faderift | [Semi-closed] A tisket, a tasket

It has taken them weeks to get used to his presence. He does not fault them- their caution is well-suited to the current state of affairs, and he can be... alarming. But time and routine have calmed the Alienage residents, if not convinced them of his harmlessness.

The elflings are his unabashed favorites. With so few of them in Skyhold and none to speak of in the Ashara clan, he has not had the chance to see them. That there are fewer- that their parents watch them so closely- that does not escape him.

The little girl walks a blonde Man over. Thranduil has no trouble recalling his name, and stands to meet him.

"Is this your little bird?" he says to her, then to him: "You are correct."

The girl giggles and 'hides' behind Anders, getting a warm smile from Anders in the process. "Thank you," he tells her with a gentle hand-squeeze, before he turns his attention back to Thranduil.

"She is, yes. I've known her and her mother for quite some time." He'd helped deliver her, years back, when she'd decided to arrive in the middle of shopping in Lowtown with no time for her mother to get back to the alienage. His expression goes serious.

"Though it's other former patients that have brought me here. One of them has a chronic condition and we've a regular appointment. He's not missed a one except now he's missed three in a row, and he's not the only one. Do you, have you found anything?"

Thranduil weighs his need for aid against Anders' reputation and his own disinclination towards dragging Men into the matters of elves. Anders is unforturnate in that his reputation precedes him, but lucky in finding Thranduil in need of aid.

He kneels, and waits until the little girl peeks out from behind Anders' legs to murmur to her.

"You should go find your mother, little one. I imagine she's worried."

He waits until he sees her unite with a much larger elf, and then he rises. With a motion for Anders to follow, he sets off for the entrance of the Alienage, matching his steps to Anders' stride.

"How apparent was his condition? Would you have known him to be ill by looking at him?"

Anders follows quickly, hesitating for a few moments at the questions. The elf had been his patient and he hates giving out information about his patients, especially when they're elves or mages. There's no telling what might be used against them. But this is another elf, albeit a Rifter one, and there's a chance the info might help.

"No. He'd a bleeding condition - when he started bleeding it wouldn't stop naturally - but he was careful and kept up his health in other ways. I helped him do so. And the other missing ones..." Anders trails off and mentally goes through them. "None of them looked particularly ill. Why? What are you thinking?"

"Take umbrage with my logic, but-- would you settle for an ill elf if all you needed was a body?" He's not unaware of Kirkwall's histories, and while he disagrees with the general statement of 'mages are evil', he's not particularly moved by the cause. If these elves are being taken for blood magic, any elf would do. And yet--

"Only healthy elves are going missing."

Anders frowns, mind more on what's happened to healthy-looking disappearing elves in Thedas' recent history.

"You think they're being sold as slaves." Kirkwall had multiple reputations, and City of Chains had multiple meanings. It worries Anders that they might be in hostile hands, especially his patients. People who can deal with owning others aren't compassionate.

"The Guard may be a needed stop, in that case, to find out more about their patrols on the docks." He's half speaking to himself. Anders knows how to run a network to get people out. He doesn't know anything about stopping one.

"I think there is something methodical happening here," he notes. Something large enough that the race of the missing could be cast aside for long enough to bring in authorities of some sort.

The Alienage has to be close to breaking. This many cannot go missing without someone being willing to speak, or someone's cook or seamstress getting caught in the net.

"You think they've left the city?" The Docks are the only way out, but they may not be imprisoned there.

"If they're looking for slaves, they're not going to keep them in Kirkwall. Even the assholes who wish they could still have slaves know they'd not be able to get away with it long, not with people from here. Smuggling in and out are how they'd keep themselves safe." The last word is delivered mockingly. People are people, except for those who use and abuse others. That group needs to pay.

"And I would like to believe word is spreading that injustice is not acceptable in Kirkwall, but that could be too much to hope for."

Darktown is learning. Aboveground hasn't been made to care enough just yet.

"How many ships leave for Tevinter in a week, officially?" Beleth knows that one Rifter from down by the docks, and Gwenaelle may well be able to open ledgers that he cannot access. It is not a full plan, but is is something, and he knows Anders will not be able to answer the question.

"Your missing patient- do you have any of his blood?"

Not for blood magic, though he doesn't bother to make the connection. Even if only slightly wounded, he'd bleed a great deal, and the slavers would not be gentle with him. If they were to bring a Mabari down to the docks--

"I couldn't tell you how many ships leave." He exhales. "I also don't have any of his blood. I've no reason to keep any of his blood."

Thranduil is a Rifter, which is the only reason Anders doesn't feel worried by the question. He's not being set up for a trap there.

"Are you thinking... What are you thinking with the blood?" Because it occurs to him that, also due to rifter status, Thranduil likely doesn't know about phylacteries so isn't asking to track in that way.

"A good hound may well be able to point to wherever he was kept. If a minor wound would bleed freely, and he was not treated kindly, then we have a trail to follow," he explains. "His family will have an article of clothing with his scent, to confirm whatever blood they found was his.

(Surely the docks cannot be so violent that there was that much elven blood about.)

"The Inquisition ought to have tracking hounds."

"A hound. Yes, of course." That makes a lot of sense, and there's no danger to either of them bringing it up. For a brief moment he hesitates, glancing in the direction of the elf's house before he chooses. Patient confidentiality is less important than the patient's life.

"This way." Anders changes directions. "He lives this way, and let's get the clothing first, then we can get the hounds. At the very least I know where we can find a very small mabari who can still get the job done." Lady isn't bonded with him, she won't respond to him the way she does his husband, but she still likes him and will probably be glad to do the job.

The house is only a few minutes away, and his patient's wife recognizes him. There's not always a welcome for a human in the alienage but his determination to help is starting to spread, and it gets them his patient's pillowcase.

"Let's see if they've hounds?" Thranduil might have a better idea of where those would be, if the Inquisition does have them. Anders pays attention to the cats.

Thranduil waits behind Anders as he goes into the patient's house, and falls into step beside him as they make their way out of the Alienage and into the streets that will take them to the docks to the Gallows.

It is a roundabout trip, and Thranduil cannot help but loathe the speed of the ships, of coaxing the kennelmaster into loaning them a bitch. At least she understands what he wants- a low murmur of words once they're beyond the eyes of anyone else at the Gallows. Mabari are smarter than anything else he's encountered in Thedas, understand him nearly as well as the birds of his Halls.

He gestures to Anders once he's sure she understands and they're on the boat again.

[Semi-closed] A tisket, a tasket

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