An awestruck hush stole through the Darktown clinic as the Champion of Kirkwall swung the door open, Fenris and Varric on her heels. Cassidy fought the urge to fidget under the speculative glances and hissing whispers of rumor. Fenris drew protectively closer, the familiar flash of scarlet cloth catching her eye like a beacon.

"You sure about this, Hawke?" Varric muttered worriedly. "Remember what happened last time."

Cassidy grimaced—she did remember. "One step at a time," she replied reasonably. "No harm in finding out what he wants."

"Yeah, maybe he just needs new feathers for his robes," the dwarf chuckled nervously.

Fenris snorted skeptically but said nothing. He had argued, cajoled, and grumbled his protests all the way from Hightown, only to be met with Cassidy's even-tempered refusal to listen. But he was here. He and his red sash. The agony of second-guessing the meaning behind the simple gesture was almost second nature by now, and Cassidy was able to push it aside after barely a moment as Anders approached. The nervous flicker of his smile did nothing to soothe her trepidation.

"You—you came," he greeted her. "I didn't think you would, not after—" He stopped himself abruptly, memory and guilt flashing through his eyes.

"Out with it mage," Fenris growled into the awkward silence.

Anders shot him a resentful, blue-tinged glare before continuing. "I'm going to be trying something," he explained, not quite meeting Cassidy's eyes, "and—and I thought you might want to know, or be a part of it, maybe…" His hands twitched convulsively as he forced himself to continue. "I see it now—I was wrong about Justice. It's unnatural, being joined with him like I am." He lifted his honey-brown gaze to hers. "You know better than anyone," he said softly, with something like sympathy.

Cassidy's brows shot into her hairline in surprise, even as Courage seethed to life. Predictably, a cold sweat began trickling down her robes, and her stomach pitched alarmingly. She gritted her teeth against the familiar discomfort as she fought to make sense of the spirit's buzzing indignation. We are not like them, Courage hissed silently, and its fury roiled into a throb at the top of Cassidy's spine. Cassidy saw an answering tension in the clench of Anders's jaw, the tightening lines around his mouth, and wondered if he waged a similar battle with Justice.

He broke away from the burst of power behind her gaze and continued, "I've been looking into some Tevinter magic—"

"Why am I not surprised?" Fenris interrupted with acid sarcasm.

"Not helping, Spike," Varric admonished him, glancing apprehensively between the two mages.

"They're the only ones who don't use a beheading as the only cure for spirit possession," Anders retorted hotly, blue fire sparking at his fingertips. He shoved his hands into his pockets and inhaled deeply, as though trying to regain some measure of control. "I found a recipe for a potion," he explained, addressing Cassidy as if Fenris and Varric weren't there.

"Is it safe?" Cassidy asked worriedly. "From what I've heard magisters don't even sit down to dinner without a nice blood ritual on the side."

Anders smiled tiredly, acknowledging the point. "The ingredients are a little outlandish," he admitted, "but no blood magic. I've even been able to scrape up most of them on my own—I just need your help with the last two. They're…a little hard to come by."

Suspicion jangled warningly in the back of her mind as Cassidy cautiously asked what he needed. The names were wholly unfamiliar, and she didn't feel any better when he explained that, in the simplest terms, he needed piss, shit, and dragon vomit.

"Crawling through sewers and caves," Varric sighed, running an absentminded hand over Bianca's stock. "Exactly what I wanted to do with my day, Blondie."

"Are you sure about this, Anders?" Cassidy asked softly as Anders gathered his things. "Is—is this what Justice wants?"

He raised his gaze to hers, and Cassidy braced herself for the impact of chains and fire. But nothing came. For the first time since she had met him, only Anders lived behind the intense, unflinching stare. "He wants to be free," he replied earnestly. "Trust me, this is the only way."

Cassidy searched his face, taking in the web of lines permanently etched under the stubble. "Then what are we waiting for?" she chirped, too brightly. "Let's go get messy."

"A copper for your thoughts, Hawke," Fenris said quietly as they followed Anders through the stinking passages under Darktown.

"I wish magisters were less extreme with their ingredients," Cassidy quipped readily. "But nope—you either have to trade your soul to a demon or scrape crystallized urine off of walls."

The former slave repressed a snort of laughter at the image she conjured and curled an insistent hand on her shoulder. "Do you believe him?" he asked urgently. "About this potion?"

"I wouldn't be down here if I didn't," she retorted, pointedly stepping around a fetid puddle of sludge.

Fenris's gaze drifted uncomfortably toward her hairline. "And what about you?" he asked uncertainly, voice low and quiet. "Would you do the same?"

Cassidy felt the blood drain from her face as dark spots exploded behind her eyes. The dull ache at the base of her neck churned into an all-consuming, twisting pain that felt as though it would shake her bones apart. We are not like them! Courage roared furiously.

Cassidy fought past the haze of the spirit's unfamiliar rage, fought to bring Fenris's rapt, apprehensive expression into focus. His lips were moving, forming the shape of her name—his voice was no more than a faint rumble, distant as a memory. Her teeth rattled and ached as he shook her, fear stark in his large, moss-green eyes. Fear of her, or fear for her?

With an abrupt pop, her hearing returned and the spots cleared from her vision. She dragged a ragged breath into her constricted lungs as awareness returned in jagged pieces. The bones in her shoulders ground together where Fenris squeezed them in a vice-like grip. The throb at the nape of her neck faded into insignificance and the only evidence of Courage's tantrum was a dry heat behind her eyes. "I think—I think it's over," she rasped, squirming uncomfortably as Fenris's clawed gauntlets pricked the skin under her robes. "You can let go now."

"Never," he retorted hoarsely, but nevertheless he softened his grip. "Never again." His gauntlets slid to her elbows, and the tanned contours of his face shifted into an expression she couldn't quite identify. "Venhedis, Hawke, I thought—"

"You'd be upset too, if someone suggested you drink essence of piss and shit to get rid of a houseguest," Cassidy interrupted, more sharply than she had intended.

Fenris's hands dropped from her as if he'd been burned. "I only thought to spare you that thing's fate," he said tightly, wielding cold civility like a weapon. "Forgive me if I have stepped beyond my place."

Cassidy opened her mouth to argue, to apologize, but he gave her no such chance. He spun away from her, the snowy forelock screening his eyes as he took up his customary position guarding the rear.

"Not the spot I would have picked for a lovers' quarrel," Varric remarked with a disparaging glance at their surroundings. He waved a flask enticingly under her nose. "You okay, Hawke? I'll add candles and music when I tell it."

Mercifully, he had waited until the elf was out of earshot, but Cassidy had no doubt that Fenris's keen ears would pick up the conversation anyway. "We'd have to be sleeping together for it to be a lovers' quarrel," she pointed out, frustration and confusion turning her tone sour. "Since we're not, it's just a quarrel." She took a deep pull from the flask, sputtering as the liquid stung and burned her throat. "Andraste's steaming laundry—what is that?" she demanded, aghast.

"Hanged Man's finest whiskey," the dwarf replied cheerfully, tucking the flask back into his coat.

She scrubbed weakly at her mouth with her sleeve. "I thought I tasted rat," she muttered.

"Hawke."

"What?"

The knowing twinkle in Varric's eye was sympathetic, and just a bit smug. "I know a lovers' quarrel when I see one."

Anders's excited shout forestalled any further discussion. "Hey!" he called. "I found some!"

Cassidy swapped a comically rueful expression with her dwarf companion. "Oh, goody," she drawled.

"Definitely leaving this part out," Varric grumbled with feeling.

She chuckled and trotted up the narrow passage to catch up with her fellow apostate. The sterile, overpowering whiff of ammonia made her nose wrinkle. "I hoped you were kidding."

Anders shifted guiltily at her expression. "I did warn you," he reminded her. "Listen, while I've got you alone for a moment, are you sure about Fenris? I mean," he continued hurriedly, "it looked like whatever he was saying sort of—set you off, somehow."

Cassidy flushed, ashamed that her struggle had been so apparent. "It's never happened before," she confessed. "I thought I had a better grip on how this…partnership works."

"He can't understand what you're going through," Anders insisted, standing to face her. "What you're always going through. He's let one bad experience blind him to the reality of what we mages endure. How can you stand it?" He glared resentfully at the approaching elf. "Wouldn't you prefer someone who knows how you feel? Someone more open-minded?"

For a moment she was certain she had misheard. But the flirtatious shine in his eyes was unmistakable, as was the seething jealousy that twisted his expression as Fenris drew nearer. All traces of sympathy evaporated in the wake of pure outrage. Cassidy swallowed a lifetime's worth of sharp, shrewish retorts and forced herself to remain civil. "It's none of your business who I 'prefer', Anders," she clipped out frostily. "Let's collect your piss-crystals and get out of here."

The Lowtown sun on their faces felt like a boon from the Maker Himself. Cassidy had to laugh at the image they likely presented as they sped towards the Hanged Man—covered in scum from head to toe, hungry, reeking, and cranky. They scrubbed off the worst of their filth in Varric's suite and fell gratefully on the feast of fresh bread and cold meat Corff sent up with Norah.

Aveline was waiting in the common room when they emerged, pacing anxiously in the narrow space between two tables. "Hawke," she said by way of greeting, "Hubert's been looking everywhere for you."

Cassidy barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. This was not the first time she'd had cause to regret her partnership with the Orlesian mine owner. But this was the first time he had troubled Aveline about it. "What's happened?"

"I don't know," the Guard-Captain admitted, "but it looks bad. You can see the smoke all the way from the Keep."

Cassidy ignored Anders's palpable frustration as she hurried into her belt of potions and healing poultices. "It can wait, Anders," she said with finality the third time he huffed impatiently.

"I'll come with you," Aveline offered readily. "I have a feeling you're going to need the extra help."