A/N: Thank you for all the alerts and favs I've received for this story, and a special thanks to my reviewers. Your thoughts keep my muse happy and well fed. Please, feel free to comment and review some more! Apologies in advance for any typos or errors. My beta, Biff McLaughlin, was unavailable to review this chapter. A shout out to Brynneth for her content thoughts!

Hidden Truths

"I think I'm being punished," Finola said sifting through the small travel bag on her lap.

Varric smirked as he buffed Bianca's stock. He shifted around on the couch, his gaze roaming up to face her. "Kicking puppies again, Hawke?"

Finola rolled her eyes. "I'm serious. If I had to do it again, I'd let him go. You must have hated me," she sighed. "I'm sorry."

"Anders did what he thought best for his cause, right or wrong. And I didn't see much choice offered to you at the time." Varric tipped his head, regarding his friend's current dismal mood. "Besides, Choir Boy was threatening to leave. Everything worked out for you in the end, right?"

"It seemed that way at the time, but now I'm not so sure." Finola shoved some dried meats into her pack. "You have any extra health potions on you?"

"You're not setting foot outside Kirkwall without me you know." Varric sat straight up, knowing that resolute look in her eye.

"I'll tell you my plans, but do not argue about coming with me. You're busy with the mines anyway."

"I have employees to run things in my absence. If you're going to Starkhaven, so am I," he insisted.

She shook her head. "I'm taking the long way around and I've already hired some of our mercenary friends to accompany me."

"Long way?" Varric's eyes widened. "No, no, no. Why would you risk it all for him, Hawke? He left you and didn't look back." Finola glanced around the room, hesitant to look Varric in the eye. "Or is there something you're not telling me?"

Finola glared at the fireplace as Varric waited for a response. Ultimately, she turned her head with a loud sigh and faced him. "He left for me, Varric, to make it easier for me and Sebastian to…." She shook her head, searching for the right words. "…to rekindle what we had before. It was a selfless act on his part. And nothing would have changed his mind either." Finola reached into a pocket and handed Varric a folded parchment. "But that's beside the point. Tell me what you think about this." She closed her eyes as thoughts of Bran injected themselves into her mind yet again.

It would take more than a few thoughtless words to make me turn away from you, Finola... I enjoy spoiling the people I love… You are good for me, as I am good for you. One day soon, you will realize that.

Varric had the strangest look on his face when he finally dropped his eyes to read. Finola was a little embarrassed to let him to see such a private letter, but she wanted his opinion, good or bad. When she judged that he was almost done, she blurted a preemptive strike. "And no comments of a personal nature either!"

Too late. His smile was as big as the moon. "Tigress? Tigress! Oh ho, this is marvelous! Can I hold it over your head? Please?"

"Watch it, Tethras. You're one of only two people I would allow to get away with teasing me like this, but don't test me. I assume I don't have to tell you to keep this to yourself?"

"You assume correctly." One of two? Bran again. Interesting. "Can I at least call you tigress when we're alone?"

"Come on, Varric." She poked him in the arm. "Skip to the letter."

"What about his other letters?" he asked with that knowing eyebrow of his raised to the ceiling.

"Letter. Totally opposite. It sounded as he was before… he seemed himself."

"Well, from what I know of Markham it's loaded with political corruption. It's a very small town, to the point where some marriages aren't far from incestuous. Few shops, not much for sights, although there is a nice tavern there. I think it was called the Rogue's Flagon."

"Golden Rogue's Flagon," she corrected. "What do you make of his tone?"

"Seems depressed. Do you think he's suicidal?"

She shook her head adamantly. "No way. Bran loves his son too much. He would never do that to Lucan."

"You didn't need me to read this, Hawke." Varric handed her the letter, holding it for a split second so she had to yank it from his grasp. "You're just looking for someone's approval."

…but a tiger's stripes never change, Finola dear.

"But I think he's in some kind of trouble, although I can't imagine what kind. I have to go, Varric. I cannot sit idly by while he suffers from… whatever it is that caused him to write a letter like this to me. If it were you, you know I'd do anything to help you."

"It's risky, on many levels," Varric stated. "And what about Vael?"

"I've got that covered. Here." Another parchment was in Varric's hand suddenly.

12 Drakonis

Dear Sebastian,

Now that things are settling down in Starkhaven, I thought it would be a convenient time to ride up and check on you. I'll be taking my mabari with me, as well as some familiar mercenaries who were looking for work, so don't worry about me needlessly. I'm also curious as to the condition of your estate. I hope it did not suffer much damage from the fighting at the end of your repossession.

I've wrapped up some key projects here in Kirkwall and left Cullen detailed instructions on several others. He is more than up to the task, I'm sure.

I'm very anxious to speak with you, Sebastian.

See you soon.

As always,

Finola

"Dated a week ahead," Varric sighed. "This dishonesty is going to be your undoing, Hawke." Varric eyed her as she stared at Bran's letter, noticing her eyes glazing over, straining to hold back tears. "Finola," he said quietly, using her given name, which he only did in certain situations. She looked at him with despairing eyes, her emotions laid bare, and he had to ask. "Do you love him?"

"Which one?" she asked with a snort.

"Either one I guess."

"Is it possible to be in love with two men at the same time? Or am I just an idiot."

Varric shook his head with a consoling smile. "I'm not one for name calling, Hawke, but if you don't figure out who you want soon, that could change. I will tell you one thing; I may have been wrong about you and Bran. There's a connection there, a bond of some sort, more than friendship." Varric eyes went soft. "You really need to decide if this is a beginning or an end… or maybe both. You're not getting any younger, you know."

"Neither are you," she shot back. "But I hear you, Varric." Finola knew he was right; he was always right. She had to make a decision before everything in her world fell apart. "What's your excuse then, huh?"

"One person in love with me would be bad enough, but two? I can see how well that's worked out for you. No thanks. I'll stick with one night stands." He jumped from his seat. "All right. When do we leave?"

"I've already hired the mercs, Varric. You needn't come," she said unconvincingly.

"Bianca's been itching for action. Besides, those mercs don't know shit about covert operations. They're strictly in it for the kill. You might need a man on the inside with my particular flair for conversation."

"Just like old times. But now we have horses!" She slapped him on the shoulder, letting her excitement for his company show. "You're not still afraid of them, are you?"

"Nah. Some of my best friends have four legs." Varric bent over and scratched her mabari behind his ears. "I'll meet you at the stables in two hours."

Speeding past Bodahn, Varric flew out the door as fast as his little legs could take him. Finola picked up her pack and peered around her house, praying she was doing the right thing. Maker help me.

"Bodahn, see that this letter is sent exactly one week from today, on the twelfth. Understood?"

"Yes, messere. Will you be gone long?"

"I don't know." She glanced at the letter in which she'd carefully skirted the truth. "I'm heading for Starkhaven, with a stop or two along the way. But my whereabouts is strictly confidential. Tell no one when I left, or whom I left with. Not even Aveline."

"Of course, messere."

"Keep an eye on Clara and make sure she doesn't take in too many new patients. Otherwise, she'll heal until she drops. And thanks, Bodahn. You've been very loyal and I owe you a great deal." In a surprise move, she planted a kiss on his cheek, leaving him stuttering as she marched out the door shouting. "Take care of yourself and Sandal!"

Everything went as planned. They rode the trail in between the coastline and the Vimmark Mountains, her mabari trotting close by. The trip was estimated to take seven days, eight at the most, and she had prayed for calm weather and little interruption, especially in the form of bandits.

After a hard week of riding, and only a few skirmishes, they finally arrived in Markham the afternoon of the seventh day. Calling it a backwater town was an understatement. Except for Castle Longford, which was relatively small by castle standards, the entire town wasn't much larger than Lowtown and the docks combined. They made their way to the Coat of Arms Inn and Finola left the mercenaries to their own devices while she, Varric, and the mabari left for the tavern.

Allow me to show you how it could be for us, Finola, if you'd only give me the chance.

As they walked the quiet streets of Markham, her eyes were constantly darting around in search of Bran. They came upon the charming tavern Bran had mentioned, The Golden Rogue's Flagon. Neat flowerbeds graced the doorway, clean windows afforded a view inside, and the aroma of freshly baked bread wafted from the kitchen's vents. It was quite unlike their usual haunts, with its elaborate hand-carved depiction of a blonde rogue wielding two daggers and killing a dragon.

"Hawke, I think that's you!" Varric pointed to the tavern sign with a giant smile.

If she didn't know any better, she'd have thought the carved woman was modeled after herself too. Wouldn't that be rich? she thought. Laughing, she turned to Varric. "If it is me, I never received the royalties."

"And you never will," Varric said.

Eying the sky, Finola checked the sun's position. One hour until suppertime. "Varric, just watch through a side window. If Bran shows up, stay out of view."

"You got it." Varric motioned to the mabari and headed toward the side of the building.

Finola opened the heavy door and looked around, taking in the sights and sounds. In a hurried effort to reach an empty table, she pushed through the crowd, paying little attention to whom she shoved. She ignored the grumbles of a nearby patron remarking on her aggressive maneuvers and finally sat at a table, throwing a murderous glance at the drunken stranger now looming over her. I should have been better prepared for an onslaught of drunks. "Get lost, messere. I'm in no mood for company."

"Pushing me aside, you'd think you were the Hero of Ferelden! All high and mighty like you got more important things to do than sit with us commoners."

She sneered, but then chuckled as a young barmaid hit the drunk with her empty pitcher. "Go away, Rob!" The girl turned her doe eyes to Finola and looking up, smiled at her. She placed the pitcher on the tabletop and moved closer to Finola. Though not all together unattractive, she needed a bath, and Finola had to take a step back. "My name's Jenny. Are you looking for a bit of company this evening?"

"No, just information. Easy money for you if you answer a question or two."

The barmaid sulked a bit and pursed her lips in a mock pout. "Are you sure, love? I make good company, and we rent rooms by the hour."

"I said no thanks." Finola flashed the coins in her palm.

"Suit yourself." Jenny held out her hand, and as soon as the girl stashed the money in her pocket, she nodded once. "Go on and ask."

"Is Seneschal- I mean is Bran Wyndham here every night?"

"Only nights when Magda is here," she chirped.

"And which woman is she?" Finola glanced around trying to pick out the kind of woman Bran would be interested in getting to know better. Her gaze came to rest on an attractive musician holding a lute. She must be Magda.

"Over there," she pointed toward a corner, "that blonde with the lute. Maker's breath, but you could pass for her sister!"

I knew it. Finola could see Magda clearly as she talked with two other musicians; long blonde hair with a slight wave, tall for a woman, slighter build than Finola, but similarly squared shoulders, bright almond-shaped eyes that seemed to be light colored.

Jenny looked at Finola and made a face. "That's a little creepy."

"You don't know the half of it. Thanks, Jenny." Turning away, Finola circled around and crept up next to Magda, leaning in to catch her off guard when she spoke. "I hear you're quite friendly with Bran Wyndham."

The woman started and spun around, narrowing her eyes. "I know him. What of it?" Their uncanny resemblance was not lost on Magda either as she observed Finola suspiciously.

"Fifty silvers should be enough to loosen your tongue, yes?" Magda shifted her eyes back and forth, making sure no one was listening, and then nodded slowly. "Tell me, do you expect him tonight?"

"Maybe. He hasn't missed many nights I've played here."

"How is he?"

"Oh, he's a stallion in bed, commanding too. Sometimes I have to-"

"No!" Mine, as I am yours, he had told her. Finola's heart seized for a moment, but she pushed away thoughts of Bran with another woman. "No, I meant how he fares. Is he well?"

"Well enough." She shrugged. "Who are you anyway? Some old flame come to steal him back?"

"I'm asking the questions here," Finola asserted with a jingle of her coin pouch. "What do you know of his past?"

"Nothing much. He came from Kirkwall, left a seneschal position." Magda picked at her nails in between eying the people of the tavern. "He said his wife died there."

Finola narrowed her eyes. "He mentioned Calista?"

"No, not Calista," she said. "It was Fannuka… Fannula... something like that."

"Finola," she whispered. You've brought more happiness to my life than any woman I've ever known, even Calista. It felt like a pile of bricks had just landed on her chest and it took her breath away; she was sure her heart had just broken in two.

"Yeah, that's it! Sometimes he calls me that when we're alone… you know."

Maker help me. Hold it together… "And did he say," she paused, the lump in her throat now a permanent fixture, "how she died?"

"Said she took an arrow to her heart, some Chantry brother gone mad. Makes no sense to me. Eh, but what sense can a drunken man make in the throes of passion, huh?"

Maker, no. Oh Bran. What have I done to you? "Surely he's not taken to being a drunkard?"

Magda's eyes scanned the tavern again. "I don't rightly know. I'm only here three nights a week."

Finola wondered why she seemed so nervous. Her instincts were telling her that Magda was up to no good, and Finola was determined to figure out what this woman was hiding. "If he arrives tonight, say nothing of my questions or my presence. There's more gold for your silence, all right?"

She nodded. "You certainly have that look about you, like a jilted lover maybe."

"I'm just an old friend. I plan to… surprise him later. But remember, say nothing. I'll be sitting in that corner booth back there, watching you." Finola pinned her with her most menacing glare before turning to walk away.

In the two hours that passed, three ales were finished off by the time Finola began to tire. The heavy hood of her cloak retained more heat than was necessary in the tavern, but she couldn't expose her identity so she grumbled to herself and suffered. The minstrels were playing their last set of songs, and it appeared as though she had come for nothing.

Just as she was about to rise from her seat, she heard a shriek from Magda's direction. "Colin! You're late, you naughty boy. Tom! A whiskey for our new Chancellor!"

New chancellor? What is this about?

"Ah, Magda. I had some lingering details to wrap up," the well-dressed man said.

"What'll it be tonight, love? Interested in something special?" Magda sat on his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him ferociously. His response was hardly enthusiastic, although he did whisper something into Magda's ear that made her smile like a cat that caught a canary.

When Magda pulled back, Finola didn't miss the narrowed glance in her direction. A whore as well as a musician. She also realized she was close enough to their table to hear everything they were saying. Colin swallowed his whiskey down and waved for another.

Magda stood and leaned into Colin, her cleavage just about spilling out. "One more song for you, and then we can go upstairs, hm?"

"I'm quite tired tonight. I may just have a few drinks and go home instead. Go play for now." Colin waved her toward the musician's corner.

"I can help you with your aching muscles. You know I have the hands of an Antivan masseuse," Magda drawled in an exaggerated tone that made Finola's stomach twist.

"Then maybe you can interest that sot over there," Colin's voice boomed as he jerked his thumb at a nearby patron. "Leave me now, Magda. Go play your lute."

Finola waved over a server girl. She handed her some coins and pointed at Colin. "Send that man there a whiskey. Then quietly show him who paid."

"Right away, messere."

Finola unfastened her cloak and removed it, laying it beside her on the bench. Her heart was pounding with an insane nervousness, fearing Bran would come in the tavern at any minute. She watched as the server walked over to the man and placed the drink on the table before leaning in to whisper in his ear. His head turned slowly, following the point of her finger until his eyes locked onto Finola's.

Finola smiled and offered a friendly wave to him, but still, he sat staring. "What do you need, lady?"

"I just have a question for you." Colin made no motion to stand up, so Finola huffed and walked to his table, her eyes never leaving his face. "I hear you work for Bran. Any idea where I can find him?"

"And who might you be?" he asked curtly.

She didn't care for his tone one bit and firmly placed her palms on the table, moving her head to meet his eyes. "Someone you shouldn't trifle with. I am the Viscountess and Champion of Kirkwall and you will address me as Your Excellency."

"Ha! And I'm the King of Ferelden! I suppose you think-"

In the blink of an eye, Finola pulled out a small blade and held it the man's throat, her Champion's ring glinting into the man's eyes. "It would be in your best interest to believe every word I say, jackass. Now, apologize to me." The tip of her dagger pressed in, breaking his skin with a trickle of blood.

"All right! I believe you. I'm sorry, Your Excellency," he said, a sarcastic tone still evident.

Finola glanced around the tavern and no one looked about ready to approach her, so she continued. "Lose the attitude and tell me where can I find my friend, Chancellor Bran Wyndham?"

"A friend, you say? And as his friend, you must be aware that he's no longer Chancellor, musn't you?"

His smug expression nearly sent Finola over the edge, but she reined in her anger. "Did he quit?"

"Resigned. Such an embarrassing situation, being suspected of skimming some town fat for himself. I am the new Chancellor of the Exchequer."

"He would never steal from the people. You, on the other hand, are a slimy bastard. That I can see. Was he arrested?"

"The investigation proved fruitless, but everyone knows Wyndham was the only one with the resources to do it. Everyone except for that sap, Lord Walter. He never accused Wyndham outright and let him resign under the pretense that he was growing too ill to perform his duties."

Finola's heart skipped a beat in between its thunderous pounding in her chest. "Ill? How so?" This can't get much worse.

"He's grown thinner, lacking in energy. His mind is a bit slower. Must be early senility."

I smell a rat, maybe two. I'm going to kill these mother fuckers if anything happens to Bran. "Enjoy your title for now. When I can prove whatever underhanded schemes you've got going on, I will cut your heart out and feed it to my mabari."

"Oh please. Your threats are laughable. You would be stripped of your titles and publically humiliated." For all his bravado, Colin tried to back his head away from her dagger, but she held it firmly.

"You've mistaken me for someone who gives a shit about their standing in the community. If you live long enough, you'll learn that titles are meaningless," she said with a dark chuckle. "Just tell me where he is before I end your career right here in this tavern."

There was no other choice but to tell the truth, and then she'd be out of his hair, at least for the night. "Lord Walter requested his presence at Castle Longford. There is a special event there tonight, some poet from Orlais gracing Markham with eloquent verse."

"Take a good look at my face." The edge of her dagger nicked his cheek. "If you see it again, you'd better start running."

But the thought of you hurt or never seeing you again…. Bran had told her, and she was beginning to understand how he had felt.

She gathered her cloak, and quickly fled the tavern, collecting Varric and the mabari with a whistle.

As they headed to the inn, Finola explained the details of her conversation with Colin. Once again, Varric heard her fretful tone, watched her hand gestures and expressions as she spoke of Bran. She was not quite falling apart, but certainly flustered, and it convinced him that she held more affection for Bran than she realized. In all the time Sebastian was gone, he hadn't seen her on the edge, hadn't seen her worrying and scared for his safety the way she was for Bran's now. It must be love, he thought.

After changing into something more suitable for a poetry reading, Finola and Varric went to the castle, immediately proving to the guards her position of power in Kirkwall. Varric tailed her along the periphery, keeping out of sight most of the time, but keeping a close eye on those near her. The courtyard was loud with festivities. So many people had gathered, it was almost difficult to negotiate through the crowd.

As her eyes ranged over the revelers, an older, classically handsome man strolled toward her. "Viscountess Hawke, your reputation precedes you."

Judging by his attire, and the ogling eyes of several nearby women, it was clear to her who was approaching. "Lord Walter," Finola said, offering a quick bow. "It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. And you are as handsome as I've heard."

"Ah, you do know how to make an old man feel young again." He grinned at her flattering remark. "The lucky man who stole your heart would be jealous of your lavishing compliments on me. You are to marry the Prince of Starkhaven, correct?"

She feigned a coy smile. "I am the lucky one, my Lord. Sebastian is the most honorable man I have ever met, a true prince among men."

"His success is the topic of discussion all over Thedas. Such a powerful alliance certainly bodes well for Kirkwall." He stepped closer, and leaned into her personal space. "If you have some time, we should discuss our mutual interests."

Ah, politics. "Certainly. I expect to stay here at least until tomorrow."

"See my man Northrup before you leave tonight and he will set up a meeting. But enough politics. Go and mingle." He craned his neck around, searching the courtyard. "There is someone else here you are quite familiar with too; my friend, Bran Wyndham." Lord Walter continued to watch the dense crowd. "He can introduce to some of the more important officials in Markham. Where can he be?"

Shit, shit, shit. "Oh, is he here tonight?" Why am I so nervous… and scared?

"He's here... somewhere. Probably fawning over one of those poetry enthusiasts in the courtyard."

…Mine… as I am yours.

Thoughts of their intimate moments went round and round in her head, and she pinched her arm to make herself stop thinking of him that way. "I understand an illness has suddenly relieved him of his duties."

"Ah, so politically correct, Viscountess. The healers have yet to figure out what has befallen him, but I think he's still far from death's door." Lord Walter tilted his head, scratching at his beard in thought. "Maybe a visit from an old friend would help his current condition. I hear there are exceptionally skilled healers in Kirkwall."

"I'll see what I can do, Lord Walter." He wants me to take him away from Markham. Interesting. "He is fortunate to have a friend such as you. I know he appreciates your discretion in the matter of his resignation, as do I."

"It's a terrible shame. I know he's a good man, but I've been unable to find proof of fraudulent actions among his former staff, although it seems to me that you already have your own suspicions. Should you unearth any incriminating information, be sure to let me know."

"As you wish, my Lord. I'm not one to let my friends' reputation be smeared by likes of Colin Mattson."

Lord Walter's eyebrows rose and he opened his mouth to comment just as a harried young page appeared. "Lord Walter! You are needed at the dais!"

"Duty calls, my dear." He placed a light kiss upon the back of Finola's outstretched hand. "I sense you care very deeply for Bran. I'm glad you're on his side. Good luck."

Ach, I'm so transparent. But I've got to get to the bottom of this, for Bran's sake.

Once Lord Walter left, Finola turned slowly, taking a sweeping a view of the courtyard. She saw a flash of auburn and suddenly, there was Bran's profile, maybe five feet away. He was oblivious to her presence and she darted toward a nearby shrub in an attempt to hide, but it was several inches too short. She bent her knees and slouched, watching as he spoke to an attractive woman, a woman whose hands were all but grabbing his backside. Bloody whore.

He looked pale and drawn, not standing tall with his characteristic haughty pose of crossed arms and squared shoulders. In fact, his shoulders rounded slightly, making him appear somewhat frail. As he tried to shoo the woman away, it seemed an effort even to speak words, and his arrogant tone missing as well. Even so, he was still as handsome as she'd remembered, and a smile ghosted across her lips at the thought. Then she frowned at another thought.

Bran, I'm no good for you. I can't promise my heart to you, and you deserve better, she had told him.

But not this. Finola was at a loss. She just wanted to see him one last time, make sure he was all right, but she never expected drama and intrigue, and certainly not illness. Seeing him now, she had to find out what had changed him. And the longer she stared at him, the more she burned to speak with him. She pinched her cheeks and fluffed her hair, laughing to herself at the absurdity of it all.

Bran shifted, uncomfortable with the woman's attentions, and he turned around. His eyes narrowed and targeted Finola's face, and she watched as his jaw dropped. The sound of his heavy goblet hitting the ground jarred him back to reality. Were his eyes deceiving him with another hallucination? He blinked repeatedly, but still she remained. She motioned for him to move nearer, but his heart was in his throat, choking the air from his lungs. Did she actually come to Markham?

"For Maker's sake, Bran. Do I have to come and get you?" Finola asked with that tone, the one he hated, the one he missed. "Oh, you don't recognize me with my hair down, right?"

She laughed then, the sweetest sound he'd heard since he left Kirkwall. Somehow, he managed to walk, and moved his legs forward as time seemed to stand still.

Breathing deeply, he stood frozen, his gaze on her face, struggling to free his mind of the recurrent fog that was affecting him. "Wh-why are you here?" he choked out.

"Good to see you too. Come and walk with me," she whispered. "We need to get away from the prying eyes and big ears." His hand was cold and sweaty when she took it, and she glanced at him, noticing how he was careful with every step, concentrating almost as if he were a child learning to walk. He allowed her to guide him through the crowd, and she led them to a position just beyond a group of musicians which would keep them somewhat hidden. When she looked at him again, Bran was wincing as she pulled him along, causing him physical discomfort, and she let go of his hand instantly. "Bran, did I hurt you?"

He ignored her question and widened his eyes. "Are you that desperate for a seneschal that you would come all the way to Markham and-"

"Stop right there. I was worried about you, and I now see I was right to be concerned." Maker, he looks like shit.

"Why would you do this, Finola?" His voice was low and his tone alarmingly even with little evidence of emotion.

"I'm… I just wanted to see you. I… needed to see you. I detoured here on my way to Starkhaven to make sure you were all right."

"Detoured? You may as well have gone by way of… of…." He struggled to come up with the word and finally said, "Ferelden. I'm fine. If there's nothing else, I will take my leave for the night."

His behavior stunned Finola, completely. "What? No! Let me explain."

"Isn't that what you just did? You've seen me and now I'm leaving."

"Bran, wait! Give me a chance to say… to... to tell you…."

He saw the tears well up in her eyes, her breathing become ragged and he knew something was amiss. "Did Vael do something to you?" She shook her head. "Then what is this about?"

"You. I've missed you, and," she paused, saddened by his poor health. "You look awful, Bran. I almost can't believe my eyes… Tell me about this illness."

"There's nothing to tell," he said with little inflection, reminding her of a tranquil mage.

"The healers must have told you something." She studied his face, worry lines creasing his forehead in abundance. He was squinting, even though the sun had already set, and she noted that his eyes were dilated beyond a normal size. The yellowish pallor of his skin and his slow speech concerned her even more. "Come closer, and let me smell your breath, Bran."

"This is absurd. You're an expert on symptoms of disease now?" He turned to leave and she grabbed his arm, shocked by his lack of strength as he attempted to pull away.

"Please, Bran. I have a good idea what has happened to you. Now just let me smell your breath and I'll know for sure." He didn't have the energy to fight her and consented, opening his mouth slightly. She stuck her nose right up to it and inhaled deeply. Almost immediately, her eyes pinched shut, distress and outrage plain on her face.

"What is it, Fin?" he asked naively.

"A toxin," she whispered, afraid to say the other word, to admit the alarming truth. He had all the symptoms: sallow skin, stiff joints and weakened muscles, dull eyes, and slow thinking. But it was the tomato-like odor of the jimson weed on his breath that convinced her. "Poison, Bran, you've been poisoned. We have to get you to a reputable healer," her speech quickened. "I can't believe no one has realized this! Maker's breath, what in blazes is wrong with you? You should have left this town and sought help! How could you be so stupid?"

He stared at her for what seemed minutes. Was he truly unable to process the information he had just heard? "You came all this way just to call me stupid?"

"What? Bran, you have a deadly poison coursing through your veins. We need to leave immediately. Don't you understand? It could kill you, and I won't lose you again!"

His brows rose at her last words, mistaking her meaning. "If this is about looking for someone to help you in Kirkwall, I am not that man, not any longer."

"This isn't about me! Bran, can't you see what it's done to you? It's clouding your judgment." She fixed her gaze on his obstinate profile. "You trust me, don't you? I would never lie about this."

"Leave me alone, Finola. I don't need your method of assistance. Where has it ever gotten me? Just go back to Kirkwall, or Starkhaven, any place but here."

How could you resist the prospect of becoming a true princess? It's what you've always wanted, isn't it?

"No, damn it!" she answered herself. "Bran, wait. Let me help you!" He turned away from her, slowly ambling into the crowd. For one hopeful, agonizing moment, he stopped and peered back over his shoulder to look at her. He wore the same wretched expression as the night he told her to go to Sebastian. She shouted after him, hoping he would change his mind. "Bran!" He turned away from her again, tearful this time. "I'm at the Coat of Arms! Second floor! Please! Think about what I've said!"

"What did I miss?" Varric panted after his sprint across the courtyard.

"Everything, Varric!" she screamed at him, and then hung her head, discouraged. "Everything. What do I do now?" Lifting her head, she stared into the crowd, her mind racing with thoughts of her next course of action. "Varric, how are your antidote-making skills these days?"

"Poison, huh? Oh boy. I can make the stuff, but the real question is, can we find the ingredients around here?" He took her by the hand and led her for once. "I was talking to Markham's premier apothecary a little while ago. Let's go find him again."

"Maker, Varric. Why does everything have to be so complicated?"

"Well Hawke, the only thing I've ever seen that causes complications is love. Everything else? Easy as falling off a log."

"Right." She gave his hand a squeeze. "Thanks, Varric."

He looked up at her, smirking. "Did I ever tell you about the time I accidentally poisoned Isabella?" Finola shook her head and rolled her eyes at the same time. "Well, we had just left the Blooming Rose after an all day experiment of sorts, and-"

"Experiment?" she cut in. "No, don't tell me."

"Yeah, that part might make your toes curl. Anyway, we get to the Hanged Man and Isabela promptly throws up all over the bar. So I ask her if there's a chance she's in the family way, and she hauls off and belts me! I don't hit women, but she needed to be taught a lesson, so I pulled out a vial of what I thought was a muscle relaxing potion, with certain side effects," he said winking, "forgetting the fact that I also had a mild hallucinogenic poison of the same color in my pocket."

"How have I not heard this story?"

"She swore us all to secrecy. Eh, but it was a long time ago. Anyway, I dosed her ale and after a little while, the hallucinations began. She was all pirate that night! I swear she hung from the rafters in between chasing Vael and Fenris around with grabby hands, pinching them everywhere when she got close!"

"And her revenge?"

"Brutal." Varric smiled at Finola's enjoyment of the story, happy to distract her if only for a short while. "She slipped me a particular type of muscle enhancing potion. Let's just say I couldn't button my pants for a couple days."

Finola looked away, but couldn't help the grin taking hold of her lips. "Maker's breath, Varric. Too much information."

"Ah. Sorry. Some of the ladies appreciated it though."

"I bet." Finola laughed at Varric's slight blush. "Varric, you're a good friend. Don't ever let me forget that."

"Not a chance, Hawke," he said. "Hey, there's the apothecary!" he shouted as he pointed his finger. "Let's get those ingredients and mix up a cure for your main man, Bran. Ha! It rhymed."

"My main man," she scoffed. "Varric, my love, you are my main man."

"Yeah, we'll see, Hawke, we'll see."