Anders looked up sharply at the sound of the garden gate creaking open. It wasn't the right time of day for it to be the servant...

"Anders."

"Sebastian," he acknowledged, slightly surprised to see the man wearing his white-enamelled armour again, the first time he could recall seeing him wearing it since he'd arrived here. "The clinic is ready then?"

"Getting there. I thought you should see how it's coming along, and see if you can think of anything that needs changing, before the work is finished."

Anders nodded, and stripped off the heavy leather gauntlets he was wearing, dropping them and the pruning shears in the barrow nearby.

Sebastian was looking interestedly around. "You're doing good work out here," he observed.

Anders shrugged. "It's something to do," he said guardedly, and picked his way over to the cleared stretch of path, following it around to where Sebastian waited just inside the gate.


They walked to the stables, both remaining silent until they walked inside. Sebastian smiled, seeing the freshly plastered and white-washed walls where there'd been rough stone and wood before, the stone floor scrubbed as spotlessly clean as in any dairy, the neatly arranged tables and benches for an examination area, one end of the large space newly walled off for a surgery, so the more disturbing procedures could be taken care of out of sight of other patients.

He turned a circle, hands on hips, then looked enquiringly at Anders. "What do you think?" he asked, proudly.

Anders was gaping like a fish. He took a few steps further into the room, and paused, just looking around, then walked over to look into the surgery before finally turning back again. "It's... incredible, Sebastian," he said, sounding choked. "How much longer until it's ready to use?"

Sebastian shrugged. "A day or two, perhaps – there's mainly just moving things in left to do, which as you can see they've made a good start on," he observed. "It's already well-enough stocked that you could undoubtedly start any time, really," he added, walking over to what had been the tack room, and opened the top and bottom halves of the door to show the neatly set up little shelves full of potions, poultices, bandages, splits and other paraphernalia. He nodded at a small heater, counter and sink set along the inner wall, under the single narrow window that let in light from the yard outside. "You can make up potions and things right here," he pointed out. "Or train someone to make them for you, if we can't find anyone already skilled in herbalism to do the job. I've found a retiring guardsman with some experience at field medicine to assist you in the clinic itself; just the one assistant to start for now, we'll look to hire more depending on how busy it gets."

Anders nodded, looking dazed, and followed along behind Sebastian as the Prince happily gave him a tour of the remainder of the facility, the box stalls already being fitted out as space for overnight patients.

"I've told them to only put in one cot to a stall for now, and we'll keep extra cots stored in the loft space upstairs; in an emergency I think we can fit four or five to a stall. And I've had them turn the stall at the far end into a bathing chamber – just a good drain under the floor, some buckets and a small cistern, and a couple of earth closets, but I remembered what you said about cleanliness being important, and thought you likely meant cleanliness of person as well as of tables and instruments."

Anders nodded. "Yes. Thank you. I should have thought of it myself."

Sebastian smiled. "Good. Come upstairs, and see what has been set up for your live-in staff. All one of him," he added, sounding mildly amused, and led the way to where a narrow staircase had been fit into the space between the surgery and the first of the box stalls, replacing the ladder that had once been the only way up to hay loft.

A large chunk of the loft had been walled off to make a storage area, already partly filled with stacks of the cots Sebastian had mentioned, as well as blankets and other bulky supplies. The remainder had been fitted out as a small kitchen and eating area, then beyond that was the dormitory where the stable staff had once lived, neatly set up as a sleeping area for whatever staff the clinic acquired.

"It's wonderful, Sebastian," Anders said. "I honestly can't think of anything that needs improvement."

Sebastian nodded, looking pleased. "Good. I was thinking we would start slowly at first, with you just spending a couple of hours a day here. Doubtless people will be hesitant to make use of the clinic at first, and then once word of mouth spreads you'll be quite busy dealing with people for a while." He frowned darkly. "And it may get worse, eventually. So far Starkhaven has been lucky, and seen comparatively few refugees; the Vimmark Mountains between us and Kirkwall meant that most people from there fled in other directions than north, only a trickle came over the passes. But I've already heard of serious unrest in Ansburg, downstream from us, and Wycome, Bastion, and Hercinia along the coast... if refuges begin coming up the Minanter in any number, we'll see them here. Worse, the headwaters of the river are in Orlais, and there is definitely widespread unrest there as well. We may well see refuges flooding in from both east and west, with us caught in the middle."

Anders frowned. "Forgive me if I find it very hard to care much about what is happening in Orlais," he said, an edge of coldness in his voice.

Sebastian gave him a dark look. "Why? Because the chantry is based there?" he asked sharply.

Anders' lips thinned. "Partially that," he agreed angrily. Then shook his head, straightening up. "I was raised in Ferelden; my parents had moved there when I was just a child. Orlesians are not well-regarded in Ferelden, as you're undoubtedly aware. I share fully in the dislike of my adopted countrymen for them."

Sebastian nodded, accepting the point; Starkhaven, like much of the Free Marches, had hosted Fereldan refugees during the Orlesian occupation of their lands; that was before his own time, but he recalled his grandfather speaking of the immense hatred the evacuated children and exiled nobles had felt for the temporary overlords of their country. The memory of those times would not fade for some generations, he had predicted.

"Well, regardless of any enmity you feel to Orlesians in general, you should care about the possibility of us seeing an influx of them here," he said, moving to rest his hip on the table, looking intently at Anders. "The refugees we have taken in so far have already filled the city to capacity; if more continue arriving, we may well find ourselves dealing with crowded, squalid refugee camps, with all that means in terms of violence and disease."

Anders frowned, and leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. "A good point," he agreed. "Some of it you can prevent if you move to prepare for refugees before they arrive in any real numbers."

Sebastian nodded in agreement. "I am already doing that; I've been drawing up plans for how to handle any large influx – where camps might be sited, things like that. The chance of violence I hope we can stave off merely through things like establishing regular patrols before outbreaks of such begin to occur, and punish any perpetrators rigorously; make it clear that Starkhaven will not tolerate people breaking the peace. In truth it is the risk of things like more wide-spread unrest, or an outbreak of disease, that worry me most."

Anders nodded. "Camp discipline," he said. "You have an army of some kind, right?"

Sebastian tilted his head curiously. "Yes, we do. A small one. What do you mean by camp discipline...?"

Anders smirked for a moment. "I would guess you've had little to do with your army if you don't know what that is. It means things like making sure your slit trenches are well away from and preferably downstream from any water supply you plan to use. That the men keep themselves clean. Cleanliness encourages good health; filth and waste encourage disease. We don't know why it works that way, just that it does. That is why diseases like cholera spread so terribly fast once they get a hold in a population," he added, looking bleak for a moment. "Just coming in contact with the filth from a sick person seems able to infect others. That bad summer in Kirkwall five years ago..." he shook his head.

Sebastian nodded. He remembered that summer. The heat, and the stench of the sickness and the already-dead rising in almost choking clouds from the caverns of Dark Town. A very bad summer indeed. Far worse for Anders, he realized, who had been down there in the bowels with the dead and dying, trying to save them. "I would not want to see such happen here," he said softly. "Any advice you can give me, that would help prevent it, I will gladly take."

"I'll write up some notes for you," Anders offered. "If you speak to your army surgeons and sergeants, they can also tell you some of the ways they deal with quickly housing large numbers of people – don't bother asking the officers," he added, lips twisting in a crooked smile. "Officers never know anything really important about running things. And you should plan a quarantine area – an isolated place where anyone who arrives already obviously sick, and anyone travelling with them, can stay while recovering, so they don't infect others. That will help too."

Sebastian nodded. "A good thought," he agreed, then abruptly rose to his feet. "Let us go back. I have much to think on. I may want to talk with you more on this later."

Anders nodded. "I am, of course, at your disposal," he pointed out ironically.

Sebastian snorted, but found himself smiling nonetheless.