Respite

He woke in a strange room and he was momentarily terrified. Strange rooms meant change. Change usually meant capture. But no one was kicking him, and the sheets on his naked body were smooth and expensive.

And there was another naked body, pressed to his. That was nice. That was something he hadn't had the pleasure of feeling for a very, very long time.

Her red hair was mussed over her face, strands falling over her lips which were parted. The gentle whuff of her breath made him smile - she was not an elegant sleeper, but she was gloriously careless, nothing like she had been in the deep roads, wrapped in her bedroll, tense and cold and hurt.

He shook his head. Now wasn't the time to relive things he couldn't change. Images from the night before took the place of unpleasant memories and his breath quickened as he contemplated waking her, but they had not slept much truly, and she probably needed her rest.

He felt more refreshed than he had in years. He could remember no dreams and the part of him that was Justice was calm and quiet, despite the desperate internal debate he had held at the door of the mansion the night before. He was safe. It was a strange concept. A feeling he hadn't had since before Alim left, those few weeks at Amaranthine in his tiny bunk in the warden quarters, amidst the smoke and the ruins. But this was different - this was better, because she was here and…

Justice stirred and he sat up slowly, other images intruding and pushing good feelings away. He was here because he'd given in. He was here because he hadn't been strong enough to resist, because he'd failed in his cause. He looked down at his hands which had clenched into fists, he felt the tide of rage and shame start to wash over him and he

….pushed it down.

She'd said she believed he could control it. It was time to prove her right.

He slipped out of the bed and pulled on his shirt and trousers, hoping that Leandra wasn't awake yet. The slant of light from outside made him think it was probably early enough for him to chance a trip outside - the water jug was empty and he'd been at the mansion often enough to know where the kitchens were.

He blinked as he picked up the jug, remembering that Saoirse had said he could stay… but he wouldn't hold her to that, not now, not after one night. He'd avoid the rest of the household for now, slip out before they were awake or after they'd left for the day. He wasn't averse to using window exits - he'd done enough of that in his time and he was still limber enough to manage. Life in Kirkwall didn't let one go soft.

His stomach rumbled, and he smiled again, remembering pie. At the door he looked back to see she'd rolled over onto her stomach, one arm flung over where he had been a few moments before and his heart ached. Justice stirred again, but there was something else there, this time, an image of another woman, similarly sleeping, blond and delicate. It took him a moment to place the name - Aura. Kristoff's wife. Justice's memories from before their joining didn't surface often. Strange that Anders had echoes of that other man, dead long before Anders had met the spirit, in his own head. There was a pang of longing for something never known and long lost that made him pause for a longer moment, wondering. He was past the point of trying to hold conversations with the fade spirit, it felt far too much like insanity and he skirted to close to the edge of that as it was, but he felt strongly that the previous night's activities may have helped his old friend far more than it harmed.

Maker make it so, he thought.

He didn't notice the figure by the fire downstairs until he was halfway down, but when Sebastian turned and faced him Anders froze on the stairs, jug still in hand, his bare feet sinking into the rich carpets.

"Andraste's knickers," he breathed. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing, Anders. But I fear it's painfully obvious."

"It's only just dawn, for the sake of the Maker!"

"I came to speak to Hawke."

Did you now? "She's asleep. How did you get in?"

"The door was open."

Sod it, he must have forgotten to lock it after he came in. He remembered, then, that Sebastian and Fenris had been with Saoirse when they came to the clinic the day before. Anders gripped the banister, suddenly angry.

"Sebastian are you here out of some misconceived desire to… protect Saoirse? Or are you just a colossal pervert?"

"I came here because I was concerned, yes," Sebastian had the decency to blush and look down, but Anders fury if anything increased. "Saoirse has gone through a lot, lately… I don't want her to…"

"What? Have an ounce of happiness? Live a relatively normal life? Make her own choices?"

"Make a mistake that will end up hurting her," Sebastian said evenly. "She's vulnerable after what happened to her brother. It's unworthy of you to take advantage of… of her gratitude to you…"

Sebastian trailed off as Anders padded down the remaining stairs so he was face to face with the man. Truly, he had little against Sebastian. He spouted Chantry dogma but he was no different, really, from the sisters or the Grand Cleric. All words. No action. He is part of the problem. The Chantry is corrupt and complacent.

Not to mention nosy and interfering.

He kept his voice soft, he had no desire to wake anyone else in the house. "This isn't some spur of the moment thing, Sebastian," he said.

"Forgive me if I find that difficult to believe."

Anders narrowed his eyes. "If I told you I warned her against this myself, a hundred times - more, if I told you I would die before hurting her, or letting anyone else do the same, would it make any difference to you? Or do you believe I am incapable of restraint because of what I am?"

Sebastian's mouth hardened into a line. "If you warned her against it why are you here?"

Because I couldn't resist any more. Because three years of torture was too much. Because when it came to a point where I could have lost myself completely she was the one who brought me back.

Because I love her.

He looked down at the jug in his hands and heaved a sigh, running his hand through his hair. "Because she's not a child, Sebastian. She needs to make her own choices. Why, if we're so happy to let her lead us around Kirkwall, shouldn't she be able to make her own decisions about her own life?"

"You could have stopped this from happening."

"I tried."

"Don't be absurd. You didn't try hard enough or you wouldn't be here. You could fix it, even now. You should leave."

"I should. But if you had the chance to see her happy, what would you do?"

Sebastian fingered the buckles on his ridiculous armour. "I do not like this, Anders," he said finally. "All my instincts, all my training, tell me this will end badly."

"Are you sure it's your instincts telling you that, Sebastian?" Anders snarled, his anger roiling dangerously close to the surface. "Would you be here if it were Fenris, not me? Would you be here if it were Isabela?" Sebastian's eyes flashed and Anders nodded. It was always the same. He was a mage. He was an abomination. He was the enemy. No matter that Hawke was the more powerful of the two of them, no matter that she could best Anders in a fight on a bad day, he was not to be trusted. "We're all dangerous in our own way," Anders said softly. "You too. That I know precisely the nature and manifestation of the danger I represent… doesn't that make it better, not worse? Believe me, I know, now more than ever, what I'm risking by being here. So does Saoirse. You weren't there, in the cavern. Justice knows no mercy."

"And what does he think of this?"

"We are one."

Sebastian snorted. Anders felt the blue tide well up, watched as Sebastian's eyes widened in fear.

"You think we would be here, otherwise?" the voice was still his own. "Go, Sebastian. Believe me when I say I won't harm her."

If only I could believe myself.

The priest clenched his fists but left, too afraid, he thought, to stay any longer. No doubt there would be more from him. But perhaps he had staved off the worst of it.

When he made it back upstairs, she was still sleeping. He debated for a moment, before undressing again and slipping in next to her. She murmured as he slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her back, fitting her against him.

"Anders…" she mumbled, turning her head a little as he nuzzled her neck. All thoughts of Sebastian and his warnings fled as desire stirred in him. He let his hands wander, stroking softly the smooth curve of her hip, the expanse of her thigh. He couldn't stop the soft groan that escaped him - it was like a dam had burst, all the repressed desire he'd felt for her, all those years of celibacy maker's breath, celibacy! Him!

He hadn't ever had this luxury - to lie abed with his lover with no fear of interruption or discovery. He would revel in it, and fight to keep it for as long as he could.

She began to stir against him but he kissed her neck. "Shhh. Sleep for now," he whispered and she relaxed. For the first time for as long as he could remember, so did he.