Blurb: Do you ever just... rework a chapter over and over until you forget what the main point was in the first place and it's all goo in your head? Cuz that's what this chapter was, and why it took forever. Sorry! Even though I'm not worthy: please leave a note!
Chapter Two: The Deal
"It's not working."
"Hold. Still. You're going to make me chop off your hands."
"But I really like my hands. How else am I going to get into trouble?"
"Then you should thank me if I miss."
Sparks flew from the blade as the axe clanged off of the enchanted chain stretched out between Ashe's wrists, the rebuffing gust chilling the sheen of sweat that had popped out of her pores right before the strike. Her bones melted in relief and she somehow straightened up from kneeling over the broad tree stump they were using as a platform. It felt too much like bending over for an executioner, a label the towering Qunari seemed to wear too easily. She brought the chain up to her eyes and critically examined each silvery link. There wasn't a single dent to be found.
The cuffs weren't heavy, but they dragged on her arms and the chain hampered her movements. The icy sneer of the Venatori magister flashed through her mind, of when he snapped the cold metal around her wrists after she'd been wrestled into exhaustion. She tried not to remember the burning humiliation of being pinned underneath the Venatori assassin kneeling on her back or the earthy musk of the soil under her chin, and had silently promised herself that she'd dig herself out of this mess and fix everything before it spread across Thedas.
"You're getting soft, Chief! Best three out of five?" the tanned soldier shouted from a trampled Venatori tent, refocusing her back to the present. What was his name again, Craig? Kreh? She'd almost singed him on the coast last time. He stood by the crimson canvas, the red shockingly bright against the granite and scrubby greens of the Hinterland landscape, and seemed to dull the splashes of blood from the recent battle.
"Ain't nobody gonna take that bet, kid," the heavily mustached dwarf griped from the scorched crater which had once been the campfire. "Those bracelets are magic. Only way out of 'em is with the right spell or magic key. You'd have to cut off her hands or wait for her to die and wither away to get 'em off."
"So, do a lot of people tell you that you're morbid?" Ashe called, "or am I the lucky first?"
"I was being optimistic," the dwarf growled. He turned his stout back and returned to examining the ashes.
"You heard Rocky," the Bull's Chargers captain said, chucking the axe unceremoniously back by the Venatori corpse he had taken it from. He squinted his one eye at the shackles with a frown framed with stubble. "Skinner already broke her picks on those and even if Dalish knew, I don't think she'd get them off of you."
Oh, he meant the dwarf, Stabby and Blondie. Ashe mentally corrected their names and glanced around the campsite. Three of the Chargers were picking through the decimated camp, salvaging edible food and portable goods as well as tossing bodies and refuse into the large fire they'd started at the other end of the camp. They moved with ease and practice, exchanging few questions as they worked their way along. The elves were missing, along with the quiet, sandy-haired man.
Her last, tiny pillar of hope had crumbled with the last stroke of the axe. The Chargers had tried to free her from the shackles that the Venatori assassin had slapped on her before she could blink by using lock picks, prying, the common spell words that unlocked magical traps, even oiling her skin to try and slip them off. She'd hastily drawn the line at the dwarf's suggestion of Qunari blackpowder. And even though she'd known that brute force would be useless against the magically spelled shackles, she was still disappointed that the nearly eight-foot tall muscled captain had failed against such a slim chain.
Rumor was that he was Tal-Vashoth, a renegade from the Qun, but he never seemed like a mad beast from the fabled Seheron in her past or present observations of him. He was loud, boisterous, and liked to drink - when she'd tailed him before, she'd heard him called 'the drunk Oxman and his bloody sheep'. But the tavern patrons' under-the-breath insults would have died mid-sentence if they'd ever caught his quick, scorching side-glances. She kept an eye on him at all times - not because he could smack her into the Void with a flick of his beefy wrist if he so chose, but because her hair stood on end whenever she caught that piercing eye assessing her whenever she wasn't paying attention. There was something steadily ticking away underneath that 'big dumb Oxman' exterior. She was just glad that, according to her research, he was a big believer in the code among mercenaries and those who lived on the battlefield. As long as she didn't do anything too stupid, she would get out of this with her life and hands intact.
"No freedom, no journal," Ashe said, dusting off her knees as she straightened up. The world spun slowly on its axis and she had to take a steadying breath. She focused on the towering evergreens lancing up to the overcast sky and watery sun, the scent of the pines and smoke from the crackling bonfire, and hoped that the dizziness was just the combination of starvation and blood loss. Her cloak kept the brunt of the brisk Hinterland wind from chilling her and sending her into shock.
Maker's holy and hairy ass, his craggy face was actually more scary when he smiled. "Not if the others get back from getting our things along with your things. And accidentally find the journal in said things," Iron Bull smirked.
Ashe blinked and gathered her wits. "Poaching from the poacher?" she said approvingly. It's what she would do to get around the deal. "Your high horse is shrinking into a pony."
The Iron Bull's hatchet smile dulled a bit as he took in her casual demeanor. "It's not at your campsite, is it?" he asked flatly.
"Probably not," Ashe agreed cheerfully, "but it's nice of your mercs to get my things. I feel doted on, I truly do."
His massive barrel chest heaved in a sigh and he squinted into the trees. "Well, they shouldn't be going through your things anyway. Some of us have to have standards to earn a living."
Turning to look in the same direction, she said, "annoying, right? Sometimes you've got to- hey, that's not garbage!"
Ashe made a beeline through the stripped campsite, skirting around the dwarf and the healer to the tall Tevinter breaking down a crimson tent. He held a tall pole in one hand, about to toss it into the fire. It was encrusted with mud, but she recognized the shape from the distance all the same. He watched her approach, eyebrow cocked up.
The fire highlighted the wine-red hues in his cropped hair and the warm brown skin many Tevinter people shared. Definitely did not have as many scars as his captain - the only one she could spot was the one splitting his right eyebrow. His face was angular, but overall open, alert and young. No stubble, hardly any wrinkles. She pegged him to be younger, in his early twenties if not younger. His heavy-weight armor was sturdy, of good quality, and looked like it was both well-worn and taken care of. The sword hanging from his belt and shield were of equally good quality. The Bull's Chargers earned a good living for themselves.
He was scrutinizing her just as shrewdly as she was scrutinizing him. He didn't give off the discomforting aura of picking something apart like his captain did - he was softer, somehow. But apparently he did not like what he saw. "This yours?" he asked, his full lower lip tweaked in a skeptical little frown.
"Sure thing, handsome," Ashe said winningly. Cheekily.
He turned over the slim pole in his hands. It was as tall as he was and underneath the dirt it was matte black except for a foot of shiny, silvery metal with a violet sheen at the very bottom of the pole which ended with a sharp pommel. It was perfectly cylindrical, and looked very much like a flag pole. "What would you want to do with a tent pole?" he asked.
She eyed his very firm and too-secure grip. "It's my staff," she replied quickly, reaching out an expectant hand.
He looked from her to the staff, looking like he was trying to see the joke. "Where's the glowing skull, or magic gems?" he asked, waving at it the black end of the staff. It was just as cylindrical as the rest of the staff and didn't end in the traditional gemstone or intricate wrought metal. "Is this how you were caught? Couldn't get your mojo up with a dysfunctional stick?"
Well, now he was asking for it. "This is a staff handed down through the generations from Mythal herself," she declaimed with a flourish of her hands. The rattle and gleam of the chain was a nice touch. "And it has fallen upon me, as the last of my secret and noble bloodline, to keep it out of the hands of the unworthy, such as you-"
"Alright, alright, just take it your worthiness," he said with a touch of exasperation, "and get back to the Chief. The sooner those things are off you, the better."
Ashe reached for the austere staff and let her fingers linger on his gloved hand. "Why, Craig! I usually don't strip on the first date until after the dinner, but for you-"
The Tevinter yanked his hands back as if her fingers were on fire. "The cuffs, damnit. And the name is Krem," he added with a scowl.
Ashe was filled with relief when the staff was back in her hands and she stifled a laugh at his expression. Were the tips of his ears red before this chat? "Have I provoked your delicate sensibilities, Krem?" she teased.
Krem gave her a withering look. She had to choke back more laughter. "The only sensibilities around here is to get rid of you as fast as possible, poacher," he retorted.
Ashe clasped her staff to her bosom and laid her hand on her forehead like how the traveling theater actors portrayed distressed noble ladies. "Can my heart bear the abandonment?" she sighed longingly. "Pray, how can I live without you to find more long, hard, firm poles with me?"
He snorted then cut himself off short. His hazel eyes were lively with laughter and a touch of curiosity now. "Are you always like this?" he demanded, "I thought all you Circle mages had your sense of humor stamped out early so you wouldn't be tempted by demons or something."
"Oh, they try to bury it under all the books they can chuck at you," she agreed, straightening. "But yes, I'm fairly ridiculous. It's why I'm out here chasing frolicking Tevinter abominations all by myself."
"Can't say I disagree," Krem said, with a slight half-grin. She couldn't help but notice the bit of wry humor in his eyes and the lone dimple definitely didn't hurt. He really was cute, even attractive - she'd barely had time to notice it before, in their previous encounters. She briefly wondered if he had a wife or a sweetheart waiting for him at home, which was common enough among mercenaries who worked the hard job in order to support their families.
"Krem! The others are back," the healer with the Fereldan accent called. "Take a break and let's eat."
Damn, she was starving. Ashe cast about the smoldering campsite, hoping to see some of the food the Venatori had shared among themselves while the prisoners had starved in the cage. How long had it been since she'd eaten? At least two days - they'd captured her the day before yesterday.
She squeaked and almost jumped out of her skin when someone tapped her shoulder.
"C'mon, poacher," Krem said not unkindly, his eyes dancing. He jerked his chin towards the rest of the Chargers. "You look like you're gonna drop if you don't eat something. The others should have brought your packs. If you don't have food, we can share."
Ashe paused and looked at him. He was watching her calmly, waiting for her to step in beside him. "...Thanks," she said uncertainly, "that's generous of you."
The taller man snorted and started heading for the Chargers. "We're not assholes - I doubt the Venatori fed you guys much. But if we don't hurry, there won't be anything left in five minutes."
They walked over to where the Iron Bull was sitting on the tree stump, Krem slightly favoring his right leg, and joined the rest of the Chargers. The elves and the sandy-haired man in heavy armor had returned. The Chargers sat comfortably in a loose formation and each pulled out parcels of food. Ashe's stomach rumbled insistently - then she spotted her leather pack and sleeping roll in the middle of their circle. Surprisingly, it still looked whole. "I'm surprised you guys didn't try to cut this open," Ashe remarked, unlocking the pack by pressing her bare thumb to the enchanted lock. The essence spell recognized her and popped open. Thank the Maker, the meager store of bread and cheese weren't moldy yet. She dragged the pack to the outer perimeter of the circle between Krem and Rocky, then stuffed her face ravenously and chugged from her waterskin.
"Like I said, standards," Iron Bull said sourly. But he shot a look at the dark-haired and bare-faced elf as he got up and started walking back to the campsite. The rogue nodded her head by a fraction as he passed.
She caught the exchange. "But not for lack of trying," she murmured. "Sneaky."
"Well, you did poach from us," Dalish said tartly, "it was ours in the first place." The lovely elf glowered at her with hard blue eyes over the meal and staff laying across her knees.
"It's probably on her," the dark-haired elf mused around a mouthful of bread, eyeing Ashe's cloaked torso. She brushed the dagger hilts protruding from the tops of her thigh-high boots. "We could search her."
"That's true. You could strip me of everything I own and I'd be ridiculously easy pickings no matter where I go," Ashe said seriously, dropping all pretense. It was hard to admit just how vulnerable she was, and every survival instinct she'd developed in the political jungle of the Circle and bounty hunting in Fereldan protested. But she was at their mercy, and there was no point in trying to hide it. "At best, I get picked up as a ready-made slave. At worst, I'm dead by morning. Actually, that might be better than slavery."
"Ain't that the truth," Rocky muttered. The dwarf sat in the dirt on her right side, drinking something malty from a personal tankard.
Ashe nodded. "That's why I hope you will stick by your code. To take surrenders, treat prisoners decently, and above all, to honor your contracts. Like our deal. Which has no time limit."
The Chargers froze, then collectively swore.
"But didn't we hold up our end?" the healer slowly asked. "We tried everything for hours."
Time to lay the cards down. "It pains me to say it, but I think the exact wording was something like 'you get these off and you get the journal.' And I'd hate for your sterling reputation to be marred any further." She proceeded with false cheer, "I am ecstatic to be able to travel along with you to the next village or town with a mage or smithy who's able to get these off as soon as possible."
The surly dwarf scoffed, even as he was buried in his tankard. "What, and wait for you to jump out of those chains and make off with the book and our coin? Not a chance."
Ashe arched a brow and pointedly looked around the circle. "Seven to one are really good odds in your favor. Although, I think your chief counts as three, so ten mercenaries to one. It'd be a miracle if I could make off with a single copper."
"You're slippery," Krem countered from his seat on an upturned crate, "and you stole that amulet right from under our noses in the arl's study."
"Stop, you're going to make me blush," Ashe said, fluttering her lashes. What was he getting at?
"My point," he continued, "is that the Chargers have worked by the code. Our word is our bread and butter and we won't start going back on it now. But each and every Charger here pulls their own weight. We have a mission and we won't risk anyone to protect you on the way. You fall behind, you stay behind."
Ashe nodded, feeling the tight knot underneath her breastbone loosen a little. It was only fair.
"Andraste's mercy, why would you want her saddled with us longer than needed?" the healer complained.
"And how much use is a magic-less mage?" Dalish objected, crossing her arms.
"All of my skills will be at your beck and call," Ashe said, bowing from the waist down. "And I'm not defenseless. I've also got some basic rogue skills, as you know. I'm a half-decent cook, healer, both with and without magic, and I've got some useful contacts. Although, I know you have your surgeon, what'shisname-"
"Stitches," the healer supplied, studying her pensively.
She stared from him to Rocky to Skinner. "Did all of your mothers hate you, or-?"
Krem tucked away the last of his meal and stood. "I'll talk with the Chief. Ashe, stay here."
She blinked. She hadn't realized how pleasant his voice was before. "I get all tingly when you order me around," she called after him. Krem shot a disapproving look over his shoulder as he walked over to the Iron Bull, who was shuffling through a stack of half-burnt reports.
Dalish looked around the snorting dwarf and shook her head. "Didn't they teach you to keep your mouth shut during negotiations at your fancy Circle?" she asked, somewhat incredulously.
Ashe watched as Krem conversed with his captain. "Some days, my greatest accomplishment is keeping my mouth shut," she ruefully agreed. "You get tired of it after ten years in that political tomb, though."
"Trust me, kid," the dwarf said, "there's a time and a place. Or, it's your funeral."
She smiled at him. "Thanks for the advice, Rocky."
He blinked at the use of his name. "You won't be thanking me when you're gone," he grunted.
The talk between the leaders was short. Krem returned with a look of both defiance and resignation, which caused the Chargers to moan. "Shove it," he snapped at the Chargers. He pointed at Ashe, "you'll stick with us until Crestwood. Someone there should be able to open those."
Ashe sprang to her feet, elated. "Fantastic!"
"One condition: don't bother anyone else here," he gestured with a hand to the Chargers moaning in protest. "You will report and stick to me. Got it?"
Ashe grabbed and shook his hand. "Ser, yesser," she said, ironically saluting him with her other hand.
Blurb: didn't mean to keep you guys waiting for so long. Again, thanks for waiting! Please R&R. =)
