Chapter 9: The Violet Hour
Vigil's Keep, Amaranthine
Anders wasn't getting any better.
Solana had taken up the challenge of nursing Anders back to health on her own. She'd banished everyone else from the sickroom and spent many laborious hours dressing his wound and spoon-feeding him water and beef broth - sickroom fare (that mostly ended up spilled down the front of her tunic, though she at least managed to get him to swallow a few spoonfuls of both) - at regular intervals. She changed his soiled bed linens and gave him sponge baths to keep him clean and cool. By the time she'd managed to finish it all, it was time to do it all over again.
The days and nights blurred together as she continued to attend to him with quiet, steady determination; it was as if she almost believed she alone could heal him by strength of will. Instead of resting in the few moments of downtime she did have, she would sit next to him, put on her spectacles, and read aloud to him. As a result, Solana became pale and exhausted, which she compensated for by drinking endless cups of coffee. It was imperative that she remain alert in case of any sudden change to his condition. Moira finally browbeat her into bathing and changing her clothes, but Solana refused to stray from Anders' side for more than a few minutes at a time.
Despite her best efforts, Solana watched with dismay as Anders' wound remained swollen and angry. He developed a fever and began to ramble incoherently; oftentimes he shouted and cursed, obviously reliving the abuse he suffered at the hands of the Templars. Some of the things he'd revealed made her weep in outrage. No amount of soothing or hand-holding would calm him down, until during one particularly violent nightmare, Solana, too weary to do anything else, simply crawled into bed with him.
"No!" Anders cried, flinging his arms out wildly, as if to protect himself from some assailant. His eyes were wide with horror, but it was clear he wasn't seeing her.
"Shhhhhhhh... I'm here." Solana murmured, nestling against him. His hair felt like silk under her fingertips when she brushed a stray wisp of hair from his forehead.
She squeaked in surprise when she found herself suddenly flipped onto her back. Anders' expression was feral as he straddled her legs, grabbed her hands and pinned them over her head. He'd managed to reopen his wound, as blood and discharge began to heavily stain the bandages.
"Anders," she croaked. "What are you-?"
"You will torture me no more!" he snarled. His eyes were fever bright and he glared daggers at her, as though she were Rylock herself.
She tried to wiggle out from beneath him, but he used the weight of his hips to bear down and subdue her until her body lay directly parallel under his. She closed her eyes and tried to consider her options. He was too maddened to listen to reason and she couldn't cast any spells with her hands immobilized. An all-out wrestling match would only exacerbate his wounds. Her eyes fluttered open in panic when she noticed Anders' breathing had become winded, as if he had run for miles.
Maker's breath, he was sexually aroused! What have I gotten myself into now?
Anders groaned as he ground his hardened member against her sex. "Why can't I get you out of my dreams?" he muttered hoarsely, and lowered his head to kiss her. She stiffened as his tongue gently ran along the closed seam of her lips.
He is poison. If you lower your guard again, he will destroy you.
However, she could muster little resistance with Anders' whiskey-colored eyes looking at her like that, along with the welcome weight of his lean, muscular body pressed against hers. It had been so long since she allowed her emotions free rein; letting her heart dictate her actions.
She would be forever drawn to this man, with hands that could both heal and hurt, like a moth to a flame. With a little sigh, Solana shut her eyes and submitted to his questing lips.
Maybe he'll calm down and go to sleep if I just let him have his dream for a minute.
"Sweetheart," he murmured, releasing her hands and cupping her breast. Solana jolted when he brushed his thumb over her nipple, but then he buried his face into her neck and nuzzled her. Shit, he still remembered how to push her buttons.
She bit back a moan when he pushed aside the layers of her gown and his clever fingers caressed her there in thoroughly wicked ways.
Her clothes suddenly felt too tight... she wanted to feel his naked body tangled with hers. Maker, if he didn't fuck her brainless now, she would die- NO! What in the hell was she thinking? She couldn't allow herself to be swept away again like the foolish, naive girl she'd been back at the Tower.
With tears of regret stinging her eyes, Solana placed her hand on his cheek and cast a sleep spell on him. Anders sighed heavily, and after a moment, his body relaxed into slumber on top of her.
Bloody hell, he was heavy.
"Anders?"
No response, only a soft snore. Carefully, she shifted him off her so he lay on his back again. She checked his bandages, and then sent a stream of healing magic into his wound to staunch the bleeding. She tried to process the enormity of what she'd been about to do, but she was so tired. Perhaps she would rest her eyes for just a minute...
When she blearily awoke some time later, she put her hand against Anders' forehead to check his temperature. He was burning up, hotter then she'd ever seen him. Panicked, she levered herself out of bed and quickly cast an ice spell, bathing his body in a deep blue pulse of cool light to bring down the fever. She racked her brain for any additional spells or poultices she could apply, but could think of none. When she finally ran out of mana, she sat dejectedly back on the bed, with her head in her hands.
"Anders," she whispered brokenly. "Don't leave me alone again."
A quick knock on the door had Solana off the bed like a shot. When Moira entered the room carrying a tray, Solana was busy folding sheets of linen into neat little squares.
"Has he improved at all, my Lady?"
"His fever has gotten worse," Solana replied flatly. "I don't know what else to do... if it doesn't break soon, he'll die."
Moira set the tray down on a nearby table, poured tea into a thick ceramic mug and handed it to Solana, who took it gratefully.
Moira looked thoughtfully at Anders for a moment. "When I had a fever, Mam would brew willowbark tea and make me drink it."
"Really? I'm not much of an herbalist." Solana took a sip from her mug and suddenly frowned. "What is this? This isn't my usual coffee."
Moira flushed. "Begging your pardon, my Lady, but I took the liberty of brewing a pot of that herbal mixture Anders mixed up for you. I know you don't like it, but you look so peaked, and Anders had been going on and on about its restorative powers-"
"What?" A flash of inspiration suddenly struck her. Why hadn't she thought of it before? Being an expert in herb lore was part and parcel of being a skilled healer. Surely Anders kept written recipes of poultices and remedies to draw down the fever and get rid of the infection!
"My Lady?"
She could've kissed Moira at that very moment. With a renewed sense of purpose, Solana grabbed her satchel and threw open the door. "Keep an eye on Anders; I'll be back in ten minutes!"
"Where are you going?"
"To the stillroom!"
"But my Lady-"
However, Solana was already long gone.
The stillroom was universally acknowledged as Anders' domain. When Solana entered the room, the air was redolent with the scent of drying herbs. Large shelves dominated one side of the room from ceiling to floor, where glass jars filled with powders and reagents stood neatly labelled. A large work table had been placed under the window facing out to the south; where a mortar and pestle as well as a number of crucibles lay. Solana immediately headed towards a writing desk cluttered with papers and piles of books that had been stacked haphazardly. After searching for a few minutes, she found a book of recipes for poultices (written in Anders own hand) to treat various conditions. Leafing through the pages, she located a promising poultice recipe and scanned the list of required ingredients.
Solana blinked repeatedly when Anders' neat script began to blur. Rubbing at her eyes in annoyance, she began to collect the necessary herbs.
"Ah, there you are, my Warden. May we talk?"
Solana's head snapped up as she spotted Zevran leaning against the door. "You're back!"
"Indeed, and with some very interesting things to report about our Bann Esmerelle."
Solana nodded distractedly. "It'll have to wait until later."
Zevran moved so quietly that she nearly dropped a flask when he sidled next to her. "We need to talk, cara."
"I really don't have the time to-"
"It will only take a minute."
"Very well," Solana allowed reluctantly.
Zevran took her hands into his and tugged her towards him. With a sigh, she allowed herself to be pulled into his welcome embrace.
"It has been very lonely without you," he said, pressing a kiss to her temple. "You look exhausted. You have been pushing yourself too hard again, yes?"
"I've been occupied with nursing duties."
"I find myself curious as to the reason why you seem so devoted to Gerald," Zevran asked blithely (Zevran's pet nickname for Anders). "Could it be because you still are in love with him?"
"Don't be ridiculous," she replied stiffly.
"Cara, you are as transparent as glass. That little job you sent me on was thoroughly unnecessary. Did you think I would be jealous of Gerald?" Zevran commented wryly. "Let me ask you this then: why do you put so much effort into the recovery of the man who broke your heart? There are plenty of servants who could keep watch over him, yet you have barely left his side. If not love, why else?"
Solana raised an imperious brow. "I would treat you with the same due diligence if you'd been similarly injured," she retorted sharply. "Besides, love is for fools."
Zevran gently tilted her face to look him directly in the eyes with his finger. "Ah, such formal language from you, cara. There is something you are not telling me."
Solana let out a huff of frustration. "Very well! He saved me once... when I was an Apprentice in the Tower."
Zevran remained silent, looking at her expectantly.
"A Templar cornered me in a storeroom once and tried to force himself on me. I cast a spell to throw him off, but it was more powerful than I expected. The blast threw him against the wall and he lay on the floor... " She shuddered, remembering the smell of burnt flesh and how the Templar's arm had jutted out at an unnatural angle. "Anders happened to be passing by and he heard the commotion. He took one look and immediately shoved me into this tiny side closet just as the Templars arrived and took the blame for everything!"
"What happened next?"
"They whipped him for it. I asked him why he would do such a thing for me, but Anders just laughed and said he had a tough hide."
"That Templar," Zevran asked. "Did he exact his revenge?"
"He never bothered me again, though I'm not sure why. Perhaps Anders had something to do with that as well."
"I see. Why did you never mention this before?"
"What was the point? There was Blight to contend with and those memories were... painful... to recall." She wiggled free of his arms. "I've got to get back to this poultice-"
"Let me do it for you."
"No-"
"I'm afraid I must insist, cara. You will fall over dead from your own stubbornness! No, do not make that face at me. You cannot bear this burden on your own. Let me help."
"Why are you helping him?" Solana asked, baffled. "You despise him!"
"I am doing it for you, cara." Some unnamed emotion gleamed in Zevran's eyes, but it quickly disappeared. "Now," he said briskly. "It is simple enough for me to follow Gerald's recipe, no?" Zevran gestured to a nearby chair. "Sit, amora. Now."
Solana meekly obeyed (a rare sight indeed) while Zevran quickly and efficiently finished making the poultice. Taking the mixture with him, he grabbed a few extra pots along the way, and then walked with Solana back to Anders' room.
"My Lady, you've returned!" Moira exclaimed. "What now?"
"I need to clean the wound, then apply the poultice-"
"You are weary beyond measure, cara, and have done enough," Zevran interrupted. "Take a moment to rest, and I shall attend to the mage for you."
Solana sighed and sat down again. She watched with interest as Zevran took off Anders' bandages and cleaned the wound, repeatedly rinsing it out with whiskey until it bled red, rather than the foul pus that had been there before. While Moira carted away the load of dirtied linen, Zevran proceeded to apply the poultice. Out of the extra pot, he then drizzled what appeared to be honey on the bandages, before re-covering Anders' wound.
"Why did you use honey on the bandages?" Moira asked.
"So the dressing will not stick to the wound," Zevran explained as he finished wrapping the linen. "It will also help the wound heal more quickly. And now, my Warden it is time for you to rest."
"No!" Solana quickly stood and glared at the rogue, though it seemed the room had begun to spin quite suddenly. "It is vital that I stay here until the fever breaks-"
Zevran merely smirked as he easily caught Solana as she finally fainted from exhaustion. He carefully hefted her into his arms and quirked an eyebrow at Moira. "You will watch over Gerald, yes?"
"As if he were one of my own," Moira replied resolutely. "His colour seems to be improving a bit already."
Zevran nodded and swept Solana from the room.
A/N: Thanks to b, my totally genius and excellent beta who improved the flow and wording (and logic), EVERYTHING REALLY, of the story. Thank you so much, dearest!
ZOMA, this chapter has been rewritten multiple times! I went on vacation last weekend and spent it finishing it up. I wish I could write faster...each word is like squeezing blood from a stone for me, yet I can't not write! Perhaps I should change my nom de plume to "Dear Dotty Old Thing That Likes DA".
As always, thank you to everyone who has read, favorited and alerted this story! I really really appreciate the feedback and reviews (especially from LampPostInWinter, FantasyFiend09, Obscura_Wilde, Shakespira, and BranowynIvy! You guys are awesome!!)
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