A/N: This one takes place sometime while Sebastian is gone when Finola seeks out Bran's special attentions. Thanks for the reviews. You guys are the best!


A Shoulder to Cry On

Limp bodies lay all around her, grotesquely distorted in death. A tear slips down her cheek as the blood drains from a young woman's throat, the same blood that turned her silver steel to crimson. Someone's daughter, lover or friend, killed by Finola's hand for wanting pocket change and a chance to make their mark in Kirkwall. Finola closes her eyes, needing to see his face, his high cheekbones and ginger hair perfectly placed, but most of all, she longs to see the acceptance in his amber eyes.

Leaving her companions behind, she flees from the alleyway, heading to Hightown alone. When she enters her house, no cheers or accolades resound, nothing but silence to keep her company. Her mother is long gone, her sister in Amaranthine, countless others absent or just dead. As she climbs the stairs to her elegant chamber, the echoes of the dying street thugs ring in her ears. It never used to be this way, never used to bother her. The numbers of the dead by her hands are incalculable, and they are taking their toll on her resolve.

Bloody armor and soiled boots are tossed aside before she takes refuge in a hot bath, her limbs folded up, knees pulled to her chin. Minutes go by, quiet and secluded, and she can't bear the silence. Without intending to speak, it comes out of her in a rush. "I can't stand it!"

She throws on some clothes and hustles downstairs, running across the way to his house and entering through the garden gate. She bursts through the door, sees the sitting room is empty, and immediately goes to his bedroom. Just as she is about to open the door, she pauses, collecting herself and straightening her clothes and hair. She manages a smile beneath the tears, using the sleeve of her shirt to wipe away the evidence.

"Bran?"

"Fin? Is that you?" He opens the door cautiously, surprised by her late appearance. "I assumed you were not coming tonight."

"Sorry," she mutters. "I was delayed in Lowtown. We finally finished off those thugs trying to take over the streets."

"The bloody Guard should have taken care of them. Your position does not make you invincible, Champion." He says her title as if it leaves a bad taste on his tongue, curdling in his mouth like sour milk. "I shall speak to Aveline if you will not."

"Do not interfere, Bran."

"I wouldn't call worry interfering," he argues, closing the distance between them, concern clearly written on his face. "You've been crying," he says, feeling a little foolish for stating the obvious. Her eyes meet his, her pain palpable, a living, breathing thing. "Tell me what has you so upset," he demands in a gentle voice, a comforting smile on his lips. Then the smile fades and his expression grows serious. "You can tell me anything, Fin."

"Why do you care? Once I'm Viscountess I won't be fighting much anyway."

He knows why she questions him, why her words are spat like venom. "Like you, I only want the best for Kirkwall. But to risk your life every day... It's not necessary, not anymore. You don't need the praise or the money. Why do you do it?"

"I wish…." Her head drops, and she sighs. "Can I stay here tonight?" The question is ridiculous, she knows, but it must be asked.

"You think I'd let you leave?" He smiles, the little wrinkles around his eyes seeming to light up his face. Taking her in his arms, he holds her close and whispers something in her ear. He begins to stroke her hair, then he holds her away from his body. She's looking down, but he takes a finger and lifts her chin. "You'll be fine. I promise."

"I hate decisions, not knowing what the right choices are." His eyes are on her, serious and clear, reading her, willing her to trust him, and she does. "I don't know where my future lies anymore."

He takes her hand, pressing it to his chest, and she feels the strong beat of his heart. "You, my dear, will retire to a life of decadence, and you will want for nothing."

She laughs finally. "Were it only to be so, Bran."

"It will be so." He takes her face in his hands and kisses her with a fierce possessiveness. "One day, you will forget all the tragic events that have transpired these last years. You will hear the laughter of children. The birds will sing again, and all will be right in the world."

His dramatic flair makes her smile. "Like a fairy tale," she says, her hand sweeping across his cheek. "It is a lovely thought though." The look on his face and in his eyes, so full of life, is wavering, sometimes flashing wariness, but always the most sincere affection. She believes him for a moment, relishes in the ideal future he wants to create for her. "I do want to believe that." Tears shine in her eyes. Uneasy, she pulls her to him and kisses his cheek.

He reaches out suddenly, grasping her hand so she cannot resist or pull away. "I know what you need right now," he whispers.

She doesn't open her eyes as he carries her to the bed and then gently peels her clothes from her aching body. His voice is soft, her fairy tale story unfolding with his every word, soothing her as he runs his fingers along her leg. He pauses to knead the ball of her foot, talking of personal masseurs and ladies-in-waiting, and she smiles for him.

When her eyes open, she stares into his as he crawls toward her. She reaches out, and when he lies atop her, whispering more of the enchanting tale of her future, she seeks out the familiar comfort of his arms. She clings to his broad shoulders, pulling him closer, her nails biting into his skin.

Feeling the sturdiness of her limbs beneath him, he does not take his time. He roars as they become one, as she is his once again. Their bodies press against each other, hips cradling hips, and at the immediate awareness of their shared affection, they both gasp. For a moment, they allow themselves the exquisite torture of being still. Then he lays claim to her body and soul with the final push she needs to fall over the edge and into an ocean of sensation.

Nothing exists but the feel of his fingertips smoothing over her skin and the sound of her heart booming in her ears. Her breathing matches his, gradually slowing, her long fingers caressing his face. The lovers gaze at one another.

"Have you ever met Empress Celene, Bran? Hers must be a fairy tale life. "

"I've never met her formally, but I did see her once. She's young, average looking, but she appears much older. Not married either." He kisses Finola's lips, her eyes, and her ears. "No man wants her."

She giggles at his lie. "Maybe she's saving herself for true love."

"Like you?"

She knows, looking into his tender eyes, that he is no ordinary man, and tonight is going to be a time to treasure. She feels her soul falling down, down into his gaze and she closes her eyes. "Sometimes I think true love is an illusion spun for young girls to lure them into marriage. It's probably nothing but a myth."

"It is no myth." Bran cradles her head in his hands and moves his face closer to hers. "Is that how you really feel?" he asks, holding her gaze.

She averts her eyes. "No."

Bran watches the rush of emotion sweep over her face, sees the tears well in her eyes and trickle from their corners. Wrapping his arms around her, he hugs her close, lowering his voice to an intimate whisper. "Shall I tell you more of Finola's story?"

Nodding her head twice, she snuggles closer to the reassuring warmth of his body. Her future is bright and without limit. He has convinced her of that much. She settles into the crook of his arm and lays her head on his shoulder, basking in the moment, in the glorious, dizzying sensation of being the center of this one man's attention.