Thank you for reading! Special thanks to suilven for her lightning-fast betaing!

Bianca rolled over in the bed, one slender leg emerging from beneath the covers. "Bring that chest hair back over here," she purred.

Varric chuckled. "I thought you said you couldn't take any more."

"That was an hour ago. I'm more than ready to go again now."

"Flattering as that invitation is, we've pushed our luck far enough. If any of your family finds me here, so much for the good life sitting by the fire and spinning tales." Varric buckled on his belt and started hunting for his boots. They had been flung across the room when he first arrived two days ago. He found one under a chair, hidden beneath a pile of Bianca's clothes.

"What's life without a little spice of danger?"

"Oh, I don't know … alive?" But he crossed the room to sit down on the bed, running a hand over her bare shoulder.

Bianca shivered. She captured his hand and drew one finger into her mouth, sucking on it. Varric smiled, stroking her nipple with the wet finger. It puckered at his touch and she moaned. "Come back to bed, Varric. One more time, to remember you by."

Varric rubbed a hand over his eyes. Ever since he'd found that runed stone in front of his door this morning, he hadn't been able to get Bianca out of his mind. He wondered when she was going to show up. The stone was a signal that she was on her way, and it had him all tied up in the usual knots.

Still, she'd show when she did and not a minute before. No sense in worrying about it. Or getting all hot under the collar, not to mention other places.

And there was plenty going on in Skyhold right now. He wasn't sure how he felt about seeing Ferelden's king again after what had happened with Hawke. Not that she had told him; she'd been unusually reticent about whatever had taken her from stars in her eyes to tears. But Varric had eyes of his own, and he knew perfectly well how to use them, and he knew the king had done something to hurt her. She hadn't been quite the same afterward.

Nonetheless, the king was here, and in another couple of days Hawke would be here, and Varric intended to get to the bottom of things if he could before she showed up. He hadn't seen her in a long time—after what had happened to the Chantry, and Anders, Hawke had blamed herself, long before the rest of Thedas got around to pointing fingers at her, and she had gone away with Daisy somewhere in the forest. Varric looked forward to seeing them both again.

He got up and left the keep, watching from the stairs as the King of Ferelden came down from his tete-a-tete with the Nightingale.

Inquisitor Thule Cadash was coming up the steps, and he grinned when he saw Varric. "Posing for a statue?"

"Standing in for you, Stones."

Thule laughed at that one. "I have much more manly chest hair than you do, Varric."

"Prove it."

"Only to the ladies."

Varric raised an eyebrow. "Haven't seen her."

"Haven't seen who?" Thule asked, but a beat too late to be believable. Varric wasn't sure what his fellow dwarf saw in the Seeker, but the pull between them had been obvious from the first—to the two of them as well as everyone else, he suspected, but as far as Varric could tell, they had no intention of doing anything about it. He supposed it made a better story if they drew it out, but he was tired of all these couples and their never-ending angst. At least he and Bianca had never descended that far, he told himself, wondering yet again when she'd show. Could be tomorrow, could be a month from now, and of course, he'd be watching every time he turned a corner until she did suddenly appear.

Seeing the King heading their way, he said to Thule, "Don't look now, but you're about to have to be impressive."

"I'm always impressive."

"Warden-boy's a bit of a pushover, anyway."

Thule groaned. "I forgot he was coming today."

Varric laughed. "Don't tell him that."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence. I thought I'd come farther than that since I took this job."

"That's what he's likely to say."

The two dwarves made their way down the stairs to meet the King of Ferelden in the courtyard near the training ring. "Your Majesty," Thule said.

Alistair bowed. "Inquisitor Cadash? Nice to meet you at last. I owe you a thank you for all your hard work in the Hinterlands."

"Send me a couple of casks of ale and we'll call it even."

"Done." Only then did Alistair turn to Varric, his face betraying the memories between them. "You've come up in the world since I last met you—you're an international publishing sensation."

There was something open and disarming about this big, genial man before him. Varric had intended to freeze him out over what he'd done to Hawke, but now that seemed so petty. After all, Hawke had recovered and had, he hoped, gone on to find happiness with Daisy. "I don't know about sensation. As for coming up in the world, well … that's the elevation."

"If you insist. I don't think anyone ever told me how you came to Skyhold. Lil—I remember being assured that you wouldn't leave Kirkwall unless you were dragged by the heels down the steps from Hightown."

"It was something like that," Varric said. He cast a glance at Thule. "The Seekers can be very persuasive when they want information."

Predictably, Thule leaped to the Seeker's defense. "She didn't harm a hair on your head, and you know it. And you were the one who insisted on staying. She'd have cheerfully sent you home to Kirkwall."

Varric grinned. "She needs me around to soften her up."

"To irritate her, you mean."

"Right. She needs you around to soften her up."

Thule's face was nearly as red as his hair. "That—that isn't … exactly …"

Alistair looked from one to the other. "She?"

"Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast. You'll know her when you see her."

Thule cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, is there—"

"Please, call me Alistair."

"Alistair, then. And I'm Thule. I was just going to ask if there was anywhere in particular you'd like to see."

"I wouldn't mind the full tour." Alistair looked around him, shaking his head a little. "From the outside this place was impressive. From the inside … I just can't believe this has been here for so long, right on the borders, and neither Ferelden nor Orlais knew about it."

"For all we know, Chuckles conjured the whole place out of a dream."

"Chuckles?" Alistair raised his eyebrows.

"Solas," Thule explained. "He's an elf. A bit … unusual."

"I'm familiar with unusual companions," Alistair assured him.

"I'm sure you'll meet him. And all the others." Thule shook his head. "I'm not even sure how I collected them all. They just seemed to … appear."

"That's how it happens," Varric said. "Hawke …" He paused, waiting for the King to say something, anything, practically daring him, then went on. "Hawke always said not to turn over any rocks or we might find someone else who wanted to follow her around. Not that she minded."

Thule nodded. "I can't say I mind, either. My companions have saved my ass more times than I can count." His attention was caught by someone in the far corner of the training ground, and a wide grin threatened to split his face open. "There's one now. Come on."

"Here we go," Varric muttered to Alistair, who looked somewhat bewildered as they followed Thule.

Cassandra was practicing her forms, taking out whatever frustrations she had on the training dummy in front of her. She stopped when they approached. "Inquisitor. Oh, and you must be King Alistair."

"The same." They bowed to each other.

"Cassandra's a princess," Thule offered brightly, blandly ignoring the glare she cast in his direction.

"We do not speak of that."

"Of Nevarra," he told Alistair, ignoring her.

"I am a Seeker of Truth," Cassandra corrected him, still glaring. Thule enjoyed being glared at, if the sunny smile on his face was any indicator.

Alistair, his face suddenly serious, said, "I haven't heard much about the Seekers lately. Were they with the Templars at Therinfal?"

"Nor have I," Cassandra said, her glare turning into a distressed frown. "And no, they were not at Therinfal, other than the possessed body of the Lord Seeker. I do not know what happened to the others."

"I'll have Leliana look into it," Thule assured her.

"No. No, I will look into it myself."

"Well, whatever I can do to help …"

Cassandra nodded, but she was distracted, and she moved off, clearly still thinking about her fellow Seekers.

Thule stared after her until Varric cleared his throat pointedly, at which his fellow dwarf jumped, blushed, and looked as if he'd just had his hand get stuck in the cookie jar.

Recalling himself to his Inquisitorial duties, Thule turned to Alistair. "Perhaps I should introduce you to my advisors?"

"I've seen Leliana already." Alistair glanced over his shoulder toward the Rookery, not looking as though it had been a pleasant reunion.

"Then you should meet Josephine."

"And you know Curly, of course. I'm sure you'll want to renew that acquaintance," Varric put in, just a little maliciously.

"Curly?" Alistair asked.

"Cullen. You know Varric and his nicknames." Thule shook his head. "Some go over better than others. Cullen's not fond of his."

"I can imagine he wouldn't be. Beneath his dignity."

"What would be beneath your dignity, Your Majesty?" Varric asked.

He had to give the King of Ferelden credit, he didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he said calmly, "I suppose that depends on who you ask. Quite a few members of the nobility would tell you nothing is beneath my dignity."

"We'll get along well, then," Thule said, grinning his broad grin. He elbowed Varric in the side as they turned to head back to the keep and Josephine's office. "Will you leave him alone?" he whispered.

"No." Not unless Hawke gave him a direct order to do so when she arrived. Varric couldn't wait to see her—and Daisy, too.

Cullen was in Josephine's office when they brought Alistair there, and the two men, both big and blond and with more history between them than they would like, nodded at each other briefly but without any noticeable display of warmth.

"Cullen. You look well."

"Alistair. Same to you."

"The Inquisition seems to be agreeing with you. You're doing excellent work."

Cullen unbent slightly at the praise. "Thank you." He gestured to Thule and Josephine. "Our Inquisitor and Ambassador have both worked very hard. It is largely due to their efforts—and Leliana's—that we have succeeded so well."

"Don't be so modest," Thule told him. "Cullen burns the candle at both ends, and sometimes in the middle, too. I don't think he ever sleeps."

A look passed between Cullen and Alistair, one of sympathy and understanding on Alistair's part and of shame and discomfort on Cullen's.

"Insomnia can be a useful tool," Alistair said softly.

"Yes. That it can."

"Your Majesty, how did you find your journey?" Josephine asked. "And your accommodations? Are they to your liking?"

"I confess, I haven't seen them yet." Alistair flashed that charming smile of his, and Varric only just held back the rolling of his eyes as Josephine melted under it. "Too many old friends to greet."

"Well, then, in that case, may I show you to your rooms? I'm sure these gentlemen will excuse us." Josephine took Alistair's arm, leading him out of the room.

Thule watched them go. "He seems nice. That's a relief, after we've tramped through half his country at our pleasure."

"Oh, yes. He seems very nice," Varric agreed. "Just be glad you're not a dark-haired woman." He regretted the words the moment they came out of his mouth. He didn't know the full story of the Hero of Ferelden, but he listened and watched very well, and he had seen the way Cullen looked at Hawke, who by all accounts resembled her cousin Leyden Amell very closely. It was the same way Alistair had looked at Hawke. The two men had looked at each other as if they were measuring up how much of a threat the other one was.

And now Hawke was coming to Skyhold. Whatever was coming, it wasn't going to be boring.

As soon as he had passed the King of Ferelden off to Josephine, Thule went in search of Cassandra, wanting to repeat his offer of help in finding her fellow Seekers.

He found her in the Rookery, talking to Leliana, and he stopped at the top of the stairs to watch them. The Right and Left Hands of the Divine; Cassandra so forthright, Leliana so devious. They had been very good at what they did. They were good at their work now, although Thule thought Cassandra seemed a bit more at loose ends. She had, after all, passed the position of Inquisitor that was meant to have been hers on to him. He was doing a good job at it—probably better than she would have done, if he was honest with himself—but he still felt guilty about it occasionally, even though the sacrifice had been made freely and of her own volition.

There was a deep pain in Cassandra somewhere, a pain that caused her to be hesitant about herself and her capabilities. Thule had been aware of that from the first, although as far as he could tell he was one of the few who could see it. But it was there in every rigid line of her body, every time she caught herself about to smile and frowned instead, every self-deprecating comment she made. Someone, somewhere, had convinced her she was inadequate, and done a damned thorough job of it.

And more than anything, Thule wanted to see what she could be like knowing that someone believed in her. With confidence in her formidable self, she could be magnificent.

He cursed himself for a romantic fool. He'd had his share of women, human and elven as well as dwarven, but there was something special about this one, something that drew him to her and made him want to try his best to make her smile.

She looked at him over Leliana's shoulder now. "Inquisitor, was there something you needed?"

"No. Just wanted to see if I could help."

"That is kind of you, but I think we can handle it."

"If you're sure."

"I am."

He sighed and nodded and went back down the stairs. Maybe he'd see if Dorian was available for a game of chess. Having the pants beaten off him had to be preferable to mooning over a woman any idiot could see had no interest in love.