fanfic: A Fish Out of Water

[bellaknoti]

An AU to Wings of the Storm Crow

Title: Pride (Chapter Twenty)
Rating: AO
Pairing: Zev/Lily
Summary: It feels like I'll never escape... but I have to believe that there will be an opportunity. There will be a day when he lets me back into the house, when he trusts me again. There will be a day when I'm near the phone, when I'm in the kitchen near the cast-iron skillet, when I can get a knife in my hand. There will be a day. There will. Right.


scarylady is very awesome, and fixes all the injustices and horrible liberties I take with the language without even meaning to.

Extra thank you in this chapter: if not for a very well-timed introduction to the extremely helpful FightfortheLost, the magic would've just been so much sparklers and noise.




I swallow hard, looking at Tommy, trying to figure out what the hell is going on in his head - my constant occupation. “I’m not trying to keep you out,” I say, cautiously, “I’m just not sure what you want me to do.”

He smiles at me, like I’ve finally realized something profound. “Tell me you’ll have me, Lily. Tell me you want me. Tell me you’ll be with me forever.”

Riiiight, ‘cause that’s not creepy at all. “Uh-- Are you asking me to marry you?” I ask, going for ‘totally confused’, dreading the answer. “I’m not sure that’s--”

Tommy laughs at me, the hard edge of his inner reptile creeping into his eyes. “That’s hardly appropriate,” he chastises me, making me feel like a child with the way he stands over me, the way he looks at me with such disdain, and I feel my cheeks colour with shame. “No. I need you to make a commitment to me, right here, right now: no more fantasy. You need to accept this reality for what it is. Stop running from it.”

Running.

Wait, there’s something I need to remember. Something important. I feel my brow furrow and turn my face aside, biting my lip. Tommy takes this as an admission of shame, and begins to pace in front of me, still ranting. I tune him out, thinking furiously. Running. I was running, looking at the ground. Someone had my hand... Where was I? There’s something I’m forgetting.

I’ve almost got it... I remember yellow, there was something yellow-- “...can’t have that kind of stress, in your delicate condition,” Tommy says, and I blink.

What was I doing? Dammit! There was something I was trying to think about! What was it?

“Wait, what? Delicate condition?”

The dark smile that spreads across his face makes my bones melt with terror. He’s looking at my stomach.

Oh no. Not again.

“You can’t be acting like this, do you see? You’ve got a bigger responsibility now. You can’t be selfish anymore - it’s not just your life. If you can’t learn to share it, maybe you don’t deserve to.” He stands up, walking over to the door, and then casts me another dark look, a disapproving look that tells me exactly what kind of pathetic, weak-willed mess I truly am. He shakes his head. “You need to grow up. I can only protect you for so long, Lily, before even I have to admit defeat. I hope you can come out of this soon.” He turns on his heel and walks out, the locks rattling in succession, before I can gather my wits enough to speak.

I’m left to stare at the door, shocked to silence for a long time. At last, I look down at my belly, put a shaking hand over it. Oh gods, no. No. I’ll never escape him now. And the threat... If I don’t give him exactly what he wants, he’ll kill it. Maybe me, too.

I draw my knees up, cover my face with my hands, and give in to despair for a time.

Pulling myself together at last, I hobble over to the sink and wash my face, the cold water stinging my eyes. Leaning over it, I remember crouching in it, washing frantically. Wait... There’s something else about that. Why was I washing?

My brain feels like sludge. Why can’t I remember anything?

Like a camera flash, I have an image of laying on the table, Tommy above me, and... and... I was... I was staring at the mirror. “Naughty girl,” he said... Why was I looking at the mirror? Why would I want to?

There’s something I’m missing... something critical, here... I trace the shape of the duck on the beam across the top of the sink with one fingertip. It’s always been there, so why am I surprised to see it? There were things... Things I missed. Details. Something I’m forgetting. Maybe I wrote about it in my journal. Opening the drawer on the table, I feel around, but there’s nothing in the hollow. Nothing at all. Slowly, I close the drawer. How is that even possible? Tommy knows nothing of my hiding place, or he would’ve said, and there would have been some kind of fallout from it anyway, so where did all my writing go?

The room begins to shake with a low rumble. Earthquake! Losing my balance and falling to my hands and knees, I scramble under the table and hold onto the legs, waiting for the ground to stop rolling. And wow, it’s a bad one, easily 6... or 7... The lights go out, plunging me into pitch darkness. Good gods, will it never--

Everything is abruptly silent, the earth settling into that queasy, wobbly feeling it gets right after a bad quake. The door rattles and opens, creating a swathe of bright light and outlining Tommy’s silhouette. “Lily!” he cries, rushing over to the table and dragging me out from under it by the arm. I scramble along and try to get my feet under me before my back takes the brunt of the weight-shift. He pulls me hard against him, and I swallow my bile, looking up at him. “I need to know I can trust you,” he says, eyes wide and pleading. “I want to let you out of here, but I need to know that you’ll have me, that we can be together.”

Something about his badly-concealed panic sets off alarm bells in my head. “What do you mean, ‘together’? We’ve been living together for nearly ten years,” I reply, deliberately obtuse.

His eyebrows draw together in consternation, and he scowls, shaking me. “You need to say--”

“‘--it isn’t going to be enough,” someone says, and I blink, trying to get my eyes to focus in the sudden darkness. There’s that bright-white light again, blinding me. “Someone is going to have to go in there.”

My tongue feels like so much dead meat in my mouth, my lips nearly refusing my commands. “Alishteuh?” My voice is a cracked whisper, and I turn my head away from the light. I’m sure that was Alistair’s voice. With a monumental effort of will, I move my hand, reaching weakly toward the sound of him, before I become exhausted and it drops back to the bed to land beside me. “Wha--?”

Alistair’s face resolves itself out of the general blur in front of me, very close, and I feel warmth envelop my hand. He looks worried and grim. “Stay with me, Lily,” he says, pressing the back of my hand to his cheek, his eyes softening, and I blink.

“Whas happen?” My mouth just will not work properly, and I struggle to move, blinking and trying to lick my lips.

He reaches out with his other hand to brush the hair off my face, shaking his head. “I’m here. If it has to be someone, it will be me; I won’t let anyone else touch you,” he murmurs quickly, like he might be stopped. “I want you to know that--”

“Alistair, back up,” Anders interrupts, and I turn my head again, with great difficulty, to see him crouched over me on my other side. He is sweating and pale, scaring me. He chugs a lyrium potion, a rather alarmingly large bottle, then reaches out and seizes my face between his hands. “Lily, listen to me. Don’t compromise--”

“--if we’re ever going to make it through this. Do you understand me?” Tommy asks, shaking me again, and I shake my head, trying to clear it. I feel so... washed out. I was doing something. What was I doing?

“What? What’s happening?”

Tommy gives me another hard shake, making me bite my tongue. “Have you been off in your little fantasy again? Right now, right here in front of me, when I’m talking to you? Seriously? Get a grip, Lily! Look at me!” he shouts, and shakes me once more, hurting my neck. The burst of pain sends stars in my eyes, but I do my best to open them, to look at him, so he won’t shake me anymore.

“No, sorry, I-- I’ve just got a headache,” I say, shaking my head again. What was I thinking of? It’s important. Something about yellow? And blue? Someone was holding my hand. Hazel eyes. Who has hazel eyes? There was--

“Promise me, Lily! Promise me that part is over. Promise me you’ll grow up and act like a fucking adult for once, take responsibility for yourself and this baby. Promise me you’ll be present, here, with me. Just let me in, Lily. Let me be enough. I could give you everything, anything you want.”

I hear crunching in the gravel outside, the sound of a car pulling up, and Tommy lifts his head, turning in the direction of the sound. I wriggle, trying to pull free, but he looks back to me, his grip tightening. “They’re here. You have to decide now.”

“What? Why? Who’s here?” My heart begins to thunder in my ears with the panic of what he says next.

“You’re going to Western State,” he says, eyes boring into mine, shattering my hopes of escape. If someone says you’re barking mad, how do you prove you’re not, without sounding defensive and crazy?

“You’re committing me?” I ask, incredulous.

“I can’t help you anymore.”

A sudden terror grips me. They give you lots of medication in those places. You hear all kinds of horror stories: forced abortions, forced adoptions, rape, sedation, electro-shock - even today. Callous staff - abuses happen all the time. “No,” I say, and I know I’m a little breathless.

He smiles, and it’s a dark, cruel smile, one that I know very, very well. This is the smile where he means to push me into hurt because I’ve said something stupid, and he wants to demonstrate to me the consequences. “Too bad you can’t stay with me, isn’t it?” he asks, his tone almost conversational.

I don’t want a chemical lobotomy. I don’t want to bring a child into that mess. I don’t want to be a mother and never know it. I don’t want to be in the hands of people like that.

And I don’t want to be here, either.

However... at least here, there’s a possibility. Locked behind bars and straps and cuffs and chemicals, I don’t stand a chance. I can feel tears filling my eyes. He’s trapped me. “No,” I say again, but this time I’m pleading, and my voice breaks.

His smile softens to that one when he’s about to forgive me, if I just do precisely what he says next. “Give me a reason to tell them to go away,” he says, softly. I can hear a voice outside, a man’s voice, calling out... undoubtedly trying to find us.

Oh gods.

“Tell me that you want me to protect you from them, Lily. Tell me you’d rather stay here.”

“I don’t want to be committed,” I whisper, agonized.

“Then help me convince them to go away,” he says, and turns toward the door, dragging me with him.

Outside there is a man standing on the path, and I could swear I know him. He looks so... familiar...

“There. See? Here she is,” Tommy says, then gives me a hard look.

“I don’t need to be committed,” I say, woodenly. “I’m not crazy.”

“Lily,” the man says, getting my attention, and I look into his eyes for the first time. There is an electric jolt of recognition that sears through me, nearly stopping my heart, but my brain just refuses to catch up. What’s his name, what’s his name? He’s... a... doctor. Something certain and loud in the back of my mind tells me I can trust him, that I have trusted him before.

“You don’t have her,” he says to Tommy, “So let her go.”

“Tell him you don’t want to leave,” Tommy hisses at me, and I look up at him, then back at the doctor. I’ll take him over Tommy in a heartbeat. Déjà vu... seems like I’ve had that thought before... He holds his hand out to me, and I start forward, only to be brought up short by Tommy.

The man moves so fast, everything happens in the space of heartbeats. His face transforms with grim determination, and he reaches behind himself, whipping a staff down over his shoulder from out of nowhere; it whirls in his hand and around his arm, beginning to glow as he draws back his other arm, his free hand suddenly enveloped in bluish-white light. Turning his body with sudden force, he thrusts the staff hard toward us, his free hand pulling back like he’s got a bowstring.

Tommy screams with rage, just a bare second before the ball of white light bursting from the end of the staff strikes him straight in the chest, lifting him up on his toes, like a puppet whose strings are attached to the breastbone. His hands open spasmodically, setting me free, and I stumble backward away from him.

My shocked mind can barely process this sudden development. This single act utterly defies the rationality of the world I live in. It’s like I’ve been living in slow-motion, and didn’t realize it until just now; like a cold bucket of water dumped over my head, I am suddenly sober, and I know where I am. Looking back at the man, I realize I know who I’m with, too. In the fourth
heartbeat, Anders reaches behind him on both sides, like he’s trying to gather something together, then pushes his hands toward Tommy, white smoke swirling around his fingers and leaving trails through the air.

From out of nowhere, rocks fly toward Tommy, swallowing him up, encasing him so that he is left standing in that unnatural position like a mannequin. Anders doesn’t cease his movement, hands and staff weaving in a complicated dance as he directs his attention toward me. He shakes his hand, like he’s trying to pick something up, then a sphere of light comes out of nowhere, bursting brightly around his head, leaving afterimages burned into my eyes, and a moment later I’m enveloped in a sphere of iridescent light.

Tommy begins to roar, a terrifyingly large sound that grows impossibly deeper and more frightening with every moment, as though he is growing taller, bigger, behind me as I rush toward Anders. With a quick sweep of his arm, he pushes me around to his back as I near, never taking his eyes off Tommy; peering over Anders’ shoulder, I can see it’s not Tommy at all. Standing there on the path, next to what now resembles nothing so much as a match-stick version of my shop, is a giant... thing, like a minotaur, like a crab, like the bastard love-child of a Geiger-Lovecraft nightmare, like none of these and all of them, easily fifteen feet tall, and the colour of a bad set of bruises.

The demon puts his hands together, a ball of light coalescing between them, flaming between his fingers as he throws the light down at his feet. It explodes upward, riming him in bright gold, and leaving him standing in a ring of fire; he lifts his head, looking at us with all those freaky, beady eyes, and laughs.

Anders pulls his staff back, preparing to cast again, as the demon begins its assault, nearly knocking us flat with a heavy stomp that shakes the ground.

“Get yourself a weapon!” he shouts over the roar, staff spinning in his hand again, throwing another bolt at the demon.

“How?”

“Concentrate!” he snaps, a puff of dust, light, and rocks flying from his fingertips and coalescing just in time to be boulder-sized, staggering the demon back a step in its advance.

Heartbeats, adrenaline, the constant roar and the shock of what is true conspire against concentration, but I focus on the idea that I’ve seen him cast before, in combat, and I was at his side, in armour, daggers in hand. I flex my hands, trying to remember the texture of the leather and the weight and the balance of them in my arms and shoulders.

I know what I’m about, here. Knives in hands, boots on feet, the strange rocket of magic when that helmet landed on my head for the first time. I can almost taste it.

What I manage to manifest is Zev’s dagger, and my combat boots.

Whatever. I’ve got something sharp, and sure footing. Close enough, right? Ares, guide my blade.

The demon rallies quickly and puts its head down for a charge. Anders and I bolt in opposite directions, and it tracks him, giving me time to circle. It doesn’t perceive me as a threat, apparently... then again, maybe it just hasn’t noticed that I’m sort of armed now. It charges Anders, knocking him flat, and crushing him with a strike from one massive fist.

An intense rush of white-hot fury in Anders’ defence drives me forward at a sprint, straight toward the demon’s legs, intent on sinking my blade deep into the back of its knee. Rearing back from Anders, it screams with rage and turns its upper body abruptly to stare down at me.

I’m frozen with shock and fear for a second as my primitive mammal brain screams and shits itself; here is the bogey-man, the monster under the bed, the thing lurking behind the mirror, and not only have I attracted its attention, but it’s hungry. Still looking at me, it reaches down and then throws its arms up over its head, and I smell something burning.

Whirling, I find that we’re surrounded by what appear to be moving piles of lava with arms, hotter than the hinges of Hades, and smelling like sulphur.

“Lily!” Anders shouts, grabbing my attention, and I see that there are more of them behind him. The demon sees me about to run for Anders and jumps, the concussion knocking me on my ass in front of the lava monsters, my head ringing like a gong as it strikes the ground. I flail, trying to scramble to my feet, but the monsters are quicker, reaching for me, the heat of their bodies close enough for me to be worried about my hair going up and the stench of sulphur choking me. In the next moment, a glyph springs into being under me, shoving all of them back and away from me, and giving me time enough to struggle to my feet.

The demon roars again as Anders stuns the lava monsters around him with a sudden ring of light that expands outward from him, knocking them back. It takes several unsuccessful swipes at him as he feeds it more rocks and bolts of light, and I have to admit that the man can dance. “Stay there!” he shouts to me, and I almost laugh, half-hysterical. Where else would I go? I flex my hand on the hilt of Zev’s dagger, watching the milling figures around the edges of the glyph, waiting for it to expire so they can get to me.

The demon readies itself for another charge at Anders, and he ducks out to the side as it lowers its head, getting closer to me. The lava monsters have come back to their senses, and rush toward us, ringing us on all sides as Anders puts his back to mine. I can feel the sweaty heat of him and the way his breath comes in dragging heaves. A blue glow snaps outward from him momentarily, washing me in a wave of sheer relief, as the burns and bruises fade. I am always, entirely, most humbly grateful to him, but I hate it when he does that. It feels too personal and slightly vampiric, even though he’s freely giving it, sees it as his job to do so.

Having bought itself some time, the demon cups its hands together again, summoning up some kind of green smoke that smells putrid when it drops to the ground, surrounding it in noxious fog. I notice that the light of the glyph is less bright than it was when he first cast it, and swallow nervously. I drop into a crouch just in time to not be clocked by Anders’ staff as he swings it in an arc, spreading a line of ice that effectively freezes two thirds of the lava monsters and clears our backs.

I dart to the side as the glyph gives out, dagger swinging to intercept the clutching arms of the lava monster reaching for Anders’ back. The heat searing the back of my hand as it connects and bites into the creature makes me miss my gauntlets. It’s got a strange brittle quality to the outer skin, like charred wood. The green fog grows thicker and I realize that while I was trying to defend Anders’ back, I missed the demon running up on us. It reminds me of its presence by swinging its fist into my head, and I kiss dirt, the green smoke invading my face and burning it from the inside.

I hear Anders screaming defiance, but his words are lost in a cacophony of noise. I’m seeing doubles and triples, trying to haul myself upright again before the demon tries to crush us.

Realizing I’m standing in the middle of a strange tempest, I look to Anders to find him surrounded by a swirling maelstrom of lightning, fire, smoke, snow, light, and earth, facing down the demon with what looks like everything he has left, and there are two lava monsters coming right up behind him, the last two left.

I charge them desperately, trying to remember to use the footwork and strikes that I have practised. My empty left hand curls around an imaginary hilt, following through with the sweeps and lunges in their proper times, for balance. I chop at them doggedly until they fall, while Anders keeps it at bay, but the tempest is ending and the demon hasn’t fallen yet. I flex my hands on the grips of my daggers and I feel myself going up on my toes, dropping into better form. I can’t be wasting energy. I need to focus, or we’re both dead.

Anders has his back to me, his hair lank with the sweat of casting, and favouring his left leg, which means he’s having to choose between healing and offense. The demon is badly wounded, slowed and dangerous. He begins to cast, and the demon puts down its head. He’s not going to make it. Without conscious decision, my feet carry me forward at a sprint, past Anders, and directly into the path of the demon’s charge.

I notice that it closes its eyes when it does this.

If I’m quick, impossibly quick, and perfectly accurate, I can sink my blades straight through its eyelids. What’s more likely, though, is that I’ll get run over like a penny on a railroad track, but if it buys Anders the two seconds he needs to take this thing down, it’ll be worth it, right? Right.

Right.

I turn as its head gets nearer, aiming my blades and setting my feet, the slow-motion of adrenaline making it feel like I’ve got all the time in the world, even though I’m in slow-motion, too. I jump backward just as it reaches me, to add some of my own momentum to its charge, allowing me just enough space to sink my daggers into its face, ice riming the skin around the wound under my left hand. Everything is blurry, I can’t tell whether I’ve actually got any of its eyes or not, but it roars and screams in pain just a moment before there is a tremendous thunderclap and a blinding white light. The demon’s weight crushes me to the ground underneath it, knocking the wind from me and sending spots in my eyes. I try to breathe, but its head weighs a ton, and all I am able to do is whimper, before I lose myself to the blackness of oblivion.

The next thing I’m aware of is a thready, high-pitched keen, and I realize after a moment that it’s me. I struggle upward toward the surface, swimming toward consciousness; I’m afraid to find out where I actually am, because this is the moment of truth. For a second, I really don’t want to know. I think I know the answer, and I don’t want to break my own heart, not again. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, tears leaking from the corners to roll down my temples.

“Lily?” A man’s raspy voice whispers softly, and I turn my head slowly, dreading the source so much that I don’t dare to look until I’m facing him.

“Anders?” My voice is thin and reedy, but steady. “You look like hell,” I say, before I can stop myself, choking on a laugh. He smirks, but it’s shaky. I feel a strong surge of sisterly love for him, and sit up partially, just enough to throw my arms around his neck and bury my face in his shoulder. Without meaning to, I burst into tears, pretty much immediately, and I can feel from the set of his shoulders that this shocks the hell out of him, but he barely misses a beat, his arms coming ‘round to gather me in.

“Shhh...” he murmurs, a shaking hand laying gently against my hair, hesitantly stroking it. “It’ll never touch you, Lily, never again.”

.:o:.:o:.:o:.:o:.:o:.

I hold the talisman in the palm of my hand. Such a small thing, so fragile-looking, no longer than my thumb and thin as a matchstick. Just a wafer of carved bone, but a complicated glyph on it, now cracked and blackened where Anders broke its hold on me. It had been sewn to the blanket.

“A beacon,” Alistair says flatly, and Anders nods.

“For what?” I ask, turning it over in my hand.

“To call the demon,” Anders says. “That particular Pride demon. You were being offered up as a sacrifice.”

I feel my mouth drop open in surprise as this comes as another blow. Everything happens so fast, so gods-damned fast! Athena! “Wh-- H-- What?”

Alistair silently passes me the flask of whiskey again, and I take another swig. “Someone made a deal with this demon, to take you down in exchange for whatever it was they wanted.” I pass the flask to Anders, and he takes another drink, as well. I don’t miss how his hands shake as he passes it back to me.

“It was a Pride demon?”

Anders’ eyes, though tired, are still piercing enough to make what he says next strike me hard through the stomach. “It stole your pride, didn’t it? Fed off it like a parasite.”

The look that Anders and I share in that moment tells me that he knows exactly who the demon was pretending to be, and my cheeks heat with shame. “It... It had me convinced that I was entirely mad, that all my life here was so much insane delusion.”

Anders sighs. “Don’t beat yourself up over it,” he says, running his hands through his unbound hair. “Pride demons are nasty, and smart. Not like the sloth you met in Kinloch - they’re generally too lazy, and it’s easier to see through their dreams. Desire isn’t so hard either, if you’re the sort who tends to question when things seem to be going well. Someone knew enough to be able to say what you would be weakest against, I think.”

I close my eyes and swallow the sick feeling brewing in my stomach. “Enzo, of course.”

Alistair restlessly thumps his fist backward against the stone of the wall behind him, angry and impatient. “If I ever see him alive, I’ll be the last thing he sees,” he growls.

“But... If that’s the case... Why would the Crows send a demon after me? How would they even manage it?”

Anders snorts. “I’m not the only mage in Thedas who owes no allegiance to the Chantry. And... if you were being offered to it, then it meant to ride you. Did it ask you for anything?”

My brow furrows. “It said... I needed to trust it, that... it could give me everything I wanted, if I just... Oh gods, if I just ‘let it in’. I thought--” I drop the talisman on Alistair’s desk and press the heel of my hand to the suddenly aching point between my eyes. “And you said, ‘don’t compromise’, but I had no idea what was real and what wasn’t--” I blink, then laugh, startling them both, and Alistair looks at me like maybe I have gone a little nuts. I shake my head, waving a hand, until I can get a grip. I probably am a little hysterical. Eventually I catch my breath. “It pretty much blocked itself by the approach it took. Where I come from, being sent to the madhouse is called ‘being committed’. He was trying to get me to say I wanted to stay with him, but I was more worried about the asylum, so those were the words I used. I was refusing him and I didn’t even know it.”

“Asylum?” Alistair echoes, and I laugh again, mirthlessly.

“It’s a fairly ironic term, unfortunately, though it isn’t meant to be.” I sigh heavily, eyes drawn back to the broken glyph. “It wanted me trapped in a prison of my own making, to believe that I could never escape. The moment that happened, I would have been under its thrall.” I shiver, knowing how close I came.

“I wonder what it meant to do,” Anders says, face dark.

“Walking around looking like me? I shudder to think.” I take another slug off the bottle and pass it back to Alistair before I give in to the temptation to chug the whole thing. I rub my face with both hands, then put my head down on them propping my elbows on my knees. “Fuckin’ hell, I’m tired,” I mumble, and the men snort. “Is it even safe to sleep? I can’t believe I’m asking this, because I want to say I’ll just never sleep again, but the fact is, the body is much weaker than my willpower at the moment. I either need a shit-ton of coffee or a safe place to sleep.”

Anders sighs, and I can hear him stretching by the way his joints pop. “The demon’s dead and the beacon destroyed,” he says. “You should be safe enough for now. We’ll need to have a very long talk, however.”

I look up and blink, taking in the grim faces of the men looking at me. “What? About what? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“It had to ask you permission,” Alistair says, as though this explains everything, and I shake my head, mystified.

They exchange glances, then Anders says, “A demon can just take over any person it likes. There’s nothing to stop them, you see.”

“That’s why Sofia Dryden was just an empty shell,” Alistair says.

“But a mage, on the other hand... We have to agree.”

“So this brings us back around to the same old question: what are you not telling us, Lily?” Alistair asks, weary.

I stare at him, completely at a loss, in shock. “I’m not a mage!” I blurt. “Is that what you think? That I’m a closet mage? Are you serious? There’s no way!”

Anders looks at Alistair and arches an eyebrow; Alistair looks sceptical. “You mean to tell me you don’t know?”

“Alistair, I haven’t got a single fucking clue what you’re on about, honestly. I’m not a mage.”

Anders studies me critically. “I think you are, but you’re like a kitten. You haven’t got the faintest idea what your claws are for, and couldn’t produce a hiss to save your life.”

My eyebrows draw together. “Why does that feel like it should be an insult?”

“I’m not quite sure what to think of it,” he says, and shakes his head. “There’s a piece of you that’s open to the Fade.”

“Could it be a side-effect of my connection with Zev?”

“Possibly. There’s not exactly a lot of research into the area, considering that most people think it to just be fireside tales.”

I chew my lip, trying to think, but my brain is so fogged from the medicine not having worn off yet and from the lack of rest, that I just can’t. “I have to sleep,” I moan, dreading it. Ponka lifts his head and puts it on my thigh. “Oh gods, I don’t want to sleep,” I whisper; Ponka whines and licks my face.

“I’ll stay with you,” Anders says, standing up. The look that flickers across Alistair’s face makes my heart hurt, but I do my best to ignore it. “Easier to help if I’m right there, anyway, in case something else goes wrong,” he adds. I’m just too tired to argue.

“Right. That makes sense.” I drag myself upright. “Look... wake me again if anything happens, if Lels gets back...”

“Not likely,” Alistair says. “You need the sleep.”

I look at him, suddenly not feeling like it’s safe to sleep at all. “No, what if it’s something that has to be acted on right away?”

He rubs his lower lip, considering. “Good point. How about this: I’ll ask Leliana if it’s pressing, and if she says ‘yes’, then we’ll come and wake you.”

I smile, relaxing. “Fair enough. Thank you.”

Back in our bedroom, I find that the maids have stripped the bed to bare mattress, with sheets, blankets, and pillows piled on the trunk at its foot. I notice that the scarves on the bedposts are still in place, and Anders arches an eyebrow at me, making me blush scarlet. Normally, they’re hidden by the pillows and tucked under the sheets. I clear my throat and pick up a sheet. Anders helps me make the bed, which does a great deal toward reassuring me that there’s nothing in it, this time.

Bed duly fixed, we stand on opposite sides from each other, awkwardly. “Ah hell,” I mutter, and just unbuckle my belt, letting my breeches fall to the floor. The tunic covers my ass. Close enough.

Anders waits until I’m laying down and then sits on top of the blankets, apparently meaning to prop himself up against the wall. I look up at him, arching an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

He looks down at me. “What?”

“You’re going to sleep sitting up. After all that crap in the Fade? And don’t think I didn’t see your hands shaking.”

He pauses, giving me the strangest look, cocking his head, and then he says, “What are you suggesting?”

I huff, a little exasperated puff of air. “I’m suggesting you lay down and sleep.” He’s still looking at me with that queer expression and I shake my head. “Look, I’m not trying to be weird. You’re exhausted, I’m exhausted, the bed is big enough for two people, and it’s ridiculous to expect you to sleep sitting up or on the floor. Just lay down.” Resolutely, I turn over, giving him my back. There is silence for a moment, and then he sighs.

“If I were going to make a move on another man’s wife, it wouldn’t be Zevran’s,” he says, but the bed shifts as he seems to be shrugging out of his robe.

“Gee, thanks,” I retort, joking.

He chuckles. “It’s not for your lack of appeal, dear Lily, but for my love of living. He seems to be slightly protective of you.”

Over by the door, Ponka barks happily, and I laugh. “Maybe a little. Can’t imagine why,” I say, feeling the blankets shift, and then there is a solid warmth of body in the other half of the bed. It’s quiet for a while, and I feel the heavy torpor of sleep coming on, but my frightened brain still skitters about frantically, fighting it whenever it draws near. At last I can take no more of it. “Anders?” I whisper.

“Hmm?”

“Can... Can I... Oh gods, I can’t believe I’m asking you this, but can I curl up against your back?” I can feel my face hot with blushing, and I’m glad of the darkness.

After a pause, he answers me, his reply drawn out warily. “Why do you ask?”

“Gods, please don’t think less of me for this. I’ve had so many shocks in one day that I feel like I’m about to just shatter apart. The first time today that I felt even the slightest bit safe was just for a moment, when you showed up and shoved me behind you. I just thought... If I can curl up behind you, maybe I can take that with me when I fall asleep, and I won’t have another nightmare,” I confess, all in a rush, and there is a silence again afterwards.

“Come on then,” he says quietly, reaching out, and takes my hand. He draws it up to his shoulder as he turns over, and I pull my knees up, curling in a ball behind him. Resting my head between his shoulder blades, the strength I can feel in him, despite his exhaustion, is a comfort to me. I trust him, completely. I’m about as safe as possible. Right? Right.

Anders’ shaking fingers cover mine, where they curl over the top of his shoulder. I have to admit, despite the terrifying and awesome powers that my friends command, we’re all fragile creatures. “Thank you,” I whisper.

“For what?”

“Everything. Being here. Being my friend. Thank you,” I say, tearing up again, and try to swallow it back, but it’s just been too much today. I’m at my limit. I end up crying on him again, but it doesn’t last long, because I can’t stay awake anymore.

The last thing I’m aware of is Anders threading his fingers between mine, and the soft whisper of his voice. “I’m glad to be among those you trust. Sleep. I’m here.”


[Next Chapter]