Chapter Thirty-Six

"Hawke!" Merrill was out of breath and her hair was even more disheveled than usual.

"Merrill? What's wrong?" Hawke reached out one hand to steady the elven girl.

"It's… it's Shepard," she panted. "She's… the qunari…"

"It's all right, Merrill. I know," Hawke assured the mage. "Come on in and sit down for a moment. Did you run all the way here from Lowtown?"

"From the docks," Merrill answered, her eyes wide as she followed Hawke into the library. "But…"

"Shepard will be fine," Hawke said. "Although if she hasn't come out of there in another day or so, I might have to go have another talk with the Arishok." She made a face. "For whatever good that will do."

She gently pushed Merrill into a chair. "Now take a few deep breaths and settle down. Why were you looking for Shepard?"

"I found something in the rubbings."

Hawke blinked. "Rubbings?"

"Yes," burbled Merrill excitedly. "Sebastian came to see me and showed me his rubbings."

For a moment all Hawke could do was stare at the elf in shock and amazement. Then, slowly, a bit of reality worked its way into the previous statement.

"And these rubbings were of what, exactly?" she asked guardedly. "This is Sebastian we're talking about."

Merrill gave her a puzzled look. "Yes? Wait, I did say Sebastian, didn't I? I meant to say Sebastian."

"You did, yes. And?"

"The rubbings were from a wall in the ruin he and Shepard visited. It's from the time of Arlathan."

"I see," said Hawke, who didn't. "And what did you find?"

Merrill's eyes shone. "Well, most of it was an old story about Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf. But there was something that I have never seen before." Her smooth brow puckered and the light in her eyes dimmed a little. "I wish I could show it to the Keeper," she said softly.

"You could, you know," Hawke told her, just as softly.

Merrill shook her head mutely.

The two of them sat silently for a moment. Then Hawke cleared her throat gently. "So what does this have to do with Shepard?"

"Oh!" exclaimed Merrill. "Didn't I say?"

Hawke shook her head. "Nnnoo, I don't think so."

"Sebastian told me if I found anything interesting, I was to tell Shepard," Merrill explained.

"The story of the Dread Wolf?"

Merrill shook her head. "It was after that," she said. "There is something about a place where spirits dwell."

"The Fade?" Hawke asked.

"My people speak of the Beyond, and have done since the time of Arlathan, Hawke. This is something different."

"A cemetery, maybe? Some kind of burial ground, like on Sundermount?"

"Places where the elders slept in uthenera?" Merrill said. "Only their bodies rested in those places, while their spirits walked the paths of the Beyond."

Hawke frowned. "A place where the Veil is thin, maybe?"

"Setheneran?" Merrill suggested.

"Oh." Hawke's brow crinkled. "But what do spirits have to do with Shepard?"

Merrill looked at her in confusion. "I don't know. I thought you would."

"Merrill…"

"You know what sounds good right now?" Shepard asked Asa, her voice wistful.

"Silence?" the healer suggested.

"A giant plate of chilaquiles with fried eggs and black beans. And a side order of waffles with bacon and maple syrup."

"I understood the words eggs and bacon in that sentence."

Shepard shook her head. "Of all the things this place lacks, next to indoor plumbing the most grievous must be the lack of Mexican food."

"What," said Asa, "and I do understand that the answer will probably make no sense on any level, is Mexican food?"

"It's a regional cuisine that has everything that food should contain. Lots of flavor, a bit of spice, and the generous application of cheese."

"So cheelahkeelays and wahfulls are traditional regional dishes where you come from?"

Shepard had to laugh. "Well, yeah, I guess. Except they're from different regions and different traditions."

"But eaten together?"

"No. Not usually," she admitted.

Asa stopped what he was doing and turned toward Shepard, a tragic expression on his face. "I give up," he said. "How do you function, Shepard? You seem to take a terrible delight in chaos."

"It keeps things interesting," Shepard said simply. "Now, about breakfast…"

"What exactly was Shepard looking for?" Hawke asked the prince. "Did she tell you?"

Sebastian shook his head. "No. Not really. She seemed to think we'd know it if we saw it. Or she would, at any rate."

"And these… rubbings?" Hawke had a hard time saying the word, despite knowing the connotations were entirely innocent, in this case.

The prince shrugged. "I do not know. I took them simply because it was the only intact engraving we'd found. I thought, if nothing else, it might be of interest from a historical perspective."

Hawke sighed. "Well, Merrill certainly found them interesting, at least. I don't know if Shepard will."

Sebastian pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Did Merrill say where this place where spirits dwell is located?"

"No. Merrill?"

Merrill broke her gaze away from the statue of Andraste. "She always looks so cross," she said as she came up to them. "I always feel as if I've done something terrible when we come in here."

"Perhaps that means you have done something you must atone for," Sebastian suggested.

Merrill put her head on one side and looked at him with bright curiosity. "Like what?"

Sebastian opened his mouth to answer, but found himself unable to meet the mage's innocent gaze. Hawke took pity on him and interrupted.

"Merrill, did the engraving indicate where this place where the spirits dwell was?"

"In the mountains," came the prompt reply.

"The Vimmarks?" Sebastian asked.

Merrill gave him a look of gentle rebuke. "It's okay, Sebastian," she said after a moment. "I know you don't get out of the Chantry much, except with Hawke. But those are the only mountains around."

"I…" Sebastian floundered.

Hawke frowned. "And you're sure they weren't talking about Sundermount?"

Merrill shook her head so hard her braids flew. "No, I'm sure of it. It's probably a lot closer to where this city stood."

"City?" asked Sebastian. "Merrill, this was no city. It was a building, or buildings, perhaps twice again as large as the Chantry, though not as tall."

"Well, of course. Arlathan fell two thousand years ago," Merrill replied matter-of-factly. "Stone is the only thing that would remain after so long."

"What?" Hawke asked curiously. "Are you saying that the other buildings were made of wood or something?"

Merrill blinked at her. "Most of the buildings in Ferelden are made of wood, right?"

"Well, yes."

"There you are then," said Merrill happily, as if this answered everything.

Sebastian looked slightly shellshocked. "Merrill, if the elves built mostly in wood, their cities could have been anywhere and we would never know it."

"Yes?" Merrill tipped her head again.

"But we've always believed that there were maybe one or two cities apart from Arlathan; that most of your people were settled in the Arlathan Forest."

"Oh, no," said the elf. "There were many, many cities of the Ehlvenan."

"But that…"

"That makes sense," nodded Hawke. "I mean, why else would the Imperium go to war with the elves? And why would it have been such a terrible battle?"

"But…" Sebastian looked a little lost. Hawke patted him gently on the arm.

"Nevermind, Sebastian. It was a long time ago."

"You're going to have to let me go sometime," Shepard said reasonably.

"Believe me," replied Asa, "I'm quite looking forward to it."

"It's been fun, hasn't it?"

"No."

"So why not let me…"

Asa rolled his eyes. "Tomorrow morning, Shepard. No sooner."

"But I feel fine now," she argued. "Apart from the excruciating boredom."

"If you're that bored, take a walk around the compound."

"What?" Shepard sat up and closed her book with a thump. "I can go outside?"

"Yes, please, by all means. Go and pester someone else for a change! Perhaps you and the Arishok can annoy each other for a while, and give me some peace."

"Asa!"

"Just go." He pointed a finger toward the door.

"Are you sure you wouldn't prefer if I just…"

"No. You may go anywhere within the walls, basra, but if you even think of leaving this compound, I will have you dragged back by your heels." Asa's voice was sharp, and it was clear that his patience was as thin as a krogan's.

Shepard slunk out quietly.

There was a slight crispness to the air, but the sun was warm on her skin as she stepped out of the healer's tent. She stretched from the tips of her fingers to the end of her toes, and reveled in the same sense of freedom she always got when she escaped from Chakwas' tender mercies in the med bay.

So now all I have to do is dodge the Arishok.

That meant steering clear of the library tent and his bench, and probably the nearby environs. It narrowed her options a bit when it came to planning a path through the compound, but she could manage.

On her second pass through the qunari camp, her eye was drawn to movement in the sparring arena. Shepard hastily scanned the crowd for the Arishok's distinctive armor, and when she was sure he wasn't among those present, she drifted over to watch.

Although she'd been in the ring several times now, she'd rarely had the opportunity to watch the giants spar amongst themselves. It was… impressive. Their tactics were nothing like what she'd learned in her youth, or what she'd been taught by Thane in their time together. They were military in their precision and ruthless in their delivery, and there appeared to be little to no feinting or weighing an opponent's weaknesses.

Strength versus strength. Like… elk, tussling with their antlers. Or maybe sheep, butting heads.

The thing that really got her, though, was the complete lack of trash talk. Or talk of any kind. Communication seemed to be entirely made up of nods and eye contact. Catch the eye of an opponent and nod, and they'd take their place in the ring. Another series of nods at the end of the bout signaled winner and loser. Nods among those watching indicated approval.

After one particularly intense fight, the combatants gave each other a little head butt, and clasped each others' arms. The watching qunari made a few rumbles in addition to their nods, and Shepard could only assume that she'd just witnessed the qunari equivalent of and the crowd goes wild.

The qunari had to be the most stolid and reserved humanoids she'd ever met. Sure, the elcor were more stolid than anything other than, say, a rock, and the hanar more reserved than parking in the Presidium, but both of those species were, well, truly alien. Whereas the qunari were more like the asari or the drell in their similarity to humans. In fact, they seemed far closer to human than any of the species in Council space.

Apart from their size and the horns, that is. And their damned qun.

Shepard didn't realize that she'd fallen into her thoughts until a gentle nudge brought her blinking back to her surroundings.

"Basra," said a stern voice. "Does the asa know you are here?"

She looked up into the face of her friend the ashaad. "Yes," she answered. "He practically chased me out with a stick."

At his look of disbelief, she gave a shrug of her shoulders and rephrased herself. "I mean, he instructed me to get some exercise."

He shook his head ponderously. "There are none here who will face you," he said.

Shepard's brow lifted in surprise. "What? Why not?"

I mean, it wasn't as if I was planning on fighting, but why wouldn't anyone…

Her eyes narrowed. "It has something to do with the Arishok, doesn't it?"

One of Ashaad's eyebrows arched. "There is something… unfinished… between you ."

"Look, nothing's… happened, all right?" Shepard assured him hastily.

Ashaad gave her a look that Shepard interpreted as yeah, right. "Until it is finished," he said, as if explaining to a child. "None will… interfere. It would be…" he rumbled a few words in qunlat. "It would not be… right."

"I told you," Shepard insisted. "It's a… misunderstanding. We're… we're working things out, okay?"

"You will mate," said Ashaad placidly. "Asit tal-eb."

"But wait…" If Ashaad noticed the hint of panic in her voice, he made no sign. "I thought that this whole… thing… was something only the tamassrans could take care of."

"There are no tamassrans here," he replied simply. "It is… unusual."

"But I'm bas!" Shepard exclaimed. "Doesn't that make me worthless?"

"You," Ashaad hesitated, "are also unusual."

Shepard frowned.

"Tell me, Ashaad," she said after a moment. "What do you think about the Arishok's, uh… interest?"

"It is not my role to question."

"I'm the one questioning," said Shepard tartly. "You're the one answering. If it makes you happy, think of it as an order."

"As you wish, basra," said Ashaad. "He shows wisdom." The blood orange eyes regarded her intently. "As do you."

And with that, the ashaad caught the eye of a soldier across the circle, and the two of them moved to the center of the arena.

"Bianca!" said Hawke, as she entered Varric's suite at the Hanged Man. "How's my favorite crossbow?"

"It was a close call, but she's feeling much better," replied Varric, looking up from his trading manifests.

"Good," replied Hawke. "And how's my trusty dwarf? I'm sorry I couldn't comfort you in your hour of need."

Varric waved this away. "No offense, Hawke, but I've seen you with mechanical things that don't involve locks or traps. The best place for you while I was putting my baby back together was somewhere you wouldn't be tempted to poke something and say, 'What does this part do?'"

Hawke grinned. "None taken." She flopped herself into a chair and propped her feet on the corner of the table. "I really don't like this business of Emeric's, though."

"Have the templars found Gascard yet?"

"Not that I know of." Hawke made a face. "And the guard hasn't found any sign of Alessa, either."

"That doesn't bode well."

"No."

"I heard that Starkiller is still convalescing in the bosom of the qun," Varric added. "You still think we should hold off on staging a rescue?"

Hawke shook her head. "She said she didn't need one. But if she's not out of there by tomorrow, I may have to drop by and pay a visit to my dear, sick friend. Bring her some flowers, or something."

"Lilies?" suggested Varric.

Hawke gave him a look. "Tasteless, Varric."

"Too soon?"

"Way too soon."

Varric pushed aside his paperwork. "What did Daisy want with Starkiller, anyway?"

Hawke's eyes twinkled. "She wanted to tell her about Sebastian's rubbings."

The look on the dwarf's face was indescribable. "Choir Boy's… rubbings?"

"Yes," Hawke put on her most deadpan expression. "He showed them to her."

"Well, I'll be a nug-humping dirt farmer."

"Did you just call me a nug?" asked Hawke, letting her boots drop to the floor and giving Varric a smoldering look.

"Hawke, if you were a nug, people would be lining up to become nug-wranglers. And then what would the poor sods in Orzammar do for a living?"

"Politics?"

"Exactly. And the last thing we dwarves need is more politics."

"Too bad," sighed Hawke, sauntering around Varric's chair, one hand casually brushing over his arm and shoulder. "I was looking forward to seeing your nug-wrangling skills in action."

"Hawke," said Varric in a pained voice, "that may be the least sexy thing you've ever said to me."

"Really?" breathed Hawke, right into his ear. "Maybe I should just leave you to your boring, boring manifests…"

Varric's hand caught her around the wrist and he pulled her into his lap.

"I have a better idea. Why don't I show you my rubbings, instead…"

Shepard scrubbed her hands over her face wearily. Her head felt thick, as if it was stuffed with cotton, but she could smell coffee.

Coffee! Her mouth practically watered at the pungent odor. She felt as if she hadn't had coffee in months, instead of practically living off of it.

God, but she'd had some weird dreams last night. Marginally better than the nightmares she was used to, but still… weird. She put it down to the sleeping pills Chakwas had forced on her.

"Commander, as the Normandy's medical officer, I have to insist," Karin had said, folding her arms and giving Shepard the stare of authority.

"But what if something important happens?" Shepard had argued.

"Then it will have to happen without you. The war will still be here when you wake up, believe me."

And that was all there was to it.

Well, maybe she'd feel better after she shook off the lingering effects of the drug and had some coffee.

The mess was full of familiar faces as she made her way to the coffee urn and poured herself a cup.

Garrus; the blue glow of his visor a shade paler than the deep blue of his armor, the glint of his right eye a shade lighter still, and the faded cobalt of his colony markings somewhere in the middle of them all; the brushed gun-metal grey of his plates marred by the scarring on his right mandible and cheek.

Hell, Garrus, you always were ugly. Slap some facepaint on there and no one will know the difference…

And yet still a sight for sore eyes, then and now.

He was lounging casually in his chair, his right elbow resting on the chair back and his right ankle resting on his left knee, regarding the others gathered around the table.

Tali was to his left, tapping on her omni-tool; the lavender tint of her helmet's faceplate hiding all but her wide, glowing eyes; the intricate design on her envirosuit picked out in shades of plum and silver and black. Wrex was just beyond Tali, hulking huge and red; his scarred plates the vibrant crimson of fresh blood, his eyes like rubies, and his armor a shade closer to wine. Kaidan was next, muted in his charcoal grey armor, skin at once both olive-tan and pale - the result of too much ship duty - eyes and hair dark and serious.

Across from Kaidan - with his chair partly propped against the wall and wearing the ever-present SR-2 cap - was Joker, scruffy as always, even in his Alliance regulation blues. Shepard felt a pang of unease at this - who was in the cockpit? - but shook her head and reminded herself that even Joker had scheduled down time. EDI was likely in full control of the Normandy while he was in the mess.

Next to Joker, Liara sat sipping a cup of something that steamed - likely a golden liquid that asari favored and which reminded Shepard of yeasty undercooked bread - the color of her skin shading from a pale winter sky to the deep blue of a cloudless summer day, and adorably dotted by the asari version of freckles. Although her face was largely turned away from Shepard, she could imagine the guileless look in the Shadow Broker's beautiful eyes.

The last person at the table - and for a wonder sitting still and silent without his eyes glued to a microscope - was Mordin, the pinks and pale reds of his skin softer than Wrex's, just as Liara's blues were softer than Garrus's. Something was jarring about his presence, and the sight of the familiar broken cranial horn wrenched at her for some reason.

Her team. Her friends.

It was odd, in fact, how closely she seemed to be studying them all. As if she expected never to see them again.

Not that strange, Shepard. The Reapers are here and we're at war. You might not.

And then there was that weird dream…

Shepard picked up her mug and moved closer, intending to grab a chair and slide in next to Mordin, and realized that they were talking about her.

"It makes perfect sense to me," Garrus was saying. "She's Shepard. There's no one like her."

"Aw, hell, Garrus… you're going to make me blush," she said with a grin, but the turian ignored her.

"She's a fertile female. Usually that's enough to make krogan interested," said Wrex, leaning his forearms against the table. "I'm still getting breeding requests for her from the last time she visited Tuchanka."

"Krogan were requesting to, uh… breed with Shepard?" Kaidan asked in disbelief. His face bore a stunned expression.

"She killed a thresher maw on foot," said Wrex. "She and her little tank-bred whelp, Grunt."

"A thresher maw?" Kaidan was about to lose his jaw somewhere in the vicinity of the engineering sub-deck.

"Yeah," said Wrex, with a krogan smile. "That was a good day. Clan Urdnot got the whelp, and that damned Gatatog Uvenk was stupid enough to challenge Shepard." He laughed. "You can imagine how that turned out for him."

"I helped a little bit," added Garrus, modestly. "Mostly, I was just there to add style."

"You and your style," snorted Tali, giving him a playful shove. "As if a turian knows anything about style."

Mordin was frowning. "Technically Shepard not 'fertile'," he corrected, making air quotes. "Female Alliance personnel given subdermal contraceptive implants. Otherwise…" he inhaled sharply, "problematic."

"Yeah," said Joker sarcastically, "it's a little hard to shoot a rifle when your baby bump gets in the way."

"I thought the Alliance had regulations regarding fraternization," said Tali, her puzzled frown evident from her voice.

"They do," said Kaidan. "But sometimes things… happen." He dropped his eyes to the table.

Like the night before Ilos… Shepard remembered with a pang.

Mordin shrugged. "Unsurprising. Humans, turians, krogans… all able to release internal stress via sexual activity. Asari, not so much. Quarians… direct body contact problematic. Volus…" he frowned. "Don't know much about volus mating habits. Hanar, elcor seasonal, only for reproduction."

"Shepard is a fascinating woman," said Liara in her soft voice. "I have no doubt that individuals of many species find her attractive."

"Or piss their pants in fear," retorted Joker.

Tali's eyes twinkled behind the lavender glass. "And which one is it for you, Joker?"

"You don't expect me to answer that, do you?"

"I'm standing right here," joked Shepard, but nobody appeared to have heard her. She frowned.

"What's this guy like?" asked Kaidan suddenly. "Anyone know anything about him?"

"Species known for imposing physical size," said Mordin, with a sniff. "Anatomically and physiologically very similar to humans. Thicker dermal layers, metallic hue to skin tone. Horns."

"Horns?" chorused Joker and Kaidan together.

"How imposing?" asked Tali curiously. "Like Lieutenant Vega imposing?"

"That whelp?" snorted Wrex. "Imposing? Hah!"

Tali turned to him with an irritated air. "Wrex, my people could never build that kind of muscle mass. To us, James is imposing."

"Should Reegar be jealous?" teased Garrus.

Tali hit him. "Shut up about Kal!"

"Oh, Kal," Garrus drawled. "I stand corrected. He stopped calling you ma'am yet?"

"Something we should know, Tali?" asked Joker innocently.

"No…nothing," said Tali, glaring at the turian. "Somebody just likes shooting his big turian mouth off, the bosh'tet."

"Ahem. Male specimens exceed two meters in height," noted Mordin clinically. His large eyes squinted in thought. "Musculature proportionally similar to Lieutenant Vega's, but muscle fibers more dense."

The salarian cupped his right elbow in his left fingers and brought his right hand to his face, where he tapped his cheek thoughtfully. "Not as dense as drell muscle tissue, however. Strength likely not equal to that of krogan." His eyes widened. "Could be wrong, however. Would need tissue samples to be certain."

"Could we just go back a minute and talk about horns?" inquired Joker pointedly.

"Horns," acknowledged Mordin with a nod. "Paired. Arising from frontal bone. Uncertain if true horn, consisting of living bony core surrounded by keratin sheath - or antler, consisting of dead bone when fully grown and shed annually. Would need…"

"…samples to be certain," finished Joker. "Yeah, yeah. Really, horns?"

"Yes."

"Not like," Joker waved his hand vaguely at the salarian.

"Salarian cranial horns more correctly equated with ossicones rather than true 'horns'," the geneticist air quoted again. "However, higher percentage of cartilage to osseous bone, similar to juvenile or fetal bone tissue." Mordin blinked. "Individuals with Vrolik's Syndrome excepted."

"Thanks for that, Mordin."

"My pleasure."

A crooked smile began to grow on Joker's face. "So you're saying that a big horny bastard…"

"Is interested in the Commander," finished Liara. "Yes."

"Wait," said Shepard. "How do you guys know about that? That was a dream, wasn't it?"

Wasn't it?

Kaidan was frowning. "But what about the drell?" he asked. "The, ah… assassin." There was a tightness around his eyes, and he failed to keep a hint of bitterness from his voice.

"Krios?" said Garrus in surprise. "What about him?"

"Well, I thought… I heard that Shepard… that he and Shepard… were serious." The human shifted uncomfortably. "Before he died."

The glow from Tali's eyes dimmed. "Keelah, that must have been hard for her."

"God, Thane," Shepard whispered, closing her eyes, the sense of loss rushing back to her.

There was silence around the table, broken by Garrus clearing his throat. "Ah… Shepard and Krios were… yeah."

"They were very happy together," said Liara sadly. "What they had… it was intense, if all too brief."

"So," Kaidan examined the joins on his armored gauntlet intently, "what is this, then? I mean, if she… if she loved him."

Mordin blinked in surprise. "Shepard not dead," he said. "Still exhibits physiological responses. Love not a requirement for human - or interspecies - copulation."

"What physiological responses?" demanded Shepard. "And what do you mean this? There is no this. It was a dream!"

"Bigger than Lieutenant Vega," said Tali with a certain kind of thoughtfulness.

"Size isn't everything," said Garrus.

"Yeah, keep thinking that," said Joker, rolling his eyes. "Girls always say they want a nice guy, but what they really want is a huge…"

"You're out of line, Lieutenant," snapped Kaidan angrily.

"What?" protested Joker. "Ladies," he appealed to Liara and Tali, "tell me I'm wrong."

"You're wrong," said Tali. "We do like nice guys. But maybe we like them better if they're also…" She looked around at all the male faces watching her intently, most with some kind of amusement. "Nevermind."

"Oh, no. Do go on," urged Garrus. "If they're also what, exactly?"

Tali turned to face him. "Good with a gun," she said flatly.

Garrus didn't bother to hide the flare of his mandibles as he smirked at her. "Uh-huh."

"Perhaps this is what Shepard needs right now," said Liara gently into the pause that followed.

"What I need?!" Shepard snapped. "What I need is for you guys to quit acting like I'm not here! You heard Mordin - I'm not dead! I'm standing…right…here!" She thumped her coffee mug down on the table and stood directly in front of Garrus.

"Garrus, look at me!" she ordered, but the turian stared through her as if she were a ghost.

"Mordin," Shepard grabbed the salarian's arm, and he turned toward her, his eyes sad but resolute and a faint smile on his face.

"Had to be me, Shepard," he said. "Someone else would have gotten it wrong."

It felt as though all the blood suddenly drained from her body.

Shit, Mordin, no. No.

Mordin is dead. This is the dream…

Shepard woke up with a choking, tearless sob.

A dwarf could get used to waking up like this.

Hawke's brilliant red hair was tumbled around her head and shoulders, and tickled his neck where it moved with each soft breath she exhaled against his skin. She was all sprawling gangly limbs, one arm thrown across his chest and a long, lean leg twined between his as she curled on her side around him. His hand rested against her soft, soft skin - Maker, how could someone so strong be so soft? - and he couldn't help but stroke his fingers against it gently.

She murmured in her sleep and snuggled closer.

"Hawke?" he said softly, hating himself for waking her. "It's nearly dawn."

Her face puckered, and she buried her face in his neck. "So?" she mumbled blearily.

"So," he said, brushing a lock of hair aside and tucking it behind her tiny, ridiculous ear, "if you don't want your mother asking you questions you'd rather not answer, you'll want to be getting home."

"Don't care," she declared, her voice muffled by hair and pillow and dwarf. "She can ask all she likes."

Varric chuckled. "Brave words," he said lightly. "What happened to Varric, you don't know what it's like… She has this look, and there's this tone in her voice… It's as if she never got up to anything that could possibly lead her to having three children..."

"This is different," Hawke said sleepily, rubbing her nose against his jaw. "I lo…" There was an odd little hiccup in her voice and she went on, "I'm not at the Rose."

"Well, no. You're at the Hanged Man. I'm sure that has to count for something," he joked.

"If you're going to be like that," Hawke grumbled, nipping his shoulder sharply, "next time you can just come to my place."

"Your place?" he said. "And risk waking up next to Griffon?"

"He has his own bed. It's next to the fire."

Varric chuckled. "I hate to break it to you, Hawke, but the moment your back is turned, Griffon is snuggled up in your eiderdown, drooling on your pillows."

"So you can't do much worse to them than he does," Hawke told him, finally lifting her head to look at him. "Would you prefer if I left?"

"Maker's breath, no!" he said, and the look of surprise on his face must have been enough for Hawke, who settled her head back down beside his.

"Well, then, shut up and go back to sleep," she said lightly, her arm tightening around him.

"Sleep?" he teased. "You're awake, and I'm awake," he said suggestively. "Isn't there something you'd rather do?"

"What happened to Maker, Hawke, you'll be the death of me?"

"I got better?"

Shepard blinked in the darkness. Her heart was hammering and her chest hurt.

God. Mordin, Legion, Anderson… Thane.

How many more were dead? Everyone in her dream? Had anyone made it out alive?

C'mon, Vakarian. Don't be dead. Even if I never get to see you again, I need to believe that someone - anyone - I cared for made it out the other side of hell.

And she'd never know.

Shepard shoved the blankets off of her legs and pushed herself off the cot. She needed to move. She needed scream. She needed to…

Really, she needed to hit something until she couldn't muster enough energy to lift her arms, but she was short on heavy bags and people who deserved that kind of ass-kicking.

So she did the next best thing. She ran.

"Really, Lily," Leandra said as her daughter came slinking into the kitchen. "I know that people say that things are different now, and that a husband doesn't necessarily expect his bride to be… pristine… but how in Andraste's name to you expect me to find you a suitable match when you carry on so?"

"Says the woman who eloped with the apostate," Hawke replied sourly.

Leandra's back straightened stiffly and her lips drew downward. "I may have eloped with your father, but he never found me out to all hours drinking and gambling and visiting a… a…"

Hawke sighed. "Brothel?" she suggested. "House of ill repute?" She grimaced. "And I suppose Gamlen told you he saw me there when he was brining the Chant of Light to the misguided and lost souls of the whores, hmm?"

"Lillian!"

"Besides," Hawke went on, "I wasn't gambling or at the Rose last night. I was strategizing with Varric."

Her mother's expression softened. "You do good things for Kirkwall, dear, I know you do. Why, the Viscount's Office even sent you a thank you a little while ago! But, please, don't forget that the first thing a man looks for in a wife isn't her ability to stab people."

"Maybe you're not looking for the right kind of man then, mother," Hawke suggested gently. "Maybe the third son of a minor noble isn't the best match for someone like me."

"Now, Lily," scolded her mother, "don't sell yourself short. You're a lovely girl when you're not wearing filthy armor, and you're from an old and once-respected family in this city. You deserve nothing less than a gentleman."

"Yes, but mother, maybe that isn't what's best for me," Hawke argued. "Maybe I'd do better with someone who actually does something for a living. A… a merchant, maybe."

Leandra snorted. "Most of the merchants here are barely better than thieves and thugs."

There wasn't a lot Hawke could say to argue that, given that it was true.

"But…" her mother's face looked rueful. "Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I should be looking beyond Hightown."

Hawke was surprised. Although she loved her mother, and she respected her for all she had given up to become the wife of an apostate, she couldn't stand the snobbery that Leandra had never seemed to completely shed.

"Really?" she hazarded.

Leandra nodded. "Perhaps Starkhaven…"

Hawke rolled her eyes. She should have known.

She sat down in a chair across from her mother and poured herself a cup of tea from the service. As she added more honey than was perhaps strictly necessary, her mother reached out and passed across a bowl of sliced lemon.

"On that subject," her mother said hesitantly. "How would you feel if I remarried?"

The cup stopped a few inches from Hawke's lips. "Remarried?" she said. "Who? When?"

Her mother gave her a little smile. "Oh, I don't have anyone in mind," she said off-handedly. "Let alone a date. I just… wondered what you thought of the idea. I mean, given my age, it's probably silly."

Hawke sipped at the tea. "You're not that old, mother. And why shouldn't you be happy with someone?"

Leandra seemed to think about this for a moment. "You're right, of course. Why shouldn't I?" She said it softly, as if she were speaking more to herself than to her daughter.

"Something I should know, mother?" Hawke pressed gently, an amused smile on her face.

Leandra pulled herself together. "Don't be ridiculous," she said. "I just happened to meet a very nice man in the markets the other day, and it got me thinking. That's all."

"Maybe we should be asking for betrothal portraits for you, instead of me?" Hawke suggested slyly.

Her mother's eyes twinkled at her. "Maybe," she teased, and for the first time in ages - since before her father had died - Hawke saw the girl her mother had been.

"I love you, mother," she said impulsively, rising and giving Leandra a quick hug.

"I love you too, Lily."

It was impossible to run in the qunari compound.

Shepard realized that immediately. She attempted to improvise by doing windsprints, but it wasn't enough. She grabbed the guard who had followed her when she left the infirmary and watched her silently as she tried to physically exhaust a pain that was entirely emotional, and headed for the main gates of the compound.

"I cannot let you leave, basra," the guard warned as it became obvious where they were headed.

"I'm not leaving. I'm going to be right outside the gates, running stairs," she said shortly.

"No," he replied.

"It wasn't a request," Shepard told him. "It was a statement of intent."

The giant frowned at her. "You will not be allowed past the gates, basra."

"Watch me."

There were two qunari guarding the gate, one on the dock side and one on the compound side. Shepard assumed that the latter was there specifically for her, as she didn't recall ever having seen someone posted there before. He straightened and shifted slightly as she approached, folding his arms in the qunati non-verbal communication of their favorite word, No.

Shepard was in no mood for arguing. Ten meters before the gate, she simply broke into a sprint, breezing past the guard and scaling the wooden gate like it was an obstacle in a basic training course.

Her bare feet stung as she landed on the other side, already pivoting to catch the dock side guard with a heel to his gut. He grunted as the wind was driven from him, and Shepard jumped down the few steps in front of the gate, breaking into a cadenced jog just as soon as her stinging feet hit the ground.

Shit. How did we ever manage without shoes?

Her breath caught a little as she powered her way up the steps to Lowtown, a sure sign that she'd been inactive for too long, and a welcome feeling. If she couldn't fight someone else, she'd fight herself, her own limitations. She'd spent a lifetime overcoming challenges, and a little thing like a cardio workout wouldn't stop her for a second.

She speeded up.

Both her lungs and her legs were burning by the time she reached the top step, pushed off, and turned. And saw three unhappy qunari a few steps below.

Shepard narrowed her eyes and dropped her left shoulder slightly. They could get out of her way or get run down.

"Basra, stop!" The first of the soldiers spread his arms to block the stairwell and got a shoulder with downhill momentum in his solar plexus for his trouble.

The second attempted a body check, and took an elbow to his gut.

The third wisely stepped out of her way.

Shepard ignored him as she jogged past.

Her legs were trembling with fatigue as she reached the bottom, pushed off, turned, and ran into a wall of painted muscle.

She grunted.

"Out of my way," she said from between clenched teeth, her chest heaving with exertion.

"No."

Shepard threw a gut punch that would have put most men on their ass. The karasten merely looked down his nose at her.

She tried slipping around him, but the two others were wedged shoulder to shoulder behind him.

"Dammit, I'm trying to work out here!" she snarled.

"Shepard!" If getting him up in the grey light of the pre-dawn morning weren't enough to piss Asa off, seeing her outside the gates confronting three of the antaam certainly gave things an added fillip.

"Can you please tell these…" Shepard grumbled a few words in krogan, "to kindly get the hell out of my way?"

Asa came down the steps before the gate. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Running stairs," she said evenly.

"Shepard…"

"I'm fine," she growled at the qunari healer. "You were going to release me in a few hours anyway, weren't you?" The emphasis was not lost on Asa, who narrowed his eyes.

"After I satisfied myself that you were ready to leave, yes."

"Then I'll be sure to check in with you after my workout."

Asa sighed. "The Arishok will be furious, you know."

"The Arishok can ki…" Shepard stopped herself. "Let him be," she said flatly.

The healer's expression hardened. "Have it your way," he said, and called out to the soldiers in qunlat.

Obediently, the two from the gate returned to their posts. The third took up a post beside the stairwell.

Shepard grunted in satisfaction, and began the long jog upstairs again.

Three elves were clustered around the top of the stairwell as Shepard puffed up the last few steps. Two lounged with a faux nonchalance against the walls, and the third blocked the exit.

"What do we have here, brothers?" said the third elf, in the kind of voice Shepard knew all too well.

"Don't," she warned.

"Oooh, the shem says don't," said another of the elves, pushing away from the wall. "Funny how they never seem to understand the word when we say it."

Shepard had broken the first rule of her youth. And not only was she unarmed, she was unarmored as well. However, this was offset by the fact that in many ways Shepard was herself a weapon, and she was currently awash in endorphins.

"I'm not going to warn you again," she said, shoving past to plant and turn on the top step.

One of the elves caught her arm.

It was a mistake. His cries of pain echoed as he tumbled down the steps.

"Dirty shem bitch," growled another of the elves, drawing a long dagger from behind his back.

"Wait," said the leader, catching the other's wrist. "Don't I know you, shem?"

"Should I care?" said Shepard, starting to turn back downstairs.

"You're the shem that lives in the alienage, aren't you?"

Shepard hesitated. "Do you have a problem with that?" she said shortly.

"You saved my cousin from some slavers," he said quietly. He released the other elf's wrist and jerked his head back over his shoulder. "Come on."

"A shem who saved elves from slavers?" said the other elf incredulously.

"Yes," said his friend. "Leave her be."

Reluctantly, he sheathed his dagger, endeavoring to tell her with a look that she'd been lucky for the reprieve. Shepard met the look levelly, and deliberately turned her unprotected back on him.

She paused when she reached the groaning elf where he'd fetched up against the wall, well-bruised, about halfway down the stairs.

"Your buddies are on their way back to the alienage. I should catch up to them if I were you."

He flinched slightly as she continued on, feeling slightly better for the exchange.

Until she reached the bottom.

"You are a fool, basra," raged the Arishok, catching her arm just long enough to fling her against the wall.

Shepard's head bounced against the stone and her teeth clicked together sharply, but she shoved away from the wall and into the red-painted chest with both hands, pushing the giant back a step.

"Do you wish to die?" he growled, capturing her wrists.

"I handled it," she growled back. "Besides, they were lightly armed and unarmored - not a real threat." She glared and tried to tug her hands free.

"Maraas imekari. Even a dathrasi can be dangerous in the right circumstances," he said tightly. "It was an unacceptable risk."

"I make that decision, not you," Shepard snarled, bringing a knee up sharply.

He blocked it. "I will not allow it."

"The hell you won't." With effort, Shepard stepped in and tried for a hip sweep.

The Arishok tugged her sharply to him, and Shepard found her nose smashed against a mass of armor strapping.

"I will not allow it," he repeated.

"Try and stop me," Shepard answered, before she really thought about what she was saying.

The world shifted, and her view of the front of the Arishok was replaced by a view of the back of the Arishok. An inverted view.

"You fucking asshole," Shepard railed helplessly, as she was carted up the steps and back into the compound.

"Was it worth it, basra?"

Asa hadn't spoken for the first full quarter hour after the Arishok had slung her off his shoulder and on to her cot in the infirmary. Now he glared at her as he finished tending the cuts on her feet.

Shepard grit her teeth and looked away.

"I'll take that as a no," he said.

Shepard's eyes snapped back to him. "I needed to blow off steam," she said tightly. "I can't spar with anyone here, so I obviously had to do it some other way."

Asa shook his head. "You couldn't wait one more day?" he asked. "I would have seen to it that you were escorted back to your lodgings. You could have put on your armor and collected your weapons and waited until nightfall when the streets of this city are full of people more than happy to give you a fight. And he would have never known about it."

Shepard didn't need to ask which he Asa was referring to.

She looked away again. "No," she said sharply. "I couldn't."

The healer gave her an odd look. "Shepard?"

The muscles in her jaw bunched. "Just… I just needed to do it."

He stared at her for a moment, then touched her knee gently. "Kost, imekari. Shok ebasit hissra," instructed the qunari healer softly. "Maraas shokra. Whatever it is, let it go."

Shepard turned on him, and for a moment the healer thought she would strike at him, but then her shoulders slumped wearily.

"Easy for you to say," she muttered. "I don't know how."

"Perhaps one day, you will learn."

Shepard was at a low ebb when she finally walked down the steps leading into the vhenadahl courtyard, trailing a dark-eyed sten behind her as a bodyguard.

Asa's final words to her had been a warning.

"Step carefully, Shepard," he said in a low voice, his eyes intent and serious. "You venture over very thin ice."

She gave the sten a nod of farewell as she opened the door to her building and trudged upstairs to her apartment. Her fingers fumbled as she unfastened the many locks on the door, and she leaned wearily against the wood as she shut it again behind her.

Shepard tossed her two new borrowed books on the bed and pulled off the loose clothes she'd worn the past four days of her recovery and let them fall, crossing the room to the tiny bathing chamber beyond.

And stopped dead in the doorway.

The small room was utterly transformed. In addition to the new flushing toilet, there was now a carved stone bath, with a huge copper boiler beside it heated by a round iron firebox. Two taps led from the boiler to the bath, one from the top of the boiler and the other from the bottom. The boiler and firebox were up against the wall, and a small stovepipe led from the firebox out through the wall to vent the smoke outside. Other piping led from a hole near the ceiling to the boiler, connecting it to the huge cistern the dwarves had installed on the roof.

The rough wooden floor had been sanded and finished to a soft gleam. There was even a towel on a towel rack.

Shepard had a bathroom.

She checked the boiler. It was full.

She opened the firebox. Inside, wood had been laid for a fire, just awaiting a flame.

Shepard walked back out to the bedroom and over to the sturdy chest in the corner. She disarmed the traps and unlocked the lid, finding her equipment - armor cleaned to a near-shine - nestling inside.

Varric hadn't mentioned a word of this when she'd retrieved her keys from him.

Shepard picked up her omni-tool and carried it into the bathroom, where she used it to light the fire in the firebox. While she waited for the water in the boiler to heat, she opened the 'tool and brought up her photo files.

There weren't many, but there were enough.

She was Commander Catriona Shepard.

And somehow, she'd find a way home.