Morrigan tipped her staff against a wayward branch just as another biting breeze rustled the orange leaves of the Brecilian Forest. She refused to be cold for many reasons, not the least of which was that Zevran had insisted before she left camp that she should bring a cowl. Spite was a great motivator for many things, but not warmth, it would seem.

Frustration at her own lateness drew a scowl across her features, as she searched for the tall tree with pointed red leaves Lanaya had mentioned. The irritation of having to be here at all, saving Zevran from his own foolishness, cemented her foul mood.

The plan had been for Morrigan to venture off after dinner. Then Elissa nearly caught her leaving the Dalish camp, cocking her head in a question-that-wasn't-a-question, and the witch had to spin some story about refilling the elfroot coffers. Any implicit reference to Elissa's poor potion management usually halted any further questioning. Although Morrigan didn't relish reminiscing about how close they'd all come to death in the Deep Roads, it was always gratifying to keep their leader's past failings front of everyone's mind.

After the Mad Hermit proved a disappointing dead end, Lanaya spoke of another mysterious human mage the Dalish seemed to prefer distance from. When pressed, the First alluded that his path had crossed their territory before, but given the mage's propensity for drawing human - Templar - attention, they preferred to keep a respectful distance unless absolutely necessary.

If the mage proved skilled enough to heal Zevran's dangerous Fade scarring, she'd sneak the man into camp in the dead of night, heal the foolish elf, and dismiss him before anyone even discovered he'd come. If not, well, she'd be in her fur-lined bedding that much sooner.

Morrigan stepped into a small clearing, and her heart lifted at the sight ahead. Red, pointed leaves stubbornly clung to the branches of a tall oak. As she glanced around, however, something felt off about their rendezvous point. She summoned a dim ball of light in one hand to ensure her eyes weren't playing tricks on her.

Lanaya hadn't mentioned a companion, but the light confirmed Morrigan's instinct. She knelt down to study two rectangles of flattened grass, marking where someone - two someones - had bedded recently. The mage was most definitely travelling alone, but perhaps he'd simply reclined by the tree first, then moved? To sleep closer to the fire? Pointless. And unlikely.

Morrigan rose. She began brushing twigs and earth from her robes, when a familiar sick feeling caught her like a hook in the pit of her stomach.

It was a sensation she knew well, especially when that oafish Warden cast his spells too wide. Smite.

The attack froze her in place, carving the magic from her, leaving her with nothing. Less than nothing. She sank to her knees. The sensation of magic being sucked dry from a mage's insides was unlike any pain. It was one of the only things in Thedas that made Morrigan's heart jerk with fear.

Smiting brought with it the horrifying whisper that the magic would never return.

As color drained from her vision, two figures stepped from the shadows in armor adorned with a flaming sword.

Fury seethed from Morrigan, as she blinked to stay conscious. If she survived this, it would be the last favor she ever did for that fool Zevran.

Thunk.

Kalya had been entertaining the late-evening dinner crew with knife tricks. With a snap of her wrist, she flung her daggers end-over-end into a nearby tree, "drawing" beautiful designs with the hilts where they stuck out of the wood.

While one's New-Warden strength waned in time, the precision with which Kalya was able to aim her weapons was something she hoped would stick around. The insatiable hunger, however - even still, after her second dinner of the night - she could do without.

Young elves clapped when the center knife of a swirling pattern struck true. Kalya bowed her head. It was refreshing to feel pride so unabashedly, to welcome attention. Being among the elves made her feel warm. Zevran dutifully collected the knives from the wood as Leliana took the moment to cut across the path, arms full of bowls from cleanup duty.

Yes, everyone was having a perfectly lovely evening until Kalya felt a tug on her Warden's sense and looked up to see Elissa emerging from her tent, map in hand and looking more smug than she had in quite some time. Kalya stole a glance at Alistair, who didn't raise an eyebrow above his own second dinner.

Elissa approached the small dining area, placing her map on a table in front of her and leaning down on wide-spread arms. She looked as if she were addressing regal advisors rather than bored party members and a half-dozen elves who couldn't care less about the shems' comings and goings.

"I hope you've all had an enjoyable rest here in the Dalish camp," she began, looking everyone over. "I've made a discovery, and I'm afraid it can't wait another moment. Pack up your things immediately. We're headed to a..." She paused, curling up the edge of her lip. "...Hermit's encampment, and if all goes well, we'll have the treaties signed by morning."

Kalya's chest tightened as she scanned the tables for Morrigan. She knew the witch had been spending the past few nights following up on leads from Lanaya, but it only suddenly occurred to her that they hadn't crossed paths all evening.

Rising unsteadily from his seat, Oghren was the first to head back to his tent. The others shared a silent look of annoyance before heading their separate ways.

"Where's Morrigan?" Elissa asked, to no one in particular.

Kalya blinked evenly. "Gathering herbs."

Elissa's lips broke into a false smile. "Well, I trust you'll let her know. We leave in a half-hour. Alistair?"

Finally, his eyes rose to meet Elissa's. If Kalya didn't know better, she would have sworn it was a challenge.

"Yes?" The coldness of his voice took both women by surprise, but Elissa recovered in an instant.

"Will you meet me in my tent when you're ready? I'd like to discuss our strategy."

Kalya stole a glance too long at Alistair's cool glare and Elissa's measured politeness. Something had happened between them. That much was clear. She yearned to hear more, but as the rest of the elves dispersed, her lingering presence was becoming obvious.

She ran through the last few days in her mind. Alistair had been on point when they first entered camp, only to be demoted when Elissa - what, grew tired of his diplomacy?

"Of course, Commander."

Anger looked odd on him. To someone who didn't know him well, it would have sounded like compliance, but Kalya could see tension tightening his shoulders under his leathers. If Elissa noticed, she hid it equally well, spinning on her heel to return to her tent, her face a mask of indifference.

Kalya was used to packing light, but with Zevran's affliction, she was grateful to have squirreled away greater potions over the last couple days of respite. So long as no one heard them clanking around in her pack and demanded to know why they weren't in the party's shared coffers, she was fine.

A few months ago, no one would have questioned a couple of bottles clanging around in her sack, she thought mirthlessly.

As she wrapped linens around the bottles, a surprisingly selfish query flitted through her mind, unbidden. How much longer was this their new normal? Sneaking around, hiding Zev's secret from the others, keeping him healed when he took a blow to the leg, distracting others from his glazed-over pupils when he dipped too far into the Fade and became frenetic.

The question was instantly replaced with a pang of shame and guilt. If their roles were reversed, she knew Zevran would have put up with her own afflictions indefinitely. Void take her, how many times had she already fallen lower than anyone thought possible, only to be nursed to health every time by patient Zevran?

Soft footsteps too light to belong to a warrior, too audible for a rogue, approached Kalya's tent just as she was shrugging on her pack. Lanaya lifted the animal-skin flap.

"There you are," she said. Her forehead creased. "Kalya, you have to find Morrigan. She was meant to be back an hour ago."

"Wha- Back from where?"

Lanaya twisted her hands, looking guilty. "There's a mage."

Kalya's heart jumped. "The Hermit."

"No, this one's… different. Human as well. He's good . We met him some years back, though it's always been further to the north. No clue what he's doing all the way down here."

"A human." Kalya's head cocked. "Traveling alone in the woods."

"Well, we have our theories…" Lanaya trailed off, but Kalya just shook her head, not understanding the unspoken implication. "Regardless, when my scout happened across him this morning, I immediately thought of your friend's illness. I told Morrigan straightaway, but she couldn't leave until… Oh, I fear something's happened!"

Fire lit behind Kalya's eyes as her mind raced. She could leave immediately. Probably. But even if she spun some story about catching up - which Elissa would never allow - leaving Zevran to travel with Elissa meant no one to heal him if he fell. A death sentence. Unless...

"Where were they to meet?" Kalya asked.

"There's a red tree with pointed leaves about a quarter-hour's even paces southwest from here. It's hard to miss. I… I can't imagine why she wouldn't have returned."

Kalya thanked the elf and ducked around her, out of her tent, pitching towards Alistair's. When he wasn't within, she spun around and nearly crashed into his barrel chest, which was suddenly right in front of her.

"Whoa there," Alistair said, raising his arms.

"Sorry," Kalya gulped, breathless. At least he hadn't made it to Elissa's tent yet.

"Someone's eager to tromp through the forest at night," he smirked. "Me, I'm trying not to think of all the Night Snakes out there."

Kalya wished she'd formulated a plan better, but her mind was racing. "Alistair, I have a favor to ask…"

"Why do I get the impression this isn't one of those fun favors, like 'Alistair, quick, lend me a sovereign so I can enter you into a pie-eating contest.'"

Kalya blew air out her nose. "Yeah, not quite."

He pursed his lips. "No one ever has pie favors. No matter how many hints I drop."

"I need you to talk to Elissa."

His smile melted ever so slightly, but he recovered with a blink and a quirk of his head. "Well, you're in luck. I was just on my way to visit Her Cheerfulness."

"We can't leave camp tonight. Just… can you get her to stay? Only for the night."

Alistair squinted at Kalya in the dim light, as if he were only just now noticing her furrowed brow. "Wait, is something wrong?"

"I - I can't tell you." Kalya bit the edge of her lip, itchy about the evasiveness. "I'm sorry. I know this is -"

"Okay."

Kalya blinked. "What?"

"I'll talk to her. Of course. But, Kalya, if you need any help, please. I'm - We're here for you."

Kalya's chest bloomed with warmth. And the shame. The sticky shame never went away. "It's not like before. I'm helping someone."

Alistair smiled sadly. "Good luck." Then he steeled himself with a great breath. "And now to inform the Commander we won't be rooting out Night Snakes just yet."

"Good luck yourself," Kalya chuckled.

Alistair balled his fists, shaking them in mock celebration.

With a quick bow, they both headed off in separate directions.

Kalya found Zevran bounding from foot to foot outside his tent, expending his stores of nervous energy.

"Change of plans," Kalya said, blowing out a held breath. Zev flashed his teeth.

In the darkened woods, Kalya heard what was happening to Morrigan before she even saw the red-leafed tree. Zevran followed her through the forest, wild-eyed and matching her sprint pace for pace. The lyrium flowing through his veins had spurred his thirst for action, and Kalya had to whip an arm out to stop him when they approached the clearing.

The witch was tied to a tree, whipping around angrily like a feral cat, but losing energy quickly. Her staff was some meters away. Two Templars were clearly taking their time with her, keeping her alive enough to hear shouted questions they'd never get answered.

The rusling of a bush behind them whipped Zevran's head around and blew out his pupils, his muscles taut with manic energy. Kalya nudged his attention back to the attackers. She pointed to him, the closest Templar, then the ground. Zev nodded.

With an explosion of energy, Kalya leapt from cover, bounded off an overgrown root, and landed on the farther Templar's back. She ripped off his helmet and slashed him clean across the neck just as Zevran tackled his charge in the knees, buckling him to the ground.

Zev had a bit more trouble finishing the man, unable to find any flesh to slit as the man writhed and kicked his feet. After a moment, Zev rolled his eyes, abandoned the search for joints, and instead broke the man's leg by twisting it brutally with a painful crack.

The Templar cried out in pain and rolled to the fetal position. Kalya aimed her dagger under the back of his helmet and drove it into the base of his skull.

For a moment, the forest was quiet, filled only with the sound of the three of them catching their breath. Rhythmic spurts of blood flowed out of the Templars with their final heartbeats.

Morrigan slumped over. Kalya's stomach seized, but when she saw the woman's chest still heaving, she blew a sigh of relief.

Just as Kalya was slipping out of her pack, wondering whether she'd brought any lyrium along with her stores of potions, a bark of laughter erupted from behind a large bush.

"That was fucking glorious!"

Zev jumped to his feet. Kalya gripped her daggers tight. A man - a mage - stepped out from where he'd been hiding. His blond hair was pulled into a tight ponytail. Belts crisscrossed in front of his robes and feathers adorned his pauldrons, making for a less-than-menacing sight, but mages could be disarming in that way.

"Seriously," the mage said, clapping slowly, "I was going to avert my eyes for plausible deniability, but I just couldn't look away. You annihilated those Templars!"

Zevran's eyebrow quirked. Kalya wiped blood from her face with the back of her fist, still holding her weapon tight.

The mage approached, hands raised in defense, smart enough to keep his distance. "My, my, you are a good person to know. And with daggers ! Templars felled with a tiny blade! Did you see that?"

"I did, as a matter of fact." Zev's drawl belied the buzzing anticipation Kalya knew he still had, craving more fight.

"I mean no offence about the tiny blades, by the way. They certainly got the job done. Oh, I hope before they died, they knew how much I hated them."

Kalya shared a look with Zev.

Morrigan's head lifted enough to roll her eyes at the strange man, and Kalya leapt to her feet, feeling like shit for leaving her tied up. She ran to her side and sliced through the ropes, catching Morrigan as she slid weakly into her arms.

"My apologies." The man bowed suddenly. His small ponytail flipped over itself. "I don't even know the names of my elven protectors."

"Kalya." She blinked slowly.

"Zevran. 'Zev' to my friends." The elf began poking through Kalya's sack.

"Anders," the man said cheerfully. "'Anders' to my friends. And my enemies, come to think of it. I didn't catch the name of your apostate friend."

"Morrigan," Kalya said, gingerly setting her on the cool ground. "Though I don't think she's an apostate."

Anders puckered his lips as if she were just adorable. "Do you see a Circle around us, love? Do you see Templars? Well... alive ones." The elves blinked at him. "If someone can shoot sparks out their fingertips and don't get their letters addressed to the Chantry, they're an apostate."

Anders stalked towards Morrigan.

"Morrigan, my good witch, next time, you need to fake pass-out or something . With them casting together, the Smite's area of effect was a good 10 meters wide. I couldn't get close enough to heal you. If they'd at least thought you were out cold, they might have saved their energy."

"Sorry I haven't had as much experience with Templars as you," she spat.

Anders chuckled. "I assume that was meant to be a scathing insult, but truly not many people have. This is my…" He paused to count on his fingers. "...fifth escape from the Circle? Before me, the most anyone had attempted was four!" He puffed up his chest with pride. With the feathers, he looked rather like a proud chicken.

Zev leaned over and offered Morrigan twin tiny bottles from Kalya's sack. She took the potion and tipped it into her mouth, instantly looking less green. Then she downed the lyrium.

"I'm glad you found me," Anders said. "After the elven scout's message and the Templars' annoying milling about, I was beginning to think I'd have to drop by the Dalish camp proper to assist with your problem. And I'm not the elves' favorite person."

"It's not my problem; it's his," Morrigan said, jutting her chin towards Zevran. "We seek healing and information on the long-term effects of lyrium exposure."

Zevran bowed deep, but Kalya could see his lips pursed into a tight line. He'd be pulsing with shame at needing to be tended to. With a mask of confidence, he raised one leather pant leg. The leaves around them were suddenly bathed in cool azure light emanating from his shins.

"Fascinating," Anders whispered, head cocked.

"And you would be wise to stay away from camp," Morrigan said. "Elissa finding out about his problem would make her only marginally more cheerful than these Templars."

"Ooh, would she tie me up, too? Usually I pay good money for that."

Zev smiled at the women. "Can we keep him?"

"If you two are quite done, we do have to be getting back at some point."

"Alistair is… speaking to Elissa," Kalya said. "But who knows if she'll listen."

Morrigan took a deep breath as if she were about to say something scathing, but instead swallowed it away, looking exasperated.

"Right then," Anders said, kneeling down. His hands suddenly stilled before him. "Is it all right if I -"

"Touch me anywhere you need," Zev purred.

A low chuckle rolled in the back of Anders' throat, but when his hand made contact, he sucked in a breath and went quiet. He cupped Zevran's calf, then raised the other pant leg, searching, squeezing gently, as if handling a newborn. The smile ghosted off his face.

"How are you standing?"

Zev's cocksure grin didn't reach his eyes. "Practice."

The pulsing light continued, presumably in time with Zevran's heartbeat.

"It's been doing this a couple months?"

"Under a month."

Anders blew out a breath.

"You... feel like a mage. I don't know what to tell you. The precise long-term effects when multiplied by the severity of exposure varies from person to person. I presume you must be having dreams?"

"I'd rather not talk about them."

Anders brushed his hands together, still crouched. "Well, first things first, you need healing. You should sit down."

Zev did as he was told, and Anders grabbed his staff, holding out an arm steadily between them. A curl of white light rolled toward Zevran, smoke-like and brilliant. It coiled towards his legs, and when it made contact, a gasp was ripped from Zev's throat so suddenly, Kalya's first thought was that it was painful.

A moment later, though, his shoulders relaxed, and Kalya unclenched her fists. The tendrils wove their way up his body, massaging tension from every inch of him. Zevran's relief was palpable. As the wisps curled back into Anders' staff, Zev rubbed his jaw with a smile.

"Now I really want to keep you," Zev said.

Anders smiled softly. "You couldn't afford me, love. But I do offer nightly specials."

Taking another steadying breath, Anders turned to Morrigan. "Here's where we are. I've read studies - and there aren't many - that the long-term effects can be anything from poor impulse control to paranoia to… memory loss. And worse."

Tightness squeezed Kalya's chest. She could see Zevran steadying his mask of strength in place.

"Shockingly," Anders continued, rolling his eyes, "the Chantry would rather keep records of what they're really doing out of their history books. But if you have any physical cravings for lyrium, you should not give into them. Just… go get blackout drunk or something. It's what the Templars do, after all."

Morrigan stood tall, a sneer curling her lip. "So you know no more than I. Well, this has been a colossal waste of time."

"Wha- He needed healing," Anders protested. "He felt like he'd been healed by a first-year."

Morrigan snatched up her staff in a huff. "White magic is not my specialty. Let's go."

As she rose, something seemed to catch her eye on the northern side of the red tree, growing outward from the bark. The witch cocked her head slightly.

"Luckily, I can translate Surly Apostate into Common Tongue," Anders said, his voice rising a few registers. "'Thank you ever so much, Anders. We're sooo grateful that you stayed an extra night and almost got Smoted by those mean, ugly Templars.'"

Kalya forced a smile. "Thank you, Anders. Truly."

Zev dipped his head. "Yes, thank you."

"You're very welcome," he bowed deeply.

As Kalya shrugged on her pack, Morrigan returned from the far side of the tree with a handful of what appeared to be red mushrooms.

Anders squinted at the witch, chuckling as if he'd caught her in a compromising position. "Dawn Morels? Now, what on Thedas could you possibly want with Dawn Morels ?"

Morrigan's head snapped up. "What on Thedas would make you think I answer to you ?" Though fire alighted in her eyes, she placed the fungus delicately in her robes.

"Oh, I like you," he grinned. Then he nodded his head to the others. "But, sadly, I must be off. Do give my love to the Dalish, won't you?"

Zevran bowed deeply, and Kalya tapped two fingers off the side of her head.

When they were a few dozen meters away, the mage spoke once more behind them.

"Um, pardon me."

When the three turned, he jogged over to them.

"So, there is… something else. Zevran, was it?" He looked at the two women. "Would the two of you give us a minute?"

Kalya and Morrigan exchanged a shrug and headed back to camp. When Kalya finally chanced a stolen look over her shoulder, Anders had draped an arm over Zevran and was whispering conspiratorially in his ear.