De Intus Lupus 6

Fenris nearly dropped the mage when he went into paroxysms of choking; he stared down at him, at a loss for what to do, but then the mage slumped into unconsciousness. To his relief, after a few anxious moments Anders began to breath more normally again. Taking a firmer grasp of the mage's wide collar in his powerful jaws, he began to tug him away from the talus field, back downhill.

He tried not to think what further damage he must be doing to the mage's leg as he dragged him along as silently as he could. He could see from the unnatural angle it lay at that the ankle at least was broken, and he suspected there was further damage just below the knee; but he dared not stop just yet. He could smell the templars nearby, and he had to get the mage hidden away before deciding what to do about them.

He made for the overhang where they had sheltered the previous night, in lieu of any better plan. If nothing else, at least it would be somewhere dry where he could better evaluate how gravely the mage was injured. It would be many hours before Anders would be capable of healing himself, but perhaps a healing potion or two would give him a head start and a better chance of survival.

The snow was coming down heavier now, hiding their trail as the great wolf tugged and dragged the unconscious mage back down the mountainside. Whenever one of the templars high above chanced to look round, he would freeze - with his marbled silver and white pelt he blended into the snow, and snow had steadily gathered on the mage's body until he looked like just one more snow-covered piece of talus on the slope. Then the templar would look away, and after a few moments Fenris would quietly, steadily tug his burden further and further away from their enemies.

He did not rest until they were back at the overhang; to his surprise, the stones of the cave still radiated warmth from the magical conflagration earlier. He was thankful for the heat as he dragged, tugged and shoved Anders into the shelter; the mage felt like ice to the touch. He would need more than heat outside though; Fenris would have to risk a small fire and try to get something warming into the mage soon.

He eyed the unconscious mage, and shook his head. It would be no easy task to keep the mage alive long enough to heal himself.



A few hours later, he felt a little more optimistic. He'd managed to pack boulders and ice around the outside of the overhang to build a more effective shelter, with a doglegged entry that would stop snow from blocking air flow. He'd lit a small fire and that, together with the residual warmth still radiating from the stones, had brought the inside of the shelter to a tolerable temperature. He'd taken advantage of the mage's unconscious state to set the broken ankle and shin, placing a cloth-wrapped stout stick between the mage's legs before carefully bandaging the two legs together, painstakingly winding the bandage in a figure-of-eight around his ankles and feet.

He'd dragged out all their meagre supply of blankets - the mage's grey Warden one with the faded griffon, his own dark woollen one, and a spare blanket Anders had taken from the pack belonging to one of the dead apostates - and wrapped Anders up as warmly as possible.

The apostate had barely stirred through all this, but his face looked a little less ashen now; and Fenris was beginning to have some hopes the mage might survive this after all. His skin still felt like ice however, and Fenris was at a loss as to what further he could do - and from the sounds of the steadily rising wind outside, they were trapped for now by another blizzard. He hoped the others had managed to make it to the Dalish camp; he was certain the Dalish would give no welcome to the templars.

Fenris had dug one of the healing potions out of the mage's backpack and was wondering how he was going to go about attempting to get its contents into the mage when Anders finally stirred. He glanced over as the apostate blinked slowly then stared at the rock ceiling above him in confusion.

"Mage?"

"Where am I?" Anders slurred, his amber-brown eyes unfocused as he frowned in confusion.

"We are back in the bivouac," replied Fenris. "How are you feeling?"

"Cold," murmured Anders. "I can't move my legs." He shivered.

"You have broken your right leg and ankle," replied Fenris. "I have splinted them."

"Oh," said Anders in a faintly bemused tone. Fenris shifted closer to him.

"Do you think you could drink this?" he asked, uncorking the healing potion. Anders regarded the bottle and frowned a little again, then nodded. Fenris carefully set the rim of the bottle's mouth against the apostate's pale lips then tilted it until the thick, cloying liquid began to pour into Anders' mouth. Anders grimaced at the unpleasant, bitter taste but dutifully swallowed until the bottle was empty.

"Better?" asked Fenris. Anders nodded.

"A little. S-still cold. T-t-tired. Don't hurt quite so much though." He rolled over a little onto his side, closer to the small fire, shivering. "I've g-got hypothermia," he stammered between chattering teeth. "Need some-something warm inside."

Fenris nodded and set about brewing some tea. As he waited for the water to boil, he regarded the mage with concern. Anders had hunched in upon himself, shivering violently, biting his lip when an incautious movement awakened new pain in his leg.

"When will your magic return?" asked Fenris as he poured the hot water over the dried leaves in the pot and set it to steep. Anders shrugged.

"Hours. Not sure," he replied tersely. "Lost t-track of t-t-time."

Fenris poured the tea then brought the steaming cup over to the shivering mage. He helped Anders to sit up, then carefully and slowly he fed the tea to the apostate in small sips. By the time the cup was empty, the mage's shivers had reduced in intensity and Anders was drowsy, leaning against the elf as his head drooped.

"Mage?" said Fenris softly, but there was no answer.

As the fire slowly died down and the radiant heat from earlier in the day steadily ebbed away, the small cave began to cool down, and Fenris realised he would have to find another way to try and keep the mage warm through the long, cold night ahead. The blizzard that had been threatening all afternoon was now raging in earnest; it would not be safe to set foot outside - on two feet or four.

If there had been space to stand, he would have paced; instead he sat and fidgeted, every so often darting a glance over at the mage who still shivered, even in his sleep.

He knew what the answer had to be. he didn't like it, and he doubted the mage would have appreciated it any more than he, but it was the only solution.

He stripped off his clothing hurriedly, and then hastily snuggled down inside the blankets with Anders. With deft fingers he undid the mage's coat and slipped his tatty robes open, then he slid his arms around Anders' slender torso, biting his lip at how icy to the touch Anders' skin felt. Then he transformed into his wolf form and nuzzled up close to the unconscious man until he could feel Anders' heart beating against his own chest, and each soft exhalation of the mage's breath stirred the fur of Fenris' throat.

And after a while, as the fire died down, sleep stole quietly over the wolf, even as Anders unconsciously pressed himself closer to the warm beast, tucking his head under Fenris' chin as the great beast made a faint reassuring sound, rumbling deep in his throat.

The fire died, and the storm raged on.