Lunch was cheese and bread taken in the carriage as it pushed westward towards Highever, the rain unrelenting and turning the road beneath them to muck that sucked at their wheels and the horses' hooves. Due to the weather, they didn't make it into Gosport, the closest settlement to Amaranthine, until well after the world had darkened around them.

Gosport consisted of a cluster of about thirty stone homes on a low bluff overlooking a bay lined with the basics- a general store, an inn, a commerce office, and a Chantry. Further up the road and on a higher bluff, there was a keep overlooking this sparse collection of humanity. The lord here was Bann Fuller and he was notable throughout the arling for being engagingly eccentric.

"We'll probably see Fuller at the inn," Brand smirked, the first real expression she'd put on since they began their day's travels. "Trying, as ever, to get up Erin's skirts."

Erin was one of the siblings who operated the Brother and Sisters Inn. While the building itself was weather-beaten bordering on dilapidated, the establishment was one of the highlights of traveling the coastlands. The Amells, Erin, Beatrice, and Coire, were quick-witted and good-hearted and they filled their tavern with laughter, games and some of the best food to be found in all of Ferelden.

Ducking in from outside, especially in inclement weather, was like stumbling into a different world. The interior of the inn was cozy despite high ceilings and lit warmly with strategically placed lamps and candles that made the entire place glow. Tables were kept to the edges of the common room, one side for dining and the other for recreation.

On a normal night, Brand would be happy to surround herself with the high spirited Amells, but this was not a normal night. Besides Bryce, who had remained morose all day, Anders was also uncharacteristically withdrawn. As soon as they realized Bryce was settled into a mood, Anders had given up on being cheerful or social.

Then there was the small matter of Beatrice Amell, the eldest of the three. Bea was pretty, pink-cheeked and voluptuous with glossy honey-brown hair and a dizzy, inviting smile. More importantly, she was the only other woman Anders had ever seemed to actually care about in the five years that Brand had known him. He'd briefly left the Wardens a few months before Teagan's death and, although it was under the guise of traveling, Brand had assumed he would end up either settling in Gosport or whisking Bea away to join him in his new life as a wandering apostate.

The group was accosted as soon as they entered the foyer, which was a spacious room decorated in whimsical paintings and sculptures crafted by the siblings themselves. It was Erin who greeted them, curly black locks hastily pinned away from her round, freckled face. She was the youngest of the trio, not yet twenty, but she had become a favorite of Lord Fuller, despite her common status. Unlike her sister, who had a convivial manner even when she was teasing one of their patrons, Erin's sense of humor was far more pointed and her dark eyes sparked with mischief even as she offered a polite bow to Brand.

"Commander! We heard that you were traveling!" She was already pulling out the room records to make their accommodations. "Although we hoped you'd arrived sooner. We just ran out of that tea from Seheron you love. Won't get more for another week. Of course, you're always welcome to stay until we do."

Her gaze flitted to Alistair, who, to Brand's amusement, seemed to find the young woman quite intriguing.

"Who told you we were coming through?" Brand was not upset to hear their arrival had been announced, she imagined that word of much worse would be spreading soon enough if it hasn't gotten around already.

"You'll have to ask Bea," this time Erin's eyes sought out Anders. "She's the one who can get people to talk about these things."

Brand felt a pinprick of jealousy when she saw Anders' face brighten slightly at the mention of Bea's name and, as if that's all it took to summon her, she was in the doorway between the foyer and the dining room, looking uncommonly bright and pretty as a new copper.

Seeing her made Brand feel about a million things- scrawny, scraggly and broken not the least amongst them.

"Good evening, Commander!" She was too polite to jump directly to Anders, although her excitement at seeing Brand and Fiona was genuine. "Your brother's messenger was by a few days ago, stopped for a rest so he wouldn't kill himself on the road. Said you'd be heading to Highever," she turned to Erin. "Have you assigned their rooms yet, sister?"

"Yes, in the one minute since they've walked through the door I've gotten them checked-in," the curve of her mouth belied the bite of her tone.

"One minute? You should have this down to half that by now," Bea went to look at the ledger over Erin's shoulder. "Do you at least know how many rooms they need?"

"We'll need one single, two double-singles and one double," Brand paused to rework the math in her head.

"Actually, can we get two singles?" This request came from Anders, who was watching Bea over Bryce's head, the child dozing in his arms.

"Um," Brand felt her cheeks go crimson. "Yes, of course."

"Did you get that, sister?" Bea was on the move again, catching Brand's elbow to lead her into the dining room.

"Yes, yes. I'll have your keys to you in a few moments," Erin gave Bea a meaningful look and Brand was starting to get the sense that this was another horrible miscalculation on her part.

It wasn't long, though, before they were comfortably seated with warm ciders in front of them and listening to Coire Amell talk about The Beards of Gosport, a new "social club" formed by the men in the area.

"And we all have to grow great, burly beards and whoever ends up with the burliest beard by Wintersend wins," Coire scratched at his own coppery scruff, which was in sharp contrast to his disheveled thatch of dark brown hair. "I imagine the only worthwhile prize will be getting to shave."

Brand shifted in her seat, ill at ease despite the handmade cushions beneath her backside. Anders was not with them. Anders was at the bar, talking to Bea, their heads close and their conversation involving hands being placed on each other's arms with alarming frequency. Erin breezed by them and received orders of some sort from her sister, which sent her hurrying to the foyer.

"We're locking up for the night," Coire had a wash cloth and he held an end in each hand, twirling it until it wrapped tight around itself and then snapping one end at his sister as she approached.

"Ow," she took a seat next to Nathaniel, who blushed a bit under her gaze. "The kitchen is still open. We have some coddle made fresh this afternoon and a loaf of soda bread straight from the oven, if you'd like it."

Brand's stomach growled at the mention of food and they all agreed that stew sounded like an excellent idea after traveling in the chill and rain. Erin left to get their order together and Coire placed one large hand on Brand's shoulder.

"I think I could play a round of Alouette," he gestured to an empty table on the other side of the common room. "Would anyone like to join me? I've been on a losing streak this week, so if you're feeling lucky you might want to place a wager."

Sigrun all but bounced out of her chair. Card games were her favorite thing outside of...outside. Nathaniel watched his fellow Warden with amusement and shrugged, "I'm not feeling unlucky, so maybe I can make enough coin to buy another round of cider."

Coire held his hand out towards Fiona, "We need one more, m'lady, and I know how you adore wiping the floor with me."

The last time they stayed, Fiona had pocketed almost ten sovereigns in winnings from the very game they would be playing. Brand waved her hand in an encouraging gesture. If everyone else was occupied, she could at least talk to Alistair about the Crows, the one thing likely to keep her from thinking about Anders and Bea, who were now practically in each other's laps at the bar.

Fiona relented, allowing herself to be lead by Coire across the room, his height and broad-shoulders making her seem far more petite than she actually was.

Brand and Alistair sat in silence for several minutes, staring into their mugs and enjoying being indoors and not swaying down a bumpy road. Bryce slept soundly on a nearby bench, wrapped in Anders' cloak, a ribbon of drool connecting his mouth with the fabric.

"So what is your boyfriend doing, exactly?" Alistair's tone was carefully neutral when he asked this. Brand knew she should just ignore him, but she was trying to figure out the very thing, frustration at her own stupid jealousy making everything seem so much worse than it really was.

"Beatrice is a..." Brand wasn't quite sure how to put it. Anders had several ex-lovers, half-finished flings and women he'd kissed and forgotten. But Bea was not like those women to him, and he'd never really talked to Brand about her besides to make that point. "She has a twin sister in the Circle. I think her name is...Lucille. Anyway, Bea was supposed to help Anders evade the templars the last time he escaped the Tower. He ended up in the Wardens before he made it to Gosport, but we stayed here a few times and they..."

"Bonded?" Alistair lips quirked and he had to know Brand would get the insinuation.

"Yes," Brand hated how cranky she sounded. "Anders and Lucille were friends and Bea is hugely pro-mage freedom. She's also pretty which is all he really needs to be impressed."

Good thing you look so nice in green, Brandelyn.

From Alistair's expression, she could tell that he agreed about the pretty. It didn't help that Erin was approaching with their wooden bowls of stew, her cheeks rosier than normal as she carefully set their food in front of them, her eyes never leaving Alistair.

"So, Bann Fuller didn't make an appearance this evening?" Brand hoped that this didn't come out as tersely as it felt on her tongue. The question startled Erin but she recovered with a wry grin.

"Turns out he was able to find himself a noble woman who could withstand his...weirdness," Erin pushed a few curls from her forehead."They're not yet wed, but she's already moved into his estate. I think she's from Navarre, maybe? Has a ton of staff with her, giggly women who come down here every morning and flirt with Coire. Fuller hasn't visited since he announced his betrothal," she ducked her head in embarrassment. "For...obvious reasons."

Brand snatched a piece of bread and popped it into her mouth, chewing slowly as an excuse to not comment. As arlessa, she should have known that Bann Fuller was engaged to a noblewoman from Navarre. It was her business to make these trivialities her business.

"How long has this been going on?" She spoke with her mouth full.

Erin shrugged and gathered their empty mugs, "Lady Isobel arrived...a week before Satinalia, I believe. I'd ask Bea if you want an exact date...she'll remember better than anyone."

She left them to their dinner, hustling to serve the others who were involved in what sounded like a very intense and entertaining game of cards.

"I suppose now is a good time to talk," Alistair had somehow demolished almost half of his coddle, along with most of their bread.

"Maker, I forgot how you could eat," not that Brand had room to judge, as she was quite capable of packing it away. "Anyway, yes. Tell me what you know."

He ceased his shoveling and leaned back in his chair, eyes contemplative.

"You know a little about the Crows, from Zevran and those contracts we took during the Blight, right?"

Brand gave a short nod.

"Well, I thought I knew about the Crows, too. I was doing some mercenary work in the Free Marches and it wasn't going too well. I met this Antivan named Nico who said he could get me a job if I wanted to go with him back to Antiva," from the tone of his voice when he said Nico, this was the most positive memory he had of the man. "So I agreed. Anything had to be better than the situation I was in, right?"

"I assume," she longed to ask for details, but details might be the sort of thing that could drag her down roads she truly did not wish to travel.

"The work seemed incredibly straightforward. At first," he paused and stared into his cider, obviously wishing it was something much, much stronger. "You see, the Crows aren't just assassins. They're infiltrators and they've created a web within Antivan society that makes it theirs. Everything anyone does in Antiva comes into contact with this web."

"So you were actually working for the Crows?" She twisted slightly to better see him, suddenly fascinated by what he was saying. "Unknowingly, of course."

"No," this was absolute. "I never worked for the Crows, knowingly or unknowingly," he took a long swig of cider, his throat strenuously working to make it the most involved drink of beverage ever. "I was a messenger, of a sort, for a company that got information on planned hits and warned the marks of their impending assassinations. I'd get a handful of stones, an address, sometimes a name, and Nico and I would ride to that address and tell them they'd had a contract put out for them. We'd give them the stones and leave."

"Wait...what?" This made no sense to Brand as a business, "How does one make money off of this sort of thing? Wouldn't the Crows just keep trying? And...what did the stones mean?"

Now Alistair looked extraordinarily guilty, and his face had gone a strange shade of yellow that did not suit him at all. Running her finger along the table to mop up some gravy that had dribbled from her spoon, she then wiped her hand on the napkin beside her plate. She wanted him to realize that he could take his time, she wasn't going to force this out of him.

"Those are all questions I should have asked myself before I got involved," his fingers twitched against his mug. "As it was, I thought I was doing something good for a change." He winced at this slip.

"How did you discover you weren't doing something good?"

"I...," his eyes darkened. "Nico started to hint at a promotion for both of us. He begged, actually, and we were shifted to the second leg- which was getting an address and an explanation for the stones we were to pick up from the mark. Depending on what stones they had, we'd either act as bodyguards for a while or we'd escort them to a safe house where they'd meet with some of our higher-ranking staff."

"Oh, Alistair," Brand could see where this story was going. "After you left, they'd be offered protection from the Crows, wouldn't they? For some exorbitant amount, I imagine."

"Very, very exorbitant," his entire face went still, this reflected in his voice. "I thought I was saving lives, but I was only helping some opportunists take advantage of the assassin culture. I guess some people were able to cough up the gold and get out, but the Crows were always going to be more powerful. They were basically just...prolonging their lives for a few months."

"Did you quit when you found out what they were doing?" It was a loaded question, the answer for which would tell her exactly how far removed the Alistair next to her was from the Alistair she'd loved before.

"No," and her heart broke, even though he said this with a lifetime's worth of regret. "I...couldn't. The web, you know. Even if I wasn't working for the Crows, the Crows knew about us. Of course. It was Crows who tipped us off. If we were successful, they'd get a portion of the protection money and either information as to where the mark would be going or proof of the kill. Either way, they could eventually collect on their contracts."

"Would they have killed you?" She was wholly entranced by now, all concerns about her son and Anders distant to these machinations. Somewhere within them was Alistair's soul and, possibly, some insight into what was happening to her.

"Worse," unspoken was something like death would have been welcome. "I had no idea how horribly ruined a person could be until I met a man who'd wronged the Crows. And this is saying something, because I consider myself to be pretty ruined. This man, though, had unspeakable things done to his family and the abuse they saved for him was..." Alistair shuddered and looked as if he might cry. "But they left him alive. And they also told him that if he killed himself, they'd do what they did to him to everyone he loved. I was afraid, for myself and for anyone I had ever known."

Without thinking, Brand put her hand on his shoulder in reassurance. A knot of self-loathing had formed between his eyes as he relived this realization of entrapment. She wondered again what exactly had happened in the Free Marches that made him feel like work in Antiva, of all places, would be preferable.

After a few minutes, during which Coire let Erin take over for him at the game ("She can't lose any worse than I already am!") so he could bring Brand and Alistair fresh tankards of cider, Alistair regained his composure.

"This place is so…comfortable," he shifted slightly in his chair. "It's almost surreal."

Brand had to agree. Even with the unpleasant conversation and Anders still shoulder to shoulder with his former whatever, Brand was feeling more relaxed than she had in weeks. They were the only guests in the common room and there was something incredibly nice about seeing people she cared about enjoying themselves the way Sigrun, Nate and even Fiona were. Not to mention the food was delicious and the cider close to divine.

"I'm almost half afraid we're going to wake up tomorrow on a ship bound for Rivain, victims of drugged beverage and the Amells' considerable charms," Brand was only mostly joking; it seemed as likely to happen as anything else that had occurred this past week.

A genuine chuckle rumbled up from Alistair's chest.

"Whatever they'd get for us would barely cover our drink tab. You'd think they'd be more efficient if this was something they did often," he shot a smile at Brand and, as her face went warm, she had the sudden urge to get their conversation back to a darker topic.

"You obviously broke free somehow. What happened?"

"I was unbelievably lucky," he ran his finger along the rim of his tankard, smile dead on his lips. "Nico and I managed to stay on the non-threatening side of the operation, but there was pressure being put on the Crows from someplace else and that meant pressure was being put back on us. The jobs got more dangerous, we were getting beat to marks on a regular basis, and a few of the other messengers disappeared. Then, one night, I…" his face was momentarily plaintive. "I tried to do something more for a change, but I failed. The mark was killed in my presence. We could get away with being beat, but to lose a potential client once they were in our custody was…inexcusable."

Quiet lingered over their corner of the room, punctuated by a whoop from Fiona that made both Brand and Alistair look up. The mage caught Brand's eye and offered a proud smirk.

"Sigrun owes me five sovereigns."

"That's because you cheat, how do I know you can't read minds?"

Fiona laughed, "I think I'd have won more than five gold were that the case."

"You're just trying to be sneaky," Sigrun hated losing card games as much as she adored playing them. "Maybe you should have been a rogue and not a mage."

"Maybe you should have been a mage and not a dwarf. That's just as likely to happen," Fiona was rarely this carefree and Brand caught her dark eyes dart towards Alistair, her expression shifting to one of clear affection.

Maker help me, does she have a thing for Alistair?

If Alistair noticed the attention, he didn't let on, lost as he was in a world of assassins and bad decisions. Brand shoved down the admittedly off-putting notion Fiona and Alistair, and settled back to continue their conversation.

"Was it a woman?" She thought of her dream from the night before last, the blue-eyed beauty murmuring in Antivan incomprehensible words that nonetheless itched along her skin as if they were ants or flies.

"What?" His expression said yes even as he shook his head. "That's not important. What's important is that I was going to be killed for my mistake. The men I worked for couldn't handle loose ends the way the Crows could. So I turned myself in, only to discover my bosses no longer existed and that the Crows had recently seen a…turnover in management."

"Zevran," Brand breathed those two syllables, imagining her Zevran the way he appeared when he came to her months earlier, the spark in his golden eyes harsher now and the lines on his face deeper.

"So you know," Alistair buried his head in his hands, his shoulders sagging under the weight of the things he'd seen and done. "I never actually saw him, but it was made very clear that he wanted me to leave Antiva as fast as I could. And I did. I kept waiting for the knife in my back, expecting this was his revenge for me leaving you, but none came. I encountered a few Crows on my way back to the Free Marches, but they were all part of the new regime and seem to know that I was protected."

"I wonder if he knew, then," Brand was talking mostly to herself, her brain whirring as she recalled the way Zevran had proposed her interference with Alistair's assassination contract. His issue with it had been the suspicious lack of information. Or so he said. She closed her eyes and tried to think of one good reason why Zevran would want her involved in this mess.

Maybe he genuinely wished for Alistair to live and knew Brand was the only way to ensure this could happen without defaulting on the contract.

But why would he want Alistair alive? Zevran expressed much…not disgust, really, but dismay when Alistair had disappeared. Of course, Zev viewed her recruitment of Loghain as a pragmatic decision, one that would benefit them all in the end. He saw Alistair's abandonment of Ferelden, and of Brand in particular, to be cowardly and not at all in keeping with the other man's professed devotion to his fellow Warden.

None of this made any sense, really, and thinking about the possibility that Zevran was knowingly involved in an offensive way made her absolutely ill.

"So what can you tell me about all these signals or whatever that the Crows seem to be trying to send?"

Alistair raised his head and frowned.

"That's the thing I actually can't figure out. Besides the men who attacked you outside of the Vigil, none of these recent attempts on your life have been carried out in any particularly competent way. Now we both know Zevran's mission failed, and the second attempt to kill you both was also a bust…"

"There was another contract taken out, shortly after the Blight. They tried twice and, obviously, were not successful."

"Maybe you're just assassin-proof?" This seemed to amuse him in a distant way. "But it seems as though they're not trying very hard this time. The man at the tavern this morning was so obvious, like he was only there because it would get people talking."

Brand sat up straight, "Talking about what?"

"The Crows could sometimes do more damage to certain parties through rumors. Most of these were spread word of mouth, distasteful murmurings that were usually just true enough to drive the target self-destructive with fear," he paused, worry creasing his brow. "I think they're trying to force you into doing something very public and very foolish. Either that, or they think rumors of you getting into knife fights in the streets of major cities will be enough to undo public opinion."

She scoffed slightly, and planted her elbows on the table in front of her. "They'll have to do better than that, I say. Which they could, quite easily. I'm surprised that nobody has thought to play the…"

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Everyone in the inn startled at the sound coming from outside, but nobody quite as much as Alistair. He was on his feet, dagger at the ready before anyone else could react beyond a frightened jump.

He felt resoundingly foolish, they all did, when it turned out to be Coachman Gil, his white beard dripping rivulets of rain down the front of his cloak. For a moment, he stood in the doorway to the common room, the ensuing silence deeply awkward. Then Coire stepped forward and threw his arm around the older gentleman.

"You, sir, might possibly have the greatest beard I have ever seen," his free hand stroked at his own chin. "Any chance that I might borrow it just before Wintersend? I promise to give it back, good as new."

"Don't listen to him," Bea slid off her barstool and flanked Gil, catching his elbow while seemingly oblivious to the water that soaked him through and the vaguely lascivious way his eyes roamed to her ample chest. "We all know that Coire will do all sorts of unspeakable things to a beard so fine as yours. I say you join the club, show up at Wintersend and steal away the competition. And if someone happens to make a tidy sum from a placed wager, I'm certain she, or he, would be more than willing to split the coin."

"I think he'd like to do more than split coin with you, sister," Erin quipped this from the bar, and her remark was greeted by the sort appreciative but tired laughter that marked the end of a pleasant evening. Coire escorted Gil to his room, Bea and Erin began clearing the tables, and all of Brand's Wardens came shuffling back, three arguing about how much gold was too much gold when it came to gambling with comrades and the fourth lost in thought.

Brand was about to give him a thought to get lost in when he swerved and went back to Bea, pulling her aside for another low conversation that kept their faces too close.

"Alistair, would you get Bryce for me?" Alistair did as requested, scooping the child easily in his arms and Brand looked to Anders, but Anders was still distracted and he remained so until Bea sent him off with a gentle shove, her green eyes catching Brand's own as he closed the distance between them.

They were full of sympathy, and Brand had no idea what she was supposed to do with that.

She followed Alistair up the portrait lined staircase at the back of the inn, her gaze drawn to the way Bryce's face looked smushed against the broad shoulder, his round cheek encroaching on one closed eye and his hair, in desperate need of cutting, flopping across his smooth forehead.

Despite the innocence of it, a wave of fear washed through her, the sudden terror of what would happen?

What would happen if she were to actually meet her end within the next few days? Where would Bryce go? Who would take him there? She knew that Oghren was in position to succeed her as Warden-Commander and the Arl of Amaranthine, but she'd somehow not made a contingency plan for her son since Teagan had died.

Stopping on the stairs, she whirled around to confront Anders, who was still thinking although he was doing so incredibly close behind her.

"Will you take him?" She had to look insane, but Anders' expression remained nonplussed.

"I had planned on it," he shrugged one thin shoulder. She felt her face scrunch in confusion.

"You'd planned on it? You've actually...thought about it?"

This got his attention.

"Yeeees," he leaned against the wall, his hazel eyes bright in the lamplight. "You know he won't sleep through the night, and you need the rest. I thought I'd take the double single and you'd be able to not have to worry about waking up to him poking at you." He then slipped back into himself for a moment, "Or, you know, me poking at you."

There was a pause. Brand was very afraid she might say something along the lines of how she didn't mind being poked at, which would probably make everyone else in the stairwell come to the conclusion that she was possibly the worst mother ever. Instead, she wrapped her arms around herself and frowned.

"OK?" They looked at each other for a long moment, the silence stretching uncomfortably between them. "Did I do something to upset you?"

"Maker," Anders looked around her to make certain their audience had moved on. He came up so he could be one step below her, his hands finding her hips. Just his touch was reassuring, waves of warmth moving upward to ease the tension settled in her back and shoulders. "I'm not upset, Brand. I'm afraid. For you, for Bryce. But mostly for you. I honestly don't know how many more times I can see you almost killed in front of me, or hold you and know that if I wasn't incredibly powerful, you'd be dead. What's happening now is terrible, and I have a feeling it's only going to get worse. I need to know that you realize that. You're not indestructible, and I'm not always going to be there when you need me. If something happens to you because you've done something rash, or stubborn, or insane, I'm going to be so pissed off that I might summon a Fade spirit to animate you just so I can sit in front of you and cry and make your eyes watch me."

"Will you take Bryce?" She was trying very hard to not weep, or feel vaguely offended at his assumption that she wasn't taking this seriously. But Anders knew her better than anyone, he'd seen how dangerous she could be when she was taking things seriously. He probably had no idea what to hope for in this situation and she found more solace in the fact that he clung to her despite the endless amounts of effort she required, if only as a friend, than she did in any words he could have said. "Once you've reanimated me and had your revenge cry, will you take care of him?"

One hand found her cheek; she pressed against his palm and if he could love her even as she heaped this responsibility on him...

"Do you even have to ask?"

She really didn't.

He swept up past her, arm catching her around the shoulders, and they made their way to the room he would share with Bryce, the child still sleeping with purpose and cocooned in Anders' cloak. Brand kissed his forehead, the tip of his nose and his chin, her fingers running through his hair and it somehow seemed even longer than it had not five minutes ago, like he was on the fast track to adulthood and if she blinked too slowly she'd suddenly find him taller than her and deciding for himself how he wanted to wear his hair.

Anders was waiting for her by the door, his eyes soft as he bade her good-night with a lingering and careful kiss that pushed them both to the brink of lust before he pulled back with a weary smile.

"Sleep," his finger pressed against her shoulder and a rush of drowsy added weight to her eyelids and ran down her spine. "Because I know you think you'll be able to on the road, but you never can. And I plan on tomorrow being a little less dire than today turned out to be."

She stepped into the hallway, as cozy as every other square inch of this place, and found the door to her room. It gave easily at her touch, but the small chamber was not empty.

"Sigrun?" Brand's mouth twisted in confusion. "I thought you'd sleep with Fiona. Andraste's ass, don't tell me you two are still mad at each other over that stupid card game."

The dwarven woman scowled slightly, but shook her head.

"No, she didn't say why she wanted to share a room with you tonight. Maybe she thought I might try to steal my gold back," she narrowed her eyes in thought. "I still might. But, you didn't hear that, Commander."

Commander. Brand backed out of Sigrun's room, bidding her good night. As she wandered listlessly towards her new quarters, she idly thought how ineffectual a commander she really was.

She imagined most commanders could sleep wherever they damned well pleased.

Fiona was up and waiting when she finally wobbled through the door, Anders' mild nudge of sleep catching her mind like slow fire.

"Brand, are you all right?" The older woman was in her dressing gown, her black and gray hair even more wild around a pretty face that was almost twitching with anxiety.

"All right outside of the fact that I've been usurped from two beds already? Certainly," Brand collapsed on one of the narrow singles that flanked a handsome mahogany nightstand, her body sinking into a mattress so soft it was like being hugged by a huge silk sack full of rabbit fur and fluffy white clouds. "I suppose you have a good reason for this?"

The door closed behind her, Fiona moved to the other bed, taking a precarious seat at the edge.

"I have a...few things to tell you," her dark eyes caught the lamplight and Brand saw in them a world of sorrow, regret, loneliness and hope. "There's something that you need to know."

Brand sat up straighter and nodded in encouragement, forcing past her personal fog of exhaustion so she could focus on what Fiona had to say.

This night, it seemed, was for confessions.