Yes, I know I posted this chapter already yesterday but apparently the late hour and the flu got the best of me; to my dread I just found out I posted the wrong version, a very feverish one I might add. I'm terribly sorry about that. So let's try again...

So many thanks for everyone who is still following this story. Voor de Nederlandse mensen: dank je!

Oh, en voor degenen die zich het Carnaval gestort hebben: Veel plezier!

In other terms: enjoy!

Part 14: oh heavens, still following the trail, where will it end (I know, a bit childish but to my defence it's damn late, I had the flu and Carnaval has started. Alaaf.)

Fenris resembled a marble statue, a perfect chiselled one mind you, the way he rigidly stood, still clutching the edge of the table as if he was holding on to a lifeline. His whole body had gone taut and he fought to even out his laboured breathing. To make things worse he could feel every eye in the room focused on him, almost literally boring holes in his head. What were they expecting, for the Maker's sake? Him capering around the room, hooting in exaltation about his infinite joy and happiness over this unexpected discovery? He tried to ignore the unified and unwelcome attention but it was very hard. His mind was reeling enough as it was and he had great difficulty with keeping his wits together. Finally he managed, 'Where did you learn to understand Tevene?' It was not a reaction one would expect and certainly the gathered persons in the Guard Captain's office, to be more specific all those eyes fixed on his outer composed appearance, completely missed the reason why he asked this. Bar one. His own eyes fluttered for a moment from the piece of parchment to Marian; perhaps only she could understand he tried to keep the turmoil his thoughts made at the moment as much in check as possible. He feverishly hoped so.

Hawke, in the meantime, very much regretted they had opened the box with all the others present; now Fenris had to cope with their reactions as well as with what was revealed. And if how shaken she felt was any indication, she wondered seriously how bad Fenris fared. Thus she wasn't surprised at all by his seemingly light-hearted and irrelevant question.

She smiled wanly. 'I didn't, unless you count your numerous utterances of Tevene curses as some kind of lessons. But the contract is written in both the language of the Tevinter Imperium and in Common.' She worried her lip and murmured, 'That's odd. At least in my opinion it is.' She gave him another brittle smile. 'So I reckon you must be very important to – him.' She had wanted to say "that monster" but decided at the last moment it would carry too much weight in this already weighty situation. In fact she shouldn't have uttered the sentence at all she realized a heartbeat too late. Fenris cringed and on her turn she did the same. That was an utterly stupid remark. Think before you say something, you twat! Of course she couldn't have known what the contents of the box would be, to be honest she had presumed they'd find the deed to the mansion or something like that. But the object bore the seal of Danarius, that alone should have been a warning up forehand. She should have known better, damn it, and opened the bloody thing in the private vicinity of his – her house. His was too damaged to be private any longer. And there was even more important information in the contract than she had told. Better to keep that to herself for the time being. She looked askance at Fenris's seemingly unmoved expression but she wasn't fooled; she saw the tense muscles of his jaw working under his skin.

'You could try to slap on a happy face,' Varric commented out of the sudden, 'your brooding demeanour, however alluring it might be, doesn't fit with this document and the amount of wealth it comes with. It's not every day you find such treasure after all. At least in my experience it isn't. That gold and those gems together with the definite solid proof of your freedom call for celebration, not for a moody expression.'

Hawke felt cold ripples glide along her body as if someone had turned a tub with ice cubes down her spine. She gasped at the thoughtless words but Fenris beat her effort to utter her anger. Or rather dread.

The elf sent the dwarf a murderous glare. 'You're playing with fire,' he warned him.

Hawke opened her mouth to intervene but once more she was too late.

'Indeed,' mocked Isabela, her coal-surrounded eyes full of cynical humour, 'it must be a terrible burden to be a free man.' Wordless Hawke stared at the pirate; couldn't the woman see how hurtful and mindless her nonchalant spoken words were? Powerless her hands fell into her lap.

And that cracked the elf's outward unperturbed composure. He thumped the table with both fists and yelled agitated, 'I already was a free man! I don't need this wretched document as some kind of legal evidence! But what I even need less is such a brutal reminder of my rotten life before I acquired my freedom!' All his markings flared bright blue and as a contrast the dark circles under his eyes seemed to stand out more. His rough velvet voice sounded like a peal of thunder. He took a shuddering breath in a desperate attempt to regain his calm. Suddenly he turned around and stormed out off the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Slowly Marian folded the parchment and placed it back in the strong-box. She closed the lid. When she looked up her eyes were ablaze. 'Brilliant,' she scoffed at her shocked audience, 'instead of trying to be supportive you insist on keep on acting like a bull in a china shop. Do you intend placing bets on this as well? Like what he will demolish or who he will kill in his fury? Or how long it will take before he calms down? Perhaps, and this one fits more in the line of occurrences I deem, he needs a good fuck after all this? And where will he get it? In the rubble of his ruin, in my four-poster, in the old tent on the slopes of Sundermount? Take your pick now.'

Without thinking Isabela already opened her mouth to give the obvious answer but closed it immediately under Hawke's piercing glare. Even Merrill's alcoholic haze had lifted although her complexion had taken a deeper shade of pink. Nervously she fumbled with her fingers. 'I never meant to, I mean, I'm sure we never meant to –'

Hawke interrupted her with an impatient gesture. 'I'm not referring to you, Merrill,' she said menacingly, 'you're not to blame, unlike the two culprits standing next to you.' With a dark scowl she added, 'Apparently it wasn't enough to tear down the mansion. You also were willing, thoughtless I assume, to push him over the edge. Can you really not imagine what he is going through?' The question hung heavily in the air while she picked up the strong-box. Halfway her turn to the door she swirled back and said, the look in her eyes hovering between anger and amusement, 'You didn't really buy the rubbish of me and Fenris being married, did you?' and left Aveline's office with straight shoulders. She hoped fervently Fenris hadn't left the Keep altogether.

Just before she closed the door she heard simultaneously Merrill chirp almost plaintively, 'Why doesn't anyone want to blame me?' and Varric shout out, 'What?' She produced a little smirk. Sometime in the midst of darkness there shone a light, sometimes it was but the knowledge of successfully having fooled the dwarf.

'What? My Guardsmen? Have you gone completely out of your fucking mind?!' Aveline cried out not moments later.

With feigned interest Varric studied his nails. 'I remember someone complained about someone else who had swapped the messages on the post with, what was it again...' he cocked his head and pretended to think hard, '... ah yes "some filth from the Blooming Rose" if I'm not mistaken. I suppose I could top that but, as you maybe can understand, the message would be rather different.' He shot her a bright beam. 'I'm certain your men would be overly surprised to learn their Captain is so fond of betting that it ultimately led to deceiving the Viscount himself and –'

'You're blackmailing me,' Aveline said flatly.

Varric appeared to be shocked. 'Madam! How can you suggest such a thing,' he cried out, bringing his hands to his heart, his demeanour radiating nothing but being wounded to the core. 'I'm just trying to help one friend and keep another out of trouble.' His smile, sweeter than honey, could have attracted a swarm of bees.

'Yes, yes,' Aveline interrupted him irritably, 'I get the point.'

'While, on the other hand, that same Captain can show herself in her best light by letting her Guardsmen lend a hand –'

'I said I get the point!' Aveline raised her voice angrily.

Varric leant back in his chair. 'Good,' he grinned, 'I'm glad we have an understanding.'

Sebastian felt like an intruder in his own reliable beloved Chantry. He didn't trust the corridors and airy halls anymore. They had turned into the endless dark winding paths of the Deep Roads for as much he was concerned. The – yeah right – sweet little ones occupying the rooms of the nursery resembled in his bleak fantasy the filthy Darkspawn he feared as much as his nightmares about the Black City. For days he had been sneaking around the premises; to be frank he hardly dared to slip out off his own cell. Many times he had tried to put up the courage to leave his private little room though he was afraid to encounter – being pounced upon by was a better description, he thought sourly – Sister Geofride. Since the woman had recovered from her so-called sickness he had been on edge. No, to be frank he had been in that state of mind since he had been forced to deal with the – her horde of orphans that had left him like a sticky example of how not to do it. While in the background of his mind still that small voice kept telling him Elthina knew all about it and, worse, set this nightmare into motion. It was too much to handle. Being betrayed by the woman he more or less considered his mother, being fingered by gluey little fingers, being laughed at behind his back by too smug teens ... ugh!

Oh, Sebastian, the children are sooooo fond of you! He hated Geofride's use of far too many oooo's and exclamation marks. He, besides that, wondered in a fit of jealousy how those dreadful children were able to remember her name and pronounce it in the right way where they stubbornly insisted on naming him Bror Sebas. While on the other hand ... that little girl that had insisted on cookies and cold lemonade... she had never laughed behind his back. At the end of the day she had returned and asked for a story. It had endeared him and had frightened him at the same time. He had told her a rather fumbled version of a story he could vaguely remember from his youth which she had accepted with earnest attention. She had given him a hug and a bright smile and had said, 'Thank you, Bror Sebas. Now I can sleep.' He had, to his own amazement, tucked her in although rather bewildered and he was the first to admit he hadn't understood any of it until unbearable Sister Geofride had come and explained the little girl had a crush on him. 'But,' she had added to his chagrin, 'she always dreamed about a prince. And look who showed up!' He very much wished to strangle her. And destroy her too righteous vest. As far as a vest could be righteous, hers radiated it. And he hated it.

He realized very well he was enormously overreacting and his irritation didn't make any sense at all; it was not Sister Geofride's fault he had been saddled with the orphans and that he had made a mess of it. But for some reason or another he had been irked by her remark about the lemonade-girl that had fallen asleep with his jumbled stupid story wandering around her mind. It was not that he didn't want to be the prince for the little girl but Geofride had made it cheap with her laughing explanation. Grumbling under his breath he now, at midday for Andraste's sake, tried to sneak out to avoid awful Geofride and her orphans, sweet cold-lemonade-girl included, and the Grand Cleric all in once to steal away for a while to take a breath. It became too much. He didn't get far. As a matter of fact he almost reached the doors ... and in hindsight that was quite a feat.

Because, as if he had materialised out of thin air, Varric appeared.

Sebastian hadn't noticed him until he not a heartbeat later almost jumped to the ceiling when someone gripped his cuff and whispered conspiratorially, 'Hey, Choir Boy, want to do something Andrastean?'

'Varric!' he wheezed after he had caught his breath. At the moment he didn't know what was worse: to be confronted with the dwarf or the horrible righteous vest.

The dwarf smiled. Sweetly. 'I know you have an army under your command.'

Sebastian's eyes flew wide. 'You can't seriously mean – '

Impatiently Varric waved his hands around, 'I mean the little buggers. I talked with the important woman. You know, the one with all the authority. The one with the grandmother bun. (Sebastian flinched.) She said I could borrow you, and the little rascals. You know, your real army.' On cue all thirty-four villains came streaming out of the storage room that led to the nursery, looking eager and excited.

He stared at them. He stared at Varric. He stared at lemonade-girl that beamed back. He took a gulp of air. 'Please don't say you're acting as the replacement of the Grand Cleric's authority. Whatever you want to use it for.' Could life get any worse? He knew he sounded helplessly and he didn't like it one bit. The dwarf's face split in two and he grinned insufferably. 'Yes, Choir Boy, as a matter of fact I am. So time to gather your army of orphans and put them to use. I told the Big Girl,' - Sebastian flinched again, forcefully this time, until he felt the hand of the little lemonade-girl slip into his, - 'her orphan scoundrels would gladly learn the world by going outside and do something useful for that very world. Do the Maker's work. Are you catching my drift?'

'No,' Sebastian said.

'We're going to help Messere Fenris and move a lot of rubble,' lemonade-girl explained with a shining expression. Sebastian looked blank.

'You're going too fast, little princess,' Varric said, 'but that doesn't matter. I'll fill him in along the way. Come on. We have much to do.'

While they marched out off the Chantry Sebastian thought he should lemonade-girl ask her name before she would be buried under a load of – whatever it may be what they were supposed to move. And so he did.

'Mayflower.' She smiled like an angel. 'My name is Mayflower.'

'That's a beautiful name,' he said weakly while he let himself pull down the flight of stairs. For some reason or another women always seemed to get their way with him. Women and dwarfs.

Anders was busy with refilling a range of small phials with healing potions when there sounded an alarming bustling noise behind his back. He grabbed his staff and swirled around, to come face to face with whoever dared to attack him in his sanctuary. To his flushed amazement he saw Sebastian who on his turn tried to recoil weren't it he was pressed forward by a very determined looking Varric. Before he could utter an objection or even a question the dwarf called out brightly, 'Blondie! Look, I brought Choir Boy and his little army!'

Only now it got through to Anders how strange it was the repulsive pious Chantry lover paid a visit to his domain; normally he avoided the place like the plague. Simultaneously he hated him seeing here and he already raised his voice in protest. And then he saw the little girl hanging on his arm. And the score of other children following in his wake. Carefully he placed his staff against his rickety desk. 'What's meaning of this?' was all he could manage.

'I bet you can find a lot of people down here who are willing to earn a few silvers to do an honest day of work,' Varric babbled merrily, only half explaining or rather making the riddle bigger.

'Yes ...' volunteered Anders guardedly. 'and you mean...'

He wasn't prepared for the attack. The little lemonade-girl, much to both Sebastian's and Varric's surprise, hurled herself into Anders's arms. 'Oh Messere,' she wailed, 'they were so sweet and now they have nowhere to live! We must help them!' She burst into tears. Anders, holding her and feeling his sleeve getting wetter by the moment, asked flustered, 'Can anyone explain? Please?'

Varric grinned broadly. 'Oh come on, Blondie. You really don't recall what happened in the betting-department? How things got a little out of hand?'

'What has that to do with it?' said Anders irritably.

'Because it got more than a little out of hand when Daisy went and blew up the mansion.'

The healer frowned. 'Fenris's mansion?'

'No, the palace of the Viscount,' Varric retorted edgily, 'of course Fenris's mansion!'

Anders looked from the dwarf to the Chantry brother and his coterie of orphans and back to Varric. He tried very hard to stifle a grin. 'With him in it?'

Varric rolled his eyes. 'Luckily not but the damage is considerable. We want to repair it but we need your help.'

'And how do you figure I could be of assistance? I'm not a mason or a construction worker! And I still don't understand half of what apparently happened.' And besides that ... helping Fenris? Let him deal with the problem himself. He already got the girl, no need to make his life even more pleasurable. He tapped the little girl that still held on to his arm gently on the head. 'He has another house to live in, you don't have to pity him.'

She turned her large glistening eyes to him, there were still some tears hanging on her lashes and he knew immediately he would yield. 'Will you really not help?' she implored. Anders groaned inwardly. How on earth was he supposed to resist this?! Varric certainly knew who to take with him to plead his case. 'Alright, alright!' he cried defeated, 'just tell me what you have in mind.'

Varric gave him a big smirk. 'I knew you would give in. What I'd like you to do is gather as many hands as you can find. We need manpower and between the refugees there must be capable men. Sebastian and his little army you already met. Daisy promised she would get together as many elves as she could find. We can only hope she will set them to work before she humps them.'

This time Anders's eyes almost popped out off their sockets, 'What?!'

'Long story. Can wait. So, Blondie, what say you. Good work, good pay.'

Anders thought for a moment and then nodded. 'I bet I can hire lots of folk down here if there's silver to earn,' he said, ruffling Mayflower's unruly hair.

'That's what I hoped for,' Varric grinned, 'Mayflower, sweetheart, you're a jewel.'

Hours before all the recruiting took place, Mariana

MarianMarian had found her lover standing in the hallway just outside Aveline's office, leaning with his forehead against the wall. Tentatively she reached out her hand. 'Fenris, I completely understand why –'

Before she could proceed he broke away from the wall and drew her in his arms in a near suffocating embrace. 'Forgive me,' he sobbed and it broke her heart, 'I'm sorry I snapped like that, especially at you. But this, this ...' he choked on his words.

'I know,' Marian whispered, tenderly dragging her fingers through his soft hair, 'and you didn't snap at me.' She fervently tried to hold back her tears because that was the last he needed right now. He needed her strength, not her tears. Just as he needed her compassion and understanding and not her fears or her anger, and least of all some kind of nervous breakdown. In fact her love was all that mattered right now. Her love for him kept her upright and hopefully would keep him upright as well.

Fenris chose that moment to heave his head. 'That may be – '

She cut him short. 'Not now.' She had left a room full of friends in an uproar to follow him. Come to think of it, she definitely would follow him into the den of a dragon. She'd follow him into the maws of the Goddess of Death herself. Without a flinch. On the other hand, that would probably be easier than handle this delicate and difficult situation. 'Let's go to my place. You need a drink. We both do.'

He nodded in agreement and took her arm. He started to walk towards the exit, gently leading her down the steps of the stairs. Outside they both halted for a moment, blinking against the fierce sunlight before they remained their stroll down the Viscount's Way. And all the while Hawke thought she was a liar. No, lying was not the same as not telling someone the truth. And yet she was keeping the truth away from him because she was scared he would take it bad. And it felt like lying. She couldn't do this. She had to come out in the open with it before he'd find out himself because naturally he would want to read the contract, sooner or later.

They had hardly passed the threshold of her estate when Fenris said, 'What aren't you telling me?'

She as good as jolted. 'How did you – '

'You're fidgeting. And you look nervous. Don't think I didn't notice. So, what's wrong?'

Of course he had noticed, what had she been thinking? He knew her too well, damn it. 'Yes,' she began and swallowed, 'there is more.' She wavered, afraid of his reaction, but took courage. 'Remember when we first met? How you were hoping you would find something about your past in that chest in the Alienage?'

'Marian, please,' he interrupted her, 'get to the point.'

She took a breath and plunged into the deep. 'I know your name,' she blurted, 'your real name.'

He went very still.

'I can understand you don't want to hear it from me, that you want to read it yourself,' Hawke rambled on.

'Just tell me,' he said hoarsely.

'Leto. Your name is Leto.'

Although he had braced himself the blow hit hard, especially because there sounded a sudden echo in his head. An echo of a voice from another time. A familiar voice. At the same moment he could almost see the face he knew belonged to – his mother. Everything began to spin around him. Somewhere from far away he heard Marian say something but it didn't get through to him what. He managed to reach the wooden bench before he crumpled.

As you can understand, this chapter more or less resembled one of the works of Hercules. And then I posted one of my rambling efforts. A lesson to you all: never try to write while a fever is making pudding of your brain. Ahem.

But, as always, thank you much for reading! I immensely appreciate it.