Ghostlight

Elia watched the fire flicker before him. There was no sound, no indication, but he knew she was there, nonetheless.

"Hello, Astrid."

"Hello, Athi." Her voice from the shadows. This wasn't the first time they had met. The first time had ended in bloodshed. The last time would end the same, but with one of them dead. This wasn't that time.

"You have made an interesting friend."

"I make friends everywhere I go."

"This one is different." She laughed, a velvet sound. "You are different. Dragonborn." The word was a taunt, a barb.

"Only temporarily."

"You are a loose end, Athi. I don't like loose ends."

"I know."

"You're fortunate, I'm interested to see what happens next."

Elia felt the slight brush of fingers against his nape, toying with the ends of his hair. "Fortunate, indeed."

"You could always come back."

Before Elia could reply, she was gone - vanished into the darkness. In any other circumstance, he liked her. But the day would dawn, when only one of them could walk away.

Akihiko saw it, the moment that Minato's energy failed him and he couldn't summon his Persona. The Shadow was lunging toward him -- Minato put up his sword and struck out with sudden, forceful strength and banished the beast.

"Let's head back." Minato said, once they'd returned to the entrance of the maze. Akihiko could tell that the boy was hurting - maybe not from any physical wound, but from pure exhaustion. He pushed himself harder than any of them.

Akihiko followed Minato up to the third floor. "Hey, are you all right?" He asked, when the girls had said good night, both of them dead on their feet.

Minato paused, looked over his shoulder. "Of course." He smiled, but it was faint and fleeting.

"We've been to Tartarus every night this week..."

"We need to be ready." Minato turned to face him. "If I'm asking too much of you--"

"It's not that." He shook his head, slid his hands in his pockets. "I'm just worried about you."

Minato looked puzzled. Akihiko often forgot that Minato's parents had been dead for ten years. The boy had learned to rely on himself. He probably wasn't used to people being concerned for him.

"Just... you don't have you push yourself so hard." Akihiko said.

"Of course I do." Minato said. "I'm the leader."

"That doesn't mean..." Akihiko sighed, turned toward his room. "Take it easy once in awhile. That's all I'm saying."

"All right, Sanada-san. Good night." Minato turned and went into his own room.

Akihiko watched him; there was a heaviness, a sadness in him. He felt as if his words had no effect on the other.

It wasn't until a week later, just before the next full moon, when Minato drew on the last of his energy and launched himself at the giant Shadow. Akihiko and the others weren't far behind him, but Minato had scouted on ahead.

"No!" Akihiko yelled - they'd been exploring for awhile now and everyone was tired. Junpei was nursing a cold and still came along without complaint -- mostly.

Akihiko hurried forward, screaming for his Persona.

He had to carry Minato out of Tartarus. The boy had remained upright for the battle, but collapsed afterward. Akihiko took him to his room. They had plenty of medicine, but nothing could instantly cure this type of pure, deep exhaustion.

Akihiko undressed him and tucked him into bed. He sat on the edge, reaching over and putting his hand on Minato's brow. It was warm, maybe even feverish. "Why do you do this to yourself?" He murmured, brushing the dark hair from the boy's face.

"... --hiko?"

"It's all right. Just rest." He said -- Minato had stirred at the touch.

"... sorry--"

He grasped Minato's warm hand in his own. "Go to sleep. We can talk in the morning. You're going to take it easy every day until the full moon... even if it means I have to stay by your side very minute."

"I don't think... I'd mind that."

Akihiko shook his head, but couldn't repress a smile. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to Minato's mouth. "Go to sleep."

Hawke stumbled into his room; he pushed the door shut a little too forcefully. It slammed with a loud, reverberating noise and a painting nearby crashed to the floor.

He barely made it to the chamber pot before vomiting the contents of his stomach into it. His mother... his -mother-. The feel of her clammy skin, her cold fingertips on his face, the smell of decaying flesh. Those were the last memories he would have. Her kind words, her gentle farewell, drowned in the horror surrounding them.

Hawke had snapped at Anders, who had offered comfort. He'd retreated into himself; he went out looking for trouble and came home sick to the core. He couldn't deal with his own failure, couldn't accept that he hadn't seen it, hadn't read the signs.

He crawled into bed. Everyone was gone. He had failed them all, again and again.

The letters piled up on his desk, people crying out for his help. How could he help any of them, when he couldn't help his own family?

Days went by - he wasn't sure how many. He turned away his friends. He wanted to be alone - after all, he had to get used to it. This was all he had. An empty house and a handful of happy memories.

"Hawke."

"Go away." He didn't turn, didn't move from his chair by the fire.

"Is that blood on your sleeve?"

"Maybe."

"Yours? Or the poor bastard unlucky enough to cross your path?" The slender figure of the elf moved past him and took the chair opposite. A hand went out, tipping Hawke's chin up so that their eyes met. "I'm sorry that I didn't get here sooner."

He shoved the mage's hand aside, but found his fingers caught in a strong grip. "You're not getting rid of me that easily. You may have closed the door to everyone else, but I won't be deterred."

Hawke closed his eyes; he felt Orsino's hands on his face and then a soft kiss pressed to his brow. "I'm here with you." The mage whispered and Hawke's breath left him in a shudder. He put his arms around the other and buried his face in the soft robes.

They lay together in Hawke's bed. Orsino had convinced him to bathe and change his clothes, letting Sandal and Bodhan tend the room. There were fresh sheets and wildflowers on the desk. They faced each other; Hawke's eyes were closed - he felt the elf stroking his arm lightly.

He would carry this guilt with him for a long time, but this helped. The almost-impossible bond he had with Orsino - a love which could endanger them both - steadied him when everything else was falling apart.

It was that love, that need - it was what drove him to find Orsino that night, to convince him to flee. He wasn't sure what he said - it happened so fast - but all he knew was that if he didn't do something now, something decisive, that they would all come to a bad end.

They left Kirkwall behind. Orsino clutched Hawke's hand as they paused, turned, saw the flames leap high into the night sky. And then, they looked to each other and shared an accord. From then on, there was no looking back.

Alistair didn't sleep much, not since becoming a Grey Warden. He used to sleep deeply, with vivid dreams. Good dreams.

Not anymore. Now he just saw those baleful yellow eyes and that horrid sound, the scream of the archdemon.

He glanced at the other Warden, a man who was slowly becoming his friend, his ally, comrade in arms. They were the only two and the road ahead was unbeaten.

Lia tossed in his sleep, uneasy, moaning as if he were struggling against something. Alistair rose and went over to him, putting a hand on the elf's shoulder. "Lia-- wake up."

He shouted when Alistair touched him and tried to get out from under the man's grasp before he opened his eyes. "--what...?"

"You were dreaming." Alistair said, brushing the hair back from Lia's face. "You're drenched in sweat."

Lia sat up slowly - he could see Morrigan off by herself. He was at camp. The images had been so real, so close, the archdemon bearing down on him. He looked at Alistair, then down at his hands. Emotion in him welled up, too much, filling his body with tension and worry. He put his hands over his face just before the sob passed his lips.

"Oh, Lia--" Alistair put his arms around the other man, pulling him tightly to his chest. For a reason unknown to him, he felt protective of Lia. The elf was the nicest, sweetest man he'd ever known, always willing to help others, never shying away from someone in need, no matter how small, no matter how much Morrigan sneered at him for doing so.

"Shh," Alistair rubbed Lia's back with one hand. "It's okay, it's going to be okay."

"I can't do this... I'm just--"

"We can do this." Alistair said. "You have me. I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere. You're not alone, Lia."

The elf pulled back. "I know, I didn't mean..."

Alistair pressed a kiss to Lia's brow. "We'll make it through. I promise."


It wasn't until after they had saved the Circle and were on their way to try and recruit the Dalish to their side did Alistair even think that night had any significance. But it had. It had been the beginning of something.

Something Alistair had never expected. The more he saw of Lia, the more he admired him. He felt this so deeply, it confused him and he wasn't sure what to do with it.

"You all right, Alistair?" Lia had come up beside him, settled down next to him at the fire. "You're quieter than usual."

"And you're complaining?"

Lia laughed softly. "A little."

"I'm fine. I've just been thinking... over the past few weeks, you've been a good friend."

Lia's expression darkened. "I'm just trying to keep my head above water. That's all I can do. If I falter..."

"You won't. You're strong. Really strong." Their eyes met - and immediately, Lia smiled again and leaned his head against Alistair's shoulder.

"So are you. I couldn't do this without you."

"You don't have to." He put his arm around Lia. It felt right. There was a long silence, a very long silence before Alistair spoke again: "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"In the Circle... did you... ever have someone? When you left, I mean, did you leave someone behind?"

"I left a lot of good friends behind, is that what you mean?"

"I mean..." The next words were mumbled. "...didyouhavealover?"

Lia laughed. "I did. Does that shock you?"

"No... someone like you, you probably had your pick."

"And you didn't, in the Chantry?"

"Well, that was different."

Lia raised a brow. "I can't imagine you lacked for company."

Alistair chuckled, looked away and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "I was more shy back then."

Lia leaned in and kissed the other Warden's cheek. "You're cute when you blush." The next moment was a pause, before Alistair put his hand on Lia's cheek and kissed him properly.

"I--" Lia's voice hitched. A second kiss followed quick after the first - Alistair's hands were in his hair, and the need ripped through his body, making him breathless and dizzy. Both Wardens looked at each other in the aftermath, reeling, trying to understand and accept what had occurred.

"Lia--"

"I love you." Lia said, in that gap; the words were said and he didn't want to take them back. Alistair's expression was visibly relieved and they kissed again. He brought the other into his arms, against his body.

When their turn at the watch was done, there weren't any words. The Wardens went to a tent and took their pleasure in one another. So many promises in the dark, hopes that in the end, it wouldn't be bloody, that somehow it would work out.

Alistair held Lia close; the elf slept soundly after their exertions. He prayed, then, that when it came down to one of them, that it would be he, not Lia, that stood before the great might of the archdemon.

"And now, our newest attraction--" The booming voice made my skin crawl. I had no choice but to submit; the handlers at my side - two burly men with long beards and unhappy eyes - were not only there to protect me, but they were also there to prevent me from running or doing anything that wasn't in the script.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the wonder of all wonders, made flesh and mortal for your eyes only--" The promoter was really winding them up.

"Tintallus! Grace us with your presence!" The cue and I stepped past the ragged, patched curtain onto the stage beyond. The light obscured the sea of people crowded into the big top tent. The tiny bells on my wrists and ankles jangled as I moved forward, heard the gasps and murmurs from the crowd.

"As you see, my good friends, is a mixture of man and legend -- the only one of his kind! You will never see anything like this again in your life!" The promoter came up beside me. "Observe, the elongated ears." He pulled my hair back.

"And, of course, no sidhe would be complete without his wings!" He tugged off the cloak I wore - my only clothing save a wisp about my waist - and the crowd's noise became louder. I turned and let the wings spread, felt the muscles that governed them flex and shift.

"My dear people, see the colors change, like oil on water. Come closer, but please, do not touch."

After a moment or two, the promoter waved a hand. "Thank you folks, and please, tell your friends!" I was handed my cloak back and I put it on, then was ushered from the stage back to my quarters.

I would remain here until my next show, which would be in half an hour. I waited, pensively, nervously. I clutched the cloak around me like a shield and watched the door, every fiber of my being tensed. I was there not only to be seen, but for the right price, a customer could have an 'encounter' with me. What that entailed varied depending on the person.

The door opened and I straightened, stood, braced. A young man stood there. He wasn't the usual type, all swagger and easy coin. He looked shy.

"Come in."

He did, but stood just inside the door and stayed there. "-- are you... really -- real?"

"Time is wasting. What is it you wish?"

"I--" He glanced up and then away.

"Come here."

He took a few steps and I met him halfway, reaching out my hand and tipping his head up so that our eyes met. His gaze was wide, almost frightened.

"You do want something, don't you? Do you want to kiss me? Touch me?"

He shook his head, and took a step back, then finally raised his attention to me. "I would never lay hands on you, I just wanted..." A breath and then he turned and fled, the door slamming shut behind him.

I could not have imagined a more odd customer.

"Is he all right?"

Anders turned, surprised to see the lithe elf at the door to Hawke's room. He had been sitting by the fire, considering his next move. He stood now. "No." He frowned; he had heard about the break-up between Hawke and Fenris. From the quiet, resigned way that Hawke told him the story, over more than a few drinks, Anders knew that the man was deeply wounded.

Wounded enough to be just a little reckless, a little distracted.

And the poison in Hawke now was strong; Anders had heard Varric's shouted warning, but Hawke had already tripped the mechanism.

Anders had tried everything in his power and tried all the potions he knew. But nothing worked. Hawke did not wake, laying still, breathing shallow but regular, upon his bed. Anders had been by his side since it happened.

"What do you want?" He asked Fenris, who lingered in the doorway, one hand tugging absently on a red band of cloth around his wrist.

"I don't know. I just thought..."

"I don't think he wants you here."

Fenris looked away. Anders had no sympathy for him, only anger on the behalf of his friend. The anger that Hawke himself couldn't seem to summon. "If there's something I can do, tell me."

"Just go."

There was silence, and then: "I care for him."

Anders sat down again; he felt restless. He glanced over at Hawke, but nothing had changed. The man slept on, unaware of the tension in the room. He watched, as Fenris came further into the room and sat down on the bed. He tugged his gauntlets off and placed his hand against the side of Hawke's face.

Even Anders could see the affection in the elf's expression, in his eyes. Fenris was as pained over this whole affair as Hawke. If not more so for causing it. Fenris leaned in and kissed Hawke on the brow, like a prayer or a blessing.

"Stay with him. I'm going to see Lady Elegant... maybe she'll know of something that can help." Anders said, rising from his chair again. "Maybe you can tell him now what you failed to tell him before." He left the room; in him was a mix of jealousy, hurt, and anger. He hadn't been chosen, but maybe, in his own way, he could help Hawke be happy.

That is, if he ever woke. Anders hurried his steps to the Lowtown market.

Ithsiel thought Denerim was a huge and noisy place and he did not like it. But this was the best chance for him to find out about his parents. He was following vague rumors, whispers, trying to job memories of people who had long forgotten - if they ever really knew.

But he had followed a lead here, a story about a woman with a child who sought refuge during the Blight. There was a Chantry priest here who apparently had known her.

Riniv was with him, stuck like a burr to his side. The other elf fumbled for Ithsiel's hand as they passed amoung tall Templars.

"-- are you sure about this?" He said, shuffling close to Ithsiel as they paused by a doorway to allow a wide cart to pass.

"We won't be here long." Ithsiel gave his friend's hand a reassuring squeeze. They crossed the square to the Chantry and went in. The cool, shadowed interior was a relief after the blazing heat of the outdoors.

"Can I help you?" Ithsiel turned to look at the one who addressed them, a young man in a simple robe, with long brown hair and a sympathetic expression.

"I'm looking for Ailsen."

"Brother Ailsen is ill and confined to bed. Is there something I can help you with?" The young man replied.

Ithsiel shook his head. "I have to speak to him."

"What is this concerning?"

"I was told by a man in Lothering that a woman came here with a child."

The young man looked at him and then came nearer. Ithsiel stepped back, but then he realized he was looking at another elf. He could just now see the tips of the man's ears through his hair. "It is you..."

A few minutes later, the three were seated around a simple table in the communal priest's quarters. The young elf, who introduced himself as Telethas, poured them tea.

"I was only young when she came here. She was a Dalish. Bearing you in her arms. She had such a sadness about her. She wasn't your mother, though. She was acting on behalf of your mother."

Ithsiel stared down at his tea. "You mean... I was unwanted."

"I-- I'm not sure. But I remember that she wept when she had to leave you. But there was something important she had to do."

Riniv put his hand on Ithsiel's shoulder.

"So there's no chance of finding them."

"I'll speak to Ailsen when he rises. And I'll let you know if I find anything that would help you in your search."

With that, there was nothing more to say. When the Chantry doors closed behind him, Ithsiel flinched. He stood there, motionless, for several minutes before Riniv gently guided him to the nearby tavern.

Melisande Hawke felt like she was wearing someone else's clothes. The finery her mother had bought for her didn't quite feel right. She was more comfortable in leather, with steel at her back. Not this silk and softness.

The thoughts were distracting her, barely, from what had just happened in this room. One moment, she had been happily curled in a lover's arms, warm and loved, and now she felt cold and empty. She started downstairs, only to see Anders come through the door. Melisande wasn't sure she wanted to see him right now.

But he was here. He smiled at her. "Hey, I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"No, not at all. I was just ordering some potions." Melisande said. But she couldn't return his smile. She gestured to the sitting room with one hand. "You need something?"

"I just thought I would come by. I was seeing a patient--" The two settled in chairs by the fire. Bodhan shuffled by with tea - he always was bustling about, making himself useful. Even though Melisande had time and again told him that there was no need for him to be subservient to her.

But eventually, it became pointless to argue. "You have patients in Hightown?"

"One or two." Anders smiled slightly, shifted in his chair. "Honestly, I just needed to get out of Darktown for awhile. The templars are getting closer every day." His brow furrowed and he smoothed a hand over his hair. "I-- I'm sorry, I'm probably bothering you."

"Not at all." Hawke reached over and patted his arm. "I'm happy to have a house guest." She found herself smiling, then looked away; she thought she might have quite a different guest tonight.

"Are you all right?"

That was one question she couldn't answer. Didn't want to even try.

"You're not, are you? Something happened." Anders paused. "I can guess. It was him, right? What did he do?"

Melisande didn't look at him. "Nothing."

"Don't give me that, Meli." Anders pressed, edging forward in his chair. He only called her that when he was playing the protective big-brother type. "Talk to me."

Hawke shook her head; she thought about getting up, leaving this room, telling Anders to stop fussing, and bottling up her emotions, her hurt, and the wound that ran through her, bleeding, seeping, infecting every thought.

"Meli. Please."

She did get up - and he followed suit. He put his hands on her arms. "Don't run away from me. I've trusted you with my deepest secrets, my fears... Trust me now."

Hawke still didn't speak. She just put her arms around the mage and rested her head on his feathery shoulder. He sighed heavily and returned the embrace. He rubbed slow circles over her back and he already knew what she was going to tell him.

When she did speak, it was quiet. "He left me."

"I'm sorry."

"Not as sorry as I am."

"You need some rest. In the morning, it will be better." Anders said, but she didn't want to go back to her room. Didn't want to smell him on the sheets. It was bad enough she could still feel his hands on her, remember the touch of his mouth on her skin. A sensation she would probably not feel again.

She didn't want Anders to go, but couldn't ask him to stay. But he understood without her ever having to utter a syllable. They headed to a guest room and curled up on the bed, chaste, comforting, secure.

He was sure she was asleep when he whispered. "I would have never hurt you in such a way. Never."

There was never any real discussion between them about what would happen after. They knew what was to come. And when the inevitable descended and they were left with no choice but to pick a side -- they already knew what their answers would be.

It was a long trek home.

It had taken all of Hawke's charm to convince his beloved to follow him this far. "I just want to show you." He had said, holding the other's hand in his own. "It's important to me."

Finally, finally, Fenris had relented. He didn't want to stay in Ferelden, didn't want to stay anywhere for long. But Hawke was right, they needed a sanctuary for a short time and Lothering was as good as any. The two had disguised themselves in plain clothes; Fenris wore a hood to cover his striking hair.

Lothering wasn't a beautiful place, it wasn't even terribly memorable. But standing there with Hawke where his family home used to be, the elf found his mind wandering - he could almost see the boy Hawke was, playing here with his sister and brother, happy, carefree, smiling as if nothing in the world would ever go wrong.

He took Hawke's hand. There was nothing to say now, whatever memories were here would stay here, no matter how the place itself changed.

"We should go." Hawke was saying, quietly. "We need to get to Denerim quickly."

Fenris felt sorry for Hawke, a sadness that had been building slowly. Mother, dead, Father, dead, Sister, gone, Brother, dead. All that had been with him when he left this place, to search for hope in Kirkwall only to find despair and disappointment.

And when he returned, it was not with them, but with a twisted and broken elf, who had caused him untold amounts of grief.

"I'm sorry." Fenris murmured. So much loss.

"I'm not." He turned to look at the elf, kissed him softly and briefly. "We can make a fresh start. Leave the wrongs behind us. Mourn them, think of them, but live for ourselves and each other."

A nod and then the two left Lothering. From there, they simply vanished into half-known tale and rumor.

Velyne ran - no one paid him much mind. He reached the grounds of the castle and kept going - until the gardens yielded to fields and he found himself on a road. He began to walk. The sun was at his back and it wasn't long before he felt tired.

But he couldn't stop - he didn't dare. If he paused for even a moment, his parents might find him. Someone would find him. And they would see right through his ruse. He wasn't familiar enough with this role, the role of the pretty, innocent noblewoman... and he couldn't very well be himself, now could he?

Velyne stopped, legs sagging under him. The rain had begun, the thunder rolling overhead, an ominous sound. It wasn't long before he was soaked to the bone, his finery ruined.

The clatter of wagon wheels - there were warm, concerned voices near him and he heard footsteps approaching.

"Are you all right, dear?" Velyne looked up into the face of a middle-aged woman, a woman who had lived hard, but it had not made her hard. "You can't sit out here, you'll catch your death."

The two helped him to his feet - there was a man as well, her husband, Velyne figured as he was bundled into the wagon. He was tired, so very, very tired and he watched the castle recede further and further until he could no longer see even the tops of the turrets.

He began to cry - not even realizing he was doing so until a minute or so after he'd started - he wasn't sure who he was crying for - himself or his parents.

They helped him inside a cottage - they were deep in the woods now, following trails that could barely be seen amidst the tall grass. Velyne was offered a bath and clean clothes. "They were my son's..." The woman said, with a touch of sadness. "But they'll do until we can find you something more suitable." She waved Velyne off toward the waiting tub.

His mind wandered as he sat there in the hot water, feeling it gradually get colder and colder. He wondered if his absence had been noted. If they would come for him. His parents would be livid. That much he knew.

He couldn't play make believe anymore.