Hi! Thank you so much to everyone that is reading, reviewing, following or favouriting! You make my day!

And thank you to Jen for making the chapter readable with her excellent editing!

This story will not be updated until at least Wednesday as I'm going away for a few days. (And neither will Broken for anyone also reading that.) I promise I'll make it up to you when I return! See you soon! :D

x~~~~~~~~~~~x

Cullen went to find Anders after his morning shift in the library. He didn't need to worry about how much time he spent with him any more; after all, he had been ordered to spend more time with him.

Anders was in his quarters, hunched over his desk. Mr. Wiggums, the Tower's resident feline, lay asleep on the bed. On the desk were books and scraps of paper with intimidating-looking mathematical formulas scrawled all over them. Several glass beakers and test tubes were stacked together in a rack, containing a variety of blue, clear or brown liquids in various quantities.

"Knock knock," whispered Cullen as he stood by the curtain. Anders spun round.

"Sorry," muttered Cullen. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"Well, you did!" said Anders cheerfully. "But I don't mind. Come in."

Cullen looked up and down the corridor, closed the curtain and sat on Anders' bed, stroking the now awake Mr. Wiggums. "What's all this?" he smiled, looking at the paraphernalia on the desk.

Anders held his hand up for silence as he wrote down another formula. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, then turned to Cullen. "Well, you don't become a Master Herbalist by just crushing a few leaves with a pestle and mortar, you know."

"So I see," Cullen nodded, impressed, then dropped his voice to a whisper. "Have you had any luck?"

"Yes," sighed Anders, looking displeased. "But I wouldn't use the word luck just yet. "This," he said, holding up the half-empty bottle of Cullen's lyrium, "is a greater lyrium potion, identical in every way to a mage's greater lyrium potion. The proportions of lyrium dust, distillation and concentrator agents are identical."

Cullen frowned. "I don't understand. They can't be identical."

Anders sighed again and shook his head. "Well they are, except for one thing. This." He removed a beaker from the rack. At first glance, it appeared to be empty, but on closer inspection Cullen saw that the bottom of it was coated with a black residue.

"What's that?" asked Cullen, not liking the look of disgust on Anders' face.

Anders stood up and checked the corridor again, before closing the curtain and sitting back down. "It's some kind of resin," he whispered. "I sampled a little of it. It had the same effect on me as you described – I felt invigorated and carefree. At first, I was baffled. Then it came to me, Cullen. Oh, Maker." He rubbed his eyes again, looking exhausted.

"What?" asked Cullen sharply.

"Tell me something, Cullen. When you were at the Chantry in Redcliffe, did you ever go for a walk in the gardens?"

Cullen stared at Anders, confused. "Well, yes, but I don't see…"

Anders interrupted. "And the Chantries of Ferelden are famed for their beautiful gardens, are they not?"

Cullen nodded, still not understanding what Anders was trying to say.

"What else are they famous for? Still on the subject of flowers?"

"I'm sorry, Anders, I really have no idea," Cullen replied apologetically.

"They are famous for the beautiful poppy fields that surround them. Every Chantry has a poppy field, does it not?"

Cullen nodded, realisation slowly dawning on him. "Maker preserve us!" he cried, then put his hand over his mouth and checked the corridor again, before sitting back down on the bed with a thud. Mr. Wiggums jumped down and exited in disgust.

"I'm sorry, Cullen, but it's not lyrium you're addicted to. It's opium. Well, laudanum to be precise. Your Templar mix also contains alcohol."

Cullen sat in stunned silence. Anders rested his head on his hand and looked at his Templar friend. "This is big, Cullen," he whispered. "Really big. We would be put to death for having this knowledge. I need to destroy all of this."

He collected his notes and crumpled them into a ball. He held the ball in his hand and pressed his other palm down onto it. Cullen's skin tingled and the hairs on his body stood on end as he sensed the use of magic. The ball of notes glowed red, then white, before collapsing into ashes. Anders then drank the contents of the beakers.

"It's alright," he said, noticing the look of alarm on Cullen's face. "They're just components of the lyrium potion. They won't harm me."

"That's it, then," Cullen said sadly. "I can't go with you. Unless, that is, you're willing for us to visit every Chantry in Ferelden on our way round and steal their poppies. And I doubt you would wish to go anywhere near a Chantry once you're out."

Feeling crushed, he stood up and shook Anders' hand. "I greatly appreciate what you've done here, my friend. Don't worry, I still intend to hold up my end of the bargain. I will assist you in any way I can."

"Sit down, Cullen," said Anders. Cullen sat back down on the bed. "You can still come with me," he said, watching Cullen for a reaction. "There is a way. It will be very difficult – for both of us. But I'm willing to help you, if you agree."

Cullen regarded Anders for a moment, then spoke. "You want me to stop taking it, don't you?"

Anders nodded gravely. "Don't be under any illusions, Cullen. Laudanum is powerfully addictive. You'll go through hell. You'll be a wreck. But," he emphasised, "you will come through it, with my help. I promise you that."

"But how?" whispered Cullen. "You can't deal with me and try to remain hidden at the same time. It's too much to ask."

Anders stood up and checked the corridor again. He heard a Templar walk past, and waited until he'd gone. Anders remained standing in the doorway this time, so he could keep constant watch. Cullen had to strain to hear him whispering.

"I have a contact at the Spoiled Princess across the lake. He's from an organisation called The Mage's Collective. He helped me during my last two escapes. I send him word when I'm ready to make an attempt. There's a hidden room in the basement of the Inn where I stay until the Templars have stopped searching the local area. My contact brings me food and clothing and gives me a little money."

Anders closed the curtain and sat back down. "We could stay there until the worst of your symptoms are over. I estimate we're looking at the better part of a week until you're able to travel."

Cullen looked at Anders in astonishment. "You'd be prepared to delay your escape for a week?"

Anders nodded. "Of course. You've always been decent to me, Cullen. You're a good man, for a Templar," he grinned. "I hate the thought of you being in the grip of this…" his mouth twisted in disgust as he picked up the beaker. "Besides, being on the run does get lonely. I'd appreciate some company."

"Thank you, Anders. You're a good man, too – for a mage." They grinned and shook hands.

"Right," whispered Anders, standing in the doorway again. "I'll tell you the plan. Feel free to stop me and make suggestions, or tell me if any parts of it are a bit too insane for your liking," he grinned, then his face suddenly fell. "Erm…Cullen, you can swim, can't you?"

Cullen smiled. "Yes, very well, in fact. I often go for a swim in the lake first thing in the morning."

Anders pressed his palms together in mock prayer. "Oh, thank the Maker for that!"

He looked around again. "Alright. We won't need to take much with us, except some of your lyrium mix, and a few ingredients for making potions…" Anders fell silent as he made a mental list of items they would need.

"Sorry. You obviously can't wear your Templar armour, so dress as you normally would when you go swimming, with perhaps a few more layers. This is a greater ice balm," he said, handing Cullen a small pot. "It'll keep you warm when we're in the water and will stop you from cramping up. Massage it into your arms and legs before we meet." Cullen pocketed the pot.

Anders looked around again. "I've made a tunnel," he whispered.

Cullen couldn't help laughing at that. "Where?"

"In the garden. It's been there for ages. At the moment, a huge peony is blocking it from sight. Tannin, one of the mages who tends to the gardens, knows about it, and keeps the tranquil mages away from it. The Templars haven't a clue it's there."

"Tannin?" asked Cullen. "Hasn't he escaped a couple of times?"

"Yes," grinned Anders. "He helped me to dig the tunnel in the first place."

Cullen shook his head in bewilderment. "I have to hand it to you, Anders. You're far more organised than I gave you credit for."

"Oh, I have no trouble escaping," he replied proudly. "It's just staying free that's the problem. When we're ready, I just need to send a note to my contact and give him a couple of days' notice. Then, I need to figure a way to get into the grounds."

"That won't be an issue," grinned Cullen, jangling his keys. "But I'll send the note. Or, at least, I'll write the envelope. Gregoir is checking your mail."

"Sneaky bastard," muttered Anders.

"I have a couple of questions, Anders," said Cullen. Anders nodded. "Firstly, once we get out of the Tower, won't Kester spot us? The ferryman?"

"Kester has spotted me on a few occasions," replied Anders. "He turns a blind eye. Doesn't want to get involved, which is why he won't ferry us across."

Cullen nodded. "Fair enough. Another thing. Why do we need to take some of my lyrium mix with us? Do you intend to wean me off it?"

"No, Cullen. That would take forever, and I don't want you taking any more of that rubbish than you have to. You can take some just before we set out, then that will be your last.

The reason I'll be taking some with me, is that if we can stay out for long enough, I intend to expose this secret. I don't know who to. I don't know if anyone will even believe me, but I have to try, and I'll need your help and testimony, Cullen. I need to know now if you have any qualms about that."

Cullen looked darkly at him. "None whatsoever, Anders."

x~~~~~~~~~~~~x

Blythe awoke in vaguely familiar surroundings. Where am I? She wondered. She was in bed, in a house…then she froze as a familiar woman entered the room. Her Mother, followed by her Father. Blythe tried to move, but couldn't. She was tied to the bed.

Her parents walked over to her, disgust and fear etched on their faces. "What are we going to do with her?" asked her Mother.

"Only one thing we can do," replied her Father. " She's evil and wicked. We can't have anyone knowing our daughter is a witch." They nodded to each other.

"Mama! Papa!" Blythe cried. "I am no witch! Please! I love you! What are you going to do?"

Her Father walked over to a dresser and took out a carving knife. "I'm sorry, daughter, but this is for the best."

"No! Father, please! Don't do this!" she screamed, then was rendered silent as her Father's face transformed into that of a Genlock's.

"Father?" Blythe cried, looking up at her Mother, who glared down upon her with the eyes of a Hurlock.

Blythe's Father raised the knife above her with trembling hands. "Maker forgive me for what I'm about to do…"

"No! Father!"

Suddenly, her parents were gone. Blythe was still lying in bed. She tried to wriggle out of her bonds, but they had vanished as well.

"Ah, your eyes finally open. Mother shall be pleased," a deep female voice spoke from the corner of the room.

Blythe jumped and scrambled off the bed, falling onto the floor. She stood up and backed away. "Who are you?" she cried, her voice trembling as her eyes frantically scanned the room, looking for her staff. "Wait…I-I remember you. The girl from the Wilds?"

The raven-haired woman sashayed her way over to Blythe, who suddenly felt very self-conscious, as she was wearing nothing but her smallclothes.

"I am Morrigan, lest you have forgotten," she purred, handing Blythe her robe.

"Thank you, Morrigan," Blythe said apprehensively, pulling her robe on. "Where are we? How did I get here? There was a battle. We were at the top of the Tower…we lit the beacon…What…?"

Morrigan regarded Blythe coolly, a trace of pity crossing her feline features. "The man who was to lead the charge quit the field. The darkspawn won your battle. The Wardens? Massacred."

"Loghain quit the field?" Blythe cried in disbelief. "But he was to advance as soon as we lit the beacon!" She paced back and forth, trying to make sense of it all. "Wait! What about the King? What about my companions?"

"The King is dead, as are all who were on the field with him. If, by your companions, you mean the sulking, dim-witted one, and the elven mage, they are quite safe, and are anxiously waiting outside to hear of your condition."

"The King is dead?" Blythe stared into space as she remembered the good-natured young man who greeted her and Allis so politely upon their arrival at Ostagar. "I can't believe it! And Duncan…what about him?"

Morrigan frowned. "I know not of whom you speak. However, if he was on the battlefield, then he too is dead."

Blythe sat back down on the bed. I never even thanked him for what he did. She put a trembling hand to her mouth as her tears began to fall.

"Oh, come now!" cried Morrigan impatiently. "'Tis not all bad. You are still alive. The Grey Wardens I have met so far do not appear to live up to the legends I have heard. In fact, all they seem to do is whine and blubber. Do you not think you are being childish?"

Blythe stood up, tears rolling down her cheeks. Her voice wavered as she spoke. "Childish? What's wrong with you? Have you no heart?"

Morrigan put her hands on her hips. "Oh, if only t'were so. Life would be much simpler."

Blythe glared at Morrigan as she headed towards the door of the hut. Morrigan moved aside, shaking her head at this pitiable creature.

Blythe opened the door and stepped out. A swamp, she thought. She waved her hand in front of her face to swat away a few midges. She could see Allis a short distance away from the hut, practising his spell combinations. He cast a thick layer of grease upon the ground, then set it ablaze with a Fireball. He then froze a small section of swamp water, before shattering the ice with a Stonefist spell.

Alistair stood not far away, his back to her, looking out across the swamp. Next to him stood a wizened old crone who resembled Morrigan.

"See?" the crone spoke to Alistair. "Here is your fellow Grey Warden. You worry too much, young man."

Alistair wiped tears from his eyes and turned towards Blythe. His eyes were dull with sorrow. "You…you're alive. I though you were dead for sure."

Allis, finally spotting Blythe, ran over and embraced her. Alistair continued to speak, but appeared to be talking to himself more than anyone else. "Duncan's dead, the Grey Wardens…even the King." He looked at the two mages, tears forming anew in his eyes. "They're all dead. This doesn't seem real…if it weren't for Morrigan's mother, we'd be dead on top of that Tower."

Blythe and Allis took a step closer to Alistair, not quite knowing what to do. Templar or not, the poor man was bereft, and they pitied him. Allis took the initiative and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Do not talk about me as if I am not present, lad," the old crone replied.

Alistair turned to face her. "I-I didn't mean…but what do we call you? You never told us your name?"

"Names are pretty, but useless," she replied. "The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. I suppose it will do."

Alistair stepped back in amazement. "The Flemeth? From the legends? Daveth was right…you're the witch of the wilds, aren't you?"

She snorted. "And what does that mean? I know a bit of magic, and it has served you all well, has it not?"

Blythe addressed her. "If you are Flemeth, you must be very old and powerful."

"Must I? Age and power are relative. It depends who is asking. Compared to you? Yes, on both counts."

"Then why didn't you save Duncan?" asked Alistair, his voice unsteady. "He is…was…our leader."

"I am sorry for your Duncan," replied Flemeth. "But your grief must come later, in the dark shadows before you take vengeance, as my mother once said. Duty must come now. It has always been the Grey Wardens' duty to unite the land against the blight, or did that change when I was not looking?"

"But we were fighting the darkspawn!" cried Alistair. "The King had nearly defeated them! Why would Loghain do this?"

"For the Throne?" asked Blythe.

"Perhaps," muttered Alistair. "All I know is Arl Eamon would never abide by this!"

"Who's Arl Eamon?" asked Allis.

"The Arl of Redcliffe. I know him. He's a good man. His army wasn't at Ostagar. Maybe we could go to Redcliffe and appeal for his help?"

"His help with what?" asked Allis, frowning. "The blight, or taking down Loghain?"

"I don't know!" cried Alistair. "But I know that the three of us can't defeat the blight and the Archdemon on our own!"

Blythe stepped closer to Alistair and patted his backpack. "We have other allies we can call on, remember?"

A little light returned to Alistair's eyes. "Of course! The treaties! We can enlist the aid of elves, dwarves and mages! They're obliged to help us during a Blight!" He turned to the two mages. "So can we do this? Go to Redcliffe and these other places and build an army to defeat the Blight?"

"Of course!" replied Allis, delighted that Alistair had regained his focus. "Isn't that what Grey Wardens do?"

Flemeth nodded approvingly. "So you are set then? Ready to be Grey Wardens. Now, before you go, there is yet one more thing I can offer you."

Morrigan exited the hut and approached Flemeth. "The stew is bubbling, mother dear. Shall we be having guests or not?"

"The Grey Wardens are just leaving. And you shall be joining them," replied Flemeth, with more than a hint of malice in her eyes.

"Such a shame…" began Morrigan. "What?"

"You heard me, girl. The last time I looked, you had ears!"

"B-but this is not how I wanted it, mother. I'm not even ready," Morrigan blustered.

"Look," said Blythe, who had taken a dislike to Morrigan, "we're grateful, but if she doesn't want to come with us…"

Flemeth ignored Blythe and turned to her daughter. "You must be ready. Alone, these three must unite Ferelden against the darkspawn. They need you, Morrigan. Without you, they will surely fail, and all will perish under the Blight. Even I."

"Not to look a gift horse in the mouth," interrupted Alistair, "but won't this add to our problems? Out of the Wilds, she's an apostate." Allis and Blythe looked at one another and rolled their eyes.

Flemeth folded her arms. "If you did not wish help from us illegal mages, young man, perhaps I should have left you on top of that Tower."

"Point taken," Alistair mumbled sullenly.

Morrigan huffed. "Very well. Let me get my things." She entered the hut and exited soon after, not appearing to have brought anything extra with her.

Morrigan addressed the two mages, ignoring the sulking Templar. "I recommend our first stop be made at Lothering, a village to the north of here. 'Tis not far, and we should be able to purchase supplies from there."

Allis looked at Alistair, seeking approval, but was met with only shrugged shoulders. "Very well," said Allis. "Lothering it is."

Morrigan bade her mother farewell and followed the other three, keeping her distance.

Allis sidled up to Blythe. "Well, this should be entertaining. Two mages, an apostate and a Templar. Just think of the fun we'll have!"

Blythe managed a smile. They looked ahead at Alistair. His head hung down and his shoulders were slumped. "Shall we see if we can cheer him up a bit?" asked Allis. Blythe nodded.

They caught up to him and flanked him at each side. "We've decided you're alright," said Blythe cheerfully.

"Me?" asked Alistair.

"Who else would I be talking to? Him?" she pointed at Allis. "I can't stand him. Between you and me, he's not as nice as he makes himself out to be. And he smells."

"I do not!" cried Allis. "Take no notice of her. I've heard a few things about her exploits at the Tower that would make your toes curl."

"Lies. All lies. I'm a good girl."

Allis scoffed. Alistair's eyes went from side to side, following this banter for a few minutes, and for a short time he forgot about Duncan. A bemused grin crept onto his lips.

"So you see, Alistair," Allis said brightly, as both mages linked arms with him, "we're not going to incinerate you, or freeze you, or even zap you with lightning. Not for the time being, anyhow."

Alistair chuckled a little. "Good to know."

The three of them continued on their way to Lothering, followed by a scowling and muttering Morrigan.