Satinalia brought with it a heavy pall of disease, filling Anders' clinic with sickness and dying children. The wind rushed over the walls, carrying frozen spray from the Waking Sea that solidified into puddles of solid ice as soon as night fell. There were corpses at the door to Anders' clinic in the mornings, and he barely had the strength to drag them off to be burned.
Hawke invited him for a celebration at the Hanged Man, promising gifts and festivities, even ones that Justice would approve of, but Anders shook his head in decline. Every night brought more illness, and there was nobody else to help.
So while Hawke and company reveled at The Hanged Man, Anders sat at the desk in his empty clinic, ladling weak elfroot potions into small jars, aided by a battered metal funnel.
"It's not fair," he said, addressing the bare walls. "They need more than I'm capable of. I'm just one man; I can't save an entire bloody city."
"And you shouldn't be trying to either."
Anders' head snapped up to look in the direction of the familiar voice. Merrill stood just inside of the door, holding something in her hands.
"I knocked," she said, "but the door just slid open, so I figured it would be best if I came in."
"What do you want?" he asked, too tired to sound cross, though he did try.
"I thought that perhaps you might want some company, I know it can be very lonely here." She stepped further in and he realized she was carrying a basket.
"Watch your feet on the ice," he said, turning his attention back to his potions. "I've already had a half-dozen elves in here with frostbitten toes. Why you can't just wear boots..." he trailed off, muttering.
"I've brought you some hot bread and tea," Merrill said as she approached his desk, setting the basket on the side. True to her words, inside there was an entire teapot and a loaf of bread, kept warm by the pot. "There were pastries and brandy, but I didn't think you cared for those."
Setting the funnel and bowl of mashed elfroot and other foul liquid aside, Anders took two of the clean, unused potion jars and poured them both a steaming jar of tea. "Was Hawke having fun?" he asked, looking rather dubiously at the tea before taking a drink.
"It seemed like it when I left. You know how Hawke is."
"So you left just to come wallow in Darktown with me. I guess blood magic can't give you good sense."
"I can just leave, you know. I didn't have to come."
"Because, as I understand it, for humans, this is a season for putting aside one's differences and giving." Merrill sipped her tea. "So, despite the fact that you're not always a very nice person, I came down here so you wouldn't be alone."
Anders opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it. For a bit, he sat in silence with her, drinking hot tea. "Thank you," he said finally. "I was surprised it was you, but it's good to know someone was thinking of me."
"You're welcome, but if you start telling me about what sort of magic I ought to be doing, then I'm leaving."
"A truce for today," said Anders with a weak smile.
"Then, I think I would like another cup of tea," she said, and held out the jar. He filled it, and together they sat silently in the empty clinic, in the odd comfort of strange bedfellows.
