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Cat Burglar
Chapter 2 – The Worst Assassin
Khaim bit his lip as he watched Kin silently follow Cassandra into the Chantry, flanked by two guards. The Seeker took no chances with the thief, immediately hounding him to Leliana the moment they'd arrived at Haven. Khaim had intended to go with them, but he'd been waylaid by the seemingly endless streams of worshippers that awaited his return, all begging for a blessing or just an opportunity to touch Andraste's chosen.
How he wished they would stop calling him that. He wasn't Andraste's—or anyone's—chosen. He was just a Dalish mage who'd wandered into the wrong room at the wrong time and ended up getting blamed for the Conclave explosion. The only thing that had stopped Cassandra from ending him at the crater was the snippet of a conversation between Khaim and Divine Justinia they'd heard...and the glowing Mark on his hand.
Damned thing.
As if sensing his displeasure, there was a sharp crackle and a flash that sent the nearest worshipper stumbling away in fright, begging Khaim's forgiveness for being presumptuous. Khaim tried to assure him he'd done nothing wrong, but he was already gone. The mage sighed. He looked back to Kin, disappointed to find the other elf gone, already inside the Chantry.
"You okay, Greenie?" Varric asked, standing next to him.
Khaim nodded, giving the next worshipper—an elven servant—a smile that probably looked very forced. It was especially strange, being worshipped by his own kind. City elves, in general, made him feel strange and awkward. Khaim had grown up in the Free Marches, travelling with his clan, used to the fresh air and open spaces. The city elves had not, but even when they'd seen the freedom of the wild for themselves, they still preferred the cities, where they were trapped, forced into small hovels, and treated like dirt.
No, worse than dirt.
The Dalish way of life wasn't always easy—sometimes it was downright gruelling—but he wouldn't trade it away for anything else. Not the sense of wonder and contentment he felt while wandering the forest, felt the gentle caress of the wind on his face...
His stomach lurched, and he forced himself to take a deep breath. Just a little longer, he told himself. Just a little longer, and I'll be back home.
"Kid, what's wrong?" Varric asked, lowering his voice so only Khaim could hear it. He sounded concerned—genuinely so. "Do you need me to get a healer?"
"No, Varric, I'm fine," Khaim said, smiling down at his companion, infinitely grateful for the kind dwarf's friendship. "I'm just worried about Kin."
"Stabby?" Varric said, looking to the Chantry. It seemed not even potential assassins got away from the dwarf's habit of assigning nicknames to everyone. "He'll be fine."
"Are you sure?" Khaim pressed. "Leliana isn't...you know I have nothing against her, but she can be..." he couldn't find a word that fit the complicated feelings he had about the Inquisition's spymaster. Kin had summed her up quite aptly, at least her intimidating nature, but Khaim wasn't scared of her. At least not entirely.
"Daunting?" Varric suggested.
"Yes!" Khaim exclaimed, snapping his fingers. "That's the word I was looking for!" Realising he was still being watched by a sizeable crowd, he hunched in on himself a little, a blush warming his cheeks. "That," he added to Varric. "Do you think he will be all right?"
"Apparently, they've met before," the dwarf said, putting his hand on Khaim's arm and gently pushing some worshippers aside, determinedly leading the Herald of Andraste further into the Haven camp. "Probably a botched burglary, like this one. She'll probably give him a slap on the wrist and tell him to go away. That'll suit Stabby just fine, I think. He seemed pretty set on running away to...wherever."
"Back to Denerim, do you think?" Khaim asked.
"Maybe?" Varric blinked, spotting Lady Montilyet some ways ahead. She was talking to Commander Cullen and a third man dressed in noble finery. Clicking his tongue, Varric tugged Khaim, predictably, towards the tavern. "Don't want to ruin their day," he offered as an explanation.
Khaim was silently grateful for it—he never quite knew how to speak to Josephine properly or how not to come across as a buffoon. Cullen was...intimidating, but not in the same way as Leliana. So far, the man had been nothing but courteous to Khaim, but there was a distance there that reminded the Herald of some of the supposedly good shemlen that had come to the clan in the name of peace, only to...well, the less said about it, the better.
"Anyway," Varric continued, "I don't think Denerim's where Stabby makes his home these days. There's a bit of a northern lilt to his accent."
"There is?" Khaim asked. He hadn't really noticed it...but then again, he and Kin hadn't really been able to exchange more than a few words since the thief's disastrous attempt at robbing their camp.
The result of that seemed a bit odd to Khaim—Kin had managed to sneak all the way into his tent without anyone noticing, only making a mistake at the very end, when reaching over Khaim's bed. Even if the guards on duty that night had been paying too little attention (as Cassandra insisted), someone in the camp should have noticed something was off, especially since both Varric and Bull had been present.
Varric liked to hide behind a mask of carelessness and relaxation, but Khaim had a feeling Varric missed very little of what went on around him. It was certainly true in battle—Khaim had yet to see anything or anyone sneaking up on the dwarf.
As for Bull...well, the Qunari was a spy. He'd outright told Khaim this, in the interest of a friendly working relationship and information on the Breach. Like Varric, Bull played pretend, though he liked being thought of as a dumb brute as opposed to the calculating operative he truly was.
Point was, someone should have noticed Kin sneaking into their camp, but they hadn't. Since Khaim highly doubted the entire camp had suddenly decided to turn a blind eye to a potential assassin sneaking into their midst, he was left with one option: That Kin wasn't as bungling as he said he was.
And that was another thing that had Khaim confused. Did Kin really believe he was as bad a burglar as he claimed, or was he simply pretending to be?
Until Leliana could report to them with her findings, Khaim had a feeling he'd be turning this over and over in his head for hours.
"You didn't notice?" Varric asked, surprised, bringing Khaim back to the conversation at hand. "Well, I guess it's a bit subtler than yours, but Stabby's definitely spent some time in the Free Marches. We know for a fact that he's been to Kirkwall, but not for very long, if his story's true."
"Hm..."
"Your clan mostly roams that area too, right?" the dwarf asked as they came to a stop outside the tavern. "I think you mentioned Wycome, at some point?"
"We were close to Wycome once, yes," Khaim said, nodding. "Our Keeper urged us to move on as soon as possible, though. We mostly keep to the northern edge of the Marches."
"Probably smart," Varric said, shaking his head. "Humans get a bit nervous whenever a Dalish clan decides to camp near their cities."
"Afraid we'll steal and eat their babies, most likely," Khaim said, pushing open the door to the tavern. This early in the day, it was mostly empty, and quiet. Varric led the way to his usual table.
"Oh, you've heard that one, too?" the dwarf asked.
"That's the most basic one," Khaim replied. "Some versions are quite...creative."
"Do tell, Greenie," the dwarf said, holding up a pair of fingers to order a pair of ales. "We'll be here for a while."
Kin had expected to be hauled into the darkest dungeons of the Chantry and chained to the wall, awaiting the judgement and subsequent torture and execution at the hands of the Inquisition. After all, if Leliana—the scariest person he had ever met in his life—was their spymaster, he was not in for a pleasant stay.
However, instead of the basement, he'd been taken into one of the side rooms on the ground floor and ushered into a simple wooden chair in the middle of it. Cassandra, predictably, barked at him to stay put, leaving the two guards to watch him, before disappearing back out the door.
If he was about to be tortured, this was an odd way to begin. They could have been trying to instil a false sense of security in him, of course. Or maybe they'd just skip the interrogation entirely and chop his head off in this very room.
His head was beginning to spin with the possibilities of what would happen to him, and he knew nothing good would come of it. Instead, he focused on the room itself, and what it contained.
Two guards. One male human, one female dwarf. Both dressed in mismatched armour pieces and orange-dyed cloth to mark them as members of the Inquisition. The man carried a sword and shield, while the dwarf had a pretty nasty-looking hammer strapped to her back. Kin couldn't see them, on account of them standing behind him, but he could hear their breathing and practically feel the tension emanating from the two. They did not like each other.
Taking a breath, Kin focused on the floor. Rough stone blocks held together with mortar, some rising and others dipping. The masons had not done a very good job, or the Chantry had neglected to pay them properly, resulting in a slightly uneven floor. Bound to trip someone up if they weren't paying attention to where they were stepping. Advantageous in a fight to those aware of the problem, provided they could distract their opponent enough for them to bungle up their footwork.
Good to know, Kin thought, focusing on the walls next.
Bare stone, same shoddy work, though not really of consequence save for acoustics, which was solved by hanging thick tapestries and carpets on them, dampening the sound bouncing off the stone. The tapestries depicted events from the Chant, none of which Kin recognised. In his defence, he hadn't recited any parts of the Chant since he was a child, and generally didn't care to hear it.
A total of four torches hung in sconces on the walls, one in each corner, giving the room light and a little bit of heat, though most of that was leeched away by the cold stone.
No windows, only one door. If he wanted to leave before being given permission to do so, a fight was to be had. Kin was unarmed, and he highly doubted he'd stand a chance against the swordsman, even less if the hammer dwarf backed him up. Turning them against each other could be a possibly avenue, but Kin didn't know enough about them to start anything.
In short, Kin was screwed. He could pick the door lock, possibly, but as long as the soldiers remained in the room with him, he would never get that far.
Ceiling? More stone, more uneven surfaces. No weaknesses to be seen.
Trapped, like the rat I am, he thought, stretching his legs out in the chair, realising it was very wobbly, creaking tiredly whenever he moved. Easy to smash apart, probably. Possible improvised weapons, in the form of wooden clubs with nails. Still not good enough to take on armoured Inquisition soldiers, but definitely something to keep in mind providing Leliana, or Nightingale, or whatever she preferred to be called these days decided that the interrogation required a physical component.
At least his hands weren't restrained. The Herald's promise had been kept there.
His analysis of his situation was interrupted when he heard the door opening behind him, and two more people entered the room, their footsteps not in sync.
"Leave us, please," Cassandra's firm voice spoke. The soldiers left. "This is him," she said next to the silent newcomer.
They approached Kin from behind. His ears twitched at the sound of boots on stone. Their footsteps were light, but certain.
"They say you were found in the Herald of Andraste's tent, trying to kill him," they spoke, and Kin immediately recognised Leliana's voice. "Care to explain?"
Ten years, and that voice still filled him with dread. Her accent was the same as ever, Orlesian to the point of almost sounding like a parody, but there was an edge to her words that had...well, they'd been there back then, as well, but considerably...duller? Softer? Hard to explain even to his own mind, that.
"As I've explained to you people again and again," Kin spoke, trying to keep his voice even and not as wobbly as his insides felt. "I wasn't trying to kill him—I was just trying to steal his food...and a necklace."
"And that required straddling him?" Cassandra asked, scoffing.
"His pack was wedged in an awkward position—and I wasn't straddling him," Kin insisted, focusing his ire on Cassandra. The Seeker was an intimidating person in her own right, but Kin could handle the anger and hostility that emanated from Cassandra. "I was leaning over his cot, and he woke up at an unfortunate moment! If he hadn't woken up, you'd never have known I was there, save for a few missing apples and a bauble!"
"Apples and a necklace," Leliana's voice spoke again as she marched past Kin and up to the Inquisition banner at the front of the room, her back turned to him. "Not really a big haul, is it?"
"Paltry, true," Kin said, eyeing her back warily. She was dressed in dark leather, her hair covered up by a dark purple hood. She didn't carry any weapons visible on her belt, but she hardly needed those anyway. "You usually keep to small stuff when you're desperate."
"Desperate?" Leliana asked, still not facing him. "Again?"
Kin closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. She definitely knew who he was—had either recognised his codename or his voice.
"Ferelden has never been kind to me."
"Indeed, it has not," Leliana said, finally turning to face him. Her gaze had hardened considerably in the decade since they'd first met. A few worry lines had appeared here and there, but the blue of her eyes had grown icy. Or perhaps Kin was just misremembering. "Which makes me wonder," the spymaster continued, stepping closer, glaring down at him, "what, exactly, you are doing here. As I recall, you vowed to never return."
He found he couldn't meet her gaze. It was too hard, and his stomach threatened to wrench itself inside-out if he tried to.
"And I wasn't going to," he replied, counting the number of cracks in a floor stone. "But then I heard about the Conclave..."
"So, you returned for the Conclave?" Leliana asked. "Why?"
"Do you really have to ask that question?" he said, clicking his tongue. "Isn't it obvious?"
"I want to hear you say it," the Orlesian insisted.
"Why?"
"You know why."
"Leliana, do you really know this wretch?" Cassandra asked, her voice closer now, just behind and the left of Kin.
"I do, and I would be lying if I said I had hoped to meet him again."
"Likewise," Kin said, chuckling. "Any of you, really."
"Well, there's one you'll never have to worry about seeing again," Leliana said, tone frosty. "I trust even someone like you would have heard?"
"I did, and I'm sorry," Kin replied, his apology genuine.
For a moment, he saw her flash in front of him, all smiles and encouraging words, filling his hand with enough coins for passage on a ship. Her vallaslin had been beautiful; tree branches, like the Herald's, but simpler, and only framing her eyes. Simple, but distinctive. He could still hear the sounds of the beads woven into her hair knocking into each other when she threw her head back, laughing.
Kin had only known the Hero of Ferelden for an hour or so, but she'd left an impression he'd never managed to rid himself of. Her whole group had, really, in their own ways, but mostly by how they had not killed him after he'd snuck into their tavern rooms and robbed them. He'd have gotten away with it, too, if it weren't for the Hero, whose hand had snatched his just as it was about to descend into her money pouch.
"If you were truly sorry, you would have honoured her request," Leliana said coldly. "She offered you a way out, a chance for something new, and here you are again. I suppose we should consider ourselves lucky that you'd be the least competent assassin in Thedas, if that was your job."
"I tried!" Kin growled, finally looking her in the eye, frustration boiling over. "You don't think I fucking tried?! I took her money, I left Denerim, got on a boat heading north! Turns out Fereldan refugees weren't worth much in the Marches after half the kingdom tried to escape the Blight, especially beggar elves with no useful skills to their name! I tried to find something, anything, to do with myself, but you know what? If the choice is between stealing or starving, I'll go with stealing every time!"
"There was truly nothing else you could have done to survive?" Leliana said. "Truly?"
"Oh, no, I suppose I could have sold myself on the streets, that was always an option," he snarled. "That's all we're good for, right?!"
"That is not what I meant—"
"Oh, you mean I should have gone to the Dalish?" he suggested. "Provided I could even find a clan, I'd only be considered an extra, useless mouth for them to feed. I can't hunt, I can't shoot a bow, I can't sew, I can't do anything that they would consider useful!"
Kin had seen what happened to city elves who tried and failed to join the Dalish. Provided they didn't get killed along the way, they returned in such a defeated state they rarely lasted long on the streets afterwards. More than a few had ended their lives by their own hand, unable to handle the rejection, seeing it as their last chance at something resembling a good life being taken away from them.
He didn't hold a grudge against the Dalish for it, either. He'd spoken with enough of them to know that their nomadic lifestyle was far from one of leisure. If the seasons were rough, hunger was a constant companion, and attacks by bandits, monsters, or just humans who didn't like the idea of elves with a little backbone were frequent. The clans simply didn't have the resources to take in someone who could not contribute in some way, turning them away.
Some a little harsher than others, maybe.
Kin knew enough about himself that, if put in that position, he'd have nothing useful with which to help a Dalish clan and would be rejected outright. Therefore, he'd never tried seeking one out.
But Leliana didn't need to know that.
He sighed, sinking into the uncomfortable chair. Some interrogation this was. All she'd had to do was mention the Hero of Ferelden, and Kin had spilled everything right away. He could never be a spy or an assassin, if this was the best he could offer whenever someone asked uncomfortable questions.
"It wouldn't have mattered what I tried," he said. "I'd still end up here, because thieving is all I know, and ever will know. That's why I came back, you know. To rob the Conclave. No one would have noticed an extra elf servant running about the place, taking everything that wasn't nailed down. I was on my way to Haven when it all blew up—literally."
For once, Cassandra didn't erupt and call him a liar, seemingly waiting for Leliana to decide if he was lying or not.
"What would you have done with it?" Leliana asked.
"With what?"
"The things you stole from the Conclave."
"What does that matter?"
"Humour me," the Orlesian said, crossing her arms, her face deceptively neutral. "Hypothetically, let us say you walked away with a hundred sovereigns' worth of valuables from the Conclave and encountered no trouble selling it off. What would you do with them?"
Kin stared at her. "That is the weirdest question anyone's ever been asked during an interrogation, I'm sure."
"I've been told my methods can be unorthodox," she replied. "Answer the question, please."
Was it a trick? If it was, Kin couldn't tell. What sort of information the spymaster could glean from his answer to that question was beyond him. She probably just wanted some confirmation that he truly was the horrible person she imagined him to be. Joke's on her, that should have been obvious from the moment they'd met ten years ago.
"Fine, what do you want to hear?" he asked. "That I'd take the money and live like a king? Spend it all on whores and booze? Eat, drink, and fuck my way through it until there's nothing left, and I'm reduced to the same destitute wretch I've always been, lying in the gutter?" He laughed. "Or do you want to hear that I'd redistribute the money to the poor, like some gentleman thief?"
Behind him, he heard Cassandra snort with derision. Leliana simply nodded.
"Ideally, the second one," she said. "If you picked the first option...well, it'd confirm some thoughts I have about you...but then, you wouldn't be the only one to choose that path. Money is a strong temptation, after all."
"Well, thank you for the analysis, sister," Kin muttered. "And for the record, I'd choose the third option."
"Which is?" Cassandra asked.
"If I ever got my hands on a haul that big, I'd stretch it out for as long as I could," Kin said. "Live simply, but comfortably. Somewhere warm, maybe. Antiva, for example."
"Zevran might object to that," Leliana said, her upper lip curling slightly at the thought of the assassin.
"Zevran can go f—"Kin cut himself off, remembering the Antivan elf. "Actually, he might enjoy that." Leliana's face made a strange expression at that—desperately trying not to smile. Kin considered that a victory. "He'd never know I was there, though. I wouldn't draw attention to myself."
"Easier said than done, in a city full of assassins," Cassandra said. "You'd fit right in."
"Again with that?" Kin asked. The accusations were getting old. "Fine, Rivain, then!"
Leliana held out her hand, and Cassandra stepped closer, handing her Kin's axe. The spymaster studied it, appreciating its weight.
"An interesting weapon," she said in a neutral tone, changing the topic entirely. "Custom?"
"A tool," Kin corrected her. "And yes."
And it really was. Sure, the axe could be used as a weapon, but that was not its primary purpose. Its blade was short and straight, as opposed to the long, curved ones found on battle axes. No, Kin's axe blade was meant putting a lot of force on a small area—perfect for chopping through the wood of chests and doors, and occasionally locks made of softer metals.
The hook on the opposite side served both as counterweight for the blade, improving the axe's overall balance, as well as...well, a hook. Useful for reaching and picking up things that was high up and such. Also good for dragging demons away from Heralds who didn't pay attention to what was happening behind them.
Heh, Khaim had been pretty surprised by that.
The axe handle was about the length Kin's thigh, mostly made of wood save for the last third, which was metal and tapered flat near the end. He'd had the blacksmith add that to serve as a pry bar, in case he needed to force something open. It wasn't quite as a good as dedicated tool, but in most cases, it served quite nicely.
Kin hadn't commissioned it as a weapon. His dagger served that role, on the occasions he found himself unable to escape or talk his way out of a fight. The same dagger Leliana had in her belt, displaying its handle prominently, knowing how much it would piss him off. He wouldn't rise to the bait, however.
"Must have cost you a fortune," the spymaster noted, still studying the axe. "It's perfectly balanced."
"Can't beat the dwarves," Kin offered, trying to sound disinterested. "They know their way around a forge."
"How much?"
"Enough," he said. The cost had been enormous, but he'd just gotten paid for a big haul in Markham, and he'd commissioned the axe in response to the numerous problems he'd faced during the job. Worth it, in his opinion, but had pretty much put him back financially where he'd been before taking the job, so...
"I want a number, Grimalkin."
"Why? You want to order some yourself? That's going to be difficult, since the blacksmith who made it is dead."
"By your hands?" Cassandra said.
"No, a drunk human decided to smash his head open on his own anvil when he demanded payment for a job."
Leliana turned the axe over in her hands a few more times before handing it back to Cassandra. She then drew the dagger—Kin's dagger—from its sheath, thumbing the blade. She hissed, a bead of blood already growing where she'd been nicked.
"And this?" she asked. "You've had this for a long time. I remember you carrying it in Denerim. The handle is simple, but the blade is incredibly sharp—not mere steel, I am guessing."
"It was a gift," he said.
"From who?"
"My sibling."
"Stolen, probably," Cassandra interjected.
"I didn't steal it!" he hissed, glaring at the Seeker. "My sibling gave it to me to keep! It's all I have left of them."
"Them?" Leliana asked.
It was shameful. Kin's sibling, who'd taken care of him in his earliest memories, were always a vague, elf-shaped blob whenever he tried to recall them. Their voice was high, but if they weren't much older than Kin, then that had no bearing on whether they had been Kin's brother or sister.
What he did remember with absolute clarity was the safety he'd felt with them nearby, and the fear wracking him when they'd told him to hide in a barrel, giving him their knife to defend himself with in case he was discovered. They'd promised to return, to come get him once the purge was over, but they never did. Kin never saw their body, but he knew they'd been killed during the purge, body collected and burned on a communal pyre, absolved of whatever perceived crime committed by the elven community that had started the purge in the first place.
He'd been on his own after that. There'd been other children, of course. Gangs that formed, that he occasionally ran with, but it was always temporary.
"Them," he said simply. "I don't remember if they were my sister or my brother. They were killed during a purge."
He refrained from saying 'murdered'. No use throwing even more fuel on this disaster fire of a situation.
I'm sorry, he thought. Wherever you are.
Cassandra frowned. "How old were they?"
"I don't know—a few years older than me, I suppose."
"And how old were you, at the time?"
"Hard to be sure," he replied. He honestly had no idea. "My best guess is six or seven? Maybe younger?"
"I'm...sorry," the Seeker said, looking supremely uncomfortable. It was almost funny how drastic the change had been. Perhaps she wasn't as cold-hearted as Kin had assumed. Bad at expressing herself, though, which was why he couldn't help himself.
"Why?" he asked. "You didn't know them. Didn't know me."
"No, but that doesn't mean I don't...that I cannot..." She made several aborted attempts at explaining her sympathies. It was awkward. It made Kin feel a little sorry for her. Not entirely, though. She had accused him of being an assassin and threatening to cut his head off, after all.
"I know what you meant, Seeker," he said, inclining his head a little. "Thank you."
"We are getting off-topic, here," Leliana said, breaking into the extremely uncomfortable moment. "Grimalkin—that is a codename. It's the name you gave us in Denerim. What is your real one?"
"As I told the Herald: none of your business."
"I rather feel it is," she countered. "But I suppose we can leave that aside for now. Instead, how about you tell me what happened?"
"What? Just now?"
"No, everything since we left you in Denerim. Ever since you left Ferelden. I want to know everything you've been doing from the day we parted until this very moment. Spare no details."
"That's a long story, Nightingale," Kin warned her.
"We have time," Leliana replied, still playing with the dagger, testing its weight and balance, evidently finding it pleasing. "Go on."
He sighed. "Fine."
Khaim made haste towards the chantry in a manner he hoped was somewhat dignified, but most likely failing miserably. His legs were wobbly, and felt too long, his head swimming a little. The only thing that kept him from actually tripping and falling flat on his face was his staff. Damn Varric and his silver tongue, he'd taken far too much satisfaction in convincing Khaim to keep drinking. Still did, too, judging by the amused chuckles he heard behind him.
"Take it easy, Greenie," Varric called after him. "You're gonna slip and break something!"
"I have to check on him!" Khaim insisted, frowning when his tongue felt like it was twice its normal size. Damn Varric! "What if they're hurting him?!"
Varric sighed. "Kid, you know Seeker and Nightingale aren't that sort of people; they're just asking him questions!"
Probably, but Khaim had his doubts about Leliana's methods...or what methods she'd employ if Kin proved stubborn and refused to cooperate. And Varric hadn't been the one who'd had to talk Leliana down from having an agent that was suspected of treason executed. She had not been happy with him that day, but at least she'd relented...or so Khaim hoped.
"I promised him he wouldn't be hurt or jailed," he called back to Varric, ignoring the strange looks he got from passers-by, or the odd worshipper who fell to their knees at the sight of him. How he hoped they would stop doing that! It made him feel so hypocritical! "He'll never forgive me if that happens!"
"Greenie, I've been on the receiving end of Cassandra's interrogations—at worst she'll shout in his face for a bit!" Varric was panting a little, Khaim's longer legs giving him a significant advantage. "And why's Stabby's approval so important to you, anyway?!"
Khaim huffed, refusing to answer. Mostly because he didn't have an answer. By all rights he should have sent Kin running and never looked back, but there was something about the other elf that was...intriguing, in a way. Maybe because he was a city elf—Khaim hadn't met many of them before becoming the Herald. Kin was different, though, somehow. It was hard to put his finger on, but Khaim wanted to get to know him better. But that wouldn't happen if Leliana deemed him an assassin and had him executed or imprisoned, or if Kin was released and he decided to leave without as much as a goodbye.
And...well, Kin was cute. A little. Especially when he was annoyed—his brow furrowed and his small nose wrinkled in a way that reminded Khaim of a...well, a cat.
Khaim growled quietly to himself. Mythal, what was wrong with him? The ale must have been even stronger than he'd thought!
"No reason!" he eventually settled on, practically flying up the stairs and shoving the Chantry doors open with his shoulder.
"Maker's breath, not again," he heard Varric's moan quietly behind him.
Exactly what he meant by that, Khaim didn't know, but he didn't have the time to worry, storming into the main hall of the Chantry and immediately approaching Josephine, who had her handheld lectern at the ready, speaking to one of the soldiers. Upon spotting Khaim bearing down on her, she handed the lectern to the soldier, giving Khaim her full attention.
"Lady Montilyet!" he greeted her unnecessarily loud, even making himself jump at the way his voice echoed throughout the hall.
"Herald," she replied with a small, elegant curtsy, her volume actually controlled. "What can I do for you?"
"The interrogation," he said. "Do you know where they are..." his brain froze for a moment, desperately searching for the right word, "...conducting it?"
"Interrogation?" the diplomat said, raising a perfectly curved eyebrow.
"The...assassin," Varric said, panting as he caught up to Khaim. "Seeker and Nightingale...wanted to have a talk..."
"Oh, you mean the thief?" Josephine said, pointing to one of the doors that lined the Chantry hall, guarded by two Inquisition soldiers. "They're in there."
"Oh, thank you, I—"Khaim paused. "You don't think he's an assassin?"
Josephine smiled, shaking her head. "Him? Hardly." She twirled her fountain pen between her fingers with far more dexterity than Khaim had expected from a diplomat.
"What makes you say that?" Varric asked.
"It is hard to explain, but I am usually quite good at spotting killers," she explained. "I find that their eyes usually give them away. There's a coldness there, a certain...detachment. They look at you, and instead of seeing a person, they see a potential target. They analyse you, trying to find weaknesses, vulnerability." Her eyes looked Khaim up and down, and suddenly, through the haze of alcohol, he felt a shiver run down his spine. "They try to deduce the fastest way to kill you."
Khaim stared at her, eyes wide.
Varric cleared his throat. "Sounds like you have some...erm, insight in that area, Ruffles."
"There is much to be learned, as a diplomat," she said cryptically, nodding to the door. "Go on ahead, I'm sure they'll be finished soon anyway. Seeing as Leliana hasn't killed him yet, I'm sure he'll be cleared."
"Th-Thank you, Lady Montilyet," Khaim said, unable to shake the image of Josephine taking her fountain pen and shoving it into his eye. He suddenly understood why she and Leliana got along so well.
"Now there's an assassin," Varric whispered as they headed for the door. "I wouldn't get on her bad side, Greenie."
"I'll keep that in mind," Khaim replied, still shivering.
The guards fell reverently to their knees at his approach, but Khaim quickly ushered them back on their feet.
"Please, none of that, especially not when you're on duty," he pleaded with them, though they stubbornly kept averting their gazes out of reverence. "Could you open the door, please?"
"You say 'please' a lot for someone chosen by Andraste," Varric pointed out as the dwarf soldier unlocked the door. "I was expecting a lot more, you know, 'Bow before me, you shits!' and the like."
"I don't really have it in me," Khaim said. Never mind the fact that he didn't even believe in the Maker or any of his supposed brides or whatever they were called, or the supposed divinity of the Mark on Khaim's left hand.
The Mark was just some magical phenomenon no one had encountered yet, in need of deep, thorough analysis. He was sure new magic was discovered every day, all over Thedas. They just had to keep analysing the Mark until they cracked the secret of it. Solas was definitely working on that; he always had a number of questions for Khaim whenever they spoke. If they could convince more mages to join the Inquisition, Khaim was sure they'd learn everything about it sooner or later.
"Just as well," Varric said, patting his arm. "History's filled with tyrants who took advantage of positions like yours. Maybe this all won't in complete calamity if you stay the way you are."
"Not drunk, I hope," Khaim whispered, making the dwarf snort.
The door finally opened, and Khaim wasted no time marching inside, almost surprised to see Kin sitting in a wooden chair in the middle of the room, seemingly unharmed. Leliana was standing in front of him, arms crossed and glaring at the supposed assassin.
Cassandra, however, was glaring at Khaim. Evidently, he didn't whisper quietly enough.
At least she waited until the door closed behind him and Varric before exclaiming, "Are you drunk?!"
"A bit?" Khaim said, trying to give her a disarming smile—the same he'd used on the Keeper whenever he'd raised her ire with his antics as a child. It didn't work on her either.
Kin had turned around in his chair, giving Khaim an amused look, a crooked grin on his lips. It made Khaim churn a little in a way he couldn't decide whether was good or bad.
"Of all the irresponsible..." the Seeker couldn't find the words, so she settled for a disgusted sigh, shifting her attention to Varric. "And you encouraged this, I assume?"
"Kid was jittery after the trip, I figured he needed a little help calming down," Varric said, raising his hands defensively. "We only had a couple of ales, and I didn't exactly have to pour 'em down his throat by force. How was I supposed to know he's a lightweight?"
"Have you looked at him?!" Cassandra asked, gesturing to Khaim. "I'm surprised he's even standing, much less speaking coherently!"
"Now that's just hurtful," Khaim said, bristling a little. Sure, compared to humans or dwarves he probably didn't have the most impressive tolerance out there, but that didn't mean he couldn't hold his own! "I'll have you know I once drank Keeper Istimaethoriel under the table!"
As one, the other occupants of the room took a look at Khaim and deemed that piece of trivia unimpressive. Presumably, they thought him a liar...or they pictured the Keeper as some diminutive, elderly elf with no tolerance whatsoever.
They couldn't be more wrong. If the Keeper were here, she'd whip this place into shape, seal the Breach and bring peace to Thedas in a matter of days.
...well, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration, but that was really how Khaim how had seen his teacher and mentor when he was younger.
...she'd still wipe the floor with Cassandra and laugh while doing so.
"Maybe you'd like to sit down, Khaim?" Kin said, rising from his seat.
Khaim half-expected Leliana to explode into motion and force Kin back down, but she only watched the thief carefully, her face a stony mask of contemplation. Cassandra let her hand rest on the pommel of her sword, but at least she didn't draw it, so...that was progress?
Wait, had Kin called Khaim by his name, and not Herald?
"You are looking a little green, Greenie," Varric said.
"Enough with the green jokes," Khaim said with a groan, focusing on Leliana. "So? Are we done interrogating him now?"
"Almost," Leliana said, looking to Kin. "What do you say?" she asked.
Kin grimaced. "No, thank you."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure," he repeated. "I'm not joining the Inquisition. I want nothing to do with this."
"A pity," Leliana said, sheathing the dagger she'd been holding and handing it to Kin after untying it from her belt. "I think you could have done a lot of good here."
"It would've been a disaster, I assure you," Kin said, inspecting the weapon before tying it to his belt, wordlessly holding his hand out to Cassandra, who reluctantly handed him his axe after a pointed glance from Leliana. "You seem to be doing plenty of good already without me."
"You asked him to join us?" Khaim asked, to which Leliana nodded.
"He has shown himself to possess a skillset I could find a use for," the spymaster said. "Infiltration, to be specific."
"I don't think sneaking into a field camp is very impressive," Kin said, shaking his head. "Especially not with guards like that. One of them passed my tracks in the snow twice and didn't notice them."
"That's the other field in which I could put you to use," Leliana said. "Probing our security. Finding weaknesses and areas that need to be improved. Showing our troops what to look for when on watch, that sort of thing. You would not even have to leave Haven for that."
"That would imply that I actually wanted to stay here," Kin scoffed. "Freezing my arse off teaching recruits how to tell if a print in the snow is from a boot or an animal foot, all the while dodging demon-spewing portals randomly opening all over the place. No, thank you."
It must have been some interrogation, Khaim surmised, if Leliana had gone from suspecting Kin of being an assassin to offering him a place in the Inquisition. He doubted Kin possessed enough of a silver tongue to fool the spymaster, so his answers must have been truthful enough for her to trust him...or at least want to put him somewhere she could keep an eye on him while he did something useful. And Khaim wasn't opposed to that.
"The Rifts will keep opening all over Thedas unless we contain the Breach," Cassandra said, frowning. "Leliana is not asking you to fight demons—she is asking you to help our soldiers keep our camps safe. Surely even you can see the benefit of that?"
"I got lucky once, sneaking into your camp, and suddenly I'm an expert on infiltrating the Inquisition?" Kin said, doing an odd sort of shuffle towards the door. Just as slowly, Khaim positioned himself in the way, denying Kin a quick exit. "Surely this is something an actual spy or the spymaster herself should be able to do without me? As for the rifts...well, I've been dodging them successfully so far—the one Khaim closed the other day was the first one I've had to get that close to."
There it was again. Khaim. Not the Herald. Not the mage. Not the Dalish. Just Khaim.
It was...nice, being referred to like that.
"I'm just a thief," Kin continued, eyebrow quirked when he found Khaim standing in his way...and refusing to move. "I'm really not useful to you—or anyone—in any capacity. I'm sorry."
His apology was specifically directed at Khaim, who found himself standing aside, disappointment welling up in him. He'd wanted Kin to remain with the Inquisition, but if he didn't want to, then he couldn't force him. Wouldn't force him.
"Is that what you would say to Nessa?" Leliana asked before Khaim could reach the door. "'I'm sorry'? Do you think that's what she told her fellow Grey Warden after Ostagar?"
Nessa? As in that Nessa?
Khaim saw Kin's shoulders stiffen. "Don't," the thief, not turning around.
"You threw away the chance she gave you," Leliana continued mercilessly. "I am offering you this for her. For whatever reason, she wanted you to succeed, to have a better life than living hand to mouth, stealing whatever you can just to survive. With the Inquisition, you can be useful, and not a detriment to everyone around you. Will you spit on her memory not once, but twice by rejecting my offer?"
"I'm not spitting on anything," Kin hissed, his hazel eyes darkening considerably as he turned to glare at her. "I tried to follow her wishes, but I failed. As far as I'm concerned, that frees me from the obligation."
Khaim had seen Leliana annoyed before. Frustrated, even, especially right after he'd woken up in chains and getting accused of causing the Conclave explosion.
He had never, however, seen her angry. It was...surprisingly tranquil. There was no explosive fury like Cassandra's battle fever. No raised voice, no physical violence. There was only the icy stare, and perfectly still face, almost like a mask. When she spoke, her voice was even, with only a hint of wobbling revealing the inner struggle to keep herself still.
"Then you truly are worthless," she said. "Fine, leave. Run away to the Free Marches and hide."
"That's all I wanted in the first place," Kin growled. "Could've spared us this whole song and dance!" He yanked the door open and stomped out.
Khaim really should have left it that. He had no idea what he was doing, running after the thief, ignoring the calls from the others to come back.
The other elf was surprisingly fast, already halfway to the Chantry doors by the time Khaim caught up to him.
That is, caught up to him, and then tripped over his own feet, his face on a trajectory to have a very unpleasant meeting with the stone floor. Luckily, Kin was just as quick to notice that as he was to run away, spinning around to catch Khaim just in time, steadying him.
"You okay?" Kin asked, looking him over. This close, Khaim realised Kin was just a little taller than him...which was really unfair. He'd always been shorter than the clan members, and it didn't seem like the trend was ending anytime soon with the Inquisition.
"Y-Yeah," Khaim said, trying to step back, but his head began spinning a little.
Damn Varric!
"Easy," Kin said, laughing a little. "You really are a lightweight, huh?"
"I'm not a lightweight," Khaim protested.
"That flush says otherwise," Kin pointed out. Khaim felt the heat on his cheeks, scowling. He made sure Khaim was steady on his feet again and stepped back. "Sorry for the trouble," he said. "I wish you the best of luck in closing the Breach. I'll be rooting for you."
He made to turn and leave again, but Khaim's hand on his shoulder stopped him.
"Wait," the Herald said. "You can't leave."
Kin chuckled. "Pretty sure your spymaster will have me killed if I don't," he said.
"I won't allow it!"
"What, my leaving or her killing me?"
"Both!"
The other elf stared at Khaim for a long moment, blinking slowly. "I'm not a part of the Inquisition. Pretty sure I can leave whether you allow it or not."
"I'm the Herald of Andraste," Khaim said, desperation welling up in his chest. "All I have to do is tell my followers to detain you, and they will."
"That would be...unpleasant," the thief said, patting the axe hanging at his hip. "I've been a prisoner once, you know. I refuse to be one ever again. If someone tries to stop me, I might just decide to fight my way out...or die trying."
Khaim swallowed, seeing no hint of a lie in Kin's eyes.
"But then," Kin continued, "I don't think you would resort to something like that. You don't seem the type."
"I'm not," Khaim insisted.
"But for you to try a tactic like threatening with it," Kin said, "makes me wonder why you're so desperate to have me stay." He leaned forward. "So, Khaim? Why do you want me to stay?"
Why did Khaim want him to stay? 'I'm curious about you' just wouldn't do for an excuse, at least not if he wanted Kin to not think him crazy. This really wasn't the time for his mind to be swimming as much as it did, either. It made thinking unnecessarily hard.
"It's getting late," his mouth said without much input from his mind. "You'll freeze to death out there, if you try going now. At least wait until morning. We can get you supplied and outfitted for the journey then."
Surprisingly coherent, Khaim was almost impressed with himself, especially when Kin actually considered it, eventually nodding.
"If you can keep Leliana from flaying me alive before morning, then I accept," Kin said. "I really wasn't looking forward to stumbling my way down the mountain the dark."
Khaim felt like his smile would split his face in half, and was slightly concerned about the way his heart gave a little jump at Kin's acceptance.
He hadn't felt anything like that since...since...
Oh no.
Kin knew was in trouble the moment the Herald—Khaim—smiled as widely as he did, and all because Kin had accepted his offer of hospitality. Sure, the Herald was a little drunk and the offer had probably been made by accident, but Kin appreciated it all the same.
But that smile...
His heart jumped, and his stomach lurched.
Oh, shit...
Happy new year, everybody!