It was the lack of sound that woke her. Bianca Vael Hawke was used to awakening to the sounds and bustle of people around her, the walls of the small houses they had lived in over the last several years having been very thin. But here the walls were thick and any noise might have been muffled. Not that there was any—this was Hightown, after all. Kirkwall's richest citizens liked their peace and quiet, especially in the mornings as they rested up from the previous night's revelries.
Bianca sat up in the bed, her braid of black hair swinging over her shoulder as she bounced on the soft mattress with excitement. They were finally here! And her mother's mansion was even more beautiful than she had imagined it would be. The high ceilings, the opulent appointments, the luxuriously comfortable furnishings were all a far cry from what she had lived with her whole life. If they could afford all this, what had they been doing running and hiding for so long?
She got up and went to the window, pulling aside the heavy drapery to look outside. Hightown shone in the morning sunlight, the white walls and freshly scrubbed cobblestones gleaming. A man in a dark blue jacket strolled along the street below her. Off to work, Bianca suspected. Or did people in Hightown work? What did they do all day? Her parents had never told her much about the ways of the wealthy.
A light knock at the door interrupted her reflections. She let the curtain drop, turning toward the door as she called "Come in!"
Orana poked her head into the room. "I thought you wouldn't sleep late this morning. It must be strange, sleeping in an unfamiliar bed."
"I'm just excited to be here," Bianca said. "This is so different from anywhere I've ever lived." Orana didn't respond, and Bianca followed the housekeeper's gaze to the small crossbow that lay on the table. "Uncle Varric sent me that when I was just a little girl. Tell me, Orana, what's he really like? I've only ever heard stories."
The housekeeper turned a becoming shade of pink. "Serah Varric is ... unique," she said. "You will have to make your own judgement when you meet him."
Bianca frowned. Did grown-ups know how tiresome it was when they refused to answer direct questions? Her annoyance manifested in the unconscious imperiousness of her next statement. "I'm hungry. I want breakfast."
"Of course, Mistress Bianca. Will you have it before or after you bathe?"
"Bath, I think. And did you say something about clothes? Most of mine burnt up in the fire. Not that they were anything special."
"A seamstress will meet you here this afternoon. I have taken the liberty of borrowing a suitable outfit for you to wear today. It is not in the first blush of fashion, but it should do."
The first blush of fashion? Bianca couldn't help the leap of excitement she felt. Fashion had never been part of her world before; she couldn't wait to get out into the streets of Kirkwall and see what everyone was wearing. "Are my parents awake?"
"I believe so. I suspect they will be ready for breakfast about the time you are—assuming you will let me go and draw your bath." Orana's eyes twinkled and Bianca laughed.
"Point taken. I'll let you go."
Bianca bathed in the tub two elven maids brought in and put on the plain blue dress Orana had provided, then followed the housekeeper out of the room, glancing wistfully back over her shoulder. She'd never dreamed of having such a pretty room all to herself; anxious as she was to see the rest of Kirkwall and the old friends her parents had spoken so much about, part of her just wanted to stay in this quiet room all day investigating the titles in the bookshelf.
Mama and Papa were already at the breakfast table when Bianca came downstairs. Her parents seemed happier than she'd seen them in quite a while, holding hands and smiling at one another.
"Did you sleep well, Bianca?" Papa asked.
"Oh, yes! Did you see my room? It's so pretty! I've never seen anything so pretty."
"That was your grandmother's room," Mama said, looking a little sad. "I know she'd have been happy to give it to you, though."
"Will Aunt Bethany be meeting us here?" Bianca asked, wondering what kinds of stories her merry aunt would have about this estate.
"Probably; we'll send a message to the Temptress later this morning. Bethany won't stay in the mansion, though. She never lived here."
"She didn't? Was she already with Aunt Isabela?"
"No, that came later. Most of the time we lived in Kirkwall, your aunt was in the Circle of Magi."
"Oh." Bianca knew to leave that subject alone. It wasn't that Mama and Papa disagreed, precisely, just that Papa was sure and Mama wasn't. Bianca loved her funny, warm aunt and disagreed with any policy that would have locked someone like that up simply because they used magic. But she rarely ventured that opinion, finding the dark anger that took her father over when she did so too frightening.
"I wonder if the Gallows is still there," Papa said.
"I think so," Mama replied.
Further conversation on the topic was forestalled by Orana and the two elven maids appearing with silver-domed plates and a tray of coffee. As the family dug into the food, the doorbell rang. Mama dropped her cup, spilling coffee across the white tablecloth, and Papa's fork clattered on his plate as he stood up and activated the lyrium in his markings. They exchanged concerned glances, both poised for action. Bianca looked from one to the other in surprise. What could possibly happen to them here in Kirkwall?
Orana had bustled to the door in answer to the ringing. She came back beaming, bearing a note and a large, unwieldy box, which she set down near the table; one of the other maids followed with two smaller boxes. Mama took the note, unfolding it and scanning the page. Instantly, a grin lit her face. "That scamp."
"What is it?" Papa asked, relaxing slightly and letting the markings fade.
"Open your box." At a gesture from Mama, the maid brought the smaller of her two boxes over to Papa. He pried off the lid and lifted a bottle of wine from a bed of straw. "Agreggio Pavali! Varric," he said, nodding his head as he smiled.
Mama watched him, her eyes dancing. "Well?"
"Well what?"
"Aren't you going to throw it at the wall?"
"Do not be foolish," he said, but he met Mama's eyes with a warm look that made Bianca feel out of place in the room.
"Little mistress," Orana said as the maid placed the larger box in front of Bianca.
"From Uncle Varric?" Bianca asked. When a nod from her mother confirmed it, she stood up in her seat, eagerly opening the box. A froth of delicate pale pink fabric and white lace spilled out.
"Ooh!" Orana helped her lift the dress from the box, both of them admiring the soft color and beautiful cut.
"Can I wear it today?" She glanced at Orana for guidance, sure that neither of her parents would know. When the housekeeper nodded, Bianca beamed.
"What does Varric say?" Papa asked.
"He says: 'Hawke – What, Mystery Stew not good enough for you anymore? Knowing you and the elf, I could understand you not coming over at bedtime, but to wait until after breakfast? Words fail me.'"
"Perhaps we should eat faster, then."
"We could always try the Mystery Stew."
"It would be better than fish chowder." He smiled at Mama so she could see he meant the fish and not her cooking.
"May I go change?" Bianca asked, unable to remain still in her seat.
With permission granted, she picked up her box and hurried up the stairs, not even pausing to see what her mother had gotten. She came back down wearing the beautiful dress. It had bows and ribbons and a lacy white underskirt that showed where the pink overskirt had been looped up, and it was absolutely the loveliest thing she'd ever worn. Or seen, for that matter.
Her father and mother rolled their eyes at each other, but Bianca was so in love with the dress, and with her own coloring set off by the paleness of the pink, her dark hair curled and falling over one shoulder, that she didn't care what they thought.
"Orana, I assume this is what all the girls are wearing?" Mama asked. At the housekeeper's nod, Mama sighed. "I should have known better than to distrust Varric's taste. Still, it's better than those horrible clashing colors and garish silks all the men used to wear." She quirked an eyebrow at Papa. "Maybe that's what I liked about you."
"The mystery is revealed at last," he responded. "To think of the years I have spent pondering that question, and all along the answer was my fashion sense."
Mama was wearing new armor, a fine set in sage green. That must have been her gift from Varric, Bianca thought. "How did Uncle Varric manage to have all this ready for us? He knew my size, and that we were here last night ..."
Both her parents shrugged. "He's Varric," they said, as though that was enough.
They set out into the morning. Papa glanced around worriedly as they left the estate, but there was no danger that Bianca could see. She followed her parents, her eyes drawn here and there to the opulence and splendor that was Hightown. Nothing about the city disappointed her; it was all just as she had imagined, if not better ... until they began down the long set of stairs that led them to Lowtown. A sour smell wafted up the stairs, striking Bianca's nose unpleasantly, and the steps and the walls on either side of them got dirtier as they descended, starting out white at the top and turning a dingy yellowish color by the time they'd reached the halfway point. Toward the bottom, refuse piled up in the corners, and people slept beneath it. The stench increased, and Bianca swallowed against it. This was Lowtown? This was where her mother had lived for her first two years in Kirkwall? It smelled worse than the fishing village. Bianca pulled the skirts of her dress closely around her to keep them from being sullied.
The smell of sulfur permeated the air around the base of the stairs—from the foundries, her parents explained. They looked exhilarated, exchanging animated do-you-remembers with one another.
A loud clamor met Bianca's ears as they turned a corner at the bottom of the stairs, and she found herself amidst a marketplace. Her mother, taller than most of the women and some of the men, looked over the heads of the crowd with an expression of disappointment. Apparently none of the vendors she used to know were here. They went down another small set of stairs, and up one more. Bianca was completely lost, and she chastised herself for it. Hadn't Papa drilled into her the importance of looking around, knowing where you were and how to get back where you came from?
She was aware of the stench of beer and other spirits and the sounds of riotous laughter as they came toward a rickety building with the statue of a man hanging by his feet in front of it.
Bianca hung back as her mother pushed open the door, and she didn't enter until her father had, touching the sticky door as gingerly as she could.
Inside it was dimly lit, but the low light couldn't hide the scorch marks on the walls, the scuffs on the floor, the broken legs of the chairs and tables. Bianca couldn't believe this was the Hanged Man—none of the stories her parents had told about the place, and they were many, had come close to describing it like this.
It wasn't until her mother cried out "Varric!" that Bianca saw the dwarf. He was seated at a corner table, his legs up on a footstool. In the shabby room, Varric was the only thing that looked clean and refined. His blond hair was pushed back, his shirt open practically to his waist, his coat cut impeccably. And behind him—Bianca. The famous crossbow, gleaming in the dim candlelight and much larger than Bianca the person had expected.
Varric came toward her mother. "Hawke. It's about sodding time." But his cheeks were wet, as were Mama's, as she dropped to her knees and embraced him. They held each other for what seemed like a long time. Bianca looked away after a few moments, feeling that she had intruded on an intimate moment and not entirely comfortable seeing her mother weeping. Hawke never cried if she could help it.
Eventually they pulled apart. Varric pulled a handkerchief out of his luxurious expanse of chest hair, handing it to Mama.
"You know what tears do to my coat," he said, but he smiled, and his voice was suspiciously watery as well. At last he looked over Mama's shoulder, reaching out a hand to Papa. "Elf. Do you ever age?"
Shaking Varric's hand, Papa said, "I could ask you the same thing."
And then it was Bianca's turn. "Princess, you look exactly the way I thought you would. It is my very great pleasure to meet you—at last."
"And mine, Uncle Varric. Thank you for my crossbow, and my dress, and ... and everything!" Impulsively, and completely forgetting what the sticky dirty floor would do to her skirt, she fell to her knees and put her arms around his neck. Varric chuckled, patting her on the back.
"Two beautiful women kneeling before me in a matter of minutes. I'm either dreaming, or I've turned into some kind of mythical hero."
"That'll be the day," said the man behind the bar.
"Corff, you're still here?" Mama asked. "I'd have thought you would have sold out and moved somewhere far away by now."
He shook his head, chuckling. "Good to see you back, Champion."
"Good to be back."
Bianca was surprised to see a dark look pass over her father's face at the use of the term "Champion". Varric had noticed it, too, and he sidled up close to Papa while Mama was still chatting with the bartender.
"Chantry doesn't know she's back yet. They're not much of a presence in Kirkwall," Varric said, keeping his voice low. "Aveline keeps them on a short leash, the price of doing business here."
"What do they want from her?"
"Ostensibly? To question her about her role in what happened here. In actuality? Hard to say, but I imagine parading her through the streets of Val Royeaux as an example of what they do to people who defy them is a safe bet." He shrugged. "I wouldn't worry too much about them."
"And the Tevinters?"
Varric was quiet, and Papa's lips tightened. "How many?"
"None at the moment, but they know. Their information-gathering systems aren't as good as mine, of course, but they're impressive by any other standards."
"You will let me know when they arrive?"
"Of course."
Papa looked as though he wanted to say something else, but Mama looked around then. "Varric, any plans for the day?"
"I thought we'd take a stroll back up to Hightown, meet up with some other old friends."
Mama and Papa exchanged a look, and Mama laughed. "I think I need a rest before I tackle those stairs again. To think, I can remember the time when I was up and down those things four or five times a day."
Varric grinned. "I wasn't looking forward to them at this hour of the morning myself. Let's have a chat, shall we? Oh, but first, there's someone I want you to meet." He gestured to a young man who had been sitting at the table watching the reunion. As he stood to his full height, Bianca realized the man was an elf, his ears nearly hidden by a profusion of curly dark brown hair. He approached the group shyly, his eyes on Mama. "Hawke, Broody, Princess, this is Kethali. His mother sent him here because she had a feeling he would be needed."
"His mother?" Papa asked, his voice thick with suspicion.
"How is Merrill?" Mama asked. She and Varric looked at each other, the dwarf's eyes serious as Bianca had not yet seen them.
"Mamae is not well," Kethali answered. "She would have come herself otherwise. A sickness swept our part of Denerim, and Mamae contracted the ailment trying to give aid to the victims. She has yet to recover her strength."
"She can heal now?"
"No, but she can administer aid while others do." The quiet pride with which he spoke made it clear that he had done at least some of the healing. Bianca looked Kethali over with renewed interest now that she knew he was a mage. He was shorter than her parents, but a bit taller than she was. His curly hair fell over his forehead; his eyes were a clear deep elven green. "Champion, Serah Fenris, it is my very great pleasure to meet you. I am at your service; any assistance I can render you is nothing compared to what you both did for Mamae."
Papa wanted to argue, that much was clear to Bianca. And then Kethali turned his gaze to her, and she no longer cared what her father thought. The young elf looked at her with appreciation, and something in his face caused excitement to jump in her spine. She very nearly wriggled with it, and the blood rushed to her cheeks.
"Miss Bianca, I am glad to meet you."
"And I you," she said breathlessly, holding her hand out. Kethali took it in both of his, his hands cool to the touch. Bianca stood, staring at him, for a long moment before Papa cleared his throat and she looked hastily away from the young elf.
"Corff, a round on me," Mama called.
"Just like old times," Corff said. "Nice to have a customer who might actually pay again."
"Hey!" Uncle Varric chuckled as he led the way back to his table.