fadewalk | RP: Anders (thecryoftheseagulls)

It was cold and dark and there were fingers reaching and voices whispering what'sthiswhat'sthiswhat'sthis and eyes he couldn't see in the dark.

He was running. He was always running, pulling free of ropes, shoving past doors, trying to get away, farther farther until they couldn't catch, couldn't put him back in the box, couldn't make him less than he knew he was, not anymore.

He was a pale ghost in the strange green light, running, bare feet slapping on the stone, eyes wide and pupils contracted so hard there was almost no way he could be seeing anything in the dim. Panting, sweating, stumbling down the covered colonnade between the guest wing and the gardens of Skyhold but only seeing a long hallway, dark, with waiting shadows in the doorways, in the windows, watching and whispering, wanting to catch.

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Anders had gathered a basket of food for himself and Fenris and then stepped out into the gardens to see if there was anything edible and also if perhaps he might find some elfroot. It seemed likely he would need some potions to hand out with half mad templars running amok and others being dragged or even running off through the eluvian. He wanted to be prepared.

He had just knelt down in the dirt, basket set aside, to pluck some of the elfroot he had found when the sound of bare feet on stone echoed from the colonnade. Justice stirred in alarm, but Anders shushed him, reaching for his staff and regaining his feet.

Anders ran face-first into a treebranch. Being slapped awake by a passel of leaves and twigs wasn't the worst way he'd ever woken up, but it wasn't pleasant, especially when he'd fallen asleep warm and tucked under Logan's chin and safe. It startled a shout out of him as he ducked, which rose higher in alarm when the offended tree branch burst into flames.

Anders landed on his ass, staring up at the burning foliage, trying desperately to calm the lashing magic inside him, wearing only his boxer-briefs and barefoot. "Bloody hell!"

Not the worst wake-up but definitely one of the fucking strangest.

Something about that voice stirred an inkling of recognition inside Anders, but it was quickly ignored in favor of acting. He strode towards the mostly naked new mage, any fear be might have felt gone as soon as he saw the other man's state of undress and the branch catch fire. He raised his free hand his staff just slightly, summoning a quick ice spell to douse the flames, and then crouched in front of the stranger.

"Maker's breath," he said gently, in the voice he used for particularly skittish children. "Are you all right?"

The dousing of the flames above him set Anders blinking, waiting for his eyes to adjust. He started to scramble up when he realized there was someone else, another mage he guessed, in front of him, and then when he saw his face he sat right back down, staring, mouth open, working, no voice coming out.

It was his face, more or less, older, more careworn, with a graven sadness around the eyes and mouth, and the hair was longer. But there was no lying about the nose, the color of the golden-brown eyes, or the shape of his lip. These were the parts of Anders' face that he liked well enough to be vane about, after all. "Holy fucking shit," he managed finally, hoarsely, and his panic spiked higher when his magic mimicked what the man in front of him had done, sending out a sudden burst of frost into the foliage around him.

Anders froze when the man looked up and he got a good look at his face. "Andraste's lacy underthings," he breathed. So that was why the voice had sounded familiar; not enough to place, of course - he had always thought his voice was a touch deeper than this man's seemed to be, but then he supposed everyone thought that. This him was young, and more wildly out of control with his magic than Anders could ever remember being at that age (early 20s, perhaps?), but it was definitely him. He grinned widely. "Well, put me in a dress and call me a templar, and here I thought only the important folks like kings and champions and heroes got to have copies of themselves showing up. Does marvelous things for the ego, let me tell you."

The grin faded at the look of panic on his younger self's face followed by the burst of ice. "Hey, hey, easy," he murmured, shifting back to healer mode. He reached out to grip at the other Anders' shoulder gently. "It's all right, A-anders, you're safe." Maker, wasn't that odd, saying his name back at someone else.

Anders was close to hyperventilating as the other... him?... spoke to him. He ran his hand up into his hair, making it stand wildly on end as he stared. The hand on his shoulder made him twitch, but it was also grounding. This was real. He was real. He wasn't sure that made it better.

Wait... had he? Andraste? He let out a high-pitched hysterical laugh. "Oh my god. You... you;re me. But if I was from... there? The game. Thedas, in the fucking game, me? What?" He was trying, very hard not to let the magic do anything else, but the harder he tried to grip it, the more frantically he clutched for control, the twistier it got. Plus... where was Logan? Where was he?

Still in the castle, it seemed, but he'd... he hadn't had a night terror bad enough to run in his sleep in a long time, he had medication (that he didn't have), and he'd thought with Logan there to hold on to it would be fine (it really wasn't).

Anders furrowed his brow, trying to understand him. "Right. Yes. I'm from Thedas. The Anderfels, originally, though Ferelden, mostly. And you - you must not be. Interesting."

He recognized the panic in his own face, could feel the slippery edges of this Anders' magic ready to burst away from his control at any moment, and he dropped his staff to the ground beside him and reached out to grasp at Anders' other shoulder as well. "Can you breathe for me, Anders? Just breathe. You can let go of the magic; it will calm itself when you do." He glanced down briefly at his mostly naked state and added, kindly, "It was just a dream. No one's going to hurt you. They'd have to go through me and Justice, anyways. I can't be leaving my younger self indefensible, can I?" He offered a small, tentative smile, and squeezed his shoulders.

"Breathe. Right." Anders knew this, he knew it, but it took him a minute to find the rhythm, the proper counts in and then out to calm his heartrate. He worried, but followed the other man's instructions, letting go of the magic and felt tears of relief pricking his eyes when it subsided almost immediately. He buried his face in his hands when the other-him brought up the dream, and he tried to remember what it had been, other than things chasing, watching, wanting.

"Shit," he whispered. "Shit. This is so weird." He dragged his hands down his face and looked back up at Anders, and shook his head. "How... do you... what do I even say to that?" He gave a ragged laugh, half-hysterical and then went back to breathing in and out in slow, measured beats.

Anders rubbed his thumbs along the other him's skin where his hands gripped his shoulders, struck again by the fucking weirdness of the whole situation, and resolving not to think about how he was sort of...petting...himself. Because that clearly wasn't going to help matters. When he seemed calm enough, Anders took his hands back and settled onto the ground, folding his hands in his lap.

"Weird is the word," he agreed. "You're obviously new here, though, so there is some explanation to be had. A very little, to be sure, but it will probably help. When you're ready, of course." His eyes went to the cut on the young man's cheek from the branch. "May I?" He offered a hand thrumming with healing magic, but made no move to heal him just yet.

Once he was no longer actively freaking out (and yes, he'd admit he was still passively freaking out; a new baseline, wonderful) Anders tried not to be weird about taking comfort from the touch of the other man's hands on his shoulders. It was fine. He would have done the same for a stranger who was panicking. If it was only weird because it was him then he really needed to adjust how he felt about self-care.

"Right. New. I don't even know where here is?" He blinked at the hand Anders raised toward his face, and the energy that laced it, and what use he himself had recently put that exact energy to... his face flushed deep and suddenly red. "Oh, right, yeah." His hand touched the small cut lightly and then nodded, still blushing so badly it was down his chest.

Anders arched a brow at the blushing and pressed a couple of fingers lightly to the cut to heal it. "There," he said as he pulled back. "Good as new." He pursed his lips, studying the other him for a moment, and then decided that it was probably better he not ask after the reasons for the blushing. Probably.

"Not that I'm the best person for explaining all of this," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm not from the same time as most people here, and I don't fully understand all the context. Not that I'm..." he cleared his throat, "avoiding trying to understand, but - well, perhaps a little. I don't know that I like knowing things about the future."

He paused to halt his babbling and noticed anew the coolness of the air around them - this was supposed to be a mountain stronghold, even if it was curiously suspended in the not-Fade. He took off his black feathered coat, exposing the plain sleeved tunic underneath, black, with simple gold embroidery about the collar. It wasn't nearly as worn as his old clothes had been, because Hawke had paid for the entire outfit fairly recently. Before...all of this. He started to hold out the coat and then stopped, taking it back to untie the red cloth wrapped around one arm, then extended the coat again. "Here," he said, gently. He smoothed the red cloth tenderly with long fingers and cleared his throat.

"So. Here is Skyhold; it's usually a fortress up in the Frostbacks, so I'm told. But this one has been somehow dragged into the Fade? More or less. It's not the real Fade, exactly. We think it had to do with a shattered eluvian, which has since been repaired but still seems to be malfunctioning. There are people here from all sorts of times and places - myself and my Fenris, but my Fenris comes from several years before I do, and then there's my old Warden Commander from several years after me, and several Hawkes, and several Alistairs, and also some strangers who seem to come from some other world entirely. They have a large metal ship which I'm told is designed for sailing in something called space? I've not interacted with those ones much so I don't know anything about them." He licked his lips. "Does any of that make sense? Maker I don't even know if you know what an eluvian is yet."

Anders gave a grateful little shudder as the coat settled over his shoulders and he huddled down in it for a moment as he listened to Anders' explanation. "Eluvian's are a magic mirror thing. Elves, um a tainted one, kills a boy in one of the origins. Oh, hell, Mahariel?" He froze then, eyes widening.

"Did you say Hawkes?" He barked out a soft laugh. "If you try to tell me there's more than one Logan Hawke here I'm actually going to die." How could he deal with that? How would Logan deal with that? "And Fenris. Your Fenris?! That drunk prick?" Maybe later he'd revise his feelings about Fenris, once he'd reconciled the fact that Logan's late night private drunk chats with him maybe hadn't been a prelude to some sort of romance that Anders had ground his teeth bitterly about, but he hadn't grappled with that yet. "I know, I know, priorities, right? Like, starting with Magic is Real! But, god, Fenris??"

Anders nodded. "Magic mirrors, yes. I don't know anything about Mahariel elves, though."

"Wait, Logan Hawke? I haven't heard of that one, no. Did he - she? come in when you did?" He looked thoughtful. "No, no doubles of a Logan Hawke. There are two Marian Hawkes, one who's a rogue and one who is a warrior, and then there's a man called Sparrow Hawke. The Hawke from my time is called Jicosa, but she hasn't been pulled here. There seem to be many iterations of Hawke. It's...rather peculiar." He gave the red silk in his fingers one final look, golden eyes sad and distant, and then tucked it in a pocket.

At the insult of Fenris, however, he growled, low in his throat, a noise that was a touch too deep to be his voice alone. Blue skittered up his skin and coalesced in his eyes. He shook his head violently and the blue cleared. "Not now, Justice, fuck," he grunted. He fixed his eyes back on himself with a frown. "But yes. MY Fenris," he said, the word possessive and pointed. "Frequently drunk and often prickly, it's true. But mine."

Edited Date: 2015-09-21 03:10 am (UTC)

Anders held up his hands, scooting back a few inches at the glowy outburst and the clear indication that Fenris was off limits. "Sorry," he whispered, eyes wide. "Am I going to start doing that?" It didn't look... comfortable.

He ran his fingers through his hair. "You know, because it turns out magic is real, and you always thought hey that would be fun, but then you set yourself on fire on accident and there are eyes in the dark in your dreams, which were never great to begin with. But that? I don't know how I would explain that at school." He laughed shakily.

Anders ran his fingers through his hair in a very similar gesture as the one his younger self had just done, except for the longer strands of hair caught in his fingers. "Sorry," he mumbled, grimacing. "It's more difficult, here."

"You come from a land of no magic, then? I don't...understand how you can be me and that be the case. But no. No, you shouldn't start doing that." He sighed. "I am...I share my body with a Fade spirit, a spirit of Justice. He was trapped in our realm, in a decaying body, and he is my friend. I agreed to host him to save his life, and in return he has given me resolve and strength I did not know I had." He gives Anders a wry smile. "It was a choice, not something that will just happen to you."

"Fade spirit, Justice, okay." Anders took a deep breath, absorbing that. "But that means that demons are a thing? Like I could get possessed by one of those here?" He shuddered thinking about the eyes in the dark of his dreams, the watching, whispering voices. "There was a spirit of um Courage in the Harrowing intro, or... no Valor. Right, but then there was Mouse and the big weird sloth bear."

He wet his lips. He was starting to freak out again, his hands shaking. "I need to find Logan. He... he's alone, and he's a mage too, and if he doesn't know this stuff then..."

His chest hitched, eyes wide as he looked up at Anders, and if he knows anything at all about how his face works it'll be easy to read his younger self's ardent devotion to his Hawke.

"Demons, yes, those are a thing. There's no reason to fear possession while you are awake; there don't seem to be any demons here to reach us. But we are returning to the usual Fade when we sleep, so we mages must be vigilant while we sleep, as ever."

"Mage Hawke," Anders murmured, distantly, wondering what that would have been like, had Cosa been born with powers like Bethany's. To have fallen for a fellow apostate, one who not only supported his fight for mage rights but directly benefited - it was a strange thought. He shook himself and focused back on the other Anders, reaching out to touch his shoulder again. "Peace, Anders. We will see to it your Hawke is safe. I can show you how to resist the demons."

The touch startled him out of his thoughts and Anders looked up and nodded. "Okay. Thank you." His face twisted a little and then he shook it away. "Sorry, this is so much... I'm--" He blew out a stiff breath and then nodded. "Can we go to him now? If he didn't stop me when I started sleepwalking, then he might not know I'm gone."

Or Anders had hurt him when he'd tried to stop him, and he suddenly felt like he was going to vomit, eyes darting up toward the scorched branch of the tree, color draining entirely from his face. "Or..." He scrambled to his feet.

This Anders' concern for his Hawke made Anders' chest tighten painfully. It was obvious he was concerned about being away from him, and Anders could not help but think of Jicosa, of her empty fingers where his hand had been before he was drawn here. How much time had passed for her? Was Fenris with her still, or had the drawing forth of their Fenris from a few years ago left her completely alone? It was maddening. She'd spared his life, and he'd repaid her by vanishing and leaving her alone to be hunted for his actions.

"Of course. Of course we can. I would not like to leave my Hawke alone in such a vulnerable state either," he told him, ignoring the way his voice seemed to thicken and clump up in his throat. He followed the younger man's gaze to the tree and blanched. "And all my skills are at your service, of course." He wiggled the fingers he'd used to heal Anders' cheek.

Anders nodded sightlessly at... Anders words and then looked around him, focusing slowly, before laughing, hoarse and helpless. "I have no idea where we are." He turned in one full circle, almost losing the coat off his shoulders, before sliding his arms into it.

"We... he and I, were in a tavern. We got there from a rampart door. We were just exploring and that was where we ended... up." His eyes darted to Anders, and how weird was it to look directly into the other man's eyes? His age, and his experience made Anders think he should be looking up at him, like he was an actual adult. "Do you know where that is?"

Anders got to his feet and dusted himself off, scooping his staff up off the ground. He offered the other him a hand up and then went to collect the basket of food he'd left over by the potted elfroot.

"The tavern?" he asked as he returned to his side. "Yes, I know where that is. Had a few drinks there when I first arrived and we were all about ready to forget about the fuckery of this place. Come; it's not far." He motioned with his staff and led the way to the door into the castle itself.

The walk didn't take long, Anders dogging his other self's heels. When they got the row of guest rooms he pushed past Anders and opened the door they'd been in, but it was empty. "He isn't here," he murmured. He turned around, looking a bit wild-eyed. There was no scorch marks, no blood, no sign of struggle, so at least he hadn't hurt him... probably... but where had he gone?

(OOC: Let you decide if Logan got dressed/took any of Anders stuff with him when he left to look or him? (He did leave to look for him, right?))

Anders peeked into the room and hummed, eyeing the mussed bed thoughtfully. The room still smelt a bit of sex, and that only served to confirm his suspicion that the two of them were involved. He tapped his upper lip. It was perhaps gratifying to find a version of Hawke that was involved with himself; it made his own love for Cosa more...well, he didn't want to say fated, because with a Hawke involved only with Fenris and a Hawke in love with Varric of all people, fate seemed to have little to do with it. Still. The thought a version of himself could find happiness with another version of Hawke was rather beautiful. He was just blessed to have Fenris too.

He shook himself out of his thoughts and moved into the room, picking up a strange vest that had been tossed over a chair, but not seeing anything else in the room to indicate that this Hawke had been here, except some discarded towels and the unmade bed.

"Most likely he has gone to look for you?" he suggested, turning round again.

(OOC: Gonna say Logan grabbed everything but the vest because it's kind of like unnecessary idk and he wasn't thinking straight. But yeah, definitely he did go to look for Anders as soon as he noticed he was missing)

Edited Date: 2015-09-21 05:23 am (UTC)

"God, Logan." Anders frowned at the vest. Of all the asinine things to leave... not his pants or his shoes. He snorted softly and then shook his head, expression becoming worried and pinched. "Probably," he murmured. "He didn't know about my... well." He shrugged uncomfortably. "First night together, and I didn't warn him. He probably thinks I bolted."

He looked down at his skinny legs and bare feet protruding from under the coat. "I hope he thinks I have more sense than running mostly naked, but it is me we're talking about." He sighed heavily, a weary lopsided smile on his face that would be perfectly at home on the older Anders' mouth.

Anders hummed. "I doubt he thinks that. First time Hawke found me after I'd bolted in the night, I was already halfway back down to Darktown in my smalls and a nightshirt. Bloody miracle I wasn't knifed in the back by some shady Carta folks. But then, I suppose Justice probably would have roused and fended them off if that happened." He shrugged. "In any event the point is she was just worried for me, not worried I'd bolted on her. If your Hawke is anything like the Hawkes I've met, and mine, he'll feel the same."

He looked around once more, then back to Anders with a small smile. "Good news is if he's awake, he's mostly safe. At least from demons."

Well that was weirdly comforting. Anders chuckled quietly, and then nodded. "I hope so." Of course Logan seemed weirdly ready to believe that Anders couldn't be real, that he didn't deserve love maybe? They hadn't worked that out yet, and he hoped he knew he hadn't left. "Maybe we should check the way we came into the tavern, that rampart? I don't know if he'd go that way or not, but we didn't see him coming up." He gestured toward the door that led out toward Cullen's tower.

Anders gestured for his other self to take the lead. "By all means, perhaps we should retrace your steps thus far." He felt a little pleased, that old happiness whenever he helped someone, to see his assurances had eased this Anders' mind somewhat.

With a nod, Anders turned and walked carefully toward the exterior door. He grimaced as he stepped over a patch on the boards. "Ugh. Sticky bar floor." His feet were going to be disgusting.

He led them out onto the walls and looked around before heading toward the tower they'd come through before.

(OOC: Should we switch to Logan and Marian so we know what happened there?)