Notes: Thank you once again!

The flu epidemic was going to be something I only used for this arc of domestic conflict, but then I realized the potential it holds to showcase anti-mage, anti-Fereldan zealotry in Kirkwall. That will show up more in Chapter 28, though.

Song is "Still a Stranger" by AFI.


Chapter 27: A Kiss To Change Us All?


Caitlyn had put Mal back to bed, attempting to reassure him that his father would return soon and everything would be all right. Finally she had gone into the room herself and read to him a chapter out of his Black Fox storybook. He fell asleep again before she was able to finish, but that was the outcome she had hoped for. Closing the book, she got up from his bed and left his bedroom, closing the door quietly.

I suppose I should go back to sleep myself, she thought, feeling empty. Now that the immediate blaze of anger had cooled, she felt a bit bad about exploding at Anders and kicking him out of the house. He had angered her with the detailed description of his nightmare, but that didn't merit her reaction, and she knew that she would not have lashed out in such a way if she had not already been about to explode with anger from slights by other people. More than anything else, she had ordered him out because of his words—words that rang far too true for comfort.

"I am selfish! That's rich!"

"I have given and given, and it seems that most of what you do is take."

"You want everyone to think you're so tough and hard. But behind closed doors, you use me for emotional support."

"I suffered too. It wouldn't hurt to consider that occasionally instead of using me as your dueling practice dummy."

The words cut her so sharply because she feared them to be true. And how could her conviction that she was being taken for granted and not appreciated be true if these words were also true?

Caitlyn could not rest. She trudged downstairs and collapsed in a chair, closing her eyes and covering her face with her hands. She realized, suddenly, that she had done what she had sworn not to do again, and deliberately tried to hurt him with her words once more. He had said he couldn't tolerate it again, that night, before Karl's pyre...

Selfish. Taker. You use me. Use me. Use—

"Caitlyn, you can't treat him this way. You love each other, but this kind of behavior kills love over time. Love is never truly unconditional; we all have a limit. You know that, don't you?"

She glanced up sharply. Her mother had joined her in the sitting room silently, and was now seated across from her, in her nightgown. Leandra was scowling in disapproval, and at that sight, Caitlyn's growing remorse suddenly vanished. Her mother was perhaps the root cause of all of this. She was the one who had shown favoritism to Carver, and showed favoritism to Anders now that he was here. She was the one who had deferred to her drunken lout of a brother on almost every occasion. She was the one who didn't see anything that Caitlyn did for the family and never had. Anger flared in Caitlyn once again at her mother's admonition.

She slammed her palms on her thighs and looked up sharply. "I will say this once, Mother. I never dared meddle with your and Father's marriage. You stay out of mine."

"Caitlyn—"

"Mother, I am not interested in any advice that you might have to give me on this subject," she said acidly. "I know what it would be: Be a follower, a supporter, and let him make all the decisions, sit in the high seat, be 'head of the family.'"

Leandra drew back, confused. "The... seat? That's what you are upset about?"

"That is only a small part of it," she snarled, fixing her mother with a glare. She had not intended to have it out with her in the middle of the night, but perhaps it was for the best after all. "There is a lot more than that, Mother—but since you do acknowledge that, I'll ask you: Why do you do it? Why do you always place him in your father's seat, the seat of the head of the Amell family when you were growing up? Is that truly how you see him?"

"It's not exactly that. Caitlyn, he has done so much! He made up the deficit on your investment for the Deep Roads, he got you through with his maps and his Warden expertise, he kept you and Mal during that period when Gamlen was being impossible, and he saved Carver's life! He saved our family. He is the reason we have this house."

Caitlyn gazed at Leandra in amazement and fury. "He saved our family," she repeated in disbelief. "You know, until you said that, nothing you had said was false. He did do all the specific things you said. But saved our family? The reason—the reason, the one reason—that we have the house?" Her voice was growing louder, and she tried to calm herself so that she did not wake Mal again. "Mother—don't you see what you do?"

Leandra was confused, and it was evident from her face. "What I do? What do you mean?"

Caitlyn gaped. "You don't see," she said. "He didn't see either... but he wasn't the one doing it. You are."

"Caitlyn, what do you mean?"

She gave her mother a look of derision and shook her head, but apparently, her mother really was this oblivious. So be it, then. Caitlyn steeled herself for the second round of ugly fighting that she was sure was coming. It seemed that sleep was not on the agenda tonight. "Mother, you don't appreciate a thing I do. Apparently you don't even notice."

"Caitlyn! How can you think that?"

"Easily," she said harshly. "It has been like this for years." She considered, quickly, some of the most egregious instances. "You babied Carver and me, of course, but he was the one you couldn't bear to think of losing in the Deep Roads. I'm not saying you wouldn't have cared about me, but he was the one you thought of first—just like, when Bethany was killed, I was the one you blamed first when the Blight and Flemeth share a lot more blame, and we've all made decisions that we question and regret."

"I didn't mean..."

"Anders chipped in twenty-four gold for the expedition, fourteen of which Carver and I—mostly I, if I have to say so—had already earned, and your brother stole from us. Do you know how I earned that coin, Mother?"

"My dear..."

"I fought off violent criminal gangs on the streets and docks of this city," she said through clenched teeth. "Gangs that the City Guard couldn't seem to get rid of. Aveline and I uncovered some corruption in the Guard, you know, but that can't be all of it, so gangs roam free, raid ships, capture Fereldans for slavery, and squat in noble estates. That's who I killed—brutal beastly men who would have raped my bleeding body and then gutted me and thrown my corpse into an alley, had I allowed them to win."

"Caitlyn!" Her mother was shocked at her violent words, but Caitlyn continued relentlessly.

"And all along, I knew I couldn't leave any survivors, because they would run whining to the Templars about me and evade legal justice for turning in a 'dangerous apostate'! That's what happens in this corrupt place," she seethed. "Meredith Stannard's thugs will grant extralegal reprieves to thieves and gang members if they hand over mages, contravening the Viscount's Law."

"Caitlyn," Leandra pleaded, "I knew that Templars were a risk... but is it really that bad?"

"Yes," she said shortly. "One day, a Fereldan widower came to Anders' clinic. His nine-year-old daughter was bleeding to death before our eyes, knifed in the back by a Templar that Anders and I had already been warned about—by another Templar, a decent one, of all people. She was a mage who had merely defended herself and her father against criminals—thieves who had avoided jail for reporting her, and probably had been paid a bounty out of Chantry funds to boot, funds that should have gone to the poor. Yes, Mother, it's that bad." She took breaths to calm herself.

"I didn't know," Leandra whispered.

Caitlyn continued mercilessly. "I took partial ownership in a mine, which continues to pay us an income, by slaying dragons and other dangerous creatures. In addition to the assorted gangs and criminals, I have killed demons, malevolent dwarven spirits, possessed corpses, giant spiders, and, oh yes, darkspawn. Carver was along much of the time, but I chipped in everything I earned to that coin box after I paid for Mal's expenses. That is how I got the money that your brother stole from us, Mother. I endangered my life on every single occasion—risking leaving my son orphaned before we met Anders again, all for the sake of saving this family and getting this house! And you don't see it! You don't see anything I do!"

Leandra's face was a study of horror and remorse. "Caitlyn, my dear girl, I knew it was dangerous, but I didn't realize..." She trailed off, gazing in shock at her daughter and her furious words.

"I went with you to the Viscount's office that day to get that awful Templar and then the Viscount himself to agree to the sale, and I talked him into it," she continued, her voice starting to break. "The entire reason Anders and I could officially marry at all was because I made an ally of a priest who... doesn't like some things that go on in this city. I've saved a companion from slavery... though he doesn't appreciate it," she muttered darkly, "and helped another one become a leader in the alienage by encouraging her. I was the one that Varric recruited for the Deep Roads in the first place. I... I don't mean to diminish Carver's part, or Anders', and all that you said he did is true... but I've done a lot too, Mother, and you just don't see it. You've never seen it." Her voice wavered a bit. "I take that back a little. You did see that what I did, what we did, to earn coin was dangerous, because you didn't want us to do it. But you didn't seem to understand or accept that I wasn't doing it for fun or even for personal pocket money. And trying to keep us from doing it because it's dangerous, without a viable alternative for making money, isn't the same thing as appreciating and giving credit."

Leandra rose from her chair and walked toward her daughter, but Caitlyn held up her hand, shaking her head. "And all this time, I have had a small child to raise. I've had help from you, of course, but he is mine, and until I met Anders again..." At that, her voice did break. A tear trickled unbidden down her cheek, to her shame and embarrassment.

Leandra wanted to hug Caitlyn, but she could tell that her daughter did not want that right now. Instead she stood to the side of Caitlyn's chair, taking in what she had heard.

"So when you ignore all of that, or just don't see it, and say that he is the reason we have the house, that he's the savior of the family, and that's why he deserves to... to sit where the head always sat, that's why he must always be consulted before I hire a nanny or you even move your own furniture around... it hurts, Mother. It makes me angry, and then... things just burst out."

"I truly have not thought about it," Leandra said, astounded, guilt flooding her face as she fully comprehended Caitlyn. "I... suppose you are right that I have taken you for granted, and I am so, so sorry. You are right. I do value what you do—please don't think it doesn't matter to me—but you are right that I just... didn't see it as anything but, I suppose, the natural order of things, and I took it for granted. I will try to do better."

Caitlyn sighed heavily. Her mother did seem to be sincere, but that alone was no guarantee that it wouldn't happen again. "Hopefully, my days of doing vigilante work that the City Guard should be doing are over," she said, "but Mother, the other things... it seems to me that you have wanted for all your adult life to have some man to answer to. Father, then Uncle Gamlen, then Anders. And you can do as you please for yourself, but for me... well, it's creating problems for us. I don't like it, but I don't think Anders really notices because he is so busy, so he doesn't push back." As she spoke, she realized that there was a gap of three years between Father's death and their arrival in Uncle Gamlen's Lowtown house, and she could not say that her mother treated Carver as the head of the family in that time. In fact, there had not really been anyone who was the undisputed leader of the family. "I understand that you were raised differently, here in Kirkwall as a noble, but I... don't like it."

"It was not about that, my dear," Leandra said, her face still drawn with emotional pain. "Most Kirkwall nobles do practice male primogeniture, but it is no more required by city law than it is in Ferelden. My parents left everything to me. Of course a woman can be the head of household. I just... see now that you are right that I took you for granted and never considered you such because I did..."

"But you are my mother. You are the owner of the house and the... the surviving parent. Coming to Kirkwall was your idea. Why not be the head of household yourself?"

Leandra sighed unhappily. "You are right that it is because of circumstances in my life. I just never acted as such, ever. After your dear father died, we all had to manage the household together and support each other, as it were. There was no head of household, really—unless I am taking you for granted again, and if so, I apologize again."

"No," Caitlyn said. "For those last three years in Lothering... none of us 'led.'"

Her mother nodded. "You were pregnant, and then busy raising Mal... We were all just trying to make it. And before that..." She sighed again. "Yes, your father was clearly the head of the family, but he and I agreed on a division of labor when we settled in Ferelden. I was uncomfortable making decisions for the household because I knew little of the world beyond noble parlors and ladylike accomplishments."

"He was a mage of the Circle," Caitlyn replied. "If anything, he would've known less."

"But he was much... bolder, and more assertive, and more courageous, and by the time we were married, he had learned a lot about the world by experience. He had friends in the Grey Wardens, the Templars, and the Chantry to help him. I had no one I could confide in, not even my own brother, as I learned. Caitlyn... I do not mean to compare the brief time I am talking about to your four years of suffering... but there was a time when I too feared that my child's father and I would not get to raise our baby together."

Caitlyn remembered that she was the child of whom her mother spoke.

"I had no idea if I would ever see your father again. The Circle could track him, so we could not see a way to make a permanent escape, and we had no money. It was a terrifying time for me. My brother suggested that the best option was to wed a man I did not love, to... to go into his bed... and to pretend that you were his child instead of Malcolm's."

Caitlyn had known that, but she had never truly considered the appalling implications of it. Of all the ways that she had suffered, she had never had to contemplate that. Over all the four years of separation, she had raised Mal by herself openly and never claimed to be a widow—and her mother had never once suggested that Caitlyn should do anything else. The price had been an added source of insults from vulgar Kirkwallers when they had lived in Lowtown, but it had been utterly worth it in the end when she met Anders again, free to pursue a future with him, without the trauma of having been basically forced to bed a spouse she did not want. That, however, had been the choice her mother had contemplated years ago before her father had returned.

"As you know, your father found a Templar and a priest who agreed that mages could have families without it hurting anyone, and he did a valuable task for the Grey Wardens to earn a large sum of money. He found the answer. I had had no idea what to do. Of course I considered him the head of the family. It seemed only natural after that. He was the one who was better at solving problems and taking actions." She sighed heavily. "I have seen some parallels between what your father did for me and what Anders has done for all of us, which is why I've treated him as I have... but I have been wrong not to see what you have also done, and I apologize."

Caitlyn sighed heavily, a broken sigh that was almost a sob. "You really loved him," she finally managed to say. "I mean... I knew that, but... I've just never heard you talk about him like this." As the words left her mouth, she realized that she had not talked with her mother about serious topics at all, at least at length. That realization was a new pang for her. "Mother... I'm sorry. I'm sorry that my... situation... took him from you. You should have had more time with him, and I cost you that."

"No, darling—don't feel bad," she said at once, hugging her daughter in a brief but crushing embrace. "I wish I could have had more time with him, but he didn't die in vain, you know."

Caitlyn felt strange about her mother's crushing hug. It was not like one of her smothering embraces, the sort she gave when she did not want her children to do something dangerous. This was a hug of affection and sympathy, and it felt odd to Caitlyn. She had always been much closer to her father, and after he had died, she had been too hollowed out and broken over the dual loss of him and Anders, as well as the ongoing pregnancy, to really form a bond with her mother. They had become estranged without any actual hostility. Now, she was a mother herself, and she felt that she had missed something precious. When her mother hugged her this way, it felt like being a young girl again—but she also knew that she wasn't, she couldn't be again, she had to be an adult for Anders and Mal, and that time in her life was over. It was sad, and she did not know what to think yet.

Perhaps I can accept my mother, being her daughter, having a real relationship with her, without being her "little girl" again, Caitlyn thought. It has to be that way now. "What do you mean?" she finally said.

"Your father was passionate about mages in a quiet way," Leandra said. "It wasn't like you and Anders are—but he didn't suffer, we didn't suffer, as you two did. Life went his way—our way—so he was content protecting his children. I think he knew that he was not destined to be the one who changed things... but that didn't mean that he didn't have convictions. Those convictions just were not about himself, you understand. He died trying to help someone else for one of his children—and, I think, because he already saw Anders as a foster son." She caressed her daughter's cheek. "I knew your father better than anyone, Cait. He would rather have died helping mages, including his child, than wasting away in a sickbed. And his choice has helped make you and Anders who you are."

She gaped at her mother, shocked. Leandra was normally frivolous in her conversation. This was a stunningly serious topic. "I... didn't want to think about it that way," she admitted. "It seemed... presumptuous... to guess at what he wanted, how he would have wanted to die."

"I'm sure he would have wanted more time," Leandra agreed. "I'm sure he would have wanted to meet his namesake and see your wedding day. But you shouldn't feel guilt about it anymore. He knew what the risks were when he left with Anders. We talked about it the night before, in private, alone. He knew, Caitlyn. He knew what might happen."

Caitlyn felt new tears form in the corners of her eyes.

"He told me that night that he was more worried for you and Anders. You were so young, so innocent, and your love had just blossomed. We had had twenty-one years. We had lived a happy life. You were just getting started." Leandra was almost crying too. "I think that on some level, he knew... he knew what would happen, more or less, though he didn't want to believe it, because it would mean so much suffering. You're still paying the price for that suffering, which is why the two of you have difficulties. But I also think he knew that it would work out for you two in the end."

The tears fell from Caitlyn's eyes. "Mother," she whispered, suddenly pressing herself against her mother's chest, feeling her mother's arms envelop her. It had been years since she had allowed her mother to hug her like this. She had had to be a mother herself, tough and strong, a fighter. She had felt that she had to shield her vulnerability from literally everyone except Anders, and increasingly, even from him. It was scary when he had identified it so precisely tonight. That was why she had kicked him out. To open herself up was frightening, but it was also freeing.

They embraced for a while, years of misunderstanding and alienation between them not quite closed—that could never happen immediately—but finally, at last, acknowledged and recognized by both of them. It will be different between us now, Caitlyn thought as she finally let go.

Leandra gazed at her. "You should talk to him, dear. Please do it before it festers. Don't let him wake up in that clinic by himself without anything resolved."

Caitlyn did not want to face him—she knew that by "talk to him," her mother actually meant "apologize to him," because this was not his fault—but she also knew that her mother was probably right that it would be a bad idea to let him sleep off the rest of the night alone and angry.

Maker's breath, this is not going to be easy, she thought, feeling dread pool in her stomach. I told him I wouldn't do this again. What can I possibly say to him now?

She cast her gaze down, nodding. "I'll do it now, then."


When she gently cracked the door to the clinic open, she caught a momentary glimpse of Anders. His back was turned and he was apparently arranging bottles of herbs and medicines, but Caitlyn could tell that not much had been done. In truth, he was brooding and fuming while rearranging the bottles in circles just to keep his hands busy. She noticed the crate of empty flasks, which still held traces of bluish-purple translucent syrup: processed lyrium potions for mages, all gone. That thought gave her another pang. To treat his patients—to attempt to prevent a city-wide epidemic of contagious disease—he would have to yield full control to his familiar spirit whenever his mana was low, which was risky for all kinds of reasons. People might notice, and it couldn't be a good idea for his own sake to let Justice do that frequently. There had to be another solution.

Anders quickly noticed that he had company, turning around at once. He glared at her silently, clearly not expecting much, based on the expression of anger and betrayal in his face. That hurt, and in that moment, the last vestiges of false pride about this vanished.

She stepped into the clinic and pulled the door shut. "Anders," she said gently, "sweetheart... I'm so sorry." She did not move closer to him, deciding in an instant to let him decide when to draw near to her. "You were right about every word you said. Every word."

Anders' eyes widened in surprise, and some of the anger melted from his face—not all, but some.

"It won't happen again, Anders. I talked with Mother... I was actually angry at her, primarily, not you. But we talked, and it's better now. We talked about the actual problem, and it won't happen—I mean, I won't do it again. Really. Please come back to the house. She is still awake; we can all talk if you want."

He swallowed and turned aside, his face betraying inner conflict. He gazed ahead silently for a minute before turning back to face her. "I'm glad you figured out what the actual problem was, and perhaps you won't do this again about this issue, but what about things that may come up in the future?"

"I won't do it, Anders!" she burst out.

"You said that once before." She let out a cry, and he said hurriedly, "I'm not going anywhere. I'll come back to the house, back to our bedroom. But Cait... you have to stop it." He took a breath. "And not only for the sake of our relationship. You must find ways to identify and deal productively with the people who actually cause problems, rather than finding an easy scapegoat, before you have any business trying to become a leader."

Caitlyn stared at him, eyes wide, her face falling. That was a devastating critique—and it was one with which she could not argue.

"Trust me on this one," he said, suddenly pained. "I'm not saying this from some sort of... of moral pedestal. I struggle with it too. Justice... when he is vengeful... sometimes wants to lash out against anyone nearby, and it's my fault when that is the case. But I'm not talking about becoming the ruling Viscount of Kirkwall someday."

"And you don't direct it at me," she said quietly, her gaze falling to the ground. "I'll stop, Anders, I swear I will. I don't want to lose you."

He moved closer, stopping inches away from her. She could feel the warmth radiating from his body. "I'm sorry for making you worry about that, love. You won't—not over one slip when we're all under too much Maker-damned stress. I... think I was too harsh with you." He embraced her gently.

"You weren't," she said, welcoming the warmth of his arms around her. "I needed to hear that, what you said in the bedroom. I have used you for emotional support and haven't reciprocated as I ought. I've constantly been complaining about your hours during this epidemic and didn't show much sympathy about the patient you lost today or the stress of feeling this weight on yourself that it has to be you because there is no one else."

"You were right that I was giving too much unwanted detail about the nightmare, though." He held her, and she returned the embrace at last. "What did you talk about with your mother?"

"How she... well, for years, I've felt that she has taken me for granted and not noticed what I did to help the family. And lately, she's treated you as the head of the family and showered you with recognition and praise."

Anders considered that. Leandra had been very eager to sing his praises, that he had noticed, but he had never noticed that she had taken one of her children for granted. Of course, he had not actually lived with Leandra Hawke for that much time, especially in Kirkwall, and since they had all moved into the fine house, he had spent a great deal of time in the clinic. If she behaved that way to Caitlyn, he might not have been in a position to notice it. No wonder she was angry, he realized.

"And... I hesitate to say this, so please, don't take this into your own hands—I will take care of it—but Fenris made another nasty comment yesterday about mages after Merrill, Aveline, and I helped him clear out some slavers and a Tevinter magister sent to hunt him. It was really bad this time, and Merrill and I stormed off, we were so angry." She dared to look up to his face and saw that he was indeed outraged. "He's sorry. He waited outside the house late yesterday evening to apologize, but I wasn't in the mood to hear it. I'll listen when I am good and ready."

"Good," Anders growled. "Make him think about what he said."

"That's what I said to Mother when she brought the message to me," Caitlyn agreed. "I'll handle it, love. But just... that, in combination with what Mother has been doing, taking me for granted and seeing what you do for the family but not what I do... I was wrong to take it out on you, though."

He stood in place, holding her. "You said you talked about this with her?"

"Yes. It was actually a very good talk. We came to an understanding about... a lot of things. Anders," she pleaded, "I am going to be more self-aware now about what I'm doing. I won't blow up at you... well, unless I really am angry at you, and if I am, I'll tell you why and I won't try to use words as weapons again."

He squeezed her tightly before releasing her. "I understand why you were so angry if your mother has been taking you for granted and ignoring everything you have done. I have noticed how much praise she has showered on me lately, but I didn't realize she was ignoring your hard work. It's no wonder you were furious when I said what I said tonight."

"You weren't wrong, though."

"No, I think I was," he said. He sighed, wincing. "I shouldn't have implied that you were selfish and only took from me. I shouldn't have implied that you never showed me any consideration and only treated me as an object to attack. That was cruel of me, especially given what you were already angry about, and it isn't true. You have given a lot to me." He tilted her chin up so that they could look each other in the eye. "I'm sorry too."

He doesn't take back the rest of it, she thought, but... that part isn't false. And it was the part that actually triggered me to send him out, but that, I think, is because I knew it to be true. But it's all right. It's all right to be tough and hard for the general public while leaning on him in private. I just have to let him lean on me when he needs to.

"I think it's going to be different from now on," she said softly as they headed back through the clinic, locking the doors behind them, and entered the passage to the basement of the mansion. "She really didn't know what she was doing, but she does now. I think it'll be better—and I know to tell her if she does something offensive to me again, not take it out on you."

They stepped into the house proper and closed the doors to the basement behind them. "I will try to be around more, so I'll know about anything else that may come up," Anders said, "but... it's still going to be tough in the near future, what with this disease outbreak."

Leandra was still in the sitting room, waiting for them to make their appearances. When they did, a mild smile formed on her face. She gave them a nod of acknowledgment.

"It's all right, Mother," Caitlyn said to her, taking Anders' hand. "We're all right."

She rose to her feet. "I'm glad. We can talk more tomorrow morning if you want, but I think what we all need right now is sleep."


The next morning, Caitlyn noticed that her mother had rearranged the table. The ornate, fancy, velvet-cushioned chair that had been the head seat was no longer there. It had been replaced with one of the ordinary chairs, and the others had been moved around the table to fill the space.

"Last night, Caitlyn pointed out to me that my father's chair was... well... it's a symbol of what I was doing without intending it," Leandra explained. "It is now in my bedroom, at my desk, instead of here. I hope you understand, Anders. I don't mean any offense by switching it..."

"And I don't take any," he said. "This is how it should be. No one is set above the others."

Leandra smiled back, pleased that peace was restored to the family.

After he had left to go to the clinic—with Mal once again—Caitlyn thought again about the fight last night. Although he had readily accepted her apology and offered his own, she still felt that she needed to make it up to him, to show him with an action, rather than words, that she meant to change how she treated him permanently. Helping him with the epidemic was the best thing that came to her mind. I said I would talk to Varric about finding another source of lyrium for him, she thought. And there is one other thing I could do.


"Hmm, lyrium, you say, Hawke?" Varric mused to himself. "That's shady business."

"Which is why I asked you," she rejoined with a grin.

The dwarf smirked back. "Well, I wish I could point you to a source of the refined stuff, but the Chantry comes down so hard on that, there's no one smuggler who specializes in it. It's often a job that bosses hire out to independent mercenaries, different ones each time, so it's almost untraceable if someone gets caught."

Caitlyn's face fell. Varric noticed, and he hurriedly continued. "But I do know of a cave outside the city where unrefined lyrium grows. If you know someone who can grind it into dust and has the recipes and supplies for turning it into usable potions, that's an option."

She considered this. Only those without a connection to the Fade, dwarves—dwarves who were not Grey Wardens—and Tranquil, could safely grind raw lyrium into the fine dust that could be dissolved and concentrated in lyrium potions. She absolutely refused to exploit former mages who had been destroyed; she would literally rather own a slave than do that. But dwarves...

A pair of dwarven merchants in Hightown entered her thoughts. One of them was the only merchant she had yet found in Kirkwall who could craft runes. They had gone along with Bartrand Tethras's crew in the Deep Roads. "I think I can ask those dwarf merchants, Bodahn and Sandal, about it," she said. "I bet they have recipes and equipment. The young one crafts lyrium into runes."

Varric's face lit up. "Oh—good idea, Hawke! I'm sure they can. So... did you want to mine the goods today?"

"As soon as possible," she said. "It's for Anders. He ran out of the supplies that the Grey Wardens send him regularly, because he's using so much of it to help prevent a flu outbreak from becoming a pandemic."

Varric drew back, shocked. "Right. We'll do that as quickly as possible, then."

"I'll ask Merrill to come along," she thought after a moment's consideration. "I want to ask her about something related, while we're there."


The small group trudged through the dark cave, the two mages wearing heavily armored and runed gloves to prevent raw lyrium from coming in contact with their skin when they harvested veins of it and placed them in the crate that they wheeled behind them on a wagon. "Merrill," Caitlyn said once the crate was almost full, "you know what this is for, of course: Anders ran out in the midst of a flu outbreak in Darktown, and he has no one else who can help him treat people, since any other skilled Healers are locked up in the Gallows or hiding in the shadows of the city."

Merrill nodded. "It is a disgrace. The Dalish Keepers know healing magic; it is an essential part of protecting the clan, and whenever a disease takes root in one clan that the Keeper and First cannot treat, they send scouts to the neighboring clans to ask their mages for help. We stick together as a people." At the end, her voice wavered and broke, the memories of what she had lost becoming too painful suddenly.

"Oh," Caitlyn said, surprised. It made sense that the only mages in a clan would be taught that, but Merrill had been her Keeper's First, and she didn't think that Merrill knew healing spells. "Do you know any healing spells yourself, then? I didn't realize..."

Merrill shook her head sadly. "Keeper Marethari had not yet tutored me in that school of magic. I was to learn it, but we... parted ways before I could."

"Well," Caitlyn said, "how would you like to learn it after all? One spell, I mean," she clarified. "The basic one. I know it. Anders taught it to me. I could show you."

"But can you actually treat people who are ill with the flu?" Merrill said, confused.

Caitlyn shook her head. "Anders explained it to me; this one won't work against that, but not every patient he sees has the flu. People with injuries, frostbite, exposure, hunger... they still see him. He still has to expend magical energy to treat them, even when flu patients come in."

"Oh!" The elf's face lit up with understanding and delight.

"I take that as a yes," Caitlyn said, smiling.

"Of course!" Merrill exclaimed. Her smile suddenly wavered. "That is... Anders disapproves of how I prefer to enhance and renew my mana. This lyrium... if you and I use it, there will be much less for him..."

"Merrill, you do what you are used to. No demons in the clinic, please..." We already have a spirit, she thought wryly. "But do what suits you. I'll talk to him about that."


As the Hightown market sellers were closing up for the day, Caitlyn quietly explained to Bodahn and Sandal Feddic the task she was hiring them to do. "I'll pay handsomely for it," she said to the older dwarf. "This is critical. I'm not smuggling it; I'm giving it to my husband, a Healer who is trying to prevent a deadly disease from spreading in the city. He was in the expedition too."

Bodahn nodded, accepting the crate. "You don't have to pay extra for that. I actually sold some of the ingredients to the Hero of Ferelden and her companions during the Blight, you know. Not the, ah, dust itself, but the other potion-making supplies. I'll charge you what I charged her, and we have the recipe for any strength of potion you need."

"I have rarely used lyrium, as an apostate, so I don't know what would be best. I just want you to use this raw material in the most efficient way you can," Caitlyn said. "If that means all maximum-strength potions, that's what I want; if it's better to refine it into a large number of basic-strength ones, I want that. I want it put to the best use you can."

"He is a powerful mage, isn't he?"

Caitlyn nodded. "He is as powerful a Healer as I am a fighter. An Enchanter, a Grey Warden, and I would say a master Spirit Healer."

"Then highly potent potions are the best."


That night, she did not mind too much that Anders was going to come in late once again. Once she had read to Mal and put him to bed, she wanted to spend some time in the family library, and she wanted to do it privately. As she closed the door behind herself and studied the shelves of books by candlelight, a foreboding sense of doom settled in the pit of her stomach.

"Once a mage starts to practice this kind of magic," Malcolm Hawke warned her and Bethany, many years ago, "it's very difficult to say no—or no more. There are those who do it out of malicious reasons, but what is more dangerous in a way is to do it as a justification of necessity." His face became curiously pained at this moment, almost guilty. "Once you have said that the ends justify the means once, it takes a lot of willpower to stop. You push the line a little bit more... and more... and more..." He turned aside, sighing. "It is possible to make oneself stop and go no further, but not easy. Better to avoid it, Cait, Beth."

Father, what would you do right now? Caitlyn asked in her thoughts as her emerald-eyed gaze shifted to the shelves of books that she had always studiously avoided until now. Anders cannot hold off this outbreak alone. He may think he can, and the lyrium will help, but he can't do it. And I'm worried now that his magic will slip, his wards will become weaker, and he himself will catch the disease. He's so terribly worn down and tired. What is the right thing to do, Father?

Her father, of course, offered no answer in her memories. He had not actually told them that no mage should ever use blood magic, full stop. He certainly had not said that the only ones who did were evil monsters who wanted to puppeteer people's minds and sacrifice innocents for malign power. His discussion of the subject was negative but nuanced. When he had talked to her and Bethany about blood magic, he had not told them the frightening tales that the Chantry apparently told young apprentices in the Circle, that doing it would damn their souls to the Void immediately and that the Maker would turn aside from them and give them over to demons of the Fade. Some mages used blood magic without ever consorting with a demon in their lives, and did nothing amiss with the magic itself; Malcolm told them as much. He was honest... but he had warned them that it was better to stay away from it if possible.

I have all that lyrium, but I would probably use as much mana to power my basic healing spell as Anders would to power his specialized ones. I would need the lyrium to recover quickly as often as he would, I suspect, if not even more frequently—but I would get less done in terms of healing. That doesn't seem like a good use of it. He should have the lyrium exclusively, I think.

Caitlyn sighed. Her gaze settled on a thick black tome titled Malleus Maleficarum, a Tevinter book, the title stamped on it in red, the color of blood itself. She closed her eyes for a quick moment—but instantly opened them again. No. If I'm going to do this, I will do it with eyes open. I won't hide. Taking a deep breath, she pulled the tome from the shelf, sat down in a chair, and began to read.

About an hour later, she was staring wide-eyed at the pages and gasping in disbelief at what she was reading.

The wards! she thought. The wards he taught me to cast on the house in Lothering! This book describes wards almost exactly like that, but more powerful, based on blood—blood that would call out to others of that kin, that couldn't be used except by someone with this blood. Father! You... you...

I've already performed blood magic and I never even knew it.

Father, you lied to me. You told me it wasn't. I asked you, and you said it wasn't.

He lied because I was a young girl, Caitlyn told herself, trying to ease her distress. He needed the house warded, and I had to be the one to do it so that Mother could come in—I or Bethany. It had to be done. The safety of our family depended on it. I am sure that Anders would have been captured much, much sooner without them, too, since they blocked the signal of his phylactery when he was in the house. I might owe Mal's existence to those wards.

But isn't that exactly what Father warned us about, justifying it once because it's necessary to achieve what we want, and then losing control? Still... he stopped with that. He didn't do anything more. It is possible. He did it. And... I did it.

Trying to control her breathing, she returned to the book. This book did discuss the darker ways to use blood magic, and she was determined to avoid those. This is where I draw the line, she vowed. Those wards, I guess, and this—using it to power other spells that I already know how to do, to help others. In this case, sacrificing my own blood to heal people, to let Anders focus on the patients that only he can treat. This is all right. This is acceptable, and this will be where it stops.

She read and, gingerly, practiced with her dagger and her own arm, until she heard the basement door open and close. Then she quickly shelved the book, healed her cut, and hurried to bed. She didn't want to have this talk with Anders right now, this late at night.


Merrill visited the house the following day, and since Mal eagerly followed Anders to the clinic as usual, that left the two female mages to their own devices. Caitlyn took advantage of the time to teach Merrill what she knew about basic magical healing—and to inform her of what she had just learned herself.

Merrill smiled wryly at her friend. "I told you," she said in an undertone as she quickly mastered the healing spell. "It's just another path."

"Well, I just wish you hadn't turned to a demon to learn it, that's all. But—we're friends. And we're working together on this epidemic now. I won't hound you."

Later in the day, after Anders and Mal had put in appearances for lunch and then departed back to the clinic, the Feddics dropped off Caitlyn's crate again, this time filled with dozens of corked flasks of processed and refined lyrium.

"Holy Maker," Caitlyn swore as she paid the dwarves, "this is amazing, and it's even more impressive that you could do it so quickly!"

"If I may say so, Hawke, we're the best," said Bodahn with a grin.

"I believe it," she said, awed.

Once they had left, she turned to Merrill with a nod. Carefully, to ensure that none of the flasks holding the precious lyrium potions broke from jostling, they lifted up the crate and headed toward the basement entrance.


"Knock-knock," Caitlyn called out to Anders from outside the clinic. "I've got something for you, dear."

In a few moments, the door opened from the inside. Anders stood in the doorway, Mal a couple of feet behind him. Anders looked at her, then Merrill, then the heavy wooden box they carried. It was a closed crate, because they did not want anyone—even loiterers just outside the clinic—to see what was inside, but Anders instantly guessed.

"Maker's flaming breath," he exclaimed, closing the door as soon as they were inside. The clinic was empty right now. "Scoot out of the way, son; let your mother and Merrill come through. Is this..." He opened the crate and gaped. "It is. This is..." He lifted one flask and held it up to the light, examining it. "Master Lyrium Draught, I'd guess, based on its opacity. This is the very best. The contents of this crate are probably worth three hundred sovereigns on the black market, maybe more. How did you get this?" His eyes suddenly filled with alarm. "Cait, please tell me you didn't hire the Carta, making yourself vulnerable to blackmail, to obtain this..."

"I did not," she said. "Varric, Merrill, and I mined the raw lyrium—yes, Anders, carefully, with armored gloves"—for his eyes were widening even more at those words—"and I paid the Feddics to grind it into dust and then make this. They did it overnight and earlier today. They're trustworthy, love. They were with us in the Deep Roads."

Anders blinked and quickly covered the crate again. Unconcerned that Merrill was there, he pulled Caitlyn close and kissed her briefly but passionately. He ran his fingers through her hair and down her cheeks, pulling away and quickly gazing into her eyes. "I... don't know what to say," he finally managed. "This will make all the difference in the world. This is better than what Lady Cousland was sending me. Thank you so much."

Caitlyn smiled warmly at him. "You're welcome," she said. "And there's more."

"Oh?"

"Yes," she said. "Merrill and I both know the basic healing spell now—the one that works on injuries and a few diseases. You still have patients coming in who don't have the flu, who need you for other things. What I propose is that you take everyone who has the flu, or another infectious disease, or an emergency like that poor girl who was stabbed by the Templars—anyone who needs specialized healing—and direct the others to us."

He considered this offer, visibly conflicted. "I don't know that I can ask that of either of you," he said. "You could get caught. A lot of people are seeing me because of this outbreak, and word might get out. You're both apostates, and Merrill is a blood mage."

Caitlyn shifted uncomfortably. "Well, actually..."

He had not noticed her sudden awkwardness. "How about this. I concede your point about dividing the labor. But before you and Merrill risk yourselves for this, let's at least see if the epidemic will... change any minds."

"What do you mean, exactly?"

"The Knight-Commander is probably a lost cause for persuasion," he said with a sneer forming on his lips involuntarily. "But perhaps you and Petrice could pressure Elthina to make Meredith let a few Healers out of the Circle to assist me. They may not know about the outbreak, since it is confined so far to Darktown. The Grand Cleric might be more amenable if one of her own priests is backing this request."

He really is concerned for our safety if he is considering that, Caitlyn realized. "All right," she agreed. "I'll ask. But... if nothing comes of it... I do want you to let us help you."

He nodded in resignation. "I will. But let's try this first." He gazed at the crate of lyrium again. "And thank you so, so much for this."

As Caitlyn and Merrill left the clinic, her heart felt light once again.


Notes: Bodahn and Sandal wouldn't have enough work to do to make a living if they served the Hawkes and friends exclusively. There is no vast tract of land with knights, soldiers, bannermen, servants, etc., who would need supplies. It's just a player convenience when they move in.

If you're worried about the possibility of future Viscountess Caitlyn the Maleficar, she's not an idiot and knows that she isn't going to convince anybody about that. She knows this is one secret that must remain so, even if her plan is to out herself as a mage eventually. Temptation might just present itself in the future, though.