An ocean of sorrow does nobody drown

[apurrstate]

The crackle of the fire was the only sound in the camp and the silence surrounding it was deafening.

Their group was so small now, much smaller than it had been only a week ago. A week and everything had changed. That had been his plan, after all...but it had gotten out of hand in Kirkwall, the devastation of the fighting had been so much worse than he'd imagined. Still, he wouldn't change it. Looking around the fire, Hawke and Varric to one side, Merrill asleep at another and Aveline and Carver left in the city now days at their backs, he still wouldn't change it. Isabella long gone, Fenris dead...all he had to do was think back to the years when they were a larger group to know what was missing...and he still wouldn't change it.

It had to happen and while maybe part of him wished it didn't have to be him who carried out the act, he knew too, that he couldn't simply ask someone else to do what he wasn't willing to.

It should have ended for him that night, it was what he'd planned. Instead it didn't, his love had spared him and somehow made him see the next day...and the day after. Each new day Anders saw drew new surprise and a mixture of hope and defeat. Hope that maybe there'd be another day after this one as well, but defeat in knowing it couldn't possibly last.

He'd put his life in Adalwolfe's hands and it hadn't been ended, he'd said they'd need to run away from the city to remain together and, at the gates of Kirkwall, Hawke had said his goodbyes to long-time friend and brother and led the way out into the Free Marches. It would have to end at some point, this kind of luck didn't last.

Anders stood and quietly stepped away from the fire and the group's small camp. He wouldn't be able to find sleep anytime soon anyway. Hawke had slept apart from him (understandably so) and Anders found it hard to bare after years of feeling that warmth pressed in his arms. Yet he didn't ask and Hawke didn't offer and Anders continued not to sleep but for minutes at a time. He should be used to it, perhaps life in Hightown had softened him up too much. His few steps took him to the edge of the land, the drop off below leading straight into the ocean they were following for now. He leaned against a large rock set in the ground and gave a sigh.

What if he simply stepped off the ledge and fell to the waters below? That would be easier for his companions, wouldn't it? They could go back to their lives while the fires of his rebellion continued to burn across Thedas and the people he'd murdered could have their justice at last. What was he living for, anyway? The love of his life spared him for...some reason and didn't even banish him from his side and yet he barely looked at him. His friends wouldn't look at him. Even Justice seemed so muted as to almost be gone, like fulfilling Their goal had snuffed the spirit out. Only that faint hum in the back of his mind told him it wasn't true.

It would be easier...

His feet stayed planted where they were. He wouldn't take those extra steps. Perhaps there was still a part of him that was a coward afterall. His eyes left the surf and lifted to the starry sky instead

The lights in the shadow

[apurrstate]

The headache was back. Anders stood near their front door, eyes drawn to the people outside, going about their lives. Out there, they were just farmers and simple townsfolk and when they stepped out this door, they were accepted the same. Inside, however, a Hawke brooded at the table and Anders' head felt ready to split itself open from the inside, all so the world outside could finally see the lyrium-crafted bell ringing in his mind. No. He sent some healing magic through his temples to try and ease the pain and focused on those innocents outside. Their home, for now. The village would be his distraction for today.

He liked this town. It wasn't the first time he'd thought it and it likely wouldn't be the last, but they'd been here a long time now, nearly eight months and he found himself even dreading the day they might leave. Likely, they would have to, but with the hole in the sky and the Mage-Templar war seeming to slow in the face of potential catastrophe, their traveling days seemed to be coming to and end. Three years, the first spent going from Circle to Circle to fan the rebellion's flames and the rest to avoid detection from just about anyone. If a rouge templar found them out, they were likely to hunt the both of them down out of spite and nothing to do with their origin at all. No, for that they needed to avoid just about any large city that might have received news or even pictures with which to search.

So they'd stuck to small towns, villages, places they could lie low, when they dared to be near civilization at all. But as the years went on, the Chantry flames at their backs lessened and lessened until they'd finally felt safe enough to settle (lightly) here in this small Orlesian town. The town had it's own little market and commerce that saw trade off the roads every now and again, but they lacked in anything resembling a real doctor, simply a tired midwife with a few poultice recipes to use. They'd welcomed and cherished the outsider mages with the strength to help clear their farms and rivers and heal their sick and wounded. If Anders had ever needed a sign that the Maker was real, he suspected he'd find it in this town.

Simply put, the last eight months were some of the happiest he'd felt in a long time and with Varric sending Hawke letters on the regular, it made the mood of their little house much lighter. Well, those letters and the old barnyard stray Anders had found on their roof one day. A little coaxing and some cream and he'd made himself a permanent friend. He suspected Adalwolfe wasn't overly thrilled with the old man, but it was one of the few things he wasn't going to budge about, even for his love.

These last two days or so, however, were less happy. Another of Varric's letters had arrived and it had sent Hawke into a Mood, one Anders had yet to decipher. He'd hoped Hawke might just tell him, but it had been over a day and still nothing, only a distance that left Anders feeling strained inside, all to accompany the raging headache that seemed to ail him more often than not the last long while. For nearly three months, a singing he could only guess was The Calling, rang in the back of his mind. Yet there was something in it, like a note that was off, perhaps he wouldn't think of it normally, but it seemed almost familiar, like it reached to his heart with a gentle hand only to clench it painfully in it's fist. It had been a point of contention between them recently, Hawke's concern only growing while Anders' desire to avoid the subject altogether only grew. If this was The Calling finally affecting him, he'd rather live out his days as normally as possible for as long as they had. For that reason, he didn't want this new-found distance between them to remain.

Anders leaned against the doorway, hands rubbing lightly at his temples as he watched his lover. The great Champion was at their table, the letter still nearby, though folded so Anders' eyes couldn't skim the letters and find out the subject himself. He seemed just as lost in his own thoughts as he'd been since first reading the paper, even as Anders approached and leaned down to wrap his arms around Hawke's shoulders. "What's the matter, love? You've been quiet recently."