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...

The air was heavy as Bellam finished strapping on his armour. Heavy with the weight of words spoken, and burdened with the weight of guilt.

Bianca's stare was fastened keenly on the drunken old archer, who seemed just as keen to avoid her gaze. A hundred words entered Varric's mind, but he knew that none of them would do any good. This was something that could not be undone… as if the intermittent sounds of explosions and shattering glass weren't evidence of that enough.

Yet still, the tension between his two comrades was enough to chill him even more than the sounds from the world beyond.

"Better get on your armour, girl. No telling what we'll face out there." Bellam's voice was a welcome addition to the relative quiet of the room, but still Varric felt his breath hitch. The status quo had now been broken, like a sword shattering through a lake of thin ice.

The merchant looked away from his mentor's back to take in the sight of the woman, retreated almost to the door as if eager to start.

Although he recognised her as Bianca, Varric could honestly say he didn't know her anymore. Although without her leathers, she seemed physically much smaller, somehow she seemed… bigger. He had never felt so intimidated by her presence before. He had seen anger… even fury in her eyes, but now they were narrowed and radiated something far more unnerving than that. Her hair, normally slicked back or pinned closely to her scalp floated in front of her face, framing her terrifying stare. One which, he felt selfish to think, was thankfully not fixed on him.

"Why would I need armour?" Her voice was rough. Not just grated through the pain of loss, but something else. It sent a tremor through him.

This is what revenge had done to Bianca. His Bianca. And she was not even the intended target. To think that he would have facilitated it to save Bartrand made him want to squirm in his own skin. It made him want to throw himself at her feet and beg forgiveness. But that was not to be, and his imposition in this scenario would be ill-advised. He had a role to play, and he would serve her better by just staying quiet.

In spite of the torrent of thoughts running through his own head, Bellam's simple answer cut through them all. "Are you deaf, my girl?"

"I am not." She replied silkily and evenly. "You said that Juvia is responsible. If it is my sister out there then I have no need for armour."

"I also told you that that woman is bad news…" The Elder sighed with exasperation.

"You also told me that a dwarf threw a fire spell at us… surely you can understand my being sceptical?"

Bellam's cheeks flushed as he stuttered out several attempts at a protest before grinding to a halt with a heavy sigh. His eyes were wide as if imploring her to reconsider, but her stare remained the same as she was clearly unmoved by his concern.

"Juvia or no," Varric spoke up, "there's more than one battle to be fought from the sounds of it. It's probably a good idea, Bianca."

"I will not bear arms against my sister."

"An interesting statement from a woman carrying as many knives as you are."

Her eyes swung to hold his gaze and Varric was relieved to see that hardened stare soften a little. "…Shut up, Newbie."

"I'm just saying, maybe now is the best time to wear your armour." And he meant it.

In more ways than one.

He tried to hide his disappointment when her expression hardened again, her eyes once again turning to take in the sight of the elderly archer, now clad in his leathers.

"What use is armour to me now?" She turned on her heel and made her way into the corridor.

….

If the inside of Bellam's room was now in a state of chaos, the courtyard was devastated. Littered with shards of glass that glittered with the light of reflected fire. Varric tried to suppress a shudder staring at where the tavern had once stood in relative tact.

Its windows and furniture spilled onto the damp cobbles as if innards, the damp stones slicked with a dark red hue. He could only imagine how many men had been in there, obliviously enjoying their last drink in this world. Not all good men, for certain. But men still. Lives, now extinguished. He was under no illusion that, had this sorry mess not drawn him to Bellam's quarters, he would be among them.

Damn.

Every which way he glanced, every narrow street he dared look down, the scene was the same. Absolute destruction.

He had not been here that long. Hell, there were people who had been brought into their existence here. Compared to them, he had barely been here five minutes, but that didn't mean his eyes didn't water. And it wasn't just from the smoke that bellowed around them.

"By the stone," Bellam breathed, "what in the name of the ancestors…?"

"You should be happy." The woman beside him cut in, "if this was Juvia then you finally have the evidence you need. Congratulations."

Varric turned to see his mentor's shoulders sag. "This wasn't what I wanted, Child."

"It's funny isn't it? How the best intentions can blow up in our faces? ...quite literally in your case."

"We should go to the meeting house." Varric interjected, "Bianca, your Grandfather and the other Elders will probably be there. We need to check it out."

"Agreed." She replied immediately, though Varric noted the coldness in her tone had not thawed. Almost as if this was all a front. Varric understood, although he didn't say it. He had pushed the thought of Bartrand firmly from his mind.

"Let's go." Bellam agreed, shifting his crossbow further up his arm to allow for some pace.

In wordless agreement, the trio began to move, quietly yet purposefully across the courtyard into the shadows between the buildings. Although they proceeded cautiously, the perpetual and unnerving thud of his heart did nothing to ease the adrenaline that made his hands shake.

He tried to convince himself that it was excitement, an opportunity to finally show how much he had grown. A chance to prove how much he had learned. A chance to prove he was worth something beyond being Bartrand's lackey.

But he knew better. What shook his hands and made his heart race… it was fear…

He knew it more and more the closer they came to that door.

Bellam took the lead, down the narrow passage.

Bianca fell in line second and Varric took the rear.

Varric felt his breath hitch, and he fought his nerves as Bellam tested the brass door bars for heat. He shook his head then shifted the crossbow once more in his grip. A grip ready to shoot if the need arose.

The breath rattled between his teeth as Varric let it go. He took heed from his mentor and shrugged the weight of his crossbow from his shoulder and into his waiting hand, his finger feeling the cold metal of the trigger reassuringly against his skin.

The doors surged open and Bellam bowed to the right, his bow primed and ready, keen eyes surveying the situation. Bianca didn't wait for much invitation, much less Bellam's conclusion. She practically dove through the door and into the darkness beyond.

The merchant took pause. Thoughts began to formulate. Ideas such as 'self-preservation' and 'keeping your own skin' floated forth.

Varric stopped.

Bartrand's ideas. Not his.

He had something more important to protect.

He moved, every muscle aching in objection. But he moved. He moved passed the ashen Bellam, and passed the dull green doors and into the darkness.

It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom. But when they did, he saw her. Standing rigid, staring straight ahead. Her eyes didn't turn to greet him, rather they stayed with the gored body, slumped unceremoniously in his chair. His eyes were open, yet they didn't betray any evidence that this man had been afraid. In fact Varric thought that the Old Man looked sad. Any analysis of his final expression was dimmed however, by the bright red crimson that tumbled from his lips and down his snowy beard.

Once again, he took her in, unmoving yet not unmoved. More than anything, he wished he could hold her, and that she would cry, and he would dry her tears, and he would protect her. The merchant almost grimaced to himself. What a ridiculous notion. How could he want her to cry? How could he ever hope to protect her?

Though deep down he knew the answer. He would give anything to take away whatever turmoil she might be facing down in that head of hers. Anything to take away this apparent desperate need to turn her emotions to concrete.

This cold shell she presented, it wasn't his Bianca, and he would take any spell any mage could throw at him to bring her back.

He moved to her side, but he dared not speak. Dared not intrude on what she must be feeling. She was trying to hold it together, he could tell from the wetness of her eyes and the way her shoulders tensed.

In spite of his doubts, Varric reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder to let her know he was there. "I'm sorry." What a stupid thing to say.

"Why? You didn't kill him." Her voice was broken, yet he didn't shake away his hand.

"I know, I mean… I wish this wasn't happening to you…" It didn't change anything, but he meant it.

"He was a good man." Bellam's voice cut in, almost as broken as Bianca's. But unlike the young woman, the old man wore his grief openly. He eyes blistered with tears yet to shed, his lips pursed to withhold the sobs.

"Shut up." She told him bluntly, brushing away Varric's hand as she did so, not in an unkind manner, but brisk enough for him to know it wasn't what she needed now.

"Your Grandfather was my best friend, Bianca. I'm sorry for all I've done. I truly am… if I had known… and from the bottom of my heart I hope that you'll forgive me some day…"

"If you truly have a heart you'll know why I can't do that."

"By the stone, Child! I made a mistake! And if I could take it back…"

"You spent years persecuting Juvia for a mistake she made. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't do the same to you…"

Bellam sighed, and with that sigh he dropped his bow and his defences. Tears and sobs broke their way forward. "Because you're better than me. Please don't become me."

Varric shifted uncomfortably as Bianca turned to face the defeated old archer. Yet there was no trace of anything; no pity, no anger… nothing. It was just that same blank stare. She might as well have still been staring at her Grandfather's corpse for all the change it brought.

"I agree," cut in a bitter new voice. "I don't think a beard would suit you, Sis."

A soft light spread from one side, and soon all of the corners of the darkened hall were illuminated by an aureate hue. There, by the far wall, stood Juvia, her jaw set in a twisted mockery of a smile. Beside her were two robed companions. One a man, tall and lean, the other a woman with dark hair, twisted into a tight style which only accentuated the harshness of her eyes and the severity of her narrow features.

Varric raised his crossbow and took aim at the man. His heart pounded, yet a strange calm took control over the shaking in his hands.

This is it.

"Hadriana." Bianca nodded to the dark haired mage. "…Juvia." Bianca turned to her sister, her tone hardening as she stepped in in front of the sobbing man. Bellam wiped his tears away fiercely. "There was a time when I would have said sunlight suited you, but it seems shadows become you more now."

"What runaway doesn't crave for shadows?"

"The same could be said for criminals."

Juvia smirked. "You want me to tell you that I had nothing to do with this."

"The thought had entered my head." Bianca admitted. Varric noticed her fingers caressing the hilt of the knife at the back of her belt. His shoulders tensed. He would be ready.

The darker haired sister shook her head, though the smirk remained. "I can't do that."

"You stupid little cow." Bianca bit back. "People are dead because of you."

"My life was ruined because of them. Fair trade."

"And Grandfather…?"

"He cast me out!"

"Maybe you had it coming?"

"You don't mean that. I can tell," Juvia's eyes narrowed as she took in her sister, though whether she thought it a welcome sight or not, Varric couldn't decide. He sucked in a breath and set his feet, readying himself. "All you're doing," she continued, "is blaming yourself that you didn't stop it. Why didn't you, Bianca? Why didn't you stop it?"

"Because I didn't know how low you could sink, Sister."

"Desperation becomes its own destiny."

"So does revenge, and just take one look at the snivelling idiot behind me, Juvia, that's not what it's cracked up to be."

"I want justice."

"And I want a sister who's not just murdered my only other living relative, but we can't all have what we want."

"You don't seem too broken up about it…"

Bianca's eyes narrowed and Varric sensed her fist clench at her back. "How would you know?"

"Because I know you. You're putting on a brave face, hoping to talk me out of this even now… hoping to save that pathetic entourage of yours… how noble."

"There's nothing noble about wanting to protect people you love."

Juvia's arm twitched and suddenly there was a knife in her hand and a grin slicked its way across her lips. "Nothing noble about this either."

She threw a bottle to the ground, and a thick smoke sprang forth as it smashed against the stone floor. The light from the mages' staffs changed colour, bathing the room in a sickly reddish-green as Juvia vanished from sight. Varric cursed, his instinct was to move to Bianca, as he had last time… but if last time had taught him anything, it was that if he wanted to protect her, he would have to stay alive.

He took an aimed shot at the male… and he aimed straight for the jugular. Varric was rewarded with a light extinguished and his target falling back, producing nothing more than strained gurgled sounds from his still open mouth. The woman, on the other hand, seeing her comrade fall, swiftly finished her incantation and hurled a ball of red fire at Varric, which he dodged easily… yet even as the magic passed him by it was clear that the spell had done its job as the dark-haired woman turned on her heel and fled for the door.

Gathering his wits, Varric reloaded his crossbow, and as he heard the mage's booted footfalls fade from hearing, he turned to face Bianca. They both stood in the flickering light of the fading spell, old man and young woman, back to back. Her stance tall, determined and her eyes focused; his seemed more lithe and nervous, his eyes darting around the room.

Juvia clearly had still not reappeared. Varric didn't know if that was for the best or not. He swiftly considered the idea that, like her mage friend, she had decided against battle and taken flight… an idea Varric knew was utter fantasy. He gathered his concentration as the remnants of the mage's spell faded, leaving the room in gloomy darkness. "I'll watch out for any 'company'…"

"Well you wouldn't have had to worry about that if you'd dropped Hadriana." Bianca observed.

"I've got better women to chase."

"Glad to hear it. Hadriana seems a little… homicidal… might be… unhealthy for you-"

Before she could finish, the pale, smirking features of Juvia emerged on her right, as if from nothing. The knife in her hand glinted. The cry stuck in Varric's throat as he threw himself forward instinctively, Bianca moved to the side defensively and raised her knife… but it was too late, Juvia was too close and too fast, and Bianca had no armour to protect her.

But then Varric hadn't counted on Bellam. He parried the coming blow with his bow and knocked Bianca to the floor with his free arm. Too late, Varric saw the small dagger concealed in Juvia's other hand. He tried to call out a warning, but the woman had already rammed it forward, snarling her hatred. The weapon found its way past the old man's defences, making a sickening sound as it found his gut.

Varric stopped his charge in shock. Any calls that had left his mouth now silenced.

Yet Bellam did not fall. He stared down at the dagger and then at the dark haired woman with an equal amount of contempt, before crashing the back end of his bow into her face.

Juvia was sent sprawling.

With a strange air of calm, Bellam knocked an arrow to his bow and took aim at her head. "This is all you deserve…"

"NO!" Bianca surged to her feet, her arm wrapping around Bellam's, desperately pulling off his aim as her free hand slammed into his back.

There was that same sickening sound. And this time, Bellam fell.

His weight crashed against the cold stone floor with a thud that echoed around the chamber. His crossbow fell lifelessly from his grip and clattered to a stop at Varric's feet, which were rooted with shock. The merchant stared at the two sisters, both with bloodied knives in hand, and at his fallen comrade.

"Bellam!" Varric regained his senses and ran towards his mentor, dropping his own crossbow. He fell to his knees as he reached the old man, and lifted his shoulder with one hand, steadying his head with the other.

The old man's frosty blue eyes met his, wide with shock. "Bianca…" he coughed, spilling blood from his open mouth.

"It's going to be alright." Varric soothed. "We'll get help."

"Bianca…"

"How touching…" That voice, how he hated it.

Earlier he had admired how Bianca had held herself together. But now, he couldn't understand it. The despair crashed into him like a wave. The tears formed before he could even catch his breath.

He was surprised when a hand took support of Bellam's lolling head from his own grip, and when another assisted with supporting the old man's shoulder. When he looked up through his misted eyes he saw Bianca, and was surprised to see her tears falling freely. "Bellam…"

"Bianca…" The old man's eyes turned to her, bleary and unfocused.

"I'm sorry Bellam," she choked out. "I'm sorry. I just… moved…"

"Why do you ask forgiveness…" he said, voice wavering, "from someone… who wronged you…"

"Because I love you." She answered instantly, closing her eyes in a futile attempt to block out the tears.

His shaking hand rose to caress her cheek, and she took it in hers, pressing it to her face as he spoke. "Then I leave this world… a happy man."

"Bellam…" Her sobs broke the barrier she had been holding.

"It is time… to greet my Ancestors, my girl…"

His hand fell away, and Varric heard a whimper escape his own throat. He fought to keep his shoulders from shaking as his own tears ran in streams down his cheek. It was such a strange thing. To be holding Bellam closer than he ever had before, but at the same time to know that the old man had gone somewhere he couldn't follow. To know that the archery lessons he had looked forward to so much were now well and truly a thing of the past. To know that they would never tease one another again… to know they would never laugh together again… to lose a second father…

It was too much.

His breast heaved, gasping for air against his choking sorrow.

He couldn't understand. And he didn't want to.

He wanted Bellam back.

"How very touching…" Juvia's voice protruded the grief… and Varric could picture her smirk… yet even though bile stirred in his belly, grief seemed to cripple his rage. "If it means anything, Sis, I wasn't really aiming at you…"

"… what?" Bianca wet eyes opened and a strange expression of realisation crossed her features.

"He played his game and he played it well… but I played it better… knowing your enemy's weakness is knowing your own strength… though, I must confess, I didn't expect you to finish him off for me…"

Bellam's head sagged into Varric's hand as Bianca withdrew her support. Her eyes rose to greet his, and he saw a cold, murderous intent that chilled him to the bone. Although her tears had stopped, he could still trace the stains they'd left behind.

He hadn't noted where the knife had fallen, but by the swift movement of her wrist he could tell she had retrieved it.

She tensed, turned and lunged at her sister, all thought of finesse, strategy and caution buried under a primal fury that was terrifying to behold. Yet Juvia was ready for her.

Bianca rained down blow after savage blow, though each one was turned aside by her sister's own blade. "I'll kill you, you little bitch..." Bianca growled.

Juvia huffed slightly with the effort of holding off Bianca's advance. "You're welcome to try, Big Sister."

"Don't call me that. You are dead to me." With a shift of weight, Bianca tipped the dark haired woman to one side and although she did not lose balance, it took a second to regain her ready stance.

"Then why don't you go over and poke Grandfather with your dagger as well, you'll have stabbed everyone you love then." Varric noticed even through his water-filled eyes the slight movement of Juvia's left shoulder, although the right arm that held her dagger out stayed absolutely still. Varric felt his stomach lurch.

"Not everyone… and don't flatter yourself, you've been bumped from the list," bit back Bianca, bitterly.

"I'll try not to cry too much…" The woman snarled and pulled her arm out from behind her back just as Varric cried out. The dagger flew from her hand towards Bianca, but it seemed that the older sister had already well anticipated the attack. She moved deftly to the side, dodging the blade, and surged forward to well within Juvia's guard. Her sibling's eyes widened with alarm and she tried feebly to pull her other dagger round for protection. But Bianca was too quick, and her fist rose to crunch into her sister's cheek, knocking her to the floor. The younger woman dropped her dagger on the way down, and her arm flailed out for it as it skidded beyond reach.

Bianca was not done. She fell forward onto the dark-haired woman and began punching her. Varric couldn't tell what pained him more. The sickening thuds of Bianca's fists hammering into Juvia's face, the pathetic whimpers that were coming from the injured woman… or the look of sheer hatred written across the features of the woman he loved.

He looked down, to the body that lay in his arms, and he suddenly felt as if the world and everything he knew wasn't real. To look at Bellam's face, he may as well have been sleeping in his student's comforting embrace… how could he be dead? How could it be Bianca that had killed him? Her mentor and best friend? How could Bianca be punching Juvia? The sister she had fought so hard to save? This was all some stupid dream, it had to be.

And if it hadn't been for the blood that slicked across Varric's hands and stained his clothes, and the tears that matted his mentor's bedraggled beard, he might have been able to convince himself of that.

"You must do what needs to be done if it should come to it; at the end of the day you cannot expect Bianca to raise arms against her own kin… her heart is not made that way…"

He didn't know why those words came to him. Maybe it was watching Juvia's feeble attempts to defend herself fail. Maybe it was the way Bianca sobbed as she struck her sister… maybe it was because in spite of it all, he hadn't been able to keep his promise and now his subconscious was determined to make him suffer for it.

"Because you're better than me. Please don't become me."

"Bianca stop." His voice was quiet, weak.

She didn't hear. She didn't listen. She didn't stop.

Varric stood, his knees shaking and his feet unsure. He moved to her, slowly, becoming aware for the first time how much his eyes stung.

Bianca's punches had become more feeble, less frenzied and vengeful than before. Her eyes now filled with spilling tears rather than wrath. She bit her lip as if holding in her sobs. She didn't look at him. Her bloodied fist raised for another punch, but Varric caught it. "Bianca. Stop."

His tone was not assertive, yet she did not resist his grip.

To his surprise, she struggled to her feet. Her breathing was heavy and ragged, her eyes red as she looked hopelessly down at her sprawling sister.

Juvia returned her gaze through bruised and swollen eyes, resentment written in blood across her face. Her nose was crooked, her jaw set at a disturbing angle, spit, bile and blood fell unnoticed from between her broken teeth.

Slowly, between stifled cries of agony, the younger sister pushed herself unsteadily to her feet. Her confident swagger was utterly destroyed, instead she held her head down, and her body seemed to shrink away from Bianca, who regarded her broken form with no trace of the pity she had once had.

Her face was set in a grim stare, and Varric saw only disgust and contempt in his friend's eyes. Slowly and deliberately, she turned away from her sister. Varric tensed, expecting Juvia to take the opportunity, but the younger woman seemed hardly to notice. Bianca stooped to retrieve her knife, and the blade scraped along the stone floor, its ring echoing around the chamber with a certain finality.

Without turning, Bianca reached out her arm and pointed to the main door.

"I never want to see your face again."

The only sounds were her footsteps as she crossed heavily to a side door, which slowly swung shut behind her with a dull thud.