"Aveline! Please, do come in. It's been far too long." Leandra Hawke exclaimed, genuine mirth in her eyes. Aveline couldn't help but smile back as the matriarch of the Hawke family ushered her through the front door of her estate. She ran her eyes over her discreetly. Groomed, snow-white hair; happy, infectious grey eyes and a smiling face that, despite the forty-some years of weathering it had received, still possessed a matronly, courtly beauty. She hadn't changed a bit.
Still the motherly figure, and one who considers me family. Aveline thought, then stopped herself.
My family is dead.
She shook the disquieting thought from her mind and leaned against the wall of the spacious living room while Leandra disappeared to fetch her a cup of tea. She took in the plush carpet beneath her steel-toed boots, the oil painting on the wall and the crossed blades above the fireplace.
Moving up in the world, Hawke. That was five years ago, and you're still going strong.
"Here you go, dear girl. Please, take a seat! You're among friends here." Leandra reappeared with a steaming, porcelain cup of tea in one hand, gesturing at the chairs at the writing desk with the other.
"Thank you for your hospitality, ma'am, but I'm looking for Clarissa. Are they, by any chance, around? I would like to speak with her." She said, the professional tone in her voice sounding startling and cold, even to herself.
She considers me family.
Why don't I feel the same way?
If Leandra Hawke was taken aback by her impartial words, she did not show it. Instead, she laughed softly.
"Around? Of course they are! They're taking sleeping in to an entirely new level!" She said, shaking her head as if disapproving of her two daughters. "It's about time they wrapped up that beauty sleep of theirs. I'll wake them at once."
A part of her wanted to reach out, to stop her from going up the stairs and keep her with her. That part of her wanted company, companionship, from a woman that was the mother she never had; That part of her wanted to damn politics, damn the Qunari and their blasted demands and let herself unwind just for a little while.
That part of her was selfish, and she pushed it away like how she had always done it, time and time again. For a woman of her position, there was no room for selfishness and certainly no room for doubt.
Clarissa groaned sleepily as she tried to block out the elevating cacophony of knocking and muffled shouting behind her bedroom door, pulling her bedraggled head from the snug spot under Bethany's chin for just long enough to raise her voice for a sleepy murmur.
"Go away." She murmured, somewhat quieter than she had intended.
"Highborn lady or not, sleeping until two in the afternoon is nigh on unacceptable, especially in my household! You two will get out of bed this instant, attire yourselves properly and apologise to our guest, who actually has matters to attend to besides sleeping in!"
Despite being filtered by an inch's worth of imported hardwood, her mother's voice lost none of its severity and exasperation. She felt like a child again, and she planted her face into the warm creases of the coverlet, moaning out a muffled negative.
"Don't make me come in there, ladies." Leandra threatened.
Bethany stirred.
"Must we?" Clarissa asked, addressing the bleary, blinking brown eyes above her.
"In the interest of avoiding domestic violence? I think we must…" Bethany whispered sleepily. They shared a small chuckle as their eyes focused on one another, noting the absence of clothing for both of them.
"Hey." Bethany said, running an appreciative eye down Clarissa's lovely, naked features as she relived the memories of the past few hours, when she had relieved her of worries of little importance with a bribe of flesh.
"Hey yourself." Clarissa countered. If bribes were this enjoyable, she couldn't wait to see what extortion was like. Bethany caught the naughty gleam in her eye and she laughed softly, the merriment in her soft-spoken voice bringing a smile to Clarissa's lips.
"We'll just be a moment, mother." Bethany called, and in a few minutes' time, the sisters were properly dressed. To counter the heat of the Kirkwallian summer, Clarissa did away with her stuffy, cumbersome suit of armour, opting instead for a form-fitting tunic, a leather-backed vest thrown over it and a pair of leggings that slipped into her calf-high boots. She buckled onto her belt her golden sword, and her right arm her bracer. The steel gauntlet had become an integral part of her, and she noticed people treating it as an icon of hers.
I wonder if they saw the symbol behind it. She thought absently as she watched Bethany smoothen her shoulder-length hair, letting the waves fall upon the golden staff of Andraste on her back. The grey-and-blue Grey Warden uniform she was wearing accentuated her attractive features and adding to the air of regality she had about her, lending to her a beauty fit for both a battlemage and a noblewoman.
"Ready?" Clarissa asked when Bethany put the finishing touches of her blush on her cheeks, staring appreciatively at the full-body mirror by the wardrobe.
"I wonder who our uninvited guest i- Oh." Clarissa muttered as she opened the door, running straight into a knowing smile on Aveline's face.
"You're getting spoiled, Hawke." Aveline said, grinning.
"Aveline! What brings you to our humble abode at this time of day?" Clarissa went up and clasped a firm hand on her friend's shoulder. She did not expect to see Aveline wince from her touch, and she recoiled when she did, mumbling words of apology even as Aveline shrugged nonchalantly.
"Just a nasty bruise right where you caught me. Nothing to worry about." She said, working the sore muscles under her armour. It was only then that Clarissa saw how utterly exhausted Aveline was. The only change in her clothing was the detachment of the cumbersome shoulder plates from the night before, and the absence of the determinate light in her eyes belied the fact that she had not slept.
She would have hauled herself back to the barracks, resolving not to sleep while the memories of the fight was still vivid so her report would be accurate. By the time she had finished, the night shift would have returned from their patrols and Aveline, no doubt, would have debriefed them before anything else. She never even gave herself a chance to rest.
"Aveline… You look terrible. Have you at least gotten some sleep?" Clarissa asked.
The aversion of her friend's emerald eyes told her all she needed to know.
"Sleep when we're dead, not while I still have work to do," Aveline replied, blinking her eyes clear of the exhaustion. "The Qunari are demanding an explanation for the theft of their lost crate, and they've specifically asked for the two of you."
"Why us? Your words would have been proof enough." Bethany said.
"I don't know, Bethany. The Qunari aren't known for their transparency," Aveline said, rubbing her temples, "but we cannot afford displeasing them, not while they present a credible threat to the city."
Such big words, when she could barely shoulder them. The safety of the entire city rests on this woman's shoulders, while her friends frolic about in bed and snore off till dusk… She thought, a pang of guilt sounding within her.
What kind of friend am I? I've tried telling myself I've done more than most would in my position, but are piles of gold, thrown about without consideration or afterthought, truly a just gesture of friendship?
"We'll go see them at once, Aveline. And when we're done, you're coming by for supper." Clarissa said, the smile on her face inviting and insistent.
"But…"
"No buts. The Guard will not fare any better with a half-dead captain at its helm. Mother would welcome an extra person at the table, anyway," Clarissa cut her off, looking to her mother for verbal support, "would she not?"
"Why, of course she would!" Leandra cut in cheerily, laying a gentle hand on Aveline's arm as if to catch her should she bolt for the door. "Bethany needs to cut down on her portions either way. We'll have just the right amount for everyone."
Bethany pouted and stared at her stomach.
"Am I that transparent?" She asked with mock exasperation, poking at her tummy with her finger.
"Not at all. You're just a bit more puffed up than you should be." Clarissa chided, grinning openly when she saw the small smile that played at Aveline's lips. She needed to smile more. It made her seem like the woman she was, and so very much more alive.
"We'll be back in time for supper, Mother," she said, leading Bethany and Aveline down the stairs and out the front door.
XxXxX
The walk down to the docks was a quick one, and Aveline filled them in on the Qunari's response to their encounter with the Carta gangs and the unknown elven woman the night before. In what seemed like moments, Clarissa felt the rippling breeze of wind over water on her face, and her nose wrinkled at the dour stench of stagnant water below the plentiful moors and piers jutting out into Kirkwall's harbour. The docks were more spread open when compared to Lowtown, with large, spaced-out brick-and-mortar buildings that served as private warehouses and administration offices for the various shipping companies based in the city, but the spacing and the wind did little to disperse the foul smell. The scent of heady human sweat was also present in the salty air, as dockworkers with bare chests and gruff manners passed the three of them by, hefting sacks and crates on their well-built backs and broad shoulders. Few recognised the noblewomen walking amongst them, and even fewer bothered to incline their heads and murmur a greeting.
We could've been like them. Clarissa heard Bethany's voice ringing in her head as she stared pensively at the labourers shuffling past them.
We were like them. It just seemed so long ago. Clarissa answered.
"Guard-Captain." A guardsman on patrol nodded at Aveline, who nodded in acknowledgement. When he passed out of earshot, Clarissa heard her sigh heavily.
"The docks are a dangerous place. Every day, I come down here in inspection. Every day, I fear Guardsman Evette would not be on his route, for some bandit would have slit his throat. We just don't have enough men." Aveline said.
"I thought you told me you had recruits coming in by the dozens." Clarissa said.
"I do, but most of them won't be ready for another two years. You may have provided incentive for the people to join our ranks, but for the increase in quantity, we paid in quality." Aveline remarked, "I've had to pull two patrols daily to babysit the recruits."
"The Guard is falling apart, Hawke. Every day, I see bandits and highwaymen lurking in the shadows, waiting for us to slip up. And when we do…" Aveline looked into Clarissa's eyes, and she saw genuine fear in the resolute shieldmaiden's gaze.
"You'll get through this, Aveline. The Guard follows you. They trust you, and so does the people of Kirkwall." Clarissa said, "I trust you. You just have to get through these two years."
They were silent afterwards, and they turned left onto a road that led to the easternmost end of the docks, running along the placid shore of the harbour. Looking out onto the harbour to her right, Clarissa saw the faint outline of the Gallows, shrouded by the misty waters. The road was strangely deserted, as were the empty sandstone buildings that lined it, long since fallen to disrepair and lack of use. A striking banner of red, dominated by a plain, white triangle, stood in front of a large doorway on the left side of the road. It was the only doorway on the lonely road.
"We're here." Aveline said simply, leading the sisters to the double pillars that flanked the doorway, making it seem shrunken into the high, implacable sandstone walls that obscured vision of what lay behind it.
A lone Qunari stood guard at the wooden door, which was over three stories high. The Qunari tightened his grip on his long, sleek spear, as if to both block an attack with it or brandish it for throwing. All the while, however, his face was dispassionate, and his grey eyes were uninterested when they landed upon the three humans at his kind's doorstep.
"Sataareth," Aveline spoke clearly, without emotion, as if reciting a name she had memorised beforehand, "we have come by request of the Arishok."
"The Arishok did not expect such a swift response. You may proceed." The Qunari warrior replied, standing aside to grant them entry. As she passed him, Clarissa felt the eyes of the Qunari guard on her, appraising her with a cold gaze. She suppressed a shiver and walked past, holding her head level.
A gift from Viscount Marlowe Dumar to the Qunari when they had shipwrecked on the Wounded Coast, the Qunari compound was an isolated but open-topped rectangular building originally constructed with a dry dock in mind. It consisted of an open courtyard that served as a square for the Qunari, who mostly kept to themselves with their predetermined tasks. A staircase made of pure sandstone led up to a throne that overlooked the entirety of the square, with the remnants of what seemed to be a ship's forward sails stretched out on top of it. Long, draping banners of white triangles over a red background hung from pillars protruding from the otherwise bare walls. It was a foreign place, out of place in a human city and, as a result, shunned by the people who lived there. The compound itself was far from the hustle and bustle of the docks, as was the intent when the Viscount gave it to the Qunari. It kept the rabble-rousers away from the beasts, and safeguarded the innocent civilians from them.
As it were, every Qunari in the square turned to fix their eyes upon the three human women amongst them. It did not show in their passive expressions, but Clarissa felt the hostility in the air.
They were not welcome.
They approached the staircase warily, cautious but not to the point of being rude to the Qunari's perfectly civil invitation. They were aware of the two Qunari flanking the throne, both more richly tattooed than the others, staring down at them with apparent disgust. One of them turned to the side, lifting a cloth that covered the entrance into the inner sanctums of the compound and whispering to someone behind it. Then he returned to his previous position and was stone still once more.
The piece of cloth ruffled as a broad, gauntleted hand brushed it aside. A figure hunching his back emerged from behind it, the wide shoulders and thick, muscled arms belying the fact that he stood nearly eight feet tall. A pair of twisted, scratched horns protruded from the sides of his head, setting him apart from the backswept horns of his kin. A set of flanged, inch-thick shoulder plates were the only articles of clothing on his upper body, save for a crisscrossing pair of hard leather straps holding the plates in their place. It only served to enhance the overall appearance of inhuman strength and size that inspired both fear and respect. He wore only a simple robe, cut at the waist and ending at his ankles, as a testament to the poor conditions his kind were subject to as refugees, from the dents in his armour to the plain leather sandals he had on his calloused feet. His black, beady eyes, expressionless but undoubtedly intelligent, assessed the humans before him as he eased himself into his throne, in complete control of his surroundings.
Slowly, perhaps inevitably, Clarissa felt his eyes land on her.
"Serah Hawke." The Arishok stated plainly, emotionless. His voice was deep and gruff, possessed of an air of unquestioned authority and a tone of perpetual threat. It chilled Clarissa to the bone. "We have heard much about you."
"You know me?" Clarissa asked haltingly, unsure of what to say. Should she feel honoured, to be recognised by the leader of their kind, or should she feel threatened, to be singled out, potentially as someone dangerous?
"The Qun does not preach ignorance. We are aware of the city and its inhabitants. Specifically, you." The Arishok intoned. "The lowly sellsword who rose through the ranks to win glory for herself and her name; the protector of the weak and the unworthy, and Basoran Vehl among the ignorant Dathrasi that plague this pitiful city. Yes, we know of you."
"Basoran Vehl?" Clarissa asked.
"We consider you worthy of respect, in accordance to the standards of your kind. Regardless of your actions, your motives are pure, if unguided." The Arishok replied.
"We come before you, Arishok, to relate to you the circumstances that led to the theft of your property at the Foundry district warehouses, just this past night." Aveline cut in.
The Arishok chuckled. "Have you come then, Karasten, to relate to me your incompetence as the guardian of this city, the enforcers of law and order for this unruly, petulant excuse of a country? Have you come to advertise the fact that this 'Guard' of yours has to rely on the help of common citizens to keep themselves safe?"
Aveline's figure tensed as she attempted to weather the insults hurled at her. Clarissa felt anger flare to life within her. She did her best to suppress it. Her fingers reached for her sword. She willed them away.
"I assure you, Arishok, that we have done everything in our power to apprehend the ones responsible for this crime. My men are running down leads at this very moment, and we will uncover the whereabouts of your stolen cargo and return them to you with all haste." Aveline explained, her confidence somewhat diminished.
"The cargo is of no consequence," The Arishok said, looking down upon the Guard-captain, "but through this debacle, we have assessed your ability to maintain law and order in lieu of the freedoms you grant your people."
"Do you think the Qunari to be blind? The Beresaad have been monitoring the warehouse in question long before you arrived. We knew of the ambush; we knew of your failure to hold off simple Imekari while the elven thief escaped. We listened to your counsel to not take matters into our own hands. We shall not do so again."
"Arishok, you cannot-" Aveline started, then was cut off as the Arishok sprang from his seat, muscles rippling and eyes red with anger.
"I cannot? And what should I do while your pathetic Guard tries futilely to hold this flea-ridden city together? What should I do while Vashedan spit on us and insult us as they do the poor and the weak?" He snarled and spat, "the strong tread upon the weak, and you do nothing! The weak turn on themselves and brings disease to the afflicted, and you do nothing! The only reason your Guard is still standing is because of her!"
Clarissa blanched as Aveline stiffened in indignant anger, her white, colourless hand reaching for her sword.
"Your armour, your sword and your shield, are they not paid for with her coin? Are the Kabethari you say to be your recruits not mindless sheep herded to you by her? And you ask me to stand by and do nothing, while you do the same?" The Arishok demanded, and for the first time Clarissa noticed the broad-faced axe and the serrated broadsword lying beside the throne.
For a brief, tense moment, all was silent in the Qunari compound. The call of seagulls rang from above the high walls, as if cheering at the silent conflicts taking place in both heart and mind.
At last, Aveline inhaled deeply and spoke.
"I have no quarrel with your people, Arishok. But if you insist on employing violent methods that may harm Kirkwall and its citizens, the Kirkwall City Guard will respond. And should that come to pass, you'll find us to be capable of much more than kind words of caution." She said, every word riveted in hate and legitimate threat.
With that, she turned and walked away, the footfalls of her steel-toed boots loud on the ground.
"Arishok, surely such insults were not necessary." Bethany said, resolving to be as diplomatic as she could. It took every ounce of restraint she had to not have the towering giant burst into flames.
"It was no insult, but truth. I will tell you this, Saarebas: we are a tolerant people, but your kind has pushed and pushed and dove at our limits for far too long." The Arishok said, eyeing Bethany with distrust. Turning to Clarissa, he spoke again.
"Pray that we find our charge soon, Serah Hawke. The duty of the Qun demands the righting of wrongs, be it through the teachings of the Ben-Hassrath," he said, looking her in the eye, "or by the strong arm of the Antaam."
If there ever was one word she remembered in the Qunari language, it was that word.
Army.
"Now, leave us."
They departed wordlessly but, as they left, Clarissa's anger shone through, and the armoured fist she kept balled at her side flared into silent, blue flame. It disappeared as soon as it came to be, but as Clarissa looked back, she saw a hint of wariness in the Arishok's eyes. Perhaps, even, a glint of fear.
/Why is it that whenever I want to take some time off of Trigonometry and imaginary numbers, I end up writing for 2 hours straight? Nevertheless, the Qunari are an interesting people to write about, being the militant Islamic Borg of their time. I may be young, but I've watched Star Trek. O.o
Spike: It just seems to me that I fail horribly when I'm describing the emotion between characters, like I'm trying to make it be not just about sex, but I just end up with a pile of garbage that does nothing to get people excited or invested in their relationship. Infuriating, but not so much as revision. Aha!
Exams tomorrow. Wish me luck with favourites and reviews? Trust me it works.
It really does.
Panahedan./