The Best Medicine

Finola takes the steps two at a time, practically jogging past the disease-ridden inhabitants of Darktown, doing anything to make her way through quicker. Varric and Isabela huff along behind her, making wisecracks about Finola's delicate sensibilities. She ignores their digs and moves even faster until she approaches the doors to Anders' clinic. Stopping to compose herself, she takes a deep breath and sighs. I can only imagine the whining I'm about to hear.

The door creeks open and she sees a man standing beside Anders, his head pitched forward, hands clenched tightly at his sides, deep in conversation.

Is that… What is the Seneschal doing here? Finola bites her lip, scarcely able to believe her eyes. Here of all places!

She ducks into the doorway, watching, overhearing snippets of their exchange.

"And that will, ah, stop the itch?"

No fucking way…. Finola isn't quite sure whether to laugh or throw up. She knows he probably sleeps with every woman he comes across, half the young women in Kirkwall without doubt, and many older women, too. He certainly makes the rounds at the Rose. But this? This is news. He has managed to pick up… something from one of the many harlots he associates with. Finola shudders, unable even to think of the word "disease" when it comes to meticulous and arrogant Seneschal Bran. How could he have been so careless?

"Yes, this will take care of it," Anders answers. "Though I would stay away from women you meet in the port. Pirates tend to… dock in unsavory places."

Isabela rushes past Finola, a heated look in her eyes. "I heard that!" Stopping in front of the Seneschal, she looks him over from head to toe, pausing not so discreetly at his midsection. "I bet I can guess who got you into this predicament." The Seneschal looks at her, aghast, caught off guard by her sudden appearance. Isabela leans in and whispers to him. "Don't worry, I won't tell the others. It can be our little secret." She smiles in triumph and he looks at her with indifference.

"Go on and spread your rumors, trollop. It will have no influence on my life whatsoever." With that, Isabela rolls her eyes and laughs out loud.

The Seneschal then catches Varric's eye as he wanders into the clinic, already talking, joking, making fun of the piles of torn sheets and the dingy decor, but ignoring Bran's embarrassing predicament. Turning to leave, Bran sees Finola standing there, her cheeks reddened, hands on her hips, staring at him in utter disgust. He has an unbidden desire to run back down the stairs and hide, although he is not sure why he cares what she thinks. Nodding and smirking, Finola looks as if she is ready to chastise him, but Anders speaks up.

"Just use the salve if it comes back."

"Thank you, Anders." Bran stuffs the medication into a pocket and moves past the pirate and the dwarf, heading in Finola's direction.

Finola remembers the expression Bran wore when she spied him at the Blooming Rose the other night, that same strange look on his face now. He is embarrassed, she thinks, somewhat gleefully. At least he seems uncomfortable, trying to hightail out of here without so much as a word to me. Oh, I can't let his opportunity pass.

"Seneschal, if you have a moment…?" She pauses and studies him, his unexpectedly elegant nose, and the chiseled planes of his face.

"Yes," he sighs dramatically. "What is it, Serah Hawke?"

Amused by his dramatics, she smiles, noticing his eyes. "I was going to stop by the Keep, but since you're here…." She had never really looked this deep into his eyes before. They are beautiful eyes, and despite his outward annoyance, his gaze is kind, with something else there in the amber depths. It isn't so much what she sees as what she feels, and it softens her opinion of him.

"Well, out with it already." Bran fusses with his hair, brushing imaginary strays back into place. "I'm a busy man."

"I just wanted to thank you for… facilitating my purchase of the Amell Estate."

"You should be thanking Viscount Dumar." He dismisses her gratitude with a wave of his hand. "I had nothing to do with it."

"I am well aware you have more influence over Dumar's decisions than you let on, Seneschal."

"I simply do my job. How would it look if the Viscount allowed the wealthiest, and dare I say, the most popular woman in Kirkwall to continue living in the squalor of Lowtown?"

"Well, you're awfully high and mighty for someone who is here in Darktown seeking medical aid for… an undisclosed illness."

He snickers. "A little discomfort is a small price to pay for hours of pleasure and decadence." As she looks at him, clearly bewildered, he sees the frustration in those wide blue eyes of hers, but he can't stop the next taunt on the tip of his tongue. "Can you say the same of your time spent?"

His words cut her like daggers though; she hates hearing the truth of her lonely existence. "No, I cannot," she says stoically. "But given Dumar's ineffective methods and decreasing popularity, I think my future good times look quite promising compared to yours."

With maddening ease, he ignores her attempt to provoke him, laughing softly to himself. "You should let hair down and enjoy life's hedonistic pleasures, Serah Hawke. I think it would do wonders for your irritable disposition."

Flustered by his bold opinion, her lips turn down in a slight frown, but even in the dim light of the clinic, he can see her eyes glint with challenge.

"I'm sorry you dislike my personality, Seneschal." With nothing more to say, she holds her head up and turns toward Anders, but the Seneschal touches her sleeve, stopping her.

"Never apologize for who you are. Or for what you want." With a grin, he walks out the door, leaving her to ponder.

Anders's vocal dissatisfaction with the templars grows louder, breaking through Finola's thoughts. When she turns, Isabela and Varric are nodding, trying to joke in between each of the mage's complaints.

Finola closes her eyes and rubs her temples, wondering why the Seneschal's face is all she can see in her mind. "What's wrong now, Anders?"

"Things just keep getting worse, Hawke. I had templars practically on my doorstep the other night."

Anders continues to ramble on and on. Maker's breath, someone shut him up already. Finola decides to tune him out, not wanting to listen to his "mages versus the world" rubbish anymore. Maybe pleasure is the best medicine of all. Could the Seneschal be right? The tingling feeling in her stomach tells her he could be.

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, my friends! I treasure them all.