Once he'd gone, Saemus went to examining just how much blood had stained the sheets. It did hurt, badly, but he could sleep it off just like any other injury. He stood to return to his room, and fell immediately to his knees, spitting a curse from his lips like poison.
He laid a hand on his hip, feeling the pain stabbing deep beneath his stomach. He needed help, even if he would never admit it to Ashaad. Still, it was impossible. No healer in Kirkwall would keep their meeting confidential. Darktown however, was a completely different story.
It was something he'd recalled hearing when he passed the office of the Guard Captain several weeks ago. She'd been speaking to one of her men about an apostate in Darktown, and said that he was a healer who had begun running a free clinic after the influx of Fereldan refuges.
"He's helping them survive," She'd said, "And if that means nothing then consider that it also keeps them from rioting in Hightown."
If what she'd said was true, then surely Saemus could count on him to stay quiet. After all, he had close ties with the Templars, and that made for fine leverage should he need it.
Still, the path to Darktown was long, if not dangerous. Being that it was the middle of the night, he had no choice but to take the side passages to avoid the gangs that plagued Kirkwall. Being hurt was not an issue, as he had a sort of immunity on the streets. Anyone who bothered him quickly realized who he was, and would apologize profusely. He had reported the first man to do so, as he was a criminal, but after seeing him struck down in the street Saemus opted to keep his mouth shut in any future incidences.
With safety aside, being seen was his greater concern.
His gaze fell on his father's bookshelf, and he managed to get on his feet in order to reach it. Many of Hightown's homes had passages to the undercity, and while he had always been curious to know why, for the moment he was simply grateful that it existed.
Anders was still awake, working on a manifesto that he'd primarily written for Hawke. It explained in detail why sending mages to the circle was a horrible, if not inhumane, idea. The mage was an odd sort, never having lived in the Circle himself, but always willing to subject others to its judgement- It annoyed him to no end, yet he loved the man all the same. Anders sighed shamefully, the feel of Justice pressing against his skull. He was reminded again how foolish his affections were and, in an attempt to set his mind on anything else, he returned his thoughts to the letter before him.
Just as his focus was restored, there was a knock at the door.
Anders froze. Visitors in the dead of night were usually trouble, perhaps Templars or one of the many gangs that plagued the streets. He went to the door cautiously, staff in hand, and jerked it open in one swift motion.
At his door was a small figure, donning a cloak and supported by a staff not so different from his own.
"Are you the healer?" A voice asked, almost pleading. Once he spoke, Saemus looked up at him cautiously, and suddenly his eyes grew wide. This was the man who accompanied Hawke so often, and he'd gone straight to his doorstep.
The man raised a brow, "Saemus?"
Hawke would hear of this, no doubt- a thought which embarrassed him profusely. His face flushed and he wanted to run, but fear overwhelmed him.
Anders' expression was solid, but inside he was a wreck. Why would he come here? Was it some sort of Templar trap? Maybe it wasn't, and the boy was just a fool. If people of his status started coming around… A trail of blood ran down the boy's ankle and into his boot. He was injured.
Despite the danger this posed to him, Anders said simply, "I think you should come inside."
He shut the door, closing them in, and turned in time to see the man discarding his cloak. His eyes had not deceived him. The boy before him was Saemus Dumar, son of the Viscount, and more trouble than any Templar that had crossed his doorstep. And if that wasn't bad enough, he was injured.
"Before I ask for your aid, I need your word that you will not tell anyone of our meeting." Saemus declared, "And I should remind you that as the Viscount's son, I can have an entire squadron of knight's on your doorstep at a moment's notice."
"I would have given you my word before the threat." Anders said, scowling slightly.
"I believe you, but my injury… No one can know." Saemus insisted.
Anders nodded, "Let's get you on the table." He moved toward the boy, and helped him up onto the slab, "Where are you hurt."
He went to speak, but nothing came out. Instead he simply closed his mouth and rolled over, pulling up his robe to reveal the source of the blood.
"Maker's breath…" Anders sighed.
"Yes, I'm ashamed. You see, I sat in a chair and it broke so-"
"Save your lies, you were buggered by something big." Anders said bluntly, "Who or what isn't any of my business, so long as I can fix it."
The healer spread his legs and began to examine him.
"It was the man I love." Saemus confessed, "About half an hour ago."
He could have easily imagined Saemus to be the adventurous type. It was like the old saying about a preacher's daughter, only worse. But for him to use the word 'love' so bluntly…
"Perhaps you could ask him to be more careful next time?" Anders suggested.
"One does not simply ask a Qunari to be careful." Saemus sighed, and Ander's raised a brow.
"You… Did you say a Qunari did this to you?" He asked.
"Yes."
"Well that does help to explain the wound." Anders smirked, then added, "And you are far braver than I to endure such a thing."
"Well it's true, and… it was worth it." Saemus remarked, "That's why you can't tell anyone that I was here."
"Like I said, you have my word." The healer swore, "Now, as for the damage, you have several mild tears. One is adjacent to a vein, which accounts for most of the blood."
"Can you fix it?"
"Yes." Anders nodded, "But if you continue doing this, the same will happen again." He paused, moving his hand to the small of his back, "Stay still."
A glow emanated from the mage's palm and spread to his fingertips. Once it was done, he used a wet cloth to wipe away the drying blood.
"Thank you" Saemus said, "I… couldn't be more embarrassed to have come to you about this."
"Listen, I've treated all sorts of ridiculous things." Anders comforted him, "One man actually did break a chair in his arse, in the Hanged Man of course." His words drew a smile to the boy's face, "I spent an hour picking the splinters out before I could even begin healing it."
Anders moved away and Saemus pulled his robe back down. He slid off the table with ease and moved to get his cloak.
"And… You should know that I've healed your particular injury several times before." Anders explained, "Not just on my patients, but… For myself as well." The boys eyes grew wide, and the mage said with a shrug, "Sometimes things get heated."
"Then you've…?"
"Did you ever hear about the tranquil mage they found dead in the Chantry?" Anders asked, "It was a few years back, but-"
"Yes" Saemus answered immediately, "His name was Karl, I believe."
Ander's expression went blank, "You… remembered his name?"
"Sometimes I think people try to forget things, maybe so they can sleep better at night." The boy said, "Honestly, I think it just desensitizes us, makes us lose sight of the individual in favor of the masses."
That was very nearly what the Hero of Fereldan had told him, such a long time ago.
"But yes." Saemus said, "Did you know him?"
Anders nodded, still stunned by the boy's young wisdom, "I cared for him greatly… and killed him as well."
"I'm so sorry." Saemus said, his eyes sincere, "But… Why would you do such a thing?"
"Being made tranquil is like having the light taken straight out of your eyes." Anders explained, "Not only do you lose your magic, but your emotions as well. We always swore that if something happened to the other, we would end it. It's my opinion that no mage deserves to lose themselves that way, and even if I didn't think so, they went against Chantry law by doing turning him."
"What do you mean?" Saemus furrowed his brow.
"Once a mage passes a rite called The Harrowing, they aren't allowed to be made tranquil." The healer told him, "And I know for a fact that he'd passed his several years ago. And even then, Karl was a good mage. He didn't stray like I did."
"I suppose you also killed the Templars then?" Saemus asked, and Anders fell silent. Then the boy remarked, "I would have too."
"But I shouldn't have had to. None of it was right."
"You're right." Saemus said, "Someday I will be Viscount, and when I am, I will fight this. If the mages must follow the rules, then so will the Templars."
"That would be…" Anders was speechless, "That would be wonderful."
He went away for a moment, and Saemus pulled on his cloak, sensing that their conversation was drawing to an end.
When the mage returned to him he had two jars in his hands. Holding the first one out, he said, "The next time you're intimate, apply some of this inside instead of oil. It wouldn't hurt to put some on his piece too." Anders told him, "The salve will staunch the blood during your time together."
With the next jar in his grasp, he said, "This one is a healing agent. Clean yourself up when you're done and apply this. It will mend the tears and ease the pain." Anders sighed, "In all honesty you should stay in bed until tomorrow evening, but if what I've heard of you is true, you'll never listen." Then he paused, "Just… come back here when you run out of those salves."
Saemus smiled at that, "I have no coin with me," he told the healer, "But I can promise you, so long as I live, you need not fear the Templars."
"That is worth more than anything I could return." Anders chuckled, "Just… take care of yourself. Not everyone is so open minded."
"Yes..." Anders could have sworn he saw the glint of a tear in the boy's eye, "Thank you."
And with that he was gone.