The woman dressed head to toe in black, her face obscured by a black mourning veil, was escorted by a dapper-looking blond man with a sumptuous pale mustache. The wealthy looking pair purchased passage on a cargo ship to Kirkwall. She clung to the blond man as if so overcome by grief she could barely walk.

"Please, come right this way," the captain said, impressed by the fare he'd collected from the grieving parents. "The stateroom shall be yours. I apologize that it isn't bigger. We don't usually take passengers." He ushered them into the room he normally used. "If you'd like me to have your luggage loaded…"

The be-veiled woman broke out wailing and buried her face in her husband's chest.

"Please, good captain, we had to leave in a hurry. Our son clings to life. There was no time to pack. We can buy what we need when we arrive. I only pray that we arrive in Kirkwall before the Maker takes him," the blond man patted his wife solicitously. "All we need is some privacy in the stateroom. Do not even bother bringing us food. We shall fast and pray the entire way."

"Very good, Ser. Please, if you need anything, let us know." The captain showed them the room and left them to their grieving. His heart ached for the couple. The poor woman had to be practically dragged, she was so overwrought.

~o~o~o~

"Zevran, wake up!" Anders lightly slapped Zevran's cheek through the veil. When he had burrowed his face into Anders's chest with the last weeping fit, he simply couldn't remain awake any longer.

"Andraste's tits! You're heavier than you look." He dragged the elf to the narrow bed and let him down on it. The elf nearly slid off the bed, so deep was his sleep, but Anders picked up his legs and maneuvered them onto the bed.

The last rejuvenation had worn off the assassin first and Anders could feel it fading from himself. The piper would soon be paid. He didn't bother stripping any clothes off himself or Zevran, it wouldn't do for someone to come into the stateroom and find out the woman in black was a man. As for himself—he released a jaw-cracking yawn and climbed over the Antivan. His fancy black trousers, stolen by the light-fingered Antivan, were binding his crotch, but he couldn't be bothered to adjust them. His eyes almost fell shut with an audible thud as the last of the rejuvenation spell wore off.

~o~o~o~

"Warden Cousland?"

Cullen stared at me, puzzlement written on his face, as he was shown into the room. My mouth was unbound, but my legs were still tied.

"Hi, Cullen. I hear it is Knight-Captain Cullen now. Congratulations on the promotion." I was continuing my campaign of politeness and charm, with Anders's warning still ringing in my ears.

He looked at Ser Alrik. "I don't understand, Ser. Why is Warden Elissa here?"

"Actually, I got a promotion too. I'm the Warden-Commander." I said it meekly, as if embarrassed, but in truth I wanted to remind the templars I wasn't just a mage girl dressed in rags. I was a Grey Warden, and not just any Grey Warden. I was the Warden fucking Commander of all Ferelden!

"She's with the Wardens. She is the Hero of Ferelden, Ser. Surely she doesn't belong here," Cullen said.

"So, it is confirmed then that this is the woman who saved the Ferelden Circle?"

"Well, yes. Of course," Cullen replied. "I don't understand why she's here. She is no mage."

"Why don't you tell him, my dear," Ser Alrik said, giving me the task of outing myself to Cullen.

The jig was up, at least in Kirkwall. The muppets had seen me transform from crow to human and Fade walk. "I am a mage, Cullen, but Wynne herself trained me during the Blight."

"Maker's breath. No one in Ferelden knows, do they?" Cullen took a step away from me, as if I had just confessed to harboring the black plague.

"Lots of people know, actually: the king and queen, Loghain, all the Grey Wardens. We don't talk about it much."

"You were my hero," he said, backing away even further, the disbelief written plainly on his face. "The Grey Wardens were my heroes. Yet all this time they've been harboring—I don't even know what you are!"

"That is all, Knight-Captain. I wanted confirmation of her identity. Thank you. You may go," Ser Alrik said. He held open the door for Cullen and closed it after he left. When he turned to me a sweet smile was on his face.

"Well, it seems you've passed the first test. You are who you say you are, or at least Cullen thinks you are." He chuckled. "Poor lad. You've really taken a tumble off your pedestal, I dare say."

"As he said, I am a Grey Warden, and Grey Wardens—"

He cut me off short. "Treaty, blah, blah, blah. Yes, I know. However, there are some things we simply cannot overlook. You're far too blatantly—"

"Magical?" I asked. "That's it, isn't it? I'm out there, a shining example of what a mage can be and do. People look up to me. They respect me as they respect the Grey Wardens. If they knew I was a mage, I would be a walking, talking example of why mages should be given equal rights and why mage segregation should end. That's it, isn't it?"

Oh, for fuck's sake! Why had this epiphany launched itself out of my mouth? I was supposed to be nice and pliable, not righteous, and certainly not right.

"Oh dear, it seems you've gotten yourself rattled. Calm yourself, Elissa. I'd hate to see you taken over by a demon." He tsked and shook his head. "And here we'd gotten off to such a good start. I'm afraid we'll just have to give priority to your testing and see if you are fit to join the community here."

I clamped my mouth shut against all the tirades that were queuing up behind my teeth, but I'm sure my expression probably gave away the nature of my thoughts.

"Oh, you are struggling, aren't you? Don't worry, my dear. I will have you taken to a place where you can collect your thoughts. Soon we will commence your testing. I'm quite excited about this, you see. It is truly an honor."

He smiled pleasantly at me, his eyes shining with excitement, and left the room. I could hear him giving orders outside and directly after a pair of templars, not the muppets, untied my legs and escorted me to a room. The only people I saw on the way were more templars.

~o~o~o~

I cautiously unwrapped my broken wrist while I waited for my tub to fill. Seriously, if this was the templar's idea of a prison room, I couldn't find much to complain about: hot and cold running water, a nicely stocked bookshelf, a wardrobe full of clean clothes, a comfortable bed, even a chamber pot with a lid.

My first act was to take a bath and drown all the lice. Then a second bath to remove the dirt the first bath had missed. After that I braided my hair, got dressed in a mage robe—not really my style, but it was clean—and lay down on the bed. My unwrapped wrist hurt, but I refused to rewrap it in the dirty bandages. It also looked like it might be healing improperly. In all my time doing incredibly dangerous things and getting horribly wounded I'd had the best magical healing one could wish for. I was almost made of Teflon; damage simply didn't stick around that long with healers like Wynne and Anders around.

Anders. Now that I wasn't struggling to stay alive, I could finally think of Anders, Zevran, and my sweet baby. What if I never saw any of them again? The tears started coming and before long I had buried my face into my pillow and was noisily bawling my heart out.

"Shush now. Things will get better."

I nearly leapt out of my skin with panic. I rolled to my side and looked up with stark terror at—a scrawny-looking elf-mage. He looked about as terrifying as basket of herbs. "Oh! You startled me." I sat up and swung my legs over the side of my bed. He handed me a clean handkerchief and I cleaned up my face and blew my nose.

"Sorry. I thought you must've heard me come in," the elf said. "My name is Orsino. I'm the First Enchanter of this Circle." He extended his hand and waited for me to take it.

Oh no, here we go again. There was that thing that happened when mages, specifically ones trained in healing, touched me. They knew I was wrong somehow. I cowered away from him and tried to look too terrified to touch him.

"It's all right, child. I'm not here to hurt you. I simply wanted to welcome you to the Circle, answer any questions you might have, and—oh, your wrist looks quite painful. I can take care of that." He reached for my wrist and I scrambled away.

"It's okay, it isn't that bad," I said, my words coming out in a rush.

He cocked his head, furrowing his brows, and frowned. "My dear, I don't know what stories you might have heard, but we're not monsters here. That wrist of yours is clearly broken and it wasn't set right. If it isn't attended to, you'll lose the use of that wrist and perhaps your hand."

"Um, look, I'd like you to heal it, but can we talk for a few minutes first? There is probably a thing or two you should know about me."

"Oh?" The First Enchanter looked puzzled and a little concerned, but he drew up a chair and sat near the bed. "Well, why don't we start with who you are? The templars didn't seem to know."

I took a deep breath and hoped that Orsino was a reasonable man, not given to hysteria. "Most people know me as Elissa Cousland, daughter of an important Ferelden lord."

Orsino caught his breath. "The Hero of Ferelden? No wonder the templars weren't talking. What are you doing here?"

"I will get to that in time. First you must know something else about me. I'm really a woman named Lucy Woodbridge, from another planet, maybe another universe. Who knows? I was summoned to this world at the start of the Blight by a powerful mage named Flemeth. Heard of her?"

If Orsino was shocked before, now he was gawping in disbelief. "Flemeth? Of course. She's a legend. Nothing more. Your story is—"

"Incredible? Yes, I know. But Flemeth is, was, very real. My companions and I killed her so she wouldn't possess her daughter who was one of the Blight companions. She brought me here, she said, to fight the Blight. She somehow saw that Elissa Cousland didn't have what it would take and I did. There was some sort of magic done and we changed bodies—and realities."

Leaping to his feet, Orsino began to pace. His look of incredulity was replaced by excitement. "If this is true, think of the ramifications it could have for magical research! We've been so restricted to summoning elements, healing, and such, when we could be opening communications to other worlds and other people!" He sat back down, but he positively vibrated with excitement. "Do you know how to work this magic?"

I shook my head. "No clue. Flemeth said it was the hardest thing she's ever done. But this wasn't why I told you this story, First Enchanter." I peered at him intently, willing him to see my sincerity and honesty. "I'm not a demon. I wanted to make that very clear right from the start. I'm different, though." I held out hand. "You might be able to tell when you touch me. That's why I didn't want you to."

He slowly reached out both his hands and took mine in his. "By the Maker, something is very strange." He closed his eyes and I could feel his magic searching my body. "You're a human, but something is off—like a musical instrument tuned to a different scale."

He let go of my hand and looked at me with something like wonder. "You are no demon, that is true. Needless to say, if the templars get wind of this they will render you tranquil in a heartbeat."

I nodded and my lips twitched downward, I could feel the tears burning behind my eyes. "Will you tell them?"

He slowly shook his head. "No. You're definitely a freak, but a fascinating one."

I took a deep breath and nodded. "Thank you."

He gestured at my broken wrist and took it in his hands. "That isn't to say they won't do it anyway. Few mages who weren't trained in the Circle can pass the harrowing." He frowned and inspected my wrist. "This is healing wrong. I'm going to have to re-break it. Do you want to be asleep for it?"

I shook my head. I was tough. I could take it.

"It's your call."

He stood up and moved the chair to the desk and had me sit down with my wrist on the table. He grabbed a heavy book from the shelves. He positioned my arm and hand. "Don't move it and shut your eyes."

I did as he ordered and then I felt the heavy tome smash into my wrist, breaking it once again where it had barely begun to heal.

"Fuck!" I hissed, managing not to scream at the pain.

"Sorry. You don't have to be so stoic, you know?" The healing spell wrapped my wrist in soothing comfort while he spoke. "So, you haven't told me why you're here. You're a Grey Warden, aren't you?"

I sank back into the chair, relaxing from the healing. "Yes. I'm the Warden-Commander in Ferelden. Your templars were apparently paid to kidnap me and bring me here. Elissa's brother was behind it. He totally hates me. He found out I'm not Elissa and has been trying to screw with me ever since."

"Kidnapping a respectable Ferelden, a Grey Warden to boot? I sometimes wonder what our templars are up to. Does anyone know you're here?"

I shrugged, unwilling to reveal anything about dream walking. "They know I'm missing. That's all. Can you get word out?"

He frowned and patted my hand. "I might be able to help, but my influence is limited. For now, just do what the templars want." He looked curiously at the torque I was still wearing. "Why haven't they removed your strangler?"

"I think they're afraid I might escape," I said.

"Escape?" He looked puzzled. I could sense another flood of questions coming, but the door opened and a templar stepped in.

"Visiting time is over, First Enchanter. Is her wrist better?" the templar asked.

I held up my wrist and twisted my hand to display how well it worked. "Perfect."

"I will speak with you again soon, my lady," Orsino said. He picked up my hand attached to the newly healed wrist and kissed it gallantly. "Until then, be well." Under his breath he added, "And be careful."

I nodded at Orsino and watched him go. For once, a tiny spark of hope ignited in my heart.

~o~o~o~

Meals came. They got bigger as I complained incessantly about how sparse they were. "The taint needs to be fed," I said whenever a templar set foot in my room. I did lose weight at first and they could see I was getting pretty gaunt. Then the meals got bigger and more plentiful and my face started to fill in again.

I read to pass the time. I also worked out, performing katas, jumping jacks, push-ups, and all the moves Zevran had taught me. At night I dreamed of Zevran, Anders, my baby boy, sometimes Loghain and Alistair, everyone I missed so dreadfully and then I woke with a damp pillow.

Finally, a few days after my visit from Orsino, one of the muppets came to visit.

"I wanted to see how you're doing," Ernie said. He shifted uncomfortably and I could see something gleaming in his fist. "They're going to test you soon."

"So, uh, what sort of a test?" Multiple choice? Essay questions?

"Well, there's a sort of cage. One that keeps the magic inside." He looked very nervous talking about it.

"Why?" I asked.

"I shouldn't really even be talking about it. Look, I wanted to give you this." He held out his fist and I saw my lyrium necklace.

"My necklace!" I looked up at him, grateful for it. Perhaps it was a foolish thought, but if anything could help me escape, it was that.

"Burton was going to sell it, but I stole it from him. It seemed like maybe it was lucky for you. I hope it is." He took my hand in his and let the necklace slide into mine.

I looked up at Ernie, my eyes burning again. I tried to speak, but my voice caught. I cleared my throat and said, "Thanks, Ernie." I was about to put it on myself, but something told me that with a little encouragement the muppet could be an ally. "Would you fasten it for me?"

He nodded mutely and took the necklace back from me, opening the clasp. I held up my hair while he carefully arranged it around my neck and then fastened it. His hands dropped away slowly and when I turned around I saw a lot of conflicting emotions on his face.

"Thank you." I spoke softly and held his eyes with my own.

"Yeah. Well, I'd better go," he said. He turned away from me and walked slowly to the door. "It will be all right. Be careful of Ser Alrik, Elissa."

He was gone and the door was locked once again.

A cage?

~o~o~o~

Tailwinds pushed the cargo ship across the Waking Sea to Kirkwall in good time. Barely had a full day and night passed when the foreboding cliffs of that city were sighted. The captain, not really wish to disturb the grieving parents, nonetheless thought it wise to alert them to their approach. He knocked at the door and, when there was no response, he pounded on it.

"Ser! Madam! We will be landing within the hour. Please make ready!"

He left after pounding again and getting no response. Well, if the couple were not up and about by the time they landed, he would unlock the door and go in himself.

The pounding did manage to pierce Anders's sleep. He stirred, his arm wrapping around his bedmate's waist and pulled her closer. "Umm, Lucy," he murmured sleepily. Awakening had brought a sensuous gift to his loins. "You want to?" Still half asleep, he fumbled under the covers looking for the hem of her nightgown.

Lucy tossed restlessly in her sleep and slid closer to him, pressing against his aching loins with her firm ass.

"Come here, baby. Anders has a present for you, sweetheart." He leaned over and, with eyes still mostly closed, and blurred by sleep, kissed her temple. His hand traveled down her body, pressing against the nightgown, trying to find the swell of her hips, and the warm, welcoming cleft between her legs, but she was wearing a frustrating number of clothes.

She stirred restlessly under his probing hand and then turned toward him. Her lips met his in a soft, tender kiss. Anders's eyes finally opened fully and he saw amber eyes and tanned skin before him.

"Don't stop, Twitch. I was having the most delicious dream," Zevran said sleepily, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement.

"Maker!" Anders sat up in bed, his head pounding with a headache from sleeping for so long. "I forgot—I mean, yeah, I was having a dream too. Sorry."

"No need to apologize, or stop for that matter." The elf's sensuous, half-lidded eyes seemed to confirm that he really wouldn't have minded for the moment to continue.

"Uh, I think we're coming into port. We'd better get ready. You don't look much like a grieving woman at the moment." He looked at the rise in Zevran's mused skirts and realized he had a matching one.

"Ah, such a shame, but now at least I truly have something to grieve for." Zevran rose from the bed, giving Anders one last look laden with shades of meaning, then he was all business.

~o~o~o~

The next day Ser Alrik came. "Are you ready to begin your testing, my dear?"

I shrugged. "Perhaps if I knew more about it I could tell you."

"You must defeat some enemies that we send against you. The goal is to challenge your abilities and see if it breaks your control."

That sounded easy. I'd been killing some pretty horrible things for a couple of years now. "That's it?"

"Yes. Are you nervous?" he asked.

"I guess you still don't believe I am who I say I am." I shrugged. "Let's get it over with." Unless they were going to send a couple of armor plated ogres at me—and where would they find those?—I doubted I would be all that challenged.

Ser Alrik wore a faint smile and I followed him out my door while a pair of templars followed. I felt like the meat in a templar sandwich, which is nothing like an Antivan milk sandwich. Trust me. We came to a stairway that went down many floors, but we didn't stop until we reached the bottom and that lead to a hallway that looked like it had been hewn out of stone. The hallway meandered, had many branches, and seemed to go on forever. Finally we emerged into a large cavern. I stepped out into the cavern and saw a giant domed cage made of what looked like iron beams and heavy metal cables, crisscrossed like chicken wire. At one end of the cage was a large metallic box with a door that opened into the cage. I couldn't see it, but I imagined there was a door at the other end.

The domed cage was illuminated by a shaft of light that came from the top of the ceiling. There was a large, jagged hole, like a… sun roof. Dust danced in the bright light giving an almost glittering effect. All it needed was some dry-ice fog and a few spotlights.

"What do you think?" Ser Alrik asked.

"It looks like a mabari kennel, for very large dogs," I said. My forehead was furrowed as I considered the strange construct.

"This cage was built to hold magic, my dear. I'm rather proud of it. Those cables are made of the same material we make the stranglers from: black lyrium and silverite."

I fingered the torque around my neck. "This is black lyrium?"

"Silverite next to your skin. Some people are, hm, sensitive to black lyrium. It changes them."

I shivered and took my fingers off the torque. "Charming. So let me guess, you're going to throw me in that big cage and I get to battle to the death with something."

"Ah, my dear, you're delightfully perspicacious!" he said, beaming at me.

"Not really. I saw the movie."

The look he shot me was one of suspicion and curiosity. He was probably trying to figure out what sort of demon made me say such strange things. "So you think this will be easy?"

"I guess it depends on what you stick in there with me."

I looked around huge cavern and was surprised by the number of templars. Oh, please. Really? It occurred to me, that this wasn't simply a test for me, it was entertainment for them. There was even a bar set up and a dwarven bartender.

Ser Alrik turned to the assembled templars. "Gentlemen, and ladies, please take your seats. Tonight we will see what stuff a Grey Warden apostate is made of. I give you Elissa Cousland."

There was a murmur that overtook the cavern. I heard some raucous comments thrown around.

"She's the Hero of Ferelden?"

"I could take her."

"Yeah, right. Good one, Alrik."

I bit my lip and shook my head. Asses. A part of me wanted to rise to the challenge and give them a good show, but I remember how much of my magic would probably be frowned on. It might be a bad idea.

Alrik gestured to the templars behind me and they walked me to the entrance of the cage. One of them opened the door with a gloved hand and then gave me a little shove. I stumbled into the cage, tripping over a metal footing at the entrance. Not exactly a graceful moment for me, and it gave the templars something to hoot about.

"Don't I get a weapon or anything?" I asked. If they didn't give me anything to fight with, this was going to be bad, depending on what they threw at me.

"Over here, girl," a templar gestured me to one side of the cage. "Put your back to the cage. I'll remove your strangler."

I hesitantly leaned against the cables and the templar reached through with a key and unlocked the strangler. While I touched the black cables, I felt a little edgy. The whole situation was starting to really piss me off. The strangler fell to the ground at my feet. I wondered how they planned to convince me to put it back on.

Sweet relief! With the strangler gone, I felt like parched ground at the beginning of a long soaking rain storm, as the emptiness within me began to fill. I tilted my face up to the ceiling, closed my eyes, and reveled in the return of my magic. Once again I felt the heartbeat thrum of my lyrium necklace pulsing against my chest.

"Now, since this is our first time, we will start slowly. Why don't you take a few moments to re-acquaint yourself to your magic."

I saw the wisdom in those words. It seemed like ages since I'd used my magic. I shot a few tiny lightning bolts into the ground, froze a small patch of sand, and rejuvenated myself. Whatever mana I used was simply replaced by drawing from the necklace Ernie had returned to me. I did a few limbering exercises and delivered a series of high and medium round-house kicks to the air and executed a leg sweep. Not easily done in a mage robe, my legs could easily get tangled. So I kindled a tiny flame on one finger and burnt the fabric along a seam on each side, up to the middle of my thigh. The fashion statement wasn't a consideration, survival was.

There were a number of cat-calls from the templar gallery.

"I'm ready," I said.

"Very well." Alrik smiled warmly at me. "Release the first opponent."

A large box built into the end of the cage opened and a deep stalker ran out, charging directly at me as so many had in the Deep Roads. It was like a goose with a sand worm head. Watching it charge at me brought back such memories: Riordan, Zevran and I fighting back to back in the Deep Roads, sneaking up to see the Archdemon and then me sneezing so very loudly, and all those times the three of us stole away for a quickie while everyone else slept.

I was so lost in nostalgia that I almost didn't act until the deep stalker had coiled its long neck and was about ready to strike. I hit it with a standard blast of cold and it froze into place. I wished I had a stick, or sword, even a dagger, then I could shatter it. Instead I whipped my foot out in a snap kick and the force of the kick sent the frozen worm-goose into one of the black lyrium columns where it did shatter. Unfortunately the kick was poorly executed with my toes, instead of the ball of my foot. I thought I had broken one or two. The felt slippers I'd been given weren't much protection.

I healed myself in a hurry waiting for more deep stalkers, but no more came. I could hear the clanking of coins being counted, a few excited yells, and saw one or two observers jumping out of their seats and pumping their fists.

I peered into the crowd, trying to find any familiar face, but I recognized no one save Alrik who was striding to the observation area to address the small crowd. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but there was a little argument back and forth. Finally, a decision seemed to have been reached. Alrik came back to the cage.

"Are you ready for your next test? This one will be a little more challenging," he said. "I think we clearly haven't come anywhere near to your limits. We'll just go a tad further this time."

"Let's get on with it." I was eager to end this test. If I would be with the other mages, perhaps I could get word to the outside world.

Ser Alrik nodded but said, "This will not be so simple this time. Believe it or not, I'd like to see you succeed."

I narrowed my eyes. "Money riding on it, eh?"

The templar's wide blue eyes seemed guileless as they held mine. "You're so cynical, my dear. I'm simply thinking of you and how much better this is than a full harrowing."

Yeah, right. I so wanted to say it. This so-called testing was nothing more than the dwarven Proving Grounds, only mages were pitted against whatever the templars wanted to throw at them. Fight and win, or fight and die. Still, if this could win me at least a little freedom, I would play their stupid game.

This time a hush fell over the audience. I heard the door at the far end of the metallic box clang open and closed again. Alrik strode to the stands and stood watching me like a parent might watch a talented child perform.

The door from the box, or staging area, opened and a trio of ash wraiths glided out. They came for me instantly, not even pausing to search for their opponent.

I hate these! I wanted my armor. I wanted my daggers or a staff. I wanted Alistair to keep them busy while I picked them off. But it wasn't like I hadn't fought these in the past. I knew what would happen. A strong ice spell splayed from each hand and all three wraiths were hit, some of the magic flared out to the sides and hit the thick mesh of the cage and the magic sizzled and died right at the cables. One wraith disintegrated, an event that would have made me celebrate once, but I knew better now. I ran, triangulating from the position between where I was and where the other wraiths were.

Predictably, the disintegrated ash wraith reformed behind the spot I had been standing. I had learned that trick of theirs long ago, but now I was closer to all three. I ran backwards, keeping them ahead of me, and eventually they bunched up. I hit them again with ice. This time two of them collapsed.

That was the challenge; you could never tell when they were being sneaky or actually had been killed. So I had to assume one or both would teleport behind me. There wasn't enough time or space to repeat my last trick. I could Fade walk and increase the distance by nearly the entire length of the cage, but what would happen if I displayed that magic in front of a roomful of templars? I couldn't risk it.

I turned and ran for it. I thought there was enough room and I wouldn't be hit as I dashed past it, but I was wrong. The wraith took a swipe at me and slammed me against the side of the cage. I was stunned for a moment, and my head buzzed when I touched the cables, but I got to my feet. I could dimly hear a roaring from the audience, but it barely registered. I was too focused on surviving without displaying some of the peculiar things I'd learned to do.

Then one of the two wraiths materialized.

Good! One down.

I lashed out with the strongest lightning spell I had, and it wracked the ash wraith that clobbered me. It dispersed and I was certain I'd killed it.

Two down, one to go.

Wraiths, other than their maddening habit of teleporting around, were not all that fast. I could run to put distance between us, turn and cast, and then run again. So that's what I did. It stupidly followed me as I ran a circuit around the dome, turning around every now and then to blast it. It took two or three more blasts, this one was tougher than its fellows, and then it disintegrated. I ran from my spot, but it didn't rematerialize.

This time the audience erupted in a roar. There was stomping, whistling, a few boos and I heard someone yell, "All she did was run around, what's so great about that?"

I stood in the middle of the domed area panting. My heard hurt where it had been slammed against the cable side of the dome. I cast a healing spell, followed by a rejuvenation and ignored the hubbub from the crowd.

Ser Alrik greeted me with a warm smile and, I dare say, a look of approval. "Very good. Not many apostates have done so well on a first round. You're done for the night."

If I were ever going to explode into an abomination, it would have been right after that comment. I gripped the wire frame of the dome, fingers twisting around them as if I could pull them apart. "For the night?" I spat the words like they were poison. Aggressiveness was surging within me, maybe the violence had kicked it off, making me take risks with my templar captor. "Are you saying I'm not done with your… so-called testing?"

Apparently the anger in my words stung Alrik. He stepped up to the cable and spoke low, the shades of menace clear in his voice. "That's right, Elissa. You'll be facing more opponents in the future. This was simply a warm-up. I suspect we haven't really even challenged you yet. I suggest you don't disappoint me."

I let go of the cables feeling like I wanted to keep fighting, but not with wraiths and worm-geese, but templars. I wanted to feel a million kilojoules of lyrium-enhanced magic surge out of me into my captors, turning them into sheets of ash. Then I'd roll them into a fine cigar and smoke them. I was trembling with rage, horrible, impotent rage and my head was buzzing. Buzzing like—like—like when I'd hit it against the cables, and now I'd been gripping them with my hands.

Some people are sensitive to black lyrium. It changes them. Templar Alrik's words came back to me in a rush.

Fuck! I ran back to where I'd dropped the strangler and fastened it around my neck. Instantly my rage diminished and was replaced by fear. What the hell was that? Could a demon have actually been trying to take me over, or was this the black lyrium? That would make this all so much more interesting to the templars, wouldn't it? They wanted to see what it would take to turn me into some sort of demon. I had always assumed I was immune, but now I wasn't so sure.

"Anders," I whispered in the middle of the cage, my eyes darting over the crowd and the templars approaching the cage. "I really need you right now. I don't know what's happening to me."

~o~o~o~

Zevran and Anders, still incognito, were bleary-eyed from their two-day-long nap so they fit right in when they stumbled into the Hanged Man and rented a room, the last one, from the innkeeper. They failed to notice a woman few people fail to notice, a swarthy Rivaini wearing a tunic that barely concealed her ample assets.

Isabela, however, was not yet drunk enough to miss the strange couple. Her dark eyes sparkled as she pondered the pair. Well-dressed man with a mustache that was a little… hmm… bushier than most men sported. It was also a pale, golden-blond while the man's hair was tinged red. Still, even with the phony mustache, he was a gorgeous specimen.

The woman spoke a few words to the innkeeper and the Rivaini's head snapped toward her. That voice. The accent! Even though the words were spoken in a soft breathy tone, something utterly familiar tickled in her brain.

She watched the pair go to their room and drank another shot of Old Starkhaven hoping it would jar a memory loose. But the only thing she could think of was her dear, departed husband.

~o~o~o~

"Well, my friend, where do we start?" Zevran asked as he stripped off his mourning garb and stepped out of the high heeled shoes he'd worn. Groaning in pain, he sat on the bed, still dressed in stolen undergarments, and massaged his poor feet.

Anders ripped off the false mustache and yelped at the pain. He cast a healing spell on his upper lip and Zevran's sore feet. "First thing is to talk to Karl. The more senior enchanters, especially healers, usually get a fair amount of freedom. They're allowed visitors." He unbuttoned his stolen black doublet and put it away, then stripped off the fancy shirt they'd borrowed from a clothesline. "At least in the Ferelden Circle that was true."

The door to their room crashed open and a man and a woman—no make that a heavily armed dwarf, and scantily-clad woman with daggers—bustled into the room and locked the door behind them.

"No one move," the dwarf growled.

"I hope that doesn't include me," the woman said, a smile growing on her face. She bit her lip trying to suppress the amused grin at the sight of the elf in woman's underthings. "Because that cross-dressing elf murdered my husband."

"Great," the dwarf said. "I'll kill him first."

"Heh. Isabela, now, now." Zevran chuckled and shifted uncomfortably on the bed, wishing he hadn't put his daggers on a table across the room.

"Oh no, don't. I paid him to do it. I'm quite… grateful." She paused and looked at the elf with her dancing dark eyes. "I never did get to thank you properly. Well, only a couple a times, but I find things are best done in threes."

"So," Anders said, hesitating to draw attention to himself, "Do you know one another, or is this how they do social calls in Kirkwall?"

"Oooh, Zevran!" Isabela's bold gaze raked the half-naked mage. "You travel with very interesting company, these days, and in very interesting undergarments. Are you incognito or is this a new kink?" She smiled at the elf, flipped her daggers into their sheaths, and then turned to the dwarf and gestured for him to disarm. "Actually, I heard Zevran's lovely accent and I couldn't stop thinking of my husband. Anyone associated with my dear Luis is most likely looking to cause me problems, therefore…"

"Ah, Isabela," Zevran said, his brows knitting in mock despair. "I'm wounded you forgot me, perhaps even literally, if your friend uses that contraption."

The dwarf slung the strange-looking crossbow over his back and looked at Isabela. "Introductions, perhaps?"

"Oh, yes! Sorry, Varric. This gorgeous elf is Zevran Arainai, an Antivan Crow, and someone I was very certain had died."

"Former Antivan Crow, and yes, I am officially dead as far as the Crows are concerned."

"And I am Varric," the dwarf introduced himself.

Anders held out his hand to the buxom Rivaini. "I'm Anders, Grey Warden from Ferelden."

Isabela took his hand in hers and gave it a very soft, suggestive squeeze, her thumb caressing his. "And I am Isabela."

"She's a pirate captain," Zevran said. "Queen of the Eastern seas and the sharpest blade in Llomerryn, captain of the Siren's Call…"

"Former captain, sadly." She regretfully let loose of Anders's hand but held his eyes. "I lost my crew, ship, and some valuable cargo. I've been here ever since. Three years now." She put her hands on her hips and looked at Zevran. "Shall we catch up over dinner? It looks like you were changing into something a little more, or possibly, less comfortable."

"Yes," Zevran said. "Actually, it is good we ran into you. You've been here a while? Maybe you can help us with a little problem we have."

"Oh? Tell us all about it over supper. Varric is buying," she said.

"Hey!" The dwarf grinned and shrugged. "All right, I will. I get a feeling there might be a good story here."

"Good! Then it is settled. You'll get to meet Hawke," Isabela said.

"Who's Hawke?" Zevran asked.

"Oh, a friend, and the Champion of Kirkwall," she said exchanging grins with Varric. "Sorry about barging in on you like that. We'll, uh, just let you two get back to what you were doing."

~o~o~o~

Notes: Lucy never met Isabela in the first story. I can only just imagine what might have happened.

Many thanks to Biff McLaughlin for correcting me grammars. My thanks to Zevgirl and Biff for their plot assistance.

The title is thanks to ScaryLady who asked if Cullen was still as mad as a box of frogs.

Thanks to FloridaMagpie, Biff McLaughlin, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Aynslesa, KatDancer2, Storyteller44, Jenna53, 1Scarylady, Zevgirl and Rubberleg for review. Yay!

If you've got a second, give me some feedback. Who do you think Lucy should battle in the Thunderdome?

Just published a new, very short story called "Means Necessary". It is a rather unusual solution to the Blight. A tad gory, but at only 800 words how bad can it be?