Anders, Alastair and Madeline travelled only by night through the Drylands, but even the coolness of the night could not stop the worn patchwork boots he had purchased in Brynnlaw from being the only things keeping their feet from burning on the dry, rough sand. Anders had made sure to purchase plenty of water with the money Zevran had given them, but the desert seemed to go on forever, making him wonder if they were going to have enough to make it even to the next city. He had tried to explain the concept of water rationing to his children, but while Alastair seemed to accept the idea, Madeline was still too young to grasp it, and so, against his better judgement, Anders had allowed both children open access to the water canteen along the journey. He knew he would have to take whatever they drank out of his own rations, but he figured as long as he could still walk, their need for water outweighed his own, and if worst came to worst, he would simply find another way to get the water he needed.

Despite this, Anders had quickly found other ways to keep himself and his children cool, if only for short periods at a time. With no one around to see and expose them, he had taken to using the energy usually spent cloaking his staff to conjure a gentle, snowy breeze to hover around the little family, relieving the heat for short periods at a time. The summoned cold would barely have a chance to cool them down, however, before it quickly melted away again, negated by the heat of the desert, even at night. He could not sustain his magic to combat the heat of the day, however, and so their daytimes were spent sleeping instead, resting together under the shade of a miniscule, makeshift tent cobbled together from the blanket Hawke had made, strung up between Anders' staff planted in the dusty ground and one of the tiny, gnarled trees that grew every so often across the dry, cracked earth. Then, once the sun had begun to sink in the sky, they would hastily pack up their bag again and start out once more on their journey, heading south towards the city of Seleny.

The days were long in the Drylands, and the nights were painfully short, and by the time the city of Seleny came into view just over the crest of the horizon, barely any of their water rations remained. Despite the weakness in his knees, his dry, scratchy throat, and his cracked, painful lips, Anders had made sure to save the last few sips of water for Madeline, and so he was only too glad to see the welcoming city of Seleny spread out before them, the marketplace open for business and buzzing with commerce and life. Several friendly-looking merchants beckoned for the little family to come and buy their wares, and, in spite of his thirst and exhaustion, Alastair eagerly ran off to explore the market, but Anders wasted no time in heading straight to the first stand that looked as though it might sell something he could drink. The stand was covered from top to bottom in all manner of meats, cheeses, and other farm produce, though the freshly-skinned deer haunches, rabbits, and scaled fish strung up from along the front of the table frame made it obvious the merchant was a hunter by trade as well.

The merchant himself stood behind the stall, one large, solid hand rubbing salt into a slab of bright pink meat while the other, wrapped in a bandage covered in what looked to be congealed blood, rested tiredly on his hip. He was a big man, tall and muscular, with a full, thick beard adorning a round, jolly face. He looked to be no more than forty, though the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes were pinched beyond his years with a combination of laugher and sun. He hummed a deep little tune as he worked, seeming almost oblivious to what was going on around him, not even seeming to notice Anders and Madeline approaching until Anders cleared his throat, gently, getting the man's attention. "Do you have any water?" he asked, speaking softly as he adjusted Madeline more securely against his waist. "My daughter and I just got into town, and… we're very thirsty."

At this, the merchant looked up, surprised, before suddenly frowning, taken aback by the request. "Water?" he asked, his voice a low rumble, though his accent was similar to that of the assassin. "My friend, we are right here in Seleny, easy travel from the river. If you want water, why not get it from there?" Shrugging then, he turned his attention back down towards his wares, picking up another pinch of salt with his one good hand and starting to rub it into the meat in front of him again. "If you want something else… I suggest the tavern," he added, matter-of-factly. "I am not a brewery, my friend. Or a water spout. I only sell meat and cheese."

"Sir, we've been travelling for days," Anders told him, a bit more intent now, wetting his lips as he leaned tiredly against the edge of the mercantile stand. "I don't drink, and the river is much too far for my daughter. Don't you have any water you could spare? Even for coin?"

"Whoa there now," the merchant conceded, looking up again. "All right, my friend, all right." Reaching underneath his stand, he retrieved an empty metal cup, handing it to Anders and pointing in the direction of a cluster of panel-roofed houses, all pushed together to form what looked like one gigantic housing unit. The largest and darkest-roofed of the houses jutted up from the middle, overshadowing the other two, with bright, cheerful, yellow light coming out of all of its windows. "There is a well with water near the tavern over there," the merchant told him, helpfully. "Just pull the bucket up and you can drink from there. Fill up your canteen as well while you're at it." Leaning with his good hand against his stand, he clicked his tongue, shaking his head as he propped his bandaged hand disappointedly against his hip again. "You don't have to pay for water here," he told him, seeming almost surprised to have to say it. "Anywhere that makes a man with a small child pay for water is ruthless."

"I appreciate your kindness, friend," Anders returned, turning to look at the merchant again and spinning the cup idly between his thin fingers. "You'd be surprised how few places feel the same way. Nearly all of the coin we had for our journey we spent on water for crossing the Drylands—"

"The Drylands?" the merchant asked, sounding thoroughly surprised. "You and that tiny little thing, there – you two crossed the Drylands?"

"Us two, and my son as well," Anders answered, indicating loosely with the hand holding the cup towards where Alastair stood, eagerly inspecting a stack of cages with chickens inside. "The three of us crossed the Drylands from Brynnlaw. We were told it would be the shortest route to the river." Letting his hand fall back to his side, he gave a short, tired shrug of one shoulder, almost dismissive. "It wasn't easy," he added, honestly. "But… you can't really afford to dally around when you've got as little as we do. I'm just glad we made it here. One more day in that blasted heat and we would have been goners for sure."

"For sure," the merchant agreed, impressed. "Tell me, though, my friend, now – how much coin do you have still to spend?"

"Only enough for a room and a ship," Anders admitted, giving another soft, thin sigh. "Anything more than that would cut our assets far too much." Pausing then, he hesitated, frowning a bit as the oddness of the question suddenly hit him. Though the merchant had been nothing but genial up to that point, he still could not shake the suspicion that questions like this were out of the ordinary, and if this merchant had a mind to rob him, it would not matter how little gold he had on him, as long as there was something to steal. "I was just about to head to get the room," he added, quickly, hoping the thought of a crowded tavern might deter the merchant from trying anything suspicious. "We don't want to be out too long after dark. We need to get rested for the journey ahead, and hopefully getting some sleep will help keep their minds off not being able to eat tonight."

"What, no food?" the merchant asked, seeming actually startled by this. "That little one, the baby… she can't go hungry. Not at her age. It's just not right, you know?"

"I know," Anders conceded, guiltily. "We had some bread when we started out, but it went bad before we even reached Brynnlaw. We picked up some more bread in Brynnlaw, and some fruit—"

"Bread will never last you," the merchant said, waving a disapproving hand. "Everything causes bread to go bad. Hot, cold, dry, wet… gone. What you need is salted meat and jerky. Dried fruit. Crackers. Things that don't depend on staying light and fluffy. Hardy foods."

"I appreciate the advice," Anders answered, earnestly. "If I had any coin, I would follow it. Unfortunately, we only have enough—"

"For a room and a ship, yes," the merchant agreed, cutting him off. "Right. But listen." Looking over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening in on them, the merchant leaned in towards Anders, indicating with his good hand for the mage to come in closer. "Do you have any skills, my good man?" the merchant asked, raising his brows, expectantly. "I can't stand to see a child go hungry, but I also can't go giving my wares away for free. Soon every beggar in Seleny will be coming to ask for scraps. If you can offer a service I can use, however, say… skinning, or boning, perhaps…?"

Anders frowned a bit at the suggestions, shaking his head disappointedly. "I'm afraid I never learned the hunting trade," he admitted. "I've been more of a scholar most of my life. The only spine I've ever broken was on a book." Pausing, he bit his lip, thoughtful, considering whether this merchant could be trusted enough to be told more of the truth, and whether his need for supplies was so great that he should risk his safety or the safety of his children to attain it. Thus far, the merchant had shown him nothing but sincerity and kindness, and so, adjusting Madeline against his hip, Anders glanced down, noticing the bloodied bandage wrapped around the merchant's hand. "How did you hurt yourself, friend?" he asked, pointing to the injury, curiously.

"What, this?" the merchant returned, holding up his injured hand and looking at it, interestedly. "I cut myself something fierce on a tanning knife, trying to prepare some leather for a nice pair of gloves for a client. Never did get around to finishing the gloves, and now, thanks to my hand being the way it is, I cannot even sew, let alone finish tanning the leather needed for the gloves." Letting out a heavy sigh, he shrugged his broad shoulders, staring at his hand and shaking his head. "My client is going to be furious when he does not get his gloves, but what can I do?" he added, sadly. "I've tried herbs and homeopathic cures, and a bit of medicine from the medicine merchant over there…" Here, he tilted his bearded head in the direction of another stand across the way, this one manned by a bald, broad-shouldered businessman who seemed to be preaching the validity of his wares, different suspicious-looking coloured liquids in bottles of various sizes and shapes. "That just seemed to make it worse," the merchant added, causing Anders to turn his attention towards him again. "He told me it was supposed to do that. It has to get worse before it can get better, he said. But…"

Reaching forward then, he took hold of the edge of the bloody bandage, and, with a pained sucking in of breath, he began to unwrap it from around his hand. Once the bandage was fully unravelled, he dropped it down onto the table between them to reveal a swollen, throbbing hand so dark red with infection it was almost black. Anders frowned, resisting the urge to physically flinch at the sight of the man's hand, but Madeline was not so courteous, instead letting out a repelled whine and burying her face in her father's jacket. Setting the cup he had been given down on the edge of the mercantile stand, Anders reached forward, taking the man's hand in his own, and turned it over in his grasp, inspecting it. "I can fix your hand," he told the merchant, quietly, speaking just loud enough for the man to hear as he turned his attention up towards him again, regarding him with a solemn expression. "If you're amenable, I'd be willing to do it in exchange for supplies that my children and I can use on our journey."

"Well, I've got plenty of supplies," the merchant told him, indicating quickly over the length of his stand with his free good hand. "If you can really fix my hand for me, I'd be willing to let you have whatever you need… within reason. A man who does another man an act of kindness should be rewarded for his troubles."

Glancing quickly over his shoulder to make sure he was not being watched, Anders turned his attention back towards the merchant, pressing his thumb into the man's swollen palm and watching as both of their hands began to glow a soft, brilliant blue. Within seconds, the glowing had subsided, and Anders retrieved his hand again, wiping it off on his coat as the man inspected his own hand, amazed. The redness and swelling had disappeared, along with the nasty cut, leaving only a tiny, thin scar as an indicator that he had cut himself at all.

"That is incredible, my friend," the merchant said, turning his hand over in astonishment. "But, how can you be a mage? I do not see your staff."

"It… it's just a small trick," Anders told him, quickly, shaking his head as his hand itched at his side, resisting the urge to take protective hold of his staff. "Just a bit of magic I picked up along the way. No need to tell anyone about it… except perhaps those you think will truly benefit from it. Like I said, it's… it's really nothing."

"Nothing?" the merchant asked, astounded, turning his hand over again in bewilderment. "I was going to lose my hand, and now look at it! What you've done is nothing short of a miracle, my friend. Please, take whatever you need." Running an astounded finger across the minute scar, he gave a soft, disbelieving laugh, before looking up at Anders again, stopping him mid-reach as he moved to pick up a piece of salted jerky sitting in a basket at the edge of the stand. "You said you will be staying in town for the night, yes?" the merchant asked, causing Anders to look up, surprised. "I must tell my wife about you. She will want to know. Perhaps I could even set you up with a business of your own? You'll be sure to get plenty of customers. There are always people needing medical help around here, and until you came along, all we had was…"

Here, he nodded his head again towards the medicine merchant, who seemed completely oblivious to the exchange going on about him across the marketplace. Anders turned, glancing back at the medicine merchant again, before returning his attention to the meat merchant and shaking his head, anxious. "No, sir, please," he implored. "Please, don't go spreading this around. I'm not here to set up shop, I just need supplies for my journey. I don't want to get us in trouble—"

"Who said anything about trouble?" the merchant cut him off, enthusiastically. "Listen, here's what I'll do. If you buy a room for the night in the tavern, I'll tell everyone I know who needs healing help to meet you there with money and supplies for you and your little ones." Holding up his hands, he clasped them, pleadingly. "One night, that's all I'm asking," he told him. "You get some travelling money and all the supplies you need, and my friends get the medical help they need. Real medical help. Not…" He trailed off again, and this time, he did not even need to indicate who he was talking about for Anders to automatically know.

Anders sighed at the proposition, resting his free hand on his thin hip as he looked down at the ground, indecisive. What the man was suggesting was simple enough – it gave him a chance to practice the skills he loved, while the one-night window made it a short enough timeframe that the chances of Templar involvement were tolerably slim – but the idea of practicing magic in the open, with no route of escape should things turn sour, still made him understandably nervous. Adjusting Madeline more comfortably against his waist again, he turned his gaze back up towards the merchant, who was still staring at him expectantly, his meaty hands clasped in front of him. "One night," Anders agreed, holding up a finger to indicate. "Just one. And please, sir, only tell the people you think will actually benefit. Bringing a small group of people into my room will be suspicious enough as it is, but a large parade of people coming in and out of my room will look… problematic, at best."

"Parade!" Madeline exclaimed, looking up at her father for the first time, beaming excitedly at the word. Then, laying her head on his shoulder again, she put her thumb in her mouth, starting to suck on it tiredly. "Thirsty," she told him, wearily.

"Right, yes," Anders agreed, flustered, picking up the small, beaten-up cup from where he had set it back down on the merchant's table. "Water. I have to go get—but…" He stopped, pointing again towards the merchant and sucking in a deep, anxious breath. "Tonight," he told him. "My room in the tavern. And only a few people, please. I honestly can't have this getting out to those who I'd… rather not have knowing about us being here."

"My friend, you can trust me!" the merchant assured him, holding up his now matching fully-healed hands. "I have never been known to do a fellow wrong. I assure you, I will only bring those who truly need your help. A couple friends at most. I swear."

It seemed that whatever the merchant had told his wife, she had then gone on to tell everyone she could possibly think of, as every time Anders looked up from his work, the line at the door of his room only seemed to grow longer. Wiping his brow with the back of his sleeve, he gave an exhausted huff of breath as he ushered the most recently healed patient out the door to make way for the next patient to come inside and receive treatment. People shuffled and murmured impatiently as they waited to be seen by the healer, carrying small offerings of coin or supplies to set aside on the bed when they reached the front of the queue before sitting down across from Anders to tell him their various ailments. Everything from infected cuts to fungal growths, toothaches, headaches, children with colic who would not stop crying, broken bones that had healed incorrectly, all flooded into his tiny tavern room for magical aid, leaving him with barely enough time to breathe between patients before someone new came in with something else for him to attend to.

Madeline had long since fallen asleep on the tiny tavern bed, sucking peacefully on her thumb as she slept, but Alistair sat patiently awake as his father worked. He had taken on the job of going through the various forms of payment, counting the coin and sorting the food into different types, seeming completely disinterested in the work his father was doing. He had seen Anders perform magic before, and it amused Anders to think that the boy must be so confused as to why these people were making such a fuss over his use of magic when in their house it had always been so commonplace. Finishing his work on an old woman's aching jaw, he ushered the next patient into the room, sitting the mother and crying child down in front of him and starting to check the child for obvious signs of discomfort. "Maker bless you, sir," the woman sighed as Anders looked inside the child's mouth, checking for a loose or bleeding tooth. Finding none, he let the child's mouth close again, moving on to the ears and frowning when he realized what the issue was.

"He has an ear infection," he informed her, frankly. "It won't be a problem to take care of. Hold him still for just a moment and I'll make it good as new."

"You've had practice at this," the woman observed as Anders gently pinched the edge of the boy's ear, causing both his hand and the ear to glow blue for a moment.

The blue glow died down quickly, and Anders retrieved his hand again, leaving the child's ear no longer swollen. The boy's sobs subsided into sniffles as he reached up a hand, feeling his mended ear, before smiling up at his mother, approvingly. "You get used to the regular things that hurt when you have more than one," Anders agreed, giving a soft sigh of a laugh as he looked up at the woman again. The woman nodded in agreement, thankful, before getting up from her chair and moving out the door to make way for the next needy patron. Just then, a ruckus erupted from the back of the line, causing both Anders and Alastair to look up, startled, watching in alarm as the meat merchant from earlier that day pushed his way to the front of the queue and burst through the door of the room, wide-eyed and out of breath.

"They're coming," he panted, pointing back towards the tavern he had just come from. "Sir, you must go – take your children and go!"

"Who's coming?" Anders returned, startled, holding out a hand to gesture for Alastair to return to his side. "Maker please, anyone but the Templars—"

"It's the Templars," the merchant answered, swallowing, trying desperately to catch his portly breath. "Rogue Templars. Someone tipped them off—I'd bet money it was that damned medicine merchant! There's no time to waste, friend, you must leave! You must go!" The announcement that Templars were coming for the healer seemed to strike a chord in the gathered party, for as soon as the words were out of the merchant's mouth, the line erupted into chaos. Moving quickly to the bed, Anders swept everything they had been given haphazardly into the little leather rucksack, knotting the strings inelegantly and slinging it over one shoulder before grabbing both of his children off the bed and looking for the nearest window. The sound of men's voices shouting could be heard over the panic of the crowd, insisting the villagers move out of the way so they could get to the mage, and he quickly lifted Alastair up through the window, watching him climb out onto the roof before passing Madeline through as well. Once his children were safely outside the room, Anders pushed the window as far open as he could, pulling himself through the opening as well just as the Templars made their way to the front of the line, piling into the now-empty room and looking around for the rebel mage.

It did not take them long to figure out what had happened, however. Anders could hear them shouting angrily out the open window as he made his way down the slope of the roof, but their curses were unintelligible in the humid night air as he dropped off the edge of the roofing, hissing in pain as his ankle twisted under him before righting himself and turning for his children to follow suit. "Drop Madeline," he hissed, holding his arms up towards where Alastair still perched on the edge of the roof, holding his baby sister, who had started to cry in confusion. "Or don't—don't drop her, but… I'll catch her. Just lower her down to me as far as you can. Then you have to jump."

"I'm scared," Alastair whined, holding Madeline closer to himself as his knees began to quiver under him.

"I'm scared, too," Anders admitted. "But you have to hurry, or we'll be in even bigger trouble than we are now. You have to trust me, Alastair. I would never let anyone hurt you."

Seeming to take courage in his father's reassuring words, Alastair crouched at the edge of the roof, lowering his baby sister down under the arms until her feet brushed Anders' fingertips. Then, sucking in a deep breath, he let her slide the rest of the way out of his grasp, falling for a brief moment before being caught securely by her father and lowered safely to the ground. Reaching up again, Anders beckoned for his son to follow suit. Alastair hesitated, frightened, but then, suddenly, the sound of loud banging came from behind him, and he looked to see that one of the Templars had climbed out the window as well and was headed towards him across the roof. Letting out a strangled shout, Alastair slid quickly off the roof, landing heavily in his father's arms before being lowered safely to the ground as well. "Pick up your sister," Anders instructed, breathlessly. "Give her to me. Take my hand. Let's go – let's go."

Grabbing Alastair's hand, Anders pressed Madeline close to his chest, throwing one last look over his shoulder as he made his way towards the darkened edge of town, hearing the furious shouts of the Templars and the ruckus of the tavern behind them as they went. He could hear the sound of heavy, armoured feet chasing them as they ducked into an alleyway, climbing over a low fence and passing into a thinly wooded area just outside the town gates. The way to the river was in the other direction, or so the merchant had told him, but there was nothing but open road that way and the sound of shouting and heavy footfalls still following behind him let him know that the Templars were only too eager to catch their quarry to simply let him go at the edge of the city. The thicket of trees grew denser and darker the further he ran into the heart of the forest, and the deeper they went, the more a foul, lingering smell began to grow around them, foreboding and wild. The ground grew damp and rancid under their feet, the smell of wet, rotting flora causing Alastair to gag and Madeline to hide her face in her father's jacket in an attempt to block it out.

Finally, out of breath, unable to run any longer on his injured ankle, Anders ducked behind a large, wet tree, pulling his children in towards him and holding his breath as the sound of the Templars approaching grew louder, before finally stopping barely feet from where they hid. Anders did not dare to move or even breathe as he listened to the sounds of the Templars mulling frustratedly about, wondering where the mage and his children had disappeared to. Madeline lifted her head, her face pink and streaked with confused tears, and gave a soft, low keen, but Anders shook his head, gently touching a finger to her lips and instantly quieting the little girl.

"I think he went into the Swamps," the first Templar commented, pointing his blade in the direction of the thick swath of trees. Anders locked his jaw, anxious, his hand pressing flat against the slimy bark, barely daring to take a breath as long as the Templars still stood so close at hand. Alastair pressed his face into his father's stomach, barely making a sound even as he breathed, and Anders quickly wrapped the edges of his long coat around him, enveloping the boy in its folds. Pressing a soft, reassuring kiss to Madeline's forehead, he petted her soft hair, coaxing her head in towards his neck in an effort to keep her quiet and soothed, but he could not keep her from letting out another soft, high-pitched keening noise. The Templars did not even seem to notice the noise, however, over the much louder sound of swamp wildlife, the buzzing of mosquitos, croaking of frogs, and chirping of grasshoppers.

"If he went into the Swamps, he's dead," the second Templar put in, making a harsh, downward gesture with the hand not holding his sword. "Nobody comes out of those Swamps. Not with Yavana living there." Anders swallowed hard as he heard the sound of the man sheathing his weapon, quietly shushing his children again as Alastair gave a soft whimper of fear. "They say she eats the hearts of trespassers while they're still alive, then feeds whatever's left to the animals," the Templar went on, seeming to almost revel the thought of their quarry's gruesome demise. "They never find the remains of anyone who gets lost in those Swamps."

"I heard there are beast men living in the Swamps," the first Templar put in. "And that the waters are full of the spirits of drowned girls. That their unborn children haunt the Swamp, searching for revenge on anyone who passes through."

"I've heard there's an elder dragon living in the Swamps," a third Templar added, sounding even more excited at the prospect of such a fearsome mythical beast.

"With a Witch of the Wilds living there?" the second Templar asked, matter-of-factly. "I wouldn't be surprised. In fact, I'd be more surprised if there wasn't an elder dragon living in there."

"What's a Witch of the Wilds?" Alastair whispered, looking up at Anders, but Anders quickly hushed him again, putting a protective hand on his head and drawing him in again as he peered out at the Templars from behind the tree, trying to determine if they were still there. Just then, a low, mournful, echoing howl wafted through the forest, causing all three of them to look up, startled. Madeline gave a sharp cry of fear, but Anders was quick to shush her again, putting his gentle finger on her mouth to quiet her while the Templars still stood so close nearby. Alastair looked up at his father with wide, confused eyes, but Anders could only shake his head in return, admitting to his son that he had no idea where the noise was coming from, or what it could possibly be.

"The dragon," one of the Templars gasped, taking a noisy step backwards. "They say that's the sound it makes when it comes to feed at the Secret Grove. Yavana must have caught the apostate already."

"Good riddance to him and his filthy brood," the second Templar sneered, before snorting loudly and spitting on the ground, cursing the runaway mage and his family. The sound of sliding metal let Anders know that the other Templars had sheathed their weapons as well, and the sound of their footfalls could be heard retreating over the wet, soggy ground, getting fainter and fainter until he could no longer hear them at all. He did not move from his hiding place, even still, until a minute or so after the last of the faintest footsteps had disappeared, not wanting to take the chance of coming out of hiding too soon and being apprehended on the spot. The woods were empty when he stepped away from the tree, the only sounds of movement that of the wildlife and the incessant buzzing of the insects. The splash of a large, dark toad hopping from the shore into the rancid, murky water made him jump, still on edge, but he quickly gathered his children close once more, indicating further into the swamp with a jerk of his stubbled chin.

"The only way out is forward," he told them, taking a readying breath of fetid, swampy air. "So, I suppose… let's go forward."