Nathaniel tightens his hold on Anders and focuses on the camp as they near it. Once they've reached their own tent, Nathaniel leaves Anders to change out of his wet clothes and returns with a large basin of steaming water--boiling water from the fire cut with cold from the water buckets. He has a bar of soap and a sponge.
"Do you need me to help you?" He doesn't intend to leave Anders completely alone, but he will stand outside the tent while he washes, if he can wash himself.
He's sore from the latter blow and feels it as he pulls off his clothing and wraps himself in a towel. He could heal it, but it would be exhausting to tend to sore muscles and bruises, and he doesn't have the energy for it.
The question gets a shake of his head. He's going to be stiff, but he won't make Nate help him that much.
"Thank you," he says quietly, not wasting time and starting to get mud off his skin and out of his hair. It's everywhere, which isn't much of a surprise considering it's mud. Anders washes himself in silence, aware that Nate's nearby, aware that Justice is still close to the surface. At least there's no way he can be considered to be alone.
By the time he's done, the water's brown and he's feeling a little less sore, and a little less like an open wound. Anders doesn't bother tying his hair back up before bringing the water out and pouring it down their little ditch.
"I'd forgotten how heavy armor can be." It's a weak attempt at a joke.
"I suppose that depends on your definition of admirable," he says with a shrug. At least Nate's smiling. It feels better to see that.
"But accusing a typical Templar of being a typical Templar doesn't tend to have any effect. They know they enjoy trying to put mages in what they see as a mage's place. Pointing it out is useless."
Anders sighs and straightens up once the bucket is drained, shaking his head.
"I don't even... She's angry that people flirt back with me, apparently, that I'm trying to have a life instead of simply survive. Which, in her eyes, justifies walking up and hitting me in the middle of a crowd." The relief is melting away to be replaced with bitterness. "She's the third person that's hit me. And I can't guarantee the next one won't die, which will then end in my death because people who are supposed to be listening to the Inquisition take matters into their own damn hands."
There's anger, now, anger enough that his hands are shaking. "I will not die, I will not throw everything away, because they feel they can get away with anything, because they can since who would punish someone for hitting me? And yet that choice isn't even in my hands because I don't have the control I thought I did. They call me abomination with no grasp of what it means because they know those in authority despise me as I've been despised my whole life. Nothing changes. Nothing ever changes."
Justice is right there and he can't bring himself to care because what hope is there, really? Only the slim one that somehow whomever he winds up killing is someone he doesn't care about, and that's no consolation.
There's too much burning in his mind for him to fully relax into the embrace, including frustration at himself for being so damn weak.
"Bruce Banner and the yelling man. I don't... I don't know that anything would even matter. Informing superiors. They call me abomination but they don't grasp it. They don't understand anything more than the hatred in the word. And if we, if I try to explain it, then I get more fear. More hate." Except Bruce gets it, and struck out anyway.
He exhales again and finally leans into Nate's hold. "I'm sorry. I want to stop being so worried. I want to breathe, to not be so much of a mess. It keeps not working. And then you pick up the pieces and I feel all the more guilty."
"People who attack you ought to be pursued to every extent of the law for endangerment. But if I say that, they will retort that so should we for harboring you. We ought to consult with Kaidan and Teren. We cannot keep letting these incidents slide. If nothing else, a member of the Wardens has been repeatedly assaulted. That is intolerable."
The law has never been on his side, has never worked for him. He doesn't have faith in things being dealt with, and he's worried about overburdening Kaidan and Teren. But he can't deny Nate his hope that something could or would be done. That someone else would find it intolerable too.
"In the morning," he says tiredly. "In the morning we can speak with them. I don't want to disrupt anything else."
That he's been a part of ruining Twisted Fate's party is weight enough on his shoulders. Waking the two senior Wardens is too much.
"It's not like someone's going to come into our tent to hit me." Probably. Maker. He almost wishes someone would try for him in front of one of the people who care, but at the same time he doesn't want this to be on anyone else.
"Not without me hitting them first." Nathaniel nudges Anders' back to urge him back into the tent. "I'm not going to make you rest, but you should rest. Even if you don't sleep."
"I'll lay down, at the least." He's not sure he can fall asleep on his own, but it isn't like he has anyone available he can sleep with. His chances with Fate are blown, and neither Zevran nor Isabela are the sleepover type. Maybe he could ask Nate. The hug had been welcome.
"If..." Except no. No. The man's in enough danger simply sleeping so close to him every night. Anders can't ask to share Nate's cot. If he has a nightmare, or gets tangled in the blankets and forgets where he is, if one of a thousand things happen, he could hurt his closest friend. Not only that, he doesn't need to get Nate's name moved from Justice's 'dislike' list to the 'hated' list.
"Be careful. That's all. And thank you." He should tell Nate to run, to get out of there, to find safer friends, but he can't. Anders pulls the blankets back on his cot, disturbing Purrelden's rest underneath them, and scoops her up gently before climbing in and ignoring her disgruntlement and tiny claws.
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"Do you need me to help you?" He doesn't intend to leave Anders completely alone, but he will stand outside the tent while he washes, if he can wash himself.
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The question gets a shake of his head. He's going to be stiff, but he won't make Nate help him that much.
"Thank you," he says quietly, not wasting time and starting to get mud off his skin and out of his hair. It's everywhere, which isn't much of a surprise considering it's mud. Anders washes himself in silence, aware that Nate's nearby, aware that Justice is still close to the surface. At least there's no way he can be considered to be alone.
By the time he's done, the water's brown and he's feeling a little less sore, and a little less like an open wound. Anders doesn't bother tying his hair back up before bringing the water out and pouring it down their little ditch.
"I'd forgotten how heavy armor can be." It's a weak attempt at a joke.
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"Did you at least get in a few admirable verbal jabs, then?" A polite way of asking if he provoked her.
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"But accusing a typical Templar of being a typical Templar doesn't tend to have any effect. They know they enjoy trying to put mages in what they see as a mage's place. Pointing it out is useless."
Anders sighs and straightens up once the bucket is drained, shaking his head.
"I don't even... She's angry that people flirt back with me, apparently, that I'm trying to have a life instead of simply survive. Which, in her eyes, justifies walking up and hitting me in the middle of a crowd." The relief is melting away to be replaced with bitterness. "She's the third person that's hit me. And I can't guarantee the next one won't die, which will then end in my death because people who are supposed to be listening to the Inquisition take matters into their own damn hands."
There's anger, now, anger enough that his hands are shaking. "I will not die, I will not throw everything away, because they feel they can get away with anything, because they can since who would punish someone for hitting me? And yet that choice isn't even in my hands because I don't have the control I thought I did. They call me abomination with no grasp of what it means because they know those in authority despise me as I've been despised my whole life. Nothing changes. Nothing ever changes."
Justice is right there and he can't bring himself to care because what hope is there, really? Only the slim one that somehow whomever he winds up killing is someone he doesn't care about, and that's no consolation.
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"We'll have to take it to their superiors," he says. "Who else has hit you?"
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"Bruce Banner and the yelling man. I don't... I don't know that anything would even matter. Informing superiors. They call me abomination but they don't grasp it. They don't understand anything more than the hatred in the word. And if we, if I try to explain it, then I get more fear. More hate." Except Bruce gets it, and struck out anyway.
He exhales again and finally leans into Nate's hold. "I'm sorry. I want to stop being so worried. I want to breathe, to not be so much of a mess. It keeps not working. And then you pick up the pieces and I feel all the more guilty."
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He releases Anders with a faint huff.
"People who attack you ought to be pursued to every extent of the law for endangerment. But if I say that, they will retort that so should we for harboring you. We ought to consult with Kaidan and Teren. We cannot keep letting these incidents slide. If nothing else, a member of the Wardens has been repeatedly assaulted. That is intolerable."
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"In the morning," he says tiredly. "In the morning we can speak with them. I don't want to disrupt anything else."
That he's been a part of ruining Twisted Fate's party is weight enough on his shoulders. Waking the two senior Wardens is too much.
"It's not like someone's going to come into our tent to hit me." Probably. Maker. He almost wishes someone would try for him in front of one of the people who care, but at the same time he doesn't want this to be on anyone else.
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"If..." Except no. No. The man's in enough danger simply sleeping so close to him every night. Anders can't ask to share Nate's cot. If he has a nightmare, or gets tangled in the blankets and forgets where he is, if one of a thousand things happen, he could hurt his closest friend. Not only that, he doesn't need to get Nate's name moved from Justice's 'dislike' list to the 'hated' list.
"Be careful. That's all. And thank you." He should tell Nate to run, to get out of there, to find safer friends, but he can't. Anders pulls the blankets back on his cot, disturbing Purrelden's rest underneath them, and scoops her up gently before climbing in and ignoring her disgruntlement and tiny claws.