Chapter Text
He was dying, wasn't he? The knife had slid between his ribs, certainly a mortal wound. He felt his life slip away with his blood pouring out on the cobblestones in Lowtown's market. He couldn't breathe. Every attempt was choked with blood. So much blood.
He had loved his executioner, so exquisitely. The beast had lead her to his door and he held on for dear life. It wasn't enough. He had to do it. Vengeance needed to be exacted for all of his kind ever abused by the faith. She couldn't love him for it, couldn't love him in spite of it. His bird of prey had told him "You could have trusted me. You could have told me." Then she killed him.
He knew better. He was right to keep his secret. Justice had been right to prevent him from telling Hawke. Deep down he knew she didn't love him enough. Not as much as he loved her. But how does a man who loves a bird keep her grounded. He couldn't, because he loved her enough to let her be free. Even if it broke both of their hearts.
That was his last thought before his vision went black and all he could hear was Justice screaming like wounded animal.
He wasn't sure where he was. This wasn't the fade. It was gray as far as the eye could see and there were shapes moving in the haze, aimlessly. Wasn't he supposed to be at the Maker's bosom? This was certainly not that. He couldn't bring himself to move. What did it matter anymore?
He looked down at himself and a moment of fear overtook him. He was nothing, yet something. He was a dark gray shape with blurred edges, remotely human in form. He fell to his knees, or what would have been if he had them still. Other shapes brushed by him in the haze but he was numb to it.
Time seemed to not exist here. He wasn't sure if he had been in his spot of nowhere minutes or months. No sound, no feeling, just nothing. He would weep if he could. So this is death.
A flash of color parting the gray appeared to his right. Bright red flashed and spread to a size larger than a man. Curiosity got the better of him. He rose and ambled over closer.
A heavily accented, yet darkly sensual voice called, "Anders, come. Come to me. There is work yet to do."
He reached his form closer to the glowing gash in the gray. Just as he tried to touch it feminine hands grabbed his form that wasn't really form and pulled! Panic rose in him but as soon as it did pain drowned it out. The woman was there. He could hear her speaking Elvish in clipped, accented tones. He felt burning and hands all over. Felt mana flowing through him at an alarming rate. He wanted to scream but couldn't.
Another voice, male he thought, said "Ir halam."
At this he felt the power pouring into him stop. The fire and pain now a comforting warmth throughout his body.
"Ma serranas, Keeper. Your help was invaluable." said the woman with the oddly familiar accent. She must have the most luscious voice he's ever heard. Who is this woman?
"Of course, lethallan. It is the least my clan can do for the daughters of Asha'bellanar." the man said.
"Yevven, take your rest. You have done much and your aid and steadfastness shall be rewarded." said the woman as she walked closer to the supine Anders laying on the floor of the keeper's aravel.
"How long will he be staying with the clan?" Yevvan asked the woman.
"It will take some months, perhaps years, before he is ready for his journey. You and he will know when he is ready. When that time comes send him north, beyond the blighted steppes of the Anderfels to the Donarks. I will be waiting for him there." Then woman said.
"Should the clan accompany him, my lady?" the Keeper asked.
The woman stepped closer to Anders and said "No, Yevvan, is it his trial alone. He must prove himself ready for the work to be done."
"Ma nuvenin." Anders heard Yevven say as he walked out of the aravel.
Anders felt a gentle hand rest on his chest over his heart. "Open your eyes, Anders."
As he attempted to open them he felt warm magic flow through his chest. He blinked and tried to focus in the lamplight of the aravel. He saw honey gold eyes framed in dark lashes looking at him kindly. They were surrounded by porcelain skin apparently untouched by weather and age. A straight nose with a rounded tip, well defined cheekbones, and the most kissable red lips curved into a kind smile directed at him. He didn't feel dead, but he must be. This woman had to be a spirit.
"Good. It will take time for you to fully heal. Yevvan and I removed the blight from your blood. You can never be blighted again. You will never have a calling."
She moved her hand to stroke his cheek. "I also collected your spirit and returned it to your healed body. Justice is no longer with you."
At this Anders' eyes widened and he flinched.
She stroked his hair and cheek soothingly. "Justice is fine. I aided him in restoring him to his purpose and he is back in the fade where he belongs."
"How..." Anders croaked out. His throat hurt like an emissary just struck him.
"We will discuss that when next we meet. I must leave now. When you are healed come find me."
She leaned down and kissed him on his forehead, "Ar lasa mala revas. I set you free."
Tears streamed down his face as this woman stood and left the aravel.
Many months passed and all Anders was able to do was sit up on his own. He required assistance from the elves in Yevven's clan to relieve himself, clean himself, and eat. He could reach his magic, but his spells were weak. Although he was free, he was as a newborn babe having to learn to do the most basic things all over again. At least he wasn't in pain anymore, just easily fatigued.
After more weeks of exercise and spell work with the clan's assistance he was able to take a few tentative steps on his own. His spells were also becoming less fragile. He was well fed and well rested. He'd take his victories where he could. He was treated like kin by the clan. He never had known such kindness in his life before.
Nearly four years passed before Anders was ready. He could feel it in his soul. During that time the breach had opened and been sealed. Another clan's first was now Inquisitor. For a while the Veil was restored, but lately it had been growing thin. Mana flowed through him like water now with little trouble. He felt more vital. More alive. His soul just felt ready.
Anders approached Yevven one morning after breakfast. Yevven took one look at the mage and said "Lethallin, you are ready for your journey now."
Anders nodded and said "I can never hope to thank you for you and your clan's kindness. I will forever be in your debt."
"See Sareth for supplies before you leave. We were honored to aid you, friend of the daughter of Asha'bellanar. Know that you must go north, beyond the Anderfels, and into the Donarks. I know not where she is but she said you will find her there in those uncharted jungles. Dareth shiral, Anders." Yevven said as he clasped Anders hand and smiled at him.
Anders nodded, "Ma serranas, Keeper." Then he went to see the clan's craftsman to retrieve supplies.
As he walked away from the clan, he put the sun to his right and the wind to his back. It will take a long time to get where he is going and it will be a hard journey. Anders knew he was ready.