Word count: 5,102
Warnings: Canon Divergence (to a point), Canon-Typical violence.
Act I: Scene III- Truth and Lies, High and Low
They all sobered up when they stepped into the Guard's Quarters. Aveline stood in front of the rosters, serious expression on her face, and Amell and the group made a beeline for her.
"Aveline!" Hawke called as they approached the guardswoman. She gave a grunt and a, "Hello, Hawke." in return.
"Long time, no speak, huh?" Hawke tried again. Aveline finally turned around.
"What? Oh right! Sorry. It feels like we just spoke. I've been keeping an eye on you. Information is one of the few perks of this job. Watch out for Bartrand; he's a son of a bitch."
Varric choked on a laugh, and Amell gave the dwarf a concerned look.
"You know I don't like it when you have people watch me," Hawke whined, but there was a smile tugging at his lips.
"Saved me camping on your doorstep," Aveline shot back. She sobered a bit. "After what we went through to get here, I- Well, you're no child, but I take care of my friends. The places they have me patrolling? I've got time." Hawke smiled and nodded.
"So… A person in your position. Seems like they might learn some… profitable... things."
"You know better than to ask that," Aveline scolded lightly. Hawke half-smiled.
"One day, you'll be frustrated enough to go for it," he teased.
"It's like I'm sitting on my hands," Aveline grumbled. "There are dangerous people in this city. In fact, I might have a job for you. Let me know if you want to do a favor for Kirkwall. Otherwise, I'm here if you need me. Maker knows I could use more satisfying work."
Hawke raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Alright, Aveline. You have something worth doing?"
"My patrols may be empty walks in the dark, but there's something big coming up," Aveline explained. "And I could use you. An ambush, probably for a caravan, although I can't find any shipments that match up. Doesn't matter though. Highwaymen waiting for someone to rob? I'm putting a stop to it, my district or not."
"Alright, Aveline. I'll play guard for you," Hawke said, partially teasing.
"I knew I could count on you," Aveline said with a smile. She became more serious as she continued. "They're hidden up Sundermount. Remote and rough. But we can make good time with a short-cut this side. And no, you can't run off and do it without me. I trust you, but I have to be there. You're acting on behalf of the Guard."
Hawke huffed unhappily as he turned on his heel and started for the door. He heard Marcus fall in beside him and the rest fall in behind, the metallic clink of Aveline's greaves joining the soft tap of Carver's and Varric's boots. It was a comforting sound, reminding him she had his back.
The group descended the Keep stairs quickly, cutting through the Red-Light District to avoid the Merchants' Guild and Hightown Market entirely.
The bustle of the Lowtown Bazaar greeted them as they came down the stone stairs.
"The Merchant's Guild has their fingers in all these pies," Varric commented, looking around as Amell rushed off to chat up a lady; Elegant, if Hawke remembered correctly.
"Well, not the actual pies," Varric amended quickly as they passed a food stand. "They're clean, as far as I know." Hawke chuckled and shook his head, pausing in front of the weapons-seller. There wasn't much. Odd. Normally it was very well stocked.
"Problem supplying this week?" Hawke asked, flipping over a greatsword to examine the blade. No chips or nicks, but the metal did seem a little on the soft side…
"No, not really, Serah," the dwarf assured, moving a bit closer so that their conversation could remain as private as possible on the busy street. "Sharps' brats came by the moment I opened this morning, bought up as much as their coin could afford. Heard one talk about an excess of new recruits. Might want to watch your back at night."
Hawke nodded, paying for the sword and tossing in an extra silver or three for the information. He handed the sword off to Carver before turning and beginning to head further into Lowtown. Amell jogged up to the group just as they approached the Hanged Man.
"Free drinks for the Guard," Aveline informed wryly. "Accept, and wake up in a back alley." Varric huffed, almost offended.
"My favorite spot in the whole city! All the taverns in Hightown are owned by the Merchants' Guild," Varric proclaimed.
Aveline muttered something that sounded like, "I stand corrected." Hawke shook his head, pushed the door open, and stepped into the hive of scum and villainy.
The Hanged Man smelled of piss, vomit, and- vaguely- stale ale. Hardly a pleasant smell, but nothing Amell wasn't at least somewhat use to. Summers in Lowtown slums, he'd learned, really did not smell much better. He was even starting to miss the smell of dog-shit that was so common in Ferelden. At least the source of that was identifiable, to some extent.
Nonetheless, Amell followed Varric closely up the stairs, everyone else not far behind. Now Amell was really grateful for Aveline's intimidating presence; a number of the other patrons were giving him and Hawke... unsavory... looks, but the sight of a Guard close at hand seemed to deter them. For the moment.
Amell let out the lightest sigh of relief when they entered Varric's private room. He could hear Hawke do the same.
So, here's the thing," Varric began, gesturing for the rest of them to sit as he paced the head of the table closest to the fire. Everyone but Hawke did so, the Ferelden mage choosing to instead lean against the wall behind his cousin. "We need to find a way into the Deep Roads. Bartrand can lead us to the right place once we're down there, but we need a good entrance."
"Any entrance would do, wouldn't it? Unless a dragon's sitting in it, I suppose," Hawke said. Amell wasn't entirely certain if he was fucking around or actually serious. The former was a good choice, but… With Hawke, you could never truly tell.
Varric leaned over the table, examining the map there. "We need an entrance that's close to our entrance, but isn't already plundered or filled with darkspawn," he explained. "Fortunately, I've received some new information; there's a Grey Warden in the city. If anyone knows how to get down there, it'll be him." Amell peered over the map with the dwarf. On it was marked the usual checkpoints of any Kirkwall map- the various parts of the city, Sundermount, the Wounded Coast- but there were also a number of tiny marks and shorthand labels marking places Varric seemed to deem important- an abandoned ruin up the side of Sundermount, a mine called the Bone Pit, a number of known entrances to the Deep Roads he had apparently ruled out...
"Why would a Grey Warden know that?" Carver asked.
"The Warden's don't just fight the darkspawn; they forge into the Deep Roads all the time," Varric said. "And if he doesn't know, he might be able to point us to those who do."
"Sounds like you have it all planned out, Varric," Hawke jested with a flash of a smile.
Varric smirked and bowed as he said, "And that, Messere, is why I'm here." He straightened up, a bit more serious. "Supposedly, this Grey Warden came in with some other Ferelden refugees not long ago. A Lowtown woman named Lirene has been helping the Fereldens. We talk to her, maybe we learn where he is.
I'll keep after my contacts- see if I can drum up any other work."
Hawke nodded and relaxed against the wall as the group fell silent, nursing their respective drinks that Varric had so kindly bought for them (Amell had absolutely no doubt he was going to end up paying the dwarf back for those someday, in one way or another). Eventually, the group grew bored or tired and began to disperse.
"We're going up Sundermount today next week, Aveline," Amell reminded the warrior. "We'll deal with your problem, then the task the Witch set for us." He was careful not to mention the name Flemeth. The walls had ears; in that fact, there was no uncertainty. "Watch your back walking home."
Aveline nodded before turning and heading down the stairs and out of the tavern. Amell hoped he didn't make a mistake, not sending someone with her to walk her home.
"She'll be fine," Hawke assured, as if reading his mind. "We should probably be heading back to Gamlen's, though. Mother must be worried by now."
There it was: the avoidance of the word home. Amell had noticed his cousin had stopped saying that word about a month after coming to Kirkwall, just as he had started wearing his staff across his back all the time and stopped genuinely smiling. It was a slight personality shift, but one that made Amell slightly nervous…
"Yeah," he agreed, standing and finishing his drink in a single gulp. "Let's go."
...
"Hard to believe they left me nothing," Hawke heard Leandra say as he, Amell, and Carver stepped into the shack.
"Well, Mother was pretty steamed when you ran off with your Ferelden apostate," Gamlen shot back harshly.
"I'm still their daughter!" Leandra protested. "Their eldest! My children have been in servitude- servitude!- for a year. They should be nobility!" Gamlen scoffed.
"If wishes were poppy, we'd all be dreaming."
"You mean this is real?" Hawke finally cut in. "No wonder I can't seem to wake up." Gamlen seemed taken aback be Hawke's jab, almost disgusted.
"And here I thought that Ferelden you ran off with was a mage, not a jester," he muttered darkly. "You're mother was supposed to marry the Comte de Launcet, but instead she ran off with some Ferelden apostate. You don't get to stay the favorite when you do that."
"Where is Father's will?!" Leandra insisten. "If I could just see for myself-" Gamlen cut her off.
"It's not here, alright?!" He snapped. "It was read; it went in the vault. No one needed to look at it again!" Hawke cast his brother an amused glance and raised an eyebrow as he turned his gaze back towards Gamlen.
"Well that touched a nerve," he sassed. "What's in there that you don't want us to see?"
"Nothing!" Gamlen shouted, before calming slightly. "But you won't be seeing it the bloody thing. It's still in there, locked up in the estate, and that's long out of my hands!"
"What daft bastard leaves that behind?" Carver murmured, shaking his head in disapproval.
"It was old news!" Gamlen scoffed. "You think I've been sitting here for twenty-five years waiting for Leandra to slink back?"
"Who bought the estate, Gamlen?" Leandra demanded. "Perhaps I could speak to them! Was it the Reinharts? "
"No one you know," Gamlen said sharply. "Get use to Lowtown, sister. That's where we're going to stay."
Gamlen and Leandra continued to argue. Hawke tugged on his younger brother's arm, pulling him away.
"Let them argue," Hawke said, glancing between Carver and the quarrelling siblings. "We leave early tomorrow and need rest. We can discuss this in the morning."
Carver nodded, letting his brother and cousin tug him towards where they slept.
They did not sleep easily.
The youngest Hawke was confronting Garrett in whispers first thing in the morning, when Leandra and Gamlen were still sleeping.
"Maker, what a mess," Carver groused. "I want to make things better for Mother, but some of what Gamlen says… I'm having a hard time hating him. Playing caretaker for someone else's life, stuck in their shadow; that's no way to live."
"And there it is," Hawke stated blandly, without even an ounce of his usual sass.
"Look, if you want to join the fight over who lost the most, fine. But I never lived here. Mother even gave me her old key to try and stir something!" Carver exclaimed, then drew a quick breath as he realized just how loud he had become. He continued in a more hushed whisper. "But I didn't know grandfather. Finding his will doesn't matter to me."
"But it matters to your mother," Amell pointed out.
"So let's make it matter to you," Hawke said. "You want a connection, this is where we'll find it."
"The once mighty Amells?" Carver scoffed. "A bunch of slavers are squatting in that glory."
"What have you heard?" Amell asked, suspicious.
"Uncle's a chatty drunk. He was up to his neck and signed everything over. That's who has the estate. Apparently, the most extensive wine cellar in Kirkwall is now a slave highway from the Undercity. That's the family legacy." Carver had gravitated towards the fire as he spoke, the flames casting sharp shadows across the planes of his face, illuminating his doubt as efficiently as his voice projected scorn.
"He couldn't have just done everyone a favor and signed over himself as well?" Hawke grumbled, looking over the letters left for him on the desk; a dwarf named Anso needed help with… something, a merchant in Hightown needed to talk about a mine called the Bone Pit...
Amell waved off his cousin's protests.
"That sounds like an arrangement that needs to change," he said.
"And what if it does?" Carver asked. "We still aren't important enough to actually live in the place."
"Baby steps, Carver," Hawke chidded. Said youngest Hawke glared, but inevitably caved.
"Alright, Brother. If the key works, we'll clear the estate from the Undercity up." Hawke smiled slyly and Marcus shook his head fondly.
"But first," Marcus said, steering his cousins towards the door, "I believe we have an appointment with a certain Grey Warden."
...
"Here we are," Hawke quipped cheerfully, looking at the over-packed, decrepitated building that was Lirene's Ferelden Imports. "This is the place, right, Varric?"
Varric nodded, and Hawke took that as the cue to lead them into the shop.
It was a lot more packed than it had looked from the outside. There were a number of people jostling around, shouting and bartering and generally being an organized, chaotic mess. Hawke strood through the crowd and right up to the counter.
"Serah, if you're seeking aid, please leave your name with my girl. We serve everyone here- no one came from Ferelden without trouble. But, please give me a moment to finish with this woman," Lirene ordered, effectively dismissing Hawke as she turned to continue her conversation with a clearly distressed woman whose mother (maybe friend?) had just gone into labor. Lirene pointed her in the direction of a (the?) healer in Darktown.
Amell chuckled and shook his head when Hawke let out an indignant little sound. He tapped his cousin's shoulder to get him to step aside, then leaned on the counter with a sly smile.
"Serah Lirene? May I speak with you for a moment?"
The woman turned towards the white-haired man in surprise, letting out a small, confused noise. Amell put on his best dejected look.
"Ah, yes. You see, I'm looking for someone. A Fereldan Grey Warden? I was told you could point me in the right direction." Lirene got that face like she just caught onto Amell's little ruse.
"Ferelden Grey Warden? The only Ferelden Grey Warden I know of is sitting on the throne? What would one be doing here?"
The distressed woman spoke up.
"The Healer was one of 'em one, wasn't he? A Grey Warden?"
"Well, he's not now," Lirene said quickly. "And busy enough without answering fool questions about it."
"I promise, we aren't going to bother him," Amell assured. "My friend here might even be able to help ease the workload a bit." Amell let a reassuring smile spread over his face, gentle and undeniably trusting.
"You see what our people in Kirkwall face?" Lirene asked, gripping the counter tightly. "They have no jobs, no homes. Most can hardly buy bread. This healer, he serves them without thought for coin. He's closed their wounds, delivered their children.
He's a good man. I won't lose him to the blighted Templars."
Amell shuffled a bit and Hawke drew a sharp breath. Amell stepped aside as Hawke stood confidently up to the counter.
"Your healer is in no danger from me," Hawke murmured, letting a soft glow cover the tips of his fingers. "No mage should suffer from an accident of birth." Lirene looked down at the light for a moment, then met the mage's eyes with a sigh.
"I suppose it isn't my secret to keep," the woman relented. "Anders has certainly been free enough with his services. Refugees in Darktown know- to find the Healer, look for the lit lantern."
Hawke hated Darktown. It reminded him too much of his days working with Meeran; the other mercenaries and their grubby hands, the stares from the people, ranging from lustful to terrified. He didn't want to stay here any longer than necessary.
Passing through the dingy Darktown Market, Hawke was surprised to see a familiar face.
"Tomwise?"
The small, fidgety elf looked up in startled surprise.
"Hawke? Haven't seen you since that job Meeran hired me for. How are you doing, anyway? Heard you're going on some expedition into the Deep Roads, and right into darkspawn territory. Sure that's wise?" Hawke chuckled at Tomwise's rambling. Good to see he hadn't changed much...
"Well, we can't all make a living in the Undercity."
Tomwise shrugged. "Just watch your back, that's all I'm saying. Say, are you still in the market for some poisons? The Red Iron's been scarce since that last job." When Hawke shook his head, Tomwise just huffed.
"Tell you what, if you ever find any nasty reagents and want me to whip you up something, just say the word. In fact, since you're an old friend, here's a little something. My specialty. Everyone needs an edge sometimes, right?"
Hawke smiled gratefully as he accepted the dirty-faced elf's recipe for the poison. It wasn't often that the stingy elf gave him anything without a price. He'd probably take Tomwise up on that offer…
Amell tugged at Hawke's elbow to keep him moving, not really enjoying the stares he was getting from some of Darktown's denizens.
It didn't take them long to find the lit lantern. Hawke felt his body hesitate just at the door. There was something strange within. It felt like… the Fade. But at the same time, it wasn't.
Amell patting his back startled Hawke back into reality. He pushed the door open, and stepped into Darktown's clinic.
It was actually rather nice. It was clean, the beds orderly. The Grey Warden, Anders, was tending to a patient farthest from the door. His hands glowed blue with creation magic, his face drawn tight with strain. Hawke could feel the healing aura roll off the mage in waves. A final blast of energy, and the boy Anders had been healing coughed, sitting up quickly and fully recovered. Anders stumbled back a bit, Magic petering out as he turned his back on the doors and tried to recovered his strength. The young patient's father patted him gently on the shoulder before the family strood past Hawke and the group.
Anders was leaning against the pillar, panting, when he felt the magic in Hawke. He felt the flare of anger within, and grabbed for his staff while he whirled on the "intruders".
"I have made this place a sanctum of healing and salvation! Why do you threaten it?!"
Hawke raised his hands is a placating manner, barely keeping himself from shaking beneath the weight of the stronger mage's presence. He let a bit of his magic loose, letting Anders feel its un-Harrowed touch.
"We are not here to harm you," Hawke assured. "All I want is to ask you some questions." He watched Anders relax and sigh, placing his staff aside.
"We're interested in getting into the Deep Roads," Varric cut in, "and rumor has it you were a Warden. Do you know a way?"
"Did the Wardens send you to bring me back?" Anders asked, crossing his arms across his chest. "Well, I'm not going. Those bastards made me get rid of my cat. Poor Ser Pounce-a-lot… He hated the Deep Roads."
Hawke coughed.
"You had a cat? Named Ser Pounce-a-lot? In the Deep Roads?"
"It was a gift," Anders protested. "A noble beast. Almost got torn in half by a genlock once. He swatted the bugger on the nose. Drew blood too! The blighted Wardens said he 'made me too soft'. I had to give him to a friend in Amaranthine."
Amell raised an eyebrow in surprised, and Hawke chuckled before shaking his head and getting back on topic.
"I'm part of an expedition into the Deep Roads. Any information you have could save people's lives."
"I will die a happy man if I never think about the Deep Roads again," Anders all but spat. "You can't imagine what I've come through to get here. I'm not interested in-" The healer cut himself off, looking unsettlingly contemplative.
"Although," he conceded, "A favor for a favor… Does that sound like a fair deal? You help me, I'll help you."
Hawke glanced back at Amell to find the white-haired warrior was already moving forward to stand beside him.
"Help my expedition reach the Deep Roads, and I'll do whatever you need," Amell promised. Anders looked doubtful.
"You don't ask for my terms? What if I were asking for the Knight-Commander's head on a spike?"
Amell looked so close to saying, "Gladly." Instead, he tilted his head to the side, set a smirk on his lips, and asked, "Is that what you ask?"
"You decide," Anders shot back. They stared off for the briefest of moments before Anders began explaining his predicament.
"I have a Warden map of the Depths in this area. But there's a price: I came to Kirkwall to aid a friend- a mage, a prisoner in the wretched Gallows. The Templars learned of my plans to free him. Help me bring him safely past them, and you shall have your maps." Amell didn't even hesitate.
"No mage should suffer from an accident of birth. I would have helped you anyway, map or no."
Behind him, he could hear Carver murmur a number of obscenities and what sounded like, "Oh yes. Give the Templars of Kirkwall even more reason to hate us." But Amell was more focused on Anders than on his own grumpy cousin.
"Now you're just trying to get on my good side," Anders joked before becoming serious. "I welcome your aid. I have already sent word for Karl to meet me in the Chantry tonight. Join us there, and we'll make sure that no matter who's there with him, we'll walk away free."
...
"You two go ahead," Hawke said, nodding to the lifts that took people back up to the surface. "Carver and I have business here."
Amell and Varric nodded, heading away, and Hawke turned back towards Carver.
"Well, Brother," Carver began, starting toward the ladder that lead up into the Amell Family's wine cellar. "Time to kick the ever-loving shit out of some slavers?"
Hawke laughed softly as he followed the younger into the cellar.
The cellars were both exactly what Hawke was expecting and nothing like it. They were as expansive as he'd been led to believe, lined with wooden diamond racks that would have once held some of the most expensive spirits in Kirkwall.
But no longer. Instead, the walls were lined with manacles and chains and cages to hold and subdue the soon-to-be slaves. Most were empty, but they still stood at the ready to hold the next to be shipped off.
"Disgusting," Hawke growled softly, eyes not lingering on the chains. There was a pit of dread forming in his stomach, adding to his general distaste of the place. But there was also something beyond that…
There was a mage somewhere in the tunnels; he could feel it.
"Agreed," Carver whispered back. His great-sword slid easily from its place on his back as two slaver guards stepped from the shadows. "Ready yourself. Enemies approaching."
Hawke let loose a little on the slavers, his magic making the air hum and crackle with electricity. Carver needed little protection, but that did not mean that at least a part of Hawke's attention was on the younger at all times. They made an excellent pair, covering each other's weak spots and watching each other's backs.
Hawke walked into a side room, investigating a chest with relative interest. There were documents within. By one… Tobrius? They looked like notes. Or maybe letters.
Carver was focused instead on a crest hanging on the wall,- black and red and deep brown and for the most part unmarred- a smaller one- black and red and white and with a small crack running across the bottom of its face- resting against the wall below it.
"The Amell Family Crest," Carver murmured, reaching out towards the larger shield almost reverently, his fingers hovered just above its glossy surface as though he were afraid to touch it. "Mother told me about it once."
Hawke hummed in understanding, kneeling down to examine the smaller crest. It was almost exactly the same as its larger cousin, sans the size and black trim. It almost looked to be something someone wore, with its delicately curved shape to fit snug against a hip or upper arm and straps to hold it in place and stronger material, even if it was a bit scratched. It probably wouldn't be missed; it was small and unassuming and slightly broken, but…
Hawke slipped it into his satchel, ignoring the odd look Carver gave him.
They made their way into a large, rather open cavern. The air moved oddly, different from the stagnant air in the tunnels that lead up to it. It rattled the chains hanging from the ceiling and the walls. It was like white noise, comforting and frightening at the same time.
A mage descended the steps towards them, robes making a gentle swishing sound as it brushed the wood of the stars, each tap echoing over the ambient noise of the chains.
"Gamlen sent you, didn't he?" The mage asked, not giving the brothers a chance to before continuing. "I knew I should have stabbed him in the neck when I had the chance."
With barely any warning, the room erupted into flame, and Hawke let his magic wrap around both himself in Carver- more around his brother than himself. He heard the clash of steel against steel, but he was forced to concentrate on everything but that. Put out the flames. Focus on the mage. Don't let his magic overwhelm you, don't let it touch Carver, don't get run through by one of the guards.
By the time they were done, the room was all but ruined.
"Well, that was productful," Hawke murmured, collecting a key and a bag of coins off the body of the mage. He then turned to Carver, who was standing at the base of the steps leading up into the estate proper.
"That must be the vault," Carver said, gesturing to the red wooden door. "Anything we might want to know about the Amell family is in there."
Hawke nodded, starting up the stairs with little hesitation. Carver followed after a moment's pause.
The vault was full of books and silks and treasures, but Hawke stood past that. It wasn't what concerned him at the moment. What he was concerned with, was the chest at the end of the room that he knew held Grandfather Amell's will.
"Ready to go?" Carver asked once Hawke was done collecting what had been left in the chest. Hawke nodded again, standing.
"Let's go."
…
It was just before sunset when the two siblings made it back to Gamlen's house.
"...so, I'm just saying; blood's blood and all, but you're taking advantage of my hospitality. It would only be fair if you made some kind of… monthly… contribution-"
Hawke and Carver stepped through the door just in time to hear Gamlen say this. Amell was sitting at the small table and waved to them as they shut the door quietly behind them.
Leandra looked absolutely furious.
"You sold my children into servitude! Now you're asking me to pay rent?!"
"Maybe just put a little something towards food?" Gamlen mumbled, backing off now that he saw Garrett and Carver approaching.
"We found the will, Gamlen," Hawke announced. He turned towards his mother, handing her the thick, heavy, ink-leaden parchment.
"He forgave you. Mother," Carver said. "Grandfather left you everything."
Gamlen looked around for an escape while Leandra read the will aloud.
"To my daughter Leandra, and all children born of her… the estate in Hightown and all associated revenues…"
"Check out the part where it says Gamlen is only left a stipend," Hawke suggested, circling around behind Gamlen to keep the older man from fleeing. "To be controlled by you."
"Gamlen, how could you?" Leandra asked, face frozen in an expression of dismay.
"You're the one who ran away, Leandra," Gamlen accused. "What happened to 'love is so much more important than money'?"
"It is!"
"You didn't even come home for the funeral!"
"The twins were a week old!"
"We all have our burdens. Mine was looking after a life you abandoned. How long was I suppose to wait?"
"Did you wait even a minute, Gamlen?" Hawke asked. "I highly doubt you let the ashes get cold."
"I took care of Father. I stayed! And on his deathbed, all he could talk about was Leandra!" Gamlen took a breath, visibly calming himself before continuing. "Look, sister. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it, but I did. And there's nothing I can do to get it back!"
"I don't expect that, Gamlen," Leandra said, exasperated. "It's enough to know Mother and Father didn't die angry. I'll petition the Viscount for rights to reclaim the estate. Maker willing, you'll have your house back within weeks."
"You don't have the coin or standing to even get an audience with the Viscount," Gamlen told her harshly. "You've got to be something in this city to live in that house again!"
Leandra raised her head proudly, looking her taller sibling square in the eyes.
"Then I had better get started."
Gamlen gave both mother and son a disgusted look, shaking his head.
