Author's Note: I recently realized that I've been working on this story for three, almost four years! ZOMG! Anyway, I'm trying to focus on this one, ignoring the other two, until it's finished.

Chapter Thirty-Four: Wasted Efforts

Varric sat and shuffled his cards, taking in all that surrounded him. To his left was Merril, chirping on and on about having sailed for the first time in her life, not really noticing whether anyone was listening or not. Sitting across from her, and barely paying attention, was an unusually quiet Sebastian. The Choir Boy's dark mood worried Varric, as there wasn't very much that could dampen the Brother's spirits, but he tabled the mystery for now.

Speaking of dark moods, Anders sat next to Sebastian and directly across from Varric, quiet and sullen—which was becoming more and more like him as of late. Varric wondered what could be going on in Blondie's head, noting the dark circles under the eyes and the overlong stubble on his cheeks, the straggling hairs coming loose from his ponytail and the shaking of his hands as he clasped them on the tabletop. Some of it might be from worrying over Hawke while he was gone. Then again… hadn't Anders been planning something to get rid of Justice? Could something to do with his mysterious plot be what was troubling him?

Varric let that little enigma go, too, as there wasn't very much he could do about it right then. He split the deck in two, half for each hand, and shuffled the two parts back into one.

Aveline was there that night, again something unusual; her duties as Captain of the City Guard left her with too many responsibilities to be able to get away even for an evening of drink and camaraderie. But it seemed tonight would be a night of exceptions, as Aveline stood at the bar, rubbing elbows with Hawke on one side and Isabela on the other, while waiting for the next round of drinks.

Then the last two of the party arrived, Fenris and Hrodwynn, and Varric felt his heart give a lurch of sympathy. Neither one of them looked happy, Fenris' eyes almost continually watching her, while Hrodwynn quietly took a seat at the end of the table, as far as possible from Anders—or Sebastian, for that matter. Anders grew even more quiet, refusing to acknowledge their arrival, pulling away from Fenris who had sat down next to him. Sebastian looked uncomfortable as well, not daring to look up for longer than a second lest he accidentally lock eyes with them. Merril, bless her, kept up her prattle, as innocent of the tension in the room as she was of life in general.

Or was she? Varric had to wonder. Merril's voice gave a funny sort of warble just as Hrodwynn was reaching out to take a tankard from Isabela. Varric had seen it too, the reason why Merril had been startled or distracted. Hrodwynn's hand was still twisted, though less so, and judging by the way Anders' eyes grew hard at the sight, Varric had a suspicion that he wasn't the cause of the botched job—not directly, at any rate.

"Everyone's here?"

Hrodwynn had been intent on finishing her tankard in one go, and for some reason ended up half-choking on a mouthful of ale at Hawke's question—undoubtedly due to the piss-poor quality of the brew. She managed to empty her cup at the second go, and barely noticed it when Fenris passed his untouched tankard over to her

"Good!" Hawke proclaimed, looking around the table for an empty seat. Hrodwynn had inadvertently taken Isabela's seat at one end of the table, and Aveline now sat between her and Varric. Isabela then had sauntered down to the other end of the table, taking Hawke's seat. Fenris was hovering so close to Hrodwynn, and inadvertently away from Anders, who had been leaning away himself ever since they sat down, that it made it appear there was just enough space between them for one more. Hawke sighed, tried not to roll his eyes, and took the available roost. "Very good. Now, before Isabela hands out our shares, and we end up drinking and gambling and losing all that coin right back to her, I think this calls for a toast."

It most certainly does not, Varric countered silently to himself, but he could appreciate what Hawke was trying to do, lighten the mood and ease the tensions of those around them. Of course, he wasn't going about it properly. Quickly taking matters in hand, Varric stood and lifted his tankard, "I agree, and I've got one. If you'll allow."

Hawke tried not to show the relief as he relinquished the chore to the dwarf.

"Today is an anniversary," he began, "Of a sort. It was on this day, six years ago, that I met Hawke for the first time. I know, I know, it sounds mushy, but it truly was a life-changing experience. If it hadn't been for Hawke," he raised his tankard even higher, "I wouldn't be here today. I'd probably be dead, somewhere in the Deep Roads, betrayed by my own brother. The rest of you, too," he looked around at each of them, "Owe something to this man. A life," Aveline nodded to herself, "A love," Anders' cheeks tinted slightly, "A small fortune," Isabela smirked. "Whatever it is, you know your life has been better, because Hawke has been in it. So here's a toast: To Hawke!"

"To Hawke," they all responded, some a bit too loudly, some barely moving their lips, but all their tankards raised.

"To Hawke," the rest of the bar eagerly picked up the cheer, either raising their own tankards our pounding them on the tables, or a little bit of both. "Speech! Speech! Speech!"

"Are you trying to start a riot," Aveline hummed to Varric as he retook his seat, her voice barely carrying over the racket despite her sitting right next to him.

"Nah," Varric sipped at his mug, watching Hawke soak in the praise, "Just creating a little diversion, so I can take care of some business before all the fun starts. Button, you alright?"

He spoke quietly, past the front of Aveline, while Hawke stepped up onto the bench to address his admirers in the bar. "Friends, and strangers, all, thank you for…"

"No," she whispered back, staring at her-formerly-Fenris' mug, reluctant to say anything more. Aveline's expression grew motherly, and her hand on her shoulder was comforting, but she simply could not continue.

"…all the struggles, the fights, the drinking, sometimes more than one at a time…" A roar of laughter followed Hawke's remark.

"We went to the Gallows," Fenris supplied, knowing the storyteller in Varric wouldn't rest until he got the full explanation, "To have her hand healed. There'd been a woman there a few years ago, a mage named Vera, who healed me after that fight with Ser Alrik."

"…and then there was the time Benton lost his knickers playing darts with…"

"We thought to ask for her again, only Vera had been made Tranquil. By Meredith's orders."

Merril's gasp carried the length of the table. "But… why?"

"…and then he said, but that was my feather! Ha, ha, ha…"

"She broke some stupid, silly rule," Hrodwynn finally found her voice, though it was bitter and angry. "Some lame excuse, about being out after curfew or something. She had been here in Lowtown healing someone, but forgot to send word that she'd be late, and got back to the Gallows after curfew, and they made her Tranquil for it. They made an example of her. I thought, getting rid of Ser Alrik, I thought the mages would be safer now in the Circle. But it's worse than ever!"

"Again, I warned you…" Anders' voice hissed and carried and penetrated through Hawke's speech, "But you've stopped listening to me. You ALL have stopped listening to me!"

"…for the slice of pie, erm… Apple. It was apple pie, and…"

Actually, quite the opposite of Anders' words was true, as everyone in the tavern had stopped listening to Hawke and was fully focused on the rogue mage. He was unaware of the scrutiny, his eyes only on those at the table, his supposed 'friends.' As he continued, he swept his gaze around to each of them in turn, as if accusing and condemning them all, as if holding them personally liable. "I've said it for years. I've LIVED it for years! The system is faulty. The absolute power given to the Templars has corrupted them, and the Circles are beginning to break down! A war is coming, a revolution. And those who have been oppressed for ages will be free!"

"Anders…"

There'd been a bit of blue-white glow in his eyes, or perhaps it had been a trick of the light; it was too hard to tell. There might also have been a bit of otherworldly power in his voice, an ethereal echo that suffused the sounds, but again it might have been imagined. Might have been. Yet Anders' face was the one that focused on Hawke, and Anders' eyes that grew remorseful and fearful, and Anders' voice that broke as he realized what he had almost done, broke as he moaned, "Maker, help me…"

Even as Anders raced out of the Hanged Man, Hawke was on his heels.

The others began to stand, but Varric stopped them. "No, guys, leave them be. This is something they have to work out, or rather, Anders has to work out on his own. Hawke will be there for him, that's all he needs. Well, that, and a few other random items."

"What do you mean?" Aveline pressed.

"Oh, well, I probably shouldn't be telling you this," the smirk on his face spoke plainly of how he had been waiting to do that very thing. He leaned back from the table, and everyone else leaned in to hear, "But a few months ago, he was working on something, something special, and was asking me if I knew where to get a couple of, erm, rather scarce resources. I asked him what it was about, and he mentioned he may, oh, let's just say," he paused for dramatic effect, "He may have found a way to rid himself of Justice, once and for all, without killing either himself or the spirit."

"Hardly," Fenris scoffed, the first to break Varric's storytelling spell. "I've never known a possessed mage to find freedom from his demon, except in death."

"Maybe," Varric allowed, unwilling to give up, "But then again, maybe not. I know Anders is a pretty powerful mage, with a great many secrets and studies he's never shared with us. And he's managed to slip away from his Circle several times, not to mention the Grey Wardens, and stay hidden from them for years, so we know he's resourceful. Could be he's learned something old and mysterious, like he's claimed, some sort of potion that'll do the trick. Regardless, if there is a chance for him, if there's even the slightest possibility that he could rid himself of the spirit," Varric leaned forward now, his expression sincere, his voice lifting with hope, "We have to help him, don't we?"

"It cannot be done," Fenris insisted, but when Hrodwynn placed her half-mended hand in his he relented, "However, I do wish him success, and I do wish I could help him, but it cannot…"

"Could we help him?" Isabela interrupted Fenris' rant before he could really get going. Her eyes were narrowed and calculating while she played with a ringlet of her hair, "At least, could we help get these supplies he needs?"

"That's what I've been thinking. Now, most of what he needs, he says he can get himself, but a couple of things, drakestone being one of them, and sela petrae the other, well," Varric sighed, "They're a bit trickier to come by."

"Sela petrae?" Hrodwynn repeated, "Are you serious? Is Anders serious?!"

"Why?" Merril asked. "Do you know what it is? Is it hard to find? I've no idea myself, I don't often dabble in exotic ingredients, but I wouldn't mind going and getting him some, if it would help him, and if I knew where to look."

"The sewers," she answered, "You can find loads of it in the sewers beneath Darktown. That is, if you can keep from gagging." She jabbed and gestured with her half-healed-hand at the table, her eyes flashing, almost as if she was enjoying taunting her friend, "Sela petrae is fermented manure and urine, shit so old it's beginning to crystalize. Sort of a natural process, I guess, but it's nasty. If you ever wonder about that cloud of gas that occasionally pops up in Darktown, choking the life out of anyone stupid enough to stumble into it, the chokedamp? That's a byproduct of the formation of sela petrae."

"Right," Merril swallowed, but remained undaunted, "Well, I'll just have to borrow one of Isabela's scarfs to cover my face when I go to get some, won't I? Could you show me what sela petrae looks like, Hrodwynn? Or how to get into the sewers?"

"I…" she was a bit taken aback by the undaunted spirit of Merril, so willing to face danger and difficulty, all to help a friend. Her friend too, Hrodwynn chided herself, or at least getting the stinking stuff would help bring her friend back to her. But… "I can't, Merril, sorry." She dropped her gaze back to her hand, now trying to pick at a splinter on the tabletop. The fingers couldn't quite grasp the tiny fleck, but she continued as if practicing.

"Why not?" Merril pressed, innocently, "No one knows Darktown like you do. Any of the rest of us could wander around down there for ages before we find an entrance to the sewers. Or run into a cloud of this chokedamp and not know it. Or…"

"Varric knows his way around down there, almost as well as I do. Besides, I… I can't go back to Darktown," she interrupted, feeling more and more like a heel, and less and less able to affect her own life, "Ever."

There was silence after her proclamation, and Varric dug into it, though gently. "Is there something else you're not telling us, Button?"

She ducked her head, feeling tears of bitterness sting her eyes. She had nothing to be ashamed of, she told herself, yet the memory of Jaxon's warning, his ultimatum, the clack of those icy metal clippers, made her feel hot and cold and sick to her stomach.

She couldn't find the words, but yet again that day her ever-faithful Fenris came to her rescue. "We ran into Jaxon earlier today while… taking a shortcut through Darktown." Why he avoided mentioning her obsession with the blind beggar she couldn't say, but—again—she was grateful.

"He's back? I thought we took care of him when we took care of Brekker?"

"Apparently we missed him," Fenris answered Varric's question, "Also, he's managed somehow to get back in good with the Coterie. Looks to be a higher level boss, at least he has plenty of men under his command. We bumped into him and his men while they were escorting a caravan through Darktown. He spared Hrodwynn's life this time, but he did warn her to stay out of Coterie business, and Darktown, or else he would kill her."

"That's one annoying prick I would love to slip a dagger into, from stem to stern…" Isabela thrummed.

"We barely got away with killing a Coterie boss the last time," Varric sighed, "Let's not go pushing our luck with that. Alright, Hrodwynn, you and Fenris need to stay out of Darktown. I guess that leaves me to go with Merril. Choir boy, you wanna come with, or would you be afraid of getting your cloak dirty?"

"I'll go," Aveline volunteered. At the incredulous look on Varric's face, she elaborated. "I do want to help, you know. It's just that leaving Kirkwall right now for any extended amount of time is a bit dicey. Besides, I know where you're going to suggest we find drakestone, and it won't be within Kirkwall, so I'll join the party going to the sewers."

"Fine, Fenris and I will go get the drakestone while you three get the sela petrae. Um, where do we find it?" Hrodwynn asked, at first glad that there would be something she could help with after all. Then Varric answered her.

"The Bone Pit probably has some. Anywhere, really, where you find dragons."

She blinked at him, opened her mouth, closed it, blinked again, and then sighed, "…bloody shite…"

"Language," Aveline absently scolded.

For a childishly playful moment, Hrodwynn wanted to stick her tongue out at her.

"I'll go with you," Sebastian volunteered, "To the Bone Pit, whatever that is. I, er, I could use the fresh air, and a bit of a journey, since I missed the last one, that is, if you will allow me…"

"I've been to the Bone Pit, so I'll go with you three to the sewers," Isabela decided, effectively ending the Brother's babble. She was as clueless as the rest as to why Sebastian was so nervous and anxious around Fenris and Hrodwynn, but that didn't mean she couldn't tell something had happened, "Just to supply the scarfs, if nothing else. Besides, I wouldn't mind an excuse to wander about Darktown, in case I 'accidentally' run into this Jaxon arse. The Coterie doesn't muck about in my type of business, so damn the consequences. Now you three," she pointed to Hrodwynn, Fenris, and Sebastian, "Pick up Hawke on your way to the mine, why don't you? It's his mine, or half his, after all; it might not hurt to have him with you, make it look more official."

"Oh, and try not to let Anders know, would you?" Merril piped in. "It's just, well, wouldn't it be fun, you know, to surprise him, at his clinic, when we bring everything back, and he sees how much we've all helped him?"

"That… doesn't sound too bad," Varric agreed, though for the life of him he had no idea why warning bells were ringing inside his skull. "Alright, it's decided. Tomorrow, Merril, Aveline, Isabela, and I will go to the sewers and gather all the sela petrae we can stomach, erm, I mean, carry. Hrodwynn, Fenris, and Sebastian will pick up Hawke—without letting Anders catch on—and go to his mine to look for drakestone. I've no idea how much Blondie will need, so bring back as much as you can find; better to have too much than not enough. We'll meet back at Anders' clinic. Button, you think you can make it through Darktown as far as that?"

She nodded, "There's a tunnel from Hawke's mansion that leads straight to the clinic; I'll use that. Might even be able to convince Anders to come along and see his surprise." Somehow, the tone of her voice wasn't as convincing as her words.

"Good. Now that that's all settled, are we going to play or what?"

Varric chuckled at Isabela's impatience, "Soon as you hand out our shares, Rivaini." She pouted, always an appreciated affair, but did begin to bring out bags of coins and passing them around to the others.

"This is where I get off," Aveline finished off her mug. "There's already one gambler in my household; don't think we can afford to have two."

"Donnic and I talk and smoke cigars, I swear," Fenris quickly protested, almost too quickly, "Even if we do occasionally play a hand or two, at no time whatsoever does money exchange hands."

Hrodwynn gave a cough. Aveline rolled her eyes, but she stood back from the table anyway. "Still, I should see to one or two matters before tomorrow morning, just in case this trip to the sewers takes longer than planned. But I did want to see you, Hrodwynn," she smiled down at her, placing that matronly hand on her shoulder again, "And tell you how glad I am you're home."

Hrodwynn tried to smile, she truly did, but the tears got in the way.

"I should go, too," Sebastian jumped at the chance to leave. "I'll need to let them know, at the Chantry, that I'll be out of town for a day or two or more. I'll, erm, meet you tomorrow morning, near Hawke's mansion. Goodnight, ladies, gentlemen, goodnight."

He managed somehow to get out the door ahead of Aveline. He also left behind an untouched mug of ale. Fenris reached across the table for it, gave it a sniff, and took a single healthy swallow.

Varric, after stacking his freshly earned coin in front of him, began to deal the cards. "So, Button, your hand, even if this other mage had been made Tranquil, there must've been someone at the Gallows who was able to heal it for you."

"Yeah, sort of," Hrodwynn agreed, lifting the said appendage to show them all. "There was another healer, he didn't have Vera's skill, but he did well enough, I suppose."

"Raise," Isabela tossed coins into the kitty. "That was his best job? Seriously? I hope you didn't pay good coin for that."

"We were in a bit of a rush," Fenris answered. "The mage said he might be able to do a better job, if we wouldn't mind staying for a day or so, but he didn't sound overly confident. We decided against that, and told him just to do his best. Fold, by the way."

"He also mentioned something about… what did he call it? Right, a surgeon. There's supposed to be someone in the Gallows courtyard, a different type of healer, who might be able to completely fix my hand."

"And you didn't check him out?" Merril queried.

"Nope," Hrodwynn moved her cards around, more practicing and testing the limits and dexterity of her right hand. "The mage said this healer would open up my hand, cut into it to see what was broken." She shuddered. "It's bad enough, stitching closed an open wound. And far worse to cut into someone, knowing you're trying to hurt or even kill them. But to cut into a person's body, on purpose, just to see what's going on inside, all in the name—supposedly—of healing?!" she shuddered. "Who would do something like that? Who would want to? Ugh, I'll stick with old-fashioned healing potions and mages, thank you. This is good enough for me; at least I can feel my fingertips and everything moves again. Still can't grip anything delicate worth a bloody shite. But I can see the bet," she tossed a couple of coins onto the pile, matching Isabela's bet.

"Call," Varric nodded and let the subject drop, absently tossing a few coins onto the table. Like the others, he was not going to ask why Anders hadn't healed her hand, especially not after that little episode earlier this evening.

While the game continued around him, he studied Hrodwynn's hand. The two smallest fingers were no longer curved in so drastically, though they continued to be stiff and hesitant to bend. The thumb had changed too; and though it was not sticking out at the ghastly angle it had been, it did seem to have a bit of trouble keeping a steady pressure against the other fingers, at least her cards kept slipping out of her grasp every time she tried to discard one. Varric tallied up the symptoms, all the while thinking of someone he knew who might be able to help. He'd have to be careful—even sending her a letter could spell his death—but for Button, it would be worth it.

He spent the rest of the night drafting the letter in the back of his mind, 'My dearest B…'


We don't have time for this, Fenris worried but kept his own counsel. He had promised Hrodwynn they would try to find the beggar again; only he didn't think she would wish to do so the very next day.

Not that she outwardly admitted that they were looking for the beggar. Hrodwynn made up some sort of pretense to go to the Alienage—to speak with Merril about the sela petrae or the sewers or something before they all left this morning. And, since they would be among other elves, if they just happened to come across Everyone, it would be rude not to stop and take a moment to speak with him.

Fenris looked over at his love, his mate, and sighed to himself—she was so predictable.

"There's Merril's house. Looks like she's just leaving."

"What?" Hrodwynn had been craning her neck, casting it back and forth, so it took her a moment to pull her face around and zero in on Merril's location. "Oh, right, erm, let's go talk with her."

Hrodwynn started off briskly, her steps true and sharp as her heels clacked against the cobblestone streets. Fenris had to jog for a few steps to catch up with her, but he was able to match her stride by the time Merril spotted them.

"Hello," the openly-practicing-blood-mage called out to them cheerily, and he felt his mood darken in response. Venhedis, but there were far too many unrestricted mages running around Kirkwall for his comfort; and he had been led to believe that it was different here than in Tevinter. "Didn't expect to see you lot here," Merril swept on, oblivious to the reason behind the dark scowl on Fenris' face. "Is there a change in plan or something? Were you coming with to the sewers after all?"

"No, um, nope, I still can't go with you," Hrodwynn answered, all but physically feeling the anger and ire boiling off of Fenris. Maybe she should have come here by herself, told Fenris to pick up Hawke and she would meet them at the city gates or something, but it was too late now. "I just wanted to talk with you about what to expect, in Darktown, and the sewers, what you're looking for, and the like."

"Oh, Varric did that last night," Merril flapped her hand at nothing in particular. "You were right; he knows about the sewers and sela petrae, so we're good to go there."

"Right, I, erm, I knew that, ah…" she sputtered to a halt. She was just beginning to realize how silly her plan was, how thin her excuses. And she was beginning to wonder how much of it Fenris saw through. Unwilling to look at him and have her suspicions confirmed, or even worse and confirm his suspicions, she continued to focus on her friend. "Well, we won't keep you, but I do want to say one last thing, Merril."

The two women leaned in close to each other, Hrodwynn wrapping her arms around Merril in a hug. "If you come across Jaxon—and Varric knows what he looks like—run." She leaned back, gripping Merril's shoulders in emphasis and giving a little shake. "I mean it, Merril. First sign of Jaxon, or any Coterie, and you hotfoot it back home. Varric can talk himself out of any sort of trouble, and Isabela gets off on trouble. Aveline, too, can handle herself…"

"I can handle myself, too, you know," Merril sounded only a little bit miffed by the implication. "I am a very competent mage and…"

"I know you are. I know it! But, Merril," Hrodwynn pulled her back in for a hug and whispered, "You're my favorite. I don't want to take the chance of anything happening to you." She leaned back again, speaking a bit louder as she finished, "So I mean it. Run. Promise me, Merril, promise me if you come across Jaxon or any Coterie thugs in Darktown, that you'll get the fuck out of there."

"Oh, silly girl," Merril stroked her cheek in a sisterly fashion, tucking a lock of Hrodwynn's dark red hair up into her scarf, "Yes, alright, I promise. And you be careful, too, just in case there are dragonlings up there in the mine."

She smiled in answer. "Of course. Bye, Merril, be safe."

"Safe travels," the elven mage responded, smiling as Hrodwynn turned and began to walk away. "And… erm, Fenris…?"

He had been about to turn away as well, without a word, not quite trusting himself to speak around her. Fasta vass, but if she was going to wish him safe travels, or give him advise, or…

"Keep her safe, would you?" Merril laid a gentle hand on his arm, her eyes compassionate, her voice soft so the words went no further than his ears. "I do worry about her so, Hrodwynn has an ability to get herself into trouble, and I'm so afraid the Bone Pit will be teeming with dragonlings, like it was the last time, and…"

"Merril," Fenris stopped her, appreciating the concern; he supposed she loved Hrodwynn, too, only more like a sister. He wanted to end this quickly, somewhat because it was uncomfortable for him, but mostly because he wanted to catch up with said woman. "I will guard her with my very life; you have my word on that." He lifted her hand away from his skin, easing the burning sensation of the lyrium being touched, and hastened after his love.

"I've seen you give your word before," Merril hummed, a gentle reprimand to how his character had been somewhat murky and self-serving in the past. She was already speaking to his back, however; and if he ever heard her words, she would never know.

Hrodwynn wasn't heading towards Hightown, which came as no surprise to Fenris, but continuing to randomly meander through the Alienage. Her head was swiveling back and forth so quickly, he was amazed she could keep walking without bumping into a wall or a fence, much less find the man she was searching for. He again jogged up to her, glad as always to be rid of Merril—of any mage!—and caught her elbow. "I think he's over there, Amatus."

"What?" she blinked at him, "Who?" She had been searching for Everyone, true, but she had hoped Fenris hadn't caught on to it. Feeling her cheeks burning, she looked in the direction he was pointing and saw him. "Oh, look, there's Everyone. Well, um, since we're here, and he's here, and we've a little bit of time…" she risked a glance back at his face and regretted it. It was obvious he wasn't being duped, his ebony brow lifted with skepticism. She swallowed the lump in her throat and all but pleaded, "It wouldn't hurt, would it, just to talk with him for a bit?"

There was the prelude to a major headache burning behind his eyes, making him want to squeeze them shut and pinch the bridge of his nose. But he had promised, and Everyone was there, and Hawke wouldn't be starting for the Bone Pit without them—mainly because he didn't know yet of their little plan to help Anders… Venhedis, why did it always come back to mages!

"No," he sighed, setting his hand in hers rather than his aching head, "No, Amatus, it won't hurt. Let's talk with him for a bit. Just to make sure he's alright after yesterday's ordeal, of course."

He shouldn't have done it, he shouldn't have allowed her the lie, he shouldn't be encouraging this obsession, but it was far too late to back out now. And the way she looked at him, the way her bright green eyes seemed to glow from within, and her Agreggio Pavali lips parted and smiled, and her alabaster skin flushed with excitement and life! Festis bei umo canavarum—Hrodwynn would be the death of him. But until then…

"Come on, before we lose him again."

As they approached, they found the old man on his hands and knees, up to his dirty elbows in a pile of rubbish, mumbling and singing to himself little snatches from various songs. Hrodwynn recognized one or two, and by the way he sang them, there had to be a good score or more of songs he was singing, line by line, all messed up. She ignored the chorus of chaos and cleared her throat, hoping to announce their presence without startling him too much. "'Lo, Everyone. How are you today?"

"What? What? I cannot hear you, my eyes are blind. But not to worry. I left my magic belt in here. With it, I'll be able to fly again."

She stared at him, at a loss on how to respond to that.

"Everyone," Fenris came up to the man's side, kneeling down next to him, "Do you remember us? We met yesterday, at the docks, when those men were taunting you. We helped you get away. Do you remember?"

"Remember," he repeated. "Remember?" He paused in his rummaging to reach a hand towards Fenris' face. The other elf flinched back, staring in disgust at the gore dangling from the beggar's fingers.

"Yes, Everyone," Hrodwynn knelt down at his other side, taking his hand and holding it to her cheek, almost embracing the ick, as if becoming as soiled as he was the only way to reach him. "Remember us, remember me, how you saw me? And you had that little poem of yours? About the dove?"

"Poem?" he repeated, still sounding confused, his brow wrinkled above his blindfold. Then it seemed to lighten, as his fingers stroked her cheek, leaving streaks of muck on her otherwise unblemished skin. "Oh, the poems. There are so many. Yes, yes, remember the poems. Of course, Everyone remembers them." He leaned his head towards her and whispered loudly, as if imparting a well-known secret. "They all think Everyone is balmy, but they are remembered."

"Please, Everyone, remember that poem? Could you do that, for me?" She took his hand from her face, glad that she could stomach his touch long enough for him to 'see' her, and prompted, "Tell me again the poem you told me yesterday."

"A poem," he repeated, "Just one poem? Alright, alright, I'll give you a poem.

"Tick, tock,

Put on your frock,

The little carriage sang.

The clouds are blue,

The dogs will rue,

And all the pickles rang."

Everyone turned away from her then, and went back to his burrowing into the pile of garbage.

Hrodwynn was stunned. She stared at the beggar, his back bent and bowed with age, until he at last found what he was looking for. She started at his cry of triumph, and recoiled in disgust when he lifted high his prize. It was a dead snake, half decomposed and half eaten by other vermin, but to him it was his long sought for belt.

"Here it is! Here it is! Such a beautiful thing, no? Look at it," he shoved it towards her, almost into her nose, he was so eager to share with someone—anyone—his joy and elation. "Only the finest leather, real darkspawn that is. And the buckles are made from pure black lyrium. The only black lyrium in existence. That's what gives it so much magic. Oh, but the copper rubies have tarnished. Must polish them, get them to shine, yellow like the moon. Have you any needles?"

"Uncle," a voice called, and the elven woman from the day before came up to them. "There you are. Come on, it's time for breakfast. Oh!" she stopped suddenly when she saw and recognized Hrodwynn and Fenris. "Good morning, sers, what a pleasant surprise to see you again." Her words were courteous, but her tone was wary and even a little off-putting.

"Good morning," Hrodwynn got to her feet, helping Everyone stand up with her. Fenris took the dead snake out of his hands; he was already forgetting it after hearing a promise of breakfast. Everyone stumbled forward, out of Hrodwynn's care and towards the woman offering food, his fingers pawing the air in his eagerness to touch her.

"Fast? Fasting is good for the soul. Breaking it is good for the body."

"I, erm, hope he wasn't bothering you again," the woman took Everyone by the elbow and started him towards her home. She saw the dead animal Fenris tossed back into the rubbish, the one Everyone had found, and made a face. "Yes, well, sorry about that. Excuse us."

"Wait," Hrodwynn simply could not let it go, this hope, this dream, that somehow Everyone fit into the puzzle that was her forgotten past. With no idea what to say, or where to start, she stumbled forward as blindly as the old man. "Just a moment, please, just to answer a couple of questions."

"I told you yesterday," the woman sighed, "Everything I know about him. There's no one here who knows any more than I do. I'm sorry, sers, please believe me. He's simply a blind old man, he means no harm. Please don't concern yourselves with him."

"But his poems," Hrodwynn pressed, "One in particular, that he said yesterday, about the dove flying away and the prison where he lost his sight and.."

"He has dozens of poems," she shook her head sadly. "Dozens and dozens of them. And I know, every so often, something about one of them will make sense to you, or you find yourself thinking it might. I've seen it happen time and again through the years. It's even happened to me, and I know better. But truly, sers," she looked from Hrodwynn to Fenris, hoping he would be more reasonable than his companion, "There's nothing to them. They're just random gibberish, an odd word thrown in here or there to make them rhyme. I doubt he even knows what he's saying half the time."

"But yesterday," her voice was pleading, begging, desperate, "You said… what you said… you sounded like you knew exactly which poem I was wondering about… that there was only the one poem…"

"I do that, yes, to whomever is asking," she nodded, "It's usually less complicated to simply agree than to try to explain all about his eccentric poetry. And no one's ever really tried to pursue it. I'm surprised to see you here today; he must have said something very meaningful to you."

"It was," Hrodwynn affirmed.

"Then I'm glad," she smiled, laying a hand on Hrodwynn's forearm and giving it a few pats before falling away. "Take that with you, that happy feeling, and hold on to it. I'm afraid there's nothing more he can give you, no hidden universal truths or long-lost answers to personal dreams, but at least you have that feeling. Now, please, sers, I'd like to make sure he has something to eat, before he disappears on me again. Good morning."

"Good morning," Fenris' voice answered for them both, his body moving around to half block hers from chasing after them yet again. He felt her press up against his back, felt her hand at his side as if she would shove him out of the way, felt her breath hot against his neck as she struggled for words to keep them there. He waited until the woman and the beggar were a good block away before he faced Hrodwynn.

It was as he had expected. Her eyes were filling with tears, her skin had grown even more pale, her pulse racing and throbbing in her throat.

"I'm sorry, Amatus," he touched her cheek, wiping away the mess Everyone had left behind. "I know you wanted this to be different, I wanted it too. Honestly. I do not like seeing you like this. But Everyone isn't anything more than a blind old beggar who's addled in the brain after years of suffering and abuse; surely you can see that now."

She tore her eyes away from the elf disappearing into the crowd to the elf standing before her. "I…"

"It's a dead-end, Hrodwynn. I'm sorry, but he doesn't hold the answers to your past. Let this go."

A tear slipped past the sentries of her lashes, falling across her check, across where Everyone had touched her. Yesterday… she had been so sure… the poem… it was supposed to make sense! She was supposed to see him again today, and listen to that poem, and it would all make sense!

But it didn't. Nothing made sense; perhaps that was the whole point.

Again those resentful feelings returned. Fenris had his memories, why should he help her regain hers?

Yet he was there, with her, had gone along with her flimsy lies and excuses even though he must have realized what she was truly doing.

"Maybe, I guess, that is…" Oh, Maker's breath, what a mess. She was lost, deep within a labyrinth, with walls made out of self-loathing, the light blocked by clouds of self-pity, a foggy miasma of humiliation choking her breath…

A hand took hers, fingers entwined, and pressed them between their hearts. She heard a voice call, calling her back from the brink of despair, from the darkness within, from the maddening abyss opening beneath her. "Amatus."

"Oh, Fen," she moaned, clutching on to him, "I don't know what to think any more, what to feel, what to do…"

"I'm here," he affirmed, "I'm here and I'm not leaving you. Nothing short of death will take me from your side. No matter what happens, to either of us. No matter what you feel, or think, or do, or say—I love you. And whatever may come, we'll face it. Together. Remember, Amatus, you are loved by me."

"Fen, my wolf," she answered. "I love you, too. Just… hold me, please, hold me, don't lose me, don't let me slip away into madness."

He wanted to laugh, a short bark of something not born of humor but of nerves. Yet he kept his nerve, kept himself strong and stable, for her sake. "You're not going to go mad. A little obsessive, perhaps, but not mad. Come on, we should get going to Hawke's place. Still need to get that drakestone for Anders, right?"

He had hoped that mentioning Anders might lighten her mood, but then remembered the painful rejection the mage had given her. He was well used to Anders' acerbic tongue and towering ire, but she hadn't experienced it herself, not on the level as she had yesterday. She didn't seem hurt or upset, however, and started with him towards Hightown, quieter than normal, but at least she was willing.

He had no idea, no inkling, of the storm that was raging within her, a storm so horrific that she had to keep herself frozen just to keep herself from showing it. A storm of emotion, of despair, of unfairness, of rage.

Of hope. No matter what else happened that day, or had been happening recently, she could not let go of the hope that somehow Everyone knew something. That poem he recited yesterday, THAT poem was relevant, despite whatever the elven woman said. THAT poem did speak to her, speak of her, she was sure of it!

Maybe Fenris couldn't see it, maybe he was too quick to dismiss, but she had to try again, and again, and again, and again, and again… until she heard that one particular poem, heard it for herself and decided for herself it if was real or nonsense.

Hiding her upcoming duplicity deep inside, she managed a little smile and took his hand. "You're right; we've wasted enough effort here. Let's get going."