Still with me out there in FFland? Yeah? Just checking.

I still own nothing.

"You know, in your heart, that you will never be free from her as long as she lives sorella," I tell Leliana, never shifting my gaze away from her former lover.

"And what makes you think that she would ever hold the same value in that word as you obviously do?" Marjolaine taunts with an embittered laugh, there's no question that she is grasping at the most feeble things now to delay her death, "She will betray you Warden, just as she has so many others, in order to save herself."

"I trust Leliana, no matter what slander that you vomit, so keep your vile tongue to yourself. Unless you wish me to remove it that is," I maliciously growl before I can stop myself.

"Thank you," my heart breaks at my Orlesian sister's mournful timbre, "But you are right. After all of the pain and suffering she has wrought, I cannot simply walk away and allow her to spread her poison. J'ai essayé d'être miséricordieux Marjolaine, mais vous me donnez pas le choix."

The elder spy's face twists with anger and she calls for her guards to aid her, but Zevran's patronizing chortle gives her pause. "Your guards are dead mia caro, I'm afraid that no one is coming to your rescue this time."

"And I wouldn't count on the city watch hearing your cry for help either," Alistair comments, still cleaning the blood of the aforementioned guards from under his nails with a knife, "It pays to be friends with a few mages who know how to keep things quiet, if you know what I mean."

I adjust my grip on her hair and wrench her head back, exposing her neck to my dagger, "I've been waiting a long time to free Leliana from her fear of you," I begin to put pressure on her throat, but in a blur, Leliana beats me by plunging a dagger into the woman's heart.

As Marjolaine slumps forward, I glance towards the bard, who now has Wynne wrapped around her as she sobs. "I can't believe I killed her," the bard simpers even as her Antivan lover sidles up and lays a hand on her shoulder, "She's dead because of me..."

The Crow and I exchange a look and he nods in understanding, "Why don't you come back to the tavern with Wynne and I amore?"

She hiccups her assent and they step around Sten as he comes in to help with the heavy lifting. "We'll meet you back there in a couple of hours, I still want to talk to Genitivi's assistant before we have to leave," I call out just before they disappear out the door.

When we are finished scrounging for things to sell, Alistair puts a hand on my arm as we are leaving, "What did Marjolaine mean when she asked if you thought Leli held the same value to a word as you? What word was she talking about?"

I adjust the weighty bag on my shoulder so the thin ropes aren't catching on my buckles, "She was making an inference to the word sorella, but her ultimate goal was to discredit Leliana and make me doubt her."

"Sorella. I've heard Zevran call you the same thing," he muses, stealing my bag and throwing it over his shoulder, "I thought it was some kind of Antivan title or something. What does it really mean?"

"It is a title, of a sort," I qualify and motion for Morrigan, still in the shape of a black dog, to follow us down the alley after I hurriedly wipe my leathers off, "Not a royal one or anything. It means sister."

"So Zevran and Leliana consider you a sister?" his eyebrows nearly disappear into his hairline, "Wow, I wasn't expecting that. The way he says it makes it sound so, I don't know, dirty. I was starting to worry that I was going to have to fight him to keep you."

I reach up and pat his breastplate approximately where his ring should hang, "You have nothing to worry about from Zevran-or Leli for that matter- I promise."

Morrigan rumbles in disgust, then dips into a darkened alcove. "I'm going to gouge my eyes out if you two keep on with these sickening displays of affection," the witch snarks as she appears in human form a minute later.

"Then you might want to find yourself a sharp stick to carry around," my adoring companion cheekily responds and presses his lips to mine.

"I believe that is the domicile you are seeking," our resident Qunari interrupts with a nod towards a nondescript building, so we shuffle over and rap on the door.

"Maybe no one is home?" my spouse unhelpfully offers when there is still no answer after a fifth knock.

"No, I can hear someone or something moving around inside," I counter, reaching for my lock picks. Havoc lets out his doggie laugh as I deftly unlock the door. "What? Whoever it is could be hurt right? What kind of people would we be if we just walked away?"

"Have I told you lately how much I love that devious mind of yours?" my fellow Warden snickers while my warhound rolls his eyes. I shrug a shoulder and ease the door wide enough for us to slip into the building.

It takes no time at all to find the source of the noise I'd heard. A dark haired man is frantically shoving books into a bag. "Are you Weylon?"

He nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of my voice. "What? Yes," he confirms, a hand still clutching his chest as he swivels around to look at us, "What do you need? Brother Genitivi isn't available at the moment and won't be back for some time."

Something about his demeanor makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up, but I keep my composure relaxed and gesture to his bags, "Are you going to see him? If so, my companions and I would be happy to escort you, we have urgent business with him."

A fine sheen of perspiration erupts on the man's forehead and he shakes his head, "No, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm just packing these up on his orders."

"So you've been in contact with him recently then?" Alistair prods, the barely perceptible wrinkle between his eyebrows alerting me that he isn't fooled either, "We wouldn't ask if the situation wasn't dire."

"Yes—no, I mean I haven't been in direct contact with him, if that's what you're asking," the now obvious imposter rambles, his eyes wildly looking for a way out, "I received a message a few weeks ago, from that inn on Lake Calenhad. They—it said-"

I raise a hand to stop him, "They? What they? Are you talking about the Redcliffe knights, did they finally find him?"

"Yes, I think so," the fake Weylon smiles in relief, "So you can understand why I'm in such a rush to get everything cleaned up."

My mabari grumbles, not believing a word out of the man's mouth and I'm inclined to agree. "Do I really look that stupid to you? Is it the hair that makes people think that I'm a complete moron? I just spoke with one of the knights this morning and there wasn't a peep about Brother Genitivi being found."

The interloper's hands suddenly crackle with electricity, "I tried to dissuade you, but I should have known that a pompous bitch like you would never seen reason!"

"Morrigan!" Alistair booms, his own extremities taking on an azure hue.

The swamp witch leaps back, crashing into her lover's side, as Alistair releases a smite and robs the other man of his mana. The imitation Welyon slumps at the sudden loss of power, but draws a knife from his belt and rakes it across his palm.

Not waiting to see what he is planning, our two warriors charge at the newly revealed maleficar. Beside me, Morrigan hurls a stream of ice as she shrieks that blood magic is only used by the weak. I order Havoc to protect her and slink around behind the chaos to get a better shot.

Though I manage a few jabs, I don't have the chance to finish him, as the Qunari's blade rends the man's head from his shoulders. Throwing myself sideways, I avoid being struck by the sword, but am not so fortunate when it comes to the crimson fountain that sprouts from the wound.

I apathetically watch the twitching body drop to the stone, then wipe the gore from my eyes and do a damage assessment. "Dammit Sten, I just got this armor clean! Do you have any idea how long it's been since my armor smelled like something besides a slaughterhouse? Almost a year, that's how long! I've constantly been plagued with the smell of blood since..." I lose my voice, remembering how the scent of blood first began to cling to me.

"I may have found something of use," Morrigan banters as she and Alistair emerge from a back room, my husband lugging a large trunk.

"It looks like Genitivi's research on the location of the Ashes," he offers in way of further explanation, "We should be on our way before any of that one's friends come calling."

I give an absent nod, "It's a good thing we were planning on leaving this afternoon anyways, I don't want to have to explain this to Seargent Kylon after he so graciously overlooked our outlaw status."

The others agree and we easily strip the place of anything that could prove useful before wiping the worst of the day's gore from our gear. Only minutes have passed when we escape out the back door and race back to the relative safety of the inn where the rest of our party awaits.

Wynn is the first to spot us when we pad into the common area. "Where have you been and why do you all smell like you've taken a bath in blood?"

I pull my hood back and shrug, "Weylon is dead. We killed the man pretending to be him, the guy happened to be a blood mage, which is why we smell like we do, and we have to be out of the city gates in under an hour. The rest can wait."

Noticing my 'don't mess with me' expression, she scurries off to tell the others and gather her belongings. I make to follow, waving off the barkeep's offer of a drink, and try to ignore the feeling of being watched.

Alistair, swiftly packing the few things we didn't get stowed away this morning, gives me a quick glance as I enter our room. "Too many Templars in the area to have missed that fight. They can't sense blood mages, but I don't think we ought to take any chances. We're going to have to move fast though or we'll find ourselves locked in and getting searched before we can leave."

"Oh my..." A puffy eyed, red nosed Leliana gasps as she walks in, then turns on her heel, excusing herself to collect her gear.

"That answers my question," I mutter, hefting my pack on and patting my leg for Havoc to follow.

"Which question?" my beloved queries when he catches up.

"Whether she was still upset with me or not. Sod it all, let's get the hell out of here before we end up getting a tour of Fort Drakon."

I know this is short, but if I kept the chapter the way it originally was, my fingers would have fallen off lol.

Translation

J'ai essayé d'être miséricordieux Marjolaine, mais vous me donnez pas le choix. -French-I tried to be merciful Marjolaine, but you give me no choice.