Dragon Age: Light of the Maker

06. A SWORD TO PIERCE THE SUN

CHAPTER VI: A SWORD TO PIERCE THE SUN
❅ ANDERS ❅
"Now her hand is raised
A sword to pierce the sun
With iron shields she defends the faithful
Let chaos be undone."
- Canticle of Victoria 1:3

The rain fell heavy on his shoulders, seeping through his feather pauldrons and dampening the cold skin beneath. Moonlight illuminated the dark alleyways he moved through, casting an eerie white glow over the city of Denerim. He had not been to this city in over ten years, not since defeating the Architect alongside Warden-Commander Alfstanna. Many things had changed since then - and not just when it came to the city. Then, he had been solely Anders, a young boy with too much fire for his own good standing at the side of Alfstanna Amell to face down an ancient, talking darkspawn and a flailing, giant beast with countless tentacles responsible for birthing the very evil Anders had been sworn in to defeat.

Of course, he hadn't realized it at the time, but things had been much easier back then. Defeating a merchant prince's coup to take Alfstanna's power over Amaranthine, venturing deep into tunnels that hadn't been touched for centuries to save estranged elves and kill corrupted dragons, pushing back a darkspawn incursion to save an entire city. It sounded impossible. But beneath face value, everything had been quite straight forward. Kill, or be killed.

Things today were rather muddled with grey areas and half of the world wanting him dead. It was simpler having just templars chasing him down with pitchforks.

He stood beneath the porch's roof behind the Wonders of Thedas shop. Slowly, he lowered his hood and waited.

How long had it been since he'd seen Miryam? He briefly caught a glimpse of her during a soiree Alfstanna invited him to, but beyond that brief glance, had it truly been since they lived in the Circle together? Those days seemed like they belonged to another man entirely. He supposed that in a sense, they did. He wasn't just Anders anymore. He was Justice. He was Vengeance. In the days of his Circle time, he had just been a rebellious boy more concerned with himself and petty spite than actual freedom and absolution. He'd been responsible for a lot of the increased security measures and decreased privileges - not that it mattered. Whether they were allowed to write to their family and go outside or not, they were still trapped in the Circle. They were still constantly being watched by their templar overlords.

Miryam never understood that. She'd hated him, blaming him for all the things the templars didn't allow her to do. But she had loved him, too, and he had loved her. As often as they argued, there'd been a couple times where they had shared bodies in a broom closet. Anders had always seen those trysts as romance desperately trying to bloom into something meaningful amidst all that darkness, but now? It was just sad, pathetic.

That all came to a cease when Anders finally kicked the bucket and escaped the Circle for good. Were it not for Alfstanna Conscripting him into the Wardens, he'd have surely been brought back to the Circle kicking and screaming. For a time, his freedom alone was enough for him. But one companion Alfstanna had picked up kept digging at what he had buried deep inside, had been too afraid to bring to the surface knowing the fate of so many rebellious mages before him. It just so happened that that companion had the power to make Anders strong enough to come to terms with the fact that his freedom was ashes compared to all the imprisoned mages he had left behind in the Circle.

So he'd used his freedom to fight for the liberty of others, and here he stood all these years later, proclaimed a notorious traitor, a murderer, a terrorist. There was no price he would not pay for justice.

Footsteps were approaching, soft and wet against the muddied ground. A hooded figure of six feet joined him on the porch and reached up with pudgy hands to lower the hood, revealing a freckled face framed by silver curls that caught the moonlight. Miryam Mottiere was as beautiful as Anders remembered her to be, but there was a severity to her now that he did not recognize.