Hawke suggested, rather insistently, not to put his stupid Tevinter armour on. Fenris insisted, in turn, that danger wasn't very fashionable. She went on to say that anything else would do. She reminded him of what he wore in Antiva. Fenris cringed and refused. He said enough people in the world suffered seeing his underwear because of that blighted zipper. She said there was nothing in there he shouldn't feel proud to show. He ignored her.

She waited outside his house on the bench. It was hardly raining anymore.

The moonlight seemed to know Fenris before he came out, and she felt that force again when she saw his angular shadow in the corner of her eye. She inclined her head to the side rather deliberately and glanced up at him, sucking up his appearance.

He wore a dark navy blue coat with red piping on the collar, on the placket and on the cuffs. It seemed very smooth and was cut shorter in the front, in a diagonal line, so that the coat didn't fall down straight to make him look like a lamppost. Underneath was a plain dark shirt and over it all was the breastplate. He kept his old gauntlets, too. He wore dark leather boots, the Antivan kind which were longer at the front and at the back. Lastly, he had his sword in a sheath by his side and under the coat.

He looked good enough to marry.

And behind him, the morning-glory vines had climbed all the way to the second floor of his mansion. They shone into the dim light, that rampant violet wetness, fighting a battle with clusters of peach and creamy-white flowers that formed an arch above his door. Around his boots, the street was littered with soaked green leaves and reddish pink trumpet-shaped blossoms. Many more perfumed the night above their heads.

"Shall we, then?" Fenris said. He extended a hand towards her, his green eyes gleaming in the shadow of the column.

The wind swept the blossoms from underneath his feet towards her. It felt like such a serene moment, would that her heart could stop roaring in her chest.

More than anything, she wanted to savour this glimpse of him, wanted to slow things down at that moment so she could truly see him.

Yet she had to act, and so she took his hand. "You look impossible," she said.

"Like a paradox?" Fenris grinned, pulling her up.

"Like a Royal Dragoon from the plains of Highever," she said, comfortably in awe.

"Cavalry, is it?" he said, letting his fingers linger on hers for a second.

"Yeah they know how to ride real good I hear. Do you?"

He gave a little laugh while looking down.

"You're blushing," Hawke said. "It always makes your hair look terrific, really white, when you blush."

He made a little gesture of mock modesty, like golly gee, he just couldn't help it.

As they made their way down, Fenris felt normal again, if only for a little while. Despite wearing more layers, he felt like a burden was lifted off his shoulders, and there was only the feel of the damp wind against his face. Then he stared at darkening sky, at the great spangled mass of shadows ahead that was Hightown.

"Ah, do you smell it, Hawke?" He looked at the water pouring down the red awnings. They were forming glowing puddles on the ground. He had hated the arid weather of central Tevinter. On the run, he had to walk through the desert over and over again. Ninety percent of all he had ingested for two years was sand. He loved the sheet of rain on the ground, catching the light as the cool breeze carried it at an angle.

"That's the smell of summer nights in Lothering," she said. "Of walking alone, and whistling, and beating the wooden pickets with a twig."

A sadness had crept up into Fenris' expression. Some raw feeling had come to the surface, and for the moment he looked straight ahead in silence. There was just that same symphony of the small rain lightly tapping on a hundred surfaces and the water flowing in the rain pipes and the gutters.

"That sounds wonderful," Fenris said finally.

"It is," Hawke said.

"Ferelden will always be your home, won't it?" Fenris said, more like a statement rather than a question.

Hawke scuffed. "And in other news delivered to you by Self-Evident Statements Daily, water still boils at a hundred degrees, Varric still has an unhealthy relationship with his crossbow and Orlais is still at war with emus."

"Emus?" Fenris laughed.

"Yes," Hawke snickered. "They came in large packs in the north east from the Anderfels and annoyed farmers a great deal. After a series of strongly worded letters, the Empire declared war on the emus. It's been going on for at least ten years now."

"Did you read that in 'Useless Facts about Thedas Monthly'?" he fired back with a grin.

"No, we lived in Orlais for a while. Mother used to go with a hunter at the border to trade wears for the winter, too. I had a lot of fun there actually." She started laughing nostalgically. "Bethany would always cry for a pair of fancy, idiotic-looking shoes. I wanted a signet ring. Carver wanted a horse. Then Mother would cry because she couldn't afford any. She'd give us funny-shaped sweets for Satinalia when she'd come back from Orlais. Then one winter, Carver and I joined her, as we had some coin saved up together. We spotted this amazing ornate hilt. Wouldn't make a bloody difference in battle, but we were snotty little kids who wanted to be knights. Maker… We argued like dogs in the street. For hours." She scuffed and smiled. "In the end, we bought fancy shoes for Bethany."

Fenris' eyes virtually melted for a moment.

"What?" Hawke laughed. "We weren't that selfish. We were just snotty, stubborn brats."

"I don't have such memories to call back on," Fenris said. He walked closer to her. "But I wouldn't mind making new ones, of wet and muddy places."

Hawke looked at him as if he'd startled her. She stopped into place, and something surfaced in her for a moment, a wild look he couldn't interpret.

"I'm sure you have friends in need of 'help' there as well," Fenris said. "And a certain hero to meet. And I need a holiday after that last vacation."

She positively blushed. She started laughing and trying to conceal it, like she wasn't supposed to.

"I'm guessing you want a paid holiday too," Hawke said finally, grinning.

"I might even get it. My superior finds me rather charming," Fenris said in that deep vibrating voice again.

"Smart ass," she muttered and started moving.

They were almost out of Hightown. He could see the raindrops like tiny silver lights clinging to the trees and hear all the other rough, mingled sounds that make up the town centre, the loud roar of crows hovering above their heads and the dim blast of the Red Lantern District only a block away.

"Let's get something to eat quick," she said, and pointed at one of those little stands in the market. No chance the market ever closed before midnight during the summer. Kirkwall belonged to the big coastal city triad along with Hercinia and Ostwick—they called it…Hercostwall—blooming with tourists every year.

"Good idea," Fenris said. Although he didn't have an appetite. He was too intoxicated with relief and he felt like his stomach was full of birds or fireflies or some other sort of flying creatures. But he knew he had drunk cheap wine on an empty stomach, and that he was going to drink again soon, and he didn't want to go raving mad or fall asleep on her, or both. Not enough time had passed since the last time that happened.

She asked him what he wanted to eat. He said he'd have whatever she was having. But then she was startled again, felt his hand catching her by the shoulder, felt the metal claws sticking into the fabric. "Get me a coffee, too."

The market turned into a dignified city-block-sized compound, with souvenir shops, game tables, restaurants and teashops and perhaps thousands eating and drinking and crowding onto the streets while the seamless sound of violins and harps rolled over everything, going at once to Fenris' head. It looked like a whole other place, broken away from all the problems and the dangers, lights and music and foreign people making up an impromptu theatre that breathed in and out from a thousand faceless lungs.

Soon they drifted through the narrow streets and passages out of the city, cutting a path over cobblestones and lampposts. It was getting dusk, vivid, sweet Kirkwall dusk with the sky blood red and overlaced with pink. And the wet icy air had a velvety feel to it on the coast.

"Hey Fenris," Hawke said childishly, as they descended along the road.

"Hey you," Fenris said softly.

Okay. Sudden waves up her spine.

"Knight-Captain Finufaranel… Now Rhys," she said with a grin. "Is your name even Fenris really?"

He grimaced. "Of course she'd tell you."

She laughed. "You can't simply keep that to yourself."

"I wanted to help," Fenris said flatly, looking straight ahead. "I did not know how."

Hawke smiled. "Seneschal Swan wants to give Rhys a job."

Fenris scuffed. "Whatever would he need me for, I wonder."

"He was impressed with Rhys' knowledge of the Qunari and thought he would need someone like that to use his stoic vocabulary in appeasing them."

"One cannot simply appease Qunari," Fenris said curtly.

"And when he found that Rhys speaks their language… he became rather insistent."

"Don't tell them that," Fenris cautioned her. "I'm from the other side of the north and they know it. Don't think they don't."

"They think you're wonderful," she said, dismissing his comment. "Aveline says you're a sensitive man."

Fenris laughed. "Well," he said, turning his head to look at her. "I am."

He stopped to give her his hand. She took it and followed him offroad, down the rocks, to sit as close as possible above the ones which collided with the sea. The crushing of the waves, that loud grinding song, and far away a bird cried in the night. Impossible to believe that streets lay near at hand, and that people lived not far from the coast, that the distant tiny yellow lights twinkling here and there through under the glossy sky were the lights of other people's houses.

She fell into silence for a time, the wind blowing in her hair. Fenris felt the urge to put a hand over her back and ask her if she was alright. But then her mouth cracked open suddenly.

"I grew up in hard times. I didn't grow up with money. I couldn't just hop in a carriage or on a boat and see the world. I had people to look after. I had to constantly work rank gutter jobs in rank gutter places for rank gutter pay. I had a lot to worry about."

He popped open the bottle over his gauntlet and gave it to her.

"But now my predicament has changed radically. Despite living in more closed quarters, under more Templar scrutiny, I somehow managed to move more freely and unremarkably than I've ever done in my whole life. And I have money to get all the books I wanted, and study history, law and finance like never before. I have a noble title that keeps Templars away and makes me credible and welcomed in conversation with important people. So you can say I have a lot of fingers in a lot of pots now, and no one pot knows about the others. And I've a team of lawyers that tend to some of the money I deposited, allowing it to multiply like a monster."

She felt his gauntlet tap into her bottle. "Good girl," Fenris said flatly.

"And I can choose to do whatever I want, and what I want is to cause trouble." She pointed the bottle at an angle towards him. "The right kind of trouble."

Fenris furrowed his brows. "What did you do?" he said, in a somewhat disciplinary tone.

She sighed. "I wanna see this place really solid, democratic and secular. The city's always been on that fragile line. I don't want it to be Templar City anymore. Neither Qunari Town. So I keep Templars busy. But I can't figure out Qunari. I want to get them to leave with happy smiles on their faces."

Fenris laughed hard.

"Piss off," Hawke said. "They don't send the literal Arishok five thousand miles away from home just to preach the Qun to fishermen. Something big is happening, and he's pissed as all seven hells."

Still trying to stop laughing, Fenris said, "That's not what amused me."

She fell into silence again and watched the waves.

"You may have tamed the Templars for now, but you can't use the law to fight Qunari," Fenris said finally.

"Obviously not," she said in an offended tone. "But I can use honour."

"Come again?" he said deeply.

"I can go to the Arishok, lay all my cards on the table. Ask him what he needs done here."

"He will kick you out."

"They value certain things. Honesty, for one. I've got that going for me. Fairness? Check. I've got a whole team to vouch for that. Willingness to change a decadent world. I can write three novels about my thoughts on that." She shrugged. "I'm sure I can make him open up somehow."

"How do you know this, if I may ask?" Fenris said.

"I read it in a book."

Fenris squinted intensely and grabbed the bottle out of her hands. "She read it in a book…" he said slowly and drank.

"And so we had Andrei beg for coin, completely readily dressed like a homeless woman, headscarf and everything, and we thought— no way Father could tell it was him, I mean Andrei … he's one those men who could make beautiful women. But Father squinted at him, approached him very slowly, put his hands over his headscarf, and gently took it off. We had to clean the pig sheds for a month after that."

Fenris laughed his low hoarse laugh. Then he muttered a low, crisp 'hmm'. "Strange. The words suggest tragedy, but your tone suggests that is a good thing."

"What?"

"A man who could make a beautiful woman."

She arched an eyebrow. "Nuh, duh!"

"Why?" he said.

"I don't know. Because men and women are both beautiful, and the more they come together, the more beautiful they get."

Chin in his hand, Fenris looked very amused. "You're hiding something."

"Fine..." she said. She moved the bottle away when he tried to snatch it and took a good long sip. "I was... involved with him."

"I see," Fenris said flatly. He looked at the crashing waves.

Hawke drank. She started looking uncomfortable.

"I was a wee girl," she said, drinking. "What did I know? Couldn't tell the difference between punching and flirting."

"So it came to an end."

She looked at him. "No, we're still together," she said sarcastically.

"Why?" he said, and then started babbling. "I mean— Forgive me. The alcohol is turning me into a busybody. It is none of my business."

"You'll just keep yapping that I'm hiding something if I don't," she said.

"I promise I shan't," Fenris said with a gentlemanly nod.

Looking down, she held to the bottle tighter between her legs. Fenris noticed her face growing sadder.

He cleared his throat. "So, did you know Varric took up knitting?"

"He was horrible to me," Hawke said. "And in the end, he became a Templar."

"Oh..." Fenris forgot to close his mouth. He did not expect to hear that.

She stared at her hands around the neck of the bottle. The wind made a mess of her hair.

Fenris cleared his throat. He had some unexplained melancholy in his soul for what she had said before. But then there were two elephants in the room, and the second one he could find familiar ground with—anger, jealousy. He'd felt the flame burn in his hands and on his forehead. What did this all mean? Was she not telling the whole truth? He stopped paying attention to her hands to tell the difference.

It seemed so silly of him to forget that Hawke was a breath-taking woman and surely someone had chased her in Ferelden for it.

"May he die a slow horrible death," she said, strangely bittersweet.

Conflicted in thoughts, Fenris said nothing. This was a whole new and distant island on the scruffy map of Hawke, indeed, consistent with none of his past considerations. He could understand this, really understand it, if he pressed just a little further with it, he felt.

"How does a brother and old friend of numerous mages become a Templar?" Fenris asked. Then he realised he didn't ask the question he wanted a real answer to. He was just instinctually checking his competition.

Hawke gave a short laugh. "Why not? He's got the knowledge. And Kirkwall's as bad as it gets, but there are other Circles where things aren't so extreme."

"Despite what little sympathy I have, I cannot help but feel that a discrepancy between Circle regimes is a tad unfair."

"It matches the natural unfairness of general life," Hawke said a bit sarcastically.

"How oddly pessimistic of you."

She smiled bitterly. "A College of Magi exists to discuss matters like this. There are different fraternities involved. The Libertarians, the Aequitarians, the Isolationists (although nobody likes them) and so on. You could say they are like political parties meeting up in congress debating and voting on different issues."

Fenris laughed out loud. He raised the bottle up high and addressed the heavens: "It is with bitter hilarity that I can now say— I have seen the world from one cardinal point to the other and not in one corner do mages stay out of politics." He had already forgotten how they got here.

"Unless the world has only two cardinal points, you ain't seen all of it, smartass," Hawke retorted.

Fenris had a flat, inner-searching look. He turned his head to her with a solemn face. "I believe I cannot count when I'm drunk," he said. It was the cutest thing, how he said it. "Why so many fraternities, if I may ask? Shouldn't there be only two? The ones who want to stay in and the ones who want to get out?"

Hawke sighed. "If only it were that simple. The Aequitarians are like centralists, moderates, and the most numerous. They believe magic should be practiced with care and discipline, that it cannot be absolved from a code of ethics, that it should help mankind and thus the Circle is needed. The Libertarians also think the Circle is necessary, but they believe no power should govern it except mages themselves and a greater level of freedom should be given to them. The Isolationists want no Circle and no mage in everyday society and they should have their own little corners of heaven far away where they can practice magic in peace."

"I can see why nobody likes them."

"Indeed," she laughed. "Then there are the Loyalists. Kirkwall's full of'em. The name says it all. They have been widely regarded as Chantry apologists. And finally, you have this even smaller fraternity of Lucrosians—"

"That's Arcanum for capitalists," Fenris said, looking very confused. "I thought Circle politics only concerned themselves with the social angle."

"Not at all. You need money to uphold a Circle, no? All fraternities have views on where money should go. The Libertarians think mages should be free and magic should be part of the free market. Lucrosians aren't completely set on their own freedom, but they want magic in the market. They want mages to be certified in the workface. They see the Circle as an institution that provides a service to mankind, and therefore a service to be capitalised upon. Some of them think a portion of what every mage would earn should be redistributed by the Circle or Chantry in the interest of all mages while others think they should be allowed to work as freelancers under Templar supervision."

Fenris laughed. "Oh, I have seen their dream with my own eyes. Templars as butlers. It works like a charm," he said sarcastically and drank up.

"From what I have seen in the south, the wealthier the Chantry the cosier the Circle. I think they have a point."

"So you consider yourself a Lucrosian then?" Fenris said.

"I'm an apostate. I'm just an anarchist," Hawke said with a sigh.

He looked above at an infinite backdrop of violet sky in which the stars twinkled magically. Clouds passed over the stars and her silky voice imbued with rational arguments were music to his ears. He had missed this immensely and he had no intention or desire to be anywhere else.

"Let me ask you this," Fenris posited with interest, laying back and resting on his elbows.

"Go on…" Hawke said with a familiar tone.

"If the Libertarians took over—"

"—and Isabella became a nun, and carts would be pulled by people and ridden by horses—"

"—would you join the Circle?"

Just when he said it, she was startled by a huge splash of waves that mostly got Fenris wet.

She smiled. "I think that was the Maker telling you not to ask stupid questions."

"We believe in the Maker now, do we?" he said hoarsely, preoccupied with getting salt water out of his mouth.

"One crazy notion at a time, Fenris," she said and laid back on her elbows too.

"From all my years knowing you, I have gathered how passionate you are about making people work together. So I can only think that given the right circumstances, you may be inclined work with the Circle."

"I don't work with Libertarians," she said in a raised voice, not once looking at him when she uttered the words.

Clearly he had hit a nerve. He stared at the ground, a bit embarrassed with himself.

"Maybe I am asking stupid questions," he said in a low voice.

There was heavy silence for a time, and Fenris feared that not even another wave crashing into them would break it.

Hawke rose from her elbows and sat and stared at the foaming edge of the sea, looking now and then at her shoes and cursing her mind for being so divided. She could answer his question plenty, but the explanation would require her to share so much she hadn't and didn't wish to share.

And amidst that heated dialogue in her soul, she heard a rather strange dialogue from behind. Fenris had his hands up in the shape of mouths.

"Whatr'ye looken' at ye wet weasel, yer face looks like a skelped arse," Fenris said with one mouth-hand in a broken Southern Ferelden accent.

"Shut yer geggie, stop talkin' pish," Fenris said with the other mouth-hand.

"I'll stop talkin' pish when yer ma stops chewin' mah knob."

Her eyebrows rose up high at what he was doing. He glanced up at her and continued.

"Ye wanna talk about ma's lad, yers poked herself with a cucumber and pulled oot a gherkin," the other mouth-hand said.

"WHAT?" she poofed in amusement.

"Yer the one to talk ye fat prick, after yer ma had ye her fanny looks like punched lasagne."

She let herself fall on her back. She was proper mad with laughter and losing her breath. He glanced back at her in the corner of his eye and grinned. He made both mouth-hands "look at her" and then one of them "looked" back at him and said: "Our lass es a wee bit off 'er arse doon there, lad, I thenk we kell'd 'er."

The mouth-hands said goodbye and Fenris looked at her patiently, rather pleased with himself. Indeed, if Hawke hadn't had tears in her eyes she would have seen Fenris' warm eyes enjoying the sight of her laughing.

Finally she put her hands over her face and rose up a little. "What in the hell was that?!" she said in amazement.

"You were upset, so I thought you needed cheering up," Fenris said calmly, still laying back. He lay on his side now, resting on one elbow.

"Not in a six trillion years have I ever imagined that kind of language would come out of your mouth, Fenris," she said laughing.

He grinned amicably. "Only for comedic purposes."

"That was quite well done on the accent. I'm genuinely impressed. And a little aroused."

"I had a great unconscious teacher."

"The lads at my door have only been here a few days. You can't have picked it up so quickly."

"No, you, you silly woman," Fenris scuffed in laughter. She looked mighty confused. "You don't realise you speak like that when you're drunk, do you? The 'unconscious teacher' part was doubly true."

"Naw!" Hawke shouted. "I dinnae sound leike that!"

"Oh yes, you do," Fenris said flatly. "And sometimes when you're angry you let that Southern accent slip too. Like so."

"Oh really?"

"Imagine my dismay years ago when you were drunk as a nug and I was trying to get you off the booze and back home and I hear you say to me 'Awa' an bile yer heid' (Away and boil your head) or 'Haud yer wheesht!' (Hold your tongue). It took me some time to understand what you were saying. For a month I thought you were retarded."

She scowled to oblivion. "Mean. Why haven't you ever told me?"

He shrugged in amusement. "I thought you knew!"

"Is that why youse call me the Hot-Headed Ferelden or some bullshit like that when I drink?"

"No, we call you that because you're hot-headed, and Ferelden."

She was angry now. He was smiling.

"You helped me get home 'years' ago?" she said.

"Aye," he said intently.

"But you hated me years ago."

"Believe me, it was for selfish reasons. I wanted some peace and quiet at the tavern."

"But then not a year ago you started walking me to Hightown and letting me sleep it off at yours."

He sighed, smiling. "It was enough time to become immunized to the screeching."

That was his way of saying he started enjoying her company.

She shook her head and ruffled his hair. "Oh, yer a right numpty."

"I have not heard that one before," Fenris said grumpily, with white hair still in his eyes.

As he was brushing his hair off, she said: "Something Father would say to Mother."

"Then it mustn't be rubbish like what you usually call me," he said.

"The closest translation would be 'you're a loveable idiot'," Hawke said, laying back on her side and resting her chin in her hand.

Face as calm and stiff as ever, Fenris ruffled her hair and said: "Aww... you're a regular numpty."

"Yew fockin' cack!"

She pushed him and mock-hit him repeatedly. Fenris laughed hard and caught her by both hands and held them into place..

"You're very easy to wind up, you know that?" Fenris said. Their noses were touching and she was panting. She almost attempted to strike Fenris, but his face touched hers, she felt the eyelashes against her. And the kiss never came to her lips. He planted it on her clumped hands. Long, soft kiss. And then there was this sweet, serene moment where they just lay there like that, and there was nothing else but violet night and the crash of waves.

"Come 'ere lads, we've go' ourselves some fancy coats in love 'ere," a scruffy voice came above their heads.

Before she even moved, a blue simmering light blinded her eyes and Fenris was gone. She immediately jumped up and produced her sword, going up the hill to join the fray. One of them had his heart ripped out of his chest and there was screaming in horror as five or six other men attacked him. She wouldn't make it in time. She pulled them together in a force field and ran for it. Fenris was caught in the whirlwind. She swallowed inside, riled up all her power and as a cluster of spirit bolts rained on them she sustained a healing bond on Fenris. When there was no breath left in any of them, she let herself fall.

Fenris picked himself up, barely aware of what took place and ran to her. She was flat on the ground, but conscious, drawing breath.

"You're okay. Good," she said. "I may die now."

"Don't fucking joke like that," Fenris said curtly. It was the first time she heard him say 'fucking'.

Shocking. Real shocking. Like somebody throwing a bucket of cold water over her. She looked up at him. "Forgive me. I'll pick myself up."

Unimpressed, he pulled her up on her feet. "Best we return to Kirkwall. It is not safe anymore."

Oh come on, how could that ruin the evening? Well…

As she was rubbing the back of her neck, she noticed the thugs came from a carriage left in the distance.

"Let's investigate the vehicle first, maybe Aveline can give the guys in Vice something to work on for once."

"Very well," he said unemotionally.

She hopped in from the front as he inspected the back.

"Orlesian wine at the back. Plenty to inebriate a military squad," Fenris said.

"Fuck all in the front," Hawke said. And then she froze.

"Fenris, get inside now!"

Alarm. "What's going on?"

"Just do what I say!"

She urged the horses to kick off and Fenris came from behind and sat down. "What is happening? What are we running from!"

"Kirkwall," she said.

"Are you daft?" he shouted.

"A little!" she said. She was flashing as if she was angry. And the cart was tearing along now at a good twenty miles per hour right around the edge of the Wounded Coast and past it.

"You don't have to go if you don't want to," she said. Her voice was unsteady. "My line of thought is—"

"A fucking crazy one!" Damn. She got two 'fucking's out of him in one night. Less than ten minutes actually. There must be some sort of award made for that.

She shouted over the sound of hooves and wheels. "It is fucking crazy. But I'm sick of Kirkwall, and we have this cart, and what you said, and it all came rushing to me— have you ever been to Orlais?"

"No, but I have a feeling that's where you're taking me!" Fenris shouted.

"Not forever! We'll come back!" she said.

"Oh, well then that makes it okay," he said sarcastically.

"I'm fucking sick of interruptions. Fucking sick of them!" she shouted. "And it seems every time I blink something fucked up happens and we don't speak to each other for days. I hate it! And to be honest, you're right. We need a holiday after that damn vacation. I know I need it. Hell, a few days! Who will notice?"

"Fool! Your mother," Fenris said curtly.

"She's off to Ostwick for the weekend with her lady friends!"

"Oh, that does not sound at all like you planned it all again," Fenris said angrily.

"I swear! I didn't!" Hawke shouted, her hair fluttering in a mad wave.

"Orlais is a far way from home, woman."

"We'll be in Val Chevin by the middle of the night! Val Royeux by morning. These steeds are pure-bred Orlesian horses. Why do you think they have such successful export?"

Fenris groaned in exasperation. He was about to take the reins from her.

"Say no and I will turn the carriage around, Fenris! I promise!" she shouted in the wind.

She looked terrible and beautiful. Something about the way she said it made her look terrible and beautiful. And there was only this warmth after, like incense rising in the air. He didn't say a word.