alyriumlining:

andersforgreatjustice:

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andersforgreatjustice:

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andersforgreatjustice:

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andersforgreatjustice:

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Tapering leathers dragged themselves across the filthy dust which never left the rotten ground of the stinking Undercity. Beggars and children cajoled callously to each other, using smart remarks and harsh words depsite being in as good a humour as being a Darktown urchin allowed. A thin yet…

The light scritching of a quill was all the sound that seemed to persist within the small darktown clinic, rough against the poor quality parchment.  Anders sat, one hand tangled in loose blond hair, the other working in fleeting movements as he raced through sentence after sentence, inspired by some profound notion.

Times like these were rare of late- long hours of peace where he could just sit and recount piles of stashed ideas and thoughts yet to be recorded; it was a welcome break, his manifesto wasn’t going to write itself after all.

”..until people can see that mages are not just monsters lying in wait, but also mothers and fathers, daughters and-CLUNK!”  the quill skipped across the page as the apostate startled, ink spilling out of the quill and conveniently blotting out the word ‘not’.

“Oh just perfect..”  Anders scoffed, glaring down at the ruined page, then turned his ire on the door.  “Whoever that is better be damned ill…”  Perhaps if he just never slept again, he’d be searching for things to entertain himself with rather than struggling to find time to eat.  Snerking, he made for the large wooden doors, moving to open one just enough to peek outside.

As soon as he undid the latch, the door flung open, catching the mage in the shoulder and sending him stumbling backwards.  The apostate swore unintelligibly, catching himself just before he felt over backwards, eyes darting to gain purchase on his would be assailant who now likely stood within his domain.

Only no one was standing there at all.. only.  He looked to the floor, recognizing instantly the figure that lay motionless across the threshold. 

“Fenris?”

For a frightening, brief moment the body on the ground was completely still. Nary a word nor a breath escaped its lifeless form when a sudden gasp broke the silence, arms extending and pressing against the earth to lift the body up. Through a veil of ivory hair, glossy green eyes glared painfully at the man standing so high above him, a voice being spoken through clenching teeth. “I am wounded, Mage.”
As if the obvious was, well, obvious. His right leg now completely immobile, he forced himself up onto his good knees, eyes darting down to maintain balance.

When Fenris again simply knelt there for a good few beats, fists formed at his sides, even trembling just the slightest bit. Still, it would not do to simply die here at this time, or worse, pass out on the filthy floor where hundreds of wounded and sickened feet had tread over the years. No, he could do this civilly, he could be proper about this. Just, only proper enough to where he could get the assistance he so desperately needed.

“I am in need of…assistance.” His voice forcibly rumbled out as he swallowed thickly. It was evident he could not stand, though the batter to his pride on having to ask for help was even more so, especially given that he was indeed in dire need of Anders’s superb healing abilities. No person in the whole of Kirkwall who knew of this shanty clinic could deny the expertise at which he performed.  

That and Fenris’s list of known allies was small enough to fit upon a single half sheet of vellum. He had no where else to turn. 

Gazing up at last, brown eyes meeting green as he awaited his answer. In all honesty, he wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if the mage simply turned him away for being, well, himself. He wasn’t the kindest of his fellow forest folk, and he made no attempt to hide his distaste for the gift all those like Anders shared.  

Admittedly, Anders was a bit shocked.  It was no secret that there was little love lost between he and the warrior, they bickered all the time; what was secret however, was the way the lyrium effected him, singing sweetly to him like a Siren to doomed men.  Strange that he hadn’t felt the usual illuminant warmth from behind the door.

Two emerald pools drew Anders back from his brief reverie, he’d scarcely heard what the elf had said, but he was positive he knew the facts already- Fenris would not be here unless it was dyer. 

In one rushed motion the healer knelt beside the now colorless Fenris, eyes racing down the slick of blood that ran from his leg, out his door and down the steps beyond.  Maker, he could smell it- thick and warm and spilling out everywhere.

“How in Thedas are you still alive!?”  he spotted the thigh wound immediately, moving his hand to hover just over the ruined flesh- his eyes slipping shut in concentration.  Gradually, flesh began to mend, blood flow ebbing slowly until it finally stopped altogether.  Still-ruined flesh glared sickeningly back at Anders as he felt his mana begin to wane; he wasn’t entirely rested from healing earlier that day. 

“That’s stopped the bleeding… but I haven’t any magic for the rest.” he admitted breathlessly, pulling his hand away; he was sure there was a poultice around that could help with the rest, as well as a potion for the anemia.  With any luck he could send the very fortunate elf on his way within the hour, and return to his work.

“Can you stand?”

Mumbling to himself about less talking and more healing, he let his gaze fall back to the ground as his vision tunneled significantly, threatening to cause a black out. And yet, deep within him was a resilience no other man knew and it was this thread of self-determination that kept the elf in focus, that kept him concious. He wanted so dearly just tto shut his eyes and sleep for a bit, he was so tired, but to do so would certainly be yielding to the Maker. Fenris had no plans to visit him in the near or even middle-to-distant future.

Turning his gaze on a particularly dead looking rodent, he focused all his energies on holding his eyes in that one spot when a sudden warmth filled his lower body, his body flinching immediately in reaction to the contact. The fists wound tighter as his nose flared, but by the Maker he was going to burn a hole in that rat carcass with how intensely he stared. He could feel the stitching together of flesh, the odd tingling sensation as his toes gently regained their color. And yet, he was still as weak as ever, finding annoyance in the fact that Anders wasn’t healing him completely. 

And yet, he knew that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t the mage’s fault he fell from a cliff, gouging himself of an errant stalagmite. Nor was it his fault that Fenris had chosen to deal with small time slavers himself without telling either Hawke or any of the other companions. 

Blinking at last, he found he was holding his breath, exhaling quickly as he wiggled his feet, testing their strength and tenacity. The flesh was sensitive and tender from where the cells had regrown and he knew then that he would still be unable to place much wait on it. Chewing on the inside of his lip, he inhaled and exhaled once more before shaking his head. “I cannot.” Shifting the gaze back to Anders, he reached out for the handle of the door and used it to the best of its ability to ease him into a two-kneed kneeling position. The whole ordeal was painstakingly slow and he would need the help of the mage, or anyone to get up on both pads of his feet. Casting another glance at the other man, the need for help was unable to flee from his eyes.

“Alright then.”  There was a part of the mage, a very childish part, that shied away from the elf, even as he looped his arm around the smaller man’s shoulders and gently lifted him from the floor.  The warmth of the magical ore that was burned into Fenris’ skin once again pulsing distractingly in the back of Anders’ mind, his skin tingling with sensitive awareness…had his robes always been this scratchy?  The pair of them slowly made off toward Anders own personal cot, the only one he had made up for that evening; he eyed the elf suspiciously as he sat him down.

“You aren’t in any trouble are you?” Normally he wouldn’t worry, but Andraste be damned he wasn’t about suffer an unwarranted attack on the behalf of his disgruntled rival- he hadn’t the strength to defend either of them if some revenge-hungry bandits stormed the clinic.

Rolling his the elf blocked the feeling and stench of the other mage from his senses as he devoted his power to at least looking like he was still capable of movement despite the complete lack of feeling torso down. “Do you think me a fool to leave any men alive?” His voice was so precariously low, dancing to the point of incoherent babbling. His Common tongue slurring as a hint of Tevinter twang snuck into his voice attesting to his losing battle with consciousness. 

Sinking into the the cot, he shoulder slumped forward as his gaze fell down. Poor Fenris was beyond exhausted but a stifling indignation about falling a sleep within the presence of Anders forced his mind and body into a stalemate. Unfortunately, his mind was quickly loosing ground in that battle. So, to keep himself aware, he began to murmur and explanation to his situation.
“I heard rumours of a small group of slavers looking for victims in the Alienage. There were only four or so men and I followed them to the holding caves. It was easy, they were hardly skilled with a blade, and I…I suppose I was too haughty. I didn’t look where I stepped and  as I cut down the last man, I slipped into a crevasse. A rock caught my fall and then this gash. I only made it back because a roving patrol of guardsmen happened to hear the fighting and they got me as far as Kirkwall city limits.” He failed to add how keen he was on making this trip alone, to this clinic, though for reason he didn’t quite understand. At all. 
A small tugging in his chest to be face the man alone with his injuries in tow. Perhaps it was pride to prove he could handle his own even with death hanging over him like a cloud. “Mmmm..” He responded to his thoughts aloud as he dismissed that. It was too easy to assume just that, and besides, more important matters were at hand.
He had to give his thanks to the man before him.
Even if he bloody didn’t want to.

“…I…nnn.” Taking a breath, he lifted his head and caught the weary gaze. “Thank you for your assistance, mage.” The tagline ensuring that Anders still knew where he stood, despite the gratification. Even then, he sided and realized how his anger was truly making him out to be a fool, a weary hand rising to rub at his forehead. “Really, I am grateful.” He added with a significant volume drop, hiding the tone of honesty.
“Now..I must…I need to rest..” The battle nearly lost, he slumped onto his side in the cot, shivering from his anemia. 

The shabby little cot groaned beneath the full weight of it’s occupant as the healer gently laid him back.  “Rest then, I have a kit for you, and hopefully some spare blankets…maybe.”  Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure there were any blankets left, they seemed to walk themselves out the doors just as quickly as they were donated; he’d have to start watching more carefully.

Standing, he made his way across the room to a moderate sized chest, flipping open the lid with a clik clak clak clak as it bounced on its hinges.  Where was it.. he was sure he’d had at least one injury kit in here.. ah- there it was!  He snatched the small leather pouch from its fortress of random junk, and made his way to another chest where he kept linens; to his dismay it was empty.

Great.. just great.

“No blankets.” he huffed,  “I suppose my robes will do- if you can tolerate being dressed as a mage.

Toleration was a concept completely beyond Fenris now. So far into the Fade he had gone, not even the usual touch could lot him from his slumber and would remain in this state for a good few hours, blood replenishing and filling the depletion the elf’s heroics had caused. As he lied there, he disposition grew into a more serene state though the center of his eyebrows refused to release their ruffled grip.  He did not dream, or if he did he never recalled them come the morning, but he did manage to sleep with an eerie deadness. Not a toss or turn on the cot which was most likely for the better given that he could fall from the small bed.

As the time passed, even a small, very very minute snore came from the elf, a fact if told to him, would heavily ruffle his feathers. Still, it was a much needed rest though he would have to solve the problem of having one leg of his leggings completely ripped to shreds when he came round. 
Sadly, the elf possessed no spare of leathers thus forcing him to approach one of the deplorable tailors in the market, most likely Lowtown. Even worse yet, he would have to use his hard-earned, hard-saved coin for the reparations and a new set of pants until they were mended. 

But all of this was for the morning. For now, he rested in the cot of a man he wasn’t too fond of. A man he owed his life to.

((can’t think of anything intelligible to add. xD))

alyriumlining:

andersforgreatjustice:

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andersforgreatjustice:

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andersforgreatjustice:

alyriumlining:

Tapering leathers dragged themselves across the filthy dust which never left the rotten ground of the stinking Undercity. Beggars and children cajoled callously to each other, using smart remarks and harsh words depsite being in as good a humour as being a Darktown urchin allowed. A thin yet…

The light scritching of a quill was all the sound that seemed to persist within the small darktown clinic, rough against the poor quality parchment.  Anders sat, one hand tangled in loose blond hair, the other working in fleeting movements as he raced through sentence after sentence, inspired by some profound notion.

Times like these were rare of late- long hours of peace where he could just sit and recount piles of stashed ideas and thoughts yet to be recorded; it was a welcome break, his manifesto wasn’t going to write itself after all.

”..until people can see that mages are not just monsters lying in wait, but also mothers and fathers, daughters and-CLUNK!”  the quill skipped across the page as the apostate startled, ink spilling out of the quill and conveniently blotting out the word ‘not’.

“Oh just perfect..”  Anders scoffed, glaring down at the ruined page, then turned his ire on the door.  “Whoever that is better be damned ill…”  Perhaps if he just never slept again, he’d be searching for things to entertain himself with rather than struggling to find time to eat.  Snerking, he made for the large wooden doors, moving to open one just enough to peek outside.

As soon as he undid the latch, the door flung open, catching the mage in the shoulder and sending him stumbling backwards.  The apostate swore unintelligibly, catching himself just before he felt over backwards, eyes darting to gain purchase on his would be assailant who now likely stood within his domain.

Only no one was standing there at all.. only.  He looked to the floor, recognizing instantly the figure that lay motionless across the threshold. 

“Fenris?”

For a frightening, brief moment the body on the ground was completely still. Nary a word nor a breath escaped its lifeless form when a sudden gasp broke the silence, arms extending and pressing against the earth to lift the body up. Through a veil of ivory hair, glossy green eyes glared painfully at the man standing so high above him, a voice being spoken through clenching teeth. “I am wounded, Mage.”
As if the obvious was, well, obvious. His right leg now completely immobile, he forced himself up onto his good knees, eyes darting down to maintain balance.

When Fenris again simply knelt there for a good few beats, fists formed at his sides, even trembling just the slightest bit. Still, it would not do to simply die here at this time, or worse, pass out on the filthy floor where hundreds of wounded and sickened feet had tread over the years. No, he could do this civilly, he could be proper about this. Just, only proper enough to where he could get the assistance he so desperately needed.

“I am in need of…assistance.” His voice forcibly rumbled out as he swallowed thickly. It was evident he could not stand, though the batter to his pride on having to ask for help was even more so, especially given that he was indeed in dire need of Anders’s superb healing abilities. No person in the whole of Kirkwall who knew of this shanty clinic could deny the expertise at which he performed.  

That and Fenris’s list of known allies was small enough to fit upon a single half sheet of vellum. He had no where else to turn. 

Gazing up at last, brown eyes meeting green as he awaited his answer. In all honesty, he wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if the mage simply turned him away for being, well, himself. He wasn’t the kindest of his fellow forest folk, and he made no attempt to hide his distaste for the gift all those like Anders shared.  

Admittedly, Anders was a bit shocked.  It was no secret that there was little love lost between he and the warrior, they bickered all the time; what was secret however, was the way the lyrium effected him, singing sweetly to him like a Siren to doomed men.  Strange that he hadn’t felt the usual illuminant warmth from behind the door.

Two emerald pools drew Anders back from his brief reverie, he’d scarcely heard what the elf had said, but he was positive he knew the facts already- Fenris would not be here unless it was dyer. 

In one rushed motion the healer knelt beside the now colorless Fenris, eyes racing down the slick of blood that ran from his leg, out his door and down the steps beyond.  Maker, he could smell it- thick and warm and spilling out everywhere.

“How in Thedas are you still alive!?”  he spotted the thigh wound immediately, moving his hand to hover just over the ruined flesh- his eyes slipping shut in concentration.  Gradually, flesh began to mend, blood flow ebbing slowly until it finally stopped altogether.  Still-ruined flesh glared sickeningly back at Anders as he felt his mana begin to wane; he wasn’t entirely rested from healing earlier that day. 

“That’s stopped the bleeding… but I haven’t any magic for the rest.” he admitted breathlessly, pulling his hand away; he was sure there was a poultice around that could help with the rest, as well as a potion for the anemia.  With any luck he could send the very fortunate elf on his way within the hour, and return to his work.

“Can you stand?”

Mumbling to himself about less talking and more healing, he let his gaze fall back to the ground as his vision tunneled significantly, threatening to cause a black out. And yet, deep within him was a resilience no other man knew and it was this thread of self-determination that kept the elf in focus, that kept him concious. He wanted so dearly just tto shut his eyes and sleep for a bit, he was so tired, but to do so would certainly be yielding to the Maker. Fenris had no plans to visit him in the near or even middle-to-distant future.

Turning his gaze on a particularly dead looking rodent, he focused all his energies on holding his eyes in that one spot when a sudden warmth filled his lower body, his body flinching immediately in reaction to the contact. The fists wound tighter as his nose flared, but by the Maker he was going to burn a hole in that rat carcass with how intensely he stared. He could feel the stitching together of flesh, the odd tingling sensation as his toes gently regained their color. And yet, he was still as weak as ever, finding annoyance in the fact that Anders wasn’t healing him completely. 

And yet, he knew that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t the mage’s fault he fell from a cliff, gouging himself of an errant stalagmite. Nor was it his fault that Fenris had chosen to deal with small time slavers himself without telling either Hawke or any of the other companions. 

Blinking at last, he found he was holding his breath, exhaling quickly as he wiggled his feet, testing their strength and tenacity. The flesh was sensitive and tender from where the cells had regrown and he knew then that he would still be unable to place much wait on it. Chewing on the inside of his lip, he inhaled and exhaled once more before shaking his head. “I cannot.” Shifting the gaze back to Anders, he reached out for the handle of the door and used it to the best of its ability to ease him into a two-kneed kneeling position. The whole ordeal was painstakingly slow and he would need the help of the mage, or anyone to get up on both pads of his feet. Casting another glance at the other man, the need for help was unable to flee from his eyes.

“Alright then.”  There was a part of the mage, a very childish part, that shied away from the elf, even as he looped his arm around the smaller man’s shoulders and gently lifted him from the floor.  The warmth of the magical ore that was burned into Fenris’ skin once again pulsing distractingly in the back of Anders’ mind, his skin tingling with sensitive awareness…had his robes always been this scratchy?  The pair of them slowly made off toward Anders own personal cot, the only one he had made up for that evening; he eyed the elf suspiciously as he sat him down.

“You aren’t in any trouble are you?” Normally he wouldn’t worry, but Andraste be damned he wasn’t about suffer an unwarranted attack on the behalf of his disgruntled rival- he hadn’t the strength to defend either of them if some revenge-hungry bandits stormed the clinic.

Rolling his the elf blocked the feeling and stench of the other mage from his senses as he devoted his power to at least looking like he was still capable of movement despite the complete lack of feeling torso down. “Do you think me a fool to leave any men alive?” His voice was so precariously low, dancing to the point of incoherent babbling. His Common tongue slurring as a hint of Tevinter twang snuck into his voice attesting to his losing battle with consciousness. 

Sinking into the the cot, he shoulder slumped forward as his gaze fell down. Poor Fenris was beyond exhausted but a stifling indignation about falling a sleep within the presence of Anders forced his mind and body into a stalemate. Unfortunately, his mind was quickly loosing ground in that battle. So, to keep himself aware, he began to murmur and explanation to his situation.
“I heard rumours of a small group of slavers looking for victims in the Alienage. There were only four or so men and I followed them to the holding caves. It was easy, they were hardly skilled with a blade, and I…I suppose I was too haughty. I didn’t look where I stepped and  as I cut down the last man, I slipped into a crevasse. A rock caught my fall and then this gash. I only made it back because a roving patrol of guardsmen happened to hear the fighting and they got me as far as Kirkwall city limits.” He failed to add how keen he was on making this trip alone, to this clinic, though for reason he didn’t quite understand. At all. 
A small tugging in his chest to be face the man alone with his injuries in tow. Perhaps it was pride to prove he could handle his own even with death hanging over him like a cloud. “Mmmm..” He responded to his thoughts aloud as he dismissed that. It was too easy to assume just that, and besides, more important matters were at hand.
He had to give his thanks to the man before him.
Even if he bloody didn’t want to.

“…I…nnn.” Taking a breath, he lifted his head and caught the weary gaze. “Thank you for your assistance, mage.” The tagline ensuring that Anders still knew where he stood, despite the gratification. Even then, he sided and realized how his anger was truly making him out to be a fool, a weary hand rising to rub at his forehead. “Really, I am grateful.” He added with a significant volume drop, hiding the tone of honesty.
“Now..I must…I need to rest..” The battle nearly lost, he slumped onto his side in the cot, shivering from his anemia. 

The shabby little cot groaned beneath the full weight of it’s occupant as the healer gently laid him back.  “Rest then, I have a kit for you, and hopefully some spare blankets…maybe.”  Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure there were any blankets left, they seemed to walk themselves out the doors just as quickly as they were donated; he’d have to start watching more carefully.

Standing, he made his way across the room to a moderate sized chest, flipping open the lid with a clik clak clak clak as it bounced on its hinges.  Where was it.. he was sure he’d had at least one injury kit in here.. ah- there it was!  He snatched the small leather pouch from its fortress of random junk, and made his way to another chest where he kept linens; to his dismay it was empty.

Great.. just great.

“No blankets.” he huffed,  “I suppose my robes will do- if you can tolerate being dressed as a mage.”

alyriumlining:

andersforgreatjustice:

alyriumlining:

andersforgreatjustice:

alyriumlining:

Tapering leathers dragged themselves across the filthy dust which never left the rotten ground of the stinking Undercity. Beggars and children cajoled callously to each other, using smart remarks and harsh words depsite being in as good a humour as being a Darktown urchin allowed. A thin yet…

The light scritching of a quill was all the sound that seemed to persist within the small darktown clinic, rough against the poor quality parchment.  Anders sat, one hand tangled in loose blond hair, the other working in fleeting movements as he raced through sentence after sentence, inspired by some profound notion.

Times like these were rare of late- long hours of peace where he could just sit and recount piles of stashed ideas and thoughts yet to be recorded; it was a welcome break, his manifesto wasn’t going to write itself after all.

”..until people can see that mages are not just monsters lying in wait, but also mothers and fathers, daughters and-CLUNK!”  the quill skipped across the page as the apostate startled, ink spilling out of the quill and conveniently blotting out the word ‘not’.

“Oh just perfect..”  Anders scoffed, glaring down at the ruined page, then turned his ire on the door.  “Whoever that is better be damned ill…”  Perhaps if he just never slept again, he’d be searching for things to entertain himself with rather than struggling to find time to eat.  Snerking, he made for the large wooden doors, moving to open one just enough to peek outside.

As soon as he undid the latch, the door flung open, catching the mage in the shoulder and sending him stumbling backwards.  The apostate swore unintelligibly, catching himself just before he felt over backwards, eyes darting to gain purchase on his would be assailant who now likely stood within his domain.

Only no one was standing there at all.. only.  He looked to the floor, recognizing instantly the figure that lay motionless across the threshold. 

“Fenris?”

For a frightening, brief moment the body on the ground was completely still. Nary a word nor a breath escaped its lifeless form when a sudden gasp broke the silence, arms extending and pressing against the earth to lift the body up. Through a veil of ivory hair, glossy green eyes glared painfully at the man standing so high above him, a voice being spoken through clenching teeth. “I am wounded, Mage.”
As if the obvious was, well, obvious. His right leg now completely immobile, he forced himself up onto his good knees, eyes darting down to maintain balance.

When Fenris again simply knelt there for a good few beats, fists formed at his sides, even trembling just the slightest bit. Still, it would not do to simply die here at this time, or worse, pass out on the filthy floor where hundreds of wounded and sickened feet had tread over the years. No, he could do this civilly, he could be proper about this. Just, only proper enough to where he could get the assistance he so desperately needed.

“I am in need of…assistance.” His voice forcibly rumbled out as he swallowed thickly. It was evident he could not stand, though the batter to his pride on having to ask for help was even more so, especially given that he was indeed in dire need of Anders’s superb healing abilities. No person in the whole of Kirkwall who knew of this shanty clinic could deny the expertise at which he performed.  

That and Fenris’s list of known allies was small enough to fit upon a single half sheet of vellum. He had no where else to turn. 

Gazing up at last, brown eyes meeting green as he awaited his answer. In all honesty, he wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if the mage simply turned him away for being, well, himself. He wasn’t the kindest of his fellow forest folk, and he made no attempt to hide his distaste for the gift all those like Anders shared.  

Admittedly, Anders was a bit shocked.  It was no secret that there was little love lost between he and the warrior, they bickered all the time; what was secret however, was the way the lyrium effected him, singing sweetly to him like a Siren to doomed men.  Strange that he hadn’t felt the usual illuminant warmth from behind the door.

Two emerald pools drew Anders back from his brief reverie, he’d scarcely heard what the elf had said, but he was positive he knew the facts already- Fenris would not be here unless it was dyer. 

In one rushed motion the healer knelt beside the now colorless Fenris, eyes racing down the slick of blood that ran from his leg, out his door and down the steps beyond.  Maker, he could smell it- thick and warm and spilling out everywhere.

“How in Thedas are you still alive!?”  he spotted the thigh wound immediately, moving his hand to hover just over the ruined flesh- his eyes slipping shut in concentration.  Gradually, flesh began to mend, blood flow ebbing slowly until it finally stopped altogether.  Still-ruined flesh glared sickeningly back at Anders as he felt his mana begin to wane; he wasn’t entirely rested from healing earlier that day. 

“That’s stopped the bleeding… but I haven’t any magic for the rest.” he admitted breathlessly, pulling his hand away; he was sure there was a poultice around that could help with the rest, as well as a potion for the anemia.  With any luck he could send the very fortunate elf on his way within the hour, and return to his work.

“Can you stand?”

Mumbling to himself about less talking and more healing, he let his gaze fall back to the ground as his vision tunneled significantly, threatening to cause a black out. And yet, deep within him was a resilience no other man knew and it was this thread of self-determination that kept the elf in focus, that kept him concious. He wanted so dearly just tto shut his eyes and sleep for a bit, he was so tired, but to do so would certainly be yielding to the Maker. Fenris had no plans to visit him in the near or even middle-to-distant future.

Turning his gaze on a particularly dead looking rodent, he focused all his energies on holding his eyes in that one spot when a sudden warmth filled his lower body, his body flinching immediately in reaction to the contact. The fists wound tighter as his nose flared, but by the Maker he was going to burn a hole in that rat carcass with how intensely he stared. He could feel the stitching together of flesh, the odd tingling sensation as his toes gently regained their color. And yet, he was still as weak as ever, finding annoyance in the fact that Anders wasn’t healing him completely. 

And yet, he knew that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t the mage’s fault he fell from a cliff, gouging himself of an errant stalagmite. Nor was it his fault that Fenris had chosen to deal with small time slavers himself without telling either Hawke or any of the other companions. 

Blinking at last, he found he was holding his breath, exhaling quickly as he wiggled his feet, testing their strength and tenacity. The flesh was sensitive and tender from where the cells had regrown and he knew then that he would still be unable to place much wait on it. Chewing on the inside of his lip, he inhaled and exhaled once more before shaking his head. “I cannot.” Shifting the gaze back to Anders, he reached out for the handle of the door and used it to the best of its ability to ease him into a two-kneed kneeling position. The whole ordeal was painstakingly slow and he would need the help of the mage, or anyone to get up on both pads of his feet. Casting another glance at the other man, the need for help was unable to flee from his eyes.

“Alright then.”  There was a part of the mage, a very childish part, that shied away from the elf, even as he looped his arm around the smaller man’s shoulders and gently lifted him from the floor.  The warmth of the magical ore that was burned into Fenris’ skin once again pulsing distractingly in the back of Anders’ mind, his skin tingling with sensitive awareness…had his robes always been this scratchy?  The pair of them slowly made off toward Anders own personal cot, the only one he had made up for that evening; he eyed the elf suspiciously as he sat him down.

“You aren’t in any trouble are you?” Normally he wouldn’t worry, but Andraste be damned he wasn’t about suffer an unwarranted attack on the behalf of his disgruntled rival- he hadn’t the strength to defend either of them if some revenge-hungry bandits stormed the clinic.

alyriumlining:

andersforgreatjustice:

alyriumlining:

Tapering leathers dragged themselves across the filthy dust which never left the rotten ground of the stinking Undercity. Beggars and children cajoled callously to each other, using smart remarks and harsh words depsite being in as good a humour as being a Darktown urchin allowed. A thin yet…

The light scritching of a quill was all the sound that seemed to persist within the small darktown clinic, rough against the poor quality parchment.  Anders sat, one hand tangled in loose blond hair, the other working in fleeting movements as he raced through sentence after sentence, inspired by some profound notion.

Times like these were rare of late- long hours of peace where he could just sit and recount piles of stashed ideas and thoughts yet to be recorded; it was a welcome break, his manifesto wasn’t going to write itself after all.

”..until people can see that mages are not just monsters lying in wait, but also mothers and fathers, daughters and-CLUNK!”  the quill skipped across the page as the apostate startled, ink spilling out of the quill and conveniently blotting out the word ‘not’.

“Oh just perfect..”  Anders scoffed, glaring down at the ruined page, then turned his ire on the door.  “Whoever that is better be damned ill…”  Perhaps if he just never slept again, he’d be searching for things to entertain himself with rather than struggling to find time to eat.  Snerking, he made for the large wooden doors, moving to open one just enough to peek outside.

As soon as he undid the latch, the door flung open, catching the mage in the shoulder and sending him stumbling backwards.  The apostate swore unintelligibly, catching himself just before he felt over backwards, eyes darting to gain purchase on his would be assailant who now likely stood within his domain.

Only no one was standing there at all.. only.  He looked to the floor, recognizing instantly the figure that lay motionless across the threshold. 

“Fenris?”

For a frightening, brief moment the body on the ground was completely still. Nary a word nor a breath escaped its lifeless form when a sudden gasp broke the silence, arms extending and pressing against the earth to lift the body up. Through a veil of ivory hair, glossy green eyes glared painfully at the man standing so high above him, a voice being spoken through clenching teeth. “I am wounded, Mage.”
As if the obvious was, well, obvious. His right leg now completely immobile, he forced himself up onto his good knees, eyes darting down to maintain balance.

When Fenris again simply knelt there for a good few beats, fists formed at his sides, even trembling just the slightest bit. Still, it would not do to simply die here at this time, or worse, pass out on the filthy floor where hundreds of wounded and sickened feet had tread over the years. No, he could do this civilly, he could be proper about this. Just, only proper enough to where he could get the assistance he so desperately needed.

“I am in need of…assistance.” His voice forcibly rumbled out as he swallowed thickly. It was evident he could not stand, though the batter to his pride on having to ask for help was even more so, especially given that he was indeed in dire need of Anders’s superb healing abilities. No person in the whole of Kirkwall who knew of this shanty clinic could deny the expertise at which he performed.  

That and Fenris’s list of known allies was small enough to fit upon a single half sheet of vellum. He had no where else to turn. 

Gazing up at last, brown eyes meeting green as he awaited his answer. In all honesty, he wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if the mage simply turned him away for being, well, himself. He wasn’t the kindest of his fellow forest folk, and he made no attempt to hide his distaste for the gift all those like Anders shared.  

Admittedly, Anders was a bit shocked.  It was no secret that there was little love lost between he and the warrior, they bickered all the time; what was secret however, was the way the lyrium effected him, singing sweetly to him like a Siren to doomed men.  Strange that he hadn’t felt the usual illuminant warmth from behind the door.

Two emerald pools drew Anders back from his brief reverie, he’d scarcely heard what the elf had said, but he was positive he knew the facts already- Fenris would not be here unless it was dyer. 

In one rushed motion the healer knelt beside the now colorless Fenris, eyes racing down the slick of blood that ran from his leg, out his door and down the steps beyond.  Maker, he could smell it- thick and warm and spilling out everywhere.

“How in Thedas are you still alive!?”  he spotted the thigh wound immediately, moving his hand to hover just over the ruined flesh- his eyes slipping shut in concentration.  Gradually, flesh began to mend, blood flow ebbing slowly until it finally stopped altogether.  Still-ruined flesh glared sickeningly back at Anders as he felt his mana begin to wane; he wasn’t entirely rested from healing earlier that day. 

“That’s stopped the bleeding… but I haven’t any magic for the rest.” he admitted breathlessly, pulling his hand away; he was sure there was a poultice around that could help with the rest, as well as a potion for the anemia.  With any luck he could send the very fortunate elf on his way within the hour, and return to his work.

“Can you stand?”

alyriumlining:

Tapering leathers dragged themselves across the filthy dust which never left the rotten ground of the stinking Undercity. Beggars and children cajoled callously to each other, using smart remarks and harsh words depsite being in as good a humour as being a Darktown urchin allowed. A thin yet…

The light scritching of a quill was all the sound that seemed to persist within the small darktown clinic, rough against the poor quality parchment.  Anders sat, one hand tangled in loose blond hair, the other working in fleeting movements as he raced through sentence after sentence, inspired by some profound notion.

Times like these were rare of late- long hours of peace where he could just sit and recount piles of stashed ideas and thoughts yet to be recorded; it was a welcome break, his manifesto wasn’t going to write itself after all.

”..until people can see that mages are not just monsters lying in wait, but also mothers and fathers, daughters and-CLUNK!”  the quill skipped across the page as the apostate startled, ink spilling out of the quill and conveniently blotting out the word ‘not’.

“Oh just perfect..”  Anders scoffed, glaring down at the ruined page, then turned his ire on the door.  “Whoever that is better be damned ill…”  Perhaps if he just never slept again, he’d be searching for things to entertain himself with rather than struggling to find time to eat.  Snerking, he made for the large wooden doors, moving to open one just enough to peek outside.

As soon as he undid the latch, the door flung open, catching the mage in the shoulder and sending him stumbling backwards.  The apostate swore unintelligibly, catching himself just before he fell over, eyes darting to gain purchase on his would be assailant who now likely stood within his domain.

…only no one was standing there at all.. just.  He looked to the floor, recognizing instantly the figure that lay motionless across the threshold. 

“Fenris?”

sexyrivainipiratess:

andersforgreatjustice:

Ahh there it was, just as he had suspected.  The hook.

“You know Isabella..”  he gingerly slid his hand out from under the woman’s touch.  “I think you’re underestimating the amount of… thanks.. I get for running that clinic.  Not all of my patients are weathered old refugees and pregnant women you know.” he allowed himself a wry smirk, lifting the drink to his lips once more.

He wasn’t lying per say.. maybe stretching the truth.. a little.  Many such passes were made at him, many offers from many beautiful young girls, but that was just it.
 
Girls.. they didn’t know any better- and he was unwilling to take advantage… most of the time.  Occasionally there was one that clearly knew her way around a man, and despite Justice’s nagging disapproval he found himself unable to resist when expertly handled.

Unwilling to divulge any further detail, lest Isabella dress up and try her luck, he decided to change the subject to a topic of some interest to him.

“Besides… I thought you had it in for Fenris?  Or has that ruddy old mansion of his finally collapsed on his head and dispatched him?”

Isabella couldn’t suppress a low chuckle. -Now- he was playing the game of hard-to-get, eh? That was fine … she welcomed a challenge.

She winked at him cheekily, taking a brief drink from her cup before pouring another. “That fizzled out as suddenly as it happened, I’m afraid. But his loss. Besides…” There was a lewd twinge to the smile she now gave him. “You were -far- better than he was. And that isn’t empty flattery.”

It was true, though. For all his aggressive passion, Fenris was still only an ordinary man. Mages had an innate ’bedroom advantage’ that was difficult to compete with. Even more so when the mage in question was a skilled lover. Isabella suppressed a shudder.

The pirates comments made the apostate choke mid-swallow, coughing and sputtering dramatically as he unsteadily set the ale back on the table. “Wh..what?” It was likely he looked very dumbfounded, at least for the short second while he processed.

“You’re joking..” And here he’d thought the elf was a bit more stubborn than that; Isabela could be rather persuasive when she wanted to he supposed… hm.  A hollow ache thrummed in his chest, and he suddenly felt the pressing need to change the subject.

“Enough about him anyway..” he sigh, leaning against the back of his chair; the contents of his pack shifted, two bottles of ink rattling together every-so slightly.  It was becoming habit for the mage to bring his writing supplies with him when he was out and about, in case anything came to him while on the move.  Sadly, most every time something did, it was when he was with Hawke; no time to jot something down when you’re fighting for your life nearly every second of the trip. 

Tonight he had brought them to take notes, while he asked Varric for some rather.. unique information; it appeared as though that wouldn’t be happening this evening however.  Already it seemed to be growing late, and he could feel his lids wanting to sag as the ale warmed his belly.

“I should get going soon.”

lulumuffin:

andersforgreatjustice:

lulumuffin:

andersforgreatjustice:

lulumuffin:

andersforgreatjustice:

lulumuffin:

andersforgreatjustice:

lulumuffin:

Well, this was an unfortunate turn of events here. Here she was fully engaged with the thoughts of having a fine day to carve out something new of herself and this happens. She fell and strained her ankle so bad that the more she moved it the more she thought it was broken.

And when someone…

Busy busy busy.. can’t people in this town just NOT hurt themselves for at least one day?  For the last forty eight hours, Anders has been running himself ragged taking care of a recent outbreak of ailments amongst the least fortunate citizens within Kirkwall, occasionally stopping for the meager amount of rest he could manage before his volunteers could no longer bar the flow.  Admittedly he found himself getting a bit snippy, but he’d rather his bedside manner suffer- as long as the job was done.  It was a free clinic after all.. they weren’t exactly paying him for manners.

Anders pinched the bridge of his nose.  It’ll be over soon.. he told himself.  Just think positive!…Yeah right.  Personal pep talks only worked the first fifteen times apparently; hopefully Hawke did not choose this time to drag him out on an errand, he’d been accompanied by that sodding elf nearly every time he showed his face.  Just what he needed.. a verbal punching bag.

Anders was snapped from his thoughts by a soft greeting, spoken lightly over the general din.  Another..?  Andraste’s flaming-

“Yess?” he turned about, attempting to mold his face into a pleasant smile- which he imagined more resembled a sadistic grin, considering how hard it was to accomplish.

“….!” She could feel the color drain from her face. That smile, oh she knew how to read expressions well! You had to to survive with those mind games the Nobles in Orlais liked to pull every now and then. Oh Maker, it looked forced if she could ever see it as such. She had a small squeak and her eyes what with courage they once had dropped down a cliff and to the ground immediately.

The poor Elf trembled and her hands clenched the edge of her white slightly frilled blouse. Andraste’s sweet mercy…this…Healer’s are meant to be nice wonderful people. He looks…frightening! He’s no healer! …and…and if he is…he’s a mad one I tell you! And yet if people were coming in to him for wounds and such he must be good with his work. She gulped and her eyes slowly wound right back up to his face.

“M-My…ankle…” She couldn’t bear the thought of putting it down with her other foot and the way it was slowly swelling…it made her absolutely uncomfortable and for good reason. The man that was helping her balance took a nice ‘break’ and was sliding away from here and she fumbled about like a clipped bird and tried to balance herself out and cursing in the process.

“I-I’m sure it won’t take long, but I fell and its swelling up. If I tried walking normally it’d…just get worse I bet…” Plus she didn’t want to remain here any longer than was necessary and seeing as how so many people were in here to begin with he probably didn’t either.

Anders stared down at the tiny little elf as she explained why she’d been brought to him.  Sprained ankle from the sound of it.. that was an easy fix thankfully. 

“Right, over here then.” he said with a sigh, guiding her slowly toward the last free cot.  Out of the corner of his eye he caught a brief flitting movement- a waving hand; one of his patients was headed home. 

“Ahh good!” He called after them, “Make sure to rub that salve in good for the next few days, that should clear up the rest of the congestion and keep the last of the fever at bay.”  The man nodded gratefully, making for the door with the help of his eldest son.

Well that was a relief, one more open cot.. and a step closer to some rest.

“What did you say your name was again?” he asked his newest arrival as he sat her down, kneeling to appraise her injury more closely.

Well, alright her automatic opinion of him was lessening down once more. Whenever she sneaked glances at him when he was guiding her over to get checked she could see that weariness clung tightly to the poor man. She frowned lightly. At best, she wish she were wealthy so she could push him down on a bed and watch him sleep blissfully.

Maybe, someday she could give him that kindness. It did make her smile enough that all of the atrocities she dealt with back home did not disable her feelings of thoughtfulness for others that needed things.

“My name…?” This was the first time someone actually asked. No one really wanted to know your name here and if you were an elf, doubly so. With her accent no doubt he’d come to assume she was Orlesian and with good reason. Here, having an accent like that made you stick out to those who’ve never heard it before.

The elves in the Alienage were a bit too fascinated with it. It was odd to say the least.

“My name is Elise Levais. I-I’ve only been in Kirkwall for a week at best. …I got a little too anxious and I wasn’t being careful.” Her stomach curled and twisted up. Oh he didn’t want to know that! Why must you ramble when you’re scared, embarrassed or just…just…Elise…it’s okay. J-Just because he’s human it doesn’t mean he’s going to physically scold you for giving more than necessary. I need to try trusting…just…just a little.

Her mind was throwing so many thoughts that she hardly even noticed him kneeling over to inspect it until his eventual touch allowed her to spur back to focus on him once again.

The healer gently maneuvered the elf’s foot so that it rested on his thigh, tentatively running his fingers over the swollen joint and nodding to himself.  No break from what he could tell. 

“Well then Elise Levais, welcome to Kirkwall.” Usually a minute pool of concentration was needed for such a rudimentary job.. however, the days of labor had taken their toll on his magic, leaving him rather drained.

“You’ve only a minor sprain…a poultice should do the trick for the swelling- Tessa!”  he reached out and tapped one of his volunteers as she walked by; a stout blond woman with a rosy nose and cheery smile.  “Could you grab a minor healing poultice for me please?”

“Of course.” she smiled sweetly to Elise, and made her way across the clinic.

“So… you’re native to Orlais then I take it?” his attention was back to his timid patient, hands massaging the last of his magic into her strained ligaments.

Welcome to Kirkwall he said. Welcome…there were a few homely signs about on some cottages and homes out in the fields. Welcome Home. She could deal with that. Kirkwall was vastly different in many ways, but…but it wasn’t so bad she thought.

When she watched him work his magic upon her; her expression was torn. “It is nice to be welcomed, but…” Her voice was caught, and she would pause for a moment. She didn’t know what to say. Being a slave meant you could hardly care about other people. You were trapped, practically brainwashed as if by blood magic itself, and told to do things.

…but the suffering. He looked tired, she was no mage but she could understand. Everyone here depended on him in some way, shape, or form. “Please…” She reached over to place her hand on his shoulder. “You’re tired. …i’m not…supposed to be given anyone’s attention and care. That isn’t…” She didn’t know what to say to be frank.

She was feeling better, but this nagging feeling of her self-esteem bearing down on her with its fangs crept back and bit her hard. “This is true. I miss some things about it, but I ran away. …even if…you welcome me I will always feel misplaced and that I do not belong. You don’t have to put your time into someone like me.” She would smile, there was sadness and most often or not a self loathing.

The fact this man even cared enough to heal her was a Maker given blessing upon her torn heart.

Despite himself, Anders snorted a bit.  “Well I’d be a right prat for opening a free clinic if I had no intention of caring for people, now wouldn’t I?”  he smiled up at the girl to put her at ease; clearly she was a little addled from her recent transition.

“Here you are love!”  Tessa was back, along with the poultice he had requested.  “Getting a little low on the stores.. might be time to make a new batch again.”

“Already?”  the apostate huffed a bit as he took the crystal vial carefully and uncorked it.  “Alright.. I’ll see to that tonight after everyone’s cleared off.” 

Listing off the required ingredients in his head, he hummed, nodding when he was sure he had them all.  Looks like he’d be putting in another late night; no shock there.

“Ah, yes…” Her eyes rested on him and there was a smile that greeted her. It was so strange. She could feel the sincerity bleeding from his words. At the very least he did have some humor to put into it.

She sat there, listening to the two talking and saw that he would need to make more poultices. Oh no that wouldn’t do. He already looked like a weary mess! And that from there those instincts came up once more.

“No, let me help you. It’s the least I can do.” If she had the freedom to make the first choice as an individual she’ll be damned if she let this slip from her fingers.

“I .. er.. no.  Thank you.”  Anders turned his attention back to his task, gently massaging the viscous red liquid into her skin; the improvement since her arrival was already visible, she should be able to walk out within the hour. 

In a world where people seemed to be most interested in imagining new and interesting way to kill each other, he wasn’t about to leave his credibility -as well as other peoples lives- in the hands of a complete stranger, no matter how nice they seemed; it would be foolish, and he knew better.

Still… flat turning her down did come off as a little rude.  He thought on something to say, yet the exhaustion had taken its toll on his wit and left him with nothing.

“I get rather particular about the consumable remedies I give to my patients is all.” he admitted.  “So I like to see them done myself.”  listening to his own voice, he realized how tired he sounded; if only he’d instead been possessed by a spirit of enthusiasm, at least then maybe he’d better suited for surviving his everyday responsibilities, not just pursuing radical political ideals.

lulumuffin:

andersforgreatjustice:

lulumuffin:

andersforgreatjustice:

lulumuffin:

andersforgreatjustice:

lulumuffin:

Well, this was an unfortunate turn of events here. Here she was fully engaged with the thoughts of having a fine day to carve out something new of herself and this happens. She fell and strained her ankle so bad that the more she moved it the more she thought it was broken.

And when someone…

Busy busy busy.. can’t people in this town just NOT hurt themselves for at least one day?  For the last forty eight hours, Anders has been running himself ragged taking care of a recent outbreak of ailments amongst the least fortunate citizens within Kirkwall, occasionally stopping for the meager amount of rest he could manage before his volunteers could no longer bar the flow.  Admittedly he found himself getting a bit snippy, but he’d rather his bedside manner suffer- as long as the job was done.  It was a free clinic after all.. they weren’t exactly paying him for manners.

Anders pinched the bridge of his nose.  It’ll be over soon.. he told himself.  Just think positive!…Yeah right.  Personal pep talks only worked the first fifteen times apparently; hopefully Hawke did not choose this time to drag him out on an errand, he’d been accompanied by that sodding elf nearly every time he showed his face.  Just what he needed.. a verbal punching bag.

Anders was snapped from his thoughts by a soft greeting, spoken lightly over the general din.  Another..?  Andraste’s flaming-

“Yess?” he turned about, attempting to mold his face into a pleasant smile- which he imagined more resembled a sadistic grin, considering how hard it was to accomplish.

“….!” She could feel the color drain from her face. That smile, oh she knew how to read expressions well! You had to to survive with those mind games the Nobles in Orlais liked to pull every now and then. Oh Maker, it looked forced if she could ever see it as such. She had a small squeak and her eyes what with courage they once had dropped down a cliff and to the ground immediately.

The poor Elf trembled and her hands clenched the edge of her white slightly frilled blouse. Andraste’s sweet mercy…this…Healer’s are meant to be nice wonderful people. He looks…frightening! He’s no healer! …and…and if he is…he’s a mad one I tell you! And yet if people were coming in to him for wounds and such he must be good with his work. She gulped and her eyes slowly wound right back up to his face.

“M-My…ankle…” She couldn’t bear the thought of putting it down with her other foot and the way it was slowly swelling…it made her absolutely uncomfortable and for good reason. The man that was helping her balance took a nice ‘break’ and was sliding away from here and she fumbled about like a clipped bird and tried to balance herself out and cursing in the process.

“I-I’m sure it won’t take long, but I fell and its swelling up. If I tried walking normally it’d…just get worse I bet…” Plus she didn’t want to remain here any longer than was necessary and seeing as how so many people were in here to begin with he probably didn’t either.

Anders stared down at the tiny little elf as she explained why she’d been brought to him.  Sprained ankle from the sound of it.. that was an easy fix thankfully. 

“Right, over here then.” he said with a sigh, guiding her slowly toward the last free cot.  Out of the corner of his eye he caught a brief flitting movement- a waving hand; one of his patients was headed home. 

“Ahh good!” He called after them, “Make sure to rub that salve in good for the next few days, that should clear up the rest of the congestion and keep the last of the fever at bay.”  The man nodded gratefully, making for the door with the help of his eldest son.

Well that was a relief, one more open cot.. and a step closer to some rest.

“What did you say your name was again?” he asked his newest arrival as he sat her down, kneeling to appraise her injury more closely.

Well, alright her automatic opinion of him was lessening down once more. Whenever she sneaked glances at him when he was guiding her over to get checked she could see that weariness clung tightly to the poor man. She frowned lightly. At best, she wish she were wealthy so she could push him down on a bed and watch him sleep blissfully.

Maybe, someday she could give him that kindness. It did make her smile enough that all of the atrocities she dealt with back home did not disable her feelings of thoughtfulness for others that needed things.

“My name…?” This was the first time someone actually asked. No one really wanted to know your name here and if you were an elf, doubly so. With her accent no doubt he’d come to assume she was Orlesian and with good reason. Here, having an accent like that made you stick out to those who’ve never heard it before.

The elves in the Alienage were a bit too fascinated with it. It was odd to say the least.

“My name is Elise Levais. I-I’ve only been in Kirkwall for a week at best. …I got a little too anxious and I wasn’t being careful.” Her stomach curled and twisted up. Oh he didn’t want to know that! Why must you ramble when you’re scared, embarrassed or just…just…Elise…it’s okay. J-Just because he’s human it doesn’t mean he’s going to physically scold you for giving more than necessary. I need to try trusting…just…just a little.

Her mind was throwing so many thoughts that she hardly even noticed him kneeling over to inspect it until his eventual touch allowed her to spur back to focus on him once again.

The healer gently maneuvered the elf’s foot so that it rested on his thigh, tentatively running his fingers over the swollen joint and nodding to himself.  No break from what he could tell. 

“Well then Elise Levais, welcome to Kirkwall.” Usually a minute pool of concentration was needed for such a rudimentary job.. however, the days of labor had taken their toll on his magic, leaving him rather drained.

“You’ve only a minor sprain…a poultice should do the trick for the swelling- Tessa!”  he reached out and tapped one of his volunteers as she walked by; a stout blond woman with a rosy nose and cheery smile.  “Could you grab a minor healing poultice for me please?”

“Of course.” she smiled sweetly to Elise, and made her way across the clinic.

“So… you’re native to Orlais then I take it?” his attention was back to his timid patient, hands massaging the last of his magic into her strained ligaments.

Welcome to Kirkwall he said. Welcome…there were a few homely signs about on some cottages and homes out in the fields. Welcome Home. She could deal with that. Kirkwall was vastly different in many ways, but…but it wasn’t so bad she thought.

When she watched him work his magic upon her; her expression was torn. “It is nice to be welcomed, but…” Her voice was caught, and she would pause for a moment. She didn’t know what to say. Being a slave meant you could hardly care about other people. You were trapped, practically brainwashed as if by blood magic itself, and told to do things.

…but the suffering. He looked tired, she was no mage but she could understand. Everyone here depended on him in some way, shape, or form. “Please…” She reached over to place her hand on his shoulder. “You’re tired. …i’m not…supposed to be given anyone’s attention and care. That isn’t…” She didn’t know what to say to be frank.

She was feeling better, but this nagging feeling of her self-esteem bearing down on her with its fangs crept back and bit her hard. “This is true. I miss some things about it, but I ran away. …even if…you welcome me I will always feel misplaced and that I do not belong. You don’t have to put your time into someone like me.” She would smile, there was sadness and most often or not a self loathing.

The fact this man even cared enough to heal her was a Maker given blessing upon her torn heart.

Despite himself, Anders snorted a bit.  “Well I’d be a right prat for opening a free clinic if I had no intention of caring for people, now wouldn’t I?”  he smiled up at the girl to put her at ease; clearly she was a little addled from her recent transition.

“Here you are love!”  Tessa was back, along with the poultice he had requested.  “Getting a little low on the stores.. might be time to make a new batch again.”

“Already?”  the apostate huffed a bit as he took the crystal vial carefully and uncorked it.  “Alright.. I’ll see to that tonight after everyone’s cleared off.” 

Listing off the required ingredients in his head, he hummed, nodding when he was sure he had them all.  Looks like he’d be putting in another late night; no shock there.

lulumuffin:

andersforgreatjustice:

lulumuffin:

andersforgreatjustice:

lulumuffin:

Well, this was an unfortunate turn of events here. Here she was fully engaged with the thoughts of having a fine day to carve out something new of herself and this happens. She fell and strained her ankle so bad that the more she moved it the more she thought it was broken.

And when someone…

Busy busy busy.. can’t people in this town just NOT hurt themselves for at least one day?  For the last forty eight hours, Anders has been running himself ragged taking care of a recent outbreak of ailments amongst the least fortunate citizens within Kirkwall, occasionally stopping for the meager amount of rest he could manage before his volunteers could no longer bar the flow.  Admittedly he found himself getting a bit snippy, but he’d rather his bedside manner suffer- as long as the job was done.  It was a free clinic after all.. they weren’t exactly paying him for manners.

Anders pinched the bridge of his nose.  It’ll be over soon.. he told himself.  Just think positive!…Yeah right.  Personal pep talks only worked the first fifteen times apparently; hopefully Hawke did not choose this time to drag him out on an errand, he’d been accompanied by that sodding elf nearly every time he showed his face.  Just what he needed.. a verbal punching bag.

Anders was snapped from his thoughts by a soft greeting, spoken lightly over the general din.  Another..?  Andraste’s flaming-

“Yess?” he turned about, attempting to mold his face into a pleasant smile- which he imagined more resembled a sadistic grin, considering how hard it was to accomplish.

“….!” She could feel the color drain from her face. That smile, oh she knew how to read expressions well! You had to to survive with those mind games the Nobles in Orlais liked to pull every now and then. Oh Maker, it looked forced if she could ever see it as such. She had a small squeak and her eyes what with courage they once had dropped down a cliff and to the ground immediately.

The poor Elf trembled and her hands clenched the edge of her white slightly frilled blouse. Andraste’s sweet mercy…this…Healer’s are meant to be nice wonderful people. He looks…frightening! He’s no healer! …and…and if he is…he’s a mad one I tell you! And yet if people were coming in to him for wounds and such he must be good with his work. She gulped and her eyes slowly wound right back up to his face.

“M-My…ankle…” She couldn’t bear the thought of putting it down with her other foot and the way it was slowly swelling…it made her absolutely uncomfortable and for good reason. The man that was helping her balance took a nice ‘break’ and was sliding away from here and she fumbled about like a clipped bird and tried to balance herself out and cursing in the process.

“I-I’m sure it won’t take long, but I fell and its swelling up. If I tried walking normally it’d…just get worse I bet…” Plus she didn’t want to remain here any longer than was necessary and seeing as how so many people were in here to begin with he probably didn’t either.

Anders stared down at the tiny little elf as she explained why she’d been brought to him.  Sprained ankle from the sound of it.. that was an easy fix thankfully. 

“Right, over here then.” he said with a sigh, guiding her slowly toward the last free cot.  Out of the corner of his eye he caught a brief flitting movement- a waving hand; one of his patients was headed home. 

“Ahh good!” He called after them, “Make sure to rub that salve in good for the next few days, that should clear up the rest of the congestion and keep the last of the fever at bay.”  The man nodded gratefully, making for the door with the help of his eldest son.

Well that was a relief, one more open cot.. and a step closer to some rest.

“What did you say your name was again?” he asked his newest arrival as he sat her down, kneeling to appraise her injury more closely.

Well, alright her automatic opinion of him was lessening down once more. Whenever she sneaked glances at him when he was guiding her over to get checked she could see that weariness clung tightly to the poor man. She frowned lightly. At best, she wish she were wealthy so she could push him down on a bed and watch him sleep blissfully.

Maybe, someday she could give him that kindness. It did make her smile enough that all of the atrocities she dealt with back home did not disable her feelings of thoughtfulness for others that needed things.

“My name…?” This was the first time someone actually asked. No one really wanted to know your name here and if you were an elf, doubly so. With her accent no doubt he’d come to assume she was Orlesian and with good reason. Here, having an accent like that made you stick out to those who’ve never heard it before.

The elves in the Alienage were a bit too fascinated with it. It was odd to say the least.

“My name is Elise Levais. I-I’ve only been in Kirkwall for a week at best. …I got a little too anxious and I wasn’t being careful.” Her stomach curled and twisted up. Oh he didn’t want to know that! Why must you ramble when you’re scared, embarrassed or just…just…Elise…it’s okay. J-Just because he’s human it doesn’t mean he’s going to physically scold you for giving more than necessary. I need to try trusting…just…just a little.

Her mind was throwing so many thoughts that she hardly even noticed him kneeling over to inspect it until his eventual touch allowed her to spur back to focus on him once again.

The healer gently maneuvered the elf’s foot so that it rested on his thigh, tentatively running his fingers over the swollen joint and nodding to himself.  No break from what he could tell. 

“Well then Elise Levais, welcome to Kirkwall.” Usually a minute pool of concentration was needed for such a rudimentary job.. however, the days of labor had taken their toll on his magic, leaving him rather drained.

“You’ve only a minor sprain…a poultice should do the trick for the swelling- Tessa!”  he reached out and tapped one of his volunteers as she walked by; a stout blond woman with a rosy nose and cheery smile.  “Could you grab a minor healing poultice for me please?”

“Of course.” she smiled sweetly to Elise, and made her way across the clinic.

“So… you’re native to Orlais then I take it?” his attention was back to his timid patient, hands massaging the last of his magic into her strained ligaments.