fanfic: A Fish Out of Water

[bellaknoti]

An AU to Wings of the Storm Crow

Title: Elysium Fields (Chapter Twenty-Seven)
Rating: AO
Pairing: Alistair/Lily
Summary: (none)
Prelude: [a video of the ocean, nothing but the sound of seagulls, wind, and crashing waves. can be found here.]

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




He’s got her. She’s so pale, pale as death, a trickle of blood coming out of her tear duct, blue eyes wide and staring. He lays her down, and I want to look, but I know what I’m going to see.

Logic dictates that there’s nothing we can do. Her life is tied to his. She’s gone. I can’t heal them both at the same time, and we’ll never find him in time. We’ve got moments, at best.

“Bring her back!” Alistair snaps, the desperation of wild grief held narrowly in check by his belief that he can still control this.

I know, because I feel the same way.

Maker, I’m going to make myself sick again.

I kneel at her side. “One more time, Lily, come back.” Pressing my hand to her heart, I force magic into it, force it to beat. It won’t work for long, but perhaps-- If I can get hold of the cord that holds her soul-- Maker, this is not something we’re meant to be doing-- “Lyrium,” I gasp, and he dashes off to get some. There’s a hole in the Fade next to her-- and if I can only focus on it-- if I can just follow that slippery tether that’s somehow-- looped around her--

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

Where did you go, baby?

I’m standing in the woods. My woods. I turn around and around, looking at the familiar ferns and pine trees, cedars and firs, madronas and nettles, huckleberries and moss. I look up, and what scrap of sky I can see above the canopy is indeterminate west coast grey: the colour the sky is anytime it’s daytime between October and June. If it’s darker, it’s going to rain. If it’s lighter, it might not. Right now, it’s lighter.

Looking around, I see a fallen tree that looks familiar, and head toward it, sure enough coming upon my uncle’s house. Ponka runs up on me, barking happily and bouncing up and down. One blue eye, one green. My dog. I haven’t seen this playful husky since I was a child. He died here.

I pause, thinking about that, but then I look up and see Dad. I swallow thickly, and suddenly I’m sixteen again, being told he’s gone. “Daddy?” My voice cracks with tears, and I sound like a little girl. I’ve missed him so much.

He looks so, so sad. “Lily, baby, don’t come down here,” he says, shaking his head. “I don’t want to see you.”

I stand there, horrified, wounded to the soul by this. “But-- But Daddy, I need you-- Everything hurts--” It hurts so much. So-- Right in my chest. It hurts. The world shimmers like water down glass, and I reel, falling backward, and down and down and down...

Curiouser and curiouser...

You’re Lily, but you’re also not Lily at all.

I’m standing in a forest. It’s not my forest. This one is full of oak, elm, ash, and beech. This looks like the Brecilian.

“Nolan?” He’s standing right in front of me, no time in-between, and I stare at him. “What’s going on?”

“Things are getting complicated,” he says, taking my hand, and I realise that I can feel him in a much more tactile way than ever before. It’s like actually being truly in person. Like I’m awake right now.

“Why am I not waking up?” I ask, beginning to feel alarmed. “I know I’m dreaming, so why am I still here?”

“It’s going to be okay--”

“Wait a minute, what the fuck, Nolan,” I interrupt, choking, and he tightens his grip on my hand.

“Hang on tight. This is the space beyond heartbeats.” He tugs me closer when I just stare at him, horrified, and kisses my forehead softly.

Oh, girl, when you do a thing, you don’t do it by halves, do you?

Oh, I feel it, the pain that came before, my chest, oh--

I’m standing on the beach. Grandma’s beach. Nolan’s gone again. I look up at the house, the same house it always was. I can’t go up there. It’s not like when I came here before; if I go in there, I’ll stay. I can’t. I have to find a way out. Turning, I run down the beach toward town. I want to go home. I want to go home.

What life would you have said you wanted?

In my house by the sea. A mate, a life, love, home.

My chest--

Between one step and the next, I’m home. I’m on my own beach, daytime, running up to my back door, and I skid to a halt. The most beautiful, sweet-faced child stands on the back stoop, no more than two years old, pale blond wisps of curls and pale blue eyes, ears with tiny points, looking up at me, so innocent.

Tiny points.

I look around wildly. I’m still dreaming. Why am I still dreaming? I don’t want to look at this too closely, because I’m beginning to remember, and I don’t want to. “Nolan!” I sob, panicking.

“I’m here,” he says, his arms coming around my waist, as I shudder. “Things that could have been. Hold on tight.” I grab his wrists and close my eyes, leaning backward against him.

My chest--

“I have to find a way out, Nolan,” I say. “I’m tired.” I’m blinded by darkness. It feels like I’m laying flat on my back in nothingness.

“Cara?”

“Zev...”

It suddenly seems as though I’ve been sitting at the bottom of a well, and someone is shining a floodlight on me. A bright, transparent figure reaches toward me and puts its hand straight through me, reaching past me. I can’t move, I can’t breathe; it doesn’t hurt, no, not yet, but it feels like my hair is about to catch fire. I can hear Zev screaming. Oh gods, he’s screaming, what are they doing to him that would make him scream--

What have I done-- What have I done-- What have I done-- What have I done--

Is that my voice or his? Maybe both of us.

He’s laughing. A gallows laugh, a triumphant laugh, a threatening deadly laugh.

It’s hot! Everything burns!

White light flares in my vision, blinding me. The ocean is roaring in my ears. Something hot weighs heavily on my stomach. Someone’s got a hand on my chest. There’s something wet on my face. I can’t move. I settle for taking a deep breath, and hear a sudden noise, something falling, somewhere. The thing on my stomach shakes, and the light fades. It’s warm. I’m so tired.

No, wait, I need to be awake.

I whimper, trying to shift. My muscles feel like jelly, all pins and needles, like my whole body fell asl-- Oh gods.

The next sound I make is closer to a scream. The weight on my stomach is suddenly lifted, and the hand disappears from my chest. Everything jangles all at once, like being stabbed everywhere with straight pins and broken glass, and I writhe. “No!” I shriek, because it hurts like hell and nothing is stopping it.

Anders’ voice comes from nearby, slurred almost beyond comprehension. “S-- all-- ‘got--” and then a heavy thud. I sob brokenly, curling on my side. In the next moment, big, hot hands smooth over my arm, down my back, leaving a temporary wake of relief in the warmth of their passage.

He stops when I gasp, and I start babbling. “No! Don’t stop, don’t stop; it stopped hurting and then you stopped-- You were fixing it!!” until he puts his hands back on me again, and I sigh with relief. “Rub!” I beg, and thank the gods that his hands are so big, because he can get a lot more at once. Slowly, slowly it recedes, made bearable by Alistair’s touch, and at last I lay quiet and exhausted.

Leliana has come during the time I was insensible with the pain, and has Anders propped up against the wall, washing the sweat off his face with a cloth. He looks grey. Oh gods. “Anders?!” I ask, suddenly panicked.

Leliana looks up, eyes serious. “Lyrium poisoning, I should think. He is still breathing, but beyond that, I cannot tell.”

There is something wiggling in his coat, and then a little furry head pokes out, looking up at him. Pounce meows, wriggling around some more, meows again, but gets no response. He climbs up Anders’ coat, on the outside for once, and perches on his shoulder; rubbing his head along Anders’ cheek, he purrs loud enough for me to hear him all the way over on the bed. Pretty soon, he decides that face-rubbing isn’t enough, and starts licking Anders’ hair. Nothing happens until Pounce gets fed up with Anders’ lack of response, and bites his ear lobe.

Anders jerks, brow furrowing, and then he frowns deeply. Eyes suddenly popping open, he looks around quickly, grabs a nearby clay pot, and forcefully vomits into it. Dislodged from his perch and irritated by it, Pounce scampers away and hides in Anders’ satchel, nearby. Leliana rubs Anders’ back soothingly until the sickness passes, then helps him get to his feet so he can go to his washbasin.

This is when I remember about the something wet on my face and reach up. My fingers come away tacky and dark red, and I stare at it. “Were... were my eyes bleeding?” I ask, voice thin and reedy.

Anders looks over at me, and he is positively haggard, but he gives me a smile anyway. “Hey, sweetheart,” he says, normal as anything, then his brow furrows and he shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it. “I’ve got scrambled eggs,” he says, putting a hand to his forehead and swaying alarmingly. Leliana catches him and helps him to a chair. He immediately bends at the waist, sticking his head between his knees.

“The basin,” I say quickly, and Lels gets it to him just in time, as he is sick again. “Oh gods,” I whimper, frightened. He did this to himself just to save me. Us. How far did he have to reach to pull Zev back, too? The very idea terrifies me. That he could even do that! But at what price? Lyrium is toxic. “This is not okay,” I whisper, and Alistair looks down at me, brushing my hair off my forehead. Somehow, he’s got a cloth, when I wasn’t looking, and he uses it to wipe away the blood from my cheeks and under my eyes.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he murmurs, and the look in his eye, the terror, makes me take his hand, a tear rolling over my nose. He would be so frightened of losing me. Why? What is so special about me that people do these crazy things? He catches it with the cloth, and I see that it still has blood in it, a watery pink stain.

“You did,” I say, pressing his hand to my cheek as he grimaces, and I can’t help the fall of tears. “I saw my dad.” My voice cracks, and I sob. Something in me aches terribly, something not physical. It’s almost like my spirit is bruised. Alistair lets go of my hand to pet my hair, and I close my eyes as I hear Anders being sick again. “I’m so sorry.” I don’t want this. This is causing problems for other people, not just me. No matter what I do, I’ll never escape the Crows, and neither will any of the rest of us, unless I leave this life and everything I have here, or...

somehow...

I’d have to not be tied--

Oh gods.

Is that even possible?

Dare I even think it?

Fickle bitch!

He’s gone!

Anders eventually stops barfing and regains some of his colour, though he is very shaky. “Petra-- No. Lily,” he says, looking at me very seriously, though I can tell there’s something not right with his mind at the moment. He’s trying to fight through that, to speak clearly. “If you’ve got a heavy load, you secure it with chains. With chains,” he repeats, then puts a hand to his head. “Logic, logic, er... Metal. People. Events.” He pauses, his eyes going far away, and then he giggles at nothing in particular. “Sea foam and sand dollars,” he says, and I blink. That’s what my grandmother used to say when you asked what she was making for dinner before she’d quite decided. “I smell cake.”

Cake? Wait a minute... He’s looking at me, and his brown eyes are wide and kind of blank. “Anders?” I ask, my voice cautious, and he doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. “He’s not blinking!” I say, alarmed, pushing myself up to sitting, but there’s nothing I can really do. I mean, even at home, we’re talking ct scans and stuff, when you suspect an aneurysm. What can we do, what can we do? Think! Leliana looks sad and reaches up to close his eyes but I hold my hand out toward her quickly. “No! No, don’t do that. We need another healer, and quick, we might not have much time. Please!” I look up at Alistair, pleading, and he is confused, I know he is, but he looks at Leliana and they both nod, rising and immediately going for the door. I can hear them murmuring outside as I haul myself off the bed and crawl over to Anders.

Alistair comes in as I crouch over him, tilting his face toward me. “You should be laying down,” he says, no doubt noting my trembling hands.

“I know, just want to check him out.” Pupils unevenly dilated, bad sign. I press my ear to his heart, finding it beating steadily, though too slow, his breathing shallow enough to be almost undetectable. “Stay with me, Anders,” I murmur, because that’s just what everyone says, and it makes you feel like you’ve got a grip on the situation, even when you don’t.

“Should we lay him down?” he asks, and I shake my head.

“No; internal head trauma--” A trickle of blood comes out of Anders’ ear, and I bite my lip, forcing myself to calm because there are things that need doing. I put my hands forward to help, but Alistair stops me.

“You can’t. I’ll do it,” he says, and holds out his hand. I only miss half a beat before I turn and grab the cloth, passing it to Alistair.

After a tense moment, nothing else happens, and I take Anders’ hand. It’s just a hand; that curious warmth has gone. Oh gods. I hold it in both of mine and lay my cheek against it, because there really isn’t anything I can do. There are no hospitals here. We’re in the hospital. What do you do when your healer falls?

This is not okay, Anders. You’re not allowed to die for me, that’s not how it works. You have to stand up. You have to fight this and don’t die, not like this. That’s not right.

It takes too much time. It takes hours. It takes days. Years. His eyes are glassy by the time Leliana hustles in with an older woman behind her. The woman takes one look at Anders and suddenly has her business face on. She comes over quickly, kneeling next to him, and I set his hand on his stomach, backing up. I’ve seen her before. She’s Anders’ herb woman, and they’re fast friends. She asks a bunch of rapid-fire questions, how long has it been, has he lost consciousness, what caused it, and when I say lyrium, she scowls darkly.

“Fool!” she whispers fiercely, but her eyes speak pain and deep fear for him. Closing her eyes, she puts her hands to his head, and begins to chant. This is a kind of magic I’m more familiar with, and I cover my mouth as I watch her work. A slow, soft glow spreads out from under her palms to envelop the crown of Anders’ head. My pentacle gets really hot and I scramble backward quickly, climbing up on the bed to get out of range of the magic, watching with wide eyes. This can’t be happening. This man is a genius, he can’t go down like this, this isn’t an end that’s worthy of him. No. Not because of me. Not for the Crows. No, no please...

There’s nothing else I can do; I close my eyes and pray, just as I always do, thumb circling my little bone spiral. Phoebus Apollo be with us in our hour of need, patron of healers, bring back thy son; his work is unfinished, he is so much more than this. Nimble Clotho, spin tight and strong his thread; wise Atropos lay down thy shears and cunning Lachesis weave his thread back into the tapestry uncut. Take from me, not him; he is suffering for saving me from my folly. Punish me, put it on my back, only do not let this man’s light be snuffed--

“Maker,” Anders groans, and my eyes pop open wide.

In thy honour, oh kind and generous Fates, I offer up three cradles, three coffins, and three rocking chairs, to be given freely into the community. Apollo, hear my humble praise and thanks, into thine hands I commend a worthy commission to the church of light. I am ever thy grateful servant.

I take a deep breath.

One must never forget to be grateful to the gods for their help. This is when it occurs to me that I once asked Loki for help, while I was here, and that I had promised him my next round of sex, if he would only let me escape the footpads who were following me. Not only did I serendipitously run into the Wardens just in the nick of time, but my ‘next round of sex’ was not at all when, who, what, how, why, or where I expected. At all. Ah, Loki, you hear me out here, as well.

Anders flops weakly, like a fish, turning his head, and the herbwife holds his face in her hands, studying him carefully. “Are you all right?” she asks, anxious.

He looks up at her, blinks a couple of times, then grins, his usual, cheeky self. “Well, that was interesting. Remind me to never take another Fade vacation. The scenery’s nice, but the food is rubbish and travel is just vicious.” I choke on a laugh, and he turns his head, giving me a tired smile. “Sorry, sweetheart, I couldn’t let you go just yet.”

I give him a trembling smile of my own. “I noticed! You-- Don’t do that again, though, okay? You scared everyone.”

The herbwife finishes examining him and sits back, looking peeved, now that she’s sure he’s all right. When he turns his face back toward her, she hauls back her hand and slaps him, full-force. “Owww...” he complains, putting a hand to his face, but he takes it; Alistair looks like he’s about ready to intervene, but all she does next is point at him.

“You! Did I not say? Idiota! Quello ti uccise! Non mi spaventi!” She gets after him in Antivan, calling him an idiot for almost killing himself and scaring her half to death. “No more lyrium!” she snaps, and he has the grace to look chagrined, but he apparently doesn’t look like he’s taking her seriously enough, because she grabs his face again, makes him look at her, and the worry I see writ there tells me I wasn’t wrong to be concerned about his intake. “Ti sarà arso ravvivarsi,” she whispers, passing a hand over his forehead, then kisses it softly, like a mother would. He can’t burn himself out just to heal.

He sighs. “I know, Benina,” he says, resigned. “I’ll be more careful.”

“Right, you will, for I am staying to make sure of it. I will see you quit of the blue poison,” she says, folding her arms over her breasts and looking imperiously at him, and he bows his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Oh, all right,” he sighs. And then, after a moment, quietly, “Thank you.”

Confident that he is in good hands, Alistair and I leave the clinic, or rather, he carries me out, because I’m not very steady on my feet. I undress when he sets me on his bed, laying down before he’s even fully finished with himself, and then he climbs in over me, pulling me tightly against him. I realise he’s shaking as he presses a kiss to my shoulder, and sigh softly as his kisses trail upward toward my ear, tilting my head so that my hair falls off my neck, baring it for him.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he says again, voice cracking, and I realise just how much it would have gutted him. I cuddle backward against him, a few more tears tumbling from my eyes. It takes him hours to say with his hands, his kiss, his body, what he simply cannot express the depth of with those few words, and he is so careful, so gentle with me that it eventually makes me cry. “Oh Maker, no, don’t cry. I’m not trying to make you cry,” he says, distressed, and I shake my head, cupping his cheeks and kissing him passionately.

“It’s just overflow, honey. Too much love; can’t keep it all in,” I whisper against his lips, and his breath catches.

“Love?” he echoes, voice husky, and I nod, my eyes squeezing shut tightly. I’ve never spoken of it with him, not since we began this... whatever it is between us.

I don’t know if I can even speak of it now. It just fell out of my mouth, but I know. “It’s true.”

Ah, but he won’t let me get away with that, pulling back slightly to look at me; his eyes, so dark, so serious. “What’s true?”

Oh shit.

Say the words? Say the words.

Tiger, tiger...

Aphrodite help me!

“I... I feel so much... love for you,” I stutter, and his expression changes, that strange little half-smile, partly ‘did I hear that right’ and partly ‘you can do better than that’.

“What was that?” he asks, shifting against me and stealing my breath. Oh, not fair. I hesitate, and he kisses my throat. “It doesn’t have to be complicated,” he murmurs, breath washing across my skin, and I shiver.

“I love you,” I whisper, heart in my throat, and it doesn’t burn me. I gasp, shocked, and I can feel the smile against my skin.

“See? Was that so hard?” he asks, voice low, a note of amusement.

“Easy as breathing.” No lie.

Oh gods, no lie.

“Then just breathe,” he whispers, and starts all over again.

When we finally sleep, close to dawn, he refuses to let go of me, holding me tightly against his radiating heat as though he could protect me from the reach of the Crows just by wrapping himself around me. I wish he could.

The day is bright when we wake to banging on the door, and Alistair scrambles into his pants before opening it. I can hear the Warden salute. “Ser! I have advance word of a visit from Patrizio Rescigno, but only by minutes!” Shit!

I dive out of Alistair’s bed, sheet wrapped around me, and begin gathering my clothes in a big hurry, while Alistair gets more details. I’m not really paying attention to that, though, because I need to be the hell out of his office like yesterday. I can’t be lurking around in here for hours while I wait for that blowhard Chantry zealot to get around to the point of telling Alistair that the Wardens have the Chantry’s official sanction and support within the city for the next year.

By the time Alistair shuts the door, I’m holding all my things, plus the sheet around me, and he laughs when he turns around and sees me. I blink. “What?”

“Your hair,” he says, then laughs again when I scowl at him.

“Your fault,” I say as he rummages in his trunk for a good doublet. Dropping the sheet, I shimmy into my clothes quickly. He chuckles.

“Hmm... guilty.” He presses a quick kiss to my cheek as he passes me, heading to the washbasin, and I quickly buckle my belt and just pick up my boots.

“Right, I’m gonna go. I’ll leave a message with someone if I end up going out and you’re still busy.”

I dash out of the office, Ponka on my heels, bolt down the hallway, and duck into my room, hopefully before anyone sees me. He flops down in front of the door while I strip again and wash up. This is when I look in the mirror, and see how frightful my hair really is. Good gods, I used to use a lot of Aquanet to get that effect.

It is while I’m cleaning up and brushing out my hair that I begin reflecting over last night’s events, and the choice I need to make. I pace, pulling tangles through my fingers. I feel just as strong today as I did yesterday. Exercise plus sleep, apparently, and I’m none the worse for wear. Gods, I love Anders. I love this life. It’s quiet and predictable, I have friends and family I can trust, I don’t have to watch my back all the time, I don’t have to check my food or my bed for traps, and I don’t have to try to be worthy of love. I just have to be. If I leave this behind, even for a second, I’ll lose it. All of it. That’s so much to lose. So much.

And for what gain? A life on the run, constantly watching the shadows and fearful of my food, let alone sleeping, and never mind being able to continue working.

Madness. The choice is clear. There’s really no choice here at all.

Cake or death? Oh, well, I’ll have the cake then, please.

When I come out of my room, Marco is already on Alistair’s door, holding his spear, and I sigh, walking up to him. “I really doubt he’ll be out before I’m done, but just in case, if he comes out, tell him I’ve gone to the Strada Rosa, please.” He leers, and I make a face at him. “You, ser, have a dirty mind,” I say, pointing at him, because the Strada has a little bit of a reputation in certain parts, but it’s fairly classy.

He grins widely, leaning down toward me a little bit. “And apparently you also, Mistress, or you could not so easily guess what I was thinking, yes?” I blink, then blush hotly, putting a hand to my forehead, and he chuckles at me, straightening. “I will tell him.” Alistair’s second is an ass, but he’s fucking good at his job. And he looks out for me. One time one of the Wardens in the hall grabbed my ass while I was in line for dinner. I yelped and Marco had him by the scruff in two seconds, hissing something in his ear that made the guy go pale, and he never came near me again. I don’t know him as well as I’d like, because he’s always so busy and has a family of his own, but he’s a good man.

Ponka falls into step beside me as I head out the door. All the way there, I’m preoccupied with going over and over the things I could say, the questions I could ask, until I find myself standing in the street, right in front.

Ferrilin’s shop doesn’t look any different.

I hesitate, but I need to speak with her, and she’s the only one that I can talk to about this. Brushing aside the curtain, I step into the dim interior and wait for my eyes to adjust.

“Well,” a smoky voice says, emanating from the darkness in front of me, and I recognize her. “I did not expect you to visit me alone,” she says, and I sigh, nodding.

“I did not expect to visit. However... there are things I wish to discuss with you.” There is a silence. My eyes finally working again, I see her lounged across the end of her couch, watching me carefully. “Please. You must know this could only be about him.”

She pauses, pursing her lips shrewdly, then nods. “Yes, all right. Shut the door. I shall make tea.” I nod, turning to close the door. Ponka growls, and when I turn around, she’s got a crossbow pointed at me. I freeze, slowly putting my hands up, eyes wide, as Ponka’s hackles rise and he readies himself to spring. “Why has he sent you?” she hisses, fierce and angry, and I blink. “I have given him his due, and more besides!”

“He didn’t. I’ve come on my own,” I say, shaken. “I haven’t seen him in over a year. In fact, I lost him not three days after we were here.” Slowly, she lowers her weapon, and I let my breath out, relieved. Ponka stands up and stops growling, but doesn’t move from in front of me. “I wanted to talk to you about the things you saw when you looked at my future. I wondered if you’d look again.”

She stares at me for a moment, then shakes her head, turning away, and puts the crossbow down. “Of all the fortune-tellers in the city, you come to me,” she says, but I nod.

“Of course. He introduced me to you, and none other, which makes me inclined to trust you more than I would another.” I watch her warily, and she pauses, caught in the act of pulling out her little box of stones and bones. She straightens, turning around, and gives me the most curious look.

“You are inclined to trust me because he introduced you?” she asks, incredulous, and I nod, dead serious.

“He brought me here because he wanted to protect me,” I say. I drop my bag and my cloak next to Ponka, then take the seat she gestures to. Before she even asks, I reach up and unclasp my necklace, laying it aside. She puts the board between us, and I put my hands on it, but she just looks at me for a long moment.

“Your amulets carry old magic I’ve never seen before, and I know the old magic.” I swallow, and nod. “Where are you from?”

I take a deep breath, then shake my head. “A place very, very, very far from here. Thedas does not exist on any map from my homeland, and mine does not exist on any map from here, no matter how far you travel, I can promise you.” I take a deep breath, then point at my necklace. “The star represents the five elements,” I run my finger over each of the points in turn, “Earth, air, fire, water, and spirit, in harmony with the gods,” I say, circling the outer edge. “This is the spiral of life; it reminds us that every beginning is an end, and every end is a beginning: the cycle of life eternal. The crystal is an amethyst, the stone associated with the time of my birth, and is supposed to be proof against negative influence. The silver is to honour the goddess of the moon, who rules women, and the bone to represent the spirit of the living earth.”

She stares at me, a mixture of dumbfounded surprise and respect hiding behind her eyes, though she tries to keep her face neutral.

“Will you tell me the name of your homeland?” she asks, curious beyond belief, but I shake my head with an apologetic smile.

“I have spoken it to none. I fear the consequences, as mythology from here leaks back to my land. I don’t want my presence to become known, lest others come.”

Her brow furrows; she cannot fathom why I would say this. “You would not wish them to see the beauty of Thedas?” she asks, inclined to be vaguely offended in defence of here, and I shake my head.

“No. Definitely not. If there were truly a clear way open between the two places, it would not take long for word to get out. From there, it’s only a matter of time. If every army in all the world banded together to face an invading force from my homeland, they would only serve to be conveniently placed for disposal. Unfortunately, the leaders where I come from are not only powerful enough to command that kind of threat, but they are also maniacal and greedy enough to enforce it with breathtakingly ruthless callousness. I’m not just buying into the propaganda of my country’s military prowess, either; I’ve seen what some of their weapons of war can do. It would be catastrophic, I promise you. So, no. I have no wish for them to see this place, because I like it here. The magic in my amulets, if they have any, comes from there.”

She stares at me for a long moment, and hesitates, but asks the next question anyway. “And what of you? Are you a mage, in your land? You have a strange... ah... flavour.”

I bite my lip. “Uhhh... I... guess? There... The idea of magic is really just a matter of faith. Not visible, not like here. It’s hope, luck, and prayer.”

She looks at me for a long moment, studying me carefully, then sighs, apparently coming to the decision that I’m serious. “I thank you for your truth. Let me see now if I may return the favour.” Looking down at my hands, she surrounds them with her stones and bones; closing my eyes, I take deep breaths, and envision a doorway in my wall.

Then I open the door.

The pressure is tremendous, like trying to hold onto a tree in a hurricane wind. I can feel my breath coming faster as my brow furrows, and then suddenly the pressure is going the opposite direction, and the door slams of its own accord. I sigh with relief, and open my eyes to find her staring at me. I withdraw my hands and sit back, uncertain, as she shakes herself and sweeps her hand across the board, collecting her tools back into the box.

“I see heartbreak and death, sorrow and despair. But there is also a fluttering little light of hope, elusive. One wrong step will crush it out completely,” she says, and I hang my head.

“You said the same thing last time.”

She blinks at me. “I did? That is not a good sign. Have you experienced those things?” she asks, and I nod. She hisses, as though at a stinging wound. “This means that you still have more to come. I am sorry.” I sigh, pausing as she tucks away her box. “I wish I had better news for you.”

I bite my lip, hesitating, but I have to ask. “You saw the link that joins us.” This is not a question. Her eyes snap up to mine, and I know she didn’t expect me to know that. That was a conversation they had in Antivan. I take a deep breath. “Do you... Can you break it?” I ask abruptly, and she stares at me.

“You... You wish to break it?” she asks, incredulous, and I bow my head, a couple of tears starting out of my eyes. Why does the notion hurt me so? I know it must be done. I want it done.

No, you don’t.

Yes! I need this.

I cover my mouth with one shaking hand. How much do I dare spill? “There is a healer I know who is currently suffering the effects of severe lyrium poisoning, because he overextended himself in-- in-- dealing with this... link, trying to protect me from the effects of it. I can’t have that happen. The man is my friend, and he almost died for this. I don’t want my fate tied to someone else’s anymore. I don’t want to be constantly beholden to the Crows because of it. I want to make my own destiny.”

She stares at me for a moment longer, then shakes her head sadly. “I am afraid this is not a thing I can do,” she says, truly regretful. “It is the kind of magic that can only be unmade one way: in person, the same as it was made.”

It’s my turn to stare, and I swallow as a sick feeling of dread wells up in my stomach. “I-- I have to meet with him?” I ask, my voice deserting me, and her look turns sympathetic.

“Again, I find I wish I had good news for you. I know, it is hard. He is a hard man.”

He is. Oh, he is.

“No lie,” I say, and swallow again.

“Now you have asked me questions, may I ask another of you?” Ferrilin arches an eyebrow at me, and I nod, nervously. “He seemed to be very sure of you. How is it that he abandoned you within days of calling you his wife?”

I grimace, the old pain howling at the door, and try to push it away. “The--” I swallow. It’s been over a year. I need to get past this. “The healer I spoke of, he was protecting me. I had a very, very bad night, and I needed a lot of healing; I certainly would have died without him. When Z--” I sigh. I can’t even say his name. “He had been gone for a few nights on business. When he returned, he found a few strands of the healer’s hair on our bed, and became madly jealous, which was completely ridiculous. Some very bad things happened to me because he left in a fit of anger, and when he returned, I told him he could find another wife, if he believed me so faithless. And so he left, and I have never seen him again.”

She looks at me for a long time while I try to stuff the pain back into its box. It’s not going to stay there though, no, not this time. I still have to drag it back out again when I make my plans to face Zev. “If you wish it, I could ensure a message from you reaches him safely,” she offers, and I look up.

“You would do that?”

“Yes. For you.” She studies me a moment longer, then softly continues. “It rips at you. Devours your soul from the inside. It is like fire, his name burning even in your mind.” I blink, staring at her, and she just nods.

She loved him too.

“It-- It hurts, even now. I’ve moved on, I’m with someone else, but--”

“By the light of the sun, the candle flame is hardly visible. Though both are light, both will burn, only one is strong enough to brighten the entire sky.” My sunlight underground. “I wish I could say to you words of comfort, but where that man is concerned, there are very few.”

I sigh again, then nod once more. “Thank you, Ferrilin. Honestly, knowing that someone else understands helps. It really does. I don’t feel quite so alone in it. I...” I pick up my necklace and put it back on. “I think I will be back, later in the day. I will want you to carry that message, yes... I just need to take care of a few things first, so I can reliably say what the message should be. Will you be here?” At her nod, I rise. “Then I’ll return. As I will be out, is there anything I could pick up for you that would ease your day?” I offer on impulse, and she looks up at me, surprised.

She hesitates, then smiles. “I could very much enjoy a pot of honey,” she says, and I grin.

“Done.”

I drop a few silvers on her, take my leave, then head across the street to the little bistro. I get coffee and biscotti before even thinking about it, making myself sad enough that I almost don’t have the heart to sit down and have it, but I need the caffeine, and I need a bit of a nibble before I head down to the docks.

I know exactly what I have to do.

I should probably talk to Alistair about this, but... It will have to wait until afterward. If I talk to him first, he’ll try to talk me out of it, and besides, he’s meeting with the Patrizio. I know it’d just be because he wants to protect me, but he can’t protect me from Zevran. No one can. That’s something I’m going to have to do for myself.

Protect me...

...from Zevran?

No.

Protect me from the Crows. Not even he can do that, as long as our lives are tied as they are.

I don’t want to--

I slam the door on that thought and walk up to the harbour-master’s office. He’s not in, of course, but his clerk is, which is close enough. I wait patiently nearby until he finishes his line in the ledger and looks up, then offer him a smile. “Hi. I wanted to speak to someone about a fish hut,” I say.

There are about half a dozen little houses at the end of long piers, scattered around the harbour, that are owned by the city. People can pay a fee to go in and fish, but you can only catch enough to feed your family. Anything more is forfeit to the port.

The important thing about the fish huts is that they’re each isolated from the next, and they can only be used by appointment.

So, they’re not always used for fishing, obviously. Particularly since they have trap doors in the bottom.

The clerk is surprised that I want to rent it for three days, but he’s happy to take my silver.

I take another hike across the city, back to Ferrilin’s, stopping by the marketplace along the way to pick up her pot of honey. All the while, I rack my brain for what I might say, how I might communicate my whereabouts, my request for him to join me, without laborious, coded metaphor that can be so easily misinterpreted.

Maybe I can write some of it in Elvish.

I sit in the gloom of Ferrilin’s shop for a very long time, just staring at a blank sheet of paper, while she putters around in her kitchen, cooking something with the pot of honey I gave her that smells absolutely divine. Finally, I settle on writing down the location of the fish hut, and then beneath that, I write, “Ar’an tan’vunin. Atisha? El elgar’him in’harel. Ar nuvenin ma’dirth.” I will be here for three days, I write, knowing that the Crows could never crack this code. Peace? Our spirit grows ever more frightening. I need to speak with you. Too bad I don’t know the word for ‘please’ in Elvish, but I’m taxed to the limit on cleverness right now. I hate this shit.

I don’t look at the fact that when I wrote ‘I need to speak with you,’ my quill hesitated over the word ‘speak’.

I need you.

No. I don’t. I won’t survive that.

I hand the paper to Ferrilin, not even bothering to seal it. What’s the point? The message is indecipherable to anyone but us. We say our farewells, and she invites me to come back sometime.

The dread begins to eat at me before I’ve even made it back to the base.

I’m going to have to talk to Alistair about this.

I’m going to have to pack. I’ll be gone for three days.

Maybe not. I don’t have to hold myself to that, do I? No. If he shows up and things get bad, I can just leave.

I have no idea how this will go.

I don’t want to see him.

I do.

No. It’s no good. That feeling is no good for anyone.

Marco’s still at Alistair’s door, so I just go into my room and start packing. I try not to think about it too much.

I have to do this.

You realise you just said that you ‘have to’, right? You only say that about things involving him.

I know, Anders. But I can’t let this happen to you again, either. Not if I have the power to stop it.

Once my bag is packed, I pace for a minute, then decide I’d better see Leliana. I can’t just leave without telling people. Right? Right. The fact that I want to should be a red flag. Especially since this concerns Zevran.

Oh, my heart, you have no right to thud like that. Betrayer.

I find her in the Warden’s hall, sitting on a table and playing her lute. She glances up when I come in, then pauses and looks at me again. “Something more has happened,” she observes. “You’ve been gone all morning, and you didn’t say a thing to anyone.” I sigh shortly, then nod.

“I told Marco.” I cover my face with my hands, shaking my head. “I can’t go on like this,” I continue, dropping them again, pleading with her to understand. “I want it to end, and Ferrilin says it can only be done in person. She’d know, and she would have helped me if there was anything to do. So I’m going to meet with him, and... see if I can do that. I’ll be gone for three days. Maybe less, but no longer.”

Her fingers still on the strings, halting the sound. “Have you spoken to Alistair?” she asks, bluntly, and I shake my head, colouring. “Good luck. I imagine he will have a great deal to say.”

“And you?”

Having looked down at her instrument, she glances back toward me, and shakes her head. “I know just by the set of your shoulders there isn’t a thing I can say to dissuade you. I worry for you, sweetling, but you know your way home. I suggest you take Ponka with you.”

I bite my lip, then dash over and hug her. She moves the lute aside, wrapping her arm around me. While I’m close to her ear, I whisper the location of the house, and she nods, then presses a kiss to my cheek.

Next, I pop into the shop and tell Brizio I’ll be gone, then head over to the clinic to check on Anders. He’s sitting at his desk, writing, just like all the time; even if his hands shake a little bit, he looks almost exactly the same as ever, and it brings tears to my eyes. He looks up, and I rush up on him, but I’m careful not to lean on him too hard when I throw my arms around him and hug him tightly. He wraps his arms around me, and I can feel the sunlight in his hands again, where it should be. That, all by itself, is more of a reassurance than I can even express, and it releases a lot of the tension in me.

“I’m going to be gone for a few days,” I murmur, and he tenses. “I have to try and break the link.”

He pulls back, holding my shoulders and pushing me far enough away that he can look at me. “What are you going to do?” he asks, wary and very, very serious.

“I don’t know,” I say, honestly. “I can’t plan ahead for that. Like you said, there’s not exactly a whole lot of research into the area. The only things I know are that it has to be done in person, and it can’t be unmade by anyone but us. So, I have to go.”

“You should be taking someone with you,” he says, “Have you spoken to Alistair?”

I sigh. “Not yet. He’s still in his office. But I’m taking Ponka with me. That will have to be enough.”

“I don’t like this. You should be here--”

“Safe?” I ask softly, and he pauses, the pain in his eyes showing me he knows how futile the argument really is. “I just needed to come and make sure for myself that you’re okay. You scared the life out of me. You acted like you had a burst blood vessel in your brain,” I tell him, brow furrowed, and he stares at me. He’s used to me suddenly and randomly popping up with medical knowledge that I technically shouldn’t have, but sometimes I still surprise him, I guess.

“I... did,” he says, not sure what to do with this, and I bite my lip.

“That’s not entirely fixable, is it? The brain doesn’t normally regenerate.” Slowly, he shakes his head, reluctantly, and I press my lips together firmly. “So there you have it. I can’t be the cause of that kind of thing. I refuse.” I grab his hand as he opens his mouth to protest, and shake my head. “I don’t care if it was your choice. I can’t stand it, the idea that your life was in danger because of me. I can’t. So I’m going to go and see what I can do about this, to protect my family. I’ll be back soon.”

I stand up, and he shakes his head. “There’s no talking you out of this, is there, sweetheart?” he asks, and I just shrug.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much what Lels said.”

“Hmmh. Well, good luck explaining it to Alistair,” he says, and I snort.

“Yeah, she said that, too.”

“Hmmm... Smart woman. You’d be wise to listen to her.”

“It was never wisdom that brought me here,” I reply, backing toward the door with a wave. “I’ve got to go. I’ll... I’ll see you soon,” I say, patting the doorjamb as I slip around it.

I’m crossing the courtyard again, headed for the hall with Alistair’s office and my room on it, when his door opens, so I turn and make a beeline for a different hall as I hear the Patrician coming out, Alistair right behind him. I duck around a corner before I’m spotted, but I can still see them if I peek. Marco has moved to one side, toward me, to allow them unimpeded access to the front gate, but he totally saw me change direction mid-stride, and he sees me now. He looks right at me and makes a face, sticking his tongue out at me. I make the face right back, and Alistair catches the motion out of the corner of his eye, turning his face slightly. The Patrician has his back to us, fortunately, but Alistair has to pass a hand over his face to not laugh while he’s trying to be serious with the noble. Feeling bad, I pull my head back and wait.

Now that I’ve decided to go, there’s a pull. It’s like when I was on the street, that feeling of needing to move, needing to just travel. No waiting. My feet itch. It seems like forever before their voices retreat down the hall, but I’m finally able to creep out and slip into Alistair’s office, where I sit down and wait, fiddling with the hem of my tunic. This part, though... I am not looking forward to.

He closes the door softly, then stands behind my chair and puts his arms around my shoulders. “How are you feeling?” he asks, and I wince, because I’m about to upset him, and there’s really nothing to be done about it.

“I’m here to talk to you about that,” I say, hanging my head, and he stills. Slowly, he withdraws, standing up behind me, and I let my fingertips trail along his arms, so hopefully he knows it’s not about a problem between him and me. He sighs, his hands resting on my shoulders, and then they flex, kneading the incredibly sore muscles at the base of my neck. Anders may have taken away the structural abnormality and injuries that made it hurt like holy hell all the time, but it’s still where I carry all my tension. I groan, head lolling, and lean back against him. He chuckles, brushing my hair out of the way and works his way up my neck.

“So what is it?” he asks, and I bite my lip.

“I’ve got a lot to tell you, but I’m not sure you’re going to like it. First, I want to say that I’m actually fine. More fine than I would have expected. It’s like nothing happened at all... which is weird. I’m not sure if that’s a good sign or not... so... I went to visit Ferrilin.” His hands falter a bit, but keep going. “I took Ponka with me, but Ferrilin saw things that no one else has mentioned, things that Anders would have said by now. So I went to find out what she knew about the connection between me and-- and Zevran.” I swallow. Oh, how his name burns in my mouth. Alistair’s fingers comb through my hair, stroking along the edges of my round ears. “I asked her how to break it.”

“What did she say?” The question, whispered hoarsely above me, hurts. I wish I could say that it’s already over.

I catch his shield hand, pressing my cheek into it, my words murmured into his fingers. “It can only be unmade the same way it was made: in person. No one can undo it for us. And... so... I set up a meeting. I’m going to go there, and I’ve arranged to stay for three days. Maybe less, but no more. Then I’ll be back, no matter what happens, but I intend to break it, if I can. I want it to end.”

His fingers twitch, and he takes a deep breath. He’s struggling to keep his voice neutral, I can tell. “You’re going to meet with him alone?”

“I’ll have Ponka with me.” There’s a long pause, and then the hand that strokes my hair so gently is shaking.

“But he likes Zevran,” he protests, voice slightly strained, even though he’s still trying to sound nonchalant.

“He won’t fail to protect me. Look, I can’t let this happen again. I will not be responsible for--” I choke, the image of Anders’ wide, staring eyes still haunting me. “No, no not like that. He’s so much better than that. That can’t be because of me, or Zevran, or the Crows. The gods-damned Crows!” I bite my lip, taking a shaking breath, then continuing on in a more reasonable tone. “They’ve already taken more than enough away from me. I won’t have them starting in on my family.”

“He won’t do that again--”

“No. No he won’t. And I don’t want to see that look in your eyes, ever again.”

“I knew when we started that you were connected like that--”

“Sometimes the complicated thing is necessary so that the easy thing is possible,” I say, and he stops, looking down at me helplessly. I grimace. I have no idea what I’m doing. This is stupid, crazy. I’m going to get myself hurt. I’ve just gone off and done a bunch of shit without checking with anyone, and then told them about it afterward, and now I’m going to go down to my room and pick up my bag and go spend three days in a stupid fish house.

What am I thinking?!

You just have to see him.

No, I have to break this bond. The only way to do that is in person. Just focus.

I stand up, knowing if I stay too much longer, I’ll lose my resolve. “Alistair, I have to go.”

I can see the hesitation in him, but I know now, it’s not because he was trying to be overbearing or overprotective, it’s because he could see the parts of Mahariel that didn’t match, and he wanted to protect that. Me. He reaches out, cupping my face in his hands, and kisses me, softly at first, though it quickly grows more heated, more insistent, more demanding. I’m trembling and breathless before he steps back, his eyes dark. “Come home soon, love,” he whispers, then kisses me again, just once. This isn’t easy for anyone. I have to tear myself away, but once I’m moving, if I don’t get out of here quick, I’m not going to leave at all. I grab my bag from my room and head into the Wardens’ hall to stuff my satchel full of things that won’t perish quickly: cheese, bread, some fruit, a couple bottles of wine. I grab a covered bowl of roasted meat and couscous, enough for a full meal, and stick that in at the bottom. That should be enough.

Heading out the door, I whistle for Ponka, and he comes bolting up to trot along proudly beside me.

The fish house is small, but there is a bare, wooden, double-sized cot; a small cabinet; a washstand with an old, chipped pitcher and a fairly good-sized basin; a bucket by the counter and a pot under the bed. There’s a lantern with oil in it hanging from the rafters, and a window that faces the sea, two chairs and a table beneath it. The cot’s just big enough for Ponka to squeeze under it and not be smooshed. There are pegs on the wall, and I use one of them to hang up my pack. I’m not going to think about why I’m here. Not now. I’m not. I’m not going to make any plans, have any hypothetical conversations, I’m just going to wait, and see what comes. Right. I unfurl my bed roll and set up my pallet, then sit down at the table with the deck of cards to play Patience.

I hate this game.


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