#anyway! women when they possess a rare and marvelous spirit but rare and marvelous spirits cannot survive

[lavellane]

"Presenting Her Worship, the Lady Inquisitor Ashara Dhavise of Clan Lavellan, First to Keeper Deshanna Lavellan, Anointee of the Second Inquisition, Herald of Andraste, Right Hand of Divine Victoria, Vessel of the Vir'Abelasan, Comtesse of Kirkwall, Lady of Skyhold, Slayer of the false god Corypheus, Slayer of the false god Hakkon, Slayer of the false god Fen'harel."

[talesfromthefade]

Sonja Hawke & Justice (background Sonja Hawke & Anders), on the run Post-DA2, for @dadrunkwriting and  @superfluouskeys

“I don’t hate you, you know. Justice,” Sonja adds softly, just in case the spirit mistakes her speech for being for Anders’ sake rather than his own. “Anders is sleeping, but you can hear me, can’t you?” “I can,” a deep voice replies, just as glowing blue lines spark to life across the sleeping man’s face. Anders' eyes remain closed, body still and peaceful, undisturbed as the spirit takes control. An easy task while the other is unconscious and busy roaming the Fade. Normally, Justice would be with him, in the Fade, when the mage is receptive to it, it can provide a chance for them to talk as they once did when he had inhabited Kristoff’s body. Once in a rare while, Justice is able to shape the Fade around them just enough to ward off Anders’ nightmares and the whispers of the Darkspawn. Tonight, however, it seems Sonja Hawke has something to say to him, and anyway, the spirit reasons, with their hasty retreat from Kirkwall none too far behind them, Anders is unlikely to wish for his company anyway. He has been… preoccupied, as of late. “You are not angry that you had to leave your home? Your family,” the spirit asks finally. “I didn’t have to leave,” the rogue points out patiently. “I chose to.” “Anders worries he pressured you. That he made you come with us.” “I know he does,” Sonja nods with a small, heavy sigh, shaking her head. “Is that why you have not told him about the child?” Sonja’s gaze drops instinctively to her stomach, though from beneath the cover of her warmest and thickest traveling cloak there’s little to see yet. Even beneath them, there’s only the slightest hint of a bump to suggest anything. She shouldn’t be surprised the spirit figured it out before she said anything. She isn’t really. “Anders does not know. Not yet,” the spirit continues, seeming to sense her thoughts. “But he is a healer. He will figure it out eventually, even with these distractions and bouts of… self-pity.” Sonja chuckles, even after all these years there are still moments when it is crystal clear Justice doesn’t come from this world or share the experiences or knowledge of what it is to be human. “I wish he would talk to me,” she whispers softly, more to herself than anything. “He wants to,” Justice replies. “He believes you would scold him, for… ‘abusing’ himself as he is.” He would be right, Sonja thinks with a fond smile at her sleeping lover. “He is being stubborn,” Justice assesses, drawing another soft laugh from her. And you wouldn’t know anything about that, the rogue thinks amused. Justice, however, doesn’t ask. “You did not agree with our decision to blow up the Chantry,” the spirit offers up some minutes later finally breaking the quiet stillness that has fallen between them. It isn’t a question, but it is clear this is something the spirit has likely been hoping to clarify with her, perhaps since that night’s events that prompted them to leave Kirkwall behind. “No,” Sonja replies, glancing out to the stars that glimmer in the clear night’s sky just beyond the mouth of the cave. “I understand why you think you had to,” she continues after a moment with a soft sigh, still not looking at them. After what had happened to Karl, after everything that she witnessed and heard of the oppression and abuses, the crimes committed against mages in Kirkwall, how could she not understand the impatience? The hopelessness? Raised by a mage, growing up with two siblings who possessed magic, living in fear, in hiding, how could she not understand? How could she help but sympathize with their plight? “I’m just not sure it was justice,” she admits finally turning back to face the pair of them once more. She half expects Justice to shout. He frequently forgets just how unnecessarily loud he is when he speaks, and moreover, he has never been especially patient, spirits lacking any tangible concept of time. It is a marvel, she thinks reflecting on it, that Anders was able to convince the spirit to wait as many years as he had on their violent solution to the tensions between mages and templars. She recalls with sadness watching the weight of it slowly pressing down on him over their years together, new lines as they had appeared on his face, the stray gray here or there in his otherwise bright strawberry blonde locks. More frowns and fewer smiles and laughter as time went on. It is eerie to instead find the spirit so quiet. Waiting for her to continue, to explain herself. Sonja doesn’t keep him waiting long. “What has been done to the mages out of fear, and because of the evils of a few and even sins from long ago is unjust,” she acknowledges evenly. “They deserve freedom, the chance to make their own decisions, to prove and make a life for themselves the same as anyone.” Justice hums in approval but continues to let her speak. “But the Grand Cleric wasn’t the only one in the Chantry. There were Mothers and Sisters, parishioners- men, women, perhaps even children. Humans, elves, dwarves,” she lists heavily. “Did you account for them? For their lives, their potential futures? Was what happened to them just? What about the mages who died in the fighting? The Tranquil? The citizens crushed in the rubble, or killed by looters? The families who lost someone,” the rogue asks, watching the blue-lined face as glowing eyes open to look at her curiously. “Justice is a fine idea. A noble thing to aspire to be or to find,” she nods. “But it is rarely simple or so easily determined. You see a big picture, but Anders and I, we see the little pieces too, the little people that make it up, and we have to live with that. Just because a person may be little in the grand scheme of things doesn’t make them any less important,” she continues, glancing meaningfully down to her lap once more, where a hand has come to rest over the new life blossoming within her. “Justice for those dead, for the people that mourn them, might have been your lives,” Sonja continues softly. “We expected that. We were prepared to-“ “I know,” Sonja interrupts with a nod. “I know you were. But Anders, the Knight-Commander, the First-Enchanter, they placed the decision in my hands, and I was not. I was not prepared to lose you. Not if I could help it. Not then, and not now.” Justice nods, continuing to watch her, though it’s clear enough even without him speaking this is yet another bit of the human experience that doesn’t entirely make sense to him. “This guilt Anders carries around is unnecessary,” Sonja continues, with a soft rueful smile to the spirit and her slumbering lover’s form, “and if he’s any more likely to listen to you, then you have my leave to tell him I said so. I have always known the sort of man he was. That this cause was important to him, and sometimes it would come first, even before me. I have always known that. I have accepted that. I know that he loves me, just as much as I love him, and I would not see him change or be anything other than he is.” “But this,” the rogue whispers, flattened palm rubbing small and affectionate circles over her abdomen. “I am happy. I want this. I know it won’t be easy, but few things worthwhile ever are. I can do this. We can. And I don’t regret it, not for a moment. I don’t want Anders to either. I don’t want him to feel guilty or sorry for me about this. Right now, he’s still working through what happened and how he feels about all of this. He needs time. We can give him that, there is still plenty of it yet.” “I discouraged Anders from pursuing any relationship with you,” Justice admits. There’s no remorse in his tone, merely a statement of fact, a confession of something long past and immutable. Sonja nods. “Anders told me. He said you thought I was a distraction.” “You are. Sometimes,” the spirit amends thoughtfully. “But I may have been wrong in suggesting he should stay away. You are- good for him, I think. Perhaps for us both. You are patient, gentle, kind. You can reach and comfort him in ways which I cannot and do not understand.” Sonja smiles softly, touched by the sentiment; that the spirit would even notice or acknowledge such a thing. “Names are simple in the Fade. If one has one at all, then it is simply what they are. Justice. Wisdom. Compassion. Faith...” Justice blurts our suddenly, the abrupt change of subject throwing Sonja for just a moment. “That mage who kidnapped Anders and I and used blood magic to subdue us,” he continues. “Her name was a lie.” Yes, Sonja thinks, recalling vividly those terrifying moments of finding Anders prone on the ground and watching Grace’s bloodlust consume her as she killed Thrask. “You do not use your first name often. Even Anders calls you Hawke, or names of affection. I should like to call you by your middle name if you would not object. Anders tells me that it means ‘Peace’. That is- honest. It is, what you are. It suits you better than that blood mage’s ever suited her.” “Irene,” Sonja asks curiously, trying the name out. Justice nods. “Yes, alright,” she agrees. “If you’d like.” “Thank you,” the spirit hums appreciatively. “Now you should get some sleep. For you and the baby. I will alert you and Anders if anything comes.” Sonja thinks for a moment about protesting, before an involuntary and irrepressible yawn comes forth. She is tired. She nods. “Good night, Justice.” “Sleep well, Irene.”