Thank you everyone who has favorites/followed/reviewed. It means a lot to me! Anyway this is the last Friday before I must put my nose back to the College Grindstone, fear not however, this fic will still be updating weekly.

Big thanks to enc0432; she really is my best friend and the person who brought Mass Effect and then Dragon Age to my attention and the English Major who has looked over every bit of this story.

Disclaimer: all characters, places, etc. etc. ect. Property of Bioware etc. etc. etc. excluding original characters etc. etc. etc.

Chapter VII

"We have to quarantine the ill to keep it from spreading any further," Solas said. The inner circle, minus Sera, Iron Bull, and Cassandra, were gathered in the main hall of the keep, surrounding a table covered in books and apothecary equipment. The elf was grinding herbs into a paste while Dorian and Vivienne babysat the brewing process.

"We've already done that," Cullen exclaimed. The commander himself wasn't looking so good.

For the past three days, Blackwall and the others had begun a fight they couldn't win with shields and swords. The sickness had spread like wildfire through the refugee camps in the valley below and was now spreading through the keep. It hit the old and the young the hardest, within four days they had had six deaths—all of them elderly. More deaths were sure to follow.

"What we really need," Vivienne was stirring a flask of red liquid. "Is the Inquisitor. Without leadership all we do is shout at each other and hope for the best."

Leliana appeared in the doorway to the library. "I sent out a dozen birds," she informed them. "But it will still take a few days for her to return. We must hold out until then. I've sent my scouts into the woods to collect as much wild elfroot as they can carry."

Cullen fought back a cough and took a seat at the table. "I want to close the keep; it won't help anyone if we're all sick."

"But the infirmary—" Josephine gasped.

"I'll have my men take everything that's needed down to the camp and we'll get a makeshift clinic down in the valley. The infirmary is fit to burst anyway."

"The Inquisitor had it built to care for the sick and injured, if we close it to those in need then you—"

"The Commander is right, Josie." Leliana sighed. "This is the best we can do for them."

Blackwall cleared his throat. "I'll work with the carpenters; we'll build some more beds. The least we can do is get them off the ground." The bunks they had been building for the soldier's quarters had been repurposed for the sick already, but as more and more people fell sick…the Inquisition had truly not seen this coming. They had safeguards and stockpiles for sickness, but they hadn't expected it to spread so quickly.

"And we will continue making potions," Vivienne added. The Grand Enchanter sighed. "It must be said," she set her flask down and folded her hands together. "That this…plague had moved too quickly to be…"

"To be normal." Solas finished. "This is magic, we think."

Dorian nodded. "Or purposeful poisoning with a little magic to help it spread. Which is why we need a sample of whatever water and food is being passed out to the refugees."

"You'll have it," Cullen said. This time the Commander couldn't help himself from coughing.

"Cullen, you need to get some rest," Leliana cooed.

"I'll be fine," he insisted. "We have work to do." And he got up and went out the doors to give out his orders.

Varric sighed. "Well, Hero. I'm not accustomed to manual labor, but I know how to hold a hammer. Come on kid," he said to Cole, "let's go be helpful."

Cole stood up from where he had been sitting on the table and said; "So hot, it hurts, Maker it hurts."

"Yeah kid, we know, the flu sucks."

The two followed Blackwall to the barn. Blackwall had let the carpenters commandeer his space. Sawdust covered the floor and the racket of saws and hammers made the horses nervous. A few new cot frames had been erected since this morning and now they were just waiting for Cullen's men to take them down to the camps.

Blackwall got to work sawing planks and Varric, true to his word, knew how to hold a hammer. The dwarf nailed the boards together and tried to show Cole how to do it. Cole wasn't very good at it, but Varric assured him that with practice they would make him a master carpenter. Genevieve had told Blackwall she had helped the boy become more human, but Cole still gave him the creeps no matter how much she doted on him.

"How do you get hair on you face?" Cole asked, watching with mesmerized eyes as Blackwall cut a board of oak in half.

Blackwall sighed. "Ask Varric, he seems to have adopted you."

Varric laughed. "Oh now, Hero, I'm hardly an expert on the subject."

"He doesn't have hair on his face," Cole reasoned. "Is it a mask?"

"No. It's a beard." He wasn't trying to sound quite so annoyed, but the boy's constant questions and the way he rooted around in people's mind was sometimes just too much for Blackwall to deal with. He sighed; thinking of what Genevieve would say if she heard he was being overly cruel to the boy. "Look, if you were any other lad your age I'd tell you that one day you'll probably grow one too, except I don't know if spirits that become boys get beards."

For a moment, Blackwall was certain that he saw a hint of hope under that ridiculous hat. He was suddenly certain that that was what Genevieve saw in him, a lost boy in need of a little hope and understanding.

"I could try," Cole said.

"So," Blackwall looked at the boy. "How does a spirit become flesh anyway?"

Cole shrugged and said wistfully. "How does a warden become grey?"

Both Blackwall and Varric broke into mirthful laughter. "You know Cole, you're not so bad. But I'm not a Grey Warden."

"I know, you never hid from me," Cole then started singing that Maker-damned nursery rhyme. Blackwall felt his blood go cold. "To many voices in the carriage, Maker they're young," the boy met Blackwall's eyes. "If I tell my men to stop, they'll know it was a lie—cold, trapped, heart hammering like axes on a carriage door."

Blackwall dropped his saw and clutched at his heart. "Stop," he croaked. Breathing suddenly become difficult, he leaned against his workbench. Varric kept trying to work to mask that he was listening. "Please," The boy stopped and cocked his head like a bird. "Cole, if you knew what I am, what I'd done. Why didn't you tell the others?"

"Everyone hides dead things," Cole said as if it were something everyone knew. "Everyone pretends. You wanted to fix it."

Blackwall didn't quite know how to respond. "But I'm a murderer,"

"You don't want to be," Cole implored as if he were trying to reason with an unreasonable child. "You made a new you, you are Blackwall. You killed Rainer."

"If only that were possible."

"You would stand between Rainer and the carriage. But you can't. So you carry the bodies to remember."

Blackwall frowned and then picked up his saw. He hadn't even spoken with Genevieve yet, and there Cole was the one reconciling him with himself. It hurt and it didn't feel right, but he felt better, if only a little.

"I suppose I do," Blackwall muttered. He went silently back to his work.

XXXX

When Cullen fell ill three days later, they put him in one of the guestrooms in the keep instead of his usual tower. They gave him healing drafts and sleeping potions but whenever he woke he was delirious with fever. And when Krem and some of the other Chargers showed symptoms they put them in cots in the formal dining room just off from Josephine's office. They put soldiers and servants there too and no one wanted to say it, but they knew the room would fill up before too long.

What was worse, Morrigan, the apostate Genevieve had brought back from the Winter Palace had agreed with Solas, Vivienne, Dorian, and Fiona. The sickness was some kind of poison, mixed in with supplies. From what Leliana's men could tell most of the supplies had gone down to the valley, but they weren't going to take any chances, and they burned all the rest in the courtyard. Now they were without fresh food and clean water. Josephine penned letters for aide, but all that could truly be done was pray.

Mother Giselle herself attended their dead. Every night new funeral pyres burned and the ashes were collected to be returned to loved ones. Those who were healthy enough to attend the services spent many nights singing hymns and begging the Maker for any kind of relief. Even those few elves who worshipped their old gods prayed side-by-side with their human companions, asking their Creators for aide.

Blackwall watched the fires burn and was reminded of the time they left Haven, fleeing for their lives. All of them brought together by wanton destruction and grief. The Dawn will Come was such a simple hymn, and it had become the favorite of many of the Inquisition's followers. It was being sung now that the Revered Mother had finished the Chant.

Varric came to stand with him; they kept a silent vigil for a while until Blackwall could not stand the sounds of mourning anymore.

"When you write this, how will you say it?" he asked far more bitterly then he intended.

The dwarf thought about it for a bit and frowned. "What can I say but the truth? Bad things happen to good people sometimes."

Blackwall crossed his arms angrily and growled; "It isn't right, those people were only trying to do the right thing." Leliana had her people searching for the person who poisoned their supplies. But everyone knew it was a longshot, the person who had done it would be long gone now, if they had even been in Skyhold in the first place. Blackwall's guess was that it was a Venatori agent or a red Templar or some other shadowy enemy the Inquisition didn't even know about.

"I hope to see the son of a bitch who did this hang," Blackwall spat.

Varric scoffed. "Not if I shoot him first."

They parted with agreeing nods, and went to bed.

The prayers and hymn continued for two more nights before they were finally answered to the shouts of; "Open the gates! Open the gates, make way for Inquisitor Trevelyan!" The gates were opened so quickly, the gears in the mechanism squealed in protest.

Blackwall dropped what he was doing and followed the throng of people to greet the Inquisitor. Leliana and Josephine quickly exited the keep as Genevieve and her companions came riding through the open gate. Both the Inquisitor and Casandra dismounted before their mounts came to a full stop. Genevieve tripped on her momentum, but saved herself and brushed it off with a serious look.

She caught his eye, and frowned before turning to Josephine and Leliana. Cassandra joined them as they headed up to the keep. Bull and Sera came to stand with Blackwall.

"Krem is alright," Blackwall told the Iron Bull. "The other Chargers too, they're young and strong. They didn't get the fever like some of the others."

"Good, I'd sure miss that Tevinter bastard," Bull said with a chuckle.

"Rode all night we did," Sera grumbled. "Got the message from a boy in one of the camps, seems to me we ought to be running away from the sick,"

"We didn't even make it to the Graves," Bull added. "Officer at the forward camp had a message from Red, we turned right around. How bad is it?"

"You see the pyres in the valley? It's not good, I can tell you that. Cullen is sick, fever's got him." Blackwall answered and then added. "If you rode all night your probably hungry, you ought to get something to eat and then sleep. Only the strong make it out of this," he left them and went up to the keep where he found Varric in his usual place by the hearth.

"She went up to see Curly." The dwarf said. "And she's not happy, said to our lovely spymaster, and I quote, 'find the person who did this and bring him to me,' emphasis on the 'bring'" he laughed weakly. "She was very serious. Haven't seen her that mad since…well since she found out you left." Quickly, he added. "Oh, but don't worry, this rage is much, much worse."

"Good to know she's found something else to be angry at, at least for a while." He sat down in a chair by the fire and played a game of cards with Varric until Genevieve came back into the main hall looking worse for wear. The inner circle gathered to hear what she had to say and offer their advice.

Ser Brandon, the handsome ex-Templar who acted as one of the Inquisitor's personal guard, grabbed a chair from one of the tables and set it down before her. She thanked him and sat down. "I'll be honest, I've never seen anything like it," she turned to Solas and the other mages. "If what you say is right and it's resistant to elfroot, then—" she paused and crossed her arms in the way she did when she was deep in thought. "If it's poison have we tried a mix of royal elfroot, spindle weed, blood lotus…" she trailed off when Vivienne shook her head. "I see. What about—"

"I can assure you, Inquisitor, we have tried it." Solas told her. And they had, they had spent days grinding different combinations of herbs and brewing them into potions. Some mixture had treated the symptoms, others had no effect at all, and one had made the brave test subject violently ill.

"Then I guess I get to hit the books,"

"First you should eat and sleep, Inquisitor," Leliana said. "None of us want you to get sick."

Genevieve stood up, rubbed her temples, and sighed. "Okay, you're right. I think I could use a bath as well." She turned to the mages; "I have several books on rare herbs that may help us, Maker willing we'll find something. The rest of you, do what you can to make our people comfortable. And I am to be woken immediately, if something develops or changes."

"Of course, Inquisitor," Josephine bobbed her head.

"Blackwall," she said his name so softly he almost wasn't sure he heard it. "Would you attend me?" she turned a light shade of pink so quickly added; "and help Ser Brandon carry books?"

Blackwall jumped up, he didn't want to seem so eager but by Varric's smirk he knew he wasn't doing a good job of it. "Of course, my lady," he offered her his arm and then guided her up to her quarters.

On the stairwell, with Brandon following a respectful distance behind them, Genevieve shed the Inquisitor's mask and sighed. "It occurs to me that I am not sure what to call you. Thom? Rainer? Blackwall?"

"Let's just go with Blackwall." He answered as he opened the door to her private room. Brandon had taken his place in the stairwell, Ser Marbrand was usually there, but the Templar had fallen sick and his spot had been replaced by a one of Cullen's soldiers.

"Alright," she turned to him in the doorway. "I know that I said we would talk when I returned but," she paused to gather her thoughts. "In light of recent events I think perhaps we should wait."

"Of course, my lady, I understand." Blackwall nodded. Truthfully, part of him didn't mind putting off what would inevitably be an awkward and painful conversation, although the other part wanted to get it over with because it was always easier to take a punch when you knew it was coming.

"Thank you, but um, we're still going to talk. You're not off the hook, serah."

"I pray never to be off your hook, my lady." a flirt, as natural as breathing. For a moment he was embarrassed and dreaded that it was the wrong thing to say after everything he had done.

Genevieve snorted in an attempt to keep from laughing. "Now then, books."

With Ser Brandon's help, Blackwall carried a pile of books down to the mages in the main hall. All of them belonged to Genevieve, collected from their travels, gifted to her by nobles who had discovered her love of herb lore, and saved from circles and chantries all across Thedas. Vivienne seemed rather put out when she examined the books, declaring some of them to be property of the Circle of Magi. Blackwall thought to dare her to try and take them from the Inquisitor; these were some of the books she had saved from when the Circle at Ostwick had rebelled. But the First Enchanter didn't say anything more about it.

Brandon went back to his post and Blackwall played a round of cards with Varric before going back to his barn and trying to keep his hands busy. They had run out of wood to make bunks two days ago, so he was left to his carving. Eventually, that bored him and he went to the tavern to get a drink.

The place was damn near empty and too quiet for his taste. The good news was that the beer had been tested and it was poison free. He ordered a pint from the dwarven barkeep and listened to the minstrel croon some sad song about Haven. By the end of his second pint that too had lost its savor and he realized that it was helplessness that made him so anxious.

He was no mage and he hardly knew anything about herbs and medicines beyond don't drink the blue ones, that's lyrium. He hated feeling helpless, and he hated seeing all these helpless people struggling just to survive a damn cough. It was maddening, knowing that there was an enemy of the Inquisition that he couldn't just fight.

Another day passed and still they had no answer. On the second day of Genevieve's return she attended the funeral chant in the courtyard and tried to raise people's spirits with a small speech about how much they had endured and how they would keep enduring. She went right back to her books after.

"I think I've got it!" Dorian suddenly shouted on the afternoon of the fourth day. He held up the book and someone went to get Genevieve, Morrigan, and Fiona.

The inner Circle gathered around one of the tables in the hall, waiting for whatever news would come from Dorian's book.

Genevieve took a long glance at the book and smiled. "Oh Dorian, I could kiss you,"

"And I would let if you were my type," he laughed and put a caring hand on her shoulder. "But I am truly magnificent aren't I?"

"You have sharp eyes," she chuckled and beckoned the other mages to come see.

The mages gathered around the book and everyone waited on bated breath as they debated it. They all seemed certain it would work, what they couldn't agree on was where it grew. Solas insisted it grew in rare clumps in the Hinterlands; Dorian was certain it only grew in Tevinter; Morrigan had seen it in the Kocari Wilds; and Vivienne thought it extinct.

"May I be so bold as to ask what it is?" Varric shouted over the arguing.

Genevieve answered. "Purple-veined elfroot. It's rare." She held up the book to show them. Blackwall thought it looked like any other kind of elfroot.

"There are other types of elfroot?" Blackwall grumbled. How she memorized all the different kinds of plants out there he would never know.

"Oh, lots of kinds," she told him with a smile. "Royal, green-leaf, common, the list goes on." She shook her head. "Getting off topic, the Hinterland's matches its preferred climate conditions. Our best bet it there,"

"It's still a long shot at best," Vivienne warned. "Don't get your hopes up for nothing, dear,"

"Right now it's the best shot we have." Genevieve read through the passage again. "I think it might be the only chance we have,"

"Then who are we sending after it?" Solas asked.

Genevieve marked the page and closed the book. "Me, of course." She said, it was met with protests. She raised her hands and made a calming motion and waited for them to quiet. "I will not risk someone picking nightshade, I am going and I will hear no more about it."

"I am more than capable of—" Solas was about to argue.

"Taking care of the sick, that's what I need you for Solas."

Blackwall stood as the others prepared to make another argument. "You heard the lady," he told the mages. They ignored him.

Cassandra, who had been surprisingly silent through the whole conversation rose from her seat. "I don't see why you can't delegate to someone else. The people have courage when you're around,"

Genevieve crossed her arms and let them all say their piece but she politely ignored them. She turned to Blackwall and beckoned him to her side. "Blackwall, Cassandra, Bull," she said. "We leave for the Hinterlands in the morning,"

So this whole sickness thing came out of a silly conversation me and my beta had the first time we got to Skyhold and both of us, outside of our majors are both history geeks. This got us talking about the middle age warfare which inevitable led us into a conversation about how so many people in such close proximity could easily get sick and how they have magic, who's to say they can't weaponize an illness?

This is the end product.