Just so you know, there will be no update next week, but I'll be back on schedule the following Thursday. Thank you for reading, everyone!


Ren went down to talk to Morrigan in her garden the next morning, finding the witch pacing restlessly, muttering to herself. "A lot going on in there right now?" she asked.

Morrigan turned to look at her. "Finally have your mind on your work?" she snapped in response.

Refusing to be baited, Ren smiled. "Can't do much until Corypheus shows himself."

"I believe you are incorrect, Inquisitor. I believe there is something you can do." Morrigan smirked at her. "Something you will enjoy."

"Oh?"

"Yes. While I believe I can counteract the dragon that accompanies Corypheus, it will also be useful for you to be prepared to face it. And in that endeavor, the best thing you can do is continue your path of desolation through the dragon population of southern Thedas."

"You want me to kill a dragon?" Ren grinned widely. "That's a lot easier than most of what I get asked to do."

"I thought you would see it that way."

"And what will you be doing?"

"Readying myself. There is much to be done."

"Does that include talking to the voices in your head?"

Morrigan glared at her, and Ren left the witch alone before she decided the Inquisitor would be better off as a toad.

She went back to her quarters looking for Ashkaari, but he was out somewhere. Flissa was there, however, straightening up Ren's desk. She looked up quizzically as Ren came in. "Inquisitor."

"Haven't we gotten past that yet? I thought we were friends."

"We are." Flissa smiled. "Old habits and all." Her smile faded, and she looked at Ren with narrowed eyes. "Speaking of old habits …"

Ren groaned. "Krem told you?"

Flissa nodded. "Of course he did."

Carrying the battle into the enemy's camp, so to speak, Ren asked, "How are the two of you? Every time I see you together you seem so … happy, but it can't be that easy. Can it?"

"Pretty much. I mean, that night in the tavern, with Cole, that helped. I think Krem was afraid I was developing a fascination with his past, with who he was—what he looked like, you know—before. But I don't care. I love him now, today, for just who he is. Whatever he was before …" She shrugged. "I have things in my past I'd rather he didn't pry into, so I get it."

"It doesn't bother you that there's so much of who he used to be that you don't know?" Ren thought of the Iron Bull's time on Seheron, of his life in the Qun. Try as she might, she would never truly understand what any of that had been like for him—and if she couldn't, would she ever truly understand him?

Flissa looked thoughtful. "Not really," she said at last. "I mean, there are parts of my past that I wish he understood better, but it wouldn't be the same as being with someone who had been there, you know? So I figure it's the same for him."

"Maker, you're … grown up."

They both laughed at that.

Flissa said, "You ducked the question. Don't think I didn't notice. What was up yesterday?"

Part of Ren thought she should keep quiet, keep what was between them between them … but part of her needed to talk this out with a friend. She started to open her mouth to tell Flissa everything … then thought better of it. "Momentary misunderstanding," she said. If she told Flissa, Flissa would tell Krem. And while Ren trusted Krem, and the Iron Bull trusted Krem, she was uncomfortable setting that chain of events in motion.

"Right." Flissa looked at her for another moment, then turned away. "You tell me if you think you need to."

"I'm sorry, it's not that … I get so used to not talking," Ren said, worried that she had insulted her friend.

"I get it. Really, I do." Flissa smiled. "Some things are too close to the heart to talk about, especially when they're confusing." At Ren's startled look, she laughed. "I was a bartender for a long time. Not quite like being in the Ben-Hassrath, or so I'm told," she said with an impish look, "but you learn to read people pretty well." More seriously, she added, "Look, if you're not going to talk to me … talk to someone."

"Sure." Ren left her quarters, feeling that that advice was more easily given than taken. Who could she trust to talk to who wouldn't turn around and talk to the Iron Bull?

And then fate stepped in and gave her an answer. In the courtyard, she saw a single horse being unsaddled, and a tall, familiar figure with a shock of brown hair climbing the steps toward her.

"Hawke!"

He grinned as he came closer. "The very same. Came as soon as I got your letter; heard about the Arbor Wilds on the way. Corypheus still out there waiting for the final ass-kicking?"

"Absolutely." She hugged him impulsively.

"For a welcome like this, I should have come sooner. Although Isabela kept me pretty busy when she heard how beautiful you are. Reminding me where my heart is bound, if you will. I told her you were otherwise occupied … but I didn't protest too hard."

"Say no more. I can imagine Bull reacting the same way." She hesitated. "Actually … do you have some time? I wanted to talk to you."

Hawke nodded. "I'm all yours. Came to stay until Corypheus is gone." He looked over her shoulder. "I should check in with Varric, though, or he'll kill me."

"I'll come with you. Hey, how are you with dragons?"

"Fair, I suppose? I've only fought the one … but we all lived and it didn't, so I suppose that says something."

"Good. We've got to go kill a dragon, get prepared for the one Corypheus brings along with him."

Hawke shook his head. "I remember living an exciting life like yours."

"You miss it?"

"Not really."

"You don't get bored?"

Hawke laughed. "You've never met Isabela, or you wouldn't need to ask."

"And … that's all you need?"

"Just me and the Admiral of the Eastern Seas?" He looked at her, his brown eyes studying her face, and more seriously, he said, "You know, there's the whole fleet of pirates, and various sea battles and islands to land on, and … we find a fair amount to do." Hawke stopped walking altogether, catching Ren by the arm. "You thinking of making some changes?"

"I don't know, really. I'm just … trying to decide what I want, you know?"

"Oh, I know. I spent years doing that in Kirkwall. It's tiring."

"You can say that again."

"Is that what you wanted to talk about?"

"Pretty much."

"Got it. Whenever you're ready, I'm all ears ... or shoulders, depending," he added, displaying a particularly well-formed shoulder. Not as nice as her Ashkaari's, though, Ren thought.

They kept moving up the steps, entering the keep. It was impossible to miss the way Varric's face lit up at the sight of Hawke, and Ren felt a sudden stab of something like envy. Would her friends feel that way about her, if she went away and came back? The Inquisition was the first time she had really had friends; Dooley's mercs had liked her well enough, but they'd accepted her more because Dooley and Zadra had taken her under their wings than because of anything intrinsic in Ren herself.

Varric and Hawke were exchanging greetings, and Ren started to drift away, to let them be alone, but Hawke called her back. "You had something to talk about," he reminded her.

"Well …" She tried not to look at Varric, but she wasn't sure she wanted to talk about this in front of him.

The dwarf chuckled. "What Rusty's trying not to say is that she doesn't trust me not to be a conduit of information rather than a repository."

"You sound like Fenris," Lucas said dryly.

"Perish the thought." Varric patted a chair. "I'll tell you what, you two talk and I'll pretend I'm not here."

A thought came to her. "Or … I think there's a story I'd like to hear you tell. And Hawke, here, too."

Hawke raised his eyebrows, looking at both of them. "There is?"

Varric sighed heavily. He turned Bianca around so that her face was to the wall. "There is. The story." At Hawke's widened eyes, he nodded. "I wrote you about … the thaig, and the Deep Roads, and …" He looked at Ren. "I'm not making any promises, Rusty, but … go ahead and ask."

"Well, I'm curious about how you and … you know who met, first off. You seem to come from very different backgrounds."

"You can say that again. Bianca's family are very traditional surface dwarves, if you can imagine such a thing, and mine were … not. But once upon a time, I had a need for someone with … mechanical skills. Bianca is, beyond a doubt, the most brilliant smith you'll ever meet."

"You, and a girl who works with her hands?" Lucas leaned forward on his elbow. "I don't see it."

"They do say opposites attract," Ren said.

"You and Rivaini weren't exactly the world's most obvious couple at first, either," Varric said to Hawke. "And look at you now."

"So why haven't we heard of Bianca, if she's so brilliant?" Ren tried to keep the skepticism out of her tone, but she hadn't been impressed by Bianca in the least.

"She got married a while back and moved to Orlais; I think she's been trying to establish herself. But she likes to work on things no one's ever heard of; they're a tough sell, sometimes, and they're dangerous even to think about, other times."

"She's married? But …"

"But you thought we had a thing?" Varric smiled grimly. "Her family arranged her marriage, to a nice smith caste boy. Wealthy, respected, has a great anvil collection … and the brains of one. Perfect husband."

Hawke shook his head. "And you just let her get married?"

Varric laughed. "No one 'just lets' Bianca do anything."

"Did you try to stop her?"

"Nope."

"So what makes the Merchants' Guild such a danger to her?" Ren asked.

Varric raised his eyebrows. "Me. Technically, we're not supposed to be within three hundred leagues of one another. I'm pretty sure Smith Caste Boy had that written into their prenup. So if it got back to the Guild that we were seen together, they'd freeze my assets. And then have me killed. Possibly not in that order."

"So that's why you had me deposit so much of your money in my name," Hawke exclaimed. "It all makes sense now."

"Maybe it was Wicked Grace winnings of Rivaini's. You never know."

"How long has it been, Varric?"

"How long have we been keeping most of a continent between us at all times?"

"Right. Well … really, why?"

He shrugged. "Why not? Shit, it's been what, fifteen years? Hard to let go of old habits, maybe. Maybe I've just never found anyone else like her. Maybe …"

"Maybe you're scared that if you do find someone else, you'll actually have to get out of your chair and do something about it?" Hawke asked.

"Yeah. Maybe." Varric turned and looked at Ren, his brown eyes as direct and open as she had ever seen them. "So there you have it, Rusty. Here am I, drifting along with the blowing wind, nothing more substantial than a pile of letters connecting me to another person, and there's Hawke, anchored firmly to a fleet of ships and the big hat at the top. That help you with your problem?"

"No." Ren frowned. "Maybe? I'll have to think about it."

"You do that." Varric stood up. "Meanwhile, it's no Hanged Man, but I think the Herald's Rest has some potent beverages guaranteed to give a person new troubles to think about."

"Sounds like a plan." Hawke shook his head, his eyes twinkling. "If Isabela finds out I came here to drink instead of fight, she'll—"

"Show up? Wouldn't that be a shame." Varric chuckled.

"I'm not sure Skyhold's ready for my pirate."

"We have enough pirates already."

Thinking of the Iron Bull, and that piratical eye patch he wore, Ren grinned. "You can say that again."

After a night of cards and drinking, Ren really wasn't feeling like she wanted to get on a horse and ride out to go kill a dragon the next morning … but it was time. Whatever Corypheus was planning, he wasn't going to wait much longer.

She rode with Hawke and Varric, aware that the Iron Bull was hanging back but not entirely sure why.

He wouldn't have wanted her to know, either. The Iron Bull was, to put it bluntly, jealous. He could admit that freely without having the faintest fucking clue what to do about it. Hawke was taken, he knew that … but was it permanent? Hawke was tall, and good-looking, and human, and charming, and he made Morvoren laugh, and he was from a Marcher noble family the way she was, and he could marry her and give her children and everything the Iron Bull could never offer her. And he'd been a fucking hero; sure, the situation in Kirkwall had gone to shit several times over, but Hawke had emerged from it every time, and brought most of the city with him. The Iron Bull would have given a lot to have been at the duel between Hawke and the Arishok.

The Iron Bull thought about his vow to leave Ren when Corypheus was dead, and he felt a burning despair at the knowledge that sooner or later she would be in someone else's bed, at someone else's side, and happy to be there. It was what she needed, what she deserved, and he was comfortable in that knowledge, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

Ren reined her horse in, letting him catch up to her. "You're quiet today."

"Hangover," he said succinctly. It was a lie, but better than the truth.

"You didn't even drink that much."

"Maybe I'm just getting old."

She eyed him up and down. "Not so as anyone could notice."

"Qunari age gracefully, what can I say."

"How old are you? Or do Qunari count time differently, too?"

"No, it passes about the same for us as it does for anyone else."

"So?" Ren frowned. "You really are taciturn today. I would have thought you'd be more amped up, getting ready to go kill a dragon."

"Nah. Too many people." He didn't just mean Hawke, either. Ren had brought the entire crew of companions on this one, to make sure everyone had the chance at a dragon. There was no telling which of them, if not all, would be tasked with facing Corypheus next to her, so she wanted to be certain.

She grinned wickedly. "We'll find a way."

In spite of himself, he chuckled. "I like the way you think, kadan."

They rode in silence for a few moments. Then Ren said, "Hey."

"Yeah?"

"After … after Corypheus, and before … you know …"

"Yeah?"

"What do you say we go kill a dragon together? Just the two of us. Think of it—you, me, all that glorious mass of dragon shrieking above us, and then, after we kill it, all the time in the world." She winked. "Taarsidath-an halsaam."

He had a mental image of his Morvoren, naked and glowing and smeared with dragon's blood, and the sudden spike of arousal had him catching his breath audibly enough for her to hear him.

She grinned. "I see we have a winning idea."

The Iron Bull cleared his throat, glancing at her in amusement. "Yeah, I think that can be arranged. If you insist."

"Oh, I definitely do."

It was something to look forward to; a fitting farewell to everything they were together and everything they could have been, in a different world, another life.

But in the meantime, there was this dragon ahead of them, deep in the Emerald Graves. As they journeyed through the greenery, the companions discussed how they would handle it. The group of them had never fought all together before.

Vivienne, Solas, and Dorian got into an argument about which spells were most useful against dragons. Hawke, knowing a few things about magic thanks to his family heritage, joined in and was promptly shouted down by both Dorian and Vivienne.

Blackwall hung to the side, exchanging comments with Cassandra, both of them staying far away from the boisterous group of mages.

Sera and Ren and Varric were seeing who could come up with the wittiest piece of dragon-related doggerel.

Which reminded the Iron Bull that he had promised to write Ren a poem, if she defeated Corypheus. He wasn't sure why he had promised; he'd never tried to write poetry in his life—never wanted to. But she made him want things that he had never thought of before.

"Her hair flames bright/but her spirit/brightens the darkest night."

No longer surprised by the spirit's sudden appearances, he glanced at Cole, frowning. "You can't write it for me, kid. And that's a little … basic, don't you think? Plus, you used 'bright' twice."

Cole ignored the critique. "You're standing in the light looking toward the dark, The Iron Bull. Why?"

"Because I have to."

"It hurts you. It hurts her. Why do you have to do something that hurts you both?"

He sighed. "It won't hurt forever."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do. Everything passes eventually." The Iron Bull was pleased with his answer; let the kid argue the truth of that.

Cole frowned, looking from the Iron Bull to Ren and back again. "Sometimes … I think that sometimes it hurts less if you wait to say it at the right time."

"You do, huh? Someone teach you that?"

The kid nodded gravely. "Varric. He says there's something called timing, and it makes a difference in how a person hears the truth they need to hear."

"Well, Varric would know."

"He thinks his time has passed."

"I know he does." The Iron Bull watched the dwarf. He couldn't say he'd seen anything in Varric's Bianca that would make him go celibate for fifteen years, but you never knew what went on in someone's head … unless you were Cole, of course. "Maybe he doesn't mind."

"He doesn't mind," Cole affirmed, "but it hurts him anyway."

"Yeah, I'm not surprised."

"He uses that hurt, points it with the pen, lets it flow onto the page, and pretends it isn't his."

The Iron Bull nodded. "I'd worked that one out for myself. You think Hawke could do anything for him?"

Cole looked at Hawke thoughtfully, then at Varric, then sighed. "No."

"Didn't think so. What about you?"

"Varric won't let me. He can tell when I want to help, and he … goes under it."

"That's the way with people sometimes, kid. You'll just have to get used to it."

Cole looked up at him, his eyes dark and serious. "No. I won't."

"Have it your way."

The Iron Bull could hear the dragon scream, far ahead, and he felt something in him rise to that call. He roared back, earning stares from some of the companions and applause from others, and a wolf whistle from his kadan. He grinned at her. "We doing this, or what?"

"Come on, people. Let's take this thing down like it's a thousand-year-old darkspawn!" Ren called, and everyone cheered.

The festive atmosphere continued even in the face of the dragon. She was big, and powerful, and mighty pissed off, but she didn't stand a chance. All of Ren's companions were very good at what they did; when the ten of them—eleven, with Hawke—got together, they were pretty indomitable.

It gave Ren hope that maybe, just maybe, she would survive the fight with Corypheus. And then what? Watch the love of her life ride off into the sunset without her? No. But what choice was there? He was right, the Inquisitor couldn't be in a relationship with a Qunari, not without causing a lot of extra trouble for the Inquisition.

The Iron Bull was wondering how she was handling that particular conundrum himself … but he wasn't going to ask. She was right, this was something she had to work out for herself, and he had to know that he wasn't making her decisions for her. He would give her the space she needed to think while making sure that she was as protected and cared for as he could make her until he had to let her go.

The dragon gave a last shuddering breath at Sera's feet and the elf giggled and did a little dance. Ren and the Iron Bull exchanged glances of longing and rueful acknowledgment that their pent-up desire would have to wait until they camped that night.

In camp, in the dubious privacy of their tent, they more than made up for the lost opportunity, teasing each other to the brink of lost control over and over, testing how far they could push before the other made a sound. They weren't precisely discreet … but they came close.