"'You are who you choose to follow.' Someone told me that once, took me years to figure out what he meant." –'Blackwall', Agent of the Inquisition, Companion of the Inquisitor.

For the first time since that day in the corridor as she stood waiting for the Teyrn's judgement of her sister and Kenna Cousland wrapped her rough golden fingers around her slim wrist—protective, possessive, kind—and dragged her before her father to declare that Lileas—little Lileas Surana, whose mother died bringing her into the world, whose sister was more her mother, whose father worked until he got sick and died to keep a roof over their heads and food on their table—was going to be her Lady-in-Waiting—because Kenna hadn't asked, hadn't even thought to ask, she had declared and dared her father to deny her—that Lileas was actually the lady-in-waiting that Kenna had declared her to be, and wasn't just being paid to be Kenna's friend and play-mate like she had been feeling.

The Couslands had been very kind to her and her sister, Lileas knew.

They had bought them a whole new wardrobe—dressed them from head to toe in their daughters' personal colours, an unsubtle claim to anyone with eyes—had allowed them to sit in the same lessons as their daughters—to give the same level of education they allowed their noble-born daughters to two orphan elves were unheard of—allowed them to sit at their table and eat the same food—Kenna had done her best to get Lileas to adjust, had changed her eating and had ate it stubbornly despite her dislike of it for Lileas because she was that baffling kind to Lileas—had allowed them to be taught to fight and fitted for armour—practise armour for now, but one day, Lileas knew proper armour would be fitted for them—and even made sure they had a wage when Lileas did nothing—Rosina at least was helping Lady Caitlyn, had quickly been given duties and trust while Kenna hunted for a teacher for Lileas, to hide her and keep her safe.

It had been uncomfortable, it had made her ashamed that she was being paid to be Kenna's—kind, bold and honest Kenna—friend, her playmate and study-partner.

The addition of Giles to their group had made those things worst and not better really, because while Kenna may have been paying Giles, he was actually earning his wage by gathering the Little Birds—because of course Giles' joke became their actual name—and reporting anything of note while Lileas did nothing and in fact owed Kenna more with Mirwen acting as her magic.

And then, Lady Caitlyn had collared them, and had told them she knew all about the Little Birds—because of Alouette's addition to her personal Household no doubt—and was disappointed that Kenna hadn't seen fit to inform her big sister of her budding spy-network—she was also trying not to smile in pride, Lileas had noticed—before informing them that she had gotten them an account for them to use when it came to the Little Birds—'no more using your allowance, Kenna, I mean it'—and Kenna had immediately turned to Lileas—no hesitation, no doubt, complete faith in her in a way that was humbling—and gave control of the account over to the elf—'I can't do numbers, Lileas! They hurt my head! Please?'

Numbers were something Lileas was good at, that she out-paced Kenna without trying, and balancing an account? Lileas remembered being young and sitting on Rosina's lap as her elder sister calculated just how far they could stretch their father's wage to feed and clothed them all.

For the first time, Lileas was doing something to earn her wages and Lileas was proud of it, proud of the complete faith that her Lady had in her and was completely resolved to do Kenna proud—ignoring the fact that Kenna was proud of Lileas no matter what she did.

It was filled with this pride, with this resolve, that Lileas was able to steel herself to bargain against the Madame.

Aldhlean, if anyone cared to ask, did not miss his magic nor his ability to dream, and was perfectly content—even happy if he could claim to feel that—with his state as a Tranquil.

But, he supposed, that was because he chose to be Tranquil, he chose to undergo the rite and have the sunburst brand placed on his brow as his connection to the Fade was severed, and he supposed that mattered even if his fellow Tranquil would likewise claim to be content.

(And if Aldhlean was truthful, he didn't feel much different afterwards and that, he also supposed, said everything about him.)

Tranquillity, to him, had meant freedom in a way; freedom from the demons disturbing his rest with attempts to bargain his body and mind away from him, freedom from the scorching and distrusting gazes of the Templar, freedom to explore runes and enchantments, and freedom from the Tower.

It was a freedom he took with both hands—greedily, perhaps—and he enjoyed the life he had created himself in Highever, his shop filled with books, bottles of potions, tonics and tins of pastes, shelves filled with glow-lights and other creations, and he, especially, enjoyed the Curiosity of the Couslands too.

~ Enchanted by the Sea, Highever, 9th Justinian 9:21 Dragon ~

Aldhlean glanced up as the bell above his door rang as the door opened, disinterest quickly being replaced with curiosity as the Cousland Curiosity strode in with her apostate elven servant and her elven-blooded partly-crippled budding spy-master just behind her and trailing even further behind was of course a Knight to protect her—a Knight that seemed rather flustered and kept a bit more distance than he should in his state.

"Lady Kenna," Aldhlean greeted, all soft tones and barely there smile, and Lady Kenna grinned at him, bold in her delight in seeing him—a rare thing for any Tranquil to be gifted with—and he let his golden gaze linger on the necklace around the apostate's neck—the crystal more than the rather beautiful gold chain of laurel leaves that held it. "I'm glad you found a use for that crystal I got you."

The apostate faltered under his gaze, fear and repulsion flashing across her fair face as her pale green gaze locked on the red sun-burst on his brow—a common reaction from mages, Aldhlean had come to recognise though he didn't remember feeling it himself when he was a mage, but Aldhlean had always been rather different.

"Ah," Lady Kenna paused, grin faltering just so as she reached out for the apostate's wrist—golden fingers curling around a pale wrist, protective and calming—and the elven girl calmed as she pressed against her Lady's arm. "I forgot to thank you for your help."

"It was my pleasure," Aldhlean gave a slightly bow, a few ginger strands hair falling over his shoulder—a paler shade than the spun copper and bronze locks that Lady Kenna sported, that blazed like fire under direct sunlight—he straightened and brushed his long locks back over his shoulder and behind one pointed ear. "How may I help you this day?"

"Do you know any herbalists or maybe even an alchemists that wouldn't mind teaching?" Lady Kenna asked as she leaned against the counter of his shop, fingers still wrapped around the apostate's wrist, completely confident that Aldhlean wouldn't out the younger elf as a mage or inform the Templars—she wasn't wrong, if only out of curiosity of how long they could keep it hidden and what type of mage she would turn out to be without the teachings of the Tower.

(There was a reason demons of Pride—corrupted Spirits of Wisdom—had been the ones most drawn to him before. Curiosity had always been his worst sin.)

Aldhlean almost felt his lips twitch, perhaps what he was feeling for his Curiosity was also fondness—he wasn't sure, maybe possession was a better word for it.

"Isn't your sister learning to be an alchemist?" Aldhlean asked as he turned towards his record books and reached for the green leather bound one with one pale hand. "Surely, Lady Caitlyn would be willing to teach you all that you wish to know?"

"It's' not for me," Lady Kenna informed him as he turned and he hummed in acknowledge, golden gaze flicking up and catching the curious—and wary—sea-glass blue gaze of the budding spymaster in his shop. "And anyway, Cait's busy with her studies and the Alienage."

The boy was wary of him, could see that there was something wrong with him that wasn't his Tranquillity, and Aldhlean felt his lips twitch again which only seemed to unnerve the apostate and spymaster as Lady Kenna took it in her stride—she was truly a curious girl, Aldhlean thought once again with the surge of emotion (emotion he supposed shouldn't be able to feel according to every mage or Templar with opinions) that only she managed to drag out of him.

"I see," Aldhlean said as he flipped through the pages, "I know a few people that could be interested—mostly herbalists."

"Thank you," Lady Kenna beamed at him as he turned the book towards her so she could read the neatly printed names.

The apostate unbuckled the book hanging from her belt—the leather dyed an almost midnight blue with a stylised songbird was indented on the front—and flipped it open to a clean page as she slipped a dwarven fountainpen from her pocket—made of silver, pricey and rare as most were content with quill-pens, her grip awkward which showed she was still getting used to the different grip—and she leaned close as she copied the names—all signs of her previous fear and repulsion either gone or hidden from causal view, strengthen by the fingers that had wrapped around her wrist? Bolstered by the reminder that her Lady was ever ready to protect her? —he tapped with one slender finger.

"I can contact them for you, if you wish?" Aldhlean offered lightly making the pen pause in a pale hand as Lady Kenna smiled up at him—accepting, fearless, unique.

"That would be very helpful," she told him though the apostate continued to copy the names he tapped—for her own records, perhaps.

"Anything for my favourite curiosity," he told her, almost fond but undoubtably possessive, and both the apostate and little spymaster stiffened while Lady Kenna didn't even blink—he didn't expect she would shy away from such possessiveness, not being who she was, not loving her siblings like she did, no, Kenna Cousland understood how easily affection and possession could be mixed and wouldn't shy away from it, wouldn't fear it.

(He remembered three years ago;

Fergus Cousland coming into his shop, a thin smile on his lips as he asked about books detailing the Seers of Rivain, of him curling up on one of his windowsills and slowly reading each book day after day.

He remembered Caitlyn Cousland coming into his shop, golden hair pulled back into tight braids, twisted and pinned until they resembled flowers, a pretty practised smile curling her lips and a note of desperation to her voice as she asked for a number of books on herbalism and alchemy, as she asked for names she could contact to further her studies.

He remembered just that year;

Kenna Cousland with her fire-hair—copper and bronze—braided and pinned around her head into a crown, of bold heterochromia eyes, of the set of her jaw as she asked for a foci crystal—about the size of an egg, even that shape if possible—and the silent dare to her gaze, daring him to report her for what she was purchasing.

The Cousland siblings knew all about possessive and protective love.)

"Thank you," Lady Kenna, his Curiosity, repeated with another smile—no fear, no wariness, no disgust.

"It would be wise of you to remain indoors and safe in your manor, young Cadash," Aldhlean's voice was as calm and soft as ever, but still made the young dwarf jump as she turned away from the window and towards him, golden eyes wide and face a touch pale—afraid, but curious, fear would soon leave and in place would be scholarly interest.

"I…I didn't know you could make wards powered just by runes," she stuttered slightly, glancing back towards the window where several smoking corpses were arranged just outside the shop, what made the sight of them more frightening was the fact they were still standing—Aldhlean was lethal in his rune ward design, the moment the bells rang through the once still air of Highever he had placed his bloody hand on the keystone rune to his defences, the lyrium sung as it powered up, runes carved into his walls, into the frames of his windows and doors, all flared with the power he had carefully folded into and waited for the foolish invaders to attempt to collar him, to make him into their pet Tranquil.

Aldhlean hummed lightly, a look of detached interest appearing on his freckled face as he watched the other would-be invaders of his shop, possible kidnappers of his customer, and the force that drove his Curiosity from her home, panic and back away from his shop like the Maker himself was about to strike them down—the Maker would have been more merciful, Aldhlean thought to himself, as he could still feel mercy while Aldhlean didn't know if he had ever truly felt mercy for someone (something deep inside of her murmured the word 'sociopath' and Kenna wondered if that truly suited the man).

"I don't believe many have tried before," he offered before glancing at the young dwarf, still just a child really. "Do you wish to learn?"

There was a beat of silence before the young dwarf looked up, golden eyes gleaming and short pig-tails bouncing as she grinned and almost bounced towards him in gleeful interest.

"Can I really?" she asked, all wide-eyed and full of interest—and Aldhlean was charmed in a different way than he had been then when his Curiosity had first strode into his shop so many years ago.

"Of course," Aldhlean smiled—the barest curve of his lips upward, real in a way most didn't expect from a Tranquil—as he waved towards the back of his shop, turning on his heel and hearing the young dwarf almost stomping after him in her excitement.

~ Blacksmith, Highever, 9th Justinian 9:21 Dragon ~

The Blacksmith of Highever had no fancy name nor was it own by one sole person and was kept in one of the largest buildings in Highever; it kept its large doors and its windows were barred instead of glass so the smiths wouldn't overheat completely from the heat of a dozen forges.

Dwarves from House Cadash—once they held another name, but that was before they followed their patrons out of Orzammar and now they were all Cadash—men from all walks of life—former soldiers that took up them hammer after the Rebellion, men that were born into Blacksmith families, some that just had the luck to catch someone's eyes and learn the trade—and elves—boarder from pounding at hot metal, working it with all their strength, not so slim and slender as being a smith was good work.

Cousland Castle may have their own blacksmith, but Kenna had decided to go to Highever's one for her order—the Blacksmith of Highever had everything from normal blacksmiths, blade-makers, armour forgers, and jewellery crafters after all while the Castle's blacksmith was more of a place for blades to be reworked, armour to be adjusted and hammered to fit the soldiers' different frames, and not an actual Craft Hall filled with different disciples of the forge.

"Can we please eat after this, Boss?" Giles leaned against her, elbow resting on her shoulder in a way that was a silent taunt about her height, and she was tempted to drive one of her elbows into his side—her elbows were bony and because of that it hurt more when she did that, she had been told repeatedly by both Fergus and Giles. "Some of us are starving, you know?"

"Fine," Kenna agreed as she felt her stomach grumble in almost agreement to Giles' words. "After this, we'll find somewhere to eat."

"The market has several food-stalls that serve meals," Lileas added, "it should be rather easy to find at least one that we all like."

"Come on," Kenna nudged Giles off with her pointy and bony elbow and strode forward to the sweltering heat of the Blacksmith's. "This shouldn't take long after all."

"Can I help you, my Lady?" a young voice asked, pitched to carry over the sound of the hammers, and Kenna turned to see a young elf boy about two years her senior walking towards her.

Blonde hair—a shade or two paler than Cait's—was cut sensibly short considering the heat and he was dressed in light trousers and a sleeveless tunic covered by a small leather apron—an apprentice.

"I'm looking for a jeweller," she told the elf as he nodded his head in greeting to both Lileas and Giles flanking her. "I have something I wished to be crafted."

"Most go through a jewellery store for that, my Lady," the boy frowned slightly, almost thoughtful as he looked at her with light grey-blue eyes. "Even with personalised requests."

"I prefer to go to the source," Kenna shrugged lightly making the boy nod, again thoughtful as his grey-blue gaze different through the large Hallas if he was already searching out the jewellers.

"This way then," he gestured, "the jewellers prefer to be in their own room, the noise can be distracting for some."

"Thank you," Kenna told him as she followed. "What's your name?"

"Nelaros, my lady," he told her, flashing a smile over his shoulder briefly, and looking away before he could see the blood-drain from her face as she saw a flash of him older, dressed in fine clothes and wielding a blade, of the sickening squelch of the sword pulling itself carelessly from his gut, a woman's enraged scream as he fell with grey-blue eyes already dulling in death.

She stumbled and Lileas was there, a steadying presence on her right as Giles steadied her on left.

"My Lady?"

"Boss?"

"I'm fine," she told them, clenching her jaw just as Nelaros—dead, dead, he was going to die—looked back at them in concern.

"Are you alright, my Lady?" he asked, eyeing her face in concern. "The heat can be a bit much to those unused to it—the jewellers' area is a lot cooler."

"I'm fine," she told him, forcing a smile. "Just caught off guard."

"I'll get you some water after I leave you with the jewellers," Nelaros decided after a moment and sped his pace up as if he was trying to get her through the heat as quickly as possible.

Kenna clenched her jaw as she followed, feeling cold despite the heat that was causing sweat to bead on her forehead and the nape of her neck.

She couldn't save everyone, Fergus had told her, had hold her close as she sobbed that Father didn't believe her, that he wouldn't believe her, and he would die for it.

No matter how much she wanted to, sometimes no matter how much she tried, people would die, he had told her firmly.

Ser Kenneth had drilled into her how easy it was to die, how one misstep and it could be her dead, bleeding out because of some enemy's sword. He had beat it into her that there would always be someone better, luckier, stronger, faster than her and one mistake, one hesitation, one cocky thought, could spell her end.

Nelaros was going to die, she knew that know, but not the where, why or who, and frankly she didn't know if she'd ever know.

She couldn't save everyone, she repeated in her mind, but she could damn well try to save as many as hers as possible—that's was what she was doing around, arranging things to give them the best tools possible to survive.

And, as cruel and as heartless as it sounded, Nelaros wasn't one of hers.

Red hair—deep and dark like fine wine—fell from a once beautiful braid threaded with flowers—Andraste's Grace, the small golden flowers of Prophet's Laurel, pale roses—a white gown bloodied and torn—embroidered Crystal Grace along the bodice—dark skin almost ashen.

She stood before a snivelling coward, a rapist and murderer, and she felt contempt as he attempted to bargain with her—how dare he, how dare he, how dare he—while her cousin—her cousin, her sister, hers to protect—lay behind him, crying softly with her dress messy and his seed running down her legs—he had touched her, had taken her, had forced her, bastard, bastard, BASTARD.

The ring—his ring, the ring he had made for her, a ring she had to take off his corpse—pressed into her finger as her hands clenched around the short-swords she had taken from his soldiers—they had foamed at the mouth, had stared at her with a slow realisation as they choked and died on the poisoned drink they had allowed her to serve them, unsuspecting of the truth, too wrapped up in themselves to wonder about the presence of a strange female elf, they should have suspected, they had seen the others dragged from that room after all—that suited her better than the single longer and heavier blade So— had managed to get to her.

"I'll pay you!" he burst out in desperation and she snapped—HOW DARE HE!

He gurgled, shocked and afraid as he looked up at her blazing golden eyes, her short shoved through his throat.

He was dead before she removed her sword, his mind just hadn't caught up with it yet.

"Oh Maker," one of his friends whimpered as his body slumped in front of her feet. "Pleas—"

He was silenced just as quickly as his friend, the other lunged for a weapon and her cousin took him out with several crossbow bolts to the back.

"Get the others," she told her cousin, he took one pained look at their cousin before hurrying to the other room as she knelt before her weeping cousin. "They're dead, Shi—. They won't ever hurt you again."

She lifted her dark golden gaze, pale skin flushed red from her tears, a bruise darkening across her cheek and her bloody mouth curled into a snarl.

"Good," she snarled, raging and hurting, one leg lashing out to kick at his body. "Good!"

Author's Note; This was surprisingly quick update, hope you enjoy this chapter and I would love your feedback.