In the end, it was Varric who arranged for the repair of the clinic doors. He had listened patiently, nodding as Hawke and Fenris explained what had happened, then given Fenris a wry smile and told them to leave it to him. Good to his word, two carpenters showed up at the clinic a few hours later to repair the doors. By the time they'd left, there was no sign that there had ever been a mishap to the doors.
Fenris had returned that evening with Anders' share of the pay from the patrol job from Aveline and a pot of stew sent by Leandra, along with an invitation for Anders to come join the Hawke family for dinner the following weekend. Anders had shrugged, not answering one way or another. Fenris had served the stew and they had eaten in silence, Anders not quite able to bring himself to ask why Fenris had taken upon himself to bring his share of coin himself rather than leave it to Varric, and Fenris either unwilling or unable to admit that he did not want their routine of the past two months to end, even if it was now quite obvious that Anders needed no further protection or training. They ate in an uncomfortable silence before Anders retired to bed, claiming exhaustion.
Neither of them mentioned the strange experience of that morning. The following day, they breakfasted in silence, and then Fenris took his leave of Anders somewhat awkwardly. The clinic seemed very empty once he had gone, and Anders found himself slightly at a loss as to what to do with himself. He, too, had grown too used to their routine.
Anders lost his first patient two days later.
Varric had dropped by the clinic, accompanied by a man carrying a chest. The dwarf inspected the repaired doors then nodded before gesturing to the man and leading the way into the clinic.
Anders had glanced up briefly as he entered, nodding distractedly as he brushed hair out of his face then turned back to the labouring woman he was tending. Her husband glanced up at Varric then dropped his gaze back to his wife as she panted and moaned, oblivious to the entrance of the strangers.
"Nearly there - easy now, you're doing really well," said Anders encouragingly. "I can see the top of the head - two more pushes and you'll be done, I promise." The woman gave a breathless moan of dismay.
"Now, come on, you can do this, Mae!" Anders patted her trembling thigh, his other hand resting lightly on her abdomen. As the next contraction rippled through her, he kept talking in a low, soothing voice, urging her to keep breathing. "Good girl, that's it, just bear down -" He crouched down between her thighs, his hand shifting from her leg to reach for something wet and glistening. "That's it, that's the head through! We're nearly there, Mae, it's nearly over! Just one more push -"
Mae gave a long, exhausted wail as she bore down once more, and then Anders was sitting back on his heels with an armful of squalling newborn, a tired yet happy smile on his face as he looked up at Mae and her husband. "Congratulations, Mae; you've a beautiful baby daughter," he said gently.
He laid the baby on her mother's tummy and Mae hugged her gently as her husband crouched down next to her and laid a hand lightly on the tiny head of his newborn daughter. Anders was busying himself dealing with the afterbirth.
Varric directed the man to set the chest down in the corner near Anders' preparation bench then dismissed him. He turned and glanced around the clinic.
Besides the labouring woman, there was a handful of other patients in the clinic; a few of the small cots were occupied, and it looked as though Anders had had a busy morning. The dwarf smiled when he spotted Fenris crouched down next to a small child. Varric made his way over to them both.
"I didn't expect to find you here, Broody!" he greeted the elf. Fenris glanced up.
"Varric. When did you get here?" he asked, straightening slowly.
"Just now," answered Varric. "Anders' alchemy supplies arrived this morning; I figured he'd want to get his hands on them as soon as possible, but I guess he's a bit preoccupied right now." He jerked his head towards where Anders was still busy with the new mother.
"The woman has had a difficult labour," nodded Fenris. "Anders has been with her since yesterday morning; I've been dealing with the other patients as best as I can so he could concentrate on her." He gestured at the other patients. "I am no healer, but I can at least bandage wounds and apply salves. It has become obvious to me that there is much need of Anders' services and that there is often far more work here than one pair of hands can manage alone."
Varric eyed the elf shrewdly. He guessed there was another reason behind Fenris' presence, but if the white-haired warrior were not ready to admit it to himself yet, then Varric certainly wasn't going to be able to prise it out of him. Yet.
"Fenris, I could use a hand here!" called Anders suddenly, looking up, his face serious. The woman, Mae, was lying back on the cot, her face very pale as her husband looked on anxiously, his baby daughter cradled in his arms.
Fenris hurried over, Varric a couple of steps behind.
"She's bleeding, far too heavily; something's torn somewhere. Pass me a healing potion," said Anders tersely.
Fenris frowned. "There are none. You used the last yesterday evening on the miner with the head injury."
"What?" exclaimed Anders, his face paling. This close, Varric could see how haggard and exhausted Anders was. He turned back to the woman and began to work frantically.
The woman's breathing was becoming uneven, each breath a shallow pant, her face waxen and pale. She seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness. Varric glanced from her pale face back to Anders.
Varric and Fenris could do nothing. And in the end, despite all his efforts, nor could Anders.
"Blondie. Come on Blondie. You can't just sit there."
Anders stared at his hands. Blood covered them; covered his arms up to the elbows. So much blood. He hadn't been able to save her. She had bled out, despite his best efforts. He had reached, and reached, and reached inside himself but there was nothing there, and Mae had died. And he could do nothing.
"I couldn't save her," he said quietly. "I could feel her slipping away and I couldn't save her."
Fenris nudged Varric out of the way and set down a bowl of warm water. He knelt down in front of Anders and reached for the blond man's hands; Anders let him take them and the elf began to wash them carefully.
"You did your best," rumbled the elf gently. "You could do no more."
"I could have. Once, I could have," murmured Anders brokenly.
Varric sighed and shook his head. He'd seen enough people in shock to recognise the signs. "Blondie, you did what you could. Sometimes... people just don't make it." He shrugged. "You gave her a better chance than she'd have had alone. The baby was born healthy."
"I lost her," said Anders, as he lowered his head. His shoulders began to shake with silent sobs.
Fenris stared up into Anders' face then glanced up at the dwarf, a look of grave concern upon his face. He glanced back to Anders then gently dried the former Warden's trembling hands. Anders drew his hands out of Fenris' grasp then huddled in upon himself, his breathing hoarse and ragged, his sobs almost silent save for the gasp of indrawn breath between each one.
Fenris hesitantly reached up a hand as though to touch Anders, then drew it back, unsure how Anders would respond to the touch. He got to his feet and turned to Varric.
"He cannot stay here; he is in no fit state to be left alone," the elf said quietly. Varric nodded.
"Let's get him back to the Hanged Man; I dare say he could use a few drinks," the dwarf agreed.
Varric glanced up at the sound of feet pounding up the stairs to his rooms; a moment later, Hawke burst into the room, Bethany as step behind him.
"I came the moment I got your message - Anders, is he..." Hawke's eyes fell on Anders and he fell silent.
Anders was sprawled with his head upon the table, one hand still loosely curled around an empty wine bottle. As Hawke stared, he opened his good eye with difficulty, his gaze unfocused as he squinted past his dishevelled hair. His eye was red-rimmed; he looked like he'd been crying hard for some time. He tried to say something, then seemed to give it up as a bad job, shrugged, and closed his eye again.
"He's drunk," Hawke realised.
"He lost his first patient since losing his magic," rumbled Fenris quietly. Hawke started; he hadn't noticed the elf's presence, as intent as he had been on Anders.
"Oh no," breathed Bethany. "Poor Anders, he must be devastated!"
"That's about the shape of it, Sunshine," nodded Varric. "I don't recall as I've ever seen Blondie take a death to heart quite so badly as this before."
"But... I don't understand," said Hawke slowly. "He's been a healer for a long time. Surely he must have lost patients before?"
"Garrett," said Bethany quietly. "He's still coming to terms with losing his magic."
Fenris nodded. "He feels that if he still had his magic, he could have saved her. Likely he is correct. He was obsessed with what you had suggested - that he might still be a mage. He blames himself for not reaching deeply enough."
Anders made a faint, plaintive noise then hiccupped. He dragged the bottle closer and managed to lift his head enough to set the bottle to his lips and tip it back, but a moment later he let it fall with a grunt. "'S empty," he slurred. "Fen... bottle's empty."
Fenris took another bottle from the sideboard without a word; phasing his hand without thinking about it, he removed the cork. Anders frowned a little and rubbed the back of his neck then reached for the bottle, taking a long pull.
"Is that a good idea?" asked Bethany quietly.
"Probably not," replied Varric with a sigh. "If you've got a better one though, I'm all ears, Sunshine. This isn't exactly my area of expertise."
"It's not really mine either," said Hawke, troubled.
Anders had lowered the bottle and was squinting at it. He showed no sign of being aware of them discussing him. He placed the bottle on the table with exaggerated care and blinked owlishly at it for a moment, and then abruptly slipped sideways out of his chair.
Hawke caught him before he could hit the floor. The slender blond man was a dead weight in his arms; as Hawke hefted him up, Anders began to snore.
"I think that's Blondie's lot for the evening," shrugged Varric.
"What are we going to do with him?" wondered Hawke. "I can't take him back to ours - I'm sure Mother would be delighted for the chance to fuss over him but Gamlen won't be too pleased."
"Can you get him back to his clinic?" suggested Varric.
"I don't think he ought to be left alone," said Bethany. "What if more templars show up to find out where the first lot got to?"
"He can come with me," Fenris said suddenly. The others turned and stared at him, Varric arching his eyebrows in surprise. "I live alone in Danarius' mansion; there are several rooms. He will be safe there, and the templars would not think to look for him there."
"Are you sure, Broody?" asked Varric.
"He will be safe," nodded Fenris. "Though I would not refuse assistance taking him there."
Hawke nodded. "Beth, grab Anders' staff will you?" he asked as he set Anders' feet upon the floor and slung his arm across his shoulders. Fenris stepped in to Anders' other side, slinging his other arm across his own shoulders.
"What's this?" asked Bethany, retrieving something from the floor. She turned it over and stared at the small pillow, lightly trailing her fingers over the faded embroidered flowers.
"Something that means much to him I believe," rumbled Fenris. "He insisted on keeping it with him when we brought him here."
Bethany nodded and tucked it under her arm as she reached for Anders' staff.
"I guess Wicked Grace is off this evening," remarked Hawke. "Maybe tomorrow, Varric?"
"Sure thing, Hawke," nodded the dwarf. "Hope Blondie's back to normal soon."
"You and I both," Hawke muttered. He nodded farewell to Varric, and then he and Fenris turned and half-carried, half-dragged the comatose Anders towards the stairs, Bethany following behind.
Varric sighed as he watched them go, then reached for the unfinished bottle of wine. "Hell of a night," he remarked to the empty room.