Anders sighed in relief, and straightened up, flexing his hands a little as he craned to look at the faint puckered mark near the back of his thigh that was all that remained of the arrow wound. It had been a nasty job to clean out the infection, little threads and pockets of it having spread for some distance through the flesh surrounding the original wound. But it was done now, clean and healthy flesh from skin down to bone.
He looked around. "Well. I suppose I should check on my patient," he said, and rose to his feet, then walked over to where the box was, off to one side. Phillipe was still in it, though he'd been unstrapped from the restraints and the guards had tucked extra blankets from their bedrolls around him to make him more comfortable. He was awake, his eyes open, but he seemed unaware of his surroundings; when Anders bent down beside the box to examine him he didn't even glance Anders' way. Anders frowned, and felt his pulse at several points, then spent what power he had left after fixing his own leg in doing further healing on the man.
He stood and watched Phillipe for several minutes, then walked over to where the two elves sat together, talking quietly. "Zevran – do you still have that poison you used to put me to sleep?" he asked.
"Of course," the assassin said, glancing over at the box, then looking questioningly up at him. "You are thinking of drugging him?" he asked softly.
Anders nodded. "Yes. I don't have enough energy to put sleep on him, and... I think he needs to."
Zevran nodded, and rose to walk over and take a look at Phillipe himself, crouching down beside the box to, as Anders had, check several pulse points and the man's reaction to being handled. He frowned and nodded at the end. "I think you are right," he said, and dug in his belt pouches, producing the tiny vial Anders remembered from their mid-winter reunion. "One or two drops?" he asked.
"Two. I should have enough energy to do further healing and control his sleep myself by morning."
Zevran nodded, and carefully administered the poison. Phillipe reacted not at all to the tiny cut, and a few second later closed his eyes and went lax, breathing slowing in sleep.
"Will he be all right?" Fenris asked, having walked over to join them.
"Physically, yes," Anders said. "He hasn't suffered any damage that I can't repair, given time. Mentally...I don't know," he said, and turned to look at Antony and Guillaume, his expression hardening somewhat. "How long was he being tormented by Reynard?" he asked them.
Antony frowned, and shook his head. "I do not know. At the time I was added to his company, he did not have the pair with him, but as we left Orlais to come east, we stopped in a small town... they were there, already in the hands of two of Reynard's templars. Both had clearly been abused; long enough ago that Bridie's bruises were fading. Phillipe had fresh bruises; it was obvious he was being used to control her, punished to control her behaviour."
"And you did nothing about this?" Fenris asked sharply.
Antony turned and looked at him. "I could do nothing; as the junior templar of the group, and someone new to the Seeker, I had no influence with him. Guillaume made his disgust known, as he had the protection of his position as the Knight-Vigilant's brother. The Seeker did not care; they consider themselves above the Knight-Vigilant in hierarchy, and chantry law is that anyone aiding an apostate may be killed; some would argue it was a mercy he was even still alive," he said, his disgust with that idea clear in his voice. He looked over at the sleeping Phillipe. "It is to end atrocities such as this that we work. No one should have to fear being beaten, abused, even killed because of whom they fall in love with, who and what their parent or sibling or child is."
Anders nodded. "I can agree with that sentiment, even if I wish there was something you could have done."
Antony shook his head slightly. "Not without jeopardizing our mission. Having to stand by and pretend indifference when someone was so mistreated... I could only pray that we would succeed, that in the end it will have been worth it, to bring freedom to others like himself and Bridie. Though I doubt he will ever think so," he added, nodding toward the sleeping Phillipe. "He has paid too great a price."
That was something they could all agree with.
Zevran sat down cross-legged on the ground, a large pile of belongings stripped from the dead templars before their burial on one side of him – belt pouches, back packs and the like. He picked up the first, closest item, and quickly went through it, picking out and putting aside anything of potential interest – papers, potions and poison, small valuables – checked it for any hidden compartments, then tossed it aside and picked up the next. He worked quickly and efficiently; this was a task he'd done many times before in the Crows.
Antony and Guillaume sat nearby, watching him work. As promised, Anders and his friends were going to have the first look at any evidence that was found. How such evidence would be apportioned between the two parties would then have to be determined – Zevran hoped there would be enough that they could both walk away with some choice bits.
Anders was seated nearby as well, eating a second plate of stew to help replenish his energy and strength, watching curiously while Zevran worked. He paused and frowned, suddenly. "Has word been sent to Sebastian yet? That you've rescued me?"
"Yes," Fenris answered. "I sent a guard back to Starkhaven right after we got back here, with extra remounts; depending on how hard he pushes, he might make it back to Starkhaven late tomorrow night, though some time the next morning is more likely."
Anders nodded, looking relieved. "Good. I suppose it will take us a day or two longer to get back – especially since we'll have Phillipe with us... how are we going to get him back," he added, frowning. "I don't like the idea of keeping him in that box..."
"I also sent a guard off to locate any nearby farms or inns, and hire a waggon," Fenris said calmly. "Hopefully he will return by morning. If not we can try to rig some sort of horse-litter, perhaps."
Anders snorted, then smiled at the elf. "You're very well-organized."
Fenris smiled slightly. "I try."
Zevran eventually had reduced the large pile to a much smaller pile, and everyone gathered around and looked over what they had. Much of it proved of little to no value – a half-written letter from one of the templars to a sweetheart in Orlais, a bill for repairs to a dented vambrace, similar miscellany – but among the things he'd removed from the Seeker's belonging they hit at least a small jackpot of potentially incriminating papers.
Reynard had indeed been serving as a courier for the Divine – and not only did he have a packet of papers that he would have given to Odile if Sebastian agreed to become part of the chantry's plans, he also carried a letter from Odile to the Divine. The woman had been foolish enough to commit to paper the news that Sebastian had refused to co-operate, and some suggestions for how to deal with him and possibly extort him into changing his mind, especially since they planned to have Anders in their hands, and she suspected his relationship with the mage was closer than merely jailor and prisoner. Other suggestions were equally foul, including such ideas as eliminating him – delicately phrased, of course – and making Ewan a ward of the chantry until such time as the boy was of age to take his throne, and a very vaguely worded allusion to 'the Seeker's mage, who might succeed in changing his mind if pressed to do so'.
Fenris was glowering, Zevran looking particularly inscrutable, and Anders half-sickened by the time they'd finished reading the entire letter.
"We will wish this piece in particular," Zevran said flatly. "Sebastian can use this."
Antony and Guillaume nodded swift agreement, Guillaume having been reading over Antony's shoulder as the younger templar translated the letter aloud. Most of the other evidence they found they were willing to let the two templars have. The division of it went surprisingly quickly, and overall quite amicably, both sides having compatible goals; the downfall of the chantry's plans.
Afterwards there just remained the valuables to divide up. Antony and Guillaume quickly swore off any interest in them, apart from things whose ownership wasn't traceable, like the coin their erstwhile compatriots had been carrying, which would be of use to them in getting back to Orlais so that they might report to Knight-Vigilant Rémi.
Zevran handed them the coin, and put the remaining valuables into a large pouch; he'd see them sold, he announced, and the resultant coin split among the guards. Which won smiles from many of them; it had been a long, hard journey to catch up with and rescue Anders, and receiving a bonus for it was something they appreciated.
By then it was late, and dark. They had several days of riding ahead of them to return to the city; Fenris assigned guards to keep watch overnight, and everyone else spread out bedrolls and began to settle in for the night. Anders went over and checked on Phillipe again first. No change in the man, not that he'd expected any. He turned away to find Zevran walking over to him. The assassin held out one hand. "Here. I believe this is yours," he said.
Anders blinked down at the small glass vial in his hand, then nodded. "I suppose it is," he agreed, and lifted it from Zevran's hand, holding it up for a closer look. He could feel a faint sensation as he held it, like a subtle buzz; the magic linking him and it, he supposed. The odd hum he'd noticed earlier was gone; he supposed it was some side effect of whatever magic the templars used to activate the phylactery and track him.
Zevran started to turn away, then looked back at him. "What will you do with it?" he asked curiously.
"I don't know. Destroy it, I suppose," he said. He stood there a long moment, staring at the vial. So small and simple an item to represent such a terrible thing, the leash the chantry held on every mage they got their hands on. He closed his hand tightly around it for a moment, tempted to just dash it against the ground and be done with it, then paused. Perhaps...
He put it in one of his belt pouches, wrapped in a scrap of cloth, and went to find a bedroll for himself from among the belongings of the dead templars.