Thank you to all of you for your patience, and to Oleander's One for her keen betaing eye!


After they had seen Merrill to the Maker's side, or wherever she was bound, they turned their attention to the rescued mages. There were about a dozen of them remaining, the rest having succumbed to the whispers of demons or died from the extent of their injuries and maltreatment. Hawke looked at the bodies with compassion; she could see how easily it could have been her there. If it hadn't been for the devotion of her friends, and of Fenris … But she still wasn't sure how she felt about Fenris and his choices recently. In the cell it had been easy to forgive him—he had been her lifeline, and all she could see was the love that was so undeniable between them. Out here it was different; she had Varania's constant smirking and Bethany's glares and Bianca's distress beating down on her like unrelenting suns, and it was impossible to escape the reminders. He had left her, abandoned her in Kirkwall without even considering talking to her about it first. At some point, she was going to have to decide how she felt about that, and what she was going to do.

In the meantime, she threw herself into helping the bewildered mages, most of them suffering from the effects of their long imprisonment. The inhabitants of the village appeared once or twice; the Templars who lived there had fled, and the innkeeper's wife, who seemed to be the most decisive personality in the village, made an agreement with Hawke that they would all live and let live—Hawke would keep the freed mages out of the village, and the villagers would let them all alone. This left them without a lot of food, until Isabela and Bianca made a raid on the wreckage of the tower and found the storeroom.

After a couple of days, the first of the Highever troops began arriving. They clearly had not expected what they saw—the great tower disassembled, wide-eyed and nervous mages wandering the countryside more or less freely, and a band of aging adventurers and teenagers camping out amidst the chaos.

There were some healers with the troops, who immediately took charge of the mages, and the rest of the men went into the village hunting for the remnants of the Templars. Hawke's people were left with their work finished, and it was clear that everyone was ready to leave the rubble of the Aeonar far behind them. One of Fergus's men offered an escort back to Highever, complete with a cart for those who didn't wish to walk or ride, and it was accepted with alacrity.

Once they were back in Highever, Isabela immediately began going over the refit of her ship with a fine-tooth comb, finding fault in whatever miniscule details she could. Bethany watched her with a fond smile. "She never trusts anyone's work but her own. That's why the Temptress is still in such good condition, and one of the fastest ships on the high seas."

"You seem happy, sister," Evelyn remarked, leaning her forearms on the rail next to Bethany. The harbor smelled of fish and tar and salt, odors Hawke had never learned to appreciate. She could see that Bethany, much like Isabela, came alive in this environment.

"We are. Never better."

"I'd never have imagined Isabela settling down all these years."

Bethany glanced at her sideways, nodding. "We've had our ups and downs, for sure. It hasn't always been easy."

"What relationship is?"

Evelyn had meant it lightly, but Bethany's face darkened. "Your … husband seems to think yours is—he comes and goes as he pleases, and swoops in to save the day when the rest of us have done all the work."

"That's not fair!"

"I think it is."

"How can you still, after all these years, be holding a grudge against him?"

"Because he's earned it at every turn," Bethany said. "You've been on the run because of him; he put you through years of torment back in Kirkwall with his selfishness; he ran away and left you and Bianca alone."

Evelyn looked away, toward the open ocean and across the sea in the direction of Kirkwall. "I don't know what 'home' means," she said. "You know, people talk about 'home' and they mean the place where they grew up, or the place where they lived the longest, or the place where they currently live. But Lothering was destroyed—whatever it is now, I don't think I'd recognize it, and I've been away from Ferelden for longer than I lived here. Kirkwall … isn't the place I knew. The people have changed, and the buildings, and the whole flavor of the town. And I have nowhere else to go. Through it all, there's been one thing that never changed, and that was him. Whatever foolish decisions he's made, he is my home, just like this ship and Isabela are yours. And whatever I've gone through because of him, I've chosen to because it was, all of it, better than being without him." She paused, wondering if there was more to say, but she could think of nothing.

"I can't forget, Evelyn. Not while he still looks at me as though I'm one false move away from being an abomination. That may be true of some mages, but I've never been one of them." Bethany shrugged. "Maybe that means I'm not a very powerful mage, maybe it means Father trained me well, maybe it's because so many people have been looking out for me all my life. Whatever it is, I don't deserve his black looks, and every time he turns one on me, I remember all the nasty things he's said, starting with the night we met him."

"I don't know what that has to do with me."

"You're his wife! I'm your sister! How can you reconcile both of those?"

"Because I love him, and I love you. It bothers me that he doesn't trust you—but he trusts you more than any mage he's ever known, which is a high compliment. And it bothers me that you can't try to understand him, but you've come a long way over the years. I've seen the growth in both of you and I keep hoping that eventually you'll come to accept one another—for my sake, and Bianca's, and for the Void's sake, for Isabela's, too. You're both so caught up in nursing your resentment and fear of the other one's failings that you can't see who you're hurting in the process." Evelyn pushed herself off the rail. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

"Going to make up again?" Bethany said, nastily.

"No. I don't know if we can." Evelyn turned around. Without looking at her sister, she said, "I hope that makes you happy." And she left her there, not bothering to wait for Bethany's reaction.

High up in the rigging, Bianca looked down at her mother's retreating back in anguish. She shouldn't have eavesdropped; Isabela had told her countless times not to unless she was sure she could handle whatever she might hear. But she couldn't help it—the chance to hear what her aunt and her mother were talking about had been one she didn't want to pass up. Bianca had been hoping the Hawke sisters' conversation would give her some hint as to what lay in her family's future, but now it looked like all there was ahead of them was more arguing and more angriness and more unhappiness.

Her papa was down in the cabins, and her Aunt Varania was lurking about the ship somewhere, just waiting to cause more trouble, and Bianca didn't see any way to get clear of it all and for the three of them to just be happy again.

"Bianca, may I have a word with you?" Kethali's soft voice broke into her thoughts. She hadn't even seen him climbing the ropes, which said a lot about how distracted she had been.

"Of course."

He climbed onto the yardarm, carefully, as he did most things, and Bianca followed, swinging her legs as she sat next to him. "What's on your mind?"

"I must leave you here."

She hadn't expected that, and she found herself staring at him in consternation.

"My father will need me," he said gently.

"Oh. Of course. I'm so sorry," she said, thinking of the gentle white-haired elf they had seen to the Maker, and all of her parents' stories—well, her mother's, really—about Merrill.

"Thank you."

They looked at one another. Bianca had grown so used to him, grown to rely on his gentle support and calming presence; she hadn't prepared herself for this moment.

"Bianca," he said softly, reaching for her hand. His hand was cool, soothing, like fresh mint, Bianca thought, staring down at their intertwined hands. Kethali went on. "I'm sure you haven't been unaware that my … feelings for you are—more than just those of a friend."

She nodded, unable to speak. This moment she had known was coming, and she still didn't know what her response would be, or how to sort through the tangled mess of her own feelings.

"This is clearly not the time to … to begin anything," he said. "I must go, and there will be much for me to do—you must go a different way, and you have to heal the wounds in your family, and yourself, before you can begin to grow anew."

There was truth in his words, but Bianca found herself unaccountably irritated. Who was he to tell her what she needed?

"Someday, maybe, there will be time again," Kethali was saying. He lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing it. Bianca waited for that familiar flutter in her stomach, but mostly she felt annoyed. Did she not get a say in this decision? She had never been sure if she wanted a relationship with Kethali, but she would have been willing to think about it. Now he was saying that he had made the choice for both of them, just like Bianca's parents had always made her choices for her, and she was getting very tired of it.

He was waiting for her to respond, and she tried to push her resentment aside and give him the kind of farewell his support during the trip deserved. "Thank you for … being here, Kethali. I don't know what I would have done without you."

"It was my pleasure." He gave her hand a last squeeze, and then climbed down and left her sitting there in the rigging, feeling glum and powerless and very disgruntled.