Hi guys… So sorry for the delay on this one. That work I've been warning you about finally piled up. Plus, I just couldn't seem to get this chapter right. I must have rewritten it about five times. Eventually I realised I had to submit something and just get on with the story. Hope you enjoy it anyway. Thanks so much for the reviews. You really make my day. :)

Chapter 8

Thoughts ran unspoken,

Forever in vow,

And pieces of memories fall to the ground,

I know what I didn't have so,

I won't let this go,

Cus it's true, I am nothing without you.

All the streets where I walked alone,

With nowhere to go,

I've come to an end.

I want you to know,

With everything I won't let this go,

These words are my heart and soul,

I'll hold onto this moment you know,

Cus I'd bleed my heart out to show,

And I won't let go.

-Sum 41, With Me.

Three sharp knocks on her cabin door jolted Parish sharply awake. She sat up, staring dazedly around the small room that she and Luke shared, startled to find that the cabin was doused with murky shadows. She glanced out of the small, round window beside her bed, her eyes widening as she realised that it was well after dusk. She had only meant to have a short afternoon nap, something to help combat the wearying effects of her drunken adventure with Tristan the night before. Instead, she had ended up sleeping the rest of her day away. There was another impatient knock at her door, followed by Tristan's voice calling her.

"Maker Parish! Open your damn door! I know you're in there,"

"I'm coming," she called back, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand. She stumbled out of her bed, staggered to the door and tugged it open. Tristan frowned at her.

"You weren't sleeping were you?" he demanded. Without waiting for an answer, he strode into her cabin, seating himself down on the edge of her rumpled bed. With a flick of his fingers he quickly lit the single lantern that hung from the ceiling, chasing away the encroaching shadows with warm, golden light. Sonja closed her door again and turned back to him, yawning again.

"So what if I was?"

He shook his head. "I don't really care," he snapped. His blue eyes met hers and Parish suddenly realised that he looked… well, nervous. His entire body was tense, stiff, and his eyes were wide with the faintest traces of panic. For a moment it was all she could do not to gape at him. Tristan was never nervous. It just wasn't in him. He was too damn self-assured and confident to doubt himself.

"What is it? What's wrong?" she whispered, walking closer to him. "Is it her? Is it Umbra?"

The Warden Commander shook his head quickly. "No… No it's nothing like that. It's just…" he trailed off, sighing. "Would you do me a favour?"

Anything, she thought. Instead she replied, "Well that depends… I'm not going to kill someone for you Tristan Amell," she teased.

He grinned, his usual good humour quickly reasserting itself. "You wouldn't?" he placed a hand over his heart. "Ouch, Parish. That hurt. You know I'd kill someone for you,"

"Yea, right," she rolled her eyes, determinedly ignoring the fluttering in her stomach at his words. Suddenly she froze, catching sight of the silver staff that was strapped against Tristan's back.

"What are you doing with that?" she demanded, her voice sharper than she had intended it to be. Tristan half turned his head, glancing back at his staff. When he turned back to her, his expression one of long suffering.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he asked, exasperated. "I'm taking it with me,"

"No you're not," she replied sharply. "You might as well hang a sign around your neck saying 'apostate'. Put it back,"

Tristan shook his head, rolling his eyes. "What's the point? The Templars already know…" he clamped his jaw shut suddenly, swallowing his words as he caught sight of the blazing anger in her steel grey eyes.

"What exactly do the Templars know?" she asked, her voice growing low and silky in her anger. Tristan stood up, taking a step towards the door, one hand held up defensively in front of him.

"Parish… calm down. Don't start yelling at me or anything… This wasn't my fault, okay?"

"Tristan," she said warningly, taking a step towards him.

"I might have had a small run in with the Knight Commander today," he said quickly, wincing at her expression. "But it's fine… She understands…We're practically best friends now,"

A bolt of fear ripped through her, squeezing at her lungs until it was almost impossible to breathe. She knew him well enough to know that he wasn't telling her everything. He was dulling it down, making it seem less than what it was. Sonja wasn't easily fooled. She held out her hand towards his staff expectantly.

"Give it to me," she commanded, her voice still a low, dangerous version of what it usually was. She was more than angry, she was livid. But her anger wasn't directed at Tristan. It was aimed straight at the Rivaini slut who had stolen him away that afternoon.

The bitch probably was the reason he got caught, she thought furiously. I should never have left him alone with her,

"I'm not giving you my staff," Tristan shook his head. "Get your own,"

"Very funny," she replied, not amused in the slightest. "Now give it here. I don't trust you with that thing,"

"Too bad," he replied, grinning at her.

"I'm not letting you walk out of here with it," Parish replied determinedly.

"What are you going to do about it?" Tristan taunted.

She placed her hands on her hips, glowering at him. Maker, she thought angrily, why is it so hard to get him to take this seriously? "What is it going to take for you to leave that staff behind?"

The Warden Commander's grin widened. "Ah-hah… And so we return to that favour I was asking you about…"

Sonja sighed. "What do you want from me, Amell?" she asked, the barest hint of desperation in her voice. At that moment she would be willing to do just about anything to keep him from running out into that city with his staff strapped to his back.

The nervousness was suddenly back. He shifted from foot to foot. "Come with me tonight," he said quietly.

She raised her brows in surprise. Tristan was asking her to come with him? This was a first. Usually she was the one doggedly following after him despite his protestations. "Where are you going?" she asked.

Please, no more alcohol. I can't get drunk again. Luke will never let me live it down, she silently moaned.

"It seems I still have some family in Kirkwall after all," Tristan said softly. "They invited me to dinner tonight. Only…" he sighed, shifted again, his blue eyes looking anywhere but her face. "Only I would really prefer not to have to go alone," he admitted.

Unable to resist, Sonja took a step towards him, gently touching his arm. "They're going to like you," she whispered, suddenly understanding the source of his fear. "They'd be fools not too,"

Tristan raked a hand back through his hair, turning away from her with a ragged sigh. "I already had one family give up on me, Parish. It's not too much of a stretch to think that this one might not like me either,"

She slipped her hand into his, squeezing it gently. He glanced back at her. "So, will you come with me?"

"Of course," she whispered.

"Good," he murmured, relief flickering across his face. He squeezed her hand gratefully. "You're a good friend Parish. Even if you won't kill someone for me," he added, winking. Sonja stepped back, tugging her hand free while trying desperately to regain some control over her emotions.

"Let's go," she said, smiling back at him. "We wouldn't want to keep your family waiting,"

…

It was her first experience of Hightown. Sonja walked slowly, her eyes wandering appreciatively over the high stone buildings that rose up on either side of the cobbled road they walked upon. Darkness had only just settled upon Kirkwall, and already the streets were almost deserted, nothing like Orlais – Sonja mused. There, the streets were crowded with brightly dressed nobles and merchants until well after midnight. Kirkwall felt cold and empty in comparison. Still, Hightown was pretty enough, with its terraced gardens and white walled architecture. Parish glanced back at Tristan as they walked, scanning the emotions in his usually composed features. He too was glancing around, his blue eyes flickering curiously over each and every building they passed. He was still nervous; she could see it in the tight set of his lips, the stiffness of his back, the way his fingers unconsciously flexed into fists at his sides. She knew him well enough to understand the emotions running through him at that moment. As much as he coveted a real family, he wasn't willing to let himself get hurt again. Sensing her gaze, he turned his head towards her and smiled.

"It's not too late to back out," he offered. "We could go and get you drunk again instead. That was fun,"

Parish rolled her eyes. "For you maybe. I swear you get a kick out of embarrassing me,"

Tristan shook his head. "I just love hearing you belt out those old pirate ditties,"

"I do not!" she cried, affronted.

"Yea, you do," he said, smirking. "And let me tell you, whoever told you that you can sing should be horse whipped,"

She punched his shoulder angrily. "Well what do you expect? The only times you've heard me sing is when I'm pissed drunk,"

He gave her a sidelong glance. "You're telling me you actually can sing when you're sober?"

Parish blushed. "Well, no…" she admitted slowly. "But that's not the point!"

"What's the point then?"

"The point is…" she faltered, her grey eyes flickering across the open square they had wandered into as she fumbled for a scathing retort. "Hey!" she exclaimed, suddenly distracted. "I think that's it! That's your family crest, isn't it?"

Tristan whirled around, his body stiffening as he stared across the square. "Yes," he said, his voice so soft she could scarcely hear him. "Yes that's it,"

It looked almost no different from any other estate in Hightown. It too, was made of the same white stone, had the same sheltered doorway and the same manicured shrubbery as any of the other noblemen's houses. The one, unique difference was the twin set of shields that rested on either side of the door, proudly displaying the Amell Crest. Sonja only recognized the crest because Tristan had it embossed on the steel breastplate of his Warden Commander armour. Considering she had only seen him in his Warden armour a grand total of two or three times, Parish considered having recognized the symbol as something of an accomplishment. She trailed after him as he strode towards the house, craning her head back to fully gauge the size of it. These Free-Marchers had an obsession with building straight up, as opposed to extending their buildings out the sides. The sharp rap of Tristan's knuckles against the wooden door jolted her attention back to him. He took a step back from the doorway.

"This is it I guess," he murmured, momentary apprehension flitting across his face. Seconds seemed to pass like hours in the lonely square as they waited. Eventually, a sandy-haired young dwarf opened the door and stared at them, blinking owlishly.

"Enchantment?" he offered, tilting his head slightly back to stare up at their bemused faces.

"Sandal!" Tristan dropped to his knees before the dwarf, enveloping him in a fierce hug.

"Hero," the boy answered happily, a grin spreading across his innocent features.

"This wouldn't be the Sandal, would it?" Sonja asked, watching the pair curiously. Tristan drew back and ruffled the boy's hair affectionately before rising to his feet.

"The same one," he answered with a wry smile.

As Tristan told it, he had found the boy alone in Fort Drakon during the final battle against the arch demon, surrounded by dead darkspawn corpses. No one had a clue how the young dwarf had destroyed so many of the tainted beasts, but at the time, Tristan hadn't cared. He had wasted an extra hour in the fort, trying to hide the child away before allowing his companions to proceed. Sonja could still remember Alistair's voice in her head as he explained how Tristan had literally had to drag the boy out of the room, fending off darkspawn all the while, refusing to leave him until he was certain he was safe.

"Sandal? Is someone at the door?" a soft, feminine voice called out. Footsteps approached and seconds later a tall, steel-haired woman with Tristan's blue eyes appeared at the doorway. This had to be Leandra. Parish held her breath, glancing over at Tristan to gauge his expression. He was still smiling, albeit nervously now.

"Can I help you?" Leandra asked, glancing between the pair of them. "Abigail isn't here at the moment," she added.

"I… um…" Tristan cleared his throat. "Abby didn't tell you, did she?"

Leandra arched one brow questioningly and shook her head. "What has my daughter done this time?" she asked, a note of weariness in her voice.

"I…" Tristan took a breath, obviously trying to steel himself. "Perhaps I should introduce myself," he said softly. "My name is Tristan Amell,"

Leandra's blue eyes widened impossibly. "Tristan?" she repeated in surprise. "Dear Andraste," She stepped closer to him, one hand reaching out to gently touch his face. He closed his eyes at the light touch.

"I should have seen known," she whispered. "You're the splitting image of your mother,"

When the Warden Commander's eyes opened again, they were filled with a world of pain. Sonja wondered if he could even remember his mother's face. He had been so young when they had taken him to the circle.

"Come," Leandra said quickly, holding the door open wide. "Come inside. This is as much your home as it is mine," she took his hand in hers and pulled him forwards. "I want to hear everything about you," she added, her voice filled with eagerness. "I can't believe Abby didn't let me know you were coming,"

"Perhaps she was hoping it would be a surprise," Parish offered.

Leandra turned towards her curiously and Tristan cleared his throat, flushing in embarrassment.

"Oh! This is my friend Parish," he said quickly, shooting an apologetic glance at her.

"Pleased to meet you," Leandra said warmly, before turning her attention completely back to Tristan. "Bohdan was just setting up for dinner. I'll go and tell him to set two extra places. Make yourselves at home," she added.

Tristan took a tentative step inside the estate as Leandra quickly disappeared inside again. Parish followed after him, closing the door shut behind her. Sandal hovered at their feet, occasionally shooting admiring glances up at Tristan's face.

"Maker," Tristan breathed, as they walked through the front hall and into the grand entrance hall of the estate. "How is it possible for something to look the same and yet totally different all at once?"

"It's been a long time," Sonja said gently.

He nodded, his blue eyes still flickering restlessly around the room.

"It was never really my parents' home," he admitted softly. "My mother's parents died when she was young, so she lived with her aunt and uncle here for most of her life. She met my father in Kirkwall, but his family was of lesser blood than hers, barely a nobleman even, so he took on the Amell name when they married. They lived here until I was taken to the circle. After that they moved away. Still… this was the only home I've ever known, the only place that's ever felt real to me,"

Parish stilled as he spoke. This was the most he had ever spoken about himself at one time. He scarcely seemed aware that he was even speaking.

"I had already left Kirkwall when they took you away," Leandra's voice spoke up suddenly. Sonja turned, startled to find that the she had reappeared in the room without either of them noticing. "But your mother wrote me to tell me what had happened," she shook her head, her eyes filled with regret. "I swore I would never allow that to happen to my own children,"

"You're a better mother than mine was," Tristan commented dryly.

"She was misguided," Leandra moved across to him as she spoke, gently laying her hand over his arm. "My parents always had more success convincing her about the dangers of the magic than they did me. But no matter her short comings – she loved you dearly. I know that,"

"Loved?" Tristan echoed. "What happened to her?"

Leandra suddenly shifted uncomfortably, her gaze sliding away from his. "I don't know," she answered uneasily. "We lost touch,"

Liar, Sonja thought, shooting a quick glance at Tristan to determine if he had picked up on it too. His features were inscrutable.

"Something smells wonderful," he commented, forcing a smile.

Leandra nodded quickly, relief spreading across her weathered face. "Dinner is almost served. Come," she took his hand in hers again. "We'll eat in the dining hall,"

Sonja followed after them as they led the way through the estate, her mind in a whirl. Tristan of all people should have seen how uneasy she had become when he questioned her about his family. She had never met anyone who was as apt at reading people as Tristan was. And yet... And yet he had deliberately changed the subject. Almost as if he didn't want to know. Almost as if he preferred ignoring the truth. A knot of worry twisted her stomach as she wondered just how much of his pain the Warden Commander had chosen to hide beneath his feigned ignorance. She kept her thoughts to herself throughout dinner, content simply to watch the pair of them in silence. Tristan was slowly relaxing in Leandra's company, his teasing, good-natured manner slowly bubbling up throughout the course of dinner. Abigail was a complete no-show, but neither Tristan nor Leandra seemed to care. In fact, Sonja strongly suspected that they had completely forgotten she was even supposed to be coming until the sound of the front door crashing open reminded them. They both fell silent as footsteps and voices filled the front hall of the estate.

"Get in here Aveline!" an angry voice snarled. "You're going to explain to Tristan why I'm late!"

Sonja cast a glance at Tristan, catching the amused smile on his face. He caught her eye and mouthed 'that's Abby'.

"You're being unreasonable Hawke," a second voice sighed wearily. "How is any of this my fault?"

"I told you, I told you that I only had a couple of hours before he was coming over. And yet you insisted I help you with that raid on the Wounded Coast. Fenris!" Abby suddenly yelled. "Where the hell have you been? You left us out there!"

"If you think about it, this was all his fault really," a third, all-too-familiar voice broke in. It took Sonja a few moments to realise that the voice belonged to the Rivaini she had met that day – Isabela. "If it wasn't for Fenris, we wouldn't have gotten caught up with those Tevinter Mages,"

"I can't be held responsible for the actions of those mages," another, masculine voice growled.

"Yes you can," Abby said defiantly. "I need a scapegoat. Fenris, Aveline, you're coming with me. Isabela…" Abby sighed, the anger ebbing from her voice. "Thank you for your help. I'll see you tomorrow,"

"Can't I stay?" the pirate pleaded. "I'll help you pin the guilt on those two,"

"Hey!" Aveline's voice protested.

"Fine," Abby snapped. "But please – for the Maker's sake – keep your hands off of Tristan. I'm warning you Isabela. He's not a plaything for your amusement,"

There was a moment's silence in which Tristan smirked, Leandra blushed, and Sonja glowered.

Then, "Don't give me that look," Abby added. "I taught you that wide-eyed innocent stare, remember?"

"Can we get this over with?"Aveline's voice asked impatiently. "I need to get back to the barracks,"

Footsteps approached, their heavy boots loud against the marbled floor. Seconds later a raven-haired girl appeared at the doorway to the dining hall, her golden-tanned skin flushed with anger. Even through the layer of dirt and blood that caked her face, Parish could see the similarities between her and Tristan were striking.

"Evening mother," the girl smiled sweetly, her innocent, cheerful voice at complete odds with the scathing tone she had carried mere moments before. Her eyes flickered to Tristan and widened. "Tristan!" she gasped. "You're here already!" she placed a delicate hand against her lips. "Maker, please tell me I'm not late!"

The act would have seemed completely genuine, Sonja mused, had they not heard her raging on about how very late she was mere moments before. It seemed Abby was as good a liar as her cousin.

Tristan chuckled in amusement. "Yes Abby, you're late. Would you like to call in your scapegoats now so they can explain what happened?"

"Damn," Abby muttered, the smile slipping from her features. "I always forget how sound carries in this place,"

"Darling," Leandra said quickly. "Perhaps you'd like to explain how you could forget to tell me Tristan was coming?"

"It was meant to be a surprise," Abby took a seat at the opposite end of the table, sighing. "I didn't realise I wasn't going to get back here in time,"

"Good evening Aveline," Leandra added warmly, her eyes flickering past her daughter's face. Glancing back towards the doorway, Sonja caught sight of Abigail's three companions. Isabela wasted no time in slipping into the room and taking a seat next to Abby, but the other two stood stiff and motionless, clearly desperate to be somewhere else.

"Evening Leandra. Allow me to apologize for your daughter's lateness. I'm afraid I was partly to blame," as Aveline spoke she drove an armoured elbow into the ribs of the white-haired elf that stood beside her. He grimaced, shooting her a glare.

"I was also to blame," he added sullenly, though from his expression he obviously didn't believe this to be true.

"Thank you," Abby smiled sweetly at them. "You welcome to leave now,"

Both Guard Captain and elf had disappeared scarcely before Abigail had finished her sentence. She turned back to her Tristan, biting her bottom lip nervously. "I'm really sorry Tristan," she murmured, her voice filled with genuine regret this time.

He shook his head, still smiling warmly. "Forgiven," he assured her.

"I haven't scared you off have I?" she asked meekly. "You're not going to go running out that door the first opportunity you get?"

He chuckled. "On the contrary," he assured her. "I think you're going to have trouble getting me to ever leave,"