[A/N: thank you to Bubble 14 for reviewing!]

The Amell Estate, 9:31 Dragon

She will need to purchase a new set of leathers.

She sighs, dropping her armor on the ground next to where Carver's just left his.

Her undertunic and pants are damp with her own sweat and stained in places where the templar blood had managed to seep through her armor.

They've murdered a handful of templars. In self-defense sure, but the thought still unsettles her. She can see their lifeless bodies decorating the Chantry floor when she closes her eyes, smell their blood like they're right in front of her. She can hear Varric's voice echoing 'I can get that taken care of' in the back of her mind. She's only ever had a handful of thugs' blood on her hands, if one of Anthenril's jobs happened to go sour, but never the death of any sort of city official. She shakes her head and squares her shoulders, shivering slightly at the late night chill the breeze leaves on her skin.

Her black hair is disheveled, her left hand twinges with the beginning of a cramp, she should clean her armor before it cakes over in dried blood, and she's in desperate need of a hot bath, but she doesn't feel as if she has the energy for anything but sleep.

She leaves the garden to go her room, hoping she wakes early enough to wash away the evidence before Leandra can see.

Carver snores loudly enough for her to hear from across the foyer and she finds herself apprehensive for him. If the Chantry mess with Karl were traced back to them, he'd surely lose his post with the city guard. She had wanted to keep him out of the situation with Anders, but he'd stubbornly insisted.

Rayna pushes her bedroom door open, wincing at the telltale creak the wood makes to announce her presence. She vaguely hopes Row doesn't wake and think the early hours of the morning are the perfect time for a stroll through Hightown.

"Have you missed me, sister?" a deep voice asks from across the room, and Rayna's startled shout is so loud that Row wakes with a bark, walks over to sniff the intruder, licks his hand, and then trots off back into the corner to sleep.

"Maker, wh- Renley? Is it... really you? But you're...how- what are you doing here?" she demands all at once, her hand clutched to her chest, the vibrations of her rapidly thumping heart surely audible to the man in her bed. She blinks a few times, but he's still there, resting on her blankets, hands clasped behind his head comfortably. There's no mistaking that's it's her twin brother; he has the same dark, mussed hair- black as all the Hawke children's tresses, her own lyrium-blue eyes, and a stark grin that vividly reminds her of their father.

Row lets out a thankfully quiet bark in her sleep and Rayna is reminded that it had been Renley who named her for Ferelden's warrior queen that Rayna had adored. The same she'd always begged Malcolm to tell her stories about.

"I decided that the Gallows was a little too...claustrophobic for my tastes." He stretches a little. "Ah... beds aren't nearly as soft, either."

"I don't understand. Maker... how-" she shakes her head, still half-convinced she's delusional from a lack of sleep.

"Sadly, my phylactery has been... accidentally destroyed," Renley shrugs, raising an eyebrow at his twin.

"Your..." she trails off, not comprehending.

"The only way the templars can track me is gone," he clarifies smugly, sitting up at the edge of her bed.

"Did you think of what you're doing at all?" she snaps angrily, making him jump. His flinch makes her lower her voice as not to wake the rest of the estate. "You could endanger Mother and Carver! The templars will come search every inch of the estate when they realize you've gone! And Bethany! What if they punish her for your stupidity-"

Not to mention if they connected Rayna and Carver to the Chantry mess, they'd surely factor in Renley's escape. It's too perfect for coincidence.

"On the contrary, dear sister, I thought this through very carefully. Their only...witness, for lack of a better word, is now Tranquil- stupid of them, really, turning him Tranquil so soon. He'll name me as an accomplice, but they've kept him locked up so tight that that's all he'll know about my escape. Unfortunately for them, I have it on good authority that I am headed for the docks to catch a ship to Ferelden this very moment. Now that was an amusing rumor to spread around the Circle, let me tell you... According to the letters they'll find in my room, I'll be well on my way to Antiva by next month."

"And what of Bethany?" Rayna continues to glare, not entirely convinced. "You remember our sister, I'm sure?" His face falls, thick brows furrowing.

"Better than you do," he retorts with an intense look to his eyes. "Bethany... she wouldn't come with me. Karl smashed her phylactery as well, but she stayed."

"So at least one of you had some sense, then."

"It's been 13 years, Rayna," he reminds her, his bright eyes and tone turning simultaneously melancholy.

"And it seems you are as careless now as you were then."

"Have you nothing for me but reprimands?" he quirks a dark eyebrow. "I'll have you know I'm quite enjoying freedom, dear sister, and I don't intend to squander one moment of it."

If he didn't look so much like Carver, like Father, Rayna would question that she were even related to Renley.

"You'll need somewhere to stay, I expect," she finally sighs, shaking her head and admittedly feeling a bit guilty for her outburst.

"I thought I might stay here while the templars are preoccupied searching the docks and ships for me," he retorts bitingly. "I'm quite comfortable."

"Are you absolutely mad?" Rayna has to consciously lower her voice again.

"No," he frowns, sitting up. "It was a poor jest. Mother mustn't know I escaped, in case the templars do come to question you. I only wished to see you were well. To see you in case I... it doesn't matter. I'll just be leaving through the garden," he adds, crossing the room.

"Renley, wait," Rayna stops him, walking over to her desk. "Here. The cellar key. The passage past the wine cellar lets out next to a clinic run by an apostate called Anders in Darktown. He should be able to help you; he owes me a favor or two," she explains in one breath as she ushers him out of her room.

"Well, I never do get tired of trudging through dark tunnels..."

"Take anything you need from the kitchens, and if you see any of Carver's clothes on the way, take those too. You need to get rid of your robes immediately," she advises. "Watch that you don't wake Melara downstairs."

"Melara?" he asks, his expression brightening at the memory of their elven housekeeper from when he was young. "She's still here?"

"She's the only one left," Rayna informs him. "After they took Bethany... Mother fired the rest. We never did learn who told the templars about her," she adds, suddenly realizing how much he's missed of their lives. A sense of regret tightly seizes her chest as she realizes they may never have an opportunity to learn what's changed in all these years, that she's not sure who the individual standing in front of her truly is. "Just... be careful, Renley."

His face breaks into a smile before he reaches over to hug her, blood, sweat, and all. She finds herself hugging her brother back, despite herself.

"I'll see you again, I hope?"

"Not if you're smart and lie low," Rayna replies, trying to remind her twin of the gravity of the situation, but in truth, she feels warm.

-x-x-x-x-x-

"You can't deny that we have some use for extra coin, Mother," Hawke argues, thinking of the slowly dwindling gold in the treasury. Between having finally finished helping pay off Gamlen's debt and the estate repairs Leandra's been planning for ages- well, if there is one thing Rayna knows about Amell luck is that it's better to be safe than hoping for the best and then ending up on the streets of Lowtown.

"But there must be another way besides some fool's expedition!" Leandra exclaims, crossing her arms and frowning. "I thought this folly was done after the smuggling mess with that elf. And Carver is with the city guard now; he shouldn't be gallivanting around-"

"You worry too much," Carver interrupts, descending the stairs in full guard armor, ready to report to the barracks.

"Please reconsider this," she prompts her remaining son and daughter. "I've lost enough children as it is."

Rayna bites her lip at the reminder of her now-apostate brother most likely wandering Darktown for the past week since she's seen him. Really, he could be anywhere, she reasons. She'd sent him to the home of an abomination without thinking of all the possible consequences.

Would Anders hurt him? He has no reason to, as far as she knows. But if he were to turn her brother into an abomination as well? Her stomach turns at the possibilities. For all the magical blood running through the family lines, she knows almost nothing of how it all works.

She's been admittedly avoiding the place all week, though Carver is relentless to remind her about getting the maps for leverage in case Varric were to suddenly change his mind about having them on the expedition.

And though Renley's secret has safely remained behind her tongue, she's wanted nothing more than to blurt it out to her mother and brother. She hasn't heard a word of any escapes from the Gallows, nor had any templars visited the estate, which only manages to keep her nerves on edge.

Why should they keep a Gallows break-out and a Chantry break-in in the same night under wraps?

"Be calm, Mother. The expedition is weeks off. We need not discuss it today," Rayna says, instead.

"Good," Leandra replies. "Oh, and Rayna- as long as it doesn't interfere with the Viscount's ball for Saemus' nameday next month-"

"Mother..." Rayna begins with warning, the darkening expression on her face implying she'd rather not talk about marriage prospects. Finding a suitable nobleman is the thing farthest from her mind this particular morning. Leandra sighs, crossing her arms impatiently at her eldest girl before crossing the room to rearrange some flowers in a vase near the fireplace.

"Brett Harriman has expressed interest in courting you," Leandra states, matter-of-factly.

"Brett? That sod? Expressed interest?!" Carver repeats with a mocking snort as he attaches his swordbelt to his waist. "He's a complete prude! The only thing I've ever seen Brett Harriman express interest in is the bread pudding at the Arenberg's annual Satinalia feast."

"Brett Harriman has expressed interest, or his mother has?" Rayna raises an eyebrow at Leandra's back. "If you expect me to attend the Viscount's ball with him you're mad, I won't-" Rayna begins to argue, clenching her hands. Fists that used to clench in anger whenever she was forced to practice needlepoint while Carver learned to fight with wooden swords. Hands that grew rough and calloused when she found Malcolm's old daggers stored away and began to secretly hone the aptitude she always had for staying out of reach and out of sight.

"I won't be here forever," Leandra turns around to warn her grown children sharply.

"Maker willing, neither will I," Rayna retorts irritably, throwing her arms in the air with a flourish before exiting the foyer to the kitchens.

"You shouldn't speak to your mother so," Melara scolds, lightly rapping Rayna on the arm with a wooden ladle, having heard the exchange. Rayna sighs heavily, dropping into a chair. "She's only concerned for your future."

"Brett Harriman," Rayna groans, dropping her head onto the table with an audible thunk. "I'd sooner attend the Viscount's ball naked."

"You should listen to your mother, pup," Melara admonishes, attempting to keep an amused smirk off her lips at Rayna's quip.

"Leandra de Launcet. That's who she'd be if she'd listened to her mother. Why should Carver and I aspire to impress those who refer to us as Lord and Lady Doglord when we turn our backs?" she questions their housekeeper. Melara gives her a sympathizing smile.

"I've known you since you were five, just a little pup. You were too young to remember how difficult it was to get all four of you children here from Ferelden, but here we are," Melara replies. "And you're meant to be much more than a lady, doglord or otherwise."

Rayna offers a small, grateful grin, choosing an apple before leaving to meet Carver outside.

"What's this about, then?" she asks, taking a bite from the tart green apple. She wipes a drop of the juice from her chin.

"Way to make coin and help the guard," Carver shrugs. "I don't know all the details." He doesn't elaborate.

"Carver... do you think about Bethany often? Or Renley?" Rayna inquires, studying the light green hue of her breakfast.

"Yes," he pauses, fiddling with his sword belt as they head for the Keep. "Sometimes."

She opens her mouth, news of Renley yearning to leave her lips. She takes another bite of the apple instead and the siblings fall silent.

"Sister, this is Aveline," Carver introduces Rayna to a tall, red-haired woman as soon as they arrive. "I need to go before I'm late for my patrol," he excuses himself, leaving the two in the hall.

"I don't like going outside the guard for this..." Aveline begins, her sharp eyes scanning the hall and speaking in lowered tones. "So I'll have to settle going partway out of it."

"Carver didn't have much to tell me about the job," Rayna informs her. Aveline nods, leading her back up the stairs and out of the Keep. She takes note of the way Aveline walks with purpose; immovable and stubborn.

"It all started a week ago, when the Captain switched patrols around. Normally, Carver and I are partners- bit of a tit, your brother, but he gets the job done. Our usual route is along the Wounded Coast, but it was given to someone else, for a delivery run," she frowns. "It's supposed to be a quiet route, but something... doesn't sit right with me about this. I want help checking out the area, but I don't want to bring it to the Captain if it's nothing. I'm sure there's a reward in it for you if we clear up anything funny going on."

"How soon?"

"Now would be ideal."

"Then we should head out immediately," Rayna agrees, admiring the bluntness of her companion.

-x-x-x-x-x-

"Have you heard anything today?" Renley asks as soon as Anders returns from his visit to Lowtown. He had rushed out of the clinic as soon as a messenger from Lirene had arrived, seeking aid in delivering twins for a woman in the area. He'd been gone all day, leaving Renley to field requests and help who he could meanwhile the healer had been gone. Anders glances at him, carefully placing a satchel of ingredients on a well worn table. He hadn't taken the family's coin, but couldn't refuse a donation of supplies from Lirene.

"No. I've heard nothing."

"Are you certain?" Renley continues to pester, even as he flops down onto a nearby cot impatiently.

"I think I would have heard if the son of one of Kirkwall's most prominent families became an apostate," Anders raises his eyebrows at his new friend.

"Strange. But in that case, I propose a change of scenery," Renley suggests, getting back up to pace the clinic a bit.

"Is wandering Kirkwall really the best idea right now? How did you last so long in the Circle without trying to escape all those years?" Anders eyes him warily, leaning against the wall. Though he's known Renley no more than a week, the mage's restlessness both does and doesn't surprise him. "I escaped seven times, and my only completely successful attempt ended with me getting conscripted into the Grey Wardens."

"My sister," Renley responds immediately, hopping off the cot. "I don't think I would have lasted half as long without Bethany there."

"You must have been lucky, then. I know they don't often allow siblings to remain in the same Circle. Is... is she..." Anders trails off, hesitant to tread on sensitive ground.

"She's not dead. Or Tranquil. She only... she chose to stay," Renley admits with some difficulty, looking away from the mage for the moment. "I'd been planning on both of us leaving for a long time, but I was too busy plotting to realize she was just humoring me. I think she never told me outright because she didn't want me to think I needed to stay for her."

"I see."

"You don't have to go with me," Renley diverts the conversation back to the original topic and shrugs on an old cloak of Carver's he'd found in a crate in the Amell cellar. "I only need some air that doesn't smell like Darktown sewers."

"You'll be hard pressed to find that anywhere nearby," Anders warns his fellow apostate.

Entering the Hanged Man in Lowtown, the smell is admittedly not much better. The stench of sweat, piss, and stale alcohol attacks his nostrils, and Maker, if there is anything he misses about the Circle, it has to that the Gallows never smelled of rotting cabbage.

His eyes scan the tavern, noting no templars nor city guards. In uniform, anyway. He relaxes a little until he notices a small group surrounding a woman after the bartender has obliviously retreated to a smaller room behind the bar.

Renley's fists clench while he almost draws mana to help the woman as they all attack at once, but he thinks better of it before he reveals himself. He's about to join the brawl with just his fists when she frees herself and pulls a dagger on the leader of the attacking group. They retreat like wounded dogs and the Rivaini woman turns back to the bar as if this is a natural occurrence.

Perhaps it is.

Renley joins her, keeping a respectable distance as not to startle her, though he is close enough to smell the citrus scent on her. Oranges, he thinks. Oranges and saltwater, an unusual combination.

"I'd offer to buy you a drink for that impressive feat, but, well... I have no coin whatsoever," he ventures. She gives him a sidelong glance, briefly admiring his profile before replying.

"That's a rather lackluster introduction," she remarks, raising an eyebrow. "You are...?"

"Renley." She nods.

"Captain Isabela of the Siren's Call," the woman introduces herself with an ironic bow. "Rather, I was, before recently."

"You're a ship captain?" he asks, all the more interested. She turns to him slightly, eyeing him with golden irises.

"The title rings a bit hollow as soon as I admit I don't actually have a ship anymore, doesn't it, sweet thing?" she points out with that thin eyebrow raised again.

"Too bad. I might be looking to go far from this place," he sighs, leaning his elbows on the bar.

"Would help you if I could," she shrugs, toying with an earring. "For the right price, of course."

"What, my charming company wouldn't be payment enough?" he asks with a laugh.

"Can your charming company buy me a new boat?" she raises that insistent eyebrow back at him again.

"'Fraid not."

"It seems we are both shit out of luck," she replies, turning back to the bar as she drains her tankard.

"I never run out of luck," Renley counters, blue eyes twinkling at the pirate.

"Oh? Perhaps you'd like to test that luck on a game of Diamondback?"

"Unfair!" he protests, grinning, "and wager what, the clothes off my back?"

"It's a start," she smirks, studying him suggestively.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Aveline and Carver escort Donnic back towards Hightown to the guards' barracks, hefting his weight between the two of them until he can walk properly.

Rayna bids them goodnight before heading the opposite way, deciding to check in with Varric before going home for the night. She's expected to be at the Viscount's Keep early in the morning to back up Aveline while she outs Jeven. Though only having met her a few days ago, Rayna can say she likes the woman well enough, that she considers the Ferelden admirable and worth helping.

"Hawke. Just who I was looking for," a thin elf steps from the shadows before she reaches the Hanged Man.

"Athenril," Rayna nods in greeting, warily crossing her arms.

"Oh, don't be like that. No hard feelings about last time?" the elf smiles at her former associate.

"Is there something you wanted?" Rayna asks, tired and equally impatient.

"I've heard that you're trying to get on that dwarf's expedition. You're not telling me the Amells are running dry?" she asks, a just barely teasing smirk adorning the sharply innocent smile on her lips.

"Only want to see mother well cared for if I happen to become darkspawn food," Rayna retorts dryly, an eyebrow quirked at the elf. "But I don't think you stopped me here to talk about my lady mother."

"No, you're right. Actually, I have a tip for you. Think of it as my formal apology," Athenril crosses her arms casually, checking Rayna's reaction.

"I'm listening."

"This dwarf, Anso, he's been asking around for help. Thought you'd be up for the challenge. He's offering a lot of pay, from what I hear."

"What's the job?" Rayna questions, hiding the curiosity behind a tone of cold indifference.

"Not sure. Stolen goods, I'm guessing. Retrieval run," Athenril shrugs, nonchalantly studying her fingernails. "Nothing you can't handle, I'm sure."

"I'll...keep him in mind," Hawke admits, nodding her thanks and then continuing on to the bar.

She frowns when she enters; the Hanged Man is uncharacteristically crowded this evening and she slips through the drunken crowd to make it to the stairs.

Rayna pauses in the doorway to Varric's suite, startled by the scene in front of her. Varric's gloves sit in the center of the table, on top of a blue sash and next to a white undertunic, two boots, and a well-worn mahogany leather jerkin.

Across from Varric, Renley sits shirtless, hair mussed, and with cards in his hands. The three around the table glance up at the intrusion.

"Renley?" Rayna blurts in confusion. "What are you doing here?"

Varric blinks, glancing between the two a few times and then nodding as he puts the pieces together.

"You never said you had another brother, Hawke," he comments, returning his attention to the cards in his hand.

"Oh, twins... twins are fun. I quite like twins..." their Rivaini companion adds, her eyes glittering mischievously. Rayna furrows her eyebrows, confused.

"Sister, this is Captain Isabela," Renley introduces her to his and Varric's companion. "I take it you somehow know Varric?"

"I thought you were keeping out of sight?" she demands, ignoring her brother's question. Varric and Isabela exhange a curious glance and shrug.

"You try living in Darktown for a week and see how much you like it," he counters.

"If Darktown doesn't suit you, you can always go back to the Gallows," Rayna retorts, shaking her head at him.

"Ah..." Varric nods, making sense of the situation. Rayna sighs at her own lack of tact, wanting to slap herself for the slip of tongue.

"See what you've done now? You've gone and made my new friends think I'll turn them into toads if I lose too many games."

"You know you shouldn't be here," she scolds, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning.

"You're beginning to remind me of Mother, the way you're looking at me like I put pudding in your shoes." She realizes he's correct in his observation and uncrosses her arms; she stops furrowing her brow, affronted by the comparison and realizing that she's most likely wearing the exact expression Leandra gives her on a regular basis.

"That used to be something of a hobby of yours, if I recall correctly."

"Hawke... we won't say anything. If we did, who would lose to us at diamondback on a regular basis?" Varric asks. Rayna nods at him thankfully, remembering the original purpose for her visit.

"I came to keep you up to speed, Varric. I still need to get the maps from Anders, and I-"

"Perfect, he's right downstairs," Renley interrupts as he slips his tunic back over his head. "What maps?"

-x-x-x-x-x-

Anders shakes his head at the barmaid when she approaches for his order. He doesn't trust the Hanged Man to serve him a drink in a clean tankard any more than he trusts a templar to lace his boots.

Rayna hesitantly joins him at his secluded table in the corner after leaving Isabela, Renley, and Varric to their card game.

"Send your brother instead of coming for the maps? Pity. I was quite looking forward to another conversation. I didn't take you for a mage sympathizer," he adds sardonically.

"That's using the term loosely. Anyway, I'm sorry. I just... you were the only one I knew I could send him to."

"It's not a problem. He's been helpful, actually," Anders admits. "When he's not dragging me here, anyway..."

"I'm sorry for what happened to Karl." He tenses for a moment, then nods in acknowledgement. "He seemed a good man."

"He was. He didn't deserve that. No one does," he adds with conviction.

Rayna nods, not knowing what else she can say without offending the apostate.

"But you're here about the maps, aren't you? I'll have them ready for you to pick up at your leisure. And..." he pauses, as if unsure he wants to finish the thought. "I can't believe I'm about to offer, but... if you need me to come along the expedition, I can. I- well, all Grey Wardens can sense when darkspawn are near. I doubt anyone on the expedition already can offer you such precaution." Rayna nods, studying Anders, still attempting to figure the man out.

"I can sort out payment if-"

"I don't want payment," he insists, meeting her gaze evenly.

"You must want something. Everybody does," she points out quizzically.

"Life, liberty, and the right to shoot lightning at fools," he shrugs dryly, with the barest of a wry smirk.

"Honestly." He hesitates, staring at his hands instead of meeting her lyrium-blue eyes.

"You helped me. You're not turning me in, despite... Justice. I owe you."

"You're harboring my brother. I'm the one who should owe you," she retorts.

"Yes, well, there's another Amell I owe debts to, so maybe I want to help the only one I'm in position to assist," he adds, shrugging again.

"Well, then thank you. I welcome your help."

"I'll have the maps ready for you to pick up at your leisure, but..."

"Is there something else I should know?" she asks, wondering if there's another hoop she need jump through.

"Why is this expedition so blighted important to you, anyway?" he inquires, instead.

"I..." she pauses, startled by the question.

"Surely you don't desperately need the coin." He waits for her response, scrutinizing her hesitance.

"I wasn't... cut out for this life, I think- the balls and gowns and marrying up. I never had the patience nor the social skill nor the ambition. And if I'm not, I want to find out what kind of life I'm made for," she admits to someone besides herself for the first time. He nods, understanding all too well the need for choice. "You don't need to worry," she adds.

"About what?"

"Me telling the templars about you." He looks at her.

"And when the day comes that you no longer need my help? When your brother no longer needs somewhere to stay? Will you be half so sincere then?"

"I'm a woman of my word," she assures him firmly as she meets his eyes.

"Everyone is so convinced of their words. It's their actions- or lack thereof- that trouble me."