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Dry lips clamped shut as Anders fixed his eyes on the imposing figure a few feet ahead of him.Alistair of the Grey Wardens, once-templar, Alistair King of Ferelden was standing in the centre of Anders's darktown clinic. Alistair was a man the mage had only heard of in legend and through his friend's wistful accounts, but he was a man whose signature had once given Anders his life…a life that Anders had thrown back in his face in what he knew damn well was nothing less than an act of treason. The mage's dreamlike state could almost convince him that he was in the fade right now and that this was all some manifestation of his own fears, but ...

He was falling. Hands groping at nothing but the blackness he was hurtling through until he felt something catch him. It was warm and comforting and it had Hawke's face. Anders turned his head to look behind him and there was Cortland, his strong arms wrapped around the mage's chest, his lips smiling fondly."H-hey." Stuttered Anders."Hey yourself" replied Hawke, in a voice that Anders could quite happily have wrapped himself up in. In fact, he did. Pulling the sound from within its owner and drawing it around him like a blanket as the lips that gave it life hummed gently at his ear."Anders. I know.""What?""All of it. I know what King Alist...