Author's Note: I picked up more hours at work next week, so I'm unsure if I'll be able to post anything. I'll try my best to prepare a chapter this weekend to be edited and posted next week, but I cannot make any guarantees.
The Dragon Age series belongs to Electronic Arts and Bioware.
-One Year Later—
Quentin enjoyed his work, in spite of the fact that smuggling was illegal. Athenril's crew was quick to accept him as one of their own. Even when they found out about his magical capabilities, his value to the crew did not diminish or fade. Along with that comradery, the man felt that he was good at smuggling and had impressed his boss. Sometimes, she'd reward him by slipping him a few coins under the table, or giving him gifts. Other times, she would permit him to board the ships and travel to the exotic locations that supplied them with their illegitimate goods.
His favorite, by far, was Rivain.
The arid country was a diamond in the rough, a place he vastly enjoyed on his fleeting visits to secure Lyrium or other precious things that Athenril could later trade for coin. Throughout the cities his brief visits permitted him to see, the air was thick and rich with the scent of pleasant incense. Likewise, the food was delicious, flavored with spices he was unfamiliar with. Yet, his happiest memories were of the women.
Quentin had always enjoyed the company of both men and women for as long as he could remember, but there was something about the look of a Rivaini woman that drove him insane. He couldn't tell if it was their skin, which was deep and beautiful with the colors of warm sepia and umber. Or, their curvaceous bodies reminiscent of an hour glass. Either way, his fondest memories were of the time he spent in the brothels, being entertained with lilting song and stimulating dance, among other things.
His mind remained on the gems that were Rivain's beauties when Athenril approached him that morning. He was supposed to be unloading a crate, to which he was sure Athenril had noticed he had been shirking in when he had noticed her approach. Hastily, he tried to appear busy, plucking the contents from the large box before him out gingerly and settling them into the cart at his side. Luckily, his boss hadn't the mind to bring up his daydreaming.
"Do you know what today is, Quentin?" Asked the elven woman, watching with a fading interest as he unloaded a fine vintage of brandy from the crate.
"Uh, Friday?" Quentin honestly had no idea what she was getting at.
"Well, yes. But no." Athenril was watching as he removed more bottles out methodically. Shipping liquor was not illegal, but what sat at the bottom of the crate, underneath a false base was. Athenril worked primarily in expensive jewels and Lyrium, though she was known to ferry the occasional stowaway or love letter from one forlorn mage to another.
"I don't know." Shrugged the man. "Unloading day? Your Name-day? I'm going to need a hint if we're going to keep playing guessing games."
"Today is the day that your contract with me officially expires."
Quentin shook his head. For him, working for Athenril was enjoyable; he would easily work for her for the rest of his life if she would permit it. However, Claudia was not so pleased with the lot she was given. Apparently, Meeran treated her like she was his. She didn't handle this indentured servitude thing so well to begin with, let alone having a man feel entitled to her because of this. Every day, Claudia would chime out how many days remained in her 'sentence', as she called it. For the past month, her cries have become exponentially more chipper. The previous morning, she announced only three remaining days.
"Claudia says that after yesterday, we have two more to get through. She's been counting down since the day she shook Meeran's hand and made the agreement."
Athenril chuckled. "Can't say I blame her. Your sister seems like a real spitfire, the type who doesn't like the idea of being contained within the rules someone else spells out. Anyway, I know that two days remain, but you've been a great help for me over the past year. You've more than earned a couple days' early release."
"Really?" Gasped Quentin. He resisted the urge to throw his arms around the petite woman. "I…wow! Thank you!"
"It's the least I can do." Said Athenril, shrugging off his gratitude. "You can take a bottle or two of that when you leave, by the way." She gestured towards the bottle of brandy still in his hand. "You and your family can celebrate with it later."
Quentin snorted. "Mother, Bethany, and I will be celebrating. Claudia will be drowning her sorrows."
Some of the other men approached Quentin with their goodbyes as he prepared to leave. It was a bit surreal. He hadn't thought he made many friends in Kirkwall, but here he stood, having those he worked with coming up and clapping him on the back and offering to buy him a pint at the Hanged Man next time they were both there. Quentin had half a mind to start taking the names of everyone who offered and bringing this into question on the next occasion he saw them. But, he wasn't that selfish.
Walking out of the dank warehouse where Athenril's business was conducted was like being born anew. The sun was just cresting over the horizon, causing the Waking Sea to sparkle with intermingling hues of pinks, oranges, and yellows. There was a passenger ship nearing port; after all this time, Quentin could tell the difference. It confused Quentin that Kirkwall still received many Ferelden refugees, despite the Blight ending and the good King Alistair now sat on the throne. He had even heard that a new Queen sat beside him.
Claudia was waiting for him, perched on a ledge that overlooked one of the piers. She looked haggard, probably because Meeran had her doing late-night jobs, sometimes back-to-back with morning ones. Last night's, if he remembered correctly, was helping a merchant who was looking to skip town without paying his debts off to the Coterie. Such jobs were routine for her. Quentin could already see the blood that coated her hairline and her fingernails. Though he was sure she had tried to wipe as much of it off as possible as to not create alarm, he had to imagine that her job did not go as smoothly as his.
Upon taking his position next to her, Quentin handed over the bottle of brandy. This caught his sister off guard momentarily. She probably expected some shiny trinket that they could pawn. The brandy, however, was much more warmly received. Claudia hugged the bottle close, confirming his suspicions that she had a terrible night.
"You're the best, Quentin, you know that?"
"That's not all for you, just so you know." Quentin reminded. "But, I know. You're lucky you have Thedas's best brother at your side."
Claudia responded with a muffled grunt. She had the cork nestled between her teeth, desperately relying on the force her jaw could exert coupled with her own natural strength to loosen the object. Her efforts were not paying off. No matter how hard she tried, all the woman was managing to do was cause herself to go red in the face and grow further frustrated than she already was.
Quentin chuckled, producing a small knife that he kept on his person in case of emergencies. Keeping Claudia from going insane because she couldn't get the cork out of her liquor bottle was definitely one of those situations. "Let me try."
"Be my guest."
Claudia relinquished the bottle. When Quentin got his hands on the neck of it, he was instantly greeted with what lingered of his sister's saliva. He grimaced, wiping the hand that had become coated in it on her shoulder. In response, he received her elbow to his rib. Ignoring the slight ache, he buried the blade of his knife into the cork, deep enough that it would not become dislodged easily. Then, with a yank and an audible pop the blasted cork came free.
Before Quentin had the opportunity to announce his success, Claudia had pried the bottle from his hand in such a haste that he would wager her life depended on it. She took a prolonged swig, sighing contentedly as she passed the bottle back to him.
"Tell Athenril that the liquor she fronts her business with isn't half bad." Purred Claudia.
Quentin took a drink. The brandy went down smooth, warming his insides the second it trickled down his throat. After, he set the bottle between the both of them for ease of drinking.
"Can't. My contract is up. Last night was my last working for her."
"No." Spat Claudia, already invested in her second sip. "We have two days left, remember?"
Quentin fidgeted anxiously. While the drink had no doubt warmed her up, he could tell Claudia was still in one of her moods. Informing her that he was let out of his contract early would probably worsen it. "You see," He squeaked, "Athenril is calling my contract fulfilled. She let me out of it two days early."
"You bastard!" Howled Claudia. She punched him in the arm, but lightly, and without real malice. Quentin released a breath he wasn't aware he was holding. "Meeran's trying to milk me for all of the work he can possibly get out of me in the next two days. He thinks I'm desperate enough to stick around after the year is up."
"Are you?"
"I can't say for certain. It would definitely be nice to actually get paid. You know, not having to rush in on the people I kill and go through their pockets just to make ends meet."
"If you don't want to go back to him, you could always—"
"—Don't even suggest it, Quentin." Claudia's tone was dark and frightening. Had he not known her better enough, he would have assumed that she would hurt him then and there.
"I wasn't. I was going to say that you could do odd jobs around Kirkwall. Go freelance. People know who you are now. They know you can get the job done. And, since you're one person, you can charge them a lower price as to be competitive with the Red Iron, but still enough to get by."
"Yeah, I guess." Claudia drank from the bottle again.
From behind them, the sound of clanking metal greeted their ears. Both Hawke siblings turned around, anticipating finding a guardsman with the intention of shooing them off for loitering. But, many of the guards didn't like patrolling the docks because of the Qunari.
Aveline stood there, critically looking over the bottle of brandy which Claudia was bringing to her lips.
"Hello, Aveline." Greeted Quentin.
Claudia murmured her greeting into the bottle and nodded her head.
"Drinking, at dawn?" Asked the warrior, judgmentally.
Aveline amazed Quentin. Since coming to Kirkwall, she had secured a position in the city guard. On every occasion that he had seen her, she seemed pleased with her work, and always gave it everything she had. He had to respect her industrious nature. Once a month, she would come by with a purse full of coin to offer the Hawke family for their help in getting her to Kirkwall. It was her payment for unintentionally passing her debt over to Quentin and Claudia.
With a humored snort, Claudia looked to the bottle, then up to Aveline. "Haven't you heard?" Chimed the rogue. "Brandy is the breakfast of champions."
Aveline shook her head, but took a seat regardless. She was offered some of their shared liquor, but refused it politely. "It was another rough night, then."
"You have no idea." Another drink. "So, some dwarf hires the Iron to help him out of the city. Apparently, he was skipping out of town with debts outstanding to the Coterie."
Aveline made a sour face.
"We were about halfway through the sewers when the Coterie catches us. Those they sent to apprehend their man were mostly dwarves. So, we're trying to protect the dwarf who hired us, but we're being ambushed by about ten other dwarves, and when they all have those big, bushy beards, you cannot tell one from the other—it was a mess. We managed to get out of there without any casualties, but some of our men were injured."
"Andraste's tits!" Cursed Quentin.
"You should probably get home, then." Suggested Aveline. "Your mother is probably worried sick."
Claudia waved her hand dismissively at the idea. "I want to watch the ships come in, first. It calms me down."
Aveline gave Claudia a firm look, telling the woman to obey. "You're getting drunk at the docks, Claudia. Someone is bound to complain when you become raucous and inconsolable."
"I do not do that."
Quentin pursed his lips, choosing to remain silent.
"Yes, you do." Aveline was unwavering. "And, I would rather not close off my patrol with having to pry you off of someone because when you get alcohol in you, you either become exceedingly amorous or violent. Sometimes both."
"And sometimes people deserve to be hit."
"Claudia."
"Aveline."
Aveline sighed heavily. "Sometimes I feel like I'm talking with a child."
"Tell you what," Started Claudia, "play a game with me. If you do, I'll go back home. If you don't, who's to say what I'll do."
"I'm not in the mood for games, Claudia."
"I won't go home until you play."
Quentin watched as Claudia became even pushier. Aveline was not the type for idle games, whereas his sister was. He had an idea what she wished to play. It was the very reason why she enjoyed coming to the docks and watching the ships come in. Quentin had to admit, he kind of wished to play as well. It reminded him of their father.
"Fine!" Scoffed Aveline. "I'll play your game. What is it?"
"See that ship?" Claudia pointed to the one that had just docked as he got out of Athenril's warehouse. People, most likely refugees, were slowly filtering off of it and into the city.
"What about it?"
"We'll choose someone from the ship—ideally the most outrageous-looking person—and we try to guess their story. There are no winners or losers, so don't feel pressured to one-up me."
The warrior looked over at Claudia, her face etched with concern and annoyance. "That seems rude."
Claudia shook the bottle gently, hearing the contents slosh around before casting the guardswoman a look of pure mischief. "Oh, look. The bottle is already half-gone."
"Fine, I'll play." Spat the woman. "Why do you want to play games, though?"
"We used to play with Father when we were children." Assured Claudia. Quentin nodded in agreement. "The brandy has me feeling sentimental, so I want to play."
"First order of business is to choose our target." Announced Quentin. He focused on the steady stream of refugees slinking past them in an effort to get into Kirkwall. Many of which were unassuming, poor in appearance. They probably spent their last bit of coin to even get here. That was when he found the perfect candidate.
There was a man trailing behind the main group. He was fair, in both complexion and appearance. His wheat-colored hair was pulled up in a half ponytail. It wasn't his features that he noticed, however. It was his outlandish fashion sense. Everything this man wore was either a deep hunter green or a warm woodsy brown. His coat was long, dipping just past his knees and barely scraping the tops of his boots. Then, there were the feathered pauldrons. Quentin had never met someone from the Imperium, but this was always how he imagined they would dress.
He looked to Claudia, who was too occupied with drinking herself to the Void to notice the prime target walking their way. So, Quentin nudged her and motioned subtly towards who he had chosen.
"He's perfect, isn't he?"
Claudia froze.
Something caused Claudia's azure eyes to cloud over as she looked at the man. Her grip on the bottle loosened, causing it to slip until she was just barely clutching onto the lip. Fear crossed her expression, a real, deafening terror that was chased away with a simple head shake and her looking away quickly.
"I don't want to play anymore." Announced Claudia hastily. She seemed to be in a hurry to get away as soon as possible.
"What?" Aveline was surprised. "You were insistent upon playing, but now you want to go?"
"Yes." Curtly remarked Claudia. "Am I not allowed to change my mind? I wish to go now."
Aveline shrugged, not one to argue when the tides suddenly turned to her favor. She rose first, then turned a hand to help up Quentin and Claudia in turn. Not another word was breathed from her about the sudden change in plans. She was probably just grateful to be out of that mess.
While on the way home, Quentin could still see that Claudia was agitated. He couldn't figure out why, but something about that man bothered her. Perhaps she found him attractive and wanted to avoid being near him long enough to get caught gawking. That wasn't her, though. Aveline's pace soon quickened, giving him an opportunity to step in-pace with his sister and ask her why she suddenly became so squirrely.
"What happened back there?" Asked Quentin.
Claudia tensed at his question. She was intending on avoiding that subject. It was spelled out on her face. However, she relented with a haughty breath. "I…I don't know. I just…I got a weird feeling about that man. It's hard to explain."
"One of your 'visions'?"
"Not visions." Scoffed Claudia. "A feeling. I felt like—like I know him. Or I will. I saw nothing, except that mess of feathers he wore. It's just…I don't want to talk about it anymore."
Quentin processed her words, recognizing that this feeling she had was very scary to her and causing great amounts of distress. He didn't like putting her through that, especially after she had a shitty day. In an attempt to lighten the mood, Quentin put on a cheesy grin.
"You're probably just exhausted and a bit tipsy. Let's get you to bed."
