"You took in someone off the street?" Anders asked, his tone one of intense belief.

"Yes," Fenris said, voice calm and even.

"Why?"

Fenris shrugged. "He was injured. Will you come or not?"

Anders snorted. "Oh, I'm coming all right – this I have to see for myself," he said, and shoved a few potions, poultices, and rolls of bandage in the capacious pockets of his coat before following Fenris out of Hawke's mansion.

They walked silently. Had Hawke been with them they might have talked, but they both found it easier to say nothing to each other; less chance of misunderstanding or argument that way. So Anders had no warning about who his patient was.

He came to an abrupt stop halfway up the stairs, a startled look on his face, and started to turn away, only to find his way blocked by Fenris.

"Who's there?" called Alistair from the bedroom, a note of worry in his voice.

"Just the healer and I," Fenris called back, meeting Anders eyes challengingly.

Anders cursed softly, glared at Fenris, then turned and stomped up the rest of the way, shoulders hunched and hands half-clenched into fists.

"Oh. You," was all Alistair said as Anders stepped into the room.

"Yes, me," Anders bit out the words. "Hello, Alistair."

It was, Fenris thought, rather like watching two territorial dogs sizing each other up. Or a dog and a cat. They were both stiff with tension, as if ready to leap at any moment – though whether to fight or to flee was anyone's guess.

"It's the wounds in his left arm that are the worst," Fenris said calmly, hoping to defuse the situation. "And there's a cut across his back that is deeper than I'd first thought that also seems to be going sour."

Anders shot him a look, then abruptly relaxed. "Show me," he said, all healer, tenseness forgotten.

Alistair was even more self-conscious about being nearly nude in front of Anders than he was of Fenris. He turned red as soon as the sheets were turned down so that Fenris could show Anders the damage to his legs, and remained so as long as Anders was treating him. Most of his wounds were healing cleanly enough that Anders did nothing more than Fenris himself would have done – changing the poultice and re-bandaging them – but a few of them that had become reddened and swollen he reopened with a knife, cleaning out pus and then applying some of his healing energies to them so that they'd heal cleanly.

When he was done, Alistair grabbed up the mug from the table beside the bed, and gulped down a large mouthful of it. He eyed it a moment, as if wishing to take a second drink, then set it aside. He lay back down, closing his eyes

Anders watched, frowning slightly, then gathered up his things, stuffing leftover poultices and bandages into his pockets. "That's done," he said. "And I'm off."

"I'll see you out," Fenris said. Not because he needed to, but because he had questions. Which Anders seemed to divine; he stopped, once they were downstairs, well out of earshot of the bedroom, and turned to look at Fenris.

"He should heal fine," Anders said. "And quickly. If any of the wounds does look like it's taking an infection again, let me know. I don't expect it to happen; Grey Wardens are healthy buggers. He... we... can shrug off almost anything. I'm surprised he even got any infection at all."

"I found him in a Lowtown street on a rainy night; you know how filthy they are."

Anders nodded. "That might be enough for it, especially if something had him already weakened." He paused, frowned. "He's got the wine sickness you know."

"I know. I'm rationing him."

"Good," Anders said, then paused again, looking uncertain. "He was a good man, once upon a time. Or so I've heard. I never knew him myself; he'd already left the Grey Wardens before I'd become one, and the man who knew him best was already dead. But I've heard the stories, from one of the other Blight Companions."

Fenris nodded. "Thank you for your help," he said.

Anders smiled briefly, sardonically. "Well, I could hardly say no. I'm a healer... it's not just what I do, it's what I am," he said, then turned away, letting himself out the door and stalking off, shoulders hunched again.