"Help..."
Anders, with the speed of an expert, noted the man's injuries and put a mug of water next to him. "You can drink it on your own, finish it and then go to sleep, I'll tend to you when you do." It was a lie, the man didn't need any further treatment, only rest, but the words had the desired effect, making the man nod with a grateful look on his face and grab the cup with a clumsy left hand, his right nothing but a stump now.
Moving on, Anders found himself taking deep breaths, sweat running down his body inside his by now itchy robes. When was the last time I slept? It was a question to cause confusion. Justice still didn't understand the concept of rest, and it was hard for Anders himself to...remember. I dozed three weeks ago, I think...feels like I need more by now though.
It had been less than a week since the Qunari attack, and still the injured were pouring in. Shy, frightened of the apostate...yet they still came as word of the healer's work spread further and further. Before, it had been but Darktowners coming to see him, but now people from Lowtown, even those from Hightown that were down on their luck, came to him if they could find the way. And with each injury healed, with each life brought back from the brink of the abyss, the words of the Chantry ring a little more hollow.
The thought was invigorating, making Anders shake off some of the weariness, eyes becoming more alert to find those in true need of help as he made his rounds through his most recent hospital. Thank you, Justice, I wasn't myself, I know we must not grow weak, not while injustice reins. Somewhere deep within him, the spirit growled in a mixture of agreement and anger. I know, we shouldn't be hounded like this, not now, templars know no mercy...
Anders' current hospital was the third that week. The templars had come to Darktown in force, hunting for apostates, and him in particular. But they won't find us, people protect us, people who see the truth of our words, of how the world is shaped against us. Anders passed a severely burnt woman rolling in pain in her bed, eyelids pressed together...and a wave of his hand made her stop, her breathing returning to normal as sleep was forced upon her agony-filled mind. Of course, if others hadn't betrayed our location, we wouldn't have had to move...normal people, always them, no matter how enlightened, think us different, think it's just to sell us out for some morsel or coin...not even Garrett truly thinks us right.
Clenching his fist as he walked, Anders found the world shift into hues of blue as the anger coursed through him. What right do they have to think less of us? To exploit us? To judge us? Are we not flesh and blood, like them?! In the back of his mind, Justice nodded, silent and brooding, enraged by the way the templars had been hunting them of late. War will come, as certain as the sun rises, it'll come...and it'll be a war of reckoning, if people won't accept us for who we are willingly, we'll force it upon them!
Suddenly, Anders came to a stop as he nearly barged into a small boy, the child all skin and bones, staring at his eyes in fright. "What do you want?" Anders snapped and shook his head, some of the blue hue across his eyes fading as he took a deep breath.
Before him, the boy took a step back, shaking as he raised a fist, holding up a dandelion. "T-thank you f-for h-helping m-my si-sister..."
Anders, shoulders sagging, forced himself to smile, the action pushing aside some of the rage boiling inside of him. "Quite welcome, child..." He took the weed that was the closest thing to a flower Darktowners knew of, not in the least surprised when the child ran off, too frightened to stay. "...quite welcome." I'll put this in a poultice when I have the time. A dry chuckle escaped Anders as he pocketed the weed. Not sleeping, yet there's never enough time...
"Bless the Warden, and bless all the children of Darktown..." Glancing over to a woman on her knees by her bed, her left leg nothing but a stump, Anders winced at the woman's prayer. Do I even have a soul to pray for? Was it destroyed? Or is it now with the Maker? Is there even a Maker...? Not even Justice could provide an answer, only that there was something. If it was the Maker, or some darker power, no spirit knew. "...and bless the Champion, Maker, please."
Anders moved on, frowning at the woman's last words. He'd heard similar things spoken by many of his patients during the last couple of days, and even as he strained his hearing, he could hear hushed conversations in dark corners of the room.
"Did you see him walk around as the city burnt? Looked like the dead, yet he kept going, leading the work..."
"Didn't manage to save my house, but that dog of his pulled my brother out of the debris..."
"Haven't had a champion in decades, things are looking up, I tell you..."
"Better than the rest of the lot combined, I tell you..."
"Sent the Qunari packing all by himself, he did..."
"Killed the Arishok..."
"Saved the city..."
"Rescued me..."
"Champion..."
"Hero..."
The man's name was on everyone's lips, but it was a legend, a tale...not the real man, yet at the same time, it was his accomplishments, though cast in too long a shadow, a caricature. Varric's work...and his own, he does deserve the title, after all. Anders hadn't known many people more capable than Garrett Hawke – Lynn had been the only one – but at the same time, Anders couldn't rejoice at the praise his ally was receiving, only feel a grim satisfaction and sense an opportunity.
He's no friend. Anders liked to think the man thought Anders one, but in the end they were just too different, and a man with a cause like Anders' couldn't afford friends like others could. Yet at the same time, they were allies of practicality, the two working well together on the battlefield and making good use of one another when needed elsewhere. He's not the ally he should be to mages, yet at the same time, he's an enemy of the templars, I can make that work to our advantage... The thought made Anders smile. What better symbol of mage-liberation than a non-mage fighting for them? Yes, I'll make an ally out of you yet, Garrett, whether you like it or not...
Sighing, his work never seemed done, his plans never coming to fruition, Anders moved on, gaze darting to his newest nurse with an arched eyebrow.
Isabela looked tired.
Her white tunic was still stained by blood-splatter from her assisting Anders' latest surgery, her skin having a feverish look to it, glistening with sweat, her posture sloping and speaking of a deeply-rooted exhaustion.
Worst though, were her eyes, dull, dark rings under them and seemingly bereft of the usual spark...serious.
Not like her. Anders couldn't believe she was still there. She had been for the last four days, ceaselessly assisting Anders despite him expecting her to leave at any moment. He'd asked her why she'd offered to help, but the only answer he'd gotten was a deeply haunted look that had silenced any further questions.
He'd even tried humour, making a sordid nurse-joke, the kind she'd like...and the woman had merely chuckled, dutiful rather than amused.
At the moment, she was stitching a long cut along a young teenager's arm, and as she was bending over to do so, the boy was staring with wide and hungry eyes down her tunic, seemingly lost to the rest of the world. Figures...damn, one day I'll end up fixing her back-problems. "It's not polite to stare, boy."
The teenager's gaze darted away like a rabbit, his face turning crimson. Isabela only shrugged though. "I don't mind, keeps their mind off the pain." Even as she spoke, the boy suddenly winced as she finished the suture. "There, all done." Grunting, Isabela struggled to rise, hands moving back to rub the small of her back. "These beds are too low..." A sigh, dull eyes moving to look to Anders. "Got another patient for me?"
"Always have more." Anders grunted back, then shook his head as Isabela moved to follow. "When was the last time you slept?"
The dark eyes looking back at him were dull, the lips drawn into a pale smile. "When was the last time you slept?"
Spirits never rest. "Don't change the subject." Anders growled, making Isabela sigh and avert her gaze. "I need my nurses rested and alert, not fumbling up when lives are on the line. What kind of fool would allow people holding people's lives in their hands to get so tired? I'm not one of them,so you will rest."
"Is that an order?" Isabela almost smirked. "Because I don't take kindly to..." A sigh, and she shrugged. "..actually, sure, why not? I'll grab a corner or something..."
"Take my bed." Never use it anyway. Anders sighed. "And sleep well, I need you if even more people come pouring in...it's a disaster, I tell you."
"Well...can't get any worse, right?" Isabela shrugged, her smile strangely hurt.
"Oh believe me, it can always get worse." Anders grunted, then nodded. "That said, yes, I think the worst is over after this little battle, now comes the time to rebuild." And reforge the world...yes...a brighter one, a purer one...
"Eh, I'd leave that to Garrett, he knows how to...make things better." Isabela looked away, eyes on the floor, posture dejected. "...he'll clean up the mess."
Anders hesitated, not sure what to say to words spoken so out of character by the woman. Old Anders would have known what to say... In the end, he managed a small smile. "He won't manage it alone though."
"No." Isabela nodded, sighing as she shot the full hospital another glance. "Not alone..."
With that, she moved away, towards Anders' office, her steps slow and weary.
Looking at her, Anders found his smile fading.
No, not alone, I need more allies...
8
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8
"Charles Reinhart."
"Garrett Hawke."
"Please, take a seat."
"Don't mind if I do."
Charles, being so small and old, looked ready to be swallowed by the chair he sat down in, but the head balancing on his thin and wrinkly neck still held a sharp mind. His grey eyes, though still tired from all that had happened, were already analysing Garrett for what the man might want, wary, yet friendly.
Garrett's office hadn't changed much since the Qunari attack, only a few drapes of crimson red had been hung where there was space, his equally red cloak hanging off the back of his own chair, conspicuous for his visitor to see.
Smiling, Garrett gestured at the plate and bottle before them. "Wine? Cheese?"
"Yes, please, with all the repairs going on, I've had precious little time to eat." Tell me about it... Charles reached for the wine first, pouring himself a glass, then, he took the little knife on the plate and cut himself a surprisingly large slice of cheese while smirking at the sight of it. "Qunari, eh...?" Garrett could only shrug to the question, making the other man chuckle. "Your subtlety needs work, Hawke, and my memory has not yet left me."
Garrett met Charles' gaze...and then they shared a little chuckle. It quickly faded from Garrett's lips though, a growing impatience forcing him to speak. "Charles...where do I have you?"
Charles' chuckle instantly died, his face growing serious, measuring Garrett with his gaze as Garrett did the same to the man who could make or break Garrett's campaign before it had even started. Finally, the man spoke. "You saved my wife and daughter, what's most precious to me, I owe you my life and all the favours in the world." Garrett struggled not to sigh in relief even as the man continued. "However, don't think I'll risk them once more in taking on Meredith. I won't do that, not even for you."
"Of course, I can respect that." Still relieved, Garrett smiled. "And thank you." He leant back in his seat, sighing. "And who speaks of taking on Meredith? I will do no such thing..." Charles arched an eyebrow, making Garrett chuckle. "...at least not with a blade in hand, I'm not a warrior at heart, you know."
"I'd disagree with that, but..." Charles chuckled, then eyed Garrett with curiosity. "...you have a plan?"
"Not anything solid yet, but it's something I'm working on." Garrett replied with a nod, then spread his hands wide with a sigh. "But let's face it, Meredith's announcement and following through of said announcement is a disaster, the city will fall apart without an administration and with the rules she's imposing."
Charles nodded, but only slightly. "And with you as Viscount, laws would be passed that take even more wealth from the nobility..."
"Oh come on!" Garrett sat up straight, eyes flashing. "Meredith is stealing from the treasury, from you, and you want to speak of taxes!?" He shook his head. "Any tax I would make would be discussed and every coin reinvested into the city, into making it better for us all...instead you now have the city slowly falling apart while money is being funnelled into making a lot of fancy runes for the templars to carry around!"
Charles grimaced, but nodded. "Indeed...I can't really argue otherwise." A shrug, and the man smiled. "I'll throw in my support for you as Viscount, however, that support is pointless as long as Meredith blocks any election and all other administration of the city."
One down. Garrett grinned. "Good, excellent."
"But what's your plan?"
"I have not figured out the specifics, but Meredith operates out of conviction, she believes we're corrupted...dangerous." Garrett ignored Charles' arched eyebrow, knowing fully well the man knew of his mage-connections. How could he not? "If we can prove otherwise, turn this city around even without the administration the viscount relies on, despite the obstacles she puts in our way...then she has to relent, because we've just proven ourselves more than worthy to lead the city."
"Hopefully she'll see it that way..." Charles grimaced, but then shrugged. "Not that I see any other way, we can't really force Meredith away, not with that army of hers at her disposal. I suppose we could write to the Divine, but she has a tendency to favour people working for the faith..."
"Of course she does." Garrett grunted. "And with the Grand Cleric dead and no clear successor ready to step forth..." Thank the Maker for that, if Petrice had survived the attack...that could have turned nasty. "...the local Chantry has none we could use to curb Meredith's ambitions."
"So we bring the city to order, pick up the trash and such?" Charles asked, looking amused. "Essentially?"
"Well, there's more than that, and we can't do it alone..." Garrett hesitated. "...you're with me, but what about the others at court?"
Charles shifted in his chair, grimacing. "They're...with you, in a manner of speaking." Garrett arched an eyebrow. "I don't think they'll betray you, they all owe you their lives, many their property as well...but you must understand that many of them are frightened by your ambitions...and the facets surrounding you."
"Oh?" Garrett leant forward, pouring himself a cup of wine. "Let's hear it." He took a sip, knowing he would not enjoy Charles' next words.
"Meredith warns about mages corrupting us...and you're mage-friendly, you blatantly used magic to reach us."
"Oh, come now." Garrett scoffed, taking another sip from his glass as he leant back as casually as he could. "Nearly every noble family in town has used an apostate at some point. I hear from one of those who rescued you that the going rate for an apostate healer among the nobility is two sovereigns per treatment."
"I pay three, just to be sure." Charles chuckled, then his face turned serious once more. "But that's besides the point, these are apostate healers...it's different than shattering doors like a stick and ripping foes apart with whatever they can summon...hell, many don't even think of these healers as mages, preferring to simply call them healers, like apothecaries."
"Wilful ignorance, ask them to request one of their 'healers' to cast some other spell at a piece of furniture, then they'll see..."
Charles nodded. "Perhaps, but still...being so clearly pro-magic, mixed with the dangers of blood-magic, means one might question your motives for dealing with Meredith."
"We'll have to deal with that then." Garrett smiled. There is nothing, nothing, emptiness... Charles flinched at the sudden glow of white in Garrett's eyes. "Maybe a display of templar powers would be a first step."
"It...would, yes...though maybe not enough." Charles shook his head. "You're full of surprises." Another shake of his head, and he grimaced. "Besides that, though...you're an elf-lover." Garrett winced. "No need to deny it, we all saw it."
"I'm not about to deny loving an elf." Garrett growled back, angry at the mere thought of doing so.
Charles raised his hands in surrender, a court smile on his lips. "Can't claim I understand it, and my wife is quite upset about it, but it's of course your choice." Choice? There was no choice about it. He lowered his arms. "That said, a Viscount with an elf lover or – perish the thought – wife, would look very bad...and likely not be accepted."
"I'm not leaving her." Garrett growled back, glaring at the other noble.
"Well...at least she seems good at making friends." Charles replied diplomatically, shrugging. "Heard some speak well of her since that last party."
Garrett sighed. "What else?"
"Well there's the obvious problem of going against the templars. Representatives of the Chantry and therefore the Maker. Then there's the fear of all those swords the templars happen to carry around and displeasing the ones carrying them...oh and there's of course the general dislike of doing a lot of work for the city when it might not benefit yourself...you've been at the council sessions, after all."
"I recall you being one of those not wanting to do such things." Garrett smirked.
Charles smiled back, voice soft. "Being nearly killed can change a man, Hawke...and I have a debt to pay."
"Well, between Meredith still taking taxes and us needing money to fund what's needed, there'll be a lot of paying soon..." Garrett watched Charles grimace, but not shy away. "...can we do this? Summon the other nobles and aid the city in recovering, together?"
"We...can." Charles nodded. "Together, we're owed enough favours to gather them all and demand some services rendered." He hesitated. "However, if they don't see some results quickly, their eagerness to help will soon fade."
"Oh I'll give them results." Garrett growled, gaze distant as he clenched his fists, eager to begin retaking his city. "Together, we'll be unstoppable."
And then, I'll be Viscount.
8
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8
Thanks to Abydos Jackson for being so strong.