Despite having sunken below the skyline hours ago, the blasted sun had neglected to take this damnable heat with it. Anders huddled in the corner, trying his best to ignore the sweltering temperatures as he bent over his desk, poring over dozens of correspondences from the fellow mages he hoped to free. Looking for something, anything that could help him with the cause. The hour was quiet, or as quiet as Darktown could be, Coterie barkers, whores plying their trade and the sound of steel ringing off steel as gangs fought over territory comprised the ever-present distant clamour.
The clinic itself was blessedly removed from most of Darktown's more colourful spots and the rumours of a dangerous Grey Warden apostate only served to help matters when it came to his little corner of the undercity. Unfortunately, these things offered little help when it came to rescuing him from the blazing heat, he suspected the multiple foundries dotting these lesser used parts of the city weren't helping the cause. The easy solution would have been to remove his layers upon feather layers of robes and allow the stagnant excuse for a breeze to circulate under his tunic, but that would require taking a break, however brief, from the task at hand. As he was frequently reminded by the inklings of Justice in his head, there was no time to waste on personal frivolities, including but not limited to cooling himself off, when mages Thedas-wide were suffering much, much worse.
It wasn't until a bead of sweat rolled neatly down the straight bridge of his nose to plop directly into the middle of the letter in front of him that he decided it was time to take some sort of action. With a sigh, he pushed back in the chair, stretching out his aching limbs. He had no clue how long he'd been at this, but, judging by the overflowing basket of letters he'd already gone through and the pitch black of the sky outside, it was probably a while.
He could give himself a little break, couldn't he? Just a moment of respite, for comfort's sake, after all, he'd be no good to anyone's cause if they found him sprawled on the floor in the morning, having dropped dead of heat exhaustion at some point in the evening.
Ignoring the internal buzz of Justice, complaining somewhere in his core, Anders retrieved the tub from the back of the clinic and began to fill it with water. A nice little dip, just a quick one to cool off and he'd get right back to the grind.
Ordinarily he would have fussed around with setting up a partition before bathing, but given the hour and the relative stillness in the clinic, he wasn't worried about anyone barging in looking for his assistance. With things going the way they had been with the Templars lately, less and less people had been willing to risk coming to the clinic for anything save the gravest emergencies. This excluded, of course, Hawke and the peculiar company she kept, but even she'd been curiously absent with this heat wave, presumably busy getting the runaround from the Viscount again. Kirkwallers seemed to stir up more trouble for themselves in the heat than any other time of year, nobles just didn't know how to deal with any shift in their routines.
As he waited for the small tub to fill with water, he began to disrobe. A few quick motions were enough to undo the buckles of his robes and soon enough he was sliding his heavy, feathered mantle off his aching shoulders to fold neatly on his bed. The irony of lifting a burden from his shoulders was not lost on him as he smiled wryly to himself and continued the process. Before long he was down to his breeches and the tub was simply brimming. Seating himself gingerly on the side, so as not to tip it over, he peered into the water, the barely familiar face he'd grown accustomed to stared wearily back at him. Caught up in his work, he'd been neglecting to shave his stubble, manage his hair, sleep; this faraway stare of exhaustion was apparently his new look.
Even Hawke had remarked on how tired he looked, the last time she'd taken him out to the coast. This, he suspected, was the reason she hadn't come calling on him of late. He could never tell her as much, but he enjoyed when she needed him, if for no other reason than as a welcome distraction from his own personal crusade. He would be fooling himself if he thought for a second the distraction was the only reason he enjoyed it. No, it was much more than that but he could hardly tell her that, let alone admit it to himself without facing the implications given his…situation.
Frustrated, he plunged his hand into he water, distorting the reflection into a grotesque caricature of himself, which was not so far off from how he felt about his appearance lately. The water was still too warm to the touch; especially given the mood he'd gotten himself into. With a quick gesture, Anders summoned a blast of frost to sufficiently cool the water before discarding his final layer and slipping in.
The water enveloped him like a frosty lover, at once cool and comforting. Were it any colder out, he might have minded the chill, but his body temperature was currently skyrocketing so far through the roof it may as well have been in Hightown so he didn't mind. Sliding deeper into the metal tub, he leaned his head back against the side, closing his eyes and allowing himself the small freedom of letting some tension flow from his remarkably tense frame.
This action, evidently, worked too well. He must have caved to the exhaustion and slipped off to sleep at some point because suddenly the water was back to lukewarm, his toes had the tell tale pruned feeling of someone who's been in water too long.
That and he was no longer alone.