Many thanks to all of you for reading! Special thanks to my excellent beta, Oleander's One.
Lucas felt pretty good when he got up in the morning. Apparently fancy parties were better for a person than drinking wine with Fenris or ale with Varric half the night. What a concept. He buckled on his armor, keeping his thoughts as far from the woman who hovered near the center of them as he could. He had kissed Isabela, yes, but it wasn't going to happen again, and it hadn't meant anything. Not to him, and certainly not to her. He knew too well how she operated to have any illusions there.
He finished buckling on his armor and headed for the kitchen, plucking a scone from the plate Sandal was preparing.
"Enchantment!" the dwarf said. Lucas raised the scone to him in salute—although it occurred to him to wonder if Sandal could enchant a scone, and if so, what kind of enchanted scone he might be eating.
It was a lovely day outside, and Hightown was absolutely silent. Clearly Lucas had gone home from that party a lot earlier than the rest of the guests had.
He was going to need help if he was going out to Smuggler's Cut to track down Javaris. Fenris wouldn't be awake this early in the morning; Aveline would undoubtedly have duties, as would Sebastian. He would have to start the morning where he always started—in the Hanged Man, with Varric. Part of him dreaded the inevitable moment when he would run into Isabela, but the part of him that was filled with an almost electric thrum of excitement wasn't dreading it all. All the way down the long stairs, he gave himself a stern talking to. Isabela took no man seriously; he had no interest in becoming a notch on whatever passed for her bedpost. Surely his interest was kindled more by the new sides to her personality he was discovering, and by friendship. Yes, they would be better friends now, he thought. That was all.
Varric was still in bed, according to Corff. Not for the first time, Lucas wondered who the dwarf took to bed—other than his crossbow. He'd never seen Varric express a particular interest in any woman. Or man, for that matter. As he climbed the stairs, he hoped devoutly that this wouldn't be the day he found out.
"Rise and shine, Tethras." He knocked on the door for good measure before walking in.
The dwarf was sitting up in bed with a steaming cup of black coffee in his hands. Bianca lay on the pillow next to him, precisely as if she had slept there all night.
Lucas shook his head. "Fenris was right. You are a strange, hairy little man."
"Takes one to know one, Hawke," Varric shot back. "I was surprised to find Rivaini here when I got back, down in the bar as always … and you all the way up in Hightown."
"You know, just because I went out with Isabela doesn't mean I was going to sleep with her."
"It has for everyone else she's ever gone out with—what's the matter with you, Hawke?"
Lucas crossed his arms, leaning against the wall, and stared down at the dwarf in confusion. "Varric, is there some reason you—No. Absolutely not. There will be no stories of me in a frilly white pirate shirt ripping off Isabela's clothes!"
"I like to write from life."
"You do not!"
"I absolutely do." Varric looked affronted. "Look, maybe I embroider a little, but the base fabric is always the truth."
"Is that what you'll tell Aveline when she finds out about that story of her and her guardsman?"
The dwarf smirked. "What makes you think that isn't based on a true story?"
"I know Aveline. She would never touch one of her men—she'd think it was inappropriate."
"She might not do it, but that doesn't mean she doesn't want to."
"Aveline?" Varric was unmoved by Lucas's incredulity, and Lucas decided to let the whole subject go. "Look, we need to get out to Smuggler's Cut. Would you mind getting out of bed and coming with me?"
"Well, when you put it like that." The dwarf climbed out from under the covers, finding his pants and tugging them on under the nightshirt he wore. Lucas would have preferred not to know that Varric didn't wear smallclothes. He turned his back for the rest of the dwarf's ablutions. "Who we taking this morning, Hawke?"
"Looks like it'll have to be Merrill. She'll be up, don't you think?"
"Daisy will be fresh as one, no doubt about it, and happy to get outside the city walls. Rivaini's been around this morning, too."
"How do you know?"
"There was a scuffle downstairs."
"The Hanged Man's known for lots of scuffles."
"Name three that Rivaini hasn't been involved in."
Lucas turned around, meeting Varric's twinkling gaze. "Do you ever worry that someone's going to assassinate you?"
"Me? I'm just a businessman, living in a bar. What could I possibly know about anything? You ready, Hawke?"
"Yes, so sorry you've been having to wait for me," Lucas said drily, following Varric. They knocked on Isabela's door down the hall.
"Smuggler's Cut, eh?" she called. "Just grabbing a few more knives."
"Don't you already carry ten or twelve?"
One amber eye came into view through the crack in the door, the one Lucas had suddenly found his own eye pressed up against, trying to sneak a peek inside. Isabela's eye twinkled at him. "Come on, Hawke, ten or twelve? You know me better than that." Hastily he stepped back and she opened the door. "Of course, anytime you want to count my knives, Hawke, I'm at your service."
It was both strange and relieving to see her in her usual clothes again. He couldn't quite get the picture of the elegant woman he had escorted the night before out of his mind. Somehow it was hard to see the familiar pirate as the same person.
He shook off the abstraction. "Let's go, then," he said brusquely, leading the way down the hallway.
They picked up Merrill in the alienage. As Varric had predicted, the elf was glad to get out of Kirkwall for a little while. Lucas was never entirely sure about Merrill; he liked her well enough, but the possibility of blood magic always hovered when she was in combat, and ultimately he didn't trust her not to eventually fall to a demon's whispers. Isabela was quite fond of her, though, as was Varric, and their instincts about people were usually trustworthy.
The way to Smuggler's Cut started through a tunnel built in Darktown; it was a fairly easy fit for his companions, but a tight squeeze for Lucas. He let the rest of the party go first, feeling quite vulnerable bringing up the rear, bent over as he was to fit into the low tunnel. You had to be a dedicated smuggler—or a dwarf—to put up with this kind of thing.
The highlight of the tunnel was all the boxes and chests strewn around. They didn't poke into all of them, but they looked at enough to be entertained by the wide variety of items contained within them. As he started to close the lid of a chest, Lucas saw a faint gleam in the bottom as something reflective caught the torchlight. He reached in and pulled out a small bottle, with an exquisitely detailed little ship inside it.
He started to call out to Isabela—it seemed like the kind of thing she would like to have—then for some reason thought better of it. He tucked the ship safely away; he would sort out his reasons for bringing it with him later.
After what seemed like half an age, they finally emerged onto a rocky stretch of sand not far from the Wounded Coast—and were immediately attacked by a company of mercenaries. Lucas was glad the others were in front: Isabela's daggers were instantly accessible, as was Merrill's magic, and Bianca was an extension of Varric's arm. His own sword was out as soon as he could stand up straight, but the others were in the thick of combat by that point. Lucas was mostly the clean-up crew, which he didn't mind at all.
Once all the mercenaries were down, Varric approached a small, cowering figure hiding behind some bushes. "Get up, Tintop."
The merchant stood up, looking over Varric's shoulder at Lucas. "Aw, it's you. Blasted dog-lord, did you have to kill all my men?"
"Did they have to attack me?" Lucas asked reasonably. "Hello, Javaris."
The dwarf snorted. "Keep it for a dwarf who cares. You knew these were my men and you cut 'em down anyway."
"Should've ponied up for better quality fighters, shouldn't you?" Isabela asked. She flipped one of her daggers end over end, the blade flashing in the sunlight.
Lucas nodded. "True enough—you get what you pay for."
"Who can I pay to get rid of you?"
"No one. I'm in your face until I get my answers."
Javaris sighed. "Granny's garters, she would hire you, of all people. I can't buy a break on discount."
"Maybe if you paid more," Varric muttered under his breath, earning himself a glare from Javaris.
"You know what, go ahead. Pike my head back to that sodding elf. I need the rest. What'd she tell you, anyway?"
"Elf?" Varric echoed. "What elf?"
"What do you mean, what elf? The one who—Oh, sod it all. You're bird-dogging for the Qunari? Bitch-born elf really did it, then."
Lucas moved closer to the dwarf, letting his height speak for him. "Javaris, either tell me what you're babbling about or tell me what you did with the formula."
"Hey, stay back. I'm talkin'." Javaris took a few steps deeper into the bushes.
"Merrill, make sure he stays there," Lucas said.
"Of course, Hawke." Roots burst from the ground and entwined themselves around Javaris's legs.
"Hey!"
"Talk fast, and she'll let you go."
"All right, so I'm minding my own business, same old, you know."
"There's nothing 'same old' about you minding your own business," Varric muttered.
"Whatever." The two dwarves glared at each other, until Lucas snapped, "Javaris."
"Right. Elf comes along, says she stole somethin' from the Qunari, she's gonna blame me for it. I say 'not a chance', she says 'already done'. I grab some men, get out of there." He looked around at the bodies of his men. "Shoulda grabbed more men."
"Or better quality." Lucas frowned. "What elf?"
"I don't know. They all look alike."
"Where is she then?" Isabela asked. She appeared to lose control of the dagger she was flipping, and it landed an inch from Javaris's toes. "Oops. Did I do that?"
"Scuff these boots and you'll be buying me new ones."
"What did those cost, a whole copper? I think I can spare the coin."
"The elf, Javaris!" Lucas snapped. "Where is she?"
"How am I supposed to know?"
"She framed you for stealing a Qunari formula. You may be incompetent, but you do like to look out for number one, and that means knowing where she is."
Javaris frowned. "You're not as dumb as you look. Elf's in Lowtown, not far from the stairs down to the docks. I had a guy tail her."
"You better be telling the truth."
"Or what? You'll come back here and kill my guards? Thanks for that."
"Thedas isn't big enough for the both of us, Javaris," Lucas said. "Make yourself smaller."
"Yeah, I'll just do that." The roots receded and the dwarf moved to the nearest body. As Javaris frisked the bodies of the dead mercenaries for whatever saleable—and portable—things they had on them, Lucas gestured for the others to follow him.
"Back to Lowtown, Hawke?" Isabela asked.
"Yes, no time like the present, is there?" He sighed, looking at the tunnel entrance and not relishing going back the way they'd come. "Let's get it over with."