Anders woke up disoriented and confused. He lay blinking up at the rough wooden beams of the ceiling; it took a moment or two to work out he must have fallen asleep upon one of the cots in the clinic instead of making it to his own bed in the little alcove. He could smell bacon and wondered who down here in Darktown could have afforded such a rare treat. Meat was expensive and most of Darktown's denizens did without. His mouth was watering. It seemed most unfair to be woken by the tantalising smell of a treat he could never afford; these days, the only time he got to eat bacon was when Varric insisted on pushing breakfast on him. Fenris usually preferred lighter fare such as bread and fruit, or porridge on colder days.

A snore to his left broke into his reverie; rolling his head upon the thin pillow, his eyes fell upon Hawke, sprawled on his stomach on a nearby cot, dead to the world and snoring peacefully. As Anders slowly sat up, the events of last night slowly came back to him. He swung his legs over the side of the cot onto the floor, drew a deep breath, and glanced around.

Bethany was crouched over a cooking pot set over the hearth fire, stirring something that bubbled before she turned to a small iron skillet (did he own a skillet? He didn't remember) and neatly flipping over slices of frying bacon. He blinked and rubbed his eye, then ran a hand through his dishevelled hair.

"Ah, you're awake!" said Bethany brightly as she lifted her head and noticed Anders staring around himself. His eye blearily focused on her as he turned.

"For certain values of," he replied, getting to his feet then stretching. His spine made a series of alarming popping noises as he arched backwards then twisted to one side to try and unkink himself. Those cot beds were only barely adequate for his patients; they were too short for him and he always woke with a crick in his neck and a niggling ache in his back whenever he slept on one. He pressed his hands against the small of his back then grimaced as he remembered he couldn't even relieve that small discomfort the way he used to. He wondered if he would ever get used to that - reaching for something that wasn't there.

"Here, let me," said Bethany as she rose to her feet, wiping her hands on a rag. "I may not be brilliant at healing but I'm at least good for that."

Anders sighed then inclined his head as she stepped behind him. Her small hands were warm and gentle through the worn linen of his shirt, and he groaned with relief as the small wave of healing magic dissipated the ache of tired muscles.

As he straightened, he became aware that Fenris had sat up and was staring at them intently, his expression unreadable. Anders frowned slightly as Fenris' expression changed; the elf glowered at him and turned away hastily.

"Better?" asked Bethany.

"Much, thanks," nodded Anders as he turned, dismissing the elf's baffling behaviour. He followed Bethany back towards the hearth. "Ah, Bethany," he said quietly. "About last night..."

She glanced back at him as she shifted the pot away from the flames, and smiled sympathetically. "You were upset. You have every right to be; I can only barely imagine what you must be going through right now. I'm only surprised it didn't happen sooner, to be honest."

Anders blinked and felt his face grow hot. "Has everyone been waiting for me to go to pieces then?" he asked, his voice a little sharp and brittle though he kept it low.

She straightened, the smile gone. "No, Anders. We've just been worried for you. It's what friends do."

Anders swallowed and glanced to one side. "I'd, ah, appreciate it if we just kept it between us. Really, I'd rather pretend it didn't happen at all, if it's all the same to you."

"Is that really healthy?" she asked him gently. He tried to smile.

"Probably not," he admitted with a note of false bravado. "But it makes me more comfortable."

"I'll speak to Garrett," said Bethany. "I'm sure Fenris will say nothing."

Anders nodded, not looking at her as he twisted his fingers together. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then drew a deep breath. "I'm, I... I'll just go wash and change," he said haltingly as he turned away.

He was aware of Hawke's watchful eyes as he ducked into his little alcove and let the curtain fall closed behind him. He exhaled slowly. The curtain only really gave an illusion of privacy, but this small room was, at least, his own personal space.

He stripped off his shirt then washed with cold water, shivering a little, his mind replaying the events and conversation of the previous evening as water ran down his back in small rivulets from his wet hair.

"Are you sure you're not still a mage?"

"Anders, to all appearances you appear to still be a mage."

"Then why can't I feel my magic?" he whispered to himself. He held his hand out, palm uppermost, and frowned as he tried to reach inside for that place that once was quicksilver and light but now felt so cold, empty, dark. He hunted for anything, the smallest spark; he gritted his teeth as he closed his eyes and tried to find what he had lost. He felt his body trembling as he strained for even the smallest drop of mana, reaching inside blindly.

Fenris' head whipped around as a scream of anguish, frustration and pain rang out from behind the ragged grey curtain. Hawke and Bethany moved almost as one as they stepped towards the alcove, but Fenris was faster. His brands lit up almost without conscious thought and he was a streak of brilliant white light as he reached the alcove ahead of them and threw back the curtain, lighting up the small room, nearly overbalancing as he came to a sudden halt before he could bowl the former mage over.

Anders turned towards him, lifting up his empty hand. "There's nothing, there's -" he cried out, and then he suddenly gasped as his bare palm lightly brushed Fenris' arm, touching briefly one of the blazing lyrium lines. Fenris' gasp echoed Anders' as he felt briefly a tingle that raced along the line of lyrium incised into his flesh.

It was gone as swiftly as it had come. As Fenris let the light die from his lyrium, he regarded Anders with wide eyes; Anders appeared equally shocked. He lifted his trembling hand to stare at his palm incredulously.

"Fasta vass, what was that?" breathed Fenris.

"I don't know," whispered Anders. "You felt it too? I wasn't imagining it?"

"Anders, are you alright?" exclaimed Hawke as he peered over Fenris' shoulder, Bethany craning her neck to look around the elf on his other side.

"I don't know," said Anders, his voice shocked and bewildered. "I don't know what just happened. I felt... something."

"As did I," said Fenris quietly.

"Whatever it was... it's gone now," said Anders slowly. He lowered his hand and was suddenly aware of his state of undress, clad only in a worn and faded pair of pants; barefoot, water still dripping from his loose hair as it brushed his shoulders.

He was also acutely aware of the close proximity of Fenris; the scent of leather, lyrium, sword oil - the smells that were uniquely Fenris. The small alcove suddenly seemed very overcrowded and tiny, almost claustrophobically so, and his breath caught in his throat as Fenris stared up at him, so close that Anders could feel the elf's breath upon his damp skin.

"Too close," he breathed, and swallowed hard.

Bethany slapped Hawke's arm lightly with the back of her hand. "Come on, Garrett, let's give Anders some space, hmm? Let him finish washing and dressing. Fenris?" She tugged her brother away.

The elf regarded Anders with that same unreadable expression from earlier then took a step backwards. "My... apologies. I thought..."

Anders frowned, bewildered. "You thought...?" he echoed.

"Never mind," scowled Fenris as he turned away and drew the curtain closed again, leaving Anders alone with his thoughts.

When Anders emerged a short while later, dressed and with his damp hair combed back neatly, the others were sitting around the hearth fire talking quietly; as Anders took a seat on an upturned crate, Bethany handed him a plate of bacon and eggs and a mug of tea.

"You are a blessing, Bethany," he smiled, then tucked into his breakfast. He was aware of Fenris watching him from over the rim of his bowl of porridge but said nothing. Whatever was on his mind, doubtless Fenris would speak it sooner or later. Preferably after Anders had finished eating and had a full stomach.

As Anders laid down his fork on his empty plate with a small, satisfied sigh and picked up his mug of tea, Hawke cleared his throat.

"So. About what happened."

Anders went still, then lowered his mug. "When?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

Hawke glanced at Bethany who gave him a warning look. "Ah... just now," said Hawke. "You yelled."

"Frustration," replied Anders sourly.

"And afterwards?" pressed Hawke, glancing at Fenris.

"No idea," shrugged Anders. "Maybe nothing. In fact, probably nothing."

"Then you and I both felt nothing," Fenris rumbled quietly. Anders darted him a suspicious look, but the elf was staring into his mug as though they were merely discussing the weather.

"What happened in there?" asked Hawke, pressing further. Anders sighed and set his mug down before rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. The empty eye socket was itching abominably and he was having to fight hard the urge to rip off the eyepatch and scratch at the scars.

"I don't really know," he said. "I was thinking about what you said last night - about me maybe still being a mage - and trying to, I don't know, find perhaps a small scrap of mana - something to draw on, however tiny. I couldn't find anything, and then Fenris burst in all lit up like that and I accidentally touched his arm and..." He lowered his hands and huffed a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. "I thought I felt something. Like a tingle in the palm of my hand. It was probably nothing though."

Fenris looked as though he were about to argue, then glanced away, perhaps thinking better of it.

"Anders, last night you said that if a non-mage had drunk that much lyrium, it would probably be fatal even without the felandaris," said Bethany slowly. He nodded, frowning slightly. "But you're fine?"

"As far as I can tell, yes," replied Anders with a shrug. "The symptoms I experienced aren't what I would associate with lyrium poisoning; I'm assuming that was the felandaris, mostly."

"So what would happen if you drank just ordinary lyrium?" asked Hawke.

"Are you asking me to try?" asked Anders, sitting straighter.

"No, he is not," said Fenris unexpectedly, giving Hawke a sharp look. "Was his near-death through poisoning not enough?"

"Easy, Fenris," said Hawke soothingly as Anders stared perplexed at the elf. "Just thinking aloud. Does anyone know what would happen if one of the Tranquil drank lyrium?"

"No. And I'm not going to the Gallows to ask," replied Anders. "Just before you get any ideas." He picked up his cup then got to his feet. "Well, fascinating as this all is, I have work to do; I need to open the clinic." He walked over to his desk, setting down the mug as he picked up flint and steel then headed towards the doors. He paused to eye the state of them, then sighed. "Fenris, I wish you'd learn to knock," he groused.

Fenris and Hawke exchanged a glance, then got to their feet.

"Any good with a hammer?" asked Hawke.

"No," replied Fenris tersely, then glanced at Hawke. "You?"

Hawke sighed. "I'll go talk to Varric. He must know a carpenter or two..."