#about.anders

[oedonretired]

basically what it comes down to is that Elijah doesn’t care if Anders was “right” or not, or if anyone was “right” in fact. it was never his duty nor his desire to judge Anders, and being forced into that position greatly distressed him.

Anders was his friend. it didn’t mean that they always got along, or that they agreed on everything, or that they always took each other’s advice to heart, or that they didn’t hurt each other. to Elijah, it meant that he wouldn’t abandon Anders, even if it meant standing beside him at the gallows (or, at the Gallows, as it were). it meant that when everyone else would have given up, Eli would not.

he kicked Anders out of Kirkwall because he felt he’d done all he could. he felt that if Anders stayed, he would have fought to protect Anders, because that was his impulse-- and nothing would be learned from that. he felt like a hypocrite, because he’d killed as many people over time as Anders had, and this incident wasn’t even direct action on Anders’ part. he felt like a turncoat, because how many times had he stood between Anders and those who’d sought to punish him? and now he was the punisher? what fairness was this?

but as Fenris said to him, it wasn’t about fairness anymore. nothing about this situation was fair. it wasn’t fair that Anders had suffered for so long. it wasn’t fair that Justice had been pulled into a union neither of them could truly handle. it wasn’t fair that the Chantry let atrocities be committed under their jurisdiction, and that Chantry officials didn’t seem to care. it wasn’t fair that red lyrium had warped Meredith even farther beyond her own control. it wasn’t fair that the Circle suffered for it. it wasn’t fair that people had to die because other people felt so oppressed and dehumanised that they could imagine no other course of action. it wasn’t fair that Elijah’s dear friend, the seer Daniel, had to die to prevent even more people from dying in the Chantry blast. the list of unfairnesses was astronomically long.

what, then, was this unfairness? what, then, was Anders returning to the life of a fugitive, with Justice-become-Vengeance burning lesions in his mind, far away from his friends, a war roaring to life around him, a war that he did not begin, but helped to begin -- a war that he’d wanted?

it wasn’t fair. but it was just. Justice would have appreciated it, had he still been himself.

[oedonretired]

Elijah felt pretty responsible for what happened to the Chantry for a long time. He’d helped the Mage Underground and the Resolutionists too -- not to the extent that Anders had, of course, but he’d created diversions, stockpiled supplies, arranged transport, and thrown templars off the scent enough times that it’s highly likely that his efforts had supported the very mages who set the bombs.

He’d brought an apostate into his home, into his bed -- okay, two, I suppose, counting his botched love affair with Anders, but I was thinking of Alain. He’d spoken out against Elthina’s passivity and Meredith’s stranglehold tactics. He’d killed plenty a templar, even, so if Anders could be accused of incendiary behaviour, couldn’t he, as well?

Sometimes he thinks the only reason he’s gained Kirkwall’s love is because he’s not a mage the way they think of mages -- his hedge knowledge is easy to mask, especially around people who haven’t even been to Ferelden let alone anywhere near the Wilds (or the Frostbacks, seeing as the Avvar have similar techniques). I mean, that train of thought completely ignores that he’s done much for the city and its people, enough that a few missteps in judgement can be overlooked or forgiven, but of course in his point of view he hasn’t done all that much. Also, if he were a mage, it wouldn’t matter how much good he’d done. Ever.

Exiling Anders from Kirkwall feels like a betrayal. The only thing that makes it even a little easier is that Seneschal Varric sometimes brings back reports from his contacts in Ferelden and Orlais, but eventually those reports dry up as the Mage-Templar War escalates, and there’s nothing but the constant feeling of I’ve done him wrong, haven’t I. I’ve done them both wrong, irreparably, and I’ll never be absolved.