Thank you so much, Mary, for your always-invaluable advice and suggestions!

~o~O~o~

"H-O-R-S-E."

"And what does that spell?"

"Well, I can see what it is, Hawke; there is a drawing of a horse above it."

Fletcher rested his chin on his hand and sighed around a smile. "Well, it is a small children's book. I think it's assumed the reader might not know what a horse is. Pretend you've never seen a horse before and you don't know how the word's pronounced. How would you pronounce it?"

Fenris read the word again and frowned. "Horz. You did say that the letter 'S' can also sound like the letter 'Z', especially if followed by an 'E'. Why is there an 'E' at the end of the word? Should it not be spelled with a double 'S' if it's pronounced in such a way?"

"I have no idea," Fletcher laughed, thinking what a great reading teacher Fenris would make, once he could actually read. "I didn't invent the language. It's fortunate you do know how 'horse' is pronounced; I'd have a hard time explaining to someone as intelligent as you why they stuck an 'E' on the end of it."

"Fortunate indeed," agreed Fenris, and, recognising the compliment, he permitted himself a small smile.

"So…what sound does a horse make?"

"Why?" Fenris asked suspiciously.

"Just tell me."

"Well, they…neigh, do they not?"

Fletcher's expression was solemn, but, as usual, the impish glint in his eyes gave him away. "Make the sound."

"Make the sound? What does that have to do with learning to read?"

"It's very important," claimed Fletcher, failing to translate his serious demeanour to his voice. "You'll associate the sound with the word; you-"

"I already know what a horse looks like. I know what sound a horse makes. That will suffice." Fenris folded his arms and stared at Fletcher until he sniggered.

"Just a little whinny?"

"No."

"A nicker?"

Fenris turned away, shaking his head, and Fletcher heard a quiet snort. "That's the spirit! Horses do that, too." Fletcher knew Fenris was smiling, and wished more than anything that the elf would turn back to him so he could see it. He was delighted, though, that he'd made him smile at all, and decided not to push his luck. He rose from the table and took his and Fenris's empty mugs.

"It's past noon, Fenris; what say we crack open some wine? I'll have half and half with water. It's been a good lesson, and I think we should treat ourselves."

"It has been a good lesson, save the animal noises," murmured the elf, facing Fletcher, a remnant of a smile lingering. "Very well; I will permit a small amount of wine," he decreed, one edge of his mouth twitching slightly.

"Yes, ser!" Fletcher bowed and walked over to the kitchen door, hearing a quiet chuckle from Fenris. A warm glow caressed his insides, and he paused at the door, facing the elf. "I've…missed this, you know."

Fenris's face fell a little, and he clasped his hands together on the table, his expression pensive. For a moment, he looked about to speak, but instead he nodded. Fletcher nodded back and, suppressing a sigh, entered the kitchen.

Immediately ashamed at his cowardice, Fenris pushed to his feet and stared at the kitchen door. Why did he keep doing this? He'd raised Fletcher's hopes by asking for a reading lesson, and now he'd dashed them by failing to requite Hawke's – innocent, it had to be said – sentiments. But he couldn't acknowledge them because hedidn't know how he felt. Did he?

What would be wrong with saying he'd missed the reading lessons, though? He had missed them; why was he afraid of giving Fletcher a little happiness by admitting that?

He moved toward the kitchen door and then paused, his hand resting on the jamb. Something Bethany had told him – and something he'd tried very hard not to think about – invaded his mind, and nausea and heat suffused him. Hawke – Fletcher - would die by his own hand before his fiftieth birthday, and there was nothing to be done about it. If he was born in 9:04, then he would turn twenty-seven next month. 9:54 seemed so far away, but the three-and-a-half years that Fenris could remember had passed in the blink of an eye.

He'd known Fletcher for three months of that. And, despite the ups and downs, it had been the happiest, and most fulfilling, three months of his life.

Time was wasting.

The heat inside Fenris intensified, and his stomach burned, his chest throbbed. He coughed to clear the thickness in his throat and pushed the door open, finding Fletcher leaning against the counter, head in hands.

"I-I'm just getting the wine," Fletcher blurted out, quickly pushing himself off the counter and turning his back on the elf, while he sought out a couple of wine glasses.

"I apologise," Fenris said in a stiff, strained voice. "I apologise unreservedly."

"Eh? What for?" Fletcher asked with forced nonchalance as he began to rinse the glasses.

"You are trying. I…am not. This-this has been a difficult time for us both. I…I have also missed the reading lessons. I have missed…you. Your company." Fenris felt the first flutters of mild panic in his belly as his self-control wavered, but he forced the words out: he spoke the truth, and Fletcher deserved to hear it.

Fletcher straightened up and nodded, still with his back to the elf. A minute of silence passed, before Fenris took a step nearer and cleared his throat. "I know what you would have of me. I, too…" He sighed and moved to the counter, where he halted. "I am…uncertain, and need some time. I do not want to give you false hope. You are…you are a good man, and I will not hurt you if I can possibly prevent it."

Fletcher hung his head, and Fenris heard his sharp intake of breath. Slowly, the mage turned around, releasing his breath, and leaned back on the counter. "I know that, Fen. And Maker knows I don't want to hurt you any more than I already have."

Fenris moved closer and rested against the counter that was set at a right-angle to Fletcher, only a few feet separating them. "What should we do?"

Fletcher smiled thinly. "Maybe we shouldn't do anything. I think, maybe when we're both feeling more…settled, we'll need to talk about things. But for now, let's not put any pressure on ourselves. Why don't we just…enjoy each other's company? As friends. Keep it nice and simple."

"Is that what you really want?" Fenris asked.

Fletcher's shrug answered Fenris's question, but he went on, "Maybe it's what we both need? No expectations, no pressure. I'm just glad we're talking again, and that we're spending time together. I wouldn't have blamed you for walking away, but you didn't, and that means a lot to me, Fenris. A lot."

After a pause, Fenris uttered softly, "Had it been anyone else, I would have."

Their eyes met briefly, and then moved to the floor. "What do you think, Fen?" asked Fletcher. "You know how I feel, but…let's just see what happens. And if nothing happens, that's fine. I'd be honoured to have you as a friend. I'm not trying to put any pressure on you; not at all. What I'm saying is that you're in control of this. We'll talk when you're ready. And if you decide that you don't want to…proceed, then I hope we'll always be good friends."

Fletcher walked to the far side of the kitchen where he retrieved a bottle of wine, watched by Fenris the entire time. "You do understand me," said the elf quietly as Fletcher returned. "And, now that I have seen past myself, I believe I understand you a little better, as well."

"I'm a very simple man, Fenris," Fletcher half-joked as he opened the wine and began to pour it. "There's very little about me to understand."

Not for the first time, Fenris was struck by how self-deprecating a man Fletcher was; a far cry from the bloated, self-important Magisters of his former home. "You do yourself a disservice," Fenris said softly.

With a tentative smile, Fletcher passed Fenris his glass, and gestured at the door. Fenris shook his head and stood his ground.

"…The water?"

Fletcher glared at his glass, tutted and poured half of the contents back into the bottle. "Shit. I thought you'd forgotten about that."

"Not a chance," was the elf's concise reply as Fletcher topped up his glass with water.

"Here, then, Master of the Wine." Fletcher shoved the bottle into Fenris's other hand and flounced into the living room, his nose high in the air.

As he moved to the table, Fletcher's head snapped up and his breath rushed out as he realised: he'd just referred to Fenris as Master. Panicking that his joke had caused Fenris offence or distress, he raced back to the door, his heart battering against his breastbone. "What's the matter with you?" he castigated himself.

The long, loud burst of laughter from the kitchen stopped Fletcher in his tracks, and he almost collapsed against the door in relief. After a second to catch his breath, his own laughter joined that of the elf's.

~o~O~o~

When Leandra and Bethany returned laden with groceries, the reading lesson had resumed, and the two women exchanged a delighted look, taking a seat on the settee for a quick rest before unpacking. After Fletcher and Fenris had risen to greet them, Fletcher prodded the book on the table with his finger, reminding Fenris that the lesson had not yet ended, and they returned to their seats at the table.

"Now, where were we?"

"I am not going to cluck like a hen," Fenris sibilated.

"You just mooed like a cow! What's the difference?"

"I did not moo! I said the word 'moo', and that was only to shut you up. I see now my plan was lamentably ill-conceived."

"Go on; just a little chirrup."

"Hens do not 'chirrup'."

"And how do you know so much about hens all of a sudden? Eh?"

Silence. Although the two women couldn't see Fenris's expression from where they sat, they could picture it quite vividly.

"I'll give you fifty sovereigns if you cluck."

"You do not have fifty sovereigns!"

"I'll cancel the expedition and get my money back."

An exasperated groan was heard, as was the creak of the settee as the women moved closer to listen.

"You know, Fenris, sometimes I don't think you have the necessary dedication for this. If you want to learn, you need to apply yourself," Fletcher joked, bracing himself.

"H-E-N. Hen," the elf recited testily. "I can say it, I can read it. I am notgoing to cluck for your amusement!"

Two giggles sounded from the settee, and Bethany's head peeked over the back of it. "You might get a cluck of disapproval if you're not careful, Fletcher. Or worse. And I wouldn't blame Fenris one bit."

As she rose, so did Fenris, quickly followed by Fletcher. Fenris moved over to the settee, picking up a few bags of groceries. "I believe this to be an appropriate juncture at which to end the lesson."

Fletcher huffed, his hands on his hips. "Well, you're already Master of the Wine; you may as well be Headmaster of the Lessons, as well! Why not?" he exclaimed dramatically, flinging his arms into the air.

Dipping his head so his hair obscured his face – although Fletcher could swear he caught a glimpse of a grin - Fenris went into the kitchen, holding the door open for Bethany, who carried the remainder of the bags.

Leandra rose and walked over to Fletcher, an excited gleam in her eyes as she glanced at the kitchen door. "You and Fenris seem to be getting along well, dear."

Fletcher also glanced at the door, a faraway look in his eyes. "I hope so, Mother. At least we're squabbling; you need to be talking to someone to squabble with them," he smiled.

"That wasn't squabbling, darling; it was banter: the kind that flows easily between friends. Your father and I had similar exchanges; do you remember?"

"I do," replied Fletcher with a sad smile. "You and Father were best friends. You were very well-suited."

"You have my cheekiness, Fletcher. I was the perfect foil to your father, who was very straightforward and direct. I loved making him laugh. It took some effort, sometimes, but it was worth it each and every time. I see that same dynamic between you and Fenris; you're also very well-suited."

Fletcher grinned and hung his head a little before he sighed and looked up to the ceiling. "Does it bother you that there won't be anyone to carry on the family name now that Carver's…? The Hawke name, I mean?"

Leandra's arms wound around her son's waist. "Fletcher, I used to take so many things for granted. That I would have dozens of grandchildren, that one day I would reclaim the Amell estate and we would all live as nobles, as we were entitled. But we've lost so much, darling; our home, your father, and-and…" Fletcher sighed and pulled Leandra close, and she rested her head on his shoulder. "But we have a roof over our heads," she went on, "and I have two beautiful children who make me prouder with each day that passes." She pulled back and cradled Fletcher's face in her hands. "It has been a while since I saw you so at ease, my dear son. To me, that is worth a thousand grandchildren."

"Oh, Mama, stop it," sniggered Fletcher. "You'll make me tear up." Too late, he pulled her close again and took a few deep breaths. "I know you're grateful for what we have, but I want better for you and Beth. Even for that old…for Uncle Gamlen. When the expedition's over, things will be better. There'll be no more second-hand clothes, no more rats. You'll live as you're supposed to."

"Just bring yourself back in once piece, Fletcher; that's all I want." Leandra's voice wavered slightly and they stood together, quietly, for several minutes.

In the kitchen, Fenris unpacked the heavier of the bags while Bethany put some water on for tea. He politely enquired about their shopping trip, and, when Bethany noticed his new tunic, she complimented him on the colour and he provided details of his and Fletcher's own shopping trip, discreetly leaving certain details out.

"Bethany?" he asked quietly, once the shopping had been packed away, "may I ask your advice?"

"But of course, Fenris." She opened the back door and beckoned him outside. He stepped out and closed the door behind him, smiling wryly at the two chickens that strutted around the small yard.

"Fletcher should have brought you out here for the lesson; he would have had all the clucks he wanted," remarked Bethany. "Is everything all right, Fenris? Things seem to be going well between you and Fletcher; it's lovely to see."

Fenris nodded and remained silent for a moment. "I merely wanted to ask…it has come to my attention that your brother's naming day falls next month."

"Ah," Bethany said, her face brightening.

"I would like to purchase a gift for him before we enter the Deep Roads, but I have no idea what to buy. He has many robes, a sturdy staff…I do not know what would be of use to him."

"First things first, Fenris. Fletcher is not a practical man. Buy him a useful gift and he'll be delighted that you thought of him, but, if it's not something he can wear, or eat, it'll be shoved in a drawer and forgotten about. You're right in saying he has plenty of robes. I know he'd like a fancy staff, but none of us have the coin for that. If you want my advice, Fenris, you can't go wrong with a book."

"I should have known," said the elf. "Is there anything you would recommend?"

Bethany thought about that for a moment. "I'll tell you what he'd really love: a first edition of Treatises on Medicine and the Hippocratic Aphorisms." Met with a blank look, she smiled. "It's a very, very dry medical tome, written by forty of the most esteemed physicians of the Steel Age. Their knowledge and methods seem crude and laughable, now, but he loves that sort of thing. It would cost silly money to buy, and I have no doubt he'd sell Mother and I to get his hands on a copy." They both laughed softly, and Bethany folded her arms, thinking. "That's not very helpful to you, though. Tell you what, if you have nothing planned this afternoon, I could take you to a very nice bookshop I know of; it's just on the border of the city, not far from Darktown. It'd take us half an hour or so to walk there, but it's a nice day, and I know we'd find something suitable."

"Oh, I would not want to take up any of your-"

"I don't have anything else planned, Fenris; you wouldn't be taking up my valuable time at all," she smiled, and Fenris followed suit. "Besides, Varric asked me to pick something up for Fletcher's naming day that he can give him in the Deep Roads. We can kill two birds with one stone."

"I am very grateful for your time, Bethany." The elf bowed slightly, and Bethany waved her hand dismissively.

"Don't thank me for spending time with you, Fenris. It's hardly a chore. You're a very erudite and intelligent man, and it would be nice to spend a bit of time with you before you head off, anyway; you're practically a part of the family, now."

Fenris felt a rush through his chest, and tears choked the back of his throat. He noisily cleared it and nodded, his face betraying nothing of what he was feeling inside. Bethany had an inkling, however, but didn't say anything. "That is very gracious of you," said the elf.

"The only problem we have is explaining where we're going to Fletcher. The best thing for us to do is brazen it out; just follow my lead, Fenris." She tapped the side of her nose and winked, and, although he was unfamiliar with the gesture, Fenris tapped the side of his own nose, intrigue lighting up his face as he followed her inside.

"Fenris and I are going for a stroll," she announced loudly as she breezed into the living room. Fenris entered, having assumed an unassuming look.

"Did you forget something, dear?" Leandra asked, still mid-hug with her son.

"No, not really. I just fancied stretching my legs, and Fenris has very kindly agreed to keep me company."

Fletcher knew his sister well, and shot her a what are you up to look, but said nothing.

"We'll be back in a couple of hours," said Bethany, reaching for her stole.

"Oh…I need to change, first," Fenris said, and, after asking permission to use Fletcher's room again, he changed back into his Guard tunic, but left the cuirass inside; much to his appreciation, Fletcher locked the door when he'd finished.

Fletcher watched curiously as the conspirators headed for the front door, neither of them looking him in the eye. Thinking of Fenris's new clothes, a thought occurred to him, and he decided against interrogating them.

"Have fun," he called to them. Bethany waved and Fenris bowed in their direction – meant for Leandra – and his eyes very briefly darted over Fletcher's, an undeniable furtiveness in them.

"Where do you think they're off to?" Leandra wondered aloud as the door closed.

"I suspect Fenris is buying me a naming day present," Fletcher beamed, feeling elated, before his expression flattened a little. "Well, I may as well go and see Anders, I suppose."

"Oh, how is he?"

"I guess I'm about to find out." Kissing Leandra goodbye, he stepped outside, waiting until Fenris and Bethany were out of sight before setting off, a strange heaviness settling over him.

It was a chilly day in Kirkwall, though sunny; normally, Fletcher would have enjoyed the walk but thinking of Anders darkened his mood. Fenris had been at the forefront of his mind but, once apart from him, he realised he was still angry at Anders. When Anders had stormed off, Fletcher had been left confused and hurt. He'd already been worried sick about Fenris, and was so tired he could barely think straight. Yes, he knew he'd ignored Anders's advice, and, in his position, Fletcher would have felt the same. Would Fletcher have abandoned his patient, though? Never.

Was he being unreasonable? Sebastian and Donnic had been there, after all, and Anders was entitled to be frustrated at Fletcher. Fletcher recalled Anders's statement that he'd never loved anyone, nor had he been loved, and his stomach plummeted.

Well, now instead of feeling angry, he felt guilty.

"Why is nothing straightforward with him anymore?" Fletcher groaned to himself as he approached the jetty, having taken a slightly different route than Fenris and Bethany: he suspected they wouldn't want him tagging along.

"First sign of madness, that, you know."

Startled, Fletcher spun around, fresh irritation pricking at him as his eyes settled on the owner of the voice.

"…Talking to yourself, I mean. Where have you been, Hawke? I've been looking all over for you! Anyone would think you're trying to avoid me."

"Funny, that; I thought it was the other way round," grumbled Fletcher, folding his arms. "Come to pay me those two sovereigns you owe me?"

"Actually, I have!" Isabela reached into a small pocket and produced two shiny coins which she dropped into Fletcher's hand.

"Thanks. Nice to see you, Isabela." Fletcher turned around and continued on his way.

"Woah-woah-woah! What's the hurry?" Isabela caught up to him and slipped her arm through his.

Fletcher once again stopped, sighing. "Look. I know what you're after; Varric told me you've been pestering him. We're not taking any women on the expedition. It's nothing personal."

"Oh, I get it!" Isabela winked at him, a very unwholesome glimmer in her eyes. "All those hairy, sweaty brutes down in the deeps…you'll be happier than a pig in shit! I can't say I blame you, but surely you could share a little of that action around? Don't be greedy, now."

A mirthless laugh escaped, and Fletcher shook his head. "Trust me, Isabela, if you met the leader of the expedition, you'd change your tune pretty quickly."

"Does that mean we're going to see him?" she asked optimistically.

"No, we're not. Look, it's not you, honestly; Varric raves about your skill with those daggers of yours, and you'd be a great addition to the crew. We just can't take any women. Bethany's not going, and neither are Merrill or Aveline; not that Aveline would have the time, anyway."

"And why not, Hawke?" she demanded.

"I'd speak to Anders if I were you; he's the one who insisted on no women. It's a Grey Warden-darkspawn thing, apparently."

"I don't think I'll bother. I went to see him yesterday for some cream and he was quite snooty with me. If you ask me, he's got his eye on that assistant of his. Anyway, I was asking you."

Hawke stared at her wearily for a moment, and then walked over to a small wall on the quay where he sat down. Isabela joined him, and he recounted what Anders had told him about the Broodmother he and the other wardens had defeated in Amaranthine.

"…Being a healer, Anders has seen some pretty gruesome sights in his time, and has developed a cast-iron stomach. But he told me that he and one of the other wardens vomited as soon as they set eyes on it. He said it was an aberration of nature. I think it was the smell, too; he couldn't even describe it to me."

"Tentacles?" Isabela exclaimed, pulling a face. "I know some mothers let themselves go a bit after having a baby, but-"

"This is not a joke, Isabela. That is the reason you can't come, and that's final. Please don't keep on about it; you'll only irritate me, and I still won't change my mind."

Isabela leaned back a little and sighed. "All right, Hawke, I'll be straight with you. The truth is: I need to disappear for a bit. I've, well…"

"Don't tell me. Some people are after you?"

"Something like that. Look, how many men are you taking on this expedition? There must be loads of you. I promise I won't wander off on my own, and if I see any of those mean darkspawn thingies, I'll scream, all right?"

"Isabela, the answer is no. I'm sorry. As annoying as you are, I wouldn't wish that fate on you. It's too much of a risk."

"But I'll-"

"No."

With a casual shrug of her shoulders, Isabela stood up. "Oh, well. You've got to give me credit for trying, haven't you?"

"What's this trouble you're in?" Hawke asked, also standing up. "Is there anything I can do to help before we set off?"

"It's nice of you to offer, but you know me, Hawke; I always have something up my sleeve. I'll be fine; I always am." With a wink and a jaunty wiggle of her hips, she sauntered off, leaving Fletcher with doubt nibbling at his thoughts, though he couldn't quite understand why. Shaking his head and dismissing Isabela from his mind for the time being, he continued down the jetty steps toward one of the entrances to Darktown, the heaviness in his bones returning.

Fletcher knew there was an entrance leading from the Amell estate to Darktown, as he, Bethany, Anders and Varric had cleared out the slavers beneath the estate several months ago; before he'd met Fenris, in fact. He'd even procured a set of keys to the estate, and it would have been easy for him to slip into the mansion and enter through the tunnel, but his mother was still awaiting a reply from the Viscount's office regarding their claim on the estate, and he wanted to do things properly. If the Guard caught him sneaking into the property, he'd not only hamper his mother's efforts, but would place Fenris and Donnic in a difficult position, and he wasn't about to do that.

For now, he'd have to take the long way through Darktown, which he never relished, as the conditions under which some of the refugees were living were shocking. His resolve to help make life easier for the indigent people, with Anders's help, had not wavered. He just hoped that he and Anders would be able to keep from each other's throats long enough to do that.

Upon reaching the clinic, he found Anders and Mallory hard at work crafting poultices. Anders was instructing her on the correct ratio of herbs used in the mixture for the antiseptic coating. Mallory greeted Hawke when he entered, but Anders didn't look up until he'd finished.

"Anders, you put me to shame. I haven't even started on my batch, yet," Hawke said in an even tone. He was unsure of how he felt, and didn't want a scene in front of Mallory. More than that, he was painfully aware that soon, he, Fenris and Anders would all be confined underground where there would be no escape from each other, and Fletcher didn't want to be the one to cause ructions.

"I expect you've had your hands full, Hawke, what with Fenris-" Anders stopped himself and glanced at Mallory, who smiled at Hawke and excused herself. "Guardsman Hendyr told me you'd found him. How is he?" Hawke could tell from Anders's tone that he wasn't really interested, but he played along.

"He's getting there. It wasn't easy for him to find out about…you know. He's doing his best."

Anders nodded, looking thoughtful. "And how about you, Hawke?"

"Well, I'm still following your diet. I've been trying my best to get out of it, but Mother and Fenris are having none of it."

"Good." Anders began to tidy up his worktop, and Hawke glanced over to Mallory, who was arranging boxes at the far end of the clinic.

"Anders…are you all right?"

Anders looked up, uncertainty in his eyes. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"It was just something you said…"

"Oh, ignore that." Anders resumed his task, and something in his voice told Hawke not to press him on the matter, which did nothing to ease Hawke's discomfort. "How are the plans for the expedition coming along?"

"Oh…well, most of the equipment and supplies have been moved to the site; there are just last-minute things, now. I'm going up there tomorrow to set up the oxygen generators. Fancy lending a hand? If you're not too busy?"

Anders considered the invitation, and also considered asking if Fenris would be going along, but didn't want to antagonise Hawke. "I'd like that; I know how it works but I'd be interested to see how you've made a portable one."

"Not one, Anders; lots of little ones. Oh, by the way, we'll be at the Hanged Man tonight, if you're interested; it might be our last chance for a card game in a relatively well-lit place. I can't vouch for the air quality, though. Bring Mallory, if she wants to come."

"Lots of little ones? Now I am intrigued." Anders smiled wanly and nodded. "I'll see about the Hanged Man; there's a stomach bug doing the rounds down here at the moment, and it depends if there are any new cases."

"Need any help?"

"I'll certainly send for you if things get out of hand, but I think it's contained for now. Actually…I was going to ask…if it spreads, I'm not going to leave Mallory on her own to deal with it."

"If that happens, Anders, then the expedition will be postponed until it is contained. We're not going without you, Warden or not."

"Well, thanks, Hawke…I really appreciate that," Anders replied quietly around an uneasy smile.

"If I don't see you tonight, I'll call for you tomorrow? Around midday?" asked Hawke.

"Yes, all right."

"See you when I see you, then, Anders. Bye, Mallory!" he shouted, and Mallory looked up and waved.

"See you, Hawke, and thanks for calling on me."

With a nod, Fletcher left the clinic, feeling a huge weight lift from his shoulders. He did wonder momentarily when his and Anders's next spat would be, but decided not to dwell on that thought as he headed for home.

*Treatises on Medicine and the Hippocratic Aphorisms is a real book, believed to have been compiled in 1145 in Hereford, England. It was written by 40 of the most noted physicians of the time.