The call from dispatch came at that time that's either really late night or obscenely early morning. By the time Alistair had disentangled himself from his soft wife and warm sheets, dressed and driven out to the crime scene, the blood had already dried to a dull, rusty brown. He approached the scene closed off by an over-enthusiastic rookie with an unlimited supply of blue tape, wondering if this was the time when he'd wish he'd stayed back home on the farm like Uncle Eamon had wanted. By the look on Zevran's face, it would at least get close.

Accepting the styrofoam mug of takeaway coffee the elf offered him, Alistair ducked under the tape and approached the area where the usual crime-scene people were milling around.

"Bad?" Alistair not-asked as he approached. The chill that took up camp in his fingers abated somewhat, and he looked to Zevran, who just barely reached his shoulder.

Zevran grimaced as he stared intently at his feet, making sure not to step in any of the blood splattered all over the place like a macabre painting.

"It makes me believe in the evil of mankind," his soft, Antivan accent gave the words an erotic note, but his face was grim. Zevran Arainai, station heartthrob and ruthless seducer until he'd gotten married six months previous, was Alistair's professional partner of five years. It was an old joke between them that their respective life partners had arranged the whole thing. Alistair would not put it past Beatrice and Bela to plot such a thing, but those speculations were not suitable here, so Alistair sipped the coffee and made the same half-walk, half-dance shuffle as his partner as they moved closer. If they stepped in so much as a drop of evidence, the techs were going to murder them. Very, very slowly.

They were standing in a long, narrow alley that led between Ostagar Street and Highever Lane, the two big party streets of Denerim. It would probably have been a very popular shortcut if it wasn't for the lack of streetlights, which made it nearly impossible to navigate even with the grey light of the dawn. The guards had put several large spotlights in strategic parts around the alley, but there was still a feeling of darkness and secrets. If the attack had been premeditated, it was both a risky and safe place to do it in. risky because there were always people nearby, safe because they would most likely not have entered the alley.

As they moved, Alistair remembered his father's words about first impressions. You only see the scene for the first time once, Alistair. If you overlook something important, you've fucked yourself for later. And Maric had known what he had talked about; he had been a guardsman long before Alistair had been born, and a hostage negotiator for the majority of those years. Unfortunately, Maric Theirin had ended up eating his service revolver mere hours after having turned his oldest son in for being the serial rapist and murderer known as the angel maker. The name of Theirin had been marred with suspicion and rumours ever since, but Alistair was not going to let that stop him from doing his job to the best of his ability.

Keeping Maric's words firmly in mind, Alistair looked around. This time, he told himself sternly, he was not going to try to take in everything at once. It only ended up making his neck hurt. There were the usual alley debris; a knocked over trash can, random pieces of rubbish, a worn-out mattress stained by… he did not want to know. And on the ground, a grotesque amount of blood mainly pooled around the head and chest of the chalk outline of a person. Judging by the size of the outline and the proportions of the limbs to the body, Alistair concluded that the victim was most likely human. Beaten badly, but with what sort of weapon he'd have to wait for the CSI's report to find out. As his eyes took in the gory scene, Alistair turned to Zevran.

"Do you know if they've called Isabela?" he asked as he drank some of the coffee. Hot and sweet, it was just the way he wanted it on a night like this. Zevran had, as always, gotten it just right without needing to ask. He was referring to the Blood Spatter Analyst that had in the two months she'd worked in the lab turned out to be one of his favourite people. She was completely outrageous, took no shit from anyone, and seemed to have an instinct for when to be supportive and when to crack a joke. Basically, she reminded him of his wife.

"Yup, they did!" A CSI dressed in spectacularly hideous red overalls looked up from where she was crouched down, taking pictures of the splatter outlining the carefully drawn chalk outline of a body. "Just as I was getting the required twenty winks. Remind me to shoot someone later."

"You're to shoot someone later" Zevran deadpanned. In reply, Isabela flipped him off before going back to her documentation, forcing Alistair to look away to keep from snorting with laughter.

"I thought you had the night off?" he asked instead, reminding himself of the importance to get as much information as possible from everyone.

"I did until some asshole decided to get food poisoning." Isabela sounded more than a little cranky. "Damn him." Her camera snapped a few more times.

Alistair made a sympathetic face. "That sucks on so many levels." He raked a hand through his sandy blonde hair and realised that he'd forgotten to comb it before leaving home. "Do we know anything about the victim?"

"Well, he was still breathing when the guardsmen got here, so there is that. No identity though - idiots forgot to check his pockets. You'll have to ask at the hospital."

Isabela stood up, still clutching the camera. "If there is nothing else, shove off and let me work."

Alistair obediently shoved off, Zevran in tow, towards the edge of the red tape where a uniformed guardsman stood with a very pale young elf. He was thinly dressed, clearly out for a night of clubbing.

"Hello" Alistair said in as kind a voice as he could manage, "was it you who found the body?"
The youth nodded, eyes enormous and petrified in his slender face.

"What's your name?" Alistair asked, in the same tone of voice.

"Senrion" the youth whispered, barely audible. "I… I was just going to the Pearl. It's elf night." The Pearl was the second most infamous bar in Denerim; basically, anything and anyone was for sale if you had the money. They also had 'free' drinks for non-humans on Thursdays, with the implication that you had to pay for your drinks in trade. Basically, it was a free for all for humans who wanted to take a walk on the wild side.

"And you found the victim?" Zevran's voice was unusually gentle.

"Yes… he was just lying there. So much blood." the youth's lips trembled as if he was about to cry.

"I'm going to have my colleague here drive you home, yeah?" Alistair said when he realised the youth was in shock and not able to tell him anything. He turned to the fresh-faced officer.

"Get his information, I'm going to want to speak to him in the morning. And make sure he gets home safely."

"Yes, sir."

Alistair watched as the officer escorted the trembling Senrion to the squad car, helped him into the passenger seat and drove off.

Then he turned back to the scene, relieved to see that Isabela had put away her camera and seemed hard at work collecting evidence.

While this was going on in the alley of Ostagar, the healers at Andraste's Grace were preparing for emergency services. Andraste's Grace was the largest hospital in northern Ferelden, and it housed her best healers. One of them, was Anders. He was not exactly happy at being called in, but they were in the middle of flu season and sorely understaffed. There had been no choice but to throw himself into a taxi (car still refused to start) when he got the call. He pushed away the consternation of the other half of the bed still not being slept in when he left, but figured that Caelan was going to show up in the morning with pastries and apologies. He pulled on the elbow high tuning gloves, grimacing at the sticky feel of them. They were made of a material that supposedly made the flow of his magic more easy to direct, but in Anders' opinion it was just another way to control him. However, he wasn't allowed to operate without them, so on they went as he headed into the healing chamber.

"Report" He ordered the nearest nurse as he put his tired mind into the mindset he needed to be as effective as possible.

"Unknown male, head trauma, severe cranial bleeding-" he listened with half an ear, taking in the situation himself. There was an obscene amount of blood; he'd have to deal with that before anything else in order to see the actual extent of the trauma. Well then; deal with the bleeding, repair any busted blood vessels, get a collar in place and get the poor schmuck down to x-ray for brain scans.

"Clear space!" he ordered, and the present personnel scrambled back to give him space to perform his magic.

Zevran was a highly competent, if reluctant, driver. Exactly why he was so reluctant to drive Alistair had never found out, but he was used to it by this point and simply popped the trunk open to let his partner stuff his small, foldable bike inside. No words were exchanged as they got in the car, and Alistair was unendingly thankful for this as Zevran drove towards Andraste's Grace. The city was quiet, and as they drove through the dark streets they said very little. Alistair took the chance to make sense of what he had learnt so far, and to finish his much needed coffee. As Zevran navigated past the mess of one-way streets of the Market District, Alistair went to pull out the notebook he always had in his front pocket to write down his thoughts and impressions. To his consternation, it was empty except from his phone. It also made no sense as he never left home without it, but then he remembered that he had finished it the previous day and left it on the hall table. No notebook. Shite, no notebook. Hands trembling, he pulled out his phone to- well, he didn't know. Call Beatrice? She was always level-headed and would tell him what to do. As the screen lit up, he saw he had a missed text. With shaking fingers he opened the message and immediately felt a great sense of relief. "New notebook in glove compartment. Sorry about the unicorn. Stay safe, love you. B".

Opening the glove compartment, he immediately spotted a cheerily pink notebook with a frolicking unicorn on the front. It was rather ugly, but he could always buy a new one later. This was an emergency. Clipped to the front was two pens, one black and one green, waiting for him to use them. That woman was a lifesaver. Why she insisted on sticking with him he'd probably never know, but he'd make damn sure to appreciate every moment he got to have her.

"Some nights I wish I'd stayed back on the farm" Alistair muttered as he turned on the overhead light and started writing with the black pen. Black for work, colour for everything else. "I don't understand people. So much blood-" he didn't finish the sentence, in some way not wanting to hear the words in his own voice. Instead, he started drawing a crude layout of the crime scene, listing who had been present and what he had learnt so far.

Zevran made a noncommittal sound as he pulled into the parking lot, getting the car perfectly into the square at the first try. He always made it seem so effortless.

"I'm more worried they won't let us work the case." The elf remarked as they got out of the car and started to walk towards the entrance. "You know the talk. You're a loose cannon and I'm- well." an elf, he didn't say but it hung in the air between them.

"That's rot!" Alistair protested as he reluctantly put the notebook back into his pocket to keep from stumbling over something due to not paying attention. "Greagoir keeps saying we're the best he's got. And you are twice as smart as me on a bad day!"

Zevran's elegant, angular features twisted briefly as he pushed open the doors to the emergency room.

"Yeah, well. Let's do our best. If we're taken off the case, we've at least given our replacements a good place to start."

"Fair enough" Alistair agreed quietly. "Now let's see if we can find someone to answer a few questions."

Zevran nodded once, sharply, then made his way over to a pretty human nurse standing by the reception desk, reading a file.

"Hello sweet thing" he drawled in the way that always made people give him whatever he wanted. He pulled out his badge with a lazy smile. "Detective Arainai. This is my partner, Theirin. You don't happen to know anything about the assault victim brought in tonight?"

The nurse flashed a quick, slightly dazed smile that Alistair knew well. It was the expression most people got when faced with Zevran in full charm mode. It was only a matter of time before she said something about 'not usually liking elves'. However, he felt immensely grateful the woman seemed distracted enough by his partner's looks not to ask uncomfortable questions about his name. Yes, Theirin as in Maric Theirin. Yes, it was very sad that he killed himself. No, he didn't have the urge to follow in his father's footsteps. No urge to kidnap, assault, and murder underage boys with the right colouring either, sorry to disappoint you. He had his brother's looks, not his madness.

"Sorry, he's in surgery." the nurse shook her head. "I can't tell you anything else."

"Do you know who's working on him?" Alistair asked, doing his best not to think of his personal preference.

"Warden," she replied promptly, and Alistair felt a great surge of relief. Anders was one of the best healers in the city, if not the country. If anyone could perform miracles it was him.

The nurse made as if to leave, but luckily the coffee had kick-started Alistair's brain enough to stop her.

"Wait. Please, one more question. Have you figured out the victim's identity yet? There was a mixup at the scene." Alistair pulled out the unicorn notebook once more, getting ready to note down the information.

"Oh. Yes, we have his identity. Caelan Hawke."

Alistair froze, pen raised. Caelan Hawke? It wasn't exactly a common name. But surely it couldn't be that Caelan Hawke. He wondered if Anders had realised whose life he was saving yet. Lucky for him, Zevran was more put together and said;

"If we should need to speak to you further, ma'am-"

"My name is Derington." she replied with a smile that revealed a dimple in her chin. "That's with one R."

"Thank you" Alistair said faintly, hand shaking as he wrote it down. "And thank you for taking time to speak to us."

"Of course. If there was nothing else-"

"Thank you" Zevran injected smoothly, "Please notify us the moment Caelan's out of surgery."

"Of course. You'll inform the family?"

"Yes, of course."

Then the nurse was gone in a flurry of dark hair and white uniform and Zevran and Alistair were left staring at each other.

"I don't think we'll get any further right now" Zevran said grimly, "and I don't know about me, but you look like you could use a shave. And breakfast." Alistair nodded, not bothering to argue the point. Besides, Zevran was right. His wife may say that he was dead sexy in two-day stubble, but she was biased.

"Let's go break the hearts of Serah and Mrs Hawke" Alistair said with a sigh, "then I'll drive you home."

Anders leaned back, examined his handiwork, and turned to the assistant nurse. "Get him down to x-ray stat and try to figure out who he is" he ordered, a niggling feeling in the back of his mind saying he already knew.

"Yes, sir" she replied, sounding as tired as he felt. He turned on his heel and stalked out of the theater, not wanting to be in the sterile coldness of the room a moment longer than necessary. He might be a good surgeon, but he didn't particularly enjoy it. To be honest, he would have been just as happy as a general practitioner, but his mentor at med school had talked him into surgery. As he removed his gloves, a young nurse hurried towards him, looking frazzled.

"Doctor!" She cried, and he put a hand on her shoulder to calm her down.

"It's alright, take a deep breath and tell me."

"The man in surgery one, I took care of his clothes."

"I know, that was very good of you." She was new; just an apprentice with wide, anxious eyes.

"I found his ID. Oh, and there were two guards here, Theirin and- I don't remember the name, he was elven-" Alistair and Zevran. Anders immediately felt calmer.

"Arainai. I know them, they're good people. Some of Denerim finest. You informed them?"

"Yes, I gave them the name and emergency contact, like they said in school." her brown eyes were anxious, seeking approval.

"Very good." he praised, and she blushed and looked away.

"Thank you. You did well." Anders soothed, "Oh, by the way - what is his name?"
"Who? The detective?" She was clearly confused.

"The victim. The name of the victim."

"Oh." She handed him a piece of plastic. An ID card. "Hawke" she said unnecessarily as he looked at it, "Caelan Hawke."

Anders' world shattered into a thousand pieces.

Malcolm and Leandra Hawke lived in a well-kept two story house in one of the better neighborhoods. It was widely considered middle-class, but if you asked Alistair that was complete rot - prejudice and bigotry at its finest. It would have been the best neighborhood if it wasn't for the fact that it lay so close to the elven alienage. It was also, coincidentally, about three streets over from his own home. Zevran and his partner Bela lived in a condo in town, about ten minutes walk from the station. Alistair's feet grew heavier and heavier as he walked up the neatly raked gravel path, past the flowers shyly peeking up at him in the flower beds. Some of them he recognised from his own garden, but horticulture had always been Beatrice's thing more than his and he had no idea of the names. He rang the doorbell, wishing desperately he did not have to be here.

After a few moments, the door was opened by a young woman in grey sweatpants. She had short dark hair in an elegant bob, and it was clear from her unfocused dark eyes that she had been sleeping.

"Yes?" she asked, not overly friendly but not resentful either.

"I'm Alistair Theirin. This is my partner, Zevran Arainai." Alistair said as he held up his badge. "May I ask who you are, miss?"

"Bethany Hawke. What can I help you with this early?" She sounded more honestly confused than anything else.

"Please, we need to come in and speak to you and your parents. Can you wake them?"

Bethany nodded, then stepped aside.

"The living room is just down the hall" she said, "please wait there while I get them."

The living room was a bright, airy room with furniture worn in a way that spoke of loving use more than age. Alistair examined the pictures hanging on the wall, thinking of the happy family that lived in this house. A family he was there to shatter. He knew the Hawkes had four children, and based on his memory of Caelan's dark brown eyes and strong jaw he quickly identified the most likely candidates. A dark-haired boy looking straight into the camera with solemn features, the shape of his face identical to Caelan's, must be Carver. The younger brother. They'd already seen Bethany, who did not share any obvious features with her brother except for his colouring. There was also several portraits of a pretty blonde woman, who seemed to be laughing or smiling in every picture she was in. She looked absolutely nothing like Caelan, until you looked closer and saw that her eyes, while bright blue, had the exact shape, depth and gleam as his. By eliminating all other possibilities, Alistair drew the conclusion that this was Anna. The eldest sister.

"Beautiful, wasn't she?" A voice cut into his distraction and he spun around, biting back an alarmed curse.

A white-haired woman stood before him, dressed in a purple robe. If it hadn't been for the fact that he was in her house, Alistair would have immediately identified her just by looking at her face. She had her son's high forehead, his strong cheekbones and the slight curl to the lips that made her seem as if she was on the verge of smiling. Her eyes were a bright, worried blue - the blue of Anna and Carver. Leandra Hawke was a beautiful woman, even though clearly past her prime. The years had been good to her.

"Was?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Before the fire." there was a well of sadness in Leandra's eyes, and Alistair's heart stuttered at the realisation that he was about to add to it.

"Mrs Hawke" Alistair said, "please, come sit down with me."

Though clearly reluctant, Leandra did what he asked. She sat down on the sofa nearest the window, subconsciously clasping her husband's hand in hers. Alistair and Zevran took their seats on the other sofa, placed at an angle from the first one so that you could see both the breathtaking view and the people sitting on the other sofa. To Alistair's surprise, Bethany did not place herself next to her parents but instead chose to stand between the sofas, turned towards her father. He got his explanation when the girl raised her hand and started signing.

"My husband is deaf" Leandra said in a matter of fact tone. "Carver too. Please, why do you wake us at this early hour?"

Alistair drew a deep breath, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he tried to think of a way to tell them what he did not want to have to tell them. Thankfully, Zevran sensed his reluctance and said;

"Madam, Serah, when did you last speak to your son, Caelan?"

Confusion warred with fear in Leandra's eyes.

"Last night, why? He was here for dinner. Has something happened?"

"Yes, madam." Zevran's voice was just the right mix of sorrow and determination as he focused his deep blue eyes on the woman.

"At about two this morning, your son Caelan was found savagely beaten in an alley just of Ostagar Street. As we speak, he is in surgery at Andraste's Grace. I regret I cannot tell you more about his condition."

There was a noise that Alastair was never going to forget, no matter how old he got. The wounded, anguished cry of a dying animal, an animal not knowing how to deal with its circumstances but knowing the hunters were closing in. An animal that found itself trapped and helpless, facing certain doom. The noise had come from Malcolm Hawke, who was staring at the detectives with a despair that made tears spring to Alistair's eyes. He was trying to say something, broken sounds coming out of his mouth in a litany of unimaginable despair.

It took a few moments, but eventually Alistair's brain caught on and he managed to interpret the garbled syllables.

"My boy. My boy. My boy."

After having taken the Hawke family to the hospital and called fellow detective Aveline Vallen to ask her to inform Anna and Carver, Alistair drove Zevran home. Zevran had offered to bike from the hospital, but Alistair wouldn't hear of it. Eventually, the elf had given in and as they pulled in on the street Zevran lived on, the silence was deafening. Neither of them felt like speaking; they'd known each other for eight years and been partners for five, after all. They knew each other well by this point. Finally, Alistair broke the silence.

"Station in two hours?" he offered. Zevran nodded, rubbing his forehead in the way he did when he had a headache coming on.

"Sounds good" he sighed, "I need a shower. Breakfast."

"And Bela?" Alistair teased, wanting to lighten the mood. Zevran cracked a half-smile.

"And Bela." he confirmed, then he was gone. Alistair listened to the sounds of his partner getting his bike from the trunk, then drove home. If he knew Zevran right - and he did - the lovely Bela was going to be awakened this miserable morning to a lover hell bent on burying himself so far in zir body as he could get, just to shut out the world for an hour. To be honest, Alistair was in no position to judge. If it wasn't for the fact that Beatrice was seven months pregnant with twins and sex was out of the question unless she initiated (healer's orders), he'd probably be doing the same thing.

Alistair drove home slowly, watching the city start its day unaware of the horror he had seen that night. And he hadn't even showed up until after the EMTs had gone. He thought of the poor officers that had been first on scene, or worse; the young man who had called it in. They'd have to interview him as fast as possible, he thought as he pulled up on his own street. He blinked in confusion at the unfamiliar car standing in his driveway, wondering who would show up at his door at seven in the morning. As he got closer he saw the sticker for 'Denerim City Firefighters' on the bumper. Kallian, then. Beatrice's sister. Alistair parked on the street, and slowly walked up his driveway. He felt exhausted, but not bodily. He thought again of blood on cobblestones. The cruelty. The horror insinuated by the amount of blood, and how far it had spread. Caelan was still in surgery, and they had no idea how long it would take or what his chances were. Really, they had no idea about anything. Except the fact that someone had wanted Caelan Hawke dead badly enough to beat him to within an inch of his life.

Alistair opened his front door, kicked of his shoes, hung up his coat and placed his notebook and pens on the table by the door. Sighing deeply, he chose to follow his nose and rumbling stomach into the kitchen, where the divine smell of someone making blueberry pancakes was coming from. Ignoring his sister-in-law sitting by the counter, and therefore missing the look of momentary panic and fear on her face, he went straight over to his wife. Beatrice stood by the stove, expertly flipping the promised blueberry pancakes. Her blond curls were done up in her usual messy sleep-braid, and in her pale green nightgown she was the most beautiful creature he had ever laid his eyes on. He kissed a delicately pointed ear before burying his face in her hair. Beatrice put down the spatula, turned off the stove and turned to embrace him.

"Hey, baby" she murmured gently, running her hands down his slightly trembling back. "is it bad?"

"Yeah," he whispered into her hair. "it's... it's bad."