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You know what to do.

Nathaniel had looked toward the scuffle when Twisted Fate and Nerva had started screaming. Anders had been...strange, like he was breaking apart and blue light was coming from the cracks in him. He can only imagine what was going on. Who started what, what magic was involved.

He quietly takes Anders' hand so he can pull his arm around his shoulders, using his other arm to hold Anders' waist. He doesn't say anything, for now. Now is when he needs to take Anders back to camp. Then, it will be a matter of cleaning him up and getting him in dry clothes.

Each step hurts. He should have expected that much, at least. He's had fully armored Templars tackle him before. But the physical pain is the least of his worries right now as they head down the hill, as he works to ignore any words from the gathered crowd because he can't afford to slip up again. His control needs to be perfect.

"I..." It's about halfway there when he tries to talk, more because silence is harder than anything else. "I was wrong."

"I imagine you were," Nathaniel responds neutrally. "I imagine she was as well."

Anders getting into a fight doesn't surprise him. In fact, he's surprised it took this long. There will be more fights in the days to come.

"Not about that. She walked up and hit me. I'd just gotten there-- and that doesn't matter." In the grand scheme of things, a Templar hitting a mage is nothing new and has yet to be something of the past.

Several more steps pass before he can manage to say what he means, because it's not just his own guilt interfering.

"My control. It's not... I'm a danger. I'm a threat, to everyone here." To Nate especially, because of how close the archer often is, because of how Nate and Justice don't get along, and the thought of harming Nate is more terrifying than that of killing Nerva.

Ah. That wording again. Justice. It's a key feature of Anders that he under-blames himself for certain key things, then over-blames himself for absolutely everything else. If Justice came out to play, why isn't Justice being held accountable? Nathaniel knows why. Justice won't take responsibility, so Anders makes up for it. Always trying to take up the slack, is Anders.

Nathaniel sighs. "Anders, I'm not sure if you know this, but sometimes, people get in fights."

Hopefully, Justice hears that too.

"Those other people aren't abominations." His voice is leaden. He doesn't want to spell it out, doesn't want to admit what could have happened, but it looks like he'll have to. How else is it supposed to be addressed?

"I could have killed so many there. The armor, pinning me down, the pain from being hit again... She screamed about everything burning and Maker, I thought they were. I've a few seconds missing, Justice was taking over, and I could have destroyed the tavern, could have..."

He exhales heavily, on the brink of a sob. He'd thought he had it together better, that Kirkwall wouldn't happen again. Couldn't. Here he is, near people he's come to care about along with all of the others, and Justice likely wouldn't differentiate when push came to shove. Again.

There is so much story missing, but that isn't the point. Nathaniel can't consider how much Anders is to blame for this when Anders is breaking down right here. His mind reels, trying to wrap around a problem that is way too but for him to deal with on his own. The only handhold he can get on any of this is a completely useless I have to protect him somehow. That doesn't help. Nathaniel can't protect him from Justice any more than his own soul.

Anders is soaked with mud. There's probably more than a little blood as well. He turns Anders toward him, stopping their progress, one hand cupping the back of his neck to make him look at him.

"Look at me." Always important, to help someone establish what can be seen, felt, and heard, rather than letting them be swept away in memory and imagination. "Listen to my voice. Does it feel like I'm afraid to touch you? Do I look or sound like you frighten me?"

If Anders looks, pays attention, he will see Nathaniel's calm. He will feel steady hands, warm hands securing him where he is. There is no fear in Nathaniel's voice.

His throat and chest are tight with guilt and fear, threatening to overwhelm him, but Nate's hand on the back of his neck is a strong anchor, bringing him back to the now. It takes a moment to get his eyes to focus, just as long for him to slow his breathing. Meeting Nate's eyes isn't the easiest thing he's done but he manages.

"You... You don't." And there's such a chance that Nate's faith is entirely misplaced. That doesn't mean Anders does the smart thing and pulls away, though. No, he does the selfish thing, leaning into the stability offered by his friend. It's probably only a matter of time before someone dies again, and Anders isn't protecting the people he owes. His heart hurts.

"But you should be. He doesn't like you, he's never liked you, and I can't..." He can't control Justice. The spirit has outlets, they're actively working toward freedom and justice for all, but this is still happening. "If I harm you..."

His eyes sting. If he harms Nate, there's nothing left. He is lost and he has lost, and there will be nothing he can do about it because Justice has no desire to let things end.

Anders will not harm him. Nathaniel knows this. If anyone harms him, it will be Justice. Justice, who will let Anders bear the blame. And if Nathaniel tries to bolster Anders, if he says the words that could encourage and heal him, thereby undermining Justice, Justice will make Anders pay.

If you harm me, then it is Justice who will have to deal with your wrath, he wants to say. If you harm me, then Justice will have no excuse to pretend he is not a demon. If you harm me, I will harm him back.

But as always, Justice holds Anders hostage. As always, Nathaniel cannot save him yet. But seeing this fear, this helplessness, steels him. Resolves him. Even if the solution is to enter the Fade and slay the demon without Anders' knowledge or consent, nothing can be crueler or less violating than what Anders experiences now, every moment of every day.

He adjusts his grip so he is cupping both sides of Anders' jaw, sharing heat in the wet and cold.

"Have courage," is all he can say. Maybe one day, he will be forgiven for having already committed a sin in his heart by planning to carry it out.

"Let's get you back to camp and into dry clothes. All right?"

He closes his eyes and lets Nate support him there, wondering if this is where he starts wronging the man and can never make up for it. There's no courage to be found. How can there be? It's cowardice to hide behind Nate the way he is, to let the man support him like this, to not insist on a separate tent about a mile outside of camp, to even act like he's not simply an abomination.

"All right," he says, and knows the words damn him. There's no fight left as he opens his eyes again and shifts so his weight is back in part on his staff. Anders is weak because he can no longer stand to be alone, and others will pay the price. The only hope he has is if just one of the rituals work, if Justice is returned to the Fade, but is there even enough of Anders left to recover from that? What if he needs the spirit now, and losing Justice means losing the remainder of who he is? Becoming essentially Tranquil?

And what if those questions are coming from Justice and not Anders?

He can feel no desire to return from Justice anymore. There are so many reasons Anders has to lose courage, but somehow he still has Nate's arm and care and he can at least walk physically forward, one step at a time.

"I don't know what will happen the next time someone hits me," he says after a few steps, and his voice is hollow. "It keeps happening, and I don't know how to stop it, either."

"You can't." That's just how it is. Nathaniel takes some of Anders' weight again as they trudge on. "Any change that comes has to happen on his end. He and I may have our differences, but he has to understand that if he loses you, he has nowhere to go."

"He didn't need Kristoff." His voice is quiet. It's something that's come to mind a couple of times of late - they could have executed Anders, but he's not sure they would have managed to kill Justice. A beheading might slow the spirit. End him? Anders doesn't know, but he doesn't think it would be effective. Justice needed a body, but he didn't need one that was entirely intact, or one that was breathing.

And as far as Anders goes, he doesn't need to dwell, but he can't figure out how to pull himself out of the mood that's claimed him. At this rate he might well drive Nate off. Which would be safer for the archer, but would drag Anders down all the more.

"I should insist you leave me be. I should pull back. Stop... Stop walking into Skyhold daily. Stop being near the campfire, near people. Someone will get hurt, otherwise. But I'm too weak to do what I should." He doesn't want to be lonely again.

Nathaniel is quiet for a moment. Anders is suffering. He's not sure if it's just tonight, or if Justice is punishing Anders.

"Do I make him worse?"

"No. No, you don't." The answer is hastily given. He can't let Nate carry any of the burden for this. "It's not you."

Justice does not like Nate, but he doesn't hate the man. That's reserved for others, though it's a long list.

"If anything, you make it better for me. You make me feel like there's still something left of me, still some good I can do." That he's not fully abomination yet. "But I..."

He trails off and loses his train of thought, feeling somewhat murky-headed all of a sudden. At a distance. He can feel his body still, the pain that will have to heal on its own, the impact of staff and feet on ground, the warmth of Nate against him, but he can't remember what he was saying.

"I'm sorry. I'm tired."

Nathaniel tightens his hold on Anders and focuses on the camp as they near it. Once they've reached their own tent, Nathaniel leaves Anders to change out of his wet clothes and returns with a large basin of steaming water--boiling water from the fire cut with cold from the water buckets. He has a bar of soap and a sponge.

"Do you need me to help you?" He doesn't intend to leave Anders completely alone, but he will stand outside the tent while he washes, if he can wash himself.

He's sore from the latter blow and feels it as he pulls off his clothing and wraps himself in a towel. He could heal it, but it would be exhausting to tend to sore muscles and bruises, and he doesn't have the energy for it.

The question gets a shake of his head. He's going to be stiff, but he won't make Nate help him that much.

"Thank you," he says quietly, not wasting time and starting to get mud off his skin and out of his hair. It's everywhere, which isn't much of a surprise considering it's mud. Anders washes himself in silence, aware that Nate's nearby, aware that Justice is still close to the surface. At least there's no way he can be considered to be alone.

By the time he's done, the water's brown and he's feeling a little less sore, and a little less like an open wound. Anders doesn't bother tying his hair back up before bringing the water out and pouring it down their little ditch.

"I'd forgotten how heavy armor can be." It's a weak attempt at a joke.

Weak, but still an attempt. He seems to be feeling better. Nathaniel gives him a smile that wrinkles around his eyes.

"Did you at least get in a few admirable verbal jabs, then?" A polite way of asking if he provoked her.

"I suppose that depends on your definition of admirable," he says with a shrug. At least Nate's smiling. It feels better to see that.

"But accusing a typical Templar of being a typical Templar doesn't tend to have any effect. They know they enjoy trying to put mages in what they see as a mage's place. Pointing it out is useless."

Anders sighs and straightens up once the bucket is drained, shaking his head.

"I don't even... She's angry that people flirt back with me, apparently, that I'm trying to have a life instead of simply survive. Which, in her eyes, justifies walking up and hitting me in the middle of a crowd." The relief is melting away to be replaced with bitterness. "She's the third person that's hit me. And I can't guarantee the next one won't die, which will then end in my death because people who are supposed to be listening to the Inquisition take matters into their own damn hands."

There's anger, now, anger enough that his hands are shaking. "I will not die, I will not throw everything away, because they feel they can get away with anything, because they can since who would punish someone for hitting me? And yet that choice isn't even in my hands because I don't have the control I thought I did. They call me abomination with no grasp of what it means because they know those in authority despise me as I've been despised my whole life. Nothing changes. Nothing ever changes."

Justice is right there and he can't bring himself to care because what hope is there, really? Only the slim one that somehow whomever he winds up killing is someone he doesn't care about, and that's no consolation.

Nathaniel reaches out to take Anders' shaking hands in his own, then changes his mind and just steps forward to wrap his arms around him.

"We'll have to take it to their superiors," he says. "Who else has hit you?"

There's too much burning in his mind for him to fully relax into the embrace, including frustration at himself for being so damn weak.

"Bruce Banner and the yelling man. I don't... I don't know that anything would even matter. Informing superiors. They call me abomination but they don't grasp it. They don't understand anything more than the hatred in the word. And if we, if I try to explain it, then I get more fear. More hate." Except Bruce gets it, and struck out anyway.

He exhales again and finally leans into Nate's hold. "I'm sorry. I want to stop being so worried. I want to breathe, to not be so much of a mess. It keeps not working. And then you pick up the pieces and I feel all the more guilty."

"Don't. I'm only helping a friend."

He releases Anders with a faint huff.

"People who attack you ought to be pursued to every extent of the law for endangerment. But if I say that, they will retort that so should we for harboring you. We ought to consult with Kaidan and Teren. We cannot keep letting these incidents slide. If nothing else, a member of the Wardens has been repeatedly assaulted. That is intolerable."

The law has never been on his side, has never worked for him. He doesn't have faith in things being dealt with, and he's worried about overburdening Kaidan and Teren. But he can't deny Nate his hope that something could or would be done. That someone else would find it intolerable too.

"In the morning," he says tiredly. "In the morning we can speak with them. I don't want to disrupt anything else."

That he's been a part of ruining Twisted Fate's party is weight enough on his shoulders. Waking the two senior Wardens is too much.

"It's not like someone's going to come into our tent to hit me." Probably. Maker. He almost wishes someone would try for him in front of one of the people who care, but at the same time he doesn't want this to be on anyone else.

"Not without me hitting them first." Nathaniel nudges Anders' back to urge him back into the tent. "I'm not going to make you rest, but you should rest. Even if you don't sleep."

"I'll lay down, at the least." He's not sure he can fall asleep on his own, but it isn't like he has anyone available he can sleep with. His chances with Fate are blown, and neither Zevran nor Isabela are the sleepover type. Maybe he could ask Nate. The hug had been welcome.

"If..." Except no. No. The man's in enough danger simply sleeping so close to him every night. Anders can't ask to share Nate's cot. If he has a nightmare, or gets tangled in the blankets and forgets where he is, if one of a thousand things happen, he could hurt his closest friend. Not only that, he doesn't need to get Nate's name moved from Justice's 'dislike' list to the 'hated' list.

"Be careful. That's all. And thank you." He should tell Nate to run, to get out of there, to find safer friends, but he can't. Anders pulls the blankets back on his cot, disturbing Purrelden's rest underneath them, and scoops her up gently before climbing in and ignoring her disgruntlement and tiny claws.