Many thanks to everyone following along, and particularly those who have left reviews—they are appreciated more than I can say. Special thanks to mille libri for the help and encouragement with a challenging chapter.

Raging Bull

Myr had never thought to feel physically intimidated by Sten, even when he threatened to take over leadership of their company when hunting the Ashes of Andraste in the Frostbacks. Here, without her Wardens at her back and surrounded by dozens of armed Qunari in this temporary compound, it was … different. She gritted her teeth against the anxiety and waited with Fenris while Perren told the Arishok of his delegate's disappearance.

The Qunari leader gazed at Perren silently for a time, then rose and slowly descended the stairs. He loomed over them, his enormous axe resting on one shoulder. "Your vasheden Viscount sends you in his place to tell me of his dereliction. He is weak, but perhaps not wholly a fool." He thought for a moment, eyeing the three. "Should I take his delegate, as subjects of his have taken mine? Would that spur him to action at last?"

"I think that you—I mean …" Perren cleared his throat. "I would encourage you to consider the likely success of whoever the Viscount might send to negotiate with those who hold your emissary, Arishok," Perren said. "You yourself have alluded to the suspicion shown your people."

"Perhaps," the Arishok allowed, and turned to Myr and Fenris. "Perhaps I shall instead keep your elves, to encourage your success."

It was time for a measured risk. Myr stepped forward and bowed before Perren could reply. "Arishokost. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. Ataash varin kata."

The soldiers closest to the group tensed, intent on their leader. A long moment passed. Finally the Arishok tilted his massive head slightly. "Your accent is superior to that of the male."

"The male might not have had the benefit of a year's association with a Sten," she suggested.

"You are the Grey Warden the Sten reported. The one he named kadan."

Myr looked up—and up. "It was my privilege to be considered such by the Sten.

The Qunari watched her silently for a moment. "The Sten was of the opinion that your word had worth. You will see to the delegate, and those who hold him."

"I give you my word that I shall try my best."

"Then we shall see the best that the Grey Wardens can achieve." The Arishok turned back to the stairs in a clear dismissal.

Aveline was waiting a short distance from the Qunari compound; behind her stood a half-dozen guardsmen. Myr could see several more speaking with the Harbormaster and casually glancing their way, while another four patrolled nearby.

Hawke waved them to a quiet corner off the main street. "You can probably stand down the army, Aveline. I seem to have my head still attached."

"If I knew what to expect from them I wouldn't need this many guardsmen as backup. Or perhaps many more." She lowered her voice. "We have a problem. Bran was right about Guard involvement; a patrolman witnessed the emissary and his guards being led out of the keep by one of my lieutenants and two other guards, none of which have returned to the barracks. But Hawke, they were accompanied by several Templars."

"Templars?" Myr repeated. "What interest would your Chantry be taking in negotiations between the Viscount and the Qunari?"

Briefly, Perren told her of their meeting with a Chantry Sister the previous year, leading to the deaths of a saarebas and the squad of Qunari that had been hunting him. "Despite the strong evidence of a set-up on the part of Petrice, the Grand Cleric refused to act against her, citing contradictory testimony from the Sister and Ser Varnell."

"So you suspect a new move against the Qunari by this Sister Petrice?" Myr asked.

"That's what I intend to find out. Fenris, would you alert Anders and Merrill and meet us at the Hanged Man? Myr, it might be wise for you to accompany Fenris so you know where Anders lives if you need him."

oOo

"It's Dust Town for surfacers," Maynee muttered under her breath as they made their way through the garbage-strewn tunnels of Darktown towards Anders' clinic. "It's like being back home; makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside."

Merrill glanced around at the clumps of filth and desperate people and smiled tentatively. "Oh, how nice to have a reminder of your home. I think the same thing when I hear the whippoorwills calling to each other outside my window at night. They remind me of deep forests and cool autumn evenings with my clan." She stopped and cocked her head at the dwarf. "Oh, right. Sarcasm. Well, not everything was butterflies and rainbows, you know. Junar used to put beetles in my bedroll, and when game was scarce we sometimes went days with nothing but greens and nuts."

"Our food was the lichen that we scraped off damp tunnel walls. A special occasion was when we caught a nug too disease-ridden or full up on garbage to outrun us." Maynee folded her arms and glared at the little mage.

"Um. A squirrel bit me on the leg when I was seven."

Myr followed Fenris past a group of children huddled around a fire, to the end of a long corridor. The double doors were closed, but the lantern was lit. A woman in a threadbare dress waited just outside, holding a limp child.

A small, pale man exited the clinic, followed by Anders. The man was holding his bandaged arm and thanking the mage profusely, trying to press some coins on him. When Anders waved him off, the man bent and left the coppers on the ground instead, then hurried off.

"Mage. Hawke requires our assistance; fetch your pack," Fenris ordered the taller man.

"I have a patient; Hawke will need to wait." Anders turned to the waiting woman and picked up her child, carrying him into the clinic.

"Anders, it's …" Myr broke off as she followed him. A pair of battered chairs and a cabinet took up one wall of the small room; the examination table and a bench with a basin and rags took up much of the rest. An alcove at the back held a cot and a small press.

The child was barely conscious, and pale as snow apart from the hectic patches of red on his gaunt cheeks. Anders questioned his mother as he felt the boy's thin wrists, then his neck. He looked in the boy's mouth, looked in his eyes and laid the back of his hand against the boy's cheek for a long moment. Anders closed his eyes, stretched his arms out over the boy and started to whisper, his hands glowing slightly.

Maynee huffed in suppressed anger as she watched Anders work on the boy, her expression darkening by the moment. Finally she turned on the frightened woman. "When was the last time the boy had anything to eat?" she demanded.

"H-he had a bit of bread ye-yesterday. Sometimes the older girl, she f-finds a rat not too long dead."

"Ancestors' bleeding bollocks," Maynee swore and dug in her belt purse, handing the startled woman a small handful of silver. "Get some food and fire wood. If the girl finds more rats, at least cook them first. Rats are even filthier than people."

The woman's eyes went round, and she clutched the precious coins tightly. "Th-th-th …" she stammered, but Maynee had already retreated to the far wall, grumbling and taking a cloth to her spotless daggers.

Anders was perspiring freely and visibly beginning to tire. Myr opened the cabinet to find it bare, apart from a half-loaf of stale bread, a small stack of rags, and two empty lyrium phials. A glance back at Anders showed him trembling, the glow fading. At the end of his endurance, he broke off and wavered on his feet. Myr grabbed one of the rickety chairs and got it behind his knees as he collapsed.

The flush had faded noticeably from the boy's cheeks, and his general color seemed much improved. Still too flustered from Maynee's crusty generosity to offer more than halting, tearful thanks and a low bow to Anders, the mother gathered up her son and left the clinic.

Anders half-opened his eyes. "S'sorry, long day. Give me a minute."

Disregarding the mage's privacy, Myr dug through his belt purse until she found a small, half-empty phial. She popped the cork and placed it in Anders' hand, and he downed it in one swallow.

"Dammit, that was my last one." Anders sighed and levered himself to his feet with Myr's assistance. "All right, I'm ready." Anders retrieved his staff and a small pack of supplies; at the door of the clinic, he turned back to find her staring silently at the table. "Myr?"

Myr shook her head, dismissing the lingering vision of the mother and son. She pulled a pouch of coins out of her belt purse and left it next to the basin. "I'm sure you need healing supplies, things of that nature." She hurried around him to catch up with the others.

oOo

Obviously familiar with Fenris, Merrill, and Anders, the bartender at the Hanged Man nodded them towards Varric's suite at the top of the stairs. Aveline and Perren had already arrived, and were poring over a hastily-drawn map. Isabela reclined next to Varric, boots on the table, whispering to the crossbow cradled in the dwarf's hands.

With them was a tall man with dark reddish-brown hair, checking his quivers and bow. Maynee stopped in her tracks, pointing at the man's spotless, white enameled armor, gold-chased and gleaming. A carved ivory and gold likeness of Andraste smiled her benison from his belt. "By the Stone, what is …"

"Thank you all for coming." Perren interrupted the stupefied dwarf. "Sebastian, I'm pleased to introduce Myraene Tabris, Grey Warden and Hero of Ferelden, and Maynee Brosca, one of the Blight Companions. Myr, Maynee, this is Sebastian Vael, heir to the throne of Starkhaven and avowed Brother of the Chantry. "

"You do try to toss that 'hero' business in whenever you can, don't you, Hawke?" Myr laughed and bowed to Sebastian. "Your Highness."

"Just Sebastian, please, Warden. It's in the Maker's hands whether I rule or even see Starkhaven again."

"Whereas all of Starkhaven can probably see you from there, in that poncy armor," Maynee muttered.

Isabela laughed and looked the dwarf up and down. "You're a nasty little bugger, aren't you? Why haven't we had sex yet?"

"Save it, Tits," Maynee said dismissively. "I'm out of your league."

"See, now you've just made it a challenge."

"I get that a lot. Just keep it in your pants."

"What pa …"

"If we might return to the business at hand, ladies?" Ignoring Isabela's disappointed sigh, Perren told them of his trouble in speaking with the Grand Cleric, in seclusion according to now-Mother Petrice. "We will probably need to address the Petrice problem in the very near future, but for now she gave us the location where Varnell is holding the Qunari. If she's to be believed, they are in the Undercity, not far from the house where they kept Ketojan."

"The same section of the Undercity that leads out to the cliffs?" Varric mused. "That presents some possibilities for the sneak-inclined among us."

Myr grinned. "Are you planning a surprise for the Templars, Milord Tethras? I love surprises."

oOo

Fenris and Anders accompanied Myr and Varric as they made their way through the tunnels to the supposed meeting place in the Undercity. Fenris privately, and grudgingly, admitted that he had never seen anyone move as silently as the Warden did, far in advance of the others, slowing only when she needed to consult with them on direction.

If Varric was to be believed, Myraene was haunting the night streets of Denerim at twelve and breaking into noble estates at thirteen. Fenris had dismissed the claim as yet another hero-building exercise on the dwarf's part; the likelihood of an elven child evading both the Guard and the gangs for years was next to nil. Watching her ghost along silently ahead of them, checking each dark side-passage and dusty alcove, often disappearing into the shadows entirely, Fenris found it more difficult to discount Varric's tales.

Studying her, Fenris's thoughts strayed close to paths he had denied himself as far back as he could remember. Cursing silently, he put the foolish diversion aside; she was a competent Warden and a valuable ally. It was the difference in how she held herself, how she spoke her mind, that set her apart from Danarius's female slaves and hangers-on—novelty, nothing more. The anger at his lapse in control eased somewhat, and Fenris returned to his study.

Myr stopped suddenly and raised one hand to signal a halt. While Varric and Anders took the opportunity to catch their breath, Fenris watched as she disabled the crude spring trap and dug at the walls of the tunnel. She walked back to where the men rested.

"I always enjoy using an adversary's weapons against them," Myr whispered as she handed the half-dozen bolts to Varric. "We're close, and I don't believe Hawke and the others are there yet. Give me a few minutes to get in place."

"What if you're seen, Myraene?" Fenris heard himself ask. "This is reckless."

Myr looked up at him in surprise for a moment, before looking quickly away. "I'll be careful." She turned and ran silently back down the tunnel.

"We should …" Fenris turned to Varric, who was gazing at him and frowning slightly, seemingly lost in thought. "Something you need, Varric?"

"Me? No. Just wishing I had thought to bring my journal, is all."

"Do not think to include me in any of your fables, dwarf."

"Tsk. A little late for that, isn't it?" Varric smirked and headed off in the direction in which Myr had disappeared.

Down the tunnel and up a flight of stairs, and Fenris could start to make out fragments of what sounded like a sermon or invocation.

"... and so are accursed in the Maker's sight. We do His work this day by sending these beasts back to the Void which spawned them."

Varric peered around the corner of the shadowed hallway. He watched for a moment while the Templar continued his exhortations, then drew back and whispered, "Four Qunari, bound. Five Templars and a dozen others, armed. I don't see Myr ..."

"Varnell!"

"Right on time, Hawke." Varric smirked as he unslung Bianca. "This should get very interesting, very quickly."

"This does not concern you, Serah Hawke; you and your servants defile this sacred gathering. Tarry, and I shall do my duty and perform the Rite on you here and now."

"Is this how you show the supposed superiority of your doctrine?" Fenris could hear the sneer in Hawke's voice. "Abduction? Torture? Do you act as would Andraste, or the Archons?"

"Blasphemer! 'Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter'," Varnell quoted furiously.

"The spittle is flying; won't be long now," Varric noted.

"Doesn't the Chant also bless the 'peacekeepers, the champions of the just'?" Hawke quoted.

"Maleficar! 'Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker's will is written'," Varnell snarled. "Righteous! Destroy them!"

Fenris drew his weapon and charged around the corner. The four Qunari were kneeling and bound to two support beams, their captors ranged in front of them. Behind him, Anders and Varric were moving. Backed by several heavily armored templars, the worshipers fanned out to attack Hawke and the others. Myraene was not among the combatants, but neither did she seem to have been captured.

Shouting unintelligibly, Varnell stepped towards the Qunari delegate and raised his sword. Before he could bring it down, the Qunari surged to his feet, shaking off coils of rope. Huge hands closed on the Templar's neck; a flex of heavily-muscled arms, and Varnell dropped to the floor in a crash of steel.

Now visible on the near side of the broken stone support, Myr sawed at the second Qunari's bonds, pausing once to send a knife spinning at an older man with a bow who was sighting on Merrill. Her line of sight blocked by the pillar and the huge Qunari, she didn't seem to see the Templar lieutenant turn her way.

As the Templar stepped around the kneeling giant and lifted his sword, Fenris charged, meeting the surprised man's hastily-raised shield and sending him stumbling back, off balance. The second Qunari freed, Myr disappeared into the fray.

Fenris dodged a swing from the Templar lieutenant's blade, only to meet the edge of his shield; thrown back against the stone pillar, Fenris struggled to raise his sword to block the man's follow-up. A knife clattered against the Templar's helm, falling away harmlessly; it was distraction enough for Fenris to get his sword up underneath the taller man's shield arm, stabbing into his unprotected armpit. Bellowing, the man fell back, and a perfectly-aimed bolt from Bianca buried itself in man's throat.

The two freed Qunari were vigorously and viciously defending their own. As their ringleaders fell one by one, several of the acolytes fled and more were seeking escape. Hawke and the others allowed them to flee.

One huge, raging Templar had Myr hard-pressed, defending Anders and Varric. Evading a huge swing of the man's two-handed hammer, Myr collided with the dwarf and both tumbled to the ground. Before the Templar could raise his weapon again, Fenris was there; lyrium blazing, he plunged his gauntleted hand into the man's back. The Templar jerked once, then fell heavily to the ground.

The Templars were dead, their followers gone or killed. Fenris reached a hand to help Myr up, remembering too late the thick blood that coated it. Myr gravely accepted the assistance. "Thank you, Fenris." She smiled tentatively, then bent to wipe her hand on the dead Templar's skirt.

Myr nodded to the delegate. "Kost. Maraas Shokra." Briefly, she described their position and indicated the direction of Lowtown, and beyond that, the Docks.

"Anaan esaam qun." The delegate nodded in return. Gathering his bodyguards with a word, the four left in the direction that Myr indicated.

Perren looked around in confusion. "Where is Isabe …"

"Wait your turn, Hawke," Aveline demanded, looming over Myr. "First, the Warden is going to tell me why she let Qunari warriors loose in a developing situation, when they could easily have killed all of those moronic sycophants or any one of us?"

"I would leave no one bound and helpless," Myr replied in a tight voice. "They would have been killed."

"Just leave it lie, Aveline," Varric murmured under his breath.

"Myr told you about her conscription?" Anders' whisper didn't carry past the three of them.

"Everyone tells me everything, Blondie."

Mouse's low growl echoed in the still chamber. The sound seemed to break through Myr's anger and she relaxed slightly, running her fingers through his bloody fur.

"The Viscount asked us to ensure the delegate's survival using all reasonable means, Aveline," Perren said. "I should have made that clear; my apologies. But really, where is …"

"No, Hawke. I should never have lost my temper. Please accept my apology, Guard-Captain." Myr bowed slightly to the tall woman.

Aveline sighed and extended her hand. "And mine, Warden. Now what were you saying about Isabela, Hawke?"

Isabela looked up from where she was kneeling next to Varnell, sorting through his belt purse. "Yes, what were you saying about me, Hawke?" She smirked and handed a folded piece of parchment to Perren.

"Where were you just … never mind, I'm sure I don't want to know." Perren frowned at the parchment. "The authorization to 'escort' the Qunari from the Keep, with the Grand Cleric's seal. What kind of idiot keeps implicating documents on his person after the deed is done?"

"Dirty bastard probably kept everything Petrice touched, for … ah, never mind." Anders flushed slightly.

"Thank you for the disturbing imagery, Anders. I think we're done here."

oOo

Where the Viscount's Keep was impressive with its columned approach to its immense, armored doors, the Chantry was … intimidating, Myr decided. Two huge bronze templars held stylized man catchers aloft over the grand staircase, while ranks of robed statues with drawn swords scrutinized the faithful as they drew near.

Inside, Myr's gaze was drawn up the main aisle, past the tall bronzes of robed men holding thuribles, past the velvet-draped chancel. Behind the carved wooden altar rose a three story, gilded Andraste, garbed in what appeared to be an ornate variant of templar armor and holding aloft a massive sword.

"Dreadful taste, isn't it?" Perren whispered to Myr as they made their way around the priestesses and parishioners.

"It's very, erm, grand," Myr temporized.

Perren laughed. "And you don't credit yourself a diplomat, Myr. Can you imagine a gilded, sword-wielding, Templar-Andraste in any chantry in Ferelden?"

Myr thought privately that the Prophetess might be somewhat appalled at the political use to which Her image was being put, but said nothing as Perren greeted the grey-haired woman speaking with Sebastian near the altar. He introduced Myr to Grand Cleric Elthina and laid out their discoveries regarding the abduction of the Qunari delegates, the Templars involved, and the incriminating document.

"Please forgive my inattention, Your Grace." A senior clergywoman with blond, short-cropped hair hurried up the stairs to the chancel and bobbed a curtsey to the Grand Cleric. From Hawke's description, the frowning woman could only be Mother Petrice. "I thought that I had made it clear to Sister Eudora that you were not to be …"

Elthina nodded to her subordinate calmly. "Serah Hawke has brought us troubling news, Mother. It seems one of our shepherds has strayed."

A brief pause, then Petrice nodded sadly. "Yes, Your Grace. I thought not to trouble you until the incident had been verified. I take it you found the Templar you sought, Serah Hawke. The shame that he brought to his calling is most unfortunate."

"Too true," Hawke agreed. "That he also led four of his fellow Templars down this path of violence and blind hatred seems to hint at a troubled, even disturbed, mind."

Myr watched as Sebastian's calm expression turned slightly pinched, and he started to perspire. "Now Hawke, perhaps we shouldn't presume to …"

"On the contrary, Sebastian, I think we all need to ask hard questions of ourselves in times such as these." Hawke seemed to warm to his subject. "Would it not have been more just, more worthy, to try to bring these poor, misguided souls to the Maker? To show these lost ones the light of truth?"

"Well-spoken, Serah Hawke." Elthina smiled gently at him. "Your grandmother would be very proud."

Perren lowered his eyes. "Of that I cannot be sure, Your Grace, for I failed to bring the real culprit to justice."

"What do you mean?" Petrice demanded. "Varnell and the others are dead. This unfortunate episode is over."

"I am loath to contradict you, Mother, but as we discussed earlier, the Templars would need authorization to remove the Qunari from the Keep."

"I still don't …"

"In fact, the guards questioned reported that the Templars had an authorization with Her Grace's seal, as I've just told her."

"I highly doubt that guardsmen are trained to recognize authentic Chantry documents, Serah Hawke." Petrice scoffed.

Perren nodded and smiled, then reached into an inner cloak pocket. "Very true, Mother. But in this instance they didn't need to, as Ser Varnell had the document on his person." He handed a roll of parchment to the Grand Cleric. "Of course, I wouldn't think that templars would normally have access to Her Grace's seal, so although it grieves me to suggest it, he must have had assistance from someone in the Chantry hierarchy itself."

The Mother smiled tightly. "But of course, Serah Hawke. It will take some time, of course; utmost care must be taken to maintain the sanctity of the Chantry. An internal investigation would be most appropriate, I think."

"I will decide on the course of investigation, Mother," Elthina said firmly. "Serah Hawke. As you can imagine, even the possibility of Chantry involvement in this matter could cause great damage to the image of the Chantry. Might I ask for your discretion in this matter, at least until the investigation is completed?"

"Of course, Your Grace. I shall speak of it to no one who was not involved." Perren bowed slightly and motioned Myr to the stairs, only to turn back. "Pardon my forgetfulness. The Viscount and the Seneschal have been apprised of the situation, of course."

A quiet sigh escaped Elthina. "I see. Well, that will need to be managed."

"Yes, the Viscount seemed quite anxious to speak of it with you."

"He did? The Viscount wishing to speak with the Grand Cleric, I mean," Myr whispered to Hawke as the massive doors of the Chantry closed behind them.

"Seemed anxious, seemed like he would rather be torn apart by darkspawn—really, it can be so difficult to judge expressions sometimes." Hawke chuckled as he set off for the estate. "I hope you can stay for dinner, Myr. Mother wants to hear all about this Sigrun that she's sure is corrupting her virginal younger son, and Bodahn mentioned that he's making a stew from a recipe he learned from one of your companions during the Blight."

An image of congealed grey lumps swam up out of Myr's memory. "Couldn't be. Even Sandal wouldn't eat that."

oOo

"What could they be discussing? It's been an hour at least." Perren was slouched on one corner of Seneschal Bran's elegant desk, turning a small hourglass in his fingers idly. The twice-delayed meeting between the Viscount and Myr, speaking on behalf of her Queen Anora, was running long.

"I couldn't say, Serah Hawke." Bran plucked the timepiece out of Perren's fingers and placed it in a drawer. "Might I add that there are perfectly comfortable chairs in the antechamber."

Perren cocked his head and peered down at the Seneschal, seemingly absorbed in the tiny columns of numbers in the ledger open in front of him. Attractive enough, in a repressed and repressive sort of way, and shamefully enjoyable to goad. Perren smirked and reached for a roll of parchment.

Bran plucked the scroll out from underneath Perren's fingers, placing it in the drawer with the hourglass. He frowned and stabbed a finger at a chair opposite, and Perren slid off the desk.

"Might you have a scrap of parchment and a second quill, Bran?

Bran sighed and handed him a small sheet and quill, then went back to his figures. Perren leaned back in the chair and scratched on the parchment, periodically leaning forward to dip the quill and smile glibly at the seneschal. "Is Bran short for something?" Perren asked after a time.

"Only his temper. Which he is rapidly losing, Serah Hawke." Bran glared at him over his glasses.

"Surely not. He is the very model of forbearance." Perren thought for a moment. "Is it Brandel?"

"No."

"Branweis?"

"No."

"Brantleigh? Brandolin? Brandywine?"

"Pardon me for the intrusion, gentlemen," Myr said from the doorway.

"No intrusion I'm sure, Warden," Bran assured her, and stood.

"I'll find out, Bran. I have people." Perren blew on the parchment to set the ink and returned the borrowed quill. He folded the small sheet and tucked it under the inkwell, then turned to follow Myr out.

"Yes, I've met some of them, lucky me. I'd wish you luck on your quest …"

"But you don't."

"My, you are the smart one."

Bran stared at the parchment for a moment before sliding it out and unfolding it. Not a list at all, it was instead a fair sketch of Bran himself as he bent over his work, brows drawn together in annoyance. He started to crush the scrap, then unaccountably smoothed it out and placed it in the drawer with the hourglass and the scroll. Shaking his head slightly, the seneschal returned to his numbers.

oOo

"I'm home, Father. I brought the …" Myr stopped as she turned to find a second person at the table with Cyrion. "Fenris. I'm surprised to … I mean, welcome." She faltered to a stop, unaccountably flustered.

"You sound distracted, Myraene. I'll be interested to hear of your appointment with the Viscount." The twinkle in Cyrion's eye gave lie to his bland tone.

"Your father is teaching me chess." Fenris inclined his head respectfully to the older man. "It is an interesting game."

"Do they not play chess in the Imperium?" Cyrion asked.

"It is a pursuit of the magisters; there would be no point in teaching it to a slave, as none would dare attempt to win." Fenris stood and nodded to them both. "Thank you for a pleasant game, Cyrion. Myraene."

"Please stay for dinner, Fenris; we have plenty." Cyrion smiled and motioned him back to his chair.

"I do not wish to intrude..."

"Nonsense." Myr's father stood and took the bottle of wine out of her hands. "I'll check on the rabbit. Myraene, why don't you share some stories of your companions with Fenris, while I finish dinner?"

Her Blight companions, yes; there were many innocuous tales to fill the time before the meal. Suddenly, Myr found she could not recall a one of them.