Varric and Lucas, with Sebastian's assistance, had the scene mostly cleaned up by the time the Viscount arrived. They had unchained the Qunari and laid their bodies out on the ground, uncertain how the Qunari chose to deal with their dead.
The Viscount stopped short at the sight, his jaw falling open. "Maker preserve us."
Sebastian nodded his head, murmuring some lines of the Chant to himself.
"Your Excellency," Aveline said, "these people were all involved, although the Templar there committed the murders." She directed a few of her guardsmen to start collecting the crowd-members who could walk and talk and take them back to the Keep, with the rest in charge of getting the wounded medical assistance. With a concerned glance between Lucas and the Viscount, she headed back to the Keep herself to make sure the rioters were dealt with properly.
The Viscount, seeming oblivious to Aveline and her guardsmen's hard work, walked through the room, staring down at the dead Qunari delegation. "Madness. This is madness!"
"Yeah, that's one word for it," Lucas muttered under his breath.
As if he hadn't heard, the Viscount went on, carefully lifting the long skirt of his robe away from the blood that had spread beneath Varnell's fallen body. "And Chantry involvement, as well? Even if they are fringe elements." He clucked his tongue. "It could not be worse."
"Her Grace had no knowledge of this," Sebastian said, eager to keep Elthina's name clear of this mess. "I trust she will deal with it swiftly."
Lucas had yet to see the Grand Cleric do anything swiftly; he lacked Sebastian's confidence that this matter would be any different.
The Viscount paid as little attention to Sebastian as he had to Aveline and Lucas. He surveyed the injured members of Varnell's 'faithful'. "You are sure this is all of them?"
Shaking his head, Lucas said, "A Mother serving the Grand Cleric allowed this to happen." He ignored Sebastian's horrified intake of breath. It would do no one any good to cover up Petrice's involvement, even if it did embarrass the Grand Cleric. For that matter, if a little embarrassment got Elthina to take a more active role in Kirkwall, they would all benefit. Lucas considered himself a devout Andrastean, but he had never seen any divinity in Elthina's particular brand of blindered ignorance. It was her duty to stand up to Meredith, and to Dumar, too, if it came to that, and she seemed unwilling—or unable—to carry out that part of her assigned tasks in the Maker's service.
A groan from the Viscount dragged his attention back to the matter at hand. "Are you quite sure she was behind this? Did you see her brandish a weapon, or hear her tell them to fight you?"
"No. I can't say that. But she incited them; there's little doubt about that."
"Of course not. Too much to be hoped that there would be anything overt. A blasted Mother!" The Viscount didn't seem to have any trouble believing in the involvement of a Chantry official. He heaved a deep sigh, his shoulders rising and falling with it. "You have no idea the storm these allegations would cause. It would destroy what support I do have."
Lucas couldn't help bristling at the Viscount's casual dismissal of his understanding of the political situation. Who had been on the receiving end of the Arishok's ranting and the Viscount's own whining? Who had been in here stuck in between Chantry zealots who wanted to kill him and Qunari who would probably have wanted the same if he had managed to free them in time? No idea of the storm? Lucas knew all too well the size of the storm the Qunari were prepared to unleash on the city once they had enough provocation, and he knew equally well that there were people out there prepared to press the Qunari until they broke, no matter who was hurt in the process.
With those thoughts running through his head, he met Varric's eyes. The dwarf was wearing a sardonic smile that said he knew exactly what Lucas was thinking—and also knew that Lucas wouldn't speak his thoughts aloud.
"Do you think this Mother will return here?" the Viscount asked, appearing oblivious to Lucas's silence.
"This will have scared her off. She won't come back. If we're lucky, she'll lay low for a while."
"She claimed that this was not her intention," Sebastian put in.
Lucas snorted. Petrice could 'claim' that all she liked, but she had intended all of this, and worse. She wasn't going to stop until she started a war.
The Viscount was looking at Sebastian, however—hearing what he wanted to hear, believing what he wanted to believe. "That is something," he said with some relief. "I will make my inquiries. Gently," he added, when Sebastian bristled and started to protest the Grand Cleric's innocence again. Swiveling his head to look at Lucas, he said, "And you should be careful in your associations."
Varric gave a strangled cough. The dwarf was practically choking, he was trying so hard not to laugh. Lucas clenched his teeth together. 'Careful in his associations'? Because having been lured into a trap by Petrice three years ago was his fault. Naturally.
Of course, in the Viscount's eyes it was Lucas's fault—because Lucas was standing in front of him, an easy target, and everyone else who might have taken some of the blame was either concealed in shadows … or the Arishok.
Looking around him at the fallen bodies of the Qunari delegation, the Viscount said, "Right now, we have other problems. We have the delegation here, but I can't return the bodies to the Qunari in this state. Serah Hawke, you know the Arishok. What should I do?"
Lucas's jaw dropped. Was the Viscount seriously considering trying to hide the cold-blooded murders of an entire Qunari delegation from the Arishok?
"Well, there's a way to get the city burnt down," Varric muttered. The Viscount turned to the dwarf with a sharp look.
"Varric's right," Lucas said. "Hiding this would only make it worse." He chose not to share the fact that he had already been to the Arishok and told him about the disappearance of the delegation; that might send the Viscount right over the edge.
The Viscount sighed, nodding. "It would, wouldn't it? I am losing my sense of how to balance this nightmare." He nudged a Qunari body with the toe of his boot. "If I ever had it," he added, almost to himself. After a moment, he looked up at Lucas. "I appreciate your help in this matter, Serah Hawke."
The message wasn't subtle; the Viscount wanted Lucas to continue acting as intermediary and inform the Arishok of the day's events. Lucas had been planning to do so all along, but he resented the hiddenness of the request and the resulting concealment of the very real danger to Lucas's life and limb (and those of anyone who might accompany him) in carrying out the Viscount's unspoken command. "Of course," he said, keeping all the rest of his thoughts firmly to himself.
"As bad as this is, it could have been much worse without you. Kirkwall owes you." He held out his hand. "I owe you."
Lucas reached to accept the Viscount's thin, cold hand, and was rewarded with a hearty handshake. Over the Viscount's shoulder he caught Varric's eye, and could tell by the sardonic glint there that the dwarf was wondering if the handshake preceded a more solid payment or if it was supposed to be the payment all on its own. For the moment, Lucas didn't care. It was nice to be appreciated, for once.
The Viscount turned away, letting his retinue of guards lead him out through the warren of tunnels. Lucas wondered how long it had been since the Viscount visited Darktown. Almost certainly too long.
"Where to, big guy?" Varric asked.
"I suppose we'll go see the Arishok. If I'm lucky, the beheading will be quick and merciful."
Varric and Sebastian followed him back to the lift, both quiet, for which Lucas was thankful. He was tired, overheated from the moist, stale air of Darktown, and wanted nothing more than a nice long drink and then an even nicer long sleep. But this kettle of fish would boil over if he didn't see the Arishok immediately. He didn't truly believe the Arishok would have him killed … but stranger things had happened.
"Hey, Varric."
"Yeah, Hawke?"
"If the Arishok takes the news badly, you'll see my mother is taken care of?"
There was a momentary silence in the darkness of the lift, and Varric's voice was more sincere than usual when he spoke. "I'm offended you even have to ask." In a different tone, he said, "Hey, about that …"
The lift reached the top, the door opening to the sunshine of Lowtown. All three men breathed a sigh of relief. Lucas stepped briskly out on the cobblestones, Varric's comment forgotten. In the dazzle of the light, none of them noticed the dark-haired woman who slipped out of the shadows and followed them toward the docks.
At the Qunari compound, the big one by the gate stepped aside when he saw Lucas coming. "You are allowed, basra … until the Arishok declares otherwise."
Lucas flicked an irritated glance at him, but let the comment go. It wasn't worth it. And, after all, it was completely true. Once within arm's reach of the gate guard, the Arishok's word was the law, and the laws of Kirkwall, even such as they were, meant nothing. It was too bad there was no leadership in Kirkwall strong enough to stand up to the Arishok … except Knight-Commander Meredith, and it set a terrible precedent to let the Templars take command of a major city. Not that she didn't already get her own way in most everything, but there was still a titular head of the city that wasn't based in the Chantry, and that was important.
The Arishok was waiting, standing in front of his throne with his arms folded. "So." He waited.
Quickly, efficiently, Lucas told him the events of the day, and the outcome.
There was no indication that the Arishok, or any of the surrounding Qunari, felt any sense of personal grief at the loss of their companions. That, more than anything else, turned Lucas away from them and their Qun—to work and live so closely with other people and to feel nothing when those people died seemed to him to be such an empty life. He'd rather die than live that way.
"It is regrettable that you could not rescue my delegates, and I would have preferred to hear that you had killed all of those responsible."
"I killed the man who was at the head of the mob. Those who followed him … they were in the grip of madness. Almost as though they had breathed in a gas like the saar-qamek."
"Hm." The Arishok considered that for a moment. "That is an analogy I can understand. You hoped to save them for further usefulness. Yes, I see that. And this … Petrice?"
"She is out of my reach for now, Arishok, but I will be keeping a sharp eye on her." Lucas hoped Sebastian, overawed by his first experience with the Qunari, would have the sense to keep his mouth shut.
"See that you do. If I hear her name connected with my affairs again …" There was no need for the Arishok to finish the sentence. Lucas understood perfectly. He wished Petrice and the Arishok would just fight a duel and get it over with. After staring down at Lucas for a long time, the Arishok said, "I have seen every vice and weakness of your kind, and how few of you take responsibility. Your Viscount remains a fool … but you are not. Panahedan, Hawke. I will keep one good thought about your kind." He took his seat, crossing his arms again and staring off into space above their heads. Lucas didn't need the other Qunari shepherding him through the compound to know he had been dismissed.
"That went well," Sebastian said cheerfully as they emerged from the compound.
"You think so? I think it's the calm before the storm," Lucas said. "They're waiting for something, and when it happens, they'll move."
Whatever Sebastian might have said in response was drowned by Varric saying, "Say, isn't that—" and squinting at a shadow across from the compound entrance.
Lucas followed his gaze, but couldn't tell what, or who, Varric was looking at.
"Never mind." Varric grinned, though, and Lucas wondered what joke he had missed. "Come on, let's go get a drink at the Hanged Man." He spoke a little louder than usual, for no good reason Lucas could tell.
"What, exactly, is the Hanged Man?" Sebastian asked.
"Oh, Choirboy, your bell's about to be rung. Do you play Diamondback?"
Lucas followed the dwarf and the archer. He'd been impressed by Sebastian today, impressed enough to ask the man along next time there was a job to do. Sebastian hadn't been overly squeamish, and his aim was incredible. Yes, he'd be a good addition, if Varric didn't corrupt him too fast.
The Hanged Man was bustling, as always, and the familiar liveliness of it was more soothing than Lucas would have imagined. Even more soothing yet—and more surprising—was the armful of pirate he got within minutes of walking through the door. Isabela appeared breathless, as if she had been running, he thought, but with her mouth molded so beautifully to his, all thought was short-lived. She had climbed him like a tree, her legs gripping his sides tightly.
"Come upstairs." She was already tugging at the buckles on his armor, much to the amusement of the rest of the patrons.
"You sure you wouldn't rather have your way with me right here?" he teased, but he was already moving.
Isabela licked his neck. "I will if I have to. Move faster."
"Your wish is my command." He wasn't sure what had changed her from not wanting to see him tonight to this mad urgency, but it was clear he wasn't going to get that question answered right now. Maybe he'd ask her in the morning. For now, he had better things to do.