Hawke stumbled roughly into the Hanged Man, leaning heavily on Fenris. He was covered in blood, but Hawke's armor padding was soaked through with it. Bandits had ambushed the group while they were searching for medicinal herbs and, somehow, an arrow had pierced Hawke's steel breastplate. Varric, Anders, and Fenris brought her back to town so she could at least rest. Her condition worsened as she got closer to Kirkwall, and now, at their favorite bar, she looked like she was about to collapse.

"It's barely even in there, just get me a drink. It'll heal up by morning." Hawke's words were slurring. Varric had removed her heavy plate armor, but she still felt heavy. The world was starting to get blurry.

She turned to Anders.

"Why didn't you bring me to your clinic?" She threw him a flirty smile before tripping gracefully over a chair. Fenris caught the maiden just in time, but looked too pleased with himself. Anders fumed, too busy carrying Hawke's armor to have saved the day. Varric helped her up, and he and Fenris guided her to his room in the back. They got a few odd stares from the bar patrons, but blood and battles weren't uncommon at the Hanged Man.

Anders scoffed at his favorite warrior. "You insisted that you be brought here, remember?" Shit. Why hadn't he realized her wound was so severe? His magic should have sensed that the arrow was in deep, or that she had lost too much blood, unless -

You were distracted by the view of her torso without battle armor.

Andraste's tits. Now here she was, wonderful bosom and all, bleeding out in Varric's suite. She grunted in pain as Fenris and Varric helped her onto the table, and carefully pushed her onto her side so that they could remove her padding.

"Hey, whaddya doin?" Hawke tried to roll back over, but gasped and stopped moving, her face twisted up in pain. Varric patted her side caringly, earning him another pained grunt.

"Blondie here's going to stitch you right up, Hawke. We just have to get your shirt off first." He pulled the padding away from her chest, revealing an undershirt saturated with blood.

"I told you, I'm fine."

"Sure, Hawke. But let's just let Blondie work some magic." Varric winked at her, his smile wide. He turned to Fenris, "Let's leave him to his work, Broody. There's nothing more we can do now."

"Riight." Guarded as ever, Fenris narrowed his eyes at the possessed apostate. "I don't think we should trust this mage to heal her."

Anders smiled back, hiding his hatred behind his teeth. "You don't much have a choice, do you?"

Fenris paused and looked at Hawke, his expression soft. The affection on his face made Anders stiffen; why did he care about the woman he despised? Despite how much they argued, Anders could see the way Fenris looked at her and it made him burn. He found comfort in Hawke's disapproval of the warrior, but images of her in Fenris' bed still featured in his nightmares.

You shouldn't concern yourself with the freed slave. Clearly, she detests him. And why should it matter? She is not ours.

The lyrium warrior looked back at Anders, his face cold again. With a small sound of disgust, he followed Varric through the door, slamming it roughly behind him.

Anders sighed. He tried to concentrate on Hawke's unsteady breathing. With help from Justice, he pushed Fenris out of his mind. Hawke needed his help and he had to focus to heal her. He couldn't afford to be caught up in pointless, vapid jealousy.

"So, are you going to take off my shirt?" Hawke let her head fall towards the apostate. Usually, her teasing would be accompanied by a subtle blush and a wide, mischievous grin, but her expression now looked vacant and glassy.

That didn't stop Ander's heart from thumping on loudly, or his face to flush... or his pants to get a little tighter.

She's about to faint from blood loss and you're -

I know.

"Yes, I'm going to take off your shirt. I need to heal your wound." He stepped over to the table and, leaning over her, began to peel off her shirt. It would have been erotic, but the smell of blood and her pale complexion had him focused and worried about her welfare. Hawke had failed to reply with a flirty quip; she was definitely not feeling well. Now that he was concentrating, he could feel that she was on the verge of passing out.

That was probably for the best. The arrow had hit her in the side of her right ribs, and though Varric had broken it to take off her armor, the tip was still inside. He examined the wound more closely, using magic to sense its severity. Yes, there were a few shards and splinters inside. He would have to use magic to remove them. He used a cooling spell to numb the area as best he could, and then began to remove the shards.

Hawke was either too far gone to notice the splinters moving around inside her, or had a very high pain tolerance. Knowing her, Anders felt it was the latter. She was his strong girl. The mage fell into a rhythm of numbing the area, removing shards, healing her wounds, and sending her his energy to help her stay conscious. He didn't want to cause any more damage, so the going was slow.

He tried - valiantly - to ignore how her breasts rose and fell as she breathed, or how the peaks of her nipples were visible through her chest bindings.

Stop leering. You frequently deal with attractive patients - why is this one different?

Well, she's selfless, bold as the Fade, witty, empathetic, fights like 20 well-trained soldiers, has lips like pink roses...

He stopped himself. He couldn't continue listing her virtues. He was in love with her enough already, without thinking about her perfection while in such close, romantic quarters. Andraste, she was practically naked already and damn it is hot in here and Maker, focus.

She would be his undoing. All his professional reserve, his years and years of experience as a healer, gone as soon as they're alone together.

She is a distraction.

No kidding.

"Anders."

"Yes, Hawke?" He tore his gaze away from her wound, and found himself just mere inches away from a very flushed, very aware warrior maiden.