(JohnboyJTB: I'll use the ones fit. It's a balance between all the content and getting too sidetracked from the main drive of the story and characters, and that's all I'll say about future plot details. :) )

89. Wherein Disregard for Privacy Pays Off

Given their new status as fugitives, it took them a week to finally get the chance to speak with Brother Genitivi. Usually, Wynne might not have complained about the break—Leliana's knee certainly needed the rest—except for the place where they were staying in the meantime…

The Pearl. What sort of madness had taken the Wardens, that they thought a brothel was a proper place for them to stay? Sure, it was certainly discrete enough for a hiding place—the Pearl seemed to operate in a world outside any earthly laws—but the people inside, who were helping them? Wynne was torn between wanting to frog-march the Wardens out of the building immediately and wishing she were still young enough to enjoy some of the entertainments.

Isabela proved a useful connection, getting them into a room in the back of the Pearl without any questions. Finian and Leliana had taken turns singing for their supper, and had disappointed quite a few patrons over the week as the customers learned that neither was for rent. Leliana was disturbingly good at putting on a show for the patrons. It made Wynne wonder just how 'bardic' the girl was.

Then, five days in, a chubby man named "Slim" ducked into the tavern, waited for Finian to finish his set, and drew him into a back room to talk. When Fin came back, he was grinning broadly, and the Wardens got to planning how to get back up to the market district without drawing unwanted attention.

They settled on calling on another contact of Finian's (a guard captain of all things!) to divert patrols from their route. This allowed the Wardens to walk right up to the scholar's doorstep and go inside.

When they were met with only the man's assistant, it seemed it was an operation wasted. However, while Finian and Wynne drilled the twitchy man on information regarding the scholar's whereabouts, Zevran was snooping around in the background.

Suddenly, Weylon, the assistant, broke off his guesses of checking near Lake Calenhad to spin on Zevran. "You can't go back there!" he snapped. The Crow, who had been curiously eying a doorway deeper into the house, arched a brow.

"Why not?" Finian asked.

"Why not… why…?! It's private, that's why!"

Even Alistair seemed surprised. "We did explain who we were, right? How we're Wardens looking to stop the end of life as we know it? What if there's something back there that might lead us to Genitivi?"

"There's not. It's just his study, and I would prefer it not be disturbed until he gets back." The man turned back toward them, only to yelp as he found Meila nocking an arrow so close to his face that it was practically touching his nose. The Dalish elf's expression was hard.

Finian, however, looked serene. "Let's try this again. What's back there, Weylon?"

"Oh my!" Leliana and Zevran had taken advantage of the man's distraction to duck inside and see. Leliana covered her mouth with her hands in the doorway, and Zevran disappeared into the room with a frown.

Weylon's eyes darkened. "I gave you a chance to turn back."

"I hate to alarm anyone," Zevran's voice called. "But I do not believe that is Weylon."

A fireball burst forth inside the tiny shack, proving their point.

Wynne scrambled to her feet, activating a healing aura that would soothe most of the burns. Then, she went about snuffing what she could of the fires that started around the wooden building. Nearby, she felt the magical pressure of Templar magic, and sighed in relief as the enemy mage cried out, drained.

An arrow and a slash of Alistair's sword later, the imposter lay dead at their feet.

Zevran emerged from the back room, paging through a journal with a raised brow. Leliana, meanwhile, could be heard chanting funeral rites for someone in the back room. It was not difficult to deduce what had happened from that.

"So… who was this guy, exactly?" Alistair asked, cleaning the blood off his sword.

Finian knelt beside the body to study him. "An assassin, maybe? Meant to trap us and anyone looking for the Ashes?"

"A very poor assassin, if that is so," Zevran said distractedly. At Fin's curious look, he shrugged. "What? His manner was all wrong. Not very professional at all."

"About as professional," Alistair pointed out drily, "as hiring a blood mage apostate to kill your only political rival?"

"Hm. Good point. And to think, I thought Loghain had good taste, thus why he hired me." He held out the journal. "Or perhaps this mage was from someplace else. There may be another faction that does not wish Genitivi to be found."

They crowded around the journal that the assassin held, Wynne spotting the relevant information first.

"Haven? I've never heard of such a place."

"The journal says its rumored to be somewhere in the Frostback Mountains."

"Oh goodie," Alistair sighed. "Let's go find some mountain climbing gear. I think I'm going to need warmer socks. Wynne, can you-"

"Oh, for pity's sake, Alistair. Were you never taught to darn your own socks in the Chantry?"

Alistair made a sound not unlike a child denied a sweet

She sighed and relented. The boy did, admittedly, have very good puppy eyes. "Very well. But so help me, Alistair, while we are traveling, I am teaching you to sew."