He set the bottle under the tap and carefully unseated the plug. The cask was marked with an Orlesian seal burned into the plug end. Burdock Winery-Second Century it proclaimed.

The sweet smell of an expensive red brought a rare smile to the champion's face. Lately there had been very little happening in his new home city of Kirkwall that would lift his spirits. His lady love's pleasure at the sight of his gift was a given.

Just as he was re-seating the plug, the cellar door above opening caught his attention. The sound of shuffling feet on the landing was muted-Someone was trying to be stealthy. The first step leading down creaked, then the second. The third, he knew, would be a real surprise. He opened his mouth to call out a warning, but a thudding crash and a muttered curse interrupted. There were five more steps to the landing half-way down into the Hawke Estate's wine cellar, then ten more to the cellar's stone floor.

Fumblefoot, maybe he'll stop on the landing. "That you Varric?" Hawke called out. He made a face. "Watch your step. You'll wind up shooting yourself in the ass if your not careful." He picked up a damp cork from the bucket on a shelf, waiting for his friend's temper to boil over.

When it came it was vintage surfacer dwarf. "Up yours, you Hawke bastard." It was too dark to see, but he imagined the dwarf giving him the Antivan one-fingered salute if his arm wasn't broken. "Shows just how much you know,"Varric was picking himself up from the first landing, "Bianca was on safe. She'd never do that."

Hawke patiently trimmed the cork he'd just sealed the bottle with and reached for a roll of gold foil embossed with the Burdock herald. "So, what brings the Bard of Kirkwall to the humble Hawke wine cellar?" he asked the room, wrapping the corked neck and smoothing the foil. "Courting death by misadventure, perhaps?"

"Don't tell me you've forgotten?" the dwarf said, stepping into the cone of light thrown by the wall lamp. "It's the… what? Fourth, fifth, anniversary?" He adjusted his crossbow with a shrug and continued, "It's time for some answers, Hawke. Tell me who she is or I beat it out of you."

He set the bottle on a shelf and replied, "It's year six, my friend, and you still haven't figured it out. This may be the final clue. I've got a feeling about…"

"Out with it then. I've searched everywhere in Kirkwall and damned if I've found any trace of the other… is it five already, bottles?" He thought for a moment. "Unless she's a lush and drunk it all up." He seemed pleased with himself.

Hawke had to smile. "No, Varric, they're hidden in plain sight. I see them every time we meet. She says they're being saved for just the right moment." His smile widened.

The dwarf threw up his hands and paced the underground room. "I give up. Following you is impossible. How you kept her a secret is beyond me. Just tell me!"

"The final clue," he murmured, "let me set this up." He looked up. "The Arishok is dying on the common room floor. The nobles gathered are cheering, but my attention is on her-Just her. Her look holds approval and… something else-desire?"

"Another Hawke dream of grandeur?" the dwarf posed. He still had no idea. "Merrill? Aveline? That apostate… what was her name… Grace?"

He's getting close-Your Grace! Hawke sighed and shook his head. "When she gave the Champion of Kirkwall the Chantry's blessing, I knew! She was mine for the taking-Varric!"

It hit him just then. He shook his head and stared. "Andraste's dimpled butt-cheeks, Hawke. She's old enough to…"

"No more than twenty years," he interrupted. "It doesn't matter. What's a number? Varric, I love her!"

He made a show of counting on his fingers, mumbling to himself. He shook his head and looked up. "And does she know about this?" the bard asked, trying to throw cold water on his friend's emotions.

The champion was ready. "For the last five years, we've been nothing more than friends. She has vows to uphold." Seeing his friend's smirk, he continued. "After the duel with the Qunari, I'm sure of how I feel."

"And how does she feel?" More cold water-He couldn't resist.

"I'll find out the next time I see her!" His heat made steam. Picking up the bottle, he smoothed the foil once more.

"Alright, Hawke," Varric raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture, "How?"

"Alright, Hawke," Varric turned from standing Bianca on her heel in the corner of the upstairs study. "Six years ago? Tell me how an outlaw immigrant got an audience with the Kirkwall Chantry's highest ranking scholar." He sat in a comfortable chair and looked up expectantly.

The Champion of Kirkwall set his gift aside and picked up the table bottle and two cups from the sideboard. He set them on the table and filled them. "First thing, you can't repeat what I say about My Lady or the book. If you can't swear it, I can't tell you." He crossed his arms and waited.

"You're serious about this," the dwarf exclaimed. He sighed and rolled his eyes when he saw Hawke's expression. "Messere Hawk, I, Varric Tethras, swear that no one will hear about your relationship or the book from me." He met his friend's steady gaze. "Good enough?"

He nodded, satisfied. "It started with the search for a book. Do you remember the title?"

"Sure, like it was only yesterday." Obviously he'd forgotten. His face brightened. "Oh yeah! Andraste's… left… ARM! That was it. Andraste's Left Arm, a treatise on the origin of the Black Devine. It was considered contraband, but the High Cleric kept a copy in her archives anyway. It was rumored to be worth a small fortune."

Hawke seemed to take pleasure in setting his friend straight. "You were wrong on two counts, my friend. Varric's nug-hunt, as I like to call it, was for 'Our Lady's Left Hand', and it wasn't where you said it would be." He didn't tell him it wasn't about the Black Devine either, that could wait.

"That book was a myth. If it existed at all, it'd be under lock and key. Anything that valuable," his eyes gleamed, "wouldn't of been left lying around. My best guess was it would most likely be locked up with Sister Petrine's other books in the Chantry's Archives." He raised his hands. "I never heard from you that you found it, Hawke. Did you?" He leaned over and picked up his cup.

Hawke sat back in his chair, relishing the memory, took a drink and set the cup down. "I searched the room at the Archives for hours, checking every title written by Sister Petrine-She was a very busy scribe. Just about the time I was going to give up, I spotted a shelf of books in an alcove outside the cleric's quarters. It was there. I'd pulled it and was looking at the flyleaf when she startled me…

"Excuse me, young man, could you help me here, please?" She wore a grey wool dressing gown and was holding a large book with both hands. Her voice charmed me. It was quiet, yet just firm enough to gain my confidence.

A young woman with fair hair and pale blue eyes who was dressed in scholar's robes cut off my reply, "I'm sorry, you called, Your Grace?"

That was when I noticed the tell-tale brand on her forehead. A sunburst-shaped weal that told all that she was a tranquil-A mage with her powers removed. Her calm demeanor and lack of emotion were the only other signs of her condition.

"We are fine here, Nella," the Grand Cleric's smile was radiant, "I have all the help I need, thank you."

Nella bowed her head and left with a dignified,"Your Grace."

"She's such a beautiful child," the woman's tone was wistful. "To lose such a bright talent is a shame."

I couldn't help myself. "But you made her that way! You took away her self, her wants, her dreams?" Had I gone too far? I looked away. "Your pardon… Your Grace."

Evidently not; "Being made tranquil is a mercy," she said in that same calm voice. "In spite of what you have heard, our war is not with mages. It is with the demons that can plague them." She set her book down on a table and continued. "Possession is like a disease, a mortal disease. A possessed mage is an abomination. An abomination cannot be cured, it must be destroyed. Every abomination is a failure for the Templars to deal with." She looked at me for understanding.

I didn't understand. "Your Grace, everywhere I look, Templars are fighting in the streets…"

She interrupted me by taking my hand-the one that wasn't holding the book. Her touch was cool, calming. "There are abuses, I agree… but our task remains. We, the Templars, the Chantry, must protect our charges-The mages and the populace. It is not an easy task" Her grey eyes held mine. "Now, young man, if you could shelve this for me, please?"

When I turned from my task, she was looking at me sternly. "Were you planning on taking that with you when you leave?" she arched an eyebrow at me.

I looked up from the book I was holding-directly into those calm grey eyes. "If I said no, it would be a lie…Your Grace." I looked away. She'd shamed me. When I looked back, she was holding her hand out. Without hesitation, I gave her her book.

She smiled at me, it went all the way to her eyes-those beautiful grey eyes. She didn't call the guards. She handed the book back to me and said, "The Chantry is not about repression, young man. We are about spreading the Light of the Maker." She smiled again, stopping my heart for the moment. "Please return it to its place when you are done," she said, gesturing to the chair in the alcove placed near the window where the rising sun was just starting to show. "Maker's Blessing on you," she finished and turned. It seemed to take forever for her to reach the far door-That body…

Varric set his cup down and smirked. "That body," he mimicked. "You're caught red-handed with a chantry relic… you're facing the swords of the Templars and all you can think about is her body?"

"She was and is a beautiful woman," he raised a forestalling hand, "And the age difference be damned."

The dwarf nodded, picked up the bottle and refilled their cups. "So, what happened to the book?"

Hawke sighed. "I was so worked up and surprised, I read the flyleaf, put the book back on the shelf, and got my sorry ass out of there."

"And… what did the fly say?" Varric wanted to know.

He knew it well, but hesitated just the same. "It said; To my Sister Elthina, with all my Love, Sister Petrine."

"You didn't find out what it was about?" The dwarf couldn't believe it.

"Not then. It took another year to really read that book, but I'm getting ahead of myself."

"It figures," his disappointment was hard to hide. "I have to wait to find out about the other Divine?" It was almost a whine.

"I went back the next day. It was the equinox-the start of spring. That's how I remember it." Hawke was ruminating again…

Her first bottle was from the wine cellar before it was the Hawke Estate's. I guess you could say we… I stole it. My uncle managed to lose our mother and father's Kirkwall estate to the slavers he was indebted to. When searching for our grandparents' will, we found three casks and a rack with four bottles of that fine Burdock Red. Those four bottles resided under my bed at uncle's for the first year.

I don't know why, but a bottle of red seemed the perfect thing to give to the Lady of the Chantry. Especially since she didn't call out the guard to collect me. The next night I slipped into the Archives again and set my gift on the table next to her chair. I'd set about to find something to pen a missive to her when she caught me again.

"You again, Messere?" She was resplendent in her grey chantry hooded robe with a scarlet blouse. The hood was down and her iron grey hair was pulled up in a matronly bun. "Will I need to inventory my shelves… again?" she asked, studying me intently.

I picked the bottle up and bowed. "A social call, Your Grace." Her smile lifted my heart. "May I offer an apology and a thank you?"

Her eyes became thoughtful, her smile remained. "For what, may I ask?"

"For invading your privacy with larceny in my heart and for your…" I searched for the words, "giving me the chance to make restitution." The admission made me breathless.

"The word of our Lady Andraste is about forgiving, young man. You have indeed surprised me." Her eyes were on me. "I hope that is not from… here."

I looked at the bottle in my hand as if it had just appeared. "Oh no, Your Grace. I brought this… for you. A gift." I turned it for her inspection.

She sighed. Was it pleasure? "Ah, a Burdock Red. Second Century! I… we haven't seen any of its like for an age." She looked up a me doubtfully. "For me?"

"Aye," was all I could say, "Your Grace-It is."

I jumped when she clapped her hands twice. "Nella, dear, would you fetch the wine service for two please? There's a good girl!" she led me to an alcove off the main library…

"I've got some competition now, Hawke?" Varric picked up the table bottle and refilled it from the Cask of Antivan Brandy tucked away in a corner. He spared no expense, did Varric Tethras. Especially when it came to drinking his friend's spirits. "Your lies will put me out of business. They make my efforts look small." He filled their cups and, once again, sat.

"The truth shall set you free," he said. "You don't have to believe it, you didn't live it." His smirk was a direct challenge.

"Next thing you'll tell me, you did the nasty with the…"

"No, I did not!" Hawke's vehemence made him look up. "We just talked." He had to laugh at the dwarf's look of skepticism. "Varric, I couldn't believe it! We just talked. All night! About just about everything; Templars, tranquils, mages, demons-and mostly the injustices heaped on the Chantry by ignorance and superstition. She stayed up all night, just to talk to me!"

"So, can we change your name, Hawke?" he posed. "Something that fits? Ah insomnia!"

Varric looked up and tried to focus on a lamp hanging over the table."Hawke, one part of your story is still fuzzy." His speech wasn't slurred. He wasn't drunk yet, but he was getting there. "The darkspawn wasted Lothering… how in the blazes did you get away from them?" With that said, he pushed his cup farther away.

The champion sighed. The loss of his brother wasn't easy to talk about. "Asha'belannar, The Woman of Many Years," he murmured. "Have you ever heard of her?"

"Yeah," the dwarf looked perplexed. "You've said it in your sleep more than a few times. It sounds like a lost lover."

"Nah, she's a witch. Even the Dalish know of her." He smiled in recollection. "Her beauty aged to perfection."

"Is it only me, Hawke? I'm seeing that my friend has a thing for the older ladies?" At last he had something on his friend. Now, how to hold it over his head.

"No… nothing like that. I just appreciate feminine beauty when I see it." He had to smile at the dwarf's skeptical reaction. "When she first appeared, she was in her draconic form. She mowed down a whole company of darkspawn blighters-There must've been thirty in all. She seemed to take pleasure in killing them-She was even dragging one by the leg while she changed to a human. I wonder if she… eats them," he mused.

"Oh, now I see," the dwarf grinned. "She wasn't interested in you."

"After that, she made a deal," Hawke continued, "she would help us; Me, my family, and Aveline get to a ship bound for Kirkwall if we delivered an amulet to the Dalish Elves camped on Sundermount."

Varric held up his hands. "I can pick up the story from there," he said. "that's where you met Daisy. What I don't know-What I need to know is… what happened to the two who didn't make it to the ship?" He looked away. "That is, if you want to talk about it, Hawk. I'll understand if you don't. In your original tale, you skipped over it, so I figured…"

"It's all right, I guess. It needs to be told." He took a long drink from his cup and said, "It was a few hours after we met Aveline and her husband, Wesley. I'd never seen an unarmored warrior fight like she did. That damned 'spawn that hurt Wesley didn't have a chance. She beat him to the ground with bare fists, then chopped his head off with his own sword. To see her pick up that Templar sword and shield and then help her husband to his feet… that horse-of-a-woman is something else!"

Varric looked confused. "You said Wesley… died. How?" he gently asked.

Hawke looked at the window across the room. Though it was dark, it was as if he could see something outside. "With all that blood, he was infected with the taint. I… I offered to give him release, but Aveline wouldn't hear of it. She did her final duty-Sent him on to the end of his path.

"Aveline, there's a place at Andraste's side for that one," the dwarf commiserated. He picked up his cup, more to have something to do than to drink. He waited.

"Hawke…Cale, I know how tough this is." Hawke looked up. "Tell me about Carver."

"Carver, my little brother. He always had to work twice as hard just to keep up. Hey catch-up Carver, where's your knife? Him and Bethany were twins, you knew that, right?"

"Yeah, Hawke, I think you told me that."

"Our father was a mage and being declared apostate didn't sit well with him. He resented having his family shunted around just one step ahead of the Templars. He passed his abilities on to his youngest daughter, but somehow it skipped her twin brother, Carver."

He took a drink and sat still, considering what to say next. "My brother was never a fighter. With the choice to fight or to run, he always walked away-Unless he was cornered. Whenever I saw him outside, he was sitting, watching, listening…" The champion seemed to have run out of words.

"Hawke, what happened to Carver?"

He was again staring at something far away. "We were a few days out of Lothering. The darkspawn harried us just enough to keep us moving. We'd kill a few and then move on. They gave us little chance to rest. Finally, we came to a clearing where the path widened out. Bethany burned up the few darkspawn there and we stopped to rest. Aveline settled Wesley down and tended to him. He didn't seem to be getting any better. His sword arm was next to useless and she was having to help him more and more now. The potions she gave him had no affect."

"I was across the clearing with Bethany and barely heard Wesley's hoarse cry; Ohh Grrr! The pounding of its feet on the dusty path I did hear. It used a tactic that I later learned was called a rush."

"It charged across the clearing, knocking me and Bethany down. Then it kicked Aveline over and ran down Carver and our mother-Carver that had always walked away, but… not this time." Hawke looked up, his eyes were bright. "He stood his ground, Varric, I'll always remember that." He paused a moment to collect himself.

"Bethany was scrambling over the rocks, looking for her staff and I was searching for my main-hand blade when the Ogre attacked Carver. All we could do was watch. We were just too far away, on the other side of that damned clearing. He got one good strike in though. I watched in awe as my brother turned his greatsword in his grip and impaled the Ogre's belly, driving the point up towards its heart."

"But that was Carver's last act. The enraged beast picked him up… crushed the life out of him, and threw him aside-Almost into his mother's arms. After he did that, he turned and charged toward Bethany… she was on her knees, moaning that she couldn't see. She told us later that her power left her-She couldn't say why. That left Aveline and me to face the bastard."

The dwarf was thoughtful. This part of the story was new to him. "You know, there's a mystic connection between twins. Maybe your sister experienced Carver's death. Does she ever talk about it?"

"No," he mused. "She gets too upset with me if I even start to talk about him. Maybe she's mentioned it to mother when they've had their heads together."

"It may be worth trying to find out…' He let his statement hang. "So, you and Aveline faced the Ogre?"

He nodded, not smiling at the thought. "Carver hurt that damned beast-hurt it bad. I'm sure it would've died eventually, but it was still dangerous. It was so intent on getting at Bethany, we had an easy job finishing it off. Aveline hamstrung its left leg with one stab and I severed its spine when it turned on her. Then it was simple to end its miserable existence-Wesley's wife staked its throat and it was all over."

"At least your little brother's death didn't go unanswered," the dwarf bard observed.

"Bethany… Bethany," the champion said. "My, sister… regained her powers just as we finished the beast. Varric, I've fought battles without number since then, and I've never seen the fury she summoned on that day. There was nothing left of Carver's killer but ash. I managed to pull his greatsword from the thing's belly-It's now hanging on the sitting room mantle. The fire was so hot, the blade was ruined-The alloy, crystallized. She almost killed herself doing that. Thank the Maker for the bottle of lyrium we found on the trail."

The silence spun out. The only sounds were the wind in the eaves, trying to find a way inside and the embers in the fire murmuring about eternity.

Varric now had an unsteady hand on his shoulder. "You alright, my friend? That musta took a lot outta ya."

"Yeah, I'm fine, thanks. I didn't think it'd do much good to talk about it, but it did."

"Time for me ta' go. I'll be like Daisy, can't find my way home," the dwarf mumbled.

"Use the guest room down-stairs," Hawke told him. "I'm not leading you home."

"Hummpf! Thanks pal, I owe ya' one." He steadied himself with a hand on the bannister and looked down the stairs. It looked like a long way down.

"Hey Varric!"

"What Hawke?"

"You forget somethin'?" He pointed to the corner behind his friend's seat.

"Damn… Bianca." He managed to retrieve his crossbow without incident. "I owe you another one Hawke."

"On your tab, right? Next time, I wanna hear about Bianca-No waffling."

Varric looked down the stairs again, not sure if he could make the trip. "I'll hafta think about it." He took the first step and steadied himself. "Night Hawke… happy hangover."

A/N Thanks to Wyl for helping me keep the wheels straight and true. C.

*So far, this story is written sans-Sebastian. If it makes a difference, drop me a PM, you never know…