Two hours seems a bit long to Justice and he says as much to Anders, but Anders thinks it might be needed. They can't keep operating on reserves. He's also far less inclined to argue as she's just tucked him in.
"Thank you," he says instead of teasingly asking if she'll tell him a bedtime story because he's not a complete idiot. 'I would not be so convinced of that,' Justice counters and Anders sighs before closing his eyes. Sleep comes quickly, thankfully.
It starts as one of his happier dreams, cold rain soaking him but he's out in the rain and there's a satisfaction in that despite how he still hates the cold. There's wind, too, but it's not blowing that hard - he's running into it. Its bite feels like hope, and even Compassion can feel and echo his joy. A trip and he's rolling down the tree-covered hill, mud everywhere, and he laughs anyway. There are creeks everywhere. He'll jump in one. He can jump in one.
But there's a shift, an awareness that comes just before the first torch flares into life ahead of him, the first shout comes from the right. Elation transforms into fear when there's another noise from the left. They're ahead of him and flanking him. All they need is a clear line of sight, and up ahead is a clearing.
Anders turns and runs back. There's got to be a way to lose them. He can't give up. He can't go back, not again, not when he's finally felt rain once more, not to those walls, and he prays desperately to the Maker, Andraste, anyone who will listen. They fail to hear him, or they fail to care. Either way, they fail, because there are more torches behind him and he doesn't even have time to wonder how they cornered him like this before Silence hits and the world becomes distant, fuzzy, and Compassion is gone. He only has a few seconds of panic before he's hit with Smite and sent to the ground, pain going through the whole of his body.
The laughter might be worse than the way everything hurts. They've won again and they know it, and shackles are snapped around his wrists and ankles. The first boot lands in his ribs moments after the snap of metal is done, the second is quick to follow, along with scattered words and phrases - troublemaker, waste, make him reconsider trying this again. His eyes can't focus, but there's a tug on his arms and suddenly he's pulled, hard, upward and forward and he lands on his face, being dragged as more laughter rings out. He can't get to his feet for more than a few seconds because they're chained together, and every time he fails there's more pain.
The world blurs all the more as his focus narrows down to breathing and trying to keep moving, ignoring the slickness that he's pretty sure is no longer rain alone on his wrists and the increasing burn in his shoulders. He falls into a rhythm, using his wrists to keep himself upright when he slips, hop-walking through mud, mentally repeating one thing over and over - he will be free.
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"Thank you," he says instead of teasingly asking if she'll tell him a bedtime story because he's not a complete idiot. 'I would not be so convinced of that,' Justice counters and Anders sighs before closing his eyes. Sleep comes quickly, thankfully.
It starts as one of his happier dreams, cold rain soaking him but he's out in the rain and there's a satisfaction in that despite how he still hates the cold. There's wind, too, but it's not blowing that hard - he's running into it. Its bite feels like hope, and even Compassion can feel and echo his joy. A trip and he's rolling down the tree-covered hill, mud everywhere, and he laughs anyway. There are creeks everywhere. He'll jump in one. He can jump in one.
But there's a shift, an awareness that comes just before the first torch flares into life ahead of him, the first shout comes from the right. Elation transforms into fear when there's another noise from the left. They're ahead of him and flanking him. All they need is a clear line of sight, and up ahead is a clearing.
Anders turns and runs back. There's got to be a way to lose them. He can't give up. He can't go back, not again, not when he's finally felt rain once more, not to those walls, and he prays desperately to the Maker, Andraste, anyone who will listen. They fail to hear him, or they fail to care. Either way, they fail, because there are more torches behind him and he doesn't even have time to wonder how they cornered him like this before Silence hits and the world becomes distant, fuzzy, and Compassion is gone. He only has a few seconds of panic before he's hit with Smite and sent to the ground, pain going through the whole of his body.
The laughter might be worse than the way everything hurts. They've won again and they know it, and shackles are snapped around his wrists and ankles. The first boot lands in his ribs moments after the snap of metal is done, the second is quick to follow, along with scattered words and phrases - troublemaker, waste, make him reconsider trying this again. His eyes can't focus, but there's a tug on his arms and suddenly he's pulled, hard, upward and forward and he lands on his face, being dragged as more laughter rings out. He can't get to his feet for more than a few seconds because they're chained together, and every time he fails there's more pain.
The world blurs all the more as his focus narrows down to breathing and trying to keep moving, ignoring the slickness that he's pretty sure is no longer rain alone on his wrists and the increasing burn in his shoulders. He falls into a rhythm, using his wrists to keep himself upright when he slips, hop-walking through mud, mentally repeating one thing over and over - he will be free.