Chapter TWENTY

Several months passed in blessedly uneventful fashion. Bodahn and Sandal had taken up residence in Aria's new home as her menservants. Bodahn had insisted the arrangement as a condition for repaying Aria for saving Sandal in the Deep Roads. Profits from the mines came in, work continued, and Aria found that merchants were willing to gift her their wares if she let them use her as an endorsement. She and Isabela went shopping together. Merrill visited regularly to chit chat idly about the goings on in the alienage. Varric frequented the Hawke estate with updates about the politics of the city and to try out his newest stories on Aria's willing ears. Fenris visited a few times a week, finding Leandra to be a fascinating source of information about Kirkwall. Aveline bugged Aria about helping train recruits who were better suited for Aria's style of fighting.

In all that time, Aria refused to let herself wallow in the darkness that perpetually stalked the edge of consciousness. She made merry, frequenting the Hanged Man in the evenings. She played the socialite, attending teas and parties with her new noble "friends', mostly at her mother's bidding. She worked with the City Guard at Aveline's behest to keep her mind too busy to have time to dwell. She still did the odd job for those seeking to hire her, and several times, she thwarted plots that threatened the city.

Naturally, when Varric informed her that he was throwing a large party at the Hanged Man for all the expeditioners and anyone in Kirkwall who wanted to meet Hawke in person, she had to accept. It was here that everything seemed to come to a head for her.

Aria slammed her empty stein down on the table and licked at the mead that still lingered on her lips. The chamber musicians had just started a rousing, traveler's melody that stirred her blood and made her yearn to move. She winked at Isabela across the table and swiftly stood, nearly unsettling her chair in the wake of her abrupt movement.

She closed her eyes and lifted her arms above her head, allowing the music to seep in through her pores until she felt the beat within her body. Then, she began to move, lithe and slow, allowing the enthralling notes to dictate her movements. She lost herself to the melody, not caring that several of the bar's drunk patrons hooted lewdly and offered empty promises of pleasure they could render if she so agreed. The pace of the music began to quicken, the lute and fiddle engaging in a rousing, haunting duel that spoke of the heartbreak and triumph she'd endured. She was the song's willing slave.

Fenris sat next to Varric and Isabela, tipping his tankard to his lips as Aria stood. They all watched her, enchanted by her sudden, unabashed release. He watched her hips dip and sway, her torso gyrating in perfect synchrony to the melody. Her slender, sinewy arms punctuated her movements, adding flair and deepening the enchantment. She kept her eyes closed as she moved, her expression one of utter rapture. A beautiful flush of soft pink infused her ivory cheeks and curling strands of her silvery hair rebelled from the ornate bun she wore. Sweat began to bead on her skin, lending her countenance an ethereal glow. As the melody deepened and hastened, he could see the slight shimmer of tears in the corners of her closed eyes.

He couldn't take his gaze away from her. A black lace choker adorned with a beautifully cut amethyst sparkled at her white throat. The emerald blouse she'd chosen to wear this evening clung to her ample bosom in the most deliciously distracting fashion, fastened by an amethyst and silver brooch at the lowest juncture of her cleavage as was publicly acceptable. The elegant off-shoulder sleeves flowed down her arms, slit from wrist to shoulder and cascading as she spun and dipped. A couple of the laces at the bottom of the blouse were undone, allowing whoever watched a glimpse of the soft, flat expanse of her white belly and the tiny violet-hued gem that dangled there in her navel. The fitted, pleated black leather skirt she wore was perhaps a little too short, but no one here was going to complain. Her long legs moved just as fluidly as the rest of her body, lending her turns the smoothness and agility they'd all known she possessed. Her soft, black doeskin boots laced up to just under her knees, adding a comely sort of breadth to her muscular calves.

"By the Stone, what's gotten into her?" Varric reverently asked no one in particular, drawing a long sip off his own tankard, his eyes riveted on Aria's face.

"What? She's just dancing," Merrill hiccoughed, looking at her empty tankard with a bit of surprise.

Isabela chuckled, low and suggestively. "She's exorcising her demons. I think I might just join her."

"If that's what it takes to exorcise a demon, I'd gladly possess her," Anders murmured from down the table.

Fenris fought the rage that surged within him at the bawdy banter of his party. He took a steadying draught from his tankard, closing his ears to them so that he may continue watching Aria uninterrupted. He wondered if he could ever have her like this, but to himself. If he could somehow change the world so that was worthy... It angered him that she was so comfortable behaving in such a way with so many hungry eyes and impure thoughts present. And then, he swiftly reprimanded himself. Were his own eyes not so hungry nor his own thoughts so impure? Who was he to stake a claim to her? How could he blame everyone present for wanting her?

She was an enigma. The complete package. To him, Aria Hawke was unbelievably kind, despite her lethal reputation. Her heart was made of solid gold and bigger than the sky. She was fair and just, though anyone who earned her wrath met a swift demise. She was cunning, quick on her feet, adept with the blade as none he'd ever before met. She could drink with the best, and laugh with the rest. Her sardonic sense of humor was much akin to his own. And yet, here and now, she was not a hardened warrior, but pure, soft woman. Joy, pain, beauty, sorrow, hope—she was a beacon for such emotions, and the demons were laying in wait for her, ready to take her at the slightest display of weakness.

Seeing her like this… It added to her depth as he knew it. She was everything a man or elf could ever want. Chaste enough that she would be allowed into the Maker's kingdom, but earthly enough that she never thought herself above anyone. He... Wanted her.

All too soon, the music stopped. The patrons of the bar erupted in raucous but appreciative cheers as Aria's movements halted. Aria blushed and bowed, quickly taking her seat. Before she could ask, Varric handed her another stein of mead. She took an impressive swig of it, draining half the tankard before setting it back down on the table.

It had felt good to move like that, to completely lose herself in the captivating music. Her body surged with warmth and her muscles felt deeply relaxed. For the moment, her troubles were forgotten. The mead heated her belly quite pleasantly and she took in the faces of her party members. She couldn't tell whether they were appalled or mesmerized.

"What?" she managed as she swiped away the slight bit of foam that clung to her upper lip.

"That was bloody incredible," Isabela chortled, smoothing a tawny hand up Aria's alabaster forearm.

"Where'd you learn to dance like that?" Merrill innocently asked, her green eyes wide with wonder as she sat forward, like a small child hearing some grand tale for the first time.

Aria smiled bashfully and cast her gaze downward, fully realizing the effect her little outburst had had on her companions and other present company. "I don't know what came over me. I just wanted to dance."

"I think if you tell Corff before you do that next time, you could stand to make quite a bit of profit," Varric chuckled.

"Here, here!" a couple of drunken eavesdroppers agreed, toasting Varric across the aisle.

Aria chuckled. "I'd rather get my profit by the blade, if that's alright with you lot."

"Some would much prefer that, my lady," Fenris stated softly, his enchanting green eyes meeting hers through the fringe of his reckless, silvery hair. A wry smile tugged at one side of his lips.

"Prefer what, exactly?" Anders snipped, his dark eyes briefly flashing with fury as his gaze leveled on the elf.

"That she acquire her treasure by the blade," Fenris softly replied, ignoring the bite in the mage's tone. His eyes remained on Aria's.

"Right. I think another round is in order," Isabela quipped, seeking to diffuse the growing tension around them. She hailed Corff, who quickly set up a tray to be delivered.

"Agreed. Settle down, gentlemen. Tonight is for celebration! Haven't we fought enough the past year? Let us simply enjoy ourselves," Aria concurred, clinking the rim of her tankard against the one proffered by Varric in a companionable toast. "So! Tell me, Varric—what do you plan on doing with that mountain of gold?"

Varric chuckled warmly and winked at Hawke. "I'm trying to get Aveline to let me petition for partial ownership of this place."

"Oh? That should be an interesting venture," Aria replied, unable to appease the sudden thrill in her pulse when her eyes met Fenris's again briefly.

"I'm inclined to agree. You've given me an idea, Hawke," Varric continued, leaning forward towards her, cradling his tankard in the crook of his arm on the table. "Dancers. To do the stuff like you and Isabela do. Might even ask you to headline."

Aria thumped him lightly on the head with her index fingertip and he sat back, laughing heartily to himself. "I dance for no one's entertainment but my own," she growled.

"Well, if she won't, Varric, I certainly am up for the idea," Isabela contributed, suggestively bumping the side of her leg against his.

"Ha! I knew you would be, Rivaini. See, Hawke? This is the spirit!"

"Mmm," Aria murmured through another long sip of her mead. "But see, Isabela is quite given to her lust. I'm not so ready."

"Awww, spoil sport," Isabela chortled, flicking a shelled peanut at Aria.

Aria laughed and flicked it back at her. "Your virtue, or lack thereof is quite apparent. Mine, however—"

"Oh shut up! You're just more discrete!" Isabela interjected before the other rogue could finish.

"Discrete at what?" Merrill burped, taking the full pint that Norah offered her. "I'm confused."

Aria laughed again, throwing her head back and ignoring Merrill for the moment. "I bet you've seen more action than a harlot on a boat full of men at sea. Oh wait, that was you! Nevermind!"

Their entire party erupted in laughter, Isabela included. "Touché, Hawke. But don't try to claim utter innocence when we all know far better!"

"Do we? Where have I been?" Varric added, looking in mock surprise at Aria. "When have you ever been anything but sweet and innocent?" He looked over at Anders. "I heard she wears a chastity belt to bed."

Anders coughed on the draught he'd just taken from his glass. "How would I know?"

"Oh! You're talking about sex!" Merrill suddenly gushed. They all laughed and Varric clapped an arm around the Dalish elf's shoulders.

"Daisy, I don't know if you should be listening to this conversation," Varric teased.

"Pfff! I've had sex. Lots of it in fact. At the summer solstice—"

"Merrill, elven orgies don't count," Anders deadpanned. Laughter ensued again and Merrill seemed even more confused, but rather than debate, she simply drowned herself in her pint of mead.

"Seriously though, Hawke, when was the last time you had a man—or a woman?" Isabela pressed once the laughter had subsided again, her question asked in earnest.

Aria sat back in her chair, her fingertips steepled and pressed against her lips. She sat there for a moment, honestly trying to remember her last intimate encounter. Sure, she was no stranger to the joys of the flesh, but it simply hadn't been a pressing matter as of late. At least, not until certain men and elves entered the picture. The last time she'd had a man… It was the templar in training, Ser Devon. Maker, had she almost forgotten him?

"Andraste's flaming ass, has it been that long?" Isabela pressed after a moment.

Aria laughed. "You know, I'm having a hard time remembering. It was before we came to Kirkwall, that's for certain."

Fenris had listened to this crude exchange, hating them all for their indiscretion. Such private matters shouldn't be so openly discussed. If it were just them in the room, he wouldn't have been so angry. They'd had far more risque conversations on the road, after all. But, with Aria's inability to contribute anything scandalous to the conversation, he found his ire subsiding.

She hadn't been with anyone since he'd known her. It was an unexpected relief. His greatest fear was that she'd been with Anders, but that had been dispelled. She remained untainted by the filth of magic, despite being nearly drowned in it by present company. Someone as beautiful and charismatic as she, with her rising status, would have no trouble entertaining herself with libidinous conquests, however she sought no such diversions. He should have known better than to think so lowly of her.

"For the love of the Maker, we need to get you some action, woman!" Isabela hooted, taking the fresh tankard offered by Norah.

"It could do you some good, Hawke," Varric agreed, smiling mischievously over the rim of the glass as he too took another drink.

Aria shrugged. She supposed she should have been aggravated or affronted by this conversation, but her personal life was not something she needed to hide. She simply hadn't done anything that could be considered a grave indiscretion. She had no immoral vices except the love of the drink after hard-won battles. And between Varric's stories and the accounts of people with whom she'd worked over the past couple of years, everyone knew everything about her anyway.

She stole a glance in both Fenris's and Anders's directions and found Fenris looking off into space, his expression softly contemplative. What did he think of the turn of this conversation? Surely he'd had his fair share of conquests. He was not one to brag, but his ethereal appeal was universal. She even believed that Anders might even find the elf attractive, if he didn't harbor such a deep-seated hatred for magic. She knew Isabela had tried her hand at seducing the liberated slave. She didn't know ,however, if the little high-seas temptress had succeeded in that endeavor. She feared she might think less of Fenris if Isabela had. And Anders… He was just too consumed with his ideas of revolution to even want to dally with the pleasures a woman's or man's body had to offer.

"How is that mansion suiting you, Hawke?"

Anders' question snapped her from her thoughts immediately. She turned to him, smiling easily.

"It's a far cry better than Gamlen's, I assure you. I'm not quite certain what to do with all the space. My bed chambers alone are larger than Gamlen's entire home," Aria replied without missing a beat.

"Oh! We need to get you a wardrobe. Or five. And there's this hat shop in Lowtown that is the pirate's beard around here. Honestly, we need to drop some coin there, you and I," Isabela brightly suggested, leaning across the table towards Aria.

"Haven't we shopped enough? I don't much care for high fashion, Isabela," Aria chimed. "It is your influence that I even wore this outfit this evening instead of my armour."

"Bitch. It looks far better on you than it did on me," Isabela laughed, the compliment evident in her smiling face.

"You do look ravishing. Perhaps you should take her advice and let her select a wardrobe more suited to your new title," Varric agreed. "C'mon Hawke. Live a little!"

"It's a pretty outfit," Merrill said, nodding her agreement.

Aria shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "I've never been one to—"

Just then a stranger tapped her on the shoulder. He was a guardsman, though he was currently off duty. She wondered idly if he had been listening in on the entire conversation. His timing was a little too perfect, but she pointedly ignored that fact.

"Serah Hawke, pardon my intrusion but I was just wondering if you would grant me the honor of a dance?"

He was actually quite handsome. Tall, strawberry blond, sturdy of build, honest of face. His eyes were a comely shade of grey that reminded her of a stormy sky—uh oh, she'd had this thought before. He had a smattering of freckles across his nose and his lips were curled in a dashing smile. Grinning, Aria looked to her companions.

"Well, I would be truly coldhearted to deny such a polite request," Aria said, allowing the guardsman to pull her from her chair and lead her to the small clearing that served as the tavern's dance floor.

Fenris and Anders glared at the pair as they began to dance to the rousing melody played by the musicians. Anders turned to look at Fenris, his expression changing from anger to something akin to camaraderie. Fenris continued to glower, both at the guard and at Anders. He did not like this turn of events one bit. But then, his feelings on the issue didn't matter, did they? She was human, almost a noble, and a worthy warrior. What would she ever see in a lowly elven squatter like himself?

"So, guardsman, what is your name?" Aria asked as he began to lead her around the floor.

"Perrin," he replied. "I am a transfer from the Free Marches."

"What brings you to Kirkwall, Ser Perrin?" she continued, allowing him to spin her back to him, embrace her, then release her again.

"My mother was in Ferelden. She fled the blight here, while I was serving in the army of the Free Marches with my father. So, we came here to start over after having served our tours of duty," Perrin answered, smiling politely.

"A noble pursuit," Aria agreed.

"Serah Hawke, I've heard so much about you from the captain. Is it true that you felled a darkspawn ogre with just a dagger?" Perrin questioned, genuinely interested.

Aria laughed. "Ah, Aveline. At least you heard it from her instead of Varric. She tends to stick closer to the facts."

"So it is true?" Perrin eagerly pressed, spinning her again.

"Well, not exactly. It was two daggers, not one."

Perrin burst out laughing. "A major detail, to be sure."

"You never know—sometimes the tide of the battle can rest on a dagger alone."

"Most wise, Serah Hawke, most wise," he chuckled earnestly.

"Do call me Aria. Obviously we're not strangers anymore and the titles people bestow upon each other rarely do anything to explain the true nature of a person," she said, swaying gently with him.

"Aria, then. What happened in the Deep Roads? Many people had given you up for dead fools when they learned Bartrand was back with no other survivors."

"The Deep Roads," Aria said on a shudder. "It is not a place I would gladly enter again, that's for certain."

"I understand," he softly said. "It was not a battle of glory?"

"Yes, of course it was," she quickly replied, "It was just that I did not care much for it at all. You're under the earth and it's not very stable. Give me the sky over my head any day, not the entire country."

Perrin laughed again, throwing his head back a bit, his grey eyes lightening. Aria found his laughter pleasant, as well as the ease with which he expressed his mirth. Then again, she was about five pints in—Maker help her. "I never thought of it that way. Bloody hell, I understand," he said, pulling her a little closer.

Just then, someone tapped the guard on the hip. Aria was pleasantly shocked to see Varric standing there. The dwarf looked up at the guard, a glib smile on his lips.

"Excuse me, Ser Perrin, but I must humbly request that I take the next dance with Serah Hawke, if you please," Varric silver-tongued, his eyes hinting a hidden motive to Aria.

"Of course, Ser dwarf," Perrin replied, handing Hawke over to the rogue. "Perhaps we shall speak again later, Aria," the guard said with a bow.

"Perhaps, Perrin," Aria chimed, turning to look at Varric. "What are you up to?" she asked as soon as Perrin was out of earshot.

Varric chuckled. "Me?" he asked, feigning hurt at her accusation.

Aria glowered down at him, allowing him to turn her so that they were facing away from their companions' table. "I know that look all too well, Varric."

He sighed. "Ah, Hawke. So many people seeking your attention, and yet you're oblivious."

She groaned. "I'm not oblivious. It's quite taxing and I don't know what to make of it most of the time."

"Well, make of it what you will, but I'm going to offer you an inside look at the situation," Varric kindly offered. "Aveline was just in the doorway."

"Aveline?" Aria exclaimed. "She said she had a night patrol this evening. It's perfectly plausible—"

"Don't rationalize. Just listen. Perrin was a decoy. She's trying to set you up with someone more…suitable," Varric murmured, trying to keep his voice low enough that no one else would hear.

"Oh really? More suitable? What exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"C'mon, Aria," he chuckled, using her first name and alerting her to the gravity of the situation, "We all know the triangle between the vengeful mage, the Tevinter elf, and the rising star."

Aria groaned again. "Well, I can manage my own love life, thank you very much."

They swayed with the sweet melody in comfortable silence for a few moments, pointedly ignoring their friends. Aria mulled over the idea that Aveline was starting to meddle. She had to laugh. Aveline. Helping her in the romance department. That was almost as good as Isabela trying to aid a cleric with studies of Andraste.

"She's just trying to help you, I think. At least she has good taste," Varric said as Aria laughed.

"Though I appreciate the gesture, I think I'm quite capable of handling my own affairs."

"Are you? Because you seem to be trying awfully hard to convince yourself," he laughingly challenged.

She sighed and bowed her head. "Maker help me."

"I don't think even he would like to be in your boots right now."

"Varric, you speak with everyone. You know people's intentions and you are a good judge of character. What would you do?"

"Oh no. You're not getting off that easy, Hawke. No one can decide but you. Ask yourself though, what could you live with?"

"What do you mean?" Aria asked, puzzled.

They turned again and she allowed Varric to spin her, awkward as it was dancing with a dwarf. She was tall for a human woman. She noticed then that Anders was leaving the tavern. He cast a longing, hurt look her way before disappearing into the darkness beyond the tavern's open door.

Varric also witnessed the mage's exit. "If Blondie had his way, the Chantry would be crushed. And with Vengeance, not just Justice dwelling within him, I don't know if he could control himself should the need arise. He's a loose cannon."

"That worries me more than you know," Aria allowed, feeling Fenris's gaze upon her.

"If the elf had his way, mages would fare no better in Kirkwall than they would if Knight Commander Meredith was let off her leash. How would he treat Bethany?" Varric elaborated for her.

"You're wrong. And, he likes Bethany," Aria defended.

"That he does. But do you think you could change his stance when it comes to all mages? His hatred runs a lot deeper than those lyrium scars."

"He's already started to. Varric, he's different when he's with me."

"He's very fond of you," Varric agreed. "But so is Blondie."

They were silent again for a moment as they danced, each considering what the other had said. Aria tried to come up with a way to create a metaphor that Varric could relate to. Something he could emotionally grasp. At last, it formed in her mind and she let it loose from her lips.

"Let us say for a moment that you found another crossbow—"

"Blasphemy!" Varric interrupted, playfully scowling at her.

"Just shush a moment and listen," Aria countered, laughter bubbling her tone. "I've granted you the right to say your piece, now let me share mine."

"I'm listening," the dwarf grudgingly conceded.

"You find another crossbow, comparable to Bianca, with just as much awe inspiring beauty and lethality."

"Never going to happen, but continue," he chuckled.

Aria smiled. "And that crossbow needed you, like Bianca needs you. Her need was so great that it just…beat at you every moment of every day. You knew that you had the power to turn her into something absolutely amazing. What would you do?"

"I see the point you're trying to make, Hawke, but it just doesn't carry the right weight with me," he earnestly replied, the song ending.

"Then you understand?"

"I understand. Just—be careful. It would crush more than just my heart if you came to harm. How could I write a compelling tale if the hero is destroyed before she even has a chance to do some real good?"

Aria laughed, clapping the dwarf on the shoulder as they walked back to the table. "Why, Varric! That's the stuff of which legends are made!"

"I'll give you that, Hawke. I'll give you that," Varric chuckled, snatching two fresh pints from the table and handing one to her. "To legends!"

"To legends!" Aria chimed, clinking the rim of her stein against his and then draining the entire thing with him.

She wiped the foam from her lips and looked around the tavern, then set the empty vessel on the table. Isabela smiled warmly. Merrill was reading something carved into the table. Fenris leaned forward intently, as if he had been eavesdropping on the entire conversation. Aria did not doubt for a second that his keen elven ears had heard enough. If not, everything. She groaned internally.

"I think it is time I retired. I fear the headache that's sure to come in the morning if I don't quit now while I'm ahead," Aria addressed them all.

"Awww, but when is it my turn to dance?" Isabela pouted, a devilish glint to her eyes. She looked to Fenris. "Care to—"

"Not tonight. I think I'm going to retire as well," Fenris curtly replied, finishing his own drink and gracefully rising to his feet.

"I'll dance with you!" Merrill chimed, her eyes eager and her cheeks flushed with the presence of alcohol.

Isabela grinned widely and took the elven mage's hand. "You all go ahead then. We'll have fun without you."

Varric shook his head as they watched the pirate and the pariah ascend the stairs to the tavern's private rooms. "And the dwarf drinks alone."

"Get some rest, Varric. You'll need it to concoct some more of your wild tales," Aria kindly stated, resting her hand on his shoulder.

"Or to stave off whatever cretins you pit us against tomorrow," he teased, resting his hand over hers. "Good night, Aria."

She smiled and turned to walk to the door. Fenris waited for her there. As she reached him, he offered her his arm with a gentlemanly flourish.

"We are going in the same direction and these streets are fraught with brigands and slavers at night," he said as she accepted his offer. The pretense was unnecessary, but if it made him feel better, she simply played along.

"Thank you, Fenris," she murmured, carefully avoiding his gaze. She realized again that for an elf, he was quite tall. It was rare that someone looked over her head. Rarer still that they be elven.

"You're most welcome, my lady," he softly replied, opening the door for her.

They walked in silence for a few moments, each looking up at the stars. The moon was not visible in this part of town, but its light was great enough to illuminate the streets before them with its wan, silvery glow. A warm wind wafted the perfume of wild flowers from Lady Elegant's potion stand as they walked past and ascended the stairs towards High Town.

"It is odd to see a dwarf dance so easily with a human," he said at length, a slight chuckle lacing his tone.

Aria smiled and leaned a little closer to him as she steadied herself in their climb. "Varric is comfortable with himself."

"Yes, he certainly is," Fenris replied, his free hand resting on her arm to aid her.

"Have you seen many dwarves in your travels?" she asked, smiling up at him and allowing herself to look into his eyes as they walked.

They stopped walking and he stared down into her eyes for a moment before replying. "I have seen a few, yes. None so slick and cocksure as Varric, to be certain. But he has a good heart and a knack for storytelling."

"That he does," she agreed, allowing him to lead their walking again. She stumbled a little and began laughing. "I'm so sorry. I think I had a few too many."

Fenris chuckled. "You're always so quick to apologize. Why is that?"

"I honestly don't know. I just—hate being a bother to anyone."

"You're no bother, Aria," he quietly stated, steadying her again.

"I'm quick to apologize and you're quick to dismiss my…transgressions. Why is that?"

"They aren't transgressions. Though you are an extraordinary person, there is no reason for you to apologize for being normal," he murmured, holding her closer as they alighted the top step leading to Hightown.

"Normal," she snorted. "I don't think there is such a thing."

He chuckled warmly and steadied her again as they turned towards the estates. "No, but there are—parameters."

She laughed bitterly. "Parameters are measures for control. I don't much care to be among the controlled."

"Nor do I, my lady," he agreed, his tone just as bitter.

"You more than almost everyone I know," she said, stumbling again and nearly dragging the both of them down as she almost fell.

"Varric said something about Aveline meddling as a means to thank you," he said as they righted themselves.

"Ah that. I knew you were listening," Aria softly stated, focusing hard on the gateway before them to steady her whirling senses. "What all did you hear?"

"Everything you said, everything the guard said, everything Varric said," he replied, his voice deepening.

"Fenris—"

"I know my stance on mages is a deterrent to you. I know my place in this world and I won't try to upset that balance for my own selfish reasons," he somberly interjected.

Aria gasped, affronted. "Your stance on mages is understandable and expected. I'd be the same in your shoes," Aria countered. "And what do you mean about your place in this world?"

"Look at me, Aria. I'm an elven fugitive. I've already upset the balance by refusing my place," he replied, stopping and turning her to face him fully.

"Now you sound like the Arishok. Would you go back?" she quietly asked.

"Never," he bitterly spat.

"Then that was not your place, Fenris. Your place is here. Now. Doing whatever it is you desire to do. That is your place. Not what someone else decides," Aria passionately defended.

He hooked her arm again and they resumed walking, her estate door in view. "It heartens me that you say that."

"Mmm. It does?" she asked, swaying a little on her feet. "Oh sweet Maker. I need to go to bed."

"It does. Is Bodahn in to help you to bed?" he asked, stopping again and once more steadying her, his arm around her waist.

"Probably, but don't wake him. I'll just…crash on the sitting room sofa," she drunkenly replied, the full effects of the alcohol slamming into her. "You know, I could say anything I want right now and it wouldn't matter."

He quietly laughed, his voice a deep rumble in his throat. "You say what you want regardless, Aria."

"Not always," she giggled, sitting down on the ledge of a flowerbed. She was too dizzy at the moment to continue. "If I did, there would be a war. Or at least a good fight or two."

"I'm never opposed to a good fight," he chuckled, sitting next to her.

"Oh, I think you would be to this one."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I can't really say," she hedged, still possessing enough sense not to remove her thoughts' filter completely. If she did... Well. She couldn't ask him to marry her when she was drunk.

"Then tell me one thing," he gently pressed, leaning back against the tree that stood in the center of the enormous flowerbed and tilting his head sideways to look at her. "When Varric was talking about Anders and me, was he warning you to not get involved with either one of us?"

She mulled it over for quite a long time. She looked up at the stars once more, trying to collect her alcohol-garbled thoughts well enough that what she had to say would be coherent enough for him to understand.

"Yes and no. He just wants me to make a choice that I can live with."

"Aria, I'm not going to warn you away from me. And I will say that it's really no secret that I find you…irresistible," he said slowly.

"I have a feeling there's a 'but' coming on," she groaned, leaning back and promptly falling off the flowerbed ledge into a bush.

Fenris laughed heartily, an odd sound coming from him. He pulled her back up into a sitting position. "Perhaps, but let's not dwell on it tonight. It's enough to know that I am at least winning your favor."

"At least," she grunted as he hauled her to her feet. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Aria, you are drunk. I highly doubt you'll even remember this conversation when you wake," he hedged her query.

"I'm not that drunk," she said, burping. "Ugh. I'm so sorry."

"And yet you prove my point," he chuckled.

"I tell you what—tell me something now that you don't think I will remember, and ask it of me tomorrow," she huffed, rising unsteadily to her feet.

"I'm not willing to make such a gamble," he softly replied, also getting to his feet.

"You're no fun," Aria grumbled, stumbling towards her door, which was still at least fifty yards away.

He trotted to her side and took up her arm again, leading her closer to her door once more. "I am fun in my own right," he defended. "I'll strike you a bargain. You tell me something and I'll tell you something. If you don't remember, I'll forget it. If you do remember, well… We will just have to go from there."

"A bargain. Hmm. What would I only tell you if I was drunk?" she giggled, swaying against him.

He caught her and held her to him, looking down into her eyes. He smoothed her flyaways away from her face and she smiled at him. Her tawny eyes shimmered in the moonlight, her silvery hair dazzling. His thumb traced the line of her cheekbone, then down her jaw.

"Actually, I think you should go first," she murmured, lost in his eyes. The warmth and dizzying effects of the alcohol heightened the feelings she had for him, feelings she really couldn't express. Feelings that she was afraid so many would hate her for having, that she feared few would forgive her for. And when he touched her, she couldn't think straight. Now, it nearly drove her mad.

"Alright," he softly conceded. "I don't think I deserve to be here, holding you like this, especially in your current state."

Aria giggled quietly, her retort swift. "Alright then, I think you're wrong. And I think there's no one else I'd rather have here, holding me like this, in any state."

Laughter bubbled in his throat again and she catalogued it in her mind as her new favorite sound. "Now we'll see if you remember saying that, tomorrow."

"I'll remember," she gently replied, touching the side of his face with her hand.

He covered her hand with his. "I hope you do."

"I will," Aria whispered.

"Let's get you inside," he also whispered, leading her once more toward her house.

They stopped outside the front door. Aria covered his hand as he reached for the door handle. Fenris looked back at her, his silvery hair sliding over one of his eyes, his gaze questioning. She traced one of the lyrium brands on his chin with her forefinger, marveling at the beauty of it. Her pulse quickened when he shuddered and gooseflesh appeared on his neck.

"Will you—be ok?" he asked after a moment had passed.

"I'll be fine," she replied, casting her gaze downward.

He caught her chin in his hand, drawing her face back up. "Aria…"

"Yes?" she airily asked, her gaze darting expectedly to his lips then back to his eyes.

"Good night," he murmured, releasing her chin and opening the door for her.

"Good night, Fenris," she replied, looking down and entering the doorway, not wanting him to see the bitter disappointment that washed over her. He closed it for her, keeping his gaze downcast.

Aria threw the bolts to lock the door, then stumbled over to her arm chair by the fire in the great hall. Sandal's snores reached her ears, but it was the only sound in the mansion. She stared at the dying flames for a good long while, trying to make sense of everything that had happened in the past few months alone.

Sighing, she wobbled over to the stash of firewood by the hearth and threw a few good-sized logs in. She grabbed a large bottle of spirits that Aveline had gifted her from the shelf next to the hearth and sat back down. She used her dagger to uncork it and took a giant, appreciative swig. It burned all the way down her throat, stinging so much that tears ran down her cheeks. Those tears opened the flood gates for more, borne not of physical pain, but that of emotions kept bottled for far too long.

She couldn't contain it all anymore. Taking another long, hearty draught from the bottle, she allowed herself to weep. She wept for Carver, her brother who had not even begun to live as a man, even though they had never really gotten along. She wept for Bethany, who was now in the clutches of the two warring powerhouses in Kirkwall, a pawn to be pushed while those in power gambled with lives not their own. She wept for mother, who had lost so much in her life, who had no reason to care about anything anymore, and yet still remained strong, kind, and thankful. She wept for Varric, whose own brother had left him for dead and how he had no real family anymore. She wept for Merrill, the poor Dalish who just couldn't understand the danger she faced with her preoccupation with history and demons. She wept for Anders, as she watched Justice slowly erode away the man he'd once been into a zealot, hellbent on the world's destruction. But lastly, she wept for herself and for Fenris.

Aria was so tired. Bartrand's betrayal had stunned her. The expedition into the Deep Roads had left her weary, footsore, and emotionally drained. Coming home and losing her sister to the Circle had been a knife twisted straight to her heart. She should have taken her into the Deep Roads. Then Bethany might still be free of the Circle.

But the biggest contributing factor to this breakdown was Fenris. She wanted him so much, like nothing and no one she'd ever wanted before. Her heart shattered with the depth of her feelings for him. His eyes haunted her. His plight beat at her. She could see the good in him, see what he could become if only he'd just let go of some of that hatred. She wept for the pain he had endured, for the life that he had known before—for the unspeakable torture she knew he'd endured but refused to speak. She fought to make him see how much he had to offer, if he'd just allow himself. Though he was outspoken in his hatred of magic, she knew he was seeing the good sides to it, as modeled by her sister and even Anders. She knew that he could be one of the greatest people to ever walk Thedas.

Aria dropped the empty bottle when she heard footsteps on the stairs. It rattled along the stone floor, deafening in the comparative silence of the mansion. It stopped with a loud, dull "thunk" when it hit the leg of her writing desk. The feeble light of dawn filtered through the windows upstairs. She drunkenly lifted her head to see her mother alighting the bottom step of the stair case then, her robe tucked snugly around her, her eyes filled with worry. Leandra saw the look on her daughter's face and she trotted hastily over, tears springing to her own eyes.

"Mama, I'm so sorry," Aria sobbed against her shoulder as the matriarch enveloped her in her arms.

Leandra smoothed her daughter's hair and held her. "My child, you have nothing to be sorry for. I'm so proud of you."

"I just…I can't…" Aria sobbed brokenly, unable to put all the thoughts and emotions into any semblance of words.

"Shhh, Aria. Let's get you to bed, hmm? Everything will look much rosier in the morning," Leandra gently said, helping tug her drunk and weary child to her feet.

Aria sniffled and looked up at the great windows above them as they climbed the stairs. "It is morning."

Leandra smiled and pointed to the glow of the dawn on the walls opposite the windows. "And see? Much rosier already."

Aria laughed and sniffled again, swiping drunkenly at her eyes and snotty nose with her free arm. "Yes. Yes it is."

"Come on child, let's get you to bed. You've been running so hard for so long, you don't know whether you're going or coming anymore," the matriarch kindly murmured, helping Aria through the threshold of her room.

Leandra fetched her nightgown while Aria undressed, handing it to her as soon as she was ready. They sat at the foot of the bed, Leandra pulling the pins from Aria's hair. She grabbed the brush off the nightstand and combed through the few snarls in her daughter's long, silvery tresses. After a few moments, she pulled back the blankets for her devastated child and tucked her in, as though she was just a little girl again.

"Mama?" Aria sleepily asked as her mother strode slowly towards the door.

"Yes?"

"When you left with Papa, were you worried about what everyone else thought of you?"

Leandra turned and came back into the room, sitting on the side of the bed and tucking one of Aria's stray locks behind her ear. "At first. But I loved him, and he loved me. I wouldn't trade any of it away for a different story. Why do you ask?"

"I'm too drunk to remember this I think, but—Mama, I'm in love."

Leandra smiled. "With that dashing, brooding, magic-hating elf?" she said, her voice trembling with laughter.

Aria groaned. "He's not as bad as everyone thinks. You just have to work a little harder to get to his core. He's good at his core, Mama. I can see it."

"Birdie," she said, using her daughter's shortened childhood pet name, "If youlove him, that's all that matters. What other people think does not. You have to live with your choices, not them." She bent and kissed her child on the forehead. "Sleep now. No more tears are necessary. I'm so proud of you and grateful for you. And most of all, I love you."

"I love you, Mama," she sleepily replied, losing the battle with her heavy eyelids.

Leandra watched her daughter sleep for a few moments, marveling at the changes that had come to her face over the past few years. She was no longer a child. She was a hardened, noble, and strong young woman. She was well-loved and well-hated. Leandra allowed a few tears to fall down her own cheeks. She really was so very proud of her little girl. Birdie had worked so hard and given their family so much. It pained her how much her child blamed herself for their plight. Couldn't she see how much she had accomplished? Didn't she see how the people in this town looked at her—reverence and respect? Smiling, she adjusted the blankets over Aria's sleeping shoulders and retreated to her own chambers across the hall. She was, above all else, a proud Mother.