Varric toed the crate and glanced up at Hawke.

"I don't like this, Hawke. Lyrium? And in these quantities? That's some heavy money talking there. This isn't just some new upstart outfit trying to muscle in for a slice of the smuggling pie."

Anders bent down and pulled a glass flask out from the bed of hay in which perhaps a couple hundred more were nestled. He swirled the glowing liquid slowly in the bottle. "How many crates were there again?" he asked quietly.

"Eight," answered Bethany.

"That's a lot of lyrium to flood the black market with," said Hawke slowly. "Do we know where this lot was intended for?"

Varric shook his head. "Athenril said nothing about lyrium, only that some rival outfit was shifting a lot of stuff through the tunnels and taking out any of her people they came across."

"There's enough here to keep every Templar in the Gallows happy for months," said Anders slowly.

"And not a drop of it intended for them, I'll wager," said Hawke.

"Bribes maybe?" suggested Bethany.

"That's one hell of a bribe," said Anders as he stared at the vial of lyrium. He thumbed the cork off the top of the flask and sniffed the liquid, then stiffened. "Bethany. Does this smell odd to you?"

Hawke shot him a keen look as Bethany took the flask and cautiously sniffed.

"You're right," she said slowly. "It's... lyrium shouldn't smell like that."

"What does it smell of?" asked Hawke.

"It shouldn't smell of anything at all," said Anders as he took the flask back and sniffed it again. "Lyrium is ordinarily odourless, for the most part; if it's particularly concentrated you might catch a slightly metallic smell about it. But this - it smells, I don't know - almost sweet."

"Like almond blossom," said Bethany, nodding.

"Tainted?" suggested Hawke. A little distance away, Fenris straightened and stared over at them.

"Perhaps," said Anders. "But with what - and why?" He frowned, and sniffed it again. There was something about the scent that was tantalisingly familiar; a bitter note he thought he almost recognised. He'd worked with a lot of herbs and reagents and he was sure there was something in the lyrium he knew, only what? He pondered. Drinking it would be a foolish idea, but maybe a taste - just touching his tongue to the liquid; not enough to harm but the taste could tell him much. He set the flask to his lips cautiously.

"Is that wise?" asked Bethany.

Anders lowered it and gave her a lopsided grin. "You and I are the only ones who know what lyrium tastes like, Bethany, and if there's something wrong with it then it's less likely to harm me than it will you. After all, I'm not a mage anymore. I'm not going to drink it - just taste it."

"Maybe you shouldn't risk it," said Hawke.

Anders shrugged. "What's the worst it could do?"

"Don't...!" exclaimed Fenris and grabbed for Anders' wrist as he was about to take a cautious sip of the lyrium, and suddenly Anders found himself with a mouthful of sickly-sweet liquid; a strong flavour of something somehow familiar and yet he couldn't quite put his finger on where he'd tasted it before. The familiar metallic taste of lyrium was there but it was overlaid with the almost overwhelmingly cloying flavour with a bitter aftertaste that made him gag. He swallowed reflexively before he could choke or inhale the liquid. The flask dropped from his hand and smashed on the floor as Fenris dropped his wrist and stepped back, abashed.

Anders swallowed again and grimaced as he ran a hand through his hair. "Well, it's definitely sweet," he began, and then broke off. He could feel his lips tingling - his tongue, too.

"Anders?" asked Bethany anxiously. He held up a hand to silence her as he frowned slightly. The tingling sensation was spreading down the inside of his throat; it felt like a million tiny pinpricks, sharp and yet numbing. He coughed, and suddenly he couldn't catch his breath.

They must have read the alarm in his eyes; suddenly Hawke was at his side as he staggered, helping him to sit down as Bethany unstoppered her water canteen and set it to his lips, urging him to swallow.

He was dimly aware of Fenris swearing as he slumped against Hawke. He blinked as he fought to draw breath. His chest was tingling now, and as he stared wildly around him it seemed he could see halos of light around the faces of his friends; bright gold around Varric, soft amber for Hawke, a soft bluish-silver around Bethany. As he glanced up at Fenris, the elf's whole form seemed suffused with the silvery-green light of the Fade itself and for a moment he thought he could see wispy, shadowy forms that flitted about the elf. There was a soft susurrus of whispers all around them, just on the edge of hearing.

"Venhedis, mage, what have I done?" Fenris' voice sounded almost... frightened.

Not a mage, he tried to reply, but he had no breath to speak with.

And then he was falling, falling down into darkness, and the whispers followed him.

"Anders? Anders, can you hear me?" Hawke's voice. It sounded as though it were coming from far away, across a vast chasm. He was distantly aware of someone patting his cheek.

He felt cold; a bone-deep chill, that radiated through all his limbs. He could feel his heart racing, his blood singing in his veins with an almost electrifying thrum of life. He was shivering, a cold sweat upon his brow.

"We can't stay here, Garrett. We've got to get him out of these tunnels." Bethany. He tried to open his eye but it would no more respond than the blind one could.

"Damn you, Fenris, if you hadn't grabbed his wrist like that...!" Hawke again, the anger in his voice overlying fear.

Fear for him? Hawke, he tried to whisper, but his lips would no more co-operate than his eyes or his limbs had.

"I did not mean it to happen; I was only trying to stop him drinking it." Fenris' voice was quiet and subdued. "I meant no harm to him."

"That would be a first," muttered Hawke quietly, then louder, "Well, you managed the opposite. This isn't a normal reaction to a non-mage drinking lyrium though. There was definitely something else in it."

Anders grew slowly aware that he was lying on the ground, cradled in Hawke's arms. Someone held one of his hands in theirs; from the size of the hand, he guessed it was Bethany.

"Hawke, we can't leave all this lyrium here. Particularly knowing there's something up with it. Wait here; I'll go on ahead and get a hold of Aveline." Varric.

"Good idea," agreed Hawke. "After seeing what that stuff's done to Anders..."

What had it done though? Anders wasn't sure.

His skin was tingling all over his body - that same tingling feeling as earlier, like a thousand million tiny pinpricks or the lightest whisper of electricity dancing across every inch of his skin. It wasn't painful - not exactly; it was distracting and odd, but the sensation was not entirely unpleasant. He could breath again, which was a small mercy at least.

He tried again, and this time he managed to open his eye a little.

"Anders?" Hawke was leaning over him, that soft amber glow still suffusing his skin though not as strongly as before. As Anders stared up at him, Hawke's expression softened from an anxious frown into a look of relief. "Thank the Maker - he's awake again."

Fenris appeared behind Hawke, staring over the rogue's shoulder at Anders. He was still surrounded by the halo of silvery-green light; but as Anders watched, the glow slowly faded though he could still faintly hear something like the soft whispers of someone in another room, talking too quietly for him to make out the words.

"Anders?" prompted Hawke again, quietly.

"Help me to sit up," Anders managed to rasp, his voice hoarse. Hawke helped him to sit upright, Bethany slipping an arm around his waist on his other side as she regarded him with worried eyes. "I'll be OK," he said quietly, as much to reassure himself as her.

"Mage, I -" began Fenris, then broke off when Anders fixed him with a stare. He regarded Fenris steadily until, discomforted, the elf began to fidget where he stood, dropping his gaze.

"Not a mage," stated Anders flatly. "Not any more." He struggled to get to his feet; Hawke got a hand beneath his elbow and with Bethany on his other side he was able to stand, a little unsteady but upright.

"How do you feel?" asked Bethany.

"I've felt better," Anders admitted. "I'll live." Glancing away from the elf, he stared at the nearby crate of flasks. "I have no idea what that stuff is," he said. "It's lyrium, but there's something else - I don't know what. I wouldn't recommend anyone else trying a taste though."

"What did it do to you?" asked Hawke. Anders shrugged.

"I don't know that either," he admitted. "It hasn't killed me, at least." Yet. He darted a glance at Fenris, who seemed unable to meet his eyes. Anders frowned.

"Do you think you can make it back to Lowtown?" asked Hawke.

"I think so," answered Anders as Bethany handed him his staff. He leaned on it, gratefully; he felt weak, though his head was clearing slowly and he didn't feel quite so chilled. "The Hanged Man?"

"Seems as good a place as any to wait for Aveline," agreed Hawke.

Hawke slid a tankard of ale in front of Anders then sat next to him as Bethany sat next to Anders on the other side. Across the table, Fenris was staring moodily into his glass of wine. He'd been feeling remorse and worry ever since he'd inadvertently knocked Anders' hand and forced him to accidentally swallow nearly the whole flask of tainted lyrium - the exact opposite of what he'd been trying to do. Anders seemed none the worse for his accidental dosing, but Fenris knew there were many poisons whose action was slow, the effects sometimes not seen for days afterwards - and Anders no longer had his healing magic to detect such poison.

Anders was staring dubiously at the ale; as Fenris watched, he gave a small shrug then lifted the tankard to his lips and took a swallow, grimacing a little at the sharp, sour taste.

"The wine is a little better," rumbled Fenris as he pushed his glass towards the blond man. Anders lowered the tankard and stared at the glass, then up at Fenris.

Though they'd come to some accord and almost camaraderie in the past couple of months whilst Fenris schooled Anders in the use of his staff as a weapon, there was still a certain wariness and reserve about the former mage where Fenris was concerned. After so long at each other's throats, the elf supposed it was only natural; it irked him though. Anders spoke little of mages' rights these days - perhaps because he no longer considered himself one - and Fenris had found himself growing easier in Anders' company, the blond man more tolerable and even - dare he say it - likeable. What had originated out of a perceived need had grown into something Fenris took some small pleasure in, and he had begun to look forward to their breakfasts together and their sparring sessions.

He felt a flash of jealousy as Hawke rested an arm around Anders' shoulders, and wondered at it. He scowled and pushed himself away from the table to go in search of another glass, ducking his head to hide his expression from Anders and Hawke.

He missed the keen look Bethany shot him as he turned away from the table.

Anders was oblivious, sipping slowly at the glass of wine. Fenris was right; the Nevarran red was rough and robust, but far preferable to the rat's piss Corff called ale. It had been so long since he'd drunk (since Justice had allowed him to drink) that he'd almost forgotten the taste.

A heavy tread on the stairs announced Aveline's arrival; she was stripping off her gauntlets as she entered Varric's rooms. "Varric, Hawke, Bethany, Fenris," she greeted them breezily as she entered. "Anders, good to see you out of that clinic again," she added as he lifted his head.

"Couldn't hide away forever," he shrugged with a small wry smile. He felt Hawke's arm tighten around his shoulders in a brief, reassuring hug, and was glad of the other man's presence. He felt Bethany lay her small hand over his, and smiled at her. "I'm OK," he said quietly.

"Are you? Really?" she asked him, equally softly, her light brown eyes regarding him intently. "How are you feeling now? You gave us all rather a fright."

"I'll say," snorted Hawke. "You just keeled over as though you were dead, barely breathing, lips blue and ice-cold to the touch. Nothing we tried seemed to bring you round; it must have been a good hour before you started shivering, and then a little while later you finally opened your eyes. Fenris was frantically pacing the whole time."

"I was not frantic," Fenris said pedantically as he returned with another wine glass and helped himself from the bottle on the table. "I... may have paced," he conceded as he seated himself once more. "Aveline, have you any idea what was in those crates?"

"What can I get you, Red?" asked Varric, ever the courteous host.

"Nothing, thank you Varric - not when I'm on duty," Aveline shook her head and sighed as she dropped into a seat. "Though Maker knows, I could use one." She turned to Hawke. "The guard apothecary analysed that tainted lyrium you found. It's like nothing he'd ever seen before. In addition to lyrium, he found orichalcum - and not the usual sort, either; it was crystalline orichalcum."

"Crystal-" Anders broke off with a small frown. "That would explain the bitter aftertaste - and the sweetness; you'd have to add something to overcome the taste of the orichalcum. There was something else in it though - something I almost recognised."

"He said there was extract of dark embrium and felandaris in it as well, as best he could tell," replied Aveline.

"The embrium would explain the smell," said Bethany. Anders nodded.

"I've used embrium often before. Felandaris though... that's not a herb I've ever used. It has no use I know of for healing. It grows wherever the Veil is thin; it's most commonly used as a poison." He frowned, lost in thought for a moment. "Did your apothecary have any idea what the tainted lyrium was supposed to do?"

"None whatsoever," shrugged Aveline. "I was hoping you might have more idea than me, Anders."

Anders shrugged. "Poisons were never my forte," he replied. "I was more concerned with healing than poisoning; we covered them only briefly when learning how to brew antidotes. Though there may be something in the alchemy text Varric gave me." He pondered a moment. "Lyrium's poisonous enough unless you're a mage - or a Templar," he added with a sour look. "So it seems safe to discount the lyrium as being part of the poison. I'd guess the orichalcum and felandaris are the poison, and the embrium's there mostly to disguise the taste of the orichalcum - felandaris is pretty much tasteless."

"Someone trying to poison the Templars?" guessed Bethany. "The Gallows would have their own, Chantry-approved supply of lyrium, they wouldn't need the services of smugglers."

"More luck to them," grunted Anders as he downed his wine. He couldn't find it in himself to particularly care about the fate of Templars drinking poisoned lyrium. He was aware of Fenris' eyes on him but chose to ignore the elf as he reached for the bottle and poured himself another glass.

"So what would the poison do, exactly?" asked Hawke.

"No idea; why don't we find a handy Templar and find out?" replied Anders diffidently with an unpleasant grin.

"Anders," said Bethany quietly. "You drank a flask of it."

"Yes, and whose fault was that?" drawled Anders as he leaned back in his chair and regarded Fenris. The elf ducked his head, a slow flush creeping across his face and reddening the tips of his ears. Anders blinked. He had been expecting Fenris to respond with defensive anger as he normally would, not retreat meekly like this. Had things changed so much between them?

"You drank a flask?" said Aveline, regarding him incredulously.

"Not intentionally," replied Anders. "I don't seem to have come to any harm though, fortunately."

"Maybe it has a different effect on mages?" suggested Hawke.

"Not a mage," responded Anders flatly.

"But you were," pressed Hawke.

"Whatever I was, I'm not any more!" snapped Anders, slapping his hand hard on the table in anger before pushing himself to his feet. "I'm going back to the clinic; I've work to do," he said coldly and turned away, reaching for his staff.

"I'll come with you," said Fenris, rising to his feet as he tossed back the last of his wine.

"I don't need an escort," snapped Anders angrily. "I think I've already proven I can look after myself. That was the point of the lessons, wasn't it?"

"It was," nodded Fenris. "Mage, I-"

"Stop calling me that!" screamed Anders.

In the stunned silence that followed his outburst, he stared at them. Hawke had frozen in the act of rising, a surprised look on his face. Aveline looked shocked. Varric's eyes held only a warm sympathy, whilst Fenris...

Fenris looked guilt-struck and stunned, his green eyes wide as he stared at Anders. The blond Warden found himself staring at the elf, and it was with difficulty he managed to wrench his gaze away, glancing instead at Bethany.

Her expression of open sympathy and pity was too much for him. He fled.