Anders (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
apurrstate) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
driftfleet2017-12-19 11:13 pm
apurrstate) wrote in driftfleet2017-12-19 11:13 pm
Entry tags:
[Closed] You have always worn your flaws upon your sleeve
Who: Anders, Riona and Justice
Then Anders and Wolfe
Broadcast: No
Action: Iskaulit herb garden, then Malum
When: Forward dated to early January
They'd had plenty of time to decompress from the stresses of the red planet and the exploding one before it. Anders had even taken the time to speak to Hermione and Vash about how might be best to talk to Justice about the issue the spirit had long since known Anders was avoiding. And he was avoiding it, as though putting it off would delay it forever. As if he could truly hide something so important from one of his closest friends and a spirit.
One day, either through Atroma's slip or his own, Justice would finally see the massive hole in Anders' soul, the piece of him ripped away by Allen's blade and sent back to the Fade, the chasm that would be damningly Justice-shaped. It was only by the grace of the Maker he hadn't found out yet. The Maker as well as Fenris and Hawke and anyone else who knew keeping their mouths shut.
But they couldn't hold this dance for the rest of their time here...and, in the end, it wasn't fair to either of them. It had nearly been half a year. The lies and dodged questions would have to stop. Anders needed to stop it.
He orchestrated carefully. First, he sent a message to Riona to tell her he'd changed his mind. It was a deeply personal matter, this conversation, but if anyone else had any right to be there, it was their commander and best friend. She could bring a balance to the situation, should...Anders didn't even know what. If Justice grew angry or somehow suddenly violent, it would be the least the mage would deserve. No, it wasn't for that, it was for if Justice went the other way and sunk into the despair he expected would be his friend's eventual reaction. Anders would want to comfort him, to be there for him, but Anders would be the source of distress to begin with. Justice would need someone else.
Justice might not even want to talk to or see him again after this. Anders would deserve that too.
After Riona, it was Hermione to tell her he needed the herb garden, a place with a soothing and natural atmosphere would, hopefully, help. Then Wolfe, just to let him know...in case. In case of anything. At the very least to let his love know where he was disappearing off to and not to search for him.
Last was Justice himself. Just a simple message sent to start off the inevitable avalanche.
"Meet me and Riona in the herb garden on the Iskaulit. I owe you some answers."
He didn't wait for any of the replies, he went to the greenhouse himself and tended the elfroot and embrum and deep mushrooms and various other plants he and Hermione had planted there for their potions. Busy and familiar work to cope with the painful and ever-tightening knot threatening to choke him from his chest.
One way or the other, it would all be over after today.
Then Anders and Wolfe
Broadcast: No
Action: Iskaulit herb garden, then Malum
When: Forward dated to early January
They'd had plenty of time to decompress from the stresses of the red planet and the exploding one before it. Anders had even taken the time to speak to Hermione and Vash about how might be best to talk to Justice about the issue the spirit had long since known Anders was avoiding. And he was avoiding it, as though putting it off would delay it forever. As if he could truly hide something so important from one of his closest friends and a spirit.
One day, either through Atroma's slip or his own, Justice would finally see the massive hole in Anders' soul, the piece of him ripped away by Allen's blade and sent back to the Fade, the chasm that would be damningly Justice-shaped. It was only by the grace of the Maker he hadn't found out yet. The Maker as well as Fenris and Hawke and anyone else who knew keeping their mouths shut.
But they couldn't hold this dance for the rest of their time here...and, in the end, it wasn't fair to either of them. It had nearly been half a year. The lies and dodged questions would have to stop. Anders needed to stop it.
He orchestrated carefully. First, he sent a message to Riona to tell her he'd changed his mind. It was a deeply personal matter, this conversation, but if anyone else had any right to be there, it was their commander and best friend. She could bring a balance to the situation, should...Anders didn't even know what. If Justice grew angry or somehow suddenly violent, it would be the least the mage would deserve. No, it wasn't for that, it was for if Justice went the other way and sunk into the despair he expected would be his friend's eventual reaction. Anders would want to comfort him, to be there for him, but Anders would be the source of distress to begin with. Justice would need someone else.
Justice might not even want to talk to or see him again after this. Anders would deserve that too.
After Riona, it was Hermione to tell her he needed the herb garden, a place with a soothing and natural atmosphere would, hopefully, help. Then Wolfe, just to let him know...in case. In case of anything. At the very least to let his love know where he was disappearing off to and not to search for him.
Last was Justice himself. Just a simple message sent to start off the inevitable avalanche.
"Meet me and Riona in the herb garden on the Iskaulit. I owe you some answers."
He didn't wait for any of the replies, he went to the greenhouse himself and tended the elfroot and embrum and deep mushrooms and various other plants he and Hermione had planted there for their potions. Busy and familiar work to cope with the painful and ever-tightening knot threatening to choke him from his chest.
One way or the other, it would all be over after today.
no subject
That's not ominous at all.
I am on my way.
Justice can only think of one thing that he's been wanting answers about. He doesn't know why exactly Anders owes them to him--Justice has been fretting about Anders for months, searching for answers, but that doesn't necessarily mean he's owed them--but he's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
The small snow leopard that's been following Justice around insists on following for this as well. Justice briefly considers just leaving her on the Caprine, but she's developed this terrible habit of yowling when he tries to leave her on a ship without him, so he reluctantly allows her to join. Justice doubts that Anders will mind. Anders likes cats.
Landing in the Iskaulit, Justice can already sense Anders' distress. It puts him on edge that Anders is already so worked up about whatever he plans on sharing. Whatever it is, Justice hopes he can be supportive. He knows he's bad at dealing with mortal feelings, but he wants to be good for Anders.
The leopard goes ahead of him, making a beeline for some catnip planted near the entrance of the garden. Good, she won't be too distracting. Justice knows where Anders is without looking. He always knows where Anders is on some level.
"You are anxious." That's what he says when he sees Anders tending to the herbs. It's a statement, but it's also a question made out of genuine concern.
Justice wonders how bad what he's about to hear is. Does Anders intend to tell him and Riona both at the same time?
no subject
She waits for Justice, silent as she leans against a wall. When he enters, she lifts her head. His statement's apt; even as a mortal, she can sense how nervous Anders is. Kiter's nearby, laying down and watching the scene. Mostly as a source of comfort, if needed. But also as an indicator. Mabari are sensitive to emotions in some regards, and can pick up on intentions. While Justice usually openly wears his emotions, she wants Kiter on hand just in case. The mabari might be able to pick up on emotions that she may not notice right away.
"Hello, Justice." She offers him a smile, but says nothing else. This is Anders's show for the moment. For her part, she tries to keep herself calm and not let her anxiety spike. It doesn't help that she's honestly not sure how this is going to go.
no subject
"Justice. Good. I'm sorry to spring this on you, but it's important." Another, brief, steadying breath. "It's about what's happened the last ten years." He paused, his conversations with Vash and Hermione both flitting through his head as though to remind him how to best to soften this blow.
"But I wanted to give you the choice to hear it. What happened to me happened to you too. You've commented on how I've changed, what I would tell you would be the why to that. There's good in it, but I won't lie to you, there's a lot of bad too. In the end, you won't be happy to hear it, you won't thank me for it, so it must be your choice."
He gave another pause, his eyes jumping from Riona to Justice as though just seeing her would give him more strength and a calmer heart for this.
"Do you want to know what happens?"
no subject
Justice is honestly surprised by this, and it shows in his eyes and voice. The thought hadn't even occurred to him that he may have been involved in whatever happened to Anders, although now that he considers it, it makes sense. He and Anders had been growing closer already when Justice was taken from Thedas. He and Anders were the only two from Vigil's Keep that Riona didn't know the whereabouts of ten years in the future. He and Anders have the most reason to stick closely together, united as they are by the hostility of the Chantry and many of its faithful.
Anders does not make it sound good. Has Justice died in the past ten years? He doesn't like the thought, but he's always known that death is a possibility. If that's the case, he's ready to hear it, though he's peeved that he hasn't been told before now. What else could it be, really? Besides, perhaps, him being bound and trapped in an object, or to a blood mage, or some other horror of the kind. He catches himself before his mind can wander too far; whatever scenarios he can imagine are likely worse than the reality.
"Of course I wish to know. I would not have asked questions for so long if I did not." There is no hesitation. Anders has changed, and Justice was involved. Justice has to know what happened.
no subject
"If that's your choice, then all right. But... just remember, it can hard - painful even - to hear about things that will happen at home, and knowing there's nothing you can do about them here. Sometimes the truth isn't the best route to go." Even as she says this, she knows he'll insist, but she's going to throw it out there anyway. "I'm not saying it to discourage you, merely to make sure you consider all your options before Anders proceeds." Because he is absolutely not going to like what he hears. Riona wants him to know he has an out, while there's still a chance to turn back.
no subject
"You said you're a few months after we dealt with The Mother and the battle at Vigil's Keep. Riona's gone back to Denerim by now and, if I remember correctly, the Orlesian Commander come to take over the keep has arrived along with Stroud and the rest recently. I don't remember how many are gone by your time, but most of the others of our original group have been sent away, or will be. In time, it'll just be you and me. In roughly a week, we'll recieve a group of new recruits: templars from Kinloch Hold."
He tried to keep his tone even, he didn't want to color the facts, the emotions Justice could read would likely do that enough...but as the words came to him, he found he couldn't help the edge that slipped into his voice.
Void take that Orlesian bastard, the templars, the whole thing! Vigil's Keep had been his home, he's had the closest thing to a family in years in the Wardens and that sorry excuse for a 'replacement' had ruined it. Chantry prejudice had ruined it. He'd have met death happily wearing that uniform...until they'd turned on him. Bitter anger colored his words.
"Those templars come swearing up and down they aren't there for me, that their desire to join is genuine. You see through them and I try to talk to the commander, but he doesn't listen, says I'm the one now not giving them a chance. You see through him too...what I tell him isn't news, he just doesn't care.
"So they take the joining, all but one survive and then they're assigned to me and, by extension, you." The bitterness fades a touch and concern takes it's place. Ander's eyes glance over Justice's new form and for a moment he can see it as it would have been by now without Atroma, desieased, decaying, barely holding together but by the grace of the Maker Himself.
"Kristoff's body will be falling apart around you by then, it's not like they aren't aware of what you are and you can be damn sure they're threatened by you. By the time we leave the Keep, they don't even pretend to be amicable. By the time we're alone with them, it's clear the commander sold us out." Those last words hold the snapping embers of his anger, and it's dying glow leaves a cool nothing in the mage's tone as he trains his voice again.
This was the thin ice.
"They threatened me, said they would take me back to Kinloch, Warden or not. I resisted. They attacked." He paused and didn't immediately find his words again. Maker, had he just said no. If he hadn't let terror and anger and hurt make his decisions...but then, they always had. His fear, pain, rage, they were what caused everything that had gone wrong for them. And yet, without...
He leaned against a table and briefly pressed his fingers to his eyes. He could just imagine the feeling of blue cracks splintering his skin as the energy of the fade tore at his seams. The memory of this had always caused them no matter what else was going on.
no subject
Yeah, that’s the main thing he got from what she said. He had been under the impression that Riona didn’t know about anything related to Anders, much less whatever horrible future involves Justice and Anders both. Especially after probing her for information, he feels a little lied to, but whatever he hears will inform exactly how angry he is about that. As of now, Justice decides that he and Riona are going to have a conversation later about this, but what Anders has to say is more important.
So he lets that go for now, taking a mental note to deal with it later, and listens.
The more he hears, the deeper his frown cuts into his face. It’s upsetting to hear, unexpected, but he grudgingly has to admit he’s unsurprised. The Orlesian Wardens didn’t accept difference like Riona does. Most of them were human, non-magical men, and Vigil’s Keep was a mash of species and genders and origins. It was clear early on exactly what the new commander thought of them. Justice had honestly thought that Velanna might pack up and leave over it.
“I suspected that the commander would try to have me killed eventually,” Justice admits. He’s not stupid. He knows that the vast majority of the Orlesian Wardens saw him as a walking sin against the Maker. The commander had explicitly told him that he was forbidden from possessing any other bodies, as though he were a wild animal that was just waiting for a Warden to die so he could have a fresh corpse. It was respect for Riona that has kept any of them from attacking him, but he could feel it in their bones that they weren’t far from it. He watched every digit that rotted off with trepidation, because he knew that there were some people waiting. They were waiting for the day insects ate through the throat and stole his voice and he lost all the limbs in a battle, so they could pretend he wasn’t still inside the corpse as they gave Kristoff his pyre. There was good reason that Justice tried to keep company only with the original Vigil’s Keep Wardens.
And yet they were willing to do worse. They were willing to give up Anders to the Templars. Anders had done nothing but heal their hurts and yet they were willing to lock him up all over again in the tower that he spent his whole life trying to escape. The thought ignites a fire of wrath in Justice’s heart, but it’s controllable. His anger at the blatant injustices committed by men that are not here to be punished is not the important thing right now. “I did not think that they would try to take you as well. I am sorry.”
He is utterly sincere as he says that, but it still feels inadequate. He’s sorry that Anders’ second family turned on him for his magic all over again. He’s sorry that Anders’ worst fears were realized. He’s sorry that he wasn’t able to do more to help him. He’s sorry that Anders had to suffer so much, that Justice’s presence might have actually made it worse because a spirit friend in a corpse would only make Anders look all the more like a blood mage.
Pain and grief and regret and anger are all radiating off of Anders’ skin in waves, and ‘sorry’ makes none of that better. Talking about this hurts Anders, and Justice feels a flicker of guilt for putting him through it. He searches desperately for a means of soothing him, of making the pain not as intense, and he falls onto the means he uses for Leilani when she is upset. Leilani likes it when he holds her hand when she’s unhappy.
So Justice, keeping a careful eye on Anders’ face for any sign of discomfort, shuffles closer and carefully takes the hand not currently pressed to Anders’ face. It’s a tentative but desperately sincere gesture as he gives Anders’ hand a little squeeze and lowers his voice. “You may... speak slower, if you would find that easier.”
no subject
But she's far more worried about Anders at this particular moment. As she listens to him and sees him struggle, her heart breaks, and her guilt and grief over what happened surges forward again. She could have stopped this. Had she just been more involved, if she had waited a bit longer to go back to Denerim, if she had just checked in sooner... so many opportunities and she wasted them, because she had trusted the Orlesians and Maker take her, she should have known better. The man she'd appointed in her stead betrayed her and her judgment and sought to destroy Anders and Justice, just because of what they were.
When she confronted him a few years back, she should have killed him on the spot. Right now, she really wishes she had. He deserves no less.
"Take your time." She places a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it in support. "I know you feel as if you should do this, and I understand, but if it's too much, I can continue. You don't have to shoulder this alone." Not that it would be easy for her, but she'll do it to ease his burden. It's the least she could do for him, really.
no subject
Riona's hand was on his shoulder next and he looked to her. There was a kind of hesitant fear in his eyes, but it was eaten up by guilt as he processed her words. "Thank you, but I need to continue." It hurt, Maker it hurt a lot and it would only get worse; that part hadn't been his fault, but this next part was. He deserved whatever came of it. He reached up with his free hand and gave hers a squeeze, but then looked back to Justice. The last thing he wanted to do was look into those eyes whose color now haunted the story he was telling, but he made himself look all the same. Justice deserved no less.
"I was cornered. They were going to kill me. They'd immobilized you and cut you off from me, so you-I...we did the only thing we could." He squeezed Justice's hand and kept the grip firm for a moment, as though that could maybe keep what distance he could practically feel about to snap between them from forming. "You offered to merge with me. For both of our sakes. And I said yes."
There it was, out in the open and dropped like the tonne weight it was, to break that surface beneath them. And now he couldn't stop, didn't dare try. He pulled his hands back to himself and pulled the collar of his shirt down far enough to expose the four inch wide and obviously deep scar right under his left collar bone.
"They attacked us, stabbed us through the heart...and all we did was pull the damn sword back out. We were new and had too much of the Fade running through us." Blinding blue-white light bathing the clearing, so much energy buzzing through his skull, he didn't know who or what he was, his voice was alien, not his own, not Justice's, barely a legible sound as the Fade itself poured through them. "The templars didn't survive the encounter and we ran as far as we could until we could finally rest and try to make sense of it all." It had taken days before his mind pulled back together from it's fractured state.
"We didn't turn into an abomination, you were just there, in my soul, at the back of my mind, your thoughts became like my own. The only way I even knew which were mine and which were yours were intent." A differentiation that faded over quickly to where what he'd eventually told Wolfe a few months later was the only truth he could be sure of: no scholar could have deciphered where one stopped and the other began. If that was even how it had worked for them, maybe it had been less like two haves and more like a mixed concoction. A potion gone wrong, waiting to boil over.
"But I knew you were with me because suddenly those things that bothered me before, the treatment of mages and circles and the Chantry's choke-hold were in stark detail and impossible to brush aside as 'not my problem.' They became our cause, the freedom of mages from their torture and subjugation became our goal. I went to Kirkwall. My last letter from my friend, Karl, had said it was getting bad and it seemed a good place to start, especially if it meant freeing him. I suppose I didn't intend to keep us there for so long, but then Hawke came along needing my help and the other mages in Kirkwall needed someone to give a damn, so we stayed; we stayed for six years."
His mouth went dry and he felt himself pulling his arms away from them and into himself, crossed like a barrier against the anger and frustration that had plagued them. He couldn't stop now, he just couldn't, if he did...he wasn't sure he could start again and Justice deserved to know all of it.
"With as much help as Hawke could offer, we did what we could for the mages in the Gallows; we smuggled some out to freedom and helped set up a system called 'The Mage Underground' to aid apostates on the run so they could make better lives for themselves. Over those six years, I tried everything. I requested audiences with the Grand Cleric, even the people immediately under her, I wrote letters to Orlais and the Viscount and the Divine, I wrote manifestos for the general populace so they might understand and try to help those suffering so near, I did every bloody thing I could fucking think of to nudge along the system into peace and compromise; anything better. And nothing worked."
Exhaustion. Desperation. Despair. So much despair and anger, rage, that was what had done it. 'Peace' wasn't something people wanted to listen to. Peace could be passed over with a roll of eyes or thrown into a fire for kindling. Peace was a lie people told themselves to make them feel like they were doing something.
"I was ignored, turned away, threatened to be taken in, if only I didn't have my friendship with Hawke to protect me. The Viscount couldn't be bothered and the Grand Cleric talked down to me, when she bothered to acknowledge me at all, which was almost never. In the meantime, mages were being made tranquil after having their harrowing, they were being branded blood mages for writing to family or breathing wrong, they were murdered and raped and tortured for existing and no one did a damn thing. There seemed to be...hope three years into it, the Knight-Commander and Grand Cleric had turned down the most insane of templars and his pushes to simply make all mages tranquil from the get-go, they seemed reasonable in comparison, but that hope went no where. They wouldn't help, wouldn't budge and the knight-commander slowly went insane for outside reasons. As her sanity fled her, she crushed the mages under her 'protection' more and more until it was just...too much. I couldn't..."
He sighed and grit his teeth before continuing. "The First enchanter and Knight-commander would go the Grand Cleric to solve their disagreements, but she'd never 'solve' anything, merely put a patch over a wound so deep the city was bleeding out. Her favorite was to simply shame them and send them to different corners like misbehaving children and not like full-grown adults affecting the lives of hundreds. So I did the only thing I had left, the only thing I could think of to finally cauterize the wound: I set a bomb in the depths of the Chantry's basement. I set it off and killed everyone inside, including Grand Cleric Elthina and the Sisters and Mothers within. Several hundred more died from the debris or from the fighting that ensued after."
He was trembling, he could feel it in his arms and fingers and knees. Anxiety built up and up and up and now mixing with the memories that would stay with him till the day he finally died.
"I gave Wolfe the chance to give those people their own justice and kill me for my decisions, but he didn't take it. He made me swear I would make amends for it instead and continue helping mages across Thedas." He gave a shaky, airy, laugh. "We started a blasted rebellion across the southern hemisphere. It's been three years since then, the mages are better for it now, especially with the new Divine being who it will be, but nothing will wash that blood from my hands. More for what I did to you, my dearest friend. All that anger and frustration and pain over the years, it changed you almost as soon as you were joined with me; you became Vengeance and I am so, so sorry. The mages might have made out better after the blood was let, but I ruined your life...which is why I couldn't tell you for so long."
CW: some suicidal ideation
It doesn't sound quite real when Anders says it. It's like being in the Fade all over again--on some level, what a projection of a mortal says doesn't matter, because if you slip into another layer of the memory they're from, they say the opposite. It all depends on which layer of perspective one witnesses it from, and operating within that memory with the understanding that it's only as real as mortals make it.
But Anders isn't a memory. He's right there. He's trying to tell Justice something. He's trying to tell Justice that he possessed him.
The world is quiet. There's only Anders' voice. Justice's feelings are muted, far away, quiet as only the truly shellshocked's can be. Anders is trying to soften the blow, trying to take on responsibility that's not his, but Justice can read between the lines. Anders is telling Justice that it was Justice who did this to him. Justice is the reason why he's so different. Justice is the reason he... he...
Oh Maker. Oh Creators. Oh fuck. He put a bomb in a Chantry. He killed all those people. Anders is not lying, please be lying Anders, Justice would forgive a lie if this is just not true--
It's no lie, though. No deception in the air. Justice doesn't notice that he's pulled away from Anders and Riona both until he's bracing himself on the edge of a row of elfroot, a good few feet away from them, like if he stays too close then his world may come apart entirely.
There are too many thoughts to keep track of. They knew. They both knew. They lied to him. They sat there for four months and they didn't tell him that--
(He became a demon. He will become a demon. He hurt one of his only friends. He killed all those people. Should he kill Anders right now for what he did? Those people deserve justice, and Anders' boyfriend can't be trusted to render fair judgment. But no, Anders is not responsible for that crime. He would have never done it in his right mind. Justice--Vengeance--made Anders do it. He is the guilty party, and he's the one who should die. Should he kill himself now for it? Would that be enough to give them all justice, Anders included?)
There's too much. He fights to keep the numbness, fights for something to keep him steady, because he has never felt so much all at once in his life.
Outwardly, he's holding the edge of the row so tightly that his knuckles are white and the metal creaks, but that's not as bad as what's happened to his face. It's not obvious exactly what changed, but suddenly, it doesn't seem quite human. It's like something slipped, and now it's become clear that it's only an imitation of what human faces are supposed to be.
He tries to speak. Tries to say... something. But suddenly he's having trouble breathing. He needs air to talk, but it's been stolen from him, and he can only manage a thin, "I...?"
Too much. Too much. They lied. He's been corrupted. He's failed. Anders and the dead need justice. He did this. Where did he go? Anders' head is empty of spirits. Maybe they killed him. Please, please, let them have killed him. Should he kill himself? They lied. He's corrupted. Too much.
you forgot the CW for getting kneed in the fucking feels
Every corner of her heart breaks as Justice turns away, overwhelmed. It's here she glances at Kiter; this is why she brought him. The mabari watches Justice closely, ears perked up. The dog gets to his feet, though he doesn't move towards anyone. He whines, low and worried, yet his stance is defensive. Mabari can sense more within people than any person ever could. Not to the extent a spirit can, but it's more than Riona can do, at any rate. But Kiter's getting mixed signals, from the looks of it, and Riona remains a bit unsure as to how to proceed. Cole taught her that even the most well-intentioned spirits can turn. Fenris reminded her of it. And she's not naive enough to believe it won't happen here.
She gives Anders's shoulder another squeeze. He's hurting, too, but right now they need to focus on Justice. With a deep breath, and the all too familiar sense of knowing she's winging this, Riona says, "Justice." Her voice is quiet, calm. "I won't pretend to know what you're going through right now. And I won't stand here and say it's all right and try and smooth things over." That'd just be insulting. "You're upset, and hurt, and... probably very angry. You have every right to be. I'm so sorry." For, well, everything honestly. "I'm sorry you're going through this. I'm sorry that this is what you had to learn about. And I'm sorry we didn't tell you sooner. We knew it was going to hurt you so badly and... we wanted to protect you as long as we could. It doesn't make it better or right, but we didn't hide it from you out of malice."
Will he accept that? She's not sure, probably not. This might be something they'll have to revisit later. If he's even talking to them after this.
"Most of all, I'm sorry I wasn't there for you two when you needed me." Anders and countless others have told her it wasn't her fault, but Riona will likely never entirely forgive herself for not being there. "I failed you both."
But it hadn't just been her who failed them. And that kernel of anger sits inside her still over what happened. She trusted the wrong people, and it cost them all dearly. (“How dare you. He and Justice were my men. I asked you to look after them after I was gone. And this is how you do it! By chasing them away!”)
She should have killed that bastard when she had the chance.
And more CW second verse, same as the first
Maker, he should have just said no, it would have been better if the templars had just killed him. Justice might be dead too, but better than being corrupted! Hadn't Anders said as much to so many people? His selfish cowardice had hurt countless people, but worse, all those he claimed to love. How could he possibly make such a claim when the subject of his 'caring' fell apart across from him?
‘Justice would have been better off without you, he could have had real friends and a real life instead of falling to his deepest fear no thanks to you. Karl might still be alive, would they have made him tranquil if you hadn't been writing him? Hawke wouldn’t be tethered to a future without hope or prospect or safety, all while thinking he was better for it; he could be having a real life if only it weren’t for you. Riona wouldn't harbor such guilt because she never would have needed to deal with the burden of your existence. You should have just died and left everyone better off for it, this is all your fault. Their unhappiness is on you, how dare you claim to love them.’
The familiar poison of his own mind swirled and clung to every ounce of pain in Justice's face, every scrap of evidence that this all could have been avoided if any of the numerous times he could have died had just come true. It reverberated in his skull and wormed into the deepest part of him to chill him inside out.
“I told everyone not to tell you.” His voice is quiet, barely a murmur in the silence of the garden. "I…I'm sor-" his voice cracked and died and he looked away. What else could he say? His explanations and attempts to comfort would only bring more pain. His attempts at apologies were useless and hollow and Justice deserved far better than anything Anders could offer.
Maker strike him down where he stood. Maybe they could finally have some peace.
His voice regained it's strength and he looked back to try and meet Justice's eyes, if he was allowed. This last thing had to be said, it was the only thing of any worth he could offer. "Justice...if you listen to nothing else I say, please listen to this: you were not a demon. We were never an abomination, Rage never reached us; you may have changed, but you were never a demon. And I'm sorry I did even that to you. I corrupted you, you only wanted to help."
Let's just say blanket suicidal ideation CW for the rest of this thread
What's the source? His weakness. His willingness to bend his own rules, his willingness to possess a living host. Why did he do that? Why did he think that could ever be morally justified?
Anders was in trouble.
Anders needed him.
The root is his feelings for Anders. All that care, all that warmth, all that desire to see him happy and healthy--that's the door corruption came through.
He doesn't want to believe it. If Anders' friendship is inherently corrupting, is Riona's as well? Is any mortal's? Can he trust himself to remain steadfast, even if it means allowing them to come to harm? Or does justice require that he be friendless, that he uproot it all and forget anything that ever had to do with any of them?
But what if that's not the corruption? What if he's just weak, just another spirit that couldn't handle the mortal realm? He doesn't want to forget them. He doesn't want to--
Or he could just kill himself. Who cares about uprooting corruption if he's dead? Would that be the just thing to do? Anders and his victims in Kirkwall would be avenged. The corruption wouldn't have a chance to spread.
If Anders and Riona weren't there, if he weren't reasonably certain that they still care for him, he might have considered taking his gun and killing himself on the spot. He still would, if he could just make up his mind on whether that's the just thing to do or not--certainly, whether it is or isn't, it would not be just to force them to witness it.
It's like every single negative feeling that can be possibly felt is racing in his heart, each one pulling ahead in turn, neck to neck and fighting to control him. He has no tools to cope with them, no means to mitigate them, and no vocabulary to speak of them. They are consuming him, and he is helpless in the onslaught.
Then Riona says that--'We wanted to protect you'--and anger pulls ahead in the race.
"Do NOT excuse your lies, human!" It may just be the first time he's raised his voice at Riona. They've had heated conversations before, especially after she spared the Architect's life, but this isn't a moral disagreement. The thought that either of them hid something so important from him bites like a dagger in his side, and he had no idea. His senses failed him. Can he trust his senses with anything, knowing that he was so wrong? The sharp pain in his heart and the sudden uncertainty only fuel his anger. "I am not a child! You had no right to make that decision for me! Neither of you did!"
Suddenly he's too still. He has to be moving. He lets go of the metal bar and paces a crooked line up and down the row, his step unsteady as he struggles with his own feelings, trying to control them, but he's never had to control so much at once.
"Mage--" He wheels on Anders, ready to keep yelling, but he can't sustain his anger, not with the despair rolling off of his friend's skin. Yet without the anger, his voice grows thin and weak, and he feels like the slightest breeze could make him dissolve. Despair is leading now. "I made you blow up a Chantry full of innocent worshipers. What about that doesn't sound--"
He can't say the word. His pacing is frantic now, and the leopard that adopted him is concerned enough to peer out of the catnip and mewl.
"Is that why they dislike me so much? Is that why they have wished for nothing but for me to disappear since I arrived?" 'They' includes Fenris, but it's mostly Wolfe. Justice had thought that they just hated spirits. He wishes that it were just that. "Is that why--"
A terribly paranoid thought strikes him. Why did Riona bring her war dog? Had they both expected a fight?
That thought is like ice water in his face.
"Are you afraid of me, too?" The words are out before he can stop them, small and cracked all over. The thought usually wouldn't even occur to him, secure as he is that he can sense these things and that Anders and Riona trust him, but now it's clear his senses have failed, and he doesn't feel like he knows anything about them anymore.
The thought that they might be afraid of him, that they might be prepared for him to turn into a demon and attack them right here and now, makes his eyes burn. His eyes overflow, tears leaving a wet trail on his cheeks, but he is not aware of them. He doesn't even know that he can cry. "Do not answer. I do not wish to know."
If they said yes, he'd truly be beyond hope. For a moment, he understands why mortals sometimes don't want to hear the truth, how it might be too hard to handle--but he's not exactly in a state to appreciate his newfound insight. "I will not be a danger to you or anyone else, one way or another. I swear it."
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Justice's words sting, and she visibly flinches as he yells. 'Human'. 'Mage'. He hasn't called them that since they first met. Tears prick at the corner of her eyes, but she refuses to let them fall. There's enough pain and grief here. Anders is hurting, Justice is hurting. So's she, but she's used to hiding it by now. Of course, there's no completely masking this, not with how much raw emotion is being displayed and expressed. But at the very least, she wants to remain as composed as possible. She had her moment before to crumble a little, to apologize and let out her sadness. Now, she draws herself up fully.
"It was our reasoning," she says, firmly and calmly. A moment of temper almost compels her to point out that she even said it didn't excuse them from not telling him sooner, but she bites it back. The last thing she needs to add to this is anger. "Whether or not you agree with it or like it, that's how we felt. We always intended to tell you, that was never up for debate. It was a matter of how and when." Now she earnestly wishes they'd done it sooner, but that doesn't matter now. They did it, it's out there, and they need to focus on this here and now, rather than what-ifs.
Just when she thought her heart couldn't ache more, she sees tears. Honestly, she wondered if he was even capable of crying. To see it now guts her. Her bottom lip quivers for a moment as she sees his tears, but she keeps her face straight, if only barely. "No, I'm not afraid." She answers because he needs to hear it, even if it'll make him more upset right now. But she hopes that later, he can look back and know. "Though I'm very worried."
Kiter whines, low and pitched. His ears droop as he looks back and forth between Anders and Justice. Both of them are in turmoil, and he's not sure which one to go up to and try and comfort, as a dog does. Riona sighs. "If Kiter's this upset, then I have every reason to be worried about how you're doing." Granted, she doesn't really need Kiter to tell her as much, Justice is expressing his emotions far more than she anticipated. But all the same, given how shaken Kiter seems, she's very concerned. "Justice... you're our friend. You always will be. Even if you-" Regret it, or don't want it anymore, but the words are too hard to say. She swallows thickly. "What can we do? Do you want us to stay, or do you want us to leave?" She's aware they robbed him of having a say in the matter by not telling him sooner and hiding it, so now she's putting the decision making back in his hands.
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He'd thought bringing her might help the situation, but now he could only wonder if he'd made it worse by changing his mind last second as he had. He drew her into the fire and pain and if Justice came to regret his words to her, that would be Anders' fault as well. Selfish. Coward. Useless.
"Never." Anders' answer is quiet, but dripping in sincerity. Scared for him? Yes. Scared for himself because of what they'd done? Certainly. Scared of Justice? Not in a hundred years.
But before he could think of the words to add onto it, those tears fell and Anders nearly though he would follow, as hard as he was shaking in response. But the platform of plants nearby was sturdy enough for him to regain himself. What right did he have to crumble when this was his doing? He wouldn't allow himself to be so weak. Someone had deigned to care about him despite everything and Anders had repaid him by tearing apart his life. Again. He had to try.
"Justice..." He should let Riona decide his actions, be her shadow instead of step out on his own in this, he'd already ruined everything on his own, but he spoke and acted by his heart while his mind yelled in screamed in silent fear of what else he might do. He walked slowly, but without hesitation, to Justice's side. He was trapping him between Anders and the table, he knew, but it was the only way he thought he could be allowed close. "Justice, I could never -will never- be afraid of you, no matter what anyone else thinks or says, even you. No matter what happened, I still love you just as much, if not more, than you even know. Even separated, you're part of me and that simple fact is something I don't regret."
A memory played in his mind over and over again, a single instance that had been so strong, Anders could recall it as though it had happened hours ago instead of three years past. The others had slowly splintered off from the group to go their separate ways, most of them heading back to the embers of Kirkwall to see what could be salvaged. Three days after the last had left and all that time spent in complete silence, including from his own mind, Anders had finally snapped and demanded Wolfe say something. They'd argued. Fought worse than they had in year, but in the end, Hawke's arms had wrapped around him despite it all and Anders had felt more in that moment than he had in two weeks. There'd been relief and affection and gratitude and 'thank the Maker, they weren't alone, someone cared, someone finally stayed, someone who would stay by them and support them and their cause' and Anders had known it wasn't just him and his thoughts. In that moment it had been twice the relief, twice, the affection, twice the gratitude that someone didn't think they were a demon that needed to be put down for the good of all.
That moment was what pushed him now, had him pulling Justice into as tight a hug as he would be allowed for as long as he could. Maybe it wasn't the same, maybe he'd be brushed off or shouted down, but if Anders could pay forward that joint feeling then to Justice in even a fraction now, it was worth it.
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"I wish I knew that you were telling the truth." And it feels like a knife in his chest that he doesn't. He'd trust Riona with his life, but she hid something huge from him and he doesn't know how to deal with that. Does this mean he has to doubt all the important things she and Anders say now? He doesn't know how to talk to someone if he doesn't know for sure if they are lying or not. Would she lie about being afraid of him, or about being his friend? Minutes ago, he would taken offense that the question would even be asked, but he also would have said she'd never lie to him about anything important.
It feels like his two main pillars in this unfamiliar world are crumbling around him just as his own security in himself is shattering to pieces, and he doesn't know what to do.
And then Anders approaches. For a moment, Justice feels trapped, with Anders closing in and no means to get away. A part of him wants to run away, to disappear and hide, but Anders is the one he wronged. It's his moral obligation to hear him.
There's the same issue as he has with Riona. He can't trust his own sense of deception, so he can't know for sure that Anders is telling him the truth when he swears that he will never be afraid. But then he drops that bomb--I love you.
Anders knows what that means to Justice. He must, if they shared a mind for so long. Justice doesn't think he'd lie about that, but he can't trust his senses to tell him that he isn't lying, so the declaration feels like spun glass--something beautiful and precious but which could shatter into pieces if he looks at it wrong.
And then Anders pulls him into a hug.
Justice doesn't know what to do. He's never been embraced before, and his feelings are already doing a hundred different things that he can't keep track of.
He thinks he can feel it in Anders' skin. That despair and guilt and regret, but that overwhelming affection as well--is that love?
Justice can't trust his senses. He can't be sure of Anders' honesty. But damn, if he doesn't want to believe it. He decides that, for right now, it doesn't matter if they are lying--about them both being his friends, about neither of them being afraid, about Anders loving him and not regretting having a piece of Justice inside of him--because they are certainly going through the motions of care if that's the case, and he craves that care.
He buries his wet face into Anders' shoulder, clutching his back like a drowning man. He can feel it, that space in Anders' presence that feels like something is missing, that space in Anders' mind that feels like home. The latter had been pleasant before, but now that Justice knows where it comes from...
It's like Anders' arms are the only things holding this physical form together, because that slight but obvious inhumanity has spread to every limb, to where even his fingers look like imitations. It's strange that being restrained in this way would be comforting, but it is. It's not enough, not nearly enough to calm the storm in his head, but he clings to it anyway.
"I love you." The words are muffled against Anders' skin, but he knows that they're true the moment he says them. It's not the exact same as Kristoff's feelings for Aura--there's no burning thrill with every sliver of skin revealed, no possessive need to be the one and only--but the base is the same. The desire to see a person happy, the sense that things are automatically more manageable when they are around, the need to know that they are okay... "And I fear that may be the problem."
The tears haven't stopped falling, but he pulls away. Not enough to break the hug entirely, but enough to put distance between them, to force himself to stand up on his own even if he doesn't know whether he can do it anymore. He glances at Riona, because these words are meant for both of them. "It does not matter what I want. It never did. It was irresponsible and self-indulgent of me to think I could partake in mortal things as I have, and my weakness hurt so many people."
His voice manages to stay steady through most of the sentence, but it breaks at the end. His eyes are back on Anders, on the person he wronged the most. His face is still wet. He still hasn't noticed. "What matters now is that I do what is right and give you and all my other victims justice. That matters more than me. It matters more than my life."
He just... needs to be sure that what he does next really is the right thing. Atroma may be able to bring back mortals, but he doesn't believe it will be able to bring back a creature that dissolves into nothing with no soul left behind. Should he kill himself? Is it possible to atone? The fact that it's such a question is alarming on its own, since he's usually so certain of what is right and wrong. Justice stares down at the floor, struggling to steady himself, but it feels like he'll dissolve right there whether he wants to or not. He wants to be away. He wants to be away so badly that he might just vanish. "I need to think."
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Has she just lost a friend?
A part of her wants to vomit. A part of her wants to scream. A part of her wants to take Justice by the shoulder and shake him, or just beg him to forgive her. She'll do none of these things, though. Instead, she simply nods. "I understand." There's pain and grief, even a hint of anger in her words. "Then I'll remove myself and give you space to think." What else is there to say? As much as she doesn't want to just leave Anders like this, she needs to go. Her composure won't hold forever.
Maybe it's just been too long on her end. Ten years, with nary a word to Anders or Justice in all that time. Perhaps she's just lost touch with Justice's character and can no longer connect with him as well as she once did. Would she have been able to handle this better if she were still her younger self here? It's all speculation, pointless at that. The damage is done, and now she has to accept it, whatever comes to pass.
"Come on, Kiter." The mabari whines in protest, but she gestures for him to follow, and reluctantly he does. She goes up to Anders, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing. "We'll talk later," she murmurs.
And it pains her as she looks at Justice, wondering if this is the last time they'll ever speak. His anger and hurt may run deep enough that he might not want to talk to her again. She sniffs, forcing back tears. "I'm sorry the mortal world failed you. I hope..." No, it doesn't matter. She shakes her head. "Good-bye."
With that, she turns and leaves, Kiter following behind.
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But nothing is so simple as to be fixed with one hug and your heart on your sleeve, that was the stuff of fairy tales, not life. Life was this cruel cold scene where Riona is leaving, her pain abundantly clear and Anders nearly whispers an apology as she says her good-by to him. They'd talk later and Anders would be at her feet then, apologetic and remorseful that he'd hurt her like this, all for being too selfish to take the storm alone.
But now they were alone and if there was one thing Anders was confident of in this whole exchange, it was that he knew how Justice's thoughts and reasonings webbed out from each new idea. This one was chillingly familiar, thoughts he'd once thought were just his own now screamed from Justice's tone and subtext and posture and Anders couldn't help but wonder if they'd somehow kept each other in a cycle of nearly stepping off that ledge and then pulling themselves back again for years without ever noticing.
He stood at the edge of the cliffs of the Wounded coast, the orange halo in the distance and frosty glares at camp all reminders of why he might as well step of the edge and into the choppy, rocky, waters below.
He hadn't. He never had, as many times as the thought had come up. It had sprung up throughout his life, but first he had cowardice, then he had friends and family to keep him back, then Hawke and then...maybe Justice had always been there as well, as much the motivation and the prevention as every outside source.
Now it was Ander's turn.
As soon as Riona was gone, Anders hands curled around Justice's upper arms, grip tight to the point of nearly being painful as he searched those achingly blue eyes.]
No. Don't you dare. You don't get to make that choice.
[Again, Hawke runs through him as he speaks, his words a near echo of what Hawke had said to him.]
It hurts, believe me, I understand, but you will live. You want to atone? Grant justice to those you've wronged? You'll live and atone with your continued actions, not by selfishly running away. Help others. Try. Stay by your cause, that's what will make it better.
It won't feel like it, it'll always feel like it's not enough and sometimes you'll wonder if death wasn't the better option, but it's not. Death is a luxury we can't afford. For every person you help, they will have suffered without you, and that's what'll keep you going.
[One of his hands freed it's death-grip and instead gently brushed the tears staining Justice's face.]
Look at me and swear you'll live, even if it's agonizing.
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Is this the last time they see each other, he wonders?
Then she’s gone, and he’s said nothing. He wonders if he will regret that. He thinks he will.
Anders’ hands on his arms forcefully demand his attention. Justice wants to be gone, wants to disappear and rest and think, and he almost vanishes, popping away to someplace where he can be alone. He only barely holds firm to this space, the force of Anders’ will keeping him here for the moment.
Justice doesn’t think he’s ever seen Anders so passionate as when he demands that he live. With that numbness and unreality, Anders’ urgency seems far away, but forceful, like a rope trying to pull him to shore as he drifts out to sea.
It’s the hand on his face that grounds him again. Has he ever been touched on his face before? Anders is brushing something away. Justice realizes belatedly that he’s been crying, and the surprise is just another dull blow to his numbed heart.
“Death is an appropriate sentence for corruption, possession, and wanton murder of the innocent,” Justice says, and even his own voice feels like it belongs to someone else. “But you are the one I wronged. If you do not believe it is the correct sentence in this case, then I will not judge it so.”
It’s only just that a victim have a say in the sentencing, and it’s not like his other victims really have a chance to voice their opinion. There are extenuating circumstances—Anders does care for him and seems to blame himself for some of what happened, and thus this may make his judgment questionable. But it’s not Justice’s place to challenge his victim’s will.
But saying he won’t put himself to death for his crime is far cry from swearing to live. When he speaks next, he speaks with all the clinical numbness that has fallen over him, talking like he’s working out a logic puzzle rather than discussing the possibility of suicide.
“A dead spirit serves its virtue more than a corrupt spirit. If I cannot be trusted to fulfill my purpose, then it is better that I die before I cause harm. All traces of me would dissolve, as would everything I created, and I doubt even Atroma has the means to undo that. Perhaps in this way, I can avoid ever doing any of this.” Justice doesn’t know if that would change anything for Anders, but perhaps it would. Perhaps he can change his fate by simply ending it here with his foreknowledge, and Anders will never be possessed. Perhaps he’d never even be trapped in that situation in the first place. It’s not a stretch for Justice to think that Anders’ friendship with a possessed corpse contributed to the Wardens’ willingness to betray him.
But still, killing himself runs directly counter to Anders’ request that he atone. Anders has a right to justice for the wrongs he’s suffered, and if he will not be satisfied with death, then he deserves something else. Can Justice give him something else, though? Is he capable of fulfilling his virtue, knowing how deep corruption’s roots may run? Would it be better to risk leaving Anders with nothing in the hopes that he will have never suffered injustice at his hands in the first place?
Which is more important? Trying to do better, knowing how catastrophically he may fail? Or removing the possibility of failure entirely, and possibly hurting his victim more in the process?
Justice has a sinking feeling that there may not be a right answer this time. The thought is dizzying, threatening to pierce the numbness again, and he’s forced to hold Anders’ arms to keep himself upright. “I do not know what is best. I need to think.” He does not want to leave Anders with that, though. He doesn’t want Anders wondering if he is dead or simply avoiding him if they don’t see each other. “I will inform you of my decision when I make it.” And Riona, he decides. He wants Riona to know too if he chooses to die. He doesn’t like the idea of leaving her to find out from Anders.
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And still, that demand wasn't what he heard coming from his own mouth.
"Alright." It would be too kind to call it a whisper, more like a rough escape of air without voice moving past this lips. What else could he say? What right did he really have to demand anything of Justice?
Death is an appropriate sentence for corruption, possession, and wanton murder of the innocent. It was true and it was as much his truth as Justice's. If Justice deserved to die for Anders' crimes, then Anders himself deserved far worse.
"Please-" He choked on his own voice as he spoke up again, but stopped and stepped away from his friend to offer the escape he wished. "No, I have no more right to ask anything of you. I won't keep you here any longer."
In case Justice somehow got it in his mind Anders had some right to speak to him anymore, Anders turned away to his plants as though they could really hold any sliver of his attention now.
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Without justice, he is nothing. He has no name, no purpose, no identity. The thought that anyone might care for him independent of that, that anyone might care for him even if he does fail to live up to that integral part of himself, is entirely foreign.
There are so many things he doesn't understand. So many things he still is struggling to process, struggling to grasp. Maybe he never will.
Anders lets him go and turns away. It is both a relief and one last knife in his chest. Justice has a feeling that he's just lost both his friends. Maybe he did a long time ago, and he's only the last to find out.
After all those years in the Fade, working and fighting on his own, Justice still has never felt more lonely than he does in this moment.
"I am sorry, Anders. For everything."
It's not much, but it's all he has right now.
Justice vanishes. He goes far away, somewhere he can be all alone. The leopard starts yowling, pacing up and down the greenhouse like that will make him come back.
He never does.
Malum: After [For Hawke]
There'd been no feeling in his fingers as he'd stroked her soft fur, no warmth in his core as she mewed at him and nearly no sight in his eyes as he made his way back to the community ship. He wouldn't have bothered if he didn't know Wolfe was waiting for him in Malum.
That was where he headed now, but he couldn't hear the voices of those already in the bar and his stomach and lungs knotted so tightly, he only tasted sick in his throat; no bottle would wash it away tonight. He just needed...needed to...
Someone accidentally bumped into him as they passed, but Anders didn't register who it was, only the sudden cacophony that seemed to kick up as soon as his ears caught their apology.
All at once, sound returned as though the small knock had jostled the cotton over his head and let it slip loose. It was never raucous in Crowley's bar, but it was as though the gentle music playing in the background was blaring in his ears and the handful of patrons in the room were closing in around him and he couldn't breathe.
He couldn't stay here. He couldn't-
Something in him trembled dangerously and all at once he knew he needed to be away from prying eyes, any other presence would surely only be worse, but something was about to snap and everything was simply too much. His breath quickened even as his lungs seemed to fight through their vice grip to actually claim that air and he could feel that tremble spreading from his core out. Now. He needed to go now.
A shock of white hair drew his eyes to the bar and the panic squeezing him nearly had him turning on his heel. He didn't. One too-long too-shaky step and then another and his fingers curled tight around the arm of the man who sat at the bar.
"Hawke." His voice was dangerously fragile in a way he couldn't even recognize as his own and he could only blame the air fighting against him. He needed to go.
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All of this flits out of his head immediately upon hearing Anders' voice. He's never heard his partner sound like this, never in nearly a decade, and it has him on his feet as soon as Anders' fingers are clamped around his arm.
He doesn't ask what's wrong. That would be an idiotic question, and instead he pulls Anders close against his side and only throws Crowley a cursory nod as he starts to escort his low out of the bar. He leaves his credit chit on the bar. It's not important right now.
"I'm here, I've got you." He murmurs softly, gently guiding them towards the transport bay. He doesn't know if Anders took a shuttle, just that he didn't in his own haste to get here. "What do you want me to do for you, love?"
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He swore he'd never fall apart again, that those tears he'd shed in the tower, no company but the Maker and the voluntarily blind and deaf guard outside his cell, would be his last. No one would have that sway over him again, no templar would be allowed to bring anything but anger from him again, they wouldn't be granted the satisfaction.
But this wasn't an affront to mages, this wasn't a templar holding him close now, murmuring comfort to him like an enticingly warm fire in the cold. He didn't think he could hold back anymore. Years of built up everything and he'd just relieved it in the matter of minutes to relay it to Justice, all to end with breaking his friend in the second worst way possible. Could he ever do right by Justice? Could he ever do right by anyone he loved or cared for? He was a burden for some, an open wound for others, they all deserved better than him.
"I-I can't...I need to go. Somewhere. No one else, please, I can't do this here." Because he was going to do this, the pieces were falling apart, crumbling with each tremor in his frame and the rapidly crumbling resolve he'd held to stubbornly for years.
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Thankfully, there's a shuttle or two in the bay. Wolfe doesn't check to see which ships they belong to, instead just pressing on into one and shutting the door behind them. With that, they're alone and Adalwolfe moves to Anders' side, pulling his love fiercely into a tight hug that he's not about to relinquish until the storm has passed.
Maybe this will help, on some level. Catharsis tends to make things more clear in the end, if nothing else, but whatever the case here he'll stay for as long as Anders needs him to. Nothing else matters.
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Anger. Hate. Disgust. It swirls and overwhelms and it's suddenly all he can feel and it's all turned inward. He did this, he's the cause of this pain and ruination for people he cares about, people who matter so much to him. He just made it worse. He always made it worse. He'd given them the choice, one to be there and the other to know at all and yet how could it not be his own fault when he was the cause of the need to share anything. He always lost everything he could even remotely call 'his.'
The wardens couldn't stand him, wanted him out despite his value as a healer. The others of their little group had all left him without a second thought, they likely hadn't even missed him when all he'd ever done was throw sarcasm, teasing and a flippant attitude their way.
Before that, he'd lost Amell and Jowan by leaving them behind just to run away again. Would things have been different if he just hadn't been such a selfish coward? He lost Karl to his own carelessness, he had to have slipped up somewhere in one of his letters, maybe the maid, and he hadn't been fast enough-
His next breath caught and he choked and he suddenly didn't dare breathe as something rushed through him like a tremor. But he had to breathe and on his next breath, the blockade he'd put on this feeling crumbled into dust and the sound that escaped him was unrecognizable to his own ears.
Kirkwall, he'd pushed everyone away. His mind went to his most recent conversation with Fenris, the banter, the teasing, could that have been his reality had he not been him? If he'd just picked his fights more closely, focused his ire on those that actually deserved it instead of the few that would still watch his back even if they didn't agree- and now they were all gone- dead or otherwise- from his and Hawke's lives. They were Hawke's friends more than anything and Anders had forced them away with his actions. Actions for the good of Thedas, sure, but actions that had hurt far more than those caught in the chantry at the time.
Varric. The look in his face- and then he hadn't looked Anders in the eye after-
He shook as though he would fall apart and his hands clenched tightly in or on whatever they found under them as his whole chest seemed to hallow itself with bone-crushing sob that finally brought the tears to his eyes he'd been dreading.
What right did he have to crumble like this? to cry? He'd done so much worse, this pain wasn't even a portion of what he deserved to feel and, instead, he'd placed some of it on Riona and Justice as well. Riona...Justice would have hurt her less if he'd slapped her, the look she'd given Anders as she left...pity, guilt, pain, grief- and Justice. He'd cried. The spirit had cried and it had shaken him to his core. He'd wanted to fall to his knees right then and there and beg for forgiveness, but it was horrifically selfish to ask for something he didn't deserve, he'd done that far too much in his life. Selfish. The epitome of his selfishness held him now and he suddenly wished he'd just come here himself and been alone so Wolfe wouldn't deal with it. But also this was somehow the only thing he had left, Maker only knew how when he'd ruined Hawke's life nearly as thoroughly as Justice's, Anders couldn't lose this now. Selfish. Horrible. Pathetic. bawling like a babe over a bed you've made and are now choosing to lie in-
The tears came faster, thicker, his breathing harsh and shallow as his body shook and wavered no better than a banner caught in a breeze. But other than the sound that had escaped him before, he remained nearly silent. His mind wailed and thrashed and screamed into nothing, but while his body mirrored, it was a silent action.
Maker if he could just choke on his own inability to breathe and die now, it would be such a relief and better for everyone he constantly hurt.
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He doesn't have the words for what this is. He's never seen Anders cry even when he thinks perhaps he should have. After Karl, after he'd nearly killed that girl, after the Chantry. Things that rend a person apart. But Anders had always stubbornly refused. This, though. This was enough and he's not sure what was said but he knows it must have been beyond any of those previous things to cause this.
He doesn't shush his love, doesn't plead with him to stop crying as he used to with Bethany when they were young. He just stays and runs his hand through Anders' hair and down his back and keeps his breathing steady. He'll be a rock, he thinks. Something sturdy for his love to keep hold of until the storm passes.
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The fabric of Hawke's shirt and the other mage's neck were damp with Anders' tears, but eventually they stopped. They stopped first. The choked sounds of broken breath evened out and Anders' vice grip on Hawke's back eased, allowing him to finally feel the ache of muscles clenched too tight for too long. He couldn't breathe through his nose and shudders still ran through him, but they were aftershocks as that storm did eventually pass.
He didn't dare pull away, not yet, he couldn't bare the thought of losing the feeling of Hawke's arms holding him so tightly so soon; he would surely fall to actual pieces if he did. But he also couldn't bare to see what might be in Hawke's expression. Pity? Disgust? Sadness for him? None of it would be good. The only thing he deserved was contempt. What right did he have to fall apart at all? He'd kept it together for so long...
"...sorry..." His voice seemed sapped from him, only a bare whisper able to escape between shaky gulps of air.
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Or maybe it does, in doses. He can't control what happened or what will happen or even what Anders thinks and feels about it, but he can control himself. He is sovereign of his own actions, and he will use that power for Anders now. Now and always.
"I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
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He lied, put a near-constant strain of worry and sadness on his love and was arguably the most wanted man in all of Thedas and yet Hawke stayed and held him and whispered kindnesses to him and stayed by him through it. He wants to ask why, cry it out until he gets a real answer that satisfies the clawing in his mind, but he doesn't. He swallows it and it chokes him, but it isn't what escapes him as his voice slowly returns. "Thank you. I'll never know what I did to keep you here, but-...thank you."