Chapter Fifty-Three

There are many things an Alliance marine never wants to see upon opening her eyes. On the top of Shepard's list, she would have said Reapers, followed closely by batarian slavers, vorcha, and an angry CO. But those things were suddenly thrust aside by the image of Hawke, completely untrained in the use of firearms, standing over her holding an M-92 Mantis in firing mode with all safeties off.

She was flung from the muzzy state of half-consciousness to full battlefield-readiness in half a second.

"Freeze!" she shouted, rolling to her feet. "Don't move a muscle!"

Hawke complied, largely out of shock. Merrill, however, leapt up, levelling her staff at the far doorway and filming it over with a faint crust of ice.

And that was when the conscious knowledge that she now held the entirety of a long-dead prothean's memories hit Shepard.

Her breath caught in her throat, eyes widening in shock and realization, and she sat back down with a thump. For a breathless moment, there was silence. And then:

"Sorry," apologized Merrill in a tiny voice. "I'm not terribly good with ice."

"Shepard?" asked Hawke in a cautious tone. "Are you all right?"

An identity crisis would just have to wait until after Hawke was disarmed. Trying to steady her breath and pounding heart, Shepard held out one hand warningly.

"Hawke?" she managed between gulping breaths. "I need you to put the rifle down. Very. Carefully."

"No!" she yelled, when the barrel began to swing forward as Hawke shifted the gun in her grip.

"No," she repeated more quietly. "Just set it down exactly as it is now, pointing to your left." The wandering muzzle had covered about a quarter of Hawke's forward line of fire in an instant, nearly coming to rest on Merrill. Shepard had never maintained any of her rifles on a hair trigger - she saved that for her Carnifex and the Locust - but accidents could happen, and none of them were wearing armor.

Blinking owlishly, Hawke did as she was instructed. Once Garrus was safely on the floor, Shepard took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Good," she said. "Excellent."

"Shepard," Hawke pointed out gently, "you're shaking."

Shepard glanced at her hands. Hawke was right. They were trembling. As if spurred on by the attention, the trembling began to intensify, until Shepard's whole body was shuddering and her teeth were chattering.

"S-shock," she managed to stutter out. "D-damn b-beacons. D-damn protheans."

"What happened?" Hawke pressed, squatting down by Shepard and eyeing her with concern. "That looks like the beacon in Fenris's mansion. Was it some kind of trap?"

Shepard tipped her head ruefully. "N-not intentionally, no," she answered, wrapping her arms around herself. "The b-beacon was t-tampered with."

"By the people who came later?" Hawke asked curiously.

Merrill was watching Shepard carefully, and before the Spectre could answer, the slight elf interrupted.

"Maybe we should go back outside?" she suggested. "I can make more nettle tea." She gave Shepard an encouraging smile. "It'll help warm you up."

Shepard gave a partial shake of her head. "N-not cold. Just shocky." Belatedly, Shepard keyed up her omni-tool to verify her surmise, and shook her head again. Her vitals were all over the place. Chakwas would be having a fit. "But you're right about going back to c-camp."

With Hawke's help, Shepard retrieved Garrus and got to her feet. "Let's go."

"See?" Hawke said reasonably as she steadied the Spectre. "Aren't you glad Merrill disobeyed you? Otherwise, that beacon would probably still be stuffing things into your head."

Shepard grunted and rolled her eyes, although she had to accede the point. "Yes. I'm glad that Merrill did."

She shook off the rogue's assisting hands and motioned the two to stand to one side as she sighted down the rifle's barrel at the barrier. The recoil of the first shot staggered her, but she adjusted her stance and managed the rest of them with less difficulty. The shaking had subsided somewhat as well - the Cerberus implants were hard at work to stabilize her condition.

The three women crossed the barrier's threshold, with Hawke trying to give Shepard a little surreptitious support and Merrill sticking so close to the other two that she was practically stepping on their heels, so that their advance was more of a semi-coordinated lurch. They'd taken no more than a dozen steps past the barrier when Shepard stumbled to a halt, looking around as if she'd never seen the place before.

"Shepard?" Hawke jostled the Spectre's elbow.

Faces peering out at her from the containment cells; frightened, helpless. Some narrow, with painfully delicate, angular features and thin, pointed more with squared-off jaws and strong brows, and the wrinkled ridges of erupting horns. And even others; one— no, two— small and round, their features broad, and all of them, every single one, so, so young-looking.

In her head, a prothean voice to match the prothean memories:

Level One containment…

Juveniles.

-ooo-

There are many things an Alliance marine is happy to see upon opening her eyes. For Shepard, a few would have been the skylights of her loft on the Normandy, shaded from blue to violet with the Doppler shift of FTL travel; the peace in Thane's face as he slept beside her; the steam escaping from a mug of hot coffee. Sunset skies and a battered tin cup of weedy tea were not generally among them, but Shepard was nevertheless grateful when she saw them.

She groaned. "What the hell happened?" she said to the arm attached to the hand that held the tin cup. From the feel of it, its mate was holding her in a sitting position.

"I don't know," said Hawke with what Shepard considered to be undiplomatic cheerfulness. "You went kind of stiff, and then fainted."

"Fainted?" Shepard nearly knocked the cup across the clearing with the exclamation. "I do not faint. I lose consciousness abruptly. There's a difference."

"Mm-hmm," Hawke murmured wryly. "Trust me on this one: you fainted."

Shepard shot her a dark look and took the cup of weeds from her hand. "It was probably more of a passing out, and you just weren't paying attention."

"Your eyes rolled up in your head and you crumpled like a used hanky," supplied Merrill helpfully. "Passing out is where you fall face first into the table and spill your ale."

With dignity, Shepard ignored the comment. Instead, she tried to recall what had happened. Her face set when the recollection came.

"Kids," she breathed. "The bastards were using children."

"Who were?" asked Hawke. "The salarians?"

"The protheans."

"Using them for what?" Merrill asked, although the trepidation in her voice suggested that she really wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.

"As study subjects," said Shepard sourly. "They were easier to control than adults."

"Easier to control?" exclaimed Hawke. "They were children!"

The disgust in Hawke's voice mirrored Shepard's feelings exactly. But in the hot mess of Shepard's mind, she could hear Javik's voice.

Against the Reapers, morality means nothing. Only survival matters.

"And that makes us no better than Cerberus," Shepard argued. "There has to be something; a line somewhere that you can't cross."

Hawke gave her a sidelong look and cleared her throat. "I don't want to upset you, Shepard, but I think we'd better get you back to Anders."

Shepard blinked, and gave herself a shake, downing the liquid contents of the tin cup. She shuddered, and her shoulders slumped defeatedly. "I think you're right," she agreed. "Tomorrow, we'll go to the entrance to the base so I can seal it shut, and we can get back to the others. I've had enough of this place."

-ooo-

There was a funeral air the next morning as the three women clustered around the gap in the pyramid's side; an air that quickly turned to argument when Shepard started inside.

"Wait! Shepard!" Hawke caught the other woman's arm and pulled her back out of the elevator. "What are you doing?"

"I want to make a last sweep for salvageable tech," Shepard insisted.

"What happened to, 'I've had enough of this place'?" Hawke demanded.

Shepard glared at the rogue. "That hasn't changed," she answered. "But I'd be a fool if I left without taking what I could."

Hawke was unmoved by this. "You could pass out again," she said, folding her arms on her chest.

"See? I told you it wasn't a faint," Shepard replied, deflecting.

"Maker's balls, Shepard!" Hawke said with exasperation. "You could have died."

"Probably not," said Shepard, holding up her hands placatingly before the rogue could continue. "But I promise I won't go near the beacon."

"No," said Hawke flatly.

"No?" Shepard's eyebrows rose in disbelief. This was Hawke; wise-cracking, easygoing Hawke. Hawke the suggester. And Shepard could sense she wasn't going to back down.

"I am the commander around here," Shepard reminded her.

"Not any more," said Hawke flatly. "I've been in the army. Not for very long, mind you, but I was there long enough to know that when your leader gets injured, someone else takes her place."

"I'm not…"

"Andraste's sweet ass, Shepard! You may not be bleeding anywhere, but that… that thing did something to you. You're not going back in there."

Shepard blinked. No, Hawke wasn't going to back down. This was going to require delicate handling.

Or not.

Shepard turned on her heel and re-entered the elevator.

This time, Hawke didn't bother with words. "Merrill," she said, and there was a hint of desperation in her voice, "Wrap her legs in stone."

Shepard dove to the side, but it was too late. The elven mage called up a wave of stone that settled around her like concrete. From its rocky embrace, Shepard considered her options and found there were few that didn't involve violence.

"All right," she conceded after a moment. "I won't go into the base." But before Hawke could enjoy any sense of triumph, she added, "You will."

-ooo-

The compromise was struck. Hawke and Merrill would go one level down, to where the salarian's comm unit was, and where there were a number of crates of miscellaneous equipment. Shepard had hunted through most of them while trying to repair the comm and knew if nothing else, she could break down some of what was there into omni-gel. They would take as much as they could carry - smaller items for preference - and bring it out.

In the meantime, Shepard would work on the exterior door Morici's slaves had forced open several centuries ago. While the door itself was intact, the locking mechanism had been damaged - likely before Morici stumbled across it - and required repair in order for Shepard to secure the base against any further intrusion.

This suited Hawke to a tee. As Shepard had previously noted, Hawke never passed up a chance to loot corpses or poke through crates, chests, barrels, sacks and furniture, right down to the cushions. The rogue and the elf made several elevator trips and amassed enough bits and pieces to fill two large sacks before they were through.

Though Shepard swore colorfully as she worked, no amount of bosh'tets were enough to summon Tali's skill with all things mechanical. The sun was nearing its zenith before she exclaimed, "Eureka!" and the lock cycled noisily. However once the locking mechanisms were working properly again, sealing the door was the easy part. Shepard was far better with software than she was with hardware, and creating an impressively durable locking protocol took her no time at all. Satisfied, Shepard took one last look at the closest thing to home she'd seen in months now, hefted her share of the gear, and walked away.

Hawke and Merrill hurried to catch her up.

"Is that it?" Hawke asked incredulously, striding alongside a fast-moving Shepard. "I thought you were going to make one of those barrier things."

Shepard lifted her shoulders and let them drop helplessly. "If I had the time and the spare omni-gel to make the parts I need, I would try. For now it will have to wait. I've done what I can to make it safe, but it really needs someone with more skill than I have to make it completely secure. I'm good with tech, but I'm a soldier, not a mechanic."

"How many more days do you think it will take before someone comes to pick you up?" Hawke continued. "Not that I'm complaining - well, all right, yes, I guess I am complaining, just a bit - but I'd really like a bath and a bed that doesn't have rocks or tree roots in it."

"No idea," Shepard admitted. "It could be today, or tomorrow, or a week, or even months." Or years, her mind supplied unhelpfully. Or possibly not at all if the Alpha Relay was the only way into this cluster.

"But…" Hawke looked so crestfallen that Shepard felt moved to give her shoulder a little pat of encouragement.

"Don't worry. We'll be leaving as soon as everyone's ready for travel." Shepard squinted at the sun overhead. "Tomorrow, if we're lucky."

Merrill frowned deeply. "After you sent your message, I thought you told Hawke we'd have to wait."

Shepard chuckled wearily. "We do. But we don't have to wait here. If the Normandy comes for me, EDI will be able to pinpoint my location without a problem. If it's another Alliance ship, they will be able to contact me once they're in orbit." She tapped her left wrist meaningfully.

-ooo-

Despite further worries about the state of the rope, which was really beginning to show significant wear in a few places, Shepard was able to belay Hawke and Merrill to the ledge below without mishap. Their equipment followed, and then Shepard cautiously rappelled down herself. With a sigh of relief, Shepard indicated to the others to coil the frayed rope they'd used for the second face - they would not need to use it for the descent to the valley below.

Further, a response came immediately from her whistle - Fenris and Anders must have decided to have someone wait near the cliff base for their return. She hadn't expected them to - it was a tedious chore - but was pleased by their initiative and exhaustedly grateful. Though she hadn't mentioned anything to Hawke, Shepard was certainly nowhere near a hundred percent; she hadn't slept much the previous night - every time she started to drift off, she found the prothean's memories pushing to the forefront of her mind - and she was sure that it was only thanks to the implants that she was already walking and talking after her brush with the modified beacon. No wonder the salarians had sealed it off.

It took some effort to bring herself back to the task at hand, which was transferring their gear to the new ropes and sending it down. It was even harder to keep her mind from wandering while she waited for the all clear whistle to let her know the line was ready for the first climber to descend. Her training helped her there, as it had helped her so often before - the dogged ability to break things down moment by moment, focusing on each moment only until the next, through the fog of pain or fatigue or panic.

Shepard was again the last down, rappelling in long, swift drops, knowing the damage it was doing to her hands but able to block out the pain. She stumbled when her feet finally hit dirt again, catching herself against the cliff face before Fenris - who had helped belay the others and their gear down - could steady her.

"Are you all right, Shepard?" he asked quietly.

"How's Ashaad?" she replied automatically.

The elf's lips quirked slightly, as if at a private joke. "He is recovering. He does not trust magic any more than I."

"Did he at least let Anders set the bone?" she asked exasperatedly.

"Yes. But little else." He made a face. "The mage has not been happy about it."

"I don't doubt it. I'm not happy myself." Shepard said, squinting at the line to estimate how much rope she had left to coil. Exhaustion was dragging at her - she wanted nothing more than to sleep but suspected that the kind of rest she longed for would be a long time in coming.

Fenris looked as if he was going to say something else, but frowned and moved closer, taking the rope from her hands. "You do not look well, Shepard."

"There was a… complication… in the ruin," she admitted, letting him. "I know… I know so much more about this place now, but the cost…" she shook her head. "Nothing a couple of days of good sleep won't fix," she ended, forcing a positive tone into her voice.

"More complications?" Fenris raised an eyebrow. "Don't you think you have enough?"

Shepard snorted. "It's not like I asked for them, you know."

He didn't look as if he believed her. "Go to the others. There's hot food waiting, and the mage will wish to see to your hands."

Shepard felt she should argue, but couldn't muster the energy. "Thanks, Fenris. I will find some way to repay you for all your help."

"Perhaps," he replied, but without rancor.

-ooo-

Anders took one look at Shepard and his expression turned thundery. "First the stubborn ox, and now this!" he exclaimed. Nonetheless, his hands were gentle as he settled her by the fire pit and motioned to Odd to ladle out another bowl of bean stew. Merrill and Hawke were already halfway finished with theirs, despite the added difficulty posed by Griffon draped over Hawke's lap.

He turned her hands palm up to examine the friction burns from rappelling without an ATF or gloves, and then set his fingers against the pulse point at her throat. Without a word, Shepard performed a medical scan and offered up the results to him.

Anders waved the omni-tool away irritably and set his hands over hers, healing the damage left from the rope within moments. Then he held one hand out, palm facing Shepard, about a foot away from her chest. As she began to ask what he was doing, a burst of energy left his hand and speared her solar plexus.

Shepard gasped. The feeling was not dissimilar to being punched in the chest, but lightly, as if by a child or a physically weak opponent.

Anders turned to Hawke. "Doesn't look like it," he said, matter-of-factly.

"Doesn't look like what?" Shepard demanded, as Odd pushed a bowl of stew into her hands.

Hawke looked guilty. "I thought maybe…"

"She thought you might have picked up an unwelcome visitor," Anders finished. "But a demon would have reacted to that."

Shepard paused with the spoon halfway to her mouth. "You thought I was possessed?"

Merrill raised a hand shyly. "I didn't."

Now Hawke looked both apologetic and defensive. "You were acting very strange, like you were arguing with someone inside your head. I just wanted to make sure."

The bowl thumped to the ground beside Shepard, untouched. "Great," she said sourly. "I suppose the only saving grace is that Fenris wasn't around to hear that."

"Hear what?" asked the elf, striding into the camp with two huge coils of rope over his shoulders.

"That Shepard might be possessed by a demon," offered Merrill, before anyone could shush her.

There was a long moment of silence in which Merrill wilted under a handful of sharp glares. "Ooh. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said that, should I?"

Shepard put her face in her hands.

You really know how to make a mess, Shepard.

"Was that the complication you were talking about?" the elf demanded, his face darkening.

Shepard took a deep breath through her nose and let it out in a sigh. "No. There's no possession involved. Or indoctrination. Just a technological mishap that transfered the experiences and memories of the prothean who ran that base into my head."

"How can you be sure?" Fenris looked skeptical. "Demons lie to suit their purposes."

Wearily, Shepard turned to the elf. "The prothean's name was Nirav Csun. Like Javik, the prothean on my team, he was born during the war with the Reapers. And, like many children born during the war, he grew up in defensible underground bunkers. He saw his mother get killed before he saw the sun for the first time." She paused to rub at her forehead. Recalling the memories felt similar to using a limb with fresh sutures - a kind of painful pulling sensation in her brain. "He was forced to flee the world on which he'd been born when he was still a child - barely an adolescent - as one of the few civilian refugees to escape when the last defenses fell." Her face spasmed. "I can remember just about every moment of his life. And I remember his death. To preserve their work here, he ordered a neutron purge that killed every organic in the base, including the woman he loved."

Shepard's eyes hardened slightly. "Does that sound like a demon to you?"

It was Hawke, not Fenris, who replied. "Yes," she said, indignantly. "How could he kill someone he loved?"

"He thought it would help his people survive," Shepard said. "He was wrong."

She picked the bowl up again and began to eat, enjoying the sensation of hot food after days of dried provisions and trying not to let herself think too much. Fenris's expression was still one of suspicion, and Shepard could feel the others' eyes on her as well. After several moments, it began to get on her nerves.

"Where's Ashaad?" she asked Anders.

The healer folded his arms over his chest and snorted. "He's in the wagon. He still has an open wound and the bone has only been barely knit together. He refused to let me do any more until you were back."

Shepard nodded and pushed herself to her feet. "Thanks for taking care of the hands," she said. "I'll go let Ashaad know he's in for another treatment from you."

"Shepard, wait," Anders began, going after her. "You're not in the best shape yourself," he said sternly, catching her by the arm. His voice lowered. "Hawke said it was another beacon, and that you were unconscious for the better part of a day. Let me at least see if there's anything I can do…"

Shepard shook him off, but gently, her opposite hand coming to rub at her temple. "Anders, right now I can barely keep myself upright," she admitted honestly. "My mind's so scrambled that half the time I'm thinking in prothean, as a prothean. As much as I'd love for you to wiggle your fingers at me and make it all better, I somehow doubt there's much more you can do for me than put me to sleep for a solid six hours." Her hand dropped back to her side. "And believe me, I want even that pretty badly. But I've got to hold Ashaad's hand while you finish healing his leg, and then we should break camp and get back on the road to Kirkwall. Even with the supplemental game we've caught along the way, our supplies aren't limitless."

Anders expression was mixed as he clearly struggled with conflicting desires. Reluctantly, he gave her a short nod. "All right," he said. "I understand your priorities." The corners of both his mouth and his eyes turned down as he suppressed a frown. "But once we're on the road…"

"You'll still need me awake," she finished. "I'll ride with Odd, because it'll be better for me to get some rest rather than none, but if we're attacked by bandits again, you'll need me to be able to fight, and I can't do that if I'm unconscious." Shepard offered the healer a weak grin. "Semi-conscious, sure, done that more than once."

Anders gave a defeated sigh. "N7?" he asked resignedly.

Shepard nodded. "N7."

-ooo-

Ashaad was sitting up on the wagon's one bench-turned-bed wearing a slightly disgruntled expression that seemed all the more pronounced for how impassive his features usually were. He perked up a little when Shepard eased herself through the door.

"Kadan," he said. "You have returned."

He then subjected Shepard to one of the most thoroughly searching visual examinations she'd ever experienced. It was distinctly uncomfortable, and Shepard found herself automatically straightening into parade rest and lifting her chin in response.

"You do not appear injured, yet your body speaks of weakness," was his final assessment.

Shepard relaxed slightly. "I'm tired," she said.

Ashaad looked skeptical.

Shepard waved a hand at him. "Nevermind me," she went on, moving closer to the bed. "You weren't terribly cooperative for Anders, I see."

"He is bas-saarebas and unchained," responded the giant. "I allowed the setting of the bone as you insisted, kadan. But I did not wish to expose myself to contagion."

At a gesture from Shepard, Anders began to unbandage the scout's lower leg. "So you left a gaping wound in your leg," Shepard replied caustically. "Uh-huh. That's going to lower your risk of contagion so well."

Ashaad's mouth set grimly. "I do not mean a physical contagion, kadan."

"Yeah, yeah…" Shepard groused. "But we're leaving, and I want everyone on their feet for escort duty. I know Anders can heal that leg to the point that you'll barely even have a scar. I've seen it. So you're just going to have to suck up that fear of saarebas, and let him get on with it." She took one of his huge hands in her own. "I'll even hold your hand while he works."

With an air of injured dignity, the ashaad removed his hand from her grasp. "It is not fear," he insisted. "With no avaraad to control him, he cannot be trusted."

"Fine," Shepard retorted. "We'll delegate.How about you trust me, and I'll trust Anders."

"I do trust you, kadan," Ashaad answered stiffly. "You have proven yourself as the bas-saarebas' avaraad."

Anders looked slightly amused by the argument as he finished his careful work removing the bandage and sat back. "Do you want to take a look?" he asked. "I poulticed it well, but there's always a risk with bone."

Shepard nodded and scanned the leg, moving closer to Anders so that the healer could see the results. "Looks good to me," she said. "You did a great job aligning the break."

"I had both Fenris and Odd help," Anders admitted. "It would have been easier if he'd have let me put a sleep spell on him, but at least he took some Andraste's Blessing before we started."

"Oh, Ashaad," Shepard sighed. The giant remained silent - a silence that spoke for him.

"All right," she said after a moment. "You say you trust me," she looked into Ashaad's red-orange eyes gravely. "I promise I won't betray that trust." She kept her eyes trained on Ashaad's and added, "Anders, finish healing his leg, and anything else that needs it."

"Including you?" There was a challenge in Anders' voice.

She wasn't expecting it, and knew, just knew the surprise showed clearly on her face before she controlled her expression. Oh, you little bastard. I'll get you for that one.

"After you finish with Ashaad," she replied crisply.

The healing of the qunari took not much more than a quarter hour. When it was done, and she'd looked over new scans of the leg, Shepard patted the giant on the chest. "There you go," she said with satisfaction. "So much more efficient than waiting for it to heal on its own."

"And now it's your turn," added Anders, also with satisfaction, indicating for Ashaad to swing his legs off the bench and for Shepard to take his place.

Shepard gave the healer a sour look, but complied. "I already told you there's not much you can do," she complained.

"Let me be the judge of that," he replied, flexing his fingers to remove any cramping. "And you," he nodded at Ashaad, "qunari... Be a little gentle with that leg for the next week or so. The break has been healed, but the new bone will need to harden naturally."

The giant grunted in response, but made no move to leave the wagon. "I will watch the bas-saarebas for you, kadan," he offered, eyeing Anders with suspicion.

"You don't have to, Ashaad. I trust Anders to heal me," Shepard's sour look intensified, "even when I don't think I need it."

This did not appear to change the giant's intentions at all. Anders snorted and rolled his shoulders and neck a little to loosen them before setting his hands on either side of Shepard's temples.

"No sleep spells, you bastard," she warned. "Just healing."

"I thought you trusted me," Anders said with mock injury. "As if I'd dare, with your watchdog staring at me like Griffon down a rabbit hole."

"Oh, I trust you," Shepard retorted. "I trusted my ship's doctor, too, and if she caught me looking like this she'd be sneaking around with a hypo of sedatives in her hand just waiting to knock me out. I know all about you healers."

Conscious of the qunari audience, Shepard stifled her gasp when Anders' magic struck like tiny silver needles in her head. She saw the healer frown, and after a moment, he pulled his hands back regretfully.

"That's it," he said, looking sideways at the qunari. "That's all I can do for now." But his warm brown eyes were troubled when they returned to hers, and told Shepard very clearly that for now was probably an extremely finite moment, likely dependent upon privacy from prying qunari eyes.

He went to a small satchel and rummaged in it, withdrawing a familiar vial of something oily and yellow. He turned it over in his hand a few times, and then tossed it gently to Shepard. "This is against my better judgment," he cautioned, "but I think you might want to drink this."

-ooo-

They broke camp shortly afterward, with one of the mules complaining loudly at the change of plans. The pair of herbivores had been enjoying the lush grass in the meadow and were in no hurry to leave their grazing.

Shepard was pleased to see the ashaad walking with no signs of a limp, but she heeded Anders' words and set him to tasks that spared him a lot of extra weight bearing. Walking would help the bone finish ossifying, but Shepard vowed to be sure to rotate the escort more frequently than they had on the way in.

One of the final things she did before the mules were hitched to the wagon and the squad began the long march back to Kirkwall was to give herself a brief rubdown with a damp cloth and don her armor again. She'd already arranged with Odd for their first stop to be near one of the larger waterways that snaked down out of the mountains to eventually join up on their way to the Waking Sea, so that they could all bathe if they wished. And she certainly wished, even if the water was icy cold.

She was finishing sealing the last clasps of her hardsuit when Anders ambushed her. He looked her over nearly as critically as the ashaad had earlier, and gave her a grudging nod.

"I don't know if it's the stamina potion working, or the fact you're wearing that again," he said reluctantly, "but you look a little better. There's more color in your cheeks, and you look a little stronger."

"Probably both," she admitted after a moment, flexing her fingers in her gauntlets and rolling her shoulders to settle things. "To be perfectly honest, wearing armor helps me feel a little more like myself, instead of a long-dead prothean scientist."

Anders shook his head. "I don't think I can understand what it must be like, having memories stuck directly into your mind like that. It seems so… invasive."

Shepard gave him a wry look. "Says the man with the spirit of justice riding around in his head."

"That's… different," he protested. "Justice… well, spirits aren't like people. They don't have the same existence. There are no memories, really, or experiences." A brief flash of remembered pain entered his eyes, and he added, "I… had a friend. He said once that Justice was like… was like me having a piece of the Fade inside me."

"Oh?" Shepard cocked her head to the side. "It certainly seems like Justice has his own opinions, though. Enough to call him a separate personality."

Anders rubbed at his eyebrows. "Not… not all of that is Justice," he said, very softly. "When he was… well, before he joined me, he did have a personality, but it was simple, almost child-like in a way. The only thing that mattered to him was justice. There wasn't love, or hate, or joy or sorrow… just the pursuit of justice." He gave a slight cough. "His… emotion… came after."

"You know, Justice sounds an awful lot like Samara," Shepard mused. Catching Anders' look of confusion, she elaborated. "Another one of my team. An asari Justicar. Justicars live life by a very strict code that concerns itself solely with the pursuit of justice. I think she said once that there were over five thousand parts to the code, and that it covered every possible situation she could face. It was," Shepard's face screwed up with distaste at the memory, "incredibly unforgiving."

Anders' brown eyes were miserable. "Yes," he said simply. "Justice usually is."