"You know, my dear Van, I think your merchant had the same name as this innkeeper," Zevran remarks thoughtfully between mouthfuls of fish chowder and sourdough bread.

Our meal had started reasonably quietly until I realised that Zevran was observing me for etiquette cues. After quietly taking him through the basics, conversation has picked up again.

"Do all entrepreneurs share the same name here?" he asks.

I frown over my own bowl of chowder. "My merch--? Oh! Doug, right!" He means the hypermarket, Doug's, which shares the same name as the restaurant we are eating in. "You'd think so, wouldn't you, to look at everything here. The flower shop down the street is called Doug's, too. "

He squints. "This is quite like the Qun. Is Van your name, or your rank?"

"Ah, no, no," I try not to chuckle as I think of Sten, who would be far less amused by such a question. "That's a very logical guess, but no. Van's a name, just like Doug. Apparently naming your business after yourself was a big trend in these small towns, and there were three Dougs living here in Camphor Bay who established themselves at the same time."

Zevran makes a delighted tutting sound. "Oh, provincial drama. Marvellous! Do go on."

Now I do laugh. "Well, it did end up getting quite dramatic. I'm told a fight broke out in the registration office when each insisted on making their business their namesake, and an affronted onlooker called for the mayor. Usually once a business chooses a name, other businesses aren't allowed to take the name as well, but they'd been squabbling about it for so long she apparently declared that there would simply be three Doug's here. The locals have a game called Doug's Roulette that they love to play with outsiders, telling them to meet them at Doug's without specifying which one and then purposely running late. They hide somewhere strategic along this road here, watching them struggle and get flustered before they eventually show themselves."

Zevran's lips purse together, his eyes crinkling at the sides. "And to think in Ferelden I believed that small town living was dull and uneventful."

I wink. "Just didn't find the right small town, apparently. Though…"

He tilts his head a little. "Hmm?"

I glance around; it's before the dinner rush and we have the entire place to ourselves, but even with the rain driving down on the roof, I worry about us being overheard. When the coast looks clear, I lean a little closer and speak again. "It can't be easy, coming to a place like this."

Zevran raises an eyebrow at me, a laugh hissing out of his nose. "Where is the difficulty so far, my doctor? You have fed me, clothed me, given me shelter, and now we are even eating my favourite food in a restaurant. The last time I was in one of these, I had to seduce a mark who kept trying to bend my ears."

I wince. "Does it hurt to do that to elf ears? I'm pretty sure I can fold my ear up like a concertina without pain."

He snickers as I make a cloverleaf out of my ear cartilage and shove some of it into my ear canal, more for me to establish the limits of my pinnae than to be demonstrative.

"It does. Elf ears are more sensitive than human ones, my doctor. To pain and pleasure." He flicks his eyebrows. "An afternoon with me and those gifted hands of yours could be the dispenser of marvels."

My stomach drops, but I think I conceal it well enough with a quirked brow. "And here I was resting on my laurels because I dispense medications and announcements of disease. Ten-plus years of medical education, and still I know nothing about elf ears." I shake my head and chuckle. "I should ask the university for reimbursement."

As Zevran smirks and runs his eyes over me in a rather overt display of flirtation, I get seized by awkwardness and glance out the window to distract myself before my discomfort betrays me. The rain is pelting down so hard I can barely see anything beyond the eaves of the building.

I heave a sigh. "Well, so much for plans of grand adventures in the endless sunshine."

"Ah, but there is plenty of excitement to be had indoors, believe me," Zevran assures me, and I turn just in time to catch another lascivious look.

God, he's as determined a flirt here as he was in Origins. Talk about life imitating art.

I huff a laugh. "If it were raining less heavily, we could drive around and take in the scenery, but we might as well have blindfolds on at this rate."

"Perhaps we should make for home, then, and see where our imagination takes us. What say you, my doctor?" He leans forward and props his head up with his hand, nudging the now-empty chowder bowl to the side and fixing me with what I would assume is the look he gives to people he's working to seduce.

"You're a smart man, and you must be wondering an awful lot after spending the day on the internet," I reply. "You'll have enough questions to sink a ship." I try my hand at an encouraging nod as the look falters a little, and I give him a smile. "That's good! I like questions. Well, home we go, then…"

I pause. I spent an extra long time visiting Mam yesterday, and Zevran and I have a long day ahead of us, but the prospect of going home without stopping by to see her seems… odd. Seeing her today would be for my benefit alone, but I want to do it.

"You are thinking very hard," Zevran remarks. "What fancies occupy you so suddenly?"

"Do you think we have time to run a quick errand on the way home? I know you're basically pushed into work straight after coming here, but--"

I'm cut off by a hearty laugh, and Zevran shakes his head at me.

"This, my dear Van? This?" His mirth ebbs into the slow, rueful laugh of someone who's been around the block a few times. "I have never had a holiday, but whenever I imagined it in my head, something like the events of today would have been ideal rainy day activity. This is luxury."

I shrug awkwardly. "Well, if you're sure. I don't want you to get bored or overworked while you're here. Somewhere in the middle seems ideal."

Another low chuckle. "In the Crows, we had the saying that only boring people are bored." He rests a hand delicately on his chest. "Me, I have many faults, but I flatter myself that being a boring person is not one of them."

"Wholly justified," I reply, pleased that the conversation is on easier terrain again. "You're very good company. So that's a yes to the errand, then?"

"It is indeed."

We take our things, pay at the front, and leave, and I'm more grateful than ever that the entire main drag of this town (well, the footpath, at least) is covered by the upper floor of the buildings; in keeping with the town's tradition, the owners of the shopping and dining establishments live directly above the premises.

"We're going to Doug's," I explain to him as we saunter toward the flower shop, and I do not offer any more context than that.

The blanker his face goes, the broader my grin gets, and I know I am doing a magnificent job of trolling the most dangerous person I have ever met.

"This is the part where I guess which of the other two merchants we will be visiting, yes?" His squint is playful. "Very well, I presume it will be Doug's."

I snort. "You put geniuses to shame."

Just as Zevran starts to roll his eyes, they land on something ahead of us and widen. "Ah! Will it be the flower merchant?"

"Got it in one."

"My, my, Van!" He pouts his lips just a little. "You do not have to shower me with blooms to seduce me. I assure you, I am already more than willing to be bedded."

I give him a withering look. "You need a cold shower. Be thankful I don't park you in the rain while I go and get these flowers."

"Oh, you wish to see how my wet garments stick to my body?" Zevran returns, smooth as silk.

"In a thick sweater and straight leg jeans? The clothes famed for leaving nothing to the imagination?" I nod. "Of course. Well, it's up to you. You can wait out in the wet if you like, but otherwise, you can come in and help me choose something nice to take to our recipient."

As if a dial has suddenly turned the lasciviousness in him down from 10 to 2, Zevran smiles and nods. "I have long experience in flowers," he announces as we step into the shop, a small bell jingling merrily from the doorframe. "Who is the lucky recipient? A lover?"

I shake my head fervently. Ew. Ew. Ew. "No, no, nothing romantic." I'm not interested in divulging who Mam is to me, not when he is about to see her in person. Too many questions would come, and I don't see the benefit of him knowing. It'd only depress us both, and what's the point of him being here if he's only going to be subjected to sob story shit?

A door from behind the counter opens. This particular Doug, a tall, tanned, soft-bodied man with a proclivity for long chats, steps out with a huge white apron over his rolled-up shirt and jeans. The pockets of the apron are stuffed with cheery, misshapen offcuts. He smiles instantly when he lays eyes on me.

"There y'are, Van!" He holds his hands out in greeting. "I was wondering when you were gonna show up."

I make finger guns at him. "Good to see you, Doug. Things got hectic at the clinic, and then we stopped for lunch."

Doug looks at Zevran and raises his eyebrows delightedly. "Well, well! A new face! Do I get an introduction, or are you keeping Mr. Lunch all to yourself?"

I have to work to stop my eyes from rolling into the back of my head as Doug fixes me with a (playful, I hope) accusatory glare. Part of me starts to panic: once the townsfolk get a name, they have someone they can start attaching information to. It had to happen eventually, but I'm not as prepared for this as I had hoped.

"I'm not much of a people hoarder," I reply offhandedly as I frantically fish for a pseudonym and background story. I make it up as I go along before the silence can become pregnant. "Doug Goldman, meet Carlos Lunch. Old friend who's come for a first-time visit."

Doug, looking absolutely thrilled, claps his hands together. "Oh!" he exclaims, not even bothering to tell me off for giving my pal the last name Lunch. "First day here?"

Zevran, who rolls magnificently with the story, replies with a smile, "In a manner of speaking, yes. I arrived late yesterday afternoon."

"Ah, that's why you came in so early yesterday, Van!" Doug wags a finger at me, and I feel a stab of guilt for letting him believe that as I feign a sly, grinning nod. "You're a secretive one! So, who are the flowers for, huh? Perrie, or Mr. Lunch, here?"

"For Perrie," I confirm instantly, before I have to endure any more smart remarks from either of these people. I quietly decide they are not to be left alone together, as I can all too readily see Doug, patron saint of gossipy talebearers, drinking in whatever wild story Zevran may decide to supply about our fictitious love life. "What's looking good today?"

"Ah, it's all lookin' good, kid, you know that." Doug tuts in mock offence and steps out from behind the counter. He puts a hand to Zevran's and my backs, steering us over to the displays on the northern wall.

"Everybody wanted the proteas today, so you're too late for those… got the aster, chrysanthemum and anemones if you wanta match the rainy weather?" He gestures at a bouquet of bluish and white flowers, bound with a length of purple ribbon tied into an elaborate bow.

"She does love those little green things you've got in the mix, there," I acknowledge with a nod. Something feels strange about giving Mam a sad bouquet given the reason I'm visiting her, though. A little too wry of me, especially given the high spirits she's usually in. She'd be affronted if she knew what was going on, and that's enough to make me want something else.

"Maybe something brighter, though," I add after a moment. "Going against the rain today."

"Your sunflowers are exceptional," Zevran murmurs as he peruses the row with the autumn colours. He nods approvingly. "So vivid and fresh, even at this time of the day. I am quite sure I have not seen finer anywhere."

Well, Doug's tickled pink by that. Modest but slightly gabbled thanks ensues, and by the time I helpfully remind Doug that he is an excellent florist whose numerous industry awards reflect that, the man's so red he matches his carnations. After another few minutes, we settle on a yellow-red schemed bouquet of dahlias, nasturtiums, and (of course) sunflowers, which I top off with a toy stuffed giraffe, Mam's favourite animal.

Zevran receives a bunch of sunflowers of his own-- as a welcoming gift, we're informed, but I think it's more likely because Doug's completely bloody besotted with him. He certainly isn't short on meaningful looks for me as we process the payment, eyes darting over to Zevran, who has gone (as far as Doug knows) uncharacteristically silent. Even a near-pleading smile from me isn't enough to stop these nonverbal arranged marriage decrees. We're only permitted to leave once Doug is assured I'll be bringing Zevran back to the shop on a future occasion.

Outside, the rain has eased ever so slightly, and we stroll back undercover to the car.

"Look at you, already winning people's hearts," I say warmly. "I don't think Doug will forgive me if I don't bring you back there."

For a moment, Zevran looks far too intent as he thumbs the bright red ribbon holding his own flowers together. The smooth cover-up smile is back in an instant.

"You did not tell me, my doctor, how gallant and charming your townspeople are. Had I known I would receive flowers, I would have kept my silk ribbons and body oils with me."

I give a doubtful hum. "Doug's two-and-a-half times our age, and happily married. I think I'd just chalk this bunch of flowers up to the fact that a kind word was well received."

Zevran raises an eyebrow at me in half-joking cynicism. "Did you see that man blush, my dear?"

I swallow a depressed sigh. "I've been buying flowers from Doug every working day for years now. The man's a blusher, and he likes to show his gratitude for compliments with flowers." I shrug. "I don't know what to tell you, Zevran. Sometimes a bunch of flowers is just a bunch of flowers."

I anticipate an awkward silence and I get one. It was unavoidable, though; I had to say what I said, and hopefully the noiselessness is actually the sound of his brain rewiring to be receptive to, or at least understand, kind treatment.

When we reach the car, we all but dive in once it's unlocked. That short moment out in the downpour is enough to make Zevran and me both look like we showered fully dressed. It's lucky his sweater is woollen, otherwise I'm quite sure he would be shivering.

Our drive to the care facility where Mam lives is a short one, and Zevran, who has been tasked with holding the flowers and the giraffe (the latter of which he carefully holds in his fingers away from his body so it stays dry), regards the scenery mostly in silence, until we get in eyeshot of our intended destination.

When he first catches sight of Redwood Rehabilitation Centre, he lets out a small hum of approval. That's fair; it's a gorgeous place. They gutted the old facility way back in the 2010s and turned a place that resembled a borstal into something splendidly warm and welcoming. The grounds are manicured and sport colourful, safe perennials in gardens all over the place, which are usually filled with residents, their visitors, and nurses out playing sports, painting, or simply enjoying the sunshine. There are benches and shady trees galore, and the brick and wrought iron fences, though built to prevent residents from absconding, don't look it, with the iron somehow wrought into gently waving vines and leaves that please the eye but only a professional climber could possibly get a foothold on.

The building itself looks like a manor, grand as you like with its huge bay windows, balconies built in to look like conservatories, and more pillars than you can shake a hypodermic syringe at. Honestly, it's marvellous, and Zevran makes no bones about being impressed.

"Your Perrie lives here?"

"Yes, she does."

He gives a low coo, eyes fixed on the view from the passenger window. "My, my. She has done well for herself."

I meant to use his question as a lead-in to explain the purpose of this facility, since he is clearly under the impression that this is a rich person's mansion, but that comment comes like a knife to the gut. Done well, you think? She lost three kids and forgot two to get in here.

I force a smile in case he turns around and looks at me, and that's the only response I can muster until I pull up to the entrance to the grounds and wave at the plain clothes monitor in the little box.

The monitor-- Jenelle, her name is, grins and returns my wave as I pull up by the entrance. She presses a button with a flourish, the gates open, and we cruise right on up to the building, parking in the covered short-term visitors area by one of the side doors.

"We won't stay long," I say to him as he hands me the flowers and giraffe. "We'll just drop these off and leave." I stop us before we reach the door, assuming as clinical a perspective as I can when I speak again. "Before we go in, you should know that the people living here have sustained serious injuries and can no longer live in their own homes."

Zevran's body stiffens, and though his face is blank, the tips of his ears are reddening.

"Don't worry," I assure him quickly. "I'm telling you this so you aren't surprised by the interior, since I'm quite sure you were imagining a rich person's mansion. Expect it to look like a mix between a person's home and a hospital, and that the people living here have significant and obvious disabilities. If you want to know anything, just ask and I'll tell you, hmm?" I smile as invitingly as I can, and he appears to finally relax, returning my nod gingerly.

"Is there anything you would like to know now, or are you ready to go in?"

And there it is, the face that says that there's a lot going on internally, but he has enough of a grip on the situation to smile it off. I know he will be fine, and he confirms that as he gestures a hand toward the door.

"Lead the way, my doctor."

And I do, ringing the doorbell and opening it carefully as a gentle beep sounds, glancing around to make sure no resident is accidentally let out as we go in.

The inside is a bit of a mixed bag, as it often is when it's pissing down outside. I'm fairly sure I hear a dance party going on in the east wing-- they like to break out chart-toppers from three decades ago on festive occasions, and I can make out the words to some tune my mother would cut the rug to echoing down the deserted corridor.

Most others are either in their rooms, the library, or catching a movie in the TV area. The quieter part on the upper west floor is where Mam tends to be; her room is close to the library, which is just how she likes it. We take the stairs up (I don't want to add the novelty of taking an elevator to Zevran's experiences right now), and I catch sight of the day's charge nurse coming out of Mam's room, leaving the door slightly ajar. They wave at me and stride over to us.

"Heya," they greet us warmly. "She's just relaxing with an audiobook right now, so you're not disturbing anything."

I shake my head. "We won't go in, JJ, not today. How is she, though?"

JJ gives the half-shrug they use when it's been a bad day. "Little tough. She had three big seizures today, so she's pretty worn out. She's been good with her snacks, though; I think she wanted the sugar. Tamika's keeping a close eye on her."

Tamika is a brilliant woman and I couldn't ask for someone better to monitor the situation, but the news cinches my heart like piano wire anyway. The epilepsy Mam developed after the car accident has been steadily spalling her memory and cognitive function. Normally I'm grateful she doesn't remember much of anything, especially around the accident, but I'd give anything for a few moments with her where she recognises me.

I'm unmired from the misery I hadn't even noticed myself sinking into when JJ speaks up.

"Want me to take those to her?" They point at the flowers.

"Yeah, and the giraffe, too, if you don't mind. Thanks, pal." I smile gratefully. "If she asks, just tell her the florist had too many and sent a bunch of free stuff here."

JJ gives an understanding smile and nod and takes them. I thank them again, and with no reason to remain, I motion to Zevran that it's time to go.

We walk in silence through the corridor and down the stairs, and I can see his eyes darting up to me out of my periphery. We sign out and wave to the receptionist as he buzzes us out, and when we step back into the car, Zevran's still watching me.

"Perrie was in a car accident," I say, pretending I'm describing a case study. "A truck-- a big car for transporting goods-- collided with her own vehicle."

And killed my brothers and sister.

He says nothing, watching me and barely blinking.

Keep it medical.

"When you're moving fast and come to a stop too quickly, the brain is thrown around in the skull," I continue. "In Perrie's case, some parts of her brain were torn as a result, which has given her problems with thinking, remembering, and using her body without assistance. She also developed seizures-- fits, if the word is more familiar to you, which are worsening all of that, but especially her memory."

I don't say anything more. It's a very simplistic explanation, but it covers what he needs to know, and it's given him enough to chew on for a bit; you can practically hear the hamster sprinting in the wheel.

When we're halfway home, he finally speaks.

"Is she suffering?" His voice is even, a little cool, perhaps.

I shake my head. "No, not really. She'll never live like she did before the accident, but Redwood is an excellent place. She likes the people she lives with, the medical staff are talented and compassionate, and she is given every assistance to live life as she wants."

"But is she suffering?" he repeats, pointedly this time. "Surely to lose so much of what she had would be miserable. She must live away from what she knows, she cannot leave the place."

It takes me a moment to steady myself from that. I crinkle my chin and raise an eyebrow to conceal the sting of it all.

"I don't think her life is free of suffering, if that's what you mean. But you'll be hard-pressed to find a life that is , even here." I take another pause to pull myself together, which is not received well by Zevran, who seems to think I don't intend to elaborate.

"That answer was a vague one, my doctor, even if it has a point to it." The criticism is sharp, and I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek. I know he means well; I remember hearing him say in Origins how he kept his kills quick to avoid suffering, but it's hard to maintain composure when he's prodding such a raw spot, even if unwittingly.

"Zevran, she doesn't know what she's lost," I say finally. "She's fifty years old, but she thinks she's about eighteen. The seizures have all but destroyed the moments of clarity where she remembered life beyond that." I shrug hard, hoping desperately that I'm getting the message across.

"As far as she's aware, she is living in a university dormitory while she studies to be a teacher. I've asked her if she's happy, and she always says yes, but…" Another shrug. I'm turning it into a pastime at this point. "Look, I'm not one for disregarding people's concerns, professionally or personally. Come on a few visits with me, meet her yourself, and if you have any doubts, I want to hear about them."

That's all I can offer. My words have run out, and when I glance at Zevran, who has stiffened again, and catch a nod in return, my eyes go back to the road. I swallow hard, the ache in my chest distracting and bitterly painful. The world has come such a long way since the AUs were made accessible. Technology is impressively good, living conditions in many countries have improved dramatically, and certainly in medicine, a lot of diseases that were thought incurable half a century ago are now a matter of popping a pill or getting a shot. But when it comes to much to do with the brain? No, we're still a long way off there. Neurological stuff is as hard as ever to treat, especially injuries to the brain and spinal cord. Always the way, isn't it?

It's only when we pull up to the house that I wonder if the silence in the car was an awkward one. I didn't shout or raise my voice at Zevran, but I know I sounded less than pleased to be talking about the topic. When I turn to face him, he looks at me immediately, a little warily, and my heart sinks.

"Hey, look…" I run my fingers through my hair, fidgeting with my curls, "thank you for saying what you said about Perrie. It takes a lot of bravery to stand up for someone vulnerable even when you don't know what consequences it might have for you." I smile and shrug yet again. "I hope you feel you can always speak your mind with me, and if you don't right now, I hope you'll grow to feel that way."

That smooth smile's on so instantly I almost hear it click into place. He gives a winsome chuckle. "Oh, my dear Van, you would blush if you knew what was on my mind much of the time, I am sure."

"Remember that cold shower," is all I say before I step out of the car, the sound of Zevran's hearty laugh following me out.