"We'd better hurry to the Docks. Feynriel doesn't have a chance against those slavers!" Anders yelled to Felicia.

"I'd go quicker," Felicia quipped back, "But I think a haste spell would be too much for me to handle considering I have.. argh," she dodged an arrow, "Practically all my mana occupied holding these Carta back at the moment!" Anders nodded as he cleaved the head off the shoulders of an unfortunate dwarven Carta thug with a short blast of ice. Blood and gore spattered everywhere. Felicia wiped the gore out of her eyes, just in time to hear a scream and a choking sound.

"Daisy!" Varric bellowed.

"Merrill!" Felicia yelled. They swept through the crowd of Carta, finishing off the last few stragglers and crushing all in their way. Varric was the first to get to her, hastily pouring a potion down her throat, and applying a poultice over one of the gaping wounds.

"Ah, ah shit... No potions left..." Before Felicia could finish her train of thought, Anders was there, like a knight, albeit in feathery robes rather than shining armour. With a look of intense concentration on his face, he placed his hands over Merrill's deepest wound, and the flesh miraculously began to knit back together. Merrill gasped and spluttered back into life. Felicia dared to breath again, and hugged Anders gratefully for his quick thinking, not noticing the blush that spread across his cheeks. Helping Merrill up, and searching the enemy bodies for potions, gold and other loot, they went on to find Feynriel.

After bringing news of Feynriel's safety, and that he had gone to stay with the Dalish to master his powers, Felicia had taken the letter from his daughter to the templar called Thrask. She had assured him that his secret would be kept, and left the Gallows before the watchful eyes of the Templars strayed to her.

A week or so passed, and Felicia sunk into her usual depression when she had nothing to do. She was still shook up over the injuries Merrill had received – if Anders hadn't been there, who knows what could have happened. Felicia made up her mind – she had a simple find and deliver to do – she just needed to find a merchant called Anso. She would invite Anders along with her and he could help her develop her healing magic.

"Maker's left man breast, this isn't going well!" Felicia cursed as she and Anders tried to dispatch the umpteenth mercenary.

She had received surprisingly little trouble in Darktown on the way to Anders' clinic – just the usual catcalls, obscenities, and leers, but those were a part of Darktown as much as the poverty-stricken refugees and the stench of sewers. She was glad of the lack of trouble on the way to meet Anders now, because she didn't have enough potions and she was pretty sure her left arm was broken from trying to block the hit of a shield.

"Can you see an end to them yet?" Anders yelled to her from across the other side of the Alienage. Ducking the blow of a dagger, she turned to answer him, and that was her undoing. A lick of fire and a sharp pain to the back of her head was exruciating, and then the world went fuzzy.

"Felicia!" Anders bellowed. He was briefly aware of Justice taking over in his rage,and the next thing he knew, Merrill was sat next to him tapping him repeatedly, her attempt at waking him out of his stupor.

"Anders! Anders, wake up. Please wake up! Hawke is... she's not dead is she? Oh please tell me she's not dead, Creators, I tried to take her pulse and I called for Varric but he's not here yet, and Anders wake up, I don't know any healing magic, I tried, but all it did was create a small lightning storm over my head, and now my head is wet, and please Anders wake up."

At the sensation of Merrill's little raincloud dripping onto his head, Anders groggily sat up to see that all the men were dead. He looked over to Felicia, panic in his eyes, and started to run towards her, already noting the white-haired man leaning over her, presumably trying to loot her body. He threw a stonefist at the looter, and knelt next to Felicia, starting to heal her wounds. He was aware of a sharp intake of breath from the man (elf, actually) next to him, who has some kind of tribal markings all over his body... They sparkled and glowed... could that be lyrium?

"Filthy mages..." the elf growled, and Anders' eyes glowed blue.

"Do not judge, if you wish to live." He growled, part of the Fade coming through to this world, the air around him shimmering and his voice distorted slightly. "Why were you looting her, yet you do not wear the colours of those mercenaries?" He found a weak pulse, and pushed all his power into strengthening it, mending broken bones and fusing severed skin.

The markings glowed blue, and the elf's eyes flashed.

"The woman was about to die. She was the one who helped get rid of those slavers. I thought the least I could do was administer the potions she had on her person whilst you ran around playing the blue demon, mage." He spat at Anders, somehow making the word mage more offensive than the word demon.

"Fine. I believe you... For now. Help me take her back to her uncle's house, if you truly are the good citizen you say." The elf's piercing eyes looked into his, narrowed.

"Do not let it be known that I am not a man of my word, abomination or no. I will take her back, and you will tell her if she recovers, that I await her in Hightown. I have a... business proposition."