Chapter Text
Anders kept on walking. His horse was trailing behind him, occasionally bumping him with her muzzle. She was good company and had cost him next to nothing. Considering the condition that she had been in, the farmer had been mostly happy to be rid of her. Anders had walked her some ways off from the farm and then spent the afternoon easing her pains with his magic. Her crooked legs couldn’t be helped, but Anders was determined to keep her healthy and pain free.
That was why he was now walking beside her instead of riding. There had been patrols on the roads, and Anders felt it was better to stay off the beaten path. However, the terrain continued to become more difficult the closer he got to the Antivan border. It was not safe to ride here, but the mare could, at least, carry his packs. The Minanter River was not far now. Anders would have to find a safe place to cross, a bridge with no patrols or a natural crossing, shallow enough for the mare to manage. Alone, Anders would have had more options, but he would be damned to lose the horse.
Anders stopped for a moment to fix his boot, and felt the mare’s warm breath on his neck again. He found himself thinking of Hawke’s mabari. The slobbery beast had grown on him, and Anders hoped he was alright. Anders had not heard any news from Kirkwall.
It was late in the afternoon when Anders reached the top of a hill, and saw a small cabin on the slope. It had a chimney, so it was made for someone to sleep in, but it didn’t really look like a proper home. A summer hut for a shepherd, maybe? There were no signs of life. Anders decided to risk it.
*
Dorian felt cold. Hadn’t he just been too hot? Had he kicked off his blanket? Where was it? He reached out in search of it, but his arm swung wildly and collided painfully with the wooden edge of the cot. Oh. He was not in his room in Tevinter, was he? He was somewhere else, where the air was cold, and his blanket was missing. He felt himself shiver. Oh, well. This whole experience was hardly real and would end soon enough. Dorian tried for a shaky laugh, but it did not come out right. Was he dreaming? Maybe there was a demon. A despair demon, perhaps, trying to get to him. Dorian took a deep breath and tried to focus. He should cast a ward. He opened his eyes, lifted his head a bit and reached for the Fade. It was like stepping down a stair, only to notice that the staircase had disappeared. The lurching feeling in Dorian’s stomach forced him to close his eyes again and fall back onto the hard cot. Waves of panic shook him. The Fade was not there. In its place was a slippery feeling of nausea, that he was unable to get a hold of and that was impossible to escape. He heard a wailing sound, but he couldn’t think about that, couldn’t do anything but to turn to his side and curl up. He was sweating again.
*
Anders left the mare tied to a tree some distance away from the hut. He crept to a window in the back wall, and looked in through a gap in the shutters. The building did indeed seem to be a shepherd’s hut. In the dim light he could see a bench, some buckets and a small chest. Tools and rope hung from a wall next to the door. It would be easy enough to climb in through the window, but Anders was sure the door would be unlocked. There was no point in trying to keep anybody out.
Then he heard the sound, a muffled moan.
Oh, Andraste’s arse, what now?
*
Anders cast barriers on himself and on his damn horse, and warded the whole vicinity of the hut. Then he poked the door open with his staff. Nothing. He couldn’t hear the sound anymore, but that could just be because of the blood ringing in his ears. He stepped inside. This was exactly how they would get him.
This is how I die, he thought, resigned. Justice was a crackling, nervous presence under his skin. His blue glow illuminate the hut. Below the window was a narrow cot, and on it a person. He was curled up in the dark corner of the room, so Anders couldn’t have seen him from the window.
“Alright. Whatever it is, let’s just get it over with.”
No reply. Anders sighed. He would have to go over there and see what was wrong with the person. All sorts of unpleasant possibilities came to mind.
It only took him two steps to reach the cot.
“Hello? Are you alive? I’m here to help.” Or not. It was infinitely more possible Anders was here to kill or get killed. Maybe best not to mention that.
He took hold of the person’s shoulder. Shaking it only resulted in a faint whimper. The sound was human, at least. Anders took a deep breath and turned the person onto their back.
It was a man. His dark skin was ashen and dirty. His eyes were open, but he wasn’t looking at Anders. At least he appeared normal enough. Anders sent out a pulse of magic, searching for the cause of the man’s illness. The resulting wave of nausea was unmistakable. And really, they were very close to Antiva.
“So, who poisoned you, huh?” Anders muttered. “Sorry. Going to have to jostle you a little.” He arranged the stranger so that he was lying flat on his back. He was a big man. Luckily, Anders had more to him than met the eye. He placed his hands on the man’s stomach, one atop the liver and the other over the intestine. After a few minutes, he had to stop and rest. This was no ordinary poisoning. Some of the substances in the man’s blood gave way to Anders’ magic easily enough, but something resisted the spell. There was a weird feeling of emptiness, like if he was pouring his magic down a drain. Shit.
“Magebane. Why couldn’t you have been some merchant who ripped off the wrong Antivan? I bet you’re from Tevinter. Well, you are my patient now, so no blood magic or virgin sacrifices allowed.”
Anders cursed himself for ever going near the cabin.
*