Anders swayed and stumbled, palm scraping against the cold stone wall as he tried to catch himself, his vision dark and ragged around the edges. Falling, falling and there wasn't anything he could do about it. This was going to hurt when he woke up.
Warm and a bit nauseous with hunger, he came to with a groan and miraculously no concussion or even the slightest headache from an abrupt meeting of skull to floor. He was vaguely aware of at least two other people in his clinic, and looked at them through slitted eyes.
"So much for a trip to the Wounded Coast. This is why you're supposed to eat the food I give you," Hawke said, cheekiness covering concern, rather poorly if one knew her. "Even Justice must understand that."
"You'd be surprised what Justice does and doesn't understand," Anders mumbled, closing his eyes again while he tried to gather his bearings.
"And you can tell us all about it over a bowl of stew at the Hanged Man, Blondie," Varric said.
Anders wrinkled his nose, he should just start calling them Mom and Dad. Then again they'd both probably be tickled pink about that.
"No, no. That's fine. Just leave me to the filthy floor."
"I'd rather they did not."
Anders tensed and, suddenly realizing his head was pillowed on a pair of lean thighs, twisted to look up at a pair of large jade eyes framed by snow white hair staring down at him.
"I rather imagine you'd be hurting a lot more if Fenris hadn't been so quick to break your fall," Hawke said.
"W—what?"
Fenris scoffed, although the tips of his ears were slightly pink, "It was not difficult. A man your size ought to weigh more."
"I…" what was he supposed to say or even think about that? "I could go for that bowl of stew now," he finished weakly.
"Excellent," Hawke seemed genuinely pleased. "You'll help Anders walk won't you, Fenris?"
Fenris dipped his head, "As you say, Hawke."