A/N: The scene wanted out but at the same time refused to get writen. I did what I could. Meanwhile, the writing itch pony is slowing down from trot to walk; dwindling interest is a bitch to cure and I'm running out of enthusiasm hay to feed it.
XXX
Wounded
There are limits to healing magic, especially when the healer is down. The two left standing make do with what they've got.
XXX
"Hang on, boy."
The mabari whimpered, breaths short and choppy, and pawed weakly at the elf's knee.
"You've been through worse," she whispered reassurance though she couldn't remember when was the last time she saw him quite like that. Or if she ever had. He lay on a side, a puddle of blood spreading beneath him, bubbling from the long, gaping wound from ribs to hip. If he hadn't twisted mid-strike, it would have caugh him right across the belly. Even so, it caught its edge. It was a miracle his insides hadn't spilled.
"Hang on."
She pushed his hind leg up, closer to the wound as she scrambled at her belt with her other hand. He whined but obeyed. He understood, even if the pain was unbearable, and he hooked his paw against her ankle to keep his leg in place. There had to be pressure put on the wound, else he'd bleed out.
She breathed relief as her fingers closed around what she was looking for. Blast! Only two. But it'll do. She went from haunch to sit, adjusting her knee and his leg, and placed two small vials on the ground. She unscrambled the top off one and smiled a little as the mabari's ear perked up and he gave a small sniff.
"Yeah. I'm not completely useless. Or that incurably dumb." She felt dumb, though. Or she would have if she had the time for it right now, but she didn't.
"Here…"
She leaned over him, squinted. It was hard to see in the dark, much harder for all the blood. But she managed. Carefully, she poured the vial's contents over the wound, mindful to leave enough thick, viscous mush to go down the entire length of it. It didn't, but it was close enough. She put the now empty vial down and went to unscrew the top off the second one when the mabari gave her a look and an admonitory whine.
"What is it, boy?"
The dog raised its head a bit, eyes darting over his shoulder and whined again. She folowed his gaze. Ah.
She leaned over him, hand on his head and thumb stroking him gently below the eye, and planted a kiss on his muzzle.
"You're smarter than me," she whispered into his ear. He licked her nose. She rubbed her cheek against his face with affection.
"Don't rub it in."
She glanced to the side and then over her shoulder where the ruined campfire was giving its last sputtering flicker and got up, gently securing the mabari's hind leg before she did.
"Be still."
XXX
Anders let out a barely audible groan and flopped his arm to the ground, an inch shy of Ser Pounce. The cat jumped with a snort. Nathaniel frowned. This was bad.
The mage tried to push himself up but failed. No wonder. His shoulder was dislocated. Nathaniel was no healer but the awkward angle at which the mage's arm stuck out was obvious. Carefully, he pushed his arm underneath the mage's torso and lifted him up slightly, to allow him to pull his other arm from behind his back, mindful not to cause any more pain than necessary. Anders breathed short, shallow breaths through his nose, and a small grunt as Nathaniel laid him back down. Nathaniel's frown grew darker. It was worse than he thought.
If the mage could have, he would have curled up in a ball; but he couldn't. Broken ribs, as likely as not; cracked, certainly. Nathaniel could only guess at internal damage but he was certain ther was some. More probably a lot. He couldn't quite make out Anders' face, especially with the mage having his back turned to him. And even if he hadn't, it was dark and there was too much blood and mud. He removed a glove and gently traced a finger down the mage's jaw. As he had assumed: broken. This was really, really bad.
How was Anders even still conscious, he had no clue. He had met only a handful of men who would still be, after such a beating. He wasn't sure he'd count himself among them. For all his care-free manner and habitual inanity, the mage was actualy much tougher than he let on, or allowed others to see. But even the toughest man could only take so much.
He threw a quick glance around and his frown deepened: what were his options?
Ser Pounce decided to take advantage of the momentary distraction and padded over. He gave Anders' face a probationary lick. He liked it. He purred.
And meowed his annoyance as a hand dropped on his neck, picked him up and deposited him next to Anders' leg.
"Not now."
Nathaniel knew the mage would let that cat do literally anything, but this was too much. At any rate, more than what Nathaniel was willing to allow. Ignoring the mews of protest he brushed his fingers against the mage's jaw again.
"Can you heal it?"
Anders' breathing was sharp and choppy. "no… mana…" he whispered and Nathaniel had to lean closer to hear him. "need… lyrium." His lips were barely moving. He was trying not to move his jaw.
Nathaniel glanced at the nearest corpse. Rylock's dead eye stared at him blankly. There was a gaping hole where the other one should be. He tried to remember what little he knew of lyrium and its uses.
"The Templars should have some..."
His attention got drawn back by Anders's quiet groan. "not… good… raw."
Nathaniel huffed in annoyance, eyes darting around in an attempt to land on something, anything that might be helpful.
"…potion. my… pack."
Right.
He nodded once and got up in one fluid motion, eyes scanning the campsite for shapes that weren't corpses but backpacks. He spotted two, next to the bedrolls laid out by the trampled campfire, possibly few more a bit further away, and made for them.
The cat, determined to get its own way, began padding over to the mage's face once more. This time though, his progress was cut short by the mage himself, a hand landing on his back as he reached the mage's arm.
"Mreow?"
A finger rubbed behind his ear. He moved his head against it, found it pleasant and plopped down on his belly, curling up beneath Anders' hand. After a bit, he started purring.
XXX
The elf noted his approach though she wasn't looking at him: he could tell by her extended hand, something small held between two fingers and a thumb and pointed in his general direction. The item changed hands in stride as their paths converged next to the campfire cinders, she dropping down on one knee by a bedroll, he proceeding few more steps to where the backpacks lay. A bit of weight lifted off his chest as the recognized the object he now held.
One glance told him neither of two backpacks belonged to Anders: both were unifrom and smaller than his. A bit larger bundle that might be his lay further off. He went to pick it up.
Her hand dropped at her scabbard but found empty air instead of a hilt.
"Crap."
Nathaniel turned, glanced at her, got it in one, glanced around. Both her blades were firmly sheathed in a Templar's face, halfway between here and where the mabari lay. He slung the backpack on one shoulder as she moved to rise and pulled out his hunting knife.
"Hey."
She turned and he dropped the knife on the bedroll as he passed her.
"Here."
He made his way back to Anders, leaving the sound of ripping fabric behind.
XXX
She knelt down beside the mabari and placed a strip of cloth down the length of his wound. The poultice had already begun its work; the blood was no longer gushing from the gap. It still couldn't seal the wound shut, but at least it started soaking up the dirt and the muck out of it. It would still need cleaning, but it took out the worst of it and poured some restorative magic into the flesh. She hoped it would be enough.
Carefully, she pulled the edges of the wound closer together, pressing the cloth against it until it stuck, one painful inch at a time. Bandit whined but remained still, or at least as still as he could.
"Shhhhh..." She bent down and nuzzled his jowl, heedless of drool and blood. "I know it hurts." Her own cheekbone was flaring where the shield caught her in the face but she paid it no mind, not yet; not now.
She kept going, pausing every now and again to give the mabari time to cope, murmuring soothing words into his ear and stroking him gently. At last, she reached the end of the gash, almost at the base of his tail and pulled back a bit, scrutinizing her work. It looked like it would stick. But it wouldn't hold. She'd have to secure the makeshift bandage more.
Gently, she put a hand on the dog's back, just above the shoulder, and gave it a slightest tug - not an actual attempt to move him, just an sign of what she wanted him to try.
"Come on boy. Get up."
The mabari whined, uncertain if he could do it.
"Just a little bit. Come on," she urged him. "You can do it. Come on."
She glanced behind her, blinked at what she saw and turend back to the dog. She pressed a hand at the edge of his sternum where the wound began to secure the bandage and guiided him along with the other as the mabari made an effort to comply.
Eventually he made it, twitching muscles straining to support him and keep his belly just half an inch above the ground as the elf swiftly wound another piece of cloth around his torso three times. Not enough to secure the bandage, but just enough to see them both through the next step.
She held both ends of the cloth above his back tightly and urged him up. He whined in pain as he struggled to rise, but did his best to work through the hurt until he managed to shakily stand on three feet, the fourth one too limp to support him.
"Good boy, Bandit. Good boy. Come on."
The distance he'd normally cover in three leaps now seemed to stretch out to eternity. Still, he lifted a shaky paw, then the other and with a whimper started towards the campfire, the elf supporting him along the way.
The distance really did seem eternal. She could only hope Bandit had it in him to cover it though even so, it might not be enough. He weighted as much as she did, perhaps even few pounds more, and she had no idea if she could support him even halfway there, let alone the entire path. But she'd bloody well try.
XXX
Nathaniel slung the backpack down and crouched, unscrewing the top off the vial he held. There were probably more severe wounds to tend to, but he knew he should go for the jawbone first. Anders would need to be able to swallow that lyrium potion of his first. He hoped he had more than just one in his pack. And even if it weren't for that, the mage had to cough out all that blood out of his throat; left untended, he'd choke on it before morning.
Carefully, he lifted the mage into a semi-sitting position against the crook of his arm and spread half the vial's conents over Anders' jawline. Ser Pounce meowed. Anders let out a pained groan and grimaced, breathing choppy, shallow gasps. His breaths grew sharper as the magic in the poultice begun its work; Nathaniel cringed as the softest sound of grinding bone and Anders' whimper reached his ears.
He tried to cough and Nathaniel leaned him forward in response. It didn't go all that well. Cracked ribs didn't like the strain at all. Anders gasped and tried again. All Nathaniel could do was hold him until he succeeds while rummaging through the mage's backpack blindly with his other hand.
Eventually, he spat out some blood and slumped back against Nathaniel's chest with some relief. Nathaniel took the opportunity to pull the backpack over and next to Anders.
"Where?"
Instead of answering Anders groaned and grabbed at it himself with a shaking hand. A grunt of satisfaction signaled that he found what he was looking for and he pulled out a bluish glowing vial, presenting it to Nathaniel to open it for him. He tipped the potion with some help and let out a sigh of relief and leaned his head back against Nathaniel's arm as the lyrium spread through his veins in a mana replenishing bliss. He still hurt all over, but the feeling of his power returning made it easier to bear: now that he had some mana, he could heal. Although…
He gingerly touched his face and made a soft, groaning noise. "Maker… This is going to hurt."
Well, the sooner he gets it over with the better. He gathered his strenght, focusing against the pain and shot a healing burst onto himself.
He was right. It did hurt. A lot. It was all he could do not to faint.
Nathaniel held him, unmoving, as the mage first tensed, cried out and then started trembling as the spell worked its way through his body. He silently prayed the mage doesn't pass out and he held his breath when the trembling stopped and Anders slumped back against his chest. But then, after a little eternity, Anders mumbled, face still in his hand:
"Uuuh... Andraste's knickers. Remind me not to do that again."
Nathaniel closed his eyes for a moment and breathed a long-suffering sigh of relief he had been holding back ever since this whole thing started. Maker, please let this night end already…
But it wasn't over. Not yet. He snapped out of his wishful toughts and checked the mage over. His breaths deepened and became more steady, his eyes a bit less cloudy and face slightly less swollen than before. All good signs, but he still couldn't gauge the extent of his injuries, especially the internal ones.
"Are you well enough to move now?"
Anders blinked at him. "Oh, sure. And would you also like me to do a little song and dance?"
Nathaniel rolled his eyes. "I prefered you when you were only groaning," he grumbled and before Anders could say anything else hooked his other arm under the mage's legs and lifted him up.
Anders looked at him as he started walking and managed a tiny grin. "My hero."
"I am beginning to see why the Templar found it necessary to break your jaw Anders."
"Flatterer."
"Anders."
"Hmmm…?"
"Shut up."
XXX
The mabari barely made it halfway to the dead fire when Nathaniel laid Anders down on one of the bedrolls. A single glance in the dog's direction told him that he wouldn't make it all the way here on his own and the elf simply lacked the necessary bulk to support him, even in full shape, let alone now.
Leaving the mage to cope on his own for the moment, Nathaniel made it over to the staggering duo in few quick strides.
"Hold on," he said as he knelt on one knee beside the mabari and hooked an arm beneath the panting beast. "I got him."
She stayed until he picked the dog up, but then stayed behind as he carried him over to the shredded bedroll. The dog was heavy, but he could carry him that far. He just hoped the makeshift bandage wouldn't slip before he got there. A muttered curse came behind him, followed by a grunt and then a crunch as the elf planted her foot into a dead man's face, trying to pry her blades free of his skull.
She still returned holding just one.
XXX
It took a bit longer to settle down: to tighten the bandages on the mabari more securely, wash the blood off Anders' face, pull up another bedroll, fish out few real bandages out of the Templars' backpacks and stuff Ser Pounce into Anders' arms for the third time after the cat made a beeline for the hapless dog.
Anders sent the last spell he had the mabari's way, stabilizing him for the time being before finally succumbing to exhaustion. The elf sat down beside her dog, leaned back against a Templar corpse and put his head in her lap, stroking him with her fingers gently as he, too, fell asleep. Nathaniel claimed a log that the Templars were siting on not half an hour before and tried hard not to fall asleep himself. They were out in the open, surrounded by corpses and the stench of drying blood which made them a beacon for any wild beast for miles around. It didn't sit well with him, but he knew there was nothing to be done about it now; if any animal, or Maker forbid, Darkspawn came upon them, none of them were in any shape to fight. It was only sheer habit that still kept him awake.
Several minutes later he, too, was sound asleep.