A Separate Path - Chapter Nine (Part Four)
Title: A Separate Path - Chapter Nine (Part Four)
Series: Dragon Age 2
Characters: Entire Merry Band of Misfits
Pairings: Anders/Hawke, Aveline/Donnic
Rating: PG-13
“--and I'll just tell 'em I'm done,” Emma concluded. “They can pass their notes back and forth to each other without me running between them.” She leaned her head against Anders's shoulder as they turned the corner towards her estate. The past few weeks had been busy-- between helping Selby frame a particularly aggressive Templar, tracking down and destroying demonic tomes around Kirkwall, and listening to Emma complain about the Viscount and Arishok's latest spats, his clinic was starting to seem like a refuge of calm and sanity. Never a good sign.
Anders chuckled and tightened his arm around her waist. “Sounds like what used to happen in classes at the Circle,” he said. “Passing notes: 'do you like me? Check one, yes/no.'”
“You pass a lot of those notes?” she asked.
He paused, thinking. “Actually, I was the recipient more than the sender,” he replied.
Emma laughed, pulling away from him as they reached her door. “I wouldn't mind this nearly so much if I were just navigating a schoolboy crush between the Viscount and the Arishok, and holy Maker I think I just scarred myself with those mental images.”
Anders just nodded in abject horror, eyes wide. “Never speak of this again?” he suggested.
“Agreed.” Emma unlocked the door and pushed it open.
“One of you must have seen her!” someone shouted from the front room. Anders frowned; he didn't recognize the voice. Emma must have, though, as she groaned and stalked towards the noise. Anders shut the door behind him and trailed after her.
An older man in worn, patched clothes stood near the fireplace, arms folded, glaring at Orana. The girl was on the verge of tears, hands clasped in front of her. “I-I-I'm sorry, messere,” she said, voice trembling. “I don't know where Mistress Leandra is--”
“Gamlen, what in the void are you doing here?” Emma snapped as she strode into the room.
Ah, her uncle, right. Anders drifted off to one corner of the room, trying to avoid notice. It didn't work; Gamlen glanced at him, took in the staff over his shoulder, and silently sneered at him before returning his attention to his niece. “I am looking for my sister,” Gamlen snapped. “Where is she?”
“How would I know?” Emma retorted. “I've been out all day being a productive member of society. Not that you'd be familiar with such a concept.” Orana sniffled and drew in a shaky breath. Emma glanced over at her briefly. “Orana, why don't you head back to the kitchen,” she suggested. She'd barely finished the sentence before the girl took off like a shot.
“Leandra didn't show up for her weekly visit,” Gamlen said. “Is she ill?”
Emma frowned. “No. She's fine,” she said.
“Maybe she's out with her suitor?” Bodhan suggested from his corner of the room.
Gamlen and Emma had matching looks of bemusement. “Suitor?” Emma repeated. “I haven't-- I think I'd have noticed if Mother had a suitor.”
Bodhan gestured at the desk. “Well, those lilies arrived for her this morning,” he said with a shrug. “She seemed to like them.”
Anders glanced over. A vase of white lilies sat in one corner of the desk. White lilies... why did that sound familiar...
Emma gasped suddenly and clapped a hand over her mouth, blood draining from her face. “No,” she breathed. “Oh, no, no, no...”
Then it clicked. Anders pushed off the wall and walked to her side. “It's probably just a coincidence,” he said quickly. “I'm sure she's-- it's probably not that.”
“What?” Gamlen demanded. “What's going on? What are you talking about?”
Emma dropped her hand. “When was she supposed to meet you?” she asked, voice reduced to a horrified near-whisper.
“Two, three hours ago? What's going on, Emma?”
She swallowed hard and shook her head. “Th-there was someone kidnapping women a few years ago, we looked into the-the deaths... He sent his targets white lilies...”
Cold silence fell over the room. Anders glanced up at the door to Leandra's room, hoping that she'd appear and wonder why they were all making such a fuss. It stayed stubbornly shut.
“Okay,” Emma breathed. “Okay. Bodhan, run to the Keep and get Aveline. Tell her to meet us in Lowtown. Gamlen, you should-- you should just go home, see if she's shown up there. We'll retrace her steps and see if we can find anything.”
Gamlen narrowed his eyes at her, but didn't argue as he headed for the door. Anders put a hand on the back of her neck, rubbing his thumb over her skin. “I'm sure she's fine,” he said without much conviction.
Emma shook her head. “I'm not.”
*
Aveline and Varric were waiting for them at the base of the steps to Lowtown. Anders didn't bother asking how the dwarf knew to be there. “I've got my guards on the lookout for her,” Aveline said as soon as Emma was in earshot. “We'll find her. I promise.”
Emma nodded, not really paying much attention. “She'd have gone this way, through the markets,” she said, turning to the right. The sun had gone down an hour ago, and the streets were empty in deference to the thugs and bandits who controlled nighttime Kirkwall, despite Aveline's best efforts. So the sound of shouting carried easily through the quiet streets. “Gamlen...” Emma muttered, picking up speed.
“You saw her!?” Gamlen demanded, looming over a young boy, maybe about twelve or thirteen years old. “Did you see where she went?”
The boy shrugged sullenly. “What do I get for telling you?”
Emma strode towards them and glared down at the boy. “Answer the question,” she snapped. “Now.”
He sneered at her. “If it's worth somethin' to you, make it worth somethin' to me.”
Before anyone else could respond, Emma stepped forward and grabbed the boy's collar. “You tell me where she went, and I don't break your legs,” she snarled. “That worth enough?”
“Hawke!” Aveline grabbed the other woman's shoulder. Emma shrugged her off, but released the boy, shoving him away with a choked-off growl. Anders swallowed hard, glancing back and forth between Emma and Gamlen, his chest tight with dread.
Gamlen rolled his eyes and reached into his pocket. “You want something?” he asked, flipping a coin to the boy. “What about this?”
The boy snagged the coin out of the air. “That's real silver, that is,” he said, grinning. “I'm your man, through and through! Tell you everything I know!”
“Then start talking,” Emma ground out. “Quickly.”
He nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets. “That lady was 'ere,” he began. “Came down the stairs from Hightown. Looked like she was going towards the markets. But then a man came up to her. He stumbled an' fell over, right at her feet, like he was dead.” He pulled one hand out of his pocket and held it up. “His hands were all bloody, like he'd been in a fight. The lady shook him, and I think he said 'help'. She got him to his feet, and he was wobbly-- it was funny.” The boy grinned briefly. “Anyway, they left, and... that's all I saw.”
“Which direction did they go?” Aveline asked crisply.
The boy pointed back behind them. “Over there,” he said. “You can still see where he fell. There was a lot of blood.”
Emma spun on her heel and ran over to the blood stain. Anders followed, crouching down beside her. “This is pretty fresh,” he told them. “Probably only a couple of hours old.”
“And it keeps going,” Varric said quietly, pointing along the road.
Without a word, Emma moved to the next blood stain, hurrying down the street. Anders and Aveline exchanged worried glances, then ran after her.
The trail led through Lowtown to the foundry district. It ended at the locked door of one of the older buildings; Emma shouldered the door open and stormed inside, blade drawn. Varric slowed down as he passed through the door. “We've been here before, Hawke,” he said. “The other women--”
“I know, Varric,” she snapped. “She's in here somewhere. We have to find her.” The blood trail continued across the floor, a mix of spattered drops and bloody footprints. Emma followed it across the room and up to the second floor. “We looked here,” she muttered. “We searched this place and there wasn't...”
“I think we missed something, Hawke,” Aveline said, easing past the other woman and striding towards the far end of the hallway. A narrow wooden crate had fallen to the side, revealing a trapdoor in the floor.
Emma immediately pulled the door open, revealing a narrow shaft and a rickety wooden ladder. “I can--” Anders began. Emma dropped into the shaft, sliding down the ladder, and hit the ground with a muffled thump. “Provide some light,” he finished.
“Come on,” Emma shouted. “We have to hurry.”
Varric glanced at Anders and gestured at the ladder. He climbed down quickly, Aveline and Varric following behind. The ladder came out in one of Darktown's ubiquitous cavern-warehouses, this one clearly long-abandoned. The wooden rafters were rotting and half-collapsed, and the entire place stank of chokedamp and rot.
Anders summoned a handful of glowing orbs and sent them to hover over the small group, lighting their way. Emma led them through the silent warehouse, staying just at the edge of the circle of light, staring ahead into the dark. They came out of a hallway into a small antechamber. Something green glinted in the corner. Anders turned towards it, revealing a crumpled corpse in a blood-stained gown.
Emma ran over to the woman's body, gently rolling it over. “It's not-- oh, holy Maker.” She jerked back, deathly pale. The woman seemed familiar, and after a few moments, he remembered her as the woman DuPuis had kidnapped, to protect her from this killer. Alessa was dead, her face twisted into a terrified mask. She'd died of blood loss, Anders assumed, when someone had hacked off her hands at the wrist.
“Let's go,” he said, grabbing Emma's elbow and pulling her away. “We need to-”
She wrenched her arm free and ran towards the next hallway. It ended in a flight of stairs; the rotten stench only grew worse as they descended. Emma stopped short just a few steps away from the stairs, crouching down to look at something on the ground. “What is it?” Aveline asked.
Anders came to her side as she straightened up, hands cupped in front of her. A thin gold chain dangled from her fingers as she stared down at the small locket in her palm. “This is Mother's,” she whispered. The chain had snapped, as though it had been yanked from the wearer's neck. Emma swallowed hard and closed her fist around the necklace. She shoved it into her belt pouch and started down the hall again. Anders stood stock-still for a moment, staring blindly at the wall. Leandra was dead, he told himself, trying to wrap his head around the idea. There was no way she could still be alive, not now.
“C'mon, Blondie,” Varric muttered as he passed. Anders swallowed hard and followed.
Another set of stairs and another hallway. Light flickered in the doorway at the end of it, and around him, the warriors readied their weapons. Emma rushed in, sword and shield raised, only to come to a stunned stop a few feet in. No one else was in the room, but it was far from empty. Someone had been living in this dump, going by the shabby bed and the stacks of books scattered around. Most of the light came from candles set around a richly framed portrait of a beautiful young woman.
“She almost looks like Mother,” Emma breathed. She fumbled the locket back out of her pouch and thumbed it open. Anders peered over her shoulder at it. There were two pictures inside, small sketches, of a man with dark hair and a thick beard and a woman who was clearly a younger Leandra. The resemblance between Leandra and the painting was... uncanny.
“Maybe it's a shrine to a wife?” he guessed. “Or a sister?”
Emma snapped the locket shut and turned towards the next door. “I need to find her,” she said. “Now.”
She bolted through the door and down the next hallway. The others followed, Anders bringing up the rear. The air was thick with the stench of blood, and as they approached the next room, he could feel the Veil growing weaker. Blood magic, that was the only explanation, and he was terrified of what they'd find...
“I was wondering when you'd show up.” The room was long and brightly lit, torches on the walls and candles surrounding a stone slab-- altar, almost-- soaked in blood. The Veil had been all but shredded here; Anders could hear the faint whispers of the Fade, almost feel the demons drifting around him, drawn to new prey. A man stood at the far end of the room, dressed in bloodstained Circle robes, staring down at the high-backed wooden chair between him and Emma. Someone was in the chair-- Anders could make out a white sleeve, the edge of a skirt on the floor.
The mage smiled coldly at Emma. “Leandra was so sure you'd come for her.”
“Where is she?” Emma demanded, voice choked, her hand gripping the hilt of her blade tight enough to turn her knuckles white.
He looked down at the figure in the chair. Anders felt his blood run cold. Oh, Maker, no... what has he done... “You will never understand my purpose,” the mage said. “She was chosen because she was special, and now she is a part of something... greater.”
“Just give her back to me,” Emma begged. “Just let her go, and we'll-- and we'll leave. Just let her go.”
The mage smiled again. “But she's already here,” he said. “She's been waiting for you.” The figure in the chair stirred slightly. “Do you know what the strongest force in the universe is?” the mage continued. “Love.” He looked back up at Emma. “I pieced her together from memory. I found her eyes, her skin, her delicate fingers...”
Anders felt like he was going to be sick. He'd heard tales of this sort of magic: not just the brief reanimation of the recently dead that entropy provided, but true necromancy. The stories were bad enough, but to see it, for someone he cared about to be dragged into it...
The mage reached out to touch the person in the chair. “And, at last, her face... oh, this beautiful face...” The figure shifted again, and stood, lurching awkwardly with limbs that weren't hers, as the mage continued speaking. “I've searched far and wide to find you again, beloved, and no force on this earth will part us!”
Leandra-- the thing wearing Leandra's face-- turned towards them, skin a sickly grey, ugly stitches standing out on her neck and arms under the stained wedding gown. Anders was dimly aware of Aveline's horrified gasp over the blood rushing in his ears. The mage spread his arms wide, summoning power. Emma charged him with a scream of rage, reaching him moments too late. She slammed into the force barrier and staggered back a few steps. Even at this distance, Anders could see the mage smile.
Anders felt the demons coming moments before they appeared, slipping through the tears in the Veil to rise up through the ground. He paralyzed the two nearest shades and froze another one solid, leaving them for Varric and Aveline to dispatch. Emma was farther up, going toe to toe with a desire demon, barely reacting as the creature hurled spell after spell at her.
“Aveline!” Anders called. She gutted another shade and looked over at him. He jerked his head towards Emma. “We'll handle these!” He followed that up with a storm of lightning, bolts crackling into the demons and against the blood mage's barrier. It flickered, but held. It wouldn't last forever, though. He'd run out of power eventually.
Slowly, one by one, the demons fell. Anders hit the barrier with another volley of lightning, and this time, it gave way under the assault. The mage fumbled at his belt for a knife, clearly intending to spill his own blood to replenish his mana.
Emma snapped her left arm to the side, throwing her shield off, and charged, gripping her sword in two hands. She slammed into the mage and hurled him against the wall, driving her sword into his chest up to the hilt. She wrenched it free, then did it again, and again, stabbing him over and over as the body slid down the wall.
Aveline reached her first, grabbing her wrists and speaking into her ear. Emma choked out a sob and let her sword clatter to the ground. Leandra turned again with lurching, shuffling steps, moving towards her daughter. Emma shoved past Aveline to catch Leandra just as she started to fall. She sank to her knees, cradling her mother in her arms, reaching for her hand. “Mother...” she began, voice shaking. “It's going to be all right, I-- it's going to be fine.”
Anders approached slowly, knowing what was coming and hating himself already. Emma looked over her shoulder at him. “Anders, you can-- you can help her,” she said, eyes shining with tears. “You can save her, I know you can...”
He swallowed hard. “His magic was the only thing keeping her alive,” he said. “There’s nothing I can do.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “I'm sorry.”
Emma stared at him, horror and grief and worst of all betrayal warring on her face. “No,” she whispered. “No, you have to-- you have to help her...”
“I'm sorry…” The limits of his power, his inability to help, had never hurt this much. Anders was finding it hard to breathe.
“I knew you would come.” Leandra's voice was thin, but it was still her, somehow.
Emma looked back down at her. “Don't move,” she said. “We'll-- we'll find a way to--”
“Shh,” Leandra murmured. “It's all right, darling. That man would have kept me trapped in here. Used me. But now... I'm free. I'll be with Carver and... and your father.” She blinked heavily. “But you'll be all alone.”
“Mother...” Tears tracked down Emma's face, cutting paths through the spatters of blood. “I'm sorry, I-I wasn't fast enough, I'm so sorry...”
“Hush, darling.” Leandra raised a shaky hand to her daughter's cheek. “My little girl's grown up to be so strong.” She drew in a deep breath. “Tell--tell Bethany I love her.”
Emma nodded. “I will,” she whispered.
“My sweet girl,” Leandra murmured. “I love you, Emma. You've always made me so proud.”
She let out her breath and didn't draw in another. Her hand fell from Emma's face, and her head tipped back, eyes going blank. Anders wrapped his arms around himself, eyes stinging, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat. Ashes we were and ashes... oh, Maker, Leandra, I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry...
“Mother?” Emma whispered. “M-Mother?” There was no response. “Mama?” She stared, breath coming in shaky gasps. There was silence for a few heartbeats, then she screamed, curling over her mother's corpse, sobs wracking her body.
The sound hit him like a knife to the chest. Aveline had turned away, covering her face with her hands, while Varric just stared at the floor. Anders dragged a hand over his eyes and took one step forward, then another, and then dropped down to one knee at Emma's side. He hated her armor then, leaving him almost nowhere to touch her, to let her know that he was there. He settled for a hand on the back of her neck. She didn't react, still sobbing, rocking back and forth.
“Emma,” he said, or tried to. It mostly came out as a choked mumble. He cleared his throat, blinking hard, and tried again. “Emma, you-you have to let her go.”
She shook her head and tightened her grip. “No,” she sobbed. “I’m n-not leaving her.”
“Aveline will have her guards bring her to the Chantry,” he said. “We need to get you home.”
Emma didn’t move. Anders shifted position and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, lips at her ear. “C’mon, love, come here, I’m here, I’m right here…”
It took a few minutes of empty, meaningless whispers, but he was able to coax her into setting her mother’s body on the ground. Emma reached out and brushed Leandra’s eyes closed. She stared for a moment, then half-turned and threw herself at Anders, burying her face in his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his face to her hair. “I know,” he whispered as she wept. “I know.”
*
Varric walked them home, an act that Anders was eternally grateful for. Supporting Emma took nearly all his concentration and effort. The dwarf picked the lock on the front door, rather than trying to get the keys from Emma, and pushed it open. “If you need anything…” he said, meeting Anders’s eyes.
Anders just nodded and reached out to squeeze his friend’s shoulder. “Thanks.”
Varric stayed by the door as they limped inside, and Anders was pretty sure he heard him locking the door behind them. Mal jumped up from his post in front of the fireplace as they walked in, whining anxiously.
“Where is she?” Gamlen asked, standing up from his chair in the corner. “What happened?”
Emma shook her head. “She-she’s gone,” she choked out.
Gamlen almost dropped back into the chair in shock. “What happened?” he breathed.
“Someone took her,” Emma said, wiping futilely at her tears. “She looked like someone. A mage’s dead wife.” She shuddered, pressing against Anders. “She had her face… I-I couldn’t save her.”
“How could you let this happen?” Gamlen demanded, hands balled into fists. “This is your fault! If you’d been stronger or faster--”
“Don’t you dare blame her,” Anders snarled. Emma was going to spend the rest of her life carrying around the guilt of her mother's murder, undeserved as it was, and she didn't need anyone else joining in.
Gamlen glowered at him. “Shut up, mage,” he snapped. “Your kind are responsible for this! The Templars are right, we should just lock you all up--”
“Stop it!” Emma shouted, lunging towards him, and it was only Anders’s arm around her waist that stopped her from attacking her uncle. “Just-just stop! You never cared about her! You just wanted her damned money, you hated us and now she’s dead and--” Her voice cracked, and she nearly dragged Anders to the floor as her legs buckled. He sank to his knees, arms around her, as she buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed.
“I’m sorry,” Gamlen said hoarsely. Anders glanced up as he staggered past, stumbling towards the door. Not his concern.
Once Emma had calmed down slightly, the sobs reduced to deep, shuddery breaths, Anders eased her to her feet and led her up the stairs to her room. She remained silent as he guided her to a chair and started removing her armor, fumbling with the straps and buckles. Pounce hopped off the bed and nuzzled his knee, meowing sympathetically. Anders spared the cat a quick pat on the head before returning his attention to the armor.
Emma picked absently at one of her gauntlets, gaze vacant. The bedroom door opened behind him, and Orana slipped in, carrying a shallow bowl of water and a towel. She wordlessly set it on the ground beside him. “Thanks,” he murmured as she disappeared again.
It took a while, but Anders managed to get her out of her armor, leaving it stacked haphazardly on the floor. He picked up the damp towel and started cleaning the blood off her face and hands. “I have to tell Bethany,” Emma said, voice close to a monotone. “How do I… how am I supposed to tell her?”
Anders just shook his head. “I don’t know,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t seem real,” she continued. “Everything’s still here the way it was, how can she not be…” She squeezed her eyes shut.
He didn’t have an answer for that. Instead he just helped her out of her boots and stripped out of his coat, then guided her over to the bed. She crawled under the blankets and buried her face in her pillow as he quickly removed his boots and climbed into bed next to her. She immediately wrapped herself around him, her head resting on his chest, over his heart. “I just can’t…” she trailed off and tightened her arms around his waist. “Please don’t leave,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Please…”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said thickly.
She nodded, shuddering a bit. He just held her while she cried herself to sleep against his chest, tears soaking into his shirt. Eventually, she passed out. Anders stared into the darkness and dragged a hand across his eyes, wishing he had the power to fix this.
--
A soft knock at the door woke him the next morning. Beside him, Emma stirred, blinking. She paused for a moment, and then let out a half-sob and hid her face against his neck. “It wasn’t a dream, was it,” she said, not really asking.
He just shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
The knock came again, accompanied by a quiet “Serah Hawke?” from Bodhan. “There’s someone here to see you…”
Emma whimpered and curled up into a ball. Anders glanced at the door and sighed. “I’ll go,” he said, gently disentangling himself from her.
“Anders…”
“It’s fine,” he said. He slid out of bed and raked a hand through his hair, wrestling it back into some semblance of order. “I’ll be right back.”
She looked like she was about to argue, then nodded and huddled back under the blankets. “Thanks,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut.
Anders leaned down and brushed a kiss to her forehead. “Be right back,” he said again. He straightened his clothes as best he could and slipped from the room, leaving the door open behind him. It was jarring, to walk past Leandra's room and her chair in the front room and know that she wasn't there, would never be there again... he closed his eyes for a moment, wrestling his grief back under control, and walked to the entrance hall.
It took him a moment to place the guardsman standing there. “Ser Donnic,” Anders said, a bit wary. He hadn't seen the man since Emma's First Day party-- Aveline had apparently adopted the “sink or swim” method of introducing her partner to her insane group of friends. The man had held up admirably, from what Anders remembered. Despite all that, he was still a guardsman, which put Anders on edge.
“Good day,” he said in reply, nodding slightly. “I, ah... Aveline asked me to return these,” he said, holding out Emma's sword and shield. “She said Serah Hawke left them behind last night.”
“Oh. Yeah, she-- she did.” Anders took the weapons awkwardly, glancing around for a place to set them. “Thanks.” He settled for leaving them on the low bench near the door. The sword was still stained with blood, he noticed as he set it down with exaggerated care. Bodhan could see to cleaning it later.
“Aveline asked me to pass on a message, as well,” Donnic said. “She says she's so sorry.”
Anders nodded. “I'll tell her.”
“She had us out looking for him,” Donnic said abruptly, almost defensive. “After that Templar died, she tasked a squad with tracking him down. It's just-- he hadn't struck for months. We thought he'd left Kirkwall, or died, or...”
It took a few moments for Anders to work out what the other man was saying. “She thinks Emma blames her?” he asked.
Donnic shrugged. “She blames herself.”
Anders sighed and shook his head. “Emma doesn't... I don't think it's occurred to her that it even could be anyone else's fault but her own-- not that I'm blaming Aveline either,” he added hastily. “She's just...”
“Convinced that everything that goes wrong around her is somehow her fault?” Donnic said with a faint, wry smile. “Sounds quite familiar.”
He huffed out a sound that wasn't quite a laugh. “Thanks for bringing them back,” he said. “I'll tell her you came by.”
Donnic nodded. “Take care,” he said, then turned on his heel and all but marched to the door. Anders sighed and slowly made his way back upstairs.
*
The morning passed slowly. Emma spent most of the time at her desk, trying to write a letter to Bethany. A small pile of crumpled and tear-stained papers was all she had to show for it after three hours. Anders wrote his own letter to Nathaniel, explaining what had happened, so that Bethany wouldn't be alone when she found out. She'd need a shoulder to cry on, and if Nathaniel couldn't offer one himself, then he'd probably know who to put in the room with her.
“Serah Hawke?” Bodhan called from the hall. “I'm sorry to bother you, but Serah Vael is here...”
Emma groaned and buried her face in her hands. “Probably wants to talk about the funeral,” she said.
Anders glanced at the door. “Want me to chase him off?”
She shook her head and pushed back from the desk. “No,” she said. “I-I can't avoid this. I have to... I'll talk to him.”
He trailed after her and stopped on the balcony, watching as she slowly descended the stairs. Sebastian looked more priest than prince today, the gleaming white armor traded in for simple vestments. Emma held out a hand to shake; Sebastian ignored it and hugged her instead. They spoke quietly for a few moments, and then disappeared into the study.
Anders heaved a sigh and ran a hand over his face, grimacing slightly. He needed to wash up and get dressed. And eat something-- he had no appetite to speak of, but he knew that if he didn't eat soon he was going to collapse, and Emma hardly needed to deal with that on top of everything else.
Some time later, Anders was sitting at the kitchen table, feeling a little more clean and civilized, poking his fork unenthusiastically at leftover mince pie. He'd choked down about half of it, and he knew-- as a healer, as a Warden, as someone who'd lived in his body for a while-- that he needed to finish eating this, at least. It was just hard getting food down around the lump in his throat.
Orana poked her head around the door frame. “Mas-- er, serah?” she began. They'd settled on that honorific after he'd explained that being called 'master' was wholly inaccurate and made him very uncomfortable, and she said that it would be unspeakably rude for her to call him Anders. He sort of hoped it would be a temporary solution. “There's someone here to see you.”
He frowned. “Not Emma?”
“She asked for you,” Orana said, nodding.
Anders sighed and pushed back from the table. “All right,” he said. “Can you leave that? I'll get back to it eventually.”
She nodded and stepped out of his way. “Of course, serah.”
Isabela was waiting for him in the entrance hall, dressed in the black and grey leathers she favored this time of year. The only jewelry she had on was her gold piercings, and she'd left off the lines of black kohl around her eyes. “Hey,” he said in greeting.
“Varric told me this morning,” she said in a small voice. “I can't believe... Tell me you at least made the son of a bitch pay.”
He nodded, suddenly weary at the memory of the night before, and dropped down onto one of the benches. “Emma saw to that.”
“Good.” Isabela sat down beside him, fingers laced together in front of her. “It doesn't seem real,” she said after a few moments.
“Yeah.” He leaned back against the wall and stared blankly up at the loft.
“She was good to me, you know?” Isabela continued, more to herself than him. “She put up with so much... I broke into her home, grafittied her stairs, woke her up in the middle of the night-- she could have had me arrested, and instead she just-- said good morning and told me where the coffee was this time.”
Anders nodded again, blinking hard. Leandra had been good to all of them. She'd made him feel like family, after all that time without. “I...” He trailed off and cleared his throat.
Isabela slid her arm around his shoulders. “How're you holding up?” she asked. He shrugged tightly and leaned forward, curling in on himself. Isabela made a soft sound and pulled him towards her. “C'mere, sweetling,” she murmured, wrapping her other arm around him in an awkward, sideways hug. Anders let out a shaky breath and leaned against her, squeezing his eyes shut as a few tears escaped despite his best efforts.
“Sorry,” he muttered thickly, drawing back after a minute. Isabela politely looked away without being obvious about it while he dragged his palms over his eyes, trying to compose himself. “It's just-- Emma's got enough to deal with--”
She squeezed his shoulder. “I know.”
They sat side-by-side in silence for a while, both lost in thought. “Can you do me a favor?” Anders asked eventually.
“Anything.”
He pulled his keyring off his belt. “Can you stop by the clinic and grab a few changes of clothes for me? I think I'm going to be here a while, and I don't want to leave right now...”
Isabela plucked the keys from his hand. “Of course,” she said. She paused for a moment, then continued, a bit hesitant, “Do you have anything you could wear to the funeral?”
Anders groaned. “No. Dammit.”
“I'll take care of it,” she said immediately.
“Isa--”
“Anders.” She nudged him with her shoulder. “I'll take care of it. It's all right. Really.” Her lips quirked up in a smile. “I'll have Varric help. It'll at least give him something to do-- he's been wearing a track in the floor with his pacing.” She brushed a kiss to his cheek and stood. “I'll be back later. Tell Hawke-- oh, never mind, I'll tell her when I see her.”
“See you later,” he said, watching as she let herself out of the house.
He lost track of time, a bit, staring blindly through the wall. It wasn't until he heard voices in the front room that he came back to himself. Anders got to his feet, wincing a bit, as Sebastian and Emma walked through the doorway. “Thanks for coming by,” Emma said, voice hollow, fresh tear stains streaking her cheeks.
Sebastian smiled gently. “Of course,” he said. “Maker watch over you.” He nodded briefly at Anders, then turned and left, head bowed.
Emma wavered a bit, putting a hand out to steady herself on the doorframe. “Day after tomorrow,” she said. “I-- I need to send notifications, I guess...”
“I'll handle it, messere,” Bodhan said from behind her. “Don't you worry.”
She nodded. “Thanks.”
Anders held his arms out to her, uncertain of what else to do. Emma took two steps, closing the distance between them, and slid her arms around his waist, her face pressed against his shoulder. “Isabela stopped by,” he told her, lightly stroking her hair. “She said she'll probably come back later to see you.”
“Okay.” Emma sighed and drew back. “I need to finish writing to Bethany,” she murmured.
“Want me to sit with you?” he asked, hands still on her shoulders.
After a moment, she nodded. Anders took her hand and slowly walked back upstairs with her.
--
It had been close to two decades since Anders had been to a funeral. They were rarely seen in the Circle, though many died within its walls. Funerals were only held for those who died naturally, of old age or (rarely, thanks to the healers' skills) of illness, and though he supposed there’d been funerals for those who died in Uldred’s attack, he hadn’t been invited. Suicides, the most common death he'd seen, were simply cremated and never spoken of again, lest their actions cause further unrest among the mages. And those who failed their Harrowing just never came back downstairs. The suicides at least got prayers from the priests-- if an apprentice failed their Harrowing, their soul was already lost and beyond all help.
The day of Leandra's funeral was cold and windy and couldn't decide if it wanted to be overcast or sunny. The wind blew thick grey clouds across the sky, revealing the sun in brief bursts of light across the crowd gathered in the Chantry's cemetery. He tugged at his new tunic with his free hand and shifted uncomfortably. He didn't like wearing black, he decided. Didn't look good on him; made him look too severe and harsh. Emma was tucked under his other arm, leaning against his side, shoulders shaking as Sebastian began the Prayer of Ascension.
“Blessed Andraste, take the soul of Leandra and carry her to your beloved Maker's side...”
Anders let his gaze drift from the pyre, from Leandra's body-- dressed in a long-sleeved gown with a high collar, chosen out of necessity more than anything-- to the crowd gathered for the ceremony. There was the usual compliment of nobles, some of whom he guessed were just putting in appearances, but many of them seemed genuinely sorrowful. The dwarves and Orana stood together at the edge of the crowd, the elf weeping into a handkerchief, Bodhan staring stoically forward with a hand on his son's shoulder. Gamlen stood on Emma’s other side, wavering slightly on the spot, reeking of alcohol but mercifully not making a scene.
The entirety of Emma's merry band of misfits was there, too, grouped together on the other side of the pyre. Aveline and Donnic stood side-by-side; Aveline was mouthing the words of the prayer along with Sebastian, and Anders could just barely see their hands, linked together between them. Varric, like Bodhan, had taken on a stone-faced stare, his gaze flickering briefly from the pyre to Emma. Every time he looked at her, the stolid look cracked slightly, and he couldn't seem to keep his gaze on her for more than a second. Beside him, Merrill was weeping silently, tears tracing over the tattoos on her face. Isabela stood at the far edge of their little group, arms wrapped around herself, eyes downcast, her height nearly obscuring Fenris, who appeared determined to hide as best he could. But he was there, and he wasn't leaving, and that meant something.
“...peace and rest awaiting His faithful children. So let it be.”
“So let it be,” the crowd murmured as Sebastian touched the torch to the oil-soaked wood. It flared immediately, flames racing across the pyre and the body. Emma made a choked sound and turned away, pressing her face to his chest. Anders tightened his arm around her shoulders, wincing as the wind blew acrid smoke towards them. He barely remembered the last funeral he'd attended, but he recalled enough to know that this was the worst part, waiting for the body to burn, the smell enough to turn his stomach...
The wind shifted suddenly, a breeze circling around the pyre, and the smoke twisted and spiraled neatly up into the sky. Anders blinked, momentarily confused, then looked across circle at Merrill. She'd hunched her shoulders and kept her hands in front of her, trying to hide the faint glow of magic as best she could. The simple gesture, and the huge risk it came with, made his heart ache. Anders managed to catch Varric's eyes and glanced pointedly at Merrill; the dwarf looked over, and then reached up and casually flicked her cloak forward, covering her hands with the folds of fabric.
He didn't know what the priests did to the body, or maybe the wood, to make it burn faster, but he was grateful for it. The worst of the smoke had dissipated when Sebastian stepped forward again to recite the final prayer. Emma straightened up, wiping tears from her eyes, her hand gripping his almost tight enough to bruise, as Sebastian began. “Blessed Andraste, let those who have gathered here today carry the memory of Leandra in our hearts,” he said, voice faltering a bit on her name. “Though we have come in grief and sorrow, we remember that the Maker's will is beyond our understanding, and we take comfort in knowing that His ways lead always to peace.”
Emma made a sound that was somewhere between a sob and a mirthless laugh. Anders glanced down at her and squeezed her hand. She looked up and shook her head slightly. “Hate that part,” she murmured. “Doesn't mean anything.”
He just nodded, looking up as Sebastian moved smoothly into the final blessing, dismissing the crowd. A pair of acolytes dragged a heavy canvas over the smoldering remains, smothering the fire. They'd cremate it properly later and bury the ashes in the family plot the next day. Anders sighed quietly as the mourners began to drift away, talking quietly. Most of them had spoken to Emma before the ceremony, leaving everyone free to flee the sorrowful scene as quickly as possible once it was done. Gamlen shot his niece a sideways look before hurrying away, shoulders hunched, presumably to go back to his drinking.
“Beg pardon.” A young man with dark, messy hair and bright blue eyes bowed his head as he approached.
Emma glanced at him and managed a polite smile. “Saemus,” she said. “Thank you for coming.”
He nodded. “I wanted to pay my respects,” he said. “I didn't know Mistress Hawke well, but she was always kind.” He smiled a bit. “She listened to me. And you've done so much for me and my father in the past years, I felt-- well.” Saemus looked down for a moment. “I just wanted to tell you I'm so sorry, and Kirkwall is lessened by her loss.”
Emma's gaze drifted from Saemus to the covered pyre. “Yes, it is,” she agreed faintly. After a moment, she blinked, refocusing, leaning against Anders slightly. “Thank you,” she said again, sounding more sincere this time. “Give your father my regards.”
“I will.” He glanced at Anders and flashed him a polite, empty smile before turning and disappearing down the hill.
Most of the mourners had departed in just those few moments. Their friends stood in a little knot, talking quietly amongst themselves; someone looked over at Emma every other second or so. Anders gently pulled his hand from hers and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Where do you want to go now?” he asked quietly, lips against her hair.
She sighed and shook her head. “Home,” she said. “I just... I just want to go home.”
He nodded. “Alone, or--” She shook her head violently and half-turned to press against him. “I think the others are waiting to see what you want to do,” he explained. “Should I tell them to go, or...?”
Emma raised her head and looked over at the group-- Isabela and Aveline immediately looked away, pretending like they hadn't been staring. She frowned, thinking, and then something like a smile crossed her face. “Flames,” she muttered. “Let's have a proper Fereldan wake. We'll drink and remember her. She'd have wanted all this--” she gestured at the pyre and the priests, “--but I think I need...”
“She'd have wanted you to do what you thought was right,” he said.
She nodded slowly. “Yeah.” She drew in a deep breath and drew away slightly, grabbing his hand and leading him towards their friends. “She'd have wanted me to be with family.”
“Yeah.” The little circle opened up as they approached, their friends-- Emma was right, their family, weird and dysfunctional as they were-- turning towards them. “You're right. She would have.”
Series: Dragon Age 2
Characters: Entire Merry Band of Misfits
Pairings: Anders/Hawke, Aveline/Donnic
Rating: PG-13
“--and I'll just tell 'em I'm done,” Emma concluded. “They can pass their notes back and forth to each other without me running between them.” She leaned her head against Anders's shoulder as they turned the corner towards her estate. The past few weeks had been busy-- between helping Selby frame a particularly aggressive Templar, tracking down and destroying demonic tomes around Kirkwall, and listening to Emma complain about the Viscount and Arishok's latest spats, his clinic was starting to seem like a refuge of calm and sanity. Never a good sign.
Anders chuckled and tightened his arm around her waist. “Sounds like what used to happen in classes at the Circle,” he said. “Passing notes: 'do you like me? Check one, yes/no.'”
“You pass a lot of those notes?” she asked.
He paused, thinking. “Actually, I was the recipient more than the sender,” he replied.
Emma laughed, pulling away from him as they reached her door. “I wouldn't mind this nearly so much if I were just navigating a schoolboy crush between the Viscount and the Arishok, and holy Maker I think I just scarred myself with those mental images.”
Anders just nodded in abject horror, eyes wide. “Never speak of this again?” he suggested.
“Agreed.” Emma unlocked the door and pushed it open.
“One of you must have seen her!” someone shouted from the front room. Anders frowned; he didn't recognize the voice. Emma must have, though, as she groaned and stalked towards the noise. Anders shut the door behind him and trailed after her.
An older man in worn, patched clothes stood near the fireplace, arms folded, glaring at Orana. The girl was on the verge of tears, hands clasped in front of her. “I-I-I'm sorry, messere,” she said, voice trembling. “I don't know where Mistress Leandra is--”
“Gamlen, what in the void are you doing here?” Emma snapped as she strode into the room.
Ah, her uncle, right. Anders drifted off to one corner of the room, trying to avoid notice. It didn't work; Gamlen glanced at him, took in the staff over his shoulder, and silently sneered at him before returning his attention to his niece. “I am looking for my sister,” Gamlen snapped. “Where is she?”
“How would I know?” Emma retorted. “I've been out all day being a productive member of society. Not that you'd be familiar with such a concept.” Orana sniffled and drew in a shaky breath. Emma glanced over at her briefly. “Orana, why don't you head back to the kitchen,” she suggested. She'd barely finished the sentence before the girl took off like a shot.
“Leandra didn't show up for her weekly visit,” Gamlen said. “Is she ill?”
Emma frowned. “No. She's fine,” she said.
“Maybe she's out with her suitor?” Bodhan suggested from his corner of the room.
Gamlen and Emma had matching looks of bemusement. “Suitor?” Emma repeated. “I haven't-- I think I'd have noticed if Mother had a suitor.”
Bodhan gestured at the desk. “Well, those lilies arrived for her this morning,” he said with a shrug. “She seemed to like them.”
Anders glanced over. A vase of white lilies sat in one corner of the desk. White lilies... why did that sound familiar...
Emma gasped suddenly and clapped a hand over her mouth, blood draining from her face. “No,” she breathed. “Oh, no, no, no...”
Then it clicked. Anders pushed off the wall and walked to her side. “It's probably just a coincidence,” he said quickly. “I'm sure she's-- it's probably not that.”
“What?” Gamlen demanded. “What's going on? What are you talking about?”
Emma dropped her hand. “When was she supposed to meet you?” she asked, voice reduced to a horrified near-whisper.
“Two, three hours ago? What's going on, Emma?”
She swallowed hard and shook her head. “Th-there was someone kidnapping women a few years ago, we looked into the-the deaths... He sent his targets white lilies...”
Cold silence fell over the room. Anders glanced up at the door to Leandra's room, hoping that she'd appear and wonder why they were all making such a fuss. It stayed stubbornly shut.
“Okay,” Emma breathed. “Okay. Bodhan, run to the Keep and get Aveline. Tell her to meet us in Lowtown. Gamlen, you should-- you should just go home, see if she's shown up there. We'll retrace her steps and see if we can find anything.”
Gamlen narrowed his eyes at her, but didn't argue as he headed for the door. Anders put a hand on the back of her neck, rubbing his thumb over her skin. “I'm sure she's fine,” he said without much conviction.
Emma shook her head. “I'm not.”
*
Aveline and Varric were waiting for them at the base of the steps to Lowtown. Anders didn't bother asking how the dwarf knew to be there. “I've got my guards on the lookout for her,” Aveline said as soon as Emma was in earshot. “We'll find her. I promise.”
Emma nodded, not really paying much attention. “She'd have gone this way, through the markets,” she said, turning to the right. The sun had gone down an hour ago, and the streets were empty in deference to the thugs and bandits who controlled nighttime Kirkwall, despite Aveline's best efforts. So the sound of shouting carried easily through the quiet streets. “Gamlen...” Emma muttered, picking up speed.
“You saw her!?” Gamlen demanded, looming over a young boy, maybe about twelve or thirteen years old. “Did you see where she went?”
The boy shrugged sullenly. “What do I get for telling you?”
Emma strode towards them and glared down at the boy. “Answer the question,” she snapped. “Now.”
He sneered at her. “If it's worth somethin' to you, make it worth somethin' to me.”
Before anyone else could respond, Emma stepped forward and grabbed the boy's collar. “You tell me where she went, and I don't break your legs,” she snarled. “That worth enough?”
“Hawke!” Aveline grabbed the other woman's shoulder. Emma shrugged her off, but released the boy, shoving him away with a choked-off growl. Anders swallowed hard, glancing back and forth between Emma and Gamlen, his chest tight with dread.
Gamlen rolled his eyes and reached into his pocket. “You want something?” he asked, flipping a coin to the boy. “What about this?”
The boy snagged the coin out of the air. “That's real silver, that is,” he said, grinning. “I'm your man, through and through! Tell you everything I know!”
“Then start talking,” Emma ground out. “Quickly.”
He nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets. “That lady was 'ere,” he began. “Came down the stairs from Hightown. Looked like she was going towards the markets. But then a man came up to her. He stumbled an' fell over, right at her feet, like he was dead.” He pulled one hand out of his pocket and held it up. “His hands were all bloody, like he'd been in a fight. The lady shook him, and I think he said 'help'. She got him to his feet, and he was wobbly-- it was funny.” The boy grinned briefly. “Anyway, they left, and... that's all I saw.”
“Which direction did they go?” Aveline asked crisply.
The boy pointed back behind them. “Over there,” he said. “You can still see where he fell. There was a lot of blood.”
Emma spun on her heel and ran over to the blood stain. Anders followed, crouching down beside her. “This is pretty fresh,” he told them. “Probably only a couple of hours old.”
“And it keeps going,” Varric said quietly, pointing along the road.
Without a word, Emma moved to the next blood stain, hurrying down the street. Anders and Aveline exchanged worried glances, then ran after her.
The trail led through Lowtown to the foundry district. It ended at the locked door of one of the older buildings; Emma shouldered the door open and stormed inside, blade drawn. Varric slowed down as he passed through the door. “We've been here before, Hawke,” he said. “The other women--”
“I know, Varric,” she snapped. “She's in here somewhere. We have to find her.” The blood trail continued across the floor, a mix of spattered drops and bloody footprints. Emma followed it across the room and up to the second floor. “We looked here,” she muttered. “We searched this place and there wasn't...”
“I think we missed something, Hawke,” Aveline said, easing past the other woman and striding towards the far end of the hallway. A narrow wooden crate had fallen to the side, revealing a trapdoor in the floor.
Emma immediately pulled the door open, revealing a narrow shaft and a rickety wooden ladder. “I can--” Anders began. Emma dropped into the shaft, sliding down the ladder, and hit the ground with a muffled thump. “Provide some light,” he finished.
“Come on,” Emma shouted. “We have to hurry.”
Varric glanced at Anders and gestured at the ladder. He climbed down quickly, Aveline and Varric following behind. The ladder came out in one of Darktown's ubiquitous cavern-warehouses, this one clearly long-abandoned. The wooden rafters were rotting and half-collapsed, and the entire place stank of chokedamp and rot.
Anders summoned a handful of glowing orbs and sent them to hover over the small group, lighting their way. Emma led them through the silent warehouse, staying just at the edge of the circle of light, staring ahead into the dark. They came out of a hallway into a small antechamber. Something green glinted in the corner. Anders turned towards it, revealing a crumpled corpse in a blood-stained gown.
Emma ran over to the woman's body, gently rolling it over. “It's not-- oh, holy Maker.” She jerked back, deathly pale. The woman seemed familiar, and after a few moments, he remembered her as the woman DuPuis had kidnapped, to protect her from this killer. Alessa was dead, her face twisted into a terrified mask. She'd died of blood loss, Anders assumed, when someone had hacked off her hands at the wrist.
“Let's go,” he said, grabbing Emma's elbow and pulling her away. “We need to-”
She wrenched her arm free and ran towards the next hallway. It ended in a flight of stairs; the rotten stench only grew worse as they descended. Emma stopped short just a few steps away from the stairs, crouching down to look at something on the ground. “What is it?” Aveline asked.
Anders came to her side as she straightened up, hands cupped in front of her. A thin gold chain dangled from her fingers as she stared down at the small locket in her palm. “This is Mother's,” she whispered. The chain had snapped, as though it had been yanked from the wearer's neck. Emma swallowed hard and closed her fist around the necklace. She shoved it into her belt pouch and started down the hall again. Anders stood stock-still for a moment, staring blindly at the wall. Leandra was dead, he told himself, trying to wrap his head around the idea. There was no way she could still be alive, not now.
“C'mon, Blondie,” Varric muttered as he passed. Anders swallowed hard and followed.
Another set of stairs and another hallway. Light flickered in the doorway at the end of it, and around him, the warriors readied their weapons. Emma rushed in, sword and shield raised, only to come to a stunned stop a few feet in. No one else was in the room, but it was far from empty. Someone had been living in this dump, going by the shabby bed and the stacks of books scattered around. Most of the light came from candles set around a richly framed portrait of a beautiful young woman.
“She almost looks like Mother,” Emma breathed. She fumbled the locket back out of her pouch and thumbed it open. Anders peered over her shoulder at it. There were two pictures inside, small sketches, of a man with dark hair and a thick beard and a woman who was clearly a younger Leandra. The resemblance between Leandra and the painting was... uncanny.
“Maybe it's a shrine to a wife?” he guessed. “Or a sister?”
Emma snapped the locket shut and turned towards the next door. “I need to find her,” she said. “Now.”
She bolted through the door and down the next hallway. The others followed, Anders bringing up the rear. The air was thick with the stench of blood, and as they approached the next room, he could feel the Veil growing weaker. Blood magic, that was the only explanation, and he was terrified of what they'd find...
“I was wondering when you'd show up.” The room was long and brightly lit, torches on the walls and candles surrounding a stone slab-- altar, almost-- soaked in blood. The Veil had been all but shredded here; Anders could hear the faint whispers of the Fade, almost feel the demons drifting around him, drawn to new prey. A man stood at the far end of the room, dressed in bloodstained Circle robes, staring down at the high-backed wooden chair between him and Emma. Someone was in the chair-- Anders could make out a white sleeve, the edge of a skirt on the floor.
The mage smiled coldly at Emma. “Leandra was so sure you'd come for her.”
“Where is she?” Emma demanded, voice choked, her hand gripping the hilt of her blade tight enough to turn her knuckles white.
He looked down at the figure in the chair. Anders felt his blood run cold. Oh, Maker, no... what has he done... “You will never understand my purpose,” the mage said. “She was chosen because she was special, and now she is a part of something... greater.”
“Just give her back to me,” Emma begged. “Just let her go, and we'll-- and we'll leave. Just let her go.”
The mage smiled again. “But she's already here,” he said. “She's been waiting for you.” The figure in the chair stirred slightly. “Do you know what the strongest force in the universe is?” the mage continued. “Love.” He looked back up at Emma. “I pieced her together from memory. I found her eyes, her skin, her delicate fingers...”
Anders felt like he was going to be sick. He'd heard tales of this sort of magic: not just the brief reanimation of the recently dead that entropy provided, but true necromancy. The stories were bad enough, but to see it, for someone he cared about to be dragged into it...
The mage reached out to touch the person in the chair. “And, at last, her face... oh, this beautiful face...” The figure shifted again, and stood, lurching awkwardly with limbs that weren't hers, as the mage continued speaking. “I've searched far and wide to find you again, beloved, and no force on this earth will part us!”
Leandra-- the thing wearing Leandra's face-- turned towards them, skin a sickly grey, ugly stitches standing out on her neck and arms under the stained wedding gown. Anders was dimly aware of Aveline's horrified gasp over the blood rushing in his ears. The mage spread his arms wide, summoning power. Emma charged him with a scream of rage, reaching him moments too late. She slammed into the force barrier and staggered back a few steps. Even at this distance, Anders could see the mage smile.
Anders felt the demons coming moments before they appeared, slipping through the tears in the Veil to rise up through the ground. He paralyzed the two nearest shades and froze another one solid, leaving them for Varric and Aveline to dispatch. Emma was farther up, going toe to toe with a desire demon, barely reacting as the creature hurled spell after spell at her.
“Aveline!” Anders called. She gutted another shade and looked over at him. He jerked his head towards Emma. “We'll handle these!” He followed that up with a storm of lightning, bolts crackling into the demons and against the blood mage's barrier. It flickered, but held. It wouldn't last forever, though. He'd run out of power eventually.
Slowly, one by one, the demons fell. Anders hit the barrier with another volley of lightning, and this time, it gave way under the assault. The mage fumbled at his belt for a knife, clearly intending to spill his own blood to replenish his mana.
Emma snapped her left arm to the side, throwing her shield off, and charged, gripping her sword in two hands. She slammed into the mage and hurled him against the wall, driving her sword into his chest up to the hilt. She wrenched it free, then did it again, and again, stabbing him over and over as the body slid down the wall.
Aveline reached her first, grabbing her wrists and speaking into her ear. Emma choked out a sob and let her sword clatter to the ground. Leandra turned again with lurching, shuffling steps, moving towards her daughter. Emma shoved past Aveline to catch Leandra just as she started to fall. She sank to her knees, cradling her mother in her arms, reaching for her hand. “Mother...” she began, voice shaking. “It's going to be all right, I-- it's going to be fine.”
Anders approached slowly, knowing what was coming and hating himself already. Emma looked over her shoulder at him. “Anders, you can-- you can help her,” she said, eyes shining with tears. “You can save her, I know you can...”
He swallowed hard. “His magic was the only thing keeping her alive,” he said. “There’s nothing I can do.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “I'm sorry.”
Emma stared at him, horror and grief and worst of all betrayal warring on her face. “No,” she whispered. “No, you have to-- you have to help her...”
“I'm sorry…” The limits of his power, his inability to help, had never hurt this much. Anders was finding it hard to breathe.
“I knew you would come.” Leandra's voice was thin, but it was still her, somehow.
Emma looked back down at her. “Don't move,” she said. “We'll-- we'll find a way to--”
“Shh,” Leandra murmured. “It's all right, darling. That man would have kept me trapped in here. Used me. But now... I'm free. I'll be with Carver and... and your father.” She blinked heavily. “But you'll be all alone.”
“Mother...” Tears tracked down Emma's face, cutting paths through the spatters of blood. “I'm sorry, I-I wasn't fast enough, I'm so sorry...”
“Hush, darling.” Leandra raised a shaky hand to her daughter's cheek. “My little girl's grown up to be so strong.” She drew in a deep breath. “Tell--tell Bethany I love her.”
Emma nodded. “I will,” she whispered.
“My sweet girl,” Leandra murmured. “I love you, Emma. You've always made me so proud.”
She let out her breath and didn't draw in another. Her hand fell from Emma's face, and her head tipped back, eyes going blank. Anders wrapped his arms around himself, eyes stinging, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat. Ashes we were and ashes... oh, Maker, Leandra, I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry...
“Mother?” Emma whispered. “M-Mother?” There was no response. “Mama?” She stared, breath coming in shaky gasps. There was silence for a few heartbeats, then she screamed, curling over her mother's corpse, sobs wracking her body.
The sound hit him like a knife to the chest. Aveline had turned away, covering her face with her hands, while Varric just stared at the floor. Anders dragged a hand over his eyes and took one step forward, then another, and then dropped down to one knee at Emma's side. He hated her armor then, leaving him almost nowhere to touch her, to let her know that he was there. He settled for a hand on the back of her neck. She didn't react, still sobbing, rocking back and forth.
“Emma,” he said, or tried to. It mostly came out as a choked mumble. He cleared his throat, blinking hard, and tried again. “Emma, you-you have to let her go.”
She shook her head and tightened her grip. “No,” she sobbed. “I’m n-not leaving her.”
“Aveline will have her guards bring her to the Chantry,” he said. “We need to get you home.”
Emma didn’t move. Anders shifted position and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, lips at her ear. “C’mon, love, come here, I’m here, I’m right here…”
It took a few minutes of empty, meaningless whispers, but he was able to coax her into setting her mother’s body on the ground. Emma reached out and brushed Leandra’s eyes closed. She stared for a moment, then half-turned and threw herself at Anders, burying her face in his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his face to her hair. “I know,” he whispered as she wept. “I know.”
*
Varric walked them home, an act that Anders was eternally grateful for. Supporting Emma took nearly all his concentration and effort. The dwarf picked the lock on the front door, rather than trying to get the keys from Emma, and pushed it open. “If you need anything…” he said, meeting Anders’s eyes.
Anders just nodded and reached out to squeeze his friend’s shoulder. “Thanks.”
Varric stayed by the door as they limped inside, and Anders was pretty sure he heard him locking the door behind them. Mal jumped up from his post in front of the fireplace as they walked in, whining anxiously.
“Where is she?” Gamlen asked, standing up from his chair in the corner. “What happened?”
Emma shook her head. “She-she’s gone,” she choked out.
Gamlen almost dropped back into the chair in shock. “What happened?” he breathed.
“Someone took her,” Emma said, wiping futilely at her tears. “She looked like someone. A mage’s dead wife.” She shuddered, pressing against Anders. “She had her face… I-I couldn’t save her.”
“How could you let this happen?” Gamlen demanded, hands balled into fists. “This is your fault! If you’d been stronger or faster--”
“Don’t you dare blame her,” Anders snarled. Emma was going to spend the rest of her life carrying around the guilt of her mother's murder, undeserved as it was, and she didn't need anyone else joining in.
Gamlen glowered at him. “Shut up, mage,” he snapped. “Your kind are responsible for this! The Templars are right, we should just lock you all up--”
“Stop it!” Emma shouted, lunging towards him, and it was only Anders’s arm around her waist that stopped her from attacking her uncle. “Just-just stop! You never cared about her! You just wanted her damned money, you hated us and now she’s dead and--” Her voice cracked, and she nearly dragged Anders to the floor as her legs buckled. He sank to his knees, arms around her, as she buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed.
“I’m sorry,” Gamlen said hoarsely. Anders glanced up as he staggered past, stumbling towards the door. Not his concern.
Once Emma had calmed down slightly, the sobs reduced to deep, shuddery breaths, Anders eased her to her feet and led her up the stairs to her room. She remained silent as he guided her to a chair and started removing her armor, fumbling with the straps and buckles. Pounce hopped off the bed and nuzzled his knee, meowing sympathetically. Anders spared the cat a quick pat on the head before returning his attention to the armor.
Emma picked absently at one of her gauntlets, gaze vacant. The bedroom door opened behind him, and Orana slipped in, carrying a shallow bowl of water and a towel. She wordlessly set it on the ground beside him. “Thanks,” he murmured as she disappeared again.
It took a while, but Anders managed to get her out of her armor, leaving it stacked haphazardly on the floor. He picked up the damp towel and started cleaning the blood off her face and hands. “I have to tell Bethany,” Emma said, voice close to a monotone. “How do I… how am I supposed to tell her?”
Anders just shook his head. “I don’t know,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t seem real,” she continued. “Everything’s still here the way it was, how can she not be…” She squeezed her eyes shut.
He didn’t have an answer for that. Instead he just helped her out of her boots and stripped out of his coat, then guided her over to the bed. She crawled under the blankets and buried her face in her pillow as he quickly removed his boots and climbed into bed next to her. She immediately wrapped herself around him, her head resting on his chest, over his heart. “I just can’t…” she trailed off and tightened her arms around his waist. “Please don’t leave,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Please…”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said thickly.
She nodded, shuddering a bit. He just held her while she cried herself to sleep against his chest, tears soaking into his shirt. Eventually, she passed out. Anders stared into the darkness and dragged a hand across his eyes, wishing he had the power to fix this.
--
A soft knock at the door woke him the next morning. Beside him, Emma stirred, blinking. She paused for a moment, and then let out a half-sob and hid her face against his neck. “It wasn’t a dream, was it,” she said, not really asking.
He just shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
The knock came again, accompanied by a quiet “Serah Hawke?” from Bodhan. “There’s someone here to see you…”
Emma whimpered and curled up into a ball. Anders glanced at the door and sighed. “I’ll go,” he said, gently disentangling himself from her.
“Anders…”
“It’s fine,” he said. He slid out of bed and raked a hand through his hair, wrestling it back into some semblance of order. “I’ll be right back.”
She looked like she was about to argue, then nodded and huddled back under the blankets. “Thanks,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut.
Anders leaned down and brushed a kiss to her forehead. “Be right back,” he said again. He straightened his clothes as best he could and slipped from the room, leaving the door open behind him. It was jarring, to walk past Leandra's room and her chair in the front room and know that she wasn't there, would never be there again... he closed his eyes for a moment, wrestling his grief back under control, and walked to the entrance hall.
It took him a moment to place the guardsman standing there. “Ser Donnic,” Anders said, a bit wary. He hadn't seen the man since Emma's First Day party-- Aveline had apparently adopted the “sink or swim” method of introducing her partner to her insane group of friends. The man had held up admirably, from what Anders remembered. Despite all that, he was still a guardsman, which put Anders on edge.
“Good day,” he said in reply, nodding slightly. “I, ah... Aveline asked me to return these,” he said, holding out Emma's sword and shield. “She said Serah Hawke left them behind last night.”
“Oh. Yeah, she-- she did.” Anders took the weapons awkwardly, glancing around for a place to set them. “Thanks.” He settled for leaving them on the low bench near the door. The sword was still stained with blood, he noticed as he set it down with exaggerated care. Bodhan could see to cleaning it later.
“Aveline asked me to pass on a message, as well,” Donnic said. “She says she's so sorry.”
Anders nodded. “I'll tell her.”
“She had us out looking for him,” Donnic said abruptly, almost defensive. “After that Templar died, she tasked a squad with tracking him down. It's just-- he hadn't struck for months. We thought he'd left Kirkwall, or died, or...”
It took a few moments for Anders to work out what the other man was saying. “She thinks Emma blames her?” he asked.
Donnic shrugged. “She blames herself.”
Anders sighed and shook his head. “Emma doesn't... I don't think it's occurred to her that it even could be anyone else's fault but her own-- not that I'm blaming Aveline either,” he added hastily. “She's just...”
“Convinced that everything that goes wrong around her is somehow her fault?” Donnic said with a faint, wry smile. “Sounds quite familiar.”
He huffed out a sound that wasn't quite a laugh. “Thanks for bringing them back,” he said. “I'll tell her you came by.”
Donnic nodded. “Take care,” he said, then turned on his heel and all but marched to the door. Anders sighed and slowly made his way back upstairs.
*
The morning passed slowly. Emma spent most of the time at her desk, trying to write a letter to Bethany. A small pile of crumpled and tear-stained papers was all she had to show for it after three hours. Anders wrote his own letter to Nathaniel, explaining what had happened, so that Bethany wouldn't be alone when she found out. She'd need a shoulder to cry on, and if Nathaniel couldn't offer one himself, then he'd probably know who to put in the room with her.
“Serah Hawke?” Bodhan called from the hall. “I'm sorry to bother you, but Serah Vael is here...”
Emma groaned and buried her face in her hands. “Probably wants to talk about the funeral,” she said.
Anders glanced at the door. “Want me to chase him off?”
She shook her head and pushed back from the desk. “No,” she said. “I-I can't avoid this. I have to... I'll talk to him.”
He trailed after her and stopped on the balcony, watching as she slowly descended the stairs. Sebastian looked more priest than prince today, the gleaming white armor traded in for simple vestments. Emma held out a hand to shake; Sebastian ignored it and hugged her instead. They spoke quietly for a few moments, and then disappeared into the study.
Anders heaved a sigh and ran a hand over his face, grimacing slightly. He needed to wash up and get dressed. And eat something-- he had no appetite to speak of, but he knew that if he didn't eat soon he was going to collapse, and Emma hardly needed to deal with that on top of everything else.
Some time later, Anders was sitting at the kitchen table, feeling a little more clean and civilized, poking his fork unenthusiastically at leftover mince pie. He'd choked down about half of it, and he knew-- as a healer, as a Warden, as someone who'd lived in his body for a while-- that he needed to finish eating this, at least. It was just hard getting food down around the lump in his throat.
Orana poked her head around the door frame. “Mas-- er, serah?” she began. They'd settled on that honorific after he'd explained that being called 'master' was wholly inaccurate and made him very uncomfortable, and she said that it would be unspeakably rude for her to call him Anders. He sort of hoped it would be a temporary solution. “There's someone here to see you.”
He frowned. “Not Emma?”
“She asked for you,” Orana said, nodding.
Anders sighed and pushed back from the table. “All right,” he said. “Can you leave that? I'll get back to it eventually.”
She nodded and stepped out of his way. “Of course, serah.”
Isabela was waiting for him in the entrance hall, dressed in the black and grey leathers she favored this time of year. The only jewelry she had on was her gold piercings, and she'd left off the lines of black kohl around her eyes. “Hey,” he said in greeting.
“Varric told me this morning,” she said in a small voice. “I can't believe... Tell me you at least made the son of a bitch pay.”
He nodded, suddenly weary at the memory of the night before, and dropped down onto one of the benches. “Emma saw to that.”
“Good.” Isabela sat down beside him, fingers laced together in front of her. “It doesn't seem real,” she said after a few moments.
“Yeah.” He leaned back against the wall and stared blankly up at the loft.
“She was good to me, you know?” Isabela continued, more to herself than him. “She put up with so much... I broke into her home, grafittied her stairs, woke her up in the middle of the night-- she could have had me arrested, and instead she just-- said good morning and told me where the coffee was this time.”
Anders nodded again, blinking hard. Leandra had been good to all of them. She'd made him feel like family, after all that time without. “I...” He trailed off and cleared his throat.
Isabela slid her arm around his shoulders. “How're you holding up?” she asked. He shrugged tightly and leaned forward, curling in on himself. Isabela made a soft sound and pulled him towards her. “C'mere, sweetling,” she murmured, wrapping her other arm around him in an awkward, sideways hug. Anders let out a shaky breath and leaned against her, squeezing his eyes shut as a few tears escaped despite his best efforts.
“Sorry,” he muttered thickly, drawing back after a minute. Isabela politely looked away without being obvious about it while he dragged his palms over his eyes, trying to compose himself. “It's just-- Emma's got enough to deal with--”
She squeezed his shoulder. “I know.”
They sat side-by-side in silence for a while, both lost in thought. “Can you do me a favor?” Anders asked eventually.
“Anything.”
He pulled his keyring off his belt. “Can you stop by the clinic and grab a few changes of clothes for me? I think I'm going to be here a while, and I don't want to leave right now...”
Isabela plucked the keys from his hand. “Of course,” she said. She paused for a moment, then continued, a bit hesitant, “Do you have anything you could wear to the funeral?”
Anders groaned. “No. Dammit.”
“I'll take care of it,” she said immediately.
“Isa--”
“Anders.” She nudged him with her shoulder. “I'll take care of it. It's all right. Really.” Her lips quirked up in a smile. “I'll have Varric help. It'll at least give him something to do-- he's been wearing a track in the floor with his pacing.” She brushed a kiss to his cheek and stood. “I'll be back later. Tell Hawke-- oh, never mind, I'll tell her when I see her.”
“See you later,” he said, watching as she let herself out of the house.
He lost track of time, a bit, staring blindly through the wall. It wasn't until he heard voices in the front room that he came back to himself. Anders got to his feet, wincing a bit, as Sebastian and Emma walked through the doorway. “Thanks for coming by,” Emma said, voice hollow, fresh tear stains streaking her cheeks.
Sebastian smiled gently. “Of course,” he said. “Maker watch over you.” He nodded briefly at Anders, then turned and left, head bowed.
Emma wavered a bit, putting a hand out to steady herself on the doorframe. “Day after tomorrow,” she said. “I-- I need to send notifications, I guess...”
“I'll handle it, messere,” Bodhan said from behind her. “Don't you worry.”
She nodded. “Thanks.”
Anders held his arms out to her, uncertain of what else to do. Emma took two steps, closing the distance between them, and slid her arms around his waist, her face pressed against his shoulder. “Isabela stopped by,” he told her, lightly stroking her hair. “She said she'll probably come back later to see you.”
“Okay.” Emma sighed and drew back. “I need to finish writing to Bethany,” she murmured.
“Want me to sit with you?” he asked, hands still on her shoulders.
After a moment, she nodded. Anders took her hand and slowly walked back upstairs with her.
--
It had been close to two decades since Anders had been to a funeral. They were rarely seen in the Circle, though many died within its walls. Funerals were only held for those who died naturally, of old age or (rarely, thanks to the healers' skills) of illness, and though he supposed there’d been funerals for those who died in Uldred’s attack, he hadn’t been invited. Suicides, the most common death he'd seen, were simply cremated and never spoken of again, lest their actions cause further unrest among the mages. And those who failed their Harrowing just never came back downstairs. The suicides at least got prayers from the priests-- if an apprentice failed their Harrowing, their soul was already lost and beyond all help.
The day of Leandra's funeral was cold and windy and couldn't decide if it wanted to be overcast or sunny. The wind blew thick grey clouds across the sky, revealing the sun in brief bursts of light across the crowd gathered in the Chantry's cemetery. He tugged at his new tunic with his free hand and shifted uncomfortably. He didn't like wearing black, he decided. Didn't look good on him; made him look too severe and harsh. Emma was tucked under his other arm, leaning against his side, shoulders shaking as Sebastian began the Prayer of Ascension.
“Blessed Andraste, take the soul of Leandra and carry her to your beloved Maker's side...”
Anders let his gaze drift from the pyre, from Leandra's body-- dressed in a long-sleeved gown with a high collar, chosen out of necessity more than anything-- to the crowd gathered for the ceremony. There was the usual compliment of nobles, some of whom he guessed were just putting in appearances, but many of them seemed genuinely sorrowful. The dwarves and Orana stood together at the edge of the crowd, the elf weeping into a handkerchief, Bodhan staring stoically forward with a hand on his son's shoulder. Gamlen stood on Emma’s other side, wavering slightly on the spot, reeking of alcohol but mercifully not making a scene.
The entirety of Emma's merry band of misfits was there, too, grouped together on the other side of the pyre. Aveline and Donnic stood side-by-side; Aveline was mouthing the words of the prayer along with Sebastian, and Anders could just barely see their hands, linked together between them. Varric, like Bodhan, had taken on a stone-faced stare, his gaze flickering briefly from the pyre to Emma. Every time he looked at her, the stolid look cracked slightly, and he couldn't seem to keep his gaze on her for more than a second. Beside him, Merrill was weeping silently, tears tracing over the tattoos on her face. Isabela stood at the far edge of their little group, arms wrapped around herself, eyes downcast, her height nearly obscuring Fenris, who appeared determined to hide as best he could. But he was there, and he wasn't leaving, and that meant something.
“...peace and rest awaiting His faithful children. So let it be.”
“So let it be,” the crowd murmured as Sebastian touched the torch to the oil-soaked wood. It flared immediately, flames racing across the pyre and the body. Emma made a choked sound and turned away, pressing her face to his chest. Anders tightened his arm around her shoulders, wincing as the wind blew acrid smoke towards them. He barely remembered the last funeral he'd attended, but he recalled enough to know that this was the worst part, waiting for the body to burn, the smell enough to turn his stomach...
The wind shifted suddenly, a breeze circling around the pyre, and the smoke twisted and spiraled neatly up into the sky. Anders blinked, momentarily confused, then looked across circle at Merrill. She'd hunched her shoulders and kept her hands in front of her, trying to hide the faint glow of magic as best she could. The simple gesture, and the huge risk it came with, made his heart ache. Anders managed to catch Varric's eyes and glanced pointedly at Merrill; the dwarf looked over, and then reached up and casually flicked her cloak forward, covering her hands with the folds of fabric.
He didn't know what the priests did to the body, or maybe the wood, to make it burn faster, but he was grateful for it. The worst of the smoke had dissipated when Sebastian stepped forward again to recite the final prayer. Emma straightened up, wiping tears from her eyes, her hand gripping his almost tight enough to bruise, as Sebastian began. “Blessed Andraste, let those who have gathered here today carry the memory of Leandra in our hearts,” he said, voice faltering a bit on her name. “Though we have come in grief and sorrow, we remember that the Maker's will is beyond our understanding, and we take comfort in knowing that His ways lead always to peace.”
Emma made a sound that was somewhere between a sob and a mirthless laugh. Anders glanced down at her and squeezed her hand. She looked up and shook her head slightly. “Hate that part,” she murmured. “Doesn't mean anything.”
He just nodded, looking up as Sebastian moved smoothly into the final blessing, dismissing the crowd. A pair of acolytes dragged a heavy canvas over the smoldering remains, smothering the fire. They'd cremate it properly later and bury the ashes in the family plot the next day. Anders sighed quietly as the mourners began to drift away, talking quietly. Most of them had spoken to Emma before the ceremony, leaving everyone free to flee the sorrowful scene as quickly as possible once it was done. Gamlen shot his niece a sideways look before hurrying away, shoulders hunched, presumably to go back to his drinking.
“Beg pardon.” A young man with dark, messy hair and bright blue eyes bowed his head as he approached.
Emma glanced at him and managed a polite smile. “Saemus,” she said. “Thank you for coming.”
He nodded. “I wanted to pay my respects,” he said. “I didn't know Mistress Hawke well, but she was always kind.” He smiled a bit. “She listened to me. And you've done so much for me and my father in the past years, I felt-- well.” Saemus looked down for a moment. “I just wanted to tell you I'm so sorry, and Kirkwall is lessened by her loss.”
Emma's gaze drifted from Saemus to the covered pyre. “Yes, it is,” she agreed faintly. After a moment, she blinked, refocusing, leaning against Anders slightly. “Thank you,” she said again, sounding more sincere this time. “Give your father my regards.”
“I will.” He glanced at Anders and flashed him a polite, empty smile before turning and disappearing down the hill.
Most of the mourners had departed in just those few moments. Their friends stood in a little knot, talking quietly amongst themselves; someone looked over at Emma every other second or so. Anders gently pulled his hand from hers and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Where do you want to go now?” he asked quietly, lips against her hair.
She sighed and shook her head. “Home,” she said. “I just... I just want to go home.”
He nodded. “Alone, or--” She shook her head violently and half-turned to press against him. “I think the others are waiting to see what you want to do,” he explained. “Should I tell them to go, or...?”
Emma raised her head and looked over at the group-- Isabela and Aveline immediately looked away, pretending like they hadn't been staring. She frowned, thinking, and then something like a smile crossed her face. “Flames,” she muttered. “Let's have a proper Fereldan wake. We'll drink and remember her. She'd have wanted all this--” she gestured at the pyre and the priests, “--but I think I need...”
“She'd have wanted you to do what you thought was right,” he said.
She nodded slowly. “Yeah.” She drew in a deep breath and drew away slightly, grabbing his hand and leading him towards their friends. “She'd have wanted me to be with family.”
“Yeah.” The little circle opened up as they approached, their friends-- Emma was right, their family, weird and dysfunctional as they were-- turning towards them. “You're right. She would have.”