Uncomfortable Privileges

Age 17 (continued)

...

Malcolm ate one of the iced shellfish from the dish in the center of the table, careful to look nonchalant about it. To his left, El daintily buttered a roll. To his right, his mother sipped her wine and his father stood against the wall, hood down, arms crossed. Opposite Malcolm, flanked by two guards, Magister Euclidius dabbed at his mouth with a napkin and then stroked his beard.

"You know," he said, "I've never heard of House Riverston."

"And I've never heard of House Euclidius," Malcolm replied with a flippant smile that would have looked more at home on El's face than his own. "I'm not surprised you haven't heard of our family, though. My forefathers sold most of our lands in exchange for the ability to keep something much more important."

"Your mages."

"Indeed."

"So, even the White Divine can be bribed," the magister mused.

"Of course. Can't everyone?" Malcolm let his smile ease into something more casual and feigned an intense interest in the platters and dishes in front of him.

Euclidius raised an eyebrow. "You've not managed to get what you want from Vacurian, though, have you?"

"Not yet," Malcolm replied, dipping another shellfish into some sauce before eating it. "It's not unusual for initial offers to fail. I do have more carrots up my sleeve, and a few sticks."

"Ah, true enough." Euclidius smiled, though his eyes remained cold. He seemed refined and restrained, but there was a predatory edge to him that Malcolm didn't like. The magister was not to be crossed, certainly, but Malcolm also wasn't quite sure how to appease him. Clever retorts would only go so far, and too much flattery would clash with the sort of character Malcolm had been told to portray.

"Magister, have you ever had the pleasure of visiting the south in winter?" Hawke asked, slipping into small talk with practiced ease. Malcolm would have breathed a sigh of relief, if he weren't still holding up an arrogant façade.

"I have not, Lady Riverston," Euclidius replied before taking a sip of his wine. "I imagine the cold weather is anything but pleasurable."

Hawke smiled sweetly. "Oh, but Magister, the view of a forest covered in fresh snow is simply lovely. There is truly nothing like it."

While the magister focused on his mother, Malcom watched El take another roll. Her eyes darted briefly to their father, her mouth turned up in a tiny smile, and then the bread silently disappeared into a pocket of her cloak. Malcolm looked down at the food in front of him and tried to ignore the way his stomach churned. There was nothing wrong with the food, only the circumstance. Malcolm had never before sat down to a meal where his father was not permitted to eat. Even if he weren't playing the part of a hired bodyguard, the establishment would not have served an elf. Beside him, El snuck another morsel into her pockets. It was cold comfort that their father would at least be able to eat once they parted from the magister's company.

Euclidius snorted. "Mabari. Is it true that you Fereldans let those filthy animals into your beds?"

"You'd change your tune in the cold of a winter's night, Magister," Hawke insisted cheerfully.

"Here we warm out beds in other ways," Euclidius replied, his lips pulling into a slimy smile.

Malcolm's stomach turned again. "I'd rather permit a dog than force a slave," he snapped. "Or, forgive me, are we talking about something besides the chill in the air?"

The magister narrowed his eyes. "Southerners," he muttered, stabbing at some meat on this plate. "It's for the best, young Master Riverston, that this apprenticeship business is all a sham. I don't know that you'd last long here."

"Perhaps not," Malcolm replied coolly, but his heart hammered in his chest. What had he done? One biting comment would not make Tevinter change its ways. If he'd gone too far, if this man turned against them, saving their cousin would only become more difficult.

"A comment like that won't sway Vacurian either, but I do appreciate your gall," Euclidius explained.

Malcolm smirked. "Here I was afraid my tongue had gone too far."

Euclidius busied himself with cutting his meat. "I don't care if your tongue lolls from your mouth like one of those dogs you love so much. I don't care what your southern sensibilities think of Tevinter. I don't care why you want that elf girl. I only care that you are willing to show Vacurian up. Use carrots or sticks, but do make sure his face is red by the end of it."

"And if it still comes to a duel?" Malcolm asked.

"You have my backing," Euclidius replied.

…

"Kaffas, brother, I thought you'd made a mess of things for sure," El muttered once the carriage door closed.

"Me too," Malcolm replied wearily, leaning his head back against the seat and closing his eyes.

El frowned. "It's fine in the end, though. He agreed to help, didn't he?"

"So he said…" Fenris grumbled.

"So he said," Hawke echoed, though with far more confidence.

El understood why Malcolm was despondent, but she didn't quite comprehend her father's unfailing pessimism. He'd been that way all day, but she assumed hunger was only making it worse. She rummaged around in her cloak, producing a roll from one pocket and a napkin bundled around food from the other. "Here, Father, I snuck something for you to eat."

"Jack," he corrected her. "And you shouldn't have done that. What if you'd been caught? I could have just bought something from a street vendor later."

Hawke smirked and produced twice as much food from her own pockets. "We weren't caught, and you're hungry now."

"Besides, there was so much food and it was all delicious," El insisted.

Hawke nodded and placed one of the morsels into Fenris's hands. "You've spoken fondly in the past of a dessert that sounds a lot like this one. Even if I'm mistaken, it was delicious."

El watched as her father unwrapped the little cake and his complaints fell silent. "He looks rather pleased with our efforts now," she snickered quietly to Malcolm.

Her brother only nodded.

"Hey, don't tell me you agree with him. I know you saw me hide the food, but the magister was none the wiser. I'm certain of that."

"No, I'm glad you did it," Malcolm replied. "Mother too… Though, I didn't even see her take anything."

El shrugged. "Once a rogue, always a rogue, I guess. Really, you were probably too busy glaring daggers at the magister to notice. I will hand it to you, Malcolm. You've somehow managed to make this Rall Riverston believable."

He sighed. "I suppose."

"At least you're not seasick," El offered. When he didn't reply, she decided it best to leave him alone to brood. Instead, she turned her attention back to her parents.

"That one has fish," her father hissed, wrapping one of the little meat tarts back up in the napkin.

Her mother feigned surprise. "How do you know? You haven't even tried it."

"I can smell it," he claimed.

"Don't be a child. You might like it."

"I won't."

El smiled. All the magisters in Tevinter wouldn't be able to break them.

…

When they arrived at their hotel, Malcolm craved nothing more than sleep. He thought of home. He thought of how it wonderful it felt, after a fight against some aggressive forest creature, to walk into the house, kick off his muddy boots, shrug off his muddy cloak, and fall into his bed. Dining with the magister had somehow been as exhausting as fighting a bear, and though home was leagues away, he was sure the hotel beds would suffice.

He didn't expect the garish opulence of the hotel lobby, though he should have. He didn't expect that their rooms were actually part of a palatial suite, though he should have. He didn't expect his family, tired as they seemed, to inspect every corner of the suite with such lively interest, though he should have.

Malcolm hung back, observing as El opened the first door while Fenris stood beside her, sword drawn. No demons or magisters' henchmen leapt out at them. The room was relatively small, and held only a bed, set of drawers, and a wash basin and pitcher. The second room was the same, and opening the third door merely revealed a larger room with a much larger bed.

His mother sighed wistfully as she opened the fourth door. "Ah… dwarven plumbing. It has been a long day. I wouldn't say no to a bath."

El peered into the room as well, eyeing the gleaming brass faucets and large porcelain tub. "In a country full of mages, why even bother with the plumbing? Can't they all just summon themselves a hot bath?"

"Not every guest is a mage, I'm sure," Hawke replied.

Fenris snorted. "Any mage with enough coin to stay here would not be drawing his own bath. Even with the plumbing, Tevinter mages can't be bothered to lower themselves to turning faucets. They would have slaves do it."

"Varric assured us this hotel was staffed by paid servants," Hawke reminded Fenris with a scowl. "If anyone does turn the tap for you, be sure to tip them."

Fenris simply shrugged and continued his inspection of their quarters.

"What about you, Malcolm?" El asked. "Will you use magic to fill the bath as usual, or will you try the plumbing?"

Malcolm hadn't thought about it, and honestly, lacked the energy to think about it. "I don't know, El. I'm probably just going to sleep straight away. I'll wash up in the morning." He took his bag from the pile of their luggage and moved towards one of the small rooms. "Goodni-"

"Not that room," Fenris said, cutting him off.

"They're the same," El pointed out. "I don't mind which of the two he takes."

Fenris shook his head. "No, you and your mother need to take those two rooms, and Malcolm needs to take the master bedroom. Varric made a mistake with the room arrangement he chose, but it's too late to change it."

"You and mother won't both fit in those smaller beds," El replied.

"What makes you think the bodyguard would share a bed with the lady of the house?" Fenris muttered. "I'll be sleeping out here on the couch."

"But…" Malcolm's stomach twisted again, just like at dinner. He swallowed. "Surely we don't need to keep up the ruse while we sleep?"

His father leveled him with a glare. "The servants will be in and out as they please. What will they think if they find us arranged like we would be at home?"

"We can lock the door," Malcolm replied.

"They have keys."

"We can tell them we don't want to be disturbed."

Fenris let out a short, bitter laugh. "As if a magister hoping to spy on the rather obvious newcomers can't bribe a few servants to accidentally barge in. No. While we're here, while we're playing this game, it can't be like at home."

Malcolm had run out of arguments, but his mother stepped forward. "No, Jack. You'll go downstairs and tell the staff that your charges are weary from travel and will not tolerate being disturbed for the rest of the night. Tell them we'll send for breakfast in the morning when we are ready. I'm sure you can manage a properly aggressive tone. Then, you'll come back up here and come to bed."

"And if the servants fail to heed me?" Fenris asked.

"Then what a scandal for the esteemed Lord Riverston," Hawke muttered. "His wife is off sleeping with the bodyguard. I assume that's sufficiently juicy to distract those who would fish for such gossip anyway."

A silent look passed between them. "I won't be able to convince you otherwise," Fenris stated coolly.

"No, dear, you won't."

With a half-growled sigh, Fenris grabbed his cloak and stalked from the room to carry out Hawke's plans. Watching him go, she sat down on the couch and started pulling the pins out of her hair.

"Is it really worth arguing over which person sleeps where?" El asked.

Malcolm looked at her. "Probably not, but… Well… It's bad enough he couldn't eat with us. I didn't like seeing him chased out of bed too."

"It would be his own fault," El muttered. "I can't say I understand that level of paranoia."

"No," Hawke explained, "you've been blessed not to know such things, and he would have it no other way. Realize that his concerns are more than valid and please, just be patient. Being here is hard for him. I know we've told you stories, but they don't even begin to capture the reality of what he lived."

"I'm trying," Malcolm replied. "You understand him better than we do, though."

His mother managed a knowing smile. "I've had a lot of practice. Also, don't forget, I dealt with my own version of these games in Kirkwall. I know it's not easy, keeping up appearances all day."

Malcolm couldn't help but feel that last line was meant for him.

"Was Father this on-edge in Kirkwall?" El asked.

"It was different, then. He wanted to be found because he wanted to kill his pursuers. Still, living in Kirkwall required the same relentless, heightened awareness. That sort of thing stays with you. My fingers still itch for my daggers every time the crowd in the street pressed too close." She paused, struggling with a particularly stubborn hair pin. "You know… living out in the countryside like we do has been better for your father that either of us ever would have guessed. It's calming to have space away from other people. Then, in the market, he knows that the townsfolk aren't a threat and that some might even defend him if it came down to it."

El snickered. "I'm picturing Father, sword in hand, lyrium blazing… and the baker, next to him, ready to fight with a broom."

"You laugh, but I've seen him kill a rat with one smack of that broom," Malcolm insisted, smiling a real smile for the first time since they'd left the bookshop.

…

Fenris returned to the suite to find Hawke seated on the couch, combing out her hair. She smiled at the sight of him, but there was something sad about the look in her eyes. "I thought about sitting by the door, but it doesn't work quite the same if you're already outside."

"After all these years at your side, where would I go?" he replied softly.

"To sleep on this couch, apparently."

He dropped wearily down beside her.

"Fenris."

He flinched at his name. "Don't…"

"I don't care who's listening, love."

Her attitude was both distressing and heartening. He had always both feared and loved the way she could sway him, and that wasn't going to change anytime soon. He swallowed his arguments and admonitions and changed the subject. "The children?"

"Malcolm's gone to bed, but El is in the tub," she explained. "When she's finished, I think we should make use of it ourselves."

Fenris frowned. "I had hoped to talk to Malcolm. I was too… short with him, earlier today."

Hawke took his hand, lacing their fingers. "I think it's alright, for tonight. As usual, El managed to take his mind off… his mind." Hawke chuckled softly to herself. "You know, sometimes I think of how Varric used to joke about broody babies being born in your honor. When the children were young, I was convinced El was the broody one. She would pout and hold grudges. Do you remember when she was five years old and didn't speak to me all afternoon when I denied her a cookie? Five years old. By comparison, Malcolm was cheerful… Now it seems the opposite. El shrugs everything off with a carefree smile and Malcolm is the one lost in dark thoughts."

Fenris leaned back against the couch. "Even when he was small, he had his moments."

"I suppose, but back then he usually came to us with his problems."

"It's hard to know that you're burdening the ones you love with your worries," Fenris said. "He's gotten old enough to realize that now."

Hawke smiled softly. "The ones you love care for you anyway. At least if you share your worries, you carry the burden together instead of separately."

"I suppose so."

She drew closer, offering a reassuring kiss before locking him in her determined gaze. "Fenris… Just remember that this is temporary. We'll do our best to save the girl and then we'll go home."

"When you say it," he whispered, "I almost believe it."