#dawnsscholar

His heart skips a beat, shivering. This is not the Fade he knows. It’s dark and cold and he feels whispers and claws around him. This feels more like a taint-fueled nightmare than the comfort of the Fade, and his heart breaks for the mage trapped here all over again. He takes a deep breath and lets his magic flare bright, and the shadows retreat, seeming to sense a threat. Good. 

He glances around and starts walking, hoping his senses will lead him to the man he’s here for.

The shadows ripple and change, and he nearly chokes when he steps into an old city of black stone. He has to crouch and tell himself frantically that this isn’t his Fade, this isn’t the Black City, nope nope nope. Don’t panic now, Anders. You have a job to do and flipping the fuck out over tiny things every three seconds won’t get it done.

He takes a shaky breath and keeps walking, and he hears a giggle and turns to fix a desire demon, or whatever she is, with his best menacing stare. “No,” he says flatly. “Fuck off. I’m here for someone, and it’s not you, honey.”

She giggles again. “We know,” she says happily. “You are here for the tainted little mage. I am surprised! We did not think his friends would brave the Void for his sake, after he consorted with Paragons.”

He suppresses a shudder at the ‘tainted’ remark, and shrugs. “He’s not my friend. I’m new around here, lady, so fun fact, I’ve dealt with far worse than you. Demons don’t scare me. But his friend helped me, so this is my thank you.” 

His hands crackle with light. “So you have five seconds to either fuck off, or show me where he is, and I won’t set you on fire.”

“Oh, you’re brave, mage!” She says, flying closer to him and circling him lazily. “I like that. Hmmm...you’re touched, aren’t you? I can smell the Void on you, or something like it. That light...ooooh. It sings! I’ve never heard anything sing like you before. What are you, pretty mage who glows like the aether?” She bares her teeth. “I want you!”

He grins back, baring his own teeth. “Too bad, bitch. Get in line with all the other demons who want a piece of Anders.” He flicks his hands and she screams, smoking and struggling to fly away even as she burns. Another flick and she falls, and fades away, and he smiles. “Wow, that was satisfying.”

He continues walking, and it seems like the first demon’s interest piqued more of them, and he doesn’t know half the forms he sees. Twisted gargoyles, flying eyeballs with teeth, blobs of viscous goo with monstrous faces, all sorts of nasty things. It would be fun to catalogue them if he wasn’t so busy and mildly terrified. He downs two of the yellow ethers he’s got with him on his way, and the buzz of magic is loud in his ears and it’s comforting.

But eventually he catches a glimpse of a robe, and he breaks into a run, and turns a corner to find the mage he seeks, the elf that looks too much like Fenris, his silvery hair loose around his face and disheveled, his amber-gold eyes haunted and hollow. His robes are blue and white, and plainer than he’s seen, but he would know him as a mage immediately even if he hadn’t before. He’s sitting against a wall, hunched over himself, hands pressed to his face and temples as if trying to keep something at bay. 

Anders can feel the ripple of magic, thick and dark and heady with power, and he shudders like someone’s just brushed a kiss along his most sensitive parts -- that power feels good. Like a demon’s temptation. And it’s pouring off the elven mage, and he realizes this is what the man is fighting. The siren call of this power. He doesn’t have all the pieces yet, though, and he crouches in front of the man.

“Ser Urianger,” he calls gently. “Are you well? My name is Anders. I’m a friend. I’m here to take you home.”

The man blinks the glassiness out of his eyes, focusing them on Anders, and when he speaks he swears his stomach dropped out from under him, because not only does he look a bit like Fenris, he sounds like him too. That same throaty burr he loved s-- wait what. Okay, thoughts, stop right there and we’ll address that later.

“H-How art thou...in the Void so fully?” The mage manages. “How didst--”

Anders smiles. “I’m not from Eorzea,” he explains. “I am a mage from a land called Thedas, and to us, this is easy as falling asleep. Thancred sent me.”

The man’s mouth twitches, and he looks guilty; Anders knows that guilt. “I...have failed him,” he murmurs. “All of them.”

“He doesn’t think so,” Anders says gently. “He’s terrified for you, and he loves you still. Can you tell me what’s going on so I can help?”

There’s a nod, and explanations seem to be a comfort, so he listens intently to what the elf says, enjoying his voice almost as much as the words he says. Who knew a mage with Fenris’s looks and voice would make him so happy?

“I...do not know how it is in thy homeland, but magic here is...there art three schools; thaumaturgy, the offensive arts -- fire, lightning, ice -- conjury, the art of healing and nature, and arcanima, summoning familiars via arcane geometry.” His hands flicker slightly at the last one and Anders figures that’s his specialty. “Past those are...old knowledges, lost with time and conflict. White magic, calling upon elementals themselves to wield succor and aid to fallen comrades, and...black magic, calling upon the Void to rain destruction upon enemies.” 

His voice shakes, but he continues. “My homeland, Nym, was destroyed by a curse -- a Voidsent summoned by Mhach, the home of the black mages,” his voice hitches and this pain is still fresh. “I...in my desire for retribution, I gave in to the Black myself, and...”

“And it taints you still, even though you try to keep it at bay,” Anders finished, putting a hand over the man’s. “I understand. I...know the lengths people go to seek justice for causes they believe in, for people they wish to save or avenge.” His voice cracks. “I know what I’ve done for justice’s sake. Who I’ve lost. I understand how the magic you wield even with the best of intentions can nearly consume you.”

The man looks as if he’s about to cry, and it’s hard to look at, but he smiles faintly. “Aye,” he says quietly. “Aye. The Black nearly stole from me my love and my dearest companion. I nearly lost myself to it. I had...thought it long since quelled, dormant. I had thought myself safe.”

“But then something happened, and the dam cracked,” Anders said, and he nodded.

“I lost her,” he says faintly, and the loss and grief in Fenris’s voice nearly destroys him on the spot. “I lost her, and she knew not the depth of my feelings. And so soon after losing my dearest mentor...” He sinks deeper into himself. “And then...my children, Thancred and the others, falsely accused and scattered to the winds, lost to us with little hope of them still living...”

Anders presses a hand to his mouth. “Oh, fuck me,” he whispers. “Maker’s breath, that would be enough to destroy anyone’s resolve.”

“I was approached by a Paragon-- an Ascian--” And Anders gasps. One of the things that had possessed Thancred, he realizes, and now he understands why the man’s so afraid for him, why the mage fears facing the others. He really did deal with demons. “And he was-- he did not ask much. My aid, to preserve the balance in the world, to-- to save it. A-And for my family, gods help me, I accepted.”

Anders smiles thinly. “For those you love, you would barter with demons, knowing the risks you take and the darkness you tempt back into your soul,” he says quietly. “Admirable. I...trust me, I know the feeling. You are not alone.”

The mage looks confused, and Anders lets Justice out, blue blazing over his skin and in his eyes, and he swears the look of awe and fascination on that face is going to kill him again. “What....what is this...?”

“A spirit of Justice,” he says, letting the glow fade. “The closest thing I can think of to compare it is one of your elementals, or maybe a summoned familiar-- I am a spirit healer, and I call upon spirits of Compassion, from the Fade where they live, to aid me in my spells.” He smiles slightly, but it’s bittersweet. “Justice was my friend, trapped in my world after things for us went awry. He...there is much injustice in my world, against mages, and at the time I met him, I didn’t care to fight it-- my life and freedom were worth too much to me to lose both fighting a battle I didn’t think one man could win. But he did not stand for that, and wore me down...and I let him in.” 

His smile fades. “And oh, did I fight then. I championed my bloody ideals, starved myself and didn’t sleep because it was time better spent for the Cause, fought for justice and vengeance until I lost everyone I ever cared for. And then I blew up a Chantry-- a church -- killed so many people, because it took away the chance for compromise, would force them to act one way or another.” He laughs bitterly. “For something I believed in, I gave myself to a spirit knowing that my being would corrupt it, could turn him into a demon and myself into a monster, and for something I believed in I betrayed the woman I love, all my friends.”

“So I think I understand what you’ve done, your fears,” he says softly. “But trust me. I think they will understand, too. What you did for their sake...it was far less than what I did. You did not kill anyone. You did not start a war. You simply...made the deal. It’s not too late for you.”

He stands, offering his hands. “Now let’s get you home, so you can fix it, like I’m trying to fix my own mistakes.”

The man stands on his own and takes Anders’ hands then, and he shivers when he realizes how tall this elf is; he has to look up. “Thank thee, Anders,” he says, and hearing his name in that voice makes his heart flip. “Thy words mean much. And I can see thou art a good man, who only desired to help a friend, to help others. Though the choices you made were wrong, thy intent was pure. I...may not count for much when I say this, for my own deeds are too similar, but...I, too, understand. And if thy friends are true, they will learn to forgive, and thou wilt also learn to forgive thyself.”

“The same goes for you,” Anders says quietly. They share a moment of solidarity before he nods, and takes out one of the bottles of orange ether, downing that and sighing. “Okay. Now we get back home.”

The trip back to the world on the other side of the Veil is much quicker and easier, and he’s comforted when his eyes flicker open in his chair to feel the presence in the room gone, the air lighter and easier to breathe. 

He stands painfully, wiping his mouth and wobbling. Too many mana potions; he’s going to be seeing spots for hours. But it was worth it, he decides, as Urianger stirs at last, shifting to sit up slowly and painfully.

He nods at the elf before opening the door, knowing Thancred is likely still waiting outside. He doesn’t know how long it’s been -- a few hours, maybe -- but he doubts the man would have gone far.