Dragon Age Fic: Descent
Descent
After we had stopped running and settled a little in the hills outside of Kirkwall he was quiet and reserved. Donnic rounded on him almost instantly once we began to set up camp. Anders merely sat calmly and acknowledged the truth of every word of this furious tirade. Had Donnic been a lesser man I am certain he would have taken out his anger physically. Thankfully Aveline was no fool in her choice of men. After this Anders sat silently, on the fringes of our little camp, staring unfocusedly ahead. No-one but I could bear to be near him. The light from the fire highlighted every line in his face, the dark circles under his eyes, and yet still he seemed lighter than he had done in years. He even granted a polite ‘thank you’ when Merrill brought him a leaf full of rabbit Fenris had cooked, and insisted he eat. I suppose she at least could understand some of what he was feeling, and he recognised her kindness in not mentioning it.
That first night was the hardest - torn between disgust, pride, betrayal and love. It was only when he truly broke down, and I held him shaking in my arms, that I fully realised what this had done to him. He hadn't done it because it was something he wanted, only because it was necessary, and he really would be paying for it for the rest of his life. Justice had been appeased, and seemed to have relinquished some control. Some of that steely resolve had gone, and in its place stood a deep well of guilt. In a way I was glad it was him - someone who could truly feel remorse for his actions - not simply some faceless abomination or blood-mage on a rampage of self-preservation.
Gradually everyone drifted away. Then we were truly on the run. It was terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure, but we had each other. We both fell back into old habits - he to the basics of survival, and I the protector, defending my apostate family.
At first it was like having the old Anders back, the sweet and gentle man who had moved into my home, who would try to make up silly songs on that blighted lute. It was in those quiet moments, when the happier, less care-worn Anders would shine through, that I would believe that maybe this might work out.
It is the little things I remember most.
On a swelteringly hot summer’s day, we had been running since one of the nearby villages had told the Templars about the healer living in the mountains. The sun was high in the sky when we were finally able to stop, and we took shelter in the shade of an ancient oak on the edge of a field. We were both disappointed to find that our water had nearly run out. Anders scanned the area beyond the wall we were resting against and then hopped over it. I watched as he grabbed a pail from a nearby barn and carefully crept up on one of the cows in the field. When he returned, triumphant, I asked how he knew how to milk a cow. He replied, smiling; ‘I did grow up on a farm love, how could I not know how to milk a cow?’ Before he would let me quench my thirst he pressed a finger to the wooden cup we had managed to acquire, and when the milk touched my lips it was delightfully cold.
We came upon an over-turned caravan along the road. A young boy was trapped underneath, and I was forcibly reminded of that fateful day seven years ago when Anders and I first met. The boy’s distraught mother called out for help. Anders was already running towards the scene before I realised what was happening. I helped to lift the heavy cart, to steady the boy and comfort his parents, while Anders set to work healing him. I marvelled at the careful determination on his face as he kept the boy tethered to life. He had no thought for his own safety if he were caught openly using magic. When he finally finished and the boy was safe he was utterly drained and exhausted. After I helped to right the travellers’ cart they insisted on taking us wherever we would like to go. I watched Anders as he rested in the back of the cart, and for the first time in a long time I remembered why I had chosen to spare this man’s life and run away with him. I remembered why I loved him.
Some nights were balmy enough that we could make camp outside. One such night we found ourselves in a beautiful forest clearing, far away from the dangers of civilisation, our only companions singing crickets. Being on the run there had been little time for just us of late, and the sultry stillness of the air seemed to weave a spell, making every look and every touch electric. We made love under the stars; the warm glow of the fire’s embers gilding his skin and lighting up his eyes. He smiled gently through each tender caress, each soft moan, until we were both gasping in ecstasy. An affirmation of life and love.
Once autumn began in earnest and the ground was routinely hard with frost we had to find warmer places to sleep. Luck and happenstance found us in a lonely barn when the first snow fell. The hay loft was well stocked and we set about arranging a hollow to sleep in. It was only when I heard Anders’ softly surprised ‘hello kitty’ that I noticed the tabby that had joined us in the loft. Suddenly Anders seemed as carefree as a little boy. He smiled gleefully as the cat cautiously sniffed at his fingers, and then proceeded to rub against his outstretched hand. The cat, sensing it had made a new friend, crawled into the warmth of Anders’ lap. He seemed transfixed by this fortunate turn of events. After I had finished extracting our meagre blankets he called me over, and grinned as I arranged the fabric about us, an expression so infectious I could not help but return it. As we drifted off to sleep, Anders’ arm protectively over me and the cat snuggled between us, I heard him mutter; ‘just like a real family.’
After a while we talked about going to Tevinter, but that was where they would expect us to go, and mages did not need to be freed there. We talked about the possibility of separating him and Justice. He was expecting to die that night, and for Justice to be freed, for them both to be freed. Was it something he still wanted now? He said it was.
That was when Justice seemed to re-exert his power.
Wandering aimlessly was not furthering the cause. Hiding was not furthering the cause. We were being idle, and frivolous, while people were dying. Despite the obvious need to stay away from the Circles in the wake of the Kirkwall Chantry’s destruction.
One day we were caught living on a farmer’s land. I awoke to a raised voice and a pitchfork inches from my face. I kept my head by pushing the implement away with my dagger. After the farmer saw I was armed he backed away. He backed away further when a terribly familiar blue glow came over Anders. He branded us maleficarum, and threatened to kill us, Templars be damned. I stood between Anders and the farmer, thinking to protect them both. Anders tried to defend the good name of many apostates, but the man would not be reasoned with. And suddenly Anders was not himself any more, he was rage and fury, and I had to fight to stop him from killing this man. When I turned back around the farmer was gone, and Justice admonished me for not correcting this man’s ignorance. We fled the place soon after. But the fear I felt was not caused by the farmer’s threats on our lives.
We ran into a lone Templar in the forest some time later. He was scared and addled from lyrium withdrawal, and didn’t seem to know where he was or how he had got there. I doubt that he would have been able to sense an apostate, even if he had wanted to. However the mere sight of the flaming sword on his chest enraged the spirit within and Anders dispatched him without mercy. If Anders noticed the look of horror on my face at the broken body of a defenceless man who posed us no threat, he did not show it. He would not stay as I set about building a make-shift pyre for the nameless Templar, and so he did not see my tears.
Things did not improve from there on in. We spent more time close to settlements, we were more of a target. Villagers would be caught in the crossfire, and these deaths were simply 'more unfortunate necessities in the cause of mage freedom'.
Each day he slips further from my grasp, it is harder to keep him calm. He is colder, more distant, some days it is like living with a stranger. Some days it seems there is only Justice; only vengeance. There is only 'the cause' and anything else is simply an obstruction.
In his more lucid moments I see the fear in his eyes, he can feel himself losing the battle within his own mind. I kiss away his tears and tell him that I still love him. He worries that he might hurt me, I tell him that he won't, and we both know it's a lie. I am watching the man I love die a little bit more every day, utterly powerless to stop it, and it is killing me too.
I lie next to him, arms wrapped around him as he sleeps - the only time he seems to be at peace these days - and I wonder if it might not have been kinder to end it after the destruction of the Chantry. I wonder how long it will be before he is too far beyond my reach to ask for that small mercy. I gaze at him, seeing his chest slowly rise and fall, stroking back the short strands of hair that have fallen onto his face, watching the sharp movements of his eyes behind closed lids, my beautiful Anders. And I know that when he wakes he will be a different person, not the man I love.
After we had stopped running and settled a little in the hills outside of Kirkwall he was quiet and reserved. Donnic rounded on him almost instantly once we began to set up camp. Anders merely sat calmly and acknowledged the truth of every word of this furious tirade. Had Donnic been a lesser man I am certain he would have taken out his anger physically. Thankfully Aveline was no fool in her choice of men. After this Anders sat silently, on the fringes of our little camp, staring unfocusedly ahead. No-one but I could bear to be near him. The light from the fire highlighted every line in his face, the dark circles under his eyes, and yet still he seemed lighter than he had done in years. He even granted a polite ‘thank you’ when Merrill brought him a leaf full of rabbit Fenris had cooked, and insisted he eat. I suppose she at least could understand some of what he was feeling, and he recognised her kindness in not mentioning it.
That first night was the hardest - torn between disgust, pride, betrayal and love. It was only when he truly broke down, and I held him shaking in my arms, that I fully realised what this had done to him. He hadn't done it because it was something he wanted, only because it was necessary, and he really would be paying for it for the rest of his life. Justice had been appeased, and seemed to have relinquished some control. Some of that steely resolve had gone, and in its place stood a deep well of guilt. In a way I was glad it was him - someone who could truly feel remorse for his actions - not simply some faceless abomination or blood-mage on a rampage of self-preservation.
Gradually everyone drifted away. Then we were truly on the run. It was terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure, but we had each other. We both fell back into old habits - he to the basics of survival, and I the protector, defending my apostate family.
At first it was like having the old Anders back, the sweet and gentle man who had moved into my home, who would try to make up silly songs on that blighted lute. It was in those quiet moments, when the happier, less care-worn Anders would shine through, that I would believe that maybe this might work out.
It is the little things I remember most.
On a swelteringly hot summer’s day, we had been running since one of the nearby villages had told the Templars about the healer living in the mountains. The sun was high in the sky when we were finally able to stop, and we took shelter in the shade of an ancient oak on the edge of a field. We were both disappointed to find that our water had nearly run out. Anders scanned the area beyond the wall we were resting against and then hopped over it. I watched as he grabbed a pail from a nearby barn and carefully crept up on one of the cows in the field. When he returned, triumphant, I asked how he knew how to milk a cow. He replied, smiling; ‘I did grow up on a farm love, how could I not know how to milk a cow?’ Before he would let me quench my thirst he pressed a finger to the wooden cup we had managed to acquire, and when the milk touched my lips it was delightfully cold.
We came upon an over-turned caravan along the road. A young boy was trapped underneath, and I was forcibly reminded of that fateful day seven years ago when Anders and I first met. The boy’s distraught mother called out for help. Anders was already running towards the scene before I realised what was happening. I helped to lift the heavy cart, to steady the boy and comfort his parents, while Anders set to work healing him. I marvelled at the careful determination on his face as he kept the boy tethered to life. He had no thought for his own safety if he were caught openly using magic. When he finally finished and the boy was safe he was utterly drained and exhausted. After I helped to right the travellers’ cart they insisted on taking us wherever we would like to go. I watched Anders as he rested in the back of the cart, and for the first time in a long time I remembered why I had chosen to spare this man’s life and run away with him. I remembered why I loved him.
Some nights were balmy enough that we could make camp outside. One such night we found ourselves in a beautiful forest clearing, far away from the dangers of civilisation, our only companions singing crickets. Being on the run there had been little time for just us of late, and the sultry stillness of the air seemed to weave a spell, making every look and every touch electric. We made love under the stars; the warm glow of the fire’s embers gilding his skin and lighting up his eyes. He smiled gently through each tender caress, each soft moan, until we were both gasping in ecstasy. An affirmation of life and love.
Once autumn began in earnest and the ground was routinely hard with frost we had to find warmer places to sleep. Luck and happenstance found us in a lonely barn when the first snow fell. The hay loft was well stocked and we set about arranging a hollow to sleep in. It was only when I heard Anders’ softly surprised ‘hello kitty’ that I noticed the tabby that had joined us in the loft. Suddenly Anders seemed as carefree as a little boy. He smiled gleefully as the cat cautiously sniffed at his fingers, and then proceeded to rub against his outstretched hand. The cat, sensing it had made a new friend, crawled into the warmth of Anders’ lap. He seemed transfixed by this fortunate turn of events. After I had finished extracting our meagre blankets he called me over, and grinned as I arranged the fabric about us, an expression so infectious I could not help but return it. As we drifted off to sleep, Anders’ arm protectively over me and the cat snuggled between us, I heard him mutter; ‘just like a real family.’
After a while we talked about going to Tevinter, but that was where they would expect us to go, and mages did not need to be freed there. We talked about the possibility of separating him and Justice. He was expecting to die that night, and for Justice to be freed, for them both to be freed. Was it something he still wanted now? He said it was.
That was when Justice seemed to re-exert his power.
Wandering aimlessly was not furthering the cause. Hiding was not furthering the cause. We were being idle, and frivolous, while people were dying. Despite the obvious need to stay away from the Circles in the wake of the Kirkwall Chantry’s destruction.
One day we were caught living on a farmer’s land. I awoke to a raised voice and a pitchfork inches from my face. I kept my head by pushing the implement away with my dagger. After the farmer saw I was armed he backed away. He backed away further when a terribly familiar blue glow came over Anders. He branded us maleficarum, and threatened to kill us, Templars be damned. I stood between Anders and the farmer, thinking to protect them both. Anders tried to defend the good name of many apostates, but the man would not be reasoned with. And suddenly Anders was not himself any more, he was rage and fury, and I had to fight to stop him from killing this man. When I turned back around the farmer was gone, and Justice admonished me for not correcting this man’s ignorance. We fled the place soon after. But the fear I felt was not caused by the farmer’s threats on our lives.
We ran into a lone Templar in the forest some time later. He was scared and addled from lyrium withdrawal, and didn’t seem to know where he was or how he had got there. I doubt that he would have been able to sense an apostate, even if he had wanted to. However the mere sight of the flaming sword on his chest enraged the spirit within and Anders dispatched him without mercy. If Anders noticed the look of horror on my face at the broken body of a defenceless man who posed us no threat, he did not show it. He would not stay as I set about building a make-shift pyre for the nameless Templar, and so he did not see my tears.
Things did not improve from there on in. We spent more time close to settlements, we were more of a target. Villagers would be caught in the crossfire, and these deaths were simply 'more unfortunate necessities in the cause of mage freedom'.
Each day he slips further from my grasp, it is harder to keep him calm. He is colder, more distant, some days it is like living with a stranger. Some days it seems there is only Justice; only vengeance. There is only 'the cause' and anything else is simply an obstruction.
In his more lucid moments I see the fear in his eyes, he can feel himself losing the battle within his own mind. I kiss away his tears and tell him that I still love him. He worries that he might hurt me, I tell him that he won't, and we both know it's a lie. I am watching the man I love die a little bit more every day, utterly powerless to stop it, and it is killing me too.
I lie next to him, arms wrapped around him as he sleeps - the only time he seems to be at peace these days - and I wonder if it might not have been kinder to end it after the destruction of the Chantry. I wonder how long it will be before he is too far beyond my reach to ask for that small mercy. I gaze at him, seeing his chest slowly rise and fall, stroking back the short strands of hair that have fallen onto his face, watching the sharp movements of his eyes behind closed lids, my beautiful Anders. And I know that when he wakes he will be a different person, not the man I love.