Goodness Spent
Chapter Three: That Type of Woman

"I knew it would be bad..." Evelyn murmured as she panned her gaze across the broken, filthy ruins of a town crushed by the city above it. "...But this is unspeakable."

Darktown. The part of Kirkwall that no one was eager to speak about, the underground sewers and passageways filled with a miasmatic haze and disease. Any structure here was haphazard and crumbling, made worse by the damp and foul conditions. The very air tightened Evelyn's chest, thick and putrid with death and decay, and prompted a coughing fit that wracked her whole body.

It was here that the residents of Kirkwall sent the Fereldan refugees and the elves who refused to live in the Alienage located in Lowtown. This was the basement of cruelty, a stark reminder that poverty was unsightly and despised- particularly by those with means. And here, the refugees choked, and cried, and when they could endure no longer, they passed away in the street, curled up in a ball of misery at long last eased.

"I wish I could say I was surprised," Anders started, before shaking his head. "I'm not so bitter that this doesn't hurt to see... but this is the ugliness of the civilized heart at its most exposed. This is what those bastards in Hightown look like under their masks of money."

Recovering from her coughing, Evelyn wiped her mouth clear of debris. "I'll never accept that. They can't know how bad it truly is down here... they are ignorant of it, which is awful, yes. But they couldn't be doing this deliberately."

"You don't think so?" Anders replied darkly, his eyes narrowing. "I think they know exactly how bad it is down here, and that's why they do nothing about it. Punish the poor for being poor. Just like they punish mages for being mages."

"Now, Anders, the two aren't exactly comparable situations," Evelyn reasoned, glancing around to make sure no one overheard their conversation. "While it's true that there's little choice involved in being either poor or a mage, a poor person can't start a fire with magic to warm their hands."

Watching a white-bearded man and vacant-eyed child huddle under a woolen blanket, Anders nodded faintly. "This is true. But their circumstances are still a deliberate action on the part of the wealthy and the powerful. They would not need to seek refuge here in the sewers and the grime if there were proper housing and care for them elsewhere."

"Well, they do care for the needy in the Chantry..." Evelyn started to point out, before being cut off by a harsh laugh from Anders.

"The Chantry!" He barked contemptuously. "They don't even look this far down to proselytize and recruit converts! I mean, have you seen sacred sun down here since we took the lift?"

"Well, no, but-"

"They know their words are empty to these people," Anders growled. "They know if they speak of the Maker's forgiveness to those who have seen the ugliness of abject poverty, they'll be lucky if they're simply laughed out!" His brown eyes went ice cold. "I've seen it, time and again, in any major settlement. As soon as there is a divide between the Haves and Have-Nots, the Haves kick their boots to the heads of the Have-Nots and sneer at them for scuffing the leather."

She caught his arm, stopping him as he began to work himself into a frothing rant; partly because she was concerned for his rising anger, and partly because as he lost track of her, his longer legs took faster strides than she could keep up with. Meeting that cool, thoughtful gaze, Anders felt the anger melt away again.

"I know," she asserted calmly. "My hands have been stained with the blood of those I've bent to heal, only to know there is no healing. I've soothed the fevers of many children who contracted plague from horrid conditions. Even as the Blight washed over Ferelden, it was those who could not run, who had no strength to run, that were consumed by the taint.

"You and I, we have had the privilege to see the worst that people have to offer, to learn empathy for the downtrod." Her face contorted with pity. "But I fear that you have not been shown the good in this world, that you are so easily angered. And this saddens me."

For a moment, Anders was struck speechless. Whenever she looked at him that way- and it happened every once in a while, sometimes when she thought he wouldn't notice- he felt that she was seeing straight through him, through every artifice he wore. At the same time that the sensation unsettled him, he saw no judgment there. A smile curled into place. "No... I have seen good in this world. If all were unjust and evil, any struggle to end that corruption would be in vain."

He patted her hand on his arm, his smile broadening, before fading just as quickly as it had slid into place. "I get angry, yes. I get very angry. But it's because there have been a few very good friends who have shown me great kindness, that I have found something worth fighting for."

"In that case, I have an idea." She grinned, albeit with more than a little somberness in her expression. She swept one arm in the direction of the refugees around them. "We have found a place that not even the opportunistic Mothers and Sisters come looking. For the moment, we have someplace to catch our breath and make our plans." She leaned closer, speaking again in a whisper that sent chills down his spine. "If we want to do right by these people, to bring some justice back where it's been deserted, we could always use our 'talents' to help soothe their pain and heal the infirm. What do you say?"

"I don't..." He struggled between two opposing arguments about the idea. On the one hand, he wanted one thing; find Karl, get him out of the Circle, leave Kirkwall, and search for ways to help the mages in their plight away from the hotbed of templars. On the other, he felt the tug at his heart, the appeal to his better nature, and seeing a woman trying to soothe a crying child, he couldn't turn his back on them. He sighed, then smirked at her. "You're not going to let me say 'no', are you?"

Mirth glittered in her eyes. "Nope. I'm gonna help people, and you're going to help me, because that's what good people do." She snickered to continue, "Even heathen apostates like us!"

"But how do we get them to trust us?" he asked doubtfully. "I wouldn't trust us. And trust is a pretty important part of letting someone close enough to heal you."

Her glee at getting him to agree to her course of action dimmed to a softer glow at his question. "That part is easy. Watch."

She slunk away from him, over to the bearded man and the boy. At first, the older man recoiled, sneering as she knelt beside him to talk. As Anders watched, she smiled and spoke softly, reaching out as much with her words and her demeanor as she did her hand. The man steadfastly refused, growing uncomfortable with the dichotomy between his instinct to flee anyone trying to take advantage of him or his grandson, and the gentle coaxing of this young woman to listen.

Finally, she held out both hands to the little boy, and after an uncertain glance to his grandfather, the boy put his hand in hers. Even standing several feet away, Anders could see the red lines indicating an infection from an open wound in his palm. Evelyn closed both hands over the boy's injury, and let her focus drift into her magic. A soft glow illuminated her hands, and the boy yanked his arm back in shock.

"What are you planning, Witch!?" The grandfather cried, getting to his feet in outrage. Anxious at who might overhear, Anders hurried closer to intervene...if necessary.

"Grandpa, look!" The boy exulted, standing and grabbing his grandfather by the arm. "Lookit what she did!"

He did, and the fearful anger in his eyes dissolved into surprise. Indeed, the red lines were gone, the wound little more than a rounded scar in the boy's palm. The weakness that had pinned the child under the blanket for a day now had left, the boy's eyes shining instead of staring distantly.

"You... you healed him..." The man said in wonder, regarding Evelyn warily.

"I did, ser," she agreed, smiling. "And I can help you with that cough-"

His eyes sharpened again. "I haven't been coughing today. It's been going away. How did you know-"

"Ser, I've seen this illness several times. I can hear it in your raw voice that it hasn't been easy for you, and even just now, I've heard a wheeze from your breathing..." She frowned. "It's not good, and untreated, it could... do a lot worse to you."

"But it's going away, I tell you!" He protested. "I appreciate what you did for my boy, but I'm not letting an apostate lay her hands on me. I don't know what your game is, girl, but I'd rather die in my right mind than manipulated by a witch!"

"Then you will die," Anders replied coldly, ice frosting the normally warm brown of his eyes. "And you will leave your boy completely alone. Is that what you want?"

The man blanched, and the boy's face scrunched up at the talk of his grandpa being sick. "Grandpa, are you really dying? I thought you was just sick!" Tears formed in his pale blue eyes. "Is it really going to kill you?"

The man glared at Evelyn. "Now you went and scared my grandson with this talk."

"I'm not trying to scare anyone, ser, but if you are unwilling to accept aid, this sickness will overtake you," she insisted firmly. "Even if by some miracle you are able to endure this illness, it will leave you weaker and unable to breathe properly. As I said, I have seen it before."

The man considered her words, his attention flitting between her and the boy standing at his side. Finally, he glanced to Anders, whose arms had folded while waiting for him to make up his mind on the matter.

"Alright, lass," he muttered. "If I trust you to do this... you better not try anything funny with me."

"I promise you, ser, no funny business," she smiled, glad for his concession. "I swear by Andraste's flaming pyre, I will do no harm."

The man nodded curtly, and let Evelyn step closer to him at last. She rested her hand on his chest, and after a second of gathering her energy again, light flowed from her hand into his chest. He took one deep breath, coughed it out irritably, then tried again. This time, the air went deeper, and escaped with barely a shudder. A third breath gasped like a newborn, and came out strong as a buck.

"There," Evelyn murmured, withdrawing again, and falling back a step or two wearily. "That should do it. The illness had really settled in there."

"I had forgotten what breathing without pain was like," the man replied in shock. "That had been with me for a year, ever since we fell in that river trying to escape those darkspawn. I got too cold, and felt odd for days afterwards. It never left... until now."

"I suspect the wretched conditions of our current surroundings might have contributed as well," Evelyn suggested. "I am glad to have helped, even only a bit."

The man thanked her a few more times, both on his behalf and that of his grandson, and parted ways to look for something to eat- after all, he had an appetite again, and scrounging enough together for a meal would take long enough as it is. Evelyn waved him off with a smile as Anders moved next to her.

"You know, you have quite a touch when it comes to ornery people," he remarked casually, fighting a smirk.

"Is that so?"

He grinned at her intentionally innocuous expression. "Well, between your stubbornness and your charm, I imagine it's very difficult for anyone to stand in your way for long."

Rosiness filled in her cheeks, and her gaze fell away. Just as Anders took a breath to ask what was bothering her so, she beamed up at him. "It occurs to me, when it comes to helping the people living here in Darktown, that instead of going around hunting for those who need help, we give them a central location to seek it out."

He let his first inclination to accuse her of changing the subject go, and nodded. "We wouldn't be putting them on the spot that way. That's actually a smart idea. We just need a place to set up shop- er, so to speak."

Scanning the area, Evelyn bounced onto her toes to compensate for her lack of height. "Someplace secluded, out of sight, but not impossible to find... Oo!"

She grabbed his hand in hers, and yanked him off balance as she began tearing through the dirt streets of Darktown. He trailed along behind her, swept up in her enthusiasm yet again. He smiled to himself; it was definitely a pattern for this strange young woman that once she set her mind on a goal, she would get there.

It was a comforting thought.

-xxx-

The chill in the room could have frosted the wine sitting out on the desk, untouched since being poured nearly thirty minutes prior. Papers were stacked haphazardly, some signed and marked with the Warden-Commander's personal seal, others awaiting her perusal, and several earmarked books sat on her effective workstation. To make sure no space was left unused, a large map of the Amaranthine arling sprawled facing the chair, which the Commander stood beside, her back to the three officers awaiting the storm she was only barely holding back.

"No sign to be found of him?" She asked, her voice smooth and silky and low, with the razor edge of her anger glinting beneath the fabric of formality. "You're telling me that two of the most elite scouts in all of Ferelden, handpicked by my second-in-command and trained to be better than the best, couldn't track down a bloody show-off of a mage?"

"N-n-no, Ma'am- Commander, ma'am!" One of them, a young woman just barely old enough to be conscripted, stammered out.

"No?" At this, the commander turned around- slowly, gracefully, like a cat stalking its prey. Her violet eyes, dark and foreboding, fell on the former soldier. "You're not telling me you lost track of one of my men?"

"Well, that is, but-"

"So what are you telling me, then?" Her voice was eerily calm, but not without the bite of her temper. "That you've found him? That you know where he is? That you have some idea of how to find him? Because believe me," her tone flattened coldly, "if you can tell that to me right now, then someone won't have to face punishment detail for the next month."

The young woman quailed at the thought of being put on punishment detail- which often included cleaning the privies and waste pans with little more than a rag and some soapy water, on top of grueling physical exercise and torment. "No! I mean, we can't-"

"We were accurate in our report, Commander," the other warden, a lithe, dark-skinned elf, replied calmly. "Unfortunately, what little trail we had to follow ended in Amaranthine proper."

"An honest answer. Thank you." She turned her attention to the elf, appraising him. "But I remain unimpressed that a man who wears bright robes decked out with gold and feathers managed to elude those specifically brought on for their talent in being able to track down a target. Can you explain, perhaps, why someone not known for their subtlety was able to escape you?"

"He moved very quickly, from what we can tell," he answered, his eyes narrowing in frustration at himself more than anything else. "There was a blood trail leading from the scene of the murder for a while, but petered off the closer we got to the city. As much blood as he lost, I would be surprised if he were still alive... but if he died, we would have found his corpse eventually. No," he growled. "I believe he went to port and left by sea. If he had gone by land, there would be something tangible to follow."

The commander nodded thoughtfully, the cold in the room still lingering. "It took you a week to discern all this?"

He frowned. "We wanted to be thorough. We also pursued many of his contacts in the area."

"None of them even saw him passing through the area!" The young woman added helpfully.

"And you believed their word? The word of people who have an interest in protecting either their friend or ally?" The commander sneered. "Perhaps I shouldn't bother with punishment duty. Perhaps I ought to have you flogged for incompetence."

As the girl whimpered, the third officer in the room-tall, dark-haired, imposing even without the ice blue eyes that flared even in dim light, stepped from his place beside the desk to rest his hand on the commander's shoulder. "That might be going a bit far, Cariad. The girl looks as though she hasn't slept in days, and after all, they did return to give their report. They have met their responsibility, even if they have not completed their assignment."

She shrugged his hand off in irritation, though some warmth finally sparked in her dark eyes. "I do not care for failure, especially in a matter so grave! Do you recall what that confounded Knight-Commander wrote me in wake of the news of what happened, Loghain? He stopped short of accusing me of orchestrating the whole thing, of giving Anders the leeway he needed to commit murder and flee the country!"

She sneered at herself, glaring at the floor as her arms trembled. "And perhaps I did. This disaster could have been averted if I hadn't been so lenient with him, with an apostate who is known for this very sort of behavior. I should have listened to Rylock when she demanded that we hand him over!"

"Yes, I'm certain that madwoman would have handled him responsibly and without trouble," Loghain replied dryly. "It's not as though we knew her to be unstable or capable of breaking both Chantry law as well as the royal law to achieve her goals."

"You are infuriating with your logic, Loghain," the commander hissed, though the corner of her mouth turned up slightly. "But if we do not find him soon, we may face the worst; the Chantry might call for the expulsion of Grey Wardens from Ferelden, and while we may throw him in a dungeon for his insubordination, the templars will do far worse to him."

"Thank you for your report," Loghain directed at the scouts, nodding slightly. "I have some further assignments for you. I will send for you with further instructions. You are dismissed."

The two scouts saluted their superiors, before heading out of the commander's office post-haste. Loghain watched their retreat, thought clouding the ice blue of his eyes. Their footfalls receded around the corner, and Loghain felt assured he was alone with his commander; his Cariad. Turning to face her now, he saw that she'd gone to the window overlooking the inner courtyard, her hand clutching her elbow impatiently.

"I failed him." The anger was gone from her voice now, the mask of the Commander falling away to the vulnerable young woman few saw anymore (the number could be counted on one hand, and that was dwindling).

"How, exactly, did you manage to do that?" He joined her at the window, following her gaze to the busy courtyard. "From what I recall, the apostate was in dire straits when you conscripted him. I believe he expressed to you several times that you'd saved his life. Well," he muttered to himself, "he did after a lot of complaining, anyway."

She was not persuaded. "I saw the signs that something was wrong, and did nothing. His jokes were ebbing, and his eyes... the hurt, the confusion, like he's been torn two different ways." She paused, and her voice dipped low. "It reminded me of him."

There was no need to clarify who she meant. His expression sharpened coldly for a brief moment, softening only as he reached out his hand to her shoulder. "You cannot blame yourself for what has happened to him- either of them," he added sternly. "If you do, you will drive yourself mad."

"I did this to him!" She cried, whirling to bury her face in his chest with such suddenness he nearly fell back a step. "That light that once shone so strongly in him was dimmed by me! But damn him for making me choose between mercy and his vengeance!" She snarled, before crumbling again. "I can bear his hatred, but cold civility? This is why I send you in all royal dealings as of late, Love- I cannot bear to lay eyes on the man he is becoming!"

"I know." He drew his arms around her, brushing his fingers through her hair in a vain attempt to soothe her. "Watching him douse his fire until it is little more than seething embers. Ice where warmth once emanated. It's a dagger embedded in your side that twists every time you see him." He lightly kissed the top of her head. "And he is not your responsibility to save."

She tilted her head back to meet his gaze, a hot retort begging to lash him for daring to tell her what her responsibility was. Her words died in her teeth, however, as she clenched them at the pained look in his eyes. "I suppose even the mighty Heroes of Ferelden can't save everyone... even those who mean the most to us."

He agreed with his silence, letting her find comfort in him as he did in her as they stood in the dimly-lit office, enveloped in each other. Even as she settled in, letting his warmth consume her as it always did, her fists clenched and trembled.

She would find him again.