so one day i had the thought, as i so often do with these things, of: "what if hawke stays in the red iron for the rest of the game" and thus this fic was born.
It takes two weeks for them to reach Kirkwall. By the time his feet touch stable, albeit a little rickety, ground Garrett is ready to collapse and sleep for a year. Carver doesn't look to be faring much better – his knees give out from under him, Garrett's hand shooting out to steady him when they almost crash into each other. What they offer each other can't exactly be described as a smile, but it's the closest they've gotten in days.
He sees Aveline appear at the top of the gangplank over Carver's shoulder. She moves slowly as she helps their mother gain her footing against the gentle sway of the ship, the tell-tale thud of Barkspawn following them clear even with the distance between them.
"We should've taken our chances in Ferelden." Carver says quietly, as a particularly strong gust of wind ploughs through the docks. It pulls at the hair and clothes of the people still milling about, making his nose wrinkle. He very quickly lifts the collar of his tunic in an effort to block out the smell. His voice is husky; it's the first thing he's said in the past week, and he coughs into his hand to try and clear his throat. He steps further into Garrett's space, making sure that their shoulders are brushing.
"Would have smelt better, at any rate." Garrett mutters back. He keeps his voice quiet in the desperate hope that Leandra won't hear.
It clearly doesn't work, given the unimpressed look she shoots at them, and the long sigh she lets out when her feet touch the dock. Aveline gives them a half-hearted smile in sympathy. "Honestly, if all you two are going to do is complain, then I'll find Gamlen on my own."
"I'm just saying." Garrett attempts a smile, although it quickly fades at the unimpressed look she's giving him. "It's a sad day when something manages to smell worse than darkspawn. What a charming place we've found ourselves in."
Carver steps in between them, cutting off the venomous glare Leandra had been aiming at him, and leans in close. "Do you really think now's the best time to test her?"
"I don't really care." Garrett says, and he means it. He's spent the past… Maker knows how long putting up with snide comments and dirty looks, and he's tired of it. His shoulders are screaming for something more comfortable than the damp wood of the ship to lean on, and the crick in his neck is starting to feel permanent. "I'm going to try and find out how we can get into the city."
Carver looks, as he so often does, like he wants to argue. He doesn't get a chance to, though, because the sounds of a disturbance come floating through the wall behind them. His shoulders slump a little bit, and he sighs. "Go on then. We'll be right behind you."
Garrett gives them all one last look, and then darts off. He sees what the problem is almost immediately – a group of heavily armoured guards are standing watch over a crowd of thirty or so people as a man behind them tries to speak over the noise. Their arms are crossed over their chests, and their helmets mean Garrett can't see their faces. But the other man conveys such disgust that he finds he doesn't need to.
"They're Fereldans." Carver says directly into his ear. He jumps and turns his head enough to see they've all caught up with him. He ignores the amused grin Carver is giving him because it will only make him more smug. "I heard a couple of them talking – the attack at Highever was true."
Aveline's shield thumps to the ground as she rolls her shoulders. She lets it dangle from her fingertips, and if it weren't for the fact that he can see how white her knuckles are, he'd almost believe it was casual. "They're not letting anyone into the city."
Leandra gasps. "What? That can't be."
The look Aveline gives her is kind, and her voice is gentle. "It's true, look at them all."
"Everyone's fleeing the Blight, just like we are." Carver says.
"They would throw us back to the wolves, I guarantee it."
"Let them try." Garrett says, fingers inching towards the hilts of his daggers. He looks at Leandra. "We're getting into this city one way or another."
"We need to find Gamlen." She cuts him off, refusing to meet his eye. Instead she glances between Carver and Aveline, playing with the belt tied around her waist. "Our family was always highly regarded here, he should be able to help."
"Let's hope so. I don't much fancy being stuck out here for very long." Carver says darkly. He's got his eyes trained on the guards, who have started pushing people around when they get too close.
"But they seem so pleasant." Garrett claps a hand on Carver's shoulder and winks. "Maybe you should try flirting with them? Woo them with your southern charms."
"After you." Carver makes an exaggerated sweep of his arm with a grin.
"They seem to be following that man's orders." Aveline interrupts. She's pointing at the same miserable looking man Garrett had already noticed. "Maybe we should try talking to him?"
As they approach, one of the guards shoves a man with such force that he goes sprawling to the ground. One of his elbows smacks against the stone with a concerning crunch, and two other men spring into action. They rush to his side and pull him out of the path of potentially being trampled. Aveline lifts her shield, using it as a gentle buffer to part the crowd.
"Get back to the docks, you lot." The nasty look remains on his face, lip curling even higher than before. "Trying to force your way through won't get you in any faster. This is as far as you're getting, so just relax."
"What a lovely welcome party." Garrett mutters, too quiet for the guards to hear. But Carver does, and there isn't enough room for him to avoid the elbow that's driven into his ribs. He huffs around a laugh, and then raises his voice. "I heard someone call this place the Gallows – it's not a prison, is it?"
The guard looks at him, eyebrows drawn into a frown. "Used to be, back in the Imperial days. Kept slaves here until the rebellion, but now the Templars use it to lock up the mages."
"If it's not a prison then why aren't we allowed into the city?" Carver asks. It's a fair question, in Garrett's humble opinion, but the sneer they get suggests the guards don't like it very much and he feels his fingers curl into fists.
"If it were up to me, I'd bar the gates and let you find somewhere else to beg." The desire to punch him in the mouth grows even stronger. "But it's not. Some of you might have legitimate business to attend to. So Knight-Commander Meredith's having us sort you all out." His smile turns nasty. "Most of you are getting back on your ships, though."
Garrett breathes through his nose several times before attempting to speak. "'Knight-Commander's a Templar title. What's the city guard doing taking orders from them?"
"We don't answer to her, but she's the power in Kirkwall." Garrett really wants to punch him. "Not sure what would happen if the Viscount refused her, but he's sure never taken that chance."
"But you do intend to let some of us in?" Garrett is quickly learning to appreciate Aveline's diplomacy – it saves him solving the problem in what would definitely be considered the worst way. She steps forward in order to look the guard in the eye, shoving her shield into Garrett's outstretched hands. Unsure of what else to do with it, he slings it over the crook of his elbow and ignores his body's protests.
"We've got enough poor of our own in the Free Marches." The man says, tongue darting out to swipe at his bottom lip. He keeps his eyes on the five of them. "We don't need you… refugees taking up space on top of that."
"It's clear you don't want us here." Garrett says, standing shoulder to shoulder with Aveline. Barkspawn presses against his thigh, and he places a reassuring hand on his head. "But is there anyone else we can actually talk to about this?"
The man scoffs. "But of course – what could I possibly know? I'm just the poor sod trying to stop you lot from climbing the walls." He sighs and jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "Captain Ewald's the one you'll want. But, be warned – he's heard the same sob story a hundred times already."
Leandra looks like she's ready to go charging off on her own, so Garrett puts a hand out in front of her. Carver whispers something to her that he doesn't manage to catch, but it does stop her from looking like she's about to start a war.
"Let's just be calm about this, and see if we can't figure out what's going on." Garrett says. He slips the shield back into Aveline's hands, nodding when she murmurs a soft thanks.
On their approach, the guards part just enough for them to squeeze through. The stairs beyond are dark – the sconces in the walls lay empty and forgotten. Garrett takes the steps two at a time, and by the time he's reached the top his thighs are burning. He has to wait for the others to catch up, which gives him time to try and ease out some of the tension in his legs. There are more refugees up here, lining the corridor they find themselves in.
"The gates are shut." Aveline points to what looks to be a lowered portcullis at the end of the pathway. "Not a good sign."
"Because everything up until this point has been a barrel of laughs." Garrett says, lips twitching into a tired smile when he gets a small, soft laugh. His steps are slow and careful now; just because he can't see any angry guards at the moment, doesn't mean they're not there.
"I suppose you have a point." Aveline says. She's not speaking loudly by any means, but given how hushed things are around them, her voice still carries. She falls into step with him and lowers her voice. "Nothing has been recently."
"The end of the world isn't fun for you?" He knows it's a feeble attempt at a joke, even for him. Carver and their mother are still behind them, but he speaks softly. "I'm sorry about Wesley."
"As am I for Bethany. She seemed like a sweet girl." She tilts her head and purses her mouth. "I must admit; I was shocked we ran into any of you at all, let alone a mage."
Garrett shrugs as carelessly as he can. "We got good at hiding – you learn early on which Templars can be bribed, and when to run if things go south."
"Were you in Lothering long?"
It takes him a moment to process that she's asking out of genuine curiosity. He's so used to being interrogated about it he can't always tell the difference. "Two, maybe three years? It was… alright. No one asked too many questions so long as we were willing to offer help when needed. There wasn't much point in leaving before… well… you know."
"I'm beginning to forget what a stable home feels like." Aveline says, smiling tightly. "I might even miss Ostagar."
"Bad idea, that." Carver says from behind them. Leandra is clutching onto his arm tightly enough to leave marks, but he doesn't seem to notice. "If all goes well with this Captain Ewald we won't have to worry."
"Here's hoping."
There's a fork in the path, and a quick glance to the right has Garrett veering in that direction. Through the gaps in the lowered portcullis, he can see an angry looking group of people arguing with who he can only assume is Captain Ewald. He lets out a heavy sigh through his nose.
"What a great first impression."
"We don't have much of a choice." Aveline points out. "Let's go and find out what all the fuss is about."
They leave Leandra near the entrance of the courtyard, Barkspawn happily lolling at her feet, panting in the midday sun. It becomes apparent very quickly that these civilians are, unsurprisingly, refugees. Whilst they might be better dressed, their accents give them away almost immediately.
"Let us through, you flamin' blighter. We're not staying in this pit." The 'leader' of this ragtag group says, pointing his finger in a guard's face.
Garrett winces, hand slipping to the hilt of one of his daggers.
"Then I suggest you get back on your ship and leave." Ewald says. He looks down his nose at them and sniffs, the picture of serenity. Garrett can't decide if he admires him or hates him. "Kirkwall has no more room for refugees."
"You know full well the boat's already left, you bastard." Another says. "We paid good money to get 'ere."
"You and half of Ferelden." His tone is dismissive, at best – and that's Garrett being generous. "Look, there's nothing I can do. The city is full."
"A guard said you were letting people in who have business in the city." Garrett says as they get closer.
The other group all begin to nod. "That's right. We've seen you let lots of others through."
"Citizens and people with legitimate business, yes." Ewald rolls his eyes. "I take it you don't have more coin than these gentlemen here?" He huffs. "If we keep allowing people into the city it'll be a lot worse for everyone else. We've been letting you Fereldans in for months now. You're too late."
"Because there's a time limit on running for your life?" Garrett demands. He doesn't quite shrug off the hand Aveline places on his shoulder, because it's not her he's angry with, but it's a close thing. "We've waited for months to even get here."
"That might well be, but it doesn't change the fact that you're too late. I cannot help you. There's no more room."
"Garrett." Carver says warningly, nudging him out of the way. "We have family here."
He rolls his shoulders and widens his stance slightly. "You think I haven't already heard that story a thousand times over? We'll find ships to take you all back to Ferelden. Eventually. For now… well, you're just going to have to put up with it."
"There must be someone else in charge – they can't have just let it all fall onto you." Garrett says, almost desperate.
"No. There isn't." Ewald closes his eyes and rubs tiredly at the bridge of his nose. "The order came directly from the Viscount, and Knight-Commander Meredith. Not that it matters; as far as you're all concerned, I'm the one in charge."
Garrett takes a deep breath and then releases it through clenched teeth. "Then is there any way we can get a message to someone in the city? My uncle knows we're coming, he'll confirm everything. His name's Gamlen Amell."
"Gamlen? That name sounds familiar." Ewald waves another guardsman over.
"He's a nobleman – our family has an estate." Carver says, sounding very much like the words are lodged in his throat. The very notion of nobility is so farfetched it doesn't seem like it could ever be real.
Ewald scoffs and shares a cocky smirk with the other guard. "A nobleman? The only Gamlen I know is a weasel. Couldn't rub two coppers together if he tried. But… if we hear from him, I'll take you to him." With that, the other guard scampers off as quickly as his heavy armour will allow. "But I don't have time to-"
"You what?" Garrett hadn't forgotten the other Fereldans, exactly, but their sudden interruption makes his pulse spike. "You're gonna let them through, but not us?"
"Nobody said anything about that." Ewald says, but it's too late. They've latched on like a dog with a bone.
The second in command swings his head around to stare at them. "We've been waiting here for four fucking days! They've only just got here!"
"That's it!" The ring leader shouts, hand shooting for the cheap looking sword he's got strapped to his waist. "We're carving our way through! C'mon men!"
It comes as no real surprise that these men are barely trained – a quick look at the way they're holding their swords is enough for Garrett to tell. Their hands are so far down the hilts, they're almost holding the actual blades. Unfortunately, lack of training does not mean lack of speed, and it's only because Aveline already has her shield up that Garrett isn't immediately stabbed.
"Pay attention." She hisses. Feeling suitably chastised, he does.
His daggers are light and short – it means he has to get in close range to use them effectively, which is fine. He's used to it. What's not fine is narrowly avoiding being clocked in the head by a guard as they come charging in with their sword raised above their head.
He sees Carver block an incoming attack with the flat of his blade, the resounding clang echoing above the pre-existing noise. Aveline stands at his back, her body heat permeating his tunic and causing sweat to break out on the back of his neck. He ignores it, watching the way the loudmouth approaches him with an almost hungry look. Garrett's never been a particularly patient man and waiting for the first attack is always the worst part.
The swing that comes at him is sloppy – it would have gone too wide, even without Garrett's intervention. With the quick jab he gives the other man's wrist, though, the sword goes crashing across the paving slabs as he grasps his wrist to his chest. Garrett doesn't let that stop him, stepping close enough to land a hit to the ribs, twisting the blade when the man grunts in pain.
"I'm sorry." He whispers as the man falls to his knees. "I'm so sorry."
He pulls the dagger out and doesn't have much time to consider what to do next because Barkspawn barrels past. He barks loudly as he launches himself at the man attacking Carver. There's a brief howl of pain, and then the courtyard falls eerily silent, save for the low growling of Barkspawn.
"At ease, men." Ewald says, kicking at the body of the ring leader. Garrett hadn't even seen what happened to him, but he lies dead with several stab wounds in his chest.
"Captain, are you alright?" A young man – who looks to be a recruit given the feeble attempt at facial hair on his chin – asks, jogging down the steps behind them. His face is flushed, and he's panting slightly.
"No thanks to you. Where is everyone? This needs to be taken care of." When the recruit makes no sign of moving, Ewald grabs him by the shoulder and bodily spins him around. "Go and find them, I want this under control now."
He squeaks out a "Y-yes, Captain" before hurrying off.
Ewald turns back to Garrett and lets out a long sigh. "You have my thanks. Look, I can't get you into the city. I wasn't lying about that part, those are my orders. But I can make sure your uncle is found and have him brought here."
"That's all I ask." Garrett says. He sheathes his daggers after wiping them off as best he can.
Despite having seen the fight, Leandra lets Garrett know that she wasn't happy about being kept waiting. He tunes her out, leaning against the wall and staring out over the docks. Seagulls caw in the distance and he keeps glancing up to make sure they're not flying overhead.
Aveline doesn't seem to be faring quite so well, and at some point moved off to sit with Carver. "It's been three days." He hears her say. Carver hums in agreement. "This waiting has to end at some point, surely."
Leandra stalks over to them, hands on her hips as she stares down at them. "It shouldn't be much longer. I'm sure Gamlen's still looking for us!"
She doesn't seem to notice the way all three of them roll their eyes. She's been saying the same thing for the past two and a half days, but none of them seem willing to point it out.
Aveline has clearly had enough, however, because she clambers to her feet. "And what if he's not? What if he doesn't come to find us?"
Either the Maker, or Andraste herself, are looking down on Garrett favourably for once, because he sees a small entourage of guards and a man he does not recognise approaching them from across the courtyard. He pushes off the wall and taps Aveline on the shoulder. "I think someone's coming."
Carver gets to his feet too, adeptly getting between their mother and Aveline. They watch as one of the Templars – the armour giving them away now that they're close enough – point to them. The man nods, mutters something they have no chance of hearing, and then begins striding over to them by himself.
"Leandra?" The man asks, brow furrowed. His clothes are dirty, his hair is clearly in dire need of a wash and a comb, and Garrett can smell the alcohol already. "Damn, the years have not been kind to you, have they?"
"So much for 'nobility'." Carver mutters, which makes Garret snort before he can stop himself. He covers his mouth and tries to play it off as a cough.
"Gamlen!" Their mother crows, brushing past Carver with her arms outstretched. She throws herself at him and doesn't seem to notice how reluctantly he hugs her back.
Gamlen pulls back first, going so far as to physically step away. He rubs a hand over his face. "I'll be honest, I wasn't exactly expecting any of this. The Blight; your husband – I thought you'd be in Ferelden for the rest of your life."
"We left it too late." Leandra says, looking anywhere but at Gamlen. "My poor, poor Bethany didn't make it. Andraste guide her." Her eyes land on Garrett, and her brow furrows deeply.
Gamlen looks to the sky, closes his eyes briefly, and takes a deep breath. "Leandra don't do this to me here. I'm not even sure if I can get you in."
"Could you at least get Mother in?" Carver asks.
"No! We stay together. I refuse to be separated now." Leandra says firmly, shaking her head.
"I was hoping to… grease some palms, so to speak. See if we couldn't get you in that way. But the Knight-Commander's been cracking down." Gamlen coughs a few times to clear his throat before spitting on the ground. "We're going to need more grease."
"What about the estate?" Leandra demands. The thing about his mother, Garrett has learnt over the years, is that the angrier she is, the quieter she gets. Her voice is barely above a whisper at this point. "Surely there was something left when Father died?"
"About that…" Gamlen wrings his hands, looking to Carver and Garrett for assistance. Finding none, he visibly swallows. "I've been meaning to write to you, but, um… the estate's… it's gone. In order to settle a debt, you understand."
Leandra frowns. "But how? Never mind, I suppose that's not important right now. This means there's no hope of us getting in, is there?"
"I wouldn't say that, exactly." Gamlen perks up, and it immediately sets alarm bells off. "I know some people who might be able to help – so long as you're not too picky about the company you keep, of course."
Garrett can already see the rejection written on his mother's face, and steps forward. "What kind of people?"
"I've spoken to some of my contacts," and doesn't that fill Garrett with confidence, "who might be willing to pay your way into the city."
"There's a catch, isn't there?" Carver asks, crossing his arms over his chest.
Gamlen looks mildly insulted. "I don't think wanting you to work off the debt is too much to ask."
He… actually has a point there, Garrett realises. "Sounds reasonable enough, I suppose." He says, eyeing Carver and hoping he'll keep his mouth shut. "Would it help if I said you were my favourite uncle?"
Gamlen laughs. It's a rusty sound, as if it doesn't get used much, and it makes Garrett smile a little bit. "Well, it would make me feel better, but that's about it. From what I can gather, repayment would take about a year."
"A year?" Leandra cuts in. Her mouth gapes for a moment, before snapping shut. "What could you possibly be having them do?"
"It's the best I could do!" Gamlen snaps. "Trust me, no other refugees will be getting as decent an offer as this."
Garrett reaches out as if to touch Leandra's arm, before his hand drops back down to his side. "What's a year? If it gets us in, then surely it's worth it? Besides, we'll be free and clear in no time."
"That's the spirit!" Gamlen claps his hands and then rubs them together. "I've managed to convince them both to meet you in the Gallows."
"You still haven't told us what kind of work they're after." Aveline points out.
"Meeran runs the Red Iron. I don't know much other than that they're a mercenary company looking for recruits. Meeran doesn't tell anyone much of anything, contrary bastard that he is. Athenris, on the other hand, is… something of a smuggler, I suppose." He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and then onto his trousers.
"Sounds suspicious." Garrett says with an approving nod. "They're the only two?"
"Yes. Either one should be able to help you, all you have to do is convince them you're worth the trouble. Should be a piece of cake."
"What d'you think?" Garrett asks, glancing over at Carver. "Who do you want to talk to first?"
Carver pauses for a moment, and then shrugs. "Doesn't really matter to me, so long as they don't try and ship us back to Ferelden."
"Alright, Uncle." Garrett says, the word sitting strangely on his tongue. "Is there anything else I should know about this Meeran?"
"He's a mercenary, what do you expect? I wouldn't bring him home for dinner, but he has a decent enough reputation. If I thought he'd cross you, I wouldn't have asked him to help."
Garrett takes a second to consider this and then looks to Carver. "Let's go and find him then, shall we?"
His brother moves to his side and mutters into his ear. "You have any idea where to find him?"
"Not a clue." Garrett murmurs back as quietly as he can. "Can't be very far, though."
"Oh, Gamlen." Leandra sighs. "I don't know about this."
He crosses his arms and taps his foot. "Look, don't go expecting the family name to carry the kind of weight it used to. This is a lot of coin we're talking about, you can't just expect them to hand it to you for free."
"What about me?" Aveline asks. She's been quietly watching them from a distance and Garrett has to look over his shoulder to see her. She's tense, and frowning – never a good sign. "I won't have people in debt on my account."
"Can't see why it'll be a problem – you look like a lady who can take care of herself."
"Then you'll come with us." Leandra says, voice firm as she offers Aveline a small smile. It's the friendliest she's been in days, and it almost takes Garrett by surprise.
Aveline ducks her head, posture relaxing minutely. "Thank you."
"Guess that means you're stuck with us now, Vallen." Garrett teases, just to see her smile.