BioWare owns all, I just play in their pond.


9. Meliora Tempora – Anders

"Maker, what a day," Anders said, half to himself, as Hawke saw the last patient out and kicked away the stopper holding the door open.

The patients had been plentiful enough, that was true, but the day had started even before then. Hawke's inaugural run with the underground had taken place in the small hours of the day. Just when I thought I couldn't possibly respect the man more, the healer thought, he starts talking about nobility of purpose and asks to come with me when I help mages out of the Void the Gallows has become. Afraid to dwell too much on the other feelings Hawke's request had kindled, Anders dropped himself onto the bench by the crafting table and rested his head in his hands.

"We did good work. All around, we did good work," Hawke proclaimed, recalling his conversation with Aveline earlier in the week.

"Feels like it, too, right this minute," Anders decided, amazed to find he really did feel that way. How is it that the gratitude of the whole of Darktown and the underground combined don't come half so close to lifting me up as much as Davin's support does? What does that even mean? What am I supposed to do with that?

"Also feels like I could sleep for the next fortnight, if the Maker is merciful. Which, of course, He isn't," Hawke added, as the clinic door was pushed open again, a man on a litter carried in by a group of … laborers, by their clothes. Placing the litter on the surgery table, all four of the men started talking at once, tripping over each other's words before one finally took charge.

"Jansen, isn't it? Foreman?" Hawke recognized the man he'd pulled out of the Bone Pit mine some weeks ago.

"Aye, ser. Linton here, he was lighting the fuse to blast on a new vein, only something weren't right and it blew before he could pull back his hand, and… and…"

Anders listened with half an ear while he surveyed the damage. Easy enough to see what and was, mangled as the man's hand was even above the wrist. The blast had gone off before the man had pulled clear, and closer inspection confirmed his suspicions. "I'm sorry. This is beyond any healing; if we're going to close up the wound, it'll have to be at the expense of the hand."

The laborer, Linton, closed his eyes for a moment before giving a single nod. Anders glanced at Hawke, getting a nod there as well. The time had come to see if any of that research would pay off.

No need to ask what Linton's thinking, either. There goes his livelihood. Ah, well. Healing now, empathy later.

As Anders arranged tools on his surgery tray, Hawke ordered the remaining men, aside from Jansen, out of the clinic. "We'll need quiet for this. Jansen, we may have to call on you for assistance." On a second tray, Hawke set out a handful of lyrium draughts from the clinic's stores. "There won't be a lot of discussion as we work, but I'll ask you to place one of these bottles in whatever hand reaches out to you, if it comes to that."

"Aye, ser."

"Anders, are you ready for me?"

"Do it."

Still cautious, Hawke fitted a leather strap between Linton's teeth. In case something didn't work, the poor man would need something to bite against the pain. Satisfied that he'd done all he could, he placed his open hand on the patient's head, reached for his power, and sent the man to sleep. Instead of stopping the spell once the man stilled, however, he cut the flow to a trickle.

"Good. I can feel his… state… like this, with just this weak link. If he starts to wake, I should be able to adjust for that and keep him down. It's to you, now." Though Hawke had seen his share of amputations by now, the entire process never failed to unnerve him. Watching Anders clear away muscle and pull back skin, he understood it would be some time before he sat down to another meal.

In the end, only one of the draughts Hawke had retrieved remained. Anders had to maintain a steady flow of healing magic while he worked to prevent the loss of too much blood resulting from the new cuts, and to heal the bone at the site of the amputation. All this while performing the surgery as well was a draining prospect.

Unsurprisingly, the rest of Hawke's research proved valuable as well. With the advances Kinloch Hold had made in the school of Entropy, he had learned to direct the flow of dreams and nightmares, beyond simply causing them to happen. Or not to happen, as was needed when Linton lapsed into a violent nightmare that threatened Anders's concentration and finesse. With the link Hawke kept active, it was a simple matter to find the dream and just… turn it off.

"It's healed clean," Hawke announced after inspecting the remains of the surgery. "I don't see as there'll be any scarring, even. When you finished, I recast the complete spell, so he'll sleep for a time yet."

"Jansen," Anders called to the foreman, "does Linton have any family to be told?"

"Aye. I'll be about that now, if you've something I can tell them."

"Let them know where he is, that I want him to stay at least tonight so I can keep an eye on him. They're welcome to come and stay with him, if they like. If he's steady in the morning, I'll release him to go home."

"So…" the healer continued once the clinic was empty, save the magically sleeping amputee. "It worked. If it did heal clean, it's because you were able to keep him still. If we ever have any bloody energy to speak of again, I'm anxious to hear what was involved in all that."

They'd barely had time to wash the blood from their hands before a woman calling herself Linton's wife appeared, all tears and gratitude and praise, ready to celebrate the clinic, the healer, and even the results of the surgery itself.

But Hawke knew his friend. The patient would live, yes, but he was no longer whole. That he was beyond being fully restored before arriving in the clinic was immaterial; Anders couldn't put the man right, and living or not, would feel that he'd failed.


The patient settled, enchanted one last time into a restful sleep, his wife gone home, Anders let himself be guided to the small cot he kept for himself in one of the back rooms. He needed… something, he wasn't sure what, to wash clean the overwhelming sense of disappointment he carried now.

"Tell me something, Davin," he requested as he settled back against his pillow. "Anything. Something happy, a favorite memory from Ferelden maybe?" Just hearing his friend's voice would help, but hearing him happy? That sounded perfect.

For his part, Hawke thought for a moment as he took a seat on the edge of the cot beside the healer. I should choose carefully, sure as I am this is the first time he's ever asked me for anything.

"In Lothering, shortly after my magic came, we learned that one of the sisters in the Chantry would entertain the children of the village each week, on the market day. All so parents could go about their errands with the visiting merchants without their children underfoot, I gather, Sister Dara would sit before an enraptured audience of Lothering's younglings and spin such tales…

"It was only every third or fourth week we got to attend, mind, as far to the outskirts as we lived. And even then it took some time to convince Mother to let us go, what with having a couple of mages in the family. I remember Carver's winning argument in favor of storytime to this day: 'Please, Mother, I know Davin's a git, but even he's not daft enough to light someone's hair on fire right in the Chantry. Please?'

"I think the largest draw for Sister Dara's stories was that she always stayed away from Chantry parables. On market day, her only purpose was keeping the children occupied and happy for a time. I've lost most of the stories she told, but being a new young mageling myself when I heard it, there's one that stuck with me, or most of it did. And, in truth, still comes to mind now and again when I think of you.

"It was one of those 'once upon a time' affairs – you know nothing good can come of any fable that didn't happen 'once upon a time' and 'long ago,' after all. Well, this would have been long ago indeed, as it predated Andraste and the Chantry, and I can only imagine what trouble Sister Dara heard from the Revered Mother after this tale, for all that we children loved it.

"Seems there was a great old wizard who kept himself locked away in a grand tower, doing all manner of wizardy things, and going to great trouble to avoid contact with anything having to do with the civilized world. His apprentices did his shopping and stocking, and all the while he labored away in his chambers at the top of this magnificent tower. Princes and kings would beseech him for his counsel, nobility offered fortunes for any boon he might grant, though he turned them all away. Rumors of his favor, nonexistent though it was, were as powerful a political currency as marriages of state.

"Of course those rumors were countered with speculation that there was no such wizard, as in all the years he held his tower, not one person in the nobility had been granted an audience with the hermit. Proof of the wizard's presence, it was said, came in times of drought, and plague, and famine. When the least of the citizenry ailed, you see, that's when this wizard made himself known. When crops promised seasons too lean, he summoned the greatest of rains. When the grippe threatened to claim the beggar in the alley, he was there, tonic in hand. When the poor shepherdess raising her children fell to the blight, she was lifted again by his most powerful spell.

"For most of my childhood, I loved that story. Carver and Bethany as well, really. I think, more than anything else, that was one of the strongest bonds we shared as siblings. And now, though I've forgotten the name the sister gave the wizard… In my head, at least, when it comes to me now, I've found myself calling him Anders. Although," Hawke regarded his friend now, wryly, "I find you severely lacking in the areas of unkempt beard and wrinkles."

Anders found himself laughing around the hard knot that had formed in his throat. Maker, that this man thinks me worthy of a story like that. After a moment, he realized he was content, followed quickly with the understanding that he had never been before, not truly. Settling himself further down on the cot, he took Hawke's hand and held it for a moment, silent acknowledgement that he could sleep now, and sleep clean.

"Thank you, Davin. I liked it, very much. Except for one part," he found himself looking up at his friend… or whatever it was they were, something more complex and involved by now. "You're not a git."

Hawke's laugh as he stood to take his leave was rich and long. "Next time, you can tell me about one of your happier memories."

"Hmm?" The healer, sleep claiming him, waved a hand vaguely. "Take your choice, Davin. You've been there for most of them."