A/N: Wow, I am so sorry that I've been so slow with the last few chapters. I'm reaching sort of the end to this story, and it's going to get more and more complicated (woohoo!) while returning to the humorous side of things. Still lots of action scenes and battles to be fought, so never fear!

Warnings: language, graphic violence, death (in droves), mentions of sex, broody Isabela, Fenris POV and the phrase "baby-daddy." Sorry. I had to.

Fenris has seen Marian Hawke kill in many brutal ways, has seen her fierce side before, but never like this. As soon as they reach Minrathous, he leads her to Danarius' castle near the center of the city, a sprawling and ghastly place that sends prickles of fury, fear, and loathing over his brands. He glances at her as they approach the gate and her eyes meet his, the ice blue of her illusory face's gaze flinty.

"Halt!" one of the guards yells as they approach and both men lift into the air. A shattering crack sounds and their corpses drop with necks askew.

He hears the swish of her taking the staff from her back and unsheathes his greatsword, palms flexing around its familiar weight. Half a dozen more guards come running toward them and the sky overhead darkens. His ears pop as he sprints toward the armed men and lightning flashes down in thick, searing bolts that shear through the men's armor and pin them in place for the arc of his blade. Shouts fill the courtyard and more men come rushing in, attempting to dodge the lightning as it gathers force, and a frigid wind blows in their faces to slow them and freeze them into easily-shattered statues. As men swarm at him he loses sight of her but the magic hovers nearby, the storm gaining power and somehow lending strength and speed to his blows, so that the guards around him fall in groups of five or six rather than twos and threes.

When the fight ends and the storm dies down he turns to see her standing in a ring of bodies and his gut wrenches. He's killed a few dozen but she may have taken on a small army by herself, and the bodies are little more than bloody streaks in some cases, bones and armor ripped askew and apart. Blood covers her face and robes and hair, but that dark-haired illusion remains in place and he realizes she hasn't even been wounded.

"Let's go," she says, walking past him. He feels a twinge that they no longer embrace one another after a battle, that the ritual they kept for so long has faded since their son went missing. But then, looking at the monstrous death she's wrought upon these guards, a part of him doesn't want tohold her right now.

The doors of the castle slam open with another burst of that freezing wind and he can't believe it when Danarius himself steps out, dressed in an ornate blood-red robe with twisting Imperial symbols embroidered along the collar and hem. A small boy cowers behind his robes, green eyes huge with tears, and Fenris feels his heart stop as the magister's slow clapping fills the courtyard, echoing over the dead bodies and the freezing wind that now howls and circles around them. Horrifying statues of slaves and wrought-iron spears that top his high walls and form his gate rip off with the screams of tearing metal, as do chunks of stone from the palace and the wall itself. He stands beside her at the center of the tornado, sword ready as he stares at his former master.

"Give me my son," he snarls, stepping closer. His tattoos flare to life across his skin, adding to the cold blue light of the scene.

The child cries out and hides behind Danarius, who laughs that high, cold laugh of his and fixes a mocking smile on his face. "How entertaining that you think you can stand against me," he says, pallid eyes digging into Fenris before they flick to Marian. "Without her you would already be dead."

"I will rip the skin off your fucking bones, old man," she hisses behind him, stepping forward. Electricity snaps around her and the wind picks up speed, the temperature dropping and the walls tearing apart faster still. At any other time, a display of power such as this would frighten him, even-perhaps especially- coming from her. But in this moment, he revels in it, grateful that he has the power at his side to stand against Danarius with more fearsome magic than the old magister possesses.

His arm jerks out to hold her back, the sharp points of his gauntlets catching in the fabric of her stained robe. He knows that his former master means to bait them, to taunt them into lowering their guard so he can strike like the viper he is. "Wait," he whispers to her and she hesitates.

Danarius chuckles. "Such spirit in that one," he says, still addressing Fenris as if they are two men discussing a fetching maid. He adds, with a lewd wink, "No wonder you wasted no time in conceiving a son. And that you're willing to stand by and let her take revenge in your stead." The child shivers with the cold and Fenris feels his heart beat faster as he stares at the boy, praying that it isn't his son but fearing that the rumors are true, that this is the cruel game they've been sucked into.

"Give us our son and we'll give you a quick, clean death," Fenris says, feeling his teeth grind with the effort not to rise to the magister's provocation.

"Very well, have him." The magister reaches behind himself and shoves the boy toward them so hard that the child falls, wailing, to the stones of the courtyard. Fenris starts to lower his sword, to lunge for the boy.

Marian's hand closes on his arm and flames explode against a magical barrier, rebounding toward the magister. A burst of energy yanks the child behind the two of them, away from the mage. The child shrieks at the heat though he's protected by her barrier and scurries away, scraped knees bleeding through his small trousers. Danarius raises a shield around himself just as Fenris swings his sword toward the magister's black heart and an array of monstrous spirits rise, as well as the bodies of the men they killed, swarming toward them.

"I'll take the minions," he hears Marian yell, and the howl of wind drowns any other sound out. He sees waves of creatures freeze, only to be pummeled and shattered by stones and pieces of iron and he slashes through those that have yet to freeze, blade moving faster and brands burning through the nearest monsters.

For a split second, Danarius' face pales even further, his fear at the superior strength clear in his expression. His barrier falters. Fenris lunges. He lowers his sword, brands igniting, and jams a hand through the magister's chest. A feral grin covers his face as he closes his hand around the man's heart and yanks outward. For a moment he holds the dripping prize up in front of the blood mage's face, still grinning. Then he lets body and organ flop to the ground in sprays of blood and gore. Not even relishing the moment, he turns to join the fray, sword scything through the monsters that go flying away from Marian. He twists his blade in the chest of the last walking corpse and pulls it out with a satisfied growl.

But the wind doesn't die. Marian walks up and kisses him, her face covered in blood still. Even her lips taste of blood and sweat, her body trembling as his arms close around her. She feels small and frail in his grip, too small to summon such horrible power, and when she pulls back he sees that the illusion has faded and the long hair he's used to and strange, flashing eyes stare at him.

"Garrett's on the second floor," she says, and his gaze goes to the tiny boy cowering in the corner.

"You mean...?" he asks, afraid to hope. His hands tighten around hers and he peers into her face for any trace of residual danger. That blizzard still whirls above them, the ice so thick and pale that the rest of the city is invisible beyond the barrier of magic-induced weather. He grips her shoulders in his hands and pulls her face toward him in a fierce, desperate gesture, demanding reassurance. "Are you sure?"

"I can hear him," she whispers. Her eyes search through his, the gray reflecting some of the palest shades of blue from her conjured storm back at him, reminding him of those frosty blue illusion eyes. Bare fingers press against his temple and he feels the almost-forgotten whirl of warmth and life of her mind meshing with his.

Before Garrett was stolen, melding their minds together was a casual thing, something they did wandering the house, or reading together, playing with the baby. (It was especially pleasant in bed.) But after the baby was kidnapped, he's been too afraid to let her in and she hasn't even tried. Now he can feel that icy void where their son should be as her thoughts and emotions and memories brush over his like her hands and lips over his skin and hair- a rough, often painful jolt in some places while tenderness and heat fill others.

Then, flaring like a beacon, there is that terror and confusion that he knows for their son: the familiar swirls of light and color that make up his mind, the wandering infant's attention, the softness of his forming personality and experience.

Fenris realizes then that they are running into the castle, weaving down once-familiar hallways toward the light he feels of his child's mind. Slaves scatter before them, racing for the exit, and at one point a white flash of light shoots ahead of them in a wall down a corridor. A series of traps go off and he yanks Marian back from a jet of flame and a cloud of poison. A blast of icy wind freezes the flames and dissipates the gas. When the last small fires go out they advance to the heavy doors and those burst open with such force that the hinges howl in protest.

The room is large, decorated by the horrific statues of the old gods, carvings and paintings of slaves and tortures and demons, things so foul he hoped his sweet son would never lay eyes on them. The furniture is large, opulent, all shrouded in velvet and fur, in shades of deep red and black with gold brocade, a show of wealth and death and forbidden power. A red-haired elf woman sits at the center dressed in an apprentice's robes, her slight frame dwarfed by heavy garments he recognizes as once belonging to Hadriana. In her arms his son struggles, wailing as tears run down his soft cheeks.

"Get away from my baby," Marian snarls, her voice low and menacing as she advances through the door. She tosses her head and the tips of her long hair catch on fire, the flames flashing and swaying around her like an unholy halo of elemental fury. Frost hisses forth with her breath as she adds, "Now."

But the elf stares at him instead, bony fingers clinging tight to the baby in her lap. "Leto?" she asks, her delicate voice crashing over Garrett's howls. "Brother?"

In a flash he remembers her, a sister from long ago, proudly flaunting her magical talents as he fought to earn her freedom. Fenris stares at her, this foreign object, this former sister who now stands at Danarius' side holding his son captive. His lip curls as he sees the lines on her arms, unhidden by the baggy sleeves of her robe, that indicate she's practiced blood magic. Hate sears through his brands and lights them.

"Varania," he murmurs, glaring at her. His voice rises to a snarl. "You sold me out to become a Magister?"

"I said now, bitch." Marian's fist clenches around his hand and he has a strange draining sensation before realizing the light in his tattoos has faded.

With a wet tearing noise, his sister's spine rips backward and her body collapses in a limp heap. Her disembodied vertebrae hang in midair a second longer, bits of nerves and veins and tissue clinging before it, too, drops with a smacking sound. Garrett screams and holds his arms out toward them as a wave of magic holds him aloft before he can hit the floor with the dead woman.

They sprint forward at the same instant, clutching him between them with tears and incoherent words of love, their hands tangling together as they compress the whimpering baby in their arms. Outside the storm howls as their son gasps and clings to them, babbling as well, his mind flickering with lingering fear and relief and that brilliant unconditional love only a child or parent can feel. Fenris doesn't even notice the white light that encompasses them, the bright flash that dizzies him for a moment.

Creaking oiled wood rocks under his feet and the scent of sea and salt and air fills his nostrils. He hears a familiar, loud female voice shout, "Maker's Balls, where did you lot come from?"

Then he sees Marian's eyes roll back and he clings to his son even as he lunges forward to keep her from cracking her head as she collapses.

Marian walks toward the bow of the boat, where she can see Isabela leaning both hands against the railing, staring at the open sea. She hesitates before she can get too close, glancing over her shoulder at Fenris and the baby, settled in a corner of the quarterdeck where they can play without being underfoot.

She shoots him her best puppy eyes. He gives her a scowl and shakes his head before motioning her forward.

With a sigh, she flips him the bird and turns away from his answering smirk. He refused (despite a lot of effort on her part, including convincing the First Mate to babysit and the cook to whip up a 'romantic' meal of potatoes and salted beef in hot gravy) to help her have this conversation with the pirate. When she finally challenged him to a game of rock-paper-scissors over it, he won every time.

"Goddamn bastard elf," she mutters, approaching the railing as she thinks, if you weren't so damn hot.

Isabela turns to smirk at her, crossing her tanned arms under her breasts. "Having troubles with the man, are you?" she asks. She leans a hip against the railing, her legs ever-steady on the rocking boat, and purrs, "I heard the two of you last night while Bran* was looking after your whelp."

Marian stiffens, worried that the pirate heard their argument about talking to her.

"So obviously it isn't anything wrong in the bedroom," grins the pirate. She winks and says, "Give anything for whatever problems you've got."

White teeth flash and Isabela rolls her eyes, turning away to stare out at the sea and resuming her former pose. It's become sort of her default pose in the last month since they've set course from Llomeryn to Kirkwall. And they lingered for a week there, while she dithered around 'visiting friends' who just happened to be various drinking and fuck buddies of either gender. Okay, so maybe Marian is a little jealous that the others could go out and enjoy the Thedas version of Vegas while she and Fenris had to stay with Garrett (who hated the constant noise and wept half the time) on the ship.

"My son was kidnapped. I'd like to go problem-free for a little while," she mutters, folding her arms and holding back a scowl. Isabela's been in a terrible mood, brooding and barking and bitching all over the place and she had to take the talk from the crew. So she's at least got another month of babysitting shifts set up. And no one wants to share the space of a ship with the captain in this kind of a mood.

"Sorry. I... look, Marian, I don't mean any offense to you or Fenris, but I don't want to be that tied to another person. I'm meant to be free," the pirate says. She doesn't look away from the sea.

"What's this about?" she asks, confused at the strange comment. Something hovers at the edge of her brain and she holds back from the obvious conclusion.

Isabela shoots her a guilty stare and whispers, "I kissed your brother. After he fought the Arishok, while I was apologizing to him, I kissed him." Amber eyes flick away a second later and Marian could swear she sees a red stain over the pirate's cheeks.

She takes a second to breathe. "And then you left town a week later," she says, not adding the obvious long enough to really say goodbye.

"It's not what you think. Your brother and I aren't involved in some torrid affair," Isabela protests. She can't seem to help smirking, though, lowering her eyes in some combination of memory or fantasy or both. "Just a few kisses."

"Gross," Marian says before she can help herself. She reaches out to touch the pirate's arm before the other woman can be offended. "I mean, sorry. He's my brother, and so... the mental image of him having torrid, passionate, dramatic kisses is, ah, pretty gross." She grins, trying to look encouraging. "Anyway. So I guess it's good he and Merrill have been sort of drifting lately?"

"No," Isabela groans and paces away with the heel of her hand pressed to her forehead, then paces back. "I didn't want to come between them. Maker, I just... I like him and all, but I don't want to be... you know." An amber eye peers sidelong through her hair. "Like you and Fenris."

Marian opens her mouth to say something, but before she can, her baby-daddy's deep voice booms, "I heard that, wench." When she glances back she has to hold in a smile. He really doesn't look as intimidating with a baby on his hip.

"So you just want to have a torrid affair and then run off to the sea?" she asks in an effort to control her laughter as her son tries to imitate his father's scowl.

"No," grumbles Isabela, pulling off her bandana to run a hand through her hair. "It's not that all I want is a good screw, though I wouldn't say no. I just don't want to get all soft and motherly. I mean, look at that!" She gestures at Fenris and Garrett with their matching green eyes and scowls; one a handsome, hardened warrior and the other a pudgy, happy baby. Marian can't hold in her laughter anymore.

Fenris turns his scowl on her. "You're mocking me, too?" he asks, but she can see amusement dancing in his green eyes. It's been so long since they've laughed at each other, or even laughed at all, that she keeps laughing, giddy with the relief of it. He continues, stalking toward her until she's stuck against the railing with him in front of him as he continues, "You are the mother of my child, the woman I've pledged my life to, and you mock me for being cute?" Right on cue, the baby whoops and laughs, bouncing against his father.

She tips her face back as he leans forward, their lips brushing. His teeth catch against her lip and he nips her, watching her with deliberate eyes through lowering lids. Laughing, she wraps an arm around the back of his head and the other behind their son's back as she kisses him. It would be one of those epic kisses like the movie Titantic, except for the squealing baby and the fact that Isabela ruins it with gagging noises.

"I'm going to be sick at all of this loving-family crap," the pirate mutters.

Disentangling at least their mouths, Marian and Fenris shoot their array of toothy grins and smug smirks at Isabela. "Admit it," she says, pressing her cheek to his shoulder as he tucks his chin on top of her hair, "We're the cutest damn thing you've ever seen."

Their son bounces and says, "Be-wa. Be-wa!" He holds his arms out toward the captain, who sighs and reaches for him. The Rivaini shoots them a long-suffering look as she swings the baby onto her hip and bounces him in her long, dark arms. Even she can't resist planting a kiss on the top of his soft head as he giggles and waves his hands in a show of infant excitement, lunging for the shine of her jewelry.

"Just don't go having another one of these for a while, alright?" Isabela says. Sharp amber eyes meet their hesitant silence and she sighs again. "Really, you two? Shit."

*Because this is AU and post-Arishok, I thought it would be funny to turn Seneschal Bran into Isabela's new first mate. I might even have to write a little oneshot about the Adventures of Pirate Seneschal Bran, because it's really funny in my head.