[He looks up, swallowing, trying to meet her eyes and trying to hear all she's saying. She believes him. Kirkwall's legacy is no one believing him, but the woman in front of him who keeps everyone at arm's length is holding his shoulder and telling him she believes him.

Anders breathes, shakily. The rest of it isn't easy, but she's right. There's always potential for easy panic in a city and all it took was one crazed Templar or crazed blue Rifter to set matters off. And there's still a small window to help Darktown before it's out of his hands.]

We can, we can strip my office in the infirmary. The healing potions, they're not working on the plague anyway. We can send all of it that I've made.

[His body language and voice are still defeated, but his gaze isn't as drawn inward. He can't help himself. He's caged and tracked again. But maybe he can help Darktown a little more still.]

Bandages and poultices. General antivenom for the spiders that are rampant down there.

[He takes a breath. Thranduil offered to pay for a healer - there isn't one that they can hire, but the supplies funded by the Inquisition will at least help with some of it.]

Everything. It's the Inquisition's fault they won't have a healer. They can have it all.