Adalwolfe Hawke (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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makinglies2016-11-01 10:10 am
wolfehawke) wrote in makinglies2016-11-01 10:10 am
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.
This can only end well.
In Hushed Whispers
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.
Re: In Hushed Whispers
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.
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"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.
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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."
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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."
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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."
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"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.
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"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."
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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...?"
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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.
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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?"
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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?"
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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."