"Serah Amell."

Gamlen groaned as he felt the cold hard floor mashing against his cheek, threatening to leave an ugly stamp on it. His annoyance was further compounded by the image of dark slashes across the floor, which he figured out promptly as the shadow cast by the bars that imprisoned him. Having born a nobility, he was entitled to certain privileges, one of those was waking up in a warm and comfortable bed, and not in this cesspool of a jail smeared with Maker knows what. He would not stand for this utter disregard for his status, he would make sure that the viscount hear of this. But as soon as his mind could overlook the outrageous condition of his accommodation, his mind swiftly wondered as to why he was banished into this squalor in the first place, did they not know who he was? Why hasn't his father sent one of the housemaids to come here and bail him out? All of a sudden the harsh reality struck him hard in the pit of his stomach – he was alone, and worse of all, penniless.

"Serah Amell," the voice started again. A voice that he knew all too well. He looked up from the floor to see the bearded executor already standing outside his cell, there was concern in his eyes. How long has he been standing there?

He stood up and approached the man. His hands gripping the bar of his cell.

"Albert, you must get me out of this place."

"You know very well the guards don't take the breaking and entering of a Hightown mansion lightly," he said, his frown deepening behind his thick grey mustache.

"It is my home! How dare you change the locks without my consent?"

"With all due respect Serah Amell, it is your home no longer. As an executor, my responsibility to you ended the moment I read you your father's will, so I couldn't care less if you decided to waste your life away. However, William was a dear friend of mine and I'm quite sure he doesn't want to see you like this."

Gamlen smiled, a sardonic smile, as he walked to the back of his cell listlessly and sat down where the shadow shielded him from the intruding light. He sat limp and lowered his head as if he had lost all hope, "I somehow doubt that, after all, it is him who left my good-for-nothing sister with all his wealth and left me with nothing. Why did he even bother to keep me around if he was just going to leave me to die like the lowliest cockroach in Darktown?"

"He didn't leave you with nothing. It is actually one of the reasons why I came down here, you left quite abruptly."

"A blasted sword and an estate in Orlais that he never spoke about, just goes to tell you how much he really cared for me, if he cared about me at all."

"So you would rather rot here? You do realize that nobody is going to protect you now? You have no estate in this city any longer, your status means nothing, rumors have already started going around that the Amell line have finally gone extinct, and the fact you're imprisoned here for Maker knows how long just further warrants it."

Gamlen kept his silence. He'd like to point out that the rumor has been around for quite a while but he didn't see any point in it. It was no secret in Kirkwall that he wasn't the golden child of the two. For as long as he could remember, he's always been the black sheep of the family. His childhood was plagued with illness. While he was always the one to be confined to his bed for a week for something as minor as a cough, Leandra was the one who'd be brought to dances, dinners and other lavish court events by his parents. They showered her with attentions, gave her all the gifts she wanted, which she happily accepted despite the fact that she knew as well as he that it was merely a bribe for her to allow herself to be pawned off to the Comte de Launcets' son. His family's game of intrigue with the rest of the nobilities was something he could do without, but part of him still longed for the affection his parents had showered upon his little sister, even if it was a selfish, materialistic-based, kind of affection. In contrast, his parents didn't expect much from him, neither did the nobilities among whom he lived. They were probably surprised that he grew up at all.

"You remembered that part correctly," the executor started, waking him from his thoughts.

"However, I didn't have the chance to inform you of the condition." Gamlen shook his head in disbelief, they had left him with what, for all he knew, could have been a pigsty in Orlais, of all places, and they still could manage to insult him more by attaching ridiculous conditions in order to get it.

"It says that if you haven't claimed your remaining estate by the following Satinalia, it'd be awarded to whoever resides in it. But seeing as you're not even interested in the property, it seems like I just wasted my time by going down here." The executor said as he folded the piece of paper and put it back inside his pocket.

"Farewell Serah Amell," he bowed in a most polished manner, but as he turned away Gamlen's hand grabbed his arm through the bar of the cell. The executor looked over his shoulder with an assertive glare, which Gamlen immediately responded by letting go of his arm.

The executor was glad nevertheless, judging from his grip on his arm, that Gamlen has finally understood that his choice was this or nothing at all.

After a long pause he finally blurted out, "I-I want to know more about this estate." The executor smiled as he fished for the note in his inner jacket pocket.

He turned around, a folded piece of parchment in his hand, "I'm glad that you have finally come around. Your father didn't state much about it in his will, aside from its location. It's also implied that someone is living there, so it could be a house." He then handed the note pertaining to the location to Gamlen.

Gamlen promptly unfolded the parchment and squinted at the lack of light, "Artois, I've never heard of it, he certainly never said anything about our family having Orlesian ties, unless Leandra went through with her arranged marriage and we both know that didn't happen. If this house really belonged to us it must be pretty old since our family has been in Kirkwall since my grandfathers' time. You fought alongside him in the war, you knew my father longer than I did, so he must have told you something." Gamlen asked, it was the first time since this nightmare had started that he could hear hope in his voice.

"Your father never spoke of it, it could be that he was quite ashamed of his Orlesian blood, if he has any, and I wouldn't blame him for that." Gamlen wondered whether he was referring to Orlais occupation of Kirkwall a century ago or the general Orlesian eccentricity. But it didn't matter as the only person alive whom he thought could have known his father better turned out to be just as clueless as he was.

"Artois, I recognize that name, it's an old name, I don't even know they still use that name," he said as he rubbed his greying beard.

Gamlen furrowed his brows, "Wait, what do you mean they don't use that name anymore?"

"The name used to describe the northern part of Orlais but over the centuries of war and fighting the Nevarrans have managed to chip away at the region. Which means this estate of yours might even date back to the Exalted Age. It is most intriguing..."

Gamlen could see the executor's frown behind his thick mustache at his yawning. History has never really been his favorite topic, and it wasn't about to change now. "So, can I even still claim the estate if the land itself has changed hands?"

"For this very purpose, your father has ordered his personal accountant to provide you, at your request, with the accounts of land tax payments made to the Kingdom of Nevarra throughout the years. It's accompanied by the title of the land and other necessary documents of course."

Gamlen nodded. He was not completely hopeless. He hastily looked up at the executor with renewed fervor, "Then you better get me out of here fast."

The executor smiled, "As you wish." He said tersely as he revealed the key to his cell from his pocket.