Chapter Text
“You are late.” Justice’s voice echoed out of the darkness. It was well past midnight in Vigil’s Keep, the only safe time for a Spirit and a Mage to communicate without scrutiny, at least now that the Chantry’s templars had invaded the keep.
“You try going anywhere in this place with a templar so far up your ass he can tongue kiss your sweetheart,” Anders bristled, his voice hushed in the dark corner of the library.
“Anders, you’ve been very clear about the limits of human anatomy—”
“It’s a figure of speech, Justice, Maker’s tits,” he groaned, peeking around the stacks to ensure he hadn’t been followed. It was awful how familiar this seemed, sneaking around a darkened library, evading templars. Vigil’s Keep felt like an extension of the circle now, and it made Anders sick to his stomach.
“I was told that phrases must be turned in the proper direction to be understood as entendre, but this is different and yet the same,” the spirit noted.
“We’re not meeting in the middle of the night just to discuss euphemisms, are we?” Anders asked, sighing heavily.
“No, we are not. Shall we pick up where we left off? See, I understand that we are not actually lifting anything.” An amused look crossed the sagging flesh of Justice’s face, or Kristoff’s face. Was that a joke? Anders was concerned about how much time the spirit had been spending around Sigrun.
“What is left to discuss?” Anders flung himself against the bookcase, ignoring Justice’s insistence on understanding the intricacies of trade speak. “I have no more tools left at my disposal. The Warden Commander has virtually neutered us both. The fact that they didn’t send you screaming back to the fade when they learned about you shocked me!”
“They do not believe an entity such as I can exist, and yet I do,” Justice said simply. “Your Chantry arrogantly believes they are infallible.”
“It’s not my Chantry,” Anders muttered, but Justice continued undeterred.
“I am also certain that your Chantry is wrong about what will happen should we attempt to merge. So long as this is a willing union on both of our parts, we will not become an abomination.”
“You make it sound like we’re getting married, Justice,” Anders chuckled, batting his lashes up at the decaying warrior. “I never thought I would live see the day I become a blushing bride, but here I am.”
“This is not an inaccurate assertion,” Justice noted, appearing to sift through the various memories he had retained access to from his body’s former host. “But you are willing, are you not?”
“I’m nervous but willing.” Anders winked up at his soon-to-be other half. “I lost my virginity that way, and enjoyed myself well enough.”
A rough, moldy hand reached out to grasp Anders’ shoulder, and though the stench of rot made his stomach twist, he covered the spirit’s borrowed hand with his own.
“Then we shall become one,” Justice said solemnly, an earnest declaration of something Anders thought might be love. “So long as you trust me in this.”
Anders knew the spirit had grown to love the mortal world, and in his own way, grown to love the people within it. Anders guessed Justice had extended that love to their companions as well. But it was an odd feeling to be cared for by a spirit, when he could count on one hand the number of people who had cared for him at all.
“I trust you, Justice, as much as I trust anything, but why delay?” Anders asked, trying to push away the more complex parts of his feelings.
“I need to ensure you are prepared, mentally and emotionally, for the strain your body will take. Already this form collapses around me—”
"Because it’s dead.” Anders couldn’t help but interject
“—a living host is still constantly in a state of decay. You will also one day die, Anders.”
“Thank you for the reminder, my friend,” Anders said, rolling his eyes.
“You consider me a friend?” Justice cocked his head, looking down at Anders in the dim light that filtered through the dingy windows. Sometimes it was hard to take in how large Kristoff's body was. Would Justice’s spirit even fit inside him? Or had it grown used to such a broad and bulky form?
“Don’t get sappy on me. If we’re going into this together, we'd better be friends at the very least,” Anders replied, repressing a nervous chuckle, lest they get discovered.
“I will not,” Justice insisted, “I am merely surprised to be considered your friend. I had not considered friendship as more than another spirit before. To know I elicit that feeling in others is…” The spirit looked off. If Anders didn’t know better, he would have thought he saw a look of sadness in his sunken, dead eyes.
“You cannot regret what we will become,” Justice said, bringing himself back to the moment.
“I don’t think worrying about regret is in either of our best interests,” Anders replied. “I’m ready. I’m tired of running. I believe you when you say we can make this world a better place for all mages. Together.”
“Be sure that you do not twist your desire into something vengeful, Anders,” Justice warned. “I wish to see your kind given the same freedoms as any man or woman in Thedas, but not at the expense of twisting ourselves into something destructive.”
“I know, I know,” Anders raked his hands back through his hair, catching a finger against his earring and pulling with a grimace. The gold felt heavy against his ear, and for a moment, he contemplated ripping it out and chucking it at the ground angrily. This wasn’t going to help prove to Justice he was ready. Instead, he heaved a sigh of annoyance, turning back toward the end of the aisle they were hidden within. “How much longer, Justice?”
“By the end of the week,” he said, turning to look among the books on the shelf, “You should say your goodbyes.”
“I don’t do goodbyes,” Anders said softly, “it’s easier that way.”
“On you or on others?” Justice asked.
Anders didn’t want to answer that. “You promise by the end of the week?” he confirmed, walking away into the darkness. “I’ll hold you to that. I’m ready to be done with the Grey Wardens.”