"Seheron," Fenris mused. "I was born there, or so I was told. I do not know if it is true." He and Hawke were standing together near the prow of the Golden Pandion, idly watching the water. There was not much for them to do at the moment, as it would be at least a day and a half before they reached Isabella's cove.

"You recall nothing of it?" Twyla asked. He glanced at her. Her hair had grown out long enough to be sleeked in waves against her head, she had gained weight and her skin had lost the undertone of ashy grey that made her look as though she would crumble at a touch. She was, in short, better. Much better, and he was both glad and proud of that. For once, he had helped to save a life, and it was the life he cherished as no other at that. It felt better to help heal than it did to kill, underscoring what a wretched thing it was to have been forged into little better than an instrument of death.

"Virtually nothing from my childhood. Sometimes I glimpse something that brings back a moment, and I recall—an old man gutting a fish, tossing the entrails in the water, and the vandal fish rising to devour them. Or being told what to pull and what to leave alone in a vegetable patch. I hear a woman humming a tune, and I remember the words without hearing them sung. Something my mother used to sing, perhaps. Nothing important. Nothing useful, in this situation."

"I hope nothing hasto be useful in this situation," Twyla replied. "I would like it very much if this could be accomplished simply and swiftly, without any complications."

Fenris couldn't help it: he snorted. "Be reasonable. When has anything your House been involved in been uncomplicated?"

"We do have a gift for stumbling upon madness," she admitted.

"I would reject or return it if it were a gift," he returned. "Yet—I have greater knowledge of Seheron from later in my life because—," he paused. "—because Danarius took me with him when he was ordered there by the Senate, to quell the Qunari influence and retake the island. It failed. He failed." There he stopped again, trying to work out how to put what he had to say into words.

Twyla took his pause for something else. "I have not forgotten my promise, Fenris. It may seem as though I have made no move. I ask that you trust me a while longer."

"I will. I do. Might I ask something of you in return?"

"You can always ask, and if I can give you what you want, I will." She turned around to lean back against the rail, propping herself on her elbows

"Then—I would ask that you never act the haughty, imperious Magister again, even though you do not mean it. It is…disturbing."

She was silent for a moment that stretched out too long. "Yet twenty people, and perhaps more that Hayder was holding back in reserve, walked away alive because I pretended to be something I am not. Hayder himself seems to be a waste of life, but surely among those twenty people weresome who deserved to live. If there weren't…then the world is too dark a place to go on living in. It doesn't take an evil person to do an evil deed, just an ordinary one, or even a good one, who makes the wrong decision or does something stupid in a bad moment. No, I cannot promise I will never act like that again—but I can promise it will only ever be an act. I regret that I can't give you the answer you want."

"I am disappointed, but I had rather have that honest answer than an easy lie to placate me," he told her. "There is another matter I wished to speak of, however. It is about Isabella. I can see why you call her friend—she is amusing and appealing, in her way. Easy to like. I do not entirely trust her, however."

"Please don't say she's just plain 'easy'," Hawke shook her head. "Aveline makes quite enough remarks like that already. I…rather envy Isabella her freedom and how simple it is for her to give and accept affection."

That comment made Fenris blink. It was true that her illness had daunted him. He had not wanted to press his affections on her while she was unwell and unhappy, but neither had he known when the time might be right to remind her he loved and wanted her. Was she as unsure of how to begin again as he was?

"I would not say that of her. I too have known and envied those who love without limitation. No, it is not that aspect of Isabella's life that I question. What I know of her is this: she is very much a creature who lives for the moment and in the moment, with little thought or feeling for much besides her pleasures, which includes her ship. That she has discovered some conscience regarding those who were to be sold into slavery is much to her credit, but I doubt it has done much to alter her nature.

"Isabella feels little responsibility for anything, with the exception of her crew, in as much as they are needed to sail her vessel. She downplays dangers which might stand between her and her desires. She has said that the Qunari are nowhere near the cove where she is taking us. I would not rely on her word. Much may have changed even in the few days since she left the refugees there; the Qunari may have discovered the place. She may have been mistaken, or she may have exaggerated. She may even have lied outright, thinking herself more than equal to any situation that might arise. We should be wary."

"You are not wont to be so eloquent," Twyla's brow furrowed in thought. "It speaks of how seriously you take this. Isabella is my friend, but in truth, you have spent more hours in her company than I, since you traveled with her to Kirkwall, so I must defer to you as knowing her better… The Qunari must know who I am by now, that I killed many of them. I have heard that the Qun forbids vengeance, but no doubt they will make an exception in my case. Meeting with them again would be… I must make some preparations, just in case. Thank you, Fenris."

It was gratifying to be taken so seriously, but any real pleasure he felt it was overwhelmed the next day when he discovered that his misgivings did not even scratch the surface. When they sailed into the secluded harbor the next day, it was to discover that in addition to a hundred and fifty refugees, there were more than two hundred and fifty Qunari waiting for them. Each and every refugee had a Kossith warrior either holding a blade to their throats or had their grey hands wrapped around their necks. Even the babies each had a grim Qunari nursemaid to hold them, one arm supporting their fragile bodies and a hand waiting to rip off their heads

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A/N: So the mystery virus my SO has is not a virus after all, but Lyme disease. He very nearly ended up in the hospital, but now the antibiotics are doing what they should. I apologize for not answering my reviews this week, as it's been a bad one. Getting better, though! Thank you all so much for your positive words and expressions of support.