The walk back to Darktown is long and lonely. The shadows seem colder than ever before. Anders can't feel anything but the heavy weight of guilt and regret swirling in the pit of his stomach. His footsteps carry him forward, but it's more inertia than anything else keeping him moving. In his mind, insistent whispers pull at him, forcing him to stop every few steps and remind himself that he cannot go back to the Chantry. Karl will not be there anymore, and even if he were, there is nothing Anders can do to change things. He'd only get himself killed. There's a certain comfort to the familiar awareness that he could so easily die. But not today, he tells himself, even though he can't exactly pinpoint a good reason. Why not today?

It takes him longer than it should to notice the tears still splashing down his cheeks. He wipes them away slowly, and keeps to the emptier alleyways.

Footsteps clatter behind him as he nears the hovel that has become his home. He whirls around, barely managing to keep himself from falling as he does so. "Thank the Maker I found you!" Lirene gasps, as she pushes a semi-conscious young woman into his arms. "Where were you anyway?"

Anders blinks, struggling to come to terms with the sudden overwhelming rush of sensory input. He catches the girl awkwardly, and it takes effort not to let her fall. It feels as though all of the strength has left his body. The young woman in his arms lets out a pitiful sound halfway between a gasp and a moan; a painful, gurgling breath. Anders is frighteningly aware of the warmth of her blood pooling onto his clothes.

"I can't," he chokes out. He pleads helplessly with Lirene, who offers him no way out whatsoever. She's pushing open his door, not bothering to be subtle about it's fidgety lock, which is probably irreparably broken now. The girl still struggles in Anders' arms.

Flickers of something intensely, dangerously familiar ignite around her. Anders feels his breath catch somewhere in his middle before the air gets all the way in or out. He stumbles into the darkened room and drops the girl onto the table, wincing slightly at how hard she hits the unforgiving surface. She moans again, more weakly this time, and Anders grabs her hand.

She squeezes back, and he finds himself talking to her, in fragmented sentences meant to reassure himself as much as her. He draws in a sharp breath as he feels her instinctively pulling mana from him to reinforce her body's attempts to heal itself. And she's strong. That kind of power, unguided, could hurt more than in helps.

Anders can't focus on anything but the chaotic energy of her mana mixing with his. He shuts down, throwing up a block so that she can't take anything more from him. And he forces himself to breathe, slow and deep.

"What happened?" he asks Lirene, as he puts pressure on the deep gash cutting across the girl's belly. She cries out, still only half-conscious, but she begins to kick and fight. Anders can feel the buildup of power gathering around her. He curses and presses her shoulder down, needing to keep her still.

"Give me that potion!" he snaps, pointing to the neatly organized shelf behind her. "The green one." Lirene grabs it and hands it to him, and Anders' tilts the unconscious girl's head back, propping her mouth open. The dark green syrup slides down her throat, and Anders prays that she won't resist it. His panic ebbs as she falls into an unnatural sleep. The drug will ease the pain, and prevent her from casting. "Looks like a knife fight," he says softly. He glances up to Lirene for confirmation, although he really doesn't need it.

True to form, she doesn't feel the need to tell him what he already knows. Instead, she makes herself useful, digging through his cabinets for bandages.

"Did you know she's a mage?" Anders asks, as he takes the strips of cloth. His voice is starting to regain a bit more insistent force. It's like he's beginning to wake up. It's not a good feeling. Hostile anger stirs in his muscles, and he's practically shaking with the effort it takes to hold back his urge to punch something.

"There were rumors," Lirene replies softly. "Athenril's pet firestarter."

The girl is still bleeding. Her life, as it spills over Anders' fingers, is sticky and dark, almost black. Her body begins to convulse, reacting to the pressure as he tries desperately to close that wound, to knit her flesh back together. Her pulse, in those brief moments when he can feel it flickering against her skin, is thready and weak. Her flesh is too pale, even for someone living the sunless existence of Darktown.

Anders dumps all of his rage and frustration into the effort it takes to heal. There's no time for finesse, even if he was capable of it in his current state, and he isn't. He can't focus. He can barely control his own power, and he's desperately afraid of what might happen if he gets this wrong. He bites his lip, unaware that he's doing it until he tastes blood. When he glances at Lirene, she's still there, standing a few feet away, leaning against the doorframe, standing guard. But she turns back to him and gives him a small nod. She believes he's capable of doing this. Maker knows why.

After that moment of distraction, Anders feels slightly calmer. He turns back to the girl. Her hands are clammy and her breathing is still shallow and rasping. He can feel the mana inside her, bright and raw. He latches onto that, using it to guide him as his vision begins to darken at the edges. He can't see much of anything beyond flashes of bright light. He thinks he can feel his fingers slipping away from the heat of the girl's skin. He feels something soft sliding under his head, and then there's nothing but darkness.

When he blinks his eyes open again, it takes a minute to come to terms with the way his body feels: sensitive, and raw. The light coming in through the cracks in the wall, meager though it is, is still too bright. The texture of the rough blanket clutched in his hand is almost painfully scratchy.

"Here," Lirene insists, shoving a bowl of oatmeal into his hands. "Eat."

Anders licks his lips experimentally. His throat is painfully dry. His head feels heavy. But he knows he has to get something into his stomach.

"Thank you," he whispers. His voice comes out more hoarsely than he'd intended.

"Shut up and eat," Lirene tells him.

Anders nods. He lets his eyes slip closed once more, reaching inside to try to dredge up some last embers of mana. But there's nothing. He'd drained himself. Completely. He's not supposed to do that. He's not supposed to let himself do that, and he can't remember how it happened. Somehow, when that girl - that other mage - was bleeding out in front of him, everything he'd previously learned had ceased to matter. It terrifies him. He cannot let it go.

He opens his eyes again, somehow imagining that he'll see her, still sitting there nearby. Within reach. But the only other person inside his small hovel is Lirene, who frowns down at the bowl of oatmeal that still remains mostly untouched on his lap.

"Where is she?" Anders asks. His voice comes out a little too sharply, a little bit more loudly then he intended. He winces, but Lirene barely seems to notice.

She shrugs. "Not here," she says simply. As though that's all there is to it.

"You let her go?" A spike of panic stabs at Anders' stomach. He starts tapping his leg up and down. It takes effort to maintain eye contact with Lirene. He pushes forward, breathless and terrified. "What if…? She'll need time to heal!"

Somehow losing this girl seems like the worst thing that could possibly happen. Lirene seems oblivious to his distress.

"I wasn't going to stop her," she says calmly. "Hawk can make her own decisions same as you."

Anders frowns. He forces himself to take a breath. He calms his body as best he can. He tucks his leg underneath him so that his jitteriness will be less obvious. "Hawk?" he repeats.

Lirene shrugs. "It's what they call her."

It's a gang name. Anders isn't stupid enough to pretend it isn't. The girl was dying in his arms last night, and now she's... what? Thrown back into the streets?

And she's a mage. He can still feel the imprint of her mana, like a fingerprint left inside him. It'll fade, probably soon, but for now it's still there, an echo of her presence, binding her to him. Making him responsible for her. "Do you have any idea what kind of danger she's in?" he manages to choke out.

"No more than you," Lirene replies calmly. "Less, I'd wager. She can look after herself."

"So can I!"

"That isn't what I meant and you damn well know it. She can use those knives she carries."

Anders blinks. He doesn't remember the girl carrying knives, but then he doesn't remember much beyond frantically trying to stabilize her and stop the bleeding. "So can other people," he mutters darkly. "She didn't win that fight she was in last night." To his surprise, Lirene doesn't bother to argue that point. "Where can I find her?"

The look Lirene gives him is compassionate, but there's no mistaking her pity. Anders avoids it instinctively, tucking his head into his hands. He's not broken. He wishes people would stop looking at him like that.

Lirene sits down on the edge of the bed next to him, and gently takes the bowl from his lap. "You know what I've learned?" she says softly. "If you let yourself get obsessed with saving everyone, you'll blind yourself to what they actually need."

Anders is in no mood to listen to platitudes. A restless energy fills him.

Lirene looks around, muttering a few unintelligible words to herself. "You're going to need better furniture," she announces after a moment. Anders blinks. "And supplies. Medicines and things."

"What are you talking about?"

Lirene sighs, as if her response should be more than obvious, and maybe it should be. "Callin needed a healer," she says calmly. "And she's far from the only one who does, or will."

Anders nods, and a tired smile immediately lights up Lirene's face. She's gotten him to agree to something before he's had time to think it through, but the agreement makes her happy, and that's worth doing. She'd told him before that this was what she wanted. Magical healing is rare even within the Circles. Finding someone like him, an apostate willing to help the people of Darktown who can offer nothing in return, Lirene can't pass up an opportunity like that. Yes, she's using him, but at the same time, she's making him brave enough to do what he was always the best at doing. It seems like a fair trade.

Lirene lets go of him, breaking the moment, and Anders watches as she busies herself cleaning up after the daily messes he doesn't bother with. She runs her hand over the dust that gathers in deep layers over the table.

Anders stands up, begins to follow Lirene around the small room. "Do you know her?" he asks.

He's back to trying to track down the mage girl from last night, but Lirene doesn't seem bothered. His obsessive focus proves he'll be tenacious, that he genuinely will do everything in his power to help the people who need him. It's worth it.

"As well as I know any of them," she admits, in answer to the healer's question. She sits on a crate across from him, and sets two new cups of tea on the table. "It's all rumors and secrets down here. I've seen her grow up a bit though. Helped her out of a few tight spots."

Anders stares at her for a couple of long seconds. "Why aren't you afraid of me?" he finally asks.

"Should I be?"

"I dunno. Most people are."

"I don't frighten easily."

Anders nods. He can believe that.

He asks again where he can find the girl from last night. Lirene sighs, looking as though answering the question goes against her better judgement, and it probably does. "Please," he says softly. "You brought her to me because she needed help. I can't just forget about her."

"You'll just go after her, with or without me, won't you?"

"I need to talk to her," Anders insists stubbornly.

Lirene studies him for a long moment, then finally throws up her hands. But a tiny smile plays across her face. "She'll be in the alienage, most likely."

Anders frowns. "She's not an elf."

"It's Athenril's ground. And the safest place for someone with her... particular secrets."

"The templars don't come there?" Anders asks, too quickly.

"Don't go getting too excited. They do their sweeps, same as anywhere. But the elves don't take too kindly to having their home trampled on without good reason."

Anders nods. It makes a certain kind of sense. A rush of energy flows through him, a kind of light, for the first time since the disastrous meeting with Karl in the Chantry the day before. "You brought her to me on purpose, didn't you?" he asks Lirene, as he pulls a coat on over his ragged clothes.

"Yes, I did," Lirene tells him firmly. "She needed a healer, and I knew you would help." With that, she heads out the door.

Anders follows only a few seconds afterward, but it's already impossible to tell which way the woman went. The alleyways of Darktown snake around in a confusing maze, ending abruptly or extended whenever someone felt a need. Anders sighs, and pushes his way toward the alienage, relying on the position of the winter sun in the sky to help him navigate. He's never found reason to head for that section of the city, but the large, gnarled tree growing in the center of that neighborhood is an easy landmark.

"What're you doing here, shem?" sneers a dirty, too-skinny boy whose fingers wrap tightly around a knife, the minute he crosses some unseen boundary that divides the elven ghetto from the rest of the city.

"I'm looking for the Hawk," Anders says, putting an edge of intimidation into his voice. The child spits on the ground.

"You won't find no Hawk here," he insists. But he glances backward, at a crumbling house across the square. Anders smiles, and a look of fear steals over the boy's face as recognition dawns. He runs, then, darting into another of the ubiquitous alleyways in a matter of seconds.

Anders gathers his mana as he walks toward the dwelling, a poor shack like all the others here, but larger than most. He breathes deeply as the coils of power flood through his body. Through heightened senses, he is aware of an arrow trained on him. He holds his arms up, showing his lack of weaponry - not that he relies on steel. "I'm only here to talk," he announces.

"Your kind isn't welcome here," calls a voice, from above his head.

Anders lets a smile quirk onto his face. "Liar," he replies, secure in the knowledge that they are protecting at least one human mage only a few steps away from where he stands.

The door to the house opens abruptly, and a hard-faced elven female of indeterminate age steps out to meet him. Her dark red hair frames her severe features and calls attention - purposely, Anders is sure - to her multiple scars. "You are bold, to come here and insult my people."

"Fortune favors the bold."

The elf laughs, an open guffaw that leaves her shoulders shaking. But the laughter stops as abruptly as it had begun. "I know of you, healer," she tells him, in a voice laced with threat. "What are you doing here?"

"I wasn't lying. I'm here to talk. Just tell the Hawk I'm here. I'll leave if she asks me to."

Athenril narrows her eyes, and Anders is keenly aware of how quickly the gang leader could draw any of the knives strapped about her armor. "By what right do you call her?"

"I saved her life."

"So you say."

"Ask her."

Athenril nods. "Very well. I will do so."

She retreats into the building as quickly as she appeared. Her guards still keep their weapons trained on Anders, and the sensation of eyes upon him has only grown more intense as dozens of the alienage's residence pay attention - furtively - to the spectacle his presence here creates. The door to the house creaks open again, more slowly and cautiously this time, and the dark-haired human girl Anders instantly recognizes steps out. She hovers close to the doorway and regards him cautiously, though with the careful, searching eyes that no doubt gave her the name of a bird of prey. Anders catches her eyes and smiles. She does not return the friendly overture. "What do you want?" she asks sullenly.

"Is there somewhere more private we could go?"

"You don't know me," the girl called Hawk demands.

"You're right," Anders replies simply. He will not take her away from the place where she feels safe, and he tells her that. "I just wanted to make sure that you're alright." He too is capable of studying a person, looking for answers. He lets his eyes take in the bandage wrapped tightly about her torso, notices the way she walks, gingerly, and with pain evident in her features.

"I don't need your help!" the girl snaps.

Everything about her is lean and predatory, defensive, but Anders can easily see past all that to how young she is, still a teenager, with hints of childhood innocence still visible despite the guardedness of her posture and the hardness in her eyes. Her mana still pulls at him, wild and hot and barely controlled, like a newly-lit fire. 'Athenril's pet firestarter,' Lirene had called her. Anders isn't surprised.

"That's not what Lirene told me," he tells the girl. Something noticeably changes in her, the moment he mentions the Fereldan woman's name. She relaxes slightly, and her eyes flicker nervously to Anders. It's not exactly a ringing endorsement of trust, but it's something. She says nothing, but by now Anders likes to think he's pretty good at interpreting various silences.

"I'm not going to make you do anything," he tells her, once again. "I just wanted you to know that I'm... around. In case you ever want to talk."

"About mage stuff?" She sneers the word, and Anders flinches. She wouldn't be the first of them to hate what she is, but that self-loathing hits him like a punch to the gut.

"About anything," he hedges. "Look, I meant what I said. I'll leave if you ask me to."

"You should," she insists.

"Probably. I'm not all that good at doing what I should."

The girl smiles shyly. The expression looks out of place, like it's not something she does very often. "Me neither," she admits.

Anders reaches out and runs a hand over the bandaged wound. Hawk winces and stifles a cry. Anders sucks in a breath. "Can I?" he asks softly. He had drained himself attempting to fix her the night before, but mana is everywhere. It replenishes itself easily, if allowed to. It's never gone for more than a few hours, unless the choice isn't his to make.

The girl called Hawk holds his gaze for a long moment, searching for the catch. He can read the doubt in her as clearly as if she were speaking it aloud - more clearly, if he wants to be honest. But she finally nods.

Anders smiles, relieved that he won't have to decide whether to leave her in pain or cast without the permission. He finishes the prior night's job with a shallow, simple healing spell. It washes over him like cool water after the pain of his previous attempt. The girl gasps as the icy shock of mana flows into her, and then, to Anders' surprise, she takes over, weaving the power he's provided her with simple, focused ease. Anders drops his spell, his concentration shaken.

"You can't do that by accident!" he accuses, as though she is, somehow, cheating.

That mysterious smile reappears on her face, more confident this time. "You don't know me," she reminds him, and Anders is now more aware of the fact then ever. It bothers him, more than it should.

"Get out of here," she orders, and there is an authority to her voice despite her youth.

Anders nods. "I meant what I said, Hawk," he says, as he walks, slowly and deliberately, out of the alienage. "Come find me."