before him. "The Red lyrium...it's growing..from you...how?"

"It's a disease. The longer you're near it, you become this, then they mine your corpse for more." Anders' mind reeled from the information, something in his chest clenching painfully at just how many of these cells were 'empty' and held only the lyrium.

Dorian seemed less effected, his voice held a note of desperation, but for something far more immediate. "The date. Can you tell us the date? It's very important."

"Harvestmere. 9:42, Dragon." Fiona's croaking answer made Anders' blood run cold, but his silence held out even as Dorian continued.

"9:42? Then we've missed an entire year!"

"Please...you must stop this. Alexius, he serves the Elder One. More powerful than the Maker, no one challenges him and lives."

Finally, the cold burned away under the renewel of Anders' hate and anger at the mention of Alexius' name and whoever this 'Elder One' was. "Then We'll have to change that.

"If I can get the amulet, I may be able to reverse the spell in the same place it was cast. It may also turn us to paste." Dorian's voice of reason offered, but Anders shook his head again, this time in determination instead of denial.

"We have no choice. We must try, no matter the consequence. This can't come to pass, Dorian."

"Your spymaster...Leliana, she's here. In the Castle. You must find her." Fiona offered.

The healer in him wanted to offer something, anything to make her more comfortable, but he knew there was nothing he could do. The sooner they left, the sooner they could ever stop this from happening.

"I swear to you, we will fix this. We'll put it right." He ached to do it, but Anders tore his eyes from Fiona and turned from her to head back to the central chamber.

"We'll try the other branch of the dungeon, perhaps your spymaster is down there. Hopefully in better sorts." Anders nodded to his companion, also hopeful they could maybe find more information. 'More powerful than the Maker' wasn't a good sign, but all this destruction...in only a year? There had to be something else they didn't know about.

They were met with little resistance that they easily dispatched and dove into the other side of the dungeon. The first functional section of cells they came across had Anders choking on his own breath. There, staring absently past him, stood Varric. He wasn't encased by the lyrium, thank the Maker, but his eyes held that glow and those veins of magic swirled around him the same way it had that young mage.

"Varric..." Anders' tone betrayed his horror and Varric's attention seemed to snap to the present as he focused on Anders and Dorian opened the door to his cell.

"Andraste's sacred knickers...you're alive..." For just a moment, it sounded like relief, but then a deep crease formed between his brows and that relief melted to anger that scalded Anders' heart. "Where have you been? How could you escape and then vanish like that!?"

"We didn't escape, Alexius sent us into the future." Dorian's cool tone cut in before Anders could try and find the words to defend himself.

Almost immediately, Varric's expression melted from anger to passive dismissal. Same as that night three years ago when he'd barely looked at Anders. "Everything that happens with or around you is weird."

"You might be right about that." A fragile joke that Anders felt feeble on Anders' lips, but Varric seemed to take it in stride all the same.

"I'm always right. And when I'm not, I lie about it. So, what's the plan here, Blondie? Or did you come back just to trade quips with me?"

"We get to Alexius and I may be able to reverse this entire thing and send us back in time. Simple, really."

"You and I have very different definitions of simple. You want to tangle with Alexius? I'm in." Anders was more than thankful for whatever good graces had granted him Dorian's level head and Varric's willingness to just roll with whatever shit came his way, it pushed him back on track and Anders' nodded, aiming to head back towards the hallway they'd been in. Varric's hand on his wrist stopped him.

"You may want to check the other cells..." It was a cryptic thing that instantly froze Anders through. His legs took him forward as the other two stayed back, though he didn't feel the stone beneath him. He went further down the cell block, most of them empty, but the last seemed to carry a few small sounds of movement. Anders took a breath and moved to see who was in it, even as his insides roiled with fear and dread.

He hums.

Not out loud, he doesn't think. Its hard to tell anymore, but Adalwolf can feel it in his bones. Literally within his bones, clawing to get out, thrumming with the need to grow and twist and making him vibrate from deep within. Making him glow, making him see everything with a sanguine tinge.

He's not sure that wouldn't be true anyway. The last night of Haven may have been his first time using blood magic, but it wasn't the last. Far far from it. He'd used that power to attempt escape so many times now he's lost count, runes cut into his arms, scarring his skin and flecking it with crimson that won't fade. Its solid now, the red lyrium jutting through his skin in the patterns of the cuts he's made to call upon his power - his father's power that runs through his blood - anything to try and fight this.

That's long out of him though. Corypheus had seen to that. And then the spectre of his mother telling him how he's failed them all, of Bethany beckoning him to join her in death, of Carver all broken out in spears of red lyrium with the same insane zeal that plagued Meredith at the end. He'd fought that figment, striking down his own brother to defend a self he no longer even felt worth defending. A blood mage, an abomination, the very thing he'd pitied and fought against all these years. It was Carver's right as a Templar to put him down, but he was always stronger than his little brother. Always just that much more practiced. Always that much more willing to go the extra distance even if it cost him everything.

And it has. He has nothing now. Nothing but the hum of the lyrium in his bones and the sound of familiar footsteps in the puddles of his prison. He's heard that approach before, dreamed it so many times. And it always hurt. Hurt to have it happen, hurt to be condemned, hurt to be forgiven, hurt to have Anders vanish in front of him like so much ephemera. Every time, the same. He's not really there.

Just like now.

Adalwolf turns and faces the bars, eyes glinting red with a light of their own, and looks upon the face of his long-dead love with a resigned and hopeless smile.

"Well. Here we are again."

The sharp red glow of the crystals protruding from skin, the pale color stained and sickly in the glow, is the first thing he sees. But he doesn't need to see that face or hear that voice to know who it is. He had the second Varric had stopped him. He just hadn't wanted to.

The sound that escapes him is wretched and pained and he can feel the cracks that spring out from the corners of his eyes as Justice flares up under Anders' fear and anger. He barely remembers wrenching the door open to throw himself into the cell, but he can't bring himself to take those last two steps needed to reach Hawke. Frantic, fearful, eyes dart from one wrongness to the next: the red crystals, the veins of corruption...that red shine to normally pure grey eyes. The look in those eyes.

His hands shook as he moved into Wolfe's space and gently reached out to cradle his face.

"Hawke...love? It's me."

What Wolfe had said caught up to him, particularly 'again' and realization stirred like dust off a floor. Red lyrium caused hallucinations and delusions and images when near it...growing out of-

He can't even think of those crystals right now, what it means that they're growing from his love's body, how far gone he must already be...

The cracks fade and Anders' voice comes out thick with the smothered emotions. "I'm real, I swear it. We weren't killed, we were pushed forward in time. It is me, my light."

Edited 2020-09-05 20:51 (UTC)

"Of course it is. It's always you," he maintains that benign smile, putting one scarred hand over one of the ones "Anders" has placed on his face. It always starts like this, gentle and scared and full of regret. He lives for this part of his delusion. It's really the only thing to live for now, the brief soft intent of rescue. For seeing Anders' face full of love and care for him. For the soft touch before the inevitable sour turn.

What will it be this time, he wonders blithely to himself. Anders discovering his scars and Justice flaring over his fall to blood magic? An intrepid rescue only to watch Anders die in the attempt? Turns out Anders was a demon all along? There are so many flavors of torment his already experienced where this particular scenario is concerned all he can think of currently are the greatest hits of the past year.

But he still nuzzles just a little into Anders' hand, still breathes a very small but crushingly heavy sigh for both relief and fortification. Even if its just in his own mind, even if it will all fall to the Abyss in a moment, he'll take it for now.

"You're dead, but I want to believe you."

This can't happen. He'd already had the thought a hundred times since their arrival to this broken future, but now it's more than a thought, it's desperate and all-encompassing need. This can't be what happens, this can't come to pass, he has to fix this. Dorian had said he could either send them back or turn them to paste...and looking at Wolfe now, those were the only options. Either they fixed this or they died trying. Anders couldn't abide by this future.

"Then believe me. Please. Can you still fight? We need to find Alexius here and get back in time. Back to where we belong. I can stop this from happening." 'I can save you. Protect you..' The thoughts burn in him, but he holds onto them. They're useless words for this version of Hawke, the version he'd already failed. He needed them for the version he could still help.

"Come with me, love. I need your help."

He hated to use that, but if his Hawke was still in the tangled web of lyrium-addled delusion, it should push some purpose back into him. His Adalwolfe Hawke always needed to help people. Always wanted to be useful. Anders both loved and hated that, his kind-hearted care, that ended up having Hawke give too much of himself. Now Anders just hoped there was enough of that still in the despair to rouse him.

I need your help. The statement rings in his ears, thrumming discordant against the hum of the lyrium, grating against the futility that had become his new normal.

"My help..." He repeats as if the idea is foreign. There's non of the incredulity he feels apparent in his tone, just abject confusion. What good had his help done? Start a war, killed his friends, killed his family.

Anders is asking, though. Even if he's a delusion, Adalwolfe can never say no to that face, especially not in recognizing the desperation there. It's a face he'd known well in Kirkwall in the last years. A panic fighting against despair as it threatens to drown him. He can see it so clearly now not just for having seen it before but in feeling it himself. Of watching companions succumb to tortured experiments of Alexius and the Elder One.

The Elder One...

Adalwolfe startles, coming back to himself as he grasps Anders by the shoulders. "Anders, the Elder One. It's Corypheus."

"...What?" His ears were ringing with those words, the furthest thing from what he expected, that they barely registered at first.

Corypheus....the first Darkspawn and a Tevinter magister, a priest of Dumat. That voice in his head, wordless and incessant, like a whisper he could just make out but not understand, except it grew clearer and louder, telling him things he didn't want to hear, bidding him to do things for the 'Blood of the Hawke,' to free his 'master,' to free him and end the Blights, to free him and find power for mages once more. That voice had grown so strident and so overwhelming that Justice had lashed out to end it's control over Anders' tainted body and he'd been forced to watch as they fought their friends in a panic. It had been so bad, like a migraine that spoke, at the top of the tower. He'd fought to keep the others alive as well as Corypheus and Justice too. Then he was dead on the ground, bleeding and scorched from magic and blades alike. The blissful silence that had followed...he couldn't have even described it.

Somehow, he was back? Two seconds ago, he would have assumed another delusion, but there was a surge of clarity in Hawke's eyes and it shook Anders to his core. Hawke was sure, that was obvious enough.

"You're....you're certain? You saw him? How...?"

"He's the one that took us. At Haven. He has armies of mages and red Templars. A blighted dragon. I don't understand how but he has all these things. He razed Haven to the ground after you died, he invaded Orlais with an army of demons and killed Empress Celene. He's taken over the entire world, Anders. All of it. And I don't understand how he's still alive."

It's my fault runs undercurrent to everything he tells Anders. It's my fault. We fought him. We killed him. We burned his body and yet he's still here and we didn't see how. We should have ended him but he's here and he killed you and everyone and it's my fault.

Edited (forgot the demons, oops) 2020-09-07 19:19 (UTC)

There's so much in all of that and Anders has to grasp to hold onto it. The mages made sense, that was why they were in Redcliffe. The templars...was that what happened because Anders hadn't gone to them? They turned to Corephyus? No, he couldn't spare that any thought right now. Empress Celene, a demon army...Corephyus back from the dead. These needed his attention.

It gave him pause, but that determination slipped back in after only a moment. His grip on Wolfe tightened and he nodded. "We'll figure it out, Hawke. We always do. First we go to Alexius, make this right. You've told me who he is and how he does it, I swear we'll stop him this time. None of this will happen. Will you help me make sure we put this right?"

Put this right he says. None of this will happen.

Its already happened. He's already watched what little remains of what he cares about be eradicated. The world is ruins, nowhere is safe, and a specter of his love he saw die is telling him it's not going to happen if he helps to find Alexius and somehow set everything right.

It will feel good to turn the magister into paste, at least. If they get that far and Anders doesn't just simply disappear and the guards descend on Adalwolfe for being out of his cell again. He'd stopped that months ago but they're still vigilant, exchanging whispers on how the annoyance that is him will be rendered inert soon, attached to the wall in a vein of pulsing red lyrium just like Fiona. It's a wonder it hasn't happened yet.

The urgency fades some from his eyes but he does nod, slipping into an easy and utterly superfluous smile. "What are we waiting for?"

He can see when his Hawke fades into this new and broken one and it broke Anders' heart all over again. This man...red lyrium crystals in the shapes of blood magic sigils on his arms...he could feel Justice trying to stir in anger that Hawke had fallen so far, but that emptiness...he couldn't. Hawke had been through more than Anders could guess or even had time to try and listen to, all he could do for him now was make sure this never happened. Make sure he was always at Hawke's back to ensure it never ended up in a corner.

Anders steeled himself even as he brought a hand up to brush at Wolfe's hair, one last moment for softness and mourning, but then they had to continue.

"Alright."

Anders led Wolfe out of the cell, his eyes locking briefly with Varric's and, for just a moment, they shared that mourning and a flash of guilt, but then it was over. They really needed to keep going. Leliana was still missing.

Their numbers greater, the guards they ran into didn't stand a chance and Anders let some of his fury out on whoever they came across. They didn't get the chance to give the ones torturing Leliana a taste of their own medicine before she did it herself. Anders tried to offer her healing, but she turned him down and pushed past him.

'Let me help you, you're hurt.'
'This is nothing and nothing you can do will make it better unless you make it right.'

Her tone had been scathing, almost hateful, and Anders didn't know that he could blame her, even as his own ire stirred. He'd vanished, her wounds still open about Justinia, his actions in Kirkwall still a tense subject between them, and then everything had fallen to ruin.

'And mages wonder why people fear them.'

He followed her to the open area in silence, his strikes slowly changing from focused fury to determined efficiency as they finally got across the bridge into the rest of the castle. When they hit the courtyard, Anders stopped dead in his tracks, eyes drawn to the Rift...and what remained of the sky. "Maker...It's...everywhere."

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Dragon Age: Inquisition: Anders Inquisitor AU

Haven; news of the Herald spreads

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In Hushed Whispers

Re: In Hushed Whispers

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