A/N: Blah. Not the best. I ended up cutting the chapter into two parts, so it wasn't super long, and this part isn't the most exciting. But that means Chapter 6 got all the fun parts!

"There's someone in the clinic."

"Wait, Anders—" Olivia gasped for breath, clutching at her aching side. Maker, this desk job is going to be the death of me. I need to go on patrol more. Straightening, she looked around for Anders; the mage had already sprinted up the next flight of stairs and into the clinic. Taking a few more shaky breaths, Olivia jogged after him. Her right knee twinged in protest as she climbed the stairs, an old wound from her fight with the archdemon acting up. Ugh. I feel like one of those grizzly old war veterans, always going on about "old injuries." I'm too young for war injuries.

I really miss Morrigan.

Pushing the haphazard memories from her mind, Olivia focused on making it up the stairs. Vowing to switch to lighter, more comfortable robes when she made it back to Vigil's Keep, she glanced up at the clinic. The Commander could just barely make out Hawke's voice, but she couldn't tell what she was saying.

Olivia leaned heavily on Anders' staff, glad that the dizziness from the gash on her forehead was gone. Her right arm was still throbbing, but she could deal with it later. She breathed deep, then ventured into the clinic.

Hawke was leaning over one of the cots, her hands glowing as she ran her healing magic through a young elven boy. A girl stood behind him, worry creasing her face. Anders had retreated to his desk, stuffing the sela petrae and drakestone into one of the drawers.

"What's going on?" Olivia asked carefully.

"If you can heal, I'd love some help," Hawke quipped. The words were aimed at Olivia, but she suspected the harsh tone was for Anders alone.

Dropping the staff and her own weapons, Olivia joined Hawke at the cot. The elf's shirt was stained with thin blots of blood. "I can heal a bit," she offered, "but not much."

Hawke's shoulders slumped, and the magic in her hands wavered for a moment. "That's not much help, I'm afraid. We need Anders. These two came looking for him," she explained, "and I offered to help as much as I could. But then he started coughing up blood, and now he's got a fever…" The mage trailed off, seeming to notice Olivia for the first time. "Where's all that blood from?" she gasped. "Not yours, I hope."

Olivia waved her hand dismissively. "Anders took care of me. Don't worry." She turned her gaze to the healer, still hunched over his desk. "Come help, Anders," she called. "This boy needs your help."

He tensed visibly, but slammed the book shut and marched over to the cot. "Move," he commanded, his hands already glowing fiercely. After a moment, the boy began coughing up blood again. "Oh, this is quite wonderful." Anders straightened, his face glowing with satisfaction. "I've got just the thing…" He rummaged through a small crate beneath the cot and pulled out a dark green vial. "It takes care of the fever. I made it myself." With a smile, he handed the vial to the girl and ushered her out of the clinic; he followed soon after with the boy in his arms.

"I thought he wasn't going to get here in time." Hawke collapsed onto the ground, leaning against the wall. "I don't know how much longer I would've lasted. Cuts and scrapes and fatal sword wounds? Easy. A fever? I don't even know where to start." She sighed. "Sorry I didn't make it. I was helping Isabela, and…"

"It's fine." Ignoring the dull burning in her knee, Olivia began to pace, exactly as Anders had done earlier that evening. As she circled the clinic, she caught sight of the thick book on the desk. Glancing at the open door for Anders, Olivia slid over to the desk and flipped through the book. Her eyes glided over the pages, quickly scanning for any useful information. About a third of the way through the book she found a page full of notes, with scribbles in the margins and a rough sketch of a cat eating a templar in the corner. The words meant nothing to Olivia, with the exception of three words repeated over and over and underlined multiple times.

Blackpowder.

Javaris.

Qunari.

Olivia shook her head slowly as she began to find other words she recognized, such as sela petrae and drakestone. "Hawke, I think we should go," she called over her shoulder, too tired to try and figure out what Anders was up to.

"Oh, good. I thought you'd never ask."

"How does it feel?"

"Like I've been beaten with a dead cat."

Hawke chuckled lightly, her deft fingers working quickly to inspect Olivia's arm. "There was a man in Lothering," she grinned, "who used to say something like that."

"He's the reas—" Olivia clenched her left fist, grinding her teeth hard as Hawke's magic hit a particularly tender spot on her arm. "How long is it going to be that sore?" she gasped.

"A few days," she shrugged. "You should've let me look at it last night."

Olivia brushed off her concern. "It was fine. And we were both tired." She turned her gaze to Hawke's hands, watching every movement. Her healing is different than Wynne's. No less effective, I'm sure, but different.

I miss Wynne. Alistair and I should go visit her once I get back.

Oh, stop it, you. You're being too sentimental. Olivia sighed, once again overwhelmed by a fierce need to be back at Vigil's Keep. Trying to distract herself, she asked, "So, how bad is the Circle here? I've heard some terrible things, but I figure it's best to ask someone other than Anders."

"Well," Hawke began thoughtfully, rolling Olivia's sleeve back down, "I guess that depends. How was the Ferelden Circle?"

Scrunching her nose, Olivia strained her memory. What was it like? I remember Cullen—he was cuter before the whole Uldred thing—and I remember the First Enchanter. Everything else… "It's hard to say," she admitted. "It feels like I've been a Warden all my life. The Circle seems like another lifetime. But," she conceded, wracking her brain for memories, "it was pretty simple. There were classes and training, and lots of studying in the library. Apprentices did lots of work for the senior enchanters. The templars were nice enough, as long as you didn't step out of line."

Hawke barked a short laugh. "Sounds nice. Here, apprentices are raped and beaten. The rules are set by the Knight-Commander, and she changes them whenever it suits her fancy."

"So Anders wasn't lying."

"No."

"Maybe I could talk to the First Enchanter and Meredith," Olivia offered. "There's a balance that can be achieved in the Circle. Mages should have the freedom to grow and learn, but templars need the power to keep them in check." With a shrug, she added, "It worked in Ferelden."

Raising an eyebrow, Hawke remarked, "And the blood mage fiasco?"

Olivia felt her cheeks redden. "The First Enchanter was held responsible for that. On a day-to-day basis, things were fine."

She shrugged. "I still don't think I would've liked the Circle." Hawke stood and stretched, groaning a bit. "Well, I've got things to do today, unfortunately. The life of the Champion is never boring."

"I know the feeling," Olivia sympathized. "Varric came by yesterday and wanted me to go to The Hanged Man, anyway. Something about 'getting the real story.'"

"Oh, ew." Hawke's face twisted with pity. "Make sure he buys you an ale before her interrogates you."

"I'll do that," Olivia laughed. She stood and smoothed her shirt, inspecting herself in the mirror as Hawke left. With a little grunt of effort, she twisted the mirror a bit; the afternoon sun caused an inconvenient glare. She grabbed her pack and dug out her coin purse before tossing the pack back on her bed. After one last look in the mirror, she left the estate and headed for Lowtown.

"No shit – there we were, surrounded by blood mages. Hawke thinks it's all a misunderstanding, and walks right up to the leader. Now, you should've seen this guy; he was—" Varric froze upon seeing Olivia, his face lighting up with a grin. "Sorry, boys. I'll have to tell this one later." He shooed the ragged group of onlookers away and waved Olivia over. "And whoever bought me the ale – I owe you one. You two follow me." The dwarf pointed at Olivia and Isabela, who was lounging on a chair nearby.

Olivia followed Varric up the set of stairs in the back of The Hanged Man to where his suite was. She settled into a chair at the low table, choosing one near the fire. Isabela sat next to her, swinging the chair around backwards and resting her forearms on the back.

"Stay calm, Hotshot, but an old friend of yours is in town."

"Hotshot?" Olivia raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"Ignore it," Isabela advised. "Varric has this insatiable need to name everything. And I do mean everything," she added with a sly grin.

Varric sighed and took a sip from his mug. "I can't exactly go around calling you 'Commander' or 'Hero'." Leaning forward on the table, he lowered his voice. "So. I want to talk to you about a few things. First – the storytelling is going to have to wait, sadly. Second – this friend of yours."

"Define friend," Olivia grimaced. "I don't have very many of those, sadly." Her mind raced, but she didn't have the slightest idea who it could be. Wynne wouldn't be cause for alarm. Morrigan would, but she'd never set foot in a city this big.

"Can I please go back to the bar?" Isabela whined.

"No. This is important." Varric's voice was businesslike, but Olivia had a sneaking suspicion he was just looking for the story behind her "friend."

"Who is it?" she asked.

The dwarf grinned, his eyes flicking between Olivia and Isabela. "He's tried to kill you both, and he's probably slept with you both."

Olivia felt her face flush with heat. That rules Alistair out, she thought, flustered. And I don't think any of those men from the Circle ever tried to kill me.

"Oh, I know!" Isabela exclaimed, jumping up from her seat in excitement. "Is he really, Varric?" she asked, before turning to Olivia and smirking, running her eyes up and down her figure. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

"Rivaini," Varric said flatly, "stop. I don't think her face can get any more red."

"No, umm—" Olivia sputtered, "I just… Who is it?"

Isabela's eyes grew wide. "That many men fit Varric's description? Well, I was wrong about you," she purred.

"No! It's—" Olivia groaned, burying her face in her hands. "None do," she admitted, her voice muffled. Dropping her hands to the table, she sighed. "Between saving Ferelden and reviewing reports, the only excitement I have time for is putting new recruits through the Joining. Not sleeping with men who want to kill me."

"Hmm," Isabela debated, her eyes thoughtful. "I'm feeling judged."

Varric cleared his throat. "Anyway. Back to the important stuff. Olivia, I believe you're familiar with the Antivan Crows?"

Olivia smacked her forehead. "Zevran."