Thank you for reading! Just as an FYI - I've taken on a project that might lead to updates being spottier than usual for the next couple of months.


Ren stared at the man who had opened Varric's door. "Viscount Tethras?"

He sighed, his mouth turning down in what appeared to be disgust. "Yes. That is who you have come to see, is it not?"

She looked at Dorian, whose mustache was twitching with amusement. "You knew about this?"

"My dear, everyone knows. Except, apparently, you."

Facing the man with the disapproving face at the door, Ren said, "Yes, then, apparently I am here to see Viscount Tethras."

He nodded coldly before opening the door further and ushering her in. "You'll find him in the inner chamber."

"Who was that?" Ren whispered to Dorian as they made their way down a short hall.

"I have no idea."

"Bran Cavin," said Varric's familiar gravelly voice. He was sitting behind a table, shuffling the cards for Wicked Grace, but he got up as Ren and Dorian came in. "Former interim Viscount of Kirkwall, now Seneschal again. Which seems to be a fancy term for someone whose job is to disapprove of everything the Viscount does."

He consented to be hugged, briefly, in the enthusiasm of Ren's first sight of him in far too long.

"You look good, Rusty."

"So do you. Being Viscount must agree with you."

He laughed. "Pissing off all the right people does have that effect. Although it does make it more difficult to avoid the Merchants Guild."

"How did they manage to tie you to such a responsible task?"

"It turns out if you fund enough reconstruction efforts, they figure the best way to keep you doing it is to give you the biggest job they can find. That it also happens to be the worst job they can think of is just a bonus."

"I think I need a drink. And to sit down."

"Done, and done."

Varric poured her an ale while Dorian pulled a chair out for her.

"I haven't had this kind of service since I left Skyhold," Ren told them. "Now, both of you, stop acting like ridiculous courtiers and sit down and tell me what's going on with you."

"Nothing to tell, Rusty. I've got a really pointy crown that I wouldn't be caught dead wearing, but that's it." He shrugged. "They only voted me in because I got the harbor and businesses up and running again. They want shit fixed, and it turns out, I can do that. Who knew? Ah, before I forget …" He rummaged in a drawer, tossing papers on the floor in a messy pile until he came to the one he wanted. "I sort of got you a present."

"You did?" She eyed the parchment he was holding out to her warily. "Is this a present I want, or one that's going to get me into a lot of trouble?"

"Maybe both."

She took the parchment, unrolling it and reading the fancy script. Her eyebrows flew up. "Varric, this is official recognition of my title and holdings in Kirkwall."

"Just what you always wanted, right?"

"Not … exactly?"

"You're a comtesse now!"

"Does that make the Iron Bull a comte?" Dorian asked. His rich laugh filled the room. "I'm certain the nobility of Kirkwall will love that."

"Hey, I think a fancy little crown would look great on me," the Iron Bull bellowed from the doorway. He was standing there with Cole, having just come in.

Greetings were exchanged roundabout, and it was several minutes before Ren could get back to the questions at hand regarding her sudden acquisition of land and title in the Free Marches. "Varric, why on Thedas am I suddenly a comtesse?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, the way Cullen did when he was uncomfortable. "Well … it's kind of boring in Kirkwall, with Hawke gone and Aveline in familial bliss. She's on her third baby, did I tell you? Being Uncle Varric is entertaining, but it tends to pall after a while. I thought … you and Tiny could liven up the place."

"Wouldn't they just?" Dorian said, dissolving in another fit of mirth. Ren had the sense that it was a bit forced, but it also sounded like he needed the laugh.

"You should stop by sometime and see your estate. It's pretty nice—for Kirkwall, anyway. It's been fixed up a lot since Fenris left."

"Well, thank you, Varric. I look forward to visiting."

He looked serious for a moment. "I don't know how this Council thing is going to end, so … whatever happens, you always have a place to go if you need it."

The Iron Bull clapped Varric on the shoulder, looking pleased. "Good idea."

"I thought so."

Cole had been standing silent and uncomfortable all this time, and Ren turned to him. "Come on in, sit down. Have you practiced playing cards since the last time I saw you?"

He nodded, looking serious. "Sometimes people get the cards wrong when they bet, and I help them." Frowning, he added, "They don't always like it."

The Iron Bull guffawed. "You can sit in at my card table any time … as long as we're clear that if I get the cards wrong, I mean to."

"All right." Cole took the seat next to Varric, but he still looked a little confused. "I've been in a lot of taverns where people played cards recently. I don't know that I understand why moving paper around makes people happy, but it does. Sometimes."

"You're coming along nicely, kid," Varric told him.

"Am I?" Cole looked pleased.

"You and Lizette visit a lot of taverns together?" the Iron Bull asked.

Cole nodded.

"Good for you, kid." The Iron Bull grinned at him. "Always knew you had it in you."

Ren was surprised by the implication. "You and this Lizette—you're … together? Huh."

"Her songs bring happiness to those who hear them, and I can make her happy in return," Cole said softly. His face shone with pride.

"I'm glad for you." Ren wasn't sure how someone so out of step with the rest of the world had found happiness, but if he could, there was hope for Dorian—and for Varric, too. She wanted to see them all find the companionship, the partnership, she had with her Ashkaari. She caught his eye across the table, smiling at him, glad to be here with him and with these other friends who meant so much to her. It was almost worth coming to the Winter Palace and sitting through lots of boring meetings. "Chargers get all settled?" she asked him.

"Settled enough. You know them." He grinned. "Now, we playing cards, or what?"

"Definitely playing cards," Dorian said, taking the well-shuffled deck from Varric and dealing all around.

They settled in for a long game, the banter coming easily even after all this time. Dorian was off a bit—Ren wasn't certain what was going on there, but he drank less than usual and was clearly pushing himself to be sparkling.

When eventually Cole fell asleep across the cards and a very unhappy Seneschal Bran came to the door to ask them when they were all leaving so he could go to bed, they called it a night—hours earlier than they would have if this was still Skyhold—leaving Varric to put a pillow under Cole's head and a blanket over his shoulders.

As soon as she had him outside, Ren turned to Dorian. "Out with it?"

"Out with what?"

"You know what. Whatever it is that has you all tied up in knots that you don't want to talk about."

"Perhaps I don't want to talk about it."

"Then you shouldn't have been silent so loudly," the Iron Bull pointed out.

"Thank you for the assistance," Dorian said to him acidly. He picked up Ren's hand, studying the Anchor. "And how is this?"

She snatched it away. "Fine, thank you. Some people worry too much."

"Some people love you," he said. "Too much to worry you unduly."

Ren shook her head at him. "Now you have to tell me. What's going on, Dorian?"

He sighed. "When the Exalted Council has ended, I'm going back to Tevinter. For good this time."

"I take it from the long face that you haven't reconciled with your family."

Dorian winced. "No. And … now I never can. My father is dead. Assassinated, I believe."

"Oh, Dorian. I'm so sorry." Ren's relationship with her own father wasn't good; the last time they'd spoken they'd mutually vowed never to do so again. But she knew if he was killed it would rock her world, just as Dorian's father's murder must have rocked his. She embraced him. He held himself stiffly away from her for a few moments, then relaxed, leaning his chin on her shoulder.

At last he pulled back, looking away to mask the depth of his emotion. "I received a perversely cheerful note congratulating me on assuming his seat in the Magisterium. That's how I found out."

Ren shook her head. Tevinter politics was a harsh world—worse by far than what she'd experienced in the southern nations—so it didn't surprise her entirely, just made her even more sad for Dorian that he had to go back. "Did you see him at all while you were there?"

"A few times. Stilted, formal conversation. Nothing of any substance. He certainly didn't hint that he had kept me as his heir. I thought my defiance of his plans for me had cut me out of that position forever. I wish I could ask him why it didn't."

"Maybe he loved you, despite it all," Ren offered.

To her surprise, Dorian nodded. "Maybe he did. I'm told this 'ambassadorship' was his doing. I can only guess that it was to keep me far away before the trouble began. If I had still been there—"

"They'd have gotten you, too, if they'd wanted you, and you know it," the Iron Bull put in. "Wallow in sentiment if you want, but use your brain, too."

"Yes, you're right, of course," Dorian said, nodding. "If someone wanted my father dead in the Imperium, it was only a matter of time. Still, it's hard not to speculate that perhaps I could have changed things."

Ren tucked her arm through Dorian's. "So after all these years of protesting that you weren't, you'll truly be a Magister?"

He forced a smile. "Oh, yes. I can't wait to degrade the Magisterium with my presence. I believe many new and shocking outfits will be required."

"And what will you do, shockingly attired and bent on degradation?"

The smile disappeared as if it had never been. "I find my father's killers and kill them back. Then I find those giving Tevinter a bad name and kill them, too."

"You'll be doing a lot of killing," the Iron Bull said.

"Yes, I imagine so. But they're most likely all the same people, so that should make the job somewhat easier."

Ren hesitated before saying, "You might need some help."

"You mean you?" Dorian's smile was genuine, this time, and he squeezed her arm with his affectionately. "Not this time, my friend. And not just because the man-mountain here would get us all killed as soon as he stepped foot over the border. Some things a man has to do for himself."

"But you will remember you have friends who are willing to step in whenever you need it?"

Dorian nodded. "That I will. Thank you. And I won't be entirely without support. My friend Maevaris has gathered other Magisters who feel as we do. We'll be an actual faction in the Magisterium. I'll teach them manners, take them shopping—such fun!"

"In that case, I wish you luck. And safety."

"I'll need it. Magisters are tricksy bastards." Disentangling his arm from hers, he reached into his robes. "I almost forgot—I also have a bit of a present for you."

"You, too? It's not my birthday."

"No. Perhaps it's ours, seeing you again." Dorian handed her a small crystal object.

Ren turned it over in her hands. "What is this?"

"It's a sending crystal. So that you can hear my voice—and, perhaps more importantly, I can hear yours. Magic!"

She closed her hand around it. "Thank you, Dorian. You have no idea how much I've missed you."

"Oh, I think I have, my friend. I think I have." He held out his arms and she went into them, and they held each other for a long time. He whispered in her ear, "You are my dearest friend; perhaps my only friend. That will never change, no matter where we are."

Ren held him more tightly, wishing he didn't sound quite so much as though he thought he was about to be killed.