She came to him bruised and bloody, though that's how he was used to seeing her. Covered in sweat and grime after battle, the smell of enemy blood (and some of her own) surrounding her like a fell cloud.
Tonight was no different, except the enemies she faced were inside her and as good a healer as Anders was, he could do nothing to soothe her mind.
He watched her as she made herself comfortable on one of the stiff cots in his clinic. Anders moved to her side to see just what she had done to herself this time. Her knuckles were still bleeding, wrapped in torn fabric. She winced as he peeled away the strips.
"Maker, Hawke. What did you hit?"
Silence. She never spoke during these late night visits. For someone as...outspoken as Carina Hawke was, he found her silence most unsettling.
Still, he tended to her as he always did. Pale blue wisps filled the air as cuts sealed over. He wiped her bloodied hands off with a nearby rag and threw it in the pile with her old wrappings.
"You need to control your anger. These outbursts aren't good for you, or your hands."
"You're one to talk. Tell me again how well suppressing your anger worked for Justice."
Her voice was stern but shaky. He sighed as she stood to leave. She'd reached the door before he spoke up again.
"Will you ever tell me what's going on?"
"Someday, perhaps. But not today."
And just like that he was alone again, with nothing but the smell of lyrium and blood and the faint feeling of her hand in his to keep him through the night.