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She comes to him in a dream in the form of a cat.
At first he recognizes it as Ser Pounce-a-lot. The orange tabby rubs between his legs, and he can almost feel the short hair scratch against the leather of his boots- except that his legs aren’t there. Incomplete materialization; a symptom of his stress induced insomnia. He hasn’t been able to keep a hold on the Fade besides the spirit in his head.
Looking down again his observation changes. The golden coat of the cat darkens to black. Like the ripple of water one color gives way to another, turning over to sooty darkness. However, when she moves in the iridescent light of the Fade- as if all is trapped in a bubble- it exposes the rich tuffs of brown undercoat.
He watches the transformation. His young feline familiar had difficulty maneuvering through the Fade. Like many, the cat seemed to swim through the thick, listless sleep of the Fade, moving dumb and slowly. Like any unnatural inhabitant, Ser Pounce-a-lot struggled with the spectral nature of crossing the Veil. This black cat however, more sprite than animal, easily maneuvers the soup like atmosphere. She seems to bend space and move quickly between the folds like the shadow of a spirit, inhibited by none.
She is an inhabitant of this land. And for that Anders envies her.
The mage war has paused- uncertainty for the world’s existence takes precedence. There are more important things to worry about than apostates, and practically every magic user is one now thanks to the dissolution of the Circle.
This is why he envies her, however. She is free from both the mage war and the Inquisition. At least, now she is. When her spirit relinquished its grasp on the mortal plane he felt it- hotter than any phylactery around his neck. It was the Inquisitor who sent her to her death- one person for the safety of thousands of others. That price seemed easy, but now? Anders can feel the wind blow, fluttering the edges of the Veil, billowing outward, thin between the realm of magic and theirs. Her sacrifice is all for naught.
He curses himself; the tragic irony of it all! Was this not the same fate he destined himself to? The price of one mage’s life starts the beginning of a global movement; one man for the safety of thousands of others. And yet, the price of Hawke’s life seemed too high to pay. Hypocrite, Justice chants.
“I know,” he moans back aloud, lips parched from self-infliction. He hasn’t eaten or drank in several days. It was always Hawke that reminded him to, and now the pain affects him even in sleep. It is his voice, however, which stops the black cat, causing it to look back at him.
It blinks. Bright, icy blue eyes with black slits assess him, the same striking gaze sharp as any knife. She may not be in the same form, but he remembers those eyes, and knows it is her. Deeply intelligent, they bare into him. She is a stone’s skip away from him now, small and sleek, but it is not hard for him to remember what she used to looked like.
He closes his eyes, despite already being in a dream, and imagines her as she was.
Several features are already accurate. The cat bares the same black hair as she, and when she moves her fingers through it Anders can see the reddish undertones as her bangs fall back into place. The long, silky strands do little to conceal the crystalline blue of her eyes, but despite their intensity they still appear hooded with desire as their gazes meet.
He feels as if he has been struck by a cold spell- a shiver passing down his spine. However, this cannot be. They sit around a fire together, and he feels no press of magic aura against his. She laughs to a shadow who sits beside her on a broken log- a memory with a face Anders does not care about in this moment. He swears he cannot remember Marian casting spells with her laugh, but still he feels the effects of it all over his body.
The familiar grip of self-restraint tightens in him; it’s a feeling all these memories carry, and another personal regret. It seems as if he had always been trying to control himself around her, undeniably drawn to her but never allowing himself the actual pleasure. Consequently it was this constant vigil of discipline and composure that let the corrupt Justice take advantage of his secretly sick mind. It was the need for more- freedom, security, her- and the constant denial of that need that compelled him to commit atrocities.
He couldn’t say now though that he was in a good place. His mind was still fogged with need, grief, and uncertainty that drove him to these delusional dreams. Marian haunted the haze of his confusion, and he inadvertently clenched his fists at his misery.
He only bothered to look up after reflecting on his self-pity when her laughter had stopped. Her discerning gaze, still wanton but sharp, assessed him once more, and a feeling of some unknown relief went through him, as if this ghost understood his plight.
“Anders,” her usually humorous voice was soft, but the sound was so familiar and so accurate that he opened his eyes, dispelling the memory he had forcibly summoned in the inception of his dream- a dream inside a dream. Now he was back in the Fade, the black cat gone. It had undergone yet another transformation, finally revealing the woman he missed most dearly.
She was unchanged, save a large gash running from her cheek down her jaw and touching again against her chest, the incomplete swipe of a blade or claw responsible for such a mark. That made him swallow hard. But, although his stomach turned briefly at the sight of the injury, it also fluttered because she was there.
Her skin was still as warm as if they had recently been down by the Wounded Coast on a weeklong mission together. Her armor had been disposed of and she instead favored a simple red tunic and skirt that was very similar to her Hightown finery, blazoned with the sigil of Kirkwall’s champion. It was as she had been in life, though flickering with the inconsistency of Fade existence. Nevertheless, Anders remembered her like this, especially in that rich red robe. He remembered waking up beside her, feeling the velvet of her back against his chest. That robe glowed in the golden light of early morning, and he’d secretly take in the scent of where her hair met the curve of the back of her neck, velvet and black curls tickling his nose-
“Well, are you a desire demon? Come to distract me with bedside memories?,” he shook his head of the thought and smiled ruefully at Marian- but she did not laugh, only look upon him with further concern. For a second he faltered and felt himself grow embarrassed, but finally she smiled and shook her head.
“You are more a demon than I am, torturing yourself so greatly. Abstinence is the least of your concerns, love,” she chuckled and began to approach him.
The closer she got the more real she became to him until he could see the soft freckles across her nose that she usually covered in red paint, or the faint scars that were just white lines now across her shoulders and legs. Her chest would rise and fall steadily, a clever mimic of her having any life. Urging himself not to stare obviously at the dip of her robe where the injury disappeared into the curve of her supple chest, he instead took her hand in his and focused on that. It had no real feeling to it. No warmth, nor cold. But he could easily trick his mind, imagining the fingertips only slightly softer than his own. Years of Grey Warden training had toughened his hands far beyond tenderness, but she too was not soft and dainty. It wasn’t a quality he’d want in her anyways. She was always stronger than him in the aspects that mattered.
Several moments of silence past where he just gently ran his thumb over her knuckles, staring down at their joined hands.
...
…
…
“I miss you Marian..”
His voice was soft and broke the minute the words came out. He had missed her ever since the destruction at Kirkwall which had driven the greatest wedge between them. But the distance between the Fade and the living was an even greater wedge, and it broke the man.
In that moment he inwardly collapsed. His eyes, which remained trained down, bowed under the deep crinkle of his brow. His lips twitched and shriveled, and his breathing hitched with a hiccup like whimper.
“I miss you so much…”
…
“Anders…” she gently lifted his chin with one curled finger, the other gently rubbing across his stubbled jaw. A few loose tears already stained his tired face, catching first in the deep depressions of sleep deprivation left hanging under his eyes. Still he refused to look at her, instead turning his head to shamefully avert his gaze.
Sighing at his continued stubbornness, she assisted him to an outcropping of stone, padded with soft Fade grass that swam in an unfelt breeze. Sitting him gently she listened to his sobs as still he tried to control himself, pushing the sounds into the feathers of his own coat… but he would not let go of her hand.
This she took as the only sign she was still wanted, and gave it a squeeze as she sat slightly beside him. Using her free hand she gently rubbed circles into his back, stopping when she felt the sharp press of raised bone. Instead she chose to snake her arm around him, hugging him from the side. Maker, was he thin. There was no correct way to hold him without potentially hurting him in some way. She frowned again, and, out of desperation to uncurl him from himself, she began to press kisses into his dirty blonde hair. It was tangled and ratty from a lack of care, and much longer than before, curling across his collarbone. Still, she pressed kisses against the side of his hair and neck, combing through it with her fingers.
The combination of gentle stroking mixed with kisses into his hair brought him from a thunderous sob to a whimper, like a pup being satiated by the touch of a kind hand. It was methodical and loving, and she never ceased her affections, not even after he had quieted.
Slowly he began to unduck his head and loosen his grip on her hand, allowing her to free it and instead move to his stomach and chest where she drew circles. The tight hunger in his belly unwound itself with her gentle massages, and the only sounds now to leave his lips were appreciative moans- not of deep seated pleasure, but rather relief.
“Marian…” he whimpered again, to which she responded with a soft “Mm?”
“Why did you not come to me sooner?”
“You would not allow me to. You guilted yourself more than you deserved over my…”
-death was supposed to be unreachable, but was it death if her spirit and memory remained forever in the Fade? She did not know, so she didn’t finish her response.
“…I missed you.”
“I know.”
“I still miss you-,” “I know,” she cut him off and sighed.
They sat together in that manner for some time, eventually Marian moving to sit upon his lap as her hands found each of his aches and healed his sore body. Again his brain tricked itself into feeling the soft breath from her nose against his face as she sat perched above him, murmuring sweet nothings to him as his eyes sagged and lulled.
He wondered in his sleepy euphoria why he had not encountered Justice again since the beginning of his sleep, the careful watchman who stayed in step with him even in dreams. It was then it dawned on him that he deserved this- he deserved to have Marian back, to have this comfort for his loss. Justice- Vengeance- whatever spirit it was now had recognized the injustice in losing Marian. She could have been Anders’ wife, loved him, had mage children with him, and helped in the movement. Didn’t all mages deserve that opportunity? But the opportunity was gone now, along with Marian. It was Justice that had brought Anders to her in the Fade, convinced him to forgive himself.
“I have to go now Anders,” she whispered against his ear, pressing another soft kiss against his lobe. The Fade had no time, but the emergence of pale light on the verge of a green horizon signaled some transition about to take place. It was the early light of dawn cresting his vision from the natural world once more.
“No please, a little longer,” he pleaded and tried to reach for her wrist to anchor her as she got off him, but already her legs had begun to turn to mist, the image of her unsteady before him. His connection between the Fade and consciousness was already beginning to dissolve.
With no time left she leaned down and left him with three gifts: carefully she pealed back the panel of his coat to press a kiss above his heart, then his forehead, and then his lips. Finally she smiled, just an inch above him, and her lips moved for the last time to say something, but no sound came out.
….
‘Goodbye Marian…” his eyes watered as he stared up at the ceiling of the hut that threatened to cave in above him. Snow was falling, and the early light just peaked in from the cloth covering of the doorway. He had meant to say those last words in the Fade, but consciousness had summoned him early.
Justice was quiet for once as well. Present, but quiet.
Getting up, Anders rubbed his eyes and picked up the small shard of mirror from his bedside, looking over himself in the glass.
The dark circles were less apparent under his eyes, and his hair had been smoothed down. His lips were tinted red, as well as a stain on the crease of his forehead. Finally, correct in his suspicions, he pulled back the flap of his shirt to reveal the final mark of her red lipstick against his pounding heart.
“Oh Marian, is there anything you didn’t leave me?” He chuckled, about to flop back in bed when he smelled the waft of warm rabbit and mushroom stew with elfroot by the fire.
Sitting up, dumbfounded, the memories of camp with Marian came rushing back. She had never been much of a cook, instead opting for “ol reliable” as she called her stew, which Anders and the others had grown sick of on many occasion.
But funny enough, looking at the fresh pot of it over the fire as the kindling died, it was just what he was craving.