Work Text:
The Hanged Man was an… interesting place, Hawke mused as he entered to look for he and Carver's new business partner. It smelled of booze, sweat, and something a bit more acrid- vomit, most likely. There were blood stains on the floor. Some darker than others, indicating that no one seemed particularly bothered enough to clean up after a brawl- they likely happened often here, if the look of the patrons was anything to go by.
They seemed rough and haggard; some a little suspicious. Refugees come to drink away what meager earnings they made from whatever charitable employer was kind enough to hire them, pining for the lives they left behind when they fled the blight. Criminals doing business at tables in the shadowy corners where the lantern light didn't quite reach, making secret deals that would impact the whole of Kirkwall. Men who had clearly had more than enough to drink, chasing the skirts of the few women who were among them.
Despite the smell, and the stains, and the way a few of the patrons made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, Hawke couldn't bring himself to hate it here. It felt so… alive. He'd been all over Kirkwall at this point, and he'd quickly discovered that if he wanted to be around real, honest folk, Hightown was not the place to look. Sometimes you meet the best people you'll ever know in a dingy tavern in the slums.
The mage climbed the stairs, following Varric's directions to where he'd said he would be- by the fireplace on the upper floor. Sure enough, the dwarf was exactly where he'd said to look.
Once Hawke had taken a seat and joined him, Varric started explaining their first order of business. “So here's the thing- we need to find a way into the Deep Roads. Bartrand can lead us to the right place once we're down there, but we need a good entrance.”
“Any entrance would do, wouldn't it?” Hawke asked, raising an eyebrow. He wasn't sure what would constitute a bad entrance. “Unless a dragon's sitting in it, I suppose,” he added cheekily.
Varric smirked for a split second. Hawke would consider that one a win.
“We need an entrance that's close to our destination, but isn't already plundered or filled with darkspawn,” the dwarf explained, leaning forward in his seat. “Fortunately, I've received some new information. There's a Grey Warden in the city- if anyone knows how to get down there, it'll be him.”
“Why would a Grey Warden know that?” Hawke was not particularly familiar with the Wardens, aside from knowing they fought darkspawn and killed archdemons. And that it wasn't wise to trifle with them.
“Grey Wardens don't just fight darkspawn- they forge into the Deep Roads all the time,” Varric said. “And if he doesn't know, he might be able to point us to those who do.”
Hawke wasn't a coward, but he also wasn't entirely sure he wanted to mess with a Grey Warden if they didn't absolutely have to. “Are there any other options?”
“None at the moment. Bartrand had an entrance lined up, but it was a bust,” Varric sighed. “I'll keep looking, but if we don't find something, we'll have a fancy expedition with nowhere to go.” He shrugged nonchalantly, as if that wouldn't be a rather large problem.
“We don't want trouble with the Grey Wardens, do we?” The mage asked warily.
The rogue shook his head, answering quickly. “Let's consider our options here. I'd rather not fight a Grey Warden unless we have to.”
Hawke nodded; he could agree there.
“Supposedly, he came in with some other Ferelden refugees not long ago. A lowtown woman named Lirene has been helping the Fereldens. We talk to her, maybe we learn where he is.”
They had a plan- now they just needed to act.
—
Somehow, the sky in Lowtown always seemed to be overcast. Hawke couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the sun, or the blue. Today was no exception, as he and Varric swung by Gamlen's house to pick up Carver. It had four walls, a roof, and somewhere to rest your head at night, but it would never feel quite like home, and Hawke knew his brother would rather be out running around with him than sitting inside with the man who had squandered their family fortune. Even if he might complain about being ordered around.
Plus, they could use an extra hand, just in case they did have to fight this Warden fellow. Hawke considered calling on Aveline to see if she wouldn't mind stirring up some trouble with them as well, but decided against it. She was in the city guard, now- she had responsibilities to attend to, he was sure. Certainly guard work was more important than gallivanting around the dusty corners of the city searching for a Grey Warden.
“Thank the Maker,” Carver said as they left the house. “I can't say I hate the guy after he's sheltered us for a year, but I was very much starting to grow tired of Gamlen… and the smell of the house.”
“Ah yes, the stench outdoors is much preferable to the one inside,” Hawke agreed. “At least out here, there's fresh air to offset it. It's a wonder people here don't suffocate for lack of windows.”
“I wouldn't need to ask this if you had just brought me along to begin with, brother,” Carver began pointedly, “but where exactly are we headed?”
Hawke shrugged and looked to Varric. All he knew was that they had to find a woman called “Lirene”.
“Lirene's Ferelden Imports. It's just up ahead, in the bazaar.” With that, the trio were off in search of the shop.
It took a few minutes- Hawke got turned around twice, but in his defense, every single damn building in Lowtown looked the exact same. Who the hell designed the city like this? Do they want people to get lost? Eventually, they did find the right shop, thanks to Carver noticing the sign hanging above the door.
They entered to find a small room crowded with their fellow Fereldens, all seeking some sort of aid, and one poor woman whose attention appeared to be divided amongst all of them. She seemed to have an assistant, but it was clear there were not nearly enough hands for all of these people.
“Will everyone please just step back!” The woman in charge- probably Lirene- yelled over the noise of the crowd.
A young woman shouted frantically, “my mother's in labour! The baby's come early. Can anyone help me?”
“I'll send word to the healer, but-” Lirene replied.
An older man interrupted her, his tone desperate. “My son's hurt bad! Cart turned over on him in the blasted Bone Pit!”
The woman sighed and spoke patiently, despite the chaos. “Everyone in your turn. I promise, we have donations coming in. There will be food and medicine for all of you.”
Hawke approached then, Varric and Carver in tow.
“If you're seeking aid,” Lirene said, before they could speak, “leave your name with my girl. We serve everyone here- no one came from Ferelden without trouble.” She crossed her arms, eyeing the brothers critically. “But I can't give priority to anyone who's already found work and lodging.”
Hawke's heart ached for his fellow refugees. “Is there a way I can assist these people?” He asked, forgetting their purpose here for a moment.
Lirene's face softened a little. “If you've coin to spare, we won't turn it down. Donations go in the box up front. Anything else?”
“I hear you know where I can find a Ferelden Grey Warden,” the mage said carefully.
“Only Ferelden Grey Warden I've heard of is sitting on the throne,” the shopkeep responded, squinting at him. “We're out of the blight's path now. Why would you need a Warden?”
A woman who appeared to be around Leandra's age piped up. “The healer was one of them once, wasn't he? A Warden?”
Lirene shot her a brief look of irritation. “Well he's not now, and busy enough without answering fool questions about it.”
“Then I'll only ask very smart questions,” Hawke said with his best attempt at a charming smile.
The shopkeep sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I do not joke, serah.” She looked up at him, her face weary. “You've seen what our people face in Kirkwall. They have no jobs, no homes. Most can barely buy bread.” She began to stare into the distance, as if picturing something- or someone. “This healer, he serves them without thought for coin. He's closed their wounds, delivered their children. He's a good man. I won't lose him to the blighted templars.”
“You mean he's a mage?” Hawke asked, surprised. These people knew this Grey Warden was a mage- an apostate- and were willing to protect him. That was… unexpected. Especially with the way people had been blackmailing him and his brother into giving up all their coin every time someone figured out that one of them was an illegal apostate.
Lirene rolled her eyes. “Would I stick my neck out for some purveyor of hensbane and leeches?”
“Oh, perish the thought,” Carver sneered. “Another delicate mage flower.” Hawke restrained the urge to punch him.
“He doesn't want to be locked in the Gallows just for using the gifts the Maker gave him.”
“Your healer is in no danger from me,” Hawke said calmly.
“Right. Perfectly safe if he cooperates.”
Not fucking helping, Carver! The mage didn't need to resist his urge this time- Varric elbowed him in the leg, causing the younger brother to squawk indignantly.
Blessedly, Lirene took no offense. “I suppose it isn't my secret to keep. Anders has certainly been free enough with his services.” She smiled fondly. “Refugees in Darktown know- to find the healer, look for the lit lantern. If you have need enough, Anders will be within.”
On the way out of the store, Hawke paused to drop five sovereigns into the donation box.
—
“Alright, now we know we need to go to Darktown,” Hawke said as they walked. “Let's get-”
“Hey!” A middle-aged man with two nasty looking daggers strapped to his back shouted, approaching with several other armed thugs in tow. “We heard you in there, asking about the healer. We know what happens to mages in this town. And it ain't gonna happen to him.”
Just as Hawke was about to try and diffuse the situation, Carver spoke up.
“You want him safe? Don't pick fights with other Fereldens while the templars are after us all.”
The man balked. “Ferelden? But- you, your clothes- I figured you for a Kirkwaller, sorry. Maker bless the rule of our Queen Anora.” With that, he gave a bow, and the whole group of them walked away. For once, a crisis was averted thanks to Carver.
They continued through Lowtown, keeping an eye out for trouble as they moved towards the entrance to the undercity. Unfortunately, Hawke's poor navigational skills put them on the wrong course again, and they wound up at a dead end. This was typically the exact kind of place the Coterie loved to set up ambushes.
They made to leave the little corner they'd gotten trapped in, only for several armed soldiers to block their exit.
“What the hell?” Carver hissed, drawing his weapon as their party was backed into the alley. “We paid that bastard every cent that he demanded, and he still ratted us out? I'm going to kill him.”
“What bastard?” Varric asked, loading Bianca. Hawke's companions had put themselves between him and the templars, both of them prepared to fight for him. He'd be touched, if he weren't so panicked.
Hawke hadn't fought any templars before; hadn't needed to- anytime he was found out, they'd been able to buy that person's silence- evidently, this time, they'd been double-crossed. He'd heard stories, though- how they had magic of their own, artificially obtained through the consumption of lyrium, and that they could use it to strip a mage of their ability to fight back. He'd heard of magebane- the poison that drained a mage's mana dry until it wore off. He'd heard of their brutality, even towards mages who didn't put up a fight- how they'd kill people just for protecting mages if they felt they had to. He'd be lying to himself if he said he wasn't terrified.
“Hand over the apostate, and maybe the two of you will be spared the punishment for hiding him!” The leader of the pack shouted, pointing at the mage with his sword.
“Not gonna happen, templar.” Carver snarled. “You want my brother, you'll have to go through me.”
Varric turned back to the terrified apostate. “Hawke, your brother and I are going to beat the shit out of these guys. You're going to run. Got it?”
“I- I can't ask you to do that. They'll kill you! I should be fighting them too!”
“You're not asking us. You're going to let us protect you.” Carver said firmly. “I've already lost one sibling- I can't lose you, too. Think of how upset mother would be.”
Hawke's eyes began to sting. It was so rare that his brother expressed affection for him, and this could be the last time he ever saw him.
“Now! Run!”
Carver and Varric charged the templars, giving Hawke just enough room to bolt out of the alley. He moved at a full sprint, possibly faster than he'd ever run before. His lungs screamed for air, and he skidded to a halt for just a second, trying to catch his breath.
He couldn't rest for long- his companions may have caught up the templars in the alley, but they'd brought backup. There were six of them hot on his tail.
Hawke ran through streets and alleys, knocked things over to slow them down, and in a moment of desperation he turned to his magic, coating the ground behind him in a thin sheet of ice. Two of the templars slipped and fell in a heap, a sight he couldn't help but laugh at, but there were still four left.
Seeing the entrance to Darktown up ahead, he took a chance and tried to lose them in the undercity. They took a different path through the dark tunnels and cut him off, so he roasted them with a fireball and took a detour. Four down, two to go.
Hawke turned his head back as he ran, blasting behind him with a spell that would freeze the closer one in her tracks. He hadn't noticed that she was an archer until he felt the arrow pierce his knee. The templar fell, but so did the mage.
Hawke scrabbled to his feet and tried to keep running, but only made it a few feet before collapsing and bashing his head against a wall. One templar remained, slowly stalking towards his prize. With the last of his energy, the apostate laid a lightning trap in front of himself, praying the templar wouldn't notice and step around it.
“You…” the templar panted, “will pay… for making a fool out of me.”
“You didn't need me for that,” Hawke gasped, unable to help himself.
“Oh, so you've got jokes, huh?” The templar sneered. “Let's see how funny you are when we take you to the Gal-LOOOOOWS!” he stepped right on the rune, sending a brutal electric shock through his metal armour and into his body. Hawke was pretty sure he saw smoke coming out of the visor in his helmet.
The tunnel fell quiet, save for the hammering of his heart in his ears, and his panting breath. His head pounded, his whole body numbed with exhaustion, save for his knee. Once the adrenaline began to wear off, he was made painfully aware of the fact that there was an arrow sticking right through it. He gasped, a wave of agony the likes of which he'd never experienced starting from his knee and shooting through his entire leg. A tear pricked the corner of one of his eyes as his breath became ragged.
Through the fog that had settled over him, Hawke could just barely make out hurried footsteps. Without thinking, assuming it was another templar, the wounded apostate fired a bolt of lightning towards the sound.
“Whoa!” Someone shouted. “Easy there. I'm not going to hurt you.”
Hawke blinked. “N-not going to hurt me? You lot just spent the last twenty minutes trying to hurt me!” He shouted, readying another attack.
“I'm not a templar!” The voice insisted, the source of it stepping into view.
The pain had Hawke seeing double, but it was at least clear that this guy wasn't wearing the templar armour- he wore a gray and blue coat with feathered pauldrons. He also appeared to have a stave strapped to his back. So… definitely not a templar, then.
“How-” Hawke shifted, hissing at the pain the movement caused, “how did you find me?”
“I followed a trail of dead templars,” the man stated plainly as he crouched in front of him. “Nice work, by the way. You really gave them a run for their sovereigns.”
“They- they chased me all the way from Lowtown,” Hawke explained through strained breath. “My brother- and our mutual friend, we- we were ambushed. Double-crossed by someone who- who found out I was an apostate and threatened to tell the templars.” The realization that he'd left them behind dawned on him. “Oh Maker, they both told me to run. They held off most of them- I- I should've stayed and- and helped them. What if they're dead?”
“If your brother is even half as strong as you, then I'm sure they made it out of there just fine.” The man reached out towards Hawke's injured leg, causing the younger mage to flinch. “It's alright,” he said gently. “I can help you. Just let me see.”
Hawke found himself frightened for an entirely different reason- he had a… thing about medical stuff. He struggled with receiving treatment of any kind. It made illness and injury even more difficult to deal with. And right now, this kind man was trying to help him, and he was still on edge from his templar encounter, and this was about to go very badly.
The wounded apostate whined nervously and scooted back towards the wall, eyes wide and darting around the tunnel.
“There are no templars around anymore,” the mystery man said calmly, slowly following him. “You can relax. You're safe now.”
Hawke groaned as the pain in his knee grew sharper with every little movement. “O-okay, fine, just- please, get this thing out of me.”
The man hummed in thought, examining the injury carefully. “Not here. It's best we do this in my clinic.”
“I- I can't move…” the younger mage said weakly.
His rescuer chuckled. “You don't have to,” he said, scooping him up in his arms in one smooth motion, as if Hawke were as light as a sack of feathers.
Maker, this guy's strong.
Wait. Did he say clinic? Is this… Anders? The Grey Warden? No wonder.
“‘re you And’rs?” Hawke mumbled drowsily as the man carried him away.
“Hm? Oh. Yes, I am Anders. I suppose it's not surprising you've heard of me.”
“Ha… you f’nd me ‘nst-ead… I was s'posse to find you.” Hawke's eyelids were starting to feel awfully heavy.
“Find me? What do you-” the healer cut himself off as he noticed the other man struggling not to pass out. “Hang on, stay with me. Don't fall asleep just yet.”
The younger mage just groaned as his acknowledgement. Words were too difficult at the moment.
There were voices and noises he didn't recognize as they stepped into… somewhere through a large wooden door.
“Anders!” a woman's voice frantically called. “Templars have been spotted in the undercity!”
“I know,” Anders replied calmly as he laid Hawke down on a cot. “This man was wounded fighting them. They won't come here now.” He started to try and assess the other mage's leg. “I need something to cut this arrow with, clean water, elfroot poultice, and bandages.”
“Of course! Right away,” the woman said as she hurried off to gather the supplies.
Hawke flinched when his leg was touched.
“Shh, easy now. You're alright,” Anders reassured him. “I'll get this arrow out, then clean and close the wound. It won't take long at all.”
Hawke turned his head to look at the healer, studying him with his groggy mind. Pale orange- blonde? hair, angular face, lean build, honey-brown eyes. “Pretty…” Hawke decided, blurting out his thoughts.
Anders blinked a few times, as though trying to register what his patient had just said. “Huh?”
“Y've pr’tty eyes,” the young mage slurred.
The blonde was hesitant to accept the complement from someone in a vulnerable state. “Oh. Uh. Thank you?”
Hawke stared at the ceiling and shut his eyes then, satisfied with the response. “You need’d… to know.”
“I need you to stay awake for just a little while longer,” Anders said, shaking the man's shoulder gently. “I have to check for a concussion.” There was a bleeding cut on his forehead, and his slurred speech indicated a possible cognitive issue.
“Mmkay.” He opened his eyes in time to see a light glimmering at the healer's fingertips, flinching at the brightness.
“Sorry, it's just for a moment. Watch the light- follow it with your eyes.”
Hawke squinted and watched the light dance in his vision, struggling to keep up with it. His pupils did not shrink away from the light as they should.
“Hmm. Tell me your name?”
“Hawke.”
“Good. How about your brother, and your friend?”
He paused a moment, trying to clear up his speech. “Carver and Varric.”
“Your mother?”
“Leandra.” He managed, without slurring.
“And how did you get here?”
“You f’nd me… aft’r I had a… a run-in with the templ’rs.” Full sentences were harder to speak clearly.
“Good. No memory loss. Alright, now I need you to open and close your hands on my signal.” He held up his left hand. “Left.”
The brunette opened and closed his left hand, managing to complete the movement, albeit slowly.
“Good. Right hand.”
Hawke repeated the task with his opposite hand.
“Both hands at once, now.”
He tried to perform the action as instructed, but his dominant hand opened just a second before the other.
“Try that again.”
Once again, he failed to move his hands at the same time.
Anders hummed thoughtfully. “Any ringing in your ears? Nausea?”
Hawke nodded. He did feel rather ill.
“You do have a concussion, I'm afraid. You're going to have to do your best to stay awake- if you sleep right now, you might not wake up.”
Hawke nodded again. That was going to be tricky, but he'd rather not die.
The volunteer returned and set the supplies on a table beside the cot. Anders thanked her and turned his attention to Hawke's leg as she hurried off to help elsewhere in the busy clinic.
“Alright. I'm going to take a closer look at your leg-”
The young mage's eyes widened. He jerked himself away, breathing shallow as he started to panic.
“It's okay, Hawke. You're going to be fine,” the healer said softly, pressing a hand to Hawke's chest to make him lie back down. He assumed the young man's distress was residual, from the attack he'd survived earlier. “You are safe here. They cannot hurt you now.”
Hawke whined and struggled against the hands keeping him in place, unable to think rationally.
Anders sighed and called over his shoulder, “I need assistance over here.” He didn't want to have someone hold the poor thing down, but there was no other option. The arrow had to come out.
Two men strode over to the cot, eyeing the frightened patient critically. “What's the trouble? Need to hold him down?” One of them asked. The panic rose further and took hold in full force.
“Unfortunately. He's had a rough go of it today, and he's concussed, so he can't think clearly. If he moves while I'm removing this blighted arrow, he'll cause more damage.”
“You're alright, kiddo,” one of the men said kindly, planting two hands firmly on his shoulders.
“Anders ain't gonna hurt ya,” the second reassured him, pinning down his legs.
“L-let- let go of me!” Hawke shouted, fighting more strongly. “Let me go!”
“Sorry- no can do, kiddo. You've gotta stay still. Healer's orders.” The first man said apologetically.
“Doesn't it hurt havin’ an arrow stuck in yer knee?” The second asked, looking at the wound. “Sure looks like it does. Anders'll get ye all fixed up, and then ye'll feel better.”
“You're okay, Hawke. This will be quick,” Anders promised. One look at the wickedly sharp dagger in his hand had Hawke's heart feeling like it would burst out of his chest.
“Don't let him move,” the healer instructed his assistants as he grabbed hold of the arrow.
Hawke yelped and tried to thrash as searing pain pierced his knee, but his waning strength was no match for the two men holding him down.
Anders apologized and reassured him, “it will just hurt for a moment.” He used the blade to saw through the arrow's shaft. “I have to do it this way,” he explained, “because pulling it out would cause far more damage to your knee. It will already have torn through your ligaments. No need to make it worse.” In a matter of seconds, he'd cut the arrow in two. “There. Done.”
He set down the dagger and half of the arrow, before grabbing hold of the other. “Alright. On the count of three, I'll pull this out. One… two… three!”
Hawke shouted in pain, the rapid movement sending a shock through his whole leg.
“It's out now,” Anders said softly. “Now it just needs to be cleaned, and then I'll close it up.”
The young mage started to relax, just a little, at the relief he felt without the arrow stuck inside him.
“You can let him go now,” the healer told his assistants.
“You sure? He still seems pretty spooked,” the man holding him by the shoulders said skeptically.
“I'm sure. He'll do fine, now that the worst part is over.”
With that, the two men let him go and left to assist elsewhere.
Hawke's breathing slowed a little, his heartbeat no longer racing painfully. He looked at the blonde with weary teal eyes.
“The rest of this will be much easier,” Anders assured him. “All that's left is to clean the wound, apply the poultice, and then I'll use magic to close it. It should take care of anything internal, as well.”
Hawke still flinched when the healer touched a damp cloth to the wound in his knee, but it wasn't near as intense as his earlier struggling. Anders only needed to hold his leg still with one hand.
“Easy, easy. That's it, just relax.”
The cool water was soothing on the wound, the young mage noted, settling down a little more.
“You're doing great,” Anders said with a smile. “Just hang on a little longer.”
He hissed as he felt the healer coat the wound in something that stung a little.
“Sorry- I'll have to leave that for just a few minutes. It will prevent an infection from setting in once the wound is closed up.”
Hawke nodded and settled down a little more as a bandage was wrapped around his knee. He watched Anders wipe off his bloodied hands with another damp cloth before reaching down and gently grabbing his chin. The younger mage flinched as a third cloth carefully wiped at the cut where he'd bashed his forehead against the wall.
“Hold still." The healer swapped to the poultice and dabbed a little onto the wound, and then finished by laying a small bandage over it. “Good. That should heal just fine on its own. I'll let you rest for a few minutes while the poultice works into your knee, and then I'll be back to close up the wound and deal with any internal damage that arrow caused.”
“Mmkay,” Hawke mumbled, thoroughly exhausted. “Can I sleep?”
Anders hummed. “You were cognitive enough to fight earlier- you should be safe.”
“Okay. Thanks,” the young mage murmured, relieved to finally let his eyelids shut.
—
“Where the hell is he?!” Carver shouted as he and the rogue scoured Lowtown. “Fáelán!”
“Maybe he tried to lose them in the undercity?” Varric suggested. “We've checked all over here. Twice.”
“He'd better not have gotten himself captured,” the warrior grumbled. “We were nearly killed covering his escape.”
“You say that as if it wasn't your idea to begin with,” the dwarf pointed out. “He might have been fine if he'd stayed.”
“Might have isn't good enough.” Carver said firmly.
“Aww, little Hawke,” Varric teased, “you do love your big brother after all.”
“I told you not to call me that!” The younger brother shouted indignantly, prompting a hearty laugh from his companion.
“Come on, let's go check Darktown. If he's not there, we'll head to the Docks.”
—
Hawke groaned, blinking sleep out of his eyes as he awoke from his nap, feeling marginally better than he had earlier.
His head was still throbbing from the spot on his forehead where he'd hit it, and his knee was still aching, but that sharp, terrible pain from the arrow was gone.
“Oh, you're awake!” A woman exclaimed, and he winced at the volume of her voice. “I'll go fetch the healer- he said to tell him as soon as you woke up.”
He stayed on his back, but did decide to take a look around him. Patients were laid up in the cots, accompanied by their friends or family. Volunteers bustled around, taking care of patients who didn't require magical aid. And then there was Anders, using his spirit healing on an unconscious woman. Hawke propped himself up on his elbows to watch the magic swirled around and into her, utterly mesmerized.
He'd seen spirit healing before- he was a spirit healer, albeit a pretty amateur one, especially compared to Anders. There was something a little different about the way the man's magic worked, though; it seemed more powerful, as though he had an even deeper connection with the spirits than was typical for this school of magic.
The magic lifted the woman just a few inches from the cot and gently laid her back down, after which she opened her eyes. The man who accompanied her, relieved, hurried over, while the healer staggered away. A volunteer caught him, patting him on the back while he recovered from the toll the healing had taken on him.
Two people had entered the clinic, hovering at the door and watching while he worked.
Wait… Hawke realized as he watched the chaos unfold, that looks like… Carver!
The healer's eyes flashed blue and he whipped around, brandishing his staff at the intruders. “I have made this place a sanctum of healing and salvation- why do you threaten it?!”
Hawke jumped from his cot, wincing as the pressure on his bad knee sent a jolt of pain through his entire leg. He hurriedly limped over to Anders, ignoring the way it worsened with every step. “Wait! I know them!”
Anders relaxed and turned to his patient. “Hawke? You're not supposed to be walking,” he frowned disapprovingly.
“I just didn't want you to fight my brother,” the younger mage explained, a little embarrassed at the chiding.
"Brother!” Carver exclaimed, striding over to him. “Where the hell have you been?!”
“Um… here?”
“When we couldn't find you after we dispatched those templars, Junior here thought they'd taken you in. He's been worried sick.” Varric smiled fondly.
“You have?” Hawke turned to Carver, a little surprised. “That's… really sweet.” He grinned cheekily.
“Why'd you have to go and tell him that?” Carver groaned. “Now he's going to be insufferable.”
The dwarf just laughed. “So, it looks like you found our Grey Warden. Nice work, Hawke.”
“Actually, he found me,” Hawke corrected. “Some of the templars followed me to Darktown, and one of them shot me in the knee. I've been at the clinic ever since he brought me here.”
“You seem to be recovering cognitively,” Anders said, turning his attention to the young apostate. “You couldn't string four words together without slurring before.” He began to walk over to the cot where Hawke had been resting. “Come sit back down and I'll take another look at that leg. Hopefully you didn't do any damage by putting weight on it so soon.”
Hawke followed, feeling oddly at ease in spite of where he was. Normally he'd find it more difficult to cooperate with a doctor of any kind, magic or no. Perhaps he just wanted his knee to feel better. He laid down when instructed and tried not to flinch when his knee was touched. Carver and Varric followed at a distance.
“Be still now,” Anders said. “I'm just going to remove the bandage.”
Hawke shut his eyes tight and concentrated as much as possible on lying still, as the bandage was carefully removed. He held his breath and waited for it to hurt, only to be pleasantly surprised that it did not.
“That's it.” The healer was smiling, when Hawke opened his eyes- a calm, gentle expression that made the young mage feel warm.
The wound was gently wiped with a damp cloth, to remove excess poultice and any leftover blood. He did flinch when the tender spot was touched, but he was firmly kept in place with one hand on his thigh.
“Alright,” Anders said, sounding satisfied with the work the poultice had done. “Stay completely still, please.”
Hawke watched the blue-white glow of spirit magic manifest in the healer's hands. This close, he could definitely tell there was an exceptionally powerful spirit providing its aid to Anders. The light swirled about his injured leg, enveloping the knee and melting into torn flesh. It itched a little as it healed him.
A few moments later, the glow receded, and the wound beneath was gone. He'd done the same to himself plenty of times, but to heal a wound that had gone right through a delicate joint- that took serious skill. If he were a little more cognizant, he'd consider that Anders must have learned in the circle, and therefore must have fled the circle, just like his father had. Hawke was still concussed, though; thoughts weren't coming to him quite as well as they normally would.
“You'll need to be careful with that knee,” the healer instructed him. “I've healed the damage, but if you don't rest while it's still weakened, you're at risk for reinjury, which could cause permanent complications. I'm sure the last thing you want is to be limping for the rest of your life.”
“I will try to be careful, but I really can't afford to sit around and do nothing,” Hawke said honestly. “If I don't have enough coin the next time some bastard threatens to rat me out to the templars, my brother and I will be attacked again.”
Anders sighed, a look of understanding on his face. “Just… keep off it as much as you can. You're young and otherwise healthy; it should only need about a week of caution, but if you strain it-”
“Okay, okay, he gets the picture!” Carver interrupted. “We've important things to discuss, if you're quite finished.”
Anders shot him a glare over his shoulder. “Is he… always like that?” He asked quietly.
Hawke chuckled. “Yeah. One of his many charms.”
The young apostate remained seated on the cot while Carver and Varric came closer, so they could discuss their expedition with the supposed Warden. He had a feeling this man was going to be more involved than they'd initially expected, when they set out to ask him how to get to the Deep Roads.