After our meeting with Varric, Carver and I headed back to Gamlen's house. Officially for lunch, but I suspected that Carver wanted to tell mother of our success. We were both in high spirits all the way back to the house. Discussing our options and throwing out ideas to make extra coin.
Once there however, we walked into the middle of an argument.
"I find it hard to believe they left me nothing at all", my mother exclaimed as we walked in the door. Carver and I exchanged glances, sighing in unison. Mother and Gamlen were barely civil to one another at the best of times. Now they had the look of two back alley cats with their hackles up, about to send fur flying.
"Well, mother was pretty steamed when you ran off with your Fereldan apostate", Gamlen spat back at her.
"I'm still their daughter", mother cried, "Their eldest". She looked to be on the verge of tears. Carver nudged me towards her. I glared back at him, why was I alway the one saddled with peacemaking? I took a couple of steps forward, intent on getting between them before mother broke down completely.
She took a deep breath, and I thought "oh no, here come the waterworks". I was wrong. Mother took a step forward and jabbed her finger into Gamlen's chest, sparks flying from her eyes.
"My children have been in servitude", she spat, "servitude, for a year". She took another step toward Gamlen, and he gave ground! I glanced at my brother, certain that the look on his face was mirrored in mine. He gave me a shrug and a, 'Damned if I know what's going on' look.
Gamlen had been nearly backed into the wall by mother when I looked back. "They should be nobility", she growled.
"Well", he sneered, and I had to admire his audacity if nothing else, "If wishes were poppy, we'd all be dreaming". I broke in then, for all that I wanted to she mother give him the talking too that was due to him.
I gently grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her a step away from Gamlen. "You mean this isn't a dream?" I quipped, "No wonder I can't wake up". It earned me a glare from both my mother and uncle, but I had managed to dispel some of the tension radiating between them.
"And I thought that bastard you ran off with was a mage, not a jester", Gamlen grumbled, turning to me. "Your mother was supposed to marry the Comte de Launcet, but instead she ran off with some Ferelden apostate". He turned back to mother, sneering, "you don't get to stay the favorite when you do that".
She looked at him coldly, unimpressed by his attitude, "If I could just see father's will for myself, where is it?"
For some reason her question put Gamlen on the defensive. "It's not here all right!" he exclaimed, "It was read and went into the vault." He glared at the three of us, "No one needed to read it again".
The way he was suddenly balking made me skeptical. "Did grandfather mention Mother in his will at all" I asked?
"Our father died when you were still in pinafores, girl," he scoffed at me. "You can hardly expect me to remember something so trivial".
Carver broke in, "Oh, of course not. Why should you do anything reasonable".
I kicked him in the shin and he glared at me too. Great. "Don't you start too", I whispered, then aloud I added, "All I know about our grandparents is that they were nobility, not much else". A sudden thought struck me and I turned to mother, "You don't talk about them much. Why?"
She seemed to draw into herself a little before answering me, turning so her shoulder was a shield between us, "The Amells have been a noble family in Kirkwall since Garahel drove out the Fourth Blight". She looked down, "But we've always carried magic in our blood". I blinked at that. I had thought that my magic came only from my father's side of the family. Mother shifted uncomfortably, "It's been a stain on our lineage. No family of good standing would ever marry into a line with magic". She wouldn't make eye contact with my brother or I, and I had the strange feeling that she was almost, ashamed.
She took a breath "When I chose your father… well, I was bringing more magic into the bloodline, not less". She sighed, "I think that's what hurt them the most". She stared at the floor, lost in thought.
"The will touched a nerve",I mused, "what's in there you don't want us to see"? His hurried, "Nothing", was loud enough that I looked at him sharply, more suspicious now than I had been before. He rushed on, "But you won't be seeing the bloody thing. It's still locked up on the estate, and that's long gone from my hands".
Carver was appalled, "What daft bastard leaves that behind"? he demanded.
Gamlen shrugged off the question. "It was old news, You think I've been sitting here for twenty five years just waiting for Leandra to slink back?" He looked at Carver disgustedly.
Mother interrupted, voice tired, "Who bought the estate, Gamlen?" She heaved out a breath, "Perhaps I could speak to them. Was it the Reinhardts?"
Gamlen snorted, "No one you know, dear sister. Get used to Lowtown", he taunted, "it's where you're staying". With that he turned on his heel and marched out of the room, leaving mother to stand desolately by the fire. She stared sadly into the flames, and I wanted to comfort her, but couldn't think of anything to say to appease the situation.
Carver made a small noise and motioned for me to join him across the room. "Maker, what a mess" he said quietly when I approached, "I want things to go better for mother, but some of the things Gamlen says", he shook his head, "I'm having a hard time hating him".
I was a little surprised and it must have shown on my face because he gave me a long-suffering look. "Playing caretaker for someone elses life, always in their shadow", he shrugged, "It's no way to live".
I managed to resist rolling my eyes, but only just. "And there it is", I said scathingly, "the root of all our problems".
He pouted at me a little, "look, if you want to join the fight about who lost the most, be my guest. But I never lived here, I didn't know these people". He gestured widely, "Mother even gave me her old key to try and stir something". He shook his head, "Finding the will doesn't matter to me at all".
I nodded. I could understand where he was coming from. In all truth, none of it mattered that much to me either. I didn't care about some empty title, except that it might help keep the templars off my back. But it did matter to mother. "Mother tried her best to give us everything we need, I think she's due the same," I murmured.
Carver smiled a little, "Oh, I see her side", he agreed, "Gamlen's definitely an ass". I had to grin at that. "But it's not like we can just ask slavers to give that life back", he continued, soberly. I felt my eyebrows shoot up at that.
"What have you heard" I questioned, I hadn't heard anything about slavers yet.
Carver huffed out a laugh, "Uncle's a chatty drunk, apparently he was up to his neck and signed the whole thing over. That's who has the estate".
I could feel my teeth grinding, I hated slavers. That there were a bunch of the scum hiding out in a place my family had once owned, seemed like a personal insult. Carver must have shared my visceral reaction, because he growled, "Apparently the best wine cellar in Kirkwall is now a highway from the Undercity".
"That", I said carefully, "sounds like an arrangement that needs to change". Carver gave me a fierce grin, showing his teeth. "We can go in and clean it out from the bottom up", his smile was savage as I made the suggestion. "And if", I added, "we happen to find the will", I shrugged a shoulder, "all the better". I thought for a moment, "Perhaps it would be a good idea to talk to Varric first and see if he would be willing to come along as well". When Carver looked at me curiously I clarified, "We can use all the help we can get if we plan to take out a major slave ring".
"You're probably right", He conceded, "why don't you go talk to him, see if he's interested. I have some, other things, I need to take care of before we go". I gave him a quizzical glance, but didn't press. I would enjoy some time to myself, and I really, really didn't want to know what my brother got up to when I wasn't around.
"Fine, meet me at the Hanged Man in about half an hour, ok" I asked?
"Sure" he grunted. That seemed to be all I was going to get out of him, so I took my leave.
The Hanged Man is a rather popular tavern for everyone in Kirkwall, never mind that it sits in all its rather dingy glory right on the edge of the Lowtown slums. A large bazaar surrounds the blocky building, not as well off as the market square in Hightown, but still, there is usually a crowd. The Hanged Man itself is marked by a rather impressive effigy of a man hung upside down by one foot. The figure is suspended above the door by a thick rope, and sways alarmingly in the strong winds that blow in from the ocean. I hate walking under the stupid thing.
The bazaar was teaming as usual, and as I picked my way through the throng, I caught sight of a knot of people crowded around a man. I caught what he was saying as I was passing by
"A pouch of Andraste's ashes" He proclaimed, holding up a scarred leather bag. I stopped, curious. I knew there were rumors that the resting place of the prophetess' ashes had been found, but I doubted that the church would let someone like this sell them on the street. I know a shell game when I see one.
"It's got the power to heal any ailment" the con man continued, "Verified by Brother Genitivi himself". I rolled my eyes, preparing to move on, when I caught the eye of a guardswoman. She was visibly seething with anger. I made my way over to her as a woman in the crowed let off a few feeble coughs and volunteered to try the ashes. I greeted the guardswoman quietly, not actually looking at her.
"You're Aveline's friend aren't you", she asked softly, staring straight ahead as well "the one with the Red Irons?"
"Not any more", I replied lightly, "I was only with them for the year".
"Aveline says you're good people, and I'm inclined to trust her", she said, then jerked her chin toward the crowd who was starting to disperse, "Every coin those swindlers get goes straight into the Cartas coffers." She grimaced, "They need to be stopped, but our hands are tied".
I quirked an eyebrow, "It would be nice if someone took a disliking to them wouldn't it". She still didn't look at me, but I could see her smile out of the corner of my eye as she said, "Strictly speaking, I cannot condone citizens taking the law into their own hands, but if this lot met with a mysterious end in some Lowtown back alley, I doubt anyone would complain".
"hmm, perhaps they will be struck down by the Maker for their blasphemy", I said, then left. I didn't want to stick around and make her a target for the Carta, or worse, her commander. Especially if I intended to make sure they were struck down, though I doubted the Maker would have much to do with it. Besides, I was never the most law abiding citizen, and what the guard couldn't do, I most certainly could.
Oh, I followed the laws when they suited me, or when I was sure to get caught, but sometimes they got in the way of doing the right thing. As may be supposed, this was a point of contention between Aveline the Guardswoman and myself. She could get over it though, I don't like living with a guilty conscience. After all, as an apostate mage, technically, my very existence is illegal. I kept a sharp eye out for templars and swindlers alike on the way to the Hanged Man, but saw no evidence of either. Lucky me.
There is a very good reason my family doesn't like to let me go out on my own, I'm not much good in single combat. I really hate casting any sort of harmful magic, so I don't know any good offensive spells. If I am caught on my own, the best I can do is freeze them in place and hightail it out of there. I don't make a very good target though, unless someone is looking for me specifically. I'm a little shorter than average, which is a boon when trying to hide in a crowd, and my dark brown hair and eyes make me harder to pick out. Sometimes, looking just like everyone else has its perks.
My fortune stayed good, Varric was in the common room of the tavern when I entered. He waved me over.
"Your brother not coming?" he asked as I approached.
I shrugged, "Perhaps, perhaps not, I never know with him". I pulled a sour face, "He's not much for planning sessions, he's more of a 'hack now, ask question later' person".
Varric gave an amused snort. "I can see that", he said, "Fortunately you seem the planning type, so it works out". He led me up the stairs to a suite of rooms. "So, here's the thing", he explained, taking a seat on a stocky chair by an equally stocky table, "we need to find a way into the Deep Roads." I pursed my lips, leaning on the back of the chair next to him as he continued, "Bartrand can get us where we need to go once we're there, but we need a good entrance".
"A 'good' entrance? Any entrance would work wouldn't it" I enquired? "Unless, of course," I added thoughtfully, "there were a dragon sitting on top of it".
Varric smirked, "We need an entrance that is close to our destination, isn't filled with darkspawn, and hasn't been plundered already."
I sat. I liked his chairs, they were obviously made for a dwarf because my feet sat firmly on the floor, not leaving my heels a couple of inches above. I wondered where I could get some similar. Probably nowhere I could afford. Ah well. I propped my elbows on the table, leaning my chin on my hands. A few stray strands of hair had come free of the headband and were curling gently over my eye. I eyed him through the dark strands. "That's quite the criteria".
He nodded amiably, "fortunately, I have some new information". He gestured to the stack of papers on the table, "there is a Grey Warden in the city, and if anyone knows how to get to the Deep Roads, it will be him".
I raised my eyebrows at that, I didn't like the idea of messing with a Warden. They were a tough group. I knew that the current king of Fereldan is a Warden, and that they go through some sort of secret ritual to make them better fighters or something, but that was about it. "Why would a Grey Warden know that" I asked, voicing my scepticism.
"The Wardens go down the Deep Roads even when there is no blight," he answered. "Even if he doesn't know, he might be able to point us to those who do".
His answer didn't do much to still the trepidation I felt about talking to a warden, but I had to admit it did seem the best course of action. "Sounds like you have this all planned out Varric." I remarked.
He didn't miss the amused edge in my voice, and gave me a slight bow. "That is why I am here Messer", he smirked. Then added, business-like once again, "the Warden is supposed to have come in with some other Fereldan refugees not long ago. A woman by the name of Lirene has been helping the Fereldan's in Lowtown. We talk to her, maybe we learn where he is". We stood and he added, "I'll keep after my contacts, see if I can drum up any more work for you".
"Thanks", I said, and meant it. I remembered the other thing I had meant to talk to him about, "Oh, by the way, would you mind helping my brother and I clear out some slavers"?
He cocked his head at me. "What have you heard, Hawke", he asked, copper eyes cunning as they gazed at me.
I pushed the escaped curl out of my face, "My mother's old home is apparently now part of a slave highway in the Undercity, and her father's will is still there in a vault". I grinned at him, "I was hoping to take care of two problems at the same time".
He frowned thoughtfully, "How do you plan to get in"?
I brandished the cellar key with a flourish. "This" I said triumphantly, "It's supposed to get us into the 'secret exit' in the wine cellar, I think it's in Darktown somewhere. Carver knows more than I do, it's his key." I dangled the key by the leather thong it was threaded on.
Varric stared at me for a couple of seconds, then let out a rich laugh, like warm honey, "Maker, Hawke, you don't do things by halves, do you". He started toward the common room, still chuckling, and clapped me on the back as he passed, "I think I'm going to enjoy our time together". I followed him out, thinking that I was also going to enjoy getting to know this strange dwarf.