Here, at last, Chapter 21! I'm so sorry it's so reprehensibly late! Life keeps happening; work, little sister's wedding, sickness, seeing Tegan and Sara live (jealous? You should be, they're fantastically awesome!), sickness again, writer's block and frankly, some laziness. But in all honesty I was too busy to write very much at all up until about the end of May. Sorry! I'll try to do better for next time. Enough of my excuses.

Thanks to everyone who left reviews, and favourited and followed, and thank you all very much for not threatening to kill me despite the lengthy wait.

And thanks very much indeed to my beta (or humble proof reader, whatever you wish me to call you) TSLi! You're my favourite, you are ;p. (I still can't see all of your google docs comments for some reason, but I'll adjust the chapter later as needed once I figure out how to see the rest of them, thank you so much for going through this thing for me!)

Also, I should mention this chapter contains spoilers for The Exiled Prince DLC.

Okay, here's the chapter, sorry for any mistakes or if it seems rushed or anything like that. Thanks for reading, sorry about the wait!

xxx H xxx

Warm whispers of breath caress my skin and I smile, glancing down as best I can at the small raven-haired head nestled contentedly in the crook of my throat. Merrill sighs, her body shifting slightly against my side, and I curl my arm tighter about her waist, revelling in the feel of her. Despite the cool of the morning air, her skin is pleasantly warm to the touch. My breath catches at the sight of her. Just like always. I can't help but stare at her lovely face, captivated by her fragile, ethereal beauty as she rests against me. She is not sleeping, I can tell from her breathing, though her eyes are closed in blissful serenity. I marvel at the tracing of tiny veins in the soft lavender-dusted skin of her eyelids, delicate natural reflections of the fiercely beautiful markings that trail over her brows and cheekbones. Her pale skin seems to gleam in the half-light cast by the fire, as though hard pressed to contain all the magic within her soul.

Her eyes open a little as I watch and she blinks a few times, slowly, sleepily, tightening her hold on me instinctively as she lets her mind rise to full wakefulness. "Hello, my beautiful Hawke," she murmurs drowsily, her lovely lilt almost turning her words to song. "How are you feeling? Did you get enough rest?"

"Oh yes, love," I answer softly. "Don't you worry about me, I feel quite wonderful, in fact."

She smiles beatifically. "So do I." Well, that is an encouraging answer. I'm pleased to find she is not still guilt-ridden over yesterday's somewhat… tempestuous events. Merrill stretches a little, her small body tautening, and then she relaxes with a sound of satisfaction, burying her head once more in the hollow of my neck. "Do you want to get up now?" she asks softly, the words slightly muffled.

I chuckle at the clear reluctance in her voice. "Not just yet." I could spend all day like this in fact. Even though this bed is rather small and uncomfortable… I smile a little, shaking my head at myself internally. It wasn't all that long ago that I was sleeping every night on a bed not unlike this one in my uncle's house, only far more uncomfortable and stacked three high, with Mother sleeping on the pallet below and Carver snoring away above my head. Not to mention the quality of the bedding, or lack thereof. Maker above, just thinking about those lumpy, scratchy straw mattresses and thin, stiff, ragged excuses for blankets makes me feel itchy. But to be honest, I can't say truly that our way of life in Ferelden was always that much better than in Gamlen's house, living on the run as we did. Until Lothering of course. Still, cosy as it was, our home there was hardly luxurious. I daresay I've become rather used to a different quality of after living in Hightown, reluctantly rubbing shoulders with the Kirkwall elite. Andraste, I've been trying so hard not to become like those soft foppish bastards!

"What are you thinking about?" Merrill's soft voice breaks into my thoughts. I glance down to find her looking up at me with bright eyes and a small fond smile, head tilted curiously to one side.

"Oh, I was just chastising myself internally for missing our bed in Hightown," I smile wryly, and somewhat apologetically, as I reply. "And for letting myself become as pampered as a bloody entitled poncy nug-licker."

"Ma vhenan, you are anything but," my sweet little elf contradicts me firmly. She wriggles a little on the hard mattress. "I admit, I'm missing it quite a bit too. But I think the fact that we're using it at all speaks volumes, doesn't it? If either of us were really spoiled, we wouldn't be lying here at all. But we're far tougher than that. At least I think so."

"Mm," I agree. "Perhaps some of our dear neighbours ought to get outdoors more often, find out what living in the real world is like. The ground is far more character-building than any bed, and most of them could use a bit more personality."

Merrill chuckles softly. "You sounded very much like Tamlen just now. He always said much the same thing about everyone living in shemlen towns and cities. Only in a much more scornful tone."

My mouth quirks in a half grin. "I'm inclined to agree with him. I don't care much for city life myself. If we didn't go out to the mountains or the coast so often, I think I might go insane. I'd miss the trees and the open countryside far too much." A thought strikes me. "Perhaps it's no wonder we've run into so many lunatics in our relatively short time here in Kirkwall, if most of the citizens hardly venture beyond its walls. I can't imagine living in a city like this for my whole life." Merrill nods silently in fervent agreement, as I knew she would. Hard as I find it to live without the freedom of the open fields and rugged woodlands, for Merrill it must be far stranger. She'd never even so much as set foot in a human settlement before coming to Kirkwall, let alone one the size of Kirkwall. "Surely it's enough to drive anyone mad. Or at least help them down the road to insanity."

"Cabin fever, Isabela would call it. When everyone on board a ship gets tired of being confined to such a small space, sometimes they can go a little... funny. That's what she told me," Merrill muses to herself in a dreamily distracted manner, and a frown enters her voice. "Although I suppose it's called something else in a city."

"I daresay the term still applies, albeit loosely." I'm still not overly pleased that I even noticed how uncomfortable the bed is. The Fereldan commoner in me is deeply ashamed of this new Hawke, the 'scion of the Amells', as I hate to be called. Perhaps I ought to address this matter before it escalates further and I become as soft and spoiled as a bloody noble. I shift a little to find a more comfortable position, eyes half close as I drift in thoughtful contemplation. I should do something fun, something rugged, active, adventurous. Something... outdoorsy. A journey somewhere, perhaps. Anywhere. Perhaps out to Sundermount or the Wounded Coast. Or farther, even! On foot, naturally. Striking camp come nightfall. Bedrolls. Campfires. Stars. Disgruntled companions with conflicting personalities whom I drag along to keep me company. Yes. Something like that would be a marvellous change of pace from being cooped up in this city all the damn time.

We lie in peaceful quiet for a few moments more, and then I sigh, disentangling myself reluctantly from Merrill's slender frame and slipping out of bed. She gives a small, playful whine of protest as I rise, and I smile fondly, ruffling her tousled hair in a rush of deep affection. "It's past time to be up, beautiful," I say. "I thought I'd make us some tea. Would you like to freshen up?"

She nods somewhat distractedly, letting her gaze run over my unclothed form. "Mm." I wiggle my fingers before her eyes and she blinks, raising them to my face with a smile and a faint blush. "Alright, ma vhenan."

The splintery wooden bed frame creaks as she springs up lithely and makes her way down the narrow hall to her tiny washroom. I watch her go appreciatively, and then move to the hearth, stacking logs and kindling into the fireplace as I listen to the faint noises of Merrill washing in the next room. I reach for her flint and tinder and strike sparks into the fireplace, blowing gently to coax the flames to life. I could light it myself with little more than a drop of mana of course, but Father always encouraged me away from using my gift too often for such mundane tasks, even in private. Not just to get in the habit of guarding my secret from anyone who might think to earn a few coins from the mage-hunters, but because Father believed very strongly that magic ought not to be used as a crutch, nor should it be used idly. "My magic will serve that which is best in me, not that which is most base," he used to say. I very much appreciate that Merrill acts in the same way, as indeed all Dalish mages do, so she tells me.

The kettle by the fire has enough water in it for two cups, I judge, which saves me from fetching more from the well in the square. I swing the kettle over the flames to boil just as Merrill emerges from her bedroom, fully clothed in a pair of tight tan breeches and a soft white shirt. Maker, she's beautiful.

"That look works on you," I tell her admiringly.

She gives me an amused and very appreciative look. "And I very much like your current outfit too, ma vhenan."

I grin; I am still stark naked. "Cheeky," I murmur, grasping her about the waist and pulling her in for a kiss, releasing her only very reluctantly before heading to the washroom myself.

When I return, comfortably dressed in yesterdays clothes, there are two cups of steaming tea sit on the rough round table by the wall, along with a wooden board with a hunk of bread and some cheese. Merrill, seated with her back to the fire, glances up from the large tome she was reading and smiles. "I went out quickly and bought some breakfast from the market," she says by way of explanation for the food on the table in a house she hasn't lived in for some time. "Nothing compared to anything you would make, obviously, but I wanted to get something for us. I was too hungry to wait."

"And you managed to make it back within the hour?" I ask in mock incredulity, grinning fondly at her to take the sting from my words. "I am very impressed! Soon enough you'll know your way about Kirkwall well enough to give tours."

She laughs, and I take the chair opposite her, wincing a little as I sit, feeling a few odd aches and twinges in my body, particularly centred around my ribs. The lingering legacy of yesterday's battles in the Fade, I suppose. Strange, considering I wasn't physically harmed, exactly. Perhaps I was simply more exhausted then I thought, and my mind hasn't quite let go of the perception that I was injured. "Nothing quite like a nice uncomplicated breakfast to start the day," I comment lightly, trying to disguise my grimace of discomfort.

In vain, of course. Nothing escapes those sharp elven eyes. "What's wrong, Hawke?"

"It's nothing," I try to assure her. "I'm completely fine. Just a little sore, but I'm sure it's just in my head."

Merrill drops her gaze to my torso for a moment before meeting my eyes with a serious expression. "I know how badly you were hurt in the Fade," she says quietly. "Is it that?"

Damn. I barely suppress a wry grimace. My little mind reader. "Maybe," I admit slowly. "If so, it's entirely in my head, I promise. You know as well as I that injuries sustained in the Fade shouldn't really harm the physical form. I'm fine." I place a hand on my ribs. "Just feels like it should be a little sore here, but there's nothing wrong with me, really."

Merrill drops her gaze to my hand, and then she moves from her chair and kneels beside me at the table, reaching for the hem of my tunic. "Maybe I can help you, anyway," she murmurs quietly, gently lifting my shirt and baring my ribs to the brisk morning air.

Perhaps she wants to try her hand at healing again. I'd love to give her a lesson, but this time there truly isn't anything physically wrong with me. "It's alright, love," I reassure her. "There's no need to..."

I break off with a gasp of delighted surprise as Merrill's warm lips press against my side. She kisses each exposed rib, glancing up me through her eyelashes as she reaches the last and lifts her head. A small half grin lights her face. "Better, ma vhenan?"

I smile at her sweetness. "Much. I'm all fixed."

"Good." Merrill smiles, then leans forward quickly, hugging me about the middle. "I know you'll tell me it wasn't my fault, what happened in the Fade, but it didn't have to happen. I could have been stronger, and then you wouldn't have gotten so hurt." She smiles wider, looking up at me, and speaks quickly to stop me before I can voice the counter arguments already surging to my lips. "But then, perhaps it wasn't the Fade at all that made you feel so achy this morning. It could have been my small, lumpy bed too." Her green eyes sparkle with mirth. "That sort of humble bedding can be quite uncomfortable for spoiled, pampered noble types."

I laugh at her cheek. "Little minx," I say fondly. "Do you have any idea how wonderful you are?"

"Oh, ma vhenan." Her arms tighten about me. "I will never understand what you see in me," she laughs.

"I understand the feeling," I reply, a touch of wryness in my tone. Oh, my darling, I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.

Merrill smiles again, sitting back in her chair again. "I am sorry for what happened, though. It was my fault. I should have known what the demon was doing."

"It was a pride demon," I point out carefully, cupping my hands about my teacup to warm them. I don't enjoy continuing this topic, but I feel it needs to be said. "Like Audacity."

"It was," Merrill agrees softly. "It was stronger than him, though."

"Yes," I concede gently. "But now you know what it feels like to be under the sway of a demon. It was strong, so it only needed a few moments to influence you. Audacity is weaker, but it has been in within reach of your mind for far longer." I draw a breath. "Can you be certain it hasn't been manipulating you, little by little, for as long as you have had contact with it?"

Merrill is silent for a moment, gazing at her reflection in her mug. "No," she admits after a moment, softly. "I can't be, not for absolutely certain." She meets my eyes. "But I knew what I was risking when I went to him. And I have been careful. As careful as I can."

"I know," I tell her. "And I still want you to fix the mirror. But... if it turns out there is no other way... I just want you to have it very firmly in your head that Audacity will very, very likely want more from you than just release from his prison. And that the use of blood magic may very well make you more susceptible to him, for all we know. We do know very little about it, after all. Compared to other schools of magic at least."

She nods seriously. "I understand. And... I do appreciate being reminded."

I nod in return. There isn't really anything more to say on the matter. "Alright then. That's all I wanted to lecture you about today."

Merrill giggles softly. "I would still like to try and find another way to fix the eluvian," she says. "Other than blood magic, I mean. And... I promise I won't use it unless I absolutely have to."

I smile. I do feel better, hearing her promise that. "Thank you, my love. I understand your need to do this, but I worry about you."

"I know," Merrill says. "And I love you for it. I love that you understand what I want to do, and that you want so badly to help me. To help my people." She gives me an adoring look. "I never imagined a human would help me restore Dalish history."

I smile. "Well, you know humans," I quip happily, reaching for the bread and cheese. "Always sticking our noses where they have no business being."

xxx M xxx

Oh, ma vhenan.

I laugh quietly, watching Hawke give me a cheeky grin before she takes a mouthful of the meagre breakfast I managed to scrounge up for her. Hardly comparable to the wonderful meals she cooks for me, but she doesn't mind in the least. I love her for that, among so many other things. "I wish my clan understood what I am trying to do. Or the Keeper, at least."

"When the eluvian is finished and working safely, they'll appreciate all you've done for them," Hawke reassures me, with more confidence than I feel about it myself. Ah, my sweet Hawke. I smile at my beautiful human mage, listening fondly to her words of encouragement. She leans forward, blue eyes filled with earnest fervour. "They'll come around. I did, didn't I?"

She did, at that. Eventually, anyway. But even after all those... misunderstandings... she sees how important this is to me, to my people, and she is still so determined to help me.

I draw in a deep breath, part wistfulness, partly in wonder. "No one else ever understood," I murmur, my words wreathed in gratitude. "Not the Keeper, not my clan. Just you."

"I do understand now," Hawke replies with a warm smile. "At least, after you explained it properly and Isabela yelled at me a few times." She tears off another bite of her bread and cheese and turns her head, glancing over her shoulder at the eluvian standing in the corner of my bedroom. "Have you made any progress with that book you found in the Emporium?" she asks around her mouthful, a thoughtful note in her voice as she looks back to me.

"I have managed to study it a little," I answer, and grin at her a little. "Mostly when you've been out. I get too… distracted, otherwise." Hawke laughs, and I continue. "It's quite hard to read, the writing is a bit faded and the dialect is a little different to what I know, but I've been able to make some of it out. It is a book on magic for certain. Not eluvians specifically, but I did find a chapter with passages that mention what I believe is a spell that is supposed to be useful in mending magical objects without further damaging the enchantments placed upon them. I think it would help repair some of the cracks." I pause, and then meet her eyes hopefully. "Can we... can we stay here for a little while this morning and try it? I remember what I'm supposed to do. There's a potion I need to make, but I do still have the necessary ingredients lying about here somewhere, I'm pretty sure. Deep mushroom, and lifestones and such." I wouldn't be at all surprised to find some deep mushrooms growing in the corners, in fact.

She gazes back at me intently, a warm smile curving her lips, no glint of hesitation in her eyes. "Ma nuvenin, ma sa'lath," she says with a cheeky grin, and I smile at her, touched as always by her use of the elven words and endearment.

"Ma serannas, ma vhenan."

"We could bring it back with us when you've finished," she says. "The mirror, I mean. There's plenty of room for it here in the estate, you know. It would be easier than going all the way back down the stairs to Lowtown to work on it all the time."

I hesitate for just a moment before answering her; I know she means it, I do, but... I'm not sure that's really a very good idea. It seems to be alright now, but just in case... I don't want to put her in danger. Or her mother, or Bodahn and Sandal and her dog, for that matter. And Feathers. Oh, Creators know what he would manage to do with it!

"Oh, that's alright, Hawke. It's good exercise after all, coming down here. And I'd rather leave it there, at least until I can be sure it's safe. It's a good enough workspace, anyway," I tell her. She frowns a little, looking unconvinced, and opens her mouth as though to speak but I don't want to argue about it. I know she wants to help me, but... I really think it ought to be kept away from her house, at least for the moment. "Besides, I'd rather not risk trying to haul it up all those stairs, even with help," I say quickly, my voice filled with fretful anxiety. I don't even have to feign it; just the thought of what could happen to it, trying to drag it all the way up to Hightown... "If it got broken... I don't know how I would handle it." There. She can't really argue with that, can she?

"Fair point," she says, nodding quickly in reassurance. She smiles at me. "But the offer always stands, should you change your mind. And... I will speak to the hahren about seeing that nobody disturbs your house, I'll offer him whatever rent he thinks is fair. Double it, even. Maybe I'll fix it up a bit, too, get you a door that locks properly for starters. And perhaps I could help with a bit with the rest of the alienage while I'm at it."

Elgar'nan! Even after the behaviour she has witnessed here? "You would do that? You've hardly had a welcome reception when you've come here before. Most of what you've seen of the way of life here is... less than noble."

"Like those two louts who accosted you, you mean? Because one never sees a human getting blind drunk to escape his problems and acting the fool," Hawke says, a sardonic smile on her lips. "The only difference between the drunken human oafs and the elven ones is the cheapness of the ale. And the pointiness of their ears. Of course, they wouldn't have reason to behave that way, if there were better conditions here in the alienage. They wouldn't be driven to drink to forget their sorrows if they didn't have so many." Hawke rises, and begins walking slowly back and forth before the fire, voicing her thoughts as she paces. "Maybe I could do something? Find a way to make more jobs for elven workers, perhaps. Or I could... I could start a fund. To help with the upkeep of the alienage and to assist families of those who can't find enough work." She stops pacing and turns to me, excitement plain on her face, replaced quickly by concern. "Do you think they would accept something like that from me?"

"I... don't know," I say, touched by her offer. "That would be a wonderful thing to do, Hawke. They would probably be quite sensitive about it though. Prideful. Perhaps you should speak to the hahren about it first."

She nods. "I'll do that, then," she says, her eyes determined. "Maybe it might help if I offer to remain anonymous, just as long as I can do something."

I gaze at her in silence for a moment. Creators, I truly don't know what I did to deserve such a person in my life, let alone returning my love. I must have done something incredibly good and just not even have realised it. "You are wonderful, Hawke. You do so much good for everyone. And you absolutely spoil me."

She shrugs, looking a little bashful. "Well, you deserve it. You're still used to offering more to others than you ever receive yourself. I'm going to change that." She glances at the mirror again. "I'd like to come with you when you work on it, if you don't mind. Just in case. I'd feel better."

She'd feel better feeling that she could keep me safe, she means, both from the eluvian and the less amiable alienage dwellers. I can hardly blame her. "I'd like that, Hawke," I tell her, smiling, and then lean across the table a little. "And you know, it might be good for me to keep my house here for another reason besides having a place to work on the mirror."

"What reason is that?" Hawke asks, tilting her head at me.

"As nice as it is when everyone is all together and the house is full of people, it would be nice to have a place for both of us to go and stay, sometimes," I explain. "After Leandra and Bodahn and Sandal have come back. It's been so lovely, you know, you and me by ourselves. I think it would be a good idea if there were somewhere we could go to..." I lower my voice meaningfully, "...be alone... together."

Hawke chuckles. "You make an excellent point, my darling."

I smile at her as I cut some bread and cheese for myself, turning over yesterday's events in my mind. "Were Isabela and Anders alright?" I ask suddenly. I can't believe I didn't ask sooner! I'm sure they're alright or Hawke would have said something, but still. I should have asked.

"They're fine, love. Isabela was a little... rattled, I think, but otherwise just fine." Hawke says, then frowns. "Although I would like to check on Anders. Since Justice was in control of him when he attacked and we... when he left the Fade. I don't know how aware he was of what was happening, I want to make sure he's alright."

"Why don't we check on him?" I suggest. "When we're done here. And Isabela too, since we're not too far from the Hanged Man and all."

"I think that's a good idea," Hawke nods. "Once you've worked on the mirror, we'll go."

I smile at her, and start on my breakfast, eager to try out the spell from the ancient tome on the eluvian. And the sooner I try it, the sooner I can make certain for myself that Anders and Isabela are all right. I hope they don't feel too badly about it. It wasn't Anders' fault exactly, what happened in the Fade, it was because of Justice, but Isabela... well, anyone can fall to a demon's lure. She's probably very guilty and upset about the whole thing, trying to kill me and Hawke and all, just for a ship. Poor Isabela. She must feel terrible! I just hope she will be able to get past it.

xxx H xxx

"Aha! Mage and Queen beats Templar and Divine, I win!" Isabela's victorious call rings across the near empty tavern room as I step through the door of the Hanged Man, Merrill at my back. I smile to myself as Isabela lays her cards out on the rough oaken table and grins triumphantly at Fenris, glowering across from her. "Pay up, sourpuss."

Well, if I had any concerns about Isabela spending the night in mournful contemplation of her actions in the Fade, they have now been assuaged. Quite completely.

Fenris narrows his eyes at her in a fearsome green glare, though one corner of his mouth twitches in as much of a smirk as he is able to perform. "You cheated," he accuses dryly.

Isabela raises an eyebrow. "Pirate," she reminds him patiently.

"You seem to have trouble remembering that, broody," Varric grins, reaching up to clap the lanky elf beside him on the shoulder. Fenris merely sighs, pushing a small pile of coins across the table towards the smirking pirate queen.

"Perhaps it's the excess of wine at mid-morning," I hear Sebastian mutter on Isabela's left as Merrill and I approach across the hall. "I've learned the hard way that it is not particularly profitable to mix drink and gambling."

"Nonsense," Isabela scoffs, neatly stacking her winnings. "I've had a healthy six tankards since I got up, and I'm cleaning out the lot of you."

"Got up?" Varric asks wryly, gathering up the discarded cards and shuffling them. "I didn't hear you stumble in. I'd bet my last copper piece that you never went to sleep last night, Rivaini,"

"No," Isabela grins. She takes a swig from her tankard, and lowers it with a sigh of satisfaction, gold eyes twinkling. "But I did go to bed."

"Not your own, I presume," Fenris drawls.

Isabela shakes her head, grin widening. "I found a lovely soft bed in the Chantry, as a matter of fact." She glances at the former Chantry brother beside her as he takes a measured sip from his own mug. "The sister-initiates there are so accommodating. Not at all shy. And surprisingly knowledgeable..."

Sebastian coughs and sputters, spraying water across the table, and Varric laughs uproariously. "Oh, look!" he chortles. "Choir boy is going red as a roasted nug!"

"Don't tease him, Varric," Merrill admonishes him gently as we reach their table. She gives a little grin, trying to spare Sebastian's dignity. "Maybe he's just hot in all that armour."

Fenris and Varric turn in their seats, one greeting us with a cheerful grin, the other with a solemn nod. I meet Isabela's eyes across the table, before she glances away, plucking the deck of cards from Varric's grasp and shuffling again with practised professionalism. Perhaps I'm imagining it, but I think I saw a hint of something in her golden gaze, a look of... if not guilt, then apprehension, perhaps.

"Oh, he knows I'm only joking, Daisy," Varric assures her with a smile. "We're all friends here. Right, O Prince of the North?"

"Indeed. If I ever do reclaim my rightful place on the throne of Starkhaven, I would welcome you in my court," Sebastian informs him. "I daresay I will have an opening for a jester."

Varric smirks. "Will I get to wear Andraste's face on my crotch too?"

"Oh, is that who that is?" Merrill asks Sebastian excitedly. "Is that some sort of religious tradition amongst humans? I did always wonder, but I didn't like to ask." She looks at him kindly, apparently mistaking the bemused expression on his face for discomfort. "You don't have to wear so much armour all the time, you know. It looks very nice of course, and it's very shiny! But I'm sure you'll be safe from those assassi-… um… that is, I'm sure you'll be safe while you're with us."

Sebastian smiles at her careful attempts not to mention the murder of his family. "Unless of course Hawke pulls me into one of her perilous adventures," he replies with gentle humour. "Still, it is far better to stay safe than to suffer sorrow, as my grandfather used to say. But I thank you for your concern. I am quite comfortable."

"Have you learned anything more about who wanted to harm your family?" I ask him, rather more bluntly than Merrill tried to be, I know, but I doubt he'll take offense. Not if I can help him. Which I have no doubt I will end up doing at some point or another.

Sebastian's expression hardens a little. He nods. "I have. I was hoping to meet you here in fact. You were not at your home, and I thought I would have a better chance of seeing you here than in the Chantry if I waited. If you have some time, I'd like to talk..." His voice trails off somewhat cautiously, and he glances about, clearly uneasy discussing such delicate matters in the middle of a public place filled with strangers. "Perhaps we should step outside? I don't wish to be overheard."

I shake my head once, clapping a hand on his shoulder and motioning him over to the bar counter a few paces behind us where Corff the bartender stands, idly chatting with a customer. "Why don't we just move over here," I suggest. At his quizzical look, I explain quietly; "The more people around, the less chance of being overheard."

"Hawke's right, Choir boy," Varric butts in cheerfully. "The more noise, the harder it is for anyone to eavesdrop on private conversations."

Sebastian raises a dubious eyebrow at the eavesdropping dwarf, and I chuckle. "Oh, Varric's the exception to the rule, naturally. He's had more practise."

"Hawke said sarcastically," Varric quips.

My eyes roll of their own accord and I glance at him. "You know I hate it when you do that."

Varric grins. "Hawke muttered in an angry aside to the dwarf."

Sebastian clears his throat pointedly. "If you two have a moment...?"

"Off you go then," Isabela says, making shooing motions at Sebastian and me with a careless hand. She grins at Merrill. "Why don't you sit in, sweet thing? Take our illustrious Prince's place."

Merrill blinks in surprise, and smiles. "Oh! Alright," she says brightly. "If it's alright with you, Sebastian."

He rises and waves her into his seat with a gallant bow. "Be my guest, my lady. I think I've lost enough for one day, anyway."

"Let's just start a new game then," Isabela suggests, dealing one card to each place at the table. "Highest card deals first. Do you remember the value of each card, Merrill? And what the different pairs are worth together?"

Merrill frowns at the card Isabela hands her. "I think so..." She settles in beside Isabela, laying her card face up on the table. "A King is high, right?"

"Right, Daisy," Varric tells her, laying his own card down. "But not quite as high as a Queen."

"How appropriate," Isabela quips happily. "Fenris?"

"Templar," he says with a grimace, tossing his low card onto the table surface.

Isabela smiles, dropping her own card down and then gathering up the deck to deal. "And Mage beats all. Don't worry, kitten," she says reassuringly as Merrill looks at her with an expression of open trust. "You'll be fine. Just a nice, friendly game of Diamondback..."

I try to shoot Isabela a nice, friendly glare of warning, but she is already absorbed in the game, her back to me again. Not that I think she'd take advantage of Merrill's inexperience - Maker, that doesn't sound right - but she does tend to get a little carried away with the thrill of winning. Well, I'll just have try not to be long. And to keep an eye or an ear on the game, if possible.

We leave the table and cross to the bar. Sebastian rests his hands on its worn, time-polished surface as I lean casually against the counter and signal Corff for a tankard. "I had thought it would end here," he murmurs quietly. He looks at me, a strained look in his eyes. " Three years ago, you decimated Flint Company. No survivors. I was, and am, grateful to you for that, yet... now that I know who sent them, it's harder to see their deaths as justice."

I meet his gaze attentively. "You've learned who hired Flint Company, then?"

"The Harimanns," Sebastian answers, nodding. "A noble family of Kirkwall. They were my parents' allies. It's hard to believe they betrayed us like this."

I frown, letting my gaze roam across the room as my thoughts drift for a moment. The name is very familiar. "I think I've met Lord Harimann..."

Yes, I remember. Harimann. A tall, imposing man, eyes filled with quiet strength. He had confidence bordering on arrogance, yet spoke with a polite, and measured tone of voice, even when speaking to a Lowtown mercenary hireling - myself - in full knowledge that I had been hired to kill him. A Kirkwall noble who went out of his way to press the Viscount for aid to Fereldans affected by the blight. A good man. I never would have taken that job in the first place if I'd known why he was wanted dead. Meeran was livid with fury when I refused to kill the man.

A memory rises, three years long since cold, showing as clearly in my head as the day I lived it...

He folds his arms in a display of ill-concealed ire, standing with a few of his men in the poorest lit corner of the alley behind the Hanged Man, starless darkness crowding oppressively above. One foot taps impatiently. Varric, Aveline and Fenris walk silently at my back as I approach him slowly, reluctantly, not out of fear but with a sense of extreme distaste at the thought of placing myself willingly anywhere near the brute, something I had wanted never to do again after I left his service. Only the desperate need for coin to fund the Deep Roads expedition could have made me return here, and yet I may as well have left it well alone. I fervently wish I had never taken this rotten job in the first place.

The foul man lets his lecherous gaze slide openly down my body as I draw near him, lingering obviously on my chest. Maker, I wish Merrill were here, if only so I could take comfort from her presence. I am relieved she didn't insist on coming, though. I don't want her exposed to scum like this any more than I can help it. "So," Meeran drawls. "Gustav limped back here, but refuses to speak one word of what happened." He glares at me. "Spit it out, girl. Is Harimann dead or not?"

"Not." I gaze back at him evenly. "He's being hunted for aiding my people. I will not kill him."

Meeran curls his grizzled lip in disgust, yes narrowing threateningly as he steps forward. I hold my ground as he narrows his eyes, feeling his hot, fetid breath in my face. "I think you forgot the rules, dog-lord," he grinds out, fury burning in his words. "Once you take the job, you do the job. You don't decide if it's right."

I stare him down, unflinching, hearing Aveline and Fenris shift behind me uneasily, the unmistakeable sound of a bolt being drawn back, and leather of gloves and gauntlets creaking as grips are tightened on crossbow and sword hilts alike.

"I will not do it," I reply quietly. "This is not a job I can complete in good conscience. Find someone else or do it yourself."

His face twists into a snarl and he brushes past me, signalling for his men to follow him. "I'll not be forgetting this any time soon, little mage girl," he growls over his shoulder. "Me or my men get any trouble from Harimman because you were too weak to slit his throat, you'll see me again. My word on it."

Meeran and the whole of the Red Iron went to ground after that, hunted by Lord Harimann's forces no doubt. No word of him since, as far as I know. Yet. I suppress a shudder, feeling a powerful ripple of hate for that disgusting feral pig of a man. I would have thought he'd have sought revenge on me long since for messing up his job and bringing the wrath of the Kirkwall elite down on him and his gang. I suppose it's too much to hope that by now someone has stuck a bootknife in his eye.

"Hawke?" Sebastian prompts me quietly. "Are you well?"

I shake my head a little to snap myself back to the present, raising my eyes once more to Sebastian's. "My apologies, I was just... remembering. There was a contract out on Lord Harimann's head several years ago for convincing the Viscount to send aid to Denerim after the blight." I feel my expression harden angrily. "Several Kirkwaller noblemen resented his actions. They wanted to kill him and stop the Viscount from sending any of Kirkwall's coin to Ferelden. I'd recently left a year of indentured servitude to the Red Iron - long story - and their leader came to me with one last job he wanted me to carry out, Harimann's assassination. When Lord Harimann told me he was wanted dead for trying to help my country, I refused to do it, for obvious reasons. I only met him the once, but he left me with the impression that he was a good man."

"He was. Or, he used to be a good man," Sebastian replies, nodding slowly, "but he became rather strange in his dotage. He died some years back, not too long a while after you prevented his assassination, it seems. His daughter took over the family. Lady Johane Harimann. They say she's become quite reclusive of late."

"Any idea why the Harimanns turned on you?"

"Money? Power?" Sebastian replies with a small, dismissive shrug of his shoulders. "It's hard to say. Lady Harimann was always jealous of my family for being royalty when hers were mere nobility. But I can't imagine that pushing her into outright murder."

He shakes his head and falls silent, eyes distant, brooding. Thinking of his family, no doubt. I can't help but feel for him. I've known loss... my father, my sister, my brother... but I still have my mother. And now I have Merrill. Sebastian lost his entire family at once. I can only imagine the loneliness such a blow must still bring him at times. He bows his head and I turn from him a little, intending to give him a few moments to collect himself. A peal of bright, triumphant laughter announces yet another win for the Pirate Queen, and I find my attention drawn inexorable back to the Diamondback game.

"So," Fenris says conversationally to Isabela as they begin the next round. "These slaves you freed..."

Isabela gives a long, weary sigh, glancing at her cards and tossing a few coppers carelessly into the middle of the table. "This again."

"Such an act seems out of character," Fenris comments with a sort of casual doggedness, flicking his eyes over his own hand and dropping a small stack of coins into the pile.

"Temporary insanity," Isabela replies, causing Varric to grin and Merrill to stifle a giggle. "A bout of foul morality. A horrifying fit of decency." She takes a swig from her tankard and looks at Fenris with a shrug, a grin clear in her voice. "What? I got better." She tilts her head at him suspiciously. "You wouldn't be trying to divert my attention from the game by any chance, would you?"

"If that were the case, I wouldn't bother talking to you. All I would need to do to distract you would be to simply dangle something shiny before your avaricious eyes."

"Oh, striking below the belt!" she laughs. "Just where I like it..."

Sebastian breathes in deeply beside me and raises his head, and I turn back to look at him. He gazes at me with a look of renewed purpose, his control fully recovered.

"When I told her of what I learned, the Grand Cleric advised me that I must go carefully, that if I treat the Harimmans like those mercenaries I could start a war," he tells me quietly, picking up where he left off. He gives me a meaningful look. "She is right, but I cannot let this go."

"What do you intend to do?" I ask delicately. "Do you intend to take revenge?"

Sebastian rubs uncomfortably at his jaw, signifying his indecision. "Unless I understand why they did this, any revenge I take will be hollow," he replies softly after a moment. "I must speak with Lady Harimann and find out what drove her to this madness. I do not know what I will do, but I must hear what she has to say for herself. But I am the last of my line. I should not go alone and make myself a target." He hesitates. "Elthina believes that death is never justice, and she will most certainly not approve of what I have to ask you..."

I already know what he is going to ask, of course. "I will go with you," I tell him before he can voice his request. "If I'm standing beside you, that should make her think twice."

"Again, your interest in my plight humbles me," the heir to the Starkhaven throne says, flashing me a small but grateful smile as he clasps my hand. "Thank you, Hawke. Having you by my side will stay anyone's hand." He gives me a respectful nod. "When you confront Lady Harimann, you can find me at the Chantry. When do you suppose you might have some time?"

I consider briefly before I reply. "Today, actually, if you're ready." Sebastian's eyes light, and he nods again in confirmation. "I need to make a short trip to Darktown first," I warn him. "If you wouldn't mind tagging along for an hour or so, we can pay Lady Harimann a visit after my business there is done." Might as well help him today, since he's here and all. And I would much rather not visit the Chantry unless absolutely necessary, frankly. Far too many women in pretentious high-collared robes offering me the Maker's blessing, or what have you. Not being at all religious myself, I do prefer to keep a healthy distance between me and the devout, although that is becoming more difficult of late, with the amount of Chantry sisters roaming the streets, petitioning passersby for alms, or merely standing with quiet judgemental creepiness in shadowed corners, watching all comers as they go about their business...

A memory stirs, and I lean toward Sebastian. "I wanted to ask you," I begin. "I saw a Chantry sister in Lowtown recently, and... well... something about her just seemed a little... odd." I describe the beautiful woman I caught staring at Merrill and I in front of the Hanged Man, her bright red hair, piercing blue eyes, her graceful movement and subtle air of danger. "I caught her staring at me with such a strange expression, it was quite unusual. I wondered if you'd have seen anybody like that in the Chantry. You're there far more often than I." Surely he must have seen her. Someone like that must stick out like a sore thumb among the Chantry population.

The former Chantry brother frowns deeply. "No," he replies. "That description fits no one I have seen amongst the sisters, or even the initiates." He shakes his head. "I'm afraid I cannot help you, though perhaps this sister is a newcomer and I simply have not crossed paths with her yet."

Or perhaps Aveline has been having me watched again. In a friendly, protective manner of course. With no love for the Chantry herself, she certainly wouldn't be above having one of her people impersonate a priest to serve as her eyes and ears in Lowtown. It would certainly explain why the woman moved like a trained fighter. I will have to ask Aveline about that, when next we meet. "No matter," I say, giving Sebastian a reassuring grin. "I'm sure it was nothing, really. Are you ready to accompany me to Darktown?"

He nods, and I beckon him to come with me back to where Merrill, Isabela, Fenris and Varric are still engaged in their game and conversation, Varric dealing a fresh pair of cards around the group.

"I never have affairs with my crew," Isabela is saying as we return to the table. She ignores the cards Varric flicks across to her for the moment, golden eyes burning with mirth as she speaks, apparently talking exclusively to Merrill. "Once they see you naked with your ass in the air, they think they don't have to take orders."

Merrill giggles, and Fenris and Varric exchange amused looks as Isabela ignores her mug of wine and reaches for the bottle. "Men," she scoffs, raising it to her lips and taking a long swig. "You have to be twice as tough to earn half as much respect." She wipes her mouth on her arm, flashing a grin at me as I move to sit on the edge of the bench next to my still-giggling elven love. Sebastian leans against an empty table behind Varric, who examines his cards briefly and sighs, dropping them to the tabletop. "Fold."

I press a quick kiss to Merrill's cheek and she rewards me with a bright, sweet smile, shifting a little to press her leg against mine as she looks back at Isabela. "So did the crew member mutiny? I mean, after..." She hesitates and looks down at her hand, blushing furiously as she distractedly pushes the rest of her coin and a few odds and ends from her pocket into the middle of the table, still searching for words. "After you... um... you know..."

Isabela chuckles, scooping up her cards at last and glancing at them. "Oh, no. I had the offending member removed." She quirks an eyebrow. "That got rid of the attitude."

Varric chokes halfway through a sip of ale, and Fenris clears his throat uncomfortably, avoiding Isabela's eye as he sets his hand face down on the table, folding without a word. Merrill explodes into another fit of giggles, the hand holding her cards dipping and revealing her pair. From the corner of my eye I notice Isabela glance at them for the briefest moment, and then deftly slipping a card from within her forearm bracer and exchanging it with one in her hand. I feel my lips tighten, narrowing my eyes at her over the top of Merrill's head, though I decide not to interfere. Merrill can make her own decisions, she knows Isabela well enough not to be surprised if she cheats her and besides, it isn't like she will lose anything she can't recover. Still, that doesn't mean I have to like it when Isabela plays with my little elf like this. I narrow my eyes a little further.

Isabela gazes back at me innocently, then nudges Merrill."Alright, kitten, let's see your hand."

Merrill lays out her cards on the table. "Templar and Divine. That's pretty high, right?"

"Almost the highest you can get, kitten," Isabela smiles gently, and then places her own pair down. "But not quite as high as Mage and Divine. My hand trumps yours. I win."

Merrill sighs in disappointment, then flashes Isabela a fond smile, shaking her head a little. "Why do you always win at cards?"

Isabela laughs affectionately. "Because I cheat, kitten. You know that."

"Yes, but... you did?" Merrill frowns. "When? I didn't see!"

"That's because you were distracted by my bawdy stories, sweetness. Don't worry, the more you play with me, the better you'll get. Then no one will be able to swindle you." Isabela grins at me, disregarding my less-than-impressed expression. "Although I daresay you'll be better able to afford it now, having access to Hawke's coffers."

"Oh, I wouldn't take Hawke's money to gamble with!" Merrill declares, looking at me earnestly. "Anyway, I don't think I'll be playing again anytime soon. Certainly not with you, Isabela. Not for coin, anyway, or I'll never be able to hold on to it!"

"That seems a sound decision to me," I tell her

"And to me too," Isabela puts in. "There's plenty of other things we can play for besides coin. Clothing, for instance. Or..." She glances at the small pile of winnings in the middle of the table, and stops in her list of amusing things to gamble for, picking up a small carved talisman and holding it up. I recognise it as a charm for good luck, one of the few things Merrill carried away with her from the Sabrae when she left. "This trinket... it's elven, isn't it? From your clan." Merrill nods, and Isabela gives her head a small shake, handing it back to Merrill with a fond smile. "Don't bet anything you're not prepared to lose. Here... have it back."

Merrill takes it from her gratefully, slipping it back into her pocket, and I give Isabela an approving nod, though I keep my expression blank. On the stony side in fact, if I'm honest. I still have yet to discuss the events of yesterday with her yet, of course, and from that ever so slightly uneasy look in her eyes when she glances my way, I think she anticipated our impending... discussion. I don't mind at all making her squirm a little in the meantime. "Well, if you're done with your game, we should be on our way in a minute," I say to Merrill, though my gaze flicks back to Isabela. "Sebastian has discovered who ordered the attack on his family, and I intend to help him out," I explain. "But first, we're going to make a trip to Darktown. To see how Anders is doing after everything that happened yesterday." Watching Isabela's face closely, I could swear I see her dusky skin pale just a little, and I cross my arms. "You know. With the demons. In the Fade."

"I smell a story there," Varric comments, eyes lighting. Fenris, however, glances between me and Isabela and then stands, pulling Varric to his feet after him.

"Perhaps you can press them for details another day, dwarf," he says pointedly, giving me a tactful nod. "Why don't we go to your quarters?"

"What for, broody?" Varric quips merrily. "A romantic rendezvous? Dance lessons?"

"Amusing," Fenris deadpans. "I was hoping you would tell me a little about the blade display on your wall, in fact. Such things interest me. And besides; you know I only dance in private."

"Hah!" Varric guffaws, slapping Fenris on the back as they head for the stairs. "And the broody elf makes a joke! Someone tell the Divine, it's a miracle!"

Merrill looks first at Isabela, then at me, a slight frown on her face. I give her the tiniest of winks, making certain that Isabela can't see me, and Merrill's frown vanishes as she tries very hard not to smile knowingly. "Maybe we should leave you two to talk," she says, then rises from the table and goes to Sebastian. "Why don't we go outside for a bit? It's getting quite stuffy in here."

Sebastian smiles at her, and indicates that she should lead the way out. "After you, my lady."

Merrill smiles at me over her shoulder, and then turns to look up at Sebastian as they weave through the crowded tables towards the tavern door. "So... why does your armour have a face... there? Is it really Andraste? Wouldn't she find that upsetting?..."

Isabela watches them leave and sighs, leaving the table and sitting on a bench built around one of the supporting wooden beams holding up the Hanged Man's roof. A very tired-looking Norah comes over to resentfully clean up the mess left behind by the group, smacking a dishevelled man sharply across the back of the head when he tries for a drunken grope as she passes.

The Pirate Queen shifts about in an unusual display of discomfort as I rise from the table and stand over her silently. She looks up at me, an almost imperceptible look of trepidation on her face. "Alright," she says, almost challengingly. "Let me have it."

"'I like big boats, I cannot lie'," I quote in a sarcastic sing-song, and tilt my head at Isabela, making sure to maintain my stern expression. "Really, Isabela?"

Isabela shrugs. "Well, I do. Blighted demon knew it too." She sighs, squirming uncomfortably on her seat like a scolded child. " I'm sorry I abandoned you in the Fade," she grinds out painfully. "That was foolish of me. I mean, I didn't even get the ship in the end."

I keep my face hard and uncompromising as a statue. "So you admit it. You'll betray a friend for a ship."

" Hey! Not just any ship!" Isabela protests defensively. Her eyes take on a faraway look. "It was beautiful. I could see the hard line of the hull, run my hands along the elegant curve of her prow... oh!" She stares wistfully off into the distance for a moment, then shakes herself out of it and returns her gaze to me. "The demon was in my head. Nothing but the ship made sense."

It's quite... interesting, seeing Isabela this contrite. She really must feel badly over what happened. I ought to drop my facade of cold anger and put her out of her misery, but... well, I'm afraid I'm somewhat curious to see how she will react if I continue. Just for a little longer. "I wouldn't have left you," I tell her quietly, adding an edge of disappointment to my tone. Quite convincing, if I do say so myself. "I would have stood by you, Isabela. No matter what the demon offered."

Isabela narrows her eyes a little, her guilt quickly becoming replaced by defensive annoyance. "Oh, so now you're playing the guilt card. That's low."

I know I can't push her much longer, but I simply can't seem to help it. "Well, you betrayed me for an imaginary boat. My feelings are hurt."

"I already said I was sorry. What more do you want?" Isabela says irritably. "Would you like me to clean your privy for a month?"

I lift an eyebrow. Isabela pauses.

"Shit, I really shouldn't have said that."

I leave her in suspense for a moment, then can't keep my face straight anymore and crack a bit of a grin. "I'm only joking Isabela. I forgive you," I reassure her at last. "I don't blame you at all, in fact. I understand what it's like to be under the influence of a demon."

"You... what?" Isabela stares at me, eyes wide in confusion. "What about that angry rant?"

"Oh, that?" I reply happily. "I just wanted to have a bit of fun with you."

Isabela presses her lips together, clearly suppressing a grin of her own. "And that was your idea of fun?"

"I thought it was a fitting punishment. But if you don't agree..." I shrug, giving her a playful wink. "I could always arrange a spanking instead."

"Oh, stop," Isabela laughs. "You're going to make me want to betray you more often. Are you trying to get me to jump into bed with you? Because it's working."

I smile at her warmly. "We're friends. Friends forgive each other."

"Now you're making my insides feel squishy," Isabela says, a smile of her own lighting her face despite herself. She peers at me suspiciously, raising a brow. "You're not going soft on me, are you?"

I click my tongue in mock irritation. "Oh, fine. Have it your way. You've been a bad, bad girl. Go to your room."

Isabela laughs, not budging from her seat. "That's better."

I smile at her. "I don't suppose you feel like coming out with Merrill and Sebastian and I? After we check on Anders, we're going to go and put some entitled murdering nobles in their place," I offer enticingly. "From what I hear, the Harimanns are rolling in wealth. I promise to look the other way if you take anything shiny."

Isabela laughs. "Oh, Hawke, you do know how to charm a girl," she says with a grin, raising a eyebrow in anticipation. She jumps to her feet and slips her arm through mine, practically dragging me to the door. "Count me in."

"Are you going to be warm enough in that?" I joke, gesturing to her sparse garments. "It's getting quite cold out after all. Perhaps a cloak, or a pair of pants...?"

"Oh, shut it, you," my scantily clad friend chuckles, jostling me good-naturedly. "I don't really feel the cold, I have a very warm body. And before you make any jokes about my burning loins," she hurries on, "Don't bother. I've heard them all."

I shut my mouth, but a grin remains on my lips. "Spoilsport."

Isabela laughs again, pushing open the door and pulling me along behind her into the street. "Come on. Let's go and grab kitten and the Chantry Prince and go see the Moody Mage of Darktown."

xxx M xxx

"Is that your cat?"

Anders glances - glares, really - up at me from his examination of his patient, eyes flashing in irritation. More notice than he's given any of us since the moment we entered his busy clinic. Obviously he has a lot of patients to deal with this morning, but he could at least have said hello.

I point to the hand-drawn picture of a little cat tacked to the wall above his cluttered desk, captured right in the middle of washing its sleek fur. I wonder who drew it for him? It's really very good. "I think you've mentioned you had a cat before. The one Mahariel gave you, right? The one you had to leave in Amaranthine."

He nods, turning back to the small boy who is pressing a little hand to his stomach with a grimace, and peers into his eyes. "Yes," he replies curtly. "Ser Pounce-a-lot." The little boy he is examining smiles at the name, and Anders gives him a little grin, softening his dour expression a bit.

"Ser" Pounce-a-lot? That really is very cute! Not the sort of name I'd have expected Anders to give a pet. I would have thought something along the lines of "Justice" or "Knight-biter" or "Templar-disembowler" or something. Certainly not something so... adorable. "Ser Pounce-a-lot," I repeat thoughtfully to myself, liking the feel of the name as I say it. I bite back a smile at the picture the name puts in my mind. To give a cat a knight's title, who ever would have thought of that? "Who knighted him?" I ask playfully.

Anders blinks once and then glances at me again, a look of confusion clouded with suspicion hovering over his features. "Is that a serious question?"

"Did he have a little sword, or just his claws?" I continue, and the little boy laughs, forgetting whatever is paining his stomach for a moment, looking delightedly at me. I'm fighting back a few silly giggles myself. Anders just glowers, of course, but at least he's finally paying attention to one of us. I wink at the small child and stick the fingers of one hand up behind my ear, wiggling them. "I bet he had a dashing cap with a feather in it!"

The boy bursts out into peals of laughter, and I laugh with him at his delight, glad I could distract him from his discomfort for a little. Hawke glances over and grins at me from the other side of the room where she is looking over another patient while Isabela and Sebastian watch. Trying to make herself useful while Anders pretends to be too busy to speak to her. He really must be cross with her. I'm rather hoping I'll annoy him enough that he'll give up and talk to her just to get away from me. I smile back at her, feeling the slightest pull of her magic from across the room as she surreptitiously lets a little healing magic course through the elderly woman she is examining. From what I can tell, the spell Hawke is casting will slowly grow stronger, healing the woman over the next few days so that she will simply believe her sickness is getting better on its own. It's very clever, really. Hawke can't afford to be as open as Anders is about his magical abilities (among the Underground dwellers, at least), being so much in the eye of the authorities as she is, but there are some things she can do to ease some lesser ailments without raising suspicion. Not that Anders has even bothered to notice, the great lump.

Anders gives me an annoyed look as his small patient's giggles die down to a cute little chuckle every few moments. "Would you stop making fun of my cat?" he snaps.

I frown in pretend disappointment. "Oh... no hat, then?"

"No," Anders grunts shortly, then looks back at the little boy and places his hand on the child's head. "Sit still, Liam," he says softly, with far more gentleness in his voice than when he was speaking to me. "Just for a little." The boy nods seriously and then holds himself perfectly still, eyes screwed up in concentration as Anders works a spell over him. Liam's skin shines with a pale blue light, and when the mana fades, the rash is gone. A woman in a patched dress who must be his mother comes over, smiling happily as she cups her son's cheek. "Just a mild case of stomach cramps," Anders explains, waving off her earnest thanks. "He most likely suffered a bad reaction to something he ate. Unwashed deep mushrooms, perhaps?" He raises an eyebrow at the boy, who ducks his head, carefully avoiding looking at his mother. The woman shakes her head at him, and grabs Anders' hand in thanks. "Bless you, healer."

He smiles at her as she leads her son out, and glances towards the corner where Hawke and the others are gathered just as Hawke finishes with her patient and farewells her. I see the chill look in his eyes lessen just a little as he finally sees what she has been doing to help, but his face hardens again after a moment and he folds his arms crossly.

"Hawke," he says in curt greeting, as though we hadn't been there for nearly an hour already, his voice blunt and dark with badly hidden anger. "Isabela." I see his lip curl ever so slightly as he glances at the former Chantry brother looking back at him with a cool blue gaze. "Sebastian."

"Good day, Anders," Sebastian replies politely.

"Oh, are you going to stop ignoring us now?" Isabela asks, raising her brows. "How very kind of you."

Anders ignores her as Hawke approaches him. She shares a quick smile with me, and then turns her eyes on the clearly still-fuming man before her. Her gaze is serious and thoughtful as she takes in his almost aggressive stance. She was worried he would be angry over what happened between him - well, Justice, really - and us in the Beyond. It certainly looks as though her fears were justified, at any rate.

"Anders," she begins quietly. "May I have a word?"

He looks at her in silence for a moment, then nods once and jerks his head in the direction of his living quarters, through a door right at the back of the clinic. "I'd prefer to speak with you in private, if it's all the same to you," he says with an almost dangerous softness in his voice.

Hawke gives him a level stare. "Alright," she answers, then glances Isabela and Sebastian and finally at me. "Do you mind waiting here a little longer?

I shake my head. " It's fine, ma vhenan." Sebastian and Isabela don't object either. I don't much like the idea of Hawke being in a room alone with Anders when he is so obviously angry, but if Justice does rear his ugly head, we will be close on hand to help and besides, I know Hawke can take care of herself anyway. I try to convey all of this in the reassuring smile I give to Hawke. "We'll be right outside the door," I tell her meaningfully, earning myself a scowl from Anders as he strides through into his rooms, leaving Hawke to follow him.

Once they have both disappeared into the back rooms, we settle down to wait, Isabela hopping up to sit idly on one of the rough wooden examination tables and motioning me to sit next to her, while Sebastian leans against the wall. Isabela throws a friendly arm around my shoulders, grinning at me, and we sit - and lean - in silence for a few moments. I listen hard for any sounds coming from the back rooms, like raised voices, or fighting, or... or the sounds of heavy furniture being thrown about, or anything that might indicate that Hawke and Anders' talk is not exactly going well. Nothing so far... but I'd best keep both ears open just in case. Since elves do seem to have a slightly better sense of hearing than humans, I'm sure if anything started going wrong for Hawke, I'd hear it first. Anders had best watch himself if it does.

A quiet humming drifts across the room, and I realise it is coming from Sebastian. I listen to the tune with half an ear for a bit. It sounds vaguely familiar, but I can't quite place it. It's quite nice, really.

"What's that you're singing, Sebastian?" I ask curiously.

He glances at me with wide blue eyes, obviously a bit startled. "Oh, I, er..." He coughs, and straightens a little, giving a small, embarrassed sort of laugh. "I didn't realise I was. My apologies if you found it irritating."

"Oh, no, not at all!" Isabela grins at him teasingly. "Quite the lovely voice you have. I finally understand Varric's pet name for you, Choir boy."

Sebastian looks bashful, and I smile at him encouragingly. "No need to stop, Sebastian. What song were you singing, anyway?"

A reverent look comes into his eyes, and he smiles peacefully. "The Chant of Light." I hear Isabela scoff quietly beside me, but Sebastian doesn't hear her. Either that, or he does a very good job of ignoring her. "Have you ever heard it?"

I think I have a little bit, when I've gone with Hawke to the Chantry for various reasons, none of them religious. As a mage, Hawke refuses to be any part of a religion that condemns her as evil for being born different to the majority. As well she should. We are no threat to anyone. Unless they hurt us first, of course. "That's the song they sing at the Chantry, right?" I ask Sebastian, just to confirm. He inclines his head, and I nod a 'yes' back to him. "It's pretty... but a little repetitive."

"Well, it is very long," Sebastian agrees. "But it has to be. It contains many verses. Many stories. By now, you must know the story of Andraste? How She became the Maker's divine bride and convinced Him to offer us a second chance?"

"Right," I acknowledge. I have heard it, or bits of it, here and there. Hawke sort of told me the story. But she doesn't really care much for the Chantry's version of events herself. The important bits seem to be that Andraste tried to convert a lot of people to believe in the Maker, attacked Tevinter, then got killed. "But I never understood why she had to die."

"Her mortal husband betrayed her out of jealousy," Sebastian answers simply.

I barely suppress a frown. I know that much, but that's the how, not the why. "But if the Maker wanted her to spread her faith, couldn't she do that better alive?" I press him. "Why did he let her die?"

"The Maker gave us free will," is his answer. "By his betrayal, Maferath showed us that men were not yet worth saving."

I wait for him to continue, but apparently that was his whole response. So... Andraste's human husband got angry that his wife was becoming known as the Maker's bride, and was reaping the glory and credit for his army's victories. So he helped their enemies capture her, which obviously was a mistake on his part. And for that, the Maker gave up once again on all humankind, even Andraste, his most faithful, and let her be burned to death in, what? A fit of pique bordering on a childish tantrum? I just don't get it. "I don't know," I tell Sebastian, shaking my head a little. "It's a nice story, but I think it's got some holes. I mean, Maferath was just one man. Does the Maker expect you all to be perfect on your own before he'll bother to save you?" Sebastian opens his mouth, but no words come out. I haven't finished asking questions, anyway, so it suits me just fine. "And why couldn't he have saved Andraste? He is meant to be a god, isn't he? "

"I-" Sebastian begins, then pauses, apparently searching for words. "He... well..." He clears his throat, and Isabela smothers a chuckle behind her hand. "Well, I daresay you have not yet acquired a full understanding of the Chant, since you were not raised with the Chantry's teachings," he says at last in a kind tone that I find... a little bit patronising, really, though I doubt very much if he means it that way. It's a brush-off, that's for certain. Sometimes I wonder how seriously religious folk believe their own teachings. Even I know our stories of the Creators are largely tales of our own making to explain the world around us. They are nice tales, though. And it is very comforting to believe in them. Sometimes.

Sebastian gives me a curious look. "So what do your people believe, Merrill?"

I blink a little, I'm surprised that he would even ask! It's good to share knowledge about our cultural heritages, as Hawke says. But I hardly ever get asked about Dalish lore by anyone other than Hawke. "Our gods abandoned us long ago," I inform him. "They haven't answered our prayers since the fall of Arlathan. The lore says that when we've proven that we're elves again, that we didn't lose everything, they'll come back to us."

He lifts a brow, nodding slowly in understanding. "We say the same of the Maker," he says, a thoughtful note in his voice. "Perhaps they're only different names for the same divine force that created the world."

I lift an eyebrow too, smiling in amusement at his choice of words. "The Maker wants you to be elves?"

Isabela laughs at that, giving me an affectionate one-armed squeeze. Sebastian chuckles a little too. At least he's the sort of faithful that knows how to take a jest.

"I for one never understood why the Chantry says if you're good, you'll be taken up to the Maker's side," Isabela puts in. She shrugs a little as I glance at her, surprised that she would contribute to a conversation about religion and gods and things. "Well, since we're on the topic and all," she says by way of explanation, and looks expectantly at Sebastian.

"Those who die with the sins cleansed from their souls will walk beside the Maker in eternity," he answers, as though quoting by rote from a Chantry tome. Which he probably is, at that.

Isabela frowns. "That doesn't sound fun!" she scoffs. "If they really want people to be good, shouldn't they offer an afterlife with... lakes of wine and a dozen naked virgins?"

Sebastian smiles wryly at her. "Anyone who wants that will be going to the Void."

She scoffs dismissively in answer. "Sounds like that's where all the good parties will be."

"What does your Chantry do anyway, Sebastian?" I ask curiously. I've tried to ask my friends questions like these before when they've come to mind, but I don't really get any proper answers. Whether because the people I ask don't really know, like Varric, or they really don't care at all about the Chantry and just make a silly or sarcastic sort of joke about it instead, like Isabela or Hawke, I can't really say. But I think if anyone can answer my questions properly, a former Chantry brother can. "I mean, you keep saying how great it is. Anders and Isabela tell me to stay away from it." Isabela nods in approving confirmation of this. "But what does it do? Among the Dalish, the Keepers teach the children, preserve our history, perform magic. The priestesses in the Chantry just... sing."

"The Chantry does many charitable works," Sebastian answers immediately. "It cares for widows and orphans-"

"Who in the Dalish would just be part of the clan, like everyone else," I cut him off before he starts listing every kindness and courtesy that everyone really ought to just be doing for each other anyway, without thought. There shouldn't be any need for the Chantry to be in charge of human kindness, everyone should take care of each other anyway. Like the clans do. I shake my head again. "I just don't get it."

"Well, we've some time now," Sebastian observes eagerly, his expression brightening with interest. "I shall do my best to enlighten you."

Oh. Well... oh, dear.

"Oh, now you've done it," Isabela mutters quietly at my side as Sebastian straightens, a zealous look in his eyes. "He'll preach about the Chantry until he's blue in the face and we're either converted Andrastians or dead from boredom."

I sigh softly in agreement as Sebastian launches into what promises to be a very long speech about the day-to-day charitable workings of the Chantry folk. Creators, please let Hawke's talk with Anders finish soon. Sebastian pulls a small book of hymns out of the pouch at his waist, and Isabela and I exchange apprehensive looks.

Creators? Make that very, very soon.

xxx H xxx

Radiating disapproval, Anders stalks ahead of me into his back rooms, turning on his heel once I've closed the door behind me and glaring at me with fury in his amber eyes.

"So," he all but snarls. "You've given him sufficient time. Has your demon granted everything he promised?"

I blink, staring at him in confusion at his words and his sudden outbreak of anger. "What?"

"I have driven myself mad asking what it was," he growls, keeping his eyes on me as he paces the room angrily. "World shattering power? Riches enough to buy all of Kirkwall?"

"Anders," I begin, barely suppressing a sigh of disappointment, and not a little hurt. He was aware of what was happening while Justice was in control of him in the Fade then, knows I had to fight him and destroy his form in the Fade to stop him sabotaging our chances of saving Feynriel. But he truly believes I would have dealt with that demon? I thought he knew me better than that. "I didn't-"

He stops dead in his pacing, facing me, a look of betrayal and rage contorting his features. "What was worth turning on me?" he interrupts savagely. "Killing me? Did you even know I would wake alive? Did you care?" He shakes his head bitterly. "I never thought you would do such a thing, Hawke. I thought better of you. I don't deal with demons. I suppose it's no wonder you're on such good terms with them really, considering how close you've become with the sort of foolish people who aren't so discriminating-"

"Anders!" I interject loudly into his tirade, before he starts putting names to those "foolish people" and raises my ire. He's pushing it already as it is. He falls silent, breathing heavily through his nose as he glares at me. I hold his gaze. "It. Was. A. Ruse," I say slowly, enunciating every word clearly. Pointedly. "I just played along to get the sloth demon's help. I wasn't going through with it."

Anders is quiet for a moment as he absorbs what I've just told him. "You mean..."

"Feynriel isn't possessed," I tell him. "We killed the sloth demon. Isabela, Merrill, and I. As I intended we would, after I tricked all the information about Feynriel's situation that I could out of the creature." I give him a hard look. "And as for attacking you, what in the Void was I supposed to do? Stand there while Justice ripped my head off?"

"I... don't know what to say," Anders says softly. He runs a hand over his hair, looking chagrined. "It's not easy to dismiss the memory of you striking me down. But I suppose even had I known your plan, Justice wouldn't listen."

I frown dubiously. "I thought he'd be all for tricking a demon."

Anders shakes his head. "Justice isn't capable of feigning friendship with a demon to achieve an end."

"It's sounding more and more like he's the one in charge," I comment, a little drily. "You need to exert greater control over him." If you can.

He shoots me a baleful glare. "We were in his realm," he mutters. "He... manifests... more strongly there." Perhaps so, but his words still ring of excuses to me. "I've stayed out of the Fade since we merged. I don't like being a passenger in my own skin." He shifts uncomfortably, perhaps at the memory of it. "I suppose Justice feels like that every day. Shackled to my body and every decision I make."

I wait for something more than the self-pitying prattle I've heard so far, but he seems to have finished speaking, now that he's effectively shifted all the blame for his part of what transpired in the Fade onto Justice alone. I for one am not satisfied to leave the conversation there. Not after everything he's unfairly thrown at me thus far. "Alright, Justice attacked me because he thought I truly had given in to the demon. But after all the time you've known me, I thought you would have been able to see what I was trying to do, even if Justice couldn't." I let my disappointment in him slip through into my eyes and voice, something is definitely not a ruse at all, and turn away, suddenly feeling too disheartened by his behaviour to look at him. "But you actually believed I would sell that poor boy's life and freedom for my own gain. You didn't even consider another explanation. Obviously you don't trust me."

"It's not you I don't trust," he mutters darkly from behind me.

I stiffen, feeling the unspoken name rather than hearing it. "You are referring to Merrill," I state, a dangerous note in my voice.

A moment of silence. Then-

"I am," Anders answers almost challengingly. His words begin falling from him like icy rain from a belligerent stormcloud. "As innocent as she seems, she is still a blood mage. She's sold herself out to a demon. I don't doubt it's in her head, influencing her. Close as you are, it may be influencing you as well. And you won't know it until it's too late!" I turn slowly, and look at him again, feeling a twinge of deep-seated irritation. I thought we were done with this. He stares back at me intently, unapologetically. "I know it isn't my place to criticise," he continues, taking advantage of my irritated warning silence to resume his tiresome argument. " I just... I want you to be careful. I know you might not want to hear it, but... are you sure about Merrill? Really sure? She acts sweet, but-"

"There's no act. She is sweet," I cut him off again, finding my voice. He's right. I don't want to hear it. Besides, considering the new argument he introduced concerning the demon, I have a strong feeling I know why he is unwilling to let this go; and I am certainly not about to let him assuage his own guilt and self-doubts about Justice with an unprovoked verbal attack on the woman I love. It isn't fair on her, and it is decidedly unworthy of him. "And kind, and brave, and utterly selfless. And she isn't going to have anything to do with her demon any more, if that is your only objection. She only needed to use it to fix an ancient magical relic of her people." I don't know how much he knows about the eluvian, but he must have heard of it by now, everyone has, I'm sure. There are no secrets with two resident storytellers and shameless gossips in the group. "I'm going to help her find another way to repair it. When we do, she'll never have to touch blood magic again."

"You honestly believe that?" he asks, staring at me with obvious incredulity. "You actually think she'll be able to give it up?"

"Yes," I answer firmly, simply. "I do. There's no doubt in my mind."

He gives an irritated, angry gesture of his hand in frustration. "You're blind," he accuses, a rough edge to his voice. "In denial. She'll never pick you over her demon!"

I suppress a growl of outrage and indignation. "What right do you have to question us?"

"None, perhaps," Anders says, clearly trying to force his voice to calm. "But you… you're my friend, and I'm concerned for you."

"Then I thank you for your concern," I tell him with deliberate patience, "but it is misplaced, and unnecessary. Merrill loves me. And I love her. If I were free to choose who I fall in love with, I would still choose her. Demon or no, I trust her completely." I take a breath and pause for a moment. "But you're right, Anders." He looks at me, half surprised, half suspicious, and I meet his eyes coldly. "You of all people are certainly not in any position to criticise."

"Justice is a spirit, not a demon," he says, his jaw clenching tightly as he catches my meaning, and his eyes flash, though they retain their usual golden brown colouring. From the look of him, though, I'm beginning to suspect it is becoming more and more difficult for him to keep Justice at bay, although for the moment he seems to be managing it. Otherwise I'm certain I'd be in trouble. I suppose it would prove my point, at least.

"There's a fine line. Are you certain he hasn't crossed it?" I challenge him. He strides forward, stopping only scant inches from me, but I refuse to back down. "I saw him take you over. He almost killed that mage girl, that innocent. All because she was frightened, and thought he was a demon. And I hate to tell you, but from what I saw, her mistake is understandable, if indeed it was a mistake. He's hardly benevolent anymore, and getting harder for you to control, I can tell. And you know that spirits aren't meant to inhabit human bodies. That's what demons do. And the only difference between them appears to be whether they embody a virtue or a vice. Justice may be a virtue, but what is Vengeance?" A worried look flashes across his face, and I soften my voice a little, feeling my anger dissipating. A little. "Maybe one day you'll be able to admit that when it comes to passing judgement on Merrill... you don't really have a leg to stand on," I finish, trying to keep my voice gentle. I know his concern is genuine, if misinformed, and I know he thinks he is trying to look out for me. I don't want to antagonise him, but... I just want him to see how little right he has to keep harping on this, how little point there is for him to do so.

He shakes his head at me, eyes narrowed, as though deeply disappointed. "And perhaps one day you'll see the demon's face behind that virginal smile."

I grit my teeth, suppressing the urge to hiss through them as my fury rekindles. That is completely unfair, not to mention hypocritical to boot; stubbornly so, given the bulk of our argument thus far. I glare at him coldly. "Merrill's demon is bound in a statue, trapped in a cave on the top of a mountain. She would never willingly let it into her body. Or any spirit, for that matter."

His face hardens angrily, and he grabs me strongly by both arms. "You're a fool," he snaps.

My gaze meets his as I glare at him coldly in warning. "Release me, Anders," I order him, my voice low and fierce. "Now."

Golden eyes narrow in fury as he stares into my face, face twisted into ugly lines. "She'll only betray you," he sneers with wrathful vehemence. "That's all her kind can do."

Her kind?

"That's enough!" I hiss furiously, suddenly incensed. I suppose he must mean blood mages, not elves, but either way I won't let him talk about her like that. I try unsuccessfully to pull from his grasp. "Let go of me!"

Anders' grip tightens painfully and he pulls me closer, giving me a forceful shake, a strange sort of angry desperation in his eyes. "Not until you listen!"

Irrational panic seizes me at his display of aggression and force as feelings of helplessness and fear long suppressed rise to the surface with a vengeance. "Let go!" I shout, throwing him off me, lashing out, mana exploding from my control and lashing out with a force push, sending Anders flying to slam face first against the far wall. I stumble back with the recoil, breathing heavily from the effects of the unintentional effort and the lingering anxiety of being held, restrained...

Jumbled memories of Meeran's leering face and grasping hands assault my mind until I force them away. I rub a hand over my face as Anders climbs slowly back to his feet, groaning. I ignore him. Maker, I need to be calm, need to think rationally. I think... I think, all things considered, that I probably could have handled that better from the start, with better rationality and sensitivity; particularly with what I said to him about Justice. I doubt it helped, considering that much of his concern regarding Merrill stems from what he refuses to acknowledge about his own situation. And... from jealousy? Much as I may struggle to believe it... no, surely not.

Even so, that would not excuse his actions, I remind myself, rubbing at the places on my arms where he gripped me, sending gentle threads of healing magic to soothe my bruised skin. Anders looks at me sharply as he senses my spell, a remorseful look stealing over his face. He steps towards me, one glowing hand extended.

"Hawke," he starts ruefully. "I'm-"

I step back out of reach, not from fear but from anger. I know he didn't mean to hurt me, but I'm far too angry with him still to allow him to soothe his guilty conscience by healing me. He stops, but doesn't drop his hand, fingers still glittering with unused magic.

"Hawke..." The way he sighs my name, as though wearied by the stubbornness of a child, does little to calm the fury in my veins. "Let me heal you."

"Heal yourself," I snap at him. His aggression towards me, relatively mild as it was, is not something I can forgive and forget within a breath. And his arrogant attitude right now is certainly not doing him any favours. I am a perfectly capable healer, a fact which he often seems to overlook.

Anders puts a hand to his face at my words and starts in surprise as he feels the blood flow wetting his fingers. He weaves a healing spell and mends his broken nose, taking a cloth from a nearby table and cleaning himself off before he turns to me again. "I understand you don't want to hear what I have to say," he begins doggedly. "But that doesn't mean you don't need to hear it. Your relationship with Merrill-"

"Is none of your concern," I cut him off, managing to restrain the impulse to smash him against the wall again. Barely. He doesn't need to speak, I know what he is going to say. My relationship with Merrill blinds me, clouds my judgement, endangers me, any of that sort of rubbish. Enough. I set my jaw angrily, regarding him. Friend or not, feelings or not, he had no right to manhandle me like that. No more does he have any right to continue to speak against my relationship with Merrill. I've more than had my fill of his bitter mistrust and his self-pitying sulkiness, and right in this moment I want nothing more than to have him out of my sight.

"I came to make sure you were alright after yesterday," I inform him evenly, making certain to keep my voice level. "I have, and you are, or seem to be. I don't want to hear another word from you about your misapprehensions about Merrill, nor any comments on your opinion of our relationship of any kind. And if you can't speak to her without keeping a civil tongue in your head, then I'd rather you refrain from speaking to either of us at all. She is mine, and I am hers. Always. Nothing you or anyone can say will ever change that."

"Keep your illusions then," Anders snaps bitterly, his face hardening. "Maker knows I won't be the one to change them."

I hold his stare, unblinking, unflinching, uncompromising. "No," is my low reply, soft yet firm and unyielding as stone. "You won't."

Without another word I turn on my heel and stride from Anders' quarters back into the clinic, not particularly caring if he is following me or not.

"What do the Dalish teach about the creation of the Darkspawn?" Sebastian is saying as I re-enter the clinic, his blue gaze locked on a somewhat uncharacteristically hassled-looking Merrill. Isabela is looking equally as frustrated; Sebastian must have been going on about Andrastianism and the Chantry again. Sebastian tilts his head in a display of curiosity as he presses Merrill for an answer. "I mean, the Chant of Light says it was the hubris of magisters trying to compete with the Maker. But you don't believe in the Chant of Light, or the Maker. What do you believe about how the Darkspawn came to be?"

Merrill exhales shortly, the irritated sound soft but loud enough to reach my ears nonetheless. "Well, we don't get into many details, but we're pretty sure it's the humans' fault."

I laugh at the same time Isabela does and Merrill's head turns instantly towards me. "Ma vhenan," she greets me warmly. "How did it go?" Her gaze flicks to a point just over my shoulder before I can answer and her smile falters a fraction, but stays. "Are you alright, Anders?" she asks kindly.

"Fine," comes the gruff reply behind me. I turn my head to the side in his direction, conveying warning without looking at him and hear him shift from foot to foot uncomfortably. He clears his throat. "I'm fine," he repeats, his tone softer and far more polite. A forced politeness, to be sure, but far more civil than I've come to expect. Good enough, for now. "Thank you, Merrill." A pause. "And yourself?"

Merrill blinks in surprise. "I'm well, thank you," she replies, clearly a little thrown by his good manners. She offers him another sweet smile. "I'm glad you're alright after yesterday. I did worry about you."

"Well... thank you. But I'm fine, I assure you." I hear him walk a few steps to the side of the room and turn to see him standing before his desk, looking with studious interest at the wall, hands clasped behind his back. Effectively detaching himself from further conversation, evidently. That's fine. We'll need to be along now, anyway.

"I'm fine too, by the way," Isabela drawls, amusement in her tone. Anders' mouth quirks, and he glances at her, a gleam of amusement in his eye.

"I had no doubt you would be," he comments dryly, returning his gaze to the wall. Or, rather, the picture fixed to it above his desk, which appears to be a hand-drawn rendering of a small cat.

Sebastian clears his throat. "Well," he begins. "If your business here is complete, Hawke, do you think we could be on our way? I am anxious to speak with Lady Harimann."

I nod at him. "Yes, we'll go now."

He gives me a tight smile, half grateful, half apprehensive, and looks to the fairly subdued looking mage standing by his desk. "Farewell then, Anders."

Anders just nods distractedly. I frown. He looks somewhat unfocused. Lost. Maybe he hit his head harder that I thought? If so, I'm sure he can manage to take care of it. He is still gazing at the picture of the cat on the wall. It must mean something to him, a remnant of his past life. Perhaps the cat he used to have, or a picture to remind him of the it. Given to him by the Warden, if I recall. I sigh softly to myself. He may very well be unhappy enough right now to be looking back to his old life with longing. I still think it best to let him cool off for a bit, and I am still not particularly thrilled with him, but I don't want him to feel he is unwelcome, that I don't still view him as a friend.

"You could get another cat, you know," Merrill pipes up suddenly from beside me. Anders turns to look at her, a questioning brow raised. She looks back at him with earnest sincerity. "There was one in the Lowtown market with a litter of kittens when I lived there. They must be ready to wean by now."

He stares at her unblinking for a moment, and then shockingly a small almost-smile cracks his granite expression. "You don't pay attention to Templars, Qunari or politics," he questions her wryly, "but you notice kittens?"

"Like notices like," Isabela chuckles quietly with a fond glance at Merrill, who gives Anders a little grin.

"Templars, Qunari, and politics don't meow and attack your feet when you're buying food," she quips happily.

I smile too. "Now there's an image."

Anders is silent for a moment, staring at her. I can't tell if he's incredulous or amazed. "Are there any tabbies?" he asks suddenly, and it's my turn to be surprised. His eyes flick to mine, and I smile my approval at his soft, near-friendly tone. He looks back at Merrill and his face adopts a faraway sort of look. "I'd like a tabby."

"There might be," Merrill tells him, smiling. He nods thoughtfully, and I incline my head at him in farewell, glad that we seem to be parting on a much more cheerful sort of note. Trust Merrill to turn the fuming aftermath of a fight into a conversation about kittens.

"We'll be going now then," I announce to him and the room in general. "I'll see you later, Anders."

He nods again, including all of us in his farewell. "Take care."

We leave the clinic, Merrill walking beside me as we stride down the dank, empty street, Isabela and Sebastian walking a few paces behind us, engaging in quiet conversation. Or flirting on Isabela's part, no doubt. A small hand slips into mine, and Merrill squeezes my fingers gently as she looks up at me.

"Was Anders very angry?" she asks softly. "Was he alright?"

I nod a yes in answer to both of her questions. " He is fine, physically. But he thought I had really betrayed Feynriel for the demon's offer," I tell her, and hasten to continue as an indignant, angry look comes into her eyes. "I explained it to him, don't worry. He knows I was trying to trick the demon now. Justice apparently doesn't understand such subtlety, that's all."

Merrill nods, accepting my explanation, but her eyes still search mine. "And what else did you speak about?" she asks carefully.

I nearly smile. Maker but she's perceptive about such things sometimes. "Nothing that hasn't been dealt with before," I reply, not wanting to go into details about Anders continued mistrust of her, but knowing she will have her answer nonetheless. She nods tiredly, understanding, and I wrap my arm about her in reassurance. "After our... discussion, I think Anders is going to try and behave with more civility towards you from now on."

"Well, that's nice," Merrill says, clearly not entirely convinced. "I'd rather he did it because he wanted to, though, not because you make him."

"That will still take a little time, I think," I tell her. "He is a Tower-raised mage. He has a lot of old prejudices to work his way out of yet. Give it a while."

I turn left at the next junction, heading for the lift furthest from the clinic, the one that will take us to Lowtown and circumvent the docks. The quicker we make it to Hightown and get this over with, the better. It's been rather a trying morning thus far.

"Did you tell him everything that happened in the Fade after he left?" Merrill asks after a moment, a touch of anxiety in her voice.

I shake my head. "No. If I told him about the other demons, all he would take from it is that you were overcome by their influence, and he would be quick to use that as ammunition against you." I grimace. "Despite the glaring fact that Isabela, an ordinary, non-magical, non-maleficar human, fell to a demon's influence far more easily than you did. I didn't think he needed to know anything more than that we succeeded in rescuing Feynriel in the end."

"Well, then," Merrill says, giving me a small smile. "I'll be sure not to mention it to him either."

I chuckle as we turn the corner and reach the waiting lift at last, hugging Merrill close as we climb inside. "Sounds like a wise decision to me."

Sebastian begins gallantly working the mechanism that will take the lift to the surface, pumping away at it as fast as he can with a great deal of vigour and determination. Clearly wanting to get out of Darktown and up to Hightown as quickly as possible. I can hardly blame him. I'd very much like to see the rest of this day over and done with now, too. And go home to the comfort of a good meal, a warm bath, a nice soft bed. I press a kiss to Merrill's temple as the lift climbs higher, rewarded by a tightening of her arms about my middle. Hopefully speaking to the Harimanns won't take too long. Or become too violent. Or just plain strange. I have to laugh quietly to myself at that last thought.

Andraste, wouldn't that be a nice change of pace?

"That's strange," Sebastian murmurs almost to himself as we stand together in the foyer of the dark, apparently empty Harimann mansion. "The door was wide open. And not a single guard posted." He looks to me, confusion and wariness evident in his eyes. "This is not the Lady Harimann I remember."

We move further inside, noting the darkness, the covered windows, the dust and general untidiness. Still not a soul in sight, not a guard, not even a servant. Ordinarily a mansion this size would be bustling with staff and activity of all kinds. Not full of eerie silence.

"There should be someone here," I mutter, mostly just to say something and cut this dreadful silence. "Lady Harimann and her husband aside, there are at least two Harimann sons, correct?"

"Brett, and Ruxton," Sebastian nods. "And a daughter, Flora. The eldest. We played together as children. My brothers and I were brought to visit with the Harimanns whenever my parents visited Kirkwall. Our families were good friends." He picks up a broken china plate fragment, examines it briefly, then drops it on a dusty sideboard. "Once."

"No guards, no servants. No bodies, even," I note. "If they aren't dead, where are they?"

"Perhaps they're out?" Merrill ventures hopefully. "At the market, or... or something."

"You really think that's likely, kitten?" Isabela asks, one eyebrow lifted.

"At this point, no, not really," Merrill sighs. "It was just nice to believe it for a moment."

There are cobwebs in every ceiling corner. I examine the floor, finding the patterned stones covered in a thin layer of dust and scattered rodent droppings. I can almost hear my mother being horrified from hundreds of miles away. A frown crosses my face as I notice an... irregularity, if that word can be attributed in a situation where nothing is as it should be. There are footprints in the dust. Recent, from the look of them, heading up the stairs ahead of us.

"More than one set of tracks," Isabela says as I point them out to the others. "So there are people here after all. Somewhere up further in, apparently."

We make our way up the stairs out of the entrance hall, following the footprints. The torches are unlit, all candles burnt out. The entire place has the dank, musty odour of neglect. Not entirely unlike Fenris's house, in fact.

"There is something very wrong in here," Sebastian declares as we head through an open door down a dark stone corridor.

"No shit, Prince Observant," Isabela mutters under her breath beside me, out of Sebastian's hearing.

"More!" A woman's voice echoes up from somewhere ahead, the words slow and running together. "More! You lazy son of a bitch, what's taking so long?"

Sebastian stops in his tracks, then strides to the end of the short hallway and looks over the stone railing that divides the room between access to the rest of the house and a cellar of sorts, filled with giant wooden barrels. "Flora?" He makes his way quickly over to a set of stairs leading down to where a woman in a silk dress stained beyond repair stands between the two barrels, glaring balefully at no one. No one any of us can see, at any rate. Empty mugs and broken wine bottles litter the ground at her feet.

"Why does no one in this house care what I want?" she slurs, clearly drunk. "More wine! Or I swear I will drown you in the dregs!"

"Flora!" Sebastian says loudly, and turns to us as we follow him to the base of the steps. Flora, heir to the Harimann estate, doesn't so much as glance over her shoulder. "She doesn't even see us!" Sebastian says, glancing back at her in amazement as she aims an off-target, drunken blow at the wine barrel before her. He shakes his head slowly. "This is no normal wine."

"Seems normal enough to me," Isabela says, picking up one of Flora's discarded tankards and sniffing it cautiously.

"If drinking herself stupid isn't one of her usual pastimes, then perhaps she's drinking to escape something," I muse softly.

"Or she just can't hold her liquor," Isabela says dismissively, casting a somewhat scornful glance in Flora's direction.

"Bring me my wine or you will be flayed and thrown into the street! I am the heir!" Flora slumps against the wine barrel, suddenly breaking out in heaving sobs. "Oh, Mother!" she moans.

Sebastian stares at her incredulously. "Flora would never drink so much as a glass of wine with dinner," he said. "If she is drinking like this, something is certainly wrong." He looks at us. "She appears unharmed for the moment, but certainly in no fit state to speak to me. We need to find out if anyone else is here, Lady Harimann in particular."

"I need more wine!" Flora calls to no one as we traipse back up the stairs and out of the cellar. She groans loudly. "Anything to quell this pounding in my head..."

The flickering of a fire's glow catches my eye, and I beckon to my companions, motioning towards the nearby doorway. A moving shadow flickers on the floor as we approach and enter the room beyond.

"More logs! It must be molten!" A young man in a once fine suit of tailored clothing is standing before a blazing fire, lit from a pile of wooden logs, scrolls, paintings and books right in the middle of the floor of the next room. Above the fire is a cauldron emitting a fierce reddish gold light, and an acrid smell bites the air. At his feet are piles of gold coins and ornaments, which he periodically bends down and grabs handfuls of during his feverish ranting. "You!" He turns to the elven manservant beside him, unnoticed in the gloom. My eyes widen as I see that he is holding an elven scullery maid at knifepoint. "More gold coins!" the boy shouts excitedly, tossing another handful into the melting pot. "I want every scrap of gold in this house!"

"Brett?" Sebastian mutters beside me.

A dry, strangled sob bursts from the elf girl's lips. "Please, messere!" she chokes as the elven manservant tightens his arm about her throat.

Brett Harimann glances at her as though seeing her for the first time, eyes gleaming in the light of the fire before him. "There's nothing to fear," he says, his voice surprisingly gentle, as though trying to reassure her. "You'll be beautiful." He turns his gaze on the servant holding her captive, and gestures commandingly to the pot of molten gold. "Pour it over her!"

"Don't! You'll kill her!" Sebastian shouts. The boy doesn't so much as glance in his direction, and Sebastian shakes his head in horror. "He can't hear me..."

The elven man hears him though, and releases the girl in order to start aggressively towards Sebastian, who punches him soundly in the face without a word. The manservant crumples to the ground.

"Quickly, sister, get out of here!" Merrill calls to her, and the elf girl takes her chance, running past us towards the entrance of the house.

The youngest Harimann son watches her go, but the look on his face is one of confusion rather than anger. "Where did she go?" he enquires plaintively of the room at large. "She would have been beautiful!" He rubs the blonde stubble on his chin thoughtfully, gazing into the molten golden soup. "Perhaps I should be the one..."

Andraste's arse, I'm running out of patience for saving people from themselves! I call a ball of swirling ice fragments into my hand and cast it towards the simmering cauldron, freezing the liquid gold inside and snuffing out the fire. Sebastian knocks him across the back of the head with the stave of his bow and breathes out heavily, staring down at the unconscious man.

"I visited this house often as a child. They could not have concealed such goings on." He looks down at Brett Harimann again and shakes his head disbelievingly. "We must end this madness!"

I look about what appears to be the servant's dining hall adjacent to the cellars and the kitchens, plates of uneaten, rotted food lying about on cluttered tables, what little hasn't been carried away by vermin. "How long would you say all this has been here?" I wonder aloud. "People have been living here, clearly, but no one has been cleaning or maintaining the house." I indicate the boy on the floor. "Or seeing to the family's needs. Look at his cheeks, so hollow and thin. I doubt if he's had a proper meal in a month. Or changed his clothes from the smell of him. And Flora didn't look any better."

"Nobles," Isabela sniggers. "Can't look after themselves to save their lives without an army of servants to burp and change them." She glances between me and Sebastian and smirks. "Present company excluded, of course."

I spare a moment to give her a quick, fierce glare at her for referring to me as a noble, and then continue my search of the room's contents, trying to find any clue as to what can have happened here. A crumpled scrap of parchment catches my eye, and I pick it up from the table. It is a handwritten note or letter of some kind, ripped out of a book from the near-straight tear along one edge of the page. I show it to Sebastian.

"That... looks to be in Flora's hand," he says, taking it from me. "From a diary, perhaps?" He peers at the small, elegant lettering, trying to make it out.

Isabela tsks. "You oughtn't to go prying about in young ladies' diaries, Sebastian," she admonishes him wryly. "Did the Chantry teach you nothing about the value of privacy?"

He ignores her and begins reading aloud from the page in his hand.

"'Mother finally began her expansion to the estate today. She brought in two dozen men from the Imperium who I'm sure were slaves, and they've been excavating the hillside behind the house. The dirt is awful. And the noise! Must they shatter every rock in Kirkwall? It's been quiet since lunch, though, and Mother is behaving very strangely. She's now talking about stopping the expansion - just like that, with no explanation. She never tells me anything...'"

Sebastian's voice trails off, and he looks up at us. "There's only one page," he says softly. "There is no more written here. This is dated the first day of Harvestmere. Two years ago, almost to the day. Not too long after Lord Harimann died, I think."

"Perhaps there are more pages scattered about then," Merrill suggests thoughtfully. She casts her eyes downwards, poking hopefully at a few blank bits of parchment littered about on the floor with her bare toes. "Nothing here..."

"Everyone keep an eye out," I say as I lead the way out of the kitchen. "We've got to see if there's anyone else in here, particularly if they're about to give someone a permanent golden crown. Horrible way to kill someone, really. Unless it was someone who really, really deserved it, I suppose, then I daresay most people might find it wildly entertaining.

I shake off such irreverently morbid thoughts and choose a direction at random, heading up a flight of stairs to what appears to be the family's bedchamber wing, with fancier paintings adorning the walls, and numerous heavy tapestries draped on every inch of spare space to both ward off the cold and dampen echoing noise.

"Ma vhenan," Merrill murmurs beside me, tugging at my sleeve. She holds up another piece of parchment when I turn to look at her. "Another page, I think. I found it on that side table."

She clears her thought gently and begins to read. "Tenth day of Harvestmere. Father is behaving so oddly. Today he..." She breaks off, blinking in surprised disbelief. "He... Creators!"

Isabela peers over her shoulder at the page, and chuckles, plucking the parchment from Merrill's hand. "Here, kitten. Let me."

Merrill glances at her as Isabela draws the page from her unresisting fingers. "Fathers... don't usually behave that way with their daughters, do they?" she asks confusedly. "It seems... inappropriate."

"Wouldn't know, kitten," Isabela answers cheerfully. "I don't think so, though." She turns her eyes to the diary page and resumes where Merrill left off. "'Father is behaving oddly. Today he pinched my buttocks!'" she reads with amused relish. "'Just reached around the table and... I can't even imagine what would make him do such a thing. And to the servant girls, as well! Some of the things he says would truly make a sailor blush.'" Isabela chuckles. "Oh, dear girl, I doubt that you would have any idea to just what lengths one would have to go to make a sailor blush."

"Could you continue, please?" Sebastian asks in a carefully polite - yet quite obviously strained - voice.

Isabela glances at him, but apparently decides to refrain from any impertinent quip. She begins reading again. "'I told the maids to lock up the wine, but it hasn't made any difference so far. I'm going to the Chantry tonight to pray for him.'" Isabela lowers the page, looking unimpressed. "Fat lot of good that did," she comments, looking round. I am inclined to agree.

Sebastian disregards her mocking statement, taking the parchment from her hand and glancing it over. "So, Lady Harimann's husband was acting strangely too. Does that have any connection with what is happening here that you can see?" he asks me, and pauses uncomfortably. "I mean, anything... odd?"

I regard him for a moment, unsure just what he is getting at. "What do you mean, Sebastian?"

He meets my eyes intently. "Do you think he may have been affected by some sort of... magic? An... apostate, perhaps?"

Ah.

"No," I answer, trying not to speak too shortly. "I don't think this is the work of a mage." Really. I know Sebastian hasn't been involved in quite as many of my scrapes and adventures as my other companions, and that his devotion to the Maker borders on that of a zealot, but he has been around us long enough to have seen for himself that mages aren't as terrible as the Chantry would have everyone believe. It's disappointing that his first thought to explain what is wrong here is that mages must somehow be at fault.

Yet... while I can't see any reason for a mage to target the Harimanns, the obsessive actions of the two Harimann siblings we have discovered so far can certainly not be described as normal by any means. I don't think there is a rogue mage at the centre of this mess, but maybe...

"Not a mage, but... there is the possibility of arcane influence," I admit, and hurry on as Sebastian gives me a confused look. "I don't mean mages. Something... supernatural may be at work."

His eyes widen. "Demons?" Isabela shifts uncomfortably behind me, and I feel Merrill stiffen by my side at the mention of the word.

I shrug. "This is Kirkwall," I say by way of answer. "It's certainly possible." My lips quirk wryly. "Make that highly probable, actually."

"Wait..." Sebastian says, holding up his hands for silence. "I thought I heard voices..." He trails off, looking down the corridor to the right. "This way!" he says, and leads the way through to the bedroom at the end of the hall.

I hear the rough voice of a man as we draw near, chuckling delightedly. Sebastian enters the room first, and stops dead just inside the door. I draw up beside him, Merrill on his other side and Merrill on mine, all of our gazes locked on the spectacle taking place on the other side of the room.

"Oh!" the bearded, naked man sitting on the edge of the bed gasps to the equally naked elven woman trailing kisses down his naked chest. "Lower! Lower!" Neither of them so much as glance up at the intrusion of four strangers.

"I beg your pardon, Hawke!" Sebastian exclaims, sounding more than a little flustered. "I did not mean to expose you to... such things."

"No apologies necessary," Isabela crows jubilantly.

"What are they even doing?" Merrill asks in bewilderment. " Mythal'enaste!"

I glance at her in not a little confusion - she ought to know very well what they're doing by this point in our relationship, surely - but my incredulity vanishes as I see what she is really looking at; a large peacock quill, twirled in the fingers of the naked man.

"No," The man who must be Ruxton Harimann cries, placing the quill in the elven woman's hand. "The feather! Use the feather!"

"What could he want her to do with a feather?" Merrill wonders aloud, eyes wide, and I suddenly have a very strong urge to cover her eyes with my fingers.

Ruxton stands, his lower half no longer hidden by the elven maid, and now I have an incredibly strong urge to cover my own eyes. "Where have you been all my life?" he enquires loudly of the elven woman - presumably a servant - who watches him with a glazed smile. He strides to the balcony, opening his arms wide to the world, and exposing himself - fully - to the afternoon breeze. "Today, I am more than a man! Come," he says as he turns back to his naked elven companion. A huge, lustful grin lights his whiskered face. "Felicitate me!"

Isabela bursts out laughing, the sound echoing about the room, yet still not drawing the attention of the couple across the room, now becoming entwined in a passionate - and increasingly mortifying -embrace. "That's a great line!" the Pirate Queen grins delightedly. "I should use that! Ooh! I could get it embroidered on my blouse!" She grins wickedly. "Or tattooed on my-"

"He has no idea we're here!" Sebastian interrupts, apparently not listening. He turns away as the man and woman fall to the bed, still entangled and becoming more so. "I've known Ruxton Harimman my whole life, he's a complete prude!"

Isabela smirks, eyes feasting on the scene before her. "That's my kind of prude."

"Where's your brother?" comes the voice of Ruxton from across the room. "Let's ask him to join us!"

Ugh. "That is quite enough for me, I think," I say, turning to leave the room. Not fast enough to evade the next disturbing sentence to escape young master Harimann's lips.

"You know what they say about a man with big hands!"

"I do," Isabela says. "And it isn't necessarily true."

"What do they say?" Merrill asks curiously.

"That he has an inflated opinion of himself," I reply wryly, pulling her from the room. On my way out I see another piece of parchment lying on a desk by the door and snatch it up.

"Now, you be the naughty apprentice, and I'll be the Templar Torturer," I hear as I walk with increasing speed down the hallway, the others trailing behind me. "I have the manacles right here..."

Oh, Maker. Now I'm repulsed on a number of levels.

Once we've left the bedchamber wing behind us, I turn to my companions, the diary page in my hand. "Another page. I found it on the vanity beside the door... back there," I explain. "I'd rather not speculate as to how it got there, but maybe it will have something useful." I begin reading. "'Eleventh Day of Harvestmere. What can be happening? First Father, now Brett. I can't talk to either of them anymore. I don't know what they're drinking, but they are lost in their own little worlds. And Mother doesn't care; should she even be here, all she talks about is Starkhaven and marrying me off to that idiot Goran Vael. What madness has come over this place?'" I glance up at my audience. "That's it."

"Goran Vael?" Sebastian repeats, eyes narrowed. "That is the name of the usurper currently occupying the throne. A distant cousin, a self absorbed, gluttonous fool, who has no right to it. Not while I still live."

"She keeps mentioning wine, and drinking," Isabela murmurs thoughtfully, almost to herself. "Seems to have been on her mind quite a bit. Maybe she desired drink more often than she let on, and all this strangeness she mentions finally drove her to it."

The word Isabela chose, desired, gives me pause for thought. "Sebastian, you know the Harimanns well. Are you sure Flora's current, er, penchant for wine tasting isn't usual?"

"Positive," he answers. "Her grandmother had some... problems with moderating her drinking, or so I've heard. Caused quite a bit of trouble for the family in her day. Flora never allowed herself to drink."

"But she very well may have wanted to," I muse softly to myself. If she harboured a strong, secret desire to drink, but constantly resisted it... well, that would prove very useful to a certain type of supernatural force I've become well acquainted with of late. "And what of Brett and Ruxton?" I press Sebastian. "Is Brett particularly avaricious? Or a lover of art, or something?"

"He has always been an aesthete," Sebastian replies slowly. "He always said he wanted to own the largest private collection of fine works in Thedas one day."

"You think there's a demon at work here?" Merrill asks me, catching on to my thoughts exactly.

I nod. "A desire demon, I'd wager. Causing the Harimanns to become obsessed with their strongest longings."

"That would certainly explain Messere Big Hands back there," Isabela smirks, jerking a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the bedchamber wing.

Sebastian frowns dubiously. "But Ruxton has never had a lascivious bone in his body!"

"Or so you all thought," I shrug. "But it seems he had more than a few secret desires in that area after all."

"I'd wager all his so called 'prudery' before now was nothing more than shyness." Isabela grins widely. "He certainly seems to have at least one lascivious bone at present."

"We have yet to find the Lady of the house," I remind everyone. "Demon or no, that is why we're here. And since we haven't come across either of them yet, chances are they're together."

"If you're correct about this demon," Sebastian says. "Does that mean it is to blame for all that has happened here? All that the Harimanns have done, the deaths of my parents my family?"

"Not entirely," I tell him. "Demons of desire are just that: the embodiments of desire. Not coercion. They can tempt you, and bring your darkest desires to the surface, even force you to act on them if they are strong enough. But they can't actively make you desire anything you didn't want in the first place. Johane Harimann must have held a deep-seated desire to claim the Starkhaven throne for herself, or at least to have access to the power and status that comes with it, a yearning beyond mere jealousy. A demon could have influenced her to act on that desire, and send assassins after your family. But it couldn't have planted that desire if it weren't there to begin with."

"If it is a demon, though," Merrill puts in, taking my hand and squeezing my fingers in her small, warm ones. "You're lucky you have Hawke to help you."

"Nobody better," Isabela agrees.

"I have no doubt of that," Sebastian says, then exhales in a long breath. "Still, by Andraste, I hope that is not what we're dealing with."

"If we're going looking for the old woman," Isabela says with growing restlessness. "Perhaps we ought to get a move on?"

We search the remaining unexplored rooms, but find no one else, nor any other diary pages to shed any more light on the situation. At last there is only one last place left to search, and we start one by one down the dusty steps to the basement level of the mansion. At first glance, the room seems empty of all but a few more wine barrels and vacant shelves, but as my eyes adjust to the gloom, I see a pair of dark shapes silhouetted blackly against the shadows in the corner. I hold up a hand, halting the others as they arrive at the base of the stairs behind me.

"Who's there?" I call, summoning a ball of fire into my hand, illuminating the figures and the scene around them. Brett and Flora Harimann are standing across the room, their faces expressionless, their bodies slumped as though held up by a force of will not their own, the bodies of men and women clad in leather strewn at their feet. I recognise the emblem embroidered on the tattered tunic of the closest corpse as that of Flint Company. These must have been the last remaining remnants of the mercenaries hired to wipe out the Vaels. It seems they fared badly when their employer discovered they had not quite succeeded in their bloody task.

"Turn back," Flora Harimann commands, her voice devoid of all urgency and feeling.

I raise an eyebrow, and summon my mana as unobtrusively as possible. "So, now you see us," I quip, stalling for time as I attempt to examine the two in front of me. If something is controlling or influencing their actions, I don't want it to detect me and risk hurting these two if it decides to cut the strings. "Odd; when we watched you being a drunken ass, you ignored us completely."

Flora's face does not change. "There is nothing here for you."

"We just want to know what's happening, Flora," Sebastian says slowly, taking a small step towards her. "Where is your mother? And your father?"

Ruxton Harimann comes down the stairs behind us, still shirtless but mercifully clad in a pair of long undergarments, and no longer giggling and lust-consumed. He shuffles past us to stand behind Flora, then turns to us. His face is as blank and devoid of feeling as those of his siblings. "Leave."

I begin to lose my patience. Why must every favour I do for my friends turn out like this? "You're not in a strong negotiating position," I inform him, still reaching out to all three of them with a slender thread of mana, trying to look inside them. Not to read their minds, I'm not capable of that, it's far too invasive and dangerous, but to try and discern if there is anything... unusual or foreign affecting them. But my probing thread seems to hit some sort of slippery barrier, like a wall of glass, repelling all my attempts to examine them. I suppose that in itself is enough of an answer. There is something inside their minds. Something powerful.

A flicker of feeling, a grimace of pain, travels across Flora Harimann's face for a fleeting instant. "You... shall not... enter..." she half mutters, half groans, eyelids fluttering wildly.

Suddenly, all three of the Harimann children's eyes roll up and back in their heads, showing only white, and they collapse to the ground as a host of shades and a lesser desire demon manifest out of the shadows behind them.

I cast a protective shield over the still forms of the Harimanns, and then we dive into the fray, Isabela darting in and out of shadows, dealing damage to the creatures with lightning-quick dagger thrusts and vanishing to another corner of the room before they can retaliate. Sebastian keeps back, dealing death with his arrows, and Merrill and I stand back to back in the middle of the room, casting spell after spell in turn to keep the horde at bay; fire, ice, lightning.

Merrill casts a sheet of ice over a blazing rage demon that roars into being to my left, and I shatter it in the next instant with a stone fist right in its malformed face. Sebastian shoots an armour-piercing arrow straight through the glowing eye of a shade, dropping it instantly, but the desire demon lifts her clawed fingers, electricity crackling between them as she glares in his direction.

I cry out in warning. "Sebastian! On your left!"

The creature sends a bolt of lightning arcing across the room towards him. Sebastian reacts just in time, raising his bow in front of his chest, warding the bolt with the wood of his bow, which snaps with a deafening crack. The archer prince curses, drawing a bootknife and defending himself as best he can against the enemies nearest him. Isabela stabs, slashes and stealths her way to the desire demon, who appears to be leading the others in the battle.

"To me!" it cries, its voice unnaturally low and distorted. It waves its arms at its brethren, attempting to direct them. It doesn't notice Isabela until she pops up in front of it.

"I've met your sister," she says conversationally to it as she grabs both of its arms in a one-handed pincer grasp and jerks the creature close to her body. A wicked grin lights her face as she stares into the creature's catlike purple eyes. "She isn't very nice." The demon snarls, but the sound ends in an inhuman scream as Isabela plunges a dagger into its belly and twists it viciously, leaping backwards as it slumps to the ground.

With the strongest demon in the group felled, the others don't last long under our onslaught.

"Demons, temptresses..." Sebastian mutters, looking around at the carnage. "It seems you were right about supernatural forces, Hawke. Do you think they were the ones doing this?" He nudges Isabela's kill with his boot. "Was that the desire demon? It certainly seems to fit the bill."

"No," I answer, shaking my head. "These were too weak to pull off this level of manipulation. I'd say these were only lesser demons trying their luck, drawn through the breach in the Veil caused by the activities of whoever - whatever - is causing this."

Sebastian takes this information in and sets his jaw determinedly. "Then we must see what greater evil they were protecting."

I gesture to the rapidly disintegrating corpse of the weak desire demon. "Likely it will look something like that," I tell him. "It will just be a lot more powerful. And dangerous."

"Not a good time to be without a weapon, then," Sebastian says, glancing ruefully at his broken, smouldering bow.

He's certainly not wrong. I cast my gaze about on the ground, searching among the carcasses of the dead, both human and demonic, trying to see if any of the murdered mercenaries have any weapons on their bodies. A bow would be ideal, obviously, but anything will do, or we'll have to leave it and go back. Sebastian can't go up against a demon unarmed, and if this demon is powerful enough to hold the minds of an entire family in snare at once, we will need his arm.

It appears I will have at least a little luck today. I find a longbow in the grasp of one long dead thug and prise it - quite literally - from his cold dead hands. The string has long since rotten away, but the bow itself appears in working order, strong and limber, elegantly curved from silvered ash. On the side of the sight window, above the grip, a small insignia is carved lovingly into the wood. I recognise this too; the heraldry of Starkhaven.

"Sebastian?" I rise and turn to him, offering the bow in my hands. "I think you'll want to take a look at this."

He takes it from me, examining it closely, and then his eyes widen and he looks sharply up at me. "My grandfather's bow! Where... where did you find this?"

I gesture to the dead man on the floor behind me. "One of the Flint Company mercenaries had it. He and his gang must have taken it as spoils..."

Sebastian's face hardens. "When they infiltrated the palace and murdered my family." The thought seems to fuel his anger and he grips the bow tightly. "If we find a demon at the heart of this, perhaps I can use this bow to exact a measure of my own vengeance." He takes a square of oiled cloth from his waist pouch and uncoils the spare bowstring from within it, restringing the bow in one fluid, easy movement. With two fingers on the string, he draws it back to his ear, and holds it for a moment. "My grandfather's bow," he murmurs quietly, almost below hearing. "Mine, at last."

He lowers his new weapon as Merrill calls to us from where she and Isabela are standing by the far wall. "Over here, Hawke! Look." She waves us over. "There's an opening here, like the wall has been knocked in. There's some sort of tunnel on the other side."

"Looks like it opens into a cavern of some sort," Isabela adds. "But carved, not natural. Looks like this place was built right over some sort of old ruin. A temple or something, maybe?"

"A ruin?" Sebastian frowns, peering through the gap in the wall. "So close to Hightown? I remember no such thing!"

"It must have been uncovered in Lady Harimann's excavations," I say, calling a glowing ball of light into my hand as Merrill does the same, both of us casting our light on the ancient architecture. "The expansion on the mansion Flora mentioned in her diary."

"It appears Johane uncovered something far more sinister," Sebastian comments darkly, drawing an arrow from the quiver on his back and nocking it in his bow. "Let's go see if we can find them."

He leads the way through the stone-paved corridor, which soon ends in a flight of roughly hewn rock steps, in turn giving way to an earthen floor. The tunnel opens out into a wide underground cavern at last, the remains of ancient architecture plainly visible in the crumbling, towering white pillars reaching up from the ground, gleaming starkly against the blackness beyond them. On closer inspection, I see that the pale colour of the columns comes not from the stone of their construction, but from the hundreds upon hundreds of bleached white skulls placed on shelves encircling every one from the ground to the ceiling. I shudder involuntarily, and renew my grip on my staff.

Not a moment too soon. More demons attack, shades and rage demons bursting from the darkness in the corners, their shrieking cries and thundering growls shattering the eerie silence of the ancient crypt. "In the shadows!" Sebastian cries, as yet another wave appears on top of the one already making its howling, screeching way toward us. "More of them!"

Merrill and I raise our staffs in unison. I hear the rasp of metal behind us as Isabela draws her twin daggers from their sheaths, muttering in an irritated and extremely audible undertone as she does so.

"Balls."

Having fought our way through the labyrinthine corridors of what appears to be the remains of an ancient temple, battling many more creatures and denizens of darkness, skeletons and revenants among them, we are reaching the point of exhaustion. I know I am at least, and I can see it in the eyes of my companions. I glance at Merrill, clasping her hand tightly, and she tries bravely to smile up at me, but her efforts fall flat. As well as multitudes of ancient skeletons, we also found a number of more recent skeletons that Merrill identified as being elven due to their slight build. We surmised that these were the bodies of the slaves mentioned in the pages of Flora's diary, They were not as yellowed with age as the ancient skeletons, with manacles still clasped about their bony limbs. The discovery left a shadow in her eyes which has yet to fade away. We also found the body of a man Sebastian identified as Lady Johane's husband. Late husband, I suppose. No sign of what killed him, which means the cause was probably demonic. Doubtless his soul was drawn into the Fade and ensnared, kept in a dream until his body wasted away. Another life lost to Johane's callous ambition, it seems.

At last we climb a few more steps and come into a part of the ruin far older and of cruder construction than the rest. I step cautiously into the wide, rough stone tunnel, noting the myriad skulls and other remains lying strewn haphazardly across the floor, and wave to the others to follow quietly behind. I can feel the residue of dark magic in this place, growing stronger by the minute as we walk along. From the tension in Merrill's shoulders, she can feel it too. Whatever the cause of this madness, demonic or otherwise, something tells me we will find it at the end of this corridor.

We round a curve and I hold up a hand to signal a halt as my eyes fall on two figures a short distance away, standing before what appears to be an ancient sacrificial altar, decorated with a statue of a horribly ugly creature. One of the old gods, in all likelihood. If so, it explains the age of this place, and the presence of so many dark spirits. The Veil must be thin in such a place as this.

One of the figures, an elderly woman in a dress that was obviously once very fine, raises her hands in supplication to her companion, a horned, familiar sort of being, framed in effervescent violet light. A desire demon. As I thought. Wonderful.

"Starkhaven will not submit!" Johane Harimann declares, anger and irritation suffusing her voice in equal measure. "I put that idiot, Goran Vael, into the Prince's seat but the other families won't heed him! I must marry him to Flora and solidify our hold." Her eyes narrow greedily, and she holds out a staff, shaped very much like a mage's staff, though I feel no magical ability in the woman whatsoever. Her voice drops, becoming harsh and sinister. "But I need more power!"

"I've given you much," the demon murmurs in answer, her words soft yet nonetheless carrying down the tunnel towards us. "Your desires run deep. You've already traded your husband and your children. What more can you offer?"

So, Lady Harimann sacrificed the freedom of her spouse and all her children to the creature in exchange for a grasp at a measure of power? Disgusting. Reprehensible. But sadly unsurprising.

"What's the going rate?" I ask, stepping forward with Sebastian at my side, Merrill and Isabela at my back. Lady Harimann spins on her heel to look at me, the demon turning to face me at a far more leisurely pace. I grin irreverently at her. "At the Blooming Rose, fifty silver's standard for a whore."

"And how do you know that, Hawke?" Isabela asks behind me, her tone carrying amusement.

I give her a meaningful glance. "I've been friends with you far too long, that's how."

The demon's full lips twist up in a sultry smile. "You'll hardly find my services standard."

"Who is this?" Lady Harimann cries, grasping her staff. I narrow my eyes in concentration as I stare at it, feeling the power in it from across the room. Lady Harimann is no mage, I can tell that much for certain. It must be something the demon gifted her with, infused with power of its own to be used by anyone, mage or otherwise. "Who are you? How did you get here?" Her eyes widen as she recognises the youngest son of her former friend and murder victim. She gasps, the sound echoing throughout the temple ruins. "Sebastian?!"

He stares at her, cold anger emanating from him in waves. "You were my mother's friend!" he accuses, his blue eyes lit with a fearsome rage. "How could you murder her?"

"Such an ugly word," the demon smirks before Lady Harimann can speak, if indeed she meant to say anything at all. "I prefer, 'removed the only obstacle between her and her dreams'."

Sebastian turns his livid gaze on her, and his mouth twists into a fierce scowl. "This was your idea!"

The desire demon shakes her head slowly, denying his words. "I could create such desires if I wished. But it's far easier to nurture those that already exist," She tilts her head, regarding first Sebastian, then myself, and gives a predatory smile. "The desire for power is easy to find. You and your friend both possess it, do you not? You both wish to rise."

I feel a stab of indignant fury at her comment. "Not if it meant selling out my family!" I retort angrily. Beside me, Merrill nods firmly in agreement.

The demon glances between us in clear amusement. "It would not be the first time," she says slowly, teasingly. Her eyes light on Merrill. "I feel the touch of one of my brethren on you already." Merrill blanches, and looks down at her feet in shame.

Sebastian glares lividly at the creature. "Do not listen to her!"

"Oh, such a pious soul," the demon mocks. "Masking so much ambition. Are you so different from my lady? You yearn for the same lands, the same power."

"I am the rightful heir," Sebastian declares. He jabs a furious finger at Lady Harimann, who recoils, a snarl on her lips. "She is a usurper and murderer!"

"You swore to put aside worldly goods and ambitions," the demon counters, her voice soft and dangerously insidious. "But they couldn't stop you from wanting them."

"Regaining my birthright is hardly the same thing as stealing it from another. And using magic and murder to get it! I would not do such a thing to gain the throne."

"But you want it," the demon presses relentlessly. "You had resigned yourself to letting your brother rule." She waves a hand theatrically before her. "Yet now that seat glitters before you. All those smiles the people saved for your brother. Now you'll be the shining Prince." Sebastian's expression falters, and a pained look of guilt crosses his features. The demon smirks, as though sensing victory. "You've always wanted it. You needn't deny it any longer." She gestures to Lady Harimann beside her, grinning wickedly. "All you have to do is kill anyone in your way..."

The Lady's eyes widen in disbelief at the betrayal, and she raises her staff, backing herself into a corner. "No!" she shouts, and aims her staff at Sebastian, who nocks an arrow in response. "Starkhaven is mine!"

I go for the desire demon, encasing her in layers of rock, ice and fire in quick succession, hampering her movements as Merrill whittles her down with bolts of lightning. The creature is powerful, but not anywhere near strong enough to beat us, not even with the waves of demonic lackeys she orders to her side. Isabela darts about the room, taking the heads off shambling skeletons with quick slashes of her trusty blades, and Sebastian deals first with our easily dispatched human adversary, then turns his attention to the shades and other lesser demons and spirits that appear at intervals, drawn by the violence of the battle.

At last there are no more left to kill.

"Maker save me," Sebastian murmurs, staring down at the body of the woman who ordered the deaths of his family, at the arrow in her chest, shot squarely through her heart. "I killed her."

"She deserved it," I remind him, worried by the guilt-ridden look on his face. "You were within your rights to avenge your family."

He raises troubled eyes to mine. "But did I do it for them, or at the demon's behest?"

I grasp his arm, giving him a small shake. "You killed her fairly, Sebastian."

"She made to attack you," Merrill tells him gently. "I saw it. You reacted in self defence first and foremost."

He nods slowly. I'm not certain that we have truly convinced him, but perhaps it will take time. After a moment, he bends down and closes Lady Harimann's sightless eyes respectfully with the tips of his fingers. "May the Maker forgive you," he mutters quietly, and straightens, looking up at us solemnly.

"Let us return to the Chantry," he says quietly. "I must pray for Lady Harimann's soul."

We traipse back to the Chantry, impeded only by a brief chat with a drained-looking Flora, now freed of the demonic influence on her mind. She had nothing to offer us but apologies and denials of culpability. No new information; nothing we hadn't already surmised, at any rate. Lady Harimann had unearthed the demon during her expansion of the Harimann mansion - completely unauthorised, explaining the use of slaves for undocumented labour - and had been corrupted by the foul creature's promises of the one thing the lady coveted above all else: the throne of Starkhaven. To that end, she had agreed to give the demon the minds of her children and husband to do with as it would, causing them to become obsessed with their deepest innermost desires and acting on them; a veritable feast for a desire demon. Flora pledged the rest of her families resources and fortune to repaying everyone hurt by her mother's actions, and swore to support Sebastian against his opposition in his claim to the throne. We left after making absolutely certain she and her brothers were well enough to take care of themselves, Isabela making her completely understandable excuses and heading for Lowtown before we reached the Chantry steps.

I glance at Sebastian, noting the dark, morose expression on his face and turn to Merrill. "Why don't you go on home, my love?" I suggest quietly. "I think I'd better talk to Sebastian about what happened today. I'll be along in a little while."

"Alright, ma vhenan." Merrill nods in understanding, looking at Sebastian too. "I'd better go and see what sort of trouble Feathers has gotten himself into," she says more loudly. "I'll wait for you at home, Hawke. See you later, Sebastian."

He glances at her and manages to summon a smile. "Until next time, Merrill."

She smiles encouragingly at him in return, and gives a little wave, turning her steps towards home. I walk with Sebastian up the Chantry steps. He glances at me sidelong with a look approaching surprise. "Are you... coming to pray for Lady Harimann, too?" he asks doubtfully.

"No," I reply honestly. "I thought you might need someone to talk to, that's all."

He gives me a long look, and a small smile turns up the corners of his mouth. "I would welcome it."

Once inside the Chantry, Sebastian stands before the towering statue of Andraste, hands clasped before him in prayer for a few long moments, lips moving silently. I stand at the railing a few paces away, waiting.

At last he lowers his hands and turns, walking over to where I stand. He leans beside me, fingers gripping the wooden railing tightly, looking out over the prayer hall below. He seems ready to talk now. "I had hoped prayer might cleanse me of the desire demon's touch," he says to me softly, his voice low and despondent. "But I still hear her voice so clearly. I feel like I've bathed in filth that will never come off."

"You just need to scrub," I tell him with mock seriousness, trying to cheer him with a jest. "Wash behind the ears. Evil usually gets stuck there."

Alright, so it's not my best. It's been a long bloody day.

He smiles at my poor attempt at humour, but the reaction is somewhat forced, not quite reaching his eyes. I give up on jocularity for the moment and try straight talking instead. "You have what you need. The Harimanns won't stand against you," I say, meeting his eyes seriously. "Will you ride back to Starkhaven now? Take up the mantle of Prince once and for all?"

Sebastian shakes his head. "I don't know. Flora said others are still fighting for the title. I should find out who before I go charging in blindly." He sighs, the sound tired and miserable, and lowers his head dejectedly. "In truth, I don't feel as righteous as before."

"You did nothing wrong. You acted honourably," I tell him truthfully. "You stood up to the demon, rejected her attempts to tempt you. Why are you ashamed?"

"Because the demon didn't lie," he answers quietly, his expression pained. "I used to be bitterly jealous of my brother. I wanted to be Prince. Now everything he had is mine. And he lies in ashes." Sebastian's grip on the wood of the railing tightens, and he shifts his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. "I keep asking myself, "Do I want this because it's right, or simply to have what I never thought I could?""

"Aren't you your parents' heir?" I enquire.

Sebastian nods slowly. "I am now. But only by default." He grimaces at my questioning look, apparently loathe to enter into further explanation. "I'm the youngest son of three. My parents were rather traditional. They wanted the heir, and the spare, and I was left out in the cold. They put me in the Chantry to prevent my competing with my brothers."

They 'put' him in the Chantry? I tilt my head at him questioningly. "You seem very dedicated to the Chantry. You were put there against your will?"

He shrugs. "At first. But it was the best thing that could have happened. I was a wild boy, a shame to my family. The Chantry made me a man." He gives a humourless laugh. "It's odd. When I wanted to rule, I would have been terrible at it. Now that I might be decent, I don't know if it's the right thing to do."

I can't say I know anything at all about what it takes to be a good ruler, but I have a feeling worrying about whether you would do a decent job or not is a big part of it. "Listen to your heart," I advise him simply. I very nearly cringe at the banal sentiment, but it's the sort of thing a sentimental fellow like Sebastian needs to hear at this point, I can tell. Which is not to say it isn't still perfectly valid advice. "It's the wisdom not to want power that lets you use it wisely."

"You didn't feel what that demon stirred in me," he counters, his disappointment in himself ringing in every word. "What it found in my heart. I always wanted to rule; first from greed and foolish dreams of glory, but now... I thought I only wanted to take my rightful place in order to fulfil my duty. Now I feel that old, selfish desire within me." He drops his head, shaking it slightly. "It cannot be right to lead any army to Starkhaven with such doubt in my heart." He remains silent a moment longer, then turns to look at me. "I owe you more than I can say, Hawke. I will offer my service to you here before I move on."

"Killing a few hundred more bandits ought to help you make up your mind."

Sebastian chuckles. "You do have a unique way of working out your inner struggles, Hawke."

I smile too. "You owe me nothing," I tell him in all seriousness. "If you want to help me, do it because we're friends."

"You have a good soul, Hawke," Sebastian says. "It was truly the Maker who sent you to me."

"Even though I am..." I raise an eyebrow, raising my hand and wiggling my fingers meaningfully. "...what I am? You don't feel at all compelled to turn me in to the Templars?"

He smiles. "I admit, had I not come to know you before learning you were an..." He glances about and lowers his voice before continuing. "... apostate mage, I likely would have done as the Chantry demands. But knowing what sort of person you are, having witnessed the good you've done, I have come to believe that Kirkwall is far better off if you are not behind bars. It is the Maker's will that you have remained free thus far. Who am I to deny Him?"

I refrain from scoffing at his words, deciding that I will allow his convoluted religious logic to work for me for the moment. As long as I can trust him not to report me and have me dragged off in the middle of the night to a cold heartless cell, he can believe whatever he likes.

"I'd be happy to call on you when I need your arm, Sebastian," I tell him. "And your aim. But only if you're sure." At his confused look, I elaborate. "You swore an oath to serve the Chantry. Now that your family is avenged, don't you feel compelled to honour your vows?"

"Andraste herself said the highest grace is to honour our parents," he answers after a few moment's solemn contemplation. "Our first loyalty is to our roots. I am my father's only surviving son, and the only direct descendant of the Vael line. Do I honour the vow I made when my duty was only to keep myself from complicating the line of succession, or do I do my duty by my family and our people by retaking my rightful place on the throne, now that my family's circumstances have... changed?" He spreads his hands, a helpless, uncertain gesture. "Am I fit to hold either duty? It is not so simple a decision." He sighs, and then straightens, looking me firmly in the eye. "Enough of this. I will make no decision today. Until I decide one way or the other, I will be here to assist you as needed, Hawke."

"Very well." I nod my head at the longbow slung on his back. "At least you got a small piece of your family back today."

"Yes," he agrees, casting a fond glance over his shoulder at it. "I don't think I thanked you for finding it, Hawke."

I shrug modestly. "No thanks necessary. It was your grandfathers, as you said. It belongs to you now."

"It does indeed." He reaches up and touches the bow stave almost reverently, then drops his hand, a conflicted expression crossing his face. "It's... hard to mourn the loss of a thing while my family lies dead. But I did think of it."

"What's the story behind that bow?" I ask him curiously. It seems to mean a great deal to him. I'd very much like to take this opportunity to get to know my friend a little better.

"As the youngest son it was my task to lead the city's militia. But I was never much good at swordplay," he answers, and grins wryly. "Too much getting hit. My grandfather said the bow is the wise man's weapon. You can defend your city from its walls without opening the gates. Grandfather said the day I could pull the string on his bow, it would be mine."

"So the bow is yours?" I frown in confusion. "Then why didn't you have it with you?"

Sebastian lifts an eyebrow briefly, apparently surprised by the question. "I was thirteen when my grandfather made me that promise," he explains. "I would rise at dawn every day to practice my shots 'til I could hit the eye slit of a helmet from the top of the ramparts. But... my parents pledged me to the Chantry before I could show him. But he would want to keep his word. I drew the bow today, so it is mine."

There is such fondness of his voice when he speaks of his grandfather, the former ruler of Starkhaven. Sebastian must have really looked up to him a great deal. "Tell me of your grandfather. Were you close?"

"He was a man of the world," Sebastian answers, a nostalgic, wistful note in his voice. His eyes are faraway, lost in memories. "Prince of Starkhaven. But he had the most unshakeable faith in the Maker. When my parents threatened to pledge me to the Chantry, he told me he would gladly trade his title for a life of contemplation. 'The Maker ordained a place for each of us,' I remember him saying. 'We have only to serve.'"

That goes a long way to explaining Sebastian's devotion to the Chantry, as well. Religious views aside, Sebastian's grandfather sounds like a good man, a good ruler. "I wish I could have helped," I tell Sebastian softly. "I'm sorry I never got a chance to meet them. To... save them."

The heir-claimant to the Starkhaven throne favours me with a warm smile. "I know. You're a true friend, Hawke. Thank you." He touches his grandfather's bow again, running his fingers down the smooth grain of the wood. "I will keep this and use it well, to remember and honour my family and all those who lost their lives defending them." He drops his hand and meets my eyes, utter sincerity in their deep blue depths. "But if I could bring back our lowest servant by snapping it in half, I'd do it. Without regrets."

If only the nobles here cared as much for the people who are meant to be under their protection and care. I smile at Sebastian. "And you have doubts as to whether you will make a good leader for your people?" He gives me a confused look, and I feel my smile widen a little as I wave, turning towards the stairs. "Farewell, Sebastian. Get some rest."

He nods solemnly. "And you, Hawke. Thank you for everything."

"What does she say, Hawke?"

I smile at Merrill where she sits by the hearth, gently stroking the head of the sleeping Feathers with one hand and smoothing the brindled pelt of my sweet snoring hound with the other, both animals curled up to either side of her. I hold up Mother's latest letter, arrived just this afternoon. "Why don't you come and read it with me?" I offer enticingly, patting my knee, silently willing her to come sit with me in my armchair before the fire. She smiles and complies, settling herself comfortably in my lap, pressing a soft kiss to my lips before dropping her eyes to the page of elegant script in my hand. We read my mother's words quietly together, and Merrill raises her head as we finish, her eyes shining delightedly.

"They're coming home!" she exclaims, smiling. "Oh, wonderful!" She cuddles into me as I fold the letter and tuck it into a pocket of my house robe. "We should do something nice to celebrate. I have no idea what, though."

"Perhaps I could make them a cake?" I suggest, and Merrill twists her head up to smile at me, a gleam of excitement in her eyes.

"Oh, yes!" she replies eagerly. "And you'll let me help you, won't you, Hawke?"

"Of course I will," I grin at her playfully. "You can lick the spoon."

She laughs, tilting her face up to me for a kiss, and I oblige her happily, butterflies swirling madly in my stomach at the touch of her soft lips. I love that she continues to have that effect on me. My beautiful, darling little elf.

Merrill draws her legs up, curling them beneath her as she resettles herself in my lap. "Are you comfortable, my love?" I enquire gently.

She smiles, and gives me another soft kiss. "Of course, ma vhenan. Very. Always." She raises a cheeky eyebrow at me. "Though I must admit, I would very much like to have you sit in my lap for a change sometime."

I feel my own brows lift at her words. "Me? Sit in your tiny elven lap? I'd crush you!"

Merrill laughs, shaking her head at me fondly. "Oh no you won't, my silly Hawke. I'm not that delicate, you know. And you certainly aren't that big." She gives me a considering look. "You're a little taller than me, true, but you're really quite small, all things considered. For a human, anyway."

I give her a dubious look, and she returns me an earnest, wide eyed expression. "Really, you are! You're smaller than Isabela, and much shorter than Aveline, after all."

"That may be so," I admit, smiling. "But you're tiny even for an elven woman. And anyway, everyone is shorter than Aveline."

An appreciative giggle bursts from Merrill's throat, and she cuddles even closer into me, sounding increasingly sleepy as she replies. "If you think I'm tiny, you should see Mahariel."

"I'd very much like to, one day," I muse softly, running my fingers gently through the silky strands of Merrill's soft hair as she rests her head against my shoulder, her face nestled in the curve of my throat. Meet the Hero of Ferelden in person? Who wouldn't want that? Apart from Darkspawn, I suppose. And bandits, and what have you.

"Maybe you're smaller because you had an elf somewhere in your family," Merrill murmurs quietly, almost to herself. A shuddering yawn breaks into the middle of her next sentence. "That could be why you're... so... small..."

I smile in some amusement; I didn't think I was all that small, personally. Not that I would object to an elven ancestor, far from it. "It's possible, I suppose," I reply thoughtfully after a moment's thought. "Not on my mother's side, I don't think. Not recently, anyway. The Amell line can be traced back for centuries, so she tells me. But the Hawkes? Maker only knows." I shrug with the shoulder not currently in use as a pillow. "There was so much my father never told us about himself, or his family, if he had one. Who's to say I don't have some elven blood in me? I rather think I would like that. What do you think, love?"

Merrill doesn't respond.

"My heart?" I whisper softly. I look down, her deep, regular breathing letting me know what I will see even as I rest my eyes on her lovely face.

She has fallen fast asleep. Oh, my dear, sweet little heart.

Well, it has been a busy day, after all. One in a lengthy string of them. She's earned the right to a good long sleep. I smile as I watch her, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her chest against me as I cradle her in my arms. Yes, she has the right of it, I think. I lift her carefully, lovingly, still smiling as I press my lips gently to her temple, then carry her into our bedroom like a sleeping child.

A good, long sleep. Maker, yes. That doesn't sound like a bad idea at all.

There, sorry again for the delay! As always I'll make minor changes to the chapter because I compulsively check my story for mistakes (and somehow am constantly finding more, despite proof reading and spellcheck) but at least it's finished, finally. I'll try to be quicker next time, I promise. Life does keep happening, though.

Also thanks to Demonhedgehog for the phrase "poncy nug-licker", loved it!

Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

maximasdecimas