peopleofthedas | Blood Wound Chapter 17

Title: At least he doesn't get tired...
Words: 1900
Characters: Alim, Anders, Justice, Sigrun, Oghren
Summary: Anders convinces Alim to help him destroy his phylactery. Alim gets some nocturnal visits.

Amaranthine had been described by someone at the palace as "the jewel of the north". Alim privately thought whoever had said that hadn't seen many jewels. It was a nice enough city, he supposed, cleaner by far than Denerim, defensible, functional… but he didn't like the way the walls managed to cut out nearly all sunlight. There were hardly any trees, and what space was available tended to be full of nervous people.

At least there was no alienage.

Anders had run off almost as soon as they got in the gates. Alim had assigned Nathaniel to look after Justice, not sure how the spirit would react to him meeting with a man who undoubtably used unjust means to gather the information he needed about the conspiracy. Oghren had offered to show Sigrun the sights, and Sigrun had groaned, but agreed, leaving Alim free to conduct his business in relative privacy.

The Dark Wolf did good work, it seemed, names and associates of the nobles who were plotting against him, as well as a meeting place they could get to easily enough. He paid the man - far, far too much gold, and turned to go back to the inn when he spied Anders leaning against a nearby tree.

"You don't lurk well," Alim said shortly.

"It's the staff, isn't it?" Anders said. "Catches the light."

Alim repressed a grin. "No. It's just you. You kind of stand out. No wonder the Templars always found you."

"Hey, you know why they always found me," Anders said, frowning. "I wanted to talk to you about that actually."

"I'm heading back to the inn," Alim said, motioning for him to join him. "Is this the part where you tell me why you've been skulking around Amaranthine every time we come here?"

"I suppose it is," Anders said. "I was meeting a… friend."

Alim's eyebrows raised. "A friend, or a friend?"

"Both. Probably. Maybe not any more. I don't know, who keeps track of these things?" Alim looked at him. "Any way, she's the reason I was in Amaranthine when they caught me."

"A real friend if you were willing to risk capture for her," Alim said, slightly surprised. Anders looked guilty.

"Well, I wasn't willing to risk capture for her as such… gah, this is beside the point. Namaya agreed to track down my phylactery for me. She says it's here in Amaranthine."

Alim stopped. "Here?"

Anders nodded. "In a warehouse, near the west gate. If we go there there's a chance I could destroy it."

"Just your phylactery?" Alim asked.

"There's more than just mine, but mine is the only one I know for certain is with them."

"You're a warden now, Anders. You don't need to worry about the Chantry any more." He snorted. Alim frowned, puzzled. "Truly, it's the law. I conscripted you, you belong with us now. The Chantry can't touch you."

"You might be safe," Anders said. "Hero of Ferelden, recruited from the Tower - you're legitimate. I'm an escapee. An apostate. They didn't want to lose me, Commander. They'll want me back."

"Well, they're not allowed to have you back," Alim said patiently.

Anders still looked skeptical. "I'd feel better if I knew they couldn't find me," he said.

"I've got no objection to smashing phylacteries, Anders. But I don't think we should go alone."

"Agreed. They'll be guarded, I've no doubt. And two mages against Templars never works out well."

Alim remembered the flash of the blade as Jowan cut his hand and quirked an eyebrow. He hadn't looked back at the book, since healing Anders, but he thought it was entirely possible that a blood mage against two Templars would be working from an advantage. His hands twitched and he turned his head sharply. "Did you hear that?" he said.

"What?" Anders said.

Alim clenched his hand and shook his head. "Nothing."

O~O~O

The campfire was low, Alim tended it, wondering how much colder it could get. He still didn't get weather. How could the sun be shining yet giving off less heat? It didn't make sense. He liked it when things made sense.

His eyes were constantly drawn to where Alistair and Zevran were sparring. The former Templar was hopeless against rogue attacks, had been blindsided three times in the past week, making Wynne dangerously exhausted to the point where Alim had to step in to heal the last dagger thrust. Alistair had gasped and writhed at the pain of it, and Alim had snapped. "If you're going to insist on being stabbed so often, you need more practice. Pair up with Zev and learn to defend against it, for the love of the maker."

"Why not Leliana?" Alistair had said, frowning at the Antivan, who was giving Alistair a lascivious grin.

"Leliana likes you too much," Alim said. "She'll let you win."

"I wouldn't," Leliana said mildly, from where she sat polishing her bow.

Alim shrugged. "Sorry, Lel, but Zev's better with his daggers."

Leliana had smiled, eyeing Zevran with a light of interest that made Alim's inside's squirm with jealousy.

And now the two men were involved in a complex dance of blades that Alim felt guilty for enjoying so much. Stripped to the waist, both men were beautiful examples of the male form, and Alim could hardly tear his gaze away.

"Such a deep, deep pool of need in you," the voice was soft, at the edge of hearing. Alim frowned, suddenly wrong footed. He knew the voice. It was someone very dear. Someone he should remember… "Did you know that regret is a form of desire?" it continued. "Some would say it was the most powerful."

Alistair and Zevran seemed to slow down, the firelight reflecting of the sweat on their bodies. Alim tried to turn his head, but was paralyzed.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Dolore," the voice responded. "Oh, Commander of the Grey, Alim Surana, we shall have a long and profitable association."

"Commander it's time!"

"We'll meet again, Alim Surana."

O~O~O

Anders was shaking him. Alim opened his eyes, groggy and confused. He wasn't a heavy sleeper, he should have woken as soon as the other mage came into his room. Instead, Anders was leaning over his bed, his hand on his arm with Justice… Justice? Standing directly behind him.

He shook his head to clear it and sat up. "Are you sure it's a good idea to bring the fade spirit who is the incarnation of Justice to break into a warehouse in the middle of the night?"

Anders shrugged. "He said he wanted to come," he said. "And he's the spirit of Justice not the spirit of Oppressive and Arbitrary Religious Oversight."

Alim blinked.

"Anders is right," Justice said. "He explained to me what the Chantry use these… phylacteries for. It is an injustice. I wish to help destroy them."

"Fine," Alim said. He wondered what other little injustices the spirit would pick up on now that he was stuck here. Maker help us, he's going to try to right all the wrongs in Thedas.

…at least he doesn't get tired.

"Sigrun's waiting downstairs," Anders said, grinning. "Shall we?"

Amaranthine's streets were a little safer since Alim had visited it last and they reached the warehouse without incident. It was significantly unguarded. Anders looked worried, biting his bottom lip. "Perhaps they don't want to draw attention to it?" he said, but his voice sounded less hopeful and more… resigned.

Alim unslung Wintersbreath. "How well did you know this Namaya woman?"

Anders' lips twisted into a rueful grimace. "Probably too well," he said, then sighed. "Come on then, may as well get it over with."

The Templars were in the back room of the warehouse. Rylock - Alim recognised her - and two others he'd never seen. There were words. Alim found he didn't care what they were, as they all boiled down to "we have more power than you". He was used to those words. In this case, they were wrong.

As was demonstrated by Justice putting his sword directly through Rylock's chest. The armour parted like butter.

The two Templars were too shocked to react, luckily. So Alim killed them with a massive jolt of lightning each. They were dead before Rylock's body had slipped free of Justice's sword. Anders was simply standing there, watching. Sigrun was hopping from foot to foot - or at least she was until the snapping and popping of the cooling bodies stopped, then she was down and looting them, like the good duster dwarf she was.

Alim chewed his lip, looking at Justice. "Two things," he said finally.

"Excuse me?" Justice said.

Alim held up a finger. "Firstly, I'm your Commander. The command to attack, therefore comes from me. I didn't tell you to kill that woman."

"She would have perpetrated an injustice," the spirit said.

Alim blinked. Anders shrugged. "Much as I'm grateful you think that, the order still needs to be given before you put your sword through someone's chest. Which brings me to the second thing. How by the Maker's hairy balls did you do that?"

Justice still had his helm on. It made reading his expressions impossible. "I exist in this realm, but I am still of the fade," he said. "The normal rules of this physical realm do not apply to me. Or my weapons."

"Right. Well. That's good to know."

Sigrun had finished looting, and she bounced up to Alim with a bulging coin purse and two very fine looking daggers. "There's some other good gear here," she said. "And a few locked chests. Want me to unlock them?"

Alim nodded absently. "Please do," he said.

Justice had evidently decided their discussion was over. Anders, however, was looking at the bodies of the Templars, his face slack with shock. "They always sent Rylock after me," he said. "Always. Maker that woman had a voice that could cut glass."

"You're not going to miss her, are you?"

He looked up at Alim, laughing a little. "In a way, I suppose I am." He glanced around the room. "No phylacteries," the apostate said, finally. "Well, I suppose I shouldn't have got my hopes up."

Alim put a hand on his friend's arm. "Anders, please believe me when I tell you you're safe."

"They're not going to believe this happened by chance, you know," Anders said. "There are too many dead Templars linked to me now. They won't let this rest."

"You didn't kill them."

Anders shrugged. "I didn't kill them," he said, smiling ruefully.

….. ah.

"So that little excuse back at the keep?"

Anders' lips narrowed into a thin line. "They bloody well wouldn't let me out to help them, can you believe that? It was an emissary's fire spell that melted my manacles. So what if I didn't check to see if they were out of my way before I blasted the rest of the darkspawn? I wasn't going back to solitary. Not if I could help it."

"Anders, they probably would have died any way."

"I sodding hope so," the mage said forcefully. Then he grinned. "This is a little dark for me, though. Shall we get out of here?"

Alim watched him walk out, crossing his arms. Justice and Sigrun were loaded down with equipment and coin. It had been a profitable night in some respects.

He just wished the whispering would stop.

Blood Wound Chapter 17

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