EXCLAIMER: This is my first fic written in English so if you have any suggestions regarding grammar, spelling or punctuation feel free to share this with me so I can improve myself :).
Enjoy.
ANDERS
The day started quite ordinary. Sick inhabitants of Darktown were drawn to his clinic, counting on the help that only he offered in this forsaken place. He didn't send anyone away. Every person who knocked on the door was heard and cured. There were days when he staggered on his feet and only goodwill and Lyrium prevented him from falling to the floor from exhaustion. Today's afternoon suggested that it would be one of those worst days. In the southern Darktown part of the ceiling collapsed, crushing a group of people. All those who managed to get out alive were transported to his clinic. The screams and cries were heightened by the sharp and metallic smell of blood. The air was heavy with fear and despair. The wounded were placed wherever there was room. Some of the injured left the clinic with a bandage and a bottle of elven root extract, but many cases absorbed his magic like the unbridled Void. Fatigue crept slowly but surely into his mind like a silent parasite.
He walked over to a small table and dipped his hands in a bowl of warm water. Fresh blood, like crimson paint, spilled over the clear liquid. His eyes stopped on the reflection for a moment which, even though distorted, could not mask the pallor of his complexion and the dark crescents that slowly emerged under his eyes. He turned and reached for a piece of cloth, wiping his roughly clean hands on it. He propped up the top of a small table with his left hand, while his right went towards the base of the nose. He closed his eyes slightly, trying to chase away the fatigue. It was the last patient. A 13 or 14-year-old boy whose leg was crushed by a piece of falling rock. Fortunately, there was no need for amputation, but the procedure consumed the last reserves of his mana. He twitched slightly as he felt a touch on his shoulder. Two friendly green eyes of one of the volunteers looked at him with concern.
- It's everyone, Anders. Get some rest. - she said with a warm, melodious voice. From what he had seen a moment ago in the blurry surface of the water, she might have been right.
- Are you sure? - he asked wearily. She just nodded and a small smile appeared on her peach lips. He reciprocated it as best he could. He dreamed of a small, cozy corner where he could lie down and fall asleep. He looked around his little clinic. Some of the patients will have to stay here overnight. Five helping volunteers, including a golden-haired girl with peach lips, bustled from one person to the next, checking if they were in need and comforting friends or family who came with them. Somewhere in the far corner of the room sat a huddled boy whose Anders had saved a leg. This site was always most difficult for him. Fear in child's eyes. He walked towards him. The boy was leaning against the wall, his hands hugging his knees. The leg was healed. Anders made sure of that, but the boy did not want to leave the clinic. The magician began to suspect why. There was no one with him. No parent or even a friend. Either the youngster was alone or his relatives didn't get out alive from under the rubble.
- The leg is heald boy. You have nothing to fear anymore. - he explained slowly. Two gray round eyes looked at the mage piercingly. Disobedient tears glazed under his lids, seeking an outlet.
- I don't know where to go. Mom and Dad ... - he sobbed softly. Anders gritted his teeth. Maker, so it was the second option. The boy lost his parents under the rubble. He crouched down beside him and put a hand on the boy's shoulder.
- What's your name?
- Marn. – the boy replied so softly that the mage hardly understood him.
- Marn. - Anders repeated after him as if to be sure. - Stay here overnight Marn. Tomorrow we'll figure something out.
The boy nodded, returning his eyes to the floorboards. Anders got up and finding the golden-haired volunteer, summoned her with a glance. The girl was with him in an instant. He walked away with her a bit from the boy and said in an undertone:- Mira boy lost his parents during this accident. He will stay with us until tomorrow. Can you keep an eye on him?
The woman glanced at the boy.
- Of course.
Mira had a natural gift for handling children. Anders knew the boy was in good hands. He moved away from them, giving the volunteer space to act, and leaned against the nearest wall. His fingers went back to the bridge of his nose. He could feel the migraine emerging behind his eyes. It was a long day.
After a while, his attention was caught by three people wrapped in linen coats. He couldn't remember treating any of them. He could also have sworn they weren't at the clinic a moment ago. Their faces were covered with deep hoods and all he could tell was that two of them were taller men and the third smaller figure belonged to a woman. He frowned and took two steps towards them. His legs stopped suddenly. One of the men turned so that the clothes beneath his thick coat were exposed. The symbol of the flaming sword chilled the mage's blood. Templars. They finally found him. He was too busy to notice that something was wrong. Too tired and distracted to suspect those two men and a woman who had sneaked into his clinic unnoticed. He knew that sooner or later the Order will find his hiding place, but he thought he would be prepared for it, that he would notice the warning signs in time. He was wrong.
Judging by their behavior they hadn't figured out who he was yet. It didn't take long, however. One of the patients was pointing a finger in his direction. Three heads turned as if on cue. The linen coats fell to the ground, revealing heavy plates glittering underneath.
- I'm Captain Ruvena. In the name of the Holy Order, I command you to come with us.
A loud female voice said. Swords hissed in the air, their sharp blades pointed at him. There was silence in the clinic. As if everyone present was holding their breath. The volunteers froze in place with the bowls and bandages watching the whole event. Anders stood in the center of the room, his eyes never leaving the templars. Every muscle in his body was stretched to the limit. His arms rose and fell in quick, nervous breaths and he heard blood rushing in his ears. He tried to analyze the situation. Three templars are too many, even if he wasn't weakened by a lack of mana. Justice was silent as never before, which he was happy about. Showing him in a room full of ordinary people would bury any remaining sympathy towards mages for good. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at the nearby staff. They will not take him alive. They will not make him tranquil. He will die first.
The templar noticed that Anders is glancing at his weapon.
- Come with us apostate. Don't make us use force. - she growled.
- So you can tranquil me like Karl? - he hissed through his teeth. He had lost, Maker he really had lost. There was no way out of this situation.
- Your fate will be decided by the templar court. - informed the captain calmly while taking a small step towards him. Her two knights separated to surround him. He could smell the faint scent of their auras with his every sense. The time for any resistance had just ended. This was a carefully planned operation. They must have known about his clinic for some time and were waiting for the right moment to strike. A mage without mana is as weak as a child. He wouldn't be surprised if the whole incident was orchestrated just to get him.
Help came from an unexpected source. One by one the volunteers fenced him off from the three intruders. Each held a tool in his hand. Mira stood in the middle and tightened her fingers on his staff. Maker, he didn't even notice when they managed to shuffle off. He must have been really tired.
-The Order has no authority here. - growled the girl. Seeing that the templar wanted to protest she interrupted her quickly. - Where was the Order when the guards closed the gates from us, knowing we had nowhere else to go? - an accusatory question followed by another - Where was the Order when our children were born in dust and sand eating the last scraps taken from their mothers' mouths? - and another. - Where was the Order when the plague was ravaging Darktown taking dozens of lives? - and the next. - Where was the Order when boys like him lost their parents and were nearly crippled themselves? - she pointed at Marn still cowering in the corner. - We suffocated in the bowels of this selfish city without hope that anything would change. The Order abandoned us, but the Maker did not forget us because He sent us a healer.
Anders stood stupefied. No one had ever stood up for him especially when the templars were involved. It was too dangerous.
-Mira... - he tried to talk some sense into her. Even outnumbered, they didn't stand a chance against the trained Knights of the Order.
-No Anders. If it wasn't for you, the Darktown would be full of corpses and people dying of hunger and wounds. We will not let them take you!
Anders let out a breath. He hadn't expected this to happen. Any one of them could have been sentenced to death for helping the apostate, but they stood here risking their lives for him.
-Get back. - warned the captain, taking another step forward. The other templars had almost cut off his escape route.
-You will not take him! - shouted Mira. The knuckles of her tiny fingers turned white as she gripped the staff tighter. The rest of the volunteers did the same. The frightened commoners stood amok, not knowing what to do. Conflict bloomed on their faces. Anders had saved their loved ones or themselves, but to go against the templars? It was beyond some of them.
Suddenly a deafening clang came from his right. Everyone's gaze went in the direction of the noise. One of the templars' retainers lay stunned on the ground and above him stood Marn, wielding something resembling a crowbar. The anger in the boy's gray eyes was boiling over.
-You will not take him. - he repeated Mira's words.
Time seemed to stop and then a hurricane descended with redoubled force.
-Get him! - she growled, pointing at the boy with her hand. She herself turned towards the mage. The volunteers rushed towards them with all their might. It didn't take long before the more able-bodied patients joined them. The earlier hesitation evaporated from them like the morning mist. They all rushed at knights with the fury of a charging bull. Marn screamed like a madman as he swung his crowbar at the man trying to capture him, but a small shield bearing the emblem of a flaming sword easily blocked the blows. Two volunteers rushed at Ruvena, effectively blocking her path.
Mira turned to the mage and, thrusting a staff into his hands, said hurriedly:
-Run Anders!
-You're going to die here. - he protested.
Her peach lips twisted in a slight smile.
-They can't kill us. At least not all of us. Not even the Order could cover up such blatant genocide.
-You obviously don't know them very well. - he replied sarcastically. He felt much more confident with his weapon in hand.
-These people... all of us have been lacking purpose for a very long time. Let us do this. Please.
Anders just sighed and nodded slightly. He looked towards the door. The passage was clear. It was now or never. Shuffling past several people efficiently, he found himself at the exit. In the heat of the fight and the shouting, he suddenly heard Mira's warning voice.
-Anders!
He turned abruptly. The templar who had been stunned earlier by the boy was kneeling on the ground with a small handy crossbow drawn towards him. Everyone was so busy stopping the other two that no one noticed the man rise. The next few moments were like the blink of an eye. Taking the opportunity for a clear shot, templar released the chord and a twenty-centimeter bolt soared towards him. Instinct guided Anders' hand and his mouth mechanically muttered an incantation. A pale blue transparent bubble surrounded him instantly. After a full day of intense work at the clinic, however, Anders was tired and drained of magic. The bubble couldn't withstand the momentum of the bolt, which went through it like a knife through butter and slammed into his right side. The sharp metal slid between his ribs entering deep into his flesh. The force of the impact caused Anders to stagger backward. For a brief moment, he felt nothing, but immediately afterward his side exploded with burning pain. He put his right hand to his ribs snapping a small arrowhead between his middle and forefinger. The staff fell to the ground with a clack as his left hand supported his body against the wall. The mage groaned quietly as he tried to stay upright. He shifted his cloudy gaze to the ajar door of the clinic, where the scuffle continued. Volunteers and patients fought like lions for his freedom. He heard no agonizing screams which meant the templars were not cutting their way to him with swords. He was relieved. His eyelids clenched violently. Each breath was like the stabbing of a spear. Warm wetness began to form under the fingers of his right hand. He didn't need to see why. The blood had already found a way between the spar and the muscle. He just hoped the lung was intact. He had to take an advantage of the adrenaline still working and the shock his body was experiencing. Slowly he reached for his staff. He gritted his teeth and shifted his weight onto it and started walking. His head was slowly becoming confused from fatigue and blood loss, so all he could do was keep his feet moving forward, as far from the noise behind him as possible. After a while, he stopped and look around. He was far enough from the clinic to afford to rest and analyze the situation. The last few dozen meters was a blank slate. He found a small abandoned warehouse and, still supporting himself on his staff, slipped inside. He found the darkest corner and sat down heavily on one of the crates. The pain in his side grew even worse. He groaned quietly trying not to lose consciousness. He carefully moved his hand away from the wound. Blood was already seeping through his thick shirt, but there wasn't enough to worry about bleeding out yet. He laughed internally. The templar was unlucky. If he had attacked with a sword, Anders would probably be lying dead in one of the alleys and the Order would have had him out of the way. However, the crossbow bolt worked like a cork in a bottle, protecting the mage from excessive blood loss. But this state of affairs will not last forever. Anders must somehow secure the wound before he could take further action. He looked around the room. Maker or fate had not turned on him yet. The warehouse appeared to be an abandoned silk smugglers' point and old merchandise could be found here and there. Anders took a shallow breath that made his vision darken. He clenched his teeth and, gathering his remaining will, rose from the crate. He walked a few steps to the cloths lying nearby and took the cleanest piece of silk he could find returning with it to the dark corner. When he reached the crate he stopped. If he sat on it now he might not get up again, and he couldn't stay here. He leaned his forehead against a nearby wall and set about wrapping his ribs and securing the bolt that was sticking out of them. Every move was torture. It felt as if the bolt grew to the size of a spear and tried to gut him from the inside. When he finished, he turned around quickly and vomited on the ground. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and reached for his staff. He needed a plan. He had no idea how long it had been since he'd left the clinic but he suspected the templars were looking for him by now. A group of volunteers and patients couldn't resist for too long. "Think Anders!" He bent down again feeling another surge of nausea. He carefully drew in and let the air out. The movement and the force of gravity caused the thong tucked deep under his tunic to slide out. Anders hung his gaze on it. The tevinter's necklace flashed with a stray ray of reflected pale light, swaying like a pendulum. Dark honey eyes stared at the pendant until it stopped, revealing the small key that accompanied it. Anders didn't know for a moment where that piece of metal had come from. "Hawke." It suddenly dawned on him. Both pendants were a gift from Hawke. She had given him the tevinter's necklace because it was "shiny and subversive" and she thought he would like it. She was right. The key opened the door to a secret passage leading to the basement of her mansion. How could he have forgotten it? Helping himself with his staff, he set his body upright and strode oh so slowly toward the warehouse exit. He looked outside making a brief inspection of where he was located. He felt another nod from fate. The passage was not far, but reaching it in the state he was in proved to be a real challenge. Every now and then he made short stops, panting from the effort. Was it always so hot in this part of Darktown? After what seemed like an eternity he reached an inconspicuous doorway wedged between two abandoned buildings. It was so well hidden that he almost missed it. Before he pulled out the key hanging on the strap, he looked around to see if anyone was following him. He also checked the floor to make sure he wasn't leaving a bloody trail behind him. The last thing he wanted was to lead the templars to Hawke. When he was sure both things were covered, he used the metal key and went inside immediately bolting the door behind him. He leaned his back against it trying to catch his breath. Sweet Andraste, he was as weak as a baby. The previous sweltering summer noon had suddenly turned into an icy winter evening and his body shook with shivers. Fantastic, the only thing missing was fever. He tightened his grip o a staff. This was not the end of the trip. He had to keep going. He had to get to Hawke. Maker let her be at the mansion. Ten steps were all it took for the prayer to turn into a curse. A staircase of several feet loomed before him like an insurmountable obstacle. „ This is basement Anders. What did you expect?" - he rebuked himself in his mind. He gathered all his strength for the final climb. He didn't get far, however. After four stairs he became dizzy and completely lost his sense of space. Feeling that he was about to fall, he tried to grab onto something else. This time Maker looked away.
The floor was hard and the fall filled him with white-hot pain. He landed on his back, but somewhere along the way he felt something hit his injured side. The cracking sound of a spar breaking filled the air. It was followed by pain and darkness.
