Varric and I opened for business not-so-coincidentally on the same day. I could have opened earlier but the dwarf paid Carver and me enough to make it worth our while to help him set up. So we sweated and swore and carried boxes of books while Ma made us lemonade. I couldn't say people were lining up outside either of our doors when we finally opened 'em.

I leaned back in my chair, put my feet on my desk, and surveyed my kingdom. It felt good, even if the filing cabinets were empty. I figured something would turn up. I could hear raised voices from the back room; Gamlen again. Ma gave as good as she got, but this was unprofessional. If they wanted to fight, they'd have to do it quietly or they'd scare off the clients.

I was just about to get up and tell them so when Carver came in. He looked thoughtful, which must have been painful for him.

He dropped into the chair on the other side of my desk and looked at me.

"Do you think Gamlen's telling the truth about the will?"

"He couldn't tell the truth on a bet."

"Well, you're a detective. You find lost things, you should look for it."

"The estate ain't lost. We know where it is. And I have no trouble believing Gamlen lost it fair and square. I don't think we can knock on the door and ask to see the family vault either. The current owners are not nice people."

"I know," Carver hung his head. "Ma will go spare if she knows we're sniffing around the old house. But Gamlen keeps telling her she was never forgiven by our grandfolks, and it's eating her."

I didn't need any more convincing. I got to my feet and grabbed my coat and hat. "Couldn't hurt to take a look, at least." And it wasn't like I was gonna turn down an excuse to visit Hightown.

We took the cable-car uptown and walked from the market square. It hadn't occurred to me to scope out the family home before, and when I finally saw it I couldn't believe my eyes.

For a start, it was massive. In a street full of massive houses, it was still massive. You could hold a dance in there. We peered in grim silence through the wrought iron gates at the neat garden and the huge house behind it. There was a Franklin breezer sitting in the driveway, and as we watched a man in uniform left the house and drove it around the side, presumably to a garage.

"We could have lived here?" Carver didn't even sound angry, just bewildered.

"Ma gave up a lot for Father," I said quietly. Sure I would have loved that kind of money, but it wouldn't have been me who lived there. It would have been some other fella, with a different father and probably not half as good looking as I am.

We stood there staring with our hands in our pockets for some time. The garden was enclosed by a high brick wall, but not too high to climb over if someone gave a boost.

"To hell with this!" Carver abruptly turned on his heel and stalked off and I followed without a word.

Carver was quiet all evening, and even I only baited Gamlen half-heartedly. Ma asked if I was coming down with something. I said maybe, and turned in early.

I counted ten minutes from the time the house finally grew quiet to Carver sneaking into my room. We were both still dressed, and I knew he was carrying a gun. What better way to start a career as a detective with a bit of break and enter?

We left the house quietly, picking our feet up on the stairs so they wouldn't creak. Not that anyone would have heard us over Gamlen's snoring.

"Evening, fellas."

We both jumped like scalded cats, and Varric chuckled.

"You're working late." It was all I could come up with.

"I was just about done. You boys going out for business or pleasure?"

I noticed he was carrying his black case. He didn't take it everywhere, but every time I visited him, either at his shop or his room at the Hanged Man, it was close by. He didn't refer to it, and for some reason we never got around to asking him about it. Tonight it was reassuring.

Carver and I exchanged glances. I was half a mind to let Varric talk us out of this venture. I'm not sure if that's the whole reason why we told him what we were up to, but we were short on friends in Kirkwall and I could guess what Aveline would have to say about our plan and it wouldn't be printable.

Varric looked thoughtful.

"Well, if you're looking for some help, the rest of my evening is free."

I realised I'd been holding my breath. "Are you sure you'll be able to make it over the wall?" I asked, grinning. The wall was the reason we weren't taking Horse, and I knew my faithful hound would be sitting mournfully with his nose to the front door, waiting for me to come back.

Varric just laughed.

He had reason to. When we arrived at the house a few lights were still on and there were more cars in the driveway. Pretty quiet though; whatever was on, it wasn't a party. We were planning on going over the wall, but Varric suggested we try the delivery entrance first.

"It's locked." Carver shrugged.

"And that is why you need someone like me," Varric said, and I could only be impressed when he pulled a lock pick from the turned up cuff of his jacket. He had the door open in seconds, and he bowed and ushered us through.

"You gotta teach me to do that," I muttered as I passed.

All seemed quiet on the lower floors, and we hurried past store rooms and through servant's quarters and kitchens.

It was in the latter we surprised a man in pinstripe suit making a sandwich. We gaped at each other for a few moments and then he went for his jacket pocket.

Carver was faster. He stepped past me and swung the butt of his Colt down on the guy's head. He dropped pleasantly, without a lot of noise, and I nodded at Carver as he grabbed the sandwich. Waste not; want not.

"Do you even know where we're going?" Varric asked.

"The vault," I whispered. "Ma told us where it is." Or was. But I don't believe in making problems ahead of time.

And as it turned out, after a lot of creeping about, her memory was good. It took Varric a bit longer to get into this one, his lock picks scraping while Carver and I held our breath and listened for trouble.

Carver struck a match while I pawed through the vault. No one had been in here for many years, and there was a lot of junk and cobwebs. I paused to unfold some old letters, and examined my feelings. This was our ancestral home. It would have been ours someday, and now we were nothing more than slightly uncommon thieves.

But what difference does it make? I could have been just as easily born a dwarf, or a mabari. It didn't make sense thinking about this sort of stuff.

I hissed in triumph when I found the will, the wax seal slowly peeling off. I folded it up carefully and tucked it into my jacket. It was time to go.

We retraced our steps, but when we got to the kitchen I halted. Our sandwich-maker was gone.

"Shoulda hit him harder," I muttered, and Carver scowled.

"I wish you'd carry a gun," he replied.

"I wish you'd shut up about whether or not I carry a gun." We were moving again. He might not have had time to raise the alarm. I couldn't hear anything at least.

With some relief, we made it back to the servants' entrance without hearing or seeing another soul.

"See, I knew-" Carver opened the door just a sliver, and then hurled himself sideways as it disintegrated in a shower of splinters and lead with a noise like thunder. Varric and I were further back and we ducked out of the way as the report of the blast echoed down the hill.

"Shotgun," Varric muttered. He looked quite calm, all things considered. He laid his case carefully on the ground.

"Carver!" I hissed. My blood ran cold when all I got was a pained groan in response. I itched to cross the doorway; in the half-light from the streetlamp outside, my brother was just a huddled shape.

"Maker, I think he's hit." My legs felt weak. I'd already cost Ma her little girl. This was my fault, even if it had originally been Carver's idea. I balled my hands into fists, and Varric's eyebrows went right up as they started to glow blue.

"A mage." The dwarf whistled softly. "Well, Hawke, I hate to steal your dramatic moment, but I want you to meet Bianca."

Despite everything that was happening, I couldn't help but be mesmerised by the contraption Varric pulled from his black case. It was the biggest gun I have ever seen. I'm still not sure how he managed to carry it around so effortlessly. He pulled a lever and there was a solid metallic clank as it cocked.

Our eyes met.

"On three?" he asked.

I wasn't going to waste time counting, not with Carver possibly dying just feet away. I lifted my hands, still flickering with magic, "Three!"

I stepped into the doorway and punched the air. There was a solid crack of limbs hitting pavement as the half dozen men outside found themselves smashed to the ground.

Varric followed a heartbeat after I'd stepped through the doorway, and swept 'Bianca' in a half circle. It made a surprisingly soft thudding sound, like a big motor kicking over, and the men starting to get to their feet were thrown back. Those with any sense, or those unlucky enough to break their necks in the fall, stayed still.

"Rubber bullets tonight; Bianca's feeling generous."

I nodded. Varric had it under control.

I turned and flung myself back through the doorway, falling to my knees beside my brother.

"Carver! Speak to me, you great sap, what happened?"

"Ugh." His head lolled as I grabbed his collar and pulled him to his knees. I could smell blood although it was too dark to see any. "Got a …bellyful of buckshot," he said finally through gritted teeth.

My magic flickered uncertainly over my hands. I could maybe get it out; but if I just pulled I'd likely be doing Carver more harm than good.

"You need a hospital," I said shakily. "Shit." This was the short of injury that was going to provoke questions. Not least from Ma. And Aveline. And, if I didn't cold-bloodedly murder the men outside, from the Templars. "Worry about the Gallows tomorrow, eh?"

I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"I know were we can take him," Varric said.


I occasionally revisit that stumbling, staggering journey to Darktown in my nightmares. As always in times of a crisis the breath of demons tickled my ears, promising salvation and power. I heard them when Bethany died too, promising safety and resurrection.

I ignored them. Father had bred these lessons into my bones.

Varric took us down every shortcut he knew, as I half-dragged half-carried Carver. Carver was muttering and only semi-conscious. With every jolting step I was terrified he'd die in my arms. Not again. Not like Bethany.

"Shut up!" I said suddenly.

"Didn't say a word," Varric said, eyeing me off as he held open a rickety wooden gate.

I shook my head. Even if I'd been inclined to explain, I didn't have time. I was concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other when Varric gently pushed me to a halt.

We were somewhere in Darktown; not a place I go by choice. It was a clinic of some sort; smelled of cleaner, the floors were tiled and there were little paper lanterns attracting bugs outside.

"Where-"

"It's okay, no questions asked," Varric said reassuringly.

I felt like a wretch, but I had to ask. "Can I afford this?"

"Relax. This doctor works for free. Bit of a pinko but if anyone can get your brother back on his feet it's Blondie."

I didn't have it in me to argue. A middle-aged woman guided us into a room, and I laid Carver out on a bench. I brushed the hair out of his eyes. He looked so pale. Blood had soaked through the front of his suit.

"Tell Ma…" he started to say.

Like hell I would. "No! Tell her yourself," I snapped. He could die on his own time, not mine. There was a bench near the wall and I sprawled on it. I remember wondering if they'd mind if I smoked when I must have fallen asleep.

I was woken up by an irregular clattering sound. It took me about five minutes to collect my wits and remember who I was and what I was doing they were so scattered.

The doctor was at work. I was expecting someone older, not this scruffy young man with shaggy blond hair and wire-rimmed spectacles. I wondered if he was a student getting in some extra practice. Methodically he pulled another piece of lead from my brother with a pair of forceps and dropped it into the steel pan on the table. So that was the sound that had woken me.

It took me a while to work out what he was really doing. You learn to fake it; make it look like you're doing things the hard way, rather than using your 'gifts'. Hide it well enough and only a fellow mage can spot it, and this fella was good. Relieved, I dozed off again.

I was woken up by the smell of coffee. I opened my eyes to see the doctor smiling down at me. I accepted the mug he offered with quiet thanks. He looked exhausted; stubble on his chin and shadows under his eyes. I glanced out the window, but Darktown is named for a reason, and I had no idea how far off dawn was. Carver was on a cot now on the other side of the room with blankets tucked under his chin.

"How is he?" I asked.

"Most of his wounds weren't deep. It looked worse than it was. I expect he'll be fine."

"There was a door in the way," I explained. The doctor took a seat on the bench next to me. "Thank you. I'll pay you back, somehow."

"I don't take money from people who don't have any. Unlike the rest of the city," he added in a harder tone.

I was puzzled by this until I remembered Varric's comment about the doctor's political leanings. I don't care too much about a man's politics, especially if he's just saved the life of a close family member.

"You're taking a risk," I said. One too many miracle cures and word would eventually reach the browncoats. "The Templars, I mean."

His whole body tensed, and I could see the glitter of surgical steel in his palm. Not just a healer then. I held up my hand. "Relax." I made it glow blue, and he did.

"You're a free mage as well." He smiled at me, almost gratefully, and I reflected that it had to be tough doing the apostate thing without a family to retreat to. "There are too few of us. Especially here."

I sipped my coffee. It was awful. If I couldn't get him any money, I'd see about getting him a decent brew. "Is your name really Blondie?" I asked.

He looked at me in surprise and then he laughed, "Varric. Right, Matilda said a dwarf was here earlier. No, that's just …Varric being Varric. I'm Anders."

He held out a bony hand and I shook it firmly. "Hawke. Trip Hawke. The failed corpse on your table is Carver, my brother."

He shook my hand like he didn't want to let it go.