A/N: Hey guys… So so sorry for the long wait! My life caught up with me… woops. I'm studying to be a vet so the work load can sometimes start to drown me. Anyway, I typed this out while I was supposed to be studying (I know, I know, not good) so forgive me for any mistakes

Thanks to everyone who reviewed/alerted. U guys are so super awesome!

Chapter 15

Something's in the air tonight,

The sky's alive with the burning light,

Come mark my words,

Something's about to break.

And I found myself in a bitter fight,

When I held your hand through the darkest night,

Don't know where you're coming from,

But you're coming soon.

-Mat Kearney, Nothing Left to Lose.

It was sunset by the time Sonja managed to return the Kalipsa back into the docks of Kirkwall. A waning sun had cast its rays upon the sea that stretched across the horizon, causing the water to sparkle and dance with red light, as though a million rubies had been scattered into the bay. The Twins of Kirkwall loomed up ahead, impassively guarding the shadowy pass through the cliffs. Parish bit her bottom lip as she guided the craft safely through the passage, forcing herself to concentrate on the task at hand and not the fact that she had left an injured Tristan somewhere along the shores of the Wounded Coast.

Maker, she silently pleaded. Please let him be safe,

"What happened out there, Parish?" Luke had stepped up into the wheelhouse to talk to her. Sonja didn't turn to look at him, knowing that she could never lie to him while looking him in the eye.

"I don't know," she whispered, silently begging him to drop it. She released her tight grip on the wheel, flexing her fingers to ease away the tension in the joints. The Kalipsa sidled up alongside the jetty and the crew began hurriedly securing her to the docks and lowering the gangplank. They were nervous; she knew each of them well enough to see the fear lurking in their expressions. None of them would have understood what was happening to Tristan. She turned back to Luke, staring into his worried dark eyes.
"I'm going to find Reynold and tell him what happened. Will you take care of things here for me? Keep the crew settled?"

"Of course," Luke nodded his head and Sonja was suddenly reminded why he was her best friend. As annoying and childish as he could sometimes be, she could always count on him to be there for her when she needed him.

"Thanks Luke,"

She turned quickly towards the gangplank, forcing herself to walk and not run away from the ship. It wouldn't do the crew any good to see her lose it. It was only once she had reached the top of the stairs that led away from the docks and was safely out of sight of the Kalipsa that she broke into a run. Captain Reynold would either be at the Hanged Man, or the Blooming Rose. The Hanged Man was closer, so Sonja headed for it first. The heavy scent of alcohol, blood and excrement washed over her as she slipped in through the door. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. How Tristan could spend most of his time in a dump like this was beyond her. The place was filthy. Her eyes flickered over the patrons in the bar, a wave of relief washing through her as she caught sight of the Captain seated at a table near the bar.

"Parish!" Reynold greeted her as she neared his table, his heavy brows furrowing as he caught sight of her expression. "What's happened?"

"It's Tristan… Something happened while we were out on the Kalipsa," Sonja sat down in the chair beside him as she spoke, leaning into him so that they wouldn't be overheard. "He started crying out in pain and then he just collapsed. He was…He was holding his amulet,"

Reynold's dark eyes widened. "Umbra?" he muttered. Parish nodded grimly.

"I think something happened to her,"

"Where is he?" Reynold demanded sharply.

"He jumped ship and swam to shore," Sonja said, uncomfortably avoiding his angry gaze.

"You left him there!" the Captain growled.

"There was nothing I could do!" she protested quickly. "Isabela dove in after him, leaving me at the helm. I couldn't even lower a row boat in after him! The waves and the rocks out there would have reduced it to splinters!"

"The crew?" Reynold asked quietly. "What did they make of this?"

Sonja shook her head. "They're worried, but none of them have any idea of what really happened. We can come up with something to tell them later… Right now we need to find Tristan," she pushed herself to her feet, staring down at Reynold expectantly. "I'm not going to leave him out there. Are you coming with me?"

Reynold's eyes flickered to the doorway and he shook his head. "That won't be necessary,"

Sonja felt her temper flare. "What do you mean not 'necessary'? He's out there somewhere! He could be dying! He could be…" she trailed off, following the direction of Reynold's gaze to the doorway. "Tristan," she breathed, catching sight of the bedraggled Warden Commander as he and Isabela stepped inside the tavern. The pirate headed straight towards the bar, her expression grim. Tristan's blue eyes fell upon Sonja and he walked towards their table. Parish ran towards him, throwing her arms around his waist and hugging him tightly. She buried her face inside his damp shirt, her shoulders shaking with relief.

"You got back safely," Tristan murmured, hugging her back. "Good. I was worried about you,"

"You were worried about me?" Sonja demanded incredulously, pulling slightly away from him to stare up into his eyes. "I thought you were going to die," she lifted her hand between them and punched his chest angrily. "Don't ever do that to me again!"

"I'm fine, Parish," he said reassuringly. "Look, not even a scratch,"

"Give him some air, Parish," Reynold said gruffly from behind her. Sonja blushed, realising that she had been holding onto Tristan for far longer than was strictly necessary. She released him quickly, stepping back to create some distance between them. She stumbled into the back of a wooden chair and quickly sat down upon it, her face burning with embarrassment. Tristan – damn him! – just stared at her in bemusement.

"Does she know?" Reynold asked quietly, jerking his head towards where Isabela stood. One glance at the Rivaini pirate was enough to convince Sonja that she did. Isabela's face was unusually pale, and she was staring into the contents of her mug with a vacant, far-away expression. Her hands trembled as she lifted the alcohol to her lips. Tristan sat down heavily into the seat next to Sonja, raking his hand back through his dark hair in frustration.

"Yea," he admitted wearily. "I had to tell her. I had no choice,"

Wonderful, Sonja thought angrily. How long can Tristan keep this a secret when she knows about it?

She didn't know the pirate very well, but she had spent enough time in her company to tell that the woman was an insatiable gossip. She and Varric were a match made by the Maker himself. Neither of them knew how to hold onto a secret.

"Will she tell?" Reynold probed.

Of course she will, Parish glared across at her Captain. How could he be so dense? Abigail Hawke was Isabela's best friend. She would be the first person the pirate would tell. You can trust Abby, she told herself reassuringly. And she believed it. Abby was cut from the same cloth as Tristan; she would understand. But many people wouldn't. If the Chantry had to get wind of the magical connection he had formed between him and Umbra… she shuddered. There was no telling what their twisted faith might convince them needed to be done.

"I don't know," Tristan replied softly, his gaze now fixed on Isabela. His lips twisted into a humourless smile. "She's not exactly taking it too well. Dragons and old magic don't seem to be her forte,"

Parish rolled her steel grey eyes. "She's a pirate, Amell. What did you expect?"

"She doesn't agree with what I did… But I don't think she's going to say anything. I can't be sure she won't mention it to Abby though,"

"I guess we'll just have to trust her," Reynold sighed. He turned back to Tristan. "What exactly happened out there, anyway?"

Tristan's expression suddenly clouded with worry. "Abigail and the others ran into Umbra while out on the wounded coast. They attacked her, she was forced to defend herself, and by the time I got there no one was looking too good. I didn't realise my cousin and her band of misfits were such apt little dragon slayers," he added darkly. "If I hadn't gotten there when I did there's no telling what might have happened,"

"Is Umbra okay?" Parish asked, concern flooding her features. Tristan nodded.

"I managed to heal her before she flew off. I still want to take a second look at her though, make sure she's alright. I think I'll head up Sundermount tomorrow to talk to her. This was the last straw though Reynold," he added, turning towards the Captain. "This was my fault. We never should have stayed here as long as we have. I need to get back to Ferelden. I need to make sure Alistair made it back safely on his own. I have to find a way to stop the Mage's Collective before they go and capture themselves another dragon. I don't have time to waste playing families," he muttered angrily.

"None of this is your fault, Tristan," Sonja whispered, touching his arm gently. In truth she was grateful to hear that they would be leaving again, being stuck here in Kirkwall had started to drive her crazy. The mere thought of setting sail and never returning to this Maker-forsaken city had her heart pounding with excitement. Still, she knew how much Tristan's new-found family meant to him. It wasn't fair for him to punish himself, just for wanting to get to know them.

"I should go check on Abigail," Tristan sighed. He raked his fingers back through his hair again. "She didn't exactly come out of that fight unscathed. I should make sure she's okay,"

"I'll go with you," Sonja offered. He smiled at her gratefully, causing the butterflies in her stomach to flutter restlessly.

"Come on," he pushed himself to his feet. "The sooner I find her, the sooner I can relax. I just want this Maker-damned day to end,"

"I'll go and check on the crew," Reynold told him, lifting his mug to his lips and draining the last of his whiskey. "I'll make up some story or other to keep them happy,"

"Thanks Reynold," Tristan murmured. "Tell the crew to be ready to set sail by evening tomorrow. That should give me enough time to say my goodbyes to everyone,"

The Captain nodded his agreement, his eyes holding a gleam of relief. Tristan motioned Sonja ahead of him with a sweep of his arm, placing his hand against the small of her back as he guided them through the maze of scattered tables and chairs that separated them from the door. Isabela lifted her head towards them as they left, and a look passed briefly between her and Tristan, before the pirate turned her head away, frowning. The Warden groaned softly.

"She's angry at me," he murmured, pushing the door to the bar open and stepping outside into the hazy evening twilight. Parish glanced back at him.

"What reason would she have to be angry with you?"

Tristan sighed. "For putting Abigail in danger. She accused me of being more worried about the dragon than I was about my cousin,"

"You said before that Hawke has killed dragons. You have a right to be protective of Umbra, Tristan. It's not just her life that was at stake today. Yours was too," she protested.

He nodded slowly, looking unconvinced. "Isabela has a point though, Parish. I've been selfish. Keeping Umbra here is putting everyone in danger right now,"

"You care," Sonja said suddenly, a stab of pain in her heart accompanying her words. She stopped, turning to face him. "You care about Isabela, don't you? You care what she thinks. You care about her,"

Tristan shook his head, his blue eyes unable to meet her gaze. "It's not like that Parish," he murmured. "We're just friends. Yes, I like her – maybe more than I should – but it will never be anything more than that,"

"Why?" she whispered, folding her arms across her chest.

"Because she would run like hell," Tristan replied, his words almost a sigh of defeat. "And because I'm leaving. It wouldn't work,"

"But you want it to," she persisted, her voice almost accusing. She couldn't understand why she didn't just stop, just let it go. His quiet admissions were only hurting her more. She was almost deliberately poking at her own emotions, the way one would press a finger to a bruise to test how much it hurt.

Tristan shook his head, his blue eyes shuttering, becoming distant.

"It doesn't matter what I want Sonja," he replied, the use of her first name a clear indication that she had started to annoy him. "We don't all get to be like Alistair," he added scathingly. "We don't all get to run off across the world chasing after our happily ever after,"

"Tristan?" a soft voice called him from across the deserted street, causing the dark-haired Warden to stiffen in surprise, the anger ebbing away from his face. Sonja whirled around to face the owner of the voice, and was surprise to see Leandra Hawke walking towards them, arm in arm with a steely haired man.

"Leandra," Tristan smiled at her, moving closer. "What are you doing here at this time of the evening? It's not safe, you know," he added in concern, casting an apprehensive glance around as he spoke.

Leandra gave him a fond smile. "You worry too much," she replied, waving away his words with an idle wave of her free hand. She shifted closer to the man beside her, her smile growing nervous. "I suppose I should introduce you," she tilted her head up to her companion and he smiled genially in response. "Quen, I would like you to meet my nephew Tristan Amell. Tristan, meet Quen. My, uh… friend," she added, a slight blush staining her cheeks. Sonja smiled at the pair of them.

At least someone is happy, she thought wistfully. It's not like Leandra doesn't deserve it. Maker knows she's been through enough,

But apparently the same thoughts weren't going through Tristan's head, because he stiffened even further, his cobalt blue eyes darkening with apparent suspicion.

"Your friend?" he echoed slowly, his narrowed gaze now pinned to the older man, who shifted slightly beneath the intensity of the Warden's glare. "And what exactly are you and your friend doing in Lowtown at this time of night?"

"Tristan!" Leandra gasped, her brow furrowing. "Dear Maker, I expected this sort of hostility from Abigail but certainly not from you,"

"Not to worry Leandra," Quen said soothingly, his smile still firmly in place. "I'm glad to see that your family cares so much about you. The boy has every right to worry. This city isn't very safe," he turned back to Tristan. "Which is why I insisted she allow me to escort her to her brother's house for their weekly visit. I couldn't bear the thought of her walking through Lowtown alone,"

Parish reached out and pinched Tristan's arm, hard. He jerked, wincing in pain. "What was that for?" he hissed.

"You're being rude," she replied.

Leandra chuckled. "At least someone is on my side! Thank you Parish," she added, smiling gratefully at her. A little of the tension seemed to ease from Tristan's shoulders and his lips twitched into a smile.

"I'm sorry Leandra," he murmured. "And Quen, I did not mean to offend," he added, glancing back at the older man. "I'm sure you have my aunt's best interests at heart,"

Leandra leaned forwards, pressing a swift kiss to her nephew's cheek. "You and Abigail really are two of a kind," she said affectionately. "You both worry far too much. I'll see you later on this evening, my dear boy. You are coming to dinner, aren't you?"

"I wouldn't miss it," Tristan assured her.

"And Parish, I insist you come as well. The more the merrier," Leandra added.

"That's very generous," Sonja replied, smiling happily at the thought of an entire evening spent in Tristan's company. She'd missed spending time with him lately.

"Good. That's settled," Leandra patted Quen's arm. "We should be going. It's getting dark,"

Quen nodded his agreement. "Of course. It was a pleasure to meet you Tristan," he said. "And you, Parish," he added.

Tristan shifted uncomfortably as they watched the pair walk away, his expression darkening. Parish gave him a slight shove to get his attention.
"Oh come on! Your aunt dating can't be so bad, can it? Doesn't she deserve to find someone?"

"Not that guy," Tristan growled.

"Why not?"

He turned towards her, his cobalt eyes shimmering with uneasiness. "He's a mage Parish. An apostate, and a powerful one from what I could gather,"

Sonja laughed. "Tristan, come on! Not every mage is evil incarnate. You should know that better than anyone!" she grabbed his arm and gave it a firm tug, forcing him to continue walking down the street leading to Hightown. "And besides, we already know your aunt has a thing for mages. It makes sense that she would pick another one out as a suitor. You should be happy that she's happy,"

Tristan gave her a sidelong glance. "I never knew you were such a closet romantic Parish," he grumbled. "First Isabela and me, now Leandra and Quen... This isn't looking good for your hard-assed reputation," he added, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer. She glared up at him.

"I never said you and Isabela should get together. I was just asking how you felt about her,"

"Well good," Tristan grinned. "The last thing I need is you trying to play matchmaker. Besides, I don't need another girl. I've already got you,"

Sonja groaned inwardly. Yes you do Tristan, she silently sighed. Now why don't you do something about it? She couldn't help but think back on Leandra's happy expression as she had walked away with Quen. Really, Sonja thought, the woman has no idea how lucky she is.