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Lucas slept very, very late into the next day, waking with sunlight streaming in his windows. He lay in bed for a long time after, trying not to think. Maker only knew what would happen now. The Viscount, the Arishok, the Grand Cleric, the Knight-Commander ... if he had half a brain, he'd get out of Kirkwall right now before someone embroiled him in another mess.

He sat up abruptly. Why didn't he? What tied him in Kirkwall? Nothing any longer. He could leave Bodahn to watch over the house, and Varric—assuming he couldn't pry the dwarf out of the Hanged Man to come with him, which he probably couldn't—would surely be willing to oversee his finances. The dwarf would almost certainly do a better job with them than Lucas did, anyway.

Throwing the covers back, he got out of bed, throwing on a shirt and pants instead of his dented icky armor. He still couldn't look at it without thinking of his mother, and he didn't want to think of his mother. Not right now.

Lucas looked around the room. Yes, he could probably take off with a fairly small bag, especially if he wasn't planning on fighting. Not that he knew where he could go that didn't involve fighting, but that really wasn't the point right now. The point was to hold on to the idea.

When he left his room, the physical embodiment of the idea was there in front of him: Isabela was stretched out on his banister, adding to the obscene wood carving she'd begun a while back.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked her, starting down the stairs toward her.

She sat up, still perched on the banister, and looked at him. "Nice hair."

"I just got up."

"I figured that one out all by myself."

"Aren't you clever, though." He leaned on the rail next to her. "Can you figure out what I'm thinking, too?"

Isabela slid farther down the banister, away from him. "No."

"Liar."

"Well, the answer's no."

"Come on, Isabela. Why not? Surely it can't be because you're afraid."

She frowned at him. "Please. You think you can get me into bed by calling me chicken?"

"Calling you sexy, and irresistible, and exotic, and gorgeous hasn't gotten me very far—I thought I'd try a new tactic."

"When did you call me those things?"

He moved closer, and this time she stayed put. "In my head, all the time." He lifted her hair off her neck, kissing her smooth skin. "Isabela, you sexy, irresistible, exotic, gorgeous pirate of a woman, will you run away with me?"

She had been leaning slowly into his embrace as he spoke, but when the import of his last words hit her, she jerked back, banging her head painfully into his jaw.

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

"Run away with you? Where?"

"Anywhere but here."

"Why?"

"After the events of this past week, do you have to ask that? Would you want to stay in Kirkwall?" He frowned at her. "Do you want to stay in Kirkwall?"

"Well ... not as such, but ... I have to find the relic."

"Or Castillon will come after you."

"Exactly."

"Well, then, let's find the damn relic and get out of here!"

Isabela's eyes widened. "Do you mean it?"

Lucas nodded. "If I help you find your relic, will you come away with me? Anywhere you want. Everywhere, if you want. I don't care."

"I'll ... think about it."

"Fair enough." It was as close to a yes as he could expect, and really as much as he needed right now, since the whole idea was barely a few minutes old. "Meanwhile ..." He pulled her against him, whispering in her ear. "Have you ever done it on a banister?"

"Yes."

"Of course you have." He reached between her legs and ripped her tiny black smallclothes off her, finding her already damp. She sighed, spreading her legs farther, balancing with all the agility of years of climbing riggings.

Lucas's mouth explored everywhere—on her neck and her ears and her collarbone, dipping down into the valley between her breasts, and Isabela threw her head back and sighed.

"Hawke."

"Mm?"

"You've gone a little crazy, haven't you?"

"Don't you like it?"

Her moan as he filled her was answer enough.

Much later, Isabela went searching Lucas's room for her clothes, discarded during the second round. "You'll be at the Hanged Man later?"

"Probably. Why, where are you going?"

"I have to see someone who may have a lead on the relic."

Lucas got out of bed, starting the hunt for his own clothes. "I'll come with you."

"Not this time, Hawke."

"Why not?"

She looked him up and down. "Because they'd make you for a noble as soon as you walked in the door, and that would get us both killed."

He couldn't argue with that. "Just … don't go getting in any trouble without me, all right?"

"Who, me?" She batted her eyes coyly at him, and Lucas pulled her to him, kissing her thoroughly.

"You."

"Fine. If it looks like the lead is going anywhere, I'll come get you."

"That's all I ask."

Isabela disappeared, climbing out the window and shimmying down the drainpipe. While Lucas was never quite sure why she didn't use the door, in this case it was a bit of a relief, because less than a minute later Bodahn came knocking at the door, announcing that Aveline had dropped in. It wasn't that Lucas was ashamed of his relationship with Isabela … it was just that he'd rather not talk to Aveline about it. There was no love lost between the two women, and the memory of Lucas's old feelings for Aveline lingered just enough that he didn't much want to talk about his sex life with her—particularly not the kind he shared with Isabela.

Lucas finished getting dressed and met Aveline in the atrium. She was pacing back and forth, but she stopped when she saw him. "Hawke. I don't care what else is going on—I came to see if you were all right."

"I'm fine. Thank you, Aveline."

She looked at him searchingly. "How can you be fine?"

He smiled. "Have it your way, then. I'm not fine." Taking a seat on the bench along the wall, he leaned his head back. "Has it been worth it, Aveline? Do you ever think maybe we should have stayed in Ferelden?"

"What, and be killed by the darkspawn? No, thank you."

"It might have been … quicker." He thought briefly of his mother, of that twisted body, and then pushed the thought away. "Of course, Kirkwall has been a bit better for you. How is Donnic?"

Aveline's face softened. "Donnic is … fine." She sank down on the bench next to him. "But … he wants to marry me."

"That's wonderful news." He meant it, too. The feelings he had tried to nurture for Aveline were at rest now, as they should be. "But you seem to think there's something wrong with it."

"Wesley … you know, the way he died … losing him was the hardest thing, especially since I was the one who struck the final blow. If something like that happened to Donnic?" She sighed. "But the alternative, of course, is living without love, making it all about work and duty. I tried that, and there was Donnic all along, sneaking his way inside my heart. I don't know what I would do without him."

"Seems like you have your answer, then."

"I suppose I do … but it still seems … a big step."

"An important step, Aveline. You should take it."

She nodded. "Thank you, Hawke. You know, you are the closest thing I have to family; your approval and support mean a lot."

"You have it. Always," he said, squeezing her hand. "And … thank you. For being there all along. For helping me keep their memories alive. It seems such a tremendous burden, being the only one left who truly remembers them, all of them."

"I know. I won't forget, I promise."

"And I won't forget Wesley, either. For what it's worth, I think he would approve of Donnic."

"I think he would, too."

"Well, don't tell me that, for the Maker's sake," Lucas said, giving her a little push. "Go tell Donnic."

Aveline smiled, getting up. "I believe I will."

"Good."

Lucas watched her leave, sighing. This wasn't quite what he had originally intended, but in many ways it was better. Donnic was good for Aveline, and for whatever reason, Isabela was good for him. She was the breath of fresh air he hadn't even known he needed.

He went to the Hanged Man later in the day, finding Varric holed up in his room scribbling rapidly. The dwarf glanced at him briefly as he came in, then his eyes darted guiltily away.

"What is it?" Lucas asked. Something felt very wrong.

"Nothing."

"You are lying through your teeth."

Varric sighed. "Yes. I'm lying through my teeth. Look, Hawke, if I tell you something, will you promise not to do anything … crazy?"

"Define crazy."

"Extreme."

Lucas raised his eyebrows. "I didn't think I tended toward extreme reactions."

"This time you might."

Well, that could only mean one person. "What has he done now?"

Varric winced. "It's as bad as it's ever been. Worse."

"What has he done?" Lucas asked again, enunciating each word sharply.

"It's like this—"

"Let me guess. After I told him I wasn't buying his nonsense about the 'Tranquil solution' and wasn't going to sneak into the Gallows looking for proof of it, he came to you, and you being the soft touch that you are, you agreed to go with him."

"Yeah. Pretty much."

"So what did you find in the Gallows?" Lucas crossed his arms across his chest.

Varric sat back, sighing. "Ser Alrik was as bad as Blondie said. We ran into him in the tunnels as he was about to make a female mage Tranquil, for reasons you can probably guess. He had a bunch of his men with him, all standing around in a circle. I'm not exactly the righteous type, you know that, Hawke, but … some people deserve to die. What Blondie—what Justice, or Vengeance, or whoever they all want to call themselves, did … those Templars deserved it."

"And then what?"

"And then he—they—it turned on the mage. She was cowering, begging for her life, and … Blondie's not in control of that thing, whatever it is."

"I could have told you that. I did tell you that," Lucas said.

"I know."

"Did he kill her?"

"No. He pulled himself back at the last minute."

"And the 'Tranquil Solution'?"

Varric put his quill down, saying. "Alrik had a letter on him; it was his idea, but the Knight-Commander and the Divine wouldn't go for it."

"Well. How surprising," Lucas said. "Someone in charge actually showing good sense." He looked pointedly at his friend. "Varric."

"Hawke."

"Where is he?"

Varric looked away. "I don't know."

Lucas raised his eyebrows, waiting.

"I really don't know, Hawke, I swear!"

"How much did you give him?"

"A lot."

"Andraste's ass, Varric, what were you thinking?"

"I was thinking he was my friend! That a lot of people owe him their lives. That we owe him our lives."

"So you put a lot of money in the hands of a dangerous, uncontrolled abomination and let him go free?"

Varric rubbed his hands over his face. "Yes."

Lucas shook his head. "I hope he thanks the Maker and all his lucky stars he met you, Varric."

"I hope he gets some help."

"There is no help for what he is," Lucas said evenly. "You know that, I know that, and he knows that." He studied the dwarf for a moment. "If I ever see him again, you know I'll kill him."

"Yeah. I know. Not happy about the idea of two of my best friends at odds with one another, trying to kill each other."

"I can't say I'm thrilled about it, either." Lucas sighed. "Varric, I know who you are. I love you for your soft heart and your belief in people, all the things about you that you try to hide. But in this case … I hope we don't all live to regret what you've done."

"Me, too, Hawke." They both stared gloomily into the fire. "Me, too."