A/N Just a fluffy little fic to give happiness to my favorite tormented mage.

Good for What Ails You

She nodded at the guards flanking the double doors. Although there weren't any refugees gathered outside, one door was open and the lanterns were lit. Hawke knew that meant Anders was at it again - healing, fixing, helping - and more than likely on the far edge of exhaustion again. Pursing her lips in frustration, she peeked around the door frame.

There was only one patient - a middle aged man with the rough home-spun tunic and breeches that marked him as a farm hand - sitting up on one of the examination tables. Well, if he's sitting up, it can't be too bad, she comforted herself, and walked quietly into the clinic.

As she approached, the laborer's gaze slid away from Anders' face and towards her, but she shook her head with a smile and placed one finger to her lips, so he said nothing. She stopped a few feet away, and contented herself with simply being near her lover. He was manipulating the fingers of the farmer's right hand, so she assumed a minor injury such as a broken arm had brought the man in.

It was gratifying to see that her efforts of distributing simple, warm clothing and good plain food through Lirene's Fereldan Emporium had eased Anders' workload to the point where he no longer had to work almost non-stop just to keep most of the displaced Fereldans alive.

Of course, now the infuriating man was choosing to work almost non-stop - going beyond the refugees and desperate denizens of Darktown and extending his healing gifts to the folk of Lowtown and the Alienage.

She knew one of the reasons he did it, of course, and highly approved of the continued absence of the Fade spirit, but sometimes she almost thought she'd accept increased manifestations from Justice if it meant Anders could simply relax every once in a while.

True, she couldn't really fault him for all the good he was accomplishing, but it never seemed that he took any time for himself unless she forced the issue. The sound of the mage stifling a sneeze decided her. Tonight he was going to rest, she promised herself and stealthily left the clinic, followed by the sound of another sneeze.

She stopped by the younger of the door guards, who was working off a healing for her father's sickness the previous month. Hawke recognized her as one of Aveline's more promising prospects for the City Guard.

"Hello. Carida, isn't it?" Hawke greeted her warmly. "How is your father doing?" She looked approvingly at the competent way the other young woman was holding her shield, with her hand never straying too far from her sword hilt.

"Quite well, serah Hawke. Andraste's blessing on the Healer for sure," the guard replied shyly. "And on you as well, for bringing me to the Guard-Captain's notice. With full guard pay, we'd actually be able to move into Lowtown."

Hawke smiled wistfully. "There are some good places in Lowtown," she agreed. "Look, can you do me a favor? Please let the Healer know that he is expected at home tonight," and she frowned theatrically. "If you have to, drag him out at sunset, and lock the doors behind him, all right? And tell him not to worry - my mother won't be there." She tipped a wink at the girl, nodded pleasantly again at the other guard and left hurriedly.

She knew exactly what to do, and Orana was going to help her.

"I'll do my best, Mistress, but I'm nowhere as good as Papa was," the elven woman said hesitantly, poking through the basket Hawke had brought back from the Lowtown market and looking rather intimidated.

"That's all right, Orana," Hawke said encouragingly. "I've made it before, so between the two of us, we should come up with something quite acceptable. Just take all this into the kitchen and start cutting it up while I get changed, and we'll put it together as soon as I come back down. Anders should be here not too long after sundown, so it should have plenty of time to simmer."

Both Bodahn and Sandal were sniffing appreciatively by the time she left the kitchen, leaving Orana to keep an eye on the large pot hung over the coals in the wall oven, well satisfied with what she and the Tevinter elf had accomplished. Casting a glance out of the high windows, she saw the late afternoon sunlight had taken on the golden cast of sunset, and nodded to herself. It was nice when everything came together at the same time.

Grabbing a blank piece of parchment from Anders' stack for his ever-growing Manifesto, Hawke printed one word on it as large as would fit, and stuck it to the inside of the cellar door with one of her daggers. Then she headed for the bathing chamber, carrying a bag that held a few bunches of dried herbs and a vial containing a mix of soapwort and a pleasantly strong-smelling gum pressed from the leaves of a tree found in Par Vollen which Lady Elegant had recommended.

She spent the next several minutes filling the large marble tub with buckets of hot water heated by the bedroom fire. She reminded herself to ask Bodahn about looking into the cost of having a boiler system or perhaps even a small hypocaust built just for the bathing chamber. She'd seen one of the latter during a visit to the Viscount's Keep, and the idea had delighted her.

She'd just emptied the last bucket when she heard the door to the downstairs study closing and Bodahn's voice raised in greeting. She smiled happily, and resolved to ask Aveline to bring Carida into the Guard without delay. The woman obviously had a bright career ahead of her if she could convince Anders to do something without having to resort to violence.

There was a piece of parchment stabbed into the door with one of Hawke's daggers, Anders saw as he climbed the last few steps from the cellar into the estate proper. Subtle, love. He shook his head with a grin and pulled the dagger loose with one hand, catching the parchment in the other. "BATH!" was written on it in large letters, and he laughed.

She'd get no argument from him on that point, he conceded ruefully. It had been a long day - not particularly challenging, but long - and his cold wasn't helping. He paused - did she know? He wouldn't put it past her, and come to think of it, one of his patients had seemed a little distracted. It was just more of the "Hawke magic," he realized - being in the right place at the right time - and then being sneaky about how she handled it.

When he entered the estate, he smelled something delicious and his stomach rumbled appreciatively, but he knew better than to ignore Hawke's note. Answering Bodahn's greeting with one of his own, he climbed the stairs to the second floor eagerly, noting with relief that Leandra was indeed gone. He was already undoing the straps that held his coat closed when he opened the bedroom door. The fire was blazing warmly as always, and there was a hint of humidity in the air, even though the door to the bathing chamber was shut.

Anders finished stripping out of his clothes quickly, having noticed that Hawke's dressing gown and smallclothes were already discarded on the bed. He grinned in anticipation, thinking perhaps they might be doing more than simply bathing. He was reaching for the door handle when his nose tickled, and he sneezed loudly several times, then coughed into one cupped hand. Andraste's dainty...he was thinking when the door was yanked open and Hawke appeared in a swirl of steam, delightfully naked, but frowning ferociously.

He smiled at her sheepishly, and started to saying something, but she reached up and grabbed his ear, marching him into the bathing room. "Into the tub, man," she said firmly, and he complied, hissing just a little bit at how hot the water was. Almost instantly, his muscles started to loosen, and he sniffed the air. Lavender, hyssop, mint - and ... eucalyptus?

"Here," Hawke said, and tossed him a large square of felted cloth. "Hold that over your head and breathe the steam for a few minutes. I'll be right back." He obediently ducked his head under the cloth and took several slow, deep inhalations through his nose, exhaling from his mouth. After a few minutes, he felt the heaviness in his sinuses starting to lighten.

The door reopened, and he peeked out from under the cloth to see Hawke carrying a large mug and a pitcher. She poured some liquid into the mug and held it out to him. "Drink this down, and then get back under the cloth," she admonished him.

He sniffed at it curiously, and she finally smiled. "It's just warm water with honey and lemon juice, love," she laughed, and began to climb into the tub. "Scoot forward, and I'll wash your back while you. Keep. Breathing. The steam."

Anders sighed deeply, leaning his head back against Hawke's shoulder as she stroked his chest with both hands. His breathing had eased considerably, and while his nose was running slightly, he felt much better. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were using magic, my dear," he said, running his hands gently along her legs, which were crossed on top of his.

"It is, of a sort," she said into his ear, nuzzling behind it. "My father couldn't heal openly in most places we lived, but he was a very accomplished herbalist, so he was always concocting medicines and tinctures. He taught Bethany all he knew, and I was always curious, so I picked up quite a lot, as well. It's been useful knowledge to have over the years. And now it's especially useful since you can't be arsed to heal yourself," and she nipped his earlobe hard enough to make him yelp.

After they had finished drying off, Hawke led Anders into the bedroom and pointed at the bed. "Dry your hair by the fire, and then in you get, while I get your dinner and see that everyone's settled for the night." She pulled on her dressing robe and some soft slippers, then rubbed vigorously at her short cropped hair with one of the towels. After finger-combing it into a slightly less unruly state, she hurried out of the bedroom.

Anders stood in front of the fire, luxuriating in being clean and feeling better than he had for almost a week. Once his fine hair had dried, he started to pull it back into the usual stubby tail, but he decided to leave it loose. Hawke liked it unbound, he thought as he got into the bed. Maybe he should let it grow.

Several minutes later, she reappeared, balancing a large bowl in one hand and carrying a large silver spoon in the other. "Well, mother's back," she said with a small grimace, "but she's so... giddy from the Viscount's hospitality that Orana's already gotten her to bed, so we should continue to have a nice, undisturbed evening.

"No, stay where you are," she chided as Anders made to get up. "I'm enjoying pampering you, for once." She placed the bowl, whose contents were steaming gently, on the bedside table and climbed onto the bed, sitting cross-legged facing Anders. Once she was settled, Hawke leaned over and retrieved the bowl.

Anders sniffed and licked his lips while his stomach growled loudly. Still, he couldn't resist teasing her. "Soup, Hawke? I'm not an invalid," he protested. "What happened to roast beef, truffle pie and a glass of red wine?" But his stomach growled again, and he chuckled, holding out his hands.

"Yes, soup. Chicken soup, as a matter of fact, combining my father's recipe with Orana's father's," she replied, grinning. "It's good for what ails you," and she handed him the bowl.

Anders took his time eating the soup, savoring every spoonful. It reminded him of a time, long ago, when he'd been sick as a small boy. His mother had made him some soup, and she'd sat beside the cot while he ate, humming softly and embroidering the slipcover of a small pillow.

When he was finished, he put the bowl aside and leaned over to kiss Hawke gently. "The soup was wonderful, beloved. This whole evening has been wonderful. Promise me you'll always be my healer, Hawke."