Several hours later, Anders was feeling a lot less confident.
He'd been fine right up to the point they descended into the smugglers' tunnels. Hawke took the lead, Fenris beside him; Bethany walked beside Anders, with Varric bringing up the rear. It had felt much like any other job with Hawke, and the familiarity should have been comforting - but that only made the differences feel all the more jarring.
He missed his coat. It was silly and irrational, but he felt somehow naked without the familiar feel of it against his legs; the studded gambeson only came down to his hips, and the leather trousers felt stiff. His legs felt heavy thanks to the slightly dented greaves strapped over his shins.
His hand strayed often to the staff at his back. Hawke had been right; slung with the blade uppermost, it did look like a polearm. His hands strayed almost as often to the pouches slung on his belt, fingers brushing over the smooth leather lightly. He'd worked all afternoon, modifying the blast capsules. One pouch contained what he hoped would be an improved version of the holding glyph blast; another, an augmented fire blast. A third held what should be a form of ice blast, if he'd gotten his calculations right - certainly the small experiment he'd tried back in the clinic that had resulted in a coating of frost over about a third of the clinic floor and halfway up the wall had been promising.
He also carried several of his dwindling store of health potions, plus a healer's kit with elfroot and bandages. He may not be a mage anymore - but he was still a healer. No-one could take that away from him.
The strangeness and differences were tolerable in themselves however; it was the descent into the tunnels that struck sudden fear and doubt into the former mage; he was acutely aware of the several hundred tons of rock directly over their heads, and the walls of the tunnels felt too close, too enclosed, the air stifling and oppressive.
He'd never liked being underground. It had been one of the worst part of being in the Wardens - the frequent trips into the Deep Roads, patrolling in search of darkspawn. It reminded him too much of -
No. Don't think about it. Not down here.
It didn't help that as it got darker, the tunnels only dimly lit by flickering torchlight, his vision was far worse, one-eyed as he now was. The torches flickered, and the dancing shadows made it harder to keep his bearings. He found he was straining his ears for tell-tale sounds of footsteps. He was sweating beneath the warm quilting of the gambeson.
He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand at his elbow; he bit back a yelp as he jerked in surprise, and Bethany's eyes were apologetic as she stared up at him. "Sorry," she murmured. "I didn't mean to make you jump. You're not alright, are you?"
"What gave it away?" asked Anders, attempting a grin that felt more like a grimace. He realised he'd reached for the staff on his back again, fingers brushing the silverite haft as though for reassurance.
Bethany didn't answer, merely regarded him with that sympathetic look that made his stomach twist and filled his mouth with a sour taste.
"I don't need pity," he muttered tersely as he pulled away from her hand on his elbow.
He firmly clamped down on the irrational urge to reach for her hand a few minutes later when one of the torches guttered unexpectedly.
Fenris thought him ready for this. He could handle it. He couldn't hide in the clinic forever, and he needed the coin.
He reached for the staff again.
"Company," Hawke called back in a low voice. Anders felt his heart begin to race, his hand suddenly cold and clammy on the silverite staff. Had he been too warm before? Now he felt cold sweat trickle down his spine, dread coiling like a leaden lump in the pit of his stomach. Instinctively he reached inside for that place where his magic used to lie and felt nothing, only a hollow emptiness that ached, like a missing tooth whose socket he couldn't stop probing with his tongue. He couldn't even feel the pull of Bethany's magic as she called a ball of flame into her hand, as easy as thought. He remembered how it felt to be able to do that.
He felt a surge of bitter jealousy, and looked away.
There was a shout from up ahead. Fenris' brands lit up and he streaked forward with inhuman speed. Anders felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as Fenris' brands lit up the tunnel with blinding silvery-white light; he leapt forward behind the elf in spite of the sick feeling in his stomach, the staff already in his hand as he reached into his pouch for a paralysis capsule.
There were twelve smugglers, none of them Athenril's folk; they'd worked often enough on jobs for the elven smuggler that they could tell that much. That meant they were the newcomers who'd been causing trouble for both Athenril and the guard. Anders hurled the capsule at the feet of the nearest three and had the satisfaction of their curses and alarm as their feet were transfixed to the ground.
"Nice one, Blondie!" Varric's voice rang out from behind and to the left of Anders as Bianca sang; he didn't chance a glance backwards, instead bringing up the blade of his staff to block the swing of the smuggler who'd managed to evade the paralysis blast that had transfixed the other smugglers.
He'd been afraid that all Fenris' lessons would go clean out of his head when faced with an actual armed opponent instead of a sparring partner, but it seemed all the white-haired elf's patient drilling had paid off; Anders found himself reacting automatically as he parried the sword blow, swinging the other end of the staff around to crack the haematite globe into the side of the man's head before reversing his grip on the staff with a twirl and slashing open the man's stomach. As the hapless smuggler dropped his sword and clutched at his spilling intestines, Anders dealt him a merciful killing blow and drove his blade through the man's throat before kicking the warm and twitching body aside, parrying another sword blow aimed at his head.
Four smugglers had managed to get past Fenris and were moving around to flank Bethany; Anders snatched one of his ice blast capsules and flung it at the feet of the lead smuggler and tendrils of ice raced up to freeze them where they stood. Anders nodded in grim satisfaction as Varric fired an explosive bolt at them, killing them where they stood.
He heard Hawke cry out and curse; without thinking, he turned with a hand outstretched towards Hawke as he reached inside for mana... and found nothing. He clenched his fist in frustration as he sprinted towards the rogue who was clutching his arm as he backed away from three more smugglers.
"Hawke! Duck!" he called as he pulled one of the fire blast capsules from his belt pouch and hurled it towards the three smugglers. Hawke staggered back with one hand raised to shield himself from the wash of heat as the three men were engulfed in a ball of flame and incinerated on the spot.
"Maker, Anders, a bit more warning?" exclaimed the rogue as he retreated from the conflagration.
"Sorry," panted Anders, abashed. "I didn't have a chance to test those ones this afternoon." he stared at the cut that ran down Hawke's arm from shoulder to elbow. "How bad is it?"
Fenris and Varric had dealt with the last two smugglers as Bethany helped her brother out of his tunic whilst Anders pulled out a healing poultice and bandages. He set to work swiftly. Thankfully the wound was not as bad as it had initially looked; it was deepest at the top where the sword had gotten past Hawke's guard but grew shallower towards the elbow. Firm pressure slowed the bleeding, and elfroot and a firm bandage stopped it entirely. Hawke rotated his shoulder to test the range of movement then nodded his thanks.
"That should hold up fine for now," he said as he pulled his tunic back on.
"If I had my magic -" began Anders bitterly, but broke off as Varric patted him on the arm.
"Now, now, Blondie," the dwarf chided gently. "Hawke will manage just fine, and you did good there. You took out nearly half those smugglers by yourself; looks like Broody's lessons paid off."
"He is a quick and capable student," answered Fenris as he joined them, wiping blood off his blade. He inclined his head slightly towards Anders. "I had every confidence in his abilities."
Anders blinked, the quiet praise unexpected. He felt his cheeks colour as he dropped his gaze and mumbled thanks.
"You put that book to good use I see," remarked Varric.
"I think the fire blast formula needs some work," remarked Hawke ruefully as he ran a hand through his slightly singed hair. "Or maybe I need to learn to duck quicker," he added hastily as Anders looked chagrined.
"Well, Blondie could hardly go testing out his little fire bombs in his little shack down in Darktown, Hawke," pointed out Varric. "And those ice blast bombs are fantastic, kiddo! I know people who'd pay a pretty penny for those - and the paralysis ones too."
"You think so?" asked Anders. Varric chuckled.
"Blondie, trust me - you make 'em, I guarantee you'll have customers for 'em."
Anders blinked. His only intention had been to try and replicate the effects of some of his more useful combat spells through alchemy to help Hawke; it hadn't occurred to him that they could be a source of revenue.
"We should move on," rumbled Fenris. "I doubt those were the only smugglers."
Hawke nodded. "Come on," he said, and headed off again down the tunnel.
Anders felt far more confident as he followed Hawke. He even managed to smile at Bethany when she touched his arm lightly and raised an eyebrow in mute query. They were still underground, and there was no telling how many more groups of smugglers might be down here - but he felt less useless now. He'd proven he could hold his own in a fight, and his skills had earned him a place with Hawke again.
He was wanted. No, he was needed, as much as Fenris or Varric or Bethany, and he was here for what he could do, not just because he was Hawke's friend and certainly not out of pity. He belonged here still.
He still had purpose.