Part 27: some people get confronted with very unexpected surprises. And what happens in Kirkwall may stay in Kirkwall, the same counts for Rivain.

Enjoy!

From the corner of his eye Varric glared suspiciously at the bottles and dishes on the buffet-table as to estimate how big the gloating crowd would be. He was ambling aimlessly about the parlour of the Amell estate. To say he was feeling ill at ease, was to say that the crew on a fragile ship were slightly worrying about a fast approaching devastating hurricane.

The room was beautifully decorated with green bows and lots of bright flowers, but the dwarf managed to notice nothing of it. His head was still a whirlpool of strong emotions, with unrefined anger and pure desperation battling for the first prize, and he had no time, or mind, to admire the scenery.

Earlier that day he had returned to the Hanged Man with an uncharacteristically silent Isabela in tow. Along the way home he had made a rather lame effort at discussing the godsdamned marriage (marriage! The word alone brought raw panic about) with the pirate. His lawfully wedded wife. His lawfully wedded wife. The moment he had felt the bile rise, he determinedly clenched his jaw and with all his might tried not to puke. Thankfully the uncomfortable silence due to Rivaini's refusal to respond got filled with market vendors loudly recommending their wares, the common crowd loudly bickering – with occasional fights breaking out –, some guardsmen loudly intervening and the general hubbub of everyday life in Lowtown.

He had feared beforehand that Isabela would not be willing to react to his awkward attempt to openly assess the damage that was done, but instead would simply dismiss the tricky subject with just a murderous scowl. He had not had the heart to press on. Well, he had tried, hadn't he? It was not his fault she didn't want to cooperate.

The moment they entered the tavern Isabela had made a beeline for the counter and had with a dark voice demanded a bottle of rum. Corff had handed her the asked for item without any comment whatsoever. Varric wondered if the bartender already knew, or if he simply reacted on impulse, spurred on by Isabela's expression and being too scared to get his throat torn out if he didn't accommodate right away. He had made that mistake a couple of years ago, in the days he didn´t know the pirate that well yet, and had sported a black eye for over a week to pay for his insolence. Or perhaps he was still absolutely smashed by her nearly-but-just-not over the top sinful strapless curves hugging red dress. Even in his dismal state of mind Varric recognized the expression of lust mixed with panic in the defenceless bartender's eyes.

Angrily Varric had stomped upstairs; he couldn't get rid of his ridiculous suit soon enough. This morning it had almost seemed some kind of joke to come dressed to kill, but right now he felt like a fool in his eccentric apparel. Worse even: the glittering outfit had involuntarily become his wedding suit. Again he had suppressed the urge to vomit.

For a time he had stared glumly at his image in the mirror. 'There you are with all your cleverness,' he had muttered irritably. 'You've proved to be more gullible than the first swooning overly romantic noble-bred maiden in Hightown. They've outwitted you on all fronts.' He had wanted to hit himself but had resisted the urge. He had already to cope with his broken pride; a broken nose wouldn't improve the situation.

He had left Isabela alone for a couple of hours, before he could muster the courage to go downstairs and take her with him to the Amell Estate. Because no way in the world would he avoid the festivities over there. In the dragon's den, he thought mordantly. Again he stared at his reflection in the mirror, after he had changed into his old familiar tunic. With some satisfaction he regarded his flourishing chest hair and straightened his back.

'May the Deep Roads swallow me and Orzammar drag me back under the Frostback Mountains before I give the culprits even more opportunity to snicker behind my back,' he grumbled morosely while he exited his suite. 'A Tethras will never back away from a challenge or danger and always will face his enemies with his head held high.' Determinedly he added, 'I'll give them a run for their money, damn it.'

The first obstacle in that firm resolution he stumbled upon was his – was a very drunk Isabela.

'Oh look!' she tittered when he entered the taproom, and her wide swaying arm almost made her fall off her stool. 'There's my sweet hubbie!' With a hiccup she turned to Corff who looked like personified pure terror. 'Have I told you already we're married? No? Let me tell you, he's, heezz, uh, heezz ... zjweet. Yes, veeeerry zjweet. And tasty. Look at him! All that, all that, that hair on hisj, hisj ... I'm a lucky girl,' she concluded while she slowly started to keel over.

As fast as he could Varric rushed over and with force caught the pirate queen around the waist to prevent her from falling flat on her face. It just made things worse.

Isabela clung onto him and one way or another managed to drag her fingers through his chest hair before he could swat her hand away. 'Oh dear husband!' she giggled, to Varric's chagrin. 'My dear prince of wonders! Shooo gallant!' After another hiccup she added, 'I wonder how long it will last!'

Varric couldn't remember he had ever seen her this drunk before. More than often he had underwent her tipsy moods, but, no matter how many drams she had knocked back, her playful flirting never had gone further than hinting at what she would like to do with his chest hair. Never before she had had the audacity to really drag her fingers through his lustrous wall-to-wall. He was shocked.

'Not long, if you keep this up,' he growled, which only made Isabela laugh harder and, moreover, take him in a suffocating embrace. Sweet Ancestors! How was it possible this day still went from bad to worse?! With some serious effort he removed her smothering arms while trying at the same time to keep her stable on her stool. It was an enterprise of herculean magnitude. Nevertheless Varric pulled it off to turn to the barman while acting as a buttress for Isabela's swaying body. 'Coffee,' he ordered, 'as strong as you can make it. And a gallon of water. We must sober her up before accidents happen.'

'Even more accidents?' had Corff mumbled while he, somewhere between dread and astonishment, witnessed how the dwarf endured the pirate's intimate manhandling. But he had turned and run off to do Varric's bidding after a particularly hateful scowl. He could cope with only so many of those on one day, after all.

It had taken the both of them near two hours to drag Isabela off her stool and dunk her head several times over into a barrel of cold water, while they simultaneously tried to dribble strong coffee into her mouth, before the pirate queen had more or less come to her senses again.

'I am not going to apologize because I'm not sorry,' she had grumbled, roughly staying in character this time. 'This is simply too much to take.'

'I know,' Varric had reacted, 'but, please, go easy on the booze for the rest of the day. More alcohol won't solve the problem.'

After that they had ventured into Hightown, to make their somewhat dishevelled and, in case of Isabela, moist appearance at the Hawke estate.

Right now Varric was still circling the parlour. Their backstabbing hosts had not shown themselves yet, so he tried to keep an eye on the stairs and simultaneously on the front door to spot arriving unwelcome guests. It gave him a squint and a headache but he became none the wiser. And up till now no other guests had shown, besides a sill gloomy looking Anders, who apparently had managed to find some robes that weren't moulting, Aveline and Donnic, who very hard tried to look as if they hadn't heeded Isabela's cheerful challenge, and a silently giggling Merrill who was accompanied by a flush looking Sebastian who fervently held on to the small elf's shoulders. He had not yet been able to figure out that strange behaviour and, frankly, he had other troubles to worry about right now. He categorised it under "things to do" and paid it no further interest for the time being.

Then Bodahn appeared from the kitchen. The steward walked over to the buffet-table, picked up a glass and tapped it with a spoon. It was a classic example of demanding attention and of course it worked. Varric noticed the other dwarf carried something that suspiciously looked like an important document under his arm and it stirred his curiosity, although he wasn't certain he could handle more documents on this already weighty day.

'Messeres,' Bodahn started when all the faces were fixed on him, 'I have a message from Messere Hawke and Messere Fenris.'

'A message?' let Varric slip. 'What do you mean, "a message"? Are you saying they don't have the guts to show themselves?!' He started to get angry. More angry. He hadn't thought it would be possible.

Unperturbed Bodahn went on, 'They asked me to tell you they're very sorry they can't be present tonight, but expressed the hope you will enjoy yourselves nevertheless.' With his free arm he waved at the buffet-table, loaded with drinks and dishes. 'They, and my boy and I, have done everything possible to please you and we hope you'll appreciate it.'

'Then, where are they?' Aveline asked, obviously as puzzled as the rest of them.

Bodahn smiled enigmatically. 'I'm afraid I can't tell you. They specifically asked me to keep their whereabouts a secret. In case of unwanted visitors,' he added with some venom. He turned to lay a paper on the buffet-table behind him, and only now Varric noticed he had held two. To his surprise Bodahn, when he turned back to his audience, addressed him personally and offered him the paper still resting in his hand.

'Messere Hawke asked me to give you this,' he said. 'She said you would enjoy it very much.'

A little cautious Varric accepted, not certain the paper would explode on touching. 'Did she now.' After a rather ugly and distrustful look aimed at Bodahn he started to read.

His eyes grew wider and wider while he skimmed the text. 'By the mighty stones of all my ancestors!' he finally cried out. 'I can't believe this!' Vaguely he remembered Hawke had mentioned something about a surprise before she took her leave from the Viscount's office, but never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined it would be this.

'What?' said Isabela suspiciously. 'What have they been concocting this time?'

Varric swallowed hard. And then, in one breath, he blurted, 'They bought the Hanged Man and put the deed in our names. As a wedding present.'

'Give me that.'

Without ceremony Isabela snatched the document out of the dwarf's hands and started reading herself. 'There must be some catch. They will want us to consummate the marriage first. They will want us to produce offspring. Something like that.' But even after she had thoroughly scanned the text she could found nothing amiss. She got more agitated by the minute. 'This can't be! There must be a clause, there must be a snag at it. This is a trap.' She looked up and sharply turned to Bodahn. 'That other document, the one you sneakily put away, hand it over! That must hold the undoubtedly horrid conditions!'

Guardedly Bodahn took a step back. 'No madam,' he said. 'That document is meant for the Messeres Sebastian and Merrill.'

Sebastian stirred surprised. 'For us?' Captivated he had followed Varric's reaction and thought it was typical for Hawke's generous nature to come up with something like this. Hesitantly he took the document meant for Merrill and him. And moments later found out not only Hawke had been magnanimous. He looked from the document to Merrill and gave her an uncertain smile. Expectantly Merrill looked back at him.

'Well?' snapped Isabela impatiently. 'What does it say? Are we supposed to share the revenues of the Hanged Man with you? Is that the trick? Or are you the ones supposed to produce offspring?' The moment the words caught up with her ears, the enormity of their significance dealt a nasty blow and her eyes flew open, but before she could say any more stupid things, Varric silenced her.

Because in the meantime the cogs in his brain had started working industriously and had solved the puzzle on his short "to do" list. The outcome left him flabbergasted. Viciously he nudged the pirate queen in the lower ribs. 'Shut up!' he hissed. How had he not seen this coming? How long had this been going on? He wanted to whack himself, for the second time this day. Some keen storyteller he was!

Sebastian, in his confusion, paid neither of them any attention. He put a hand on Merrill's arm and said, 'Fenris has officially bought the mansion and he gives it to us.'

Merrill made a small squeaking sound. Her cheeks obtained a warm blush.

'He says in this letter,' Sebastian went on, dazzled, 'because we will need a place to live, since I will leave the Chantry, and he thinks the shack in the Alienage is no proper alternative. He says that he hopes we will be happy.' He swallowed back sudden tears. 'Fenris, of all people,' he mumbled. Fenris, who had been so upset when he told him about his love for Merrill. Who had fervently tried to talk it out of his head, to make him see what he considered sense. That same Fenris now showed himself so big-hearted as to offer them his house. And not just the house but, even more importantly, his kind wishes as well. He felt deeply moved.

'His mansion?' Merrill said softly. 'After he has worked so hard to restore it he just gives it away? To us?'

Sebastian smiled at her. He felt his heart flutter. 'And with a big enough garden for you to plant all the flowers you like.'

'Leave the Chantry? What about, "Leave the Chantry"?' With narrowed eyes Aveline stared at the unlikely pair and then comprehension dawned. 'No!' she exclaimed, vainly trying to suppress the meanwhile too familiar and irritating giggle that fought its way up. 'You two, an item? No way!' Helplessly she burst out laughing and had to lean on Donnic to keep her balance. 'And I thought this day couldn't become any more idiotic!'

Varric felt strangely relieved that he had not been the only one not to notice. 'And what has the Mother Hen to say about these developments?' he asked nastily. To his dread Sebastian grinned at him. He had not thought the man capable of grinning. He had thought Choir Boy could only smile teeth-achingly benignly.

'She has to accept the fact, doesn't she,' Sebastian answered with flair, 'because I'm not going to change my mind. I'll stay with Merrill, not matter what happens.' To underline his words he pulled a happy looking Merrill close to him.

Varric snapped his mouth shut. This was more than he could cope with on such short notice. He had to digest it first and he feared that could take quite a while.

Anders sauntered over to the buffet table. To his own amazement he didn't feel any urge to react on the inane situation. He supposed his brain was already too flooded with everything else that had happened this day to fuss about this new incredible fact.

'Look at this,' he said brightly, 'Antivan Summer Passion! Great!' And he poured himself a glass of wine.

'Do you think they like what we had in store for them?' asked Marian.

'I take it this is a rhetorical question,' said Fenris. Languidly he stretched his long legs under the small wobbly table and contentedly looked around. With much satisfaction he took in the view, the sounds of a busy northern port, and the scents of spices and sweet flowers that surrounded them.

They were sitting on a small terrace in front of a little bar at the seaside boulevard in Dairsmuid, the capital of Rivain. Now and again he took a little sip of his excellent wine while Marian busied herself with emptying her glass with the cocktail consisting of rum, pineapple juice and some secret ingredient that was supposed to give the drink that special Rivaini twist. By the look of her face the combination was a great success.

'Of course it was!' she laughed. 'And if not I'll strangle the ungrateful lot when we get home.' She let out a deep satisfied sigh. 'This,' she declared, 'is the best idea you ever had.'

They had rented a small cosy cottage just outside the city, on walking distance of the picturesque centre with its colourful houses, its lovely bars and restaurants, its lively harbour and marketplaces, its charming winding streets and merry inhabitants. Even the shops and warehouses looked pretty.

Fenris leant back in his chair and savoured the warm sunshine on his face. He had missed it dearly. 'Thank you,' he said, flashing her a lazy smile. 'I thought so myself.'

He wondered how long they could prolong this holiday before they had to go back to Kirkwall. Before the proverbial dust clouds they had stirred up had settled down again. He hoped it would take a long, very long time.

As to answer his musings Marian suddenly said, 'Fenris, love, I've been thinking.'

He shot to attention, warily studying her face. This could mean anything and with everything that had come to pass he wasn't at all certain he would be pleased with what she was about to propose. 'Yes..?' he said while he carefully put down his glass.

'What if we buy the cottage we're staying in, as a holiday home? I love it here and I'd like to have some, how to call it, retreat. For when we get fed up with all the problems Kirkwall can throw at us.'

Fenris chuckled in surprise. 'I couldn't agree more.' He took her hand and kissed her fingers. 'Apparently I'm not the only one with brilliant ideas.'

Marian caressed his cheek. 'We could make it our private love nest,' she said with a sultry voice. 'And it must stay our little secret; Maker forbid the others find out. Never mind how much I care about them, I'm not willing to share our cherished palace with them.'

Fenris wondered how much more he could love her. He kissed her softly before he called for the waiter to bring them another drink.

'What happens in Rivain, stays in Rivain,' he murmured.

To be honest, I have no idea what Rivain, or better: Dairsmuid look like, but I pictured a Provençal town somewhere at the Côte d'Azur in France. You can't go wrong with that.

Thanks for reading!