Olivia let the wooden door swing closed behind her, taking in the rank scent of body odor and stale alcohol. Voices clamored, her appearance causing a quiet ripple in conversations around the room. Feeling sorely out of her element, Olivia quickly sat at one of the barstools, keeping her eyes down and trying not to attract the attention of the barkeep.

Too late.

"D'ya want something? D'ya have coin?" A large hand gripping a dirty, scruffy rag slammed down in front of Olivia. "If ya don't have coin, I can't help ya."

Smiling politely, Olivia shook her head. "I'm just waiting," she explained. "For a friend."

"Hmph."

Beneath the thick plate armor, Olivia was beginning to sweat with nervousness. Someone was going to recognize her. Maybe Alistair was right, she thought with a little groan. Maybe it's too dangerous. I have other priorities. But I can't just leave; I promised I'd wait here.

As she worked to steel her nerves, she caught the flash of a sword out of the corner of her eyes. A heavily armed elf with a mop of strangely white hair had taken a seat at one of the tables near Olivia. His fists were clenched above the table, and he eyed the door with a subtle scowl. A dwarf—a strange dwarf, Olivia thought, noting his clean-shaven face—joined the elf, leaving behind a disappointed crowd at the other end of the tavern. He was stroking a large, intricate crossbow, looking only occasionally up at the elf to laugh and shake his head.

After a moment, the dwarf gathered the crossbow and left the table. Olivia turned back to the bar, leaning forward as she realized he was making a beeline for her.

"You come here often?" the dwarf asked, hoisting himself up onto the barstool to Olivia's right.

This is not happening. Olivia slid off her heavy gauntlets, letting them clank to the bar and burying her face in her warm hands.

"Who am I kidding," the dwarf laughed. "Nobody comes here often, if they can help it. The ale is terrible." With another deep laugh, he added quietly, "Besides, I think you can afford a nicer bar, can't you, Warden-Commander?"

Olivia's hands coiled into fists. Damn. I knew it.

"Don't worry," he promised, lowering his voice, "I won't tell anyone. I just want to know if you plan to make these visits a regular thing. I can always use new stories." He leaned forward onto the bar, folding his hands. "Like you and Alistair. Trust me – I've heard lots of stories, but I'd like the truth."

"Sorry, no," Olivia apologized, not wanting to risk anyone else recognizing her. Her hazel eyes swept the room again, searching the faces for the one familiar one she was waiting for. She noticed that the elf had been joined by a woman with short red hair, something that seemed to catch the dwarf's eye as well.

"Varric Tethras," the dwarf spouted suddenly, holding a hand out for Olivia to shake. "You can share those stories later. I'll be right here." His eyes suddenly distant and unfocused, he hopped off the barstool and headed for the elf and the newcomer.

She watched their table with interest for a moment, trying not to dwell on her growing suspicion that her planned meeting wouldn't be happening. They were joined by a scantily-clad, dark-skinned woman and a waifish elf, both of whom had appeared from the other side of the tavern holding thick mugs.

As they approached, the dwarf—Varric—stood, waving his arms in alarm. "Aw, Rivaini, don't let her—" he scolded, before turning his attention to the elf girl's mug. "Daisy, that stuff will kill you," he chastised gently, grabbing the mug away before taking a quick swig.

The elf muttered a sheepish apology, glancing back up at the other woman from time to time, as if seeking reassurance. Her words broke momentarily as the tavern door swung open, and the dark-haired woman kept her from saying anything else by noisily dragging a chair to the end of the table and protesting something about a ship.

Olivia pondered where she had seen the woman before, not able to place why she looked so familiar. Her thoughts were jarred as she caught sight of a tall, blonde-haired mage.

Anders.

In her rush, she nearly toppled her barstool and left her gauntlets. Righting herself and grabbing the gloves, Olivia snaked through the tables towards him. "Anders," she called, feeling her face light up at the sight of her old friend.

"Olivia." He turned to her and smiled, looking almost a bit surprised.

Something's… off. Olivia couldn't place it, but something seemed different about Anders. With a start, she realized his eyes were cold and his gaze hard, unlike the witty and warm Anders she had come to know in Amaranthine. Still, she was overjoyed to see him, alive and well. Giving him a brief hug, she pulled away quickly to inspect him.

"You look tired," he noted, his eyebrows crinkling in worry.

"It's a long journey," Olivia shrugged. "And I don't sleep as well without Alistair. Nightmares," she muttered, referencing the darkspawn-infested dreams that plagued all Grey Wardens.

Anders nodded in understanding.

For the first time, they both seemed to notice the jeering from the table Olivia had been watching. "Friends of yours?" she asked, her cheeks reddening.

Grimacing, Anders remained quiet. "Some of them," he decided finally. "Actually," he added, lightening a bit, "I wanted to introduce you to Hawke." Taking her hand, he led Olivia over to the table and offered her the last open seat. Pulling up a chair for himself, he gestured to Olivia. "This is her, Hawke. Olivia."

The red-haired woman tore her gaze from the mug in front of her, face flushed. "Olivia? Oh, right. Olivia." She fanned her face with her hand, pushing away the mug. "Maker, Varric," she gasped, "what is this?"

Ignoring the dwarf's explanation, Anders pointed to various faces and began introducing them. "This is Hawke, and… Fenris," he glowered, pointing at the elf, "and Varric, and Isabela—"

Olivia straightened, causing Anders to look over at her in concern. She waved it away, suddenly recognizing the dark-skinned woman from Denerim.

"And this," Anders finished with a flourish, pointing to the elf girl, "is Merrill, our resident blood mage."

His tone of voice made Olivia smile; she knew he wanted her to be offended by the elf, but she was too busy as the Warden-Commander to allow herself to get caught up with every little case of blood magic. Besides, she thought, I've heard about Meredith and the templars here. They'll stop blood magic. She'll be caught soon enough. Though the thought comforted her, Olivia was also concerned for the young girl's safety at the hands of a zealous templar.

Enough, Olivia, she chastised herself. Grey Wardens can't take a side. We're neutral in this.

She turned her focus back to the table, where the group was now staring at her in expectation. All except Hawke, that is, who was concentrating on the mug. Not sure what to do, Olivia slid her hands into her lap and looked to Anders, hoping he would explain exactly why she had come to Kirkwall.

"So," Anders muttered slowly, "umm, this is Olivia." He hesitated. "Olivia Amell."

"Amell," Olivia repeated under her breath, the word tasting unfamiliar and wrong. It had been so long since anyone had called her that. "Maker, Anders," she breathed. "I haven't hardly heard that name since I went off to the Circle."

"The Circle?" At this, Hawke perked up, her emerald eyes shining in interest. "You're a mage?" She looked pointedly at Olivia's heavy armor and the sword and shield strapped to her back.

"Yes, it's…" She avoided Varric's gaze, deciding not to call it a long story. As Anders had pointed out, Olivia was tired from her trip. She didn't feel like explaining her trip to the ancient elven ruins, where she'd discovered an ancient spirit who'd taught her to wield her magic in such an unusual and unfamiliar way. The arcane warrior. Olivia turned the name over in her mind, feeling six pairs of hungry eyes set on her.

It was Fenris who broke the silence. "Another mage? An apostate, as well? Does she bend to the will of a demon, perhaps?" His question came out quiet threatening, and Olivia shook her head, but Anders was quick to come to her defense.

"She's not an apostate. She's—" Looking around, Anders leaned in and lowered his voice. "She's the Warden-Commander of Ferelden. She stopped the Blight and saved the lives of hundreds of people."

The elf crossed his arms, glaring over Olivia at Anders.

Trying to diffuse the tension, Olivia hurried to defend herself before Anders tried arguing again. "I've felt the touch of demons," she offered quietly. "Desire, pride, hunger… I've seen firsthand what they can do. I know how a reckless promise—however well-intended—can endanger the lives of so many." She thought sorrowfully of Jowan, and Arl Eamon, and the collapse of the Circle. "I've been caught in the grasp of a demon, and fought past it," she concluded, a touch of pride tainting her sincerity.

"And, if the stories are true," Varric added to her defense, "this woman willingly gave up her best friend to the templars because he was a blood mage, and then refused his help when he escaped. She willingly went into the Fade to hunt a demon that had taken hold of a young boy, rather than simply killing him outright. If the stories are true," he quickly reminded them.

Olivia simply nodded.

"I… have not heard these stories." Fenris' tone was almost apologetic, and Olivia could glimpse a softness in his eyes—respect, maybe?

"Not all mages seek out demons," Anders insisted.

"Yet so many do," Fenris shot back, turning his gaze back on Anders.

Surprised by his sudden outburst, Olivia glanced back at Anders. The hard determination in his eyes was unnatural – something she hadn't seen before.

This time, it was Hawke who broke the silence. She placed a tender hand on Fenris' arm and cleared her throat. "So, Olivia. You…" She fumbled for words. "Anders said you're an Amell?"

"Once," Olivia admitted, "before the Circle, and before the Wardens." She looked down at her bare hands, absentmindedly inspecting a ragged fingernail. She hated it when people tried to bring up her heritage; she knew she had family here in Kirkwall, but Olivia wasn't part of it. She was no longer an Amell, but a Warden. Alistair's Warden, she thought with a sad smile. He was her family now, and the Mabari she had found after Ostagar, but not the Amells.

"My mother," Hawke choked out, her lips forming more silent words before she stopped altogether, her head dropping.

"Rivaini," Varric piped up suddenly, "why don't we go play Wicked Grace with Daisy? She could use the practice," he suggested. "Fenris, Anders, you're both welcome to join us." Isabela groaned, but she and Merrill followed the dwarf up a small set of stairs at the back of the tavern.

"Hawke's mother was Leandra Amell," Anders said quietly. "I thought you'd want to know, and meet your family."

"She…" One of Hawke's hands twirled in the air, as if to grab a word from the space around her. "She died. Not long ago." The elf raised a hand slowly, like he was going to take one of Hawke's, but instead he placed it on the table.

"I'm sorry," Olivia whispered sincerely. "I… I didn't know her. Or any of the Amells, really. I don't remember much from before the Circle."

Fenris glanced up at her words, his face scrunching with recognition. Olivia wasn't sure what had brought it on, and sighed.

"Maybe we should go back to the estate," Hawke suggested quietly. Without waiting for an answer, she headed for the door, Fenris following close behind.

Anders stood to follow, but Olivia tugged at his sleeve to keep him from going too far. Standing to face him, she asked, "What happened to you, Anders? What happened after Amaranthine?"

He looked away, his face so full of regret and sadness that Olivia regretted asking the question. "Justice," he finally murmured, without looking back at her.

She nodded, understanding. "Are you… are you alright? Both of you?"

Anders' head snapped up, confusion clouding his eyes. "You're… concerned? For both of us?"

"The choice has been made," she explained, smiling in encouragement, despite her annoyance at the situation. "There's no point in being cross. So, yes. I'm concerned."

"We're… fine." Anders still didn't seem able to comprehend her worry. "Though I suspect he's going to cause me more trouble than he already has." His eyes darkened, and an involuntary shiver ran down Olivia's spine.

"Anders…"

"I can't control it, sometimes," he admitted roughly; his voice was harsh as he added, "I almost killed a girl, Olivia. A mage."

Olivia wanted to say something, to comfort him and tell him not to worry. She wanted suddenly to stay in Kirkwall and help him overcome whatever issues Justice was causing him. Feeling her heart drop, she realized she missed Anders' smile, the witty grin that she was used to. Instead, a grimace was plastered onto his face.

"You should get to the estate." Without another word, Anders stormed out of the tavern.