"You smell like her," Leandra complained, as Malcolm slid next to her beneath the covers. "At least you could have bathed."
"I'm sorry, my love," he replied wearily. "It was an exhausting day."
"I don't want to hear about how having sex with her made you tired," Leandra whined, and scooted farther away from him in the large bed.
"Really, Leandra, you have no right to be so peevish. You agreed that my involvement with Meredith was essential to protect the mages." He rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. "And if you must know, my brief encounter with Meredith is not the cause of my exhaustion."
Leandra thought of her precious Bethany, the whole reason she'd agreed to Malcolm's wretched affair with the Knight Commander, in the first place. Her voice petulant, she asked, "Do tell, what task has made you so weary?"
For several minutes, Malcolm didn't answer, and Leandra was almost certain he'd fallen asleep. When he spoke at last, she nearly jumped.
"I've been assuring the safety of one of Kirkwall's most important citizens," he told her softly.
"And who would that be?" she asked. "The Viscount? The Grand Cleric?"
But this time, Malcolm did not answer.
⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼
While Varric was busy organizing plans for the expedition, and Anders was pacing the floor of his clinic wondering just what he'd gotten himself into, Hawke was having a mini-meltdown in her bedroom.
She knew she was procrastinating, and had no doubt that it would be better to just get it over with, but the thought of telling her father that she was going off to the Deep Roads into unknown danger had her very much on edge.
Yes, he encouraged her to make her own way in the world, and he'd never refused her anything she'd asked for, but she feared this time would be different. It would be her first trip away from home, and it wasn't as if she were planning a vacation to sample the good life in Orlais. No, she was planning to risk her life, all for the sake of wealth and fame, things which most people would assume she had quite enough of already.
Most people, however, did not have all the facts when it came to Hawke's life. Not even her own family did.
Hawke took a deep breath and marched to the door, as if she were going to battle. Before she could turn the knob, however, the door burst open and a tousle-haired Bethany came barging into her room.
"Sister!" Bethany exclaimed. "I need you to go to that wretched seamstress and force her to finish my gown today! The Viscount's ball is tonight, and I can't possibly wear something everyone has seen before!"
Hawke's heart sank. She'd forgotten all about the Viscount's ball, distracted as she was by the recent turn of events. Her own gown was hanging neglected in the closet, in hopes that she'd never have to wear the thing.
"Calm down, Bethany," Hawke said, attempting to soothe her agitated sibling. "I'm sure you'll have your dress in time."
"She's horrid, that woman. The last gown she made for me gaped horribly at the waist. I just know she'll have ruined this one, too," Bethany said, practically sobbing.
"I'll go, I promise," Hawke replied, putting an arm around her sister's shoulders and leading her from the room. "Have Mother make you some tea, and leave the rest to me."
Bethany sniffled. "Alright, Amber. But promise me you'll go this morning in case I need alterations."
Once Bethany was mollified, and under Leandra's care in the kitchen, Hawke pushed thoughts of the ball out of her mind and went in search of her father. When she opened the door to his study, however, it was Carver sitting at the desk instead of Malcolm. As usual, his eyes were puffy and bloodshot, but at least he appeared to be clean.
"Where's Father?" Hawke asked as she closed the door behind her. "And what are you doing up at this hour?"
Carver sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. "Father left for the Gallows about an hour ago," he replied, then held a piece of parchment up for Hawke's inspection. "Just look at this. How could a few drinks cost so much?"
Hawke read the invoice from the Hanged Man and whistled through her teeth. "Thirty sovereigns? That's excessive even for you, Brother."
"How am I supposed to pay for it?" he whined. "Father has cut me off, and I can't touch my inheritance for two more years."
Hawke flopped down in a chair. "Get a job?"
Carver snorted. "Right. Who in their their right mind would hire me?"
"You've got a point," Hawke said. Really, she didn't need to take on even more of her brother's problems. She had enough to worry about at the moment. "Maybe if you'd lay off the drink, Father would relent and help you out."
"You think?" he asked sincerely, but then shook his head in immediate denial. "What would I do then? Sit around and listen to Mother and Bethany talking nonsense all day?" He looked up at Hawke, and for the first time, she saw real fear in his eyes. "What am I going to do?"
For a brief moment, Hawke considered taking him along on the expedition, but only briefly. With no skills, and his addictions to wine and women, there was no way he'd be anything but a detriment.
"Sorry, Brother," she said. "Like the rest of us, you've got to figure out what you want out of life and then go for it."
"Easy for you to say," he said, his voice surly. "You always get what you want."
Hawke stood. "Yes, and I work hard for it, too," she replied, sick of his complaining. "I've got to go."
Knowing that she'd likely have to wait until tomorrow to talk to her father, Hawke went in search of the wretched seamstress.
⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼
Knight Captain Cullen approached the Peacekeeper's office with a hint of trepidation. In his hand, he held a missive from Grey Warden outpost at Montsimmard, in Orlais. He hoped the letter contained a confirmation of their imminent arrival, rather than a delay, or worse yet, a refusal to conscript the circle mage.
Cullen took a deep breath, and knocked at the door.
"Enter," came Malcolm's deep baritone.
"Peacekeeper," Cullen said formally upon entering the room. "Word for Montsimmard has arrived." He held out the parchment to Malcolm.
The Peacekeeper broke the seal and inspected the contents. A slow smile crossed his face. "There was a slight delay, but a company of Grey Wardens will be here in three days time."
Cullen's relief was palpable. "Good news," he said.
Malcolm looked up and studied the Knight Captain's face. "Trouble?" he asked.
"I admit, it's been… a challenge," replied Cullen. "Ser Alrik dogs me night and day to regain custody of Enchanter Thekla."
"Should I have the Knight Commander speak to him?" asked Malcolm.
Cullen considered Malcolm's offer. With so much going on in the Gallows, and all his free time spent 'watching over' the Peacekeeper's daughter, he'd been running on empty these past few weeks. Yet, Cullen knew that bringing Meredith into the mix would only make matters worse. "Thank you, but no," he replied. "I can manage him for a few more days."
"Of that I am certain," said Malcolm agreeably. He shifted in his seat and folded his arms over his chest. "I've been also meaning to ask you if there's any news on Samson."
"Nothing of note," replied Cullen. "Although there are unsubstantiated rumours that he's had recent dealings with the Coterie."
"Lyrium?" asked Malcolm.
"I've not been able to gather any real proof," said Cullen. "But, yes. I believe that's the case."
"Real proof is exactly what I'd like to have on the man," said Malcolm. "But all in good time. For now, you are well aware of your priorities, my friend."
Cullen nodded. He was more than aware that his highest priority was a certain delectable, insatiable mage. He felt a brief pang of disappointment that the Viscount's ball would interfere with their usual, nightly tryst. Perhaps they could sneak off…
The Peacekeeper's voice interrupted his erotic musings. "...escort her safely back to Sundermount."
"Excuse me?" Cullen asked. He'd missed half of what Malcolm had been saying.
As if he knew exactly where the Knight Captain's mind had been, he gave Cullen a sly smile. "I said, after my meeting with the Dalish Keeper, I'd like you to personally escort her back to Sundermount."
Cullen bowed. "Of course, Peacekeeper," he said. "I will see to it."
"And I will see you at the Keep tonight," Malcolm added as he returned to the papers spread over his desk.
"Most certainly," replied Cullen respectfully, before exiting the office.
⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼
"Ambrosia, dear, run down and fetch me a bottle of the 7:22 Aggregio," called Leandra from the parlor. "I'll never make it through the night without a cordial first."
Hawke sighed, grabbed a candle from the table, and lifting her long dress to keep from tripping, made her way carefully down the basement steps. Again, she could not understand why her Mother refused to hire servants. It was one of the few things upon which she and Bethany agreed.
She lifted the light as she inspected the rows of dusty bottles, looking for the one her mother wanted. 8:13 Antivan Red, 9:01 Orlesian White, Westhill Brandy. Everything but the Aggregio, it seemed. Hawke was just about to give up and grab a bottle of the red, when a slight glimmer from the far shadows caught her eye. Holding her candle aloft, she made her way over the uneven stone floor to the very back wall of the cellar.
What she saw shocked her. Where she remembered once seeing a planked wooden wall, now stood a large, metal door, held fast with a lever. Gingerly, she tugged at the slat, and it easily lifted in her hand.
She was just about to attempt opening the door, when her mother's voice called down the stairwell. "Ambrosia! We'll be late!"
Hawke grabbed the nearest bottle of red and ran as quickly up the stairs as her long dress would allow. When it came to hobnobbing with Kirkwall's finest, her mother could be worse than the Knight Commander about punctuality.
"Oh my," said Leandra, taking the bottle of wine from Hawke and setting it on an end table, already forgotten. "You'll have to change your slippers, those are filthy now."
Hawke looked down at her feet, and saw two tiny specks of dust on her black satin shoes, which she quickly brushed away. "It's fine, Mother," she said.
Leandra began to fuss with Hawke's gown, then. Straightening the soft folds of blue velvet that draped snuggly from her waist and over her hips, and tugging down at the black, vested bodice to show off more of her cleavage.
"Mother!" Hawke complained. She was in no mood to advertise her wares to Kirkwall's finest.
Fortunately, Bethany chose that moment to make her entrance down the stairway. Hawke had to admit, her sister was a vision of loveliness. Her black curls piled high on her head, with artfully placed strands framing her face, and her ivory dress, trimmed in silver thread, made her look like a princess. Once she reached the bottom, Bethany did a little twirl, and the soft folds of her skirt swirled around her ankles, even as the backless dress showed off much more skin than Hawke would have liked. The nobles of Kirkwall were far more lecherous than the worst drunks at the Hanged Man.
"My beautiful daughters!" Leandra exclaimed, tears of happiness brimming in her eyes. "I shall be the envy of every mother at the ball!"
Her father and brother both waited at the door to escort them, Carver for once looking the part of the gentlemen, dressed in his dark green finery. Malcolm wore his Peacekeeper's robes, as always. His was a job that he was never released from, even for a night of festivities.
Even though Hawke was no fan of balls, and even less of socializing with nobility, as they made their way out into the chilly spring evening, her major regret was that she would not see Anders that night. To dance with him might have made the whole ridiculous affair worthwhile.
Written by Wintryone
