"Lapine dégoûtante!"

I flicked the man's blood off of my sword, retreating back as the referee stepped in before the Chevalier could lunge at me again. The Orlesian might have tried it anyway, if not for the fact that the ref was in heavy plate, armed with spear and shield where we mere competitors were wearing pants, boots, and little else.

As a woman I was allowed my usual bands of cloth to cover my small breasts, but that was all of the modesty that was offered.

When scoring points relied on drawing blood from the torso, you pretty much had to be bare chested for the referee to be able to immediately tell that a cut or nick had been made.

"The duel is completed!" Said referee boomed though his helm, long spear raised in my direction. "Serrah Maeve of Kirkwall is victorious, three touches to zero!"

The crowd growled more than cheered, though Isabella and Hawke did their best to make up for them. Probably because they were both already half-drunk, each with an arm around the other, tankards held up in salute to me. Beside them were Petrice, Merrill, and Elowen, the trio far more sedate in their cheering.

Varric himself wasn't with them, despite it being his booth. Instead the man himself was next to Meredith at the main stage, pointing to my opponent as he whispered something in her ear.

Meredith actually threw back her head, laughing uproariously at whatever he'd said, clapping along with several other Templars as I gave my opponent a saluting flourish and bow that he did not return. Instead he kept up his scowl, storming off, leaving me free to shrug and walk to where Fiolya was waiting with a giant mug of filtered water.

We retreated a bit away from the dueling grounds, heading for the tent that I'd been assigned to prepare and recover in.

It was easy to find; it was the only one with two of Brennan's guards standing outside.

"A quick victory, messere." The young man on the right, I recognized him as the Hightown gate commander we'd met thanks to his little mustache, offered me what sounded like sincere congratulations. "I'll tell the healers they're not needed just yet."

"Thanks. Remind me to tip you later." I said.

He grinned, pulling open the tent flap for us. "The Deshyr already did, but if the lady wants to pay me twice I shant complain."

"Heh." I thumped a fist against his armor, ducking inside. Fiolya followed with a grin, staying standing when I dropped onto the stool in the center of the space. "Oof. Water?"

She held it out at once, taking my sword in exchange.

"Thanks." I muttered before guzzling some of it down. It might not have been a very long fight, but I'd still worked up a nervous sweat in advance. "When's the next bout?"

"You're up again right after the last duel of this round." My squire replied, already taking a cloth to the blade to clean it. "First match of the second section."

I grunted around another gulp of lukewarm water. "...ugh, no flavor. The Master of Ceremonies must be hoping I'm worn out. Too tired for a second match so quickly, get rid of the elf polluting their tourney as soon as possible."

The girl nodded, keeping her eyes on mine or on my blade rather than on the nasty scars on my belly and shoulder. "I wouldn't put it past them. I heard they made it even harder for the few Dalish who tried to compete in Archery yesterday. Probably a good thing you won so quickly, my lady."

I'd won quickly only because my first opponent had been a racist idiot. He hadn't taken me seriously in the slightest, hadn't even set his guard before the call to begin had come. Instead he'd been mid-taunt about my enormous ears when I'd scored my first cut, and my second had come a heartbeat later. It was only then he seemed to realize I was deadly serious about the bout, and he'd been too on the back-foot to really recover.

"He didn't think I knew what I was doing. Thought I was a moron shoved out there to put a show on." I told her. "The next one won't be so stupid."

"You'll win all the same." Fiolya spoke with far more confidence than I was feeling. "It's another prissy Orlesian. A noble, not a chevalier. He's the one who beat that fat shem from Nevarra."

I hummed, taking a final sip of my drink before setting it aside.

Watching most of the first round had revealed that... well, that the Dueling Tournament was a tertiary competition at best.

Sure, there were a handful of true professionals out here. I'd watched a man from Antiva who'd effortlessly torn up an opponent at least as decent as I was for example. But mostly... well, practically no one who'd entered the Jousting was also in the Duels, which eliminated all of the serious knights.

Only three or four of them were risking injury here when the real glory and wealth was to be found with the lance, and at least one of those had openly admitted to using the Dueling as an excuse to stretch their legs before their qualifying tilt.

Similarly, the Grand Melee had nearly five times the coin purse as the Dueling event, so even fewer of the serious brawlers were wasting their time or risking their bodies with the one-on-one matches. Hawke probably would have trounced us all, but she'd handily won the Archery Tournament yesterday, and had withdrawn from the event to spend her winnings getting drunk with Isabella instead.

End result? There were maybe a dozen serious duelists, but the rest of the bracket was a mix of squires, mercenaries, and third-born nobles looking to make names for themselves. And me, I guessed. I was in a category all of my own.

If I got really lucky in the bracket...

...no. I wasn't going to consider it. There was no chance in hell I'd win the whole thing, but winning three rounds was certainly doable. A good enough showing to keep Meredith off my back for a while. And hopefully with her staring down at each match no one would contrive to 'accidentally' do more than score a shallow wound or two. Nothing that a quick potion wouldn't resolve, and Fiolya was carrying several to give me.

Refusing magical healing would probably make me look the bigot, but most of the local mages hated me anyway. I'd rather not give any of them a chance to touch me and realize I had magic. Give them the chance to shout that out to Meredith and have her check me herself.

Fiolya finished cleaning off my sword, carefully sliding it back into its sheathe for me. "All ready, my lady."

"Thank you." I told her again. "I'm sorry you didn't get to see the Archery yesterday."

"It's all right. Messere Hawke gave me all kinds of tips at dinner." She beamed. "She says she's going to come by the Alienage tomorrow night and show off for the whole Watch."

I snorted, "Remind me to remind her, in case she gets too drunk partying with Isabella and ends up forgetting about the whole thing."

The teen giggled, "I will, lady."

We chatted for a while about nothing in particular. Construction progress in the Alienage, how the barracks next to the Chantry was nearly done. How a few families from Ostwick had just arrived, excited to move into an Elven quarter that both promised decent living and wouldn't harass them about believing in the Maker.

I rose midway through, stretching, the pair of us chatting until the runner came, calling out that it was time.

Then it was back to the confined arena that was the Dueling Grounds, the small crowd's buzzing growing louder when they saw that I was up again.

As Fiolya had said, my opponent was another Orlesian. He slowly reached up, taking off a feathered mask, handing it to his own squire before striding boldly forward into the open.

I matched his pacing, our assistants following until we reached the lines that had been cut into the grass. That close it was easy to see that he wasn't some chubby nobleman, looking to show off a bit. He was lean, toned, and looked rather dangerous. Hell, I'd have called him pretty attractive if not for the disdainful sneer on his lips.

Kind of ruined his good looks for me.

Of course that mattered less than his height for the coming duel. He was at least a full head taller than me, as most men were in either world. Annoying, and it made me glad that I almost always trained with people who had most of a foot of height over my tiny frame.

The referee glanced at us both through his helm, grunting when we'd settled into place. "Present."

Two swords slid free, gleaming into the morning sunlight. He inspected both for poison, checked the hilts and grips, then handed them back one at a time.

"As the resident Marcher of the competitors, the Lady shall be announced first." He declared, nodding to Fiolya.

My squire took a deep breath, then shouted as best her girlish voice would allow. "Announcing the Lady Maeve Anderson, Knight of Kirkwall, Elf of the North!"

Isabella whooped, echoed a second later by Hawke, drawing laughter and scattered cheers from my friends and those few off-duty Templars attending. The booing from everyone else drowned that out pretty quickly, though thankfully the ref didn't let it go too long before he waved for my opponent's squire to get it over with.

The boy, he was probably a couple years younger than Fiolya, called out in a thick Orlesian accent. "Announcing the Lord Gyeffroy, son of the Compte de Hauet, heir to that noble title within the Great Empire of Orlais!"

His own cheers weren't much louder than mine, but there wasn't nearly as much heckling either.

I didn't think anyone here really wanted an Orlesian to win, apart from the Orlesians.

They just wanted to see me lose.

"Squires." The referee motioned with his spear, "To your places. Duelists, assume your guard positions."

Settling my feet, I fell into a classic Tierce, keeping the tip of my blade high and just to the outside. My opponent narrowed his eyes, mimicking the position with a smooth bend to his legs.

The ref's spear shifted, held horizontally between us as a bar. His voice rose, letting the crowd hear his shout. "Prêts?"

We both nodded once.

"Allez!" The spear had barely cleared my vision before Hauet was lunging forward at the same time as I shoved off with my back foot, darting in.

Blades rang as I parried his first attack, his weapon quickly pulling back to deflect the riposte I threw at his shoulder. He tried for his own counter, my sword meeting his halfway and directing it to one side, then he had to scramble back when I didn't slow down.

A red line appeared on his shoulder on my second attack, the referee booming out, "Point! Dame Maeve!"

My opponent hissed, threw a quick slash at my head to force me to duck, then darted off to his left to open the range a little. I pursued as quickly as I could, not about to let him get prepared again, and caught him in the side before he could set.

"Point! Dame Maeve!"

He snarled, parried a quick thrust at his belly, then launched into a furious set of beats. The sharp blows drove me back a step, tightening my grip before he could knock my sword of my fingers. Hauet took the moment to retreat a half stride as well, sent a feint at my shoulder that I over-corrected on, and followed it with a slashing lunge.

"Point! Lord Hauet!"

It was my turn to hiss, feeling the sting on my left tit where he'd cut through the bandages there.

We both retreated farther, well out of range, catching our breath, circling one another as dribbles of blood ran down our chests. I shifted to a higher guard, while he brought his sword parallel to his eyes, slowly advancing in a Longsword's style.

I narrowed my eyes, cautiously turning, moving toward him as well.

He tried another feint-thrust combination, grimaced when I parried both, and had to quickly lean back from my cutting riposte. I pursued again, getting close, and was immediately frustrated by his close-in grip. Hauet parried a blow, then directly blocked two others, following it up with a stomp on my foot that I hadn't expected.

My surprised stumble earned me a yelp along with a cut to my belly, and only a frantic block stopped a follow-up from landing.

"Point! Lord Hauet!"

Flailing a little, cursing myself for forgetting that this wasn't sport-fencing, I managed to catch his next attack on my sword's small cross-guard. A twist sent it past me, letting me step in and drive an elbow into the cut I'd made on his ribs. It was his turn to let out a snarl, flinching back, letting me whip my blade around once more

"The duel is completed!" A spear was thrust between us, preceding the referee bodily inserting himself in the way. "Serrah Maeve of Kirkwall is victorious, three touches to two!"

Hauet scowled, taking a few steps back, but proved a better sport than my first opponent. He brought his blade up in a quick salute and flourish, which I returned with my flourish-and-bow. Then he was striding away, his squire already pulling one of the mages allocated to healing wounds over to tend to his master.

I gave a final salute to Meredith, earning a nod of approval from the Knight-Commander, then turned back to the referee. "Same time tomorrow?"

His head tilted in the affirmative. "Yes. Report to the Master of Ceremonies by the eighth bell."

"Thanks."

I strode back towards Fiolya, my squire already waving off the mage who'd started to come forward. The man frowned, shrugged, then settled back into his seat while his Templar minder watched.

Merrill caught up with us just as we reached the tent, slipping in right behind, already pulling bandages out of a pouch on her waist. "Are they bad, lethallan?"

"Stings a bit." I handed my sword off to Fiolya, sighing as I got to sit down once more. "No one else came to check on me?"

"Petrice stopped Hawke and Isabella, said they just wanted to see you naked." Merrill sat on the ground next to me, inspecting the cut near my waist. "They were too far into their cups to come up with a good lie."

I snorted, grabbing my water and taking a long pull as she called up her magic. Green sparks slowly formed, drifting between her fingers and the gash in my skin. The flowery scent of her spellcraft was just as calming as the easing of the pain, and I felt myself relaxing as the wound worked itself closed.

"Thanks." I murmured, reaching up to start undoing my breast-bindings with one hand, setting the mug aside with my other. "What's everyone doing instead?"

"Watching more duels." As I took bandages off, she started tying more around my waist to cover up the fact that my wound had been magically treated. "I think they were saying something about lunch after that. Then watching the jousting."

I tried to hum, only to hiss when I tugged the cloth that had the most blood stuck to it. "Damn this was one stings."

Merrill's hands paused, eyes lifting to inspect the wound on my petite breast. "It's deeper than the other. One moment, lethallan."

"Can I help?" Fiolya asked, setting my once-again-clean sword aside.

"Yes please, da'len." Merrill tipped her head to the side, "Her other cloth and shirt."

While my squire retrieved them, Merrill finished tying off my fake-bandages, and got her limited healing magic started on the other cut. Once again the fading pain came as a relief, as did getting actual clothing on. Winter wasn't here yet, and Kirkwall mostly stayed wet and rainy rather than seeing snow, but the temperature was cooling enough that I didn't really want to stay topless all day.

Between us we got me dressed again, and got sections of leather armor over my usual doublet and pants. My latest cloak went over all of that, leaving me pleasantly warm as I took my sword back.

"You can go visit with the others." I told Fiolya when we were done, "Watch the rest of the duels."

She smiled, "Thank you, lady. Where are you going?"

"Tiltyard, I think." Stooping down, I picked up my bag, throwing it over a shoulder. "Going to relax in Varric's booth, eat some of my snacks. Try and enjoy some peace and quiet for a little while. Come find me when it's time for lunch. Merrill?"

My lethallan hummed, "I still need to ask Isabella something. Do you think you'll be all right on your own?"

"There's Templars and Guards every fifty feet or so." I replied. "I doubt anyone's going to try and arrange a hit on me in the middle of the tourney grounds."

She still bit her lip, "Are you sure?"

I sighed, bringing my hands up to cup her cheeks. "Merrill, sister. I'll be fine."

"...all right." She leaned in, kissing the tip of my nose before we both pulled apart. "I'm still coming over as soon as I can get an answer out of Isabella."

Of course she would, and I knew better than to argue with her about it. "And what do you need to ask her?"

Her cheeks pinked a little, "Nothing! I'll see you soon, lethallan!"

I tried to grab her, only for the slippery mage to dart out of the tent before I could. My lips pursed at her vanishing act, eyes staring at the cloth. "Well. Thank God that wasn't suspicious. Not in the slightest."

Fiolya giggled. "Definitely your Santinalia present, lady."

"Yup." I sighed, patting her on the back as we got going as well. "And no, you can't have yours until the day of."

"But I already know it's a bow! You had them measure me for it and everything!"

"I don't make the rules." I lied. "You'll live another week."

The teenager groaned like only a teenager could, mumbling something about unfairness before running off in pursuit of Merrill. Chuckling, I paused long enough to pull out a few silver for each of the Guards, both men thanking me before wandering away to whatever their next duties were.

I'd just started walking, tugging my hood up over my head, when a man drifted out from behind one of the viewing booths, falling into step with me. My hand was on my sword before I recognized him, a heavy exhalation coming out as I let my partial-draw fall back into the scabbard.

"You're not a bad duelist." Gregory Smith told me, easily matching my shorter strides. "You look like you fenced back home."

"I did." I told him, cursing the fact that we were surrounded by people who might overhear us. And the fact that I really did need to be alone with this jerk to find out what he'd done in Ferelden. "Epee in college. You?"

He shook his head, "Alistair and Elissa taught me sword-and-board on the road, and Carver helped a bit on the side. You learn fast fighting Darkspawn, or you end up dead."

"True enough." I muttered, taking the next right. "Varric's booth at the tiltyard should be empty. Heading there so we can talk."

Greg nodded, "You know the Deshyr well then?"

...shit. Interrogating me already? I supposed I could refuse to answer, but that wouldn't really motivate him to answer my questions in return. Fuck. And besides... as much as I hated to admit it, he wasn't doing anything I wouldn't have done in his place. We both needed to know more.

"When I woke up near Tevinter, I ran here." I told him the shortest version possible. "Convinced him to hire me as a runner and observer who could actually count, plus keep track of guard patterns. Worked for him until the Deep Roads made us all rich."

"I see. And the Dalish you're with?" He asked.

I made sure to mumble the next words. "Entirely your fault."

He wasted no time in glowering down at me. "How is that my fault?"

"She showed up in the Alienage one day looking as if someone had slaughtered a room full of kittens in front of her. Her clan booted her out." I said loudly, before again speaking under my breath, "Months early."

"That doesn't... oh." He paused, grimaced, and dipped his head as he realized the missing piece, his own murmur following. "No amulet?"

"Her Keeper said she no longer had a reason to stay." I confirmed.

Greg took in a deep breath, letting it out as he nodded politely to a Templar walking past us. That lasted until said Templar slowed, a woman's voice coming from the helm when she stopped near me.

"Dame Maeve? Were you victorious in the duels?" She asked.

"I was, thank you." I brought a fist up to my chest in a casual salute, the woman banging her own gauntlet against hers in response. "Two more first thing tomorrow."

"Ha! I knew that was an easy bet to make." She chuckled inside of the metal, two green eyes almost glowing in the vision slit. "I'll pass that along to the Knight-Captain, he was extremely interested."

"Glad I could increase your wealth. And tell Cullen I was not the one who gave his Mabari that snack. And don't bet on me winning more than one more time, going to hit the serious duelists soon and I don't fancy my chances."

The woman's grin was visible in her eyes, "I'll tell him, messere, and thank you. Maker bless your sword tomorrow."

"Thanks." I waved as we moved on, going our separate ways.

The man from Earth didn't sound particularly approving when he spoke again. "You seem to be close to the Templars."

"The Templars have been helping keep the Alienage from being burned to the ground." I told him. "Not a fan?"

"No." Greg replied. "I've seen how they treat mages."

I nodded, "So have I, but how do you think people reacted to an Elf running around, dealing with the maleficar and murderers in the city? If not for them I'd definitely be dead by now, along with a whole lot of other people."

From his expression he hadn't considered that angle. He glanced at my ears, then turned to look ahead as we slowly approached the tiltyard. "I heard there was an attack on the Alienage here. The Templars intervened in that?"

"Yeah."

"What was the attack about?" He asked.

"The Mage Underground was upset we helped kill a couple of slaving 'Vints, and that we led the Templars to that necromancer in the Foundry. Plus a few other problems." I said.

There was that little hitch in his step again. "He's dead? The necromancer who sent flowers to his victims?"

"Very dead." I assured him. "We led the Templars there, and Cullen beheaded the creep. Of course that led to the Mages attacking the Alienage with a hundred or so mercenaries, so... yeah. Nothing good in this city comes without cost."

He didn't seem to know how to reply that. Just nodded and fell silent as we arrived at our destination. With the first tilts still a few hours off, the jousting arena was mostly empty. A handful of groundskeepers were hard at work preparing it, and a couple of families had staked out the good seats in the commons area.

But there wasn't anyone in the noble's booths when I found the one marked for House Tethras. Once inside we sat down on a pair of cushioned seats, side-by-side, half turned to face one another.

"All right." I told him, not about to let him resume throwing questions at me. I'd answered enough dammit, and by now Hawke would know practically everything about me thanks to Varric and Isabella. The least this jerk could do was give me something back. "That's enough about me, I have the same question for you as I did yesterday. What the fuck happened in Ferelden?"

It was easy to tell he didn't appreciate my tone, "How long do we have before anyone shows up?"

"Not long. Merrill will be on her way soon, so get started." I told him.

He didn't look any happier, but he replied all the same. "Right, short versions then. What do you already know about the Blight? What did Anders tell you?"

"I know which Origins survived, but not how besides what you told me. That you all split up to handle the treaty missions and they went extremely smoothly." I replied. "That Cousland and Hawke hate each other, Alistair's an emotional mess, and that Ferelden's anything but sunshine and rainbows these days."

That last made him grimace, bringing a hand up to his temple to rub at it. "True enough. The really short version is that I fucked up when I first got here. I told Elissa I'd had a vision of her family dying. She didn't believe me, but when Howe attacked, she helped get me out of the dungeon, and we worked together to get out alive. She's believed every 'vision' I've had ever since."

I groaned, "Fucking... visions? Really? You played the Seer?"

"In my defense I'd just been beaten half to death by a drunken guard for trespassing on their lands." Greg shook his head, looking chagrined. "It was the first thing I came up with, and I've been stuck with it ever since. Like I said, I fucked up. These days Elissa constantly harasses me about what I might have seen, to the point where Hawke thinks I'm cheating on Bethany with her. Which I'm not, but Cousland's... a very persistent woman when she wants something, and she wants every vision I can give her."

That made me blink, then snort. "Well damn. That explains why Hawke's not fond of you. Why the hell did you come here then?"

The hand rubbing his head waved around us, "I had to see Kirkwall for myself, start getting ready for the next game. Keep things as closet to the Golden Route as I can considering that Hawke's not here."

He paused, voice lowering again. "And I... needed to see what that decision cost the city. What keeping Hawke in Ferelden led to. Help where I could."

"…it's not great, but could be worse." I told him.

"And I'm honestly thankful you're here." Greg gave me a faint smile. "I expected things to be a lot worse. We owe you for that. Frees me up to get a few things I want to get done outside of Ferelden, and let me use the Tourney as cover before going home to Bethany."

"Uh huh." I frowned. "And your fiancee is fine with you going off without her?"

He shrugged, leaning back comfortably, looking perfectly relaxed. "Bethany knows everything. She's handling something else right now."

I felt my fingers tighten around the armrests of my chair; the exact opposite of relaxed. "You told her? Everything?"

"I'm marrying her." He shook his head. "Of course I did. Why? Haven't you told Merrill? Or Varric? I figured you would have."

"No." I said flatly, hating the spike of pain in my heart. The reminder of all of my lies. That was probably why I quiet admitted to my own early fuck-up. "When I got here, I told everyone I'm from the far north, beyond the maps, and now they think I'm from a lost colony of Arlathon. Getting my own harassment about people wanting me to lead them to a paradise for Elves."

He huffed out a breath, a faint smile coming and going. "At least I'm not the only who fucked that up. Misery and company, eh?"

"I guess." I muttered, "Ferelden?"

A hand waved dismissively. "Again, short version? Honestly Ferelden's not in the worst place despite Elissa and Hawke sniping at each other and fighting over titles. Alistair's not in a great spot, but he's slowly getting better. Oh, we managed to kill the Architect a month or so ago. It was rough, but he's been dealt with."

Good. One ancient Darkspawn dead, at least one more to go, and maybe more beyond.

"As for the rest," He leaned back in his chair, shrugging. "The Circle is intact and reforming into something a lot more liberal, Redcliffe is rebuilding at a good pace, and Orzammar is rearming to start reclaiming Thaigs again. The situation with the city elves and Dalish isn't exactly great, I'll admit that, but I'm hoping Hawke can mitigate some of it when we get back. Seeing what the Alienage here is like gave me a few ideas of what we can do to help ease tensions in Denerim. With her backing I think we can ease those tensions a little."

Most of that was good news, but none of it was the thing I cared most about. "What about Mythal?"

Greg's relaxed pose turned stiff at once. He almost didn't seem to breathe, eyes closing when she spoke. "Daylen Amell supposedly killed her on Morrigan's behalf. I wasn't with their group at the time, or I'd have tried to stop it."

...fuck. Fuck!

"No idea where she is?" I demanded hotly.

"No." He shook his head, opening his eyes to look me over again. "Damn. That's why you're really pissed about Hawke, isn't it? You wanted to see if Flemeth could send you home."

"Don't you?" I countered. "She's the only one I could think of besides Solas, and that maniac won't be around for a decade at least. Probably won't have the power for it even then, assuming we can convince him at all."

He went still for a long moment, then he leaned forward, resting his arms on his legs. His head bowed, and stayed that way. "Yeah, I... I did that math once I realized where I was. When I was. Flemeth, Mythal... whatever she is, she was my great hope too. I wanted to stay just long enough to make sure the Blight was handled with as few people dying as possible, then find her and get her to send me home. I thought it was going well... then Amell swaggered into camp, bragging about what he'd done."

I felt my lips twist, "You lose it?"

"Certifiably." He sighed without looking at me. "Definitely went to a dark place. Burnt my bridges with him and Morrigan, and ended up collapsing in Bethany's arms. We'd been close since she'd healed me, but that was... our moment I guess. When I told her everything. When she believed me. Since then... well. I have a fiancee, a home. I'll miss Earth. I miss it every day, but... I accept that I'm stuck here. Going to do my best to live a good life here."

"Good for you." I muttered.

Greg seemed to have expected that kind of response. He turned, giving me a sympathetic look. "You don't accept it."

"Hell no."

"I don't know where she is. Or where Solas is sleeping." He said, clearly knowing my next questions.

"Figured." I'd hoped otherwise, but I'd guessed that he wouldn't. Things were never that easy for me. "I don't know where the bald bastard is either."

"...he won't be happy with a Human soul in an Elven body." He warned.

"Makes two of us." I muttered. "Where's Morrigan?"

"Somewhere with Amell and the demon-god-baby that they made together." He grumbled, slowly pushing himself back upright again. "I tried to warn them that it was a horrible idea, that Loghain should redeem himself by landing the final blow. He certainly deserved death for what he did, and everyone else agreed it would be him... but fucking Morrigan batted her eyes at Daylen, and they went through the ritual behind our backs. From what happens in Inquisition, that's going to bite us all in the ass, I just know it."

I could only shrug. That problem was so far into the future it wasn't really worth bothering about as far as I was concerned.

"Anyway," he resumed with a tired sigh, "I don't think the rest will really affect Kirkwall much. We would still like get Anders back to Ferelden though, it's not smart to have him here with how bad tensions are between Mages and Templars in the city."

That drew a snort out of me. "You know that's not happening. He hates Cousland for tricking him into becoming a Warden... shit. Was that your idea?"

"Him joining? Yes." He quickly held his hands up , "Tricking him into it? God no. I wasn't any happier than he was when I came back from fishing with Hawke and found what she'd and Brosca had done. That was my first lesson that I needed to be more careful in how I presented my visions. That was... yeah. I regret how that one turned out."

"Might want to apologize to him then." I advised, crossing my arms. "But I don't think it'll help. He's not going to want to go anywhere with the Wardens. He's said as much. All he wants is to spend what life he's got left advancing Mage Rights, and I don't really see a reason to stop him."

His worried expression cracked a little, eyes narrowing in annoyance. "And if he blows up a Chantry anyway? Yo have to agree that we need to prevent that at least."

I scoffed. "Obviously, but that's six years away by canon. Even if things happen more quickly because of what you and I did, it's not happening anytime soon. Plenty of time to realize what he's up to and talk him down, and I'm pretty sure everyone here could talk him down. Or stop him, if it comes to that. Besides, that wasn't really what started the rebellion anyway and you know it."

There was another grumble, but he didn't seem to have a quick comeback for that. "Fine, you've got a point, I guess. A pair of them, even. I'll trust that you can handle it, since you're already close to him."

"Thanks." I drawled.

Greg huffed, managing to recover some of his better humor. "Everyone from the game's still alive too. Good job on that, I mean it. I was seriously worried we'd show up to find Varric dead or something. Did the Deep Roads go all right in the end?"

"Not really." I said, not about to tell him the whole story in that moment. I'd tell him about Bartrand when we had more time, and more booze. A lot of booze to get through that fucking awful story. "But we lived through it, got rich like I said. Give you the details over drinks some other time."

"Good, good. Probably low on time, how about you write up a report for us on how things went in the Roads?" He smiled genially. "Seems like you've already changed a lot, probably want to ease up on that and focus on passive observation before too many more things go off track."

I'm sorry. What?

What the fuck?

"...what?" I heard myself whisper, my eyes narrowing as my warming mood cooled in an instant.

He seemed to miss the ice in my voice, lost entirely in his planning, still looking pleased as he ticked things off on his fingers. "Reports moving forward too. On Anders, Meredith, and the Qunari situation at a minimum. Maybe a recap of everything else you've done, exactly where you showed up, so we can figure out how that might affect things in the future. We need to keep all of those situations under control, or head them off. You'll be our asset in Kirkwall, and-"

"Asset?" I hissed, temper flaring up. "I'm no one's fucking asset."

"Fine, sorry. Poor choice of words." He quickly brought his hands up, apparently realizing he'd overstepped. Not that it worked because he kept going. "Look, the Qunari are the next situation. They're a reasonable people, so long as that maniac of a priestess doesn't-"

The attack on Petrice made me snap again. "Petrice is not a maniac, and the Qunari are anything but fucking reasonable!"

Greg twitched at my abruptly snarling, a hand dropping to his belt on what looked like reflex. The motion and sight of a dagger's hilt made my own hand drop, grabbing onto my sword. That made him tense up further, as if he'd completely forgotten that I was armed.

"...I know the Qunari." He said, more quietly, eyes settling onto my weapon. "I know Sten. He is a good friend. They're not the monsters they're portrayed as."

"And Iron Bull is probably hilarious, but that doesn't change the fact that the Qunari are fucking monsters." I spat. "I know what they do to people, and I will never work with them. If I find that damned book I'm giving it to Isabella, and hoping Tevinter bonfires it when Castillon gives it to them."

His jaw clenched, geniality collapsing entirely as his own anger spiked at my attack on the Qun. His voice turned hard, the tenor of a man giving an order he expected be obeyed. "...no, you'll give to the Arishok! We're in agreement that we have to stay as close to the Golden Route as-"

"There's no agreement! I am not your asset, or servant!" I half-shouted, rising up to my feet. I got to loom over him for the few seconds it took him to stand up as well, both of us glaring at one another, hands still on weapons. "Why the fuck should I take orders from you? A man who's admitted to fucking up in Ferelden?"

"And you haven't fucked up just as much? Christ, you literally just told me you sparked a fight that got hundreds of people killed!"

That was painful enough, true enough, that I felt my control get right to the edge of snapping.

I might had drawn on him right then and there Hawke hadn't suddenly appeared around the edge of the booth. Her normally jovial features utterly flat and remote.

"Gregory."

He'd had his back to her, and started on hearing her voice. He turned quickly, clearly trying to relax. "Hawke! I-"

She slapped him hard enough to send him stumbling, a hand rising to his face.

"That's it." She told him coldly. "You're done here. First ship back to Amaranthine, where you are going to wait for my return. Then we are going to have a very long discussion as to why exactly I should allow you marry my sister when you are constantly acting against our family's interests, ruining our name, and generally being a colossal bastard."

"I..." He stammered. "Hawke, we were just-"

"Carver!" She barked, her brother appearing right behind her. "If he says one more idiotic word, see how many of his teeth you can remove."

Greg got the hint. He kept his mouth closed, hands raised in silent surrender. Not that his acquiescence stopped Carver from moving and grabbing him by the shoulder, pulling him away from me. That revealed Merrill giving the man the coldest glare I'd ever seen from her, my Elven sister quickly stepped past him to start fussing over me

"Sit, lethallan." She said, making sure to speak loudly enough for Greg to hear her. A hand gently but firmly pushing me back down. "He's just an ignorant shem. He doesn't know what happened."

I closed my eyes, reigning in my ragged temper. Felt Merrill's old comb beginning to run through my narrow mane of hair, tugging gently at my scalp as she tried to help me calm down. Bot of us listening as Hawke gave a few more harsh whispers.

"My sister's love for you is the only reason you will ever set foot in my house again." She hissed, presumably to Greg. "I expect crap from you, but I didn't expect Cousland's opinions of Elves. Don't deny it, we heard her yell that she wasn't your bloody servant, and what you tried to guilt her with after."

His reply was a mumble. "It wasn't like that."

"Yes it was. Harbor, ship, home. That order. I'll deal with you when I get back. Do you understand?"

"...yes, Arlessa. I understand."

"Good. Carver? Get him there. And don't let him talk to that Warden bitch either! I know she's involved in whatever his latest mess is, she always is."

"I won't." Her brother promised. There was a harsh clap, as if he'd just struck Greg on the back, then two sets of feet moved off. A moment later the final pair shifted, drawing closer. Something metallic clanked in front of me, and I cracked an eye open to see a still serious Hawke offering me a silver flask.

"You look like you need this."

I really did. I took it, uncapped it, and took a soft swig of what turned out to be a very smooth whiskey. "...thanks."

"Don't mention it." She sighed, dropping down into a squat so that we'd be closer to eye level. "Give me one more pull and the rest is yours. My apology for that."

"Not your fault." I murmured, handing it back.

Hawke shook her head, lifting the flask to her lips and taking a long belt. She let the flavor linger for a long moment before swallowing, passing it to my hand once more. "Ah. Yeah, it is. I should have talked Bethany out of it. I don't know what that man's game is, but I've never trusted him."

I started to bring the flask up again only for Merrill to clear her throat. "Lethallan. Not an empty stomach."

"...fine, fine." I muttered, passing it over to her. She made it vanish into one of her pouches without stopping her brushing, a true feat of magic there. "Food then?"

"Are you sure?" Merrill asked.

"Yeah. Food, and stories." I said. "Fun ones, to let me forget this shit happened."

Let me forget how I'd finally met the man from Earth.

And how I never fucking wanted to meet him again.