Chapter Text
In her gear, Hawke’s gait was purposeful and solid. The shield slung over her shoulder clicked against the back piece of her plackart with each step. She grasped the hilt of her blade and tried her best, in vain, to draw little attention to herself.
Threatened by the notion of walking through Darktown unaccompanied, even if it were broad daylight, Hawke journeyed out in the majority of her armour sans her helmet, gauntlets and heavy supply satchel. She saw a few familiar faces, however most stirred unease in her gut. Wrapped away in layers of armour and pressed metal, she kept her line of sight straight ahead and did not grant anyone a second-glance of her frowning face as she made her way to the hidden clinic.
Reaching the tall, battered doors, she placed a leather gloved hand on the decaying wood and pushed. She hoped to enter as quietly as she possibly could.
In hindsight, Hawke could understand why the sudden appearance of an armour-clad mercenary struck fear in a few of the assistants’ hearts. She was quick to release the white-knuckled grip she held on her sword and relaxed her posture the best she could, offering an unsure smile to the assistant she had met and conversed with on occasion when collecting the local healer for her “errands”.
“How can we help you?” asked Hedric the older Ferelden nurse with a smile as he walked over wiping his hands on his tattered apron, “did you need to whisk Anders away on yet another traipse through the Deep Roads?”
“No, no, not this time,” the warrior laughed, “I just wanted to speak with him a moment if it wasn’t too much of a nuisance.”
Easing her stance, Hawke allowed her shoulders to fall and shifted her weight to her left hip ever so slightly and glanced about the clinic. Hedric and the other head assistant Valerie, the quieter of the two, had dropped their tasks to greet their familiar guest. A few cots, but not most, were occupied. Potions, ingredients, bandages and what have you were strewn about the beaten-up infirmary on every available surface. A couple of patients are looking at her.
“He’s tending to birth outside of the clinic currently, but should be back soon if you’d like to wait,” Hedric explains, shuffling his feet in mild impatience, “I must get back to preparing these salves, if you’ll excuse me.” Turning on his heel, the dark-haired man returns to his station to the North of the room without hesitation. Valerie opens her mouth to say something, but decides against it and leaves also.
Not wanting to feel further like an intruder, Hawke keeps to the doorway and paces in a small circle, counting the missing nails in the boards beneath her feet. However this does not last long as she becomes alarmingly aware of how obnoxious the clanging of her metal suit must be to those resting in the clinic, and sets to removing some of her gear. She props her blade and shield against the corner where the walls meet, the armour covering her trunk joins it. Ultimately, she decides to remove everything bar her greaves and vambraces, and resumes hovering around the doorway in her leather padding and chainmail.
It’s around twenty minutes when the rugged healer returns, short of breath. He looks exhausted, his hair messier than usual, eyes more sunken than she last remembered. Anders sees her as soon as he steps in the door and flashes a tired, toothless smile her way, but continues into the clinic with his rucksack in hand. Hedric and one of the younger nurses hurry to meet him. Taking the heavy bag from his hand, the two asking him how things went and give an update on any changes in his patients.
Hawke waits quietly in her draughty corner, now leaning against the wall. She watches the exchange momentarily but averts her eyes when the three briefly look to her, now engrossing herself in counting what nails the floorboards do possess, seeing as that was easier to count. She brings her attention up as the ex-Warden approaches, arms somewhat held out in greeting.
“What brings you here?” he asks, a smile evident in his drained voice. Stopping just before her, Anders rests his hands on his hips and meets Hawke’s eyes with ease.
“I wanted to ask if there was any way I could help out around here, hopefully learn a bit about first aid and healing.” She notices the way her friend lifts his jaw slightly in question, the corner of his mouth tugging up.
“Do you hope that if you learn all my tips and tricks you’ll be able to omit me from your adventures?” Anders teases, “I’d gladly do so if it means you don’t drag me into the Deep Roads. Once was enough with the Wardens, and again with you is not something I’d like to revisit.” Hawke shrugs.
“I have more time on my hands. I’d like to do something useful with it.”
“Oh I’m sure there’s many useful things you can with your hands and some time that I’d like to see, sweetheart” the man sniggers dryly, and turns his sight to thoughtfully look about the room seemingly to seriously consider her offer. The muscle in his neck tenses slightly. Hawke wonders whether it’s Justice’s silent retort.
“I suppose you couldn’t do too much damage with helping prepare some balms.” Musing quietly to himself, Anders looks about the room and continues to converse with himself aloud briefly. A decided “humph” is what draws Hawke from the world she had zoned off to while granting Anders some privacy with himself. He gestures for her to follow him, and leads her to a sectioned off corner of the clinic. It is predominantly shelves with different vials and tubs seemingly arranged in some apparent order.
“You can help me extract some elfroot. I’m running low on burn salves and might as well do that now,” the mage explains as he reaches up and pulls some items from the top shelf. Passing a large half-full flask and sealed tub to Hawke, Anders grabs a couple more things from the other shelves and leads her now to his desk.
“Pull up a seat.”
He removes his feathered pauldrons, sitting the heavy garment over the back of his chair, rolls up his sleeves. He gathers a handful of papers that are strewn across the ink-stained wood and shoves them into a box which he then kicks underneath the table before taking a seat. Setting down the items he retrieved, Anders grabs the flask and carton from Hawke before she fetches a crate to perch herself on beside him.
“Elfroot is stored in a dry container,” the blonde man explains, opening the tub Hawke was previously holding and pulling out a cut plant to show her, “to extract it you need to crush it up with a mortar and pestle.” Grabbing the stone bowl sitting at the far edge of his weathered desk, Anders breaks up the dried plant and drops it in. The pestle grates against the stone and makes short work of the herb.
“It’ll release a pleasant fragrance if it’s left to dry for long enough.” Hawke leans forward to inhale the smell as Anders offers the bowl to her, and gives an acknowledging nod before the healer further continues his lesson. He scrapes the small amount of paste into another bowl and hands the mortar and pestle to Hawke.
“If you can grind some more of the elfroot for me, I’ll mix the liquids we’ll use to help it keep longer.”
She takes the tools from his warm hands with a smile and dumps a small handful of elfroot into the stone bowl and sets to work, stopping momentarily to watch Anders as he carefully pours two blue coloured liquids into a clean jar. Deep in thought, he swirls the contents and sniffs if briefly before adding a pinch of a red powder, caps the jar and shakes it leisurely until the grit dissolves and the colour settles as a murky blue-grey. He glances at the broad woman beside him when he realises she’s no longer working and smiles at her.
“Are you done or are you too busy admiring my profile?” Anders asks with a wry smile, his eyes narrowing in the expression.
“Trying to figure out how many times your nose has been broken,” comes Hawke’s flat reply; her slight smile the only telling hint to her humour. She leans forward slightly to inspect his face.
“Hah, I’ll have you know it only happened twice,” he pouts, “Templars. Works well with my “handsomely rugged aesthetic”.” Hawke snorts at this.
“What?”
“You’re crazy, you know that, right?” Hawke receives a snide eyeroll in response.
“Only for you,” Hawke thought she heard him say. When she looks to him he is turned away, seemingly drowning once more in his preparations. She sighs and returns to the task at hand.
Together, they sit as the noise of the clinic dies down over the hours; engrossed in their class nestled away at the back of the clammy infirmary. The two exchange questions and banter comfortably, both enjoying one anothers’ company. In a time of growing political and civil tensions, it was refreshing to lose oneself in the presence of a trusted friend.
For uncounted hours they worked until Valerie, the shy nurse, nervously intruded and excused herself; informing Anders that it was late and she should go home now while it’s safest; that today’s patients had all been tended to and dismissed. She pushed a lock of auburn hair behind her freckled ear. Uneasy as she mumbled, Valerie handed the healer a list of everything that had been used today so he’d know what would require restocking.
He turned a warm gaze to her. “Hm, thank you,” Anders nodded in appreciation while taking the parchment from her young balm-stained fingers. “You ought to get going now while the sun is still up. I want you getting home safe.” Slinging the discoloured bag of hers over her shoulder, the nurse gave a small wave as she exited the clinic.
“You should get going too.”
Hawke’s eyes were still on the door that the young nurse -- she was probably a few years older than her, but not by much -- had made her exit from, but dragged her line of sight to settle on the weathered man leisurely sitting beside her.
“For all your heavy armour, I doubt you’d survive a coterie ambush at night,” Anders states, absentmindedly running his hand across his stubbled jaw and up to tug at his once-pierced lobe. Hawke regards his features momentarily.
A muffled clink of a topped-up vial and the warrior rises from her makeshift seat. “I’m sure mother will be after my whereabouts.” Hawke feigns and exasperated sigh before she kicks the empty box she perched herself on, back under the table and heads over to her piled armour by the large doorway. She heaves the metal plackart over her shoulders and begins strapping herself in with trained ease. By the time Anders finishes returning his herbs and crockery to their proper homes, Hawke is hoisting her shield across her back and turns to him with a, somewhat weary, grin.
“Thank you for today. You’re an excellent tutor,” Hawke chortles in sincerity, pulling the strap on her sheath. “It’s always great to know what awful things go into those shitful tasting poultices of yours.”
“If they taste any worse in coming treks, it is because you had a hand in it, sweetheart,” he retorts with crossed arms and a cocked brow.
“If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to help out again; I think it best be wise I learn some more about the medical field considering my, uh, career, I suppose you’d call it.”
“Plan to become a spirit healer yourself and boot me from my position as head doctor in your little entourage?”
“Oh, yes,” she sneers with her hand pressed to the door, “most definitely.”
“I will let Valerie and Hedric know to expect you. Just stand around the doorway and look like a well dolled up bodyguard if I’m not here. It’ll scare off the gangs.”
“You just want me for my body. I should be charging you more, Anders!”
“Your personality outshines your buffed and plated ego. And I pay you with my patience and company. Now off with you, before it’s dark and I have to organise you somewhere to sleep else you be knifed as soon as you’re out the door.”
The two share a laugh before Hawke shoulders the wooden door open with a whine of the rusted hinges. A dusty, cold draught greets her; she squints her dark eyes, raises a hand to shield them and glances back.
“Stay safe, Anders.”
“You too, Hawke.”