Chapter THREE

As the trio strode down the steps leading to Lowtown, Varric spoke up. "Hawke, have you chased down that lead I gave you about the Warden?"

Aria shrugged. "It's on my to-do list for the day. So is sleep."

Varric chuckled. "Get used to it. Sleep is going to become as rare as a topside nug real quickly here. C'mon. Lirene's shop is just over there. Then you can go take a nap. Maker knows you could use some beauty sleep."

Aria thumped the dwarf's shoulder. "I don't look that bad. Better than you, at any rate."

He laughed again and shook his head, leading the way into the well-known Fereldan sympathizer's door. As they walked in, the scent of stale sweat, gangrene-infested wounds, and desperation assailed their noses. Bethany stifled a gag. Aria walked past the line of people seeking aid and went straight up to the stern-looking woman obviously in charge.

"You again? What do you want?" Lirene said, glaring at Aria.

"Friend of yours?" Varric silkily asked. Aria lightly but sharply kicked his hip. She had been here before out of curiosity on Athenril's behalf. She hadn't made a very good impression, apparently.

"I hear you know where I can find a Fereldan Grey Warden," Aria said, resting her elbows on the table in front of the grey-haired storekeeper, her eyes cautiously inquisitive.

Lirene's eyes flashed with momentary fury and she lifted her chin stubbornly. "Only Fereldan Grey Warden I've heard of is sitting on the throne. We're out of the Blight's path now. Why would you need a Warden?"

One of the refugees stepped up then, having eavesdropped the conversation. "The healer was one of them once, wasn't he? A Warden?"

Aria smiled glibly at Lirene. "Ah, from the mouths of the downtrodden."

Lirene glared at her and threw her arms up in frustrated defeat. "Well he's not now. And busy enough without answering fool questions about it," she spat.

With a heavy exasperated sigh, Aria prepared her reply. "Then I'll only ask very smart questions."

"I do not joke, serah," Lirene snipped, Varric shaking his head with a sardonic smile quirking one side of his mouth. "You see what our people face in Kirkwall," Lirene continued, her eyes and voice taking on a pleading but accusing tone. "They have no jobs, no homes. Most can barely buy bread. This healer, he serves them without thought for coin. He's closed their wounds and delivered their children."

Aria smiled sweetly, her eyes impish. "And yet he needs to hide?"

"Would I stick my neck out for some purveyor of hensbane and leeches?"

"You mean he's a mage?" Aria asked, already knowing the answer. It made sense.

"He's a good man," Lirene tenaciously defended. "I won't lose him to the blighted templars."

"We would never turn someone over to the templars, Mistress. Never," Bethany cut in, producing a small ball of flame between her fingers and quickly extinguishing it before anyone else saw.

Lirene's demeanor changed instantly and Aria sensed a victory coming in their quest for knowledge concerning the Deep Roads. Or, in the very least, the location of someone who knew how to put them on the right path. She'd take the victory, no matter how small.

"He doesn't want to be locked in the Gallows just for using the gifts the Maker gave him," Lirene said, her voice holding warmth and admiration.

"I can hardly blame him," Aria sympathized, turning to look at Bethany briefly.

"I suppose it isn't my secret to keep," Lirene sighed. "Anders has certainly been free enough with his services. Refugees in Darktown know—to find the healer, look for the lit lantern. If you have need enough, Anders will be within."

"Thank you, Mistress," Bethany said as they turned to leave.

They walked outside the store, talking out their next course of action but didn't get very far. A group of thugs waited for them.

"You know, it would be really great to walk somewhere in this town without needing a weapon," Aria sighed to herself before the thugs' leader came to the forefront of the group to speak.

"Hey," he said when he saw he had her attention. "We heard you in there, asking about the healer. We know what happens to mages in this town. And it ain't gonna happen to him."

Bethany stepped forward again and Aria was thankful for her presence. "Look, we're Fereldans just trying to keep out of the templars' sight, same as you!" She held out a fireball in her palm for emphasis, then quickly extinguished it with the sudden closing of her fist.

The man's visage waxed instantly apologetic. "Fereldan? But…you, your clothes…I figured you for a Kirkwaller. Sorry. Maker bless the rule of our King Alistair."

The group dispersed down the street quickly, not wanting to draw any other undue attention to themselves. Aria watched them go, shaking her head.

"All too ready to break out the pitchforks and torches," Varric said as they started their trek to Darktown.

"Hmmph. Just let them try it," Bethany quipped.

Aria turned to her, a brow arched in surprise. "Was that a little spunk I just heard?"

"Come now, sister. You know far better than to think you're the only one in this family blessed with a propensity for fighting and inciting."

Aria only smiled and focused on the steps that led down to Darktown. They were notoriously slippery with all sorts of unmentionable goo. She wasn't keen on landing on her backside in it. No telling what noxious diseases one could pick up should one contact it directly.

They continued through the Darktown alleys, Varric and Bethany discussing plans for a card game later in the evening. Aria refrained from dashing their hopes—Aveline had already reserved their services for the evening. Who was she to be the killjoy?

The healer's crude clinic was easy enough to find. They didn't call it Darktown for shits and giggles. Lit lanterns were like suns down here, and the brightest one was clearly visible. There was a throng of sick people sitting outside, awaiting admittance. There were elderly suffering from ailments of aging, young mothers with ill children, young men with boils. All of them destitute, all of them... Hopeful the healer would help them.

As the trio entered the clinic, an interesting little scene played out before them. A sick child lay motionless and hardly breathing on the rough wood table that served for examination purposes. A dirty-blond mage in weathered, worn robes hovered over him, his hands moving in beautifully fluent patterns that nearly entranced Aria. Bluish white mist that seemed illuminated from within evanesced from his palms and swirled in fanciful wisps over the boy's body. His dark eyes were transfixed on the boy's chest, deep chocolate brown and full of compassion and focus.

He suddenly pulled away from the boy, who gasped and sat up. The mage stumbled backwards, one of his stewards quickly settling a stool behind him so that he might rest. He looked as though what he was doing had been particularly taxing. And it was amazing. Aria found herself in awe of him—the compassion and goodness, the courage it took to operate in this capacity right under the templars' noses.

His eyes landed on them and he whirled, snatching up his staff. His voice took on an ethereally dangerous quality that she was sure wasn't normally there as he spoke to them. It was a dark, malicious undertone, and a glimmer of white light pulsed briefly behind his brown eyes.

"I have made this place a sanctum of healing and salvation," he boomed, dark eyes flashing. "Why do you threaten it?"

Aria held up her hands, seeking to placate him. She couldn't help it; she was further intrigued. "I'm just here to talk," she diplomatically said, not wanting to anger him or give him cause to attack. Pissing off a mage was never a good idea. Especially one with the chops this one obviously had.

"We're interested in getting into the Deep Roads. Rumour has it you were a Warden. Do you know a way?" Varric added, stepping up to stand beside Aria.

The mage relaxed slightly, his staff going to his side much as a warrior would sheath their blade. His hand still held it at the ready though. A flick of his wrist, and he'd be battle-ready.

"Did the Wardens send you to bring me back?" he cautiously asked. "I'm not going. Those bastards made me get rid of my cat. Poor Ser Pounce-A-Lot. He hated the Deep Roads."

Aria chuckled lightly. "You had a cat named Ser Pounce-A-Lot? In the Deep Roads?"

The mage smiled broadly at her, his chocolate brown eyes shifting to caramel as his expression turned wistful with the memory. "He was a gift. A noble beast. Almost got ripped in half by a genlock once. He swatted the bugger on the nose. Drew blood, too. The blighted wardens said he 'made me too soft'. I had to give him to a friend in Amaranthine," Anders said, his tone growing bitter when he spoke of the Wardens.

Aria got back down to business. "I'm part of an expedition into the Deep Roads. Any information you have could save people's lives," she said, playing to the humanitarian within him.

"I will die a happy man if I never think about the blighted Deep Roads again. You can't imagine what I've come through to get here. I'm not interested… " he said, being cautious again. Then something else sparked in his eyes and she recognized the dawn of a deal in the making. "Although, a favor for a favor. Does that sound like a fair deal? You help me, I'll help you."

"Let's be more specific," Aria chuckled. "I don't do anything involving children or animals."

"I have a Warden map of the depths in this area," Anders continued, a hint of a smile on his lips at the innuendo. "But there's a price. I came to Kirkwall to aid a friend. A mage. A prisoner in the wretched Gallows. The templars learned of my plans to free him. Help me bring him safely past them, and you shall have your maps."

"Oh, that's all?" Aria groaned. "I might just take my chances with the darkspawn."

Anders did not appear to like this answer. "If we fight the templars, it is because they decide that anyone who befriends a mage deserves death without questioning."

Aria considered this for a moment and Bethany chimed in. "As just as his cause is, it scares me. I don't want to give the templars another reason to hunt us."

It was exactly what Aria had been thinking. This task was dangerous not because of the actual fighting with the templars, but the ramifications of engaging them at all. She couldn't let Bethany be in danger. Then it occurred to her that she would just leave Bethany home. She'd have to make it a last minute decision—she knew her sister would not take kindly to being left behind.

"These are my terms," Anders continued, his eyes sizing Aria up head to toe. Warmth pooled in her cheeks and her breast as his eyes lingered a little too long on her decolletage and lips before meeting her own eyes again. An intensity lingered there and Aria was suddenly, potently aware that she hadn't been with a romantic partner in... In... "If you want my aid with your expedition, meet me in the Chantry tonight. I have sent word to Karl to be there. Maker willing, we will all leave free men."

Varric and Bethany followed Aria out of Darktown. They talked amongst themselves, leaving Aria to her own thoughts. She wasn't quite sure what to think of Anders. She had a reputation for getting the job done, usually at whatever the cost. But this particular favor she was rendering could cost her dearly. And not just her—she feared for what could happen to Mother if Bethany was damned to the Gallows and the templars' caricature of mercy.

It wouldn't have been so bad if she'd been caught in Ferelden and sent to the Circle there. The templars in Ferelden were much more forgiving and lax in their pursuit of the mages. Add to that the fact that the Circle there was a thousand times more liberated. Magic wasn't seen as a plague to be contained in Ferelden, merely a force to be reckoned with and used for the good. If it did go astray, there was justice.

But here in Kirkwall, it was as feared as the Blight and it fed desperation. It was a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy; the worst in the templars brought out the worst in the mages. To be fair, she wasn't quite sure of her own stance on magic. She'd been the daughter of an apostate. Her father was an honest man, a noble man but without the esteem and title. He would have jumped at Anders's plight in a heartbeat and welcomed a fight with the iron-fisted templars.

She murmured her departing salute to Varric when they reached Gamlen's, having decided to catch some shut-eye before she embarked on the myriad adventures heaped upon her for this evening. As she lay on the top bunk of the stacked bed she and Bethany shared in their tiny room (Bethany was afraid of rolling off the top bed), she contemplated the crevices and grain of the beams in the ceiling.

If one of those seams were to crack, the entire structure would be weakened. The wood was old and weathered, having endured many a buffeting from the brutal storms that rolled into Kirkwall from the sea. How long could it last before the seams began to crack? How long after that would the entire house fall? And what could she do to stop it from happening, or at least prolong it once the cracks did begin to show?

She found her thoughts traveling then to the admittedly handsome mage they'd met today. Anders was a good man. His passion for freedom from oppression was a potent elixir for attraction. He'd been the first man she'd been attracted to at all since she came to Kirkwall.

It wasn't that she hadn't found many of the men in this city pleasant to look at. There were some head-turners worthy of her attention. However they lacked something vital. Their vacant stares were a huge turn-off. There was no fire in their eyes, nor was there ambition in their actions. They lacked…what Anders possessed.

Anders's eyes were anything but empty. They roared with life, passion, emotion, purpose. He was consumed by it and it drew her, like a hummingbird to nectar, regardless if that nectar may be laced with a fatal poison. So many people here had resigned themselves to their "fates". Anders was no slave to it. He made his own and fought against any sort of chains the world would put on him.

Aria did not put any sort of stock in fate. Nor did she claim any allegiance to any particular faith. She didn't understand how people could believe in things that simply existed to keep control of others. The Chantry, the Circle, the Order, even the Qun. While they had their benevolent purposes, they essentially had the same function: Indoctrinate and control. They gave you rules to live by. Superstitions to follow unless, gasp, one wanted to be punished in the afterlife.

How could anyone even be sure there was even such a thing as an afterlife? It's not like anyone lived to tell it. Why did people fear the Void? Didn't they see the beauty in such finality? Didn't they realize that the point of life was not to prepare for the after, but rather to live in the today? Didn't they realize they only had the one life—and the purpose was to live it? In her mind, the only way to exist after death was to leave a legacy worth remembering for the ages; something she fully intended to do.

She supposed she was an anarchist. She didn't care for routine. She didn't care for order. It just had no appeal. If there wasn't freedom to decide one's own actions, why was life even worth it? No. She would not exist in a world where her fate was decided for her. She was the master of it, and she would deal with the consequences of her decisions because they were exactly that: Hers. No one else's.

Aria hadn't even realized she'd fallen asleep until she found herself being shaken gently into wakefulness by her sister. The house was much darker, except for the lanterns in the next room where Gamlen and Mother sat talking. Gamlen sounded drunk. Mother sounded weary. Outside her tiny, dirty window, Aria could see the sun had nearly set. The sky was a riotous palette of pastels and bolds in shades of purple, yellow, pink, and orange lent a deep red-gold hue to the room around her.

"Aria, it's time," Bethany softly said by her ear.

She sat up and cracked her neck, moaning at the release it offered her aching spine. "Urngh. Bethany—you're going to hate me, but I don't want you coming tonight," Aria said as she alighted the bunk.

Bethany sighed. "I was actually hoping you'd say that, but I didn't want to sound a coward."

Aria smiled at her sister and hugged her, mussing her short dark hair. "There's a big difference between cowardice and stupidity. You are guilty of neither."

"Thank you, sister," Bethany replied, her eyes misting slightly. "Please be careful."

"Careful is my middle name," Aria said, flashing her trademark sardonic smirk.

"And here I thought it was Reckless," Bethany quipped. "Go. Varric's already here."

Aria slipped on her boots and quickly made for the door. When Mother asked where she was going, Bethany deflected for her. She slipped out the door without saying anything more to anyone, confident in Bethany's skills of deception.

Varric waited on the top step, and surprisingly enough, Aveline stood there too.

"Aveline! What on earth are you doing here? I thought we were going to—"

"Hawke, you have the worst taste in adventures. Helping an apostate? What are you thinking?" she spat, jabbing her index finger in Aria's breastbone and forcing her to take a step back.

Aria was in no mood for lectures. She stepped forward towards the taller woman, her amber eyes flashing. "Being such a person of upstanding moral fiber, I would expect you to be at the forefront of such a cause."

Aveline was stunned by Aria's response. She hadn't expected the normally slick, cajoling rogue to be so venomous and driven.

"Hawke, I—"

"Don't. I already made the deal. It's time to honor it. When we're done, we'll go check up on your precious Donnic. And when we're done with that, I'm sleeping for a week. Move, guardswoman."

Aria trotted crossly down the steps, ignoring the witty remark Varric used to comment on the situation. She just wanted this night over with. She wanted her sister to be safe. Even if it meant she was the one who got clapped in irons.

The walk up to the Chantry was blessedly quiet. The night was warm. The breeze flowing in off the sea mingled with the gardens in Hightown and made the wind It lifted Aria's uncharacteristically dark mood. By the time they reached their rendezvous point with Anders, she was almost her normal light-hearted, quick-witted self.

Anders seemed shocked when he saw them climb the steps, but he also seemed very nervous. His eyes flitted between the three avengers, always coming back to Aria. Aria noticed that he'd shaved the week's worth of stubble from his face and straightened his dishwater-blond hair. He even bore the light scent of a reasonably expensive cologne she'd once smelled in a Hightown gift shop.

"I saw Karl go inside a few minutes ago. No templars so far," he said, eying Aveline warily. "Who is this?"

"A friend of Hawke's and no friend of yours. I'm here to make sure you don't get her killed," Aveline curtly stated.

"She is here of her own volition, though I must say I'm happy your sister is not present. I do not wish to drag another mage into this mess," Anders replied, shaking off the stark disapproval in Aveline's tone. He turned to Aria. "Are you ready?"

Aria nodded, taking one more look around the Chantry courtyard. It was quiet. Not a soul in sight. It slightly unnerved her, but she shook off the feeling. "I didn't see anyone suspicious out here. Let's get this over with quickly, shall we? We've yet other affairs to conduct tonight."

"All right," Anders said amiably enough. "I'll do the talking. You watch for templars."

They walked into the Chantry, the well-oiled hinges on the huge doors swinging silently open, then closed again. Aria had never been in the Chantry since she'd come to Kirkwall over a year ago. It had a serenity about it that calmed her singing nerves. The incense wafted to them on the gentle draft that swirled through the entire structure. Honeysuckle, embrium, elfroot, lilac, lavender, and sage. Meant to heal, soothe, and ward off evil spirits.

They followed Anders up a flight of robust stairs and to the right side of the balcony. A man stood next to the pews located there, his head down, his shoulders hunched over. He looked… Lost. Anders went immediately to him, his features radiating anxiety. The man turned and the expression of heartbreak that washed over Anders's face lanced through Aria, who suddenly felt his grief as her own.

"Anders, I know you too well. I knew you would never give up." The man's voice was flat, devoid of any sort of emotion.

Dread stole through Aria. She'd spoken to men like this before in Ferelden. It was the worst fate a mage could ever be damned to, or so Father and Bethany had said. They were rendered simpletons, slaves to a craft with templar masters pushing them.

"What's wrong?" Anders pleaded. "Why are you talking like—"

"I was too rebellious," the man, Karl, flatly continued. "Like you. The templars knew I had to be—made an example of."

"No!" Anders whispered desperately, his terror glaringly evident.

"How else will mages ever master themselves? You'll understand, Anders. As soon as the templars teach you to control yourself," Karl monotoned, his eyes lethargically moving to something behind them.

Aria turned and found an entire troupe of templars swarming the steps. She cursed beneath her breath and drew her daggers. Aveline and Varric readied themselves for the impending battle.

"No!" Anders yelled, doubling over and leaning on his staff for support. He righted himself a moment later, his body glowing from within, cracks in his skin appearing and letting the light lance through. His eyes glowed bluish-white and a terrible energy radiated from every pore in his body.

"You'll never take another mage as you took him!" he boomed, Aria recognizing the same ethereal undertone he'd used when they first met.

He rounded on the templars, his staff issuing bolts of vicious energy that collided with the templars and seared their armour clean off. Aria took this time to use his distraction and create a more palatable environment for their victory.

She bolted to the group of archers assembled behind them in a little alcove to the right of the stairs, snagging a miasmic flask from her belt and tossing it into the air. She spun and kicked it, shattering the glass and stunning powder over their heads. They swayed where they stood, their bows falling in their limp arms. Varric launched a hail of arrows over their heads and Aria went to work, slicing their throats as quickly as she could.

The last of the archers came to before she could get to him and she fought him, dodging and parrying with him as he drew his short sword. She spun in a graceful circle, his blade narrowly missing her abdomen. In the same fluid motion, she beheaded him with the elegant down slice of her on-hand dagger.

Aveline was finishing off a horde of heavily armoured templars, and Anders was launching attack after magical attack at them. Aria raced over, taking advantage of the element of surprise and cutting down two of the four remaining templars while Aveline and Varric finished off the other two.

Once the battle was finished, they returned to Karl where he stood, regarding Anders with terror and awe.

"I—Anders, what did you do? It's like…you brought a piece of the Fade into this world. I had already forgotten what that feels like," he wistfully said as Anders approached him, the glowing from before having ceased.

"What did you do?" Aria asked, her own interest piqued but her defenses on the employ. "Not the Fade part—the angry glowing bit."

"It's like a gateway to the Fade inside you, glowing like a beacon," Karl said in awe.

"I have…some unique circumstances, yes," Anders said, clearly not willing to elaborate and drawing the attention away from him. "But, Karl, what happened? How did they get you?"

"The templars here are far more vigilant than in Ferelden. They found a letter I was writing you…" he trailed off as though trying to remember a distant memory. "You cannot imagine it, Anders. All the color, all the music in the world, gone. I would gladly give up my magic, but this?" His voice cracked, his will visibly broken. "I'll never be whole again."

Aria shook her head. "This is what Bethany fears."

"Please, kill me before I forget again!" Karl pleaded, grasping the collar of Anders's robes. "I don't know how you brought it back, but it's fading."

"Karl, no—"Anders whimpered, taking a step back from his friend, his countenance twisted with grief.

"Maybe we can find a cure," Aria interjected, not fully grasping the gravity of the situation. She did not wish to see anyone else murdered this night for the sake of magic. Even if they asked for it.

"Can you cure a beheading?" Anders bitterly shot at her. "The dreams of Tranquil mages are severed—there is nothing left of them to fix."

"I would rather die a mage than live as a templar puppet," Karl said, his eyes still pleading.

"The Tranquil I've met seem content with their lot," Aria suggested. "Maybe it's not that bad."

"You have no idea," Anders softly said to her as though speaking to a small child. "Your emotions, your dreams, everything—stripped away on someone's whim!" he continued, impassioned. "If I were made Tranquil, I would wish for a friend compassionate enough to kill me. Karl," he said, turning to his friend, his dark eyes soft, tears forming in their corners but not spilling over. "I'm sorry—"

"Now!" Karl gasped. "It's fading…" His eyes clouded over, as they had been when they'd first come upon him. He looked—confused. "Why do you look at me like that?"

Anders's shoulders stooped and he drew the dagger that rested at his waist. "Goodbye," he torturedly murmured, driving the dagger deep into Karl's abdomen. He held the dying mage to him and gently lowered him to the floor. After a moment, he righted himself and turned to his companions.

"We should go before more templars come."

They quickly made their exit, keeping to the shadows as they moved through Hightown and followed the apostate back to his clinic in Darktown. Aveline silently fumed, her green eyes zinging accusatory darts at Aria and spitting malice at Anders. Varric had remained silent most of the night, not finding anything to say that might ease the heavy cloud that settled over them all. He knew when it was best to shut up, thankfully.

By the time they stepped into the clinic, Aria had recovered enough of her former sarcasm and well-oiled sharp wits to be somewhat pleasant company. Aveline left to prepare for the ambush that surely awaited Donnic. Bethany was waiting for them, her face etched with worry.

"So, let me guess. This is the part where you tell me you're an abomination?" Aria ventured once the clinic doors had been closed and the locks thrown in place.

Anders sighed, offering her a half-hearted smile. "You're wrong. But not far wrong. I…this is hard to explain." He dragged his fingers through his hair, then let his hand rest on the back of his neck. "When I was in Amaranthine, I met a spirit of Justice who was trapped outside the Fade. We became friends. And he recognized the injustice that mages in Thedas face every day."

Aria sat at the small work table next to where he stood. She was already extremely weary, and the fact that the night was hardly over weighed heavily on her. "And that's…different than a demon?" she asked, curious.

"Just as demons prey on the deadly sins of mankind, there are good spirits who embody our virtues," he said, sitting across from her, his eyes contemplative. "They are the Maker's first children, and they have all but given up on us."

"What does this have to do with your eyes glowing?" Aria queried, the hint of laughter on her lips.

"To live outside the Fade, he needed a host," Anders answered, offering her a glass of water from the pitcher sitting on the table. Bethany and Varric joined them, taking glasses he offered them and drinking. "I offered to help him… We were going to work together, bringing justice to every child ever ripped away from his mother to be sent to the Circle. But… I guess I had too much anger. Once he was inside me, he…changed."

They were silent for a moment, Aria trying to get a read on Anders's emotions. She didn't like the way he looked so forlorn and abandoned. It did something funny to her heart—it brought a peculiar pain that she didn't exactly dislike.

"This is obviously difficult for you," she said after the moment passed.

"I thought I was helping my friend. He would have—died, I guess. If that even means anything. And he wanted to help me. He knew what mages have suffered."

Bethany rested a hand on his from her perch beside him. "You tried to help a friend. Surely no harm can come of that."

He smiled wistfully at her and gently removed his hand. "I wish I still had your innocence. There was too much hatred in me. Justice thought he would overcome that. But my anger… When I see templars now, things that have always outraged me, but I could never do anything about… He comes out. And he is no longer my friend Justice. He is a force of vengeance. And he has no grasp of mercy."

"Hmm. And the attraction is explained," Aria said softly, her eyes locked on Anders, ignoring the wide-eyed stares from Bethany and Varric.

Anders chuckled lightly, a sound that wasn't at all unpleasant. "Perhaps I should check a looking glass more often. I had not thought to ever find a woman who would look past what I just said."

Anders stood then, and the rest followed suit. They watched as he walked over to a bureau in the corner and opened a drawer. From it, he pulled several rolled scrolls, secured with dull but utilitarian looking string. He handed them to Aria.

"My maps are yours. As am I, if you wish me to join your expedition. I thought I was done with the Grey Wardens, but if you have any need of me… I will be waiting here." He offered Aria his hand, which she took and briskly shook. He let his grasp linger slightly longer than was necessary and it made her heart falter for a couple of beats.

"Get your rest, Anders," she softly said. "I'll be in touch."

"Hopefully soon. Good night, Aria Hawke."