Anders's condition is not getting better…

Enjoy nevertheless!

Wintersend part 24

'I've never seen a case like this before.'

Stroud, his brow wrinkled in a puzzled expression, stood looking at Anders who was stirring restlessly. Fenris and Cullen had managed to move him from the floor onto one of the cots in the tent and Hawke had covered him with a blanket, but it seemed not to give him any relief. The mage kept mumbling, sometimes he moaned softly; a thin sheet of transpiration lay on the skin of his face, glistening in the light of the burning lanterns. At once, in what looked like a spasm, he trampled and the blanket slipped off his body and fell on the floor.

Hawke's hand shot out and pulled the piece of fabric over his body again in what seemed to be an action of compassion. Fenris didn't move, because knowing better, and the rest of the gathering was too stunned or too bewildered to react adequately. Except, perhaps, for the healer Leliana had brought along.

It was rather crowded in the tent. The brought along healer attempted to examine Anders and she felt to her dismay the scrutinizing eyes of both the Inquisitor and the former Champion of Kirkwall drilling holes in the back of her head. At moments like this, Evelyn enormously regretted her lack of healing powers. As did Hawke, who possessed some, but scarcely enough to close minor cuts.

Cullen guarded the entrance, determined to chase every unauthorized person away before they witnessed anything they shouldn't, and Leliana hovered anxiously like a mother hen closely watching her brood.

Apart from Stroud, Evelyn had taken Blackwall along as well to observe Anders's physical condition because she reasoned that the expertise of two would be a better help for the healer and also that she perhaps needed a second opinion. Or even a third. Leliana had glared hard at him with a cold, portentous look that promised slow and agonizing death, were he to tell anyone about whom and what he would encounter, but had merely said, 'You're not allowed to speak about this.' Blackwall, who didn't know exactly whether he should feel offended or honoured, had been more than happy to oblige. The tone of her voice alone was enough to kill and thus to make him compliant.

And so eight people were thronging in a tent barely big enough for three. No wonder the healer was getting nervous and heated.

Stroud addressed Blackwall. 'Does this remind you of anything remotely similar to the Calling?'

His fellow Grey Warden shifted a leg and, as if to win some time, almost absentmindedly started to recite a part of "Shred of Blue", a well-known song from the Grey Warden Tome, well known to the Grey Wardens, that is.

"There was a stir within his blood

And the dreams lay thick upon him

A call did beat within his heart

One road was left before him."

'Yes, yes,' Stroud snarled impatiently, 'I know what you mean, no need to get all poetic on me. Just answer the question, please!'

'In a way I already did,' Blackwall reacted a little prickly. 'Because, tell me, how am I supposed to hear and see and feel what Anders does? Or doesn't? But, alright, as far as I know, the Calling doesn't come with mumbling and sweating.'

The healer heaved her head, looking alarmed. 'His heart is racing and he's developing a nasty fever fast.'

'This sounds more like a case of the flu,' grumbled Stroud morosely. He turned sharply to Fenris. 'How did you figure this is about the Calling? The symptoms don't come even close!'

'Because Anders told us, just before he passed out,' the elf declared, outwardly unperturbed. 'He mentioned a song ringing in his blood and nightmares about the dragon.'

'The Archdemon,' Blackwall said with some if totally inappropriate reverence, as far as Hawke was concerned.

'Could be,' said Fenris, still as serene as a lake on a calm day but Hawke sensed a lot of commotion going on under the surface. He didn't like it, to put it mildly, to be spoken to as if he were some ignorant yokel. It was just slightly better than being spoken to as if he still were a collared slave. Just. She knew him better than to lose his discipline simply like that, but they had had a stressing day enough as it was already. Finding out she was pregnant in these turbulent times drew heavily on their energy and self-control. So, to calm them both down, she touched his wrist tenderly and immediately he responded by giving her hand a little squeeze to reassure her he wouldn't burst out in the near future.

'Of course he would say that,' Stroud barked, 'every Grey Warden has heard the Calling lately!'

Hawke felt Fenris's hand tighten; she was glad she knew Stroud and his gruffly manners well enough to apprehend this was practically his normal conversation tone, otherwise she would have given him a black eye herself.

'Of that I am aware,' Fenris replied evenly, 'but I trust you no longer hear it anymore, now the Nightmare has been defeated?'

'No, we don't,' affirmed Blackwall before Stroud could say something that made Fenris definitely go off. Just as Inquisitor Trevelyan he wasn't a natural born diplomat, but even so he could sense the dark mood the elf was rapidly developing. Thankfully Stroud climbed down from his high horse before accidents could happen.

'Could it be possible he thinks he's hearing the Calling because he's sick?' asked Evelyn hesitantly. 'I recall fever doing strange things to people's minds, back when we had an outbreak of the flu in the Circle, several years ago.' A disturbing thought hit her. 'Could it be contagious?'

Cullen whipped his head around. 'Heaven forbid it is!' he cried out in distress. 'We have thousands of people gathered in a confined space! Any disease, even a simple cold, would spread like a wildfire!'

'People don't die of a simple cold,' Leliana said sensibly. She narrowed her eyes at the Commander, apparently annoyed he'd had the audacity to even hint at an outbreak of some creepy kind of plague.

'That doesn't look like a simple cold,' Cullen bit back harshly, pointing at Anders.

'Will you please stop gaggling like a flock of freaking geese!' the healer yelled out of the sudden, forgetting totally about due respect and related ceremony. 'I can't do anything as long as you keep breathing in my neck! Get out, all of you!'

Reacting on instinct Evelyn took Leliana and Stroud by an arm and started to steer them out of the tent gently. 'Let's do as the nice lady commands,' she said with a sugared voice, fearing for bloodshed, 'you heard what she said, she can't work with us peeping over her shoulder.' She was followed hastily by Blackwell and Cullen, who both identified a furious outburst in the make also.

'I said all of you,' the healer growled with emphasis.

Hawke sat down on a cot, with an expression of firm determination on her face. 'I'm going nowhere. I'm not leaving my friend alone.' Fenris folded his arms over his chest in a resolute way, as to underline he would put his foot down as well.

'You don't trust me?!' The healer looked as if she was about to throw a fit.

'I trust you,' Hawke declared, 'but I'm not sure I can trust any of that lot not to do Anders harm behind our back. We will guard him. I take it you know who he is?'

'Sister Leliana informed me.' She blew out what seemed a whole air pocket. 'My name is Ariane, by the way.' She looked down at Anders and wiped her brow. 'You say he is your friend…'

'Yes, it astonishes me too,' said Hawke mordantly, 'not in the least because for years I considered him my worst enemy. Now, can you tell us what's wrong with him?' She wasn't in the mood to dwell on the intricate problem Anders had turned into.

'Is it possible that his condition is due to the abrupt absence of Justice?' Fenris mused aloud. 'I can imagine that must have an enormous impact on him, mentally as well as physically.'

After they had solved the question marks on the healer's face by filling her in, Ariane confessed, 'I have not much experience with demons or spirits. Or with the Fade, for that matter. Of course I visited the place, but I never staid long. It gives me the creeps and I don't trust it.'

Fenris hummed his approval.

'I can't say what kind of influence the spirit business has had on him,' Ariane continued, 'with some help I can try to find out, if you like. But first let me attempt to get his fever down before he's burnt up.'

'That sounds like a good idea to me,' Hawke admitted. She leant back on the cot and closed her eyes, at once feeling very tired. Moments later she perceived Fenris sitting down next to her and lightly placing his hand on hers. She smiled faintly.

In the dead of night a small company of mounted warriors left the camp, with in their midst a cart pulled by two strong and fast draught horses. Fenris rode in front, scouting ahead, his mighty two-handed sword strapped on his back. He was followed by Evelyn and Blackwall, while Dorian and the Iron Bull made up the rear-guard. A huge moon hung low in the sky, blotting out the stars and bathing the desert in an ethereal white light.

The elf had insisted that Hawke should travel on the cart together with Anders and the healer Ariane.

'I am not some weak little child-wife,' Hawke had protested but even in her own ears it had sounded feeble.

'No,' had Fenris said, 'but you're at the end of your tether. Speed is of the greatest import right now; we have to get Anders in Skyhold as fast as possible and I'm positive you won't be able to keep up with the tempo in the state you're in. I don't want you to fall off your horse. We have a long journey ahead of us; first try to get some sleep.'

'In that cart?'

He had given her a lopsided smile with a hint of mischief. 'Think about it as a cradle. If a baby manages to fall asleep in one of those, you should too.'

Hawke had opened her mouth but had thought the better of it at the same moment. After all, they had stuffed the wagon with blankets and pillows to reduce the bouncing to a minimum and to make the ride as comfortable for Anders as possible. She had given up resistance without putting up a real fight. Fenris had been right; she was so exhausted, she didn't even have the energy to feel annoyed about it. She was just glad Varric wasn't with them to shower her with inappropriate remarks; dwarves and horses weren't a happy combination so they had left him behind. She was certain, though, she would have to pay the price later for sneaking out in the middle of the night without telling him the news.

The healer had taken a supply of herbs with her and endeavoured with the help of those and several spells to contain Anders's fragile condition. Marian hoped she would succeed in keeping him in check until they had reached Skyhold where more mages and supplies would be at their disposal.

Just before she drifted off, she picked up some banter between Dorian and the Bull.

'I'll be grateful to be back at Skyhold,' the latter rumbled. 'Decent drinks and a decent bed. Care to join me?'

'You,' Dorian said, his disgust palpable, 'occupy a filthy, dilapidated space somewhere on the downside of the ramparts.'

'Yep,' Bull said happily.

'Whilst I remain in a small but tastefully furnished apartment next to the library. Which hold an excellent stock of wine to boot. How hard, you think, will the choice be?'

'No mead?'

'Wine.'

'I see. So you can fuck yourself senseless while drinking a glass of dead grapes and reading yawny books about uneventful occurrences. Sounds yippee. '

'The furniture includes a luxurious double bed with a feather mattress.'

Hawke was rather surprised; apparently she and Fenris weren't the only ones with a little secret. She could almost hear the gears in Bull's head grind speedily.

'You'll throw in a tin of biscuits?'

'If that's wat it takes, I will.'

'Deal. But don't try to read to me.'

'I wouldn't dare to spoil the mood with exquisite poetry.'

With a soft chuckle and a smile upon her lips, Marian fell asleep.

Lady Josephine Montilyet stood before the entrance to the Main Hall, looking at the view with a critical eye. She was quite satisfied with what she saw. Large planks made out of pinewood had been put over the everlasting puddle staining the middle of the courtyard, changing it into an excellent dancefloor. The walls of the adjacent buildings as the Herald's Rest, the barracks, the smithy, the Quartermaster's and the access to the dungeons, were festooned with green bows and garlands. The gateway was so heavily decorated that is was hardly possible for a cart to pass through, and one could barely see through the windows for the drapes of flowers.

The storerooms were stuffed with all kinds of ingredients to make wonderful canapes and pies and cakes, and with lots of barrels with beer and ale and mead and cider. She had even ordered an ox to be roasted. She imagined the Bull would be very pleased.

Against the wall left of the stairs had a dais been erected for the dance band from the Hinterlands Josephine had contracted. At first she had planned to let an orchestra from Val Royeaux play at the festivities but just in time she had realised that the majority of Skyhold's inhabitants consisted of common soldiers and workers who wouldn't appreciate the mostly regal Orlesian repertoire. Although, as she remembered with a blush on her cheeks, even Orlesians could burst into dances like the exciting Luciole that was almost banished from Court for being too shocking. But the common folk would like to dance the Remmigold, or the Runaway Maiden, or the Foxy Fennec. Or something equally simple and merry. Joyful, happy dances with lots of opportunities for kisses and embraces. Vivienne just had to put plugs in her ears, or lock herself up in her rooms for the time being, should she feel offended.

Josephine frowned when a trumpet blast rose up from the wall over the gate. Suddenly worried, she gathered her skirts and started to run. This could not be the return of the army and she was afraid it meant no good news.

Cole was wandering about Skyhold, savouring the peace and quiet. It was invigorating to walk unhindered by the usual hum of thoughts. Those always were so much harder to ignore than the voices that spoke words and sentences that hardly ever corresponded to the thoughts that pierced his ears. With the army and a score of the servants away, Cole could now even hear the whispers of the stones themselves, an elven language he couldn't understand but that felt like refreshing rain or soft silk ribbons. It comforted him.

After the Fade he had wanted to return here, to spend time in his safe place above the inn, to think about Hope and what she had represented, had wanted to accomplish. Let them remember… But Cole was still not convinced, especially not after Fenris's reaction to the confrontation with his past. His warped memory, Cole remembered. He sighed and feared he would never find an adequate answer to this problem.

Solas was nowhere to be found; Cole suspected the mage was roaming the Fade and for once he was grateful he wasn't bothering him with his endless questions and lessons. The Fade had been a disturbing place, frightening, gloomy, lying. And even though he knew the Nightmare had been defeated, he felt reluctant to ever go back again. He might dread mages who wanted to possess him, right now he dreaded demons even more, and turning into one he dreaded the most. Let Solas dream of and dream in the Fade, conversing with entities and make himself believe it was all beauty and delicate balance. He wanted nothing to do with it.

Cole, grown bold by the encouraging silence, had left his room and bravely had started to discover the whole castle from top to bottom. He had assisted Josephine with adorning the walls and windows, it had cheered him up immensely. He had just spent a few hours in the half forgotten library in the cellars and walked into the courtyard at the same moment he heard the copper horn ring out.

The Ambassador held her step when she approached the gate. She took a gulp of air to steady her breath and hastily wiped a lock of hair from her brow. She had no idea what to expect, so she'd better try to look her best. She was not surprised Cole took her over, looking as surprised and tense as she. And then she saw Inquisitor Trevelyan come through the Gate.

'Josephine!' Evelyn called out. 'Please let a room be prepared, we have a very sick person with us.'

Without troubling her with unnecessary questions, Josephine turned and hurried away to do what she was extremely good at: organising things.

But Cole knew already about whom the Inquisitor spoke; the poisonous song of the contaminated blood sounded even louder than it had done in the Fade; it threatened to take over all surrounding sounds. He urged forward, climbed on to the cart and laid his hand on Anders's burning forehead. 'I'll stay with him,' he said calmly.

The woman the people once had called the Champion gazed at him with a tired look. 'Can you do something?'

'We shall find out,' Cole said sincerely.

I confess I had the idea of the tin with biscuits (or coockies) from Sten in the Originals. I found it very endearing: a big, grumpy, Spartan Qunari yearning for sugary crumbs!

Thank you for reading!