A/N:This story is about four people who are trying to live with the consequences of Anders and Justice merging; Anya Caron, Nathaniel Howe, Margaret Hawke and Anders. It will be very dark at times and will be from various points of view.
The Dragon Age timelines have never completely meshed and nowhere is that more apparent than DA2. So if my timeline seems off, it's because I'm trying to use one that makes sense.

By A Sea Divided

Prologue

Vigil's Keep – Two months after the death of the Architect

"Do not do this, Anders. You have no idea what merging with Justice will do to either of you," she pleaded.

"He'll die if I don't, Annie."

"Oh Anders, he is a spirit not a human and the human he does inhabit is already dead," she reminded him sadly. Her friend, Kristoff, was dead and his deteriorating body was now home to a Fade spirit. It was a horrible joke played on them all and she should never have allowed it to continue. There wasn't a day that went by that she didn't regret her moment of weakness.

"So what do we do, let him just die because of a single cruel act by a demon? Someone has to help him. Why not me?"

"Why not? Because you don't have any idea how he will react to real emotions. All he felt from Kristoff were memories, vague impression. Fingerprints, he called them. How will he deal with raw emotion?"

"I'll teach him how to deal with them, Annie. I'll work with him once we've merged." Anders grinned at her, earnest and boyish.

Anya Caron moved away from Anders and walked quickly to the door. Turning to face him, she spoke again. "Then you leave me no choice, Anders. As your commanding officer I am ordering you not to become a host for Justice. Do I make myself clear?"

"Ooh, look at you, all bossy and everything. You know I love it when you get all Commander Anya on me," Anders teased. He spread his arms wide, an invitation in his eyes.

She bit her cheek to keep from smiling. "I mean it, Anders," she said, serious.

He waggled his brows. She lowered her head, the anger and fear drifting away like so much smoke caught in a breeze.

"Yes, Commander," he replied meekly, spoiling it with a wink.

"Don't wink at me and don't think for a moment that my order is rescinded," she reprimanded before stepping into his arms.

He folded her close, his lips already searching for hers. Maker she loved him. He was so much more than the front he showed the world. To most he was just a charmer, a practical joker, a lady's man, a superficial person with little more on his mind than freedom, women and ale. But he was caring, passionate, brooding at times. He could be serious and compassionate and there were secrets he kept even from her, the woman he said he loved.

It wasn't that she didn't believe Anders when he claimed to love her but some instinct in her warned her that their ideas of love were very different. She had tried to hold onto her heart and the first few months of her tenure had been a dance between the two. He would move closer and she would step away. He was always there, constantly trying to help ease her burdens, calm her fears and somehow her carefully choreographed steps had led her right into his arms. And here she was, yet again, in his arms, shutting out her thoughts to concentrate on him.

In the morning, Anders was gone. In his place, resting on the pillow that still wore his scent, was a note.

Annie,

If you love me as you say you do then you'll understand why I have to do this. Justice had no choice in what happened to him. If I can help him then I must do it. To watch his spirit die, especially after all he has done for us, is wrong and you know it.

I promise you, my love, everything will be alright.

Anders

Anya flew out of bed and scrambled into her discarded clothes. Opening the door, still hopping on one foot as she struggled into her clothes, she was already calling for her Second.

"Nathaniel, we must find Anders and Justice immediately," she told the man as he appeared before her, seemingly from the shadows.

He was dressed, his hair neat and braided, his grey eyes calm and reassuring. Thank the Maker for that; she was anything but calm.

"Then he decided to host Justice?"

There was a tightness squeezing her chest, making it nearly impossible to breathe. "Yes."

By the time they found him it was too late to stop the merging. Kristoff was a crumpled, empty shell on the grass beside Anders, who was leaning against a tree, smiling at them as they approached.

"How could you both?" she demanded and her anger made her voice tremble. Her hands were curled into fists, resting on her hips.

"Calm yourself, Commander Anya. Everything is well, just as we promised."

The words were not Anders. Justice had made his presence known. Damn them both for disobeying her, for deciding on the reckless course of action that might destroy the man she loved and the spirit she had called friend.

"Nathaniel, confine Anders to his old quarters," she ordered her Second.

"Commander?" Nathaniel asked in surprise.

"Just do it."

"Oh, come on, Annie. Don't be angry," Anders cajoled. That was Anders speaking. Her anxiety increased tenfold. How would she ever know who was really in control, whose thoughts were being voiced? When she was being played? Her heart was breaking at what she felt she had to do.

"And have Maddie move his things back into his old room, as well."

"You are angry, Commander Anya. It is understandable, but allow us time to adjust and your concerns will be assuaged." Justice. The changing tones and cadence were making her faintly dizzy.

"I need to find Aura and let her know she can finally have Kristoff's funeral pyre," she said, ignoring the words he offered in comfort.

In the silence as she walked away, she thought she heard the sound of her heart shattering like a crystal goblet against a hearth. She could feel each shard pierce her soul.

"Anders, Rolan is accompanying us and there will be no more arguments. Now tell Oghren and Velanna to be ready in ten minutes."

Two weeks had passed since the merging and Anders seemed to have control over Justice but he admitted there were times when Justice simply took control of him, always with an apology. Anya knew she could no longer trust Ander and that traveling with their resident Warden templar was the only sensible thing to do. As much as she personally disliked the idea, she understood the necessity. Should Anders lose complete control, a templar was their best line of defense.

Word had spread throughout the Vigil that Justice was now living inside Anders and there were some who whispered that he was, for all practical purposes, an abomination. It hurt her to hear the whispered rumors and she did her best to quash them but there was more truth in the words than she liked to admit. Even Nathaniel, who had been best friends with Anders, no longer felt comfortable in his presence. She worried about the growing isolation Anders must be feeling but there was nothing, as the commander, that she could do about it. There were greater concerns, including sudden incursions of darkspawn in the north.

The darkspawn raiding party was easily dealt with. Both Velanna and Anders were powerful mages and Oghren was the fiercest warrior she had ever fought beside. Rolan was particularly good at smiting emissaries and protecting the mages. They were just burning the bodies when a group of templars rode up, their armor glinting with blinding intensity in the noonday sun, even through the haze from the burning darkspawn.

"Well met, travelers," Anya said, shading her eyes.

"We have business with one of your Wardens," a young man claimed, dismounting.

"Then you have business with me. I am Anya Caron, Commander of the Grey of Ferelden," she replied with quiet dignity.

"I am Knight Lieutenant Harmon. We have been informed that Warden Anders is, in fact, now an abomination as he houses a demon."

Anya felt a fleeting stab of panic before she straightened her shoulders and gave the man her haughtiest stare. "We have no abominations in our ranks, Knight Lieutenant Harmon, and these Wardens are under my jurisdiction, not the Chantry's."

"Here he is," Rolan interrupted, a smirk twisting his features. He pointed at Anders. Anya's hand came to rest on her daggers.

Her world exploded then. One minute Anders was standing there looking angry and afraid and the next he became a glowing blue creature of death and destruction. In one sweep of his hand, two of the templars began to burn from the inside out, writhing and twisting in agony as their screams echoed and reverberated off the surrounding hillsides.

"Anders, stand down!" she shouted above the screams.

"They will feel justice! They will burn for what they have done to mages!" Anders roared in a voice that was neither his nor Justice's voice. Her fear shot through her like a well aimed dagger.

"Stop this instant, Anders!" she yelled, reaching out a hand. He flung her back with the flick of a wrist, as if she weighed nothing. She went flying through the air and landed against a downed tree, her shoulder blooming with sudden pain; dizzy and dazed.

"Hey now, Sparklefingers, you can't…" Oghren began but trailed off as he too was tossed aside. Anya watched in horror as he landed near her. She shuddered as she heard the bones in his neck snap. His eyes stared at her, lifeless.

Velanna didn't have a chance to do more than try to protect herself in a thick wall of roots but it did no good. His spell wrapped around the roots and squeezed them. Velanna's scream rose above the others as she was slowly crushed by her own spell.

Smoke from burning bodies and nearby trees began to choke her. If she didn't move soon she would be dead and a new fear swept into her blood. If she didn't stop him, more than the Wardens and templars would be dead. He was capable of killing on a massive scale.

Pushing herself up, Anya growled in pain and fury. "Anders! Justice! Stop!"

He turned to her then and for the beat of a heart, she saw Anders, saw the stark terror in his eyes. "Anders, I love you. Don't do this," she pleaded, trying to reach him through the demon.

"I will feast on the flesh of the vanquished! They will know the wrath of justice!"

"This isn't justice, Anders. This is murder."

"The righteous have nothing to fear, mortal."

"What did Oghren do that was unjust? What injustice was Velanna guilty of?"

The man she had once loved turned from her and she watched in horror as the last templar fell to the ground, his body still smoldering.

Anya felt tears gather and begin to drip down her face. Whatever Anders had once been, whatever Justice had once been, they were no longer. The demon that stood before her wore Anders' body but he was not Anders. With that thought came the knowledge that there was only one course of action left open to her. She would have to kill him. Anya reached down and grabbed up a discarded sword. Digging in her heels, she launched herself at the demon.

The monster before her, shimmering blue in the smoky haze, was much too quick for her and he grabbed her by her hair, pulling her off her feet. As hard as she tried to stifle it, a scream was torn from her throat. He shook her before tossing her aside and she screamed again as a patch of scalp and hair was torn from her head. It was the last thing she remembered.

Nathaniel was silent as he rode. Sigrun had stayed behind at the Vigil in case Anya and her party returned by another route. He had gathered several Wardens and ridden out. Anya was long overdue and his thoughts were dark. He should not have allowed her to go off with Anders. He should have led the group, he was her Second. But Anya would not hear of it.

Anya. Only in his thoughts did he allow himself to call her that. Whenever he spoke to her, he always remained formal, professional. It was the only way he could keep his feelings in check. He loved her. Maker, he loved her and it was all he could do, some days, to keep from shouting it out loud. Of course he wouldn't ever do that. He refused to allow himself to even think such thoughts most days. Besides, his feelings didn't matter. As long she loved Anders he would not even hint at how he felt. When he had seen Anders and Anya falling in love, he had been happy for both of them, envious. He was still so busy being bitter about his family's lot, his father's treachery, that he hadn't realized until it was far too late, just how much he had come to love his Orlesian commander. With a scowl, he pushed his thoughts away. There was no sense going down that path, he would not dishonor her or his best friend by confessing his love.

It was nearly a full day before Nathaniel and his party found the site of the massacre. He slowly dismounted and motioned for the two men traveling with him to stay back. His bile rose and his stomach lurched. There was nothing more nauseating then the smell of burnt flesh and blood. Andraste's grace, what had caused such carnage? His heart stuttered and nearly stopped.

"Anya! Commander Anya!" he called out, his voice hoarse with a sudden dread.

In all his time fighting darkspawn, he had never seen the amount of damage inflicted on a man as he saw now. Bone and flesh separated and strewn around the field, mingling with ash and the skeletal remains of trees, burnt almost white by the heat of a fire.

He found what was left of Oghren first. Bright red hair that had been dulled by the dried blood in it and he was missing an eye, a leg. Nathaniel emptied the contents of his stomach behind a bush, too dazed to care if the men with him viewed it as a weakness.

"Find the commander!" he shouted and began to frantically search through the torn and broken bodies. He was gagging from the stench, the sight. Maker, what had happened? Were those teeth marks in Velanna's arm? His stomach roiled, his heart skittered in his chest. He would not allow himself to believe Anya was dead as well. She was smart and strong and clever enough to survive any attack. He believed in her ability to survive. He had to. It was all he had left to believe in.

He stood up on unsteady legs and moved to another clump of bodies. Ruthlessly tossing aside what had once been a friend, he finally spotted her. She was slightly apart from the others, lying face down, a leg twisted at an odd angle. He scrambled over to her and knelt beside her.

"Anya? Anya I'm here," he whispered, forcing himself to touch her, terrified it was too late, that he was too late. Maker, he was too late to have protected her and what in the name of the Andraste had done this to her? His eyes smarted with tears from the smoke, from the overwhelming sense of guilt that slammed into him.

A moan. A barely audible sound and it was all he needed for his heart to start beating again. "Don't move, Commander. I think your leg is broken."

Her scalp was missing a chunk of skin and hair; oozing blood. In addition to her leg being broken, it appeared her left arm was as well. The surprising thing was that she was alive at all, given the state of the other bodies. Someone, some thing, had been in a blind rage to have torn the others apart.

A sudden rush of adrenaline pumped into his veins. "Anders?" he asked the others, who were standing around in a semi-circle, shocked and immobile.

"Not here," Robson, a young recruit answered bitterly.

No. Not Anders. Anders couldn't hurt a fly. He hated to see anyone in pain. He wasn't capable of this kind of destruction. Nathaniel shook his head. "Look again," he ordered coldly.

"Nathaniel," his commander, his Anya, whispered. She had turned her face to look at him, her eyes rimmed with dirt and blood.

"Shhh, don't try and talk, Commander," he soothed, allowing himself to touch her cheek.

"You have to stop him," she told him in a reedy voice.

"Who? Who did this?" Nathaniel demanded but the truth was already there, waiting to confront him.

"Anders."

He sank back on his heels, shaking his head. Anders loved her. He could never hurt her. He wouldn't. On the heels of his denial came a rage, burning through the blinding fog of shock. He would find Anders and kill him for what he'd done. Even if it meant breaking Anya's heart.

He set her leg and her arm, splinted them with what little wood they could find that wasn't charred. Her screams echoed eerily in the air, each scream a dagger to his heart, fueling his vengeance. But somehow, through it all, he remained calm and reassuring, his eight years of training in the Free Marches coming to bear. He would not add to her grief by letting his rage surface.

"You men help me move her over to that copse by the creek and then ride back to the Vigil and fetch a healer and a wagon. Tell Varel to have a room prepared for her on the ground floor and tell Sigrun what's happened. Don't tell anyone else."

She whimpered and cried out as they moved her but she didn't awaken. Nathaniel watched the men ride off and then went and settled beside her, stroking her cheek and waiting.

He was a patient man.

Anders woke up drenched in blood, to find himself staring at the night sky. He had no idea where he was or how he had arrived there. It didn't take any time to ascertain that the blood was not his and that filled him with a foreboding that nearly choked him.

Ah, you are awake. We need to leave here. I am not afraid of their wrath but you will need to be.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" Anders asked, rubbing his head in confusion.

I am what you created. Justice, Vengeance, they are the same. One is just swifter than the other, Anders.

"No! No, no, no," Anders moaned as he was shown a mental image of the carnage. Maker, he hadn't killed Anya? Oghren? Velanna?

"That's not justice. Justice is tempered by mercy," Anders whispered, heartsick.

The one you call Anya lives. I did not kill her even when she tried to kill me. I will not be so forgiving again.

"You will not lay a hand on her!" Anders cried fiercely. "You will not!"

She did not show you mercy when she came at you with a sword, Anders. I will reply in kind the next time I see her.

"I love her, Justice. You know what love is. The feeling that Kristoff had for Aura, you spoke of it. That was love. Remember," Anders pleaded.

Sleep, Anders. You are overwrought.

Hours turned into a day and then another before he had the energy to strip and bathe in a small pond, shivering as the cool night air blew against his bare skin. He tried to clean the blood off his robes but it was impossible, a bitter reminder of what his anger had done. What he had done. He wept, alone in the dark, sitting on a rock by a pond in a place he didn't know.

Somehow he would make amends. Somehow. And he had to get word to Anya that he was alive. He knew the instant the thought came to him that he could not risk contacting her. The spirit within him that had once been friend, would strike her down. He had promised Anders and Anders had no reason not to believe him.

He sighed, knowing he would have to leave behind the people he had come to care so deeply for; Anya, Nathaniel, Varel, Sigrun. He wept for them, grieving for the loss of Oghren and Velanna, weeping for the loss of himself. Curling up in the reedy grass, he fell asleep.

In the morning, he rose and began to head north, towards the coast. His clothes were marginally cleaner and he supposed he could steal some off a clothesline if he passed near one. He checked his kit. Thirty seven sovereigns winked at him in the morning light. That would have to do. He'd go as far as he could on it and hope it was far enough.

It took him as far as Kirkwall.