Thanks to Ventisquear, Eva Galana, mille libri, gatorsnacks and Aritha for your lovely reviews for the last chapter. I am so happy that more people are finding this story and enjoying it!
Ariston was never so grateful for anything in his life as to get that good-sized bucket of hot water and soap. He spent a considerable amount of time rendering himself as clean as possible, first sluicing the worst of the dirt off with salt water, then using the fresh and the soap to finish up. The mate's borrowed clothing fitted him well and the captain saw that he was given a meal as soon as his bath was done. His worldview improved enormously as a consequence.
As evening fell, he ventured forth onto the deck again and thanked Captain Maitland once more for his succor. The captain shrugged. "No offense, Lord DeMarchais, but I did not know you were aboard and it would have sufficed to beat the raiders off as far as I was concerned. The Warden was the one who took the battle to them. You should tender your thanks to him."
As the Warden and his companion ate their dinner in their cabin, that was not possible until a little later on. When the sun was gone and stars beginning to appear in the twilight sky he emerged, clad in what had to be Dalish garments instead of armor, his two swords slung over his shoulders, strolling slowly towards the front of the ship, the other elf, also back in clothing, at his side. The two appeared to be chatting casually and Ariston did not think he was interrupting anything important.
"My lord Warden?" Lhaine Mahariel turned to face him and inclined his head politely.
"Lord DeMarchais. I trust you find these accommodations more satisfying than your previous ones?"
"Yes, praise the Maker! I just wanted to thank you for the rescue."
Up close, the Hero of Ferelden possessed in abundance that fine-boned beauty that made some people fancy elves over their own kind. His golden brows lifted the slightest bit. "There is no need for thanks, my lord, for there was little credit in it. It was not as if we'd been tasked to find you specifically. Your rescue was incidental to the defense of our own ship, and therefore unworthy of praise, though I do thank you for the thought."
"I would be only too happy to host you during your visit to Kirkwall, and I'm sure my father would agree that it was the least we could do."
The two elves exchanged glances. Mahariel gave Ariston a small smile. "That is very generous of you, my lord, but I have a dozen men, Captain Aldwyn and my friend Master Arainai here as escort. I am also going to Kirkwall on business, the sort of business that might very well necessitate my coming and going at all hours. I fear that I would be a difficult guest. It is also my intention to avoid official notice if that is possible. You must admit, it would be a bit hard to do that while staying in the home of one of Kirkwall's most prominent families."
The young lord was puzzled. "But…why would you want to avoid notice? Surely you must know that Viscount Dumar would be happy to host and honor you!"
"Of that I have no doubt." The wheaten head inclined politely. "But I am Dalish and unused to the great cities of men. I find them…uncomfortable. Large human social events have always made me uneasy and since…the Archdemon that uneasiness has only worsened. I apologize if that disappoints or offends you."
Ariston looked into the beautiful green eyes, remembered the calm voice inquiring of him if he would like freedom. "Messire, it would be presumptuous of me in the extreme to be disappointed or offended by you, both because of what you have done for me personally and for Thedas as a whole. I will not press further, but I hope you understand that if you should find yourself in any difficulty while visiting Kirkwall or have need of anything, that you can call upon me and my father."
"I will be sure to keep that in mind," the Hero of Ferelden said. With another polite inclination of his head, he started to turn away, the conversation obviously over as far as he was concerned. To Ariston's horror, he heard his mouth blurt out the question he really wanted to know about..
"What was it like?"
His companion turned back to frown at Ariston for his presumption. The Warden's head tilted slightly, but he did not turn around.
"To slay the Archdemon?"
"Yes, messire. I apologize if I presume."
"No more so than the others who have asked. People always want to know. They are curious. It is understandable." He did turn back around then, his expression oddly serene. "It was a great torrent of light and sound, a roaring of rage. And there was great pain. Not pain of the body, I have experienced that," the Warden's hands turned over upon each other almost spasmodically for a moment, "But pain of the spirit, as if my very being were being shredded and dispersed. And it seemed to go on forever, though those who watched," here the Warden gave his friend a fond smile, "tell me that it did not go on so long as all that. At the very end, the noise changed, from roaring to singing. A most beautiful song. Indescribable."
"Singing? Why would it sing? Weren't you killing it?"
"Yes. But I was also freeing it of the Taint. What creature would not be jubilant at that prospect, even if death was required to bring it about?" His expression went bleak suddenly, and the other elf gave Ariston a warning look with his amber eyes that said he'd definitely outworn his welcome. But the Warden spoke again. "After that, there was a great explosion of light. I was lost in it and did not wake up for a week." A small smile curled his lips. "And there you have it, my lord."
Ariston bowed. "Thank you for indulging my curiosity, messire. I apologize for the intrusion. A good evening to you."
"And to you, my lord."
The two elves watched the young man head back to the sterncastle, perhaps to speak to the captain.
"Are you all right?" Zevran asked when he was out of earshot.
"I am not so delicate as all that, Zev. Fussbudget." Affection was palpable in Lhaine's voice.
"That was…interesting."
"Interesting? In what way?"
"You didn't notice? He addressed you as 'messire'."
"Why is that significant?"
"Permit me to give you a quick lesson in Kirkwall etiquette, my oblivious friend. You've obviously been spending too much time in Alistair's company of late. It's rubbing off." Lhaine snorted as Zevran continued. "Kirkwallers address people of their own station or lower as 'serah'. They address their social superiors as 'messire'. A shemlen lord of the city just addressed your elvhen self as his superior, Lhaine. My suggestion to you is that you go with what DeMarchais has established and address every single person in Kirkwall as 'serah'. The nobles, everyone. And that includes the Viscount."
"Should I have the opportunity to meet him. Which I hope to avoid."
"I know. But it might be good if you did."
"Good? In what way?"
"To establish beyond a doubt your social status. You're the Hero of Ferelden, Lhaine. I know you find that more of a burden than anything else, but I want you to consider something. You've already gotten the Dalish another homeland. In the thirty more or less you have left, you could change things for the rest of the elvhen as well. Or at least start changing things." Zevran's amber eyes were glowing with fervor. "Garahel saved the world and died. The shemlen were able to drop him into a stone box, write a couple of songs about him and forget what they owed him. You saved the world and lived. You are not so easy to shunt aside."
Lhaine's eyebrow arched. "Do you not think so, Zev? You of all people know that if I became too problematical, the shemlen would find a way to make sure I'd end up in that stone box in Weisshaupt. Some tragic accident, of course."
"That is certainly true," Zevran said, his enthusiasm waning. "And it could be said that we have no right to trouble your peace further in any event, after all you've done."
But Lhaine was looking thoughtful. "The Creators do tell us that we are obliged to do what good we can in the world; that it is sinful to see a good act that lies within your measure and refuse to do it," he said slowly. His hand came to rest upon Zevran's shoulder and squeezed. "You are right to bring this to my attention, my friend. I will think upon what might be done. I know that Alistair intends to advance our peoples' status in Ferelden. Perhaps we should begin with that, let it spread to other places slowly. Thousands of years of oppression won't end in our lifetimes."
"But we might live long enough to see the beginning of the end."
"Creators will it so."
The two friends fell silent then, watching the last of the light fade away from the western horizon.
Gemi watched the ships drifting slowly into and out of the docks and tried to ignore the rumbling of her stomach. Her mother was still abed after having just given birth to another sibling. If this one lived, she would have two brothers and a sister. She really wanted that sister, so she'd been shorting her own food to bring extra to her mother, so that her milk would be enough for the baby.
Her father was working long hours in the Bone Pit, practically the only legitimate business that would hire Ferelden refugees. Kirkwall's underworld had some illegitimate use for them, if they were strong or quick or skilled enough. Hawke was the prime example of that. No one had messed with Athenril's smugglers and lived since the big mage had joined her a year ago.
But Kirkwall's underworld had no use for someone as young and slight as Gemi, unless it was as a burglar or pickpocket. Gemi was fond of her fingers and hands, thank you very much, and had no desire to pay the penalty for being caught thieving. She was too young for the flesh trade (save for the perverted types) and didn't want to do that either. Since her family was slightly more fortunate than most, with a wage-earner and a roof over their heads (even if it was only one room), Lirene would be of no help.
But one of Hawke's acquaintances was a dwarf by the name of Varric Tethras. He was an eccentric fellow, born of a good merchant family, who chose to make his home in a tavern in Lowtown instead of with his brother in Hightown. And he wrote stories. Books that people actually paid money to read. Had money to burn, it was said. And would pay coin for information, if the information was good enough and could be used as fodder for his fiction. Several boys Gemi knew watched for him and Gemi wanted to be in that inner circle.
So here she was on the docks. She'd been here for several fruitless hours, until the ship flying the Ferelden flag had come in. A merchantman, but because nothing else interesting was happening, she watched it for no other reason than because it was from her homeland.
Suddenly, there was a bustle on board the ship. A large party of men were coming down the gangplank. Gemi slipped through the bustling dockhands unnoticed. She had to get a closer look. This was promising, particularly when she realized that the person giving orders to the humans was an elf! And she couldn't see any of Tethras' other boys around, so it looked as if this was her own particular tidbit of news.
She took careful note of as many details as she could, knowing that that was what Tethras demanded of his watchers. He was particular, Tethras was. He wouldn't give coin for just any old news and if you bothered him too many times with stuff that was commonplace, he'd stop seeing you. But an elf bossing humans around? And walking abroad in Kirkwall armed and armored? Surely that was worth something!
"Got another of your damned urchins for you, boss," the barmaid said with a sniff. She'd escorted Gemi upstairs with an affronted expression on her face. Gemi was affronted herself. She might be clad in rags, but they were reasonably clean rags and her family did actually make the effort to bathe on a regular basis. It was necessary, with her father coming home covered all over in stone dust.
Varric Tethras was somewhere between ginger and blond. Unlike the majority of dwarves, he was beardless, though the chest hair peeking through the open front of his shirt almost made up for that. He was well-dressed and could be called handsome, Gemi thought, if you liked dwarves in that way. Certainly his expression was friendly enough.
"Who are you, lass, and what can I do for you?"
Gemi lifted her chin, ignoring the lightheadedness hunger was giving her. "My name is Gemina, Messire Tethras, and I have information to sell."
"Then tell me what you saw and we'll see if it's worth anything." Though the dwarf's tone was friendly as his face, the brown eyes were cool, judgmental. Gemi took a deep breath and began.
"Fereldan ship put in late this afternoon. I can't read, but I asked a dockhand which ship it was. He said it was the Pride of Denerim, a merchantman out of Denerim. An armed party of men got off the ship. There were twelve of them, with someone who looked to be a captain. They were all wearing tabards with the Ferelden arms on them, but they had a crown on them as well. They looked to be guarding three people. One of them looked like a seaman from the ship. He had black, curly hair and was pretty young. The other two were elves, messire, And one of them looked to be giving orders to the men!"
"That is rather unusual. Why don't you tell me about these elves?"
Gemi looked about for a reference point, found it on a nearby bookshelf. "The one giving people orders was about this tall," and she raised her arm and laid a finger sideways upon the sidewall of the bookcase. "He had heavy blue armor on and two swords on his back. One of the swords…" she trailed off for a moment, frowning. "I'm not exactly sure, but I think one of them was glowing. The other elf was shorter," she indicated a spot a couple of inches lower on the bookcase, "and he was wearing leather armor and had a sword and dagger on his back. Both of them looked tan and both of them had blonde hair. I thought that they might be brothers. Both of them had tattoos on their faces too. The bossy one had them all over, but they were faint, like a darker brown or gold. The shorter one had black ones on one cheek. They were both carrying helmets. The bossy one had a helmet with wings, the other one had a leather helmet. Oh! One more thing. The bossy one had winged animals on the front of his chest piece. Back to back, in silver. I thought they might be eagles or griffons, but I couldn't get close enough to tell." She paused, panting a little from trying to get all the information out quickly, and looked at Tethras hopefully. "That's all I have, messire. Is it worth something?"
Varric Tethras looked at the little waif with covert approval. She was so scrawny it was difficult to tell her true age, which could have been anything from eight to twelve, though he was inclined towards the upper end of that range. Obviously hungry, she'd not begged for food before beginning her account, though he had soup and bread and beer at his seat. She'd shown initiative as well, asking a dockhand about the name of the ship when she was unable to discern that herself. And she'd done a good job of noticing details.
"Did you overhear anything the elf said to the men?"
"They were talking about going up to Hightown, and dropping the…" her face brightened. "Oh, that's right! They were dropping 'His Lordship' off up there! I don't know who 'His Lordship' was, though. Surely it wasn't one of the elves?"
"No, it couldn't have been one of them." Varric got up, broke off a piece of his bread and went around the table to hand it to her. "There, eat that. Your stomach is growling so fiercely that it's frightening me." A smile brightened Gemi's face into something almost pretty. She nodded thanks but did not wolf the bread down, taking small bites so as to acclimate herself to the food and make her stomach think it was full. Varric's respect for her grew. He moved into his bedroom, behind the curtain so that she could not see, and manipulated the secret wall panel of one of his many stashes. Retrieving the box, he closed the panel and came back out. The urchin's eyes were intent upon the box, but she said nothing, continuing to eat her bread slowly.
"I have a question for you, Gemina. What do you know about the Blight in Ferelden?"
She swallowed her food before answering. "Just that we had to leave our land because of it and that the Hero of Ferelden, who was an elvish Grey Warden, stopped it by killing the Archdemon…" Varric watched her eyes widen as she put the pieces together and passed his last test.
"Yes, there would be only one elf in Thedas who could walk around in Grey Warden armor with a glowing sword and boss Fereldan humans around, wouldn't there?" He opened the box and counted out half a sovereign in silver and copper before putting it in a little suede pouch and pushing it across the table towards the girl. Gemina took the money politely, though once she had it in her grasp, it vanished swiftly into some inner pocket in her rags. Half a sovereign would feed her and her family for a little while and she was obviously taking no chance of losing it.
"NORA!" Varric moved to the door and yelled down the stairs.
"What is it now, boss?" came the disgruntled reply.
"Some soup and bread and cider for my friend here, please. My tab." The sound of grumbling drifted up the stairs. He grinned and turned back to the girl, indicating the chair closest to his at the table.
"Sit, Gemina. Yes, the fact that the Hero of Ferelden has arrived in Kirkwall for some unknown purpose is of great interest to me. Good job. And welcome to my Watchers."
Ariston DeMarchais bid them good-bye at the door of his father's estate. "Please remember what I said, Warden. If you need anything, call upon the house of DeMarchais."
"I will remember, my lord Ariston," Lhaine had said and watched as the young man slipped inside. When he was gone, the elf turned to his captain.
"Now that that's settled, captain, how do we go about finding a place to stay?" The afternoon was wearing on to evening.
"There are good inns here in Hightown, my lord. If we can't find lodgings tonight, we can always return to the Pride to sleep. We have enough coin to rent rooms for tonight and tomorrow we can go to the dwarven merchant's guild and pass them the bearer bonds to get more."
"Very well then. Let's see what we can do."
It took a couple of tries, but at the third inn, The Golden Lute, they were able to hire an entire suite of clean and nicely furnished rooms that would accommodate them all, with one door opening to the rest of the inn, easily guarded as Aldwyn preferred. He promptly set up a watch schedule for his men and they all ate in their rooms. The inn's servants were kept busy for a long time, carrying cans of hot water upstairs for fourteen baths; then, well-fed and clean, Lhaine's party all settled down for a most welcome rest on solid ground.
Lhaine and Zevran were sharing the best chamber. Having finally finished his bath, the Antivan dressed in loose pants and a shirt to sleep in. Toweling his hair, he joined his friend, who was seated by the open window, watching the passersby in the torch-lit streets below.
"So-what do you think of Kirkwall so far, my friend?"
"I don't care for it," came the prompt answer. "I don't much like cities in any event and there's something wrong here, way down deep. Can't you feel it?"
"No. I don't have your superior Dalish senses."
Lhaine snorted. "Well, it doesn't take my superior Dalish senses to tell me that we're right down the street from a place like The Pearl." He gestured off down the street to the left. Zevran leaned out the window himself, to watch the door with the constant traffic.
"Ah, yes. The Blooming Rose. I've heard of it. It's said to be quite the place-all manner of decadence to be had." He gave Lhaine a hopeful look. The Dalish elf frowned.
"What about Leliana?"
"What about her? I will guarantee you, she's not sleeping alone in my absence. She had her eye on one of Eamon's younger knights. She was pretty certain he was a virgin. Leli does love breaking virgins in." At Lhaine's scandalized look, Zevran chuckled. "We promised each other bed-time stories on our return. We are not married to each other, Lhaine, not bonded as you Dalish do. We are friends and bed-mates. Sometimes we even invite others to be with us. The arrangement suits us both. Life is too short to be…constrained in such matters."
"Well…so long as it's what you both want…"
"I do so love it when you come over all parochial on me. It's precious, particularly since you're preparing to get yourself involved in a foursome."
"We'll see how precious I am tomorrow morning when we get some sparring in before breakfast."
"Oh, and the prospect of pain in the morning as well! Life could not get any better!" Since Zevran was obviously in one of his moods, Lhaine gave the discussion up as a lost cause and going to the bed, began pulling his boots in preparation for sleep.
"If you really want to go to the brothel, Zev, you can after we get back from Sundermount."
"Thank you, my friend."
"I do miss Dagger," Lhaine said in a mournful (and hopefully safer) change of subject, as he pulled the covers back.
"I'm not sure he misses you quite as much, given as the kennel-master had what, five bitches he was wanting to mate him with in your absence?"
"I know. Alistair will undoubtedly spoil him while I'm gone. And I was worried about him getting sick on the ship, like the halla did. He's better off in Ferelden. But I still miss him."
"I could pant in your ear and drool on your chest and fart under the covers if it made you feel more at home," Zevran suggested with an absolutely straight face. Lhaine stared at him for a moment in disbelief, then began to laugh. He kept laughing for a long while, until he was wiping his eyes and shaking his head.
"Ah, Zev. My life would be much more boring and-What was it you called it? Parochial?- without you."
"That is me. The court jester." Zevran made his way to his side of the bed and slid in under the covers. "You should get some rest, my friend. We will get some supplies in the morning and buy a map and find out where this Sundermount is. Your Creators willing, you may very well be with your clan again by sundown tomorrow."