A/N: Toying with descriptions 'cause I haven't in a while; not completely satisfied, but still pretty pleased by how it turned out. Also, celebrating one full month of constant writing: Happy one-month birdthday, Story (or whatever the hell you are). Cheers!
XXX
The Day After
When it comes to these particular Wardens, it was as peaceful as it could get.
XXX
Dawn came and went, crisp and bright, to the sound of birds and the light breeze rustling the leaves of the solitary trees growing amidst the shrubbery some ways off the main road to Denerim. As the sun crept over the horizon, the early chill gave way to pleasant warmness of late spring going on early summer. It was an hour or so before noon when the sun finally crested the treetops and spilled its rays over the campsite and the sights it held:
Bright green clashed with deep red, tempered here and there by glints of silver and stretches of dark brown. Birds were chirping in the foliage, flies buzzing on the corpses; grass adorned with gentle white flowers and trampled into blood-soaked mud; tiny fire softly crackling beneath a small kettle and a solitary blackbird peacefully pecking Rylock's empty eye socket…
…and Ser Pounce-a-lot industriously gnawing on another Templar's decimated hand.
Anders tossed a handful of dried herbs and roots into the kettle and waved an admonishing finger at the cat.
"Leave it alone, Ser Pounce. You don't know where it's been."
Ser Pounce pricked his ears and gave Anders the sideways look only a cat can give, decided that the mage's heart wasn't truly in it and turned back to his nibble.
"Oh, come on. You might catch Templaritis from that. Come here, I've got something better for you."
He went sifting through his backpack and fished out a small, flat oval, almost entirely dry and with a distinct smell of spices and fish. The cat sniffed the air, dropped his nibble and, licking his blood-stained muzzle went for Anders' offering, the regal I-don't-really-care-you-know bearing that all cats posessed clashing with the kitty urge of nibble-nibble-nom-nibble-wanna-now, producing that most amusing of sights known to cat owners everywhere: an attempt at a nonchalant run. Anders found it endearing.
"Puuurrrow?"
Anders chuckled and patted the little monster as it settled down by his foot and begun licking at the treat. "Now there, isn't that much better?" Though if he were to be perfectly honest, there was also something very endearing in watching the cat chew on the Templar. "Shall I train you to become a vicious attack kitten?" he mused out loud as the kitten in question purred. Hm. Perhaps. But not today.
The kettle begun to boil and he puled it off the fire, stirred its contents and added a few drops of an agent he pulled from an inner pocket of his backpack. The concoction sizzled for a second, drawing a curious look from the cat, and then settled down to produce tiny little bubbles. Anders put it on the side and placed another kettle over the fire.
"I wonder if these Templars had sense enough to bring a strainer with them…"
He straightened his back, carefully, and took in the sight of the ruined camp. Strange that he'd be the first to wake when he'd been the one who almost died last night. He fully expected at least Howe to be up before him, but there he was, stretched on the log and sleeping like one, arm over his face. Opposite of the man and to Anders' left, the elf slumbered like a baby against a Templar corpse, cradling the mabari's head in her lap. It would have been almost serene a sight - a girl and her dog, dozing in the sun - if it weren't for the rather unusual choice of a pillow. Or all the blood both were still covered in. She'd have to wash some of it off before he could tell how badly her cheekbone was shattered. Though he'd better see to his own injuries first.
His mana was still far from full but it was returning, slowly, and he'd been carefully sending small waves of healing through himself ever since he woke up not that long ago. There was, he suspected, some serious walking to be had in his near future and he needed to make sure he could endure it. He and the mabari both, he amended as he glanced at the sleeping dog: the bandages and the poultice from last night could only do so much.
He didn't feel comfortable getting up just yet but luckily, the dog was within armsreach which made him very much within spellreach, too. Summoning the power in a careful, by-the-book-sans-the-staff way befitting of an apprentice, Anders shaped it into a moderate and slow-burning rejuvenation and sent it flowing over the mabari in a gentle wave.
The dog stirred, blinked at the mage and gave a small questioning whine. He thumped its tail drowsily a few times and the elf stirred in return. Anders leaned over and patted the dog's rump.
"Pssst." He looked at the slumbering elf in a meaningful way and the mabari settled back down before his shuffling could wake her up. Smart boy.
Anders sat back to watch the second kettle, ready to pour in the dried mushrooms before it begins to boil. A soft "uhm" came from a side, signaling that Howe was waking up, too. Anders spared a glance that way as Howe sat up and rubbed his face. Ser Pounce puttered about, sniffed the cooling kettle curiously, then strolled back over Anders on the way to the backpack and, hopefully, more treats. Anders scratched him behind the ears and produced another nibble, then turned back to the kettle and added the mushrooms in.
XXX
Nathaniel rubbed his neck and flexed his shoulders, trying to ease the tension that had settled during the night. He tried not to dwell on the massacre before him, laid bare as it were in the stark light of the day. What was done was done.
He drained his waterskin almost completely, poured the rest of the water down his face and neck and then forced himself up to look for more. The corpse closest to him still had one long dagger imbedded into its face, right down to the hilt. No wonder the elf had failed to extract it - it was a wonder she managed to get it stuck that deep in the first place: straight through the forehead, where the skull bone was the hardest. He bent down, took hold of the hilt and pulled it out on a second try and a grunt. He claimed the fallen man's waterskin next and then walked over to where the mage was sitting and plopped down beside him.
Anders smiled brightly. "Lovely day, isn't it?"
"You look better," Howe said.
It wasn't a lie and it was a telling sign of how things were when a mage in torn, dirty robes, no staff, in bruises and covered in crusted blood was indeed looking better.
"Still a flatterer, Howe."
Nathaniel rolled his eyes and didn't reply, instead set about washing the blood and grime off his face and neck, drawing an angry hiss from Ser Pounce as stray droplets of water landed on his back. Nathaniel looked at the cat with incredulity - he still couldn't believe he had found him determinedly striding down the road in the dead of the night, eyes glowing green and tail a-puff. Maker alone knows what rescue mission that cat would have mounted had it gotten here first.
The second kettle boiled and the remainder of the agent got added to it before it got placed by the first to keep it company as the liquid settled down.
"Be a useful Howe, will you, and strain both of these when they cool down. Seperately. But mix the mush together: the pup's going to need it and so will the Commander. If you are good, you can have what's left."
"Ah. And while I do that you will be doing that little song and dance, I take it?"
"Nope." Anders got up, not entirely with ease. "I will be in the bushes, performing an important medical research. And also taking a piss. I'd gladly take a dump, too, but unfortunatelly I seem to be suffering from a disturbing lack of bowel contents for that."
Howe sized him up for a muzzle. "Kindly spare me the details, Anders."
Anders shrugged. "As you wish. Your loss."
"Just… go."
XXX
Anders returned a bit paler than he left, a hint of pain on his features. Nathaniel looked up from his task.
"Not well?"
Anders sat down and contemplated the campfire, frowning a little. "I'm pissing blood."
Nathaniel stopped what he was doing and turned to face the mage fully. "Ruptured spleen?" he hazarded a guess.
Anders nodded. "Liver too, I'd wager." He looked sideways at Nathaniel. "Do I even want to ask how you know that?"
"I knew a man who died from it."
"Oh, how cheerful."
"I was with him while he was dying from it." He didn't mention that he had been the one who had caused it in the first place.
"What a bright ray of sunshine you are, Howe," Anders snorted before turning serious again. "I can keep it from bursting I suppose, but…"
Nathaniel nodded. "But it will take time to heal fully. I understand."
"Mhm. I'll be out of commision for at least a week, if not longer. Me and the pooch, both. I'm not sure about the Commander."
Nathaniel spared a glance at the elf in question but ended none the wiser. He himself had acquired a colourful selection of cuts and bruises but was otherwise fine. Strained muscle or two, a shallow gash down one leg, possibly a sprained wrist… He'd been better, but he'd been worse, too. And out of four of them, the only one fit enough to fight.
XXX
Both potions have cooled down and the mush spread out on the bandages to thicken when the elf finally woke up, face swollen and groaning curses. She didn't like her cheekbone getting ground back together one single bit; the effect was welcome, but the process was anything but. It took roughly ten minutes for her mood to switch from cranky to foul. Anders ascribed it to pain and exhaustion: it usually took her under five.
Still, things remained civil as she went pilfering the corpses of anything valubale yet small enough to carry easily and grumbling about the Templars' ascetic traveling habits. Anders remained by the fire to change Bandit's bandages, then joined Howe in rummaging through Templars' backpacks and salvaging whatever they could use. He susppected Howe wasn't exactly taken in by this apperant turning from Wardens to scavangers, but the man was nothing if not practical and if he had any complaints, he did not voice them.
Nonetheless, the air of unease grew thicker as their respective tasks drew to a close, an unspoken question lingering above their heads. Howe had reclaimed his place on the log and was tying up the pack he had picked for himself. The elf was back in her spot too, mabari head in lap and frowning at the meager loot she had gathered from the Templars.
It fell to Anders to broach the subject.
"So…" He tied the strings of his pack and looked at the group. "Now that we all seem to be friends again… What now?"
"The fuck you lookin' at me for?" the elf grumbled, not looking up. "I was going to Antiva."
Howe stopped what he was doing. Anders rubbed his chin.
"I am no expert of course, but this," he gestured at their surroundings, "doesn't look like sea to me."
Howe still didn't move.
"Side-trip," the elf said with a snort, still not looking up. "And it's over now, so…"
Howe glared, still as a statue. "So you are leaving. Just like that." It wasn't a question as much as a conclusion, one he clearly did not approve of.
Aaaand…
"Yes."
There! A familiar snarl, sieved through the teeth and denoting an even more familiar anger stirring back from temporary dormancy. Anders was actually surprised it took her this long. And Howe did not dissapoint either.
"So all of this," the man mirrored Anders' gesture from second ago, "The Darkspawn, the Arling… None of it means anything to you?"
The elf's bristled up in an instant. "What, Howe?!"
Boil to snap in two seconds. Anders marked it as a new record. He wished his potions were at least half as quick to cook.
"Just because it means something to you, I'm supposed to be all up in arms about it?! Fuck that! You and your Arling both!"
Howe stood up. The elf did, too. Bandit whined. Ser Pounce looked on with interest.
Howe's jaw tightened. "It is not my Arling." There was more behind the pent-up tension in that sentence than one could readily see.
"Well it bloody well ain't mine!"
Anders' eyebrows raised. "Technically Commander… it kind of is."
The elf shot him a glare. "Well I don't fucking want it!"
Anders finished tying up his pack. "Well, isn't that just lovely, Commander." He picked up Ser Pounce and stuffed him into the pack's side pocket. "You don't want the Arling," he rose to his feet, "He," he pointed a thumb at Howe, "doesn't want his family dragged through the mud and I," he shot a glance at Rylock's body, "am still not overly trilled at this whole 'conscripted into Wadens' business. And yet, here we are."
The elf stared. He did not miss the flinch at his mention of conscription. It was heavy ammunition to use, but the situation called for it.
"Now, I don't know about you Commander, but I am certainly in no shape to travel anywhere except into bed." He glanced at the mabari. "And neither is he. For at least two weeks. So unless you wish to leave without him…"
The mabari whined. The elf clutched at his neck almost instinctively.
"And besides," Anders added, more softly, "Soldier's Peak is much closer to here than to Antiva."
He watched her clench and unclench her fist, anger fighting under the weight of his words. Her gaze strayed to Rylock.
"You suck at escaping, Anders," she breathed.
He chuckled. "I'm rather brilliant at escaping, actually. It's staying escaped that eludes me. But if I learned anything from all my escapes so far it's that a good escape is all about proper timing." He waited until he had her full attention again to hammer the point home. "And the time is not now, Commander."
She kept her gaze locked on him for a while longer, then looked at Rylock again, and then towards the road.
"Fine."
And without another word headed that way.
XXXXX
They arrived to Amaranthine well after sundown and had to spend the night outside the city walls. Come morning they would try and find a cart, or maybe even a carriage to take them back to Vigil, in the same uncompanionable silence in which they had arrived. But at least they were all going in the same direction again Anders reflected as he settled down for the night. He wondered if those lyrium potions he had seen in the warehouse were still there - the Templars hadn't taken them with them, after all - and could he persuade the Commander to go grab a few before they leave tomorrow. Odds were that he could.
Perhaps Rivain wasn't such a good idea after all. He didn't know anyone there who would stick their neck out for him quite like that, or at all. Come to think of it, he didn't know he knew anyone like that here either. And yet here they were.
Funny how things work out sometimes.
And maybe this time, it'll be for the best.