Charis knocked on the door to the harbourmaster's office.

Varric spluttered. "Are you serious?"

Charis crossed his arms. "Last time I broke into someone's place, I ended up arrested."

Aden opened the door with a huff. "Harbourmaster's busy, what do––"

Varric shot him in the shoulder.

Aden flew back, pinned to a wall. "Blood and ashes!"

Varric pointed Bianca up at his chin. "No, yours, if you continue beating up the errand boys and girls. If you're feeling lonely, Aden, just say so. Bianca's always looking for company."

Aden grit his teeth. "If not me, then someone else!"

Charis was catching Aden's wrist before Varric realised the assistant had aimed to cut Varric's face with a dagger. Varric blinked rapidly.

"Where's the mail," Charis asked. When Aden spat at him, Charis quietly squeezed and jerked the man's wrist. Hard.

The dock's ambient noise smothered the crack of Aden's wrist. His dagger clattered to the ground.

"Aden," Charis spoke softly, "best to answer while you still have bones left."

The assistant cursed, pointing. "Loose…plank…."

Varric pried the cache open while Charis kicked the dagger away. Varric whistled. "You've been entrepreneurial."

Aden hissed at the pain. Or at the sight of Varric requisitioning Aden's unethical gains, along with Gamlen Amell's mail.

Varric strolled out, pouches full. "Come along, Shiny."

Aden cursed at their retreating figures. "Blighted dwarf and his Ferelden dog!"

Varric turned the corner and spotted errand boys and girls the worse for wear. He handed them half of Aden's money and Gamlen's packages, then told them to deliver the mail. Varric would later find a way for the rest of Aden's money to reach the other errand boys and girls.

Charis followed Varric out of the docks. "The harbourmaster should fire him."

Varric snorted. "Despite Aden's attitude, he's good at his job. Besides, he now knows the rules."

A harsh, heavy voice hit them from behind. "You – this is all your fault! You and that blighter, Garrett Hawke!"

They spun around to see a curly, white-haired dwarf racing after them, an elven woman briskly keeping up.

Varric innocently placed a hand on his chest. "What did I do?"

"My sons are lost in the Deep Roads because of your stories," the elder animatedly accused, "gone to chase after gold and glory – and no one but you and Hawke know where they might have gone!"

The elven woman caught up and sighed shallowly. "Your boys are grown men, Messere Yevhen. If anyone led them astray, it's the middle child."

Yevhen jabbed a finger at her, his braided beard shaking. "If you want to keep your job, woman, then shut your mouth!"

"Messere," Varric pleasantly cut in, "your boys barely sound bright enough to follow a map. Maker knows they haven't wandered far."

Yevhen, no last name, but he wore his finery like a uniform. Even while throwing accusations, the old man held his back straight and his head high with a pointed distance from Charis, like commoners were contagious. Varric was being accosted by an affiliate of the Merchant's Guild who obviously hoped their wealth and status would rub off on him by proximity. Whatever the Guild could be saying behind Varric's back, it wasn't discouraging Yevhen from boldly accusing Varric of being a good storyteller.

No amount of coin could persuade someone to return Yevhen's sons to the surface, and Varric didn't want to risk implying that whatever riches that lied in the Deep Roads were worth the venture. The task had to fall into good hands.

Varric tracked Charis in the corner of his eye while he placatingly smiled. "Watch the paths to Sundermount. I'm sure your boys will turn up soon."

Charis bodily jerked at Varric's dismissive turn. "…I'll find your sons, serah."

Yevhen blustered. "Messere to you!"

"We appreciate it," the elven woman replied.

Varric hid a smirk while Charis hesitantly strolled up to him. Before the soldier could open his mouth, Varric drawled, "Our path is down the Deep Roads. Will you be alright?"

Charis subtly loosened up. "I once followed someone into the Deep Roads with only a knife."

Varric didn't bother hiding his smile. "You know, Shiny, sometimes I don't believe half of what you say."

Charis quipped, "Only half?"

Varric knew better than to risk his life in the Deep Roads without a form of insurance, so he invited someone to watch his back while rescuing Yevhen's children. As the group of three descended through a publically-known entrance into the Deep Roads, Varric watched the party's rear, conveniently placing Charis at the very front where Bianca could track him, just in case. Varric voiced directions when necessary.

Meanwhile, Isabela shadowed Charis' side, granting Varric a clear view and allowing her to pick apart their local minion. The raider was starting to have fun with the suspense of Varric's situation.

"You know, Charis," Isabela commented, "I happen to know another Ferelden soldier."

Charis glanced at her. "Really?"

"Guard-Captain Aveline Hendyr." Isabela nodded. "She reminds me of you; taciturn, oddly nerdy – she's a brick wall where you're a chimney. Though, I guess she's a former soldier now."

"Thanks…I think."

"She escaped a darkspawn horde all the way to Gwaren," Isabela continued. "Sailed into a new life. You're still in the army though. Why is that?"

Charis watched his step. "The Clash at Ostagar overwhelmed many, from our soldiers to our mages and Templars. Though duty called all to the battlefield, not all were able to stay."

"How about you?" Isabela asked. "Is that what you did? Were you at Ostagar?"

"…Perhaps we should focus on the task at hand, seeing as the Deep Roads are their own danger."

"Oho," Isabela snickered, "I've tagged and boarded more ships than you can count. I know an evasion when I see one."

Varric fixed the torch in his hand as they navigated the Deep Roads. No doubt Charis wished to not speak of how he had been anchored to a desk while his brethren had been facing the blight. Fortunately, their trek underground eventually proved fruitful with the discovery of an armoured dwarf slumped against an ancient dwarven door.

Charis cautiously approached. "Are you one of Yevhen's sons?"

"Sweet mother of partha," the stranger removed their helmet, revealing a square, weary face. "Father sent you? Please, you have to save my brothers! Iwan locked Merin behind this door and ran off to claim the Heartdrinker for himself. I tried to warn him about the danger of golems ahead, but I lost him through the lyrium channels! If only I knew my way back to the surface – I would have called for help!"

"Peace," Charis helped the young man up and handed him his own torch. "Follow the markers back to the surface. We'll send your brothers out after you."

"Best of the Stone," the dwarf thanked profusely and fled the way they came.

Isabela cocked a brow at Charis. "Breaking through ancient dwarven doors requires more than a good lockpick."

"Then we'll find another way around," Charis determined. "Or you two will. I'll chase after Iwan before he kills himself trying to find a 'Heartdrinker.'"

Varric spluttered after Charis' vanishing back. "There might be golems! You're running into the dark, Shiny, and you don't actually glow…! Shit."

Isabela surveyed the ancient dwarven door and its adjacent hallways. "On the bright side, if he dies, then it's one less knife at your back."

"We don't know he's actually a spy," Varric grumbled, spotting a crumbling wall. The two of them warily squeezed through a gap and immediately engaged with darkspawn. "If he dies, I'll never know for sure!"

The two of them eventually found and rescued Merin from a group of darkspawn, grudgingly acknowledging that their wisest next step was to head for the surface. As they trudged back, a rhythmic thumping in the earth gradually rose to their attention, quickly escalating into a cacophonous rain of loose dirt from the earth overhead. The three of them warily packed in close and faced outwards in every direction, before Varric squinted through the dust in the cavernous distance.

"Is that…?"

"Keep moving!"

Isabela and Merin turned around to follow Varric's line of sight, where the distant figure of Charis could be seen booking it while hauling an armoured dwarf over one shoulder. As Charis grew larger in view, they could decipher a sword glowing with runes in Charis' free hand, swinging in time with Charis' rapid strides.

"Unhand me, human!"

"Move, I say!"

That was when a cluster of golems charged around the corner.

"Maker's breath," Varric muttered in shock. "That's our cue to check out!"

The five of them bolted out of the Deep Roads, wildly searching for painted stone markers through flickering torchlight before pivoting the correct direction with unexpected athleticism. Varric dropped his torch and fired at the cracks of a stone mezzanine ahead of them, before Charis axed his runed sword through it as they passed under. The ruins collapsed behind them like crashing waves until sunlight finally pierced their eyes, welcoming them to the surface. The violent tumbling of ancient stone swallowed any noise of their pursuers until the mountainside choked out only dust. The group of five couldn't return to Kirkwall's streets fast enough.

Charis dumped his cargo at Yevhen's feet with a grunt. "Your child."

Merin and the apparently oldest son, Emrys, helped their brother up despite his uncooperative jerking away from their hands.

"I found it first," Iwan raged. "That relic is mine!"

Yevhen backhanded his son, everyone's eyes politely flinching away. "Sacrificing your own family, Iwan? Only shame belongs to you!"

While Yevhen berated his son, Emrys handed Varric, Charis, and Isabela a handful of sovereigns in gratitude. Charis responded by kneeling and offering the runed sword to Emrys.

"Serah," Emrys breathed, "I can't claim this. An ancient dwarf smithed Heartdrinker at the time of the First Blight. My ancestry and personal accomplishments assure I'm unworthy of the blade."

"You stayed to protect your family," Charis disagreed. "You've earned it."

Emrys peeked at the still occupied Yevhen and Iwan, then at the elven woman and Merin's encouraging faces. Emrys shyly accepted the sword with a deep nod. "Thank you, Messere Tethras and…."

"Friends," Charis finished.

Emrys faltered at the pointed lack of a name. "Oh. Then…best of the vein, friends."

Varric, Isabela, and Charis quickly escaped before Yevhen could turn his energy on them. When they finally walked out of earshot, Charis sighed.

"If you've no more errands for me today," the soldier turned to Varric, "I plan to wash the Deep Roads out of my hair."

"Same," Isabela groaned. "Hey, Charis; Hanged Man later tonight?"

Charis briefly met their gazes, the shape of his eyes relaxed. "…Maybe."

Varric exhaled in sweet relief as he broke into Fenris's mansion. Exposure to Hightown air vastly helped dry Varric's chest hair still damp from a recent bath. Anyone in Garrett's friend group knew that Fenris didn't own a key to his squatting place. If one wanted to visit the fugitive slave, one had to bring a lockpicking set. Or climb through a window, like Isabela and Merrill.

After a stroll up carpeted stairs, Varric arrived at a scene of Garrett and Fenris contributing to a littered table of drained wine bottles. Garrett knocked a glass of Antivan brandy back, before Fenris tipped a bottle over to refill it. For once, Fenris conservatively sipped from his bottle, while Garrett took a swig of his drink with starkly flushed cheeks. The mercenary's lips were curled downwards with severe displeasure.

Varric cautiously sat down across them. "What's the occasion?"

Fenris sent him a look. "Hawke received a letter from his brother."

Oh.

Varric eyed a sheaf of inked parchment in Garrett's hands. Over the course of the man's drinking, the papers had shuffled out of order. "Looks like he had a lot of love to send."

Garrett clicked his teeth. "Lots of, quote, 'reasons, not excuses,' unquote."

Varric hid a wince.

Sunlight bounced off Garrett's brandy, turning his brown eyes a liquid amber. "Carver didn't visit us once since leaving home — he didn't even attend father's funeral. Yet when I last saw him, he was busy reading letters." Garrett took another swig of brandy. "Obviously, he was receiving mail just fine. He just didn't care to read Bethany's."

Varric cleaned up the table, sitting bottles upright for organisation. "You said Carver was always irked by yours and Bethany's closeness with your father. However, his love and trust for Bethany is as real as their twin bond."

When alone with a Hawke, Garrett's friends addressed the individual by their surname. Otherwise, Garrett received less intimacy but more respect as "Hawke," while Bethany and Carver were referred to by their first names.

At Garrett's reluctant nod, Varric continued. "Sometimes, little brothers behave in ways contrary to their own feelings. Junior probably spurned those letters in a bid for attention. He was in a new environment surrounded by complete strangers! He was likely hoping you would visit him. Then when your father suddenly caught an illness and passed, Carver must have felt crushed with guilt, to the extent that he was too ashamed to reach out and fix it. Then the blight hit. Not a great cocktail for heart-to-heart talks."

Garrett grumbled, yet visibly placated. "He could at least see me face to face, instead of writing me an essay. The blight ended years ago."

Fenris corked his bottle of brandy. "Mail for your uncle's house just arrived today."

Varric encouragingly nodded. "Kirkwall has also loosened its travel restrictions on Fereldens only recently. I'm sure Junior is pacing atop a ship crossing the sea as we speak, wondering how to finally sneak in and face you and your family. Don't worry, Hawke. I'll have my contacts keep an eye out for a little Ferelden soldier boy with a visible inferiority complex."

Finally, Garrett cracked a smile.

Fenris slowly relieved the glass from Garrett's fingers. "Hendyr is also captain of the City Guard. I bet she'll do the same if you ask."

Garrett sighed, carding his fingers through his hair. "At least I can assure Mother that he's truly alive. She was worried that Carver had been on the front lines of the blight, instead of behind a desk." The Hawke matriarch tended to simultaneously coddle and think highly of her children. "Some of this letter is for her and Bethany, too."

The younger sister was also a sensitive topic, based on the setting. When only Bartrand and his crew had returned from the expedition – presumably having left Varric, Garrett, and the rest for dead – Bethany had taken up the burden of financially supporting herself and her mother. Without Garrett's unique charm and quick thinking, it had only been a matter of time before the Templars had eventually discovered her casting magic. The week Garrett had returned from the Deep Roads, the Templars had already been hustling Bethany out Gamlen's door. The loss had hit Lady Hawke hard. Bethany now maintained a close relationship with Garrett and Leandra through letters sent by trusted couriers. Due to Leandra's influence as an Amell, the woman was also able to occasionally visit Bethany in the Gallows' courtyard.

Naturally, inked papers weren't the same as having a sibling to hug and joke around with.

Garrett obviously felt reminded of the fact by Carver's letters.

"Sometimes, I wonder…." Garrett massaged the beginnings of a headache away and sighed heavily. "I always wanted the family together, and never imagined my brother would want to live somewhere else or my father would join the Maker. Carver is…." Garrett's lips wobbled. "I remember him as the little brother who never had a knee that wasn't scraped or trousers without holes. Whatever drove Carver out of Lothering, I should have protected him from it."

Fenris spoke gently. "You can't blame yourself, Hawke."

"I failed him twice," Garrett denied. "The second time, I allowed myself to be carried away by my emotions, and stomped off without seeking Carver out after our conversation in the tavern. I might have missed something in that conversation. Mother said it often of Father, Bethany, and I: that the Hawkes feel strongly."

Varric had noticed. Even compared to other mages like Anders or Merrill, the Hawke siblings possessed unpredictable streaks of stubbornness or spontaneity. In the beginning of Varric's friendship with Garrett, he had often gambled with Garrett's humorous tone to gauge if the mercenary literally meant what he said or not. Bethany could even smile and nod when Templars spoke of bringing all mages into the Circle, but passing by a single qunari or Tal-Vashoth could tear a confession out of her that she loathed qunari. Apparently, one had killed one of her friends and their entire family back in Lothering. The vitriol had been unexpected.

"I need red wine," Garrett muttered with a turn of his head. "I should calm down before meeting Jansen."

"Speaking of the Bone Pit," Varric chirped, "faceless thieves have been carrying out raids on the cargo shipments. The Coterie plans to investigate the matter."

"Ruthlessly," Garrett recognised, rising from the table. "I better reach Jansen first. Great Maker, for the past few years, it has been spider infestations, walking undead, and brittle pickaxes. If Bartiere doesn't hold up his end of funding proper tools and protection, I'm about to have one less business partner."

Like Varric, Garrett preferred to leave transactional matters to money-minded people. Unlike Varric, however, Garrett possessed the shrewdness and charisma to manage a commercial business, if only the mercenary also possessed the interest.

Fenris stood up with him, subtly guiding Garrett past his alcohol collection. "Where will Jansen be at this time of day?"

"In the Bone Pit with the workers," Garrett replied. "But first, Darktown."

Garrett stalked off for a door in Darktown paired with a burning lantern despite the hour. Varric and Fenris followed him into Anders' newly-located clinic. As an active member of the Mage Underground and as an apostate himself, Anders regularly moved his clinic without warning. The less fortunate who needed affordable healing or help knew to search for a lit lantern.

"Hawke," Anders greeted from over a wash basin. "Mind passing that towel?"

Garrett ferretted a clean rag from a pile that had fallen from a makeshift clothesline. "I'm glad to see you taking care of yourself."

"Medicine requires clean hands," Anders drawled. "Not to worry, I keep myself groomed – just not for when you're here."

"Ouch," Garrett chuckled. "Am I why you avoid Hightown?"

Anders' eyes tellingly flitted to Fenris. "If the Blooming Rose asks me to work for them one more time, I'm never stepping foot in Hightown again."

"Then it's a good thing we're not going there." Garrett grinned. "I have to check on Jansen and his labour union over at the Bone Pit. They might need a healer – or a cat."

Fenris deadpanned. "Hawke."

"Justice can spy on people better than anyone here," Garrett defended. "No one suspects the cat!"

"You're not throwing an abomination at the Coterie," Fenris calmly replied.

"I'll go." Anders smirked as he strolled over with a modest staff easily mistaken for a walking stick. Given Kirkwall's abundance of stairs, people with such aids weren't uncommon. "I want to see Fenris avoid a harmless furball like it's the blight."

A full-grown tabby sprung onto Anders' shoulders, draping itself over feathered pauldrons. Fenris immediately backed away a step. "Greetings, mortals."

Anders huffed. "Why do you like Hawke more than me?"

"Does it seem that way?" Justice's tail flicked Anders' ear. "Mayhaps opportunities to realise justice frequent the mortal's presence."

The possessed cat was an unlikely spy for Anders, who himself was a link in the Mage Underground. Justice excelled at discreetly gathering information, scouting ahead, and watching his allies' backs. Still, the feline had a hard time not taking immediate action on injustices he witnessed. As a spirit warrior cat, Justice was essentially an indestructible but mostly harmless furball with a limited sense of timing and a fondness for Garrett's odd luck.

Garrett threw an arm around Fenris' shoulders and dragged everyone along to the Bone Pit, chuckling. On the way, they passed by Karl Thekla returning from Lowtown's market. The greying apostate was Anders' former lover, snatched from the Grey Wardens in Ferelden to run away with Anders across the Waking Sea. While the couple had long split apart to walk separate paths, they still maintained an amicable relationship that had fueled Anders to rescue Karl from possibly dying in a Joining.

Karl had been hesitantly grateful, considering he had been ready for the commitment, but the older man could hardly leave his friend alone to his actions. Thus while Anders ran his clinic, Karl was settled in a room above Lirene's Fereldan Imports to help the plight of Ferelden refugees. The party nodded to Karl as they left the city and traced caravan routes for Kirkwall's largest mine. Around a narrow bend, they stumbled over qunari corpses and scattered shade demons.

"That explains the missing patrol," Varric said as they cleared the threat. "Should I be honoured that the Qunari suspected you over the rest of us rabble?"

Garrett snorted. "As if I have a reason to ambush qunari. I try to limit 'pissing off foreigners' to once a week."

"The Veil is thin over this land," Justice remarked. "It confounds me that demons would exploit the weakness just to see this pile of dirt."

Varric gasped. "Hey, I live here!"

Fenris shook his head. "In the name of harmless research, the ancient Imperium deliberately thinned the Veil in outposts over time. Kirkwall and Aeonar were just two of several victims."

"Again with the pointed facts," Anders drawled. "Abducting mages and depriving them of meaningful relationships isn't the answer."

Fenris side-eyed him. "Neither is fooling yourself into believing that demons can be pets. Also, you're repressed."

"And you're not!?"

Varric chuckled. "Now, now, elf. Blondie won't let the feline bite you – again. You can trust him."

Fenris shot Varric a look. "The mage keeps company with a demon."

"By that logic," Garrett teased, "so do I."

Fenris melted a degree. "You know you're different."

"Hypocrite," Anders muttered.

Varric snorted. He was with two cats, a dog, and a bird. When a wooden rattle echoed from the mountainous path ahead of them, the party pivoted for cover while Justice pounced onto steep rock, stealthily stealing ahead. When a panicked screech and a feline yowl split the air, the party caught their cue to intervene.

A Ferelden labourer fell on his rear, vainly trying to tear Justice off of his face. "Bride of the Maker!"

Garrett twirled his staff into his grip, suddenly knocking a row of robbers off their feet with an invisible force. A more pointed gesture thrusted them into a nearby rockface, shattering bone. Anders summoned a wall of fire ahead of the path before anyone could retreat, throwing Fenris in stark relief as he ghosted an arm through a robber that had nearly slipped past the party. The robber froze in Fenris' grasp.

The fugitive slave cocked a brow. "The truth will set you free."

"B-Brekker…" the robber choked out, "it was all his idea—!"

"Stop attacking my cat!" Anders' wail interrupted them.

Garrett glanced at Varric who had watched their backs with Bianca. At the merchant prince's confirmation that they were safe, Garrett slung his staff back into his harness like the dramatic spear that it was. With a long, thin blade comprising one-third of the weapon, only the milky-coloured focus stone attached to its pommel suggested that Garrett wielded a staff. The mage kissed his teeth.

"Alright, Justice."

The tabby darted off of the labourer's face, leaving behind scratch marks. Anders gaped at Justice while the abomination roosted on his shoulders, apparently valuing the mage no higher than a mobile perch. There was no question whom Justice actually listened to.

Garrett frowned at the scene of a ruined caravan and dead miners, before looking down at the one at his feet. "Sabin."

"Master Garrett," the man morosely recognised. "Please understand; I needed the money. My family and I can hardly––"

"Who's Brekker?" Garrett cut off.

Sabin leaned on his elbows, sitting up. "A member of the Coterie. He agreed to share his profits with me if I helped him ambush caravans leaving the pit."

Garrett turned in Fenris' direction. "Who's Brekker?"

"One of our leaders," the robber surrendered. "Mostly works the southern side of Kirkwall. H-He detests Fereldens and has always envied your success, Messere Hawke. That's all I know, I swear."

Fenris glided his arm all the way through the bandit, solidifying his limb once the two of them were separated. The bandit immediately took off for the distance.

Justice's eyes narrowed at the horizon. "The crook slaughtered innocent people escorting this caravan."

Varric wound Bianca back. "That he did."

Twang!

Thump.

Garrett helped Sabin up on his feet. "Poverty drives anyone to desperate lengths, but I don't want to see you or your family again. Ever."

Sabin wiped sweat off his brow and bowed his head in shame. "Brekker will kill me."

"I'll handle him." Garrett placed a hand on Sabin's shoulder, drawing the miner's eyes to Garrett's expression. "Sabin. Please understand."

At the echoed phrasing, Sabin's hesitation crumbled, and the labourer bolted for the horizon with a speed that spoke of his fear that Varric would shoot him down. The party watched him run off.

"Fenris, Anders, Justice," Garrett addressed, "check on Jansen and the others and see if any are harmed or are in with Brekker. I'm going to tell Bartiere that he should demand his money back from his employed protection."

Justice couldn't lie to save his life, and Varric recognised the look on Garrett's face. The mercenary planned to take a page from Varric's book and fabricate a story to turn the Coterie's attention away from Sabin. Indeed, when Garrett and Varric eventually intercepted Hubert Bartiere and his Coterie contacts from storming the mines, Garrett tossed them a Coterie badge looted from one of several corpses.

"It was Brekker," Garrett stated.

A Coterie member cut him off. "We know, Hawke. The Coterie conducted an internal investigation and found Brekker has been skimming. We're dealing with him our way."

Hubert stepped in. "But he was also working with a miner!"

"Brekker threatened the man's family," Garrett boldly lied, "even killed his dog. His dog, Bartiere. I've since sent the miner off running with the fear of the Maker in him."

Hubert hesitated, acknowledging the weight of butchering a Ferelden's mabari. "Whatever, just get those miners in line!"

Hubert and the Coterie members pivoted off, acquiesced.

Varric released a breath. "I owe Shiny one."

Garrett led the way back to the mines. "Another one of your contacts?"

"Possibly Bartrand's spy," Varric chuckled. "I haven't told you about him?"

;

A/N:

Garrett's staff resembles the one from the trailer. You know, important things.

I sometimes use mage and apostate interchangeably, given the Mage Underground helps "apostates," not "Circle mages." Thus, I might refer to Anders, Garrett, or Merrill with either label.