Author Notes: Shorter chapter this time around, just some morning after-events for Anders.

Chapter Seven: Blanks in Memory

When Anders woke the next day he found that he was back inside his clinic. Amber eyes fluttered open and were met with the remnants of a half-melted candle. He offered a half-tired groan as he lifted his face and smacked his rather dry lips. A few pieces of parchment clung haphazardly to his scruffy cheek before finally fluttering down onto the desk he was currently occupying. Anders scrutinized the papers a moment and realized that they were parts of his manifesto that he'd been prone to writing for the mages' underground movement.

It was strange that he hadn't a memory of how he'd gotten to Darktown from Hightown that previous night. The mage made a small groan of displeasure as he stood from the little hovel of a chair and felt his entire body pop and crack in the joints of his legs, arms, and not to mention his back. He sighed softly as he shuffled away from the broken-down desk and towards a basin of fresh-water and dipped his hands into the cooled water. He scooped the water into his hands when he noticed that the water wasn't nearly as clean as he had thought. It was tinged with crimson.

It was blood.

Mild panic washed over Anders as he quickly removed his hands from the basin and noticed that it wasn't the water that was bloody, it was him. The front of his clothing was covered in blood! Maker, what had happened last night!?

'Templars tried to stop us last night, I took care of them.' The fade spirit mumbled in the back of his mind and ice seemed to run through Anders' veins at that. "Why can't I remember?" He asked aloud in minor distress to the spirit and was met with momentary silence before Justice finally decided to answer with a very simple, 'You were too exhausted to fight them yourself.'

It seemed to put Anders at a little ease, but it was still a very frightening thought that Justice could just take him over without any memories of the ordeal. What if one day Justice just took completely over and he was gone forever? But that line of thought was quickly banished as he affirmed that Justice would never do that to him. They were friends and comrades in the fight for mage rights.

He started to strip out of the layers of clothing then, mentally grumbling about falling asleep in such grime and gore. Down to his smallclothes the mage gathered up his clothing and went about to properly laundering them as he cast a winter's grasp spell into a small barrel and then melted the ice with a jet of fire from his lithe fingertips, causing the water to steam a little.

Anders dunked the bloodied tunic and breeches into the steaming water and started to scrub and scrub at the clothing, but it seemed that the damage had been done. The dark-crimson stains had long set into the fabric and no amount of magic was about to get them out. At least his jacket had been spared from the gore from the fight. Anders refreshed the water and fetched his pack from the Deep Roads expedition and went about cleaning the dirtied clothing as well.

He spread the wet clothing out on a makeshift line he had set up in the clinic and decided he could at least make use of the clothing once the dried, for bandages and the sort for the clinic. Satisfied with the wet clothes on the line Anders went into the small private room, which was separated by a curtain in the back, and fetched himself some clean clothing.

Anders found that he was down to his last clean tunic and breeches; most of his clothing was often sacrificed to create makeshift bandages during the long days of working the clinic. With his shares of the profit from the Deep Roads expedition he would have to buy some new clothing from a shop in Lowtown, not to mention some new equipment and more medical supplies for the clinic.

With fresh clothing on Anders left his little hovel in the back of the clinic and wandered back to the front and slumped down into the chair in front of his desk and glanced around at the scattered papers. Most of it was his manifesto but there was one that was something out of his handwriting, a list of supplies. The two mages he had left in charge had been recording what supplies were used. It seemed he'd have to go about fetching more resources for potion making as well.

A long sigh escaped Anders as he went through the list and his hand absently moved over to the desk as if he were about to pet some kind of invisible creature. Damn he missed his Ser Pounce-A-Lot. Anders frowned then and placed the list down and gathered his written manifesto into a neater pile and pulled out his stylus and a battered book. It was a brown leather-bound book with the word Journal etched in a faded gold on the spine. It had been yet another gift from his past that he allowed himself to keep.

He opened the journal to a fresh blank page and started to write about the events of the Deep Roads down. It had been Solona Amell who had given him this gift so many years ago while at Vigil's Keep. Since then he had gotten into the habit of writing the more significant details of his life down, almost a little memoir of his adventures. One day someone may find it interesting—considering the content of the journal. It seemed a life time ago that he had been a Grey Warden at the Vigil and even longer when he were a Circle mage. He felt so old sometimes.

The stylus paused after he got through the summary of the trails of the Deep Roads and of when they returned. What had happened when he returned? He remembered reaching Kirkwall—but then it was a blank. Had Justice taken him over right afterword? Anders' brows scrunched together in an attempt to remember what had happened, but it was completely blank. He must have run into the Templars right after parting with the rest of the group. The stylus began to record once more, writing of Justice's role last night and his fleeting thoughts of the matter.

He could not help but feel that he had left something important out.