Again, been a while! Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story.

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Alistair frowned up at the night sky. Why was it always bloody raining whenever he visited Starkhaven?

He supposed he should be grateful that tonight it seemed to be more of a drizzle than the downpours he had previously been subjected to. There weren't many people in the winding streets, just a few scurrying to their homes, eager for the shelter it would provide, and the occasional innkeep, hoping to convince them that their tavern would make for a better place to get out of the weather.

As much as the thought was appealing, he needed the fresh air to clear his head. Goran had welcomed him with open arms… something that had thoroughly surprised him. The Steward had always let his advisors talk for him before, yet the man had a wide smile, a clumsy embrace and spoke a torrent of gibberish about a ball the next day to celebrate Starkhaven's 'most momentous day'. Far from the tight-lipped youth he had dealt with previously, the dark haired ruler had gushed about the Ferelden King's 'most fortuitous' visit and how he must attend… bringing the 'blonde beauty' that he had been sighted with at the port.

That alone was enough to unnerve him. They had arrived before dawn had set, Hawke had been wearing a heavy cloak against the weather… how they knew about her was a mystery… unless someone at the Inn…?

Alistair tried to shake these thoughts. Just because the Steward knew he was with a blonde woman should not be cause for concern, right? There were lots of blonde people and lots of women… and it's not like he knew that this particular one was Champion of Kirkwall… or why they were there…

Alistair sighed as he pushed his way into the warmth of the Inn. The fire flickered in the shadows and the young attendant rushed to take his sodden cloak. "Thank you." He smiled at the young woman, "How are my friends getting along? I trust you have seen to all their needs."

The girl smiled… and from what he could tell blushed a little. "Aye, My Lord. The elf and the man went out to buy herbs and returned a short time ago… but your… lady friend, My Lord… every time I walk passed the door I can hear her curse."

The Grey Warden fought the smirk. He could well imagine her red-faced fury at seeing the traditional garb of Starkhaven… and the trouble she would have had putting it on… "I take it you offered her some assistance?"

"I tried, My Lord, but I don't think she would have appreciated my going in…"

"And why not?"

"You did not hear the nature of her language, My Lord."

Alistair snorted a laugh, unable to contain his amusement. "It's fine, I'll go and see how she's doing. Please send some drinks and food up to my room, it has been a long day."

"Of course, My Lord."

He turned to the two men who had accompanied him to the castle and dismissed them for the evening. They hesitated but went back out into the rain all the same, no doubt eager to partake of some Starkhaven hospitality.

He could hear her hiss her profanities even before he'd finished climbing the stairs. He stood there for a few moments just outside the door, wondering idly how many times he'd get this opportunity. It felt like going home… as ridiculous as that seemed. How far away was Ferelden, and yet this inn room felt like somewhere he could stay forever just because of the one person inside it.

Did she still love Fenris? Did he even want to know the answer to that?

Was it wrong that that thought bothered him more than whatever the usurper of Starkhaven had planned?

He pushed his way through the door.

Her tongue was stuck out… her features contorted into a bizarre expression of annoyance and concentration. He fought his own blush realising that she was only partially dressed… and the garments that she had managed to pull on seemed precariously applied.

"You do know people normally get someone else to help with those?" Alistair's voice was meek… but the amusement in his tone was evident. He saw Hawke's blush in the mirror before she turned, now wearing a mask of ire.

"You're the one who's making me wear the blasted thing!" She snapped, although despite her angered words, the look of embarrassment remained on her features as she huffed her defeat, wrestling with the corset around her waist in a bid to remove it.

"Well, if it helps you won't be wearing that tomorrow…?" Alistair offered, averting his eyes as she managed to hoist the offending garment over her head. He knew that the green dresses and skirts were still underneath, but it seemed inappropriate to watch a lady undress… as much as he may have wanted to….

When he looked up again, she was looking at him quizzically, as if suspicious as to why he was telling her that. Alistair pursed his lips, unsure whether to smile or wince. He knew she wouldn't be happy. "…really?" She enquired with an eyebrow raised.

"Really." He nodded.

"Nope." She shook her head, her dishevelled blonde hair making her serious expression seem less threatening. "I'm not buying it… you're trying not to smile… which means either you're saying this so I don't kill you for making me wrestle with this atrocity…" She threw the corset to the floor, "or you're planning on making me wear something even more ridiculous…"

"We're going to a ball." He said as quickly as he could.

Both eye brows raised, her arms crossed in front of her, her lips thin. Yup… she was furious

There was a moment of swollen silence that neither seemed in a hurry to break. Hawke as if daring him to repeat his last statement… Alistair praying that she wasn't about to strangle him.

Alistair took an apple from the fancy looking bowl on the table beside him and turned back around to face her. "Fruit?" He asked innocently, holding the offering to her. Yet her angered gaze did not shift. He couldn't say he was surprised.

"… please, tell me you're joking." Her face was grave.

"Well they do say it's good for you, so…"

"Alistair!"

He sighed as he shrugged, "I wish I was… but…" He cut off her red-faced objection before it could begin, raising his finger to her as if it was some sort of defence. "Let us suppose that this is an opportunity. If we get in the castle we can get information… maybe even find out where Sebastian and the others are being held. Look… I know you want to find your friends… but I can't get out of this… I'm the King of Ferelden, I can't strain relations with Starkhaven. Plus… you know… free drinks."

She grunted her resignation as she recollected the discarded garment from the floor. "I suppose you do have a point." Hawke conceded sullenly. "Not sure why that means I have to go though… surely a ball would be an advantage to break in and check the dungeons?... What…?" The blonde all but groaned as she caught his wince…

"Uhm… Goran may or may not know about you…" His armoured arm went to the back of his neck nervously, reminding him of the apple in his hand. He put it back in the bowl before Hawke thought he had something for citrus fruit.

She crossed the room to close the distance between them. "What did you just say?!" She hissed out, her green eyes wide with alarm, "How could he know about me? We've been so careful…"

"He mentioned the 'blonde beauty' at the docks." The Ferelden King sighed, turning away from her to pour them both a drink from the bottle on the side table.

"I was wearing a damn cloakhow could they have seen my hair?" Her brow was furrowed in thought as she took the offering.

"… at least whoever saw you thought you were good looking." The Grey Warden ventured attempting to ease the tension.

Hawke rolled her eyes, "That's hardly what I'm taking from this, Alistair." He couldn't fight the smile as he noticed the small tug at her lips. The ex-Templar took a sip from his glass, a strong and warming drink traditional to the region. He cast his eyes around the fire lit room, letting the chill of the outside leave his cold bones. He'd been at the castle since the afternoon, and now the evening had well and truly set in.

Had she been alone all this time? Alistair had assumed that Anders and Merrill would have stayed with her… still, he doubted the healer would have left her on her own without good reason. She seemed lost in her own thoughts, nursing the drink in her hand with a wistful yet sad look on her face.

The rain spattered against the window, making the roaring fireplace seem all the more inviting… yet he sensed that a quiet night in was not what Hawke needed right now.

"Let's go out." He said suddenly.

His suggestion was successful in stirring Hawke from her reverie. "I knew it… you're insane." She stated plainly, seeming utterly unamused.

"Or am I?" He arched an eyebrow with what he hoped was a dashing grin.

"Yes." She replied immediately.

"… you didn't have to answer so quickly you know…"

"You want to go out when you're pretending to be here on diplomatic business and we're actually trying to rescue people who, for all we know, are being held by the country's Steward… who once again is the Steward of the country you're pretending to smooze up to? Yes, you're an Archdemon short of a Blight."

He took the glass from her and put it on the table. He took hold of her arms gently and ducked slightly so their faces were at the same height. He smiled at her confusion. "They already know you're here. What's the harm in a few drinks? Besides… who knows what we might overhear in these lovely taverns?"

Her green eyes met his gaze, measuring his words. The firelight danced on her features giving her pale skin a warm glow. Although it had been years since their mission in the Deep Roads, she hadn't lost any of her beauty. Yet there seemed to be a hollowness now that hadn't been there then. An emptiness that only seemed to swell with the shadows in the room.

She had lost so much, and now she faced losing even more.

And here he was talking about balls, dresses and taverns.

"You're right," she answered eventually.

Alistair felt a blush rush to his cheeks when he realised how long he must have been staring at her… and how long she must have been staring back.

She broke away from his touch and pushed something else into his grasp. The Ferelden King thought his head might burst when he realised what it was.

"Help me with this will you?" She gave a small smile.

The bracing, salty air was a welcome change from the cramped room the trio had stuffed themselves into. She had needed some space… and Bethany and Cullen had certainly needed some privacy. She took a sip of her drink, idly wondering how long she should make herself scarce for. It wasn't like those two would be able to have many moments like this. Before they returned to the Circle, imprisoned by the rules and restrictions their lives demanded. The least she could do was give them some time together away from prying eyes.

When had she become this soft?

Isabella breathed in deeply, thinking back to a time when she had been someone very different. Less world weary… but definitely more stupid.

A memory returned for a moment, two children in rags clinging to their mother, tears tracking through the dirt on their faces, the lashes from whips a shocking sight against their pale skin. Her stomach tightened at the recollection. It had been the right thing to let those people go.

She knew she'd do the same even now.

The wind that rattled though the open gaps in the flimsy walls took a distinct chill. What had become of those people?

What if she had released them only to meet a worse fate? What if they'd been better off as slaves…?

The pirate grunted to herself. She knew there was no sense thinking that way. What was done was done. At least that's what she wanted to tell herself, she just wished she actually believed it.

"That's an interesting outfit, lassie…"

Isabella rolled her eyes as she felt the heavy weight of the man's arm thud across her aching shoulders. It certainly hadn't been the first time tonight. She finished her drink before twisting to face him, thoroughly expecting to tell yet another idiot what she would do if he didn't take his hands off her. She was pleasantly surprised to see a young man with a flame of red hair and a cocky grin on his face. His bright blue eyes were glazed with drink, his freckled face beaming with optimism.

Not bad, she thought idly, tapping on the bar to communicate she wanted another.

"Not half as interesting as what's underneath, I assure you." She smirked, swiping the latest glass offered.

"I'll bet it's not, lassie…. Not that your little dress leaves much to the imagination, now does it?" He leaned in. The pirate felt his hot breath on her neck and felt a smile tug at her lips.

Maker knew it had been a while.

"Are you complaining?" She purred back at him.

"Not at all. I like a woman with low inhibitions." He had a roguish charm to be sure, a confidence about him that she appreciated.

She hadn't expected someone like him to be here. Down here at the bottom of the city she had only ever encountered toothless drunks and ruthless cut-throats passing through. Yet here he was, no visible scars, high quality leather jack- unpierced from what she could tell… and his cloak seemed a little too new

Looks like tonight will be some fun at least.

"Name's Jamie." He waved to the bar keep for a refill. Jamie sat down heavily on the stool beside her swaying slightly at the impact, his arm around her all the while.

She chuckled, pulling his arm forward over her to balance him. "You poor sweet thing, can't handle your ale, hmmmm?"

"You think I've been on ale, lassie? Try the brandy, that will really put hairs on your chest." He chuckled into his glass.

"Not interested in having hairs there, my lovely." She wrapped her arm around his shoulders in turn and gave him a hefty clap on his back.

"You're Rivaini, aren't you?" His grasp tightened around her in a bid to draw her closer to him. He took another slurp, liquor dripping down his whiskered chin.

Isabella responded by taking a sip from her own tankard, albeit a more measured one than her new friend. "You're observant for a drunk man."

"You're in a tavern for sailors, seen all sorts around here."

"You're also well armed for a drunk man. Expecting trouble, are we?"

"Wha…?" Jamie suddenly seemed very sober.

"You know a cloak doesn't conceal a weapon if it's not covering it." She leaned in closer to him, making sure he heard every word. "Very clever to keep them at thighs rather than behind you… maybe it's something I'll try?"

He stiffened slightly, "Keep your voice down, will you?" He grunted, his demeanour decidedly less friendly than it had been moments before. He looked back at her as he removed his arm from around her, pulling his red cloak closer to his leg nervously. She couldn't fight the smirk and he rolled his eyes in response, his farce well and truly dropped. "The cloak gets in the way when they're at the back. Can't pull 'em out fast enough. Not that I imagine that you have that trouble with your… attire?"

"Attire is it? My, what fine words to hear in an establishment of this quality." The bar keep scowled, obviously overhearing her comment as he topped up her drink. She met his look of ire with a smirk, "Yes, you heard me. Problem?" The old man walked away, wiping an empty tankard and shaking his head, muttering to himself darkly. Isabella chuckled to herself, draining the contents of her cup and slamming some coins onto the bar. She turned to Jamie, now seeming much more uncomfortable in his environment, his bright blue eyes glancing furtively around the room. He positively jumped on his stool as Isabella patted him on the shoulder.

"Well now, now that I've insulted the owner of this fine tavern… and most people probably know you're armed, perhaps we should find somewhere else to continue this conversation?" She ran a finger down his arm as she slinked towards the door.

She tried to hide the smug smile when she sensed him scurry to her side to her shoulder.

Looks like tonight will be some fun at least.

Mahariel stared at the damp wooden ceiling of his cabin. He had been lying there for some time yet sleep still eluded him. Perhaps it was the constant thrash of the waves against the hull of the ship? Perhaps it was the uncertainty of the situation he was going to walk into when they reached Starkhaven?

Although those two factors may have been an influence he knew one thing it definitely was. Mentally perfecting the rant he was going to berate his idiot King with when he finally got hold of him.

Alistair had always been a man to follow his heart over his head, which was a worthy trait in a man. Yet the Warden-King never seemed to learn his damn lesson. In spite of his many advisors, in spite of the fact he was a damn King with thousands of souls dependent on him not being a complete cretin, in spite of the many many life lessons he had been forced to endure…

The Dalish gave a grunt of irritation before once again giving up on any rest. He sat up reaching for the pitcher of water. Of course, he actually understood Alistair's reasons… he just wished he didn't. It wasn't like he hadn't had his own heartbreak… and Creator knew he'd go to the ends of the earth to see her again.

How was she? Was she still alive?

Will our paths ever cross again?

He was almost grateful for the intrusion when the door swung open with a sodden man framed in it. He seemed pale, his chest heaved up and down with laboured gasps, the water positively dripped from his skin and clothes. The archer's stomach lurched. They weren't due in Starkhaven until at least daybreak… what could possibly have happened?

"My Lord…"

Mahariel was on his feet before the man could offer any explanation, he dragged his shirt over his head already making his way forward.

"They've… they've found something… in the water…"

Mahariel's eyebrow arched quizzically. "If this is just another large fish I am going to be very unimpressed."

"No, My Lord…" He beckoned and the elf followed him to the deck. His mind raced, he had made his feelings about being disturbed at the finding of unusual aquatic life very clear. The crew knew better by now. They surely wouldn't try such a thing again? Even as a joke?

Yet as he pushed his way into the open, the mood was sombre. Although some were calling for towels and other items the vast majority were huddled around the right side of the ship looking down at something in silence.

Mahariel surged forward, he pushed the men out of the way to see what was going on and was beyond shocked to find himself looking on one of his own brethren.

Her hair dark as his own, her skin as pale although it had now taken on a blueish hue due to the cold. Her breath was so shallow he didn't even realise it was there until he was kneeling beside her, pushing the strands of sodden hair back to see her face.

She had clearly been in the water for some time.

He cast his eyes over her garb and down to her weapons and his stomach lurched… Ferelden.

That could surely not be a coincidence?

"Help me get her inside… quickly!" He barked the command to no one in particular and was swiftly rewarded by two men stooping help pull the near dead woman from the deck. It was difficult to balance between the swell of the sea and the limp body they pulled forward, but Mahariel pressed on thinking only of one thing…

By the Dread Wolf, what had that buffoon gotten them all into?

….