Morrigan was so keen to leave Denerim the next morning that she practically dragged the party toward the city gates, laden down with the final food shop as they all were.

That came as no real surprise to Zevran or, he presumed, to anyone else. The witch had been decidedly emphatic about not wanting to be in town for long, if at all, from the beginning. And really, given the general lack of appeal Denerim had, who could blame her for that?

As they approached the city gates (and the lack of Denerim that lay beyond them), Alistair's broached request for a pause saw Morrigan's face change from grim delight into seething murderousness. Zevran could have drunk in that look forever.

The party obligingly drew to a halt. Alistair, who was now making a concerted effort not to notice Morrigan's glower, turned to Rhodri with his hands behind his back.

"Bad timing, I know," he scuffed his foot in the ground.

Rhodri rested a hand on his shoulder and rubbed it, smiling patiently. "We're about to leave, it's true, but no trouble. What is it you need, amicus?"

He gulped, only appearing to pull himself together enough to speak once Leliana peered at him with doe-eyed concern and linked her hand with his. "Well, ah… the thing is that… mmm… I wonder if we could look someone up while we're here."

"Look… up?" Rhodri's eyes fell into a squint. "My goodness, how tall is this someone if you have to look up at them?"

"No, no," he waved a hand. "Means to visit them."

"Ah!" Rhodri beamed and clapped Alistair on the shoulder as if to congratulate him on his request. "A social call! Excellent. Perhaps we could find a nice gift for them here in the market place. Who are we seeing, then?"

Alistair's voice dropped to a near whisper, "My… ah… my sister."

Both Leliana and the Warden gave a delighted 'ooh!' and the latter of them gently requested Morrigan to ease off on her (vocal) complaints.

"Well, half-sister," Alistair added quickly. "Her name's Goldanna. She… ah… lives in that house over there, actually," he pointed at a ramshackle rowhouse at the edge of the marketplace, sagging in the middle as though weighed down by its sole window.

"Ah!" Rhodri nodded. "Well, come, let's find her a present. Has she got any children, a spouse?"

"No idea. I think I saw that she remarried, maybe."

"Ah?"

He shrugged awkwardly, "I've never met her, and she probably doesn't know who I am, either. I only found out once I was a Grey Warden and checked some records that I even had a half-sister. The address was all that was listed."

Leliana gave Alistair a smile that would have made a horse vomit. It was too much; Zevran looked away.

Rhodri clapped her hands once. "Right, time for action, then. We'll bring a decoration for the home and something to eat. Half of you will follow me to the bakery, and the other half can go with Alistair to buy flowers."

Alistair brightened immediately. "A cake," he said, assuming a decisiveness that bordered on miraculous. "I have a– bit silly, really, but I have this recurring dream where I'm eating cake with my family and it just– well, it just seems like it might come together now, doesn't it?"

She beamed. "It does! Let's get to it, then."

With Sandal and Bodahn left minding the cart by the gates (the dog was instructed to remain and keep the younger Feddic company), their half of the party wound their way to a bakery, where a grumbling Morrigan and Sten were placated with a large bag of cookies to share between them.

Zevran, distinguishing himself as eminently more useful, drew from his minimal baking knowledge and maximal people skills, assisting Rhodri (Alistair's former decisiveness had given way to nerves and rendered him utterly ineffectual) into charming the baker for a recommendation of Ferelden's finest desserts. They left the establishment with an apple butter cake in hand, iced to perfection with a brown sugar buttercream. One of the baker's finest productions yet, so they were advised at the time of payment.

They met with the rest of the delegation outside the house, and Alistair requested to be accompanied inside by Leliana, Rhodri, and Wynne– and Zevran, it was decided, since Rhodri deemed it unsafe to leave him without a Warden in such a crowded public place. Zevran wasn't complaining. Who knew? Perhaps if he was sufficiently winsome, he'd be given his own slice of cake.

The Templar stood at the door, ready to knock, but his hand was most pointedly not doing any such thing.

"Ah…" he cleared his throat, drew his hand back to rap on the wood, and froze. His free hand was all but strangling the vivid bouquet of flowers he had in hand. "Maybe, ah… maybe this is a bad time." He shuffled back a little. "We could leave, couldn't we? S'not really the right time to pay a visit, what with the Blight and that."

He leapt a foot in the air as Leliana rested a hand on his waist, and probably would have gone even higher had the good Sister not dragged him back to solid ground. She patted him gently and subjected everyone with a pair of eyes to abject misery as she gave Alistair another of those simpering looks.

"It will be all right," she cooed. "Goldanna will love you. Tell me who wouldn't be thrilled to see you."

Rhodri grinned and nodded. "Well said, Leli! And see, Alistair? You already have a sibling," she tapped her chest indicatively, "and I love you like gold. There's another lucky one waiting in here!"

She used the hand that wasn't holding the cake to give him an encouraging clap on the back and nodded at the door. "Knock first, nice and firmly. One step at a time, sic?"

"R-right," he stammered. "Knock first."

He did, and Rhodri pat his back again. "Ah, bonus! And now we'll introduce ourselves and ask for a moment of her time, if she lets us in, yes?"

Alistair nodded, and when the party was given permission to enter, they strolled inside.

Zevran wasn't sure what he had expected the inside of a Denerimian market square rowhouse to look like. Or any private Fereldan dwelling, for that matter. Surely a human house would at least be as clean and comfortable as the average Alienage residence. Certainly, with the lack of overcrowding and access to building materials of reasonable quality, there was no excuse for it not to be.

With that in mind as he stepped over the threshold, he allowed the idealistic part of him to nurse the idea that the uninhabitable look to the exteriors was nothing more than a facade to dissuade home intruders, and that the indoors were correspondingly cosy, clean (and, most importantly, structurally sound).

In the case of Goldanna's house, the unprepossessing outer was nothing but indicative, a warning, even, of what lay within. The place looked... unwell. Zevran chewed on his cheek as he cast his eyes around the large, open room. In one corner was a sizable copper tub, where clothes soaked in steaming hot water that fogged the windows– which explained the creep of the mould into the ceiling and surrounding walls.

On the other side of the hearth, the bleak walls were sloughing off their cladding like dead skin. Wherever the surface was still reasonably intact, ancient dust and filth lay deep in the cracks and chips.Beyond a heap of semi-clean hay strewn with rags, and a few wooden crates, there was nothing to speak of in terms of furniture. It was easily as hopeless an environment as any of the slums he had lived in, the sole difference being that it was a larger room. Which meant, Zevran supposed wryly, more misery per square inch.

The woman who had invited them in (presumably Goldanna) stood in the middle of the room with an armful of dirty laundry. She couldn't have been more than thirty, with a mop of shoulder-length hair that was arguably far closer to copper than gold, but on the other hand, Copperanna had less of a ring to it than her current name.

She set the clothes on the ground and strode over to them, surveying each party member with an arched brow.

"You got linens that need washin'?" she asked brusquely. "I charge three bits on the bundle, y'won't find better. An' don't trust that Natalia woman, either. She's foreign and she'll rob you blind."

Zevran caught a breathed, 'Oh, my word,' coming from Rhodri and bit his lip.

"Er… no, no," Alistair said with a chattery laugh, shooting an apologetic glance at his emotional support foreigners. "Don't need any wash done, thanks. My… ah… my name is Alistair, and if you're Goldanna, then I'm your… ah…" he cleared his throat delicately. "I'm your b-brother."

The presumed Goldanna squinted at him and folded her arms. "Eh? My wot? I am Goldanna, yes. 'ow d'you know my name, eh?" She cast her eye over the rest of the party with the same mistrust, her gaze lingering briefly on the cake and flowers as well. "Why you showin' up like yr here fr a party? Wot sorta tomfool'ry are you folk up to?"

Alistair began to open and close his mouth like an abducted fish, producing nary a noise of explanation as he did. When the awkwardness grew stifling, Leliana patted Alistair on the back and prompted him with a gentle, "It's true, isn't it, Alistair? You have the same mother, do you not?"

That worked, on both him and Goldanna, who was now watching him with wide eyes. A jolt of reconnection flashed over Alistair's face as he (presumably) rejoined the here and now. He straightened up and cleared his throat again.

"Right!" He nodded fervently. "Yes, our mother, she worked as a servant at Redcliffe Castle, before she died. Did you know–?"

"You!" Goldanna said in a near-shriek, pointing at him. "I knew it! They tol' me the babe died along with Mother, but I knew they was lyin'!"

"Huh?" He frowned. "Who told you that?"

"Them's at the castle! I told 'em the babe was the King's and they gave me a coin an' sent me on my way!" She clenched her fist. "I knew it!"

Alistair's face turned up in a tremulous smile. He stepped forward, thumbing the stems of the flowers like fury. "Well, uh… surprise, I suppose. I'm not dead, I'm right here, ah… sister." He cleared his throat. "Nice to finally meet you."

His face faltered as Goldanna scoffed loudly. "Fr all the bloody good it does me," she said bitterly. "You killed Mother, you did, an' I've had to scrape by all this time! That coin didn't last long, an' when I went back to the castle, all's they done is run me off again!"

"Ah, but surely that isn't Alistair's fault, Madam," Rhodri broached carefully. "Infants don't murder their mothers, and plunging family into poverty is hardly in their best interests either."

The air went still as Goldanna's gaze (and the glare containing it) slid over to Rhodri. She ran her eyes over the Warden once, and then again, and gave a deeply unimpressed snort.

"An' who in the Maker's name are you? Some tart 'e's got," Goldanna jerked her thumb dismissively at Alistair, "followin' 'im about an' holdin' all 'is riches?"

Alistair bristled visibly at that, even more so when Rhodri's eyes widened (though Zevran would have argued her expression appeared more born of bafflement than offence).

"Hey!" he barked angrily. "Don't speak that way to her–"

Rhodri stopped him there with a string of gentle hushes, using her cake-less hand to rub his arm. "It's all right, Alistair," she soothed. "A misunderstanding, that's all. No trouble." Rhodri turned to Goldanna with a smile that didn't quite hide her puzzlement, and held up the cake a little. "This… ah… this is a cake, Madam, not a tart. Tarts are… well, a little more like an open pie, I would say. This one is an apple cake, with brown sugar icing."

Goldanna's glare deepened. Alistair closed his eyes with a wince. Something smacked Zevran (who was already struggling to maintain his composure) on the back of his right shoulder. He glanced to the right and caught Leliana lowering her arm from her assault and giving him a pointed look. Raising an eyebrow at her, he resigned himself to the wordless request and lightly guided Rhodri down until her ear was close to his mouth.

"I believe she meant 'tart' to refer to a whore in this context, my dear Warden," he murmured to her.

Rhodri's eyes widened. "Oh. O-h-h!" She gave Zevran an appreciative nod and straightened up with a bright smile (and Maker's breath, was she blushing, too?).

She spoke warmly, "I understand now. You must have seen me at the Pearl a few days ago, but no, I'm afraid I was only a customer there, not an employee." The Warden chuckled jovially, entirely oblivious to the way Alistair froze under her hand. "I must admit, I've never had a compliment like that before, but thank you very much indeed! High praise coming from a handsome lady like yourself. And may I say," Rhodri took her hand off Alistair to make a grand gesture at the now-gaping Goldanna, "I think you would make a fortune working there, too!"

Zevran flattered himself that he was the only one not to gasp. Even the walls sounded like they had taken in a sharp lungful of air– though it might simply have been that they buckled from the sudden pressure change from everyone else's reaction.

Wynne, who had been quiet up to now, gave a sharp, irritated sigh. "Oh, really , Rhodri," she admonished impatiently. "Must you be so inappropriate?"

The Warden's bright smile faltered, her mouth falling open. "Inappropriate?" she echoed in a disbelieving tone, gesturing at Goldanna. "But– but she–"

Goldanna pointed at Rhodri, "I dunno wot's wrong with you," she hissed, "but I'm about to give you ten more problems if you don't get out uv my house right-now."

Rhodri's eyes widened. "O-oh. Oh no, I caused offence." She glanced at Alistair worriedly and then back at Goldanna. "Forgive me, I thought we were being friendly. Of course I'll go, yes. Should– should I leave the cake… ah… where would you like it, Madam?"

"Y'can stick it where the sun won't touch it," the woman growled. "I want all uv you gone."

"No, no, please, this is my fault," Rhodri said quickly, entreatingly almost. "Alistair has been so looking forward to meeting you. Don't mind me, I'll go, right now." She carefully set the cake down on a crate beside the front door. "It's out of the sunlight here. Ah… please, take care and enjoy yourselves. My best wishes to you and your family, Madam."

With a polite nod, a scarlet-faced Rhodri opened the door and slipped outside, and Zevran followed her out with a wink to Leliana, closing the door behind him.

In the uncomfortably crisp mid-morning air of the marketplace, Rhodri paced a track into the mud.

"I don't understand," she lamented. "She paid me a compliment, I paid one back, and then she was angry. What went wrong?"

Zevran sighed and strolled alongside her. "I do not think she meant what she said in a complimentary fashion."

"No, I gathered that by the end, but she had no reason to suspect I might work at a brothel! You've seen what people wear when they're soliciting sex. I'm completely covered from the neck down! For all she knew, under all this," Rhodri waved a hand over herself, "could be five hundred rats standing on each other's shoulders!"

Zevran--barely--stifled a snort. "No, quite true–"

"And–and prostitutes, they ask you upfront if you want to get into bed with them," Rhodri said, almost at a babble now. "They have to, that's how they– I didn't ask, so why would she call me that unless she thought I had such sex appeal, even modestly dressed and behaved as I am, that I must work in a brothel?"

She shook her head and gave a flustered shrug. "Surely that's a compliment, Zev! How is that not a compliment? Odd, to be sure, and not appropriate for a family reunion, but she was a little sharp and I thought returning the compliment would brighten the atmosphere."

Zevran opened his mouth, and it closed again as though an invisible hand had taken his jaw and shut it for him. Not an unreasonable reflex, given the situation. Was there a right way to break what was apparently news to the Warden that prostitution was, on the whole, not a career that was generally smiled upon? There was something flattering that she considered being called one flattering. Why spoil that impression?

On the other hand, she wanted to know, and Zevran was not of a mind to keep her in the dark when she had always– so far as he knew, at least– been candid with him. He took in the final innocent moment with a sigh and, with all the delicacy in him, advised the general societal perspective regarding the sale of sexual services.

Rhodri, who had been listening to his explanation with an open mouth, shook her head a little. "People think prostitution is unwholesome?" she said, echoing his most recent words. "Oh, how absurd. It's a regular job. Go to the Pearl, do ten hours, and go home with the money." She whiffled her hand. "Just as unhygienic as any other job that requires close contact with the body, like a surgeon or a wrestler."

Zevran couldn't help but smile. "Just so, my dear Warden," he purred.

With a sigh, Rhodri looked over her shoulder at the house containing Goldanna, half the party, and the cake that Zevran ought to have stolen a slice of on the way out. Her brows drew together sadly.

"I hope I haven't spoiled it for him," she said in a near-whisper. "I've never seen him so hopeful about something."

Surprising himself, Zevran rested a hand on the Warden's shoulder, and he gave a noncommittal hum in an attempt to force calmness. It was a friendly gesture, and there was no vice in friendliness. There wasn't. There wasn't.

"Truthfully, my Warden," he said after a moment, "I do not think his interaction will go well. This Goldanna looked displeased from the moment she laid eyes on him."

When Rhodri's gaze went onto him, he offset the zing of tension in his shoulders with a shrug, lifting his hand off her before panic made his body decide to drop the entire limb like a deciduous branch. "And, well. I know nothing of family, but surely a misfired compliment is not cause for refusing a sibling, no?"

"Mm. I hope not."

He smiled. "There, you see? Nothing to do there, except perhaps complain if someone implies you work in a brothel," Zevran winked jovially.

"Hah." Rhodri gave a soft chuckle. "Imagine being unhappy about something like that. Anyone would think she'd called me a slaver. Now that,I would be in a hurry to correct– oh!" She nodded back in the direction of the house, out of which a rather nonplussed-looking Alistair, Leliana, and Wynne were now emerging.

They wandered over to meet them a short distance from the house, and extremely heavy footfalls off to the right revealed that the rest of the party had left the bench they had parked themselves on and were joining the cluster.

"Alistair?" Rhodri watched him hopefully. "How did it go?"

Alistair kissed his teeth. "Well, it… ah… not what I expected, to be truthful."

The Warden's face fell. If the hand of hers that Zevran could see wrung her robe any harder, she'd tear a hole in it and all hopes of modesty would go up in smoke. "O-oh," she stammered softly. "I'm so sorry–"

"She only wanted money from me!" he exclaimed. "Said she had less than no use for me if I wasn't going to make her and her children live like the royalty I was born into. I– royalty! Agh!" Alistair threw up his hands. "Who of us lives like bloody royalty here? The only thing I can offer them to the level of a royal is the workload!"

The beaten-dog look to Rhodri evaporated. She straightened up (had she really been hunching so much this entire time?), shoulders back and displeasure all over her face.

"She turned you away for a lack of money?" she demanded. "How dare she. This is outrageous!"

"Is it, though?" Alistair gave a helpless shrug. "I– I thought family was supposed to accept you without question, but I don't know, maybe it's not. I just– agh." He sighed, "I feel like a complete idiot."

Silence permeated the air around them, stifling as foundry smoke and heavier than lead. Leliana was rubbing Alistair's back, Wynne watched on sadly, and Morrigan observed the entire woebegone scene looking like she was about to heave up the half-bag of biscuits she'd eaten.

"Right," Rhodri muttered in a growl. "Right. Wait for me here, please. I'll return in a moment." She turned on her heel and strode towards Goldanna's house.

"Rhod, no, don't–" Alistair said quickly, making to dash after her.

"No trouble," Rhodri held up a hand, not looking behind her. "We left something belonging to us in that house. I'm just going to retrieve it."

Alistair stayed where he was, frowning and floundering and back on the fishmouthed gaping like he was being paid a fortune to do it. Leliana drew up beside him, striking a balance between being the soothing force for Alistair's woe and feeding that insatiable curiosity of hers by keeping her eyes glued to Rhodri while she did.

An audible curse came from Goldanna's house as Rhodri threw the door open, reached around inside, shouted something unintelligible, and then came back into view with the cake in hand. She slammed the door behind her and approached the party with a slight swagger to her walk.

"I do declare," she said haughtily, before Alistair's open mouth could deliver what admonishment he might have been able to summon, "that that woman is a wretch. You know what we say in Tevinter, Alistair? Love who you're given." She held up the cake. "Who you're given is right here. You want to eat cake with your family? Bene. We'll sit on that bench over there and eat the whole thing, this Goldanna bitch be damned. Come."

Leliana smirked as Rhodri linked arms with a thoroughly speechless Alistair and marched him, the cake, and by extension the rest of the party, off to the bench in the shade.