Hawke made his way through Hightown in a fog of pre-occupation, nodding and mumbling greetings without really noticing what went on around him. The time it would take to get to the Hanged Man in Lowtown was time to reflect. Even though Hightown was brighter, cleaner, somehow–Aveline's City Guard influence, no doubt–his mood was more Lowtown, maybe even bordering on Darktown.

An urgent message from Kirkwall's Viscount had set him on the path to collect a few friends; Varric was probably home at the Hanged Man; Merrill, if she wasn't raiding the gardens in and around Kirkwall or trying to find her way around, would be home in the Alienage; and Aveline would be just across the way at her office in the Viscount's Keep.

In spite of its urgency, the viscount's summons didn't trouble him. His mind was on Elthina. He hadn't heard from her in quite awhile and his latest encounter with the Chantry did nothing to ease his concern. Though it happened a little more than three weeks ago, it seemed like only yesterday…

It was just luck that he'd found the note. It was buried in a pile of grocery lists and unanswered letters begging for his attention. He was lucky that his overworked houseman hadn't gotten around to throwing the whole mess into the furnace.

The Chantry's sunburst seal embossed in the corner made him pull the folded sheet from its hiding place. On its once-folded wax-sealed sheet of vellum was simply his name; Messere Cale Hawke.

Thinking I've really missed her he broke the seal and opened the note. It appeared to be an invitation;

Messere,
At your earliest convenience,
could you meet with me privately
in E's study? In her absence,
I have her leave to meet with you
and discuss your elven friend's
most interesting find.
Cordially, S. U.

In her absence? That didn't sit well. Where was she? Only one way to find out. "Bodahn? Where's my dagger set?"

"Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice." Sister Ursina had met him within moments of him lighting the lamps in the tunnel. He had to look at her twice. His first impression was she was his sister. She looked so much like Bethany. The only difference between them was a fine metal frame with coin-sized glass lenses that sat on her nose. They gave her a studious, almost owlish look that he liked. He'd heard of spectacles before, this was the first time he'd ever seen them.

She smiled shyly at his staring. "Her Grace has nothing but praise for you serah. Your notes on the treatment of necrosis have pushed back the shadows… it is an honor to herald such an important find. Even with its dark origins, it's too beneficial to hide."

"Politics, the bane of scholars everywhere," Hawke quoted his sister. "Not to be too rude. May I ask after Her Grace? Anything to worry about?"

Ursina looked up from her notes on the table. "Aside from the Qunari threat? Nothing much. It seems the shouting between our First Enchanter and First Templar have reached ears in Orlais." Her eyes swam behind the thick glass with her mirth. "Kirkwall's Grand High Cleric has been summoned to appear before the Divine Justinia the Fifth," she intoned stiffly. "From the Maker to Justinia to us…" She looked up at him in mock dismay. "Ahem, I didn't say that, did I?"

"Sister, I am shocked," he said with a wink. With that, she'd driven away his reservations about coming here. If Elthina trusted her, he would too.

The lamp-light reflected off her spectacles as she bent to the notes on the table. "To business, then." She paused to riffle through the pages. "This scroll describes an ancient dalish ritual that will indeed ward off what we would now call demons or daemons." She spelled the word out. "A true generic name would be spirit. A denizen of the Fade. The evil spirits that feed on our base emotions are called demons."

Hawke sat back and watched her with an aching heart. She was so much like Bethany. Bethany who was so curious about everything and anything around her. Once she was into something, the world ceased to exist until her curiosity was satisfied. From nature, to history, and finally, as an adult, the study of magic consumed her interest. "Uhh, sorry sister. I was woolgathering."

Her smile was brilliant. "I was saying. We have all the steps for the ritual. The order is critical as well as the timing. There are three reagents that I… we aren't sure of." She held up a sheet with a list. "They are couched in what could be a dalish slang or a deliberate attempt at secrecy. I'm not sure which."

"And you're wondering if my dalish friend could help." Hawke finished for her.

She nodded. "There's so much we just don't know. What's in the books only goes so far and very few dalish mages feel the urge to talk with us." She gathered the notes with a flourish, turning an errant page around. "Can you bring her to meet with me, say tomorrow evening? I think we both have a lot to learn, she and I, don't you?"

Hawke was thoughtful. "She is interested. I'll stop by her home and ask. We'll see."

Again, that radiant smile. "That's all I can ask then, serah. If I don't see you tomorrow, I'll take it as a demurral without prejudice. Thank you so much for coming." She raised her voice. "Sister Agnes, could you see Messere Hawke to the door?"

Bodahn met him at the door when he got home. "Good to see you messere." He seemed out of breath after silencing Sandal's roughhousing with the dog. "The warden, Anders is his name?, is waiting upstairs in the study. Evidently, just leaving word wouldn't do. I hope it's nothing serious." His stern look made both his son and the dog stop fidgeting. "Off you go then, messere. You two… to the kitchen. Chop, chop!"

The former warden was writing furiously on a loose sheet of paper and didn't seem to notice Hawke at the head of the stairs. It looked as if he feared his thoughts would outrun his pen. "I was wondering where you were, Cale. Don't you ever stay home?" He signed the sheet and dropped the quill as if it was heavy.

"Quite the demand for a barely competent sword-arm," he replied. After hanging his doublet and stowing his weapons, Hawke pulled out a chair at the table. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure, my friend? Let me guess. Those reagents we had such a hard time finding?"

Anders shook his head sadly. "It's a work in progress. The ritual to separate me and Justice will have to wait. Getting the compound mixed up just right eludes me. It hasn't exploded… or anything, but the consistency is all wrong." He sighed. "It'll just take time, I suppose. On a different tack, there is something you could help me with. If you would." He paused to pull out a sheet with a diagram of a building.

"I've got something going with Merrill in the next day or so, but we'll squeeze you in. What's going on?" His eyes were on the diagram.

"I'm doing a history on the latest blight that fits in with… our dalish lady friend. That mirror, the eluvian she calls it, was the very reason the Hero of Ferelden joined us in the Grey Wardens. Rumor has it that the blight was put down so quickly by the power of that glass."

"That thing is a mystery, a very dangerous mystery," Hawke mused aloud. "We're not sure that any power can control it."

"That's the point, Cale." His gaze was steady. "What we need is knowledge. Can we use the eluvian to benefit mankind, or must we destroy it? That's what I want to do. Get an answer to my question–get my hands on that knowledge. Before he was condemned, Karl found an obscure reference to a glass and the Imperium. He told me there was a vault in the Chantry cellar with a whole series of articles about their use."

"Understood. Now, where do I fit in?"

"I need to get into that vault." He smoothed out the diagram and pointed. "It's located in the north-western corner of the cellar, here–under the cleric's quarters. Before he… died, Karl gave me a pattern for the keys. If you could distract the Grand Cleric long enough, I could copy the text that might unlock the mirror's power. Think of how we could change the world with that."

Hawke smiled and shook his head. "I'll be damned. What a coincidence." His smile widened at the warden's frown. "It just happens that we have an appointment with a Chantry scholar to talk about a scroll Merrill found."

The warden was pensive. "Hawke, is that wise? That place is crawling with templars. Her… magic is so strong, they'll be all over you both."

Again, he shook his head, his smile even wider. "I know where the back door is. And I have a key." He winked at their conspiracy. "Meet me here tomorrow at sunset."

Like he always did when visiting Kirkwall's Alienage, Hawke stopped to admire it. Standing more than a hundred hands high, it was a symbol of elven pride and carefully maintained. He wasn't sure how old their Vhenadahl, or Tree of the People was. Its age was measured in generations, surely. It would take at least twenty elves holding hands to encircle it's mighty trunk. The scarcity of lumber made a tree this large very rare, even branches trimmed from it were not to be wasted.

Before he could raise a hand to knock a familiar voice hailed him. "Andaran atish'an Hawke. Let me… set this down." Merrill set an armload of packages and a shoulder bag on a stall table and danced around him to fumble with the lock on her apartment door.

"Now, where is she? Oh, there you are are. Vira, let me introduce Cale Hawke." Merrill shouldered her bag and gathered what packages Hawke hadn't picked up. "Hawke, this is our new apprentice. She assists Tomwise at the shop and helps collect herbs and reagents."

The elf murmured a tentative greeting, blinking her luminous gray-green eyes several times. She pushed two parcels back into place in his arms and turned to face a new customer.

"Andaran atish'an Vira," Hawke managed a nod with his load of packages. How does she manage to carry all this? he wondered, following his dalish friend inside.

"Let me see…" Merrill pulled a package from his grasp, then another. "Can you set those on the table there? These go to the larder." She left the room. "Be right back, Hawke," she called out.

After dropping his load on the table, he sat in a bentwood rocker that was more comfortable than it looked. The fire in the fireplace was out. It had been swept and a new fire laid for tonight. On every bit of shelf-space were plants in clay pots–plants of all types and descriptions. Some had green leaves, some had red. Others were multicolored with red or yellow variegated leaves. It looked almost like Merrill's beloved forest in here.

The hatch-cover in the ceiling was open to admit enough sunlight to make the room look green instead of the customary dingy gray. He wondered how many of these plants were here because of Tomwise's interest in poisons. If Tom was asked, he'd say his interest was strictly alchemy. Hawke knew better. Alchemy was a good trade, but poisons were where the real money was. Some of the artifacts in the room were witness to that. Dalish statues and carvings competed with the plant-pots for any available space. One statue of a wolf, with rubies for eyes, looked priceless. He wondered where Tom had gotten it. Best not to ask, Hawke concluded.

"Here we are Hawke," she said, setting a large cup down in front of him. "It's daytime tea-it will give you a lift. Last time you liked it, so I assumed it was fitting to serve it."

"Ma serannas, da'len." He looked at what was in the cup, sniffed, drank, smiled as the warmth started to spread, and set it down. "I really like what you've done here. It looks like you really live here now."

She smiled at his use of the dalish diminutive. "Most of it's Tommy's doing, really. We try to grow the most commonly used plants here and map out where the rare ones thrive. Not all will grow here." She looked around with obvious pride. "Oh, the viscount's gardeners have allowed me in if I lend a hand with the work there." She looked up slyly. "They don't know what's growing in the far corners."

He watched her sip tea and survey her sitting room. "On to business. Do you remember that scroll you found in the market-place?" When she nodded, he continued; "I took it to some scholars at the Chantry and they agree that it is a ritual that has to do with warding off demons."

He had her full attention now. She sat at the edge of her chair. "I knew there was something to it. What did they find?"

"That's why I'm here. They'd like to meet with you." He watched her reaction and was pleased with her enthusiasm. "They need help with some of the names they're not sure of."

"My clan must be told as well–"

"Tell them nothing Merrill. Hawke, up to more shem nonsense?" Tomwise's presence wasn't diminished by his appearance in sleeping clothes. "Taking a mage, a blood-mage no less, into the jaws of Fen'harel? Are you insane? Merrill, You. Will. Not!"

"Excuse me, Hawke. I'll be right back." She took Tom's arm and firmly led him away. His mistrusting eyes never left Hawke until she pulled him around the corner and down the hall.

The argument, that's what it was, was hard to follow. The words were indistinct, yet the tone wasn't. Anger was replaced by resentment that finally surrendered to silence. A door opened and closed with a firm resolve. Then industrious sounds came from the kitchen, the sound of the door again… silence. The door opened and closed once again.

"Well, that's done." Merrill was toying with a wilted red-leafed plant on a shelf in the hall. "Please forgive him. He's… cranky when he gets home." With a sigh, she flopped into a chair near the fireplace. "You see, he works nights, looking for the odd reagent, harvesting rare plants from who-knows-where…"

He caught her gaze. "Are you sure you want to do this? 'could do more harm than good." Hawke took a look around at all they'd built here.

She looked up into the sunlight. That stubborn look that he associated with the cursed mirror etched her face. "Oh, he'll be all right. Once he sees I mean to do this. He'll understand." She picked up her empty cup, then set it back down with a tired sigh. "He'll be here when I get back… or not." The logs in the fireplace seemed to have taken her attention.

He stood and took her hands in his–they were cold. "Think on it. Talk to Tom. If you can, meet me at my place tomorrow at sunset. If not, I won't think the worse of you. Will you do that?"

Words failed her. She nodded.

"Dareth shiral." He kissed her forehead and quietly left.

"Well that's all done." Bodahn gathered up the correspondence from his desk and made for the door. "Without your help, messere, the cellar would still be a disaster–Thank you so much. Let me get these posted before the courier leaves." He called from the front door. "I've left a cold plate in the kitchen. If I can't get back right away, you and your guests dig right in. I know you've got plans, so don't mind me. Please, carry on." With that he left.

Hawke hefted the box of spirit bottles and trudged up the stairs to the study. Cleaning out the junk in the cellar today rewarded him with some real treasures, most of it was in long-forgotten bottles from all over Thedas. These, he would lock away until he knew what it was that he had. The situation brought to mind an old dwarven saying Varric had told him long ago; Bottles sprout legs. All too true, he agreed. Especially with Varric around.

The bell at the front door caught him before he got to the top of the stairs. With a muted curse, he left the box on a step and ran for the door.

It was what he expected and it wasn't. Both Merrill and Anders were at his front door–he expected them both. What he didn't expect was their moods. Merrill, who he thought would be moody and silent, was neither. Her dress and demeanor were bright. She couldn't wait to get going and showed it. Anders, on the other hand, was quiet, loaded with a leather bag and his every-day staff. It wasn't much to look at, but with weighted ends, it was deadly in his hands just the same.

He hugged her and shook his hand after he closed his front door. "Glad you could make it. Let's get a bite to eat and we'll be on our way."

A/N Thanks again to Forgotten Vice for helping edit. C.