(And now, to make up for the shortness of the last two chapters...)

77. Adventures in Denerim

"So, what is the first thing you're going to do when we get to Denerim?"

The pickpocket's question was playful, so Alistair had to answer in kind as he led them along the road. "I'm thinking… bath. Definitely a bath. Scented soap, fluffy towels, the whole package."

"Mm," the assassin hummed. "You forgot to mention the beautiful Rivaini washing maid with wandering hands, insatiable curiosity, and long, luscious legs. Otherwise, I entirely agree." A pause. "Better yet, skip the bath."

Alistair fought not to smile, because the Antivan would never let him live it down if he did. Instead, the warrior concentrated on picking imaginary dirt off the borrowed Templar armor he was now sporting. They were almost in sight of Denerim, now, and it would hurt his disguise if he wasn't absolutely pristine. Or so he pretended, anyway.

"I want to go shopping," Leliana said excitedly. "I haven't seen a proper market since I came to Ferelden. Think of all the different clothing and jewelry that must be for sale in the capital city!"

Fin laughed. "Somehow, I suspect Denerim is a little different from Val Royeaux. It's better to hide your jewels in Denerim's market. Unless you want to attract pickpockets, of course."

"Attract pickpockets, eh?" Zevran purred, and, even without turning, Alistair just knew he was giving Finian some sort of wholly inappropriate look (Alistair was pretty sure they thought they were being secretive, but by the Maker, tent walls were not that thick). "I shall have to keep my jewels on full display, then. Although, the way I define 'jewels,' I suspect the guards might object. Or perhaps not… one never does know about these things until they've tried it, after all."

"That…" Wynne sighed, "…was a mental image that I did not need. Thank you, Zevran."

"Always a pleasure, my dear Wynne."

Alistair was still a little unsettled by Wynne's whole, 'oh, I have a Fade spirit living inside me, except it's dying' thing. It sounded a little too close to all the dire warnings about abominations he'd had drilled into him back in his Templar recruit days. The whole mess at the Circle Tower didn't really help him be any more comfortable with it, either. But he'd gotten used to the idea, at least. Mostly.

He just didn't really want to be standing nearby if Wynne's little friend decided it was a demon after all. There were a lot of things he could do out of necessity, but striking down kindly old ladies who darned his socks wasn't really one of those things.

As for Zevran… after a week on the road, it was becoming pretty clear that the assassin didn't actually intend to stab them all in their sleep and leave them for dead. At least not right away. Alistair still wouldn't trust the Antivan to cook his food or watch his dog for a weekend, but he could say the same about a couple of his fellow Wardens, too. He was pretty sure the assassin wouldn't carry on with Fin like this if he intended any immediate harm, anyway.

But still… Alistair was this close to giving the cheeky bastard the big-brothery 'if you hurt him...' talk. The only thing stopping him was that he was pretty sure Meila had already done so.

Yeah, Alistair had his differences with Fin. After some time, he accepted that (mostly because a week of manly pouting would have been exhausting). And if there was anyone who could convince you not to be mad at him, it was Finian Tabris.

"What about you, Wynne?" Fin pressed, ever cheerful. "What are you looking forward to?"

"I suspect finding a certain Chantry scholar so that we might find a holy relic is more than enough to be excited about, young man."

"Nothing else?"

"Not really, no."

Alistair called back, "Oh, stop being a stick in the mud and just say 'a nice warm bed' or something. He won't shut up until you do, and you don't really want him hounding you all day, begging for small talk, do you?"

That had Fin, Zevran, and Leliana all roaring with laughter behind him, which was a nice enough distraction.

While it was true that Alistair did want a bath (and, come to think of it, the bed sounded pretty good, too) there were a number of things he wasn't looking forward to as they approached the city walls. Walking through the front gates of Loghain's base of power, for one. Pretending to be a knighted Templar was a close second. And Maker, his sister was somewhere in the city, if Arl Eamon's records were to be believed.

He hadn't told the others about that part. He hadn't told them about a couple important things, and it was starting to weigh him down. That one… thing… it would come up; he knew it would. And it wasn't like he was hiding it or anything. He just… didn't want them to know. He really, really didn't want them to know. Maker, what would someone like Leliana make out of him being a king's bastard son? Or worse, someone as schemey as Fin?

And what would Felicity do, when she found out? Would she feel betrayed that he hadn't mentioned it sooner? Would she get all dazzle-eyed over the thought of him being some sort of shiny-armored prince, even though they both knew he was very much not?

The point was, it just hadn't come up, and he hoped it never did.

His sister, though… what might it be like to have a family?

Alistair's hand reached up briefly to touch the Chantry amulet now clinking against his Templar chestplate. He'd broken down a couple days ago and told them about his mother's amulet, and—wouldn't you know it—Fin had reached into his suspiciously full bags and pulled it out, right then and there. Apparently, someone's fingers had gotten a bit sticky in Eamon's study… but if it meant having that last connection to both his mother and Eamon back, Alistair wasn't going to be too righteously affronted by the blatant theft.

Maker, he hoped the amulet wouldn't become a memento of Eamon the same way it was of his mother. Eamon had to be all right… right? They couldn't really face Loghain without the man. The thought of taking down Loghain without Eamon's political genius… it wasn't a pretty picture.

"Perhaps, my dear Mother Wynne, you might look forward to having two strapping young elves bowing to your every whim, hm?" The Antivan's voice was, as ever, thick with lewd undercurrents and easy charm. "As everyone knows, we elven servants are at your… service, in whatever way a beautifully bosomed goddess such as you might require."

"For the last time, Zevran, stop talking about my bosom."

Leliana laughed. "If you keep this up, I don't think the gate guards will believe your disguises. Servants don't tend to flirt with the Chantry women who have taken their vows. At least, not in public!"

"Oh ho!" Zevran cackled. "So you are saying that such things might happen behind those pristine chapel doors, then? Do go on, dear bard! Do not spare us a single forbidden, secretly depraved detail!"

"I also seem to recall," Wynne said with a sigh, "that part of our cover was to remain quiet."

Zevran and Leliana both chuckled, but took the hint, and the troupe approached the city walls in silence.

Alistair glanced behind him at the others. Wynne and Leliana were both looking convincing enough in their Chantry robes, while Fin and Zevran wore simple servants' linens. A keen eye, however, might have noticed the daggers the bard and both elves hid under their clothing. It was just as well: Alistair didn't want to be the only one armed, in case something happened. And knowing their luck, something certainly would happen.

They'd had a bit of trouble getting Meila to accept a disguise, though. The Dalish elf stubbornly refused to cover her face tattoos… something to do with their religious significance, if he had to guess. The solution? Hiding her in Bodahn's cart. It seemed to Alistair that the lesser of two evils would be for her to just put some powder on her face, but what did Alistair know about the various neuroses of Meila Mahariel? He'd established long ago that he didn't understand her one whit, and would not even try for his own sanity's sake.

That, of course, meant the wolf was following Bodahn's cart like a vicious, wary wolfhound. Of course, if the wolf actually tried to follow them inside the city, there was no way the guards would be fooled into thinking Fang was only some wolf-like breed of dog. No, if there was one thing Fereldans knew, it was their dogs, and Fang was definitely no dog.

Minus that one thing, though, they were the innocent picture of a small band of refugees: a Chantry mother and sister, a Templar guard, servants, and a merchant and his son. Nothing to indicate they were renegade Wardens at all. Alistair had to admit: this idea of Fin's had been a good one.

They were in sight of the main gates, now, so Alistair unclipped his Templar helmet from is belt and settled it over his head, sticking him in a world where every sound was slightly muffled, he had no peripheral vision, and he was smelling his own breath. Not altogether pleasant… Alistair hated helmets, except the part where they stopped nasty things from happening to his head. He was rather attached to his head.

As it turned out, Alistair needn't have worried about the white wolf. As they stopped at the gate, Alistair threw one last glance back at the party, and the wolf was nowhere in sight.

The guards at the gate barely even glanced at them, basically asking their business because they had to. Then, the guards offered Mother Wynne (he grinned inside his helmet at that thought) their salutes and waved them into the city.

And what a city it was: all bustle and noise and strange smells that Alistair really didn't want to identify. They arrived early in the afternoon, and it seemed like everyone was out on the streets at this time of day. Alistair pretty much had to make a path, just so they could get Bodahn's rickety cart through.

The first order of business was to find an inn. They needed somewhere to set up base, so they could stash Bodahn's cart and let Meila stretch her legs. Fin, despite adopting an overly polite, submissive manner that simply oozed I'm-just-some-poor-elf-servant-don't-notice-me (Maker, but the elf was good), guided them to a dumpy little place about a block behind the Chantry.

The inn was called the Blessed Horse, and it was perfectly middle-of-the-road: not nice enough to attract anyone important, but not seedy enough to have unwanted ears hanging around. Even better, as close as it was to the Chantry, it was entirely believable that a couple misplaced Chantry people would reside there. As they pulled up in front of the two-story wooden building, Alistair could hear the Chantry's bells ringing in the air above them.

From the cadence of the tolls, it sounded like a funeral was on. Judging from Leliana's sad frown, she recognized it as well. Silently, Alistair wondered how many of those the Chantry was hosting these days, what with Ostagar, and the Blight, and impending civil war and all that. He thought it was best not to voice such a question.

Wynne, Leliana, and Fin went inside to see about rooms, leaving Alistair and the assassin to lead the Feddics around back, where they could stable the mules and cart. Immediately upon storing the cart in the lean-to designed for that purpose, Alistair and Zevran began off-loading some of the crates and sacks.

Meila bent out from a niche between two crates. She gave no sign of discomfort, despite having been stuck in the same, cramped position for hours (Due to personal experience involving a Redcliffe kitchen cabinet when he was a boy, Alistair knew that she should have been aching all over by now). Instead, she simply climbed off the cart and bent to retrieve her bow and quiver from behind the sacks.

"I must admit, my beautiful elven maiden," Zevran's voice purred as he slung one of the bags across his shoulder, "that such a demonstration of your flexibility is quite enticing. Would you object to further demonstrations?" Meila gave him one of her stony glares, and Zevran waggled his eyebrows. "No? Perhaps I will have to come up with ways to convince you, then. I can be quite… convincing."

Alistair removed his helmet with a sigh and then quirked an eyebrow at the assassin. "Does Fin really not mind you flirting so blatantly with everyone?"

"Why, whatever do you mean?" Zevran turned a look at him, and Alistair snorted incredulously, because if there was one expression Zevran Arainai could not pull off, it was innocence.

Bodahn approached them then, having briefly rooted through his cart, apparently to double-check that everything was there. The dwarf favored them with a smile and a bow. "Many thanks for your kind escort, Wardens. Do you have any further need of me or my boy today?"

Alistair exchanged a glance with Meila, who shook her head. "I think we're good for now, Bodahn. Off to go play in the city, are you?"

"A merchant's work is never done, messere. If that's all, Sandal and I will be heading for the market to see whether there are any stalls available to rent. Please, if you leave the city again, make sure to let us know."

"Will do." Alistair saluted, and Bodahn bowed again. Sandal grabbed a lockbox off the cart, and the two headed out, the younger dwarf humming tunelessly as he walked.

After they were gone, Zevran arched an eyebrow. "We should stop by their stall later, just to see what the going rates are for his merchandise. I have been dubious about your so-called 'discount' for some time."

Alistair couldn't help it: he laughed. "You're not alone." He motioned out the door. "Shall we go see whether Fin's finagled any first-born sons out of the inn staff yet?"

Meila frowned in confusion. "What would Finian want with first-born sons?"

"Mm," Zevran purred. "Assuming they are suitably strapping, what wouldn't he want with first-born sons?"

Alistair gave the assassin an incredulous look. "How in Andraste's name did you manage to pull innuendo out of that?"

Zevran chuckled and started toward the door. "A lot of practice, my friend. That, and a rather shamelessly vulgar mind."

"No kidding." Alistair grabbed their sack of civilian clothes and followed the assassin, and Meila fell into step silently behind them. He didn't miss her soft exhale (practically a sigh of relief, from her) when they stepped out into the open air.

Alistair paused there, frowning back at her. Her tattoos remained entirely too noticeable. They couldn't just walk in the front door with her.

"What?" she asked, meeting his regard with a challenging glare.

"I'm not telling you what to do… but we can't exactly walk you in the front door."

She gave him a flat look. "I am not stupid. I did not intend to enter through the front." She pointed to a decorative tree that sat between the stable and the inn, then up at a nearby window. "I will meet you inside."

Somewhat embarrassed, Alistair turned and followed Zevran around to the front of the inn. The interior was a cramped tavern level, just a little too dark and dusty to be considered nice.

The other three of their group were parked at a table against a wall, cuts of lean meat and a loaf of bread in front of them. Fin waved them over, and Alistair let himself drop into a free chair, happy to sit after lugging around all his heavy armor.

"How's our extra passenger doing?" Fin asked quietly, his eyes flicking around alertly.

Alistair shrugged. "Cranky and a little crazy… so status quo, for her."

"Alistair," Wynne chided.

"We have two rooms," Fin continued. "I think it might be a good idea to head up there now and get cleaned up."

Alistair grinned. "Is that a subtle way of saying I smell? Because I'd like to see you simmering in a tin tube all day and coming out any better."

Fin smirked back. "I wasn't going to say anything…"

"Right."

"Seriously, though. We need to talk business. The less public the venue, the better."

"To our rooms it is… wait, did you say two?"

Fin's grin grew. Oh boy.

"I'm going to have to share with you and the assassin, aren't I? Two cheeky elves who never shut up, making eyes at each other? Wonderful…"

They stood up, Alistair hastily stuffing a hunk of bread in his mouth (lugging around so much metal worked up an appetite!). There was a staircase in the back of the tavern, and they headed up to the second floor, down a short hallway, and into a small room that was probably large enough for one person, but not three. Definitely not six, after Meila emerged from an alcove down the hall and slipped into the room behind them.

Meila closed the door, crowding them all into a room alongside two beds, two nightstands, and a window that looked like it badly needed a new frame. Wynne settled onto one of the beds with a tired sigh, while Zevran settled back against the window, crossing his arms. Leliana perched on the bed next to Wynne, and Fin leaned against the frame of the other. Alistair, for his part, was already trying to work off his plate armor.

"So, we need to find Brother Genitivi," Fin began.

"If anyone knows where the Sacred Ashes are," Leliana agreed enthusiastically. "It will be him. But where do we start looking?"

"Can we not simply ask someone?" the Dalish elf said. "I was under the impression this scholar was well known."

"Yes, but it's not that easy," Leliana said thoughtfully. "The problem is who to ask. If the wrong person hears that we are seeking the Urn of Sacred Ashes, when everyone knows Arl Eamon's men are also seeking it, it could all get back to Loghain. He might be able to put the pieces together, no?"

Alistair wasn't the only one who stared incredulously at Leliana at that astute answer (although Zevran's expression verged more on 'thoughtful').

Finian recovered first. "I've got some contacts in the market district that might be able to help… assuming they haven't been arrested or, worse, gone legit." He wrinkled his nose as if he couldn't fathom something like that. Then, he cleared his throat and spoke a bit more hesitantly. "While we're headed that way, and if you guys are all right with a detour… I would also like to check on the Alienage. I left it in… a bit of a mess when I left, and I want to make sure my family's… well, okay."

It was possibly the most raw Alistair had ever heard the pickpocket be. The others picked up on it too, judging by the gentle smile Leliana was wearing, and the concerned look in Meila's eye.

Alistair offered a soft grin of his own, hoping to ease whatever anxiety Fin had been shoving down all this time. "And here I was wondering how I was going to bring up the subject of detours. I've got family near there too."

Finian seemed cheered by that, then turned confused. "You do? But I thought-"

"Well, turns out I have a sister," Alistiar said quickly. "She lives here… well, not here here of course, but here in Denerim. She had the same mum, apparently, and I thought it might be nice to… um… meet her." Alistair felt himself turn scarlet under their scrutiny. Maker, did their smiles have to be so knowing?

Leliana giggled. "Of course we'll meet your sister. And go to the Alienage. Oh, this will be so much fun!"

Wynne sighed and laid back on the bed, and Leliana dutifully shooed everyone of the male persuasion out of the room. Fin led them into the room next door, where Alistair set about getting the rest of his armor off.

Ugh. He still needed a bath.

Twenty minutes and liberal application of a sponge later, Alistair was dressed in a simple linen tunic and feeling almost presentable. He fretted for a moment (is this really what I want to be wearing when I meet my sister?) but a tap on the amulet hanging from his neck helped calm his nerves. So did swinging his sword up onto his back, because even incognito, there was no way he was walking around without a weapon.

Finian finished checking that his daggers were safely stowed inside the sleeves of his servant's tunic, while Zevran lounged on one of the beds, seemingly asleep. "Ready?"

"Not really."

Fin grinned and started out of the room, and Zevran proved that he had been very much awake by smoothly rolling off the bed and padding after him. Much, apparently to Fin's dismay.

Alistair watched curiously as Finian frowned at Zevran. "You should probably stay here, Zev."

"Oh ho, and why would you think that?"

Fin put a finger pointedly to his cheek, right where Zevran's tattoo was. "We're trying to fit in, remember?"

"I assure you, my Warden, anyone who would recognize me is either going to know you anyway, or is already dead. Besides, I am hardly about to let you run around an area infested by people who wish you dead without me. You will recall that I am not the one who needs protecting, in that regard."

Finian's expression with tight. "And you're saying I am?"

"I am saying, Warden, that your kind attracts trouble like a wealthy merchant's daughter attracts suitors. I am more than enough proof of that, yes?"

For a moment, Fin looked like he was going to argue, but then he shook his head and pasted an entirely too believable smile onto his face. "Good point."

Judging by the arch of the Antivan's blond brow, he was no more fooled by that than Alistair. The trio made their way downstairs, only to find Leliana waiting for them at the bottom. She was dressed up in a brown wool dress and a brimmed straw hat.

She grinned as she caught sight of them, twirling her hat. "What do you think? I look Fereldan, no?"

"Um…" Alistair said.

"Wynne not up for the market?" Finian said smoothly.

"No, I'm afraid not. But at least Meila has someone to keep her company, no?"

"Ah yes," Zevran said. "Between Wynne's sleeping and Meila's self-enforced vow of continued silence, I can only imagine what sort of hijinx they will undoubtedly get up to."

"Hey," Alistair said, "lay off the sarcasm. That's my job… and you sound far too cheerful to pull it off properly."

The assassin bowed. "I apologize. I shall endeavor to be grouchier in the future. Perhaps you might also aid me in learning how to state the obvious while remaining blissfully ignorant of even more obvious things."

"Yeah, and then I'll… wait, what?"

"Come on!" Leliana urged, and the group of four started out toward the market.

They slipped through the crowd unnoticed with surprising ease, really. Sure, some people eyed Alistair's sword warily, but there were enough people armed around that it didn't draw any suspicion. Apparently, past the front gates, no one cared.

The market itself was even busier than the rest of the city. Alistair saw every kind of person, from hulking mercenaries, to grubby urchins, to hooded figures wandering the streets. Stalls lined the road, which Leliana seemed to be having a grand old time browsing.

Alistair was rather surprised when Fin turned down a side street and actually flagged down one of the shadier figures. "Slim!" the elf called, and the man startled. A weird name, considering the man was anything but 'slim'.

"By the-! Tabris, that you? Maker, you wouldn't believe the stuff I've been hearing about-" The man cut himself off as he noticed the rest of the group.

Fin gave the three of them a 'wait here' motion, then drew the hefty man deeper into an alley.

Leliana busied herself looking into the window of a dress shop, humming quietly to herself. Alistair, meanwhile, fidgeted, glancing up the street, because this was exactly the sort of situation where certain elves might get jumped, out of sight of the rest of them.

"You should enjoy yourself," Leliana said softly, not even looking away from the window. "At the very least, you are less likely to draw unwanted attention that way."

Alistair did a mental double-take at the shrewd line from the seemingly cheerful musician. Meanwhile, Zevran eyed the Orlesian with an arched brow. The Antivan said, "Ah, and a woman of your talents would certainly know much about escaping attention, as it were. Tell me, my dear; while you are teaching Fin music and poetry, are you coaching him on the subtler bardic arts as well?"

Leliana cast the elf a very complicated smile, and Alistair was very, very confused. Cheerfully, but with an underlying edge Alistair had never heard from her, Leliana said, "Oh, I don't think he needs my help with those. He's a natural, as I know you have noticed."

"Ah, yes. I had wondered how much of that might have been your doing, dear bard."

Alistair raised a hand. "Am I missing something here?"

"Yes, indeed you are. Likely several things," Zevran replied nonchalantly, and then made no attempt to explain anything. Leliana giggled. Ugh, since when were these two in on anything together?

Fin returned before Alistair could put on a proper pout, his chubby friend nowhere to be seen. Fin's expression was grim.

"Everything all right?"

Finian shook his head. "The Alienage is… no, it doesn't matter." He sighed and pasted a smile on his face that would have been entirely believable on anyone else. "The good news is that Slim Couldry will see about getting Brother Genitivi's address for us. The scholar will probably be watched, so we have to be careful going forward, but Slim's good. He'll get us what we need."

"For a price, I assume," Zevran said.

Fin flipped a sovereign between his fingers, then made it disappear again. "Not one I'm unable or unwilling to pay."

As they started winding their way through the market district, Leliana asked gently, "You learned something else, too. Something that worries you. Would you like to share?"

Fin's fake smile faded, and he sighed. "Turns out, we won't be visiting my family after all. The Alienage is in quarantine for a bout of plague… at least according to official sources."

"You have doubts, my Warden?" Zevran asked.

"I… yeah. I left the Alienage in a bit of a mess, when Duncan recruited me. Guards poking around, bad public relations, and whatnot." He lowered his voice and spoke quickly. "Perhaps it had something to do with me killing the bann's son in his own home… just maybe." Alistair's eyebrows weren't the only one to rise over that one. "The point is, there's probably more to it than 'the elves are sick'."

"Why, my dear," Zevran said lightly, "I had no idea you were a budding assassin as well as a budding bard."

"It's more complicated than that." Fin sighed. "It doesn't matter. Let's just find Alistair's sister."

They walked in silence for a while, Alistair checking street signs and addresses as they passed. He wondered if he maybe shouldn't have asked this Slim Couldry guy a question or two himself. Namely, where the blazes 26 Market Street was.

"Take a left," the Antivan's voice suddenly whispered. "Now."

Alistair opened his mouth to question, but Leliana and Fin each grabbed one of his arms, and all four of them turned into an alley.

They had been approaching some sort of major market square, set up with pavilions and stalls. Zevran peeked out at it, then drew back, cursing softly in Antivan.

"See someone, did you?" Fin teased.

"The more pertinent question, I think," Zevran replied, "is whether he saw us."

"Who is it?" Leliana asked.

"A Crow Master named Ignacio. He shouldn't be a threat, but I'd rather avoid a reunion, if it's all the same to the rest of you. Exchanging pleasantries, giving updates on mutual acquaintances, explaining why you're not dead yet… it would all be quite awkward, you see. Best to avoid it altogether, yes?"

They started down toward the other end of the alley, winding behind a cluster of houses off the square. Fin led them back out into a different part of the market district, brushing through the crowd.

After a couple minutes of following the elf along the busy street, Alistair noticed Zevran watching Fin with an amused grin on his face.

"Do I want to know?"

"He really is quite good," Leliana said softly, also watching Fin. "If I weren't watching for it, I don't know if I'd even notice."

"Indeed," Zevran purred. "My Warden's fingers are quite nimble. It must come with a great deal of fervent, vigorous practice."

"Never mind," Alistair groaned. "Question answered."

"We're here," Fin's voice called up ahead, the smirk on his face letting them know that he knew exactly what they'd been talking about.

Alistair's heart fairly jumped sideways in his chest. Sure enough, his fellow Warden was standing in front of a door with a rusty iron 26 above it.

"This is it? This is it! My sister is in there! Doesn't that sound strange? Sister? Ssiiiissteeeer…" He could tell by their expressions that he was babbling, but he couldn't seem to stop. The happiness bubbling up in his belly made him not care. He had a family! And she was just on the other side of this door! "Fin, you have to come with me. If you don't, I just know I'm going to make a mess of it. I might anyway, but at least you'd be there to smooth it over. And you would smooth it over, right? Because making it worse would be really, really mean."

"You won't make a mess of it," Fin said warmly. "But sure, I'll come with."

Alistair could not properly express his gratitude, so he didn't try. He turned toward the fateful doorway and took a deep breath. Then another. And another. Gee, the air here certainly was all dry and panic-filled… maybe if he went and breathed way over there, near the market…

Fin knocked, and Leliana and Zevran each took him by an arm and propelled him through.

He went in with high hopes and a stomach full of nervous butterflies. Ten minutes later, he stepped out with both well and truly dashed. Brutally. Against jagged rocks.

Fin closed the door gently behind them as they stepped back out into the sunlight. His face was a neutral mask, which was about as much as Alistair could ask, after the sorts of accusations Goldanna had leveled at him.

"Well, that didn't go very well, did it?" Alistair said with forced humor. He jumped as Fin laid a slender hand on his upper arm, and when he looked, there was no hint of laughter on the elf's face.

"Are you going to be okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be? I didn't have any sister before, and I don't really have a sister now. It's not like anything's actually changed. This frowny face right now is my own fault for putting my hope in a… in a…"

"Heartless shrew?" Now there was humor in Fin's expression, albeit wry.

"I was going to say 'total stranger'… but that about sums it up, doesn't it?" Alistair sighed, letting his eyes roam over the bustling market nearby. "It's just… it would have been nice, you know? To be part of a family. I've never had that… and now I guess I never will."

"You're wrong." Alistair turned back to the elf, feeling Fin's hand give his arm a squeeze. "You do have a family: the Wardens. By blood or not, we are brothers and sisters, and, whatever our differences, we're going to stick by you."

Alistair felt a little of that desolation inside him subside. From anyone else, such words would have been cheesy at best, hollow at worst. But Finian Tabris… he made the words work, spoken with such utter earnestness that Alistair had to believe them.

Alistair dredged up a smile. "Thank you, Fin. That's good to hear."

"Anytime…" The hand dropped from his arm, and Fin's grin turned teasing. "…my prince."

Alistair groaned. "Oh no. No, we are not going to start with that."

"Is that a royal order?"

"So help me, Fin, if you breathe a word…"

"All right, all right." Fin raised his hands in surrender. "And I had a slew of 'bastard'-'royal bastard' quips ready to fire, too." They started off down the street, and Alistair wondered where the other two of their party had gotten to. "Come to think of it, if your father was king, and I'm like your brother, does that make me royalty?"

"It doesn't even make me royalty," Alistair said with a snort. "If I don't get to be royalty, there's no way a mouthy little elf thief is going to be." By the Maker, it was actually working. Fin was actually making him feel better about his sister being an unholy hag and his greatest secret getting out. The man's tongue was magic, or something.

"Ah well," Fin said. "I'd probably get excruciatingly bored sitting on a throne all day anyway. Though there is something to be said about making the nobility dance for my amusement."

"Ah ha, finally, you admit it! Garott will feel vindicated, I think."

Finian smirked and opened his mouth to say something else, but then he stopped mid-stride as they turned a corner and found where Zevran and Leliana had gone.

The pair were standing against the wall of one house, speaking with a man in the uniform of a city guardsman. Some sort of ranked officer, by the look of it. Only the fact that Zevran and Leliana seemed calm and in control of the situation stopped Alistair from turning on his heel and running—preferably dragging his fellow Warden with him.

Fin has stopped dead in his tracks, so Alistair took the lead and tried not to look too fugitive-like as they approached.

"…business in the market district," the officer was saying in a flat, all-business tone. "If so, feel free to carry on. But I've got too much to deal with as it is to be worrying about a couple foreign-" The officer glanced up at Alistair and Fin and cut himself off. Something flashed in his eyes, but it was brief and unidentifiable. "Ah, never mind."

Alistair glanced back at Fin, and noticed that the elf was looking pale and stiff, though he had pasted a brittle smile onto his face. Zevran and Leliana both looked as worried by that reaction as Alistair was.

The officer's eyes barely flicked over Fin before settling on Alistair, and the warrior got the feeling there was a lot more to this situation than either the guardsman or the thief were letting on. "I'm just making the rounds to spread the word. There's been a rash of pickpocketing reported in the last hour, and my guards are out looking for the culprit. Keep an eye out, that's all." He nodded to the four of them. "Have a good afternoon."

As the officer started away, Fin suddenly said, "Sergeant-!"

The officer paused without looking at Fin. "One other thing. If any of you happen to know someone who's good with words, have him see me later. I may have a couple jobs for him." Then, he walked away.

Fin's face split into an incredibly wide smile. "Come on; we'd better get back to the inn."

As Fin started off at what was practically a skip, Alistair called, "Wait, what just happened?"

"I have no idea!" Finian called back with a laugh. "But we apparently have one ally in this city. I'm not pushing my luck by waiting around for him to come to his senses!"

"This seems a wise course of action, then," Zevran chuckled. And thus the four of them headed back to the inn, a great deal more and less productive than they'd expected when they set out.