Cassandra eyed the dwarf carefully. What did she want to know? With someone whose mind worked in jagged circles, a straight path was often the best tactic, but something told her that it shouldn't be walked too quickly with this man. Instead of asking about Hawke, as he clearly expected, she asked, "Do you believe in the Maker?"

"Really? If the Divine sent her two top agents here to make sure I've been keeping up with the Chants, I have some suggestions as to how she could better use her resources," said Varric. He closed his eyes and recited, "'O Maker, hear my cry. Guide me through the blackest nights. Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked. Make me to rest in the warmest beds of beautiful Nevarrans.'"

She glared, and he opened his eyes to catch it with a grin. "Or something like that," he added.

"The Chants are not tools for flirting."

"Who was flirting? I'm simply proving my faith here, Seeker," he said. He paused and studied her. "Seeker is a strange first name, by the way."

"Yes, it would be," she said. "Who is Bianca?"

The mug in his hands dropped to the table with a thump. "Where did you get that name?"

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. "From you. You said she would be impressed by Leliana's skill with a bow."

"Oh. Right," he said. He coughed. "She's upstairs."

"Your… paramour lives here with you and yet you sit in the bar to banter with other women?" She didn't actually find it particularly offensive - she'd long since gotten used to the idea of true love - but she suspected the dwarf would expect it of her.

She was right. "I realize it's not one of your proper Andrastian relationships, but we make it work," said Varric. "She lays around until I need her, and when I need her she nails whatever men are in my way."

"Excuse me?"

His brief moment of discomfort was only a distant memory now. "She's my crossbow, Seeker. One-of-a-kind, and more dependable than the Maker when my back's against the wall."

She let that pass. "I suppose it makes sense that you would stand well away from any danger in a fight."

"If you're trying to make me angry, I'm afraid you've chosen the wrong tactics. I'm more than comfortable with my role in the world. To wit, superlative businessman, unparalleled storyteller, charming to the ladies and, of course, a man who fights from the back lines. When he fights at all." Varric took a sip. "It's usually best just to skip to the part where you're picking your enemy's pockets. Much less personal danger."

"I see."

He looked at her sharply. He still wore a grin, but she suspected that was a permanent fixture, and his eyes were thoughtful. "Do you see? I wonder. I've heard things about Seekers, you know. Never met one in the flesh until now, of course," he said. He raked his eyes over her, but it felt perfunctory. "But they say you can can see the truth of a man with a single glance. Is that true?"

"No. We are not gods. Only the Maker has perfect insight," she said. Under his steady stare, she relented. "But we may be quicker at sketching in the nature of a person than most."

"So tell me, what nature do you see in me?"

Cassandra pushed her drink to the side and pinned him with her gaze. "You have secrets. Your loyalty is hard-earned, but complete, whether it is to the Maker or to people. You are devout enough to not only know the Chants, but exactly how to twist them to the right level of irreverence. You're much too clever for your own good, and yet not clever enough to understand that honest is the wise thing a person can be. You love someone very deeply, a woman named Bianca, and she is gone but not dead. And you know a great deal about Hawke, but you will never tell me here. This bar is your greatest stage, and you'll always perform when you're on it."

Varric blinked as she tapped her finger three times on the table, and though she'd expected no result Cullen was there in seconds. She kept the surprise from her face and tried to look as stern as possible. "Knight-Commander. Please bring this man back to the Gallows for questioning."

"With pleasure," he said, and he sounded like he meant it. Cullen's hands on the dwarf's shoulders looked strong enough to keep a mabari in place.

The dwarf sighed. "Fine. Make it look good, at least. It will really boost my rep to be arrested by the head of Kirkwall himself."

"You're not under arrest," said Cassandra.

"Do you think they'll care? Hey, Red," he said, as Leliana drew up alongside them, "mind going to my room and picking up a few things? I have a hunch the Seeker's going to want the whole story, and Hawke is the longest story I've got."

Leliana rolled her eyes and nodded, and Varric gestured up the stairs with his head. "First door at the top. There are sacks you can use. Plenty of smallclothes, mind. And writing supplies. And grab the book that's sitting on top of the desk. Please," he added when she gave him a pointed look.

As the bard disappeared he turned back to Cassandra. "So, how did you know she wasn't dead?"

Cullen looked at her in alarm, and she shook her head. Not Hawke, she mouthed. She looked down at the dwarf. "No one names an instrument of death after a dead lover, beloved or not," she said. Her eyes closed very briefly, hardly enough for anyone to notice, before she opened them again and set her jaw into a hard line. "It takes a living rage to be so cruel."

They stopped by the Amell estate on the way back, though both Cassandra and Leliana knew that they would find nothing there. Hawke wouldn't be so stupid. Nevertheless, they set to prising the boards from the front door. The Hands could afford no assumptions. Varric had denied the existence of any secret entrances, but even he didn't seem to think they would believe him. He protested his honesty anyway. Incessantly.

"Just keeping my hand in," he said when Cassandra grunted at him in annoyance. "Excellence only comes with practice, Seeker. What is your name, anyway?"

She didn't answer as Cullen ripped another board away. They stood well to the side and waited for him to clear them to approach. It was too bad his armor hid what was sure to be an exquisitely muscled back.

"Well, whatever your name is, your title's going to be Seeker Rutherford before long if you keep staring like that," said Varric with a grin.

She hastily moved her gaze to one of the darkened windows. "I am not staring," she hissed.

"Hey, did you know I'm an ordained Andrastian minister? There was a bit of a thing once, they needed a quick stand-in, I charmed a Grand Cleric and here I am," he said. "My fees are very reasonable."

"Ugh."

Leliana only giggled, the traitor. "Do not encourage him," said Cassandra. She considered. "The dwarf, that is. The other, you should be encouraging."

Varric laughed so hard he nearly choked. "Red would chew that choir boy up and spit him out in three seconds flat. Even he doesn't deserve that kind of end," he said. He waved a hand in front of his face as he recovered. "Wow. Okay. So, your name. I'm thinking Penelope. You seem like a Penelope."

"No."

"Gertrude? Frances? Alicia. Belinda. Cherie?" he said. "No, not Cherie. Cherie Pentaghast? Sounds like a sneeze."

"Be quiet."

"I can do this all day, Seeker."

"It's Cassandra," said Leliana with a wicked grin.

"Really?" The dwarf's eyebrows shot up. "Hm, Cassandra Pentaghast. Solemn. Elegant. Beautiful. Easy for a man to groan in the dark, too. I like it."

Cassandra rolled her eyes. "Your approval is neither sought nor appreciated."

"Yeah, but we both know that someone's is, don't we?"

Cullen chose that moment to walk back and declare the house open, and Cassandra had never been so grateful in her entire life to exit a conversation.

The house was empty and full of dust, and the only footprints they found were their own. When they opened up the ill-concealed secret door, Varric affected a look of total surprise. "That was a real security hazard! Thank Andraste's curvy bosom that no miscreants ever used it to attack Hawke's family when they lived here."

No one bothered to respond.

As they were leaving, past the empty kitchens and the library full of books that would fall apart before they were read again, Leliana murmured, "Maybe Hawke truly is a ghost walking dead halls."

Cassandra knew she said it to monitor Varric, to see how he reacted, but Cassandra found her own eyes falling to their Templar escort. His mouth tightened in defiance, and she wondered if he carried the former Champion in his heart, underneath it all. Or perhaps not. Perhaps he would someday name a weapon after her.

When they arrived at the docks, there was a certain amount of confusion as they settled on transportation.

"We have to take the small boat back," said Cullen patiently. "It's ours."

"But it will not fit us all," said Cassandra.

"I understand that. But Leliana's craft is also here. And the woman who rowed it." A handsome, human woman barely taller than the dwarf waved at her. "Between those, we'll have plenty of space."

She considered, frowning. "But where will the dwarf go?"

"The dwarf is right here," said Varric irritably.

"He's my prisoner. And Leliana can't hold a bow on him the entire way. He'll come with us," said Cullen.

"No!" said Cassandra, slightly too loudly. She'd seen the sudden gleam in Varric's eyes and knew he would tease them both the entire journey. "I mean, no, that would be too hard on you. My size and my armor, plus the dwarf, and you've already exerted yourself today."

An idea struck her. "Leliana should go with you. She is light. Varric and I can go in her boat," she said. She looked at the waiting sailor. "That won't be a problem, will it? I can probably row as well."

"Not a problem at all, lady," she said.

Cullen frowned. "Whatever you do, don't let her row. She's hopeless at the directions," he said. She flushed at the reminder of her ignorance, and he looked at her. "Seeker, if this is a judgment on my skills, or a censure for my earlier exuberance, I assure you that neither are necessary."

"No judgment. No censure. I trust you could propel an army should you need it," she said, and he smiled a little. "But just because a thing can be done doesn't mean it should be. This will preserve your body with no sacrifice."

"I suppose those are good tactics," he said, nodding reluctantly. His eyes sharpened. "Do you happen to play chess?"

She shook her head.

"Another thing I can teach you, if you'd like to learn."

She only shrugged, and they sorted out their traveling groups. Cassandra expected Leliana to argue with her, and was pleasantly surprised when the bard only nodded and dropped gracefully into the stern of the waiting boat. Leliana settled into her seat like a queen, and Cassandra thought, not for the first time, that the wrong Hand had been born to royalty.

Cullen seemed to think the same, bowing deeply before untying the ropes, stepping in, and pushing them away into the rapidly disappearing sunset. And so Cassandra found herself sailing back to the Gallows with a silent helmswoman and a scribbling dwarf, listening to snatches of half-heard conversation and laughter drifting across the water to where she sat, trying not to hear.

Varric complained about his sparse accommodations and the lock that only worked from the outside, but not too loudly. She'd asked Cullen to find some mediocre wine to give him, and there was plenty of food waiting as well. He was only partially a prisoner, and while she judged nothing would curb his desire to lie, at the very least she shouldn't exacerbate his natural stubbornness.

Before she could close the door, he tossed something to her. She caught it without thinking, then stared down at it in confusion. "It's a book."

"Not just any book!" said Varric. "That's a first printing of the new serial novel by one Varric Tethras, Kirkwall's foremost and most celebrated author."

"You are joking."

He looked wounded. "I'm not. I'm quite famous, you know. You've really never heard of me? Hard In Hightown had a lot of popular appeal. Good reviews even in Orlais, and they hate crime fiction. Reminds them too much of their parties, I imagine."

"I'm sorry, I've never heard it discussed."

"Oh. Well, no matter. This is a perfect starting point for you. Good bedtime reading. That copy is yours to keep, Seeker. With my compliments."

"Thank you," she said automatically. Even now, the reflexive, childhood training was hard to remove. "Is it another crime story?"

Then he grinned wickedly, and she felt very afraid. "Not this time. This one's a romance."

She slipped into bed that night and stared daggers at the book on her nightstand. She'd considered hiding it, or even giving it away, but manners forbade it. And it would give her another point of commonality with Tethras, essential to all interrogations where force and intimidation were unlikely to succeed.

Sighing, she grabbed the book and turned to the cover page. The title was written in block print with a delicate filigree of lines surrounding the letters. Swords and Shields. And below, in a much more flowing script, she read: For Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast. May we soon be each other's number one fans.

"Ugh."

The word was loud in the quiet room but she felt better for expressing her disgust.

Leliana and Cullen had disappeared into the Orlesian's room again for more reminiscing. They'd tried to insist that she join them, but Cassandra would rather read a thousand romance novels than watch even a moment of their easy flirtations. And what reminisces could she share? The times she and Leliana had been holy? The memories of a brother bleeding out on a green field with blue poppies bursting across it like the sea?

No. She would read this book. She might hate every minute of it, but there were worse things than hate.

The days settled into a routine. She spent part of each morning with the Templars, at breakfast and in the training circle, and another part in Cullen's office, learning about his duties and the state of Kirkwall. He talked freely about the history of the Circle and its failings, about the Qunari invasion, and even about the horror of the war with Meredith. But he never talked about Hawke, and the wary look in his eyes kept her from asking. She didn't know what kept Leliana from asking - the Left Hand wasn't known for her sympathy - except that she might truly be falling in love with this man.

It seemed unlikely, given Leliana's temperament. Yet when Cassandra looked at Cullen, when he laughed or drew a hand along the steadily increasing scruff, a patch of darkness around his jaw that only enhanced his unfailing good looks, she thought it was the most likely thing in the world.

The rest of the days were given over to questioning Varric. He'd flatly refused to talk to Leliana. If the bard entered the room, he only hummed tavern songs absently until she went away. Cassandra suspected it was because Leliana would sense the lies, and know it, but at the same time they had no call to use force on him.

Leliana decided to track down this Bianca, instead. A Bianca among the dwarves was like looking for a specific dagger in a barrel of them, but if anyone could do it, she could.

So Cassandra went in alone and listened to his endless stories about the Champion of Kirkwall and her history with the city she would one day save. The city that had rejected her, feared her, then worshiped her. Varric made her wittier than a troupe of traveling performers, more beautiful than Andraste herself, and more skilled with daggers than any ten men, but that was all window dressing. Cassandra suspected that parts of the truth were slipping through.

Hawke had been too blessed in tragedy. Her brother had died to save her, then her sister had died to enrich her. Cassandra knew her mother had died as well, and though Varric hadn't yet reached that part of the story, she wondered if it, too, had been in service to the Champion. There was a thread of expectation to Hawke, and of anger, that she hadn't expected. And a spark of antagonism with her comrades, those loyal ones who'd risked their lives for a city that meant nothing to them, that she didn't understand.

Cassandra learned about her, or at least what Varric wanted her to think about her, and she spent the evenings trying to piece together the puzzle of where this woman could possibly have gone.