Authors Note: I would like to point out for the record that this story will not be strictly cannon. I`ve tried to maintain as many details as possible, but for the sake of storytelling and plot progression, changes have been made. Reviews always welcome. Happy reading.
Welcome to Kirkwall
Chapter 7: A Warden by Any Other Name
Darktown was relatively easy to get to from the coast, due in no small part to the smugglers and gangs that the area was well known for. Over the years Fenris and Hawke had had cause to take down many of these rebel bands and therefore he knew a lot of the secret passages in and out of the city. So far, they had managed to remain unnoticed. Even after entering the undercity, the residents there took little interest in them, as if seeing two elves, both bloody and one sporting a heavy bandage across her ribs, was nothing out of the ordinary. Either that or the general despair of the place had so jaded its population that no one took notice of anything anymore.
Lyra had been leaning heavily on Fenris, who supported her slight weight easily, but now that they had entered a populated area she seemed to pull away from him, as if determined not to show weakness in front of others. He couldn't help but admire her strength. Though she was surely close to collapsing from exhaustion an blood loss, she managed to hold herself upright as they made their way through the poverty stricken passageways, but he was concerned none the less.
"Come here often?" Lyra asked, breathing heavily with the effort of staying on her feet, but still trying to sound cheerfull. She was unnaturally pale, and he could see beads of sweat forming on her brow, but still she refused to accept his offer of support. At this point he would have gladly picked her up and carried her all the way to the healers doorstep. But he knew she would never forgive him if he did so.
"More than I'd like," he muttered angrily. She stumbled suddenly, and almost went down, but Fenris caught her in time. She tried to pull away from him again, but he would not release her. The effort of struggling against him was costing her. "Stupid girl," he snarled. "Going to die for the sake of your pride?" If Lyra heard the comment, she ignored it, and Fenris swore under his breath."I'm not going to let you die down here so stop fighting," he hissed in her ear. "I will carry you if I have to, I swear it." The threat seemed to have the desired effect, and she allowed him to wrap and arm around her. It wasn't much, but it would keep her from falling if she stumbled again.
They had almost reached what appeared to be the limits of Darktown when they heard the sound of a heavy table crashing to the floor and both heads turned towards the sound. It seemed to come from behind a pair of doors on the far wall, and in the moments distraction, Lyra pulled away from him once more.
Someone was shouting from within. "Do not touch me, mortals!" Lyra thought she recognized the voice, though it sounded somehow changed. But it couldn't be, could it?
She made for the doors but Fenris go there first and burst through them, roaring with rage, the tattoos on his skin, glowing a bright blue. Lyra followed him in and took in the scene at a glance. The room was larger than she would have expected, judging from what she had seen of the rest of Darktown. A low brick ceiling was supported by beams and pillars. Makeshift beds lined the walls except for the shelving occupying the far wall. And in the centre of the room, beside a long operating table, she could see two heavily armed men, obviously Templars, grabbing a tall blonde man by each arm. She stepped out from behind Fenris and recognized the struggling man instantly, though he had changed much in the few years since she had last seen him.
Fenris surged forward but she stopped him with an arm across his chest. He glared at her, but she was already moving forward. Waves of dizziness flowed over her but rage forced her onwards. "Unhand him!" she bellowed with a strength she didn't know she still possessed.
The Templars, surprised not only with her appearance but also the commanding tone of her voice, hesitated only a moment before quickly recovering themselves. The taller of the two spoke first, keeping a firm grasp on the mans robes but reaching for his sword with his other hand. "This man is an apostate mage, operating an illegal clinic. We are taking him to the gallows for trial and punishment, by order of Knight Commander Meredith, herself."
She drew one of the daggers she had hastily retrieved from the ogres corpse and brandished it at the two men. Fresh blood still glistened on the blade. Her injured shoulder had stiffened considerably and she dowubted if she could have even drawn the second blade, let alone wielded it effectively, and now was not the time to show weakness. "Wrong," she said defiantly. "He is a Grey Warden, here on business for the order. And I'm telling you to release him."
"By who's authority?" the second man sneered.
"Lyra Mahariel," she sneered back at him, curling her lip in a merciless grin. "Commander of the Grey and Hero of Ferelden... In other words," her voice turned menacing. "Me!"
"This is a templar matter," the first of the men said, but he now seemed unsure of himself, his eyes darting nervously from Lyra, to the mage, and back again. His prisoner had stopped struggling at the sight of the two elves, and seemed to be just as unsure of what was going on as the Templars themselves.
"Wrong again!" she cried. "This is a Grey Warden matter, which takes precedence over any local law enforcement or Templar sanction. This man is under my command, and therefore immune to even the Knight Commanders influence. Now release him before I take matters into my own hands, and neither of you walk out of here alive." She could feel the last of her strength leaving her, and knew she would be unable to defeat them if they called her bluff. But she had always been very good at intimidating people, despite her small stature. Talk like you mean it, and most people will think you do, she thought. At this point it was more of a hope.
The two men looked at one another, apprehension etched on their faces. Then, ever so reluctantly, they released their hold on the man. "The Knight Commander will hear of this," the glowered at her as they passed and she raised the blade a little higher, and encouragement for them to be on their way.
"See that she does," she snarled as the two men disappeared through the pair of doors behind them. It took her a few tries to fit the dagger back into its sheath. Blackness was creeping in on her and she was having trouble focusing on anything in the room. She fought against it, but the encounter had taken a lot more out of her than she would ever admit. "That's the third time I've saved you from the Templars, Anders,"she said wearily. "It seems we're starting to make a habit of this."
The man called Anders was backing away from her slowly, scowling and wary. He seemed a lot older than he should be. Lines now etched his otherwise young face, his long blond hair was prematurely greying at the temples. He had tied back in a half pony-tail but it still seemed unkempt, like he had bigger problems than his hair. It looked like he hadn't shaved in about a week, either. His robes had seen better days, but you could still make out the ornate gold trimming, the wolfs fur accentuating his broad shoulders. On the whole, she kind of liked the slightly scruffy look.
He was brandishing his staff and blue sparks were crackling along the fingertips of the hand outstretched towards her, ready to cast a spell at any moment. "I'm not going back," he said defiantly. "Not even for you."
"Glad to hear it," Lyra muttered. She was having trouble concentrating on him. She desperately needed rest, even just to sit down for a few moments. Another wave of dizziness hit her and she felt her knees buckle. Fenris rushed forward but Anders reached her first, grabbing her around the waist. His eyes widened in horror as he pulled his hand away to see that it was wet with blood. He glared accusingly at Fenris. "What did you do to her?" he demanded furiously, half supporting, half carrying Lyra over to a table and helping her up on it, forcing her to lie down. Whatever caution he had held at first seeing her had been replaced by concern for Lyra, and anger at Fenris.
"I did nothing," Fenris snarled. "She did that to herself."
"Really? She she shot herself in the shoulder with a crossbow? I'd like to see that trick," Anders raged back at him.
"To be fair," Lyra said in a weary voice. "The mercenaries did help with that."
"She's been here two days and already managed to piss off one of the most dangerous gangs in the city," Fenris snarled, pacing the room in pent up frustration.
"Mercenaries didn't do this," Anders said, ignoring Fenris and untying the blood-soaked bandages. "Looks like you got gored by a bull! Got to get this armour off."
"Ogre, actually," she muttered, grimacing in pain as he pealed back her leathers as gently as possible until she was wearing nothing on her upper body but her undershirt. As glad as she was to see Anders, she was beginning to regret coming here. She tried to sit up but Anders pushed her back down.
"Ogre..." he muttered, shaking his head. "Little wonder, then. This wounds tainted. You didn't touch it did you?" He looked at Fenris in alarm.
The elf shook his head. "She wouldn't let me near her. She patched herself up."
"Still got some sense then. The corruption can spread fast. I'll have to get that bolt out first though. Fenris, get over here and make yourself useful for once."
"Do not start with me, mage," Fenris glowered, but he came over to the table anyway. He looked like he'd like nothing better than to pull his sword and strike that taller man down where he stood, and it was taking a lot of effort to resist the impulse.
"Hold her down," Anders told him, ignoring the malice in the elf's voice. At Fenris' skeptical look he growled at him, "I have to pull the bolt out of her shoulder. It's going to hurt. A lot. I need her to stay still while I do it."
"You're a mage, why don't you just magic it out?" Fenris sneered at him.
Anders turned on him in fury. "And you can stick your fist into peoples chests and crush their heart. Why don't you just reach in and pull it out?" Fenris continued to glower, but said nothing. "Look, the longer we wait the less chance I'll be able to help her at all. Now, HOLD. HER. DOWN."
Fenris said nothing, but moved to the head of the table, placing one arm across her chest and his other hand on her forehead. He looked up at Anders, glaring at the mage until their eyes met. "She saved your life, mage," he said in a low, barely controlled voice. "Now you save hers."
Anders gave a brief nod, then grabbed a thick strap of leather off a nearby table and gave it to Lyra. "Bight down on this," he murmured to her. "It will help." She took the strap in her mouth and bit down, hard.
The bolt had buried itself in the soft tissue just below her collarbone and though it had not struck bone, the tiny barbs on its head tore through her flesh as Anders yanked the the deadly object from her shoulder. Fenris felt her straining against him, her face contorted with pain, but she didn't make a sound. He had to admire her strength. He doubted many men could have done the same. But still...
"Thirty men," he muttered, looking down into her still tightly shut eyes, and the pale, drawn features of her face. "Every one of them after your head." Anders pressed a cloth with some sort of smelly paste on it to the gaping hole in her shoulder and motioned to Fenris that he could let go of her. He stood back, still watching her as she gasped for breath, his face contorting in anger. "And you just charge right into the middle of them. What the hell were you thinking?"
Lyra was still panting heavily, and she swallowed hard before speaking. "Honestly, I was thinking that there were more hidden in the bushes."
"Oh sure," he snarled back. "Joke all you want. But those men were after your head. They could have killed you!"
"I would have got them if that damned ogre hadn't shown up," she said defiantly through gritted teeth as Anders placed her hand on the bandage pressed down on the wound. Then he moved to her side, studiously ignoring the conversation.
"You know what?" Fenris leaned towards her, his features twisted into a mask of fury. "Fine!" he snarled. "You can go off and get yourself killed any way you like. I'm done with you." He gave her one last menacing look, turned on his heel and stalked out of the clinic, slamming the door behind him.
Lyra sighed. "I've been trying to get rid of him all day," she muttered.
"Hold still," Anders ordered. "You're making things worse." He pulled back the bloody rags of her tunic and she gasped as the pain took hold of her again.
"Don't I always?" she said, trying a grin that was more of a grimace.
He didn't respond. Lines of concern creased his brow as he examined the wound in her side more closely. "Hold still," he said again as he held his hands over the wound. A blue light was forming beneath his fingers and Lyra could feel a strange warmth and energy flowing into her. She watched as Anders concentrated so intently on what he was doing that his eyes seemed to glow with the same blue light, or perhaps it was just the reflection of the magic he was working on her injuries. She found she could breath more easily and aside from the throbbing in her shoulder, the pain was gone. She looked down at her side and realized the gaping would had completely healed itself, there was barely a scar to show where she had been gored by the horns of the giant ogre.
Anders gasped and fell back, leading heavily on one of the beams supporting the low ceiling. Lyra sat up, startled, and leaped to his side, still holding the cloth to her shoulder but otherwise barely registering what she was doing. "Anders! Are you all right?" He nodded slowly, rubbing a hand over his forehead. "What happened?" she asked in alarm.
"It was," he said slowly, "a bad wound."
"It was a bad ogre," she said, watching him closely, still tense with concern.
"Lie back down," he said, straightening up and motioning her towards the table. "I'll heal your shoulder."
"No you bloody well won't," she said stubbornly, glaring up at him. "A healing potion will work for that." The poultice was already lessening the ache in her shoulder. And though the wound still bled when she moved the arm, she would be damned if she'd let him work his magic again, now that she knew what it cost him.
Anders knew enough not to argue, and motioned her instead to one of the chairs set by a table in front of a small fireplace. Then he went to the shelves, taking a small bottle of bright red liquid and a roll of cloth. He came back to the table and gave her the potion, sitting down on a chair next to her to bind her shoulder. "Brewed fresh this morning," he said nodding towards the bottle. "Should take the edge off, but we need to keep pressure on it till the bleeding stops." Lyra nodded absently and took a sip of the vile potion, still watching him intently. "I fear you're armor is ruined," he went on, "and that shirt has seen its last as well. I've got a spare tunic in my pack." He grabbed a rucksack from the corner and brought it back to the table, producing a rumpled, but clean, shirt for her to put on.
His expression was still unreadable as he turned his back so she could remove the tatters of her old tunic and gingerly pull on the new one. She could tell he was worried. For her, yes, but there were deeper concerns weighing on him too. After he had turned back round, she had to wait a long time for him to speak. She was hoping for some sign that he was glad to see her, but instead he said, "I've seen you do some reckless things, Lyra. At Amaranthine and the battle for Vigil's Keep... But this... My magic was barely enough to save you. Did I hear Fenris right? Did you really walk into a mob of thirty mercenaries?"
Lyra sighed heavily. She should have expected this. "They weren't mercenaries," she said at last. "And they weren't after me."
"What do you mean? How do you know?" Anders was now thoroughly confused.
"I know because they weren't expecting me." She was now having a hard time meeting his gaze as he studied her intently.
"And that's enough to make you think they weren't after you?" he said dubiously.
"Well, the mage could have had something to do with it," she admitted. "He was hanging back from the others, giving orders. He was wearing a Tevinter Magisters amulet." She took another pull off the bottle, letting the implications set it. "They were slavers, Anders."
"You think they were there for Fenris?" Anders said incredulously, unable to keep the shock out of his voice.
She nodded, then growled in frustration. "He would be a valuable slave. I can't imagine his old master would give him up without a fight.
"Did Fenris see him? Does he know?"
"I don't think so. The mage took off when the fighting started." She shook her head again, got up and started pacing in front of the fire. "I couldn't tell him what was really going on. He would have done something stupid and gotten himself killed."
"Like rushing into a group of heavily armed men, hell bent on taking as many of them down as he could before they finally got him?" he said inquiringly.
She knew his meaning instantly and glared at him. He met her gaze and held it until she sighed again and turned to watch the flames dancing in the fireplace. She heard Anders chair creak as he rose and stood beside her. He reached out, as if to put a hand on her uninjured shoulder, but thought better of it. "You don't have to save everyone, you know," he said softly.
She smiled up at him, a little sadly perhaps. "You know me better than that," she said. "I'm not trying to save everyone..."
"Really?" he said in mild surprise. "You saved my ass I don't know how many times. You already saved all of Thedas from the Blight. Vigil's Keep is probably still singing songs about you."
"And I burned Amaranthine to the ground," she said, disgust souring her tone.
"To save the Keep, remember? You came back for us. Besides, I hear they're rebuilding Amaranthine. Better than ever." It was his turn to shake his head at her. "And now you go and save a right bastard of an elf that you met, what? Yesterday? And you're not even going to tell him, are you?"
"He doesn't need to know," she said dismissively.
"Still can't stand the gratitude, eh?"
"It's not that," she said slowly, a mischievous grin on her face. "I just don't think he'd ever forgive me."
Anders grinned for the first time since she had entered the clinic. "He probably wouldn't, at that." It was good to see him smiling again. Back when they had first met at Vigils Keep they had laughed and joked around all the time. He had changed so much since then. It was good to see a part of the old Anders was still in there somewhere. And yet he was still holding back, like there was something he wanted to tell her, but he couldn't bring himself to do so.
"Come on," he said abruptly. "Fenris is depressing enough without the two of us brooding over him. Lets have a drink. Talk about the good old days." She let him lead her back to the table and she sat down again. "I think I still have some wine around here somewhere." He rummaged around in one of the cupboards for a while before pulling out a very dusty bottle of wine and two mismatched glasses.
"Anders, you know I don't-" she began as he filled one of the mugs and set it in front of her.
"I know, I know. But this is a special occasion," he said, filling the other glass. "I haven't seen you in years. Have a drink with me." He grinned at her mischievously. "I know the only reason you don't drink is because when you do, you have a tendency to start dancing on tables singing elvish drinking songs." He winked at her and she laughed. It felt like year since she had laughed like this. "You know," he continued thoughtfully, "I didn't even know the Dalish had drinking songs before I met you."
"They don't," she said, suppressing another fit of laughter. "Those were Dwarfish songs I learned from Ogren. I just threw in a few Elvhen words here and there."
"Huh," he shrugged, a bemused expression on his face. "That explains the odd looks I get from Varric whenever I try singing them." Then he grinned broadly. "You remember that time we broke into the wine cellar at the Keep? Maker, was Ogren pissed when he found out we drank all the brandy!"
She shook her head and smiled at the memory, what little of it she had, they had been pretty drunk after all. Then they raised their glasses in silent salute and they each drank. But when Anders lowered his mug, his expression was serious again. "I meant what I said, you know. I'm not going back."
"You still think that's why I'm here? To take you back to Ferelden?" she said incredulously.
"But... but you told the Templars-"
"A big fat lie," she said laughing. "For the Creators sake, Anders, I didn't even know you were in Kirkwall till I walked through that door. Just because I haven't seen you in a while, it doesn't mean I'm going to hand you over to the blasted Templars to be made tranquil, or worse." She shook her head at him again but her expression was suddenly curious. "Why ARE you in Kirkwall anyway?"
"That," he said, sighing wearily," is a long story."
"Oh, good," she said brightly. "I love long stories. Unless it's boring. It's not boring is it?"
He laughed. "Lyra, when have our lives EVER been boring?"
"Fair point," she agreed. "So? Get on with it then."
"Well, after you left, I was placed under a new commander. Mean old bastard. Gorgeth I think his name was. Straight out of Weisshaupt." Lyra knew he was referring to the Grey Warden fortress hidden deep in the Aderfel mountains. The terrain bred a certain type of people, hard, cold and serious, like the mountains themselves. It was Grey Warden headquarters, where the First Warden presided over the order. "I don't think he'd ever left the fortress his entire life." Anders went on.
"People aren't born Grey Wardens, Anders. You know that."
"I've got five silver that says HE was," he shot back. "Anyway, he was always going on about duty and honor, and how the sacrifices we make are for the good of mankind."
"And what did you say to that?" she grinned.
Anders shrugged rather sheepishly. "I asked if we were to leave womenkind to rot, then." Lyra burst into another fit of giggles. "Got two weeks scrubbing potatoes for that."
She finally regained control of herself and said, "You didn't leave the Wardens just because of that, did you?"
"You know me. I've never been one for staying in one place too long," he grinned, but she was not about to let it go at that. Finally he said, "No, it was more... Well there was my cat, for one."
"That kitten I gave you?" she said brightly, suddenly remembering the little orange kitten she had found wandering around the Keep. "What did you call him? Sir Pounce-a-lot, wasn't it?"
Anders nodded. "He was a full frown cat by that time. Good cat, too. Hated the Deep Roads almost as much as I did. You know, he fought of a Genlock once? Slash the bugger right across the nose," he said chuckling to himself.
Lyra laughed along with him. "What happened to him?" She was looking around, fully expecting to see the orange tabby cat trotting in from a successful mouse hunt, or something.
Anders hung his head sadly. "They made me give him away. Left him with a friend in Amaranthine. The new Commander said he made me soft."
Lyra sighed. "Well," she said in a consolatory tone of voice, "you always were a bit squishy."
"Hey now!" he shot back.
"The number of times I had to pull your ass out of the fire," she said, laughing again. "Usually a fire you started!" Anders had to concede that and he grinned. "Hey, remember that time you burned down that shack out the outskirts of the city?"
"I was aiming for the leader of that smuggling ring," he whined. "Not my fault he was standing in front of the secret entrance to their hideout."
She laughed again, then paused thoughtfully. "Hey, did we ever get them all?"
"To a man, as I recall," he said in a satisfied tone, taking another sip of his drink.
"Ah, yes. Good times." She paused, reliving past glories. Then she turned to him, suddenly curious again, but concerned as well. "What happened to you, Anders? I mean, back then you were all thunderbolts and lightning, very very frightening. Now you're a healer?"
He shrugged, "People change."
But there was no way she was going to be satisfied with that. "Not that much. And not that fast." Change, she could believe. But something drastic must have happened to trigger it. The Anders she knew would never have been happy sitting down here with the dregs of the city his only company. The Anders she remembered would have been out getting into as much trouble as humanly possible.
He stared at his drink a long while before saying anything. He seemed to be trying to decide what to tell her. She wanted the truth, but she had a feeling she wasn't going to get it. Not the whole truth anyway. "Gorgeth had ordered an expedition into the deep roads," he said finally."To hunt down any stragglers, he said. He told us all we were too soft and two months down there with the darkspawn would toughen us up." He shook his head angrily. "Two months! Can you believe that? I knew then I was done for if I stayed so I hopped the first ship out of port. Just my luck it was headed for Kirkwall."
"Out of the frying pan and into the fire," she nodded. "Why'd you stay though? I mean, there are more Templars here than I have ever seen in my entire life. You could have found someplace a little safer, couldn't you?"
Anders stood up, trying to find the words. "I guess you could say it's your fault."
"My fault, how?" sje said indignantly.
"All that time we spent running around, helping people," he said, still pacing. "I missed that. I wasn't with the Grey Wardens any more but I still wanted to help people." He looked at her imploringly. "You've seen the people down here. They're Ferelden, mostly. Like us. But they've just been left down here to rot. These people need me. They protect me." He stopped, suddenly remembering. "Meredith knows about me now though... Things are going to get difficult."
"I don't think so." He gave her a dubious look. "What she knows is that you're a Grey Warden, and she can't touch you. As long as I'm around, you're safe. Just like old times, eh?" she grinned at him again, and he gave a wan smile, not liking the idea that she was putting herself between him and the Templars once again.
"What about you, though?" he said, trying to take the focus off himself. "Why are you in Kirkwall?"
She took a long time to answer that. It wasn't really something she could explain to someone who didn't already know about the Grey Wardens. But then, Anders did know, didn't he? "Well, I actually AM here on Grey Warden business." Stretching a bit, she thought. But just a bit. He was waiting for her to continue. "Tell me," she said finally, "do you still have the dreams?"
Anders shrugged. "I joined after the Blight was over, so I never really had much trouble. Now I guess I just block them out entirely. Why? Are you still having them?"
She nodded slowly. "Something brought me here. There's something... wrong... about this place. Something's here that shouldn't be. In my dreams I can almost see it, but when I wake up, I can't remember what it was." She sighed. "I'm not even sure that they actually are darkspawn dreams, or just my mind working overtime. But they have to mean something, right?" She had been hoping for confirmation, but Anders stayed silent, watching her carefully. And was that apprehension she could see in his eyes?
It was a while before he spoke again, and when he did his expression had become thoughtful. "You always did have worse dreams than the rest of us. You remember when we were at Vigils Keep, and the dreams would wake you up at night? We would climb to the top of the East tower? We'd climb through the hatch and lay on the roof talking till the sun came up. Just us and the stars.." he was smiling wistfully. "I miss that..." he turned and looked at her. "I missed you, Lyra."
"Anders..."
"We were friends, weren't we?" he said, suddenly getting to his feet once more. "You're probably the only real friend I ever had. And then you left and everything changed. I did some... regrettable things. And I figured that part of my life was over and I could never get it back. But, here you are..." he stopped pacing and sighed heavily. He was looking everywhere but directly at her as if trying to find the words. Finally he looked at her, holding her gaze, and said, "Maybe you don't have to be alone."
"Anders," she said, tearing her eyes away from his. "Yes, we were friends... But... I've always known I would die alone. Its part of being a Grey Warden."
"No, its not. Just a part of being you," Anders muttered, sinking back into his chair. If she heard him, she didn't let on. "Look, forget I said anything, ok? We'll just go back to being two people who knew each other once a very long time ago," he said bitterly, but she could tell his heart wasn't in it. He stared at the floor a long time before meeting her gaze again. "It's just... Don't you ever wonder what you're missing?"
Her face was set, not angry, but determined. "I know exactly what I'm missing." Then, as if suddenly remembering herself, she stood up and said, "I have to go. It's late and-"
"No, Lyra, wait," he said, half rising in an attempt to stop her, but she was already turning towards the door. "Will I see you again?"
She turned to him and smiled, her expression friendly once more. "Us 'two people' seem bound to keep bumping into one another, as long as you keep pissing off Templars." He grinned sheepishly. "You'll probably see me around. I'm not going anywhere. And besides, you are the best healer in town."
He smiled as he watched her leave the clinic, then sat back down, turning the half drunk glass of wine in his hand. He hadn't realized how much he missed having her in his life until she had reappeared. Now he felt the emptiness even more strongly. And yet he had lied to her. Well, not lied exactly. He simply hadn't told her the whole truth. And why not? After all, if anyone could understand she would. But he had held back. He had practically bared his heart to her but he couldn't tell her this one thing.
He sighed and finished off the glass of wine. Then he heard a voice in the back of his mind, that had become so much a part of him that he hardly recognized it as not his own. "It was good to see the elf girl again." Anders nodded absently to himself. "But she can not become a distraction."
He nodded again and spoke aloud, though there was no one in the room," We've got planning to do." He went to a small writing desk in the corner, picked up a sheaf of parchment, quill and ink, and began to write.
