in the lowest of places

It was not often that Merilin traveled without Eriar; especially if he traveled as far as he had. But the eluvians made travel easier, faster, and something in his mind was convincing him that he needed to go to the Marches. There was something he needed to find; another part of himself out there and it was in this area of Thedas. And that is how the scientist (some may say mad) and mercenary found himself walking Lowtown.

Hands in his pockets, he's following an invisible pull. It's not logical, but then, there's not a lot of logic in upending his evening to go find something without an explanation of what he was searching for.

He was clothed at least when he woke up. That was a bonus. Usually, when he woke up in a weird place with a pounding headache there was half a chance he’d be without his clothing as well. Anders hadn’t really been one to drink much in his old age as a father of two teens. As a perpetually hated and wanted man getting black out drunk was not really a smart decision. Which was one of the reasons Anders was shocked when he woke up in a strange place with no memory of what happened in the days before. Then the realization hit him.

No, no, no.

Anders pushed himself up to his knees and buried his face in his hands for a moment, trying to draw any remnant of what had happened out from Justice or Elgar’nan or whoever had taken up residence in his head with him.

I swear to the maker if you have hurt anyone I will end it this time… he all but screamed to the voice within his head. I’ll make it my mission to destroy us both. To rip us both into shreds. You will not cause harm with my hands. You hear me?

Silence rang back at him. Whatever the ancient elven mage had been using him for must have tired the spirit out too much. Anders stomach turned and he used a nearby tree to pull him to his feet, still trying to find even a thread of memory of even how long he’d been out for.

Merilin walked right past Anders, before pausing a few feet past him. He turned to study the man, raising an eyebrow as he took him in. He didn't look like much. Whether this was the scientist or the shard thinking, it probably didn't matter because they agreed.

It looked as if this man did not have as much control over himself as Merilin did. A humorless chuckle left his throat, as he moved towards the stranger.

Do you need help? He inquired. The humming in his head told him that he was in front of the right person; he felt it in his bones, too.

It wasn’t a tree beneath his hands. The wood belonged to a stall. The sounds of a city hit him suddenly and then the smell of piss and ale and saltwater followed. His vision stopped spinning and he looked up and almost promptly threw up as Kirkwall’s Lowtown appeared before him.

You son of a bitch. You stupid son of a bitch. You brought us HERE? Of all the Maker’s damned places!

Before he could help himself he looked first in the direction of Hightown it used to be one could see the top of the Chantry, just below the Viscount’s palace. There was another building in the spot where that once stood, shorter it seemed from the angle he was standing. Of course, they would rebuild it. That made sense. It was strange to see the familiar skyline changed to the point it was and odder still to feel guilt upon looking at it rather than fury and rage. His eyes darted next toward where the Gallows stood. It was still there but while the rest of the city seemed to have been rebuilt the Gallows stood empty.

His heart hammered in his chest as he took stock of the rest of himself, his feet taking him toward an alley. It seemed he still knew his way around somewhat because he was under cover quickly. Anders took stock of himself once he was sure he was somewhat hidden. He felt the weight of his staff across his back and became aware of the cloak on his back, though the hood must have fallen at some point. The sun was starting to set so the dark would only help him get the hell out of the city. Though it might be better to just bunker down. Bethany was still in the area, wasn’t she? He could get word to her.

Before he could make a plan of action however someone was standing in front of him. The moment the man was within reach Elgar’nan hummed inside him. It was an elf in front of him but there was something more. The mage took a step back and exhaled, ”No, I’m fine, excuse me.” he said, pulling the hood of the cloak down further to shield his face.

Merilin tilted his head, and as the stranger moved to step back, hide his face, he'd feel Merilin reach to grab his arm. You've got something that I need. It's not desperate, though there is a hint of urgency in his tone. He's no idea what the damned Evanuris would do if this shard escaped them.

You don't seem very fine. Then again... it's a bit unsettling, being possessed by someone so powerful. The words are quietly spoken, so that none might overhear them.

Anders jerked at the touch, his eyes catching that of the other male. He pulled free from his grip, his freehand reaching behind him to grasp the handle of his staff. His stomach was churning. This was not a place he wanted to be. He didn't feel safe. It hadn't been long enough for him to be completely forgotten by the people here and this man was too intent and too focused. It was unsettling and the stirring inside him started to build. Whatever was happening, whatever was going on was waking Elgar'nan up and that could end disastrous.

The air can't still hold the tang of acrid smoke and burnt flesh after all these years, can it? The screams can't still be echoing around every corner.

"I don't know what you need, but I can assure you I have nothing. Not even a copper in my pocket. I don't want trouble."

Another attempt to pull away and walk past the male. This time however it was the other male's words that stopped him.

Anders turned around slowly to look at him, "I've more experience than most..." he paused and looked around.

Half a street down and to the left... if the entrance hasn't been blocked off after all this time... and if someone hadn't moved in...

"Follow me. Keep your head down and don't draw attention."

He made his way into the street, moving with a practiced swiftness, bending over and prying the sewer entrance up and seeing the ladder descending into darkness he started his way down, his feet landing, kicking up dust. Veilfire flared from his hands it was always Veilfire these days and he looked around, his heart slamming into his chest.

It was just like he'd left it over a decade ago.

Merilin smiled, the kind of smile no-one ever wanted to see. But soon enough, he was following the man. Head down, hood drawn. He looked like any other person of no consequence wandering Lowtown.

Nostrils flared at the dusty interior, as he followed down into the sewer. Once his feet finally found solid ground again, he brushed himself off.

Elgar'nan wants to trade. Because the Evanuris loved their games. He does not elaborate further, though it would appear this location would be perfect for the exchange.

Another spirit, Merilin knew not which spirit would find them down here, for the other half of Elgar'nan. He had a nullification amulet ready; and he would go home to Eriar and the Ebongarde and forget any of this ever happened.

He hoped.

Anders was in no way prepared for this. He wasn’t prepared to be in Kirkwall. He wasn’t prepared for someone to find him and ask him about the ancient elven whatever using his body as his personal puppet.

Maker, he hated him. This wasn’t his friend from Amaranthine. And where he once blamed himself for corrupting his friend he had the itching feeling in the back of his mind that this entity within him had never been his friend.

”Does he now? Well, Elgar’nan can go back to the fade where he fucking belongs. I’m not giving him anything he wants. Not ever again.”

Anders was angry. Angry that he’d been dragged back to his own personal hell. Angry that he’d been forced to confront this place again after all these years. Angry that after he’d done everything he could to send the spirit that had inhabited his form away that he’d been forced to deal with him yet again.

Had he brought him here to set him off foot? To make him weaker? As the anger burned in him he could feel it feeding the entity inside of him, giving him power and it made him tremble slightly.

Merilin stared at the stranger, shrugging. I'm just doing what I'm told. And without another word, Merilin does a quick spell on himself; yanking the shard within his body out.

This is performed on Anders, as well. It's painless, or it was for Merilin. For Anders, if he resisted he'd feel burning pain as if he were on fire. Elgar'nan didn't want to stay; he wanted to use them to get what he was after. Which was to be made whole again.

The shards glimmered in the dank space, dancing around one another as Merilin held the levitating pieces of soul in each hand.

And he brought his hands together. The force of the shards meeting and combining would cause the earth under their feet to tremble and shake. The two men would find themselves knocked backwards and briefly blinded by a bright light.

Too long. It had been too long. He'd felt every moment of it. From the shattering to the vessel to now. It was the culmination of his torment, the hellish punishment for which he would know for millennia to come if Mythal had anything to say about it. But even Mythal knew that death was never the end. 

How could it be? 

How could such a miraculous moment be anything but a grand beginning? Sure, the story as it was known was true. The legend of his defeat based on first hand account. But in all of that, no one managed to notice faintest hint of determinable vitality. A kind of persistence that stood the test of scrutiny by the keenest of eyes. As far as any one knew, his death was certain. 

And confidence is blinding. 

It was no easy feat to influence the vessels via his shattered consciousness. He was never whole, never complete, one without the other. He would not survive it. But death remembered him like an old friend. Smiling at him just beyond clear regard, a silent acknowledgement of what he stood to loose. 

He pressed forward, growing bolder by the day, sinking his control deeper and deeper still until...

The union was euphoric. Ying and yang fitting together perfectly to make the whole, two consciousness made whole again. In a blinding nova, he pieced himself together one tendril at a time. Until finally in what felt like another millennia (in reality a couple seconds) his transformation was complete. 

As the white light abated, his own body absorbing the power, he was able to be distinguished for how he now appeared. 

God made flesh. The flesh of his origin. Raw and naked as the day he was brought into existence. 

He held his hands up in front of him, impossibly large onyx orbes unblinking. He flexed his fingers, spreading and wiggling each and then forming a fist. His attention was rapt, his notice of the two mortals cowering before him remained undisturbed.

Anders tried with everything in him to hold back whatever was getting ripped from him. This piece of this elven god. This walking form of vengeance and rage. He tried his hardest to prevent this ancient thing from becoming whole. It felt like an alcohol fire was searing through his veins, burning him from the inside out. He gripped a post near the wall to keep standing.

It was all for nothing.

It wasn’t often that Anders stood shorter than someone else but this so called God-King was one of the few. Anders continued to lean onto the post, the pain of having the shard unwillingly pulled from him making him tremble. His vision swam slightly but he didn’t let the darkness overtake him. Not in front of the bastard that had helped drive him to the darkest deeds he’d ever committed.

His brown eyes narrowed at the figure as his stomach roiled with bile and he pushed to stand straighter, tilting his chin up. It didn’t pass his notice that this being in front of him could potentially end his life but Anders was a stubborn son-of-a-bitch and had no intentions of yielding.

Not today.