It was late and hot. The air was thick and sticky and in Lowtown it was sour with the smell of sewer and sea salt. In the narrow alleys, animals could be heard fighting for scraps, outside the Hanged Man whores were soliciting passerby and patrons, and in the very distance over it all were the Chantry bells.

Further down the corridor, a woman slid out of the shadows of an alley and paused for a moment in the empty square shared by the four rundown residences that opened onto it. She was tall and long-limbed with ragged, pitch-colored hair and her long fringe hung haphazardly in her pale eyes. A mabari warhound followed at their heels, an enormous beast with a grey pelt striped in black. It whined plaintively after its lady.

"Nearly there, boy," she mumbled back.

They turned to one of the houses and, with effort and the aid of the animal at her heel, she limped up the stairs to the front door.

"Marian!"

Hawke all-but collapsed into her mother when the woman swept the door open, pulling the handle out from under her hand. Awkwardly, she tried to catch herself against the jamb, but Leandra had already spotted her bloody clothes and had turned back into the house: "Carver! Bethany!"

"Stop that; it's nothing, Mother…"

But the words were useless and in a second her brother had a shoulder under her arm and was all-but carrying her to a seat beside the hearth. "I told you, I should have gone," he grumbled.

"Then who would have protected Bethany and Mother if they had come here? Gamlen?"

"Brutus would have done a fine job."

The Mabari growled softly in reply as he laid down at his master's feet. The argument ended there as Bethany began unlacing her sister's armor and pulling it up over her head. "Are you hurt?" she asked. "Where's the blood coming from?"

Hawke watched her brother undoing the catches of her right vambrace and then lazily looked back at her sister. "Most of it belonged to the templar. Really, I'm fine."

"Then why were you limping? You could barely stand!"

Their mother's voice was shrill with worry and the three siblings cringed in unison. "I swear, I'm fine, Mother," Hawke went on. "He threw me down and there were stairs—I just twisted my ankle I think."

"Your ribs are bruised," Bethany mumbled, having worked her hands up under her sister's shirt already, the glow of her magic muted by the layer of fabric between them.

Carver stood. "Mother, you really should go in to bed—try to get some—"

"Try to shoo me out of the room again and I will take you over my knee, young man," the woman snapped back, drawing herself upright. She looked to the girls by the fire. "What about the templar? What happened?"

Hawke was working her arms out of her sleeves and paused for a moment to look first at her sister. She let out a long breath. "He's dead," she said, at length.

"Oh Maker!" Leandra covered her face and turned away.

"Did anyone see?" Carver demanded. "Does anyone know?"

"A whole crowd! Sold tickets!" Hawke threw her shirt at her brother. Her wraps were clean save for sweat and wear. "Of course no one saw! I've been doing this for a while, you nana."

"What did you do with the body?" Bethany asked, her voice low. Her round face, freckled across the bridge of her tiny nose, was furrowed with worry, even though she was clearly trying to hide it.

"I told the Coterie. A few of their men owe me a favor and they'll make a tidy profit on his kit." She scrubbed her fingers through her hair. "It was the safest solution."

Carver was pacing anxiously. He had put out the light nearest the front window and closed the curtains. "They won't tell?" he asked. "If they thought the Knight Commander—"

Hawke waved him off. "Athenril is the only smuggler that hasn't been muscled out by the Carta. They know they owe me that."

"And we're sure he didn't tell anyone?" Leandra demanded. "What if he had already reported Bethany? What if the Gallows already knows?"

"Mother, he was trying to extort us," her eldest answered patiently. "You don't plug a well you still want water from. Reporting Bethany would have just put an end to his own plans and telling another templar would mean having to share the pie and risk getting caught. So for now, we try to lay low. I'll go to the Gallows in the morning and see if there's anything to learn." She forced out a wan, half-smile. "Please, try to get some sleep, Mother. Go on."

The woman sighed and stared at her daughter for a long moment before giving in with a nod. She reached out to touch her son's shoulder as she passed him on her way into the next room and he reached up to lay his hand over hers briefly. Then she closed the door behind her.

Carver pushed himself away from the wall and stood there, listening until he heard the creak of the mattress boards. Then he turned to his older sister. "You're going tonight, aren't you?"

"No. I'll go in the morning and speak to Tobrius. He works with the First Enchanter and sees all the new entries. He'll have recognized Bethany's name if she crossed his desk." She rubbed at her eyes. "You two should get some sleep."

The twins shared a glance between them. "What are you going to do?" Bethany asked.

"I should go see Aveline," she said. "Don't worry about it, Beth."

"I'll go with—"

"I'll be fine."

"Yeah, you said the same thing about the Templar."

A gentle knock on the wood paneling outside his door roused Varric from his paperwork stupor.

The dwarf had been working later than usual that night, trying to unknot details of a contract dispute with another clan that came down to the wording in the fine print, and his eyes were beginning to cross either from the lack of sleep or from a shot too many. Or both.

And looking up he expected a lot of things. The usual assassination attempt, maybe a Carta thug looking to squeeze him for an early payment, but not the human. Hawke.

Things hadn't gone the way he wanted them to earlier in the square. After watching her get dressed down by his brother that morning, he hoped that would make her receptive to his offer. But she had been skittish and vanished on him before he got an answer.

"There was a templar," she said suddenly, her voice just barely carrying over the din from downstairs, where the off-duty guards were filtering in as the shift change happened back at the Keep. "He knew about Bethany and was trying to extort us. That's why I put you off earlier. I wanted to make sure he was taken care of first. Besides, when it was clear you knew about her too and you were also asking for money…"

His stomach dropped. He didn't know this girl or her family—she was just one more refugee in a city plagued with them. But he didn't like hearing this. Her sister seemed like a sweet kid and the Gallows was the kind of place he wouldn't send his worst enemy let alone someone like Bethany Hawke with her pretty face and shying nature. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked. "What did he want?"

"Same thing they always want."

Something about the way she said it and the hooded look of her eyes gave her away and he found himself reaching, on reflex, for Bianca.

He had always heard the stories of course. Even as someone who tried to stay out of that whole mess, he heard about the awful ways mages suffered in the Circle.

She saw this and her lips pulled up at the corner. "He's already dead."

That was only a minor comfort, because her casualness was telling; that this had happened before. "Can I help you there then?" he asked. "Do you need—?"

"The Coterie is taking care of it."

He curled his nose. "Next time you need to hide a body, go to the Carta. They're the experts."

She laughed and there was something too old and tired about the sound to come from such a young face. Drawing closer, she dropped into the stone chair opposite his at the table and pulled her long legs up into the seat, curling them into her chest.

"Fifty sovereigns?" she asked.

Varric sat back. She was favoring one side like she had been in a recent scrap and he could see the telltale black and blue of a bruise already beginning to blossom under one of her eyes. "Fifty sovereigns and you're a full partner," he replied. "You get an equal share of everything we find."

She nodded, slowly. Her eyes were focused on something far away, maybe her family or maybe she was imagining the Deep Roads and the thaig itself. Then she finally looked at him. "I want your help. I need to know you're invested in this and that you have my back."

That he wouldn't turn her in to the Order or take her money and run. It was fair enough—almost dwarven, really.

"Absolutely," he replied. "A few odd jobs here and there, we'll have it in no time."

Hawke stared at him for a moment longer before nodding again.

But she didn't make to leave or excuse herself, so he didn't reach again for his paperwork. "Do you want a drink?" he asked.

"I'm all right."

He nodded and got up to refill his glass at the sideboard. "Then maybe you could just tell me about Serah Hawke," he said, glancing back at her.

That drew some quiet, but genuine laughter out of her and she smiled as she answered: "I'm no one, really."

"Yet."

She grinned and unfolded herself and stood from the chair. "I'll be around in the morning for you," she said.

"Got some jobs lined up already?"

"You could say that?"

He frowned. "So, not a job?"

"More like a favor. For a… friend. You'll see."

1. Goodness this is a bit like dejavu. No I wasn't happy with my other attempt at this story so here's a suspiciously similar substitute.

2. Yes I probably am going to rearrange a lot of the meetings like I did with Varric's or skip them all together. Because it isn't fun reading something a lot of us already know by heart.

3. Yes everyone is alive. Because the Hawkes get along like cats with their tails tied together and why would I miss out on that opportunity?

Now tell me how much you love me.