Lady Risa Aeducan, Commander of the Grey, living Paragon of House Warden of Orzammar, Hero of Ferelden. Garrett Hawke looked at the woman standing before him and the first thought that came to mind was Maker's Breath, a legendary reputation for such a tiny woman! Lady Aeducan stood perhaps four feet tall, and yet she did not look like what he thought of as the "typical" dwarf. Most of the dwarves he knew were stocky, resembling a tree stump and tough as nails. Lady Aeducan was… well, petite. She seemed rather to tend more to a scaled down version of a human but with longer arms, and her features were fine. Somehow she had missed out on the large nose most of her peers seemed to have. She almost looked as if she could blow away in the wind.

And then she moved.

Hawke saw the woman leap, and as his eyes followed he saw her rolling away from a dead Carta thug in the street, shaking a ribbon of blood from one of her blades as she slid under the guard of another, striking upwards into the throat. Hawke flung himself after her, seeing and feeling Merill's magic whizz past, and hearing Bianca clattering as the crossbow hurled deadly bolts.

Lady Aeducan wove a deadly dance through the battlefield, and Hawke found himself at her right, smashing elven mercenary archers aside with his greatsword. The scuffle had taken perhaps three minutes and there was a sudden silence as they found themselves suddenly without any more opponents. Lady Aeducan took a moment to wipe her blades on a cloth, then sheathed them… then reached down and gave a hand up to a stunned looking dwarf at her feet.

"You've the look of a Harrowmont," she said, and even her voice was rich, sultry – like melted dark chocolate.

"Indeed I am, my lady," the man said, brushing himself off, "Arnaud Harromont is my name, and I can never repay you for your assistance!"

She gave him a measuring look, and said, "And why would you be in Kirkwall, of all places? Are you so eager to lose your stone sense, and your caste?"

"No, my lady," he replied quickly. "I am sent as a diplomatic envoy to the Viscount… and his Majesty, King Harrowmont, sends his particular regards to you."

"I imagine he would," she said, looking amused. "Those men…."

"Hired, I am afraid, by those who were loyal to your brother," he said nervously.

"Ah." A considering look in her obsidian eyes. "It may be that a visit to Orzammar might be… necessary, in the near future." She slapped him on the shoulder companionably. "Well, Harrowmont, you'll not find the Viscount drabbing or slumming here on the docks…" She winked at Hawke as she put her hand onto the dwarf's shoulder. "Would you do me the honor of escorting me to the Viscount's Keep, then? There's a tailor at the foot of the Keep that has the most exquisite silk I've ever seen."

"It would be my great pleasure, Lady Aeducan, and a great honor," he said, bowing and taking her arm. They both knew it would be she that escorted him, but propriety and honor had been saved.


Two hours later, Hawke sat in Varric's rooms with Merrill, Isabella, Fenris, and Aveline. Anders had not yet shown. Hawke could see why men and women both had followed the dwarven hero – she was charismatic and warm. There had been a moment when meeting Isabella where the dwarf had been a little guarded, and if the delicate pink her ears had turned were any indication, Isabella's claims that she knew the Grey Warden rather well were probably true.

"And how IS our innocent little templar," Isabella asked.

A shutter dropped over Risa's eyes, and she didn't answer immediately. When she did, it was a careful, "When last I saw him in Denerim, he seemed well enough." She studied the inside of her mug, and raised it, smiling. "Varric, my mug is faulty – there's no ale in it!" Hawke noticed that the smile did not reach her eyes.

Varric, for once, did not seem eager to pursue this story. "Let me remedy that," he said, pouring.

Isabella, for a wonder, shut her mouth, her dusky skin darkening further. She looked as if she wished the ground would open up and swallow her. "I didn't think, I'm…"

"Forget it," Risa advised, taking a deep drink, and looking into the bottom of her mug again.

"Maker's breath, Varric, I hope you all haven't finished off the pitcher yet…." Anders called with a laugh as he passed the doorframe, and suddenly stopped stock still.

Risa looked up at him, her eyes going from shock, to joy, to hurt and then wariness, then back to neutrality. Her ears again went pink. "Anders," she said, and if nothing else, her voice was filled with genuine pleasure.

"Ree… Commander!" He looked as if he might bolt. "Are you here to drag me back to Vigil's Keep? Because I won't…"

She waved him to a chair, "Do shut up and have a drink," she said. Then, softly, her eyes anywhere but on him, "As it happens, I'm glad I caught up to you. We need to talk."

Ander's eyes flashed irritation. "I'm not…"

"Oh, DO shut up," Risa said, digging through her pack in a fury, her lips compressed into a white line. She found whatever she was looking for, stomped up to him, and slammed it into his stomach, turning away. "So nice to see you too, Anders, I'm well enough, thanks for asking!"

Risa stormed out the door.

"Smooth," Hawke said, looking at the stunned mage.

Anders looked at the package in his hands, and unwrapped the thick padding. When he saw its contents he flushed red, and swearing, went after her, whatever it was clutched in his hand.


"Commander…. Risa… wait!"

The dwarf wasn't running, but Maker's breath, she had a ground devouring stride, and Anders watched as she cut through the Lowtown crowds like a force of nature, people simply stepping out of her way, parting for her. A couple of thugs considered her fancy clothes as she passed, then slumped back against the crates they were standing by, sensing that she was not prey.

"Risa!" Anders fell in beside her, "Risa, please…"

"You know what, shards take you!" she spat, wheeling on him with blood in her eye. "I don't know why I ever came to this blighted place." Her voice lashed at him as sharp and painful as a whip. "There! You have what you wanted, you need never worry about seeing me again!"

"Risa, I'm sor—"

She punched him in the stomach.

Anders felt the air whoosh out of his lungs and staggered, trying to catch his breath, as she railed at him.

"A SHIP, Anders. I had to get on a SHIP to come see you… dwarva and ships do NOT mix!" She paced back and forth like a caged tiger for a minute or two, then suddenly she stopped, pressing her hands over her face.

She closed her eyes, shivered, and then said softly, "No… sorry. It's not you, it's me." She turned. "Isabella… she asked about… Alistair."

Well, Anders thought, that would do it. "Risa…"

She shook her head grimly. "Done. Bridged. Water under."

Anders looked at her, then stepped closer, awkwardly putting an arm around her. "I can never thank you enough for this, Risa." He hefted the package, looked at it. "How did you get it?"

"You nug's arse, you were at the Keep three years. Did you completely miss the part about me being a rogue?" she snorted, shoving him. "I broke in to the Chantry and got it. I might have knocked a shelf or two of them over accidentally, too. Then stepped on the ones that didn't break… er, accidentally."

Anders stooped down and kissed her with a grin. "Accidentally, of course."

Risa half grinned back, then looked at him seriously.

Anders didn't like that look, and so asked quickly, "So, er, how's Loghain?"

"Exiled to Montsimmard at the First Bastard's orders," she said sharply. She pulled away, looked out over the water.

Anders winced. Loghain Mac Tir could be a right bastard, but he was Risa's right hand, her best friend, and she would say without hesitation, her better half. And now he'd been taken from her as well. No doubt that, coupled with having to leave her child behind in Orzammar for safety's sake had placed a tremendous strain on the woman. And now, when she'd come to Kirkwall looking up another of her comrades, a certain rebel mage, he'd given her shit and she'd given him…

His phylactery.

"So," she said quietly, so quietly he had to strain to hear her, "How's Justice treating you?"