faderift | [Open] The Boys Are Back In Town

The walking wounded parade into the city, and Nathaniel stands to watch. It's the first time he has prayed in years. He bargains with the Maker--if Anders has returned, he will be a pious man, he will never doubt the Maker again, all sorts of rubbish he knows he won't keep. His hands shake, and it's not the withdrawals this time. Every time his eyes catch a head of golden hair, he hopes, then is crushed. All times except for one.

Then he's moving, shoving through the crowd, heedless of anyone but the man he's clearing a path toward, calling Anders' name.

Anders, someone says, and it doesn't register at first. There'd been shouts of that on the field as Anders forces attacked and slaughtered people, mutters of it on the way home, and the anger behind the word hadn't actually been directed at him. It hadn't been much of a relief.

Then the sound of it, emotions that weren't negative, starts to sink in. Anders stops his plodding progress and is promptly run into by someone else as lost in thought as he'd been a moment ago. There's a blank faced exchange of apologies before Anders is pushing through and looking for whomever was speaking, feeling a little spark of hope because he thinks he knows who it is. The crowd shifts and Anders sees Nate's face, and relief breaks through the exhaustion. He takes a shaky breath and reaches for his husband, wanting Nate's arms around him so badly his chest aches.

Strong arms are flung around Anders, crushing him against his chest while Nathaniel presses a kiss to his hair, soft and fragrant silk. He's solid, he's breathing, he's alive and he's back. Nathaniel is only willing to part from him far enough to kiss him. When the embrace finally relaxes, there are tears in his eyes.

"Are you hurt?" he asks hoarsely.

He winces as Nate grabs him, and then relaxes into the hold despite the pain. He's home. Nathaniel is his home and he's safe here. The embrace goes on for quite some time but Anders doesn't protest, simply leans against his husband with one side.

"A little, but I'm going to deny it if you try to tell anyone," he says tiredly. "I just want to be in our room with you for a time, and it's not like my life's in danger." Anymore. "Please?" If Nate turns him in he really can't fight it. He doesn't have the energy for that battle, and he can't justify being a pain in the ass to another healer or even a doctor with all they've had to deal with. Anders sorely hopes his husband will take pity on him.

Nathaniel hesitates for a long time, loath to risk the love of his life when he just got him back, but protecting Anders means more than one thing. He takes his hand without a word and winds him through the crowd. Anders won't even have to think about it, or worry about finding his way. Once they're away from the bulk of them, Nathaniel speaks again.

"Do you need me to carry you?" he asks, as they near the ferry at the docks.

There's a little guilt to resting that call on Nate's shoulders, but Anders already made it himself days ago and it's a relief when it seemingly stands. Being the patient is difficult when some in the infirmary think he should be dead; being the patient when resources and moods are this low would be a special sort of challenge he does not want to bear.

Speaking of bearing. Anders shakes his head at the question. Want, maybe a little. Need? "I can manage. And the worse of the two is my side, so I'd have to deal with the pain of that pressed against you or your hand would be bearing my weight near it. It's all right, love. You're here. I need that."

The boat arrives and is full quickly. Few particularly like the Gallows, but it has fires and food and blankets so it's welcome anyway. Anders takes a seat on the edge so he can't be bumped in the side and as soon as Nate's seated leans against his husband, drinking up the physical contact as much as he can.

Nathaniel rests his cheek gently against Anders' hair, arms around him avoiding his wounded side. For a moment, the rest of the world falls away--they are safe, they are together. Nothing else matters at this moment.

"Bath first, or quarters?" he asks as they near the shore. "Less climbing the stairs if we go straight to the baths. I can fetch you soap and a towel." Though both can probably be scavenged in the baths.

He looks down at himself before answering, but it's far from the hardest decision he's ever made.

"Bath." Being clean will mean he can sleep better, and no one headed straight for the baths is going to be judging injuries. "It's been days, and I can't imagine how you're holding me with how I have to smell. They set my tent on fire." As if smoke is the worst of it, but it's one of thousands of small wounds from the battlefield that have him upset. The healer's tents would always be a target in war, but it's wrong in his opinion. The injured should get a break, and that's a rant he will likely never fully voice. By the time things have gone that bad, there are worse matters.

"I'll amble toward them if you don't mind the fetching, though there should be supplies down there. One would think this would be anticipated." One would also think they could have anticipated how badly things had turned.

"Of course. I'll help." Nathaniel is less concerned with the smell and more with Anders feeling like a human being again. And it's not a long trip, helping his husband to the heated templar tower bath. Once they are there, he immediately sets about for supplies, letting Anders undress himself in the meantime.

"Do you need help into the water, darling?"

"Um." The question comes as he's pulled the bandage on his side off and is looking it over, so he's a little distracted. The bruising is magnificent, larger than before, and that probably means something's not right in there yet, but he's not feeling too weak. It can wait until after the bath and him settled in.

"I'd not mind a hand, actually." He frowns down at his foot and the lingering crackled burn pattern from lightning. Stairs as he exposes that to water could be... complicated. He holds out an arm with an apology in his eyes - he hates being weak, but there's guilt to that hatred when his weakness needs someone to make an extra effort for him.

Nathaniel returns with soap in hand and a towel slung over his shoulder. He tries not to let his gaze linger on the burn, on the bruises and the wound in his side, but he can't help but see. He covers his reaction by pressing a kiss to Anders' cheek as he helps him into the bath, but Anders might see the flash of dismay before the kiss. He doesn't doubt his husband spent his time and energy on others rather than himself. Well. That's what he has a husband for.

Once Anders is in the water, Nathaniel starts to undress himself. It'll be easier to wash Anders if he is in the bath himself.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks quietly.

He sinks in, ignoring the sting of his injuries for the sake of hot water easing the aches of his muscles. Maybe he should just stay here for a few hours until he turns into a raisin, he thinks briefly.

"I..." Words normally come easily to him, but Maker. After a bit of thought Anders exhales and shakes his head, though not in denial. "I hardly know where to start. We lost, Nate. We lost utterly."

His voice is low. Sound carries over water. He thinks there are enough people here talking quietly that he won't be overheard, but the way he's looking down and his shoulders are a little slumped it might not be hard to guess at what he's saying.

"I haven't seen a slaughter like that before. A rout like that. I don't know how we beat a Blight's worth of Darkspawn along with two countries full of people and more going to his side. I don't know how we take that down. The Darkspawn alone are... but then he has the Anders, Nate, and the Vints, and elephants. There's ridiculous, and then let's not forget he has a bloody dragon on top of that. I can't..." He exhales heavily. "We lost so many. So very many. They came to the tents and died, and then even the tents were overwhelmed and we ran."

Nathaniel steps into the water and sits at his husband's side, wrapping his arms around him.

"I know," he whispers. "The news traveled fast. I'd just arrived when the ravens were sent. I wish I had been there."

Granted, he is still quite frail after being cured. But he could have done something, surely. After a moment, he releases Anders and takes up the bar of soap, beginning to work it into a lather.

He sags against Nate as long as he can, holding him back and trying to calm his emotions. By the time Nate's helping him get clean Anders at least only looks tired.

"I'm glad you weren't," he admits quietly. "It was hard enough leaving the field while people were dying behind us. If I'd not known where you were, I don't know that I could have left."

"It's a fair point," Nathaniel says thoughtfully. He begins to soap Anders' back, taking the time to gently massage tight muscles while steering clear of bruising. "I was terrified when I heard the news. I didn't know where you were, and had no way of finding out if you survived. I might have pledged the Maker a life of service if you came back in one piece. I doubt he'll hold me to it."

He'd thought the hot water was a mix of pain and relief, but Nate's hands working the knots out of his back take that to a whole new level. Anders braces himself against the wall of the baths and breathes out, letting his world narrow down to this for now.

"The Maker hears nothing." Heresy has always come easily to his tongue. "I doubt He even noticed your pledge, or could tell one Anders from another. If He ever tries to claim the debt we'll just point at all of my dead countrymen and say you meant that one, shame He botched this too."

If anything, Corypheus' rise gave even more credence to the notion that the Maker was long-gone. What god would let someone drive them out of their own city and then run amok all over their creation too? If Anders was a god he certainly wouldn't let that stand.

"I'm sorry for terrifying you," he adds a little belatedly. "We couldn't risk the crystals, but I missed their presence and the ability to talk with you. I missed you most of all. But perhaps it could come as some comfort knowing that so many things and people have tried to kill me and I'm still here."

"That is true," Nathaniel muses, focusing the pressure on a particularly hard knot in Anders' shoulder. "You might be the least killable person there is. And so long as you survive, you can regroup with people and try again. Pour your research into creating a weapon against the red darkspawn and templars. There are other Great Dragons, we know that and we know, generally, where they may be. There must be something that could work. And I will be by your side. I'm joining the Inquisition as a diplomat."

That hurts. He makes a strained almost-whimper, bowing his head, and then the knot is gone.

"Ambassador Howe," he breathes out, testing it. "I like it. And people don't stab at ambassadors nearly as often as they do Wardens, so I like it even more."

He shoots Nate a faint smile over his shoulder. "I'm hoping to find a chance to use Cosima's microscope to take a look at the Great Dragon blood. Maybe I'll be able to see whatever it is that makes it different, and then from there... I don't know. But she may have an idea. Her people have a thing to see tiny things, they have to have ways to do things to the tiny things."

There it is. The lighthearted statement makes Nathaniel feel better about Anders' state of mind. Maybe they can work up to a joke.

"Like with the blood parasites?" A grim look. "It's a pity we've none of those left, to sic on the enemy. But maybe the dragon blood will help. It seems like a good thing to look into, at least. If three out of the four Wardens died, imagine what would happen to darkspawn."

"Blood sharks, love. It's the technical term and it's important." It's not, and it isn't. But he's bound and determined to keep 'blood sharks' alive because it makes a difficult time far easier to reflect on.

"But yes, sort of. We didn't harness the sharks, we banished them. I was thinking of harnessing whatever it is in Great Dragon blood, but if we could banish something needed from Darkspawn and the red Templars," and the enslaved Wardens, "maybe we can drop them from a distance. Or get it into their food and lyrium supply. The only real risk would be it spreading back to the vulnerable on our side. As few as we are."

They don't have many Wardens anymore, and spreading an anti-Blight thing might be far from the worst idea ever, but it does make him a little nervous.

"Dropped like grenades from griffon-back?" This is also better, Anders talking and thinking about what to do about the future. "The method will fit the weapon, I am certain. But we've made a great stride, my love. Especially if the weapon wouldn't harm the innocent caught in the crossfire."

Unlike infecting someone with a plague and sending them back to the enemy.

He nods, thinking. They have a delivery device that just five years ago would have been impossible, and while they should work to keep most griffons as far from the Blight as possible, this cause would be worth it.

"If it's some sort of anti-Blight it might even help those caught in the crossfire," he says with a little optimism that he quickly gets in check. "Obviously I'm getting ahead of us. Three-fourths dead and only one-fourth cured isn't a solid number, and there are still so many factors in play. We also don't know if exposure to the cure for unTainted people has any ill effects. The cure... is what it is."

Blood. And when has any sort of blood consumption been all for the best?

"We have our work cut out for us," Nathaniel agrees. He rinses Anders' back and takes a cup, dipping it so he can wet his hair. "Perhaps I can make connections with experts in other countries. And I still want to continue the propaganda war. Our best chance may come from within."

He begins soaping up Anders' hair, gently untangling it as he does.

He closes his eyes and tries to let some of the stress rinse away along with the soap. Simply talking with Nate always does wonders for him, and between that and the caretaking he's starting to feel genuinely human again.

"I don't know how I got this lucky," he murmurs. A lot of stuff went wrong in his life, but this, at least, is good. And they no longer have a looming deadline hanging over their heads. They're free of that.

"I'm the lucky one," Nathaniel says. He presses a kiss to a damp temple. "Or we are, together. You were cured of possession, and I am the second survivor we know of who was cured of the taint. That..."

His hands slow as they work through Anders' hair, and he shakes his head.

"You realize we have successfully averted the thing we feared most, when we heard of the dark future?"

[Open] The Boys Are Back In Town

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