Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age or the poor apostate Anders.

Prompt #3: Relief

Safety in Darktown

Darktown both did and did not live up to its name. While the first part was certainly true, for regardless of whether it was day or night on the surface, it was always dark down here. One often needed some sort of artificial light, candle or lantern or otherwise to even carry the hope of finding their way down here. Which segued into the latter part of the earlier statement, as it was certainly less of a town than a mess of rat warrens large enough for humans to crawl into. Many of them kept similar sanitary habits as the four-legged furry vermin as well, but it was the geography of that stinking underbelly of Kirkwall as well as its residents that had kept him safe for so many years.

And now that safety was threatened.

The clinic was empty, all the volunteers having left hours earlier, and Anders had just ushered the last patient out the door minutes ago. Business was much slower these days than when he'd first arrived over three years ago, with many of the Fereldan refugees having either moved up in the world or back home to rebuild. He found he could actually get a few hours of peace and quiet some nights without having to kick anyone out. This was such a night, but when he moved to the door to remove the lantern that hung outside it, he was stopped by the sound of unfamiliar voices.

Strange voices weren't an uncommon occurrence in Darktown, he told himself, but the timbre to these seemed artificial . . . or tinny. Cautiously, he opened his door the tiniest crack and was instantly grateful for the darkness of Darktown, for it kept his face hidden as utter fear and anger gripped his heart.

Two templars stood outside his door, speaking to some of the poor refugees scattered there. Those holy knights hardly ever ventured into the squalor down here, belying the Chantry's aims of helping the poor and needy wherever they may be. Not once had he ever seen a Sister or Brother down here, but on occasion their military arm would deign to soil their immaculate robes by sorting through the filth . . . if they had cause to think a mage was desperate enough to hide there.

Anders had to admit, he was probably the worst-kept secret in Kirkwall, considering how many people he'd healed and what company he kept, but still the templars hadn't expended much effort to actually find this lowly apostate. He liked to think he had Varric or Hawke to thank for paying bribes to the templars on his behalf, but it seemed that wasn't enough to dissuade the bucket-heads tonight. Maybe someone had decided that simple bribes weren't going to halt an investigation of a suspected hub of the Mage Underground?

Had he been betrayed? His mind immediately considered Fenris, that bastard ex-slave of an elf. He had half a mind to wring the elf's scrawny, tattooed neck most of the time, but much as the two men hated each other, Anders considered it unlikely he would have betrayed him now. If he'd been inclined to after Hawke's warnings to the contrary, he would have done so long ago. Aveline, perhaps? No. If she had finally decided to turn him in, she would have come herself with more than just two templars at her back. She wasn't the sort to take chances, after all, but Anders also knew she wouldn't act against him specifically unless he'd done something she considered unforgiveable. Peculiarly enough, surreptitiously smuggling mages out of the Gallows, while illegal, was something the Guard-Captain consistently decided to overlook, though she often turned apostates back over to the Circle. Anders was still at a loss as to how she could possibly live with herself.

Maybe it was all Hawke's influence, helping him once again. It really was amazing how much one could get away with when one did favors for so many . . . Oh Maker, he really didn't need another reason to be indebted to Hawke. Or another reason to lie awake thinking of her when he really needed his rest.

Regardless, dwelling on who may or may not have ratted him out or . . . or really anything about Hawke wasn't going to serve him well if he was caught in daydreams when those templars decided to turn around and take notice of him. Powerful as he was, one templar was easy. Two started to get tricky, especially if he was caught off-guard or there happened to be another patrol or two within shouting distance, though "shouting distance" was subjective in a labyrinth like Darktown.

Anders' grip tightened on his well-worn staff. He really wished he could hear what those bucket-heads said, but the helmets muffled their speech. As it was, he could barely make out the mumbled, non-committal replies from the refugees who dared answer them.

Justice rumbled inside the back of his head, yearning to be set free, to tear apart these armored invaders who dared threaten his own safety and the safety of those gathered around him. Through a supreme act of will, Anders held his vengeful spirit back and waited. If he struck preemptively, there was sure to be a battle, probably collateral damage (of his own property and of the people around him), and then more templars would come looking. No, he couldn't have that, especially not when the templars hadn't even glanced in his direction, in spite of the fact the only lantern in all of Darktown hung above his door.

One of the girls started shouting angrily at the armored pair, "How dare you come down here and ask us questions when we can't even ask about the family members you take away? You bastards took my sister! She was only ten, and I can't even visit her!" The young woman lunged for the shorter of the two and got a few solid blows in on his breastplate before another refugee stepped forward to bodily pull her away.

As the girl continued to hurl curses, her friend apologized for her. "I'm sorry, sers. Mages are a sore subject for her. Please, ask your questions somewhere else."

The shorter templar nodded and muttered something Anders didn't catch. Anders held his breath as the pair finally turned around to face his clinic door and took a step in his direction. Here it comes, he thought to himself, tensing himself like a tiger ready to pounce as Justice bubbled a hairs' breadth below the surface, There's no avoiding it now . . .

"I've heard of some appleskates," a young voice piped up clearly from behind the templars, causing them to spin 180 degrees to address the speaker.

"Don't you mean 'apostates?'" one of them corrected.

The child shrugged. "Yeah, that. Come on, I'll show you. It's this way." Anders knew the boy well. He was a habitual liar, but provided no end of entertainment with his stories to the older generation who often found themselves in need of the healer's services. He strongly suspected entertainment was the reason he made up the stories in the first place. If the boy worked on the believability of his delivery, he could give Varric a run for his money some day.

As the boy led the templars off, Anders breathed a sigh of relief so heavy it was almost palpable. He had no doubt the boy would get those two templars lost in the sewers in no time.

Darktown had saved him once again, but this had been his closest call yet. Anders had no illusions that next time he might not be so lucky. As he quietly opened his door and snuffed out his lantern, he briefly considered where else he could go if the templars ever wised up to his hiding spot. The Hanged Man with Varric? Maybe tonight, since he doubted those templars wouldn't be back once they realized they'd been had, but it was too public to be a regular hideout. One of his Mage Underground connections? They barely trusted him as it was, so he doubted he could impose for long. Maybe . . . Hawke?

His heart leapt at the thought, but just as quickly, he squashed it. No, it would be too presumptuous. Sure, she'd flirted with him, but that hardly meant . . . did it? No, it was far too soon to consider such a thing. If he was going to even entertain the idea, even to stay in a guest room as a friend, she would have to make the first move.

He hoped she did it soon.