Notes: We're getting into the good stuff now, people! You can tell because I'm giving you your second chapter of the week. Yeah, I'm a bit excited.

On a rather embarrassing note, I totally spaced and forgot someone needed to be Divine. I wanted Leliana to be Divine for this story, so let's just say she's on leave right now… from her job… as Divine… yeah… *coughs* Anyway, I'll try to cover up my little mistake in the story. Eventually.

Thank you for all the amazing comments! I live for them, so please keep them coming! *smiles winningly*


Chapter 8: Everybody's Sassy

I can't go back to sleep after the encounter with Solas. I spend the next few hours cleaning and maintaining my weapons. By the time I finish, I can hear sounds emanating from the floor below. My stomach joins in with a loud growl and I decide to head down in search of food. I have a bit of currency that Leliana sent with me. All the money I had before I left was repossessed, so she kind of owes me anyway.

There are only a few people in the bar, not including the bartender and waitress. I walk up to the counter and order some food. The man behind it grunts, rustles around for a minute, then sets a bowl of… something in front of me. I hand over some money and thank him, trying not to curl my lip at the questionably edible grey slop.

I wander over to a table in the corner and sit down to eat. The first spoonful has me gagging.

"You'll need this," the waitress – Norah, right? – says and sets a mug in front of me. I go to thank her, but she's already gone. I take a quick gulp of the drink, trying to wash out the taste. With a quiet groan, I plug my nose and try again with the 'food.'

I'm so focused on trying to keep my meal down that I don't notice when a new person walks into The Hanged Man.

"Wine," a deep, very familiar voice sounds from across the room. My head shoots up and my mouth falls open just a little.

Is that…? Holy shit! That's Fenris!

A lanky, white-haired elf grabs the bottle the bartender hands him and stalks over to the only unoccupied corner. I watch him go, still gaping like a fish, and take note of the changes. His armor is different, like an updated version of the set I remember from the game. There is still an exorbitant amount of spikes, but swaths of cloth have been added. However, any softness this might have given him is cancelled out by the stormy look on his face. His hair is slightly longer now and pulled back from his face with a tie, the underside cropped close to the scalp. And, though the lyrium tattoos have obviously not changed, they look so much more… vivid in real life.

Fenris sits so he can see the whole room. His eyes dart from patron to patron. When they land on me, they narrow slightly.

Stop staring, you tit! You're probably freaking him out!

There's a faint tint to my cheeks as I quickly avert my gaze to my food, plug my nose, and take another bite. I shudder as I swallow and hurry to chase it down with ale. Unbidden, my eyes flicker over to the other corner once more.

Where Fenris is watching me like a hawk.

Abort! Abort!

I look away again as fast as I can.

Well, shit.

I finish off my bowl while silently panicking. I really don't want a hand through the chest. I should probably go over and introduce myself now, so he doesn't think I'm here for some nefarious purpose.

I grab my ale and head over there. Fenris' eyes narrow even further and he visibly tenses.

I clear my throat awkwardly. "Um, hey. I'm Rhynn. I know Varric… and Hawke, too, I suppose." I stick out my hand. He doesn't shake it, but recognition flickers across his face.

"Ah… hello." He sounds relieved. But then we kind of just stare at one another, unsure of what to do or say.

"May I sit?" I ask, attempting politeness. Fenris waves a hand at the chair across from him and takes a swig of wine straight from the bottle. "Isn't it a bit early to be drinking wine?" I joke.

He shrugs. I clear my throat again and fiddle with my mug.

"I'm surprised to see you here," I try again.

"Why?" he asks, suspicious once more.

"Well, I just… I mean, I thought you'd prefer drinking in solitude," I hurry to explain. This only seems to make it worse, though, judging by his expression. I can't blame him. I imagine it's probably a bit unnerving having a relative stranger making assumptions about your preferences.

After a few uncomfortable moments, he finally replies. "There's no more wine in the house."

"None?" I ask, surprised. "We are talking about the Amell Estate, right? I imagine there's a whole cellar full of the stuff."

He's still looking at me strangely, which… yeah, okay, I get it. I really need to stop talking to him like I know him. I do, in a way, but it's creepy.

"Like I said," he drawls. "No more wine."

I chuckle and adopt a really bad British accent. "Good Lord, Fenris, did you drink it all?"

He just scowls at me.

I try to look serious. "No really, did you drink it all?"

"Possibly."

"I think attending an AA meeting would do you a lot of good," I tease, then take a sip of my morning ale to be ironic.

He's still scowling. "What?"

"Don't worry about it."

"You are very strange," he remarks. My only response is a smirk.

We lapse into a not uncomfortable silence. Surprisingly, it's Fenris who speaks first, wine half gone already.

"You were with Hawke," he starts, not looking at me. "In the Fade."

I grin. "Is there a question in there?"

He glares at his wine bottle. "I… just…" He makes a disgruntled noise. "That was… good. What you did." He takes a breath. "I know Hawke would have insisted on staying if you… if you hadn't."

It's my turn to be awkward now, apparently. I blush and stare at my own drink, rubbing at my forearm. "Yeah, well…" I shrug.

I glance up at Fenris and am suddenly struck with an idea. Here's this elf, this former slave; someone who escaped on his own, killed his master, and made a name for himself. And here I am, a human with no experience as a slave. Thank God, of course, but it also means I'm not relatable to that demographic… to the people I'm going to Tevinter to try to help. What reason would they have to trust me? But if I had Fenris with me… the Fenris…

"Fenris?" He looks up at me. "Has Varric told you why I'm here?"

"I…" he hesitates, "I haven't spoken to Varric in some time."

I wonder why, but I stop myself from asking. Instead, I glance around as inconspicuously as possible before leaning in. Fenris cocks his head slightly, possibly in curiosity. "I'm headed for Tevinter."

"For what reason?" he hisses.

"Elven servants have started abandoning their posts. It seems some citizens have become concerned their… property… might try to do the same." Fenris' expression hardens. I continue, "That's not all."

"Of course not," he mutters bitterly.

"I'm sure you've heard the rumors about Fen'Harel?"

"The ones where he's amassing a large army that he plans to use against the humans or the ones where you're his lover?" Fenris taunts.

I roll my eyes. "The first one. It's making people really nervous. Nervous enough to sacrifice their elven slaves for the protection of blood magic."

"Magisters sacrifice their slaves all the time."

"Not in these numbers."

Fenris and I share a look.

"Get on with it," he growls. When I frown, he adds, "You're obviously leading up to something. Just say it."

I take a deep breath and blow it back out. "Before I say anything else, just know that it's completely up to you."

He raises an expectant and slightly mocking eyebrow.

"I could really use your help over there."

If I blinked, I would've missed the tiny flinch Fenris does at that. Otherwise, his expression remains impassive.

"If I remember correctly, you're something of a legend in Tevinter. Magisters fear you and slaves idolize you. Me? I'm a free human. I'm going to have a really hard time gaining trust and I have a feeling time is of the essence. Just having you there would go a long way, I think." I stop and wait.

Fenris blinks rapidly and looks away. "I… don't know if…"

"I'm not asking for a decision right now," I assure. "It'll take a few days to get everything ready once the others arrive."

"Others?"

"An upper class Tevinter mage is going to help sneak myself and some others into the country."

"As slaves." Fenris' hands tighten on the edge of the table, gauntlets digging into the wood.

My eyes dart between his hands and face. "They won't actually be slaves. It's just a cover. And I'll be acting as the guy's bodyguard."

He leans forward, expression livid. "And me? Am I to act as a slave?"

I hold his gaze steadily. "Of course not, Fenris. Despite the fact that I'd never do that, it wouldn't be possible. You're too high-profile."

The lithe elf suddenly stands.

"What – "

"I've had enough wine," he says without turning around as he stalks toward the exit.

Well, so much for that…

Varric walks in just as Fenris is leaving. Fenris shoulders right past without even acknowledging Varric. The dwarf spots me and heads over with a smirk on his face.

"I see you've met Broody. Mid-sulk, too, it looks like."

"Actually, I invited him to come with me," I explain.

Varric's eyebrows raise. "Yeah, that would do it. Do you really think that's the best choice, though? I doubt you could stop him if he suddenly got the urge to rip out a few magister hearts."

I snort. "That might be just what we need."

There's an odd pause before Varric clears his throat. "Your magister just arrived. He's at the keep if you want to meet him."

"He's not a magister…"

Varric shrugs. "Close enough."

I chew on my lip for a second. "Hey Varric? Can we talk?"

He steps back and jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "I've got a lot to do. Maybe later."

"Yeah… okay," I slump down in my seat.

Maybe it wasn't him who ordered the bathtub…?

Varric goes upstairs, probably to grab something, before leaving. I finish off my ale and watch him go.

You're lucky you're worth it, Solas.


The man standing in front of the fireplace is a lot less foreboding than I imagined. His back is to me, so I cannot see his face, but he looks to be about my age. He stands a bit taller than me and his skin is olive-toned and unblemished. His dark brown hair would probably be shoulder-length if it weren't tied up with a ribbon. It is a faded purple, slightly frayed at the ends. The accessory stands out amongst the rest of his pristine clothing. His posture is stiff, shoulders back, one wrist clasped in the opposite hand and resting at the base of his spine.

"Altan Aubericus?" I ask, softly so as not to startle him.

He turns and nods quite formally at me. His features are unexpectedly... pretty. "Yes, and you must be Rhynnara." He holds his hand out.

"Just Rhynn, please," I reply, clasping his hand.

"A pleasure to meet you, Rhynn. Join me?" He waves a hand at a small spread of bread, cheese, and fruit.

My eyes widen and I smile. "Don't mind if I do." I settle into one of the chairs and wait for him to claim the other before digging in.

Real food! My stomach gives a happy grumble.

Altan watches me, bemused, before taking a bite of his own food. He's much more polite about it. "Shall we skip the pleasantries and get right to business?"

"Sounds good." I shove three grapes into my mouth at once.

"My sister and I have property on the outskirts of Minrathous. We own a small number of slaves. It should be no trouble getting you and your people in under the guise of acquiring more." He says this like it's totally normal to own people. Which, for him, I suppose it is.

"I may have thrown a little wrench in the plan…"

"Oh?"

"Do you know the name Fenris?"

Altan looks thoughtful, then his eyes alight with recognition. "Is that the slave that killed Danarius?"

"He's not a slave any longer, but yes. I've invited him along."

His eyebrows raise. "Why, might I ask?"

"Having him with us could go a long way towards earning the trust of certain people," I reply, taking a sip of the probably-expensive wine in my glass.

"Not the magisters, certainly," he chuckles.

"I'm not talking about the magisters," I correct, not sharing his amusement. Altan seems surprised at that, glancing away for a second, uncertainty showing in the tightness around his eyes.

"How exactly do you plan on getting him in?" he asks, leaning forward. "They'll inspect the ship as soon as we arrive."

I do give a slight smile at that. "I have a feeling the ship's captain knows a thing or two about smuggling."

Altan looks confused, but doesn't ask. Instead, he says, "You may find it difficult to talk to slaves that are not my own. Not without raising suspicion."

I make a face. "Yeah… I'll admit, I don't have much of a plan just yet. I need to see what I have to work with first. I'm sure you've been informed that I need to be in a position that allows me to observe."

He nods. "Yes, as my bodyguard. I was the one to suggest it."

"Ah. Good." I shift in my seat. "Do you attend a lot of social events?"

"Some, but I'll have just returned from a long trip. Surely I'll want to reacquaint myself with society," he says with a secretive smile. I return it.


I know that I'm supposed to lay low at The Hanged Man, but if I spend one more second holed up in my room I'm going to scream. I decide a walk would help and slip out the door.

It's midday and hot out. The sun beats down on the dusty streets of Lowtown, washing them out from a brown to a light tan. Vendors line the sides, calling out to passerby. I wander from stall to stall, looking over each with a critical eye. A few things catch my eye – weapons, mostly – but not enough to spend the little money I have.

One stall in particular holds my attention. It's a book stand, which strikes me as unusual for Lowtown. I approach and the woman on the other side gives me a polite smile.

"Hello, miss. Looking for anything in particular?"

"Just looking," I mumble, a reflex response from long ago days on Earth. I reach out and run my fingers over the titles. There's a wide assortment; biographies, compendiums, historical records, fiction and non-fiction. A good number of them are by Varric, though that's not really surprising.

I move closer to where the woman is standing. There's a book on display right in front of her, stacks of the same to either side. There's a diagram on the front and the closer I get, the more familiar it becomes.

That's mine! That's one of my drawings!

I snatch a book up and stare at it in disbelief. When I turn it to see the spine, that disbelief becomes shock.

Healing Without Magic: The Compiled Teachings of Rhynnara Lorelae Torpin arranged by Varric Tethras.

"You son of a bitch," I say softly, fondly, and press a hand to my mouth as if that will keep the tears at bay. It doesn't.

I start thumbing through the book. It has everything; my notes, renditions of my drawings, transcripts of my lectures – how did he even get those? – with little anecdotes from Varric here and there. It's perfect.

"That's the newest book from Varric Tethras," the woman says, having noticed my interest. "Bit different from his usual stuff. Seemed important to him, though."

I look up at her, curious. "Why do you say that?"

She looks sheepish, but leans over the counter and whispers, "He paid me to have it displayed."

Varric, I'm going to hug the hell out of you!

I pull out my coin purse. "How much for a copy?"


I burst into the viscount's office, wielding The Book. "Varric, you glorious bastard!"

Varric blinks, looking shocked. He recovers quickly. "Please, do come in," he says sarcastically.

I slam the book down on his desk. "Varric Tethras, what is this?!"

His eyes slide up from his desk to my face. "That's a book."

"Don't be sassy with me," I chide, but I'm smiling. "Stand up!"

He narrows his eyes. "Why…?"

"Because I'm going to hug you, that's why!"

Varric rolls his eyes but stands anyway. I round the desk, fall to my knees, and wrap my arms around his waist.

Varric scoffs. "I'm not that short."

"I know." I squeeze tighter. "It just seemed more dramatic this way." After a couple seconds, Varric hugs back. "Thank you," I whisper. "And I'm sorry."

We both pull back. Varric's expression is wary. I stand and perch on the edge of the desk while Varric sits back down in his chair.

I rub at my forearm. "I really am, you know. I never meant to hurt anyone." I look up to find him watching me. I can't hold his gaze. "As far as I was concerned, it wasn't my secret to tell. I was leaving and I didn't think I'd ever make it back. I figured the truth would come out after I left, but it wouldn't matter because I'd be gone and none of you would have to see me again. I didn't know what he had planned, I swear." I give him a pleading look. "Please, you have to believe me. I would have said something if I'd known."

Varric drops his head, sighs, then lifts it again. "I believe you."

I can't help the soft smile that spreads across my face. "Okay." Then, to lighten the mood, "I don't know if I can forgive you for the horrible thing you've done, though."

Varric raises a quizzical eyebrow.

I point to the book. "You used my full name!"

Varric throws his head back and laughs.


It takes two days for everyone to get to Kirkwall, then another two to get everything ready. But here we are. Leliana sent five of her people; three elves and two humans. They're all small and unassuming, the kind of people you'd glance over in a crowd.

Altan stands off to the side, one large trunk by his feet. Two of Leliana's people stand next to it, ready to load it onto the ship. The others are huddled nearby, already assuming their roles as they bow their heads and avoid eye contact.

Varric is smirking about something beside me.

"What?" I ask.

He just nods toward the street. I turn to see a curvaceous woman sauntering toward us. She's wearing an extremely short, corseted dress – well, really more of a long shirt. Over top of that is a form-fitting jacket with lots of buttons. Her ears and neck are adorned with lavish jewelry that stands out against her dark, weather-worn skin. Twin daggers hang from her hips and atop her head sits a large admiral's hat with a tassel in the front.

I knew it!

"Varric, you're looking handsome as ever," Isabela croons when she reaches us, leaning over to plant a loud kiss on the dwarf's cheek.

Varric chuckles and swats her away. "I won't comment on your looks. You hardly need the ego boost."

"Oh, my sweet, you always know what to say to get a girl in the mood." Her gaze darts to me. "And you're looking at me like you know me. You must be Rhynn."

I grin. "Nice to finally meet you."

Her eyes drag down my body and back up. "The pleasure is all mine," she replies with a wink.

I blush like a virgin and try not to stare at her tits. Good God!

"My crew should be done loading up the supplies by now," Isabela announces. "Let me introduce you to the love of my life."

We follow the pirate to her ship. She flings her arms out and beams at it. "Isn't she beautiful?"

"Very beautiful, Rivaini," Varric replies indulgently, amusement coloring his tone.

"You've already seen her, Varric. I was asking the new girl," Isabela mock-scolds him.

"She's a real work of art, Isabela," I laugh.

She hums, pleased, and leads us up the gangplank. Altan follows at a short distance, Leliana's people trailing behind him.

A rough-looking man approaches Isabela. "Ready to set sail, Captain."

"Thank you, Jacques. Have this fine gentleman's trunk brought below, would you?" She gestures toward Altan. Jacques nods and orders two other men over to haul the trunk off.

"I'd best be off," Varric announces. "Don't get into too much trouble." He looks at both Isabela and I.

"No promises," Isabela replies at the same time that I say, "Yeah, yeah," and flap a hand at him.

Varric grins and heads back down the ramp. I hear his footsteps pause, then, "Broody?"

"Not a word, dwarf," a deep voice grumbles. A second later, Fenris steps onto the ship. He has a small satchel slung over one shoulder and a greatsword over the other.

"Fenris, what are you doing here?" Isabela asks.

"Hello to you, too," he sasses.

"Oh, don't be like that," she grins and walks over to him, slinging an arm over his shoulders. "You know I'm always happy to see you."

"Don't touch me, wench," Fenris growls, shrugging her arm off.

"Ooh, I love it when you talk dirty!"

"Ugh."

Fenris notices me watching and nods subtly. I give him a small smile in return, pleased at his decision.