Chapter Nineteen

It had been a week since the murder of the qunari delegates. Shepard had heard nothing from the Arishok in that time, nor had she made any attempt to make contact with him. The ball was firmly in his court. He would send for her, or he wouldn't. For now, there wasn't anything else to do.

The Arishok couldn't be her only line of inquiry. Advanced though the qunari were in comparison to the rest of Thedas, Shepard wasn't about to overlook any possibilities. She'd talked to all of Hawke's motley crew, but in particular to Sebastian and Isabela. Sebastian had grown up privileged, and had therefore received a distinctly better-than-average education by Theodosian standards. In addition, his time in the Chantry had given him access to a vastly larger library than all but the wealthiest or most scholarly of Thedas' populace.

Isabela was a sailor, and a good one. More than any of Hawke's other companions, she understood navigation and cartography - at least as it pertained to coastal and riverine areas.

"Navigational charts… star charts?" she'd said in surprise. "Why in Andraste's sweet arse would you be interested in those?"

Shepard had rolled her eyes. "Because I'm lost, Isabela," she'd replied.

Isabela had made a pffting noise. "Of course you're not lost. You're in the Hanged Man." She leaned closer. "With me."

Shepard had made a mental note to remember to talk to the pirate before the latter started drinking in the future.

In the end, Isabela had admitted that, apart from the qunari, the most accurate navigational tools lay in the hands of the Felicisima Armada.

"But it's not as if they're just going to share that information, sweetness. They don't even share with each other. Sharing isn't something they're big on."

Shepard had just smiled. "One thing at a time, Isabela," she'd said. "One thing at a time."

Sebastian had been a little more forthcoming with information.

"If you wish to learn of the lands and history of Thedas, you would do well to study the works of Brother Genitivi," he'd assured her. "He is the Chantry's foremost scholar, and truly one of the best of this, or any, age."

"Are his works difficult to find?" Shepard had asked, making a note of the scholar's name. "Would I be able to access them outside the Chantry, for example?"

Sebastian had given her a smile. "He is a popular writer, particularly among the upper classes. I should think you could find a complete copy of his travelogues in Hawke's library."

Shepard had nodded. "I know you won't appreciate this question, but I have to ask: how much influence has the Chantry had over his writings? Leaders of established regimes - religious or otherwise - often don't like information which runs counter to their philosophy."

The prince had taken the question quite calmly. "This is quite true," he'd agreed. "His writings have always struck me as extremely forthright, however. I am not sure where Genitivi was born, but he has traveled extensively throughout Thedas - even into qunari lands - and has long resided in Ferelden. Perhaps this has afforded him some measure of autonomy from the Divine." A frown had creased his face. "I have heard that after the Blight, Genitivi claimed to have found the resting place of Andraste's ashes, in Ferelden, but that the Divine denied the truth of his claim, so perhaps his immunity is at an end."

"I have to admit… I'm a little surprised to hear you say that," Shepard had said honestly. "In my experience, the devout are frequently blind to the shortcomings of their spiritual leaders."

He'd shaken his head, a trifle sadly. "The Maker may be infallible, but we who serve Him are not. As recent events have proven, not everything done in His name is truly His will."

He'd given her a shrewd look, then. "It is your past experience with faith that led you to abandon it entirely?"

The statement had thrown Shepard. In truth, she hadn't had many personal experiences with faith. Her father hadn't been religious, and given the way her mother had abandoned them when Shepard was an infant, she suspected that faith hadn't figured largely in her mother's make up either. And the Reds largely believed in those things you could hold - weapons, money, possessions, and each other. Intangible beliefs were confined to things like respect, and pride, and loyalty.

She had simply shrugged. "Call me a cynic," she'd said. "I tend to see the worst where ideologies are concerned, and that includes religion. I suppose that's because people who simply go around doing good works in the name of faith tend to be quiet and humble about it. They don't have an agenda, so they don't need to advertise."

"Unfortunately true as well."

Shepard had squared her shoulders. "But I'm going to need more than just history and geography. I need everything I can find pertaining to the stars. Are there any Chantry scholars who have made a particular study of the heavens?"

With a rub of his chin, Sebastian had admitted defeat. "I do not know. It was not a subject I was ever given any instruction in, nor have I ever thought to look. I will check with the library's archivist, and let you know what I find."

"I thought I told you to keep the wound clean!"

Anders prodded the ugly, suppurating mess and shook his head.

Ferd gave a one-sided shrug. "Washed in the water butt every day, din't I?"

The healer's face paled. "One of the Lowtown water butts?"

"Where else? Ain't got water butts in Hightown."

Anders shook his head, his mouth set in a grim line. "This is badly infected, Ferd. Why didn't you come to see me in three days as I asked?"

The old man snorted. "Was busy, boy. Can't us all sit around all day."

"Without magic… if the infection has reached the bone, there will be little I can do to save the arm," Anders said quietly.

Ferd grimaced. "An' how will ye know the evil's in th' bone, then?"

"I will have to open it with a knife."

"I hope ye got some strong likker, boy."

"Or…" the healer's brow drew downward suddenly. "Shepard."

"Yer lady friend?"

"She's not actually my lady friend, but yes."

"Puts up wi' ye, don't she?"

"Serah Ferd," Anders said patiently, "there are any number of women in my life who put up with me, but who nevertheless do not fit the category of lady friends."

"Does this mean I don't count as your lady friend?" Hawke's voice was light and teasing from the doorway.

Anders raised an eyebrow. "Not unless I drank a lot more than I thought I did the other night."

Hawke put her hands on her hips. "You're saying that heavy drinking is required for you to contemplate the possibility of me being your lady friend?"

"No!" Anders said sharply. "That's not it at all." His face grew even more haggard for a moment, and his voice was strained. "Hawke, we've talked about this before…"

Hawke shook her head. "I know. Your… chaperone… doesn't approve."

Ferd was staring. "For a man wi'out a lady friend, boy, ye sure don't lack for fine looking women about. Ye prefer lads?"

Anders sighed. "It's not… look, does it really matter to you why I don't pursue my female friends?"

"Ye got a point," said Ferd. "It don't." He looked Hawke up and down. "Don't suppose yer betrothed as yet, woman?"

"Ferd," said Anders plaintively, "you have bigger things to worry about right now."

The healer turned to Hawke. "Do you have any idea where Shepard's at?"

Hawke shrugged. "Last I knew, she was down at the Hanged Man talking to Varric about privies."

"Privies? Do I want to know?"

"She said it was time Kirkwall started thinking outside the bucket."

Anders made a face. "Believe me, in Darktown, most of the people think outside the bucket…"

"I don't think that's what she meant."

"Probably not." Anders turned hopeful eyes on Hawke.

"You're going to ask me to go get her, aren't you?" Hawke guessed from his expression.

"Would you? I think I can see a use for her… technology."

Hawke sighed. "Why can't anyone ever want me for my body?"

Ferd snorted. "Is that a trick question, woman?"

"For you, Ferd, yes," Anders answered firmly.

Hawke laughed. "I think he should send his betrothal portrait to mother, since she's so eager to see me married off."

"Don't encourage him."

"Look, I know I've read that tanners use just about every disgusting thing you can imagine," Shepard was arguing.

Varric nodded. "Where do you think half the buckets in Hightown go?"

"Okay, so this just makes it… neater. The waste is stored in an underground tank, and once a week or something, the tanners come by with a tank on a cart and a pump, and pump the underground tanks into the cart. If things were really fancy, you'd eventually have engineered sewers that drained down to the tanners' pits."

"And that's how things work where you're from?" Varric asked doubtfully.

"No. Our sewers go to recycling and treatment plants, where the water is extracted and the waste is turned into something useful."

"Why not do that, then?" the dwarf suggested. "If you're going to dream, dream big."

Shepard shook her head. "Listen, do you have any idea how hard it is for me to even figure out how to make a simple flush toilet work in this place? You don't have real sewers, you don't have a municipal water supply, and you think the latest word in waste elimination is a bucket with some pretty flowers painted on it. This is dreaming big."

"And you really think this will catch on, do you?"

Shepard lifted an eyebrow. "Let me ask you this; if you had the choice between sitting on a nice porcelain seat to empty your bowels and then simply pulling a chain and having the mess just… disappear, or sitting on a couple of splintery planks over an open bucket that was last used by someone who tried the stew special, which would you pick?"

Varric gave her a long look. "I'll see what I can do."

"Remember - fifty percent until I find my way out of this hell hole. Then the whole thing reverts to House Tethras."

"I'm sure my ancestors will be proud, knowing that the Tethras name became synonymous with shit."

"Just ask the Crappers."

Varric gaped. "You're shitting me, right?"

"Nope."

"Still at it, I see?" Hawke sauntered in to Varric's suite.

"I thought you wanted to check in with Anders and see if he could come up with something to help with Sandal's bellyache."

"Yes, well, he was busy. There's a man in the clinic with an arm about to fall off or something, and he needs Shepard's help right away."

Shepard frowned. "My help? What does he need my help for?"

Hawke shrugged. "He said something about technology. Maybe he was just afraid that I would agree to marry to the old geezer just to spite my mother."

"Wait… is this an old fart that looks like someone hit him in the face with a small terrier? Shoulder wound?"

"Sounds about right," Hawke grinned. "Although wound is sort of a poor descriptor at the moment. Wreckage might be closer."

"What happened?" Shepard demanded. "Anders sewed him up!"

"Wound went bad," Hawke said simply. "Very bad."

Shepard shook her head and pushed herself away from the table. "I don't know what Anders thinks I can do, but I'd better go. Poor Ferd."

"Don't forget… Wicked Grace tonight," the dwarf reminded her.

"Varric," Shepard grinned, "how could I possibly forget another chance to take your money?"

"Shepard! Thank the Maker."

"I came as soon as I could," Shepard said, crossing the clinic quickly.

One look was enough to confirm Hawke's assessment of Ferd's condition. Shepard's eyes sought out Anders'. "Tell me it's not as bad as it looks," she urged.

The healer shrugged. "I was hoping you could tell me that, actually."

Shepard blinked.

"You were able to tell me exactly where your arm was broken," Anders said hopefully. "Is there any way you could do the same for Ferd? Can your… technology… tell you how deep the infection goes? If it's yet reached the bone?"

Of course. Don't just stand there like a dumbass, Shepard.

She managed a nod, and keyed up the omni-tool.

Ferd reared back. "Andraste's pyre, woman! Yer cursed with the magics too?"

Shepard smiled at him reassuringly. "Not a bit of it. You could do this too."

The old man's brows crinkled. "I ain't never lit me arm up with fire, an' I ain't never planning to."

Shepard paused a moment, dropping the 'tool into standby. "It's just a thing, Ferd. A tool. See?" She slipped it off her forearm and set it on a cot before the old man, powering it up again and stepping away.

She held both hands up. "Look. No hands," she grinned.

Ferd looked from the 'tool to Shepard and back again. "If that ain't the damnedest thing. Where in the Maker's name did ye find that?" His expression turned sly. "From them dwarfs, like as not, eh? Crafty little buggers."

Shepard shrugged and retrieved it. "They're common enough where I come from," she said evasively. "The important bit is that it can tell how bad your shoulder is, and that will help Anders figure out how to treat it properly."

"Will you allow Shepard to help you, Ferd?" Anders asked softly.

"Will it hurt?" Ferd asked curiously.

Shepard turned back to Anders. "There's a deep abscess, but it doesn't appear to involve the bone or the joint," she said, brushing her fingers over the interface.

"Shepard!" Anders exclaimed. "You can't just… do things without asking permission first! It's not… it's just not something that a healer does!"

One dark eyebrow quirked at him, and Shepard gave him a crooked smile. "I'm not a healer," she said. "Besides, you'd heal someone if they were unconscious, right?"

Anders grumbled a moment before giving her a grudging assent. "Yes."

"But that's different," he added.

Shepard shrugged again. "I have no problem with knocking him out so you can do so."

Ferd scowled at her. "I'm right here, woman!"

She gave him a glance. "Why, so you are, Ferd."

"What?" Shepard said to the accusatory looks both men were still giving her. "I'm a soldier, boys. I get the job done, no matter what it takes."

She stepped closer to Anders, holding out her left hand, angled so that the healer could see the display. Ferd leaned in, too, staring wonderingly at the holographic representation of his shoulder when it appeared, the progress of the infection outlined in reds and purples.

"This is…" Anders breathed. "This is amazing."

"Does it help?" Shepard asked. "Will you be able to treat the infection?"

The healer reached out tentatively and moved Shepard's arm to a different angle. "I'll have to open it up, drain the pocket here," he put his finger into the holograph at a place where the image was shaded deep purple. "Then I'll pack the hole that's left after I've drained and flushed the abscess with a poultice, to draw out the rest of the poisons." He gave the old man a stern look. "But serah Ferd is going to have to stay in the clinic for a few days under my eye."

"What about systemic antibiotics?" Shepard asked. "Do you have those?"

Anders gave her a puzzled look. "I'm not sure. He'll get something to help ease the pain, and if his fever gets bad, I'll give him something to bring it down. Otherwise, probably just elfroot to help his body heal faster."

No antimicrobials. No medi-gel. No computer-aided surgery, laser therapy, or basic diagnostics. Without magic, how do these people survive?

Shepard had seen various members of Hawke's squad take serious wounds. Without Anders' healing in the group, the squad relied on various ointments and poultices to stabilize themselves long enough to get to the healer. Well, except for Fenris. Unless a wound was extremely serious - and Shepard had yet to see the elf inflicted with anything other than fairly minor injuries - Fenris claimed he preferred to let himself heal naturally. Given his past, Shepard could understand his reluctance, though if she was his commanding officer, he'd be in Anders' tender loving care so fast his pointy-eared head would spin.

Then again, no antimicrobials means no resistant strains. Problems always keep pace with solutions.

Shepard shifted the view for Anders a few times, while the healer planned out his surgery. When he was satisfied with his mental preparations, Anders mixed a small amount of a milky fluid into a tot of Corff's whiskey, and handed it to Ferd.

"Drink up," he ordered.

Ferd gave the healer a suspicious look. "What be this?"

"It's a sleeping draught. It will be easier on both of us if you're not awake for this next part."

The old man's suspicion deepened. "Ye ain't plannin' on magickin' against me will, are ye?"

Anders shook his head. "That's Shepard's idea, not mine. It isn't ethical."

Ferd continued to give the healer a heavy glare.

"On my word as a healer, Ferd," Anders said softly. "All I intend to do is clean out the infection well and pack in some poultice. No healing magic."

The old man blew air out his lips noisily. "All right, boy." He sniffed at the little tankard. "Smells like th' Hanged Man," he said. "Never did like that whelp's whiskey. Ye can't ha' made it worse."

He downed the contents in a single shot. "I'fact, I think ye might ha' made it a bit better."

Anders took the tankard from him and began setting out some items on the big, heavy scrubbed table. Ferd began to nod off as the healer began mixing ingredients for the poultice.

"Help me get the old coot on the table before he falls over," Anders said to Shepard, catching Ferd by his shoulders as he started to tip forward.

"Potent stuff," Shepard remarked as Ferd began to snore.

Anders shrugged. "I much prefer to use a sleep spell when I can. It's not always possible, though."

"This is… probably going to get messy," Anders added. "You may not want to stay and watch."

Shepard lifted one shoulder slightly. "Battlefields aren't pretty either. Do you think you'll need my omni-tool again?"

The healer sounded confident. "I don't think so, no."

"Then I think I'll go down to the alienage and see if the seamstress is finished with my underwear yet."

"It's a good thing Ferd's already asleep," Anders grinned. "That comment probably would have earned you another proposal… or at least a proposition."

"What can I say? I've always been popular with the over eighty crowd."

Anders blinked at her. "Really?"

"Only asari."

"Anethara, Shepard."

Shepard looked up from where she was happily examining the elven dressmaker's efforts. Merrill was just stepping out of the door to her apartment, all large liquid eyes and untidy hair.

"Hello, Merrill," Shepard replied.

"Oooh," replied the mage. "Are your smallclothes ready?"

Shepard was about to ask Merrill which of the terrible gossips she'd heard that from when she recalled that she had been in the process of ordering the underwear when she'd met Merrill.

"Yes," she answered.

The elf hurried to Shepard's side. "They're all black," she noted. "Why not blue? Or red? Red's nice."

Shepard coughed lightly. "Blood and dirt don't stain black," she said sheepishly.

Merrill blinked owlishly. "I never would have thought of that."

"I'm a soldier. I've been injured. A lot."

"Have you?" The elven mage tilted her head to one side, looking even more wren-like than usual. "One thing I've learned from being around Hawke is that I don't like getting pummeled."

"Can't say I like it, either," Shepard admitted. "But it comes with the job."

"And you took it anyway? That doesn't seem very smart."

Shepard laughed. "You follow Hawke around willingly enough, don't you?"

Merrill's expression wavered between sheepish and crestfallen. "I suppose that would mean I'm not very smart…"

Shepard nodded to the dressmaker, who'd just finished wrapping the underwear for her. "How long for the other items?" the Spectre asked, handing over some coins.

"I am afraid it will be twice as long, messere," the dressmaker apologized. "I have an order for a wedding gown I must finish first."

"I understand," Shepard smiled, and added a few additional coins as a tip. "Thank you for getting these done so quickly. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it." She scooped up the package and clutched it tightly to her chest, thinking just how nice it was going to be to have an extra layer of soft fabric between her tender bits and the world. While there were many wonderful things about her armored skinsuit, it really hadn't been engineered to be worn - despite the ironic phraseology - commando.

Shepard looked up at the vhenadahl as she turned away from the dressmaker's stall, staring at the dappled light dancing in the branches.

"Does it remind you of home?" Merrill asked, following her gaze.

Shepard shook her head. "No."

"Oh, that's right," Merrill remembered, "Isabela said your home was a ship, like the one she used to have."

"Not like she used to have, no," Shepard disagreed. "But a ship." She smiled again. "No trees on the Normandy. Hell, I couldn't even keep my fish alive."

Merrill gave her the confused kitten look that Isabela found so appealing. "You had pet fish?" she breathed. "Did they follow your ship everywhere you went? I mean, until they died, that is."

Shepard glanced at the elf and laughed. "No. They were in a tank in my quarters. Watching a tank full of fish is supposed to relieve stress. Except, in my case, I was always looking at sad little corpses floating at the top." She sighed. "I should have bought that stupid VI…"

"Oh. How… terrible."

Shepard returned her eyes to the light in the branches. "No," she repeated softly, "trees aren't something I'm particularly used to. Maybe that's why I like this one so much."

Her gaze traveled around the little courtyard. "It's too bad this place is so crowded," she murmured. "If there was a place open here, I'd rent it in a heartbeat."

Merrill gaped at her. "You mean live here? In the alienage?"

Shepard's lips twisted wryly. "I suppose I wouldn't exactly be welcome."

"Well… no," the elven mage admitted. "But I'm sure that once they got to know you, they'd like you!" she hastened to add. "And it would be nice to have a friend in the alienage."

Her smooth brow wrinkled in thought. "There's Arianni's place," Merrill suggested. "You could move in there."

Shepard snorted. "I doubt Arianni would appreciate that when she gets back from saying goodbye to her son."

The little braids in Merrill's dark hair flew as she shook her head. "Oh, no. Arianni has decided to stay with the clan. She won't be coming back to Kirkwall."

Shepard's eyes widened. "Really? In that case…" She straightened her shoulders. It was a gesture that the Normandy crew and her team were intimately familiar with. It meant that Shepard was locked in to a target; the mission parameters were set, and she was about to execute. Nothing would stand in her way. "Tell me where to find the landlord."

"Landlord?" Merrill gave her a puzzled look. "Oh… you mean like Corff, at the Hanged Man?"

"I suppose so…" Shepard said uncertainly.

Merrill giggled. "There's nobody like that here. People just find a space and move in."

"Even better," Shepard's face split in a broad grin. "I never did like rental applications."

Unconsciously, Shepard assumed a predatory stalk across the courtyard to the door that led into Arianni's building, Merrill following like a rambling puppy behind her.

The apartment was pretty much as Shepard remembered it, and still contained many of Arianni's things.

"Won't she want her stuff at some point?" Shepard questioned, running her eyes around the small space.

"Some things, perhaps, yes. Likely, whoever moved in here next would simply put her things in a crate and if Arianni came for them later, they'd be here." Merrill's eyes clouded a little. "For a little while, anyway. Then they'd probably sell them."

The space was only slightly bigger than the loft on the Normandy. It had a main sitting area, a small kitchen area, and a bedroom area with a small… bucket room… beyond.

First flush toilet's going right there. If I have to beat the downstairs neighbors and Varric to get it done.

"So," she said aloud, "what do I need to do to stake my claim? Just squat here?"

Merrill shrugged. "Just tell people you're moving in. I don't think anyone will argue with you. You're a human in armor. In the cities, my people tend to be just a bit… wary… of that."

Shepard looked chagrined. "I don't want people to think that I'm here to cause trouble. If this is going to be a big problem, let me know."

The elf shook her head. "Not a problem, as such. Just… well, maybe you could smile at people to begin with? You know, like you're happy?"

"I do understand the concept of smiling, Merrill."

"Oh, I know. I'm… Just don't scowl. You're frightening when you scowl," the mage babbled.

"You and Varric," Shepard complained. "I don't see how I'm any more intimidating than Hawke is. I mean, that woman is like a pair of razor blades in a tornado when she fights. She even claims that her favorite solution to a problem is to stab it."

"Yes, that's true," Merrill acknowledged. "But to be fair, she's usually smiling when she stabs it."

"You're not wearing armor," Fenris blinked at Shepard in surprise.

A smile lifted the corners of her mouth. "Nope. I've been in armor for days on end now. I figured I'd be safe enough without it."

"The way you play?" Varric's brow lifted. "It's doubtful."

"Bring it, dwarf," Shepard retorted with a grin. "And I'll really scare the piss out of you."

"Where's Blondie?" Varric asked, as Fenris poured a measure of wine into a tankard and handed it to Shepard.

"He's got to keep an eye on his patient," Shepard answered, sipping gingerly. "And you'll be pleased to know I've finally moved out of the clinic."

"I knew it was just a matter of time before this place grew on you," the dwarf said smugly.

"Actually, I moved into Arianni's old place in the alienage."

"No shit?"

"Yep."

"I don't understand the appeal," Fenris said doubtfully.

Varric shook his head. "Not everyone can squat in Hightown, Broody."

Fenris shrugged. "True, I suppose."

Isabela sauntered into Varric's suite, followed a bit too closely by Griffon. The pirate made a swatting motion at the big hound's muzzle. "You're lucky you're not one of my crew," she told the dog sternly. "I had very strict punishments for my men when they got too familiar."

The mabari tilted his head as if to say who, me?

"And don't try the innocent routine with me. I know you too well."

Griffon hung his head and whined softly.

"Nice try," Varric told him, "But I don't think that's going to work with this crowd. Merrill's not here tonight."

"All right," said Hawke as she came into the room, setting her hands on her hips. "Who's been hurting Griffon's feelings?"

Varric gave the dog a sour look. "I stand corrected," he said.

Griffon gave a happy bark and grinned at the dwarf, his tongue lolling out in a smug pant.

"Nobody likes a smartass," muttered Isabela.

"I'm out." Shepard tossed her cards down in disgust.

Varric stared at his cards a moment longer, and then tossed his down as well, sighing gustily. "I should have known, with Isabela dealing," he said sourly. "You still in, Broody?"

Fenris nodded, pushing a few silver coins into the pot.

"You're bluffing," laughed Isabela.

The elf remained cool and unruffled. "There's one way to find out. It will cost you three silver."

The pirate tipped her head and watched him with amusement. "You're on. Hawke?"

Hawke peered at her cards. She smirked. "Personally, I think you're both full of shit. Five to you, Griffon." She flicked the coins onto the pile.

Shepard looked down at the hound next to her, and picked up his cards for him. "What do you think, boy?"

Griffon whined and set his head on his paws.

"The mabari's out," Varric shook his head.

"Fenris?" Hawke asked, her green eyes wide and innocent.

"Five it is. And another three."

Isabela looked from one to the other of them. "Maker's balls…" She sighed, and tossed down her cards. "I'm going to regret this, I just know it."

The rogue and the elf stared at each other. Slowly, Hawke counted out three coins and set them deliberately at the edge of the pot.

"Well?" she said, expectantly.

"Ladies first."

Hawke grinned smugly and laid down her cards one at a time.

Varric whistled. "Shit, Hawke."

Shepard shook her head, her eyes on the elf's face. "Fenris has her."

"There's no way," Isabela declared.

"Broody?"

Silently, the elf set down his hand.

Hawke stared at the cards, mouth agape. "You have got to be shitting me," she thumped the table with her fist.

"Told you." Shepard chuckled as Fenris swept his winnings toward him.

"Andraste's fiery snatch!" Hawke swore.

"Hawke!" The prince of Starkhaven's brogue was pained.

"Sebastian," said Hawke with surprise. "What are you doing here?"

The auburn eyebrows lifted. "Should I take that to mean I'm not welcome?"

"Of course not," said Hawke quickly. "It's just that you usually avoid our card nights."

The prince shrugged. "As I no longer drink or gamble, there would be little reason for me to frequent them."

"So why are you here?" Isabela asked sharply. "Have you suddenly remembered what fun was like?"

"Isabela!"

"What?"

"So, Choir Boy… am I dealing you in or not?" Varric inquired, gesturing with the deck slightly.

Sebastian smiled lightly. "No. Sister Genevieve and I just finished tending to a few of our elderly parishioners," he said, seating himself between Shepard and Griffon. "And I wanted to let Shepard know that the archivist says there's a small section in the library devoted to the study of the heavens."

Shepard gave him a pleased smile. "Excellent. Thanks, Sebastian."

"It was my pleasure," the prince replied.

"Since you are here, perhaps you could hold Griffon's cards for him?" Fenris asked quietly.

Sebastian looked down at the hound and rubbed one cropped ear fondly. "Of course."

"So… Shepard," said Varric as he shuffled the deck. "Why all the interest in the night sky?"

Shepard gave him a sly glance. "Because it's hard to see the stars in the daytime," she answered.

"Ha," Varric replied solemnly. "Really."

"She says she's lost," Isabela offered, draining her tankard. "She's looking for charts for navigation."

"Didn't you look at that map I gave you?" Hawke asked.

"I did," Shepard nodded. "It was a lovely map of Thedas."

"And utterly useless, I imagine," Fenris added.

"That too."

"How far away is your land, Shepard?" Sebastian wondered curiously.

"I have no idea," Shepard answered. "Hence the star charts."

Sebastian frowned. "Did you really not know Thedas existed before you arrived here?"

"Not a clue."

"Your land must be far away indeed."

"Farther than you could believe," Fenris said.

Varric paused in dealing the cards. "Care to share with the group, Broody?"

"It is not my tale to share," the elf replied simply.

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "You didn't tell any of them?"

"No."

"Hmm." Shepard drummed her fingers against the table. "I don't think any of you are quite drunk enough to hear it yet."

Hawke gave her a curious look. "Why do you think we need to be drunk first?"

Shepard laughed shortly. "You wouldn't believe it otherwise."

"You may not even believe it then," Fenris added.

"Now I'm completely intrigued," Varric said, spinning the last card to the table and setting down the deck.

"Tell you what," Shepard offered. "You beat me, and I'll show you."

"You know he dealt, don't you?" Isabela reminded her.

"That was before he knew the stakes," Shepard replied, her eyes on the dwarf.

Varric smiled. "All right, Shepard. I beat your hand, you tell us all where you're from. Exactly." He looked at Fenris. "First bet's to Broody."

The elf wagered two silver. Isabela matched his bet. Hawke raised a silver, "To make it interesting." Griffon matched Hawke's bet and raised a well-chewed stuffed sheep.

Hawke blinked. "That confident, are you?"

Griffon simply gave her a look.

Shepard saw Hawke's bet and glanced at the sheep. "Anybody know what a stuffed animal goes for?"

"It's his pride and joy."

"To him it may be priceless, but I need to know how much I need to call."

"Ten silver," said Sebastian, suddenly.

"Ten?" Shepard said incredulously.

"Yes."

"But it's got a leg chewed off, see?"

"That, and the slobber, are the only reasons I didn't say twenty-five."

Shepard shot the prince a measuring look. He met it with one of guileless innocence.

"Oh, all right." She quickly stacked coins and set them in the center of the table. "There's ten, and another five." Her eyes traveled to Varric. "Eighteen to you, Manliness."

Varric put in twenty.

Fenris bought a card, and then folded.

"Hessarian's poxy arse!" Isabela threw down her cards and crossed her arms on her chest.

Hawke bought two cards, frowned, and stared hard at her hound. Griffon sat up and scratched his ear vigorously.

"Shit." She folded.

Griffon called.

Shepard stared at her cards for a long minute. She bought a card. She stared at her new hand.

With a shrug, she tossed in two extra coins. "You buying, or standing?"

Varric bought three cards.

Shepard laughed. "You were just trying to scare me off, weren't you?"

"Not entirely," he replied, setting down his hand. "Wyvern."

"Ha!" Shepard snorted. "Horseshoes, hand grenades, and orbital bombardment."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I have you beat." She set down her cards and started to reach forward, but was stopped by Sebastian's hand on her arm.

"I'm afraid your shot is just out of the black," he said, laying down Griffon's hand.

Shepard stared at the dog. "Your hindquarters didn't even twitch," she said to him. "Well played, Mister Griffon, well played."

"Woof," said Griffon.

"As for you," she flicked the prince's breastplate, "I'd call that a deliberate suck out. Ten silver." She rolled her eyes. "He probably would have let it go at two. I should have known better than to trust a man who wears a chastity belt."

"Hawke's deal," Fenris noted, pushing the deck across to the rogue.

"The mabari saved your ass that time, Shepard," Varric noted.

"The dog didn't save anyone's ass, shorty. I had you beat fair and square."

"Shorty?!"

"I hear big talk, but I haven't seen shit to back it up," Shepard purred.

"Should I even bother with everyone else?" Hawke asked, shuffling.

"What do you say, Shepard?" Varric asked lazily.

"You sure you're not afraid to go heads up against me?" Shepard's voice was low and husky.

"Mmmm," said Isabela appreciatively. "I'm not."

Sebastian cleared his throat nervously. "Maker. She is still talking about cards, isn't she?"

"Shepard is," Fenris clarified. "Isabela… isn't."

"But… she doesn't look like she's talking about cards…" Sebastian swallowed and looked away from where Shepard was staring intently at the dwarf, her lips curved in a predatory smile.

"She's bluffing," said Varric, off-handedly. "Deal, Hawke."

Shepard laughed and settled back in her chair. "Keep thinking that, dwarf. I play to win."

"Wait," said Hawke, frowning as she dealt out two hands. "Are we still talking about Wicked Grace?"

"Of course," Varric assured the rogue. "From what we've seen, I don't think I'm her type, Hawke."

He raised an eyebrow at the Spectre. "What do you say, Shepard? Double or nothing?"

"Meaning?" Shepard leaned forward to pour herself more wine. "You want a panty ante game?"

"A what?" Varric's broad forehead creased.

"Panty ante," Shepard repeated. "You know… strip poker. Or Diamondback. Whatever."

"Strip… you mean the players actually take off their clothes?" Isabela looked intrigued. "How is it I've never heard of this?"

"To buy in to the game, you have to ante up your panties… er… smallclothes. There are variations on the theme, but Normandy rules state that each player must bet an article of clothing. Weapons, omni-tools, and jewelry aren't accepted as bets."

"It certainly gives new meaning to the name Wicked Grace," Sebastian murmured, flushing slightly. "Although, admittedly, I probably would have been quite the fan of those rules at one point in my life."

Varric shook his head. "That… wasn't what I had in mind, no."

"So?" Shepard gestured with her tankard. "What did you have in mind?"

The dwarf fixed her with a speculative look. "You lose, you not only tell us where exactly you're from, but you explain the things the desire demon showed you."

"What?"

"When we were in the Fade, chasing after that elven kid," Varric clarified. "The desire demon tried to offer you… things. Presumably things that you wanted. Well," he gave a shrug, "none of it made any sense to us, and my curiosity has been plaguing me ever since."

Shepard's forehead wrinkled. "Why didn't you ask before?"

"Never seemed like the right time. We were generally talking about privies."

"What leads you to believe that it'll make any more sense after I've tried to explain it?" Shepard demanded.

Varric smiled. "I don't."

A sudden and altogether evil smile slowly crept over Shepard's features. "All right," she announced. "You've got a deal. BUT…" her eyes narrowed slightly, "if I win, you tell me why you named your crossbow Bianca."

Varric's eyes narrowed as well. There was a long moment of eye wrestling. Then the dwarf grinned lazily.

"Sounds fair."

"Good," Shepard scooped up her cards.

"One round to buy cards, then we both show our hands," Varric said, retrieved his cards more slowly.

Shepard nodded, her eyes on her draw.

"Exciting," Isabela breathed to Hawke. "Either way, we win."

Shepard bought a card. So did Varric.

Shepard laid hers down. "Perfect run."

Varric smiled. "Broody's lucky hand. Four serpents."

"Shit!" Shepard thumped the table. She eyed Hawke suspiciously. "This was a set up, wasn't it?"

Hawke blinked innocently. "How could you say such a thing?"

"I've seen how you two work, that's how."

"I'm hurt," said Varric. "And you're a poor loser."

"Of course I am. I don't lose very often."

"Enjoy the novelty, then," Varric suggested. "And let me have Edwina get us another round."

"You'll need more than one," Shepard warned. "Because I don't want to hear the words that's impossible out of any of you. Got me?"

"You really believe that your friends are so close minded?" Sebastian asked gently.

It was Fenris who answered for her. "Yes."

Shepard raised a hand eloquently.

"If you agree to listen to this, you will have your understanding of what is and isn't possible tested. If you aren't comfortable with that, I suggest you leave now," Shepard continued. "I'm not going to be responsible for any crises of faith or existence."

Her eyes traveled around the table. "I can guarantee that you won't always understand what I'm trying to tell you. It's not something I'm doing to piss you off, or to be deliberately patronizing, or as an attempt to confuse or misdirect. Things really are just that different where I come from."

Edwina brought two pitchers of ale, and another two bottles of wine.

"Shit, Shepard," Varric told her as the waitress left, "you make it sound mystical and life-altering."

She snorted. "Hardly mystical. Possibly life-altering."

"Well, come on," Isabela urged.

"Everybody sure they want to stay for this?"

Hawke rolled her eyes. "No more stalling, Shepard!"

Shepard took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

"I was born in a very large city called Los Angeles, in a land called California, on the continent known as North America, on the planet known to its inhabitants as Earth. Earth is the third planet from the sun of our system, which is called Sol."

As she spoke, she brought up a holographic representation of the Sol system on her omni-tool.

"This is the Sol system," she said softly. "And this is Earth," she indicated the globe hovering between the orbits of Venus and Mars.

The holograph zoomed in, and a projection of Earth hovered over Shepard's arm, turning lazily.

"I was on a weapon circling Earth when it… fired. When I woke up, I was here on Thedas."

She switched the view to a 2-D global map of Earth. "Although I wouldn't call geography my strong suit, I know all the lands on Earth," she continued, running her fingers over the map. "Thedas is not one of them."

Shepard looked around the table to see if this had sunk in. "What's more, I know each of the planets in the Sol system. Thedas cannot be located on any one of them."

"I am lost," she said vehemently. "I could be anywhere in the galaxy. Any one of the stars you see in the sky could be Sol. I have no idea which."

An edge of panic dragged its way across Shepard's thoughts. Shit. I was trying so hard not to think about just how fucking difficult this situation is.

She cleared her throat, and took a generous sip of wine. "Earth is a technologically advanced planet. Far more technologically advanced than the whole of Thedas. In comparison, Thedas is somewhere between five hundred and a thousand years behind Earth - that is, some of the cultures on Earth were technologically similar to Thedas over five hundred years ago. Not exactly, of course - I don't know if it's even possible for two different cultures to progress in exactly the same fashion, even if they are similar in many ways - but roughly speaking."

"But…" Sebastian whispered.

"Try some wine. It will help," offered Fenris.

Shepard gulped wine again. "We - that is, the people of Earth - became space-faring over two hundred years ago. To our moon first, and later to Mars, and then the outer planets of our system."

"Wait," said Varric. "You're saying that… shit, I don't know what you're saying."

Shepard looked at him sympathetically. "I did warn you."

She sighed. "Let's start again. This," she brought up a picture of LA, taken a few years before she enlisted, "is the city I was born in."

The megatropolis of Los Angeles cut the sky in the photo. It was sleek, and glassy, and it glittered like a fever dream.

"The population is… was… just under nine million people."*

She zoomed out, to a dayside satellite photo of California, brown and green and gleaming silver. "This is California," she said. "It's on the large side of medium for a state of the United North American States."

"And this is the United North American States," she zoomed out again. "Practically the whole bloody continent."

Another zoom. "Earth. Eleven and a half billion people, before the Reapers came."

The little blue globe twinkled as it spun in the image, serene and peaceful. Shepard didn't want to remember what it had looked like from the bridge of the Normandy in the hours prior to Hammer's final assault.

"You're saying that Thedas is like… what? Your United North Whatever States?" Hawke asked, staring avidly at the omni-tool's projection.

"In structure, yes. I'm assuming that Thedas is one of the major continents on this world." She shrugged. "It's only a best guess."

"So, then, our world would look something like that, too, wouldn't it? If you were up high enough in the sky?"

"Again, yes, I'm assuming it would be similar. Maybe not as much water. Maybe more. Who knows?"

"How… is that even… who painted that? And where could it have been painted from?" Sebastian whispered.

Shepard smiled. "It's a photo, not a painting. An actual moment in time, captured electronically." She keyed up a recent file addition. "See? Look familiar?"

It was the same room Sebastian was sitting in, but from the reverse angle. Where Shepard was now sitting Anders stood, upper body bare, head turned so that he could look over his left shoulder. In one corner, Varric could be seen, his forehead resting against his palm.

"You… were able to save that?" Hawke choked. "Maker, Justice is going to kill Anders." She squinted at Shepard. "Or maybe just you."

"Oh, it gets better," Shepard assured her. "This is actually vid. Er… moving pictures. Watch."

The image of Anders wiggled its bottom from side to side playfully.

"You did not!" Isabela shrieked. "I want one!"

"Shepard, you have blackmail material forever," Varric approved. He frowned. "But remind me never to get drunk in your presence."

"That… actually happened?" Sebastian asked. "Here, in Varric's suite?"

"Yep. A week ago or so."

"So, you made this… or I should say those images? The ones you showed us before?"

"The one of the city, yeah," Shepard told him. "The others, no. All but the last one were GPS photos - from a…" she paused, frowning, as she tried to explain, "…a machine that circles the Earth and lets people know where they are."

"The last one," Shepard brought the image up again and tilted her head. "Hmmm… not taken from Luna - that's our moon - but from high earth orbit. Look," she pointed to one edge of the blue globe, "you can just see Luna right there, shadowed by the planet."

She thought for a moment. "That would mean it was probably taken more than thirty-five thousand kilometers above the planet. Or… umm… twenty-four - no, twenty-two - thousand miles."

Sebastian's jaw dropped. "That's…"

"Don't say it," Shepard warned.

"But…"

"Wine, Sebastian," Fenris said flatly, handing him a tankard. "Trust me."

Hawke suddenly pointed a finger at Varric, who wore a slightly glazed expression. "And you said my idea was daft! Makes a lot more sense than this does, doesn't it?"

The dwarf shook his head, and quickly drained his tankard, refilling both his and Hawke's mugs from the pitcher.

"Shepard was right about one thing," he muttered. "I am in no way drunk enough for this."

Shepard smiled faintly as she searched for other images. "This is one of the first space-going vehicles. It's destination was Luna - the moon. The people on board were the first humans to set foot off the planet."

Shepard looked fondly at the image of the Apollo 11 rocket in its launch tower. "It was terribly crude, and I have no idea how they actually managed to get it to work," she said. "But they did. And never looked back."

She paused for a moment, struck dumb by a sudden lump in her throat that took a considerable amount of wine to ease.

"This… this is the Normandy. SSV Normandy SR-2. My ship. My home."

"That's your ship?!" Isabela gasped. "She's not meant for the water at all!"

Shepard shook her head. "No." She drained the last of her wine, and refilled her tankard.

She gestured to the others at the table. "Drink up. You'll really need it for the next bit."

"Why?" Varric asked suspiciously. "Is there really something stranger than all this?"

Shepard's lips lifted, although the result was not exactly a smile. "You did say you wanted an explanation for what the demon offered me, didn't you?"

"Oh," Varric mumbled. "That." He finished the remainder of his tankard, and once again refilled it. "Hawke?"

Hawke was sitting with her elbow propped on the table and her chin in her hand. She appeared fascinated. "What?" she asked. Varric waved the pitcher, and she shook her head slightly. "No. I'm good."

"Suit yourself."

"Ready?" Shepard asked the group.

Sebastian held up a hand for a moment, and emptied the tankard Fenris had poured him. "Perhaps another?" he gasped, grimacing at the tannins in the wine.

Fenris smiled at him, and took up the bottle to pour him a second.

The prince gave Shepard a tight nod. "Go ahead."

Shepard paged through some photos, looking for the one she wanted. "We eventually found that we - humans - weren't the only space-faring species in the galaxy. Although we got of to something of a rocky start with the galactic community, we eventually took our place with other species in the Council, which is… was… the galactic governing body."

The photo she wanted had been taken more than a month ago, in the Normandy's lounge. "My crew," she said. "And some of my old team."

"Vega, Cortez, Traynor, Daniels, Donnelly," she recited. "Adams, Chakwas." She took a breath. "Joker. Me."

That was it for the human contingent. "Mordin Solus. Urdnot Wrex. Liara T'soni. EDI." Her voice broke. "Garrus Vakarian."

"Garrus?" said Isabela in surprise. "That's the real Garrus?!"

Shepard's eyes burned, but what tears there were had fallen the night she'd mourned with Fenris. "Yes," she said shortly.

"Your best friend, you said," Isabela continued, staring.

"Yes," it was a hoarse whisper. Shepard reached for her tankard. A tiny bit of wine caught in the corner of her mouth as she pulled greedily at the liquid inside.

"Maker's cock and balls," were Isabela's final words on the subject.

"Mordin is… was a salarian. Wrex is a krogan, Liara an asari. And Garrus is turian," Shepard tried to keep her voice level and matter of fact, deliberately choosing to use the present tense for those she'd last seen alive.

Varric frowned. "You were right, Hawke. A parade of kossith wouldn't make an impression on these people."

"Kossith?" Shepard asked curiously.

"The qunari ox-men," Hawke replied.

Varric was staring intently at the picture. "But I don't see what's his name."

"Thane," Hawke supplied.

Shepard quickly banished the image, her hands falling to her lap for a moment. "Thane was on the Citadel when that picture was taken," she said quietly. "He… he was terminally ill, and required daily medical treatment."

Fenris caught up the second wine bottle, removed the cork, and topped up Shepard's tankard.

She gave him a grateful smile. "Thanks." Slowly, she raised the wine to her lips and sipped silently.

The others watched her in various attitudes of puzzlement.

After a moment, Shepard put down the tankard and keyed up the omni-tool again, searching for the picture she wanted. It was one she'd looked at for hours in her cell in Vancouver. Not the one she'd had on her desk in the loft up until the time she'd turned the Normandy over to the Alliance - that one showed the two of them together, taken in the VIP lounge at Afterlife, of all places, by a surreptitiously lurking Tali. (Shepard had complained bitterly at the time, and then secretly asked the quarian to send her a copy.) She tried not to look at that photo at all any more. It hurt too much.

This picture was just so quintessentially Thane, save for the fact he was wearing only a pair of form-hugging pants and not his leather and armor. In the image, he was standing in a relaxed parade rest, every line of his body speaking of deadly grace momentarily stilled. There was a faint smile curving his perfect lips, but his dark eyes were inscrutable, mysterious.

Assassin. Friend. Lover.

Shepard clenched her teeth, and tried to steady her arm and voice.

"Thane Krios," she said. "A drell assassin. Also one of my former team. And my lover." For way too short a time.

Sebastian choked on his wine. "That was your… You and he… Maker preserve me!"

"An assassin?" said Isabela with interest. She leaned forward to get a better view. "Exotic," she murmured. "But I think I can see the appeal."

"You would, Rivaini," Varric said dryly.

Hawke leaned forward as well. "Those eyes just swallow you, don't they?" she commented.

"Mmm. It's those lips."

"The lips go without saying."

"And that taut stomach… that little bit of hipbone you can see peeking out of his waistband…" Isabela nodded. "Yes, I can definitely see the appeal."

She gave Shepard a speculative look. "What about…"

"Isabela!" snapped Sebastian.

Hawke also gave Shepard a look. "Was it…"

"Hawke!"

"I still think he looks like what you'd get if you fucked a dragon," Varric stated. "But clearly in a good way," he added, as two pair of green eyes and one pair of amber all glared at him.

Shepard dismissed the photo and reached for her wine again. "Thane was killed by another assassin," she said quietly, pleased that her voice only wavered slightly. "He… survived the initial attack, but his body was too far depleted by his illness to recover."

I love you. If all else whispers back into the tide, know this for fact.

Thane's last words to her, received after his death, echoed in her head.

Shepard ran a hand through her hair. "I loved him more than I'd ever loved another person." She laughed hollowly. "Never considered myself a xenophile, but I suppose it's hard to get around the fact that my best friend and my lover were both from alien species."

She stared into nothing. "I never believed much of anything, but Thane's people had a belief that they would be reunited with their loved ones after death. It's the only religious or spiritual thing I've ever truly wanted to believe."

I will await you across the sea.

"Anyway," Shepard shook herself and fixed her eyes on Varric. "You wanted it, you got it."

"And the scenes of… war, destruction?" Hawke asked, before Varric could respond. "Was that something like the Blight?"

"Worse," Shepard said flatly. "This Blight of yours was stopped before it could pass the borders of a single country. The Reaper invasion covered the entire galaxy. Not just Earth, but the homeworlds of almost all the Council species were hit hard. I think Sur'kesh - the salarian homeworld - probably got off the lightest. The rest were just… devastated."

"The goal of the Reapers was to harvest all advanced organic life, everywhere in the galaxy. They'd been doing this every fifty thousand years for god knows how long." Her eyes glinted fiercely. "But we stopped them."

"What you saw was the final attack by ground forces. The last thing I saw of my homeworld." Shepard dredged up a picture - a street near the Thames, with the old Parliment buildings and Big Ben in the background. "It was a city called London. This is what it looked like before the Reapers." Her mouth twisted grimly. "You saw what it looked like afterward."

Shepard downed the remainder of her wine.

"What happened?" Hawke asked quietly. "You said you stopped them?"

"I destroyed them. Destroyed them all, and every bit of Reaper technology along with them. At least," she added conscientiously, "I think I did."

"You?" said Varric, incredulously. "By yourself?"

"I triggered the weapon that would destroy them. The weapon itself was built by teams of scientists from all races, using plans that had been passed down from cycle to cycle. The people of the last Reaper cycle - fifty thousand years ago - were called the Protheans, and they nearly managed to finish the weapon's design before they were wiped out."

"Ships from every fleet in the galaxy helped to get the weapon to Earth to be deployed. Soldiers from every armed force landed on Earth and helped make the final assault that got us - me - to the weapon. My team, my crew…"

"So, no, I didn't do it alone. I was just the only one left to pull the damn trigger, that's all."

"You were the only one left?" Hawke whispered, aghast.

"Only two of us made it to the weapon itself, that I know of. Anderson - a friend, a mentor, and a damn fine soldier - and I got that far. But there was a… traitor, an agent of the Reapers… waiting for us. Anderson wasn't in good shape to begin with - hell, neither of us were - but he took a lot of damage in that fight. I'm pretty sure he… didn't make it," Shepard's voice thickened.

I'm proud of you, Shepard.

"He lost consciousness before I triggered the weapon. He may have been dead even then. I don't know."

Shepard rubbed the back of her neck. "There was red fire, and then nothing. And I woke up here, in Darktown, on a cot in Anders' clinic.

Am I on Earth?

No. You're on a cot. Although I admit, the earth may be cleaner…

"But what the blazes is a Reaper?!" Isabela demanded.

"Reapers are sentient synthetic-organic constructs. Machines, essentially," Shepard brought up a holographic image. "This one called itself Harbinger." Her lips curled back from her teeth. "I would have loved to kill that bastard face to face," she growled. "But I didn't get a chance to face it until the final push, and by then all I could think about was sending them all to hell. Each and every one of them."

"For scale, this is a human," she added, adding a second image.

"Where?" Hawke asked.

"There. That little speck."

"Andraste's asschecks, that's huge," Varric breathed.

"Yes. And hard to kill."

"How many of these are we talking?"

Shepard shrugged. "I don't know. Thousands? Enough to destroy all advanced life across a galaxy, anyway."

"And, just for clarification," Sebastian said slowly, "Thedas is somehow part of this galaxy?"

"I certainly hope so," Shepard said fervently.

"Then I suppose we owe you our lives," the prince of Starkhaven said solemnly.

"Possibly, I guess. Although it's also possible that you would have been left alone, for the next cycle."

"Perhaps our great-great-great-great… etc… grandchildren's lives, then," said Hawke lightly. "Provided of course, that we have some. In this group, that's hardly a certainty."

"And you do not know the fate of your world… of your friends… now?"

Shepard shook her head mutely.

Sebastian laid one hand on her shoulder gently. "I am sorry. That must be… difficult."

"Difficult doesn't begin to cover it," she replied shortly. "But thanks."

Varric tilted his head. "You really weren't kidding about your body count, were you?"

Shepard took a deep breath and let it out in a weary sigh. "Manliness, you have no idea. I've even destroyed an entire star system."

"Remind me again never to piss you off."