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Mortals spend an excessive amount of time asking “why.” Justice remembers having found it strange. A Spirit did what it did because it was what it was; there was nothing to question. No longer. Justice exhales, petting the Mabari’s head absentmindedly when the animal places it in her lap as they wait for Hawke. Anders grumbles half-heartily at them both about the drool, but that is a trivial concern. Her fingers continue to stroke the animal’s fur and it sighs. She echoes the sound.
Now Justice has many concerns, many questions, about herself most of all.
It is difficult to say, exactly, how a Spirit comes into being. And how much influence the collective unconscious of mortal minds has in shaping them. They are a part of the Fade, after all, and the Fade is merely an expression of ideas, of will. An urge for violence becomes a blade, tangible and real. Likewise, a Demon of Rage appears as formless flames while Valor is a knight in armor; the shapes of both Spirits and Demons are defined by thought, by a mortal’s perception of their nature. Furthermore, as much as the entities of the Fade can twist and bend and disguise themselves, there seems to be something more to these base shapes, something defining. It is as if they are innate, unique to the Spirit, true in some way that makes all other forms they can take little more than disguises. Both Rage and Valor’s shapes, flame and knight, are concepts out of the mortal world, and if a spirit’s true form is dependant upon the mortals’ collective understanding of their physical world, then is anything, anyone, in the Fade really real, or are they all merely an outgrowth of mortal minds and magic?
Justice feels that they, she, must be more and at the same time doubts it. But how else could they have independence of will and action? And even if Spirits are born and shaped out of mortals’ thought, much as mortals are born and shaped out of other mortals’ flesh, is there something more to them that distinguishes them?
In short, do Spirits such as herself have souls, crafted and housed within something that, no matter its origin, is also them? Defining. Unchangeable.
And how true is their Fade form when their minds have been forced into mortal flesh?
This is something that has been troubling Justice, and by association Anders, a great deal since their joining and has gained special significance of late.
In the Fade, one of Justice’s hands had held a set of scales and the other, a sword. She had been human. She had been female. Her eyes had been bound, so that her only way to interpret the world, and anyone or anything that came before her, was through the feel of her scales. Her judgment, and blade, were turned neither by mercy nor rage, for such things were beyond her ken. All this is no longer true.
In the formless Fade these “physical” things had all been expressions of her nature, a choice made by her will and brought into being. But they were also what made her her. And therefore something beyond her power to change.
Two simultaneous, mutually exclusive truths.
Paradox.
When Justice had first been trapped in Kristoff, all those things, those pieces of herself, had turned internal. Her sword was no longer expressed tangibly, but she didn’t loose it; it was what it had always been: her power of choice and her ability, now physical, to take action. Her scales had likewise remained, changed yet unchanged, as the thought process inside her mind, weighing and measuring. Everything of the mortal plane, Kristoff himself, had been nothing more than objects. His body had been a meat puppet, wholly separate from her, a tool she manipulated as much as the weapon she wielded through wielding him. She could have reshaped him, fused her power to his flesh in the way she was now bound to Anders and altered their shape to something more suitable to her nature. But then she would have been bound even tighter to the waking world and the disgusting prison of flesh. She had no desire to dig her claws into the mortal plane and cling to a physical existence beyond what was needed to survive. She was not an Abomination; the very idea revolted her. Being tied to a mortal, the way she now was, wasn’t something Justice had ever found remotely appealing. There was no malice in that thought, from either of them, just regret and resignation; Anders was as dear to her as she was to him, but neither of them would have picked this as their first choice.
Being mortal was actually rather... unpleasant. The entire concept of eating, for example... Ew. She still could not bear to let Anders consume certain foods, or, he corrected her, her nausea became his and they both chose to forgo what was no longer appealing. Sex had been something else on that list.
It was their mutual need for survival that had brought her to join with Anders. But Anders was different; she couldn’t just inhabit him. The part of him that was more than flesh blended with the part her that never had been. Together they became a new person, a new existence. She could no longer wholly separate the parts of him that were him and the parts of her that were her. They were one; they were them. Including their body. Her body. Her male body.
At times it felt hers or rather she felt like a him and, at times, Anders felt as discomforted by his own body as she did.
To the parts of her that were still mostly her, however, being a man felt imposed. Fake.
When she had been a woman, she had not even had a physical form! So why was having the wrong one, so, well, wrong? And was there even a right one for them anymore, or would the part of them that was male feel just as trapped, just as wrong, in a female body?
Most of the time Justice had tried to ignore it. She learned how to judge things with a mortal past, how to be torn between courses of action, and, at the same time, the Anders part of her learned how to be less self serving, how to focus on others more than himself. Most of the time, their body was just a body, gender a tolerable, if not forgettable, detail. And Justice was free to struggle simply with the concept of having flesh.
But there was also Hawke. And Hawke called attention to just how ill fitting their body could be.
Hawke was... “wonderful” was the description supplied by Anders’ mind and Justice could not disagree. Hawke was noble and just. She weighed every course of action and chose the path of fairness with an accuracy that was astounding in the confusing maze of action and reaction that often baffled Justice. Hawke could chose correctly when Justice was hopelessly turned around by the places their course of interactions with other mortals had taken them. Justice admired Hawke. She respected her. She was enamored with her. And, through her male body, she was physically attracted to Hawke just as much as Anders was.
The pull Justice felt between their mortal shell and Hawke’s disgusted her as she felt trapped within the maleness of her flesh. But it also pleased her. It was terrifying and elating and she wanted to drive Hawke away so she never had to feel such things again. She had tried, but Hawke had refused to be driven far, refused to let Justice name her a distraction, and Justice hadn’t wanted to resist anymore. She had wanted to not just look into Hawke’s eyes and tell her she loved her, but to feel their bodies move together. Even if which body she wanted to feel move with Hawke’s seemed to waver between two conflicting realities. So she and Anders had.
And Justice was growing more and more torn. She-
There was a knock on the door and Justice jerked her head up, jolted out of her thoughts, her heart pounding.
She felt... nervous, she supposed and Anders was distinctly apprehensive. That was probably what this second guessing, stomach churning feeling was about. She was over thinking things, if a creature whose essence was made of thought even could be said to over think.
Justice got to her feet and hesitated. The proper course of action was to open the door, so she had no idea why the thought of shimming out a second story back window held so much appeal.
At Anders’ suggestion, she plastered a smile that felt rather tense onto their face before she opened the door. Hawke’s hand was raised to knock again and Justice lost track of her intended words of welcome as she looked down at that delightfully messy black hair. The appeal was distressingly/pleasingly physical. Justice closed her eyes, confused and overwhelmed.
“Anders.” Hawke’s tone was so warm that Justice could perceive the smile in it as a physical reality even though her eyes were closed.
“Please come in Hawke,” Justice invited, stepping back, keeping her eyes shut.
She felt the shift of air on her skin, heard the rustle of cloth, felt the door gently being pulled from her grasp and shut. Since the lack of sight was doing nothing to help the physical world receded, even a little, Justice opened her eyes again with a small sigh.
“Is everything alright?” Hawke laid a concerned hand on Justice’s wrist. “You are looking a little glow-y.”
“I am sorry to worry you.” Justice frowned faintly. “Nothing is amiss; I merely needed to speak to you for a moment about our relationship with this aspect of myself dominate. It was not my intent to distress you.”
“Our relationship? As Justice?” Hawke blinked and Justice felt another surge of apprehension. Why did Hawke seem so surprised?
“The physical and emotional bonds between us,” Justice clarified, speaking out of a nervousness need to fill the silence before Hawke could say more. It was a distressingly irrational urge.
“Oh, um, ok,” Hawke walked over to the chair she seemed to favor when they found her reading, staying up for them, and took a seat. For a moment, Justice was distracted by an odd worry that it meant something that Hawke had placed herself in a seat meant for a single person. But Hawke was sitting and smiling up at her. “Hit me,” Hawke waved a hand in the air between herself and Justice.
Justice looked down at her hand. Mortals had such colorful metaphors. Gingerly, she took the seat nearest Hawke. “As we have become close,” she began. “You are aware that I have had... difficulties accepting our growing attraction. And that this was not due to a lack of affection, or sincerity.” Again Justice hesitated, one hand rising to touch the golden hoop in her ear, the familiarity of the gesture making his mortal body feel more right, more Anders. He sighed. “I’m not explaining this well, am I, Love?” Anders chuckled ruefully.
“It’s alright,” Hawke gave him a soft smile. “Take your time.”
Justice smiled gratefully as Anders receded and Hawke reached over and grasped her hand. “You have my gratitude,” Justice said, squeezing Hawke’s hand lightly in return. “Let me start again.” She took a deep breath. “In the Fade, I had no physical form, but I did have a shape, a certain set of parameters that defined me as much as flesh defines you. Us.” Justice shook her head. “That is, in the Fade, I had a shape that was mine even if it was not physical. When a Demon leaves the Fade and enters the physical world it normally binds itself to its host, overwhelming the mortal spirit and reshaping the body into something closer to the form it held in the Fade, becoming the monstrosities you know as Abominations.”
“You aren’t about to tell me you’re going to turn yourself inside out and bind several corpses to your body are you?” Hawke teased, with a note of strain in her voice. “’Cause, I gotta tell you, that’s a little kinkier than I’m willing to go.”
“NO!” Justice tried to reign in her horrified reaction. “I would never. I-”
“Shh.” Hawke placed a hand over Justice’s mouth, resting it gently against her lips. The light pressure was soothing, as well as physically restraining. Most puzzling. “I know.”
Justice nodded, swallowing as Hawke dragged the pads of her fingers teasingly across Justice’s lips as she pulled her hand away. It made Anders want to forget the rest of the conversation and kiss her and that tempted Justice too. But the slight pressure growing in her pants forcefully reminded her of how needed this conversation was and she shifted uncomfortably.
Hawke smile was wicked and knowing.
“There is something of which you must be aware!” Justice exclaimed almost desperately, correctly reading the intent in Hawke’s eyes. “These physical sensations disturb me, not because my desire for you troubles me, but because the part of me that was Justice held a female form before I was trapped in the mortal realm.”
Hawke’s eyes widened. “So,” Hawke drew out the word. “You.... What does this mean, for us? I mean, you know I don’t have a problem with women.”
Justice was aware of Hawke’s brief liaison with the pirate. “I know. It is not that I felt that part of me being a woman would trouble you, it is that being male troubles me. This body reacts to you.” Justice could not help the petulant note that crept into her voice.
The following silence felt uncomfortably heavy. This was foolish. They never should have let things get so far with Hawke; they had their work and that should be enough. But what was the alternative? Not having Hawke? Justice couldn’t stand that thought any more than Anders, not anymore. She loved her too.
She hadn’t ever truly loved anything before.
“Hey.” Hawke was grinning at her. “Have you thought about dressing Anders up in a gown?”
“I don’t think-”
“Not one of those flat things either; something with a little poof.”
“Hawke.”
“What? I’m perfectly serious here.” Justice was fairly sure she wasn’t, but before she could interject something more, Hawke continued to speak. “You do know that you can always say something if you are uncomfortable with anything, Justice. I respect that this is hard for you, but I am not giving Anders up.”
“I would not want you to,” Justice said, sincerely. She wanted to add that she did not want Hawke to give up on her either. Yet, with growing dread, Justice was beginning to perceive that Hawke only viewed herself in a relationship with the part of her that was Anders. Never mind that with their minds and souls so blurred neither were ever just themselves anymore, that they were always they. Unable to bring herself to continue to speak, Justice retreated as much as she could, letting Anders have control of finishing their conversation with Hawke, the heart she shared with him suddenly a little cracked and aching.
Things with Hawke were uneasy. There was a little more distance between them as Anders and Justice “gave her some time.” Truthfully, the pause was needful for both himself and Justice as well.
Even so, Anders still found himself rushing out of his clinic and arriving only slightly late to Wicked Grace night; Justice was as eager to see Hawke as he was, even if the Spirit was still hurting. They should have considered that most people still saw them as separate, Anders supposed and Justice grudgingly agreed. But how could we have been clearer? the Spirit grumbled, resentful. There wasn’t a good answer, for they had been as clear as words would allow.
“So,” a dark arm wrapped around his shoulders, snagging him as he tried to make his way to Varric’s table. Isabela’s breath was warm in his ear and stank of whisky. “What’s it like?”
“What’s what like?” he replied, relaxing as he recognized his captor. Justice took a moment for a quick magical look at the pirate as they spoke, out of habit and out of a surprising depth of caring, making sure the other woman was still healthy. Between the sex and the stabbing and the daily war Isabela waged against her liver, it didn’t hurt to check.
“Give us girls a minute Anders, I need to talk to Justice for a moment.” Isabela smiled sweetly at him.
They blinked in surprise and Justice scowled with their lips. “I am Justice,” Anders replied, sharing the spirit’s thoughts. Isabela’s misconception was salt in a fresh wound. “Just because I’m not a ‘glow-y templar attracting beacon’ doesn’t mean I’m not always present. I am always Justice and I am always Anders.”
Isabela seemed to sense she had hit a sore spot because she gave their arm an apologetic pat. “Come on then,” she wheedled. “What’s the sex like as a man? I know you’ve got a stick up your ass to match Lady Manshands, but I’ve never had another woman to ask that. You’re the only one who can answer; it’s not as if the men have any real basis for comparison.”
Justice gritted their teeth. “I do not know how to explain any better than they,” she snapped. “I have only ever had a male body.”
Isabela loosened her hold a little and placed her other hand on Justice’s arm. It was almost an embrace. “You poor thing,” she murmured, surprising Justice and reminding Anders why he had always liked her. The not-quiet-a-hug was brief and Isabela pulled away quickly with a slight blush on her cheeks. “Come on, Sweet Thing,” she muttered. “Help me carry the drinks over before they start without us.”
Taking two of the mugs and somehow ending up with Fenris’ bottle of wine, Anders followed Isabela to their usual table. Anders and Justice felt a painful lurch in their chest as they spotted Hawke.
“Hello Ladies,” Varric’s eyes looked mischievous as Anders jerked his head around to stare at him.
The sigh that left Anders’ lips could have come from his own impetus or Justice’s. They should have known. “Get it out of your system,” he sighed, smiling slightly and gesturing magnanimously with the bottle.
Fenris met his eyes briefly and made a sound in the back of his throat that made Anders think wistfully of Ser-Pounce-A-Lot. He felt a note of curiosity from Justice about how something as unpleasant as a hairball in his blankets could make him feel so nostalgic. Missing the bad, as well as the good, was an utterly human concept. He raised an eyebrow at the elf. “Something to say, Fenris?”
“I don’t see what difference it makes to me Abomination.” Fenris sneered and Anders rolled his eyes.
It might not be a difference for you, but mine is big enough to notice if I suddenly changed genders. He would have said it aloud, but such a cheap shot was unworthy of them. He wished he could ignore the flash of guilt he felt in response to Justice’s disapproval, because the looks on their friends’ faces if he had said it would have been priceless. Instead he held the bottle of wine just outside of Fenris’ reach and shook it teasingly. “It’s customary to tip the wench.” He batted his eyelashes at Fenris.
Predictably, the elf surged forward in his seat and snatched his bottle out of Anders’ hands. “If you want a tip you’ll have to win it,” he growled. “Deal the cards Dwarf.”
Anders smirked and, unwilling to let them see his hesitation, moved to take his usual seat beside Hawke. She jumped up as he started to sit and Anders tried to freeze, but his body was already committed to the motion and gravity pulled him the rest of the way into the chair. Hawke’s hands came down on either side of him, gripping the arms of his chair, as she loomed over him. Then she half lifted the whole contraption and slid him forward, so he was a more comfortable distance away from the table.
“My Lady,” she murmured, lips brushing his ear.
The rest of the table laughed at her antics as Hawke resumed her seat, but her eyes were studying him, them, carefully. Hopefully.
Justice smiled back, hopefully.