He was just healing a cut in a boy's leg when the woman entered his clinic.
She limped badly, her trousers were cut open as was her right leg, and she was barely standing on her feet. Her face was pale like ashes as she stumbled to one of the cots standing around, sitting down.
Anders hurried to close the boy's wound, hastened to look after her.
Her trousers were drenched in blood, and blood was also covering her hands, her side and her arms. She staggered, inhaling deeply and hastily, her eyes were filled with pain. Her leg's sore was deep, the flesh cut open from the upper leg to her gaiter.
"I know I shouldn't ask you… I'm certainly not the kind of patient you treat usually, but please help me." Her voice sounded weak and raspy from her pain.
Taking a second look, he had to agree. Under all that blood she wore clothes of good quality and looked well-fed. His patients were usually the poor refugees and miners who lived in Darktown, and sometimes he also treated his friends' wounds as well, but this woman clearly was neither from Darktown nor one his friends.
She was a complete stranger.
But she certainly was losing a lot of her blood, and she looked as pale as death. It was almost certain that she would die sooner or later if he did nothing to help her. And he was a healer, after all, and his clinic was open to everyone who needed help.
He wouldn't let her die.
"Lie down", he ordered, "I have to inquire your wounds before I can start healing them."
"I hope you'll hurry", she murmured with a weak voice and did as he commanded.
Anders tore the cloth of her trousers, taking a closer look while he carefully pulled open the sore's edges. The wounded flesh was dirty, like she had stumbled and fell down to her knees while she was trying to reach the clinic. He would have to cleanse the wound before he could even think of healing it.
"How bad is it?"
"Well, it's deep and I can say for sure that it will start to fester if I'll do nothing", he answered.
"Good thing I'm here then", she answered while grimacing in pain. Her voice still sounded weak and hoarse.
He turned his back to her, searching for some wine to disinfect her wound. Once he had found some, he filled a kettle with it until the bottle was empty and summoned fire to heat it. He took care that she didn't see what he was doing exactly. She looked like a citizen of at least some note and he didn't wish for more Templars in Darktown, searching the refugee camps, knocking at his door.
He returned to the woman. In the meantime, she had become paler, her skin looked almost transparent. Her eyes were flickering around, her pupils widened, while her breath sounded strained.
He put his cattle next to her, picking up a piece of a rope which he was giving to her.
"You will need to bite on that then I'm beginning to cleanse your wound", he explained. "It will hurt, I promise you."
"I'm not as delicate. I can bear up against some pain."
Anders sighed. He had heard that much too often, and it had ended always the same way – with the brave and hardboiled patient screaming in pain for their mothers, fathers or the Maker.
"I'd heard that before. Don't argue with me, just take it."
The woman made a face, but she took the rope piece, clenching it between her teeth.
Anders grabbed hold on the cattle, spilling the hot wine all over the sore. The woman howled in pain, or at least she tried to, biting on the rope piece instead, her face contorted with throes. She rebelled. After he had spilled out all the burning hot wine, she spit out the rope, gasping for breath.
"Maker, do you want to kill me?" she panted.
"You're welcome" he answered softly. "Don't worry, the worst is over."
"I hope you're not kidding, healer" she gasped, her voice still drenched with pain.
"I'm not. The last part – well, second last – won't hurt you. I never heard any complaints from my patients, and they are usually not the most polite kind of people."
She grimaced. "More healing, less talking. Stitch up this damn wound, I'm waiting."
This was certainly a way to disguise his magical abilities. She was not from Darktown, how could he trust her to keep his secret and not tell the Templars of him? Of course he would use his magic on her wound, but in a careful way. He knew how to stimulate her self-regulating forces with magic and how could keep her sores from an infection.
He took a pin, threading a needle and started to put stitches in the wound. With every stitch he made, he was guiding a little magic at the sore, to mend it heal itself. The woman had closed her eyes, screwing up her face, but she didn't complain; she only clenched her teeth together.
It took a while after he had finally stitched up her wound. Whoever had injured her and cut off her leg, he had done it properly as the sore was long and deep.
Finally, he was able to take a bandage and dress her wound.
"Are you through?" she asked, her voices sounded more than a little impatient.
"Yes, I am."
She tried to sit up and turn out.
Anders sighed.
"Do that and you're sore will reopen. I have stitched it up, yes, but you really shouldn't move and strain the suture."
"I can't stay here; there are… things I have to do."
"They can wait until your injuries are healed."
She grimaced, staring at him with anger in her eyes. "I'm no child; I know what I'm doing."
"Really? Because it doesn't look like it."
She sighed. "And I'm serious. I cannot stay – I'll get in trouble if I don't report back."
"Your genteel noble parents surely can wait a little longer."
She was again clenching her teeth, but then she nodded with an unhappy expression on her still pale and pained face, and she leaned back.
"That wasn't that difficult, wasn't it?"
She shot a glance at him. "You talk too much. My leg is aching, so please, hush your mouth. I need to rest."
At least she had come to her senses. Anders turned his back to her and started put away his healing utensils. From time to time, he glanced at the woman – he still feared that she would try to rise and leave while he was busied with other things. She didn't look like the person who was able to keep her feet still. But she was still lying at her cot, her eyes closed, and was obviously trying to rest.
Anders took care of some other patients, who were less severely injured then the woman – he healed a few cuts and set a miner's arm, the former with and the letter without using his magic.
After the last of his patient had left, with only the strange woman remaining at his clinic – who seemed to sleep – he sat down at his desk, searching for some paper. He had nothing to do besides looking after that woman, and he doubted she would wake up so quickly. Her loss of blood had strained her; the Maker knew she needed some sleep.
Anders was sitting on his desk, he looked down at rumpled clews of paper covering at all over, and felt estranged from himself and his former life suddenly and painfully. It all had started so harmlessly and now he was here with the line between him and Justice blurring.
He sketched something on the paper, but it didn't please him. Was there anything in his life left to please him, he wondered. He could still remember the time before three years and how easily it had been to simply enjoy life. Now, nothing seemed as difficult as that.
Anders looked down at the scribbles; a bitter smile appeared at his lips. She didn't make things easier – the woman those face he had just tried to draw. He knew all too well that he wasn't her type. No man was.
This was pointless. And it was better that way. He didn't want her to become a Templar target because she was with an apostate mage. Possessed by a spirit who sometimes appeared less spirit-like.
He scrunched the scribbles up and rose to look after the stranger.
The woman lay at her side, her dark auburn hair covering her cheeks. She seemed almost peacefully, her formerly pained and ash pale face was still fair, but she didn't look like a living corpse anymore.
He checked her forehead to look if she was feverish – she was not.
While he was withdrawing his hands, her lids flickered and she slowly opened her eyes. Her glance shot around, flickering and disorientated.
"Maker…" she murmured with a weak and sleepy voice. "Where am I?"
Anders said nothing, waiting her remembering what happened.
She sat up abruptly and grimaced in pain. "Don't say anything… I remember it now. This is this Darktown clinic, isn't it? I remember you're treating my leg…"
"How do you feel?"
"Better, I think, but that's hardly difficult." She was wise enough to lie down again. "How long do I have to stay here?"
"Until I can remove the stitches" he answered.
"That isn't exactly accurate, you know? How long will that take?"
"That's hard to say. Your sore is both deep and large, so don't expect it to heal too quickly."
"This day is only going worse and worse." She sighed. "So I have to stay here for some days, isn't that what you're going to tell me?"
"Yes… can your parents stand it?"
She gave him an awkward gaze. "They can."
He smiled. "Don't worry, I am not the worst company. Most of the time."
"But maybe I am."
"We will have enough time to figure it out...?" He ended the sentence with a question, asking for her name.
"Catelyn" she answered. "My name's Catelyn. Yours?"
"Call me Anders."