The healer closed the cabin door behind him then carried the gathering basket through to his work area and set it on the table. He pulled the gathering knife from his belt and hung it on the rack of utensils that hung on the wall over the worn wooden workbench, then reached for the herbs in the basket.
He sorted through them, gathering them into bunches. One bunch of elfroot, he set to one side, along with a few sprigs of crystal grace, then he tied the others up and carried them into the pantry, hanging them up to dry.
As he emerged from the pantry, an elderly ginger tabby wandered into the work room and mewed at him imperiously.
"Hello, Pounce," smiled the healer, reaching down to scratch behind the cat's ears before he made his way to the sink. He pumped water into the kettle, then gestured at the fire-place as he drew on his mana, tapping into it just enough to set the fire alight. He bent down to add more wood, then hung the kettle over the flames to boil.
He ground the elfroot and crystal grace together as he waited for the kettle to boil, humming quietly to himself. Pounce curled and twined himself around the man's ankles, purring happily.
"Not suppertime yet, you hopeful beast," chided the healer with a smile.
He heard the door open and a familiar voice call his name.
"In here, love!" the healer called.
Garrett Hawke stripped off his gloves and pulled off his cloak, dropping them on a nearby chair as he walked towards the work room. He paused in the doorway to lean against the frame and watch the healer working.
"What, no 'hello'?" teased the former Champion of Kirkwall. "Where's my 'welcome home' kiss?"
Anders looked up and smiled, his hands stilling upon the pestle and mortar. Setting them aside, he wiped his hands on a cloth before moving around the table to throw his arms around Hawke's neck with a grin before kissing him, long, slow and deeply. As they finally parted for breath, Anders leaned up to peck another small kiss upon the tip of Hawke's nose. "Missed you too," he grinned.
He let go and moved to the sideboard to fetch cups for tea. "What news?" he called over his shoulder as he set the teapot on the table then lifted down the tea caddy.
"Bad," replied Hawke. "The Hossberg Circle was annulled."
The china pot of tea slipped from Anders' suddenly-nerveless hands; it smashed upon the flagstone floor, scattering tea leaves unheeded as the colour drained from the blond apostate's face.
"No," he breathed. "Oh Maker, no. When?"
"Five weeks ago," replied Hawke. " The Seekers rose up against them. The news had only just reached the village when I got there."
Anders stared at him, shaking his head mutely, his eyes glistening wetly.
Hawke wrapped his arms around the slender man as Anders' chest began to heave, his shoulders shaking. "Easy there," said Hawke softly. "They said many of the mages managed to escape; not all the templars obeyed. They managed to get many of the apprentices out. The sympathetic templars and many of the mages have gone to Weisshaupt; the Wardens have declared an amnesty for any that wish to join them. But half the Circle are dead."
"My fault," gasped Anders, trying to fight down the stinging tears that threatened to spill. "It's all my fault. How many is that now?"
"Hush," said Hawke gently. "You couldn't have known. You were possessed; it was Vengeance-"
Anders pulled away abruptly. "No!" he exclaimed hotly. "No, no, no. We are not having this argument again." He stalked away from Hawke back to the table where he attacked the crushed herbs as though to inflict his sudden anger on them.
"Love-" began Hawke.
Anders slammed his hands down upon the table, breathing hard as he fought to control his temper. "For the last time," he said quietly. "Vengeance and I were one. His thoughts were mine. By that time, I could not have told you where I ended and he began; there was no difference. You may as well say he was possessed by me; there are no words for what we had become. Abomination doesn't begin to describe it." He looked up at Hawke, still frowning. "No matter which way you look at it, it was my hands that started the Mage-Templar War. The deaths of every single mage at Hossberg can be laid directly at my feet and no other."
"Anders, you weren't responsible for the actions of the Seekers or the destruction of the Nevarran Accord!"
"Tell that to Dairsmuid! Tell that to every Circle mage that died at Hossberg! To every mage slaughtered by templar swords, be they from the Circle or no! Do you think it matters to them now?" Anders shouted, waving his arm in the vague direction of Hossberg. "It's not Lambert's name they'll curse but mine! I may not have killed them personally myself as I did in Kirkwall, but their blood is on my hands all the same-"
"There's going to be a Conclave," said Hawke with an air of desperation.
"What?" said Anders.
"Divine Justinia has called a Conclave. At the Temple of the Sacred Ashes in the Frostback Mountains. A peace summit - Seekers, Templars, mages. The Divine wants to put an end to the war."
"The rebel mage leaders would never attend - it would be a perfect chance for the Seekers and Templars to wipe them out," said Anders slowly.
"Both sides are sending emissaries," nodded Hawke.
Anders stared down at the table, his gaze distant. After a while, he spoke again, his voice quiet but determined.
"I'm going."
Hawke blinked at him. "What do you mean, you're going? Going where?" he asked. Anders looked up at him.
"I'm going to the conclave. I started this whole damned war. I'm going to be there when they end it."