I apologize for the long gap … I not only have another story to maintain but I also had great difficulties to go on with this one. To put it simply: I lacked the inspiration. But at last I came up with another chapter. I truly hope you will like it.

Again sorry for the delay but, for better or worse, enjoy!

Part 16: And the story continues with a Guard Captain on fire and an ignited mage ... let's just say it's still not the end of it.

Aveline glared menacing at Seneschal Bran who on his turn beamed brightly back. A few moments ago he had bustled into her office to deliver his message but even before he had opened his mouth Aveline had guessed what he was about to say. It was obvious he very much enjoyed her coming predicament and she on her turn already revelled in his coming disappointment. She would however play along for now. Besides that the first trickles of anger began to fill her brittle mood and he was the perfect victim for letting off some steam before she would explode.

'You heard me, Guard Captain,' he said, hardly able to veil his delight and of course not at all being in touch with the dangerous atmosphere, 'the Viscount requires your presence right away.' His beam got a malicious edge. 'You may have been a lauded heroine not that long ago but right now His Excellency is not that pleased with you.' He couldn't hide a nasty grin. 'Not to say he is outright furious.' His grin broadened and his voice got a false silken touch. 'Don't ask me why, it's probably a misunderstanding, one you undoubtedly can clear up within minutes with just a few words. Nevertheless my advice is not to let him wait.'

Without a word Aveline stood up, meticulously pushed her chair under her desk and swept out of the room, taking care of nudging the Seneschal out of the way with a well placed move of an armoured elbow. To her satisfaction Bran couldn't suppress a grunt. 'Oh, I'm so sorry, how clumsy of me,' she said sweetly with a not to misunderstand venomous tone, shoving him some more. Leaving him behind in his wheezing suffering she walked with long strides over to the Viscounts office and knocked at the door. Even that knock radiated her anger. She knew with near certainty what this was all about and right now she blamed herself she hadn't found the time to do something about it sooner; she should have made time and backed Donnic's initiative with more vigour but the whole demolished mansion-business had taken more from that precious time than she had anticipated. She pressed her lips in a thin line. Donnic had stuck his neck out and she should have put more effort in adequately handling the information he had given her and even more effort into protecting him. She had only skimmed the discriminating documents before she had locked them away but instead of fretting over the dwarf's and the whore's stupid acts and the reaction of the noble neighbours she should have shoved them under the Viscount's nose immediately.

Her breath hitched.

Donnic had stuck his neck out to protect her. She had known this, of course, only now it hit her with harsh clarification. And at the same time as a bright revelation. Damn. She clasped her hands, took a deep breath and pushed out the gathered air, hoping to find some kind of quiet before she had to face the Viscount. She would fucking defend her decision and would fucking well defend Donnic with even more ferocity. She took another breath. Bloody damn right. (Drinks after? She feared she had to rehearse that line over and over again before she was able to utter it to him without turning into a stuttering blushing waif, even though they had shared a drink already. But that had been more or less by accident.)She straightened her shoulders and decided she would stand her ground and put her foot down. And that foot would carry the weight of an elephant. She growled inwardly. It was just the Viscount she had to confront; the man scared away from a simple "boo". Keep that in mind. Bloody hell.

The sound of the word "Enter" had hardly had the chance to fade away when Aveline aggressively pushed open the door and, indeed, entered. The Viscount, sitting behind his desk, looked up. It wasn't a pleasant look. On the other hand, the look he received wasn't pleasant either. That look represented and radiated all the annoyances and irritations of all the Guard Captains ever been appointed along the centuries who had been summoned by their superiors to rectify all the decisions they had made behind said superiors' backs to – well back them. And now at once in unison had got fed up with it and decided to rebel through the present Guard Captain.

Dumar wished to ignore that for the moment. It had taken too much energy to muster the courage to scold his subordinate to pay that intimidating look any heed, so he clenched his jaw, avoided her fiery eyes and managed, as icily as he could, 'Guard Captain.' He hoped it was a cold enough tone to bring the message home. To emphasize the statement he didn't offer her a seat; with all his might he tried to avoid fidgeting with his fingers. He was a nervous wreck but she was the last person he wanted to know about it. 'I just had a visit from my dear friend Marquis de Calignac. He came with a grave complaint about you personally. In fact he demanded I should relieve you from your office, you and your lieutenant Donnic. Apparently you have not only insulted him severely but even had the audacity to manhandle him without any reason at all. He was very upset and talked about abuse of power and behaviour above one´s station.' He once again tried very hard to give her a stern glare but, indeed once again, since he was Dumar that glare resembled two weakly poached eggs. Aveline relaxed though she carefully maintained her stiff posture. ´What do you have to say in your defence?'

Aveline stared vehemently at the window behind the Viscount though her blank expression betrayed nothing of the victorious song that sounded in her head. 'I didn't know you counted slavers among your friends, Messere,' she said impassively. As she had foreseen, the message hit home. With force. Dumar grew rigid. Not with anger but with dread.

'I will not tolerate such insults –' he started with a quivering voice, already crumpling into a hapless heap.

'I have proof,' Aveline interrupted him with the solid conviction of someone who knew she had the rock-hard evidence in the form of some very compromising contracts safely locked in the safe in her office. She hadn't yet looked into them the way she should have but she relied blindly on what Donnic had told her; she owed him and – and this Varric wouldn't like at all – the Merchants Guild more than a few drinks. Drinks after ..? She once more mused rosily Donnic had shared at least that one drink with her and had let that memorable occurrence again accompany with one of his secretly hidden but nevertheless devastating smiles. She shook herself inwardly and managed to turn the sudden upcoming blissful expression into a dark threatening scowl. 'If you like I can show you the compromising letters and contracts right this moment.'

Viscount Dumar took a feeble, shivering breath. 'I don't think that's necessary, Captain,' he quavered, 'I take your word for it.'

You better, thought Aveline viciously. She couldn't help saying, 'Perhaps, in future times, you pick your friends more carefully, Messere.'

The Viscount gave her a wan smile. 'I shall take your advice into consideration, Captain. You're dismissed.'

With a smile wide enough to let through a hay wagon Aveline turned on her heels and marched out off the office. While she passed the insufferable Seneschal Bran who did his utter best to keep up the appearance he just lingered around and had not eavesdropped at all she offered him some kind of venomous grin. 'I reckon the Viscount could use a glass of hard liquor.' She smiled nastily. 'Very hard liquor, I deem.' And with that she strode back to the Barracks, leaving both the Viscount and the Seneschal in a pool of doubt and despair.

Like a three-star general overlooking the movements on the battlefield, Varric supervised the progression of the repair works. The only items that lacked were the cocked hat with the plumes and the baton. And perhaps the highbred steed but then again, dwarves and horses didn't go together that well, if only because the mutual sizes were out of proportion. 'Save the bricks that are not too damaged, pile them up. We can use them again,' he ordered the pack of workers that had swarmed out off the Undercity, eager for the silver they were promised. He had climbed on a small table he had dragged outside to have a better view.

'And who put you in charge?' grumbled Anders peevishly. He kept a close eye on the men he had recruited. Not because he would care much if they did even more damage to the mansion but he wanted to prevent they got themselves into trouble in the posh quarter of Kirkwall. He didn't trust them and he trusted the nobility even less. Secretly he was glad with the presence of the dozen or so guardsmen who had Aveline sent to give a hand. Normally he would cross the street when he saw one of them approach but now they could come in handy if the shit was about to hit the fan.

Haughtily Varric answered, 'I'm a dwarf. Thus I know about building and stones and bricks and mortar and such. We practically invented the bloody stuff.' He tried to look down on him but even standing on his makeshift dais, or strategic hillock if you will, he was still shorter than the healer.

Incredulously Anders stared at him. 'You're a merchant and a storyteller!' he cried out in distress, 'not a day goes by that you don't remind us of that fact! I've never seen you pick up something more heavily than a quill, or perhaps your crossbow! And now you claim you are some kind of authority?'

'Not to mention he as good as fled Orzammar,' commented Sebastian while he passed by, dragging something along that looked like a piece of a broken rafter, 'some dwarf he is!' For the first time in his life Anders agreed with the Chantry Brother. He regarded him with something that could be called approval.

'It's in the blood,' Varric stated solemnly, 'you can't deny the blood.'

'Yes,' Anders scoffed, 'I suppose that's the reason why I see so many dwarfs around to lend their expertise.'

'You don't really think I want one of those nug lickers around after what happened?!' Varric parried resentfully, 'and besides that, you know how the saying goes.'

'No,' Anders bit menacing, 'enlighten me.'

'One dwarf is a union, two dwarves make an assembly and an assembly means war,' Varric declaimed, 'so be grateful there is only me.' He frowned and cocked his head. 'To be frank, it baffles me I still am able to cough up that stupid narrow minded-people wisdom,' he mused, somewhat annoyed. He shook himself into reality again, only to see Anders's wide opened eyes, focused on some distant happening. 'Hey, Blondie –' Varric cut himself short and followed his gaze and held still. 'Oh.' They could continue hurling stones (or bricks, those were plenty around) at each other but not with her present. He was not exactly an Andrastian as much as he was not exactly a – how to call it? a Stoner..? but he, as everyone present, recognised her authority. Even Anders did.

Well, yes of course the healer had a lot more on his mind to throw at the dwarf but at the very moment he got interrupted by the last person he expected to see. It got too far to say she was the last person he wanted to see because that person would have been the Knight Commander but this woman almost perfectly matched that feeling. He tried to fade back into the surroundings but she had caught his existence. He froze and she smiled. To his dread she stepped forward and extended her hand. He reacted as some kind of puppet on a string and stretched out his own hand to meet hers. She as good as smote him with her warm and radiant smile. 'I understand you are the Healer who tries to lift the pain off the shoulders of the forgotten ones? The ones even the Chantry can't reach?'

He wanted to burst out in righteous fury, to tell this woman who radiated affability like she was handing out Satinalia presents, the Chantry was but a marionette, controlled by the Templars and especially by the monster named Meredith, but he failed completely. All his het up anger dissolved under this woman's cordial and friendly gaze.

'I only want justice,' he managed weakly.

He caught her warm smile and felt the light touch of her fingers upon his head. 'And you will have it, ´ she answered softly, ´as long as you are willing to receive it.´

That made him come back to life and pick up his courage. Or maybe it was better to say Justice was violently nudging his mind, probably because his own name – or function – was mentioned, and it was hard to ignore that. He could as well try to stop the upcoming high tide. Sometimes it was difficult to tell who was in charge of his own head, even he was willing to acknowledge that. ´Perhaps the Chantry could be an example and put more effort into reaching the ones everyone else considers a loss,´ he boldly rambled on, or let Justice ramble on, ´instead of wasting so much time of falling on your knees and pray to Andraste.' He faltered for a moment under her unchanging friendly expression but then drew in a sharp breath and Justice went on remorselessly, 'Instead of praying your voices raw with pleading her to provide for the poor and help the needy you could make a stand and do the providing for yourselves for once.'

It was all true and he meant it from the bottom of his heart but this was not the right time. This is not the right time, he thus yelled at Justice. Who didn't listen. What was new.

'We already do that, you know,' Elthina replied softly, 'but I think in reality you are referring to the way the laws are frightening you.'

He stared at her, perplexed. 'They don't frighten me, the baffle me,' he answered bitterly, 'your laws always manage to pacify the common crowd because you feed their fears instead of explaining how magic really works.' He snorted derisively. Or, to be honest, it was again Justice who did the snorting and Anders desperately tried to rein him in. To no avail. But that, of course, went without saying. 'Tell me, do you, your Grace, have any inkling of how magic really works? Of how your average mage doesn't have a clue how to perform blood magic let alone summon a demon? Or are you, and the likes of you, just mortally afraid of something you think will somehow materialize out of thin air, something you can't comprehend let alone handle?' He smiled nastily, or better Justice did the smiling for him. Anders made a hard effort to overrule him. Shut up you moron! Do you want me to get arrested?! But he wasn't able to stop the unleashed spirit that finally saw his chance to rant against a representative of everything he stood against. Panicking Anders thought or perhaps this is his brainless payback for what the suspicious tea has put him through. 'Or are you too afraid we creepy mages will take over the world and undo all the work of your precious Andraste?!' Anders tried to suppress the next grin that tried to twitch his mouth which made it look rather manically. 'Perhaps your laws give more witness of how your ignorance frightens you than they can ever frighten me.' By now the healer fought against the blue shimmer that threatened to take him over.

Elthina regarded him with mild bewilderment that however rapidly started to change into befuddled alarm.

'You must know by now that not you and not the Viscount for that matter, rule this city but the one that sits on her self-proclaimed throne in the Gallows – oomph -' Anders toppled forward and fell on all fours.

Finally Varric had come to his senses and realized Blondie was very fast working himself into a fit and with that in a hopeless dangerous situation. He kicked the mage hard in the kidneys. 'Choirboy!' he yelled over the general dim of the works being done before anyone could recover and make severe decisions, 'your Mother is here!' To his satisfaction and as he had expected Sebastian came hastily running back from the spot where he had just dumped the piece of the broken rafter. Good boy, he mumbled. 'As you can see, Your Grace,' he said with a honeyed smile, 'we are doing the Maker's work here. We are housing the homeless and giving employment to the ones without work. Many hungry bellies will get fed tonight.'

Elthina's eyes swivelled from the fallen mage to the beaming dwarf standing innocently smiling on his strategic hillock. She still looked puzzled. Or perhaps even more. But before she could react Sebastian reached them. With force he ignored the prostrated form of Anders who, by the way, at that very moment was having a heated argument with Justice about the right place and the right time for all kinds of stuff, and thus thought it better to keep his position on the floor for the time being, hoping some convenient gap would materialize in which he could disappear. Instead the former prince turned to the Grand Cleric. 'Your Grace!' he said breathlessly, 'what an unexpected surprise to find you here!'

Elthina smiled somewhat hesitantly back. 'Sebastian! Look at you, all smudged and sweaty and, er, labouring.' She frowned. 'How unlike you,' she mumbled. She cleared her throat and composed herself. 'Your band of orphans is waiting to present their share. They have been baking and cooking and making lemonade for hours to feed the men and women who are so hard working to repair the mansion.' She shot him a bright smile. 'Sister Geofride told them you would be more than happy to help them carrying the fruits of their labour over here.' Sebastian stiffened in horror. She added, and both the former Prince and Varric could have sworn she deliberately ignored the plain panic showing on the Chantry brother's face and, worse, winked with an almost naughty twinkle, 'Andraste and the Maker are not at all interested in being worshipped, my child. Praying and lighting candles call for little endeavour. They are far more pleased with the ones who are really showing their good intentions and sacrifice themselves for the good cause.' Her smile turned into a beam. 'Sister Geofride is waiting with the children to spread their good deeds along the thirsting. Please join them.' With that she turned away, without casting even a single look at the desperate mage still lying at her feet. She twisted her head for a moment to look over her shoulder and coughed delicately while she said ingenuously, 'Please, child, don't let them wait.' With that she swept away from the scene, letting everyone behind in several states of awe.

Sebastian stood rigid, not knowing to feel exalted by the visit of her Grace or wretched by the prospect of what would be awaiting him when he would go back to Chantry: joining the righteous cardigan and all the little enthusiastic yapping and darting around puppies that apparently had been doing their very best. And would suck up the last of his waning energy. He sighed miserably.

With wicked glee Varric saw Choirboys' predicament unfolding before his very eyes. He saw
Sebastian's jaws work and finally set into a strained grin. 'I will go and meet them,' he managed, 'and lead them with Sister Geofride to give their offers to the workers.' He turned away as a whipped dog.

'I have no doubt you will be rewarded greatly in the afterlife for this gallant and brave self-sacrifice,' Varric said serenely. Sebastian shot him a venomous look over his shoulder but withheld from further comment.

When he was out of earshot Varric burst into laughter. 'You can get up now, Blondie. She has left. No-one will drag you to the Gallows, at least not for now.'

Anders scrambled onto his feet and looked menacing at the dwarf. 'Just one word, one wrong word and I will freeze you on the spot,' he threatened.

'I wouldn't dare,' said Varric though his evil grin promised otherwise. This was a too good incident to leave unmentioned, but, as always, he had to pick the right moment and that right moment wasn't now. He turned to the workers. 'Put some back into it, people,' he shouted, 'we don't have all day you know!'

Fenris woke with a start and a name ringing in his head. Leto. He vividly saw in his mind a woman with a cascade of flaming red curls and a loving smile. He waited for a moment and pondered the memories of his dream, fervently clinging on to the slow fleeting images. No Danarius. That was a good thing. No pain, no dread, no – how had Marian called it? – no brainwashing. He felt perhaps some bewilderment but mostly peace. The loving expression, meant for him, of that he was certain, lingered. He turned to look at the woman lying next to him and found her awake also but just. She looked back through bleary eyes. 'Bad dreams?' she mumbled and even in her half-sleep she managed to sound concerned. He bent down to put a soft kiss on her lips. 'No. I believe I saw my mother.'

She let out a soft sigh and gave him a warm smile. Her hand came up somewhere out of the tangled drapes and her fingers trailed along his face. 'Good. That´s good.´

He kissed her again and then lay down, pulling her beloved body as close as possible without crushing her. ´What are the plans for today?' he murmured in her hair.

She giggled in return. 'To pester the dwarf as much as we can.' She rolled over to nestle even deeper in his arms and caressed his chest with her fingertips. 'But only after we made love of course. And after that made love again. And again and – ' The rest of her words got lost in an exalted yelp when he pushed her on her back and started that game of love with slanting his lips over hers and kissing her senseless.

I hope this was worth the waiting. Anyhow, thank you for reading!