Goodness Spent
Chapter Five: Wake Me Up

"Just apply that twice a day, and I promise, you'll see an improvement in less than a week," Evelyn promised the young man who clutched at the salve she'd handed him gratefully. "If you need more, let me know, and I'll be happy to make a new batch for you."

"Oh, thank you, serrah!" the man bowed slightly to her. "Thank you so much!"

She smiled in response, walking him to the door of the little clinic. "You are most welcome. Please, take care of yourself. With all due respect, I'd much rather not see you back here."

His face fell, and he darted a glance to the other mage he'd seen working on another refugee by a cot. "I... I see. Is it because of him? Does he not like you helping other men...?"

"What? No!" With a pout of disapproval at his implications, Evelyn shook her head. "I only meant, you returning means you are either injured or ill! I would prefer neither."

"Oh!" The man couldn't hide the pink that colored his face just then, and began backing out the door awkwardly. "I'm sorry, I... I only presumed, th-the way he looked at you... I'm gonna go."

With that, he turned and scooted himself out of sight, silently swearing that if he needed more salve, he'd sooner try to mix it himself. Watching him go, her hand resting on the doorframe and leaning her weight to one hip, she sighed. After a quick glance around, she then tugged the door closed again, leaving the lantern lit for those who may still need to find the clinic.

Confident that, for the moment, their hideout was secure, she then made her way back to a blood-soaked cot, and began rinsing it with the dish of soapy water she'd put out earlier. She supposed she could use magic to work the stain out, but she was already exhausted from the influx of refugees seeking help earlier. If she tried to draw on her magic any more for anything outside of necessity, she would surely collapse.

That would be the last thing they needed, she mused to herself as she wrung out the dishrag onto the cot itself before scrubbing. In fact, she'd already overworked herself twice since they'd set this place up, and both times, she'd awoken to a very concerned Anders looking down at her, hands on her face as he worked to revive her. Both times, she'd excused herself from his touch before he could declare her feverish and too ill to help out.

"You should be good to go, little miss," Anders assured the girl swinging her legs off the cot with amazement. He smiled to see her wiggling her toes in delight. "Just be sure to watch where you step from now on, and..." he knelt beside her, and lightly tapped the side of her shin, "Be sure to wear your shoes! Walking around Darktown barefoot is just going to invite disaster."

"Yes, ser!" the girl replied, giggling as he tickled at the bottom of her foot- which had moments before been bleeding from a rather serious, jagged cut. Now, all that remained was a scar that she'd have to hunt to see.

"Thank you so much, Ser," her mother started, her hands twisting around her purse. "I can't afford much, but I want to-"

"I'll hear none of it, Ma'am," he insisted, standing straight and pushing her purse back towards her when she started to draw the string. "Keep your money. You get little enough as it is, and I'd rather see your little girl fed."

"I-I can't..." she stammered, tears in her eyes. "You were sent by the Maker, Ser, I just know it!"

He smiled, but the warmth of it clashed with a deep sorrow that refused to recede. "You are very kind, Ma'am. You take care of yourself, and your little miss here." He bent down to nudge her cheek with his knuckle. "You're going to stay out of trouble for your mum's sake, right?"

"Yes!" She proclaimed, then whispered to him, "But can I still come to see you, even if I'm not hurt?"

The smile on his lips turned hollow, unable to mask the sadness she'd inadvertently prodded with her well-meaning words. "Well, sweetheart, I'm not sure that's a good idea. See, some people... really don't like me. And they might try to hurt me if they find me. They might not understand why you are here, and could hurt you too. So I want you to be safe with your mum, instead of coming to see me, okay?"

She sulked, and her eyes misted over at being turned down, but eventually she nodded. "I understand. I don't want these bad people hurting you, so I'll keep it a secret. I promise!"

He ruffled his fingers through her hair, eliciting another pleased giggle from the girl. "Thank you," he murmured, before abruptly turning from both mother and daughter to go towards his back room.

Having done her best to clean the cot, Evelyn threw the rag on the fading stain and moved to help the little girl get her shoes back on. "I'm sorry about that," she apologized to the mother. "He sometimes needs a moment to himself."

"I understand, believe me, I do," the woman replied, hugging her daughter to her once the shoes were on. "The man has the weight of the world on his shoulders. He's fortunate to have you, I think, easing his burden."

"Oh that's..." Evelyn blushed, brushing her fingers through her short curls. "I would say the reverse, actually... I am very fortunate to be able to work with him. He does good work here."

"Don't sell yourself short!" the woman insisted.

"With all due respect, ma'am, I can't help the short part," she grinned, gesturing to her diminutive stature.

This earned a laugh from the woman. "No, I suppose not. But I only meant, you were the one who carried my Lessia from the door, the first one to check her. You are as much a part of the good work here as he is. Thank you."

Evelyn nodded and helped them both to the door of the clinic. After waving them off, she checked to see if there were any other patients in the clinic. Determining that they were, at last, alone for the evening, Evelyn trotted towards the back room that Anders had disappeared into.

"Anders?" She called, stepping further into the small alcove that lead into the room he'd set up as his personal space. "I think we're all clear, for now. How are you holding up?"

There was no response. Frowning, Evelyn pressed further inside, peeking her head around the corner. The room inside was small, close quarters with a simple cot made up with a white, lace pillow and a wool blanket across from a chest, a small desk stacked with papers and a book or two, and a basin. She found him slumped on his bed, resting his head in his hands, his elbows propped on his knees, wisps of blond draping over his fingers.

"Hey there," she greeted again so as not to startle him, venturing into his room slowly. He looked up, staring at her with eyes that recognized nothing, before settling back to the Anders she'd come to know.

"Oh!" He gasped, before standing. "I'm sorry, is there another patient?"

"Yes," she replied, her frown returning. "You. Now sit back down."

"Wha-"

"Sit."

He eased back down to his cot, looking up at her warily. "What do you mean, I'm a patient? I'm fine-"

"You're about as fine as I am green," she replied, putting her hands on his shoulders to prevent him from standing again. "You've been crumbling all afternoon, and look at you! Your eyes are red. Have you gotten any sleep in the last couple of nights?"

"No," he mumbled, grumbling. "But I don't see how that's important right now. I've gone with less sleep for longer periods of time before, and managed just fine. I just needed a moment to breathe."

"Anders, what would you tell me if you saw me in the same state you are now?" She met his gaze purposefully, the blue of her eyes piercing straight through him.

"This is different," he muttered, before gaining a bit more power in his voice. "Besides, you've already pushed yourself beyond your limits a few times now. I don't think you have any right to lecture me."

"And what did you say to me the last time it happened?"

He looked away. He had to. He couldn't tell her why sleep didn't come so easily to him, why it was better for him to stay active, to stay moving, to avoid drifting into that realm where such wonderful and horrible things could happen to him. But she was making a damned good argument. "I don't care what I told you, I'm not going to sit back here while others need help. If you won't let me back on the floor," he met her gaze again with a sharp edge to his eyes, "I'll just keep working back here."

Her hands slipped off his shoulders, and her arms went around him, hugging his head to her chest. Just as he stammered in shock, her fingers went up to his hair, resting on top of his head, and she bent over him. "Anders... please. You need rest. You can trust me, at least for a few hours. I swear to you, I'll keep you safe. I'm a massive hypocrite, I know, but I'll take it personally if you collapse out there, and be very cross with you."

Warmth. The gentle, soothing ministrations of her fingers against his scalp, her calm voice, her enveloping softness washed over him, rinsed out his resolve, left him weak and weary. He closed his eyes only for a moment, and felt the strength drain out of him as the compelling siren song of sleep, of rest, of temporary respite lulled him. More than anything else, he wanted to stay right where he was, pressed to her, protected by her. His eyes opened again, slowly and reluctantly, and as they came into focus again, her smile cleared the bleariness from his vision.

"Will you get some sleep, my friend?" She slackened her grip on him, but still held him steady.

"...There is no arguing with you, is there?" He smirked at himself. "Fine. I'll get some sleep. But..." he trailed off, unwilling to finish his thought, yet craving what he dared not ask for with a strength he'd never known before.

"But?" She repeated, smoothing his hair back from his face.

"...But..." he ached to ask, but shook his head. "But... be sure to wake me in a few hours' time. I still have to meet with a correspondent about Karl."

Her smile deepened. "I will do so. And if there's anything else you need from me, don't hesitate to ask."

"A few hours, that's all," he repeated, nodding to her to send her off again. He watched her as she slid back out to the main area of the clinic, his expression tightening as pain gripped his heart. How could he possibly rest? But he had to try, if only for the worry that had put a wrinkle between her eyebrows when she studied him.

He settled back into his cot, not even bothering to remove his boots, tugging the blanket over his waist. As he lay, staring at the ceiling, he conjured the sight of her again, the feel of her arms around him, the warmth in her voice. Sleep stole his senses faster than he realized, rapidly pulling him down a tunnel he didn't care to travel through.

"Don't leave," he whispered to the ceiling, voicing his request only when she could not hear him. His eyelids closed over his vision again. "Ever... please..."

-xxx-

A soft rain had coated the streets of Hightown in a silvery glaze, illuminated by lamplight and the high rise of the moon overhead. The air was thick, cooling rapidly and leaving a clammy feeling behind on the skin, and the only sound that broke the pervasive silence of a contentedly sleepy neighborhood was the distant clank of armored boots on their nightly patrols. That, and the soft padding of Evelyn's light stride as she slipped through the shadows.

For the moment, she was in her element. Hidden, alone, she could let her tumultuous thoughts fight one another to exhaustion and leave her finally at peace again. Only, her conflict wasn't settling, only worsening, deepening. Drawing her cape around her shoulders, more for the feel of fabric between her fingers than out of any chill, she couldn't seem to parse out the problem this time in a way that could be resolved.

On the one side of her mind, she was restless, eager to flee to the outskirts of some hamlet and abandon the city to its wretched, corrupt ways. She could walk freely, bask in the moonlight and let the sun on her skin, bathe in the river, revel in the beauty of the Maker's creation without fear of discovery. The stink of Darktown had robbed her memory of fresh air, of sun, of warmth, and she wanted to rinse the ugliness of the pain that beat as lifeblood to this forsaken Kirkwall.

On the other, she knew already she could no sooner leave a place that needed help so badly than she could remove her leg. There was too much here to turn her back on, too many wrongs and injustices that cried out in the night, that wept in the daylight, that soaked into her as surely as the bloodstained cots in Anders' clinic.

Anders... And such was the heart of her conflict. In just a few weeks' time, she'd found herself bound to this strange man, her only friend in the world. She could not abandon him, not his work, and not when he needed her- more surely than the broken Kirkwall ever would. She sighed, and paused beside a column supporting the balcony of one of the wealthier estates of Hightown, pressing her hand over her eyes. No, trying to leave him would kill her as surely as tearing her own heart out.

He didn't think she saw the way he looked at her sometimes, wistful and sad, tortured and glad all at once. She saw, and every time, she had to tell herself to stop, to focus on something else, anything but those honeyed eyes warming and then hardening. She wondered how obvious her own attraction was, if she could ever really conceal from him how she felt.

"Evelyn Amell, you are ever the fool..." she reprimanded herself, laughing bitterly. "Inescapably, persistently trapped by your own heart time and again..."

A soft footfall broke into her mournful reverie, and Evelyn immediately slunk into the shadows, not daring to let herself be seen here- not where it would be a quick hop into Templar territory, not so near the Chantry. The footsteps were odd, and her brow furrowed as she puzzled out what sounded so off. Finally, it struck her; it sounded like bare feet hitting the stone. Who would be so mad as to be running about without any shoes on? Even more disconcerting, the singular footsteps were joined by boots of heavier make- several more.

She got her answer in a streak of dark clothes, pointy armor, and silver hair. A young man- no, an elf, by those ears- was being pursued by many far more heavily armored men along with a few robed ones. Even stranger, the elf's slight frame somehow carried a daunting greatsword, one that could have cleaved a man in two if swung the right way! As Evelyn watched, the elf froze in the dead end he'd gotten himself into; buildings on all sides, and a gang of men closing in on him from his only exit. He staggered as he frantically searched for a way out, then turned to face his attackers with a fierce glower.

Seeing their prey cornered, the men stopped, a leader stepping forward to toy with the elf. "I'll say this, slave, you're one nimble little arse! Almost slipped away from us, didn't you?"

Wordlessly, the elf gripped the hilt of the greatsword and drew it with no sign of the tremendous weight affecting him. From where she stood, yards away from the lone elf, Evelyn recognized the look in his eye; a cornered animal with sharp teeth and nothing to lose.

"You'll be coming back with us, Elf. Your master wants you back intact, though he didn't say in what condition!" The leader guffawed, slapping his knee and eliciting further chuckles from his men.

"I'd tell you to pass a message on to Danarius," the elf snarled, "But you will not live as long as to see him again!"

"Oh? And what can one elf do against seven men?" The leader laughed, right up until a sharp pain gripped his heart- literally. With a shocked, bloodied gasp, the leader stared down at the elf, who had closed the distance between them in an instant and embedded his hand straight in the leader's chest. The elf glowed, the unusual pattern etched into his skin illuminating in the dark of the night.

"Plenty," the elf replied, yanking his hand from the man's chest, and taking with it the heart he'd closed his fingers around. Evelyn had to suppress her strangled cry of surprise at this display of gore. How in Thedas had the elf managed to do that? Was he a mage of some sort? No... the glowing pattern had a familiar vibration to her. Lyrium!

The others, now deprived of their leader, fell back a few paces, unsure what to do. Their orders still stood, but the game had changed on them. Sensing the indecision, the elf turned on his would-be captors, this time putting the large sword he wielded to use. He charged, scattering them with a wide swipe of his blade. Unfortunately, this also left him open to flanking, which his attackers immediately took advantage of; now that he'd switched to good old-fashioned swordplay, they'd regained their confidence.

Three lunged at him from either side, while one clashed blades with him from the front. He saw his predicament, and used their attack against them. With a roar, he swept his sword in a circle around himself, letting the blade slice the air with a metallic ringing, which connected with one man who was too slow to pull out of his charge fast enough. The sword left a deep gash in his chest, and he fell to the ground, never to stand again.

The elf leapt from being flanked while the others struggled to recover from their failed attack, but before he could prepare his next move, a sickly white light surrounded him in rings, freezing his muscles and holding him prisoner. One of the two mages held his concentration on the elf, the other weaving his hands around another spell, electricity crackling from his fingertips.

Evelyn's eyes narrowed dangerously as the second mage unleashed his lightning, and her hands clenched in fury to see the elf convulsing in pain. No matter how well this elf could handle himself, there was nothing he could do against magic- especially the magic of those with no morals, as Evelyn judged by the talk of 'slaves' and recapturing the elf.

"Looks like we got him now, boys!" One crowed exultantly, grinning despite the nerves threatening to shake him apart. "Now, let's get that rope-"

Before he could finish his order, however, a spark shot between him and his target, striking one of the mages with a full blown bolt of lightning- but it didn't stop there. No, this lightning danced from one man to the next, bouncing and rebounding until two more men slumped into unconsciousness, and one mage fell, his heart stopped.

"What the-" the man holding the rope cried out in shock as the rope itself came to life, ensnaring him and constricting tighter by the second.

With the mage who held him pinned with a paralyzing spell having collapsed, the elf broke free of the rings of light with a shout of defiance, and turned his attention on the shadows where Evelyn lurked, her hands outstretched as she continued manipulating the rope.

"Go!" Evelyn urged the elf, stepping further into the moonlight. "I'll take care of them!"

The anger burning in the elf's green eyes startled Evelyn, enough that she nearly lost concentration on her magic. If he could have impaled her with his gaze alone, he would have drawn heart's blood from her. Instead, however, he focused on the few men that remained, hauling his greatsword with such force the blade nearly bent.

"Or, you could just keep attacking," Evelyn muttered to herself, "That works, too."

She wrenched her hands, twisting them sharply, and the rope she held control over mimicked her motion- snapping the neck of the man in its captivity. He went limp instantly, and she relinquished control of the rope, satisfied he wouldn't be posing a threat to anyone anymore. She dashed closer, making sure to keep her hood down over her face as she did- the last thing she needed was to be recognized while doing magic.

"Hey, stupid!" She taunted the other mage, drawing his ire away from the elf. "How many times have you set your fancy robes on fire? Today, I mean?"

"You shut up!" The mage retorted, wit apparently the furthest thing from his mind. The fire he was conjuring for the elf consumed his hands, and he sent a blast her way instead.

Instead of connecting with its target, however, the fire curled around a pillar of ice that had risen at her behest. Even as parts of it melted away, Evelyn was safe behind her barrier- but she wasn't content with that. Smirking, she drew back both hands, and sent a concussive bolt straight into the ice, shattering it into shards that spread in every direction. One jagged spike sank into the mage's neck, sending a gurgled bubble of air and blood sputtering out his mouth. Others sprayed the men still trying to fend off the elf, who had already taken down two more with one swing.

Glancing around at his fallen comrades, the lone survivor trembled at the knees. In a desperate move, he flung his sword aside, throwing both hands up in surrender. "Okay! I give! You win!"

"I am not here to win," the elf growled, advancing still on the man. "You came for me. I cannot allow you to escape and bring others here."

"I-I-I won't! I promise! I swear!" the man stammered vehemently. "I just want to leave with all my limbs intact! How was I supposed to know you had a mage friend? I don't want her coming after me, either!"

"She is not my friend!" The elf hissed, gripping his sword all the more tightly. "And I cannot trust your word!"

"You're singing a different tune now that you're the one outnumbered and overpowered," Evelyn added, scowling. "Do you really think either one of us could trust the word of a coward? You would flee, find more friends, and return when you think you can win."

"N-no! I swear!" the man repeated, though the blood drained from his face at her accusation.

"I will not give you the opportunity to break your promise," the elf intoned darkly. With a sudden movement, he thrust his sword straight through the man's gut, his expression neutral- except for the cold anger burning in his eyes. The man groaned, then, when his legs could no longer hold him, slid off of the elf's sword.

After allowing a moment for the elf to recover from the battle, her own thoughts torn on killing a man who had surrendered and knowing that it was for the best, Evelyn warily stepped closer to the elf. "You... are you alright?"

His hand was at her throat before she could even register movement. As she gasped in shock, she was thrust against a column, held off her feet at her neck. Despite her struggles, he held her pinned, and when her brain finally caught up with what had just happened, she was terrified to stare into eyes seething with rage.

"Who are you!?" he demanded, the metal encasing his fingers biting into her neck. "Who sent you? What are you after!?"

Ignoring the clawing terror threatening to scream out of her, Evelyn forced herself to calm down. Her hands went around his wrist, only to support her own weight better and give herself a better gulp of air. When she spoke, it was in even, soothing tones. "Please, calm down. I was not sent by anyone; I was only passing through the area."

"And why should I believe that?" He sneered, tightening his hold on her. "A mage just happens to be passing through the well-guarded upper-class neighborhood? Just happens to intervene when I find myself tracked down by my master's men?"

"Who didn't recognize me," she pointed out. "If I were part of their plot, why would they not know me?"

"You could easily be a secondary hireling, brought on without their knowledge," he spat back in her face, though uncertainty knit his eyebrows.

"If I wanted to harm you, I could have already," she groaned through the pain, the lightness in her head getting to her. "My hands are unbound. I... please, I can't breathe...!"

For a heavy moment, the elf studied her expression, searching for any sign of deceit. Evelyn's struggles slowed, her hold on his wrist weakening. Finally, released her, letting her fall to her knees on the stone, gasping for air between coughs.

"I'm not sure if I believe you, mage, but I owe you my life." He stowed his greatsword, keeping his gaze on her as she fought to regain the air in her lungs. "I will let you go. Do not pursue me."

Finally gaining control of herself, Evelyn smiled wearily up at him, her hood tilting back from her face. "Evelyn."

He blinked. "What?"

"You asked me who I was. I'm Evelyn Amell," she stood, and held out her hand to the elf. "It's only fair that you get your answer."

He stared blankly, not having expected this turn of events. An introduction was the furthest thing from his mind, and that smile of hers after being throttled by him was disarming. "I did not mean for..."

"I know," she chuckled, then coughed once more. "But I can't expect you to trust me without a name."

He regarded her quietly, sullenly, masking his confusion with a familiar mood- surliness. Without taking her hand, he nodded at last. "...Fenris."

She let her hand fall back to her side, and broadened her smile. "Well, Fenris... please, be careful." The smile faded with genuine concern. "I don't know everything that's going on, but they were really invested in capturing you, and-"

"I do not need your pity, mage," he snapped, glaring sharply. "Nor do I care for further aid. Go back to your shadows and let me return to mine. We are done, here."

Before she could reply, he turned his back on her, fleeing back out of the dead end he'd been chased into. No, she thought with a bittersweet smile, her arms folding under her chest uncomfortably. He was fleeing from her. From the very idea of someone caring about his plight.

She sighed... that was a concept a little too familiar to her.