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Chapter Text

   My definition of a rude awakening is the alarm on my phone blaring its death siren—hurry, quick, before the seal doors drop and you’re trapped in the other room to either burn, drown or get jettisoned into space in classic Hollywood style—not being dragged by my hair.

   When my eyes jolted open, a ceiling of rock greeted me. The air tasted so foul I would have heaved if I wasn’t severely distracted by the sharp pain emanating from my scalp. My arms must have fallen asleep because a thousand pinpricks danced under my skin like static, making my first attempt to paw at whatever was tugging at me a flopping failure.

   I twisted around, palms braced on ground covered in refuse, and then looked straight into the eyes of a squalid man whose jaw dropped to reveal a row of broken teeth. We both shrieked and jerked back—fortunately he had dropped his hold on my hair or I’d fear a bald spot the size of a baseball on the top of my head.

    “Whatcha yammering fer?” a voice called from around the rocky bend. “Find yeself a spidey instead of a shiny?”

   My assailant just kept staring at me. “You’re not dead,” he said to himself, dirt smeared face scrunched up. Then to me, in an accusatory tone, he said: “You should be dead.”

   What I should be is waking up in my own bed and contemplating the day ahead, not having my supposed corpse abducted. Maybe I was still asleep and this was just one of those stress dreams I get before my alarm goes off. But my scalp still throbbed where my hair had been pulled. I nervously swallowed and scrambled up.

   The movement set off him off. He began rocking back and forth, “You should be dead. You should be dead. You should be dead!”

   I started to back away, hands held up to show I meant no harm even though a moment ago it was me getting lugged around like a—

   Wait, was that blood on my hands? The spot I had been dragged from was smeared with blood, and as I looked down, saw my shirt dyed with it. Was it my blood? Someone else’s? The coppery tang hit my senses, making me dizzy. Tottering, I put a hand to the alleyway wall to steady myself.

   That felt real. The smell of blood, of waste in the alleyway and my own body odor smelled real. The chanting from the man rising like scales on a piano sounded real. The thud of a sack being dumped was real, too.

   We both looked up to the man who had yelled to him from around the corner. The lip of his sack slumped, revealing an odd assortment of items. Scavengers, my brain supplied, as if having a term would somehow prove useful to me in this insane situation. None of this made any sense, and I desperately wanted it to, for I could begin to feel my own panic begin to flutter in my chest. My previous waking hours were completely blank.

   This brawny man, who had just been wearing a yellow-toothed smirk at his finds, paled. The chanter pointed at me. “Dead,” he said as if he had reached some important conclusion.

   The other spat and then his hand fell to his dagger. “We got ourselves a walker. Fer now. Tell the boys. There may be more of ‘em.”

   The chanter darted up so fast I barely caught the movement and was away screaming at the top of his lungs something about “walking corpses.” The other man drew his blade, crouching into a fighter’s stance.

   Even if this was only a nightmare, I had no intention of becoming a life-sized pin cushion. I did the only logical thing when confronted with an absolutely bat-shit-crazy situation: I ran the other way.

   Out of the alley I was in a more open area but still underground. My heartbeat sounded too loud in my ears, but the chanter’s cries still echoed to me as well as other voices in the distance taking up his cry. I couldn’t tell if the armed man was pursuing but I wasn’t about to stop to find out. I didn’t know which way to go so I just tore down the main thoroughfare.

   Was that a mining cart and tracks I just passed? And a pulley? Where the hell was I?

   I skidded to a stop at an opening that let in natural light and gaped at the endless water. Ocean. That was definitely the ocean. The sea breeze and squawking gulls confirmed the impossible. For the past couple years, I had lived a land locked life in the middle of the U.S. There was no way I could simply wake up thousands of miles away from home without knowing. Unless I really was still dreaming. I pinched myself hard enough to bruise, wincing. This had to be real. The panic unfurled its wings within my chest, preparing for flight.

   In the distance, I spotted ship masts. Not the kind on sailboats but the kind you see in pictures at maritime history museums. East or West Coast—I’d lived on both—nobody sailed around in ships like that nowadays. Nobody.

   Mad. I was going mad. Just like my mother. The urge to laugh bubbled up in me, panic and fear morphing into hysteria, as if wishing to give a public confirmation of my madness. That thought alone stifled it, bringing me back to myself. The real madman was behind me.

   I had only a moment’s notice. I heard the footsteps, wheeled around and only got nicked on my arm by the incoming blade.

   “Back to the Void!” the man shouted his battle cry and circled me, looking to make a lethal strike.

   “Wait, I’m alive! Very much alive!” I staggered back, clutching my injured arm though my body was humming so loudly with energy I felt no pain, just the blood wetting my hand. Belatedly, I realized I had been pinned between the perilous drop of the opening over the ocean and the armed maniac.

   Good going, Mel.

   The man looked startled by my ability to speak, though he really shouldn’t be. He and the other guy had been acting like I was some kind of zombie, which despite being clearly impossible, in what zombie flick do zombies ever run away from the living, let alone scream in coherent sentences?   

   Fortunately, my words persuaded him that I was not a zombie in need of slaying. Unfortunately, my words also persuaded him that I was something called a “blood mage” in need of slaying.

   I like to think that when he lunged at me again, the self-defense course I took at my freshmen orientation kicked in. How did it go? Oh, it was something like: one, scream bloody murder; two, run to safety; and three, if escape is initially impossible, fight just enough so you can run.

   Even if I didn’t have a thing for heights, which I did, and even if I wasn’t so high up that jumping might be the equivalent of leaping out of a 10 story building onto cement, which I certainly was, I definitely had a thing for bodies of water larger than a dinner glass—an acute fear that made being impaled by the madman’s blade seem a modicum better than being immersed in cold, dark water. Jumping was definitely out of the question.  

   So I screamed and ducked his swinging arm as I tried to get around him. His free hand snagged my shirt and hauled me backwards so hard my face disappeared from the shirt being tugged over my head. I rolled with it, losing my shirt James T. Kirk style, but unlike the Starfleet captain, I had no defined abs to show off, only sun-shy skin.

   The man stood there, clutching my long sleeved shirt and searching for the woman within. It was all I needed. I made a dash towards his open side. Arms pumping at my sides, chin tucked low, I knew I had evaded him for the moment being. I was going to make it.

   Then a pain burst in my body. I staggered for a moment then crumpled. Stunned, my hands patted my body, finding the knife sticking from my thigh. I nearly passed out from the pain when I nudged it, my brain finally catching up. When I pulled back, my hands were covered in far too much blood. The dark underground spun, growing even dimmer. Voices and footsteps echoed in the distance. His reinforcements no doubt.

   I clawed forward. The man’s shadow loomed over me, reaching. I threw a fistful of sand and gravel into his face as I lurched to my feet, barely feeling the injured one beneath me. He hissed and then seized me by the neck, slamming me back to the ground, knocking whatever remaining breathe out. There was twinge, another pain blooming, this time in my shoulder.

   Flashes of another set of hands around my throat came back to me, and if I could scream I would have. My hands flailed, nails clawing in the air inches from his face, my one good leg trying to become unpinned by his body so I could knee his groin. But I was fading fast. The world continued to darken. Tears leaked from my eyes as my mouth contorted, seeking air.

   I refused to die like this. Refused. A slow build up of energy flash-flooded my veins. A spark of white fire leaped between us, and I could smell the sudden scent of sulfur and burnt flesh. The man fell back on his knees, cradling his hands to his chest in agony as his eyes mirrored my disbelief.

   It was the last look those eyes would ever wear because a giant sword swooped down and neatly severed his head from his body. The world narrowed, the sound of battle cries and the ring of metal on metal strangely muffled. The last thing I remembered before crumpling was blue light encompassing me, smelling like the outdoors after a storm.

   When you close your eyes, you can be anywhere. My mind always goes to the little cottage by the water.  

   Waves teasing the shore. Sunlight a square patch on the floor. The breeze scented with wildflowers and the musk of mud. An unlit hearth with baubles on the mantle. Dried herbs hung in clusters from the ceiling. Mom holding me in her lap as she laughed at something a tall man said–maybe my dad, though I can’t be sure, and the features of his face and sound of his voice is a blur–tatters of dreams.

   I had to have been no more than three when we left. I don’t know why we did, and when I was old enough to ask, mom just stared at me, then through me. I knew she was back at that place. I learned not to ask, not when the memory elicited such polarized emotions.

   Mom and I moved over a dozen times, but despite the brief time we spent there, I fondly remembered the little cottage. I always thought of it as a happy place. Whenever she suddenly had us packing our bags to move again, and I would be failing to fall asleep in a new bed, more often than not the floor of our latest dismal apartment, I’d shut my eyes and pretend I was at the cottage. I would be there in my dreams right before I woke, the sun from the window softly snuggling me, my mom in one of her rare singing moods, hot breakfast wafting on the air.

   The mirage of the cottage popped like a soap bubble when several voices intruded into my fantasy. I tried to pull the edges of the dreams back–there was the cottage, then something about the ocean–but all I found was the scratchy reality of a musty wool blanket. I blinked a couple times, the light too much for my eyes, which didn’t help with my disorientation.

   The voices rose from behind me where I laid on my side. I held my breath. They were right in the room with me and they definitively didn’t belong to my roommates.

   “Fasta vass! It’s been two days already. Wake her now, mage. We will have answers,” a deep voice growled.

   The sound of it sent a shiver of awareness through me. I would have been intrigued to pair a face with that distinctive voice if its owner didn’t sound so angry and said anger didn’t seem directed at me. It suddenly seemed a prudent course of action to pretend I was still asleep. I smoothed any expression on my face and tried to even my breathing.

   “It’s been two days because she nearly died twice over,” a second voice bit back. “That stab wound alone would have bled her out without intervention and that brute almost strangled the life out of her. Oh yes, and then there’s the fractured collarbone, the slice on her arm, and a collage of scrapes and bruises. She needs to heal which means she needs to be able to rest in peace. If you can’t contain yourself, you need to leave my clinic. Now.”

   As the man cataloged my injuries, I became aware of the way my body ached. When I shifted, a twinge sparked up my neck, and I barely stifled a gasp. What happened? Did I get into some kind of accident?

   “You think I would just let a blood mage loose in Kirkwall unmonitored?” the deep voice countered. I could tell from the way his voice raised and lowered in volume as he spoke that he was pacing the room.

   “Well, you let me wander Kirkwall by myself all the time, though I wouldn’t mind the company,” a female voice jumped in, her chipper tone completely at odds with the other two’s. “I do get lost sometimes so it’s always helpful to have someone else to show me the way. Once, I popped right out the front of the cobbler’s stall in Hightown when I started in the alienage. It took me the rest of the day to find my way back.”

   “Daisy…” a fourth voice said. “I don’t think that’s what Broody meant.”

   The second voice sighed. “I said Justice sensed magical residue on her, not that she cast anything, let alone blood magic.”

   “She was covered in blood-

   “And she was badly injured, ergo, blood.”

   My heart thudded in my chest. Just what the hell did I wake up to? The words “blood magic” circled in my head, and with each rotation they became more familiar. I had been stabbed the one man said. I had, hadn’t I? I could remember then, the sensation of falling, fear clogging my throat, a shadow standing over me. But that was fragments of my dream. That wasn’t real…only a nightmare, right?

   The ocean. There it was, the tang of salt layered under the scent of herbs and soap. In my dream, I had seen the ocean. But I lived nowhere near the water. I’d made sure of that. Impossible. This was all impossible. Unless I was still dreaming.

   My eyes opened, wary. I was lying on a cot. There were empty ones lined in front of me, and then an earthen wall intersecting with a wooden one. This was like no 21st century clinic I had ever seen. My breathing quickened. It did not go unnoticed.

   “Blondie, I think your patient is awake.”

   Footsteps neared. I peeked out from my blanket cave. A group had surrounded my bedside. It felt surreal to have so many people’s attention trained on me at once. I rapidly blinked as if they were an illusion but they remained and didn’t look to have plans to leave anytime soon. I swallowed my anxiety down and lowered the blanket so my face emerged.

   “I’m Anders.” A tall man with a kind smile leaned over to adjust the pillow behind my head. “How are you feeling?” he asked. I recognized his voice. He was the one who claimed the clinic as his.

   His shoulder length, honey blond hair caught the glow of the setting sun streaming in from a nearby window, creating a nimbus around his head, a warmth matched in his light brown eyes. My mouth opened to speak, but then frowned at his clothing. Were those robes…and feathers?

   “Ah, you must be thirsty,” he chastised himself and spun out of sight.

   My eyes fell on the second nearest, a slight young woman with short brown hair and intricate facial tattoos winding across her cheeks, chin, and forehead of the like I’d never seen. Eyes that already seemed too large for her face grew even larger at my attention.

   “You’re odd, even for a shem,” she said as she unfolded a piece of clothing to hold out in front of her. “I’ve never seen clothing like this. What’s it called? Is it some kind of ceremonial garb?”

   Those were my jeans! But if she had them, then what was I wearing? A quick pat down determined the answer: nothing.

   “Daisy, maybe introductions are in order before you inform the patient she’s been stripped by strangers,” said a short, stout man who wore a low buttoned shirt that revealed ample amounts of chest hair. He snagged my jeans from the woman and sat them at the foot of my cot where I could keep an eye on them. “Varric Tethras at your service,” he smiled and lovingly patted the crossbow strapped on his back. “This is Bianca. Say hello Bianca.”

   “Right, sorry. I’m Merrill” the woman supplied, nervously tucking her hair behind pointed ears.

   Pointed ears! I squinted at them. They looked real! They were truly convincing prosthetics. But why would—    

   The tall man returned with a waterskin. “Here you go,” he said as he uncapped it. He reached a hand out to steady the skin in my shaking hands as I brought it to my lips, the other supporting the back of my head. I hadn’t realized how parched I was until the water ran down my throat. Instantly I felt better, though my throat still felt awful. One hand grazed the tender skin there and I winced.

   The tall man took the empty waterskin back. “I’m Anders, and you are in my clinic. You were attacked and injured.”

   That much I had gathered. I tried to look past him to the window.

   “Where?” I croaked, the sound no more than a whisper.

   “In Darktown. Don’t you remember?” It was Anders’ turn to frown. He reached one hand to touch my head as if searching for some undiscovered trauma. I felt heat rise in my cheeks in response, sensitive to how his fingertips brushed my skin and shifted my hair. In less than a minute, this man had gently touched me three times as if it were the most natural thing to do, and yet, I couldn’t recall the last time anyone had.

   I sat up to reach for my jeans with one hand holding the blanket to my naked chest, effectively removing Anders’ confusing touch. “Where’s Darktown? North of Crystal Falls?”

   “I don’t know anything about a place called Crystal Falls, but Darktown is located in Kirkwall,” Varric said slowly.

   The moment drew out but my blank look didn’t suddenly dawn in comprehension.

   “Kirkwall, one of the cities of the Free Marches.” He sent Anders a covert message with his eyes like I might be crazy.

   My hackles rose. I had seen crazy. I was not crazy. Oh, and if I owned a crossbow, I wouldn’t name it like a person, I wanted to snap, but instead, gritted my teeth and said, “And would you please tell me where on Earth we are because I’d like to go home.”  

   My hands felt in my jean pockets for my phone. I needed to call the police to tell them I had been kidnapped by deranged cosplayers. As my hands gripped the leather case, I stilled. No one had answered me.

   “I can’t tell you where on Earth you are because I’ve never even heard of it until now. You are in the only world we know of save the Fade: Thedas,” Anders said.

   “Thedas?” Well, this “only world” was fading fast with the way the room spun.

   “You’re not well yet. Lie down,” Anders tried to guide me back to the pillow and set my phone back by my jeans, but I held onto it like a life raft in a storm.  

   “Listen, I appreciate you helping me, but I need to get home,” I said as I shrugged away his help. I didn’t have time to deal with the churned up emotions of having someone so focused on me. My focus needed to be on getting home.

   I flipped the magnetic case flap open. When the screen lit up, there was a collective gasp.

   “What magic is this?” the deep voice from before hissed.

   I only caught a glimpse of the no service bars before my phone was snatched from my hand. I looked up into forest green eyes and then it was my turn to gasp. I’d never seen a man so uniquely beautiful: white hair draped around pointed ears, bronze skin covered by black leathers and fantastical armor, and his body a canvas of glowing tattoos. Enough weird shit was going down to even worry about how that last part was happening.

   “That’s very rude, Fenris,” Merrill scolded the other elf cosplayer, not looking particularly imposing as she stared up at the other who wore a sword near the size of his body strapped to his back. That sword probably should have given me pause but I was incensed.

   “Give me back my phone!” I awkwardly lunged for it while trying to maintain my modesty. He easily evaded me, eyes ablaze.

   “Who sent you? Did he send you?”

   “Easy there, Broody,” Varric said, putting a hand between the two of us.

   “Nobody sent me,” I snapped back, leaning over Varric’s arm right into Fenris’ face. My throat ached with the effort, but a cocktail of anger and panic pushed me on. “I don’t even know who this ‘he’ you’re referring to is, and if whoever he is did send me, he picked a piss-poor person because I don’t know where the hell I am,” I waved a hand to stop Anders who had already opened his mouth to correct me. “Yeah, you say Thedas, I say Earth. I can figure out exactly where I am when I get enough service bars to activate my GPS and then call for a ride. So give me my phone, I’ll get out of your hair, and we can all go on our way.”

   “What’s G-P-S and what’s a hell?” Merrill asked with an innocent tilt of her head.

   “Magic,” Fenris spat, his eyes unwavering from mine.

   If Anders’ face had been sunshine before, a cloud had just passed over it. He looked like he wanted to tear into Fenris as badly as I did.

   The world wobbled but I refused to let it shake me. “There is no such thing as magic.”

   “Oh,” he bitterly laughed, “how I wish.”

   There was flash from his tattoos and in one swift move he planted his free fist into my chest. I heard cursing and a scuffle of movement around me, but all I could focus on was the feel of his gauntlet covered hand grasping my heart with intangible fingers. I hovered in position perfectly frozen, understanding that in one move he could rip my life from me.

   But he didn’t.

   An ache emanated from where we in-corporeally touched as our awareness slid into each other. I could feel the blood pumping under his skin. When he breathed, my lungs filled with air. No sensation had ever felt so intimate. And then, there were images and impressions coming so fast I couldn’t sort them. But I caught the flash of blue, a glow like his tattoos. It was alive, calling me. Singing. It sounded familiar.

   Fenris’ face lost its color. “What are you?”

   I had no chance to even contemplate an answer or throw the question right back at him before he pulled out and I collapsed. Blue light surrounded me, and I recognized the pure rain scent of it from my nightmare.

   Not a nightmare. Real.  

   And this was magic.

   Whelp, I wasn’t in Kansas anymore.

Chapter Text

   What happened when I next woke was a blur of Anders – Anders apologizing for “the Blighted elf.” Anders coaxing me to take sips of water. Anders changing my bandages. Anders trying to shake me from my shock through small talk. Anders giving me a floral scented medicine that tasted like no cough syrup I’d ever tasted before but did wonders to soothe my throat but little for my stomach that still felt nauseous after my understanding of reality had been shattered. It was all I could do to hold my fragments together, hoping they would fuse together into some shape I could make sense of later.

   But I found reality isn’t so much a vase knocked off a shelf – it’s a lake whose surface had been smooth as glass until a boulder dropped in its center. Eventually, the waves lapsed and ripples echoed out, but the boulder remained in the center, altering the way the water finally settled. It would never be exactly as it was before.  

   I’d sleep intermittently only to wake up in a panic, my hands grasping at my throat, my chest, as if I were trying to rip someone else’s away from me. I don’t know what was more frightening, the nightmare I couldn’t recall or the new reality I was waking up to. I’d force myself to take deep breathes, and eventually I’d fall into another restless sleep. Each time the panic lessened as my mind repeatedly discerned between reality and fantasy, but it all seemed to stretch on into one endless, feverish dream. When I woke from one such sleep, I heard quick footsteps and felt a warmth surround me, a tinge of blue seeping through my eyelids, and then finally, thankfully, dreamless sleep.

   I woke to the sound of footsteps, soft, slow, weary.

   I shifted onto my elbows to peer up at Anders, barely visible in the dark.

   “Sorry I woke you,” he said, reaching for a small satchel near the foot of the cot. “You can go back to sleep.”

   The haze of sleep was still near enough I almost did without question, but when I glanced down to the cocoon I had emerged from, I noted this was not the cot I first woke on. I was in smaller room. With the blanket wrapped around me, I rose to my knees, my look questioning.

   “There was an influx of patients from Darktown with an ailment of the lungs. I wasn’t sure if it was contagious and thought it best to keep you out of it till I knew further,” he explained as he reached back to retie his hair, hands shaking like butterfly wings in an autumn gale.

   “Was it?” I surprised myself when I reached for the hairband, and he let me as if he hadn’t even felt the touch, distracted by some unseen thing in the dark.

   “No,” his hands covered his face. “Chokedamp. Two dead.”

   I didn’t know what to say. It sounded like something out of a history textbook. On Earth death was the obituaries in newspapers left opened on coffee shop tables or the headline if the result of a tragic accident. But here it wasn’t distant, not with the casual way others looted bodies and fought. It ran in these people’s circles, its face no stranger. Yet even so, it was not a friend. When death arrived to claim someone, the familiarity of its face didn’t lessen the holes it carved in its passing. Even now, Anders’ eyes were lifeless, like grooves chipped from wood. 

   I soothed a hand down the back of Anders’ head as I gathered the top layer of his hair back into a tail like the style he had worn when I first woke. It felt odd to touch him, but not uncomfortable like I expected. Just different. If this different could ease him even a little, rekindle that warmth I had seen earlier, then it was worth it.

   “You don’t have to do that. It’s dirty,” he said.

   His hair could use a wash, but I heard the underlying meaning: I’m not worthy of your kindness. The doctor-patient mask he wore had slipped, and I saw the man beneath. I didn’t know much about this Thedas place — it was like stepping into a fantasy novel with people resembling elves, dwarves, and people like Fenris who could literally touch people’s hearts if he wanted — but they were people all the same.

   As I finished tying Anders’ hair, I realized I believed him when he said I was in Thedas. I couldn’t read the loss of life he’d seen written into the slump of his figure and the tightness of his voice and say this wasn’t real. The moment wasn’t world shattering like when Fenris put his fist in my chest, making me question everything I had ever known, but the solemn acceptance of a skipping stone finally slipping beneath the surface.  

   Anders continued to stare off into the darkness, and I felt like it was encroaching, circling. I wanted to pull him back from it but felt powerless as to how, just as he must have felt powerless seeing the faces of those who slipped away despite his best efforts.

   But those efforts made all the difference for somebody.

   “How many didn’t die?” I asked.

   He looked at me, then down at the blanket. “Seven.”

   “Then there are seven who are still alive tonight because of you,” I ducked my head so he had to looked into my eyes and not the darkness. “Like I’m alive because of you.”

   He didn’t say anything, eyes awakening with some emotion I couldn’t place.

   “Thank you.”

   He threw his satchel on his shoulder and moved to the exit. In the doorway he paused. Without hesitation, his gaze met mine.

   “I don’t even know your name.”

   I smiled slightly. “Amelia Payne. Friends call me Mel.”

   I almost snorted – what friends? – but Anders returned the smile, a sliver of light in the dark.

   “Sweet dreams, Mel.”

Chapter Text

   The next time I awoke I knew what to expect–that is, a whole lot of crazy shit–but I couldn’t resist pinching myself again to be sure this wasn’t a dream. I certainly didn’t bring any totem to ensure I wasn’t in someone else’s dream.

   “Honey, there are better ways to determine you’re alive,” a woman with flawless brown skin and black wavy hair held back by a bandanna purred. She strolled near my bedside and quirked a brow at my chest. “If you like, I could demonstrate.”

   She gave me a slow, alluring smile, drawing attention to the piercing below her lower lip, then the column of her throat covered by an elaborate golden choker that rested above the curves of her breasts, barely tucked away in her bodice. I hadn’t meant to stare, but she took it as an invitation to sit right by my side.

   “So,” her fingers walked up my arm as she spoke, “shall I show you the best way to wake up in a new place?”

   I couldn’t bring myself to meet her eyes, so I looked down to my toes. When I realized my blanket had worked its way off my chest while I tossed in my sleep, I blushed. Well, that explained the stare. I quickly pulled the blanket back over me.

   The woman laughed and set a stack of clothes on my lap. “Your other garments were no more than bloody rags besides the pants. You’ll thank me later for being the one to get you replacements. Anders’ clothes are already in need of replacement so he had nothing to spare. Varric always overestimates humans’ sizes so you’d have looked like a bag. Aveline couldn’t be bothered to tell the difference between a decent dress from a potato sack since all she ever wears is her Captain of the Guard armor. I, on the other hand, know how to display one’s assets.”

   Well, I couldn’t argue with the last part.

    “Aveline?” I unfolded the clothes, trying to not think about how I had just unintentionally displayed my assets for this woman.

   “Eh, you’ll meet that death of the party soon enough. Hawke too. He’s in the next room and wants to meet one of these ‘walking corpses’ that had Darktown’s panties in a knot while he was off gallivanting on some do-gooder errand with Aveline that he just had to drag me along on,” she got off the bed to give me room to dress, and I suspected, to give me some privacy. “I’m Isabela by the way. Formerly Captain Isabela but I can’t be much of a captain without a ship, and that’s a story for another time.” Her voice fell slightly at this last part, and she snuck a peak at me as a consolation prize. I gave her the finger and she grinned. A smaller one came over my own face as I shook my head. Was everyone in this world such a character?

   The clothes actually had leggings unlike Isabela’s, and they covered more than I usually wore if it was hot out, but everything was so…tight. Back home, I was a jeans and sweatshirt kind of girl. I didn’t need a mirror to know that the clothes were practically painted on me–Isabela’s ogle told me that.

   “People don’t actually think I’m a walking corpse, do they?” I could really do without another person trying to knife me. I took that memory and shoved it away. Dwelling on it would only induce a panic attack, and I needed my head on straight if I wanted to get home.

   “From what I heard, that’s what you looked like when they dragged you in here.” She reached over to fix my own wavy hair which I was certain was a rat’s nest at this point. She pursed her lips then retrieved a bowl of water from across the room.

   “Anders left it out for you,” she explained. “Thought you might like to get cleaned up a bit seeing as you haven’t bathed in days.”

   I held the bowl, water still swaying inside, and waited for it to settle so I could study my reflection. Storm gray eyes, pale skin with a smattering of freckles, brown hair just like my mom’s. I was still me, though my hair was a disaster, skin paler than normal, eyes churned up like sea foam, and the pink mark of a fading cut by one eyebrow.   

   Isabela pulled out a comb and began working it through my hair, startling me enough that a bit of the water sloshed over the bowl’s side. She smirked at my surprised expression.

   “Might as well convince everyone you have better hygiene than the dead when you’re properly introduced. First impressions and all that. You’ll have to wait for a real bath. I could help with that,” she gave me a suggestive look and I wasn’t sure if she were serious or joking. I might have laughed it off, but my throat had closed over after staring at the evidence of my attack. She didn’t comment on my quietness and I was grateful for that as I looked anywhere than at the water and took deep breathes. With thoughts of my attack so close to the surface, it wouldn’t take much for the bowl of water to look fathomless and choking.

   In a few minutes, she stepped back and nodded in approval at my appearance.

   “Thank you Isabela,” my voice came out softer than I had intended as I ran a hand gently down my waves. The last person to brush it had been my mom, and that was years ago when I was a little girl, back before I noticed the cracks in my simple life. If I closed my eyes, I might have been able to pretend for a moment I’d gone back and that everything that followed had been nothing more than a nightmare. I didn’t realize how badly I missed things like this till now, something as simple as being touched by another person. With purpose, not just an accidental bump in the street or the brush of fingers as I’d take my change from the cashier at the grocery store. But here, both Anders and Isabela had reached out to me like it was nothing. I wasn’t sure what to make of it.

   This time Isabela definitely caught my quietness.

   “If you tell anyone some nonsense about me having a heart of gold, one morning you’ll find your smalls hanging from the nearest flagpole.”

   I nodded, smiling in return, glad that she went straight to lightening the mood. I could see myself getting along with her for my duration in Kirkwall; that is, before I figured out what wardrobe I’d stumbled out from. I just had to keep an eye out for a winter setting with a conspicuously placed lamppost.  

   “And this Hawke is?”

   “Hawke is… well, you’ll see.”

   With that she ushered me into the next room.

    Everyone stared at me when I entered the room, leaving no doubt that they had all been waiting to officially meet me, but it still made me uncomfortable to have so many pairs of eyes sizing me up. I was used to people staring through me, not at me. Wearing Isabela’s clothes didn’t help. I resisted the urge to cross my arms over my chest or in any way look self-conscious. I straightened my spine and met everyone’s gaze in turn.

   Anders had been stacking glass bottles on a nearby shelf and stopped mid-motion, a slight smile gracing his tired face at seeing me well enough to be up and about. His satchel laid open, papers scattered near an inkwell and quill with candles burned low. He hadn’t stayed up late writing, did he?

   Varric had been sitting on a stool inspecting something on Bianca while talking to Merrill who had been hanging onto his every word. Fenris leaned on the door frame of the clinic’s entrance, the picture of disinterest as he stared into the depths of Darktown, but a flick of his eyes in my direction belied that. Then there was a formidable looking woman with a shock of red hair and a generous dose of freckles decked out in plate armor that bore some kind of crest who must be Aveline, the Guard Captian. She had been talking to the man at the center of the room who I knew had to be Hawke.

   I understood why Isabela declined to describe him in favor of letting me meet him for myself. He didn’t have Anders’ fairness and neither did he have Fenris’ exotic beauty. But he was a handsome man in his own right with his dark hair and beard, tall and broad shouldered with armor fitted in such a way that it promised hardened plains of muscle beneath. While not the most unique looking out of the group, he stood out and it seemed I was not the only one who felt so. Everyone in the room gravitated towards him with their body language and words, like he was the sun of this group’s solar system.

   He uncrossed his arms at my entrance and donned a pleasant smile though his brown eyes remained guarded. There was something in the way his gaze lingered on my face, as if he were trying to distill who I appeared to be from who I was. I felt more exposed under his gaze than I did when I accidentally flashed Isabela.

   I stepped back, resisting his pull.

   Well, best get this over with.

   “While I’ve already met most of you, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Amelia Payne, though you can just call me Mel if you want. I think it’s already been established that I’m not a walking corpse, and no, those don’t exist on Earth though apparently they’re a thing in Thedas. And no, I don’t know how I got here. My last hours on Earth aren’t...forthcoming. All I know is I woke up in an alleyway and some dude was trying to mug me or something,” one hand started fiddling with my hair and my mouth went dry at the memory. But I plowed on.

   “Guess they thought I was already dead cause they freaked when I got up. Then they tried to …remedy that and well, of course I ran and the one caught me. Called me a blood mage and…” the other hand went to my throat and I shivered. Inwardly I cursed at myself for letting memories take control of me, but the cold seemed to spread through my veins. I felt like the lead actress who had taken center stage but forgot her monologue.

   Anders had set down the bottles since I began speaking, his mouth drawn into a tight line at my tale and eyes furious on my behalf. How could he feel so strongly for someone he just met? I swallowed then forced both hands to return to my sides.  

   “It’s a little spotty. I remember the sounds of fighting, a blue light.”

   Anders nodded. “Yes, that was me. I’m a Spirit Healer, a mage that uses magic to heal. I do well with fireballs and cones of ice too when the situations calls for it.”

   “Really?” I could feel my reins on the conversation go slack but who could resist a detour of magic? All the fairy tales and fantasy novels I devoured on Earth growing up had always made me a bit wistful for something more to the world than kids at school mocking me for my worn out sneakers or new neighborhoods every six months that always managed to feel like the one I just left. As I adult, I rarely had time for those flights of fancy while working two jobs to makes ends meet and trying to go to college part-time. But this brought it all back. What next, talking animals?

   Anders turned his hand palm up and a foot long flame shot up, hovering over his skin, and then as suddenly as it appeared, it vanished.

   I let out a soundless exclamation and crossed the room. On pure impulse, I grasped his hand and immediately felt him tense.

   “Sorry,” I whispered, already letting go, but he grabbed my wrist to stop me from pulling away.

   “It’s all right. You surprised me is all,” he said and placed his hand into mine. The sense of strangeness from touching him, touching anyone, didn’t resurface at the feel of his warm, calloused palm. Instead, it felt natural.

   “I never thought I’d see magic. It’s incredible,” I said as I flipped his palm down then up again to look for signs of scorch marks or burns.

   Instead of rolling his eyes at the woman who was awed by his ordinary, he gave me a smile that put all his doctor-patient ones to shame. The dark atmosphere from the night before was gone, but that connection wasn’t. His eyes never left my face, not even after I dropped his hand, satisfied with my examination.

   “Where did it come from? Where did it go? How are you not hurt?”

   Anders chuckled at my quick succession of questions. “All mages have a connection to the Fade, a world beyond our own. From there we can draw power to cast spells through mana. We can stop whenever we wish, though usually after we complete a spell. We can keep casting until we deplete our mana. Then we either have to let our mana regenerate or drink a lyrium potion. Mages practice for years to control our powers so we do not hurt ourselves or others unintentionally with our power.”

   Could he cure cancer? The common cold? Could he light a chandelier of candles at once? What’s lyrium? What’s this other world the Fade? Each new question sparked a new one in its place. I could stand here all day shooting questions at him, and that would seriously derail the point of this meeting, so I allowed myself one more.

   “You said you did a cone of ice?”

   “That would be a bit excessive for a demonstration of ice magic. But…” He walked towards his shelf of empty bottles and picked up a flower that resembled a reddish black tulip. He passed a hand over it and ice crystals sprouted across its surface, stiffening the plant in his grasp.

   “It’s beautiful,” I said, voice full of wonder.

   Anders handed it to me, warm fingers a sharp contrast with the flower’s frosted stem.

   “If you think that’s impressive, you’ll have to get Anders to show you his electricity thing sometime,” Isabela shot him a knowing look. “I’m sure he’d be more than happy to oblige.”

   “Sometimes Rivaini, you don’t know when to quit,” Varric said as he pulled out a quill and sheath of paper. “But now that we’re on the topic, how exactly does this electricity thing work? My next romance serial could use something shocking.”

   Anders groaned, Aveline gave a derisive snort, and Hawke’s laugh boomed across the room. When Hawke’s eyes were on Anders, I could have sworn they twinkled.    

   “I missed something dirty, didn’t I? I always miss the dirty things,” Merrill said.

   Fenris glared at Anders. “Why don’t you tell her everything else you are? Maybe that you’re an apostate. Or you’re an abom-.”

   “I told you not to call me that,” Anders matched Fenris’ glare. 

   Fenris stalked over from his place by the door, another retort already on his lips. Anders angled to face him while simultaneously positioning himself as a barrier between me and the elf with a penchant for ripping out vital organs.

   “Anders is also a Grey Warden!” Merrill tossed into the fray, the randomness dispelling the brewing fight as all eyes turned to her.

   “A Grey wha-

   “I’m a mage too,” she pronounced, brandishing a staff she unstrapped from her back. “I used to be my Dalish clan’s First, training to become Keeper someday. But I live in the alienage now trying to repair one of our ancient artifacts—an eluvian.”

   That was a lot of back story. I didn’t even know where to start.

   “And a blood mage,” Fenris muttered. Hawke shot him a pointed look and Fenris grunted but chose not to make an issue of it.

   The red headed warrior stepped up.

   “I’m Aveline, Captain of Kirkwall’s Guard,” she confirmed. “I’ve already handled the paperwork regarding the incident but when you’re able I’ll need you to come by the Keep to make your statement. There can’t be such a high body count and no report.”

   Nausea swept through me as I remembered the giant sword sweeping down to lob off my attacker’s head. Oh my god, I saw somebody die. If the whole other world thing was real, then so was that. I literally saw somebody lose their head. Bile rose in my mouth and the world tilted sharply.

   I must have blacked out for only a second, but when I came to, I found I had been saved from a harsh reunion with the floor due to a pair of strong arms encircling me.

   “Thank you,” I murmured into Hawke’s chest, slowly pushing on his forearms to regain my feet. My face was on fire. Since when did I become some fainting maiden?

   Well, Mel, since when did you wake up in other worlds where there’s magic, intangible fists, walking corpses, and people dying like it’s a normal Tuesday?

   “Anytime, though I must say, women usually don’t fall into my arms so quickly,” he said, releasing me only after he was sure I was steady on feet, which didn’t help with the blushing problem. 

   Fenris scowled at us, but that seemed to be his default expression. Varric hastily scribbled on his paper. Isabela sighed a tad wistfully.

   Another pair of hands found me, these ones glowing blue. Dr. Anders was in.

   “How do you feel?” he asked as his magic enveloped me in a comforting cocoon.

   “Dizzy, sore, and a bit tired.”

   “Well, you’ve barely had anything to eat for the last three days. A light meal is in order.”

   “I don’t suppose there’s any food that could even qualify as a light meal or any meal to be found here,” Hawke said to Anders pointedly. Anders didn’t deny it.

   Varric tucked his writing materials away. “So, the Hanged Man?”

   “The Hanged Man,” Isabela agreed. “You still owe me two sovereigns, Varric. Maybe you can start paying me back by buying us all a round, hmmm?”

   “What? You won’t let me challenge you to another round of Wicked Grace to win it back?”

   “Could you beat me?”

   “You wound me, Rivaini,” Varric clutched his hands over his heart. “Maybe I would win more often if you didn’t cheat.”

   “I never cheat Varric,” Isabela said as she sauntered out the door.

   “Don’t bullshit a professional bullshitter,” Varric said as he exited too.

   “I think she’s right Varric,” Merrill said as she trailed behind. “Where would she stash the extra cards?”

   “Oh Kitten,” I barely made out Isabela’s laugh before Darktown swallowed them up.

   Aveline crinkled her nose in disgust. To Hawke, she said, “I’ve patrol of the Docks tonight. But make sure Amelia makes it to the Keep soon, understood?”

   She swung her shield off her back in anticipation of trouble and strode off.

   That left Anders, Fenris, Hawke and myself.

   I looked nervously out into Darktown. I couldn’t help but flashback to when I last set foot out there by myself.

   Fenris took point for our group without bothering to spare me a second glance. As Anders put out the lantern in front of his clinic, Hawke took my arm and tucked it in the crook of his arm like we were enacting a scene from Pride and Prejudice before we followed Fenris. I might have leaned more than was acceptable, but there was a slight pain in my leg, a pit in my stomach, and my nerves had started to unravel at the prospect of leaving the safety of the clinic.

   “My name is Garrett Hawke. Most just call me Hawke, but Garrett works too.”

   I smiled up at him. “Thank you, Garrett.”

   For the first time, I saw the guarded look slip off his eyes. He knew I meant it for more than his name.

   As Anders took up the rear, Fenris led us; his armor moved perfectly with his body, his giant sword never knocking his legs. A passing torch’s light glinted off the metal, and I knew it.

   Fenris was the one who had saved me with a single swoop of his sword.

   One moment he’s saving me, a complete stranger, then he almost kills me, and now I’m like an annoying blip on his radar. He was an enigma if there ever was one, but like Anders, he was one of the reasons I was still breathing.

   “Thank you,” I mouthed at his back, knowing he couldn’t hear me but needing to say it all the same. Perhaps later I could say it to his face if his face didn’t look like it wanted to kill something and that something was me.

   I pushed Fenris from my mind to focus on Hawke as he gave me the unofficial tour of Kirkwall leading up to Lowtown. I tried to absorb as much as I could, knowing I had to have a reasonable understanding of this foreign place if I was going to survive long enough to get back to Earth.

Chapter Text

   The Hanged Man wasn’t what I expected. For one, there was a statue of a hanged man outside the main entrance. Not what I’d consider a smart marketing tactic, but business wasn’t put off by the décor. The taproom was flooded with too-loud-laughs, conspicuous gossipers, and simmering brawls. Even on a different world—bars, taverns or whatever you want to call it—are still the same.

   I cringed as the waitress Norah lugged a platter of emptied tankards back behind the bar and one man leaned forward on his stool to make a lewd comment; I’d been there. I work as a bartender at night and a waitress at a diner in the mornings before classes, or make that “worked” if I don’t make it back home soon. I gave a smile to Norah as she came to our table.

   “Just the porridge and water for her, Norah, thank you,” Garrett said after everyone else ordered, and the disgruntled woman sighed and trudged back to the crowded bar. He turned to me, as if sensing I was annoyed that he had ordered for me. “Trust me. It’s the only edible thing here.”

   Maybe if I had been feeling more myself I could have worked up a little more indignation, but the walk from Darktown to Lowtown had fatigued me more than it should. I had said as much to Anders on the walk up. He’d frowned a bit but said that after a day or two of regular meals and light exercise I should be feeling as well as I had before. I hoped so. Running was always something I was good at. It had saved my life in Darktown and it might again if the situation called for it. I had no weapons and who knows how long these people I fell in with would tolerate having me around. Especially me being, well, me. 

   I must have sounded like a two-year-old with how I kept asking “What’s that?” and “Why?” to everything. In the course of the walk, I had learned that elves were treated as second class citizens and segregated to living in alienages (apparently they’re not even good enough to mix in with the rest of Lowtown); Templars, the special ops knights with buckets for helmets were tasked with being glorified jailors for mages because being born with magic is basically a crime; Kirkwall used to be a slave city and slavery is still an accepted practice in a major country called Tevinter; Kirkwall was full of refugees and other poor folk and the Viscount Doom-something or other was too busy playing patty cakes with nobles and a people called Qunari who the Chantry, Thedas’ Catholic Church, apparently also despised—neither powerful force could be bothered to look into helping folks but an apostate like Anders could while on the run from said bucket heads and for free.

   Garrett and Anders might not have said it all with my level of indignant fervor—except for Anders when it came to the Templars which I could understand, to be honest—but I could read between the lines.

   I had three thoughts to all that.

1. The. Fuck.
2. Thedas really needs a civil rights movement.
3. There is no place like home.

   I was mentally and emotionally exhausted. Was it any wonder that I slouched in my chair as Garrett’s gang chattered around me? Everyone had a drink, and though some like Merrill made faces at their chosen brews, they all drank heartedly. Well, except Anders who only nursed his drink but tore into his porridge like he hadn’t eaten in days either.

   When Norah set my own porridge in front of me, I took a tentative bite. Not bad. Then my stomach made its emptiness known, and I couldn’t fill it quick enough. I nearly licked the bowl clean and would have eaten another but I knew that would make me sick.

   When I saw Garrett pay for Anders’ and my meal along with his drink, I actually did feel a little sick. I had no money and so I was at the mercy of my new acquaintances’ generosity. I didn’t want to accept it but I was short on options.

   Growing up, there were plenty of times when mom and I were short on money, and had to rely on humanity’s better nature. Mom, though undoubtedly brilliant, never went to any college or trade school that I knew, and always worked some low-skilled, low-paying job. I know she could have moved up to higher paying positions if she stuck around long enough, but after six months in one town she’d be ready to move us on to the next. We usually managed to scrape by, but there were some days our power would be turned off or we’d have to hit up the local food pantry. From a young age, I would try to pull my weight: babysitting, yard work, shoveling, and other odds jobs.

   Since money was short, I rarely participated in school trips and other events. I remember in middle and high school how I longed to go, to maybe finally build connections with people my own age, even if I’d be saying goodbye months later. I wanted to live like the other kids, to experience what it was like to put down roots in one place, if only so that when I was ripped up, I’d leave a hole not easily filled. For once.

   But anytime the parent-funded trips came up, I’d decline immediately, knowing we didn’t have the money. I didn’t want mom to feel bad about having to say no, and it’d be even worse if she said yes, because I knew she’d pinch the money from the grocery fund and short herself on some necessity. If I ever did go out, it was funded through my own efforts, though my spending money was usually well spent at the second hand store, not on overnight skiing trips. I didn’t like to call attention to our financial situation, so I usually dodged the question as to why I couldn’t come if someone bothered to notice my absence; I didn’t want to be anyone’s charity case.

   That usually worked too, though one time a high school teacher a bit hard of hearing asked too loudly why I’d said no to going. Students next to me had turned with questioning looks which quickly morphed into ones of contempt and even pity, taking in my duct-taped sneakers and worn out jeans I couldn’t hide under my desk no matter how far back I pulled my legs under. The teacher, oblivious, mused out loud about funding my way using some allotment, which if not used for “in need students,” provided additional funds to the senior prom. Judging by the sudden resentful glares targeting my back, it had been made swiftly clear to me that if I touched their planned dance money, I better be prepared to have a miserable time on the trip. I wanted to hide the rest of me under the desk but settled for excusing myself to the restroom. I’d take just being another fading face instead of one mentally used as a dartboard.  

   As long as I was stuck in Thedas though, I’d have to rely on others. At least in the beginning, and hopefully, it wouldn’t be for a long time. If some strange mysterious reason brought me here, there had to be some strange-not-so-mysterious-thing in this world of magic that could send me back.

    “All right, so,” I slapped both hands on the table a little louder than necessary to get the table’s attention. “Now what?”

   “My, you really are all straight to business,” Isabela said as she eyed me from over her tankard.

   “Can you still not remember anything about how you got here?” Anders asked.

   I shook my head. All I could remember was a collage from my attack, and I wanted to avoid that.“But maybe there is a way for you to send me back? You said the Fade was another world. If you can go there, then maybe you can send me to other places, like Earth?”

   “If there’s a way to do that, then it is beyond my knowledge. Magic like that isn’t taught in the Circle,” Anders sighed. “I didn’t even consider the possibility of other worlds until a few days ago. It still seems so impossible.”

   “But it is possible, mage. I believe Amelia is from where she says she is,” Fenris said from across the table, the first thing he’d spoken all night besides ordering a bottle of red wine. He didn’t even look at me as he spoke, but the sound of his voice was like fingertips trailing up my spine. I took a deep sip of water to cover the way it affected me.

   “Care to share why you’re so certain?” Varric asked, and then gave me an apologetic glance. “I can recognize a liar or con artist on most any given day, and if you are one, you’re the best I’ve ever met. But that still doesn’t rule out—

   “—that I might be crazy,” I finished. I knew I wasn’t, and the insinuation pricked, but I knew I’d probably wonder the same in his position.

   “She isn’t,” Fenris and Anders said together, then shared a mutual glare.

   “Well, after all, it is Kirkwall,” Varric said as he leaned onto the back legs of his chair. “Crazy has tainted the water supply.”

   “But she had the glowing tool with the GPS,” Merrill said. “I’d still like to know what that is. It’s not made for this world, but maybe it could help repair the eluvian. It shined like how I imagined the mirror should. Maybe it’s powered the same way. How exciting! Maybe—oh, I’m babbling again, aren’t I?”

   “She is unlike anyone I have ever met,” Fenris said, to which Isabela crooked an eyebrow at him and he in turn ignored. He turned that deep green gaze on me, finally acknowledging me. “When I touched your heart, I knew.”

   He didn’t elaborate further but he didn’t have to. I only knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of that transient touch, and I felt like I had been standing on the brink of plunging into Fenris’ essence. I could only imagine what he must have read from me beyond my otherness. But it must have been enough for him to know that I’m not from around here and not the threat he feared. Somehow, staring into his eyes, made me feel like I was approaching that brink all over again.

   Garrett’s thigh nudged mine, breaking the connection. I proceeded to drown the desire to look at Fenris again by chugging my water.

   Everyone settled back in their chairs, the matter settled: I wasn’t from Thedas. It never would have been so easy on Earth. Start claiming to be from another world to near strangers and it’s white coats for you. But maybe in a world of magic, tales like mine were more believable.

   “Are you certain there is no one in the Circle who could help her?” Garrett said to Anders.

   “Reasonably so. If anyone made a hobby out of studying obscure, theoretical magic, then they hid it well. With good cause, too. The Chantry does not look on any magic that would threaten its control kindly.”

    “With good cause, too,” Fenris mimed, upper lip curled. “Magic like that is the providence of magisters.”

   “Yes, well, we’re fresh out of magisters,” Garrett said, firmly steering the conversation away from a squabble. “Ideas?”

   Everyone stared into their cups.

   Merrill piped up. “Hawke, I do. I mean, I don’t know if it’ll work—

   “No blood magic,” Fenris said.

   “I wasn’t going to suggest that. I don’t even know how in this situation that would help—

   “It wouldn’t,” he said.

   “Let’s hear it, Merrill,” Garrett said gently yet firmly.

   Fenris took a long swig from his bottle.

   “Keeper Marethari. She might be able to help. She knows more about magic than anyone I’ve met, and some of it is Dalish knowledge that the Circles would not be familiar with.”

   “That’s a start,” Garrett nodded then said to me. “She lives outside Kirkwall. The Dalish are nomadic. Their aravels were damaged so they’ve taken up an extended stay at the base of Sundermont. I promised Aveline that I would help her with a quest of sorts in the next few days, but at the end of the week, we should be able to make the journey.”

   I nodded though I only understood half of what he just said, and inside I was screaming about the other half. A week? What was I going to do for a week?

   Anders checked the light by a nearby window. “Dusk already. We’d best head back soon.”

   We? Anders had looked at me when he said that. Did he mean go back to the clinic?

   “Only dusk. The night has barely begun,” Isabela said. “Is the passenger so eager to waste this evening penning more unread letters instead of winning back some of your coin?”

   I frowned. Passenger? Did she mean me? I didn’t think so…

   Her smile grew devious as she pulled me into her side. “Or, will you be wetting your pen in something else?”

   My face burned. “Not everyone thinks with their inkwell,” I hissed in her ear, gaze flicking to Anders then away. “Or pen.” Her grin only grew as she let me squirm from out under her arm and then gave Anders a knowing look. Anders only sighed and made a dismissive gesture at her, though his cheeks were tinged red.

   “Oh I doubt that would happen,” Merrill said. “Anders is as bad at Wicked Grace as I am.”

   The whole table laughed and Merrill’s face scrunched up, trying to figure out the joke she missed. I silently thanked Merrill for diverting us from Isabela’s strange fantasy.

   “Rivaini is right though,” Varric said. “It is unusual for you to have a live-in patient.”

   “Wait, the clinic is also where you live?” The small room in the back, the sparse belongings, the single cot… It explained why he had to come in for his satchel. I must have taken his bed when all others had been filled by his other patients. A flush of shame began to creep up my neck. I’d displaced him and hadn’t even known.

   “Ah, yes,” Anders rubbed the back of his neck, backtracking. “I know it’s not much, but you are welcome to stay.”

   A lump formed in my throat. There was no way I could stay. Anders had been nothing but giving with me, a stranger, without expecting a thing in return. And he had so little to give to begin with.

   “It’s no place for anyone to stay,”Garrett said. From the way Anders glanced away, I knew Garret meant more than just me.

   “Anders, that’s generous. Thank you, but I couldn’t possibly impose anymore.” My pasted on smile felt tight on my face. I didn’t want him to think I was turning him down due to the living conditions—I just couldn’t take anymore from him.

   “Yes, of course not,” Garrett said. “Because you’ll be staying with me.”

   I stiffened at his pronouncement but no one else seemed to notice. Nobody objected and Varric even nodded to himself like the outcome seemed obvious.

   “Oooooh, staying at the Amell estate. Lucky girl,” Isabela said, eyes mischievous.

   Only hours ago Garrett had been watching me like he wasn’t sure he could trust me, and in that time frame, he had offered to try to send me back home, and now he wants me to live with him in the meantime. Who does that? He didn’t make sense.

   “No,” I said with decisive shake of my head. I wasn’t going to let Garrett make anymore decisions for me, well-intentioned as they appeared to be. I took a deep breath, tempering my tone. “Thank you Garrett, but I think I’ve imposed enough on you for getting me home.”

   “No imposition,” Garrett said, his tone matching mine: pleasant but firm. “My house has many unused rooms and expenses are not a concern.”

   “Garrett that’s kind of you but I can’t,” I said. If I do, my debt to you and Anders and everyone else will continue to grow and I’ll never get out from under it, I left unsaid. I’ll do what I’ve always done. “I’ll make it on my own.”

   Everyone wore doubtful expressions, though they ranged in severity. Okay, so I couldn’t fight, didn’t understand Thedas’ history or customs and didn’t have any possessions beyond my phone and clothes; it didn’t mean I was helpless. My spark of indignation from earlier rekindled.

   Garrett leaned in close, eyes and voice lowered, a knee pressing against my thigh. Now I knew the first time was no accident.

   “Oh?” was all he said but the question was loaded.

   Nerves tingled where we touched, but not enough to distract me from the way his eyes searched mine. Instead of giving into the urge to scramble out from under his gaze, I met the challenge in his eyes.

   The hubbub in the background drew my focus, the clatter of tankards hurriedly being refilled to meet a demanding room, and then an idea came to me. I shot up from the table and strode to the bar. I could feel the group’s curious eyes following me, but I shrugged the sensation off.

   “Do you own this establishment?” I asked a blond, blue-eyed man who looked like he might be in his mid-thirties.

   “I do,” he said, wiping down a cup as he spoke. “The name is Corff. What can I get you?”

   “I want to work here.”

   Corff lifted an eyebrow, hands only minutely slowing their work. This apparently wasn’t a place people often hit up looking for a job.

   “You could use the help.” I pressed, pointing at Norah rushing around the room. The Hanged Man wasn’t even at capacity and still she was having trouble keeping up. “I’ve worked in ba—I mean, taverns before. I can do the work.”

   Corff considered me for a moment. “Couldn’t pay you.” He eventually decided, and turned around to start filling the cleaned tankard, indicating the conversation was over.

   “You wouldn’t have to pay me. You let me sleep in one of your backrooms, eat what you don’t manage to serve, and I keep any tips I make.”

   Corff snorted. “Won’t make much.”

   I didn’t have to. As long as I’m housed, fed, and make enough for a few essentials, I’ll be fine. I’ve gotten by on the bare minimum before on Earth and I can do it in Thedas. It only had to be for little while.

   Norah passed a platter to Corff right beside me. “Whatcha want?” she asked, slumping against the counter.

   “I want a job.”

   Norah looked from my set expression to Corff. Somewhere in the background a plate shattered and riotous laughter followed.

   “Give it to her.”

   “Norah—

   “Hire me some help or you can start serving the Carta.”

   Corff sighed as Norah grabbed the tankard he filled and marched to a waiting customer across the room.

   “I agree to your terms. Now here is mine,” Corff snapped a cloth to me and started counting on his fingers. “There’s no slacking. You help keep the rooms upstairs in order too. You don’t cause any trouble.”

   I nodded quickly, accepting the cloth.

   “Well, get to it,” he passed me a platter with a questionable looking dish on it and pointed to a table.

   I picked it up, but before I strode over, I shot a triumphant look at Garrett. As I went to serve my first customer, a booming laugh followed me.

Chapter Text

   “Bolt, you can sit down you know. I know these chairs got legs but I doubt they’ll be walking out of here anytime soon.”

   I took down the last chair from the table and straddled it, facing Varric. “Did you just call me Bolt?”

   “Everyone needs a nickname.”

   “Bolt?”

   “Well, you looked like you wanted to bolt right out of the clinic when you first woke.”

   “Of course I did. New world and all that.”

   “And in less than a few days you’ve managed to shoot yourself right into our hearts.”

   “That’s not hyperbolic at all,” I said, rolling my eyes.

   In the past five days I had grown accustomed to Varric’s grandiose statements and exaggerated tales. I admit to being gullible on more than one tale till I’d catch Isabela’s eyerolls. To be fair, I didn’t exactly have a well-established baseline for what’s normal in Thedas so my bullshit detector had been off kilter. I had Varric make up for it by talking my ear off anytime the Hanged Man was slow to steadily fill in my knowledge gaps.

   I was still wading through “A History of Thedas” volume one, a tome Isabela said she looted off a bandit two weeks back. It was useful, but the scholar was dry as sawdust and his scratch-like penmanship made me long for the day when Thedas birthed their own Guttenberg. But I wasn’t going to be in Thedas long so I didn’t really need to know whose face was removed from currency during the fifth sovereign’s reign in Orlais. I think more than anything, I appreciated the familiar feel of a book in my hands. They were the one kind of friend I could always count on. 

   “You’re right. I’m perfectly accurate,” Varric pressed, undeterred by my sarcasm. “It’s in the nature of Hawke and Blondie to help. Blondie will give the shirt off his back and magic away anything he can, while Hawke is more of the ‘let-me-hack-and-slash your problem to bits’ type or ‘let me cut it up neatly with my wit.’ But I’ve never seen them go so far for someone they just met.”

   I barely prevented myself from rolling my eyes again–that was quickly becoming a bad habit. If Varric’s embellished tales were anything to go by, Garrett and crew were basically Kirkwall’s Avengers complete with the banter. The only person who should be surprised by their behavior is me, and I was still trying to adjust to the idea of others noticing me, let alone wanting to help. Varric was just looking for a story where there was none–as if my appearance and tale from being from another world wasn’t interesting enough. I wouldn’t be surprised if he and Isabela had discussed me at length. They’re the type: lovable but nosy.

   “Well, I’m basically an alien minus the flying saucer, though if we find one of those, it’d explain a lot.”

   “Flying saucers! And you say Earth doesn’t have magic.”

   “We don’t. I don’t mean it literally. Okay, well… never mind. I’ll explain later.” I stood. “I need to speak to Corff about tonight’s menu.”

   “I’m going to miss you when you’re gone. Kirkwall is going to miss you. For the first time, the Hanged Man’s food is edible.”

   “Thanks Varric.” I knew a few of the Hanged Man’s patrons were going to miss my food if the sizable tips I’d been getting recently were anything to go by. I hadn’t been shy about taking credit for my work, and word of mouth spread quickly in Lowtown.

   After the my first day of work, when I had sat down to eat what Corff left simmering in the pot, I spat it back out. Garrett had not been wrong when he ordered for me the other day; the porridge really was the only edible item on the menu. I immediately cornered Corff, demanding to be allowed to take over cooking for the Hanged Man. It didn’t take much arm twisting–it was clear from our conversation alone that I was leagues ahead of where Corff’s skills ended. Mom never went for boxed dinners and other prepackaged foods, so I had a lot of cooking experience, especially working with what limited ingredients we had. My first attempts weren’t great–cooking in a medieval-like era requires some adjustments–but they quickly became better with experimentation and a trip to the food stalls nearby (on Corff’s tab, of course). As long as I’m stuck here, I wasn’t going to eat charred vegetables and undercooked meat. And I was determined neither would Anders.

   That man was underfed enough that he might actually eat the swill the Hanged Man had been serving everyday if he could afford it. From what I had been able to piece together from Isabela and Varric talking–conveniently they both live at the Hanged Man’s upstairs rooms–Anders relied on donations to run his clinic and rarely did that money ever benefit the healer.

   After I decided that one of my dishes was edible, I packed some away and wrangled Varric into escorting me to the clinic in exchange for tales about Earth. It quickly became a routine for us, swapping stories as we ventured to Darktown. The first time I was nervous, but eventually I realized someone wasn’t always going to be waiting behind a corner to try and stab me. Memorizing the route from the clinic to the Hanged Man helped my anxiety too, so if the situation ever called for it, I knew at least two safe havens I could run to.

   I never could figure out how Merrill’s ball of string was supposed to help prevent me from getting lost. All she said as she handed it over my first day on the job was: “You need this more than me. I’ve never been so lost that I didn’t know I was in Thedas.” Varric had laughed too hard to translate.

   Anders had been bent over a patient when we arrived that first time, and from the wails of a cluster of children, it seemed the patient was their mother. Varric distracted the kids with stories while I rushed around the clinic fetching water and bandages and helping in whatever way I could as Anders stemmed the woman’s blood loss and sealed her injuries. I really hadn’t been that helpful with the way I gaped as her flesh knit itself back together, leaving fresh pink skin. “Incredible,” I had whispered, but Anders heard, glancing up from his patient as she shrugged her boots back on. His face reddened ever so slightly, and I realized I had been staring at him and quickly averted my gaze.When the mother reunited with her family, a warmth blossomed in my chest as Anders smiled through his weariness at the departing family. I smiled too. Even Varric grinned, but it was at Anders and I standing side by side in the clinic doorway, and he didn’t answer my questioning look, making himself scarce. Then I recalled the reason for my visit.

   When I gave Anders the food basket, he tensed. I didn’t press the handle into his hand. I understood his wariness. Just like we both declined invitations to live at Garrett’s house, neither of us wanted to become somebody’s charity case. But this time the situation wasn’t the same. I owed him, whether he wanted to acknowledge it or not. Feeding him for the duration of my stay in Thedas was the least I could do in exchange for him saving my life. Of course, it didn’t mean that I couldn’t be circumspect about the repayment plan. Besides, saying “Thanks for saving my life, here’s some beans and bread” didn’t exactly have a great ring to it.

   “It’s payment,” I said instead, grin turning cheeky. “Or maybe more like an advance apology.”

   Then I proceeded to barrage him with questions on magic in Thedas. It became my morning routine. Before the rush at the Hanged Man, Varric would escort me to the clinic and entertain waiting patients, I’d help Anders roll bandages or whatever else needed doing as I got him talking between mouthfuls of food.

   Anders was hesitant at first, like he couldn’t quite believe that I wanted to know everything that I asked. It was like a fissure running through me when I realized that Anders must have always lived like this, never being able to express his joy of his magic without others being wary of him. I tried to be as delicate as possible. I wasn’t practiced in these things, but slowly Anders’ shoulders lost their tension, when after ten minutes, my questions kept coming and I hadn’t run screaming into Darktown. His smiles came easier, and each one was like a touch of his healing magic sealing up the fissure.

   Truth be told, I was genuinely fascinated about magic so my questions were earnest, but I was also fascinated with how his face lit up when he landed on a topic he was passionate about. I could listen to him for hours if either of us had the time. He’d get a bit self-conscious when he realized he had been rambling about a certain aspect of my question but I’d always smile and nudge him to continue. It was like he was used to being silent for long periods of time though words were damming up behind sealed lips. I knew what that was like. No one should have to know what that’s like.

   Eating regularly and taking a well-deserved break seemed to agree with Anders. Only this morning when I visited him, his face had a bit more color to it. Now if there was only a way to get him to sleep more. The bags under his eyes told me he wasn’t sleeping much, though I didn’t know whether to attribute it to insomnia, nightmares or something else. It wasn’t something I could ask without giving away the ulterior motive to my visits and it was unlikely that we’d become close enough during my stay that I could ask him. My relationships on Earth had always been…stunted so I didn’t have much experience to call upon. All I could do was drop some hints to Varric and Garrett once I left and hope that they followed through.

   That’s right. In less than two days I might be on my way back to Earth. Maybe Marethari wouldn’t pan out, but she could. My whole life I’ve been moving, so much that the surrounding people and places became a blur. But for the first time in a long time, I knew I was truly going to miss the people I was leaving behind.

   “I’ll miss you too, Varric,” I said before making my way to the back.

   It was my last night in Kirkwall, and tomorrow, Garrett would take me to the base of Sundermount to meet Merrill’s mentor, who could hopefully send me home.

   I was so ready.

   I stretched after I went behind the bar, dropping off dirty tankards and bowls from a group who had arrived an hour ago. They called themselves the Dog Lords, and I’d probably could have guessed that from the giant dogs they’d been forced to leave at the door, but they’d been happy to loudly proclaim their gang allegiance to anyone who would listen, which unfortunately centered on me, their primary server. Norah was scrubbing some dishes in the back to keep up with the demand, and Corff was slinging drinks at the bar.

   “They give all Fereldans a bad name,” he muttered as he arranged their next round on a tray. I said nothing, which was fast becoming my approach to social situations I was unsure of in Thedas. Asking for more insight to that comment would surely reveal that I wasn’t from around here, or more likely Anders and Varric both warned me, make me look unstable or worse. Best to keep my head low so I could arrive back on Earth with it still safely attached to my shoulders. Neither Corff or Norah seemed to notice that I wasn’t overly talkative–as long as my work got done, they probably wouldn’t care if I never spoke at all.

   The door to the tavern opened and Fenris entered. I smiled at his arrival. Finally a patron that wouldn’t cause any trouble. I went and grabbed a bottle of his favorite red wine off the rack, uncorked it, and headed toward the table I knew he’d claim in the rear. He settled himself in a chair with its back to the wall so he could survey the entire room.

   Then his gaze found me. I didn’t have to look up to know. It felt like a hand cradling the small of my back to guide me safely through the crowd. A shiver flitted down my spine at the phantom touch, and I squashed the sensation, annoyed at how easily he affected me. Or more like how easily my imagination did.

   I placed the wine in front of Fenris with a nod and polite smile. He inclined his head in thanks, and as always, said nothing to me. I had been dismissed.

   I don’t know why that bothered me as much as it did considering people had treated me like that for most of my life. He’d come in every night, sip his red until we closed, and then leave a generous tip behind. I should be happy about having such a regular, no-fuss customer, but something about the situation rankled.

   Even though he was drinking, the wine seemed to hardly affect him. His posture remained straight, eyes alert, and sometimes, I could have sworn, they were on me. I’d look straight at him, but those hypnotic eyes would be back to disinterestedly surveying the room. He didn’t talk to anyone, and those that tried, like the one woman with cleavage that rivaled Isabela’s, he sent a glare so cold they would shudder as they walked away. It was his business, I’d scold myself before shrugging off further speculation and throwing myself back into my work.

   It wasn’t until the third night when Varric made a passing comment on the abnormality of Fenris’ behavior that my curiosity truly kindled. Apparently, Fenris lived in a mansion with an enormous wine cellar with vintages that far outclassed anything the Hanged Man served. And, he only came to the tavern for Wicked Grace night and to socialize with Garrett and crew, never by himself. Varric said nothing more on it, and I didn’t want to betray my unusual interest by asking.

   Instead, I observed. If Isabela or Varric swung by his table, Fenris would chat with his companions, but whenever Varric went off to work on his book and Isabela led an attractive person or two up to her room, Fenris would settle back into his solitude.

   What was his purpose here? I couldn’t help but think it had something to do with me, since after all, the one variable that had changed in this equation was my inclusion. The way he watched me had this theory rising through the ranks.

   He said he believes I am who I say I am, but that doesn’t mean he trusts me. From our first meeting he was suspicious, claiming that I was sent by some “he,” or I was a dangerous magic user. Since I wasn’t from Thedas, I obviously couldn’t be a mage or know this “he,” but I was still an unknown element to him, just as Thedas was to me. For all I knew, he might think a creature like straight from Alien could come bursting out of my chest any second and go on a rampage across Kirkwall. And if so, could I blame him? My phone, while commonplace technology for me, was as strange and remarkable as the existence of magic. Neither of us knew what to expect from the other. Yet that explanation didn’t sit entirely well either. There was no wariness or anger in his eyes, only a guarded thoughtfulness. Almost as if he were as intrigued by me as I was him.

   In the kitchen, I ladled out three servings of stew, my own thoughts thickening.

   I admit, more than wanting to understand his current behavior, I wanted to understand him. I’d never met anyone like him before, and from standing on the brink of his essence when we connected, I caught a glimpse. That glimpse tantalized. I wanted to know how he got to swinging that giant sword. I wanted to ask him about his tattoos that were like Merrill’s Dalish ones but were clearly different. I wanted to ask him how he could touch my heart in what I could only describe as magic and then have such disdain for the art. I wanted to understand the emotion I had felt writhing deep inside when he grasped my heart.

   I sighed, wiping a line of sweat from my brow after leaning over the bubbling pot.

   The whole point was moot since—fingers crossed—I’d be leaving tomorrow. Even if I was sticking around long enough, I wasn’t a socially adept person. Varric and Isabela made human interaction look easy, silver-tongued and charming; they even had me open up a bit, which was a feat in itself. Growing up on Earth, my friendships, if they could even be called that, had been few and fleeting, in part to being constantly uprooted by my mom, but also because I had grown accustomed to being by myself.

   As a kid I used to think there was something wrong with me, like I had been cursed. I’d do everything right but people would forget I was there. Teachers would call me by the wrong name. People would bump into me in hallways and streets with an “Oops, sorry, I didn’t see you there.” Apparently, no one could be bothered to see me anywhere. Once I even got locked in at a library that I had been going to regularly for months, even though I knew all the librarians by name and sat at the same table in view of the front desk every day after class. And if I stuck around in one area long enough to sit with someone at lunch, by the next week mom would surely have us packing again and then I’d be just another fading face.

   I felt like a bitter ghost haunting Earth, disconnected from the world around me. Over time, that bitterness morphed into apathetic acceptance. People wanted to treat me like a ghost? I’d be a ghost.

   It had its advantages, especially when I hit adulthood: no drama, no expectations, just a peaceful routine. My roommates had no interest is hanging out or being buddies; they only cared about my existence when rent was due. I even encouraged people not to talk to me, wearing headphones everywhere or sticking my nose in a book if I was in public spaces. I could almost convince myself it was by choice that I was alone.

   I picked up the tray and headed back to the front, planning on picking up Corff’s drinks on the second run.

   Loneliness was a state of being, like a program running in the background. I turned to books, art, music and long runs through my ever changing neighborhoods. The one constant person in my life was my mom, and, well…by the time she was out of the picture, I woke up and realized that I was completely alone.

   I continued on, swearing to change my life from what she molded me as a kid, but it was slow. And I remained alone. I kept having epiphanies about my life, and I longed for someone to talk them through. Words would pile up on my tongue but I had nowhere to unleash them, so I’d hold them in or write them out. I was so busy with work and finally believing in myself enough to enroll in college that I didn’t have much time to dwell on things like relationships. I made an effort though: smiling at people as I passed them on the sidewalk, asking my co-workers how their days off went, checking my homework with my classmates. I knew no one would classify me as a friend, but I knew I had been making progress.

   Then I got dropped in Thedas and everything changed. While being from a different world does a lot to distinguish you from other people, it didn’t explain how suddenly people became aware of me. At first I felt exposed—people noticed me, and even crazier, people wanted to know about me. In the space of the last week, I had more conversations with Anders, Isabela, and Varric than I had with people on Earth for the last six months. Thankfully, the conversations stayed light and veered away from the personal, but even so, I wasn’t sure how to feel about it. At times I was evasive, and at others, I felt like I was finally blo—

   “Blossom, my sweet, your scent is like an apple tree,” said a man in his mid forties with hair and beard as ruddy as his cheeks.

   I paused for a beat—Norah had singled him out when he’d first come in, calling him trouble. Of course, that would have been a better name than what the Dog Lords’ leader’s name actually was: Cor “The Bastard” Blimey. Trouble by any other name smells just as sour. I had kept our interactions through the course the evening to a minimum, mainly on account of his bad breath, but alas, my plan was foiled.

   That was another thing about Thedas. On Earth, men would almost immediately lose interest after catcalling, like they suddenly forgot I was there; an unusual quirk if the conversations I overheard from my female co-workers were anything to go on, but a quirk I had always been grateful for. But here, my string of luck ran out. Men were persistent, especially the intoxicated ones.

   I adopted a tactic that I’d seen run successful for many of my female counterparts back on Earth, and one I knew I was well versed in: the art of ignoring. Over the course of the week, it had a high success rate and it fit in well with my quiet persona I had been cultivating. But the success rate still wasn’t 100 percent, and this was a man who wasn’t used to being ignored. As I strode past, he nabbed my wrist, forcing me to halt with my tray perched precariously in hand.

   I shot him an icy glare that I hoped rivaled Fenris’. Apparently he was immune or I didn’t have as much practice, because he didn’t even blink as his grip grew painfully tight.

   “You are a vision of Andraste,” he waved his free hand wildly around. “You glow with the Maker’s light.”

   Comparing me to Thedas’ version of the Virgin Mary/Savior figure wouldn’t be what I called smooth. Oh yeah, and grabbing a woman.

   “If you don’t let go of me I might accidentally drop this tray on your head,” I seethed. “Hard.”

   He tugged me closer and I barely managed to keep the tray from spilling on the floor. I swore under my breath, then scrunched up my face as his breath hit my face.  

   I weighed my options. Would it be possible to balance the tray and kick him in the balls? Or could I cut my losses and throw the contents of the tray right onto his stupid, satisfied expression? I’d been warned by Corff to not cause any trouble when hired, and while under most circumstances I’m sure he’d understand if I gave a lech his comeuppance, taking on the leader of one of the local gangs couldn’t be great for business. He had a set of menacing daggers strapped to his belt which looked like they’d seen action before. I hope they wouldn’t be seeing any action near me or anyone I knew in the near future.

   Just when I was preparing myself to crack a bowl over the bastard’s head with enough force to hopefully knock him out and allow me to scamper away, a gauntlet covered hand forcibly removed his hold on me.

   “You’ve had enough to drink, and everyone here has had enough of you,” Fenris said, eyes ice. The glare wasn’t directed at me but I still felt the chill emanating from him and shivered in response. Oh yeah, that’s how you do it.

   Cor’s Adam apple bobbed as he opened his mouth to speak, eyes flicking to the open spaces on either side of Fenris’ head. Fenris snatched Cor’s other hand, which had been inching toward his daggers, bending it at an unnatural angle. Cor gasped then swore vulgarly on Andraste, which just goes to show how much he actually revered her, but promptly shut up, eyes going large as Fenris leaned in close, growling, “You are fortunate you never touched the blades, or you’d have left this establishment in a body bag. Now, call off your men circling us, or your hounds will all be without lords.”

   Cor quickly nodded, then shook his head. I looked over my shoulder. The Dog Lords had left their tables and worked their way across the tavern room, poised on the balls of their feet, fingering their weapons of choice. At their leader’s signal, their fighting stances dropped, though plenty of dirty looks were shot our way.

   Fenris let go and Cor beat a hasty retreat, rubbing his arm as his eyes never left him, like he was a wild animal. Once near the door, surrounded by his men, he straightened his spine and shouted, “I will not forget this!”

   Fenris stared at him, looking completely unperturbed at the threat. “For your sake, pray that you do not.”  

   The Dog Lords’ leader swallowed and tried to look unshaken as he fled out the door, his gang dutifully tramping behind him, with some on the tail-end snickering.

   As soon as they were gone, I took a deep breath and sat the tray on the bar counter. The rest of the tavern’s noises filtered back in from where I had blocked them out. It was noticeably quieter now that the gang was gone, but only half the patrons seemed to notice the altercation, and they were already back in their cups. Like it was all normal to have armed men face off against each other. I needed a chair. Or a strong drink. Preferably both.

   Fenris continued to stare at the front door, as if daring Cor to come back so he could make good on his threats. His teeth ground together and the hand that pulled the man from me balled into a fist at his side. He was even faintly…glowing?

   “Fenris,” I said, but he didn’t look at me. “Fenris, he’s gone.”

   I chewed my bottom lip, considering, and then lightly touched the skin on his inner arm.

   And also touched one of his lit tattoos. A jolt of energy shot through me, the world fading as light sung to me, like a familiar tune I couldn’t name.

   We jerked away.

   I wiped my hands on my pants as if that could rub away the tingly sensation. “Sorry, I—

   Green eyes froze the next words in my throat. The guarded look had been stripped away, and a glimpse of wonder filled them as his hand touched his inner arm where I had. His forehead creased as words built up behind his lips, but when his arm returned to his side, I knew he had swallowed them.

   “Tell Hawke about them tomorrow. They may try to cause trouble.”

   Without looking, he placed payment on the counter, neatly avoiding a brush with my fingers. Then he strode outside, the door slamming behind him.

   “What was that all about?” Norah said as she sidled up to me, conveniently emerging from the back once the action was over. She glanced at the coin left and sucked in a breathe. “Must have made him really happy to earn that.”

   “I don’t think either of us knows,” I said, placing the gold sovereign in my pocket, imagining the residual heat came from him.

Chapter Text

   I don’t know exactly what I expected when Garrett came to pick me up but it certainly wasn’t him busting in around the dawn hours with a backpack strapped to his back with one of those war dogs at his heels.

   “By my ancestors, do you have to make such an entrance?” Varric grumbled as he plodded down the Hanged Man’s stairs, his own backpack, albeit a smaller one, strapped to his back, Bianca held lovingly in his arms.

   “Of course I do. If I don’t you’ll sleep until I dump you out of bed.”

   “And get shot for your efforts.”

   “Exactly. This is the safest route. I must preserve my dashing good looks. What would Thedas do without me?”

   “Get the chance to sleep in for once,” Varric said, unable to stop a smile from creeping up his face despite his bleariness. “Don’t test me Hawke. Bianca is as cranky as I am and is looking for some action.”

   “And I’m sure she’ll find it. Now let’s round up the troop and head out.”

   I didn’t have much to carry. Everything I owned fit in a small pouch hanging off my belt. But one thing did weigh me down.

   “Action? Do you expect trouble?” Maybe Fenris mentioned the Dog Lords on his own?

   “It’s Kirkwall. There’s always trouble.” Varric said.

   “And we’re headed outside of Kirkwall. So, some trouble is to be expected, but usually of a different variety.”

   “The horned variety,” Varric filled in.

   “You mean the Qunari?”

   Varric sighed. “Tal-vashoth technically, but yeah, Qunari. Well, usually Qunari. I suppose other races have left the Qun, too.”

   “How am I supposed to tell if someone is part of the Qun?”

   “It’s complicated, Bolt. I’ll explain on the road and then you can explain that whole flying saucer thing.”

   I laughed. “Yeah, I can do that.”

   “Flying saucers and you’ve already earned yourself a nickname? This I have to hear,” Garrett said, holding the door open as Varric, the dog, and I walked out into the still quiet Lowtown. In the midst of Varric’s spinning and Garrett’s quick witted remarks, the Dog Lords was quickly forgotten as we headed to the alienage to pick up Merrill.

   When we arrived, Merrill flung the door open. “Oh you’re here.” She turned to look over her shoulder and shouted back into the house. “They’re here!” Then she said to us, “He showed up only a few minutes ago. I thought he would be busy with his clinic but he said he’s coming too.”

   Garrett raised an eyebrow. “I thought the same. I’ll be interested to learn the about the reason behind his change in plans.”

   “He said Lirene is running things while he’s gone,” Merrill supplied, bouncing on the heels of her bare feet. “Said it’d be good to have a healer along. Just in case.”

   Garrett nodded at this explanation but didn’t look convinced by the supplied reason. “Yes, well, more the merrier.”

   Anders popped up behind Merrill’s shoulder. “Ready to go?”

   “Wouldn’t be out here during this Maker foresaken hour if we weren’t,” Varric said pleasantly.

   “Oh,” Merrill’s bottom lip down turned. “And I was just setting up the cups for tea.”

   “There will be plenty of time for tea at camp, Daisy,” Varric said and she happily smiled at him and with a quick “I’ll get my things!” she ducked back inside her house, leaving the rest of us to stand at entrance.

   “So,” I ventured. “Does your dog have a name?”

   I looked at Garrett but Varric responded automatically, well trained by our conversations this past week.

   “It’s a mabari. A war hound. And they’re highly intelligent. Hawke thought it would be a good idea to give him the oh so imaginative name of Scrapper.”

   “It suits him. Doesn’t it boy?” Garrett said, leaning in to rub Scrapper’s head, making the hound’s tail beat a wild tempo against the floorboards as he stared up adoringly at his master, tongue lolling out the side of his giant jowls. Anders smiled at the display of affection between master and hound, though he looked a tad wistful as he patted the mabari’s side.

   “Can I pet him?” I asked. I never had pets growing up, but I knew better than to start petting a strange dog without asking, especially one bred for war—I could imagine what a war hound could do, especially one that was taller than Varric. Hell, I could see Varric mounting Scrapper and riding him into battle if he was the cavalry type. I suppressed that mental image lest I burst into a fit of giggles.

   “Sure,” Garrett said. “Scrapper, meet Mel. She’s with us, so look out for her, okay?”

   Scrapper gave a bark in the affirmative and looked expectantly at me. Maybe he really was that smart and could understand what we’re saying. I crouched down so I was face to face with him.

   “Nice to meet you,” I said, holding out a hand for him to sniff. Sniff he did and then gave a lick of approval. Slowly, I reached out and scratched him behind the ears, and the beat of his tail went staccato.

   “He likes you,” Garrett beamed.

   I smiled. I don’t know why earning his dog’s approval meant so much to me but it did. It felt like I was being slowly integrated into his circle of friends. For the first time in I don’t know how long, I felt included, accepted.

   Scrapper flipped on his back so I could rub his belly, which of course I did. Who could resist those puppy eyes? I was seconds away from baby talking him worse than Garrett.

   “I haven’t seen him take to someone so quick besides Bethany,” Garrett said, voice unusually subdued. I caught that tone change immediately, and looked up from my ministrations to see both Varric and Anders give Garrett sympathetic looks. Anders, expression turned tender, reached a hand to grip Garrett’s shoulder, and Garrett angled his body towards him, accepting the comforting touch.

   I might not be the most socially adept person, but I knew it in the clenching of my heart that Garrett had lost someone close to him.

   Ever reliable Varric mouthed “His sister,” to me and I nodded. I never had siblings. I couldn’t imagine what losing one would be like. Suddenly, I too wanted to stand up and grab Garrett’s other shoulder, let him lean on me for a change.

   “Got it!” Merrill hollered. She came barreling in from the other room, flinging an object in the air. “Scrapper!” she called, and suddenly I was landing on my butt from the force of the mabari flipping back onto all fours and leaping into the air to catch the flying object.

   And like that, the solemn moment was broken.

   “What was that you were saying earlier about more the merrier?” Varric asked Garrett, who was watching his hound chow down on a meat bone.

   “How long have you been saving that?” he asked Merrill.

   “Only a week or so. I knew you and Scrapper would be by sooner or later.”

   Garrett shook his head, smiling. “Always the thoughtful one.”

   I frowned as I straightened my shirt and stood. “Aren’t elves vegetarian?” Maybe I was mixing them up with the elves from other mythos.

   “No, though we do eat a lot of the vegetation growing in the wild. Our bows aren’t just for protection. You’ll see,” she said, her tone carrying a forced lightness to it. I got the impression she’d rather not see Dalish bows up close again anytime soon. I didn’t think much of Merrill being without her clan when I first met her, but after learning about Thedas over the past week, I had noted that it was unusual for a Dalish elf to live alone. Maybe she hadn’t left on the best of circumstances?

   “Right, well, we’ve got two more stops before we can head out, so let’s go,” Garrett said, and the gang fell in line as we marched to Hightown.

   “Fenris is coming?” Anders asked as we stood in front of a weathered mansion, looking like he might be reconsidering his decision to tag along.

   “Yes, he just doesn’t know it yet,” Garrett said, and opened the front door without bothering to knock.

   “Is this okay?” I asked, tentatively stepping over the threshold. Fenris seemed the type to value his privacy. I was certain he wouldn’t like unexpected visitors.

   As we stepped into the spacious foyer, my mouth opened in awe at the grand house claimed by decay. Dust motes danced in the sunbeams filtering in from holes in the roof or caught in cobwebs, and drafts brought the scent of mildew. This was more akin to a haunted castle than a home. How could Fenris live here?

   I could imagine a beast lurking in the west wing, gazing upon an enchanted, wilting rose. It was as good an explanation as any I had to explain Fenris’ distaste for all things magical. The remains of the furniture certainly weren’t volunteering any information, I noted as I stepped over the legs of a rotting hall stand.

   As we came to the main staircase I balked, and not just because I felt unsure of climbing steps in a house in such ill-repair.

   “A-are those bodies!?” I pointed at a set of corpses left sprawled near the right handrails in a state of decay worse than the house. I clapped the pointing hand over my mouth and backed up into Anders who caught my stumbling form by the shoulders. My head swiveled to each party member in turn, but no one seemed the slightest perturbed that one of their friends left corpses to greet guests. Not even sweet, seemingly innocent Merrill looked fazed; she patted off some invisible mark on her clothes and looked dreamily at the mansion’s tattered tapestries.

   Well, except Anders, but he hadn’t been thrilled to come here to begin with. Maybe the bodies had a part to play. I certainly could see why Fenris didn’t bother to lock his door. Any unwelcome person who let themselves in would likely let themselves out just as quick for fear of suffering the same end.

   Anders’ upper lip curled in distaste, but his face softened as he looked down at me. He gave a reassuring squeeze to my shoulders and guided me forward, his body to my right, his tall frame blocking the view of the gruesome scene. It was a small thing, but the blossom of warmth in chest further uncurled.

   We marched up the stairs, and as we came to a closed door, Garrett had the decency to knock this time. When no answer came, he banged, and for his trouble, he got yelled at in a foreign language. Tevene, wasn’t it? I didn’t have to speak it to know it was a curse, and I certainly didn’t have to see the owner’s face to know it was Fenris. I’d know that voice even in my dreams.

   The door slammed open, and there was Fenris: shirtless, hair mussed, and an emptied wine bottle clutched by the neck, as if on a moment’s notice it could be swung upside down and brandished as a club. He lowered it slightly as he zeroed in on Garrett.

   “Hawke,” he growled. Though his green eyes burned bright at the group’s intrusion (and alcohol I suspected), they were encircled by shadows. Had he slept at all since I saw him last night?

   I peered past Anders, whose body was angled in front of me, and into the room. Embers laid dying in the fireplace, a four poster bed bore a mess of covers, and more than one wine bottle had been strewn about. Still, it was more maintained than the rest of the mansion.

   “Good morning, Fenris. Care to join us on some adventuring?” Garrett said as if he had stumbled upon Fenris while out on a jaunt and hadn’t just barged into his house.

   Fenris looked at Garrett like he had been the one hitting the wine too hard. His eyes narrowed, on the verge of swearing at him again in Tevene no doubt, but froze when he saw me.

   “Today’s the day,” Garrett said, watching Fenris closely. “We could use a warrior in the party.”

   “Aveline’s busy then,” he surmised to Garrett, though his eyes remained on me, like a finger tracing the line of my jaw. I suppressed the desire to shiver under his gaze. What the hell was wrong with me? Probably for the best that he didn’t come.

   I almost convinced myself of this, but when he spun back into his room, my spirits fell. So he really wasn’t going to come after all? This was likely one of my last chances to get a better understanding of him, but he didn’t seem to share the desire to get to know me more. Like most people, he couldn’t wait to be rid of me, the bitter side of me whispered. But I swiftly halted that line of thinking. I was being unusually morose, and besides, who would want to go hiking hungover? No one normal, that’s who.

   Apparently Fenris was abnormal because he reappeared in the doorway fully dressed, complete with armor and giant sword. He was halfway to the staircase when, without looking over his shoulder, he said, “Coming?”

   I found myself smiling as we fell in behind him, leaving the musty mansion behind in favor of the waking merchants of Hightown setting up their stalls.

Chapter Text

   “Why are we stopping here?” Anders asked.

   “If I don’t have her report to Aveline, when I get back, Aveline will kill me. I like not being killed,” Garrett said as we mounted the steps to the Viscount’s Keep.

   I groaned, and not just because of Garrett’s running commentary. Why were there so many godddamn steps in this city? I always thought of myself as in good shape, but apparently I was softer than I thought because I lagged towards the back of the group. If I had to stay in Kirkwall for any length of time, I’d earn myself calves of steel.

   “No Isabela?” I asked Varric, who, due to his shorter legs, kept pace with me. He, however, didn’t show any signs of exertion. Definitely a lifelong citizen of Kirkwall.

   “She’s following a lead on her missing relic.”

   At my raised eyebrow, he shook his head; a story for another time then.

   As we entered the Keep, I gaped at the splendor. Now this place looked like the photos of those palaces in Europe. With the soaring ceiling and pillars I couldn’t hope to wrap my arms around, the place was awe inspiring. And intimidating. Important people dressed to impress milled about doing what I could only assume were important things.

   Or maybe just gossiping.

   Our group earned some side glances, clearly looking a little too on the rough side to belong here. I didn’t care. I had grown accustomed to such looks growing up and spending what little money I had on necessities, not trendy wardrobes. If people bothered to notice me at all. Their eyes slid over me like water a rock.

   But maybe that was because they weren’t paying me much attention. A cluster of people by the hallway focused their attention on Merrill and Fenris, eyes filled with disapproval. I didn’t understand why at first, but as we neared the nobility, I recalled Garrett and Anders telling me about the elves having to live in the alienage. Then I noticed all those staring were human and the only elves were servants scurrying about fulfilling their duties. Merrill and Fenris were definitely not servants.

   Merrill seemed unaware of their snide looks and whispered comments, and Fenris wore a mask of indifference but I couldn’t hide my simmering anger—my limbs trembled with it. These damn nobles and their blatant bigotry!

   In their eyes, Merrill and Fenris could never be more than servants and second class citizens. I could see it in their faces: what right did these elves have to carry weapons and walk into the Keep as if they had business here? For someone who had grown to appreciate the perks of invisibility, I surprised myself with the urge to walk in front of Merrill and Fenris, to shield them from these people’s poisonous stares. But I was at the tail end of the group and we were already passing them by.

   One man at the center of the group muttered something, loud enough that I knew he intended for us to hear as well as his companions: “Knife ears.”

   I had never heard those words uttered but I recognized them for the racial slur they were. Despite her oblivious manner, I knew Merrill heard it by the slight stiffening of her gate, and though Fenris gave no indication, he was too perceptive not to have noticed. They both continued on with the rest but I slowed to a halt.

   I felt like I watched myself from outside my body as I swung around to face the man. His expression remained smug, though it faltered at the furious glare I leveled at him. I took slow, measured steps towards him, and he only half listened to his companions as he watched me approach. He stood a foot taller than me, but I felt huge with the force of my rage, as if I could reach up to the ceiling and bring it crashing down on this haughty man’s deserving head.  

   His grin became lascivious as he eyed me from top to bottom, a purposeful crawl intended to make me uncomfortable. I wouldn’t let him. I took a deep breath, shaping my rage into something not easily malleable. Then I took hold of it, feeling its heft.

   I eyed him back, a simple accounting. He wore a blade at his belt but it looked more ornamental than practical, the metal somewhat dulled. His boots looked of fine make, clearly not the walking kind of my companions but they still showed wear. Even his rich robes weren’t tailored perfectly for his body. And there, under his fingernails, the stain of paint.

   I had him.

   I donned an amiable smile, the man’s confusion peeking through for a moment before he too smoothed it away with a mirroring smile. He would play my game, it read.

   But I will win.

   I made my move.

   “I’m glad I ran into you. I wanted to commend you on your work. You are quite the artisan!”

   Your turn.

   The man’s confusion more than peeked through, but at the curious looks of his peers, he stretched his smile wider, not wanting to look the fool. He puffed his chest out for good measure. “Ah, your praise is too high. It’s only some hobby work.”

   Wrong move. I almost showed my teeth.

   “Arthur,” said the noblewoman standing next to him, her smile a little too nice. “I didn’t know you dabbled in the arts. You must show me your work sometime.” Her eyes flickered to his nails. I wasn’t the only one who had noticed the discrepancies in his appearance, but my social breach opened the way for the well-bred to comment too.

   “He really is,” I insisted. “Arthur, I must order another one exactly like it.”

   The woman and man zeroed in on the word order. They smelled blood in the water. Order meant business, and business meant money. Nobles do not ply common trades. That was beneath them. Unless, of course, they were in financial constraints.

   Thanks for the tip, Varric.

   And if they had noticed his nails, then they must have already surmised his predicament from his state of dress. Sprinkle in enough from what they can ascertain with their own eyes, and they’ll believe the rest.

   “I actually felt like I was sitting on a throne,” I merrily pressed on, seemingly oblivious to his companions’ rapt attention. “Such attention to detail! If you’re still taking commissions, I’d like to order two more for my friends.” I jerked my thumb down the hall, right where Fenris and Merrill stood.

   The woman snapped open her fan, cleverly hiding the smile crossing her face but it did nothing to hide the gleam in her eyes: not only was he painting by commission likes a tradesmen but he was taking jobs for elves!

   Arthur’s smile froze in place, though his eyes darted around the room looking for a swift exit.

   Ah, but you must stay for the grand finale, Arthur.

   “What kind of art do you do?” the older man who had remained quiet till now asked, no longer able to contain his curiosity. His brow wrinkled and hands clasped behind his back, giving him a studious, refined air.

   I threw on the most enthusiastic face I could hold and splayed my arms wide: “Chamber pots.”  

   Arthur’s face shattered. The woman threw a gloved hand over her mouth but a titter still escaped as the man’s wrinkled brow shot up in comprehension.

   “Let’s catch up next week, all right? We’ll talk details then.” I waved cheerily and spun on my heel to find my own companions. From behind, I heard Arthur sputter, finally regaining his voice, but I was already too far to hear his denials to his “friends.” Then I looked to my stunned party.

   And like that, I returned to my body, the rage melting away.

   Who am I and what did I just do?

   My cheeks flamed and I smothered them with my hands. I stopped when I saw other boots besides my own peeking below.

   “Well…shit” Varric said.

   “What did I just do?” I whispered, still hiding my face.

   “Just got the Amell family disinvited to all future social gatherings of the Allard’s,” Garrett said. “Excellent. There’s nothing like listening to Lady Allard try to sing after dinner—she sounds like a goat, which makes their overcooked mutton they like to serve turn in my stomach. Frankly, I could do without both.”

   “I think Hawke meant to say is that you rightly knocked Lord Allard down a rung or two,” Varric said.

   “And found yourself another enemy,” Fenris ground out.

   “Another?” Garrett said. “I don’t think we’re counting Lady Allard. She’ll never hear her son complain over all the yodeling.”

   I shook, laughter spilling over my hands, and then they were falling away, letting the world back in. Varric wore a wry grin and Anders’ hand tried to contain his own laughter.

   Garrett patted me on the arm. “Don’t worry. Half of Kirkwall wants me dead, and yet, here I am.”

   “And the other half?” I asked, my laughter fading out.

   “They just haven’t met him yet.” Fenris said, arms folded in front of him. He was not taking this so lightly, and from his earlier comment, I knew why.

   Garrett threw his head back and guffawed, slinging an arm around me as he guided us to the barracks. “Are you sure you want to go back to Earth? This place is livelier with you.”

   “That’s what Kirkwall needs: more liveliness,” Anders said, bemused.

   “That’s what I’ve been saying,” Varric said Garrett.

   I gave Varric a side glance from over Garrett’s arm. “That’s not exactly what you’ve been saying. I’m a well of story fodder and decent food.”

  “Well it’s what I’m saying now,” Varric said with warmth.

   For a moment, I could believe in the warmth of his words, the heat from Garrett’s body, the fond smile Anders’ wore, and even Fenris’ thinly-disguised worry. Then the rational part of me came back.

   My grin felt forced on my face, and Garrett’s arm heavy on my shoulder—I shrugged from underneath it to walk on my own. I was getting too swept up in their camaraderie, their jovialness and inclusion. They were being nice to the alien in their midst, and I appreciated that, but niceness wears thin overtime as would my novelty. I couldn’t trust in it. I knew how those you trust the most could shock you.

   I fingered my throat, memories from years ago bidding for my attention. I wouldn’t give them an audience, not now, not with eyes on me. But I could recall them later, in the privacy of darkness, to let them flicker across my face, to remind me to be careful. I may have given some of them away—Garrett took my removal of his arm in stride, but his, Anders’ and Fenris’ eyes all lingered on me till I broke free and walked at the head of the group.

   “And what, be a career barmaid serving shady people? Sounds healthy,” I shot back at Varric, in attempt at keeping with the light mood.

   There were a few chuckles but no one said anything more. We were at the barracks. The halls filled with guards, some chatting, others checking a roster while some hoisted shields like Aveline’s and headed out on patrol. We went straight to a closed office door where we heard voices coming from behind.

   Funnily enough, Garrett didn’t go bursting in without knocking.

   Standing to the side, Merrill approached, touching my arm bird-light.

   “I may seem a bit slow. I’m not. I’m just not familiar with all this,” she waved her arms around in a small, half circle which I supposed meant to indicate Kirkwall. To that I could relate. I nodded, encouraging her to continue. “Though I suppose it must be more for you coming from a different world so mine isn’t as strange by comparison. Sorry, rambling. What I mean is that I understood what you did. Earlier, with the human noble. Thank you, lethallan, for standing for me.”

   I gave her arm a squeeze, the words unspoken: how could I not?

   “But, lethallan?” I asked.

   “Yes?” she responded.

   “Uh, what does lethallan mean exactly?”

   “Oh, it’s elvish for ‘friend.’”

   My stomach clenched and I nodded numbly. She claimed me as a friend with an ease I envied. I couldn’t recall it ever being so easy with others on Earth. My lips parted but no words came. Luckily Merrill was distracted when a guard exited the office. Garrett lead us in and I stiffly followed.

   “Hawke,” Aveline said, glancing up from the papers on her desk. Her eyes found me at the back of the pack. “Amelia. I see you’ve come. Good.” She flipped through her papers and pulled a set out. “I’ve already gotten everyone else’s statements, so you all do not need to be here.” She didn’t bother to watch as everyone exited the way they had come, the door clicking behind them.

   Aveline gestured towards the seat across from her. “Please. Sit.”

   I sat as instructed, hands twisting in my lap.

   When she glanced up, her eyes narrowed. “Hawke,” her voice warned.

   I looked behind: Garrett remained.

   “I wasn’t there, but I’d like to learn what happened in greater detail also,” he looked to me and added, “if you don’t mind.”

   I nodded, feeling somewhat better that he was remaining. Aveline hadn’t given me any reason to feel nervous, but I couldn’t deny that I was—and Garrett’s presence helped. Aveline sighed but didn’t argue.

   Garrett pulled up a chair to sit me beside me. Aveline dipped her quill and held it poised over the page. “What’s the first thing you remember in Thedas?”

   I had recounted this all before. I could do it again. This was just on the record, that’s all.

   As if he knew, Garrett’s hand found my leg, a comforting anchor.

   I took a deep breath.

   “I woke to someone pulling my hair, dragging my body. I got away. He thought I was already dead. I think they were some kind of scavengers.”

   “Why do you think they thought that?” Aveline asked.

   I swallowed, hands playing with the edge of my shirt. When I officially introduced myself, I hadn’t remembered everything from my first waking in Thedas. Even that first night at the Hanged Man, the memory of my attack remained fragmented, and when put back together, the picture missed a few pieces. But they came back throughout the week. When they did, I tried to block them out, not wanting to fit the puzzle together, to remember the fear, desperation and panic of that day. I fingered my neck, thinking to years past. It wouldn’t be the first time I tried to set such memories aside.

   Garrett squeezed my leg, a reminder I wasn’t alone in this. My rational side told me I should shake him off, that I was setting myself up for hurt. But perhaps, for a little while, it wouldn’t be so bad.

   “I was covered in blood.”

   Both Garrett and Aveline stilled.  

   “Was it yours?” Garrett asked.

   “I-I don’t think so. I felt fine besides all the hair pulling. That and a little dizzy.”

   Garrett and Aveline shared a concerned glance. She scribbled a hasty note.

   “Then what happened?” she asked.

   “Then another man came, his gang leader I suppose. Thought I was a walking corpse and pulled out this big knife. The first man ran for more men. I ran in the opposite direction, trying to get away.”

   “But you didn’t, did you?” Garrett said. Aveline shot him look.

   I nodded. “I tried to get away but he caught me, and we fought.” My throat began to close up, preventing me from elaborating. My legs tensed, and Garrett’s hands began to rub small, soothing circles through my leggings.

   Aveline took mercy on me. “From the reports received by Anders, Fenris, Varric and Merrill, they were in the area and heard the alarm raised about walking corpses. They ran to investigate as the gang rallied, and both groups converged to where they found you underneath the leader. Fighting ensued.”

   “Oh,” was all I managed.

   Aveline rubbed her temples. “The leader was beheaded, but there were burn marks on his body. Both Anders and Merrill denied using any fire magic, and none of the gang’s members appeared to be mages.”

   The final piece fell into place, and I shuddered at the memory of the man’s hands at my throat. I hugged my arms around myself, staring at the floor unseeingly.

   “When the world had nearly gone dark, there was a rush of energy and bright, white light,” I whispered so softly I barely heard myself speak. Anders’ magic was blue. It couldn’t have been him. “What’s Merrill’s magic look like?”

   “Purple, with a bit of green,” Garrett responded. He looked more serious than I had ever seen him, teeth grinding together as he looked at Aveline.

   “Anders, Varric, Fenris and Merrill all confirmed they were not attacked by a mage from the gang and no staffs or lyrium potions were found amongst the fallen. I do not think the magic came from them…” Aveline said.“Are you sure you’re not a mage?”

   “Absolutely. I’m think I would have noticed,” I said. “Besides, there is no such thing as magic on Earth.”

   “But there is on Thedas,” Aveline said.

   “How old are you?” Garrett asked, the question seeming random.

   “I’ll be 23 this April.”

   Both of them raised their eyebrows at me.

   “I don’t know how to convert to your Thedas calendar but in a few months I’ll be 23.”

   “She’s too old to have any powers emerging. The oldest on record is 14 years of age.” Aveline said to Garrett, tapping the tip off her quill on the page, a blot of ink pooling. To me, she said with a bittersweet smile, “My deceased husband Wesley was a Templar. I picked up some things.”

   I nodded again, unsure of what to say.

   “Can you remember anything leading up to when you came here?” Garrett asked.

   I shook my head. Unlike my attack, I had been actively trying to recall what had come before since it had to have the answers for how I managed to come to Thedas. But it still remained a mystery. I’d have better luck trying to remember the exact moment, after closing my eyes, I fell asleep.

   I noticed Aveline hadn’t been writing anything for a while. It was my turn to raise a brow at her.

   “Mages and magic are left out of the report unless I think there is a dangerous mage on the loose,” she explained. “We can’t determine if anyone was targeting you with magic and I don’t want this report to fall into…extreme hands. The last thing I need is for Darktown to be upturned by Templars searching for any hint of apostates.”

   “They might just pick up innocent mages, like Anders,” Garrett added.

   “But, you were married to a Templar. I don’t understand.”

   “I was, but I make up my own mind on these matters. The Templars here are more extreme than the ones in Ferelden, and while I may not agree with all of Anders’ and Merrill’s choices, I do not want to take their choices away. As long as they follow the law and keep their noses out of trouble, there’s no need for me to involve them. I will not invite trouble for them by leaving their identities in reports when they’re not necessary. And, they are my friends.”

   The dark feelings from before returned. How? How could they make it all look so easy?

   I tamped down on that train of thought quick but my leg tensed and Garrett’s hand stilled.

   “Was there anything else you wanted to ask?” I needed to get out of here.

   Aveline shook her head. “No, but if you remember anything else before you find your way home, pass it along.”

   I nodded, standing. “Thank you for looking into the matter.”

   Aveline tucked her papers away, eyes on me, seeing too much. I turned and headed for the door. Garrett stood to follow. “Mel—

   “Hawke. A moment,” Aveline called. Garrett stopped, jaw clenching before he seated himself again at the edge of his chair.

   I should be sighing in relief. I needed a moment to compose myself. Too many memories were flickering in my head, too many dark feelings swelling. I didn’t need him questioning me.

   I left her office but I was not alone. The rest of Garrett’s gang waited. For a moment, I resented their presence, their eyes on me. On Earth I could always count on time to be by myself. Even as I walked down crowded city streets, no one tried to read my face.

   Like Anders. He wore that concerned expression of his. “You look pale. Are you feeling all right?”

   “Fine,” I said, staring at the floor. I was physically fine, and my memories and emotions were my problem to sort out. I wasn’t going to burden others with them.  

   Anders frowned, reaching out a hand, most likely to use his magic to diagnose me. I caught it an inch from my face. I couldn’t let him recklessly use his magic in public. Not for someone like me. And as much as I wanted to lean into his hand and seek comfort from his touch, that would be recklessness on my end.

   “Really, I’m fine,” I said, slipping on a smile. The longer I wore it, the more natural it would feel.

   He lowered his hand, still watching me carefully. I angled away from him, cutting off his gaze.

   And then felt Fenris’ on me. He leaned against the wall, a casual pose, but I saw the tension in his body, how he had positioned himself so he could see the door and the intersecting hallways. Green eyes had darkened at Anders’ and my interaction, and I couldn’t be sure as to why.

   “Hawke?” he asked.

   “Speaking with Aveline.”

   “And I am done with him for the moment,” she sighed from behind me, making me jump. “Guardsmen Donnic, we both have patrol in a quarter bell. We best head out,” she said to the man chatting with Varric and Merrill.

   “As should we,” Fenris said, straightening. His eyes bore into Anders hovering behind me.

   I moved away from Anders, Fenris and Garrett, leading our group up the stairs and out the Keep, freeing myself from the prying gazes of those behind.

   Anders hated silences. He’d string as many words together as he could to fill up the empty spaces. Earlier he spoke of funny pranks apprentice mages would get up to in the Circle. Now he was cooing about cats. Others might have found it annoying, but to me, it was strangely endearing. I had broken the dam on his lips from my visits to the clinic, and there was no stopping him. Each word that tumbled past tugged a bit of my poisoned mood from me, lightening my step. Anders, too, seemed lighter around me than when I first met him, which made me even happier to listen to him.

   When the gates of Kirkwall ground closed behind us, I stopped for a moment. It was enough for Anders to also pause from where he had been walking beside me.

   “Something wrong?” he asked.

   “Nothing,” I said, hoping to erase the concerned look on his face, but it only grew at my response. I wasn’t used to anyone noticing me enough to inquire about how I was feeling. Instinctively, like earlier, I wanted to brush it off, to go back to mulling over my troubles alone. Most would let me without a second thought, but not Anders. From the intensity of his focus, I knew he actually cared about my response. I already brushed him off once at the Keep, but I got the sense I couldn’t do that forever with him. I sighed, trying to find the words to describe my feelings. It wasn’t something I was used to doing. But with Anders, I felt safe enough to try.

   “It feels so final. I mean, we don’t even know if Marethari will be able to help me. And yet, I feel like everything is about to change.”

   Ahead, Garrett and Fenris continued on, neither of them having noticed us lagging behind. A hundred paces ahead, Merrill stopped to pick a flower off the path as Varric waited for her, eyes scanning the surrounding hills. Only Scrapper, tongue lolling out, craned his neck around to check on us. I began walking again, and Anders fell into step beside me.

   “Are there changes you fear?”

   I laughed, the sound bitter. “My whole time in Thedas has been nothing but change, and a lot of it not for the better. And yet, some of the changes aren’t the kind I thought I’d fear.”

   “I saw your face when Merrill called you lethallan,” he said. “You seemed surprised, both wary and pleased. Why?”

   I struggled with my response. The poison from before had not been entirely removed by Anders’ words, the roots still planted deep. There they would remain unless I dug them up.

   “I’m not used to…” I tugged at the resisting words.

   “Having friends?”

   I nodded, grin wry. “What gave it away?”

   “You remind me of myself.”

   “Of you?”

   He looked into the distance, as if looking across time.“Of me and others from the Circle. Our fates were not our own. We’d never know when someone might be transferred, wouldn’t pass their Harrowing, or simply…disappear. To care for another invited a future of pain as either friend,” he said, eyes sliding to me, “or lover.”

   My breath caught in my throat at the dull pain aching in his eyes. My hand twitched at my side, brushing across his fingers. His reached out, interlocking with mine, and I held on tight.

   “Who did you lose?”

   “My lover, Karl. He was made tranquil.”

   I sucked in a sharp breath. Anders had told me about the Rite of Tranquility at his clinic. It cut the mage off from the Fade and magic, but also to emotions. A lobotomy, basically, and just as barbaric.

   Anders eyes found Garrett up ahead. “When I first came to Kirkwall, it was my mission to free Karl. With the help of Garrett and his friends, I was able to break into the Chantry to find him. It was…too late. I ended it for him just as he would have done it for me.”

   “Anders, I’m so sorry,” I said, though the words felt entirely inadequate to describe the way my heart clenched in my chest.

   “Thank you,” he said. He gave me a bittersweet smile and squeezed my hand. “My point is that Hawke and the rest are good people. It took me time to learn to trust others once away from the Circle, and certainly, not everyone that I came across had good intentions towards me, but it happened. I don’t know what shaped you to be like me, and I won’t pry. But it’s my hope that you’ll come to trust us too, and come to think of this as one of the positive changes.”

   Our hands fit perfectly together, swinging between us. Too perfectly. I concentrated on them, blinking furiously. I forced a laugh, “Are you offering to be my lethallan too?”

   His free hand tilted my face towards him, warm brown eyes finding mine. “Or you could easily become ma vhenan,” he said.

   My brow creased. Merrill said lethallan meant friend, but perhaps the word usage was gender or case specific.“You speak elvish now?”

   “No,” he said, looking away, anywhere but at me, as if suddenly embarrassed. “Just picked up a few words and phrases from ancient texts in the Circle and from some old friends.”

   “So what you’re saying is…”

   “Mel, you do not have to offer to be my friend. I have already considered you so, and I had hoped, you had already thought the same of me,” he said quietly, eyes fixed on our entwined hands.

   His use of my shortened name was not lost on me. That night in the clinic, I did tell him my friends called me Mel. I had meant it more as a figure of speech, but perhaps he had taken it literally. It warmed me to think that all this time when I was fretting he had already accepted me. Garrett and everyone all made friendship seem so easy, and a much quieter part of myself still worried that I was venturing out onto early spring ice. But the warmth still beckoned.

   “I do,” I said quickly.

   “Good,” he said. “We’ve slowed down too much. Let’s catch up before they send Scrapper to find us.”

   Hand in hand, we raced up the hill, and while the roots still laid burrowed inside me, clumps of poisonous thoughts trailed behind. As we crested, Varric looked at our linked hands and grinned.

Chapter Text

   There’s nothing like a horde of giant spiders to make you lose your breakfast. Which was what I was doing in the bushes off the path. Anders’ cool blue magic pooled inside me, settling my stomach as he held back my hair.

   I was just rinsing my mouth when Garrett peeked over at us.

   “What was that?” I demanded.

   “Giant spiders.”

   “I gathered as much,” I said, scowling. “Is everything bigger in Thedas?”

   “Somethings,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. I groaned and threw my empty waterskin at him, which he dodged with a laugh. If I was going to be stuck in Thedas for a while, I’d need to improve my aim.

   “You all right there, Bolt?”

   Varric pulled one of Bianca’s bolts from a crumpled spider, goo trickling in its wake. Scrapper scratched behind an ear, not at all caring about the gigantic arachnid corpse that dwarfed him. Even dead, it still looked predatory with the way its body hunched, as if ready to lunge, its remaining eyes staring past Scrapper to me.

   “No,” I answered, closing my eyes to the sight though my mind decided to give me an instant replay anyways.

   When the spiders came at us from around the bend in the road, the group fell into a well practiced formation. I had been back by Anders, Merrill and Varric as Garrett and Fenris charged, Scrapper leading the way. Anders rained down fire before warrior and rogue were in striking distance with their blades, before Scrapper could launch himself onto the back of one. Vines twisted around Merrill as she spun her staff around like the steps of an exotic dance, bolts of purple magic hammering into the incoming mass. Varric laughed and called to Garrett about his score, Bianca unloading bolt after bolt with deadly precision.

   Giant spiders that they were, they never had a chance against the Kirkwall crew.

   Except for the one that had circled around the hill, coming at us from behind.

   I’ve never been scared of spiders. I usually let them outside if I found them in my apartment—no shrieks or whacking at it with a broom from a distance. But having one as big as a horse scuttle at you, pincers twitching, all eyes trained on you, is the stuff of nightmares.

   Of course I screamed.

   A roll of energy came off Anders, stunning the creature in its steps as Varric blinded it with shots from Bianca. Then Fenris was there, leaping higher than any Olympic champion, felling the spider in a splash of gore. It laid dead a half dozen feet away. I had taken in the oozing remains of the eyes, the dismembered, bristled legs, and the guts on my clothes and hands and immediately rushed to the bushes.

   No one knew what to say to my honest answer of “no.” Apparently being attacked by giant spiders was on the trip itinerary because no one else looked perturbed by the recent turn of events. Perhaps if I remained in Kirkwall long enough I’d develop nerves of steels to go along with the calves.

   Varric, having retrieved as many bolts as he could, whipped out a dagger with a practiced movement and began to extract venom from the spider’s corpse. Nausea rose up in me all over again, only Anders’ magic keeping me from puking again as I mentally chanted nerves of steel, nerves of steel. I took fistfuls of leaves and scrubbed at my hands and clothes, trying to get rid of the spider remains, but my efforts were only partially successful.

   I sighed. “Are we almost at the Dalish camp?”

   Finally someone else looked uncomfortable. “Yes,” Merrill said.

   “Well, let’s go,” I said. The sooner we spoke with the Dalish, the sooner I could go home where the spiders weren’t Shelob-sized.

   We headed out, I could’ve sworn that Garrett and Fenris walked closer to Anders and I than before, Garrett in front, Fenris to my right. If there were any more nasties waiting, I would be protected at all sides. A trace of a smile found me. Strangely, I found them being close, each no more than an arm’s length away, as comforting as my memory of the cottage by the water.

   When Merrill called me shem, I took it as a word for human, nothing more. But when the Dalish sentries called me shem, I knew it for an insult. I wasn’t particularly bothered by it, though it did signal that perhaps we wouldn’t be finding the help we sought.  

   Merrill lurked behind Garrett, as if hoping to not be noticed, though of course she was, and was met with looks of disdain by the sentries.

   “You have no business here. Especially not with her,” the blond one sneered. “Begone shem.”

   Garrett stood taller, effectively shielding her.

   “Me? Shem? Are you certain? I could have sworn I kept my self-righteousness and pointy ears here somewhere.”

   “On your way, shemlen. Take your blood mage with you.”

   Wait, Merrill was a blood mage? I suppose that could explain her reluctance to be around her people, especially if they had rejected her. I’d been getting the impression that blood mages weren’t the kind of person one invites home for tea in Thedas, so that explained the sentries’ hostility. After all, someone tried to knife me because he thought I was one, even after he realized I wasn’t a walking corpse. Merrill had never given me reason to think she was anything but sweet, and no more deadly than any of Garrett’s companions.

   A swell of empathy rose in me. I patted said blood mage’s back, and she seemed to gain strength from Garrett’s and my support.

   She squared her shoulders and stepped up. “We need to see the Keeper. It’s important.”

   “What’s important is you keeping your foul magics away from the clan.”

   I was getting a headache. Running all over Kirkwall, dealing with uppity nobles and emotional baggage, and to top it off, spiders, was too much for one day. Now this? The sun was already setting behind the mountains, and the fires in camp looked welcoming even if their tenders didn’t. I didn’t want to be out in the hills where who knows what deadly thing could be lurking.

   I shuddered, hugging my arms to myself. I felt Fenris’s gaze on me, then he was stepping to the fore. “If Keeper Marethari doesn’t want us to here she can turn us away herself,” he said.

   “Which I will not be doing,” an elderly elf said, moving into the torch light. “Hawke, good to see you again. Merrill, are you returning to us?”

   “I am not, Keeper,” she said.

   “I had hoped,” she smiled sadly, then her eyes took us all in, resting on me. “You came to see me?”

   How did she know that? I nodded.

   “We can discuss it by the fire. Come, our hunters came back successful. There is food to share.”

   “We thank you for your hospitality,” Garrett said.

   “Ma serannas, Keeper,” Merrill said with an incline of her head as we followed Marethari into the camp, the sentries flanking us as two others took their place by the path.

   Well, at least is was unlikely any spiders would be showing up for dinner. A tension I didn’t know I had been carrying loosened within me as we each took turns washing the dirt of the road off our hands from a water basin. The hallas were like ghosts in the dim light at the perimeter of camp, and many of the Dalish watched us closely, more curious than hostile. I tried smiling at them but mainly I was ignored.

   Marethari invited us to sit by a fire in front of her aravel. From experience, I imagined, Merrill claimed the log by the aravel’s side, which served as a back rest. I quickly followed suit. When a body sat at my unclaimed side, I turned, expecting Anders, maybe even Garrett, but it was Fenris. The surprise only lasted a moment, then I remembered how he liked to have his back protected. Of course.

   An elven woman passed out bowls of stew. When she got to me, I mimicked Merill’s own words of thanks, “Ma serannas.”

   The woman actually smiled at me. I felt warmed by my success as well as the aromatic stew held between hands. I wouldn’t have tried it a week ago, but back then, I didn’t have anyone I could confidently call friend. Now I had two.

   I glanced across the fire to Anders who sat next to Garrett, the skin around his eyes crinkling at something Garrett said to him in a tone too low for me to catch. The flush on his skin, from the heat of the fire or whatever Garrett said, had me imagining the warmth of his hand holding mine. Garrett looked from Anders to me, catching me staring. It was my turn for my face to heat, the intensity of his gaze startling. I turned my attention to my food, and out of the corner of my eyes, Garrett shifted to angle his body back to Anders.

   Throughout dinner, I questioned Merrill on the contents of the stew, the meat and roots, and the herbs used for seasoning. She was more than happy to chatter about it, clearly missing the food from home. I wondered why, if she missed it so much, she chose to live in the alienage instead of with her people. It probably had something to do with being a blood mage.

   At the end of the meal, I leaped up and began collecting dishes. Maybe it was habit from working as a server. Maybe it was because I wanted to not be an inconvenient guest for the Dalish. Or maybe it was because the incident with the spiders highlighted how much of a dead weight I was for the whole group. Probably a combination of all three.

   “Oh, here, let me help,” Anders said, moving to rise, but I waved him off.

   “I’ve got it. You all must be exhausted from all the fighting. Let me do it.”

   Anders wore his customary concerned frown but sat back down, half watching me and half listening to the serious conversation Merrill, the Keeper and Garrett were having—something about acquiescing a tool to repair her mirror.

   I caught the attention of the Dalish woman who had smiled. She was coming over to take the dishes from me.

   “Just point me towards a bucket and I’ll go ahead and wash them,” I said.

   She seemed as surprised at my willingness to wash dishes as she was at my use of elvish. She pointed across the camp, past the herd of halla. “No wash bucket. We take them to the river running behind that hill.”

   At the mention of the word river, my blood froze. But I couldn’t back out now, not after I offered. I nodded, grabbed the proffered rag, and headed in the direction pointed.

   It’s only water Mel. It’s not going to jump out and strangle you. 

   I could get away with bathing in a sink on Earth because my roommates were more or less oblivious to me and the fact I never touched the tub; living in the middle of the U.S. in a big city also meant that I never had to be by any large natural body of water either. But I knew it was bound to happen here if I stayed long enough.

   Didn’t mean I’d have to go in though, just dip my hand in, maybe up to my forearms. Yeah, I could handle that. Definitely.

   I probably said that last bit out loud because one of the hallas stopped chewing its cud long enough to bleat at me. I laughed nervously as I went past and stood at the ridge. The water reflected the fading light, innocuously rolling along. The air was pleasantly cool, a stark difference from the smoggy air and heat of Kirkwall during the day. There were even trees gently swaying. As a kid, I might have found it peaceful. Most people would. But that was before.

   I marched down the hill and right to the bank, setting the dishes to the side and rolling up my sleeves. But then I stood there, immobile, staring.

   “If you’re waiting for the light to get stronger, you’ll be standing for some time.”

   Fenris stood on the ridge, surveying the land past the creek to the last rays of light slipping past the hills. He turned his attention on me, and began down the slope, footsteps silent. He stopped a pace away, waiting for a response.

   “I was taking in the view,” I said, not daring to look at him as I said it. I squatted by the water’s edge and grabbed a bowl. I dipped it, the icy water numbing my hands.

   It wasn’t too bad. It wasn’t even that deep. Well, at least at this exact spot. But who knew farther in…

   “At that pace we’ll be out here till they send a search party for us.”

   “We?” I asked, hearing two soft thuds against the sand. His gauntlets glinted in the fading light on the bank.

   Then he was beside me, hands taking the bowl I still held in the water. The touch of warm skin against mine made me gasp, though I tried to brush it off as being surprised at his help. What was more surprising though was how he didn’t quickly pull away like I had come to expect. As if he were uncertain. Curious even. I admit, I was curious too.

   Too soon, he was pulling away. Back to business as normal.

   “Here,” he said, handing a bowl he just scrubbed. “It’ll be faster if you dry.”

   That last part was debatable. From looking over his shoulders, his movements had betrayed his lack of familiarity with the process of dish washing. Not that it was much of a surprise considering the state of his mansion. But he was willingly helping. He even spoke several sentences. It was some kind of progress between us, and I felt better not being alone with my fears.

   I accepted the washed bowl, taking the drying cloth and wiping it down. Seeing the warrior bent over the domestic task with such a serious expression on his face made me smile. I carefully schooled my face blank every time he passed a dish, but as soon as his back was turned again, my smile would reappear. We worked like that, him freezing his hands in the mountain water without a word as he methodically passed each dish to me, and I automatically dried and stacked the dishes, my eyes never leaving his too serious face.

    When we finished, he turned his attention to me. It seemed like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how.

   Apparently, I also didn’t know how because the next thing I said was: “A really dark evening we’re having.”

   Funny how before the water seemed foreboding to me, but now it looked like a refuge. Maybe I should throw myself into the creek after all. Hopefully I would float away like the Lady of Shalott to Camelot, or anywhere on Earth would be acceptable as long as it wasn’t here where a pair of incredulous green eyes could find me.  

   I ducked my head as I grabbed for the stack of dishes. I would go back to camp and pretend none of this ever—

   Laughter froze me.

   Fenris, still crouched on the bank, had one hand over his stomach and the other his mouth. The light in his eyes danced, pulling me in. And that laugh—it rolled through me, reverberating between my ribs and echoing in my ears. I never stopped to consider how unlikely the sight of Fenris looking so…lighthearted was until I saw it. Or how charming.

   “Well, it is,” I said, smiling slightly. I couldn’t help it. Even if he was laughing at my fumble, it was worth it. Perhaps I ought to fumble more often if the wariness that hung over him like cloud thinned enough to let in some light.

   Arms resting on knees, he watched me intently. “You are…” he said slowly as if unsure of what word fit next. Neither did I, not really. If only it could be so simple for someone else to come along and fill in all our blanks.   

   He stood, his body close to mine.

   “...heading back to camp now?” I suggested, breathless.

   His lips crooked, almost a smirk. “For one.”  

   Neither of us moved to leave, hesitant to disturb this fragile moment that found us. It felt similar to how I stumbled upon a stag in the wood once as child out playing. He had lifted his head, antlers reaching like branches thirsty for the sun, dark eyes inquisitive. We watched each other for a dozen heartbeats. I barely dared to breath for fear the creature would take himself away. His ears flicked forward, black nose twitching, as if finding me an equally fascinating sight. We might have remained there if a jay hadn’t come flapping through the grove. That flash of blue settling on a nearby tree was all the distraction needed for the woodland king to disappear.

   Something drew Fenris’ gaze past me. It went flinty.

   “Your escort is here. You should practice more caution. He is more dangerous than he appears to be.”

   “My wha—oh.”

   Anders stood at the top of the ridge. He must have come to see if we were doing okay. I couldn’t make out his expression in the dark, but from the angle of his head I guessed he must have spotted us at the bottom of the slope.

    “Fenris, I don’t know what you mean but Anders—

   “Is not someone who is safe for you to visit on a whim, let alone wander around Darktown to get to.”

   A retort jumped to my tongue, but I held up a hand, putting the exchange on hold.

   “Hey, wait, how do you know that?”

   The only ones who knew were Varric and, of course, Anders. I couldn’t picture Anders and Fenris meeting up over the last week and having a friendly chat about my visits, and I saw from a distance each of Varric’s and Fenris’ interactions, and they were all initiated by Varric, who I doubted would choose to share his brief time with his friend discussing my trips to Darktown. I also highly doubted Fenris had been strolling through Darktown and happened to see me and figure out I was off to see the wizard—uh, mage. Something else was going on here, some reason I wasn’t seeing.

   Fenris said nothing, only ground his teeth together as he continued to stare past at Anders’ approach. Then he erased all trace of emotion, so the laughter from earlier and the charged atmosphere from a moment ago were hidden behind his usual indifference. The urge to touch him again like at the Hanged Man was there, but I held back, knowing it wouldn’t help. With him it was always two steps forward, another step back and throw in a few twirls to the sequence and I’ve lost myself in a dance I don’t know the steps to. Hanging on wouldn’t prevent him from spinning out of reach.

   Fenris stalked up the hill, muttering something I didn’t quite catch to Anders as the two of them passed each other. Fenris’ face was angled up hill so I couldn’t read his lips, and Anders’ face held the customary crease in his brow when dealing with something unpleasant, so that didn’t give me much of a clue. 

   When Anders came up next to me, he touched my shoulder. I had come to recognize the feel of his magic rippling through me, but just his touch had a calming effect. I was so thankful for it in that moment, such a warm and straightforward gesture. A small thing, but it reaffirmed our growing relationship.

   Over Anders’ shoulder, I saw Fenris turn to glower at us before disappearing over the rise.

   Anders bent down and picked up the stack of dishes. “Well, let’s get back to camp. Marethari wants to speak with you.”

Chapter Text

   I was tired of repeatedly telling my story. I let the others fill in what I didn’t, glad for the reprieve. Throughout, Marethari never asked a question, making the telling quick. Her gaze was thoughtful, and even when my tale reached its unbelievable points, her face never lit with surprise. Maybe she had a great poker face, but her first comment to me made me guess she knew more than she let on. Once I finished, she didn’t speak. Only the crackle of the fire and our collective breathes could be heard. As the moment drew out, my patience waned.

   “So do you know how to send me back home?”

   Finally, she responded. “That is not within my power.”

   I wanted to throw my arms in the air, but I restrained myself, knowing it was the emotional and physical exhaustion at play. I chose my next words carefully. “Well do you have any idea what could have sent me?”

   “I think it is a question of who, not what,” she said. “Your arrival here is no circumstance of fate.”

   Somebody sent me to Thedas? Who? And why?

   Anders rubbed his temples. “If someone sent her here, they would have to be incredibly powerful. Many years ago, I came across a blood mage who took many people’s spirits into the Fade, but she left their bodies behind. To not just take Mel’s spirit, but her physical form as well, from Earth to Thedas, should be impossible. No mortal could do it.”

   “There lies your answer.”

   Everyone paused, parsing her words, but it was Merrill whose lips opened in awe.

   “Keeper, you don’t mean... Could it be Fen’Harel?” Excitedly she turned to me. “The Dread Wolf is one of the elven pantheon, immortal. He could walk between the Creators and the Forgotten Ones. He sealed them away from us. If he could do that, then surely he also has the power to rip you from your world.”

   Oh fun. Walking corpses, spiders, and gods. Thedas had it all.

    “What would an elven god want with a human mortal from another world?” Anders asked.

   “It seems about as likely as Andraste coming back and plucking Mel up herself,” Varric muttered as he took a sip from a flask he pulled from the inside of his jacket.

   I was inclined to agree. What would a god, or well, any powerful being want with me? Just trying to reconcile the idea of such a being was hard enough.

   Marethari’s peaceful look was too settled.

   “You don’t think it’s Fen’Harel, do you?”

   “No, I do not. I do have my suspicions though,” she said.

   Merrill’s face lit up just as Fenris hissed, “I knew we hadn’t seen the last of that witch.”

   Merrill crossed her arms. “Asha’Bellanar is no common witch. She—

   “Will likely have the answers you seek,” Marethari cut in.

   “So…the difference between a mage and a witch is…what exactly?” I asked.

   Varric opened his mouth to automatically reply but then frowned and turned to Anders. “Want to take this one, Blondie?”

   Anders rubbed his eyes. “Mage is the standard term for magic user, though a female mage will sometimes be called witch, but it’s generally applied to apostates, like the Witches of the Wild.”

   “Ah,” I said. I really wanted to ask who the Witches of the Wild were but I’d derailed us enough.

   “It wouldn’t be the first time Flemeth has meddled. Can’t say I mind that she did last time,” Garrett said, smile wry.

   I was going to guess that Flemeth was the witch’s non-Dalish name.“What happened last time?”

   “She saved my mother Leandra, my brother Carver, Scrapper, Aveline and I when we were on the run to avoid becoming darkspawn chow,” Garrett said. “She swooped down as a dragon, roasted those in her way, and then cut us deal: bring her locket to an altar at the top of Sundermount in exchange for safe passage through the Blight.”

   I gaped. A dragon? She could turn into a dragon? Maybe Marethari was right about her being responsible for my appearance in Thedas. From my conversations with Anders, I knew the usual mage wasn’t capable of that.

   “And darkspawn? The Blight?”

   Garrett looked at Varric. “This whole week you’ve been filling her head with Maker knows what about Thedas but you never got to the Blight? It’s the Blight.”

   Varric shrugged and took another sip from his flask. “Yeah, the Blight, the thing that hopefully won’t strike again for another century or so—long after Mel is gone. Figured it wasn’t on the top of the need-to-know list. Besides, I figured you or Blondie would want to share that considering you both lived through it, what with you and Lothering and Blondie as a Grey Warden.”

   Garrett looked at Anders, uncharacteristically tempered, and raised a brow. Anders met his gaze then glanced into the fire. “It didn’t come up.”

   Surprisingly, Garrett didn’t press him. There was a lot of understanding in his eyes.

   Unsurprisingly, Fenris did. “Yes, like other things didn’t come up.”

   I knew he was referencing our conversation at the river. Maybe there were things about Anders that I didn’t know—I mean, of course there would be since I’ve only known him for a week. But there were many things about me that they didn’t know either, and I hadn’t exactly been leaping up and down to volunteer the information.

   From Anders’ and Garrett’ quieting demeanor, I knew the Blight wasn’t something they wanted to casually talk about. There was pain there, and I wasn’t going to let my ignorance of this world be an excuse to pry, especially for the consumption of all present.

   Brightly, and most importantly, back on topic, I said, “So how do we find Flemeth? I don’t suppose we could go up Sundermount and summon her or something, right?”

   Garrett raised both brows at this and looked to Merrill and Marethari.

   My friend responded, “She has always been a friend of the People. If she is there, she might speak with us. That is, if she is there, listening.”

   Marethari smiled at her former First. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she was expecting you.”

   “Just as you weren’t surprised to see me?” I asked.

   She didn’t seem the slightest ruffled at my words. “Yes, but in a different way. I sensed your spirit before you appeared to our sentries.”

   A quick glance at Merrill and Anders told me this was not some typical mage thing.

   “Could you clarify what you mean by that?”

   “I could but it is not my place.”

   And I could see why Merrill left.

    “Come now, all of you, it is late and we are all weary,” she said, tone brokering no argument. She waved a hand at the clearing in camp she reserved for the Kirkwall crew who had set up our tents while Fenris and I took care of the dishes. I wanted to protest her evasive answers, but had to admit she was right—I was tired and my patience had worn thin.

   Everyone shuffled over to the tents, but Marethari caught me with a look.

   “One thing I will add that you should consider. If Asha’bellanar brought you here then there is some larger reason at play than can immediately be seen. Perhaps instead of unraveling your thread, consider how you have been woven into the tapestry.”

   Could this woman stop speaking Yoda and make sense?

   I crossed my arms. “What are you implying?”

   Marethari sighed as if I were no more than one of her young apprentices I’d seen around the camp. “Consider why you were brought here, and your own reasons for wanting to return to your world. What you seek might be closer than you think.”

   My brows narrowed. Okay, I’d bite. “And what do you think I seek?”

   She looked to where the crew were sorting out sleeping arrangements, but I got the sense she was seeing more, something far off. “What the Dalish have since the fall of Arlathan: home.”

   Garret brushed my shoulder. “See something in the fire?”

   I startled. “What?” After Marethari left, I had sat back down, thoughts fluttering. I hadn’t even heard his approach.

   He straddled the log I was on, body angled towards me as he watched the fire whose flames still danced in my vision, blinding me to his expression. “Shapes in the fire. My father Malcolm taught me to see them. We’d create stories around them. Great distraction for a kid when we’d pull up stakes to move again—he was an apostate, so being a nomad was just a part of life for us. By the time Bethany and Carver came along, I was well versed in the game. We created all sorts of nonsense tales to distract her when her magic began to show. When I was fourteen and we’d finally settled in Lothering, she’d still pull me over to the fireplace after she’d have a nightmare about the Templars catching her.”

   Garrett’s face came into focus. He studied the fire, the witty rogue persona strangely absent.

   “Tell me, Mel, what do you see?”

   The way the fire moved, as if it were alive, intrigued me. It reached for the sky as if its rage would burn a hole in the world. When a breeze sent the flames wavering like a tree in a gale, I imagined a pair of fiery arms reaching toward me. For a second, the sight even seemed familiar. But then the image was gone, and the fire was only a fire.

   “A fiery creature consuming all in its path,” I said and shivered.

   “I see figures, people who might quake but not fall,” he said.

   I tried to see their shapes, but all I saw was a blackened log collapse into the deep coals.

   “Where do they find the strength?” I asked.  

   “From each other. The world is too much to face alone.”

   I hummed. “All right then. How does the story end? How do our intrepid heroes fare?”

   “Oh they vanquish the monster of course, raid its hoard and return to civilization wondrously wealthy and even more good looking with their new scars, winning the hands of their loves.”

   I grinned. “Seems a bit idealistic.”

   He grinned back. “I was never a fans of tragedies. Too many soliloquies.”

   I barked a laugh as I fingered the edge of my shirt. “Now there is a 20 point Scrabble word.”

   Garrett overlooked my Earth reference, grin broadening in response to mine. “So we know the story is going to end well, now we just need to make it through the scenes in-between.”

   “I thought we were making up tales about what we saw in the flames, not making poorly veiled allusions to our lives.”

   “We are making up tales—our own in fact. Everyday.” He scooted in closer. “So, tell me, what did Marethari say to you?”

   I stopped playing with my shirt and sighed. “Now that the Blight is over, have you thought about going back to Lothering? Don’t you think of it as home?”

   “Well, the Blight didn’t exactly leave a whole lot to go back to. We still have the title to the land and friends who survived, but who would return? Carver is off saving the world somewhere as a Grey Warden. My mother Leandra has her family’s estate here and her brother Gamlen. I have my title, fortune, friends, and the thankless job of putting out Kirkwall’s ever blossoming fires” Garrett joked, the humor not reaching his eyes. I knew he was thinking about Bethany; she must not have made it far from Lothering.

   I closed the gap between us and laid a hand on his leg like he did with me in Aveline’s office. “So you think of Kirkwall as home?”

   “It’s not so much Kirkwall the place as it is the people, but yes, it’s home. My mother used to say something to me when I was very young and didn’t understand yet why we moved so much. She said, ‘Home is not where your hearth is but your heart.’ I know it sounds like something a bored noblewomen might cross-stitch on a cushion but she would know the truth of it better than anyone since she left a life of privilege to live on the run with father. And I agree with her. As long as those I care about are here, then Kirkwall is home.”

   So what happens when the people you call home are no longer in your life?

   “What of you, Mel? What’s home for you? Family waiting on Earth? A lover?”

   I almost snorted. Almost. Romantic relationships were possibilities as distant as the moon considering my track record on just keeping platonic relationships.

   “No, definitely no lover,” I said.

   “Really?” Garrett said, looking surprised, which in turn surprised me.  

   “Yes really. No siblings either. Never met my dad. It was always mom and me. We moved around a lot. I mean a lot. At least every six months, so I never really made friends either,” I rattled off, surprising myself with how all this personal information came right out.

   “Why all the moving?” he asked, voice soft.

   “That’s…complicated,” I said, biting my lip.

   Garrett slid a hand from where it had been resting on his lap down his leg to where my hand still laid. I had meant to comfort him, but now he was comforting me again. I couldn’t say I didn’t like having the weight of his hand on mine.

   “Is she home for you?” he asked.

   “At one point, she was.”

   If I never saw her again, would she suspect I’d gone missing or would she assume I’d rightly chosen to stay away, especially after what she had done? Or, would she still be so lost in her head she couldn’t be bothered to care? Even my roommates probably wouldn’t notice my absence until rent came due. The first people to notice would be my employers, and that would only be to fire me, not find me.

   Marethari was right. I was seeking. I didn’t have people to call home, only a place. But at least Earth was a place that made sense, where I was comfortable and safe. I had to go back. It’s where I belonged.

   We sat there for a minute more staring into the fire, lost in thought, before Garrett turned to me, jaw set.

   “Mel, I promised I’d help you find home. I aim to keep that promise.” He lifted my hand to his lips, eyes never leaving mine. I felt my stomach drop away as the kiss zipped through my skin, promptly setting my face on fire. There was a twinkle in his eyes as he pulled away to stand, gently returning my hand to my lap.

   My lips parted, to say what I don’t know, but no sound came out. Hand kissing was probably some common custom in Thedas. That’s all. No reason to get ruffled. I set my mouth in a line.

   “Fenris is sharing a tent with Varric, and I’m with Anders. Merrill was paired with you, but she’s in the aravel with Marethari, so that leaves you with Scrapper,” he said, pointing to a tent set in the middle of the other two.

   “All right, that’s fine,” I said, standing up myself.

   “Now if Scrapper snores too loud or starts running in his sleep, there is plenty of room with Anders and I,” Garrett said, his roguish grin finding him once more. “Or if you just get lonely.”

   “Thanks, but I think Scrapper and I will manage,” I said, rolling my eyes as we came to stand in front of the tents.

   “Goodnight Mel,” he whispered over his shoulder before ducking into his tent.

   “Yeah, don’t let the bed bugs bite,” I muttered as I went inside my own, face still too heated for my liking.

   I tucked myself into my bedroll, Scrapper a cozy mountain beside me.With my eyes closed, the body heat felt like another person beside me. As I began to drift off, I ached to reach out and confirm my mind’s trick. But I didn’t know whose touch haunted my hand more: the one who held it, the one who brushed it, or the one who kissed it.

Chapter Text

   I woke with dog hair in my mouth, a sure sign to the start of a bad day. I also ended up sleeping on my shoulder funny, so the muscles felt pinched. I was standing outside my tent, stretching in an attempt to work out the kinks, when I overheard Garrett and Varric discussing the day’s agenda. Garrett looked over his friend’s head straight at me. I must have looked terrible, clothes rumpled, hair frizzy, but it was like he didn’t see any of that. He wore the sly grin from the night before, and damn him, I felt heat begin to creep up my neck. I quickly spun around, and ended up twisting my shoulder even more. I cursed, and almost cursed again when I saw a figure approach out of the corner of my eye.

   “Good morning,” Garrett said, too cheery by half.  

   I tried to smile, but it might have come across as more of a cringe as I squinted into the morning light while rolling my shoulder.

   “Sleep well?”

   “Super.”

   “You seem stiff. Shoulder?”

   No use pretending. “Yeah. Slept on it wrong.”

   He put his hand on the offending shoulder. I stiffened at first, but let out my breath as he began to knead the muscles with expert fingers. I didn’t realize how much tension had been crammed in my body until he began to loosen its hold. I felt like a cat arching her back into her human’s touch. I closed my eyes, feeling as if I might purr.

   “How do you know how to do this?” I sighed, my embarrassment temporarily forgotten as the ache began to ease.

   “I’ve had a lot of practice on Anders,” he said, his voice sounding too pleased with himself when I began to melt at his touch. “Overworks himself and then leaves no mana to look after himself.”

   I hummed in response. It made me happy to hear how he looked after Anders. I knew he was protective of him from the way he looked after him, like making sure he had enough to eat or inviting Anders to live with him. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the reasons he shared a tent with him was to make sure he got plenty of sleep too. I had not forgotten the burned low candles at the clinic.  

   I opened my eyes to test my shoulder, which felt leagues better, but then saw a certain dwarf busy with paper and quill and giving us a knowing look. I immediately righted myself, busying myself by smoothing my clothes and not making eye contact.

   “Uh, thanks. Much better now,” I said to Garrett who only chuckled in response.

   “What’s much better?” Anders asked, coming up from behind, still bleary-eyed.

   “Her shoulder,” Varric called helpfully. I glared at him but he wore a grin nearly as cheeky as Garrett’s—I could see why they got along so well.

   “I just slept on it wrong. It’s not a big deal,” I muttered, but true to form, Anders came over and touched the shoulder Garrett had been massaging only a moment before, sending a current of his clean-scented magic through me. Any last trace of an ache evaporated.

   “Thank you,” I whispered and Anders smiled kindly at me in response. The morning sun hit his hair at a slant, making his loose hair look like tendrils of golden light. I wanted to run my fingers through it. For a second, I wondered if he’d let me fix his hair for him again. I almost asked but stopped before the words left my mouth. What was coming over me? My eyes fell from his face to the exposed collarbone from his unbuttoned cloak. I swallowed, then swiftly looked away as if there was sun in my eyes.

   They landed on Fenris exiting his tent. The glare he sent the sun would have frozen it if such a thing were possible. He wore only his leathers which clung to his body like a second skin. He was just lacing up his shirt, but I glimpsed the expanse of his chest with more intricate tattoos. I hadn’t noted them that time at his mansion. Did he have them everywhere? They trailed down his abdomen and disappeared right into his pants…

   Like he had a sixth sense, he caught me staring. He didn’t send me the frosty look he gave most people though, but smirked instead. I quickly became attentive to the ground beneath my feet.

   One of the aravel’s doors flew open, and with a voice that matched the pure mountain morning, Merrill called out to all: “Almost ready to go?”

   I plucked a piece of dog hair from my shirt, wishing I could as easily remove my muddled thoughts. “Quite,” I answered.

   I expected the climb up Sundermount to be more eventful. Besides slipping on a loose rock and then promptly being caught by a too easily amused Garrett, it wasn’t. That should have eased my nerves but I remained on edge. Each step I took brought me closer to Flemeth and theoretically, answers. But a more immediate concern preoccupied my mind.

   As we hiked I learned that Garrett had agreed to help Merrill get a tool to repair her mirror from Marethari. She didn’t want to give the tool, thinking the repair of Merrill’s mirror could be dangerous, so Merrill invoked some special Dalish right and Marethari sent her on a quest as a kind of exchange. The quest? To kill an ancient elven guardian creature known as a varterral whose ancient purpose was to fend off dragons. It just so happened that one had set up its hunting grounds in one of Sundermount’s caverns, and instead of protecting elves, it had killed several Dalish hunters.

   Now, most people would be deterred when sent to kill something that used to go up against dragons, which I think was the Keeper’s hope, but not the Kirkwall crew. Oh who am I kidding, not Garrett. The varterral was conveniently along the way to the Dalish altar, so he thought why not make the mountain less dangerous, get the tool, and see about finding me answers all on one trip.

   I couldn’t be so dismissive over it. Garrett took my concern for worry about my safety since I had no weapons training; he assured me I wouldn’t come close to the action, left at the entrance of the caves with Scrapper. That wasn’t what worried me. I’d seen the armored Dalish in camp. They didn’t strike me as the type to go down without a fight, but still, the varterral killed them. It could kill my companions too.

   I have frames of reference for dragons and spiders, and while terrifying, they were entities I could wrap my head around. Not so for a varterral. Not even Merrill could tell me what they looked like beyond their origin story, how they were fashioned from fallen trees of a elven forest. My imagination gladly filled in the blanks with a fearsome specter with knotted eyes and wood-chip teeth.

   No one else seemed worried though, so maybe I was overreacting. I swallowed my worries and put on a brave face.

   That face faltered once we entered the first cavern and I spotted the three corpses. Just like at Fenris’ mansion, Anders was there to steady me by the shoulders.

   “Mel, it’s okay. Look at the armor, the insignia there. These aren’t the hunters we’re looking for. These must have been mercenaries or slavers, and judging from the state of the decomposition, they’ve been dead for a while. The varterral must be a ways in yet. You’re safe,” he said, brushing a piece of my hair back behind one ear.  

   I nodded stiffly, trying to not look in the direction of the bodies. I’d prefer to wait outside the cave, but it had started to drizzle, and I didn’t need to stand out there for who knows how long and catch a cold.

   “Here,” Garrett said, undoing a belt from around his waist. He brought his arms around me as if we were about to embrace, making me sharply inhale, but he only cinched the belt on my waist. I huffed at him and he grinned, pointing to the potions hanging off the belt.

   “This one,” he tapped the purple one, “is a miasmic flask. It stuns your opponents. And this,” he indicated the twirling orange and red one, “is an Antivan fire grenade, and as the name suggests, will make whatever you toss it at go up in flames, so don’t take up juggling if you get bored waiting for us to come back.”

   I stuck my tongue out at him and his grin grew wider. “So what happened to me being safe here with Scrapper?”

   Scrapper whined and tilted his head up at Garrett as if waiting for an answer too. Garrett scratched the mabari’s ears. “I know you’ll take good care of her, won’t you boy?” To me, he said, “I don’t anticipate trouble. It’s only a precaution. It’ll give me peace of mind to know you’ll have a second layer of protection, and you too I’ll bet since you don’t like to leave yourself in the hands, or paws, of anyone else.”

   I crinkled my nose at him but didn’t comment on that last part. He wasn’t wrong: I did feel better.

   “What about you? Won’t you need these?”

   “Don’t worry about me, I’ve got a spare,” he pulled out a single fire grenade which seemed like a good choice to fight a creature that supposedly came from wood. I’d prefer if he had more, but couldn’t deny the grenades resting on my hips felt reassuring.

   Garrett said they should be back in an hour or two, and without further fanfare, the crew ventured on. I stood listening until their voices echoed to silence and all I could hear was my own heartbeat too fast in my ears. I dared myself to peek around the bend but there wasn’t a trace of their passage. Scrapper whined at me, so I contained myself to the entrance cavern.

   I tried sitting still, preoccupying myself by examining the grenades on the belt and their swirl of colors. I made sure I understood how to quickly loosen them from my belt if needed, but soon stopped. It’d be just my luck if I dropped the miasmic flask and knocked myself out for them to find if they came back—Garrett would never let me live it down. Or if I dropped the fire grenade, then there wouldn’t be much of me left to live anything down if they came back.

   No, not if, when. Of course they were coming back.

   I paced about the cavern as my imagination began to conjure every possible horrible outcome, which only urged me to pace faster. I forced myself to take deep breathes and study the cracks and vines in the ceiling, how they twisted, knotted, and double-backed. I followed their lines for several minutes like a map, seeing where they would lead me. One thick one emerged from the ground near the corpses.

   I had purposefully avoided them, but now I dared myself to face them. I approached them slowly, as if they might suddenly burst to life, which was of course ridiculous. Still, I had seen enough horror films to be paranoid. When I was close, I kicked the nearest. The bones rattled within their armor, making me leap back with a shriek. Scrapper perked his ears and tilted his head at me.

   “It’s all good, boy. I think they’re really dead. No walking corpses here.”

   I studied the insignia Anders had pointed out. It looked like the one in my History of Thedas book for the Tevinter Imperium, so maybe the guess of them being slavers wasn’t far off. Varric had said the caves on the Wounded Coast were filled with abandoned smuggling coves and slave pens. It wouldn’t be surprising if there were many bodies left to rot inside this mountain.

   I shivered, and began to turn away when a wink of metal caught my eyes. Buried amongst the ferns with rust patches littering its surface was a sword. I crouched down, touching the flat side of the cool steel, suddenly less mindful of the corpses within an arm’s reach away.

   It took some root pulling to yank the sword free, and more strength to drag it away. I pursed my lips and lifted it upright in what I thought was a defensive pose. My arms wobbled with the effort, and this sword was regular-sized. How the hell was Fenris able to dance about with his giant one?

   I took a practice swing and its weight pulled me off balance. As I swung around, I caught a blur of Scrapper watching me with his head tilted almost entirely horizontal. I gave one breathless laugh which quickly turned into a hiss when I stumbled, the blade plunging into the ground inches from my feet. I could see why beginners started with wooden swords.

   Even though I was still near the entrance, the air in the cavern became stale on my tongue. I pushed myself up, the sensation of a dozen pinpricks on my skin lanced across my forehead. Dread welled up, cementing me to the floor.

   From the dull metal, I saw the reflection of movement behind me. Before I could react, Scrapper leaped onto the rising corpse. Arms intermingled with cloth and flesh remnants reached for their sword, but the mabari was already at the corpse’s heels, hindering its movements. He pulled it down, and demonstrated why mabari were called war hounds with the way his teeth and nails flashed. The corpse couldn’t manage to get from underneath him.

   It was only when Scrapper sent a bone flying from the fray to clatter against the cave wall beside me that I remembered to blink. I stumbled back, hands tightening around the sword’s handle, blade dragging in the dirt. Holy sh—

   Scrapper’s vicious growling couldn’t mask the wet gurgling sound of the other two corpses who rose up. One drew its sword from the rotten tatters of its scabbard faster than anything without fully functional joints should, heading for the mabari’s flank.

   “Scrapper! Behind you!”

   Scrapper bounded from his first opponent towards his new one, and I didn’t get to see what happened next because a pair of eyeless sockets stepped into my line of view. I let out a litany of curses under my breath as I raised the sword. The third corpse shambled towards me, arms lifted in classic zombie style, whether for a taste of my flesh or for its stolen sword or both I couldn’t tell.

   “Stay back,” I warned, backing up.

   It didn’t listen, either because it wasn’t intimidated by my poor swordsmanship or because its ears had rotted off long ago, I couldn’t tell. I gulped, tightening my grip.

   As soon as it came within reach, I gracelessly chopped down with the sword. Bone crunched. The corpse hissed. One arm dangled in splinters from its side. I gaped at the damage I caused, maybe too much, because its undamaged arm swung, swatting me to the ground.

   My ribs screamed on impact, but I sucked in a breath and scrambled to my feet. The scrapes on my palms stung as I grasped the sword’s handle once more but I refused to be defenseless. I would not be a victim this time.

   My next swing wasn’t as lucky as my first, missing by inches as the corpse sidestepped. It grabbed my right arm with a vise-like grip, jerking me close; I could feel it bruising. I tried to bring my sword around, but we were in too close quarters. I kicked and shoved but no blow slowed it. It reeled me in like a minnow, my strength no match. Its jaw opened wide, angling for my throat.

   I held the sword aimed at the ground between our nearing chests, knowing I’d have one chance. With a timed thrust, I jammed the pommel in the corpse’s mandible, preventing its rotten teeth from tearing out my throat. It had to release me to remove the sword, which allowed me to bolt for the other end of the cavern.

   The first corpse Scrapper mauled wasn’t out of the running yet. Though its legs were shambles, it pursued the mabari with a single minded focus, dragging itself forward by its arms. I didn’t dare call out to Scrapper now for fear of distracting him as he darted around the second’s corpse’s sword swings. I grabbed the largest rock I could lift, and with straining arms, waddled toward the legless corpse. So concentrated on getting to the mabari, it didn’t realize I was standing over it until I dropped the rock on its head. The crunch its skull made me want to heave but I couldn’t afford to be grossed out now. A glance behind me showed the once swordless corpse now well armed with mine as it pulled the pommel from its jaw. I didn’t have much time.  

   My eyes flew around the cave, looking for anything that could be used as a weapon, not that a stick would be a match for a sword-wielding corpse. Scrapper let out a high pitched yip when the second corpse’s sword drew a long red line across his flank. My corpse’s head turned toward the sound, as if smelling the fresh blood. Both armed corpses closed in as Scrapper evaded, clearly favoring a paw he must have injured while I had been occupied with the legless corpse.

   I yelled at the undead, hoping to momentarily attract their attention, not that I knew what I’d do if I did, but they continued after Scrapper. I knew with certainty then that they wouldn’t stop until they killed him or he stopped them, and the odds didn’t look good, not when he was already injured and facing two sword wielding undead.

   Frantically I scanned the ground but couldn’t see where the crushed-corpse’s sword had gone. Then my hand brushed the forgotten grenade belt. I swiftly slipped the miasmic flask free and hurled it at the combatants. There was the sound of breaking glass one second and then a cloud of purple-black filled the vicinity. For the moment, all sounds of battle ceased. I had feared the flask would only work on the living, leaving Scrapper knocked out and defenseless, but when the cloud began to settle, I saw all three swaying on their feet as if asleep.

   I ran in with a wordless cry, ramming over the corpse that had drew Scrapper’s blood and kicking over the other. As they hit the ground, they woke. But I was there with the first’s sword in hand, ramming the blade with as much force as I could muster right into its rotten face.

   I didn’t have a chance to feel the slightest relief. The other corpse on the ground hadn’t gotten itself back up yet, but instead, decided I should join it. It latched onto my ankle and slammed me to the earth. I tried to roll away but its remaining hand dug into my flesh so hard I screamed. It cocked its head as if curious about the sound I made. It pulled itself on top of me, eyeless sockets trained on my throat. Its hands reached, and I tried to evade. It would not strangle, it would snap my neck with its supernatural strength. I knew this with a certainty, and a familiar energy began to build up inside me in response.

   But it never brimmed. The undead’s head suddenly titled at an unnatural angle with a sickening snap of its spine. Broken. Scrapper. The corpse’s hold instantly went slack and I shoved it away from me with a shudder. The energy inside me had extinguished, and for a moment I thought I might have imagined it in my panic. Once on my feet again I took the sword and slammed it into its skull, over and over with a strength I didn’t know I possessed, the scattered bone like eggs shells.

   “And stay dead!” I shrieked, letting the sword thud in the dirt as all my energy  deserted me. My chest heaved as my fingers fumbled on the grenade belt. I wanted to launch my fire grenade at the remains for good measure but that was probably overkill. Pretty sure Garrett gave me this for dire situations, not to nuke my already dead enemies. Well, make that dead-dead enemies. I didn’t think they would be causing anymore trouble as they were in fragments around the cavern.

   I hysterically giggled, then just as suddenly stopped, unable to suck enough air into my lungs to continue. Every breath was shallow, making a whistling sound in the back of my throat. I hunched over, closing my eyes and clutching a hand to my aching side.

   Scrapper’s wet nose nudged my thigh and I found myself pulling him into me, burying my face in his coat. He didn’t seem to find anything strange about my reaction, only laid his massive head over my shoulder. I tried to match my breathing to his steady heartbeat. I counted them out, two minutes worth, my body growing cold as the adrenaline left my system and sweat dried on my skin.

   But the prickly sensation that came when the undead rose, though now somewhat abated, had not gone away. It felt more acute when I angled my head toward the caverns inside. The dread from before lingered in my stomach like poison but I didn’t let it freeze me this time. I didn’t know how but I knew the pricks were related to the rise of the undead. The answer felt instinctively right.

   In that case, there had to be more of them deeper in. The Kirkwall crew wouldn’t have left me here with the dead if they had suspected they would be a danger, which meant they must not know about the others rising up. Considering the passage of time from when the crew left to when I felt them rise, it was likely they didn’t awaken until after the group passed. Would they be able to sense the wrongness creeping up from behind, or would they pay it no mind with a monster ahead of them?

   An otherworldly shriek pierced the air from the mountain’s depths. Faraway yet loud. Angry and powerful. The varterral.

   Every instinct told me to run. I was good at that. Fast. I could split down the mountain trail. Despite Scrapper’s injured paw he’d keep up. We’d go to the Dalish. They’d send somebody, do something. They had to.

   Or no, maybe they wouldn’t since Marethari sent us here to take care of the problem her hunters couldn’t in the first place. Aveline then. I could get back to Kirkwall, hopefully not run into any spiders or Tal-vashoth or any other dangerous things along the way, and then the city guard could rescue everybody.

   But that would take too long. They’d arrive to witness the aftermath. They couldn’t save anyone, simply check on the survivors. If there were survivors. Unbidden, the image of the undead swarming my companions came to my mind, and a pair of legs slipping down the gullet of a monstrous mouth.  

   I knew the answer. I knew what I had to do. I was going to run, and if I was as fast as I hoped I was, I would arrive right when the undead did, ruining their element of surprise at the least.

   My arms trembled with effort as I attached the sword to my belt. I grasped the handle, tilting the unsheathed blade away from my body so it wouldn’t whack my legs.

   “Scrapper, let’s go save your master, all right?” I said, sprinting the way the Kirkwall crew had gone, hot breath on heels.

Chapter Text

   I barely felt the pain in my side as we flew. My eyes zipped around every cavern we ran through, rooting out the shadows, checking for any movement, or any sign of disturbance. Nothing.

   The evidence of long ago abandoned mining operations were everywhere. Braces in doorways. Tracks and carts. Empty sconces. Branching tunnels. I trusted Scrapper’s nose to lead us through.

    We came to a large cavern, sunlight filtering in, wooden stairs leading down to a ledge. There was the first body. I crept towards it on light feet, ready to leap away if necessary. Scrapper sniffed it than looked at me expectantly. I leaned over, only then realizing this person wasn’t nearly as decomposed as the undead had been. The armor was familiar. Oh yes, Dalish make. I recognized it from my book of Thedas history. This was one of the missing hunters. There were impressions in the dirt nearby. Other things had laid here. I had my suspicions as to what.

   The pain in my head sharpened, the noise of battle echoing to us. We were getting close. I followed Scrapper along the ridge through a doorway and down another flight of stairs.

   And there they were. I was too late. The undead had come up behind on the ranged fighters, but they were holding. Anders knocked back encroaching undead with a blast of invisible force, Merrill sending a stone fist into one out of his range. Varric dropped a hail of arrows, pinning some in place. I heard the cling of blades further in, Garrett and Fenris in all likelihood, but stood transfixed watching the undead nailed to the ground pull their feet free from Varric’s arrows, feeling no pain. I swallowed hard, knowing they couldn’t be allowed to make it to the ranged fighters where they’d be at a disadvantage. But the three knew it too. Vines twisted around Merrill’s shape, tangling around the undead. A ball of fire grew in Anders hands and he hurled it out like a grenade. A flash. Then the smell of sizzling flesh and burnt earth permeated the air.

   Right, fire. I palmed my fire grenade, judging the distance between the backsides of unroasted undead and myself at the cavern’s entrance.

   That’s when the familiar though much louder earsplitting shriek cut through everything, followed by the ground rumbling. I pulled my hands from my ears and peered through the smoke, hands shaking around the grenade as the varterral emerged. It looked like that acklay creature in Star Wars Attack of the Clones, the one from the arena, only at least two stories tall and made of wood. The thunk of blades against varterral flesh caught my attention. There was Garrett and Fenris, darting between its massive legs carving grooves. The varterral shrieked, spinning about as it tried to impale them.

   How the hell had they been planning to kill that thing!?!

   Distracted, I didn’t notice two undead charge me but Scrapper did. He launched himself, knocking one right over. The noise brought Varric’s attention. He leveled Bianca at us, the skin around his eyes tightening in recognition before he grabbed a different colored bolt from his arsenal. It hit the second undead running at us, exploding it in flames. It ran in a panic, arms batting at its face into the cavern’s depth, disappearing into the smoke. One of the varterral’s legs jabbed down, extinguishing the undead and the fire in one go. My hands came to my mouth, still hanging onto my grenade. In one move it was gone. It’d take just one step to kill anybody, even the undead. My stomach lurched as Fenris and Garrett dodged the varterral’s attacks. All it would take was one mistake…

   “Bolt! What are you doing here?”

   Varric’s call jerked my attention away. It would be pointless to tell him I came to warn them now. Apparently deciding the same, or at least my answer could wait, he turned and fired into the hoard.

   At the mention of my nickname, Anders twisted around from driving the blade at the end of his staff through the skull of one of the undead that had gotten in melee range. I didn’t hear so much as see him speak my name. He looked scared. Scared for me.

   A wave of guilt swept me in the midst of all the chaos. I was a liability. One more thing to worry about. I had tried to help in what way I could but I wasn’t helping now. I should go wait a ways away, out of the line of fire.

   I walked backwards, trying to be as silent and small as possible. I didn’t get far before the last undead fell. I experienced a flicker of relief but it swiftly extinguished. Apparently when we all entered this cave somebody must have slapped a note on all of our collective backs that said “Meal tickets” because I heard a distinct scuttling sound come from behind me.

   “Spiders!” I screamed and ran headlong into the cavern.

   “Mel, here!” Anders called. He stood point to the other two, staff held at the ready in one hand, the other extended towards me.

   I flew to him. He squeezed my hand once, a promise of safety, then he pulled me behind him.

   “Merrill, chain lightning and then petrify as many as you can. Varric, blind them. Scrapper, keep them from us if they get too close; no charging in,” Anders spared a glance at the grenade I still clutched, smile tight. “Mel, why don’t we give them a light show? Be ready on my mark.”

   I nodded quick, grateful to be given something useful to do. Then the spiders were there. Lightning shot from Merrill’s staff, bounding from one spider to the next, shocking them. Before they could shake off the effects, Varric fired for their many eyes as ordered. Scrapper crouched low, growling deep in his chest as he eyed which ones Merrill couldn’t encase in rock. Anders angled toward the group on his right, so I mirrored him, taking his left. Fire began pooling in his hands. The heat of it hit me from several feet away, and yet he held it poised as a bead of sweat rolled down his face as he studied the battle.

   “Now.”

   He launched his fireball and I threw my grenade a half second later, both flanks of the incoming spiders bursting into a field of flame. I threw up an arm to shield my face from the sudden light and heat, and then just as suddenly wanted to clamp both hands over my ears at the creatures’ inhuman screeches. They tried to run from the flames that engulfed their bodies, some at us, others deeper into the cavern. Varric’s firing speed slowed as he tracked one at a time, searching for a kill shot. I finally got to see what a cone of ice was when Anders encased spiders about to trample into our group in ice. The one that came around from the other side Merrill was able to knock down, allowing Scrapper to dart in for the kill.

   The varterral had gone from pissed off at the two humanoids harrying it to downright furious when it spotted half the hoard of spiders aflame and running straight towards it. It spat out a spray of a clear liquid, some kind of spit that put out the fire as steam rose up. I quickly realized it wasn’t when one spider only slightly singed was hit, screeching as if on fire like its brethren. Acid. Slippery acid, I noted as the spider slid on the puddle, trying to change course. The others charged on, driven mad by pain, some succumbing to the flames, others exchanging burning from flames for acid.

    The varterral not only tried to crush Garrett and Fenris but any flaming spider that its venom didn’t stop. It clearly wasn’t a fan of fire. If the varterral’s origin story was true, why in Thedas would the elves create a guardian against dragons made out of wood?

   A spider zipped through the varterral’s legs, smashing into Fenris who had leaped into its path to avoid being squashed by one of the ancient elven guardian’s many legs. He was on his feet again in a moment, the arc of his sword putting the spider out of its misery.

   Garrett had another method for getting out of the way, which was a questionable one. He climbed the varterral’s leg with his daggers like a scene from an unrealistic action movie, the creature distracted by the incoming flames and Fenris dancing beneath it with his giant sword. It didn’t realize its mistake until Garrett was on its back, running up towards it neck. The varterral’s head whipped around 180 degrees, jaws opening wide to unleash its acid at blank range. Garrett barely evaded the spray and my heart clenched in my chest. Then he was out of range, on the creature’s head. He took his twin daggers and drove them into its eyes straight to its brain. The creature gave its loudest shriek yet, all the warning Fenris needed to get out from underneath it. It collapsed, but not before it flung Garrett off it in its death throes. He slammed against the cavern walls then crumpled to the ground.

   I didn’t think to scream. I ran, darting between fallen undead and still scurrying spiders, at his side in seconds. I rolled him onto his back, fingers at his neck searching for a pulse.

   “Please, please, please,” I frantically whispered under my breath, not sure who I was even begging.

   Maybe my hands were too shaky or maybe I was doing it wrong but I couldn’t feel anything. I tore his breastplate off, yanking his shirt up. I put my ear to his still warm chest, trying to even my breathing so I could hear.

   I choked back a relieved sob. There it was, the steady rhythm of his heart. It was comforting in a way no other sound could be. I kept my head there for a minute to ensure I wasn’t deluding myself. This was real. He was alive.

   Maybe too alive. A pair of strong arms tugged me against his body.

   “Well, this is a nice surprise. Though if you wanted me out of my clothes, you could have just asked.”   

   I jerked my too hot face away from his chest, letting his shirt fall back down.   “Damn it, Garrett,” I pinched him on the arm.

   He only smiled, eyes still closed. Then he pinched me back.

   “Jesus Christ!” I fell back.

   “You pinched me first,” he said, tucking his arms behind his head like he were napping under an oak tree in some pastoral painting. “Though I admit, I thought the first time I made you scream it would be my name on yours lips, not some other fellow’s.”

   I forced an eye roll despite echoes of fear for him still weighing down my stomach. “Clearly you don’t have a head injury, or you might have stopped your jokes,” I said, looking back to our companions who were dealing mercy blows to the last of the spiders. I folded my trembling arms and shrugged towards the others. “Come on.”

   Garrett sat up quickly and immediately regretted his decision judging by the twist of his face. A hand braced against his ribs, the other on the ground for support.

   “You okay?” I asked, my tone betraying my worry. I darted back to his side, arm at his back. He allowed me to lean him against the cavern wall. “I’ll get Anders.”

   “Just stay here a moment,” he said, voice too soft for him.

   He snagged my wrist and gently tugged me into his side, my face coming up to the crook of his neck. I tilted my head up, looking at his closed eyes. There was something different from when he caught me when I fainted at the clinic or playfully swung his arm around me at the keep. There was an intensity to him, sharpening my senses. A need. I picked up his scent, something distinctly him that I hadn’t parsed out before—cinnamon, leather, and a masculine musk. My stomach grew lighter, fluttery, but it wasn’t unpleasant.

   I tried to blink my acute awareness of him away, concentrating on the collar of his shirt. “Garrett,” I whispered.

   He hummed in acknowledgement in the back of his throat, his hand coming up to touch my hair. I couldn’t think to say anything for a moment as the feel of his fingers in my hair soothed me. But I didn’t have to.

   “Why are you here?” he eventually asked.

   “The dead rose in the cavern entrance, so not quite as dead as we thought.”

   “All three?” His arm pulled me close. I winced at the pressure on my side and he noticed. I could see he was about to ask for the full extent of my injuries but I cut him off by answering his first question.

   “Yes. Scrapper and I took care of them. Turns out your grenades came in handy today. So did this sword,” I said, jutting out my hip where the well worn sword still hung on my belt. “We’re okay,” I assured him as he stared at my scraped palms.

   “Why didn’t you run?” he pressed, voice deceptively even.

   “I…” I wasn’t sure what to say or how to say it. I could have run but I didn’t want to leave Scrapper behind to fend off the undead. He might have died. I didn’t want anyone, dog or otherwise, to die for me. Running hadn’t been an option then, just as it hadn’t been an option for me to leave Garrett and everyone else behind if there was a chance I could have helped once the first undead were dispatched. “…I wanted to warn you about the undead…”

   “You should have run.” He didn’t say it to me. He said it to the air, as if someone else was there.

   “Maybe,” I hedged.

   His jaw clenched. “No, listen to me. I gave you the grenades to protect you, so if you ran into trouble you could use them defensively, to escape, not mire yourself into more danger.”

   “I did use them defensively, and, I wasn’t looking for trouble.”

   “Of course you weren’t looking for it. But you still could have found it coming after us. One wrong turn in these tunnels and you could have stumbled right into the spiders’ nest, and a spare grenade and a rusty sword wouldn’t have been enough to save you.”

   “Scrapper led me straight to you. I didn’t realize he might confuse your scent with a spider nest. My mistake. If this is such a concern, perhaps you should bathe more often.” I leaned away from him as if he smelled, which he did, but it definitely wasn’t in a bad way.  

   He didn’t smile at my quip. He took the hand closest to him, gently tracing around my scrapes, making me shiver. “I’m sorry I left you. If I had known about the undead there…”

   “I know,” I whispered. “That’s why I wanted to warn you. I figured you’d be so focused on the varterral you might not notice the undead coming up behind.”

   “And what would you have done if you actually had overtaken them? You’d have had to get through them to get to us. Getting past the hoard unharmed in the close quarters of the tunnels would have been quite the feat. Or, they might have sensed you coming up behind and decided to give chase to you instead. They may not be as fast as us, but they do not tire, and Maker help you if they get a solid hold on you because their strength is unnatural.”

   I opened my mouth but then shut it. I hadn’t thought about any of that when I ran after the group. Maybe he had a point. I wasn’t some warrior or tactician and I certainly wasn’t aware of all the potential dangers Thedas holds.

   Nevertheless, I still felt like I had done the best thing I could have at the time. Besides, Scrapper wouldn’t have led me straight to spiders's nest or whatever other horrible thing lurked in this mountain. As for the undead, I might not have had a plan to get past them, but I’m sure I would have figured something out.

   Garrett’s finger stilled on my palm. I could feel his intense gaze on my face. “Mel, what you tried to do was brave, but—

   I pulled my hand back from him, wordlessly examining the abrasions.

   “...there are things you think you can face but you can’t,” he finished, voice quiet, almost strained, like he needed me to understand this one thing more than anything else.

   And, maybe I could understand it, but accepting it was something else.

   My hands bunched in my lap. “What? And you can?”

   “That’s different. I’m trained to—

   “—to leap around like Legolas taking down an elephant? What you did with the varterral? Reckless. Just coming to this cave knowing what was waiting was foolish. But we did and when things happened outside of the plan I reacted same as you. Don’t tell me I can’t.”

   “I will if the other option is you needlessly endangering yourself.”

   I pushed away from him. “So you should just endanger yourself instead? You should take on all the risk? You and everyone else?” I didn’t realize how angry I was at Garrett for taking on this stupid quest until the words started pouring out. Hell, they could have just put up a sign at the cave entrance warning people away, if the dead bodies littering the place hadn’t been warning enough. Or, maybe they could have caved the entrance so none of the nasties could get out to hurt anyone and no unsuspecting person would wander in. Sure, it wasn’t exactly what the Keeper asked for and maybe it wouldn’t have earned Merrill her tool but it was certainly less dangerous!

   I saw again in my mind the way Garrett’s body slammed against the wall, the sickening seconds when I wasn’t sure if the man I was racing towards was no more than a lifeless body. All the horrible fantasies of how this day could have ended in tragedy if one thing had been different replayed: Merrill’s throat being ripped out by an undead who surprised her from behind, Varric’s friendly face melted by acid, Fenris being a breath too slow and getting impaled by the varterral’s leg, Anders getting tangled in web, unable to free himself before a spider was on him…

   Garrett tried to rise after me but with a wince sunk right back down. “I need to protect—

   “—you can’t protect anyone if you’re dead,” I said then looked away, running a hand through my hair as I sucked in a deep breath. I spotted Anders finishing up with the cut on Scrapper’s side and moving to his paw.

   “Mel, look at me.”

   I resisted for a moment before begrudgingly giving into his command, arms folded in front of me. He looked exhausted but that challenging fire was in his eyes again. I met it.

   “Mel, promise me if you’re ever in situation like that again you run. Don’t put yourself into danger. Not for anyone.”

   “I can’t promise that,” I said, tone stiff. I knew to a degree he was right. I barely made it against the three undead with Scrapper on my side. I was being stubborn, but so was he.

   “Mel,” he growled.

   His tone said the conversation was far from over but it was for me. I turned on my heel towards Anders who was just finishing with Scrapper, ignoring the feel of Garrett’s eyes on my back.

   “You okay?” Anders pursed his lips at my dark expression, and without waiting for a response, ran a current of magic through me, scanning for injury. He lifted my left arm to place a hand at my side. I drew in a sharp breath, one part from the pressure, the other because the position reminded me of an intimate dance. The blue tingle swept across my skin, soothing away the the bruise and the damage underneath. He ran his palms down my arms, stopping at my hands. He grabbed his water skin and washed the dirt and grime away to examine my scrapes. I in turn examined how weary he looked. How much mana had he already expended during the battle and subsequent healings?

   I pulled away before he could heal me further. “I think bandages will suffice.”

   His face fell, quickly stowed away behind a resigned expression, as if he had been expecting me to say this. “Is it the magic?”

   “Yes,” I said, and his face shuttered.

   My eyes promptly widened in realization. “Oh, I mean, no, not like that. Magic is fantastic. No problem with that! It’s just that you look drained and there are others who still need you to look them over,” I waved my hands. “This is minor. I’ll live.”

   He caught my hands, turning them palm up like I had after I first learned of his magic. Perhaps he was remembering the same moment because his face grew soft. “But whose hands would I hold?”

   “I’m being serious.”

   “As am I.”

   “Anders.”

   He sighed. “Mel, I know my limits. I am far from them. I’ve tested them in extreme conditions. I’m fine. Thank you, though, for thinking of me.” He lifted my hands slightly. “So, may I?”

   I nodded. His hands began to glow faintly blue again. I watched with rapt attention as the scrapes on my hands sealed. When he was done, I brought them to my face. There were only the faintest of marks that would undoubtedly fade within minutes if my witnessing of Anders’ past healing on such minor injuries was standard.

   My mouth parted. I don’t think I would ever get over how wondrous magic could be.

   “Has anyone ever told you how incredible you are?” I asked him.

   His brows shot up at my words, as if unsure how to take them. Maybe because he’d never had anyone say such a thing to him.

   “I assume this question is rhetorical,” he said, looking like he wanted to brush my intended compliment away as if afraid to believe I meant what I said.

   But I did mean it. I squeezed his hands. “Let me clear up the ambiguity then: you’re incredible.”

   Anders looked stunned for several seconds before a dusting of pink came to his cheeks. His thumbs rubbed the inside of my palms, sending non-magical tingles up my arm. “Thank you. Though, I could never compare to how incredible you are, Mel.”

   He brought a palm up to his lips, placing the lightest of kisses at the center. Then he curled my fingers around the spot, as if giving me the most precious of gifts. From the way my heart sweetly ached, I think he did.

   When Garrett kissed the back of my hand the other night, I had convinced myself that it was a commonplace custom in Thedas, but now I wasn’t so sure. I’d ask Varric, my resident guide to Thedas, but of course, he’d get the wrong idea and whip out paper and pen. I was afraid of even letting myself get the wrong idea, because despite my knowing better, that warmth in my chest grew warmer still.

   I kept staring at my hands as I said, “I think Garrett might have busted some ribs or something playing hero earlier. Maybe you should check on him to make sure he doesn’t have a concussion and slip into a coma.”

   Anders didn’t say anything about my change of topic. He let my hand go and turned to look at Garrett. “I don’t think he’s in danger of that.”

   A glance over my shoulder showed Scrapper shoving his wet nose into his master’s face, smothering him with wet kisses to the point he toppled over.

   Anders sighed and headed over, an amused smile on his face at the affection between mabari and master. I couldn’t hear exactly what Anders said to Garrett, but it sounded like a gentle scolding. Garrett accepted it readily, voice pitched low in response, surely saying something ridiculous again. From the shaking of Anders’ shoulders, I knew he laughed as he pulled a potion from his satchel and handed it over. Obediently Garrett drank it and Anders brought his hands to his patient’s temples, searching for head trauma.

   There was an ease between them that spoke of years together sharing countless adventures, but there was a tension there too. It was in the way they’d meet each others’ eyes then quickly look away again. Garrett would unabashedly stare, and Anders would become intensely focused on whatever he was doing. When he stopped staring at his face, Anders would sneak a glance, the look familiar, like when we left Kirkwall and he told me how he met Garrett.

   “Don’t they make quite the pair?” Merrill asked as she came up beside me, hands clasped in front of her like a school girl daydreaming. All traces of the battle mage were gone.

   “They what?”

   “Isabella made a bet with Varric they’d get together,” she said as if she assumed I was in the know.

   It all snapped into place: Garrett’s protectiveness of Anders, Anders’ long looks at Garrett when he wasn’t watching, Garrett’s flirty comments about Anders’ electricity thing and trying to get Anders to move in with him...

   “Oh,” I said, my voice sounding distant even to my own ears. “I see.”

Chapter Text

   As we journeyed through the caverns, I told the story of what happened to me after the group left to fight the varterral upon Varric’s pressing and Merrill’s seconding. Anders and Fenris appeared curious with how they hovered near, but neither pressed for details. Only Garrett looked determinedly disinterested as he led us out.

   The telling came out clipped as I hit all the main points. I found no glory or pride in the tale, only an unpleasant duty to be accomplished quickly. In the rush of everything happening, I didn’t have much time to worry if I might die. But I could have if only one thing was different: I was too slow on a swing, my fingers fumbled on a grenade, if the undead’s sword connected more solidly with Scrapper.

   I shoved my hands deep into my pockets to smother a slight tremble. So many people’s attention on me didn’t help, and one person’s palpable disapproval with the clenching of his jaw made me want to get through the tale all the faster. Not that my possible death or even my fight with Garrett were the heaviest things on my mind. No, it was something else that made me morose.

   Varric was having none of that though; once I finished my tale, he kept asking for more details until he had a rich account.  

   “If I knew you were going to take on a bunch of undead single-handedly I would have stuck around,” Varric said.

   “Armed with paper and quill, I’m sure,” Anders said, voice all good-natured though I could tell he sensed the underlying tension in our group with the way his eyes flickered from Garrett to me, not that he could have known what it stemmed from.

   “It wasn’t single-handed. I had Scrapper. He was my hero.” I cooed and scratched the mabari who trailed at my side, tail wagging at the praise he knew he was getting.

   “He doesn’t have hands,” Varric teased, and I grinned in turn though it felt tight on my face.

   “Don’t go writing nonsense stories about her,” Fenris said to Varric. “She doesn’t need to draw more attention.”

   “I wouldn’t write anything that wasn’t mostly true.”

   “Because the tale about Hawke taking on a horde of darkspawn solo was mostly true,” Anders said with a glance at Garrett’s backside with an affectionate smile that made the butterflies that had taken up resident in my stomach die to an early frost.

   “Define how many quantifies a horde,” Varric said.

   Everyone minus Garrett groaned and the group tapered off into silence. Anders cast a long glance at me, his customary worried crease coming to his forehead, but I pretended to not notice. He moved to walk alongside Garrett in front, no doubt deciding his time was better spent softening him. Varric, Merrill, and Scrapper made up the middle. Fenris hung back near me as we walked, which I thought was unusual, but he didn’t look at me or in anyway acknowledge me save for matching the length of his strides with mine. I was thankful. It made it easier to pretend my quietness came from weariness and not my thoughts circling the drain.  

   On Earth, I would foolishly let myself sprout feelings despite knowing the frost would come soon. It always did. I let myself look at someone from afar and thought distance would keep me unattached, that I wouldn’t notice the way their lips would twitch at a joke or how they’d rock on their heels when nervous. I thought coming closer, having them look at me with a kind smile and welcoming nudge wouldn’t shake me so much. I thought them asking me how I was meant they cared about the answer. And I didn’t let myself consider how hollowing it would feel to later see them walking down the sidewalk hand in hand with someone else, my name as memorable as chalk scribbles washed away by the rain.

   It was the kind of disappointment I was familiar with. When I was a teen, I knew my mother would inevitably have us moving again in a couple months, so why get attached? And when I was on my own and had finally begun putting down roots, I knew from experience that nothing would ever come from my attractions. After all, I couldn’t maintain even the most casual of friendships without great effort.

   But on Thedas, for the first time, people saw me. The warmth and acceptance had gone to my head. I had been allowing myself closer to Anders, Garrett, and even Fenris, hoping for what I hadn’t let myself put into concrete terms, but I had known I wanted more no matter that I knew better. But that wanting I let creep up on me like mid-afternoon shadows, and now they’d lengthened into dusk. Somehow I’d have to find my way forward like I’d always done despite wading in the dark.

   When we exited the caverns, I spared only a glance at the wide world around before I studied the path beneath my feet, determined to not slip again. Here on the ground, one foot after another, was where I belonged, not my stomach fluttering vapidly about. I snatched my array of emotions—disappointment, longing, sadness, and a lingering hope—and fed them to my anger I stoked, its heat brought to bear on myself.  

   I thought I’d ripped the remnants of my wings off in adolescence, but apparently I wasn’t immune to foolish flights of fancy. My stumps still flexed as if I leaped I wouldn’t simply plummet to the earth. I knew the brutal impact of reality well, knew back when my wings were still daydream soft, that the wind lifted others up and pushed some aside, flockless and unpaired. It was a cold, hard truth nested in my breast: like the sky, love didn’t belong to me. Yet I ignored it in favor of the possibility the expanse above offered. My wings became battered, broken, and as useless as I should have always known they were. They served only as a dead weight stooping my back, a reminder of what was out of reach. So I severed them, grounding myself. I thought the pain they brought would disappear. But the phantoms still ached though it had been years since I felt them.

   But this was good. This ache was a decisive stroke that cut through all the cobwebs slowing my way. My path was clear. Thedas was a temporary stop. I would be going home. I needed to focus on that. The rest was extraneous. I didn’t need attachments.

   With a deep breath followed by a long exhale, it felt like all my disparate thoughts rushed out of me. I settled into a steady tread, my mind ahead on the path to Flemeth, and hopefully, back to Earth.

Chapter Text

   I felt the barrier fall. The hairs on my arms had raised when we approached, but they fell once the barrier did. I wondered if the others felt it too. Merrill obviously was familiar, taking it down with blood magic. Her slicing her palm had set Fenris and Anders on edge; me too, but mainly for how much it looked like it stung. The narrowing of Anders’ eyes relaxed as soon as the barrier dropped, but Garrett waited until Merrill’s slight nod before he crossed. Interesting.

   I rubbed my forehead, recalling the pricking sensation when the undead rose. Something about that wasn’t normal. The flashes of memory, my hands white, sulfur on the air, came to me too; it hadn’t been the first time that fragment of my first memory of Thedas surfaced, but I still had no answers. Perhaps here though, I’d finally find some.

   We approached the stonework altar that looked like it belonged in a mausoleum, weathered stone slabs on either side. The cliff side overlooked the valley we had spent yesterday hiking through to reach the Dalish. If I reached out, I could trace the spines of the Free March mountains, the sea a distant glimmer lining the horizon. But my attention was drawn to this ancient elven monument. I hardly dared breath, for the slightest puff of air would disturb this sacred place.

   Merrill bowed before the altar, the movements ceremonious. She uttered elven words under her breath like a chant. I didn’t understand the direct meaning, but from the reverence in her voice, I knew she was beseeching Asha’Bellanar to come to us.

   Several minutes passed and nothing happened. Fenris rested on the balls of his feet, as if preparing to swing into action if necessary; with his distaste for all things arcane, it made sense that he would be wary of Flemeth. As more minutes passed, Varric shuffled from side to side, like he was wondering if he should be the one to suggest throwing the towel in on this plan, but Garrett shut out the others’ discomfort, staring at the altar intensely, as if he he could bring Flemeth here through sheer will.

   I moved to stand beside Merrill. On impulse, I laid a hand on the altar’s surface. Nothing but cool stone met my skin, but a second later, every fine hair on my body stood up, and pinpricks burst from my forehead and raced across my body so hard that I shook. Something was here. Something of a magnitude unlike anything else I had sensed in Thedas.

   I was met with confused glances from my companions when I turned around, but I looked past them to the old woman standing behind them, her arms crossed as she regarded me.

   Calling her an old woman didn’t do her justice. She was something more. What exactly I couldn’t put words to. Even if it wasn’t for the overwhelming sense of her otherness coming off her, just the way she dressed and carried herself made her unlike any old woman I had ever come across. A maroon leather dress with black trim showed off her voluptuous figure, and though her hair was sheer white and face lined with wrinkles, she burned with a vitality that many people, both old or young, didn’t possess.

   As if she could read my assessment of her, her dark painted lips twisted in a smirk that matched the light in her yellow eyes.

   “Apparently your crossing shredded the last of the charm,” she said with raspy, measured voice.

   The group whirled around to the Witch of the Wilds who had come upon them unaware. That fact wasn’t lost on me. Even Merrill and Anders hadn’t sensed her. Perhaps she only meant for me to sense her?

   “Flemeth, I presume,” I said.

   “I go by many names, but that one will suffice,” she said.

   Anders inched so he slightly obscured my body with his lanky frame. “What do you mean her crossing shredded the last of the charm?”

   “You should have a clue to what I refer. You sensed its remnants, did you not?”

   The conversation I overheard when I first woke up in the clinic came back to me. Anders had said something about sensing magical residue. Is that what she meant?

   Unconsciously, my hand went to grip my right shoulder and the movement wasn’t lost on Flemeth.

   “You sense the change, too.”

   “The …charm?” I hardly wore any jewelry, and hadn’t been wearing any when I woke in Thedas. What did she mean?

   “Your mark,” she said.

   I knew then. My birthmark. I was born with a brown patch on my right shoulder blade.

   “Anders, do you mind?” I asked, pulling down my shirt to expose my shoulder.  It went against my newly formed plan to establish distance between us for my own sake but it wasn’t like I was carrying around a pocket mirror and I had to know. Besides, he must have seen plenty of naked flesh at the clinic, not to mention he probably had no interest in me considering his interest in Garrett and past relationship with Karl. I bit my lip, grinding the self-pity to a halt.

   Anders touched my skin in a professional manner, fingertips searching. The quaver his touch sent through me was damning—I hadn’t been quick enough with toppering my emotions. Still, I squashed them in my mind, fingers digging into my arm as I held my shirt down for him. “Well, is there any mark?”

   “There’s none,” he said, tone neutral though a tint of color came to his cheeks as he dragged his eyes away from my skin. “Should there be?”

   “I have a brown patch, a birthmark. Well, had.” I said, biting the inside of my cheek this time as my gaze swung to Flemeth. “Care to explain?”

   Flemeth’s smile grew at my directness, like I was a mouse proving to be especially entertaining prey for a cat. I scowled. She was worse than Marethari.

   “How could my birthmark be a charm? There may be magic here, but there isn’t on Earth,” I pressed.  

   “And yet you’re still here. Just because Earth doesn’t have magic of its own doesn’t mean magic cannot effect it or enter—it simply doesn’t originate there.”

   Now that was a disturbing thought, but one I couldn’t ponder at this time.

   “But who would give me a charm? And for what purpose?”

   “Now you’re asking the right questions,”she said, fingers drumming silently on her arms. “But let’s address your last one. To what purpose you ask. Tell me, what changes have you noticed since your arrival?”

   Her smile said she held all the answers but wouldn’t give them unless earned. I swallowed my irritation at having to play 20 questions with the witch and considered. There were several strange occurrences. My sensitivity to magic might be unusual, but I wasn’t sure on that one; I didn’t have a baseline for normal. There was my attacker who burned and the memory of white, flashing heat, but as Aveline determined, I couldn’t be a mage. One of the most consistent things I noticed as odd was how people seemed to notice me now when they never did before. It was like I had been walking under a cloak of invisibility that someone whisked off once I woke in Thedas.

   My mouth opened as I neared the brink of a realization. “So this charm? What was it called? How did it work?”

   “They were in a bit of a rush to give it a name, though describing it as a reverse glamour charm would do.”

   The entire party perked at this.

   Varric looked to Garrett, “How is that—”  

   “...possible?” he finished, frowning.

   Varric looked to me. “We rogues with a talent for trap-making use glamour charms to distract the enemy, to lure them away from us by drawing their attention elsewhere. I haven’t the faintest idea how to make a reverse glamour charm, though I suppose I could understand the appeal if you could make it portable. Theoretically, it’d make the wearer unobtrusive, forgettable to most passing by. Perfect for a stealth operation. To engineer such a charm would be a stroke of brilliance and a ticket for immense wealth if one were up for selling the schematics. But even if I could come up with such a design, I’d need a skilled mage to create it.”

   “And to make it a lasting mark on your body for over two decades would require a tremendous amount of power,”Anders said, picking up the thread of thought to continue stringing it along. “It’d be enough to burn out a single mage.”

   “Or bleed out a person,” Fenris added, arms crossed.

   “And who would want to place that on you unless they wanted to hide you away from someone,” Garrett said, for once not purposefully looking away from me. His jaw clenched, anger simmering under the surface at the perceived, unknown threat.

   My body grew cold as the realization seeped in enough to saturate. I saw my entire life in a new light. If what Flemeth insinuated was true, I had been under the influence of the charm my whole childhood. I always secretly suspected something was wrong with me with how I struggled to have relationships with those around me, but I always thought it was a flaw in my personality that made me forgettable to others, not some curse. Even now the concept seemed absurd.

   If I even voiced such a notion as a curse to my mother, I’m sure she would have laughed. Even now, after everything I’d been exposed to in Thedas, I still felt her opinion color mine. She didn’t raise me to buy into what she’d have deemed foolishness, and never spent an ounce of time pretending any of it was real. If we walked by a new age shop advertising palm readings, she’d laugh at the absurdity. “They can’t tell your future,” she’d say with a dismissive hand wave, the same gesture she’d direct at fortune cookies and horoscopes. Santa? Not real, though she always scraped together some kind of Christmas present for me, she just didn’t pretend it was from some fairy tale creature. Same for the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny. I had always felt a sense of pride that she was straight with me. We’d always see the world for what it was. Whatever came our way, at least there would never be fabrications between us.

   But there was something between us. It took me well into my teens to realize my mom was different than others since I was so isolated, but I noticed the first red flags in elementary school. Since there was no truth to these fairy tales, I didn’t take them seriously, but I also didn’t see the harm in participating, especially if it meant I could have the chance to make friends. Like when she forbade me from trick-or-treating and would bolt the door and turn off the light so no trick-or-treaters would bother with our front door, as if the veil between the spirit world and the mortal plain really was thin on Halloween and demons stalked the Earth. Of course that was ridiculous. There were no demons. I knew it just as I knew there weren’t angels. Where were they to save me when she—

   “Mel?” Anders touched my arm, breaking me from the torrent of thoughts coursing through me.

   I broke from his anchoring touch by angling my body away, arms coming up to hug myself. I made sure not to look at his face so if there was any flinch of hurt from my brusque move, I wouldn’t see the it.

   But I saw the question on everyone’s faces: what did I just realize? I was too pissed to explain. I needed no confirmation from Flemeth to know that I had reached the right conclusion because I could see the spark of knowing in her eyes. Someone had fucked with my life in one of the cruelest ways imaginable by making me near incapable of forming lasting relationships with those around me.

   And if that magic broke when I finally crossed over to Thedas, that would explain why Garrett and crew’s treatment of me was so odd, or really, wasn’t. They had helped me, listened to me, included me, and all the while I had been thrown by their behavior as if there were something wrong with them. But the wrong was with me, done to me. How many connections had I missed on Earth because no one could really see and hold onto me?

   “Why?” I ground out.

   “To protect you from dangerous eyes.”

   “Whose?”

   Flemeth sighed as if the answer was obvious. “Demons.”

   “Demons? Are you serious?”A laugh tumbled out of me as my fingers dug into my arms hard enough to bruise, but no one laughed along with me like I hoped.

   Garrett looked to Varric. “You didn’t tell her about demons?”

   “I figured the flesh and blood demons at the Hanged Man were more pressing to know about,” Varric said, casting a side glance at Anders who didn’t meet his gaze or Fenris’ who looked like he’d turn Anders into an ice sculpture if he could.

   Adding a dollop of demons to Thedas’ sundae of crazy wasn’t what I needed right now. I was having a hard enough time coming to terms with the fact that my entire life on Earth had been horribly manipulated by a charm meant to shield me from said demons. Who would be insane enough to think—

   My head snapped to Flemeth. “Who put the charm on me?”

   “Your parents, of course,” she said, her face saying she full well knew the punch in the stomach she’d just delivered.

   I swallowed the bile rising in my throat as the world spun. I reached out to steady myself, finding Garrett’s bicep, but I couldn’t be damned to care if he was still giving me the cold shoulder because I felt like the earth had just split beneath my feet and I was in danger of falling.

   The father I never knew and the mother who had been my world had clipped my wings so that I might never make a flock of friends and perhaps someday even a lover, all in the name of keeping me safe from storybook creatures. It was so insane I could almost laugh. But I swallowed that down too, knowing it’d sound hysterical, unhinged even, and I definitely wasn’t, not like her.  

   “Um,” Merrill, who had previously been quietly starstruck in front of Flemeth, said, “but if Mel is from Earth, and there’s no magic there, how did they place a charm on her?”

   “An excellent question, Merrill,” Garrett said, eyes narrowed at Flemeth. It wasn’t until he spoke, his chest rumbling against my back, that I realized his arms had come around to hold me up.

   “I could answer that, but it’s not my perception of events you seek.”

   “Yes, but it would still provide answers,” Anders said, looking as angry as Garrett sounded as he continued to hover near like he could shield me from the pain of these revelations.

   “But there would still be questions,” she said. She walked near me, making Fenris tense. She cast him a bemused glance, as if he chose to attack her, it would be like a fly going after a bear—only an annoyance.

   “But less questions,” I pushed, finding my voice along with my feet.

   “You really are like my Morrigan, thinking you must know best. Are all daughters the same?” She smiled, in on a joke of her own. She pulled a dagger from behind her back and placed the handle in my hand. “This belonged to your father. It holds the answers you seek.”

    “My father,” I whispered, examining the blade near by face. For a second, I thought I saw a different pair of eyes reflected back at me, but no, they were only my stormy gray. The sun glinted off the metal, beckoning. It was a lot shinier than the rusty sword I carried but I didn’t see how this answered anything. I looked up questioningly, but it was the man whose hands still held my shoulders that spoke.

   “Is that a masterwork blade?” Garrett said by my ear as he leaned in close for a better look. “It’s in fantastic condition.”

   “That’s the idea. More durable than parchment,” Flemeth said and laughed.

   “While it’s … nice to have something that belonged to him, I don’t see how this answers anything.”

   “You will. The answers are in your blood. Only you can unlock them.”

   I remembered Merrill slicing her palm. What if…

   I pricked my finger on the tip before anyone could stop me, a single drop of blood running down the blade. Everyone stiffened in the group and Fenris looked like he wanted to shake me with the way his eyes blazed. I felt a thrum of power—this was more than a simple dagger—but it dissipated quick, the sensation like tumblers in a lock jamming halfway. There had to be something more to it, right? Magical maybe, like a chant or password or something.

   I bit my lip and looked up at Flemeth, hoping, but she dashed it with a single shake of her head.

   “I have told you what was told to me. Your mother wouldn’t have ensured this in my safekeeping if she didn’t provide you with a way of using it. All you need to do is remember, and then you’ll know more of the story than even I do.”

   “Remember? I can’t even remember how I got here,” I said, flashing back to waking up in the Darktown alleyway covered in blood. I glanced at the ground, recalling how the blood stained the ground already covered in refuse and a shudder ran through me.

   “Well then, that memory would be a start, wouldn’t it?” her smile grew, one that held many secrets. “Perhaps more evenings spent by the fire will help. I’m sure it’ll spark something.”

   “But couldn’t you at least tell me—

   But when I looked up again, Flemeth was gone.

   Everyone talked amongst themselves as we headed back to Kirkwall except me. I erected a wall so no one would touch or try to talk to me. I hugged my arms around myself as if that might keep me from falling apart. It was all I could do to place one foot after the other. I wanted, no needed, answers, but they were still out of reach. And the answers I did have only raised more questions.

   All things considered, I think I’ve dealt well with the shock of waking up in a new world and almost dying a couple times, but I think I’ve finally hit my threshold. Crazy was Thedas and Earth was normal but what was I supposed to do when they overlapped? The distinctions blurred and I was left questioning everything.

   I’ve never considered myself an angry person. I always accepted whatever hand was dealt to me, knowing at least there would be a new round later. Maybe it was my inability to bluff or folding too soon or just my luck but the cards never came in my favor. I’d accept my losses with grace knowing that the losing streak couldn’t last forever. I never suspected the deck was stacked against me. I never suspected, of all things, that the house cheated me in some twist of absurd logic to protect me. But now I understand how those poker tables get flipped, why there’s shootouts in the old Wild West films. I wanted to slam the faceless man in my memories who was supposed to be my father and pin the collar of his jacket to the table with his dagger, demanding answers. More than anything, I wanted to sit across from my mother who had years to make me understand her but instead, left me to decipher her erratic behavior: the constant moving, her evasive answers, her contradictory beliefs, and her paranoia.

   What troubled me most was under this new light, her behavior didn’t seem so mad now that I knew demons were real, too. What if she knew they existed and thought they were after us? Of course she wouldn’t want attention drawn to me, a kid, and she wouldn’t let us place roots down anywhere because what if we were found? She wouldn’t tell me anything not to frighten me, so that explained why I never knew anything.

   I breathed in sharply as I touched the memory I’d left buried for years, the one that made me realize my mother wasn’t stable. My hands played at my neck, as if grappling with invisible fingers, and I shut my eyes tight to block it all out.

   Somethings though didn’t add up, like that. So did much more. How would my parents have learned about demons? How would they have had the skills to make such a charm? Why would demons be after us instead of literally anyone else? And how would a demon be able to cross from Thedas to Earth?

   My fingers found the hilt of my father’s dagger, knuckles going white. Somehow, I would find my answers.

Chapter Text

   I had told Corff and Norah that I’d be leaving for a couple days, though I didn’t mention the possibility that I might not ever return, leaving that to Varric if Marethari had been successful. Maybe I should have been disappointed having to walk back under the morbid hanging man by the front door, but all I felt was relief. Here I knew to expect drunks, arguments over Wicked Grace, and reckless flirting. No undead, spiders, or all-knowing sorceresses.

   I flung my pack in the back and threw myself into work without being asked, thankful for something to distract myself. My head had been too full lately, and if I worked hard enough, I could go from weary to exhausted and fall asleep immediately once my head hit my bedroll tonight instead of staring at the ceiling for hours, or like the previous night, the slope of my tent with a snoring mabari beside me.

   Garrett was escorting Merrill to her home in the alienage presumably so she wouldn’t get lost and then Anders to Darktown—no surprise there—but he promised he’d be by soon to see what we could do to trigger my missing memories, apparently putting our disagreement to the side. Varric had accompanied me inside, heading straight for his room to sleep on a real bed, he said.

   Surprisingly, Fenris came in too. Coming to the Hanged Man every night had become his new normal, but I still figured that he might want to return home for a hot bath and decent night’s sleep too. He looked like he could use it, not staying up late drinking. I felt his eyes on me when I emerged from the kitchen, and he didn’t even have to ask me to bring him a bottle of wine.

   “Thank you for accompanying me to Sundermount,” I said as I set his bottle in front of him. I felt like there was so much more to say and yet nothing at the same time. There was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there when I last served him.

   I silently sucked in my breath when a tinge of a smile took his lips. “You’re welcome, Amelia,” he said, as if unsure of the words.

   Despite my tiredness, a smile came to me in return. Finally, he’d said my name. Not my shortened version, sure, but still. I liked how the sound of it on his tongue rolled down my spine.

   I quickly gave him a nod of acknowledgement before diving back into my work. I berated myself for being pleased—I had decided to put the distance back in place between all of us after all. But for a moment, I let myself enjoy it for what it was before putting it aside from my mind and wiping my stupid grin off my face.

   It took me a moment to notice another pair of eyes on me, but these didn’t hold the comfort that Fenris’ did. A man in his fifties with short, combed back silver hair with bags under his eyes kept to himself in one of the quieter corners of the tavern. His robes seemed oddly out of place, though that might just be because it wasn’t a common style in Kirkwall. He wasn’t one of the regulars.

   I nudged Norah when I went to set down a platter of emptied ales. “Who is that?”

   “Him? Don’t know his name but he started staying at the Hanged Man the day after you left. He’s never made any trouble, if that’s what you want to know, but he’s a bit…”

   “...creepy.” I finished. I don’t know what made me say that. There was just something off about him.

   “Yeah, well, when I first served him he kept staring at my ankles like he’d never seen a pair before, real excited like, but once I got close enough for him to get an eyeful, he just shook his head and muttered to himself ‘Those won’t do.’ I’ve never heard of a man who had a fetish for ankles, and such high standards too!” Norah stuck a leg out to see her much criticized ankle to search for some unapparent flaw. “Anyways, I’ve been making Corff serve him. You can too if he’s making you uncomfortable.”

   “I just might,” I said, but when I looked to the man’s table, he had already vacated.

   I shrugged him off as another one of Kirkwall’s oddballs and headed off to the kitchen to see how badly Corff had made a mess of things while I was gone.

   Hours later I was in the back room stretching my sore muscles. Norah and I had cleaned the main tavern room in record time and we didn’t even have to drag out any too intoxicated patrons. Also I got several sizable tips from folks who saw that I had returned, and presumably, would soon be back in the kitchen cooking up edible food. I went over my plans to hit up the food stalls in the morning as I laid down, and before I knew it, darkness swiftly snatched me away.

   I startled awake what felt like seconds later, prickles dancing on my skin. I cocked my head, listening intently for the slightest sound but there was nothing. It must be my imagination, primed from days of adventure and excitement, I figured. I rearranged myself on my bedroll trying to go back to sleep, but it was too late, I had thought of the last few days, and all the things I didn’t want to think about came rushing to the forefront of my brain: spiders, Fenris being enigmatic, undead, my tiff with Garrett, my stupid emotions getting attached to people they knew better than to, Flemeth and her cryptic ‘help,’ my parents and theirs unfathomable and life-altering decisions.

   I straightened my blankets with an aggressive snap. Letting some of the irritation out felt good, but it didn’t dissipate after I settled myself again. Instead, it stoked into a simmering anger tugging to be unleashed. The more I dwelled on it, the more my frustration grew. I kicked off my blankets and stalked around my closet-sized room, the space for the first time feeling too confining. Maybe I should go to the kitchen and get a head start on prepping breakfast or maybe see if there is anything needing to be cleaned? I wasn’t going to get any sleep like this. But in this mood, I felt like I was as likely to throw a dish at the wall than wash it.

   That didn’t feel right coming from me. I paused once at the door, sucking in several deep breathes. The anger seemed to distance itself from me, like it was a coat I could remove after getting too heated. Like it was never a part of me.

   On my tongue, though faint, was the taste of sulfur and ash. I put out all the downstairs fires so nothing should be burning, and Norah and I hadn’t found any cinders from pipes when we cleaned the floors.  

   I made my way to the kitchen across the dark tavern floor. The chairs resting on the tables looked like a barren forest. My eyes darted around as if there was someone hiding in the shadows watching, but as I studied the darkness, I knew it was nothing more than my overactive imagination. No one could get into the tavern after hours unless they were an exceptional lockpick. Still, I tiptoed silently across the room, and managed to open the kitchen door without a creak before slipping inside.  

   I lit a candle then chuckled at my foolishness; there were no monsters hiding in the dark. Everything was just as we had left it. My cooking pot rested well scrubbed on the table for me to use in the morning, the ladle beside it. The emptied wash tub leaned against the water barrel after Norah had finished wringing the mop. Corff’s account books with paper sticking from it at odd angles was still squeezed between the jars of sugar and yeast.

   I turned to go when pain blossomed across my forehead and light flared behind me, as if someone had dropped a heap of kindling on a fire all at once. Then the scent of sulphur was unmistakable. I turned right back around and dropped the candle.

   Some monsters come with the light.

   An amorphous beast of fire pulled itself from between the floorboards. As it came to stand to its towering height, it stretched out its powerful arms with a rage-filled roar. When its pair of swirling yellow eyes pinpointed me, it swept across the floor leaving ash in its wake.

   It never got in reaching distance as I dashed out the door, but the fireball it hurled almost did, scorching the floor where I had stood only a second ago. I vaulted over the bar and almost ran straight for the back of the Hanged Man but quickly aborted that plan. What the hell would my rusty sword do against a fire monster?

   “Varric! Isabela!” I screamed as I ran up the stairs taking them two at a time.

   The stairs at the top of the flight burst into splinters and flame. The wood groaned, all the warning given before the stairs caved beneath my feet. Everything went black for a second, and when awareness returned so did the sensation of pain. A smoldering beam had collapsed on me, already having burned through the fabric of my dress to brand the flesh of my right leg. I didn’t cry out, my breath coming in too frantic pants, and shoved the beam off. Agony lanced through my hands but I gritted my teeth and flipped onto my stomach, trying to see through my watery eyes and the smoke filled room.

   I crawled under the nearest table, dodging another blast from the fire monster who had positioned itself between me and the front door. There it was in my peripheral, its crackles sounding like a harsh, guttural language. For a moment, I thought I heard my name, but I knew it had to be nothing more than my panicked brain trying to find something recognizable in this madness. I dove under the next table before a fiery arm smashed my first one with a single swoop.

   A quick scan of the now well lit room told me nothing that I didn’t already know: that I was trapped, surrounded by all things flammable. I eyed the kitchen entrance, its door ajar. If I could just get back inside, I could use the water barrel as some kind of defense. If not that, I was desperate enough to try prying off the window slats and seeing if I might be able to wiggle through.

   I bolted from underneath my table not a moment too soon, but I only got a few strides away before my injured leg betrayed me, sending me crashing to the floor. The floorboard touching my burned skin shot searing pain through my body. I rolled to take all pressure from it and then came face to face with the demonic thing hovering over me. The heat and rage coursing off it hit me like a burst of mental magic, stunning me.

   Over the snapping of the fire, I heard bootsteps pounding on the second floor, awakened by the destruction below. I heard the front door break down and an unmistakable deep voice yell my name. But two arms of fire embraced me, and then all I could hear was my scream. Then an energy surged through me, white hot, and there was nothing.

Chapter Text

   I was a child again, light enough to be carried. With my head lolled against a firm, warm chest and strong arms encircling me, I could shut out the sounds of people shouting. But I couldn’t help but hear the heart hammer by my ear, the deep voice begging for me to wake up.

   “Please. Please open your eyes. Stay with me, Mel.”

   A calloused hand stroked sweaty hair from my face, leaving a pleasant hum behind where before my skin simmered in agony. I wanted grasp it, let him know everything was going to be okay, that he could let me sleep. I couldn’t move my body though, the darkness pulling me into frozen depths.

   “I sent Rivaini to get Blondie. Now here, give her this. It’s not much, but it’s something until he arrives. There’s the bath. I’ll get Corff and Norah to help bring up some water on the ladder. We need to cool her down fast.”

   A bottle pressed against my lips, his other hand tilting my head back so a familiar floral tasting concoction flowed down my throat. I coughed, trying to turn away. I only wanted the humming hands on me. They made me feel warm and kept the pain fringing on the edges. Despite my feeble struggles, he made me drink the whole bottle as people stamped about in the room. There was a sloshing sound. Then the voices were gone.

   He hoisted me up. I whimpered at the movement and burrowed my face in his leather clad shoulder. Coolness touched my toes, ankles, stomach, then breasts, and it soothed no more than a reaper’s kiss, making me shiver. I was already far too cold. Though gently dipped, I writhed when his hands no longer touched my bare skin, agony racing up my sides unhindered. Everything hurt. I wanted to shed my body, accept the darkness beckoning, or better yet, crawl underneath his skin.

   My back muscles clenched from straining to remain upright, fingers trembling on the metal sides. His hands tried to guide my head to lean back in the water’s embrace but I stiffened. The water wanted me, wanted to play with me before passing me to the darkness. It lapped at my skin, longing to pull me inside it with a single swallow. If I laid down, it would never let me rise back up.

   “Mel, it’s okay,” the man said with a rough whisper.

   I knew those words, recognized them for the lie they were. I’d heard them from trusted lips before. His hands came too close to my neck, and I knew what would happen next: the strength he cradled me with he’d turn against, shoving me underneath the surface until the cold filled my mouth, nose, and lungs as lips would continue to lie, saying, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. This is the only way” just as she had.  

   The water came up to my neck, then chin, but before it could silence my lips I screamed. My fingers tore into his arms and held fast. The hum of skin pushed back enough of the pain for me to find words.

   “Please. Please don’t do this. I’ll do anything, be better, but please, please…”

   The hands dropped me as if scalded. I slipped back in the water, grappling with the sides of the tub with only the thought of getting out, desperation lighting up my veins. I reached after him, eyes struggling open.

   Wide, unwavering green eyes in a face too pale met mine. He stood before me, the rivulets of blood on his forearms like crimson tattoos interweaving with his blue. I heard a cacophony of voices coming close, but it was this man, the one with the voice as deep and smooth as a river stone, that I needed to understand.

   “Please,” I begged with the last of my strength, fingers shy of his skin. I slumped forward as the voices burst through the door, as the darkness snuck back and whisked me away.

Chapter Text

   “Ah, good. You’re finally awake. Maybe now my son will stop wearing a hole in the carpet,” said a woman with gray hair and kind eyes. Clapping my hand once, she rose, taking along a white cloth that had been draped across my forehead and hanging it on the rim of a bowl set beside the bed.

   “I’m Leandra, Garrett’s mother, and you are at our home. You’re Amelia Payne, though you like to go by Mel, I’m told. I’ve heard a lot about you the last three weeks.”

   Three weeks!? I hadn’t been in Thedas that long, had I? I tried sitting up, but my body had other plans.

   “I wouldn’t be trying that if I were you. You might have been out for a week but it doesn’t mean you’re healed up yet. You’re lucky you’re friends with such a skilled healer. He was able to put you into the…oh, what did he say it was? Basically an induced sleep to help you heal without being in too much pain and to limit the stress on your body. The whole thing was a close call, but those can happen when demons are involved. Though it seems like you’ve had a lot of close calls since coming to Kirkwall, I’ve heard. You attract trouble as much as Garrett. But friends too. So many have stopped by to check up on you. They’ll be thrilled to know you’re awake.”

   Leandra gave me a wait here sign as she ducked out the room, though it wasn’t like I could go anywhere. I sunk into the pillows without her energy to billow me up.

   I examined my new surroundings as her words settled in. The bed canopy looked regal, like it belonged to some guest room at the palace of Versailles. The rest of the room coordinated in warm reds, browns, and golds, giving the place a rich and estate-esque appearance. I certainly wasn’t at the Hanged Man.

   What happened to the the tavern? Surely they must have had to close down for repairs. Oh and the demon! Whatever happened to it? Having a demon chase me through the establishment probably fell under Corff’s criteria of causing trouble. My hard work ethic and quality meals wouldn’t be enough for him to overlook his business nearly being burned to the ground. I was definitely out on my ass. I was going to have recuperate quick since I was going to have to line up some other work. If the building still stood, I sure hoped Corff and Norah held onto my things for me. Starting over again was going to be that much harder if I didn’t have money or even a spare change of clothes.

   Wait, I was wearing clothes this time, wasn’t I? A quick glance under the covers confirmed I was dressed, though in a nightgown with enough frills for it to come straight out of the Little Princess.

   The door slammed open, Garrett filling the frame. “Mel,” he breathed, then crossed the room to me by the next.

   “Hey,” I managed, suddenly self-conscious with what a wreck I must look.

   Garrett’s large hands covered mine, eyes intent on my face. “How do you feel?”

   “Been better,” I said, shifting to find a more comfortable position. “Been worse too.”

   I cringed. Could I be more awkward? The answer was probably yes.

   “Are you in pain? Anders left a potion here in case the discomfort was too much when you woke. I’ve already sent word. He’ll be here as soon as he’s able to leave the clinic to examine you.”

   There was some pain, but it was more like a dull ache, unless I shifted too much, then it flared. But I could tolerate it.

   “I’m fine,” I said, quickly trying to mask a wince when Garrett shifted on the mattress, making my body slide in his direction, chafing my still sensitive skin.

   His eyes narrowed. He reached to the nightstand and uncorked a pink bottle. “Drink.”

   I sighed, accepting the medicine. I lifted the bottle, arms sending a slight twinge at the movement. Immediately Garrett grabbed the bottle, tilting it for me. I had a moment of deja vu—like waking up in Anders’ clinic all over, and…something else… but the memory slipped from my grasp. I drank the whole thing and he placed the bottle back on the stand. I studied the silky sheets under my fingertips and wondered at the thread count; they were nicer than anything I’d had on Earth.

   “So, some of what happened last night, I mean last week, is a bit of a blur, though I’m aware of the headline: demon swings by local tavern, and in a rage, decides to start a one-sided bar fight with the hired help. Am I leaving anything out?”

   “From what I’ve been told, one thing. Varric said he saw a flash of white light but couldn’t tell the source since he was still on the second floor when it went off due to a lack of stairs.”

   I nodded. “When it touched me, I felt an energy and then there was a light. I don’t remember anything after that. I must have passed out. But it’s like what happened in Darktown. Maybe it’s safe to say that the first time wasn’t some fluke and I’m connected somehow.”

   Garrett nodded, face troubled. “I also think it’s interesting you picked up on the rage aspect of the demon considering you didn’t know anything about them.” He looked up, face questioning.

   “Before the attack I felt irritated, and increasingly angry over things, while upsetting, I normally wouldn’t let myself so worked up over. That and the demon just seemed pissed off, so…”

   “It was a rage demon. Never heard of someone being so attuned to their essence before.” His frowned deepened.

   So maybe my sensing magical things around me like the undead or the barrier wasn’t as normal as I thought. And something about the demon felt familiar, and I couldn’t place why.

   Both of us remained quiet for a minute, deep in thought. Neither of us had any easy answers.

   “We’re going to figure this out, and I’m going to find who is coming after you,” he promised.

   “You think someone is targeting me?”

   “Demons don’t just pop up in Thedas unless one of three things happen: there is a tear in the Veil, which is an extremely rare occurrence; somebody gets possessed while in the Fade either through a deal or trick; or a mage summons a demon. All of these are predicated on the use of magic in some way, so if I had to guess, a mage out there somewhere wants you dead. I mean to find out why.”

   “Well, shit,” I said as I considered the implications. I ran a hand over my face as if I could easily wipe away my muddled thoughts. “So, after I passed out, what then? I guess you dispatched the demon.”

   “Not me, Fenris. Or that’s what Varric supposed. Fenris ran out just as I was arriving.” Garrett aimed for levity with his smile though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Mel, the Hanged Man’s main area was in shambles, and you…we almost lost you.”

   “Oh,” I said, voice small. I knew I had been in danger, but there had been no time to worry, only act. Free from adrenaline and spiking fear, the thought that I had come so close to death was incredibly sobering. I flipped through the attack like pictures in a scrapbook, taking a moment to absorb each image: the flare of the demon casting my shadow against the kitchen wall; a table sturdy enough for drunken dancing collapsing into a gout of flame, wooden splinters sticking out like broken bones through skin; my scream filling the room, almost overlaying the crash of the door and a deep voice—Fenris—calling my name. He saved my life a second time, hadn’t he?

   There were scraps of other memories, a humming warmth, the sensation of cool metal, fear in my veins, blood on arms, that had to be a jumble from what came after. I couldn’t make sense of them yet, so I set them aside, unable to stitch them together with the way Garrett stared at me, as if trying to memorize every inch of my face. I avoided his gaze as a blush began to creep up my neck, hyper aware of his hands on mine.

   We remained that way for a time. I knew it meant nothing, knew that my heart beating too fast in my chest at the contact would ache for the loss later, but I didn’t pull away. I should have but he seemed lost in thought, and his touch, just like back in Aveline’s office, was comforting. I didn’t have the energy to resist his pull.

   I tried to ask more questions about the attack to determine how far along his investigation had progressed during the week I was out, but he in turn resisted, steering me away from that night to lighter territory. He chatted at me about the estate, the books I could read, the lute he’d allow me to try my hand at playing as long as I  didn’t sing like a dying goat, in which case, I could only practice at noble parties once I was well, he teased; then he peppered me with silly anecdotes about Hightown nobles that made me smile and roll my eyes in only the way that Garrett could.   

   Leandra strolled back in with a glass of water, making me jump. A knowing smile came to her as she looked at us, her gaze settling on where we touched. Instinctively I began to pull back, but Garrett’s grip tightened in response, as if afraid of letting go. I could have pulled away if I wanted, and he would have let me, but something about his hesitancy made my stupid heart stutter in my chest. I let him continue to hold my hands, figuring it would be up to Garrett to explain to his mother if she got the wrong idea.

   I dutifully drank my water as Garrett fussed and Leandra fluttered around the room, opening up curtains to let in fresh air and hide her amusement. She paused at the window, glancing down to what I presumed must be the streets.

   “Oh, he’s already here,” she breathed in surprise.

   I didn’t get a chance to ask her to specify because I heard a door somewhere and then two pairs of feet flying in our direction, one pair swift, the other trailing.

   “I really ought to-” A voice gasped for air. “-announce you messere!”

   The other person didn’t respond but burst into my room much like Garrett had done. It took me a moment to place the man with the loose blond hair and bags under his eyes as Anders.

   This time I did pull my hands away from Garrett’s, hoping Anders hadn’t noticed. It was one thing for Leandra to get the wrong idea, but it would be devastating if Anders did. I was not going to wreck Garrett and Anders’ chance of happiness together over some misunderstanding over me. I refused to be an impediment.

   Garrett frowned at my move, glancing from me to Anders just as Anders also caught the tail end, though if he made anything of it, it didn’t show on his face.

   Garrett moved out of the way, letting Anders fill his place. His hands grasped mine, the familiar feel of magic pulsing between us as he scanned.

   “Here I was thinking I was the one that got attacked. You look terrible,” I blurted, apparently the run in with the demon having fried the line between brain and tongue.

   “You stole my line,” he said with a worn smile.

   I scrunched up my nose at him. “Your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired.”

   “That’s because I save those desires for when I’m in bed,” he shot back with a wink, shocking a laugh out of me. Garrett too, who stuffed part of his fist in his mouth from the corner of the room he claimed.

   Leandra’s eyes darted between the two men like she was trying to make sense of who in a soap opera was the main lead; it would explain why she was dilly-dallying with the flowers in a nearby vase: free entertainment. If only I could somehow not awkwardly explain to her that they both were the main leads and I was the second lead thrown in for a dash of drama and angst and to not get overly attached to any ship with me on board, for it would undoubtedly sink.

   After several minutes more of Anders examining, he sighed and sat back. By this time Leandra had run out of plausible activities for herself to do in the room, following the blue-eyed dwarf who had struggled to keep up with Anders back down the stairs.

   “What’s the prognosis, Doc?” I asked. I had noticed how his forced cheeriness became more strained, causing tension to leak into me too.  

   “You’re much further along than I had hoped. There’s almost no signs of burns, though keep in mind your body is still recovering from the shock. Magic heals much but time is a great healer too and shouldn’t be underestimated. Bed rest for another week, and then only light exercise the following,” he said before walking me through some stretches for my leg, finishing with a slight pat to the aforementioned limb.

   “That’s because I have such a great healer,” I said.

   Anders smiled slightly at the compliment, but it didn’t light his face. “That’s not always enough.”

   My stomach twisted. Anders stared into space like that first night in the clinic, as if seeing me slip away. I recalled the fear coursing through me when Garrett slammed against the cavern walls. Suddenly, I felt like the greatest ass for teasing Anders. The wild hair and eyes weren’t simply because he stayed up late working all week, but because worry had been eating at him. Worry for me. Garrett had been worried too, though he hid it better. Maybe I should have realized straightaway, but I wasn’t used to this level of concern leveled at me. By anyone.

   “Bed rest, one week. Got it.”

Chapter Text

   I regretted the promise. The week dragged. There was never a time in my memory that I didn’t have something to do, like chores, homework, or a job to go to. Even when I had that awful fever in fifth grade, I still managed to wash the dishes while mom was at work. Here I wasn’t allowed anything remotely strenuous. It felt like restless leg syndrome had taken over my entire body, made all the worse by the knowledge that my debt to Garrett had reached an exorbitant amount.

   By the second day I could no longer get comfortable. I tired of all the sick people food Leandra kept bringing up, thin soups and the like. I tired of the window curtains left parted so the outside world could tease me. I tired of staring at the bed canopy and the colors red, gold, and brown. I got so tired that I actually tried to count the threads in the sheets when no one was hovering.

   Did they ever hover. Garrett was a near constant presence. He was always there, lounging in the chair when I slept, tucking my covers in like I was two, and making sure I never missed a potion. The only time he left was when Leandra was there to take his place in the evening, and then he’d be out prowling the city, seeking answers to my attack. I could almost let myself see it as sweet, but my head knew better than to allow that.

   I had plenty of books at my disposal, and while I loved to learn more about this new world, it wasn’t enough to distract from all the serious matters weighing on me, made all the more frustrating for my inability to do anything about them. I’d be four chapters deep when some line would trigger a thought of my parents or the reverse glamour charm or demons and I’d drift off in thought, mood dipping into melancholy.

   Garrett had an uncanny ability to tell. The first time, he plucked the fallen novel from my lap and read aloud, and since it’s Garrett, it became a dramatic reading complete with a movie trailer style narrator and then a wide range of squeaky voices for the characters. His eyes twinkled at my laughter, and he kept going until I had trouble sucking air into my lungs. He eventually let me catch my breath, a warm expression on his face as he watched me, arms resting on his knees. Then that mischievous look came back and he stood, deciding to act out the story. He wrapped his jacket like a bandanna around his face to play a bandit, then pretended to be the hero complete with fencing moves. This made it difficult for him to actually read the text, so there were stumbles and some ad-libbing, but it made it all the more funny and I collapsed across the bed, trying to muffle my mirth.

   Apparently I wasn’t successful because Leandra poked her head in only to find her son in the middle of an impersonation of a mabari. Her eyebrows raised, and without missing a beat, Garrett bowed with a flourish with his free arm, causing his mother to roll her eyes and walk away.

   Later, when I woke from a nap, I discovered him dozing in the chair, no doubt worn out from his late night hunting. The fire had died and the room had grown cool. I was toasty under my covers but Garrett had to be cold and uncomfortable slouched over in the chair with a short sleeved shirt doing little to keep him warm or hide his massive biceps that I knew from experience were every bit as strong as they looked. I crept from my bed and laid one of my blankets around him, tucking in the edges like he had done for me. I smiled at my handiwork, and not just because the blanket conveniently covered his distracting arms; it felt good to in some small way repay his kindness. I studied his sleeping face, the way his dark eyelashes could almost be thought pretty with the way they rested on his cheeks.

   A traitorous warmth blossomed in my chest, and I would’ve cursed but didn’t want to wake him. I took the opportunity presented and tiptoed down the hall for a change in scenery. I almost made it to the end before I was confronted with a growl that hit me right in my lower abdomen.  

   “Get back in bed or I’ll carry you there myself,” Garrett said from the bedroom doorway.

   A delicious shiver went through my body at the thought, and then for a brief moment I considered disobeying him just to find out if he were serious.

   Then I really considered disobeying him, like throwing myself off the second story balcony and praying the resulting head injury would knock some sense into me. I needed to get out of this house as soon as possible. Scratch that. I needed to get back to Earth because despite my plan to create distance between me and three of my very male companions, my body and heart were rebelling against my brain.

   “Mel,” his tone warned.

   I swiftly complied, but not before sticking my tongue out at him as I passed, noting he had kept the blanket around his shoulders.

    This was going to be a long week.  

   Anders came that same evening to check on me. Garrett teased him in the hall, saying, “If I knew all it took was to have a lovely young woman staying at my house for you to visit, I’d have housed one sooner,” only for Anders to sputter something incomprehensible.

   My smile was bittersweet from within my room. Maybe something good could come from my attack, serving as a catalyst for getting those two oblivious guys together. They’d make a great couple. Garrett would make sure Anders took care of himself and shield him from Templars while Anders would try to prevent Garrett from doing anything too reckless and heal him when he did. It’d be nice knowing when I left Thedas that Anders and Garrett would have each other. I would do what I could to leave the two of them happy together before I left, I promised myself as the aforementioned pair made their way inside.

   Anders’ examination was swift since there was hardly any change in my condition in 24 hours. His trip from Darktown to Hightown was too much energy to expend just to check up on me, which I told him and he brushed off with a wave and a tinged red face. He lingered to ask about my day and laughed at Garrett’s theatrical antics, and then I asked him how the clinic fared and soon an hour passed. I enjoyed his attention, but knew I shouldn’t.

   I tried to maneuver the conversation to involve Garrett and then extract myself from it. Garrett drew him in as I knew he would and I felt a small pang with the way they smiled at each other, wishing they were smiling at me like that too, but I stifled it. Anders faced away from me, so I not so subtly made a fork to mouth gesture and pointed at his back, a hint Garrett didn’t miss. He didn’t need anymore urging to invite Anders for dinner; like me, he wanted our favorite healer to eat more too. Since Anders was already at the estate and the clinic was closed, he didn’t have any good excuse not to stay, though he accepted with surprising quickness.

   I could picture them eating by a hearth, all the duties and responsibilities of the day falling away as the other came into focus. I bit my lower lip as I wondered what they would talk about, how they’d trade glances, how maybe one of them would brush the other when passing a dish, pouring a bottle of wine…

   I opened my book from where Garrett had left off earlier to shut the two out as they made their way to the door, but the words on the page scrambled as their footsteps trailed downstairs. I did not expect the well of disappointment that yawned in their absence. I certainly did not expect them to return with three plates laden with steaming food and a makeshift table, or how I dropped my book and my eyes grew teary at their gesture. But blinking the tumultuous emotions away, putting on a amiable smile, and pretending I didn’t want to expect moments like this for the rest of my life came just as expected.

   I had a stream of visitors during the first week. Merrill indulged me with Dalish stories as we played cat’s cradle with the ball of string she had previously gifted to help me find my way around Kirkwall (she never did explain how that was supposed to work). Merrill had never played before and neither had I, only having watched kids playing it on the schoolyard. When Leandra brought tea, she discovered us midst our failed first attempt of tangled fingers and gently freed us. She had given me an affectionate pat on the arm and then showed us a modified version of the game she had played growing up, even pulling out additional yarn for us to use.

   Garrett checked in at one point, and maybe I should have felt embarrassed caught playing a kids game, but he plopped down right beside me, asking to join. I tried to partner him with Merrill, but Leandra, with a familiar mischievous look in her eyes, quickly claimed Merrill for her partner, leaving me with her son.

   My throat felt dry and palms sweaty as we weaved our fingers together. He hummed in acknowledgement when I guided him through the steps, but he seemed less intent on playing than he was tracing the lines on my palms, lightly brushing my fingers with his to send tingles racing across my skin. We had to restart our cradle multiple times while Merrill bent studiously over hers with Leandra sneaking peeks over at us.

   Aveline’s visit was short and perfunctory. She had come to speak with Garrett on some matter, but she took the time to say hello before leaving. We hadn’t interacted with one another outside of an official capacity, but I appreciated the effort. She assured me the city guard was assisting in the investigation, and were looking into several different leads. I thanked her, admiring how fierce she looked with sword and shield; I bet she could take down several demons by herself. The ability to not have to rely on others for protection made me intensely wistful.

   In that moment, an idea occurred to me. I asked how I could learn to fight, and the question undoubtedly caught her off guard, but she eyed me with a look that bordered on respect. She didn’t have time to train me herself, she said, but when I was better, I was welcome to come practice forms in the training yard at the keep. I said I would. The prospect of being able to defend myself was greatly motivating, and for the rest of the week, Garrett didn’t have to chide me about remaining in bed.  

   Isabela visited once. She fidgeted, and it was odd to see the swaggering pirate captain uncomfortable. With a little circumspect poking, she eventually admitted that it had taken her longer to roll out of bed than she liked when she heard the crashes downstairs at the Hanged Man having drunk too much and being blanketed by a gorgeous woman. When she had seen the damage done to me, she felt relieved to be the one to run to fetch Anders. I could tell she felt guilty, responsible for me even, emotions she clearly wasn’t used to feeling. Guess I wasn’t the only one dealing with new emotions. I assured her that none of what happened was her fault, and her fetching Anders at Varric’s bidding probably saved my life, so all I could do was thank her.

   She eased somewhat, though just the act of being vulnerable left a residual discomfort, one she masked with a wink. I let her, playing into her meaningless flirting as she recounted one of her latest exploits with two men. I probably looked a little too interested because she teased me for my blushing face, asking if I was thinking of anyone in particular, to which I gave a resounding no. She didn’t look convinced, but she moved on, asking how I liked staying at the Amell Estate and who had been by to visit. I knew she was digging, but there was no gold to unearth, and I didn’t really feel like letting her know that I knew about her bet with Varric despite my pushing the end result in her favor. The conversation ended with her promising to come by again with the promise of a rum flask to spike my tea which she called “that hot herb water you call a refreshment.”

   Varric was the one who brought news of the Hanged Man. Apparently, the building didn’t burn down, and he said he was surprised that I didn’t know considering I had initially been brought up to his room to cool my burns. I told him I didn’t remember much after I passed out, just scraps, and he frowned, obviously wanting to ask me about something but refraining.

   He saw that I was going to press so he sidestepped, inquiring if Fenris had been by instead. He hadn’t, I told him, and his frown deepened. The Hanged Man’s main room had been repaired and was back in business but Fenris had not been by. Varric assured me Fenris disappearing deep into his mansion for days at a time was normal, but his expression told me he thought something was off.

   It stung knowing Fenris’ disinterest that I almost died. If he had almost died, or even if he had just been sick, I would have gone to his mansion with a basket of food on my arm. Deprived of meaningful relationships for all of my life, I was greedy to make as many as I could in Thedas despite my reservations. The painful lesson I was still learning was not everyone was as eager as me to do so. Maybe I just cared more than he did?

   But I couldn’t convince myself of that. Despite the fist-in-chest-thing, he had worked with the others to help fulfill Garrett’s promise to send me home and had saved me at least twice. Maybe we would never be as much as my foolish heart wished, but if he wouldn’t come see me, I could go see him. It was time that I extended some form of proper thanks for all his help, not that anything I could say or do could make up for the gift he’d given.

   As soon as I was off bed rest and found a new job, I’d cook something nice and snag a bottle of red before stopping by Fenris’ haunted house. I could thank him while simultaneously checking up on him, and maybe if I played my cards right, I could get some answers about when the white light came. He had been there both times it popped up, like with the scavenger and the demon.

   I had a lot of time to think this week as I laid in bed, and I couldn’t help but wonder if the white light was connected to the blood mage and demons after me, and maybe had something to do with my parents’ reverse glamour charm. Flemeth had said the key to my father’s dagger, which held the answers I sought, were tied to how I came to Thedas. So now I just needed to remember and find the key. Then finally, I could leave raging demons and warring desires behind, for Earth.

Chapter Text

   On the dawn of the eighth day, I slipped on the spare clothes Leandra left out for me: a pair of dark leggings and a tunic. It was white, so not suitable for work, especially with the off shoulder cut and deep neckline. If I leaned over, someone was going to get an eyeful, especially with my full figure. Not that I was complaining. It was kind of cute even if it was impractical. Besides, these were the only garments I had that weren’t burnt, well, besides the frilly nightgown, but I was not going to parade around the house in that.

   I was surprised Leandra owned something like this. I’d never seen her in a dress that didn’t come all the way up to her neck like the rest of Hightown nobility while this seemed to be the fashion of many young women in Lowtown. Maybe this was a spare from Isabela again? That seemed doubtful though since she only visited the one time and hadn’t mentioned it. Merrill? No, too big for her slender frame.

   I faced the full length mirror in the corner. The gray of my eyes were flat like an overcast sky, my pale face thin and lost in the waves of my hair. I tried on the wisp of a smile. Better. At least I was alive, and could pick myself back up and begin again. No demon attack or murderous mage was going to keep me down.

   First step, breakfast. I silently crept down the hall past the bedrooms to the staircase. I hadn’t been conscious when I was brought in, so this was as much of the house as I’d seen. I felt like trespassing, but knew I’d feel more useless if I continued to lounge in bed. The house was grand, what Fenris’ might have once looked like if it had been maintained. I felt small, afraid to touch anything like I was in a museum, but when I discovered the kitchen, the tension left. Here was a place I knew.

   I tied on a bib apron to protect my borrowed clothes then set to work. Once I’d made something for everyone as a small thank you, I could go to the Hanged Man and collect my things, and then begin looking for a job. Oh, and a place to stay. It’s not like I could stay here. I’d taken advantage of Garrett’s and Leandra’s hospitality enough.

   While a different layout from the Hanged Man, I quickly familiarized myself with the place. I was happy to discover that the kitchen was kept well organized and stocked, much like how I had gotten the tavern to resemble after my employment, so I swiftly found the ingredients I needed.

   It’d be nice to have something warm to drink as I cooked. I hummed a tune as I heated the kettle and procured tea leaves from a row of jars. Soon a whistle pierced the air and wafts of steam hit my face as I poured the hot water into the waiting teapot.

   “Messere, I could have gotten that for you!” a dwarf said from the entrance, arms outstretched as if he could prevent me from lifting another finger. I recognized his voice as the one preceding Anders’ first arrival to the estate.

   “Oh, it’s okay. No trouble,” I said, wiping my hand on my apron’s skirt before extending it to shake the blue-eyed dwarf’s. “You can skip the titles with me. Mel is fine.”

   “Bodahn Feddic,” he responded as he shook my hand, brow furrowed. “But mes- uh, Mel, you are a guest. Messere Hawke would not want you to be working, especially in your condition.”

   My condition? I wasn’t nine months pregnant or an invalid or knocking on death’s door or something. I mean, I suppose I just came off my week’s bed rest after almost dying but I was doing fine. Brewing tea isn’t something I’d consider strenuous either. I tried to resist rolling my eyes. Leave it to Garrett to be extra.

  “My condition is fine, thank you. Besides, I find cooking relaxing,” I smiled to assuage the dwarf who couldn’t resist nervously ringing his hands. I reached over and and gave a reassuring squeeze, stilling them. “Anyways, I’m sure you’ve had to work extra hard with the increased volume of guests lately, so let me handle it this time.”

   Bodahn ceded to me, though he still looked anxious. Since he was determined to hover, I pitched questions his way as I worked, such as how long he had worked for Garrett and the like, and listened raptly as he recounted how he went on a Deep Roads expedition and his adopted son Sandal got lost, only to be recovered by Garrett. Sandal himself popped into the kitchen midway, only to stare at the loaf of bread I had in the oven, asking, “Enchantment?” before walking to a nearby cabinet to pull out a stack of plates and disappear into the dining room. I called a “Thank you” to the him and got a muffled “Enchantment,” in response. I smiled and returned my attention to the boy’s father.

   “And that’s how we came to be working here,” Bodahn said, wrapping up his tale just as I did the meal. “He’s been a worthy master and it’s been an honor to serve him.”

   “That sounds like him,” I said, wishing for a moment that I could work at the estate too. The pace of the place was slow and steady, the area clean, and the people much more pleasant company than the Hanged Man’s. But it seemed Bodahn and Sandal had everything well in hand, so there was really no need for me.

   Oh well, it would have been weird to work here with the underlying tension I have going with Garrett and the other two who I was sure would be around. Best to keep it all separate.

   At the thought of them, all appetite left me. The prospect of sitting at their fine table, Garrett being Garrett and Leandra giving me knowing looks, seemed unbearable. I heard movement upstairs from what must surely be them waking.

   That decided me. I put the apron back on its hook and asked Bodahn to serve breakfast without me, promising to return later in the day to clean up the mess in the kitchen. He simultaneously tried to assure he that he could clean the kitchen himself before sputtering to stop and then trying to ask me why I wasn’t staying for breakfast. I smiled and only said, “I have some errands to run,” before I snagged an apple and slipped it into my pocket before slipping myself out the back door.

   The early morning sun greeted me, and some folks dressed much finer than me leisurely strolled across the cobblestones with no clear destination in mind. One of the many perks of being nobility. I had no time for dawdling even though it was too early for the Hanged Man to be open for business. I could still swing by and see about collecting my things. By that time, the stalls should be open and I could begin seeking work.

   I walked briskly, the freedom of movement sweet. Even the musk of the city didn’t dampen my lungs’ joy to breath outside air. Kirkwall had its dangers lurking, but with the sun on my back and a light breeze playing with my hair, it felt impossible for any of those shadows to reach me. I happily bit into my apple as I made my way to Lowtown.

   It wasn’t until I made it to the Hanged Man that some of my elation fell. The door wasn’t battered enough to be the old one. Inside, the stairs didn’t sag in the center from decades of wear, but for the first time, looked sturdy. Not just the tables the demons had destroyed but all of them had been replaced. The new ones looked as strong as the old, but they lacked the character of patrons carving their names into the wood. Even the floorboards were freshly sanded. The Hanged Man actually looked a notch closer to respectable. I felt like I no longer belonged.

   “Mel? Is that you?” Norah called down the new stairs. “Andraste’s blessings, last time I saw you, you were a hairsbreadth from the Maker’s side.”

   She flitted up next to me, then her smile turned upside down. “You’re not back to work are you? I don’t know how to tell you this, but after what happened with the …incident and then not knowing if you were coming back…”

   “It’s okay. I figured I was fired. I’m just here to collect my things.”

   “Oh, wait right here,” she said, eyes to the floor as she disappeared to the back, returning with a familiar burlap sack in her arms and my rusty sword.

   “Thanks,” I said, attaching my sword to my belt before peeking inside. The clothes smelled of smoke but they would be usable. I could wash them along with the dress when I returned to Hightown before returning the dress to Leandra. I reached inside the pockets for the coins—a handful of coppers, two silver and the one precious sovereign Fenris had tipped me—but pulled my hand back empty. “Norah?”

   Norah refused to meet my eyes. “We didn’t know if you were coming back. At first Corff was so enraged at the state of the place he almost garnished everything to help for the repairs, but then your rich friend Hawke came and he covered everything. That satisfied him. More than that really. As you can see, the place practically looks new.”

   She took a deep breath, the next words spilling out in a rush. “I figured you were dead or if not dead you had Hawke to look after you so wouldn’t be empty-pocketed for long, and see, my sister, she’s from Fereldan and she tried to rebuild after the Blight but there was nothing there for her anymore. She spent the last of her money to get to the Free Marches but the gate guard wouldn’t let her in without ‘the entry fee’ being paid and I almost had enough to cover it, so I-I borrowed the remaining portion.”

   “Oh,” I heard myself say even as the lightness of my bag grew heavy in my hand. “I didn’t know you had a sister. What’s her name?”

   “Marta.” Norah winced and looked up to gauge my expression, which I felt had frozen blank. “Listen, as soon as we can, we’ll pay you back.”

   I didn’t bother to comment on that. I knew I wouldn’t be seeing a single copper from her. Instead, I looked around the tavern’s renovations, noting all the improvements. Of course Corff didn’t manage this himself; he’s stingy. With a flick of his wrist, Garrett had just covered everything like it was nothing. How the hell was I supposed to pay him back for this on top of everything else?

   The urge to rip the white tunic dress off my body right where I stood was so strong my hands shook. I wanted to ask to use the backroom to change into my old clothes, smoke scent be damned, but the garment would only get mussed in the sack and I couldn’t return it damaged.

   “And my dagger?” I asked when I realized the money wasn’t the only thing missing.

   “I had to sweeten the deal. The guard seemed really interested in it when he saw it, so it was that or…well the other option wasn’t an option at all,” she said as if recalling some awful memory.

   “It was a masterwork,” I said. “It was my father’s.”  

   “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

   I bit back a growl of frustration. “Who was this gate guard?” I had to get the dagger back immediately. If that man rid himself of it and the trail went cold, I would be lost in this world with no clue how to get back to mine.

   “Guardsman Wright works the dock gates, but forget about him. He’s not a scrupulous person. He’s not going to give it back out of the goodness of his heart.” She hunched her shoulders as she rubbed her arms. “He’s rather…cree-”

   My pulse sped. “I’ve got to go,” I said, and spun for the door. I heard Norah call after me, but I embraced the white noise of the Lowtown market coming to life as I made way for the docks.

Chapter Text

   I had originally planned to look for work as soon as I retrieved my belongings, but now it seemed that errand had evolved into a crisis. The whole trip to the docks, I visualized my blade in my mind. It was my only connection to my father, my only hope of answers. There was no way I could leave Thedas without it.

   The place was quiet. All fishing vessels had departed in the predawn hours, and trading and passenger ships had already unloaded, their crews having made their way into the city. People stood in line to have their papers processed, anticipation and anxiety radiating from their bodies. There were three guards wielding the power of these people’s hopes: a bald man who rummaged through an old woman’s bag as she watched with a resigned air, a brunette man who scanned the passengers like they all rested on a scale, and a blond who leaned against the wall as if he couldn’t be bothered with it all. The last one drew my gaze: my dagger was sheathed on his belt.

   I tilted my chin up and strode forward. “Guardsman Wright, I presume.”

   Wright straightened. “Well, hello there.” Ice chip eyes trailed me foot to face, then traveled back down to rest on my cleavage. “You can presume all you like.”

   I cringed. For all the damage the reverse glamour charm had caused, there were times I missed being near invisible. I shifted as if I could shake off his unwelcome gaze but kept my voice steady. I wouldn’t let him shake me.

   “I’m here about my property. A woman gave you that dagger as payment, but it was never hers to give. It’s an important piece given to me by my father. Could you return it please?”

   “I can’t be returning things every time someone experiences seller’s remorse, you understand. That would be a poor way to run a business now wouldn’t it?”

   “I wasn’t aware safekeeping the citizens of Kirkwall was a business,” I said through gritted teeth.

   Wright wasn’t fazed by my thinly veiled disgust. Instead, his eyes grew strangely hooded. “Oh, but it is. At least for the more entrepreneurial of us. And I must say, I’m quite attached to my new blade and am not inclined to give it up. But I am a reasonable man, and am open to being persuaded.”

   He waved his hand to the shadowed courtyard off the side of the gate, indicating that we should discuss business there. I hesitated for a moment, trepidation twining around my spine, but I followed slowly, mindful of the armored man clanking before me. The bald guard didn’t spare us a glance and the brunette watched us leave with the same measured gaze; apparently Wright deserting his post mid-shift was normal. How far did this corruption fester?

   Once we were well away from the gate and out of sight, he stopped. “So, how shall you pay me?” The question sounded more like a bored formality than a genuinely curious one. There was a keen interest in his eyes which made me think he already knew what he wanted. I didn’t know what that was, and wished he’d get to the point, but I would perform this negotiation dance with him if it meant I’d soon hold my father’s dagger again.

   I rested my hand on my rusted sword’s hilt, the feel of it comforting. “I have no money to pay you, but I am prepared to work for the return of my dagger if that’s what you require.”

   His lips quirked as he pulled off his gauntlets. “I think we can come to an arrangement.”

   I breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. What would you like in exchange? I can clean, and I’m an excellent cook. I can run errands or do other odds jobs too. I’m quite versatile.”

   “I’m hoping you are,” he said as his lips shifted into a leer. I took a half a step back at his expression then stiffened at the feel of his hand palming my breast.

   “Wha— Get off!” I smacked his hand away.

   He chuckled, the sound making my stomach churn. “I knew I had you pegged as a feisty one. You’ll be fun.”

   “Keep your ‘fun’ to yourself. I’m here for my blade, nothing else,” I hissed, hugging my arms as I stepped back. So this was the other option that wasn’t really an option Norah had mentioned. Any residual anger at her for using my things as bargaining chips fled.  

   “If you want that blade, you’ll have to get acquainted with mine first,” he said, closing the space between us, hands moving to free his lower half.

   My eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare. Unlace those breeches and I’ll go straight to the guard captain and report you.”

   “You think the captain would care about some penniless waif like you? Not a chance.”

   My eyes flicked to the way I’d come. The people in the main courtyard were so far away. If anyone could even hear me, would they come? Or would they look at the guards at the gate standing between them and a better fate and leave me to mine?

   Well, fuck fate.

  “Aveline would care about me or anyone else she knew her guardsmen were trying to take advantage of in the name of the city guard,” I snapped, my hands dropping their hold on my arms to curl into fists.

   Wright’s face paled at my name drop. An idea came me then.

   “Actually, here’s how it’s going to work,” I said, taking a step toward him, one hand fingering the pommel of my sword. “You give me my dagger back and I don’t report you. Unless, of course, I hear you try to proposition another woman or try to scam some other poor refugee coming in.”

   The man’s face twisted with fury. “No one threatens me, especially not a city rat like you!”

   The clink from his armor shifting warned me of his swing before he moved, and I instinctively ducked out of range. He left himself wide open, surprise written on his face when his fist didn’t connect with my cheek, and I didn’t hesitate to deliver a brutal kick to the tent in his pants, which going by his howl, also came as a surprise. Huh, guess all that Kirkwall stair climbing had finally given me those calves of steel I wanted.

    Wright dropped to his knees, curses streaming. Hunched over, clutching at his nether regions, my dagger stuck up invitingly from the back of his belt. I darted in, unsheathing it in one swift move, and darted away again, breathing hard.

   “I’ve changed my mind. I’m definitely reporting you. I hope you get kicked off the guard and can’t find work. Hell, I hope you get kicked out of the city. Kirkwall doesn’t need creeps like you,” I said as I began backing out of the secluded courtyard, dagger held at the ready.

   Half a dozen paces away, when I was sure he wasn’t getting up to follow me, I spun to head out, but before I could breath a sigh of relief, metal hands gripped my shoulders and threw me to the ground like I weighed nothing.

   The world spun so it took me a moment to make out the brunette guardsmen towering above me. “Really Wright? Must you be so noisy with your game?”

   “Bitch knows the captain, Garth,” Wright grunted.

   “A pity. Such a waste,” Garth said, eyes appraising me like one would a race horse. “Well, you can still make use of her if you can stay discreet.”

   Hair raised on my arms. For a moment, I almost didn’t believe the words Garth spoke, because how could anyone be so cold? I wasn’t even human to them, just a thing to be used and discarded. Even as I scrambled to my feet, he turned away as if I no longer existed.

   “You scum lords! What the fuc—

   My view tilted sharply as Wright slammed into me. My head cracked against the stone and stars clouded my vision, the morning sky impossibly far away. A heavy weight suffocated me, metal points pressing into my flesh. Then they were removed, replaced by a fist straight to the stomach. I heaved, eyes bulging.

   “That’s for the kick, you cunt.”

   A hand wound its way through my hair, dragging me to my knees. I felt a scream writhing in my body, wanting release, but my lungs wouldn’t work properly.

   “Not so talkative now, are you? Never mind, I have something better planned for your mouth. After all, you still have to pay me,” he said, other hand moving to his laces.

   Somehow I had managed to keep a hold of my dagger and my senses, so I twisted, trying to stab at him. He caught my arm with ease, taking hold of both wrists in an iron grip and holding them above my head. No matter how hard I tugged, I couldn’t loosen his hold. He squeezed, and I had to let the dagger clatter to the ground or he would have snapped my bones like twigs.

   If Merrill were here she’d electrocute him in his armor, then drop a manifested stone fist right on his head. Isabela would say something sharp before wetting her knife’s edge with the blood from his throat. And Aveline, well, the guards wouldn’t have dared mess with her in the first place, but if they had made that mistake, she’d undoubtedly crush them.

   But no matter how hard I twisted and tugged, I couldn’t break free to go for the dagger on the ground or the rusted sword on my belt, not even manage to get my feet underneath me. I was completely at his mercy, and he knew it.

   His eyes were cold fire as he looked down on me, his smirk revealing a chipped tooth that gave him a vaguely vampire look. Or maybe that was just because he looked like he was about to eat me one shredding bite at a time like the undead literally would’ve had they gotten the chance, except this was way more terrifying. This wasn’t an unthinking monster holding me in its grasp. Anyone can be scared of what’s under the bed, but I learned long ago that the worst monsters are those who pretend to be part of society and then turn on their fellow humans, especially those who are in a trusted position. I should know.

   Wright leaned in as I tried again to desperately wrench myself from his grasp. “That’s it. Keep struggling. You’ve no idea how hard it makes me.”

   “Put your thing anywhere near me and I’ll bite it off,” I barely managed to rasp. My lungs were on fire.

   “Only if you don’t want to smile again, because I promise you, you won’t have the teeth for it,” he said, tracing his fingers down my jawline, a mockery of a tender touch.

   Maybe so, but he’d be a eunuch with missing fingers, I promised myself. I held onto that, focusing on the way his fingers approached my lips, to keep the panic from wresting control. It felt like a flock of wings testing the breeze in the center of my chest, preparing to take flight; when they did, I’d lose myself in the rush of white and wind.

   But in the space of a broken breath, I looked deeper. Nestled under those shuddering feathers of fear was something else, something white. It was no more than a ember until my desperation breathed on it, my rage and helplessness kindling, and in a second it was stoked to a surge of energy, tongues of flame licking panic’s edges. In another moment they’d be wings of fire, and when they took off, it wouldn’t be like a flock of startled birds but ashes heralding a wildfire. The first sparks of energy were already rising up my ribcage, ready to be exhaled, ready to free me, as if I might fly into the sky and leave my body behind.

   But Wright grounded me, cutting off the flame’s oxygen when his hand dropped its hold on my hair in exchange for my throat. It was a light touch but it was enough to petrify me with memory of eight years ago. The flame sputtered, and I didn’t understand what it was to begin with, so in my inelegant attempt to grasp hold of it again, I stamped out the remnants. With it, my strength, as if coaxing such a flame had burned my reserves.

   Now I had nothing left to fight the ice solidifying my veins, wanting to form over my nose and mouth, suffocating me. If he squeezed tighter with the one hand, or forced himself inside with the other, the flock of wings would burst forth, and like spring ice, I’d crack. If only my ice could thicken, like a glacier lake’s, then I would be several feet below, numbed to what happened above.  

   Maybe I already had. I didn’t notice the people enter the courtyard, not until there was a roaring blur hurling Wright into the wall.

   I collapsed onto all fours, the solidity of the ground beneath me seemingly unreal.

   But it was.

   Immediately I patted the ground until my fingers wrapped around my dagger’s handle. I lunged to my feet, but nearly doubled over at the pain in my abdomen, and stumbled as a wave of dizziness hit me.

   “Mel!” Anders caught me in his arms and I gave into his touch as my limbs trembled then gave completely. He didn’t let me fall, lowering us both down. One hand went over my forehead, leaning me back against his chest, the other hovering lightly over my abdomen, a swirl of blue magic concentrating there. Adrenaline leaked from my body, leaving me hollowed and cold, especially where the energy had first awakened inside.

   “You’re injured,” he said in a broken voice, like it had been him who had been pummeled instead of me.  

   “Where?” Garrett snarled. He held Wright up by his hair like the man had done to me only a moment before, his face a mess of blood and bruises.

   “Stomach, lungs,” Anders rattled off, not even bothering to look up at the pulp Wright was beginning to resemble, gaze intent on me.

   Garrett plunged his fist repeatedly into Wright’s stomach, growling like he wished his hands were claws that could rip out his innards, not satisfied until the guard coughed up blood.  

   “Hawke,” Anders said, finally flicking a glance in his direction before reverting back to me. “You’re killing him.”

   Garrett gave him a look that said he couldn’t be damned to care but released the guard so he could topple. I couldn’t even make out Wright’s icy eyes; they were already swollen to slits. Blood dribbled from his mouth to form a small pool, and there in the middle of it was his chipped tooth knocked right out.

   Now he looked as monstrous as he was inside. Still, I’d rather see buckets of dismembered spider legs than look into those eyes again. Hell, I’d rather bathe in the spider’s guts rather than feel Wright’s touch on my skin again. Just the thought of his hand at my neck made me feel nauseous.

   “Gonna be sick,” I whispered, all the warning I could give before rolling over to retch. Anders reacted quickly, supporting my weight so I wouldn’t slide into my own vomit. He rubbed my back in soothing motions, healing magic erasing the ache, letting my breath come back fully. Once the trembling stopped and he was sure that I wouldn’t be sick a second time, he eased me upright, passing me his water skin to rinse my mouth.

   After he placed the skin back, he grasped my arms to help me up and then Garrett was there, helping us both. I pushed past their arms to stand on my own, knowing I was supposed to create distance but unable to recall why at the moment.

   I felt like I was walking underwater, everything slowed down and blurred, only small points coming into focus. A lone sparrow chirped as it pecked at the ground before fluttering off. Some kind of gray-green moss grew on a pillar, the only touch of color marring its sandstone blankness. The musky Kirkwall air tasted the same as it had earlier when I first left the estate, but some part of me was convinced that it should feel different.

   Steel glinted in my hand. I quickly sheathed my dagger, realizing I had been death-gripping it the whole time like a frightened child would a favorite stuffed toy. My legs trembled, and I internally reprimanded them to stop impersonating a new born foal’s, but they were rebellious.

   I swallowed as I looked between Anders and Garrett, not knowing what to say or what to do. Only once before had I ever felt so lost and I did not want to think about that. I wanted to lighten the situation with a joke, wanted to pretend this never happened, wanted to scrub my skin until it couldn’t recall his touch on my body. More than anything, I wanted to hug these two so close they could never leave me, but I knew better than to do that.

   I didn’t have to decide. Garrett swooped me up bridal style. I made a sound of protest in the back of my throat but he wasn’t hearing it, the intensity of the moment driving him forward. Garrett always moved with the strength of an ocean, his currents pulling the rest of us along, but today he wasn’t a riptide or even a maelstrom: he was tsunami. I let him catch me up, let the smell of cinnamon, leather and his distinct musk wash over me with my head tucked against his collarbone. He carried me at the crest, kept safe above his frothing fury at the world. Eventually we’d have to hit land. Would I drown then? Even now, I resolutely blinked back my own tidal wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm me, focusing on my hands against the white of my dress, the skirt now dotted with blood, like a sailor would pick a point on the horizon.

   “Oh, your dress is ruined,” was the first thing I could think to say.

   “Fuck the dress,” Garrett said, not even bothering to glance at the damage I knew I’d have to pay back later.

   There was a whir in the air followed by a clank. Wright had dragged himself to his knees, one arm outstretched from throwing a knife; it hadn’t come close, but even still, Anders had knocked it aside with a whirl of his staff.

   “What’s so special about her? She just a fucking whore!” Wright screamed.

   The poison of his words were lost to me like footprints to a high tide, removed from the world as I was in Garrett’s arms, only the volume truly penetrating, which was impressive, really, considering his damaged midsection.

   Anders’ staff came whizzing down, cracking Wright across the skull. Splayed on his back and wheezing, the man looked stunned. I didn’t hear another word from him, only watched what little of the whites of his eyes peeked through his puffed flesh grew as Anders’ feet straddled him.

   Anders’ bottom half was shadowed, but the mid-morning sun had begun to slant into the courtyard’s tight corridors to illuminate his upper half, the effect effervescent. In that moment, the healer I knew was gone, replaced by a being out of legend, a warden facing down the dark.

   “She is everything, and you are nothing,” he said solemnly, like a judge meting out justice. He brought the end of his staff down, crushing the man’s windpipe. Wright jerked once then stilled, and I knew without asking that he wouldn’t rise again.  

   “Thought you didn’t want to kill him,” Garrett said as the being walked out from the morning light, becoming Anders once more.

   He ran a hand down our arms before angling to lead us out. “Never said I didn’t want you to. Only observed that you were.”

   For the second time, I had seen a man die, and yet, I felt distant, like watching actors in a play. The Mel from a month ago would have been appalled by the violence and my current lack of a reaction, but this Mel only wanted to close her eyes and ground herself in the scent of Garrett and the reassuring touches of Anders.

   I wanted to hide my face in Garrett like a kid who just woke up from a nightmare, but I knew the monsters would still be there on waking. Not all of them had disappeared. I craned my neck to search the main courtyard, but Garth and the bald guard were gone.

   “Were there more?” Garrett asked, as if he could read my mind.

   “Yes. Garth, brunette. Bald one, too. Don’t know his name,” I said, the words taking great effort.

   Garrett ground his teeth. It was a wonder he had any left at all.

   “I’ll find them,” he promised. The look in his eyes left little doubt that he would.

   “You need to tell Aveline,” Anders said quietly. “She needs to know.”

   “I will tell Aveline. But I will also find them,” Garrett said. “They’ll wish I hadn’t.”

   Anders didn’t object. He kept both hands on his staff as he scanned the streets as we moved from the docks into the heart of Lowtown. I knew if any guards matching my descriptions were spotted, they’d be paralyzed before they ever came within striking distance.

   No one did, though more than a couple people stared at us as we passed. The three of us probably did look strange: a bedraggled man with a staff accompanying a Hightown noble dressed in armor carrying an equally bedraggled woman bridal style. After a lifetime of anonymity, each stare felt like an invasive touch.

   “Garrett, I can walk.” I wiggled a bit to emphasize my point, even though I wasn’t sure if my legs had actually given up their rebellion. When the point didn’t get addressed, I pointed out the obvious. “They’re staring.”

   He didn’t even break stride, simply pressed me closer, his touch saying, “Let them” as Anders moved to walk in front, shielding me like he so often did from things unpleasant.

   The tension ebbed. I was able to shut my eyes and push every stranger’s face out. I breathed in Garrett’s scent, relaxed my body into his protective hold, knowing that neither of them would let a thing touch me. I let myself savor the feeling of being held, of what it might be like to be cherished. He cradled me like he could never tire of it, and I wanted to pretend that he never would.

Chapter Text

   I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I was aware of was Bodahn exclaiming, Scrapper excitedly yipping, and Anders softly calling my name. We were back at the estate, already on the second floor.

   “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, in full healer mode.

   Garrett gently set me down, hands remaining even after I found my feet. For a moment, I could imagine he was as loathe to let me go as I was for him to, but I knew it had to be only wistful thinking on my part, so I stepped away from his touch.

   As Anders led me to the washroom, Garrett looked torn, like he wanted to follow but also wanted to put his fist through the wall. He began to pace like a caged animal, like he had only been able to contain himself before by concentrating on carrying me back. If Leandra were here, she’d fear the demise of her carpet.

   Anders looked back at him, deciding for him. “I’ve got it here. Go to Aveline.”

   Pulled from his raging thoughts, he nodded quick, then spun to head down the hall. He stopped at the foot of the stairs and looked back. His lips parted, eyes widening as they took me in, starting at the hem of the white dress and ending at the shoulders partly concealed by my tangles of hair. He had that distant look mom would wear when I’d ask about father, and I knew he wasn’t seeing me. But then his hands rested on the handles of his twin daggers, as if grounding himself, and his eyes went to my face and something changed in his.

   In a second he was back at my side, sweeping me into a crushing hug. It wasn’t comfortable being pressed into his armor, but it was comforting. His hold was solid and warm and protective and nothing like the way Wright pressed his body into mine.

   A moment later Garrett let me go, eyes memorizing me like when I woke after the demon attack. His hand came up to cup my cheek, no mockery of a tender touch, but I still blanched, my skin recalling the feel of Wright’s fingers. Garrett’s eyes narrowed, hand dropping. He took a deep breathe, balling his hand into a fist at his side, like he held someone’s neck in his grasp. I could guess whose.

   To Anders, he said, “I’ll be out until it’s done. Can you stay until I return?”

   “Of course,” Anders said.  

   To Scrapper who had come over to lick my hand, he said, “Don’t let Mel out of your sight. Where she goes, you go.”

   “Garrett, I’m fine. It’d be better if he went with you.” My heart dropped in my chest as the memory of Garrett slamming into the cavern wall came to me again. I don’t think that’s something I could ever forget. If something happened to him or anyone in an effort to protect me, I don’t think I could ever forgive myself.

   “No, Mel, I don’t think you’re fine,” he said, and as I opened my mouth to argue, he cut me off with a shake of the head. “Besides, it’ll be more dangerous for me if I’m distracted worrying if you’re safe. It wouldn’t surprise me if you climbed out a second story window because you felt compelled to do Maker knows what.”

   “I wouldn’t climb out a window,” I said. Obviously I would go out a door.

   I didn’t say the last part, but apparently we were on the same wave length. He looked back to Scrapper. “Make sure where she goes is restricted to the estate.”

   Scrapper barked in the affirmative.

   My arms crossed in front of me. “You can’t do tha—

   “I can and will. Don’t test me on this,” he said, voice gone deep as the barely contained fury from before loosened within. The tsunami had found shore. “It’s only been a week since you woke up from nearly dying by a demon and you slip out in the morning without telling anyone where you’re going. It’s fortunate that we guessed you might have gone to the Hanged Man and Norah was able to tell us where you might have gone next. If we hadn’t, Mel…” He wiped his hand over his face as if he could wipe away the horrific possibilities his mind conjured up. “Andraste’s ass, Mel, where is your common sense!”

   “Hawke—” Anders began.

   I might fall from the crest but I wouldn’t drown.

   “My sense is just fine thank you very much. And for your information it wasn’t like I went out for a stroll. Norah had given away my father’s dagger! You know, the one that holds my only hope of understanding how I got to be in this insane situation where demons and other creatures that shouldn’t exist want to kill me! So I did what needed to be done,” I snapped back, the familiarity of this argument not lost on me. It began back in the caverns. I should have known it had only been buried, not forgotten.

   “But you didn’t need to do it alone! You could have asked for help!”  

   “Enough!” Anders shouted as he stood between us. As a hand came to rest on each of us, I realized I was shaking. “This can be discussed later, when everyone is calm. This is not the time. Hawke, just go,” he ordered, voice cool.

   Garrett took a deep breath, and for a moment I thought he was going to launch into a tirade again, but he nodded. This time he walked away and didn’t look back. I sighed and sagged against the wall as all my anger evaporated, leaving the hollowed and empty feeling from before.

   “Come on,” Anders said, though his voice remained cool. The hollowness I housed expanded, building a new addition to accommodate not only Garrett’s anger but Anders’ too. Garrett, used to leading our companions and living as a powerful man in Kirkwall, was unsurprisingly a bit pushy. I, who had spent most of my existence doing everything solo, naturally pushed back. This fight with him, while more heated than I imagined, had been simmering for some time. I never meant for Anders to be pulled in though, and his cool anger at Garrett and I pinched my insides as the new additions pushed up against my ribcage.

   Anders opened the bathroom door and I followed, Scrapper trailing, apparently having taken his master’s orders to heart. Anders touched a dwarven rune etched into the wall and steaming water began to fill the giant tiled tub built into the floor. He reached for one of the vials lined up in an alcove and added a few drops, and soon lavender scented bubbles began to multiply across the water’s surface. As he sat a towel by the bench within reach of the tub, he turned to leave. “I’ll go get you a change of clothes, and then I’ll be waiting right outside the door in case you need me,” he said.

   I didn’t respond as ice began to work its way through my veins, starting at my feet. The heat and the bubbles were all so innocuous but the water kept me from moving forward. Instead my hands bunched into the dress’s skirt, Garrett’s distant face circling in my mind.

   “Mel?” Anders said from the door once he realized I hadn’t moved.

   “Whose dress was this?”

   He let the door swing shut and came to stand behind me. “Bethany’s.”

   I closed my eyes at the answer. The haunted look on Garrett’s face made so much more sense. I couldn’t resist asking, “How did she die?”

   “I wasn’t there. It was before we met, before Kirkwall. Aveline was there. She had just lost Wesley. Hawke told me they were running from the Blight; it had just claimed Lothering. Before Flemeth came, they were surrounded by darkspawn, and yet still holding out. There was an ogre, and Bethany tried to face it alone. It crushed her.”

   A sharp intake of breath. Mine, I realized. My hands went from skirt to mouth, trying to stifle a sob, but this heartache of someone I cared for broke through where all my own stress, worry, and fear never did. There are things you think you can face but you can’t, Garrett had said in the cavern but I hadn’t listened. But you didn’t need to do it alone! You could have asked for help! he had shouted like he must have wanted to at Bethany in his grief but had to settle for the woman wearing his dead sister’s dress.

   My hands were not enough, and the words poured out. “I’m sorry,” I said to Anders, who placed his hands on my shoulders, to Garrett, who couldn’t hear me.

  “Mel,” Anders turned me toward him, a softness erasing all trace of the coolness from before. His thumbs brushed away the tears threatening to spill from my eyes, the ones that I had been blinking away ever since I got swept up by my Kirkwall companions who had been consistently upturning everything I knew about relationships by their acts of openness and kindness. “You don’t have to apologize. What happened today wasn’t your fault…and Hawke…he was wrong to say those things in the way that he did.”

   “I know it wasn’t” I said, though I internally cringed. I had become so focused on my dagger I ignored every red flag waved right in my face: Norah’s warning, the way Wright looked at me like I was a thing, going off to a secluded place with a stranger alone…I should have known better. I did, but it was the kind of knowing I never had to apply before. On Earth, while the reverse glamour charm had prevented me from forming lasting relationships, it had kept me from ever having to worry about unsavory sorts zeroing in on me. But here I was in a different world I didn’t entirely understand, the protective charm gone, and demons after me, and yet I was still trying to live exactly as I always had before. After the Dog Lord leader got grabby with me at the Hanged Man, it should have sunk in, but I didn’t let it.

   This morning I hadn’t even thought to tell Bodahn where I was going, and even if Wright hadn’t attacked me, I could still have run into whoever sent the rage demon after me. Someone tried to murder me and yet I ran off alone with a rusted sword that I didn’t even know how to use properly. It pissed me off to admit it, that Garrett had at least a fraction of a point, or that I had to acknowledge my own lack of power to defend myself beyond a brimming white fire inside me that I had no idea how conjure up let alone control. Sure, I could tussle like anybody, but I had no real weapons training and everyone in this world seemed to be capable of a dozen ways to kill a man. Not to mention all the monsters. I was way over my head.

   It went against every ingrained tendency to rely on anyone else but I had to if I wanted to survive in this world long enough to get back to mine. That was my reality and I hated it. It left me feeling exposed and vulnerable, to be in the hands of someone else. It was hard for me to put that much trust in anyone, and not just because the reverse glamour charm had prevented me from making those relationships, but because the last person I had trusted so intimately had betrayed that trust in the worst possible way. The memory made me sick now, a feeling that grew all the more acute when I gazed at the now filled bathtub. I closed my eyes to block out the memory, but even still, goosebumps flooded my skin.

   “Mel.” Anders put his forehead to mine and instantly the torrent of negative thoughts stopped and my eyes opened. Gentle hands cradled my face, making me look him in the eyes so I could read their sincerity. “It wasn’t your fault.”

   Those eyes, so warm and sure, promised me that he believed every word he said. I couldn’t help but believe him too. I nodded, and he caressed my hair like I once had for him at the clinic all those weeks ago. He stepped back to give me my space but my eyes continued to hold his.

   “You’re right, it wasn’t.” This time the words came easier and I felt my heart lighten a fraction. Just because I lived in a world where I had to be strategic to protect myself from people like Wright, didn’t mean that if I got caught in their twisted machinations that I was weak or at fault. The ugliness of others wasn’t a reflection of me.

  “When you’re both calm, you and Garrett should talk.”

   I nodded again, knowing he was right. Garrett had his tender spot and so did I; they didn’t blend well together but that didn’t always have to be the case. We could eventually come to an understanding, but right now we were too volatile yet vulnerable. I didn’t know what I would see in Garrett’s face when I saw him next, but I couldn’t bear to see that guarded look again from when he first met me, just as I couldn’t pretend I didn’t understand his pain. Really, when it came down to it, we were upset with each other because both of us took unnecessary risks; he put himself in dangerous situations to protect others because he was scared of anyone he cares about getting hurt while I forged ahead on my own so I wouldn’t have to involve anyone else and risk them hurting me.

   I bit my lip as I recalled the coolness in Anders’ tone as Garret and I snapped at each other earlier. I hesitated for only a second before laying out the rest. “What about us? Should we talk? You seemed angry too.”

   The moment stretched, and anxiety started building accommodations right where my lungs used to be. I thought Anders might simply brush off my comment, but he looked down at his hands as if seeking answers in the remaining moisture of my tears.

   “I’m not angry with you,” he said so quietly I barely heard him over the water running in the pipes and the hiss of steam. Then he looked up, and shook his head decisively, voice gaining strength. “I’m angry at the men who attacked you. I’m angry at the system for allowing blatant corruption to exist so the powerful can prey upon the powerless. I’m angry with myself for not coming to your aid quicker.”

   My lips parted in surprised. “Anders, that’s hardly fair—

   He shook his head, determined to take everything on now that I’d opened it up. “I am angry at myself, because no matter what any of us do, you don’t really trust us. One moment you’re there, smiling and sharing and engaging with everyone and the next you’ve withdrawn yourself to a place we can’t reach. I know you’re not used to having friends from what you told me before—and I can only imagine how your parents’ charm might have affected you on Earth—but I had hoped after our talk outside Kirkwall that you might come to see that you could trust us.

   He sighed. “And there I go, being selfish. I know, I need to earn your trust. I can’t lay the responsibility at your feet. But I want it Mel. Hawke and I, we want you to know that you can always come to us if there is something wrong. Hawke and everyone else, despite whatever differences we may have, have always reliably covered each others’ backs, which is what has kept our group knitted together all these years. But you’ve never had that, have you? It terrifies me to think of you going out to face some of the horrors out there on your own, the kind no one ever should. ” One hand gripped the fabric above his heart. “And, it aches to know you don’t realize you don’t have to do any of it alone.”

   “I—” I began, the words clotting in my throat. I wanted to tell him I trusted him. I trusted him and Garrett and Fenris and all of them more than I had allowed myself to trust anyone for years. Not since my mother, the only person I had ever truly been close to who tore down my tower of trust in a day with her hands, revealing the fissure I had ignored. I didn’t want to be alone, didn’t want to distrust everyone though it had taken me years to realize this, but I was still clearing the rubble away so others could lay down a foundation for me to trust in. If anyone had been setting the cornerstones, it was Anders. If there was anyone I could see someday inviting inside, it would be him. And yet, the memory of my mother’s tower I had built with her still shadowed me. Sometimes I thought I had escaped it, but the day would lengthen and the shadow would always stretch to reach me like grasping fingers catching the words in my throat: I trust you.

   Anders didn’t look surprised that I had been unable to finish the sentence, only sad. It was an expression I hated seeing on his face.

   “I want to,” I whispered, knowing them to be true. I wanted to trust them. I wanted to wake up in the morning without the sliver of fear that this might be the day that their goodwill towards me runs dry. I wanted to believe that I wasn’t simply a burden secretly tolerated. I wanted to believe that no one else kept ledgers in their head, measuring whether I’m worth the trouble. I wanted to believe I wouldn’t wake up one day to a cold shoulder, or worse, a hand at my neck. I wanted to believe that I was enough.

   “I’m glad,” he said, and kissed the top of my head.

   I shivered in response, breath catching in my throat. I wanted to tell him everything, all of it. Now wasn’t the time, but I knew that someday I would.

   “You must be freezing,” Anders said as he rubbed my arms, mistakenly attributing my reaction to the feel of his lips pressed against me to some remnant of shock. He walked over to the bath and sent a spiral of magic to heat the water again, and while normally I’d have been like a kid on Christmas to see such a display of magic, the sight of the water had a dampening effect.

   But it gave me an idea of where to start with Anders when he turned back to me with an expectant look. “Are you okay?” he asked, the question layered. I could take it as shallowly as I wished.

   I stared at the water, willing myself to step forward. “No,” I admitted, unsure how deep I meant it.

   He grabbed my hand like he was so fond of doing. Gently he turned me so he could look in my eyes. “You’re scared of the water.”

   My eyes widened. How did he know?

   “After the attack, once I arrived at the Hanged Man, Fenris rushed out of Varric’s room. But before he left, he told me to get you out of the water. Then he fled. I’ve never seen him so unsettled. But when I walked in you had briefly roused. I haven’t seen someone so terrified in a long time. I had to put you into a magically induced sleep immediately so you’d let me near enough to get you out.”

   Did they try to put me in the tub to cool me off from my burns? Did I panic? That would explain the collage of memories I recalled from what came after my attack. What had I done in those moments that sent someone as unflinching as Fenris running? The pit swelled in my stomach. Is that why he hadn’t been around?

   “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

   “I suspected, but didn’t want to pressure you into sharing more than you’re comfortable with. I still don’t but it doesn’t sit well with me to leave you alone like this. If you want, I’ll stay with you. I’ll be here every step of the way,” he promised.

   While my feet remained frozen my chest blazed. Anders was so precious. How did he even exist? In a world of horrors, he stood up for others, giving as much as he could. More than I should have ever accepted, and more than I could ever hope to repay. All I wanted was to pull him into me, protect him from all the world’s injustices, and carry him with me always.

   I settled for grabbing a fistful of feathers on his front. “Okay.”

   He must have understood my feet’s refusal to cooperate. He scooped me up, and I braced my hands on his chest, startled by the lean muscles my healer was hiding underneath his layers of clothes. I blushed and ducked my head, hoping if Anders noticed he’d attribute it to the steam. I snuck a peek at him as he lowered me to sit by the water’s edge. It was a plausible explanation, right? His face was red too.

   The tile was cool under my skirt, but the heat from the water wafted over me, a reminder of its presence. My hands felt clammy and I wanted to grab onto Anders again, but I didn’t want act as needy as I felt.

   Anders sat right beside, boots and stockings gone. He wrapped his arms around his knees and stared off across the room for a full minute before speaking. “I’m scared of enclosed spaces.”

   “Really?” My voice came out louder than I expected, echoing on the tile. It was hard to picture Anders or any of them scared of anything. They faced down horrors that would send most on Earth screaming while I was incapacitated by a bathtub.

   Anders studied the water before him, looking a bit sheepish at my incredulous tone. “Yeah, well, I used to not be that way. As a kid I once hid in my mother’s hope trunk when playing hide and seek, but now, just the thought of cramming myself into another small space, even for a game, makes me sick with nerves.”

   “What changed?” I asked, voice softening.

   “Many things changed, first being my discovery of magic. I was taken to the Circle and was never allowed to leave, not to see my family, not even to feel the sun or rain. Just seeing stone above day after day instead of limitless sky made the reality sink in, that these thousands of feet I occupied would be the extent of my life. Some mornings I woke struggling to breathe. If it weren’t for Karl… I had to get out. Desperately. I did multiple times. I was determined that no walls would keep me, at least not forever.

   “But the Templars would catch me no matter how far I ran—they had my phylactery so they could always find me even if I crammed myself into the smallest corner of Thedas—though they eventually grew tired of chasing and doling out punishments that wouldn’t penetrate. The shaming, the extra duties, the beatings, none of it dampened my drive, and the separation from Karl had the opposite intended effect, stoking my desire to get out even more. There was only one thing I feared more than being kept within the Circle itself, and so the Knight Commander ordered it, hoping it would break my ‘willful’ spirit. I was locked away in a deep cell where only the light from under the door illuminated my prison, isolated from all contact; even the Templars guarding wouldn’t speak to me.

   “I lost all track of time. The gruel they stuck through the door slot was my only system of measurement, and it didn’t take long for me to realize that they didn’t serve meals on a set schedule. If being able to feel my ribs through my skin was my only indication I’d have known, but I confirmed it at one point early on, occupying myself by counting the hours till when my next meal came; several times it was longer than 24.

   “I reviewed lessons and recounted facts and histories of Thedas to keep myself sharp. I tried to dwell on every happy memory I ever had, but soon found they ran dry. I learned to hate the quiet. Even the sound of rats scurrying became welcome. I sang bawdy, off key tunes just to hear a voice, but it was never enough. I told jokes in hopes I might hear a laugh from the other side, at other times baiting my jailers in hopes that they would anger enough to yell at me, smite me, anything.

   “When none of that worked, I begged the Templars to speak to me. Call me an abomination, tell me I’m forsaken in the Maker’s sight—I didn’t care. I just needed to hear some voice other than my own. I couldn’t even tell where my thoughts ended and my spoken words began. Everything streamed together. The only company I had were the demons who called for me, offered me ways out, if only I would just let them in. I denied them but they wouldn’t cease. At times I was tempted, if only so they could help me cease to be, because anything would be better than the never ending nightmare. But I knew what they offered would only be another prison, and their ways out did not give me what I truly wanted: freedom.”

   “Anders,” I gasped, feeling tears of shock sting my eyes. I blinked them all back, refusing to let them trail. This wasn’t about me. This was about him. And yet, without letting myself think about it, I crawled into his lap and threw my arms around him, unsure if it was more to comfort him or me. I just needed to hear his heartbeat, feel his warmth, smell his rainstorm scent. I couldn’t bear the thought that this precious person might have been extinguished.

   “How did you escape?” I whispered against his neck.

   He hugged me close, burying his face into my hair. “I didn’t. After a year, they finally let me out.”

   “Oh Anders…” my hands rubbed small circles on his back. They wanted to ball into fists and lash out against the Templars who hurt him, who stole years of his life. More than anything, I wanted to reach inside and take away his pain.

   I knew then, what he had done. He had bared one of his most vulnerable and painful memories, not because he wanted sympathy or because someone pressed him, but because he had seen a familiar pain in me and wanted me to understand that I wasn’t alone.

   We sat like that for a time. It felt like hours, a time I didn’t want to end, but it must have been only a few minutes. He sat up straight so he could look at my face, brushing my mussed hair behind my ears. His eyes, sad yet peaceful, studied my face, searching.

   I felt seen in a way I never had before. I wanted him to understand everything he made me feel, how he moved me with his words, actions, and kindnesses. I wanted him to know that when he had faced down Wright and called me everything, despite being unable to believe it myself, I knew that he did, and that meant everything to me.

   My eyes dropped to his lips. It was like a madwoman had taken my brain hostage; I wanted nothing more than to kiss him despite that being listed in the book of “Worst Ideas Mel Has Ever Had.” And yet, I tilted my head, leaning in slightly, slowly, as Rational Mel screamed in the back of my head and tried to wrestle Mad Mel for the controls.

   I don’t know if left to their own devices which of the Mels would have come out on top of that fight, and I don’t know whether Anders would have realized my impulsive intent and turned away, because suddenly a splash of water drenched us.

   Anders wiped the water from his eyes. “This is why I prefer cats,” he said with a pointed look to Scrapper who guiltily paddled to the far side of the tub in water still swaying from his cannon ball.

   I, on the other hand, could have kissed him. Scrapper, not Anders, though I suppose I almost did that too. I was cold, and not just because I was soaked and sitting plastered onto Anders’ lap. That splash was enough for Rational Mel to resume control, and while she had already shut off the alarm, it didn’t escape me how close I had come to disaster. I had almost destroyed the distance I had so painstakingly tried to keep.

   I scrambled off him, quickly reminding myself that just because I wanted to learn to trust Anders and the others didn’t mean that I could just start kissing people and screwing up their relationships, especially since I wasn’t planning on sticking around. I would ruin everything. I had just been alone for too long, that’s all, that’s why my brain had short circuited into thinking about acting on my feelings. I knew better.

   Since I was already soaked, I didn’t give it a second thought. I slipped into the tub, the prospect of being too close temporarily more terrifying than the water. My skirt billowed around me, weighing me down, and I immediately began to shrug it off, not wanting my movement to be at all hindered.  

   The cough from behind me reminded me I wasn’t alone. My face flamed and I was glad that my back was turned.

   “Uh, let me go get both of us a change of clothes,” Anders said to which I swiftly nodded in embarrassment and he squelched out the door.

   My heart thudded in my chest at his departure. The tub might as well have been an ocean with hidden depths where sea creatures lurked, waiting to pull me under. I closed my eyes and took deep breathes. I wasn’t going to drown in a bath tub, no one was going to push me under, and the water couldn’t come alive and eat me. I was okay. I would be okay.

   Scrapper swam over and nudged my palms, somehow knowing I needed him. I burrowed my face in his neck like I did after the undead attack and found it just as comforting. I felt the remnants of my own anger at Garrett slip away with the steam. He had been right to leave Scrapper with me. He wouldn’t let anything happen to me. None of them would.

   With my pulse thrumming, not letting myself consider what I was about to do, I plugged my nose, death-gripped one of Scrapper’s legs with the other, and submerged. I counted to three then opened my eyes, watching a string of bubbles escape. The sound of my heartbeat was amplified underwater, but other than that, it was quiet. The water swayed from my movements, the world above bending with the filtered light.

   As a kid, before the incident, I had enjoyed swimming, floating on my back to stare at the sky, or to investigate the other blue world below. I had written over those memories with ones of fear. But they came back now like a long awaited high tide. There was the cottage by the water, just like in all my memories before, but clearer this time: swirl patterned shells and glimmering rocks buried treasure in the warm sand, hair dancing across my vision from a cool breeze, small toes tickled by the surf. I was so little, the water so immense, yet all I felt was wonder. The world was infinite and so was I—there was no room for doubt or fear. So as a child of no more than three I held my breath and went under, just to glimpse another world.  

   The memory drifted away with the last of the air in my lungs. I could stay under if I truly wished. There was no one holding me down but myself. I wanted to surface, to find that Mel from many years ago. She was still with me; she was the one who was awed by magic, the one who stood up to powerful Kirkwall nobles without fear, the one who faced down undead to save her friends.

   Let her breath.

   I emerged with a gasp, sucking in a lungful of lavender tinged air. I wiped the water from my face so the room could come into focus. Even if my mind willed it, my limbs still trembled with suppressed fear. Yet, I decided, it would not rule me.

Chapter Text

   Garrett never came back. I had stayed up till long after Bodahn, Sandal, and Leandra were all asleep, seated by the fireplace in the parlor. Anders, true to his word, not only had found us each a dry pair of clothes, but also stayed by my side as promised. Even though I wasn’t tired, I could tell he was and so I feigned sleepiness and went to my chambers. I remained seated by the window watching the dark street below until it brightened with morning and heard the others stir to start the new day.

   I helped with breakfast, this time not peppering Bodahn with questions which caused him to eye me when he thought I wouldn’t notice. He initially protested my help but I was stubborn and he didn’t press any further. Maybe my face revealed too much of my emotional exhaustion but I was too drained to try and repair it.

   Garrett didn’t return for breakfast either. Anders popped into the kitchen where I served him a heaping helping. He would need his strength at the clinic. Surely Garrett would be back before midday so he could still make use of the day?

   But he wasn’t.

   I washed the dishes right after breakfast and Anders pitched in without my asking. Poor Bodahn wrung his hands but I needed something to keep me busy and Anders wouldn’t leave me alone. I was used to him being chatty but he only said something unless I directly addressed him, obviously preoccupied with something. Likewise preoccupied, we passed the morning in mutual solitude. When midday rolled around and Garrett hadn’t come barreling through the front door, I was prepping to scrub the floors since Anders and I had already organized the pantry, inventoried the cellar, and swept the hearth and cleaned out the flume, spotting both of us in soot. Only then did Bodahn put his foot down and usher us out.

   It had been for the best. Not having slept and only picking at my food left me exhausted, so much so I didn’t have the energy to work myself up when I took another bath. Just a quick dunk and a rub down with soap and wash cloth. I only hyperventilated slightly. Afterwards, I situated myself in the parlor, my wet hair draped over the armrest facing the fire, myself facing the entryway so I’d know as soon as Garrett got back. It was with that thought I finally fell asleep.

   I woke with a scream. Mine. Hands gently gripped me. Anders.

   “You’re okay, Mel. It’s only a dream. Only a dream,” he said, honey-brown eyes staring deep into mine, centering me. I took a deep breath and nodded. He let me go, still sitting on the edge of a cushion, watching me. Scrapper whined in the back of throat and nudged me into petting him. I sat up, glanced around before returning my attention to him. It was definitely only a dream.

   “Want to talk about it? I have some experience with nightmares.”

   I had dreamed of Wright, only this time he shoved my head underwater and held me there. I heard voices as I struggled: Anders, Garrett, Fenris, Varric, Merrill, Isabela, and Aveline, and yet none of them came to save me. As my lungs screamed for air, they left, one by one until there was nothing with me but the encroaching darkness.

   My most intense fears all rolled into one. I knew they were lies, but knowing was one thing, and believing another. If I was dreaming about these things, some part of me still believed and still feared. I had decided to change, but it didn’t mean I needed to face it all at once. It would take time.

   “I know it was only a dream. A fairly unlikely one at that. I’ll be okay,” I said. My eyes strayed to his chest. I recalled the warmth and comfort I had found there the other day. I wanted it again, but I resisted the urge to lean toward him.

   “You will,” Anders promised, squeezing my arm before moving away, as if somehow knowing I needed the space. I gave him a slight smile in return before I settled back down. The room was dim, no more natural light coming from outside, only the fire illuminating. Nighttime then. I must have slept a long time. Garrett still wasn’t back. I didn’t want to think what could be keeping him, didn’t want to think about what dangers he might face.

   With an ache in my chest I twisted where I laid to no longer face the entryway but the fire, to see what shapes I could find in the dancing flames. The images flickered, a nonsense story that I spun anyways until I completely lost the pattern and the fire dimmed.

   And then I saw the rage demon. It came barreling at me like before, but I wasn’t in the Hanged Man. I wasn’t even in the mansion. The walls twisted into white, faintly lit by the flaming monster sweeping towards me, scorching the linoleum floor.

   Linoleum? Earth. I was back. No, a dream.

   A memory.

   Stunned, rooted to the spot, I watched it come towards me as it roared its incomprehensible language, nearly masking a woman’s voice yelling for me—my mother. I couldn’t make out what she said as I screamed. I startled awake, a name on my tongue, but it slipped from my mind like sand through fingers.

Chapter Text

   Even though I was itching for some chore to keep me busy I resisted scratching, knowing that whatever I did Anders would feel duty bound to help. I didn’t need to compound my guilt from keeping him from the clinic by working him to the bone here. I spent hours idle in the parlor, pretending I was absorbed in a book as he scribbled away on some parchment, deep in concentration. I was thankful he had something to do otherwise I would feel the need to interact, and every time we did the almost kiss would decide to host an instant replay in my head—not conducive to holding a conversation without blushing.

   I smiled at a particular piece of dialogue, imagining what ridiculous voice Garrett would adopt. I tried and failed to read the novel normally. I couldn’t help silently laughing as his over the top interpretation bled into my perception of the story. Eventually I stopped trying, losing myself in thought as I absently scratched Scrapper behind the ears.

   That’s when the front door finally opened.

   “Garrett!” I called, already halfway out the room before Anders could set down his quill to follow.

   In the entry, Leandra smiled like a cat who had caught a bird. I slowed my step as if I hadn’t just hollered her son’s name across the house like a kid would Santa’s on Christmas morning. Her smile remained knowing, and with a twinkle in her eye, she beckoned several people laden with packages inside. She whipped off her gloves having just come in herself from being about town and began ordering the people to take the packages to my room. That last part took a moment to sink in.

   “Uh, Leandra, what’s going on?”

   “Come on up and you’ll see,” she said much too pleasantly as she strolled up the steps.

   I looked at Anders who met my gaze with a shrug.

   “I have a bad feeling about this,” I muttered as I trudged after Garrett’s mother. Anders didn’t follow, either because he knew I would be perfectly safe upstairs with Leandra and Scrapper or because he knew whatever she had planned, it would be the equivalent of jumping into a garbage compactor.

   As I walked into my chambers to see garments strewn over every available surface, I knew it was the latter. I certainly wasn’t safe with Leandra, not with the mischievous glint in her eyes. I would have marched right back out but Scrapper had decided the doorway would be a good place to park his bulk. I scowled at him; taking her side was he?

   “Oh, don’t make that look. You’ll give yourself wrinkles,” Leandra said as she selected one dress and then eyed me.

   “You’re giving that dress wrinkles. All of them actually.”

   I ran my hand down one with the intent to brush an invisible wrinkle out, only to slow my descent at the feel of the silky fabric. What kind of thread count did this little number have? It must have cost a fortune. As I held it up in front of me for a closer examination, I realized that the dress’s length matched me perfectly. Leandra’s smile widened.

   I tossed the dress down. “No.”

   “I hadn’t suggested anything yet.”

   “That’s because you went ahead and did what you wanted to anyways.”

   “Oh please, who wouldn’t want a whole new wardrobe?”

   “I already have clothes,” I said. It was bad enough that I had been borrowing her dead daughter’s things. I couldn’t let her buy me a whole new closet of clothes.

   “No you don’t. The only clothes you had came in a burlap sack that was smoke damaged and were wrapped around a rusty sword. I threw them out.”

   “You what?”

   “No one should wear something like that unless they meant to clean chimneys, which by the way I heard you’ve done anyways, so there really was no need to keep them around. No guest of mine should be forced to wear rags like that or feel like they must clean their host’s home, so consider this compensation.”

   I folded my arms. No one in the history of Thedas had ever been so handsomely paid for such minimal services rendered.

   Leandra’s smile softened and she touched my arm. “I know I might have gotten a bit carried away, but it’s been so long since I’ve had the opportunity to help dress a young lady, not since…”

   Bethany. Not since Bethany. I swallowed and snapped up the dress I had tossed. “I suppose I could try on a couple things.”

   She brightened. “Oh really? Thank you for indulging me in this. Now, we must select a dress for the Frederick’s dinner party in a week’s time.”

   “The whose?”

   “Oh the Frederick’s. They’re Kirkwall nobility. A bunch of pretentious boors really, but it’s tradition to go every year. Everyone who thinks they’re everyone will be there and it would be so nice to have someone with a broader mind keep me company for the evening. You will come, won’t you?”

   “I-uh” Leandra fingers flew around me, unlacing the back of my dress to help me shrug on the new one. I didn’t quite know what to say. I didn’t want to disappoint her and she seemed to be looking forward to it. Maybe in this way I could pay back her hospitality. “All right.”

   “Wonderful!” she clapped her hands together and spun away to give me a shred of privacy to slip on the other dress. I watched her from the corner of my eyes as she preoccupied herself by peeping out the window, that smile of hers returning as she gazed. I didn’t get a chance to analyze that because she was back, surveying the way the dress fit.

   “Hmmmm…a little bit should be taken in here. Otherwise, it hangs well. Not exactly the right style for the Frederick’s though…” She plucked another dress from the pile on my bed, a ball of fabric she swiftly shoved at me. “Try this one. I’ll go fetch us some tea. I’ll be right back.”

   I stepped in front of the mirror, fingering the seagreen silk floating about my body. I looked like some woman of the water who had been washed up with the waves with my tangle of hair and stormy eyes. With the scooped back and the way the fabric accentuated my curves, I felt exotic. Leandra certainly had an eye for beautiful things. And a really good seamstress.

   Somewhat regretfully, I slipped out of the dress and carefully folded it to set on the dresser. I didn’t bother to look over the new dress, simply shrugging it on. At first I thought there was a rumple or snag in the fabric, but then realized that the dress was meant to have see-through lace with delicate embroidery artfully covering up all the important bits. The bodice traced my form before gathering into a pool of cascading layers of skirts. I reached behind me, struggling with the hooks on the back, but froze as I caught my reflection.

   The woman who looked back wasn’t me. She couldn’t. In the silver dress, she looked like a crescent moon, mysterious and elegant. With the faint scar by my eyebrow and my cool expression, even a bit dangerous: the dress turned storm gray eyes into masterwork steel.

   There was a sharp inhale of breath. It wasn’t mine. I caught another pair of eyes in the mirror, a familiar brown that had none of its usual twinkle, only heat.

   “Garrett.” I turned to the open door, my own eyes drinking him in. There was patches of dried blood on his armor, but he held himself with an ease. Not his then. My next breath came easier, but I still felt wired, strung. I wanted to unclasp every piece, to ensure with my hands he was okay, solid and whole before me.

   “Mel,” he said, and from the way his gaze held me, for a moment I could almost imagine he wanted the same.

   “Could you help me with this?” I asked of the hooks I couldn’t attach, apparently all thumbs in his presence.

   He crossed the room, hands pushing my hair over a shoulder, his fingertips trailing my spine as he slowly snapped each hook. His gaze met mine again in the mirror.

   “Thank you,” I said, face catching fire from his eyes and my own impulsive invitation. With his breath hitting my neck, all the words that had been piling up over the last two days had no form. I didn’t know how to thank him for saving me, didn’t know how to tell him I was relieved to have him back safely, and didn’t know how to broach the subject of our last interaction. I studied the embroidery on my bodice. Where was Leandra when you needed her? That tea was taking an awfully long time.

   “I found both of them, Garth and his other accomplice, Jon. They won’t be hurting anyone again.” His hands found my elbows, a hesitant touch, like he was apologizing for bringing up their names, their memories, and calling to mind the violence that likely followed their discovery at his hands.

   I nodded at his words. I didn’t need to know if that meant they’d been stripped of weapons and rank and kicked out of the city or if they were dead, only that no other person would ever come to Kirkwall seeking a new life only to find a nightmare at the gates.

   “Aveline pursued the leads I uncovered but the corruption hadn’t been allowed to fester long. It wasn’t widespread. Cleanup up was…quick.”

   I turned to look up into his face, noted the lines of fatigue and strain around his eyes. My hands found his arms in return, the grit of dirt rough under my palms, his armor cool against my skin.

   “Are you okay?” I asked. That’s what I needed to know most.

   He slowly exhaled, as if he had been trying to hold himself in and only now could he begin to let go. I didn’t know how to interpret that and my grip tightened in response, but where there had been a heat in his eyes before, there was only softness.

   “I’ll be okay,” he said, and a grin slipped onto his lips as he finally took in the mayhem of the room. “Will you?”

   I groaned. “I had no idea she had planned this. She just showed up with all these boxes.” My cheeks heated at how I must have looked to him when he walked in: like a little girl playing princess with her mother’s things. They didn’t fit me, not really. I waved a hand at everything. “It’s too much.” It was all too much.

   I moved away from Garrett to compose my face, gently folding the seagreen dress as if I planned to pack it away and return it to the seamstress. Of course I was planning to return it. The dinner at the Frederick’s aside, I had no use for so many glamorous dresses. All that money wasted on me…there were so many more important things to spend it on, like Anders’ clinic or maybe setting up a soup kitchen in Darktown…

   Garrett followed, oblivious to my maneuverings for personal space. He shook out the dress I just folded and held it up to me, like he was deciding if the color complimented my skin tone. “It’s exactly right.”

   My brows furrowed. He dodged the underlying issues with a compliment. “No, it’s too much. We should return these. This is enough to burst two closets, let alone one. I don’t want to know how much all this cost but I bet I could live off it for the next decade in Lowtown.”

   Garrett’s brows rose and lips twitched, making his next words unmistakably glib. “Count it a blessing that the Maker has been merciful so that you do not fully comprehend your misjudgments on Kirkwall’s social echelons, but starting as a refugee and ending up a nobleman, I am qualified to contradict you on both points.”

   He strolled over to several packed boxes as if he were a lawyer presenting evidence to a jury. “All of this would be the equivalent of half a closet for a debutante’s season in Kirkwall—

   “I’m not a noblewoman making a debut, Garrett.”

   “—and the money for the dresses wouldn’t sustain you for a decade in Lowtown—

   “Garrett—”

   “—but it would feed the seamstress in the alienage and her family for the next several years if she budgeted right, though I expect once you’re seen about modeling her handiwork to Kirkwall’s upper crust, it should generate a steady stream of business to carry her into old age.”

   My demands to return the dresses were swallowed. Garrett’s eyes twinkled. He knew he had me.

   “Oh, and look at this! I don’t know many noblewomen who would have training leathers tucked into the back of her closet.”

   My eyes snapped to the garment he held in his hands. Those looked similar to the ones Fenris and he wore! And the other items in the box looked to be more of the practical, everyday variety too: tunics, breeches, leggings, and work shirts.

   A smile snuck onto my face. Leandra really had taken my feelings into consideration after all.

   The smile just as suddenly slipped off. All the clothes seemed like a lot for a single seamstress to make on such a tight time frame. And how did Garrett know to open the box and find the clothes he knew I’d approve of unless…

   “Leandra didn’t order all this. You did.”

   Garrett froze like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar. “Well, technically, I didn’t order them. I suggested that you might need some clothes to my mother and she ordered them.”

   “But she’s only just met me. There was no time for her to take my measurements and have the seamstress make all this.”

   Garrett messed with one of the straps on his bracer. “She may have swung by the Hanged Man after a visit to Gamlen.”

   “I can’t believe I didn’t notice.” Leandra was such a refined lady. She’d have stood out in a place like the Hanged Man.

   “My mother spent years living in Lowtown and even more living on the run with my father. She’s clever; she knows how to blend in.”

   Speaking of clever, it’s awfully convenient that the alleged tea is taking so long.

   “I can see where you get it from,” I said as I crossed my arms. “So when did you ‘suggest’ buying me half a debutante’s wardrobe?”

   He sighed, realizing I wasn’t going to let it go. “After the first day.”

   I blinked at him.

   “I couldn’t let Isabela keep dressing you. I don’t think she understands the concept of pants.”

   That first night at the Hanged Man I had felt so overwhelmed by Garrett’s generosity: buying my meal, offering to help me back to Earth and even wanting me to stay with him until he could deliver on that promise. I had tried to limit my debts to him and all the others as much as I could, getting a job at the tavern for food, board and tips, and yet he had already been planning on how he could help me further.

   It really was too much.

   “Garrett I can’t— 

   He brought a finger to my lips. “Objection overruled.”

   “But—

   “While I admire your fiercely independent nature, it comes with its own set of problems, namely, being unable to accept help when you need it. So, for as long as you’re living in my home, there’ll be no ‘Oh no I couldn’t possibly, Garrett’ or ‘Let me pay you back by being your live-in maid, Garrett’ or ‘ Don’t worry about me—I’ll get a job as a chimney sweep,’ ” he pantomimed.

   “I wouldn’t,” I began but dropped my protest at his raised eyebrow. Okay, so maybe I would do that—I already basically had—but it was still hyperbole. Sort of.

   He tugged my hands from where I had them folded in front of me, studying their fit in his for a moment before speaking again.

   “Mel, we haven’t known each other long, but I get the impression you’ve been going it alone for some time. I see when you push us all away, like you don’t know any other way, but I want you to know you don’t have to live like that anymore. Not here, not with me. ” He leaned his forehead against mine to look me in the eyes, causing my breathe to catch as he whispered, “Let me help you. Let me in.”

   His words were reminiscent of Anders’ plea for my trust. In his own way, the last time we spoke, he had said the same thing, only I hadn’t been willing to listen. It was hard to believe that they all could mean it, that I could put my trust in them.

   I furiously blinked back the tears that threatened to overwhelm me, instead saying what I promised Anders: “I want to.” I closed my eyes, recalling my promise to myself to let the old Mel breath. “I will.”

   The twinkle in his eyes transformed into something far warmer. “Good,” he said, and leaned in so close I was breathing in his exhalations, almost as if he meant to—

   I jerked away, blurting, “On one condition!”

   Garrett, bemused by my obvious fluster, closed the gap again. “Which is?”

   My eyes darted towards the strewn wardrobe. “Don’t let all this collect mothballs. When the time comes, please make sure the clothes are donated or sold and the money put to a good use, like funding for Anders’ clinic.”

   Garrett grew very still. “When the time comes?”

   I gave a nervous laugh. “It’s not like I can take them with me. I won’t have much use for ball gowns on Earth.”

   I took a few steps backwards, and my heart fell slightly when he didn’t follow. His eyes did though, but the warmth from a moment ago was gone, replaced by the shields he wore when he first looked at me from across the clinic.

   “Of course,” he said, giving me an affable smile that was all Hawke the Hightown noble, not Garrett, my protector and friend.

   I mumbled something about checking on the tea and fled.

Chapter Text

   “Congratulations. If this were a real fight, he’d be dead, Bolt.”

   “Only if my opponent also had stuffing for brains,” I said, wiping a line of sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand, my sword arm lowered by my side. “Most would block and, you know, move so I wouldn’t run them through.”

   Varric stuck his arm through the practice dummy’s chest and wiggled his fingers out the other end. “I think you did a little more than run him through.”

   I rolled my eyes and took a swig from my water skin. Not for the first time I was thankful for my new leathers which made sword practice much more comfortable than if I had still been stuck in a dress or Isabela’s figure-defining getup.

   I meant to extend a proper thank you for the clothes but Garrett was back on his pursuit of answers to my demon attack, out the door by dawn and not back until well after dusk. When he was about the mansion, he somehow always managed to be in whatever room I wasn’t. I hadn’t realized how underfoot he had always been until now. It was oddly disconcerting.

   While I could accept that he was trying to find the reason behind the demon attack, I knew it was also an excuse. Something had changed between us: this time it felt like it was he holding me at a distance, not the other way around. It troubled me, and since Leandra, Bodahn and Garrett all more or less forbade me from housework, I was left with too much time to ruminate. I needed a distraction.

   The one time I did manage to catch Garrett, I told him I planned to take Aveline up on her offer to use the City Guard training yard. His face had momentarily darkened and I knew he didn’t want me to go there without him, especially not after what happened with Garth and the rest. I told him I trusted that he had taken care of the problem, and when he asked me to take Scrapper, I agreed. It was a compromise on both our parts, a step in the right direction together, but our last interaction hovered. Maybe it was cowardly that I didn’t press the underlying issue, but I left the room quickly after he ceded, telling myself it would be better this way in the long run. I tried to not let myself think otherwise, exhausting myself at the training yard day after day.

   “I think you need a real opponent,” Varric said.

   “I can’t be bothering Aveline or Dom or any of the other guard.”

   It was part of agreement to use the training yard. I could use their equipment and even follow along with some of their drills as long as I kept to the back of the yard, but Aveline wasn’t going to waste one of her guard’s practice time on training me. I would have loved to work with her but she and the guard were stretched thin, especially after cleaning out the corruption in their ranks. I couldn’t stretch them further. Still, in the week that I’d trained here, I felt that my forms came faster and my arms no longer trembled holding my sword for an extended period of time.

   “I wasn’t thinking a member of the guard,” Varric said.

   “Are you volunteering?”

   “If you wanted to learn how to use a crossbow, I could help. I’m even decent with a pair of daggers. But swords, those aren’t my specialty.”

   “You’re not suggesting I find actual opponents, are you? I don’t think I would last long even against one of the Seneschal’s pages.”

   “With the right teacher, you’ll be roughing up prepubescents in no time.”

   “How reassuring,” I set my sword down and stretched to the sky to loosen my back muscles. “So who are you suggesting?”

   Varric’s lips quirked like he was about to play a winning hand of Wicked Grace. “Fenris.”

   I paused mid stretch.

   “Don’t look so surprised. You’d be hard pressed to find a better swordsman in Kirkwall.”

   “How about finding a swordsman who would willingly teach?” Fenris didn’t exactly strike me as the teaching type, if he had any interest in what happened with me to begin with. I hadn’t even seen him once after the demon attack. I had tried to not let it bother me, but it still stung. 

   “I think he’d be willing to do quite a lot for you,” Varric said, tone serious. It wasn’t one I was used to hearing from him.

   I avoided his probing look, watching Scrapper’s nose twitch as he dosed in the shade of a nearby building. “Why are you so certain?”

   “Writer’s intuition.”

   “I’m serious, Varric.”

   “So am I. To write about people you have to know people, and the people I call my friends I know especially well. Go visit him. I know you want to.”

   Varric picked up my training sword and hung it on the rack. I opened my mouth to argue but all that came out was a sigh. I grabbed a clump of stuffing and shoved it back into the dummy, not wanting to leave my practice area a mess.

   “Today,” Varric ordered. He made a shooing gesture inside where a water bucket and sponge would be waiting for me. I never told him I hated baths but he had picked up on my habit to clean myself with limited quantities of water and acted like it wasn’t abnormal that I didn’t go use the City Guard’s bath house; getting myself in an actual bath by myself was more progress than I had hoped for, and I really didn’t know how I’d do with other people. I was thankful for Varric’s consideration. And if he knew this about me, then maybe he was also right about Fenris.

   I let Varric finish straightening up the training yard and headed inside. If I didn’t reek of sweat I might be able to up my chances of getting a certain broody swordsman to agree to make me his pupil.

   Garrett might burst in whenever he wanted, and maybe that was in part because it was unlikely a knock could be heard in the depths of the decrepit mansion, but it still felt rude not to, so I did.

   The clank of the knocker was louder than expected, making me jump and cast a nervous glance around as if I had just shattered the early evening peace, but there was no one nearby to disturb save Scrapper who just scratched at his ear and yawned.

   Maybe I only stood there a minute, but it felt like at least five. I began to feel conspicuous standing outside Fenris’ door like I wasn’t supposed to be there.

   Maybe I wasn’t supposed to be there. Maybe this was a bad idea.

   Well, if it was a bad idea, might as well fully commit to it. I tried the handle, and as expected, it was unlocked. Scrapper and I let ourselves in, taking a moment to let our eyes adjust to the dim lighting.

   There were still all the same signs of rotting decadence, but none of Fenris. We went up the grand staircase rather swiftly, mainly so I wouldn’t have to look too long at Fenris’ dead house guests longer than I had to—they creeped me out more than ever now that I knew the dead sometimes weren’t as dead as they were supposed to be.

   Before his bedroom door, I cleared my throat, ran a hand down my leathers like it were a dress with a skirt in need of straightening, and firmly knocked. There was no response, not a muttered curse, a rattle of a bottle, or the thump of footsteps from the other side. He might not be home, I reasoned, just as good an excuse as any to dismiss this wild idea and head back hom—I mean, go back to the Amell mansion. But, another part worried, what if the reason no one has seen him is because he’s been seriously injured by some scavenger who decided to give his residence a once-over, or what if he were ill and because he lives alone he had no one to help?

   With my flimsy justification in mind, I opened the door. There was no Fenris to be found though there was plenty of evidence that many a curse was uttered, bottles rattled, and footsteps stumbled by the amount of broken glass and empty bottles strewn about. I knew he drank a bunch, but he had always seemed so in control when he was at the Hanged Man. What drove him to this? And where had he been driven to?

   The bed sheets were rumpled, but Fenris didn’t strike me as the type to make his bed in the morning, so that wasn’t much of a clue as to when he’d last been here. The fireplace on the other hand—the coals weren’t old. He’d been here recently, probably as late as last night.

   The room, clearly once one of finery now was simply functional. Beside the bed there was a serviceable table, set of chairs, two armrests before the hearth, a chest, and a shelf. The shelf held many items I’d guess Fenris to have—whetstone, cloth and oil, a sheathed dagger—but there was one that surprised me.

   I was across the room in a moment, pulling the book to the limited light to make out the title: “The Book of Shartan.” The name sounded familiar. I was sure that I read something about him in one of the Thedas histories lent to me. Oh, right! He fought alongside Andraste to free the elven slaves.

   I flipped open to the first page. A quick scan told me this was more than light reading. Not that I could readily picture Fenris spending his time reading something like one of Varric’s novels. He didn’t seem like one to spend his time reading for pleasure. Not that I should assume, but this was the only book he had in the room. I doubt it came to be here because the previous mansion’s owner had left it on the shelf. This book must be important to him. Was he particularly interested in his people’s past?

   My fingers absently tapped on the book’s spine as Scrapper sniffed around the room. Its state apparently didn’t trouble him. I walked over and scratched his head.

   “Where do you think Fenris got himself?” I asked my four legged friend who tilted his head at me and gave a happy bark.

   “Right behind you,” a distinct deep voice said.

   I jumped. Fenris stood less than three feet away. If he had been an enemy, he could have easily gotten the drop on me. I hadn’t heard him at all. Either I was that bad or he was that good. Actually, probably both.

   “I see Hawke is rubbing off on you.” Green eyes flashed to his book I held and then around the room as if assessing whether I had pawed at anything else. There had been a tension in his form that quickly dissolved as if he had been balancing on the balls of his feet. Not so much due to my trespassing but realizing who the trespasser was: I wasn’t a threat. It made sense. I had walked right into his room and hadn’t bothered to shut the door behind me. Of course when he got back he’d think he had an intruder on the loose when he saw the open door; he’d come after that person prepared to fight.

   But another kind of tension took its place. There was strain around his eyes, and he held himself to the edge of the room. Nowhere was the warrior I knew who could reach across the room with a guiding gaze while keeping everyone else at arm’s length with a freezing glare. Here there was only an edginess, one mirrored in me. We didn’t know where we stood with one another anymore. When did that get called into question? Or had we ever established a balance between us?

   “Any good?” I waved the book.

   Green eyes returned to the book and then flitted to some shadowed corner. “I haven’t…gotten far.”

   “Oh.” While kept in good condition, the book clearly had been read. In fact, it looked like the spine at the beginning was well bent as if someone had held it open there for a long time. “A bit dry?”

   He gave a non-committal shrug and avoided eye contact again. I could have dropped the subject. I was here to ask for training, not to grill him about his reading habits. But something about his behavior seemed odd. Fenris had always been a bit mysterious, but he had always been direct. But here he was on his own turf acting cornered. It was really weird, and it made me just as curious. Would I ever stop being curious when it came to him?

   “Well, when you finished it, you’ll have to tell me how you liked it. Could always use more book suggestions. Varric’s and Isabella’s are, well, you can imagine.” I set the book back where I found it, and some of the tension in Fenris lessened again. “Anyways, sorry for just barging in. I came over because—wait, is that blood?”

   It was hard to make out in the dim light against his black leathers, but there was a red mark on his thigh.

   “No, it’s paint,” he deadpanned.

   I scowled at him, though I felt that quaver in my chest, the same one I felt when I remembered Garrett slamming into the cavern wall or when I imagined Templars capturing Anders. Just because Fenris was a great swordsmen didn’t mean he was invincible.

   “What happened? Are you okay?”

   Fenris gave me this unreadable look as he unhooked his sword from his back and set it on the table where it nearly ran from one end to the other. “Hawke and I got involved in a small skirmish with one of the gangs. We are fine, the gang is not.”

   I paled. “Which one?”

   “The Dog Lords,” he said, meeting my gaze. I grew paler. I never did mention my run in with Cor at the Hanged Man to Garrett like Fenris had told me I should, and he knew it too.

   With a dreaded certainty, I knew the fight was because of me. I could have been the reason one of them got hurt. I felt like puking. “Was it—was it an—

   “An ambush? Yes. Because of you? Also yes, though not in the way you think.” Fenris retrieved the cloth and oil from the shelf to clean his weapon as he spoke. “We knew they would try to ambush us, and it wasn’t much of one anyways, so it didn’t take much to turn their own trap against them.”

   I nodded, mouth a thin line. “But why walk into it at all?”

   “Cor didn’t take my warning to heart. He decided he would get revenge for my showing him up in front of his followers by striking at you.”

   My thoughts whirled. Cor had never come back to the Hanged Man after the incident. I hadn’t seen him at all.

   “When? How?”

   “Cor is a coward and so he had others do his dirty work. He had his people follow your movements. They knew you left the city and when you came back. It is no coincidence the night you returned the demon came. Then they sold you out to someone mad enough to target someone under my protection,” he said, uncorking a bottle, lips curled in a sneer, “a blood mage.”

   My mouth opened. I should be shocked by the revelation, and I was, but not for the obvious reason. From what Garrett had told me, a blood mage made sense. But Fenris casually saying I was under his protection, not only was it unexpected, it made sense. He’d saved my life multiple times, and even when I wasn’t in situations where one would expect danger, he had been close at hand to watch me, only I hadn’t considered it in that light before. The way he came down to the creek to help me wash dishes at the Dalish camp, it must have been to keep me in his sights. Or how he frequented the Hanged Man every night, to the point even Varric found it unusual. Hadn’t I felt his eyes resting on me often and wondered why he was there?

   “Thank you,” I whispered as the pieces began to fit into place.     

   Fenris paused mid swig, eyeing me like I had said something wildly unpredictable. Maybe for him, it was.

   There was so much about him I didn’t know, didn’t understand, but I wanted to.

   “Why?” I asked. I needed that last piece.

   Fenris lowered the bottle. His expression remained neutral, and I wondered where he’d learned to school his features to not betray a hint of emotion. With the way his eyes lowered, I knew he considered deflecting, but then they raised. Haunted, they pled with mine as he finally freed the words he’d swallowed.

   “On our first meeting, I almost killed you, executed you on suspicion alone. I held your life in my hand, fragile as a flower whose stem I could sever with a twist of my wrist. If I had not felt your petals curled in tight, seen the vibrancy peeking through, caught the scent of your soul…I would have done the unforgivable, never understanding what I ripped from existence.”

   “But you didn’t. And you’ve saved me many times since.” I stepped closer. It struck me then, that despite how lethal I knew Fenris could be, I didn’t fear him. Most anyone would if upon their first meeting they almost had their heart yanked from their chest, but the doorway he opened to see into me also let me glimpse him back. The violent impulse came from fear, confusion, and pain, cloud cover over the person underneath who I had gotten a flash and ever since craved to understand more. I’d never decided to forgive him, simply did, and yet he didn’t know that. He still held onto the guilt.

   That thought was confirmed when he vowed, “And, Amelia, I will continue to do so as long as I live.”

   The weight of his words settled on my shoulders with the protective warmth of a cloak. I felt like I could reach up and feel them draping me, pull the fabric of them close to look for holes. But there were no drafts, just a well-woven solidity.

   My hands clenched at my sides. His word was sincere, but I didn’t know how to accept it. I didn’t think that I even should, for he was holding onto guilt for a wrong I had long since forgiven.

   You don’t have to carry its weight anymore, I wanted to say, but didn’t know how without offending the honor of his word so I settled for an olive branch he could accept: “You know, you’re the only one who calls me by that name, but you don’t have to. You can call me Mel.”

   He didn’t say anything for a long moment, then offered me the bottle. “Care for a drink, Mel?”

   A shiver darted down my spine as the final piece snapped into place. This was not the first time he had used my shortened name. No, the first time…

   The first time was when he begged me not to die as I faded in his arms. It came back to me, death’s darkness tugging me away as he cast my name out like a life preserver to pull me back. He must have faced down the demon once I blacked out and then he fought for me again as Varric fetched water and Isabela went for Anders. That was why Varric had quizzed me about Fenris. He knew more happened than what Garrett and he told me. Fenris didn’t flee the building because help had come—he fled because of me, what I had done.

   My voice warbled. “It was you.”

   He didn’t bother to ask me what I meant. He knew.

   The words I had begged him in return came back to me. In my trauma I couldn’t discern what was real and I thought that I had gone back to when…and then I broke down. That was why he had kept his distance. Shame swept over me at him having seen me in that state, a chaotic, vulnerable mess. And I had lashed out at him, hurt him too.

   I didn’t know how to talk about that time from long ago, to explain why I was the way I was, but I knew I owed him some kind of explanation.  

   “I…have a fear of the water.”

   “I gathered.”

   I couldn’t meet his intense gaze. I felt small. Not because of him, but because the size of what I was trying to say felt too big for words.

   “I used to not be afraid, but a eight years ago, I almost drowned.”

   Fenris set the bottle down hard enough to shake the table. “I know better than to believe it was an accident. Drowning victims don’t beg for their lives. You didn’t almost drown—you were almost murdered.”

   “Yes,” I said, admitting the truth that I hadn’t been able to admit to Garrett and Anders, let alone myself. But I couldn’t run from it any longer. “By my mom.”

Chapter Text

   Wordlessly Fenris passed me the bottle. I chugged. I was way too sober for this conversation. After a quarter of the wine was gone, I set it down, knowing if I didn’t start talking I’d lose my nerve. I didn’t want to think about it, had actively tried to not think about it for years or rationalize it if I did, but pretending like it hadn’t happened didn’t whisk away the effects, and now I knew something more had happened behind the scenes. It was time to lay out all the pieces and see where they fit, to look at the final picture, even if it was difficult.

   Fenris’ face was impassive, but he watched me too closely to be disinterested. I opened my mouth, feeling the dryness that comes when my throat closes up. Years later, and the memory still threatened to drown me. How fitting. I sucked in a deep, measured breath. I knew what I had to do. I didn’t think I would be able to tell this story twice, but I had promised Garrett and Anders and myself, that I wanted to trust them. And I would.

   I said nothing, but Fenris strapped his sword back, took his own swig from the bottle, and inclined his head to the door. With Scrapper at our heels, we headed to the Amell mansion. We said nothing on the way there. Fenris was always one few of words, and I was saving mine, lining them up like dominos, hoping when I tipped the first, they’d all connect to the end. We walked fast, Fenris’ stride loping and silent, mine rhythmic and purposeful. I looked ahead, not paying any attention to merchants hawking their wares in hopes of making a final sale as dusk came. If I stopped moving, I might never gain my momentum back.  

   At the mansion, Fenris paused in the entryway. “I will retrieve the mage.”

   I stopped too. I hadn’t stopped to consider that Anders might not show up tonight—he had been spending more time at the clinic again and would only swing by some evenings. He might be closing the clinic soon so he could scrounge up a meal of whatever he hadn’t given away and then be preparing to collapse in his cot. The promise of Hightown cooking was alluring, but the walk wasn’t.

   I looked back at Fenris who was already moving back to the door after having safely seen me inside. That he offered to bring Anders to me, a man he did not get along well with and without me having to ask, made my chest constrict. There was so much more to him than the angry, distrustful man I met, he just tried to hide it. But he couldn’t. Not from me. He forgot, while he saw into me when his hand grasped my heart, I too saw into him.

   The first time we touched, it was based in fear. The second time, at the Hanged Man, impulsiveness. The third, by the creek, an accident. And the fourth, when I was reliving my most painful memory, desperation. I was determined the fifth time would be purposeful and open on both our parts.

   “Fenris,” I reached out a hand, palm up.

   His froze on the handle. When he looked back, emerald eyes darkened to forest green. It was like that moment by the creek all over again—one wrong movement would disturb the moment, send him darting away from me again.

   He pulled off the gauntlet of his right hand, eyes never leaving mine, and set it on the entry table. I didn’t breathe as he slowly approached, bare feet not making a sound on the wooden floorboards. It struck me then, that he might be concerned about me withdrawing as much as I did him.

   When his fingers entwined with mine, my skin pressed to his tattoos, we exhaled together. His slender, calloused hand held mine like it was as fragile as the flower he had compared me to. There was the familiar, rushing sensation, and the world fell away. Not even the aches from sword practice able to penetrate, all replaced by the song. I wondered as I looked from our hands to his eyes, if he heard it too, or if he sensed something different. He looked entranced, the faintest of smiles gracing his lips, one that I knew I mirrored. Underneath the current, there was something else, a surge of warmth, a whirl of feeling, a heady concoction whose palate I couldn’t distinguish. But I knew I wanted more of it. It curled around my being, tender, as if I were something precious.

   As the thought formed, his eyes snapped to mine. He sucked in a breath, and then he smiled fully, the expression pure on his face. His tattoos flared, casting the hall in a blue glow.

   “Mel,” he whispered, trailing his other hand on my cheek, leaving tingles in its wake. “Mel,” he said again, a plea, a prayer, a promise.

   “Mel? Is that you?” Anders called from upstairs. Footsteps neared towards the landing.

   So he did come today! “Yes, I’m here!” I called back. I whipped my head over my shoulder to where Anders was coming, my eyes searching for a flash of his blue robe by the banister, my cheek feeling naked without Fenris’ touch. I looked back to him then, wanting to pick up the thread of what had been passing between us a moment before, but he had already snipped it, putting his gauntlet back into place just like his neutral expression.  

   Anders came into the entryway carrying a white bowl made stark by the pink liquid inside it.

   “Is that blood?” I asked for the second time today despite knowing it was exactly as my eyes were telling me: blood diluted by water.

   Anders nodded though his eyes darted between Fenris and me like he was thinking of something else entirely.

   “Whose?”

   “Coming back to warm me up or planning to stay downstairs? I have lost blood you know,” Garrett’s voice reached us from his bedroom, so apparently not having lost too much blood.

   Fenris’s eyes darted up the staircase and then to Anders, but I decided to not help him piece them together. I already had, and the final picture still pinched me inside. But now my insides twisted for an entirely different reason. Garrett was okay but still hurt and I knew why: me.

   I flew up the stairs, the memory of our last time together overwritten by the memory of Garrett hitting that damned cavern wall. I was a bit too winded when I made it upstairs, anxiety making my breath come in gasps. I pushed on Garrett’s cracked door just as he spoke again.

   “So eager to warm me up? If that’s the case I’d settle for a demonstration of that electricity—” I walked inside. “…trick,” he trailed off and squinted at me like I might be the trick.

   He sat against the headboard of his king sized bed, stripped to the waist, and didn’t even bother to pretend to be embarrassed about it or the proposition he made to who he thought was Anders, which only confirmed what I already knew. I took any kind of hurt and pushed it even further down and let myself focus on the bandage on his arm.

   “Are you okay?” I tried to keep the breathlessness from my voice. I heard Anders and Fenris following me upstairs.

   “Only a nick on the arm. Bled some but wasn’t deep,” he said dismissively, eyes not meeting mine. Even now he tried to treat me like I was some house caller, not a live-in friend. I hated it.

   “Dog Lords?” I pressed despite knowing already that it was.

   “I see Fenris couldn’t wait to talk.” Garrett glared over my shoulder where I knew Fenris was likely leaning on the door frame.

   He was. “Actually, she showed up at my place,” he said, voice carrying a hint of something aimed at Garrett that I couldn’t name.

   Anders stepped over Fenris’ legs blocking the door and went to Garrett cutting off what was beginning to look like a glaring competition. “Now do you actually need to be warmed up or are you just needing attention?”

   “How about both?” Garrett grinned, trying to catch Anders’ hand at his forehead.

   “Wish granted,” Anders said and then sent a hot, magical wind directly at Garrett making him jump back against the headboard and disheveling his hair.

   Fenris chuffed behind me, which I knew was a mild form of his actual full throated laugh. I myself only smiled, still trying to erase the twistedness in my gut.

   Garrett scowled, though he didn’t seem all that put out as he patted down his hair. To Fenris he said, “I thought you’d have gone back to your place for the evening. You were so keen on getting me back here.”

   “There is much that needs saying,” was Fenris’ vague response, but I knew his meaning by the feel of his eyes on my back—I’d always recognize their brush.

   It hadn’t taken much to make me forget my purpose in coming here, just as it hadn’t when I went to Fenris’ to ask him to teach me to fight. That’s me, forgetting everything, even how I ended up in a different world. But now it’s time to start remembering, even the things I wish I could erase.

   I moved forward into the room. I heard the door shut and felt Fenris a few paces behind, silently supporting me.

   “I- I want to tell you…” My eyes flickered from my hands to Anders who stood right beside. His eyes were kind, understanding. He wouldn’t push me to say anything I didn’t want to. But I did, even though the memory presented itself like a flood of images and impressions threatening to sweep me away. Anders took my hand, anchoring me. I closed my eyes, centering myself.

   “I want to tell you something about myself,” I said, squeezing Anders’ hand tight. “I’m not used to talking about myself and this memory is anything but easy but I think it’s important that I share it so we can solve the mystery of how I came to be here and,” I took a deep breath, letting that old Mel step forward, “because I don’t want to carry it alone anymore.” I opened my eyes to find Garrett’s meeting mine, the pretense of distance stripped away. Recalling his request last we spoke, to him I whispered, “I want to let you in.”

   The beat of silence following had me opening my mouth to say who knows what next, but I was interrupted. For someone who had just hurt his arm, with surprising swiftness, Garrett pulled me onto the bed to land unceremoniously on his chest, my face buried in his shoulder.

   “Gaywet,” I swatted him. “Cont beeth.”

   “What was that darling? Carrots count bees?”

   I gave him well deserved pinch. 

   He gave a small yelp followed by a laugh, and while I wiggled over him to be on the open side, another body hit the mattress.

   “Really Hawke,” Anders said, parting the hair in his face to glare at Garrett. Said culprit only grinned before leaning in, getting his own retaliation by blowing his hot breath to waft Anders’ hair back into his eyes. Anders gave a long suffering sigh and crawled over the both of us, effectively sandwiching me in between the two of them.

   Garrett turned to Fenris who by this point had chosen to lean against one of the bed posts. “Just gonna brood there?”

   Fenris pointedly leaned his sword against the bed and then lithely sat cross legged at the end, safely out of Garrett’s reach but within reach of his blade. Garrett, for once, swallowed any glib comment or impulse.

   Instead, Garrett settled himself back against his mountain of pillows and leaned me back with him, an arm over my shoulder. Anders’ right hand found my left, entwining our fingers. I felt Fenris’ intent gaze and looked down my body to where one hand rested by my foot. With the slightest incline of my head, he touched a tattooed tip of a finger to my sole. I let the song embedded in his tattoos come to me, breathed Garrett’s cinnamon and Anders’ rainstorm scent, and began.

Chapter Text

Eight years ago, Earth 

   As I darted up my apartment building stairs, my shopping bag almost swung a full loop in the air, weighted with groceries. The carpet that smelled like stale kung pao chicken, the couple on the bottom floor who thought screaming fixed marital issues, and the old man who cursed in French when his Canadian quarters would inevitably jam the washing machine and wouldn’t cooperate for him or anyone else after he dented the surface with his cane, couldn’t dampen my mood. I had just gotten my first check from my new courtesy clerk position at the super market a few blocks over, and while I couldn’t say what I spent my money on was wise, it was heartfelt.

   Once inside, before kicking off my shoes, I locked the door, turned the deadbolt, and then the third one mom had installed after we moved in. After securing our place to her satisfaction, I entered our bare kitchen and laid out my bounty. I smiled as I looked at the time on the stove; I had plenty before she got back.

   With that, I got to work.

   Two hours later, the chocolate cake was finished. The best I’d ever made, in my humble opinion. I’d sampled the trimming, the moist cake dissolving in my mouth. I more than sampled the vanilla frosting, coating it on thick as snow and even adding some sprinkles for effect—mom never talked much about her childhood, but I knew chocolate had been a rare treat for her and she did love the snow. Anytime it began to fall, she’d stand at the window and look into the sky as if she could never quite believe its infinity.

   Four quick raps to the door were followed by even punctuating knocks. I zipped to the front and checked the eye hole just the way she liked even though I already knew it was her, my hands automatically undoing the bolts.

   “Welcome home!” I flung my arms around her.

   She did not hug me back. It was one of those days again. I had hoped it wouldn’t be, but perhaps the cake would cheer her up.

   “Let me get those.” I took her coat and bag. The sound of the lock and bolts clicking back into place came from behind me, followed by the thump of her shoes being popped off. I frowned slightly. Normally she’d be scolding me for doing that.

   I turned back to her with a smile, but she only met me with her mouth in a thin line. Everything about her was flat. I couldn’t say if it were exhaustion from her position at the call center or if some worry plagued her, but I knew one way I might light up her face.

   I scurried into the dark kitchen to place the candles on the cake and grabbed mom’s special lighter. My thumb spun the striker. Click click. Nothing. Could it really be empty already? I thought I had everything prepared.

   My ears told me mom was coming to the kitchen. Come on! I gave the lighter a shake, feeling a familiar energy in my veins as I narrowed my eyes at the stubborn piece of metal, as if I could will a flame to sprout.

   I gave it one last strike and a flame wavered into existence as an energy whispered down my arms. I grinned, cupping a hand over the flame as I lit the 3 then the 8. I picked up the platter and faced her.

   A softness took her face at the cake but then it turned to confusion. “I thought we were out of matches.”

   “We are. I used the lighter.” I extended the cake towards her. “Happy birthday, mom.”

   She frowned. “It’s out of fluid. I meant to refill it this morning but forgot on my rush out the door.”

   “Probably completely empty now,” I said with an eye roll. Leave it to mom to worry about trivial things on her birthday.

   She snapped on the kitchen lights, picked up the lighter, and opened the chamber at the bottom. “It is empty,” she concluded.

   “Well, yeah.” I took out two saucers and forks and one knife to cut the cake.

   Suddenly she was right beside me, plucking something from off the sink counter. Held in front of my face was the empty lighter cartridge she had forgotten earlier. “It had no fluid at all. The chamber was empty. The lighter couldn’t have lit the candles.”

   “What do you think it was? Magic?” I waved a hand at the twin dancing flames on the cake.

   “No,” she whispered, hand clenching around the lighter cartridge as she stared at me like she had never seen me before. “It couldn’t have been magic.”

   Then she walked stiffly away.

   My stomach turned as I set the saucers and utensils down. The twin flames danced with my sigh, molten wax dotting the frosting.

   I wished she wouldn’t be this way. I wished my life wasn’t like this, scrounging money to pay the bills while I tried to do well in high school full well knowing mom’s paranoia would kick in eventually and we’d be moving again.

   I wished, I thought as I blew out the candles, the eight going out, that a different kind of life would be on my horizon. I wished, blowing out the three with my second breath, that one day I wouldn’t feel so alone.

   I felt a twitch in my shoulder, almost like an isolated shiver, and absently rubbed at it. I glared at the damn cake, a reminder of my wasted time, energy, and money.With a hiss I snatched it up and marched out the door, down the steps, and into the dusk. I tossed the cake into the dumpster, right where all my wishes belonged.

   On the way back, a hand caught the building’s front door from slamming in my face like everyone does. Surprised, I looked up into the kindly face of the French speaking man. In a thick accent, he asked if I could look at the laundry machine since “it kept stealing all his coins.” Feeling somewhat grateful for not getting the door shut in my face and being singled out as one able to assist had me following the old man into the laundry room. With a grimace, I tugged out the jammed Canadian quarter, and since there were no others on hand, I used some of my U.S.ones I had stashed in my pocket after buying the groceries.

   “Merci,” he said, and clasped my hands. I said nothing in return, still a bit stunned by the sudden touch and just nodded before turning to head upstairs. Well, at least somebody appreciated me.

   Mom spent the entire evening in her room. I cleaned the kitchen, finding some comfort in the routine of putting the space to right. At least something would be right. When I finished, I pulled out my homework. Math was particularly frustrating. Miss one class and I’d miss some integral step and fall further behind. And I’d been missing steps throughout my education due to all the moving. I wanted to get better, if only so I could get into a decent college and build a life for myself that was more than this. I didn’t fool myself into thinking I’d be getting many scholarships, not with my mediocre grades, and I didn’t fool myself into thinking we could pay for it out of pocket. No, college was a dream I kept largely to myself. I didn’t want to make mom feel bad about not being able to give me something so many of my peers’ parents could.

   And, if I was being very honest, keeping it unspoken would make the taste of disappointment easier to swallow. I had to once before, when in middle school, in an effort to find myself a place to put roots, I secretly applied and earned a scholarship for a boarding school. Mom denied me. It hadn’t been due to any cost, simply a vehement refusal “to have her child taken from her to be raised by someone else.” There was a raw wound there, one I knew not to poke at, and like most of hers, I learned not to ask of its origins.

   The apartment was too quiet to concentrate. I turned on the TV, which was limited to the weather channel, a shopping network, and the local news. The weatherman repeated what anyone with a window could tell you. There would be heat, heat and more heat for the rest of the week. The shopping channel sold products that we could never afford or couldn’t ever conceivably need. Living on the basics taught one what was really necessary, and besides, the host’s voice was nasally, so I switched channels again. The news, usually filled with updates from the city council squabbling on road repairs and to the school board announcing more cuts to a district that I wouldn’t be around long enough to feel the effects of anyways, actually did more than fill up the silence of the empty apartment. It covered the sound of mom crying.

   I hadn’t noticed until a particularly obnoxious commercial had me muting the TV. “Mom?” I called down the hall, but she didn’t respond. I crept outside her door and gently knocked.

   She didn’t respond but the sniffing stopped.

   “Mom?” I opened the door and stuck my head in. Mom sat with her back to me, facing the window. But her face was angled down to whatever she held in her hands.

   “It’s all wrong. It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” she said so softly I barely caught the words.

   Mom never sounded so defeated, not when she struggled to find a job in whatever new place she took us or when we came up short on rent. She’d always been tenacious, even to point of irritation with her firm stances on not letting me go trick-or-treating as a kid as if demons actually prowled the Earth all while rolling her eyes at New Age shops we passed by, but she was always my mom: my only family, my only friend, and the only home I knew I could ever hope to have. All her eccentricities fell to the side in the face of the hopelessness marring her features. I wanted to help bear it. If only she’d let me in.

   I slipped inside the room and rested a hand on her shoulder. She turned at my touch, eyebrows raised in response. Maybe she never did hear me call for her. Laid in her open palms was a silver and blue shimmering ring. Seeing my gaze drawn to it, she returned her focus to it.

   “Your father gave it to me.”

   She had never brought him up to me without prompting before. I swallowed and stilled my tongue from asking questions. Surely she would clam up as she always had when he was mentioned.

   She held the ring up between her thumb and forefinger, the streetlights from the window winking the metal at me. Even in the low light, the blue on the band gleamed as if it generated light of its own and did not simply reflect it like I knew it must. I didn’t know the name of the gem or metal that ran underneath the casing, only that it was more eye catching than any I had ever come across in jewelry store windows or on the fingers of rich housewives. My own fingers twitched at my side. I wanted to hold something that my nameless father had also touched, that my mother still valued enough to carry with her all these years while no other memento or photo of him lasted.  

   Without warning, she placed it into my hand. Instinctively my fingers fisted over it, pulling it in tight to my body. It felt warm, weighted. I uncurled my fingers and the blue band seemed even brighter though my back blocked the light from the hall and I stood further from the window than mom. Suddenly, I needed to see how it’d look on my own ring finger.

   My hands, just as long and slender as mom’s, fit the ring like it was made for me. It felt right. More than that, I felt a connection that went beyond sentimentality, something I had no name for. It was like a muffled chime, too faint to make out but reminiscent like a strain of song.

   I smirked at my imagining. What next? Would I call it my precious? I really hadn’t eaten much besides some of my cake fixings today, so my hunger must be messing with me in combination with my desire to have some forced connection to the father I never knew.

   I would take off the ring, suggest us both eat something in the kitchen, and we could leave this strange evening behind us. But when I looked back to mom, my smirk faded at her pallor.

   “Andraste save us,” she gasped, eyes blown wide with a terrible revelation I hadn’t a hope of guessing.

   I had seen mom fearful before. It was in a glance she threw over her shoulder as she walked the streets at night. It was in the way she double checked the locks on the doors every time she came back to our place. It was in the way she hurried us packing during the final days before a move, when she decided to pull us from whatever meager life we had only recently arranged for ourselves months prior, as if she waited too long, something from the past might catch up. And though I had never understood those flashes of fear from her, they were our normal, and so I accepted them. But this was not. This fear sunk in and took root and she did not try to hide it. For all her fears before, they came from the outside and she faced them down. But this one was angled in, at me.

   “Mom? Are you okay?” I reached towards her and she jerked away, like I might scald her. She swiftly exited the room, leaving my hand outstretched and mouth open. The room felt too small, but the feel of the ring tethered me, and with a deep breath, I followed her out.

   But when I saw her at the kitchen table, her face was carefully arranged into a neutral mask. At least whatever frightened her wasn’t so awful that it wasn’t something she felt like she couldn’t face. It would all be fine, right?

   She must have wanted me to think so because she lifted her head from her hands and said, “Why don’t you go take a hot bath?”

   A long soak was a luxury I didn’t allow myself often, more often nabbing a five minute shower when I needed to get clean, but knew this was mom’s way of buying herself space. When she was composed, she would address what was bothering her. No amount of my pushing would change her mind. I nodded at her suggestion as if I didn’t see through what she was doing and headed to the bathroom.

   My thoughts swirled with the steam rising from the hot water filling the tub. My life had always seemed normal to me, until I became old enough to realize it wasn’t. Other parents didn’t move their families multiple times a year for no discernible reason. Others, if separated from their partner, told their children at least something about their other parent. Others certainly weren’t so paranoid about safety or became suspicious of innocuous things. Maybe one day I would understand but I certainly wouldn’t if she never opened up.

   I shrugged my clothes off and settled into the water. I stifled a groan. It had been much too long since I had done this. I leaned my head back and let my eyes close. I hadn’t realized how tired I was until I finally took a moment to stop. After this I would go to bed. Mom and I could talk tomorrow after I got off my shift and everything would be fine and I’d finish up my homework for school on Monday.

   I must have drifted off because I didn’t hear mom come into the bathroom, not until she got on her knees beside the tub, her exhalation stirring the surface of the water. My eyes blinked open, and once they focused on her, I jolted upright.

   “What? What are doing?” My hands went over my breasts. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t seen before, but she had stopped giving me baths before I was in elementary school, and by middle school, I had my own room when possible. She had always knocked and afforded whatever space I needed, and if I were to feel comfortable in front of anyone nude it’d be her, and yet, I couldn’t help but feel vulnerable at the sight of her face set into hard lines.

   “Mel, for your entire life, I have done everything in my power to protect you. Everything,” she said with conviction, allowing no space for me to interject. “And what I do next is for you, though you won’t think so. It is a mercy, as it is a mercy to the rest of world, a means to protect all of the Maker’s people. I turned my back on the teachings I was raised with, thinking I knew better than everyone else. Even after I was shown the error of my ways years ago, I still held onto my misguided view. No more. This evening has shown me what I forced myself to ignore for years for my own selfish desire, a measure of happiness that didn’t belong to me.”

   The hairs raised on my arms, the bath water feeling suddenly cold. Tears came to her eyes, though her lips did not tremble. Her hands cupped my face, her gaze steadfast.

   “For all my sins, and for my greatest still to come, I hold no hope for peace in death. But you, sweet daughter, I pray will be welcomed to the Maker’s side.” She leaned in and kissed my forehead, hands settling at the base of my throat, no more than a light brush. “I love you. But I cannot let another abomination live.”

   Then she shoved me underwater so hard my head hit the bottom of the tub with a thud. Colors burst behind my scrunched eyelids and I tried to shake them off just like the hands holding me under. But no matter how I squirmed she had a solid hold. So quick she’d put me under I hadn’t gotten a full breath. My head whipped back and forth seeking air, hands scrambling for purchase on the tub sides. Instead they found her arms and my nails dug in.

   This wasn’t real. This wasn’t happening. In any moment she’d let me up and tease me for taking a little dunking seriously. This couldn’t be the same woman who taught me to ride a bike, who crocheted yarns dolls for me, who bandaged skinned knees, who taught me how to cook, who listened to me tearfully tell how kids at school ignored me and hugged me afterward.

   But it could be the same woman who made off hand comments as if she thought demons and the supernatural were real, who acted like the two of us were under a witness protection program, who studiously ignored romantic attention or overtures of friendship in whatever community we happened to be living in while I struggled to have anyone remember my name. This woman who always lurked beneath the surface I had known for years to be in my peripheral, but had made excuses for her until she broke free, and in doing so pushed me under. And I knew what I should have recognized long ago: she was mad.

   Despite my thrashing, her litany still reached me. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. This is the only way.”

   I viciously raked my nails on her arms, the knowledge flooding me that this was life or death just as the water did my mouth. My eyes opened, the world a blur of movement, though fading. There was a sensation keep within me, an awakening of energy, but I couldn’t quite reach it. Blocked. Useless. I couldn’t angle my legs to kick her but not as useless. I was able to brace them, push myself forward and roll onto my stomach, breaking her grip. Not letting her get a moment to right herself, I sat back on my knees and shoved her back onto the tile, all while sucking in ragged breathes. She rolled back onto her heels quickly, rising up just when I did. My hands scrambled for anything to use as a weapon, only coming up with a shampoo bottle and bar of soap, still disbelieving that this all must be happening even as she fixed me with one of her determined, unshakeable looks despite the trail of tears streaking her face. She would see this through to the end.

   Though I never had much of anyone to call friend and no other family to speak of, even in my loneliest moments, I had always comforted myself that I would always have her. There would always be someone who loved me. But somehow I had done something to make her believe my death would be a better alternative to letting me live. My legs wanted to give out at the realization I was truly and utterly alone.

   “Please. Please don’t do this. I’ll do anything, be better, but please, please…” I begged, pressing into the wall behind. Though it felt like everything good had been stripped away, I still desperately wanted to live.

   Mom shook her head solemnly and stepped forward, still between me and the doorway. I needed to get past her. I needed to get help. I sucked in the deepest breath my abused throat could take and screamed. I kept screaming as she leaped at me, her right hand attempting to cover my mouth, the other battling my swings. In the scramble one finger slipped between my teeth and I didn’t even think, only bit down as hard as I could. There was another scream, this one not from me. Blood pooled on my tongue. Mom flailed back, grasping her injured finger to her chest. I took the opportunity and shoved past, heading for the main room. I swore at the front door, fingers fumbling over all the locks. Why the hell did we have to have so many!

   When I just undid the last one, her left hand found my hair, gripped tight, and before I could react, slammed my face against the door. I fell and she fell on top of me, hands going for my neck. She sobbed though not seemingly from pain of her mangled finger. Almost as if she didn’t want to murder her daughter. Wonder that.

   “Mom, please,” I cried with my remaining breath. She just shook her head, a hot tear flicking onto my bruised cheek. Her eyes bespoke internal agony but her grip tightened and I knew I only had moments of remaining strength to fight her off or I’d be too weakened.

   The front door opened and there was a stunned pause before a familiar voice swore in French. From upside down I could see the old man standing in the entryway with cane raised like a baseball bat frozen mid swing, shock etched into his face, probably expecting a break-in from the screaming, not a murder attempt. My hands finally lost strength and fell as did my eyelids. I felt a whoosh of air followed by a crack and mom’s weight toppled away.

   It took several dizzying moments to come to, but when I did, I tried to scrambled away from her sprawled body. The old man reached to help me and I flinched away, whimpering. He kept his distance as he murmured meaningless reassurances in his broken English. I caught “police” and clung to that word.

   A cardigan smelling of mothballs and cheap liqueur was draped over me, probably to preserve what modesty I had left before the authorities arrived. It did little to warm me.

   I couldn’t stop shaking. I felt the reverberations deep in my chest, the force shattering everything into fragments. Blood intermingled with water on the shaggy apartment carpet. Tenants gathered out in the hallway at the commotion. Sirens in the distance. Accent laden questions were posed to me to snag my attention. Mom’s chest shallowly rose and fell from where she laid unconscious on the floor. My throat rasped as I sucked in breath after breath as if I would never be able to get enough air. But no matter how I tried to pick up the pieces I knew I’d never get them to all fit right again.

Chapter Text

Thedas, present day

   My words wearily shuffled onwards without inflection. I had to explain what came after so it would make sense. It still didn’t to me.

   “For years after, the one comfort I had was that whatever happened it wasn’t my fault. My mom snapped and I was the victim. That’s what the counselors told me. A small comfort after your own parent tries to kill you,” I tried to force a laugh but the sound choked in my throat. “But now that I know whole other worlds exist where there are magic and demons, who is to say she wasn’t crazy? That…that she wasn’t wrong to try-”

   Anders and Garrett both spoke at once but it was my healer who raised my face to meet his, his other hand still clasping mine, eyes mirroring my pain. “Mad or not, your mother was wrong. To murder your child over some perceived threat…to be able to do that, there is something broken inside her that you are in no way accountable for. The shadows of others are not yours. Never forget that.”

   I was a ship with her main sail untethered with a storm on the horizon and it was all I could hope for this to be my safe harbor. I knew my nails were leaving crescent marks on Anders’ palm but I couldn’t let go. Fenris’ discordant emotions warred within him, but still he remained, providing that humming energy from his tattoos. Garret was rubbing my arm in a soothing motion.

   Everything around me was blurred by unshed tears and memory, and yet, one question I could no longer hide myself from, though I left it unspoken, too afraid to voice it for fear of the answer I already suspected: If my own mother couldn’t find it in her to love me, could anyone else?

   I sobbed and Garrett pulled me into him so that my head rested on his chest. Even without his armor he still had the leather mixed in with his cinnamon scent. I tried to focus on breathing him in, to calm myself, but the shudders kept wracking my frame. He held me close, a comforting warmth murmuring tender reassurances as I cried myself out. Anders rubbed my back, his magic easing the ache in my head and eyes though it could do nothing for my heart. Fenris stiffened at the magic, but he did not pull away.

   I fell asleep with tears tracking my cheeks, and yet, sleep came swiftly, for despite my turmoil, I felt able to let go surrounded by these three.

   When I first roused, my brain felt stuffy. I didn’t know where I was. It took a moment for the reds, golds and browns of the Amell estate furnishings to sink in, though I quickly recognized the bed was not mine. Too big. In fact, too hot.  

   A bulky body pressed my backside close against his chest. The light from the fire had burnt down to embers but all it took was a deep breath of his scent and a feel of the massive biceps constricting me to know it was Garrett. I wiggled to position myself to see his face. At my movement, he hugged me tighter. “Stay,” he murmured, sounding half asleep. I squinted to determine whether he was more asleep or awake, and needed to wiggle just a bit more to face him, which proved to be a challenge in the confines of his arms. His deep brown eyes blearily blinked, but as they focused on my face, the softest of smiles took his face.   

   “Hey sweetheart,” he whispered.

   I was thankful for the darkness because blood rushed to my face. I averted my eyes only to settle on my hands splayed against his bare chest. Then I swallowed. Hard.

   Right, Garrett had been injured and I had told them about my life on Earth with my mad mother and then I broke down and wept and I must have fallen asleep right here on his bed. I was not supposed to do that last part. I felt the heat of another body behind me, could hear the rhythmic rise and fall of breathing, a rainstorm scent. Anders. Shit. I shouldn’t be here, literally right between them. I definitely wasn’t supposed to be doing that.

   And yet I didn’t instantly burst from Garrett’s arms. I didn’t want to move. No, I  wanted to remain snuggled against them, safe. I wanted Garrett to use an affectionate nickname with me again like I meant something. I wanted…

   No, what I wanted didn’t matter. I needed to get up and out right now.

   I bolted up, knocking Garrett’s arms back to his side, but paused when I took in the room. Fenris slouched in the chair that had once been by the fireplace, now by the window, and Scrapper a curled up barricade at the door. We had all fallen asleep together in the same room. That now familiar warmth sprang to life inside, and I placed a hand to my chest, as if I could feel an unusual heat emanating from my skin. When I tiptoed down the hall to my room where the covers would be cool and the bed too large, how long would this feeling keep me warm? How long before it faded to embers? With a pang, I wondered: when I returned to Earth, how long would it be before we were nothing more to each other but ash?

   Goosebumps raised on my bare arms. I pitched my voice low to not wake the others, but also to hide its wobble. “I should go…” I said the words by way of apology as I swung a leg over Garrett to crawl over him and head for the door.

   “Stay,” Garrett said again, this time his voice lacking less of the slurring of sleep. He grasped my wrist, eyes pinning me with an intensity that stilled me. He gently tugged me back down to face him once more, and I let him with not an ounce of resistance. Foolish. And yet the heat of his body made me sigh, muscles I didn’t even know were tensed relaxed, goosebumps fading.

   “It’s the middle of the night.You’re exhausted and if you go off by yourself you’ll only stay awake overthinking,” he argued, correctly assuming that I would protest, though he couldn’t have any idea of how close I was to giving into whatever he wanted. Not one to disappoint, for my own pride if nothing else, I opened my mouth. But before I said anything he rebutted it by poking my furrowed brow, case in point. I paused a moment, as if weighing my options, then deeply breathed, letting the tension ease from my face and eyelids fall shut.

   Garrett hummed approval at my acquiescence and lightly brushed his fingers on my cheek. My breath caught in my throat, but he didn’t pause in his ministrations, so I slowly exhaled as he stroked my hair. Again and again, the motion rhythmic, lulling. I became drowsy at the feel of his hands and the sound of his heart by my ear, the heat of his body melding into mine, the feel of him a promise encompassing my senses. Before I drifted off completely, he whispered so softly I didn’t think he meant for me to hear it, “Please, Mel, stay with me.”

Chapter Text

   The bed I woke to was cold. My arms spread out, and though I knew I’d feel no one, a swell of disappointment still came. I let it recede as I slowly opened my eyes.

   Garrett’s bedroom greeted me. It all hadn’t been a dream. I figured a different kind of emotion would take me then, but the reservoir was empty. I had drained it last night. What would fill it next I couldn’t predict, but with the light of late morning brightening the room, I felt the first sprinkling of hope.

   I slipped down the hall, changed into a plain tunic and leggings, and grimaced at my puffy eyes in the mirror before sighing and splashing my face with water. Since I found no one upstairs, I headed downstairs to see who was about. My stomach growled conspicuously loud in the quiet house. If there was anyone home, surely they’d come running to see what beast had wandered in. I hadn’t eaten anything yesterday morning before sword practice, and considering how much energy I spent following, it wasn’t surprising that I was ravenous. I nixed the plan of hunting anyone down in favor of a whipping up brunch.

   As I entered the dining room, voices filtered from the kitchen.  

   It sounded like it was wrapping up, so I shouldn’t be intruding.

   “Then we’re in accord,” said Garrett as I pushed open the door, sounding like he was concluding some sensitive negotiations. He froze at the sight of me. Anders, and even Fenris who I figured would be the hardest to get the drop on, seemed taken by surprise. The way in which no one seemed sure of what to say next made me positive they had just been discussing me. I wanted to know what exactly but my stomach decided to speak for me by growling its disapproval.

   Garrett grinned then turned to Anders who had been sitting by the fire and Fenris who leaned against a bare patch of wall. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s make breakfast.”

   I moved for the pantry but Garrett’s arm blocked my way. It took a moment to realize he had just pulled out a chair at the kitchen table for me. Before I could mention the obvious, that I should be gathering materials for our meal, he was ushering me into the chair, saying, “Bodhan is out running an errand for us. Let us.”

   “You?” I blurted. I hadn’t meant to sound quite so skeptical, but these were the same people who thought taking me to the Hanged Man for my first, full meal in Thedas was a good idea, which didn’t speak well of their own cooking skills if they paid for whatever Corff and Nora had concocted before I took control of their kitchen.

   Fenris chuffed, but wisely didn’t confirm his poor cooking skills by going for the simplest chore the meal would require: setting the table. It was Anders who coaxed up the fire with a burst of magic and directed Garrett to fetch items, which made sense because Garrett was slow in finding them, clearly unfamiliar with his own kitchen, and presumably, the act of cooking itself. My cheeks ached from my attempt to restrain my smile. I had to covertly place a hand over my mouth when Fenris finished with the table and paused, looking unsure what to do next. When Anders politely asked him to pass the ladle to dish out the meal, Fenris didn’t even bristle at being directed by the magic user. Maybe Garrett had brokered a peace pact between the two of them? Maybe that’s what I walked into and it hadn’t been about me at all.

   That explanation didn’t seem so convincing when Anders delivered a bowl full of soup made of leftover meat and vegetables before me and three pairs of eyes followed the ascent of spoon to mouth.

   “Mmmm, it’s good,” I said. I meant it too. Maybe not as flavorful as my cooking, but it was leagues beyond what the Hanged Man originally served. Maybe if Anders actually had a decent place to cook and food he’d do it more.

   “It uses the same basic principles as potion brewing; just follow the recipe and it should turn out fine,” Anders said, smiling contentedly as he watched me take another mouthful.

   “Though it’s your cooking that I’d call magical,” Garrett said and winked at me.

   Fenris groaned, either from the over the top nature of Garrett’s line or the meals he regularly consumed by my hand being compared to magic or a combination of both, and ladled himself out a bowl. Garrett, undeterred, kept grinning as he dipped out a portion for Anders and then one for himself. We sat silently together, the only noise coming from the crackling fire, birds song drifting in from the window which overlooked the Amell courtyard, and Scrapper’s tail rhythmically beating a table leg in anticipation of the occasional morsel I slipped him.

   Once we began clearing the table, it became evident to all that Fenris' cleaning ability was marginal at best, and since apparently I wasn’t supposed to lift a finger, we both were waved off to the parlor while Garrett and Anders set the kitchen to rights, though Bodahn would probably find something to sigh about at their attempt later. My last glimpse of the pair before the door shut was Garrett catching Anders by the elbow and pulling him close so he could say something in his ear. I didn’t allow myself to feel the familiar ache or the curiosity as I strode down the hall.

   I sprawled on the couch, and as expected, Fenris leaned against the back wall so he could see all who entered the room.

   “You could at least sit down,” I told him, eyes falling to the chair to his left.

   He smirked, and instead, lithely picked up my feet to claim one side of the couch before placing them on his lap. My breath came fast, and he turned a smirk on me.

   “Pleased?” he arched a brow and tilted his head slightly, which probably meant to indicate him having sat, but my mind chose to interpret it about our contact.

   “Yes,” I breathed then felt my cheeks flush.

   We sat like that for a minute, just enjoying the quiet, late morning reprieve. It made last night feel so far away, the memory I dropped on them dark and distant. Or maybe, it was simply lighter now that I wasn’t the only one carrying it. I could still feel it, and knew for years to come, I would still feel its weight, but at least now when its burden dragged me down, somebody would be there to help me back up. For as long as I remained in Thedas. It was still the plan to get back to Earth, where it was safer.

   I stared at the ceiling. Strange, beyond thoughts of my parents, I hadn’t really thought of Earth much at all. Sure, there were moments when I wished I could Google some recipe or remember the lyrics to some song or get the details right when explaining Earth to Varric or even have the ability to call somebody instead of marching across the city in hopes of catching them. But for all the conveniences and familiarity I lost and all the questions and dangers I’d gained, like Anders had said outside Kirkwall for what now seemed so long ago, some of the changes were positive. The future seemed malleable. If I could survive monsters, then I could graduate college and make something of myself, and most importantly, form connections with those around me.

   I tried to picture the apartment I shared with my roommates, well, make that shared since I was probably evicted at this point by pulling an extended disappearing act without paying rent. How long does it take before someone who has gone missing is declared dead and their stuff dumped or donated? Would I even have anything to come back to or would I have to start over? It’s not like I hadn’t done that before with mom for all those years before, but on my own, after the incident, I had finally started putting down roots, building something for myself. To start again, find another service job or two, see if I hadn’t been kicked out of my program, to find new roommates in a new apartment…it all sounded so exhausting.

   But this didn’t, I thought as I stole a peek at Fenris who still held my feet on his lap, eyes closed, though his breathing was light enough that I knew he wasn’t asleep and very much aware of his surroundings. Anders, Garrett, Fenris... each made me feel seen, and though one day I would have to say goodbye like I had so many times before, I knew this time I’d be leaving behind people who would actually remember me. Of course, I could never forget them.

   Fenris’ ears pricked, catching some sound I couldn’t hear, and then seconds later the front door burst open.

   “Sandal, put that in the upstairs room, third to the left. I’ll take this to the first,” Bodhan panted.

   “Enchantment,” Sandal agreed.

   I turned and caught the sight of the two dwarf housekeepers laden with boxes and sacks.

   “What’s all that?” The last time anyone came bursting through those doors laden with items Leandra and Garrett had been conniving to give me a whole new wardrobe. My eyes narrowed.

   “Our things. We’re moving in,” Fenris said simply, not bothering to open his eyes.

   I whipped around. “What?”

   “Anders and I. Hawke offered and we accepted.”

   “How did he manage that?” Anders liked to be right at his clinic if anyone ever needed him and didn’t spend any of his money on himself. Garrett had been looking out for Anders for a long time since he never looked out for himself, which made sense considering the feelings Garrett harbored for him and vice versa, but the two of them never did acknowledge what was between them. And like me, Anders was reluctant to accept anything remotely resembling charity from anyone. So why now? And why Fenris? I mean Fenris, the guy who likes to live in a rotting mansion with equally rotting house guests, and as Varric so succinctly put it, brood. If Fenris had wanted to live elsewhere, I’m sure he could have afforded a room at the Hanged Man or elsewhere from the money he made running jobs with Garrett, so why would he choose to live under the same roof as Anders, who he clearly didn’t get on with? Garrett had to be the real magic user in this equation.

   Fenris’ eyes slid open, as if sensing my torrent of thoughts. “He can be persuasive.”

   “Is that what you all were discussing when I walked in?”

   “Amongst other things.”

   I sighed, knowing he wasn’t likely to elaborate. “Well, which room are you? First or third on the left?”

   “First.”

   I nodded though Fenris had already shut his eyes again. The first one was a smaller room adjacent to mine, opening on the landing. There was a small window in it but from the door you could see everyone who came and went. Seemed fitting. That left Anders with the third, which was sandwiched between Garrett and I. Should be a quieter spot. It’d be good for him.

   It had been a bit jarring to see Anders’ and Fenris’ belongings easily transported across the city by two dwarfs. They never had much to begin with, but it still struck me as odd that they would be so comfortable having someone else gathering up their possessions. Fenris wasn’t doing anything now, so I didn’t see why he hadn’t just gone himself. There was something more to it, but Fenris was being tightlipped. Well at least now they could finally find a decent place to call home and be able to settle in.

   I turned away, gaze going over the parlor’s paintings, landing on one of a battle between a knight and a bandit. The sword wielded by the knight caught the dim light in the painted world, and it made me remember.

   I turned back to Fenris. “Could you teach me how to fight with a sword?”

   Fenris’ face made no expression. “I could,” was his only response, the deep vibrato of his voice rumbling through my skin, starting at where his hands held my bare feet against his chest.

   Well, that wasn’t a no. “If I learned how to use a sword, I could protect myself.”

   Fenris traced patterns on my feet. “I vowed that I would protect you. Do you doubt my word?”

   “No,” I said, trying to keep my voice even at his touch. “But if I’ve learned anything in Thedas, it’s that anything can happen. I want to be prepared. What if something happens to you or the others in a fight and I’m the only one left who can-

   His lips quirked at my breathlessness.“If the rest of us have been defeated then you are hopelessly outmatched and would be wise to run, not fight until you fall too.”

   I glared at my hands in my lap, deciding on another tactic. “But what if I’m caught alone again?”

   His hands tightened on my feet, his voice almost a growl. “You will not be.”

   “How can you be so sure?”

   Tantalizing fingers turned my face to swirling emerald eyes.“Through my own lack vigilance I almost lost you twice. There will not be a third. If Hawke or the mage let’s anything slip past their guard, it will be my blade that will run it through. And nothing will ever reach you as long as I draw breath.”

   It was me who didn’t draw breathe for a beat, then two, then three. His words were slow to permeate, but when they did, I shivered at his sincere intensity. Holy shit. No one had ever promised me something so momentous. I wasn’t quite sure what to do with that, but I couldn’t let him sidetrack me.

   I took a deep breathe, then said, “Part of protecting me means letting me protect you. If something were to happen to any one of you and I could have prevented it but didn’t, I don’t think I could forgive myself.”

   “But what if you did prevent it? Could you forgive yourself then?”

   “What?”

   “Let us be clear about what you’re asking. You do not wish to simply know how to use a sword, but to fight to protect, maim, and even kill. You should be prepared for whatever outcome every time you draw your sword.”

   The Kirkwall ganged killed a lot. Spiders, demons, monsters…and people. I flashed to Fenris cutting off the head of the Darktown man strangling me without a moment’s hesitation; Garrett savagely pummeling Wright till he was half dead and then later hunting down the other corrupt city guards to their presumable death; Anders plunging his staff into the throat of Wright, the healer’s face so different when taking a life rather than saving it. I knew then, what Fenris was trying to say. Could I live with killing another person?

   I thought of Anders recounting the horrors the Templars put him through. Would I kill to prevent him being recaptured? What if one of Garrett’s enemies came after him? What if that enigmatic “he” that had Fenris so paranoid that he plunged his fist into my chest when we first met came for him?

   “I am prepared,” I said, then jutted my chin out as he opened his mouth. “Prepared to kill if I must, if it means that we can all come home together.”

   Home. The word jangled through me. Yes, with these three, it felt like home. It was a home I couldn’t keep, but I’d hold onto it for as long as I could, bloodying my hands if needed.

   “Festis bei umo canavarum,” he hissed under his breath, a wry grin forming as he met my eyes, his own having lost their edge.

   I was about to ask what that meant, but he simply shook his head. “Meet me in the courtyard at dawn tomorrow.”

   “Really?”

   Fenris let the grin fully emerge at my enthusiasm though he swiftly tried to hide it.

   I sat up, snatching his hands which still rested on my feet. I wanted to thank him, wished I had some word or phrase that could tell him what his protection, teaching, and having him in my life meant.

   I did know one from Thedas, one that Anders had used with me.

   “Thank you, ma vhenan.”

   I had never seen someone go so utterly still. But he did, staring at me like he couldn’t quite believe those words would ever come from my lips. It ached to think it was so surprising that I might claim him as a friend. How could he swear to protect my life always, to move in under the same roof as me, to train me, and not think I would think of him as such? Did he not think he was deserving of a close relationship with me? Did he not want that boundary between guardian and friend crossed? Did he-

   “I am not Dalish, but I do know some words and phrases, and I do know what that means.” His gaze never wavered from mine. “Do you?”

   I huffed, pulling my hands from him. “Yes, I heard it from Anders.”

   Fenris’ lips curled downward at the mention of Anders’ name, body going stiff. “Oh? And on what occasion did he claim you as such?”

   On what occasion did he claim me as such? What, like either of them have exclusive rights to my friendship. Honestly, the two of them let the animosity between them brew too much. This was ridiculous.

   “I don’t see when or how matters, and really, it shouldn’t be of any concern to you who does.”

   His eyes twitched, and for a moment I thought that would be the end of it, but then he pulled my feet so I was half sitting in his lap, half laying back on the couch. He leaned over, one hand bracing his body by my head, the other tilting my chin, his nose a breath from mine.

   “Oh, it’s very much my concern,” he purred, “if he claims you as such and you accept it, and yet in turn, claim me the same. Tell me, Mel, what should I do with that?”

   His breath on my lips, his voice echoing in my bones, and the heat of his body hovering over mine was outrageously distracting. My breathing had increased embarrassingly fast. I looked anywhere but at him, concentrating on slowing my racing heart, like he didn’t rattle my composure. I wouldn’t let Fenris or anyone else dictate who I could be close to. I could have Anders in my life and Fenris too, and if they wanted to be in mine, they’d have to get along.

   I met his gaze and answered, “Accept it.”

   His eyes widened, staring into mine like I had said something profound. He sucked in a breath, the first I’d ever heard that could be described as ragged, and mouthed my words silently. Then he looked to my lips which apparently couldn’t stop surprising him today. He leaned in closer, breathing in my exhalations, as if he could taste the words I hadn’t yet voiced.

   I opened my mouth, but whatever words I might have uttered next froze as a sudden prickle danced across my forehead then just as suddenly melted when a roar followed by a crash came from the kitchen.

   Fenris moved before me, I first noted by the absence of his heat; he was already out the door before I could sit upright. I bolted after him, catching up just when he made it to the kitchen entry. Fenris threw an arm out, blocking my path, another reaching back for his sword handle. I peeked over his shoulder, looking for the cause of the commotion, hoping the other two were okay, that it wasn’t another demon attack— they had a bad habit of showing up in kitchens.

   But there was only Garrett, on his feet, arms splayed wide in a gesture of peace. The blue, glowing figure before him only strode forward, unmindful of the broken cutlery on the floor. I wanted to burst past Fenris and push Garrett out of harm’s way, to barrel in and find Anders who surely must be unconscious out of sight, but Fenris had made up his mind to not let me near; there was no getting past him. From the way Garrett stood his ground, I knew he had no intention of moving either.

   “You will not take her to them!” The being bellowed.

   My nails dug into Fenris’ arms as I stood on tiptoes to get a better look. That voice, fathomless and yet vaguely familiar, and the sweep of its hair and the texture of its robes…

   “An-Anders?”

   The being turned, as if noting Fenris and my presence for the first time. Eyes that should have been a warm brown were a startlingly cold blue.

   “No,” it said, “I am Justice.”

Chapter Text

   I shook my head. That was Anders’ body; I was sure of it. This being had somehow kidnapped his body.“Where is he? What have you done with Anders? Give him back!”

   “He is still here,” Justice said as he approached. “We are one.”

   A spirit. He was a Fade spirit like Anders had told me about when he explained Spirit Healing. How the hell had it taken over his body?

   My hold on Fenris went slack, goosebumps rising on my arms. When Justice was a pace away, Fenris growled, “Step back,” and I wasn’t sure if he meant the being or me, but I found myself retreating. Justice did not.

   “Justice, your quarrel is with me. Leave Mel out of it,” Garrett called, his surprisingly diplomatic voice betrayed by the tension in his body.

   “What quarrel?” I asked, eyes darting from Garrett to Justice.

   “He would bring you into the den of our enemies. We will not allow it,” Justice said.

   “He…what?”

   Fenris brought the arm barring my way closer to my body, as if surprised by the being’s pronouncement as much as me and wished to sweep me from the room.

   Garrett sighed. “I was informing Anders that today I wanted to escort you to the Gallows courtyard to visit Emeric. He owes me a favor and might be able to help us determine why you were able to sense the rage demon, why that white light keeps appearing around you.”

   “The Templar is a fool. He is afraid of magic’s power and those who wield it, slowly poisoning his own body with lyrium so he might temporarily smite it away like all the rest in his order to ‘protect.’ But where is that ability to protect applied to anything worthwhile? He cannot even track down one serial killer though he has had years to do it. There is no ingenuity, only stubborn adherence. And what do you think that would result in when he discovered who she is?” Justice curled his lip at Garrett, as if he were a breath from labeling him a fool too. “If he knew what she was, he would not let her go.”

   Garrett, for the first time, looked unsure. But I, despite the hundreds of questions bursting to come out, narrowed down on one thing.

   “You know what I am. Why I’m here.”

   “Why? No. What? Yes, I believe I do.”

   I slipped underneath Fenris who hissed at me to get back. When I didn’t he moved right beside me until I was face to face with Justice. Garrett moved to my other side. I opened my mouth to repeat my question, but Justice silenced me with an upheld hand, his other diving to retrieve something in his pocket.

   “I do not approve of Anders’ obsession with you,” Justice intoned. “Distracts him from our work. Mutes me. Wants his time with you uninterrupted. If he had let me come forward, not waiting until I next assumed control…your answers might have come sooner.”

   He extended a hand. Both Garrett and Fenris tensed at my side. Justice opened his palm, and on it lay a blue, luminescent ring.

   I sucked in a sharp breath. It looked like the one mom had all those years ago. I leaned in closer, the tinkling of chimes, like a wisp of song, teased, beckoning me closer still.

   “You can hear it,” Justice said.

   “Hear what?” Garrett groused, looking twitchy, but I nodded to Justice.

   “Then this will confirm it.” He closed his fingers over the ring into a tight fist. “This was given to me by the first to call me friend. But today I will give it to you in respect for my last,” Justice said with his other hand over his chest, Anders’ heart.

   Blue light, which smelled otherworldy compared to Anders’ rain scented magic, flared between the gaps of his fist. Fenris’ tattoos flashed in response, sending a rumble out of him but it did not diminish the call of the song. Suddenly the strains of the music were no longer faint. It was like an orchestra jumping straight into the swell of the chorus. Justice bared his palm, revealing the ring’s clear casing cracked, spilling a glowing, sapphire-esque jewel onto his skin.

   Garrett choked. “That’s raw lyrium. It’s toxic to touch!”

   He moved like he might knock it straight from Justice’s hand, which was really Anders’ hand, but Justice angled toward me, not even sparing Garrett a glance as he said, “Anders shall be fine with me acting as a barrier. And with your light, so will you.”

   Justice moved suddenly, a blur of blue. I stumbled back, feeling more than seeing the force of magic he cast. Fenris stood in front of me, giant sword frozen in his hands, while Garrett’s hands were paused an inch from Justice, as if he was about to pull him back. But they were as still as statues. Only the darting of their eyes told me they lived. A glance to the floor showed circles of magic holding them in place.

   “What have you done?” I demanded.

   Justice strode around Fenris towards me, and a pulse of familiar energy murmured in response deep inside.

   “What are you doing?” I stepped back as he neared.

   He ignored my questions. “In your most primal state, when you stand between the border of life and death, who you are is revealed. This knowledge was stolen from you, a wrong that I cannot ignore, and I shall correct this.” His tone brokered no room for argument. “Even if you must die.”

   “What!?” I shrieked, then swiftly darted around the kitchen table, keeping it between him and me. I couldn’t see Garrett’s face from this angle, but I could Fenris’. His tattoos steadily brightened and his eyes were the green of an oncoming storm, promising destruction for anything that stood in his path to me. But he couldn’t move yet. I was unarmed and outmatched. I should run, just like Garrett and Fenris would undoubtedly be shouting at me to do if they could, but Justice was between me and the door.

   “Bodahn! Sandal! Leandra! Scrapper! Help!” I yelled as loud as I could. No one came.

   I feinted to the left then ran right and for the door. But Justice hadn’t taken the bait, blocking my way. I snatched the fire poker at the hearth, brandishing it like a sword, but jerked up short. I didn’t want to hurt Anders. It might be Justice controlling the body, but that was Anders’ body, and he was in there somewhere.

   And that moment of hesitation was my undoing. Justice pulled me against him tight with arms stronger than even Garrett’s. Supernaturally strong. Escape was impossible no matter how much I clawed and kicked. Then he lurched with me toward the fireplace still burning from the breakfast we had that now seemed like an eon ago. I felt the heat on my face, flinched as it grew uncomfortably hot. As Justice started titling my body toward it, I knew what he intended.

   “No!” I screamed and fought with a maniac frenzy. When the rage demon attacked me, it had happened too fast for me to truly panic, but I remembered the pain of its flame, the dark encroachment of death. I had survived it once, and I would not die this way.

   The energy burst from me, slamming against Justice so that I was dropped on the floor right at the hearth. I spun around, coming to my feet in a moment. White light fringed my vision, but I caught Justice’s blue at the center of it, righting himself, Garrett and Fenris facing us, still frozen but managing to look murderous.

   Light headedness followed but the energy buffered me on. I held my hands out, like I could send a wave of it to repel Justice from me again if I so choose. But I didn’t know how I had done it the first time. I barely understood how I remained upright as I swayed. Like every time prior the white light emerged, a blackout was sure to follow. The world seemed delayed and I felt detached from my body, like I might float away.

   Justice took advantage of my dizziness and swiftly snatched one of my hands, dropping the raw lyrium straight into my open palm. I gasped but didn’t drop it. For something so light, it felt anchoring, heavy, like it might pass through my skin and into my blood; light, like it might dissolve in the air and fill my lungs; infectious, a slip of song always circling in my mind. But it did not burn. Not like it should, I realized, when the tension in Fenris’ and Garrett’s faces turned from one of fear for me to shock.

   Justice wore a faint smirk that seemed much too human for a spirit. He made no move toward me, looking oddly thoughtful, and not at all terrifying as he had been seconds ago. Then I understood what he had done.

   “I think,” Justice mused as his glow began to fade, settling back to the familiar features of my healer, “that we might be more alike than either of us realized.”

   Two pairs of feet rushed forward.

   “What are you trying to say?” Garrett demanded, shaking Justice, but it wasn’t Justice anymore. Warm brown eyes blinked open, darting around the room from disorientation. When they landed on me, I knew he understood what just happened by the way they darkened. He mouthed my name, one hand tentatively reaching out, as if scared for the first time I wouldn’t take it. Or that maybe I would. He never got the chance to see, not with Fenris in his face.

   “What have you done, mage?” Fenris spat, looking fiercer than I had ever seen him. He looked but moments from ripping out Anders’ heart, prevented only by Garrett who still stood in his way.

   I grabbed onto the forearm of his heart-snatching hand to stop such an event from occurring. Also to steady myself. The energy was settling, but I still felt unbalanced, like water in a glass still sloshing along the sides.

   “Justice never meant to actually hurt me,” I murmured to Fenris, my voice weak. “He had only meant to make me think he would so I would…”

   The flicker of the fire caught my eye and my energy pulsed again in response. The lyrium in my hand hummed, its tone climbing, climbing until something inside me broke. Or maybe, was finally released.

   Flemeth’s voice echoed in my mind: Perhaps more evenings spent by the fire will help. I’m sure it’ll spark something.

   The fire morphed, streaming up onto all four sides of the fireplace’s interior, forming a writhing box. A hallway. Then, a shape formed, first small, then big, as if an approaching figure. No, a rage demon. A lick of its flame reached out, as if it might touch me. But it wouldn’t, not like the one at the Hanged Man. No, like the one on…

   Like a handful of brush dumped on a bonfire, memory flared in me.

   I remembered how I came to Thedas.

Chapter Text

Earth, one month ago

   “Excuse me?” I glanced at the receptionist’s name tag. “Paige?”

   Paige, who flipped through a file behind the counter, didn’t look up or give any indication she heard me. Of course. I sighed, and rang the bell.

   It took a moment, but she finally blinked up at me. “Oh. Hello. I didn’t see you there. How may I help you?”

   Or hear me, apparently. I resisted the urge to sigh a second time. “I’m visiting one of the patients here. I’m supposed to sign-in, I think.” I had never been here before. I had been uncertain on the procedure but the sign on the counter gave me a good idea.

   The woman look bored as she recited, “I’ll need the name of the patient and your ID to see if you’re approved.”

   “I’m here to see Daria Payne.” I passed her my card, which she squinted at, then squinted at harder when she noticed my last name. “I’m her daughter,” I felt compelled to explain.

   “I can see the resemblance,” she said as she eyed me up and down, then tapped the guest sign-in sheet before confirming my appointment on the computer. “Surprised I haven’t seen you before. She hasn’t had any visitors.” Her eyes said what she didn’t speak: I was a bad daughter.

   “She’s only been in this facility for six months after spending a few years in the high security place over in Bast,” I said with a pasted on grin. I wanted to tell her I never visited not because I was a bad daughter but that she was a bad mother. She didn’t deserve any of my time. Even if life without her had shown me just how lonely it could be.

   Paige hummed at me in acknowledgement, not arguing her poorly veiled barb but not letting it go either. I let myself sigh when I accepted the guest pass, shrugging it over my neck.

   Paige called someone on the phone, “Ms. Payne is here. Yes, alright. Goodbye.” She pointed down the hall. “Dr. Stauffman is the third on the right.”

   “Thank you,” I said, glad to not have to continue the conversation. I shrugged on my backpack heavy with textbooks and my diner uniform I had been wearing only this morning.

   I knocked on the door before peeking my head through. “Dr. Stauffman?”

   A petite woman with dark hair, warm brown skin and a dazzling smile set her glasses down. “Ah, Amelia. Welcome. Please take a seat.”

   I sat in front of her desk, hands clasped in my lap. One knee immediately began bouncing.

   “It’s good to finally meet you in person,” the doctor reached over and shook my hand with a solid grip. “Thank you for coming. I’m glad you did.”

   Once freed from her touch, my hands immediately twisted back together in my lap. “I wasn’t sure that I would,” I admitted then cringed.

   The woman’s kind smile didn’t falter.“That’s understandable. This can’t be easy.”

   I tried to smile back and gave a noncommittal shrug. She didn’t comment on my poor attempt to seem casual, simply folded her arms on her desk and leaned forward, the picture of professional ease.

   “As I explained previously, I believe it’s very important for your mother’s recovery that she slowly makes connections to her past again.”

   Dr. Stauffman had explained as much two months ago when she first reached out to me about seeing Daria. She told me it had been important for her to be removed from her previous environment at the height of her illness where her delusions ran rampant. But through an regimented environment, medications, and therapy, she had learned to distinguish between the real and the imaginary. She hadn’t had an incident where she believed her delusions were real in years.

   Funny, it hadn’t even been a year since my last panic attack. And I still couldn’t get in the bath like a normal person. Just using the toilet and hearing my roommates’ footsteps in the hall made my heartbeat quicken. I hated how even after all this time, when I was finally striving to live a free and wonderfully average life, the ties to my past still jerked me back.

   It had been eight years since I’d last seen her. Eight years since my only family tried to murder me.

   After what she had done, when she faced trial, she’d been judged insane and was ordered to serve her sentence in high security mental health facilities. Her sentence had been met six months ago, and due to her progress in treatment, she was moved to this low security facility. Here she could interact with other patients, play games and do crafts, participate in group sports outside and even take monitored trips offsite. And when the facility deemed her fit, she would be released on the condition she continued treatment as the state deemed necessary. My presence here today was part of that on-going assessment.

   I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Maybe she did deserve a second chance, maybe not. At the least, she deserved the help she went without all these years that drove her to her violent compulsion. Just because I was here today to help her get that help didn’t mean that I had to accept her into my life again whether she got out or not, or that I had to be okay with everything she did to me.

   My fingernails dug into my jeans. I concentrated on my breathing. I didn’t want to think about the past. Only today I would face it, in the name of taking the high road and so that I might never trek this memory lane again. Perhaps I could finally let time over grow it.

   “How’s she doing?” I braved, letting the tight smile harden on my features. I’d let nothing dent it, no matter if Daria’s presence shook me.

   “She gets along with staff and other patients well,” Dr. Stauffman said, signaling with a gesture to follow her out her office. I did, once again shrugging on my backpack. “She fits right in. Socially, she’s as adept as any of the patients here. More so than most that come from high security facilities. She leads the crochet corner and is a coveted player on the volleyball team. She has even taken a young patient, William, under her wing.”

   I stopped. “She what? You leave her with a kid?”

   “Yes, but with orderly supervision of course.” Dr. Stauffman gave me that empathetic smile again, like she could understand the mix of emotions churning up my gut. I doubted anyone could. “William is nine, a ward of the state who suffers from schizophrenia. Your mother and he bonded early on. She’s assumed a quasi-parental role with him, and he’s definitely latched onto her. They’ve greatly assisted with each others’ recoveries.”

   “I see,” I said, though I didn’t really see. I wanted to scream at the doctor for letting any child get near my mother who was never really a mother when it mattered. I wanted to yell at the unfairness of it all, at Daria for somehow developing a healthy relationship with this kid but spiraled out with me.

   Instead, I took a deep breath and followed the doctor down the hall.

   “I’ve arranged for you to meet her out on the veranda. I’ll facilitate the whole thing. If everything goes well, which I’m sure it will, you can have some one-on-one time in the activity room. Of course, there will be orderlies monitoring the room so you’ll never be alone.” She squeezed my arm and then opened the door outside.

   And there she was.

   I froze in the door frame, and the screen door swung into me from behind, pushing me that extra foot over the threshold. She turned and looked at me, and there was no turning back.

   “Daria, it’s your daughter, Amelia,” the doctor said as if we wouldn’t recognize each other.

   Sure, there were lines of gray in her hair now, creases around her eyes that weren’t there before, and clothes that were better filled out. But it was her. It was my mother. And I knew from the way she straightened as her eyes landed on me, roving over from toe to head, that despite all my changes, she knew me too.

   “Hey honey,” she whispered, just like she used to when I was little kid tugging at her skirt to show her some plant I picked or rock I found. The same voice she used when she kissed me goodnight. The voice that I blocked from my memory because its resonance ached.

   “Hey,” I croaked. I didn’t call her Daria like I planned, as if I could pretend that we were only mere acquaintances attempting to reconnect, but neither could I call her mom, like nothing had happened at all. There was no denying the expanse between us now.

   But she attempted to cross it. She strode across the deck and swept me into her arms like I was her prodigal child finally come home. A hug like this before the incident would have been more than welcome—I always craved that contact—but now I stiffened in her arms. Only knowing that the doctor was watching did I let myself go ahead and tentatively pat my mother’s back before extricating myself. I could never forget that the last time our bodies had been pressed this close was when she had been trying to strangle the life out of me. Just the thought of it made me feel nauseous.

   Dr. Stauffman was beaming. Apparently, things were going very well. She waved to three seats angled to face the yard but also so we could comfortably make eye contact with one another. We took them, the doctor with professional eagerness, my mother with ease, and I with hesitant feet.

   I perched on the edge of my chair, hands once again twisting in my lap, and looked out to the lawn as if I couldn’t feel two pairs of eyes drilling into my face. An orderly walked several paces behind a pair of women linking arms and strolling across the grass as if they were ladies from a bygone era at a garden party. Another patient was a little too interested in the garden aspect of the yard, pulling up tulips as if they had personally offended her, while a male patient watched the whole display clutching his arms about his body and crying. Needless to say an orderly was already interrupting that scene.

   I wished I could keep watching, pretending that I wasn’t part of my own unfolding scene.

   “They’re a bit lively today,” Daria muttered, as if she wasn’t a part of the “they,” as if she were only a visitor to this facility, like me.

   “Yes, well, looks like Daniel has it well in hand,” Dr. Stauffman said of who I could only assume was the orderly. She angled herself to face my mother and I more fully, probably regretting her choice of meeting place for us now. I couldn’t say that I did. It was good to have a visible reminder that every patient at the facility was receiving treatment for a reason. And as much as my mother tried to separate herself from those around her, she wasn’t fooling me.

   “How are you?” Daria asked me and I nearly bolted out of my seat. How could she be so calm? So casual?

   I opened my mouth, an “I’m fine,” on my tongue, but I swallowed it. I didn’t want to play nice. I didn’t owe it to her, and as nice as Dr. Stauffman was being to me, I didn’t owe her anything either. I wasn’t going to smooth it away, couldn’t fake that my mother’s actions hadn’t negatively impacted me as much as they had. I owed myself the promise I made, to find a measure of peace, of closure, from the woman who constructed my sense of reality and then shattered it.  

   “I’m fucking pissed.”

   Dr. Stauffman straightened, as if she were about to interject, but Daria raised her hand to stay her. How magnanimous of her. Like I would have let Dr. Stauffman stop me or needed Daria’s permission once I realized that I needed to get this out.

   “I’m confused, lost, hurt. Because of you.” I had to swallow then, not words this time, but a shuddering breath. I was on the border of losing it. I had promised myself I wouldn’t let her unsettle me, and yet, look at me now. I soldiered on, shoving the chaos of emotion down.

   “Most of all, I’m exhausted. It’s been eight years. Eight years of you getting,” I waved at Dr. Stauffman, “whatever help you needed to get back to normal, but for me, it’s been trying to discover what normal is for the first time in my fucking life. And I’ve been doing it alone. You saw to that. You isolated me, isolated yourself. You never told me why, for any of it, and I’ve still been trying to piece it all together. Knowing you have mental issues isn’t enough for me. I still don’t understand why.”

   The doctor leaned in, clearly not happy with the way I was leading the scene. “Mel, you must understand Daria dealt with a severe case of schizophrenia that triggered very convincing alternate realities that—

   “I know all about what you and your colleagues have reported,” I snapped, cutting off the explanation. “This is your job. Sure, you care, but it’s clinical. But between us,” I waved at my mother who watched me with a carefully blank face, a mask I recognized from donning myself many times, “it’s personal.”

   “It’s okay, Jackie,” my mother smiled at the doctor, as if their roles were reversed. “I knew when this meeting was arranged that it might go this way. If she needs to talk, then I owe her no less, don’t I?”

   You owe me a lot more than a talk, I wanted to hiss, but finally, was able to swallow down some of my words.

   I took a deep breath, eyes going to the orderly Daniel who was escorting the flower ripper and the weeper back indoors. The two women who had been strolling through the garden were now picking up the stray flowers and weaving them into their hair. I wished I could join them; they looked to be having a much better time than me.

   Dr. Stauffman looked strained, but settled back into her chair. “It’s your call, Daria.”

   My mother angled her body so only I was in her direct sight, like the rest of world didn’t matter. “I have so much I need to tell you, but I should start by saying how sorry I am, Mel.”

   “It’s Amelia.”

   “Is that what you’re going by now?”

   “To you? Yes.”

   Her eyelids fluttered to look down at the deck. No matter how sorry she was, we could never be mom and Mel again, only Daria and Amelia.

   “Amelia,” she said my birth name slowly, as if tasting how it rolled across her tongue. Though I recognized it, it felt foreign, unattached to me. Still, I nodded slightly.

   My mother opened and closed her hands, as indecisive as mine. Her eyes rose up. “I swear, I never wanted to hurt you. I only ever wanted to protect you. If I could, I would have given you everything your heart wished. A home you never had to leave. A fine school with classmates you could form lasting friendships with. A mother who could provide every necessity… I wish for so many things to have been different. And for that, even if one day I could earn your forgiveness, I know I could never truly forgive myself for it.”

   “You’re right, you can’t.”

   Her eyes shut at my words. Dr. Stauffman shifted in her seat but didn’t comment.

   I was the one who was wronged, and yet, I couldn’t hold the knife that had been stabbed in me and keep twisting it. I’d never heal that way. So I took a deep breath and asked, “So why?”

   “It’s…as Jackie said. I’m not like most other people. There are things that I have to deal with, and I have, but I’ve needed help to get there.”

   Her words were vague, evasive. She had always been this way, but maybe this time, her lack of specificity was more attributable to pain, not personality.

   Maybe I wasn’t the only one hurting. Maybe she deserved that pain. Maybe she didn’t. But I felt it, just the beginning of that fissure inside lessen its ache.

   Dr. Stauffman interjected, a welcome interruption this time. “Why don’t we share your treatment plan Daria with Amelia and show her all the progress you’ve made?”

   Like mirror images, we nodded.

   And so the afternoon passed by.

Chapter Text

   Dr. Stauffman practically skipped away when she left us in the activity room. Daria wore a bemused expression as she left, one that quickly morphed into disgust as she eyed the pudding we’d been served. I swirled my spoon in mine, more to give my hands something to do than a desire to eat it. The consistency of it looked questionable. We both pushed ours away at the same time. She gave me a grin like we had shared an inside joke, the kind that invited me to join her, but my lips barely moved in response. I wasn’t ready for that kind of thing with her. Maybe someday, but not yet.

   “We can always dump it in the trash when Dorothy gets distracted.”

   “What?” I glanced around, but despite the TV playing a nature documentary faintly in the background, a rather competitive game of Yahtzee taking place on one of the big tables, and a young boy painting by the window, I didn’t see much room for distraction for the orderly who watched everyone with an expression that said she was so bored with her musings that her job had actually become interesting.

   Then the boy spilled a cup of paint on his easel with a cry.

   Dorothy strode over, paper towels in hand and coo on her tongue. “Oh no, oh let me see it William.”

   Daria scooped up our pudding and scraped them off into the garbage by our table stealthier than I thought possible. Was the food consistently so bad that she had become practiced with doing things like that?

   William sniffled across the room, “Do…do you think we can fix it?”

   “Well…your sun is still showing,” Dorothy frowned at the green splattered picture dripping rivulets onto the newspaper covering the floor. She dabbed at the bottom of the paper, which didn’t do much to save what was left of the picture. She tried for a smile. “What a happy looking sun it is!”  

   William’s lower lip trembled. Clearly, he didn’t believe his sun was happy.

   “We can get you some fresh paper,” Dorothy suggested, but William stared dejectedly at the floor.

   “It’s okay,” he said.

   “Oh, well, chin up,” she touched William’s arm and winked, “the sun’ll come out tomorrow.”

   The boy’s face scrunched up in confusion as Dorothy bustled away humming a Broadway tune. As she unlocked some cleaning supplies in one of the cabinets, the boy whisked a sheet of paper from under his picture collection of landscapes and animals and then approached our table.

   Daria held out her hand, and the boy slipped the paper to her. She unfolded it, face darkening a moment, before she folded it up and slipped it into her shirt. “I’ll clean up,” she stood, waving her hand to the seat beside hers. “Meet my daughter, Mel.”

   The boy’s frown turned sullen.

   “It’s Amelia,” I said to my mother’s retreating back, but if she heard, she didn’t show it, and the boy only examined the dried flecks of paint on his skin.

   “You’re William?” I asked, and he nodded, still not bothering to look at me.

   I turned over my shoulder to catch Daria scanning the days old newspapers littering the floor before swiftly stuffing them into the garbage bag when Dorothy came back with the cleaning supplies. She offered to help, and Dorothy smiled and thanked her but shooed her off. Don’t waste time on this when you could be spending time with you daughter, she said.

   The word made William sink even lower into his chair. “I didn’t know you had a daughter,” he muttered to Daria when she came back.

   I wanted to tell him that he shouldn’t be jealous of me, that he was lucky she wasn’t his mother. He could have closed his eyes and spun on a crowded street and probably would have pointed to a more ideal candidate to fill the parental void in his life.

   I felt like she knew the words I was just barely containing. She didn’t say anything to William’s comment, only shrugged off her cardigan and draped it over his shoulders. He sighed and leaned his face on the table.

   “You did well,” she said, and as a slip of smile came to his face at her praise, I stiffened in realization. The paint spill had been staged. It had been executed so flawlessly I hadn’t been suspicious until I saw him smuggle one of his paintings to Daria. Something he didn’t want anyone else to see.

   “Go ahead, rest,” Daria whispered and squeezed his arm much like she used to do with me when I was small and had awoken from a nightmare.

   “What if they come?” His eyes flicked to where she tucked his picture.

   She placed a hand over her breast, over his art. “Remember what I taught you, and know I’ll be waiting when you wake on this side.”

   With that, she kissed his forehead and his face relaxed and his eyes shut. Within a minute he was breathing deeply, oblivious to this world.

   I burned with a thousand questions. Daria, who watched William not with a mother’s affectionate look but of one standing vigil against some shadow, finally turned her focus to me.

   “He walks a different plain when he sleeps,” she said, as if that explained the whole thing.

   Well, that was one way to put it. I remembered what Dr. Stauffman said about William suffering from schizophrenia. How horrible to fear the world, to not know what is and isn’t real. At one point did Daria start suffering delusions? I never knew much about her life before me. Maybe she was once like William. Maybe that’s why they’re close. Maybe this is why she doesn’t talk about her past.

   “We call it the Fade,” she said, letting the end of the statement drift off, like she wanted me to ask her more. Like she would answer any question I asked next like she never did when I was growing up.

   I would not be baited. We were not going to play this on her terms, and I still felt the pulsing of alarm in my body from the way she and her young protege had played Dorothy.

   “What was that?” I jerked my shoulder to where the easel, now abandoned, still stood. It looked lonely without paper, like a tree that had shed its leaves for winter.

   Her expression was carefully innocent, but I saw the knowing in her eyes even as she said, “What was what?”

   “That.” I pointed at where I knew William’s folded picture hid in her shirt.

   “Oh, this.” She pulled it out, unfolding it to look at it once more, as if she had forgotten what it was. Of course she hadn’t forgotten.

   I gritted my teeth. “Yes, that.” 

   She set the picture on the table as if she didn’t have a care in the world who saw it. But she did care. I was just the only one she wanted to see it.

   I wasn’t sure what I seeing at first glance. I registered the garish colors, the internal yellow burning beneath the molten orange and crusty browns. It was a vaguely humanoid shape, a hulking mass with a stooped back and glowing eyes. It was unsettling to see this fire monster, an image so well conjured by an nine-year-old’s imagination, it seemed as if it could burst off the page. Even as I looked back to Daria, a question on my lips, it felt like the painted thing’s eyes heated my face.

   “What is this? Is this what his illness makes him see?” Or was that why the kid was scared to sleep? Did he dream of monsters that seemed real? Cause fuck, if I dreamed of creatures like that I’d be scared to sleep too.

   Daria paused, as if uncertain on how to answer the question. She looked past me, the now overcast afternoon sky demanding her gaze. “Have you been following the local news? Strange stuff has been happening, don’t you think?”

   “Not really,” I said as I mentally started reviewing every newspaper left on diner tables, all the conversations I overheard as I’d refill patrons’ coffee mugs.

   “The mysterious fires that can’t be attributed to faulty wiring or candles left lit?”

   I shrugged. “Shit happens, and sometimes we don’t know why so we call it mysterious to fill in the blank.”

   “Well, what about the woman who fled her house in the middle of the night with her college-aged daughter when she felt a presence in her house?”

   “And? Did you they find this presence? Or did they just determine it was paranoia?”

   Daria plowed on as if she hadn’t heard me. “No signs of forced entry, no sign of anything out of the ordinary the authorities could determine. But still she insisted something had been lurking in her house.”

   “Too bad they didn’t call Ghostbusters.”

   Her eyes narrowed. “This isn’t a joke. On just that paper over there, it reported a man who made a 911 call last Saturday on the alley behind the Sun Red strip. He said he saw a monster.”

   “People can see lots of things if they drink too much,” I said, though the light tone I aimed for didn’t quite reach my voice. That incident was close to the bar I worked at. Not that I was worried about any mythic monsters, just the human kind.

   “He was completely sober, and even when the police investigated the area and found nothing, he stuck to his story.”

   I wiped a hand over my face, the lead in stomach telling me where this was going, but I still asked, “What’s your point?”

   “I have seen things beyond this realm—

   “Which is why you’re here,” I said, voice gone so quiet I barely heard myself. For just a brief spell this afternoon, I let myself believe that maybe she had gotten better. That maybe the woman from my early years wasn’t so illusory as my adult self had learned her to be.  

   Daria leaned in, eyes blazing with barely concealed fervor. “I’m trying to help you!”

   I leaned in too, voice shaking. “You can’t even help yourself!”

   We both turned away. As I sucked in deep breathes and gripped my arms against my body in an effort to calm myself, Dorothy cast a worried glance in our direction. When I looked back at Daria, she seemed to have collected herself too. She smiled at Dorothy like a student would a librarian after being caught for raising their voice too loudly, and Dorothy went back to watching the room like one might a book.

   Daria felt so normal in these moments, like she wasn’t unbalanced, and it seemed for moments that those around her also believed the facade. But I didn’t. I had known better coming in, and though she had begun to blunt some of my sharpest points, I knew to watch for it now. Despite how eager Dr. Stauffman was to release Daria, even she wouldn’t if she knew she secretly harbored all her old delusions.

   A chill crept down my spine. What was truly troubling was how masterfully Daria had played along with it, as if she were experienced living under watchful eyes.

   Daria gently ran her fingers through William’s hair, making the boy nuzzle deeper into the crook of his arm with a contented sigh. “I meant what I said earlier. I wanted to give you what I never had: a normal childhood.”

   I sat up straighter at this volunteered information about her past. I didn’t even have to nudge her to continue before that far off expression came to her face, but instead of clamming up, for once, she continued.

   “My earliest memories are few but vibrant. My parents were loving, my community kind, my world free. But one day everything was different. I was different. I was taken from my parents, my community left me behind, and my world became one of walls and watchers. I was angry, resentful, rebellious. I thought I had been wronged, that I knew best. Maybe I had been in the right, in part, but I made choices, ones at times I deeply regret,” hers eyes flicked to me, “but not always.”

   Not the specifics I was looking for, but I could read between the lines on this one. Normal childhood in the beginning, but then she started experiencing delusions, and then got institutionalized when her illness got really bad. Sounded like she didn’t realize her illness was as bad as it was and she got angry for being taken away from her life. But she had been getting help, hadn’t she? How did she come to this?

   “I’m not crazy,” she pinned me with her gaze. “I am not, though I understand why you think so, why you all think so. By this world’s measure, I speak of things that do not exist.”

   Oh, she definitely was, but I didn’t bother to rebut her. All I could do was stare at her in numbed horror.

   Probably taking my silence as acquiescence, Daria leaned back in and pointed at the picture. “They’re real, they’re here, and they’re coming.”

   It was so absurd I didn’t know what to say. But what can you say in the face of madness? You can’t reason with it. At least, I wasn’t going to waste my time trying.

   I stood up, already making plans to have a thorough chat with Dr. Stauffman before I left for good. “You know what, I’m done. I really hope you get the help you need. Have a nice life.”

   She twisted in her seat. “If you walk away now you’ll never know why. And I know that’s why you really came. It wasn’t to reconnect with me but to disconnect. You want to smack a label on your life, box it, and shove it into a dark closet.”

   She grabbed my wrist, the hold tight but not so much that I couldn’t pull away with a strong tug. It was her words that kept me frozen. “But you want to know. The desire for answers burns. I saw it in you as a child when you’d fish, but I never bit. What you wanted to know was painful and unbelievable. I wanted to protect you as well as myself from it, but by staying quiet I didn’t help either of us…” she closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, “…and look how it turned out for us. But today, I want to tell you as much as I can.”

   “Why? Why now?”

   “Because I know I’ll never get another chance.”

   I wanted to stay. I wanted to run. But when she looked at me with those eyes that spoke of years of regret and pain and most of all loneliness, I found myself sitting again, though lightly, like I might jump from my seat in a moment. She still held my wrist and I yanked from her hold and folded my arms across my chest. She might be sincere in her beliefs, but it didn’t make them any more believable. I might as well get my closure while I could, see how far these delusions ran, because after this, I would be closing this chapter of my life. I wouldn’t be visiting her again. That part, at least, Daria got right.

   So I asked the first question that child me never had answered. “Who was my father?”

   She opened her mouth, hesitation written in her body, and I said, “If you say anything about immaculate conception, midichlorians, or parthenogenesis I’m walking out.”

   She smiled slightly, though there was no real humor in it. “Oh, you happened the old fashioned way, but beyond that, it’s complicated.”

   “Uncomplicate it.” I wasn’t going to play along with anymore games.

   She took a deep breath, as if parsing out where to start. “Your father is dangerous.”

   Well, that would be an explanation why he hadn’t been around. Her use of present tense wasn’t lost on me either. “More dangerous than you?” Can’t get much worse than trying to kill your only child.

   She winced. “Yes, though I thought he wasn’t at first.”

   “Like I thought you.”

   She didn’t meet my eyes. “I did what I thought best at the time.”

   “And now?”

   “Now I think I never should have presumed your nature. But it never should have come to this. I’d give anything for you to have had the normal life you always wanted. It’s my fault you can’t, mine that you are what you are.”

  I am what I am? I’m just another 20-something woman trying to get by, although, carrying more baggage than most. “What do you mean by that?”

   “You’re like him. Dangerous.”

   I snorted. Give me a frying pan and I’d Samwise Gamgee it up. Otherwise, I was about as dangerous as expired milk. “Seriously?”

   “You’re something that shouldn’t exist in this world. Not in any world.”

   I wasn’t even going to bother commenting on the multiple worlds bit.“So, let me get this straight. You thought my dad was dangerous, and then you tried to kill me because you thought I might turn out to be like him.”

   She looked stricken. “Yes.”

   “But I do exist in this world and I have every right to exist!” My voice rose, and I hated that I felt compelled to justify my existence to her just like I felt like I had been doing my whole life around everyone, and despite all efforts, had been thoroughly ignored. I took a deep breath, reminding myself that of course I didn’t have to justify my existence. My mother was just insane. Nothing she said made any sense in the rational world.

   Daria was trying to project calm and control, but I caught the sheen of tears in her eyes. She wouldn’t look at me.

   I softened my tone. I couldn’t have her start shutting down on me now, not when answers were so close. “Is he why we moved so much? Were we running from him?”

   She nodded, eyes flicking around the room, something she often did in the weeks leading up to a move. Even now, she thought he was still after her, like he might stroll in through the door. What had he done that had terrified her for so many years? Had he hurt her, abused her? Had he been some kind of violent criminal? Or had he been a regular guy who also got caught up in her delusions, just like she projected them onto me?

   “You were starting to become like him,” she whispered. “If he got you, it’d all be over.”

   Over? Does she mean over in that he would have realized what a psycho he left me with and alert the authorities to take me away from her? If only.

   I gripped the table hard as I made to stand, jostling it. William jerked up, like I’d startled him. He seized the table too, head spinning either way to check his surroundings before he pivoted to Daria.

   “They found me,” he whispered like he was confessing some grave crime. But the kid hadn’t done anything more than sleep. He noticed his unfolded picture and blanched.

   She squeezed his shoulder. “And did you do as I told you?”

   He nodded, eyes bordering on tearful. “Yes, but they wouldn’t leave me alone. They knew who I was, where I was. It was like they could open me up and spill me out but still they wanted more. Something particular.”

   Daria had gone so still I couldn’t even tell if she were breathing. “What did you tell them?”

   “I told them nothing but they skimmed my surface, finding what they wanted.”

   Daria went rigid, so I asked William the next logical question about his nightmare. “What did they want?”

   William’s eyes slowly trailed over his painting, and he raised a trembling arm over it like it might leap off the page to scorch him, and pointed across the table at me.

   “You.”

Chapter Text

   I was in enough control of myself to only walk fast through the linoleum tiled halls and not run. But barely.

   I had spent the last five minutes pacing outside the office of Dr. Stauffman to dump every insane revelation I’d learned from my supposedly sane mother only to be told by a passing orderly she was dealing with an issue in another section of the facility and it was unknown when it would be resolved. I had spent the five minutes before that extracting myself from Daria who had clamored for me to stay and hear out more of her crazy bullshit and William who seemed to have bought the bullshit and was using it as nightmare fuel.

   “You need to leave,” she had said, face pale, yet voice even. She was balancing her emotions, aware of how William watched her like she was a glass set half on a table’s edge. He had no concept of just how far over the edge she already was.

   “My thoughts exactly,” I replied as I stood, eyes already on the exit.

   She sighed, just a sliver of tension leaving her. “Leave town tonight. Don’t go back to your place. It’s probably already too late for that. Take what you have and run.”

   I gave her a final glance back, this time letting all the derision of the last hour emerge from beneath my mask. “I’m through running.”

   The last remnant of color drained from her face. She shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe I was walking out on her. Like it was I who betrayed her. I caught a glimpse of her leaping to her feet and Dorothy stepping into her path, “Mel!” rattling the walls, before the door swung shut on Daria Payne for the last time.

   I covered my face with my hands, stemming the tears threatening to flood. There would be a time for them later, once I was back at my apartment, my roommates asleep and the world quiet. I could paint the ceiling with replays of today, how it would’ve gone in a better world, how it did in this one. I could feel sorry for myself then. Now it was time to be the dutiful citizen.  

   So I had taken several steadying breathes and then went in search of the doctor. In the absence of her, I was practically fleeing the building. I couldn’t wait to be away from this dreaded place. So much so that I almost forgot to sign out when I passed the front desk.

   The lady from before wasn’t there.

   “Hello?” I called. Maybe this was for the best. I could leave a message with the receptionist for Dr. Stauffman to call me. And she’d need to call me! What I had to say wasn’t going to fit on a sticky note.

   No one responded. But of course. With a sigh, I rang the bell. Its chime echoed, highlighting the quietness of the lobby. Too quiet. Shouldn’t there be someone here? At least someone shuffling around in the records room behind the desk? This wasn’t a high security facility like the ones Daria had been kept at before, but still anyone could just walk in here or walk out if a patient was clever enough to slip from under the vigil of the orderlies.

   “It’s Amelia Payne! I’m signing myself out!” I shouted into the office area. I reached over the desk to snatch the visitor list and then caught a whiff of a strong odor. It came from the wet puddle in Paige’s chair. Was that urine?

   I felt it in my gut again, that strong urge to not spend a second longer in this place, now at blaring siren levels. Something was wrong. I didn’t know what but I wasn’t sticking around to find out.

   I spun around to the door, but a bang from behind and a desperate wail of “Wait!” had me turn.

   Paige pushed herself up from the floor, the cabinet door behind her still swinging back. The receptionist didn’t bother to brush herself off as she clacked over to me on heels, the sound as flurried as my startled heart.

   “Um,” I shifted, readjusting my backpack. “What were you doing in the cabinet?” You’re supposed to steal the office supplies, not stowaway with them like contraband.

   Paige flushed, but not from embarrassment. No, going by the wet patch on her skirt and the clammy look of her skin, I’d say she was terrified.

   “D-did you see it?”

   “No,” I answered honestly, hoping she meant her flopping out of the cabinet like she had just had a mid-life crisis and tried to go to Narnia, but by my twisting gut, I knew she meant something more. Something dark. It would have to be to give this woman a scare.

   She glanced either way, shoulders hunched. “It-I mean, he, came in. He wasn’t on the approved list. I told him so. He met my eyes and I felt every fear I’ve ever had press against my skin, try to push the air right out of me. I-I couldn’t stop him. He just asked which way to Payne and—heaven forgive me—I gave him directions!”

   “Did you call security?” I asked as I wondered who would ever visit Daria. She had just as few friends as me.

   The woman glanced at the cabinet and then the floor.

   “Call them!” The woman sniffed then furiously nodded, scrambling for the phone. I readjusted my bag and strode back down the hall. I’d alert some of the orderlies some unauthorized person was wandering the facility and then I’d leave. I made a mental note to let Dr. Stauffman know she really ought to have more security at the entrance of the facility.

   “They’re not picking up!” she wailed.

   “Who?” I shouted back.

   “Security!”

   “Well, call the police.”

   “I can’t!” she wailed again, the sound grating on my ears.

   I swore under my breath and walked back, plucking the receiver right from her hand. The line was dead. Damn. What the hell?

   That’s when the power went out.

   Paige shrieked right next to me, so it wasn’t much of a mystery as to where she was in the dark. I felt for my cell and whipped it out, sliding on the flashlight function. The light glanced off of the woman’s tear-stained face and then around the lobby. It actually wasn’t so dark near the entrance. The fading light from the stormy-looking day still filtered in from the double doors leading outside. Already my eyes were adjusting to the dark.

   “Probably just a fallen power line,” I told her, smiling though she probably couldn’t make it out. I didn’t say that I thought it was weird the phone lines had gone out before the power. No need to panic her further. She already seemed on the verge of hyperventilating.

   “Why hasn’t the generator come on?” she whispered, as if fearful of her own voice.

   “It’ll probably come on any minute,” I said with the calmest voice I could muster.

   I glanced at my screen. My phone had no bars. That wasn’t a surprise though. I hadn’t any a mile in from the facility when I arrived. This place was a bit out of the way.

   I helped her find her cell phone in her purse under the desk.

   “Okay, so here’s the plan. You go let the orderlies known about the man and I’ll walk until I get a signal and call for help to come, okay?”

   “You’re leaving me here?” she squeaked.

   I sighed, feeling the mother of all headaches brewing in my skull. “Fine, I’ll go let them know and you can walk until you get cell signal. Then you can direct them here.” It would take longer with her walking the dirt road in heels which would soon turn muddy from the rain but I didn’t comment. She just furiously nodded, and with surprising swiftness, darted out the door.

   As I reached the bend in the hall, the generator hummed to life, the lights snapping back on. See, just as I thought. I slipped my phone into my jean pocket and reentered the main facility.

   First I thought the orderlies must have been busy safely securing the patients in their rooms so they couldn’t get into trouble during the blackout since it would explain why I didn’t see anyone in the halls, but I didn’t hear the shuffle of bodies or murmur of voices. Nothing but my footsteps. At least, until I neared one door whose occupant’s faint cries verged on the hysterical as I neared. It sounded familiar, like the guy who cried over the pulled tulips except much more distraught.

   “Hello?” I knocked on the metal door. “Are you okay?” The crying turned into a scream. Alarmed, I tried the handle but it was locked. The person’s volume lessened when they realized I couldn’t get in.

   Then I noticed the gigantic dent in the door. The hairs on my arms stood on end. How did that happen? I sure hope that hadn’t been caused my someone’s head because they’d definitely be dead from a blow that intense. Why had the facility not replaced the door yet? Unless it happened very recently...

   “Everything is going to be okay,” I told the man behind the door though there was no indication he heard me by the way he continued to sob.

   The urgency spiked, and though it should be just fine to call out for an orderly or anyone working here in the empty halls, I felt like I should be hiding if not running away completely. The receptionist’s panic was getting to me. There was no reason for me to get so unnerved by a power outage. Still, I walked on light feet, peeking around corners before I rounded them.

   That’s when Daria emerged from a room, putting away what looked to be a bent paperclip. Why was I not surprised that she had taught herself how to pick a lock?

   She caught me watching her from around the bend. Instead of looking surprised at my sudden reappearance, she strode over silently, grabbed my wrist, and then began dragging me back the way I had come. My first attempt to jerk from her grasp failed, her grip as tight as a handcuff.

   “What do you think you’re doing? Aren’t you supposed to be in your room?” I hissed at her, not wanting to examine the burst of relief I felt at her appearance. Guess the urge to have a parental figure with you in a stressful situation doesn’t go away even when said parent tried to kill you once upon a time. I definitely needed therapy. Probably not from Dr. Stauffman though, considering her inability to pick up on Daria’s machinations.

   Daria cast me a withering look over her shoulder, apparently not deigning my questions worth a response. “It already passed me but it’s sure to come back once it realizes we’re no longer in the activity room.”

   “It?” If it had just been Daria I might have brushed it off, but Paige had also called the man who had swept in “it” too.

   “It’ll take a shape that will let it pass unhindered in this realm, but it won’t be able to entirely suppress its nature. Surely you’ve sensed it? You out of anyone should be able to detect it.”

   I was just about to tell her I had no idea what she meant but then I did sense something. Like the air had grown weighted, cold, pressing into my flesh. We both slowed to a stop. Daria’s grip on me went cold too.

   A rush. Like free fall, except there was nothing to slow my descent. Images, gruesome, unspeakable, flashed through my head. Doom, chaos, terror pushing all thought from my mind. I could only focus on the sensation of hands at my throat, eyes that once loved me willing me to die. Her hands. It was happening again.

   Except it wasn’t. Hands weren’t at my throat. Only one of them touched me, and it was to pull me further down the hall despite my leaden steps. It was real, this terror that had threatened to drown me, but it wasn’t mine. It felt like a tangible net that had entangled me, but now that I could see the trap, I could shrug it off.

   The terror sharpened into a spear point, coming up from behind as if thrown.

   I whirled around, ripping my wrist from Daria’s grasp, and there it was. Or I should say he. Certainly looked like a man at 6’4, dressed sharply in a suit, brunette hair slicked back as he strode from around the corner behind us. Though he wore a polite upturn to his mouth, the kind strangers normally wear when passing others in the hall, his eyes were so dark they were nearly black as they tracked me like a hawk would a mouse.

   Never had I felt so exposed by another person’s gaze. I expected his eyes to flick away, forgetting my existence in seconds just like everyone’s did, but they didn’t. The urgency that had been building in me screamed. Every logical part of my brain told me this man was just another visitor, somebody who had just gotten lost in the building—could happen to anybody!—but he felt so wrong.

   I narrowed my eyes at the man, as if I could stare him and my irrational side down, but then he shifted. He was no more than a mask of human flesh for the monster underneath. Skin turned rancid green, dark eyes multiplying, and its jaw enlarged all the way down to its collarbone, displaying a mouth with rows of teeth capable of severing a head from neck emerging from goo-like gums.

   “Terror demon,” Daria whispered under her breath then pushed me hard. “Run!”

   The whole situation was crazy, and maybe I had finally gone crazy too since it was the only logical explanation I could muster, but I did exactly as she ordered as the vestiges of the glamour dissipated. The demon crouched low as if readying to pounce, the floor below it glowing with an eerie light.

   We got a dozen paces before the linoleum floor rippled a toxic green before us and the nightmarish creature leaped up through the floor to block our way. I barely skidded to a stop without running directly into it, but when it flung its unnaturally long, sinewy arms on either side and shrieked to the ceiling, I fell back on my ass and clapped my hands to my ears.

   The room spun. I felt disoriented, sick. A hand tugged at me, trying to pull me to my feet, but I was still trying to figure out where my feet had run off to without me to do little more than flop over on my belly and drag myself forward.

   Daria’s feet were directly in my line of vision. She let go of me, straightening and then taking a wide, braced stance. I strained my neck further up, and found that familiar, determined expression I’d seen a thousand times before consume her face, though the last time had been when she’d been determined to kill me, except now it was leveled at the demon.

   A stream of sound came from it, and though I couldn’t understand it, I was certain it was a challenge, one Daria met by the glow gathering in her hands. Then it flew from her and the demon flinched back, and with it, the reality rocking sensation that had hit me when it shrieked. I sprung to me feet, darting behind Daria, breathes coming in wicked fast.

   “What,” quick breath. “The,” even quicker breath. “FUCK!”

   The world had gone to hell, but Daria took her eyes off the demon to flick a look at me that said “I told you so” before pressing one of her upraised hands into my chest and pushing me back towards the direction we just came from. I let her push me, stumbling backwards as my eyes remained glued on the thing slowly regaining its feet.

   I hoped the receptionist was making good time in those heels to call for help and that help would come in the form of the police with guns swiftly followed by government agents in suits who could explain to me what alien just materialized to make first contact. Was this the opening of War of the Worlds? I mean it just made an unholy sound just like in the movie and it was green like most aliens in films. Should I cough on it?

   Or maybe I was dreaming. I’m normally already fairly stressed balancing work and school, but topping off with an impending closure meeting with my murder-inclined mother and it wouldn’t be surprising that my brain decided to serve me up some fuckery.

   And I wished I could believe that, that this entire day had been a lucid nightmare, but Daria screamed my name the way she had when I ran in front of that oncoming truck when I was four. Just like back then she pushed me out of harm’s way, only this time it was from the oncoming swipe of the creature’s absurdly long arm.

   I bumped into the wall from the force of her shove but Daria wasn’t quick enough to get out of the demon’s way too. The blow whammed her into the wall opposite me and she slid down it, leaving a thin streak of blood in her wake. One arm clutched her middle, the other hung uselessly at her side, broken.

   The part of me I’d kept buried for the last eight years fractured open.

   “Mom?” The name I never meant to call her again came instinctively from my mouth.

   “No!” William shrieked, his decibels almost on par with the terror demon’s. He stood at the end of the hall from which the thing originally appeared, probably having come from the direction of the activity room too. His eyes were wild, but he seemed more angry at the demon than shocked a thing that could have come straight from one of his creepy drawings actually existed. But then I guess if he was getting treated at this facility for seeing things then this was his normal. But if I was seeing this too…

   “Get back! Get help!” I screamed at the kid. I swung my backpack off, which really had just been slowing me down, and slammed it into the demon’s head as it started after mom. Whatever nightmare this thing had crawled out of, it certainly hadn’t expected to get bludgeoned by the weight of several very expensive and very heavy textbooks by the way it fell.

   I let go of the strap and darted next to mom, grabbing her uninjured arm to drag her up. She groaned and slumped forward but managed to keep her feet. How were we going to run away like this? I tried to not look too close at the spreading red on her shirt front.

   There was her open room down the hall. Maybe I could get her inside and lock the door? Then maybe run for help?

   I cast a glance behind and saw the terror demon come stalking towards us. It’d be on us in a second. My eyes darted around for any weapon beyond my fists and then a fireball whizzed past my head. It hit the terror demon so hard it made my strike with the backpack look like a friendly poke. It flew into the wall much like mom did, leaving a crack of plaster and smoke puffing off its body.

   What the hell…

   There was William, hands outstretched much in the way that mom had done when she repelled the demon with the glow from her hands. She had done that, hadn’t she? So then William had caused the fire…? This was insane!

   The kid didn’t look insane, only resigned. As we stumbled past him, he gazed at mom with tears welling in his eyes. These weren’t fake like the ones over his spilled paint. I knew by the way he looked at her, with fierce devotion, that he loved her the way I once had.

   Daria had taken on more of her own weight once she caught sight of the fireball and now she took in a ragged breath. “You weren’t supposed to be able to regenerate anymore mana. You used it all when your magic first showed!” She moved on her own even though she still needed me on hand to steady her. “How did you do it? Will, what did you do?” Her voice broke on the last word, like she already knew the answer to the question, and it wounded her so much more than the blow from the terror demon.

   “I think I always knew that it would end like this one day. That eventually they’d make me an offer I couldn’t refuse.” Will gave her one last tender look, seeming much older than a nine-year-old ever should, before gazing back down the hall to where the terror demon was pulling itself from the ruins of the hall wall. “I won’t regret agreeing to it, so please, do what you must with the time you have, before it’s too late.”

   Daria’s lips trembled, the impenetrable mask she so often wore in threat of failing. She reached out the hand that had been clutching her midsection and anointed his head with blood, a touch he leaned into, closing his eyes for just a second.

   The terror demon leaped, and Williams’ eyes snapped open, the veins in his eyes unnaturally red, sweat beading on his skin. He hurled a blast of raw power this time shocking back the demon. Then he threw another fireball, this one missing; apparently the first was a lucky shot more than a refined skill. “Go!” he yelled, and at first I didn’t realize he meant us, not until Daria tugged on my arm.

   “What about Will?” Surely we weren’t going to let a kid who hadn’t even hit middle school yet take on a demon by himself?!

   She shook her head, not daring to look back. She really did mean to leave him behind!

   I looked back over my shoulder and saw Will duck a swipe of the terror demon. He threw out his hands again but no fireball erupted. “No, I can’t be out. No no no!” He gasped, one hand going to his temple and the other his heart. “Not yet…” he shook his head, voice coming out unnaturally deep and reverberating.

   The terror demon took the opportunity and swiped the boy. His legs made a sickening crunch as he went down, body a crumpled form on the floor. The demon raised its arms again, this time aiming for the boy’s neck. Even if I didn’t have my arms full of mom, I was too faraway to stop it.

   But Will did. His hands came up to meet it, molten hot, identical to his eyes burning like twin suns in his face. “Not. Yet.” he said through gritted teeth, only the faintest traces of anything human remaining in his voice. The terror demon tried to escape his fire, but he held on with one hand, the other smacking its chest. Then he unleashed a blaze of power that turned the shrieking, thrashing demon into ash.

   And with a roar the blaze consumed Will too. He stood on legs that should’ve been useless. Fire burst from beneath his skin like a living thing as he elongated, head jamming against the florescent lights overhead and sending a cascade of sparks in all directions before they flickered and went dark. The hulking figure no longer bore any resemblance to the boy. He had become the fire monster from his nightmare.

   “Please Maker, take him to your side,” mom beseeched under her breath and then pulled us both into her room. My last glimpse was of the monster twisting around to face us, letting out a deep bellow, and scorching the linoleum floor as it swept towards us. Then mom had the door slammed and locked.

   “Will…What about William? What happened out there? Where did he go? What was THAT!”

   BAM! The door boomed from the force of the hellish beast that had taken over the child. It would batter the door down if it didn’t burn it first. I pushed the dresser in front of the door then leaned mom back on the bed, already looking around the room for anything useful. I could use the sheets to slow her bleeding but that would do us little good considering we were trapped. In most cases I’d be all for climbing out the window but even though this was a low security facility, it still had bars across it. Even if they hadn’t I had no idea how I’d drag the both of us out onto the roof.

   There wasn’t even anything worthwhile as a weapon since this was, of course, a mental institution so items that could be used to harm oneself were absent. The only thing I could think of that would do any good was the locked fire extinguisher I’d passed in the hall earlier, but shit lot of good that did me stuck as I was in here.

   Had I done the equivalent of running upstairs as a serial killer pursues me in a horror movie? Had I just made a stupid choice? But what else could I do? Leave mom to die as I saved myself? Even after everything she had done to me, I could never forgive myself for that. Even Will had stood his ground with a bravery I hadn’t seen in many adults.

   Shit, did I really just see a kid get possessed? How was this real?

   The room pitched and I had to brace myself on the bed post. Everything felt so surreal. Right, I was in shock.

   The door thundered again, making me flinch, and a dent appeared in it. This left no doubt that the terror demon had made the one on the tulip man’s door.  

   Mom leaned forward, swaying with pain as she lifted her one functional hand, a light coming off it towards the door though not as bright as the first time. The next blow didn’t further concave the door, instead meeting a shimmer absorbing the force, but I could still hear the demonic thing from the other side, already winding up for another frame rattling slam.

   “It’ll hold a little while, but not for long,” she said, face graying. She needed to get to hospital as soon as possible.

   I grabbed the sheets to wind around her midsection. I didn’t know what else to do. She grabbed my hands and smiled through her pain, a mixture of love and regret. “Mel,” she whispered, voice so rough my ears ached at its fragility. “I—

   “Don’t. Save it for later. We’re going to get out of here.”

   “You were right earlier. There isn’t going to be a later. Not for me. But for you, there will.”

   “Bullshit. You can do the hand glow thing again, right? We’ll be just fine,” I somehow managed to ask in a calm voice though I’m sure my panic leaked into my expression. The me from an hour ago would be demanding answers to everything going down right now, but I had to focus. I needed to know what she could do with that power, not how she was doing it. One thing at a time. This was a matter of life or death.

   “That was all I had left. I had been saving that reserve for a long time. I haven’t felt the regenerating power of the Fade for 20 years. It’s like the memory of a dream.” Her eyes were starting to go glassy. Fuck.

   I tightened the bandage around her middle, unsure of what good if any I was doing. Fade, mana, demons. It was all gibberish. But this, the blood splotched on my shirt from carrying her and the drying flakes on my hands were real. This had to be my most immediate concern.

   “Amare, your father, is the key. Remember that,” she squeezed my hands, grip alarmingly weak. She didn’t let go until I nodded my head, a flash of tears in my eyes then just as swiftly blinked away. For the first time I learned my father’s name, and it was as my mom lay dying.

   “We were happy once…” she looked over my shoulder, out the window, into the past. “How I wish we could have stayed that way.”

   The demon pounded the door again and the faint barrier wavered. She didn’t bother to glance at it.

   “Maybe you shall end worlds. Or maybe you shall elevate them. But I will give you the chance to define your fate, to show you what you are, and let you decide what will come. ”

   Mom dug beneath her bandage, pressing her hands into her bloodied middle, eyes shut tight. “My sins have already tainted me in the Maker’s sight, so what’s one more to save the world, to save my daughter?”

   I felt the surge of power come off her. It was different than when her hand had glowed. It was heady, intricate, primal. This was like she drew from a well within herself, one that was already dangerously dry. Blood gushed from over her bandage at a grave rate, like she had been struck anew, and without a doubt, this time mortally. I didn’t have a chance to cry out as I witnessed my only family’s life drain away, silenced by the sharp pain in my shoulder, right on my birthmark, as white light flared on in my vision.

   Then there was the stabbing pain of a thousand needles pricking my forehead, and through it I felt the overwhelming sense of a presence, ancient and powerful, but I couldn’t look towards it. I could barely contain myself in my body, as the white light awoke within me.

   “You will keep true to our bargain, witch,” mom gasped with the last of her strength, eyes glaring behind me even as she fell back, no longer master of her body either.

   “I always do, girl,” a feminine voice rasped from behind, just a hint of amusement coloring her tone, though there wasn’t anything funny about this.

   The fire demon hit the door again, this time shattering the shimmer holding the metal in place. Its next punched a hole right through it, the light off its arm incomparable to the white light still sparking in my vision.

   But even that could not distract from mom’s eyes shutting and a final breath shuddering from her body.

   “Mom?” No, this wasn’t happening. This was NOT happening. “Mom!”

   The demon blew the door completely away just as I reached for her. But I never managed to find her hands, those ones I had always been pulling away from or grappling with. I never got to confirm with my touch that I’d never feel them move again. Even their ghost at my neck did not shake me as much as knowing they had been forever stilled.

   A different hand pressed into my shoulder blade, seizing up my body, warping my vision, and like the terror demon had slid through floors, I slid from my world.

Chapter Text

   I had both loved and hated her, spent years of my life agonizing over how she twisted my world up, and now she had departed all of them, even the ones I once never believed in, leaving me behind to make sense of it all.

   I made a fist around the lyrium bits in my palm, pressing it to my forehead to steady myself. I didn’t know what started shaking first, limbs or lips. The wisps of lyrium song still circled my head, and I hung onto it, desperate to anchor myself in something, anything. Maybe it could sweep me away, douse the confusion and heartache in its river of sensation so I wouldn’t have to feel anything of my own. How much easier would it be to become just another note in a song, as long as it wasn’t mine? My life’s song had been nothing more than unforgivably cold and murky. If it hadn’t been for the rocks in the river, I would have gone under.

   One of my rocks appeared to me now, something to grab onto. His song flared, begging me to the surface, to breathe. I went to him, his voice like sun dappling the surface from beneath the waves.

   “Mel?” his deep voice pulled me out and I gasped, fingers loosening on the lyrium in my hand so it almost slipped from my grasp. Fenris lowered my hand from my face, careful to not touch the toxic mineral as his green eyes searched mine, accepting everything churned up within.

    “She’s gone,” was all I could say. What else was there? My mother, my almost murderer, and my greatest mystery was dead and I had been traipsing around a foreign world with my greatest concern being my own return to Earth, not what I was returning to. How could I not remember that she was gone? I should have known, should have been able to feel she was no longer among the living.

   I opened my mouth because I felt I had to say something, somehow explain, but only a sob came out, and that was enough. Then I was being scooped up, propped against a leather clad chest. I felt like I might submerge when the second wave of grief hit me, but he kept my head above it, letting me breathe between my ugly, heaving cries.

   In the safety of his tattooed arms, I let the reality I had thought I’d known of Earth, of my mom, break into tiny, shard-sized pieces. When I had first come to Thedas, I had to reform my reality, pick up the pieces so it could take on a new shape. I didn’t this time. This time I let them fall. When I wasn’t still bleeding from the cuts of the shattering, then I would try to restructure myself, figure out how I fit in a world where my mom no longer did.

   “Messere?” Bodhan asked from the entrance. He looked appalled in equal parts from the mess of the kitchen and the pair of us collapsed together in a heap on the floor. Maybe my shout from earlier had been heard after all? It really hadn’t been more than a minute ago, hadn’t it? It felt like a lifetime.  

   Leandra wasn’t far behind, no doubt having sensed drama on the air. But her expression, as concerned as it was, was entirely leveled on us. “Bodhan, hot water.” She commanded him like the noble born lady she was as she went to fetch the tea cups. That was Leandra, always in motion. I could see where Garrett got it from. He was already gone from the kitchen and so was Anders. That wasn’t all that surprising. I didn’t have the capacity to feel much of anything beyond the grief soaking me, but it would have felt steadying to have them as my breakwaters too.   

   Sandal peeked from around the just startled into action Bodhan, his wide blue eyes giving nothing away. “Enchantment?” he asked, to which none of us responded, so he simply walked in and pulled back the curtain on the window facing the courtyard.

   Sun fell on me in a square patch, and I found myself shifting in Fenris’ arms, called to the light like it was a portal to somewhere else. His gaze followed mine. He rose as lithely as a cat, I still secured in his arms, and made his way outside.

   I had never been in the courtyard before, didn’t realize it was more of a secret garden, a treasure trove of green in this city of sandstone and smog. Fenris settled us beneath a tree, its boughs shading us from the warm Freemarch sun that cast a shadowed pattern on his face. It shifted as he looked down to me in his lap. I deep breathed the fresh scent of life, flowers, grass, leaves and him, his eyes the most vibrant thing here, and felt my next sob still in my ribs.

   Mixed in with his lyrium song were birds singing as they hopped branches, bees buzzing from blossom to blossom, and the wind sighing through the leaves. Interspersed was the rhythmic sound of Fenris’ breathes, and the low, strong beat of his heart. Yes, this song was so much better than my own.

   I leaned my ear against his chest to better hear it, eyes drawn to the pulse in his throat. He stilled, and I was reminded again of the way he so carefully removed his gauntlet to caress my face in the entrance yesterday, like we walked in a dream so delicate we might wake ourselves if we didn’t tread lightly. I raised my eyes to his and found he watched me with that same look from before, one that I struggled to believe, for it was reverent. His right hand came up to brush the remnants of my tears away, and my lids fluttered shut in response.

   Then, in that deep, smooth voice, he began to softly sing. It was rough and in Tevene. Though I couldn’t understand a word he spoke, I felt myself fully relax in his arms. This moment was like waking up in my childhood bed at the cottage by the water, only better.

   As his voice finally trailed off, I opened my eyes to ask, “What was it?”

   His brows furrowed, as if he had to struggle to recall it. “I think it’s a lullaby my mother sang to me.”

   “You’re not sure?”

   “I don’t remember anything from my childhood, and yet, I felt an awakening when your white light pulsed, a slip of sound resurfacing. Strange, to remember it now after all these years…” his fingers traced my jawline as he stared off, the furrow on his face remaining. “I thought she gone from me forever, but maybe I was wrong to think that.”

   There was so much I wanted to ask, but I’d wait. I simply whispered, “Maybe,” so faintly I barely heard myself. All I really heard was the ghost of mom’s voice at the cottage as she cooked breakfast, singing a song I couldn’t recall the words to, but the tune effortlessly now melded with Fenris’ mother’s, and together the musical weave loosened the knot inside.

Chapter Text

   A fresh pot of tea was waiting for us when we later came in. The herbal scent soothed the remnants of ache in me. The loss was still there, waiting for me to turn back to it, but for the time being, I could look forward.

   I smiled at Leandra in thanks for the kind gesture. She never ran hot or cold with me, not like my mother had. No, Leandra always seemed energetic, but never let it run too far from her, reigning it in to give me the space when I needed it, like she was doing now. I wondered if my mother had been like her how might we have turned out different.

   I took a sip, letting the heat scald the bitter thought from my head. What ifs didn’t help me. Now was the time to consider what I knew, and what I knew was shaking.

   I had suspected that mom had known about Thedas since she and my father had put the reverse glamour charm on me in an effort to hide me from demons. But her invocation of the Maker and her knowledge of the Fade and use of what I now understood to be magic meant that she had been a mage from Thedas. The woman who had scoffed at Santa and the new age crystals had done so not because she was above the mysticism but because she knew what real magic was.

   “...my world became one of walls and watchers…”

   Had she been a Circle mage then? Though her details had been vague, it rang uncanningly similar to Anders’ life at the Circle, the restrictions, the prison-like life. Maybe instead of delusions manifesting at an early age like I had assumed, mom had shown her magic. So much was snapping into focus with that detail realized.

   Flemeth had struck some kind of deal with my mother, had snatched me from Earth to Thedas, and had kept my father’s dagger for me. She had told me the dagger contained the answers I sought, and that I just needed to remember how I got to Thedas to discover the key. I finally got my memories back, so where was my key? Mom had tried to tell me about Thedas and magic and demons, but I had walked out before she could tell me much of anything substantial.

   I pushed from the table. Three pairs of eyes trailed after me as I exited the kitchen and made for the stairs, but the green ones followed me up them.  

   I stopped at the door of my room, hand on the knob.

   “I need a minute,” I said, not daring to look at Fenris. It felt strange to ask for space now after he had held me close so I could fall apart in his arms only a half hour ago. I didn’t want to be away from him—his presence was a comfort—but I felt that he would disapprove of what I was about to do considering how he stiffened the last time I tried it, but I needed to try something. Two people had already died because I hadn’t had the answers I needed. I couldn’t let that happen again.

   Fenris didn’t say anything, I still didn’t look at him, and he didn’t follow me as I went inside and shut the door. Though he could have walked away without making a sound, I imagined he leaned against the wall outside the door, never far away, just as he had promised me.

   I strode to the nightstand and pulled open the drawer. There was my father’s blade. I picked it up, turning it. I had handled it so much since I got it. I knew every fine line, the leather on the pommel, the sheen of the metal. A sliver of Earth Mel questioned if this could be anything more than a well-made dagger, but I knew I had seen eyes not mine reflected for but a breath, felt the turn of magic as it tasted my blood. My blood was the metal making up the magical key to the dagger, but the mold was from my last memory of Earth, or at least that’s what Flemeth hinted. She had sounded confident that mom would have given me the password to unlock the message. So what was it?

   I sat by the fire, thinking of words that had been unfamiliar at that time, which was basically anything having to do with Thedas. With a wry grin, I pricked my finger and said under my breath, “Thedas.” I felt the power swelling, but it did not brim, did not unleash the secrets I sought. I sighed. Of course it wouldn’t be so easy.

   “Demon,” prick. Nothing. “Fade,” prick. Nothing. “Kirkwall,” prick. Nothing.

   Blood ran down the length of the blade as I ran through every variation of a spell, place, or demon name I’d learned since coming here. I had quickly run out of fingers to prick and then started making shallow cuts on my palms. It stung, and I winced at the pain as I gripped the blade’s handle, but it was so much more tolerable than the pain of mom’s loss, of my lack of answers. I suppose I could have asked Merrill if I needed a continuous flow of blood or if one cut was enough, but I doubted I could get to her without giving away what I was doing. I didn’t want to rile Fenris anymore than what the incident in the kitchen already did. When I finally learned what he’d been hinting at all this time: Anders was an abomination.

   Fenris had tried calling Anders that when I had become fascinated by his magic, not that I knew the term at the time. I had first heard it from the mouth of a Chantry sister preaching at one of the street corners as I had picked up supplies for the Hanged Man. Anders had told me about the Chantry’s control of the Templars and Circles, the teachings of fear when it came to magic, during one of my previous visits to his clinic. But it hadn’t sunk in until then. The only magic users I had known were Merrill and him, and they’d never given me cause to fear. The rest of the gang, even Fenris despite his scowls, seemed okay with their magic enough to work with them.

   I had wanted to argue with the sister, especially when I picked up the rapt attention and respect she garnered from quite a few in the crowd. But I was still practicing my philosophy of keeping my head down in order to get back home with it still attached to my shoulders. So I listened, and though I wanted to protest, I gained some important insights into how much of Thedas viewed magic users. Those possessed by a being from the Fade were considered abominations in the eyes of the Maker and should be put to the sword, the sister had preached, words that had gone unprotested by the crowd. I had felt sick, and swore to myself that I’d be vigilant in never revealing I knew of two apostates living among them.

   I felt sick just thinking the word now: abomination. It was the antithesis of what I thought of Anders. He was compassionate, empathetic, driven, and one of the strongest people I’d ever met. He had told me how he’d been in solitary for a year with only demons promising a way out, but he had never given in to them even then.

   So how did Anders get possessed now? Just who was Justice? From the way the Fade spirit spoke, he made it seem less of a possession and more of a cohabitation, and a long term one at that. Was that possible? I knew by Chantry teachings he should be considered demonic, but I hadn’t gotten that sense from him. He seemed like a thinking, rational person, though his logic didn’t always coincide with the rest of ours. Maybe the joining was mutual? But if it was mutual then why didn’t Anders say anything about it? He had been so open about magic and the Fade before.

   But considering how much vitriol he must have gone through for just being what he was born as, why wouldn’t he be wary of confessing to something as big as a spirit possession? In that light, I couldn’t find fault for him doing it. Neither could I find fault in Garrett or Fenris for not telling me either; it hadn’t been their secret to tell.

   I wanted to find him right now, ask the hundreds of questions already pinging through my head, but most of all I wanted to take his hand again like I had that first time he’d shown me his magic and let him know that I accepted all of him. With a pang, I remembered that when Justice let Anders go and he reached for me, I hadn’t been able to take his outstretched hand to let him know it was okay before my memories overtook me. And now he was gone.

   I squeezed the handle, forgetting the cuts on my palm like an idiot, but hissed less at the pain and more at my realization. “Fuck.”

   “Fuck is right. What in Andraste’s name are you doing?” Garrett said from the door, apparently still incapable of knocking.

   Fenris stood behind him a little to his left. He looked pissed.

   “Mel,” he growled.

   See? He was scolding me by my preferred name now. Progress!

   “I was just trying to unlock the message.” I waved my hand, as if a little increased air flow could diffuse his anger, and instead, flicked a drop of blood right onto Garrett’s front. Oops.

   “Oh is that all? I thought you were trying to summon me more Fade house guests.” Garrett whipped out a handkerchief and dabbed at the fleck of red. Then he strode over, plucked the dagger from me to set on the stand, and began wiping down my hands.

   “Blood magic is dangerous,” Fenris said, still at the door, hands in fists at his side. Oh, he was definitely pissed.

   “Can I even do blood magic if I’m not a mage?”

   Fenris’ scowl deepened. Clearly he didn’t have an answer to that. “You had no idea what you would see,” he said instead.

   “Can’t be much worse than what I already did,” I snapped back, then sighed, feeling suddenly deflated. I wasn’t ignorant of the risks, not anymore. I had just seen a child possessed by a demon and my mom bleed out due to blood magic. I knew magic was more than pixie dust and believing you can fly. It had a dark side too.

   Both men went still. Fenris had seen me break down, had known it was bad from my reaction, but didn’t know details. Garrett hadn’t even stuck around long enough to see that much, disappearing who knows where, so he must not even know if I recalled anything at all. But he at least had the sense to not push.

   The ball was in my court. It was my choice whether or not to share this. And I did want to, which surprised me. Once I started opening up to them about my past, like a spring from the ground, I wanted to keep on flowing. It was freeing, this trust in them, knowing I was no longer alone.

   So I told them. Not the full version but only because some parts I didn’t think I could recount without crying. Garrett must have picked up on the way I briskly went through the chain of events without any extra commentary on my mom or Will, because he kissed my forehead and pulled me against him. I almost cried then but managed to keep it together. Garrett had lost his father and sister. He knew grief and wouldn’t let me go through it alone. I chanced a glance at Fenris; the scowl had disappeared, and while focused on everything I said, he watched me in Garrett’s arms with a strange intensity.

   When I had finished recounting the memory, they didn’t speak as they thought over my words. Garrett ran his big hands up and down my back and I melted against him. Fenris had slowly neared, apparently without he realizing it, because the hand that he had been lifting towards us changed course and went to fiddle with his hair.

   “Your mother was a mage,” Fenris said and frowned at the bloody dagger. As if he needed another reason to dislike her on top of the whole attempted murder thing.

   “A Circle mage,” Garrett added.

   “Do you think the demons that went after us on Earth are connected to the blood mage and rage demon here?” I asked.

   “Seems likely,” Fenris said, frown deepening. If I had to guess, he probably wished he hadn’t so thoroughly massacred the Dog Lords so he could get more information from them. They had gotten the blood mage to go after me and that person must have been connected to the rage demon which might be connected to the one on Earth. Right?

   My temples throbbed in time with my hands. Yesterday had been intense and today was turning out to be just as eventful. My mind felt like mush. “Okay, but why though? Why are they after me?”

   Garrett’s jaw clenched. He’d been after my attacker, the assumed blood mage for two weeks now—well, beyond the interlude where he had been after the corrupt city guards—but he hadn’t found the mage yet.

   “What if… what if it’s him? My father? He could be the blood mage.”

   “Seems strange that he’d be trying to kill you while also leaving you a secret message,” Garrett said with a glance at the blade. “The mage who tried to kill you in the Hanged Man and the cause of the demons after you on Earth might not even be the same person. The tavern attack could be caused by the average blood mage but to send demons from the Fade to Earth with the purpose of tracking you down…

   “Would require a great deal of power, control, and skill, rivaling that of the Imperial Archon,” concluded Fenris, who looked disturbed at the thought of his former country.

   “Not that we should assume he or anyone of his ability or above are involved in one or the other or both,” cautioned Garrett.

   When Garrett starts acting cautious and trying to not panic anyone, that’s when I know he’s worried. Fuck. I mean of course it’s a cause for concern if somebody wants me dead. But if that person is strong enough to send demons to Earth, then I’ve got to ask: what the hell did I do to piss them off? And if they’re so determined and can do inter-world travel like Flemeth, would Garrett and crew be able to protect me from such a person? I could very well not only get myself but everyone I care for killed.

   Everyone I care for… they only existed in this world now, didn’t they? Because mom was dead. And my father…

   Amare, your father, is the key. Remember that.

   I burst from Garrett’s arms, grabbing for the dagger.

   “Mel, what— 

   But Fenris got there first. He danced out of reach with it even as I lunged, thus beginning the most single-sided game of keep away I ever had the misfortune to take part in. Yes, the deja vu of this moment was not lost on me. He’d done the same with my cell phone. This time I didn’t even have the excuse of trying to preserve my modesty for how poorly I was doing. He was just that annoyingly swift and graceful. I couldn’t wait for him to train me so then one day I could dance around him.

   “I know the key!”

   “But you don’t know what it will do,” he countered, still easily evading me.

   “And if I don’t do it then I’ll never know!”  

   Garrett provided no opinion save his laugh. Once I had become sufficiently winded and red in the face he came up behind and placed his large hands on my shoulders. “Perhaps I should hold onto that as the neutral party.”

   I grunted something about what he could hold under my breath. He chuckled and reached around me for the blade. With a grunt Fenris dropped it in his palm and Garrett snatched it before I could shift a muscle. By the time I turned he had already sheathed it in his belt.

   We mirrored each other with the way we faced off with our arms crossed, only he smirked and I scowled.

   He patted the handle sticking up from his belt. “At least until Merrill examines it. We just want to make sure it’s safe.”

   Merrill was a blood mage so of course she made sense but… “Why not Anders?” I glanced at my scabbed, achy hands. I was surprised Garrett hadn’t ushered me off to see him yet considering the way he liked to fuss. Unless he didn’t think he was safe to be around me anymore.

   “Do you want to see him?” Garrett’s expression went carefully neutral.

   “Yes, of course.” I wasn’t scared of him or Justice. “Are you worried?”

   “Not about him, not in that way, but he’s worried about you.”

   So he blamed himself then for what happened? My scowl deepened. I must have looked like I was trying to impersonate Fenris. “It’s not his fault.”

   Said broodster tensed at my words. Somebody in this room was a breath from disagreeing, and hint, it was the one with pointed ears.

   “He doesn’t forgive wrongs easily, especially his own,” Garrett said.

   Anders had been pushing back against a system that had been telling him he was wrong for existing since he was a child, and even more so when he began demanding what should have been all along: freedom for mages. It made sense then that when he broke one of the most lofted tenets by becoming possessed and the being possessing seemed to almost do me harm, he would turn that criticism back upon himself. But neither of them had meant me harm, so there was nothing to forgive. I wouldn’t let him waste his time beating himself up over it.

   “Where is he now?”

   “Where do you think?”

   The clinic. Of course. I went for the door.

   “There’s a faster way,” Garret said, and I turned back to find him grinning.

Chapter Text

   The Amell Estate was full of surprises. Shouldn’t be a surprise that Garrett knew them since the place had been his family’s for generations, but I would’ve expected a hidden room with a rotating shelf or a picture frame that swung out, not a passage that led all the way from Hightown to Darktown. No wonder Garrett was able to talk Anders into moving in. This would seriously save on his commute time, not to mention it’d make a good escape route if Templars came sniffing.

   My one big concern was that this seemed like a prime place for creepy crawlies to become giant crawlies, but Garrett assured me when I suspiciously eyed dark corners that he made routine sweeps and kept the passage safe and secure from outside entry. If he said it was fine, I believed him. I didn’t even feel naked without my rusted sword with me. Well that and I had Garrett and Fenris flanking me along with Scrapper who bounced around like the good boy he was, excited for a little adventure.

   Our mission? Bring Anders back to the estate. Well, my mission at least. Garrett tried to appear indifferent though I know it troubled him to have Anders away. What passed between them when my memories overtook me? Fenris wasn’t bothered at all. He could easily nod and turn heel without a word of protest if I voiced a change of mind. And Scrapper was right beside—

   Wait, no he wasn’t. We had just emerged from the secret entrance into Darktown, right by Anders’ clinic, but the mabari had bounded off. I stopped and craned my neck. I spotted him on the other side of the thoroughfare.

   His front paws leaned against a tilted pallet, nose sniffing with intense curiosity at an orange fluff ball arching its back at him and two elven children. One tried to coax the cat within reach with an unappetizing looking scrap while the other held a burlap sack behind him as he edged closer.

   “Scrapper, what have you found there?” I walked slowly over, mindful of the feline gaze now warily studying me.

   Scrapper cocked his head and let out a low whine. I don’t think he wanted to chase the cat; he was gentle giant. The kids on the other hand…

   “Back off. We found him first!” said the boy with the sack, and in his outburst, forgot he was supposed to be hiding it from the cat’s view. It hissed at the sight.

   “Is he your pet?” I eyed the makeshift tent nestled in a narrow passage nearby, and out front, an unlit fire pit with an empty spit.

   “He’s our din—” began the boy with the sack again, cut off with a sharp elbow to the ribs.

   The boy who had been trying to bribe the cat down pasted on a smile, which did nothing to hide the gurgle of his stomach “Yes, he’s our pet.”

   “I see,” I said, as if all of us didn’t know better, the cat included. “How much do you want for him?”

   The boy with the sack opened his mouth again, but his friend cut him off, throwing his shoulders back and folding his arms in front of himself like a merchant at the market stalls. “A whole silver.”

   The mangy stray was little more than skin and bones with what once must have been a warm colored coat, but it had long since dulled. It looked like it wouldn’t live much longer in this depressing place without intervention, if it didn’t make a small meal first if it let its guard slip. No Kirkwall resident in their right mind would buy it for so much.

   “I’ll take it,” I said, and reached for my money pouch. “One moment.”

   The boy started, surprised that I had accepted his price without protest. What he didn’t know was that I wasn’t looking for a bargain, and I certainly wasn’t from here.

   More importantly, I had been these kids at one time, belly aching, and I had been the cat, desperate to survive. Every basic need I had—clothes, food, shelter, protection—had been met by my Kirkwall companions, but not everyone had been so fortunate. I’d pay more than a silver to ensure Darktown children didn’t go hungry, or abandoned pets wouldn’t have to sleep with one eye open. I’d give every coin I earned at the Hanged Man, even the precious golden sovereign Fenris tipped me, if I could ensure no one and nothing had to experience I had on Earth with poverty.

   My hand grasped air. The money pouch wasn’t there. Of course. How could I forget? Norah had taken the money to bribe Wright. I had forgotten the key fact that even though I lived in a mansion I had as much money to my name as these kids.

   Garrett and Fenris, who had been quietly watching the exchange, came up behind. I looked to Garrett, mentally preparing myself to ask for a silver since he was big on me letting him help, but a tattooed arm moved into my field of vision. Intricate white lines led down to Fenris’ gauntlet-clad fist, and when lithe fingers uncurled, I sucked in a breath: on the center of his palm rested a golden sovereign. My eyes flew to his; they looked the same as when he vouched for me at the Hanged Man all those weeks ago.

   She is unlike anyone I have ever met. When I touched your heart I knew. 

   He knew before I could even voice my request, even knew that I wanted to pay more than a silver coin that would feed the kids for only a short time, and gave what I wouldn’t dream of asking.

   I stood perfectly still when he placed the sovereign in my hand, but inside, I trembled. Unlike the time he tipped me, careful to not touch a bit of skin, his fingertips brushed mine with a familiar tenderness that left me breathless. It felt like that intense gaze he’d always protected me with at the tavern had finally taken physical form. He pulled back before I could react, as if the gesture hadn’t thoroughly shaken me, but before he could move away as if nothing happened, I reached back to catch his retreating fingers with my other hand to squeeze my thanks. The lyrium in his tattoos pulsed in response, faint enough that only I could sense it, but I knew he knew.

   I wanted to hang on, never mind my scabbed hands, but the boy cleared his throat. We let go, I reluctantly so. I turned to face the kid, but caught Garrett watching me with an arched brow and guarded expression.

   “Here,” I said to the boy with the scrap. “For the cat.”

   The boy’s eyes blew wide and he sputtered. He held the coin up to the light, as if uncertain it was real. Sack Boy peeked behind his shoulder. “Is that a sovereign?” he asked and the other just rapidly nodded. Without taking his eyes off the glinting gold, he dropped the sack for us to presumably use. “Take him!” he shouted. The pair scuttled off to their hidey-hole, no doubt already dreaming of all the delicious things they were going to eat.

   “So,” Garrett said and nodded to the cat. “Just what are you planning to do with that?”

   This time, it was my turn to grin at him.

   I banged on the clinic’s door for the third time.

   “Closed!” came footsteps and Anders’ muffled voice.

   Yes, I rather guessed that with the lantern outside doused and the door locked. Whelp, at least I knew he was in there, and I was the stubborn sort. Time to make my next move.

   “Even for a feline friend?” I said, pitching my voice high. I didn’t know if sounding like me would make him more or less likely to open up.

   Anders went silent for a moment.

   Fenris whispered in my ear, “I could always kick the door down.”

   I didn’t doubt he could considering what he did to the Hanged Man’s in an effort to rescue me from the rage demon, but I shook my head. Breaking down doors never put the person whose door was just busted in in the mood for a civil chat, which is exactly what I wanted. More than that actually. I wanted to hug the crap out of my favorite mage.

   It sure beat the unruly cat in my arms. I think it knew I was trying to help it, but maybe it sensed my inexperience with its kind or maybe it just wanted to draw my blood to show me it could if it wanted, but I was now the proud owner of not just a cat but scores of scratch marks on my wrists and forearms. Might as well match my cut up hands.

   “What’s wrong with the cat?” Anders asked. I could tell by the sound of his voice he was now standing on the other side of the door.

   Yes! I would have done a fist pump if my arms weren’t occupied. In the midst of my struggle to collect the cat from the top of the wooden pallet, I thought Anders would know how to get it down considering his love of the animal; he had said as much outside Kirkwall on our trip to Sundermount. This planted the idea of what I hoped would now get Anders to talk to us.

   “Oh, the poor baby is covered in fleas and sores, and it’s so emaciated you can see its spine!” I let my voice go up even higher on the last word and had to bite my lip to keep from giggling.

   It was Garrett who leaned over this time, whispering, “Next time we read together, you can act it out. You make a convincing actress.”

   I rolled my eyes but apparently Anders agreed because he unbolted the lock and threw the door open. His eyes narrowed at us on his doorstep, but he just sighed.

   “I’m surprised you bothered to knock.”

   “Yes, well, I did offer to pick it,” Garrett said and tossed a thumb over at Fenris, “and he kick it but we figured you’d have the place warded.”

   “Oh, is that all that was stopping you?” He said with an eye roll of his own.

   I stepped forward, proffering the cat, whose ears flattened from being handled so. “It really could use some help, and well, I don’t really have any experience with them.”

   His face softened. “Yes, I can see that it can.” He scooped up the cat, which surprisingly, went willingly. Anders let the cat sniff his hand as he cooed at it, a small smile on his face which threatened to become a much larger one. The cat let out a whuff of air then pressed its face into his palm, requesting scratches, which he obliged. Soon, he had the bloodthirsty thing purring in his arms, and it didn’t even stop once it was set on the examining table for a thorough healing.  

   “You really are magic,” I said to him as I fetched a cloth and two bowls of water, one for drinking and one for cleaning. He stiffened at my words.

   That was supposed to be a compliment, though I suppose the phrase doesn’t have the same innocuous ring on Thedas as it did on Earth. And, I guess I could see why he’d be touchy with what happened today with Justice.

   “You okay?” I asked him.

   “I should be asking you that.” He paused his meticulous grooming of the cat, which had been a bit too rapt to be nothing other than forced, and finally looked at me. His eyes trailed me, looking for marks of trauma, like bruises from Justice’s otherwordly grasp or burns from the fire.

   “I’m fine. Justice didn’t hurt me.”

   His jaw clenched but he didn’t comment on that. “This doesn’t look fine,” he said as he grabbed my hands, already reaching for one of the cloths to clean my forearms. “How did this happen?”

   “Well, the scratches are compliments of your new friend. The marks on my hands are from my dagger.”

   “You cut yourself?” he asked, leaving the “again” part unsaid. He was clearly appalled though I couldn’t be certain if it was over the self-afflicted nicks or the blood magic risk.

   As Anders began healing me, I explained my attempt to unlock the dagger’s secrets, how I regained my last memories of Earth, and that I now suspected I knew the phrase to unlock it. I finished long after he did with my hands and arms, folding his own in front of him as he quietly listened to my tale and subsequent speculations.

   “And these two have decided I can’t have back what’s mine because they think I’ll get possessed or something if I use the magic word.”

   Anders eyes darkened at the P word. Damn it. I did it again.

   “So,” I said in a rush to smooth things over, “we’re hoping you can look it over to ensure it’s safe as best you can before I give it a go.”

   “Why not Merrill?”

   “Why not you?” I countered.

   “A blood mage would have more knowledge in this area.” He didn’t meet my eyes.

   “And a seven-time Circle escapee, skilled Spirit Healer, and former Grey Warden wouldn’t have anything to offer? Or Justice? He seems to have been able to pick up on some stuff that none of us have.”

   And there is was, the subject he had been avoiding.

   “Justice has done enough,” he said quietly, not meeting my eyes.

   “Is that why you didn’t stay?” I wanted you to stay, I wanted to say.

   He looked at me then, stayed silent, but his eyes said everything.

   “You should come back home and take a look at the dagger,” Garrett said quietly.

   “I’ll look at the dagger, but I’m not staying,” Anders said as Garrett handed it to him. Garrett’s expression shifted for a moment to reveal an undeniable longing look as their hands brushed. Anders looked at him with a similar expression, though his was laced with regret and sadness.

    How could these two be so oblivious over the other’s feelings? They made me want to scream, or at least stage an intervention because this level of self-denial was unhealthy. The worst part? I was the reason for the rift. They’d finally taken a big step forward by living together, but now Anders felt like he couldn’t stay because of me. It wasn’t fair for any of them.

   “Anders, please come back. I’ll go. I’m sure Merrill will let me crash at her place until I find something else.”

   “No,” all three of them said together, as if they planned it, though going by the looks they sent each other, it definitely hadn’t. Even the cat yowled and swatted the feathers on Anders’ pauldrons.

   Anders scratched the cat behind the ears. “Mel, I think it’d be safer for you to remain with everyone else.”

   “Well what about you? It’d be safer for me if you were there, and it’s got to be better for you than staying in this place.”

   “I think today showed that I am not safe. With Justice, I’m not entirely in control.”

   “I’m not afraid.”

   “But I am.”

   Fenris surprised me by being the first to break the impasse. He straightened from where he leaned on the door frame. “I’ll be ensuring she’ll know how to defend herself. I’m going to be overseeing her training.”

   Oh, right, we had agreed upon that but had never got to mention it to anybody due to the whole Justice incident.

   “Oh really? And here I was going to offer my services,” Garrett said with a raised eyebrow. “Though you might not need any weapons training to hold off a spirit. You stopped Justice with that white light.”

   “It did, didn’t it?” I chewed my lower lip. There was no more denying it. The white firelight had emanated from me. “But I’m not sure how it happens or how to control it.”

   “Except it comes out when you think your life is in danger, as Justice demonstrated,” Fenris said, leveling his icy glare on Anders.

   Anders slouched as he flipped my dagger in hand. “A mage uses their connection to the Fade to replenish their mana to perform magic, but this power, what I could sense through Justice’s control, was like all the intermediaries were skipped. As if you unleashed a bit of the Fade itself.”

   Garrett whistled. “Well, that doesn’t sound good.” He sighed, rubbing his face. “So what you’re saying is she should probably avoid being put in situations where she might feel compelled to call upon the light?”

   “I think that goes without saying,” Fenris grumbled.

   But I knew what Garrett was getting at. “So basically, now that I know that I can do it, I should avoid practicing with it until we have more answers on what exactly it is I’m messing with?” I couldn’t deny it did seem like the smart option even though it took all my self-restraint to not surprise Anders, knick my finger on the dagger, and say what I suspected was the key word.

   Anders tried to cheer me with a smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll do a thorough and swift testing. I’ll get it to you as soon as possible.”

   “We have the Frederick’s dinner tomorrow night,” Garrett said.

   Oh, right, I had forgotten I’d promised Leandra I’d go to that with her. Damn it. I really didn’t want to face anymore delays. The answers were within reach.

   Anders’ smile turned strained. “I’ll be sure to not interrupt that.”

   Interrupt all you like, I wanted to say. I think Garrett could read my impatience because he said to me, “It might take a couple days. Can you wait that long? We’ll get you answers as soon as we can.”

   I nodded my assent absently, a realization snagging my attention. When I had my answers, I’d have my path back to Earth. That’s what all this really led to, didn’t it? But it was the answers I had really wanted, not the path back home. The memory of the cottage by the water, once my most cherished memory, faded like the wisps of a dream in the reality of the three men before me. Earth didn’t feel like home anymore. Home was all four of us, together.

   But every home I’d ever known never lasted, and this one would be no different. When we went back to the Amell Estate tonight, there would be one less of us. Someday soon after I got my answers, I could be struck off the list too.

   I tried for a smile but it came out like Anders’s.

   Fenris stopped leaning on the door, his indication that he thought the conversation was done and it was time to leave. He paused one moment to look back at me in question; I made a motion with my fingers indicating I’d be right there. He gave a barely detectable nod and exited, surely waiting on the other side to escort me back. Garrett gave Anders this unreadable look, one that he returned. Then he turned and followed out the door, Scrapper on his heels after the mabari gave a parting sniff to the cat exploring the examination table.

   That left me. I knew at least Fenris was waiting for me, probably Garrett too, but I didn’t want to leave yet. I still had so much I wanted to tell Anders. I didn’t want to leave it like this between us, him holding himself apart because he feared he might hurt me. But he hadn’t and I didn’t think he would. I trusted him. I trusted him before I even told him about my past, that day when I went into the bath tub, the first time I had in years and didn’t have a panic attack; I didn’t realize how deeply I did until now. He had been watching out for me from the beginning, worrying about my comfort, safety, and emotional well-being. He just didn’t trust himself.

   If only I had been able to reassure him back at the mansion, had grabbed his hand when he reached out. But I had been swept under by the tide of memory and when I resurfaced he was already gone, and must have spent the whole day blaming himself. It certainly didn’t help that Fenris did. At least Garrett must have gone after him, but apparently that hadn’t been enough. But maybe now I would be?

   Anders had his back turned as he pulled his own dinner out of his bag to feed the cat. “Shouldn’t you be going?”

   “I don’t want to go without you,” I said, surprising myself at my bluntness. But, this was a time for honesty. And I honestly wanted him back with me, with everyone, for as long as I could before I’d have to leave.

   Anders sighed, still not facing me. “This isn’t about wants.”

   I crossed my arms. “You said yourself you wanted me to trust you. Remember, after Wright?” I had to swallow just speaking the name, but I wouldn’t let his ghost stop me. “Well, here’s the reality, I do. Completely.”

   “Mel…there’s things you don’t know about me.”

   “Do I need to know? I mean, you can tell me if you want to but you don’t have to. I know enough.”

   Anders leaned against the table, head bowed, like a condemned man. That wouldn’t do.

   I walked over and took the hand I should have earlier and held it between mine.

   “I know this place of healing shows what you value. But even without it I’d know. I’ve seen what kind of man you are everyday since I’ve been here. Whatever magic you possess, whatever spirit shares your body, doesn’t change that. You’re still you.”

   I reached up with one hand to tuck a strand of hair that had escaped his tie behind one ear, recalling my first moment alone with him, when I fixed his hair and he called me Mel. I smiled at the memory.

   “Remember when you defended me from Wright? You called me everything, and I could tell you believed it even when I couldn’t. So now, believe me when I say that you are one of the kindest, most giving people I know,” and as I thought of Garrett casting longing looks at Anders earlier, I finished with, “and you should be with those who love you. You shouldn’t stay here alone.”

   “You make it so hard to stay away,” he said, as if wavering on the precipice of giving in.

   I rested the hand that had tidied his hair on his chest, met his eyes, and gave him that final push. “Then don’t.”

   And he didn’t, just like I wanted, but instead of turning to gather his things, he gathered me up in his arms to press his hungry mouth to mine. He breathed in my surprised gasp and exhaled a moan back, the sound zinging through my body. My own fingers curled into the feathers on his robes to steady myself. I had never been kissed before since I had never been able to get close to anyone on Earth, but even if I had, I couldn’t imagine it would be like this, so consuming. It was like the planet had been knocked off its orbit, and despite spinning off into space, I delighted in the vertigo. His hands tilted my face and his tongue swiped against my lips, seeking entrance. Still reeling, they parted for him with no resistance, and his tongue darted in to massage mine. I pressed back and there was no denying the moan that came from him then at my response.

   For I was responding. I barely recognized this flushed, breathy woman wrapped up in the arms of her healer. The one who allowed the distance she should have maintained be closed, knowing she drove the wedge between Garrett and Anders farther, and once gone, wouldn’t be there to see them piece themselves back together. If they even could.

   I had destroyed everything.

   I stiffened in Anders’ arms and he paused, pulling back to look at me. I burned with shame and couldn’t meet his eyes. I hadn’t meant for him to kiss me, didn’t even think it a possibility he ever would, but I couldn’t deny that I had dreamed of it, and when he surprised me, for a moment, I let myself forget about all the reasons why I shouldn’t.

   As if confirming every thought I had, he let go of me. “I’m sorry. This was my mistake.”

   “Anders,” my throat closed up. I didn’t want it to be mistake even though I knew it had to be. I had known it would result in heartache if I didn’t keep my distance, didn’t I? Already, my chest felt painfully tight. My lips tingled from his, longing for their feel again with a yearning so much stronger than any of my previous daydreams. It’s so much easier to play with what ifs than to experience the reality and then have it dissipate with a breath, for memory is more potent than fantasy.

   Anders didn’t look back as he put my dagger on his belt and made his way to the back room. “I’ll have an answer for you after the Frederick’s. Go with the others. They’ll keep you safe.” Then he went into the interior room with the cat trailing his heels, shutting me out.

   What did it mean that he kissed me? What did it mean that he stopped? Wasn’t he in love with Garrett? I couldn’t have imagined that, could I? Why kiss me at all, if it were such a mistake? Had it been an impulse? Pity? Had I so poorly hidden my feelings that he could read them?

   I swayed on my feet and braced myself against the table, taking deep, calming breathes. I wasn’t going to cry. I had shed too many tears already today. My heart couldn’t take anymore. I shut my eyes, fist gripping the clothe over my chest and let several minutes pass.

   When I was positive I looked composed, I walked out. Like I expected, Fenris leaned against the entrance. His face gave nothing away on whether he had heard anything of what happened inside.

   Garrett stood farther away, looking out over the ocean. At our approach he looked at me. “Anders?”

   I just shook my head as we made our way to the secret entrance. He wasn’t coming back. I didn’t know how any of us were going to come back from this.

Chapter Text

   “You’re distracted,” Fenris said above me.

   “No I’m not,” I looked past his piercing green eyes to the sky.

   And the vibrant blue reminded me of Justice, which reminded me of Anders, which reminded me of how he kissed me then walked away and how I had probably ruined whatever tentative relationship had been growing between Garrett and him. I had trampled the whole thing by being selfish and oblivious which is a rather destructive combo.

   Fenris flicked me on the forehead.

   “Hey!”

   “See? Distracted. You should have been able to intercept that.”

   “Not with your ninja fingers. Or after being knocked on my back by you again.”

   He arched a brow, ignoring my Earth reference. “You wouldn’t be on your back if you were paying attention.”

   “Yeah, yeah,” I groaned and got back to my feet and brushed myself off, which was silly considering I’d undoubtedly be back on my ass in a minute.

   “Mind your footwork. Pay attention to how you position your feet and shift your body weight.” He pulled his practice sword out then tapped the end against my elbow, getting me to correct my hold on my own sword. “Good.”

   Taking that as the signal to go I lunged, swinging just as he taught me, and of course, missed him entirely. I turned, feet working quick to get him back in my sights, just in time to intercept his counter swing which I knew he slowed down so I had a chance to block. Good thing too because he didn’t even put half his power into one of these; if he did I’d surely have more to worry about more than being knocked off my feet. Just this felt like the bones in my arms rattled when I held against him. Holy hell. By the end of this session I wouldn’t be surprised if both limbs rebelled, detached themselves from my body, and flipped me off as they ran away.

   Fenris pushed against my blade so it angled down. Then, with a twist and sweep, he sent it flying from my hands. Next, he would bring the point of his blade to my neck or any other vital place and declare me dead, but after being declared dead a couple dozen times already, I figured I couldn’t be any less dead if I went down swinging.

   Or in this case, kicking.

   Before he could bring the sword back around I darted in and aimed my foot right at his groin. I came close, so close, but he sidestepped and surprised me when he tossed his own sword away as he dodged my next kick with annoyingly lithe grace. As I tried mixing it up with an upper cut I caught a blur of a smirk on his face—there and gone—as he caught my fist and spun me around so I was trapped against his chest in a hold I couldn’t break free from not matter how hard I struggled.

   He hummed in my ears, voice surprisingly playful, “Perhaps I should add in some hand to hand combat to your training regiment. Though you’ll want to work on your basic self-defense too, especially if you can’t free yourself from a hold as elementary as this.”

   “You’re the one being elementary,” I muttered despite knowing it only made me sound like it, not him.

   Fenris chuckled. “Says the one who resorted to the fighting moves of adolescents.”

   “Hey, if it works.” It had downed Wright, at least for a time. “You said I should be prepared for anything. Figured same would go for you.” I told myself my voice only came out breathy because I’d been working so hard, not because being pressed up against him let me feel his voice reverberate in his chest. Even a strip of his tattoos which weren’t covered by his gauntlets pressed into my skin, the lyrium song whispering to me. Fenris was right, I was distracted, but it wasn’t just because of Anders.

   “Clearly I was but you were not,” he shot back, and I couldn’t see his face, but if I could, I bet I’d see that smirk of his.

   “One day, Fenris,” I promised. I made one last attempt to free myself, though my writhing did little more than grind my back against his iron hard chest and my ass against the intended area of my original kick. Damn it. I probably looked like a flopping fish.

   “One day indeed,” he said, his deep voice gone deeper still, and stiffer too, as if the morning’s exertions had suddenly begun to show in him. He released me and I stumbled forward but kept myself from falling. As I spun around I caught the tinge of color on his cheeks and him adjusting his pants. Maybe sweat was making the leather uncomfortably clingy? Aha! So he was affected by all the training. He was mortal after all!

   Fenris busied himself with setting our swords to the side before approaching again.

   “Here, when someone grabs you like I just did, do this.” Fenris flew through a movement that looked more like a dance move than a defensive one. But I could see how it might work theoretically.

   I tried to copy it, but it was a bit difficult since I had no idea what I looked like and I wasn’t actually restrained this time so I couldn’t measure my success on whether or not I broke free. It’d probably be easier if I could see him demonstrate the move with someone else. But it was just the two of us.

   After a few attempts, Fenris came up behind me, held me against him again, and then repeatedly walked me through the motions, though he was careful to not pull me flush against him like last time. I swear I tried to not get distracted, but the feel of him behind me, the way his skin called to mine, made me want to give into his arms, not escape them.

   For a second I let the fight drain away and I leaned back, recalling how he held me under the tree yesterday, and how in his arms, I found a haven. Even now, his eyes were greener than its leaves or anything else in the courtyard. They flicked to mine as the flush on his face suddenly became more pronounced.

   His hold loosened and his jaw tightened. “What are you doing?”

   Fuck. What was I doing? Screwing up twice in less than 24 hours apparently.

   “Distracting you,” was all I said as somehow I executed the break free move just as he taught me without a hitch.

   Okay, so I spoke too soon. There was a definite hitch. Used to his superior strength and strong hold, I pitched a lot of force behind my move, and since he hadn’t been holding on tight I went flying, and you guessed it, landed on my ass. Again.

   And yet, I couldn’t help a smirk of my own coming to me. “Did you expect that?” I asked, as if I had any of what just happened scripted.

   Even though I could have sworn he seemed flustered for a second, he adapted the unreadable expression I’d come to associate with him. “You’re learning.”

   I grinned, knowing I was coming off a bit cheeky but not caring. So what if I’d gotten shown how much my fighting skills were lacking? They could only get better from here. Varric was right. Fenris made for a great teacher. He was as stern and as critical as I thought he might be, but was also patient and thorough. Despite my forms being rough, and well, everything being rough, I could tell that I had made some progress today. And it was only the first day!

   As I pushed to my elbows, Leandra’s voice came from the doorway.

   “That’s enough for today. We can’t risk much more bruising or people will start gossiping about what goes on in the Amell mansion tonight.” She stood at the doorway, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she crooked her finger at me. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

   Knowing Leandra, she had more in mind than a little cleaning up. I groaned as I got to my feet. Think I’d rather go a few more rounds with Fenris than be thrust into a party of snotty nobles, but I had told her I’d go. Best to just grin and bear it.

   As I got to the door, I turned to Fenris, who studied the tree, hands held behind his back. “Thanks for today. Same time tomorrow?”

   He kept perusing the foliage as if secrets were hidden in the leaves. “We’ll begin later in the day. I expect you’ll want the extra sleep after tonight.”

   “You know that from experience? Been to a lot of parties then?” Somehow, I couldn’t picture him as the party type.

   His lips upturned but it was no smile. “Yes, so many I’ve lost count, though never as a guest.”

   “What do you mean?”

   “I…before Kirkwall, I served as a bodyguard.”

   I nodded. That made sense. From his skills to the way he carried himself fit the image of a guard, mercenary, or warrior. But I got the sense that there was more to it than that. There was a distance to him now and it worried me. I had to go or Leandra would probably drag me herself, but I’d inquire later. Like always when it came to him, I wanted to know what was going on underneath his surface, but he wouldn’t let me in unless he wanted to, so I settled on asking, “Well, will you be coming to the Frederick’s tonight?”

   “I’ll see you to the estate and then let Hawke take it from there.”

   “You don’t want to come in?”

   “As much as I’d enjoy you pretending to be an craftswoman of chamber pots or something equally scandalous, it’s not my place.”

   My hand gripped the door frame. This was about him being an elf, wasn’t it? Ugh, those nobles turning their noses up at anyone who wasn’t their race or class made me sick. If I ruminated on this as I got ready I’d probably work myself into a fine state before the appetizers were served. I’d more likely death glare any nobles who tried to socialize with me than be the companion Leandra deserved.

   Probably with too much passion lacing my my words, I said, “Your place is wherever you want it to be.”

   Those rich green eyes pinned me in place, but even if they hadn’t, I don’t think I’d have dreamed of moving when he quietly, but no less passionately, responded with, “And if I wanted to be by your side?”

   Air left my lungs. His promise, I had to remind myself. He spoke of his promise to protect me, his atonement for almost killing me, the sin I’d forgiven. Nothing more.

   I strode from the doorway and took his hand, and by the marginal widening of his eyes, I knew I’d caught him off guard.

   “Then be by my side,” I whispered, a promise of my own.

   His jaw worked again, not as if he were swallowing words down, but as if he were parsing them out with his tongue. Then he his lips parted as if he had something specific in mind but the words escaped him. Under his breath, he hissed, “Festis bei umo canavarum.”

   He had said that to me before, when I asked him to teach me to fight, but I never did get him to explain what the Tevene phrase meant though I was guessing it was some kind of curse. I was going to ask right this moment, but his hand found my cheek and words escaped me as they had done him. My eyes flicked to his lips, and Mad Mel wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Kiss Anders and now I wanted to kiss everyone. Okay, not everyone, just three men in particular.

   “Mel! Let’s go.” Leandra came to the doorway, and Fenris removed his hand so fast I knew without a doubt he’d been holding back during training. She had already swept up her hair and was now putting on earrings. “I have to make sure Garrett doesn’t try to wear his full armor again too; this is social gathering, not a war room.” She strode off, muttering something about “that boy” and “just like his father.”

   When I turned back to Fenris, his hands were behind his back again, unreadable expression back in place.

   He’d been so intently watching me, but when Leandra called, he looked away. But a smile, one of his genuine ones like by the river at the Dalish camp remained, and I felt my chest warm.

   “I’ll be there tonight, but I’ll remain outside, guarding the perimeter in case the blood mage decides to show up.” He silenced my objection with a look. “It’s what I’ve trained to do, so let me.”

   I didn’t fight it. I wanted him with me, and in this way, he would.

   “Okay. See you tonight.”

   “Until tonight, amata.”

   “What does that mean?”

   “It’s similar to ma vhenan, only Tevene.”

   “Oh.” I smiled. So he’d finally come to claim me as friend in his native tongue. The center of my chest beat with a joy I didn’t want to examine too closely, for fear of smothering it. I simply let it flicker as I headed inside, taking the stairs to my room two at a time.

Chapter Text

   Leandra talked me into wearing the silver dress. The translucent fabric of the bodice, save the embroidery which covered everything needed in polite society, framed my bust to flattering effect, and the billows of skirt that waterfalled behind me made me feel like a warrior princess. I felt dressed for battle even though it was only a dance and dinner party. The color of the fabric gave my eyes a dangerous look, like maybe you didn’t want to fuck with me, and if I were being really honest with myself, I liked it. It felt like armor, like I was impenetrable.

   And, had to admit, I also liked the way Garrett had looked at me in this dress when I first tried it on, that heat in his eyes. I had felt desirable, powerful.

   But Leandra wasn’t finished with me. She pinned my waves up, letting a curl dangle behind an ear, and clipped a constellation of diamonds in my hair. If I moved my head just right, they twinkled like stars. I would have kept turning my head as I examined myself in the mirror, but Leandra had pulled me away to line my eyes with kohl, and add a dab of color to my lips. Then with a wink, she slid me some slippers that were surprisingly comfortable; certainly unlike some of the heeled shoes I’d seen some of the noblewomen wearing.

   “Trust me, you’ll thank me later when you don’t feel like chopping your feet off by the end of the night. No one will see them under your skirt anyway,” was all she had said before rushing off to find her own pair.

   I touched the mirror’s surface, the warrior princess mimicking me. The Mel of Earth wouldn’t recognize this version of herself, and yet, now I couldn’t quite picture the woman I had been before: the student scurrying to her community college classes, the waitress refilling coffee mugs to caffeine deprived masses, the bartender getting puke on her shoes while all the good tips went to her coworkers who were actually remembered by patrons. But this Mel, she had faced monsters and survived. She had faced the dark things of this world, and those ugly things lurking inside herself, and had found the light. Like a creature from the deep, forgotten and immense, she was still emerging. I was excited to see who she’d become.

   A second pair of eyes appeared in the mirror. I smiled and turned.

   It was odd to see Garrett without his armor, though he did wear his daggers on his ceremonial belt. Sneaky. It just might pass Leandra’s inspection. He’d also donned his usual boots though they’d clearly been cleaned and polished. The pants and shirt were burgundy, the ornamentation and brocade gold, with a black undershirt, the collar of which framed his throat, emphasizing his jaw line. The outfit had obviously been tailored for him, lines perfectly running the width of his broad shoulders, long legs, and powerful arms.

   I didn’t realize how hard I’d been staring until my eyes finally made their way to his face to find he’d been intently studying my reaction. Then mine flamed as it so often did in this man’s presence, erasing any chance I had at playing it cool.

   “You look nice,” I blurted.

   “Only nice? Now that won’t do. Nice doesn’t win hearts.” He sauntered near, voice pitched low, tantalizing my ears.

   “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll be breaking plenty of noble hearts tonight,” I said with an eye roll and smoothed a nonexistence crease on his lapel. I tried not to think about how much the idea of various noblewomen in his arms bothered me, even if I knew he didn’t have eyes for them. Besides, I had no right to be jealous.

   “What if I’m not interested in noble hearts, at least the kind ordained by the Viscount? What if I wanted to steal the heart of one person in particular?”

   That could only mean Anders. I felt the familiar pang of longing, something I thought I’d been getting better at squashing, but this time it was accompanied by a burst of shame. I still didn’t know if I’d ruined Garrett’s and Anders’ chances.

   I kept my smile fixed. “Keep coming up with lines like that and I’m sure you won’t even have to steal it.”

   “You think it’s likely that they’d consent to be mine?”

   I thought of the longing looks the pair of them shared. “More than likely.” If Garrett turned the charm on Anders, I’m sure he’d kiss Garrett the way he’d kissed me, only he wouldn’t say it was a mistake then.

   Garrett brought my hand to his lips, and the kiss shot tingles down my arm and up my spine. His eyes twinkled more than the gems in my hair, and I stood transfixed. “Well then, my lady, I beseech the Maker that my wit does not fail me.”

   “Has it ever?” Hell, he wasn’t even talking about me and I felt drawn in by his words.

   “For the first time, I fear it might. Never has someone been so close, yet so far out of reach.”

   I knew the feeling. At least for one of us, it didn’t always have to be so. If he would just be straightforward with Anders, if they would just talk to one another, all the heartache could dissipate.

   Before I could think better of it, my mouth opened, “Maybe they don’t know you’ve extended your hand. If they did, maybe they’d bridge the gap by reaching back.”

   Garrett looked oddly thoughtful. Was he actually taking my advice seriously? One could hope.

   “What if they do,” he asked, voice soft, “but one day, they let go?”

   I silently sucked in a breath. Letting go. That’s what Anders and Garrett feared, what stopped them from coming together all these years. It suddenly made a great deal of sense.  

   Anders never had a chance to have normal relationships due to his life in the Circle or as a Grey Warden, but now as an apostate and mage rights activist possessed by a Fade spirit, he must view the idea as impossible. That’s why he never initiated anything with Garrett or returned his subtle flirtations. There would be many different challenges, so many ways it all couldn’t work out, so he must think: why would anyone take the risk for him?

   And Garrett, he knew the pain of loss well: father and sister dead, and brother likely never to be seen again. How much would it wound him to invite someone special into his life, only for them to be ripped away from him? Even over someone like me, who was just a friend he had promised to see home safely, he had become fiercely protective, from the way he had tried to make me promise to run from danger in the Sundermount caverns to culling the corrupt from the City Guard. What would he do for someone he actually loves? And what would it do to him if he lost them?  He must know the answer to that, which is why he has never really talked with Anders.

   But never reaching out for fear of someone else letting go first, either due to death or their own will, is no way to live. My time here had taught me that.

   “I think if you let them know, that for better or worse, they will always have you, I can’t imagine they would ever willingly let you go,” I answered, voice as soft as his.

   Several silent seconds trickled past. I splayed my hands in my skirt, unable to meet his eyes. Perhaps I had been too honest, I almost let myself getaway with thinking, but I knew better. It had to be said or nothing would progress. I clenched the fabric in a fist and looked up.  

   “Well then,” was all Garrett said, but the lights in his eyes danced with determination, like he could single-handedly storm the Black City if his plan called for it.

   So he had found his resolve after all. My lips quirked just a bit. Anders had better prepare himself to be swept away. And since it was Garrett, it would be tsunami sized. He never did anything small.

   Good. That’s good. I let go of my handful of skirt.

   Like we hadn’t just been discussing Garrett’s romance troubles, he stood back, admiring my dress. He took the hand he kissed and twirled me around. The cool air and the swish of fabric against my legs made me want to keep going, like I could fly off and escape all the worries and fears weighing me down.

   I slowed to a stop but words still spun from my lips. “How do I look?”

   His eyes devoured me, foot to face, and by the time he got there, it had turned red all over again. “More than nice,” he drawled.

   I arched an eyebrow, really trying to pretend he wasn’t having an effect on me. Bet I failed. I was just the test case, but even still, his charm worked on me. If I were Anders, I’d melt. I had to remind myself it wasn’t real.

   “Ten points to Gryffindor,” I muttered, breaking eye contact again in an effort to get my face under control.

   “Is that from your Earth book you were telling Varric about? ‘The Habit’?”

   I snorted. “No, that’s Harry Potter. The other is “The Hobbit.’”

   He hummed under his breath. “There was something about a dwarf with a blade named Ouch or something.”

   I laughed. “First of all, just because hobbits are short and live in hillsides doesn’t make them dwarfs, and second of all, Bilbo’s blade was called Sting.”

   “So then what is this one called?” Garrett presented me a sheathed dagger, the pommel decorated in leathers the colors of the Amell estate: red, brown, and gold. A small ruby winked from the center. Pulling it out slightly revealed steel I’d become well acquainted with: masterwork.

   “Garrett,” I breathed, not daring to touch it again.

   “Might get confusing if you call it that.”

   I was going to ignore that. “Is this for me?”

   “Last time I checked, I can only hold two daggers at a time.”

   I crinkled my nose at him and resisted making a Zoro from One Piece reference before returning my attention back to the blade. “But why give it to me?”

   “For one, I’ve temporarily taken your only functional blade. Two, you’re about to go into a den of sharks unarmed.”

   “Mixing metaphors, Garrett.”

   “I know what I said, and if there’s any creature that’s a combination of shark and lion it’s a noble.”

   “You realize you’re a noble.”

   “I like to think of myself as a dragon.”

   My eyes were about to roll off into the stratosphere. Garrett playfully tugged the tendril of hair sticking from behind my one ear to bring me back down.

   “So you want me to go socialize and play nice but also armed in case a fight breaks out over the brisket?”

   “It’s Kirkwall. I’ve learned to not take my chances, especially over brisket,” he said as he dropped to his knees and took hold of the hem of my dress.

   “Um, Garrett, what are you doing?”

   “Arming you.”

   My dress rose above my knee and all the blood in my body rose to my face. Again. “More like legging me. I don’t see a blade strapped to your thigh.”

   I could have easily swatted his hands away, but he transfixed me as easily as he had before, and I liked it. Having him on his knees before me made my pulse race and my imagination rush off to conjure very different and alluring reasons for a man to kneel before a woman, to trail calloused fingers up her skin, to lean in so that his warm breath brushed her inner thigh—

   I pinched myself on the arm hard enough to bruise. Leandra would not approve, but thankfully, she wasn’t here to see it. For more than one reason, actually. Out of context this would be an incredibly awkward position to be caught in.

   I took a deep breath. Thinking of Garrett’s mother focused me enough to get my ridiculous heartbeat under some semblance of control.

   “Well I’ve got one in my boot, another in my jacket and then the two on my belt. Currently you’re at zero. But your dress will hide it well,” Garrett mused. His hands trailed up my legs, and I could have sworn he was going slow on purpose to see how much of a reaction he could rile up in me. Fortunately I did not have to resort to drastic measures to keep my cool, like recalling the sight of spider guts, because in a few short, sure movements he had the dagger strapped on my thigh with a surprisingly comfortable holder and then he was letting the silver material fall back into place.

   I crossed my arms. “You know, I could have just worn a belt too.”

   “You could, but this is more fun.”

   “For you.” For me too. But I wasn’t going to admit how I liked the feel of secret steel a reach away. Or the feel of Garrett’s fingers.

   “And you. Think about the reactions you’d get if you suddenly whipped this out.”

   Ah yes, I’ll just hike up my skirt, say “I bet you weren’t expecting this,” à la Yzma from the “Emperor’s New Groove” and blind the enemy with sun-shy skin. I can see it now. Very frightening.

   “Enough talk of whipping things out. If someone overhears us they’re going to get the wrong idea.”

   “Or the right idea.” He waggled his eyebrows.

   I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me. “I can see why Leandra wants to keep you on a tight leash tonight.”

   “I like leashes, though I prefer to be holding them. Do you like leashes?”

   “Garrett!” I admonished but burst into laughter. He did too, but settled down quicker, that roguish look never leaving his eyes.

   A knock came from the door. Still giggling, I rushed over to open it.

   It wasn’t Leandra like I had been expecting but Fenris. He wasn’t wearing anything beyond his usual fighting leathers and giant sword—not that I had been expecting anything since he wasn’t attending the party—but he had bathed and changed. The ends of his hair were still damp and he smelled like one of the citrus bath oils. I wanted to play with his bangs, curl the ends with my fingers.

   At the thought, I held my hand behind my back. “Yes?”

   “The carriage is here.”

   Despite my initial impression of the city, Kirkwall isn’t entirely made of stairs. There are roads leading to Darktown, Lowtown and Hightown, though they’re primarily used for business shipments and nobles who can’t be bothered to walk. Tonight we’d fall in the latter category. Leandra insisted, despite the relatively short distance of walking between Hightown estates. She wouldn’t have any of us showing up dusty or sweaty.

   But I was already beginning to feel hot with Fenris’ eyes on me. No one else’s could feel like a physical touch. I felt them on my hips, tracing the curve of my waist, the embroidered spirals covering my breasts, then moving to my bare collarbone, neck, and face. Like a hand at the small of my back, they pulled me in.  

   I leaned forward, breathless and not from laughing. “Yes. Right. Coming.”

   I lurched away. “Carriage is here,” I uselessly repeated to Garrett who had come up behind me. I think he saw through my pretense of composure but said nothing.

   Together we went downstairs, passed inspection by Leandra, and took our places inside the carriage. On the ride there Fenris watched out the window, as if he expected assassins to be trailing us along the rooftops, but occasionally he’d look at me with this intense focus, especially after Garrett said something that had me laughing again. I’d direct a comment his way, try to draw him into the conversation too, but he’d slowly look away again, like fighting against a current. So I let him do what he wished, bantering back and forth with Garrett so much I forgot to be nervous about the party.

   But, maybe I should have.

Chapter Text

   “And who is it I shall be announcing?” The Frederick’s doorman sneered at me past his beaked nose and sniffed, like he could smell my lack of prestigious bloodlines. If so he’d be right, but it was disconcerting how easily he’d singled me out as the one who didn’t belong. He had needed no introduction for Leandra and Garrett, and he had promptly dismissed Fenris as no more than a servant when he left without a word to scope the perimeter.

   After a lifetime of people snubbing me for being among the working poor, I had grown accustomed to a degree of snobbishness. Paired with my parents’ reverse glamour charm, I had learned to fold in on myself. But maybe it’s something I shouldn’t have let myself do. I had as much right to be here as everyone else.

   Channeling my inner warrior princess, I straightened my shoulders, looking past the man as if it were he who was beneath me and said in the snottiest noble-sounding voice I could muster. “It’s Amelia Payne.”

   “A guest,” Garrett said, fingers drumming against his daggers handles, expression frosty.

   The man stiffened, clearly affronted at having to treat me with respect. He straightened his shirt front as if being in my presence had caused the material to wrinkle. Garrett said something low in his ear. I had no idea what since the man’s expression gave nothing away.

   “Messeres.” He held his hand out to indicate the receiving hall just inside.

   The Amell estate was down right homey compared to this place. The Frederick’s took ornate to whole new level. The floor was a series of geometric marble designs, the walls trimmed with gold, and the paint a warm ivory. Lining the halls were suits of armor well shined holding weapons I bet were as equally maintained, and no, I didn’t test that out by running a finger along a pointy end. Drapes framed floor to ceiling windows, which looked like if they fell on you, you’d suffocate before you could climb from underneath the heap. The hall itself stretched on for half a football field, with numerous doors and other hallways branching off.

   We walked to the entrance to the ballroom. Yes, a literal ballroom. These Kirkwall nobility took the dance part of this dinner and dance party quite enthusiastically if the live orchestra music greeting our ears was any indication. When the music swelled so did my anxiety. I was just realizing Leandra, purposefully or not, hadn’t put emphasis on quite how big of a social event this was, which made me want to develop a sudden case of food poisoning and a convenient excuse to go home. I could probably make it convincing with how hot I was starting to feel. Only my promise to Leandra kept me from fleeing, and okay, just a tad bit of curiosity.

   Leandra took her place in line, Garrett and I coming after with my arm resting in the crook of his just like when we met in the clinic and he escorted me to the Hanged Man. That had only been a month ago, hadn’t it? So much had changed. I’d never have imagined I’d be walking into a ball like Cinderella.

   Ahead of us was a familiar pair. It took me a moment to place the nobleman. Arnold? Aaron? He had been the one who had called Merrill and Fenris knife ears and I had subsequently shamed. He coolly surveyed the line behind him, as if it was his right to be at the head, but when his gaze landed on me he stiffened, face going white. He swiftly turned right back around which only caused the lady on his arm to look back at us.

   When her eyes landed on me an uncomfortable prickle ran across my forehead, gone so fast I must have imagined it, or at least confused it with the sudden striking of recognition. She was the same person who had been at the Viscount’s Keep. She did not share her partner’s sense of shame. The fan she snapped to flutter in her face couldn’t hide the intensity of her gaze. She didn’t take her eyes off me until the herald was announcing her as one Lady Marcella Bellamy, the man Lord Arthur Allard.

   Part of me was amused at Arthur’s reaction—he had certainly not forgotten me—but I felt unsettled by Marcella’s interest. Maybe with Arthur’s clear desire to pretend I did not exist, I could avoid the lady too. If they decided to be bigoted in my presence though, I couldn’t say I wouldn’t publicly call them out, even if it caused a scandal. Not that Garrett would mind. He’d probably laugh. But it wasn’t his evening I was hoping to make pleasant.

   “Lady Leandra Amell,” the herald cried. She gave a dazzling smile as she gracefully swept down the stairs like she walked on air. Several in the crowd paused to admire her, one gentleman in particular who looked close in age. You go, Leandra, I silently cheered.

   But then it was our turn. My grip tightened. All my nerves from before came rushing back. Fighting monsters was one thing, but having so many eyes on me, assessing, judging, made my insides twist.

   “Nervous?” Garrett asked.

   “Didn’t you say something about half of Kirkwall wanting to kill you?” He had said something to that effect after I called out Arthur at the Viscount’s Keep.

   “Something like that.”

   “Which half are we about to walk into?”

   “The fun one.”

   I would have stepped on his foot but it was time to go.

   “Announcing Lord Garrett Hawke and Lady Amelia Payne.”

   I forwent breathing as I concentrated on not tripping on my skirt or doing something else equally humiliating. I tried to keep a smile on my face but I’m sure the tension coiled within came through. As soon as we hit the main floor, I hissed in his ear, “I’m guessing you nudged door-guy to give me the title? You realize that someone among this gathering with too much time and resources on their hands could figure out I’m not a lady.”

   “I could always make you a lady.”

   I didn’t for a moment think he meant going the “My Fair Lady” route so no one would get suspicious enough to check. Besides, I bet I could fake it if I wanted, which I basically was already doing. That wasn’t the point. I wasn’t actually a lady. I’d rather not draw the attention of too many eyes. While the Kirkwall crew had believed my story about my being from another world, someone else might not, which could cause problems; or, someone else could learn the truth but try to use it to their own advantage or strike out of fear. Look at what the Chantry had done to magic users. I think I had a healthy respect for the potential consequences of my background coming to light.

   “Last time I checked you weren’t the Viscount to grant titles as you wished,” I countered.

   Besides, I would eventually go back to Earth, a place where Kirkwall’s titles were meaningless. I didn’t say that though. I remembered the way Garrett had shut down when I reminded him of my eventual return when I first tried on the silver dress, and even though I’d have preferred to be back at the estate, I wanted to enjoy the evening with him. I didn’t know how many more evenings we’d have.  

   Garrett’s tone became strangely serious. “That’s not the only method.”  

   I wracked my brain, only to get distracted by the curious stares being leveled at us which were only half as intense as the one from Garrett. “Um, adoption?”

   Garrett let go of my arm so both of his could cross in front of his chest. “Sometimes Mel, I wonder if you’re being obtuse to protect yourself or if you’ve so convinced yourself of the life your mother gave you on Earth, that here on a different world, you can’t imagine anything different for yourself.”

   “That’s not true,” I said, unable to keep the defensiveness from bleeding into my tone. I had been working hard to resurrect the old Mel, had even let myself imagine lives entirely unlike the one I’d had on Earth. Only the difference was I knew one was a possibility, the other fantasies. And even if they weren’t fantasies, the other lives for myself I imagined in the quiet of the night, I wouldn’t know how to explain them, let alone reach for them without breaking them in the process. I’d already chipped them when I kissed Anders back.

   “Isn’t it?”

   I didn’t know what to say to that without letting everything unravel, so I didn’t say anything at all. When my silence stretched out, he sighed and snagged a drink off a passing waiter’s tray, downing it in one go. It was the last one, but he zeroed in on a full tray across the room and made for it. I didn’t bother following. I wasn’t entirely sure what we’d just fought about was about, especially in regards to the whole lady thing, but I knew one thing for sure: he’d be back, as faithful as a shadow with the sunrise. Or maybe he’d pull me in first. I always struggled to resist his gravitational pull.

   Leandra sidled up right beside me with a sharp nudge from her elbow, but it was her words that shocked me: “Lover’s quarrel?”

   I sputtered. “What? No!”

   She gave me a look that said she didn’t believe me. She hadn’t given up on shipping us, apparently, though I knew better than anyone it’d never be canon. I folded my arms as she stepped closer.

   “Did you know Garrett’s father Malcolm met me at a party much like this one? Oh, we were so young and living in such different worlds, he a Circle mage and I nobility pledged to a man my parents arranged. It took some time for us to break from our former lives to make the leap and forge a new one together, but in a night, we knew our lives would be intertwined.” Her eyes bore into mine. “Whether Hawkes or Amells, we’re a passionate lot. When we fall it’s hard, fast, and forever.”

   She couldn’t be more obvious with what she implied. I couldn’t dodge it. I’d have to burst her bubble. “Leandra, you misunderstand. That’s not how it is between us. He sees me as friend, like a sister.” Like a substitute for Bethany, I didn’t say, though I knew it had to be true considering how fiercely protective he got over me.

   Another waiter carrying flutes of wine passed by and Leandra took two, one to sip from and another to gesture at me with. “He’s never treated Bethany the way he has you nor any of his female friends, not that pirate woman, the guard captain, or the Dalish girl who keeps accidentally showing up in the garden to pick all my flowers.”

   “Leandra—

   She passed me the second flute so she could then swat me with her fan. “I know my son. He carries the world on his shoulders. I’ve let him carry the blame for things that weren’t his fault, like Carver becoming a Warden because he contracted the Blight or Bethany’s death. He’s tried so hard to make up for all we’ve lost and protect me from the underlying ugliness of this place, though I know it just as well he; I grew up here. I don’t need him to, but he always censors himself about the things he sees and does about the city. But after that first day you met, when he came home, he couldn’t stop talking about you. Not because of your mysterious circumstances, but because of how you surprised and intrigued him. Because you were you. When he was asking me to get your measurements for your wardrobe, he may not have known what he was in for, but I did just by the look in his eyes.”

   I swallowed, my heart a trembling bird in my chest. “What kind of look?”

   “The same one Malcolm had for me.”

   Impossible, I wanted to cry, but when I opened my mouth, nothing came out. I drained my wine glass instead. Leandra couldn’t be right. Garrett was in love with Anders as was Anders with him. Merrill knew it as did Isabela or she wouldn’t have made a bet with Varric on it.

   But Varric is really good at reading people, especially his friends. He’d told me as much about Fenris, and he had been right. Why would he take on bet that so clearly favored Isabela unless he thought he had a good chance of winning? Could Leandra be right?

   If Garrett felt the same, what would that mean? For him? Anders? Me?

   My eyes darted around the room, seeking Garrett, but he’d been swallowed by the crowd. They landed on one of the many windows showing the twilight evening. I couldn’t see due to the reflection, but somewhere out there Fenris stood guard for me.

   Even if Garrett reciprocated my feelings, I still had to contend with the fact that I had feelings for Anders and Fenris too.That wasn’t normal, was it? Beyond the fact that I’d have to return to Earth, I had no business getting involved with anyone. I was an emotional maelstrom.   

   “Besides,” Leandra barged into my thoughts with a wink. “I want grandchildren.”

   It was a good thing I had already finished my wine because it would have come out my nose. Instead I just gaped, and by the time my mouth decided to function again so I might rebut her, Leandra’s handsome admirer strolled up and introduced himself as Lord Cornellis. She gave me a mischievous smile before letting the man become her focal point. There was no way I could contradict her now without causing a scene and she knew it.

   Though, from the way she leaned in, she clearly enjoyed his attention, and he hers. Third-wheeling sounded miserable at best, and I didn’t know what to do with the live grenade Leandra had casually plopped in my lap, so I walked away.

   As I delved into the crowd, a distraction materialized: Marcella’s eyes. They’d found me again and I felt them like a heated iron held a breath away from singeing skin. I hated being stared at normally, but something about her made me uncomfortable, and all I knew was that I wanted to escape her presence.

 I moved out of her direct line of sight, searching for some potted plant to shield me when I spotted something tucked away in a more subdued area of the party which brought a genuine smile to my face.

   The appetizer spread looked amazing. If it tasted as good as it smelled, then maybe I could escape the party and hang out with the cooks in the kitchen instead. Maybe they’d even let me throw on an apron and help out? Bet I could learn a thing or two. Not that I could do that even if I wanted since it would be the equivalent of painting “I’m weird: notice me” on my forehead. Nobles, unfortunately, don’t hang out with the help.

   I sighed but quickly brightened as I heaped a small helping of everything that caught my eye on my plate. As I tried to figure out how to cut a crisp turkey leg while balancing my plate, a male voice with a French-sounding accent interjected, “Perhaps I might be of assistance?”

   Oh, I mean Orlesian-sounding accent. Right. My tongue was going to slip and get me into some serious trouble someday. I turned, swiftly chewing a mouthful of, funnily enough, brisket.

   A man maybe five to ten years older than me, wearing a red doublet with a white flower imprint, gave a closed mouth smile. He was conventionally attractive with his toned build, strawberry blond locks, and defined jawline, and yet, I felt nothing beyond a wistfulness at the vaguely similar hairstyle to that of Anders’.

   “Oh, thank you.”

   “No trouble.” Clearly one familiar with knives, he sliced off the whole leg with one quick movement and placed it on my plate.  

   What happened next I initially dismissed as a clumsy moment on my part since I moved when a blade was near my hand because the tip pricked my finger and a drop of blood welled.

   Considering I had been slicing my hands open the other day, you’d think I’d have a higher tolerance for pain. Must have been the shock of it, cause I hissed “Oh, fuck!” loudly enough that those nearby looked to us to determine the disturbance. Oops. If anyone had any doubt about my not being some noble lady, they had cemented now.

   “I’m terribly sorry! I must have slipped!” The man took the plate from my hand to set on the table, which in retrospect is exactly what I should have done when trying to get that turkey leg. Or, you know, just come back for seconds like a normal person.

   I flicked my fingers, working out the sting, then stopped. This is exactly how I got blood on Garrett’s armor yesterday. I surreptitiously glanced down my dress for any droplets, only to find none, thankfully. “It’s fine. I don’t suppose you’ve got a bandai-I mean, bandage?”

   “Oh, of course.” He pulled a handkerchief from his jacket, carefully wrapping my finger.

   What’s a warrior princess without a little blood anyways? “Thanks …er…what’s your name?”

   “Apologies my lady. My manners are sorely lacking.” He gave a slight bow. “I’m Gascard Du Puis.”

Chapter Text

   “I’m Amelia Payne.” I stuck out my right hand to shake. Gascard’s brows rose. Oh, right, that’s my bandaged hand. I switched for my left hand but his expression remained perplexed.

   “I knew there would be differences in social practices of the Free Marches to that of Orlais, but I did not except such divergence. Such a tradesman’s greeting!”

   “Well what would you do in Orlais?” I lowered my hand, slightly offended he hadn’t taken it.

   “A curtsy from the lady, especially in a formal setting where men and women meet for the first time.”

   Whelp, maybe I could use some “My Fair Lady” lessons after all. Might as well give it a go. Not like I could make it any worse.

   I took my skirt in my fingertips and curtsied low, mimicking what I’d seen in movies. Hopefully it was a close approximation.

   He grabbed my hands, helping raise me back up. “Oh my lady, I’m flattered but you must save that kind of greeting for the Empress, not someone as low ranking as I.” He then took the hand I’d originally stuck out to shake to do so. “And, I rather like the Free March handshake you’ve shown me. It’s quite egalitarian.”

   I hid my wince at my fumbled curtsy. I wondered if he’d say that if he knew I wasn’t a lady at all. Of course I wasn’t going to bring up my lack of pedigree. “Well, it’s been a pleasure to meet you.” Despite the light stabbing, this hadn’t been my worst interaction with a noble.

   “I as well. I hope you enjoy the rest of the party.” He looked past my shoulder and stiffened slightly, patting his pocket as if to assure himself whatever was in there was still. “I best be off.”

   I wished him goodbye as he disappeared down one of the side doors, going who knew where but presumably from the party. It had hardly begun. Why leave so early? Not that I didn’t understand the desire to go home. If it weren’t for the food, I’d probably be looking for an exit too. After all, Leandra was engaged and Garrett was probably getting buzzed.  

   I looked over my shoulder, spying two Templars in shiny armor prowling through the guests. Okay, maybe they weren’t on the hunt but it did make me nervous to see them and I wasn’t even a mage. I had enough anxiety about them from what Anders told me about the Circle, and Justice had given the ominous warning to Garrett that if they discovered the oddity that was me, I wouldn’t be allowed to leave. Maybe they made Gascard nervous too and that’s why he left in a rush?

   The male Templar had blond hair swept back in a functional and becoming style, light facial hair framing his mouth, hands held behind his back. He carried himself like a man who commanded both people and swords with equal effectiveness. He scanned the party guests, and when he got to me, I could have sworn his eyes rested a beat too long. Though, I suppose staring at him did draw attention to myself. I had to remember this wasn’t Earth and people remembered me now. I had to make sure what people remembered was forgettable.

   I flicked my eyes to the blonde woman he flanked, who though shorter, had the more intimidating presence. Her pale blue eyes snapped about the room, self-assured and calculating, but not in the manner of nobles. This was someone who knew what she wanted and got it, expecting order and perfection in all things. But there was something imperfect about her, like a note in a song played wrong, discordant and jarring. I felt the familiar prickle on my forehead when I focused on her, felt the pull I usually did around the magical and lyrium, but it carried the feel of something misshapen. Could this be her Templar powers? I didn’t get the same feel from the man though.

   My brow furrowed but I lowered my eyes, not wanting to be caught staring again. This wasn’t my mystery to solve, and my mysterious power wasn’t reliable. I could do worse for an evening than shoving my face with delicious delicacies.

   I went to pick up my forgotten plate only to discover one of the servants had already removed it. Damn, I bled for that turkey leg.

   My bare hands gave me pause. The handkerchief was missing too. Had it slipped off my finger? I could have sworn I’d tied it tight, but maybe I hadn’t. I picked up the edge of my skirt as if I were about to take a large step over a puddle and spun around. Nope, it wasn’t hiding under my dress. I really should find it. The servants’ jobs must be hard enough without me leaving bloody cloths for them to discover. Ew.

   “Is the lady practicing her dance steps or is she simply admiring her shoes?” a woman’s Orlesian accented voice asked.

   “Obviously the latter. They’re fabulous shoes.” I sniped, apparently the loss of my food and makeshift bandage not putting me in the fairest of moods. Then I looked up.

   A woman with red hair cropped at her chin smirked at me. “I agree, they are, and as a bonus, they do look sensible for dancing. Wise choice.”

   I couldn’t help but grin back. She had a warm, disarming kind of voice. Funny how the same accent made Gascard sound stuffy, but on her, it was as pleasant as chimes dancing in the wind. “Wasn’t mine.” I shrugged in Leandra’s direction, who was being led onto the dance floor by Lord Cornellis.

   “Well, you might be able to soon test them. A suitor approaches.”

   A suitor? Garrett? I not so subtly craned my neck around, only to spot the male Templar making his way towards me through the crowd. I hastily turned right back around. Shit!

   “You seem distressed. Not the suitor you hoped for?”

   There was no way I could tell her the truth, and even if I did it wouldn’t make sense, so I blurted, “I-I don’t know how to dance,” which in retrospect, is kind of stupid. First, what lady comes to ball and then can’t dance? Okay, well, I do know how to dance, but the kind that takes place in school gymnasium’s wasn’t going to fly here. But that really wasn’t my main concern right now.

   She didn’t look like she believed me. Go figure. This is why I lose at Wicked Grace nearly as much as Anders. No poker face. “In my experience, the best way to get rid of an unwelcome suitor is to spill something on them. Or step on their feet repeatedly.” She eyed my shoes again and tsked. “But in your case you might need something with a little more heel. He is armored after all.”

   “Thanks,” I gritted out, contemplating for a brief moment the asinine idea of dashing a flute of wine on my head. That would surely get me out of here but would rather defeat the point of blending in. How do women normally avoid talking to men they don’t want to? The last time this happened I had gotten grabbed by the leader of the Dog Lords, and if it wasn’t for Fenris, I’d probably have dashed my serving tray on the man’s head. Apparently dumping drinks was my brain’s go-to move.  

   The woman smiled. “You are a beautiful woman. He is a beautiful man. He won’t eat you.” She paused here, as if considering, and then smirked. “Yet.”

   My face burned like a wildfire. That hadn’t been my concern. I had been allowing my hyperactive imagination to conjure the possibility that the guy might realize my strangeness and suspect me for blood magic or something and he’d whip out a pair of handcuffs to drag me to the Gallows, but my brain now morphed that for him bringing out those handcuffs for an entirely different reason. It wasn’t hot so much as awkward to imagine.

   “Unless, it’s not men you prefer…”

   “Yes! Men!” I squeaked. “Though women are lovely too.”

   I buried my face in my hands. Was I really discussing my sexuality with a complete stranger?

   The woman laughed. It wasn’t the kind I was used to from back when I was kid, being the butt of a joke if I were noticed at all, but an amused sound filled with fondness, the kind shared between friends. I shyly peeked from between my fingers, and she chuckled and pulled my hands away from my face. “Okay, no more teasing, I promise.” She held onto one of my hands and gave it a gentle tug. “Come on, or we won’t be able to lose your suitor.”

   I risked a glance behind and saw that the Templar was only a dozen paces away, only slowed down by the mass of bodies, particularly the ladies with billowing skirts who tried to snag his attention with eyelashes that fluttered as much as their fans. I quickly let the woman lead me into another mass, so that when I looked behind, I could no longer see him. I let out a deep breath.

   Maybe it was foolish to go wandering off with a stranger, but I felt like she was a good person, that I could trust her. I couldn’t say why exactly, but I decided to go with my instincts.

   We slowed to a stop in a quieter corner where we were almost entirely shielded from onlookers. It felt freeing to be away from so many eyes dissecting me. Tension I didn’t even know I had bottled in poured out. I grinned at the woman who looked back at me with an answering one, like we were co-conspirators. Which is why her next words shocked me into letting go of her hand.

   “Well Lady Amelia Payne, this really is your first ball, isn’t it?”

   She had taken notice of my entrance, which was kind of surprising. I mean I knew people had been watching because of course they had, but a small, irrational part of me had assumed I’d be forgotten as quickly as I always had been on Earth. Maybe Garrett was right. He’d said it in his typical, impalpable way, but maybe I did let many of my expectations from Earth carry over here.

   I was snapped from my introspection by the lady’s sudden movement in my peripheral. She brought forth a fan which she began to wave gently at her face though not a bead of perspiration dotted her skin.  

   “I don’t get out much,” I said, knowing it sounded like a half-assed excuse, but in my case, it was true. I really didn’t on Earth, and I hadn’t had much of an opportunity or desire to get to know Kirkwall’s upper echelons. The Hanged Man definitely didn’t count.

   The woman carefully scanned the crowd as if internally naming each person she saw. “I know everyone on the guest list tonight, both longtime Kirkwall residents and those just visiting, and yet, I don’t know a thing about you.”

   “Probably because I’m boring.” Ha! Also kind of true.

   Her eyes flicked to me then away again. “Doubt that,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips.

   That felt like a challenge, and I could never resist one of those. “I like cooking, baking, reading, and snuggling cute animals, none of which requires leaving the comfort of my home.”

   “All worthy hobbies.” She turned toward me. “I like fashion, music, tales, nugs-” I nodded along although I had no idea what a nug was, “and secrets.” Her eyes gleamed as she leaned in, poking me with her fan. “And you have many.”

   “Oh, and what makes you think that?” I asked, hoping I sounded more coy than nervous.

   “In Orlais we wear masks, from the Empress to the lieutenants in her army. Everyone is playing the Game, for wealth and power and prestige. And yet, here you are, wearing one made of flesh. It’s fascinating how expressively transparent it is at turns and opaque at another. It makes me wonder at the craftsmanship, how it was wrought so and why.”

   “For all the pleasurable plays that can be made in the Game,” she reached up to let her finger trace the curl that hung behind one ear, her nails a breath from my jaw. “My favorite is when the masks come off, and I see the person underneath.”

   To be seen, really seen. To be laid bare, especially after a lifetime of the safety of shadows? So vulnerable? It’s both an awe-inspiring and terrifying possibility in equal measure. That’s why it’d taken me so long to open up to Garrett, Fenris, and Anders about my past with my mother, and that was only one layer. What if I hit a layer that was too honest? What if the ones you want to accept you the most don’t? Or not in the way you long for them to? What if they can’t love you back? What if they try and think of you as a mistake?

   “See, that expression has a story,” the woman’s voice softly said, almost as an apology as she took a step back.

   I ducked my head and took a deep breath, willing my face blank. “Most do.”

   “Yes, though the mask you wear now does not conceal it. It would never make it in Val Royeaux.”

   Before I could frown and confirm how right she was, her face spoke of sincerity as she said, “Especially in my line of work, I find yours beautifully refreshing.”

   I willed myself to not blush even as I did so. To distract her, I asked, “And what’s your line of work?”

   She only smiled enigmatically and looked back into the crowd. “I should probably get back to it. I am here on business. Although spending the evening with a beautiful lady would be an alluring alternative.” At my deepening blush her smile turned fond. “Until we meet again, Amelia.”

   I grabbed her hand before she could disappear. “It’s Mel to my friends. And thank you for tonight. I’m glad I met you…”

   “Tonight it’s Sister Nightingale, but if we cross paths again, I’ll tell you my name if you tell me something true about you.”

   Perhaps it was foolish and impulsive, especially to open up to someone who was clearly using a code name, but this felt right. I lifted my mask for her just a crack. “I’m no lady. My first years were spent at a cottage by a nameless lake.”

   She squeezed my hand back, and whispered to me like how I imagined girlfriends would to each other at slumber parties in attempt not to wake the parents up, if I had ever been. “And my mother was Fereldan.” At my apparently surprised face, she laughed that chime-like sound again and tapped her face. “As I said, masks.”

   Her eyes flicked over my shoulder. “It seems you’ve found yourself another suitor.” I turned to look where she did. Garrett walked towards us with glower on his face, and even so, I felt my heart warm. “And this one you have no objections to, I’d venture a guess by the look on your face, so I’d best leave before I give him the wrong idea.” She kissed both my cheeks which I knew had to be an Orlesian farewell but still felt my face flame at the forwardness of the gesture as she breathed in my air, “Farewell Mel,” before slipping into the crowd.

   Garrett’s hand found my elbow. “Who was that?”

   “Sister Nightingale.”

   “Didn’t look like any Chantry sister I’ve ever seen,” he muttered, sounding much more miffed than he reasonably should. What was his problem? He was the one who had stalked off earlier.   

   “Pretty sure that’s a code name” I muttered back, unable to keep the snark from my tone.

   His voice pitched low. “Oh? Sure it’s not a code for something else?”

   I nudged him with my free elbow. “Yeah, like for most charming person here.”

   I could hear the smile in his voice then. “Strange. I don’t go by Sister Nightingale.”

   I huffed at him but couldn’t help grinning. As I looked up, I was struck anew by how tall and broad he was, like his body could completely cover mine. Like it had when he held me in his bed the other night, surrounded by his cinnamon-leather scent.

   Shit, I had it bad.

   “How about I show you how charming I can be?” His hand gentled on my arm, his other going to my waist. I sucked in a breath at the intimate touch, then held it as he leaned in. “My lady, shall we dance?”

   “Probably not a good idea,” I said in a breathless rush as he led me from my secluded corner towards the main floor where couples twirled around as synchronized as if they performed on Broadway. Definitely not a good idea. I ground to a halt before he could lead me from the safety of the sidelines.

   Garrett immediately understood why. “I’m surprised my mother didn’t teach you. She’d been so eager to prepare you in every other way.”

   “She probably figured I already knew how. Not like she knows my world hasn’t had a dance like this in centuries.” I couldn’t stop the bit of wistfulness infecting me. Everyone looked so graceful. I wished I had the skill and coordination. I bet Fenris would be an incredible dancer if he felt inclined to try it.

   “Well today is as good as any other to learn,” Garrett said as he took another step out, my hand still in his.

   I yanked it back. “Way too many people. They’ll be watching, and if I make a mistake they’re going to know I’m not a lady.” Not that I’d been doing stellar in keeping that appearance up so far.

   “Of course people will stare, but not at your feet. You’re magnificent. Half of them will want you and the other half will want to be you, but they can’t have either,” he said with a growl that sparked up my insides. “You are a lady. My lady, in spirit if not one day soon in name.”

   Sweet Maker. I’d probably have dismissed the obvious implication of his words, but Leandra’s words rang in my head like an explosion.

   “A-are you flirting with me?” I whispered, mindful of the people milling nearby who were probably wondering what we were so fervently discussing.

   “And here I thought I was going to have to spell it out for you complete with illustrations,” he said. Any trace of annoyance he’d been carrying all evening evaporated, and so my own understanding clicked.

   Oh. OH.  

   He leaned in so his breath tickled my ear. “Close that pretty mouth of yours sweetheart or I’m going to seal it for you in way that will definitely make everyone stare.” His eyes slid to my lips, leaving little doubt for how he intended to do that.

   My mouth snapped shut but my mind continued to fly off in all directions at once. Anders loves Garrett but kissed me but then said it was a mistake. Garrett loves Anders but he is blatantly flirting with me. I mean, earlier this evening he’d been playful in his flirtation and I paid no mind since I knew he didn’t mean it, that it was Anders he really wanted to flirt with, but with Leandra’s words still fresh and Garrett’s strange intensity, I could safely say that I had no idea what in the fuck was going on. I felt like I might scatter along with my thoughts.

   Garrett’s voice cut through the noise in my head, focusing my attention on his hand he held out for mine, “Mel, do you trust me?”

   I looked up into his eyes, normally twinkling with laughter and adventure, oddly vulnerable in their mix of hope and nervousness.The roguish mask had been set aside. For me. How could I not embrace the layer revealed?

   I felt my answer deep inside like a fire on a bed of coals flaming to life. My hand slipped into his and squeezed.

   I do.

Chapter Text

   Garrett’s smile was as bright as his eyes as he pulled me to his side. I didn’t feel the party-goer’s eyes, only his as he positioned me. When the music stirred so did he, and I followed, mirroring his movements like it was the most natural thing to do. His touch guided me into twirls and intricate movements. Time blurred. At one point the dance called for me to leap in the air, both of his hands on my waist, and I felt like I was flying, like I had finally found those wings I’d thought I had ripped off so many years ago. He became my wings. Through the steadiness of his hands I knew that even if I tripped, he wouldn’t let me fall.  

   Dance after dance passed, till I was out of breathe and thankful for the slow one that followed. I could do no more than sway as he held me close and I breathed in his familiar cinnamon and leather scent. A million different joys and fears demanded my head space but I pushed them all away, determined to savor this moment for what it was. Whatever was to come after, in this moment, I wanted and was wanted in return. Could there be a more perfect feeling?

   I turned my head to the side, my head resting on his chest, my feet moving to the rhythm of the music, or was that his heart?

   Over my shoulder, Leandra danced with the nobleman much as I did Garrett, and I smiled. She looked as happy as I felt. I couldn’t address what had taken place between Garrett and I yet—it felt as fragile as a lake just icing over: the slightest pressure would break it—so instead I whispered, “What do you know about Lord Cornellis?”

   I knew he understood why I asked. He could see his mother from his angle too. “From everything that I’ve heard, he’s a good man. His servants have job security and are well treated and paid. He’s said to be honest with his financial dealings and advocates for better conditions for the miners in the Bone Pit.”

   Well, that was surprisingly decent for a noble.

   “Is he married? Seeing someone?”

   Garrett peered down at me, raising a single eyebrow. “Should I be jealous?”

   “Careful. I will step on your foot.”

   He chuckled. “He is with no one that I know of, though I don’t really bother to follow society gossip. Varric would know.”

   It was probably safe to assume the man was unattached then. Good. Leandra could do with focusing on someone else’s relationships, like her own.

   “Did your mother ever see anyone after your father passed away?”

   “No. His death devastated her. She was never quite the same.”

   I asked softly, “How old were you when he died?”

   “Twenty-two. The twins were 15. She looked after them and I looked after everyone.” His tone was light. Too light.

   I frowned into his shirt.“You headed your family? Not your mother?” Sure, he was an adult and the eldest, and this was a different world, but I’d still figured that responsibility would be the parent’s, not the son’s.

   “Yes. My mother, she gave up everything to be with my father, and then she lost him too,” he said, as if that explained everything. My hands tightened on him. Garrett had lost his father, and though he feigned stoicism, I could tell that he’d been very close to Malcolm. He’d been grieving too.

   Maybe he sensed what I didn’t say because he continued, “Maybe she would have assumed more in time, but three years later, the Blight happened. I lost Bethany under my watch when we fled, and then in Kirkwall, I took Carver on an expedition to the Deep Roads where he got infected and had to join the Grey Wardens or face a slow death. We might have gained back our family home and fortune, but we lost so much along the way. It’s not until recently that she has begun to resemble the person who I used to know as a boy.”

   He simultaneously minimized his pain and her inaction all while making the loss of his siblings seem like his fault. Leandra’s words from earlier came back.

   He carries the world on his shoulders. I’ve let him carry the blame for things that weren’t his fault, like Carver becoming a Warden because he contracted the Blight or Bethany’s death.

   I could read between the lines. Garrett didn’t just assume he was culpable. Leandra had dumped the blame on him and her son had dutifully accepted it.

   That was so like him. I had been around long enough to notice the pattern. For better or for worse, he had been adopting everyone’s pain and problems. Most of the Kirkwall crew as far as I knew had needed some problem to be fixed. Merrill needed to escape her restrictive clan and fix her mirror. Isabela wanted to find this lost relic. Anders had needed help to stage a rescue of his former lover Karl. Aveline always comes around asking for help with City Guard work. I didn’t know about Fenris since he had been fairly evasive about his past, but I wouldn’t be surprised that he had used Garrett’s help too. It’s what he filled his days doing for many of Kirkwall’s residents even though he was rich enough that he never needed to work again. That was him, the Protector and the Fixer of Kirkwall.

   Maybe that’s how he had seen me when we first met too, though I had immediately tried to not be a burden on him or any of the others, and had taken it a bit to an extreme in trying to carry my own weight. It’s why we had clashed earlier in the Sundermount caverns and after my rescue from Wright. It was a balance we still sought to determine between us, but I got the sense his mother hadn’t attempted to find a balance at all. She had simply abdicated responsibility and piled on the blame on him.   

   Leandra seemed to be aware that she’d made mistakes with her eldest, but if she tried to apologize or make it right, it didn’t reflect in Garrett now. He still carried so much on his shoulders. It should have never been his to bear.

   My eyes burned and jaw tightened. We were on the outskirts of the dancers now, and we had been doing little more than swaying at this point, but I took a deep breath and stilled us.

   “Garrett, it wasn’t your fault.” No one should have ever made you feel like it was, I held back from saying. I didn’t want him to get defensive over his mother. I wanted him to listen.  

   He didn’t meet my eyes though I knew he heard, knew to what I referred.

   After a minute that felt like five, he said, “You can’t know that. You weren’t there.” His words were designed as a sword to challenge mine but also a shield to protect him from change. He had held this narrative about himself for so long that of course he felt defensive as our statements clashed, and yet, there was a chance of peace too. I could almost smile. I wasn’t the only one so accustomed to one view of my place in the world that I couldn’t see something different for myself.

   “No, I wasn’t, but I didn’t have to be. You protect those you love with everything you have. Hell, you do that for strangers you just happen to meet. Like me. Like hundreds of people in this city. There is not a doubt in my mind that you made the best decisions you could at the time. That you protected your brother and sister as much as you were able.”

   Garrett’s jaw worked like he pushed down a swell of emotion. He looked anywhere but at me. “I should have never let Carver come to the Deep Roads. She begged me not to take him along, but I didn’t listen. And Bethany, Maker’s breath,” his voice broke. He took a deep breath before shuddering out, “I should have been watching her better. I should have gotten to the ogre first. It should have never gotten close enough to grab her in the first place.”

   Each of his self-accusations were like self-inflicted wounds. They would never heal if he kept cutting himself anew, and that would never happen until he put down the knife his mother had given him, and over the years, he had sharpened. The healing could only come from him, and I couldn’t prevent scars, but I could help him begin by taking away his blade.

   “You didn’t force Carver to go along. He wanted to. Just like Bethany wanted to defend her family from the ogre. They made their own choices. If they hadn’t been able to make those decisions for themselves, can you really call that living?” I angled his face down so he had to meet my gaze and see my sincerity. “Whether on Thedas or Earth, bad stuff will happen despite our best efforts. You can’t protect everyone all the time, Garrett, though I love it that you want to.”

   Dancers streamed past us and people nearby cast us odd looks. He didn’t seem aware of them, but I knew how uncomfortable it could be to draw attention, especially in such a private moment. Gently with my hands on his chest, I guided him backwards so his legs hit a chair sitting against the wall in quiet corner. He sat, looking slightly dazed but I knew he was just lost in thought.

   His attention snapped back to me when I threw his words back at him, “Do you trust me?”

   That familiar fire lit in his brown depths at my challenge. He caught my hand and squeezed. I smiled and squeezed back. There really wasn’t anything else to say. I’d said what I meant to. It was up to him on whether he could forgive himself and eventually learn to let go. I could only hope that one day he would.

   It would be best to give him a moment to gather his thoughts. I had dropped a lot on him. I let go of his hand, eyeing one of the passing waiters carrying fresh drinks. Maybe I’d—

   He recaptured my hand in a second. “Stay.”

   My face flamed, recalling how he whispered those words to me in his bed not that long ago. I really needed to stop thinking about that night. “Okay,” I whispered, and before I could utter another word he yanked me toward him, and I couldn’t help but recall how he’d done the same thing after the varterral attack in the caverns, only this time I didn’t land beside him but directly on his lap.

   “Um, Garrett…”

   He didn’t seem concerned at all by the occasional glance we garnered. I wiggled on his lap, debating whether to stand back up or stay as he asked. His palms came to rest on my thighs, stilling me. He leaned in, breath moving my hair. “Do you not want to stay?”

   Despite how uncomfortable the eyes of others on me were, it did not negate the comfort of being close to Garrett. “You make quite a cozy cushion.” I gave another good wiggle, just to irritate him.

   He made a strangled noise before muttering under his breath so low I swore he said, “Keep doing that and your seat will get hard.” But before I could ask him to repeat that, he asked a question of his own that erased it from my mind entirely: “If you didn’t have to worry about demons pursuing you, would you go back to Earth right now if you could?”

   I almost gave a snarky response, just out of habit, but he looked so oddly serious that I took a moment to really examine the question.

   Would I go back right now if there was no danger to me? Would I reclaim the life I left behind? I should have immediately thought yes since that’s what I’d been aiming for this whole time, and almost made myself say so anyways, but my hesitation made me reconsider. There had been a reason why I had avoided thinking about my return more and more often.

   I had a lot of plans for my life on Earth, like how I wanted to make something of myself, graduate college, get a job, and settle down in one spot. Not bad goals, but definitely vague. What did I want to study? What did I want to do? Where did I want to live? I had no answers back on Earth, and my time on Thedas hadn’t illuminated those life questions. If anything, it had made me realize I’d been a shadow in my life on Earth. But here, I discovered I’d always been a candle, just waiting for the right people to light me. I may not know who I wanted to become, but I knew I wanted to find out with these people by my side.

   Would I go back now and give up my people if I didn’t have to?

   “No, I wouldn’t,” I answered, voice steady and sure. A small, contented smile took over my face. I’d been wrestling with this question for while now, though I hadn’t let myself examine it too closely. But forced to confront it, the answer came readily.

   Garrett reached out to play with the curl behind my ear. “And, if you could stay in Thedas?”

   I caught his hand. “Then I’d like to stay in Kirkwall.”

   He brought my hand to his lips, sending shivers across my skin. “Then, my lady, I’d like to propose you stay with me indefinitely.”

   I quirked an eyebrow at him as he continued to fiddle with my fingers. “You wish for a permanent house guest?”

   “What I wish for is permanent but it’s not to have you as a guest.”

   “Oh, decided you want me for a cook then? You get to break it to Bodahn.” I tried for a laugh, and though he smirked at me, his face quickly reverted to his serious expression and he stopped playing with my fingers.

   “You can cook as much or as little as you want, but I definitely don’t have a master and servant relationship in mind,” his eyes twinkled as he teased, “unless, of course, you want to in the bedroom.”

    Now that I knew he might actually be flirting with me, I couldn’t so casually brush his innuendos aside. I went crimson. “Garrett,” I sputtered and shoved his chest.

   My ring finger glinted. Considering I hadn’t put on any jewelry for the event, it really shouldn’t have done that.

   My jaw dropped. “Garrett!”

   I snapped my hand to my face. How the hell did he sneak a ring with rocks that giant onto my finger? I twisted the gold band, the diamond in the center catching the light so that it twinkled like the gems in my hair. Surrounding it like petals was a ruby that matched my dagger, a sapphire that had the same tinge as my favorite healer’s magic, and an emerald the color of a certain elf’s eyes. I sucked in a sharp breath, “Oh, Garrett…”

   “You said that already.”

   I know I can be socially inept or lack self-confidence, so sometimes I miss obvious clues or assume the worse since that’s so often what ends up being my reality, but I’m not dense. I know what this means. Thedas, for all it’s fantastical elements, still has similarities to Earth. Crowns signify the rulers, swords the soldiers, and rings on the finger next to the pinky of the left hand the engaged.  

   And yet, my hands shook. I had to know for sure. I couldn’t live with that uncertainty. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and said, “Garrett, I think you’re going to have to spell it out for me this time. You can skip the illustrations.”

   “Mel, I’m asking you to become Lady Amelia Hawke, my wife.”

Chapter Text

   I hadn’t quite believed the intent of the ring until Garrett spelled it out. Even then, my wide-eyed gaze had to snap to his before his seriousness set in. I sucked in a sharp breath. This wasn’t one of his playful flirtations, which I had already struggled to accept earlier this evening might be made earnestly, and this was as earnest as it gets.

   Mel, I’m asking you to become Lady Amelia Hawke, my wife.

   For just a second, I let the words spark inside, let them catch flame to burn with a possibility that no longer might be fantasy. I could stay in Kirkwall, and I could have a permanent home here, as Garrett’s wife. We’d spend our days roaming the city and surrounding countryside, lending our help to those who needed it while trading smart remarks and making each other laugh. We’d go to noble parties if Leandra wanted, though we would undoubtedly leave early to play Wicked Grace and catch up with Varric at the Hanged Man. Most evenings would be spent cuddled up with our feet kicked up, a book left open in our laps as we instead made up our own tales, inspired by whatever image flickered in the fireplace or what we dreamed for our future. It was a future I wanted, and in that second, my answer formed on my tongue.

   But I left it unspoken. As the vision panned out, its incompleteness became apparent. The Amell Estate looked too big. Or maybe, too empty with just us. It didn’t take me long to notice the absence of a giant sword conspicuously leaning in its usual corner or manifesto drafts blanketing every available surface. That’s what sent a pang through me. There wasn’t a trace of Fenris or Anders in the place.

   How could this possible future feel so right and yet not right enough? As if my heart had gotten a taste of what might be, and then, wanted it all. Not that Fenris or Anders should factor in. To Anders, I was a mistake. To Fenris, well, at least he had finally acknowledged me as a friend, but nothing more.

   And yet, the kindled flame inside sputtered.

   Then, I swiftly dashed a bucket of reality on the coals. Forget fantasy; I had other concerns I should be considering too. I wasn’t so swept up as to not understand that our philosophy on marriage might not mesh. People had marriages for power, convenience, and practicality all the time in Thedas. I also couldn’t assume that Garrett wasn’t doing this in some noble idea of charity, once again acting as the protector and fixer, and not taking his own desires into account.

   But, maybe none of that was behind his proposal, and his flirtations had been sincere. Maybe he truly liked me, as Leandra had said. But just like wouldn’t be enough for me. More than all the more rational objections I internally blared off came the question I never let myself voice, had only ever allowed myself to think once when I had confessed my past. It rose up again, ready to pull me back down to a ground I was well acquainted: If my own mother couldn’t find it in her to love me, could anyone else?

   If the answer was no, all the other concerns could die. Some questions have to be answered with the heart before the brain.

   “What about Anders?”

   “What about him?” Garrett looked intently at my face, reading every minuscule tick like he was trying to guess at something.

    I pulled my hands from his so they could safely twist in my lap. “You’re in love with him,” I said it as a statement, a challenge. Was I wrong? Could I be wrong? Did I want to be?

   Without hesitation, he answered, “Yes, I am.”

   All it took were those three words, and the room came roaring back. I’d blocked out so much when focused on Garrett, but now it clamored at my senses, dizzying with its cacophony of colors and voices and smells. Now, with every passing glance or body, I didn’t feel vulnerable; I felt exposed.

   I popped up from Garrett’s lap so fast Fenris would’ve been proud. Dimly, I heard him stand up with my name on his lips, his body heat at my back. But I wouldn’t turn to him. I couldn’t face him. Not when the air in my lungs had become a ghost in my free fall. Not when my face couldn’t hide the sharp pain splintering my ribs from the harsh reunion with all too familiar ground.

   How could he ask me to marry him if he doesn’t love me? That wasn’t fair to Anders, him, or me. How could I have let myself believe my foolish fantasy despite knowing better? But I didn’t have to ask myself that. I knew the answer.

   For a few dances this evening, I had felt as if I flew. That maybe, I had found my wings again. I just glided with the moment. I didn’t want to look up to see how high I might soar and neither did I look down, because both would show how far I might fall. And fall I did, for my wings were still stumps, and the fluttering I had felt had only been phantom wings riding a too real wind. When I plummeted, when the impact shattered the fantasy’s hollow bones, I remembered the truth I had wanted to forget, whose gravity I could never escape: like the sky, love didn’t belong to me.

   But maybe, for Anders and Garrett, it still could. If a life on the ground meant a world of horizons for the pair, then there I would make my home.  

   I hugged my arms to my chest, belatedly realizing the ring was still on my finger. I pulled it off and held it out to him. “I’m sorry, Garrett, but I can’t marry you.”

   He made no move to accept the ring back. “Mel, sweetheart, listen. It’s true I love Anders but I also lo—

   “Pardon me, but is this man bothering you?” a man’s voice cut through whatever Garrett had been about to say. The blond Templar from before approached, looking every inch a knight from King Arthur’s Round Table.

   Garrett turned a flinty gaze on him at the interruption. “Really, Rutherford? ‘This man’? I saved your ass on the Wounded Coast not even a year ago.”

   The Templar Rutherford didn’t deign Garrett with even a glance, simply waited for my response with a concerned air. It was then I realized my eyes had been tearing up. I resisted the urge to rub them. That would just smear the kohl Leandra applied on me and then I’d really look like a weepy damsel then.

   “I-I’m fine,” I whispered, barely keeping my voice steady, but not from wariness of the Templar like I had felt previously. Suddenly I found the idea of being dragged by him to the Gallows a preferable outcome than having to have a discussion of feelings with Garrett. It would probably hurt less.

   “Yes, we’re fine here. Don’t you have some rogue mage to track down?” Garrett moved to stand directly as my side, as if we had to present a united front against a common enemy.

   It felt good to have him near, like his body was a gravity well pulling me in, even though at the same time, I wanted to fling myself out into the hallway like a comet and hide from the universe behind those ludicrously large drapes. A lesser though quite vocal part of me wanted to scream. At myself mostly, for being as ridiculous as the Frederick’s decor choices, but also at Garrett for being so baffling. Instead, I clasped my hands together to keep them from bunching in my skirt and took deep, steadying breaths.

   “I do, actually,” Rutherford said. “We received an anonymous tip a blood mage would make an appearance tonight. Probably not reliable, but the commander and I decided it was worth following up on.” He angled his body towards me, shutting out Garrett. “Have you seen anyone suspicious?”

   I was too busy trying to compose my face that I didn’t bother with my words. “If I met a blood mage, I’m not sure I’d be able to tell. Unless by suspicious you mean covered in blood,” I snarked then immediately winced. This man was currently saving me from having to face Garrett by going with the change of topic, and here I was throwing his courtesy back in his face. I softened my tone and played along, “Does your Order have a special way of finding them?”

   If he registered my ping-ponging emotions, he didn’t let on. With arms held behind his back, he replied matter of factually, “If they are a renegade Circle member, we would track them by their phylacteries. If not, we’d resort to traditional investigation tactics, looking for missing people, bodies turning up drained, that sort of thing.”

   “Like a vampire?” I blurted.

   “A what?”

   Well, there was one monster I didn’t have to worry about running into in Thedas. “Never mind. You were saying?”

    “Even if we don’t catch them in the act, someone usually saw something or the mage left a clue. They’re unstable. They’re bound to get sloppy.”

   The words blood and sloppy should never be placed so close together. I grimaced. “Well, that sounds disturbing.”

   But there was something even more disturbing to consider. If the Templar was right, then I could hope that my own blood mage would slip up soon and get caught. But I knew first hand that all blood mages weren’t unstable. Take Merrill. She was sweet and quirky, not unstable. She wouldn’t kill unless someone tried to kill her first. And my mom, well, it could still be argued that she wasn’t stable, but when she used blood magic it was on herself and in an effort to protect me. I was coming to the opinion that it wasn’t the blood magic that was the problem, but the people who used that power for ill intent. It was not only unfair to characterize them that way but dangerous. The Templars would be underestimating the bad blood mages roaming about, like the one after me. Justice’s disdainful comment about the Templar Emeric being unable to find a serial killer made much more sense now.

   “It is, lady, but we do have a job to perform. With mages lurking about, no one is safe. They’re not people like you and me.”

   I slow-blinked, stunned. I never doubted Anders’ stories of the Circles’ injustices, but to hear mages be so casually dismissed was appalling.

   I didn’t know what to say, but apparently it looked like I had been about to say something because Garrett’s hand found my elbow and squeezed in warning. He knew better than I did that I had been about to go off. I took another deep, calming breath. I had to play the long game. I couldn’t explode.

   “I’m so grateful you’re here to protect us. It’s terrifying to think that a real blood mage could be here!” I batted my eyelashes much like the other women who had flocked him had done. Maybe then he would leave like he had evaded them. I wasn’t feeling all that grateful to him anymore.

   I hoped he would think me vapid and make his excuses, but instead his face reddened. He rubbed the back of his head. “Ah, well, it’s an honor to be of service, my lady.” Garrett bristled at the “my lady” but the blond man didn’t seem to notice as he eyed the floor with interest. “You needn’t worry yourself. We will have the matter well in hand if a threat presents itself.”

   A bell rang over the crowd and the music changed, signaling dinner. The Templar jerked, as if startled from his thoughts. A sense of relief hit me. The man didn’t see me as a suspicious character at all, not like I had worried. Sure, I wanted to stamp on his foot for the mage comment, but I wasn’t in any danger to be dragged off to a scary tower. If anything, Sister Nightingale’s suitor interpretation seemed more plausible, even though that still felt surreal. But this whole evening had been giving me whiplash, so what did I know?

   The crowd had begun drifting to the dinner hall. Garrett’s hand went to my hand to pull me from the flow of people. He would want to find a quiet place to talk, and I couldn’t face that heartache right now. I was barely keeping myself together. I needed to be able to process everything, to get that mask in place before we talked, like I knew we would need to, but I just wasn’t ready. I needed an escape, an obstacle—  

   I sidestepped Garrett, hooking my hand in the crook of the Templar’s arm. “Please, Ser Rutherford, join me. I’d feel so much better if you stayed with me at dinner with a blood mage on the loose. And then, you can tell me all about what life is like at the Circles. I bet your training is very difficult.”

   The man blinked at me, as if unsure what to do with some woman hanging off his arm, but then chivalrously patted my hand as he escorted to the dinner hall. “My pleasure, my lady. But you needn’t ser me. For ladies such as yourself, Cullen is fine.”

   Even when we merged with the crowd, I could still feel Garrett’s eyes following me.

Chapter Text

   Garrett’s eyes remained on me throughout dinner. That was no small feat considering the table Cullen and I sat at quickly filled and he had to resort to inserting himself in an open spot a table over which didn’t quite face us. The nobles on either side seemed delighted to have his company. The silver-haired matron at his left fluttered her eyelashes at him much the same way I had Cullen, much to her husband’s displeasure who sat on her other side. The man on Garrett’s right kept demanding his attention with an escalating, high-toned whine, wanting to know his opinion on the inane gossip and petty politics of Kirkwall.

   I half expected Garrett to try clawing out of there, which would have been funny under other circumstances, but he was much too busy being preoccupied with me to even feign interest in those around him. While I’d always felt Fenris’ intense gazes like a physical touch, Garrett’s, usually twinkling like distant stars, was now like the heat of the sun. I slumped down in the my seat so the man next to me blocked the burn of his gaze, but then just as quickly straightened. I’d lose lady points slouching.

   Why the hell did he want to talk to me so bad? To assuage his guilt? Convince me that marrying him would be advantageous to the two of us? He admitted he was in love with Anders! So why ask me to marry him?

   “Do you prefer the red or white?”

   And he had a ring ready to go! He had probably been planning this almost as long as my wardrobe. Did he get Leandra in on it again? How could he find such a perfect ring in such a short time otherwise?

   I twisted the ring on my finger. I didn’t have any pockets and I had to hold onto it somehow until I could return it. I didn’t even have to worry it might slide off on accident or get stuck on my finger. It fit wonderfully well. So well, if I wasn’t fiddling with it, I could almost forget it was there.

   But only almost. The last time I traced the metal, when the pad of my pointer rested on the ruby petal, I made the mistake of looking directly into Garrett’s eyes. Many of his emotions were masked, but something in them gleamed when I touched his estate’s color. Something similar to how he stared at me in the hallway after Wright, or when his eyes caught mine in the mirror as I tried on my new wardrobe, or when the heat of his body thrummed through me as he held me in his arms after I spoke about my past. I knew it was all in my head, but the band felt as heated as his gaze. I promptly stopped playing with it in favor of taking another bite from my plate.

   “Lady Payne?”

   Why go to all the trouble of proposing if he knew the end goal was to return me to Earth? He promised he’d help me find home again. Did he never intend to keep his word? He couldn’t have known when he asked me if I could stay in Thedas, I would, right? Did he keep the ring on hand in the event that I said I wanted to stay? But why?

   A large hand touched my shoulder.

   I jumped in my seat, my 101 questions forgotten. Cullen looked warily at the knife and fork I white-knuckled, as if I was about to start wielding Gascard Du Puis style, and withdrew his touch. “Are you alright?”

   “Uh, yes.” I sheepishly set my silverware back down, careful to leave it in the cross position on the plate. I had made the mistake of not doing so earlier and the waiter had taken my course away before I finished. Despite being preoccupied, the food was incredible. I intended to make sure the evening wasn’t a total bust by enjoying every morsel I could get my mouth on, even if they had to roll me out of here like the giant blueberry girl in Willy Wonka. Who knew how many more opportunities like this I would get? Maybe if I found the way back to Earth I would take it. I should. I kept making a messes here.

   “You sure?”

   “Oh, quite. Just thinking about what you said earlier about the mages and got lost in thought.” Amongst other things, I didn’t say. I beamed at him with false admiration. I hated playing the fangirl, but didn’t want him to suspect what my true feelings were in regards to mage rights. He probably wouldn’t be so eager to act as my buffer, and that would be the least of my problems.

   “Oh, well,” the man rubbed the back of his head again, an unconscious habit, I’d quickly learned. “The server wished to know if you wanted a refill. Do you have a preference in your wine?”

   “Oh, white please. It pairs excellently with this course.” I gave a genuine smile to the server, knowing what it was like to be in his shoes. After he filled my glass and I thanked him, an expression of surprise crossed his face before he quickly stamped it out. Apparently nobles having more manners in regard to how they ate their food rather than how they treated the help people who served them the food was the norm. How unsurprising. Just another reason to despise these blue bloods.

   Cullen must have followed the interaction closely, because after the server left, he angled himself even more towards me, smiling softly. “You’re not what I expected.”

   “Oh? What did you expect?” I asked before sipping my wine. Now this was some good stuff. If I focused on the dry, fruity palate, I could block out Garrett’s stare, which at this exact moment felt like a solar flare.

   “Usually, the people here are so…” Cullen was too polite to finish that sentence.

   But I wasn’t. “Full of themselves?”

   He chuckled. “Well, that’s one way to put it.”

   My mouth moved all on its own. “You’re not what I expected either.”

   Damn it. I wanted to bore him, not intrigue him, and saying “you’re not what I expected” was a thinly veiled invitation for him to elaborate. I covered my wince with another sip of my wine. At this rate the server would be coming by to top me off again. I needed to slow down or I’d be staggering and not rolling out of here.

   “Had expectations of the Knight-Captain before this evening?” He asked, just as I knew he would, his tone as light as his good-natured smirk. It took me second for his stated rank to penetrate my buzzed brain.  

   Shit! I knew he was Templar, but he was the Knight-Captain? He was one of the most powerful people in Kirkwall! That blonde lady must be Meredith then, the Knight-Commander of the Gallows. I should know. Anders had spoken about her with disdain enough. How did I, a woman from another world with a mysterious past and an even more mysterious power, wind up having dinner with a man who undoubtedly wouldn’t hesitate to lock me up and throw away the key if he had any idea of the aforementioned facts?  

    Oh, right, because I didn’t want to deal with the emotional fallout of being proposed to by Garrett and then be told he was in love with someone else, so I ran away by jumping on the first escape available. He had wanted more than to explain the proposal when he stood by my side to face Cullen and later tried to pull me away from the flow of people, and even now, kept his eyes on me. He wanted to protect me, but I didn’t stop to listen or think. Wasn’t I the one who got on Garrett’s case for making impulsive decisions? It was a tad ironic.

   And, bad for my nerves. I downed the rest of my wine in hopes of drowning them.

   Too little, too late. It’s not like I could flash Garrett the Batman signal with my eyes, and even if I could, I wouldn’t. He wouldn’t give a damn about causing a scene to pull me out, but I would. I didn’t need to draw the attention, and if I were being honest with myself, I was a coward. As soon as we were alone, he would take it as the go-ahead to talk, and I just couldn’t. Not yet. I didn’t have it in me to put up a brave face as my heart further fractured. Maybe in the morning, but I couldn’t deal with it tonight.

   So, I was on my own. I got myself into this situation, so I would have to navigate my way out. Vapid, shallow, vain, slow: those were the personality traits I should be cultivating. I needed Cullen to find me annoying and boring so I could become someone he wants to forget, not someone who he wants to learn more about or, Maker forbid, find suspicious. He could only be around me for the remainder of dinner, but nothing more. I didn’t want him to want to get to know the real me, to start asking questions I couldn’t answer without endangering myself.

   Hell, forget my sake. I shouldn’t be so close to him in case I somehow drew attention to my two dear apostate mages living right under his nose, one a possessed former Circle escapee turned mages rights activist and the other a blood mage. If he knew about their existence, I had no doubt the city would be upturned in an attempt to find them. I had heard the zeal in his voice when he spoke of his work, and if Anders was right and Meredith was as fanatical as he claimed, then Anders, Merrill, and any other apostate hiding out would be in some deep shit.  

   I subtly took deep, calming breathes. Fine. It would be fine. I could pretend I was in Orlais, playing the Game. I’d already picked the face of a fangirl, so now I just needed to commit to the role until I got out of here. I could be a temporary fancy for the duration of the dinner, and then hopefully, forgotten as I was swiftly dismissed as a dimwit or annoyance.

   Surprisingly, Cullen hadn’t already lost interest. The icy-eyed Meredith had. Earlier I had interrogated Cullen all about the serial killer who left white lilies as his calling card. “How creepy!” I had gasped, just as I had oohed and awed at all the right places, gushing over his “heroic missions” and “great service” to the point he blushed at my fascination and Meredith sneered at me and turned to converse with less easily awe-struck people.

   Just the way I liked it. One down, one to go. Then, hopefully, I could go home. Or, the estate, I mean. Maybe I really should talk to Merrill about becoming roommates?  

   All the alcohol buzzing in my system helped me play the part of simple noblewoman. I leaned in, lowering my lids in such a way that I hoped didn’t seem tipsy. “Well, there are rumors.”

   Like making mages who are too vocal about their oppression tranquil. Like throwing escapees into solitary. Like ripping children from families. Like treating mages as if they aren’t people.

   All my outrage was just brimming under the surface, along with a gaping ache from Garrett’s proposal, and it took an active effort to keep it all submerged.

   “What kind of rumors?” His hand was close to touching mine under the tablecloth. I could feel the heat from his body. Mine inched up to settle safely out of reach in my lap. I willed my face to be as still as stone. Only time could weather the smile from my face.

   “Oh, just the usual sort. I’m sure you hear them all the time,” I demured. The only rumors I’d heard weren’t flattering, but that was mainly attributable to the company I kept, the kind no normal noblewoman would keep. I didn’t want to walk into an obvious lie. I needed to change the subject. “Is it true about mages? When their magic first shows they all must go to the Circles? That they must forsake their past lives? Families, titles, fortunes?”

   Cullen’s smile was placating. “Yes. They can never return to their former lives, so there’s no sense holding onto what they can’t keep. But they are provided for at the Circle. Fed, clothed, and educated.”

   Yeah, I bet they were educated: educated how to hate themselves for how they were born.

   I fingered the stem of my glass, wishing for a refill while simultaneously realizing that I needed to cut myself off. I reached for my water, hoping the cold liquid would cool down my heated emotions.

   It was enough that all I said next was, “What about love?” Love, or its absence, apparently was a big theme of my evening.

   “Love?” Cullen frowned.

   “Yes, love. Mages can’t marry, I’ve heard. Can they take lovers?” I could guess the answer, but some masochistic part of myself wanted to hear him say that even lovers were often separated with the same nonchalance. I wanted to remind myself that no matter how much he seemed as harmless as a dandelion, he was a real lion with claws and teeth and muscle capable of destroying the lives of those I cared about and so many more. He might be a gentleman to me now, but if he learned of my strange power, he’d probably throw me in the “not people” category.

   Cullen didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked into his full glass and spun it in his hands, studying the light refraction. “Yes, some do.” He was wearing his own mask, but he’d let it crack enough for me to get a glimpse of a single emotion: regret.

   Suddenly, the anger that had been building subsided. This had gotten into personal territory. He had a life, a history I had no idea about, and though I probably should be poking and prodding him about it, I didn’t want to. Wearing the fangirl mask was one thing, but putting on one of an insensitive ass wasn’t one I ever wanted. There had to be another way to extricate myself from this situation.

   Thankfully the silence didn’t grow long because the waiter noticed my empty wine glass and swung by to refill it. I started to decline—I certainly didn’t need more alcohol—but as he poured, a piece of paper fell in my lap. I picked it up, planning to return it, but saw my name scrawled across the front. I’d seen enough movies to know I probably shouldn’t draw attention to the note. Surreptitiously I unfolded it to read under the table.

   We need to talk now. Make your excuses and meet me alone in the drawing room.

   No signature. I curled the paper in my palm and glanced around the room. Who could it be from? Leandra obviously wasn’t the one; much too engaged with Lord Cornellis. Not Garrett. He looked a bit startled when I stood up.

   But there was a certain Sister Nightingale who wasn’t present.

   “Thank you for your company this evening,” I said to Cullen. “Could I trouble you with a request? I assure you it’s small.”

   “If I can be of service, of course.”

   “Could you distract Ser Hawke?” If he saw me leave he’d definitely follow, and beyond not wanting to deal with my aching heart right now, the note made it clear I should come alone. And, if nothing came of the note, I could more easily slip out of the party and go find Fenris so we could head back to the estate.

   Cullen’s voice lowered but the concern was plain on his face. He certainly hadn’t forgotten how much I’d been near tears earlier no matter how much I had pretended I hadn’t. “Has he been bothering you?” That same gentlemanly concern from before came out, but there was that steel underneath. My characterization of him as a lion felt all the more accurate.

   I brightened my face with a smile. I didn’t want him to cause a problem for Garrett, just engage him in conversation to give me enough time to lose him in the hall. “We just had a disagreement earlier. We’ll work it out later. For now, though, I was hoping to slip to the ladies room.” Is that what you call it here in Thedas? That didn’t seem quite right.

   Cullen seemed to catch my drift though and just a tinge of a blush came to his cheeks. “Ah, right, well, consider your retreat protected.”

   “Thank you,” I said, and this time, I meant it.

   Then I walked as fast as polite society allowed to the exit, and out of the corner of my eye, Garrett rose too. I just caught Cullen moving to intercept as the door swung shut. Cullen wouldn’t have risen to Knight-Captain without determination, but pitted against Garrett’s drive, I’d bet my would-be fiance to come barreling out any second.

   With no one looking, I dashed down the hall, only to slow down when I heard voices. Several others had also thought to use the ladies room apparently, but that wasn’t what I was after.

   What’s a drawing room supposed to look like anyways? All I could picture was a Jane Austen novel come to life. Basically posh people discussing posh things in a posh place. So, basically everywhere here? No, really, I had glanced into the ladies room before spinning away. It put some of the bathrooms of high end department stores to shame.

   Garrett would surely be entering the hall any second, so I took a turn down another hall and then another. Yes, I was turned around but the doors weren’t labeled and I didn’t have a map. I’d be an amazing secret agent. I could almost hear the Mission Impossible theme music now.  

   A drawing room was a place the hosts usually entertained guests, right? It would make sense for the hosts not to want to make them walk far, so it would probably be closer to the main entrance.

   With that thought in mind, I backtracked. I peeked around the corner since this route led back to the ballroom, but the coast was clear so I scurried back down.

   Right as I was out in the open, I heard it: footsteps, ones I knew like my own heartbeat. They came from the other end of the hall.

   I tried the handle of a door off to the side, winced at the pressure on my cut as it turned. I slipped inside and softly shut the door behind me. I leaned against it, holding my breath, but Garrett continued past. A tendril of guilt tugged at me for being so pathetic as to hide from someone I loved, who in their own way cared about me, but I didn’t let it take root. We would talk tomorrow and clear the air. Right now, there was someone who needed me.

   I straightened to examine my hiding spot. Unlit sconces lined the walls, barely detectable in the darkness. Still, I could make out the lounges and other furniture well enough from the moonlight coming from the floor length windows overlooking the rest of Hightown. This certainly seemed like it could be a drawing room. How lucky would it be if I just happened to stumble into the right place?

   I walked up to the glass, a hand reaching out as if I could pool the light in my palm. The city, so filled with strife and poverty and danger, seemed so innocuous from this distance. No wonder the nobles were out of touch surrounded by their guards and walls and fortunes.

   Wouldn’t it be nice to be so insulated from the troubles of the world? To have my every whim catered to? To pretend the whole world is a daydream? What would it be like to live the life of Lady Frederick? To host such a grand party and not worry a bit about the expense?

   The want burst within me, but then just as swiftly smothered. I never wanted a mansion or fine clothes before. Certainly never wanted to host a party; that in particular sounded terrible. Odd that such thoughts just came from me. Like they weren’t even mine— 

   A slight thump came to my left and I jumped, head snapping in that direction. Did it come from outside? The other side of the wall? Maybe—

   Pinpricks danced across my forehead right before hall light lit the room and then was just as swiftly shut out. I didn’t even hear the door click back into place. I whirled around, expecting Sister Nightingale’s form, but the person was too tall.

   “Mel,” Garrett’s voice said before stepping closer.

   “Garrett,” I gulped and stepped back. Sure, I had wanted to avoid talking to him to settle my own feelings, but if I had run into him, it would’ve been inconvenient, not unnerving, and yet wariness buzzed in me. It must just be that he had caught me off guard, right?

   “What are you doing here?”

   “Why do you think?”

   I sputtered. “You sent the note? Why?” That didn’t seem like him. He had always been more playful than tricky.

   “I needed to speak with you and we couldn’t make a scene.”

   I scoffed, “Since when did you care about making a scene?”

   “When it involves pressing information about your powers.”

   I went cold.“Anders sent word? Here?” When would Anders have done that? I hadn’t noticed anyone approach Garrett at his table to deliver a message. I thought we had agreed to wait. It must be an emergency, but Garrett seemed so muted.

   I frowned. If he noticed he gave no indication. He walked right up to me, looking down into my face like he could see it clearly, though it must be shadowed as my back was to the windows. His face though was lit by the moon, and yet, it was somehow dull. His eyes no longer twinkled, not a hint of his earlier warmth in them, but instead, looked ravenously cold and bottomless.

   Something was wrong. Every instinct was screaming it. I stepped into him, grasping his strangely stiff arms to demand an explanation, but when I took a deep breath, no cinnamon and leather musk greeted me.

   Then, I knew.

   The burst of static had been a warning, the wariness a siren, but it wasn’t until his face came into focus with my power that I saw the truth: a demon.

Chapter Text

   When facing down a demon, there’s a lot of sensible things to do, like scream for help, run away, or stab it in the face with the dagger strapped to your thigh.

   My brain had no problem screaming at me, but when it came to my lungs, they only managed a breathless squeak. My feet decided I should flee, but the dark room thought it would be great fun to hide an ottoman in my path to send me sprawling. More concerned with getting up as fast and far away from the demon as I could, I didn’t bother to waste time digging underneath the folds of my skirt for my dagger, not when I heard the demon’s murmuring and clicking growing louder behind me.

    The demon’s glamour began fading like water spilled on sun-baked cobblestones. It cocked its corpse-pale head at an unnatural angle as infected-red lacerations where eyes should have been focused on me. I found myself stumbling backward, the instinct to be far out of reach of the dreaded thing coursing through my body, and soon my sweaty hands were braced against the windows’ night-cooled glass. It did nothing to douse my flare of alarm as I realized the demon was between me and the door. Like most when faced with a monster in the dark, it's instinctive to run towards the light. It was the wrong direction this time. The moon couldn’t save me, only silhouette whatever came next.

   Only I could save myself.

   I made myself focus. There, a path between the toppled furniture which circumvented the demon all the way to the door! I took a deep breathe and attempted to clamp down on the panic pounding in my chest, but my legs had grown as stiff and heavy as lead. It took an effort of will just to peel my fingers from the window. If I could just seep through it and into the night air, anywhere but here, I would.

   The last shreds of the demon’s glamour evaporated. It dropped and convulsed right in my would-be escape path, its body elongating and twisting. Two pairs of front arms braced on the floor, torso contorted so that it looked broken, and back legs curled around, as thin and speedy as a spider’s. Then, it faced me again, and though there were no dark eyes betraying a ravenous pit, the envy emanating from it hit me like the acrid reek of Darktown sewers.

   Oh fuck.

   That thought was quickly followed by a much more useful one: I sensed the demon’s nature, just as I had the rage demon’s! I didn’t know through study or experience, only a deep knowing that I didn’t understand, just like the white fire waking up within me at the demon’s presence. I tried to push it down too, like I had tried and failed with my panic, but it suffused my chest with a warmth like the first sip of a strong drink, and strangely, the tension in my legs dissipated.

   Now that my legs weren’t threatening to give out, the urge to run built, but the white light tamped it down, and I understood a second thing. If I ran, I’d trigger the demon’s predatory instincts and it would run me down before I even got close to the door.

   At least for now, it hadn’t yet lunged. It seemed to be considering, not at all like a wild beast, but as a sentient creature. Weren’t they, though? Anders had said demons had plagued him with promises if only they could possess him when he was in solitary. This one right here knew enough to wear a face of someone I trusted in order to get close to me, even though it missed key components.

   I threw my shoulders back and steadied my voice. “What do you want? Why are you after me?”

   The demon twisted its fleshy neck even more, as if listening to my words, or at least pinpointing my location since it couldn’t literally see me as far as I knew. One pair of hands remained steady on the ground, but the other moved. One hand tapped on the floor while the other began scratching, a sound that seemed random, but it punctuated the hissing and clicking noises it made. There seemed to be pattern to it, a logic. Just like the harsh guttural crackles from the rage demon. Like it was trying to communicate. Like it was a language.

   The burst of discovery coaxed the white fire into full bloom. The tingles spread from my forehead down my arms and legs. I let it saturate my blood, sharpen my focus. Just like if I tried to peer beneath the demon glamour’s, so too could I hear beyond what my human ears could like with the lyrium song.

   Like a tape recorder set on repeat, the thing rasped with its overlarge mouth, “….Master …hiss click …wants…Two-Worlds…wants unlocked…you home. …Master…hiss click…wants…Two-Worlds.”

   Then its rhythm picked up, like it was amping itself up to something big, which couldn’t be good. I needed to get around it, needed to—

   A thud came from the left again, just like right before the demon showed up. But this time, there was no denying it: it was right in this room.

   “Hey!” I yelled and darted to the area the sound originated. The demon spat at my sudden movement and scuttled after me, like a spider pinning a fly in its web. There was a lounge between us; to get me it would have go around, which would give me a second to run the complete opposite direction. Though, it could also probably just leap. With those long legs and arms, I had no delusions that the lounge wasn’t much of a barrier. But it seemed content to bide its time. For now.

   I held my hands up, as if that was much protection at all, and stepped back, keeping the demon in my peripheral but eyeing the place where the sound came from. “Anyone there?”

   A muffled grunt came from behind the couch right at my side. I could just make out a pair of worn boots and dark pants. The legs wriggled and thudded the wall in the affirmative.

   “Shit! Are you okay?” I bent down, hyper-aware of the now hyper-still demon at my back, as I pushed the couch enough so the man could sit up. He flinched at my proximity, like I had been about to shock him or something.

   “I’m not going to hurt you,” I promised, knowing full well I couldn’t guarantee anything about the demon.

   The man moaned again, like he was trying to say something but couldn’t. I moved to get a better look at him, to search for injuries, and the moonlight highlighted the white of a gag. I reached behind his head and untied it. Immediately the man began gasping and struggling. He had been tied too, my hands found after a swift pat down. The ropes were tight and made all the more difficult to untie by the man’s whimpering and tugging. No amount of soft assurances seemed to calm him down.

   In all fairness, I probably would react the same away after getting tied up and left hidden in a dark room. I was oddly calm though, like the energy inside I had only slightly tapped was keeping my heartbeat regular, my mind focused on more than just seeing through magic. A pleasant sedation.

   As soon as he was free, he darted up, likely ready to bolt out of the room, but halted in shock at the sight of the demon. I too froze but only because when the limited light lit the man’s face I placed him.

   “Arthur? Arthur Allard?”

   Arthur’s eyes took just one second to flick from the monster before him to his rescuer, and that’s when they blew wide in recognition: he just got saved by chamber pot lady.

   He stumbled back and fell right into the couch. The demon slunk low, as if scenting him, and the hairs on my arms stood on end.

   “How did you end up behind the couch?” I loudly asked, hoping to summon the demon’s attention. At least I’d have a chance of getting away if the thing lunged. I wasn’t the one whose circulation had been restricted from being tied, and I wasn’t the one dealing with shock either. Hell, with my power humming in the background, I didn’t even feel scared. I should be scared, but the emotion was kept at a distance as I considered what to do. I wanted to grab Arthur and lead him out of the room, but I didn’t think we’d get that far.

   The man grabbed at the couch cushions as if they could shield him. He pointed at the demon which skulked closer to us. “Two-two! Two of them! Two of you! She wore human skin, but she’s a lie, a demon, an abomination! She’s—

   The demon pounced faster than I could follow. One moment the demon was creeping around us, then the next the thing had chomped down on Arthur’s outstretched finger. When it pulled back, the finger went with it.

   He didn’t even have time to scream, just blink at his blood dripping stump before the demon followed up by raking him across the chest. It probably could have just snapped his neck, but the thing seemed like it wanted to punish, not just kill.

   It happened so fast I couldn’t think, only react. If I had, I might have gone for my knife underneath my skirts, or heaved the chair an arm’s length away like a fighter in a ring, or hell, swung the garish figurine sitting on a nearby shelf like a baseball bat to put it out of its misery, but no. Instead I leaped forward like the starting gun had just been fired at a 100-meter dash and grabbed onto one of the thing’s appendages that was about to rain down another devastating blow. Even with the entirety of my body weight bearing down on the sickly-looking arm, it flicked me off like I was as substantial as a gnat.

   Luckily, I hit the lounge, which cushioned me. Arthur was not so lucky. The demon seethed and flipped the couch with him on it right into the wall. His body made a loud thump when he hit. He did not get back up. I couldn’t tell if he was just unconscious or worse. Didn’t matter that I disliked the guy, I didn’t want him dead.

   The envy demon didn’t seem to care if he was dead or not, only silenced. It swiveled its head to me, the restraint from before absent, like a beast had slipped its leash. Its hisses and clicks came fast, but I didn’t need my strange power to make out its meaning. It wanted my life, and it would have it. It bounded over the lounge as easily as I had expected, teeth bared and aimed at my throat.

   The demon never touched me. My hands flew up faster than it moved, compelled by the white fire that had taken control of my veins as it had so many times before, but this time, I knew instinctively how to grab hold of the reins. The demon shrieked and scampered back, but it could not move fast enough to escape the light that lit the room as if the moon had come indoors. Ash flaked from its skin. It wobbled and trembled but my fire had claimed it, burning its demonic flesh, sending it back to the void it had come from. It collapsed in on itself, and in a burst of green light from within, it became no more than sludge on the carpet.

   But, I became more.

   I was a lazy dust mote, a stitch in a meticulous table runner, an indentation from the press of a body in the furniture, an unbent spine of an unread book, a drop of blood rolling down flesh. I was a kaleidoscope of the room, hundreds of shifting perspectives and angles, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted to be even more.

   Like a deep breath, I gathered my dissonant, scattered parts and then released them into the pull of the night, like petals dropped into a stream. I sailed through the glass and its rainbow refraction into the humid air, leaving my fears, worries, and stories behind.

   The moonlight beckoned like a strong current, and I could not resist anymore than the tides. But I didn’t feel frightened as I floated above the mansion, the stars above with their siren songs, asking my white light to meld with theirs. I didn't feel anything at all as black fringed my vision. Not until I took a final glimpse into the room I had left.

   A woman dressed in silver like steel, with pinned hair come undone in a fan of brunette waves, lay collapsed on the floor. From this distance I couldn’t tell if she breathed.

   It took me too long to realize she was me.

Chapter Text

   My body lay like a marionette whose strings were suddenly severed mid-performance. The legs split as if I had bowed into the floor, my arms outstretched in supplication to an invisible audience for their adulation. There would be no applause or praise or demands for an encore. No one would know the true performer had been whisked behind night’s dark curtains. Not if I couldn’t make it back to myself. Even now, I brushed against the inky black, feeling the fabric of the event horizon fast approaching, and once passed, I knew with an instinctive understanding I would never cross again.

   Sensing the point of no return, my disembodied self roused, alarm rippling out like a plucked string. It held for a whole note, the white light highlighting the tenuous thread to my body. The further I drifted, the less slack I’d have. Soon, it would snap.

   The white light could not ice over my fear anymore now that I had stirred. Not when I recognized myself and seized my stories and memories and emotions with a hungry hand. But even as I collected my dissonant, wandering pieces, from my own name to the ones I held close to my heart, it didn’t slow my ascent into the ether.  

   No matter how I pushed and twisted, I could not guide my course. It was like I was drifting through space. I spread myself out to brake, to create drag, anything, but of course it didn’t work without physical limbs. I wasn’t so substantive. I was nothing but the light and a dimming consciousness. I didn’t even have lungs or a throat to scream for help with to the wandering partygoers and servants below.

   All of the people were too involved with their own concerns to gaze upon the stars, though I doubted anyone could see me if they weren’t. I would have turned my attention elsewhere to search for a solution, but I paused at how odd it was that despite the darkness almost completely concealing everyone, I could pinpoint each person, whether conversing on the veranda, trading kisses behind the bushes, or making laps around the estate. Like they were fireflies and not shadows. Like I could see beyond what any one person should, just like how I sensed the demons’ natures.

   Flickers of impressions grazed me each time my focus changed from one person to the next. A mother’s joy gleamed; her son’s engagement was being finalized and she could not be more happy for his happiness. A young man’s excitement glimmered; his lover who traveled abroad seeking out better fortunes for the two of them would arrive tomorrow. A young woman gleamed as she thought of her faithful companion; she could not wait to return home and escape a boorish man’s rambling to snuggle her mabari.

   One shone brighter than the rest as he leaned against the building and surveyed the people with a cool, practiced gaze; he resolutely remained at his post, though he longed to be inside, not because he wanted to be a part of noble parties, but because he longed to claim his place with the one who promised him it could be wherever he wished, even if by her side.

   There was no time to investigate. I had gathered myself as much as I could, and though my thread back to my body strained, it hadn’t yet snapped. I had no more than a minute left. I balled the power remaining from when I fought the envy demon. I let it beat with energy as I compacted it like a baby star, willing my intention, my cry for help, into its essence before unleashing it like a supernova.

   It felt like I had shot off a firework, but not a single face turned upwards to where I was drifting through the atmosphere like a lost balloon. It had been a waste of energy, a last desperate attempt. My vision began to merge with the night’s, black into black, as the thread grew taut.

   A burst of lyrium blue and a deep resonant voice cried into my mind: MEL!

   I jerked to a stop midair as if seized by an invisible hand. My call had been answered from the vicinity of the man who had been leaning against the building.  There, a thread as red as blood linked from me into the dark, pulsing, no, beating like a twin heart. How could I have never felt that connection before? Now that I noticed it, it felt as tangible as my connection to my own body, though not nearly as strained. I plucked it, sending a vibration down to who I knew without a name being given.  

   It wasn’t like being a bead carefully strung or even a kite being swiftly reeled back in from an oncoming storm. Fenris shoved aside the improbable and even the seemingly impossible, like how a child thinks they can reach into the sky and snatch the stars, but then he actually did it. He just yanked me from the current sweeping me away from myself and back into my body.

   I gasped on the floor, chest heaving as if I had been drowning. I couldn’t get enough of the sulphur-tinged air. It took me more than a minute to regain my breath, and only then did I sit up to take my bearings, though it took a moment to work past the thousands of pinpricks dancing across my forehead; it was almost as bad as when I met Flemeth.  

   The demon still remained as sludge on the floor. Arthur still laid on the floor too, though thankfully, I could make out his chest lightly rising and falling. I could even still feel the thread tying me to Fenris like the fading sting of a rubber band snap. If I interpreted the fading tugs right, he was coming to me.

   What also was coming to me was a bad night that wouldn’t end.

   There was a third person in the room. From the crease of her eyes, I could tell she smiled behind her fan.

   “You always do provide the most delightful shows,” an Orlesian accent purred. The fan snapped shut and the woman sauntered over. Arthur groaned, the first sign of stirring, and he twitched, as if trying to escape some invisible monster.

   Or, that monster being his dinner companion.

   “Maybe you’ll be so kind to put on a repeat performance?” asked Marcella Bellamy.

Chapter Text

   “You,” I gasped. It made sense. All evening Marcella had been staring at me to an uncomfortable degree.

   Realizing I was still on the floor, I quickly rose, which made me dizzy. I leaned against a wall for support. My body felt like a burnt bit of coal. “You sent the demon after me?”

   She grinned, displaying perfectly white teeth.“Envy never needs much nudging to pursue what it doesn’t yet possess, so I suppose you could say I simply pointed you out and then created the opportunity for it to test your power. You didn’t disappoint.”

   “So you’re the blood mage, the one who sent the rage demon too.”

    “Don’t be insulting. I may have made deals with them in the past and lent them my power, but I assure you,” she promised in a breathy voice, and as if she could sense the increased tempo of my heart at her nearness, her grin grew wider, “I’m much higher on the food chain.”  

   So I had more than one pursuer? Well, shit.

   “Why are you after me?” I managed. Pinpricks were stabbing my forehead and right between my eyes. I couldn’t tell if they were aftershocks from my-demon-slaying-turned-out-of-body-adventure or something more.

   I felt for my white fire; it simmered deep within. I could call it up again, I sensed, but hesitated in doing so. I had killed the demon with it, but in the process, I had almost lost myself. If I unleashed it again so soon, could I control it or would it control me? Even if I could, my body already wanted to give in to sleep, to recuperate from the strain.

   It was all I could do to straighten myself to stand on my own, hoping I didn’t appear as weak as I felt. The feel of the dagger strapped to my thigh gave me strength. I was not completely defenseless.

   Marcella ignored my question and sauntered over to the demon’s remains, giving me her backside, as if she didn’t regard me as a threat at all. Considering I’d just fried a freaky Fade thing, you’d think she would be. Maybe she too was a freaky Fade thing, something much more powerful than the other demon. I resisted the urge to shudder.

   “Envy is so crude.” Marcella toed the green sludge with mild interest. “It only sees what it wants and projects, but I see what the heart desires most and reflects. To see a flaw in the vision is to see a flaw in the self. So, most mortal minds are fooled. But not you.” She pinned me with a Cheshire Cat smile, as if she had guessed my conclusion. “You are not entirely of the mortal plains, are you?”

   She didn’t care to wait for my answer and went to the bar tucked in the corner. With a flourish she poured from a decanter of spirits. She swirled the amber liquid around in her crystal glass to admire the way it caught the dim light before taking a delicate sip. The moan that followed could leave no doubt her blissful approval. So apparent was her enjoyment that she made me flinch when she knocked the glass over with a crash as flippant’s as a cat’s. The expensive alcohol soaked into the plush carpet, irrevocably staining it, but her face showed only apathy.   

   “Once a woman bargained away her freedom for just one more bottle. Just another taste, she begged. After she got what she wanted, when I came to claim what was mine, she tried to bargain again. Foolish mortal. I always collect. Best make a bargain you can live with. Or, die for.”

   When she grinned this time, the whites of her teeth looked as sharp as a tiger’s. Then in a blink it was gone, but the impression wasn’t. I didn’t need to tap into my powers to see past a glamour, to know without a doubt I was dealing with another demon.

   I felt the connection to Fenris like a bit of spider web, and tugged on my end. Hurry. He jerked back, no words, only the sense that nothing would stand in his way to me filtered through. That stuffy servant manning the entrance better not try to bar his way or he’d probably find himself on his ass at the bottom of the front steps.

   “Who are you?”

   This caught her attention. Her eyes changed from a mortal brown to an immortal’s yellow with pupils slanted like a feline’s. This question pleased her, stripped some more of her glamour away. She prowled near again.

   “They say names have power, but if I had one before I embodied desire, I have forgotten it. All I have is what one of the rarest of spirits named me, and thus gave me purpose a millennium ago, which no mortal can speak and not tremble: Xebenkeck.”

   X-e-ben-eh-what? “More like cannot speak and not stumble. What kind of name is that?”

   “You laugh, but only because you are ignorant. Your mage knows of me, enough so not to doubt my power. He used to whisper about me in the dark with his other Circle inmates, my name discovered by an inquisitive apprentice in an old tome that made its way past the Templar censors. Mortals may try to strike me from history, but I am not so easily stricken down, and when I rise up, every world will have my name etched across its flesh. My name will be as great as my brothers Gaxhang and Imshael, and we will ride under the banner of the Formless One, and all worlds shall be our domain.”

   And there it is, the straight up crazy. I kept my eyes on her as my right hand inched its way across my thigh, feeling my blade’s belt. Not that it was hard. Marcella Xena-warrior-whatever’s glamour had dissolved to reveal her horns. Horns! And magenta skin. Wow, was there a lot of skin. Her nipples were only covered by the golden tassles hanging from the elaborate collared necklace she wore. I could see why she needed a disguise to get around. Or maybe she just got cold?

   I needed to keep her talking until Fenris got here. There was no way in hell I wanted to attempt to take her on my own even if I didn’t feel worn out from using my power. Even if I could use it, would it be enough to take her down?

   “So that’s your desire? Power? Sounds like you’re the envious one. Better watch out. Heard there’s Envy demons about.”

   “What I desire? Now, most don’t ask me that.” She tapped her fan against her lips, the picture of contemplation, and disregarded my snark. “Yes, power, but the power to do what I will, whatever it is.”

   “You don’t exactly seem constrained now.” Unlike my knife. Forget dramatic reveals—I needed an actual belt from now on. How was I supposed to draw while hiking up my skirts? Claim I wanted to join her budding nudist colony?

   “My, you are so ignorant of this world, aren’t you? Your fool of a mother didn’t teach you anything, did she?” She reached out a talon to trace my jawline. With even the slightest bit of pressure, she would draw blood. I hardly dared breath. “She could have been a queen of queens, and instead, she chose to die imprisoned like so many of her peers. Pathetic.

   “But that doesn’t have to be your fate. You’ve got your father in you, a part of two worlds. You could unlock it all.”

   “So that’s why everyone wants to kill me? They don’t want me to unlock worlds?” I was just throwing stuff out there. She was right: my mother really hadn’t told me anything.

   The demon laughed, and a single talon cut into my neck. She watched a drop of blood well then slowly trail down to stain my dress with avid interest. “Some want to kill you, like your mother tried, to prevent you from realizing your destiny. Some still, like your blood mage, see your blood as a source of great power. But I know your death would be a waste. I do not want to kill you; I want to mold you into the key that will make two worlds one.”

   I swallowed, the motion making my throat sting. The envy demon had said something similar. “Two worlds?”

   “That’s right. His,” she removed her hand to gesture at the unconscious Arthur then back to us, “and ours.”

   What does she mean by ours? I have zero common goals with this demon and even less with her spirit realm. The Fade, right? She could only be talking about merging it with Thedas.

   I shuddered as understanding cut me like an arctic wind. Demons had always tried to jump realities, from the metaphysical and transient to the tangible and rooted, by means of possession and forbidden magic. But what if that was no longer required for them to roam and wreak havoc? What if the desire demon was right, and I was the key that could unlock the door between worlds, to grant her and all those like her the power to do what they will? No more crafty manipulations and bargains, only take as their whim dictated.

   A powerful force hit the door, sending up a flash of sparks as the wood bounced off a magical barrier.

   “Mel!” Fenris roared, and rammed the door again. The barrier didn’t even waver. The demon was no mana-depleted, mortally injured mage like my mother. She was an ancient creature whose powers rivaled Flemeth’s. Fenris would not be getting in that way.

   I opened my mouth to call out to him, to warn him, but Xena put one wickedly sharp talon to my lips. If I uttered a single sound, she’d cut them to ribbons.

   My eyes frantically glanced around the room as I focused my power, trying to keep it buried low as to not arouse her suspicions or let it consume me. The barrier was concentrated on the wall with the door, but there was nothing on the opposite side where the windows were. Not that I could tell Fenris.

   Wait.

   I felt for the connection, all while I let my anxiety and fear I’d kept suppressed slide onto my face, to cloak my machinations. Fenris, I whispered down our newly discovered connection, the windows.

   I felt him hear me, felt him move from the door and take running down the hall to the main entrance. I didn’t feel the demon stir at all. If she picked up on my silent communication, she gave no indication. What if, she didn’t know it was possible after all? She might hold almost all the cards in her hand, but some of the deck still belonged to me, to figure out how to play to my best advantage.

   “Seems our uninvited guest has taken the hint and left. Now, where were we?” She clearly didn’t expect me to answer, unless she expected me to cut my lips open. I mutinously, and silently, glared at her, but her eyes reflected only a maniac glee. “Ah yes, we were discussing your heritage and rightful place in this world. If you’d only claim your birthright. If only you’d come home. Your father wants to meet his prodigal daughter.”

   Her hand that hadn’t been holding me hostage pushed into my scabbing cut to force more blood to well, which she dipped a fingertip in to paint my skin. It felt purposeful, like she were drawing foreign letters or symbols, but I couldn’t place them. I couldn’t even look down.

   I didn’t dare believe she was messing around. Whatever she was doing had a purpose, and that purpose ran contrary to mine. I had to get out of here. I’d have to fight. But I couldn’t move.

   But someone else could. Arthur stirred out of the corner of my eye. He seemed disoriented, but that lasted for only a moment. He already looked terrible from the blood loss and body slam, but he turned ashen at the sight of what I’m sure looked like a depraved Marcella playing with my blood. There was no doubt in my mind that he knew she wasn’t human though. That’s what he had almost given away before the Envy demon attacked him, why he freaked out when I first untied him. He figured out something was wrong, or he had gotten in her way, so she must have immobilized him and stuffed him behind the couch. It was the only explanation that made sense.

    At least Arthur’s terror served the purpose of keeping him silent. No screaming or flailing for him, which was good, because while Xena may not want me dead, she had no such reservations about him. I wished I could touch his mind like Fenris’, bid him to try and see if the magical barrier only worked one way and to run for help, but he quietly stood up without taking his eyes off us. Then he bent down and picked up the broken couch leg and held the splintered edge like a blade.

   I willed myself to watch the demon’s intent face, the way her lips moved silently, chanting words I wouldn’t understand even if I could hear them, instead of the vengeful man creeping up behind.

   Hesitantly, as her talon was less than a centimeter away from my lips, but loudly to cover any sound Arthur made, I asked, “What are you doing?”

   She stopped, not as if the question required a great deal of focus to answer, but as if she were listening for something. Then she smiled.

   She kept smiling even as Arthur drove the shiv into her back so hard she rocked on her feet.

   When she didn’t fall, he threw his weight into the makeshift weapon so that the end came out her collarbone and ichor poured from the wound. She glanced down at it like one would a spaghetti stain on a white shirt, that absurd smile never leaving her face, then prodded at it like one would a scratch, not a mortal wound. Instead of screaming from pain or gasping in shock, she threw her head back and laughed. She kept laughing even as Arthur cursed and tried to pull the shiv out—to undoubtedly try to stake her again—and slipped in the pooling ichor as I gave up all pretense and reached under my skirt in one swift move to draw my gifted dagger. That infernal laugh never ceased even when the window shattered to rain us with shards of glass.

   With remarkable flexibility she reached behind herself to pull out the shiv, now blackened with her blood, and in one fluid movement, met the downward stroke of Fenris’ sword. Her block merely slowed his blade for a second before it cut through it and her. She didn’t scream as her severed hand flew across the room, or wince as ichor pumped from her stump, or even spare a glance at her first assailant as he collapsed in a corner to dry heave.

   She just arched a brow at Fenris before he could swing again and purred, “Hello, Little Wolf.”

Chapter Text

   The words “Little Wolf” came out soft, but they hit like a warhammer. Fenris’ momentum stuttered, and it was enough for Xebenkeck to sidestep his next swing. Even as she moved out of his range, she smiled at him like a long lost friend, which should’ve looked mocking, but it carried the same mania from before.

   Fenris spun to stand in front of me, sword poised but his body holding a strange rigidity.  

   Xebenkeck tilted her head to the side as she brought her remaining hand up to her lips. “You used to be so biddable, so compliant, so affectionate with your master, and yet, here you are, all by yourself. Did he send you? Come to seek the prize on his behalf?”

   Fenris snarled, the effect eerily wolf-like. “I am done with that life, and you will soon be done with yours.” His lyrium tattoos flared as he stood on the balls of his feet, ready to spring.

   “Ah, so the Little Wolf has slipped his leash to run wild.” She did not look in the least disturbed by the prospect. Actually, she strolled closer even as Fenris’ hands tensed on his sword. “But perhaps, you wouldn’t mind mine? I like to grant my pets some extra line to…stretch their legs. Makes things much more interesting for the both of us, no?”

   “I think acquainting your lost hand with your head would be far more interesting.”

   She laughed and I shivered. Considering I’d witnessed Fenris take off a man’s head within minutes of falling into Thedas, I did not doubt the sincerity of his threat.

   I scrubbed at my neck with my free hand, first from the sudden sympathy pains I swiftly acquired for that particular area, but secondly and much more vigorously when the belated realization hit: the mark she made was still there. I didn’t know what they were for, but they couldn’t be good. If they were ineligible, the blood runes couldn’t do whatever they meant to, right? I probably just had to ruin a line. Hopefully it hadn’t dried too much. I needed a mirror to be sure.

   Even more, I needed answers, and despite being crazy and demonic, Xebenkeck had been rather open all things considered. And, the prospect of fighting her was scary intimidating even with Fenris. Considering she’d bled out enough to kill any mortal being, she didn’t seem at all affected. But I guess possession doesn’t have to be for a live body. She could be like the undead from the cavern, only ancient, powerful, and conniving.

   But, maybe I could try for two out of those three.

   From over Fenris’ shoulders, I said, “Or, we could strike a bargain.”

   “No,” Fenris growled, the word bit out and maimed.

    Xebenkeck’s eyes kindled even though her lips were still twisted in a smirk. “And, what do you propose?”

   “Nothing!” Fenris snapped a scorching green glare back at me. “She proposes nothing.”

   “Can’t bargain with nothing, but if you know what I can offer in return, that may change.”

   It wasn’t going to change, but she didn’t need to know that yet. Fenris either; I couldn’t risk him giving the game away. The game being trying to find any avenue out of here that didn’t leave us both dead or whisked off to whatever secondary location this being had in mind.  

   “Tell us what you got,” I said and stepped from behind Fenris’ body, who tensed at my movement. I was just as disinclined to leave his protection, but even more so, I hated the clear view she had of me. I needed an unreadable poker face, an impenetrable mask, like in the Game. This was Wicked Grace with stakes higher than any round I’d ever played with my friends, and it wasn’t like I had a winning streak in that arena. But, I needed to seem open to negotiation.

   I tapped the power inside me gently, let it calm my racing heart, and hopefully, cloak my tells. I could feel the vast swathe of it rushing underneath, a current ready to sweep me away if I ventured too far out. My feet were still planted, and like an anchor, I felt Fenris’ weight keeping me ashore.

   But it was Fenris whose feet were ripped out from him. A wave of Xebenkeck’s power hit him and he strained against the riptide.

   I know what you want, she sang to him, making him suck in a sharp breath. She never opened her mouth, projecting her voice directly into our heads. She clearly wanted me to hear she offered something, but going by Fenris’ unfocused gaze, whatever she willed him to see, it was only for him. And whatever he saw, I had never seen him so taut.

   Xebenkeck’s remaining hand came up to caress Fenris’ face like a lover, and I don’t know if he saw that it was her hand or someone else’s in whatever vision she played out for him alone inside his head, but he flinched as if struck.

   Like the way I had with Wright.  

   How fucking dare she.

   I didn’t stop to think about my plan, just death-gripped my dagger and ran at Xebenkeck, intent on stabbing the last bit of ichor out of her. I hardly made it a step. Without taking her eyes off Fenris, her power slammed me to a stop. But only temporarily. I inched forward as slow as a sloth if I siphoned a bit of my power, but it felt like wading through molasses. I glanced down to the floor. A fiery purple circle snared me and symbols orbited the center. It looked similar to the magic Justice used to freeze Fenris and Garrett in the kitchen the other day, and though different, also familiar.

   Like the symbols on my neck. As soon as I pushed against the circle’s edge, they flared like a branding iron against my skin. I shrieked and fell back, my free hand clutching my scorched skin. Through my whimpers I internally cursed: I hadn’t wiped off the blood much at all!

   In whatever trance Xebenkeck had Fenris in, he flinched at the sound of my pain, like one does when stirring from a nightmare.

   “Patience. You’ll get your chance next,” Xebenkeck said, still not looking at me.

   “Let him go,” I said through clenched teeth. “It’s me you want. So spit it out.” At the words, I spat in my hand and furiously rubbed at my neck. The markings sizzled and stung, but the heat began to lessen.

   “Oh, like you want him? Or is he already yours? Are you his new master?”

   There was that word again: master. Fenris wasn’t the butler for some snotty nobleman or something. What the hell was this demon on about?

   “He has no masters, only friends,” I hissed and straightened, eyeing the purple circle which was still pulsing with energy. Maybe now the symbols on my neck were destroyed enough so I could—

   “But you want to be his something,” Xebenkeck smiled conspiratorially, and then suddenly, released Fenris as if he were a toy she had grown bored of playing with. He stumbled, face unusually pale, but recovered quickly and immediately looked to me, mouth open to say something, a warning, a plea maybe; I never got to find out because that’s when I felt it. Xebenkeck’s power brushed over my face like a physical hand. I blinked, and then I saw what she willed, and gasped.  

   Fenris had to be calling my name in the real world at the shocked sound I made, and I even felt a ripple of something painful, but in this vision of him, there was no fear, no anger, no tension. No trace of the guarded face, just an open, free smile. It was like when he laughed by the river of the Dalish camp, or when his lyrium tattoos connected with my power in the Amell mansion and we knew each other. He reached out his hand and my heart leaped when I saw my figment walk onto the scene and take it. That smile was for me, and the look we shared was for the two of us alone, something intimate and rare and precious. Just seeing it play out before me now, a mirage in my mind, felt like intruding. These people, as life-like as they seemed, weren’t us, weren’t real.

   Just like Anders and Garrett weren’t real as they strolled up to us hand in hand. They couldn’t be, not when after sharing a kiss, they each took turns kissing my figment, no trace of jealousy or possessiveness on their faces’ at seeing their lover with someone else. Even Fenris didn’t stop smiling at seeing me liplocked with each of them even though in this fantasy we were clearly together too. He just kept hold of my hand and led us to the door of the Amell mansion. And from down the hall, came the pattering of little—

   It’s not real! I shrieked in my head, the equivalent of punching glass. The vision cracked then shattered, and my mind ached like it had actually been bloodied.  

   But it could be, Xebenkeck whispered, making me flinch. Of course she knew what to lure me with. This was her power, and she wielded it with delicate precision, like a spider spinning its web. And like a spider, her touch made me recoil in horror. It held nothing of the bond I shared with Fenris. Her presence in my mind was akin to an arachnid creeping through a crack, the entirety of its size belied by its crunched up legs as it wiggled in and fed on my being. My immediate impulse was to squash her and clear the webbing from me.

   I didn’t hear so much as feel her dark amusement. Of course. She felt my violent urge just the same as she had pulled out my deepest desires: to love and be loved in return; to never be forgotten or abandoned; to finally find my home. It was everything I wanted and everything I couldn’t have.

   Says who?

   The scene had changed. We were standing on an endless plain, blue wildflowers dotting the tall grass, a stark contrast against the wispy clouded sky. I recognized it faintly. This was Earth. I had passed through here on a bus with mom when we were switching towns again. I had finished my paperback and had spent the hours watching the landscape blur by, treating it like a canvas for my daydreams.

   The naked, magenta demon missing a hand really didn’t fit with my usual childhood fare. I faced the nightmare being down.

   Says you. Every bargain has a price, and you always collect.

   Sometimes bargains go both ways. Not all are so flippant and foolish with what they give up as this one. Xebenkeck rested her hand to her chest and the glamour of Marcella Bellamy shimmered in place for a breath before winking out. Understanding sunk in: Marcella was the one who bargained for that last sip of alcohol. She probably didn’t understand what she had gotten herself into, but by the time she did, it had undoubtedly been too late. From what little I had seen of Marcella, she didn’t seem like a nice person. She hung out with people like Arthur who used racial slurs and then in turn laughed at her friend’s financial misfortunes. But who knew behind that fan she hid more than her amusement but her troubles too. I almost felt sorry for her. Even if Xebenkeck could be evicted from Marcella’s body, that’s all Marcella would be after all the damage she had sustained: a corpse.

   Xebenkeck didn’t let me dwell on Marcella’s fate for long. Again she pushed the image of Fenris, Garrett, and Anders to me like one would tempt a starving person with freshly cooked food under their nose. Like everything I ever wanted was all there, just in reach, if only I would consent to her terms.

   Like they never could if I said yes. All freedom would be stripped away if I held hostage others’ hearts. I could hardly claim to love someone, or hell, even be considered a decent person, if I did that to anyone. And this is what Xebenkeck, despite her unimaginably long life, and all the other demons, would never understand. They see the world in too simplistic of terms, black and white in most cases with their embodiment of a single vice, and in others like this, no shades at all.

   I shook my head, and as soon as I imagined it, a stick appeared in the grass, a faint shimmer to it like my fire. I took hold of it and pulled it through Xebenkeck’s power filaments; they were as fine and nearly as invisible as webbing, but I could feel their resistance. Only a few tendrils wavered in the air, barely visible in my peripheral, when I tossed the stick away, the vision she cast having as much depth as a faded photograph now. You cannot bargain for love. It’s something given, not haggled for like fish at the marketplace. 

   Love is for those who take it. Your father would know. Xebnekeck smiled at some joke that she alone understood. If she noticed my clearing of her tendrils, she didn’t seem upset. Probably because she could spin them again with little effort.

   What I told Garrett earlier this evening about Bethany and Carver came back to me, and it felt so prescient it blared inside: If they hadn’t been able to make those decisions for themselves, can you really call that living? 

   I must have unknowingly mentally blasted out that last bit because the remnants of Xebenkeck’s fantasy offering burnt away. And not just at her either. Fenris, whose connection to me had been subdued, flinched. I frowned and reached out, but it was like waves hitting a breakwater; I got no response, but at least I could feel he was there, so I focused on Xebenkeck. For the first time, she showed some genuine feeling: irritation. Apparently my forceful refusal was not to her liking.

   Can you call how you’ve been living a life at all? she asked, voice saccharine sweet. Without my power, no one will ever love you. Not the way you want. In time, they’ll forget you. Even without your parents’ charm, you are as plain as an unmarked scroll. Twice charmless! Here she smiled that maniac smiles of hers again, this time at her stupid joke about my now absent reverse glamour charm. I felt her focus on me like a cluster of spider eyes as it slowly climbs down its web to feast on its prey. I can sense you know that, deep down. Oh, how is it you put it? “Like the sky, love doesn’t belong to me?” 

   Those words coming from her, ones I had never uttered aloud, made me blanch. I swiftly smoothed out my face, tapped my power stronger, but she had undoubtedly noticed her effect on me. How the hell did she know that?

   Like the signal for a scene change, my mindscape morphed. Plains were traded for walls, and where there had been light, came only dim corridors lined with shelves of opaque glass balls. It felt familiar, but I could’ve sworn I had never been here before.

   You can show me whatever you want, but it’s only happening in my head. None of it’s real. 

   Of course it’s happening inside your head, Mel. Why should that mean it’s not real? Dumbledore said to me, and I barely stopped myself from gaping.

   Holy shit. This was the Department of Mysteries from Harry Potter and the Order of the Pheonix and she had just made herself look like freaking Dumbledore. How would a demon know anything about Earth’s books and movies? The Fade isn’t connected with Earth, right? So how would she know unless she—

   Oh, right, she’s inside my head, and she’s not just touching my deepest desires anymore. She’s flipping through me like pages in a book, or in this case, perusing my memories like library shelves. All the glass balls showed flurries of images inside them, playing out over and over on repeat.

   Me, in fifth grade on Valentine’s Day, not getting a single card or candy, my desk notably barren. At least until the boy next to me tapped me on the shoulder, bright red heart in hand. It was almost as bright as my smile as I reached for it. “Can you pass it down?” he asked, and my heart felt barren with of course it’s not for you as I swiftly turned and did as he bid so no one could notice my smile going out.

   Me, in eighth grade, my last day of school before my next big move, telling the girl Angelica who had sat next to me all semester goodbye. She had lent me her eraser once, even said good morning on occasion. After hearing the news, she didn’t even look at me as she said, “Well, good luck, Mary.”

   Me, the day I got locked in the high school library because the staff forgot I was there. After I used the phone to call for help, I huddled up with a book and a flashlight to wait. Ended up finishing the book and falling asleep on one of the lounges because no one came until morning.  

   Me, getting cussed out by a patron at that miserable diner for the coffee being too hot then too cold and then for my not smiling and being friendly enough as she heaped her abuse. My snappy retort about her “friendliness” did not go over well and I got sent home early, which meant I lost all my tables and tips. At least when I got back to my cramped apartment, my roommates were still out so the TV was free and I could lose myself in alternative worlds.

   And in this one, Xebenkeck held her hand behind her back and arched a brow as she skimmed over my memories. Fascinating, she said as Spock with a little too much smugness to fit a Vulcan.

   Creepy, I muttered, as if I really didn’t care, though internally I was freaking out, only my white fire keeping it from peeking through. If she dug long and deep enough, she might catch on to my scheming.

   Xebenkeck selected a ball at random, this one of me nose deep in a thousand page novel with earbuds in, studiously ignoring the other students in the common area laughing as they played hackey sack and talked about their plans for the weekend, which would involve each other and never me. You could have what you desire, if only you gave up your mortal moral quibbles. If you agree to my terms, you can have it both ways. I can show you how to conjure whatever you want in the Fade for paramours, while leaving the flesh and blood ones behind. With your human imagination and otherworldly power, your depth of creation could be limitless. You are not limited to normal mortal constraints or those of spirits and demons. But you’re probably too much like your mother to try. Maybe that’s why your men will never want you. They think you’ll end up as unbalanced as her.

   She was baiting me, and I wouldn’t let her. I just folded my arms in front of me. She picked up another ball holding a similar memory, and then started juggling them, which was rather impressive with the one hand. I wanted to snatch them from her, recalling how she had so flippantly knocked over the alcohol in the real world earlier, especially since I had no idea what would happen if she dropped it, but I refrained. I didn’t want her to see she bothered me.

   As I tried to appear indifferent, my mind raced. Why has she dragged this exchange on for so long? She clearly has the power advantage here. I didn’t know how much when she froze both Fenris and I with barely an effort, but without a doubt, she could make me do what she wants without the bargaining. Something wasn’t adding up. I felt as if I stood on the edge of figuring it out. And what would you get in return? I asked her.

   You would go to your father, and I would get everything I’ve ever desired.  

   My father is nothing more than a shadowed memory at the cottage, and all I know is what my mother has said, which is little to nothing. His name is Amare. They loved each other once, but something happened. I wanted to know what. Maybe, without promising anything, I could get Xebenkeck to reveal what. And just maybe, and most importantly, I could find my solution to get Fenris and I out of this mess.

   I bet you don’t even know my father. I softened the thought, to make it seem like less of a taunt and more of a dismissal of her proposed bargain.

   And it was her who took the bait. The dreamscape shifted again but the location didn’t, offering only fresh shelves of glass balls. But unlike the previous memories, glancing at them garnered a twin sense of nostalgia and déjà vu. These were my earliest memories. Time had left them moth-eaten from years of being left packed away. Now they were more flashes of sensation than fleshed-out scenes: me, growing drowsy on mother’s familiar scent as I nuzzled into her neck; me, toddling across the shore reaching for shells and rocks with my free hand, the other held by my mother; me, held aloft by a pair of large hands, giggling as I held out my own like I had wings and could fly.

   Those hands were not mother’s.

   My own didn’t feel like mine either as I snatched the ball from the shelf and brought it to my face. As I touched the glass, the sound played in my head like Xebenkeck’s voice did, only it came through tinny and distorted, the image only a modicum clearer.

   Amare, careful. Don’t drop her. I’d recognize mother’s scolding tone anywhere before she sent back to humming a tune that I couldn’t name but sounded familiar.

   I never will, a foreign voice said in response. Like a single note played in an empty music hall, the sound echoed so that I could distill every nuance: the smile in his voice like the warmth of a fire after spending the day in the cold; the promise made in the tone of someone who has never lost their hold on anything that mattered to them; and love, simple and pure.  

   Anything else said or done was a murmur in the blurry background. No matter how hard I strained, even tapping on my power, I couldn’t make out anything more beyond the view of toned arms holding me up, the floor a distant landscape. That floor I concentrated on: the pinewood scent, the familiar knots and swirl of textures creating nonsense images on the boards, grit tracked in and settled in the grooves. It came back to me then with startling clarity, just a rapid succession of snapshots. I had spent my first years up close, crawling to find things to put in my mouth, standing for the first time as I gripped table legs, learning that those who held you aloft to fly could leave you behind. I don’t know how or when, but I couldn’t have been a year older than I was in this memory when we left the cottage by the water for good.    

   Xebenkeck didn’t need to say anything, the “I know him better than you ever will,” implied with the wave of satisfaction coming off her.

   How did I know what she was feeling? Like beyond body language and expressions? I could sense how she felt. Was this how it was like when she read my desires? Was it my power that let me like how I sensed demons’ natures or saw through their glamours or felt magical barriers? Or how I sensed the partygoers’ various shapes of love when I got disembodied? Or maybe it was my power feeling her power? After all, the cracks she crawled in through to my mind goes two ways.  

   Without words, I felt the plan snap into existence, formless and brimming with possibility. I couldn’t let myself dwell on it, couldn’t let her know, but I couldn’t mask my wonder at the heady, near tangible idea. That at least came through, and the words of one my favorite Romantics, fluttered through my mind: “One legion of wild thoughts, whose wandering wings / Now float above thy darkness, and now rest / Where that or thou art no unbidden guest.”

   I was grateful for the memory of my English class days since it veiled my plan, keeping it shapeless and dark as Xebenkeck grazed the memory. The longer she was in my mind, the more acutely I felt her presence, and now her brushing over my memories felt like a physical touch. I hated it, but I had to hold my nose and let her dig herself in even deeper.   

   I didn’t want her touching any more of my memories, didn’t want her to plant some false face on my father’s memory. Who she knew him as, if she wasn’t blatantly lying, wouldn’t match the man from my memory. Xebenkeck couldn’t capture the nuances in his voice, the love he clearly had at one time for mother and me. But this had to happen.

   I could make it happen. This was my mind. I was in control, and had more power than I realized. It was like an underground river running beneath my feet. No, more. I was Europa whose icy crust hid an ocean of power. But, to start, I only needed a drop. After all, my mind was my terrain.

   I went to stand right by Xebenkeck, and then proffered the ball as if I didn’t care about it. Well? my expression said, as internally I screamed at her to take it. I needed her to.

   And she did, and though she was careful to not let our hands brush, there was a shock of power when both of us touched the memory. I pretended I didn’t notice, just like I acted oblivious to how far she stood from me in the dreamscape though she had no problem getting into my space in the supposed drawing room. I let her smile like she had won something as she focused her attention on the memory, clearing the clouds so the richness of color and sound and image became sharp. It was like there had never been a crack in Xebenkeck’s power, like I never found the hole the spider crawled in from.

   Mother scolded father as I held my arms like wings. My father reassured her, and I laughed with delight as baby-me looked at his face, once no more than tatters of dreams, now a crystal clear memory. But I didn’t look into the ball—I had no desire to have my father given to me through such means—but I had every desire to make sure her hand was on the ball, a conduit, so when I leaped forward and pressed mine on top of hers and pushed with my power, we were no longer inside my head.

   We were in hers.

Chapter Text

   What compels the sockeye to abandon its ocean home to swim up fresh water streams, facing fishing lures, eagle talons, bear paws, and treacherous falls? Instinct. That’s the only answer I could give as how I knew to minnow into a world completely unrecognizable, and yet like a sockeye’s hatching grounds, held the scent of the familiar.

   The mortal mind, while already well examined on Earth, still holds thousands of questions and mysteries. This distorted mirror of a mind held millions. It felt as transient as an exhalation on a winter’s night or wisps of dreams upon waking, and then, unmovable as mountains and as still as a frozen lake. I was wading in the mists of a paradox. For a moment, what I saw made sense, and then it would twist and I’d lose it again.

   The ground was black, the fog seemingly endless. With a tug on my power, it thinned, and all that greeted me was a plain more endless than the ones I’d traversed on Earth. And, completely unchanging. This was immortality. A mind that does not morph. A mind that does not forget.

   I would not forget what I saw till I died.

   What if here, she could not lie? What if her mind was as open as mine? Maybe I could seek the truth of my father here? Maybe I could find a way out of this mess?

   I pulled on my power, and sent it out like I had when I had been disembodied. Amare.

   The mist thickened and I stumbled back, like it might consume me. But the mist was only converging, like the curtains on a stage before parting once more to reveal a scene change. With a sinking sensation, I realized my power hadn’t done what I willed. All I could see in the shifting light was a brown, porous landscape with craggy cliffsides, towering pinnacles, and twisted arches. This definitely wasn’t Earth, and I wasn’t exactly lucky when it came to wagers, but I knew with a strange certainty that this wasn’t Thedas either.

   There were no signs of my father or any human being, but at least I got part of my command right. I wasn’t witnessing so much as standing in the middle of one of Xebenkeck’s memories. I whirled around, unable to mask my wonder. This alien landscape was her remembrance of the Fade.

   I silently wandered deeper. I shouldn’t be able to say when this scene occurred, but it felt yellowed with age but with pages curled, like a passage often reread. Is that why when I sent my command for a memory of my father, her mind parted like book whose spine had been cracked from being pressed open to a particular page countless times? Could be. There wasn’t a guidebook to this. The whole venture ran on instinct, and though it felt like I was where I was supposed to be, my mind couldn’t rationally agree.

   A flash of magenta snagged my gaze and I froze. A two-handed Xebenkeck stood out as she listlessly wandered, her cruel playfulness absent. It was like looking at a ghost, a pale imitation. It wasn’t until an amorphous spirit of white light approached her that she seemed to solidify into some version of her I recognized, when the formless being gave her shape with the gift of a name. That’s right. It was like she had said. She hadn’t been Xebenkeck until that precise moment.

   If I walked closer, if I let my power reach out, I could feel what she felt, and the humanness of it stunned. It was a feeling as familiar as my own name: the wonder of truly being seen for the first time by another. It felt like a new candle wick’s first taste of fire. She had discovered heat, and so she yearned for more. Maybe now Xebenkeck’s desire was for power, to be seen and loved and feared by all, but at one point in time, all she desired was the attention of one.

   I wanted to stretch further still into the memory, to sense the nature of the spirit, to learn the significance behind her name, for there had to be a reason this was the first thing I’d witnessed in her mind instead of what I wished.

   But Xebenkeck had other plans, and so the ground cracked beneath my feet.

   I screamed as I plunged into the darkness’ maw, Xebenkeck’s presence a cold echo. It felt like my heart might pound right out of my chest. I grappled with air in an attempt to find some hold to save myself, and screamed again for being as ineffectual as when I had been disembodied. Of course there was nothing to grab onto; Xebenkeck willed it so. Darting into her territory wouldn’t suddenly put me in control. Why had I thought this would work?

   The light changed, growing brighter below. A glint, like metal teeth. A second more and I was close enough to make out the field of spikes waiting to impale me. Most already were claimed by corpses. Soon I’d be one too.

   Seeing my death racing toward me should’ve thrown me into a thought-obliterating panic except I had one sensible thought left to make: all the scenes Xebenkeck had conjured in my mind had been my memories, and while at times emotionally painful, couldn’t kill me. Why should it change in hers?

   The mind is a powerful vehicle, but it will not run without a driver. So, I grabbed the wheel.

   Stop, I commanded, and I froze a foot above a spike aimed right at my heart.

   I nervously laughed, and moved my hands up and down like I was making a snow angel in the air. I did not waver or tremble as I hovered.

   Down, gently. Like a loosed feather, I floated in between the forest of spikes ripe with rot to the ground. I half expected for it to give way again, but at the thought, I felt it firm into an unalterable state. How I knew, I couldn’t say. Just like I wasn’t entirely sure how I’d wrested control from Xebenkeck’s manipulations. All I knew was that like Xebenkeck had been able to manipulate my mind, so could I in hers. Maybe the first memory with the formless spirit was a fluke?  

   As I looked upon the atrocity I had landed in, I wanted to pinch myself awake. I felt the scream deep inside wanting to be unleashed in a never-ending stream to block out the buzzing of flies and crackles of flame. But I was unable to resist the call of the dead. As I weaved between the spikes, I made myself bear witness to the men, women, children, and infants. Each had died screaming, the shock of their violent ends imprinted on their faces, unblinking eyes blown wide with horror. From their blood-encrusted clothes I could tell they had been people of simple means, villagers in all likelihood from what I could tell of the smoking ruins of buildings in the distance beyond the killing field.

   There too, was Xebenkeck. She stood by a man dressed in armor that at one time must have shone in the light but now had grown dull with dried mud and blood. His face wore an expression of mania, the kind I had come to associate with the demon at his side. At his feet lay the body of a young boy. He couldn’t be older than his early teens. With a start, I realized he lived when he tried to scoot away.

   “Thought you could hide in a tree and sneak away, did you? Run all the way to the nearest baron’s holding to beg for rescue? For revenge? Well the vengeance will be mine, little fool!” The man grabbed the boy’s ankle to drag him close, the handfuls of grass the boy gripped pulling away with him. “You all thought you were smarter than me! Thought I wouldn’t catch you?”

   The boy’s eyes darted to Xebenkeck. Not even the flies dared to land on her. She was undoubtedly the one who caught him, though she seemed not at all interested now that her prey had been cornered. He continued to struggle against the man’s hold, but from the weeping gashes on his legs and the dripping blood on Xebenkeck’s talons, it was clear who had also done the hamstringing. There would be no more running for him, even if he could break free.

   “There will be no one to save you! No one!” The man shouted, eyes bloodshot, spittle flying. He wasn’t just enraged, but completely given in to bloodlust. There would be no reasoning with him, not that anyone who would stake a village full of people could ever be considered reasonable. The white’s of the boy’s eyes grew as the man pulled an axe from where it had been strapped to his back. We both knew what he intended, but unlike the boy, I could still fight back.

   With dagger in hand, I charged. I reached him just as the axe head made its downward arc. I must be too slow, I figured when the man did not pause at my presence. I must not be here at all, I realized when his strike did not meet the block I had positioned and passed through me like I was no more than air. It did no such thing to the boy who had thrown up his arms to protect himself, and instead, were cleaved from his body same as his head.

   I stared unblinkingly at the boy who was now just another mutilated body among the hundred behind, those of his family and friends and neighbors. My dagger wielding arm began to shake and my mouth filled with bile. I wanted to fall to the ground and puke, to cover my head like the boy had been doing only seconds ago. But that would be useless. Instead I whirled around, sudden tears blurring my vision. Or maybe that was the darkness of Xebenkeck’s mind fringing the scene at the edges. Didn’t matter, just like it didn’t matter that this was only a memory, that these people probably died hundreds of years ago, their names lost to history. They did matter, and I would not forget.

   Fenris had asked me once if I had what it took to kill. For Anders, Garrett, him, and the rest of my Kirkwall crew, I wouldn’t hesitate. Turns out, I’d do it for a stranger too.

   I plunged the dagger into the man with a scream, again and again. If I had actually been here, he would be bleeding out at my feet. He would be begging for mercy as he choked on his own blood. But he didn’t see me. He didn’t even feel me. My blade passed through him. It didn’t even make a whistling sound as it cut through the air. I wasn’t here, able to affect what I saw. I could only witness. I had no real power here.

   Or did I?

   I stopped trying to cut the man down and forced myself to take deep breathes, which did little to calm the rage pulsing in my blood, but made me consider the issue from a new angle.

   I had stopped myself from getting impaled in the memory. I couldn’t turn back time to alter its course to stop massacres, but I wasn’t a hapless leaf carried away in her mind’s current. I was the landscape, able to divert the river’s path if I got creative. I would find my answers, my weapon to turn against her in here, if only I seized enough power to find it.

   With another deep breathe, I did, and it felt like water dousing a fire.

   The flames in the distance went out, the bodies dissolved like sand, and black crept up until it was only the man, Xebenkeck, and I. The man kept muttering to himself, focused on some inner debate with himself, but Xebenkeck looked right at me. Then she slashed her talons right through the man’s neck, permanently silencing him.

   Thought you would like to see the end.

   I looked over my shoulder, but there was no one else in the memory for her to be talking to. So you can see me.

   You are in my mind after all.  

   When I had seen her with the amorphous spirit, for a second, I felt a connection with her. That had been a mistake. If she ever had any morals, principles, or empathy, they had long since dissipated, and not due to madness like the man she had just casually murdered. The pain of others was nothing but something to exploit and wield as a weapon for her own gain. The question here was what did she get in this situation? Why did you kill him? Didn’t you strike a bargain with him?

   I did and it had been fulfilled, as you clearly saw. He brought me down to Thedas, I did his bidding, and then I had the freedom to walk the mortal plain without any being the wiser. Well, until some of your pesky hero types banished me back to stop all my fun.

   I would have to be the wiser, especially since I was short on hero types. I never planned on striking any bargains with this being, and this cemented that decision. I didn’t understand exactly how she thought I would unlock two worlds, merging the Fade and Thedas, but I planned on never letting her find out. Under no circumstances could I ever allow this horror and those like her to come in their natural forms to roam the mortal plain.

   To her, people weren’t people but pawns, tools. While yes, she needed me to achieve her own ends, I still found it odd how she never forced the issue, wanting the bargain instead. Like we were two merchants signing a trading contract, two equals. What was odd was she clearly didn’t view mortals as equals, so why did she with me? Was it some kind of manipulation? To what end? Or maybe she didn’t respect me at all, but my father, whoever he is? She had implied she knew him well, so maybe she didn’t want to piss him off by permanently harming me—no, I did not forget the ruins she etched with my blood—and doing so would mess up the plan to turn me into a key. But it seemed like it was more than that. There was a hesitance, almost as if she didn’t want to take a risk of me discovering that she— 

   You got to learn to read someone’s bluff, Bolt, a memory of Varric replayed in my mind, him with a smirk and shake of his head as he cleared my chips from the Hanged Man’s table. The entire time I had the winning hand, but he put up such a convincing show of confidence that I folded.

   Just like I had been folding this whole time.

   Xebenkeck craved to be infamous, loved, and feared, but she didn’t want to be known. Not truly, because then she’d have to remove her mask, which would make her vulnerable to those who saw beneath. Exposed her to me. I had suspected there was a reason she hung back from me while in my head, and had thought the reason was the two ways the connection went, that I could use her own mind invasion strategy against her, but what if it was deeper than that? Her first memory had to be important because she swiftly tried to expel me by dropping me onto spikes. When that didn’t work, she tried to shock and distract me by letting this horrific memory play out so I wouldn’t want to look too close. But she had been a little too confident, and so I knew she was bluffing.

   Understanding flash flooded through me, and I felt my power shift the landscape, guiding the torrent. Like there was a hole in her head, so too was a gap in her guard. And, I knew that I could move to take advantage of it. This ancient being who commanded armies, exposed people’s deepest desires, and killed without qualm, was scared of a young human woman armed with a dagger she didn’t know how to wield with any finesse and an enigmatic power she barely knew how to control without it controlling her. She feared me. The real question now, was why.

   I had a suspicion.

   With closed eyes, I drew up my power like water from a well, felt it pool in my palms before letting it go. It didn’t fall with a splash or scatter like raindrops but flew forth, a hundred starlit moths. They painted the darkness with memories, everywhere their tiny feet touched a new scene sprouted to life. Layers upon layers grew, an unknown depth, perhaps as thick as Thedas’ crust surrounded us like we stood at the center of the planet. They concaved, and with all the moving scenes demanding my attention, they felt like they might might flake off and fall, like we were figurines in a snow globe.

   I was no inanimate figure trapped in a glass cage. I raised my hands as if I might beckon forward the memories which held my answers, but flicked my gaze to Xebenkeck at my side, who did look like a fragile figure. Her expression was frozen between a rapturous joy and unthinkable fear. She had wanted to see what I could do, had wanted to mold me into the key to unlock the door between two worlds, the Fade and Thedas.

   What if this is what she had wanted the whole time? She was an ancient demon! Who was I to think that I could outplay her? But this wasn’t the Fade, but her mind. Maybe I could not harm her, but I could wander and search it. With answers, I could know how to use my power to my advantage, not hers or anyone else’s.

   Through the cacophony of sounds and impressions and colors, I caught flashes of a familiar white light in some memories, like the mysterious spirit from her first memory.

   When Xebenkeck saw those memories come to the fore, her expression went all the way to fear, for a solitary second, and then it was masked by rage. She snarled and lunged faster than I thought possible, and I barely grasped her wrists before they wrapped about my neck. Of course she would go for my neck. I’m sure she saw the bathtub memory too, knew my visceral, paralyzing fear of anyone’s hands even lightly brushing me there. I wouldn’t let her stamp out my power like Wright had when he had gripped me by the throat. That’s what she wanted, to make me believe that she was strong and I was weak, helpless. But, I wasn’t, and it was about damn time I proved it to myself too.

   So she thought she could just stroll in, kidnap and torture me, and then make me do whatever she desired? Invade my mind, plunder and pillage it, and take what she willed and twist the rest? Hell no. So arrogant, she didn’t realize that her own tricks could be turned against her, and now here we were inside her mind, and it was my turn loot her mind for its secrets.

   My power, which had been swelling like a rising tide, became attuned with my thoughts. It was all too happy to snap out, striking like a whiplash at her hands and leaving a scourge of black as she fell back. Xebenkeck hissed an unnatural, bloodcurdling sound, and those same hands pooled purple fire at her sides. Maybe her memories couldn’t hurt me, but I had no idea about her demonic powers, and I had no intention of finding out. I called up my own white fire, and held it in front of me like a shield, just in time to deflect her first blow. I spread it out, like a barricade of white fire so she couldn’t sneak around the sides, in case she would hit me with another volley.

   I didn’t have time to marvel at how naturally my power answered to me in this spirit state. I didn’t even get a chance to revel in my surge of triumph at my successful completion of a shield. Xebenkeck began calling up her power, not settling for pools of purple in her palms. No, she planned for a tsunami to drown me in. It would take time to gather, but I had no doubt that when she unleashed this incredible wave, it would crush whatever defenses I had constructed with my white fire. I didn’t hope that amateurish control over my power would withstand her millennium of experience. I would be kicked out of her mind and back into the physical world, where all the advantages were hers. There would be no more negotiations or manipulations. Despite whatever fear she had of me, she would win, and whoever tried to stand in her way, like Fenris, would be obliterated.

   Panicked fluttered inside, demanding my attention, but I shoved it down. I put half my focus in strengthening my white fire shield while I directed the other part to the memories flickering around me, the ones with the familiar spirit still hovering where I left them. Xebenkeck didn’t want me to look through these, so my answer to her weakness had to be here, but there were too many for me to go through. I didn’t have the time. Maybe if the roles had been reversed, Xebenkeck could have flipped through all the hundreds of memories with the enigmatic spirit in the short amount of time, but I wasn’t a thousands of years old demon practiced in the art of rooting through other being’s minds. I could only go through one, if I was lucky.

   I had seen the first, so why not skip to the end?

   My power sensed the right one and pulled it forward to overlay across all the other memories, and as the first few seconds played out, Xebenkeck howled and unleashed her wave of power half formed in a desperate attempt to stop me. I stumbled but held under the sudden onslaught. Then the agony swept over me like a splash of acid, and I couldn’t help the scream that came tearing through me. My power flickered as did the memory, and I wanted to fall to my knees and shred at my skin, to let myself be expelled from a plain I never had any business being in, but still I held. For in the darkness of Xebenkeck’s mind, there was the smallest of lyrium blue glows, my newly discovered connection to Fenris. If she managed to remove me, then she would extinguish that light permanently. That I could never allow.

   I straightened, and pulled from my ocean of power to strengthen my shield as I held onto Fenris’ like a lifeline so I might not be swept away. Xebenkeck nashed her teeth, understanding she had sent her power at me too soon, and it hadn’t been enough. She had underestimated me. She would not again. Immediately she began calling up her wave of purple fire again. The next time it came at me, she would win. I didn’t let myself panic though. I couldn’t, not when she so clearly was, since as the memory I called forth resumed, from the look on her face, I knew I had selected the right one.

   The memory began to play. We were back in the porous, brown landscape, which shifted into winding stone paths through bubbling muck and a storm green sky. Memory Xebenkeck gazed up at the impossible, floating islands, and the even more impossible black city. No matter where she wandered, the city was always in view, and the sight made me shiver and force myself to look away as I trailed her. Despite the occasional feature change or creepy creature scuttling by, the place seemed to be an unending expanse like how it had been inside her mind. But it wasn’t. It was the Fade.

   “Back from the mortal world so soon?” she said with a laugh and looked behind. At first I thought she meant me, but another being had slunk up behind me. I whirled around with a gasp, but neither demon seemed to notice my presence in this replay of the past.

   “I never fully left,” the other demon said with a grimace. He wore the shape of a pale man in a robe and traveling cloak. On looks alone, if I had passed him in the street, I probably wouldn’t give him a second look, but there was something more to him, a strange magnetism. When I sent out a tendril of my power to get a read on him like I had wanted to do with the white fire spirit, phantom needles stabbed my skin, much as when I had first encountered Xebenkeck. I shuddered at the raw power, and found myself backing up as I got a look at his eyes which promised a cunning mind to match. I was quite suddenly extra grateful that this memory continued to play out without Xebenkeck able to interference.

   A talon came to memory Xebenkeck’s lips. “You are not whole even now that you’ve returned. Where is your rage?”

   At her words, he shifted between three demonic forms, one a hulking, ogre-like creature with as many eyes as a spider, another with appendages coming out of its back as it hovered like a wraith, and the most stable, a loin clothed desire demon. It happened so fast it was hard to catch a good glimpse, but even still, I knew he had not flickered into a rage demon.

   He seemed to know it too. “Back on the mortal plain. I can’t...” he said numbly, like he wanted to yell the words in frustration and anger, but couldn’t summon up the feeling. He ran a hand through his form’s lackluster hair and scowled as if he was trying to recall a word that had been on the tip of his tongue.

   Xebenkeck noticed the oddity too. “Imshael.”

   The name made me suck in a sharp breath. Xebenkeck had referred to this demon in her rant in the drawing room. He was one of her equals, an ancient demon of unknown depths of knowledge and power. And somehow, he had gotten entangled in my story too. 

   Imshael looked up and his form turned to the ogre creature again. Feelings of defensive pride rolled off him. Ah, so this was a pride demon. Most impressive. So glad they weren’t just gallivanting around Thedas. I’d take walking corpses any day. At least with those I’d have a chance. This thing looked like it could run me down and crush me with a single step. No thank you.

   “It was one of the most hackneyed summons I’ve received in the last decade,” Imshael bristled and flicked off invisible dust from his robe. “The ‘mage’ didn’t deserve to even be heard. I should have killed him just for the audacity. Should have used his guts to demonstrate a proper summoning circle as a warning to the next fool. They don’t make blood mages like they used to.”

   Xebenkeck hummed in response, but her mania was tamped down. If she was capable of genuine concern, this was as close as she was going to get. “But you took the request.”

   Imshael laughed. “He was one of yours! That crazed Starkhaven flesh-stitcher. What a pathetic request! He could have asked for money or power or virgins—and if he had half a brain he would have asked for power—but no. A wench. He wanted me to kill a barmaid for him to fulfill a contract and leave the body intact enough for him to make use of it for his special project. Couldn’t even manage it himself.”

   Xebenkeck arched a single eyebrow. “So, you sent your rage to fulfill his request since you knew it wouldn’t suffer the restraint of leaving the body in useful condition. I take it the operation did not go as planned.”

   The demon’s glamoured flickered so I caught sight of its many appendage form, and there was no mistaking the burst of fear it felt but quickly smothered. “It was her. It was his daughter.”

   Xebenkeck went so still she no longer pantomimed the need to breathe. “She was on the magicless world. That’s where they’d been hiding.”

   “No longer,” Imshael said.

   “Show me.”

   Imshael held up a hand and a pane of memory played. My memory, only from a different perspective. The night the rage demon attacked me in the Hanged Man. I moved closer to the memory within a memory, feeling cold as I saw myself flee under tables to escape the flame after the stairs crumbled. I fell, and Imshael as a rage demon prowled over me. I saw now how easy it could’ve flung a single ball of flame at my crumpled form before I had a chance to dodge. My death was unquestionable, so he decided to play. Those shouting on the second floor and Fenris banging on the locked door wouldn’t get to me quick enough to save me. He reached his fiery arms out like a friend would greet another so I could see my coming death. He reveled in my fear.

   But it was his fear that came next, marked first as confusion then shock. Because as soon as he closed, his fire crisping me, white light rose beneath like a star had been lit under my skin. Like a door locking behind him, his rage side suddenly disconnected from the Fade. He reached for it, like a little kid patting against the wall in search of a light switch in a pitch black room. He had no more access to his world’s power, only what he carried with him. His path back had been cauterized closed, marked by a white light. Then, it ripped into him like he had been planning to rip into me, and the memory ended.

   So too did the memory of Imshael and Xebenkeck start to fade. I looked beyond to see the present Xebenkeck who was about to unleash her built up power, power I would not be able to withstand. No, not yet! I needed the answer! I leaned into the memory, only catching scraps now.

   “...have a mortal primed for my possession. I’ll find her soon,” Xebenkeck said.

   That had to be Marcella! She was used to find me, wasn’t she? What the hell was I that I could do all these impossible things? And how in the hell was I supposed to use any of this to save us?

   At that moment, Xebenkeck unleashed. I tried to hold on, I really did, but the maelstrom of power shredded my shield and whipped me off my feet. I felt the blow reverberate through me so I couldn’t stitch one thought together with the next, let alone bring my power up to tether myself in her mind. Through sheer desperation, I held for a second, and then the tethered snapped, flinging me back into my own mind where everything went dark.

Chapter Text

   I woke on the floor of the drawing room, or what I thought was the drawing room; I could barely see through my tears. Something warm and wet dripped from my nose and into my panting mouth. Blood. My ears rang like someone had shot a gun by my ear, nausea roiled in my stomach, and my skin felt like a thousand needles had stabbed me.

   It was my body, but it didn’t feel like mine. It didn’t listen when I commanded it to sit up. My eyelids didn’t want to remain open. I wanted to fade away, to just let go, and that terrified me enough to force my eyes open despite the strain. I recognized the urge to fade—that meant I had overextended with my power and now it was trying to overpower me. I could not afford to pass out, or worse, get whisked from my body again.

   Maybe I would have if not for the lyrium tethers buried deep.

   “Mel,” Fenris called, voice unexpectedly ragged.

   My mouth didn’t want to form words. I fumbled for our connection, but it had faded to no more than a hair. I lightly pulled, and at my mental stirring, he shoved some of his lyrium strength, blue and singing, back down the line. It zipped through me with a wondrous intensity, making me shiver at the sensation. It wasn’t like my power, which felt intrinsic and fathomless, but like a familiar melody I didn’t know the words to, and yet, knew each note before they were played as it synced with my heartbeat.

   With each passing second, I felt less like I was about to dissipate from beneath my own skin, and my power settled like a snapping beast sated after a kill. My body came back, starting at my ribcage and working outward to my extremities. Each new bit revealed a deep seated ache, but at least by my ability to twitch my fingers and wiggle my shoes, my body was mine again. I could work past the pain. It faded to the background when I turned my neck to him.

   The purple pulsing circle still trapped Fenris, but he was no longer completely frozen in place. His hair lay sweaty and plastered to his skin which looked too red, like he had pushed against the barrier like I had and been burned too, only he didn’t stop at the one attempt.

   I frowned. He shouldn’t have been able to move in the circle, right? He hadn’t been able to do it with Justice, and neither had he earlier when Xebenkeck first trapped us. Only I had by using a bit of my power. Maybe, like how he had just given me strength, he had borrowed some of my power too? Maybe that was how he was able to move in the circle?

   I didn’t have time to contemplate it further as Fenris shouted a warning and then a one-handed Xebenkeck loomed over me. That hand grabbed me by the neck and hauled me up with unnatural ease. Then she smiled, teeth bared like they hungered to replace her hand’s hold. Deep.

   “If you wanted to see the Fade so much, all you had to do was wait. I already planned to take you there.”

   With that burst of power Fenris sent me, I could struggle against her hold, but couldn’t break it. The more I writhed, the more she tightened, and I could barely suck in enough air to remain conscious.

   I wildly looked around, the word “Fade” like a bell in my head. There was something I could do, some way I could still flip this situation. It was in that last memory! What was it? I gasped, my thoughts turning foggy.

   Fenris howled out a stream of Tevene that I couldn’t exactly translate, but if I had to guess by the vehemence he uttered, were definitely creative death threats.

   “Quiet, dog, or I’ll put you down before we go,” Xebenkeck promised with a malicious smile. I could sense her desire for blood. If she could not have mine, she would have his. I felt a jab of her power through mine, like a stick poking the beast within, and had to clamp my teeth down on my lip to keep my calm so my power would not stir. I had only just barely contained it.

   From the corner of my eye, Fenris’ mouth still frantically moved, but no sound came out. Xebenkeck had silenced him on a whim simply for irritating her, the dispensation of power inconsequential. She was in control and she knew it. Maybe my power could be roused again, and maybe, just maybe, its brawn could crush her, but it was largely untried, and in terms of skill, it would be like matching a yearling against an adult grizzly. My only other option was strategy, and in this case, it would have to be an ace up my sleeve. And right now, my arms were sleeveless and ineffectual as they grappled with her hand around my throat, at best, only slightly lessening the air restriction.

   With my remaining air, I hissed. “Leave him alone.”

   “You don’t get to make any demands. The time for negotiations is over.” The world began to dim, and she smiled as if she could sense what I felt. She lightened her hold just slightly so I could suck in a desperate breath before running her talon across my neck, miming what she had done to the armored man in her memory. “I might have let you keep this vessel, but I don’t care to anymore. Now, it’s just in the way. You won’t mind if I dispose of it, do you?”

   I wouldn’t let her casual death threat chill me. It wasn’t a surprise she would want me dead. I had known I was in deep shit when she first revealed herself, and after I fought back in her mind games, well, she sure as hell wasn’t going to let that go. She was going to get what she wanted just as she planned, but now she was going to make me suffer in the process.

   I refused to meet her hateful gaze, to let her see an ounce of fear, and it was easy to do with how utterly spent I felt. Instead, I let my eyes land on Arthur crouched in a corner, a chair broken in pieces by the door which had what looked like scratch marks. His no doubt. Apparently Xebenkeck’s barrier was still up, despite the incredible amount of power she had used to push me from her mind, maintain Marcella’s corpse, and trap Fenris.

   We were so, so fucked. We wouldn’t get help from Arthur, who looked completely dazed as he clutched the stub where his pointer used to be, still leaking blood through the ends of his shirt he had wrapped around it. Maybe a healer would have to cauterize it to get it to stop. I might have laughed at the thought since bandaging ourselves up would be the least of our problems if we were all dead, but a second bell struck in my head.

   Cauterize.

   Fade.

   The memory.

   White light.

   I grabbed my line to Fenris and yanked.There wasn’t time for explanations. Trust me?

   His answer came as a flash flood of lyrium blue running through our a creek bed connection. Then he held onto me tight, and I closed my eyes and kicked the beast.

   At the first sign of my power glowing, Xebenkeck sneered. “Doing my work for me?”

   Maybe I was. If my power swept me away, and Fenris couldn’t yank me back, I’d be dead. But if this didn’t work, she would kill me and then Fenris, so what choice did I have? This was the solution I had been searching for in her mind, or so I hoped. We were about to find out.

   I wasn’t going to attack Xebenkeck with my power. That would be foolish. She had a near unlimited supply of power due to her connection to the Fade, and I had no idea how to use mine enough to successfully combat hers. Raw power wasn’t going to get us out of this, but an opening could.

   She wanted to roam the mortal world. Fine, but she could do it without all that excess power. I felt her connection to the Fade just like I felt all magic. It was a writhing umbilical cord, and it was time to cut it and even the playing field. My power became near tangible with its desire to break free. I grabbed hold and aimed, knowing I would have only one shot, and then struck.

   Despite my body’s weakness and my mind’s sluggish thoughts, my power’s aim proved true. In near disbelief, I sensed its sudden severance. With a flare, it cauterized the connection closed just like I had instinctively and unknowingly done to Imshael. I went dizzy with the effort, just like the Hanged Man all over again, but I hung onto consciousness through Fenris, or more like, he hung onto me. All strength sloughed from my body, and I couldn’t hold my head upright; my neck slumped into Xebenkeck’s grip, cutting off my air completely. Bodily concerns would have to wait, because if I didn’t hang on in this riptide, I would be without one entirely.

   My concentration almost broke when Xebenkeck gasped, the first sign of pain she had ever shown, and thankfully dropped me. If I had any air to expel, I would have gasped at the harsh reunion with the floor. My knees were definitely going to be bruised. Not that it would be only thing, I thought as I sucked in ragged breath after breath. I tried to get the world to steady under me and kept the remnants of my power under too, because it was just begging to go, and if I gave it anymore rein, it would probably snap and take me with it. I didn’t dare test it.

   Either my gambit shocked Xebenkeck’s concentration from holding the paralysis ring or she didn’t have the power to spare, because Fenris was undoubtedly free now. He came flying by, his giant blade whirring overhead as he lunged at her. Unfortunately, Xebenkeck was only hindered, not halted. A purple spirit blade materialized in her hand, and she matched him blow for blow. I had to hand it to her—especially since she only had the one—but it was equally impressive and terrifying to see someone match Fenris when he wasn’t holding back and she had just had one of her worst fears realized: being at the mercy of mortals without all her fancy Fade reserves as backup.

   Fenris though, would have backup. It took a couple tries, my limbs screaming at me as if I were asking them to do something unreasonable, like running a marathon with a mabari on my shoulders, but I managed to stand and pick up my dagger from where I had previously dropped it.

   I took on the defensive pose Fenris has shown me only this morning as I followed the combatants’ movements with what I hoped was a discerning eye. And, what did my brilliant analysis tell me? Oh, only that I was completely outclassed in this fight. I’d be lucky if I got a swipe in, especially since I held a dagger and not a sword, which greatly limited my reach. I’d have to get in close to make it count, but wading into a deadly duel didn’t exactly seem wise.

   Fenris would want me to run, but I couldn’t let him face down an ancient demon, even if cutoff from the Fade, alone. The thought alone made me balk. We had a rough start, but ever since, he had watched my back and stood by my side. We had named each other as friends. How could I leave him behind? He never would.

   Maybe I could at least help corner or wear her down? I hesitated for a moment, and Xebenkeck delivered a crunching kick to Fenris’ knee as she blocked one of his blows. He didn’t fall, and his face hardly wavered, but I could read the pain he hid. He shoved it down like he did most things, and I shoved my indecision and apprehension down like the weights they were.

   That didn’t mean I moved fast. I didn’t run so much as shamble forward like a walking corpse. I allowed a humorless smirk—I probably looked like one of them. If only the Darktown scavengers could see me now.

   At least I couldn’t possibly look as terrifying as Xebenkeck, who despite how mangled she looked, still bared her teeth in a smile. Like despite her plan going to shit, she didn’t mind too much. Like this was fun. But I could see beyond that now, and she didn’t fool me. Though her mind had been alien, there were common threads between us. Maybe she did not love the amorphous spirit which gave her a name, but that was as close to it as something like her could ever get, and now that I had cut her off, she could not easily retreat to her home where it dwelt. We were not going to give her a chance to ever find it.

   Fenris was unable to land a fatal blow, but he landed nicks and kept Xbenkeck busy. Her blade began to shimmer with sparks and waver in place each time she thrust or parried. It was like how the rage demon beat the door at the facility back on Earth and mom’s magic began to waver when it began to wan. It was only a matter of time. We just had to outlast her.

   Just as I rounded an upturned lounge, her blade winked out. Maybe that should’ve been a sign that her power had run dry, but I felt prickles dance along my skin. The cry of warning barely left my lips before a blast shunted Fenris into a bookcase, where half the contents rained down on him, and then dominoed into the adjacent one, twins toppling on his fallen form with a bang.

   I screamed, and I wasn’t sure if it was out loud or down our connection, but regardless, he did not respond. My nerves burned with the need to run to him, but I made myself remain still. If I showed her my back, Xebenkeck would take advantage of the slip and I’d find her talons’ tips emerging from the front of my throat. She was no longer playing cat and mouse with us, not after we had shown her we could spill blood same as she.

   Warily, I angled my body to keep her in my sights, not sparing a glance to make sure Fenris’ chest still rose and fell. If he was dead, my rushing to his side wouldn’t turn back time, and if he was dying, then I needed to finish this as soon as possible to help. Probably, he was only knocked out, I tried to assure the tears pricking behind my eyes and the breathes wavering in my lungs. It had to be. I couldn’t consider any other option or the remaining hold on myself would disintegrate.

   Xebenkeck had sucked up her remaining energy to make that move, and with a calming breath, my power noted the absence of the barrier at the door. At least help could come now, if anyone heard us. One would think someone would due to the racket we had been making, but then maybe that barrier had trapped sound too; it wasn’t like Xebenkeck hadn’t already demonstrated she could manipulate it. She could control quite a lot, and even with her power diminished and host body mutilated, she had shown herself dangerous despite.

   I didn’t stand a chance against her alone. I wished that the Frederick’s bodyguards would suddenly burst in, or hell, Garrett even! Maybe he was still wandering the halls out there wanting to corner me to have a discussion of feelings. Well how about this for feelings? I’m so freaked out I can hardly feel at all? That sure would distract him from the ring he put on my finger and I’m sure he’d have some reckless plan to save our asses, two birds with one stone, his favorite kind of plan.

   But that wasn’t a plan because he wasn’t here. If he could whisper in my ear he’d urge me like Fenris would to run. No question. But I wasn’t asking. There was no question that could be answered with me leaving Fenris behind, not when there was a chance he lived. If I ran and he still lived, there would be no guarantee that he’d be alive when I got back. Xebenkeck was just that vindictive. Even if she really didn’t care about punishing me for standing up to her, if I went for help, I probably wouldn’t get far. She had her demonic power keeping her going while I just had human flesh which was already well worn. Maybe I could make it out the door before she caught me, but by the way her yellow eyes followed me with a feline’s bored predation, I wouldn’t bet on it.

   Good thing I didn’t. The air parted and I moved but not quickly enough. Xebenkeck’s talons caught me in the shoulder. Not as deep as it could have been, but holy hell it stung. I stumbled back, and barely missed another rake, which instead of scalping me, sheared a tendril of hair.

   “You’re just like her. Weak!” Xebenkeck hissed and scored a swallow cut on my non-wielding arm. “How disappointed your father would be. You could reset everything, change everything, but you’ll never be like him. You’ll always live in the shadow of the past, because you’re too afraid to emerge into the sun. Too scared to face your shadow, and too afraid to look up at where you could go.”

   I wasn’t listening to her monologue so much as trying to not die. I intercepted the next blow with my dagger like Fenris taught me and didn’t even have a chance to be in awe of myself before she leaned into my block, her inhuman strength bending me backwards as my arms shook with the effort of keeping her talons away. “You’ll never fly because you’re too afraid to fall. And you will fall.” With that, she slammed me to the ground, my dagger skittering off. I only had a moment to blindly feel for it as I scrambled backward, but even as my fingers closed around the hilt, I knew I had been too slow. I would never raise it in time catch her next blow, talons aimed at my throat.

   It startled me then, when it was hers whose choked. She stuttered, ichor gushing from her mouth, then her whole body swayed as if drunk. I hadn’t stabbed her, so how—

   “Since you never put much use to this, you won’t mind if I dispose of it?” Fenris asked from behind, her heart held in his hand.

   Like he had been holding mine all this time, and only now, at the sound of his voice, could I breathe fully again.

   A sob surprised me. It had nothing to do with my almost death and neither did it have anything to do with what many would see as a horrifying sight: Fenris, up to his forearm covered in gore, an ancient being’s ruins held aloft in a lyrium lit fist. It had everything to do with the familiar disdain written on his face as Xebenkeck collapsed against the wall, the cold look he wore for the world, which disappeared without a trace as soon as his gaze brushed me. Like a physical touch, he noted every change, the cuts on my body and the short loose lock of waves which wildly curled with sweat at the nape of my neck. Just as I did him, like the blood dyeing the white of his hair and trickling down the side of his face to dry at his collarbone or how he leaned against his sword which he stuck into the floorboards. Each injury showed how close we had come, but each heaving breathe was a reminder we had overcome.

   Another’s chest no longer rose, though she never did need to breathe. Xebenkeck’s eyes remained open, but not in death. They promised mine though even as her wrecked body leaned sprawled against the wall.

   She smirked, and the heart Fenris held jerked in his hand like it could still pump blood. He hissed, dropping it to splat on the floor. She laughed at him, the sound a wet spasm. “Thought I’d put it to good use.” Then to me, she said, “Anything you can do so can your father. Your tricks won’t work on him. You alone cannot oppose him.”

   From by my side, Fenris answered before I could even open my mouth. “She won’t be alone.”

   My chest warmed at his words, and on impulse, I touched his shoulder with my free hand. His tattoos sang against my skin, and the desire to lean against his back felt like gravity’s pull. But his body couldn’t block out the pain she promised.

   “No, I suppose I couldn’t leave her alone either,” and then her manic laugh screeched out of her, warbled and distorted as her body crumpled like paper. But through the wrinkles and creases I felt the last bit of her power fold in on itself like a star before the super nova.

   “Move!” I shoved us backward.

   Just in time, since Xebenkeck’s remains transformed into a half a dozen small, spider-like demons. Their numerous eyes zeroed in on us despite our shocked stillness. They didn’t have the intelligence of the envy demon, which I could tell with only a cursory scan, but they felt fear and would reap it, and well, I definitely had a heap of it shooting out like a flare.

   They scurried at us, pincers hungrily snapping. I had a flashback to the spiders attacking the party on the road to Sundermount, and even though they were significantly smaller, they were still demons and I really hated both.

   Fenris darted for his sword while I flung myself on top of the lounge, hoping to get out of reach. I was but my skirt wasn’t. One grabbed the ends and yanked with surprising strength, sending me to crash onto my back.  

   A strip of fabric lay snagged in the demon’s pincers, and it hissed when it realized no mortal flesh lay inside for it to taste. It spat out the scrap and charged at my prone form. Just as it lunged for my ankle I kicked, landing a solid blow to its horrid face. For the first time that evening, I wished for the heeled shoes the rest of the noble ladies wore. It would’ve been like wearing shivs on my feet! All my flats did was punt the demon a few feet away, which at best, dazed it. It didn’t even buy me the time to rise because another demon charged, this time at my head. Luckily I didn’t have to try to figure out how to stab above my head while on my back because Fenris cut the bugger right in two with one swipe of his blade before he whirled to take one coming up behind him.

   I wasn’t nearly so graceful as I came to my feet, lethargy making me move as if I hiked up sand dunes. At least I got up in enough time for the first demon to come at me again. I sidestepped the pincers easily enough, mainly because the thing telegraphed its intent before doing so. When it closed over air when it expected leg, I gave it a second surprise: a dagger thrust right into its mess of eyes. The thing shrieked and squirted ichor right down the front of my dress before collapsing in a twitching death throe. It smelled like waste and rot. It made me nauseous but I couldn’t throw up.

   Arthur screamed in his corner, finally awoken from his stupor by one of the demons determining him to be easy prey. His hands flew up in front of him, like if he could block the sight he could save himself. He was too far gone to do anything more.

   But I wasn’t. I lumbered at the demon, intercepting it with a kick that would have made each of my many high school gym teachers proud, and the sickly thing flipped onto its back like a beetle.

   I tightened my grip on my blade as I steeled myself, knowing I’d have to weave in-between those flailing legs to gut its exposed underbelly and probably get doused in ichor again for my efforts. All those tales of glorious heroes undersold how often they probably had to wash their clothes. Or, just replace them. I’d certainly never be able to wear this dress again. Somehow I doubted this was the reason Garrett had purchased me so many outfits. But, with a wry grin I thought, I probably did look like an authentic warrior princess in this dress. Who knew to complete the look all I’d need was a bit blood and demon entrails?

   Just as I moved in on the demon, dagger raised at the ready, Arthur had finally found his ability to move. He knocked into me in his rush and scrambled open the drawing room door, confirming what I had already sensed: the barrier was definitely down.

   Unfortunately, the demon was definitely back up. Instead of going after me, which would have made sense considering I had attacked it, its attention zoned in on Arthur as he disappeared down the hall and leaped after him. I hadn’t been wrong in assuming demons had predator instincts. Damn it!  

   I spared a glance behind. Fenris had taken out the remaining demons save one which circled, looking for an opening. I doubted it would get one. Fenris had held his own against an ancient demon; no way this little minion would take down what Xebenkeck could not. He would be just fine, I promised myself, and this time, I believed. As much as I wanted to stay with him, he wasn’t the one who needed protecting. That was Arthur, who was injured, traumatized, and scared out of his mind. I could not erase the way his hands had raised to cover his face, like the boy in Xebenkeck’s memory. Arthur might be a bigoted asshole, but he didn’t deserve to die to a nightmarish creature.

   As I ran out into the hall, my muscles screamed at me, and my lungs burned, but I pushed through the pain. I ran like I had when I woke in the Darktown alley. I ran like I had in the Sundermount caverns. I ran because I knew I couldn’t stop, that the demon certainly wouldn’t, and I wouldn’t let Xebenkeck’s final move in Thedas result in more mortal’s death.   

   We were in the main hall, the entrance to the ball and dining room secured by ornate double doors. The party was still in full swing if I went by the music which came out so loud, it covered our pounding footsteps. The spider demon bit one of Arthur’s ankles and he fell with an aborted scream just before he reached the doors. Blood pooled on the marble floor, but the slickness didn’t slow down the demon as it prowled up the flailing man’s back, unshakable. Arthur turned his neck enough to see the beady eyes focused on him, and screamed like an animal caught in a snare. His unadulterated fear only encouraged it, its pincers twitching and snapping wide as it aimed for the back of his neck.

   I moved as smooth as I had in memory, like time had been slowed as I closed the distance with a burst of speed I didn’t think I had in me. Everything sped up again as my first stab severed a leg, then the demon twisted and my second strike glanced off its armored abdomen.

   My momentum carried me forward, and I had to shoved off Arthur to get upright, and that’s when the demon struck. Its pincers closed around my wielding wrist, like a manacle continually squeezing smaller and smaller so not even a child’s hand could fit, and the dagger dropped. Then the demon shifted so its stinger pierced my forearm. My left hand came up and ripped it out, but the motion jerked its hold on my wrist and I cried out in agony. I cried out again as my power answered my pain, zapping out at the demon. No more than a flick, nothing like it had unleashed on the envy demon, but it was enough to make the demon let go with a shriek and spasm on the floor.

   I too fell to the floor, the hall swaying like the deck of ship in a storm. Come away, come away, my power sang, leave this flesh behind. No more pain sounded wonderful, but not having a body anymore didn’t. I tried to center myself as I glanced down my trembling limbs. Where I had been stung seeped blood, the surrounding skin puffy, but it was no where near as swollen as my wrist. My left hand only lightly touched it, and I whimpered at the contact, but then I increased the pressure. I welcomed the pain though my eyes welled and I had to bite my tongue from crying out again. The pain kept me centered, kept me treading when my power threatened to wash me overboard for even that slightest use of my power.

   The demon was undeterred, and after my show of power, it saw me as a threat. It rammed me as I rose so my head cracked against the floor and the hall spun like a playground carousel. The damned thing shimmied up my body, the force of its legs punctuating bruises.

   Out of the corner of my eye, Arthur fumbled to his feet, whimpering like a kicked puppy.

   “Get the dagger!” I yelled at him, thrashing to keep the demon’s pincers away from my neck. Of course it went for the neck. Everything went for the neck. It would either strangle me or snap my spine completely if given the chance.

   Arthur spared me, or should I say the demon on top of me, only a glance before he began scooting away, his head shaking side to side as mumbled a nonsensical prayer to Andraste. So, no help there. How not unexpected.

   My borrowed strength was depleting fast while the demon’s energy levels seemed capable of carrying it up Kirkwall’s ten thousand steps without breaking a sweat a couple dozen times. I had to finish this now. I braced my legs against the floor and pushed, flipping us over so I was on top. I couldn’t hold the demon on its back forever, so I let go and dove for my dagger. As soon as I wasn’t using my body weight against it, the thing got back on it front.

   Arthur’s eyes widened so the whites of his eyes showed when the demon’s gaze passed over him. He had stood up, but was clearly trying to put no pressure on his bitten leg.

   “Don’t run,” I commanded as I got back to my feet, my dagger now in my left hand since my whole right arm now radiated heat and pain, hanging like a dead weight from my shoulder. I readjusted my grip, the feel of the dagger unnatural in this hand. I sure wasn’t ambidextrous, so I was at a severe disadvantage here. But with one stab in the thing’s face, this would be over.

   Please, let this be over. I was growing increasingly lightheaded, and my legs kept wanting to send my body swaying like a tree caught up in a strong gale.

   Maybe Arthur would’ve listened to me if at that exact moment the perfect escape route hadn’t opened up. The servant who had disdainfully eyed me at the front of the Frederick’s opened the double doors, a tray of used glasses in one hand. At the sight of us, his mustached mouth gaped.

   “What in the Maker’s name—

   Arthur shoved past him, sending the man to slam into the door frame and the glasses to explode on the floor like crystal rain. The demon, its predatory instincts excited once more, leaped over the fallen servant and right after the limping nobleman.

   “Fuck,” I gasped and staggered after them.

   The world felt blurry, the sounds and colors of the dinner party distant though I was just now piercing the perimeter. I knew I was pushing past guests, knew that I received startled looks and appalled gasps, but I couldn’t care. Not when my entire body felt like lead, save the throb in my arm now taken up in my head. I had to glance down to make sure I still held my dagger. I felt strangely unattached. The hands that pushed me away or tried to grab a hold of my elbow as I stumbled were no more than ghosts to me.

   The demon tackled Arthur again, his grappling fitful and weak, like he too grew sluggish. I felt like I moved underwater as I closed in. My first swipe missed the demon’s face, and instead, cut through a second demon leg. It gave an unholy shriek, and when I pushed the thing, it came off as if willingly, like it couldn’t finish him until it had me first, and so grabbed onto me in turn. I hardly felt the small injuries it scored as I cut a line down its side; having the thing try to hang onto my body made it impossible to get a good angle. It tensed before it sprung. I just barely got the dagger in front of my face before it leaped, and that’s probably what saved me as it unexpectedly impaled itself on my blade. The sudden weight knocked me backwards, and with a crash, the demon and I landed right into the main table of the Frederick’s.

   Broken dishes sliced into my skin, wine shampooed my scraggles of hair, and silence suffocated the room. All I could hear were my heaving breathes, lungs straining against the demon weight atop my chest. I blearily blinked up into the demon face, eyes still hungry for a taste of my fear, even in death. Hell, I felt like death. No doubt I looked it too since when I pushed the creature off me, there was a collective of indrawn breathes.

   I wiped the mixture of blood, ichor, and sweat coating my face, but it did nothing to clear the fogginess that continued to cloak my senses. Maybe this was shock. I couldn’t stop shivering like I’d been dumped naked in the snow despite the hot bowl of soup that had upended on my lap. The myriad of smells brought bile to my mouth, and before I could take hold of the sensation with an iron grip, the contents of my dinner joined the mess on the table.

   So too, did the room unleash in a torrent of sound. Someone screamed. A body hit the floor. “Oh my party, it’s ruined!” cried a lady who sounded vaguely like a goat. Through the shocked cries and curses came the clamor of armored feet, the Frederick’s guards no doubt.

   “It’s an abomination!” someone cried. “A demon!” But they weren’t looking at the one I’d obviously killed. Everyone in the entire ballroom was staring at me in utter horror.

   “I’m not,” I weakly protested, my right hand buried in the remains of someone’s potatoes as I tried to remain upright, the other death-gripping my dagger like someone would try to take it from me. Actually, if they really though I was an abomination, they probably would.

   A blonde woman with icy eyes—Meredith, that’s right—stood from her seat of honor and drew her sword, a closed off looking Cullen at her side. “No, not a demon,” she announced, “but our blood mage.”

   What? WHAT!

   My mouth opened, but the throb had reached my neck and it was hard to form words. Even if I could, I had no idea what to say. Not with so many eyes on me. It made me want to fold up and disappear. I wish I could with the commander of the Gallows focused on me.

   I shouldn’t have been able to make out the cinnamon and leather musk through the overwhelming scent of puke, food, and ichor, but I did, like someone can pick out their name being called in a crowd. Familiar, large hands came up behind, bracing my shoulders and taking my body weight off shaky arms.

   “No blood mage here,” Garrett’s voice rumbled against my back, definitely staining his fine clothes with the filth covering me, and in typical fashion, not giving a damn about fashion. Leandra would be so mad, I thought with amusement, but my face remained blank, no longer able to contort proper facial expressions. I vaguely knew I shouldn’t be worried about clothes right now, but my thoughts were getting murkier and murkier.

   They cleared momentarily when Garrett picked up my left hand, loosening my hold on the dagger so it could fall in my lap, and then held it aloft for all to see. He faced down Meredith and twisted the ring which I had left on so the gems winked in the low light. With a voice that held no compromise, he proclaimed for all to hear: “This is my fiance.”

   Then I passed out.

Chapter Text

   My head hurt like I had tried to wash away a migraine with enough alcohol to send the most fervent bar hopper hurling. A mosaic tiled ceiling greeted my prone form, and I groaned from more than the drum solo pounding on the inside of my skull. I really needed to stop passing out and waking up in strange places. At least hit the double digits in days without incident. That would be nice. A dozen Advil would also be nice.   

   I sat up a little too quickly and braced myself when dizziness sent me off kilter. Once it settled and I got to absorb my surroundings, my fingers dug into the mat I’d been laid upon tighter, like someone might come along and toss me into the steaming pool on the other side of the room. Like Sister Nightingale, who sat in the window ledge peering through the stained glass.

   In the distance, ravens cried.

   “Sleep well, soon to be Lady Hawke?” she asked into the night.

   The engagement ring winked on my left hand and my stomach bottomed out. None of it had been a dream. Not the marriage proposal, Garrett’s confession of feelings for Anders, or how he announced us engaged to all Kirkwall. None of his actions made sense, especially that last part. What the hell had he been thinking?

   Fuck, I didn’t even know what to make of it, but the battering in my head served as a reminder that I had more important things to worry about, like the demon attacks and being accused of being an abomination and using blood magic. Those things could get me killed. Not that I didn’t feel like death anyways.

   I groaned again as I moved to massage my temples, but I didn’t get far. My right arm had been tightly bound and placed in a sling, and my left shoulder and arm were also bandaged. The movement of my right sent up tendrils of pain, but it wasn’t as bad as I would have thought. I should probably thank whoever decided to give me a health potion. I could still taste the elfroot on my tongue, though there was another taste too, one bitter and unfamiliar.  

   “I’d say the Maker is watching out for you, blessing you with an unnatural immunity to fearling poison; that or the demon had only just infected you so my antidote had a chance to take effect. You’re extremely lucky to be alive.” Sister Nightingale continued, her Orlesian accent no longer stirring up associations with tinkling chimes, the natural musicality of her voice muted. She seemed a shade of the friend I’d made in the ballroom, and unease prickled down my spine.

   Please, let not all of this be for nothing.

   “Arthur?” I croaked.

   Sister Nightingale’s eyes flicked to the empty cup and water jug placed by my sickbed, and that was all the invitation I needed to douse my parched throat. I might have spilled some, and couldn’t be sure whether to attribute that to my thirst, left-handed awkwardness, or sudden nerves.

   Her face remained blank at she watched me drink my fill, and only when I had finished the pitcher, she answered. “He lives. The fearling bit him, but he was never stung. If he keeps off the ankle, he should make a full recovery, barring the finger of course.” She twisted her legs off the ledge to dangle, finally facing me fully. “Wonder how that happened.”

   She let the thought hang for me to complete, but I had some of my own I wanted answered. “Wonder how you just happened to have the antidote for that particular breed of demon on hand while at a ball. Anticipating trouble?”

   Sister Nightingale grinned, approving of my attempt to dance around the subject, but she stopped us mid-step to add a twirl I hadn’t expected.

   “I believe I promised you my name if we happened to meet again.”

   “I didn’t think we were counting same-day run-ins.”

   “Considering the dramatic way you killed a demon and then collapsed on the Frederick’s dinner table, only to be accused of blood magic by the senior ranking Templar of the Gallows who was then rebuffed by Kirkwall’s most eligible bachelor who announced your pending nuptials, making you the centerpiece of gossip for all of Kirkwall’s high society, I’d say this ‘run-in’ counts.” She hopped off her perch and silently strode to crouch in front of me. “My name is Leliana, and I am the Left Hand of the Divine.”

   Good thing she had let me finish drinking before dropping that bomb, because I couldn’t be sure I wouldn’t have spat a mouthful of water right in her face if she had dropped that little nugget of knowledge mid-gulp. Right now, I suddenly found it hard to do anything more than take shallow breathes.

   I wasn’t exactly well versed in the Chantry’s inner workings, but even I knew that the Divine led the faith, which was one of the most powerful institutions in Thedas, and being one of her seconds, Leliana was one of the most powerful people in the world. If she wanted to disappear me, it would be as simple as snapping her fingers. And, my naive-ass had trusted her because I had a good gut feeling and she had helped me sidestep Cullen. Ironic that. Sure, Templars were a no-go when you had apostate friends and were dealing with an unknown and temperamental power, but the second to the leader of the Chantry, the very institution which set the policies about mages, was a league of its own.

    I didn’t verbally scream out the expletives that were overrunning my thoughts, but they clearly showed on my face, as all things seemed to when in this woman’s presence. A corner of her mouth curved though her keen green eyes never blinked. She knew exactly the effect her title had. The flirtatious and teasing Sister Nightingale was gone, replaced by a hard-edged woman who could probably wield daggers, poisons, and soldiers as well as hand fans, conversations, and casual observations.

   “The Knight-Commander is down the hall, wanting to interrogate you about the incident, but considering the unusual circumstances we find ourselves in, I elected to talk to you myself. I’m sure you’re amendable to that. I’ve only just met the Knight-Commander, but she does seem…zealous.”

   Well, if those are my only two options. I nodded.

   She smiled at my acquiescence and stood. “A Circle mage has been sent for to examine you. The healer should be here soon.”

   I wet my lips. “Where is here exactly?” That seemed like a safe thing to ask.

   “The Frederick’s have allowed us use of the west wing for the time being, and this is their bathhouse.”

   “For the time being? So, I can go home soon?”

   “That depends on you, Lady Payne.”

   I swallowed hard but hesitated to respond. What should I even say? I didn’t want to incriminate myself, but it wasn’t like I could demand my right to see a lawyer. This was Thedas. I wasn’t even sure lawyers were a thing, and even if they were, I doubted I would have a right see one. Thedas needed a lot of work in its civil liberties department. Never mind the Templars and Chantry basically were the law here where magic was concerned. The only ones who had the power to oppose them in any meaningful fashion were those with their own measure of power, like kings, queens, viscounts, and other nobles. Even then, depending on the issue, it wasn’t much. I was not nobility, and Leliana knew it from my earlier admission about my earliest memories being of the cottage by the lake. Her use of the title I had introduced myself with left her meaning clear. I had better cooperate or else.

   But, she had also called me by what she assumed would be my future title, an actual noble title, and now Garrett’s actions tonight took on a new light. He had been so adamant I be announced as a lady when we arrived at the party, and then of all the things to respond to Meredith’s accusations, he pronounced us engaged to all who had just witnessed my epic party crashing. My first reaction should be anger, and maybe if I didn’t have the headache of the century and a series of stressful events stealing my focus, I could muster up my displeasure. But right now, I could only let the implications of the situation seep, and that pause made me truly consider why he had done what he had.

   Maybe the declaration had been his way of drawing the line in the sand. Cross it, and risk all the wrath his status and reputation offered him. Maybe he couldn’t take on all the might of the Gallow Templars if it came to a fight, but he would try, and that threat made them reconsider. Well, at least enough to have a less antagonistic party investigate the situation, like Leliana.  

   Maybe that’s why Garrett had asked me to marry him in the first place. Due to Circle rules, he could never marry Anders even if his heart dwelt with him, and though we might never be more than friends, by marrying him I would be protected. Considering my track record for trouble, it made sense. Hell, that’s probably why I hadn’t been dragged off to the Gallows already. Maybe Leliana was suspicious the engagement was all an act, and it kind of was, but she knew I was interested in Garrett from our earlier interaction, so it couldn’t be such a stretch to her that we were actually betrothed, right?

   Or maybe Garrett’s impromptu declaration had less to do with my attentive treatment than Leliana. I liked to think she felt some affection for me, buying me this moment of reprieve from Meredith and her paranoia, but I couldn’t be sure it wasn’t for whatever reason had first drawn her to the party in her role as Sister Nightingale. I could not discount the antidote. She had been prepared for trouble. Maybe her talking to me before anyone else served her interests too.  

   The curve of her lips deepened. My face had likely displayed my line of thought like a movie reel.

   “Ser Hawke is down the hall too, likely instigating with Lieutenant-Commander Rutherford.” A flicker of Leliana’s early teasing warmed her voice and some of the tension eased from my body.

   Unfortunately that was the carrot before the stick.

   “It would be unfortunate to extend this evening out for all involved by taking this to less neutral grounds, but I do hate to impose on the Frederick’s generosity more than necessary.”

   Translation: keep me waiting on answers and I’ll keep you waiting elsewhere. The Gallows maybe?

   The tension came right back and I jutted out my chin. Maybe I had the defiant thing going for me but I probably didn’t look all that intimidating swaddled in bandages with grime crusted hair adhered to my neck.

   Leliana considered me for a moment and then shrugged a shoulder to the pool. “Why don’t we talk as you clean up? I think the worst of the bleeding has stopped, so I can take the bandages off. They’ll need to be gone anyways once the healer is here.”

   All intimidating posturing immediately vanished. “I’m fine!” I all but yelled to halt her helping hands. “I’ll just bathe once I get home.”

   Leliana settled her hands on her knees. “If you prefer, though if it’s modesty that concerns you, I can put the screen up to give you privacy.”

   I tried not to wince. I knew I was acting strange. Bathhouses in Kirkwall weren’t unusual. Kirkwall had two for the public, one for Hightown and the other for Lowtown. Even the City Guard had their own, though not for the public (I had studiously avoided it despite practicing in their yard), and the Frederick’s were rich enough to have their own, albeit a smaller version. Most would be bouncing for a dip in a private one. I just wasn’t most.

   I glanced at the standing screen in the corner. I wasn’t exactly eager to go prancing around in my birthday suit in front of the Left Hand of the Divine, but that wasn’t my main concern. My reluctance had everything to do with being by a drowning sized body of water with someone I didn’t entirely trust. Not that I thought Leliana would start waterboarding me if I didn’t start spouting up my secrets, but I wouldn’t be able to fully focus on deciding what to tell her and how if I was too worried about her nearness. And if I said the wrong thing, I might not be the only one to suffer the consequences.

   I took in a deep breathe to tell her I’d like to forego the bath, and got a strong whiff of, well, me. Rancid didn’t quite cover it. Leliana must have the mask of all masks if she had sat in this room with me for so long without crinkling her nose in disgust. The bath was probably for her sake as much as mine.

   Leliana clearly saw the realization on my face, and the sudden tension burst like a soap bubble as she laughed. I could only manage a half smile, feeling a dozen paces behind in whatever dance she was leading me on.

   “Okay,” I said. “A bath it is. I can skip the screen but could you sit over there please?” I motioned to the bench on the far wall opposite the tub. While the screen could hide me it would also hide her. I got the sense that Leliana was someone I wanted to keep in sight.

   She didn’t comment on my strange request, simply took the seat and watched me with a neutral expression, like she was trying to parse me out. Her fingers twitched when I struggled to undo my bandages with one hand, but she kept her distance, respecting my space. I turned as I shrugged out of the remains of my dress, hoping to hide the rapid rise and fall of my chest. I didn’t want her to attribute my nervousness of the water to me being a secret blood mage.

   Despite the necessity, I hesitated at the water’s edge. I closed my eyes and pretended the person watching me wasn’t an enigmatic redhead with more societal power than I could dream but an apostate spirit healer who hardly had a coin to his name. I pictured his understanding eyes, soft smile, and and the way his blond hair curled in the steam. He had been the first I had ever been comfortable near water with since my mother tried to kill me.

   I wished he were with me now, his presence a balm as I took my first step in, his hand holding mine as I submerged, not my own gripping the edge. But I was on my own.

   I emerged quickly, and with it, a plan.

   I let the swaying water lap at my shoulders as I met Leliana’s gaze. “I’ll tell you what you want to know, but I don’t think you’ll believe me.”

   Leliana expression turned wry. “You might be surprised. When I was in Ferelden, I left the chantry where I was a lay sister to join a stranger to help fulfill their quest to stop the Blight, all due to a dark vision and a dead rose bush in bloom I took as a sign.”

   “Oh. Well, that’s…um—

   “The behavior of a lunatic? Or maybe the tale of someone with a story so incredible it seems only a bard would sing it?” Here, another wry grin. She folded her hands in front of her, resting her elbows on her knees. “I, for one, do not think you are lunatic, and I do love a good story. So, tell it to me.”

   Feeling like I stood at the edge of a cliff, not knowing whether the weight on my back was a parachute or a premonition of disaster, I leaped.

   The healer came and went before I finished recounting my version of events, of course taking an intermission when the third pair of ears were present and when given a plain tunic and leggings to change into.

   I told Leliana the truth, though a simplified version with some key swathes of information omitted. The Cliffsnotes: I got a message which I thought was from her—thankfully I had kept that scrap of evidence—and had gone to see what she wanted in what I thought was the drawing room. Instead of her, I found an envy demon masquerading as Garrett and Arthur bound and gagged behind a couch. Marcella Bellamy had been possessed and had attacked us too.

   I didn’t tell her about my power, Earth origins, or any of my apostate friends, and neither did I mention that the possession had been done by the ancient demon Xebenkeck who had an insane plan to unite the Fade and Thedas. Maybe Leliana would have bought the rest, and maybe she might have even been able to offer some help, but despite her assurances that she had seen her side of strange, I didn’t want to risk it. During the telling, though she tried to keep composed, the smallest of tells peeked through at select moments, like in the slight widening of her eyes or a breathe that came too quick. The rest would take my unbelievable story straight to ludicrous as well as endanger my friends. I also really did not want to get labeled as a blood mage again. That did not go over well for me the last time, I thought as I rubbed at my throat.

   At least I didn’t lie directly. I never seriously considered it—she would see right through me. Good thing. Turns out she had already gotten a statement from Arthur. He never passed out in the first place, unlike me. Leliana didn’t even have to threaten him to get him to spill; he blabbed to her like a weepy drunk to a barkeep. She, however, kept the details sparse when sharing with me, holding her cards close like she probably knew I had done. At least I could fill in some of the blanks myself.

   So, all I know of his account was that Arthur had suspected his on again off again lover of having an affair with some Orlesian nobleman who seemed shifty, and not just due to their illicit meetings. From whatever he had spied them talking about, he had jumped to the conclusion that the man was a secret blood mage. Knowing about the Frederick’s upcoming party where Marcella would undoubtedly try to meet with him again behind his back, he figured it would be a poetic place to pin him down, and so he sent an anonymous tip to the Templars. Anonymous, in all likelihood, to keep his reputation in tact in case he was wrong about his suspicions, or in the likelihood he was right, he could be the one to comfort his lover in the aftermath while not receiving an ounce of blame for the other man’s abrupt disappearance from her life.

   His machinations bit him in the ass.

   The Templars didn’t know who they were looking for since Arthur hadn’t given a name since his “investigation” had been shoddy at best, and since they didn’t even have the tipper’s name, it wasn’t like they could ask for any identifying information of the supposed blood mage.

   No wonder Cullen had been dismissive about the possibilities of a blood mage actually roaming the nobility’s party of the season. From his perspective, it really did sound like the retribution of a jealous lover, or at the least, a prank. So of course when Marcella discovered Arthur’s treachery, he wound up behind the couch and no one knew to save him. Not at least until I showed up searching for Sister Nightingale. That left an entirely other open-ended question I didn’t know how to answer.

   Leliana never sent me message. I had suspected as much when the envy demon had shown up, and had more or less assumed it when Leliana showed a flicker of surprise when I initially told her about the note. I wasn’t surprised. Marcella/Xebenkeck had been watching me all night. She had seen me talk to Leliana and knew a well-timed message would get me away from the crowd. She certainly knew enough to send the envy demon as Garrett to get close to me. It made sense, but it also made it abundantly clear I had been targeted, which raised the dangerous question as to why. I knew why, but that didn’t seem a healthy dose of knowledge to share. I wished I had sidestepped that detail completely, but it was too late now. She had latched onto the same detail.

   Leliana tapped her lips. “So Marcella was the blood mage. And she became possessed by a demon,” she concluded, and I didn’t correct her by saying she was actually possessed by an ancient demon. No need to add fuel to the fire. It fit with the story she was constructing in her head, and why she originally came to investigate Kirkwall: a surge of demonic possession. Little wonder the Templars were extra jumpy.

   I did not want to be pinned as the epicenter of this activity, but Leliana seemed eerily unshakable.

   “But why was she after you?” she mused, and I suppressed the urge to curse my luck.

   “Hard to say,” I said, which was true, but mainly because the truth didn’t willingly leap to my lips in this regards in the fear it might be one of the last things I ever uttered. Nothing like admitting you might contain a power an ancient demon thought could open the door between the Fade and Thedas. That might earn me a red smile drawn across my throat, and I rather liked my neck as is. “She seemed a bit…unstable.” Which was also true, but hardly scraped the surface. I hoped she wouldn’t dig deep on that one.

   No such luck. “Truly?”

   “Maybe she got desperate once she knew Arthur had discovered her secret and had told the Templars?” I suggested. Bite, please bite. “She thought to use me for a blood ritual of some kind.” I pointed to where the blood marks had once been on my neck before I bathed which she must have noticed. She was too observant not to.

   “But that doesn’t add up. Why you?”

   “Why not me? I had already drawn her attention before when I….uh,” Fuck it, why not give this a go? “Well, I may have embarrassed Arthur after he decided to be an ass to some elven friends of mine.”

   Her quirked eyebrow I took as an invitation to proceed and not as surprise as to my choice of company, making me feel marginally better about Leliana as a human being. I told her the chamber pot story. She tried to remain composed through the telling though she couldn’t completely smother her amusement. I didn’t mind her finding it funny; it threw her off the scent, which was the biggest win. The story was true, and my open face sold it.

   The sound of ravens came outside again, and there was a rap against the window. She sighed and rubbed her temples. “Well, I suppose that makes as much sense as anything else I’ve heard tonight.” With a lingering glance to the dark sky, she guided me to the door. Upon opening it, she revealed a pair of Templars standing on either side. So reinforcements had come along with the healer.

   “I can go?”

   “As far as I have been able to determine, you were at the wrong place at the wrong time. Though, I’m sure with some proper rest and a chance to reflect, you will remember more useful information.” She gave me a pointed look. “Make sure you stay in Kirkwall for the foreseeable future. A sudden departure could put a damper on your upcoming wedding.”

   In other words, runaway and those you leave behind will face the consequences. Not that I would probably get far even if I was willing to risk my friends. Every Templar, and any City Guard looking for a reward or promotion, would be keeping an eye out for me at the ports and gates. Already I felt those standing watch gazing upon my back as we made our way down the hall.

   Bickering came from the end of it.

   Garrett competed with Meredith on who could wear a hole in the Frederick’s carpet the fastest while between them sat Cullen, who looked in need of a strong drink and a soft bed. The former two whirled from where they had been flinging words over the lieutenant-commander’s head and about-faced upon my appearance.

   “I petition the right to interrogate the prisoner—

   “You cannot hold my fiance without—

   Leliana raised a hand, and Meredith fell silent with a resentful glower, Garrett a beat behind, though his expression even more fierce. I would hate for him to level that look on me. Good thing he was on my side.

   To Meredith, Leliana said, “Lady Payne is not a prisoner, and I will share what information with you I deem fit. We will speak soon.”

   Meredith wouldn’t be so easily deterred. “You mean to let her go? After she performed forbidden magic and summoned demons? She’ll run the first chance she gets if she doesn’t kill someone first.”

   Cullen straightened in his chair, brow furrowed and lips parted, but he said nothing. Instead, his eyes darted between all parties before they fell to the floor, as if he were trying to trace where Meredith’s and Garrett’s pacing had crossed and diverged. Maybe he disagreed with his commander on at least one of her assertions about me, but apparently it was too much to hope for him to say anything in my defense.

   May Leliana’s beloved Maker bless her, since she had no such reservations.

   She smiled at Meredith as if she were patiently explaining a concept to a child. “At present, there is no evidence she did anything of the sort. But if new evidence arises, we’ll know where to find her. Ser Hawke could not bear to be parted from his bride.”

   Okay, Maker, maybe don’t bless her too hard.

   Leliana gave Garrett the same pointed look she gave me. From the way his eyes met hers with an unfamiliar hardness, I knew he understood. He might have protected me by claiming me as his fiance, but she wanted him to know that he was now responsible if I turned out to be a problem. Of course, I was always causing some kind of problem.

   A familiar wave of guilt tapped me on the shoulder for attention. It felt like a pair of broken in shoes I could easily slip on. Here I went again, causing issues and indebting myself to others. I was more than an inconvenience or burden now, but a liability.

   And yet, I left my feet bare. That feeling had always been an uncomfortable fit, making me awkward and stiff, but now I noticed something I never had before: holes in the soles.

   I was so worried about being too much for anyone to want to keep me around that I never let myself examine the rationale behind my reaction. Now, I did.

   Yes, Garrett often took on more in Kirkwall than he needed to, but he never complained, and he never showed a glimmer of anything less than enthusiasm when helping his friends in particular. Maybe he didn’t think of me exactly in the way I wanted him to, but I knew without a doubt he placed me among his friends. So why did I think he’d eventually resent me for an offer of protection he made? Wasn’t that unfair, thinking I knew his mind better than him? Wasn’t I projecting my own insecurity of rejection, one that had been on painful replay in the memories Xebenkeck dragged forth this evening? I would not hesitate to protect Garrett if our roles were reversed—couldn’t even imagine viewing him as if his worth could be weighed— so why did I automatically assume that he would?

   Because my mom had.

   I let my eyes flutter shut for just a moment before I traced my own path on the floor. I’d taken so many steps forward: opening up, learning to trust, allowing myself to love, and yet, sometimes I couldn’t resist looking behind to find my shadow trailing. It showed me the underside of every step I took. How for every time I opened up, learned to trust, and allowed myself to love, it could be turned against me: shut down, betrayed, and my love rejected. If only I could lose it as easily as Peter Pan. How easy would it be to fly then?

   But I was grown up now, and knew shadows will lurk even under mid-day sun, like under a lock of hair, a rumple of clothes, or between the earth and the soles of my feet. In some form, they would always remain, but I couldn’t let them stop me from picking up my feet to move forward.   

   I couldn’t let my self-doubt win or both Garrett and I would lose.  

   I padded across the carpet and slipped my hand on his arm, the picture of a lady despite my plain clothes, and smiled placidly at our audience. “I wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else than with my fiance.”

   Garrett forewent my arm and pulled me into his side so not a sliver of space lingered between our hips. He held me so tight, it was hard to imagine that even an ancient demon could pull me from him.

   “My lady will be with me,” he said with a deferential nod to Leliana, some of his aggression strangely absent now that I was next to him. “We shall return home. If you require anything more of us, you can send a message to me.”

   A smirk played at Leliana’s lips but she nodded back, though not as deep, and then had the Templars follow her back down the hall. I heard Meredith’s raised voice but it soon faded as the mansion swallowed them up.

   As soon as they were gone, Garrett pulled me flush against his front, arms like steel bands around my back, breath tickling my skin as his face buried in my hair. Instinctively, my hands found his sides and gripped him tight though there was no more space to close.

   I should be demanding an explanation of his actions. I should be telling him about the shattering events that had happened since I’d first run from the ballroom. I should be rushing us out the Frederick’s door to escape this stage of nightmares. But in the safety of his arms, it felt like there was no where else I should be. After dancing with death once again, it was an illusion I wished to go on, if only for a few seconds more.

   The smallest of tremors ran along his spine, only betrayed by the feel of my palms, but his voice came out sure as he gruffly commanded, “Say it again.”  

   I frowned, but of course he couldn’t read my puzzlement with the distracting way he nuzzled my neck. I found my voice to gasp out as his whiskers brushed the sensitive skin below my ear and my head reared back to escape the sensation. “Um, what?” Not a brilliant response, but the last minute had been erased by his enveloping warmth.

   He shook free of my arms, and my traitorous skin mourned the loss of contact, but when he pulled my left hand between us, I realized the real traitor was my brain. The ring twinkled as bright as his eyes, mocking me for forgetting its existence.

   “I wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else than with my fiance,” he said, repeating my words back but in a too sincere tone.

   I blushed. Maybe I had laid it on a bit thick, but he couldn’t blame me for taking the narrative he started and running with it. I was trying to get us both out of trouble. But the threat had disappeared for the moment. No need to keep playing at this charade, right? Now was as good a time as any. I had forestalled this talk enough. It would sting, but it couldn’t be as bad as almost getting whisked away from my body by my power, slammed with demonic energy, or turned into a practice dummy for demons.

   Maybe if I kept telling myself that I would believe it.

   I went to slide the ring off. “Garrett, I—

   His hands stopped mine mid-motion. “As much as I’ve always loved how you call me by name, I’ve found a sudden proclivity to husband. What do you say? I certainly do not mind skipping from fiance straight to,” he leaned in again, voice pitched low as he whispered into my ear, “wife.”

   A shiver of awareness shot through me, overriding my good sense, and I let it. For a moment, I imagined myself giving in. Skipping over the hard conversations and ignoring the uncomfortable truths. But I knew better. The longer I waited, the harder this conversation would be, and I was already physically and emotionally exhausted.

   I was the one who pulled away this time, and when I frowned, he couldn’t miss it. “Don’t do that. This is serious.”

   “So am I,” he replied without hesitation, a smirk playing at his lips. He full well knew what he was doing right now.

   I wanted to throw up my hands. How could one man be so exasperating? I had the greatest urge to do something outrageous, to set him off kilter like he always did me. But of the dozens of ideas that burned through me, only one took light, for I saw what I should have earlier: Garrett’s lack of gravitas was the only thing keeping him balanced. I couldn’t ask him to have a weighted discussion if I wasn’t willing to lay down every heavy truth I carried. He loved another. He probably wanted us to marry so he could protect me. Even still, those were ancillary to the heaviest truth of all, and there could be nothing more axis-tilting.

   I had spent my childhood being rejected by every person I met. Only one person had ever known me, had ever loved me, and Daria had hurt me in one of the cruelest ways possible. Of course I felt wary when I came to Kirkwall and had been embraced instead of shunned. When three men showed me care I’d never known, my heart bloomed and yet I hid the unfurling away, fearing it might be trampled once again. I’d let the roots grow till they hit the limits of my ribcage when I should have let myself be transplanted into a garden where I could feel love on my petals like sun on my skin. Maybe my roots wouldn’t take to new soil. Maybe a storm would wreck me. Or just maybe, my roots would tangle with those around me, so that nothing could ever pull us apart.

   Xebenkeck’s taunt echoed in my mind. You’ll always live in the shadow of the past, because you’re too afraid to emerge into the sun. Too scared to face your shadow, and too afraid to look up at where you could go.

   Maybe she had been right about me. But she didn’t have to be going forward. 

   I had been looking up at Garrett, I realized, but he hadn’t stirred under my reflective perusal. He watched me with the same intensity, his playfulness absent in face of mine unmasked. My breathes grew shallow as my attention turned inward to the truth burning in the center of my chest. It made the shadow in my wake fade to the soles of my feet as I stepped into him, my fingers trembling as I reached for his face.

   Then, I gave him the truth by bringing my lips to his.

Chapter Text

   I had never initiated a kiss before, and hadn’t anticipated the adrenaline surge. It felt like free fall, which meant reality’s impact should come next. Garrett would gently push away from my fumbling gesture. His eyes would apologize as he finally understood what I had been trying to say: I loved him, and to ask me to marry him when I didn’t have his heart was cruel even if he had meant the arrangement only to keep me safe.  

   Only, that wasn’t what happened.

   Instead, when he let out a sound of surprise into my parted lips, and I couldn’t help but breathe it in, he returned my kiss with an urgency. It was as if he wanted to whisk his exhalation back and steal my air with it. I certainly became dizzy enough. My eyelids shuddered close of their own accord, a collage of color dancing along the backdrop to the beat of my heart. It was no longer the rhythm of free fall. It was the steady pumping of wings. I felt as if I flew. My feet no longer touched the ground, Garrett’s hands holding me aloft without a hint of effort as he made my pulse soar with the soft caresses of his mouth.

   I could lose myself in the sensation of his touch and how it made the heat in my chest light me up head to toe. My eyes fluttered open, as if I expected to see the hallway’s shadows retreat in the face of such fire.  

   What greeted me wasn’t what I expected at all. I jerked back.

   Garrett’s eyes opened too, my name on his tongue, but I spoke first. “We have company.”

   Company came in the form of a freckle-faced youth wearing the Viscount’s livery. A page of the City Guard then.

   “Messere Hawke!” he squeaked and gave a hasty bow before retrieving the scroll attached to his belt.

   Going by the beet red flush, his training had probably never covered what to do when he had to deliver a message to a nobleman who had only been seconds away from inserting his tongue into a lady’s mouth. Especially when said nobleman didn’t seem at all embarrassed at the state he had been found in. Or, seemed to have any intention of stopping.

   Garrett tucked a loose strand of my hair behind one ear as he placed a lingering kiss at the corner of my mouth. His eyes smoldered with such promise my face probably resembled the page’s.

   I had meant to dizzy him with the truth, and yet of course, it was I who ended up feeling spun about. Good thing his hands remained on my hips otherwise I’d be impersonating Raggedy Ann on the floor. Only I’d be a less child-friendly version considering the stream of profanities damming up my lips just waiting to burst forth at an auctioneer’s speed. Holy sweet damn. That all actually just happened. I bounced between awe at my bold act and being shocked that my wildest hope, what I had thought to be the slimmest of probabilities, might be true.

   We were all saved from being flooded by my meltdown by the determined youth.

   “I have a message from the Keep!” He held the scroll out, eyes resolutely looking at a blank patch of wall.   

   Only then did Garrett turn, though his body still mostly blocked me from view, like the sight of me was reserved solely for him. As if he were a dragon and I his hoard.

    He indicated a nearby chair to the page with a nod of his head. “Thank you. You can leave it there.” Then he was turning back to me, as if we still didn’t have an audience.

   The youth did not do as directed. He straightened as if that would put his height on par with the nobleman before him. “Messere, it took a while to track you down. I tried your estate first but your servant said you were here. It’s urgent. You’re needed right away.” Clearly, the boy wouldn’t be leaving until the message had been read.

   Garrett let out a rumble that sounded like he was trying to impersonate Scrapper. “A minute. Just give me one and then the world can start falling apart again,” he muttered to the ceiling more than to anyone in the room.

   “The Seneschal said—

   “Him? Then it can wait five minutes.”

   Garrett didn’t wait for a response, just took me by the hand and pulled me into the nearest open door and slammed it behind us. We were in some kind of sitting room. I couldn’t tell much in the dim lighting, and before my eyes had a chance to adjust, Garrett took up my entire field of vision as he pressed close, my back against the door.

   I found my gaze seeking out whatever space he wasn’t in so words could make way from my lips. “Garrett, what if it’s actually an emergency?” I asked, because I didn’t know how to broach what I had just done, or how his response to it had me completely thrown, beyond shrieking, “Why the fuck did you kiss me back?” which didn’t seem like the best conversation starter.

   “Do you wish it was?” he asked.

   I knew he didn’t mean if I hoped someone or something was in trouble and needed saving or fixing. He wanted to know if I wished he would leave. I wanted to say of course I didn’t want him to, but I recalled how swiftly I’d run when he had tried to have a conversation of feelings earlier this evening after proposing. My kissing him didn’t erase the ache that must have left. Not for the first time, I regretted running. In an effort to protect my own heart, I’d hurt his instead, hadn’t I?

   “No,” I told him and made myself meet his eyes.  

   He leaned back but didn’t leave, studying me in return, as if weighing the sincerity of my words. He must have believed them for his expression turned tender. Like the certainty of my next heartbeat, I knew whatever he was about to say next would tumble us over an edge we could never climb back from.

   For his sake, I had to give him the out. For my sake, I needed the truth.

   I fisted the hem of my tunic. “I won’t let you marry me to protect me.”

   “Good thing that’s not why I asked.”

   My fingers loosed the bunched fabric, but then they didn’t know what to do with themselves. After a moment, they settled for digging themselves into my palms. “Oh, then what was that earlier? You announced us as engaged to all of Kirkwall.”

   “You realize I proposed before you decided to knife a fearling in place of the main course, right?” Before I could respond to his counterpoint, he unsheathed a dagger from his belt. “Speaking of which, I saved this for you.”

   The ruby of the dagger he’d gifted me caught the faint light, and I couldn’t help the smile as I took the blade by the handle. It felt right in my hand.

   It didn’t, however, feel right to stick it onto a thigh sheath again, not that I had it anymore or a dress to use for dramatic weapon reveals. I glanced down at my hips and wondered on a scale of one to ten how stupid it would be to just carry it unsheathed all the way back the estate. With my luck I’d trip and cut myself or someone from the party would see me and freak out I was a blood mage all over again despite Leliana’s smoothing of the situation. So, at least a six, right?

   “I want a real belt,” I sighed.

   Garrett didn’t hesitate. In sure, swift movements, without taking his eyes off me, he unbuckled the one around his waist. Then he wrapped the belt around my hips and cinched it snugly in front. My lips parted to protest but he gently interrupted by taking the dagger in my hand and replacing it in the sheath.

   “What’s mine is yours,” he answered my unasked question.

   I should have known he wouldn’t so easily derail this conversation he had wanted so fervently. I swallowed and rested my hand on the pommel like I wanted to rest it on his hand. My twitching must have given my desire away.

   His hand covered mine. He cradled it like a baby bird as he nested it against his chest. He leaned in and whispered his own truth against my lips: “Just like my heart is yours. That’s why I asked you.”

   The heat in my chest flared to life all over again, suffusing me with sparks of heat. If he pressed a hand over my heart in turn, he’d probably get scorched. I took a deep breath, let my eyes shut for a second, and then let them refocus on him. He still remained in front of me, his own heat bleeding into mine.

   He was here.

   This was real.

   His heart was mine.

   I think I might have gaped for a second before my features were under my command again. My fingers weren’t so unsure this time round.

   I balled the hand he held into a fist and whacked him right above the heart he had just so casually given me. “Next time you ask someone to marry you, lead with that!”

   He had the audacity to grin at me. “I don’t plan on asking anyone else.”

   “I don’t recall saying yes.” I yanked my hand back to my side and then regretted the loss of contact immediately. Why was I always such a mess of contradictions?

   “And I don’t remember there being a rule I can only ask once.” I half expected him to shove his hands in his pockets and start whistling. The lightness to him now didn’t feel defensive like before I kissed him. Now he seemed genuinely amused and relaxed. Happy even.

   Did I … make him happy? But then what about Anders?

   “You love Anders,” I reminded him, like he could have forgotten.

   He hadn’t. “I’m in love with him too,” he confirmed.

   He was in love with him too.

   He loved both of us.

   Well damn.

   I leaned my head against the wood, the tension coiled around my spine suddenly gone. I hadn’t known until this moment just how much it bothered me, the idea that I might succeed Anders’ place in Garrett’s heart. The possibility always seemed far-fetched since neither man had seemed within reach, but I had tried to cut it down to none all the same. I had never wanted to break something beautiful. Anders had so little and gave so much. I wanted him loved, and even though he’d rejected mine, at least he would have Garrett’s.

   Garrett had been watching me closely as if I might run again or disappear from where his body caged mine. I had no such desires, and I hoped I set him at ease when all I said to his declaration was a softly uttered, “Good.”

   His eyes flared with victory, and I hadn’t know there had been a battle, but I didn’t get a chance to contemplate this. His eyes were dark with intent as he leaned into me, his forearm braced overhead as he commanded against my lips. “Say yes.”

   That move made words relinquish their arms but not kneel in defeat. They were saved between deciding on whether to wave the white or to attempt to pick up where they’d left off by the page.

   “Messere!” he called from the other side of the door, following a tentative knock. “It’s been five minutes.”

   Garrett glared above my head like he could set the wood smoking. He opened his mouth, undoubtedly about to debate the kid on his assertion, but I distracted him with a poke in the shoulder. He looked back down and immediately softened.

   “Tell Aveline he deserves a raise,” I said with a smirk that felt a tad forced. My heart still pounded in my chest and every bit of me was aware of every bit of him.  

   “That he does,” he said as he gave me my space back.

   I missed his occupation but didn’t allow myself to show it as I straightened from the door and smoothed my hands over my clothes; they brushed the belt.

   “If it’s an emergency, you’ll need this.” I went to unbuckle it, my left playing at the notch, but his hands stilled mine.

   “Keep it,” he said and squeezed, the engagement ring imprinting on his palm from the pressure.

   “What about you?” I asked, throat thick. I didn’t like the idea of him going out alone, especially without weapons. Never had. Never will.

   He patted his jacket, reminding me of the one hidden at his chest and the other in his boot. “Aveline owes me a raise too—I’ll just raid the armory for anything else I’ll need.”

   He probably meant that literally. He could no doubt pick the lock and get whatever he needed for the errand the Seneschal wanted to send him on if Aveline didn’t just hand him the keys.

   I blew out a breath as I stepped aside. I needed to let him go, but there was so much else I wanted to say. I at least needed the answer to one more thing to tide me over until we could talk at length.

   “How does Anders feel about this?” I didn’t feel jealous at Garrett loving Anders or he loving Garrett but maybe Anders would feel differently with me in the mix. He hadn’t felt the same way I had about him. I didn’t want to be a problem between the two. I would remove myself from the situation if Anders wasn’t comfortable, even if it meant giving back the precious gift Garrett had given me of his heart.

   Garrett reached for the door but paused at the handle. “You two are more alike than either of you realize.” His eyes glimmered with a joke I didn’t get. He must have sensed my dissatisfaction with that answer for he pierced me with a serious look. “I can’t speak for Anders. You two should talk.”

   Before I could grumble at that non-answer too, he swooped in to hover over my lips. My eyes zeroed in on his in return and I tilted my head upwards so they could meet.

   He stopped me with his thumb and forefinger on my chin and the contemplative look in his eyes. “Best not kiss me again unless you mean it,” he said, voice husky. “You’re liable to break my heart.”

   I won’t break it, I almost promised, but how could I know that? Maybe his nightmare would come true and he’d lose another person he loves. I had no intention of dying, but I was a big target. Death could always find me, and that wasn’t the only way to hurt him. I’d learned as much tonight when I ran away after his original proposal. It wasn’t the certainty of the future he asked me for, but the certainty of me.

   I did mean it. I meant every feeling I poured into him when I faced my fears and kissed him. But the centerpiece of myself didn’t just belong to him, but to the man he loved too, and the other who he hadn’t mentioned at all, the one I hadn’t let myself think of on waking beyond hoping he had to be alright because Leliana never mentioned a white-haired elf found in the mansion. I had to believe he was okay.  

   My pause to think had been an answer I hadn’t meant to give. He interrupted the parting of my lips by gently tucking a loose curl behind my ear and kissing my forehead instead. Then he cracked the door.

   “I meant it,” I blurted, feeling like I grasped at cloak tails.

   Yet it still pulled him to a stop in the door frame. He smiled brightly. “Then I have all the more reason to accomplish this errand quickly.”

   My face flamed, but he probably couldn’t tell in such dim lighting, thankfully. I followed him out, eyes on everything but the people with me in an effort to get my riotous heart under control.

   I wasn’t the only one feeling like they were being ushered along by a swell. I didn’t have to see the page to feel the nervous energy compressed in his small form. The page led the way, moving as if mabari were nipping at his heels. I half expected he’d sprout white rabbit ears and pull out a pocket watch to exclaim we were late. Only Garrett seemed at ease as he read the scroll as we walked, which no doubt didn’t contain anything that should put him at ease. How did he do it? I couldn’t, not after everything that had happened and especially not after my thoughts had landed on Fenris.

   As we got to the entrance, which had definitely seen a mop and broom since Arthur, the fearling, and I crashed through, I grabbed Garrett by the arm, no longer able to contain my concern.

   “Where’s Fenris?”

   Garrett gave me a knowing look. Not that I knew whatever he did. He just nodded towards the front doors and walked through. I rushed after him. “This is where I leave you, but you’ll be in good hands,” he said with a wink before taking down the mansion’s drive.

   I felt his presence before I saw him, and I spun in his direction.

   My eyes should’ve needed the moment to adjust to the night sky, but I knew the figure in the shadows. Only one person could be counted on to lean against whatever available surface was at hand, even a nobleman’s mansion. Only one lit like a firefly in my power’s web. Only one like the opening note to a beloved song.

   Though it was who knows what hour of night, and one would think the house would be quiet, many lights still burned in the windows, no doubt due to the whole demon fiasco and resulting Templar investigation. A stable boy tended to their horses, a maid peeked at us from behind a curtain on the second floor, and a certain surly looking doorman scowled at me from the entrance. And yet, despite all the eyes pushing at my skin, I had mine only for him.

   Fenris looked like he had been pacing the length of the estate the entire time I had been held inside, his moonlit hair tousled, emerald eyes narrowed, and jaw stiff. He must have slipped out as soon as I had been taken for he still wore the dried spatter of battle.

   He straightened when he saw me, no hesitance in the motion, and I breathed past my clogged throat. No serious injuries then. He really was okay. He scanned me in the same fashion, only his felt like his hands examining my very breadth.  

   I wanted to feel his actual hands on me. I wanted to brush mine over him.

   “Mel,” he said, my name sacred on his tongue. Despite the expanse between us, his low tone carried across to wrap my being like an embrace.

   It was all the invitation I needed. I ran to him.

Chapter Text

   I heard an appalled sound coming from the front doorway but it didn’t even cause me to break stride. If I were trying to play the Game, I would’ve considered how it might look to publicly embrace a man who wasn’t my alleged fiance. I would’ve wondered how it would be perceived to show such open affection for an elf acting as my bodyguard.

   But you know what? Fuck anyone who had a problem with it.

   Fenris didn’t seem to have a problem with it. Sure, his eyes went a bit wide for a second there when he saw me launch into a run, but when I closed in his eyes glimmered and his lips curved upwards. His arms caught me as mine wrapped around his neck. The lyrium of his tattoos sang to me in greeting as I pressed my cheek into the exposed skin of his throat so that my body relaxed into his as if we were two halves of a whole. Eyelids fluttered shut as I savored the sensation of serenity his touch awoke.

   There was no denying it. He felt like coming home.

   Maybe he felt likewise.

   A gauntlet covered hand cradled the back of my head, holding me close as his deep voice groaned out, “Festis bei umo canavarum, amata,” like he couldn’t hold the words back.

   I really needed to ask him what that first phrase meant, I decided. I knew amata to be a variation of ma vhenan, meaning friend, but I didn’t have a good translation for the main bit, which Fenris had used around me before. Maybe in addition to the fighting lessons he’d be willing to teach me some of his native tongu? Could come in handy. I’d ask another day though, like on a night I hadn’t been disembodied through overuse of my power, bloodied by demons, and accused of fiendish deeds by Templars. Fenris had a hell of an evening too, what with being ensorcelled with magical snares, plied with creepy visions, and slammed into shelves.

   Besides, from his tone I could guess the nature of the comment. He was relieved I was okay. The feeling was mutual.

   “I’m glad you’re okay,” I murmured into his hair, just in case he couldn’t tell. That was a severe understatement. The fear I’d carried for him dissipated, leaving me between wanting to cry in relief or kiss his face. Holding him close like our roles were reversed, as if he might float away from his body and it was I who anchored him became the compromise between the two extremes.

   When Fenris didn’t respond after a minute, the tension returned and I tightened my hold. “You are okay, aren’t you?”

   He released me to stand on my own. When I looked into his face, he wasn’t looking into mine in return. Fenris always had a way of making me aware of him, his presence a near tangible thing, but something about him shuttered. Like he had been lost in a dream and reality had just beckoned him back.

   “Let’s get you home,” was all he said.

   It’s your home too, I almost corrected, but held back when I witnessed all expressiveness recede from his features. Something huge had diverted his stream of thought onto a once dry riverbed. It didn’t seem like my place to ask where or why unless he felt like sharing, and he didn’t seem ready yet. That was okay. I would wait for him, just like he had done for me many times past.

   I smoothed away my frown as I fell into step beside him as we entered the Hightown streets. We were both exhausted anyways, I reasoned, he especially; he never got the benefit of a nap, bath, and attention of a healer like I did. After everything we had been through together, what might be just a slip of a distracted tongue should hardly be a blip. Like me, he was sure to have a lot on his mind.

   Case in point, it took me an embarrassingly long moment to realize we didn’t leave the same way we had arrived. I looked back, as if we had simply forgotten where we’d parked the carriage, but I could’ve sworn I hadn’t seen any waiting outside the Frederick’s.

   Ever observant even when staring straight ahead, Fenris caught the motion. “Hawke didn’t know when you’d be released, so he let the carriage go for the night after returning Lady Amell to the estate.”

   That made sense. Garrett wouldn’t expose his mother to any danger and there wouldn’t have been much she could’ve done to help. I nodded but my eyes lingered on the grime on his armor and what looked to be scattered bruising and cuts on his arms. “Why didn’t you go with her?”

   He shot me a look that said really? When my own said really really, he sighed.

   “I gave you my word, Mel.”

   The words made my steps fall out of sync with his so that I unconsciously came to a stop. Now he looked at me, but my eyes were no longer drawn to him, but inward.  

   I remembered his promise, a solemn vow of protection freely given. I had memorized his words through rote repetition, tracing the feel of them again and again, as if they might rearrange someday and mean something entirely else. But, they never had.  

   Through my own lack vigilance I almost lost you twice. There will not be a third. If Hawke or the mage let’s anything slip past their guard, it will be my blade that will run it through. And nothing will ever reach you as long as I draw breath.

   If Garrett’s quick actions tonight hadn’t granted me his protection, and if Leliana hadn’t been inclined to help me, Meredith would’ve dragged me to the Gallows. But, there had been a third layer of protection I hadn’t considered: Fenris. He had been lying in wait. Perhaps by himself he could’ve bested the company of Templars long enough to rescue me, but even if he had succeeded, he would’ve made a fugitive of himself when no one there would’ve cared to notice him otherwise.

   I had known he had been sincere when he promised me, but I didn’t know he meant it to this extent. Every action he took tonight lined up though. Fenris came to a party where he would’ve never been invited to as a guest, where the attendees would look at him as if he were beneath them, and took on a job from a life left behind. Then, he had saved my life three times over, first by pulling me back to my body, then when fighting Xebenkeck and her fearlings, and finally by lending me strength from the lyrium in his tattoos and that strange connection we shared. He could have died several times over when he never had to have been there in the first place. But he had been. All for me.

   An unnamed swell of emotion threatened to wash away my pensive demeanor. Already pools were forming in the corner of my eyes, my lips parted in surprise to taste the emotion, to memorize it like I had his vow. Maybe I couldn’t parse out my own yet, but the name for the one behind his actions could only be known as devotion.

   But why? It didn’t make sense. What had I ever done to inspire him to such lengths? Nothing came to mind. Maybe it was more his initial reaction to me and the manifestations of that action? He felt guilty for almost killing me when we first met, though I suppose now that I think about it, he did save me from the Darktown ruffian before he shoved his fist in my chest back in Anders’ clinic, but the guilt was the beginning. He had confessed as much back at his decrepit mansion when I had visited him to ask if he would teach me to fight.

   Somewhere along the way, he’d begun to treat me like more than a duty or debt. I did call him ma vehenan and he reciprocated with amata, so we mutually agreed to our friendship. Only, it wasn’t the camaraderie he shared with the rest of the Kirkwall crew. Who else did he watch with such focus? Who else did he cradle as they cried? Who else did he tease with his touch? I hadn’t been involved with this group long, but I was confident in my assessment: no one. The key difference may have originated in a sense of recompense, but that wasn’t why he was this way with me now.

   I, on the other hand, was a different story. Fenris had captured my attention from the start with his other worldly looks and deep voice—and sure the phased fist in the chest cemented that—but it was what I’d glimpsed in him when he had touched my heart that kept it. I always craved the bits of him he gave me, but they were never quite enough to satiate. There was so much of him I didn’t know.  

   Some of it, I had always assumed. From Garrett’s recounting of Varric’s telling, Fenris had broken down the Hanged Man’s door from his self-appointed post outside in time to save me from Imshael’s rage form, only they had assumed too. I knew better now that I’d seen Xebenkeck’s memory of a memory. My power had activated and I had saved myself. I just didn’t remember, the use of my power and the physical damage Imshael had inflicted knocking me out.

   Through my own lack vigilance I almost lost you twice.   There will not be a third.

   The answer had been in his vow all along, I just never thought to apply it. The first had been Imshael. In the aftermath of the attack, I had my delirious, pain-fueled panic attack in the bath, resulting in Fenris ghosting me through my recovery at the Amell estate. If he hadn’t been holed up in his moldy mansion and had been watching my back when I went to get my father’s dagger from Wright, the second attack might never have happened. Garret and Anders came to the rescue that time, and despite his absence, Fenris must have heard from someone at the estate about what had happened.

   Both times, he must have seen the injuries I suffered as if they were his fault even though they were not. I never had any expectations that he would be looking out for me, but he had them for himself, and he failed to meet them. Tonight should’ve balanced the scales in his head since he saved me thrice over, but it hadn’t been enough for him. He had been fully prepared to take on the Templars too if the situation called for it.

   “Thank you for keeping your promise to me,” I told him, even though the words were inadequate. Inadequate words were all I ever seemed to be able to muster. To call him ma vehenan didn’t even seem sufficient. If only there was a way to show him.

   He said nothing back, but his look now echoed the time I’d thanked him at the ruined mansion, like the words were rarely said to him. The sudden ache inside was a dissonant pang to the swell of emotion inside me. How were such simple, genuine expressions of gratitude so foreign to him? Garrett and crew weren’t exactly a courteous crowd when together, more casual and candid. But he’d worked as a bodyguard before, he’d said. Didn’t his former employers ever thank him for a job well done? There was no doubt that he had served them well. His skills and vigilance were testament to it.

   Just like his scars and tattoos were evidence of a life I knew nothing about. Once again, it struck me as strange that I knew so little about him and yet our connection felt as intrinsic as breathing. I knew more about each of the Kirkwall crew than I did him. Isabela was a pirate in search of a relic and a good time. Varric was a voracious story-spinner with a brother-sized chip on his shoulder and a heart even larger which held a mysterious Bianca in its center. Merrill was using her future to secure a past all but forgotten for her people, even if it meant her people did not accept her in turn due to her methods. Aveline was a sword and shield for the people and places she loved, for she knew loss intimately. Anders had life, love, and freedom stolen from him, so he worked diligently to ensure others would not have to face the same injustice. Garrett loved those in his life with his life, because each time he lost someone special, a bit of his life dwindled.

   But Fenris, what did I really know? He came from Tevinter where he had worked as a bodyguard for reasons unknown. He was a master swordsman, but when not working the occasional odd job or running a quest with Garrett, he used to hole up in a decrepit mansion with rotting corpses where he overindulged on wine before Garrett convinced him to move in. I had not forgotten the mysterious he Fenris had worried had sent me when I first came to Thedas, just like I could not forget his adverse reaction to the arcane. And yet, if he hated magic so much, why did he have lyrium tattoos? How did the power embedded under his skin link so well with mine?

   I wanted to ask him so many things, but I didn’t want to press for what he wasn’t ready to give. He had to give me a sign he wanted to talk about it.

   I gave him a small smile and started walking again. He fell into step beside me, choosing to not comment on my thanks, but he looked deep in thought, at least as deep as me. Maybe he waited for me to bring up sensitive topics too. I could think of a big one of my own, and it needed to be addressed.

   After several blocks, I locked him with my gaze. “When we train next, we should practice with my power.”

   There, I said it. It felt strange to verbally acknowledge the power inside me, but after what we went through tonight, we couldn’t not talk about it.

   “You shouldn’t use it unless absolutely necessary,” he said as his eyes roved the shadowed streets ahead, jaw clenched. It reminded me of how he’d reacted when I’d tried cutting myself to unlock the secrets of my father’s dagger. He’d been pissed then, and he looked on the verge of being so again. But the stakes had been raised even higher with the entrance of ancient demons. Ignoring the problem wasn’t an option. This I would press him on.

   “Yes, but I need to know how to use it when it is necessary. Relying on instinct can only get me so far. If the situation calls for it, I need to know how to protect me or you or someone else.”

   His jaw unlocked. “Do not use it to protect me or anyone else. Only use it if you have no other option to save yourself,” Fenris said, voice sharp. He softened his tone as he sighed, “Magic like this comes with a price. You almost lost yourself in the process.” A finger traced the glowing lines of one of his tattoos, and he swallowed hard once before he refocused on the dark.

   And that was the sign, the door he left cracked for me to push wider.

   Just as softly, I asked, “What was the price for your tattoos?”

   Silence stretched, punctuated only by my too loud footsteps, but finally he spoke. “My memories.”

   I could’ve walked right into an upturned cobblestone, but it couldn’t have tripped me up as much as that admission. It was my turn to swallow hard, but it couldn’t erase the sudden lump in my throat.

   He seemed to sense my sudden inability to speak, so he elaborated. “From the time I received the tattoos, everything that came before was erased.”

   My body went cold. “How long ago was that?” I whispered, voice hoarse.

   “Ten years ago. I think I was between 16 and 18 years of age.”

   I think. Holy fuck, he doesn’t even know how old he is.

   I gripped my elbows to secure myself from the tremor that reverberated through my body.

   After I remembered how I came to Thedas, when I cried in his arms in the Amell courtyard over my mother’s death, he sang to me. It was a song his own mother had sung to him, he had said, or so he thought. He admitted to not remembering anything from his childhood then, but I had been so entrenched in my grief, I had let it go at the time and never asked a follow-up later. I wished I had.

   Now when my mouth opened, I didn’t know what to ask. His tattoos were like a lit roadway in the dark, and I drove down the blue lines like they would lead me to every answer I sought.

   No doubt the tattoos granted him great power and abilities, but they certainly came at a cost if he couldn’t remember his childhood. What would that even do to someone, to not know who you were? Who would I have been, if my entire youth had been taken from me? What would it be like to look into a mirror and not know the history behind every freckle or scar? To be a ghost with no name?

   Maybe it would be like if my parents’ reverse glamour charm became the curse I always thought it had to be, erasing me from my mind as easily as it did everyone else.

   This time, I couldn’t suppress the tremor.

   At least there would have been no recollection of when the charm isolated me from every person whose life brushed against mine. Or when my mother shut me out or shut me down. Or when she tried to kill me, shattering my final illusions of trust and love. Maybe without my memories, I wouldn’t be so messed up in the head. But the trade would never be worth it. Who would I even be if I couldn’t remember me?

   It would be terrifying and overwhelming. Anyone could invent a story, and you wouldn’t know if they were telling the truth or abusing your ignorance. I could imagine all sorts of nightmare scenarios. Fenris’ distrust of magic and deep-set anger made so much sense now. I couldn’t say I wouldn’t feel the same if I had lost myself.

   The words “I’m sorry” lined up in my mouth, but I didn’t speak them. They felt as inadequate as my thanks. If he had felt the need to say such things to me after I remembered my mother’s death, he never showed it. He simply showed me I wasn’t alone so I could safely fall apart. I would do the same for him, if he needed me. Whatever he felt about it now though, he kept locked deep.

   As we walked under the star strewn sky, the grand buildings lining the streets, and the call of home beyond the next turn, nothing drew my eyes nor my thoughts as much as him. Even as we approached the Amell front door, I wondered about the implications of his confession.

   Did he know the price he would pay for the tattoos when he got them? He couldn’t know now what he had before, but it wasn’t unreasonable to think he had some idea before going into it. He was the only person I’d ever seen or heard about who had tattoos like his. They were definitely rare. That should say a lot about the success rate.

   What had driven him to undertake something so dangerous? I didn’t have to know how one embeds lyrium under the skin to know it’s risky. When Justice took over Anders, Garrett had gotten worried when he crushed the lyrium ring to rest on his bare skin. The mineral was toxic, he’d said, though it turned out Justice protected Anders from the harmful affects. Apparently, my power had protected me too. But what about Fenris? He wasn’t a mage and he had no spirit protecting him from the effects of lyrium in his skin. How did he bear it?

   So, the question that broke free next was, “Do they hurt?”

   “I have acclimated to them,” he said, tone indifferent.

   That was not an answer and I was anything but indifferent. “So they do hurt you.”

   “It ebbs and flows. It’s more present if I overextend or if I am touched.”

   I had already been cold, but now I felt like I drifted from my body again, right into the night air. I dug my nails into my skin to center myself. Or maybe it was a latent punishment for unknowingly hurting him. He avoided contact, and even me at first, but that changed just like our relationship. I had touched him many times and he in turn me. If it pained him, why hadn’t he said anything?

   As if he knew the admonishments I heaped on myself, he said, “When you touch me, the pain is soothed away.” His voice held an echo of wonder, and I remembered when his fingers brushed mine at the Hanged Man and he startled, or when our hands touched at the creek and he’d grown thoughtful, or all the other times since. He’d never worn a look of pain. So if others’ touches hurt him, then why did mine not? Could it have something to do with our connection?

   I wanted to pursue that line of thought, but Fenris obliterated it by placing my right hand on the markings of his cheek before flaring his power to erase all other sensation.

   The lyrium sang to me its familiar song and I stepped closer. Or maybe that was him? Already I felt myself let go a bit, like we were two raindrop ripples merging. I put up no resistance to his pull, going along with him as easily as a fallen leaf landing in a forest stream. He must have felt it, for his eyes darkened as he leaned into my hand.

   “When you touch me,” he started with a rough, overcome tone, “it’s like rose petals at my bare feet, dewdrops on sweltering skin, and the caress of a meadow breeze. And when I sense you, here,” he placed his hand over my chest where my heart flurried, “I know a peace I never thought possible in this world.

   “You have a rare light, Mel, one which you freely share. Despite the dark storms threatening to blow it out, you don’t waver where others would. For as long as you’ll have me, I will stand between you and whatever strong winds come.”

   His reaffirmation of his vow made the unnamed swell of emotion spill over to track down my cheeks. He slowly shut his eyes as if he needed to clear his of tears as well though none existed on his face, as if he felt them as surely as I felt the echo of my touch on his cheek now phantomed on mine.

   It should be scary, having my awareness slide into his, like when I drifted from my body tonight. But this felt different, safe, comforting, and completely enthralling. It made me want to unlock every secret part of him and know him in his entirety. From the feelings of his that slowly drifted to me, which at first I just passed off as an echo of my own desires, made me start to wonder if he felt the same way.

   Maybe all this time, we were binary stars locked into an orbital dance round one another, at times on the distant ends of our elliptical circuits, but our paths would always circle us back. And just as inevitable, one day this gravity between us would pull us until twin stars became one.

   Already, his hands pushed back my sleeves to trail his tantalizing touch up my arms, making me gasp. His eyes flickered to my lips, a look so quick I think I might have imagined it. It felt like there could be nothing else with the way his deep green eyes became my sky as he looked down upon me. This time I knew the feeling which came through to be his. A tenderness wrapped around me, pure and unfiltered, like a warm cloak sheltering me from harsh winds.

   I let the sensation pull me in, so much so that I didn’t register the footsteps moving inside the manor. It wasn’t until the sudden light silhouetted him by the open door that I startled back to myself.

   Even though I’d removed my touch, his still lingered on my arms, and I felt my reactions delayed as I tried to focus on whoever stood at the entrance. Part of the problem, I quickly realized, was that they were entirely blocked from view by Fenris’ body. Why that was became swiftly apparent.

   “Messeres!” Bodahn exclaimed. “I had Sandal keep a lookout for you. Splendid to see you home.”

   I tilted my head to the side and suddenly Garrett’s housekeeper came into view.

   “The bath is drawn in case you have need of it,” here Bodahn eyed Fenris, “and I’ve served hot tea in your rooms to send you off to a sweet sleep. Heard you might have need of it, according to the mistress. Quite an evening you’ve all had.”

   “Oh, yes, quite,” I managed once I stepped away from Fenris’ hold to come inside, he following in at my back. “Thank you,” I said with a nod before tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear with my left hand.

   Bodadn gasped, then gave me such a happy smile I half-expected him to start clapping with glee. “So he did it! He asked you!

   My eyes were still adjusting to the brightly lit interior, but that wasn’t the main reason they narrowed. “Who did what?”

   Bodahn really did clap his hands together this time. “Lady Amell will be delighted. Congratulations! I will have to extend them to Messere Hawke as well. When can we expect his return?”

   “Not sure. He had to take care of some business at the Keep,” I said, still frowning even as Scrapper barreled down the hall to launch himself and his slobbery kisses right at my face. Fenris barely kept me from being knocked over, and instead of his signature smirk as he braced me by the shoulders, he frowned too. At least I wasn’t the only one confused.

   It wasn’t until Sandal poked out from behind Bodahn and pointed at my hands which were currently rubbing Scrapper between the ears with a awed, “Enchantment,” that I looked down.

   So did Fenris. His body went taut as he skimmed down my arms. When he reached my hands, his left lifted mine to the light, giving us our answer.

   “What’s this, amata?” Fenris asked lowly in my ear as his thumb brushed over the forgotten engagement ring.

Chapter Text

   In one of the many towns I moved to as a kid, one with a name as forgettable as mine, I found a secondhand shop where all the other forgotten things gathered dust. I had a stroke of good fortune earlier that day by discovering a soggy twenty dollar bill stuck in a slush berm, and so I decided to test that luck further by seeing what person’s junk could become my treasure. I’d pushed shirts without stains along the rack, tested coats that weren’t tight at the elbows, and even found jeans that weren’t well past the broken in stage. But it wasn’t until I’d started sorting through the shoes that I’d found what I hadn’t known I’d been searching for: neon orange ice skates.

   All winter I had watched kids at the pond. Everyone knew the pond. It was the social center of the town. In the summer there would be barbecues outside the shelters, races around the perimeter, and kids hurling themselves into the cool depths from the rope swing. Or, so I heard. I wouldn’t be around long enough to see for myself, I predicted, but I had seen the intense hockey matches, the occasional figure skater practicing moves across their icy stage, and of course, the epic games of tag.

   Back then, I was young enough that I thought I could break the pattern of how often everyone overlooked me. Maybe if I just created the right moment, I’d be welcomed. It would be like every successful baked good I’d ever made; I just needed the right ingredients to succeed. Here, I’d found it. I would have skates now so I could participate, and the bright color was impossible to overlook. Make it impossible to overlook me.

   With my new skates in hand, I arrived at the pond before all the other kids normally would. Perfect, this would give me enough time to learn how to skate, I naively thought. In reality, I spent that time trying to figure out how to lace up the skates correctly, then how to topple-walk to the ice’s edge. So focused on not falling, I didn’t realize that when the other kids arrived, they didn’t put on their skates, choosing to engage in a slush ball fight instead. I didn’t stop to remember that the last time I’d watched them skate was before the big rainstorm. I didn’t remember until I took that first step off shore, and instead of feet slipping out from underneath like I’d dreaded, the ice let me go instead. My ankles received a harsh jolt against the muddy bottom, my skates filled with freezing water, and the broken ice fractured out from where I’d broken through like poisoned veins.

   The shock of it was nothing to the notice I received, which did not come in the manner I had hoped. A boy paused in hurling his projectiles at his friends long enough to shake his head at me once, expression reading plainly: only a fool would get themselves in such a situation, for only one would try to skate the paper thin ice of winter’s end.

   That familiar feeling of foolishness swept over me now, for only I could’ve gotten myself into such a situation. Like the kid I’d once been, standing in the water till my feet went numb for the burning mortification on my face, now too I stood unmoving.

   I wanted to close my eyes and shut myself away from three sets of questioning ones. Not once, but twice tonight I had an as of yet unaccepted engagement get announced without my sanction, though this time, I could blame no one but myself. I’d left the ring on. Sure, I could rationalize it was because I shouldn’t be seen without it when exiting the Frederick’s mansion, to maintain the ruse, but that wasn’t the real reason. No, I loved the promise it held and the tingle in my thoroughly kissed lips. I’d let myself get caught up in Garrett, and when he receded, Fenris had been in place to sweep me away. Then it was echoes of his vow in my mind and feelings of tenderness in his lyrium touch.

   A touch, which now radiated tension as it gripped my ring-laden hand. What could I say so he would relax at my back? So we could return to the moment before the front the door opened?

   So, Fenris, Garrett proposed to me, only later confirming he had real feelings for me after announcing said unagreed-to-engagement to the noble class which also conveniently lent me protection from zealous Templars. Then we didn’t get farther than one hell of a kiss followed by a confession of feelings to detangle our knotted love lives before he got dragged off to wipe Kirkwall’s ass again. Then there was you, and I forgot everything else.  

   The rush of words were reminiscent of how after child-me had overcome my inability to move from where I stood in ankle-deep water, I’d jerked into motion, and stumbled onto the bank; I couldn’t rip the skates off in exchange for my boots fast enough to escape the hot press of judging gazes. I still felt their burn. That was one of my earliest memories of realizing sometimes it’s easier to be invisible than seen.

   I closed my eyes for one second to shut out the world, took a deep breathe, and put the past back where it belonged: behind me. I wasn’t that kid anymore. I had no reason to feel embarrassed and I wasn’t overlooked now either. No more reverse glamour charm isolating me. No more people only noticing me in my worst moments. Even though this was unexpected and complicated, I didn’t need to retreat into that old Earth-me. I didn’t have to apologize with a downward gaze and an explanation that sounded like an excuse. I knew now it was better to be seen.

   While sometimes my stunted social skills made me feel over my head, like I’d fallen through in the center of the lake and not on the shoreline, I wasn’t in it alone. Any relationship, by it’s nature, involved more than one person. Fenris remained with me now, just like he’d stuck by my side through so much, and I owed him the clearest version of events I could give.

   My first urge to explain I knew I couldn’t use beyond it sounding like an excuse; it made me sound like a bit of dandelion fluff blown about with no say on where I landed, which wasn’t true.

   Here’s what’s true.

   I loved Garrett.

   I loved Anders.

   And, that unnamed swell of emotion I felt around Fenris, could only be love too.

   Naming the feeling felt like putting a puzzle piece into place. The incompleteness I’d felt when Garrett first proposed to me in the ballroom faded when I added Anders and Fenris back in. The dream of the Amell estate lost its foggy lens, running like a home movie in my head. Like it could actually happen. No ancient desire demon’s magic necessary.

   Just me, and whatever I said next.  

   Fenris’ questioning of the ring wasn’t the ice giving way under me. But whatever words left my lips would be that first step on a fragile moment. Maybe I’d sink into murky depths. Or maybe it’d hold and I’d dance across the deep in a way child-me could only dream.

   I twisted to face him, never letting go of his hand. I had so much to say, but first, I needed to answer his question.

   “Garrett asked me to marry him,” I began in a soft voice though I might as well have been wielding my rusted sword and not words for the tension returned to him with a suppressed jerk.

   Fenris didn’t meet my gaze, his still locked onto the ring. The muscles in his jaw clenched slightly, just once, and then he lowered his hand to untangle from mine. It felt bereft without his, but not as much as my body when he pulled away from our gravity well to stride down the hall before I could say anything else.

   Bodahn tilted his head, the tension of the moment apparently lost on him. “Messere? I poured your bath upstairs,” he called to Fenris who disappeared into the kitchen.

   Not for the first time, I regretted how I’d run from Garrett before he could explain his proposal. Had he felt like he’d gotten punched in the chest? Did he suddenly feel like the air had been directly sucked out of his lungs? That his axis had been spun on its side? Cause that’s exactly how I felt.

   And like Garrett, I just couldn’t let things go.

   Like a link on a chain, I couldn’t help but be tugged along in Fenris’ wake. Not even Bodahn’s startled, “But, your tea?” could get me to look back. I couldn’t form words in response to such mundane things, not when Chantry bells rang in my mind. These weren’t the ones rung for weddings and holidays, but warnings. The only way to silence them was to eliminate the cause for alarm. It synced with the pounding of my heart as I bolted down the hall after Fenris.

   The door to the courtyard swung shut as I entered the dim kitchen, only lit by the cooling coals at the hearth and the moonlight pouring in from the open windows. Through them, Fenris’ silhouette came to a stop underneath the oak, face angled towards the leaves blotting out the stars. Then, he went as still as the tree. He did not stir even after I followed him out and came to a stop beside him.

   The bells inside clanged louder.

   I forced them to still, so I could think, find the right words.

   Fenris had his own to deliver.

   “Congratulations.” The word came out as light as a raindrop, but it hit like frozen water in ice skates. Nothing about it felt right.

   I haven’t technically said yes yet, I almost said, but bit the words back. They would’ve been wrong too. They implied I was uncertain about my feelings towards Garrett. I wasn’t. I loved him. Someday I might actually say yes to his proposal. That maybe-future held an appealing gleam. But that wasn’t my only dream. My feelings for Garrett didn’t negate my feelings for Anders or Fenris; I longed for them to have just as much a central role in my life as Garrett. That was what I really wanted to say, but the right way to say it felt elusive.

   Or maybe, they were being held out of reach by a familiar voice which questioned whether I had the right to want so much at all.

   For a moment, I let his congratulations turn cloying, shame sludging through me like treacle. Of course it should feel wrong, the voice taunted. Here I was thinking about my feelings for him when I was supposedly engaged to someone else. What did this say about me? Who was I to go from always ignored to not only craving the love of not one man but three? Wasn’t it terribly greedy of me?

   I wavered with the night breeze and looked at my feet, at the shadows underneath when I shifted my stance. I might have decided to cast caution to the wind when I kissed Garrett, but that was only a step. The next would have to address the deep seated insecurity which festered in me, otherwise I would never even come close to claiming the future I wanted. Xebenkeck hadn’t been wrong when she read the desires of my heart but neither was she wrong on the fears that held me back from pursuing them.

   The voice inside had started as a whisper, telling me love didn’t belong to me, that it would always be out of reach, and the reverse glamour charm and my mother’s actions reinforced it. Slowly, I became convinced it spoke truth. It was so persuasive when it told me I was only being realistic, that it was trying to protect me from getting hurt. If I just heeded it, then I could save myself from so much emotional fallout. I would be safe from pain.

   It was right, in a way. It told the truth, but only like the fae of old tales do. I was safe, and the walls I’d thrown up had kept out the bad, but also all the good. I might have been safe from rejection and heartache, but it kept me distant to possible friendships, safe from life defining experiences, and safe from love.

   I wasted years of my life believing its lies. No more. Love belonged to me, to both give and receive. Maybe it was unusual to love three people and want to be loved by them all back, but it certainly wasn’t greedy. How could it be considered selfish to want to give my heart to multiple people? Love wasn’t some limited quantity I had to hoard for fear one day it would run dry. If anything, I’d been digging my well for many lonely years, just waiting for the right people to share a cup with. I was right when I told Xebenkeck love is a gift freely given. I would give it.

   It being accepted was an entirely different matter.

   I had said nothing to Fenris’ congratulations, and he went on, as if there hadn’t been a pregnant pause where I’d gotten lost in my thoughts. “Hawke is a good man,” he said, as if he were trying to convince me of a decision he thought I’d already made. Or maybe, to convince himself. For someone supposedly congratulating me, he seemed unenthusiastic.

   “So are you,” I said. I felt the rightness of those words runs the length of me. I straightened as I looked up from my feet.

   They weren’t words Fenris had been expecting going by the slight downturn of his mouth. He had expected to establish a distance between us with rote words and formalities, but I wasn’t going to let him hide himself away. I knew that move cause I had invented it.

   Fenris looked up to the sky through the gaps between the leaves, as if the stars held the answer to his questing gaze. Maybe they did, for after a beat, his gaze went downcast. “No, Mel, I’m not.”

   That hadn’t been what I expected him to say either. I stepped closer, trying to get a read on his shadowed expression. My first instinct was to argue against what he said, but my denials wouldn’t do much when I had no idea where this idea of himself came from or why it weighed on him so heavily in relation to Garrett’s proposal. “Why do you think that?” I decided on, voice soft, tone alone communicating I didn’t believe for a second he wasn’t good.

   “You’ve seen what I’m capable of.” He turned his face so far into the dark, it became lined only by the white of his hair.

   Was this about how he almost ripped my heart out when we met? It was, wasn’t it? Nothing else came to mind. Well, fuck. I had wanted to tell him I forgave him directly back when he made his vow of protection to me, but didn’t since I worried I’d insult the honor of his pledge, so I had let it go; then I’d done so again when I’d only thanked him for his protection tonight. It was quite clear now that I really shouldn’t have.

   That first moment between us had been left untreated, so now it had festered; he blamed himself when he couldn’t perfectly protect me at all times, and then put himself in dangerous circumstances like he was a one man army to make sure nothing could touch me. Just like tonight, when he prepared to fight the Templars if it meant saving me, even if that meant sacrificing his life here in Kirkwall. Not exactly healthy behavior.

   That he made that vow to me and kept it meant more than he probably would ever know, but I needed to release him from it for his sake. First, I needed to start by releasing him from the guilt he kept himself shrouded in.

   “I forgave you for what happened at the clinic a long time ago. I don’t know what triggered it, who that he was you thought sent me, but I don’t think you would’ve done what you had if you didn’t think there was a good reason for it. And, as soon as you realized you didn’t have one, you stopped.” I held up my arms and extended them about to display myself. “As you can see, my heart is exactly where it belongs, and so are all my other parts, much of which is in thanks to your vigilant protection. The truth is that I would’ve never made it this far if it wasn’t for you.”

   I stepped so close he had no choice but to either lean against the trunk of the tree or into me. He chose me. My lips curved up as I placed a hand to his cheek, let the lyrium in his veins react with the power in mine, so he couldn’t escape sensing the sincerity of my words. “I know exactly what you’re capable of, which is why I know you’re good.”

   I felt him waver, as if he wanted nothing more than to believe me, but a truth he alone knew kept him from giving in. The shuttered expression from outside the Frederick’s mansion slammed over his face, and just as abruptly, he turned away from my hand, cutting our connection.

   “You shouldn’t forgive me,” he said with such cold intensity I rocked back on my heels. “You of all people know that those you trust can betray you.”

   He meant my mother. It could only be her. But that situation was completely different from what had transpired between us. With her I had been isolated from the world, all save her, so she became my world. When she tried to kill me, it broke something integral within, and it wasn’t until Thedas, until the three of them, that I’d begun healing that fracture.

   But Fenris, while I didn’t know exactly why he had been frightened of me, it certainly wasn’t a huge betrayal when he almost ripped out my heart. I mean, we were perfect strangers to each other. There was no trust to betray. And now, there wasn’t anyone I would trust more to look out for me. I meant what I said. There is no way he could ever do what Daria had done. Never.

   While his face might have closed off his thoughts from me, mine hadn’t done so in turn. His voice came out laced with sorrow, “Oh, but I could, Mel.”

   There was more to Fenris’ story. So much more than I had thought. Something played before his eyes I couldn’t see, and he went taut, just like when Xebenkeck plied him with a vision. Xebenkeck, who had clearly known him when she called him—

   “Little Wolf,” I breathed.

   Fenris flinched like I had just backhanded him. “Don’t call me that,” he snapped in my face, like he couldn’t resist feeding into the image of the wolf she claimed him to be despite his denials. A final stand of a lost war.

   Yet I didn’t sway in the slightest when his curled lips came within a sliver of mine, his hot huffs heating my frozen open lips. In him I saw the flash of the alley cat he helped me rescue in Darktown, all arched spine and hisses when backed into a corner, but no predator loping through the woods on the hunt. In a blink the image disappeared, but the one of him with a back burdened by memories too heavy to lift, even if so many of his had already been stolen, remained. He’d been laden with a name and pain that didn’t belong to him. I’d help lift them, if he let me.

   His shoulders curved inward before he sighed and turned away, like an apology for his behavior. Or, for the blow his next words would deliver.

   “He used to call me that. My master.”

   I made a sound that would’ve fit coming from a tiny house pet whose tail had just been trodden upon. I latched onto his arm, to anchor myself. I stepped closer, desperate to get a good look at his face, as if I couldn’t already feel the truth of his words through my touch but needed it spelled out in his eyes too. There it was, all of it, and suddenly so much made sense.

   He confirmed it, his voice a gavel. “I was a slave to the Tevinter Magister Danarius.”

   He said it in such a factual manner, as if the statement held no bearing on him, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes.

   “He made you get the tattoos,” I concluded, so much of his revelation from when we returned home making a sick sort of sense. I felt nauseous. It would’ve been one thing for Fenris to choose to get the tattoos for himself, but he had undoubtedly been coerced to get them, taking on the pain, risk of death, and memory loss with no choice in the matter.

   Bile filled my mouth and I choked it back just like I blinked the furious tears that wanted to leave scorching trails down my face. They were nothing to the heat in my breast threatening to explode. If Danarius ever met me, he’d leave knowing the pointy end of my dagger too.

   I had learned slavery was a legal institution in Tevinter the day I left Anders’ clinic. I had seen first hand how elves were treated like second-class citizens even in free places like the Free Marches. I’d witnessed Fenris’ disdain for magic and the hurt and anger that always dwelt under his surface but never questioned the contradiction of him being native to a country whose society placed magic on a pedestal. Even Xebenkeck had practically given me the answer to his past by asking if I wished to be his new master.

   All things considered, it seemed painfully obvious now. How had I not connected the dots?

   But there was one question whose answer wasn’t obvious.

   “Why do you think being a former slave has any bearing on whether you’re a good person or not?”

   “You said it yourself. Earlier today, to the demon,” he said and I frowned, recalling us exchanging quite a few words. “I am not ashamed of being a slave. I am ashamed of what I’ve done for my master while a slave. Even when freedom was within reach and he had no way to compel me, I still fell under his lure and committed acts that no good person ever could. For that, I cannot forgive myself, cannot trust myself. And, neither should you.”

   Fenris had gone mute down our connection, like he had folded up inside himself. Like tonight, when I had countered Xebenkeck’s offer with words I had used to assuage Garrett’s guilt over the tragedies of his siblings.

    If they hadn’t been able to make those decisions for themselves, can you really call that living?

   My lips parted and eyes widened. He nodded.

   Fenris had flinched away from my power’s touch, or so I thought. But actually, it had been my words. I had prodded an old wound in my face down with Xebenkeck. I understood that now, but didn’t know how the wound got there in the first place or how any of this was related to his retreat from me due to the marriage proposal. And he was shutting down again, as if that settled everything.

   Fuck that.

   I reached for him again but he intercepted my arm and spun me around so it was my back against the tree trunk. To move forward, I would have to press myself into his gauntlet clad fingers poised over my heart, suddenly thrumming with power.

   I stilled.

   “Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to try to tame a wolf? They’re known to rip out the throats of those who get too close,” he said, lips snarling but voice breaking.

   He wanted me to push him away. He thought that’s what he deserved.

   A push was what he needed too, but not in the direction he thought.

   His eyes fluttered shut in resignation as I raised my hands between us, but then they startled open as I brought his other to wrap around my throat.

   “So do it,” I dared.

   Though my pulse quickened with that vulnerable touch, my power did not stir, knowing as surely as I that Fenris would never hurt me. It only awoke at my prodding, to heat in my spare hand, which I laid atop the one he poised over my chest, igniting its phase ability. With but a fraction of a push, my heart would be in his hand.

   His angry facade dropped.

   He knew what I was giving him permission to do. He wanted this, but the prospect of what I would see made him want to run. I recognized the war in his eyes; the desire to be known, but the fear of being rejected for what is revealed. I wanted to see it, so he would finally know I meant it when I said he would always have a place at my side.

   “Amata,” he pleaded, but he did not pull away.

   “Maybe, ma vehenan, we’re just not close enough,” I said in response to his earlier taunt.

   His breath stuttered out, as if the act of breathing pained him. He closed his eyes for a second, the thumb at my throat rubbing a soothing circle, before opening them again to meet mine.

   The imprint of his green-eyed gaze stayed with me as his hand slid into my heart, and I slid into his memories.

Chapter Text

   There’s a rush, a sensation of falling, but this is no roll off the bed drop but the kind that feels as if I leaped off a skyscraper. The world has become a blurred backdrop, and the lyrium song roped around me as if it were a tangible thing.

   A five pronged thing. Five fingers and a palm clutching my heart and tethering me to him. He is in me, and I slip into him, glowing veins pumping me into his drumming heart.

   Then, I am him.

   In the space of a blink, I do not know my name. I do know where I am. I do not even know if I have a body. I am a thought in the darkness. An exhalation of air.

   A scream.

   That voice is raw, like claws carved rivulets on the inside of the throat. It sounds like it’s drowning in its blood. Slowly. Each labored breath struggles to fill bellowing lungs, make a stressed heart pump blood through rigid veins. Veins that are white hot agony, relentless lava carving runs down a mountainside. Sweat-drenched flesh. It contorts, trying to escape the manacles holding it spread on the ground, but even if the body’s strength could rip through iron, there is no escape from the pain except death.

   Death. Maybe it would be like the cool earth at its back. Like the darkness blanking out the room. Suddenly, it needs this one thing more than its next breath, would prefer now if it never comes. But despite the pain, death doesn’t come to deliver it to deepest darkness. It needs a shove, a push over into the final abyss.

   “Please,” the voice, surprisingly deep when not screaming, begs in Tevene. Its voice, it realizes. My voice. How do I know that language, that word, when I do not even know my own name?

   Excited pants echo in the sudden silence, punctuated by a rhythmic drip.

   “He will live, as promised. The bargain is fulfilled,” a feminine voice states, which turns purring at the end.

   “Then take the last of your payment and go,” a man says dismissively but his quick breathes cannot be fully masked. He is hungry.

   Almost as much as she. Her victim—the payment—must sense it, the desire for carnage thick in the air. There’s the start of a tearful plea but it’s ruthlessly cutoff, followed by slurping.

   She makes exaggerated swishing sounds, musing, “Fine vintage for a slave born in 9:17. Just aged enough to taste the longing for more than fuller plates, longer rests, and an existence without a close acquaintance with the cat o’nines. It saturates everything, the desire to live in lands heard of only in rumors. You’ve out done yourself with this one, Danarius. So finely brewed, I can parse out the specifics.” She hums, considering. “There! A note of open waters and a hint of humid jungles…oh, now this is an intriguing palate zinger. The Boeric Ocean. The Seheron!” She cackles. “Ah, but it’ll never quite realize itself in the Qun now, but that’s alright. It’s fulfilled its purpose.”

   There’s a flopping sound, and a small body falls into view onto the cold floor, now just as cold as it. Stark white, bloodless. Wide child eyes stare unseeing into mine. I wish that I could not see too. Wish that I didn’t have to remain on this plain either.

   A magenta-skinned woman with curled horns strolls toward where I’m pinned. A trickle of red runs from her smirking lips. A rush of want pours from her unnatural eyes. She is not satisfied. With a deep knowing, I understand, her desires have no limits. She will still gorge to try to reach them though.

   A talon cuts into my flesh, but it is a mild hurt compared to the agony still lancing through me. She brings a drop of my blood to her tongue, then groans. I whimper, but not in fear like the doomed child. This tasting is only a sampling, and if she means to consume me, I wish she would just do it already, so this torment ravaging me might end. I open my mouth, mean to beg her, but the one word I’d managed before cannot seem to form in the fog of my mind. Somehow, by the macabre grin she gives me, I know she already knows exactly what I want.

   Danarius has no such trouble finding words. “Enough, Xebenkeck” he barks. His hunger has been put on hold due to hers, and from his tone, I know he is not accustomed to waiting for anyone. Even a powerful demon.

   I don’t know how I know what she is. I have no memories from before the pain. It’s like it’s always been and always will be.

   Like this man, mortal he might be, will always be a lodestone in my life.

   Danarius comes to stand above me. His eyes seem as wrong as hers, though there’s no cat-eye slants or amber glow to mark them so; they’re such a light blue they almost glimmer in the dimness like the marks of white fire twining through my body, but that’s not quite it. It’s the way they dismiss the dangerous being at his back to brand me with a gaze straight from the forge. They tell me I’m his. The weight of his possession presses in as he looks me over, oily and thick and unwelcome.

   Xebenkeck’s eyes spark, like a hammer against an anvil, and I know with a certainty that she never planned to end me. Though she still wanted Danarius to think she might, which was obvious in the way she slowly pulled away; she wasn’t going to break her bargain, not because she couldn’t, but because she didn’t want to. Leaving me to my fate was a far greater entertainment.

   Suddenly, a second want blooms inside, almost as desperately as my first. I lunge toward her, a howl rushing out as my teeth snap too far from her throat. The smirk grows, for she knows I could never touch her, not with chains holding me back.

   But what if they didn’t?

   I do not know how I know how to do this, but the fire they put inside carries me forward, and not even the manacles can stop me. I pass through them as if they were air, my hands solidifying on the hand she chose to not show me mercy with. My own show her none, crushing down on it until it’s shards of bones and shreds of skin. She does not scream, like any mortal being would, only smirks till the stretched lips and too white teeth encompasses her face. She cannot even be bothered to pull herself from my grip, letting power pool in the man’s hands to slam me back down instead.

   “What a wild creature,” Xebenkeck says softly, delight coloring her tone. “It’ll be interesting to see all your new pet can do.”

   Danarius crouches now, but he’s not angry like his violent response suggests, only hungrier. He touches me, lightly tracing the markings thrumming beneath my skin, and it hurts, but it’s not as acute as the cutting edge of the demon’s talon, and yet, I fear him more than the blood drinking demon. He wants to own my death and everything I am leading up to it. I am an ashen plain where a forest once stood; he will turn my barren landscape into whatever he wills, and I know it’ll be worse than the fire he fed me to as fuel.

   He leans in close, not fearing my teeth or wraith-like hands, and fists my hair to tilt my head back to expose my throat to him. “Yes, it will, won’t it, Little Wolf?”

   The name, the first I can recall, feels like the center of a ripple, and all else is disturbed in its wake.

   And I am not Little Wolf. Neither am I Fenris, I realize as the memory fades, just Mel. But I can feel him though, just like when I slipped from my body at the Frederick’s party, like he is both a part of and adjacent to me.

   Too far back, is the only concrete thought I get from Fenris, as he yanks us forward. It’s not a precise thing, this walk through his mind, made all the more complicated by the maze of memory.

   The room has changed, but the darkness remains, coating ornate walls and ostentatious furniture that looks more like art pieces than a means to prop up one’s feet. There’s a warm breeze coming from the veranda, carrying with it the scent of lush gardens and the chirping of crickets.

   It should’ve been peaceful, a moment to breathe and release the tension gripping me with a vise after the horror of the last memory, but if anything, it worsens. Fenris’ trepidation spikes into denial then dread when he realizes where he’s landed us. He wants to flee and forget, and yet, he can’t turn away. Neither can I, and from my dive into Xebenkeck’s memories, I know I can’t alter what I witness. What’s past cannot be changed no matter how much I might wish it.

   The sound of heavy breathing becomes apparent. There’s no slumbering dracling by the door or some wild cat loosed from its menagerie kneading deadly claws on the rug, and yet, by the way my heartbeat stutters then ratchets up like a startled rabbit on the run, I know there’s a predator in the room. It takes me second to spot him, and when I do, I freeze.

   He hovers over his prey on the king-sized bed. I immediately recognize those unnatural light eyes slitted in bliss just as I do the emerald ones below him welled with pain, pleasure, and shame. The harsh grip of hands on hips undoubtedly will leave bruises so what’s done in the dark cannot be isolated in the mind as a nightmare in the morning. It’s done purposefully as a claiming mark, because of course he hears the muffled whimper come from the white-haired young elf beneath him, and yet, it makes him only rougher.  

   With each thrust and punishing touch, the oily feel of Danarius’ possession saturates deeper. Fenris cannot scrub it from his skin, just like the tattoos. He cannot move, because what would be the point? What if everything since had been a dream, and he had never really left this moment?

   Suddenly, he cannot breathe, like he had so desperately wished to cease doing in the previous memory. He tries to suck in air, but it’s like the oiliness of Danarius’s presence has funneled down his throat and into his lungs. The memory jerks with his panicked urgency but does not waver. He cannot get out. He cannot escape.

   He’s trapped.

   Trapped. 

   The thought comes so urgently it feels like a tug at the center of my chest, my power vibrating with the flare of his. And it is his, these thoughts overlaying the memory. He is so intertwined with me what is his is tangled with mine, and I hardly noticed since it felt so natural to let myself meld with him. He had swept me into his torrential thoughts as easily as a fallen leaf in an autumn wind.

   I yank my gaze away, feeling my corporeal body coil with rage, fingernails leaving half-moon imprints in my palms. It lessens the memory’s immediacy, reminds me that I cannot find the nearest, useless chair and put it to good use by smashing memory-Danarius over the head, no matter how satisfying it would feel. It wouldn’t do anything constructive, and I can’t waste a second. Fenris needs me.

   I pull at our threads snarled together, working to loosen his hold. Though I feel rage and sorrow and grief, the panic and pain belong solely to him. I extricate myself swiftly so I am only me within the memory, and then I am no longer subject to the way his body reacts to it. I can breathe despite the nauseating swell of emotions wanting to choke me, but he’s the one drowning.

   He’s a ghostly form beside me staring relentlessly at the scene playing out, breathes whistling out of his throat. He is not here physically, needing to breathe, but I can feel his heart thundering through our connection, his real lungs gasping for air.

   Panic attack. I’ve had a few myself after Daria tried to kill me. I know the signs. I remember the breathing exercises I’d use to calm and reorient myself back on Earth.

   I will myself to appear concrete and step in front of his vantage. I cannot undo what happened, but I can block out the worst of it. I hold out my hands slowly, so he can pull away from my incorporeal touch if he wants, but his manifested form only shudders and closes his eyes at he accepts my fingers on his cheeks.

   It’s only us and the air. Breathe with me, I think at him.

   My figment takes in a deep breath for four seconds, holds for four, and then exhales in six. Then I repeat it, hoping his own figment will sync with mine and calm his real body’s hyperventilation.  

   He tries, and after a minute, he finally opens his eyes, focusing only on my unwavering gaze. Every extreme emotion battering for my attention at what I’d witnessed Danarius do I shove down deep. I don’t want them to sweep him up like his did me. I would give them rein later for what I’d seen when I was alone. This isn’t about me. He doesn’t need my fury right now, but my steadiness. I will be his rock keeping his head above the waves just as he has done for me in my grief.

   Slowly, his breathing regulates and his heart rate decreases. His figure is almost solid beneath my touch.

   “You are not really here,” I promise aloud, my voice cutting through the noise of the memory. “He cannot hurt you now. He will never touch you again.”

   Because I’m going to fucking kill him. 

   He lets out a breathless laugh. So bloodthirsty. 

   I hadn’t meant to broadcast that last part, but joined as we are, it’s hard to keep any thoughts to myself. Even after pulling back into my own sphere of awareness, we still mingled together, like different seas merging. It’s incredible I’ve kept the maelstrom of my darkest thoughts from sweeping through him.

   Lightly, purposefully, I direct a thought to him. I think I get the appeal of the whole heart-ripping thing now.

   I feel the thread of his amusement, like the beam of a headlights piercing fog. One day it’ll be his I crush in my fist. There it is, the car belonging to the headlights, anger and violence and retribution. It sounds way more like the Fenris I know, and I grin in response. I look forward to the day he does hold the his heart in his hands. Hope he makes it worse than what he did to Xebenkeck.

   Earth-Mel would’ve been horrified at my easy acceptance of deadly revenge, but I am not the same woman I was months ago. That woman had never had anyone she loved hurt before. When I asked Fenris to train me to fight and he had challenged me on whether I had what it took to kill, the conversation had been theoretical. I knew I had it in me to hurt someone else if they threatened my people, but now I had a face to picture the next time I took a swing at a practice dummy. How I’d wish for blood and not straw when my aim proved true.

   I let him sense my understanding. Fenris must have sensed those violent thoughts too by the grin he flashes at me. It soon turns grim though, as his focus wavers over my shoulder, to what still goes on behind us.

   Is this why? I can’t let myself fully form the thought to him. Even suggesting it feels sick, but I need to know if this is why he thinks he isn’t good.

   Does he feel tainted by Danarius’ touch? Does he blame himself for what was done to him? Does he feel shame for ever deriving pleasure from what was forced upon him? Is he haunted by that man’s hands like the way I had felt Wright’s?

   Wright never got as far as Danarius, thanks to Garrett and Anders, and after his attack, I wasn’t left alone to turn the event over and over again in my mind, to rationalize and find fault with myself even though I wasn’t responsible for Wright’s dark act. But Fenris didn’t have that. What kind of self-loathing might have grown in such isolation?

   He seemed to know exactly what I was asking without me specifying. No, this isn’t why.

   That hard expression doesn’t waver, and I feel the iciness of his control close over him, but he doesn’t move from my touch. The noise around us fades through the exertion of his will, and then he focuses back on me again.

   I nod towards the door, and without looking back, he takes my hand and exits with me in tow, locks clicking into place as thick as a safe’s behind us on the memory. We will only go where he wills now. We step into a hallway colored the hue of aged paper. Then, the memories start flipping by us like pages in a book in the many doorways. There’s only flashes and they’re gone.

   Fenris practicing with his sword in an unfamiliar training yard. His cheekbones are a little too sharp, eyes red from lack of sleep. Sweat drenches his body, arms shaking, but at the end of his sequence of movement, he begins again.

   Fenris escorting a cold-eyed brunette in mage robes through a foreign market square. Another mage whose robes are much more extravagant smirks at her snidely when she greets him. As soon as he’s gone she snaps at Fenris, like whatever the man said was his fault, but he doesn’t react, like her words are nothing but wind.

   Fenris wearing his perfect blank face as he guards Danarius at a social function. One of the men grabs the ass of a passing slave serving drinks. Her eyes go wide but she finds no rescue in any of the eyes her pleading gaze connects with, even the emerald.

   Fenris boarding a naval vessel at Danarius’ side. A contingent of mages, soldiers, sailors, and slaves follow. Near all look proud when the Imperium’s flag is raised. Near all, save a graying elf, his wiry frame scarred and back bent. He spits when he thinks no one is looking. No one is looking, and he keeps looking until a voice calls for his “Little Wolf” to accompany him to his cabin.

   Fenris ducking under the spear thrust of the Qunari whose brute strength makes him over compensate, leaving his chest exposed. It’s the last mistake he will ever make since Fenris’ broadsword plunges through and just as swiftly withdraws, painting the island sand’s red. He plunges deeper into the fray, hoping to add as many of his own flourishes as possible to the Imperium’s communal mural. The crimson shades do not vary between Qunari, human, and elf, so much elf.

   Fenris rushing to the aid of a fallen soldier whose arm is twisted the wrong way and cannot raise his shield to block the death blow coming for his head. The soldier’s killer pays for that death with her own head; it rolls into the surf, horns anchoring it from washing away. Something about those glazed over eyes, vacant and lifeless, echoes his earliest memory. He goes as still as a certain child’s body once had. The perfect target for an enemy’s spear thrust whose tip bursts through between pauldron and chest plate.

   Fenris falling to his knees in the waves whose foam runs pink after it courses as high as his chest when it swells. There is nothing to hold onto anymore, not now when the overfull longboat he shoved away with his master on board scraped free of the beach’s bottom. Not now when the man who had held his life in his hands, who owned every second and breath, dropped him when his own became threatened. The familiar weight of his stare keeps Fenris on his knees even as the longboat eventually pulls alongside the vessel poised to retreat to open waters. The sound of distant battle traveling further away down the shoreline towards the city does not beckon him to join it, but the deep darkness he once so desperately craved does.

   We come to the end of the hall. Fenris takes a deep breath, counting the seconds like I had shown him how, then opens the door to another darkened room.  Everything is silent. Everything is still.

   Then softly, like the dawn, the memory brightens. First gray, then murky white. I can only see a little ways in front of me, and there, prone on a mat is memory Fenris, the wound from the spear bandaged, his body cleaned of dirt and blood. When he wakes, he reaches for a his sword which isn’t there. He glares at the man in the white mask who stands before him.

   “I assume I’m a captive then,” Fenris growls.

   The mask slides off, revealing chestnut warm skin and dimples when the elf smiles as softly as the patter of rain on the hut’s roof before he gently says, “Only if you choose to be.”

   “Vishante kaffas. That means nothing.”

   “Maybe not to you yet,” the elf responds, eyes lingering on the broadsword leaning against the far wall behind Fenris. Fenris turns to see what he’s looking at, then his own eyes widen at seeing his weapon within easy reach. He whirls back to face the elf who is still smiling, though his eyes are adrift in thought now when he turns to leave, finishing with, “but you will.”

   The memory flashes forward through Fenris recuperating, snaps of him eating and sleeping and then eventually pacing the confines of the hut. One morning, he clearly decides he has had enough of no answers for he clothes himself with his cleaned leathers, dons his sword, and cracks the door.

   No guards at the entrance. He opens it all the way and steps out, glancing side to side. His hands twitch for his blade but he hesitates in drawing. No one yells at him to get back inside. No bodies tense up at his presence. A few gazes brush over him with passing interest before they go back to what they were doing, from mending clothes and sharpening blades to sharing a cup of brew with a side of stories by the fire pit. Human, elf and the occasional Qunari mingle together, all dressed in white. No one bows to another. All meet each others’ eyes.

   The elf who greeted him when he woke approaches and offers a cup of brew. Fenris cautiously accepts. He sips the drink like it might scald him as he roves over the others like they might be waiting to spring a trap. But no magisters pull strings with blood magic and no Ben-Hassrath lurk in the shadows.

   “I’m Heron,” the elf says, “and we are the Fog Warriors. We’d like to ask you to join us…” he trails off in invitation.

   Fenris finishes his drink before responding. “I am Fenris and I am…”

   …a slave

   …a bed-warmer

   …a weapon

   …my master’s abandoned wolf cub

    A new light sparks in his eyes and his lips part.

   “..am free.”

   The memories pick up again.

   Fenris joining the Fog Warriors for a meal, but making sure his back is always to a wall or tree.

   Fenris replacing threshes on a hut’s roof, but his sword is never removed from his back despite the awkward maneuvering it demands with remaining.

   Fenris smirking at a joke told in Qunlat to another Fog Warrior, but he goes blank-faced when the Qunari teller glances at him, and Fenris asks her if she needed anything in Tevene.

   Fenris going on patrol through the jungles with a contingent of others, all eyes seeking the trail of a fire reported peeking through the mists during the pre-dawn hours. All signs pointing inland, but his eyes kept drifting to the sea’s empty horizon.

   Fenris studying the white clothes Heron quietly hands him. He takes off his leathers, and shirtless, reveals his might-have-been-mortal-wound which has healed into a scar. His fingers brush over it gently like it might still be tender, and yet, it’s his tattoos he’s careful not to brush.  

   The memories fade again, and it’s like the quiet before the curtain rises. Then Fenris thinks to me in a fervent rush, like we are sitting inside a confessional booth.

   I’ve never admired a people more. They stand united in custom and love of their fog-laden land, giving no credence to ideas of a single race’s supremacy. They fight for their home against crushing odds and continue to prevail. They use the natural landscape to their advantage, to move with the mist and blend with the fog. Their warrior cells are near impossible to track and harder still to crack. But they are not impenetrable. Their weakness is not knowing when the sick creature they’ve brought in to care for cannot be cured, that they should’ve let it bleed out on the shoreline, for it’s a rabid wolf.

   He means him. Because he did not fully embrace the life of the Fog Warriors? No, that couldn’t be it. It had to be something more. He wouldn’t hate himself for being hesitant, for being pulled in two different directions, one towards the life he had always known, even if was it filled with pain, and the unknown, which held the promise to explore what freedom meant but was filled with uncertainty.

   If he had chosen the latter, we wouldn’t be here now. He never would’ve come to Kirkwall. He would never hate himself the way he does. But he does, because he chose the former, didn’t he?

   It’s my turn to feel the trepidation build, no denial for me but all dread. He compared himself to my mother, who tried to kill her only daughter. What if…

   What if Fenris killed what once was his only friends?

   I feel like I’m at a roller coaster’s apex just before the drop as the memory picks up anew.

   Fenris patrols in the misty jungle, blending in with his surroundings as seamlessly as his three compatriots. He keeps looking around, more prey-like than predator. Like he knows danger is lurking, he just doesn’t know what direction it will come from. His hands play at the handle of the broadsword at his back, bare feet ghost-quiet on the forest floor. He moves like that until they reach the beach, peeking at it from behind a veil of fronds.

   And there, the high tide cannot quite hide the trail of footprints leading from the waterline to the trees. The other warriors close in to where the trail meets their cover, and as they search for clues, they note an unusually thick clump of foliage. Three pairs of hands make quick work of uncovering the hidden longboat.

   A longboat of Imperium make.

   It could be a scout, but Fenris knows better. Pressure clamps down on his chest and he cannot breathe deep. He hardly dare breathes at all. Just existing will give himself away, and that is the only thing that will keep him from him, just as he has known from his earliest memories. But he knows the bright parts of living now, and it isn’t all pain, so he hesitates when his hand hovers over his own chest to enact the extreme. Death is an easy exit from a living nightmare, but if he takes that route, he loses all the color of the waking world.

   For months he has felt torn between his old life and new, and yet the thought of having no life, of becoming a face with a blank, unblinking stare, is a horror to him. It even rivals the one he knows he will face, the choice his master will give him if found. It won’t be a choice at all, for no matter how many months he has spent apart from him, he will never be free. To be free of him he would have to be willing to die, by his own hand or killing the one who had been his life.

   A flurry of other possibilities to the choice fly out of reach, each more impossible than the last: running away, calling in warning to the other warriors to run or fight, and even turning his blade against the light-eyed monster who must lurk in the brush.  

   Who does stand poised behind him, he realizes when the hair at the nape of his neck stiffens, marking him with a barely leashed hunger.

   “Hello, Little Wolf,” the human predator says, eyes glinting with feral pleasure as power pools in his palms. “Time to come home.”

   It’s like shackles suddenly appear on his limbs. Like just realizing they’d always been there, he’d just forgotten their existence until he tried to move beyond their reach. He’d only been set aside, not released. Never free. Danarius was everything: master, commander, tormentor, lover, oppressor, and provider. He was his to protect, to follow, and his reason for existence. How could he ever think even for a moment he could be anything without him?

   “Fenris,” a warrior calls. She hasn’t heard the exchange with Danarius. She doesn’t know of the earthquake splitting the world at their feet. Doesn’t know that the man who gifted him the name she now calls out again stands only a pace away, still hidden by the dense foliage.

   Danarius does not try to hide himself though, for even if he’s outnumbered, he knows he is not out-armed. To pretend to be anything other than a powerful magister come to collect his wayward weapon would be wasted energy, and he prides himself on his efficiencies.

   The warrior freezes when she sees the unexpected, solitary mage, but it is a momentary thing. She recognizes her enemy, one of the two empires forever trying to take her island home. She must know why Fenris has been unable to act with the way he cannot meet the mage’s eyes. So she acts for them all and draws her sword with a cry.

   A part of Fenris cries out in return, for he feels the shackles fall away, but he is as bound as he ever has been.

   He does not yell at her to stop. He doesn’t halt the scene from unfolding in any half-measure way, like pushing her away or grabbing her arms. When he draws his sword like his instinct demands, he doesn’t even try to block her downward swing. No, he just halts all of it by a single, devastating cut of his own, just like he had been trained his entire remembered existence to do.

   A blade with a set of hands still grasping it falls to the earth. Though it only makes a muted thud, it feels like the crash of a thousand waves, washing away all chance at a different choice. He has done this thing, mutilated this woman who had smiled to him in greeting as they passed each other in the mornings, who liked to tell jokes in Qunlat, who liked to sing bawdy songs under her breath as she wove tapestries. She tries to make a sound, but no song would ever pass her lips again, only blood. She collapses, a louder thud than before, but he can’t hear with the way he crashes with the waves in his heart. Can’t look away as blood spurts from her stumps.

   Maybe it’s not too late. Maybe he can stop this avalanche from sliding down the mountainside. He drops to his knees beside her, unmindful of the dark pool already outlining her form.

   “Fenris,” Danarius speaks, and he stiffens to listen unlike when she called his name, unlike with anyone ever before. “Finish it.”

   The command burns through him. He opens his mouth to argue but no words come. This is his master, and he knows better to speak out of turn. Yet, he always did like him on his knees, begging. And that’s what this is, when he turns pleading eyes up towards him: begging against the inevitable. For mercy. But there is none, never for him.

   But maybe for her. She gurgles her last breathe, then there is no more. No more suffering, no more pain.

   But no more smiling, no more joking, no more singing. Nothing.

   There’s a scream building inside him, one he has swallowed for a decade, but it’s demanding daylight, an audience.

   For they have one of those now. Another warrior stumbles into the grove, clearly having heard some of the commotion and abandoned the longboat in favor of investigating. He looks confused at first, Fenris unharmed with an unarmed magister at his back, one of his compatriots bled out in the dirt. Then it turns to shock, when he realizes what Fenris has done. He lunges, and Fenris lets him come, let’s the strike almost end everything, but despite everything, he still wants to live. Like he actually deserves to.

   He rolls out of the way, all trained instinct taking over. He is in too close quarters for his sword, so when the warrior comes again, he unleashes the power his master gave him, the tainted agony beneath his skin, and becomes a wraith-like being which no steel can cut. Then his fingers finds its home, just as it always does, beneath sinew and bone. Then the man’s heart is in his hands, and his own is a dead thing in his chest.

   He does not think he can feel anything ever again, for he does not even shiver when Danarius walks up behind him and cards his fingers through his hair, petting him like Ferelden lord would his war hound. “Good,” he says. “Just one more. Then we can forget all this and go home.”

   Two lies his master innocuously speaks as means to soothe and which do no such thing.

   One, Fenris knows now that Danarius’ estate was never home, but neither was the Fog Warriors’ cell. Home should be a place his soul feels peace. Where he should be inspired to defend without hesitation, where he can relieve himself of his constant guard.

   Secondly, Fenris will never forget this. Not until he is dead. If there is something beyond death, then not even then. This is imprinted in his mind like the lyrium runs beneath his skin. Permanent. Forever.

   Home is but a fantasy, and going back to who he was an hour before impossible. There’s only one way he can deal with what he’s done, to attempt to forget, and that’s to leave Fenris behind. Now he is Danarius’ tool, his Little Wolf, and nothing more. Just like he’s always been. Maybe he should’ve completely embraced it long ago. Then this nothingness could’ve greeted him like an old friend. Even now, he releases the scream silently into that void, till not even its echo can reach him anymore.

   He feels nothing when Danarius releases his fist of hair so he can stand and reach for his sword, its weight an extension of his own arms. He is nothing but the ears which tracks the near silent pair of feet closing in on their location, the heels on which he pivots to meet them, the stroke of his sword when he splits the approaching person’s clavicle.

   When he deals a blow that spells death to Heron.

   The elf’s pristine clothes splatter with blood, stark even against his quickly paling flesh and the white of his eyes which still gape at the steel crunching free of his bones. He crumples, and with a whimper, so does Fenris. He is a sword broken, as broken as the bodies surrounding him.

   He lied to himself as much as Danarius had him. He cannot just be a tool thinking only of his master’s wants. Not like he had once before. He knows too much now. He knows what it means to choose when he sleeps and eats and works. He knows what it’s like to brush gazes with another and not reflexively look down. He knows what it’s like to say no to an advance and that being the end of it. He knows what the final look Heron gives him means, and he knows he doesn’t deserve what’s etched on his face: forgiveness.

   The softness of Heron’s features in death are not the wide unblinking eyes of a child sucked dry by a demon. It’s the distant, far off look of a man in another time and place. And that’s where Fenris goes, to the time when he first woke up in that hut, when Heron wore a secret smile and told him he’s a captive only if he chooses to be.

   Finally, he understands.

   He wonders if the fog that has descended upon the grove is Heron’s final gift, and if it is, he does not plan on wasting it, even if he doesn’t deserve the cover it brings. So while he cannot see the bodies closing in, he can hear them, and knows it’s not the remnants of the cell. His months on the island amongst the warriors has attuned him well to the sounds of the jungle, and he knows the snapping of branches does not fit within the normal cacophony. These are a different form of hunter than what normally skulks these woods, for their hunts are only successful when they take their prey alive.

   But the slavers won’t. Not this time. Fenris knows he isn’t worthy of freedom’s gift, but he can’t let himself be taken in by Danarius again. He knows exactly what kind of destruction the man would wield with him as his weapon. The evidence lies scattered by their feet.

   Fenris reaches for his fallen sword and stands. Then, he stares at Danarius right in the eyes. His gaze does not waver when Danarius’ blinks in surprise, a lapse the man tries to cover, but Fenris saw it. His master is not infallible, like he pretends.

   Oh, he had Fenris fooled there for minute, striding in to confidently claim him, like it is destined that Fenris return with him. He had been so easily swayed by the show. But that’s all it was, a performance. The flaws of the magic trick were easy to spot if he had only really looked. Did he think Danarius rowed himself to shore? When had the man exerted himself in any kind of manual labor? He did not arrive on this island without protection and insurance that his prize would come with him. He wanted to make Fenris come to heel like he had been trained to do, but he hadn’t known it was inevitable like Fenris thought. If Danarius had, he wouldn’t have brought slavers to surround the glade to trap him in case he rebelled.

   Because rebellion had always been a choice. Heron had been right. Fenris would be a captive forever unless he chose freedom.   

   He chooses it when he spins around and darts into the trees. He chooses it when Danarius calls him by name and he does not stop like his body quivers to do. He chooses it when he dodges grasping hands and debilitating blows. He chooses it when he embraces the fog and melds with the island, silent as a jungle cat as he loses his pursuers. He chooses it all the way across the island, where he stows away on a fishing vessel to the mainland, and then again on a merchant ship all the way to the Free Marches. He would keep choosing it, he decides, so when Danarius comes for him again, he could make the hard choice that faced him before.

   Then the only dead heart would be the one which had so thoroughly corrupted his own.

   The memory slows to a stop like a ballerina in a jewelry box pauses mid twirl. There’s nothing more he has to show me. No more old thoughts overlaying memories. All the evidence has been presented, and now, he awaits my verdict. He doesn’t try to defend himself. His figment hovers over where Heron fell, his face a mask but I can feel everything he does. The guilt, shame, regret, grief, and self-hatred covers him like a shroud, as if the sentencing has been skipped and he awaits the hangman’s noose. I want to tackle him free of his judgment, but I don’t want to knock him from his precarious balance. Don’t want to close him off completely like a final breath.

   Fenris.

   He does not look to me. I know he has to be able to hear me, but it’s like he is as trapped as he felt in the earlier memory, only instead of past traumas snagging him, he is throwing up walls so nothing else can get in between him and what he thinks condemns him.

   Fenris, please.

   There’s a flicker of awareness. The tether between us is strong, reinforced by his oath to protect me, and he is not immune to my tugging on it. I will pull until my hands are rubbed raw. Is this determined desperation what he felt when I floated away from him at the party? He isn’t separated from his body, but this shutting down of his feels just as dangerous as he buries himself in past.

   I won’t let him suffocate himself. He needs fresh air, a reminder of the beautiful bits of life like the ones which stilled his hand from ending his all those years ago in that jungle. He is right that he won’t ever forget what happened here, but he doesn’t need to stay and stare it in the face. I learned with Xebenkeck this evening that the past cannot be altered, but I also learned they’re navigable, and I know just where to sail us.

   I send my power out in a wave, washing away the scene before us, and then like a riptide, I pull Fenris out with me. Out the room and down the memory hall we speed till no more walls bind us. I take him from dark torture chambers and darker still bedrooms. No decapitated heads in the surf and no trails of footprints in the sand. No ships on the horizon and no unnaturally light eyes.

   Just a cottage by the water.

   Fenris startles, like waking from a dream. Where are we? 

   I’m not sure, but I lived here for a brief time when I was very young.

   A small part of me is disappointed he doesn’t know this place, not that I really expected that he would. This place always felt like a haven, a picturesque time in my life when everything made sense. When I had a father who held me and a mother who sang in the mornings. When I first had a home. I return to it in my mind when the world is too much, but I wish for someone else to recognize it as a real place too so it doesn’t feel so much like a dream. Sometimes, when I used to lay my head down to sleep back on Earth, I’d dream that when I woke I’d be back at the cottage. Like maybe I had gotten lost and just needed directions to find my way back. Then everything could be simple and safe again.

   Fenris looks around, curious but careful, as he absorbs my filtered explanation. The lake’s waves are gentle against the sand. A light breeze sends the tall grass interspersed amongst the rocks waving just like the smoke from the chimney. A frog breaks its camouflage where it blended at our feet to leap into a parting of reeds.

   A heron walks gracefully through the shallows. It pauses mid stride like it can actually see us here within my memory. Something familiar gleams in its gaze before in a flurry of feathers it takes to sky, as free as the wind upon which it glides.

   A breath shudders out of Fenris and he closes his eyes. I take his hand and squeeze. He finally looks at me, and diluting the toxic swirl of emotions he targets at himself, is a touch of wonder. As if he can’t possibly believe that I am still here with him despite everything he has shown me.

   We walk to the water’s edge, wet sand clinging to our bare feet. When we’re knee deep, his figment pulls us to a stop. “Why? Why are you still here? You’ve seen it. Everything.” He starts to turn his face from me, but I pull on our joined hands.

   A hundred responses dance on my tongue but not a single one sums up everything I want to say. Like to forgive himself, as Heron wanted. To not be a captive of the past. To know he always has choices. To love himself.  

   But he’s not there yet. With his excessive drinking, the rotted mansion, and the way he risked himself with no regard to his own safety to save me, it should have been obvious long before he doesn’t value himself highly. And if he doesn’t, how can he imagine that anyone else ever could?

   He is so focused on the terrible, what he has wrought and what has been wrought upon him. On all the choices he could have made differently, and all the ones taken for him he never had a chance to change. Never all the good. Not the unbridled laugh he too rarely displays. Not the dry jokes he inserts into his friends’ badminton banter. Not the way he guards those in his circle with a fierceness that Danarius could never inspire. Not in the way he shows me what it means to be cherished.

   I lead us deeper into a swell and he follows. My figment doesn’t tense up in fear. It’s only a memory, one where the underwater world is colored as one of discovery and light. And with him, I feel safe. He must know he is with me too, or he wouldn’t have exposed his most vulnerable self. His fist might be enclosed on my most vital organ making this memory walk possible, but it’s his heart in my hands. I’d never crush it.

   And he may not trust himself, and finds himself unworthy of acceptance, but he doesn’t yet realize that I already do. I just need to show him.

   I know just how.

   I surreptitiously let go of his hand and stride further in, only to topple forward into the waiting waves like my foot had hit a hidden rock. I hold my breath as cold water envelops my figment, as a residual tendril of anxiety cords around my spine and freezes limbs, even though logically I know I don’t need air at all.

   I don’t need to talk my suddenly useless arms into flailing myself upright when a long second ticks by and nothing happens because on the next a strong pair scoops me up out of the water and cradles me against an equally strong chest. In a few strides I’m laid out on the sand and Fenris is over me, wiping my soaked splay of hair from my face.

   He came after me, just like I knew he would. Just like he needs to know he would.

   I grin up at him. His brows furrow, confused at my strange reaction from being submerged in water. Well, strange for me anyways, but I can’t suppress the joy as I realize what I mean to him. What he doesn’t yet realize I am by his own words.

   Because what would he call it when he rushes to defend me without hesitation?

   When he lowers his guard with me like with no other?

   When he touches my heart and feels an impossible peace?

   When the place he wants to be most is by my side?

   Home. I’m his home.

   Because he doesn’t want to exist in my periphery. He wants inside. He wants to finally arrive to the place he has never known. His greatest fear is that I’ll see him outside, wanting to curl against my hearth, but he’ll be barred from knowing my warmth when I realize what I’d be letting in.

   But I already know.

   My hands find his cheeks, and he stills at my touch. I widen our connection, opening the door, as I answer his question.

   You’re as much my home as I am yours.

   His eyelids flutter close and he pulls one of my hands away. My heart feels like it might beat out of my chest, but then he places a tender kiss in the center of my palm as his answer to my invitation, and then my heart just as suddenly feels like it could stop. It doesn’t get to make up its mind, not when emerald eyes are on me again, brimming with emotion, and it’s the only warning I receive before his lips are on mine.

   We come together like the waves meet the shore, surging forward fervently before languidly retreating. It’s like being submerged all over again, but not a part of me minds being unable to catch my breath. I want him to steal each one and gift them back to me in return.  

   I feel his lungs inflate and mine exhale and our blood is a flash flood in our veins. He is my sky and I his earth. My hands grow upwards like leaves seeking the sun as they twist in his hair. His strike the ground on either side of my head like lightning bolts from the heavens. I gasp into his mouth as his power sends delicious shivers over my skin. He groans in response and presses his body into mine which molds into the sand.

   But sand doesn’t rub my back but tree bark. I blink and the cerulean sky is replaced by star studded cobalt. In the darkness I see the outline of the courtyard before we dip back into memory’s blinding day. It’s like remnants of dreams, a watercolor caught in the rain, so I let the cottage by the water fade for reality. As we rediscover our physical bodies. We don’t need visions and dreams and memories when reality is his fingers skimming the skin above my navel, his lips exploring the expanse between jawline and collarbone, his hips rolling into mine.

   My lids had flickered shut to savor the sensation, but the sight is too sweet to resist. When I part them again for a glimpse, I gasp at how the courtyard has brightened. How we’ve illuminated the place with the glow coaxed awake in my breast, answering the lyrium song lighting up his tattoos. We’re haloed, the darkness unable to encroach between us.

   I refuse to let any of it back in. There will be nothing but what we give, and I plan to draw from the well of love I’ve stored for so long and give it to him until it washes clean every bit of himself he hates. Until he can see himself the way I see him. Worthy. Lovable. Precious.

   He’s all of those things, and though he so often presents himself to the world as unassailable, he’s really as fragile as me. He’d told me once what he felt when he first touched my heart. He described me as a bloom he almost crushed. What he never realized, is that nestled in his own chest, is flower of his own he’d never let grow, shrouded from sun and deprived of rain.

   No more.

   When I tilt his face towards mine again to claim his lips, I place a hand on his chest and let my power pour into him. Down to thirsty roots it goes, to a youth whose first memories of the world were painted with pain, and brings the cool relief of peace. My power works like gardener’s fingers as they show him the thoughts which grow like weeds, like the one which tells him his past dictates his future. I let my power’s light beckon him to blossom, let him know he doesn’t have to curl his petals in tight, that he can always unfurl with me.

   As I do for him.

   I keep the connection wide so he can hear my thoughts and feel their truth so he cannot doubt me when I tell him: You are worthy of mercy, grace, and a future. You deserve happiness. And if you cannot love yourself yet, let me.

   Fenris feels like a young sapling swaying in a strong gale, shaking above me, as I show him. For it’s not just for his moments of humor, bravery, or acts of consideration, but every bit of himself he sees as irredeemable. There are no parts of him I do not embrace. No parts of him I do not wish to know completely. I accept him as I’ve always wanted to be accepted.

   All of you, I love.

   The strength of that confession sends him backwards on his hands, both of us heaving. When our connection breaks so does our shine. Shadows return to the courtyard, but they can’t erase the lightening sky of the nearing dawn. It’s enough to reflect off the single tear streaking from one of his wide eyes.

   “You can’t possibly,” he whispers in a strained voice, for his denial is just as strained. He knows I couldn’t lie to him when we were connected. The only lies that can be told now are the ones he tells himself. The truths I’ve given him contradict everything he has believed about himself.

   The denial some might find frustrating, but for my entire life, I’ve believed love could never belong to me either. I feel nothing but empathy as his eyes dart around the courtyard as if to reestablish balance while a hand rubs at his chest where I’d connected us. It’s less like he’s trying to loosen an ache but hold onto a foreign feeling.

   “I can. I do.” I hold up my left hand to display the engagement ring. “I love Garrett. I love Anders. And, I love you. If that doesn’t work for you, I will accept whatever boundaries you set. But, if you want me too, then know I’ll be here, waiting.” In a softer voice, I promise. “I’ll always be here.”

   There’s intense longing on his face. He’s had a glimpse of home, of what it could be like with me, but he doesn’t yet cross the threshold. His history tells him the door will slam in his face if he makes that final move.

   “Mel, I…” His finger flex at his sides as if he might reach for me.

   I want him to reach for me. I want him to accept my heart which I’ve placed in his hands. I want to tell him the hundreds of things I had wanted to say before, now that he knows the most important one.

   And yet, when he stumbles back a few steps in a daze, I don’t call him back. I let him go through the kitchen door and leave me alone under the oak with my hope for the day he comes to hold me to my promise. When he returns to my door, tries the handle, and for him, finds it unlocked.

Chapter Text

   Leandra was a traitor, and she didn’t even look guilty about it. She patted the pocket where she had tucked the still sealed envelope from Lord Cornellis before she made her excuses about checking on the tea—her overused go-to—and abandoned me to the gaggle of noblewomen in the sitting room.

   Felt more like a gallery with the way they scrutinized. The blue dress I had hastily donned at Leandra’s frantic urging only minutes earlier was mused on like one would an artist’s work. Did the pale blue pronounce my dark hair or did it make my skin pallid? Did the cut flatter my figure or did it drape me like a child hiding in the curtains? Was the the material and craftsmanship quality or was it as dubious as my origins?

   Because that’s why they were all here. Everyone wanted to know about the woman who got engaged to Kirkwall’s most sharply armed—both verbally and literally—bachelor and seemed to be so inclined as well when she crashed the party of the season by stabbing a demon on the dinner table. I had become the most sensational story of all Hightown. The “den of sharks” as Garrett once so succinctly called the nobility hadn’t even waited 72 hours before they couldn’t resist the scent of blood and followed its trail to my front door. They might be fluttering their calling best fans or folding hands daintily in laps but that didn’t mean they weren’t hiding talons. If I gave them an opening, they would cut to the kill, then coo about it later among themselves as if they were more an innocuous flock of pigeons than vultures.

   I really did miss the reverse glamour charm sometimes.

   I gave a polite smile to the gathered women and lied, “Welcome to my home.”

   One silver-haired lady raised a brow at that. The audacity of my claiming the Amell Estate as my home before I had Garrett’s last name. Oh the impropriety! Felt like I had stepped into a Jane Austen novel only without the witty observations but all of the oppressive norms. Yay. Oh, but on second glance, the woman did look suspiciously like the same woman who had fluttered her eyelashes at Garrett at the Frederick’s, so she might be wanting to indulge on more than the hottest gossip despite being as old as his mother.

   I swallowed my sigh as I stared at the central seat of the room left open to me as if arm and leg straps might suddenly appear once I sat down and settled in. It wasn’t until I got comfy—no perching at the edge of my seat like I had a board tied to my back for me—that I noticed the contingent of women who hadn’t found theirs. Who stood behind the backs of some occupied chairs, demure where their counterparts were coy, clothes simple and practical where the others’ were a live fashion show. Who were obviously maidservants of some kind and I had been too thick to notice.

   But notice I did now, especially the one who held a box that I knew must contain some ridiculous hat from when Leandra showed off my new wardrobe to me. Who brings a servant to wait on them at someone else’s house? And to do nothing her mistresses couldn’t do herself like hold her silk gloves or carry her useless hat? It was more ridiculous than the hat presumably must be to need such a large box.

   I made eye contact with the young woman and made a gesture to one of the many still empty lounges. “Please have a seat.” When the woman blinked at me as if she wasn’t quite sure if she was being addressed, I smiled brighter and swept my eyes over all her compatriots. “All of you. make yourselves comfortable.”

   I had left no doubt, and the servants blinked between their mistresses and then me, obviously hesitating over what the exact social protocol should be. Remain standing and offend the lady of the house their mistresses’ were guests in? Or sit side by side with their mistresses like they were their equals?

   They were, of course. Money and titles and race had nothing to do with their worth, but the silver-haired lady opened her petty little mouth to no doubt reinforce the notion they were not and I wasn’t about to have any of it.

   I cut her off with a beatified smile that bared my canines. “This is a sitting room. Pointless to have one if we don’t use it for its intended purpose. Don’t you agree?”

   Clearly she didn’t agree by the way her eye brows formed a sideways S shape on her forehead, but she seemed to think better of sidetracking the reason she had led this force to a stranger’s residence and invited themselves in: me. She gave a smile that equaled mine and paired it with a delicate shrug, and then the servants rushed to find seats as unobtrusively as possible.

   “It is a lovely room,” she said neutrally, not taking a moment to assess the space in question. She almost hid the curve of a lip when she asked, “Do you plan to make any redecorating changes when you become Lady Hawke? Perhaps feature some styles common to where you’re from?”

   Oh yeah, I’d like to feature a router, modem, and a functioning satellite in orbit, but alas, those items were simply out of this world. I at least hid my smirk at her poorly concealed attempt to wrangle details about me when I indifferently responded with, “I don’t have any grand changes in mind. But one does occur to me now since you all seem to know my name.” Ha, wonder why. “I’d surely like to know who I’m sharing the room with.”

   The woman’s face flamed at her social error. So determined to dig into me, she had forgotten what of herself she would need to share. But she hid her embarrassment swiftly. She tutted, like it was her servant’s error, who scurried over to provide a calling card.

   “Lady Marinne du Fophe,” she overly pronounced her Orlesian inherited surname, obviously pleased about her roots across the sea. Yet, I had a feeling if she had to partake in the Game with the likes of the Orlesian court with players like Leliana, she wouldn’t fare well. At least in Kirkwall, she was a big fish in a small pond, and I was the foreign one entering her school.

   I nodded in acknowledgement and set the card to the side, hoping against my better judgment that I wouldn’t need it after today. Hoping this interaction wouldn’t have to last more than an hour, really. I already felt a headache brewing, unlike the tea which I was absolutely certain was fictitious at this point. Damn you, Leandra.

   “What brings you to see me today?” I asked like I didn’t already know the answer. This seemed to also catch Marinne off guard, but I wasn’t practiced in small talk, even from my time on Earth. Marinne’s eyebrows lost their S shape entirely, trying to disappear somewhere beneath her hairline.

   “Serah Hawke,” tittered a young lady from the corner whose layer of cosmetics couldn’t manage to age her past 18 years at best. Her couch companion, who shared a keen resemblance, elbowed her into silence, sending the other girl’s tight ringlets bouncing about her face. The blush confirmed her sister’s blunt words though.

   Marinne clutched her fan like Gandalf did his staff in the face of a fool of a Took. “You’re new in town,” she gritted out. “Only right for us to come get to know our new neighbor.”    

   “Of course,” I said as I tucked non-existent stray hair behind my left ear, flashing the room the engagement ring, and pretended I didn’t notice the sisters’ sharp inhales. “Please, tell me about yourselves.”

   Marinne’s face grew increasingly pinched, then tried to smooth out her expression to a refined one, only succeeding in resembling a snag in a sweater. “The du Fophes arrived with the liberator chevalier Michel Lafaille, the first viscount of Kirkwall.”

   I nodded politely, and this was all the invitation the woman needed to launch into a long-winded telling of her family history, her pride in her history winning out over her curiosity of me. Needless to say, she did not possess Varric’s knack for storytelling, and it was clear the other guests agreed by the wandering eyes and fiddling fingers.

   Ringlets girl, who had tried and failed to keep perfect posture against the plush cushion at her back during Marinne’s monologue, swiftly sat completely upright when she spotted the dagger sheathed on my belt. It had been lost in the folds of my skirt until I’d accidentally unveiled it when I started playing with the material. I wasn’t the only one who found reflections upon ancestors’ opinions on tax plans for times past the equivalent of counting sheep, just the only one who had to face the prospect of hiking up her skirt to fetch her sole weapon to fight an ancient demon. Never again would I wear my sole weapon out of reach, no matter how much I enjoyed Garrett’s touch as he put it there/

   When Marinne paused for breath, Ringlets gasped in glee. “Did you really stab a demon?”

   Before the silver-haired woman could enact her fan-whacking fantasy, I answered the girl with unblinking eyes and a dark smirk on my lips.

   “Dead.”

   The fan paused in its descent and the room went quiet. It really needn’t have, considering Marinne herself had been present for said stabbing, but apparently admitting to the truth of the matter was like spitting in a shared teapot, you know, if we actually had tea for this whole affair.

   Now it was Marinne whose eyes fled around the room, but they couldn’t seem to help but be drawn to the fabled dagger resting on my hip. She forced her gaze lower, to my skirt, like if she just concentrated enough the social slip could be fixed like a missed stitch.

   “The craftsmanship of your dress is remarkable,” she said, the compliment sounding like the most genuine thing she’d spoken the entire time, even when she preened over her husband’s latest vote on the tariffs at the port for Antivan wines. “Who is your seamstress?”

   “Neri.”

   Marinne looked like she was wracking her brains to recall if a seamstresses in Hightown, or Maker forbid, near the Harbor or Gallows, had such a name, but she met with no success. She cast a furtive look to the other elderly ladies present, but they seemed as stumped as she.

   “Do your dresses come from Orlais?” she asked hopefully.

   “Lowtown, actually.” I managed to not smile when the elderly lady next to Marinne tottered as if she might faint. I did not manage it when I next said, “You can find her shop in the alienage. I can give you directions if you like.”

   “A-an elf!?” This was too much for Marinne’s companion who fainted gracefully backwards so she appeared as if she were Rose posing for Jack, but unlike that fictional socialite, she hadn’t yet become opened minded enough to learn the way the other classes lived. And at her age, probably never would.

   Ringlet girl’s sister did not seem so perturbed. “Really? Oh how did you discover her? You must give me her address! We need some new dresses for our tour of the Free Cities next season.”

   Garrett had told me that my wearing of Neri’s dresses would drive more business to the elf’s door by the other nobles, and I couldn’t help but be pleased that he had been right. Of course I knew it was just his way of making me at ease with his purchasing a ludicrously large wardrobe for me, but I wouldn’t knock the benefits. I had worn holey shoes enough in my life to appreciate new clothes, and, to never wish it upon another. I hoped Neri got so much business she could sew her way into an early retirement.

   “I can arrange that,” I said, already plotting to rope Leandra into this mess; she, after all, had been part of the Garrett’s wardrobe plot. “If you’re traveling, tell Neri you’re looking for something you can get dirty.”

   And be able to run in, I didn’t add. The roads outside Kirkwall had plenty to flee from, and in my short time in Kirkwall, I had become well acquainted with the advantage of being fleet-footed. Also, if I had to guess by Ringlet’s wide-eyed gaze, she was less accustomed to wielding weapons than me, so hopefully she’d be prepared for flight if fight wasn’t a viable option. Though she probably had a contingent of personal guards like she did servants, so she would be fine.

   “What do you recommend?” She asked.

   “Well, I like tunics and training leathers.”

   Her eyes gleamed. “Because you fight, right?” She grabbed her sister’s hands. “We should go today! I’ve never been to the alienage before. Wonder what it’s like? Do you think we’ll see some with vallaslin?”

   I took a deep breath, resisting the urge to pinch my nose. She didn’t have to talk about elves like they were exotic animals from far off lands being brought on a tour through the city like a traveling menagerie. They were people, ones who had lived in these lands for countless centuries, whose culture was just as complex as other races. I had been in Thedas a fraction of this woman’s life, and yet even I knew more about it than her, which was downright depressing.

   “It’s the nomadic elves, the Dalish, who have vallaslin; they practice elvish and keep their traditions alive, which the vallaslin is an important part of for elves who reach of age,” I corrected. I’d learned as much from talking with Merrill. I suppose Ringlets didn’t talk to many elves, let alone Dalish ones. The trip to the alienage would probably be good for her, well, at least as long as she didn’t start petting passersby. Noble or not, that likely wouldn’t go over well.

   “Oh.” She settled herself, hands in her lap and face downcast like a toddler who had been put on time out. For a moment, I wondered if my internal criticism had been overly harsh. That didn’t last long when her head jerked up to look at the doorway, mouth gaping and cheeks pinked. With a reaction like that, it couldn’t be the long-lost tea.

   Fenris silently surveyed the room, eyeing each woman like they might be a demon in disguise. At least until he got to me. It was minuscule, but there was the slightest softening when his eyes met mine. It warmed me on the inside, and my fingers loosened their grip on my skirt.

   Since the courtyard, he’d been like a ghost in the house. We didn’t have training the morning after the ball disaster, mainly since the sun had decided to start the new day by the time we made it to our rooms to collapse in bed. We spent the day resting, and on the following, I dressed in my leathers, ready to practice, but Fenris didn’t show. Instead I found a freshly stuffed practice dummy and a single wooden sword left out for me.

   I ran through the routine he’d arranged for me, casting glances to windows and doorways, but I never caught a glimpse of him. I could feel him through the connection we shared though, could sense he was nearby, but I never tugged on it. I could find him, but after a day of seeing evidence of him swinging through the kitchen or the practice dummy disappearing from the courtyard, I knew he didn’t want me to find him. He would find me when he was ready.

   And, so he had.

   He loped into the room with the ease of a predator surrounded by prey. Instead of taking a stand at my back like a bodyguard would, he took the open seat beside mine. I recalled how I had chided him to sit down instead of hovering the morning after I told Garrett, Anders, and he about my past with my mother while the former two cleaned up breakfast. He had taken the seat beside and placed my feet in his lap. The memory had my cheeks pinking too. Fenris flashed the barest smirk in my direction, like he knew exactly what I was thinking about, before turning an impenetrable gaze upon the room’s occupants.

   The fainting woman looked ready to put on a repeat performance, and Marinne’s upper lip curled like she smelled something foul. Ringlets’ sister looked mystified, clearly trying to compute an armed elf in a nobleman’s manor who must be a bodyguard but definitely wasn’t acting like it, unlike Ringlets herself. She scooted to edge of her seat, eyes tracing Fenris’ tattoos like she wanted to with her fingers.

   If she tried it, I would go feral.

   An entitled noblewoman touching Fenris made me think of Danarius who had no qualms about personal autonomy, let alone space. It wasn’t the same, but the memory of Fenris’ memory had me stiffening where I had been previously slouching.

   Ringlets leaned forward so her cleavage was on display, inviting him to look as she took her fill of him. “Are you Dalish?” she asked, the ‘all over’ left unsaid but definitely implied with the way her gaze journeyed down his leather clad chest to rest at his thighs. Just like the way my fingers drummed on my dagger’s handle non-verbally said ‘back the fuck off.’

   So much for her learning anything from what I said earlier. Her sister at least looked uncomfortable over her behavior. Not enough to try to rein her in though.

   Unlike me.

   “He’s as much Dalish as you are a lady,” I snapped on his behalf. I probably could’ve let him answer her himself, and he could with precise devastation, but I was barely restraining myself from making a scene and yelling at the lot of them that viewing hours were over.

   Ringlets scrunched up her face, my simile lost on her.

   Marinne looked like she wasn’t sure if she should be offended over the insult I had aimed at one under her wing or admiring that I had managed to stupefy Ringlets  into silence, no fan needed.

   Fenris exhaled just loud enough that I knew he was restraining a chuckle. I bit my lip to keep from grinning, the tickle of amusement slipping through the line of our bond, infectious. It might have only been two days, but it felt longer, and having him sharing the same room as me felt right. It would feel even more right if I could sneak my hand between us to offer to hold his.  

   Unfortunately, we had company, and while I didn’t care if these nobles all wanted to play Trust Fall without the trust, I didn’t feel like fetching smelling salts for the lot of them. Though, I suppose it would give me the perfect excuse to find Leandra and make her deal with the aftermath.

   But no, Fenris had to be the one to bridge that gap between us.

   And, there was the no small matter of all of Hightown’s residents turning their upturned noses downwards to sniff at me. I smelled of a ripe scandal ready to burst. Hence my house guests, one of whom had been witness to my first scandal. It would be funny if there weren’t real stakes involved. Namely Anders, Merrill, and presumably me tied to said stake and set alight when they all figured I was witch with my white light. Or would they determine my witchiness by seeing if I weighed the same as a duck? I could certainly float like a duck.

   I suddenly couldn’t shake the idea of Meredith Stannard in her full Templar armor proclaiming to Leliana I had turned her into a newt. I almost laughed aloud, and with being in such close proximity to Fenris, projected the feeling down our line.

   Bewildered amusement trickled back to me. If you could turn her into a newt, why would you turn her back?

   Oh, she’d get better.

   The silence had held long enough for Marinne to remind herself of why she’d come here. She had the look of a crouched cat, preparing to pounce on her prey.

   Fenris never let her get airborne. He handed me a sealed scroll, apparently its delivery his true purpose in seeking me out. “For you. It’s important.”

   All eyes landed on it, and my hands felt cold as I saw Garrett’s name on the front. What had happened? Why hadn’t Fenris rushed in and given this to me immediately?

   The women were border-lined salivating as they eyed the letter, and the coldness in my hands spread throughout my body, turning from fear to fury.

   Incapable of sitting, I rose to address the room. “Excuse me for cutting our visit short, but my attention is demanded elsewhere.” That sounded ladylike enough, right? Fuck it! I couldn’t be bothered to be anything but abrupt as I moved to the entrance. “I must bid you good day.”

   Ever the leader of this murder of ravens, Marinne was the first to recover. “Of course. We understand and hope it’s nothing too serious.” The thin smile spoke of false politeness but the eyes glimmered with interest. The flock of them would surely be gossiping as soon as they left the property and undoubtedly would be pecking for clues wherever their nosy beaks could reach.

   No wonder Garrett preferred going on quests than playing politics. Better to be run through with a sword than pecked to death.

   With him in mind, I managed a tight smile as I ushered them out the door. I felt like I was herding cats. It took them a suspiciously long time to aright their silly hats — there definitely were some bald peacocks somewhere — and the servants weren’t much help at all, not for lack of trying. They wore the expressions of long-suffering, and I hoped they were decently compensated for dealing with this lot on the regular. How much more obvious could Fainting Lady be by knocking her own hat off her head — twice!

   As soon as the front door clicked, I spun to face Fenris. “What’s happened?”

   Garrett slamming into the cavern wall played in my head. I had no idea where he’d gone off to after the Viscount summoned him. Considering the late hour and the urgency of the page boy, it had to have been an emergency, and those meant danger.

   Danger did not seem to be a concept that concerned Fenris as he leaned against the banister before answering me with a smirk. “You got a letter.”

   Said letter crinkled in my hand. My incredulity and the spike of fear I’d felt for Garrett must have blared because all traces of teasing vanished as he became suddenly serious. “The messenger didn’t say.”

   The seal on the letter was unbroken, so he couldn’t have read it. “Then how did you know it was important?”

   “Because it’s from him, and he is important to you,” he said softly, green eyes downcast.

   I let out a deep breathe, letting my fears for Garrett subside as logic crept in its wake. If Garrett had been seriously injured or killed, a message would have come to Leandra too, not just me, right? Fenris hadn’t meant to scare me. More than likely, I hadn’t clamped down my irritation with the noblewomen as much as I could have, and ever my faithful guardian despite his distance, Fenris had seen an opportunity to save me.

   I saluted Fenris with the letter before breaking the seal. “Thanks for the rescue.”

   His eyes met mine. “Always,” he promised, before they drifted away again. Like he couldn’t look at me. Like he felt guilty for worrying me. Like he felt unworthy, still.

   I hesitated unrolling Garrett’s message.

   I promised Fenris I would wait for him to come to me, but it didn’t mean I wouldn’t wait open armed. I knew better than most the feeling of never having that welcome.

   “I never received letters on Earth,” I admitted. It wasn’t surprising considering the reverse glamour charm that none of my acquaintances never wrote me back, if I had anyone to write to at all. Not that letter writing was the most efficient means of communication on Earth like it was here on Thedas. That wasn’t the point. It was the knowledge that I had never crossed anyone’s mind long enough to take the time to put pen to paper, not even for a card or note. Until now. So this letter was important, not just because of the sender.

   Fenris wasn’t the only one who had ever felt like they were unlovable. He wasn’t the only one still learning despite evidence to the contrary that they were wrong.

   A gentleness replaced Fenris’ guilt-laden face at my vulnerable admission, and I realized it wasn’t just my words, but the feelings I’d sent to him. He stepped closer, fingers unclenching from the fist at his side, like maybe he were about to reach for me just like we both wanted.

   Take another, I silently begged.

   I never got to see if he would’ve because a sharp rap sounded on the front door.

   I cursed. Did one of the women lose a hairpin and came back to fetch it? I wouldn’t put it past them.

   Pissed that they’d interrupted whatever progress Fenris and I were making, I strode to the door and flung it open revealing…no one.

   Was this a prank? Did nobles’ kids run the street and bang on doors, laughing as they ducked behind corners to not get caught? I admit to having done it once or twice myself as a kid, but playing unknowingly with my reverse glamour charm, I found the game swiftly lost its thrill. That and playing alone hadn’t been nearly as satisfying as the kids who played together.

   I peered in either direction, but no giggles or the swish of some body disappearing around the corner could be detected.

   “Who are those from?” Fenris said from behind me.

   Startled, I followed his gaze to what I had missed at my feet: a bouquet of white lilies.

   I stooped to pick them up, noting the hemp string that bundled them together. Seemed like an odd choice for a nobleman to bind the blooms together, but what was even more odd was sending flowers that resembled purity, at least on Earth, as a romantic overture. Well, I assumed they were a romantic in nature. There was no note attached. But while I couldn’t be entirely certain that flower meanings meant the same on Thedas as they did on Earth, I didn’t think I was wildly off the mark with thinking they were a sign of courtship.

   “Lord Cornellis to Leandra, I think,” I answered Fenris. No one else made sense. Garrett was too bold by half to knock and ditch, and Anders had been absent from my life since that first kiss he’d given and just as quickly stolen back.

   Lord Cornellis needed to up his game where Leandra was concerned. He could have at least given them to her himself, or at least sent them along with the letter. Oh, and put these beauties in a water filled vase. They would surely wilt at this rate.

   Fenris nodded slightly, then turned to head back into the house, the moment from before over, but I stopped him. “Fenris!”

   He looked back as I followed him in.

   “Training tomorrow?”

   He hesitated for a beat, and fear crept into me that once again I would be practicing alone.

   But he surprised me with a warm smile. “Tomorrow, amata” he promised.

Chapter Text

   I didn’t sleep well that night. Not from nightmares or an anxious brain, but because I kept stealing peeks at Garrett’s letter. I practically had the thing memorized, and could pick his playful prose and jaunty handwriting from a lineup — no ghost writer could ever fool me.

   If anyone had watched me read the letter, they could guess about the contents. I paced in my room and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, cheeks pink and eyes glimmering. Of course I was troubled by his mention of the unrest in the city between Andrastian fanatics and marooned Qunari escalating — add the disappearance of the Viscount’s son Saemus and it was tinder sans the match — but it sounded like Garrett had a solid lead and Aveline was with him. It would turn out alright. I just needed to trust him. He said he would be back the following night with Anders in tow to test out my father’s dagger. Everything was coming together. None of that was why my chest felt warm and my fingers tingled though. That could all be attributed to the lines he left at the end.

   .…The open road has been my life’s path, and I’ve walked it without ever looking back. I’ve hidden in brush to conceal those in my care. I’ve fought monsters and the monstrous, knowing that maybe this day could be my last and never allowing it to slow my blades. My eyes have always sought the mystery of what waits around every bend, and yet, now they only seek the familiar sight of home.

   For now I dream of wonders, where nightmares are cast out like shadows by hearth fires, where bones can rest and hair spin to silver. Adventures turn to legends, and stories woven in dancing flame become as real as this page I write upon. As true as the words I spoke. If you still mean what you said too, you know how to seal this.

   That I did, recalling his words before he left: Best not kiss me again unless you mean it, to which I had said, I meant it.

   Of course, I still did, and he didn’t get to write me a letter with a dangling out for me while filling the body with everything I meant to him. He just had to be playfully self-sacrificing per usual. It made me want to pinch him, even if he pinched back. Okay, especially if he pinched back — I’d allow him to kiss it better. But first…

   My eyes landed on the vanity filled with balms, perfumes, and powders which I hadn’t done more than dabble with since the dinner party, and an idea struck.

   I would give Garrett his kiss, just maybe not in the way he expected.

   A half hour later, I painted my lips with the most siren song red available, then puckered and planted my seal on a letter of my own. I placed it on the crisp white of Garrett’s pillows, and definitely did not think about what it had been like to be sprawled on Garrett’s bare chest there. Just like when I rose, hands on my thighs, I didn’t think about another pair that raised my skirt up to arm me and caressed right there. No, I had thought about all that enough when I wrote the most personal message I’d ever intended for someone else’s eyes.

   But I liked him having something tangible with my promise, that and I liked in this medium I could say things that I might get too flustered to say in the moment later. Like sure he could kiss me again, and I wouldn’t mind if he did everywhere; I’d actually like it quite a lot if he started at where he’d strapped the dagger, and then kept working his way up.

   Luckily his room had already been cleaned, so there was no risk of anyone besides Garrett to come into his room to “accidentally” read my letter. For a minute I had worried it was too bold, and almost went back in and fetched it back, but swiftly talked myself out of it. I wanted him, and he wanted me, so why pretend otherwise? All the pretending was exhausting, and living boldly had a freedom to it that was exhilarating. Besides, Garrett liked me best that way.

   When I refused his hospitality and got a job at the Hanged Man, I’d earned a booming laugh. I wanted to cause more. I wanted to see that twinkle in his eyes when he looked me over, the one that said he wanted me. Being wanted by him felt intoxicating minus the hangover. I wanted to sip on this river of want forever.

   I hadn’t said yes to his proposal, but if given enough time, I could see that future for us. I would be happy to bask in all his powers of persuasion in the meantime. How persuasive could he be with the tongue when he wasn’t using it to sharpen his wit?

   I couldn’t keep thinking about all that though or I would overthink and combust in embarrassment. Best to just live in the moment. Cleaning couldn’t be much of a distraction for me since Bodahn had frowned upon the practice, and I didn’t want to put him out of work or make him uncomfortable. Fortunately, Fenris had my back in this regard like all others. We had sword practice this morning, which would help me burn through my fluttery energy.

   I shrugged into my fighting leathers, and with a skip in my step, I headed down to the courtyard. Isabela greeted me, one hand at her cocked hip, the other twirling a practice sword with dexterous ease. She smirked at my obvious surprise, her eyes in turn taking an obvious journey down my leather clad form. I felt a disturbance in the force, and standing nearby stuffing an already stuffed dummy, was the neutrally blank Fenris.

   “Good morning?” Yes, it came out as a question but by the way Fenris scowled at a piece of straw drifting like a feather in a the air towards the ground, who could say. Not me.

   Isabela apparently. “Always with you.” She winked. Fenris shoved the wayward straw back in like it was an apostate, the dummy the Circle, and he a Templar.

   “Is that why you’re here to practice with me?” I teased, falling into my pattern with her easily despite a surly Fenris who moved to stand at the sidelines between us, an instructor’s pose, answering my question.

   “Mel, your stretches,” he indicated with a jerk of his head. I complied, cause of course I had no desire to hurt myself in my training — I had done that enough during actual fighting already to not want to add a torn muscle into the mix. Fenris came up to my sparring partner and whispered something low in her ear. Her smirk only grew. Were they lesson planning? Somehow I doubted it.

   Still, I began, ready to lose myself in movement. From my peripheral, Isabela joined in. A few later, right after I finished a lunge and moved into my skyward stretch, I heard a chuckle from Isabela. Broken from the moment, I turned. Fenris’ eyes swiftly darted to the ground, cheeks pink. I glanced down at my form, curious if I had been doing it wrong, but it looked right with my chest pushed forward as I balanced on my tiptoes. Fenris never hesitated to correct poor form anyways, so it couldn’t have been that. It probably had something to do with what Isabela had whispered to him. An inside joke maybe? Not that I cared. Whatever.

   It didn’t feel like whatever once I got into position for my reverse bridge, shoulders to the ground, hips slanted up and feet planted flat. It felt distinctly something when I felt eyes run the length of me. Anyone would’ve guessed Izzy, especially with her smothered giggle she tried to disguise as a cough, but I would know the feel of those eyes anywhere: Fenris. I resisted the urge to swivel my head over to see what was so funny about stretching, though I lost count of how long I was supposed to hold the form. My legs were beginning to shake when Fenris called time, and yet, he was the one who sounded breathless.

   He gave me no chance to rest. “We’ll start with hand-to-hand. Isabela will be the attacker, Mel the defender.”

   We nodded and faced each other. No word for start was given. Isabela simply darted forward, sidestepped my surprised swing, and knocked me to my knees with a twist of her foot.

   I groaned. “I’m going to have bruised knees after this practice, aren’t I?”

   Isabela winked. “Pity. There are much more fun ways to earn bruised knees.”

   Resisting the urge to swat at her, mainly because I’d likely miss, I accepted her hand to help me to my feet. She jerked me close, her lips at my ear, whispering, “Make it more of a moan next time, and I promise you, he won’t be able to shake the image of you on your knees for him.”

   The covert stares and laughter made way more sense now.

   “Izzy!” I really did swat at her. It hadn’t meant to be the start of round two, but I only managed to block her retaliatory blow before she laid me out.

   “On your back works too,” she lilted and spun away. It made me want to spin her right into the ground.

   No matter how hard I tried, I never quite managed it.

   A few more rounds, and Fenris called time. He walked me through how I had gone wrong and what I could do to counter the moves. It all made sense in theory, but was hard to visualize, I said. He agreed and walked me through the moves with Isabela. It felt like a choreographed dance greatly slowed down. I had worked on many of the counter moves Fenris taught me by myself, flowing from one form to the next, but it was a whole other level doing it with someone who had years of experience. She shifted into each counter move with a grace that matched Fenris.

   It gave me an idea. And, an opportunity for a little light revenge.

   “Why don’t you two give it a go? Show me how it’s done.”

   “Alright then,” Isabela smirked like she knew exactly what I was up to but swirled her practice sword and got into position anyways. Fenris side-eyed me but took my practice sword and nodded.

   The pair burst into a blur of movement. I could pick out individual forms sporadically, but they blended so seamlessly it was hard to keep track. They kept moving faster, and then the match turned more into an actual duel with one trying to take the other out. Fenris had the advantage with his strength and not having already expended energy practicing with me. But Isabela had an advantage that was uniquely hers.

   “When I pin you down, I’m going to finally get the answer to my question,” she taunted as she evaded his swing. “Just what color are your underclothes?”

   Fenris grunted dismissively, but his next swing came a little too wide and she laughed. “Dainty white? Black as your armor? Do you go bare?” Her counter swing came much too close to his side.

   He blocked her wooden sword and pushed her back. She had no choice to give ground, and yet, she let herself to be bent backwards instead like she did the limbo. His face neared hers as he pushed down. I knew that move well. He’d disarmed me with that one numerous times. I might have admired how she held against him despite the impossible position, but I became distracted by her misplaced grin.

   “Or maybe, I should check Mel’s. Not like you ever will.”

   Isabela was sent to her back, disarmed so fast even she looked surprised, but I didn’t get a chance to delight in how my own bruised backside was now avenged, because Fenris’s face looked much too fierce for a playful practice duel among friends. He seemed to realize it a moment later, dropping his weapon.

   “Practice is over. Go wash up,” he ordered without looking at either of us, then he turned and left.

   I resisted the urge to chase after him. He needed to cool down on his own, and hopefully one day soon, come to me on his own.

   Instead, I focused on the troublemaker.

   I strode over to offer a hand, but she had already sprung to her feet as if she hadn’t been body-slammed.

   “What was that?” I hissed as if Fenris were still in hearing range. He had slowly been circling me in recent days drawing ever near, and now because of her, he was gone.  

   “Just a friendly reminder that if he’s going to eye your ass like the Urn of Sacred Ashes but not claim it for himself, he shouldn’t be mad if someone else does.”

   That was such an Isabela thing to say, I laughed, dispelling a bit of soured mood. “You have the heart of a poet, Izz.”

   “The poets understood passion. Why deprive yourself like a Chantry sister?” she said over her shoulder. She shimmied with a sly smile. “He should be riding those curves like a ship does the sea.”

   I rolled my eyes as I followed her in. “Any poet worth their ink knows that passion can encompass more than desire.” Then I answered her smile with a smirk of my own.

   She eyed me like I had spilled said ink all over her artfully crafted words and now stared at a blot in a Rorschach test.

   “...Like romance and love?”

   My smile widened, and she shuddered.

   “I need a drink to drown the thought.”

   After our baths, we’d set off to the Hanged Man after Isabela had assured Fenris that she’d keep drunks from absconding with my ass. He was not amused, and seemed reluctant to let me out of his sight despite the incident in the yard, but I assured him I’d bring my dagger and Scrapper along, and so he relented. He had been quiet, thoughtful, and I hoped if he was thinking about us, that Izzy’s meddling had only helped, not harmed.

   I might have fallen into a brooding state too on the walk down if we hadn’t run into Merrill knee-deep in a fountain in the midst of Hightown collecting coin much to the dismay of passing nobility.

   “Is the fountain an idol and the coins offerings? Is that why the shem was upset?” A dripping, wide-eyed Merrill had asked me as we fled a shrieking, very well dressed and very loud woman calling for the city guards. After Garrett’s purge ensuring a somewhat safer guard, it didn’t mean I had any desire to sit in the seat of shame in Aveline’s office, and Isabela must have thought the same. She’d given a quick command to Scrapper, who was all too eager to cause absolute ruckus so we could make a run for it. By the time we’d reached Lowtown breathless from our escape, Isabela, laughing, clapped Merrill on the back. “I’ll make a pirate of you yet.”  

   When we entered the Hanged Man, I expected to feel disjointed, like the place was familiar and yet foreign since I no longer worked or slept here. I did, but that was quickly forgotten when Nora spotted me and rushed over, gushing about how I was alright. It occurred to me then she never knew what had happened after I went to confront Guardsman Wright. I answered her questions with a simple “I got my dagger back,” to which her shoulders slumped in relief. She brought over her sister Marta, a cheery person who hugged me like I imagined a sister would, thanking me for my “gift” to help her get into Kirkwall. I didn’t mention that the coin going towards her bribe hadn’t been a gift, to which Nora mouthed a silent thank you over her sister’s shoulder and gave our table the first round on the house. Isabela, who had been stacking Merrill’s salvaged coins, proclaimed they’d be more than enough for the subsequent rounds.

   Once our first mugs were drained — Merrill making faces all the while as she gulped hers — Isabela turned in her seat. Though the picture of repose, her eyes said she’d rather be receiving news of breach to her ship’s hull than say what came next.

   “So, when did this…thing with Fenris happen?”

   Was this girl talk? I’d never experienced it before. I wasn’t even sure what to say, or if I even wanted to really get into it. It all felt so deeply personal, private. I wouldn’t say anything about him that he wouldn’t want known, of course, or of myself, but maybe some outside perspective could be useful.

   “What happened to Fenris? Is he ill?” Merrill asked, looking a bit ill herself as she resolutely took the proffered second round from Nora.

   Isabela leaned towards Merrill. “He might as well be. He wants to fuck Mel but with feelings.”

   I choked on the sip I’d taken to bide myself time on how to respond to Isabela’s blunt probe and it felt like it was about to come out my nose. Merrill gave me a sympathetic pat on the back, as if alcohol was supposed to garner that reaction.

   “That’s lovely. I’m happy for you both.”

   “Who is happy for who?” Varric asked as he appeared from the midst of the tavern’s crowd. He slid into the seat adjacent to Merrill, snagging her mug too, which she easily relented. “Is my coin purse about to be happy?”

   “Oh no, you’re not winning back your coin. I won.” Isabela dragged the fountain coins towards her chest, never mind the coin was actually Merrill’s. Or the fountain’s?

   “I was thinking of a different kind of bet,” he said, this time his eyes on me. “How you doing, Bolt? Heard you’ve had an interesting past couple of days. Lots of new developments.”

   Isabela’s eyes gleamed with interest. “Wait, I only got back from a job last night. What has happened?”

   “A bride has happened. Or will soon, as the rumor mill grinds.” Varric said, wearing the look of someone who happily knocked down a hornet’s nest from behind safety glass.

   “It’s complicated.” I stared at him with the promise that if I had a stinger, he’d be stung by now.

   “That doesn’t look complicated,” he nodded towards my engagement ring.

   Even though it was only in my peripheral, I could see Isabela’s gaping at the jewelry I’d snuck back on after my bath. I hadn’t worn it at practice because practicing hand-to-hand with it on didn’t seem wise in case I landed a lucky blow. Not that I had, but still. I was just an amazing person who cared about my friend’s faces.

   Merrill tilted her head as if the ring was an obscure bit of long forgotten elvish lore she was trying to decipher. “So, like a bondmate then? Fenris asked you?”

   “Kind of like that, Daisy, but it wasn’t Fenris who asked, was it?”

   I resisted the urge to flip Varric off, mainly cause it would’ve only flashed the ring more, and now I had to resist the equal urge to hide my hand under the table. “You already know who, so you might as well tell them,” I muttered.

   But there was no need. Clever as always, the pirate captain put it together. “No way Anders or Fenris could afford a rock like that. Damn, didn’t think that’s how Garrett was gonna go.” Isabela sank back in her seat, eyes now on Varric. “You might win your coin back after all.”

   It had been a while, but I couldn’t forget the fateful comment which sent me into a spiral, inspiring me to return to Earth as soon as I could, if only to protect my heart.

   “Isabella made a bet with Varric they’d get together,” Merrill had said, as if she had assumed I had been in the know back in the varterral cavern. Isabela bet Anders and Garrett would get together. Considering their mutual feelings, they still very well might. But was the bet null if I was part of that arrangement? And Izzy seemed quite interested in my relationship with Fenris…

   “So what was your bet?” My tone turned a bit frosty as I eyed my Thedas guide, who for once, actually looked mildly sheepish. I mean, it did sound like my and the guys’ love lives were like fantasy football for our friends, so who wouldn’t be at least a little annoyed?

   “That you’re the catalyst.”

   “Well, that sounds ominous.”

   “No, more fortuitous,” he said with a grin, like he had the rarest hand of Wicked Grace. “Without you, who knows when if ever even Isabela’s bet would come about.”

   And yet, he thought his more improbable bet was the winning hand. Which meant—

   Merrill’s eyes suddenly lit up. “Oh! Like an aravel wheel!”

   We all eyed her as she excitedly drew on the table with her finger. “Varric means that Garrett, Anders, and Fenris are all spokes, and you’re the hub.”

   Varric nodded. “An excellent metaphor. To expand it, with any of you missing, the wheel wouldn’t turn.”

   And it isn’t turning. I’m as grounded as Merrill’s Dalish clan when their wheels broke on the Wounded Coast. There’s Garrett, and maybe someday Fenris, but two spokes does not make a wheel.

   Like he read my mind, Varric nodded again. “You’re missing Anders.”

   Isabela snapped her fingers. “That’s the part that’s wild to me. I thought he’d be the one weak spot of my side of the bet with way he made eyes at you like Varric does Bianca.”

   “Terrible metaphor, Rivaini.”

   “Doesn’t change the fact I’m right. He might as well have tattooed lovesick across his forehead when we came here. Varric, don’t even try to argue it. He couldn’t wait to usher Mel back to his clinic, and for once, it wasn’t for Justice to pen more of his manifesto.”

   “I’m not saying he wasn’t. I’m just saying Bolt here—

   “We’re just friends!” I threw up my hands, accidentally catching the attention of nearby tables. I slouched in my seat and lowered my voice, “We’re just friends.”

   Because that’s all he wanted to be. Not all that I wanted us to be.

   My cheeks felt too hot and my fingers traced a pair of initials already defacing the new tables Garrett bought the Hanged Man. I couldn’t make myself look at Varric when all playfulness left his tone and he gently said, “Remember what I told you when you were wanting to be tutored in swordplay? I suggested Fenris but you doubted he would teach you?”

    Of course. I recited, “To write about people you have to know people, and the people I call my friends I know especially well.”

   “Exactly, and I know Anders wants you the same as you want him.”

   The last part I couldn’t deny — I still burned with how he called our kiss a mistake — but I could the former. Maybe Garrett and Varric and Isabela all thought they saw something there, but from Anders himself, I knew better.

   “Even in his words, he has only called me a friend.”

    Varric frowned, and in retrospect, Anders only ever called me friend when it was just between us, so he must not have heard it.

   “It’s that Dalish phrase,” I explained. “I think it’s a gendered form of lethallan.”

   Merrill perked up. “Lethallin?”

   “No, the other one.”

   Merrill’s lips turned down. “If he was referring to a male friend in Dalish, he would use lethallin, and for a females, lethallan, like I’ve called you.” Her fingers drummed on the table as she hummed. “He picked up some phrases from the Circle and old friends, and what he did know he was quite proficient in. He never made such an error before, so it’s surprising. Perhaps I will have to invite him to tea sometime soon so he can practice. It won’t do if he starts using the wrong gendered forms with his elvish patients.”

   “Daisy, I don’t think this is a case of Blondie acting like his staff fell over and whacked him in the head so his knowledge fell out.” Varric’s lips had turned down further than hers. “Bolt, what exactly did he call you?”

   Hesitantly I answered.

   “Ma vhenan.”

   Silence greeted my response for all of three seconds before Isabela collapsed against the table. I couldn’t quite tell if she were laughing or crying. Varric looked like he was at least struggling to not smile while Merrill didn’t try at all.

   “What? What’s so funny?” I leaned over and smacked Izzy on the arm. “Is it bad?”

   Isabela wiped at her eyes. “I’d say! I spent a delicious night with a Dalish trader once in Antiva and he had to ruin it all in the morning calling me ‘ma vhenan’ and I immediately kicked him out of my bed.”

   “Rivaini,” Varrice chided, now openly grinning. “Don’t go scaring her. Not everyone has such an aversion when it comes to matters of the heart.”

   I finally understood how Merrill felt when she didn’t get the joke. Taking pity on me, my lethallan said, “It doesn’t have to be bad. Actually, it’s generally warmly received. It’s a term of endearment used between lovers. It translates to: my heart.”

   Anders’s heart was about to seize up in my chest. I could only blink unfocused at the table, hands a coil of snakes in my lap, knee bouncing like a rattle. As fast as a serpent’s strike, the memory of Anders walking with me when we first left Kirkwall came to mind. “Or you could easily become ma vhenan.” From early on, he shyly told me he didn’t have much to give, but what he did have, he would and what he wanted in return, was me. Only, I had no idea that’s what he had been trying to tell me.

   Well, until Justice came out and he thought the spirit might harm me, so he pushed me away. Not because he wanted to, but because he felt he must. Because I was his heart. He would protect it by not letting me near enough to befall some calamity inspired by his occupant and his crusade against the Circles, all while keeping the organ beating within his chest well protected from fully knowing love, like from me. Probably Garrett too.

   But, he did have feelings for me, just like Varric assured. Like how Isabela was confident enough to bet money on. All this time, I’d thought I’d have to close the door on the part of me that loved Anders, because he didn’t reciprocate, and of course, I would respect that. I’d get over being called a mistake, and accept just a friendship of distance if that’s what he really wanted. But it wasn’t, was it?

   Hope rose in my chest like a deep breathe of Anders’s rainstorm scent. Maybe I would have let myself embrace the feeling if there wasn’t a niggling concern trying to to take shape.

   True to my nickname, I bolted out of my seat. I knocked my empty mug over, but the clatter couldn’t drown out the whir of my thoughts, my memories of when I’d unknowingly called Fenris ma vhenan, and he just went along with it.

   I had thought ma vhenan only meant friend, so when I wanted to let Fenris know how much he meant to me, I called him by that phrase. He asked if I understood what I said, and I assured him I did, but I hadn’t. What did he think of what could only be perceived as sheer audacity? I went from convincing him to train me to claiming him as my heart. It made my boldness with Garrett seem short change in comparison. For a moment, all I wanted was my glamour charm back so I could be forgettable again, so this humiliating moment would only ever have to live in my mind.

   Breathe, Mel, just breathe.

   It wasn’t so bad, right? It’s not like he doesn’t already know for sure how I feel now. I just clued him in on how I felt way earlier than I had ever intended. He had a hold of me from the start, only the night of the party I laid down my truth in no uncertain way with his fist around my heart even though I’d been unintentionally reminding him this whole time.

   And Fenris, he had called me something in return too. What was supposed to be the Tevene equivalent of ma vehenan, which I now knew couldn’t mean friend.

   Dwarf, elf, and human stared up at me, having no more idea than I what I was about to do. And, there was much I wanted to do, but for once, I didn’t want to charge ahead on impulse, at least without all the pieces. I sat back down, and unable to face them, put forehead to the sticky wood.

   “What does amata mean?” I whispered.

   “What was that?” Varric asked, a smile in his voice.

   I sucked in a deep breathe. “Amata.”

   “Andraste’s tits, this is worse than Aveline and Donnic,” Isabela cackled.

   Without looking up I flipped her off, and she laughed harder.

   “Sorry lethallan, my Tevene isn’t very good.”

   With I sigh I finally looked up, this time at Varric. He smoothly laid his hand over a scroll of parchment I could’ve sworn hadn’t been there a minute before.

   “Mine isn’t great either, but as a wordsmith, I would be remiss to not have picked up on the most romantic of expressions from around Thedas.” He paused for dramatic effect. “It means: beloved.”

   At once, my eyes watered. I had been tormenting myself for weeks to not get overly attached, to not form too close of connections with those around me, because I’d eventually lose all of them. I thought all my feelings were one-sided, but near the start, they’d been returned and I just didn’t have the vocabulary, whether in language or social interactions, to translate it all.

   Anders called me his heart.

   Garrett invited to move in with him on day one.

   Fenris called me beloved.

   A dainty hand covered mine, and I recognized it from playing cat’s cradle during my recovery.

   I smiled through the blur, because what I said to Isabela earlier had been truer than I’d known. Passion is more than desire, and love is more than both: it’s trusting and belonging, intimacy and vulnerability, patience and compassion. I’ve found it platonically in the three circling me, and romantically with Garrett, Anders, and Fenris. The me from Earth could never have imagined this level of love directed at me. For all the pain and danger I’ve faced in Thedas, I would never want to take it back, to wake up in my apartment, alone once again.

   I squeezed Merrill’s hand back.

   “That’ll be 25 gold.”

   Isabela sighed, and forewent the pile of gold in front of her for the coin sack at her belt, tossing it to Varric. “I’ll get you the rest later, unless I win it back first.”

   “Please try. I always like to double my money.”

   Isabela scowled. “You were lucky. I was partly right with Fenris and Mel.”

   “Being part right means also being part wrong. You have to see how they all connect.”

   She waved a hand. “Yes, yes, like a wheel.” She looked at me, and despite her grumbling, didn’t seem at all upset about losing. “So, should I demand my money back? Or are you going to go get your wheel spinning?”

   My heart suddenly felt light, no longer bogged down by the muck of uncertainty. I blinked the tears away and smiled softly, slowly standing.

   Time to get my mage.

Chapter Text

   Varric had offered to escort me to the clinic, but I saw the plume of his quill sticking from inside his jacket and thought better of it. I left him to squabble with Isabela, accepting Merrill’s company as far as the alienage. Scrapper, dutiful as always, had been waiting outside the tavern for me, looking content even after starting a mini riot in Hightown; he’d taken his orders from Garrett to watch out for me seriously, on my heels the entire walk or scouting out shadowy corners ahead.

   Good thing, because I wasn’t paying too much attention, lost in my head.

   On our first meeting, Fenris had touched my heart, and in return, I claimed him as mine. He, who had been a slave and for most of his life had nothing to call his own, met my imperious claim on him with his own: beloved. Fenris, who didn’t know love, only pain and could not even love himself, called me beloved.

   Then there was Anders, the man who claimed my heart and then ran when he thought he might hurt it. He couldn’t, and maybe space as a tactic would work on Fenris, but it wouldn’t work on Anders. Garrett very well knew it, saying as much at the party.

   You two are more alike than either of you realize.

   I’ve had to take a hard look at myself once I came here, and I have to admit, I became complacent with being forgotten. Daria had set the pattern of running, and though I’d tried to put down roots in one place on Earth, it hadn’t erased my instinct to run.

   Wasn’t that exactly what Anders had been doing too? Running from the Templars, the Circle, the Grey Wardens? Sure, he had dedicated himself to the cause of mage rights and helping those in need, but I’d seen how he let it consume him, leaving little time in his life to enjoy it. Like he was scared to reach out and take a bit of happiness for himself because he thought it might shatter in his hand. So much else already had become shards of glass leaving scars: his family, lover, magic, freedom, and even his cat. How many losses can one person take before it looks like a pattern? Before they think that’s all they can ever expect?

   To get me to even begin to admit my feelings, Garrett had given up teasing and flirting and went straight for direct: a marriage proposal. Even when I misunderstood that, he wiped away those misgivings as soon as I allowed, because I had run. Just like Anders. I hadn’t wanted to hurt his happiness with Garrett, and he didn’t want to hurt me. But we were both hurting ourselves by remaining apart. Yes, being together had risks, but what was worth having if there were no risks? Life was a risk, and we would all die someday anyways, so why not make our mortal existence exactly what we want?

   I had tried once before to convince Anders that I wasn’t worried about Justice, but now I had confirmation that in an emergency, I could use my white light power. Not that Fenris wanted me using it, and for good reason, but it was worth a roll of the dice if my life was on the line, right? Besides I didn’t really think that Justice would hurt me. He had tested me, helped me in his own spirit way, though it did look bad from an angle. Guess I can’t expect a spirit to understand humanity’s expected behavior.

   It wasn’t just Justice that kept Anders away. He gave in to my pushing and pleading, and kissed me, consumed me, and I’d returned it for a moment. I had felt terrible for ruining Garrett and Anders’ chances together, so I’d gone stiff. Then he stopped kissing me, said it was mistake.

   Maybe he thought I thought it was mistake.

   I had never wanted him to stop kissing me, to let me go. And he must not have wanted to either, but like me, ever self-sacrificing, he gave me up, his heart, because he thought I didn’t want him. Maybe that being with him would be a mistake? I’d played that scene a hundred times through my head, but so lost in my own self-deprecation, I didn’t think he could be doing the same.

   One of us had to see beyond ourselves, to do the pursuing, and I was fine if that was me (with a little help from our friends). I would tell him exactly how I felt, because he deserved to know that I loved him. That I didn’t care if he was an apostate, that a spirit resided within him, that the world viewed him as an abomination. I loved his giving spirit, and the Fade spirit he kept within. I loved his magic, his gift, which was as much a part of him as his generosity or the way he smiled. I loved his witty remarks and thoughtful insights. I loved his fight for what is right, and his care for all people. I loved that he loves Garrett and sees all the wonderful things I see in him too.

   As if he knew I was thinking of his master, Scrapper nudged my hand with his nose.

   “Yes, I know you love him too.” Scrapper nudged me again and whined. “No, he isn’t here right now, but you can tackle him later, okay?”

   Scrapper cocked his head to the side, like he was listening, and he was, just not to me. His gaze stared off to my side. I spun around, but saw nothing in the Darktown tunnels branching out into narrow alleys and hideaways. Wouldn’t it be perfect if he’d found another stray cat for me to bequeath Anders?

   No furry feline stirred in the depths. Too bad.

   Actually it would be even worse — it could be giant spiders. Not like those are unheard of in secret places. Garrett had said himself he and Carver had found some in the tunnel leading from the mansion to the clinic entrance. Of course he assured me they were gone, but just knowing they were a possibility gave me goosebumps.

   I called for Scrapper, quieter than I had intended. Like him, I was listening too. No jumpscares for me.

   After a few more twists and turns, I breathed easier. I had passed several Darktown inhabitants, none of which looked at me twice, all busy with their own business. Not that if anyone dared look twice with Scrapper’s upper lip curling at anyone who came “accidentally” too close. Those that didn’t fear a nip to nimble fingers would discover that all coin had been left smartly at the mansion. Granted, if anyone looked like they needed it, I’d had parted with what I had. I had food, clothes, and roof over my head and any other possible needs met. My coin was better spent on food for empty bellies than whatever extra I wished for but didn’t truly need. Maybe if Anders was open to my idea, I really could start my soup kitchen by his clinic—

   Clanking metal gave me pause. Even the worst of the Darktown gangs didn’t wear full suits of armor, and I knew that sound from my nightmares, from how Guardsman Wright’s had clinked before his fist missed my face.

   I peered around the last corner before the clinic, and felt as if a magic trap had been cast at my feet.

   Those weren’t Guardsmen hanging around but Templars.

   What in the fuck? Why were they here? Had someone outed Anders? Whatever Darktown resident narked was definitely going to get shanked. The people down here were ready to go to war for him and for good cause too: he was the best, and often only, healthcare they had. The only decent help the poor in this city received of any kind, really. Even for a reward of coin no one would sell him out unless they were prepared to flee the city. With the unrest of Qunari, few passenger ships were leaving, and only the most foolhardy would venture out onto the Wounded Coast alone. It was called the Wounded Coast for a reason, and not just because it looked like someone took a bite out of it. More like those found out there had been missing a chunk or two.

   So maybe a Darktown resident hadn’t turned Judas, but it couldn’t be a coincidence that Templars were spread out in the general vicinity of the clinic. Maybe it was a trap set for Anders’ return? The lantern light was out, signaling its closure. Or, maybe he saw the Templars coming and decided to play at no one home? He could be trapped in there right now, only a dash away from the secret tunnel to the mansion and safety, but unlikely to get there undetected with so many Templars lurking. If he was there, he’d need a distraction.

   Without thinking I strode from around the corner, trying to pretend that I was just another resident as Scrapper tried and failed to snag the tail end of my tunic with his teeth. I waved a hand at his snout, trying to dissuade him from whatever game he’d just decided to play with me. Distraction via clothes ripping off my body was not what I had in mind.

   One Templar turned, and I would’ve recognized that NSYNC hair anywhere.

   “Cullen.”

   “Lady Payne,” he greeted, no warmth in his expression. His right hand rested on the sword pommel.

   Scrapper came to sit on his haunches in front of me, and then the other Templars formed a loose, half circle around me as their leader, the former Fereldan, held no warmth even at his country’s pride mabari. “Not the scenic walk I’d picture for Hightown society.”

   I’m not a lady, I almost snapped, but chewed on my inner lip. “Just as the Lieutenant Commander wouldn’t be expected to make a tour of Darktown’s depths.”

   “I’m here on business, for the better of us all.” He looked at me like I must have at the frivolous ladies who came calling the other day and gasped over the alienage. It burned that that was exactly the image I’d leaned into to make me seem forgettable. No normal Hightown lady would be wandering Lowtown or lower without guards.

   “So am I,” I retorted, which was true, but telling him I was here to confess my love to a runaway mage who is possessed by a Fade spirit was definitely not coming out of my mouth, so I went with a half truth I could get behind. “I’m scouting the area out for my soup kitchen.” See, now there would be one whether Garrett grumbled about the safety issue or not. Manifestation, right? He wasn’t the only one who could lie things into existence, i.e. our pending nuptials.

   “A noble cause,” he said, one eyebrow arched like he was having trouble believing me, but the grim line of his mouth softened somewhat.

   I, however, didn’t. I remembered how he hadn’t been able to meet my gaze as Meredith campaigned for me being a blood mage. He might have liked the attention I’d given him at the dinner, maybe even felt inclined towards me as Leliana had hinted, but the only thing keeping him upright was the stiffness of his armor — certainly not a spine. Maybe I shouldn’t have been disappointed, not that I had even been all that surprised at his inaction given his beliefs and our very brief acquaintance, but it highlighted just how rare my three guys were. None of them had hesitated to care for me when I was a stranger, and they were the bar I’d base all others.

   I could and would hold myself to a similar standard.

   “Hardly. I’d say not hoarding my wealth like a dragon when those around me are in need is the bare minimum of what any decent person should do.” Like the Chantry, I left unsaid. I hadn’t forgotten the gold plated walls, the sound of silk robes swishing, the scent of expensive incense, gossip in the air as Sisters recited prayers and stirred up fervor against mages, not to help the poor walking plainly in the streets.

   “Kirkwall would benefit if all those fortunate were so minded.” He might have said more but his eyes flicked to over my shoulder, and a backwards glance showed another Templar rushing toward us.

   “Moira,” and a nod was all she got from Cullen. She took a deep breathe, shaking her head slightly to loosen the sweat-dampened blonde hair of her bowl cut, and reported: “We fanned out as you suggested, and the tip was right. There is a blood trail and it led…” she glanced nervously at me, and Cullen indicated for her to continue in my presence, “to a woman’s body. She’d been drained and dismembered.”

   “Blood mage,” I whispered. Maybe the blood mage.

   Cullen’s gaze cut to me. “That has yet to be ascertained. It could be gang activity.” He looked to a subordinate lingering near us, and beckoned him over. “Escort Lady Payne back to Hightown.”

   No way was I going back to Hightown yet. “I’m coming,” I said, and not just out of morbid curiosity like a true crime podcast aficionado or because I wanted to be sure that the Templars veered away from the clinic. Flemeth may have been the one to send me to Thedas, and Imshael and Xebenkeck were the ones who’d attacked me, but I hadn’t forgotten that a blood mage had done the Hanged Man summoning of Imshael to kill and make use of my body for a creepy ritual — I’d gleaned as much from Xebenkeck’s memory. I was so close to the blood mage. I wanted answers as much as I wanted the assurance that the mage would never hurt me or anyone else again.

   Cullen’s gaze snapped right back to me, and I met it. I refused to look away, showing him the woman who knifed a demon at a dinner party. The simpering noblewoman he first met would have graciously accepted the offer of an escort away from a murder scene, but that wasn’t me, only an impulsive mask I’d adorned.

   The urgency of the situation won, or maybe it was my association with Garrett, but Cullen simply nodded and told me to stay back and not touch anything. That was an easy agreement from me — I had no desire to disturb the dead.

   We walked back along the route I’d come from, and when we neared the alley Scrapper had whined around, my palms went clammy. Could he have sensed something amiss? What if we had gone to investigate? Would we have caught the murderer with bloody hands? Would I have been able to prevent her death? Or, would I have arrived at the crime scene right when Moira did? Maybe she would’ve taken me for the killer instead?

   Moira strode ahead with Cullen a step behind, me right at his heels. The others spread out behind to watch our surroundings. The back of my neck prickled from the intense looks levied at me. While I was free from Meredith’s madness, I wasn’t free from all suspicions. I had basically been ordered to not leave the city, and word of my dazzling display with demons at dinner had probably filtered to the lowest ranks of Templars. I may not know them, but they undoubtedly knew of me. So long my comforting cloak anonymity. Answers were in reach, but so were chains to drag me to the Gallows. I had to tread carefully.

   Cullen stopped abruptly as we turned a corner. I sucked in a breathe: peeking from around his armored foot lay a splayed hand.

   My own trembled, and I steadied one on the pommel of my dagger, the other by fisting it in the hem of my tunic. I came up behind Cullen, and kept my disquiet buried.

   I’d seen death in Thedas, but the dead were most often those who would see me harmed, not some passersby. I had guessed this woman had been the victim of the blood mage, and now I could fully discount Cullen’s proffered gang war explanation. She didn’t look like she had been armed and out to cause mayhem. She didn’t even look like she’d been mugged in the dark by someone to thieve what little she had — the lack of stab wounds in her abdomen or a line across her throat spoke of that. Instead, blood soaked her pale skin, veins rigid, dried rivulets running from her eyes and mouth. Blood not yet dried stuck to her bare legs, or what was left of them. From her lower calves and down her limbs were just gone, and a quick survey of the scene didn’t show them cast aside in maniac fervor.

   Did the mage take them as some kind of sick trophy like a serial killer?

   I was the one about to be sick. A hand clapped over my mouth and I ordered my twisting stomach to behave, though my eyes could not follow orders and proceeded to remain saucer-wide in my face. I just barely got my hand back to my side before Cullen glanced at me. He didn’t even need to say he agreed with me on the blood mage guess. His solemn rage said enough.

   “D-do blood mages have something against ankles? Or is it like, part of spell casting to do t-that?” I wanted to pinch myself for stuttering, for appearing weak, but then, being shaken by atrocities couldn’t really be counted as weakness, right?

   He seemed to be in agreement on that because he gave no indication over my slip-up. “I can’t speak for vendettas, only patterns. The mage we seek has a penchant for removing body parts.”

   That was something Cullen had forgotten to mention at dinner. Likely, because it wasn’t suitable conversation for polite society. From brief mentions from Garrett and what Cullen had disclosed, I had a general idea of the issue to place this new information in context. Women who Kirkwall deemed unimportant had been going missing for years, but all trails ended cold, though some in blood. Enough blood, for some to start suspecting a blood mage.

   Hadn’t there been a Templar in particular investigating the deaths? I could have sworn I’d heard the name.

   Oh, that’s right, Emeric! Garrett had thought him a decent candidate to get a reading on my strange power, but then Justice had appeared and strongly opposed the idea, saying something along the lines of him lacking ingenuity but not in blind adherence. I had to agree with Justice’s take on Templar ideology, but if Emeric noticed and tried to find the missing women, he was a step above most in authority in this city.

   So where was he? How did this escalate to the lieutenant commander?

   “Where’s Emeric?” I glanced around. While a few of the Templars wore the visors on their helmets down, most weren’t, so I got a good look at their faces. None of them seemed old enough to be the elder Templar, and even if he wasn’t anything like I pictured, it would be odd for him to not be right at Cullen’s side in this investigation, right?

   “Dead.” Cullen gritted his teeth, then closed his eyes for a second before blinking them open to resolutely stare at the dead woman. “Murdered, actually. I suspect by the swift brutality of the killing, it was an assassination. He had no enemies we know of save the killer he had spent years tracking. He must have been getting close.”

   I almost spewed out an unladylike “oh fuck” and got the pleasure of biting my tongue instead. I winced, unsure of what I should say. From the tension rolling through present company, even the sincerest of sympathies would feel like a bandaid on a gut wound. What I could do, was help make sure he didn’t die in vain, and would seek justice for the other victims.

   I folded my arms across my chest. “Do you have any idea who he might have been closing in on?”

   “That’s a dead end,” Cullen sighed, moving around the body to examine it at different angle, like the spray of blood was the flourish same as in a signature that he might decipher. Who knows, maybe he could?

   Moira shifted her feet, gaze flicking from me to the body and back again. She had something to say — I was sure of it.

   “Emeric thought an Orlesian nobleman might be connected somehow, but the evidence was circumstantial at best. After a raid on his home and nothing to show for it, the Knight Commander had apolo—” here Cullen cut her a look she did not hold. “I mean, called off the investigation.”

   If Knight Commander Bad Vibes the Paranoid called off the search, then maybe there really wasn’t anything to be found. It sounded like she went after a nobleman with unfounded claims, and as powerful as her position, she was also susceptible to outside pressure. She had to back off this Orlesian same as Garrett wielded his power to shield me, though Leliana definitely tipped the scale in my favor. Regardless, if the killer was the noble, why would he kill Emeric if he already had been cleared? That would make no sense. Maybe Emeric had an undisclosed lead? Or maybe Emeric hadn’t let his suspicion of the Orlesian go? He had been on the case for years. If he thought the man was suspicious, that had to count for something?

   Or maybe it was just the phrase ‘Orlesian nobleman’ orbiting in my mind. I hadn’t met many in Kirkwall. Actually, I’d tried to keep to myself, and only one came to mind.

   “Gascard.” I whispered.

   I hadn’t meant for that to be a likely guess, but from Moira’s stiffening, I knew I’d nailed my shot in the dark.

   “Wait, for real?” My arms dropped to my side. “Gascard du Puis was the man you investigated? He was at the Frederick’s!”

   “I didn’t see him,” Cullen said, voice toneless, eyes far away, like he was reliving that evening.

   Gascard hadn’t been responsible for the mayhem that night — Xebenkeck was — and it turned out the blood mage tip had been a ploy by Arthur to frame Marcella’s lover. It would make sense that if Gascard dipped from the party early when he saw the Templars — who wouldn’t after having a bad experience with them? — but wasn’t it also weird that a powerful man left a party of his peers when faced with the embarrassed Templars who had wrongfully accused him? The first explanation seemed like something I would do, but the latter more like something a noble would. Something just felt off, but I couldn’t exactly say what had tripped the nagging sensation.

   Moira seemed the more intrigued of the two, like maybe she leaned more towards Emeric’s read of the case than the Knight Commander or Cullen. Interesting.

   “Well, what did he do?” she asked.

   I grimaced as I recalled my awkward handshake and overwrought curtsy. “Uh, mainly helped me load up my plate with a turkey leg.” Oh, and pricked myself like the klutziest Sleeping Beauty.

   Moira blinked at me, her resting what-was-the-point-of-that face still.

   “And he left quickly when he saw the Knight Commander and you,” here I nodded at Cullen, “coming,” I supplied in a rush.

   Said “you” was looking like maybe it was a mistake that he brought me along despite my connection to Garrett. Or maybe he was just coming to the same conclusions about the weirdness of the interactions same as me. Hard to say.

   Not for me anyways. I’d at least told what I knew to the Templars, an organization I’d normally rather naw my own tongue off than help in any way, but I could make an exception for catching a serial killer mage. I’d be telling the Kirkwall crew about all this as soon as I could. It wasn’t like they weren’t tangentially aware of the case, if not some like Garrett who had been directly involved in it, like working with Emeric. Maybe they’d catch something the Templars or I missed.

   Speaking of missed, beneath all the red, underneath one of the dead woman’s hands cradled between chest and earth, was a blip of white.

   “What’s that?” I pointed.

   Cullen followed my finger, gently knelt at her side, and pulled out a bloodstained bouquet of white lilies crushed under her crumpled form.

   “As if we didn’t know who to blame for this,” Moira spat.

   I went as pale as the untouched patches on the petals. Cullen had said at the Frederick’s that a white lily was the serial killer’s calling card, but between the marriage proposal, demons, and blood mage accusations, that tidbit had become a deleted milibyte. Moreso than the Orlesian nobleman part tickling my brain it more detonated—

   Because Leandra had received a bouquet of white lilies.

   There had been no card, no one to hand off the flowers at the door. I had thought at the time it was a weird courting gift due to the presumed symbolism but supposed I could be wrong due to the whole different worlds thing.

   Was I wrong?

   Please, let me be wrong.

   “What do white lilies symbolize?”

   Moira and Cullen had been moving aside so the rest of the Templars, the clean up crew, could approach the body, but both stopped to stare at me as if I’d said something incredibly odd.

   “Shouldn’t you know, Lady Payne?” Moira said dryly.

   I really should, or at least pretend like I do, but my cover was way lower stakes than a serial killer who might be marking Leandra as the next victim.

   When I said nothing, Moira looked like she really wanted to throw her hands up. “Purity,” she said, the duh all in the tone.

   Cullen seemed torn between reprimanding his subordinate and figuring out what I was getting at.

   I hadn’t quite parsed it out myself. I made myself take a deep breathe.

   Just because Leandra received white lilies, it didn’t mean she was the next target. I had to assume that people bought and gave lilies for a variety of reasons and not all of the recipients, even in Kirkwall, would soon meet the pyscho in a dark alley in a burst of their own blood. That would send the city into a full blown panic of riotous levels. While the white lilies and the manner of their delivery were a definite red flag, there had to be some reason as to why the killer used such symbolic flowers. If I could figure that out, I could figure out if I needed to let Leandra know she should be at Defcon 5 or Defcon 1.

   The purity meaning brought to mind the image of a wedding dress. Assuming Thedas brides also wore white, there could be a tie there? It would make sense too, how all the victims were women.

   Daring to chance it, I said, “Like a bride.”

   Well, at least I assumed correctly on the whole wear white thing, preserving my veil of being Thedasian lady a little longer, but I basically must have stated the obvious.

   Moira sighed, clearly annoyed with the inane amateur in the midst. “Yes, we already made that connection. But don’t you think it’s weird that he’d give lilies to women before he horrifically murders them and defiles their bodies?”

   That probably was a rhetorical question, but even if it wasn’t, I didn’t have a good answer.

   That didn’t bother Cullen who swept the whole supposition aside. “I’m less concerned about the artistic statement the mage is making than I am hunting him down and putting a permanent end to his murderous magic.” From the murderous look taking his own face, it was hard to forget how he said mages weren’t people like him, like me, or so he assumed. Not that I was a mage, just some anomaly, but if my secret power slipped, doubtful he’d be interested in semantics and classifications. I am different, so a threat.

   Ever conscious of the lethally-trained, armored bodies surrounding me, I pressed on. “Have you tracked the flower sellers? See who buys what and when?”

   Moira folded her arms. “Emeric did that for months, and of the flower merchants, which I am sure you well know,” here, a narrowed glance, “there were thousands of of flowers moved a day, many of which being lilies. Weddings, Chantry ceremonies. He tried to look for patterns, follow-up on even the most benign of ideas, but he couldn’t make anything of it. Didn’t help he couldn’t even rule out private gardens.”

   I ignored her petty barb. Made sense Emeric didn’t get anywhere, but at least the symbolism of the flower carried over in its usage in society. This blood mage wasn’t massacring swathes of people, but select few over the course of years. The only common denominators between them were they being adult women who received the lilies then were murdered and mutilated. But was the mutilation always the same?

   “Is it always the lower legs that gets taken?”

   Moira looked just about done with my questions. Before she could respond, Cullen interjected, “No, going from Emeric’s notes, this is the first time. He reported both the left and right hand going missing on a victim, as well as the upper legs on another. The rest, well, Emeric never found the bodies of the missing who he could only assumed were the mage’s victims too.”

   “So as far as we know, he never repeats the same part twice.” I said, as a sinister image crept into my mind, each body part being laid out in a chalk outline. As if the pieces fused and moved, came the startling epiphany: The mage was assembling a puzzle, carefully selecting his victims for the pieces they carried, like he was making a mix-and-match corpse a la Frankenstein’s monster. I had no way to be certain, but this line of thought felt right.

   With blood magic involved, the implications were horrifying. Was the mage going to summon a demon to animate his creation? Not like I hadn’t seen demons, albeit low-level ones, possess corpses before like in the Sundermount caverns. Somehow, if it was supposed to be some kind of weapon, it would have to be stronger than the ones I’d encountered in the caverns, but not as strong as Xebenkeck in Marcella’s body. It seemed like a lot of effort to do, but maybe it was so the demon didn’t possess the mage? I didn’t know near enough about any of this to know if I was wildly off or not.

   “Could the mage be trying to build a vessel for demon possession?” I asked.

   A stillness fell across everyone, and a shiver of wrongness flittered in my periphery. Then it grew, and it became a low-whine near imperceptible, discordant. It felt familiar.

   “Why don’t you tell me, Lady Payne?” Commander Meredith purred, her voice like the tapping of a champagne glass to call for a toast. Only, she hit that glass so hard it cracked. I didn’t doubt she would hesitate to cut with her fake niceties. “You seem to be everywhere where the trouble is. Making sure your cover holds for your crimes?”

   “Commander,” Cullen greeted with a deferential nod and positioned himself before his superior like he was reporting in, but it wasn’t lost on me how he’d moved quickly and quietly so he stood between us. I was almost as surprised by his action as I was at Meredith’s sudden appearance.

   Meredith smiled like she had something in her teeth and she planned on using my bones as a toothpick. “I trust you have good reason for bringing a civilian to a crime scene but not me.”

   “I sent a runner for you as soon as I heard.”

   “Must have gotten lost in all these dark twists and turns, much like your blood mage.” Those ice eyes stayed trained on me, pinning me like a fly in a web. Maybe the strange sensation I’d felt when she arrived she felt with me too, and we both felt wrong to the other. That was why she was so keen on me being the blood mage.

   “Or you missed one another.”

   “Perhaps,” was all she allowed before she glided past him to stare down at the dead woman. She never blinked. Quietly, so quietly so only I could hear her, “You may have him convinced and the Divine’s hand, but I know your kind. You can’t fool me. Hide behind Hawke while you can, but I’ll expose what you are, and when I do, you’ll pay for not owning up to the truth. I’ll hunt you all down. Just give it time. You always slip up eventually.”

   Then, as if she never spoke to me, she addressed her soldiers. “Fan out across these tunnels. I want any impressions of magic, blood, or drag marks followed. Go in twos.” She curled her lips at me. “You never know what’s waiting in the dark.”

   Scrapper’s ears has gone flat against his skull, legs braced as if he might lunge if Meredith made a wrong move in my direction. Then he turned back to nudge my palm. I didn’t have to be told twice. It was time to get out of here before I no longer could. All I needed was to give Meredith one reason, and she’d clap me in irons or worse. I had no desire to find out what worse was.

   How does one gracefully exit a murder scene? Not halfheartedly waving and pretending like you weren’t just threatened as you turn heel and march away, but that’s exactly what I did.

   At least until Cullen stopped me. “Two by two also means you,” he said, not unkindly. “I’ll walk you back.” He was in hot water with his commander, who definitely did not like me, and her ire would likely splash on him, but he still wanted to make sure I made it safely to my front door. Or at least, I went home and nowhere suspicious afterwards, but I chose to believe the former.

   Meredith, who had been talking lowly to Moira, snapped her attention to me. “Actually she will. Cullen, you’ll be accompanying me in the northern tunnels.”

   Okay, so maybe Cullen also wanted to use me as an escape from his superior like I had used him to shake Garrett. He didn’t protest — he couldn’t really — so I was left with a not so thrilled Moira instead. Clearly, she wanted to take part in the search of the mage who likely killed her mentor, not babysitting the clueless noblewoman who fancied herself an amateur detective. I couldn’t blame her. But the close way she watched made me wonder if Meredith hadn’t further plunged her opinion of me by whispering poison in her ears. Well, not much I could do about that if she did.

   “Thanks,” was all I said, and indicated the path leading up to Lowtown. “Shall we?”

   I kept a mabari length between the two of us as we climbed to the surface. As we ascended I caught far off calls of the searching Templars, but they were soon swallowed by the dark and blanketed with the rest of Darktown’s noises. It felt disconcerting to see residents go about their lives like there wasn’t a butchered woman in the tunnels. Had they heard? Or was it just another tragedy these people bore witness to everyday? Refugees who made it in the walls but failed to find lucrative work wasted away with lack of good food and daylight. Others scraped by but watched their backs like their neighbors could turn into enemies, all driven by desperation. Many joined gangs and wound up with a knife to the back. It was depressing as hell.

   Even more depressing was the fact that it took a serial killer blood mage to get the powers that ruled this city into the underground. Imagine if they spent their resources reducing poverty instead of treating the poor like rats? Or if the Templars were only ever used to track down murderous mages and tried like any other criminal, and everyone else born with magic wasn’t sentenced for being born with a connection to the Fade? What if mages were allowed to just exist like everyone else? There would probably be quite few with Anders’ nature in them with the spirit to help others.

   Anders, fuck, I never even got to see him. Being unable to talk to him felt like the end of a row of stitches: left untied, it was liable to come undone. He was supposed to come to the manor tomorrow to report on whether my father’s dagger was safe to use or not, but I would toss and turn the time away until then.

   I breathed a deep sigh of relief when we entered Lowtown and the sun painted the sky orange and indigo. Today had felt more like a week, and the tiredness weighing on my bones was likely half emotional exhaustion. I felt as empty as the tankard I’d left in the Hanged Man. There really was no way to go from learning someone confessed their love to you, to gaining the courage to go confront them about it, only to stumble on a murder scene instead. Oh, and I was a likely suspect by the one in charge. Joy. Couldn’t wait to tell Garrett about this. His overprotective tendencies were bound to kick into overdrive. Not just of me, but Leandra too. As soon as I got home, I’d corner her and make her promise not to go anywhere alone, just in case the white lilies at our door weren’t a coincidence.

   With that thought, I quickened my pace. It suited me fine that Moira met all my attempts at conversation with one-word replies. Saved more breath for getting home and away from her narrowed gaze.

   I cut down a few alley shortcuts Varric had showed me on our numerous visits to the clinic, making a trailing Moira grumble under her breath. Maybe ducking down alleys wasn’t the smartest with twilight fast approaching, but it would be worse to still be on the streets come nightfall. Gangs were like vampires, hunting at night, and while I wouldn’t be an easy mark with a mabari warhound and Templar as company, I didn’t want to tempt fate. Fate already liked to play games with me more than it ever should.

   As we neared the border between Lowtown and the thousand and one steps to Hightown, a prickle lanced down my spine. It could have been mistaken for a shiver or twinging muscle, but I’d felt it one too many times to flippantly disregard it. I stopped on the too silent street suddenly so that a sour Moira strode past me several paces before even realizing I’d frozen.

    Our path would lead us around a few more bends before the stairs, what I should be rushing through to get back to the manor, but something felt wrong. A well of uncertainty opened in my stomach, and a hand went to my dagger. I tilted my head, like I could sense better what my power tried to alert me to at a new angle.

   As if second eyelids dropped down, not ones for shutting out but for seeing in, my power brought the feeling into focus. And right there! A tugging sensation came subtly beneath my skin, like with every pump of my heart, the pulls kept coming stronger, closer. Like my veins were Merrill’s ball of string she once used to avoid getting lost in Kirkwall, but unlike a guide back to the alienage, the line ended with me.

   Scrapper whined, his own head cocked. Moira, on the other hand, whirled around and demanded, “What now? Forgot to buy some ribbons at the market?”

   Of course I couldn’t admit to my power, so I lamely spoke into the quiet, “Did you hear that?”

   Moira sneered, no doubt about to lampoon me with another barb, but she stopped when she noticed where my hand rested. “If you think you can get out of—

   Her words were lost to a sea of prickles crashing over my skin. I hunched over as my hands went to my head, and that must have been what saved me, because a blast of power rushed over my head and right into the unsuspecting Templar.

   Moira screamed, and then choked. I looked up and staggered back. She hung spasming and suspended in air, clawing at her throat as blood gushed from her eyes and mouth.

   “Fuck, oh fuck,” I whimpered, before shaking the unnatural hold on me and running for the woman. I tried and failed to reach her twitching ankles and pull her down from whatever force held her above.

   No, not whatever force, but magic, Mel, blood magic! 

   I’d felt this power before, should’ve recognized it sooner, but it felt vengeful and wild, unlike Merrill’s or Daria’s. Its signature imprinted on my senses making me dizzy like a wind whipping up sand in my face.

   The unnatural fear and confusion from a second ago arrowed towards me again. Only one thing could push emotions onto people like that: a demon.

   A hulking shadow came sweeping up behind. Dagger in hand and feet in a fighter’s stance, I swallowed hard. Moira hit even harder behind me in a bang of metal and bones when the spell cast on her waned. I didn’t dare look back. Scrapper didn’t when he launched at the shade whose arms likely carried the power of a grizzly swipe.

   As if it knew I hardly stood a chance against the demon in hand to hand combat, my power shook itself awake. It had fought demons when threatened before, and it was brimming to do it again. I had half a mind to let it, but if it took control like it had at the Frederick’s and made me vacate my body, I could be in epic shit. The only one to live from this encounter could be Scrapper, and maybe, what I hoped wasn’t a corpse behind me. That didn’t even account for the blood mage.

   Do not use it to protect me or anyone else. Only use it if you have no other option to save yourself, Fenris’ words echoed. He would have me run, scream for help, and only fight with my power if completely cornered. Garrett would likely agree, but like my fiance had mused, I am a lot like Anders.

   I screamed as loud as my lungs could, as if Moira’s screams hadn’t been enough to let anyone nearby know something awful was happening and help would be very much appreciated. The snarls from Scrapper and the hisses and moans from the shade would only underscore that. I shook the Templar’s shoulder, as if the screaming hadn’t been enough to rouse a blackout drunk, but she didn’t move. She had to be the one to wake and run because there was no way I’d be able to drag her armor and all away from the scene. But with one more rough shake, the last one I knew I could afford to make before I fled, her head snapped to face me. Her sightless eyes told me there was no one left to save.

   I stumbled back, the leash on my power slipping, fingers starting to glow. I swore, tugging my power back, panic mounting with a second and third shade coming up behind the first. Who was this blood mage who could summon so many demons and still not be possessed? I whirled around, but the mage remained physically concealed, but not magically by my power, which leaked out to scan the surrounding area. It cut through the noise in my head in a second, pinpointing the mage around the corner where he began another blood magic spell. Even if I could get close to the mage to kill him with my dagger in time, if I could get past his defenses, we’d still have demons to contend with. We had to run right now.

   I opened my mouth to call for Scrapper, but never got his name out because a shade slammed him into the side of the building. His legs gave out when he tried to rise, just as my grip on my power yanked free from my startled grasp. Scrapper barked at me, as bossy as his master, and maybe I would’ve listened if my power wasn’t zipping through my veins like a wonder drug. It was all I could do to direct the flashflood at our oncoming enemies.

   I screamed down our intangible connection, I’m sorry, Fenris!

   Then I was consumed in white. 

Chapter Text

   My name came to me like an echo on a mountainside. That deep voice calling reverberated in my ribs like a guitar until the pluck string was silenced. It was familiar, that note, though distorted and faint: Fenris.

   The green that greeted my fluttering eyelids were not his emerald but the noxious shade of the Fade. Black rock pinnacled about me like the fingers of a giant about to make a fist, and I sitting helpless in its palm. Beyond, hazy sky roiled around floating islands, the largest the equidistant Black City, this realm’s Panopticon.

   I bolted upright, the uneven surface I’d been sprawled upon leaving knots in my back, making me suck in a pained breath. My body felt like it had fallen down the Hightown stairs, but should I be feeling anything at all in the Fade? My only experience with the place beyond Anders’ stories were Xebenkeck’s memories. It was a spiritual plain, like some kind of dreamscape. I couldn’t actually be here. Was I sleeping? Could I dream of a place in such vivid detail if I’d only glimpsed it from a demon’s memories though? This had to be a dream; nothing else made sense.

   I really hated this line of thought cause it was way too familiar. The last time I had been certain I was waking in my mind’s fictional conjuration, I’d actually just been getting my first introduction to an alternate world by getting abducted by scavengers in Darktown. Assuming crazy shit happening wasn’t real was a great way to get knifed. I had zero desire to repeat the experience.  

   I had to assume this was real, and I somehow, incredibly, wound up in the Fade. It still left the obvious question as to how, because Flemeth had no part in my world hopping this time. I wasn’t a mage so I shouldn’t be able to consciously dream in the Fade, right? How did mages even wake up from Fade walks? Not like there were handy red EXIT signs in case of fire.

   As to fire, the white kind had been my last memory. Like most times my power had taken control in the past, it came with passing out and patchy memory. It was like there was this whole other being living inside me and taking control like in some creepy bodysnatcher sci-fi film. I was so done with feeling like my power was an excited, overgrown mabari pup one second and then turning around and biting me like a rabid dire wolf the next. I would insist that I practice and learn more about my power when I woke. It was a weapon I wanted to learn to wield without cutting myself in the process.

   Regardless of how I got here, I certainly couldn’t stay here, considering what patches of memory I did have involved a vicious blood mage, Scrapper in danger, and a horde of shades. If this was all a lucid dream I had after being knocked out by my power, it was imperative I wake to get myself out of danger — I couldn’t assume that my power had done me a solid and burnt all my foes to a crisp before sending me nighty-night. If this is what I feared and I was actually dreaming in the literal Fade, then I still needed to wake up for the same reasons, only I had less of an idea of exactly how to do that since this was no simple nightmare.

   “I would like to wake up now,” I told a particularly pungent flume coming from what resembled a subterranean smokestack, then pinched myself just in case I’d gotten stuck here for the former reason, not the latter.

   The Fade rudely ignored my request. A non-existent breeze pushed some of the gag-worthy fumes right into my face. I whirled my back on it and strode to a more fresh air area, ignoring the tremble that wanted to take me. I was not going to panic even if I grew more certain by the second that I was Fade dreaming mage-style when that should be impossible.

   I spun around, searching the ground like I could see a tunnel back down to Thedas. If even going down was the way. Maybe it was up like a portal in the sky or sideways like a door in the rock? Or maybe I had to fade out, pardon the pun, like a transporter in Star Trek? I had no idea, no clue how to get back, if I even could.  

   See? I was definitely not panicking.

   Like my mounting emotions beckoned, my power came forth like an everlasting spring. It soothed my worry away like wrinkles in silk. My catastrophic thoughts quieted so it felt like I had taken a step away from myself. Even my back aches and lingering pang from my harsh pinch vanished.

   With new invigoration, my power quested out like roots in the earth. It felt as natural as when I’d fought Xebenkeck in her mind. It had never been this easy, this willing to do what I wished on Thedas.

   Almost like it was home here.

   I frowned but didn’t dwell on it. I’d roll with the white fire’s willingness to cooperate. I let my senses spread out, filling the surrounding space like smoke does a closed room, seeking all the cracks and crevices.

   What I found should’ve felt alien, and it did feel new, but not strange despite its strangeness. Anders had said the Fade was a temporal plain out of time, ever changing, ever staying the same, and he’d been right. It was an overwhelming rush, so much more than searching in a single demon’s mind. I tried to narrow my focus to doors, tunnels, pathways, but all I found kept twisting and winding and switching back. It felt like it could go on forever.

   Maybe it did.

   Or maybe I was looking for too human of a way out. Maybe it was like a spell, and I just needed a few magic words to focus my intent, and let my power do the rest.

   I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and pictured Thedas. I centered myself on Garrett, Anders, and Fenris. I thought of the Amell manor. I recalled Varric, Isabela, and Merrill at the Hanged Man. I smiled at the memory of Scrapper play-tackling me, and shuddered when he hit the building side by the shade swipe. I pictured shades rushing us, the impending casting of the blood mage, and Moira dead at my feet.

   There’s no place like home. I focused my power, clicked my heels three times for a centering flourish, then unleashed.

   When I opened my eyes, my last remembered scene on Thedas was exactly what I got. A shade shrieked and came barreling down on me, and instinctively my power flared protectively at my adrenaline surge. It needn’t have bothered, because the shade’s violence didn’t touch me. No, it passed through me! Like I wasn’t even there, only unlike Xebenkeck’s memories, I was what really existed, not it. As soon as I realized the farce I’d painted with my power, it peeled away, revealing the same Fade that had been there a moment before. My power had taken me back the only way it knew how, but it couldn’t make my wish a reality.

   I sat on a boulder, face in my hands, mind an empty roar. Tears of frustration threatened, but I gasped them back. After a span of deep breathing, I straightened.

   My first waking thought here had been of Fenris. Maybe he had heard me through our connection before my power took control. Maybe I could still reach him. He should be able to wake me up or get Anders or Merrill to help if he couldn’t.

   The power came to my beckoning again as simple as a thought here, no life threatening situations necessary, but when I felt out, the tautness of my connection to Fenris was limp. I grabbed a hold of it like I would a rope and pulled, but instead of sending out a cry for help, all I received was the severed end.

   I startled like someone had dropped the murdered woman’s missing ankles in my lap. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. This was so, so bad. I didn’t have a tutorial showing me what to do as I go like in a video game when it came to my power, but it wasn’t hard to piece together what an utter shit sandwich I was holding. It was worse than falling overboard on a winter night in the middle of the Atlantic on an ocean-liner, and then discovering the life preserver I’d managed to hold onto on my icy plunge wasn’t even tied to the ship so I could wind my way back and scream my head off and hope someone would pull me back aboard before I froze to death. Oh, and since this was the Fade, aka Demon Land, add some sharks and a kraken to the extended metaphor and that about summed it up.

   Ironic, wasn’t it, that I’d unknowingly done this same thing to Imshael when he attacked me in the Hanged Man, what I’d learned I’d done from tapping Xebenkeck’s memories. What I replicated on Xebenkeck so Fenris could finish her off at the Frederick’s. Only, I’m on the other side of what happens when I drift away from my body and now my line back has been zilched out of existence. I didn’t just disappear into the ether. I went to the Fade, and my mortal body has been left behind. This was definitely no conscious Fade dream.

   My power reacted to my stress out like a clueless companion, wrapping me in warm light as if to comfort me for the predicament it caused. It flared at my distress in an attempt to burn the roaring, and useless, emotions away, and I let it. Maybe here I needed to be less human and more whatever my power made me anyways. It made my probing of the severed connection feel less like reeling from losing a limb and more a kid prodding at where a loose tooth had fallen out: odd and novel, but not devastating.  

   I became strangely muted, not completely myself. When I looked to the Black City hovering in the sky, I had no more reaction than if I’d been on Earth staring up at a full moon, like it was just a matter of course. That sparked concern, but it came in faint and fleeting.

   My power settled in my veins, content as a cat laying before a hearth, and if I wished, I could scoop it purring all the while to lay in my lap. But I didn’t wish to disturb it, and I didn’t see a need to ask it for anything else. That had led me nowhere, but I had to go somewhere.

   I could have chosen a direction at random, but something made me turn towards one path in particular. It was like a sweet-scented breeze, a graceful beckoning of fingers, a familiar, enchanting song.

   I followed the vague thread like the Cheshire Cat did Alice, like I was just a mysterious figure witnessing and only occasionally intervening in the main character’s story. With my mild curiosity I witnessed the Fade’s wonders and its mysteries. A table laid out for a feast that would never begin. Headstones in languages I couldn’t recognize. Boiling pits of sludge that didn’t give off heat. Phantom armies waging war from forgotten histories without a single ring of metal meeting metal. Flickering, humanoid specters always wandering in the distance, as reachable as the end of the rainbow.

   Only once did I stop, when I saw a book propped open on an ornate lectern, as if an orator had left mid speech. The pages were weathered yellow at the edges, though no dust covered the pages. It was off the song’s tugging line, and yet I approached, a tendril of reserved interest creeping in when I got close enough to recognize the characters of the looping scrawl as a language I could read. Flipping to the front, the title went: The Wander’s Riddles: True Answers to Questions Not Asked. 

   Well, this would probably be as useful as a copy of Through the Looking Glass right now. Still, I flipped the page, expecting a wall of text or illustration, but only got twin sentences which slowly materialized:

   One question for one being. One answer in one tale. 

   Guess that’s the Terms of Service. An outline of a hand, faint as the trace of a sketch appeared; when I held my hand up to it, it aligned perfectly, so I pressed down. Warmth flared beneath my palm, power flaring. I gasped, nearly getting my fingers smashed by the pages taking a life of their own, flurrying like wind aimed to scatter them across the Fade, then stopped two thirds of the way through.

   An illustration appeared of a young girl admiring the view of a lake from atop a steep overhang, verdant wild lands surrounding, consuming the page in a splash of intricate color. There was darkness only faintly hidden. Lurking in the shadows of the overhang like a troll would a bridge, a demon not unlike the one I encountered on the steps to Hightown perked up at the mortal’s presence. Its head had craned up to look at her, and she the sky reflected in the calm waters.

   As soon as my attention focused, the pictures started moving like a story board drawn and flipped between fingers in the corner of a notebook. Golden, glowing text apparated at the bottom, one letter after the other, molten in its intensity before cooling to black.

   Instead of leaping at the unsuspecting child, the demon of the earth, Gazarath, befriended the child, Astia, which emphasized the fairy part of this tale. They roamed the beaches, playing, talking, laughing. She never flinched in his presence, for he never gave her reason. When scampering over wet stepping stones of the stream feeding the lake, she steadied herself with a hold of his arm with implicit trust he wouldn’t let her fall. Everyday she returned to her home in Ostagar safer than many an armed man patrolling the Kocari Wilds.

   With each new image, Astia grew, from girl to woman. Gazarath grew too, always closer, ever longer. Their shadows always overlapped on their walks, so when the setting sun cast their merged forms as big a dragon against the ground, it was as beautiful as it was monstrous.

   The monstrous, however, would only just now emerge. Astia did not spend all her days by the lake with chores and lessons and the occasional adult wondering where she might have gone off to, but grown Astia had a new addition: Nebbunar. He was handsome, with an apprenticeship to a local, renown blacksmith, and was occasionally as funny as Gazarath. They traded witty remarks as she passed the smithy, and soon they were exchanging kisses. Soon, they called it love. Astia wanted to share the happiness she’d found in Nebbunar with those closet.

   The one closet of all wanted to be the only one of importance in her life. Enraged with jealousy, Gazarath cast her out when she shared the news. Hovering over the plunge to the lake below, the demon gestured to the place they’d spent countless days. He promised if she did not deliver her lover’s ashes, she would never see him again.

   It was the first time the illustrated Astia ever looked the least bit fearful in the demon’s company, and it wasn’t even fear for Nebbunar or even what the demon might do towards her in its anger. No, she was scared of what it might mean to never share another day with the being from the Fade who had been as constant in her life as every sunrise. She returned to Ostagar, returned to the arms of her lover, but her eyes caught on the forge fire and the short shadows the pair of them entwined cast on the wall.

   Without Gazarath’s visits to act as a demarcation, the days slipped away like raindrops on the lake. On one that had seemed no more different than those past, she visited the smithy, for that was what she did most now that her favorite spot in the wilds was now barred, Nebbunar proposed with a ring he’d fashioned himself. She realized if she wore it, that would be the end. So she made her choice, ending Nebbunar, the man she thought she loved, with one of his daggers instead.

   The swift draw of the blade across his throat made him topple into the fire. She lifted his legs to further shove him into the heat. Once he was no more than ash, she scooped up his remains, placed them in a sack, and went for the lake in hopes she was not too late. As she sprinkled the ash on the overhang, a single, dark hand emerged from underneath, readying to inspect its offering.

   Then the illustrations stopped.

   “That’s it?” I flipped to the next page, but there was nothing. Back at the front page, I placed my palm back where the sketch of a handprint had been, but no warmth followed. My power could sense nothing from it anymore. Like it was no more than any other book now.

   What was the point of that morbid story? Figures the Fade would give out the early, non-Brother’s Grimm version of fairy tales with blood and horror. What was the point of the story anyways? Don’t propose to women who cavort with demons on play-dates? Great, wasn’t planning on it.  

   It didn’t matter. I had been distracted too long. I still needed to get out of here, and the book didn’t hold the answer to that question, but that wisp of a song still lingered, still tempted.

   Once again, I walked. I kept walking until I got to end of the song.

   I couldn’t say how much time had passed if even such a concept existed here. There was no sun charting its passage across the sky and I neither felt weary nor hungry. I felt as if in a trance, as if the landscape urged me to merge with it. It seemed at times like the mother I’d secretly wished for in the dead of night as a child, arms open and welcoming. Like I could lay down, close my eyes, and let Fade flora claim my remains as I drifted away into the mists.

   I had been staring at a particularly inviting stretch of ground when a very human, very real voice demanded, “Begone demon!”

   A teen in mage robes pointed his staff at me, braced as if I might pounce like a mountain lion. Blond locks flopped from beneath his apprentice’s cowl, mouth twisted in what probably meant to be a threatening snarl but looked more like he had just sniffed something foul.

   To be fair, the fumes coming from the occasional smokestack or sludge pool wasn’t the aroma perfumers aspire to invent.

   I turned to face him fully. “I—

   “I said begone! You cannot fool me!”

   My power didn’t feel threatened by the cudgel end of the staff bobbing in my face, more disgruntled like a cat abruptly awoken, all leery-eyed with the hair on its face smooshed to one side. It didn’t let me feel fear though, just some light irritation. “I am not a demon.”

   “That’s what a demon would say!”

   I didn’t throw up my hands in exasperation only because I didn’t want the jumpy guy to think I was about to jump him instead.“And what would a non-demon say to prove they weren’t a demon?”

   His lips pursed. “I don’t know, but if I did I wouldn’t tell you. Then you would just use the information against me.”

   “Well how do I know you aren’t the demon?” Ha! Uno Reverse.

   “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care what you think of me.”

   I crossed my arms and quirked a brow.  

   At our impasse the mage’s staff lowered an inch. “Right, well,” he glanced behind me. “I don’t have time for this anyhow.”

   A time limit? Oh, he must be undertaking his Harrowing. Anders had given me the run down on that. Teenagers were taken at random into the Harrowing chamber, demons were called via a lyrium concoction, and then an apprentice was made to face it in the Fade. If they got possessed or took too long, it was a swift end by a Templar blade in the corporeal world. Their only other option would be to be made Tranquil, which was just death by another name.

   This guy was having about as bad a day as me. Maybe worse, depending on how this excursion ended.

   Cautiously, because the staff was still held guardedly, I offered my hand. “I’m Amelia Payne. Not a demon, just a person with really bad luck.”

   He handled the shake like one would a rattle snake then dropped it just as swiftly, muttering, “Apprentice Ewaldo of the Gallows.”

   “Damn, you have to do your Harrowing under Meredith’s reign. I’m so sorry.”

   That got his attention. “Y-you know the Knight Commander?”

   “Unfortunately.”

   The battle-readiness of his shoulders softened into a slump. “Yeah.” Safe to say he no longer thought I was a demon, but he looked defeated all the same.

   But, he didn’t have to be, and neither did I. Maybe, we could make each other’s day a whole lot less terrible by working together. Not like I had any other ideas.

   “So, I kind of wound up here by accident. A blood mage did some uh, shady stuff I don’t entirely understand, and boom, here I am. Maybe some of the rumors about the investigation Emeric had been doing made it to the Circle?” Ewaldo just squinted at me, so I plowed on. “I’d really appreciate some help getting back to Kirkwall. I’m not Fade dreaming or whatever it’s called and I can’t make it back without help. Can you take me with you when you go?” At Ewaldo’s narrowing stare, I compromised. “Or if you get a message out to the Amell estate? It would be for Garrett Hawke. If the note could say you saw me stuck here, then tell him my body is somewhere before the start of the Hightown steps, that would do wonders.”

   Ewaldo’s eyes had practically turned into slits. I tried to distract with how utterly insane my story sounded by making an offer of my own. Desperate people made desperate bargains. “If you do it, I’ll help you on your Harrowing. I’m packing a lot of firepower,” I held my palm out like Anders had done for me in his clinic all those weeks ago, and shot out a pillar of white flame. “Emphasis on the fire.”

   His eyes widened but then settled into a schooled expression, like he had just made a decision about me. He nodded down the path. With a nod of my own, I led the way. Maybe my luck was getting better? After everything—

   A blast sent me sprawling face first on the ground.

   The shock of it kept the pain of the arcane bolt away for a moment, but then I convulsed with the aftershock a second later like a fish out of water.

   My power, however, did not. It came roaring up less like a cranky cat and more like a slumbering dragon whose hoard had just been borrowed from. It had let a stranger within striking distance, then had that tentative trust betrayed. It absorbed the next bolt and dissipated it off in the distance, allowing me to get my feet underneath me.

   “As if I would ever make a deal with a demon!” the mage screeched. “Helpful spirits are rare, and I’ve seen Valor already. It’s where I got this staff after our duel.” He twirled it unnecessarily dramatic before leveling it at me again, summoning what looked suspiciously like a blast of fire, making my stomach lurch. “You must think us apprentices easy! Just a bit of memory reading or circumstantial clues and you think you can pretend to be from Kirkwall. Make the most obvious offer for me to ferry you to the mortal realm it was as if straight from our first year trainings. As if! Back to the Void with you!”

   He unleashed the flames, and I winced even as I felt my power shield me. My emotions, however, were coming through more strongly despite my power’s damper, the most prominent being horror. Not of the fire though considering my almost death by rage demon not long ago it would’ve made sense, but at the stark realization that before the mage had shown up, I’d been drifting much too far from myself. Human concerns evaporated away like dew and me with it. Only his appearance and blast of his magic had diverted me from the Fade’s and my power’s sedative, seductive pull.

   My power yanked to fight back, but I reined it in. I didn’t want to hurt the mage even though he’d hurt me. Unintentionally, he’d saved me.

   As I lowered my arms, I did the same for him. Picturing the ice Anders had conjured in his clinic, I cast a stream of it over the mage’s head right at the rage demon who had been coming up behind. Maybe it had been drawn by our fight or maybe  the lyrium the Templars used in the ritual, but our squabble had certainly masked the demon’s approach.

   Before Ewaldo could freak out and think I was attacking him back, albeit badly, I took a turn at crying, “Demon!”

   That being his favorite word, he looked over his shoulder just as the fiery creature broke through the icy casing. He squeaked, probably because it was one thing to launch accusations and arcane bolts at some alleged demon and another to face a being that clearly could be nothing but demonic. Almost tripping on the hem of his robe, he uttered a quick mind blast which made rage’s gigantic arms droop, stumbled a few more steps back, then cast a wintery spell of his own. The demon let out a frustrated, despairing growl then melted into the ground of the Fade like it had never been.

   I edged closer as Ewaldo struggled to catch his breath. Surprise attacks do tend to knock the breath out of you — I should know, not that I was upset by getting blasted in the back or anything. Squashing sarcasm from my tone, I said, “Congratulations for passing your Harrowing.”

   Ewaldo looked back at me in complete bewilderment. “Why would a demon fight another demon?”

   Oh for fuck’s sake! I gritted my teeth and flung my arms out. “Cause I’m not a demon!” There it is, there’s the tone.

   Ewaldo looked warily to my hands, the one he shook in particular, then studied the one that had held mine as if searching for a mark before looking back again.

   I followed his gaze. My hands still glowed with power like they’d pulled twin suns from the universe for one to embed in either palm. The light traveled up my arms and covered my entire body. Looking down, my whole body shimmered, power blazing in some secret, ether furnace.

   Ewaldo definitely wasn’t glowing from using magic in the Fade, once again reinforcing the notion I’d already well establish about not being a mage. But I certainly wasn’t a demon so—

   Ewaldo started to look faint. Not like he might pass out, but like he’d gone translucent. Like he was fading away.

   Like he was going back to Thedas.

   “Wait!” I screamed and leaped for him, hoping he’d take me with him, but my arms closed over empty air. He was gone, and I was alone.

    This time the frustrated tears came. They burned from my eyes and scorched my cheeks. I welcomed the emotion, the very human moment, and let it wash over every bit of me. My power’s glow dimmed, and the last shred of apathy it had cloaked me in with it.

   I’d spent my entire life alone. Would I really be cursed to wander a world I didn’t understand with a power that was just as mystifying? Would I die here? Or would I give into the call of this place and become like one of those specters roaming, as substantial as dream fragments and just as memorable?

  Shit, even if upon reflection Ewaldo decided to believe my story, what chance did he have of getting a message out from under Meredith’s eye to the Amell Estate in time? My single shot of a hope hadn’t a chance of hitting true, did it? I didn’t know how long I’d been in the Fade but every minute was a moment I didn’t know if I could afford to lose back on Thedas. It could already be too late.

   I wanted to go home. I wanted Garrett to come back to the house, to scoop me in his arms as he liked to do and tickle me with his beard as he kissed my neck. I wanted us wrapped up in each other before the fire after a long day, reading side by side.

   I wanted to see Fenris to stop gazing back on his past and look up into blue skies full of promise. I wanted to see nothing but peace emanating from his heart the day he decided to come to me, and to continue what we’d started under the tree.

   I wanted be in the kitchen having Anders taste test my food before serving hungry Dartown residents as he treated those who needed healing. I wanted to listen to every story he could think to speak, both the humorous and the tragic, and him never know the pain of silence again. I wanted to kiss him so soundly that he could never doubt I’d ever think being with him would be a mistake, that he could ever think his existence might be one too.

   I never did get to tell him I now knew what ma vhenan means.

   A sudden, familiar prickle danced across my forehead.

   “Justice!” I leaped up, turning to the powerful spirit which had appeared behind me.

   There he was standing as casually as if we were two acquaintances who’d run into each other on the street. On Thedas the only visible marker’s of Justice’s takeover were his eyes like mid lightning strike. Here, he’d retained Anders’ visage though the translucent, ghostly-blue glow marked him decidedly not my beloved mage. What did he even look like when not tied to him? Did he just look this way because that was how I knew him? Or was he so entwined in Anders they couldn’t be separated? Were they Fade dreaming together by only a loose thread? Somehow, this didn’t seem like the typical Fade dream.

   Even if this was only our second meeting and our first had been just a tad traumatizing and whole lot confounding, I felt like crying all over again, and not from frustration and fear this time. I was pretty sure he could be counted as my only ally in the Fade. Not that I knew if he thought of us like that. While he did help me regain my memories of how I got to Thedas, he hadn’t seemed a fan of what he called Anders’ “obsession” with me. But, maybe he’d consider my displacement in the Fade unjust and decide to help?

   I rushed over, half tempted to test my luck and hug him.

   “I haven’t much time.” He caught me by the arms and held me a foot away from him, so clearly not the hugging type. “The supply of herbs Anders used to enter the Fade in a waking dream were low. There will not be time to gather more before your mortal flesh perishes if they run out.”

   Right, no time for explanations. That was fine, as long as it meant I got out of here. I hastily wiped away the evidence of my crying from my face and straightened.

   “I will attempt to return you to the mortal realm,” he said and the blue wash of his power spread over me. A hundred pinpricks rushed across my skin.

   Justice began to disappear, but not me with him. Like I was a bead on the thread forgotten to be strung. The pinpricks began to feel more like a collection of fish hooks and porcupine quills embedded far past skin deep. I bit down on the whimper that wanted to escape me even as the pain increased and I shook under his hands.

   Justice’s opaqueness returned. He wore a slight frown. “You are severed,” he said, reaching the same conclusion I already had.

   “Can you fix it?” The touch of hope that had sprung at his arrival shrunk. If Xebenkeck and Imshael couldn’t fix it, then how could he?

   “No. I have not seen this before.” He tilted his head.

   I resolutely blinked so the traitorous tears wouldn’t come again, but they surprised me, leaving only a dry well in their previous wake. Strange, to face my demise and have no more emotions to wring out, surreptitiously like when my power washed away my connection to myself. Was this general, cold apathy just acceptance of my fate? Or was my body back in Thedas exhaling its last breathes even now?

   Eerily, Justice tapped his spirit fingers on his side like Anders did when in thought.“Perhaps if you were to embrace one side of your nature, there could be a way,” he mused aloud.

   What nature? To be in life and death situations at least once a week?

   I was about to say exactly that, but what he said made me recall one of my more recent run-ins with a near death experience: Xebenkeck. She’d gone off in vague terms about the power of my blood, my being able to unlock worlds, to make two worlds one. It hadn’t made a whole lot of sense, but clearly, I had something that she, Imshael, the blood mage, and my father wanted. Was that the duality Justice referred to my being?

   Speaking of, last time Justice and I collided he had been keen on confirming his hypothesis of what I am right. He’d been the catalyst in one of my life and death instances, not that he’d meant to actually kill me, just test my power. Oh, and maybe poison me with crushed lyrium in my palm which apparently wasn’t toxic to the touch to me like most humans. He hadn’t shared his finding before disappearing to let Anders take the fore. But he had learned something, and said we were more alike than either of us realized—

   Justice interrupted my thoughts. “Part the Veil.”

   At my quizzical look, he explained. “There is no stair, door, or secret passage between worlds. The barrier between Thedas and the Fade is like a curtain. Think of your human indulgences,” here he grimaced, “like the theater. Mortals are the actors. They spend their lives on the stage. Spirits are always behind the curtain. A mage may slip behind, but their roles demand they always return. A spirit may step foot onto the stage if the conditions are right, for a set transition when the lights are low like in spirit healing or as an …extra if a mage has given them the role of possession. You are of both worlds. Find the seam of the curtain’s center and part the Veil.”

   “How? How can I do that? I’m just a human from Earth!”

   The look leveled at me had every ounce of Justice’s innumerable years behind it. I felt about as tall as a toddler. I wanted to yank my hair and scream like one too. 

   I took a calming breath. There was a certain underlying sense to what he was saying, though the implications felt amorphous. My mom was a Circle Mage, and she certainly didn’t meet my father on Earth, the man who had scared her so badly she had the two of us running from him our whole lives. The answer had to be right in front of me. I just needed a minu—

   “I am out of time,” Justice said, fading fast, “and you are almost too.”

   “How do I find the part?” My power roared within me like a inferno, me willing it to hang onto his intangible form, to be whisked away with him. “What do you know about me? What am I?”

   Before he blipped from existence, he gave a single, pointed look at my glowing hands passing through him that was all too human for a spirit . Hands, that were as translucent, as light as his had been, a clear delineation between spirit and mortal host.

   Justice’s words from our first meeting in the kitchen before he’d disappeared back into Anders made a startlingly amount of sense all of a sudden.

   I think that we might be more alike than either of us realized.

   I couldn’t be anything alike to Justice unless, just maybe, I wasn’t entirely human.

   Maybe I was part spirit too.

Chapter Text

   The ground beneath my feet may as well have disintegrated back into the ether — I wouldn’t have noticed the difference between that and the free fall my world currently became. My hands went out to either side as if I might grasp at something tangible to slow my descent, something that hadn’t shifted axis or altered in my new reality.

   The Fade, of course, was no place to let memories and emotions run rampant. It took form from mortal’s lives though it distorted what it willed. Like pings of rain against a glassy lake rippling out, bits of memory played before my eyes.

   The way I sensed magic at play like a psychical sensation: the barrier on Sundermount, the undead rising in the caverns, Imshael as the rage demon in the Hanged Man.

   The way my mother panicked when I heard the song coming from my father’s ring, what I now can recognize as lyrium. How I had been reacting to it ever since, from Fenris’s tattoos and the other ring Anders wore to the lyrium used in the Harrowing ritual right here in the Fade.

   The way Fenris knew from the start when he grabbed my heart in the clinic and asked, “What are you?” To how we, two beings with unique powers, could touch each other’s hearts with them.

   The way my power battered against the glamour charm, which had to have been a clever seal on my spirit-side too, making cracks like in a windshield over time — the first one I can now pinpoint being when I lit the lighter with the empty cartridge on Earth to light the candles for a lovingly baked birthday cake

   The way in the mental health facility when I visited my mother, seeing through demon glamour like it was gossamer. The way I sensed their natures without prior knowledge. The way their emotional manipulation felt like a physical thing I could recognize and shove off.

   The way my power reacted instinctively to protect me in perceived life and death moments, often overbearing and draining. It was effective but clumsy, like a toddler exploring the world on two legs for the first time. It wasn’t some strange force possessing me: it was me.

   That no one had voiced this as an idea of my power’s origins spoke to the fact that being a human-spirit hybrid was rare if not completely improbable. There might be only one of me in existence, like Fenris with his lyrium tattoos or even Anders co-habituating with Justice. Garrett really was out here collecting the most uniquely peculiar people for his Kirkwall crew.

   How in the hell did my mom meet my father, a spirit, and her, a Circle mage? How did she go from living with him and me in a lakeside cottage to him hunting us across worlds? Why did he want to use me to unlock worlds?

   How could I even do that? I needed to figure that out most of all. Justice said I didn’t have much time, and I couldn’t be sure the weakness I felt or the drifting tug on my thoughts was the distillation of spirit from body or just the effect of severe shock.

   Find the seam of the curtain’s center and part the Veil.

   I could do this. I had to do this.

   I grabbed my power’s reins as if I expected it might start bucking like a bronco. I allowed my senses out like I had once before but instead of searching for paths and doors, this time I looked for seams. Follow the seams, and I should find the center, just as Justice said.

   And there, right there, like in an image hidden within a larger picture, I could see it stretching along the length of Fade. Like the way I traced the lines of Fenris’ tattoos, so too I ran this. My power hummed, almost as if exhilarated with being able to do exactly this. I loosened my hold instinctively, as it galloped like a wild stallion on calico blue-skied plain. It kept running until it hit the bend, the part I’d need to press through. It felt like an ancient river twisting and turning. It felt like a great wall, maybe a dam. It was power and permanence, something meant to keep those of spirit or demonic nature back. My spirit could find the wall, but it could not press through on its own.

   It needed both sides of me to get through. It needed my human nature too, for my mortal side wasn’t meant to remain in the Fade.

   Xebenkeck’s words came to me. How she said there is power in my blood. She didn’t just mean my spirit power, but my humanity mixed with it.

   Without looking, I gripped a loose shale of rock, and did what I had once done with my father’s dagger trying to discover its secrets: I drew blood.

   Smearing it across either palm, I pressed both hands to either side of the part and pushed, spirit and mortal as one being.

  A single drop of blood dripped onto the Fade ground.

   It blasted out as if I’d blown a horn.

   A prickle that had nothing to do with my push started in my scalp then raced to cover every inch of my skin. Then it penetrated farther, right into my veins, straight to my heart. I gasped, clutching at my head and chest. With a deep, wordless dread, I looked up to the ever present landmark of the Fade.

   Beneath the floating island which propped up the Black City, shadows coalesced and condensed. There was no sudden change of light that could explain it, not that I would try to rationalize it away. My power knew — I knew — that this was the work of magic. Powerful magic. More powerful than any being I’d faced before.

   It proved me right when like Gazarath underneath the lake’s overhang, it peeked from beneath the island proving it no trick of the light. I wavered on my feet, dizzy with the strength it pumped out in waves. I wanted to think whatever it was must be rousing from routine or heading off to some other land of the Fade, but I knew with the same depth of dread that it wasn’t some incomprehensible cloud or integral background piece of this transient place but a being all its own. It would not move without purpose. Something so timeless must know the Fade like the words within a well loved book and would not break away from the pages, to lose the internal rhythm, unless some outside force broke it.

   Like me.

   The shadow pulled completely away from the city, and with the speed of an oncoming storm front, flew towards me. Within, like lightning, I saw flashes of a fire that felt as familiar, as similar, as my own. A white that reminded me of the spirit Xebenkeck once walked with in her memories. The one who ruled above her and Imshael and Gaxhang: The Formless One.

   If I hesitated a moment more, it would have me, and then it would be over. Maybe not just for me, but everyone I loved back in Kirkwall. Maybe for everyone in Thedas if it learned to use what I was only just now figuring out.

   I pressed everything I was into the center of the Veil, every fear, every doubt, every hope, every dream, and then it happened. My fingers curved around the edge, parting the way. Just a sliver of a crack, but it was enough for a single being to go through.

   And it was enough for the wonder of the mortal world to echo back. Like a million voices echoing across a mountainside, I heard the cacophony of laughter and language and music and whispers and screams and dancing and running and breathing and — there, the scent of a meal cooking over a campfire and the stench of antiseptic from a clinic and the saltiness of an ocean breeze and mustiness of an unventilated attic and — the blooms of a garden and the whitecaps on a wave and the vibrant dyes of a clothe vendor and the —

   And the echoes permeated the Fade, and prickles covered my backside, every spirit, every demon, perking up at the bait in the wind. The promise of relief from the incorporeal in exchange for the real. So, they closed in, like wolves do an injured elk.

   So did the Formless One, like a tsunami about to break upon shore.

   I darted through the hole but never let my hands fall from the part, for once I was passed, I pulled the way close behind me. The being hunting slammed against the part like a ram, nearly knocking the seams from my grip. If I slipped even a bit, it would be through, and if I walked away, it would find a way. I had unlocked the way between worlds, but I couldn’t leave it open or I’d unleash unknown chaos upon the world.

   Like an echo of a dream, a voice from a memory of a cottage by the water almost all but forgotten, spoke directly to me. Knew me. Saw me like most never did.

   Daughter.

   The wail torn from me came out projected by my spirit side, but the grief was all human. It was the father I always wanted and could never have. For in a word I felt his love, but so too I felt his black corrupting rage which I could no more part from the love than I could separate a teardrop already fallen into an ocean.

   All I could do was not drown. Just hold my head up above the dark undertow.

   It was like the remembrance of Daria’s loss all over again.

   Only, he had no plans to lose. He pushed with a current’s force, and I dug my nails into the cuts on my palms to cry red the way my heart did. I plastered them against the seam like a painter not aiming to please any eye with an image of beauty, only grief-fueled rage. My hands grew slick, as slippery as the swirl of emotions staining me. The one that rose to the surface: the longing of the little girl held aloft by her father’s strong arms. He would have never let her fall.

   Now, though, no. I couldn’t trust him at all.

   I wished it for though, the embrace of arms that would hold my head above the water.

   A pair, in a moment such as this, once did. He held me under a courtyard tree, the play of light and leaves on his face, as I cried for the mother I wanted, the mother I had, and the mother I lost. Fenris sang me a song in Tevene his own mother used to sing to him, one who was stolen from him by the cruelties of the world too, as wiped away my tears.

   Not knowing the words, I hummed the song like a chant, a beating reminder of those who did love me, who would hold me, and who would never hurt me. Not like my mother. Not like my father. They’d help me preserve the world, not break it further still into more jagged edges to cut.

   It is easier to destroy than to create, to tear than to mend. Everything beautiful takes time though.

   With my power the needle and my human blood the thread, I slowly, carefully sewed the part of the Veil I’d escaped through closed. I shook, I ached, but I did not slip, every thread pulled a note in the song, the rhythm of my work.

   When I finished, power exhausted, my hands fell like a pair of broken-winged birds. My work held, but I did not.

   I too fell.

   I plummeted through clouds and across vistas and plains and seas, like riding the world’s wildest zipline, following the track all the way back to where I belonged. Right over a sandstone city by the sea, right down to a set of stairs on a darkened street. Right where a tall man with honey-colored hair in disarray breathed life into lips, pumped a heart with rhythmic motions over a chest, magic flying from beneath his fingertips across a crumpled form deathly pale.

   Words flew from him like the desperate prayers of a dying man. “Please Mel, please.”

   Tears coursed down his face. One fell like the drop of my blood had fallen, but instead of summoning a horde of demons, he just got me at that moment, looking back at him with my body’s eyes.

   “Anders,” I tried to say, tried to reach to cup his face, but I wasn’t in command of myself yet.

   He stared unblinking as if my open eyes were a lie, then his lips trembled and he was burying his face in the side of my neck and yanking me into his lap as if he could pull me inside himself.

   The motion knocked the tattooed hand off his shoulder. The brightness within them dimmed, no power coursing through the conduit anymore, but Fenris didn’t move. He just stared at the two of us stone-faced. I tried to form his name on my tongue too, but it was useless, and even if I had, that might have been useless too. He just turned and moved to the other fallen bodies strewn about the scorch-marked ground.

   I was about to attempt to summon the bond between myself and Fenris, to see if that severing was still there, when Fenris moved past Moira’s body to one of a man. He kicked him in the shoulder to roll him over.

   If I had access to my voice, I would’ve cursed, for Gascard du Puis’s dead eyes stared back.