A/N: I can't believe I haven't updated this in a year. My apologies. Life is just too chaotic at times to set a normal writing routine. But I will finish this, come hell or high water! Thanks for the follows/faves/reviews in the interim. They mean so much to me.

Hugs to my buddies, Biff McLaughlin and Zute, both writers of some terrific fan fiction. Their support in all things fiction and otherwise is priceless. Special thanks to Biff for the beta of this chapter. Any errors are due to my obsessive fiddling.

Where we left off: Finola collapsed while touring the Circle with the mysterious new First Enchanter from Nevarra, Reynard Dering. Finola survived a stroke, as did her baby, after being healed by Dering. But at what price?

Eat, Drink, and Be Wary

Exercise, it seemed, brought out the beast in both Finola and Bran, so much so that exorcise might have been the better word to describe their daily machinations.

"Left, right, left. Left. Left. Right, left, right-"

"Why in bloody blazes do you keep doing that, Bran? Stick with left, right, left, right!"

"I'm keeping you on your toes, Fin. Predictability is a weakness," he chided. "You know that."

"What I know is that you are a slave driver, and I am done with these ridiculous exercises." Three books slid off her arms as she collapsed on the stairs, a dithering pile of nerves and frustration.

"You can trust that I will do everything you've said," he sang in a high-pitched mockery of her earlier profession. "Everything and more!"

"Oh, that's low, Bran."

"You're just beside yourself, aren't you, my dear? There, there," he pacified, petting her hair and tsking. An elbow to his solar plexus stopped all that.

"…like to see you try it." She grumbled a few pointed expletives, then picked up the books, stood, and with one stomping foot in front of the other, ascended the stairs. "Happy?"

"Not quite." The largest tome in his pile landed on the stack she held. "Now I'm happy."

Fifteen minutes later, with sweat dripping from her brow, he called an end to the torture. "Good enough for today."

"Maker, but you're a horrid man."

"If by 'horrid' you mean incredibly devoted, then thank you."

So proud of himself, he was, that she fought an urge to punch him squarely on his arrogant jaw. "If I wasn't a lady…."

"Oh please. Dispense with your feigned indignation." He gathered the books in his arms, a curious look on his face. "These are heavy. No wonder you've come so far in the last few weeks, Fin. In fact, I think you should continue with this exercise regimen on a regular basis now that you lead a more sedentary lifestyle."

"'Sedentary'?! You know what else is part of a sedentary lifestyle? No sex!" she said with arms akimbo and a thin-lipped smile. "I'm going to get something to eat. Something like… a truffle or three."

"No, you are not. We have a meeting to go to first."

"What? With whom?"

"Grand Cleric Marina. She would like to discuss the status of the Chantry rebuilding."

"Today? For fuck's sake, why didn't you tell me when we were at the Keep earlier?"

"Because I was only made aware of her request after we came home."

She sighed. "Fine. But after that I want my massage."

"You'll get your massage, and then some," he said, looking at her with desire smoldering in his eyes. As he covered her mouth with his own, he pulled her intoan embrace that was so warm, so strong and loving, she feared her bones might melt.

"Mmm, let's just skip to 'and then some.' Come bathe with me."

A low rumble in his chest spoke of conflicted thoughts. "Lovely as that sounds, the Grand Cleric is a stickler for punctuality. So get your rather odorous body in and out of the tub quickly. And you had better be ready when I come for you."

"I do adore that commanding tone," she purred. "Order me to take my clothes off."

He inhaled deeply and took a step away from her. "A most eager effort, but no."

She reached out, stroking her hands over his chest, relishing the way he sucked in a sharp breath when she moved her hands lower, over his abdomen. "I am at your disposal, Seneschal. Every wicked inch of me," she whispered, biting down on her lip.

His muscles tightened, especially below his belt, reminding him that there were limits to his self-control. "Your attempt to seduce me has failed miserably, Fin. Off with you now."

"Liar." She stared at his face, flushed with arousal, and she laughed devilishly. "That's what you get for teasing me earlier. Maybe you should go soak your head in cold water."

"How very droll you are," he replied, and marched down the stairs, piling the books on a nearby table. "And wear that new azure-colored frock, the one delivered today."

"Really? Isn't that a bit over the top just for a meeting with the Grand Cleric?"

"Not at all," he said, smoothing his clothes with dampened palms. "She has invited us to stay a while and have afternoon tea and pastries with her. It's all very formal, you know."

"I hate tea. And I hate the word 'formal'. Annnnd, I can only imagine how boring the conversation will be." She pouted with all the insolence of a child who didn't want to eat her carrots.

"Boring or not, it is necessary to remain in Her Grace's… good graces."

Finola giggled as he walked away. "Glad to see I'm not the only one who can't think straight right now."

With an optimistic smile, Bran glanced over his shoulder as she climbed the rest of the stairs, taking them one at a time instead of her usual two. He prayed the second half of the day would be far more enjoyable for her than the first half.

The tedious conversations over tea had finally ended—although the pastries were divine—and Finola just wanted to go home and get the massage Bran had promised. But first they had to accompany the Grand Cleric on a tour of the Chantry, and probably listen to a litany of complaints about the delays, and then they had to look at the new chapel. Maker knew what came next. As they headed for the rebuilt chapel, just off the north transept, Finola kept telling herself, only a few more minutes, only a few more minutes. Even more annoying, though, was the way Bran kept an eye on her, as if she were going to run for the door.

"Why are you hovering over me like some bloody angel of death, Bran? I'm behaving appropriately, aren't I?"

"I'm simply taking in your beauty, my dear." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze as he whispered, "But make sure you don't mutter something unseemly under your breath."

"Mother hen, you are." Bran just smiled at her, no witty comeback at the ready. What's with him today?

Regardless of the Grand Cleric's criticisms, Finola was quite amazed at how fast the rebuilding was taking place. Another week or two and it would be finished. But the chapel was dark, no candles lit, the only light coming from a small window high above them.

Grand Cleric Marina outstretched her arms and smiled. "Lovely, isn't it? I had forgotten how beautiful the stained glass looks with the sunlight streaming through it."

"A bit dark, don't you think?" Finola said. "I mean, surely a few candles would add some warmth in here."

No sooner had she spoken, than a Chantry sister began lighting a large candelabra in the corner. The flickering lights cast a gentle glow, but Finola's senses perked up when she heard the sound of soft footfalls shifting about the room.

Out of the shadows, Varric and Merrill stepped forward and stood near Finola and Bran, while Aveline and Donnic stood on the other side, forming a half-circle. Across the floor, Cullen moved next to Aveline, immediately followed by a woman who looked a bit like….

"Beth? Bethany!" Finola flung her arms around her sister, squeezing her tightly.

"It's so good to you see you, sister. We'll catch up later though," Bethany whispered. "Focus on your beloved now," she said, shooing Finola back toward Bran.

"Of course. Yes." Finola's head was spinning, and she realized she was nodding her head like a madwoman. When she looked at Bran's joyful face, her gaze conveyed the gratitude in her heart, but more so, the love she had for him, a love that threatened to reduce her to an emotional puddle, right there in front of everyone. Think about something else, think about…. the death of the Arishok. Yes! To her amusement, that did the trick. Finola turned back to Bethany for a moment, feeling confident and strong again. "You'll be in Kirkwall for at least a couple of days, right?"

"Yes, I will."

"Good."

There was now only a small gap where the circle was not complete. Finola stood in awe, trying to process the moment, to commit it to memory, knowing exactly what was to come. I cannot believe this is happening. Her throat constricted and she felt a coughing fit coming on. Bran had planned it all right under her nose. To her, this meant more than any affectionate gesture, any gift, even a box of truffles.

"Bran, how did you do all this without my knowledge? Maker's br-" The Grand Cleric's reprimanding gaze cut her off.

"Waiting for you to get this arranged," he whispered, "was like waiting for the stars to fall. However, in order to make this happen, I did have to appease the Grand Cleric. You won't approve of one particular guest."

A rustling of robes caught her attention and from a far corner, Reynard Dering approached the circle, flanked by Clara, Orana, Bodahn and Sandal. Regal as ever, Dering offered a nod and a slight smile to Finola, who on any other day would have let loose a slew of epithets and profanities at the man. With a quick glance at Bran, she knew that would be a colossal mistake, so she smiled and nodded back. …that arrogant, supercilious, duplicitous, son-of-a… what is his angle?

The Grand Cleric cleared her throat. "Take your places, please."

With a joining of hands, the circle was now complete. Finola and Bran stood in the middle with the Grand Cleric, who noticed Finola's discomfort as she eyed the First Enchanter.

"Do not fret on this special day, my child. His presence is merely a token to appease certain groups. It is a public office you hold."

"I understand, Your Grace." Finola shared a mental eye roll with Bran. The things I have to endure…. "A woman in my position can't expect anything less."

"And remember," Her Grace said, "it is only right he is here. Without his healing, you would not be here."

As true as it was, Finola's stomach still churned, though Bran's proud and loving gaze did much to settle the absurd amount of pastries in her stomach. As the Grand Cleric took Finola and Bran's hands and joined them together, she spoke the words Finola had dreamt of as a child when she imagined herself marrying a handsome prince. Thank the Maker the only true prince she'd known was in Starkhaven.

"As we bear witness to the union of Finola Lucinda Hawke and Brannon Maddox Wyndham, we are reminded that there is but one world, one life, one death, just as there is but one god, and He is our Maker. To Him we say, my hearth is yours, my bread is yours, my life is yours. For all who walk in the sight of the Maker are one."

The Grand Cleric nodded once to Bran. He squared his shoulders and spoke, his voice steady and strong.

"Finola, I stand here today to continue our journey in life, looking forward to our endless days together. I give my all to you, my support for your achievements, my counsel for your problems, my remedies for your ills. For your tears, you have my shoulder, for your voice, my ear, and that shall never change. It is my greatest honor to offer you my hand for companionship and my embrace for our shared love. Now and always."

The guests then saw the unimaginable: tears forming in Finola's eyes. Though she did her best to blink them away, one slipped down her cheek.

"Have you any vows to speak, my dear?" the Grand Cleric asked, stirring Finola from her reverie.

She looked into Bran's eyes, her heart and soul exposed. The strength she'd drawn from his intense gaze many times before imbued her once again. Wiping the tear away, she set her chin high. "I have nothing prepared, so I'll just improvise, I guess." She cleared her throat, holding back more tears trying to fall.

"Bran, you are and have always been my best friend. The day you risked almost certain death by eating my egg stew, I knew we shared a deeper fondness than friendship warranted, something beyond our titles and duties. I just wasn't sure what it all meant at the time. But I kept on laughing with you, crying with you, every moment spent with you more precious than the last." She paused, remembering every vow she'd ever heard and making them her own. "Everything I am and will ever be is because of you. You are my partner, in conflict and in calm, in poverty and in comfort. With you in my life, I will always know home." She leaned in, speaking so low, only the Grand Cleric and Bran could hear her. "I am yours, Bran, although I will never admit to any of this in public again."

"Maker!" the Grand Cleric bellowed with an unexpected grin, "though the darkness comes upon us, we shall embrace the light. We shall weather the storm. We shall endure. What you have created, no one can tear asunder."

Finola and Bran stared at each other as if they were seeing one another for the first time, a new reality slowly dawning on them, until the Grand Cleric motioned toward them and whispered.

"It is customary to kiss at this point."

Bran leaned in and kissed Finola softly, so softly she felt like she was floating.

When Varric shouted "Huzzah!" warm embraces and hearty congratulations were offered, with Finola spinning like a top amongst the guests. When her eyes fell upon her sister, Finola couldn't help but pull her into an embrace again, nearly trembling with delight as Bethany wished her well.

"Oh Finola, I am so very happy for you. And Bran. It's such a change to see you like this, so happy and relaxed. He's obviously a good influence."

"So you're not mad at me anymore?"

Bethany laughed. "Of course not! I know you had to save my life that day. In hindsight, I would have done the same. Don't give it another thought." Bethany smoothed her hand over Finola's arm with a serene smile. "You know, I've really come to appreciate the Grey Warders far more than I ever thought I could. They are exceptional men and women, Fin. I'm very happy."

Finola let out a long breath. "I'd hoped that was the case. I'm happy for you too. You'll have to fill me in on all the details. I hear that Grey Wardens are quite virile," she said with a waggle of her eyebrows. "Any romantic tales you want to share?"

"Later, sister. For now, it looks like Bran is itching to get to the celebration. We'll talk more. I promise."

When Finola abruptly spun around expecting to see Bran, she instead found Reynard Dering. No amount of muscular control could stop her from facing him, toe-to-toe.

"I offer my most sincere best wishes to you, Viscountness. You are positively glowing." Dering placed a bold, but gentle kiss on her cheek, his eyes shining more than the dim light warranted. "True love never dies, they say. If I know you, you'll test that theory."

She squinted. "And just what the fu-" Before she could finish, Bran grabbed her by the hand and pulled her away. In the flurry of activity that followed, Finola barely had a chance to relish the moment. She was ushered out the looming doors of the Chantry and shuttled toward her home, all the while thinking of Dering's cryptic comment.

The magnificence that greeted her and Bran when they entered their home was unprecedented. A fire roared in the hearth, and silky swags of pale purple were draped across the windows with care. Dozens of candles lit the room, some on mantels, some suspended from the ceiling, bathing the room in an amber glow. Rose petals floated in silver bowls where more candles lit tables adorned with goblets and bottles of wines and ales from all over Thedas.

Many of the guests were already partaking of the festivities, and Bodahn and Orana hovered about, attending to their needs. Finola recognized neighbors and noteworthy, influential figures in Kirkwall, people she should acknowledge. But Bran's various social skills were on full display, and Finola decided to keep to her usual standoffish demeanor, letting him handle the good wishes and gratitude.

Her mouth began to water when she spied a banquet table stretching across the back wall, the aromas of her favorite foods mingling together and stimulating her taste buds. Roasted capons with cumin beckoned to her, but the braised salmon with clove and dried grapes looked impossible to resist. Stacked loaves of manchet bread for soaking in the onion and almond soup cried out to be handled. Aged cheeses and mulled wine awaited on a side table, to be served after dinner along with raspberry tarts and custard. It was the most delectable spread she had ever seen.

She shouldn't have been surprised, she realized. Bran had impeccable taste, and if he wasn't the Seneschal, he could easily have made a living as a festivity planner. When Bran looked to her for approval, she mouthed the words "I love you" and then reached for a canapé.

As he sidled up to her and fed her a little ball of pastry wrapped in bacon, the voice of the one man in all of Thedas who could make her cringe echoed off the walls, his unrestrained laugh sending a chill down her spine. She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin supplied by Bran, knowing that was to be her last bite for a while.

Finola watched as Reynard Dering tossed back a rather large gulp of wine, then smiled broadly.

"Oh, that's rich, Varric. Do tell me more of your exploits with our lovely viscountess. The way you tell a story, every detail is more delightful than the previous one!"

"Damn it, Varric," Finola muttered under her breath. She spun around and saw Dering slap Varric on the back like they were long lost buddies. Peering through narrowed eyes, she moved toward the duo. Her fingers dug into Varric's shoulder with surprising strength.

"Really, Varric, you must learn to tone down all that ardor you have for me. The First Enchanter isn't that gullible... is he?"

Dering looked at her for a long, uncomfortable moment. "Ah, the blushing bride has graced us with her presence. And how is married life thus far, my lady? As titillating as I've heard?"

"It is, Reynard." Finola felt a snide remark growing on the edge of her tongue. "You should really find a lovely girl of your own, you know. A woman who understands the plight of the mages and is willing to attend to your every need."

"I may have found such a woman. In fact, you know her quite well."

Finola stiffened. "You'd better not be talking about my-"

"Sister!" Bethany came at Finola, arms outstretched, her smile wide as she crossed the floor to hug Finola. "I wasn't planning to surprise you at the service, but Reynard thought it would make for a better present. He's very intuitive that way."

Intuitive my ass. "You should have told me you were coming to Kirkwall, Beth. I would have liked to see you before today."

"Well, I couldn't really announce it, and besides, your husband and Varric would have had me quartered if I let on earlier. They arranged for me to be near Kirkwall, mostly because there are mages here that might be of interest for recruitment into the Wardens. Well, when I went to the Circle to see about that, Reynard insisted I stay as his guest. The Wardens are camped outside the city and Reynard said he would have none of that for an esteemed Grey Warden and sister of the Viscountess. He made special arrangements with the Wardens just for my comfort. It was a very sweet gesture on his part, but even so, he's quite the diplomat."

"He sure is," Finola said with her most believable grin. Alright now, that's one too many compliments for that snake.

"But truly, your husband's efforts are the real reason I'm here. He wrote so many letters to my Commander, Nathaniel Howe, that Nate couldn't say no!"

"I suspect it took more than a few letters to get you here." Finola panned the room for Bran, but couldn't see him. Maker, how she needed him to rein her in at that moment.

"In any case, you are very lucky to have such a caring man to spend the rest of your life with."

"Truer words were never spoken," Dering said with a simpering smile. "The Seneschal is nothing if not devoted to you, a devotion akin to a shepherd and his sheep."

"I assure you I am not in need of tending, Reynard."

"And I did not intend to infer you were, Finola. Should hungry wolves pass the flock and aim straight for their caretaker, I have no doubt you would beat them back with just a large stick. That is how you prevail most days, isn't it?"

Veiled threats and taunts never sat well with Finola, but on this day, she wouldn't take Dering's bait, no matter how close he dangled it. She held his gaze. Don't flinch, she told herself. He was waiting for her to slip, setting her up, pushing her and forcing her to expose her anger. Why he did so was more of a mystery than an annoyance though.

"It's true, a big stick can get one's point across quite simply," Finola said, twirling her fork around through her fingers. I should stab him in the neck….

"It's certainly must be less tiresome to wield a stick than a sword!" Bethany joked, deflecting the tension away from the conversation. "Tell me, Finola, do you plan to take a long trip with Bran anytime soon? Friends of mine in Amaranthine went to Orlais after they were married. To hear them talk, it was all very romantic and lovely."

"I've hardly spoken to Bran since this afternoon so we have no plans yet. We'll see what the coming weeks bring," she said, looking at Dering.

"Ah, here's my beautiful wife." Bran wrapped his arm around Finola's waist—thank the Maker—and pulled her closer, a few steps away from Dering and Bethany. "Enjoying the celebration, my dear?"

"Very much. I don't know how you did it, but thank you for getting Bethany here. It's wonderful to see her again, and she really seems to be enjoying her status as a Warden." She leaned in to whisper in his ear. "Believe me, that's a load off my shoulders. I feared she'd still resent what happened in the Deep Roads years ago." Finola glanced at her sister, who seemed charmed by Dering. "I don't like the attention he's giving her though. I will have to speak to her and warn her of that man. Clearly he can charm the skirts off a Chantry sister."

A low rumble of laughter came from Bran, part amusement and part concern in his tone. "Bethany is more than capable of seeing through him. As a Warden, she has seen far more than you think. Perhaps if you just tell her of your illness and healing, see if your story and his align… though I'm sure they will."

Finola sighed. "Well, I'll speak to her in a little while just to be clear."

"Right now," he said turning toward Finola with a gleam in his eye, "I'd like to escort you to our chambers for a moment. I have something to give you and I can't wait until everyone has left."

"Ooh, a present? How impatient of you," she teased. "But Bran, really, after organizing all this, you have more for me?"

"For us, really. Just come along."

They excused themselves briefly and made it upstairs, dodging a few guests who wanted their attentions. When they arrived in their room, Bran pulled open the drawer of his desk and grabbed a rolled up parchment.

"Here. Look at this."

"This is my present? A roll of parchment? What is it, some sort of marriage decree? A list of my duties as a reverent and submissive wife?"

"No fits of pique, Fin. Just look at it."

The expression on Bran's face was utterly charming, if a bit anxious. For the life of her, Finola could not imagine what it was, but as she unfurled the roll, her lips parted with a quick breath. "These are plans for the nursery." She gazed up at him, tears shining in her eyes. "Oh, Bran. All this for our daughter."

"I know you're concerned that we're not prepared for the baby, so I thought seeing the plans, knowing it's all in the works, would ease your mind. I've already contracted the workers and purchased most of the supplies needed for the bassinet, the furniture, wall and floor treatments. All you need to do it pick out some colors and patterns."

"Maker's breath…."

"I know you've been critical of my decorating style in the past, though I can't imagine why." Her astonishment had Bran beaming, almost gloating. "However, nothing is set in stone, and you can change anything about the décor or furnishings you'd like."

"Every detail is here, from a toy box to shelves for baskets, and even a desk for me."

"You'll be in there more than anywhere in the house, I imagine. I thought a desk would come in handy for moments when the baby is sleeping in your arms."

"Do you really think I'm so much of a workhorse that I'd need a desk in here?"

"No, but I do think Dering's maneuverings will keep your nose to the grindstone far more than we suspect."

"But this must all cost a fortune!"

"We have the money, Fin. Don't be such a miser. Aren't you happy with the plans?"

"I am. I really am." She hadn't meant to seem ungrateful, but he spent money like it grew on trees. "It's perfect Bran. I love it all. And you are too damn thoughtful, you know that?"

He took the compliment with a nod that led into a kiss. Their lips met gently and remained together for endless seconds before passion stoked them both, drawing more than titillation from Finola.

"Later, my dear. We have guests to attend to. Let's make the most of this evening."

Her face fell a little. "You say that as if we'll never have another like it, though I'm inclined to agree. I have a sinking feeling Kirkwall is not where we will remain forever and the idea of having to leave…" Her hands went to her belly, a frown creasing her lips. "She'll never go to the Circle if she has an affinity for magic. We'd have to leave fast too. And that's why I hate to see all our money being spent on parties and wall treatments!"

"We have enough coin. Please trust me in that." He looked away for a moment, his eyes shifting back and forth, and then he took her hand and kissed it. "I've kept something from you, nothing shocking or sordid, just… I've had a small business venture on the side for many years, all on the up and up, that I started long before I met you. It's a profitable business I began with Madame Lusine." Finola's eyebrow shot up. "It's not a brothel, but a vineyard and winery, in Antiva. I've money coming in on a regular basis, so please stop worrying about our financial status."

"I wondered what you had going on with her." She didn't admit it, but the news of a business relationship with Lusine and nothing more was a relief. "Well, kudos to you for thinking ahead, though I'm not surprised."

"But none of that matters, nor do the things we can buy. It's all just padding, a luxury. What we share, what we've always shared, reaches beyond those vows, the guests, this party, the money. Far beyond what is or isn't happening in Kirkwall. What matters is this, right here and now. Me and you and our daughter. The Void take everything else."

"Do you really mean that? Could you leave it all and just….disappear?"

"Yes. And I've said that to you several times before. I need nothing more than my family, no matter what we face or where we face it."

Her head shook slowly, equal parts disbelief and deep love for this man willing to throw it all away for the love and safety of his family. "You'd really give it all up for me?"

He nodded, though her repeated question wrenched his insides. How could she still have doubts about him?

Before he could respond, she said, "You know what? I'd give it all up for you too. I've never trusted any man." She swallowed, finding the words hard to speak, even now. "Not one. Until you." He pressed his lips to her forehead as she spoke. "Thank you for this, for tonight. For having faith in me." She smiled. "I feel… wonderful inside."

Bran let out a warm laugh of genuine amusement and affection. At the sound of it, she felt her heart flip-flop in her chest as she grinned like an idiot.

"Finola, my dear, never change." He took her hand, gently tugging her toward the door. "Now, let's go see who is making a spectacle of themselves."

They stood at the top the staircase and took in the scene. Many guests had already begun to feel the effects of their beverages, and the room pulsed with excitement. Varric, Aveline, Donnic, and Merrill were comparing notes as they discreetly pointed at various guests. Trent Perflounder, the best fishmonger in Kirkwall, had picked up a fiddle and was playing a lively jig as people took turns dancing in the center of a circle of guests. Guy de Chiché, the wealthy importer, was shoveling food into his mouth like it was his last day on earth. Those who weren't eating, drinking, or dancing were conversing in the corners of the room, Cullen's corner being the most populated one.

"I can only imagine what Cullen is saying to hold their attention. Dirty limericks I hope," she said with a giggle. "There once was a girl from Nevarra…."

"Whose habits were highly immoral." Bran shrugged at his less-than-rhyming addition.

"For the price of a coin, she allowed three to join…."

"One fore, one aft, and one oral!" Utterly amused by their shared limerick, Bran let go a raucous laugh, only to be punched in the arm by Finola. "Oh, come now, that wasn't so dirty."

"No, not that, Bran. That!" she said, pointing her finger toward the entryway. "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

Finola went still as she watched Dering and Bethany from the top of the stairs. Their lips were locked in a long, lingering kiss, and his hands were wrapped tightly around her. Bran grabbed Finola's hand in a pre-emptive strike.

"Let me go, Bran," she said calmly. "I won't do anything rash. I just need that to stop this instant."

"She's a grown woman, Fin. Leave it be for now. At least they're both here and not off somewhere alone."

"Not yet," she said. "I will not allow that bastard to use her in any way, no matter the cost."

"I wouldn't be surprised if he meant to get a rise out of you, and in that, he has succeeded. Beat him at his own game, Fin, but keep your head. Besides, Bethany is far too smart not to see through him. Have a little faith."

"Fine, but I'm going to make sure she stays here tonight."

When Dering finally loosened his grip on Bethany, his eyes came to rest on Finola for a moment.

"Look at him. He knows I'm watching. There's something so sinister about him, but I can't quite get a handle on it." They slowly descended the stairs, and Finola weaved her way around the guests. "But I'll figure him out," she said as they approached Dering and Bethany.

"Well, you two are certainly acting like a couple of teenagers."

Bethany stepped back, smiling. "Oh, I guess the wine has gone to my head!" she exclaimed with a secret wink at Finola.

"We were just reveling in the moment," Dering said as he smoothed his robes. "Caught up in the warmth and love surrounding us here on such a happy day."

"Well, as lovely as that sentiment is, my sister seems to be a bit flushed. I think she could use a glass of water. Be a gentleman and fetch it for her, hm?"

"Of course," he said amicably, but a sharp nod of his head said otherwise. "I shall be back post-haste, ladies."

"Oh don't rush on my account, Reynard," said Finola, beaming as he looked at her suspiciously. The almost violent swish of his robes had Finola feeling quite smug.

She turned to Bethany. "Do tell, Beth, what spell has the First Enchanter cast over you to make you so pliant in his arms? Is his kiss really all that disarming?"

"Oh, Finola, don't be silly. We were simply having a little fun. It's nothing serious."

"I should hope not."

"I am not the innocent girl you remember, Fin. It has been a long time, you know."

"Too long." Finola took Bethany's hands and held them. "Listen Bethany, it would mean a great deal to me if you stay here for the duration of your visit."

"Oh, I couldn't! And it's your first night married. I couldn't impose that way."

"Nonsense. It is no imposition," Bran said. "Truly. Fin and I both want you here for a visit. After all, you're to be an aunt in a few months, and Fin could use some help deciding on furnishings for the nursery." He paused for a moment, then his eyes lit up. "Yes, and just think of all the girl talk you've both missed out on for so long!"

Has he lost his mind? When have I ever said I liked to talk about the foolish things women talk about behind closed doors? "Yes, I'd like to hear more about the Wardens and their heroic deeds and all about the romantic tales I've heard," Finola said as enthusiastically as she could, secretly adoring Bran's quick wit, and at the same time, plotting her revenge for suggesting girl talk. "Please say you'll stay."

"Well, Reynard may be offended…."

"Fuck Dering. Well, not literally. But he has plenty to keep him occupied. He'll get over it."

"You really don't like him, do you?"

"No, I do not, but that's a story for another time." Then her smile glowed with contentment. "So it's settled. You're staying. I'll have Orana make up your room, and we'll have a lovely visit," Finola prattled on.

"All right. How can I refuse my sister on her wedding day?"

"You can't." Finola and Bethany embraced, and all the years of distance between them disappeared, leaving them as they once were—sisters and best friends.

Dering interrupted their moment with his usual brazenness, practically using his body to separate them. "For you, my dear. A refreshing glass of ice water." He then turned to Bran, who was lost in a moment of reverie as he watched Finola and Bethany. "You've spared no expense here, I see. What a relief it must be to have so much financial security that you could offer an extravagant thing such as ice for your guests."

"Well, you know what they say about a coin saved," Bran replied.

"And the Viscountess is notoriously frugal as well." Dering's dark brows tightened as his eyes narrowed, and his nostrils flared slightly, as if he were a hound smelling a rabbit. "You two are stuffing your mattresses with money no doubt."

"We give quite a bit to charitable organizations here in Kirkwall," Finola asserted as she crossed her arms. "We also make sure every clinic in Kirkwall has all the supplies and funding they need to keep our citizens healthy. We send food to the shelters, blankets and clothes as well. We buy metals for the smiths in the Guard…Really, I could go on for hours." She leaned in and met him eye-to-eye. "Make sure to get a copy of all our expenditures and donations the next time you're at the Keep. I'm sure you'll find it extremely enlightening."

He tipped his head in acknowledgement. "On that note, I think it is time to take my leave. Thank you for a lovely evening." He turned slightly, his shoulder now in Finola's face. "Bethany? Are you ready?"

"Oh, well…. Actually, Reynard, I'm going to stay with Finola tonight. We have a lot to catch up on."

"I see." His eyes flashed with the briefest of flames, but he regained a civil tone immediately. "I will have your things sent over here tonight then. Enjoy your visit, my dear. There's nothing more important than family."

"Oh, I'm glad you understand, Reynard."

"I understand very well. But please do stop by before you venture off to lands unknown again. My door is always open to you." Bethany nodded sweetly, and a tender kiss was placed on her cheek before he offered a low bow to his hosts. "Viscountess. Seneschal. Bethany, dear." With another flourish, he opened the door and left. As the door closed, a cold breeze passed by Finola, though it was warm outside. She shivered, wondering if it was just her imagination or if Dering was some sort of evil incarnate. I must figure out what Dering is all about.

"Honestly," Bethany said, "Reynard seems like a true gentleman. I can't imagine why you hold him in such disregard. He did save your life, after all."

"Don't remind me," Finola said. "I am glad to see that a few of his feathers were ruffled anyway."

"Yes," Bran said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "But never mind him. Let's go celebrate, ladies."

Finola shook off thoughts of demons and possession, determined to forget all about Dering for at least one night. "I agree! Come on, Beth. Remember that dance we used to do when we were kids, the one where I held your foot and spun you in a circle? I think we should try that!"

"Gads, what an utter joy this will be to see," Bran said in his most appalled tone.

"Oh stop. You just wait until I get you in on the action," Finola told him. "It'll be fun!"

"Clearly your idea of fun and mine are miles apart, my dear." But he let her pull him toward the music anyway.

Finola was so happy to have her sister back, to be celebrating their marriage with her friends, Bran couldn't refuse her now. For that instant, living in the moment with her was freeing. Perhaps she is more centered than I am. The world spun around her, a world mired in conflict, with people coming in and out of her life all the time, but she was always at the center of it, always steady, even if she didn't realize it most days.

"Get over here, Bran!" Finola waved at him from the circle where the fiddle music sang out.

Maker, but she is a sight to behold. The edginess they both felt before Dering left had faded. Finola's eyes sparkled as she swayed to the music with movements light and airy. Her laughter rang in his ears as the tempo picked up, and she twirled around with abandon. But her smile was his true reward, a smile that held a spark of mischief, and a loving promise of things to come.

Bran knew what he had to do then. He would hook his arm with hers and spin her around to the rhythm of the song, surrendering to the movement of their bodies, dancing as if they were naked savages around a bonfire. The astonished look on her face as he offered his best moves would surely make the snickers and taunts at the Keep more tolerable tomorrow.

As a server walked by with drinks, Bran downed a glass of Antivan Red, confident in his ability to prove that he was, indeed, a man who enjoyed a good time.

Squaring his shoulders, he parted the crowd with authority. "Make way, you fools, and let me show you how it's done!"