Aveline studied the broad line of Garrett's jaw, the way it cut up into the curl of dark hair just behind his ear. He was grinding his teeth again, of course. She sometimes pondered the chance Garrett would grind his teeth down into the merest nubs there in his mouth, rather than loose the incredible weight of obligation and responsibility he carried so simply. Owned it, like he didn't know any other way. Because he didn't, poor sod.
She sighed, turning her face towards the corner where the road shifted around one of the white-stoned buildings dotted with peeling plaster and splatters of shit and mud.
The merchants who gathered nearby the docks were hardly of the highest quality. But they offered decent goods, fresh from transport across the water. Much of it Fereldan these days, even. Now the Blight was finished, Fereldan tradesmen were scrambling to find quick markets for their goods, to recover from the damage done them by the hordes. From here, Aveline could see piles of turnips and several loads of good, hardy grain straight off one of the ships just recently pulled into harbor.
But the Marchers of the city tended to look down their long noses at those Fereldans who huddled in the corners, scrabbling for every job and every possible coin, and the merchants willing to sell Fereldan goods were left to hawk their wares in the seedier parts of the city, closer to where the Fereldans themselves looked to acquire them. Which was precisely why Garrett had ventured down to the docks today, looking for beets, of all things. It seems Leandra enjoyed the nasty vegetable and her son was intent on plopping a lot of them down in front of her, for her to "have a taste of home" despite the squalor of their current conditions.
Aveline scowled, wondering how Garrett had managed to hear of the recent import. No huge leap to consider he was taking on more jobs independent of Meeran's orders. Funny, the things you heard about when you loitered close enough to the nabobs of the city, she thought. But even if Aveline disregarded the extra work it required of him, the fact Garrett was willing to piss off Meeran by acting outside the control of the Red Iron was worrisome. Garrett might be chafing under the collar the Red Iron put on him when they paid his family's way into Kirkwall, but collar it was and trying to cut himself loose of the thing only invited disaster.
"Beets, Garrett?" Aveline prodded the younger man with a hard knuckle into his shoulder blade, dragging his attention away from the barrel bulging with the red vegetable. She could smell the stink of the things from her lofty position over the barrel and from behind Garrett's broad chest, no less. Aveline dragged a breath in through her mouth to avoid the smell. Garrett lifted an eyebrow at her from over his shoulder.
"Not asking you to eat them, Aveline." Garrett shrugged. It was Carver who snorted loudly, his mouth twisted into a tight smile. On the outs with his brother again, Aveline thought. If only because he finally seemed willing to toss some caustic opinion into the exchange, when he'd been so quiet during their march down to the docks this morning. And of course it had to be something to do with Garrett, after he'd so pointedly ignored him the entire while. But perhaps whatever bother was niggling at Carver's sensibilities also hinted at whatever task of Garrett's netted him the knowledge of the beets being off-loaded on the docks today.
Carver scoffed, "Mother will, though. She'll soak them in pickling juice, so you can take some of them with you – in the field, on a job, wherever. She'll even singsong you into guiltily consuming them, if only to avoid hurting her feelings. Then you'll be out and about, with your chin all stained with pickled beet juice, and everyone will laugh their heads off."
Garrett's lip twisted into something approximating a sardonic smile. Aveline bit back a sigh, if only because she thought Garrett's smiles were such rare things. He seemed eternally busy, rather. Like he simply had no time for anything like a smile, let alone a laugh. She'd never met a more serious-natured man than Garrett, as if weighed down constantly by unceasing demands and obligation. But for now he twisted a small smile at his brother, "Ah, the voice of experience finally adds itself to the morning's adventure."
Carver looked away, out over the glint of sunlight flashing over the harbor's waters. "That the sum total of my experience seems to be following you around and maybe lunching on mother's beet preserves is hardly worth considering, today. I would've managed better winning the position with the city guard, than remaining a damn beet hunter on the Kirkwall docks. Damn it, Garrett …" Carver spun on a booted heal to go stomping off towards a nearby wall, where he slumped angrily. Aveline watched him drop his head, so that the dark tendrils of his hair fell down to obscure his eyes. The brothers looked so damn much alike - all thick, black hair, skin that tanned well under Kirkwall's coastal sun, and narrow, brilliant blue eyes. Hardly like their mother, except for the eyes. Leandra only once spoke of it, sitting down in the hull of the ship that carried them all to Kirkwall nearly a year ago, her tone meandering and sad, "They're both the image of my Malcolm. He would tell me, it proved his blood ran that strong in them." But Carver was obviously the younger of the pair, with the soft bent of his chin that barely sported the briefest hint of facial hair.
Garrett's own chin seemed perpetually dark with shadow, actually, no matter how often he shaved. And his jaw seemed granite hard and always clenched, like now. His lips thinned again as he watched Carver from out of another speculative gaze. That Garrett was exceedingly intelligent was obvious and he made little effort to hide it, said he wanted the idiots who chanced to confront him to know he'd outwit them at every chance. No one's fool, Garrett said of himself. Which was probably why it startled Aveline when he sighed, "And there you have it. My brother is going to hold it over my damn head, what a right mess I've made of things this time. Doesn't that figure, to be my fortune, heh?"
"Would this have something to do with you knowing beets were part of the day's load here on the docks?" Aveline queried, worry weighing her words and Garrett shifted his gaze towards her. Not for the first time Aveline considered how fine a man Garrett looked, even after you considered his utterly serious nature. His frame was smooth and fit, with a broad chest a woman could lay across in comfortable pleasure and shoulders that held up leathered armor pieces in splendorous shape which promised protection and strength. Hard to believe he was a mage, even with the long handle of supposed spear that he tucked into the harness on his back, its bladed edge shining a bright threat. No, Garrett looked like a warrior of old, rather, like someone you'd meet across the length of battlefield and know your fight was going to be long and hard.
"Only you would think beets could get me into trouble, Aveline."
"Stranger things have gotten men into trouble, than a shipload of beets." Aveline sighed, "You and Carver are family to me, Garrett. Strange to think that, but there it is. You were there when I lost Wesley, the only ones who saw him at his very best, with me. That won't change, not even when I accept the posting that Carver's so apparently lost."
Garrett sighed heavily, "Oh, he'll just love that. Just more proof that it's being my own brother that kept him from the thing, than that he's a Fereldan, rather. Almost a year since we ran from home and with the end of our debt just in sight now, and he only sees it as a chance to finally get away from me. Like I'm chaining him in place, somehow."
Aveline frowned, "Meeran still has a claim on you, Garrett. I'd worry more about pissing him off, than whatever's got Carver sulking yet again. What's going on?"
He shrugged a single shoulder, and the creaking sound of his staff's harness crackled in the air. There was a small snap on the buckle that held the thing in place, allowing Garrett quick access to the weapon. And weapon it was, really. The last thing Garrett relied on was his magic, something he said no mage should ever rely on to the extent they lacked martial abilities. He used that bladed spear of his with lethal force, swinging it with smooth rhythm, almost a singing dance of gorgeous precision and motion that usually resulted in someone bad losing a limb. Or worse. Aveline thought Garrett attractive normally, but she thought he was absolutely beautiful in a fight. Now Garrett explained firmly, "Took on some extra jobs for the Seneschal. Small tasks, is all. I don't have name enough to trouble anyone's politics, mind you, and the need for discretion kept it from Meeran's notice."
"But …?"
Garrett flushed. Aveline's eyes widened watching the color bloom on her friend's face, so unfamiliar an expression. Garrett was always strongly certain, to the point some people considered him arrogant. Or stand-offish, at least. Not that he wasn't, either. Garrett always seemed to have a healthy respect for his own personal space, kept much of his thoughts and feelings all locked away behind a strong, silent stony face. Aveline simply couldn't recall seeing real embarrassment cross his features, and she stood there practically gaping at him, now. Just watching the color flash across his high cheekbones and then spread down until his throat was as brightly red as those beets floating in the barrel. "Well … The Seneschal and I …" Aveline started, stiffening with her own embarrassment, even. Damn it. Aveline knew her own features turned some maker-cursed splotchy color whenever she was embarrassed, and the heat she felt on her skin was testament to how terrible she imagined she looked right then.
It wasn't like Garrett flaunted his inclinations, anyway. "Why would I be like anyone else, go about finding some woman worth calling attractive and settle down to give my mother a bevy of little grandbabies? Bad enough I have magic trilling through my veins, mind you. Might as well call me utterly strange, in this, too," Garrett told her once. Right after she rudely barged into some Lowtown brothel looking for him, watched his dark head jerk up from the tangle of naked man he was curled around on that threadbare mattress. Not her fondest memory, either, considering how she blushed and stammered through the most atrocious apologies and knew she'd hurt him for the shock she suffered right then. He'd certainly not remarked on it ever since, either.
Now Garrett shrugged, "So of course the Seneschal's been giving us some minor tasks to earn extra gold on occasion. Happened to mention a new ship was docking today, too. But couldn't have the brother of some man he'd given so much personal attention to, a position in the City Guard. Looks bad, you know." Garrett glanced sideways at Aveline, lifting his strong chin. He'd only recently celebrated another naming day, marking the first quarter of his life. Younger than Aveline herself, only twenty-five, and she still thought him purely exceptional. And not for anything of the magic she knew Garrett hid so well out of sight. He smiled wryly, "I'm glad to hear you managed to nab a position for yourself, though, Aveline. You'll do fine work, I have no doubt."
Aveline frowned, "Carver's pissed at you for sleeping with the Seneschal?"
Garrett lifted an eyebrow, "You think Carver should be … what, pleased? That he was denied that much a chance, only because of who I was sleeping with? Even broke it off with Bran, mind you. Pretty sure that made things even worse, actually. Considering Bran was rather … offended, I mean." Garrett frowned as he dropped his gaze towards the ground, contemplating. Aveline shifted her weight from one side to another, watching him. Not that she was surprised someone of such standing would notice Garrett, seek out his attentions, even. Fereldan he might be, but his Marcher birthright was noble enough, too, what with the name Amell attached to him.
Of course Seneschal Bran heard the rumors, how Garrett's name was bandied about more and more, the rising status of Meeran's Red Iron mercenaries that came after Garrett joined their ranks – Hawke is all they called him, like he didn't have some personal name of his own, or like his name was some symbolic thing in and of itself. Although Garrett's rising reputation did nothing to improve his relationship with Carver, either. If only because when they said Hawke, they never meant Carver. Aveline frowned over at the younger brother, wishing he could see what it did to Garrett, when he turned from him, when he snorted and stomped his feet angrily. How alone it seemed to leave Garrett feeling, how much stronger that stony expression grew on his face.
Garrett straightened, stiffening his shoulders as he waved over towards Carver now. "So I bought the barrel, Carver. Think you can actually grab it up? Or do we plan on sitting here all day, bitching at each other?"
Carver jerked himself up, stalking back in their direction with telling temper. "I'm not your damn Mabari pup!"
"Why wouldn't I think so, when you're whining that clearly?"
Carver narrowed his eyes, his fingers tightening into fists against his sides. But he wisely bit his tongue. Aveline figured the effort was painful as shit, considering how tight his closed mouth looked as Carver bent over in a sudden shot and gripped that small barrel of beets in both hands. Carver bit out, "On top of everything else, we'll be eating beets for a solid month. Our damn shit will be beet-red before it's done. Thanks for that, mind you."
"Yes, I was only thinking of your shit when I decided to come down here to the docks this morning," Garrett remarked, not looking at his brother as Carver spun around and went marching off towards the Lowtown neighborhood where their uncle, Gamlen, made his home. Aveline paused, watching Garrett for another long moment, watched his frozen expression, the hard edge of his jaw as he stayed turned from them both to stare out over the waters in the harbor.
He was back to grinding his teeth.