Saboteur's Choice

by Cryptographic DeLurk

When Anders gets in the middle of Sebastian's attempts to discuss religious faith with Fenris, Sebastian comes to believe Anders's intent is to turn Fenris away from the Maker. A misconception that is only strengthened when Anders and Fenris appear to be getting along better than ever before. Crack fic. Anders/Fenris. M!Hawke/Sebastian. Isabela/Merrill/[Mystery Character].

4. THE SECOND ATTEMPT

"Sebastian, you will not be so dismissive of your carelessness and impropriety." Elthina shook her head sternly. Her hands were crossed over the liturgical notes on her desk and her lips curled with derision, before she levelled her next charge: "Each day I see in you more and more of the callow youth I first accepted into the Chantry's service all those years ago."

"Do you?" Sebastian reclined in his seat. Daylight filtered through the window on the north side of Elthina's office and split into patchy specks as it moved through the curtains. The Chantry oft felt this way to Sebastian, a respite not unlike lying beneath the shade of a tree on a summer's day. "I believe I have changed, and for the better."

"I see you are still refusing to take this with the contrition it merits," Elthina's response was clipped. "Lord Bowen has paid us a great insult with his paltry donation of a thousand sovereigns. And I somehow doubt that Brother Brahms's decision to continue his studies elsewhere has nothing to do with your behaviour at the fundraiser."

Nearly five days out and, although everyone else had recovered from the festivities, Elthina was still miffed.

Sebastian shrugged lazily. "Grand Cleric, the fundraiser was a great success. Even without Lord Bowen's support, we've raised more than enough for the Chantry's new wing. Perhaps it was all in the Maker's plan."

"We do not need to be paying insults and fostering malcontent among our supporters." Elthina frowned. "It was foolish."

"It was a sign of the Maker's favour," Sebastian disagreed.

"You believe you have the Maker's favour, do you?" Elthina's frown curled into something like a smile.

Sebastian hesitated for only a moment. "I do." The Chantry had received more financial support from the Hightown Nobles than ever before. The Keep had provided no obstacle to the construction plans. And Sebastian, now more than ever, had come to be blessed with friends and allies from all walks of life.

Elthina snorted. "You are as foolish and petulant as Meredith."

"But you like me better," Sebastian asserted.

"But I like you better," Elthina agreed. She reached across the table palm upturned. When Sebastian gave her his hand, she squeezed.

Her fingers had wrinkled with age, he noticed. Curling circles around arthritic joints. He thought about his mother, and the old age she had never managed to reach, and felt unduly grateful for Elthina's presence in his life.

Sebastian felt his face scrunch in concern. "Has the Knight Commander given you trouble?"

"No more trouble than you," Elthina laughed. But as she drew her hand away, her face pursed in discontent. "She has brought the Keep into line quite well. But, still, she is reckless and impatient when she has no reason to be. The mages would accept their lot in life – their duty to serve the Maker – if Meredith were not so keen to add insult to every injury. The Annulment would only weaken the Chantry's hold on the Marches. Production disrupted. Templars reassigned. Tithes lost. The Maker's Word ignored." Elthina shook her head in derision. "Meredith has only become more zealous and impractical in the years since she expedited the proposal for the Tranquil Solution."

Something about the word 'impractical' caught Sebastian off guard. He sat up in his seat, felt himself hesitate. He was remembering the miracle that was the way Hawke's face softened, when he spoke of Bethany.

"The Divine would not allow it," he finally said. "Not the Annulment. Nor the Solution."

"No," Elthina agreed. "Divine Justiana would not allow it."

Elthina's expression was calm and unreadable, and Sebastian thought to ask what Elthina had thought about the Tranquil Solution.

In the end he did not.

"I believe Hawke should be Viscount," Sebastian put forward.

"So you have said." Elthina raised a critical eyebrow and said no more.

The conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"It seems the templars I have requested to help are here," Sebastian perked up. He set his hands against the arms of the chair and stood.

Elthina groaned. "Sebastian…" she began to scold.

"It is good to see you, Sers Agatha, Mettin," Sebastian greeted, as he opened the door.

"Reporting for duty," Ser Mettin agreed. "We were told this was a favour on behalf of the Grand Cleric?"

"It's only a bit of heavy lifting," Sebastian reassured. "It's being stored on the lower levels at the moment."

"Sebastian!" Elthina sighed. "I have told you already – it is improper for a Brother in the Maker's service to accept the diorama. And, even if you should accept it, it would best be displayed in the main hall of the Chantry, instead of spirited away to a private location."

"It is not mine to accept," Sebastian protested. "It was my friend's ticket that won the draw. I can think of no clearer sign of the Maker's will."

"Your friend, whose ticket you purchased in your own name, that lives at an unlisted address in Hightown?" Elthina frowned.

"Yes!" Sebastian said brightly. "He has been considering the role of the Maker in his life as of recently. I believe the Diorama of the Golden City will have a part to play in that."

"You are a deeply troublesome child," Elthina said.

"Is there a problem here, Grand Cleric?" Agatha asked.

Sebastian looked hopefully between the two parties – the templars at the door, Elthina at her desk – and the nebulous stretch of sun and shade between them.

"None," Elthina said curtly. She waved them away with a brusque gesture, and reached across her desk for her correspondence. "See to your duties and do as Brother Sebastian requests. Maker light your path. You are all dismissed."

.

.

It took until well past midday to carry the bulk of the diorama down the Chantry steps and a third of the way through Hightown to the mansion, and Fenris still looked as if he'd just woken up when he came to the door.

Sebastian had already sent the templars away. Fenris was left squinting between Sebastian, the sun, and the shining golden diorama – wider than two armspans across and taller than Sebastian at its peak.

"You did not tell me I won the raffle," Fenris finally said.

"I thought it to be a surprise," Sebastian chuckled.

"Insofar as surprises go, there have been worse," Fenris admitted. He patted down his tunic, and the edge of his leggings, as if looking for his belt, before stalking quickly back into the dark.

Sebastian didn't know what to make of it, until Fenris reappeared counting coins against his palm. He reached out and passed Sebastian fifty silver.

"For the raffle ticket," Fenris said.

"And for your raffle ticket," Sebastian beamed, spreading his arms to display the wealth of the Golden City.

Fenris sighed and stepped out of the way.

The Diorama of the Golden City came apart at a few junctures in its construction, and Sebastian and Fenris disassembled it to drag through the entry. Fenris pushed the door closed with his foot as they brought the last piece inside, but it failed to shut completely. It swung ajar, leaving a fresh breeze to pierce through the stale air and sunlight to string through the dust particles floating in the air inside.

"Make yourself at home. You are familiar with the location of the taps, and the water closet in the basement. And I can offer you… wine? I believe I may still have some cheese and cashews?" Fenris seemed uncertain. "I intended to take inventory for tonight's Diamondback game after I had washed."

"Think nothing of it, my friend," Sebastian reassured, as he pressed the diorama's stand further into the entry hall.

Fenris smiled, but it faded a little as he surveyed the space. It was cleaner than it had been when Sebastian had first seen it with rubble and rot and gore scattered all over the floor. But it was still far from well kept. "We should clear a space. I will go find a broom."

Fenris appeared to have decided to place the diorama within the entry hall itself. And together they cleared the dust from the floor and reassembled the pieces of the diorama so it sat in its proper form. The entry hall of the mansion was of considerable size, and diorama stretched the whole depth of the room and little more than a third of its width, arranged on the left side of the room as approached from the main entrance.

And what a masterwork it was – the Golden City! All its walls and turrets! Banners streaming! Cobbled streets filled with the spirits of the faithful! And the central palace that housed the seat of the Maker! And all of it carved from rose gold, in intricate detail and splendour, with gears and mechanisms under the stand to set the city moving!

Fenris was eyeing the piece inscrutably. He was standing with his arms crossed loosely over his chest, and his torso tilted a little back.

"What do you think of it?" Sebastian asked eagerly.

Fenris blinked. "There is a piece missing," he stated. "There is a hinge to attach another piece to the central palace."

"You have a keen eye," Sebastian praised. Sebastian and Sers Agatha and Mettin had been halfway through Hightown when they discovered they had left the palace spire back at the Chantry. But it was a mistake easily rectified, and a piece small enough for Sebastian to deliver himself. "I will return with the missing piece before our card game tonight. But, what do you think of what you have seen so far?"

Fenris seemed to consider for a moment. But no sooner had he opened his mouth to respond than his head swung sharply to some noise, almost imperceptible to Sebastian, at the open door.

Sebastian first watched Fenris's shoulders tense, and then relax. And then Sebastian looked to the intruder himself.

"What in the name of Andraste's fresh knickers is that?" Anders was asking. He stood in silhouette against the blinding sun streaming through the door, but quickly moved inside to where Sebastian could see his feathered coat, stained with filth, and a basket hanging off his elbow. He did not have his mage's staff.

"What are you doing here?" Sebastian's voice sounded defensive even to his own ears. But could he be blamed? He had been about to display the diorama's mechanisms and instruct Fenris in the parables of the Golden City. It seemed the apostate had arrived, called by some dark power, simply to sabotage Sebastian's attempts.

"What am I doing here?" Anders asked. "What are you doing here?"

Sebastian startled at the rudeness. He hardly needed a reason to visit a friend, but- "I am here to deliver the prize Fenris had so fortuitously won at auction."

"And the mage is here to pester me," Fenris added lazily.

Anders scoffed. "I am here to deliver this." Anders patted the handle of the basket he had hanging off his left arm. "Merrill is the one here to pester everyone," he added, just as Merrill stepped out from behind him.

"Hello, Fenris. Sebastian," she greeted, as she snuck a hand under the cloth covering the basket. Anders slapped her away, but not quickly enough to prevent her from making away with a bit of bread crust.

"Mage, Witch," Fenris returned, as Sebastian gave his own greetings to Merrill. Fenris's ears had perked with interest. "A delivery, you say?"

Anders's face was flushed a blotchy red, perhaps overheated from the sun, and he reached up to scratch anxiously at his hairline. "One of my patients brought me some food as thanks for her treatment. And the last time I was here you only had wine and crumbs. So I thought I might… offer."

Fenris shuffled uneasily on his feet. He took a half a step towards the apostate, then stopped to shuffle more. "I see…" he finally managed.

Merrill giggled, as she tore apart the bread crust and shoved a piece in her mouth. Anders and Fenris both turned to shoot her a glare, but she only giggled more.

Fenris cleared his throat and tried again. "You… brought me food?" he asked, as he inched closer. "You intended to share?"

"Oh, I've already eaten," Anders declined. "Justice and I had a bit of tinned meat on the way over."

Tinned meat? Sebastian wondered.

"I see." Fenris's expression was carefully neutral, but there was something light and graceful as he reached to accept the basket. "I take it there were no lingering complications? I would rather not have the entire Order breaking down my door."

"They were rather persistent, but there were only two of them," Merrill said mildly. She had finished the bread crust, and was picking idly at her nails. Her nose wrinkled in distaste at this next part. "But I really don't know how you manage it, Anders. Those templars look so very stringy and unappetising."

Two of them… Templars… Unappetising… Sebastian's eyes widened with alarm.

"They're more tasty than you'd think!" Anders asserted. "But high in heavy metals. You shouldn't eat them every meal."

"Sers Agatha and Mettin?" Sebastian whimpered. "You-? You haven't-?" He turned to Fenris. "They're joking, right?"

"Mmm," Fenris hummed. He was digging through the basket, and pulled out a bit of bread and a ham hock. He reached to offer some to Sebastian. "Most likely." He shrugged.

Anders and Merrill were cackling behind their palms, but refrained from clarifying further. And, after a moment filled with nothing but their laughter and Sebastian's sputtering, Fenris withdrew the hand offering the ham and bread.

He peeled a bit of the meat and shoved it in his mouth, and reached between the cloth of the basket for a jar of amber coloured fruit preserves. He balanced the basket on his elbow, as he unscrewed the jar. And after a cautious sniff, dipped the bread in the contents.

"Oh, are you pleased, Fenris?" Merrill sing-songed, as she swaggered up to him. Fenris did not stop her as she reached to steal more from the basket. "You seem pleased."

"…I like apples," Fenris mumbled near unintelligibly.

"Oh, you don't have to be so bashful, Fenris." Merrill's gave a toothy grin flecked with bits of ham. "It will do you good – being so terribly pleased for once~"

The shove Fenris levelled at her shoulder was forceful enough to send her rolling to the dusty floor, but nobody seemed put off by the sudden violence. Merrill curled in on herself where she was laying on the ground, and was clutching her stomach she was laughing so hard.

"I ran into her on the way up and she wouldn't leave me be," Anders said apologetically.

"Probably for the best considering your later confrontation," Fenris said. "Close the door."

Anders went to close the door.

"Are you alright?" Fenris asked, finally turning back to Sebastian.

Sebastian decided, for his own sanity, that he had not inadvertently lead Sers Agatha and Mettin into the path of grisly death and devourment… He'd check at the Gallows for them later.

Sebastian blinked and smiled manically. "Wonderful," he reassured.

"Good, because nobody answered my question," Anders cut in. "What in blighted hell is that?" he pointed behind Sebastian at the Diorama of the Golden City.

Sebastian supposed he wasn't going to get a better lead-in. So he went to stand aside the diorama and waved to it with a flourish. "You cannot tell? It is sculptor Ezra Lou's rendition of the Golden City, in all its untouched glory."

Fenris and Anders had come to stand across him, in front of the diorama, and Merrill picked herself up off the floor to come stand next to Anders. Sebastian's audience of three in a line.

Anders pursed his lips. "Aren't its walls said to have been carved from light? Its streets cobbled with music? It's meant to be intangible and metaphysical, rather than something that should be carved from a literal hunk of gold."

"Of course it is impossible for us, humanity flawed as it is, to capture the Golden City in its true splendour," Sebastian agreed sadly. "But one must admire the craftsmanship of this design."

"Must one?" Anders frowned.

Sebastian smiled softly, and began to recite from Threnodies 5:

The Voice of the Maker rang out,
The first Word,
And His Word became all that might be:
Dream and idea, hope and fear,
Endless possibilities.
And from it he made his firstborn.
And he said to them:
"In My image I forge you.
To you I give dominion
Over all that exists.
By your will
May all things be done."

Sebastian reached to turn the first is a series of small cranks along the stand of the diorama, and Fenris's eyes widened as the diorama came to life. There was a chime of music from the mechanism inside the city, and the banners atop the buildings flagged side to side.

Then in the centre of heaven
He called forth
A city with towers of gold,
Streets with music for cobblestones,
And banners which flew without wind.
There, He dwelled, waiting
To see the wonders
His children would create.

Sebastian reached for a second crank. This one produced the same chiming tune and, to its beat, small figures streamed out of the buildings along a track up to the entrance of the centre palace.

The first children of the Maker gathered
Before his golden throne
And sang hymns of praise unending.
But their songs
Were the songs of the cobblestones.
They shone with the golden light
Reflected from the Maker's throne.
They held forth the banners
That flew on their own.

The next crank opened a set of balcony doors, high up on the central palace. And out of them was pressed a throne. It would have been improper to presume the shape of the Maker and so, instead of an icon, the throne had been surrounded with mirrors in a semi-circle, so they might reflect His light.

And the Voice of the Maker shook the Fade.
"In My image I have wrought you,
My firstborn.
You have been given dominion
Over all that exists.
By your will
All things are done.
Yet you do nothing.
The realm I have given you
Is formless, ever-changing."
And He knew He had wrought amiss,
So the Maker turned from his firstborn.

Fenris and Merrill had both ducked down, to study the way figures moved across the diorama. But Anders simply stood there with something unusually like sadness in his eyes.

Sebastian went to finish turning the second crank, until the spirits had completed their course around the city, and fled back to their dwellings.

And the Maker created a new Word,
No longer formless, ever-changing,
But held fast, immutable,
With Words for heaven and for earth, sea and sky.
At last did the Maker
From the living world
Make men. Immutable, as the substance of the earth,
With souls made of dream and idea, hope and fear,
Endless possibilities.

The fourth crank was simply musical, and played a new tune altogether – faster and livelier, with higher peaks and lower falls.

Then the Maker said:
"To you, My second-born, I grant this gift:
In your heart shall burn
An unquenchable flame
All-consuming, and never satisfied.
From the Fade I crafted you,
And to the Fade you shall return
Each night in dreams
That you may always remember Me."

And then the Maker sealed the gates
Of the Golden City
And there, He dwelled, waiting
To see the wonders
His children would create.

Sebastian finished turning the fifth crank, which pulled the gates at the city walls closed, and spoke now in his own words:

"So, you see, the Maker would have us create. Not only in His own image, but that which reflects our own hearts, burning with passion. All consuming-"

"Never satisfied," Anders finished for him.

"You can consider the diorama one such creation," Sebastian said serenely. "It is not simply reflective of the Golden City, but the burning soul of its sculptor, and the Maker's own desire for creation."

"You left out the verses about how He made the Veil," Anders said. And then, before Sebastian could respond to this. "I also noticed you stopped your recitation before the Maker became disillusioned with what mortals took it upon themselves to create."

"I believe the spirit in which he created us important, regardless of the result," Sebastian said.

Fenris and Merrill were still studying the diorama intently. There were three more cranks along the right side of the diorama, which Sebastian had not touched during his recitation. Fenris reached to turn them.

The first caused a few statues within the city to turn in place. The second spun a water wheel located along a canal inside the city gates. The final one simply played music of a third tune.

"I like the wheel." Fenris's lips curled in his half-smile.

Merrill seemed unmoved, as her eyes scanned the diorama.

"So you enjoyed it?" Sebastian said.

Fenris nodded. "I am curious as to how the inside works."

Sebastian was basking in the fact that he'd successfully cultivated in Fenris an interest in the Chant, when Anders piped up.

Anders had walked around the others and sidled up to the back edge of the diorama, which stood higher than the loping fields at its front. "I think we should continue. It's a bit unrealistic to leave the Golden City so unsullied and… uncorrupted." He moved his tongue very slowly and pointedly around the last word.

"What are you doing?" Sebastian asked. Rhetorically so, for it was wholly apparent.

Anders was draping himself over the back of the diorama. He leaned forward to press the flat of his tongue against the Maker's palace and licked up the side of it. "Go on, Brother Sebastian. Why don't you tell us about the corruption of the Golden City? Give me a moment and I'll even help out with the demonstration! Rub my Warden taint all over our newly made Black City."

The diorama shook a little, as Anders ground his hips against the back of it.

"Why you-! Get off of that!" Sebastian rounded behind the diorama to chase Anders away.

"Oh, I'll be getting off, alright," Anders laughed. He gave one last jut of his hips, before dashing around the opposite side of the diorama, away from where Sebastian was giving chase. "I'll fill your Golden City with magic, and darkspawn, and gobs and gobs of-"

They both halted when Fenris laughed. And, yes, Sebastian was sure it was a laugh this time. A short, barking one. But a laugh nonetheless.

"Disgusting," Fenris sneered, with a hand covering his half-smile. "You do realise the diorama belongs to me?"

Sebastian levelled a frown at Anders. Hoping he would be sufficiently chastened.

Anders brushed off the shoulder of his coat, and stood up straight.

"Oh, you know me," Anders said vaguely. "I like getting my mouth and my taint all over things."

Fenris bit his lip. "I am not acquainted with that particular side of you," he replied neutrally.

Anders grinned smugly. "But you're interested."

Fenris did not say anything to this, but the tips of his ears fluttered as he looked away.

Sebastian looked between them. It seemed a lot like Anders was-

"Oh! It's all wrong!" Merrill announced suddenly, attention finally breaking away from her scrutiny of the diorama. "You can clearly see it with the Eluvians, and the water, and the field and little dwellings. But it's just not right! This replica of Arlathan is just all wrong!"

Sebastian and the others watched, as she puffed herself up. She readjusted her armour, and the staff on her back, and shouted behind her as she made for the door.

"I'll need to get a few tools first. But I'll be back, Fenris! Don't you dare run off!"

"I had no intention to," Fenris replied blandly, as Merrill slammed the door behind her.

There was an awkward pause.

Fenris retrieved the basket from where he'd set it on the floor, and took a few more bites of ham. When he was finished chewing, he spoke. "I need to prepare for our Diamondback game tonight."

"I suppose I should return to the Chantry and retrieve the spire for the Maker's palace." Sebastian gestured to where the final piece of the diorama was missing. He was feeling a little more worn than he would have expected for the time of day.

They both looked to Anders, who apparently had nothing to say.

"You do not intend to leave?" Fenris quirked an eyebrow.

"I already closed up in Darktown for the day," Anders shrugged. "But there's always writing to do. Perhaps I can go by Hawke's to use the study."

"No, stay," Fenris was unusually quick to say. "You are free to use the library here. So long as you do not mind that I am otherwise occupied. I need to bathe and dress." He pulled at the front of the threadbare tunic he was wearing.

Anders snorted. "You're going to catch cold with all those baths you take."

"Southern superstition," Fenris countered, with a derisive wrinkle of his nose. "You could stand to take a few more baths yourself, mage. You're filthy."

Anders seemed entirely too amused. "And you like it."

"Mmm." Fenris did not seem to have much to say to this. "Mage – library," he commanded. "Sebastian, I will see you in a few hours."

And although Sebastian thought to protest on some basis or another, he realised he had lost his chance when Fenris turned and headed further into the mansion, turning right at the corridor towards the stairwell. And when Anders departed after, with another one of his smirks and mocking little waves, it was only a slight comfort that he turned left at the corridor instead.

.

.

"Knight Templars Agatha and Mettin are some of the best in our ranks," Knight Captain Cullen told Sebastian confidently. "They would have joined their patrol directly after seeing to the Grand Cleric's errand. Just because they have not yet returned, does not mean there is any reason to believe harm has befallen them."

Sebastian tried his best not to stammer. "Ah, erm, right," he agreed unenthusiastically.

"Unless you have some reason to believe harm has befallen them?" Cullen prompted guilelessly.

Sebastian quickly reassured that he had nothing of the sort, and left the Gallows post-haste. He felt frustrated with Knight Captain Cullen, who was of no help and had not seemed to him particularly competent. And he was left with lingering worries and doubts, as he made his way back up the heights of Kirkwall to retrieve the missing piece of spire for the diorama and return to Fenris's for their weekly game of Diamondback.

So Sebastian was not in a particularly joyous mood as he walked into the entry hall, and what he found there put him in a worse mood still.

Fenris appeared to have bathed, and was wearing a fresh pair of leggings and long sleeved black undershirt. He had moved a few chairs up to the diorama, and was sitting between Anders and Merrill, all together working over it with various instruments and pigments. And all of this was nothing compared to the change in the diorama itself.

The Maker's palace had been sawed down into several smaller buildings with square pyramid tops. Several of the cranks and their internal mechanisms had been pulled out and were now situated in front of Fenris. The tracks for the moving spirits were rearranged, melded together into something that flowed through the city like a river. And it appeared the base of the diorama had been stretched longer and narrower into a shape like an ark. It was now so wide it no longer fit the depth of the entry hall, and had to be arranged diagonally in the room.

Sebastian let out a rather undignified screech.

"Oh! You brought the missing piece! That was very good of you." Merrill set down the woodblock she was carving and jumped to her feet. She had pulled the golden spire from Sebastian's hands before he thought to stop her, and she was studying it carefully. After a moment she turned to Anders. "I think this should go on the end, like the figurehead on those boats Isabela likes. Do you mind doing it for me, Anders? You're much better at delicate elemental work than I am."

Anders accepted the spire from her without a word, wrapped his fist around the end, and lined it up with the now pointed end of the city-ark's base. There was a wave of heat, and then cold, and Anders pulled his hand away from where it was now melded – an extension of the base. The imprints of his fingers were left on the gold, but he paid this no mind as he turned wordlessly back to his work.

Fenris himself seemed to have no reaction at all to this display of magic, focused intently on his own woodcarving.

"It's much more classically Arlathan now," Merrill was informing Sebastian. "Though we'll have to put in more trees later. We've gotten a bit side-tracked for the moment though," she winced, before returning to sit back down before the diorama.

The Golden City. And they had mutilated her beyond recognition.

Sebastian tried to speak, but only managed another wordless screech.

Fenris finished shaving the latest woodchip from his carving, before looking up to Sebastian. He frowned pitifully. "You do not like it?"

Sebastian gaped. Words continued to fail him.

"I believe I can make sense of how this mechanism works," Fenris lifted up one of the cranks, attached to a comb and cylinder for the music player. He paused a moment. "I asked the witch to leave the wheel within the city." He pointed to the water wheel mechanism, one of the rare ones still functionally part of the diorama. When neither of these seemed to sway Sebastian, he held his woodcarving up tentatively. "We are now making figurines of our companions."

"Don't simper," Anders cut in to speak to Fenris. "It's your diorama to do with as you like, isn't it? Besides-" he smiled at his own woodcarving. "The Maker wants us to create, doesn't he? As the unquenchable flames in our hearts dictate~"

This snapped Sebastian from his reverie. "The Chant is not for you to take, reform to your own whims, and throw in the faces of others!"

"I wouldn't have known listening to you," Anders said disinterestedly.

"The Evanuri used to sit in Arlathan, before the Betrayal and then the Fall," Merrill explained. "I was making some to put inside the city." She waved at two crudely carved wooden figures, set over the gold. Both were vaguely humanoid. One had a flaring skirt and a head shaped like an inverted anchor. The second had an oddly shaped pair of wings and a staff like a shepherd's. Merrill's nose wrinkled. "But Fenris and Anders aren't familiar with them, and were jealous about not being included, so we started making ones of our friends instead."

"Hardly jealous," Anders grumbled.

"Does it look like Isabela?" Merrill asked. She turned the carving she was working on in her hand and lifted it up so Sebastian might see. The figure was stylistic, without arms or legs, but Merrill had clearly tried to carve Isabela's hair and bandanna and a protrusion for her curving bust.

"You made the hair too short," Fenris quipped.

"Maybe I'll ask Isabela to cut her hair." Merrill blew a raspberry at Fenris. "Because I'm her partner and I can ask her to do that."

Fenris muttered darkly in Tevene but continued his work without further interruption.

Anders reached across the diorama for one of the tools laid out over its river, and then startled when Merrill picked up a switch and swatted his hand away.

"The Arulin'Holm is ancient artefact of the People. It is not for shemlen to use," she said tersely.

Sebastian realised suddenly that what Merrill was holding was not a switch at all, but a thin gold rod taken from somewhere in the diorama. He hastily rushed to her side, grabbed it up, and attempted (with limited success) to discern its place in the original design.

"Merrill's being mean to me again," Anders was whining at Fenris. "Make her stop."

For a moment, it seemed Fenris was not going to acknowledge him at all. But then he laid down his carving and his own wood knife and reached to pick up the Arulin'Holm. He scooted his chair closer to Anders's and gently plucked the figure Anders was working on from his hand.

"Tell me what you intended to use it for and I will act in your stead," Fenris said magnanimously.

Anders scooted closer to him in return. "Big words for an amateur woodworker," he scoffed softly. "Yours doesn't even look like the Brother. Just doesn't work without the belt."

"I may be unskilled, but one does not need to be otherwise when using an enchanted knife," Fenris dismissed.

Anders smiled as he leaned to look over Fenris's shoulder. "I was trying to fix the shape of the beard," he pointed. "You know how he has it pointy in the centre?"

"Mmm." Fenris made a noise of agreement, and adjusted the Arulin'Holm in his hand.

"I don't have blue, but I think purple would also suit Isabela, don't you?" Merrill asked, as she prepared to pigment Isabela's bandanna. "It's very vivid and stately."

She appeared to be directing the question at Sebastian, who tore his eyes away from where Anders and Fenris had leaned into one another's shoulders as they peered intently at the woodcarving.

Merrill had unscrewed the cap on a jar of purple pigment and commenced her work.

"You don't intend to…" Sebastian began, and then stopped.

Whatever had made her take offence with Anders's proposed use of her artefact earlier apparently did not extend to Anders taking Fenris's hands in his own and directing the artefact through them.

"There are not meant to be mortals within the Maker's City," Sebastian protested instead.

"This is Arlathan," Merrill stated. "There have always been mortals in Arlathan. Right up until the Fall."

"You should not be so deceitful," Sebastian chastised softly. "You know this was meant to be the Golden City from the Chant."

Merrill made a disinterested sound as she moved her brush to paint pitch over her Isabela's hair.

"Technically mortals did enter the Golden City," Anders cut in. He had his woodcarving back and, with the edge of one fingernail, was burning the pale carved lines that made its subject's features smoky brown.

"And once they did, it was the Golden City no longer!" Sebastian spat. "The Tevinter mage lords corrupted it! If you are familiar with the story, one would think you would be more humble and repentant!"

Anders grimaced. "You want me to repent for the actions of a handful of mages from nearly two millennia ago?!"

"Oh, dear." Merrill was blowing the pitch and pigment on her little Isabela dry. "Can you two please get along? Let's not fight over the dollhouse~"

"This is no dollhouse! This is an artwork of pure theological devotion!" Sebastian protested. Although he could see the writing on the wall. Perhaps that had been true of the diorama just this morning, but it was difficult to argue with the figurines and props now scattered over its ruined surface.

"I'm so pleased you think so," Merrill said brightly. "You know, since we're all here, perhaps now would be a good time. I thought we would wait until we have all the figurines done. But we really only need a Mythal and a Fen'Harel and a few human barbarians, I think." She leaned fully across the table and swiped Anders's figure out of his hands disregarding his protests. "Who do you think would make a better Fen'Harel – Hawke or Isabela?" She pondered between them briefly. "Sebastian will definitely have to play a human barbarian, I think, since you're lagging behind, Fenris."

Fenris scowled. He turned away from Merrill and hunched protectively over where he had taken the Arulin'Holm to his own work.

Merrill had reached across the diorama and pulled a moth eaten piece of white silk out from underneath a saw and awl. "And this will make a fine Veil. We can hang it from the ceiling over Arlathan, once we're done."

Sebastian found this vaguely concerning but- "Your artwork is of me?" he asked.

Fenris frowned for a second down at his work, but then he nodded sharply. "I apologise. I'm afraid it looks very little like you… Perhaps if I carve a bow from the woodchips." He held it out for Sebastian to take.

It indeed, did not look terribly like Sebastian. But knowing what to look for, Sebastian supposed he understood the brushed back swoop of hair and the plated armour. It was not at all bad for beginner's work, and Sebastian could not decide if he was in greater parts flattered by the gesture, or vindicated by the way Anders frowned moodily at him.

And then Merrill began her speech, and what she said drove him to such distraction and irritation the figure dropped right from his hands:

Long ago, there were two clans of gods. The Creators looked after the People. The Forgotten Ones preyed upon us. But there was one god who was neither, Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf. He was kin to the Creators, and in the old days often helped them in their endless wars against the Forgotten Ones. But he was clever, and so too did he convince the Forgotten Ones he was one of them.

This was long ago, when the Creators had taken seat in Arlathan. They presided over the People, and guided them safely through their lives and tributes, and protected them from the Forgotten Ones seated in the Outer Lands. June oversaw the work of the crafters. While Dirthamen kept record of- Ow!

"That hurt, you know?" Merrill sulked, as she cradled her hand to her chest.

Fenris had batted her away from where she'd begun pointing at the diorama. "No," he commanded.

"I was just going to-"

"No," Fenris repeated.

"I think that's terribly unfair of you, Fenris," Merrill sniffed haughtily. "Sebastian got to have his story time earlier. I think I deserve a little story time too. Equal opportunity story time."

"There is no equal opportunity story time in my house," Fenris said, glancing sideways at Sebastian, and then the entry door. "Also Donnic is here. You can peddle your Dalish swill later."

"Hullo." Donnic had dressed down, out of uniform, and entered carrying a pack and a brown sack made of woven hemp. He looked several times between the party ahead of him and the open door, before shutting it. "Is Varric here already? I hope I'm not too late."

"Not too late." Fenris was righting the fallen Sebastian figure within the Golden City. "But, yes, Varric is counting coin in the other room."

"Good to see you, Donnic," Anders said.

"And you as well, Anders," Donnic returned. "And all the rest of you." He strode in easily to stand beside Sebastian in front of the diorama. "You've got quite the project you're all working on, I see."

Fenris, Anders, and Merrill all rushed to explain the diorama to him in their own words. The words 'raffle', 'legend', and 'taint' all featured prominently.

"Are you feeling okay? You seem a little bit pale."

It took Sebastian a moment to realise that Donnic was speaking to him. Sebastian coughed. "Perfectly fine. Only a bit under the weather."

"A lot going on with the Chantry." Donnic gave him an understanding smile before turning back to the table and lifting up his hemp sack. "The Captain made some of her blueberry muffins. I thought I'd bring some by. I don't know what you have for the table."

"Not enough." Fenris shot a glare at Merrill.

Merrill ignored him. She was bouncing in her seat. "Ooh! Ooh! Can I have some to take with me?!" she enthused. "Isabela loves those!"

"Help yourself," Donnic said, as if Merrill hadn't already shoved both hands into the sack and pulled out four puffed lumps of yellow meal. She set one handful down, and wobbled her hand back and forth before deciding to go in for a fifth, which she shoved directly into her mouth.

Fenris sighed and stood. "Let's go in before the witch takes the whole sack."

"You wouldn't like to play?" Donnic asked Merrill, when she didn't rise with the others. "I'm sure there's room for another at the table."

Merrill shook her head distractedly, as she chewed on the muffin. But she quickly swallowed and reached up to tug on Fenris's sleeve. "Fenris," she directed at his annoyed frown, "do you mind if I stay and finish with the figures here? I'd like to make the rest of the Evanuri. Maybe a Varric too."

"Do as you like." Fenris set his chair flat against the wall. "Try not to turn into a slavering abomination while we're gone."

"I'll try to hold off until you get back," Merrill retorted. "Might take a quick pop out to your garden for some ritual demon summoning though."

Sebastian did not suppose he had managed to hide his grimace.

"I suppose that is the best I can ask for," Fenris said solemnly, before leading the rest of them into the sitting room.

The last time Sebastian had asked if the mages were joking, the answer he'd gotten from Fenris had been less than reassuring, and so this time he remained silent. He only eyed Merrill warily over his shoulder, lagging behind as Anders and Fenris blazed forward through the corridor towards the sitting room, competing for Donnic's attention. When Sebastian arrived in after them, Varric was already sitting in his customary spot at the round table. He had set out several decks for Diamondback, and piled stacks of coppers and silvers in front of him. There were a few other sacks of coin, arranged less methodically in front of the other seats around the table, along with a bowl of cashews, glasses, and a couple of bottles of wine on the table. Donnic added the sack of muffins to the pile, as he took his seat.

Sebastian realised belatedly that they has switched from their usual seating positions. Fenris and Anders usually sat on opposite sides of Donnic, the rare person they not only shared a mutual fondness of, but also the only person in Kirkwall who seemed capable of buffering their otherwise ceaseless bickering. That left Sebastian on Fenris's other side, and Varric, as the only other one who tolerated the apostate, rounding out the other side of the circle.

But it appeared now that the apostate had stolen the seat at Fenris's right hand, and was gesturing quite animatedly at Donnic, relaying a story about some confrontation with the Carta as he leaned ahead of Fenris's space at the table.

"Choir Boy!" Varric cheered. "I'm going to hurt my neck looking up at you like that. Sit down." He patted the empty seat between himself and Donnic. "Merchant's Guild Meeting," he shuddered. "Been waiting for this card game all day."

Fenris levelled a vindictive glare at Anders as he leaned ahead of Anders's space at the table to speak with the others. Turnabout was fair play. "I take it you've been tampering with the decks," he accused, speaking to Varric.

"And if I was, elf?" Varric asked. "Check them all you like, I'd be too clever for you to find a thing."

Fenris grumbled a bit, but didn't protest as Varric plucked a deck off the table, shuffled, and dealt. Anders and Donnic were continuing their conversation, and Fenris didn't speak again until Varric passed him the sixth card in the draw. "Varric-" The way Fenris said his name sounded almost like a prayer. "Do you have any new letters for me?"

Varric smiled pityingly as he set the deck down. "You do realise that even if she had more to write you, she's going to beat the letter here?"

The game circled the table clockwise from the dealer. Anders drew the first card from the stack and visibly grimaced.

Fenris looked uneasy. "There could be complications during the voyage."

"Oh, elf, relax. I'm sure the voyage is going fine. There's no need to be so damn impatient," Varric laughed easily. "Relax," he implored. "Take a load off. Enjoy what you have going on right in front of you."

Fenris frowned ever so slightly. He glanced to the deck and quickly sideways to the right, before drawing his own card.

The first game took six rounds about the circle to complete. Donnic took the pot with a Smith's Quartet – four of a kind. Fenris and Varric only lost their antes. Anders and Sebastian had raised their bets.

"Not off to the best start, am I?" Anders sighed, as his silvers passed across the table.

"Not if you're going to bet on every Merchant's Trio," Donnic responded, as he stacked his winnings.

"Here I thought my story about the Carta girl's braids might've distracted you," Anders sighed. "Dark underbelly of Kirkwall and the guardsman doesn't even bat an eye."

Donnic shrugged. "Better than when they were all out for your blood last spring, isn't it?"

"Word of advice: if you're ever in Darktown while the Carta's doing their runs, don't leave your clinic until they're finished," Anders warned. "You know, if any of you had a clinic… Last time I make that mistake."

"And the first of many others," Fenris put in sardonically.

"You wound me," Anders said, clutching the deck of cards to his chest dramatically for a moment before dealing.

"Aw, don't pick on Fenris for telling the truth," Varric snickered. "It's basically your job, Blondie – finding new people for you to offend and for me to pay off."

Anders called the next game after only two rounds.

"You should wait until you have a better hand than that before admitting you picked up the Legionnaire card," Varric scolded him, as they passed coin over to Sebastian.

"You know I'm a terrible liar, Varric," Anders frowned.

"At least he admits it," Sebastian said serenely.

"Sure, brag about taking coin from a Darktown refugee for your Chantry offering box," Anders mocked.

"Far be it from me to speak on the Chantry Brother's behalf, but you did agree to the bet, Blondie," Varric pointed out.

"Yes," Anders said regretfully, "but you all take advantage. Knowing I'm too honest and good and just to be much good at this game." He held his hands up as persecuted man praying for the Maker's salvation.

"Do not paint yourself a victim," Sebastian snipped.

Fenris made a ponderous noise, but otherwise ignored them as he dealt the next hand. And when he had finished that, he reached for the food and drink at the centre of the table. He took a muffin from the sack Donnic had brought, a few cashews, and poured himself a glass of wine, before passing sack, dish, and bottle in turn to Donnic, sending them clockwise about the table.

Varric won the next game, and then Sebastian again. And by then the food had made its way around the table, and everyone but Anders had poured themselves a little wine and taken a few crumbs.

Fenris accepted the wine bottle back and, though he had already drained his glass, replaced it at the centre of the table with only a ponderous look. He accepted the cashews and muffins back less graciously though, and eyed Anders critically through their next round of Diamondback before speaking.

"Mage, you should have a muffin. Some cashews. You have not eaten all afternoon, and you should not subsist on tinned meat, if you even truly ate that."

"I really don't need anything, you guys," Anders said, going a little red in the face.

"Ooph, that's an old battle, elf," Varric lamented. "We've all tried to get Blondie to eat his three meals, but if an open tab with Corff isn't gonna fix it, I don't think anything can."

"We've all tried it," Donnic agreed.

Fenris wasn't deterred. "Anders. Eat," he insisted. He did not even check the card he'd drawn before discarding, and had now gathered a fistful of cashews in his hand.

He held out through the silence, as Anders hesitated to respond and the rest of the table drew and discarded their cards. Anders took his turn at the Diamondback table before composing himself. He smirked and turned to bat his eyes at Fenris. "I'll eat if you feed me," he challenged.

Anders held his mouth agape, and his eyes lightly shut.

Fenris's eyes darted inscrutably between the apostate, the food in his hands, and the delay he was causing at the Diamondback table. And then he thrust the entire fistful of cashews into Anders's mouth, followed by a muffin to stopper them.

Varric and Donnic immediately burst into laughter.

"Dammit. Don't go choking Blondie," Varric protested weakly between wheezes.

Fenris had buried his head in his hands, but his expression gave nothing away as he brushed his hair back, and picked up his Diamondback cards. He sat, seemingly unwilling to address the bizarre humour of everyone at the table. Everyone's humour but Sebastian's.

Sebastian was not laughing.

Anders was munched serenely, before swallowing the cashews and muffin in one great gulp. "I wouldn't worry about the choking, Varric," he said. "No gag reflex. Did away with it sometime in 9:15 Dragon." He waggled his eyebrows at Fenris, whose eyes panned over and-

Sebastian did not entirely like the look that Fenris was now giving Anders. Almost as if he-

Sebastian coughed. "Did you know that cashews are often green in colour prior to roasting? It is also said that the third Divine Hortensia's favourite snack was cashew cookies?"

"Do you want to know what my favourite snack is?" Anders was saying. "It's di-"

"Wow," Varric said. "Isabela was not kidding when she said you two derailed Hawke's latest trip to that mine of his."

"The Bone Pit," Fenris deadpanned. "To call it what it isn't."

Sebastian replaced the angel in his Diamondback hand with a song. He was trying to figure out why Anders thought his favourite snack was anywhere near as noteworthy as Divine Hortensia III's, and the only answer he allowed himself to come up with was the apostate was filled with self-important delusions of grandeur.

"Hey, we took care of the dragons, didn't we?" Anders was protesting.

"Eventually," Fenris agreed, fiercely intent on his cards.

Donnic was saying something. Sebastian narrowed his eyes at his subpar hand, rather than at the group across the table.

Varric had raised an eyebrow. "Isabela says you two only showed up after she had her arm chewed off."

"And I healed it better and no one was worse for the wear," Anders protested. "We all know Hawke and Isabela just like to whine."

"Pot. Kettle," Fenris said.

Donnic tapped Sebastian impatiently on the arm, and Sebastian turned for a moment.
"What did you think about-" was all Sebastian managed to catch, before the others' conversation drew him back.

"And what were you doing while Isabela was having her arm shorn off, Broody?" Varric interrogated.

"Discussing the impact of historical slavery in the Marches on modern day Kirkwall," Fenris answered. "And the rest is none of your concern, dwarf."

"It's a terrible place," Anders sounded uniquely stiff and solemn. "Filled with the cries of those denied justice."

There was a pause at the table.

Then Fenris sighed. He crossed his arms and slouched back in his seat. "And to this day, the only sweet release an elf has ever found at the Bone Pit is that of death."

Varric snorted a laugh.

"Look, you can hardly blame me for that," Anders protested.

"Can't I?" Fenris's lip curled in amusement.

"You'll say things like that now, but you were hardly forthcoming when-"

Anders might not be responsible for the fate of the slaves at Maharian Quarry, but Sebastian thought he was at least responsible for belittling the part that magic and mages played therein. Although it didn't seem quite responsible to say so long as-

"Vael," Donnic interrupted.

Sebastian realised suddenly he'd been giving the poor man the cold shoulder. "You have my apologies, Guardsman Donnic," he offered. "I have been all sorts of distracted today."

Donnic gave Sebastian a look that spoke understanding, and a smidge of pity that Sebastian was relatively sure was misplaced. "I was only asking if you had any insight on the Grand Cleric's intentions for the future of the Keep."

"Which intentions do you mean?" Sebastian asked. "I am sure the Maker's light and word guide her actions with regards to the Keep, as they do in everything."

"Of course," Donnic agreed easily. "Only, there has been some talk about the templars consolidating power, and the Guard downsizing, and I don't think there's anything in the Chant to say one way or the other about it so…"

"The Grand Cleric has said little to me on the subject." And most of what she had Sebastian assumed she had in confidence. "But she hasn't spoken fondly of the Knight Commander's attempts to hold power in this city."

"I imagine she hasn't, but- What does she intend to do with her own seat of power? …As Grand Cleric?" he clarified, when Sebastian did not immediately react.

Sebastian was startled by this. He most often saw Elthina as mediator – someone balancing between competing seats of power within the city – rather than someone occupying one herself. And though he perseverated endlessly over the types of decisions he would have to make should he take up his position as Starkhaven's heir, he rarely thought of Elthina as someone already in such a position and already making such decisions.

Sebastian was distracted when Fenris tossed the Legionnaire card face up into the discard pile and called the game. Anders let out a terrible groan, which cued everyone else at the table into the fact that he had a terrible hand. Fenris pointed this out, which prompted a playful tug of war as Anders demanded to see Fenris's hand as recompense.

Sebastian looked at his own hand, which was filled with nothing of particular merit. "Fold," he announced to no one in particular. He was watching where Anders was pulling at Fenris's wrist.

"Sorry, it's just, you know, my job on the line," Donnic was saying.

Sebastian blinked harshly. "Excuse me?" he said to Donnic, rather stupidly.

Donnic gave that pitying smile again. "You know… It's alright. We can discuss it another time. Change is hard for all of us, right?"

Anders had successfully managed a peek at Fenris's hand, and his offended grimace at its contents prompted everyone else to fold. Sebastian rearranged the coin in his pouch and tried to master his own lack of focus. Varric dealt the next game. And, after picking the final card from the pile Varric had tossed him, Donnic directed a new line of inquiry at Fenris:

"You know, I was actually worried today when I arrived to find your front door swung open. I thought someone might have broken in."

This latest round was moving quickly around the table. And Fenris shot weary looks at both Sebastian and Anders as he discarded. "Your instinct was hardly incorrect."

"Don't look at me," Anders said. "The front door was open when I got here."

"Brother Sebastian at least has an excuse. The diorama would not have fit comfortably through the side entrance," Fenris reasoned. "You were simply being a pest, as you have been all week."

"You just like blaming me for things. You're the one who put the idea in his head."

"He's your spirit, mage. Not mine."

"It's Justice's latest cause," Anders announced to the rest of the table. "The Injustice of Servants' Entrances. Don't be surprised if you find Hawke's and Fenris's boarded up by the end of the week."

Fenris scoffed loudly. "And the mage has made my point. A pest."

"We just think you should live more offensively~" Anders said. "Trot out on the patio while the other nobles are taking their brunch and shove your gorgeous, glowy elfiness in their faces~"

"You're only causing trouble for me." But Fenris was wearing that amused half-smile.

"Oh, the neighbours will love that," Donnic whistled. "The Captain gets about four complaints a week about you as is. Imagine how swamped she'd if you took to marching around at brunch hour."

"Only causing trouble for myself and Aveline," Fenris amended.

Anders heaved a dramatic sigh. "We all know I'd just hate to cause our Marigold trouble~" His taunting smile was back. "But you-" He leered at Fenris. "You like it."

Fenris coughed rather conspicuously. "Speaking of trouble for our Captain of the Guard, how are Aveline's stallions doing?" he smirked at Donnic.

"You know she doesn't like it when you all joke about that," Donnic said mildly. "But they're doing quite well. Waiting for the tailor's next shipment. But they've been taken in good hand in the meantime."

Anders harrumphed. "You know, I've half a mind to be jealous about the way you go on," he addressed Fenris. "Aveline's stallions this, Isabela's stallions that. You never ask about my stallions."

Fenris looked pointedly unimpressed. "I was not aware you were in possession of any."

Anders pulled at the collar of his shirt with one hand, like he had only just noticed the humid stuffiness of the room. He wore an insufferable grin as he slouched along the side of the table towards Fenris who, after a moment's hesitation, peeked down the front of his shirt with morbid curiosity.

"And I stand corrected," Fenris said hoarsely, as he eased back into his seat.

"Maker preserve us," Sebastian growled, quiet enough that it was drowned out by Varric's and Donnic's heckling. But Sebastian himself felt startled by his own irritation. For such a strong, involuntary reaction, it seemed oddly without purpose. The apostate could not truly be attempting to seduce Fenris. Not only was the notion absurd, but if it had indeed been true it would rightly prompt indignation or scepticism or something more telling from the others at the table. Surely.

"This game has been a dozen rounds about the table," Fenris announced suddenly. "You have the Legionnaire card, dwarf. Play it."

Sebastian, who had just discarded the Serpent of Decay, realised he hadn't been paying very close attention to the game.

"And do you have any proof of such libellous charges, elf?!" Varric harrumphed.

It was said dramatically enough that Sebastian almost missed the sleight of hand as Varric slipped a card from his sleeve atop the draw.

Varric pulled the card to his chest and chuckled at it. "Oh, but you won't believe this. Look what I drew just now," he said, flipping the Legionnaire card for the rest of the table to see.

"Mmm." Fenris did not seem entirely convinced, but didn't object as they placed their bets.

Sebastian bowed out early. Then Donnic and Anders. Fenris and Varric were left placing silvers over each others' bets until Varric finally called it.

It was a close game, but Fenris had edged ahead with a Noble Hunter's Quintet.

"Well played, elf," Varric snorted bitterly.

"You two are impossible," Anders commented, as Fenris stacked his winnings ahead of his seat at the table. He did not sound precisely happy. "Not leaving much for the rest of us, are you?"

Fenris let out a self satisfied huff, which did little to please the others.

It was then that Sebastian began to concoct a plan. The next game was Donnic's to deal, but after that the deck would be Sebastian's. And maybe Sebastian in his distraction had forgotten the easiest way to control the ambiance of the room was to take control of the cards. Sebastian was no stranger to the sleight of hand and misdirection required to manipulate draws and fix games. And although Sebastian did not typically resort to such duplicity during friendly games such as these, well…

All day the apostate had been a menace and a heretic and a distraction. If Sebastian wanted him gone, the biggest obstacle to that outcome was the meagre pile of coin stacked in front of Anders. But more-so than that, the apostate was, as one might expect, prone to wild swings in temperament. Over the history of their Diamondback games together, Anders had on more than one occasion become moody and belligerent over his own lack of luck or skill, and then proceeded to make a complete ass of himself. Not so much when he was losing to Varric or Donnic, but if it was Fenris…

Anders did actually win this next game, although nobody was eager to stack their bids against him when he was beaming at his hand of cards so obviously. But Sebastian was able to use the game to slip away the highest cards from his hand, along with some from the spare deck, before folding and gathering the cards for the next game.

Diamondback was a rather straightforward, boiled down from more complicated variations of Grace. Cards were drawn sequentially from the stack at the table centre, and drawing from the discard pile was not permitted, so a player's hand was more or less predetermined once the cards had been shuffled. Like many gambling games, the true challenge came once the game was called and you weighed your hand against your opponents' and determined your bets based on small tells and slips in demeanour.

What this meant for Sebastian was that he if covertly rearranged the next three cards in the draw deck during his turn, he could feed Fenris the cards he needed to win and Anders the cards he needed to lose.

Sebastian dealt Fenris a hand comprised largely of angels, and then proceeded to stack the deck as he feigned engagement in the anecdote Donnic was sharing about underground lyrium refineries. But they were only three rounds into the game when someone cottoned onto what he was doing.

"Choir Boy, are you…?"

Varric's eyes were narrowed suspiciously at where Sebastian had slipped cards back atop the deck when he was meant to be discarding.

Sebastian smiled to hide his anxiety. "Am I…?" he prompted.

After a tense moment, Varric's face broke into a grin. "…jealous you weren't there for the guardsman's drug bust? Shooting down anyone who dares touch Mother Dearest's lyrium?"

"It does sound like an exciting bit of business," Sebastian agreed pleasantly, with a small nod to Donnic. Although, internally, he was panicking.

Varric was sitting clockwise from Sebastian, and his turn preceded Anders's and then Fenris's. Which meant that Varric had ample opportunity to interfere with Sebastian's attempts to fix their hands. It had been a bit of an oversight, really. Anders, Fenris, and Donnic tended to play honestly more often than not, but there was little to say what Varric would do, especially now that he knew Sebastian was manipulating the cards.

Sebastian kept a close eye on him, but what Varric did this game turned out to be absolutely nothing.

Sebastian drew the Legionnaire card. Fenris won quite soundly. Anders groused about how all Fenris did was take. Fenris asked, if such a thing were true, would Anders really find it so objectionable.

Varric's eyebrows raised with interest.

And then Sebastian really began to panic when Varric brought the cards back in to shuffle. Sebastian recognised the way Varric slipped set cards into the deal from the underside of his hand. Sebastian continued to rearrange the cards during his turn, and Varric rearranged his rearranged cards during his turn. And Sebastian was not sure at all what to expect when-

"And game," Anders said. He threw the Legionnaire card face up on the discard pile. "And fold." He threw the rest of his cards face down on top of it hand face down atop it and crossed his arms over his chest. "Cards really have it out for me today."

Sebastian upped his bet for the show of it, but folded before Fenris and Donnic finished raising theirs. They both had a Smith's Quartet, but Fenris's was in the higher number.

"Well, you win some, you lose some," Donnic shrugged.

"Or just win some if you're Fenris," Anders snorted. "It's not the cards that have it out for me after all. Just you having it out for everyone~"

"Indeed," Fenris deadpanned. "My spite for you all is the only thing holding this game together."

Anders flicked a card at his face.

It was exactly the outcome Sebastian had hoped for. He looked towards Varric with some surprise.

Varric caught his gaze. They shared a look of some deep understanding and accord. And although Sebastian could scarcely say why or how, it seemed the dwarf was his ally in this.

It took ten games to run out Anders's coin, the majority if not the totality of which Fenris profited off of, due to Varric and Sebastian's combined efforts. It was a bit more difficult to fix the games in their totality while the others dealt, but Varric made up for it by staging a very close hand on his latest deal.

"Look, someone has to break your winning streak," Anders insisted. He was clutching his cards tightly to his chest and recklessly shoved the last of his silvers and coppers into the betting pile.

"And you think that someone is you?" Fenris raised an incredulous eyebrow. He counted out the same number of silvers and coppers to match Anders's bet, and nodded.

"Ugh! Andraste's tits!" Anders cursed, as Fenris's Noble Hunter's Quintet beat out his four of a kind.

"Don't speak of Andraste that way." Sebastian couldn't help himself.

"Oh, give it a rest. We all know you want Andraste's tits all to yourself." Anders sighed distractably. "Well, you're all making a poor man out of me, tonight." He glanced to the unforgiving faces at the table. "Perhaps I should call it a night. Quit while I still have clothes to put on my back."

There was a pause after this, where Varric usually would have stepped in with his insistence that the apostate stay, that he would cover the cost of the bets. And Anders would accept for another game or ten games before finally pulling himself away to head home before the others.

Instead, there was an eerie silence at the table. A few confused glances were exchanged, before Fenris's eyes caught on Varric.

Donnic broke the silence with a laugh. "Always a concern – remaining clothed."

Anders gave a resigned sigh and stood. "Wouldn't want you to bring me up on charges of public indecency, guardsman," he teased, as he reached for the coat laid over his seat.

Fenris and Varric were engaged in a conversation composed not of words, but angry glares, lazy smirks, and choppy hand movements. But Fenris's mounting frustration broke quickly into a look of panic.

Anders had finished giving his farewells, and Sebastian had wished him a pleasant evening as kindly as he could. And he was on his way to the door and nearly out of reach when Fenris nearly toppled his chair as he grabbed wildly. Anders turned back, and Fenris released where his fist had tangled in the loose hemp of Anders's shirt as suddenly as he'd grabbed for it.

Fenris, who was usually so well spoken, seemed to need a moment to produce more than garble. "Wait. Mage. Stay," he finally said. And then cleared his throat again, before his voice was its usual unaffected, smooth timbre. "Sit. I will cover your losses for the evening."

Varric whistled. "See, elf, I knew you could do it."

"Shut up, Varric," Fenris quipped.

Anders's grin was one again insufferably smug. "Wow, it seems you really want me to stick around." He made a show of slowly strolling back around to Fenris's other side, dragging the back of the chair, and taking his seat.

Fenris busied himself with shuffling the deck and dealing the next hand. The silence spoke volumes.

"You know I already owe you almost three sovereigns from these game nights of ours." Anders did not sound the least bit repentant of this. "I don't really see how me racking up more debt is going to help anything. I really don't have a way to pay you back."

"I am sure you will think of something." Fenris seemed unconcerned as he fanned his cards out in front of him.

"Unless you'd like me to pay in services rendered," Anders continued. "I'd say healing, but your health should be free. Massages, maybe?"

Fenris's eyes slanted sideways. His mouth was covered by the spread of cards in his hand. "I am sure you will think of something," he repeated.

"You know, Blondie~?" Varric reached into his bag and pulled out a sheaf of papers. "I just got back from the Merchant's Guild, so I've got the whole book on contract law here to help you with that."

Over the next five minutes, Sebastian became pretty sure that folding a few pieces of paper into squares, ripping them apart, and labelling them IOU wasn't standard practice for the Merchant's Guild. He confronted Varric on this.

"I think you'd be surprised what passes for legal tender in the Merchant's Guild, Choir Boy," Varric reassured.

"But how does anyone keep track of their debtors without more to go off of?" Sebastian asked.

"It's a smaller community than you might think," Varric said. "You get a bad name, and everyone will know it. You'll end up with your wares smeared with shit and your dirty underclothes pinned to the Chanter's Board. Sometimes literally."

"That's terrible!" Sebastian said, as he switched the cards out at the top of the Diamondback deck.

"What? You've never heard of that one, Choir Boy?" Varric asked, as he drew covertly from the discard pile. "I thought everyone had."

Sebastian chuckled. "Indeed, I have," he admitted. "It may have been my dirty underclothes pinned to the Chanter's Board once or twice, back in Starkhaven. I'll tell you: This one time I'd run off with the kennelmaster's girl during a hunt. We took into the forest to gather herbs, which I thought would just be elfroot, but was something else entirely. Left me wondering near a week afterwards wondering if she was a hedge mage… In any case, I ended up coming awake in a boathouse I'd never seen before, wearing hardly anything at all. Which you'd think was a story in of itself if the rivermaster hadn't…"

Sebastian began to tell the tale, clinging to the conversation at hand and his attempts to stack the deck in Fenris's favour, because they were the last lifelines of normalcy in a world gone completely mad.

It stood to reason that if Anders was usually upset and petulant about losing coin to Fenris, he should only be more upset by being further indebted to him. But it seemed that nothing could have been further from the truth.

They played two rounds, then four. With both Sebastian's help and Varric's, Fenris easily pulled the best hands and Anders the worst. And although this should dictate that Anders play more cautiously, he instead became more brazen. He upped his bets at every opportunity, while the others bowed out with only their antes in the pot.

"You bet a whole sovereign on… a Duster Pair," Fenris said, comparing the measly hand to the Grand Paragon – six sequential in the same suit – in his own.

"I thought I could bluff you out," Anders leered, as he slid the IOUs across the table.

"You thought to bluff me out with a bet you placed with my own coin?" Fenris seemed amused rather than annoyed.

"So how much are those IOUs worth anyway?" Donnic asked. "What's the running market value for a massage?"

"They're P-" Anders pursed his lips around the consonant and let it go with a little pop. "Priceless." He had not looked away from Fenris.

"Do not give the mage reason to further inflate his own ego," Fenris warned Donnic. He had not looked away from Anders either.

"I'd say about a sovereign," Donnic mused to himself. "Prices may have hiked. Been a while since I've had cause to visit the Rose."

It took Sebastian a while to carefully remove the implications of this statement from his brain. In the meantime, he fell back on his long history as a card sharp, and stacked the deck with increasing fervour. And it wasn't until Anders bet three IOUs on a hand with no matching cards at all that Sebastian began to consider that he had misstepped. There seemed something here more profoundly wrong than could be fixed along with card games.

Fenris and Anders had angled their chairs to face one another and sat reclined, eyeing one another with half-lidded stares. They held their Diamondback hands sloppily in their palms, cards tilted so that they must've been easily read by Varric and Donnic in the adjacent seats. Fenris had his other hand braced against his knee, and was rubbing small circles into it with his thumb. Anders leered as he brushed his fingers over the cards, IOUs, and coins – hands lingering sensuously over anything and everything he could touch.

"Alright, I'm beginning to think I'm wasting my antes," Donnic was saying over this latest hand of cards. "Fenris has won ten games in a row. Someone at this table better be to blame." He waved his thumb in the direction of Fenris and Anders. "And I don't think those two even know it they're so caught up elsewhere."

"Well, they are… er…" Sebastian intended to deny that their game had been manipulated, or at least protest that the subtle manipulation of the cards was part of the game of Diamondback, but he became more concerned with the idea that Donnic might have a point.

"Yeah, I think that's enough," Varric tossed his cards down on the table – a Shaperate Flush – and pressed himself down off his chair. "C'mon, Guardsman, Choir Boy. It's about time we clear out."

Fenris flustered badly. He scooted his chair away from the apostate, dropped a few of his cards, and looked guiltily up at where Varric was collecting his duster off the back of his chair. "I apologise," he hurried to say. "We can continue our game. There is no need for you to leave."

Donnic laughed as he too stood and began collecting his coin from the table.

"Oh, I think we really, really do," Varric insisted. "Unless I'm looking to get an eyeful of you two right here on top of the Diamondback table. And I'd rather not if it's all the same."

Anders laughed.

It abruptly cut off into a dramatised whine when Fenris kicked lightly at his shin. Fenris himself was looking rather mortified.

"Aw, don't make those sad eyes, elf," Varric placated. He'd finished hefting Bianca up onto his shoulder. "We'll all be back next week for more cards. Just, you know, get it out of your systems. Send for us once the honeymoon's over."

Donnic walked up behind the two of them, and clasped a hand on both their shoulders. "Thank you for having us over," he said to Fenris, and then turned to address the both of them. "Hope you gentlemen enjoy the rest of your evening."

Anders managed to get a few words out between wheezing laughter. "Thanks, Donnic. Sure we will."

Sebastian felt lost. "But I-" he began to protest.

"We'll pick up Daisy on our way out," Varric assured.

He shoved at Sebastian's side, and at the same time Donnic hauled Sebastian up by the arm. And Sebastian was completely lost to the momentum as they shuffled him out of the sitting room. He glanced back for one last look at Fenris, staring at the abandoned card game in front of him, and Anders, leaning back in the adjacent chair and wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

"Alright, Daisy," Varric said, as they spilled into the entrance hall. "Playtime's over. Time to vacate house."

Merrill was staring intently at the woodblock she was carving. It looked a little like a dog. "Oh?" she pouted. "But Fenris said I could stay and finish working on this."

"Trust me, Daisy," Varric said. "Ten minutes in, and you're not going to want to be here. You can come back and work on that thing any old time."

Merrill sighed. "If you say so, Varric." She frowned, but began replacing some of her tools in her messenger bag.

Flanked between Varric and Donnic, Sebastian exited into the Hightown street, vacant in the night. They spread out across the road, in the bright moonlight, and idled.

"So why are we leaving so soon?" Merrill was asking. She was adjusting where the messenger bag was strung over her shoulder, and clutched her mage's staff in both hands. "Does it have anything to do with the way Fenris and Anders keep making eyes at one another?"

"Got it in one, Daisy." Varric shook his head. "Like that relationship's not a ticking time bomb ready to blow."

"Aww, I think it's very sweet that Fenris and Anders are courting," Merrill cooed.

"I can't help but notice you didn't really disagree with me," Varric smirked.

Sebastian was relieved that he was not the only one to have noticed. "So Anders is attempting to seduce Fenris!" Sebastian declared.

Merrill looked rather startled by the outburst.

Varric seemed to take it more in stride. "Oh, I think he's doing a lot more than attempting," he whistled.

Anders. Attempting to seduce Fenris. To sneak into his good graces and whisper blasphemies in his ear and turn him further from the light of the Chantry and the Maker himself. And by virtue of his wiles and blight-tainted charms.

"And you plan to do nothing to stop this?!" Sebastian demanded.

Varric huffed a laugh. "If you feel like running back in there and pulling them off one another, be my guest." His tone softened. "Look, Choir Boy, we're all worried about 'em. But sometimes you got to let people make their own mistakes."

"Hmm," Merrill bit her lip and pulled at the cloth wrapped around her staff.

"Why don't we all head to mine next?" Donnic asked, striding back into the conversation. "I mean, we won't be able to gamble with the Captain around. But I have a deck of cards and a table. And I can get you more of those muffins," he added, addressing Merrill.

"Ooh! Yes, please! Let's!" Merrill perked up.

"Just… try not to win too many against the Captain," Donnic instructed them. "She gets in a foul mood when she loses."

"Still calling her 'Captain', huh?" Varric ribbed. "Bet she likes that."

"I'll have you know," Donnic laughed, "that she absolutely does."

"Well, I'm in," Varric threw in. "There's definitely a story there."

Sebastian, who had been considering the wisdom of making your own mistakes, also considered that he was unlikely to convince Fenris of anything by bursting back into his home now. He fell into step behind the others as Donnic led the procession to his and Aveline's home, and listened as they chatted idly about cooking and writing and the foibles of being married to one's superior officer.

"I still cannot believe the apostate would do this!" Sebastian fumed.

Varric still seemed willing to indulge this. He fell back a step. "You really think Fenris is some kind of innocent in this?" He whistled. "As well you should! What did I tell you about apostate mages, Choir Boy?"

Sebastian looked to him in his despair.

"Smooth. Persuasive. An absolute charmer when he needs to be." Varric had pulled a coin out of his pocket, and was flipping it between his fingers. "I keep telling you. You gotta go see his place in Darktown. Nexus of his whole filthy mage agenda. Absolutely wild what he gets up to down there. Would knock your socks off."

Sebastian hesitated and, if only for one moment, allowed himself to hope. "Perhaps the situation isn't quite so dire as all that?"

"Oh, Choir Boy~" Varric laughed and patted him encouragingly on the back. "It's dire alright."

.

.

"I suppose we weren't very discreet," Anders admitted.

The others had gone. Anders was leaning back in his chair, having crossed his legs and propped his feet up on the table.

Fenris huffed, as he gathered cards and uncollected bets. "I was relatively sure the word 'discretion' was not a part of your vocabulary." He pulled the deck into a messy pile, but quickly gave up his attempts to tidy. His heart wasn't really in it.

Anders dropped down to sit properly in his seat, and scooted a little closer to Fenris. "You're rather mean, you know?" He reached for Fenris's hand and pressing a quick kiss to the back of it. "I should dock you one of your IOUs for being so terribly mean to me."

"Dock all you like," Fenris snickered. "I have about seventeen saved up from tonight alone."

"At this rate I'll be paying you back when I'm dead." Anders reached a hand over to Fenris's lap and squeezed at his thigh. "So I guess I better start on what I owe you now," he smirked.

Fenris tensed, before he forced himself to relax. He parted his legs a little, and looked off to the side.

Anders pulled his hand back. "You're not actually embarrassed about the others, are you?" he asked. "I know they like taking the piss, but they understand. Varric was winking. Donnic clapped you on the shoulder. Even Sebastian understands, I'm sure. New couples get to be a little foolish."

Fenris shook his head. It had been a little embarrassing but- "No, it's not that."

"Then I'm going too fast," Anders said resolutely. "I know we were getting a little carried away there, but didn't mean to pressure you. If you don't want a massage I-"

"No, I do," Fenris insisted.

Anders hesitated. He leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to Fenris's cheek before dropping down to the floor on his knees.

"How about I just massage your feet and hamstrings, hmm?" Anders asked. "You seem like you could use it- I swear you're just a mass of calluses and knotted muscle." He reached for Fenris's right foot and began pressing his thumbs, hands alight with healing magic, into the arches. "And if you need me to stop at anytime, you can just let me know, and I will. No questions asked."

Anders peeled his toes apart, and ran his hands up over the back of his leg and teased his muscles loose, and it felt too good to stop him, although Fenris should have. He laughed several times, lightly, anxiously, before he could work up the content of character to-

"Nnn, Anders."

Anders stopped immediately. "Too much?" he asked.

It was way too much. All of it. Fenris bit his cheek uncomfortably. "You shouldn't," he forced himself to say. "You shouldn't be down on the floor for me. It's degrading."

Anders considered this for a moment, before continuing – rubbing small circles over Fenris's leg with his thumbs. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Fenris's knee over his leggings.

"It's not," he chuckled. "It's really not, Fenris. Not when I'm doing it for someone I'm affectionate towards."

"It is," Fenris disagreed. But he didn't stop Anders moving to the other leg and, after a moment of watching Anders looking so smug and pleased, Fenris considered that he might be wrong.

Well, if Anders wouldn't get off the floor, that just meant that Fenris had to get down to his level. He pressed Anders back gently, and slid off the chair to fall down next to him.

The floor was disgusting. Even though Fenris had it swept before Wicked Grace night, wine and moisture had long since seeped into it and made it soft and creaky. With a ripe, rancid smell to boot. Fenris did not know how long it would last. He did not know how long any of this would last. It seemed the ground under his feet was always about ready to fall out from under him.

And yet the mage was right. This didn't feel degrading at all.

Fenris pressed Anders further back, leaned into him as he climbed into the mage's lap and straddled him. Atop one another in this fashion, it was difficult to miss that Anders was aroused. Fenris supposed his own arousal was hardly more covert. He wrapped his arms around Anders, and buried his face into his shoulder.

Oh, but Anders was oh so patient. Too much so. Fenris didn't know what to do with him when Anders refrained from doing more than reach a hand up and run it through Fenris's hair.

"What now?" he asked, with a little chuckle.

Fenris found Anders's wrists, dragged them and rearranged them, so that his hands clasped Fenris's buttocks. When they were safely in place, he tucked his arms back under Anders's shoulders and waited.

"Oh," Anders said with a little laugh. He groped fondly, and snaked one hand under Fenris's leggings and dragging the side of his palm up the crease in Fenris's behind, before worming the tip of one finger inside. "Is this the kind of massage you'd like then?"

Anders made this too easy. And yet he made it too difficult. It was way too much. But it wasn't nearly enough. How could Fenris do anything but want more of him?

"Yes," Fenris said. And pressed a kiss to the underside of Anders's throat. "Yes, please."

.

---

Next time: Sebastian fundamentally misunderstands Anders's work in Darktown. Fenris gets fed up with this bullshit.