"Honestly, my lady." Petrice pushed a cup of water into my hands. "I thought you were doing better about this."

"I was. Must have been that Warden Ale." I mumbled around the pounding headache. "At least I didn't black out. Didn't feel that drunk even... or was I that drunk?"

She stepped around the pew I was sitting on in her Chantry, hands falling to my shoulders. "I did not think so last night. I have seen you far worse."

Her fingers started rubbing slowly at first, then more aggressively. I didn't hold back my moan of pleasure, going as limp as I could without falling over. "If you're trying to seduce me, you're doing a wonderful job."

"The lady teases." Her hands slid over to my neck, then down to my upper back, finding each knot in my muscles and gently working them away. "And she is not drinking her water."

I groaned, but obeyed. I slowly sipped at it, knowing that to finish the drink was to see the wonderful massage end. Petrice let me play that game for a little while, then huffed and brought a hand around. One finger pressing at the bottom of the cup to hold it against my lips when I tried to take another micro-drink.

"Maeve." She chuckled, "I do have duties to attend. I cannot care for the lady all morning, as much as we would both enjoy that."

My second groan was just as petulant as the first, even if I dutifully finished off the water. "When will you be back?"

She took the cup, slipping back around and carrying it to the small dining area in its little alcove.

The finished Chantry was larger than I'd honestly expected it to be. It could hold two hundred people pretty comfortably, though the average session seemed to be running over that. Petrice had proven that she was actually very good at running a church; she'd promptly arranged a rotation of sessions for worship, making sure everyone in the Alienage had plenty of chances to make at least one such time slot every week.

Of course it was still an Alienage Chantry. It was a good sized, sure, but it was completely lacking in ornamentation. There wasn't even a grand statue of Andraste. Elowen had actually been the one to come up with a solution for that, apparently based on a little wood carving of the Maker's Bride that a little kid had given Petrice.

Practically everyone was carving their own little idols, bringing them in, with several dozen were already arranged on shelves along the wall. I didn't have much use for organized religion, but I had to admit it was a far more sincere kind of worship than the opulence of the Grand Chantry.

Though that was probably helped by Petrice's determination to make sure no one in the Alienage turned away from the Maker. Both by encouraging the community to contribute to their own worship, and making sure that she and her subordinate Sisters were constantly visible doing good works.

And if her usual sermons still had a good dose of anti-Qunari ranting, I was all for it.

"Today I am showing the others how to replace the filters at the wells, and then checking the health of those in the Northern Quarter." She informed me. "Noon, perhaps? After that I will need to prepare for the afternoon prayers."

"I'll pick us up something for lunch." I promised.

"That would be lovely, my lady." Petrice sent glances at me as she bustled around, picking up her basket of healing supplies. "Will the Deshyr be joining us? I have new sermon I want his opinion on."

I shook my head, "He's watching Hawke at the Archery tournament. Maybe tomorrow night?"

She nodded, bustling back over, fingers gently trailing along my jaw. "Then a business dinner tomorrow, and a personal lunch today?"

My own hand rose, holding hers in place so that I could place a kiss on the inside of her wrist. I felt her pulse quicken when I let them linger for several long seconds before pulling back. "Sounds good to me."

Her cheeks pinked lightly, but she otherwise kept her composure. I'd already let go of her fingers, but I made a mental note to up my game at lunch. She still managed to reduce me to a blushing mess every few days, and I was determined to reply in kind.

"I shall look forward to it all morning, my lady."

"So will I." I told her. "I'll find us something good, promise. See you at lunch, Revered Mother."

"At lunch, Lady Maeve."

And then she was gone, calling out to her subordinates who'd been helping clean up around the wounded but living Vhenadal.

Leaving me sitting alone in the Chantry, eyes half closed as I did my best to relax.

Honestly the night hadn't turned out nearly as badly as I'd feared. Mostly because Alistair and Hawke had gotten Varric going with more stories, and I'd stayed near them for the rest of the evening. No one, not even the especially snide bastards from Tevinter who'd made sure to raise their voice every time they said 'Rattus', had wanted to pick a fight while I was with a King and the wealthiest Deshyr in the Free Marches.

Sadly Varric's domination of the time meant I hadn't gotten many tales out of the other two. Worse, those few stories hadn't been as useful as I'd have liked, for a very simple reason: the Wardens had split up to accomplish all of the tasks in Origins, and my fellow citizen of Earth hadn't gone with their groups.

Alistair had, unsurprisingly, gone to Redcliffe, while Hawke had led the group who'd gone to Kinloch Hold. Gregory had apparently gone with Cousland, Maharial, and Sten to visit the Dalish, only linking back up with the others several months later.

Knowing that Alistair and Hawke had been the ones to find the Sacred Ashes, and kill the Dragon, had been a fun story... but it hadn't told me much of what other changes Greg had made to the timelines.

What I did know was that he was engaged to Bethany Hawke, and the pair were apparently both head over heels for each other and extremely affectionate about it. That was interesting, I supposed, but not nearly as interesting as the fact that the elder Hawke apparently did not approve of the match. And not just because she was furious at him for lying to her about coming to the Tourney.

I didn't get a good reason, beyond Alistair muttering that Gregory had been involved in the bad blood between Hawke and Cousland.

Still. Interesting. Maybe that would be a good thread to start pulling on when I met up with Varric and Hawke for dinner at the Hanged Man tonight. Assuming I could get any words in edgewise once Isabella showed up.

Maybe if I-

Someone slammed the Chantry doors open, and I was on my feet before I realized I was moving. A man staggered in, gasping for breath, already shoving them closed. With his head bowed all I had to go on was his tattered cloak, but the feathers on it gave him away all the same.

"What the-Anders!?" I demanded on seeing him, "What the hell?"

"They found me." He shouted, giving the doors one last shove to get them fully shut once more. Then he was jogging my way, expression somewhere between panicked and bleak. "Petrice said there's a hidden room here I could hide in. Where is it?"

I needed a second for my hungover brain to process his words. "The... oh fuck. Right over here, come on. Wardens or Templars?"

"Wardens." The Gray Warden deserter ran over, joining me at the podium or pulpit or whatever it was called. Between us we pulled it back enough to grab the rug it had been sitting on, yanking it up to reveal the trap door beneath.

"How many can you sense?" I demanded, getting the bolt off so it could be opened, revealing a short ladder leading down to the tunnel. It connected to a small basement complete with both a cot and some stored food; I'd insisted on adding it, just in case the Qunari started more actively trying to eliminate Petrice. Or me.

"Five or six." He replied breathlessly, already dropping into the dark below. "Torch? Lantern?"

"Lantern on the right." I told him, "Stay quiet. I'll try and scare them off, call you when they're gone."

"I owe you."

He really did, but this wasn't the time for those negotiations. A quick slam of the trap door let me kick the rug back into place. It took a few groans of effort to get the heavy wooden lectern back where it had been, then a few more stomps of my boots to smooth out the ruffles I'd made dragging it around.

After that I hesitated for a moment, then darted over to the small communal dining space. I had just enough time to pour myself another glass of water and drop into a chair, just a hungover elf taking advantage of the quiet, when the Chantry's heavy doors groaned on their hinges once again.

In the alcove I couldn't see them, not at first. I could, however, hear the armored boots hitting the floorboards. And the door when they shut it behind them.

"He's here, somewhere." A woman spoke, steps slow. "Revered Mother? Sisters?"

I took a deep breath, and called back, "They're out doing charity work."

There was a startled pause, then the boots drew closer at speed. I looked over as the first Warden appeared, moving down the main aisle before heading right for me. She was... well, a bit plain really. Pale, brown hair, decent features I guessed. Leather armor that looked hard used protected her body, a sword rode at her hip, while a half-cape in blue and white hung from her back.

And whoever she was, she didn't waste time with the niceties. "Where is he? The deserter trying to hide in here."

"No idea." I lied. "I also have no idea who you are."

She pursed her lips, only for the second pair of feet to catch up with her.

I fought down a startled twitch at the sight of my fellow Earthling. His outfit was nearly a match for the Warden's, just missing the cape and lacking the griffon themed belt-buckle. His expression flickered on seeing me, a suspicious glare that matched the Warden's appearing before he visibly forced a neutral smile into place.

And when he spoke, it was in a light southern drawl that badly stood out from the Warden's sharp tones. "This is Warden Commander Elissa Cousland, Hero of Ferelden. I'm Gregory Smith. Please, we don't want any trouble. We're just looking to bring an old friend home."

"I don't think he'd agree with the old friends bit. Not if he's hiding from you." I noted, not bothering to get up.

The Hero of Ferelden narrowed her eyes. "Where is he?"

"No idea." I repeated. "Who are you looking for?"

"Anders." She said, a hand oh-so-casually coming to rest on the hilt of her sword. "He deserted his post in Ferelden in the wake of the Blight. I know he is in here. You will tell me where he's hiding."

I narrowed my eyes, not appreciating the arrogance. I know, pot, kettle, black, but it was too early to deal with this kind of crap.

"I," I said, far more quietly, "Am Maeve, a Knight of Kirkwall. Not a Gray Warden. I don't have to do a damned thing for you, bitch."

Green eyes narrowed further. Behind her, Greg crossed his arms imperiously even if he managed to keep his tone civil, "Please, lady knight. The Warden treaties-"

"Gives her the right of conscription, and allow her to compel others to aid the Wardens during a Blight." I interrupted. "We're not in a Blight anymore, so she can't compel me to do shit for her unless she tries to conscript me... and that's not going to end well for anyone."

Cousland stared me down, "...Greg? Deal with this. I'm going to find Anders."

And with that she stormed off, head on a swivel. Checking every corner of the Chantry while she prowled around it.

Leaving me with my fellow foreign citizen.

"She could conscript you, you know." He told me.

"She could try." I told him, not really appreciating his attitude any more than I had hers. "What are you really doing here?"

"Just trying to help an old friend make the right decision." Greg replied. "We don't mean him any harm. Just need to talk with him, making him realize why going back to Ferelden is what needs to happen."

I snorted, lowering my voice. "Why? It's not like he's an abomination who's going to blow up a Chantry."

"Perhaps not, but..." His voice trailed off into nothing, his mouth staying partially open for a long moment before abruptly snapping shut. A quick pair of steps brought him closer, voice low but hot when he spoke again. "What did you just say?"

"I said what the actual fuck did you do in Ferelden?" I hissed back at him. "This fucking city was a goddamned nightmare to begin with, and without Hawke it's not getting any better."

That drew a scowl to his face. He stared me down, hard, eyes flicking from my too-large ears to my ridiculous hairstyle. A second look was to the side, as if confirming that Cousland wasn't anywhere close before he took a few more steps, getting around the table to sit across from me.

"Your accent, lady." He more growled than said. "You're not from Kirkwall."

"Try Pittsburgh." I snapped, "And you sound like you're from Kentucky or something."

"New Orleans." Greg corrected, looking more frustrated than relieved to find someone else from home. "Shit. This really complicates things... dammit. One more thing, please. Proof that you're from Earth."

The demand my fingers twitch, but I answered all the same. "If the Pirates win the World Series while I'm stuck in Thedas, I'm going to be livid."

"No danger of that." He muttered. "But if the Saints win another Super Bowl without me I'm not going to be thrilled either."

I let out a frustrated breath, whispering hotly. "Now that we've both established our credentials, what the hell did you do? Why did you stop Hawke?"

Greg eyed me for a long moment, eyes flicking around the Alienage in one last paranoid check before he spoke. "...all right. The short version? When I got here I was next to the Cousland Estate. Duncan wasn't there, he was recruiting the Elves, and I was still there when Howe tried to wipe out the family."

"You got her out." I said, flicking my eyes to the woman now shoving open the door to the Sister's quarters, sticking her head in.

"Barely." A hand shifted, touching his chest as if remembering the pain of whatever was hidden there. "I convinced her of what was coming, I got wounded when Howe came for her family. We made it as far as Lothering together, but she had to get to Ostagar and I was slowing her down. We stumbled across the Hawke's home on the outskirts, and Bethany and Leandra cared for me. Healed me."

I let out a slow breath, "And you convinced them to get out early after Ostagar too."

"Something like that." His attitude finally broke a little, voice becoming softer, "I... couldn't just let them go through with what happened to them in the games. Leandra... I wasn't going to make her watch Carver die in front of her. Would you have?"

"...no." I admitted, grouchily. "Still annoyed, and still have a million questions. Do you know how we got here?"

He shook his head, but before he could speak a wave of shouting rose from outside. It lasted for just a few seconds before the doors were being shoved open yet again, letting me hear that shouting and anger was far more widespread.

We were both on our feet within moments, moving into the open in time to see Petrice with her most severe scowl in place. Right beside her was an equally angry looking Elowen, a half-dozen members of the Night's Watch, with Merrill following along behind. Sandwiched between them all was the Dalish Warden from last night, her own scowl up at maximum levels as well.

"Warden." Petrice wasted no time, calling out before they were more than a few steps in. "I do not recall your order having any authority in this Alienage."

Cousland, who'd apparently figured out that Anders was somewhere under the pulpit, turned away from it to glare back at her. At least until she saw it was a Revered Mother. Then she quickly schooled her features into a bland smile, and when she replied her tones were infinitely more polite, even vaguely apologetic.

"We are pursuing a deserter, Revered Mother. My men are merely on post to catch him if he flees, not to interfere with Elven affairs."

Petrice turned her nose up, slowing to a stop a few yards away. "Then why were several of them attempting to close the Alienage' Gate, and threatening both the citizenry and Templars of Kirkwall in the process?"

The Warden Commander frowned, then closed her eyes in a heavy sigh. "Velanna. Go tell Faren that I gave him explicit orders not to interfere with the local's coming and going. It's not like we can mistake Anders for an Elf."

"I did." The Dalish woman replied. "He ignored me."

"And," Elowen added, her voice an angry growl. "He ignored me when I told him he had no authority here."

"He did worse." Petrice crossed her arms, "He bared steel at you, the Baroness of this Alienage. If he had not been a warden, the Templars on guard would have cut him down for that insult."

Cousland reached up, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her words were a bare whisper, but I was sure most of us Elves heard them anyway. "Maker damn you Faren Brosca. Not again."

I glanced at Greg, who gave me a tiny shrug. This wasn't a new thing, then.

The Hero of Ferelden gathered herself together a moment, her voice again taking on the formal tilt of a noblewoman. "You have my most sincere apologies, Revered Mother. My second in command is... ruthless in the means he follows my orders. I will chastise him him, and make amends to you and your people."

"You may do so by leaving." Elowen replied stiffly, clearing nothing that she was directing her words at Petrice rather than herself. "At once, serah."

Cousland worked her jaw, then let out an explosive breath, bowing at the waist. "Yes, Baroness. I suppose our deserter isn't going anywhere. Again, my apologies. It was not my intent to disrupt your day, nor insult you."

Petrice replied on her behalf, voice cold. "One's intent matters less than one's actions, Warden."

"Yes, Revered Mother." Cousland tilted her head, "Again, my apologies. Velanna? Recall the others at once, please. Come along, Gregory. You will have to find another time to speak with Anders."

The Dalish slipped out, and a wave of Elowen's hand had two of the Watch follow her. Greg watched them go with a slight frown, walking slowly over to rejoin the Hero. He gave me a final glance, a tiny nod passing between us; a silent promise to meet and speak in a more private setting.

At least that's how I meant it, and could only hope he meant that as well. He wasn't at all what I was hoping for, but he was the only lead I had on getting home. Or, at a minimum, figuring out what the fuck he'd done so that I could survive until Solas showed up.

He clapped his hands, bowing to Petrice and Elowen in turn. "Please accept my apologies as well, Barones, and may I say that you have a lovely Chantry, Revered Mother... I did not catch your name?"

"Petrice." It was small, but there was a definite hitch in his step when he recognized the name. "Thank you for the compliment. Perhaps your next visit shall be done with more respect for Andraste and the Maker."

"...yes, of course." Greg nodded, falling into step with Cousland as they were led out. There was a second pause, his head swinging around when Merrill walked past the other way, coming over to join me.

He did better than I had when I'd first met people from the games. There wasn't any gaping or staring, just that momentary hesitation followed by a glance, as if confirming she was who he thought she was, then he was gone. Elowen and the rest of the Watch followed, probably making sure they actually left, while Petrice and Merrill stayed behind.

"They that rude out there?" I asked.

"Manifestly." Petrice replied, scowling at the doors before they were shut. "And I do not believe for a moment that the dwarf out there was acting against the Commander's intent. One does not put such a ruthless individual to such a task if one does not expect them to be ruthless."

I... considered that for a moment, Merrill biting her lip beside me.

"She seemed very unhappy though." My elven sister said. "Didn't she?"

She had, but I didn't doubt Petrice's assertion either. Zealot or not, she had a far better eye for that kind of thing than Merrill or I.

"An act maybe?" I suggested. "She was anything but polite when she stormed in here at the start, when it was just her and I."

Petrice huffed, crossing her arms, "She also only looked upon me once I entered, my lady. I would guess her to be a bigot."

"Or that." A religious one, maybe. It would explain why she'd been so polite once Petrice had showed up, but had been so quick to demand that I help point her to where Anders was hiding. "Still. Can't say either way, not after one confusing meeting. Oh, Merrill? Can you help me get Anders out of there?"

"Of course, lethallan."

Between us we got the pulpit moved again while Petrice poured out four cups of watered-down wine. Anders must have been listening at the trap-door because he came climbing out the moment we'd gotten the rug out of the way.

A few minutes of clean up later and we were all sitting at the table together, our own Warden already gulping down his drink.

"Maker's breath, that woman." He complained, setting his cup down. "I'd admire her tenacity if I didn't hate it at the same time. And Brosca is here? That's... not good. The man goes beyond merely being ruthless."

I let out a quiet snort. "Settle an argument for us. Looks down on Elves, yes or no? Cousland, I mean."

Anders grimaced. "City elves? Yes, for certain. The Dalish? I do not believe so. If anything she respects them better than many Humans."

I blinked slowly. That wasn't a division I was used to hearing when it came to people who didn't like Elves. "Explain."

"Can't." He shook his head, "Honestly I don't know her very well, we weren't very close. I know that she never had an issue with Maharial, and offered a great deal of respect to the Dalish Keepers when we met them at Denerim."

Petrice frowned, "But she did not share such sentiments with those Elves outside of their clans?"

"Not in the slightest. Even after Alistair gave Denerim's Alienage a Bann, she was always too busy to be bothered to meet him. And other times... well, let's just say she was never terribly polite to Elven servants. I think Maharial finally realized it, they had a falling out after the Blight, but I never learned the details."

Merrill shifted her weight. "Is... is he all right? He was one of my few friends."

"As far as I know, yes. He went to Weisshaupt to report on the Fifth Blight." Anders told her. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you that earlier. I... can try to send a message. He's perfectly safe and healthy, his... partner went with him. I can't say I like the man, but he won't let anything happen to Maharial."

"I'll write one." Merrill said at once. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Again, my apologies for the delay. I just... I don't like talking about the Wardens."

"We know." I muttered, taking a sip from my cup. "But you're talking about them now."

There was a heavy sigh. "Yes. I... owe you. They'd have certainly dragged me off in chains if Brosca had his way, and Cousland would only be slightly more lenient. They know who you are now, know you're sheltering me. You deserve some answers I think."

Petrice reached over, patting his arm. "You may stay here as long as you like, serrah. Kirkwall will need a healer of your caliber when the time comes. Far more than some cell in a Warden's keep will need you jailed within it."

He chuckled, "For once we agree entirely, Mother."

I held my patience for few silent moments after that, then lost it when he didn't go on. "All right Anders. Let's get it out there. Why did you join the Wardens, why did you leave? What's this really about?"

Anders took another sip, then began. "I was at Ostagar. Flight risk or not, I was one of Kinloch Hold's most accomplished healers, so they weren't about to leave me behind. I just had three times the Templar guards as anyone else, even when I went to the privy. When Loghain deserted and the battle turned to a route, I managed to get away from them. I fell in with a small group making their way to Lothering."

There was a short pause, his head shaking. "Hawke was one of them, along with her brother. They sheltered me until we found their family. Smith was with them, and he convinced us to leave the village as soon as possible. We were cutting across town when we ran into the Wardens leaving at the same time. At first it was just strength in numbers, but..."

"They convinced you that being a Warden was better than being an apostate." I guessed.

"Brosca started to, yes." He glowered into his drink. "Before I knew just what he was like. He set me up, and then brought Cousland talk me into the decision. She's damned convincing when she wants to be. Gave me a pretty speech about being beyond the Templars reach, about being able to show everyone that magic was helpful, not harmful. They had enough of the Joining potion for one more, and I took it. Of course they left out the little details about it nearly killing you, and that you're lucky to live twenty years after you join. That I'm nothing more than a ghoul who just happens to be decaying more slowly than usual."

I winced. "That's a rather big thing to leave out."

"Only slightly, yes." Anders shook his head. "And the fact that they were entirely unrepentant about it didn't help my opinion of either of them. Said it was Warden Secrets, and it wasn't my place to know until I was one of them. After that... I didn't want anything to do with them. Or the Wardens at all, but there was a Blight on. I was resentful, not suicidal. Daylen and Morrigan were much better company, so was Hawke, even if we never ended up being very close."

"Good friends? Daylen and Morrigan?" I asked. Stories about Morrigan would be good, I could segue them into stories about Flemeth-Mythal.

"I thought so." His expression darkened again, shutting down that line of questioning before it could begin. "I was apparently wrong. That witch talked Daylen into doing something on the eve of the Battle of Denerim. No one is sure what, but they vanished immediately after. I... thought we were good friends. My only real friends in the party. And they left in the night without saying a word to me."

The pain in his voice was very real. Enough that I reached out to gently take one of his hands, Merrill doing the same for the other. It was probably a sign of how close he was to breaking that he squeezed our hands in return.

"I'm sorry, Anders." Merrill said quietly. "It's never easy to realize you're alone like that."

That her clan had subjected her to the same pain went unsaid.

"Thank you." Anders replied, taking a deep breath before we let go, letting him finish his story. "Thank you both. It's... well. After that things hardly improved. Hawke convinced the Queen to give her the Arlessa of Amaranthine, instead of awarding it to Cousland, and Anora convinced Alistair after Cousland did something to make him angry as well. The Commander, well, saying she didn't take it well is putting it mildly."

"Bad?" I guessed.

"Oh you have no idea. She and Hawke had been arguing almost from the day they met, but that was the last straw. It... got ugly rather quickly. Swords drawn in the royal chambers levels of ugly. If Alistair hadn't intervened, one or both would have killed the other."

Well. Shit. I guess that's what happened when you had the Hero of Ferelden and the Champion both trying to do the same job, and both angling to get the same reward. Fuck. I mean, the entire Hawke family was alive, so I supposed Greg had won some points there, but he'd blown them in the aftermath. For all that the Blight had been managed easily enough, Ferelden and its wardens were starting to seem like a far larger mess than they'd been in canon. I'd definitely have to talk with him about that.

"And you sided with Hawke?" Merrill asked.

"For which I was assuredly not forgiven." He replied with forced cheer. "I spent a week dealing with the worst jobs Brosca could give me before I decided I'd have enough of the entire situation. That I'd spend what time I have left helping Mages, not shoveling dung in stables and being forced to salute a woman I hated. I paid a smuggler in Denerim, got off the ship in Kirkwall a few weeks later to be accosted by Varric's man looking for healer."

Petrice patted his arm again. "For which we all thank the Maker. We'd have lost our Lady without you."

"And we couldn't have that." Anders chuckled, "Where would we be if we couldn't bet on whether or not Maeve talks you out of your vows?"

The gentle patting abruptly became a harsh smack to hist wrist. "Warden!"

Merrill tittered as Anders clutched at his hand as if it had just been cut off. "Maeve's the only one that gets to tease her, you know that. And besides, she has to keep her vows to her Maker so that Maeve can be Isabella's first mate."

"She is certainly not going to be that pirate's anything." Petrice turned her nose up, "The Lady would never stoop to someone who so frequently shares the beds of others."

"But they're adorable together!" Merrill protested. "She just... fits right under Isabella's arm like a little doll. Whenever they argue I can't decide if they're really arguing, or if they're about to do something dirty."

"They certainly are not." Petrice gave me an almost sly look. "Besides. The lady affirmed that she prefers my courting to the pirate's blunt offerings."

Merrill sighed. "You do make her blush a lot more. And you both like to scowl a lot. I suppose it would be all right if she stayed with you."

"Merrill." I chided, chuckling around another drink. "We've been over this. I'm not ending up with anyone."

"Of course, lethallan." She said, absently patting my thigh, not so much as turning away from Petrice. "Still, what about sharing her? I'm sure Isabella wouldn't mind if you still did all of your little kisses and flirting once she's with Isabella."

Petrice gave her a flat look that made Merrill smile innocently. "Cease with that expression. We both know that you are not nearly as empty headed as you pretend to be. And do not say that you are merely thinking about Griffons."

Merrill giggled into her drink, eyes merry.

A tiny smile crossed Petrice's lips before she killed the expression, pushing herself to her feet. "I must return to the others. Do we still have lunch plans, my lady?"

"We do." I assured her. "I'll be here."

She nodded, confidently walking around the table. A quick bend let her place a chaste kiss my cheek, drawing pink to my face... and then drawing more heat when she trailed a single finger across both of my shoulders before leaning in and placing a second kiss on the tip of my long ear.

"The pirate does not make her flush so." Petrice told Merrill as she departed, a definite smugness in her voice. "Please tell the harlot that I said as much."

"I will." Merrill promised between more titters.

Anders chuckled as well, looking entirely too amused as I tried to sip more wine. He watched the Revered Mother leave, voice lowering. "I still don't see your attraction, but I'll admit it's amusing to watch."

"I like being courted." I said for the hundredth time. "Sincerely courted. Not fake, lusting after me for my exotic ears courting."

He tipped his head, "I suppose, but you have to admit someone so... zealous isn't who I'd picture you with. Is... your arrangement affecting your interests?"

I started to frown, then understood what he was asking. "Not that I know of."

"You're sure?" When I began to scowl, he quickly held up a hand. "I don't mean to interrogate. I'm... still not comfortable with what you've both done in the past when it comes to magic, but I'm man enough to admit my fears were wrong. That you both seem to have it fully under control."

"I'd thank you, except I'm waiting for the 'but' to come."

Anders glanced to Petrice again as she left the Chantry, speaking only once she was truly gone. "No 'but', Maeve. Just... well, deals with spirits are supposed to affect a mortal's emotions. A deal with something like Longing is going to... could make you more susceptible to certain influences."

I thought about that for a few moments. Going over my feelings, thoughts. Desires. My entire relationship with Petrice from the moment we'd met.

"...all right. Maybe you're not wrong." I paused, biting my lip, then quietly admitted. "Petrice isn't my usual type, no. I've thought that plenty of times. Told Merrill more than once."

"You have." She confirmed.

"But you can't tell Petrice that." Anders guessed. "There's always something stopping you from saying it. Because you like fulfilling her desire to have someone to court."

I could only shrug. "I liked being courted even in my homeland, that's not new. The woman who taught me sword play seduced me in about thirty seconds by playing the knight."

"That fast?"

"Pretty much." I colored again, remembering better times. Before she'd gotten fed up with my lack of both money and lack of respect for people who didn't respect me in turn. "Point is... you probably have a point, yeah, but I'm aware of it. And it isn't as if someone as zealous as Petrice is ever going to actually break her vows."

He tipped his head. "True. Does she know about Longing?"

"No." I said flatly.

"Ah." Anders paused, then sighed. "She won't hear it from me. I promise."

"Thank you." I paused again, then offered him something that was overdue. "Merrill? Could you go find Fiolya, have her grab our notebook on Dream-Catchers? Maybe we can make some progress if he's going to be stuck here for a while. If that's all right with you?"

Anders blinked, then a genuine smile appeared before a day's worth of magical research.